"You taste like ash, chaos, and death. You never were a human being were you?"

chapter V, act II ✧ 𝒓𝒆𝒅-𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒊𝒏𝒆𝒅 𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒔

settled quietly in between Ivar and Ubbe. The coldness of Mercia made the girl shiver every five seconds, noticing her bones rattling with chills and her red nose, Hvitserk motioned to stand up and she glared at him in disapproval.

The boy had been trying to get on her good side once again, but he achieved nothing, she wasn't mad at him, she was mad at herself for feeling for him, even in the slightest.

Ivar looked at the girl, and her soul suddenly set ablaze, he pulled her into his lap, resting his chin on her shoulder. That had seemed to be recurring, they both loved the position, the feeling of each other.

She slouched against his chest and his arms wrapped around her, allowing her to grab the fabric he had and hug herself.

Both of them were wrapped in the furs and blanket. His hands moved to her waist and a breath hitched in her throat, "It seems to me that the Saxons are as timid as frightened women. Their hearts are faint. I don't think they can truly trouble us."

She nodded in agreement, her eyes meeting Hvitserk's for a split second, a smirk on his face, his eyes challenging.

Ivar's hands trailed down her legs and she had to contain herself from looking at him and questioning his acts. Yet she was enjoying it way too much to do something.

"You don't know enough, Ivar. You haven't seen enough," Björn mumbled, growing annoyed at his little brother's cockiness, "these are brave men. I've fought against them, you haven't."

Ivar's hands gripped her thighs, his anger dissolving into his touch. She bit back a moan, Hvitserk's eyes filled with playfulness at the sight of her, he had a slight idea of what was going on, and though he was somehow pleased with the challenge, he was... jealous.

Nobody else noticed anything, though, "I can only see what my eyes tell me, Bjorn. And what I see is frightened people running before us. I see their spineless God running away from our gods."

He ran his fingers over her hipbone, trailing them slightly down, teasingly before bringing them to rest on her thighs once again. Nero loved his touch, she should live in it. Their bodies fit together like the moon and the sky. They belonged.

Ubbe, growing tired of all the bickering, offered his brother mead, Ivar's left hand trailed softly over the inside of Nero's left thigh before slipping it off the blanket and accepting the mug.

The oldest son of Aslaug sighed, "For once, why don't you just listen to an older, wiser brother? These people who are running away, they're not warriors. They are not the ones who will stay and fight to defend this kingdom."

"And protect their honor. For what is a warrior without honor?" Ivar's body responded to Sigurd's comment much like Nero wished she could have responded, her need to laugh was great, but somehow, she controlled herself.

"I don't know, you tell me brother," Ivar chuckled, pulling away from the girl's body so he could drink from his cup, "and... tell me again, how many battles have you fought?"

Ivar put his cup down, his hand coming under the blanket once again. He wrapped his arms around the girl's waist, standing up straight as his chest was brought flush against her back.

Sigurd looked at Ivar, his eyes blazing with anger, Nero allowed her gaze to fall on Hvitserk once again, he licked his lips at the sight of her and she groaned, rolling her eyes, making Ivar look at her in wonder, "Same as you, brother, except I don't ride around in a comfortable bloody chariot!"

In all truth, the only people who could play the 'how many battles have you fought' card in between them were Björn and Nero.

The two exchanged glances, smiling at each other in understanding. She nodded at him, and he knew it was time he spoke before things got out of hand, "What you have to learn, Ivar, is that if you break up this brotherhood, we shall not succeed. We have many challenges ahead of us."

Ivar's arms tightened around Nero and she placed the hand that wasn't holding the blanket together on top of his, hoping to calm him down. Her eyes widened at the oldest brother, almost as if telling him to shut up, unfortunately, he didn't get the clue.

"So, if you want to keep arguing and whining like a little girl, then I suggest you leave," Björn continued, Nero growled and stood up.

She was drained, the girl had ended more men than any of the Ragnarssons and they knew that. Except possibly for Björn. So to say Ivar was whining like a little girl, when she had been a little girl in her first war, made her insides boil with anger.

"Can you all just stop?" she snapped, walking away from the scene and towards her father, who sat close by.

The boys looked at each other in confusion, were they that annoying when they bickered? Ivar raised his hands and his eyebrows, his expression clearly saying 'See what you do?'.

They continued on, and Nero and Floki exchanged glances. Annoyance and amusement clear in both of their faces.

Floki chuckled, "So this is what the grunting of the little pigs was all about," Nero tried to contain her giggles at her father's words but failed miserably, earning murderous glances from the boys.

"Hvitserk, leave!" she growled, her body shaking with anger, it was way too early for this. She had just finished braiding her hair and to say she was displeased by his presence was a misunderstanding.

"I see what is happening between you and my brother," he chuckled, walking further towards her.

Her hair looked soft under the warm glow of the sun, he felt tempted to run his fingers through it. It almost hid in the darkness of her armor and clothing.

"And how does that concern you?" she snarled, her mouth curling up into a dangerous grin as she stalked outside, him hot on her trail.

A strangled scream seared through the peacefulness of their settlement, Nero walked towards it nonchalantly, only to find Harald with blood on his face, he smiled at the wolf.

Earl Vik laid on the floor, hatchet hammered into his head as Ellisif cried and wailed by his body. Nero looked at Hvitserk, who looked bewildered at the random murder on camp, she pointed at the body on the floor, then at the girl, then at the king.

"That is love for you, right there. Remember when I put my life at risk, throwing myself at the man who endangered yours?" she sighed, her feet carrying her towards Halfdan, who watched the scene ready to defend his brother's choice, "Harald conquered Norway for her, she married someone else."

Hvitserk was at a loss for words, the girl loved him, not enough, not in the right way, not like she should, but in her defense, she did.

She walked away, leaving him behind, she couldn't blame Margarethe for wanting Hvitserk and Ubbe, when she wanted Ivar and Hvitserk. Yet she could, because she had chosen to compromise to one of them, and if she had compromised to one, she shouldn't allow herself to share.

She felt no pity for Hvitserk for loving someone who was married to someone else. She felt no pity for the crying princess on the floor for loving someone when she had promised herself to someone else.

You cannot beg someone for the moon and only give them a star in return.

"I will just go with him," Nero soothed, walking in between the brothers and climbing onto the chariot, Ivar immediately laced an arm around her waist.

"What do you say?" Ivar questioned, not giving up on the idea of exploring their battlefield. The wolf smiled at the conversation, she fully trusted Ivar, whatever his plan was, she was fully sure it would work.

"If it works, it is a good plan," Björn pondered, looking at the girl who nodded at him in reassurance, "if it doesn't, then it is a bad plan."

He pulled Nero onto his lap, her legs hanging from each side of his as she rested her chin on his shoulder, admiring the view they left behind as Ivar roared at the horse, its hooves pounding the floor.

Ivar finally stopped his search when it was just around nightfall, she simply allowed herself to bask in his presence, his touch, and the views, rather than actually planning the war and noticing strategies.

He planned it, she executed it. He was the king, she was his lionheart.

When he stopped, she pulled away from him. Her hands on his chest. She threw her head back, looking at the skies above them. The stars shining rather brightly.

For once, he didn't restrain himself, his hands let go of the reigns and trailed around her body, one of his hands curled itself around the base of her neck, bringing her face down to look at him.

She chewed on the insides of her cheeks. She was nervous, she knew not why, but the way he was looking at her made heat pool in between her legs. She wished he would look at her like that forever. It was love, lust.

A shaky breath left her lips, his features were dark, he licked his lips at the sight of her on top of him. Her hair fell to the sides of her face, framing it perfectly. Her eyes seemed black under the moonlight, without a second thought, he forced them to close by bringing his lips to hers.

Her body moved on instinct, she parted her lips. He tasted her and almost pulled away at the lovely sweetness. She didn't try to fight for dominance, she submitted to him, if she were an animal her ears would be glued to her head and she would be exposing her neck to his willing teeth.

Her legs laced themselves around his waist, pulling him closer to her, their lips not leaving each other for a mere moment, she wanted him closer, closer, closer.

His hands curled themselves around her neck and she moaned. He chuckled into the kiss at her reaction, oh, Odin this girl was his, this girl was for him.

One of her hands fisted his shirt while the other tugged at his hair. His hips jerked up, grinding against hers. They both groaned at the contact, her lips left his mouth and he began biting at her neck, giving her payback for what she had done long ago.

Weak whimpers left her mouth with each touch. She pulled into him shifting on his lap which only made her moan once again. Odin, he could have lived with that sound. He growled and bit harder at her at the thought of any other than him hearing it.

Her hands trailed down his waist, her mind drunk with lust. Once she reached his belt he pulled away from her, his eyes wide. She tilted her head to the side, much like a dog would. A sigh left his lips, his eyes left hers, "I can't—"

"Why? Do you love Margarethe, like everyone else?" Nero sneered, standing off of him, her eyes glowing dangerously.

"Of course not!" he snapped, his eyes finding hers only to see them filled with hurt. She really thought he didn't love her.

"Why then?" she mumbled, looking away, her body trembled with confusion, "Do you not want me?"

If he didn't want her, that would be fine. Even if he thought they were going too fast (unusual for Vikings), all he had to do was verbalize it, was explain it to her.

She hated being toyed with, the feel of his hands resting on her thighs earlier flashed back to her mind, what was he doing if he didn't want this?

"No," he soothed, his hand tugging at her arm as her eyes filled with tears. And that is when it hit her, Ivar the Boneless didn't feel for her. He teased her but when the time came he simply denied. She hated to feel embarrassed, but most of all, she hated to know that didn't want her, she hated to know that he was simply playing.

In anger and sadness, she pulled away from him, climbing off the chariot and walking back to camp in silence. He could've had her, but he was scared of disappointing the girl, he couldn't do it to himself, nor to her.

She had already proved to him that he could pleasure a woman, yet he didn't want to have sex with her, not because it was her, but he feared he would fail later on, even if with Margarethe he didn't even get to such point.