King Ivar spends much of his time with his infertile first wife: neglecting his second wife, the mother of his children, a Freyjasdottir. Eventually, it catches up to him when a foreign King Sverri invades his lands.
tw: abuse, character death, etc.
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No backing out of this. With the handsal made, you were getting married. Kitta kept an iron fist over the arrangements and now she was tightening the binds of your dress as you stand perfumed in rich spices in front of her. Your hands come to her hands as she pulls the thin strings tight, squeaking out a protest.
"It's tight." You whine. Kitta slides around in front of you, looking over the golden embroidery in triangles and swirls traveling vertically down your waist. She hushes you to the sound of the roaring cry of Faksi and Ivar sacrificing a goat, sow and horse to Thor, Freyja and Freyr respectively.
"Today, more than any, they're going to be judging you. Everything must be perfect." Kitta hisses, her face framed by bobbing blonde hair.
"I don't know about this." You shake your hands out near your face. Kitta arranges a crown of sunshine bright flowers that had slender petals on your head. Against the yellow, buds of white are woven into your hair as a contrast along wispy strands. You peep outside of the tent of blanched fabric. Ivar gathers rich furs in one hand, dipping them into large wooden bowl of thick, red blood. As the colours of white dyed to red, you know time was ticking down. Your stomach curdles like storming clouds despite the clear skies and fat, fluffy clouds.
"It is the nerves. You're faring better than I did. I threw up on my wedding day." Kitta reminisces.
"You did?" You ask.
She nods. "During the sex talk, anyway. Mother had to redress me then after the ceremony, Ivar's sword was stuck in the beams in the Great Hall and then I spilled his mead." Kitta remarks, looking both a bit amused and perturbed all in one. That occurrence was a bad, bad omen. Even so, you suppose that the gods have smiled upon Kitta as they were still married.
"Your wedding day was eventful." You put it lightly. "Mine will be awkward."
Less because of Ivar, more because of you. You fiddle with your painted nails against the hem of the curtains as Kitta fixed gold earrings and a jeweled necklace Faksi supplied. These were your mothers! Faksi had said, to remember the woman you never knew.
Suddenly, you let out a sharp squeal, darting away from the curtains and back towards the middle of the room despite Kitta fastening a sheer, thin wrap to accentuate your thick hips. She is forced to follow after you.
"He's coming!" You squeak with hands at the sides of your face. Kitta smacks your hands, warning you not to ruin the kohl on the top of your eyes or rouge powdering your cheeks. But you couldn't help it! Your nerves are strung so tight you thought you might choke on puffs of air that you are forcing out of your body.
"(Y/N), look at me. He'll take care of you if you let him. Breathe, princess." Kitta says grasping your hands on the sides of your face.
"Breathe?" You hiccup. Breathe, she said. She holds you in place taking a breath in and out, in and out. At long last, you release a breath and nod to her just as the flaps of the tent wisp with the outside wind.
