The market was buzzing with townspeople. Merchants called out prices for their goods to passersby in different languages. Foreign fabrics were hung so customers could see their beauty in the beaming sunlight. Smoke from the merchants smoking freshly butchers animals drifted through the air. Baskets full of spices, dried and fresh fruit, vegetables and meats were set up throughout. The smells of them all wafting in the air making walking through the impossibly crowded market more pleasant.

A merchant from a foreign land, dressed in strange looking clothes held out two birds, their feathers as white as fresh snow. He spoke first in what must have been his mother tongue to me as I walked by his table. When he saw I didn't understand his language he quickly started speaking broken Norse.

"White doves," he stumbled on the words as he spoke, shoving them closer to my face. "Bird, bird..." He continued.

Smiling kindly at him I held my hand up and shook my head 'no' in response. Without a second thought he turned from me and began showing the birds to another woman who was walking with her children.

I had come down to the market for pieces of scrap fabric to mend Ivar's trousers. I hated sewing, I was terrible at it but it meant that Ivar would have no interest in sticking around to watch me fumble with needle and thread, trying to make conversation.

The Ragnarssons had been back for two days since Bjorn had met them at their hunting cabin. I imagine he didn't even reach them before the traveler's news spread throughout Kattegat. The townspeople had already wrote-off Ragnar, he had been missing for almost ten years since his defeat in Paris. The news of the settlement being slaughtered and Ragnar's bastard stirred up dust that had long been settled, the people were angry.

Before I had the chance to get to the seller I was looking for I heard commotion further ahead near the road. People were walking quickly, all muttering to one another something I couldn't quite make out.

I knew I should have kept to my task but curiosity got the better of me. Jogging ahead of people I made it to the forming circle to see a stranger standing in the middle of the crowd. His head was bald with faded black tattoos littering his skin. His wrinkled face was covered with a long, unkempt grey beard that reached his chest. His clothes were dirty and torn but the sword he carried in his hand seemed well cared for.

The older woman standing next to me leaned over, whispering the answer to my question. "King Ragnar has returned."

From the other end of the crowd I heard Ubbe's voice barking. "Let us pass, Move!" Ubbe emerged, his sword drawn, followed by Sigurd and Hvitserk. I watched as Ragnar looked over the men who stopped in front of him.

He studied their faces, his own face impassive as his eyes darted over their features. Hvitserk quickly side-stepped, revealing Ivar's crawling form as he joined his brother's in front of their father. As Ragnar looked down at his crippled son a slow smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

Stepping forward, Ragnar's smile only grew. Making the few strides forward he stopped in front of Ivar. "Hello Ivar," he said just loud enough for the people closest to hear. Ivar's smile grew from ear to ear as his father spoke to him first before his eldest brothers. "There is no mistaking you."

Ivar's smile dropped. His hurt visible from his long lost father's comment.

"It appears my return is not welcome." Ragnar spoke to his other sons, looking between Ubbe, Hvitserk and Sigurd. "You've obviously all made your mind up about me." He sucked on his teeth as he looked towards the ground, pacing in front of them. "I cannot blame you for that."

Looking between the brothers I could see the emotions painted on their faces. Ubbe was trying to remain stoic, though his wide eyes gave away his true feelings of shock and surprise. Hvitserk tried to mock Ubbe's air of indifference but he came off as confused. Confused at why his father chose now to return. Sigurd on the other hand stood with a grimace, the same one that rested on his mother's face most days. He was trying to act the part of hardened viking but I knew him too well to know this was an act.

Ivar, however, looked to Ragnar as if he was meeting Odin. His eyes had stars in them as he stared up at the man who paced like a cornered wolf in front of his sons.

Sighing, Ragnar continued. "So. Well, boys, who's going to do it then? Hmm?" His eyes quickly started to dart between the three eldest. His erratic smile twitching across his face. "Who's going to kill me?"

Hvitserk's eyebrows shot up in surprise at his father's question as he looked over to Ubbe and Sigurd.

"Well I don't mind. Go ahead! Please!" Ragnar walked between his sons again, stopping at Hvitserk. His tone softened, mumbling words before he shouted causing the people closest to Ragnar to shriek in fright. "Do it!"

"Look at these people! They no longer support me! Why would they? I am your leader and I just left!" He said mockingly, looking at his peoples. "What kind of leader does that, huh? What kind of king abandons his people?!" He was shouting angrily now, his pacing even more frantic, looking out at the gathered people.

Taking deep breaths he finally looked back to his boys. Quietly he asked, "What kind of father, abandons his sons?"

Ragnar's jaw clenched, the muscles tightening under his flesh. For a fleeting moment his eyes looked glassy, almost tear filled before he quickly blinked them away. "So, who wants to be king?" When he saw that he wasn't getting a response from his sons he quickly turned on his heal, ripping the sheath from his sword and throwing it to the ground.

"Well you know how this works! If you want to be king, you must kill me." He was so nonchalant as he mentioned his death. Flipping his sword so he was holding the blade he offered the handle to strangers, asking if they had the guts to kill their king.

Again not getting an answer to his question, Ragnar drove the blade into the ground. "Who wants to be king?!" He shouted into the crowd. His breathing was harsh as his anger rose.

The mans actions and body language was all too familiar. Ivar acted just like him, from Ragnar's clenching jaw down to his erratic movements, shouting and ragged breathing when he was emotional. Glancing down to Ivar, his eyes were cast down to the gravel. It must be killing him to see his father act this way. The man he respected and longed to be.

Ragnar stalked towards Sigurd, his fists clenched. "What about you Sigurd," he spoke softly, barely audible. "Do you want to be king, hmm?"

Sigurd tried to hold an intimidating gaze with his father but failed. His breathing gave him away, betraying him as he trembled. Ragnar's top lip curled up, chalking up this one as a coward before he moved to Ubbe.

"Do you want to be king, Ubbe? Kill me, and you are king." Turning to the crowd Ragnar shouted "King Ubbe!" As if he were presenting the people their new king. Turning sharply, still with a smile on his face, Ragnar's hand came down across Ubbe's face swiftly. "What are you waiting for?!"

Again he struck his son, trying to spark rage. "What are you waiting for, be a man!" He taunted, taking another step closer. His gaze bore into Ubbe as Ubbe stood there, wide eyed still but not wavering to the intensity that was Ragnar Lothbrok.

Ragnar's jaw twitched as he scoffed, finally backing away from Ubbe. Taking a step to the side, he again let out an audible scoff before he reached out and placed a hand on top of Ivar's head.

It took a moment for Ivar to realize what had happened as his father's hand left his head. He had asked his brothers if they would rise to the occasion and kill Ragnar, all except Ivar. Ivar's lips parted as Ragnar turned and started to walk away.

Watching the emotions on Ivar's face as he realized his father didn't think him man enough to kill him made my heart ache for him. Of all the sons of Ragnar, I knew well enough that Ivar would be the only one to kill his own father to be king. He longed to prove his brothers and the world wrong, that he could be a great man despite his legs.

Defeated, Ragnar turned his back to his sons. Did he actually want to die or with this part of some grand show he had planned for his return to his kingdom? Ragnar paced to his sword that was standing erect in the gravel but before he could reach it, Ubbe stepped forward.

The spectators all gasped as Ubbe approached his father, sword in hand, nostrils flaring. Hearing the commotion, Ragnar turned. He nodded his head ever so slightly to his son, a relieved smile forming on his lips as he held out his arms. His smile grew even more as he walked to Ubbe who was breathing heavily now through parted lips. When he was in arms distance of his son, his hand reached out to the back of Ubbe's neck. As soon as his hand made contact he sighed, tears pooling in his eyes as he brought his son into him, embracing him for the first time in ten years.

Ubbe dropped his sword and gripped onto his father's coat, holding him tightly like a child would their parents when they were frightened. Ubbe's sigh was audible as he hugged his father.

Ivar's gaped jaw closed, his jaw visibly clenching making the tendons twitch in his cheeks. He looked disappointed in his brother's softness. Hvitserk looked to Sigurd, completely surprised at the drastic turn of events while Sigurd just continued to stare.

Bjorn appeared from the crowd slowly, crossing his arms as he looked at his father. His lips turned down in a scowl.

When Ragnar saw his eldest son he let go of Ubbe. As Ubbe turned and saw Bjorn he quickly moved to the side to let his oldest brother speak. "Why did you come back?"

Ivar sat at the head of the table that evening. His head was propped up with his index and middle finger while his other hand clutched one of the table knives, digging the point into the wooden arm rest of his chair. Things were quiet between the family, the only sounds were the scuffling feet of the thralls working to serve food and the scraping of knives and forks against the metal plates.

After Ragnar had made his grand entrance this afternoon, all of the sons, save for Ivar, left into the woods. They were gone for hours while Ivar was stuck crawling back and forth in the great hall, his form of pacing. I sat watching him as I mended the holes in his pants and tunics, not bothering to attempt a conversation with him.

For every moment that slipped by I watched it tear apart Ivar's mind. His father returning after so many years, his comment and then lack of one when it mattered most to Ivar. Then to take all except him for a secret meeting. It was killing him inside.

Breaking the silence, Ivar threw his knife onto the table. It landed with a loud clang as it hit against the plate, ripping everyone from the uncomfortable silence.

"So," Ivar began, not trying to hide the irritation in his tone. "Father wants to go to England. Why do you not want to go with him?"

Ubbe took the half eaten rib from his mouth as his head fell back against the wooden back of his chair, letting out a sigh. "You know why. Now shut up." He brought the bone back up to his lips and tore a large chunk off the bone, all the while side-eyeing his brother.

Annoyed he hadn't gotten an answer from Ubbe, he turned to Sigurd. "Is it the same for you Sigurd?" Ivar sat up in his chair, leaning forward. "O-or a-a-are you s-s-scare of getting sea sick?" He stuttered out, mocking his brother. Aslaug chuckled under her breath as Ivar joked, trying to hide her smile with the back of her hand.

"I'm not afraid of anything, brother." Sigurd snapped, carving marks into the wooden table as his head rolled in Ivar's direction.

"Not even me?"

Sigurd glared at Ivar, annoyed at Ivar's question. Ivar leaned to the side of his chair, placing all of his body weight on his left elbow. His head was tucked so that he was looking up through his eyelashes as he held his brother's threatening gaze. Motioning for me with the curl of his finger I came to his side, pitcher in hand. I saw Sigurd's anger rise in his expression as Ivar flexed his control over me.

"More ale, Ivar?" I spoke softly.

Ivar looked up at me with a toothy grin. "Mmm, yes." He reached out with his right hand to grab his cup but didn't offer it out to me. Instead he made me bend over the arm of his chair as he pulled it further still away from me. This left me being bent over the side of his chair with my ass sticking out as I tried desperately not to spill on the light fur rugs. To make matters worse I felt Ivar's hand rise up the back of my thigh until it reached the swell of my bottom. I angled the pitcher higher trying to make the liquid fill his cup faster which only lead to Ivar's hand leaving me just to be brought down hard against my ass.

I felt my cheeks redden as the cup was finally filled. I'd never been more embarrassed in my life. Righting myself quickly I hurried from the room. I didn't want to be in the same room as these people, regardless of my duties. Sigurd started in on Ivar, his temper flaring but I didn't stick around to hear their argument.

Escaping to Ivar's room as I wiped my tears of humiliation, I began my nightly chores. Ivar crept in moments after I had the fire lit in the hearth. I stayed frozen, kneeling in front of the flames not wanting to turn and face him. I listened as he traveled to his bed, heaving himself up onto the furs.

"Briet," He beckoned me. My stomach sank knowing I had no other choice than to obey. I stood in front of him, my head down so my hair would curtain my face to hide my tear stained cheeks.

Ivar cleared his throat as a silent command to look at him. Taking in a deep breath I looked up into his wicked eyes. His smug look of satisfaction only made my embarrassment flare more as he pointed to the leather straps that held his legs together.

"Would you help me?" He asked cooly.

I fell to my knees, tucking my hair behind my ears with shaky hands so I could see what I'm doing. I could feel Ivar's eyes studying me as I worked making me fumble with my task.

"I am going to ask my father if he will take me with him to England."

I stopped as the words sunk in. My brows knit together in confusion and before I could think I heard myself asking "Why?"

"Because my brothers are bastards and refuse to go with him." Ivar's tone was sharp. My question had clearly got under his skin.

"Ivar, the Gods have forsaken him." I pressed on, freeing his legs from both bindings. Looking up at him I saw his nostrils flaring as he glared down at me.

"Don't say that." His tone was low and threatening.

"No one will go with him. After what happened in Paris and then how he abandoned his people knowing what King Ecbert had done to his settlement. Who would want to follow such a fickle king?"

The back of Ivar's hand came across my cheek jarring my head to the side and leaving a tingling heat rise on my skin. His ragged breath and the ringing in my ear was all I could hear as I stayed balanced on my haunches in front of him.

"They would be fools not to go with the great Ragnar Lothbrok!" Ivar's hand clutched my jaw, his thumb and fingers digging into my cheeks as he pulled me up so I was up on my knees with my face inches from his. "You wouldn't want to follow him into battle? To prove yourself as a shield maiden?"

My heart was racing in my chest as he held me there. I shook my head no, too scared to speak. His hand loosened as he still held my face in place. He put his other hand on my hip, sliding it around to the small of my back before he pulled me into his chest. He leaned in, closing the small distance between us and placed his lips gently on my still stinging cheek. I could feel his breath fan across my skin as his lips lingered there a moment longer.

Pulling back he looked down into my wide doe eyes and I could see his expression soften. Butterflies erupted in my belly as his full lips crashed onto mine. Finally releasing my jaw, his hand traveled into my hair as he brought me closer still to him.

I wrapped my arms around the back of his neck as our kiss deepened. His tongue traced my bottom lip, pleading for entry. I parted my lips and within seconds his tongue was dominating mine. I tasted the sweet taste of mead on him as I pressed myself further into him. I could feel his heart pounding against the inside of his chest.

Moaning into his kiss I shimmied up into his bed, never breaking our kiss. I frantically pulled up the hem of my dress so I could straddle him while he fell back on to the pillows and furs. His hands roamed my body, dipping down to my bottom, kneading the toned muscle before they traveled up my sides to my ribs. His thumbs nervously rubbed at the sides of my chest like he was unsure if he could touch me. Ivar broke our kiss, leaving me panting and blindly searching for his lips. He chuckled softly as he watched me whine from wanting him.

"Not even if you were a free woman?"

My eyes fluttered open. I felt my brows furrow as I processed his question. Placing my forearms on his chest so I could prop myself up and still trace my fingers along his muscular shoulders, I looked down into his eyes. His hands were gently running up and down my sides as we held each others gaze.

"Are you freeing me, Ivar?" I whispered.

Ivar's eyes rolled back as his lids fluttered shut. "Answer my question. If you were free, you wouldn't go with Ragnar?"

"I don't think I would." I answered. "There was a time I longed to go on raids, to prove myself in battle but I'd be stupid to think I were capable of fighting. I don't know why your father is so eager to go back after all of these years but I don't think raiding is his true reason for going."

Ivar laid there, quietly looking past me. My heart sank the longer he stayed silent. Wether he was serious about freeing me or not I wanted some response. His hands moved from my hips up to my shoulders as he pushed me off of him. I rolled to his side, pulling down my dress awkwardly. He sat up and grunted as he swung his legs over the side of the bed.

"I think you should stay here with your brothers."

His shoulders tensed at my comment as he gripped the side of the bed. "Why, because I am a cripple?" He snapped.

"Why do you try so hard to prove yourself?! You are never happy with just being you!" I pushed myself up with one arm, crossing my legs. Finally, Ivar would see my rage. "Who will go with him, Ivar? Bjorn is taking a large raiding party with him to the Mediterranean and whatever other warriors are left are either staying here to safeguard Kattegat or are raiding in Sweden. It's a suicide mission!"

"And what do you care if I die?" Ivar's tone was a strange mix of threatening and curiosity.

"I-I..." I couldn't find the words to answer his question as I sat there stammering. I let out a frustrated sigh, running my fingers through my hair in hopes of somehow finding an answer as I did. "Why do you want to die so badly?

"At least I will die in battle! At least I will be led by the Valkyries to Valhalla where I will dine with Odin and Thor and Freya and Tyr. The All Father will give me legs..." Ivar stopped. It was as if he was mentally scolding himself from having shared one of his deepest secrets.

Turning to face me as I sat there wide-eyed at his scowling face. "And you will be right where I leave you, Briet. A slave that no one cares about. A slave who will die in servitude or worse... You know no one cares for thralls. You could be raped tomorrow by some drunk and no one would even bat an eye-"

My clenched fist stuck Ivar's jaw, knocking his head violently as I followed through with the blow. Ivar's head snapped back to look at me, his jaw slack as blood dripped from the corner of his smiling lips.

I recoiled my hand into my chest as I covered my own slacked jaw. I was terrified of what I'd just done. Of all the times to lose my temper. I felt myself start to tremble, my eyes pooling with tears while I waited for Ivar's response.

His response never came. Instead he wiped the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand and then slipped onto the floor. He didn't care about his legs being unbound as he crawled from the room, grunting angrily with every drag of his body.