Strange stories

The crys of the lost children

Lagertha remembered the cry of her children; the different ways a baby called out because of pain, hunger or lack of sleep. She or Ragnar would wake to tend to Björn or Gyda, wrapping themselves in furs and heavy wools to keep away Kattegat's bite as they comforted their children, quiet words often interspersed with cursing. Sometimes, Lagertha still woke now because she swore she could hear her children crying, only to remember with blade-sharp pain that her children were grown or gone and that some had never even been truly born at all.

In those aching moments, she often pressed her fingers against flat empty skin. The gods had spoken. But still she dreamed of those children, crying. Sometimes there was blood.

It was known that Queen Aslaug had bore King Ragnar four boys, how the gods had blessed them. It was also known that the fourth should not have survived. Ivar the Boneless would never be a great warrior like his father nor would he know a day without pain.

When visiting Kattegat, Lagertha observed Ubbe, Hvikserk and Sigurd Snake-In-The-Eye playing with wooden swords. Sometimes Ragnar was with them, he would chase them and look proudly upon sons that would be strong and fierce like him. Lagertha saw Björn play with them too, wrestling with them and teaching them how to better hold their swords and swing them with greater purpose.

Lagertha's throat sometimes felt constricted when she watched Ragnar's sons, the ones she had been unable to bear him. But the gods had provided and so Ragnar's blood would flow onwards, the blood of Odin, across the sea and many kinds of earth. It was how it should be, even if Lagertha's blood was as water now, concentrated only in Björn who acted more as his father each day.

Lagertha rarely saw Ivar but she was very aware of him. It wasn't just his persistent cries, it was how strained Ragnar's gaze was and how tense he held himself when he heard his son's cries, the child needing comfort that Ragnar could not seem to provide. Aslaug appeared as worn as her husband, no longer always the sure powerful woman that Lagertha had first met. When Lagertha did catch sight of Ivar, she also saw the helplessness tucked away in Aslaug's eyes as the queen cradled her baby, pacing the longhouse, trying to help him find peace. Lagertha saw how the king looked at his queen and how he now so often turned away.

In Kattegat, Lagertha slept wherever there was a bed of straw. She was not jarl there or married to the king; she was an ally and friend and she would not make demands. She often slept near Siggy, who did not slept next to Rollo now. Rollo's gaze on Siggy was as distant as Ragnar's was on Aslaug. Siggy slept in a room close to Aslaug's, she had become the children's guardian. She had become a blessing.

Lagertha admired Siggy's strength. Siggy was both mother and widow, she had watched too many pyres burn. But still she watched over Aslaug's children and kept her pain away from them. Only when she looked at Rollo was the depth of her remoteness clear. Lagertha hugged her and murmured prayers to Frigg. Neither Lagertha or Siggy spoke of what was so empty inside of them.

Siggy often rose in the night when Ivar began crying. She could not comfort him but carried worry for Aslaug and so always wanted tried. Lagertha watched Siggy's bare feet leave and return, the worry never leaving her. One night, when Siggy had spent many hours with Rollo and had returned with a tight-drawn mouth and pain cloaking her like Freya's feathers, Ivar cried and Lagertha rose from her bed.

At Siggy's stirring, Lagertha touched her shoulder and walked in her place. There was a fire burning to guide her footsteps and there was Aslaug stooped over a cradle. Ragnar was not lying in their bed. Lagertha's throat constricted once more, but not for any children, alive or otherwise.

She watched as Aslaug spoke quietly to her son, not yet scooping him up. Aslaug told her son familiar stories, her tone begging him to be soothed, to be quiet. Ivar never seemed to listen, his eyes shining, his mouth raw. Lagertha watched him, the empty space inside of her twisting. She stepped out of the shadows.