Ease The Dawn

Part 2, Chapter 3

With the smoky scent of the coming second meal filling the great hall, Ivar's patience was done; Aethelswith had not yet returned. It had been hours since their angry exchange and well over a year since he had first stepped foot into his tent, finding her tethered to a pole. For the first time since he did not know her whereabouts and was silently going mad. Any distance between them, on a good day, made him feel off centre. Now, more anxious than ever, he was in no mood to listen to those unfortunate enough to have requested the audience of the king. Where was she?

Unable to sit comfortably on his throne, her empty chair next felt like a void. He could not stop himself from wondering what would become of him if she, one day, disappeared from his life. No! The word screamed through his mind, forcing his eyes to close. He could not ever create a reason for her to leave. Inhaling deeply, he filled his lungs, agonizingly aware that there was so much he needed to learn.

A shard of a memory flashed in his mind, the image of him as a boy with his very own duckling. His first pet, so tiny, it fit in his tiny hands. The entire day, he carried that duck like a prize; like a friend, a treasure that he would not share. Close to his chest he hugged it as Hvitserk pulled him through the streets in his wagon. His face burned, remembering the feeling of hot tears tracking down his rosy cheeks when he lifted that duckling to kiss its small beak and its head had flopped lifelessly across his wrist. Smothered, with a broken neck. That was the fate of anything Ivar the Boneless chose to love. Held so close and hard to his young heart, that he crushed it. Killed it. Loved it to death. In all the years since that day, he had never thought of it again...until now when there was another love to smother and no mother to clean it up.

Trudging out the tall doors and squinting in the mid day light, he made his way over to the head of the market. Tracking not far behind, Loni kept his distance, careful not to disrupt. The danger of the king's mood was obvious in his posture; his stiff neck and hardened chin, dark eyes, and brooding face. The people of Kattegat rushed clear of his path, some greeting him but the rest careful not to catch his eye. All were intrigued watching their ruthless king stalk the streets on foot, many assuming that someone was about to die.

Standing at the head of the market, he searched the street with stalls lining either side. This was the only public place he allowed her to visit with guards and not him by her side. Until today.... when she had asked if she was his captive.

Scanning the myriad colours, he thought back to a time when he could only dream of walking this lane with her. Watching her face as she experienced samples of far away cultures. He had been right, she loved this market; its people and all their exotic offerings. Silks and spices, beads, even charcoal and colored pastels for her drawing. Every stall seemed to pique her interest. Their keepers, mostly foreign, always offering her their smiles, tastes of their sweet treats and bunches of flowers. Through life's travels, some even spoke scraps of her language. Most notable to Ivar now was the fact that none cared that she was the Christian prize of the king. A prize kept so high and far from reach, a fall would be fatal.

Lowering his eyes, he stared at the hard-packed dirt below his twisted boots, listening to the lively sounds of merchants nearly done their day. None of it felt as loud as his regret. Pushing his breath out did nothing to loosen the tightness in his chest. He felt like a beast.

Returning to the hall doors, Ivar looked back to the emptying street. The sun's intensity was softening and the day of work winding down. Gazing toward the harbour, he wondered if she had walked the wharf, docks filled with hardened thralls and rough necked men. He had kept her world so small, simply to keep her safe. It was clear now that these past four months in his home and hall had only been a variation of her former captivity.

Moving down to a small crest overlooking the pier, he adjusted his crutch, pulling one braced leg closer to the other. The pace of the dock workers below picked up under his watchful stare. Where was she, he asked himself, knowing he was no longer mad, he just needed to know. Shuffling with agony in his lower half, he winced, shifting his weight and bearing down on his crutch. Where was his woman?