Alfild wakes up in a cell, alone and not actually dead. Without Ivar there, she feels she might not survive after the birth of their child. Nevertheless, she remains loyal to the end. Even if it kills her.
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The clouds were blacker than the deep ocean below, crows circling above the corpse strewn battlefield. Alfild could feel the electricity in her bones, the sensation of her sword slicing through the men around her.
But it wasn't her.
This wasn't how she fought, and the agonizing pain in her legs told her all that she needed to know. This was Ivar. As he cut his way through the battlefield, growing ever closer to Hvitserk, the pain in his legs increased tenfold. She could feel it spreading through her body like a fire, this unbearable agony that would've made anyone else fall to the floor in an instant. But not Ivar. Never Ivar.
As he reached Hvitserk, Alfild felt herself screaming out - begging him to turn back, to get off the damn battlefield, to just retreat for once in his damn life. She could feel the pangs of fear from him, the dozens of emotions that filled his heart. And she knew what he was planning.
A sharp pain in her belly jolted her awake, a cry as she shot up from her position on the cold cell floor. Gunnhild had brought her warm blankets and tried to ensure there was fresh hay for her to sleep on, but as her condition grew more intense - so did her need to not be treated like an animal.
She missed her bed, the comfort of laying on pretty much anything but stone. She missed feeling Ivar's arm gently encircle her in the night, touching the once small bump of their child. But it had been many months since then, and soon she knew the child would find it's way out. And when it did, she was certain that she would not survive. Bjorn had no reason to keep her alive after that. Though she was one of the most powerful rulers in Scandinavia - she was more akin to King Harald. Much like Harald, she knew her people would not question it if a son of Ragnar usurped her throne. Ragnar Lothbrok was a legend, as was Bjorn Ironside.
And since Ivar had left, both his name and Alfild's had been dragged through the mud.
Alfild touched her belly, feeling her child kick beneath her fingertips - it's movements sharp and aggressive, much like her own. She wasn't certain whether it would be a boy or a girl anymore, but she knew that either way it would be a force to be reckoned with.
If it was a girl, Alfild had decided she wished to name her Brunhilde. Hopefully Ivar would not murder this one. She knew that he would likely detest the name. But, since he was not here, she'd decided that she didn't particularly care. Brunhilde was the closest the young queen had ever had to family - aside from Ivar and Hvitserk, of course. And if it was a boy, she'd not yet decided on a name. She supposed that if she followed a tradition of naming her children after family members that Ivar had murdered, Sigurd would be a suitable name - but decided that such a name would likely be just a little too much.
Perhaps she would name him Ragnar, and he would be a great man just like his grandfather. Just like his father.
She wondered if Ivar still thought of her - if he'd found company in another woman since she'd left his side. She wouldn't blame him. It was difficult, being so far apart. But the idea still stung worse than any blade. It smarted her, and a small tear ran slowly down her cheek.
By the Gods did she miss him. By the Gods did she hate the situation that she was in. And the baby inside her only made matters worse, her emotions running wild - even more so than usual.
When the door creaked open, Alfild was somewhat surprised to see Hvitserk stood in the darkened doorway. She couldn't help but feel bad for him, as she noticed how broken he appeared. His eyes were so red from tears, and she could smell the alcohol on him from where she sat.
Finally, the Ragnarsson stepped inside, slowly sliding to the ground with his back against the wall. He didn't say a word, just sat there in silence - sometimes raising his cup to his lips to continue his drunken stupor.
"You stink." Alfild spoke dryly, narrowing her gaze at him as she attempted not to vomit from the smell of alcohol. She was no longer used to it, and the high quantities of it made her feel ill.
"So do you." He answered, and Alfild couldn't help but agree. This dingy prison cell was bad enough, and she wasn't exactly gifted the luxury of bathing for fear that she would escape or kill someone.
The shieldmaiden smiled, nodding in agreement, before the stirring in her belly made her wince again. The pain shot through her oncemore, and she shifted slightly in an attempt to make herself more comfortable.
And, even after everything that happened, Hvitserk took no enjoyment in seeing her suffer as she did.
"I don't think it will be long before I'm a mother." She groaned, holding onto the bump. The last time Hvitserk had seen her, it had barely been there at all. And now it seemed she was right, Ivar would soon be a father. "No doubt Bjorn will kill me once my child is born."
Hvitserk huffed in agreement, knowing that most kings would kill her in Bjorn's position. "Like you killed Thora." He retorted plainly.
At this, Alfild froze. She had no witty retort, no comeback at the ready as she always seemed to have. Instead, her emerald eyes widened, lips parting before she finally pursed them together again. "Hvitserk..." She paused, thinking over what to say. She was the one that told Ivar to burn traitors, she was the one that had warned him not to be merciless. Hvitserk was right. It was her fault that he had lost his love. And, were she in his position, she was certain she would be just as broken. "I did not know that Thora was among them. I did not know that killing traitors would hurt you as it has. And months ago, I would've told you that I never wished to hurt you in any way. But the truth is, it was her or Ivar. And in that choice, I will choose my husband every time."
Hvitserk laughed bitterly, without any hint of humour in his voice. And Alfild could feel his anger, his pain. "You are still so loyal to him." He observed. "Even when he's left you here."
"He didn't leave me." She retorted stubbornly, glaring over at her old friend. "I chose this. I locked him outside of Kattegat and returned to fight Bjorn. Would you not have done the same for Thora? Would you not have cast yourself into the flames so that she could be safe?"
Hvitserk was silent, but they both knew the answer was yes. That was love.
"Do you think Ivar will come back for you?" He questioned bitterly, and Alfild could see small hints of fear flicker over him. She'd heard, from Gunnhild, of his obsession with killing Ivar. And if she had to kill him to stop that from happening, she'd do it without a second thought.
"It's Ivar." She responded calmly, closing her eyes as she leaned back against the damp cell wall. "He wants revenge. I know he'll be back."
"Will you be alive to see it?" Hvitserk scoffed.
Both of them knew it was unlikely. And both of them knew that, no matter how hard she tried to hide it, Alfild was afraid. She'd always been afraid. Not because she had lost belief in her Gods. Not because she didn't wish to leave behind those who she loved, for they would soon meet her in Valhöl.
But because she was afraid to die. Afraid to leave behind this world and slowly fade away. Afraid to be forgotten, to become unimportant. And most of all; afraid that perhaps the world was wrong about the afterlife. Afraid that after this, there was nothing at all.
Alfild composed herself, looking back towards Hvitserk with a gentle gaze that he had not quite expected to see from her. "If I die, I need you to look after my child... At least until Ivar returns." The look of shock and confusion that covered him did not deter the young queen. "Hvitserk, it is not my child's fault that Thora died. My child is innocent, and one day they will be a great person. But I need you to promise me that you'll look after them. I do not want my child to join me in Odin's Hall before they are ready."
When he looked back at her, still drunk and tired from the mushrooms and mead, Hvitserk seemed to sober up ever so slightly. He stared at her in awe, before finally giving a small nod. His promise was barely even a whisper, before he scrambled to his feet and left.
And Alfild sat in silence, with one small comfort in her heart.
