Two faces; you and me.
The wedding is pompous and grand and Mary thanks all the gods that they managed to talk Freydis out of the more bizarre aspects of her nuptials. She is just starting to show when they walk down the isle and when Ivar finds her in the crowd, she gives her best impression of a smile. He just inclines his head and when he leans down to kiss the bride, Mary has found a very interesting tree.
"I could spill her drink." Inga suggests quietly and Mary chuckles. Tanaruz grins widely and then ads, form Mary's other side, "Or maybe I'll accidently cut his crutch in half." She winks and pets the sword by her side, "I can be awfully clumsy."
"I will pretend I did not hear that." Siv remarks drily and when she drops a hand low on Inga's lower back, Mary grimaces.
"I can't believe I'm single for this." She grumbles to Tanaruz. Floki and Helga are to their right. Hvitserk and Thora are looking as adorable and in love as humanly possible by Ivar's side. Hell, even Margaret is here, even if her presence is only allowed for the wedding.
Ubbe's threat of missing the event had been the only reason for Ivar to permit an exception on the death-sentence-turned-exile.
"Same." Tanaruz sighs, her eyes on the older Ragnarsson and Mary pulls her against her side with an affectionate squeeze. Being the to teach Tanaruz Norse, had the fun side effect of the moor girl adapting her speech patterns.
"Forget it, girl." Mary whispers with her eye on Ubbe and Margaret, "That one is taken. Plus, he is much too old."
Tanaruz blushes but doesn't say anything else and Mary points towards a young boy with blonde hair, "How about Torsten? He is nice?"
"He is boring."
"Bo?"
"Too loud."
Mary snorts and then points at a young man, maybe a year older than Tanaruz.
"Erik?"
When Tanaruz opens her mouth, Mary quickly holds up a finger, "This better not be another bullshit reason."
Tanaruz glares and pokes Mary hard in the side. Jeez, the girl is getting strong.
"He likes other men."
"Ah. Fair enough."
Thankfully, their little banter filled the rest of the ceremony and when people suddenly start moving, Mary is happy to be swept into the great hall.
On the way she snatches a bottle of the best wine from the main table, winks at Ivar – who saw her poorly disguised theft – and then proceeds to drain the entire bottle with Tanaruz.
"Still bitter." The girl remarks and Mary, trying to balance a cup on the back of her hand, laughs, "Didn't stop you from drinking it."
"You are one to talk." Hvitserk remarks and he and Thora join them at their table. He had been sitting at Ivar's side, together with Ubbe, but as soon as the festivities started, he had been drawn back to Thora's side.
With them comes Frida, a friend of Thora's who, as far as Mary can tell, is surprisingly spiteful for being friends with such a mild-mannered woman.
"It's a game. I am sad, I drink." Mary waves Hvitserk off and then frowns, "Wow, that sounded a lot worse than it is."
"You are being dramatic." Tanaruz agrees and Hvitserk shakes his head, "When isn't she?"
"I am right here. Hello. Is this a ghost of Christmas situation?"
Thora smiles, still a little unsure about her new man's unusual servant and Mary can see the way she swats away Frida's hand under the table, who is looking at Mary with thinly veiled suspicion.
"Sorry." Mary apologizes quickly and Hvitserk presses a kiss to Thora's neck. "Don't worry about Mary. She speaks a lot and means very little of it."
The woman in question opens her hands and spreads her fingers widely, "That's me."
"So, where are you from?" Frida asks and Mary purses her lips.
"That's the question, isn't it?" she sighs, "Let's just say far away."
"Far away? That's not an answer." Frida retorts and Thora frowns, "Leave her alone."
But rather than listening to her friend, Frida just rises form the table, "I do not understand you. She is a serve but everyone treats her like a free woman."
With her nose in the air, the brunette stalks off and Thora looks thoroughly embarrassed.
"I'm sorry about her."
"Oh, don't worry." Mary quickly waves her off and the points a thumb at Tanaruz, "I can't take her anywhere either."
Tanaruz laughs and then holds out her cup, her nose scrunched, "Serve, I, a free woman, would like some more wine."
"And I, a not free woman, would like a handsome man to carry me away and – " Mary starts and then, with a wide look at Tanaruz "- cook me something…"
"Great save." Hvitserk mumbles and Tanaruz rolls her eyes.
"I am not a child."
"You aren't?" Hvitserk joins in, "Mary, have you told her about the – how do you call it? The birds and the bees?"
Mary turns to Tanaruz, her face overly serious, "They are disappearing at an alarming rate."
The other girl laughs out loud while Hvitserk looks up in alarm, "The birds are going to disappear?"
Mary makes a vague gesture, "Possibly. Things are very fucked up."
Thora, tucked tightly against Hvitserk's side, turns to him. "What is she talking about?"
God, the poor girl must be completely lost. Props to her for not running from Hvitserk's weird friends and dangerous family, really.
"It doesn't matter, Thora." Mary assures her quietly, "Don't listen to me."
As the celebration goes on, people get louder and brasher and Mary and Hvitserk are right in the middle of it. She promises him a challenge in arm wrestling if he can solve her riddle.
Two cups stand in front of them, a piece of fruit between them.
"You have to get this piece, into this cup." Mary explains, "You cannot roll it off the table, and you are only allowed to touch it with the other cup."
He thinks for a long time, goes to touch the cups several times only to retreat, and the longer he takes, the bigger the crowd around them becomes.
By the time he throws up his hands in defeat, there are a dozen men and women, including Siv, Ubbe, and Ivar – who has come down from the little dais to investigate the silent group of people.
They cheer and Mary claps excitedly.
"I knew id get ya."
"Don't worry." Thora smiles kindly, "I still love you."
Hvitserk grins at her and then he kisses her softly and when Mary finds Ivar's eyes, she makes a gagging gesture.
Pretending has gotten easy in the last weeks.
"Well, show us then." Siv demands and Mary takes one cup and puts it over the fruit. With continuous and faster circles, she lifts the cup from the table and Hvitserk laughs in delight when he sees the fruit, still spinning, inside the cup. When Mary drops it into the other one, she earns several hard claps on her shoulder. Jeez, she almost spills her drink. That shakes you right through, doesn't it?
"A rather cunning trick." Ivar compliments her, before turning to Hvitserk, "We have to speak about Harald."
Mary doesn't know exactly what is going on. No one really does. But tensions have been running high ever since Ivar claimed Freydis' child, and whenever she catches a glimpse of the tattooed Viking, he seems to be in an even worse mood than before.
"Now?" Hvitserk asks, his eyes worried. Ivar shakes his head, before leaning in closer, "It is my wedding day, so it can wait. But Sigurd has sent word. Bjorn and Lagertha have been seen leaving the English coast."
As he walks away, both Thora and Mary look at Hvitserk, who just sighs heavily.
"I need to go." He says, "Make plans."
Thora nods understandingly, but Mary quickly follows him. Rather than going straight out of the hall, he walks past Ivar and retreats into one of the backrooms.
"Wait." She calls and he turns around. His cheeks are still flushed from the celebration, but his eyes have turned sorrowful, "Are you alright?"
"I'm going to make plans how to kill my own brother." Is all he answers and Mary feels foolish.
Of course, he isn't alright.
"Is there really no other way…?" she starts but the sentence is left unfinished because they both know the answer. There is no way that Ivar would ever negotiate with Bjorn. Not if Lagertha is still by his side. Instead, Mary just hugs Hvitserk, quick and tight, and when he walks away, walks out of the side door, she doesn't want to celebrate anymore.
It takes another month for things to get worse. Bjorn and Lagertha are spotted every few days, their army growing with the help of King Olaf and a recently departed King Harald. The betrayal, however, expected, puts Ivar on a new edge.
No one is allowed in his rooms, no servant or warrior, apart from his brothers, his wife, Mary, and Floki. They try their best to calm him, but whenever new reports of the army come in, he seems to sink deeper into his throne.
His scowl deepens, his eyes darken, and Mary spots an extra dagger at his thigh, a new axe at his hip. It's bad.
"You need more generals." Hvitserk urges him but Ivar just shakes his head.
"I cannot trust anyone."
"Three generals for an army is not enough-" he tries to argue but Ivar slams his hand down hard. The sudden sound makes Freydis jump and a hand goes to her stomach, as if on instinct. Ivar quickly takes her hand and strokes a calming finger over her knuckles.
Then he turns to Hvitserk, "Do your job right, and it will be."
Yuletide is celebrated in the dead of winter and even if the celebration was up in the air for a while, Ivar decides that not doing it would show weakness. For one night, soldiers are doubled, guards are put-up all-around town, and patrols are sent through the streets, while the people celebrate. There is a fire and drinks and a small ritual that Mary couldn't care less about.
She shows the other girls how to dance, how to dance her way, and while Thora and Inga quickly bow out, Tanarzu is a natural. That is until a warrior thinks her movements are an invitation and touches without permission. Before Tanaruz can react – and with satisfaction, Mary sees her hand go straight to the sword at her hip – the man is already on the ground, with Floki above him.
Ubbe, rational and a lot less drunk than the rest, is the only reason why the other Viking walks away with everything still attached.
The army arrives right after the new year. The days are long, the air is cold, and every morning the ground is frozen, yet they set camp half an hour from Kattegat. The battle is imminent and while Ivar and his generals – Ubbe, Hvitserk, and Floki- meet with the enemy, the town is buzzing with nervousness.
Most of the people – the merchants, workers, families – are still reeling from the last war, while the warriors and fighters that have been streaming into Kattegat, are thirsting for blood.
Ivar rides back into town on his chariot, polished and painted, and when she sees the grim expression on his face, she knows that they won't have a lot of time.
A sacrifice is announced. A criminal. A man who touched the young girl of a farmer, and for the first time, Mary doesn't blink an eye at the execution. Let him rot.
Wine and venison is given out, beets and berries, and when Mary looks over the table, she notices that everything on it is red.
"Clever." She snorts when Ivar steps beside her, "Freydis' idea?"
"Mine, actually." He tells her and she nods, "You are taking to her dramatics. Should I call you a God, yet?"
It is meant as a playful insult, and while Ivar does quirk an amused smile, he also answers, "We will see tomorrow."
She wanders the festivities for a while, saying goodnight to Floki and Helga and then hugging Tanaruz as tight as possible.
"I'm not actually going to be on the battlefield." The girl laughs but Mary shakes her head.
"I don't care. You are going to be guarding the gates. Much too close."
Ubbe is already in his house, having attended the fire and nothing since, and Mary has a hunch that Margaret might be by his side, smuggled in the way she had been smuggled out.
She finds Hvitserk further from the crowds, leaning against the wall that leads to the back rooms of the hall, and even if he is only standing, Mary can easily see that he is drunk.
"You shouldn't fight hungover." She reprimands him and he just glares.
"I shouldn't fight at all." He says and when Mary snags the cup from his hands and leans beside him, he runs a tired hand down his face.
"I don't know what I am fighting for anymore. It's no grand reason. Just greed and revenge."
She puts a hand on his cheek, "It's always been that."
And then she wraps one arm around his middle and they look out onto the party together, "You are fighting for them. For me, for Thora, for Inga." She says softly and he presses a kiss against her hair. "Smart woman."
She smiles, "The true soldier fights not because he hates what is in front of him, but because he loves what is behind him."
"A wise man?"
She shrugs, "A man."
"He did well." Hvitserk says then and Mary is confused before he points at Ivar, "He did much better than expected. He tried. Tried to be a good king, even with that spawn of Hel by his side."
"Really?" Mary asks surprised.
"You don't think so?" Hvitserk asks and she shrugs, "I don't know. I never thought much about it, I guess."
"He did well." He repeats and they both watch Ivar, as he makes his rounds through the crowds, talking to the more significant earls and fighters.
"You changed him. Helped him overcome his worst impulses in a way that no one else ever did. Our mother ignored them, our father fuelled them. When he became King and you weren't by his side I feared the worst, I will admit. But Ivar has grown."
Mary smiles wide at his words and something akin to happiness swells in her chest, "Then maybe you are fighting for him as well."
Hvitserk looks more than a little troubled at that thought and Mary laughs.
"Go home, my love. Have some water."
He nods wordlessly and when he staggers away, Mary stays where she is.
"You can't have it." Frida suddenly pipes in, arrogant face pinched, "He is a Ragnarsson and you are a serve."
"I already had him." Is Mary's instantaneous reply. It's petty, sure, but God damnit she can't stand this woman. "And I don't want him."
Frida looks her up and down, "I don't trust you." She announces and saunters away.
With a roll of her eyes, Mary retreats into the back room. The celebration is dying anyway.
"Wait."
When she turns around, Thora is standing in the entrance, her beautiful red hair open and shiny, while her pretty face is worried. She is wringing her hands nervously.
"I need to ask you something."
"Okay?"
"I- I don't mean to." She starts and then she frowns, "I just have to know. Hvitserk. Did he ever love you?"
Mary blinks. Once. Twice.
Then annoyance rises, only to be overpowered by a deep wave of sympathy. Because Thora isn't accusing her but asking her.
"No." she answers and Thora exhales in relief, "We were never in love. We were lonely. Maybe a little lost."
Thora nods quickly, "I understand." But Mary continues because she can still see the nervousness in the other girl's face, "He is my best friend and I love him dearly. But whatever happened between us is long in the past. He loves you."
Thora blushes and smiles and then she looks Mary directly in the eye, "I love him, too."
"Good."
When Thora leaves, Mary only has a few seconds before yet another pair of footsteps sounds, and she sighs exasperatedly.
"I'm not going to fuck Hvitserk." She says loudly before turning.
And freezing.
"Good to know." Ivar grins and Mary groans. "Sorry about that."
"Oh, do not worry. It is always good to know what my generals are up to." He remarks, "or not up to."
Mary crosses her arms, "Very funny."
Ivar sits down on one of the benches and even when he tries to hide it, Mary can see the way he flinches when his legs try to stretch.
"Do you need help?" she asks and he stubbornly shakes his head even when his jaw clenches.
With a huff, Mary kneels beside him and to her surprise, he doesn't swat her hands away when she starts opening his braces.
Instead, he lets out a tired breath and sighs when she frees his legs.
"What do you need?" she asks and when he looks down at her – kneeling by his side - for just a second too long, his ears turn red. Before he can stubbornly refuse her, Mary puts a gentle hand on his knee, "Ivar, please."
He wants to say no. She can see it. But in the end, the discomfort wins and he points just below his knee, "Put pressure on here."
She does as instructed, but nothing happens, "More."
When he repeats the word once again, with a growl, Mary gets on her knees and pushes down as hard as she can. The crack that comes from his knee is absolutely terrifying and she draws her hands up, afraid that she had hurt him.
But Ivar actually looks relieved and shifts in his seat, "Thank you."
"That was horrible." She remarks and he scoffs, "You wanted to help."
"Yeah, I guess that one's on me."
With is discomfort gone, Ivar leans forward on his knees and gazes down at her, "You have been avoiding me."
May cocks her head and stares back, one eyebrow raised, "Of course I have been avoiding you."
"Why?"
"Jesus, why do you think?" she asks and throws her hands up, "Ivar, you are married."
He still only looks at her and with a huff, Mary stands up, wiping her hands on the soft leather of her trousers, "Forgive me for not wanting to watch you with a wife and a child."
"You left me." He reminds her and her shoulders slump.
"I know," she mumbles and then falls onto the bench beside him, "But that doesn't mean this is easy for me."
His brows draw together at her words and for a moment he seems confused.
"You left me." He repeats and she shakes her head, unwilling to meet his eyes. Is he really going to make her say it?
Apparently, because he doesn't say anything else, just looks at her with impossibly blue eyes, drawing the words from her lips.
"I didn't leave because I stopped loving you. I left because I hoped that someday I would." She confesses and then she laughs and the sardonic tint of her voice makes Ivar flinch.
"And now look at me. I'm pathetic."
There is a moment of silence, a moment where silence encroaches from all sides, blocking the sounds of the celebration, blocking anything outside of this room. Ivar swallows and when he speaks there is an urgency in his voice, "Why are you pathetic?"
Her eyes stay focused on her hands, fingers nervously fiddling in her lap, but when she looks up, her gaze is determined, "Because I still love you. And seeing you with Freydis is killing me. Just talking to you kills me, Ivar. I am happy for you, I really am, and I stand by what I said. I don't want to be queen of Kattegat. I don't want to have children. But that doesn't mean that I don't want you."
Her rant finishes with heavy breathing and Ivar's eyes as wide as dinner plates. The longer the silence lasts, the more does Mary regret her words and she is about to leave – and maybe bury herself deep in the woods – when Ivar finally speaks.
"I fucking hate you."
As rude and obscene as his remark is, Mary can't help but sputter at his choice of words, "You what?"
"I hate you." He repeats and she can't help but giggle before pressing a hand to her mouth.
"I mean," she explains, "you fucking hate me?"
"You seem quite fond of the word whenever you curse."
She tries to suppress the grin that quicks at her lips, "So, you hate me?"
"So very much. Now more than ever." But he is also amused and for a moment Mary feels like she did in the little cabin.
"Right back 'atcha."
Ivar leans closer, his eyes devilish in their sadness, "Do you know why we hate each other so much?"
"Because we are completely in love and cursed to be forever unhappy and bitter?"
He nods and she smirks and then she leans in and presses a kiss to his lips and things are forever lost.