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Chapter Text

Even from her perch at the top of the longhouse, Eivor could smell the salt of the port on the air, hear the cursing of sailors and the crunch of wood as crates were off-loaded onto the sea-soaked docks, and the shrill caw of sea birds that circled the settlement in search of their next easy meal. 

Everything in and around Dublin was salt-soaked, but she wouldn’t have had it any other way.

She felt most free when she was up high enough that she could almost touch the clouds, for it reminded her of childhood, of happier times spent climbing the longhouse at Heillboer. But that was a whole lifetime ago. 

She didn’t like thinking too much about Norway if she could help it but her sleep the last few nights had been rather fitful, and no amount of sleeping draughts and hallucinogenic mushrooms from the volva could soothe her enough to let her sleep consistently through the night.

The shadow of a burly, sneering man wearing a necklace made from teeth larger than any animal she’d ever seen haunted her dreams, taunting her to “come find me, Wolf-Kissed” right before she woke up with a pounding heart and completely drenched in sweat.

“Eivor!” She glanced down and saw Bárid standing below with his hands cupped around his mouth to amplify his voice. “Have you seen Sichfrith?”

“No, I haven’t!”

“Would you help me look for him? He’s supposed to be in his lessons right now!”

“Of course I can!” Eivor assured him. With a little help from Synin, she was going to find that boy and send him running to his tutor in no time flat.

“And tell him that his mother is very cross with him!” Bárid said before he went back inside the King’s Hall.

Eivor held back a snort. As if Sichfrith will ever believe that.

The boy’s mother, Sadhbh, doted on him endlessly, which made it difficult for Bárid to discipline him and often left father and son at odds. Sichfrith wasn’t spoiled but he always had to make things harder than they needed to be out of sheer stubbornness… or perhaps a desire to spite his father at every possible turn.

He was at that age where he was trying to assert himself, and this often caused friction between him and Bárid.

All Eivor had to do was to give her cousin a sharp look to get him to behave and he did. Well, mostly. Sichfrith’s desire to butt heads with Bárid was apparently so overpowering that he could barely go a week without arguing with his father and no amount of dirty looks could fully prevent that.

Time to go find that little menace, Eivor thought.

“Synin!” she called out to the raven circling high above her head. 

She heard a squawk and stretched her arm out to give Synin a perch to land on, feeling her raven’s talons digging into her arm through her tunic.

“Have you seen Sichfrith anywhere, dear friend?” 

Synin squawked before taking off towards the old watermill.

Eivor was quick to follow, shimmying down the longhouse before breaking off into a run, and found her cousin hacking away at the remains of an old tree that had been haphazardly chopped to bits.

“Quite the opponent you’ve found for yourself,” she remarked as she neared. Sichfrith whirled around in surprise, the fear quickly fading from his features when he realized it was her.

“Eivor, you spooked me.”

Eivor saw no reason to dance around the issue and decided to cut right to the chase. “Your father is looking for you.”

“Let him look, then,” her cousin snapped before he returned to hacking at the tree.

Eivor crossed her arms as she stared him down.

He must have felt her gaze on his back because he stopped slashing at the dead tree and turned around to face her, giving her a pleading look as if that could possibly sway her.

“Am I in trouble?”

“No, but only if you return to the longhouse now,” she chided. “You're missing your lessons.”

“But lessons are so boring!” Sichfrith complained. He could whine all he wanted but Eivor refused to hear him.

“You're going to be king one day, Sichfrith. A king must be wise in order to rule fairly, which is especially important in your case where you’ll be ruling over the Norse and the Irish.”

“Right…”

He was almost thirteen and yet he still pouted like a child when he didn’t get his way. But Sichfrith knew as well as anyone that Eivor would not entertain his simpering; if he wished to be treated like a child, then he could always run home to his mother. 

She knew that he wanted to be seen as grown and while she wasn’t his parent, she felt a desire to guide him in the right direction like a sister might… by incentivizing him a bit in her own way.

“But if you go now, I’ll spar with you sometime soon, maybe even teach you a few new tricks.”

Sichfrith’s face lit up. “I’ll hold you to that,” he called as he ran off towards the longhouse. 

Eivor smiled proudly to herself, and then at Synin when her feathery friend landed on her shoulder.

“I’d say that’s a job well done.”

A few days later, Eivor had climbed to the top of the spire at Kilchrist and it was from her perch that she spotted some newcomers at the docks. Three majestic longships flew a black sail emblazoned with the image of a white bird, not quite unlike the jackdaw head adorning the blue-and-gold banners her clan proudly displayed on the longhouse, the church, and other places around Dublin.

She saw a small entourage of raiders accompany two finely-dressed warriors to the longhouse but the crowd gathering at the docks piqued her interest far more, and Eivor leapt down to see what all the fuss was about. As she neared, she heard shouts of excitement and taunts from someone in the crowd.

She didn’t recognize the challenger, and wondered if he’d arrived on the same ship as the others.

“All you Dublin Norse have gone soft! Can none of you fight?”

“What’s going on?” Eivor asked as she approached Sichfrith where he stood on the sidelines. The boy trembled with excitement and she looked up just in time to see a burly deckhand crash to the ground from a well-aimed punch to the face.

The victor was a formidable-looking young drengr graced with wind-swept black hair that reached his shoulders and covered in runic tattoos all over his arms and torso. He had a cocky air about him and his eyes were wild, feral, and hungry for blood. It was clear as day that he was a vikingr, and that he’d slaughtered many foes in battle.

The poor deckhand writhing on the ground was just the latest casualty that had been felled by his hand, and there would certainly be others as well.

“Would anyone else like to try me?” the warrior taunted the crowd. “Or did I just finish taking down the best man Dublin has to offer?”

Sichfrith took a step forward but Eivor quickly grabbed him by the back of his collar and tugged him back, shaking her head in disapproval. The look of betrayal on his face was clear but she’d stopped him for good reason.

Whatever flimsy courage he had mustered would mean absolutely nothing against the burly Dane demanding a fight. He didn’t stand a bloody chance and would get knocked on his ass in one blow if he tried to go up against him. If he thought Bárid was irritating now, he would become absolutely insufferable if he found out that his only son and heir had his ass handed to him in a street brawl.

But Eivor wasn’t so inexperienced as Sichfrith.

“Eivor!” Sichfrith hissed under his breath. “What are you doing?”

She could only smirk, cracking her knuckles as she approached the Dane. “Just don’t tell your father.”

The drengr regarded her with interest… and something much more carnal, but Eivor ignored it. She was going to give him quite the walloping and punish him for leering at her along the way.

“Ah, and who is this valkyrie?”

“My name is not important,” Eivor scoffed. “You want a fight? I’ll give you one.”

The man smirked in amusement as he crossed his arms, which only drew more attention to his muscular torso, and even Eivor had to admit that it was hard staying focused.

“I don't fight women.”

“Too bad. You’re fighting me.”

He didn’t seem to need much convincing after that, for he beckoned her forward with a wave of his hand. “Fine, then. But be warned: I won’t go easy on you.”

Eivor raised her fists. “I would hope not.”

“Go on then, try to impress me.”

Eivor knew better than to take the bait, sensing that he had a trick up his sleeve that he was ready to play, and that was how Eivor found herself keeping in step with her opponent as they circled around the ring like two predators sizing each other up, until finally, her opponent threw a punch and Eivor ducked before striking back with a punch of her own, straight to the man’s jaw.

The Dane stumbled back but he managed to recover rather quickly and lunged at her with such force that Eivor barely managed to side-step his attack in time, feeling the wind from his punch cutting against her cheek and reminding her just how close she’d come to being knocked out cold or damn near close.

She took a few large steps backward while still making sure to stay in the ring that had been carved into the dirt, and the air went still as they held their breath, waiting to see what the other would do.

Eivor didn’t give the Dane much time to recover as she lunged forward, fist pulled back for another punch, but her opponent grabbed her arm hard enough to bruise, stopping her from striking him as she’d planned.

He grabbed her by the wrist when she tried to hit him with her other hand and before Eivor could react, her world flipped upside down as her feet were swept up from underneath her.

She gasped as she hit the ground hard, coughing and wheezing while her lungs burned for air. A shadow fell over her and she instantly knew it was the Dane, come to gloat. She could barely see his face, which was obscured by the blinding sun overhead, but she could tell from his voice that he was smug about having the upper hand.

“Had enough?” mocked her opponent.

Eivor scowled and rose to her feet, albeit with some difficulty, and shook herself off. No way she was going to let herself be taken down that easily.

Even her opponent seemed pleasantly surprised, if the smirk on his face was anything to go by.

“And here I thought you were ready to quit.”

“Takes a lot more to knock me down,” Eivor scoffed. She raised her fists in front of her face and said, “now, is that all you’ve got?”

The Dane came running at her but she dodged at just the right moment and retaliated with a flying kick that made him stumble, briefly losing balance as he fell to his knees.

Eivor smirked, waiting for him to get up so the fight could continue, but then her opponent whirled around suddenly and that was the last thing she saw before her eyes started to burn. Eivor stumbled back, hands flying up to furiously rub her aching eyes and swore loudly, a blend of Irish and Norse curse words escaping her lips.

When her vision had returned to her, eyes still stinging and tears streaming down her cheeks, she felt a flash of white-hot anger shoot through her at the sight of the Dane’s ugly, smirking face upon realizing what he’d done. She lunged for him, grabbing hold of his shoulders before kneeing him hard in the groin, easily bringing him to his knees.

She stepped back with a huff and wiped some dirt out of her eyes on the back of her sleeve. 

The Dane groaned in pain where he lay on the ground but Eivor couldn’t even bring herself to look at her opponent, annoyed beyond words by his dishonorable behavior. She knew her actions were also far from honorable but it was simply an eye for an eye, as far as she saw things.

If the Dane hadn’t wanted to lose his stones, he shouldn’t have thrown dirt in her face.

Eivor looked to Sichfrith, whose blue eyes were wide with awe, and motioned with her head for him to follow her.

“Eivor, you were amazing!” Sichfrith gushed as they walked side by side back to the longhouse. “I thought you were done for when he knocked you down, but you prevailed!”

“Just like I said to my opponent, it takes a lot more than that to take me down,” Eivor boasted. 

It was just a shame that the Dane had resorted to such dirty tactics and ruined what could have been a good match, regardless of who ended up winning.

Eivor and Sichfrith parted ways when they arrived at the longhouse, her cousin going straight to his lessons while she stayed behind to speak with Sadhbh near the longhouse entrance. Sadhbh’s lips curled up into a knowing smirk when she saw her.

“Fighting again, Eivor?” Sadhbh tutted as she fussed over her like a mother would, even though they viewed each other as sisters rather than surrogate mother and daughter.

Eivor grimaced as Sadhbh’s thumb caught her split lip and heard her click her tongue in disapproval.

“I hope you weren’t hurt too badly.”

“If you think this is bad, you should see the other guy.”

“Oh, I’m sure he’s regretting it already.”

Eivor sure hoped so.

Her victory against the Dane had been soured by his cruel remarks and lack of honor, and his refusal to fight fair was why she didn’t feel bad for kicking him in the stones after he’d thrown dirt in her face. She hoped he would feel that kick for weeks to come, long after he sailed away from Dublin, and that he would always think of her before he tried pulling a stupid stunt like that with anyone ever again.

“Go wash up, at least,” Sadhbh implored, “and then go see Bárid. He’s been asking after you.”

Eivor could only wonder what Bárid wanted. Surely he wasn’t going to ask her to go after Sichfrith again — the boy was actually on time for his lessons today — and Sadhbh didn’t have any information for her even when she inquired further. 

But she decided to wash up first, if only to stop Bárid from fussing over her, too.

It was easy enough to wash the blood and dirt from her face but the fresh cuts and bruises she’d sustained were quite tender to the touch. She had the Dane to thank for that.

There wasn’t much she could do about the blood and dirt staining her tunic but Eivor made herself as presentable as she could and then went to go see what her cousin wanted.

Upon entering the great hall, she heard Bárid remark,

“Your terms are fair, but this is not a decision I can make on my own, Ubba.”

She locked eyes with Bárid from where he sat on his throne and then with the two visitors when they noticed her come in. The taller one regarded her with obvious interest, though she didn’t know why, but it didn’t stop her from holding his gaze, either. 

She wasn’t about to let herself be intimidated, even if that wasn’t the man’s intention.

“Ubba, this is Eivor. Eivor, meet Ubba Ragnarsson,” Bárid said as he introduced them to each other, though she couldn’t help but notice that her cousin looked nervous. What had they spoken of before her arrival, and did it have anything to do with what Bárid wished to speak to her about?

“So you are Eivor. It is nice to put a face to the name,” Ubba commented.

“I am,” she confirmed warily. “What business do you have here?”

“Straight and to the point, I see. Well, since you asked, Ragnar Lothbrok is seeking an alliance with someone from the King of Dublin’s court and to secure a trade route between England and Dublin. As Ímair’s daughter, you—”

“Niece, actually.” Eivor cocked her head to the side inquisitively. “And why couldn’t Ragnar come here himself?”

Ubba chuckled. The noise grated slightly on her frayed nerves but Eivor prided herself on maintaining her composure even though her blood still bubbled hotly from her recent fist-fight with the Dane at the docks.

“My father is busy forging other alliances elsewhere. He can't possibly make it to every kingdom he wants to ally with, so he sent me in his place.”

“Who else is he forging alliances with?” It wasn’t really that she cared, but Eivor couldn’t help her own curiosity.

“It is not as if you know her, but a Dane girl named Valdis is going to marry a chieftain named Rued.”

“I’m not familiar with either of those names.”

The steward, whose name she hadn’t caught, gave her a rather judging look. “You’re Norse, aren’t you? You should at least be familiar with Rued’s exploits.”

Eivor shot him a dirty look as she remarked, “I’m not your typical Norse, then, seeing as I’ve spent almost my whole life here in Dublin. I hope that won’t be a problem for the marriage you’re seeking.”

“Of course not,” Ubba assured her coolly. “You see, my father has certain ambitions that he wants to see come to fruition, one of which is a trade agreement between Dublin and his part of England.”

“And how does he plan to establish this trade route?”

“That is where Ubba thinks you come in,” Bárid revealed uneasily.

Eivor could not hide her confusion from Bárid as she said, “What do you mean?”

“A political marriage would help join our clans and forge the trade agreement my father wants,” Ubba explained as if what he was suggesting was so simple and straightforward.

Eivor crossed her arms over her chest to steady herself, even as her heart started to pound in her ears like a drum, deafening her to the conversation unfolding before her. She was a battle-hardened drengr and yet his proposal had taken her by surprise. 

Eivor tried not to glare at Ubba as she looked up at him and said,

“And if I agree, who would I wed? You?”

“Actually, no. Ragnar wants you to marry my brother, Ivarr.”

All these names mean nothing to me, she thought in frustration. She knew of Ragnar’s storied exploits, of course, but who was Ivarr other than another one of Ragnar's many sons?

The same could be said about Ubba. He was polite enough and carried himself with confidence. It was obvious that he was a formidable warrior with many hard-fought battles under his belt, but she knew nothing of him as a person.

Ubba must have noticed her hesitation because he said,

“If you marry Ivarr and establish a trade route between Dublin and England, you will receive hacksilver and riches in return.”

The steward moved to open a chest at Ubba’s feet, revealing glittering silver coins and gold chalices that had surely been pillaged from English monasteries, fortresses, and other places of great wealth.

There’s enough here to sink a Dragon-Boat, Eivor thought.

“And there is plenty more where this came from. All of it will be yours… if you agree to marry Ivarr.”

Azar knows far more about trade than I do but even I know that there’s more ways to establish a good trade deal besides forcing two people into a political marriage, Eivor thought, but she wasn't about to tell Ubba that, mostly because she could tell he was a man on a mission and wouldn’t consider any other possibilities even if she suggested them.

If Ragnar was so adamant on having her marry his son, then she wanted to put a face to the name so she at least knew what her husband-to-be looked like.

She wasn’t about to wait until the wedding day to find out who she would be tying the knot with and perhaps even spending the rest of her life with.

“I’d like to meet Ivarr before I take the proposition into consideration.”

“Finnr, where is Ivarr?” Ubba demanded, suddenly irritated. Eivor was surprised at the sudden change in his demeanor.

“I believe I saw him brawling in the streets,” the steward drawled in a flat tone.

Ubba’s face became pinched in annoyance and it took all of Eivor’s willpower to hold back a snicker; it seemed that Ivarr had also decided to pick a fight with that brutish Dane she'd fought earlier. She wondered how well he'd fared against him, or if the Dane had walloped him, too.

Finnr left the longhouse upon Ubba’s urging to “go get him” and then Ubba assured her and Bárid that the steward would soon return with her prospective husband-to-be, making sure to apologize along the way for Ivarr’s lack of manners.

Marriage wasn’t exactly at the forefront of Eivor’s mind but the gold and riches were too good to pass up and would certainly benefit Bárid and all of Dublin if she accepted. And it was inevitable for her; if not now, it would have only been a matter of time before someone else came to claim her hand.

As long as he wasn’t crass like that Dane, Eivor was sure she could find something to like about Ivarr, especially if he was anything like Ubba. 

That is, until Ivarr entered the longhouse, trailing behind Finnr, and she realized that he and the Dane she’d fought were one and the same.

Chapter Text

After Ubba, Finnr, and Ivarr had left, Eivor took to pacing back and forth in the throne room, thoughts running rampant like a whirlwind while she tried to process everything Ubba had proposed. He wanted her to marry Ivarr Ragnarsson, of all people. 

She was sure he loved his brother much like how she adored Sichfrith but Ivarr was nothing more than a cruel, mean-spirited bacraut who—

“Eivor, I’m getting nauseous just watching you go back and forth,” Bárid complained.

“Aye, please stop before we all become sick,” Sadhbh agreed, looking visibly ill from where she stood to the left of Bárid’s throne.

“He wants me to marry Ivarr Ragnarsson!” Eivor hissed as she whirled around to face her cousin and his wife.

“You could do worse,” Bárid shrugged.

Eivor was livid. “I could do better!”

Ivarr was a brute and a troublemaker, and had no redeeming qualities that she could see. He seemed to only care for causing as much chaos as he could and little else, and he certainly didn’t know the first thing about being a husband.

Men like him turned formidable and capable warrior-women into miserable housewives before going away for years at a time, only to come back home to a loveless home and a lonely, unsatisfied wife who craved divorce more and more with every passing day.

She was completely uninterested in being confined to hearth and home, raising Ivarr’s children while he went off raiding, nor did she wish to play nursemaid when he inevitably returned home with injuries he’d sustained in a battle that she should have fought in.

Her uncle Ímair had arranged Bárid and Sadhbh’s marriage to bring some measure of peace between the vikings and the Irish when Dublin couldn’t even be called a port. He would have arranged a marriage for her, too, if he hadn’t died in a skirmish some winters ago. Her marriage would bring an alliance between clans and with it, rather lucrative benefits for everyone involved.

One thing was for certain: the trade agreement between Dublin and Ragnarsson-held English territories would give Bárid an edge over the petty kings who ruled other parts of Ireland.

She just didn’t understand why her marriage had to be to Ivarr Ragnarsson. Didn’t Ragnar have any other, more well-mannered sons she could marry instead?

“Take some time to think it over,” Sadhbh suggested in an attempt to calm her but it only made Eivor want to scream even more.

“There is nothing to think about!” she snapped, and that was where the conversation ended before she stormed out of the King’s Hall.

Nobody followed her — she heard Bárid sigh, “let her go. She needs time to process this on her own” — as she stormed off in the direction of the old water mill, the only place where she could be alone with her thoughts without anyone bothering her.

Sichfrith found her sometime later, though Eivor’s eyes remained focused at the dark sea as she found herself longing for the freedom that her Dragon-Boat granted her every time she set sail. Now she wasn’t so sure how long she had before she lost all her freedoms to Ivarr and became little more than a thrall.

If she couldn’t sail and raid, she would set fire to her ship before Ivarr — or anyone else, for that matter — could take command of it. She would burn it to ash and perhaps even ensure she was on it, rather than marry a cruel vikingr like Ivarr Ragnarsson.

It was frightening how enticing the idea of death was, even if it wasn’t a warrior’s death. But it would be a guaranteed escape from her miseries.

Sichfrith sat down beside her and didn’t say anything for the first few minutes, allowing them to sit in silence until finally, he said,

“For what it’s worth, I think you gave Ivarr a good walloping today.”

“I’m glad you think so,” Eivor scoffed. At least that brawl had revealed what kind of a man Ivarr was, and what kind of person she would have become entangled with if they were married.

“So are you going to marry him? I hope not, he seems like he’d make you miserable.”

Eivor opened her mouth to respond, only to hesitate. She found herself thinking long and hard about a question that should have had an easy answer, especially since Sichfrith was right: Ivarr would most certainly make her miserable and perhaps even go out of his way to ensure it.

But it didn’t really matter what she wanted. 

It was an alliance, not a marriage for love. They didn’t have to love much less like each other; they just needed to not kill each other for the sake of their clans, but that was still easier said than done.

“Father won’t force you to marry Ivarr, you know.”

“I know,” Eivor sighed. Bárid was a good man and a fair king, and had always treated her well, long before his family took her in after she was orphaned. “But the Danes haven’t made it easy to refuse their proposal.”

The Ragnarssons had brought so much hacksilver and plundered riches, more than she’d ever seen even during the most lucrative raids she’d led, that the thought of turning them away felt next to impossible. 

Could she refuse to marry Ivarr?

Certainly, but there would always be that insidious thought in the backs of everyone’s minds of how the king’s cousin had refused so much wealth, killing the trade agreement in the process, and how the king had simply rolled over and allowed her to refuse. It wouldn’t be a good look for her or Bárid, and it would seriously undermine his rule not only in Dublin but the rest of Ireland as well.

Like any petty king, Bárid’s stake on the throne was shaky because everyone else felt they rightly deserved the crown more than he did, and Eivor wasn’t about to add to that instability. She just wished Ragnar had another, more respectable son but the only one she knew was Ubba and he obviously wasn’t interested in even entertaining the idea of marrying her.

He had come to Dublin to get his brother married off and then he would leave, return to England or wherever he’d come from, and continue his father’s bidding. And she would be miserable for the rest of her life.

It almost made Eivor want to throw herself to the waves and allow the sea to take her away. It wouldn’t grant her Valhalla but at least she would escape Ivarr.

“I need time to think,” Eivor remarked, “though it’s not like I have much of a choice.”

She was going to have to swallow her disdain for the man and marry Ivarr, even if it ended up slowly killing her.

:･ﾟ✧:･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧:･.:

“I appreciate your help with this,” Sadhbh said to Eivor, who carried a satchel laden with goods down to the gates where their horses awaited them.

They weren’t taking the Dragon-Boat today, since Sadhbh had wanted to journey up to Rathdown without involving Eivor’s entire crew. She seemed confident that they could handle the journey to the outpost and back without any issues, but Eivor had still come prepared with her trusty sword in case trouble found them.

It had been a few days and the marriage proposal was still fresh in Eivor’s mind but she appreciated the distraction. She’d been craving a real reason to venture out past Dublin’s walls; she could come and go as she pleased but roaming around aimlessly was a good way to get into trouble… and not always the interesting kind that made for good stories around the firepit later.

“Of course, it’s not a problem at all.”

The satchel she carried was stuffed with unique fabric samples that had been brought from foreign shores, thanks to Azar’s numerous contacts across the known world. These would go to the outpost to figure out how to produce clothing unlike anything Dublin had seen before.

Once they had ventured past Dublin’s walls, their horses moving at a leisurely trot and only the sound of warbling birds and chirping insects around them, Sadhbh spoke up.

“You know I hate to pry—”

Eivor gave Sadhbh a pointed look, having immediately figured her out. “It’s about the alliance, right? Well, out with it, Sadhbh.”

“Well…” her cousin’s wife sighed. “How are you feeling about it, now that you’ve had a few days to think it over?”

“Just as trapped as I felt when Ubba first suggested the marriage,” she admitted honestly.

“It can be scary. I know part of me was just as frightened to marry Bárid.”

“But you and Bárid wanted to marry. The marriage was only arranged to keep up appearances between the clans.”

Sadhbh smiled, green eyes glittering with nostalgia. “I suppose you were too young to remember that Fergus of Aileach wanted my hand as well? The arrangement was more than just for keeping up appearances.”

Eivor scoffed. “The wife of Dublin’s crown prince or a drunken war chief hailing from that cliffside shithole in Ulster. Had I been the one arranging your marriage, I know who I would have picked, too.”

“You’re only saying that because Bárid is your cousin,” Sadhbh playfully accused. Eivor smirked, shaking her head.

Sadhbh and Bárid’s wedding had happened shortly after her arrival in Dublin. Eivor remembered it being a good distraction from her grief, which had weighed heavily on her shoulders, and even as young as she had been, she was able to see that Bárid and Sadhbh truly loved each other. But of course, that was easy because Bárid wasn’t a disrespectful bacraut like a certain someone she had the misfortune of knowing.

Sadhbh had been lively and bright-eyed then as she was now, full of fire and determination even though she had many responsibilities as Dublin’s queen, whereas Eivor didn’t need a volva to know that there was nothing but misery in her own future.

“Is there someone you’d rather marry?”

“I’d rather not marry at all,” Eivor admitted, “but if I had to choose between the two Ragnarssons I’ve met, I’d rather pick Ubba.”

He seemed more level-headed than Ivarr, but there was no chance of convincing him to take his brother’s place in the alliance. He seemed exhausted with his brother’s antics and eager to get rid of him by any means necessary.

Eivor couldn’t say she blamed him. She just didn’t know why she had to be the one stuck with Ivarr, though.

“You can always refuse.”

Eivor shot Sadhbh a tired look. “You know I can’t, no matter how much I’d love to go back to Ubba and tell him to return to England and take his troublesome brother with him.”

“If this is about the gold the Ragnarssons promised, you don’t have to marry Ivarr for that. We’ll make do without it. After all, we have Azar and trade is doing well.”

“It is,” Eivor acknowledged, “but there’s no reason why things can’t improve. You and I both know that having Ragnar Lothbrok as an ally would set us apart from the other kingdoms of Ireland.”

Ragnar was the most powerful king in the known world, and they would be fools to refuse him. He could demand whatever he wished and the fact that he had sent Ubba as an envoy was only a courtesy. Refusing him would weaken their standing in the eyes of the people, who would never let them forget their mistake, and Bárid would become known as a coward king.

Sadhbh made a remark, but it fell on deaf ears as Eivor spotted a flash of silver out of the corner of her eye. 

She instinctively grabbed her dagger and threw it, striking a cutthroat right in the eye. It wasn’t enough to kill him but it gave her enough time to jump out of the saddle and cut down another bandit who would have attacked Sadhbh, and then she killed the first one by slitting his throat with the same dagger that had taken out his eye.

“Sadhbh, go!”

Sadhbh was frantic, yet reluctant to leave her in spite of the fear in her green eyes. “What about you?”

Eivor turned to the cutthroats that had seemed to emerge from the fog, gripping her sword in two hands, and stared them down.

“Ride to Rathdown! I’ll catch up with you as soon as I can!”

Eivor felt relief wash over her as Sadhbh galloped away, though it didn’t last.

“You won’t be going anywhere except to your grave, Wolf-Kissed,” mocked the bandit leader, a man with blackened teeth and an ugly scar on his face. 

His remark sent a shiver down her spine, for not many called her Wolf-Kissed and those who did… knew what had happened for her to earn her that nickname.

She tried not to think about that awful night, forcing the memories out as they came rushing back, and turned her attention to her opponents.

Eivor and the cutthroats clashed, steel striking steel, but she was faster and more capable, dodging and weaving around their attacks before striking back, making a bloody mess of her enemies until they all lay dead on the ground. But it was hardly a comfort.

I need to find Sadhbh, Eivor thought. With any luck, she’d already reached Rathdown, but then she realized she had a new problem.

Her horse had run off in a panic and Rathdown was a long trek through woodland; Dublin was even further away but she needed to reunite with Sadhbh, who was probably worrying herself sick right now.

There’s no avoiding it, Eivor told herself before she took in a deep breath and started the long, miserable trek to the outpost.

But it seemed her luck had not completely run out. Just as she made it over the hill, still close enough to the site of the bandit attack that she could still faintly make out the dead attackers’ corpses in the distance, she heard a whinny followed by trotting hooves and sure enough, it was her mare, Skinfaxi.

“Come on, girl,” Eivor chuckled as she climbed into the saddle, grateful to be reunited with her steed. “Ride swift as the wind!”

Eivor made it to Rathdown in no time at all and there, at the entrance, stood Sadhbh, wringing her hands in worry. Until she saw her, which was when she rushed towards her and threw her arms around her in a tight embrace.

“I feared you were dead!” Sadhbh gasped as she finally released her.

“The danger has passed for now, but we need to inform Bárid of what has happened,” Eivor said solemnly. 

Bárid would surely know what to do but the gnawing dread in Eivor’s stomach told her that the bandit attack was only the beginning of their troubles.

Chapter Text

Eivor stood in the morgue with her arms crossed and a heavy weight bearing down on her shoulders. 

There was a sour taste in her mouth and she was positive it wasn’t from the decomposing corpses or the stench of burning herbs meant to hide the smell of rot.

She found herself mostly staring at the armor belonging to the dead cutthroats laying on slabs of stone before her until her vision went blurry and cross-eyed, and was forced to look away so she could steady herself. But once she had regained her composure, she turned her attention back to the bandits.

Their armor was bloodied and shattered but still intact, and she finally realized why it looked so familiar.

“Pick up your axe!” she could hear her mother screaming at the top of her lungs, begging Varin to grab his weapon after he had set it down before Kjotve the Cruel’s feet, who sneered and mocked them while his dogs slaughtered the entire clan.

Eivor could smell the smoke from the burning settlement, screams of terror and agony as loud as her pounding heartbeat in her ears, Sigurd Styrbjornson’s bruising grip on her arm as he pulled her up off the frozen, bloodied ground and into the saddle before galloping away from the carnage, only for their horse to get intercepted by some of Kjotve’s men who had been lurking in the woods surrounding her village, waiting to pick off anyone who attempted to flee the chaos in the village.

She remembered the bite of the wolf’s teeth tearing into her neck, the cold plunge as the ice shattered beneath her, and then darkness.

She had been so young but she remembered it all so clearly, as if it had happened yesterday. It was hard not to, not when everything had changed the moment her parents’ blood splattered on the ground.

Some days, it wasn’t enough that her cousin’s family had welcomed her with open arms. All she could do was try to ignore the feeling of loss that weighed her down like a mud pit pulling her in deeper and deeper and would never go away, and try to function as normally as she could.

But they had bigger problems now, because Kjotve’s men had reached Dublin’s shores and where his dogs were, their handler wasn’t too far behind.

Eivor left the morgue and stormed off to the longhouse to find Bárid.

“Eivor, you look worried,” her cousin remarked as she walked in. “Is everything alright?”

“I just got back from the morgue.”

Bárid’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “What were you doing at the— oh, this is about the bandits.”

Eivor held back a curse. “Bárid, that’s just the problem: they’re not normal bandits.”

“Well, you know that I’ve tightened the patrols and—“

“It’s not going to be enough! Kjotve the Cruel is scoping out Dublin and the Wolf Clan is going to attack us sooner or later, I’m sure of it!”

“What could a clan from Norway want with us?” Sadhbh questioned, ever naive to the severity of the situation at hand even though she had been there when Kjotve’s dogs attacked them.

Then again, Eivor couldn’t blame her for not being aware of just how severe the danger was. Sadhbh’s whole world consisted of Ireland, whereas Eivor had never forgotten the cruelty that had been inflicted on her clan in Norway, even after she sailed across the seas at the tender age of nine to join Bárid’s family.

“What they all want,” Eivor huffed, throwing her arms up in frustration. “They want riches and plunder and Bárid’s crown.”

And worse, in Kjotve’s case. He was fueled by endless greed and a craving for carnage, which he partook in for his own amusement, and now he had eyes on Dublin as his next conquest. But Eivor wasn’t going to let that happen, not without a fight to the death.

If Kjotve dared show his face in Dublin, his head would find its way onto a pike as a warning to anyone else who tried to attack her beloved home. Eivor swore to make sure of that.

“I am prepared to deal with Kjotve if it comes to that,” Bárid insisted. “But I won’t declare war.”

We don’t need to declare war,” Eivor insisted. “Let me take the fight to him, deal with the Wolf Clan myself.”

“In Norway?” Bárid balked. “On your own? Eivor—“

“With my raiders—”

Bárid held up his hand to stop her. “This is no ordinary raid. You’d need hundreds of soldiers and careful planning. If you set foot in Norway without special permission, all of the clans could consider your arrival a declaration of war, and then where would we be?”

“Let them!” Eivor snapped defiantly. “I’m shocked that no one has taken down Kjotve yet!”

“I’m sure they’ve tried—”

Eivor crossed her arms over her chest and scowled. “Clearly not hard enough.”

Was there no one courageous enough to go up against Kjotve and finally end his reign of terror against the other clans? 

Eivor found it hard to believe that no one from the Raven Clan, or what few survivors remained of the Bear Clan, hadn’t tried to take him down.

It was as if Kjotve was untouchable and because no one dared face him when he was weaker, he now felt emboldened to look across the sea for new conquests. 

“Eivor, I promise you that we’ll come up with a solution,” Bárid insisted. While she didn’t want to let things go so easily, Eivor forced herself to concede, only because she could see that her cousin wanted to let things lie for a little while.

She wanted to trust that he had a plan, even if he hadn’t revealed anything to her yet.

“Fine, I’ll do things your way for now. But Kjotve’s head is mine,” Eivor snarled.

Bárid nodded in understanding. “Of course. I would not rob you of that.”

That night, Eivor did not sleep well.

Her dreams were fitful, as she found herself stumbling through a dark, foggy realm where monsters surely roamed past the gnarled, barren trees.

Up ahead stood Kjotve with axe in hand. It looked so familiar and yet, Eivor couldn’t deduce where she’d seen it. But it didn’t matter because she planned to claim it as a spoil of war after she killed Kjotve.

He towered over her but her unquenchable bloodlust quelled any concerns she might have had about facing a much larger opponent. She normally would have used a combination of skill and strategy to take on such a large opponent but this time she ran at him with a battle cry that grated on her throat, sword drawn and at the ready to plunge into the oathbreaker’s heart.

But all of her attacks were futile as she lunged at Kjotve, who dodged with a nimbleness impossible for someone of his large size. And then his hand found its way around her neck, choking her as he lifted her off the ground. He pulled her in until their noses were almost touching and she could smell the stink on his breath.

“How long have you dreamt of killing me, Wolf-Kissed? Seventeen winters? Eighteen?” Kjotve mocked. “And now I haunt your dreams…”

Eivor scrabbled against him but his hold was too strong and she saw black spots dancing in her vision as her breath was choked out of her lungs. Kjotve said the same thing he always did — “come find me, Wolf-Kissed” — and then she awoke with a gasp. 

She shot up in bed, hands running through her disheveled hair as she struggled to steady her breathing, and that was when she realized just how sweaty her sleep tunic was. 

By the gods, that nightmare had been the most visceral one yet.

As much as she would have liked to lie in bed all day and catch up on much-needed rest, she remembered that she had promised to assist Azar at her stall after a massive influx of orders had come in last night. 

It was a reassuring sign that their alliances across the seas and elsewhere, none of which were forged through marriage, were going strong. Their outposts continued to produce quality goods, which were in high demand, but it was a shame that there wasn’t enough money coming in for them to send the Ragnarssons sailing back to England without the alliance they were demanding.

And so off Eivor went, crawling out of bed and dragging her tired feet to Azar’s stall down by the docks. Save for a sleepy greeting, they worked quietly fulfilling orders and a few hours in, Eivor felt they were truly making good progress.

“So a little bird told me that you’re getting married soon,” Azar commented, snapping Eivor out of her daze and back to the goods in front of her.

Eivor realized she had stopped sorting through the crate but decided there was no point in trying to keep up appearances, so she just looked up at Azar with a raised eyebrow.

“Where did you hear that?”

Azar smiled. “I have my sources.”

Of course, Eivor thought with a shake of her head. 

She finished counting how much clothing had been delivered from Rathdown this morning and then stashed it into the appropriate chest in Azar’s storage shed. Most of the textiles they had received were going to Egypt on the next ship out but a small shipment of delicacies and several dozen crates of ivory were reserved for Córdoba. Even then, there were still several more crates of goods to sift through and fill orders for.

“But it seems you’re not pleased with the idea.”

“Never took you for such a gossip,” Eivor taunted. Azar laughed heartily.

“Eivor, you should know me well enough that I have first-hand knowledge of all the gossip floating around Dublin.”

Eivor shrugged. “Someone certainly has to.”

“So what don’t you like about him?”

She briefly pondered Azar’s question, and then said, “what’s to like?”

“Nothing, eh? All men are like that, they’ll just disappoint you.”

“Sadhbh seems happy with Bárid.”

“Of course she is. Bárid may wear the crown and sit on the throne but Sadhbh is the one who pulls the strings around here. But she is a rare exception.”

That much Eivor knew was true. Sadhbh had lucked out with Bárid whereas she saw herself doomed to a life of eternal misery if she married Ivarr. Ragnar had more sons than just Ubba and Ivarr, didn’t he? Wasn’t there some other son of Ragnar who could be a more fitting husband for her than Ivarr Ragnarsson?

“Ah, Eivor, there you are!”

And speak of the draugr himself.

Her brow furrowed at the sight of Ivarr, and there was nothing that could stop her from glowering at him.

“What are you doing here?”

“Bárid said I would find you here, though I wasn’t expecting to see the king’s cousin doing menial labor.”

Eivor tried not to bristle at his remark, which felt like an attempt at goading her into another fight. Did he really want another repeat of the other day and more importantly, did he think the outcome would be any different?

“It wouldn’t hurt you to lift a finger for once in your life, Ivarr.”

Ivarr seemed to take offense to her remark, for his gaze turned hard as he crossed his arms and stared her down. “Who says I don’t? Should you ever need a spy tortured for information, I can string him up in the church and have what you need before the day is out. I can’t guarantee the spy’s survival, though.”

Eivor was horrified. “You’re not going to desecrate Kilchrist—”

“What was that you just said, about torture?” Azar interrupted.

Ivarr cocked an eyebrow. “What, do you need me to torture someone?”

Eivor felt a growing sense of dread, for she knew that glittery look in Azar’s eye spelled trouble. Azar and Ivarr being in cahoots of any kind guaranteed certain doom or perhaps even the assured start of Ragnarök, and Eivor wished there was some way for her to flee before the madness started.

“The other day, a thief named Thorstein stole a lot of silver from me. I want you to bring him back to me alive and unharmed.”

Ivarr made a face. “If you want him alive, then what do you need me for?”

But Azar refused to hear him. “I want you to bring Thorstein back to me so I can punish him accordingly. Eivor knows her way around, she can guide you.”

“Azar—” Eivor started to protest, but the merchant wouldn’t hear it.

“Eivor can find Thorstein and you, Ivarr, can do the heavy lifting.” Azar gave them both a wry smile. “I can handle the rest of these orders myself.”

Damn her, Eivor fumed. How dare Azar force her to cooperate with Ivarr and how dare she look so smug about it, too?

“Let’s go, then,” Eivor gruffed. 

The sooner she got this over with, the better. She would have much rather spent the rest of the day filling outgoing orders than scouring Dublin in search of Thorstein with Ivarr but it wasn’t like she had a choice in the matter.

These days, it seemed as if people were making decisions for her, like her opinion didn’t matter at all. Of course, Bárid had given her the final say in the marriage but she knew she would disappoint everyone if she refused such a lucrative offer from King Ragnar Lothbrok.

If anything, Dublin would benefit immensely, and prosper in ways never before thought possible.

All she had to do was sacrifice her livelihood and freedom to make it happen.

But what was one life in exchange for the lives of many, which would improve greatly if Bárid got ahold of the Ragnarssons’ hacksilver horde? Allowing Ivarr Ragnarsson to take her hand in marriage was simply a cost of doing business, and nobody would give a damn when endless riches came pouring in from Ragnar Lothbrok’s treasury.

For the longest time, she and Ivarr walked through the streets without uttering a word to each other. Eivor kept a few steps ahead of the drengr, so she didn’t have to risk bumping into him as they walked, but it wasn’t enough to deafen her ears to his whistling.

She endured it for as long as she could… until her blood reached its boiling point and she could no longer stand to listen to his ear-grating warbling.

“Enough!” she snapped as she whirled around to face him, eyes sharp as daggers. “Can’t we have one moment of silence?”

Ivarr chuckled. “You know, we’re going to be married soon. We should start acting like husband and wife, don’t you think?”

“I can always refuse to marry you.”

“Even after everything my father promised? You and your cousin would be fools to reject his offer.”

“We’ll do just fine without your English silver, just as we always have.”

“Oh, of that, I have no doubt. I’m only saying your muddy Irish shithole could use the wealth—”

“Do not forget that you’ll be waking up in this muddy Irish shithole every day once we are married.”

A look of surprise crossed Ivarr’s features, and Eivor took it as the perfect opportunity to lay into him, seeing no better time to knock her husband-to-be’s ego down a few more notches.

“Oh, you thought I’d be moving with you to England? No, no, no, you will live here and may the gods help you if you think you’ll drag me off to some foreign country, away from my family and everything I know just to make me live in some miserable hovel for the rest of my days!”

Ivarr’s lips turned upward into a grin, though his smiles always had a callous edge to them that resembled a sneer. He looked rather impressed for someone who had been goading her the entire time, and leaned in until their noses almost touched. “So Eivor of the Jackdaw Clan has teeth. Good, I’d hate it if my wife-to-be was worse than a timid Saxon.”

Eivor scoffed and rolled her eyes at his remark. “You’re an arse.”

“You’re finally starting to realize that? Took you long enough.”

“If this is how it’s always going to be with you, I don’t want to marry you, then!”

She was so miserable that she wanted to scream. 

She wished these Danes would just leave Dublin and go anywhere else, find some other woman to irritate, and let her continue her life as it had been prior to their arrival, as a free spirit who ran freely through the rolling hills outside Dublin and made a point to climb a different building every single day to see the surrounding lands from a new perch. She didn’t want to be chained down to Ivarr like some thrall, cursed to never smell the crisp Irish air ever again.

She would rather drown herself in the river right now and spare herself the trouble.

“We don’t really have a choice in that matter, now, do we?” Ivarr taunted. “Your cousin can go on and on until he’s red in the face about how he’s giving you a choice. But we don’t have a choice. Neither of us. My father wants us married and that’s that.”

“And why are you so complacent about all this?” Eivor demanded. “You’re certainly not the type to roll over and let someone else make decisions for you, not without inciting enough chaos to start a war.”

“I’ll take what you just said as a compliment. And what makes you think I didn’t give my father an earful when he ordered this marriage?”

“Doesn’t surprise me. And how did that work out for you?”

“I’m here, aren’t I?” Ivarr gestured to their surroundings, and Eivor could only roll her eyes in annoyance. Gods, he was so insufferable.

She was starting to realize that the marriage was equally about the trade agreement as it was a way for Ragnar to rid himself of his most frustrating son and make him someone else’s problem. More specifically, her problem.

No amount of honor gained from marrying a son of Ragnar would make Ivarr more bearable to be around. He seemed dead-set on causing chaos wherever he went and didn’t care how much damage he left in his wake.

“Let’s just go find Thorstein,” she huffed, and then it was quiet again.

After much walking through the streets of Dublin, they found Thorstein slamming tankards in a hole-in-the-wall tavern on the edge of town. 

He tried to run as soon as he saw Eivor enter the tavern but didn’t run very far before he stumbled over his own drunken feet, knocking over a few chairs and sending a table screeching over the wooden floors. Eivor approached Thorstein from behind to stop him from making a break for it, and Ivarr blocked the entrance, allowing Eivor to tackle their target to the floor.

At least he was good for something, Eivor thought while she bound Thorstein’s arms behind his back with rope so he couldn’t run off quite as easily. Not that she was that worried about him fleeing, seeing as he was too drunk to even walk straight.

“This is the bacraut we’re hunting for?” Ivarr asked incredulously.

“He’s quite known for causing trouble around Dublin,” Eivor sighed, shaking her head.

She grabbed Thorstein by the shoulders and hoisted him to his feet, though not without protest from Azar’s thief. Eivor didn’t care about how tightly the ropes pinched Thorstein’s wrists or how roughly she was handling him; she was just desperate to get Thorstein back to Azar so she no longer had to endure Ivarr. 

“In England, the punishment for stealing is hanging. Why not just hang this bacraut and be done with it?”

“Not up to me.”

Bárid ruled Dublin with a merciful hand and seemed to think that Thorstein hadn’t earned a hanging for all his transgressions.

There was also the matter of Thorstein being the son of Dublin’s previous king, and how things would look if the sole heir of Olaf the White was killed without a fair and proper trial. A frivolous hanging would only cause more trouble for Bárid, who believed that he would come to be perceived as a weak, insecure ruler if he killed his enemies left and right just to ensure a lack of opposition.

Thorstein wasn’t even an actual threat; he was just a massive pain in the arse, like Ivarr.

“Too bad. I’d have already cut his head off and stuck it on a pike.”

“Excuse you!” Thorstein spluttered, obviously distressed by Ivarr’s threat.

“Not up to you, either,” Eivor said to Ivarr. And thank the gods for that.

“Things can always change. I could become the king of Dublin one day, for all anyone knows.”

“After Bárid, the crown would go to Sichfrith,” Eivor corrected pointedly. Bárid was setting up his son to be his successor, and no one, certainly not Ivarr, would disrupt the order of succession. Not if she could help it.

Ivarr smirked. “With you as my wife, anything is possible.”

“Who said I would ever be your wife?”

Ivarr gave her a look. “Eivor, we’ve been over this: we’re entering into a marriage together, whether we like it or not.”

“Nothing is set in stone, not yet. The Nornir still haven’t finished weaving our destinies.” If they favored her, the Fates would find a way to make her and Ivarr’s paths diverge, never to see each other again except perhaps on opposing sides of the battlefield.

Ivarr smirked. Eivor felt her blood begin to boil.

“What’s so amusing?” she demanded.

“I’m just trying to figure out what kind of woman you are, Eivor, and so far, I’ve come to quite a few conclusions about you.”

“As if I care what you think,” she spat. Ivarr smirked again.

“Good. You shouldn’t care what anyone thinks. Be your own woman.”

His remark felt mocking in nature, and Eivor glared at him.

“Ivarr, was my knee to your balls not enough the first time around? Would you like another taste? Because you’re aggravating me again.”

“Feel free to throw a punch whenever it suits you, just make sure you hit your mark,” Ivarr snickered. “At least I know that you’ll be able to take care of yourself when we go raiding together.”

Eivor paused, stopping short of spewing more poisonous bile at Ivarr. Had she heard him right? He wanted to take her raiding? She was still wary of his intentions, but perhaps she wasn’t guaranteed a life full of misery if she married him after all.

There was a good possibility that he was a decent match for her, and she him.

Ivarr must have noticed the look on her face, for he commented,

“Why do you look so surprised?”

Eivor saw no reason to keep quiet now. It seemed Ivarr cared enough to know her thoughts on the matter, and it didn’t look like he was going to mock her, either.

And if he did, she would punch him.

 “Most men expect their women to stay home to raise their children and greet them with mead and sweets when they return home from raiding.”

“That would be a waste of your talents,” he snorted. “I want you by my side, drinking in the scent of iron on the battlefield and bathed in the blood of our enemies.”

“What about children?”

Ivarr snorted in amusement. “Ubba and my other brothers can give our father all the grandchildren he desires. Like I said, making you a mother would be a waste of your talents.”

“Is Ubba married?”

“No, but that’s his problem, wouldn’t you say?”

Eivor couldn’t hold back a chuckle. “I suppose so.”

“Are you two done?” Thorstein groused from where he sat on the ground, appearing quite annoyed at the fact that he’d all but been forgotten about.

“Shut up,” both Eivor and Ivarr snapped at him simultaneously. They exchanged amused looks as their lips stretched into wide, glittery smiles.

“We should get this bacraut back to Azar,” Eivor said.

Ivarr hoisted Thorstein onto his shoulder, ignoring his protests, and carried him outside. Eivor followed, and it was then that Ivarr said,

“Lead the way, Eivor.”

Under other circumstances, Eivor might have snapped at him, told him to stop ordering her around, but this time she didn’t mind it and started the trek back to the marketplace.

They returned to Azar’s stall with her thief in tow and Eivor couldn’t help but notice a glimmer in the merchant’s eye, as if she knew something they didn’t.

Ivarr unceremoniously dumped Thorstein on his ass, ignoring his groans as he writhed and groaned in pain at their feet, and dusted off his hands.

“Ah, you brought him back in one piece. Well, mostly. And you two seem more… amicable now,” Azar remarked with a sly smile. Eivor barely resisted the urge to roll her eyes for it came as no surprise that Azar had plotted this all along.

She’d forced them to work together and in the process, they had learned to set aside some of their differences. Of course, there had always been a risk of fists flying again but Azar hadn’t seemed too worried about that.

“You can handle yourself just fine,” the merchant had said to her on more than one occasion, and this time had been no different.

Capturing Thorstein was just a bonus.

“Feel free to take the rest of the day off,” Azar said to Eivor with a knowing smirk on her lips. “Enjoy the nice weather… and the company you have with you.”

“Are you sure you don’t need help? I’m quite good at torture,” Ivarr boasted.

“I’m sure. You two should go ahead and enjoy the rest of your day. Now then,” Azar said as she turned to Thorstein, “I hope you haven’t whored and drank away all my silver!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Thorstein protested.

“I guess I’ll just have to jog your memory then!”

“Come on,” Eivor said to Ivarr. “Let’s leave them be.”

They ignored Thorstein’s cries for help and decided to go someplace quiet, where they could talk and drink without anyone bothering them. 

After sharing a meal together and a few rounds of mead at the tavern, Ivarr accompanied her home.

He knew as well as she did that she didn’t need an escort but she sensed he was doing it to prolong their time together and strangely, she didn’t mind. Had they still been at odds, he wouldn’t have walked her home and she wouldn’t have let him.

“I couldn’t help but notice that you and Ivarr seem to be on better terms,” Bárid remarked once Ivarr was long out of earshot. The smile on his face betrayed what he was thinking. “What changed?”

“Azar forced us to work together. Hard to bicker when you’re busy hunting a thief.”

“I’m sure you still found a way to lay into him,” Bárid snickered and Eivor threw her head back with a laugh.

“That is also true.”

She and Ivarr were on better terms now. They weren’t friends, but they were friendly enough that she didn’t immediately want to track Ivarr down and gut him just at the thought of him. 

Was she suddenly feeling enthusiastic about the marriage arrangement? Of course not, but there were worse fates than being married to a fellow vikingr.

Chapter Text

The next morning, Eivor left the King’s Hall for a morning stroll along the docks. 

Even with a whirlwind of concerns threatening to sweep her up, she tried her best to breathe in the salty air and enjoy the solitude. The docks were empty and quiet except for a few dockhands who had gotten a head start on unloading cargo from a ship. There wasn’t enough to distract herself and keeping her breathing steady was all Eivor could do to prevent her thoughts from overwhelming her.

As she veered away from the docks and into the marketplace, Eivor realized she was feeling quite peckish and decided to head to the tavern for a morning meal, which was when she heard her name being called… by none other than Ivarr.

“Eivor, over here!” He was seated at one of the tables under the faded blue canopy with food and drink to keep him company. He waved her over, inviting her to join him. “Come, sit.”

“Keeping out of trouble, I hope?” she asked as she sat down on the empty bench across from him. Ivarr smirked, and shrugged in response.

“As much as I can. Wouldn’t want to upset my wife-to-be, after all.”

Eivor cocked her head to the side. “And here I thought you didn’t care about anyone but yourself.”

“You take that back,” Ivarr jabbed a finger in her face but Eivor was unfazed, and she scoffed when he added, “I am in complete control… when I want to be.”

“You are most certainly not, but I’m not here to argue with you.”

“Good, because I don’t want to argue, either.”

He called to the barmaid to bring forth another round of drinks and one more bowl of venison stew, which found its way in front of Eivor.

“So how did things go with Thorstein?” Ivarr asked after taking a swig of his mead.

“Azar beat the ever-living shit out of him and sent him on his way,” Eivor revealed. The stew was quite good but she couldn’t help but feel a bit… distracted by Ivarr’s heavy gaze, which was as if his focus was entirely on her.

She hadn’t yet decided if she liked having his attention.

“Your problems with Thorstein would be over if you just killed that bacraut.”

Eivor shrugged. “That’s not our call to make, it’s Bárid’s.”

“Bárid is too soft—”

“You’re soon to become one of his subjects,” Eivor reminded him. “Best to watch what you say about the king of Dublin.”

“What, is your cousin like the cowardly kings of Mercia?” Ivarr scoffed. “Am I threatened with treason if I speak out against him?”

“No, he is more merciful than that.”

“One day his mercy will get him killed.”

“Careful that his mercy for you doesn’t run out, then.” Difficult as it was for Ivarr to believe, even Bárid had his limits and she hoped, for his sake, that he didn’t do something that triggered her cousin’s breaking point one day because even a man as patient as Bárid eventually had enough.

“Hard to imagine that happening when I’ll be marrying his cousin soon,” Ivarr remarked, his pale eyes glittering with something more carnal, reminding Eivor of the way he’d looked at her when they first crossed paths.

“You’ll first have to get me to like you,” Eivor taunted as she held his gaze. Ivarr was completely unfazed, lips curling up into an amused half-smile.

“I thought you already did.”

“There’s room for improvement.”

Ivarr opened his mouth to refute her retort but he was cut off by the sound of screams. Eivor’s head snapped in the direction of the noise and she saw Dubliners rush past before realizing that they were running away from something.

No, it was worse. They were being chased by raiders, much like the bandits from the other day.

“Fuck, I don’t have a weapon,” Ivarr cursed as he stood up.

Eivor tossed him her hatchet and then leapt into the fray with her sword, cutting down a brute before he could kill a woman fleeing with her child in her arms.

“Run!” Eivor shouted at the woman before she could freeze in terror at the carnage unfolding around her. “Get to safety!”

“Eivor, behind you!”

She whirled around just in time to see one of Kjotve’s dogs running at her with an axe but she didn’t have any time to react before the man’s lifeless body fell to the ground and Eivor saw Ivarr standing over the corpse.

Ivarr smirked at her and then buried his axe in another cutthroat’s skull, sending blood flying everywhere.

Eivor wasn’t sure how many warriors she killed, but they just kept coming, more men emerging from the fog to replace those who had fallen, and all she could do was press on. She found herself fighting alongside Ivarr, her raiders, and the guards, cutting down anyone that dared cross her path until her sword was dripping with blood.

Even in the chaos, she couldn’t help but notice how Ivarr dodged and weaved around Kjotve’s men, dancing with blades as if he was untouchable while bodies dropped to the ground all around him.

He was quite the fighter, and he’d even saved her from being horribly wounded or worse, killed by Kjotve’s dog.

Focus, Eivor! she snapped at herself before lunging at a cutthroat who would have killed one of her raiders, cleaving his head clear off his shoulders with a solid swing of her sword.

“Is that all of them?” Eivor gasped once there was a lull in the fighting. 

Everyone looked around warily, as if expecting a second wave of attackers to come running towards them and while the bell at Kilchrist continued to ring incessantly, warning of danger, Eivor was rather certain that they were in the clear… for now, at least.

More will attack later, she thought grimly. They just wouldn’t know when. Next time, they might not be so fortunate to be in the right place at the right time to fend off the attack.

“We need to inform Bárid of what has happened,” Eivor sighed heavily. Gods, what would it take to convince him that they were facing a truly dire crisis?

But as she started the long arduous trek to the longhouse, she noticed someone walking alongside her: Ivarr. 

Even covered in the blood of their enemies, he was quite attractive to look at and while she would never admit it out loud for anyone to hear, his presence was a comfort.

She hoped the two of them together would be able to force open Bárid’s eyes to the present danger that threatened all of Ireland if they didn’t find a way to fend off Kjotve and his men once and for all.

“You’re both covered in blood! Are you alright?” Bárid remarked in alarm when they walked into the throne room. Their appearances had startled the king, his eyes wide like Eivor and Ivarr were two draugr come to haunt him, but it couldn’t be helped.

Soon, everyone would know of the attack at the port. It was the most recent one so far and Eivor wanted nothing more than for it to be the last.

She could only hope that she would be able to convince Bárid to do something about the invaders. If not, more bloodshed and carnage would follow and next time, there was no guarantee that all of Dublin wouldn’t fall.

“We were attacked by more of Kjotve’s men,” Eivor revealed, her tone grave.

“Was anyone hurt?”

“No, not as far as we know. We managed to kill all the attackers, but there’s no telling when more will come.”

Bárid appeared to relax, relief replacing the terror that had marred his face a moment ago. “Good, that is good to hear.”

“What is not good is that Kjotve’s men have gotten bold. They attacked the port. Bárid, this wasn’t the first attack and it won’t be the last,” Eivor desperately pleaded with her cousin. “We need to do something and soon.”

She understood that his hands were tied and that the situation was far more complicated than what could be seen at face-value. What she was seeing as a soldier on the ground was different from what Bárid saw from his throne.

She saw all of the invaders who needed killing once and for all but Bárid was worried about the impact that retaliation could have on his people after blood was spilt.

Would war between the clans of Norway spread to Dublin? It was a terrifying prospect to consider.

Kjotve’s men were worse than bandits because they just kept coming back no matter how many of them were killed and they weren’t after petty riches from unprotected travelers, either; they wished to take all of Ireland for themselves and terrorize the good people for their own sick amusement.

“You’re asking me to go to war with a clan in Norway, Eivor,” he said solemnly.

“They declared war first when they attacked, wouldn’t you say?” Ivarr remarked. It was the first thing he’d said since they entered the throne room.

Bárid held up his hand to stop Ivarr. “I wasn’t finished.” 

He looked back to Eivor and said,

“While I cannot give you the men and the arms to fight Kjotve, I do think that he is a threat that needs to be dealt with. Rosta was your mother, but she was also my aunt, Eivor. I deeply feel the pain of her loss, too.”

Eivor felt her heart swelling despite the seriousness of the situation. It finally felt like she and Bárid were starting to find themselves on the same page after what felt like days of them just going back and forth and never quite seeing eye-to-eye.

“My scouts tell me that they’ve made camp at Lisdurrow. If you can get rid of them discreetly, then do it,” Bárid said, purposely stressing the importance of discreteness and ignoring the way Ivarr rolled his eyes.

“I’m sure we can come up with something,” Eivor promised. She, too, decided to ignore Ivarr when he rolled his eyes for a second time.

“Dublin will recover, but only if we can prevent any further attacks. Once you’ve put together a plan, come find me so we can discuss our next move.”

“Get cleaned up, and then meet me in the war room,” Eivor instructed Ivarr, who seemed strangely indignant all of a sudden.

“What, are you afraid of a little blood?” he taunted. Eivor crossed her arms and glowered at him.

“We’ve already trailed enough blood into the longhouse. At least get changed if you’re so averse to the concept of soap, though it wouldn’t kill you to bathe every now and then.”

“Why don’t you join me, then?” Ivarr proposed but Eivor scoffed in response, immediately detecting the ulterior motive to his innocently-phrased suggestion.

“We’re not married yet,” she sneered before she spun on her heel and left Ivarr standing alone in the great hall.

After a quick yet chilly dip in the sea by the old water mill, which provided enough privacy that she didn’t feel pressured to hurry in case someone happened upon her on accident or on purpose, Eivor returned to the longhouse, hair dripping wet and dressed in clean clothes. Ivarr was already waiting for her in the war room but at least he’d taken her suggestion to heart and put on something that was less… blood-soaked.

“Took you long enough.”

“Bathing takes time, Ivarr,” Eivor scoffed as she looked through the various crates for a map of Dublin. She glanced over at him and flashed him a smirk. “I’m surprised you decided to change out of your armor.”

The green tunic he was wearing looked good on him, though she wouldn’t give him the pleasure of knowing her thoughts.

“At least you’re finally here, so we can put together a plan. Those cockroaches won’t know what hit them.”

“Ivarr, Bárid asked us to be discreet,” Eivor stressed but he was unswayed and even waved her off when she tried to express her concerns for going in fast and loud like he wanted.

“No need to be discreet if no one lives to tell the tale. And if anyone does somehow make it past us, we’ll kill them, too.”

Now it was Eivor’s turn to roll her eyes. “Can we try doing things my way first?”

Ivarr smirked. “You’ll come around to my way of thinking… but fine, we’ll do it your way first, just so you can’t say I didn’t let you.”

Eivor’s eyebrows furrowed in annoyance. “I don’t need your permission, Ivarr Ragnarsson.”

Frustrated by his remark, Eivor busied herself with unrolling the map she’d found, pinning it down with whatever heavy paperweights she could grab within her reach so they could finally get started. She then realized Ivarr was frothing at the mouth for more carnage, obviously battle-drunk from this morning’s attack, and that it was going to take a lot to calm him down and do things “her way”, as he’d put it.

All she wanted was to be able to go to sleep without having to worry about any more attacks from Kjotve’s men but took comfort in knowing that she would get her wish soon enough. Kjotve was a different issue, but she was working on a plan to deal with him, too, in due time.

She was going to hunt him down after the wedding, or so she kept telling herself. She would set out for Norway after she was married to the annoying bacraut standing across the table from her.

But then she felt eyes on her and looked up to find Ivarr staring at her.

He did not look away even once he’d been caught, and Eivor raised an eyebrow. “What are you staring at?”

“Can I not admire my wife-to-be?”

“You can look but hands to yourself,” Eivor scoffed as she turned her attention back to the map in front of her. She resisted the urge to taunt Ivarr with the still-very-real possibility that the marriage could always be called off, but only because she knew that he’d call her bluff.

The matter was settled and all they had to do was hold the ceremony, hopefully after Kjotve’s dogs were culled from the land. 

Dublin could not suffer any more attacks and Eivor did not want to think about the world of trouble they would be in if the other kings of Ireland heard allegations that Bárid was having a difficult time keeping his people safe.

It was worse that the cutthroats had made camp at Lisdurrow, an abandoned outpost in nearby Meath that had once produced texts, and that the king of Meath didn’t even care about the pests living on his territory.

Kjotve should have just stayed out of Ireland, Eivor thought, tightly gripping the edge of the table, and then she heard a chuckle from Ivarr that snapped her out of her tangled, swirling thoughts.

“You can say that now, but the time for that will come as well.”

“Fortunately, we’re not married yet.”

“I know. You keep reminding me.”

“Ivarr, all you think about is sex and carnage.”

Ivarr smirked, appearing to take her accusation as a compliment. “And you take me for such a simple-minded man, Eivor. I enjoy many things, including sex and carnage.”

“I don’t even want to ask.”

“You’ll find out on your own, in due time.”

Eivor rolled her eyes. She didn’t care to find out what other interests a man like Ivarr had, only that she knew they were guaranteed to cause her nothing but massive headaches.

“But enough of that. What I want to know is why you’re so eager to kill Kjotve.”

Eivor stiffened. Ivarr’s question shouldn’t have caught her completely off-guard but it did. While telling him of her past would have been easy enough, she didn’t feel willing to discuss it. She carried too much shame because her father had died a coward, and for what? 

Varin’s sacrifice had failed to save the Bear Clan and Kjotve was still raiding, killing, and pillaging to his heart’s content after all these years.

“Many call him Kjotve the Cruel, and for good reason,” Ivarr commented before she could gather her bearings.

“If you know so much about him, why are you asking me anything?” Eivor bristled.

“Because I know there’s a personal stake in this for you. I’m just curious about how deep the rabbit hole goes.”

“Careful you don’t poke your nose in too far, not unless you want to get bit.”

“I’m willing to take that risk,” Ivarr sneered. “So? Are you going to tell me why you’re so eager to kill this one very specific Northman?”

“If you must know… it’s because he killed my mother, when I was only nine years old,” Eivor sighed in defeat.

She still remembered the terror and grief that washed over her when the axe pierced Rosta’s back, the way her throat burned as she screamed for her mother, and how that horrible night only got worse after that.

It took all of her strength to shake off the terror that still gripped her to this day and take in a deep breath to steady herself.

She finally looked over at Ivarr and saw that his face had softened in understanding, no longer mocking like it usually was.

“Now you know why Kjotve must die.”

“And he will die at your hand,” Ivarr promised. “Need to get you an axe, though. No true vikingr fights with a sword.”

“Plenty of drengir do.”

“Maybe they do here in Dublin, but warriors with true honor fight with axes.”

Eivor raised an eyebrow. “This is coming from the same person who threw dirt in my face when we first fought? You’re hardly in any position to be talking about honor.”

Ivarr shrugged. “Anything’s fair in a fight. Things will get a lot easier for you once you learn that.”

He leaned in across the table, grey eyes glittering with amusement. Eivor wasn’t sure if this was one of his intimidation tactics, but she refused to let herself be so easily swayed. “And I seem to recall a certain valkyrie crushing my balls after I threw dirt at her.”

“Anything’s fair, or so I’ve been told,” she mocked.

Ivarr grinned. “See, now you’re learning.”

There was a lull after that, which gave Eivor time to plot out her plan of attack while Ivarr made himself busy with eating an apple. The noise of him chewing was still more bearable than him running his mouth, but then Ivarr posed yet another question that nearly blindsided her.

“Where is your father?”

“Dead,” Eivor answered simply. She wasn’t about to tell Ivarr one of her deepest, most shameful secrets. In fact, it brought her so much shame that she planned to go to her grave with that one and she decided it was better to lie to Ivarr. “Died when I was too small to remember him. I had no other family in Norway so, after my mother’s death, Bárid’s family took me in because his father and my mother were siblings.”

“That explains how you became an Irish Norsewoman.”

“There are worse fates, like being an English Dane.”

Ivarr’s eyebrows furrowed in annoyance, immediately catching on to the implication behind her words, and now it was Eivor’s turn to smirk at him.

“I might have spent the last several winters pillaging and looting England, but I’m still a Dane through and through.”

Eivor’s smile grow wider, taunting Ivarr, who appeared to grow more annoyed by the moment. “I’ll make sure to remember that. Now, can we get back to planning?”

“As long as we eventually get to killing.”

“There will be time for that, too.”

The next several hours were spent formulating a plan that would put an end to the attacks on Dublin once and for all and they were almost finished when Bárid joined them. Naturally, Eivor decided to fill him in on everything she and Ivarr had decided for their approach.

They would take her crew and the warriors that had accompanied Ivarr, Ubba, and Finnr to Ireland, which would make for a decent-sized raiding party, and strike Lisdurrow while the fog was thick, just before first light. Kjotve’s men wouldn’t even know what hit them until it was too late.

“This is a good plan,” Bárid complimented. “It just might be enough to get rid of those cutthroats for good.”

“Your problems won’t be over until Kjotve is dead but this one here has a plan for that, too,” Ivarr remarked, sounding quite proud of Eivor, who wasn’t sure why his praise made her cheeks burn the way they did. She prided herself on remaining composed, though.

“You’ve accomplished a lot in one day. When do you plan to attack the camp?” Bárid asked.

“Tomorrow morning, hopefully,” Eivor answered.

Bárid’s eyebrows went high up on his forehead in surprise. “Tomorrow? That’s so soon.”

“The sooner the better,” Ivarr shrugged. 

“Bárid,” Eivor said, “there is something I need you to do in order to ensure the plan goes smoothly.”

Her cousin nodded. “Name it.”

“Once we step outside the walls, you need to lock down Dublin and shut the gates behind us.”

Bárid stared at her as if she’d grown an extra head. “Eivor, do you realize what you’re asking me to do?”

She had a feeling he wouldn’t particularly be warm to that part of the plan but he had no other choice but to follow it. It would be the only way to ensure all of Dublin’s safety while they were staking out Lisdurrow.

“I know it’s not ideal but it’s necessary.”

“But what if you have to flee?”

“We’re not coming back, not until we’ve killed every last one of Kjotve’s mutts,” Ivarr interjected, and Eivor nodded in agreement. That was one thing they were on the same page about, though this only stressed Bárid even more.

“And even if we did have to retreat, we wouldn’t come back to Dublin. That would just endanger everyone,” Eivor added. “So, no matter what, do not open the gates until you hear our signal.”

If all went well tomorrow, she would sound her battle horn to signal their victory against Kjotve’s men.

“I don’t entirely like this plan but I know it must be done,” Bárid said. “You have my full support, Eivor.”

Eivor smiled gratefully. It was a relief to hear that her cousin stood behind her; now they had to make final preparations before tomorrow morning.

They called all the raiders to the longhouse and their combined crew listened intently and eagerly to the approach she and Ivarr had agreed upon. Afterward, there was a buzz as their warriors left the longhouse to prepare for the upcoming fight by sharpening weapons and preparing arrows; meanwhile, Eivor and Ivarr looked over their plan to make sure they had accounted for everything.

After all, their success tomorrow depended on their ability to lead their crew and follow the plan to the letter.

“The fog should provide us with enough cover to pick off everyone while they’re sleeping,” Eivor remarked. She heard Ivarr snort softly and she glared at him with all the vitriol she could muster. “Ivarr, I distinctly recall you saying that we’d do things my way first.”

“And we will, but don’t keep me waiting too long.”

It took all of Eivor’s willpower not to groan in annoyance. “Just… try not to get yourself killed tomorrow.”

“Didn’t know you cared about me that much,” Ivarr taunted.

“I need you for the coming fight against Kjotve.”

“Don’t worry, you’ll have me and my axe at your side, tomorrow and in future battles.”

Eivor’s shoulders felt lighter with Ivarr’s reassurances and she was actually able to take comfort in his promise, enough that she wasn’t worrying herself into a panic over tomorrow’s planned assault.

Ivarr was blood-hungry and violent, but he was also quite the warrior and that would prove useful. She needed someone like him, who was unafraid of chaos and carnage and was eager to see a fight through to the bloody end.

“We’d best get some sleep,” Eivor remarked as she, Ivarr, and Bárid left the war room together. “Tomorrow is an early start.”

“I can’t wait,” Ivarr cackled. “You’d better bring your all tomorrow, Eivor.”

“Of course,” she nodded in acknowledgement, and then Ivarr left the longhouse to go home to his own accommodations, leaving her and Bárid standing alone in the empty great hall.

“Promise me you’ll be careful tomorrow?” Bárid implored, the worry apparent on his face. “I know you are capable but that doesn’t stop me from worrying.”

“I know,” Eivor said. “And don’t worry, I’ll be careful. Everything will go as planned, Tyr willing.”

Bárid nodded, appearing reassured. “You’d best get some sleep, then.”

Eivor crawled under the covers of her bed and was fortunate enough to enjoy a dreamless sleep, which was still better than being plagued by nightmares of Kjotve or the attack on Heillboer. But when she awoke the next morning, she noticed that she felt… strange. 

The air before a raid was usually filled with excitement and anticipation for the thrill of battle.

This time, though, it felt choked by apprehension and fear but Eivor forced herself to believe that everything would go right today, lest her morale plummet. It had to go right. There could be no other outcome but victory today.

Best get ready, she thought as she sluggishly rolled out of bed and busied herself with putting on her armor piece by piece.

“Eivor?”

She paused midway through tightening the straps on her left bracer and looked up, finding Sichfrith standing in the doorway of her room. Even in the dim candlelight, she was able to make out her cousin’s worried face.

“Sichfrith, what are you doing up so early?”

“I wanted to see you off,” he said, fidgeting with his hands. He was nervous, that much was obvious, but he had no reason to be. He would be perfectly safe behind Dublin’s walls, and all of the guards would remain on high alert until they heard the sound of the war horns. “I heard from Father that you and Ivarr are taking the crew to kill the bandits that are camped out at Lisdurrow.”

“That is true. If all goes well, it should become much safer to travel after today.”

“I also wanted to ask: could I come with you?”

“Come with me?” Eivor echoed in confusion. “You mean, on the assault?”

“I want to help!” Sichfrith pleaded. “I don’t want to sit behind the walls while you risk your life out there!”

“This isn’t a hunting expedition, Sichfrith. You need to stay here. I can’t have anything happen to you.”

“But—”

“No, you can’t argue with me on this. My decision is final.”

“But I was useless during the attack! I hid in the King’s Hall like a coward—”

“You were exactly where you needed to be,” Eivor assured him. “These Northmen are far more dangerous than regular bandits and I will not risk your life when I don’t need to. Besides, you’re to be king one day. Can’t be a king if some bacraut Norse cutthroat takes your life today.” 

And Bárid would never forgive her if something happened to his only son and heir, though she did not say this aloud because Sichfrith would surely try to undermine her decision to spite her and his father in one go.

Sichfrith nodded in understanding. “Come back safe Eivor. If not, then… I hope to see you in Valhalla one day.”

Eivor smiled, appreciating the sentiment behind her cousin’s words. “I plan to come back alive and well, don’t worry.”

Dawn would be on the horizon soon and Eivor decided it was time to head out and find Ivarr, though she didn’t have to look very far. She found him seated at the longtable downstairs, sharpening his knife with a whetstone to occupy himself; he looked up as she approached, flashing her a toothy grin that looked menacing in the light of early morning.

“You’re up bright and early,” he remarked. She couldn’t tell if what he’d said was supposed to be a joke.

“No time to sleep when we have cutthroats to kill,” Eivor responded.

“Aye, that we do. If you’re ready to go, we should rally the crew. They’re waiting for us by the barracks.”

“Let’s not waste any time.”

Fog hung heavily over the town and gripped the air with a miserable chill, but Eivor and Ivarr walked through the eerily-quiet streets without uttering a word to each other. The quiet was comforting most days but today it was stifling, almost frightening, like they were passing through a forest with a predator lurking past the trees just outside their line of vision.

Their warriors awaited them at the barracks, bright-eyed and ready for battle, and Eivor saw no reason to hesitate before ordering everyone to march for the southern gate.

The guards standing watch nodded in acknowledgment before they pushed open the heavy doors, allowing them to step outside with the horses the stablemaster had prepared for them. It was quite a ride to Lisdurrow and Eivor hoped that the sound of thundering hooves wouldn’t alert their enemies of their arrival before they could attack.

The gates creaked shut behind them and Eivor took in a deep breath, reminding herself that there was no returning home until the job was done.

Climbing into the saddle, she urged her horse into a canter and led the crew across the river and through the forest, riding for some time until the terrain became too rocky for the horses to keep going, which was when they continued on foot.

All she could hope for was that Kjotve’s men were too tired and drunk to notice the danger around them until it was too late, making them easy pickings.

“Remember the plan and stick to it,” she reminded the raiders when they arrived at the base of the cliff upon which the old trade post sat, just before half of their warriors split off from the rest of the group.

Their role was to cover the back entrance and pick off any argr that tried to flee, and the rest would participate in the frontal assault with her and Ivarr.

It was almost unfair how easy it was to storm the outpost after she sounded the battle horn. There had been no need to worry about the cutthroats fighting back as they crushed skulls and broke necks with ease.

The few warriors who were able to get up and grab their weapons met their ends as quickly as their more-drunk companions, all but falling onto their axes as if they were all so eager to meet Odin.

But in the thick fog, no one saw Eivor kick away their weapons, preventing any entry into the corpse hall. They deserved it least of all, and Kjotve even less so, though his time would come, too.

Then, like a whistling arrow shattering the silence, she heard one of the raiders shout, “don’t let him get away!” followed by shouts from the others to stop the runner or shoot him down. Eivor was the quickest to react, taking off after the fleeing cutthroat before anyone could even draw a weapon. She pushed her legs with all her might, leaping down ledges and scrambling down the rocky cliff side with reckless abandon as she pursued her target.

Won’t get away so easily! she thought with burning determination. She needed to stop him before he reached the horses and would kill him with her bare hands if she had to.

He reached the horses sooner than expected but the steeds became startled by the man, who was unknown to them, allowing Eivor to tackle him to the ground.

“Stop struggling!” Eivor growled, using her entire body weight to pin the man down so he couldn’t run.

“Let me go!” her captive shouted beneath her.

“The only place you’re going is Niflheim!”

“Need some help?” Ivarr asked as he approached them, grinning impishly.

“Could use a hand—” Eivor cursed at the cutthroat writhing beneath her and pressed her knee to his back even when he tried to knock her off “—or your axe—”

With a shout, Ivarr buried his axe into the cutthroat’s skull, ceasing his struggling and splattering blood all over Eivor’s face. She sat there for a moment, stunned, and then managed to recover her bearings.

 “I suppose that works, too,” she said with a shrug.

Though Ivarr’s methods could use some work, what mattered was that the last straggler was dead and that there would be no one to report back to Kjotve. They’d succeeded in weakening his foothold in Ireland and now he may as well be blinded and deafened, as useless as a toothless dog.

She accepted Ivarr’s outstretched hand, allowing him to pull her to her feet, and that was when he brought his thumb to her face and smeared some of the blood over her cheekbone.

“It’s a good look on you,” he complimented and Eivor was quite grateful for the blood on her face because it concealed her burning cheeks.

The ride back to Dublin was filled with raucous joy compared to the grave-still silence that had hung over them this morning like an executioner’s blade moments away from cleaving their heads from their shoulders.

Eivor felt a sense of pride as they turned up at the southern gate, which was still shut to deter anyone from attacking the town while they were away.

She reached for the battle horn on her belt, sucked in a deep breath, and blew into it with all her might so that all of Dublin would hear the signal that promised an end to the bloodshed and violence.

As the cry of her horn faded off, it was a brief moment of silence… and then celebratory cheers erupted from inside Dublin just beyond the gates.

They were welcomed back as heroes, all the Dubliners shouting and cheering for them as they walked into the town with their heads held high in triumph.

“Eivor!” Bárid cheered when he spotted her, running towards her with arms outstretched before scooping her off her feet and spinning her around until they were both dizzy and breathless with laughter. “You did it!”

Eivor looked to Ivarr and her raiders, chest swelling with pride for all their hard work in today’s raid, and then said to her cousin,

“We did it.”

“This calls for a celebration,” Bárid declared as he set her down on her feet once more.

Barrels of good Irish mead were brought out and delicious food came to line the tables in the great hall. In the blink of an eye, the revelries were in full swing. Eivor felt the relief in the air now that their tormentors were dead and happily celebrated alongside her people, reminding herself that she deserved to enjoy this victory even though the war against the Wolf Clan wasn’t yet won.

But that day would come, too, she assured herself, sooner than she expected.

It felt closer than ever before, close enough that she could taste her revenge.

“You did good today,” Ivarr said in place of a greeting when he found her outside of the longhouse some time later, watching the waves crash along the beach in the distance.

“As did you,” Eivor acknowledged, raising her cup to him in toast. She’d come outside for a bit of fresh air and solitude away from the celebration happening inside the longhouse, but she didn’t mind Ivarr’s presence.

“Sorry, did you want to be alone? I can leave—”

“No, no. Stay,” she insisted. Ivarr smiled and took a swig of mead.

“So what’s next?”

“To take revenge on Kjotve in Norway,” Eivor said.

“I’ll be by your side,” Ivarr promised, looking quite eager at the thought of more fighting and killing.

Of that, there would be plenty. Eivor could not deny that she was also looking forward to slaughtering as many of the Wolf Clan as she possibly could.

Soon, Kjotve would be dead, and she would have her revenge.

Chapter Text

Their victory over Kjotve’s men had given Dublin much reason to rejoice and everyone was in high spirits in the days after the assault, drunk and merry. And it wasn’t the only celebration on the Dubliners’ minds, either.

The following days were filled with preparations for the wedding as flower wreaths and pine garlands were hung from every available pole, gate, and stoop of homes in town, leaving the air smelling strongly of pine and fresh flowers. 

There were other battles for Eivor to fight but unfortunately, they were not the kind that could be handled with sword and bloodshed.

It took all of Eivor’s willpower not to groan in misery as she was forced to stand still in the dressmaker’s shop while she endured a dress fitting. She wanted to complain, but Sadhbh had given her a sharp look that quieted her protests before they came out.

Just this once, Eivor decided to keep her mouth shut and endure.

The dress itself was long and flowy, decorated with countless silver beads that had been painstakingly hand-sewn into the fabric, and seeing something so beautiful up close made Eivor feel a little self-conscious of her body. She was as confident as could be but she was also made of muscle and healed scars.

Would she be able to wear something fit for a princess?

Sure enough, she could. She would have to.

The dress fit her perfectly and the ensemble would be completed with a grey cape, white furs that hugged her shoulders, and a modest amount of gold jewelry around her neck and on her hands. At the same time, though, it felt strange wearing so little. She was used to heavy armor and her wedding clothes consisted of a few thin layers, at most, leaving her feeling and looking so much smaller than she was used to.

Eivor hardly felt like a vikingr in her wedding clothes and it was like a stranger was staring back at her whenever she looked in the mirror. The young woman in the mirror was beautiful but she was no drengr; where was her sword and battle paint?

There was no place on her dress to hang a weapon nor would Sadhbh ever allow her to wear battle paint to her wedding. However, Eivor had a feeling that Ivarr wouldn’t have minded battle paint the same way he would not have cared if she showed up wearing her finest armor set.

She still had some reservations about the marriage but she had at least made peace with the man she was going to marry, and knew that she would be back in her armor in no time. Only this time, Ivarr would be at her side as they fought and raided together.

She was about to gain a companion, something more than just another raider for her longship, and the thought thrilled her as much as it scared her. She was so used to being independent, leading raids and ordering people around, that she wasn’t sure how to feel about standing on equal ground with someone else.

That being said, she had no qualms about snapping Ivarr back into line if she ever felt he’d overstepped in any way. Knowing what Ivarr was like, she sensed there would be a lot of that in their future.

The ornate embroidery on her chest was almost as distracting as her decorated appearance and gnarled, twisting thoughts about her looming marriage.

The image of a jackdaw and raven sat above her breast and she couldn’t bring herself to look away, realizing that she was staring at her future in the two birds sewn into her dress.

The Dublin jackdaw and Ragnarsson raven symbolized the unification of two clans, one that would always be hers and the other that she would join soon enough.

There really was no getting out of the marriage now.

“Tá tú ag breathnú go hálainn,” Sadhbh complimented, absolutely beaming with pride from where she stood off to the side, just out of the way of the mirror. “Ivarr Ragnarsson is truly lucky to have a wife as beautiful and formidable as you.”

Sadhbh went on for a little while, rambling about how Ragnar’s youngest son was lucky that anyone was willing to marry him at all and Eivor could barely stand still for the seamstress from how hard she was trying not to laugh at Sadhbh’s remarks about Ivarr, which were all true. At one point, the seamstress even scolded her for being so jittery and both Eivor and Sadhbh had to avoid making eye contact after that, because they knew they would burst into childish giggles if their eyes met.

After the fitting, Eivor decided she was of no use to anyone in the dressmaker’s shop and went to pay the druid a visit. 

The druid was an old woman with wiry white hair who didn’t speak a lick of Norse and Eivor’s grasp on Goídelc wasn’t the best despite having spent most of her life in Dublin but she managed to communicate what she wanted and then the druid took to puttering about her cottage in search of the necessary ingredients for the tea she needed.

In the meantime, Eivor occupied herself by examining the various herb and spice jars on the shelves to pass the time, though her thoughts were still tangled and distracting.

Marriage meant pregnancies and children and she wasn’t ready for that, and perhaps she never would be. The sudden loss of her parents had been such a brutal blow to the heart that she couldn’t imagine bringing a new life into the world and potentially subjecting her child to the same grief she lived with day after day.

The benefit to marrying Ivarr was that he did not care for children, though that meant little when it came to actually avoiding becoming pregnant.

At least the tea would help them avoid any unwanted… accidents.

Sometime later, the druid tapped her on the shoulder and passed her a small leather pouch, instructing her to drink the tea once a day to successfully ward off pregnancy. That much Eivor was able to understand, fortunately.

After leaving the medicinewoman’s hut, Eivor made her way down to the old water mill, taking her bow and a quiver of arrows with her in hopes of blowing off some steam.

She had mostly come to terms with getting married, and there were still far worse men she could have been forced to call ‘husband’ than Ivarr Ragnarsson.

Eivor was, however, having a hard time dealing with the whirlwind of emotions that had plagued her relentlessly for the last few days. She was expected to dress up and look pretty, put on appearances even though she was a viking through and through and didn’t like pretty dresses or flowers and perfumes or pretending that she was some fair maiden whose only purpose in life was to be swept off her feet and protected by the powerful, burly men around her.

Her thoughts were so gnarled with frustration and her chest tight with anger that when she fired another shot, the arrow flew straight into the bushes instead of her target, sending startled birds flying from their hideout.

“I could have made that shot.”

Eivor huffed and rolled her eyes as she lowered her bow, turning around to face Ivarr and making no effort to hide the irritation that had sharpened her blue eyes into daggers.

“What are you doing here?” she demanded.

“Needed some time away from all the chaos,” Ivarr shrugged, which immediately made Eivor soften. She’d been so caught up in her own thoughts that she’d forgotten Ivarr was also just as miserable as she was with all of the posturing and fanfare. 

“All the preparations are bothering you, too?”

“Ubba is being more insufferable than usual, which is a feat even for him.”

“How bad?” Eivor inquired, raising an eyebrow.

“Bad, but I’ll spare you the details,” Ivarr insisted, and Eivor could only laugh.

“I’ve noticed that you two are often at odds.”

It had been apparent from the moment she met Ubba. She remembered how irritated he’d been when he realized that Ivarr had been brawling in the streets when he should have been present during the initial marriage negotiations and he’d looked just about ready to expire to Helheim once he realized his brother had gotten into a scuffle with her, his wife-to-be, of all people.

“That is because, unlike me, Ubba has a giant stick up his arse,” Ivarr scoffed with a dismissive wave of his hand. “I like to live life on my own terms.”

“That much was obvious from the very beginning.”

Though she prided herself in not being nearly as difficult as Sichfrith, Eivor was also a free spirit. She came and went as she pleased, got into fights with anyone willing to take her on, hunted in the marshlands and raided up and down the coast with her crew, all things that surely added to Bárid’s stresses even though he did a good job of not showing it.

Ivarr smirked affectionately at her. “I can tell you’re no different than me. You’re wild, untamable. I like that.”

Eivor felt her cheeks burn hotly at his unexpected compliment. She had his reassurances that he wasn’t going to turn her into a house-thrall but his remark had taken her by surprise.

“Why do you look surprised? I thought my feelings were obvious,” Ivarr commented.

“Let’s just say I’m not used to it, not yet,” Eivor shrugged. “I’ve never met anyone like you. You’re brash and reckless, and you strike me as someone who charts his own path rather than follow someone else’s lead.”

Ivarr made a face. “If that is a compliment, I missed it.”

“Take it as a compliment, Ivarr. I meant nothing bad by what I said.”

The purpose of the marriage was in the forefront of both their minds and how it was meant to benefit Ragnar Lothbrok as well as Bárid, but Eivor had come to like Ivarr.

He could certainly be aggravating at times but he was also a capable warrior and he recognized her talents as well. While having to marry someone she barely knew was far from ideal, she had the comfort of knowing that she wasn’t doomed to become a miserable housewife for the rest of her days.

Everything would remain the same, with the exception that she would have a husband to raid with her now.

“You’re not the only one that can give out compliments, you know.”

Eivor flashed him a small but amused smile. “Is that so?”

“You’re a good fighter.” Ivarr’s steady gaze told her that he meant every word of what he’d said. “Probably one of the best I’ve ever seen.”

“Probably?” Eivor teased.

“You really know how to ruin a moment,” Ivarr snapped at her but there was no bite behind his words and Eivor laughed.

“I think we’re going to be alright, you and I.”

“Aye, we better be. There’s no other option.”

“I can think of a few options, like killing you in your sleep.”

“You know,” Ivarr remarked as he leaned in, arms crossed and face pinched in annoyance. “ I would at least have enough decency to kill you in combat so you could go to Valhalla.”

Eivor smirked, finding much amusement in the way Ivarr’s scowl deepened. “Well, that’s good to hear. I would quite like to sit at Odin’s side in the corpse hall.”

“As would I,” Ivarr gritted.

“But I don’t want to kill you, Ivarr,” she promised, placing a firm hand on his shoulder in reassurance. He seemed to soften, no longer eager to bite her face off now that they had made peace after their teasing had gone too far. “We have many battles to fight together.”

“I can’t wait until we set sail for Norway.” He was all but frothing at the mouth and Eivor could not deny that she was also eager to set sail and hunt down the man who had ruined her life. But there was still the matter of being married off, which came first.

“I’d say it’s actually our wedding. And the first dance.”

Ivarr made a face and waved her off. “Who cares about that?”

Eivor crossed her arms over her chest and stared him down. “Do you even know how to dance?”

“I’ve danced,” Ivarr insisted rather unconvincingly.

“With blades, perhaps,” Eivor scoffed. “This simply won’t do. We need to practice at least once before the real thing.”

“I didn’t think you cared about that.”

“I don’t, but I won’t allow us to make fools of ourselves, either.”

“As if anyone will care. They’ll all be too deep in mead to remember anything.”

“Please, Ivarr, just work with me,” Eivor huffed in frustration. 

It was bad enough that their wedding was going to be one big spectacle for all of Dublin and whatever emissaries Bárid had invited to witness the union. She would not allow herself to be made a fool in front of all of the guests, even if there was an absolute guarantee that nobody would remember.

Someone always would, and the last thing she needed was to become a laughingstock for anyone else’s amusement.

“Fine, have it your way, woman.” Ivarr held out his hand for her to take and suddenly, Eivor was awash with hesitation. She had never touched him like this before, with softness and care and with the intention of dancing with him, of all things.

She had put her hands on him to inflict cruel pain in revenge for his actions on the docks but that day was long in the past now. The girl she had been the day she fought Ivarr on the docks would have never believed that she was getting married to her once-opponent.

“Well?” Ivarr groused. “What are you waiting for?”

Eivor swallowed her reservations and reached forward.

Fire ignited through Eivor’s veins as their hands touched and her first reaction was to pull her hand away as if she’d been burned. She still wasn’t used to the idea of holding hands with Ivarr Ragnarsson but she quickly gathered her bearings and held his hand a little firmer.

Once they found their footing, she realized she was leading, though she didn’t mind it. She was never one to follow anyone’s lead and ever since she had been old enough to raid, she had always been the first one to leap out of the longship, eager to get for the first kill and slaughter the most foes. It was about getting all the glory and making a name for herself as the most fearsome warrior to sail the Irish seas.

“Correct me if I’m wrong but isn’t the man supposed to lead?” Ivarr asked as Eivor made him twirl her around.

“Get used to me being in charge, then,” she snarked.

Ivarr barked out a laugh and tugged her forward with more force than she expected and their chests unexpectedly met. Blood pounded in her ears as she stared at him and up close, Eivor realized that Ivarr wasn’t some ugly, boorish thug; he was actually quite handsome, with sun-kissed, almost pretty features. He didn’t have a full beard like Bárid or even Ubba but that didn’t detract from his looks and instead, it highlighted the sharpness of his jaw.

 Even the pox scar on his cheek added to his looks, but Eivor liked his eyes the most. They were like dark clouds on a foggy morning at sea, stormy and moments away from lashing the sky with lightning, just like how Ivarr was always so unpredictable and hungry for bloodshed.

Eivor’s gaze drifted a little lower to his lips, which looked so soft and enticing, and she wondered what it would be like to kiss him.

Would the stubble of his beard feel like barbs from a thorny bush against her cheek?

Would she taste the salt from the sea on his mouth? Iron from bloody, hard-fought battles? Mead and song from the Danelands, a place that was entirely unfamiliar to her? Would it remind her of home, of the place where her parents had bled and died?

She would taste none of those things, Eivor realized as she heard Tadgán, Bárid’s seneschal, call out to her as he neared. She was forced to step back and Ivarr forced to let her go as they both turned to face the steward, a short, lanky man with wild brown hair and some wrinkles on his aging face. He was old enough to be her father and Bárid’s, and had served their family as far back as when Bárid had been barely old enough to walk.

“Bárid wishes to speak to you,” he informed her. Eivor nodded and started for the longhouse with Ivarr close on her heels, when Tadgán stopped him and said,

“This is a private family matter.”

Ivarr made an indignant face in protest, which prompted Eivor to inform Tadgán that she would make her way to the longhouse shortly on her own. The steward nodded and bowed respectfully, and then left them alone once more.

“It was… nice dancing with you today,” Eivor remarked. The irritation on Ivarr’s face melted at her comment and was replaced once more with that playful impishness she liked more than she was willing to admit to herself at the moment. And certainly more than she would ever admit to him.

“Aye, you as well. You could learn how to give up control, though. Might make… dancing easier.”

Eivor scoffed. “In your dreams, Ragnarsson.”

Ivarr laughed heartily in amusement and then waved her off with a flick of his hand as he said, “don’t you have a private family meeting to go to?”

It took all of Eivor’s willpower not to roll her eyes at his remark and she turned on her heel, though not before telling Ivarr that she would see him soon. As she made her way up the hill to the longhouse, she realized that the next time she saw him, it could very easily be at the altar, and it made her nerves prickle like she was slowly being cooked alive on a bonfire.

The great hall was empty except for Bárid, Sadhbh, and Sichfrith, who stood shoulder-to-shoulder on the dais. Even Tadgán was nowhere to be seen, having stepped out so they could have their private family meeting.

“Should I be worried?” Eivor joked as she entered the great hall and approached her family where they stood in anticipation for her arrival.

“Worried? What for?” Bárid chuckled.

“The last time I was called into the longhouse for a private family meeting, you and Sadhbh scolded me for being excessively reckless during a raid.”

That particular raid had been the very same one where she had earned the scar on her cheek, a result of arrogant hubris as she had tried to take on one too many enemy combatants all at once. She was very fortunate that she had only caught a dagger to the cheek and not her skull. While the wound had hurt almost as much as the wolf’s teeth that had torn into her throat, Eivor had fought on, even with blood gushing warm on her cheek and searing-hot pain shooting through her skull.

When she returned from the raid with thick black stitches holding her cheek together and half of her face caked with dried blood and dirt, Bárid had scolded her until he went hoarse and then Sadhbh picked up exactly where he left off, all while Bárid nursed his sore throat with ale and continued to glare at her in disapproval.

Never had Eivor felt more like a naughty child than she did then.

“There will be no scolding today,” Sadhbh assured her with a sunny smile. “This is a happy occasion.”

“That’s… good to hear,” Eivor said with relief in her voice.

“So who will go first?” Bárid asked his wife and son, who both gestured for him to go first.

Before Eivor could ask who would be first for what, she watched as Bárid turned around and picked up something off the throne before turning back around to face her. In his hands was a simple wooden box but she quickly realized that the box was not the gift. Eivor wasted no time in lifting the lid once the box was in her hands and found an ornate golden brace resting on a velvet pillow.

“This brace has been in our family for decades. Ímair, my father and your uncle, claimed it in Constantinople when he went raiding in the far east ages ago. He would have wanted you to have it,” Bárid revealed.

It was stunningly beautiful, a fine piece of craftsmanship unlike any she had ever seen in all her years of living in Dublin.

The ornate detailing on the gold brace had been done so painstakingly by a very talented metalworker who had not only crafted the brace but also adorned it with gold plating — Eivor doubted the brace would have looked anywhere near as beautiful if it still resembled steel — and there was an oval emerald inset on the brace as well, like a whale’s eye staring back at her.

Eivor took the brace out of the box and Bárid helped secure the bejeweled leather straps until it sat snug on her forearm. Eivor ran her hand over the length of the brace and her eyes went wide in surprise when a blade suddenly shot out of the brace.

“Ah, yes, definitely keep your eyes far, far away from that blade,” Bárid laughed in amusement.

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” Eivor laughed breathlessly. She fiddled with the brace and breathed a sigh of relief when the blade retracted once more. She was going to need much more practice before she became adept at using such an interesting weapon.  

Bárid met her halfway as she approached him, hopping off the dais so he could embrace her when she did, though she kept her left arm pinned behind her back because she didn’t want to impale her cousin with the very same gift he’d given her.

“Thank you, Bárid.”

Her cousin grinned, and gripped her shoulders affectionately when they parted, gazing at her with affection that made Eivor’s heart ache for reasons she did not want to face right now.

“My turn!” Sadhbh chirped, beaming brightly as she hopped down from the dais with two large bolts of fabric that Eivor realized had been leaning on the throne, hidden behind Sadhbh this entire time.

Sadhbh first stacked one bolt of fabric into her outstretched, waiting arms and Eivor could only stare in awe. It must have been so, so expensive for Sadhbh to procure a fabric that was such a rich, deep sapphire color and shimmered like the stars in the night sky.

It was also painstakingly embroidered with small flowers throughout the long bolt, very much meant for a festive occasion, and Eivor could see herself wearing it to a feast or some other celebration.

The other bolt of fabric that found its way into her hold was black as pitch and thicker, sturdier. It was prime material for a new gambeson, and Eivor’s heart soared at the wonderful gifts she had been given but also sank as she was reminded that the wedding was closer than ever. Soon enough, she would be setting sail for Norway.

She was eager to get her revenge against Kjotve, but what would happen after that was done? What would be her purpose in life then?

Where would the wind take her next, and would she ever see Ireland again in her lifetime?

Despite having been born in Norway, much of her life had actually been spent in Ireland with the three people before her — Bárid, Sadhbh, and Sichfrith — who had become her family after she had lost her parents. The thought of leaving them behind, even of her own volition, to hunt down the man who had wronged her parents made her feel as if the world was crumbling beneath her feet. But Eivor forced herself to stand strong because there was still one more gift for her to receive.

“It comes from Iberia,” Sichfrith proudly revealed as Eivor lifted the lid on the long, wooden box he’d given her, which held an ornate dagger as long as her forearm. It was plated with gold adornments that resembled ribbons and several rubies had been inset along the blade and handle.

“It’s beautiful,” Eivor gushed. Too beautiful for battle, that was for certain. In fact, Eivor found herself wishing to treasure everything she was given, to keep the brace on her wrist from becoming tarnished by wear and battle and to keep all the fabric that Sadhbh had gifted her in its original, uncut state.

“These gifts are all so wonderful,” she started, only to trail off when her throat suddenly became tight and she felt struck by a sudden whirlwind of emotion.

The thoughtful gifts her family had given her were also a painful reminder of the fact that the wedding was looming over her head and that there was no backing out now. She wished she could say that she didn’t want to go through with it anymore, but all of the preparations had already been made. 

More importantly, backing out had never been an option, not for her, at least. It didn’t matter that she had made peace with her husband-to-be over many long weeks or that she was at least lucky to be getting married to Ivarr Ragnarsson.

She still felt this urge to set sail and disappear into the fog, never to return or be seen again.

Bárid must have noticed her reservations about the marriage because he draped an arm over her shoulders and said,

“Even after you are married, you will always be ours, Eivor.”

“Aye, Dublin will always be your home,” Sadhbh assured her. “Some things will never change.”

“And you’ll still be my big sister no matter how far you go or how many battles you win,” Sichfrith added, patting her arm affectionately. “Hopefully one day, I’ll be able to join you on your longship.”

Eivor grinned and firmly gripped his arm. “There will always be a spot for you on my longship, Sichfrith.”

While there was no telling where the tides would take her once she was done getting her revenge, it was a comfort to know that she would always have a home in Dublin with the people who loved her most.

Chapter Text

It was still dark when Eivor first awoke but she could not bring herself to get out of bed just yet. She stared at the rafters until her vision went blurry, and that was when she realized that everything would change after today. She would be married to Ivarr Ragnarsson and then she would be setting sail for Norway not long after the wedding.

There were so many new developments flooding in all at once and it was hard not to feel overwhelmed.

But it wasn’t all bad, Eivor told herself.

Her husband would be one of the many fighters who accompanied her to Norway and she had his reassurances that she wouldn’t be bound to house and home even after she got her revenge against Kjotve. Bárid would also benefit from the trade agreement and Eivor was happier about that than she let on. After everything her cousin and his family had done for her since she lost her parents as a young girl, she felt it was only right to have found some way to repay that generosity.

She hoped the trade agreement would strengthen Bárid’s power and give him the means to transform into an even more formidable king, until his enemies cowered at the mere mention of his name. It was the least Bárid deserved for always having been so good to her.

They were cousins by blood but really, Eivor always saw Bárid as her brother.

Knowing Bárid, he would have reminded her that she was family and didn’t need to feel obligated to repay him for anything but it was the least she could do. Having the reassurance that Bárid, Sadhbh, and Sichfrith would remain comfortable even after she set sail for frozen shores and beyond made her feel less guilty about leaving them behind.

She was still here but the ache that had formed in anticipation of her departure left her feeling forlorn. Her desire for revenge demanded that she set sail for Norway so she could avenge her parents and her people, but it didn’t make the act of leaving behind her family in Dublin any easier.

Bárid, Sadhbh, and Sichfrith were all she had. Eivor didn’t even want to think about where she would have ended up without them.

Realizing she had spent more than enough time with her tangled thoughts, Eivor kicked away the covers and forced herself out of bed. She made her way down the ladder and into the great hall, eager to sate her hunger because today was going to be a long, long day and she doubted she would have much time to eat once she had to start preparing for the ceremony.

To Eivor’s surprise, she wasn’t the only one awake. 

Servants worked diligently to set the longtables with cutlery, ale mugs, and flower garlands that flowed endlessly across the white linen tablecloths. They must have woken up well before her, seeing as they were almost finished with their task, and they weren’t the only ones.

Sadhbh was also awake, bright-eyed and lively despite it being so early in the morning. Her long, strawberry-blonde hair flowed loosely around her shoulders, free from its usual braid, but Eivor knew she would make herself presentable in time for the wedding. But right now, Sadhbh had other priorities: directing the servants as they completed the finishing touches on the decorations and table settings, and Eivor herself.

“Have some breakfast, Eivor,” Sadhbh implored, gesturing to a tray sitting atop a small table in the corner of the room. Eivor sat down on the wooden stool and helped herself to some mead, bread, cheese, and a bowl of mixed berries. She wasn’t allowed to eat at the tables, which had to be perfect for the banquet later today, but Eivor didn’t mind just as long as she didn’t have to eat standing up.

While she ate, she kept glancing over at the head table that was positioned just in front of the dais where Bárid’s throne sat. There were two chairs and two table settings, and it didn’t take a volva to know for whom those spots were intended.

The heaviness in the pit of her belly worsened when Eivor realized that last night had been the final normal feast she would ever to enjoy, both as an unmarried woman and the princess of Dublin. The memory of what had been a delicious meal last night now felt sour and cold around the edges.

Tonight’s festivities would be held in celebration of her and Ivarr’s union and Eivor kept telling herself that everything was going to be okay, even as her nerves mounted, as if she was standing on the cusp of a battle, chest tight in anticipation.

Eivor downed her mug of mead and found herself eyeing the kegs lined up along the far wall directly across the room from her. She felt as if she could drink an ocean and still feel sober, but there was no more mead to be had and Sadhbh wasn’t allow her to drink herself into a stupor and make a fool of herself.

“Finished?” Sadhbh asked once Eivor stood up from the stool and took a moment to stretch. “Get your things, we’re headed to the bathhouse.”

Eivor climbed back up the ladder and grabbed a few things — a bar of soap, a hair comb, and a change of clothes to put on after she was done bathing, since she knew that Sadhbh wouldn’t allow her to put on her sleeping shift again — and then slid down the ladder rather than climbing down, which earned her a mildly scolding look from her cousin’s wife. Sadhbh could only barely hide how impressed she was behind her scolding glare, and Eivor pretended not to notice anything.

Together, they left the longhouse and went down the road to the bathhouse.

They didn’t speak once they were outside, keeping the quiet that hung over their heads for as long as possible, and moved swiftly through the chilly streets. Eivor wondered how Sadhbh must have felt the morning of her own wedding, being accompanied to the bathhouse by her mother and sisters.

Conversely, she only had Sadhbh. 

Eivor tried not to think about her mother too much, as her nerves already felt raw even though the day had only begun, but it was hard not to wonder how different her life would be had her mother survived. Rosta would have surely been walking with her to the bathhouse, eager to impart important knowledge that she would need to ensure her marriage was a successful one.

Instead there was nothing but a painful, aching silence where her mother’s presence was supposed to be, discomfort where consoling words should have filled the air, and a cold chill in her bones when she should have felt warmth, love, and reassurances that she would be alright as she embarked on this new journey.

Even though Eivor knew that she had been enthusiastic about marrying Bárid, had there been a part of Sadhbh that was terrified of the life that awaited her as the wife of Dublin’s then-prince? She had gone from being the first-born daughter of an Irish chieftain to princess consort, and now she was queen consort. It was as good of a lot in life as she could get, especially with a man who adored her, and she seemed content.

It was all Eivor could hope for herself in the new life she was going to make for herself.

“Sadhbh,” Eivor said, breaking the silence once they were inside the bathhouse. “I would like some time alone, if that is alright with you.”

Sadhbh nodded, smiling brightly at her. “Of course. I will go back to the longhouse. Come back once you’ve finished here.”

Eivor agreed and Sadhbh left, though not before helping her get a fire going in both braziers so that the water in the pool could warm up and make for a pleasant bath. And then, Eivor was alone.

Steam from the water billowed upward as she undressed, setting aside her clothes on a nearby chair, and then she eased herself into the warm pool and her swirling thoughts calmed down for the first time since she woke up this morning. The water had grounded her and she felt able to think about the day ahead of her without feeling as if she was moments away from diving head-first into battle.

Were her mother still alive, Eivor knew she would have been informed about the wifely duties that awaited her but she didn’t need nor want to be counseled on how to keep house for her husband when she spent more time out at sea than inside any four walls and such advice would have done her little good. As long as he kept to his promise, she and Ivarr were going to raid and pillage together and in such a bloody, violent, and exciting life, there was no space for housekeeping.

She appreciated that Sadhbh had spared them both the lecture and then closed her eyes to pray to the gods, specifically Tyr.

The journey to Norway loomed on the horizon and she craved it more than ever, especially now that it was so close that she could taste it. She hoped Tyr would send her a sign that her foul nightmares weren’t going to come true, and guarantee her a swift path to victory against the man who had ruined her life. Right now, where she currently was in life, there was no room for children and no reason to pray to Freya for a baby, not when all she craved was blood and battle.

But perhaps one day, Eivor mused as she stared up at the barren ceiling. She didn’t want to say that creating a family with Ivarr wasn’t in the stars at all, it just wasn’t right now.

After scrubbing herself until her skin was pink and smelled of lavender, Eivor climbed out of the pool, water dripping onto the marble as she padded over to her things. She toweled herself off and redressed in the change of clothes she had brought with her, and   then started back to the longhouse now that her old life was washed away.

Upon her return, Sadhbh whisked her away behind a collection of wooden privacy screens that had been set up on the dais, having temporarily turning the space to the left of Bárid’s throne into a changing room. It was certainly better than having to climb down the ladder from her bedroom once she was adorned in her wedding attire.

Attendants fussed with the many layers of her dress and helped Eivor put on each piece of gold jewelry — rings, bracelets, and even a thick necklace fashioned to resemble a braid — until she felt as if she was sinking beneath the weight of so much fabric and adornments.

Eivor suddenly felt like a Saxon altar: much too gaudy and horribly over-encumbered.

But she was in no position to complain. 

Being the princess of Dublin meant that she was deserving of the prettiest baubles in the treasury and it was also an opportunity for her family to show off their own wealth in front of the Ragnarssons. They weren’t destitute and desperate for coin but had entered into the trade agreement because it benefited them as much as it did Ragnar and dare Eivor say it, Ragnar was lucky that she had agreed to the marriage, not the other way around.

Otherwise, Ubba would have surely been sweating over what other princesses and chieftain’s daughters he could proposition to take his annoying brother off his hands.

“You look beautiful,” Sadhbh complimented once she was dressed, beaming so brightly with pride that it was as if the clouds had parted on such a gloomy day to let the sun shine.

“So you’ve already told me,” Eivor teased.

“Better get used to hearing it, then,” Sadhbh playfully shot back, and they both laughed.

Eivor tried not to fidget as she stood in front of the mirror, taking in her appearance and realizing that she was mere moments away from being escorted to the altar. She still found herself rather unrecognizable being covered in so much finery and wearing a dress that had been terribly expensive to make. There was kohl on her eyelids but it was as if something was still missing.

Sadhbh, however, must have read her mind because she approached her with a small vial filled with a midnight-blue liquid in one hand and a brush in the other. Battle paint, Eivor thought excitedly.

“I know I expressly forbade any war paint but telling you ‘no’ is like trying to tame a bean sí,” Sadhbh remarked. “Now hold still.”

Eivor stood rigid as she stared past Sadhbh at the far wall, the horse-hair fibers scratching her lips and chin while the brush dragged downward. Sadhbh moved the brush away and looked quite pleased with her handiwork.

Her eyes glittered affectionately. “You are a cathaige through and through, and there’s no reason to try to make you into something you’re not, even for your wedding.”

Sadhbh had her take a look in the mirror and Eivor grinned from ear to ear at the war paint on her face: a simple stripe that began at her bottom lip and stretched downward before falling off at her chin. 

There was something about that small dash of paint that made her feel like the person in the mirror was her and yet, at the same time, Eivor craved a little more.

She asked for one more line across her face going from one cheekbone to the other and Sadhbh obliged, which was when Eivor felt satisfied with the amount of paint on her face. There was a perfect amount to make her feel comfortable in her own skin without looking like she was moments away from grabbing her war horn and announcing a raid. She appreciated that Sadhbh had been willing to compromise with her instead of forcing her to set aside everything that made her who she was.

She felt complete now, a bit more like herself compared to the last time she had gazed in the mirror at her dress fitting and found a stranger staring back at her.

“I think I’m ready,” Eivor said following one more glance in the mirror.

She walked out from behind the privacy screens, where Bárid and Sichfrith were waiting for her. They were both dressed in ornate tunics rather than their usual armor and Sadhbh was just as beautiful all made up, with her hair pulled back into a neat braid that billowed down her back and wearing her finest blue dress, matching the color palette of her husband and son. Eivor was the outlier, adorned in white and gold finery fit for someone of her status, but she did not feel left out, especially as her family accompanied her on her journey to the altar.

Bárid and Sadhbh flanked her on either side while Sichfrith, who had volunteered to be sword-bearer, walked ahead of her, as was tradition.

A crowd was already gathered at Skald’s Rest, awaiting her arrival. All heads turned towards them as they approached the site of the altar where she would soon be married in a few heartbeats.

Bárid and Sadhbh had been married inside Kilchrist but Eivor was no Christian and refused to go anywhere near a church, even though she also cared not how others worshipped as long as they didn’t try to pressure her into abandoning her beliefs for their own.

Devout in the old gods like she was, the Ragnarssons would have also refused a church wedding.

That had left Skald’s Rest, a quaint little sanctum located beneath an ancient oak older than Dublin itself, where pagans from all walks of life left offerings to the Irish and Norse gods for blessings in childbirth, marriage, and recovery from illness.

The shrine would remain undisturbed out of respect for the offerings and wishes that had been laid out there while they would be wed between the wooden effigies of Odin that looked out towards the river, at an altar built for their wedding. 

Ivarr was already at the altar, standing in the shadow of Dublin’s largest tree as he awaited her arrival. Eivor felt her heart skip a beat in her chest and could not deny it was because of her husband-to-be.

Eivor felt Bárid’s elbow bump her arm and she looked at him expectantly. He leaned over as if to whisper a secret and grinned mischievously as he said, 

“You know, if you’ve changed your mind, we can run off to the docks and set sail for the horizon. Last chance.”

Eivor snickered softly at his playful proposition, but her mind was made up. She was going to marry Ivarr, for better or worse.

“I appreciate the offer but I would like to get married today.”

Bárid flashed her a smile and held out his hand for her to take, which she did. What better way to begin the new chapter of her life than for Bárid, as King of Dublin, to give her one final send-off?

They moved in step as they made the procession down the aisle, accompanied by Sadhbh and Sichfrith, and everyone took their places when they reached the altar. Sichfrith stood off to the side with the sword in his hands with his mother, while Bárid led her the rest of the way to the altar.

He flashed her an affectionate smile and then let her go so she could stand across from Ivarr beneath the shade of the great oak, and then joined his wife and son off where they stood off to the side.

Ivarr was dressed in a white linen tunic  embroidered with intricate traditional designs made from orange, blue, and black thread — the colors of their clans, Eivor realized, and thought to the raven and jackdaw embroidered into her own dress — and she noticed his hair was neatly combed through, sporting thin, almost-delicate braids. She could only wonder how difficult it had been for him to sit still while his hair, normally unkempt and windswept, wild as he was, was combed and deemed presentable enough. She wondered if Ubba had been the one calling the shots, because she could not see Ivarr deciding to have his hair braided and adorned with gold beads of his own volition.

It was… unusual seeing Ivarr looking so tidied up, though Eivor knew it was only for appearances. The feral warrior she had come to know was still there, merely dressed up to look more put-together than he was. It almost felt like she was looking at a stranger, and she wondered if he felt the same way looking at her.

He was all tidied up and she had been strong-armed into putting on a dress… 

Oh, how alike they were in their shared plight of being forced to squeeze and contort themselves for appearances, at the cost of their own comfort and the very essence of who they both were.

Ivarr’s storm-cloud eyes glittered as she met his gaze and there was a soft smile etched into his features.

“You look beautiful,” he whispered, only just loud enough for her to hear, which set her cheeks ablaze and Eivor could barely utter back a “thank you” before the gyðja, dressed in royal blue robes and adorned in beads and bones that clacked as she moved, announced the start of the ceremony.

“We have gathered here before the gods to witness the marriage of Eivor Rostasdottir and Ivarr Ragnarsson, a union that will bring together two powerful clans.”

This is really happening, Eivor thought, her heartbeat pounding so loudly in her ears that she almost didn’t hear the celebratory shouts from the guests in the audience. There really was no turning back anymore. This was it.

“Ivarr, present your sword,” the priestess instructed.

“This was the sword of my grandfather, Sigurd Hringr, taken from his burial mound just before we left for Ireland,” Ivarr revealed. His gaze was heavy but steady, and Eivor forced herself to maintain eye contact even though the look in Ivarr’s eyes was so intense that she almost couldn’t breathe. “He fought and won countless wars with this blade. Likewise, Eivor, you will have my axe in all battles to come.”

He held out the hilt and when she curled her fingers around it, he held firm and with his free hand, covered her hand with his own. Eivor found herself captivated by his grey eyes as they bored into hers and almost didn’t hear him over the sound of her pounding heartbeat in her ears. 

“I will stay by your side during the bloodiest wars and in fragile peacetime, I won’t ask any other to warm my bed, and I want us to sail together wherever the riptides take us until we both reach Valhalla one day. And if you get there before me, I won’t be far behind.”

Eivor stared at him in awe, and a hush had fallen over the wedding guests as well.

She felt near-overwhelmed by his vow, which felt like a declaration of love. They were going to be husband and wife, but he didn’t need to abstain from sex with others or to prioritize her to the point that he would cut off his life early if she passed before him.

Other men found comfort wherever they could, especially in times of war where they found themselves far from the comforts of home, and to promise her something so intimate and assure her that he would chase her if she went to Valhalla first was near-enough to make Eivor’s heart burst.

Her skin prickled as she took his grandfather’s sword and sheathed it on her belt, and it was difficult to not feel distracted by the weight of Sigurd Hringr’s weapon pulling her down.

Ivarr’s ancestral sword was hers now, unless and until she had a child to pass down the sword to. And that was only if she and Ivarr chose to have children. His reassurances that they could spend their lives raiding were a comfort that Eivor firmly clung to with both hands; she didn’t need to provide Ivarr with heirs to be considered good enough for him because she was good enough already, exactly as she was.

And he was good enough for her, too.

“Eivor, it is now your turn to present your sword.”

It was then that Sichfrith came forth, holding out the sword with both hands for Eivor to take. Eivor exchanged a brief smile with her cousin and then the ceremony continued as Sichfrith took his place beside his parents once more and Eivor turned to Ivarr.

“My uncle Ímair wielded this sword during his tenure as king of Dublin,” Eivor said. She held the weapon at her side, keeping the blade pointed towards the ground. “He used it to protect his family and his people, until the very end.”

His death could still be felt even after all these years, along with that of her aunt Ségdae, who had died exactly one winter after Ímair, from a broken heart of all things. Or so the healers said.

Eivor tried not to think about their deaths too much, because the losses were still so heavily felt and she had already experienced enough death and grief to last her a lifetime. She tried not to let despair overtake her on what was supposed to be a joyous occasion, despite the circumstances that had brought her and Ivarr here, but there was a part of her deep down that was afraid to lose him, too, though she did not allow herself to dwell on it.

“I hope this sword will serve you well in battle, help you fell our enemies without taking a single scratch, and protect our home. I will defend you with my life and fight to keep your head on your shoulders at all costs,” Eivor promised. “I, too, will shun all others from my bed and I look forward to the life we will share as we go raiding and sailing, until we both make it to Valhalla one day.”

She held out the sword for Ivarr to take and felt a jolt of heat shoot through her arm when his fingers brushed over her hand as he accepted the weapon from her. Eivor felt positively on fire when it was time for the ring exchange and Ivarr held her hand as he oh so gently slipped the gold ring onto her fourth finger. Her own movements were slow and painfully careful, as she returned the favor to him.

The burning warmth of his skin reminded her of their one and only attempt at learning hand-fasting some time ago, which had not gone according to plan at all. 

“What the fuck did you do?”

“What did I do?” she had echoed indignantly. “What did you do? We’re tangled up!”

It had devolved into cursing and bickering that could even make a sailor blush and being tangled up in the ship-rope they were using to practice with rather than united as they were supposed to, followed by a walk of shame back to the longhouse to ask Sadhbh for help with freeing them from their bindings. She had laughed so hard that she couldn’t even help them for the first several minutes, leaving them standing helplessly in the great hall with their hands bound together.

How hot Ivarr’s hand had been then, pressed to her own palm…

She could not deny that a part of her had felt a little disappointed when Sadhbh finally freed their hands from the rope.

“Why didn’t you just cut yourselves free?” Sadhbh had asked. The tremble in her voice had warned that she was only moments away from bursting into laughter once more, depending on the answer they gave.

“Yes, Eivor, why didn’t you cut us free?” Ivarr had mocked and she could only glare at him before she retorted back with,

“Why didn’t you?”

Eivor met Ivarr’s eyes, and her heart skipped a beat at how admiring his gaze was towards her. Even after everything that had transpired today, she still did not know how to take his adoration, which made her feel as if she had been wrapped up in too many blankets and left to overheat by a roaring fire.

“As the gyðja presiding over this ceremony, I declare you married in the eyes of Frigg on this joyous day,” the priestess remarked, her voice carrying across the river. “You may kiss to solidify your union.”

Ivarr approached, closing off the space between them as he cupped Eivor’s face in his hands with an uncharacteristic show of care, his eyes soft and sparkling. His lips curled up into a soft smile as he whispered,

“May I?”

With a sudden rush of boldness, Eivor brought her arms around his shoulders and closed off the space between them as she pressed her lips to his, losing herself to him. The world went quiet and it was just they were the only ones present, kissing beneath the great tree. She tasted the salt of the sea on his lips and it felt as if she was sailing off the coast of Dublin. He tasted like freedom, like a kind of comfort she had never known, like home.

Eivor met Ivarr’s eyes as they broke away, both of them breathless after an innocent but exhilarating kiss.

“Bruð-hlaup!” Sichfrith excitedly shouted.

Eivor and Ivarr exchanged impish smiles and everyone took off running towards the longhouse.

Chapter Text

Even with so many layers and trinkets weighing her down, Eivor was able to overtake all the guests and reached the longhouse first, with Ivarr close on her heels.

Her husband caught her as she reached the entrance and gripped her wrist, preventing her from taking another step. She raised an eyebrow but did not protest — though she did let out a shriek of surprise that melted into a laugh — as Ivarr scooped her up into his arms and carried her across the threshold. 

Their faces were so close and all it would take was Ivarr turning his head for him to kiss her again… and she could not deny that she craved another kiss like she was dying of thirst.

She also tried not to feel too disappointed when Ivarr set her down on her feet but the affectionate grin he threw her way mostly made up for it.

As guests filed into the longhouse, the revelries came in full swing, with mead flowing out endlessly from the barrels and decadent food being laid out on the tables for all to enjoy. Music and song filled the longhouse as everyone took their places at the long tables for the feast. Eivor and Ivarr sat down at the head table, indulging in decadent meats and cheeses, roasted vegetables piled high on a large plate, a hearty bean soup, and of course, wedding mead. 

After having more than enough of his fill, Ivarr left the table and approached one of his brothers where he stood near the ladder that led up into Eivor’s room. He was dark-haired and broad-shouldered, more than Ivarr, but shorter than Ubba.

His shared features with Ivarr led Eivor to presume that he was one of Ivarr’s full-blooded brothers, if her hunch was worth any salt. The man had stood off to the side with Ubba during the ceremony but Eivor had been too preoccupied at the time to notice anything other than a shadow standing behind Ivarr.

Ubba, on the other hand, seemed to tower over everyone like a giant straight out of the sagas.

Ragnar was known for having multiple sons with three different women and Eivor had a good feeling that Ubba was the half-brother to Ivarr and the Ragnarsson whose name she did not yet know. She still was having a hard time wrapping her head around the fact that her family had suddenly expanded and she had multiple brothers-in-law as well as a father-in-law, somewhere across the seas. It was far too much for her to think about on a day that was already eventful enough to make her head spin relentlessly.

Eivor stood up, and went over to join her husband and his brothers.

“Eivor! Have you met our brother Sigurd?” Ubba asked as she neared. Ivarr regarded her warmly and while she held her husband’s gaze easily, Eivor was not oblivious to the nervous butterflies that danced in her belly from the way he looked at her.

“Well met, Eivor!” Sigurd greeted. Eivor now clearly remembered seeing him at the ceremony, standing off to the side with Ubba, just as Bárid, Sadhbh, and Sichfrith had flanked her.

“It is always an honor to meet another Ragnarsson,” she remarked.

“Don’t sell yourself short, Eivor. You’re part of our family, too, now,” Ubba added. He looked quite pleased with himself, though that came as no surprise. His mission to get his brother married off was successful and he had every right to celebrate on a job well done.

Ragnar would surely be happy to hear of their union, too, but Eivor did not say this aloud, of course.

“Here’s hoping you two enjoy a long, happy life together,” Sigurd declared as he raised his ale mug in a toast. He smirked as he added, “but I won’t be surprised if you don’t even last a year.”

“Don't listen to him, Eivor,” Ivarr scoffed, completely unbothered by his brother’s jab. “He couldn't hold down his first wife longer than three days before she ran screaming for the hills. I’m still surprised that Gunnhildr has stuck around all these years.”

Sigurd gave him a pleading look. “Come, brother, that was one time.”

“One too many,” Ivarr scoffed.

“That’s enough, both of you,” Ubba snapped at them, scowling in disappointment. Eivor wholeheartedly agreed with him.

“Could you please behave?” Eivor quietly chastised Ivarr as they ventured outside for some fresh air — and so she could lecture him in private, away from all the guests. 

The last thing they needed was a spectacle or worse, a brawl erupting on their wedding day. Not even married for an hour and she was already having to correct her husband’s behavior. Some things clearly never changed, not even on a day as important as today.

Ivarr smirked, unbothered by her scolding. “He started it.”

Eivor scoffed. “It doesn’t matter who started it, Ivarr. You don’t have to take the bait.”

Ivarr leaned in close until their noses were almost touching, close enough that he could have very easily destroyed what little space remained between them to kiss her.

She quickly realized this was Ivarr’s attempt at distracting her from scolding him and if he thought he was going to get away with it that easily, he had another thing coming.

“You know exactly what kind of man I am, Eivor. I don’t behave for just about anyone.”

“I know, and that’s why I want to keep you out of trouble, as much as possible, anyways.”

“A bold endeavor. I’ll give you credit for trying.”

Eivor came to grip his chin rather firmly and maintained unwavering eye contact with him as she said,

“You know exactly what kind of woman I am, Ivarr. I always get what I want.”

Ivarr did not respond but he swallowed hard, his adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, and Eivor smiled in satisfaction before she released his chin. He wouldn’t always be so amiable but at least there would be times where she really would get her way without much fuss from her thorny, stubborn husband.

“If I promise to be good, do I get a kiss?” Ivarr teased as he leaned in again, as if expecting to be rewarded right then and there.

Eivor smirked. While it was tempting to give in and kiss him, as she would also very much benefit from it, she decided she wasn’t going to give in quite so easily. She brought her hand to Ivarr’s face and gently patted his cheek, eyes glittering with mischief as she said,

“Show me you can be good, and I’ll think it over.”

Eivor’s lips stretched wider even as a small, disappointed pout found its way onto Ivarr’s face, and she couldn’t help but pity him. Almost.

She then turned on her heel and made her way back into the longhouse, with Ivarr trailing close behind her. 

He was surprisingly quiet, which was odd and even a little concerning because in all the time spent knowing Ivarr, he never rolled over so easily. He would have, at the very least, nagged her on the way back into the longhouse, insisting the entire time that he was good and deserved a kiss.

But she brushed it off as they went their separate ways, with Eivor seeking out Sichfrith’s company.

It was the first time since this morning that she got to have a moment to breathe, and she always felt at ease when talking to Sichfrith. She didn’t have to concern herself with being “presentable” around her cousin, who was the closest thing she had to a little brother, and nothing, not even a slew of curses, could shock him.

They could speak freely with each other, and Eivor appreciated having someone with whom she could be completely carefree and unburdened.

There was also Ivarr, who came at a very close second, though she wasn’t sure if she could ever admit that to him. Doing so would surely make his ego skyrocket to Asgard and she would have enough trouble keeping him reined in as they looked towards a shared future together.

At the thought of her husband, Eivor looked over in Ivarr’s direction and watched him interacting with his brother Sigurd, their previous spat forgotten. They were too far away for her to discern what they were talking about, but she could tell that they were plotting… something. 

They left the longhouse together and were gone for quite a while, long enough that she was left wondering where they had wandered off to.

She wasn’t about to ask Ubba where they had gone but she did keep her eye on the longhouse entrance in hopes of catching sight of them when they came back and she was all but trembling with curiosity when they finally returned. 

Her husband approached her with a mischievous grin on his face, no longer sulking about being deprived of a kiss — knowing him, though, he would find a way to bring it up again at some point — and seemed eager to show her whatever it was he had behind his back.

“What’s that you got there?”

“A gift… for you,” Ivarr remarked as his smile grew wider. “Fitting for a valkyrie, I think.”

Eivor’s eyes widened in surprise as Ivarr held out his gift to her, revealing a white-as-snow kitten with bright emerald green eyes in his hand. 

She excitedly took the kitten from Ivarr, cradling it to her chest like she had been given a priceless, fragile treasure, and was so enamored by the feline in her arms that she didn’t even notice the way Ivarr gazed at her affectionately.

The kitten purred softly, eyes closing in contentment as Eivor gently petted its soft head, and she felt her heart swell in adoration at the sight of her newest crew member. It had been weaned from its mother some time ago, by the looks of it, and was certainly strong and healthy.

“She’ll prove quite useful on the longship. I think I’ll name her… Nali,” Eivor declared following a moment of careful deliberation. She craned her head down to kiss the top of Nali’s little head, and found that she smelled sweet, like hay and milk.

Ivarr and Sichfrith both smiled in approval of her choice of name for her new feline friend, but Eivor felt a wave of heat wash over her at the way Ivarr gazed at her, his eyes soft in a way that made her feel like the air had been ripped out of her lungs.

Better get used to it, she thought as she carried Nali over to the banquet table so she could scrounge up some scraps for her beloved kitten. It’s far better that he likes me, it’ll make this… arrangement much more bearable for the both of us.

She spent some time bonding with Nali and making conversation with the guests who approached her, thanking each and every one of them for coming to her wedding and in return, receiving blessings that made her skin prickle in mild discomfort. She was grateful for all the well-wishes but it didn’t stop them from being reminders that she had entered into this marriage for someone else’s benefit.

But Eivor did not get much time to dwell on her present circumstances because Sigurd approached her with a grin on his face that stretched from ear-to-ear.

“Eivor!” he said as he approached her. “Care for a drinking match? I promise I’ll go easy on you.”

Eivor scoffed out a laugh. “I’ll make you eat those words.”

Leaving Nali with Sadhbh, Eivor followed Sigurd over to the kegs on the other end of the great hall, where he filled up a bucket and set it down on one of the tables before retrieving two mugs, handing one to her and keeping the other for himself. A small crowd had quickly gathered and Ivarr stood at the front right across from her, granting her a perfect view of the proud smirk on his face.

He seemed to think that she was capable of beating his brother, and he was right.

Excited cheers and shouts of “skål! Skål! Skål” filled the air as Eivor and Sigurd dunked their tankards into the bucket of mead and rushed to down as much mead as they could before their opponent. They had agreed on three rounds, which felt sufficient enough to make things interesting while ensuring that neither of them would get overly sloshed.

Eivor gulped down mead like it was water and Ivarr watched with amusement from the sidelines as Sigurd choked, spluttering and coughing more than once but still enduring like he couldn’t get enough of self-inflicted punishment. His bacraut older brother could never quite hold his mead and he had certainly met his match by challenging Eivor.

In no time at all, Eivor raised her mug up in victory and the crowd erupted into cheers for her win. She briefly met Ivarr’s eyes and felt her cheeks heat up at the prideful smile he wore, and was almost disappointed when Sigurd pulled her attention away.

“You drink like a beast!” he gasped. His voice was scratchy and he cleared his throat with every few words like a frog had gotten stuck there. “I’ve never seen anyone drink so quickly!”

“The mead is strong but I am stronger!” Eivor cackled.

“And what did we learn today, Siggy?” Ivarr taunted his brother as he approached them. “Don’t open your big mouth if you can’t back it up.”

“I doubt you could fare any better,” Sigurd scoffed, turning his nose upward in disdain.

“I’m sure I could fare better than you, that’s for sure.” Ivarr then looked to Eivor and added, “you and I will have our own drinking match one day.”

Eivor smirked. “I’ll drink you under the table just as easily.”

Ivarr cackled in amusement. “I’m sure.”

The drinking match was followed by much dancing and never had Eivor been more grateful for the fact that she had forced Ivarr to practice with her all those weeks ago, in spite of his complaining.

She only hoped her palms weren’t sweaty in the heat of her husband’s calloused hands but even if they were, he did not comment on it. His gaze was heavy and entirely focused on her, as if all the revelers around them didn’t even exist and it was just the two of them dancing in the middle of the great hall.

“You’re barely tipsy,” Ivarr remarked as he twirled her around with ease, having practiced these steps so many times in the days leading up to the wedding that they now moved as one.

“Surprised?” Eivor asked as she returned to his side and tangled their fingers together once more.

“Very. I learned something new about my wife today.”

“It takes more than three cups of mead to get me drunk,” Eivor boasted, which made Ivarr chuckle in amusement.

“What’s your record, then?”

“Oh, eight, maybe nine horns in rapid succession. If I take it slower, I can obviously drink more.”

“I didn’t know my valkyrie wife had a stomach of steel,” Ivarr smirked proudly. “One day you and I will go drinking… and we won’t stop until our heads are spinning.”

Eivor mirrored Ivarr’s smirk with her own. “I like the sound of that.”

It was around dusk that Eivor noticed that the air had shifted.

There was barely any light left in the day and all the stars had emerged, glittering brightly in the clear night sky.

All of the guests were drunk, some sprawled out on the floor or singing loudly outside, and others still filled up their cups with more mead. Even the musicians had fallen deep into the mead and their songs were horribly off-key now, signaling that the festivities were almost at an end.

Sadhbh approached her, eyes bright and clear. Although Sadhbh could hold her drink just as well as any drengr, today had been too important of a day for her to indulge in large quantities of mead and Eivor wasn’t surprised to see her perfectly sober.

“Are you ready, Eivor?”

The wedding march.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” Eivor answered, though she could not ignore the way her stomach twisted with dread. She knew this was tradition and was not about to shy away from it but she did not know what to expect from Ivarr in all this.

She had been so worried about making sure Ivarr wouldn’t turn her into a housewife that she had forgotten all about the wedding night. Despite being familiar with Ivarr and the kind of man he was, she wished she had had the foresight to ask him about his expectations for the wedding night.

Now she felt like she was moments away from leaping headfirst into a battle where she was sorely outnumbered and doomed to lose.

With a deep breath, Eivor went to stand at the entrance of the longhouse that faced towards the river and waited there with Sadhbh. They were quickly joined by Bárid, Ubba, and of course, Ivarr. She briefly met his eyes but forced herself to look away, too overwhelmed by her nerves to hold his gaze for very long, and she was more than relieved when the procession began.

The chilly air pierced Eivor’s lungs as she walked down the dark Dublin street, accompanied by a small entourage of friends and family that trailed behind her. Sadhbh and Bárid were among the revelers carrying torches and they stood directly behind her and Ivarr in the procession, providing a guiding light as they escorted them to their marriage home.

Eivor squared her shoulders and tried to steel herself for the night ahead as much as she could, but it did not change the fact that this felt far more frightening than the first time she’d gone raiding. Her heart pounded in her ears so loudly that she almost didn’t hear Ivarr say her name and she realized they had arrived at their destination, and sooner than she had ever expected.

Like the rest of Dublin, their marriage cottage was decorated with flower garlands twisted around every pole and available surface, which could only be faintly seen by the torch-light that had chased away the darkness, albeit temporarily.

It was a quaint little home, about as large as any other hut in Dublin, but it was to be theirs now. Hers and Ivarr’s. She had spent most of her life in the King’s Hall and now she had a place of her own, just a short jaunt away from the longhouse that had been her home longer than Norway ever was.

She didn’t know what to think about having a cottage to call her own — alongside Ivarr, of course — but it made her feel like a ship caught in a never-ending storm. It was perhaps the only thing more daunting than running straight into a battle completely outnumbered.

Sadhbh embraced her tightly, giving her one last hug that lingered longer than any other they had shared, and gave her a reassuring smile. Sadhbh had been in her position once upon a time, though the circumstances had obviously been much different.

The silence was too fragile to break but she did not have to say anything for Eivor to know what she was thinking: that she was going to be perfectly fine, despite what her screaming nerves were trying to tell her.

The escort left, returning to the longhouse and taking the light of their torches with them, leaving Eivor and Ivarr with very little light except the glow coming from inside the cottage.

And then they were alone.

Eivor followed Ivarr inside and took in a careful breath as the door shut behind her, mindful not to make any noise that could catch her husband’s attention, for she felt like a sheep caught between a cliff and a wolf’s hungry fangs. However, she must not have been as discreet as she thought because Ivarr’s head turned in her direction as she exhaled but his expression was soft. At least, it looked soft from what little Eivor could see out of the corner of her eye.

She was too caught up in a daze to have the courage to look her husband in the eye at the moment, and forced herself to snap out of it by taking in her surroundings.

There were lit candles placed on every windowsill and a few perched on the table by the door, providing enough light to see how the interior was furnished, where the bed was, how many furs lay atop the blankets meant to keep them warm during the cold nights, while also setting the mood in case they wished to take things further tonight. More flower garlands twisted around the rafters like snakes, leaving the entire cottage smelling as sweet as a meadow.

“Eivor.”

Her head turned in the direction of Ivarr’s voice at the calling of her name and she saw him holding out a horn of mead, which she happily accepted, grateful for an opportunity to dull her nerves. She felt frighteningly sober right now, as if she hadn’t spent all day drinking and celebrating at the ceremony, 

The mead went down easy, cooling her blood and soothing her parched throat, but only for a moment. Eivor set down her horn on the end table near the door and, with a burst of courage, looked to Ivarr and said,

“Help me out of my dress.”

Her voice was stern and she wanted to make sure he understood that she didn’t want anything more from him than that. 

She almost would have been content to sleep in her wedding dress but it consisted of so many itchy layers and was heavy and uncomfortable in a way that her armor never could be. And unlike her armor, her dress also required an attendant to help her into it. There were no servants here, only Ivarr.

“Turn around,” Ivarr instructed softly, his voice sounding somewhat strained.

A shudder rippled down Eivor’s spine as Ivarr’s cold fingers ghosted over her back, carefully undoing each button so he didn’t rip her dress or ruin the stitches that had been painstakingly done over the course of many weeks.

He was still very much a stranger in so many ways and now they were just expected to regard each other as husband and wife? To kiss and bed each other as if it was just so easy?

“We don’t have to do anything,” Ivarr assured her as he finished unbuttoning the back of her dress. He’d taken special pains not to touch her more than necessary and he could tell how skittish Eivor was despite her best efforts to appear calm and steadfast. 

The mouthy, wild princess he’d gotten to know over the course of many weeks seemed rather apprehensive now that they were trapped in close quarters together … and he couldn’t say he blamed her.

Everything had moved so quickly for them that even he felt whiplash from it all. The entire time, Ubba’s voice had been a persistent echo in his head, reminding him constantly to mind himself — “don't ruin this for us, Ivarr” — as if he couldn’t be trusted to behave himself.

Well, Ubba had been right about his antics, though it wasn’t something Ivarr would ever admit to him. The last thing he wanted was to give his brother any sort of satisfaction.

It almost felt like yesterday when their ship first docked in Dublin’s harbor and he encountered the valkyrie princess who was to be his wife, though he obviously hadn’t known that at the time when Eivor had left him writhing on the ground in agony. They were now married, just as his father had wanted, but Ivarr had no clue what happened next.

There was this expectation for them to leap into bed together as if it could be as easy as any old romp, but he couldn’t bring himself to make a move, despite his burning interest for his wife.

The apprehension in Eivor’s eyes had instantly made him want to back off and even offer to sleep on the floor, if only to ease her discomfort a little bit at the expense of himself. It would be no different to sleeping on a ship, and Ivarr had certainly slept in worse places than a longship or on the floor of a clean, well-kept cottage.

“Turn around please,” Eivor requested and Ivarr obediently did without comment.

He occupied himself by counting the flowers that made up the garlands up in the rafters and listened to the rustling of fabric as Eivor’s dress fell to the floor and the sound of her many bracelets and necklaces hitting the table. He could feel heat rising in his chest but he took in a deep breath to steady himself.

“You can turn around now,” Eivor finally said. Ivarr turned around and could barely maintain his composure as he took in her appearance. She was now dressed in a white sleeping shift that clung to her muscular figure, leaving little to the imagination.

Even in the dim candlelight, the redness of her cheeks was visible on her sunburned face and she could not hide her hesitation, though Ivarr couldn’t blame her. They had both been thrown into churning waters with little consideration for their feelings and everyone simply expected them to act as if it was normal to be thrust so quickly into marriage and sex and living together, as if they hadn’t been strangers just a short time ago. And as if they weren’t strangers in many ways still.

“Like I said before, we don’t have to do anything,” Ivarr echoed, surely sensing her unease. It wasn’t like Eivor could hide it very well. Being stuck in close quarters with him made her feel terribly exposed, like she was moments away from being devoured by a wolf. “Let’s drink some mead and rest on the bed. We’ve had a long fucking day, wouldn’t you say?”

Eivor raised an eyebrow, though she couldn’t say she was opposed to Ivarr’s suggestion even as she said, “more mead?”

Ivarr grinned at her. “Can never have enough, princess. Besides, I saw the way you drank Sigurd under the table today.”

“I can outdrink just about anybody,” Eivor boasted, already feeling a bit more relaxed and like her old self now that she didn’t have to worry about appeasing her husband for the sake of tradition.

They seated themselves on the bed, Eivor taking a spot on the preferred left side while Ivarr lay against the pillows next to her. Both of them gripped their horns and drank more mead between themselves but no matter how much she drank, Eivor felt it had very little effect on making her any less sober.

She glanced up at the flower garlands in the rafters but instead became distracted by Ivarr’s presence beside her.

He wasn’t all that bad and he was certainly handsome enough. She could have easily been stuck in a marriage with some old bacraut moments away from keeling over yet stubbornly holding on at the same time but fortunately, all of Ragnar’s sons were young, strong, and full of life.

She had the added bonus of being married to the most-attractive one of the bunch, though she wasn’t sure if she would ever admit that out loud. Ivarr was already arrogant enough and certainly didn’t need any additional boosts to his ego.

Being in such close proximity to Ivarr was making it rather difficult for her to ignore some of the more, intense feelings she harbored for him but that she could finally embrace now that they were married.

It took all of Eivor’s willpower not to roll her eyes at her own foolish behavior.

By Odin, she was Eivor of the Jackdaw Clan! There was no real reason why she was acting like a skittish maiden when she could have taken control at any point and grabbed Ivarr by the collar of his shirt, and she was sure he would have gone along with whatever whims of hers needed satisfying.

Boldly, Eivor shifted until she was straddling Ivarr’s waist, her weight resting on her knees rather than in his lap, and her heart skipped a beat at the way Ivarr gazed up at her with intrigue. His stormy grey eyes met hers, which convinced her to lower herself into his lap before draping her body over his like a blanket. Ivarr’s hands found their way to her waist, while hers cupped his cheeks, his stubble tickling her palms.

He was so warm against her and Eivor could not resist any longer before she destroyed what space remained between them and kissed him. It was a soft kiss, slow and searching as they tentatively tested the waters without encroaching on any hard-set boundaries.

But then one of Ivarr’s hands came to tangle in her hair and Eivor let out the tiniest moan of pleasure as he pulled her deeper into his embrace. Her weight atop him was delicious, and he had never wanted anything more than his beautiful wife in his arms like this.

Oh, how she tasted like a kind of freedom he had never known before now, like the Irish breeze that easily caught the sails of a longship, the lush rolling hills surrounding Dublin with fields full of blossoming flowers, and the salt caking every inch of the place she called home.

Ivarr kept kissing her, eager and wanting, for what felt like an eternity… until he had to pull away for air.

Even while they struggled to catch their breath, Ivarr found himself admiring all of Eivor: her ruddied cheeks, dark locks of hair that had become tousled during their tryst, and her sea-blue eyes, which were as clear as the ocean on a calm day.

He cupped her cheeks in his hands, admiring the warmth to her face, and smiled up at her. She mirrored his smile with her own and it was suddenly so bright in the room, as if the sun had suddenly come out of hiding, that Ivarr could only gaze upon her in adoration.

She was a goddess in human form and he felt so self-conscious of his own mortality; how was he so lucky to call this amazing woman his wife?

Eivor’s hands roamed up his chest and found a place at the collar of his shirt. Her blue eyes shimmered with excitement against the warm glow of the candlelight while her fingers tugged impatiently at the material.

“Take this off,” she urged.

Ivarr sat up without displacing Eivor from his lap and pulled off his tunic before tossing it to the floor. His lips stretched from ear to ear as her hands returned to his now-exposed chest. A different kind of desire crackled through Ivarr’s body now. His skin seemed to pulse with heat wherever her hands touched him, as if her touch alone was enough to set his blood on fire, and he could see himself becoming addicted to her.

“Like what you see?” Ivarr uttered, his voice tapering off into a soft growl as Eivor’s hands reached the waistband of his trousers. She smirked at him and placed her hands on his stomach while her thumbs danced over the waistband, teasing him with the prospect of something more.

“I do,” Eivor purred.

“Your turn now,” he commented, pulling on the skirt of her sleeping shift that pooled around their legs. He was eager to see what she looked like beneath the thin layer of fabric that concealed so much and yet simultaneously left so very little to the imagination. 

He was gentle with his request so as to not spook her, but he could not deny how much he wanted her.

Eivor did not show any hesitation before she gathered up as much of her skirts as she could and pulled her sleeping shift over her head before tossing it aside without a care.

Ivarr felt his mouth go dry.

He had spent countless nights lying awake in his own bed and envisioning what Eivor looked like beneath her armor, under all those layers of leather and thick, padded linen but his imagination paled in comparison to the real thing right in front of him. All he could do was stare unblinkingly as he took in her figure, all toned muscle and pale battle scars, like a statue carved out of the finest marble.

Eivor seemed to sense what was on his mind because she grabbed his hands and moved them to her body, guiding them up her torso until his palms came to cover her soft, pert breasts. His thumbs ghosted over her nipples and Ivarr relished in how they hardened at his touch but even more so at the tiny gasp of pleasure that escaped Eivor’s lips.

He appreciated the opportunity to touch her as he pleased and ran his hands over her body, fingers ghosting over her ribs and making her giggle softly, down her toned stomach and causing her to gasp, until he was able to grasp her meaty, powerful thighs. It was then he noticed his mind wandering.

How many skulls had she crushed beneath her boot, crates and treasure chests kicked over to spill the goods contained inside such vessels, and miles run throughout all Ireland since Bárid took her in?

And how had he managed to be so lucky to be married to a woman as powerful as Eivor of the Jackdaw Clan? He could have just as easily been trapped in a miserable marriage to a simpering Saxon princess scared of her own shadow but instead, he’d been wed to perhaps the most formidable Norse warrior-woman in the known world.

Oh, how the gods smiled down on them both.

“Take these off,” Ivarr urged, tugging gently on her underwear but making no move to pull them off himself. He was mindful of her comfort first and foremost, and didn’t want to move any faster than she was comfortable.

The corner of Eivor’s mouth turned upward into a half-smirk of sorts, and she pushed herself to her feet, looming over Ivarr, who lay on his back. She felt so powerful standing above him even as she shimmied out of her smalls and kicked them off her bed with her foot; she did not feel exposed in front of Ivarr despite her nudity and certainly enjoyed the hungry look in his eyes as his gaze raked over her naked body.

Ivarr gripped her ankle to keep her from going too far and let out a pleased hum when she settled on her knees again, her warmth coming to frame his torso as if she had never separated from him.

“Closer,” he purred as his hands came to boldly grip her ass. “I want you much, much closer.”

Eivor let out a tiny, shuddering sigh but did not resist as he pulled her towards him, shuffling closer until Ivarr’s arms were draped over her thighs because of their close proximity.

Ivarr then tsked his tongue and said,

“Closer.”

“How much closer do you want me?” Eivor huffed and Ivarr felt himself growing harder at the annoyance in her voice as well as the allure of her question. It wasn’t her intention, but it didn’t stop him from craving her even more.

“Closer. I’ll decide when you’re close enough.”

Ivarr looped his hands under her knees and tugged Eivor forward, causing her to yelp out in surprise. She grabbed on to the headboard for support as she lurched forward, fingers digging into the wood. She had not expected their teasing to shift into something much more carnal so quickly, and she could feel heat smoldering throughout her entire body, as if she had been tied to a pyre and set ablaze.

“It’s alright,” he purred, rubbing her hips and thighs as if trying to soothe a wild animal. “I want this. I want you.”

Eivor barely held back a groan of frustration. She felt strikingly sober despite all the mead she had drunk today and while she desperately wanted to soothe the aching want in her belly, she couldn’t help but feel hesitant at how quickly everything was moving between her and Ivarr.

But he seemed so devoted to her pleasure, so eager to make her fall apart first, and was this not better than simply being used for someone else’s pleasure and tossed aside once she had served her purpose?

Ivarr clearly wanted to take care of her, considering her needs far more important than his own, and it had been his idea. It thrilled her, despite how hotly her cheeks burned from being so exposed to him.

“It’s alright if you don’t want to—”

Eivor scoffed and reached down to grab a fistful of Ivarr’s hair, taking control of the situation before he could get another word out and descending into pleasure as it washed over her in waves.

This kind of worship felt divine, something only the gods were deserving of, and Eivor could only cling to the headboard while Ivarr’s tongue carved into her, catching on her clit and making stars bloom behind her eyelids with every pass.

Ivarr gripped her thighs so firmly as he kept her pinned down where he wanted her and he was surely going to leave bruises in his wake but there was really nothing better than being wanted by this man, who had never made his interest a secret.

Eivor gasped as she felt Ivarr lave his tongue over her folds followed by teeth grazing her clit, fingers tightening on the headboard. She threw her head back with a loud, drawn-out moan of his name when Ivarr’s lips curled around her clit and sucked hard, causing her to writhe in his grasp like a slippery eel. Her grip on the headboard was the only thing preventing her from slumping over in pleasure and her arms trembled, barely able to hold her up.

“G-gods, Ivarr…” Eivor gasped. Her legs felt like liquid, shaking in his strong hands like a longship caught in a crushing storm, and she didn’t know how she hadn’t already collapsed on top of him. 

She was terrified of crushing him — the last thing she wanted was to suffocate her husband on their wedding night — but a growl rippled from deep within his chest that reminded her of a snarling wolf and Ivarr tightened his grip on her thighs as he pulled her down, destroying what space remained between them.

She wanted to protest, to try and push herself off him but the pleasure was so blinding and Ivarr kept going, licking into her as the pressure building up in her belly mounted and Eivor threw her head back with a scream as her world shattered. 

She swore she saw the Bifrost and she didn’t know how long she floated in a daze, watching galaxies float behind her closed eyelids, until she came back to herself some time later. She was on her back now, head resting on a pillow, and Ivarr… was lying on his side, head propped up with his hand and lips pulled back into a smug smirk.

His face was shiny from her moisture and he looked quite pleased with himself.

“That was… incredible,” Eivor gasped. Ivarr’s smirk widened.

“Glad that you enjoyed yourself, princess. There’s more where that came from.”

Eivor happily accepted the kiss Ivarr gave her, tasting a hint of herself on his lips, and drew her arms around his shoulders to pull him closer. He was so warm against her, like a bonfire, and his hands roaming over her body in worship made her crave him more than ever.

“Take these off,” she whispered against his lips, tugging at the pesky waistband of his trousers in an attempt to get him out of them as fast as possible. It was unfair that he was still somewhat dressed in comparison to her stark nakedness, though it didn’t take much convincing for Ivarr to lean back, though not before pecking her lips one final time.

He didn’t make a show out of taking off his trousers but Eivor still could not ignore the way her mouth went dry at the sight of his strong thighs and thick cock.

“Like what you see?” Ivarr purred as he crawled on top of her, his cock hanging heavy on her stomach. She reached between them to curl her fingers around him, stroking slowly, and smirked as she drew out a shuddering sigh of pleasure from him. 

“I do,” she whispered before she stole his lips for a kiss.

All of his previous taunting had been forgotten about as she pumped him and she relished in the feeling of being in control for a change. She found herself enjoying the sounds he made, soft gasps, tiny groans, and even the occasional whisper of her name, and wondered if he had enjoyed her as much as she was enjoying him right now.

She kept going for a short while longer until Ivarr curled his fingers around her wrist and pulled her hand away. Eivor cocked her head in puzzlement, wondering why he had forced her to stop.

“As much as I was enjoying that,” Ivarr panted, “I still want to have you.”

Eivor’s confusion melted into a bright smile. “Then have me. All of me.”

Ivarr kissed her again and Eivor found herself drowning in bliss as he draped his body over hers. There was no pain and their bodies fit together so well, as if they were perfectly made for each other. 

Eivor clung to him, nails digging into Ivarr’s shoulders and legs wound so tightly around his waist in pleasure, as they chased their ends together. She burned hotter with every thrust, every caress, every kiss from Ivarr… until her peak hit her suddenly and Eivor threw her head back with a cry as pleasure crashed over her. Ivarr followed suit a few moments later, hips stuttering before he stilled.

She wasn’t sure how long they lay there together, with Ivarr’s body a heavy but not unwelcome weight on top of her, and both of them heaving for breath.

Ivarr finally pushed himself off her and Eivor’s eyes fluttered closed. 

Her body was on fire and the cool air felt so delicious on her sweaty skin… but her eyes opened when she felt movement, followed by a blanket being draped over her body to keep her warm as she cooled down. She turned her head as she noticed Ivarr settle into the empty space beside her and he surprised her yet again as he pulled her into his arms.

She had not expected him to embrace her but Eivor quickly settled against him, allowing the thud of her husband’s heartbeat to lull her to sleep. She certainly felt she could get used to this.

Chapter Text

The first rays of sunlight had begun to break through the darkness after what had been a long and eventful night, but Ivarr had been awake before dawn.

He had been roused by the feeling of Eivor’s warm body pressed up against his, her cheek resting on his chest like that was the most comfortable place to lay down her head. He found it quite pleasant, more than he had ever thought he would.

He and Eivor had only shared a bed for one night and Ivarr already liked her company, her warmth, her.

His wife’s dark hair billowed over her shoulders in waves, free from the delicate braids that had been done for the wedding, and Ivarr reached over to curl a lock of hair around his finger.

He found he couldn’t get enough of touching her, of running his fingers through her hair and hearing her gasp his name in the throes of pleasure, like a sweet melody that only his ears were lucky enough to enjoy. He’d certainly been against the marriage at first, having completely loathed the idea of being chained down to someone he didn’t even know simply for his father’s benefit.

But Eivor was no ordinary woman.

While she was indeed a princess, she was also an experienced warrior with countless battles under her belt, and certainly not one to back down from a brawl even when the odds were against her. All these things made her more attractive and had convinced Ivarr that they had been fairly matched. The Nornir surely favored him if they had decided that his destiny was to be married to a Dublin warrior-princess and he was quite content with the direction in which his life was headed.

He and Eivor were two sides of the same coin: one bright and shiny, the other more weathered and worn. But together, they were whole.

Eivor stirred a short while later and the first thing she saw past her blurred vision was Ivarr’s face. She couldn’t entirely ignore the way her heart skipped a beat when he smiled at her in greeting, either.

“Morning, princess. Sleep well?”

Eivor hummed softly in agreement and Ivarr chuckled, accepting her response as an answer.

As she rubbed away the sleep from her eyes, Eivor noticed how Ivarr had propped his head up on his elbow and his body was uncovered by the blanket that had instead become tangled around her, leaving nothing to the imagination. She wondered how long he’d been awake but didn’t have the energy to make conversation so soon after waking up.

He had wrecked her after last night and she had greatly enjoyed it, more than she ever thought she would have with someone she was still getting to know.

“I have something for you,” Ivarr revealed, which immediately piqued Eivor’s curiosity and snapped her out of her sleepy daze.

The sunlight caught her wild, messy hair as she sat up, lighting up her brown locks like fire, and she then asked,

“What is it?”

Ivarr did not answer immediately and took her hand as he climbed out of bed, pulling her to her feet and leading her over to the ornate mirror in the corner of the bedroom. It was one of the few fixtures in the otherwise-unfurnished cottage, which had potential to be transformed into something more.

Unfortunately, they weren’t going to be spending much time in their marriage cottage because they were going to be setting sail for Norway soon. But one day, once their adventures brought them back to Dublin, Eivor hoped they could turn the cottage into a home to call their own.

She could see armor stands and weapon racks filling up all the empty space in the cottage and displaying all of the weapons they had accumulated from their travels, as well as mannequins to show off their most favorite armor pieces. Eivor knew hers would always be the dark green tunic she wore, and she found it interesting that Ivarr’s turquoise tunic matched hers quite well.

They were alike in more ways than she had ever realized.

Eivor’s attention was pulled to the mirror and as she took in her reflection, she could not help but feel aware of just how staunchly naked they both were. She quickly pushed aside any feelings of embarrassment and reminded herself that they was nothing to be shy about, not when she and Ivarr had both bared themselves to each other last night.

“Close your eyes,” Ivarr instructed.

Eivor raised an eyebrow in suspicion. “Why?”

“Just do it. I’m not going to do anything.”

“Try anything stupid and it’ll be the last thing you ever do.”

“I wouldn’t dare try anything.”

Eivor rolled her eyes, sensing the sarcasm in Ivarr’s voice, but finally closed her eyes. Ivarr smirked when she even covered her eyes with her hands, as if she wanted to ensure that she didn’t peek, and went to retrieve his gift for her.

Eivor heard movement as Ivarr shuffled around in the background but still did not peek, despite how curious she was.

Her heart thudded in excitement as Ivarr’s footsteps trudged towards her once more and then she felt something soft and velvety cover her bare shoulders, as well as Ivarr’s calloused hands brushing innocently against her skin as he secured the garment in place. He even freed her hair from beneath the garment and Eivor shivered at his touch, finding herself craving more simply because it was him that she wanted.

“You can open your eyes now.”

Eivor’s eyes fluttered open at his command and her heart skipped a beat from excitement when she saw the cloak hanging from her shoulders. It was sturdy and rather heavy, designed to provide warmth and comfort even in the coldest climates, and it would go well with the gambesons and tunics she already had in her wardrobe. She could also see herself fashioning a whole new tunic with the bolt of black fabric that Sadhbh had gifted her for her wedding, which would go well with her new cloak.

The blue raven embroidered into the cape was certainly her favorite part but the entire cloak was easily the most beautiful thing she had ever come to possess.

“There’s a shoulder guard, too,” Ivarr said, holding up a gold-plated armor piece for her to see. He helped her put it on and then Eivor stood before the mirror in quiet awe, admiring the morgen-gifu she had been given.

“I need some more clothes on but this is beautiful,” Eivor complimented as she craned her body so that she could view the cloak from all angles, admiring how it hung from her shoulders as if it was meant just for her. “Thank you, Ivarr. I will treasure this always.”

“I think you look just fine as you are,” Ivarr complimented. The hunger in his eyes was unmistakable but Eivor told herself to enjoy it.

After all, he was her husband and wasn’t it good to be desired by him, despite the circumstances that had brought them together in their union? The marriage was supposed to benefit both their clans, his father, and her cousin in equal measure, but that wasn’t to say that they also couldn’t reap whatever benefits they could.

She couldn’t say there was love between them yet but she liked Ivarr well enough. Things between them were nothing like when they had first met and she absolutely hated his guts.

Now, she could see herself curling up at his side with her head resting on his chest and waking up with his arms around her waist, their bodies pressed together for warmth.

Eivor turned to face Ivarr and brought her arms around his shoulders as she pulled him in for a kiss that started off soft before their mutual eagerness grew.

Eivor would deny ever shrieking in surprise as Ivarr grabbed her thighs and hoisted her up into his arms before carrying her over to the dresser by the door, setting her down and crushing his lips to hers. His fingers tangled into her hair, holding her head in place, while his other hand trailed down her body until it reached her core.

A tiny, breathy whine escaped Eivor’s mouth as Ivarr’s thumb circled her clit with hardly any pressure to give her pleasure, leaving her writhing like an eel where she sat.

“Eager for me already,” Ivarr purred. “I’ll make this so worth it for you, Eivor.”

Ivarr released his hold on her hair as he knelt down and buried his face between her legs with an eagerness that made Eivor toss her head back with a pleased moan. The attention he was giving her was divine, carving into her with his tongue as if nothing brought him more satisfaction than to make her writhe and whimper, seeking more, more, more… 

Eivor’s breath hitched when Ivarr’s teeth grazed over her clit unexpectedly and her heart skipped a beat from excitement when his grip on her thighs tightened. A growl rippled from deep within Ivarr’s chest and the vibrations sent a shiver shooting up Eivor’s spine, causing her to whimper out Ivarr’s name and arch her spine in pleasure.

“That’s a good girl,” Ivarr purred against her mound, hot puffs of breath making her squirm. “I want to hear you.”

Eivor threw her head back with a whine.

Gods, he was going to be the death of her.

He was so attentive, so mindful of her pleasure as if that mattered more to him than his own needs, and Eivor found herself rushing towards her peak so quickly that her orgasm struck her suddenly like a battering ram.

She floated in a daze, no longer aware of her body or where she was, feeling perfectly content to drift among the stars for all eternity.

Slowly, she started to come back to herself and the first thing she noticed was her head resting on Ivarr’s shoulder and his hand gently rubbing her back through her cloak.

“How was that, princess?” Ivarr purred in her ear. Eivor did not feel she had the capacity to respond verbally but did show her appreciation by kissing him deeply. A low growl escaped from Ivarr’s chest as he kissed her back with the hunger of a starving man, as if he couldn’t get enough of her.

“Need you,” Ivarr rasped before greedily kissing her again.

Eivor grinned against his mouth. “You can have me.”

She opened her legs to welcome him to her body, her warmth, her heat… and her eyes fluttered closed in bliss as she and Ivarr quickly became one singular entity. His fingers tangled in her hair and it felt as if Ivarr was all around her, consuming her until she felt like a burning star in the night sky. The world had faded away and all she noticed around her was Ivarr, Ivarr, Ivarr.

She would have been perfectly content to drown in him forever and ever, her legs wrapped tight around his waist and his fingers tangled in her hair as if they belonged there.

Such a thought scared her quite a bit and Eivor responded by wrapped her arms tighter around Ivarr’s neck and pulling him in for a crushing kiss, anything to distract herself from her wild thoughts.

They hit their peaks together and then Ivarr stole her lips for a kiss that was softer, more intimate, and wanting in a way that was unheard of between two people who were still very much getting to know each other. But something about it felt right, that they were lucky enough to have been married off to each other despite their mutual rough start.

There was a happiness to be had in Ivarr’s arms that Eivor doubted she would have found if someone else came asking for her hand in marriage, and a certain comfort in knowing that he genuinely respected her.

“How… was that?” Ivarr asked between heaving breaths. Eivor responded by cupping his face in her hands and kissing him again, and there wasn’t much talking after that.

:･ﾟ✧:･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧:･.:

Some weeks later, Eivor and Ivarr were ready to set sail for Norway.

Provisions and weapons had been packed for the long, arduous journey ahead and they had a small fleet of longships flying banners emblazoned with the Ragnarsson raven and Dublin’s jackdaw. 

Collectively, they had more men than there were in the Dublin guard but Eivor still couldn’t help but fret over the very real possibility that they didn’t have enough raiders to take on the Wolf Clan.

There was also the very real threat that their arrival would ignite a war across oceans between Dublin and all the clans of Norway, as if things weren’t tumultuous enough already.

They could only hope that tensions wouldn’t blow up like a powder keg catching fire as soon as they set foot in Norway.

Despite being married to Ivarr now, Eivor had still wanted to hold on to pieces of her old life, which was why her longship continued to fly the blue-and-orange banner of the Jackdaw Clan. She remembered being accepted as one of their own and being treated with the same kindness afforded to every other Jackdaw, regardless of the origins of their birth.

But the cloak she wore was the one Ivarr had gifted her the morning after their wedding night.

It was heavy but its weight was comforting, and protected her from the early-morning chill. It would surely keep her warm once they arrived in Norway’s cold waters as well.

She was Ivarr’s as much as he was hers. It was a heavy thought but also a comforting one, for she could have just as easily been preparing for this journey without a steadfast and confident companion at her side.

Eivor prided herself in being equal parts stubborn and headstrong, but even she could admit that she would have been facing a lonely and immensely-difficult journey without Ivarr.

After checking to make sure that she had remembered to pack everything she might need for the journey, Eivor stepped out of the longship and onto the docks, where Bárid, Sadhbh, and Sichfrith — her family — stood, waiting to see her off.

“Be safe,” Sadhbh implored as she embraced her tightly.

“I will,” Eivor promised, holding her just as tight while her heart squeezed in her chest from longing.

“You’ll always have a home here, no matter how long you’re gone,” Bárid assured her as he took his turn to pull her in for a crushing hug that lasted far longer than her embrace with Sadhbh did.

Oh, how she felt like a child again, being cradled by her cousin after having lost everyone near and dear to her, and Eivor willed her tears back even as they stung her eyes.

Eivor didn’t want to leave but she had to. If she didn’t, Kjotve’s reign of terror would never end and the lives of her loved ones would remain in danger.

That, and she was getting quite sick of the bacraut haunting her dreams like a relentless shade. Only once she killed him would there be peace, both in her hugr as well as Dublin. She wouldn’t have to fear for the lives of her loved ones, even if she wasn’t around to protect them.

“I won’t be gone forever,” Eivor promised. “I’ll come back one day.”

Morbid as it was, Eivor wished to be buried in Ireland and specifically in the graveyard near the King’s Hall. Dublin had become her home and somehow managed to completely fill the massive hole left behind by the tragedy at Heillboer that she almost did not feel completely robbed of happiness.

“When you get back, I’ll have my own raiding crew,” Sichfrith proudly proclaimed when it was finally his turn to bid her farewell. Eivor grinned, and affectionately clapped her cousin on the back.

“You and I will go raiding together,” she promised him. “There is always a spot for you on my longship but if you have your own ship by then, we’ll go as equals.”

Sichfrith beamed brightly at her remark and then they embraced, holding each other hard enough to bruise — tighter than she had held Bárid and Sadhbh — and Eivor tried not to mourn the fact that this was the last time she would get to hug her cousin for quite a long time.

No longer would she spend her days chasing after Sichfrith when he decided to shirk his lessons in favor of running off in search of adventure around Dublin and she didn’t even know why grief struck her heart at such a realization. It wasn’t as if she had imagined her whole life consisting of her chasing after her little cousin but it was saddening to realize that all things, even innocuous little things she had not appreciated at the time, came to an end sooner or later.

“Be good for your parents while I’m gone,” Eivor instructed. Sichfrith flashed her an impish grin that told her he would most certainly not be the most well-behaved but Eivor also knew better than to expect him to be completely obedient.

“Give Kjotve a good thrashing,” Sichfrith insisted and now it was Eivor’s turn to smile.

“Oh, I will.”

After saying her final goodbyes, it was finally time to set sail.

Eivor inhaled deeply through her nose, willing herself to be strong as she gripped the rope wrapped around the tail of her Dragonboat before ordering the crew to row downriver to where the river opened up into the sea. The other ships followed suit behind them and as Eivor peered over her shoulder to make sure the second ship wasn’t too close to her own, she noticed Bárid, Sadhbh, and Sichfrith standing on the docks.

They waved to her and even as tears pricked at her eyes, she raised her arm high up into the air and waved back to them for one final farewell. Even as her neck strained from being in one position for so long, Eivor kept her gaze on the docks until Bárid, Sadhbh, and Sichfrith were just faint specks in the distance.

By then, Eivor realized they had already made it out onto the ocean waves and she shouted,

“Sail out!”

The sail cracked against the wind as it caught the sharp breeze and pulled them deeper into the sea… and they were off.

:･ﾟ✧:･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧:･.:

Cold air pierced Eivor’s lungs like a spear as the fleet dragged deeper into Norse waters, violent and churning as if starving for more souls to drag into its icy depths. Eivor tightly gripped the rope wrapped around the serpent’s tail to keep herself grounded but it did little to ease the worry twisting in her stomach as they neared Raven Clan territory.

She could see the teal banners in the distance, flapping in the wind just as they had the night that Heillboer was attacked. The only difference was that these banners were not soaked in the blood of her kinsmen.

The Raven banners were also a stark reminder that she had come so close to becoming a Raven herself, before everything had changed for the worst. There was nothing she could do to change that now; she was a Jackdaw through and through, and wouldn’t have changed it for anything, not even for acceptance from the Raven Clan.

“This is Fornburg,” Eivor said to Ivarr as their ship pulled into port. Once the longship was anchored down, they climbed out of the longship and onto the docks, grateful for an opportunity to finally stand on solid ground after having spent many long weeks at sea.

She almost couldn’t believe that they had made it. She found it equally hard to believe that she had made the journey at all; the person she had been a year ago would have balked if she came to find out that she was now in Norway, after believing that she would never find her way back to get the revenge she sought so desperately.

She had already accomplished a lot just by making it to Fornburg, but her mission wouldn’t be complete until Kjotve’s blood soaked the snow.

“What this home for you once?” Ivarr inquired, and Eivor was quick to shake her head.

“No, my home was further north.”

It was gone now, just a shadow of a settlement on a forgotten shoreline. She had spotted it in the distance on their way to Fornburg but had not possessed the stomach to look for very long, especially as painful memories had come rushing back like floodwaters breaking through a dam.

As a child, she had only been to Fornburg on the rarest of occasions when her father ventured south to handle business with the Raven Clan, and those were the only times she got to play with Sigurd, whose companionship she had always appreciated. While it lasted, anyways.

Now, there was a permanent sourness in her mouth and gods, she would have been lying if she said that she wasn’t eager to wrap up her business in Norway as quickly as possible.

She didn’t know where the seas would take her next but all she knew was that she wanted to turn her back on Norway and leave behind all the pain and hurt for good.

“Don't expect much from the king here,” Eivor warned Ivarr. “Don't think much of him, either. He's a coward who couldn't even defend his own clan from Kjotve.”

She would always be appreciative that her uncle Ímair and aunt Ségdae had taken her in when she was orphaned after the attack, but there was that little bit of resentment against Styrbjorn that she wasn’t sure she would ever be able to let go.

Being in Fornburg only rubbed salt into old wounds that Eivor realized had not healed, and likely never would.

“Welcome to Fornburg, strangers,” a red-haired woman remarked as she approached them. She was dressed in blue finery and it was clear from her jewelry and clothing that she possessed high status in the village. “I am Randvi.”

“Well met, Randvi. I am Eivor.” She then gestured to Ivarr and added, “and this is my husband, Ivarr. We are here to speak with Styrbjorn.”

Randvi nodded in understanding. “Come, follow me.”

Eivor started walking and Ivarr kept in step with her as they followed Randvi to the longhouse. Even the name of Styrbjorn’s village made Eivor feel forlorn and she only felt her dread worsen when Randvi motioned for them to enter the longhouse.

Eivor couldn’t help but startle when she laid eyes on Styrbjorn, as if she had seen a ghost. The man had aged, possessing many wrinkles on his face and much more grey in his beard, but was mostly as she remembered him.

She could still recall how eager she had been to deliver the arm ring that was meant to forge a bond between the Bear and Raven Clan, and so innocent to believe that something meaningful would come out of the alliance her parents had attempted to forge.

Oh, she had been so naive.

All she saw in front of her was a useless coward king and it was difficult to even exchange pleasantries with Styrbjorn, because she felt that he did not deserve even that much. But Eivor was no savage and prided herself on keeping cool and collected. For now, at least. Time would tell if she ended up biting Styrbjorn’s head off.

“King Styrbjorn, I am Eivor of the Jackdaw Clan and I have come here to—”

Styrbjorn’s eyes went wide with recognition. “Eivor! I never expected to see you again!”

Eivor briefly pressed her lips together and considered whether she was justified to snap at the man for his remark as painful, buried feelings came rushing to the surface so quickly that she saw nothing but red.

Instead of upholding the oath between her clan and his, Styrbjorn had driven her away so quickly that the wolf-wound on her neck had not even stopped bleeding yet when Bárid’s boots touched down on Fornburg’s docks. It had been so long ago, but she remembered how she had been shunned as soon as Styrbjorn could rid himself of her, sending her away at the first opportunity.

“This isn’t a social call, king,” she finally gritted out.

She did not think much of Styrbjorn and despite all the years that had passed, she still felt sour about the way that events had transpired after the massacre.

During the trek to the longhouse, she had even heard chatter from the villagers that Styrbjorn was too afraid to defend his own clan from Kjotve, allowing the Wolf Clan to launch continuous attacks on the Raven Clan. It was a miracle that there was anyone left of the Raven Clan, with how ruthless and blood-hungry the Wolves were. All because they could, and because nobody was brave enough to stand up to them.

Styrbjorn leaned back against his throne. His face was unreadable but his discomfort was visible on his body. “Then what brings you here?”

“Is it not obvious?” Eivor scoffed. “I’m here to kill Kjotve.”

She had no care for politics and pointless chatter but Bárid had advised her to seek the favor of at least one clan, if, for no other reason than to earn a king’s favor and make it easier for her to traverse the country rather than camping in a chilly cave with her raiders like a bunch of bandits.

She could not deny it: for the backwater village it was, Fornburg still had its charms, and having a warm, dry place to sleep would keep morale high among her raiders.

Styrbjorn’s eyes widened in shock. “You come seeking war? Eivor—”

“I come seeking revenge for what Kjotve did to my parents and my clan.” Her correction made very little difference to Styrbjorn, though.

“You carry this pain in you, and it’s just going to spill over onto everyone else!” Styrbjorn stressed, shaking his head at her. That alone made Eivor’s blood spike hot with annoyance.

“I came here for one reason and that is to kill Kjotve! I will not leave until he is bleeding out in the dirt like the swine he is!” Eivor barked, spitting out every word like it was poison. “Now, Styrbjorn, I requested this audience as a courtesy, not to ask for your permission!”

“This grudge you hold against Kjotve will only bring on more bloodshed, Eivor. Reconsider, before it causes more grief and pain.”

“What are you afraid of?” Ivarr mocked, speaking up for the first time since the conversation had begun. “Did Kjotve beat you down so badly that all you can do is cower on your throne and wait for your inevitable death at his hands?”

“You know nothing of my strategies, my plans,” Styrbjorn snapped back, though Ivarr was unfazed by his outburst and stared him down unwaveringly. He was starting to see what kind of man Styrbjorn was and shared in Eivor’s sentiments that there was nothing about Styrbjorn to be admired or respected.

The man was afraid of his own shadow and it was no wonder that his people were as badly battered as they were: by attempting to negotiate through diplomacy, Styrbjorn was allowing the Wolf Clan to do as they pleased and the Raven Clan was suffering because of his attempts to parlay with madmen.

“What’s the problem? We have all the men you could ever need,” Eivor boasted.

“It is not just about brute force, Eivor,” Styrbjorn protested. “Imagine you are harassed by an enemy with warriors whose numbers vastly outnumber your own. What profit does open war bring? Would it not be better to work quietly through diplomacy, gaining alliances? Waiting until the day our numbers outweigh our enemy’s and our victory is guaranteed.”

“Kjotve and his clan will never negotiate with us. They speak the language of war, so we must answer back,” Eivor remarked stubbornly. “I have waited a lifetime to gain back the honor Kjotve took from my family! Now is the time to act! My time to act!”

“Are you so blinded by vengeance that you cannot see beyond your nose?” Styrbjorn snapped, rising quickly to his feet.

“All this talking is a waste of time!” Ivarr barked at Styrbjorn. “We won’t get anywhere by negotiating!”

Eivor nodded in agreement and crossed her arms over her chest, glaring at Styrbjorn from where he stood on the dais. 

“You couldn’t even keep us safe,” Eivor spat. “The oath between my clan and yours meant nothing.”

Styrbjorn’s face pinched in anger, yet his shoulders had slumped ever so slightly in defeat. He seemed to have finally realized that they could not be swayed to see things from his perspective, though to expect that from them would have been foolish.

They had come to Norway seeking blood, and would get it by any means necessary.

“Never did I expect such disrespect from the child of Varin,” Styrbjorn sighed as he sat back down on his throne. Eivor rolled her eyes, quietly bristling at the mention of her father, who had been as much of a coward as Styrbjorn was. “But if you are so stubborn that you refuse to listen, then you may do as you please. You will have freedom to travel through Raven lands as you please, but I will not give you aid if you run into trouble or men to fight your battles for you. And if Kjotve finds you first, you’d best have a plan to save yourself.”

“It won’t come to that,” Eivor scoffed.

The matter was resolved and she had gotten what she had wanted in the end, though not without butting heads with Styrbjorn. That couldn’t be helped, though. She had her way of thinking, and Styrbjorn had his, even though he was wrong in many regards.

Upon leaving the longhouse, Eivor found Randvi seated on a stool a short distance away from the entrance, whittling away at a block of wood with a carving knife. She looked up as she heard them approach and smiled warmly at them.

“Randvi, would you happen to know where Sigurd is?” Eivor inquired.

She had not bothered to ask Styrbjorn, knowing he wouldn’t have told her even if she promised to be good and not cause trouble in his territory. Such a promise would have been a lie, something that she and Styrbjorn both knew.

“Sigurd is not here,” Randvi revealed. “He has been away at sea for a year now, exploring new lands. There is no telling when he will return.”

Eivor bit the inside of her cheek and tried not to feel too disappointed. She had been hoping that Sigurd was somewhere in Fornburg, or, at worst, a day’s ride away at a Raven outpost in the Norse wilderness but that was obviously not the case.

He was entirely unreachable, which meant that she would not be able to count on her childhood friend for support, unfortunately.

Randvi seemed to notice her disappointment regarding Sigurd’s absence because she said,

“Sigurd might not be here but I am quite handy with a map. I can help you get a lay of the land, if you wish.”

Eivor grinned at her offer and said, “lead the way.”

“Back inside,” Randvi said as she ventured into the longhouse, with Eivor and Ivarr following closely behind her.

“Randvi, do not let this foolish girl lead you astray,” Styrbjorn warned as he saw them enter.

“Haven’t you got somewhere better to be, like cowering behind your throne?” Ivarr barked at the king.

The silence that fell over the longhouse following Ivarr’s remark was so heavy that it could be cut with a knife, and no one knew how to react or even if there was anything to say at all. It took everything for Eivor not to smirk from ear-to-ear in pride, for she felt immense satisfaction seeing Styrbjorn put in his place.

Randvi finally broke the silence by awkwardly uttering, “yes, Styrbjorn” and then, as if the exchange between Ivarr and the coward-king had never come to pass, they continued on to the war room.

“So how do you know Sigurd, Randvi?”

Eivor’s memories of Fornburg were foggy but she could not recall having ever seen Randvi among the village children. She would have remembered Randvi for her flame-hair but if her memory served her correctly, only Sigurd had possessed red hair among all the children in Fornburg. Randvi was new to the Raven Clan, that much was certain.

“Sigurd is my husband,” Randvi revealed as she finished pinning down the corners of the map with stone paperweights carved into the vague shape of ravens. “We were married last year to unify the Raven Clan and my own, the Reindeer Clan.”

Eivor’s eyebrows briefly went up in mild surprise.

Randvi and Sigurd had been bound together in an arrangement meant to bring peace between their clans, much like how the union between her and Ivarr had been forged for someone else’s interests. While the trade agreement was the reason why they were wed in the first place, Eivor was convinced that it had been nothing more than a ploy for Ragnar to rid himself of his most-troublesome son.

Despite this, Eivor found Ivarr’s presence a comfort, but that didn’t mean she was purposely blind to her husband’s antics, either.

Had Ivarr even suggested that he was going raiding and adventuring without her, she would have chained him down to the Dublin docks so quickly that he would have gone dizzy from whiplash and, within a day’s time, wound up begging his father to take him back and spare him from Dublin’s princess who was wilder than she let on.

Because if she couldn’t go anywhere, neither could Ivarr.

Eivor couldn’t help but feel sorry for Randvi.

Here she was, all by herself in Fornburg while Sigurd was off sailing only gods-knew-where.

Nobody knew if he was even lucky enough to be alive still. Eivor hoped he was, but she also understood that one could easily run into trouble in foreign lands, especially where the local populace looked quite different from a Norse or Dane.

But Sigurd could have taken Randvi with him, Eivor thought.

It would have been a great opportunity for them to sail together, strengthen their bond, and get to know each other while making the best of their circumstances. Being at sea with someone forged a sense of closeness because there was nowhere else to go and a bond developed because there was no other choice but to come together in unity. Or kill each other, but even that was better than Sigurd leaving Randvi behind,  Eivor thought.

At least Ivarr understood that she wasn’t someone who could be shoved aside. Where one of them went, the other was not far behind.

Eivor thought the arrangement between them was quite fair, and she also believed that Randvi deserved better treatment.

“Now then,” said Randvi. She pointed to various spots on the map within Raven Clan territory, which was outlined in blue ink akin to the same sapphire-blue color worn by the raiders who guarded Fornburg. “This is the Sjaleng Lookout, a nearby watch tower, and our seer Valka lives up the ways from there—”

“Where is Wolf Clan territory?” Eivor inquired. 

Randvi seemed to hesitate at her question, even though Eivor knew that she knew where they could be found.

“Randvi, I didn’t come all the way from Dublin to go sightseeing around Fornburg,” Eivor insisted. She needed to know where to find Kjotve so she could challenge him in a holmgang and kill him.

While she wouldn’t have minded having the satisfaction of stabbing him in his sleep, Eivor also refused to stoop to Kjotve’s level by acting dishonorably as he had. Her parents deserved to have honor restored to them according to Norse tradition, even though she would have also enjoyed dragging out Kjotve’s misery before finally killing him.

“It’ll be a dangerous journey,” Randvi warned, her face dark with worry.

“I’m more than prepared for anything the Wolves throw at me. Now tell me where I can find Kjotve.”

“Our scouts report that the Wolf Clan has taken up residence in Avaldsnes, an old settlement north of here,” Randvi said as she pointed to a spot on the map where Avaldsnes was labeled in a scrawl so small that she had to squint to read it. “I cannot guarantee that Kjotve will be there, though.”

“It’s as good of a place to start,” Ivarr remarked. Eivor couldn’t agree more.

It was settled. They were going to sail north to Avaldsnes.