King Ivar spends much of his time with his infertile first wife: neglecting his second wife, the mother of his children, a Freyjasdottir. Eventually, it catches up to him when a foreign King Sverri invades his lands.
tw: abuse, character death, etc.
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The longships were being pulled ashore. Ivar oversaw the exhumation of King Faksi– and King Sverri, bitterly so. It was the tenth day, and as such, it was time. The horses ran positively to exhaustion and were frothing with sweat, then cut up and thrown onto the ship where the Kings would lay. You were inside of one and Ivar could not help himself from dipping inside, finding that you had already dressed and laid Faksi out. Now, you were by Sverri, fixing the smallest of his braids for the afterlife.
"The girls have seen all the good things?" You ask, tucking a braid behind Sverri's ear. Ivar notes what you mean– her parents, relatives and master in the afterlife when she was raised over a door frame.
"Of course. It's time. Come." Ivar grunts. Though he says such a thing, he doesn't say anything else as you lean to finish Sverri's other braids, drifting over his corpse to lay a sole kiss upon his forehead. You sigh as you step off the boat, looking one last time at the various instruments and drink clustered about him. The deep green of his tunic almost glistens against his black vest and trousers.
You even hear the songs of the thralls– singing drunken goodbyes to their families. Ivar extends a gloved hand out to you. You pull the deep red of your gown up as to not trip, lacing your fingers with Ivar's. The thrall intended to join Sverri moved to the ship as the other finished her song, handing off jewelry to the volva. Six men filed in behind the volva on top of the ship. Ivar would deliver you back just outside of the tent before he moved back inside.
A booming howl of shield and sword rang out underneath the deep howl of your king. You could just barely make out the noise under the trace feminine screams of the thrall and the deep howl of the shields.
Do not mourn for those who died a glorious death.
For with Odin– today is a day of rejoicing.
They go to Valhalla, where the brave live forever.
There is a foreign ache in your heart. Valhalla, yes, where you would never see Sverri or your father Faksi again. But what a wonderful death for a King. Both Kings, you thought. It felt like only minutes before the Volva left the tent, sprinkling your face with hands slick of blood. You bend your head and wait for the six men to pass. Then Ivar comes back for you, staggering forward with crutch and a torch.
You stare. He was supposed to do this– he was supposed to light the ships. But as he holds the torch out to you, you know he wants you to do it. Your shaky hand takes the torch from his fingers and it feels like Kitta's death is recurring fresh in your mindseye. How she held her head high as he lit her aflame. You banish the thought away as you turn to light Sverri's, then pass both Uxi and Veifnr beside Ragnhild to your fathers.
The fire smolders hotly. You tread back, minding your step until you find the boats light aflame. When they are done, there will be a burial of the remains, but for now the other men take your torch away. Your head sits upon Ivar's shoulder for a moment as the heat of the flames begin to take ahold, smoldering the ship as it would for hours to come.
