#vikings irreplaceable

“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.

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.

One of his muscular arms slips underneath your shoulders. You snuggle into your friend’s arm while Hvitserk draws triangles in the shape of Valknut along the outside of your arm. A tickling reminder of your father’s drawn flags every time his boat came over the steady horizon.

“Like rabbits.” You answer. The only question you had was… if he thought that, why hadn’t he come barging in to explode at Hvitserk? Maybe he was scared for his little Kitta. She was in a bizarre state, between this world and the next. While caring for her with the thralls you learned she was cognizant of what was going on and yet, she could not do anything for herself. It was as if someone pricked her with a Sefnthorn, if only she was asleep.

“Do you want to fuc-” Hvitserk’s words fall dead on his lips. You look up to his lips, then away only to find Ivar standing at the foot of your marital bed bed. His hand is tense on the axe of his belt, a grip tighter than iron on the crutch supporting him. Ivar slides his axe out of his belt and into his hand. He bounces it, spinning and twirling, with his eyes intent on his brother like a hunter after its cornered prey.

“Get out of my bed.” Ivar flicks his thumb towards the door. Hvitserk doesn’t need another warning. He slips out from behind the sheets with trousers still in place. No proof that he was naked in bed with you. Hvitserk sweeps up his overtunic from the floor and sets out for another area of this vast hall. The twirling of Ivar’s axe stops as his eyes prowl after his brother, watching as he retreats from the room.

Then he looks at you.

“You promised you wouldn’t fuck him.” Ivar whispers deftly low. You recall the promise– the one you made prior to them leaving for the glittering lights in the sky. Ivar drags himself onto the bed.

“What are you talking about, husband?” You ask as Ivar drags himself across the bed. He boxes you in underneath his body, dropping onto his forearms to keep you properly contained. His hips grind against yours, the firmness of his growing arousal more evident with every movement against you. You assume it to be out of his usual rage-- to have had Hvitserk shoving himself in on something he deemed his.

“Don’t lie to me! How many times have I caught him in here?” He’s raving now, his tongue sputtering spittle so quickly that you could barely keep up. “Did you think I wouldn’t find out? Does he fuck you better? Or do you just like small dicks?”

It’s the gratification you want and need. Kitta may have gotten to see the beautiful colours of the sky (or maybe she hadn’t) and you? You had your husband all to yourself while she got better. What better use of it than to make Ivar see red? You gasp when one of his hands drops down underneath your dress, prying your thighs apart. He prods your entrance with dry fingers as if looking for evidence of his brother’s love.

There is nothing but your warm slick, aching at the sound of his jealous rage.

“No. But he does look like he could eat pussy better than you, don’t you think?” You ask.

“You fucking bitch.” Ivar smacks your ass with a hard, rippling slap. The hot sting causes you to cry out. Then he pulls your nightgown up over your breasts, begrudgingly setting kisses down your sternum, over the dip in your belly to your pubic mound. Each kiss could have been affectionate, slow and caring. But it’s tainted by his knowledge that Hvitserk could have been there. He gathers himself between your legs– and you know.

This was probably a mistake.

“You want to be eaten out? Fine.” Ivar growls, pressing his mouth against your inner thighs. Two gentle kisses and a mean bite that more than stings leads Ivar’s mouth over your cunt. He sucks your lips then slides his slick tongue between your lips. You pull your dress the rest of the way off as Ivar’s mouth shifts, gliding his tongue along one of your labia before the other. You rest your hands atop of his braids, petting him with a sigh.

“I told you.” You say just to jar him.

Ivar’s hands slam over your hips, bruising tugs of your body yanking you back towards him. Your hands cement into the furs while gives you a broad lick up to your clit, encircling it in a curl of his tongue. His tongue caresses just above the nub in a mean tease, gaining your whines until his tongue flickers down towards your clitoris. Your hips would stutter, grinding up against his face when he buries his face into your cunt, nudging you with his nose. You try your best to push him in– and he responds with a dangerous growl that reverberates against your slick cunt.

“Ivar.” You gasp. One of his hands shifts, rubbing against your lips in almost a tease. His fingers slip along the outside of your pussy, coating in your excitement and as the anticipation built– you cry out. “Please!”

He makes you wait, wrapping his lips around your clit to suck you, flicking his tongue just so occasionally that it has you whining for a little more– which he grants when his fingers slide into your cunt. His fingertips curl, stroking the upper wall and listening as you make beautiful cries for him. His slow thrusts quicken with every shake and thrust of your hips against his face for more and more, filling you now with his fingers completely. Your breathing hardens, choking out spasms of cries spilling forth and you run rigid, gasping as your orgasm overcame you. He knew as much, keeping his attention completely on your body as you ride out your orgasm over his face. As much as you try to buck him off, he makes you stay on his face throughout the orgasm. Calming licks across your labia calm you down while his hands shift up the round of your hips, then back down.

“I’m not done with you yet.”

Your cunt is aching hot by all of the attention Ivar was giving you. It was just too much. Anytime Hvitserk so much as looked in your direction, you knew it was going to be trouble. Perhaps– you wanted to tell him that you hadn’t fucked around on him. You were a good wife! But… between Kitta’s illness and his obsessive qualities, you start to like offering your ass up to him.

Even if you looked ridiculous walking. Hvitserk laughs as you waddle over, taking his hand to sit besides him on the bench of a table. Hvitserk looks you over once before bursting into a deep laughter. Your neck is battered red and purple by the love he gave you.

“He fuck you?” Hvitserk chides, flipping a thin slice of chicken in his fingers. As he ate it up, you lean into him, eyes blown wide.

“Did he fuck me?” You repeat. “Fuck you, Hvitserk. He hasn’t let me off his dick. I can’t walk.”

Hvitserk grins cheekily, loving the effect he has on your relationship with his brother. Its a tease to know that his younger brother honestly thought you were fucking him. Though he might not have complained about doing so– he hadn’t. Your name off of Ivar’s lips disrupts any peace you could have had.

“Ahhh. Why?” You groan, sliding out and stepping up to the stairs to your husband. The furs are soft under your toes, tipped with milky and dirt brown fibers.

“Yes?” You ask.

“Sit with me.” Ivar motions you to sit. You look between Kitta’s seat made for a queen… etched with beautiful hands. Your own seat was nothing of the sort… in fact, you warmed the stairs. The thought crosses you but if Kitta died, would you have hers? You curse yourself for thinking like that. Then you go to sit beside him when he lurches out to pull you in his lap.

“Ooh! Ivar what are you doing!?” You protest, finding that Ivar’s arms pull you in tight.

“On me.” He whispers against your neck. Lightly, his hips glide up against yours in what you deem is all a show. You glance over to find Hvitserk grinning dumbly at you, sliding his arm over little Uxi’s shoulders. You returned that dumb smile with one of your own. There was no doubt about it: he was sooo jealous.

When Ivar finally finished with you that night, you weren’t sure how you hadn’t fallen to sleep immediately. But there is something on your mind– just as Ivar had something on his mind too. You can tell easily by the knit of his jaw and eyebrows, that dumb little face seemingly in awe.

“What is wrong, husband?” You shift over to Ivar’s chest.

“I am thinking of killing Kitta.” Ivar glances over to you.

You know she isn’t getting better. It has been weeks since they have come home, if not months. Her state continues to worsen from acknowledging people that come in with her eyes to simply staring at the ceiling. This is no life for a Queen. But… no.

“You can’t kill her!” You lurch over his chest, straddling him.The coolness of his seed smearing against his weak legs.

“You can’t tell me what to do with my wife. She is suffering.” Ivar sighs, glancing back to you. It’s almost a relief that you draw complaints, reminding him that no, you see reason to keep fighting for her as well. But why? For all of Kitta’s hateful words, rude touches and spite, you fight for her life.

“I… let me bless her with a volva.” You suggest. “If the gods do not heal her, you may kill her.”

“Why do you care so much?” Ivar asks. “Should you not be glad to have me to yourself?”

He is reminded of your harsh words months ago– you hated the woman he made you. Now, Kattegat buzzed with news of the hateful woman who would cause the death of her rival? Or did you mean Kitta’s bitterness and anger that consumed you from that one cheerful, sweet girl you were.

“Because… it is my fault.” You say. “I cursed her and the gods listened to my cries. I am not a woman to kill another out of jealousy or spite.”

Ivar lay his head back. So you weren’t.

You're not that girl-- you're not a murderer. You don’t want to be around Kitta after you beat her face in. But…You had the thralls carry her body out by the fire that full moon night, glittering above your eyes as you turn to her. Your face painted with dark kohl and dripping dots down to your powdery white jawline. Ivar sits with the hood to his cowl over your head as the volva stands in line with you. A sacrifice had occurred– and you lower your face after the volva sprinkled bits of blood onto your face. Standing beside you, Hvitserk's hands lay limply over the pommel of his sword.

“Are you sure about this?” Hvitserk asks you. You slide by Kitta, combing away her pallid blonde hair from her eyes The volva turns to receive her staff as you mash together a variety of herb and rock in a pestle– your work and forgiveness manifesting over her. You have to forgive her for this to work. Such was your bitterness that you found even that difficult.

“I’m not the woman he’s made me.” You whisper to him. “I couldn’t kill her this way.”

As the volva kneels beside you, you offer out your hand willingly to her. She glances over your arm, pinpointing the right area to draw blood for the offering toward the gods.

“Princess (Y/N), do you give your blood willingly to this woman– your sister wife, who has wronged you in the eyes of Frigg?” She asks.

“I do.” You say, wincing as the blade slices through your arm.

“And in the eye of Skadi, whose wrath you elicited over your sister wife?” She asks. You hope with all you could that it would work but the wish for ill repute when she asked of Loki and Skadi? It felt like a stain over your heart. You try your best to answer yes.

“And of Freyja, whose seidr we use to heal this woman?” She asks.

“As a daughter of Freyja, I beg.” You answer, another slice leaving blood dripping down your arm to your elbow.

Forgiveness. The mash of blood and herb, magic and hope spill over Kitta’s lips. You only hope that it would work.

Two years had passed.

You lead Kitta with hands on hers, the scars seeming fresh as the day they were drawn on your forearms while you leading her to through the marketplace. She was slow: shamefully slow really.

“Can we go back to the hall? My body… it hurts.” Kitta asks. You give a grunt in acknowledgement as you take her back to the hall– where no surprise, Ivar leans up in his seat when Kitta came in. The two years proved difficult. Your husband spent much of his time with Kitta, who was not without her pain.

“Thank you… (Y/N).” She says as you walk her up to her throne, kneeling with a fruit against her lips. Even all this time later, its bizarre enough for Ivar to see you both interacting like this. He hadn’t seen it since the beginning of the relationship. His wives have gone from teeth against teeth to this– quiet. Kitta lead her hands up to the fruit, palming it for the right grip to hold. You force your hand over hers to help her.

“I cannot do anything anymore.” Kitta complains. “I need your help for everything– the gods are laughing at me.”

“It is better than dead. We can go to Uppsala and make a blot for your health. The boys would be happy.” You interrupt.

“You should have left me for dead. I know you do not want to care for me.” She says. Of course you didn’t want this position. But… if you let her die, you would be giving in to the woman that you didn’t want to be. Ivar reflects on that same notion, watching as you feed Kitta of a plate and recline her feet onto a stool. You say nothing. Then just like that, you are off looking for a doddling toddler and a small child.

“Why did you have her save me?” Kitta drops her head back against her throne.

Ivar’s hands curl against the arms of his chair. “I didn’t.” He says. “She wanted to ‘try’ to bless you.”

“After she tried to kill me.” Kitta says. The words aren’t laced with her usual blind rage or raving disrepair. Moreover they have the bored lull of a boat, on water. The words only seem to bob in confusion. Why would you save her if she tried to humiliate you? In front of Ivar? In front of the public?

Ivar’s eyes slide over toward Kitta. “What is it Kitta? You have been quiet.”

Kitta gazes out toward the empty doorway leading out of the Great Hall. Little Veifnr doddles by, squealing when you snap him up and toss him just slightly. Hvitserk sweeps in to take Veifnr from you. As you both move away from the doorway, she can hear your argument with Hvitserk.

How could you toss him? What if he fell? He was not going to fall Hvitserk. But you don’t know that.

Kitta glints a smile, raising her hands that felt heavy as the head of an axe to rub her sore smile. Little Uxi breaks apart from you after a few moments of excitement, barreling up the stairs and climbing his second mother like a tree. Ivar barks at Uxi, but the small boy only sits on Kitta like a proper child.

“I don’t want our children to see us fight like this.” Kitta’s hand drops heavily onto the arm of her chair, the other lazily holding him in place. “She’s proven herself dangerous.”

Were all those words– a test? The way you snapped at her that night even before giving birth, calling you a bad mother and second best? You had not only beat her, but cursed her into crippling sickness and by that, one might have said you tried to kill her.

“I need you more days, Ivar.” Kitta sounds resolute. “Four or five.”

“My sons need me more than you.” Ivar turns his eyes over to her then to his son on her lap. Kitta raises a weak hand to stroke over his hair, reddish brown like Ivar’s mother’s own. Bitter– he sounded bitter about the whole thing.

“I don’t want to make our family miserable out of jealousy. I will if you make me.” She spits out. The constant pull of Ivar’s love that leaves him into your arms most of the days you were pregnant, the way she saw his gloved hands caress your stomach and burn kisses against the taut, round skin… it was agonizing. Ivar loved you. Likely more than she– and the way she saw it, she could lose him. She only has the benefit of Ivar not rushing to defend you when you fought with her… perhaps, perhaps she could manipulate it.

A sigh. “I will give you precedence.”

Ubbe’s hand meets Hvitserk’s chest, backing him against the wall with his sword drawn. The bastard King Sverri reaches his hand out to yours in consolation and yet, you turn away. You drop your tousled skirts in exchange for cradling his sons– your sons, the children he wanted more than anything. Ivar’s boom of a howl is wordless but anyone understood well.

You betrayed him. The worst of it was; he expected as much.

“He’s so cute.” You mutter in bed with Ivar. The first pregnancy left a two year old in a bassinet beside a shared bed, the second left your arms full with a newly born boy. Another boy to be proud of; another boy to prove the public wrong. Ivar’s arm wrapped around your shoulders before he glanced down to the small babe who fell asleep with his flaky little fingers protecting his face.

“What will you call him?” You asked Ivar. As you nestled into the space between his arms and torso, your smile was permanently fixed on your lips. Your hair was slick with sweat after hours and hours of harsh contractions on the floor, blood between your legs as you rocked your hips in agony. The pain you bared for him: pressing out Veifnr in the twilight hours of morning. Ivar turned his head towards you.

“You name him.” Ivar let his other hand tease your strands of hair.

“Really?” You leaned back to look at Ivar.

“You birthed him.” He said. As quick as day, you snapped back, Veifnr. Veifnr after Ivar’s bloodline. A tease at the dragon Fafnir, whom his grandfather slayed. He accepts as much, eyes lazily sliding closed when he heard it. Those four little words that made his chest clench tight. Breathless, he opened his eyes when you said it again.

“I love you, Ivar.” You said. He kicked himself in the ass for shrugging off your words. Ivar’s lips wavered a sigh.

“You say that now. Let us see when a good man comes along. I am not a good man.”

He was not a good man. He craved power, land and gold. Glory for Odin and children that would walk in the right ancient ways. His voice eventually strings dry, no longer able to howl so much in pain. You flinch back, boys in your arms as Ivar breathes hard in— then exhales hard out.

“There it is.” Sverri murmurs. “Now you know just how I felt when Faksi let you marry my (Y/N). Perhaps even more.”

Sverri teases, testing the waters as Ivar’s shaking hands jump. He snarls at the offending king with the handle of his axe now in his grip. The jealous King Sverri– Faksi had told him who the other man that wanted you was. He knew his ambitions and yet, he faltered his Kitta. He could have let you go that night. But he didn’t. Ivar could never let go of his wife– or his family. Even if it meant losing his sweet Kitta.

It didn’t mean that he would let it go so easily.

“I will kill you.” Ivar flips his blade, cutting through the air in a few whirls as Sverri held himself strong. The wooden shaft fa;;s back into his hand for only seconds before he launches it through the air. Sverri swivels to the side, narrowly clipped by the axe against his ear. Blood streams down the shell of his fleshy ear. He brings the knuckles of both thumb and middle finger together, a sharp whistle ringing through Ivar’s ear.

He knew what for. His warriors spill in from the inner crevices of the hall. Those outside remain hidden as if to guard the Great Hall. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught you huddling your boys close to Ubbe. His older brother moves forward to hold Uxi.

“Ivar– Ivar stop!” You shout. Words reaching his ears are rejected. I love you, Ivar– and he wants to believe them, take them into weight, explain what happened with his love for Kitta and comfort you. He sees red and precious little else.

“Ivar!” You call again, falling onto the ground. Ivar finally whirls around; his eyes, bloodshot and wide, to look at you when you yet again call out to him. “Please!”

“What is it woman! Do you have something else to say?!” He bellows. “How good it was that he ate of you? Or did he seed you–”

“Stop it. I don’t want to fight.” You whisper. You didn’t want him to fight. He wonders if that’s what you had in mind writhing with this stranger on top of you. Eating of your sweet cunt meant to be all his while Ivar meant to be in his tent preparing for war against Sverri. There he would lose hundreds of troops if not more, all for a wife that let a foreigner enjoy her body and destroy the homelife you both once had.

“This was destined when he killed Kitta. Our Kitta who loved you… and you betrayed me. Now I have to kill him.” He supplies the words, darkening phrase by phrase.

He hopes Kitta’s name filled you with guilt, reminding you of her fears days before her death. Those awful, blood curdling screams on the oven like heat of a funeral pyre. Kitta, the one who stepped in on your wedding day for your mother before she turned to such a beast. Kitta– who was like a second mother to Uxi and Veifnr; the two who held their words.

But their judgements felt heavy on your heart when they came in to see you in such a compromising position. If nothing else, Sverri had to be an example for his boys: never let a man make a fool of you. He would set a good example.

“He did not seed me.” You whisper. Ivar lulls his head, flicking it to the side with a scoffing laugh.

“Good– so then, when I kill him here, that will be it for the Askteil line.”

Sverri straightens himself while wiping blood from his ear. A cluster of warriors curl around King Sverri, ready at any moment to defend him. It was a death wish. Ivar expected more of the King Sverri. Perhaps he intended to kill him in some bizarre way or sent someone to raid his camps? Bjorn is back there. He thought of many excuses but none as powerful as the truth.

Maybe King Sverri was just a hopeless fool.

“Did you think it would be so easy?” Ivar roars. “To come take my lands– my wife with no allies.”

“Perhaps I did not care anymore.” He suggests, thrusting his other hand into the air. “I have been patient! I thought– it would not take long for a cripple to die. Thor will strike him down. But here you are, glory to Odin.”

Sverri drew a sword from above the bed, motioning it toward Ivar in his disgust for his life. A man like him was meant to die young. Still he was here… despite Sverri’s hope that the norns would have meant for him to die young. At least then the boys would not have been looking at him in the same way they were now.

“Sverri please.” You plead. Your ears are bleeding.

Your sweet king looks to you, vibrant eyes furious in his rare rage. “I am not going to just leave you with this monster again, (Y/N)! I am taking you.”

You glance over to Ivar and then to the other king again. “I will be fine! Just go!”

“No.” Sverri’s lips push tightly one against another. “So that he can abuse you? Force himself again upon you? Did you think I did not hear?”

It follows Ivar wherever he went.

Some people condemned him but others, once they heard of the lack of sex… agreed with Ivar that it was the “right” thing to do. Ivar knows better than that. A man never forced himself upon his wife. His expression reads the guilt; though his face was as hard as it came.

“I… You struggle for the words. Pathetic tears stream down your flushed cheeks. “I’ve forgiven him Sverri.”

The way Sverri turns up to stand straight tells you that he either doesn’t believe you, or, believes you shouldn’t forgive your husband of more than twelve years. Finally Ivar’s eyebrows contort heavily the shushing of his leather plates and crutch coming closer to Sverri. Within feet of him, Ivar swallows dryly. Through everything that had happened, he remained faithful. He made the worst decision by far taking you the way he did, yes, but the gods dealt with him harshly.

“She forgives me. Strange.” Ivar scoffs. “You see, Sverri, I don’t want to give her to you. I am the fool who took my marriage to her seriously. I filled her with children and I loved her.”

Your head snaps up.

“Then fight me at hand to hand combat. The winner takes the spoils– all of the spoils. The lands, gold and the woman.” He counters back. You hold Uxi close and strokes his hair much like his grandmother’s own. Ubbe takes the decision to stagger close in a few steps.

“Ivar you can’t–” Ubbe begins.

“Fine.” Ivar cuts off his brother.

Your heart drops. You know Ivar can handle hand to hand combat with most men. But this was no normal foot soldier. He would not have the element of surprise. Ivar was quick– but Sverri could be too. You only hope that the berserker in Ivar could stabilize him through such a fight. Yet-- you don’t even know if Sverri was a berserker either.

“No! Ivar won’t fight purely hand to hand in this sort of combat, Sverri. It is not a fair wager.” You stand up, grasping Uxi’s hand in your own. It wasn’t because Ivar wasn’t formidable. He was a berserker. He was strong. He was a Viking. But hand to hand with his crutch? You knew that Sverri was abusing opportunity.

But perhaps… it isn’t Ivar. Perhaps it is you because most of all-- you’re afraid for your husband. Your father Faksi clears his throat. Ubbe drops his hand upon your shoulder.

“Ivar can’t go back on his word, (Y/N).” He breathes lowly. “Its word between men.”

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?