#irreplaceable mainline update

See my masterlist for the rest of the series.

A/N: This chapter has a lot of loose ends that I’m cleaning up, so not much ooey gooey things. More Ivar torture actually. It’s not a happy chapter. Just a lot of angst.

It was the seventh day.

Today was it-- you either inherited Sverri’s lands or you gave them to Ivar who was an actual king. You could stay as Ivar’s Queen and unite three lands or leave and face tremendous responsibility caring for Sverri and perhaps your father’s as well.

You knew you wanted to do.

“I will give my lands to Ivar. But… I want you to care for my father’s lands in specific, Hvitserk.” You begin to say.

You sit with Hvitserk, Ragnhild and Ivar. Aslaug lay in your arms awake. She was eating of your breast while you ate breakfast yourself. The constant feasting that had been going on the last seven days had you feeling more than a little queasy, if you were honest. So a simple breakfast of fruit was better suited to you.

“Me?” Hvitserk glances over to Ivar. His brother wore a hard smile, cup against his lips as you spoke. Hvitserk knew that Ivar was getting all that he wanted. The lands, the woman… But he wasn’t so stupid as to expect that everything was fixed just like that.

“I’m no shieldmaiden.” You murmur. “But you’re a good warrior. I’d like you to go take care of my father’s memory.”

Most women would have been eager to fight for their lands, leaving a husband that had two wives and ignored you for years. But you? You didn’t feel like Lagertha or Brynhildr. No, you were (Y/N), with two sons and a daughter whom you rather put devotion into rather than waste your time caring for lands that may or may not face an usurper. Most of all, you were tired. You wanted to enjoy some quiet.

“Alright.” Hvitserk says, his voice raising and dropping like the tide. He sounded unsure. You didn’t blame him either. It was hard to care for lands and worse so on you as you knew that you would be sending your dear friend away.

“I have another condition.” You look to Ivar with your head held high. He admits a crown looks beautiful on your head.

“What is it?” Ivar leans back in his chair.

“I am going to release my Ragnhild from her bondage in good standing and give her land.” You look to Ivar, who flicks his fingers at you.

“She’s your thrall. Do whatever you want.” He snorts. But by doing so-- he knew you would be completely alone. Hvitserk would leave, Ragnhild would leave and so it would only be his family and you. Ragnhild fiddled with the many rings you had given her, twisting them on her pale fingers.

“My Queen--” Oh how sweet those words sounded off of her tongue. “I am thankful to be a free woman. But… if I may, I don’t want to leave my family.”

At that you smile. The words are probably the best ones you’ve heard all day and while Ivar can’t make you duck your head any longer, Ragnhild makes you do so in jubilation.

“I’m so glad to hear that, Ragnhild.” You say, sliding Aslaug off your breast and handing her to Ivar. He takes her up onto his chest as Veifnr sits beside you. Things were awkward, tensely so. You feel unsure what to think of your little boy who acted in so much love of his father, that he would curse someone else.

But wasn’t that how it should have been? For your father’s honour, you murdered Sverri. Perhaps it was more than that. Perhaps it was knowing if you didn’t-- Ivar would. You rather he die at your hands than anyone else's. Ragnhild and Hvitserk quickly run away as the boys sit beside you.

It’s an awkward moment. Uxi seems jovial enough, chomping down as quickly as Hvitserk was earlier when Veifnr’s snide glare looks up to you.

“Do you still hate me for killing him, mother?” Veifnr asks, pushing away his porridge. You pull it back to him, barely looking up into his slanted eyes.

“Eat.” You push a spoon into his bowl. Veifnr snuffs it. You look over to your husband as if to tell him to talk to Veifnr. To tell him that his mother loved him beyond anyone or anything else. If it had been Uxi who died, you weren’t sure what you would have done. There was no other fate for sweet Sverri other then death.

“Do you?” He asks again. You already had one Ivar-- you didn’t mean to have Veifnr act like his father too.

“I do not hate you my son.” You snap. “I killed him, not you.”

Ivar, seemingly confused, looks toward you. “What did he do?” He flicks his head in Veifnr’s direction. The little boy has a surly expression behind black hair that covers his sharp eyes.  

“He wrote a horn of runes against Sverri while this one,” You poked Uxi’s head. He swats your finger. “Threw himself on you. What did you do to my boys while I was away?”

Ivar laughs full of pride-- he wasn’t sure what he did to his boys. Before, they detested him. You  were there one and only soft place to land. But somehow, he warmed their hearts towards him. Uxi almost sacrificed himself while Veifnr put his heart in the hands of the gods. Both actions that drew immense pride, but as he told Uxi, he never wanted him to attempt that again.

“Ask them, not me.” Ivar says, his hand combing through Aslaug’s dark hair as she slept on his chest.

“He’s my father. I love him.” Uxi cuts in, showing a rare flash of his own heart. It wasn’t common for him to say such things. Uxi flicks his fruit into the air, catching it and bounding up out of his seat.

“Breakfast is spoiled. I’m going. Um, Veif?” He looks to his smaller brother-- who usually hid out by himself. Veifnr looks up, “Let’s go train.”

The two boys leave and at long last, you’re stuck with your husband. You look down to your plate, noting that Veifnr still hadn’t eaten. You would have to chase him later and--

“So you’ve chosen to stay as my wife?” Ivar asks, bobbing his head in confidence. You wear a deadpan smile, nose wrinkling up in distaste.

“Don’t make me change my mind, Boneless. You make me want to smack that smile off your face.” You snap. It only makes his tongue course over his upper teeth, nodding as he looks away. After a moment, you stand and take his hand as if to pull him toward the exit. He grasps his crutch when you let him go, holding Aslaug tight as he stands up. You’re not sure how she hasn’t woke up as you weave through Kattegat to a secluded area where a great pile of ash had been-- undisturbed.

Kitta.

“I don’t want you to remove her remains.” You told Sverri, your hands wrapped around your waist as moved through your large room to Kitta’s own. Sverri followed after you to see what you were up to. The fine linen of her dresses were each folded into a vast pile which you arranged into a chest.

“I thought you hated her.” Sverri said, hands behind his back as you looked over Kitta’s jewelry. The simple jewelry that she preferred, the bit of kohl she’d round those saucy and at times hateful green eyes-- they all went into the chest with household items. All save her crown and a lone pair of pearl earrings you decided to keep.

“Things are not so black and white. If you had talked to me, you would have known that.” You said. Your sister wife and one time lover could be cruel at times. But did that mean that you wished for her death? No.

Sverri realized he made a mistake.

“What is this?” Ivar asked as you came upon the ashen site. You glanced over to Ivar, bending down in a creamy dress to peel your hands through the black soot. There, you found what you were looking for.

“Kitta.” You say-- placing bone after bone on a piece of pale cloth you wove yourself. The edges were embroidered in green. With every bone you pulled out, it became harder and harder. But the worst was when you turned to face your husband, finding those choked out cries were only apart of the hot tears that spilled down his cheeks.

“Ivar…” You place the last of the bones you could find in the pile, standing up to take the Aslaug with ashen hands. She’s woken back up-- bright blue eyes taking in the noise of her father’s pained screams that rip through Kattegat’s square. She’s crying too, and as you turn down to comfort Ivar-- your hand shakes along his tunic. It was your fault--

“No.” Ivar interrupts, taking her skull into his hands. His thumb runs along the bones of the top. “It… it is my fault... I should have divorced her.”

You don’t understand. “Why would you divorce her?” You ask.

“Because it would have been easier than losing her altogether.” Ivar says, throwing you a dismissive glance. You couldn’t disagree. He just couldn’t let her go. Somehow, he believed his mother when she had told him he could have all the women he wanted.

Mother didn’t always know best.