Old faces, new feelings
Somehow, things becomes both better and worse after that. Mary learns quickly how to differentiate between Ivar Ragnarsson, where her opinion is valued, Ivar the Boneless, where she has to chose her words carefully, and Ivar the Hated, when the best course of action is retreat.
With Freydis by his side, Ivar's ego grows into the unimaginable, but with Hvitserk and Mary, his actions stay mostly reasonable.
He calls for them at least once a week and they retreat into his room, always under Harald's suspicious eyes, and then they fight. Always. Ivar bring forth his most brutal plans, Hvitserk gives the strategically most successful alteration, and Mary begs for compassion. In the end, they leave the room angry and frustrated, but with a plan nonetheless.
"I have never been more afraid of or frustrated by my brother." Hvitserk seethes when they make their way home one night. Ivar has been King for almost two months now and while the people of Kattegat surely don't love him, they respect him at least.
"I almost slapped him," Mary growls in agreement. Tonight's argument, about the raiding of a village in northern Germany, had been taxing and exhausting and when Freydis had entered the room, already dressed for bed, and had draped herself across Ivar's shoulders, they knew that the evening was over.
Once she starts whispering – Leader, King, God – Ivar becomes unreasonable. That and, even now, Mary can't stand the way his eyes turn soft when he looks at the blonde and the way he revels at her submissive adoration.
At the memory, she exhales angrily and kicks a nearby sack of grain, which promptly tips over and spills a small portion of its content across the floor.
"God, I hate him."
Hvitserk takes her hand and pulls her closer until she reluctantly looks up to him. It's dark out, but she has lived with him long enough to know the look that hangs in his eyes. A calming softness that seems contrary on the face of such a vicious warrior. Of course, by now she knows that Hvitserk is as much a Viking as she is a seer; nothing more than disguises adopted to survive in this world.
"Don't let him rile you up like this, Mary." He mumbles and she rolls her eyes in annoyance.
"You have really latched onto Buddhism, haven't you? "she asks and his eyes suddenly flicker from one side to the other, afraid that someone might overhear her comment. But it's late and there is no one else out here.
"All I'm saying," he whispers, "is that Ivar dominates in anger. If you don't let it get to your head, he is lost."
Mary grumbles something incoherent before nodding her head, "Yes. Fine. You are right."
He smiles at her gruff annoyance and with a jerk of his wrist he pulls her even closer, until she stumbles against his chest and her huff turns into a slight chuckle.
"Yes. Jeez, I said you were right." She laughs. Her eyes still sparkle when he puts a hand on her chin and tilts her head up, even when the smile slips from her lips.
She stares at him for a moment, and he looks down at her, and they are frozen in time. Frozen in the knowledge of each other and in the question that lays heavy in both their heads.
Because, while they love each other, they are not in love. Neither one of them wants anything beyond warmth and closeness.
"I will tell you everything I know." Mary promises quietly, and her breath travels along his lips, "I will tell you about every religion, every culture, every belief. I can teach you about science and atoms and the creation of the universe, the earth. I will tell you about the creation of human beings."
She knows his longing, his thirst for knowledge, and she has seen how lost he can become in the wild life of Kattegat. She knows he is searching for meaning and she knows that there are few places he dares to look.
"And I will keep you safe. Always." Hvitserk whispers back, "I will never lay a hand on you if you do not want me to. And I will hold you to no promise. You will be a free woman in my house, free to reveal any secrets or none at all."
Almost like wedding vows, they promise each other what no one else could give.
Then he presses his mouth to hers and Mary has to blink, has to adjust her heart, before she can kiss him back. There is no burning passion, no bruising fingers, no love or frustration. He is sweet and gentle and Mary smiles a lot, smiles when he kisses her shoulder and when she traces the tattoo on his arms. And then, on soft furs, she pants into his ear and he holds her tight until the are both out of breath and staring at the ceiling.
"I think I want to wear pants." Mary remarks suddenly and Hvitserk breaks out in laughter, his skin glowing golden in the light and when his head lolls to the side and looks at her, Mary is giggling as well, the back of her hand pressed against her mouth.
"I'm sorry." She apologizes laughing, "Wrong moment."
He looks at her, looks at her skin – as tan as everyone else's, but with a naturally darker shade – and at her dark hair, and for a moment he wishes he could love her. Love her the way his brother clearly does. But even if he loves her company, and loves her hair, and loves her wit, he knows he doesn't. And he is glad for it, because her heart still belongs to Ivar.
"I will buy you trousers, Mary." He says with a snort, and she gathers a blanket and wraps it around herself before she sits up.
"Do you want to see something?" she asks, and her tongues is stuck between her teeth, poking between soft lips. He knows that expression, a mix of impish mischief, that is usually followed by something wonderous.
She grabs a book, one of the ones officially belonging to her, even when he is the one to peruse it, and she opens the first page, where the words Silk Road are written neatly.
Grabbing a piece of coal from the fire, she holds it close and sketches heavy dark lines onto it.
When he is finally allowed to see, she settles back onto the bed. They are both on their front, barely clothed, and she shows him a world map.
"This is Denmark," Mary says and points towards an odd little peninsula above Germany, "Sorry, I couldn't draw all the islands."
Hvitserk leans closer, eyes narrowed, "It's tiny." He remarks.
She shrugs, "Most of Europe is."
Then she points at an island further west, "This is England. Scotland. Ireland." Then an island further north, "Iceland. I assume Ubbe and Floki might be discovering it right now."
"Norway?" Hvitserk asks and traces the long lands north of Denmark.
"And Sweden. Finland is here." She says and he nods, "Our maps go that far."
"Well, this is Mediterranean." she explains and when she points out Spain, Hvitserk seems thoroughly deflated.
"Are you alright?" Mary asks and puts a careful hand on his shoulder. He lets his head hall into the soft mattress for a moment, before he shakes his head and runs a hand down his face.
"A fracture of the world, Mary." He sighs, "That's all we know. All we will ever see."
She frowns.
This had not been her intention. She had hoped to awe him, not …this.
"I'm sorry." She apologizes, "I didn't mean to –"
"No." he interrupts her quickly, grabbing her hands when she tries to close the book. "Please."
She lets him take the book from her hand and inspect the lines she drew.
"Tell me about it." He asks and then, when she seems hesitant to, he smiles. "Let me be the only man alive to know the world."
"Alright." She responds, glad that he found his happiness once more, "You will be the only man for hundreds of years to know the planet this well."
"Planet?"
"Later."
They spend almost two weeks on the map, and Mary tells him about all the countries she knows, and everything she knows about them.
At first, they stay in Europe.
"Spain is currently taken by the Muslims of northern Africa. They will be driven out again. Portugal will form here. France, you obviously know. Germany will be all of this, for a short time. Then a war will come, the biggest war of all."
He looks at her curiously but bites his tongue, and Mary nudges him, "I can see the question in your eyes."
"I- I know you don't like talking about wars." He finally explains, "You said it to Ivar, months ago."
She smiles, she can't help it. "I don't like only talking about war. But this one is very important. Actually, both of them. One right after the other. They involved so many countries, that we call them world wars."
"World wars." He repeats and swallows, "the entire war in one war?"
"Not quite. But a lot of them. America, here." She points on the map, "All of Europe. Russia." He gawks at the size of the empire, "Japan." And frowns at the distances.
She tells him about the Soviet Union, the Bolsheviks, the Tsars.
He seems impressed by the ideas of communism, only to be disappointed by its actual execution.
"Where are you from?" he asks, a week after their first night together. They are having dinner, the map opens between them.
When she roughly circles central America, he goggles.
"That is…"
"Very far away?" she offers and he nods.
"Europe will discover the continent in five-hundred years." She says and then leans closer, but it is said that the Vikings discovered it much earlier."
He grins at that, pride straightening his spine, and she smiles wide.
"There were people beforehand. The discovery was a tragic one, because all the most greedy people saw opportunities for land and gold and fame."
He swallows hard at that and Mary quickly realizes what is on his mind.
"It's not quite like Vikings." She assures him, and then, with a pointed look, "Even though I am no fan of your abductions either."
His eyes burn at the remark and he averts his eyes, "It seemed very normal before you came along."
"And now?"
"Now, I have a servant who revels in bossing me around and who demands I learn the other serv's names."
She nods satisfied, "Damn right."
"Ivar," Hvitserk growls warningly.
"No." comes the stubborn answer, "I will not be disrespected by my own people."
"It's not disrespect." Mary tries to argue, "They lost half their crop this year, that's it. Demanding full payment will leave them starving."
Ivar, sitting across from Mary, leans forward angrily, one fist coming down on the table.
"It is disrespect if they say that their loss of crop is a sign from the gods. They say I am angering the gods by calling myself one of them."
Mary rolls her eyes in exasperation. The word god had gone from a whisper to a rumour, to a title thrown around in court, most often by Freydis of Ivar himself.
Not only did it creep Mary out, it also made her happy to not be the one at his side. Pride and shame never mix well, and with Ivar's habit of angry outbursts, he is a loose cannon on days like this.
"Then maybe, stop calling yourself a god." Hvitserk grinds out and Ivar's furious eyes turn on him. "You doubt me, brother?"
His hand tightens around Freydis waist, and she puts a soft hand on his chest.
"Not at all." Hvitserk replies, "I simply doubt your divinity."
"Then tell me. How do you think someone like me became king? My rule defied all odds and it is clearly a sign that I, Ivar the boneless, do not adhere to mortal rule."
But Hvitserk has long lost his zeal in the Norse gods and just snorts. "I believe your rule is yours alone, Ivar. Not the gods. You became king because you are smart and ruthless, and determined."
The answer seems to somehow calm Ivar, and Mary decides to cut in.
"Listen, Ivar." She starts, "Disrespect or not, they will die. Having the people of Ribe starve to death would do no one any good. Show them compassion and I'm sure they will be grateful to have you as their king."
"But they should be grateful already," Freydis says and Hvitserk's leg quickly blocks her way under the table, before Mary can kick the other woman.
"Fucking hell," she curses quietly, before plastering a fake smile on her lips, "Well, Freydis." She says, "Sometimes us mortals need some time to realize the truth."
"Ivar, listen to me," Hvitserk says and clasps a hand on his brother's shoulder. His eyes are serious and when he speaks, he does so with the authority of a general and a son of Ragnar, "Ribe is important. We would lose men and influence. If you are planning on taking more land in Wessex, we need men. Strong men, who have not hungered through the winter. Sigurd says that the lands in England are fruitful and our numbers are growing. If we –"
He stops and they all turn towards the door, where King Harald is leaning against the frame, his face suspicious. He rarely ever partakes in these little meetings, and even if Ivar has a bigger, more public council to who he also speaks, the exemption has made Harald bitter.
"I did not mean to interrupt." He bites, "But I am sure whatever you are talking about can wait."
He cocks his head and his eyes fall on Hvitserk and Mary, "I am sure that the King does not value your opinion as that of his actual council."
Ivar's eyes narrow and then a smirks, "Of course not, Harald. I would have no reason to go behind your back, now would I?"
Yep, it's time to go.
The streets of Kattegat are still busy when they step out, even if the afternoon is turning late. It's cold, harrowingly so, and Mary shivers. Not for the first time, she is happy that the long dresses have been replaced by warm trousers and a tunic, layered beneath a warm coat.
"You think he is going to do it?" Mary asks, biting her lip, and Hvitserk shrugs, "He will probably leave them just enough to get through the winter, but he won't let them starve."
She sighs. When did 'not dead' become acceptable?
Hvitserk sees the disappointment on her face, "I'm sure he will come to visit us soon. Then we can speak about it again. You know how he can be. What makes him so disagreeable is the throne, the rooms in that house-"
"Not just the fucking rooms."
"- And Freydis. A warm meal, a few drinks, and I am sure he will see reason."
Mary is still frustrated, but she nods. It is true after all. Ivar Ragnarsson is a common guest in their house, and much easier to deal with than Ivar the Boneless.
"I'll make venison." She mutters and Hvitserk raises an eyebrow.
She slaps him lightly but her pout turns into a small smile nonetheless, "Fine, I will have Inga make Venison."
And then, she spots it. A head of curly black hair and a flash of dark skin.
Is that…?
She dives through the masses, and when she catches another glimpse, her heart leaps.
"Tanaruz!" she shouts and when the younger girl turns fully, Mary cannot help but gape. She has grown, ridiculously so. Her hair is cut short, almost to her chin, and she is now clad in the same armour as the other shieldmaidens, a sword hanging at her hip.
But none of that, not the height, not the warrior-like appearance, or the weapon, can stop her from being tackled by Mary.
They collide with a huff and then Tanaruz squeals and hugs her back just as tightly.
"Mary, we thought you were dead." She says.
"I thought you were off exploring," Mary responds and she cannot believe to see her friend again.
Their joyful reunion is interrupted by a loud shout, and Mary almost cries when she recognizes it.
"Ubbe." She lets go of Tanaruz and turns, but the oldest brother is in no mood to rejoice
"Where is he?" he roars instead, his eyes narrow as he scans the crowd.
Behind him is Floki, still tall and lanky, and even he looks angry.
Uh-Oh.
"Brother," Hvitserk says, and Ubbe's eyes find them in the crowd.
"Where is Ivar, Hvitserk."
Then he spots Mary and suddenly she is being dragged by a strong hand.
"Fucking hell, Ubbe." She yells, stumbling after him, "I'm happy to see you again. Nice Tattoo."
He ignored her and she turns to see Floki on her other side. At least he winks at her when she catches his eye, even if his face falls right back into an angry scowl.
They enter the throne room like a storm and Ivar, who was leaning and whispering to Harald, looks up startled. His eyes grow wide when he sees the new arrival and his arms open in a wide gesture of welcome. The side of the hall is lined with women, some warriors, some not, as they weave on the giant Easels.
"Ubbe. Floki. How good to see you." He says and Mary makes a wild gesture, cutting her fingers across her neck. Cut it out.
He lowers his hands when the rage of the others becomes apparent, and he settles back into the throne with his usual languid arrogance. Great. Just what we need, Ivar the boneless.
"What is the meaning of this, brother?" Ubbe asks and Mary jolts forward when he does. His fingers are like a vice around her arm and she flinches.
Ivar catches the small movement, "I would appreciate it if you would keep your hands to yourself."
Ubbe looks down at Mary and when he notices that his fingers have tightened painfully, he lets her go.
"I apologize."
"No biggie." She waves him off and then rolls her shoulder.
"Last thing we know." Ubbe says, his eyes back on Ivar, "Is that Mary had died. Then we return to England and Sigurd tells us that you attacked Kattegat, allied Harald, and are hunting Bjorn and Lagertha."
Actually, the latter of the accusations was not completely true. Hvitserk and Mary had convinced Ivar that his revenge was better saved for a later point in time, when Kattegat and his rule was secured. She shifts nervously now, hoping that the mention would not bring back the idea of a hunting party.
"He is your new King. It is as simple as that." Freydis cuts in, sitting serenely by the side and weaving.
"A throne does not make a king, little girl." Floki reprimands her and Ubbe frowns in confusion.
"I'm sorry, who are you?"
Ivar sighs. "She is my-" he seems unsure how to finish that sentence and makes a vague gesture with two fingers, "woman."
Two pairs of eyes land on Mary who in turn, wags her finger before pointing at Hvitserk, who looks altogether uncomfortable, and when Floki and Ubbe gape at the revelation, he stares vehemently at the ceiling.
Then Floki cackles, "Oh, how I have missed you all."
Ubbe just looks tired – tired in a way that only an older brother can look.
"I have to go home." He announces, "We can talk about this later, but right now, I have to see Margaret, and – what?"
Ivar had visibly flinched at the name Hvitserk's awkward silence has turned downright ashamed. Mary freezes.
The silence stretches for much too long and then it's Freydis - who Mary had forgotten was even there – who seems more than happy to provide information, "Margaret isn't here anymore."
"What do you mean she isn't here anymore?"
"She was a crazy woman, so Ivar had to-"
"A what?" Ubbe asks
"Please don't-" Ivar sighs.
"Actually…" Mary starts. But no one listens to her.
Not when Ubbe surges forward and a guard steps into his way. Not when Freydis keeps talking as if nothing had happened.
"- have her removed. She was a danger to the community, and as a good King-"
"Removed?"
Mary can see the situation deteriorate, she can see the way Ubbe's hand goes to his weapon, and she can see the way that both Floki and Hvitserk tense, ready to step in. The guards might fight for their king, but Hvitserk and Floki are expert warriors and they won't hesitate to knock both brothers down. Hell, right now, she is pretty sure that they will protect Ubbe before they protect Ivar.
"That is not what happened." She tries to intervene again, but once again no one listens.
Then Ivar leans forward, his eyes defensive but determined, and starts shouting into the mess of voices, "You should be grateful that I had her executed. She lost her mind. Even Hvitserk said so."
Ah, Jesus. This is going too badly. But no one wants to listen to her, so she has to get their attention somehow. Well, desperate times, right?
"I never said-"
Mary quickly grabs one of Hvitserk's axes, who only lets go of it when she stares up at him with pleading eyes. He instantly regrets his decision when she takes it and – with the blade first – smashes it into a precious shield hanging from one of the many beams. The old wood splinters easily, and it rains down on Mary like confetti.
"Everyone, shut up."
They stare at her and she blushes. But Ubbe has his sword already in hand and she can't bring herself to feel sorry for her rather rash action. Even if it did destroy a beautifully painted shield.
"That was a priceless relict from Lindisfarne." Ivar remarks drily.
"No, it isn't. Ragnar accidentally set it on fire when drunk. We brought this one from a trader." Floki quickly interjects and Mary lowers the axe still in her hand. "Sorry."
Hvitserk holds out his hand, his face clearly disapproving, and she drops the weapon into his waiting palm.
"What is it then?" Hvitserk asks.
Mary wrings her hands and lets out a nervous laugh.
"Well. You see. Margaret is not actually dead. We-ehm. We send her away to Hedeby."
There is yet another stunned silence and Ivar's eyes turn furious.
"You did what?" he roars, and then he is reaching for his crutch before descending the stairs with surprising speed. The guards move to let him pass, and for a moment Mary is reminded of how scary Ivar can be. Not just in his anger, but in his whole being.
He races towards her and her first instinct is to flee. But then Ubbe steps into his way, sword raised, "You will not harm her, brother."
Ivar regards the weapon pointed at him coldly. "I am you King."
"And if what she is telling the truth, then she is the saviour of my wife." Ubbe replies and Hvitserk inches closer. "What do you mean, you send her to Hedeby?"
But Ubbe is still confused and shakes his head, "Why would anyone send her away anyways. What happened?"
The question is directed at all of them and Mary sighs. "She tried to kill Torvi and her children."
Ubbe's sword lowers and his confusion is replaced by shock and pain, "What?"
"Are you still going to fight me, brother?" Ivar challenges, but Ubbe seems oblivious to his words.
"It's not-" Mary tries, "It's not that easy. One of the traders gave some mushrooms. But it must have been something else as well because next thing we know, she is delirious and paranoid and when she sees Torvi, her brain just snapped."
Ubbe swallows hard and Mary quickly continues, "She was fine after. It was a psychotic break, nothing else. Torvi gave her a black eye and with some water and sleep, she was as good as new."
"She was mad." Ivar interrupts her, "A crazy woman. Her mind was taken by an evil spirit."
"There are no spirits," Mary growls, remembering having this exact argument months ago.
"She did something bad and she felt terrible. But there was no reason to kill her."
"And apparently I didn't." Ivar snarls and Mary's hands turn into fists, "Damn right, you didn't."
"That's treason." Freydis remarks and Mary pulls a face. "I saved a human life. I didn't plan a coup."
"She is right," Ivar says, even if he doesn't come closer. Ubbe is still standing between the two of them, but his shoulders are slumped and his eyes are focused on the floor.
"How did you get her to Hedeby?" Hvitserk asks, more curious than shocked, and when she looks up at him, he seems impressed.
"It wasn't just me." Mary shrugs, "The other servants helped."
They all turn to stare at her now, even Ubbe, and she snorts at their disbelief, "You people are so ignorant. We are not just servants. We are humans. Inga knows how to detect poisons, Torsten can name every bone and muscle in the body, and Estrid knows how to make a person disappear. We cut her hair and dyed it, gave her an old dress of Helga's and then we send her with a farmer. She is a servant in his house now."
"Which dress?" Floki asks her as soon as she stops talking.
"The light green one." Mary answers and he nods thoughtfully, "She never liked that dress."
Ivar is still standing and even if his fury has mostly ebbed, he is still annoyed, "I could have that Estrid woman killed for helping you." He threatens.
"You can't have the whole world executed, Ivar." Mary mumbles, "There is no King if there are no subjects."
Hvitserk chuckles and nudges her should with his.
"Impressive." He whispers in her ear and she smiles brightly.
"So, Margaret is a servant again?" Ubbe asks pained, and Mary puts a gentle hand on his arm.
"Don't worry. The farmer she works for is very old and very kind. He promised to look out for her until she can come back."
He nods and then suddenly Mary is locked between two strong arms and she feels a lump in her throat when Ubbe gratefully pulls her against his chest, "Thank you."
She pats his back affectionally, "Of course."
When he pulls back, his eyes are watery, "Are you sure that she is alright?"
Mary nods, "Yes. She felt very bad for what she did. She still sent Torvi clothes for the kids. Made by hand and with the best material always."
"That explains the number of hideous new dresses that Asa is wearing." Ivar rolls his eyes and for the first time – maybe ever – it is actually Ivar who takes the tension out of a situation.
Mary snorts and slaps his shoulder playfully. And then, everyone seems to take a collective breath of relief.
"Torvi is still here?" Ubbe asks suddenly, "Even with Bjorn and Lagertha gone?"
Mary grimaces, "Yeah. Bjorn… he… well, he is a real dick, I'm gonna be honest with you."
"The men in our family seem to have a hard time with women." Hvitserk mumbles and Mary snorts loudly.
"You can say that extra loud for the people in the back."
When Hvitserk's confused glance went to the women weaving in the back, Mary laughs and puts a hand on his cheek, "Forget it. All I'm saying is that you seem to fuck it up whenever you find a good woman."
"It is still treason." Freydis pipes in, and for the first time her voice seems to have some kind of emotion in it, even if it is petulance. Hell, is she actually pouting?
Her lower lip is jutting forward, her beautiful face set in discontent and then everyone looks at Ivar. Some, like Floki and Ubbe, are simply curious, others – who has seen Freydis push Ivar with nothing more than a few words – hold their breath.
But Ivar just shrugs, "She isn't here. That is all that counts."
Ubbe looks ready to argue that point, but Floki puts a hand on the other man's shoulder and shakes his head, "All that can wait until tomorrow."
He struggles with himself for a minute before nodding. Mary's eyes go back to Ivar, who limps back onto his throne, and when he catches her gaze she grins. Suddenly, she is reminded of why she goes to all those infuriating meetings with him and Hvitserk. Why she
"How about we do dinner at our place?" Mary suggests in a desperate attempt to get rid of the last little bits of tension. And then, because the Ragnarssons are always happiest with a warm meal and cold beers, she turns to Ivar, "You should join."
He seems surprised and for a second, his eyes flicker to the others, as if he is doubting that he would be welcome. His mask of indifference quickly hides the insecurity and when he shrugs non-committal, Mary almost smiles.