VIKINGSEVENTS

Honey Mead

Aslaug always threw the greatest feasts for her subjects on the holidays. Midwinter was no different. Ubbe caught Hvitserk eating a chicken leg while chatting up two maidens and couldn't help but smile. It didn't fade as he walked past, patting his little brother on the shoulder to find someone for himself.

With his cup in his hand he walked through the masses gathered inside the Great Hall, passing people he knew and greeted as usual without stopping. There was someone who'd caught his eye earlier and he needed to know if he was right about her.

Many years ago Siggy died for Hvitserk and him and they never saw Thyri again as she left Kattegat for good. His mother once told him it was due to all the horrible things that had happened to her family that she felt the need to leave this place behind.

She was a little older, he noticed once he finally was close enough to be convinced it was her and none other. "It's been a long time," Ubbe said, loud enough to be heard over all the music and chatter of the guests. "Thyri, right?" he asked, effectively pushing another man out of the way who'd been about to try his luck.

Thyri smiled at him over the rim of her cup. He knew she only had ale in it and offered his own, filled with honey mead. "You must be a son of Ragnar," she said, a fire dancing in her eyes that captivated Ubbe immediately. He nodded to confirm and she offered the seat next to her. Then she took a sip from Ubbe's cup, a surprised expression crossing her face. "I haven't had this in a long while." Thyri said wistfully.

"You could have it whenever, if you were to marry me," Ubbe said cockily, a smirk on his lips.

Thyri laughed, the sweetest sound to Ubbe, "I don't even know your name, son of Ragnar." He regarded her with a hungry look. She was something else, he decided. Older and probably not what Aslaug wanted, but as far as Ubbe remembered Thyri used to be a princess.

"If that's the only condition holding you back," he remarked, looking over the people who danced and were having fun around them. "I'm Ubbe."

Emma watched the steam dance and fade above them, and her thoughts wandering along with it. A decision had been made that the court would gather over Christmastide and the preparations for such a gathering had only begun to be made. Elderman and their families would be in residence soon, days of feasts and activity to entertain, all the while conversation would be laced with political motives and deal making, men looking to boast themselves in the eyes of the crown while women boasted up their sons and daughters in search of the best matches for the offspring. The entire situation left a sour taste in her mouth.

“What is troubling you?”

“Nothing.”

“You lie, min kaerr.” Canute’s hands trailed up her side to the muscles that bunched along her shoulders. “I had taken great care to loosen these moments ago and now you have undid all my hard work.” 

The corners of her mouth lifted, amused despite herself. “Court will convene in a matter of days and there is still so much to prepare for.” Not to mention it would be the first gathering of all the Elderman since Canute had dispatched Cynehard of Kent for the thievery of assets. 

The handling of the matter had ricocheted through the noblemen, once again securing his control of the subjects of the crown and reigniting a streak of fear in those that may question his abilities, but Emma feared what the undercurrents would be.

“The household staff will see to everything. There is nothing to worry over.”

Naturally he believed everything would come together, not giving a second thought to the logistics of it all. Emma had spent just as much time with battlements defending London as she had planning for court gatherings and in this moment, she would take the battlements.

“And the events in Kent?”

He gathered her hair in one large hand and pushed it over her shoulder, his lips lingering against her neck. “What about them?”

“Are you not concerned how the rest of the Elderman will respond?”

She could feel him smile and she felt a shiver of foolishness. Of course he was not concerned. Canute ruled London like she imagined he led his armies, with unwavering strength and no tolerance for disloyalty, and the gathering of the Elderman, some of which still had questionable loyalty, was simply a strategic battle maneuver and he relished in the excitement of it.

“They will not speak against it, if for nothing more than out of fear for their own life.” There was a chilling finality in his words and Emma shivered against him. “Besides, since then, it would seem that East Anglia had a sudden increase in revenues.”

The turnaround in the revenues did not surprise her. Oswick was more careful than Cynehard and the second he thought someone had caught onto his plan, he would retreat back. Emma was only disappointed that she had not been able to confront him herself on the matter.

“All on his own?” She asked.

Behind her, Canute’s chest vibrated with a deep chuckle.“Oswick is no fool and a coward. He knew he would have been called in to answer for the missing revenues eventually.” Distractedly, his hands began to trail back beneath the water and caress her stomach. “And Agnarr may have made a visit to East Anglia.”

The only thing more fool hardy than going against the King would be to go against the King’s man. Agnarr was not a man to be trifled with and Emma believed the Elderman were beginning to understand the power the King had granted the large, stoic man.

Despite the worry of the coming days, she could feel the tension leaving her as Canute continued to touch her, his large hands stroking gently, enticingly. They trailed lazily from her stomach to the top of her thighs, each caress more teasing than the last. The shared bath in front of a crackling fire, shadows dancing across their skin as they lay in each other's arms, painted an intimate picture and Emma could feel her heart skip in her chest.

She turned in his arms, the movement displacing more of the scented water, and straddled his waist, his hands automatically coming to rest on her hips to hold her steady. Emma kissed him soundly and looked into his unwavering, ever patient gaze. “If you are trying to distract me from everything that will be coming to London, it will not work.” She did her best to keep her features neutral and her tone grim, but the hint of amusement in her voice was unmistakable. 

The caressing touch at her hips slipped lower between her thighs and there was a flicker of determination in his eyes. “Is that so?”

Moon Child

Ubbe's fascination with Máni had always been something his younger siblings didn't understand. He'd sit outside- even in winter- and watch the night sky. Following Máni's ever changing journey. Thinking up stories of his own about it and loving the gentle silvery light it gifted mankind.

The only one who understood had been his mother Aslaug. "You were born on a night of the fullest moon," she had told him. "Máni was on the rise and I could hear him call for you." Ubbe was sure he still called for him and that was why he couldn't stop watching at night. He remembered something Aslaug told him as a little boy as she tucked him in for the night, her voice warm and full of love, "Moonlight, moon child, have a good night."

"I will," he said. "The Gods have all ready tried, so now I must as well," he said and she rolled her eyes.

"Always with your Gods, Ivar," she said with a disapproving shake of her head. "I have never let your Gods rule my life before and I will not start today," she declared and sat on the bed, sliding her boots on.

"You almost died!" he exclaimed and she nodded.

"Almost," she repeated and he rolled his eyes, gripping his cup angrily. "Did you truly think I would not fight again?" she asked as she stood and crossed her arms, her eyes on him. "Did you think I would let myself be scared by the chance of death? I relish it, I vie to be at the table of Odin," she said.

"I will not let you," he repeated but would not meet her eyes and she laughed.

"Then you will not want to come to the next battle," she declared and left the room, he stared at the bed. He had kept vigil next to it for days and had thanked the Gods that she had been healed, that she had recovered. Now he wished she hadn't, that they had slowed her.

---

He sat by the river, staring at the rushing water from the recent rains and heard her footsteps before she sat beside him.

"I do not discount how close I came to death, Ivar," she spoke and he remained silent. "It is what we want, is it not? As warriors? To die with our blade in hand and on the battle field?" she demanded and nudged him with her shoulder.

"Not you," he said and he felt her study him but he would not look in her direction.

"Why not me? Why do I not deserve the same honor as you?" she questioned and he remained quiet, flexing his jaw angrily. "Oh Ivar, you have let your heart win," she murmured and her head leaned on his shoulder. "Why here of all places?" she sighed.

"Because I have lost many but you are the one I could never stand to lose," he said. The clouds moved aside, basking them in the cold moonlight of winter and he enjoyed the warmth of her next to him. He looked down surprised as her hand slipped in his but gripped it tightly, raising it to his lips.

"Our lives happen by chance as do our deaths, why stunt yourself in fear of it?" she asked and Ivar smiled.

"Because I do not want to lose you," he said and she chuckled.

"You knew when we married that I would never back down from a battle, much like yourself," she declared. "It was why you fell in love with me," she reminded.

"One of the reasons," he interrupted.

"Yes, one," she agreed and turned his head so she could see his eyes. "Do not fear my death, Ivar," she urged. "For I will be feasting at Odin's table with your father and awaiting your arrival," she promised and he rested his forehead against hers.

"I will become a much more angry man should you leave me first," he warned and she smiled.

"And I will burn the world to the ground if you go first," she assured and he kissed her again.

“It would seem we were not the only ones out in bad weather tonight,” the King muttered as they rode through the gates. 

There was a hint of amusement in his tone, as if it was completely understandable that the Queen’s lady's maid was traipsing about the straw covered stable, and Agnarr merely grunted. It was, he supposed, completely normal for this particular lady’s maid to be found in such a place, but it did not make the acceptance of it any easier. The last time said lady had been coming in from the stables, she had been under the direction of the Queen and had just about sent the royal household into complete disarray.

“Lady Brigida,” Canute greeted as they dismounted.

Her attention jumped from the dancing snowflakes to them, a flicker of apprehension in her gaze as she bowed. “Your majesty.”

“An uneventful ride, I hope?”

Agnarr watched as a flicker of guilt passed her features and a flush warmed her face. A thrill of satisfaction filled him. Canute would not soon forget Brigida and Queen Emma’s rogue handling of the Elderman, and seemed to take a small delight in reminding them of the transgression when the occasion presented itself. 

“Wholy uneventful.”

The king nodded, a flicker of a smile under his beard, and headed for the castle, leaving Agnarr and Brigida alone in the stable yard. Silence hung in the air between them, neither particularly comfortable around the other, and Agnarr found his attention drawn to the falling snowflakes that collected in her bound locks before melting away. They were barely visible amongst the golden tendrils, but he imagined if he was close enough, he would be able to make out their individual shapes.

“Were you able to handle matters in the south?”

He frowned, attention drawn from her hair to her face. “How did you-”

“You cannot possibly believe that you are the only one in this city that knows the comings and goings of others.” 

The corners of her lips lifted and her eyes lit with amusement at his expense. It grated. He was not surprised that the King had divulged their plans to the Queen and it would only be natural for her to share said plans with Brigida. If not that, it would mean the lady’s maid had ears about the castle as discreet as his own and the Agnarr did not find the possibility comforting.

“Was your ride truly as uneventful as you told the King, or were you simply protecting your Lady.”

“Am I not allowed to simply enjoy a ride in the snow?”

Wind blew and swirled the snow around them, white puffs pelting her face, almost as if to call her bluff. “ Any other woman, and I may be willing to accept such a simple answer.”

There was nothing simple about Brigida and in his experience, she rarely went about London without some underlying reason on her plate and, more often than not, that underlying reason inevitably dragged him into another swamp of London politics.

She huffed, as if irritated at his insinuation, no matter how much truth it carried. “If you must know, Princess Gytha had asked for a companion on a ride before the weather turned.”

Agnarr’s interest sharpened. “So the princess finds you an agreeable female then?”

The words had been meant to irritate and he could see that they had hit the mark. Not long ago, when she had agreed to their unofficial bargain, Brigida had not promised any results, based on the fact that she did not consider herself what other women would seek out in friendship. In light of this development, it would seem that she had underestimated herself. A first, he imagined.

She rolled her eyes in exasperation. “Yes, it would seem she finds me agreeable.”

“And?” At the risk of their conversation being overheard, he gripped the hem of her cloak and tugged her under the protection of the overhang, careful not to graze the delicate body beneath. “Did you learn anything?”

“Outside of the fact that she is a strong rider and rather lonely after Aelfwynn’s death, there was nothing to be gained.”

He was disappointed, but not surprised. Godwin would not entrust her this early with anything of significance. For now, she was the warm body that would give him the heir with a chance at the throne.

“Though I cannot imagine what a Princess like Gytha sees in a man like Earl Godwin,” Brigida muttered under her breath and Agnarr found himself agreeing with her for the first time since their acquaintance.

“You do not like him?” He heard himself ask.

She held his gaze for a moment, before looking away. “It would not be right of me to talk ill of the Lord.”

Not right perhaps, but Agnarr would bet under different circumstances, or perhaps in different company, she would sing like a bird if asked about her feelings about the man. 

With their close proximity, he caught the faint, familiar  scent of rosemary. It reminded him of spring, when the warm rains would come and the gardens would come alive after a long sleep. The herbs were some of the first to awake, their earthy scents filling the air, invading the senses without invite. Though he had never given much consideration to the scent of a woman, he found that this one suited her.

Even under the protection of the stable roof, snow still collected in her hair and he found that he could make out the shapes of the snowflakes that caught there. Each one was individual, standing out on its own, much like the woman in front of him. He found himself wanting to reach out and brush the rouge flakes from her hair and the inclination startled him.

Aware of their compromising position and his own treacherous thoughts, Agnarr took a deliberate step back. “I am not surprised she knew nothing. Godwin is an untrusting sort. He will not entrust the Princess with anything until he can be sure her loyalty is solely to him.”

“It seems that he may be on the path to getting that,” she said. “Gytha is quite enthralled with the man. She talked steadily of him during our slow return.”

Though he had no business in the Princess’s marriage, Agnarr had hoped Gytha had married Godwin out of duty, but it seemed she felt more for him. She was a viking, loyal to her family, but knowing that did not stop the sharp pang of unease from lodging itself in his gut. Godwin was a man who was good with words and with enough time, Agnarr believed he could turn almost anyone’s loyalty.

“Her devotion is to be expected,” he heard himself say. “Young women often are when they think themselves in love.”

Brigida scoffed. “Are you talking from experience, Agnarr? Do you have a young woman who stands and waits for you at the window every night, hanging on your every word?”

While he had never wanted for a woman, he had found there had never been time for settling down, it did not suit a man when he was at the beck and call of a conquering King who had large dreams of dominance. Years spent on ships and on foreign soil, more nights in a war camp than in his own bed, did not leave a wife in a welcoming mood. 

“It would seem the only woman I converse with regularly is a disobedient lady’s maid who has a pension for horses and spying.” Before he could stop himself, he reached out and wiped away a snowflake that had stuck to the red flags of her cheek. “Stick close to the princess, lille fugl, she will divulge her husband’s secrets eventually.”

Ivar had kept himself busy by tending the flames in the fire place and assuring she was given drink, though many times it trickled from the corners of her lips.

When at last she had awoken, he felt a deep tinge of happiness flood through him and he swore to the Gods that he would never be angry with them again.

Her recovery was swift after she awoke, the wound was cleansed and new herbs were applied daily by the healer, the only one that Ivar allowed in the room. She would laugh when he fussed over her but he didn't care, she wouldn't leave him again.

"Ivar," she whispered into the darkness and he mumbled in reply, stretched out in bed beside her. "Ivar," she whispered again and he sighed.

"What?" he asked finally, rubbing his tired eyes.

"The fire has gone out," she said and he blinked his eyes open only to be enveloped by darkness. He sat up and looked to the fire place, squinting at the remaining embers.

"Why?" he muttered but pushed his legs over the edge of the bed and dropped down, dragging himself over. He grabbed a poker, shoving it into the embers and they hissed in anger at being disturbed. He sighed and began to rebuild the fire slowly, making sure not to suffocate it before it had a chance.

"Ivar," she whispered again.

"Hold on," he spoke, his eyes trained on the flames as they rose slightly higher.

"Ivar!" she demanded and he looked at her angrily, annoyed with her impatience. His eyes widened as she moved her hand, the wound was bleeding again and it had leaked over her dressings, her clothing.

"Why is it bleeding again?" he questioned, dropping the poker and quickly crawled to her bedside, up on to the bed. "Have you been touching it?" he asked, as though she was a child without true understanding that the would must be left to heal.

"Ivar, I am not an idiot," she hissed. He glanced up at her and saw it, the strength to remain awake leaving her. She was losing blood again after having lost so much all ready and he quickly pressed his hand to the wound, holding tightly to it. "Ivar, you must get the healer," she warned and he looked to her then the wound.

"If I let go, it will continue to bleed," he argued.

@vikingsevents

"I will hold it," she offered and he hesitated, she was weak. Having no other choice, he at last removed his own hand and pushed her hand against the would, hard. She winced with both the pain and the physical labor.

"I do not know what I must give to save this life but ask of me and I shall, Odin," he spoke tersely but to no avail, the room remained quiet. He eyed the sword leaned against the end of the bed, the iron blade covered in blood and the handle, made of antler with silver. It was the sword of her forebears and she wielded it with as much courage as they had. "Give me this and I shall ask of nothing else," he whispered to the darkness.

The morning sun broke into the room, a stream of light nearly blinded Ivar and he grimaced, blocking it with his hand. He sighed and rubbed his face.

"Do you sleep even when I am dancing with Odin himself?" her voice came and his eyes shot open, he winced in the light but struggled to see her.

There laid on her beautiful face was the familiar smile she had often taunted him with and he blinked rapidly, trying to erase the blur of sleep from them.

"Maeve?" he murmured.

"It is I," she agreed and he rose from his seat, grimacing in pain in his legs. He walked to her bedside and gazed down at her, he reached to push her blonde hair from her face.

"You've survived," he said and she smiled with a gentle nod.

"It appears I have," she agreed.

"I thought you were dining at Odin's table," he said and a strange look came over her face.

"I spoke with Odin and he told me that my battle was not yet fought," she said.

"What battle could he ask of you more than what you have fought?" he asked and she shrugged, wincing in pain at her shoulder wound.

"I do not know but he has returned me to the mortal realm," she declared and he nodded. "Are you glad?" she asked, gazing up into his eyes.

"I will not admit it," he spoke and she smiled.

"I would expect nothing less of you, Ivar," she stated and he squeezed her hand, a silent signal that he was more than glad she had survived Odin's test.

A bath, wrapped in the warmth of hot water and scented soaps, sounded glorious. It would be the perfect remedy to chase the chill of the night away and occupy herself until her husband's return. Unfortunately, she had dismissed her ladies early, craving an evening of solitary quiet amongst the bustling of Christmastide preparations, and it felt wrong to call them back from their own evenings for such a trivial desire. 

Emma eyed the tub again. Surely she could move the basin within warming distance of the fire and fill it. It would be a considerable effort on her part, but the reward would be worth it. She simply would call some servants for water and see to the warming herself; afterall, she had witnessed the process dozens of times and it seemed quite straight forward.

Before she could talk herself out of it, she pushed the tub towards the fireplace, the wood scraping against the uneven flagstone. The sound made her teeth clench, but as she laboriously moved across the floor another image came to mind and she smiled to herself.

What a picture she would paint, stretched out in her tub, hair in long, loose waves cascading down her back, before the large fireplace when Canute returned. It would be a scene he would not be expecting. 

The idea sent a blush across her skin.

“What are you doing?”

Emma whirled around to find her husband standing in the doorway, his brow arched in amusement. “I did not hear you come in.”

“How could you over all that noise.” Behind him, the door closed with an echoing click and his gaze jumped from her to the large wooden tub. “Why are your ladies not helping with that?”

With a final shove, Emma stood and pushed hair that had escaped her braids out of her eyes. “I let them retire early, I was not in need of them.”

“An oversight, it seems.”

He moved easily around her chambers, at home as he draped his furs across her chair before moving to the fireplace, large hands reaching out to the dancing flames. She could smell the outdoors on him, the bite of winter and the warmth of horses and her heart tripped over itself.

“I had not planned on a bath today but then the snow moved in…” she trailed off, as if it was self explanatory.

“That would explain why Brigida was coming from the stables when Agnarr and I returned. For a moment I thought you had reenlisted her for nefarious deeds without letting me know.”

His teasing brought a flicker of a smile across her lips. Had Emma sent Brigida out on an errand she wished to keep secret, the young woman would not have used the main stable, the lady’s maid was better than that at concealing her movements and Emma knew that her husband was aware of such things. It was probably why he continued to have Agnarr remain vigilant of the woman’s comings and goings.

Simply a precaution, Canute would say. 

“Brigida being in the stable should not cause alarm,” Emma walked around to meet her husband, arms coming to rest lazily on his shoulders, tangling with his bound hair. “Afterall, it is well known amongst the castle that she is quite fond of the horses.”

He hummed in agreement, though his wandering hands seemed to hint that his thoughts had moved on to other things. “So what was the plan, my love?” As his hands roamed along the front of her gown, his lips trailed up her neck to nibble at her ear. “Draw your own bath and bask in front of the fireplace like a waiting feast for me to stumble upon?”

Perhaps the scene she had dreamed up would not have been as unexpected as she had originally thought. The idea thrilled her.

A warm heat pooled low in her stomach and she pressed into his wandering touch. “Something like that, but you returned before I could follow through with the surprise.”

Emma could feel his lips curve against her neck, his beard tickling the sensitive skin. Whatever assumptions she had made about this Viking in the early moments of their union, she had been proven wrong at every turn. He was an affectionate man, one that seemed to take great enjoyment out of teasing smiles from her and, despite her best efforts, bringing out a softer, almost playful side of herself that she had thought been long buried.

“As much as I regret thwarting your plan, if you do not wish to call in the household staff to help draw your bath, I am willing to be of assistance,” his teeth nipped at her jittering pulse, “under one condition.”

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