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Ivarr laid there quietly, watching as Frith slept, the way her chest slowly rose and fell, the few strands of hair that blew upwards with each breath she took; “I… Lo- nope. No no,” Ivarr whispered, cursing himself internally, why couldn't he say it? The three words he's been wanting to tell her for so long? He carefully lifts a hand to remove the dark strands of hair from her face, his otherwise cold and stoic gaze softens as he looks down at her; “the only one who gets me, the only one who understands,” he mouthed silently, the tip of his index finger gently going over her nose and lips.
He had told her of his past, about his other brothers Eirik and Agnar and their tragic fate, tales of his father in París, Siljiba the damned cow, about Ségdae and Bárid, the political ex-lover and the son that came from it. Ólaf, his most dearest shield-brother, most trusted friend. Ireland, its emerald waters, and the life he left behind. He remembered how she sat there, legs crossed like a little girl who was getting told her favorite story, the way her smile beamed and her eyes twinkled, hanging on to his every word; and he remembered how she never faulted him for it.
Frith rolls in her sleep, burying her head into the curve of his neck, her arms wrapping around him tightly, “heart,” she mumbles sleepily, pressing her face more into him.
“Shh, I'm here, go back to sleep.” Ivarr reassured her, holding her close to him like his life depended on it, and in a way, he was starting to realize it did. ‘There is no me without you, without you I.. I am just a man,’ his mind confesses, one of his hands coming up to cradle the back of her head, keeping her close.
“I am a warlord, a leader, a Ragnarsson and a king in some parts, but with you..” he whispered, his fingers gently gripping the soft dark strands of her hair; “with you I feel like I can do anything, I can be myself without judgment, ridicule, hatred. Little one you..” he stopped only to realize his words were becoming more than that of a gentle whisper, and was becoming the sound of a man who is deathly terrified. Terrified of being in love, and actually feeling it.
He held her closer, her soft snores and mumbles muffled against his skin, his free arm wraps around her, holding her securely against him, the possessive grip he had on her he didn't even bother to hide.
He pulls back slightly, the hand cradling the back of her head now came to cup her cheek, the rough pad of his thumb softly caressing her skin. ‘You really tried killing me and ended up stealing my heart instead, didn't you..’ recalling how they met in East Anglia, the little one who fought her hardest and gave everything she had just to get a blow on him, he looks at his arm, the crescent shaped scar where her teeth had dug into his flesh, the way his blood colored her lips, the way she licked it off and spat it at him.
“Seems Freyja sent me a little wildcat,” he teased in a soft whisper, placing a reverent kiss to her forehead.
“Cat?” Frith mumbled, leaning her head back, her eyes fluttering open to look at him.
Ivarr lets out a snort, nuzzling his nose against hers before gently nipping the tip of it. “Yes. You. A little wildcat. Short, small, all teeth and claws. And whatever you call this mess here,” he teased, his free hand coming up to ruffle her hair, messing it up more than it already was.
“Ivarr,” Frith groaned groggily, playfully swatting his hand away. “Damn old man,” she huffed, sticking her tongue out at him, rolling to lay on her back, a soft giggle passing through her lips.
“Old?!” Ivarr gasped, rolling to hover over her, his arms caging her beneath him, “38 winters is not old!” He huffed, lowering himself on her, trapping her with his weight.
“You're right, you are as young as a spring lamb!” Frith chuckled, trying to wriggle free but it was of no use, the damn man had her exactly where he wanted her.
Ivarr raised a brow, “young as a spring lamb huh?” He laughed softly, his lips curling upwards, bowing his head to bury it in the curve of her neck.
“Mhm,” Frith giggled, his beard that seemed to grow longer with each passing day tickling her.
“You're the lamb, sweet one.” He whispered against her skin, slowly dragging his face across the length of her shoulder, anything to hear more of those giggles.
“Ivarr! Stop!” She pleaded, the tickling was too much, she tried to move, to push him off, but it was a lost cause when his hands shot out and grabbed her wrists, pinning them down above her head.
“The lamb is caught it would seem,” he chuckled, the sound of a man who was entirely too entertained at her struggles.
Frith's smile grew wider at his words, as she managed to get one leg free, “caught?” She repeated, swinging her leg up and around him, knocking him off of her. She immediately went to crawl out of the furs they were wrapped in, laughing in doing so, but the laughs were cut short when she felt the familiar grip of his calloused hand around her ankle, yanking her back under him.
Her laughs and weak protests filled the Royal Hall they were now residing in, “let me go you damn bear of a man!”
Ivarr's laughs blurred with hers, his hands finding all the right places to get her to laugh and squirm beneath his fingers, “I think the bear is hungry, he has had his fill of berries and fish.” Ivarr’s laugh grew louder as he felt Frith try to pull the furs that covered his head off as he traveled lower, but her attempts were in vain.
“Ivarr we can't, don't-” her sentence was cut short when she felt a playful nip to her inner thigh, “the bear can wait,” she pleaded, gripping a handful of his hair. “Later-” her sentence was cut short when she heard a knock and saw Ubba standing there.
“Ubba!” She laughed embarrassingly, pulling the furs up higher, covering her exposed skin. “Is everything alright?” She said breathlessly, trying and failing to regain some sort of composure.
“Have you seen my brother? We're supposed to go hunting..” his words became less curious and more amused when he took in the sight before him.
“I am hunting! Trying anyway!” Ivarr grumbled, Frith gawks, and smacks the top of the furs, Ubba's eyes widened before he barks out a laugh.
“Get up little brother, not all of us have lamb to share.” He teased, folding his arms across his chest as he leaned against the wooden wall.
Ivarr immediately sticks his head from beneath the furs, the action exposing Frith more than she would've liked, “you heard that?” He mumbled, like a young boy getting caught doing something he wasn't supposed to.
Frith shoved his head back under the furs, covering herself and him back up, his grumbles and huffs becoming muffled, “he'll be right out!” She exclaimed, holding Ivarr's head down, the embarrassing look on her face making Ubba laugh even harder.
જ⁀➴
“What do you think he is doing?” Soma's question makes Frith think even harder, her brows furrowing in a quiet contemplation.
“I don't know.. he's one of Halfdan's men, he is supposed to be helping the brothers; but what's he doing with all that loot?” Frith murmured, sparing Soma a glance before locking her gaze back on Faravid.
Soma hummed, squinting her eyes as she watched him ride further off into the distance, the heavy snowfall swirling around them in a chilled smoke. “And where is he going with it?”
“Men and their treasures are strange.. I wonder if Halfdan knows?” Frith stuttered out, her teeth chattering as the freezing wind howled around them.
Soma turned, wrapping her cloak around her tighter; “whatever his reasoning, it's foolish to do it in this weather.” Making the trek back to Jórvík, her head bowed while the harsh Northumbrian wind continued to nip and wail, the snow and ice that was falling clouding their visibility.
Frith nodded in agreement, ‘but it is smart, he knows he can't be tracked and he took the risk anyway.’ Her silent thought never spoke out loud, “come, I can only imagine what the brothers have on the spit.” The thought of the Royal Hall being warmed by the hearths within, meat roasting over the flames, made her mouth water and stomach growl.
Soma was the first to mount her horse, the chestnut mare snorting as she settled on her, Frith wasting no time as she mounted hers, she turned her gaze to Soma, who had a familiar mischievous grin on her lips.
“Are you ready?” Soma asked eagerly, yet determined, kicking her horse onward, leaving Frith and hers standing there, watching as Soma rode across the bridge.
Frith laughed heartily, the sound of a young woman who knew exactly how this little game of theirs would play out, “come now, we've given them a good head start.” Urging her horse forward, galloping fast towards them, hastily making their way through Coppergate Market.
People threw themselves out of the way as the reckless horse race continued, Soma's and Frith's laughs carrying on the Northumbrian wind to those around them, some laughed and cheered them on, others shot glares, the sound of their horses hooves hitting the stone of the second bridge they were crossing the only thing they could register.
“So slow!” Frith shouted, passing Soma and her horse with ease as they continued to race towards the Royal Hall, the sounds of the Yuletide celebrations in full swing, edging her horse onward, closing in on the finish.
Soma gawked, “not fair!” she yelled, pulling back on the reins as she came to a stop beside Frith, her smug expression making her roll her eyes playfully. “You only won cause you used to live here!” Soma continued, watching as she and Frith dismounted their horses, playfully shoving her towards the entrance of the hall.
Frith laughs, shaking her head fondly, before letting out a snort. “I only won because my horse is faster.” She said plainly, leaving Soma standing there, gawking once more.
Soma laughs, following her inside, “how is it you always know what to say? You always have something witty to say! That's not fair either!”
“Such is life,” Frith teased, handing Soma a tankard of mead, a playful grin gracing her lips.
જ⁀➴
Ivarr twirled Frith around again and again, watching as her long dark hair curled itself around her, he laughed, grabbing her hips and lifting her high into the air, twirling them both around before placing her back on the ground.
“Ivarr!” Frith drawled with a giggle, stumbling into him, her hands clutching his tunic, the rapid beating of his heart beneath her palms in tune with the beating drums that surrounded them, the skalds picking up their paces, stomping their feet as the revelry continued.
Ivarr's hands cupped her blushed cheeks, his rough thumbs going over the plump skin, the thin layer of sweat that was making her shimmer and shine in the firelight. Ivarr laughs gruffly, yet it was undeniably soft, “what am I to do with you?”
Frith said nothing, her gaze meeting his, the feel of his heart steadying beneath her touch, the sounds of the Yule feast fading into the background as the others continued to dance, cheer and celebrate around them.
But in this moment none of that mattered, the rest of the world seemed to have faded into a joyous blur, “love me,” she found herself answering his question with words she did not intend to use, was it the mead? the heat of the moment? The way his body leaned into her touch on its own accord, the way his calloused and scarred hands tilted her face upwards.
“Love you?” He repeated in a soft whisper, his sharp steely-blue gaze never leaving her, the sounds of boasting and cheers falling on deafened ears, paying no mind to the constant bumps of other people's shoulders or the clasping of their hands on his in passing, in that moment all he saw and felt was her.
“Love you?” He mouthed silently, pulling her closer, did he love her? Did he love the way her eyes lit up and her smile grew wider each time she saw him? The way his name would roll off of her tongue and pass through her lips like that of a plea and a prayer, a prayer he would answer and grant every time; the way her soft laughs and giggles would reach the darkest places of his heart and brain. Loved the way she never asked him to change.
Frith's hands cupped his cheeks, were they warm because of the party that was taking on around them? Did he have too many mugs of mead? What was going on behind that cold gaze of his that she would willingly let freeze her like Hel's icy grip.
“I love you,” they both whispered in unison, neither one of them meaning to say those three words, Ivarr’s lips found hers immediately, claiming them in a desperate kiss, he cared not that everyone could see him, or that his brothers cheers and their words of their own form of endearment echoed throughout the hall.
“Damn it all I love you, I love you and it terrifies me.” Ivarr's gentle whispered words between each movement of his lips was a stark contrast to how he was kissing her, it was dominant, passionate, a kiss from a man who knew what he wanted, a kiss from a man who knew he loved her.
Frith pulled back from the kiss, her breathing coming out in soft pants, the air of the Royal Hall was thick with the smoke of the fires, the debauchery and revelry that surrounded them, and something else, something else she couldn't quite pinpoint. “I love you too, Ivarr Ragnarsson, warrior. Conqueror. King, and hunters of them. My love is yours.”
Ivarr’s already subtle smile began to beam, lifting her in the air once more as he twirled her around, bringing her back down to her feet. “Come, there is something Halfdan and I have been wanting to give you.” He said eagerly, his rough hand swallowing hers in a gentle hold as he led her through the sea of drunken warriors and people, Halfdan beckoning them to come closer.
“There you two are!” Halfdan shouted excitedly, not knowing just how loud his own voice could possibly be. “What you did in that battle did not go unnoticed, nor do we think it should go unrewarded.” Halfdan laughed, clapping Ivarr's shoulder who nodded in agreement.
“Unrewarded?” Frith giggled, confused by his words. “Forgive me, but what I did calls for no reward, I did what I swore to do. That is all, keeping my word does not call for a reward, if that was the case everyone would want something.”
“Aye,” Halfdan began, his giant hands gripping Frith's shoulders as he guided her to the main table, lifting her up and standing her on it, Ivarr barked out a laugh as he watched her shocked expression.
“LISTEN HERE YOU IMBECILES AND SCOUNDRELS!” Birna yelled, slamming her mug loudly against the table where Frith stood.
“Ivarr, what-” Frith began to say but then stopped when Ivarr laughed and put his finger to his lips, the gesture making her grunt out of bewilderment as she stood on the table high above all to see.
“ARE WE NOT HAVING A GRAND TIME?” Halfdan yells, playfully nudging Birna's shoulder. Their warriors and the remaining townspeople lifting their mugs in agreement, their cheers and shouts billowing throughout the Royal Hall.
“Have we not seized Jórvík on our own?!” Ubba roared with glee, sharing a knowing smile with his brothers.
Bjorn and Sigurd raised their ale horns high above their heads, “AYE!” They yelled together, the Ragnarsson’s warriors clanking their tankards and mugs with one another in a proud agreement.
“AND DID THE LITTLE ONE NOT DELIVER?!” Ivarr shouted, the voice of a warlord whose tone left no room for an argument.
Frith's eyes widened, then her brows furrowed in confusion, “I- I just..” she began to say, but could no longer find the words, her thoughts trailing off as she tried to figure out what was going on.
Ivarr came to stand on the table beside her, his boots kicking plates and mugs out of the way, the already messy hall and table becoming his own podium.
The people in the Royal Hall cheered and shouted with glee, their ale horns, mugs, tankards high above their heads, in agreement with their commander's words, “AND DOES THAT DELIVERANCE DESERVE TO BE REWARDED?!” Ivarr shouted, his arm wrapping around her shoulders in a drunken and possessive gesture, her body relaxing against his despite the confusion that still etched her features.
“AYE!” Guthrum and Soma shouted from the far corner of the hall, Soma's grin was ear to ear, as if she knew something Frith didn't, raising her tankard in agreement.
Ivarr without a word lifted Frith high above him, sitting her down on his shoulders, like a father would with their child, Frith immediately settling herself so she could balance, her hands gently gripping his hair, she was wondering how he was balancing despite having drank over his weights worth in mead, standing on a table, and hoisting her high above his head with graceful ease.
Soma waded her way through the rowdy crowd, coming to stand on a bench in front of the table. “DID SHE NOT HELP LEAD THE RAGNARSSONS TO VICTORY? DID SHE NOT KEEP HER OATH NOT ONLY TO THEM BUT TO US?!” Soma said proudly, looking up at Frith with a soft smile.
“I did what I was asked, not-” Ivarr pinched her thigh, causing Frith to yelp and squirm above him.
Guthrum came to stand beside Soma, “I would follow her.” Raising his mug high in the air.
“As would I,” Bjorn chimes in, “Aye, I as well!” Sigurd agrees, “the little one has me wrapped around her finger,” Birna laughs, raising her mug too.
“The little one who stood toe to toe with my insane brother, who fought him every day in East Anglia no matter how badly beaten she was, Frith, the Northumbrian mercenary who fought and squeezed her way through the ranks, it is with great honor,” Ubba began, looking up at the young woman who sat upon his little brother’s shoulders.
“To not only have you a part of this army,” Halfdan, Sigurd and Bjorn said together, coming to stand beside their brother Ubba.
“..But to help command it.” Ivarr finishes softly, leaning his head back to see Frith's shocked and bewildered expression, her lips parting, the stuttering of her words as she tried to figure out what to say, the way her small hands gripped and released his hair multiple times, the way her eyes went wide as their words sank in.
Ivarr lifted her and placed her on the table beside him, his rough hands holding her arms softly; “you have fought me for days before we traveled here, fought me till your knuckles were split and your lips were busted, you showed that same fire towards your own, your home, you showed them no mercy.” He began, turning her to face the crowd of people who watched intently.
“As this army grows in numbers, it grows in strength,” Ivarr started, “feeding off of the fear, the loot, the land, the wisdom.” He continued, turning his gaze to his and his brothers warriors. “AND WHO BETTER, TO LEAD YOU TO THAT PRIZE WE ALL CAME HERE TO SEEK?!” He roared, “brothers, sisters,” grabbing a tankard and raising it towards Frith who now seemed to be in full shock at the revelation of what was happening.
“You follow us, but now we are telling you to follow her. WHAT SAY YOU?!” Ivarr shouted with pride, downing the mead before jumping off of the table, extending his hand out to Frith.
Frith paid no attention to the sea of people who were shouting and screaming in agreement, she looked down at Ivarr, his extended hand, her mind reeling with what was just bestowed upon her, her shoulders beginning to feel the weight of what it implies.
She laughs softly, the sound almost going unheard. “You.. you mean it,” placing her hand in his, stepping down from the table, her free hand coming to push a strand of hair from his face.
“I mean everything when it comes to you,” he whispered, pulling her closer and kissing the top of her head, burying his nose in the dark strands of her hair, her scent intoxicating him in a way mead never could.
Frith tilts her head back, looking up at the man who just made her a commander, despite the honorable weight that she now carries, there was a flicker of pride that danced in her eyes; “I do not wish to command beside you.. but to command as one.” She murmured, her fingers running through his thick coarse beard, gently working through the knots.
Ivarr grabs her wrist, preventing her from combing out any more tangles. “As one then,” he repeated, resting his forehead against hers, and for once, he felt happy. A happiness he was not accustomed to, a happiness he would often scoff at. But tonight, he allowed himself to feel, allowed himself to feel the raw emotions he only ever felt when he was in the heat of battle, or taking one's life. He felt it with her, the way she could make his heart race and soar like the swing of his axe, how he could feel the rapid beating of her heart beneath his touch when he would grasp her neck when they made love, the same way he would grasp his enemies neck to take their life.
The rush he felt was an odd balance, the way he felt alive and sated when taking lives on the battlefield, he felt in this simple moment with her. For her body and mind was his favorite battlefield, a field of thorns and reddened petals he deliberately took his time to learn, every dip, curve, dimple; every thought, wish, and secret. He learned, he memorized, he conquered.
જ⁀➴
Frith woke, her breathing labored, her chest rising and falling rapidly, she could hear the screams of the innocent family she had murdered fading away and Regan's shrilled laugh ring throughout her ears the more she came too. She wiped the sweat from her face, turning to look at Ivarr, hoping her nightmare didn't wake him as well, and to her luck, it didn't. The man she loved slept hard and at ease, tangled in the furs beside her; the soft golden light of the fire making him look like a sleeping god than that of a well renowned warrior.
She sighs, gently pushing the furs off of her and quietly climbs out of bed. The Royal Hall was quiet now, a striking difference to what it was just earlier that night and day, people were either passed out on the tables or floors, it was quiet, too quiet.
Frith didn't bother to put on her breeches, just used her tunic, the color of it that often reminded her of the roses that bloomed and blossomed in spring, she left her cloak and boots, only bothering to bring the small dagger she often kept tucked and hidden away. She made her way quietly throughout the hall, tiptoeing through the mess that the Yule festival and party had brought out, she could feel the cold northern wind against her bare skin as she stepped outside, the guards the brothers had stationed throughout hardly noticed her disappearance. It was like they were frozen in time, blind to her passing, deaf to her foot falls.
‘What is going on?’ She thought to herself, still somewhat disoriented from the nightmares that have been plaguing her mind every time she closes her eyes, the charred bodies, how their hands were reaching upwards and towards each other, how her old friend Regan's words were left echoing throughout her ears.
The icy Northumbrian air felt different this night, it was blowing harder than usual, the snow on the ground melting against the warmth of her bare feet as she made her way to the little clearing she often escapes too when she cannot sleep, Frith sighs, kneeling in the snow, the silvery hues of the full moon basking her in its light, the forest line in front of her taunting her to come closer.
“I see kings learning how to fly..” She murmured, repeating Regan's words; clearing some of the snow on the ground to see the frozen earth that lay beneath.
"I see a dutiful puppet, only to get its strings cut by its master. I see a headless corpse tied and bound to a sturdy bloody oak, his head guarded by wolves, I see fire, I see burnt earth and I see death..” Frith speaks out to no one in particular, Regan's words flowing out of her mouth with hushed ease from the amount of times she had said them.
She looked up at the darkened sky, how it was clearer than usual, not a singular cloud blanketing the shiny jewels that were twinkling and shining high above her. Frith groaned, she knew what Regan's words meant, she knew that taking Jórvík was only just the beginning.
“An oath, sworn under blackened skies.” Frith shivers, taking the small dagger that she kept hidden, the sharp blade reflecting the full moon above her as she stared into her own reflection.
She swallows, taking the knife to her palm and cutting it, the warmth of her blood running down her hand and onto the frozen earth beneath her, the snow staining red.
“Woden hear me, lord of frenzy, god of hanged men,” Frith began, closing her palm and feeling the blood trickle down through her clenched fingers as she stared upwards towards the sky; “Havi, protect him, protect him in battles, protect him from others and from himself. Give him the strength to do whatever it is he seeks to do, and may he be victorious in your name. I ask you not for much, just for his heart to stay beating for whatever our fate has in store.” She continued, a single tear running down her cheek.
“And in return, take me, a life for a life if you see it fit. There is no me without him, is a rose not defenseless without its thorns?” She cried softly, begging the All-Father to hear her prayers.
“Depends on the rose,” A familiar voice whispered behind her, removing his hood and cloak, and laying it on the ground, leaning the torch against a stone column. Ivarr kneels beside her, taking in the sight before him, her windblown hair, her pale, bare, goosefleshed skin against the snow, her blood dripping down her hand.
“Ivarr, I-” Frith began to say but stopped when he took the dagger from her hand, she looked at him, watched as he slit his palm with ease, his lifeblood flowing down his hand and pooling in with hers.
“May she be spared, and protected from all things that seek to harm her.” Ivarr began, taking her bloodied palm in his. He knew what she was doing, what she was offering.
“Hear me Odin,” he continued, squeezing her hand tighter. “If she falls, so will I. Her life for mine, my life for hers. I swear this to you, Frith, the little one who planted herself inside my heart and mind, and bloomed into something that the Vanir themselves would be in awe of, my life is yours. In this life, and in the next.” He finished, turning his gaze to look at her, his steely blue eyes piercing into her own, taking in her reverent expression, the face of a young woman who was utterly in love, and who belonged solely to him.
She squeezed his hand harder, their blood trickling through their entwined fingers, each drop of it seemed to be echoing through their ears in this deafening moment, “If he falls, so will I. His life for mine, my life for his. I swear this to you, Ivarr, the man who conquered my heart and mind, my love and loyalty is forever yours, for all time.”
Ivarr turns to cup her face, his bloody hand painting her cheek in a saturated crimson, pulling her in for a kiss; it was possessive, dominant, but yet it still had the tenderness of a man who was devoted to her, the kiss of a devotee who kneels before the altar in reverence, the kiss of a man who wanted the gods to watch.
Frith gently lays him down on his cloak, the coldness of the snow and the frigid air was the least of their worries as she straddles him, undoing his breeches and pulling them down just enough to get what she was after, her bloodied hand leaving trail marks down his tattooed chest, a painted claim.
“Forever,” Ivarr whispers, his hands pulling her tunic up and over her head, wanting to see her bare skin reflect in the Northumbrian moon light, his reddened fingers painting runes across her breasts and torso as the delicious slow grind continued. His head falling back against his cloak, the cold cushion of snow melting under the heat they were creating.
She took her time, as they often did when they made love, but it was more than that this time; the blood oaths they had just committed under the full moon, her smeared bloody hand prints that covered his chest and stomach, “forever,” she softly whimpers, her fingers digging into his Sleipnir tattoo.
Ivarr moaned as he felt Frith claim him beneath the stars, his eyes opening when he felt Frith stop, “why in the gods name woman did you stop?” He groaned, taking in her stunned expression, following her gaze to the silhouette of what seemed to be a person standing on the edge of the forest in front of them.
“Who is that?” Frith murmured, getting ready to get off of him, Ivarr's hand shooting out to grab her thigh, keeping her in place.
“Give me your hand,” he ordered softly, taking her slit palm and holding it against his, the cut flesh rubbing against each other as their lifeblood mixed together once more, his eyes never leaving the silhouette.
Ivarr grunted as he felt her settle, “keep going, and don't stop.” He commanded, his voice a mere whisper, clenching her hand harder, the action causing the both of them to wince as the silhouette continued to stand there and watch, the wind no longer howling, all was frozen, all was still.
Frith did as she was told, the head of the mysterious figure tilting to the side as it continued to silently observe. She squeezed his hand, her breathing coming out in soft pants, “Ivarr,” she breathlessly whispered, leaning down to kiss him, her free hand cupping his bearded cheek.
“As one,” he murmured, gripping her hand harder, the tips of his fingers digging into the back of hers, his free hand gripping her thigh, his breathing labored, his eyes rolling back as he welcomed his sweet release.
“As one,” Frith repeated, her long hair falling around them creating a curtain of dark silk, she nuzzles her nose against his, before turning her gaze to the forest's edge, the dark figure no longer there, it was gone just as quick as it came; disappeared like it was never there to begin with.
‘Bloody tangled hands and bare limbs, a promise! No..’ Regan's words invading her mind once more, “an oath, sworn under blackened skies,” Frith murmured, repeating the visions Regan foresaw, the visions she understood so clearly now, she looks down at Ivarr, a soft smile gracing her lips.