#irreplaceable vi

Your toes hit the cool ground, searching for the cincher to go about your waist.

“What do I have to be jealous of, hm?” Ivar slams his mug down and the sloshing liquid spills over his tense fist. He jams his fist underneath his chin otherwise ignoring you calling him out on the obvious. He chooses to address Ubbe. “How do you know my wife?”

Clearly ill at ease, Ubbe stands back up and makes his way to his brother, setting his hand on Ivar’s cheek. At any time his brother might snap. The younger of the brothers turns his face up like hard stone falling in Ubbe’s hand. Before Ubbe can say anything, you beat him to it.

“Ubbe was my first love.” You say with clear defiance of the softness Ubbe tries to contract on his younger brother. You walk around Ubbe as Ivar throws off his older brother’s hand. How was he not surprised? Why oh why was he not surprised? Had Kitta not told him?

“She’s fucked one of your brothers, you know.” Kitta said one night. Ivar had come in a wonderful mood from visiting you. He had it all. The family he always wanted and a beautiful first wife that laid on top of his ruddy furs.

“What?” Ivar scoffs a laugh, stripping himself of his tunic and trousers both. They are shed in another direction.

“One of your brothers.” Kitta reaffirms. “She slept with one of them. She told me that she lost her virginity to them.”

Ivar felt a low boil in his gut. Rage? Confusion? You never told him who the man was that stole your precious virginity. The virginity that should have rightfully belonged to him as your first husband. His mind flies to the first offending party. He couldn’t ignore it. Was it… Hvitserk?

“I think its Hvitserk.” She giggled and Ivar would see red.

Hvitserk.

Suddenly spinning on his heel, he left the space with quick steps. Bjorn looks between his brothers, skating out of the room behind Ivar. Ubbe’s fingers pinch the bridge of his brow. “You could have dealt softly with him.”

You pull the heavy furs over Ivar’s spacious bed, sliding your hand across bulky pillows to collect Ivar’s old clothes from the ground. “I could have.” You say, folding creases into his trousers.

Ubbe paces to your side. “How am I to talk to him now?” He says with a twitch of his lip accentuating the high arch of his cheekbones. In a petty way, you hoped that the only thing that Ivar would think of was your relationship with Ubbe. After keeping it a secret so long as to not hurt him, you were glad that he knew.

You hoped he fucking drowned in the knowledge that it wasn’t his.

“Simple, you talk.” You snap out of your trance.

“It is not that easy for a brother who betrayed him, (Y/N).” Ubbe sighs.

Now that you thought of it, nothing was that easy. Being Ivar’s wife? It wasn’t that easy. Moving on after the shortly lived fling in Uppsala? It wasn’t that easy. There was no love lost between Ubbe and you but in Ivar’s head– you knew what he would be thinking of. His brother had your virginity under his belt. But he also had countless other women’s as well, surely he knew that.

“How would you prefer to tell him, Ubbe?” Your hand raises to sit on your plush hip. He knows at that moment he’s fucked as far as this conversation goes, eyes drifting down with every word that bites the cool chill wind that spills into the tent.

You go on.

“I spent a week balls deep in your now wife with no intent on marrying her? I slaughtered her honor and left back to Kattegat like nothing happened?” You probably should have stopped there. But you didn’t. Even with the biting hate of tears behind your eyes.

“Or perhaps I am the reason that she could not get another husband that would not share? That she could not marry Sverri Askteill?” You snap.

The folds underneath Ubbe’s eyes crinkle as you speak, glancing off across to the bassinet that is brought into the room by a few lanky thralls. You walk up to a the brunette slave, Ragnhild, to take your child of her arms. Her eyes dart to the door and you see her off with a small smile. Then you twist your head to the side with a nod as she shoots off into wherever she came. Little Aslaug was finally back into your arms. The baby had a cooling effect on your nerves. You bounce in place as she coos, speaking back to her in a sort of gibberish that Ubbe doesn’t even understand.

“If I had known… I wouldn’t have. It wasn’t like that, (Y/N)… I will make it up to you.” He murmurs, ignoring the excuses bounding around in his head. He could have said he was young– and you had a fat ass. The truth of the matter wasn’t just what laid underneath your clothes, but the way you looked at him. You looked at him like he was an actual man. Not a prince, not Ragnar’s son, but a man. Now, there seemed to be no love lost between Ubbe and you. Somewhere beyond all that hurt, you both managed to care for one another.

“Of course you will.” You say, tapping Aslaug’s slight nose. She extends her hands out to grasp your forefinger. “You will cover for me with Ivar tonight.”

“Cover for you?” Ubbe asks. He answers his own question as soon as the words slipped of his lips. “Are you going to betray him?”

It bothers you how quickly Ubbe jumps to that assertion. But… would he really be wrong? Your eyes scan Aslaug’s gentle features. “Of course not, Ubbe. What if I wanted to do something for Ivar?” You ask.

“You hate him.” Ubbe says in a matter of seconds. He’d only seen you together once and yet– he questions why you are still here in the first place.

Did you really hate him? It stops you cold, glancing up to look at your once called lover with the knowledge of what you once were to him. “I do not hate my husband.” Your voice is low, drawn out.

“You act like it, (Y/N).”

You brush past him.

You look for Ivar in all the places you thought he should be. Planning by himself or limping along the camp, even gazing out toward Sverri’s place in Kattegat. Instead of all of those places you found him in the one place you never thought you would: outside with his young sons. He watches them play chess, one piece after another. Veifnr would take a piece and move it wordlessly across the board in a game of cat and mouse. Uxi being the brash boy he was, chased after Veifnr’s wooden pieces.

“Is he using his mind this time?” You come up beside Ivar, who hunches over his crutch. Ivar spares you a slight glance.

“Does it look like it?” He snorts. “He reminds me of Bjorn.”

The uncle in question was crouched beside his little nephews, giving Uxi an unintelligible look. Uxi must have interpreted it, because he slid a piece in the opposing direction.

“It’s cheating if uncle helps you.” Veifnr says monotonously.

Uxi snorts. “It’s only cheating if he speaks.” He says. The boys banter back and forth as to what constitutes cheating while you laugh, Aslaug shifting in the wrap against your breast, sound asleep.

Ivar glances over to her. “She missed her mother.” He remarks through grit teeth. “The thralls couldn’t still her.”

Looking down at the little girl, you would have thought it to be much different. There weren’t many lactating mothers in camp. But someone else had given her breast in your absence to keep the child alive. With that in mind, you highly doubted that she would need anyone else other than a breast to call on tap.

“I’m sure she would hush for a breast.” You mumble. After a few moments, Ivar forgets completely about this false moments between his children and you. They would have to deal with Sverri– then he would have to deal with your mood after. Ivar bites his tongue at the venom threatening to spill out about Sverri. Surely he would too, the way he looked at you like that. His mind races to thought of that damn shaman so many years ago.

“Do you love him?” Ivar asks. The air is stifling, almost choke worthy, and you lean into Ivar.

“You have no faith in me for being the same man that had another wife. Who are you to be jealous, hm? Besides, you would just as soon get another.”

“I have no interest in another wife.” Ivar’s eyes slide shut, slowly opening with an obnoxious glower at your person. He hadn’t even brought up Ubbe. Which he so, so desperately desired to do. To make you shut the fuck up. His lips part almost to say something when you hush him again.

“With Kitta gone there’s no one to wet your prick… have you gone to the thralls? Or is your need why you are trying to kill Sverri? Do you miss her…?” You ask.

Ivar stands up as straight as he could manage with the crutch in his hands. “I made a promise to never take another wife. With Kitta gone, there’s no reason not to give you what you want.” Ivar says, his palm flatly on top of his ebony crutch.

“And what is that?” You ask, curious to hear it from his lips.

“Monogamy.”

Monogamy. Your heart lurches up into your throat, cursing the effect he still had on you. Why was it… that you hoped it wasn’t too late?