DAY 184 – SPRING
You pace back and forth in your little cabin. Having refused Ubbe's previous invitation to have dinner with him and his brother, you still couldn't bear the idea to eat a full meal. Grieving was hard enough, grieving a sister you abandoned is even more tragic. And on top of it, you have to prepare yourself for your talk with the sons of Ragnar.
What is there even to be said? Floki will be there to back your claim but what if they don't believe you? What if they think you're just trying to make a place for yourself and that's all? What if you can't prove your worth to them?
The sun is completely gone now, and the usual cold of the town is spaced open by a warm breeze of the summer to come. It is fine enough to take a walk without a coat and so you decide to go. You know staying inside will only worsen your anxiety. You might have left for only a season, but it looks different. The houses are brighter under the rain from last night, the leaves, green as can be, have already cover most of the trees. The forest is pretty much uniformly green, it feels weird. Has it ever been this vibrant? From what you can remember, Kattegat was grey, all of it. The people, the trees, the dirt. Now there are more colors, more life.
It isn't better.
It is different. It feels like a new place, maybe because you are a new person. Floki succeeded in making you aware of it. Now, by looking around, you see it.
You sit down on the dock, looking at the blue water and the boats floating peacefully in it. Your sister has gone that way. You close your eyes, trying to imagine her happy, peaceful. It's a good feeling, and you want it to be real. You're desperate for it to be real. You can't even remember what is the last thing you said to her. You do know however that it wasn't enough, wasn't right. She deserved to know that you loved her, but she never got the chance to hear it. Maybe one day you will see her again and you'd empty your heart to her.
"Can I sit next to you?"
The thick accent has you turn around. You blink away some tears and recognize Ivar's brother, Hvitserk. He doesn't immediately speak, the creaking of boats soothing enough to drift you away from him.
"I can speak your language now," you tell him in Norse.
"Floki taught you?"
"No, the gods did."
He believes in the gods but not in this. Not in simple magic, like you present it. Not in the aura that emanates out of you. You don't need Odin's eye to see that.
"When will Bjorn arrive?"
"We sent words this morning, we expect him in one or two days."
That means that tomorrow, or the day after that, you will have to face them all. The knot in your stomach grows tighter thinking about it. Belief and proof do not come hand in hand. You get distracted for an instant by two children playing near the water, splashing each other, their laughter gleeful.
"Ivar is angry." He says, his voice full of worry.
"Ivar is always angry."
"Maybe but..."
"You're worried for me or about me?"
"Can it be a little bit of both?"
"I suppose."
You give him a smile and he gives one back.
"I'm not here to corrupt anyone, you know. I don't want power, I don't want war, I don't even want peace. I don't want anything."
"Then why are you even here?"
You knew why you're here, the answer is simple. "I'm here to play my role, I'm your new seer." This one of many times you say and will say it.
He waits a little and you begin to wonder if he will fight you on it, debunk your claim. Instead, he looks you up and down and tells:
"You're prettier than our last one."
He puts a hand on your arm and then leaves you there. You're smiling now, barely, but it is still a smile. The reprieve from sadness is relieving. From far away you watch as the sun calmly sets, leaving the sky blooming with pink and orange light.
--
It is night when you decide to leave the waterside. The cold has come back and you're shivering, having to hold your arms around your body as you walk to your cabin. But you stop as you step in front of the main hall. A fire is still burning inside and yet, there are no sound. Your instincts are telling you to keep walking, but a deeper need pushes you to enter and see.
You don't see anyone at first, he blends in the background so well, sitting on his throne. You can clearly hear your heart beating in your chest and feel the blood pumping in your veins. He is drinking from a curved horn, looking at his sword, playing with it. It feels like an eternity before he acknowledge your presence.
"What are you doing here?"
"I don't know."
"Leave, I don't want you here."
You consider obeying him, but again, that feeling, that something lodged deep inside you, forces you in place, urging you to stay.
"Did Floki talked about me at dinner?"
He throws the horn away and you follow it with your eyes as it rolls away, the rest of the ale spilling on the floor.
"Is that a yes?"
The roll of his eyes and the shaking of his head leaves you to think that it is far from his first drink. You locate a pitcher, half-full. Taking it with both hand you drink directly from it. The liquid burns your throat as you force yourself to finish it. When you finally put it down, too out of breath to finish, Ivar is gazing with visible confusion.
"Hvitserk told me you were angry," you say before managing to finish the ale. "He didn't have to, I'd already seen it yesterday and besides, when are you not? But still, he paid me a little visit and I couldn't help but feel like I need to make it better before Bjorn arrives." Nothing remains in the pitcher and you already locate another pitcher a table over. "That's why I'm here."
Again, he does not answer. Just getting to that other pitcher, you regret your decision to drink. Your head turns as you throw it back to drink out the pitcher. Wiping the droplets that escaped your lips you study his face. You know him, you know that if he really, really wanted you gone, you would already be out of the town. If not already dead. He wouldn't have listened to Floki or anyone.
You're not sure if the ale is making you nauseous or more so the truthful nature of your next words. "I missed you when I was away."
You stare at the floor in shame, it is easier than to do his face. You aren't sure if you really want to know how he feels about it. Still, it is not so much a want than a need to makes you speak. "Did you miss me?" your breath is shaky and when you raise your chin, your eyes stop at his lips before being trapped in the storm of his eyes. Drowning.
"I thought you were dead."
"I'm sorry about that." It was necessary, but that, you don't need to say. "I shouldn't have left without a word, I know that. But it..."
"Why did you?"
"What?"
"Why did you leave?"
"The gods..."
"No. I don't want to know what the gods are thinking. I want to know you, why did you leave?"
You left before walking into that forest. You left when you barricaded yourself in your room, when you refused help, when you stopped talking, stopped looking at those who loved you.
"I got scared."
"Scared of what?"
He is furious, unwilling to empathize. Angry tears burn in your eyes, your face reddening.
"I gave you your freedom. I played with you, talked to you, I wanted you and then you left." He resumes, raising his tone.
"Ivar," you say his name as a warning. A part of you want to explode in this room, destroy all of it. He's an entitled murderous man, and you hate how much you want him.
"Get out of my hall before I use you as a training target."
"You told me you would help me forget that I was scared of you and then you went and killed a man before my eyes."
He scoffs in a laugh. "This is about the sacrifice?" He laughs fully, dropping his crutch with a clumsy hand.
"That and everything else. I don't know why I have to remind you this but you killed my entire family. You murdered everyone I knew! You think I can just forget like that, with a snap of your fingers. And now, now you made the only one I had left run away."
He shakes his head, clenching his jaw and looking at you with a dark gaze. You approach him, your nails digging into your palm in a last effort to stop the anger overflowing you. The fire is deep and it burns your insides.
"You are a hateful man Ivar."
You're close enough to punch him, to hurt him, but your eyes are trapped in his. Then, his lips, his hands, his chest. Your burning hatred mirrors how needy your body becomes.
"But you still missed me," he murmurs.
Short to stab him, you grab his face and connect your lips with his. His mouth opens without any time to spare. The passion is such that breaths are raw and few. Desperate to be kept in the other, to be one. His hands grab your waist, pulling you forward on to his lap. There is just enough space on the throne for both of your legs on either side of his.
You thrust your hips forward, pushing yourself onto his crotch, his finger digging into the curve of your ass, urging you to continue. You run yours in his hair, taking a hold of it and pulling him away from your face for a breath.
You look at each other, his glazed glare, the heavy breathing, you admire the intensity of the moment. Stuck in time, passion guiding your next move. You let go of his hair to kiss his neck, grabbing his skin in between your teeth just hard enough to hear him silently moan. "You like it hard or soft?" you whisper. You don't know how the foul language came about, but you love it. "Should I do more?"
Before an answer, your dress is pushed over your legs and your thighs are pressed on his braces. The metal is cool against your bare skin, chilling in the strangest of ways. His calloused hands roam between your legs before he takes your hand and pulls it to his crotch. "Work for it," he says.
You're desperate to obey and you fumble impatiently with the laces of his pants. Reaching inside to touch his cock is nerve racking and the shuttering of his breath when you finally hold it is your downfall. Freeing him, you lick your palm like you'd been told by that other boy to do back in England, and you begin stroking. He doesn't get to say anything before you're attacking his face again, kissing him with a breathless passion.
He wants to touch you too, he tries too, but you don't have the patience for his fingers. You're so wet already, you don't need any help for it to work. You lower yourself on him, slowly. Inch by inch, and there are a lot of inches to go. His girth is overwhelming at first and your body begs for a moment to adjust.
Your mind isn't so willing.
You moan into his ear and buck your hips at a rapid rhythm, holding yourself both on his shoulder and the top of the throne. He's ripped the bust of your dress and bites your left nipple, massaging the other one. "Gods you're beautiful," he whispers breathlessly. He's relentless, doesn't allow you to stop. If you do, you're instantly guided by his firm grip on your hips. "More," he groans.
You're expecting for him to fuck you on him harder, faster, instead he does something else. His left hand leaves your hips and reaches between you two. He begins massaging that nub you never knew a man could know existed. Your moans aren't yours anymore. Nothing is yours.
Him.
It's him. It's his.
"fast..." you don't have the time to finish your request that he's already done it. He sends you over the edge and you disappear completely in bliss. An ecstasy so pure you're surprised the gods aren't controlling it. You're screaming his name when he bites your neck. The pain brings you back to reality. His last few thrusts are painful, his face contorted by pleasure.
The grip on your ass and hips is so tight when he comes that you can already feel the bruises forming.
You don't believe it happened. This moment is surreal, and you've seen gods before. Just as you pull away from him, his seed slowly dripping down your thighs, you miss him. You miss him before you, miss him in you.
"I want to do it again," you whisper in disbelief.
He appears as lost as you. His words, however, are as sure as they can be. "In my bed. Now."