Bloodmoon

Part 6

The feast, the night before they sailed, was a frenetic affair, the hall, more packed than it had ever been. The room was stifling from the sheer number of bodies moving about, voices roaring loudly from the excitement and free-flowing ale. The congregation of warriors, leaders, kings, and jarls mixed tentatively, all in attendance, only, for the shared purpose of avenging Ragnar. All understanding, soon after, the unspoken truce would fade and many would again face the other behind battle lines as foe.

On this night, like many others, Ivar could not keep his eyes from Lofn. Scanning the room, his eyes compulsively returned to her, watching the way her expression would shift as she surveyed the commotion. It had been nearly two weeks since the incident at supper; his violent outburst and ridiculous contrived display with Margrethe. Two weeks since Lofn had smirked while being choked goading on his fury on. Her raspy words that day still played in his mind and likely would a thousand times more. Their meaning no clearer now than then.

Ivar wanted, desperately, to speak with her, like those first days they spent up in the hills talking like true companions. After the third cup of mead, his eyes were even less subtle, lingering longer and slow to divert when she would glance over.

"Fuck it," he whispered under his breath. "You look gorgeous," he blurted from his seat at the end of the table.

"What did you say?" squinting, she leaned forward tilting her head to hear over the chaos.

Turning their heads to listen, Hvitserk and Ubbe looked, both sitting across from Lofn at the table just for family.

Ivar's eyes shot to his brothers'. Clearing his throat loudly, he looked again at Lofn. "You look nervous."

Straightening, she pressed her lips together, confused by his words. "I do?" she asked, but quickly shifted her eyes away, peering over to the rowdy dance floor, distracted by a man, down on his knees with his face up the front of a woman's skirt. 

Ivar's face dropped as he looked at Lofn's indifference and he glanced back to Hvitserk, who was watching him, shaking his head with a grin.

"Fool," he mouthed silently at Ivar.

"I have had enough of this," Lofn looked between the brothers. "People keep knocking into me." Shrugging her shoulders, she motioned behind, indicating her wings. Moving her feet around the end of the bench, she stood.

"I will walk you back to your room," Ivar rushed, reaching for his crutch and pushing himself up to stand.

"No," Lofn replied, softening her face at Ivar's wounded expression. Reaching out she grabbed his arm just above the elbow. "I know where my room is. Enjoy this night," she squeezed harder. "It is as much for the sons of Ragnar as it is for him."

Settling back into his chair, he sunk deep into the seat, failing, horribly, at concealing his disappointment. Lurching to a stop, she swiveled on her heel and walked back to stand behind Ivar. Leaning down she brought her lips to his ear and whispered,

"Save me a seat on the boat."

—

"Lofn," a deep voice called out from behind her; warriors and thralls rushed about the dock, racing to finish loading and readying the ships. Turning, she was met with the jovial smile and bright eyes of the handsome King Harald. Raising her eyebrows, she indicated he had her attention.

"Sail with us." Letting go of the hoisting rope, he raised his arm in welcome, one of his boots casually resting on the side rail of the boat. "Come experience the company of a king. True royalty," he chuckled loudly, looking beyond her to the Lothbrok boys waiting on their ship. Whooping and whistling sounded from behind Harald, his own warriors enjoying his bravado.