𝑳𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑻𝒆𝒏𝒔𝒊𝒐𝒏 - 𝑰𝒗𝒂𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑩𝒐𝒏𝒆𝒍𝒆𝒔𝒔

33

Ivar sat beside Daenaera on a jagged cliff overlooking the sea, the cold wind tousling their hair. Below, King Harald and the others scanned the horizon, searching for their fleet's arrival. One by one, countless longships cut through the water, their sails billowing, filling the port with the promise of reinforcements.

From the harbor, Hvitserk emerged, leading a stream of battle-hardened warriors. His face lit up as he spotted his brother and sister-in-law. Ivar smirked, locking eyes with Daenaera. She returned his smile, and he pulled her close, their lips meeting in a brief, fierce kiss.

"īlon jiōraton bisa. Nyke gīmigon ziry."
(We got this. I know it.) Daenaera whispered into Ivar's ear as he tightened his arms around her waist.

Ivar glanced at Hvitserk. "Where is Rollo?" he asked, voice low.

Hvitserk's smile dimmed. "Rollo couldn't come. Too many responsibilities."

"Hmm," Ivar hummed thoughtfully.

"But he told me he'd return to celebrate with us afterward. He only asked for one thing."

Daenaera arched an eyebrow, curious.

"And what was that?" Ivar's tone sharpened.

"That we spare Bjorn's life," Hvitserk answered quietly.

"Perhaps he will," Ivar said with a thin, knowing smile. Rising, he took Daenaera's hand, leading her away.

⸻

Nearby, Bjorn's voice cut through the murmurs. "But where is Rollo? Where is my uncle?"

"I went to meet him," Hvitserk answered. "He sends his love, Bjorn Ironside, and hopes you won't fight against his forces."

Bjorn's lips pressed tight. "Then why commit your forces to you?"

"He didn't say," Hvitserk admitted. "Only that he was ready to."

Ivar stepped forward, eyes locked on Bjorn. "Rollo sees justice in our cause. Lagertha murdered our mother and usurped the kingdom."

Bjorn shook his head. "All that's past, Ivar."

"I must avenge her death. And you would do the same if it were you." Ivar's voice was a harsh whisper.

Bjorn met his gaze steadily. "For our father's legacy and everything he believed in, I ask you—do not risk our people's lives."

"The only reason you say that is because you see the might gathering against you," Ivar shot back, Daenaera pulling her head from his shoulder to glare at Bjorn.

"If you thought you could win, you wouldn't be here, Ironside," Daenaera snarled.

Ivar shrugged, his smirk darkening. "The truth is—you're afraid."

"I am not afraid," Bjorn said firmly. "This changes nothing."

Ivar rose, motioning to the gathered Vikings who stood with him, joined by Harald. The king's voice cut sharply through the tension.

"What is this? You know—as well as I—that this is not our way. It's not our way!"

"It was worth a try," Ivar said coolly as Daenaera scoffed beside him.

Bjorn's eyes flicked to Hvitserk and Harald as he turned to leave. "I'm sorry Rollo had to involve himself in our quarrel. Doesn't he have worlds enough to conquer?"

⸻

Back with Ivar and Daenaera, he leaned forward. "Kostagon ao braid issa ōghar, dōna ābrazȳrys?"
(Can you braid my hair, sweet wife?)

Daenaera smiled warmly, settling behind him on a small stool. "Nyke would jorrāelagon naejot."
(I'd love to.)

Her fingers moved deftly, undoing knots and weaving strands, as Ivar relaxed under her touch.

⸻

Later, preparing for the coming battle, Ivar sat across from Hvitserk.

"What are you thinking of?" Ivar asked.

"Many things," Hvitserk said, adjusting his tunic.

Ivar hummed softly. "I thought maybe you were thinking of Gladsheim... where Valhalla's roof gleams gold and shields form the rafters. Spears hang like banners. Odin's wolves, Freki and Geri, feast on meat. The wine never runs dry. Every morning, Huginn and Muninn, his ravens, fly over Midgard seeking wisdom."

He paused as Daenaera approached, dressed in her dragon-riding leathers that hugged her form. Her hair was braided in the proud Targaryen style, a long single braid down her back. She sat beside Ivar, who continued.

"I always fear Thor may fail to find his way home. But my greater fear is loss—loss of memory, of thought. What do you fear most, brother? The loss of thought? Or memory?"

Hvitserk's gaze met his. "My thoughts and memories seem one and the same. Every time I think, I remember the day I jumped from Ubbe's ship."

"But you didn't jump," Ivar countered, leaning forward. "The gods pushed you."

"Don't take that from me," Hvitserk said fiercely. "I decided to do it."

"And I think you still regret it."

Hvitserk's smirk was quick. "I have no regrets. Except... I don't have children. But Ivar, you and I are in the same boat, huh?"

He nudged Ivar's leg playfully. Daenaera shot a sharp glare his way.

"Nonsense. I will have children. My beautiful wife will bear many who will fill the earth," Ivar spat, proud.

Daenaera muttered, "Lo ziry dares naejot ȳzaldrīzes bē īlva daor aemagon riñar nyke jāhor zālagon zirȳla alive."
(If he dares speak of us not having children, I will burn him alive.)

Ivar looked at her fondly. "Ziry jāhor daor, issa dōna, nyke jāhor gūrogon care hen ziry."
(He will not, my sweet. I will take care of it.)

He took her hand gently.

Hvitserk laughed, "Yeah, sure," just before Ivar pressed his dagger lightly to his throat.

"Ivar! Ivar!" Hvitserk chuckled nervously.

"I'm anxious about the battle. Sorry," Ivar admitted, brow furrowed.

"Sorry?" Hvitserk asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I'm sorry you jumped ship. I know you've regretted it ever since. Isn't that true, poor Hvitserk?"

"Maybe sometimes," came the mumbled reply.

"Maybe sometimes?" Ivar scoffed. "I thought you did it because you loved me. But, of course, you didn't. How could you love me?"

Harald approached quietly. "Are you ready? The war drums sound."