Ease The Dawn

Chapter 9

The wood on the fire crackled while the smoke and flames surged up toward the night sky and the flickering light bounced off the faces of the gathered warriors making them look even more brutal. Nursing his cup of ale, Ivar was avoiding his return to the tent. He had turned away the King's scout for a second time, refusing to respond to Alfred's request for his terms.

Taking a small drink, he only partially listened to the battle stories being shared by his men. His body was stiff and his mind was entirely consumed with the outline of her pale lips. Closing his eyes, her radiant heart-shaped face was there, along with her sincere, soft blue eyes that seemed to twinkle whenever she told him a story of her childhood. Inhaling deeply, he let out a long sigh thinking about her flawless skin, wondering if it would taste how it looked, like smooth honey. Growling under his breath, he attracted the attention of the men, making him shift restlessly in his chair.

He wished, as he did on many occasions, that he could speak to his mother. Often just the look in her eyes used to tell him all he needed to know. She would have liked Aethelswith; her beauty, her curiosity, her quiet strength, her sense of duty and sacrifice. The two, without question, had similarities, he thought, and hadn't his mother endured a life of similar suffering?

"So, brother, to what do we owe the pleasure of your company?" Hvitserk asked, looking smug.

Ignoring him, Ivar looked into the flame as if he had not heard, making Hvitserk let out a chuckle.

"What is troubling you?" he prodded, sitting directly across the flames from Ivar. "Running out of reasons to reject the King's messenger?"

Ivar's expression tensed, but he did not bite.

"Lover's quarrel?" Hvitserk jabbed and Ivar let out a high-pitched laugh, his face turning harsh and his eyes narrowing at Hvitserk.

"What is worrying you brother?" Ivar crooned in a smooth, threatening tone. "Realizing you have no place here? Hmm? Understanding that, without father, you have no importance?"

Acquiescing, Hvitserk said nothing, taking a long pull from his cup and glancing at the surrounding men. The men started to rise, some simulating yawns and wandering away from the warmth of the fire, looking to retire anywhere but near the tension.

Fumbling for his crutch, Ivar pushed himself up and headed for the path. Trudging toward the tent, he noticed a small flicker of light through the canvas coming from the far corner. Nodding to Gussr, who sat on a stool outside the door, Ivar silently took back the charge of the Princess. Nodding in response, Gussr rose and walked away into the shifting night.

Lowering himself onto the stool, he removed his braces, tucking them inside the flap of the tent. Dropping his chin to his chest, he exhaled slowly, feeling the apprehension wash over him like a cold settling dew. How absurd, he thought, Ivar the Boneless, nervous following what exactly? Holding the Princess's hand? Cleaning the blood from her thumb with his mouth? Scoffing, he shook his head thinking how Hvitserk would likely have a shieldmaiden riding his face until dawn.

Staring out into the darkness, he reminded himself that he was a ruthless Viking and the favoured son of Ragnar. He had avenged his father after all and killed countless Saxons and was already a common name across all of Scandinavia. He was feared by those unfavored enough to face him in battle; feared even by those on his side of the battle...except her... Aethelswith.  She may have been afraid, taken hostage by an enemy of her kingdom, but she had never cowered from him.

Closing his eyes, he recalled his men's heckles and jeers the day she arrived and first stood before him. They leered and made crude gestures about her body, described what they would do if given the chance. In that instant, he knew after just one encounter, she could be under no one's charge but his own. The senior Gussr was the one exception, and Ivar was not blind to his sentiment toward her. No, she was far too captivating to risk to another. Too rare, too extraordinary and it made him wonder if there could not be one thing or one person in the merciless world unspoiled and unharmed, even cherished.