For The Sake of Revenge

II~Chapter 7: Injustice.

A loud shout sounded from outside their modest hunting longhouse. Even Ivar looked up to see the source of rage.

Hvitserk had slammed their cabin door open, his face flushed with rage, the whites of his eyes visible and his sharpened teeth bared. Ivar involuntarily flinched at the sight. The sight of his brother's anger was not an easy sight to take.

"What is it?" Sigurd asked, stopping the wheel that he used to sharpen his axe. Sigurd was eyeing his brother wearily, everyone with the right mind was eyeing Hvitserk wearily.

"That shield-slut took her," Hvitserk's jaw was trembling and Ivar could literally feel the heat of his anger radiating off from his large body.

"Took who?" Ubbe asked cautiously, already understanding who the shield-slut was.

"Who do you fucking think?" Hvitserk was getting angrier and now that Ivar focused on his face, he could see bruises marring the skin above his beard and his lip was bleeding into his beard.

"Millicent?" Ivar asked, feeling the pit of his stomach twist with dread. He didn't know that maid very well, yet her silence grew on him eventually.

"Fucking hell, yes," Hvitserk slammed his fist into the wall, leaving a little crack in the wood.

"Don't ruin the hut, it can barely hold us all, what was she doing outside anyway?" Ubbe asked, his tone accusatory. Ivar couldn't help but admire Ubbe's nerve.

"Fuck, she asked to go outside, I couldn't see why not!" Hvitserk plopped down on a pile of furs Millicent had folded this morning. "It was foolish to risk it," Ubbe reprimanded.

"Yes and it was foolish to risk marrying your wife, now that she had a taste of luxury she isn't coming back," Ivar fired in his brother's defense, even though he wholeheartedly agreed. It was a rather stupid thing to do, even for someone like Hvitserk.

"Don't you think the same will happen with Millicent when Lagertha kidnapped her like she kidnapped Margrethe?" Ubbe was flushed but there was no other indication that Ivar's words affected him.

"Lagertha doesn't understand her language," Ivar dismissed. "She doesn't speak proper Anglish."

"She speaks enough and there are others in the household who would gladly translate for Lagertha," Sigurd said dryly, going back to sharpening his blade. It is all he ever seemed to do these days. Now that they had come back with their war conquests, many were rich and Lagertha benefited the most from it even though she didn't lift a finger for this mission. Many also lived in apprehension. Many who gladly supported the rule of Queen Aslaug.

Lagertha hadn't even bothered to come on the conquest to avenge the man she clearly still mooned over. The injustice of it all was a difficult morsel to swallow. In the back of his mind, he would have gladly seen her killed, one way or another. Preferably by accident. But Ivar was smart. He hid a box filled with a small amount of gold for himself, disguising it as a raven basket. It was a risky move because everyone had their possessions searched to ensure that no one had decided to take some for themselves. Now that he had the gold, Ivar wasn't sure how to spend it or trade it. It would be too risky. His title as a prince was but a mere decoration.

There were so many possibilities on how to kill the whore.

Hvitserk took another step and collapsed, with a groan of pain, on a nearby stool with a curse.

"When will Halfdan get his shit together? She has been queen for far too long," Sigurd grouched, tossing a potato to Hvitserk, who despite being bruised still caught it after some fumbling. It was the most intelligent thing he must have uttered all evening.

"Soon enough," Ivar assured, burning another of his hand-drawn maps. It was dangerous to leave things lying around. Lagertha's minions were bound to happen upon them at any moment, with the ridiculous presumptions on privacy. Parchment and skins were precious. Firewood would have to do. Ivar gritted his teeth when Hvitserk munched noisily on the potato.

"Her tyranny cannot prevail," Ubbe murmured distractedly, going back to carving out his arrowheads from the stones he collected from the shores of the far side of the island, where the walls that Lagertha had built did not extend.

"Do you think I do not know that?" Ivar asked fiercely.

"I am not talking solely about Aslaug, Ivar," Ubbe sighed.

"No, you just don't care," Ivar agreed and Ubbe tactfully ignored the bait.

"She taxes heavily for her army. Kattegat would no longer be an envied center of trade if she continues like that. The empire that our father had built will crumble."

"Built and abandoned," Hvitserk scoffed.

"Abandoned, yes," Ivar agreed, "But he left it in capable hands."

There may have been a derisive snort from Sigurd but Ubbe pretended to cough. Ivar sent a sour look to Sigurd. One day...

"It is not hers to rule either way," Hvitserk switched the conversation, having been temporarily sated by the potato. "We are our father's trueborn sons."

"So is Bjorn," Sigurd said pointing his ax at Hvitserk, as though to prove a point.

"He doesn't give two shites about Kattegat," Ivar scoffed. Ivar was not going to deny his ambition was based solely on selfish desires. Desires to rule Kattegat and make Yasmeen his Queen and wife were what motivated him. Power made him incensed, something his father had warned him not to get to his head. It was one of the only few times he received decent advice from his father after a lengthy history lesson. When he was actually present to give it.

"It doesn't matter now," Ubbe dismissed, handing each of the brothers a horn filled with ale that tasted like piss but was the cheapest they could find, "We have to reclaim what is ours. We will reward our friends and punish our enemies,"

"To rewarding friends and punishing enemies," Ivar raised his horn. His eyes glazed over the land where Svidgurd lived. He couldn't risk keeping the immobile body of Yasmeen with him. They were too prone to receiving unwelcome guests. Svidgurd had only agreed to keep her with them until she woke up or the brothers got their bearings together.

Still, it was fucking painful, not having her, not touching her, not seeing her awake. He knew how to wake her and the only way to do that was to defeat Lagertha, take Yasmeen to the maege, do whatever is needed, and get the fuck out of here.

Dublin sounded nice.

"Skøll," a dull, collective murmur from the brothers.

But his father's destiny also hung heavy on his shoulders.