𝑳𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑻𝒆𝒏𝒔𝒊𝒐𝒏 - 𝑰𝒗𝒂𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑩𝒐𝒏𝒆𝒍𝒆𝒔𝒔

29

Morning broke clear and cold over the Viking kingdom. The great ships awaited silently at harbor, their sails furled, ready to carry warriors and fate alike to Kattegat.

Ivar crawled slowly toward the ship, his movements deliberate despite his frailty. "Now," he said quietly, a fierce gleam in his eye, "I can finally fulfill my promise to the gods—and kill Lagertha."

Hvitserk caught him gently by the shoulders, guiding him toward a bench where Daenaera sat, the sharpening stone resting beside her.

"Ah, wife," Hvitserk said with a soft smile, lifting her chin with two fingers and pressing his lips to hers. "You're sailing with us?"

"Not exactly, husband," Daenaera replied, rising gracefully. "I was waiting for you here. I'm riding on Sylvarion's back."

Ivar's hand grasped her wrist, his gaze locking with hers. "Wait. Stay for a while. We're not sailing just yet."

She nodded, understanding.

Hvitserk's eyes burned with determination. "I'm ready to avenge our mother. Not because she was kind to me, but because Lagertha deserves no mercy."

Ivar chuckled, the sound rough but genuine. "That's enough for me." He flipped his axe lightly in his hand, eyes sharp. "But are you ready to face Ubbe? Will you kill him if you must, even though he is your own flesh and blood?"

"If I kill Ubbe," Hvitserk grinned darkly, "won't my fame be secured?"

Ivar laughed aloud. "That's the spirit!"

As Bishop Heahmund approached, Ivar called out with a teasing grin, "Your Grace!"

Daenaera chuckled softly. The bishop lowered his eyes in mock reproach.

"Don't call me that," Heahmund said. "You think it's a joke, but you have no idea what grace means."

Ivar's gaze sharpened. "Wait. I have something for you." He drew a sword from its sheath and held it out. "This sword's magic only serves its true owner. It's yours now."

Daenaera stepped forward. "I have to go," she said softly. Ivar caught her face between his hands and kissed her deeply.

"Careful," he whispered. When she nodded, he released her.

⸻

The battlefield lay vast beneath the morning sun. Daenaera had already landed, perched on a distant hill. She knew that with Sylvarion, she could end this war in seconds—but she hesitated. The weight of war pressed heavy on her heart.

Below, warriors gathered. Harald and Hvitserk rode forward, met by Bjorn and Halfdan, Harald's brother.

"If we must fight," Bjorn said, voice steady, "then we must fight. But first, let us speak honestly—seek alternatives."

Harald nodded. "We are willing. But first, hostages must be exchanged. Good faith alone is not enough."

Bjorn glanced to Harald. "Your brother will come with us to your camp."

"And your brother will go with you," Harald replied. But instead of Hvitserk, Harald sent Halfdan.

"Tomorrow we meet again," Harald said.

"Yes," Bjorn agreed.

Daenaera slid from Sylvarion's back and returned to camp. Her riding attire was dark leather, scaled like dragonhide across her shoulders, the Targaryen sigil blazing on her belt.

Ivar saw her and smiled, tapping his legs in invitation. She approached, settling in his lap.

"You're safe," he whispered into her ear.

"I am," she murmured, arms wrapping around him.

Harald caught Ivar's gaze and spoke quietly. "You're here where you belong. Don't deny it. Why fight for Lagertha or Bjorn? They are not your folk."

Bjorn had saved Ivar's life once.

"Isn't that reason enough?" Ivar asked quietly.

"Not really," Ivar said, voice steady. "We choose this dangerous life. That's the way. What happened between you and Bjorn means less than you think." His hand traced the curve of Daenaera's side.

"Family has a greater claim," Harald said. "I don't want to fight you. I don't want to kill you. That would make no sense."

Halfdan, watching the brothers, snorted. "I suppose none of this makes sense to him."

"He's a great warrior," Ivar replied. "He doesn't need things to make sense."

Halfdan shook his head. "By the gods, Ivar, you're cynical."

Daenaera and Ivar chuckled softly.

"I care about winning this war," Ivar whispered to Daenaera, "and about you."

He turned back to Halfdan. "You must choose—a friend or a brother. To me, the answer's clear." Without waiting for a reply, he rose, and Daenaera followed.

"Ivar!" she called after him. "Issi jeme paktot?"

Ivar was already inside their tent but paused, turning toward her.

"Nyke. Nyke sepār jaelagon naejot ērinagon bisa vīlībāzma se naejot sagon gaomagon rūsīr ry bisa."

I am. I just want to win this battle and be done with all of this.