"You are a weapon; and weapons don't weep."

chapter II, act I ✧ 𝒍𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒐𝒏𝒔 𝒐𝒏 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆

" is Ivar?" the girl questioned, her eyes gleaming with wonder as the three boys looked down at her, all three decided to sip on their ale at the same time to avoid her question.

She sipped on her own mead, quietly. Hvitserk settled down next to her on the fur rag, not understanding why she sat on the floor but abiding by it regardless.

"You won't wish to know, wolf," his words were slightly slurred and she didn't blame him, they had been drinking since they left the lunch table.

He swung his arm over her shoulder, pulling her into him. She loved the smell of ale that he gave off. The smell of alcohol, the smell of strength and trust, all brothers had that same smell... except for the cripple who managed to have her wrapped around his fingers.

Nero sighed, running a hand through her hair, which for the first time in a long time, wasn't braided, was simply let wild. Her eyes were clear of any kohl, much to the boys' surprise. She always bore her father's mark on her face, the messy dark art that trailed down her cheeks.

"You mean he has gone with that servant?" she questioned, her weak drunkenness allowing her emotions to be visible through her eyes.

Vit lowered his voice as Sigurd and Ubbe engaged in a conversation, understanding that they had no part in what the duo's conversation.

"You don't have to speak as if it doesn't hurt you, wolf," he murmured into her ear, his eyes looking at her lovingly, her heart clenched in her chest at his words, at his looks.

In another world, one in which she wasn't a warrior, one in which she wasn't in love with Ivar, she would have married Hvitserk.

"It does not. He and I are merely friends, just like the rest of us," she reasoned and hid her head on his chest, hoping he would drop the matter and just let her breathe in his calming scent, she drank more.

"I have seen th—"

Her head began spinning as her words became more and more truthful, in fact, it had bothered her that Vit had someone, it bothered her a lot.

Though what she felt for Ivar was way stronger, the blond boy reciprocated her feelings, he was always with her when Ivar grew cold at most times.

Nero couldn't deny the feeling in the pit of her stomach every time she saw Vit and his dazzling, cocky smile, "In truth Hvitserk, what hurt me was when you fucked Margarethe. Now that we have this out of the way, I'm going to find Ragnar."

"He is in Hedeby," Ubbe warned as the girl raised her voice towards the end of her sentence and stood up. She grabbed the bottle of mead and walked out, Sigurd motioned to go after her, but his older brother raised his hand, holding him back, "she needs time, from whatever has happened."

Hvitserk said nothing, simply drank, searching for the honesty in her slurred words.

Nero pulled her horse out of the town, allowing it to be freer without so many people around. She ruffled its mane and took a swing from her bottle before hopping on Hati and leading it to where she believed Hedeby was.

She went for Ragnar because she had grown tired of hearing his sons speaking poorly of him when she had seen the man give all he had for others. Somehow in her drunkenness, she wanted to know if her idea of him was true.

While her horse's ears bobbed rhythmically, stretching forward and back with each time its hooves touched the floor, she realized that she wanted to go to Ragnar because he was the only person she knew who had experienced many types of love, many different times.

Maybe, just maybe, he could know what she felt, he could understand, and maybe she could too, she could learn.

She took a swig from the bottle, then another, then another, then she threw her head back and howled at the top of her lungs, watching many ravens fly off a nearby tree.

The thought of so many ravens around intrigued her, and patting Hati's neck she realized it needed some well-deserved rest.

Nero tied the animal in one of the tall bushes around. She turned around squinting to see the moving shadow that hung on the raven tree.

Her eyes focused on the image, and she quickly understood the figure as a man hanging, she breathed out "Odin," before running towards the image.

Just as she was about to reach it, the rope ripped, letting the body fall to the floor.

"Well... that clearly didn't go as planned," she smiled, flipping the man over on his stomach by kicking gently him with her boot. Her breath got caught in her throat as familiar crystal irises stared up at her, "ay, my king, rough times?"

"Rough life," he answered breathlessly, getting to his knees and looking up at the sky. She knew he was cursing all the gods, a man couldn't even die.

"They won't let you live, but they won't let you die, will they?"

She looked at the man. So broken, so strong. He had been so great once.

Her father told her stories about how he would laugh in the face of a storm in the seas, opening his mouth to taste the rain and the salt. About times in which he had wished to kill all those around him, or himself. Times in which he had to watch his loved ones either die or betray him.

Ragnar nodded and took the bottle that she offered him, she sat down on the grassy floor, keeping the man company and allowing her back to touch the fallen leaves of the tree.

The light breeze soothed her heavy bones. He fell to his back, drinking before giving the bottle back to her, she drank again, "Do you want to come to Wessex?"

"As it see—seems, it will be a suicide raid," she slurred, closing her eyes briefly before looking at him, in that moment, she was so similar to her father and he smiled at the thought "if so, then yes."

"My sons won't allow you."

"I did promise to go with Björn, my king."

"They won't allow because they love you, some more than others."

"I know not what love is, but I would die for them."

"You've gone soft for the boys."

"They have gone soft for me."

"I don't blame them," he laughed breathlessly, "they love you. Who will it be? Ivar, Hvitserk?"

"What?"

"Who do you love?"

"That's what I've come to ask you... how can you ever know?"

He remained quiet, he didn't know and he wouldn't admit that he was not sure, he knew he had loved Lagertha. He knew that he still did. He knew that she still did, "how do you think you know?"

"Maybe when— maybe when you realize that you can revere them, their eyes, or their hands, or the way there is a small flaw on their eyebrow that only adds to their beauty. When you know you could worship them like you worship gods. When you wish for the warpaint you wear to not be your enemy's blood, but their enemy's blood. When you wish to avenge everyone who has done them wrong."

If he was still in his glory, he would give Lagertha all his riches. He regretted so many things... what he had done to her, what had happened to them. All because of him.

He wished he had never left that farm, he wished he could go back in time, never become king, never lose his mind, never lose her.

"I'd give Ivar my place in Valhalla." Nero murmured, hiccuping as Ragnar turned to look at her, wide-eyed. Her eyes closed, enjoying the warm sun against her skin which was always cold, her heart was light and so was her mind with mead, "He must think of me as a joke..."

She let out a breathless laugh, allowing her mind to wander through her closed eyes, Ragnar chuckled, placing his hand on her shoulder, "You are a warrior, Nero."

"Who do you love?"

His mind wandered to all the people he loved. Lagertha. Athelstan. Floki. Björn. He laughed, opening his mouth with a smile. He had lost all of them. He had lost himself. The thought brought tears to his eyes, tears that slipped down his temples onto the floor.

"Look at you, you look like a bitch." she smiled, noticing his tears as he broke out laughing at her words, she stood up and pulled him with her, gods how drunk she was to call her king such names, "Let's go, Odinsson, you are too old to be laying on the woods crying..."

He stood, reluctantly yet still laughing, "It seems I've gone soft."

"It seems you speak the truth," she bickered, making him laugh even more, they walked towards her horse, as his was nowhere in sight. She soon became serious, her drunkenness increasing her mood swings "Ragnar, you must take Ivar to England."

"Ivar?"

"He needs you," Nero sighed, she knew Ragnar was the only one that could ever show Ivar how strong he truly is. He would always doubt himself if he didn't prove his strength to his father first.

"Alright."

"What?" she exclaimed, surprised that her king agreed with her without putting up a fight or argument.

She smiled, hopping on Hati and then helping him get behind her. The scene was almost comic, the small warrior and the huge king, both on the same horse, and she was the one with the reins.

"Do you not want him to go anymore?"

"No... I mean yes!"

"And I thought Björn would marry you," he laughed, shaking his head. The girl matched what his son liked in a woman, a beautiful fighter, a risk-taking shield-maiden, feisty and crazy personality.

He didn't fully understand what she would want with the cripple, she could have been perfect... if she just wasn't insane.

"Björn already has Torvi. The other boys will be married soon enough."

"And you won't?"

"I'm no lady."

"So?" the girl's lack of faith in herself disturbed him, he knew that Ivar loved her. Hel, he knew all the boys did. He could see it on their faces when he first arrived, how they looked at her before making any decisions. How they cared for her.

"Warriors don't get to bear children."

"You and Ivar... could be either great or tragic," he mused, smiling to himself as the horse followed its own, quick pace. His legs were firm around the horse so he didn't have to press on the girl for safety, his pride was too big.

"Why not both?" she smiled, taking the reins in one hand so she could take yet another swig of the bottle, by that point she wasn't entirely sure how she hadn't fallen off the horse, she wasn't very bothered about the thought though.

She passed the bottle to him and he drank, even though he hated mead.

"Have you ever seen a great tragedy?"

"We could be a first," she shrugged, chuckling. She didn't know if Ivar wanted her, she liked to think that he did and that he wasn't so eager about her on the beach only because he had yet to be with a woman.

The wind whisked away the stray her hairs from her face, the only sound that existed to her at that moment was one of the hooves of her horse hitting the floor. The sun warmed their sore muscles as they approached Kattegat.