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*just ignore Roger👀*
As I stared down at the mangled corpse of the man who'd attacked us, I could not feel anything. I knew that I should feel guilty, afraid, something! But there was no emotion in my heart. None.
Finally, I stood and kicked the body over, his face smashing into the water. I simply stood there, cold to the sensation. When I looked back at Frida, expecting to see her still unconscious, I met the green of her emerald gaze. She sat, staring at me as though she did not know me, a look of utter horror covered her.
I opened my mouth to speak, wanting to say something to her. How could she look at me in such a way? Had I not saved her life? Had I not killed our attacker? And yet, she looked at me as though I was the attacker.
Before any words could leave my lips, I was interrupted and silenced by an all too familiar voice. "Where is she?" Ivar's voice echoed above us, making both Frida and I turn to stare at the old ladder. "Where were you, hm? Guarding the entrance?"
The man to whom he spoke gave a small whimper before he came falling from the sky through the entrance to the old sewers. He gave a scream, before finally impacting with the ground. And then, there was nought but silence from him. I looked back at Frida, mouth slightly agape, before rushing towards the entrance beside her. Frida was instantly at the young man's side, in the hopes that she might save his life, while I simply stared up to the brightness of daylight.
When my eyes finally met Ivar's, I watched a look of relief wash over him - followed rather rapidly by a look of concern as he noticed the crimson colouring of my face. Simply, I smiled, quickly making my way up the ladder to meet him.
I could think of nothing else, in that moment, but him.
Once, my mother had told me that love was like the most powerful drug in the world. With it, you feel as if you can move mountains and change tides. Without it, you wish for nothing more than the cold embrace of death. It intoxicates you, body and soul, until it matters more to you than life itself. At the time, I had thought that this was foolish. I'd thought it impossible to feel so strongly about anyone other than my parents. And yet, each day that passed, it seemed I became more and more intoxicated by the youngest son of Ragnar Lothbrok. I couldn't help it. Love had taken a hold of me and it would not let go.
As I climbed out, I was quick to embrace him, only glad that my prayers had been answered and that I could see him oncemore. At first, Ivar didn't move - mildly shocked by my sudden act of affection, but that quickly faded as he held me closely in his arms.
I could feel him glaring at his men without even looking at him, knowing that he blamed them for whatever had happened to us in his absence. But I didn't care. I couldn't care. I couldn't care about anything but being near him in that moment.
I pulled away from his embrace momentarily, our eyes meeting oncemore, and he gave a heavy sigh of relief as he touched my bloodied cheek. Without another thought, I kissed him.
I knew that nobody knew yet of the two of us. But I did not care at all. I knew that, as he smiled against my lips, Ivar was glad for the rest of the men to know that he had a woman, even when all had doubted that he would ever achieve such a thing.
When we parted, I sighed gently, feeling a calmness wash over me. This was where I was meant to be. This was who I was meant to be. And a part of me wished that I could make that moment of serenity last forever.
"You're alive." I whispered, a smile as I quickly pulled away to check that he remained intact, and had not gone and injured himself again. "And you're not injured."
"No," He chuckled, holding onto my reddened hand to pull me back towards him. As quickly as his smile came, it faded into that familiar look of bitter anger, as he tilted my chin to reveal the cuts and bruises that now littered my throat. "But you are."
"It is nothing." I smiled, looking back down towards Frida. My brown eyes grew cold, voice low and dangerous as I watched him closely. "I killed him."
The last time I had said these words to him, I had been a mess. I had wept, and torn myself apart. But as Ivar looked into my hazel eyes, he could find no sense of grief or pain, no horror or remorse. And a feeling came over him, one that he had not quite expected, but that had arrived nevertheless. Pride.
With a tenderness that was almost alien to him, he brushed a strand of scarlet hair from my face and smiled, pulling me back into an embrace.
It was only then that I noticed Hvitserk, shortly behind his brother, and I sent him a small smile.
Everyday I missed my parents, my home, my friends. But I found myself becoming more and more distant from the life that I once had each day. It seemed to me, not just that it was my destiny to be here in this place, but that this was my home. They were my home. And regardless of what happened next, that would always be true.
Finally, I was home. And this home of mine was not a brick house with a nice picket fence as I had once had. This home was not even a place in this tiny world that I now lived in.
My home was the man that I had grown to love more than life itself.
