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Frida and I had not spent much time together in recent days. I'd not spent much time with the sick and the injured at all, in fact. Instead, I'd been more occupied with Ivar. I'd barely left his side since he had told me that he loved me, nor did I wish to leave his side. It was a strange feeling, one that I wasn't sure I was fond of.
In my time, I'd always been an advocate for rights and freedoms and general liberalism. I mean, it was the sixties. I wasn't sure I was ever a hippie, but I supposed that I wasn't far off their ideology. I was forward thinking, outspoken, and did whatever I wished. At school, I was constantly at protests and marches. I'd rejected all of the boys that had come my way because I'd decided I was independent and didn't need any of them or their interference in my life.
And now here I was. Besotted.
In truth, there was very little for me to dislike about Viking culture. In fact, it sometimes seemed that they were far more equal that even we were in the sixties. But old ideas die hard, and the world that I was raised in had forged my beliefs. It was as though I was subconsciously still fighting the prejudice, even if said prejudice had not even happened yet.
In their society, women did maths and looked after the money. Why? Because it was seen as a form of magic that men could not comprehend. In their society, there was no shame in femininity. Women looking after families was just as important as the jobs for men. Women were just as important and just as valued, perhaps even moreso. In their society, women could also choose to be warriors and leaders and there was no stigma behind it. There was no stigma behind any of it.
But in my society, women had been oppressed for generations. In my society, I was still fighting for the rights that these women already possessed.
It was strange to me, that I'd gone so far back in time, and yet it was my time that seemed backwards.
Perhaps that was why it was easier for me to fall in love with Ivar. He'd never really known a culture outside of his own - where women were equals and could do as they pleased. And I never felt pitied for my weakness as a woman, never felt oppressed. I just felt loved. Loved and respected.
When I saw Frida next, she could do nothing but note the smile that never left my lips. I couldn't push it down, no matter how hard I tried. Every time I thought of him, of Ivar, it arose again.
"You have not seemed so happy in... Well, for as long as I've known you." She commented, only making my smile grow as I gently patted my dampened cloth against the forehead of one of the sickly men. As the water ran from my fingers, finding its way down my sleeve in that uncomfortable manner that it often did. "What has made you so joyous, child?"
I looked over at her, wiping the mix of sweat and blood from my cheek, trying to stop my lips from twitching up again and failing immeasurably. I felt my cheeks redden, hazel eyes bright as I contemplated my words.
"Have you ever been in love, Frida?" I questioned, moving on to the mush of herbs beside me that I would soon smother many wounds with.
When her emerald eyes darted over to me, it was not a look of joy that she had sent me, but rather a look of utter concern. She looked so utterly upset, afraid, and more emotions that I could not quite place. "In love?" Her shaky voice did little to hide her fear. "Are you in love, Iris?"
Unknowingly, I giggled. My fingers dipped into the fresh green herbal paste that I had prepared earlier. "You cannot answer my question with a question!" I laughed, tossing the damp cloth over at her. "Have you been in love?"
The older woman gave a sad smile, her gaze distant as she recalled the years of her youth. It all seemed so long ago, like another life. "His name was Leif." She answered simply. For a while, I thought that perhaps that would be the end of the matter, and that she would speak no further on the subject. "He was a close friend of King Ragnar, and sailed with him on his very first voyage to England." She continued, and I paused my every action to listen to her intently. "I meant to marry him, and he would have married me too. But we were young and foolish, and love rarely ends as happily is we hope."
I couldn't help but feel sorry for her, of course I couldn't. But just because her love had ended badly, did not mean that mine would too. She could not see the future, could not see how my life would play out. Once, I'd thought that I could. But that all changed too when I ended up here. Even I could not predict what would happen in this odd life of mine now.
"What happened?" I whispered, gently placing the wooden bowl of paste aside. "What happened to your elskr?"
Frida walked closer, a frown everpresent on her gentle lips. She always looked so kind, and so beautiful. No matter the years that passed her, she looked ethereal and so very wise. "He died." She answered plainly, avoiding the painful circumstances behind her lover's death. Leif did not just die as she had said. It was more than that. A sacrifice to the Gods in place of Ragnar's Christian friend, Athelstan. Frida had been a young woman then. And she had spent all her life with the regret of the past. "And death will come your way too, death from your prince." She spat the title, and I wasn't certain whether it was a warning or an insult.
"Frida-"
"Tell me that I am wrong, child." She interrupted, watching as my joy contorted into sorrow. "Tell me that the love you are so pleased with is not a son of Ragnar."
Slowly, I bowed my head. I wasn't sure what warnings she would send my way, but I could not help but feel a pang of guilt. "I cannot." I answered quietly, uncertain what else to say.
Again she spat, shaking her head in disappointment and disgust. She pulled my hand to hers, making my eyes dart up to meet her from their place upon the floor. "Let me tell you this, child." She began lowly. "You will find no love there, no peace. You do not know that family, they were not made to love. And I fear that you have fallen in love with the worst of them all."
"Shut up, Frida." I interrupted, snatching my hand away. In the silence of her disappointment, I focused my attention back on tending to the sick. "You do not know what you're talking about."
I didn't want to ruin my friendship with the woman, I didn't want to upset her or drive a wedge between us. But for some reason, I couldn't help but detest her assertion. What could she know? The worst of them all?
No, she was wrong. Of that I was certain. And I would gladly lose her friendship over such an assertion. Though, I doubted it would come to that. She would see what I saw. For how could they not?
