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"Mother, mother!" I called out, running off away from my exhausted parents. My little legs carried me as far as they could towards the boat while my parents dragged our luggage behind them.
"Iris!" My mother called out, making me abruptly come to a halt. "Wait for us, my darling."
"I'm sorry." I answered sweetly, little red pigtails blowing in the wind as my freckled cheeks peered up towards my parents. "I was just excited. I love boats."
"I love boats." I muttered to myself, gently touching the exquisite wooden prow. They were truly works of art. Such astonishing things of beauty the likes of which I could've never seen or experienced in my own time.
Hvitserk noticed me by the docks, walking over and startling me slightly as I'd been so entranced by the magnificence of these ships. "You're not scared of sailing are you?" He mused, a playful smile as I seemed utterly in awe of these wooden structures that carried men across the sea.
"On the contrary." I smiled back, brushing dirt from my skirt as I stood. "I love sailing. I used to row constantly when I was a child. I was just admiring your ships."
"Why am I not surprised?" He smiled, jumping inside the boat and offering a hand out to me. "You know, I've never met anyone like you before."
At this I grinned, taking his hand and jumping into the boat also. "Is that a compliment, Hvitserk?" I smiled, looking over my shoulder. I laughed gently, walking over to help some of the injured onto the boat. Frida, of course, still couldn't look me in the eye after the incident in the sewers but I didn't care. I knew that I did what I had to do, that I saved us. If she hated me forever, I knew I made the right call. Perhaps I'd not had to go as overboard I did, perhaps she was right there. But when you have been a victim - taking back your power is a feeling that I can never describe. And it wasn't like he didn't have it coming. The man had come to attack the sick and the vulnerable. He certainly had it coming.
I'd tried to talk to Frida about it, but all she'd ever say was that I'd changed - that I wasn't the girl I'd been when I came here. Of course I wasn't. How could I be? In order to survive, I was forced to adapt to my surroundings. I couldn't live like this was the 1960s. It wasn't.
I knew that she blamed Ivar for my change. I knew that she thought he was the reason behind my anger. But, in truth, Ivar was not the cause of my anger. All that I'd been through was the cause, my pain and my trauma. Ivar simply taught me what to do with my anger. And for that, I could be nothing but grateful.
When I noticed that he too had made his way onto the ship, I felt the corners of my lips tug up into a wide smile as I attempted to concentrate on tending to the sick. I couldn't help but be distracted, thinking about his words only nights before - about how soon, he would be my husband.
And then the guilt returned. Here I was, on a boat ready to leave to Kattegat. This was it. I would likely never return to England if I chose this path, and therefore would never return to the stone in York. I was leaving behind my only path back to my family. I just wanted them to know that I was alive. I wanted them to know I was happy.
"What will happen?" Frida asked, looking towards me with curiosity. It was the first time we'd spoken in days, and the sound of her voice made a warmth fill my heart. No matter what, she was one of the few friends I'd found in this place. And I cared for her. "When we return?"
"I don't know," I answered honestly. "I suppose we will attack Lagertha."
Frida scoffed, rolling her eyes. "I have known Lagertha since she was just a farmer." The older woman explained, looking me in the eye. "Ivar cannot beat her."
Now it was my turn to scoff, resting my head back on the boat. "You're wrong, Frida. Ivar will be king of Kattegat."
"And you will be queen, I suppose." She inquired, eyeing me closely, her sharp green gaze unwavering. I knew what she was insinuating - that I had done all this for power. That I had pushed for this situation, had told Ivar he would be king, so that I might be queen. But she didn't know me at all if she thought such a thing. I had no desire to be queen, no desire for power. I simply wished for Ivar's success. Not for myself. For him.
"I suppose." I answered, narrowing my eyes at the older woman.
Finally I stood, walking away from my friend and towards the brothers, sitting down at the prow of the boat, head resting over the side as I looked down into the deep black ocean. My father used to call it a graveyard. He always refused to swim in the sea for that reason. So many boats lost, men and women drowned. I suppose, in a way, it was a graveyard.
From the other end of the boat, I could feel Frida's eyes still on me. And though I kept my vision set upon Ivar and Hvitserk, her glare was unnerving.
I was no longer sure that I could trust the woman. And oncemore, an unsettling feeling consumed me.
