Selcouth

Chapter 19

Ivar the Boneless had never been one to shy away from the shadows of his thoughts. He had watched, with a growing sense of unease, as his brother, one of the sons of Ragnar Lothbrok, began to falter under the influence of Yvette, a Christian woman whose faith was as solid as the stone altars she prayed before.

The change in his brother was subtle at first, like the slow encroachment of winter's frost. His brother, once fierce in battle and steadfast in his worship to the Norse gods, now lingered longer in quiet contemplation, his eyes often distant, as if listening to a silent call from across the sea. Yvette's words, woven with the soft persistence of a stream carving through rock, had begun to shape his thoughts, his beliefs.

Ivar's discontent brewed into a storm within him. He remembered tales of Ragnar, whose valorous deeds and defiance against the Christian kingdoms had been his childhood's epic sagas. To see one of Ragnar's sons swayed by the very faith their father had mocked was to Ivar an affront not just to his lineage but to the legacy of their gods.

In the dim light of the longhouse, where the fire's glow danced like the Valkyries choosing the slain, Ivar conceived his plan. He would not let his brother's spirit be baptized in the waters of forgetfulness; he would not let Ragnar's blood be tainted by the cross.

He sought out his brother under the guise of shared nostalgia, reminiscing about their raids, the thrill of battle, and the glory of their victories. "Do you not miss the old gods' favor in battle?" Ivar asked, his voice calm, his eyes searching.

Hvitserk caught in the crossroads of his new faith and his ancestral calling, nodded but with a hesitation that spoke volumes. "The Christian God offers peace, Ivar. A different kind of strength," he replied, his voice lacking the conviction of old.

"Peace?" Ivar sneered, the word tasting bitter on his tongue. "Our peace comes from strength, from the edge of our swords, not from kneeling."

The seeds of doubt Ivar planted were meant to grow, to challenge the Christian roots Yvette had nurtured. He whispered to the men, stirring tales of old, of Odin's blessings and Thor's might, reminding them of what made their hearts Viking.

But his true plan was more intricate. Ivar knew he needed to separate his brother from Yvette, the source of his weakening resolve. He proposed a campaign, a grand raid not just for loot but for the glory of old, a venture that would require his brother's full attention, away from Yvette's influence.

Under the pretense of honoring their father's memory, Ivar convinced his brother to lead this raid. "Let us show the world that Ragnar's sons still roar with the old gods' favor," he cajoled, his words a serpent's whisper.

As the ships were prepared, Ivar ensured Yvette would be left behind, citing the dangers of the sea and the need for someone to manage their holdings. She protested, her eyes alight with fear for her husband's soul, but Ivar's words were law among his men.

With each wave that carried them further from home, Ivar watched his brother. Away from Yvette, the old fire seemed to kindle in his eyes, the fire of a Viking, not a Christian. But Ivar knew this was but a temporary victory. The real battle was for his brother's soul, and he would not rest until the Christian whispers were drowned out by the roar of the gods.