Honesty
She sleeps the day away, spread gracelessly on the furs, and when she wakes up her hangover has long passed and dusk hang in front of the window. More importantly however, she is alone. The fire is barely alive and she knows that she will have to relight it if she wants to keep away the cold of the night.
She sighs and leans her back against Hvitserk's bed, her legs stretched out in front of her and when she lets her head fall into her hands, she has the undeniable urge to cry. She has never missed her home as much as she does now, missed her mother's kind words, her father's lasagne. Hell, she even misses her grocery store and the library around the corner and that cute little place that always offered tea and cupcakes.
Here everything is beer and salt and fish. She can't stand it.
When Hvitserk doesn't return by the time night falls, Mary starts becoming agitated. She paces the hut, boils water and cooks dinner and when the food is cold and the water is too, she goes out looking for him.
She dips into a celebration – probably a continuation of last night – going on in one of the larger huts but he isn't there. Then she checks the training grounds and the harbour, and when he is not there, she finally heads down to the servant houses. There is no reason for him to be there, but maybe one of the others has heard form him. Inga is washing clothes in a tub of cold water and shakes her head when Mary approaches her.
The other servants are mostly out, any of them called to cook, serve, and clean dinner in the richer households and when Maru stares out onto the dark waters of the bay, they are only six.
Six people, four women and two men, who are inside when the doors are opened and three Vikings step inside. They bark for them to stand in line and Inga whispers to Mary to keep her eyes down and her mouth closed.
They quickly call for the men to leave, who scurry away happily, and the youngest of the man roughly grabs the first girl, an irish slave called Deridre, and pulls her chin up. Whatever they are looking for, she doesn't seem to have it, and the oldest of them quickly waves him off.
Then Inga is grabbed and she shivers like a leave when the man stares her up and down.
"The hair could be cut." He mumbles and the oldest one steps closer. When he leans down, taller even than Inga, his breath is hot and Mary grabs Inga's hand. The other girl's fingers tighten and Mary hopes that the men will move on. "Still, too similar."
When he let's go of Inga, she falls into herself and bites her lip.
And then the Viking turns his eye on Mary and smile spreads on his lips. Mary lets go of Inga and steps back, tries to escape whatever is about to happen, but he already has his arms wrapped around her upper arm.
"Come, slave." He commands and Mary exchanges a panicked look with Inga.
"She is not a common slave," she blonde tries to argue, but the younger man is holding her back. "She has a master."
But none of her words seem to have an impact and when Mary is pulled into the cold night air, she starts struggling.
"Let go of me." She demands, "You can't take me like that."
The man laughs gruffly, "Be silent, servant girl."
But she refuses to, digging her soles into the ground so much that the third, silent warrior has to grab her other arm.
Then they almost lift her off her feet, with nothing but her toes touching the ground and Mary's fear rises.
"You can't take me," She insists again, "I am the servant of Hvitserk."
"Never heard of him." Is the only answer, and Mary realizes that these must be Harald's men, or possibly some mercenaries picked up on the way to Kattegat.
"Asshole." She curses, even when the fingers on her arms are tight enough to leave bruises, "I curse you. Your wives will leave you, and your sons will be pacifists." The insult goes right over their head and when they turn onto the main street, Mary realizes where they are bringing her. The throne room.
Fear turns into full-blown panic and she thrashes, twisting in their grip until she can sink her teeth into the silent Viking's thumb.
"Bitch." He shouts and then an iron fist catches her jaw and she can taste blood where her molars clamped around her tongue.
They enter the tent and she is unceremoniously tossed to the floor.
"Ergi." She hisses at them and then, for full effect, she spits blood before their feet. Unmanly, coward.
Mary is about to receive a boot to her face, the leg already lifted and so close that she can see the mud underneath, when a gruff laughter can be heard. Harald is sitting on the steps before the throne, leaning on his knees as he watches the interaction with clear amusement. Ignoring the offense written over his warriors faces, he just stares at her. The tables from last night's feats are still there, bare except for a few cups and copper plates.
Beside Harald, stretched like a docile tigress, is Freydis. She isn't wearing the green dress anymore, but she also isn't back in the servant's clothes, instead wrapped in soft cream and gold.
And there, perched atop of them, is Ivar.
Mary comes to her feet and glares at him, ignoring the bruise blooming on her face. "Where is he?" she asks and then, when his eyes widen in mock confusion, "Ivar, where is Hvitserk."
"I have sent him out on a mission. As my general, he has been called to find Bjorn and Lagertha."
"So, you thought to make your move while he is away? Is that why you brought me here?"
Ivar frowns for a second and when he speaks again, his words are slow, "I did not bring you here."
"A most unfortunate accident," Harald cuts in, "We asked for a slave to be brought from the servant quarters. We didn't expect you of all people to be there."
He leans back and glances up at Ivar with a sly grin, "Although you would do as well as any other."
Ivar glares down at the other Viking, who just shrugs and lifts a drink to his lips.
"Then why were they looking for someone who looks like me?" Mary challenges, "They didn't even care about Deirdre or Inga."
"Mary, Mary, Mary." Ivar tsks with a roll of his eyes, "Not everything is about you."
Oh, she is going to throw something at him. Forget the socks, it's gonna be a hammer or maybe an entire anvil.
"We are preparing a sacrifice for the gods. Our war took many great fighters and we will honour them accordingly. As or the sacrifice itself, all we were looking for was someone who didn't look like Lagertha."
Mary frowns in confusion, "Why?"
Freydis answers with her airy voice, never once moving from Ivar's side, "Because Lagertha is not important anymore. Ivar is our King now and her likeness should not stay in our people's minds."
"Fucking Christ, girl." Mary growls, "Did something crawl up your brain and die?"
Harald chokes on his drink and Ivar chuckles, ignoring the rude insult hurled at his …whatever she is.
"Are you jealous, Mary?" he teases and Mary, with little thought, shoots back, "Yes."
There is an uncomfortable silence when Ivar's eyes widen at her admission.
"Out." He barks then and the others leave the hall on command.
He just looks at her for a long time, silently scrutinizing her, and Mary stares back.
"You are a curious one." He then says.
"Because I am honest? I see how that might seem alien to you."
"Honesty is one thing, "Ivar says, ignoring her jab, "admitting to a weakness is something else."
She steps closer, just to the edge of the stage and her nostrils flare, "No, no, no, Ivar. You don't understand. My love is no weakness. Pretending like it never existed would be a weakness, because it would erase all the awful, horrible things you did to me." She points a finger at him, "And you don't get to forget those. I want you to remember how much I loved you, and how you threw that away. I want you to remember every time you look at me."
"You think I don't?" he asks angrily, and this time it's Mary who is taken by surprise. "You think I enjoy seeing you at my brother's side? You might fault me, Mary, but yours wasn't the only heart broken."
She stares at him and it takes her much too long to find her voice again, "Don't blame me for your actions."
"Then don't hold me to your untimely expectations." He hisses, "I don't know about the men where you are from, but I see that disgust when you hear about war and your dislike for bloodshed is undeniable."
She opens her mouth, but before she can say something, he takes the crutch leaning against the throne and throws it across the room.
"What you don't understand, is that someone like me has little other choice. If I wanted to get up right now, it would be impossible. I rely on the people around me, and the only way to secure their support is through power. I crawled on the floor for too long, Mary, and I will not be that helpless ever again."
Mary silently walks through the room, her shadow long in the dying torches, and then she steps up, steps so close to Ivar that his knees touch her dress, and hands him his crutch.
"All you had to do was ask." She says quietly.
He grabs the crutch, but she doesn't let go of it. Instead, she looks down at him.
"You are right. I might hold you untimely standards, but so do you. You expect me to accept your every decision, expect me to just nod along to your words. And for a long time, I wanted to do that, too. I wanted to support you. Agree with you. But I can't anymore."
"And if I told you that I still love you?"
"Then you would break my heart, Ivar."
His crutch falls to his side and Mary turns, ready to head home and burrow herself in the pile of furs.
"Don't go."
She stops and closes her eyes, something burning behind her eyelids and closing her throat.
"I can't stay." She says.
"Why not?"
Mary turns around and opens her arms hopelessly, "Look at me, Ivar. I'm exhausted, and I can't keep playing your games. I can't face your challenges when all I want to do is curl up and cry."
He has a hand raised to his face, his mouth hidden behind long fingers, and the mask of Ivar the Boneless is gone. For a moment, he looks as tired as her.
"No games. No challenges." He promises and she scoffs.
"I swear." He insists and even though Mary knows that it's a bad idea, she walks closer again.
"Then what do you want? We're not friends and we're not lovers, so what could you possibly want from me?"
He seems unsure at her question, hesitant before he opens his mouth, "I just want you. Mary."
"I'm not gonna sleep with you-" she bristles and he rolls his eyes amused.
"I never asked you to." He cuts in, "All I ask for is you, whatever that entitles. Scream, rage, cry, laugh. Whatever you want to do, Mary, just do it."
"No punishment for a servant girl?" she asks unsure.
"No punishment for my Mary."
"I'm not your Mary."
"Hvitserk's Mary?" he asks with a quirked eyebrow and she growls, "No one's Mary."
"A free Mary, then." He amends, "Free from punishment."
The first projectile, an iron plate, is hurled at him with much needed rage. He lifts his hands quickly, and she can tell that this is not what he expected.
"Mary!" he shouts, but she already has her hands on a copper cup and it hits his right arm before clattering to the floor. When she throws the next object, a wooden spoon, he has recovered from his surprise and catches it with ease.
"Motherfucker." She growls.
When he also catches the apple, she finally stops. "Sometimes, I hate your fucking guts, Ivar Ragnarsson."
"I can see that."
"Sometimes, I hate you so much I want to kill you."
"Many people feel that way."
"I can't stand the way you look on that throne. The way you lounge on it, like it's a game you won." She seethes, "I hate your hair and when you eat venison you lick the juice of your fingers without having washed them and it disgusts me."
He watches her amused, even when her shoulder start heaving from the venom in her voice, "I hate the way you treat Hvitserk and if I find out that you go against your family again, any of them, I will personally make you regret it." And then she stops and look at him, "Is this what you wanted? Is this the Mary you had hoped for?"
"Yes."
She deflates at his words and her fists open, the rigidity in her shoulders disappearing, "Why?"
"Because I am surrounded by dishonest people. Harald thinks he can manipulate me," Mary crosses her arms and raises a single eyebrow.
"Fine." Ivar spats, "He has manipulated me. The other warriors fear me so much that they only say what they think I want to hear. And Freydis whispers things in my ear, calls me a God, and I don't know what to make of it."
Mary snorts, "Ah, yes. Precious Freydis."
Ivar gently pulls her up the stairs, but when he tries to drag her into his lap, Mary perches herself onto the throne's armrest. He doesn't look happy by her avoidance, but lets her be.
"Why did you kiss her?" Mary asks and she can hear Ivar sigh. She refuses to look at him though, because voicing the question is already more than her ego can stand. "If you knew I was alive. Why did you kiss her?"
She puts her feet up on the other armrest, trapping Ivar in his seat.
"I am not used to women-"
"Try again." Mary interrupts him harshly because, seriously? A woman wanted me so I had no other reason? A difficult childhood means I have no say over my own goddamn actions? He better have another explanation.
"Because I am idiot." He says and rests one warm hand on her foot before starting to rub his thumb over her ankle. "I knew you might hate me and I couldn't stand the idea. The way she speaks…It makes me believe that I don't need you. That I don't need anyone."
"Will she be waiting in your bed after tonight?"
His fingers stock and he exhales loudly, his eyes averted even when she looks back at him, "Probably."
She pinches his neck, hard, and he flinches. One thing is for sure, Mary will not waste her get out of jail free card.
"When my brother comes back, will you be waiting in his?"
She shrugs, "Maybe."
He leans his forehead against her knees and sighs, "I thought he hadn't touched you."
"He hasn't." she replies and pulls at his braid so that he looks her in the face, "Even when I wanted him to, he never did. Because he was waiting for you. But now? Who knows, it might make it easier to look at you."
She traces the side of his face, from his scalp to his jaw, and lingers at the corner of his mouth.
"You are my one love, Mary." Ivar says and she bites her lip.
"I pray to the Gods that you aren't mine." His eyes darken when a hurt expression flares behind the blue and she smiles sadly, "But I fear you might be."
She lowers her head until her lips touch his scalp, "You bring out the worst in me."
He laughs at that, and his hand wanders from her ankle to her calf, "And you bring out the best in me."
"I know."
His laugh is louder this time and Mary smiles against his hair.
"Do you think we will ever go back to what we were?" he asks quietly.
"I don't know." She confesses, "Maybe one day."
Ivar gently pulls at her hand and this time she slips into his lap without protest. "I can't be what you want me to be." He whispers against her neck, "Not right now. Not as King of Kattegat."
"Then just be what you have to be, Ivar. Be what you want to be. You said you want my honesty, and I want the same. No false promises. No lies. Just…" she stops and leans her cheek against his nose, "Don't let them turn you into something you aren't."
He doesn't answer and Mary turns her head just enough to catch his lips with hers. Bittersweet doesn't even begin to describe the feeling in her chest and when she squeezes her eyes shut, a tear slips down her cheeks.
Then she untangles herself from him and stands up.
"Mary." Ivar calls and she looks at him one last time, "You will have complete safety in this village. As will my brother. My house is always open to you, and I would appreciate to have honest advisors by my side"
"Of course, my king."
"Goodnight, little Seer."