Ease The Dawn

Part 2, Chapter 4

The sky seemed so low, like one could reach up and touch it. It's greyness made the sea look dark and cast a dull hue over everything but her. Bouncing on her toes, she stood in a bright cream dress, stretching to see over the shoulders of the men receiving the ships. With a guard on either side, she waited, ready to run into her lover's arms.

The three weeks he had been gone had been agonizing. Her routine had remained the same but the space next to her in the bed felt as stark as the pit in her heart. Laying at night, she would blink up into the black of their unlit room, wondering at what point her spirit had become so devoted. It was earlier than she would admit, even to herself, thinking back to their small canvas world.

Perhaps, it had not been a moment at all, instead, a slow leak in their defenses. Far more than loneliness or curiosity, they had craved knowledge of each other in those early days. Both yearning for some form of belonging. Was she really that surprised? They were young and inexperienced, thrown together on opposite sides of a war and starved for affection. The more they shared, the easier it came, stripping away the pain of their pasts. She just felt there was something in telling another person one's story that took the venom out of a sting. At some point, some moment, some candlelit evening, the shame was finally shed and an opening created, allowing the other to slip right in.

Alone in their bed, the weeks he was gone, she would eventually close her eyes only to find him there, resting behind the lids of her eyes, the image of him sometimes sitting holding up a piece of her parchment to the light. She adored the way he studied her sketches, his sharp eyes absorbing every detail. Often uttering soft praise under his breath with a gentle nod of his head. Her heart would soar. How could she love him so much?

The fate of her husband passed less and less through her thoughts as the days crept by and her worry grew for her beloved. Any child of God should be laden with guilt; their insides should burn yet having asked for the death of Burgred, she felt nothing.

There was a power to Ivar's love that had strengthened her, allowing her to lift her head high; she was no longer a ghost. All Burgred had given her was humiliation and pain, worse and more fatal, he stood between her and her love. He deserved death and death delivered by Ivar and for that, she would never repent.

—

Sitting on a crate, near the edge of the ship, Ivar's blue eyes found her. His expression was flat and even at a distance, she could see the weariness in his form. The sea had drained the colour from his skin leaving his features drawn and dower.

With a clatter, he was lowered, his feet finally touching the dock. Darting between the thralls she slammed into his chest, cheek to his leathers, she wrapped herself around his waist, squeezing her eyes shut. Raising his tired arms, he enclosed her small body, embracing her back. Touching his lips to the top of her head, his own eyes closed as anguish flashed across his face. Shifting, he dropped his cheek to her forehead, still not uttering a word.

"I did not think it possible to miss you this much," she said, pulling away and peering up into his cool blue eyes. "I counted each day until you would return to me."

Responding with only an exhale, he dipped forward, pressing a chaste kiss to her lips.

"Ivar?" Her brows scrunched as she searched his expressionless face.

"Come," he whispered, "let us go home."

—

On the edge of their bed, Ivar sat bare-chested, the glow of candles throwing warm light across his smooth skin. His defined muscles looked particularly developed under a sheen from his hot and much needed bath. Wrapped in a thin drying towel, his narrow legs hung over the side of the bed; his puffy, gnarled feet looking out of place. Gripping the edge of the mattress, his head hung forward, eyes closed as if his mind was attempting to free a burden too heavy to carry.