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A knock sounded out at the door, making the three Ragnarssons look at eachother in confusion before Ubbe finally walked towards the door - Ivar and Hvitserk shortly behind with swords drawn. When the door opened, it revealed Elin, the beautiful warrior whom fought beside her Queen.
"Queen Gwenllian has prepared a feast..." She spoke gently, a small smile present on her lips. "For your journey, tomorrow."
"Thank you," Ubbe smiled back, ignoring the bitter glance that his little brother was sending him. "We'll be there."
As the door closed, Ivar glared at his brother in frustration. "A feast? First she wants us gone, now she's prepared a feast? She's up to something."
"Or she's prepared a feast so that she can learn more about the people she's going to war with." Ubbe stated flatly. "You know, to be nice."
Ivar scoffed, "Or she's trying to learn more about us so that she can use it against us and turn us over to the Christians."
"Well, we won't know until we've gone down there, will we?" Ubbe argued back.
As the two brothers went back and forth, Hvitserk stood in the middle rolling his eyes. Of course, he was quite used to their bickering by now. Before their mother had died, Ivar had been closest to Ubbe over all his brothers. But now? Since Sigurd? Now, it seemed that they never ceased fighting. It seemed they couldn't agree on anything.
As Hvitserk sighed, his two brothers looked over to him as though to ask what the matter was. "Will you two stop fighting?" He began towards the door. "I'm hungry."
....
I sat casually at my throne, a metallic cup of red whine in one hand and a knife in the other.
As Ubbe and Ivar watched me warily, their brother seemed far more interested in the food - although I couldn't exactly blame him, being stuck in a room with Ivar all day would've tired even the strongest. He seemed rather... Demanding.
"I wanted to apologize to the three of you." I spoke without an ounce of humanity. No genuine apology had left my lips since the day I'd killed my mother. Ever since, I'd been cold to guilt. "For declining your offer original. It has been brought to my attention, that helping you would be beneficial to myself and my people. But you must understand that running a kingdom is difficult and I must prioritize the needs of my people. Sometimes that means declining wars, however righteous, to see that they eat and farm and survive the harvest."
"We understand." Ubbe nodded knowingly, while Ivar shook his head in disagreement - just managing to keep his thoughts to himself.
"We should go." Ivar spoke finally, sending looks to his brothers that told them all they needed to know.
"So soon?" I smiled, that dark glimmer in my eyes that hinted towards my ill meaning. "Whatever for?"
I didn't have to hear his thoughts to know what he was thinking. He didn't trust me or his brothers. He didn't think they could keep quiet, and he didn't think that I was an ally. In part, I suppose he was true. Once I had taken their men under my control and forced my way into England, the sons of Ragnar would serve no further purpose to me. But I had no reason to trick them or use anything against them. All I needed was for them to allow me to join them. And they already had.
"Because," Hvitserk spoke finally. "He doesn't trust you." The boldness of his statement caught me off guard for a moment, and such a reaction was a rarity on my part. "And we all want to know why we should."
For the first time in the night, Ivar wasn't glaring at his brother. Instead, he seemed to approve of Hvitserk's words. Ubbe, on the other hand, looked as though he wished they'd spent more time practicing diplomacy as oppose to archery.
"Well," I began, leaning back into my throne with a grin. "Ask whatever you wish to ask."
"Why do you want to come to England?" Ivar questioned almost instantly. The bluntness in his statement was unsurprising.
At first I chuckled, swaying the crimson contents of my cup. Why? Why did I wish to go to England?
"You are here because you lost your father." I spoke calmly, pushing back any hint of emotion. "A great man." I persisted. "But my father wasn't anything like Ragnar. I know that you three know by now that I am referred to as a witch and a crone... A woman that does the bidding of the devil. But I never sold my soul, not to any Christian creation. I was born this way. And all my life, I was told that I was evil because of it. When I was ten, I was beaten and branded and locked away by my father. He and his Christians gave our lands to the Saxons. They desecrated the old ways, the old religion, the old teachings. Just as you lost your father to these Christians, I lost myself. I lost everything that mattered to me. Everyone I loved betrayed me. Because of these Christians, I am forced to live in the shadows. I am alone, I am exiled. As you hate them, I hate them too. And I have been fighting, for many years, to create a world in which no little girl is beaten or locked away." The three Ragnarssons fell silent at my words, watching me carefully. "Now, do you wish to question my loyalty any further?"
As the night went on, they talked more. Although I believed they may never fully trust me, they seemed to warm to me slightly. And as I talked to them, I had only one fear.
