Kings and Queens
A servant comes in with a veil of white lace and Katia steps away as it is secured on her head, her face hidden from view. Vestal white, with no face and no purpose but to keep her husband happy.
With the knowledge of the Princess's own unhappiness, Mary almost wants to weep when the ceremony starts. It's Oleg who reveals her face and then a candle is handed to Katia, she kisses a crown before she is given away and Mary sighs heavily.
Ivar is oblivious to her blight, too deep in his own thoughts and the unexpected sting that sits in his chest as he watches the woman with the face of his wife, marry another man. It's not quite jealousy.
He doesn't want Katia and he wouldn't want Freydis if she was here right now. What he does want however, the thing that keeps dragging his eyes to her, is the feeling of being invincible. The memory of it is almost painful now that he is more vulnerable than he ever was. He looks at Katia and he remembers feeling powerful. Being powerful.
He hates it, knows that it's wrong, but something dark in him drags his eyes to her and something even darker tries to drag him to her as well. He never does, not really, because as always, Mary keeps that darkest part of him in check.
He looks down at her then, sweet Mary, dangerous Mary, Mary who is radiantly beautiful in her dress and he grabs her hand. She seems surprised by the gesture and she smiles softly up at him, leaning her head on his shoulder as they watch the procession.
The wedding is surprisingly chaste, with no big celebration in the aftermath like you would find it in both Ivar's and Mary's homes. Instead, the newlyweds are led away only to call upon Mary and Ivar even before the sun sets.
"Why?" Is Mary's immediate reaction, but the guard doesn't answer and she slips back into the heavy dress with a sigh.
"What do you think he wants?" Ivar asks quietly and Mary huffs, annoyed to be forced into yet another, most likely uncomfortable, situation she would rather avoid, "Maybe it's because for your brilliant decision to tell Katia about Freydis."
A muscle in his cheek twitches, but he keeps his eyes on the back of the guard.
"You don't approve."
"Of course, I don't." Mary hisses quietly, "Why would you give Oleg yet another weakness he can exploit?"
His jaw sets in anger and she isn't sure if it is because of the word weakness or exploit, or both. She doesn't care much either. All they can do now is face whatever lies behind the doors to the formal dining hall.
The situation seems manageable enough at first. Oleg is sitting at the end of the table, Katia – having removed the veil and most accessorise of her wedding gown – by the side. Wearily, Ivar sits down on the other end of the table, with Mary facing Katia.
"May I be the first to congratulate the bride and groom on this momentous day," Ivar immediately jumps into his role and Mary scrambles to lift her own cup when he does, "Skol."
"And may Odin, Freyr and Freya also bless our marriage." Oleg ads and Mary frowns. What a decidedly not Christian thing to say after such a ceremony. Katia doesn't seem to mind though and she quickly joins the toast.
"Yes. To Odin. The Allfather. And to Freyr and Freya."
Mary stays silent, leaning back in her chair and watching the interaction with attentive eyes. Katia seems relatively at ease, her arms hanging over the edges of the wide chair, and Oleg has not yet slipped into the taunting grin that almost always precedes his more condescending remarks.
They all drink and then Oleg leans back.
The first warning should have been his calm. The absence of a pre-emptive twitch of his mouth. There is no malicious amusement, no glint in his eyes as he impatiently waits for their reaction. No, he looks relaxed, almost languid, which makes it so much worse.
"Katia told me that she reminds you of someone."
Ivar's flicker to Katia and even when faced with his discomfort, Mary cannot help but narrow her eyes at him in an expression that clearly says 'I told you so'. Katia herself seems unbothered and Mary can't help but wonder if the woman really doesn't feel an ounce of regret for having given their secret away.
"Yes," Ivar nods jerkily, "My wife."
Oleg is still unreadable, "She was with child, your wife. No?"
Mary holds her breath, her skin tingling with the familiar sense of regret, and Ivar tenses, "How do you know that?"
It is then that the grin appears, slight and malicious, curling Oleg's lips, "I know a great many things about you." He turns his head and Mary crosses her arms under his stare, "And you."
He shrugs, "I am a prophet after all."
"More like a man with enough money to pay people for information." Mary mumbles and Oleg cocks his head. Leave it to the man to demand honesty and then be angered when he gets it.
"I know that she was brought back from England over a year ago." he says, talking about Mary even while he looks Ivar, "She lived in Kattegat as your personal slave until her abilities were discovered by the queen. Lagertha I think is her name. She is your mother's murderer, is she not?"
Ivar's nostrils flare at the mentions of Lagertha, "Yes."
"She is back in Kattegat right now I believe. Her son is on the throne and living a more than comfortable life. Bjorn Ironside is hailed as the greatest Viking alive. The only true son of Ragnar Lothbrok."
Mary knows what he is doing. Digging up the most painful memories he could find, dangling them in front of their noses. Ivar must know it too, but it doesn't stop the cold anger to crawl onto his features.
Oleg doesn't even wait for an answer before he continues, "And you, Mary," She stiffens, "You were involved with one of his brothers. A rather backhanded choice of partner, if I may say so." He grins and she grinds her teeth together to stop herself from biting back.
He is trying to bait them, turn them against each other, but it won't work. Any anger that Oleg manages to create will be directed at him alone.
Katia's next move may have been an attempt at soothing the tension, even if it went terribly wrong. Or it may have been as malicious as Oleg's, disguised behind a soft bat of her long lashes.
She gets out of her chair, "Do you mind if I take off this dress? It's too hot in here."
Oleg lets his eyes wander over her slim back and the flare of the dress, but he doesn't raise a hand to help her.
"Of course, my darling." He coos instead, "I'm sure Ivar won't mind."
Oleg's eyes darken and when Katia looks down to him, he jerks his head in a barely noticeable movement. But Mary sees and Katia turns around, "Ivar can help."
The man in question looks up and his fingers tighten as she walks over. He swallows hard and even when he tries not to show it, Mary can see insecurity flicker alive. His eyes fall to Mary and she can see a barrage of emotions behind them. A haze of unwanted attraction when he looks at Katia, a hint of longing, a rush of vulnerability, and the distinct fear that Mary can see all of the former.
She just stares back, trying hard to keep her eyes steady and when Katia stands by his side, Mary doesn't look away. She doesn't look away when Ivar pulls open the seams of her dress, or when he pulls it off her shoulders. Because she knows that if she does, Oleg will pounce on it.
The prince is still smirking when she finally does when Katia steps out of her dress, but there is disappointment in his face, too. He had hoped for jealousy or anger.
Ivar glances at Mary before lowering his eyes to the table. He knows she has seen it. Seen the way his throat bobbed and his grip tightened and he wishes her could apologise to her. Not only for the way he keeps feeling about Katia – which are rooted most in the memory of Freydis – but also about the way he is letting Oleg play with her. Because while she stares back, unwavering, unafraid, he can feel heat rise to his face.
Oleg has long found that particular insecurity of his, but when he has Mary at his side, it's easy to overcome. But now…now he cannot help but be reminded of every taunt, every remark ever made about him. Snide remarks from his brothers, chuckled rumours behind his back. Like a wound cracked open.
Then discomfort and embarrassment double, triple, into full-blown fear when Oleg jumps to his feet, roughly freeing a space where their dinner was supposed to sit before lifting Katia onto the table.
Mary's mouth falls open and she throws him a look of pure disgust when Oleg's hands hastily push up Katia's dress before fumbling with his trousers.
Where Ivar's first instinct on almost everything is anger, he now has the undeniable urge to run. Run away and take Mary with him, forget everything that has been said and everything that is about to happen.
But all that comes out of his mouth is, "I don't want to stay."
Mary looks at him, tries to catch his eyes but Ivar cannot look at her. Not when his voice is brittle and small, and not when Oleg is smirking at him with that smug, malicious smile. "You have to stay, dear Ivar." Beneath him, Katia pants. "You have to watch. It's good for you."
Mary is close to pulling the knife from her dress at this point, seething quietly as something shatters behind Ivar's eyes. But she is as much a captive as he is. Oleg turns his attention to Mary, catching her attention over Katia's shoulder. She scowls at him, because how dare he. Not only the sickening display that they are forced to witness but everything else as well.
Her discontent only seems to amuse him. "Did his brother ever fuck you like this?" he asks, "Did you like it? Did you spread your legs for him? Moan his name?"
Mary glares, face red with embarrassment and hatred.
"It is quite exhilarating. Taking a woman in such a position." He taunts Ivar then and then he groans, Mary almost gags.
No, seriously, she can taste bile.
Katia only gives small gasps and moans from her while Oleg speaks, "Of course, our dear Ivar is not able to do that, now is he? It must be odd for him, having another man fuck his wife, in a way he never could."
His words finally cease when his breathing becomes more laboured and Mary lets her gaze fall back onto Ivar. His eyes are hollow and at this point, she isn't even sure if he heard Oleg's words. Her heart aches for him.
As soon as Oleg pulls back, Mary jumps to her feet, ready to leave.
"When you get tired of disappointments, do pay me a visit." Oleg mocks behind her and Mary halts. When she turns, Katia is still on the table – hair dishelmed and skin flushed – and Ivar is still sitting in the chair with his head hopelessly lowered.
But Oleg is looking at her, his face almost split apart by the wide, cruel smile and without thinking, without being able to stop herself, Mary storms over, draws her arm back and punches him straight on the nose.
Whatever Oleg had expected, this was not it and for a moment he staggers back, his hands clasped over his bleeding nose, while Mary's fist throbs.
She hears Ivar call her name, half in shock, half in warning, but then Oleg recovers and grabs her hair. He pulls her head back painfully, twisting one arm around at the shoulder, and holding her against his chest, facing Ivar. The dagger flashes alive and then it is pressed against her throat, Oleg's ragged breath loud in her ear.
Ivar is leaning heavily on the table, his hand just finding the crutch, and she sees his eyes flicker through the room, searching for a weapon before landing on her when he finds none. But there is no rage in his face, and it scares Mary. Ivar - angry, always angry Ivar - has nothing left but fear as he stares at them now.
She is not the only one who notices and when Oleg laughs a drop of blood falls from his lip and onto her shoulder.
"Come then, Ivar. Save your woman."
"Fuck you," Mary growls and then howls when he twists her shoulder further. Shit, this hurts.
"I tell you what, you fuck her on this table and I won't kill her."
Mary pants harshly and fear turns into full-blown panic in Ivar's blue eyes.
"Let her go," he croaks but Oleg shakes his head. More drops of blood drip on Mary.
"It's an easy enough request. Every man should be happy to obey it."
Mary tries to find a weakness in Oleg. Could she hit him in the groin? Would she be fast enough to drop to the ground and sweep his legs from underneath? Whatever she can come up with is quickly dismissed, because in every scenario she ends up dead. The dagger is so close to her skin that even an accidental twitch could be her end.
When her mind stops racing, her eyes finally find Ivar's and there is so much pain in his gaze that she wants to cry. Tears muddle her view and when she swallows, the blade nicks her skin.
Then the pressure drops from her neck and her arm is dropped. Oleg steps back with a sadistic laugh and Mary leans on her knees, trying to draw in as much air as she can as she fights down the panic.
"What a disappointing end," Oleg remarks with a shake of his head and then he disappears without another word, pulling Katia with him.
Ivar is still standing, one hand in his crutch, the other one gripping the edge of the table. With shaky knees, Mary walks over to him and almost weeps with joy when he reaches out to her. He falls back into the chair and curls into his lap, where they stay until the candles around them have burned down.
They don't talk and neither one can look at the other even when they cling to each other like they are afraid to drown. It's well past midnight when Mary unfolds herself and they head back. Ivar pulls her hand and when she turns around, he grips the base of her neck and presses a kiss to her forehead.
Then he climbs into bed, fully dressed, and turns his back to her. She curls up on the other side, not touching him but still turned in his direction.
Mary doesn't know what time it is when she wakes up. The absence of a window in their room makes it hard to tell and with two of the four fires extinguished, there is little light left.
She is still tired but when the memories of last night rush back, she knows that she is done with sleep. Instead, she stares silently at Ivar's back, his shoulders rising and falling slowly. Is he awake? And if so, would he want to talk to her?
She wants to reach out, but there is a real danger of him snapping if she does and Mary bites her lip.
"I'm awake," Ivar says softly, having noticed the restless shift of her body and when he turns around, Mary is glad to see that his eyes are lucid, even if his skin is still rather ashen.
"You're still with me," she mumbles relieved and even though he doesn't smile, he does taker her hand in his, "I'm still with you."
Ivar sighs heavily, "Last night was-"
"Horrible? Gruesome? Repulsive, loathsome, repugnant?"
The corner of his mouth twitches and he nods, "Yes."
Mary moves closer and he lifts his hand to her face, gently cradling her cheek.
"He won," Ivar mumbles and Mary frowns under his fingers.
"This is not a game," she grumbles and this time, the smile almost comes to life.
"Not for us," he agrees, "But for him it is. We are his pawns and he holds are the card and decides on the rules."
A fair enough assessment.
She turns her face into his hand and presses a kiss against his palm, "I was so worried about you."
Ivar's eyes darken just a little, "You should worry more about yourself. I was not the one with a knife to my throat."
"Sadly. I'm sure you could have defended yourself a lot better than me," she teases but he just shakes his head, "I'm happy you didn't try anything foolish."
Mary snorts at that and moves even closer, until her forehead is pressed against his and their breath meets, "You mean apart from punching him in the face?"
And then, finally, Ivar does smile, "That was beautiful." He whispers and presses a quick kiss to her lips, "Violent woman."
Mary grins, before sobering up again and closing her eyes, "I'm sorry about the things he said to you."
Ivar's expression turns grim, "He will pay for it."
Good, she thinks. He should, and Mary hopes that she will be there when he does.
"So, what now?" she asks and Ivar shrugs, "The same as before. If we kill Oleg, Igor will be able to claim the throne."
"But you don't want to kill him yet?"
"The risk is too high. Should anything go wrong, should anyone suspect our involvement, we have no allies to back us up."
"Are we really going to invade Scandinavia though?" she asks and her mind flashes back to Kattegat. Hvitserk, Tanaruz, Floki, Helga, Ubbe. "I don't want to fight them."
"They are usurpers," Ivar reminds her, his voice just tinted with anger and Mary wraps her fingers around his wrist, softly stroking over the back of his hand. "So were you."
He looks ready to argue for a moment, but then the fight flows out of him and he just looks tired, "We need a home."
With a sigh, Mary rolls onto her back and stares up at the ceiling, "I fucking hate it here."
Ivar follows her, leaning over her so that his long hair falls around them like a curtain, "Let me cheer you up then," he grins, one hand already moving down her body until Mary snatches his wrist.
"I love you, Ivar, but right now I am really not in a place to have sex," she smiles, "and neither are you."
"Why would you say that?" he asks and the way his voice rises just a little and catches at the end of the sentence is enough to tell her that she is right.
"Because your pride is hurt and you are frustrated. Oleg was cruel-"
"But not wrong," Ivar snaps and then the anger finally bristles past his calm façade. Mary sighs, "He just wanted to humiliate you."
He lowers his head to the crook of her neck and presses a fleeting kiss to her pulse, "And he did."
When she moves her neck away from his lips, he growls and she sits up, "Don't do that, Ivar." She sighs, "This is exactly what he wants. He wants us to be angry and hurt and take it out on each other."
He still snarls but Mary can see the acceptance in his eyes and she kisses him softly in an attempt to appease him further, "I have known you for a long time now, Ivar, and there is nothing he can say that I don't know already. He can make as many jibes as he wants and throw his cruellest taunts because it won't matter."
She swallows before continuing, "I know you will never have sex with me on a table," Ivar's eyes close off and he averts his gaze when his jaw tenses, but she knows he has to hear it. "I haven't been blind to your legs. And I'm not blind to the way you look at Katia, either. I will not act like he is uncovering some secret between us when there are none."
Ivar doesn't answer and Mary nuzzles his cheek, "He disrespected me, too." She reminds him, "But I don't care what he says. He can say the dirtiest, most depraved things about me and it won't matter. Because he doesn't matter. The only one who matters to me here are you. So, tell me, did any of the things he said about me, change your feelings?"
"Of course not." He answers stubbornly, "I have been there for all of it."
"Exactly," she grins and even though it needs the slightest bit of pressure, she turns his head to look him in the eyes, "So I say fuck prince Oleg, not in the literal sense of course, and let us show him how very little his words really mean."
"Your viciousness would make you a legendary shieldmaiden," Ivar smirks and Mary shrugs, "I know. Sadly, I lack the coordination, though."
The weather turns violently cold the next few days and Mary is happy to avoid the outside world. Oleg and Katia only reappear a few days later, which she suspects maybe because of the bruise that blooms across the prince's face. It's purple and blue and every time she looks at it, she wants to smile.
Katia is a different story. Mary isn't sure what to make of her. At first, she had pitied the woman, but after the terrible night of the wedding, she can't help but hold some resentment.
Over dinner a few days later, Oleg watches her and Ivar, his eyes narrowed as he tries to figure out where they stand. No doubt, he had hoped to embarrass both of them enough to call forth Ivar's anger, but so far he had been remarkably pleasant. Bored by the lack of entertainment, Oleg cuts into their conversation about the snowstorm currently washing through the town.
"Spring will come soon," he waves them off, "but life goes on. Even in this winter, we must amuse ourselves."
"Oh, I think you are amused enough," Mary mumbles, quiet enough that only Ivar can hear and he makes a silent noise of agreement.
"I want to skate on frozen ponds," Igor proclaims, the puppet king sitting beside him. Creepy little thing is turning more and more lifelike as the young prince learns how to command it. Poor boy should get some friends, preferably of his own age and not made of wood.
Katia shifts at the end of the table, glancing at Ivar when his head turns to look at her, "And I want to bathe naked in a hot spring," she says wistfully and Mary narrows her eyes. She really doesn't know where to put her. On one side, she seems perfectly nice, on the other side, she keeps doing things like that. Maybe she just enjoys making Ivar uncomfortable and knowing that it is because he cannot quite stay away.
"With hot steam rising, but ice and snow all around. And my breath will be a geyser and my soul will bathe there and slake its thirst." She finishes with a coy smile.
Oleg is disgustingly turned on across the table and Ivar's throat bobs. Personally, Mary thinks that the whole thing was laid on a little too thick.
"And you, dear Ivar," Oleg says and Ivar's head snaps back, his neck turning red, as the prince watches them in hope for a reaction. But Mary just lifts their intertwined fingers from beneath the table and presses a kiss to his knuckles. He glances at her in embarrassment and she chuckles.
"What would you like?"
He clears his throat before leaning his elbows on the table, one hand still holding hers, "I would like to walk."
Oleg chuckles darkly, "That would be a miracle."
"I've heard that your god performs miracles. He raised a man from the dead. I'm sure he can cure a simple cripple like me."
Mary looks at him impressed, "Damn boy, you have been doing your bible studies. Pastor Ramirez would have been so proud."
Ivar frowns at her, "Who?"
"Oh, he was the guy from the local church. I told you about him, he is the reason why I have the-" she makes a vague gesture over her left ribcage.
"We will all pray for that miracle, Ivar the boneless," Oleg interrupts them, clearly unhappy about being ignored so blatantly.
"And you, Mary? What would you desire?"
She takes a sip from her cup and cocks her head thoughtfully, "I am not sure, to be honest." For you to die a horrible, painful death. "I have never been one for wishful thinking."
"So, you would not want our dear Ivar to walk?" he asks and she shrugs.
"I want him to be happy, of course. But I am perfectly happy with him as he is." Ivar smirks and she winks at him.
"But you would truly not ask for anything?" Katia asks curiously, "Is there nothing you want?"
"I just don't believe that wishes are the way to go. If I want something I will work for it."
Katia inclines her head questioningly, "Is it not hard to live with so little fate? Are you not frightened of being punished?"
Mary snorts, "I'm not afraid of God, I am afraid of men." She says and Ivar narrows his eyes with a surprised smile.
"Underneath it all, we are all savages, even if we hide behind dresses and armour and marriages. We are barely more than animals, learning how to crawl. We live, we die, we steal, we kill, we lie. If I ever have to kill someone, I will do it for me and not for some invisible Saviour."
Ivar chuckles even when the other's look rather put out by her words and Mary hides a smile. That was quite fun.
"What about you, prince Oleg?" Ivar asks, "What is it that amuses you? What is it that you really want?"
He must have noticed what Mary was doing because when he speaks his vice is tinted with condescending pleasure beneath slight resentment.
"As usual, I want the impossible," Oleg answers seriously.
Very hypocritical coming from the man who had just laughed at Ivar's wish to walk.
"I want to go back into my mother's womb."
Mary chokes on her wine at his words, fanning air with one hand as she desperately tries to recover. What the hell?
"Prince Oleg, if I may," she interrupts him, "I know that you do not care much for my abilities, but I would like to say something."
She is met by suspicion from both Oleg and Ivar, having never engaged in a conversation with the man if she wasn't forced to.
"Of course."
"In a thousand years, there will be man, a scientist of the mind. One of the most famous, named Sigmund Freud," she tries hard not to break down in laughter, "And I think he would have loved you."
"Earlier today," Ivar starts later, "What you said to Oleg. I recognize those words. You sang them to me back in England." Mary looks up from her bath, hair piled on top of her head, and grins, "I thought you did."
"It was quite amusing." He agrees and she chuckles, "Believe me, there is nothing better than making fun of people without them noticing."
"I assume that the scientist you talked about may be part of that as well? What was his name?"
"Sigmund Freud," Mary nods, "Yeah, he was a deeply troubled man."
She lifts her feet from the hot water, letting droplets drop onto the floor as she leans her head against the edge of the basin. With a proud sense of excitement, she watches Ivar's eyes drag across her ankles and lower legs and she hums in satisfaction.
"His main theory was that all men, deep down and without exception, want to fuck their mothers."
Ivar's hands slip from the braces he is fitting to his knee and he has to catch himself on the edge of the bench before looking up at Mary with a grimace.
"What?"
She nods amused, "As I said. Deeply troubled. He also said all women want to fuck their fathers."
Mary splashes a bit of water in his general direction, "I think he would have loved Oleg and his weird re-wombing fantasy."
Ivar laughs loudly, only stopping when Mary steps out of the tub and wraps herself in a large towel. With her skin flushed and moist from the bath, she sits down beside him.
"How is it going?"
He pulls open the strap of the brace and removes the metal apparatus from around his legs, massaging the neglected muscles underneath, "It needs some adjustments still. But it will do for now."
Then he looks at her and with a sly smile, he drops a kiss against her bare shoulder, and Mary smiles before dropping the towel.