The past, the present, the future
Mary skips into the room, her face bright with happiness, "I got my period."
Then she flinches and a hand goes to her tummy.
Ivar lifts an amused eyebrow, "And you are so happy because?"
A hint of a frown still on her lips, Mary sits down beside him, "Because, my dear Ivar, it means that I am not pregnant."
He looks momentarily surprised, as if the thought had never even occurred to him, and she laughs, "We have been having a lot of sex. It's nice to be reassured."
Ivar drops the braces from around his legs, sighing as he stretches his legs out, and then looks at her with peculiar eyes, "Would it really be so bad?"
"Yes." She answers immediately. Apparently a little too fast, because Ivar frowns.
She sighs, "Ivar, I love you- "
"Why do you always say that, right before saying something bad about me."
" - but I would not want to have a baby with you. Or anyone here, really."
"Why?"
" First of all, I think the me here – okay lets be honest, men everywhere, anywhere – know nothing about pregnancy. Have you ever even heard about preeclampsia?"
He shakes his head.
"It's when your blood pressure rises – which can damage your heart – while there is also damage to other internal organs. Then there are others. The 'easy' ones like hormonal imbalance, loss of hair, swelling in your feet. And then miscarriage, virus infections-"
"I get it," Ivar tries to interrupt her but she wags her finger.
"Naha, you don't get to chicken out. Labour complications where I could bleed out, where a C-section – a super fun thing where they cut you open from here to here –"
She motions along her tummy and Ivar grimaces.
"And after, even in my time: Depression, body dysmorphia, anxiety, OCD, postpartum psychosis. Not to forget- and once again, I love you –"
He throws up his hands in frustration.
"- You would be a terrible father."
At that, he looks at her again, offended and just a little hurt, "Why would you say that?"
"Because, I have not seen a single good father in this entire year I have been here. Bjorn fucking sucks, even Ragnar was a terrible father."
As always, the mention of his father makes Ivar bristle, "He was a great man."
"Maybe. But still a shit father. I'm not planning on staying at home, raising children that never see their father. I'm not gonna tuck them into bed and tell them heroic tales, while their dad is away for years on end. And you, Ivar, would not leave your life behind to start a family, would you?"
He looks slightly uncomfortable at the accusation, but tries to defend himself, "I might."
"Really?" Mary asks with a raised eyebrow, "You would lay down your weapons? Refuse to go explore and plunder, refuse to fight?"
The way he averts his eyes is answer enough.
"Exactly. And neither would I. Imagine if we had a child. I couldn't have fled with you. I would have had to stay in Kattegat, caring for a baby, while you are here."
He frowns for a moment, "I think you are right."
Mary snorts and pats him on the shoulder, "No shit, sherlock."
Mary wanders the halls, happy. Her period, although pretty much over, has given her a lovely excuse to skip dinners, and after lounging in bed for most of the day, she is on the hunt for some excitement.
One of the servants, Inessa, has already provided her with sweet honey-coated nuts – Mary was weary about them, but they are a true blessing – and she licks her fingers as she steps into the kitchens.
"My lady," one of the kitchen maids says surprised, bowing slightly to Mary's embarrassment, "Can we help you?"
"Oh, don't worry," Mary assures quickly, "I am just curious about what you have down here."
The maid, still a little nervous, smiles, "Oh, we have just gotten this," she speaks quickly, and then pulls a silver case from one of the shelves. Inside are dried leaves, some of them still whole, some broken into pieces.
"It is tea. Brought by a merchant from china." She explains, "Would you like some?"
Fuck yes, Mary thinks.
"Yes, please." She says.
While the water boils, Mary sits on one of the counters, confusing ever servant inside the kitchen, and every server who happens to pass the open door and spot her.
In the bejewelled dress, she must make a funny picture, surrounded by dirty and sweaty kitchen aids.
"So, what is it like to work here?" she asks, popping another nut into her mouth.
"It is an honour, of course," the nearest servant says quickly, chopping away at the carrots before him, "Prince Oleg is a great man."
"Yeah, right." Mary snorts, "You aren't gonna answer honestly, are you?"
The servant looks at her wearily and she waves him off, "Forget it."
They tolerate her presence until she offers to help, taking a basket of bread from one of the girls and helping her lift it onto a high shelf. The simple gesture is scandalous enough that she has a cup of tea pressed into her hand before being asked to ask.
Their actual words are "The lady surely has better things to do." But the message is pretty clear.
On her way back, she passes a corner only to find Igor coming her way.
"Oh, hey, look what I got." She says happily, holding her cup up with a smile. But as he steps closer, she sees that he has tears in his eyes and her brows knit together with worry.
"Are you alright?" she asks, but he walks straight past her.
Not even a minute later, Ivar follows the boy, a broken puppet in his hands.
"What happened?" Mary asks him, but once again she is ignored and stares after Ivar, whose face is set in an angry scowl.
"Jesus Christ," she mumbles, before turning to follow them. When she reaches Igor's room, she can only catch a glimpse of Ivar as he makes his way up to the crow's nest from where quiet sniffles can be heard.
"Do not weep, dear Igor." She hears his voice then, soft and kind, "Sweet child do not weep."
Mary's heart blooms, a deep sense of affection washing over her and she smiles sadly up at the nest. And then, when Ivar reassures the sobbing boy, "I am here now." Mary almost cries herself. Who would have thought that hateful, blood-thirst Ivar could be so sensitive? So empathetic.
Mary sits down on the steps to the room, the hot cup of tea in her hand, and listens with a soft smile as Ivar calms the boy.
She is asleep, her head bend against the wall, her mouth hanging open, when Ivar comes back down again. When he sees her, he smiles and gently nudges her awake. Mary jerks upright startled, the cup in her hands swaying dangerously before she clumsily catches it. He sits down beside her as she sleepily blinks at him, "Hey."
"What are you doing here, Mary?"
She ignored his question and instead links her arm with his, "That was very sweet of you." She whispers with a smile, "What happened?"
He motions to the broken puppet on the floor, "Oleg go angry. Screamed at him, threatened to cut out his tongue."
Mary grimaces, "What a dick." Then she looks up at the nest, "Is he alright?"
"He's asleep."
She nods and then she smiles, bright and impish, and pecks his cheek.
"Mary."
"No."
"Don't be stubborn."
"Don't be stupid."
Ivar sighs heavily, "Why are you being so difficult?"
Mary is in front of him, her arms crossed as they stare at each other, "Because I am a human being who cannot just be locked away."
"I'm not trying to lock you away." He growls and she opens her arms wide, "This room is tiny. A week in here and I will go crazy."
"It's for your won safety." He tries and she snorts.
"Coming from the man going out to on an abduction party."
He opens his mouth to argue, but she raises a hand, "Forget it. I can stay inside the castle, but I'm not gonna be stuck in this tiny room for seven days."
He sighs in defeat, "Keep you knife close at least."
"I'll cuddle it at night," she promises, which does nothing to stop his worry. In fact, he looks even more unsure, like he doesn't know if she is joking or not.
"Don't do that." He says, just to be sure and Mary bristles.
"Okay, I'm ready for you to leave now."
When he is actually called away, she still hugs him tight until he chuckles and pulls away her hands.
The days after are almost painfully boring, even if Mary is free to wander the castle. At first, she tries to spend more time with the servants, attempting to chat with them as they bring her food, or visiting the kitchen, but they always seem more scared than relieved and she stops soon after.
Igor, probably in an attempt to keep him away from others – is loaded with classes, with a different important man coming to visit him every day. Maths, geography, languages. Only once does he manage to sneak away, when a music teacher has his fingers bloodied by the snapped cord of a…harp? It's big and heavy and somehow curved.
That day, she entertains the young prince with fairy tales. She starts with (the child friendly versions of) the brothers Grimm – Rapunzel, Sleeping beauty, red Riding hood. Then Hans Christian Andersen – the little mermaid, the ugly duckling. After that she goes broad and less detailed, with vaguely remembered stories from around the world. The funny little woman from Japan, Abiyoyo from South Africa, and the stories of Sindbad and Aladin.
It is by far her favourite fay of the week, and in the end, Igor falls asleep on the furs by the fire, looking incredibly young.
Katia catches her by surprise, bend over a book as she tries to decipher its content. She may be able to understand every language, but that doesn't mean she can read everybody's handwriting.
"How did you get this Job?" she mumbles. Is that a 'hand' or a 'Tool'?
"Mary," Katia interrupts her thoughts and Mary's head jerks up.
The princes is looking as impeccable as always, graceful yet humble, in a silvery dress with heavy cloth on her shoulders and a high hat on her dark, silky hair. She stands in the doorway with a polite smile.
"I have been trying to talk to you."
Mary knows. Because she has been trying to avoid Katia, hiding and ducking whenever she catches her in the halls. But her time has come and Mary forces a fake smile to her face, "What can I do for you?"
"I have a question. About Ivar."
Mary frowns as Katia sits down, "Okay?"
"He is a Viking," she starts and Mary nods. "I have been told that Vikings are quite dangerous men. Violent and barbaric."
"They can be," Mary says vaguely.
"Which is why I was so surprised upon meeting Ivar. He does not strike me to be…" she struggles to find the words, "A bad man."
"He isn't." Mary answers automatically and Katia nods thoughtfully.
"So, he is kind to you?"
"Most of the time he is, yes. And whenever he isn't he pays for it."
"Does he still believe me to be his wife?"
The question is innocent enough, but Mary hesitates to answer it nonetheless. Something in the princess's voice sounds almost like…hope.
"I think a part of him does," Mary says carefully.
Katia nods one last time and then she stands up again, "Thank you, Mary."
Mary stares at the space where Katia had just stood and nods to herself, "I'm gonna have to keep an eye on that."
She keeps on her attempts to decipher a book – she found the writers name, Illya, and curses him repeatedly – until a ruckus draws her attention. Suddenly, servant swarm into her room, pulling the blankets from the bed and replacing them with new ones, cleaning up and putting new coal onto the fires.
"What is happening?" Mary asks no one in particular, pulling the book up when one of them starts wiping down the low table.
"The hunting party has returned," one of them says and a bright smile comes across Mary's face. Ivar is back.
With a quick look into the mirror, she straightens out her dress and heads to the throne room. When she arrives, she stays back, lingering in the shadows of the entrance until Oleg is done. Ivar is standing off to the side, a tall man speaking to the prince.
Katia is there as well, and Mary just about catches the words "…great undertaking."
A chuckle and then, "I have nowhere else to go."
And Mary almost keels over, because she knows that voice. And now that she looks, she knows those shoulders as well, and that hair and even that stance. Even if his voice is raspy and his figure more slim than it used to be, she recognizes Hvitserk.
It takes every bit of her willpower to stop from racing inside, but her heart speeds up and suddenly her hands are sweaty. Why is he here?
"I'm at your service, Prince Oleg." Hvitserk says, "I, too, need to reclaim my own past."
He sounds tired.
"The prince and I are so happy to have you a our court, Hvitserk," Katia says, "Ivar has spoken so much about you."
She gets up from the steps before the throne, walking closer to the brothers, "When you were children. When you jumped ship." She walks straight past Hvitserk and Mary rolls her eyes, "He told me that you always believed you were fated to be together, however many times fate itself seemed to have pulled you apart."
What a thinly veiled comparison. Yep, she is gonna have to keep an eyes on that.
"I find myself that fate works in mysterious ways." She says when she finally looks at Hvitserk, only to rest a hand on his chest before throwing one last glance at Ivar and heading back to her husband's side.
After the announcement of a military parade – which, by the way, is about as autocratic as you can go – the brothers are dismissed.
Mary draws back into the hallway, and then further into the dining room. She doesn't want Oleg ruining their reunion. Ivar is the first one to step into the room, but even he only catches a glimpse of her, before she pounces on them.
"Hvitserk," she squeals, her arms wrapping around his neck as he stumbles backwards. It takes a few seconds for him to gather his wits and his balance, but then he is hugging her back, lifting her off her feet.
"Mary," he says, inhaling her scent as he buries his face in her neck.
When she pulls back, her smile slips.
Hvitserk looks more than just tired. His long hair is dull and greasy, his eyes bloodshot and his skin ashen. Jesus Christ.
"You look like shit," she blurts out and Ivar laughs loudly. Hvitserk just pulls her close again, "I know. I missed you."
"Let us get him some food, Mary." Ivar suggests, "Then you may interrogate him."
"You are right," Mary nods, looking Hvitserk up and down, "You need some food."
With the food comes Igor as well and when they settle around the table, he stares at the newcomer with open curiosity.
Mary on the other hand frets around him, offering water or warmth, asking if he would like to lay down, until Ivar finally pulls her to his side.
"I am back as well," he mumbles, "If you have not noticed."
She blushes and smiles, pressing a quick kiss against his lips, "I know. Sorry."
When they settle down, Hvitserk is quick to eat, proving just how starved he is.
"So?" Ivar asks from across the table, and Mary expects him to ask after his brother's well being or his reason to be here. But then he says, "What do you think?" and they both frown at him.
"About Oleg?" Hvitserk asks confused.
"No, not Oleg, about his wife."
Mary slaps him.
"Seriously? Your brother arrives here, at the end of the world, and this is your first question?"
Hvitserk chuckles as he looks between them and Mary crosses her arms, "Keep your prick in your pants, man."
Ivar scowls, "I have already spoken to him on our way here."
"But I haven't," she says and turns to Hvitserk with a tired sigh, "Here's the thing. Ivar thinks that Katia is somehow – don't as logistics – the spirit of Freydis. He's been obsessed with her ever since."
"I am not obsessed." Ivar protests.
Hvitserk just frowns, "She does remind me of her," he says and then he looks between Ivar and Mary suspiciously, "Are you two not-?"
"Together?" she interrupts him, "Oh, yes we are."
"But he-"
"Fancies what he thinks is his wife's ghost? Yes. Yes, he does."
"I do not fancy her," Ivar growls and Mary rolls her eyes when his neck turns red, "Sure you don't."
Then she turns back to Hvitserk, "What happened to you?"
Hvitserk smiles sadly, "A great many things, Mary. But let's not ruin this joyous moment with such dark things."
She frowns but lets it pass, just for now.
Once dinner is done, Hvitserk trots to the makeshift bed and Mary is astonished how he seems to fall asleep the moment he lies down. As he sleeps, she looks at him worriedly.
"Ivar, this is bad." She mumbles and he sighs, "I know."
Come morning, Hvitserk and Ivar spend the entire day with Oleg and his tactical advisors and just when they come back, they are all ushered to the announced parade.
As they make their way to the balcony, Mary has her arm linked with Hvitserk's. The view, of course, draws Oleg's attention and when he makes his way over to them, Mary leans in close.
"He is a total asshole," she hisses into Hvitserk's ear, "If you find a way to make it look like an accident, feel free to throw him off the balcony – Hi."
Oleg stands before them, like a cat who got the cream. But Mary and Ivar are prepared, smiling pleasantly, because it is just too damn obvious what he is going to say.
"I was not aware that you were friends with any other Ragnarssons, Mary," he starts, before letting is mouth fall open in false surprise, "Unless of course, he is the one you- how shall I put it?"
"Dated?"
"Fucked."
Hvitserk jerks away at the word but Mary keeps his arm tightly held in hers and smiles, "It is indeed. Even if I would have been much less crude."
Oleg looks at Ivar than, hoping to find at least a hint of discomfort in him. But Ivar, who is becoming better and better at hiding his emotions, just smiles back, "Thankfully, she picked one of my more sensible brothers."
Poor Hvitserk seems to be both, incredibly confused and incredibly uncomfortable, when Oleg speaks again.
"I am surprised that you can even stand his presence. Knowing he has been between her thighs."
"I'm right here," Mary growls.
"Of course, my apologies." Oleg says quickly, "I do hope that there will be no…tensions."
The smirk on his face says otherwise and Mary cannot resist putting a hand on his shoulder as they pass, "You are very lucky. If you would ever like any advise on pleasing your wife, you now have two people you can go to." He scowls and she smiles, "You should listen, prince Oleg. It will be good for you."