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In the previous year, I'd grown rather fond of Whitehair. He was grumpy, gruff, and harsh like a warrior; but he was also loyal to a fault and duty bound. And it seemed that, somehow, I had an odd affect on the grouchy men of the Heathen Army - as I seemed to be one of the few capable of seeing the kindness within them.
As I linked arms with Whitehair, I felt like a little girl skipping along beside her father. He would roll his eyes and shake his head but, when he thought I wasn't looking, a small smile would appear upon his lips.
The more we explored, the more thrilled and fascinated I became. I knew Whitehair was probably exhausted by my overly enthusiastic demeanor but I simply couldn't stop myself. It was all so incredible!
Every moment I was here in this world, I fell more and more in love. And it seemed that I had so many reasons to remain here now. Not just Ivar and Hvitserk. Not just Frida and Whitehair. But every breathtaking moment of absolute silence; the utter lack of any and all pollution in the air; the cultures that were still alive and well and so many generations away from being destroyed still. All were reasons for me to stay.
There were modern comforts I missed. Modern medicine was a huge one. Sickness was rampant and, although my modern vaccines saved me from some, some were still terrifying and utterly unknown to me. And then there was the matter of hygiene. All though Vikings were always known as a rather clean culture - nothing could beat having a shower. In the freezing cold winter, I missed hot showers dearly. And chocolate. I missed chocolate a great deal.
"Do you think they'll be done talking about battles and politics?" I folded my arms, a small pout as I decided I wished to explore no further.
Whitehair looked back at me with a smile, nodding before we made our way towards the Great Hall. This place was so odd to me, and yet all of it was so thrilling, so utterly enthralling. I loved the spices in the streets, the little conversations in dozens of languages, the people from all across the world and the goods that they bartered.
Some of it reminded me of modern day - places like Camden market, where old cockney men tried to sell their wares and middle classed snobs tried to haggle the prices down. I'd gone there many times, especially when my parents were visiting the British Museum for work, and I'd danced by each stall with a wide grin - knowing I could never in a million years buy any of it, but admiring it all nonetheless, and telling myself that one day I'd make it back to sample every luxury product I possibly could. And then I'd make my way towards the river bank and stroll along all the way to White Chapel, just taking in every little detail of the world around me. From the way the group of teens beside me lit their cigarettes and called out to people, to the young mothers who stumbled around them with their prams at ramming speed. I listened to every tiny piece of chatter, watched ever minute speck of dust, and enjoyed the life that buzzed everywhere around me.
Here was different, except the lives I bore witness to were lives that I could've never fathomed back in Camden. I could've never imagined listening to a conversation in a Viking market place about an appeasement to the Gods for fertility. I could've never contrived such a scenario, where I could see this world around me, and feel these lives as if they were reality, while knowing that everyone here had been dead for centuries by the time I was born. We would all be dust, forgotten memories in the sands of time, echoing stories with no one left to tell them. The mothers of this time would soon fade away - the crying babies ancient elders to my modern eye. It was all so strange, so odd.
And, as the little boys and girls played in the street, telling eachother that they would be the greatest heroes the land had ever known - I knew otherwise. Nobody would know them. I certainly didn't.
Was this all of our fates? To be forgotten forever?
No. Not all of our fates. Not all of us would be forgotten. Not Ivar.
It wasn't hard to understand why. So young, so disadvantaged in this brutal world, and already he'd achieved more than most men had ever dreamt of. And still it wasn't enough. It would never be enough. He was ambitious, fearless, brave, cunning, and I had nothing but admiration for him. In my world, my biggest worries had been getting homework in on time and cleaning up my room. I could've never imagined the struggles of this world, or how strong one had to be to survive it.
I had not always been strong enough, I knew that all too well. But, in some odd way, I had found my strength. Ivar gave me strength.
When I entered, I noticed another woman sat within the hall. She had cropped black hair and the crystal blue eyes that almost shone in the candlelight. She was truly beautiful, truly queenly, and I could feel myself grow nervous at the sight. There she was, and many women like her in this town, and somehow Ivar had ended up with me of all people at his side. I was no queen, no warrior. I'd managed to comprehend basic healing, but at heart I was a historian - which, I found, was a somewhat useless profession in this world.
The woman was the first to glance over at me as I looked back at Whitehair for reassurance. I'd never met King Harald before, but I'd read about him extensively. The first king of all Norway. How could I be anything but nervous? She smiled, waving softly, and the three men quickly looked up to meet my gaze.
I noticed how Ivar softened slightly upon seeing me, as if his conversations with the King were less than tolerable, and I slowly approached. Hvitserk sent me a small smile, which I of course returned, and Harald watched me momentarily, a small grin curling up his lip as he looked back towards Ivar.
"King Harald," I could hear the smirk that spread over Ivar, as if he'd been waiting to taunt Harald with my presence for hours. As his hand wrapped around my waist, I noticed the fire in his eyes, and a similar look within Harald's. I supposed it wasn't uncommon for men of such a status to have rivalries; and in all truth I didn't care to get involved in whatever they were competing over. I was simply glad to be sitting in the warm beside Ivar. "This is Iris. She is to be my wife."
I wasn't sure if Harald was looking at us both with utter and complete hatred, or whether he was actually congratulating us, but either way he said his congratulations and continued his staring match with Ivar.
"Iris," The woman beside Harald spoke, her voice kind and gentle. It hadn't taken me long to decide that I was rather fond of her. She seemed strong, kind, and fierce. And I wasn't here to make enemies anyway. "My name is Astrid."
I could only smile, reaching out to gently shake her hand. "It's nice to meet you Astrid." I spoke gently, looking to her with a tender warmth that I could tell she wasn't used to recieving. I couldn't help but wonder how such a woman had ended up here, married to a man that any blind fool could tell she didn't truly love. What had happened to her? What was her story? My curious mind raced on, as the moment felt like it moved at a snails pace.
I gave a small yawn, resting my head on Ivar's shoulder as he held onto my hand. It wasn't hard to tell the difference between us and Harald's relationship. I felt sorry for both of them, in truth. Astrid because she seemed to have no love for the man that she had married, and Harald because all he seemed to want was to be loved, and still he wasn't. Meanwhile, Ivar held me close as if letting me go would drag me from his grasp forever. And I felt more safe than I had done in my whole life - even in my own time.
I had never been happier, never felt more at peace and at home. And I knew, in that odd little moment, that I was going to spend the rest of my life with Ivar.
