#irreplaceable update

On the opposite side of the spectrum, you were in the Great Hall of Sverri’s iced lands. The land here was cold and harsh, relying on exports of goods from the hunt and those of fingers that could weave. It was reaching the end of winter and you were gladdened for it. Well, mostly.

“I bled again, Sverri.”

Your hands shift shamefully along your stomach, eyes low as you sat on your marital bed beside your new husband. You had been married for all but a few months. This new place with dark woods and silvery white furs began to feel like home. As Sverri’s queen, you knew what your duties were: to supply him with many sons. The young king turns his face to you, deep brown strands waving in front of his almond shaped eyes. He looks over to you with a light smile on his slender lips as if something weighs heavily on his mind.

“In its time, we can’t rush such things…” His words run off. His hands drift up into his hair as he moves to pace through the room. Then a quiet comes over him. You notice that his frantic shaking isn’t limited to his body. No, he is shaking so harshly a thin veil of sweat has come over his body.

“What is wrong--” You follow him, finding that he would sit you back down onto his bed.

“He… he wants you.” Sverri’s breath sounds as if whomever this ‘he’ is, he has swiped words from right under Sverri’s tongue.

“My love you’re not making sense.” You tell him as he holds your hands in his. His head bent to meet your eyes clouded in concern.

“Ivar the Boneless.”

“Ubbe’s brother?” You ask, confused. What business did a Ragnarsson have with you? You thought he understood when you rejected his proposal-- but then, what Ragnarsson took denial well?

“Yes. He wants you as his wife.” Sverri watches as the confusion flits over your eyes. Of course you weren’t surprised to be someone’s end goal but in the same breath, given your reputation, you should have known. Faksi had spoken much of the daughter of Freyja-- and those far and wide began to see you as something more than the average princess you much rather be. They spoke of how Sverri wasn’t meant for you.

Now you did not personally know Ivar. You knew that he was known to be ruthless from your last visit to Kattegat. The people lamented that his lack of a proper queen left him harsh and hateful.  Still, you knew the gods favoured him and Sverri’s family had fallen out of favour long ago. There was a reason he was a king.

The gods put kings in, the gods took Kings out.

“You won’t survive fighting him.” You look down to your hands. “Let him have me.”  

Sverri jerks his head away at that prospect. “No.” He snaps in a rare flash of anger. “I would die before I let a man like that have you. He is insane.”

But he didn’t want to hurt you. Ivar the Boneless wanted your body. What use were you to him dead? Sverri doesn’t see it the same. You already know that. You know full and well what Ivar intends to do with you.

When you last visited Ivar, your father lamented to you the situation Ivar was in. Many men were saying that the king could not fill a woman. You almost fell into that talk, hoping to help the king with his own dilemma through marriage when he proposed to you. That day, you nearly took the offer. If Faksi hadn’t explained that the other offer came from a quiet king by the name of Sverri Askteillsson. The same man who comforted you about being used by the eldest of Aslaug’s sons.

“All he wants is children. If.. he hasn’t had luck thus far, it is for a reason.” You take Sverri’s hand and pull him down to sit beside you. “He would be a good ally.”

Sverri is jarred. “I am not going to divorce you. To ally myself at the price of your womb?”

You sigh a bit harder at that, curling your hands up in your lap. “I am suggesting I marry him as my second husband. Besides, if the other women he sleeps with have not fallen pregnant, why would I?”

His jaw knits tight. Something in his heart told him it wouldn’t be the case… but you were right. Sverri had no choice. Either he gave into Ivar voluntarily-- or he would wage war.

Ivar’s heathen army was knocking down Sverri’s small kingdom.

In comparison to Kattegat and the surrounding kingdoms, Sverri’s lands were minute. They were cold and icy, lacking of any warmth with dark trees that extended any which way. The trees here were massive and said to house Yggdrasil itself. That was why Sverri’s lands flew the great tree upon forest green banner outside the port where Ivar’s fleet had blocked any imports.

Ivar was witty-- because a portion of his army sat outside the lands on the opposite side port where slim farmers lived. They were in distress. That distress caused Sverri distress, written in his brow as Sverri complentated his options. The troops he set outside of his walls were decimated. Ivar the Boneless was closing in.

“You know we have to. Our people are starving.” You sat beside him.

Your cheeks were painted in dusty white smashed pearl, glistening your natural beauty. Sverri looks towards you, admiring your beautiful updo pinned with pearls. Faksi was coming but even Sverri knew the sort of army Ivar had.

If he came here to claim you, he was going to.

“I called him for an audience. A good portion of his army will come into our walls.”

The words crack out from his pale pink lips. He’s grown a dark stubble across his jawline. He called it stress. You lean out over the chair, stroking your hand over his handsome jaw.

“It’s never a shame to admit defeat.” You encourage him. But it doesn’t feel so. It feels as if Ivar was ripping you away from his fingers just as he sought some peace out to make children with you.

“It’s not the Viking way. I should have been able to protect you.” Sverri drinks ale from his horn. It’s but minutes later that there is a sounding of a horn-- a haze of the sun past the parting of scattered clouds. The Great Hall fills with shields of the deepest red spiraled in black. You inhale sharply, bringing your hands back to your lap. One could hear a pin drop in the Great Hall, if not for your breathing hitching and dropping to the sound of a heavy crutch beating the wood floors.

Thump, thump, thump.

You’re not sure if it’s his crutch of your heart that makes those noises. Your head bends to the ground as the figure approaches, hooded in black. He comes to a stop, slipping the helmet off of his head. Tightly packed rows of braids mark his head. A deep burn, searing the inside of your stomach bids you to look up. Instantaneously you regret the decision. His eyes, clear as they were, struck deep into your heart like the most rageful of storms. They glisten with victory.

“Sverri.” His head bobs as he abandons his crutch, falling to the steps. He drags himself like a prowling animal, arms like massive paws dragging himself to Sverri’s throne. He flicks his head in the opposite direction. Get out-- his head says. After all. He was, in fact, the guest. Sverri makes a growling noise as he stands. Ivar replaces him, hands stroking the deep wood of his throne.

“Ah and why are you hanging your head. Hm?” Ivar drags his scarf down from just under his eyes.

“Don’t think I don’t know why you’re here.” You say.

“Why do you think that is?” Ivar toys with you like a mouse after his prey. It serves to only anger you further.

“You know we have little. That is why you did not come to speak in private.” You begin. Little-- but everything you needed. It irks you to know that Ivar came here with reason. “You came for me. For the prophecy of the seer… because of my reputation.”

A rich chuckle slips of his lips and Ivar slips his hand out to offer it to you. He all but ignores the rightful King, whose eyes are downcast and lips tight. Sverri had no place in his own home anymore and he knows it. Good. That is what Ivar wants and craves.

“Ah, yes. I’ve come to steal beautiful mare of Freyja!” Ivar roars out like a beast. A cacophony of his soldiers fill the shaking walls of the Great Hall as the men beat their shields in pride of their king. “And of course, to kill your king.” Ivar glides his bloodied hands over your knuckles.

“You’ll do no such thing.” You snap your hand back from his grip. Ivar is almost jarred, used to sycophantic worship of his men and women that loved their king. You are sure of that much when you pull to a stand, your silvery skirts tight in your knuckles tight with tension.

“I will reject you. As Frigg as my only, holy witness I will promise that to you, Boneless. If you kill my husband, I will never give myself to you willingly. And I promise you… no matter what you do to me. I am a free woman.” You say. The burn must have roiled in Ivar’s gut from the shock that slaps over his face. Half in wonder and excitement, but the other deathly enraged by your daring to step up to him.

A surge of amusement boils in his chest. “Why should I care?” He asks. As if the gods had not forbidden the harsh treatment of women.

You shift to take your husband’s hand. Sverri, whose lips knit tight, glance down to the weaving of your hands together. You throw Ivar a side-eyed look. One that bleeds confidence even if you felt as if you would fall apart from the murderous gaze that glints in his eye.

“Because I am the only mare who can give you your sons.”

Now, Ivar was truly ready to address his queen in private.

“Do you want to see it up close?” Ivar motions that there is a better area to see it from, where the long streaks of emerald green, wispy blues and hues of purple pop like Frigg weaved them just as she did the clouds. You could marvel at the sight of them– but instead, you hadn’t noticed the tears running down your cheeks until he wipes them from the underside of your jaw.

“(Y/N)–” He began when you jump up abruptly. He calls out to you. “Where are you going?!”

You only knew that you were going indoors where a thrall kindles a flame with wood left by the earl, heaving a heavy breath after heavy breath from your lungs. You couldn’t believe yourself– you were freaking out! The lights you had wanted to see for years were out there and here you were, collapsed on the bed. After some time, there is a heavy sigh beside you.

“I brought you here to see the lights. What is wrong?” Ivar sits beside you, leaning over to push your hair away from your face.

“I don’t want to be here.” You lash out, smacking his hand away. “I miss my boys, I miss my son and nothing is going to make that better! You can’t make that better with some shiny clouds on this stupid icy rock in the middle of NOWHERE!”

Ivar brings his hand back to his lap, reminding himself to calm down– don’t say something he didn’t mean. Not like last time, not like when he called you his womb. His nose scrunches up tight. “You wanted to come here and I made a you promise.” Ivar rolls his head slightly. “I did not bring you here to replace our son.”

He knows who you mean. Your little boy lost some time ago with nothing to fill the ache in your arms at all. You sit up as Ivar looks at you patiently, eyes scanning over you like snakes, slithering over your body.

“Tell me what I can do to make it better.” Ivar supplies. It was not as if he wanted a miserable wife. More so than Kitta, if you were miserable, Frigg would bring hell down upon him as well.

“I want another baby.” You say with a sob. Ivar’s whole demeanor changes. His body is tense when you ask such a thing of him, fingers even rigid. He can’t recall the last time you slept with him voluntarily. It had truly been a long time. He should have leapt at your words, but instead, his whole body feels as if its aching. If nothing else, he knows that sex with you would result in a beautiful child.

But what if the gods weren’t appeased?

What if all the sacrifices he made, the conquest of Christians and feasts in their honour had not reached their ears?

Worst of all, what if he had another son delivered back into their arms?

In the same way, how can he deny you, looking so heart broken with tears streaming down your soft, ice kissed cheeks? He couldn’t. Ivar struggles with words a while longer before he concedes to your will.

“If you will come with me to go see these lights, and stay with me like my wife rather than sail home, I will give you another baby to hold.” Ivar folds his arms. Your face lights up in glee– like he hasn’t seen in years. You thrust yourself onto his lap, arms around his neck and pepper him in the softest of kisses. He counts them: three to his lips, four up his jaw and two over his sideburns until you tip him over with one strong kiss of tongues.

It had been a long, long time since he felt you so excited for him. Sure, he saw you as you fuss over your appearance for King Sverri. He would be dumb not to see how you lit up when you saw him. Ivar grunts, motioning for you to get up so that you might go see what he promised of you.

The lights. The vibrant greens lash like Jormungandr on this frozen rock. The blues are like the sapphire of your husband’s eyes, which glitter as he watches you spin and laugh, looking so beautiful– and it was all for him. There is no Kitta or Sverri to ruin this moment. No, it is you laughing unadulterated in the snow. Almost like a child that saw the light for the first time.

“Avaldr!” You call out to the skies. “I hope you can see them too–”

Then you spin around to where Ivar sat on his chair, legs bound tight this time. What use was a crutch on this slick? You slide upon him and all too instinctually his hands wind about the curve of your hips on his. It has been so long since you both had sex, Ivar realizes that he simply had gotten used to being without your body. He settled with Kittas and–

Settled. The word falls heavy in his stomach. He was settling by having her as a wife. The five or four days he spent with her a week, turning away from his young family that he could often hear playing Hnútukast, tossing bones at one another across the hall or his boys wrestling began to grow darkly on him. So much so, he hadn’t realized how much he had been without for your body.

“It is so cold out here!” You seem different somehow. With the news that he would give you another child, you seem rejuvenated.

“Lets go make some heat.” Ivar teases his fingers along your upper arm. “My wife.”

“Make some?” You ask, lifting the cold pads of your fingers to stroke along the thin hair above his lip. Then a giggle. “Make some babies– you mean.”

Ivar nods and you pop up, sliding his arm over your slender shoulder. Another man comes to his side to help him back inside your rooms. The warm crackle of a flame pops when Ivar collapses on the bed, motioning to the thrall.

“Get my wife some ale.” He murmurs.

The thrall brings you a glass as you shed furs off your body– downing the cup quickly. The thrall left the pitcher beside you. You pluck another drink up, beginning to loosen the strands at your breasts when Ivar tosses his knife across the room at the thrall, hissing sharply. It’s fine for a husband to watch you undress, of course, but nobody else should have the pleasure of seeing you naked. You drop the top garment, dropping your olive dress to the ground with a slump.

He swallows dryly when your fingers run across the edge of your white underdress, peeling inch by inch over the skin he so desperately aches for. He courses his tongue across his lip and waits for you to slide your dress over the bend in your waist. Then you slowly drift it off your breasts and abandon the bandage that keeps your chest modest, he sucks in a hot puff of air.

“You’re sure about this?” He says despite the fact that he rather not. Ivar can’t deny what he did last time you had sex– nor help be confused how a wife would trust their husband after such a thing. But you only smile, grasping his shoulders and forcing him back onto the bed. He lowers himself obediently backwards and lets you take control.

“Yes, I want to take my time with you.” You take his lips in a kiss, then another– and another until Ivar’s soft moans are filling the air. He can’t get enough when you pull away, shedding the layers of his tunics off his firm muscles. “I want you to fill me with another.”

Ivar watches you unbuckle his pants, pulling them down with every piece of fabric unbinding his legs. Finally he finds himself naked, and you, grind your naked body over his; breasts and sex shifting against him. His cock wills itself to life like something spring loaded, hardening against your sex that teases him. It’s been so long– years.

“Fuck…” He whispers, gliding his hands down your curves to simply enjoy himself. He had sex with Kitta, angry sex at her negligence when Avaldr died, but there’s something that nags his brain to just relax with you. So he does.

“Let me take care of you.” Ivar mumbles, shifting you back onto the bed. You don’t say anything when he sinks down over your legs, leaving a trail of kisses from your hip bones down between your thighs. He rakes his tongue along the junction of your legs to your torso as if mocking you.

“So do it.” You grumble at him. He can’t help a little laugh, hot air tickling your outer lips. He grins, letting his tongue caress over your lips and slit with his whole mouth agonizingly slowly. Your legs spread, knees pulling back to watch him go, nose massaging against your mound as he swoops along your cunt in smooth licks.

“Fuck.” Another breathy moan, reverberating tremors of excitement across your moist lips. “I forgot how delicious you taste.”

Ivar flattens his tongue, swooping over your cunt in a smooth lick. Then another, zigzagging his tongue up to your clit for a suckle. Inadvertently your hips shift to buck him a little. A gasp falls from your tongue at long last– telling Ivar that your little hole must be moistening that sweet honey for him. He shifts down, forcing his tongue in to receive his treat, nose grinding against your soaked cunt.

“Ivar– please. It’s slow.” You ache, knowing that he full well knows that you want more than those genial licks and teasing flicks against your clit. He pulls his soaked lips away from your entrance, gliding his pink tongue over his lips to rake up any left over excitement. Then he would moisten his fingers with his tongue, gliding them within your cunt. Your walls clamp tight around him. He curses himself for it: your unloved walls must have gone so long with only fingers to warm you. Or a thrall– but he knew that you would never do that to Ragnhild. His digits are different from your own, thicker and almost mechanical in the way he glides up to the knuckle, twiddling his fingers to your cervix.

“O-Oh!” You whimper, causing Ivar’s digits to pull back significantly, stretching you with a flick of his wrist. “Please…”

Ivar watches you shift under his fingers. “You want more?” He asks, a smooth and steady motion of his fingers in and out, in and out with nothing more but his hot breath against your sex and those eyes. God, those eyes drink you in as if he couldn’t get enough.

“Please, Ivar, please.” You let out a harsh moan as his fingers curl, massaging a spot deep within your cunt that felt just right. “Aren’t you hungry?”

He catches your gaze, tilting his head in for only seconds. “Starved.” He enunciates the words, digging his tongue back against your hood. He smoothes over your lips for seconds, dragging and raking his tongue to encircle your clit. While his fingers fuck your pussy, Ivar latches onto that sensitive little button that would push you over. It doesn’t take but moments for you to squeal his name so loud– he knew his men in the other rooms heard you crying for him to give it, more, please, faster faster, agh!

Just like that you come undone, fucking his fingers for more and digging his head down into your cunt, hands at the braiding at his head. He drives you to completion, spilling your wetness over his face and finally giving it up. He fucks you through your orgasm before lifting back up, kissing you in a salty mash of lips together. His forearms around your head keeps you pinned in place.

“Let me now.” You push up as if to push him over when you’re stopped by his firm rock of a body.

“No.” Ivar grunts, letting a hand drift down, coating his cock in your juices. “It’s about you.”

“Then let me ride you.” You mumble, watching as Ivar’s eyes widen. You hadn’t rode him much– but when you had, it was all for you. Ivar falls back, hand around his aching shaft. You slide your legs on either side of him, holding your body up while facing him. His tip grazes your entrance and as you sink down, Ivar wasn’t ready. You take him tightly within your wet walls, devouring him up like a vice. Ivar’s hands drift down to pull you down, hissing when you snap your hands against his knuckles.

“I told you I wanted to take my time. Hands down.” You reprimand– and he knows. He just knows that you will make this painful for him, sliding your hips up and down him slowly as if savouring the way he spreads you apart. Ivar’s head drops back against the bed, noting that if this is how you want to make a baby, he has to supply it. Hips shifting, walls quivering and Ivar helpless to shift. He focuses on the way your cunt snaps up and down his dick, milking him as if your pussy knew what you were after.

Babies.

“Shit… shit…” Ivar moans, hands squirming on the bed resisting the urge to buck you up. You know what you’re doing, he can tell from the way you rock his dick back and forth within him, unwittingly clenching him tight. You develop an achingly slow rhythm.

“It’s too slow.” Ivar complains. He wanted this to be about you, to give you what you wanted– which would have been far easier if he was on top. This way, you were controlling it. You catch his eyes and descend upon him in slow flicks of your hips with filthy excitement dribbling over his tense balls. He could cum already– just from the sight of having you back on his dick.

“Will you force me like that again?” Your words are a hiss, sharp as you tease him. His eyes, having been clenched, open again. You are teaching him a fucking lesson– one that Ivar thought you were over.

“No, never.” He gives his shuddering answer, beginning to lose his apologetic edge. “Now fuck me, damn it to hel.”

Ivar snaps his thumb to your clit, rubbing that sensitive little button as incentive. You squeal, a pleased moan dipping out into a sheer yell just as Ivar loses patience. He wanted this to be all about you, to use his body to please you and make you feel all the love he had built up in his weak bones. Instead his arms snap around your body, forming a tight cuff around your arms locking about your back. He yanks you forward against his chest and his thrusts become savage– short little snaps. Your legs pull up close to your chest with a scream, eliciting such wonderful pleasure built up between your legs. You can’t help yourself, screaming out his name and silencing any men outside about his ‘failing’ marriages. No, this time, he would make sure you knew how he desired you for all the times you said he did not.

He rolls, still sheathed tightly inside of you, causing your legs to spread with the plush furs beneath your back. His hands leave your back to steady himself around you. His arms would balance himself where his legs hardly could and he determines himself in a quick motion of his hips. He saws himself in and out of your body, walls gaping with every pull out.

“Do you still think I don’t desire you?!” He snaps the words that you told Ragnhild all the time– his legs are shaking, so close to his orgasm as he is. Ivar lurches a hand up, tightly knit in your hair as he pulls it to the side, causing your neck to become exposed. He digs his teeth in the column of your neck as you cry out again and again.

“No no no no no.” You squeal, marred by his tongue laving over the harsh bites. He smirks against you, the broad muscles of his back tensing as he moves. Your legs bob against his hips– and that smirk quickly becomes a wicked smile.

“That’s fucking–” A harsher thrust, “right! This is what you want– this is where you belong! On my fat cock, not his!”

“Yes please, please!” You find yourself shouting, letting your hand drift between his shifting body to massaging your engorged clit. His cock begins to pulse inside you and you whimper, waving your hips on his with his thrusts. You become undone with a shuddering cry, gushing over him. Ivar, satisfied with his work, rocks you into the bed in harsh final thrusts. His hips flush, length disappearing completely within you as he stutters his heavy load of cum deep within you. You feel his body tensing and releasing under harsh groans, agh, agh. You milk him of his seed, walls willing and heart needing his creamy essence with every contraction of your walls. Ivar holds himself above you and as he finishes giving you the seed you so desired, he comes back up to capture your lips in smaller kisses.

“What was that?” You mumble in a puff of a breath. Not his. Ivar’s cock stays embedded inside you until it softens, bubbles of his cum dripping down your hole. You had heard what he said. Dread fills Ivar’s stomach.

“Nothing.” He mutters, shifting his soft cock out of your entrance. You grasp his bicep to keep him where he was, curling your back to look at him.

“Are you honestly concerned about what the seer said?” You ask. He throws himself onto the bed and out of your arms, forcing you to fall upon him. It stews in his stomach for some time.

“Drop it.” Ivar shifts away. You reach over his arm to shake him a little– but he doesn’t respond. Perhaps in a way, its better that he doesn’t. You rather he stew quietly than explode angrily.

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.

But overwhelmingly? He was just angry. So blindingly angry that he didn’t know what to do with it. His mother was in pain– and he could do nothing for her. What kind of man would he grow to be if he couldn’t take care of his own mother!

Now he hadn’t seen her in a week. He knew she was okay but he heard her sobbing… and his brother shrilling so loud that it buckled the Great Hall. No one was drinking in there lately. He strolls back to his home when he hears it— and sees it. Veifnr and he sneak behind the dividing wall of their mother’s room where father and mother were. He clutches his little brother close against his bloody brown tunic.

“He can’t breathe. He can’t sleep. He can’t even eat without you holding him upright!” His mother is sobbing again, the tails of her skirts drifting side to side. She was walking like she did when she was scared or didn’t want to talk to him. He saw his father’s legs dangling in a chair as he bent low as to not be detected.

“But I love him.” She sobs. “I can’t… I can’t.”

“He will die painfully. He will smother to death.” His father says. “We have to do it.”

“Your mother wouldn’t let Ragnar kill you. Now you want me to do the same?” Mother supplies, finding that Ivar is momentarily silent. Uxi realizes what father means quickly. The village people set babies out for the animals, chopped off their heads or dealt with them in other ways. His father wanted to do the same to his innocent little brother.

“I was different. I could eat. I could breathe.” His father’s voice is a hush whisper and his poor mother— she’s exhausted. He can hear it the way she sobs harder, now stopping in front of Ivar as she takes a weak and wavering breath.

“But… I don’t want to let him go. He’s my son.” She sobs and little Uxi; so enraged by his mother’s sobs bursts into the room. Veifnr doddles after him, the young little thing watching silently as Uxi’s leather boots storm over to where Ivar and you spoke.

“Leave her alone!”

You whip around to find your son shoving himself in with Veifnr by his side. Your arms were full with the nameless boy. Swaying to sit upright, Ivar’s eyes catches Uxi’s own electric eyes. They dance with rage like Thor’s beating hammer as he stands in front of you, hands outstretching to push you back behind him. Almost as if he thought he needs to protect you from his father.

“My love… I’m okay.” You try to curve him but your stubborn son won’t have it. He won’t have any of this bullying talk. How you raised a son so independent amazes you. When he loves, he loves with a love that is so hard.

“You’re nothing but a coward!” Uxi bursts out. “Leave my brother alone!”

You could have curled in on yourself. As you look to Ivar’s hooded blue eyes, you realize that Ivar is bewildered. Uxi has never done this before. Usually he is quiet, faithfully believing in his father. Your heart falls in your stomach when Ivar stands up with crutch in hand. He hobbles over to his eldest; chubby cheeked but otherwise slender. He leans in while you held Veifnr’s hand fearfully. Would he hit Uxi?

“Come see.” Ivar says, motioning for you to kneel. You slip onto the ground in your creamy gown, arms full of your newest son. You unpeel the warm furs away from the little boy, whose legs are bowed and worthless to see. His chest rises and drops harshly as if he is having trouble breathing— even when he is quiet now, he will scream from the pain shooting down his legs later. Uxi looks over his gentle face, sleeping in his mother’s arms despite the yelling between Ivar and you. He must have been exhausted.

“Your brother can’t breathe Uxi. He is in pain.” Ivar sighs. As you heard, Ivar was in pain too before a man called Harbard came to Kattegat. You wish he would come for your son. You would do anything for someone to alleviate his pain. Even if it meant selling yourself out to another man at this point.

“But…” Uxi looks over his chest. His father was right… but to know that his mother was so distressed? It broke his heart. “Mother should choose since you gave her no choice!”

As if the decision wasn’t hard enough already without Uxi looking at his father in a new light. Not the marvel, but the hate. At only eight years of age, too. You stand up, pushing the baby’s dark hair from his forehead. You knew it was selfish; but you couldn’t let him go.

“What should we call him?” You look to your husband. As the father, he had rights to name all the children just as he had Uxi. But when you give him his son, Ivar looks nothing short of lost. He had yet to give this boy a name or his rights as a Ivarsson. He had to do so soon. The people of Kattegat were beginning to speak as to why Ivar wouldn’t claim this son as his. After all, cripple legs made it hard to deny that the boy was his. He can’t bear name a son that he cursed.

“Uxi. You name him.” Ivar looks to Uxi. The older of the brothers, he had protected his brother from Ivar’s mercy kill. Me? Uxi looks to you. You nod, kneeling beside Ivar and leaning over his lap to look at the little boy.

“Avaldr.” He says. A name that he knew meant both awe, terror and mighty one. It’s a strong name and in a way, that is what this little boy needs. Something to set him apart. You smile to your oldest and most bullheaded son, extending your hands out to embrace him.

That starts to sound like a very handsome name to you.

Sometimes– things happen that you aren’t prepared for: like the arrival of this strange, wild looking old man.

“This is my wife, (Y/N).” Your husband’s hand is about your waist. You cling onto your son, a forced smile on your lips standing behind Uxi and Veifnr. This man was bizarre. The way he hovers lowly, fingers twiddling as if there are stars in front of his eyes and the way that he giggles as he flickers his fingers most excitedly against Veifnr’s nose. He kneels before your boys.

“And what is his name?” The strange man asks. Veifnr’s fingers come without fear to the runes that curl in a strip along his shaved head.

“Veifnr.”

Another giggle and the man looks delightfully at Veifnr. “Why he doesn’t have your eyes. Or yours. What a lucky boy.” He points out. You’re not entirely sure who the hell he is to tell you that. Kitta comes to join the rest of your tiny family.

“Hello Floki.” She says. Floki pulls back from Veifnr, arching as he looks at the reigning queen. They’ve met before. You can tell by the look over his face. Distaste.

“Kitta. You’re still here.” Floki says swaying.

“Did you think I wouldn’t be?” The Queen says.

Floki doesn’t miss a beat. “Yes. Now come with Floki.” He motions to Veifnr, showing him his swift boat. Veifnr wordlessly doddles after and despite how worried you are, you let him go. You’ve never seen your little boy so excited. He makes soft little huffs of excitement, hands squeezing and releasing as Floki loads him onto his lone one man boat.

“He’ll be safe with Floki.” Ivar leads you closer. Floki had come to see Ivar after word spread of how the son came to fruition. How his two wives fought over another king and the anger that snapped Ivar into two. He seems pulled together now– but colder. Floki took Veifnr cuts through the waters, showing him bits and pieces of his boat while the boy followed him with nothing short of delight. Eventually they came back ashore and your little boy would bounce to the edge of the boat. You wave to him as he giggles richly and waves back to you from on top of the boat.

“Ma! The boat!” He says– and your face snaps to Ivar. Six years later, you finally have the first words from your son. Ivar doesn’t both to restrict the small smile pulling his lips as Floki and Veifnr drop to the planks of wood that you all stand on.

“Let us see.” Floki flickers his fingers as you hand him Avaldr. His breathing was still harsh and raspy, even months later. It is clear that it isn’t getting better. You gingerly hand off your son to him. Floki examines the boy in your arms. His face is mixed in emotion– but the worst of it is the kohl on his eyes that accentuate those blown wide pupils, eyes shifting to Ivar.

“He looks like Gyda.”

“We are keeping him?” Kitta stands over the little boy in the bassinet. He has his sharp blue eyes open, staring at the ceiling while taking rasping breaths. You came to Kitta’s side, leaning in to press a kiss against his forehead.

“Yes, I am.” You answer.

The Queen hums in acknowledgement. “He is cute.” She says as she walks around the room. Kitta has been strange as of late. Quiet and pensive, less prone to outbursts. You knew that once the newness of Avaldr wears off, she will be back to yelling at you.

“He took you instead that night.” She inevitably says. “Why is that?”

He meant the night that Avaldr was conceived. The night that Ivar made you take his seed and the night that no one questioned him for. Why? Because he was your husband. If you had been courting or friends, it would have been different. Everyone would look to crucify Ivar. Instead, no one was… especially not when they found out how you lacked to see to Ivar’s sexual appetite for you.

You should have known better than to tell the gods you would not have an Ivarsson. They had a cruel manner of showing you that they chose who gave birth to who. You walk back to finish caring after your bed linen– a bed that was cold without Ivar there. He became distant. Too ashamed to see you, too sorry to convince himself to lay in your bed. It served him right. You hope the gods followed his conscious for what happened to Avaldr. He needed to learn that he could not do this. Not to you, not to anyone.

“He wants to own me. Just like you want to own him.” You say, tucking a snowy fur Sverri gave you neatly against the bed. It was exceptionally warm when Avaldr and you cuddle late at night. Kitta stops at your words-- knowing that yes, you knew. You rise up to stand straight as she crosses the furs to look down into your eyes.

“You don’t understand.” She says. “He is mine. And what his is mine– the boys and you.”

She thinks you want to fight over your husband now? After what he had done? You flick your fingers against her cleavage to push her back, finding an annoyed frown on your lips. Kitta wanted to keep you under her fingers. To enjoy your body, to have your body give her the children she could not and keep you in place. You knew what she was trying to do. She was trying to control you. For more babies? You say nothing because as far as you are concerned, your fate is tied up with Ivar. Until the seer hinted otherwise, you are stuck here.

“I think it’s better you left.” You leave her side. Confident with your submission, Kitta leaves you between your head and hands, thinking about what just happened. You were used to fighting over Ivar. That was familiar, sure. Perhaps you knew that she wanted to be the sole mother to the boys. But her blatant claim that you too were hers?

That… was strange.

Descriptiveness was never his strong suit. You remember why you hate to come to the seer when his lips spread once more, a rare venture. You edge your ass toward the end of the seat. As a woman, you wanted retribution for the words your husband told you. No self respecting Norse woman would let her husband speak to her in such a way as if you were no more than legs to lay between for children, a womb for him to lay his seed in and hands to bring them up.

“Then the gods want me to stay. Even though I will never be his Queen?” You ask. Again, there is no answer from the seer, but a rippling chuckle that ends in a scoff. His spindly fingers play with bone and rune, placing them on the small table by his bed.

“How little you know! Go away, princess (Y/N). Leave me.”

Despite his harsh command, you challenge him for one last question. “Answer me this. Will I have more Ivar’s children?” You ask.

“I see more young ones between this world and the next. The Bride of the Vanir has decided your fate in many ways. Now go.”

His hand uncurls-- and you lean forward, taking his hand and leaning down your head. As your tongue runs down the digits of his palm, you lament bitterly. There was your answer.

The moment you stepped out of the Seer’s hut, you met Sverri crouched down over the floor. His fingers were dark with ash but before you can answer, he snakes his hand around your waist. Bizarrely affectionate for a Viking, you think.

“What did he have to say?” Sverri asks.

“That Freyja already has in store for me what she wills.” You answer quickly. If Freyja had chosen– so it would be. The Norns would carve their runes on Yggradsil’s roots and you would account for what was to come.

“Verdandi and Skuld will give you room to shape your destiny.” Sverri steps in place with you as you walked through Kattegat’s many dusty roads. Of course you knew what he said was true but– you knew that you would not have as much leeway as a common person.

“They favour Ivar.” You drop a hand to one of his on your waist. A sharp ringing breaks you away from Sverri. The whistling is from the Queen who stands confidently from the entrance to the Great Hall in a blaring red dress. Her posture is tight, lips pulling into a tight lipped frown.

“(Y/N)!” Kitta’s blonde hair is pulled back into an elaborate updo, a few wayward strands slipping from the shining bright headpiece. You look down to Sverri’s hand. It recoils like a snake from your waist to your back.

“It looks like I’m being run off again.” Sverri takes a few bouncing steps back. “Goodbye, my lady princess.”

As he runs off, you approach the door as if to go inside and check on your boys. Kitta stops you with her hand shooting to grasp your elbow and jerks you onto her body. She steadies you by her hands around your cinched waist.

“I thought you were going to see the seer.” She says with a biting glare. “Ragnhild has been with the boys all morning. Where were you?”

Her grip is bruise inducing. You want to bite back at her that it was not so long– but you realize that earlier in the morning, Sverri called you to mend his shirt. You had gone despite the fact that he likely had thralls that could do such good work.

“I went to see the seer.” You snarl out. Hold your tongue, you think. You can’t curse her for a second time. Not only would it be improper… Ivar was still bitter about what you had done to beloved, sweet Kitta who walked with a limp just like he.

“Then what did he say?” She accuses. You know why. She is less interested in the words of the seer than you proving that you had gone to see him. Anyone in town could account for your fist jingling the bones of the Seer’s hut.

“That I cannot run from the gods. Or from giving Ivar more sons. Now let go of me.” You rip your arm from her, bracing yourself with an annoyed grunt. Kitta lets you go so graciously.

“Watch yourself, (Y/N).” Kitta motions out to the gathering of men and women. “You cannot let yourself be swayed. Even by Sverri.”

The luck of the gods. Ivar Ragnarsson always had luck in raiding. There was a bounty of gold-- what there wasn’t, however, was luck with women. Not Kitta who kissed him with all the love in the world, but you. He knew that you were upset with him for taking away Sverri with an early raid. If it wasn’t written on your face, it was the night the landing party came back. Uxi and Veifnr were ecstatic. Kitta was ecstatic. You? Your head was turned in another direction as if looking for your dearest friend.

So instead of going to Kitta– he had come to you to begin his three days in your bed. They began roughly. You did not want to speak to him, and by and by, it was making his heart bitter. Even so, you were the mother of his children. He had to try. Setting out a bit of bait never hurt.

“(Y/N).” He says as you turn to face him in bed. Your head settles on downy pillows and you look to him with eyes puffy from your long day of chasing after his sons.

“What is it?” You say a bit sharply.

“Do you want to invite him to our bed?” Ivar’s hand comes up to your cheek with a soft caress. You bent your head back knowing who he was talking about. Sverri. He meant to invite Sverri to your bed. The thought brings heat racing to your face, slapping his jaw with a pop. How could he ask you such a thing? Did you look like someone that would just jump cock to cock? You must have!

“NO! What are you talking about!?” You snap, bringing your hand up to smack him in the chest. Ivar flinches under your smack.

“You look at him like he’s dessert to your otherwise bland dinner.” Ivar says with a roll of his eyes. He– obviously being the bland dinner in question.

“So you think that I want to fuck him just like that!? Do I look like Kitta to you!?” You smack his chest again. Again he flinches back, lurching to grab your wrist. He tugs you over him and you would fall on him rather easily.

“That is what Faksi and Kitta say. It is why you won’t fuck me.” Ivar growls lowly. “They want you to leave me.”

You look at him, face blank. Of course you knew that your father and Kitta had been ganging up on Ivar as of late. It must have affected him more than he let on.

“Listen to me, my love.” You cup his cheeks, finding that his normally hard eyes soften into wet tears as his hand comes up. You caress his cheek with your thumb. “I won’t sleep with you because you never apologized to me.”

Ivar stares back with just as much intensity. Almost as if he couldn’t believe what you just told him. You wouldn’t sleep with him because… because… of what he said. It was obviously bothering him– why would he be so emotional otherwise?

“I told you I did not mean it.” Ivar grumbles. “I was jealous.”

“That is still not an apology.” You say.

“Consider it one. It was jealousy.” Ivar states again.

Jealous of what? Of his brother? After you told him you never slept with him? If you weren’t annoyed before– you were now. You roll to the corner of your bed and clench the obnoxiously soft pillow. Why couldn’t he… why couldn’t he just apologize?

But then you speak.

“Fine. If you won’t apologize, let us bring him to our bed.”

“She was here last time.” Ivar says. Your heart is closed, knowing Kitta is with Uxi while Ragnhild stays with you. In a way, perhaps you were punishing her. She must have known so as well. That was why she insisted that Ivar could not let you do this. Sorrily for her, he was too weak to do anything with the wrath of Frigg threatening to overcome him.

“The gods know and see how she has changed.” You hiss, back curling upwards. The contractions came closer and closer-- and you knew this is the stage of true labour in which there are no true breaks. All you want is to be able to labour in peace on all fours without Ivar insisting on Kitta being there in the room. Ragnhild is between your legs with an older thrall, learning the fine art of being a midwife. Dropping the issue, Ivar grimaces and sits helpless to change anything. It was better to stay quiet than incite your rage when you were in labour. Any man knew that.

At the end of it all, you gave birth to his second son, a healthy baby boy. He was a hungry thing, bonding to your breast quicker than Uxi had. By no time at all, you were in bed with your husband. Two years was a long time to be without a baby in the home. Or so Ivar thinks when he finally has his son on his tattooed chest, tiny hands on his body. He's never felt broader. The Great Hall is quiet again and with it, the peace of the moment. He looks over to you, clean from your warm bath that scrubbed away the pain of labour.

"He does not look deformed." He lets his hand come to his son's back. By the gods-- the little boy looks like Uxi had during birth. "He's healthy."

"Maybe I am descended from the bride of the Vanir." You snuggle your way closer to him, taking the one hand that is not on your shared child. Ivar affectionately runs his fingers over your knuckles like he so enjoys to do with Kitta.

"Maybe." He agrees.

Little Veifnr is a slight and handsome boy. By now Ivar had learned to shift days, giving you four while Kitta had only three with her husband. Though if you didn’t sleep because of Veifnr, he quickly went back on his word to her to bond with her son. Kitta didn’t understand. Wasn’t that Ragnhild’s use?

Of course things couldn’t stay so perfect for you. From the steps of the throne you watch the Yule log crinkle and pop while Uxi jumps beside it like an eager dog, listening to the oaths of men. Veifnr long since fell fast asleep in a bassinet beside you as you enjoyed the vigil to your ancestral goddess on Mothernight.

“You’re enjoying yourself, my wife?” You glance over to your husband as he leans over his armchair towards you. It has been bizarrely quiet. Kitta, who does not sit in her throne, almost a pleasure that night. You sit on furs slung across the steps by his chair, drinking of the horn he hands to you when you hair his following request.

“Good. Then as the gods have given us another son, I want to take Kitta to see the lights of colours that I’ve heard such things about.” Ivar proposes.

Of course you know what he means. He means the sky that lit up in brilliant greens, heavenly blues and nearly fragrant purples, painting the sky like wisps of the gods chariots. It was rumoured, or so you thought, that Freyja would ride her kittens in the lush green stripes. That was the streak your father always told you about and the one that you eagerly you wanted to see. To see if your mother Freyja really did ride the heavens. But it is Kitta’s moment to be spoiled.

“Ah… then you would like me to care for things?” You suggest.

Ivar brings his horn back from your fingers and presses it up to his cracked lips. “Yes, Princess. I’m sure you’ve done it for Faksi.”

“Of course.” You nod— of course you had. You had done it more than once as he raided frequently. The public of Kattegat seemed to enjoy you enough with the births of Ivar’s sons. It would be fine. You would just be at home like you always were.

“Hvitserk will stay behind to care for a portion of the army.” Ivar leans down, taking your chin in his palm. “So I better not hear that you’ve betrayed me when I come back.” He gives you a clear warning, but to you, it is a message. Ivar doesn’t trust you.

You pull your head free from his palm. “I’m not a loose whore to be sleeping with your brother.”

Kitta comes from the crowd, pushing past the clusters of drab woolen clothes until she finds you both speaking. Ivar drops the conversation quickly-- seeing his jewel coming forward. He reaches for the hand she extends for a kiss, falling into Ivar’s flirtatious tug closer. She drops into her chair almost as if she’s cocky of what she is doing. Your eyes fall away to Veifnr’s bassinet, acting as if you are rocking it.

“Are we going?” She’s almost gleaming in excitement-- and in response, Ivar seems to glow. His skin, cleansed before dinner, brightens.

“I told you I would take you.” For his efforts she gives him a kiss, sliding onto his lap with her slender toes in black laced flats nudging you just slightly to move a step or two lower. You slide closer to Veifnr instead; nudging his little cheeks with your fingers. He’s fast asleep.

“Thank you, (Y/N)!” She says. “I haven’t had him alone in years. It will be perfect for so many years!”

Maybe her words are genuine— but as a woman that never had her husband to herself, you snort. Your teeth knit into their grooves, disrupting an otherwise peaceful moment when you swipe back at Kitta.

”I wouldn’t know. I’ve never had a man to myself.” You say.

Kitta’s joyful moment is cut short with her hand in his hair and lips against his. Her momentary smile against his lips quickly turns dark. She pulls away long enough to stare at you– because you’ve just disrupted something beautiful.

But you don’t honestly give a fuck. They would go and have fun, bathe naked together in the rumoured hot springs or lay under the glittering stars at night while you stay nothing more than a mother with Ragnhild. Ivar turns his gaze to you slowly, fiddling with the strings of Kitta’s dress. Here it went again.

“What, are you jealous that you can’t whine your way out of this one?” Kitta snips back, beginning to rise. Ivar pulls her back onto him by her slender hips. Kitta huffs as Ivar combs his hand through her flaxen hair and worships her lips in kisses to keep her tranquil.

“Not at all.” You say and look between to the king and his queen. “I know he feels bad that you are soo alone. So go.”

Dully you raise your hand as if to metaphorically shake her off. Yes, she watches Uxi. In the day she could pretend like the little boy was hers. She would be dragged to see this, that and the other by him. She would feed him foods familiar to her and sing him songs. But at the end of the day? He came to you to sleep because he was your son.

“I think it is that the second wife is jealous of how he spoils me. You get shiny gifts to be shown off as his trophy wife– but I get him to my own to see wonderful things that you will never.” Kitta nudges the silken ties of your back with her foot. Ivar throws his head back, rolling on the axis of his neck until he looks down at you.

“I will take you next time, wherever my princess wants.” Ivar speaks as if you should ignore anything his bitter queen was saying. Before you could really even smile at him, Kitta stands off his lap and ambles around you. She bends in front of you and reaches out to cup your chin.

“Oh, he will… after he takes his Queen. Because his second wife will always be second best.” Those words are the last words you could take and strictly on instinct, you slam your head forward into hers, tumbling her down the steps of the throne room. The room drops its liveliness. The loud cackles die down into nothing more than strangled gasps to the tune of the crackling yule log. Shooting out from the silence though, a dull crack. It was your fist meeting the side of Kitta’s face, yanking your skirts up to straddle her in place. Her legs thrash underneath you and yet-- even the call of ma! ma! Does not shake you.

“(Y/N).” Someone calls out.

You hear your husband falling off of his throne, dragging himself down the steps until he climbs over you like a tree, yanking you back. You knew he was going to so you wound your palms tight around Kitta’s sputtering airways. A hiss tears through your lips as Ivar pulls you by the waist and chest.

“She’s choking her.” Hvitserk comes to Kitta’s side, unpeeling your fingers to the best of his ability. To no avail, Hvitserk uses the assistance of a sharp knife that would slice you just enough to shake you. The shock is enough for Ivar to yank you to the side off of his first wife. As Kitta flings herself into the opposite direction, Uxi breaks from the hold on one of the thralls that watches him to doddle up to his other mother.

“You’re insane!” She coughs and coughs. But you didn’t give a shit anymore, pushing off Ivar’s firm arms.

“What the hell was that?” He ask. You stand, staggering until you gain your balance. Then as you look at Kitta, your eyes narrow. Your breath is uneasy and sharp, rubbing away the blood from one sole punch that hit your lip in the flail.

“May Frigg smite you Kitta… for, for how you treat the woman you claimed to bring in with good heart. I pray that Loki will bring you ill repute and Skadi will give me my revenge, you… you snake!” You spit, the words becoming more venomous than the last. You feel your husband’s eyes wandering up to you in what might have been wonder or horror. Whichever one it was, you aren’t sure, but, you know that the hate you feel right raging in your stomach.

You look up to Ivar and scan him, your tongue against your raw lip. “Look at the woman you’ve made me.” You exhale, shifting around the bassinet as Kitta turns herself to Ivar.

“You aren’t going to let her do that to me!” She yells at Ivar. “Pick one of us! It’s her or I!”

You glance to Ivar as if to ask someone to help– but in his place, Hvitserk jogs forth to help you lift the bassinet. You both lift it high while Ivar turns his eyes away from you, thinking slowly of the words you spoke moments ago.

“(Y/N).” He answers, looking back to Kitta.

“You’re choosing HER!?” His Kitta bellows. Ivar twists on his forearms to drag himself out of the Great Hall.

“If you make me choose!”

“It is funny.” Hvitserk laughs, arm slung over your shoulder as you waved in bed. “She thought she would put you in your place and you put her in hers!”

You quickly escaped the Great Hall hours ago. Ivar and Kitta's screaming back and forth eventually died off. Now Hvitserk finds it all too funny that you had not only cracked Kitta’s head with yours but cursed her with something so dark and heavy. Not that he thought the gods would really do anything about Kitta! While usually you might be straight laced and tense– the booze down your throat for the last few hours left you giggly. Your head rests on his shoulder.

“Only a little.” You slur.

“Only a little, she says.” Hvitserk laughs.

The days that had pass are like this. While Ivar took Kitta out to see those beautiful lights, Hvitserk fills you with booze and you look would both look at the heavens. It’s a good distraction when Hvitserk sleeps in your bed and wakes up to little Uxi climbing over his body. For all that the young boy has seen, he is resilient. It shames you, in some way, to know that Uxi saw you beating his other mother. At this age, you hope he won't remember. Another one of those drunken nights passed when you wake to shouts throughout the Great Hall. There was a great deal of stomping and yelling by Ivar's warriors. You recognize the favourite of his men responding to Ivar's calls. He must have been home from Kitta's wonderful trip. Hvitserk rolls to sit up in the bed, shirt out of sight.

“What are they doing?” Hvitserk pushes his loose hair from his eyes. You consider what might be going on when you heard his booming voice rippling in through the other room– waking both babies at once. You stumble through the darkness looking for a shawl to pull over your naked shoulders, knocking your foot against carved wood.

“(Y/N)!” The King calls again.

You take Veifnr to Ragnhild as Hvitserk lifts Uxi up onto his slender hips. Then as you step out of your chambers, you realize something. It was Kitta’s cool body over a stretcher, contorting painfully as she stares– but does not speak. It is a better look for her.

“What is it?” You come close. Ivar’s hands sweeps over Kitta’s pale cheek.

“You cursed her.” He says. And as you remember it– you did.