𝑳𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑻𝒆𝒏𝒔𝒊𝒐𝒏 - 𝑰𝒗𝒂𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑩𝒐𝒏𝒆𝒍𝒆𝒔𝒔

32

The battlefield lay silent under a heavy sky as the war drums began their deep, rhythmic pulse. Ivar sat poised in his chariot, eyes sharp and calculating. With a subtle flick of his wrist, he signaled the army to halt.

From behind, Bishop Heahmund, King Harald, and his wife Astrid approached, flanking Ivar. Daenaera stood steadfast at his left side, her gaze unblinking. Heahmund stepped closer, speaking low in Old Saxon, his voice grave but tinged with anticipation.

"I can't wait!" Heahmund declared, voice rough with fervor.

Ivar snapped his head toward the bishop, lips curling in a mocking smile. "Why? Does that beautiful sword of yours thirst for blood?"

Heahmund drew his blade, running a hand reverently along its edge.

"Perhaps my god intends it to slake its thirst upon pagan blood. That is why I am here—to do the Lord's bidding."

Ivar tapped his chest confidently. "And mine, Bishop Heahmund. And mine."

Harald stepped forward, brow furrowed. "What do you think?"

Ivar's eyes darkened as he looked down at the ground. "Bjorn is playing a game."

Harald's confusion was clear. "What kind of game?"

Ivar's gaze flicked toward the distant treeline. "What if he's holding much of his army in reserve? What if this battle is a feint—meant to draw us out? What if his real plan is to outflank us and destroy our ships?"

Harald's voice was steady, resolute. "What should we do?"

"I'll pull back a third of our forces to protect our fleet," Ivar said, meeting Harald's eyes. "It's a risk. But losing our entire fleet would be worse. Hvitserk will take men into those woods"—he nodded toward the dense trees at their right—"and try to divide Bjorn's forces by outflanking them."

Hvitserk nodded his agreement. Harald's voice softened, "I agree. Take Astrid with you. I won't risk her dying here."

Ivar glanced at Daenaera, searching for any flicker of doubt—but her face was a calm mask. She gave a subtle nod, silently approving his plan.

"No," Astrid protested, stepping forward. Harald turned sharply to her.

"Yes."

"I am fighting."

Two warriors grabbed Astrid from behind and placed her firmly in Ivar's chariot.

"Not today," Harald said firmly.

Ivar laughed sharply, urging his horse forward. Hvitserk moved into the woods alongside him.

Daenaera halted her white horse, eyes fixed on Ivar's still chariot.

"What are you doing?" Astrid asked, bewildered.

"I have to listen," Ivar answered quietly. "I have to know if I'm right—or wrong."

"They need us!" Astrid shouted, pleading first to Ivar, then turning her gaze to Daenaera.

The princess's voice was calm, resolute. "It's too late."

"No, we have to—"

"It's too late," Ivar growled, cutting her off.

Fear flashed across Astrid's face. In that moment, she truly feared the man they called Ivar the Boneless.

The thunder of running footsteps announced the arrival of Harald's warriors.

"We are lost," Harald admitted grimly.

"Where's Heahmund?" Ivar demanded, eyes scanning frantically. Daenaera rolled her eyes silently, a familiar irritation brewing. Not this again, she thought.

"Your Christian is dead," Harald said darkly. "Come." He motioned to Astrid.

Daenaera approached Ivar's chariot, voice low. "Issi ao okay, valzȳrys?" (Are you okay, husband?)

"Nyke gaomagon daor gīmigon," (I don't know), he whispered, voice tight. She scoffed softly and stepped away, issuing a command to bring Hvitserk a horse.

When the rider arrived, the brothers fell into deep conversation. Ivar's jealousy flickered like a flame; Daenaera had chosen to speak with Hvitserk instead of him. With a roar, Ivar urged his horse forward.

"He is jealous, sister," Hvitserk teased with a sly smirk.

"I know," Daenaera snapped. "But I won't speak to him now. All he thinks about is that Christian."

⸻

Later, the three gathered in a dimly lit room, seated around a worn table. Daenaera and Hvitserk sat, while Ivar lay reclined across her lap, eyes closed and mind distant.

"As I remember it, you approved the plan," Ivar said with a faint smile.

Harald's voice dripped with sarcasm. "Up until the moment it failed. You showed yourself a good tactician, but I might not be so quick to endorse your plans next time."

"You do as you see fit, King Harald," Ivar replied, eyes still closed, resting against Daenaera.

Hvitserk leaned forward. "Uncle Rollo once told me on his ship returning from the Mediterranean, if I ever needed support, all I had to do was ask."

Ivar opened his eyes slowly, glancing at Daenaera, who raised an expectant brow. Harald pressed on, "What do you think? Do you want the Franks to help us?"

Ivar's voice was quiet, distant. "I think you ought to leave at first light tomorrow."

Hvitserk smiled knowingly and rose, leaving Ivar and Daenaera alone.