#irreplaceable is angst

You fall silent. “He is not going with Floki. He is staying here. Find another way.”

You didn’t want Ivar to put him down. You didn’t want Ivar to give him to Floki for a chance at life. Ivar holds his forehead in stress. What other option was there for him to take? He could search out a healer for his son– have Hvitserk go out.

But would the healer be good enough for you?

“You limit my options at every turn.” He rasps. “He is only worsening as he grows. He has no strength to crawl. I am running out of time.” He hisses.

Of course you knew that. You wanted to find an option— but one viable for you to go with. If you could not go with him, you feared him coming back dead. He was over a year now and Floki’s runes curved his pain. Truly that was all you could ask for, but if you were being honest, you wanted more.

“Lets go together with Floki on an expedition. Kitta can stay.” Ivar says– and you agree.

You wanted him happy and healthy.

It had been a long, long time since you had been on a boat. Avaldr insists on dragging himself where he can with what little strength is left in those brittle bones. The boat is swift, cutting through the foreign waters with a creak of the sail whipping in winds. Uxi stares out of the little boat towards the horizon where nothing but dark waters lay.

“Where are we going?” Uxi asks. He looks to the men that pull the oars swiftly through the waters. A fleet was behind them, flying Ivar’s brilliant red colours through the slapping of cloth.

“Where the gods take us, Uxi.” Floki loiters around the neck of the boat, sitting there and waiting patiently. You shudder underneath a dark blue cowl, reaching out to pick up Avaldr to rest despite a short lived flail.

“We should hope that Ran and Njord will deal with us kindly.” You say, knowing Ran’s often dark intent on drowning sailors to join her in her kingdom below. The waters had hardly been still, however, and the winds harsh, pushing you out toward unforeseen lands.

Veifnr loiters beside Floki, occasionally looking to see if you were safe. The days become longer and longer– and little Avaldr becomes more and more fatigued. Eventually though, something catches Floki’s eye. He prances across the boat to Ivar, whispering something in his ear.

“What is it?” You move beside Ivar. He glances over to you, pointing out to the small beads that compose a small island.

“Land.” He motions.

The land was unlike anything you had ever seen before. The grass was high, proving hard with your heavy skirts and Ivar’s crutch. Uxi cut down the grass before him, revealing bunches of deep yellow, creamy white and the deepest of burgundy flowers that were littered by little spots here and there. They curled beautifully, so much so that little Avaldr would point eagerly to them in order for you to take him over.

“Flower.” You say to him– and like the witty little boy he was: he leans over to sniff the flower, batting it lightly. You place a kiss to his flat dark hair that lays flat against his nape.

“This does not look like England.” Ivar remarks, pleased to find a new land with new magic.

“It is somewhere new.” Floki agrees. Ivar calls you back by his side, Veifnr trailing behind you with his sword apart. Ivar’s men fell around him. As green as this place was, there was no way to be sure of others inhabiting it. With that thought, he couldn’t be more right as the hot sting of an arrow blazing beside you was only one of many.

“Shield wall!”

You gave a small shriek, covered by Ivar’s fleet of soldiers guiding you back to the middle where Ivar snarls out his orders. You account for Veifnr and Uxi, clustering around you while Ivar hisses in frustration. It was different when he was alone– easy to make hard decisions that might mean a portion of his men going to Valhalla. But his young family was here caught in the crosshairs.

“Stay close.” Ivar hisses, flicking his leather wrist toward the men that turn to look at him for answers. You nod– of course, with Faksi as a father you were well accustomed to the constant threat of war. The strangers outside shrill darkly and inside, Ivar bellows suddenly. The Vikings break and your younger boys keep in line with you through the ambush of strange men with rich skin and jagged weaponry. Quick footed as you quickly learn, spear hurling past Ivar– and through two men to pin them to a large tree. Your husband is laughing maniacally by their weak attempts to slay him.

 The Viking warriors quickly learn to keep in line and eliminate them as a pack, one after another. It’s a slow pursuit that promptly quickens when you hear a familiar shrill. Above the hill you find your largest of surprises. A hail of arrows leaves Ivar slamming onto the ground, jerking you against him with a bloody shield raised high. Despite the wailing against your breast, a hush silence spills over the battle ground. His boys– he has to find his boys.

“Shh, I’ll protect you.” Ivar cooes. Then, Ivar thrusts the shield off, checking over Avaldr then you. Minimal scratching. Wordlessly he drags himself through marshy greens in search for his other sons. “It took you long enough, Faksi!” He bellows.

“Just enough!” Your father jumps down from his hill with a bellowing laugh, helping you onto your feet. He finds his boys just as a wailing sob broke. You quickly realize isn’t from any of the soldiers that rake across the battlefield snuffing out life.

“Uxi?” You call. Uxi hisses on the ground, jerking an arrow out of his calf and covering it with his hand. Underneath him, Veifnr lays in catatonic shock. His eyes move about the men that come to Uxi’s side. Sensing his father’s presence, Uxi stubbornly tries to hold in his screams. He knows that his father expects better of him. What any Viking man would expect out of him.

“Baby!” You drop to the ground beside him, patting down the puncture wound with your cowl that keeps little Avaldr warm. You blot away the blood and cradle his cheek, hushing his cheek with smooth kisses.

“I did a stupid.” Uxi says loudly with a little bit of a cry. The tears bite the side of his cheeks and he pushes himself to stand, leg failing him and he falls over. Ivar limps over, drawing his hand over his face in a groan.

“Uxi the Stupid–” He chides.

“I’m not stupid!” Uxi snarls. “Veifnr freaked!”

Of course your little boy would be the one to take care of his brother. He would take care of anyone in his family. You shake your head as you look around to these bizarre foreign soldiers. Uxi’s leg would heal– Veifnr? You weren’t so sure. He slowly moved to sit, eyes unable to look at yours.

He hadn’t made his father proud.

“I’m sorry.” He whispers… and suddenly you’re not sure why you hadn’t left him with Ragnhild. It occurs to you why. He couldn’t be without you. He crawls over to your side, young and small but such a bright little boy. You knew he was where everyone else doubted him. He was just… young. He needed help.

“What do we do now?” Uxi asks as Faksi comes over, hauling him up onto his broad shoulder. Ivar drags himself around the corpses, searching out one man with the brightest of crystalline eyes. Ones that Ivar considers carving out and setting upon his throne as a prize.

“You came to take our jewels!” The man rasps, shaking with a bright staff held high. Ivar notes the staff made of stained white wood bears a large jewel at the top. Ivar flicks his dagger around his fingers, whizzing through the air. The thick tongue of this man spoke your tongue. Faksi joins Floki beside Ivar, arms crossed.

Ivar‘s tongue slickens his teeth. “Not this time. Only for a cure to my son’s ailment.”

He motions back to you. The sacred man throws a look to you, approaching Ivar’s side to show him the child in your arms. The last of the men from the slaughter offers up a light and weak smile, scattered by his lack of teeth as he looks to the child’s legs curled in painful knots.

“Yes.” He calms. “A child of change. Come with me.” The unpaved road to this town is aside of dark sands like the night sky. The beach is nearly charcoal black, but soft to the touch. There were homes of bizarre white rock carved into the jagged rocks. Ivar relied on his crutch a part of the journey, but eventually was forced to crawl beside your feet. A brilliant crystalline jeweled archway marks the entrance, etched with ragged script.

Al-Murtaza.

Hvitserk turns as he walks to marvel at the sight. The gems gleam so beautifully, pointing this way and that, reflecting light that catches his eye. As he catches back up to you, he flicks a broken and jagged piece of the crystal in his hand.

“I like it here!” Hvitserk laughs. Faksi breaks off, instructed to take the Uxi into a healer’s tent.

“It is pretty. I haven’t seen something so beautiful.” You supply, looking over to Ivar. He snuffs them— despite his men’s rowdy laughs from both women and jewels both. They flip skirts and drool over thin fabrics covering the women’s pure skin. To his goal these women mean nothing.

“Don’t get distracted, (Y/N). I’ve spoiled you enough.” Ivar says cooly, dragging himself a little harder in line with the shaman. You nearly hang your head when Hvitserk pats your shoulder.

“Is he like this on raids?” You ask him, working a smile over your face.

“Usually pretty stabby.” Hvitserk chides– you couldn’t imagine that.

It felt like you garbled rocks in your mouth as you try to make light of the whole thing, climbing up beside Ivar to the summit of the cliffs where a crystalline purple cave glitters. The man goes to address another elderly man inside the cave, toasted by the sun. He sits facing a vast wall of crystals that glow inhumanely like the work of the gods. If your mouth was slack, you knew Ivar’s was.

“Abba, this is Iv— King Ivar the Boneless, son of King Ragnar. Whose parents have gone with the gods.”

The old man sits in a finely woven wool rug upon the dirty floor, surrounded by crystals and threads that he works through his fingers. Ivar’s hairline is marked by a great line of sweat, tunic slick with the humidity of the oceanside town.

“He has five brothers, two past, and a sister Gyda who has also passed. He is married to an unmemorable woman Kitta, a failed shieldmaiden and wife.”

Enough. Ivar hisses to the man. He pauses, setting down the threads woven tight. Then as he tightens his creamy wrap, he continues.

“But he is also married to Princess (Y/N) of Freyja, whom the gods love as dearly as they love you. Although you will love another, princess.” His eyes part, glossy and nearly white as he hovers in front of you. Another? Your heart drops to your stomach when Ivar’s head snaps to look at you, taking consideration of the words of the seer. A man who lived by the gods? A dangerous man indeed.

“But because of your jealousy of your brother Hvitserk and the doomed King Sverri… and negligence of all parents, this child,” The seer flips your blue covering over Avaldr, who wiggles with a sinfully sweet smile. “…will die a painful death this year.”

Trembling. Your whole body wracks with shakes looking to this man. “NO!” You shriek, eyes darting down to little Avaldr whose little eyes widen and lip quivers. A full out scream bounces off the crystal walls as you break out into an instant sob. “He’s innocent!”

You pull him back, the man’s eyes softening at you for a moment before Ivar hisses. “The gods haven’t turned their backs on us– what is there I can do?” Ivar suggests.

He has always been in the gods favour. Once he realized the power he could have, he used it. He always kept the gods in his memory, kept his mother’s and Floki’s teaching close to his heart. Floki stands aside with wide eyes– but even he knows it’s fruitless. Ragnar was punished with a cripple of a son while he was punished with his sweet Angrboda taken from him.

The man bends his hair, curtains of white encompassing his staff. “They’ve chosen punishment.”

“Curb the pain then.” Hvitserk speaks up– the only one as Ivar stares off as if something else has taken him over. Then, with his next words something snaps.

“No– now go away. You bring about a bad omen!”

As if thrust by a leash, you yank back to Hvitserk in sobs. But you hear something else, the thump of heavy weight and spray– all over little Veifnr who unfortunately chose to stand beside his father. Frantic motions of Ivar’s blade into the throat of the strange shaman soak a snowy white tunic to a curdling red-- and there isn’t even a gurgle out of the priest’s throat. Instead the room fills with a rippling scream, low at first that quickly shrills straight through your spine. You lurch forth, heart strumming hard, pulling Veifnr to you as he stares and stares, blood painting purple and blue crystal of the walls. It drips from Veifnr’s lashes.

“I WANT THEM ALL DEAD! ALL OF THEM!” His breath is thick and heavy, hand meeting his belt as a woman dashes for the door. His axe launches through the air, striking her in the head. She instantly drops with no life left in her flailing limbs. “Take no prisoners!” He hisses– lighting a firestorm within the room in which life would be snuffed out. One by one.

“Ivvv…. Ivv…”

Your words come out like the crystals breaking free of the roof, crashing to into a million little pieces as you stare with shock. The men in sword and shield beside you take after priest and priestess in this village. You had never once seen Ivar like this. In the time you knew him as an adult– he had tried to measure his responses. You never joined him outside of Kattegat on raids or were in a situation where he could not care for your safety.

Always, always he made sure you were cared for.

Or perhaps, he wanted to hide how much of a monster he truly was.

Your hand curls around Veifnr’s less than virgin eyes as his father finds his crutch, pulling himself to stand while his warriors flood the village. They pull out men, women and child alike. There’s a ringing in your ears of their screams. A slaughter you turn Veifnr away from, hands over his ears now and Avaldr close to your chest for what feels like hours. Until suddenly, a moist sticky hand takes your arm, pulling you up to your feet. You turn to find your husband– eyes clouded and face still dripping a thick crimson looks to you. Blood dribbles down onto the dusty floor, coating the short hairs of the side of his head and tightly rolled braids.

“Come,” His voice is low. “We’re taking Avaldr home.”

You didn’t have to ask to know. Below this hill lay a genocide below.