In the burning ruins of an ancient city, Ragnar Lothbrok's eldest son with his second wife Aslaug, Ubbe, found one lone survivor. A young girl. A girl with deep and dark and red eyes, and hair black as night with a single streak of white.
"Aila." Ha...
Day by day, time passed. Days turned to week and weeks into months. Ubbe and Sigurd had returned from Hedeby shortly after Lagertha had taken Kattegat. A funeral had been held in the dead Queen Aslaug's honour, killed by an arrow to the back fired by Lagertha herself, and Aila had caught glimpses of Lagertha glancing at Ubbe every now and them.
It was disturbing.
As the days passed, Aila spent more and more time in her bed, shedding silent tears for the death of the child she had not known was growing within her. Torvi said that the arrow that had pierced her from the back through her belly had most likely killed the child instantaneously, and Aila knew that it was Torvi's way of making sure the girl knew that the child had felt no pain. Of course, Aila had thought. it was not even alive, it was still growing within me . . . It still hurt, though.
She missed Ivar.
Not too long after their return home, Ubbe and Sigurd had been told of what had happened to their adoptive sister. For Ubbe, it was a horrible thing. There might have been times where he, as he had said it himself, had wished that he had left Aila for dead that day, but she was still someone whom he had been raised alongside with . . . trained with, eaten with, played with, laughed with, cried with, slept under the same roof, dined at the same table and so much more, and he felt devastated for her. Sigurd, as well. He felt horrible for what Aila had gone through. The pain of the loss of a child was one neither of the brothers could ever imagine feeling, it was an awful thing to go through.
"Aila," Ubbe awoke her as he did every morning. "it is time to wake up." The eldest son of Ragnar and Aslaug said softly. Ubbe sat down on the bed and looked down at her limp and numb figure while his brother stood by the door and watched in silence. Aila's back faced Ubbe just like every other day. She did nothing just like every other day. She said nothing just like every other day, and just like every other day, Ubbe sighed softly, knowing not to push it. "Whenever you are ready." Ubbe said.
Aila said nothing.
"Is there anything we can get you? Anything you want?"
"Ivar."
Her voice was so small . . . so silent. It had been so long since the red eyed girl had spoken that they had begun to fear that she had gone mute.
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Ubbe sighed. He looked down and palmed the back of Aila's shoulders, gently rubbing the bare skin before he stood up and walked away. The more his heavy footsteps faded, the harder it became to fight back the tears. Aila had said Ivar's name for the first time in months, it pained her to speak it. Aila wondered . . . she wondered if Ivar was dead. She wondered if Ragnar was dead. The hero of the vikings whom she loved as a father, and the young man she had grown alongside with. The young man she had fallen in love with.
