Ragnarök
The kiss is everything Mary has wanted for so long. It is sweet, loving, and - most importantly – it's Ivar. Her Ivar. Ivar Ragnarsson.
Ivar who is married.
Ah, fuck.
She pulls back just when his hand comes to rest on her cheek and she looks into his eyes, feels his breath on her lips.
"I'm sorry." Mary mumbles embarrassed, "I'm sorry. You are married. You have Freydis and-"
His lips are back on hers as soon as the words leave her mouth, "I don't care. I don't care about Freydis." He mumbles and Mary gives again, only to pull back once again.
By now, she is leaning back on one elbow with Ivar above her.
God, she wants to say yes. She wants to give in and just have him close again.
"Ivar-" she gasps and when she puts a hand on his chest, his head drops.
"Mary." He growls. His hair falls into his eyes and when he looks up again, he has never been more beautiful. More pleading. "I will not spend my life in misery only because you chose self-punishment. Tell me to leave and I will. Tell me you don't love me and I will learn not to love you. But you keep coming back to me only to leave and I will not let you anymore."
She stares at him, speechless. His eyes search hers and she lifts a hand to his cheek when he lets one hand run from shoulder to her hip, tracing the curve of her body.
"Freydis-" Mary starts again and he shakes his head.
"No, Mary. Answer me. Do you love me still? Will you love me tomorrow? In a year?"
She knows what she should say. What her head is telling her, full of logic and objectivity. But all she can do is close her eyes and with a shaky voice answer, "I will love you forever."
It's defeat and victory in one because her heart aches at the same time as it blooms and then Ivar is on top of her, fully on top of her, and she pulls him closer, closer, closer.
" I love you." She whispers when his lips move to her collarbone and her fingers are in his hair when he kisses her skin, setting her on fire. But there are also tears in her eyes because she realizes, once and for all, that he will be the end of her. He was the beginning, the first friendly face in hostile lands and he will be there when it all finishes. She will love him in his anger and in his arrogance, and she knows that he will love her no matter if she screams or laughs or cries.
It's a terrifying realization.
But then he tugs at her tunic and all thoughts disappear. She helps him pull it off and his own follows quickly and when she feels the heat of his skin against her own, she almost sobs.
It's been so long. Too long.
"God, Ivar." She mumbles against his hair and throws her head back when he kisses her sternum and she runs her hands over his shoulders, his arms, anywhere she can touch. Then, with her lips against his, she pushes him upright and climbs in his lap.
He holds her tight, long fingers wrapped around her middle, and she takes his face in her hands and gazes down at him.
Nothing much happens after that. She stays in his lap and they kiss until they both feel delirious, but her hands never stray further down and he never tries to take off her trousers. They just keep the other one close, both lost in their own thoughts, even when the occasional soft kiss is exchanged.
Mary doesn't want to ask about Freydis. Not yet. Not when her chest is still tight with all those emotions; love, fear, adoration, sadness.
"I wish you could stay." He mumbles when she finally gets back to her feet and Mary smiles fondly but gets dressed anyways.
"Another time." Is all she says and then Ivar pulls her closer again and she stands between his knees, "Come back tomorrow."
"Do you doubt my ability?" he grins and she pushes his face away even when she smiles.
"Never."
After Mary leaves, Ivar sits by the fire for a long time. Longer than he should, really, considering that there is a battle to be won. But he can't help it. He doesn't want to move, so he just stares into the flames of the dying fire and he thinks that maybe, he could be happy after all. Truly happy. Happy in a way that no one ever expected him to be.
Whatever tomorrow would bring, they could deal with it.
When he finally goes to sleep, he doesn't even notice the bed being suspiciously empty.
When Bjorn and Lagertha come, the Vikings are confused. With the enemy in front of their gates, it is common practice to go out and fight. A battle is the way to win a war, after all.
Yet, Ivar calls them to stay. The warriors are gathered, faces painted in red and black, weapons in hand.
And still, their leader does not call for the gates to be opened. He doesn't give any command to the men and women, only concerned about the guards upon the walls.
Mary had been ordered – repeatedly and by many people – to stay away, but she has never been good at following orders and when the confusion turns into irritation, she quickly climbs the stairs to the upper levels of the town wall.
The enemy army seems to be as mistrustful of the unexpected silence as their own men and after an hour of the Ragnarssons staring each other down, Bjorn calls for the Ram.
Floki is the first person Mary passes. He has his axe in hand, nervously tossing it in the air and catching it with ease, and his face is covered in black kohl lines. He has the distinctive air of a lion, lying in wait.
Then there is Ubbe, intelligent eyes scanning the army outside the gates before turning onto Kattegat and making sure that everyone stays where they are. When the warriors demand to fight, he is the one to descend the stairs and talk to them.
And finally, watching with arrogant eyes and smug smiles, are Ivar and Hvitserk.
"What are you doing?" Mary asks them and then almost crouches down when Harald catches her eyes.
If looks could kill.
"Have you become the newest member of the guard. Then?" Hvitserk asks her, even when his gaze follows the heavy ram that is being brought forward.
Mary ignores him, "You know that there are about a hundred impatient and bloodthirsty Vikings behind you, right?"
"Don't tell me you are telling us to fight, little Seer." Ivar teases and Mary glares at him. She is not. In fact, the lack of fighting and death is quite refreshing. Still, the people are getting antsy and as far as she knows, antsy does not pair well with testosterone and sharp weapons.
"Don't tell me you are choosing not to fight, Ivar dear." She replies and somewhere, Floki cackles.
But Ivar just smiles, "The wise warrior avoids the battle."
Hearing those words, the ones she has quoted to him months ago sets something in her alight and she doesn't even try to stop the wide smile from spreading across her face.
Bu then the ram hits the wooden walls and she sways on her feet. Ivar, who has to keep a hold on his crutch, glances at her worriedly, but Hvitserk already has her wrist gripped tightly in his hand.
"I think I should probably go," Mary says quickly and then almost falls face-first into the ground when the ram hits again.
"Stay safe, little Seer." Ivar calls but his eyes are on the army below and he grins down at the men as they try to breach their defences.
As soon as Mary reaches the ground, Ivar calls for the archers and suddenly she is happy to be down from the wall. She doesn't need to see what happens next. She stays close until the first wafts of smoke curl into the sky and when the smell of something – she doesn't want to know what – burning hits her nostrils, she retreats even further.
From then on, she just listens. Floki is sent to another part of the wall and she hears his cackling laughter when he calls for the archers to shoot. The few people who make it across the wall are mercilessly cut down, and Mary watches with fascination and fear how Tanaruz wields a sword almost as long as she is tall. It swings through the air and after pushing an invading viking off the ladder, she lifts a leg and kicks the piece of wood from the wall.
Hvitserk is calling for another group of men and Ivar, Ivar just stands where he is. Every few minutes he exchanges quick words with Ubbe, who rallies the men and shouts commands at them, urging them to move faster, stronger, more precisely.
Whenever a man manages to reach the top, Mary holds her breath.
Tanaruz is concentrated, her blind spot always covered by Floki.
Ubbe parries their attacks quickly and meticulously, and Hvitserk moves with such speed that the men barely register what happens before they collapse.
No one ever comes close to Ivar. Even the arrows seem to miss him as if he can avoid them by sheer willpower.
The walls hold. The gates hold. And after an hour of fighting, the earth shuttering tremors of the ram becomes slower. Weaker.
In the last effort to breach the city, flames spur high into the air. The roofs of the watchtower catch on fire and for a second, Mary glimpses the faces of Bjorn, Harald, and Lagertha. But then the latter shouts for them to retreat and Bjorn follows his mother's command without a question. They drop from the walls with angry determination and the sound of fighting disappears. Only Harald, blindingly furious, tries to keep fighting. He screams something at Ivar, who just laughs until Harald points his sword at Mary.
"I will kill her."
She can see the words on his lips more than she can hear them and for a second Ivar draws his axe. But then the Viking king drops from the walls himself and the battle is over.
It's not the end of the war. Not even close. But it is a win and when Ivar calls for the guards to stay at attention, no one dares complain.
Mary doesn't follow the procession to the hall, where their victory will be celebrated and new plans will be made. Her initial intentions are to go back home, maybe eat something and go to sleep, but when she arrives Thora's presence inside the house is obvious – and audible – even before the door is opened.
"Seriously?" she asks out loud and scrunches her nose up. But even though, she smiles and heads around the house to where barrels of wheat and water are stored. Let them have their fun. God knows, they deserve it.
If things keep going the way they are going however, she might have to find a new home soon. Maybe she can get a place with Tanaruz? Living with Helga and Floki must be disturbingly similar, and Mary wonders how often the other girl has had to awkwardly sit outside her own house.
She feels Ivar's present even before she hears the familiar sound of his crutch and when he wraps an arm around her from behind and burrows his face in her hair, she quickly steps away.
"Why, hello."
But Ivar has never been quicker on his feet and he follows her until she is pressed against the wall, "Do not tease me, Mary." He growls and when he leans in, she ducks beneath his arm, once again escaping his grasp.
"Slow down there, champ." She laughs and dances backwards.
Ivar's face becomes annoyed at her evasiveness and Mary takes his chin in her hand, "Talk to your wife. Clear things up. Then come back."
"Mary…" he says her name and it sounds almost like a curse. But she shakes her head stubbornly, "I'm not your mistress, Ivar. I may already be a homewrecker, but I won't let you lie to her."
"You hate her." He reminds her and this time, Mary lets him pull her closer. Still, she has a hand wedged between their bodies, just in case.
"You don't." she only replies.
"I will talk to her after we won." He promises and when he lowers his lips to her throat again, Mary just tenses. He tries to coax a reaction out of her – and god damnit, he almost does – but when she doesn't react he just retreats with an irritated sigh.
"Go and talk to your wife," Mary repeats and even when she can feel the frustration surge in Ivar, he just steps back. Sure, he does so with a glare and a growl, but that doesn't matter.
Night comes and Mary stays out of the house. How long can they take? Should she knock? But then again, is she ready to face whatever might be inside?
"You better be grateful." She hisses at the closed door before making her way to the throne room. As expected, it is empty and Mary is happy to just nestle herself into one of the corners by the fire. She doesn't know enough about war to know what will happen next. Is the next battle going to be tomorrow? In England there were usually a few days between each fight, but that might have been because they were actually moving an entire army across the lands.
When Hvitserk and Ivar enter the hall, she is standing on her tiptoes, inspecting a beautifully carved shield. As soon as she sees them, she jumps back, hiding her hands behind her back.
"I wasn't touching it."
"Sure you weren't." Hvitserk scoffs while Ivar looks at her with curious eyes.
"What are you doing here?" he asks and when a hint of smugness enters his face, Mary quickly defends herself.
"You were being all noisy and in love." She accuses Hvitserk, hoping that Ivar understands that she is not waiting here for him.
"You could have joined." The older brother jokes and Ivar blinks before scowling.
"In your dreams." Mary quickly jumps in.
She doesn't know why she doesn't want Hvitserk to know what happened between the two of them yet. He is her best friend after all. But at times, she still has to get used to it herself and whatever criticism Hvitserk will have – and they will be plenty – she doesn't want to face half-heartedly.
Whatever may have been said next, is lost in a loud shout. Then another. And then someone is calling his men and Mary's stomach drops.
"They came through the walls." Hvitserk breathes in disbelief and Ivar's eyes widen in panic.
"How? The walls are full of traps. They must have set one off, unless they knew where…"
He and Hvitserk seem to come to the same conclusion and Mary is left standing by herself when they hurry to the back rooms. What the hell is happening?
She pushes the curtain to one side and when she steps into the room she almost stumbles back out. Hvitserk is standing closest to her, his hand on his sword as his eyes dart back and forth between his brother and the door. Ivar is standing with his arms outstretched, his crutch discarded on the floor as he stares at Freydis. She is standing high on the table, her eyes filled with tears and her beautiful blonde hair shining like a halo around her head. Around her neck is a rope, fastened on the highest beam above them.
"Freydis…" Ivar says warningly but she just shakes her head.
"It was me." She whispers, "I let them in."
"Freydis, come down from the table," Hvitserk says quietly, but again she shakes her head.
"I committed treason. You will have me killed anyway."
"I will not." Ivar promises, "You are with child-"
"And still, you don't love me." Freydis sobs and her eyes turn to Mary, who is frozen to the floor, "You love her."
"Please-" Ivar begs.
"Freydis, don't," Mary says. Her heart is beating in her throat and all she can see are the delicate feet balancing on the table. As long as she is on the table, she is alive. "I will leave. I promise. I will leave and you can live. Just come down from the table."
"He will follow you." She just says, and then she steps of the table and Mary screams.
The scene burns itself into her mind. Her entire body falls, only to be abruptly stopped by the rope and before she can even think, Mary lunges forward.
Ivar tries to as well, but his knees buckle and he falls on the ground, desperately trying to heave himself back up.
Hvitserk is right behind Mary and when she grabs Freydis' legs and tries to hold the other woman up, he cuts the rope with a clean throw of his axe.
Both women fall to the floor and then Ivar is there as well.
"Is she alive?"
Mary tries to fid a pulse, but her ears are roaring and her fingers shake, "I don't know."
When footsteps enter the room, Hvitserk is already swinging his sword when Tanaruz steps in. Her eyes and hair are wild and she lifts her shield just in time to block the attack.
"What happened?" she asks and then she drops her weapon and kneels down beside Mary.
"She…" is all Mary can say before pointing to the ceiling, where the rope is still swinging.
"Is she alive?" Ivar asks again and Mary sees that his hands are shaking even worse than hers when he drags himself to his wife's side. She is pale. But pale enough to be dead?
Thankfully, Tanaruz stays calm.
"Barely," she answers and then her fingers are expertly tapping Freydis' belly, "For now."
The fighting outside draws nearer but Ivar is hunched over on the floor and when he chokes on Freydis' name, Mary finds that he is crying.
"I didn't mean to." He whispers, "I didn't mean to hurt you."
His despair is heartbreaking, but when Hvitserk shakes her shoulder, Mary drags her eyes away from him.
"You have to leave." He urges and then, "Ivar, you have to go. They will be here any minute."
But he doesn't even look up.
"Ivar." Hvitserk says louder.
"Ivar, you have to go. Take Mary and go. Harald will kill her."
She can see in his face that the words are registered and then he looks up and Mary has never seen someone more lost. He looks between her and Freydis. Once. Twice.
Then Tanaruz grabs his chin and looks at him, "I will care for her. I promise you that. But only if you are safe Mary. Run."
He swallows and then nods. But it is only when Mary pulls him up, that he actually moves.
"Ivar, we have to go." She urges him and then flinches when the door to the throne room is thrown open. "Now."
So, they run. They run from the room, form the house, and hide. Hide in a wagon of hay and wheat and watch how Hvitserk is put into chains. They watch Ubbe stare at Bjorn and pass him his sword before stalking off.
Inga and Estrid smuggle them out of town and when his crutch, with blades and carvings, is recognized even several villages over, Ivar is forced to throw it away and crawl.
They travel south, then west, and Ivar sells the crown on his head and the precious furs on his back. Mary speaks to the merchants. Speaks in Portuguese, French, before Turkish, Arabic and Khmer. Some men want to burn her as a witch, others try to entice her with jewels and stories and promise her palaces and caliphates in exchange for her stories. She tells a man from Cordoba about the Spanish discovery of the Americas and he brings them to the Mediterranean. A man from Baghdad is so scared by her stories of the Mongols that he takes them to the black sea in return for a blessing.
They meet the Rus on a dangerously cold winter night and when they recognise Ivar, they call her Sreca. The fortune-teller.