Ivar glared down at the stewed onion. The malodorous vegetable floated in a sea of broth. He loathed onions. Yet the food stores had dwindled. All of the game in the larders had decayed. Now the fare which sat before him fed the long house for first and second meal. A bountiful meal had not crossed his platter in nigh a fortnight. The scarceness of resources forced him to close the doors to the great hall. For the last several risings he denied revelers entrance. The decision afforded him no favor among his people, but he sighted no other recourse. They barely had enough sustenance to sustain those who dwelled within the walls.

He looked down the table to Freydis. She drooped in her seat at the opposite end. She hadn't consumed even a sip of broth in three risings. A sacrifice she suffered by her own design. Everything anyone placed before her she refused. She complained of the fare being rotted with maggots and nightshade. She claimed Bonnie meant to poison her babe as retribution for what happened to her own. Which he knew to be foolish. Bonnie would never harm a child. It mattered not what grievances she held against the mother.

Freydis' handmaidens were able to coax her into taking swallows of water, every now and again. Yet not as often as he would've favored. If she persisted in her senselessness, he'd take the matter well in hand. For he'd have his warriors hold her down, while one of her handmaidens forced the broth and onion down her gullet.

Though he didn't believe Bonnie's aim was to harm Freydis' babe, he wasn't so naïve as to think her innocent of the dwindling of their food stores. It wasn't lost upon him the only vegetable which remained was one she knew he detested. Such a slight only confirmed his suspicions of where to place the blame. He knew she'd seek out vengeance. How could she not? A grave wrong was committed against her. No one deserved reprisal more than she. Yet he couldn't allow her hunger for retribution to starve them all.

Freydis slumped a bit more in her seat. His gaze narrowed as it crept over her. "Has the babe moved this rising?"

"No," she said, while eyeing the broth. Disdaining suspicion pinched her already gaunt face. "He's too weak, as am I! And the fault lies with you, My King!"

"Hmm," his head slanted as he tossed his eating ladle back in his bowl, "you believe me to be at fault for the state of the food stores, how so? Especially, when you were the one who chose to act without the consent of your king? To have your warriors murder my babe! So please speak to me how I'm at fault for your consequences we now suffer?"

She slapped her bowl from the table. The contents splattered the planked floors as the trough skittered across the splintered wood. "The fault lies with you, because you allow this wickedness to continue, dear husband! You have the means to bring a halt to this famine. All you need do is enforce judgement upon the guilty. Yet you refuse!" She shot from her seat. "Though you may not be responsible for the death of her spawn, the same will not hold true for our son if that dark bitch's means meet their desired end! For if this comes to pass his death will be on your hands, just as our daughter's blood drips from them now!"

Freydis teetered from side to side. She gripped the edge of the table to steady herself. Just when he thought her stable on sure footing, she collapsed face first onto the great table. Maddened by the senselessness of her reasoning and even more so her emotions, he waved a hand. His personal warriors and her handmaidens hurried to her side. He, however, remained in his seat wrestling with her words. Perhaps a show of force on his part would take Bonnie unawares. Lend pause to her next course of attack. Maybe even remind her she was indeed still beholden to him.

As one of his warriors carried Freydis to their personal quarters as her handmaidens fussed about after them, he waved over the other. When the soldier approached, Ivar leaned in, "Has there been any news since the former Supreme led her trusted into the forest a moon cycle ago?"

"Yes." The warrior's head dipped a bit as his gaze met the ground. He appeared almost reluctant to answer.

His face scrunched when the soldier refused to hasten his answer. "Well?"

"She's r-refashioned her lodgings," The man uttered, lifting his gaze to his. "Last eve her keep appeared as it always had, and this rising..." his head swung about in a slow shake.

"Refashioned her keep..." He muttered to himself as he forced the words to produce reasoning within his mind. After moments of struggling to piece together a plausible meaning, his glare rediscovered the warrior. "Refashioned her keep in what way?"

"Into the likes which rivals your castle in York." He continued to shake his head as bewilderment did strange things to his features. "I've never sighted the likes. The structure reaches for the heavens, while verdant and stone stretches all out about her land."

"What?" Surely the warrior thought him a fool.

The soldier's head bobbed. "One of the spies even spoke of a massive lake fashioned out of stone that resides behind her keep."

"A lake of stone?" Agitation crept into his heart and pumped unease throughout him.

"It's as if she's brought Asgard to Midgard. The All-Father, Loki, Thor, Frigg, Freyja...they all dwell there." Conflict presented itself in the warriors gaze, before submitting to determination. "I know you believe Queen Freydis to be the rightful Supreme, but-,"

His gaze slitted. Of course he knew who reigned as Supreme! Yet, the people could not...must not! He controlled Freydis and thereby controlled the people who believed her to be whom they claimed. Bonnie, he never controlled. She'd never allow such an imbalance in the scales between them. "You do not want to conclude such a thought, Birger. It would be a shame if your neck were to misplace your head."

"Her trusted feasts for first and second meal." The warrior's chin rose as defiance blazed a path across his face. "More times than not, they also partake twice in between! I believe the meals are referred to as brunch and lunch." Ivar took note of other warriors sharing glances among each other. Birger turned to speak to the hall on the whole. "I've heard it spoken that the fare consists of a great many delicacies. Delicacies which can be likened to ambrosia more fitting for the-,"

Ivar snatched his ax from his trousers and hurled the weapon at Birger. The blade met its aim mid center between the bones of his shoulders. Birger whirled about to settle him with an accusing stare, before his eyes rolled to greet the top of his head. His knees buckled. Death came for him without delay and his face met the wood planked floor before the rest of him.

Ivar's glare catapulted to another of his personal warriors. "Inform Bonnie Bennett of Mystic Falls, the reprieve I've offered to grieve our babe is done. She's to attend me here in the great hall in three risings time to hear her judgement."

****

"Please, Queen Freydis," Freydis' handmaiden Brenna pled. "If not for yourself, then have a care for your babe."

"This is true. If it is your mind to gift King Ivar with a robust son you must eat," the other handmaiden Ingrid agreed. Her tone soft and ever soothing. Freydis had come to know this gentleness as being the girl's way.

Freydis couldn't recall a moment when she'd ever heard the girl raise her voice. Goddess, she couldn't ever remember a time she sighted Ingrid go without the cloak and veil she always donned. Yet, she never questioned this oddity. For the girl performed her duties beyond reproach. She also held a slightly above middling intelligence for a handmaiden. So she allowed the girl such oddities. Asides, she didn't want to be repulsed by whatever the strange chit thought to secret away under her covering. Adequate handmaidens didn't just fall in one's lap. Especially in a land overran with pagan savages.

Freydis knew both women spoke the truth. She'd not only grown weaker over the last moon cycle, but she hadn't felt her babe move in half a fortnight. This frightened her. For she'd experienced a slowing of movement in her first babe around her birth time. Her sweet daughter had entered the world breathless. Such a memory provoked her to take the ladle and trough her handmaiden offered. Gingerly, she scooped up a bit of broth. When she lifted the silver to her mouth a great many larvae squirmed about upon the ladle, while even more writhed around in the bowl. She hurled the dish. The trough rammed Brenna's head, drenching the older woman from face to shoulders in the foul smelling onion broth.

"Queen Freydis!" Ingrid snapped, her tone inappropriately reprimanding in nature.

"Out!" Freydis roared. She no longer had the patience to tolerate their simple mindedness. "Leave me now!"

As the women hurried from the private quarters, Freydis struggled to stand. Once on her feet, she wobbled over to her personal chamber pot. She glanced about. When assured of her privacy, she then flipped over the muck pail. Underneath lay an athamae and ceremonial chalice. With haste she took possession of the items and retreated deeper into the personal quarters of the long house. She discovered privacy near the weaving loom. Crouching down in the shadowed corner behind the store table, she sliced open her palm. Blood gushed from the wound into the chalice. It had been nigh a solstice cycle since she'd communed with her goddess. She now needed her guidance more than ever.

"Oh Hollow God-,"

A searing burn blistered her gut and set flames to her throat. Freydis dropped to her knees. The athamae slipped from her hand as she nigh regurgitated a lung. Scorching heat set the blood within her veins to a rolling boil. Even the life essence she'd bled into the chalice sizzled and bubbled about. Fire blazed from the ceremonial vessel until the blood dissipated and nothing remained. At the bottom of the goblet an odd design engraved itself into the gold. Fear snatched hold of her even as the cup slipped from her grip.

Freydis sighted the signs for what they were. She'd been hexed. Her blood no longer held the key to her deliverance. Now she understood why Ivar had begun to turn from her. Why the drought she slipped in his ale no longer had any effects on him. His suspicions of her multiplied with each passing rising. The glances of love she'd come to covet had taken a calculating turn. She had a profound fore sense that once she gave birth her husband plotted her end. If she wanted to survive and force Ivar to once again take note of her she had to prove herself more powerful than the dark witch. She'd done it before, she could more than manage to best her again and show them all one final time she indeed was the true Supreme.

"Eluf!" Freydis bellowed not minding who may be about.

Moments later the warrior burst into the closeted room weapon drawn. His glare darted from wall to wall for any perceived threat. "Have you been harmed, Queen Freydis?"

"No, I'd like to have a feast in three risings time." She unfolded herself from her crouch and attempted to stand.

His face folded into a throng of creases and wrinkles as he eyed her as one would the senseless. "A feast?"

"Has my speech faltered are dipped below a pitch your ears can manage?" Freydis demanded, while flapping a hand at him to assist her up. She disliked gravely having to repeat herself. "Yes a feast!" She didn't miss the sigh which burst from Eluf's lips as he stomped over and snatched her upwards. The room spun, but moments later her footing became sure.

"And what will you feast upon?" He questioned, turning his head sideways and sizing her up from the cut of his eye. "There is no food!"

She carefully stalked forward towards him, while she attempted to remain steady on her feet. "You will lead a few of the household warriors on a hunt in the forest."

"Queen Freydis," The man's wits got away from him to be replaced by gall. For his eyes rolled without the benefit of guise as he released another breath rather long in its going. "There is no game in the forest. The only wildling about is the Sup—former Supreme's sacred pig."

"Well then, there you have it!" A sneer bold in its emergence slithered across the length of her lips. "Now, what are you waiting for?"

****

Harald paced about Ivar's throne room in York. His mind twisted over plots and strategies which would see his sister liberated. Yet every plan he fashioned met a perceived brutal defeat against Kattegat's defenses and Ivar's forces. For he'd lost half of his army to battle and another third to sickness. The able bodied warriors who still remained willing to lift a sword was minimal. Attempting to free Bonnie as is would usher him to his end, which he wouldn't mind if his efforts secured her freedom. Yet with the scant army under his command, he'd not even be able to penetrate Kattegat's front gates. By no means could he triumph over Ivar in such a state.

Still he contemplated sailing for Norway just the same. Bonnie would've given birth to her babe by now. As soon as they weaned the babe from her milk Ivar would hand down her judgement. He could not allow this to come to pass! For even if he had to sail for Kattegat with just his dwindling forces and the gods on his side then so he would.

"King Harald," One of the castle warriors entered the room. "Gunnhild, wife of Jarl Olavsson is here to attend you."

"Gunnhild?" His head slanted a bit. "I was told she fell in battle."

The warrior's shoulders rose and fell as he continued. "Bjorn Ironside also accompanies her."

"Bjorn Ironside!" The news snatched him about to face the warrior full on. "And you haven't placed him in chains or his head on a block?"

"Bjorn Ironside?" The warrior appeared beyond confused as if he'd never thought such things could occur. "The eldest son of Ragnar?"

"Agh!" Odin's eye! Bjorn Ironside had aligned himself with their Christian enemies, fought under their relic against their gods and yet they still worshiped him as if he were a god. Disgusted, Harald waved the warrior out. "Bring them in!"

The warrior hurried from the throne room only to return moments later followed by Gunnhild and Bjorn Ironside. Gunnhild dipped her head in greetings, while Ironside's flared stare darted about the room. His eyes lingered upon the large likeness of Bonnie hanging on the wall across from the throne. She wore the silken gilded dress she'd worn to the feast Ironside had held in he and Halfdan's honor. Their Most High appeared just as off-putting as she appeared that eve. In verity, Harald found the monstrosity distracting. Something so beguiling should never hang about in a room meant for deliberation and strategizing. The Shrew constantly mocked him with her wicked verdant glare.

"Why have you risked your neck to come here, Ironside?" He asked, pilfering Bjorn's attention from their Supreme.

Reluctantly, Ironside turned from Bonnie's likeness to face him. "I've come to ask you for aid in taking back Kattegat from Ivar."

"And why would I do that?" He folded his arms across his chest. "Seeing as I am one of the reasons you and yours are no longer in possession of Kattegat."

Bjorn's gaze darted to Gunnhild for an instance before hurtling back to him. Ironside stared at him, and then his eyes narrowed before he stepped closer. "When I was told you made plans with Jarl Olavsson to return to Norway and take Kattegat from Ivar I believed your motives to be selfish in nature. Yet looking upon you now, I know this not to be the case. You mean to return to Kattegat for Bonnie."

"What?" Harald croaked.

Ironside crept even closer. "You bear the mark of her trusted. How is this possible, she loathed you?"

"Why now?" He thundered, refusing to fritter away anything shared between he and his...Supreme. "Why not, when I had the army? Why not before we went to battle with Wessex?"

"What?" Ironside blanked.

Harald's back teeth clenched. So he forced his words through the slits. "During the parlay I spoke to Ubbe of my plans to take back Kattegat from Ivar. I even offered to forgo the battle with King Alfred if you all agreed to align yourselves with me against your brother. Now I fear it is too late. For Bonnie has already given birth to her babe and Ivar plans to pass judgement upon her for past offenses."

"Ubbe never spoke of this with me." Bjorn's face creased in upon itself. "Yet all is not loss. For the All-Father has vowed to protect Bonnie until you and I arrive with our army."

His brows leaped into his hairline. "Our army?"

The doors to the throne room burst open, and the warrior from before marched in followed by a man. The man appeared drenched and torn from his travels.

The castle's warrior spoke. "This is Bjarke, he claims to be one of the spies your men left behind in Kattegat."

"You have word of our Supreme?" he questioned, taking a step forward.

The spy's head bobbed as he cast a stricken stare to the ground.

"Well?" Bjorn demanded, stepping next to Harald.

The man forced his gaze to meet theirs. "Queen Freydis set warriors upon our Most High while she was heavy with child. Though the Supreme overcame the attack...the babe did not." The spy's eyes took on a shine as his bottom lip trembled a bit.

"No," Ironside uttered next to him.

Harald turned away unable to face his failure head on.

"Her daughter entered Midgard still."

****

Bonnie walked through the forest with Silas at her side. He held a pot of honey for Wilbur. She'd asked him to accompany her to the cove so they could speak. Since she'd reembraced her responsibilities as Supreme her moments no longer belonged to her. If she thought she was a beacon for the strange and unexplained before, now she was a fucking solar satellite. More and more of her children flooded the shores of Kattegat to offer their respects for Faith and grieve alongside her. This worried her. For things between she and Ivar would soon turn volatile. She'd already fired shots. Any rising now she expected him to return them.

"Bennett, have you thought about giving the pig an apple or perhaps a salad every now and again?" Silas questioned as he frowned down at the pot of honey.

"No." She offered him a distracted smile. "Why would I?"

He stared at her as if she'd asked him how to breathe. "Have you seen him lately? He's as wide as two horses put together. I'd be surprised if he didn't have diabetes." His head swung about as he raised a finger. "I bet you all the warriors in Valhalla that if you cut him he'd bleed one hundred percent honey."

"Stop," she waved him off and continued on the trek to the cove. "He loves honey so why shouldn't he have it. If he was pressed to have anything else, I'm sure Nature would provide it. She adores Wilbur as well."

"What the hell do you all see in that damn pig? It's mean as shit, often over indulges," he held up the pot of honey, "takes offense with everything by rule alone, and has a vengeful streak so ruthless you'd swear he's taken a class in, The Art of Exacting."

She cut an eye at him as a smile hitched the corner of her mouth. "I'm sure many would say the same about you. Klaus especially."

"Now you're just trying to make me jealous," his voice thickened and lowered as he slipped an arm around her waist.