#im so late with the one piece doddles

[fadingspyhandswagon]

I wonder what is he seing..

[honestsycrets]

Irreplaceable PVII: Who Was He?

See my masterlist for the rest of the series.

One day, something was different.

Time had passed. You knew something was off. Not with you but.. Kitta. She hadn’t gotten up yet; and while your relationship was strained as of late, you knew that you had to check on her. Ivar had gone raiding some time ago and while you waited for him to come home, you had your obligations. The main one of those was to keep Uxi clean, happy and fed. However, Kitta is your other obligation.

“Kitta?” You press the ruddy curtains apart. Little Uxi bubbles in beside you, trotting on his fat little feet  with Ragnhild following close behind. There is nothing but silence. All of the Queen’s things are as they were. Her fluffy bed is neatly made and a luxurious dress drapes over the furs in a smooth, deep red.

“Ma!” Uxi chirps, doddling in with bubbly giggles.

“Maybe she woke early, my lady.” Ragnhild says stomping after Uxi who seeks out her loom. Turning the corner of her bed, you think maybe she has gone out to oversee Ivar’s newest defenses before you trip onto the ground with a thud, a small groan bumping off of your lips. The soft, squishy firmness alerts you that it was a body-- Kitta’s limp body. You tumble off of her, crawling over her side.

“Kitta!” You shake her shoulder, looking her over. Her pale night dress ims oist with blood about her stomach, sure, but also lower. You yanked up her nightdress, finding the scent like a miasma of blood and infection between her legs. You don’t need to be told to know what had happened there. But her stomach?

“Ragnhild, call me a healer!”

Kitta woke up a while later despite her best efforts not to at all. Days had passed and while you didn’t know what to tell Ivar when he landed, he understood on that misty pier why his first wife wasn’t there. Another miscarriage had taken her over in grief and with Ivar not around? She had hurt herself.

“I wasn’t going to kill myself.” Kitta says one night after dinner. Sure, she didn’t. She just dipped the knife into her gut for fun. “I was just… angry.”

You sit beside her with the remnants of your griddle cooked fish in your lap. Ivar had been by her side relentlessly since he came home. Now, he is asleep while you care for her. “I understand.” You say. “I was similar… when I lost my virginity.”

Kitta turns her head away from the roof bracing beams. “Who was he again?”

You flush. It had been sometime since you thought of Ubbe. Yes, perhaps at night… when no one was around, you thought the sex fondly. You would drag your nightgown over your thighs for better access. You remembered how his fingers twisted, the taste of salt and blood on his lips from Uppsala’s live sacrifices and how he brought you to your knees without even being inside you.

Your cheeks are hot. “No… I couldn’t say that.” You leave your hands from your fish in order to drift up to your cheeks.

“Tell me about it. Look at what I did. I need something to keep me entertained.” She says up to you before motioning down to her stomach. Technically-- you didn’t owe her shit. Not after she disrespected you, but you were weak to her. You look over the wound in her stomach. As much as you fought with her lately-- as much as you found yourself jealous how your husband would drop anything for her, she is charming. You want to make her emerald eyes glisten again.

“It… was a Ragnarsson.” You admit.  Her eyes go from big-- to bigger.

“His brother?!” She squeals out. Your hands clasp over her mouth while looking back to Ivar. You don’t know what he would do if he knew. Lately, he had been... changing. In a way, you chalk up his aggression to the birth of your son. Even Hvitserk was on the receiving end of his rage. All so often, you would reassure him that Hvitserk was nothing to be so insecure about. Hvitserk was a friend. A sweet, kind friend.

“Yes. Don’t tell Ivar-- he’ll be rash.” You hush her. She tries to press for who.

“If it isn’t Hvitserk, it might be Bjorn, Ubbe or Sigurd. Let’s hope it isn’t Sigurd.” Kitta narrows out the competition. Hvitserk is an awful lover. He would have tried to sneak in already if it was him. Besides, he seems to be little more than a brother to you. The empty look on your face when Sigurd is mentioned tells her that it couldn’t be him either.

“Ooh, so you caught his older brothers. Ivar was mine. Was the mystery brother any good?” She asks.

You thwack her with your with your rag from cleaning after your meal, pressing a bit of buttered bread into her mouth. “You’re prettier when you’re quiet.” You mumble.

“So wh...y di’n’t you marry ‘im?” She asks between crumbling bites. It all came rushing back.

“You don’t want to marry me?” Your hands folded in your naked lap. Ubbe slid his trousers back over his ass. You spent much of the night and into the last morning you would be in Uppsala with Ubbe. Your cunt was stuffed full of his seed and yet-- he was leaving. “I’m not ready.” Ubbe says. He hover his shoulder with the bundle of braids shifting. He stretches his hand out to graze over your plump lips. “I would make you miserable. I’ve done enough damage.” You weren’t sure whether that was good or bad. In one way, at least he wasn’t the type of man to trap you in marriage. But as you remembered, you took a tea of pennyroyal a few weeks later.

You wish you could banish those thoughts away.

Kitta healed nicely. It was none of your business what had happened between Ivar and she. They discussed it and that was the extent of what you knew. You had not whined to Ivar about the past month he spent with Kitta. While she healed the last few months, you spent time with your now year and a half year old. Uxi climbed whatever he might be able to find, tried to leap off of heights and snuggled the stuffed toys Ragnhild made him to death. So that day, when you hear the stomp of a crutch from behind you, you didn’t honestly expect to see Ivar in the doorway.

“Fa!” Uxi whips away from your skirts at lightning speed, pointing his index finger as he bolts towards his father. He stops short of him, pointing and inching back as Ivar moves forward.

“Uxi, come here Uxi.” Ivar calls, walking toward the table to ditch his crutch and maneuver onto the ground. It was easier for him when chasing his child. Uxi makes a huffing noise, chuffing laughs out but timidly keeping beside you.

“Go Uxi. Go with your fadir.” You pull your skirts away, from his little hands to urge him forward. He takes a few shy steps up to him, poking him in the cheek.

“When did he learn this?” Ivar asks, eyes drifting down to Uxi. He pokes again and runs off to hold your skirts. Instead of catering to his shyness, you fall onto the ground beside your husband. A few pokes later he lost interest, zigzagging through the room to bring Ivar back miscellaneous items. Very quickly the mound of random items begins to build into a small hoard.

“A few days ago.” You smile, stacking block and ball and on the top of the hoard. Then you hand the boy a piece of bread. “Give your father a kiss, Uxi.”

Uxi holds one of your glass bead necklaces in his other plump, tiny hand. He boredly tugs your necklace while you blow soft kisses to the little boy. Uxi moves forward so that you might place a kiss to his cheek.

“Good boy.” You worship. Ivar swipes up his son to hold him in his lap and buries his face into the side of his neck. It lasts only seconds before Uxi breaks his father’s grip and shoots off again. Ragnhild follows him, giving opportunity for Ivar to drag you into his lap. He presses kisses over the body of your neck. You hum appreciatively for each kiss, dropping your hands down to Ivar’s on your hips.

“I found something out.” Ivar drags his lips, the tickle of his moustache against your skin up toward your ear. “Kitta told me one of my brothers took your virginity.” Ivar whispers into your ear. “So who was he?”

Your heart palpitates. She TOLD him?! You should have expected as much but somehow-- you feel betrayed. Your whole body rips into shakes within his arms. The words-- his name, it’s caught on your tongue. Uxi comes back around, handing you his piece of bread then turns away and runs to play again. Ivar glimmers a half smile at the boy before it drops altogether. He teases his lips around the shell of your ear, turning his face in your hair.

“It doesn’t matter.” He hums. “I’ll just fill you up with another child instead.”  

Since he found out that one of his brothers had claimed your virginity months ago, everything had changed. He kept Hvitserk within eyesight when you were in the room. Despite not asking again who had taken your virginity, you knew that he was punishing his brother for one of them having done it.

It was the midsummer’s festival and the celebrations were abound. You had woven wreaths, tossed corn doilies into the roaring flames and Ivar had blessed a ship under Baldur’s name. Your father and many other kings were there-- including one familiar one from your time in Uppsala prior to your marriage to Ivar.

King Sverri. A king of icy lands and fine wolfish furs.  

Also the King that dragged you out of sorrow-- once upon a time. It feels so long ago now. He’s grown his muscles, lean as he is. You may have feasted the sight earlier-- curious to the bodies of men. It was only natural, you assure yourself. You would never cheat on your husband.

“Do you dance, my Lady Princess?” King Sverri staggers beside you on the beach, his dark hair curling down over his pale skin, catching on the stubble. He was a tall, willowy thing donned in a rich green tunic, belts carrying axes on either side of his hips.

“I can’t say I have since we last met!” You laugh.

“That’s been years, my Princess.” Sverri spins you around the raging beach fire towards an adorned maypole spinning in brilliant red and drab white and black. It is up in celebration of the Vanir for fertility both for Midgard and the humans residing upon its surface. For as fearsome as the king was, the feminine flower crown on his head from Kattegat’s young girls made him as happy as sunshine.

The king was of course not doing such dancing. He spun words with the other kings and his brother. Hvitserk recounts so called sensual occurrences between the Christian women and he-- noting that they may look shy and modest but were anything but.

“Where is (Y/N)?” Ivar asks just as Kitta sat beside him on his sandy blanket. He takes Kitta’s hands up for a small kiss. He quickly realizes that the roll in her eyes is purely because he asks where you were. His eyes slip away from the burning embers to crowds of men and slaves.

“Dancing.” Kitta says, wiggling a new ring on her fingertips for a kiss. He gives her another, mumbling his words on her ring.

“With Hvitserk?” He asks, though it sounds more like a statement.

Kitta shakes her head. “With the King Sverri.”

“What?” His voice drips down into a low snarl. Ivar’s demeanor shifts, dropping her fingers.

“They’re actually kind of cute— Ivar!” Ivar drops to the beach, dragging himself through the sand. Kitta follows after him.

“She’s pregnant. It's harmless if Sverri fucks her. Better yet to give him incentive to keep his men and shieldmaidens with you.” Kitta chimes in. Ivar snarls up at his wife, jerking back as the shuffling of people around him kicked aggravatingly small grains of sand in his face.

“Shut up! He’s not touching her.” Ivar drags himself until he caught sight of Sverri twisting you back in from a spin. You hit his chest a bit clumsily. One of his hands slip away from his upper chest toward his shoulder. Sverri’s calloused hands dip low on your back. His moppish black hair tickles your lips and you look away from him when he leaned in for a kiss. Sverri draws back in his defeat, letting his forehead rest upon your head.

“A… ah. I think my husband might not… like this.” You hum. Sverri keeps quiet, eyes glazing you over.

“I wouldn’t either… if you were mine.”

“(Y/N)!” You press away from his chest. A harsh call of your name from below alerts you to Ivar. Immediately you know from the wildness in his eyes that you were in some sort of deep trouble. You break away completely from Sverri to run over to your husband, beginning to kneel in the sand.

“Iv… Ivar. That wasn’t-- I didn’t mean to.” You came up beside him. He reach out to tug you down. You tumble on the ground a little harshly, hands flying instinctually to your stomach. Ivar lurches over you, ignoring both Sverri and Kitta. Your hands hook around his neck as he bears down at you.

“Let us make something clear. I may share Kitta… But never you. You are the mother to MY children. Do you understand?” Ivar asks. You look up into his blown wide eyes. Ivar slips his slender hips between your legs. Was he going to make a display of you here? You wish you could melt away.

“Yes… my husband. Perfectly.” You mumble. As soon as his rant has began, it ebbs. You have neither the time nor the energy to fight his burning need for dominance over a foreign king. At the end of it all-- you were his.

Every king would know. King Sweyn would know with his lavicious eyes that bore a little too long at your ass during ceremony. King Faksi-- who gave you in marriage would know. This king from a far distance would know. He’d know very well.

“We’re going to your rooms.” Ivar snarls, dragging himself through the sandy beach. As you lay there, Kitta slips behind you to pull you up. In a mixture of frustration, you look to Kitta.

“Why would you tell him about Ubbe and I?” You ask her, finding that her eyebrow cocks. Your back stiffens the moment the words hit the surface-- you just slipped.

“I said nothing about Ubbe, (Y/N). Or Sverri.” Kitta laughs. “I only told him a brother fucked you. But now I know which.”

“I trusted you not to tell him, Kitta. I took care of you!” You shove her back, finding Kitta was quick to fall dramatically. Despite her creating a scene, she wears an amused smile. Sverri jerks forward to grip your wrist when you were about to jump her.

“She isn’t worth your time, my Lady Princess.” He whispers in your ear with a warm, soothing puff. You drop your raised fist.

“(Y/N)!” Ivar calls you.

Sverri was right. She wasn’t.

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