"It is never a waste of time when you invest it into something you find desirable."

Ivar stares into the fire, the flames dance in a hypnotising pattern.  The glow of the fire illuminates the room, its flare flickers about, leaving shadows to play against his bare chest.  Ivar's jaw clenches tight when he hears her voice.

  "Good night, Ivar." Margarethe says solemnly. 

  Ivar's mind replays the humiliation of the events before.  Sigurd's taunting words plague him, his laughter seemingly burning in his ears.  For all of it was true.  He could not please a woman.

  Ivar let out a scream of angst and punches his fist into the wall in front of him.  His knuckles ache and blood oozes over the curvatures of his finger, but he does not care.  His brain torments him with ridicule.  How could he ever have thought he would please a woman? 

  Her body flashes before his eyes.  Torhyl.  Just the thought of her sets his body alight.  Her electric touch.  Her soft lips.  Her determined glance.  Her authoritative demeanour.  Her unswaying beliefs.  All of the things he admires about her, everything he desires will never become reality.  Why would Torhyl ever want to be with a man who can offer her no satisfaction?  She could have any man, why would she choose a cripple?

  Margarethe came to him as soon as he arrived home.  Sigurd sent her to him, just as he promised he would.  He knew he had no choice.  He had to take her, and he could do nothing.  It killed him to know that Sigurd was right.  He was just a useless cripple that no woman would ever want.

--

  "You are a very wise man, Ubbe Lothbrok." Torhyl compliments as they walk together to her tent.

  "As are you, Commander." Ubbe returns the compliment, a smile playing on his lips.

  "A wise man?" Torhyl raises a brow at his phrasing.

  "You know what I mean." Ubbe retorts.

  Torhyl chuckles slightly at his sudden response.  As soon as they reach her tent she stops and turns to Ubbe.  Her eyes meet his with a soft smile.  "Thank you for the meal and the company," Torhyl nods gratefully.  "It was very enjoyable."

  "My brothers and I are intrigued by you, Torhyl," Ubbe begins.  "You are knowledgeable about all things, it is as though you have every answer inside your head.  The gods must be with you."

  Torhyl shakes her head at him and looks down at the ground.  "The gods did not give me the knowledge I have, but rather it has been revealed to me slowly over many years."

  "How has this all come to you at such a young age without the blessing of the gods?"  Ubbe asks in disbelief.

  Torhyl steps inside her tent and looks behind her into Ubbe's eyes.  "Oh, Ubbe Lothbrok," Torhyl utters, gently.  "If you only knew what pain this knowledge brings, you would not think of it as such a blessing."

--

    The night soon turns into morning, exchanging a dark canvas scattered with stars for a darkened sky looming with ominous clouds.  Torhyl steps out of her tent, her eyes search the area for signs of life.  Some slaves walk around, frantically preparing meals for their masters and feeding animals. 

  A little old lady catches Torhyl's eye.  Her frame is small and hunched over with age. She carries a heavy pail of water, her body struggling to keep it from spilling with each shaky step.  Torhyl springs into action as she paces over to help the lady.

  "Here," Torhyl takes the pail from the woman.  "Let me help you."

  The little lady gasps in horror at her action, terror and shock drawn deep into her expression.  Torhyl gives her a compassionate glance.

  "Have no fear, milady," Torhyl reassures calmly.  "I do not wish to harm you."

  "I cannot have you help," The lady whispers.  "That is not a job for a Commander."

  "I am a human, as you are, there is no difference between us." Torhyl replies, her voice gentle yet firm.  "Now, where does this need to be delivered to?"

  "The meeting hall, your grace." The little old lady replies.

  "Consider it done." Torhyl gives her a gentle smile.

  "Bless you." The lady touches her shoulder lovingly before turning to return to her chores.

  Torhyl's body fills with joy, her heart filled with care for the little lady from this simple action.  She carried the pail with ease to the Meeting Hall.  She pushes open the door and enters the hall.  She confidently walks over to the washing bowl and pours the water into the designated dish.

  The table is empty and she knows that it will soon enough be filled with hungry men.  She leaves the bucket outside the door and begins to walk to the docks.  She passes people in the streets, the stares still searing into her as though she was an enemy.  She holds her head high as she passes them and continues to her docked ships.

  Brunhild sits on the shore, her head in her arms.  Torhyl sits beside her, and places a hand on her shoulder.  Brunhild's head snaps up at the unexpected contact.

  "I did not mean to startle you, Brunhild." Torhyl apologises.

  "That is alright, Commander," Brunhild says, catching her breath.  "I was simply lost in thought."

  "You seem distant, is everything alright?" Torhyl asks, her voice low with sympathy.

  Brunhild opens her mouth to speak but quickly changes her mind.  Once again she attempts to speak.  "I'm fine, milady, really, I just...think of life at home."

   Torhyl looks over the sparkling blue water, her mind picturing what her home would look like this time of year.  It would look nothing like Kattegat.  It would be summer, and the sun would be beating down on the countless acres of crops.

  "I too think of home." Torhyl admits.  "I long to feel the warm sun of my skin.  I long to swim in the crystal clear pools and walk through our bountiful fields of crops.  I long to see the children running in the streets with such freedom."

  "I too long for those things." Brunhild agrees staring out of the still water.

  "I am glad you decided to come with me, Brunhild.  I could not do this without you." Torhyl rests a hand on Brunhild's shoulder.

  "I am glad I came too," Brunhild sends her a sly smile.  "Who else would keep you from walking into another pig pen?"

  "Oh, hush." Torhyl shoves her playfully.

  They sit in silence, neither needing to say anything.  They simply watch the water, the steady lapping of waves crashing against the shore and dream of their homeland and how they wished to be in her sweet arms. 

--

  Torhyl walks the streets of Kattegat, her eyes studying the conditions of the country her father once lived in.  She smiles as she recalls the details of his earlier life, each story solely being put to life as she strolls the bustling lanes.  Her eyes dart from one home to the next, eagerly taking in every detail of her father's hometown.

  Her thoughts are soon interrupted by a sound breaking her back into reality.  Her eyes dart around to find the origin of the racket.  She sees Ivar dragging himself angrily into his hut, fury engraved into his face.

  Aslaug runs out of the hall after him but is too late, for he has already gone inside.  Torhyl walks over to the queen and gives her a perplexed glance.

  "What has happened?"  Torhyl asks.

  "Sigurd has been tormenting him," Aslaug explains, her face falling in sorrow.  "He has grown tired of it.  I'm afraid he will do something he will regret."

  "I will speak to him." Torhyl speaks lightly as she walks to his door.

  Torhyl approaches his door.  "Ivar, it's me."

  "Leave!" Ivar yells, a sound of cracking pottery following his screams.

  At another loud crash, Torhyl pushes herself into his hut. Her jaw hangs open at the sight in front of her.  Ivar's hands drip with blood and the red liquid stains the walls.  Broken pottery is scattered across the floor, scarlet blood adorning each shattered piece.

  "Ivar..." Torhyl steps cautiously over the broken vases and over to him.

  "I said leave!" Ivar screams as he throws another vase at the wall in front of him.

  Torhyl walks over to Ivar and kneels down in front him and takes his face into her hands.  "Look at me." She whispers to him.

  He avoids her gaze, his eyes focusing on the floor in front of him.  Torhyl sets her jaw and repeats her command, this time with a firm voice.  "Look.  At.  Me." She commands, her voice strong and her eyes fixed upon his face.  His eyes slowly rise to meet hers.  His eyes are cold and empty and his face is contorted in pain.

  "I'm not going anywhere." Torhyl establishes, her voice resolute. 

  Torhyl tears a piece fabric from her shirt and dips it in a water basin beside Ivar's bed.  Torhyl holds his lacerated hands in her own and gently begins to clean the wounds.  Her hands work slowly and gently, careful not to press too hard and disturb the torn flesh all while Ivar's eyes burn into her skin.

  "Why do you stare at me?" Torhyl questions lightly as she begins to wrap his hand in cloths.

  His face falls into a grim look of sadness.  "Why?" He asks, his voice shaky.  "Why do you care for me?  Why do you choose to waste your time with a cripple?"

  Torhyl looks deep into his eyes, her eyes looking into his so deep it felt as though she was looking into his soul.  "It is never a waste of time when you invest it into something you find desirable."

  Ivar's eyes soften at her confession.  His mouth parts slightly, a breath of wonder escaping his lips.  "You...desire me?"

  Torhyl looks down at his hands and gently brings them to her lips.  She places a tender kiss to his damaged hands before looking up at him again.  "You make me think of things I never have before.  I think of the future when I am with you...a future without this sorrow that weighs down on my heart.  You make me feel free again."

  Ivar heart aches at her words.  "I can not offer you what other men can.  Sigurd was right...I am a useless cripple."

  Torhyl takes his face into her hands once more and brings his face close to her own.  "You are not useless, Ivar.  You are a strong, valiant son of Ragnar Lothbrok and you are destined for greatness.  The history books will record your stories of victory in battle, and it will astonish all who read because they were won by a man who was considered a burden.  You will prove Sigurd wrong, Ivar."

  Torhyl's hands gently trail down his body to rest upon his hands.  "I believe in you, Ivar, now it's your turn."

  Ivar removes his hand from under hers and gently pushes back a stray lock of hair from her face.  He gently tucks the piece of hair behind her ear and traces behind her lobe down her jawline.

  His eyes flicker down to her lips as he draws near to her.  Torhyl's lips are warmed at the sensation of his breath against her skin.  Torhyl places her hands onto his firm chest and slowly brings them up to rest around his collarbone.

  Ivar's lips hover above Torhyl's.  Her eyes find his, her eyes shining with a tender glow. 

  "You do not deserve to be stuck with a cripple." Ivar comments, his eyes heavy and sorrowful.

  "I deserve," Torhyl pauses, "To be with a man to whom I have feelings for."

  Torhyl withdraws her head back slightly and avoids his gaze.  "Unless, you do not feel the same way."

"If I denied my feelings for you," Ivar tilts his head slightly.  "I would be a fool."

  Torhyl's feels his lips upon hers, the warm sensation sending her pulse wild.  Her lips move against his, each kiss drawing her closer to him.  He rests his hands on her hips and gives her a gentle tug.

  Torhyl breaks away from the kiss and pulls herself onto his lap, desiring to be closer to him.  His hands rest against her waist as she lowers herself onto his lap.

  He brushes his hand against her cheek tenderly causing Torhyl to lean her head closer to his touch.  "You are so beautiful." He muses.

  Her lips curl into a smile at his words.  She leans down and presses her lips against his once more.  His hands gently caress her, each part of her touched as though she would break at any moment.  His hands rest under her thighs and hers gently against his chest.  Her fingers fall to his waist and tug slightly at the hem of his shirt.  In one swift motion, she stripped away the piece of clothing. Her finger trails beneath his chin to bring his mouth back up to her own.

  The tempo of their lips is slow and yet filled with passion.  For them the pace is perfect.  It was slow enough that they could both cherish their time together.  And all pain was forgotten in that very moment.  It was just the two of them, burning brighter than the darkness that had haunted them for so long.