Chapter Text
Màiri and the midwife walked to Ivar’s quarters. They found Moyra leaning against the headboard while Ivar was trying to wipe the sweat off her forehead, but Moyra was squealing and trying to put distance between herself and Ivar. She grunted in pain, gripping the furs until her knuckles were white. The contraction ceased and she breathed again, and Ivar as well. The sight made Màiri worry about how she would tell Ivar the obvious. He was not wanted there.
Ingrid was trained in magical arts that could ease the pain of a difficult labor. She stepped closer to Moyra, pulling up her nightgown and tried to see if the baby’s head was crowned. She sighed with the sight Moyra's slit was only starting to stretch. Ingrid placed her hands on Moyra’s belly and started massaging to check on the baby’s movements.
Ivar huffed, “What's happening?”
Ingrid replied calmly, “The day is only getting started. The babies are not coming out anytime soon,”
“Babies?” Ivar yelped in disbelief.
“Yes. There are two of them. Didn’t you know that?” Ingrid said dryly and Ivar couldn’t help thinking she didn't look affected by this information. It made Ivar less anxious as she seemed to be used to assist childbirth of multiples, “You must boil the herbs, Màiri!” Ingrid muttered and Màiri ran.
He tried to hold Moyra’s hand when the next contraction of her muscles came quickly and merciless, but she slapped his hand away. Her eyes rolled back and she jerked her head. Ingrid took a step closer, pushing Ivar away as he grunted angrily.
“How dare you?” he hissed, hands shaking at his side.
“Do you want me to help her or not?” Ingrid raised her eyebrows.
“Of course you must help her,” Ivar shouts, watching as Moyra’s pretty face turns into a grimace of pain as another contraction came.
Ingrid undid Moyra’s braid, running her fingers through her hair. The midwife instructed the servants to unlock all the doors, chests and untie any knots. It was a birth magic to help in the opening of Moyra’s womb, “She must walk,” Ingrid said, looking at Ivar who immediately shifted to the bed.
Moyra protests, “This monster won't touch me. Never again! I'd rather take my life,” She yelled, pointing a finger at Ivar.
“Do you speak my language? Why didn't you tell me?” Ivar's jaw fell open in shock.
“I have nothing to speak to you. If you wanted to talk to me, you should have learned how,” her nose was wrinkling with disgust, “The only thing you wanted, the only thing that mattered to you... was my body,” Moyra stopped her accusations for a moment when a new wave of pain attacked her lower back and belly. She heldon her stomach, rolling to her side.
“That's not true. I do care, I've been looking after you. Giving you a comfortable life...” Ivar begged, kneeling by the beside.
“Comfortable? Because you cover me in gold you stole from people you killed, like you killed the people from my village? Or are you referring to the many times you took me against my will, leaving me sore until the next morning or night, when you would fill me once more?” Moyra kept hissing, her words rushing out so fast, like arrows being shot at Ivar.
“I think you should leave!” Ingrid touched his shoulder, looking at him with her mouth twisted. Ivar felt like they were judging him.
“It's my right to be here, to assist her if she needs me. My children are coming to the world,” Ivar looked from Moyra to Ingrid.
“It was your right to fill your slave with your seed too. That's why we are all here. But if you don't leave, the birth might be more difficult for her and the children,” Ivar gulps with the realization that he might be happy being a father, but that for Moyra it is torture. He wanted them to be happy, his selfish mind wanted her to be pleased that his seed had taken roots and they would now have an unbreakable bond. Realizing he is the only one pleased with Moyra growing round with their children is his first defeat and Ivar suspects it to be a thousand times worse than a defeat in battlefield.
“Don’t blame me! I only want to help her! YOU are the only one to blame for this situation! You should be ashamed of yourself, and somehow, I know you won’t ever be. You forced it on her and now, you see what you’ve done? She might die and it’s your burden. In all my years, I have seen men as you take and destroy innocent and young maidens as that one,” Ingrid gestures to the bed, where Moyra is grimacing as another contraction hits her, “I’m tired of this!” Ingrid hisses, lifting her chin to face Ivar.
Ingrid was getting far too insolent. Ivar couldn’t bear it anymore, couldn’t bear hearing her telling all those things. He couldn’t tolerate her telling him to leave. She needed to be silenced, but he didn’t want to scare Moyra. Lowering his face at only an inch from Ingrid’s, he violently grasped her upper arm with his hand. “You don’t tell me what to do anymore!” he snarled at her.
“I don't pity, or fear men like you!" Ingrid replied. Glowering at him, she tried to free herself from his hold, but Ivar only closed his hand more firmly on her.
“Listen to me, Ingrid, and listen with attention,” his tone calmer. He could feel the corner of his mouth twitching and his eyes were narrowed and burning with hatred. “It’s better for everyone that she survives this. If she dies I swear by my place in Valhalla that I’ll kill you,” Ivar promised, nodding at the bed. Moyra stiffened at hearing his words, her eyes grew wide.
“I’ll burn that hut you call home to the ground until nothing is left to prove that damned place has ever existed at all. If I’m not satisfied afterward, which I’m sure I won’t be,” His nostrils were flared and a vein in his neck pulsed with tension, “I’ll track down everyone you’ve ever loved or cared about and cut them in half. I’ve nothing to lose, nothing I care for in this ugly world! Save her!”
As he growled his threats, Ivar finally saw fear in Ingrid’s eyes and for a brief moment, the view made him feel better. But it didn’t last. There was only so much pleasure to be taken from intimidating others and the notion of vengeance.
“Go back to her now, Ingrid! You have much to do,” he reminded her, his voice a low rasp.
Cringing, at last, the woman listened and silently returned to Moyra’s bedside, but Ivar’s wrath was far from appeased. Not certain about what to do, he remained motionless, pondering about when he ruined all their chances of happiness.
Màiri came with a goblet filled with boiled herbs. He let out a breath and turned to leave after seeing Moyra wouldn't change her mind and ask him to stay.
Ivar’s wrath was far from appeased. In fact, his fury was fear. He couldn't undo the terrible things she forced her to endure and, more important, he could do nothing to save her if her death was the Gods' wish. He wondered if they could have had a chance if he had not raped her. Would she forgive me for the massacre in her village? Would she grow to love me if I had minded my time before claiming her body? He didn't have the answers and maybe it was too late now.
Hearing her grunting and moaning from outside made Ivar imagine the most horrifying scenes. He couldn't stay there waiting. So when Erik came to call him to the train yard he followed him relieved that he would have someone to beat.
Is she suffering? Ivar thought while beating the fourth man.
Màiri came, bringing him food and news, “The first baby is coming. She must be pushing right now,” Màiri smiled to comfort Ivar, but he felt she was hiding something.
“What's wrong? You don't look truly excited,” Cold sweat ran down his spine despite how his blood was boiling because of the training.
“Moyra lost too much blood. We are praying that she will stop bleeding to gather strength to push the babies,” Màiri was looking down and her hands were shaking.
“Moyra?” Ivar repeated her name as if by this action he could keep her safe.
Such a sweet name, but I turned her into a bitter woman. Tears instantly filled his eyes. Ivar gulped the lump in his throat and found his voice once more.
“I wonder how she was before I destroyed her. I believe she was an innocent maiden and dedicated daughter. I know nothing about her,” Ivar surprised Màiri with this confession, “Ubbe was right! I didn't see her,” Ivar walked back to the house.
The screams inside the chamber were getting louder and Ivar couldn't help thinking it was a fitting punishment for him to fell so helpless after what he did to Moyra. He wanted to be the one enduring her pain, this way his mind wouldn't be so clouded with dark thoughts about the safety of his woman and the children. He prayed to Frigga to protect them.
Finally, a cry was heard and Ivar couldn't bring himself to get up from his seat. Invisible chains of guilt were binding him. He felt like a foreigner, an intruder for being happy about the birth of a child he imposed on her.
Màiri steps outside the room, “It's a healthy boy, King Ivar. He has dark hair like his parents. I'll bring him soon. Moyra is...” Sweat was running down her forehead and her hands were bloody. Ivar felt his stomach clenching at the sight.
“How is she? Tell me!” Ivar stammered, on the verge of tears of joy for his son and terror that Moyra was dead.
Màiri glanced at her feet, afraid her eyes would betray what her heart knew like the truth. Ivar walked to her, taking hold of her shoulders with unnecessary strength. His action reminded him of what he did to Moyra when he discovered she was with child. Màiri staring at him with trembling lips was enough to make Ivar release her, he whispered afraid that if he asked out loud, his nightmare would turn into reality, “Màiri? You must tell me! Is she alive?” Ivar's intense blue eyes were reaching right into her soul.
Màiri drew a deep, shuddering breath, “She doesn't want to push the second baby,” Màiri sobbed and Ivar felt cold sweat streaming down his spine.
Ivar supposed that when one lived by spilling blood, the curse would eventually come to take everything he thought was his.
Ivar took Màiri’s hand, “I appreciate your help. I'll talk to her as I should have done a long time ago,”
Màiri looked up at him, wiping away her tears with the back of her free hand, “Are you sure? She might say terrible things!”
“Her words won't be worse than what I did to her,”
Ivar squatted in front of Moyra, watching her face twisting in pain. When she noticed his proximity, she shrieked, causing Ivar to step back.
“I don't want you here!” Moyra was sweating, her skin so pale that Ivar believed she could disappear into thin air if he touched her.
Another contraction racked her body, and it had Moyra hunching forward slightly, gritting her teeth. The second baby was coming. Ingrid approached with the first baby already cleaned and wrapped in white linens, handing him over to Ivar.
“Your son!” Ingrid didn't look at Ivar while giving him the baby, her eyes and smiles were for the boy in her arms.
He held the baby carefully, feeling bewitched. Tiny nose like his mother, the delicate mouth was making sucking movements while the little eyelashes fluttered. The boy had an impressive amount of black hair. Ivar couldn't blink or stop smiling at the beautiful boy. Moyra groaned, awakening him from his unrealistic world of happiness. She glanced at them while Màiri was whispering encouraging words.
Ivar wanted to have words that could reach her heart with a healing power. But he couldn't help thinking only women could bring comfort and life. Men like him are the reason for all the pain. Especially the agony he knows it's tormenting her soul.
The midwife was pressing her hands on Moyra’s belly with a worried expression.
“You must push, Moyra! Tell her to push Màiri! The baby is not moving inside of her. It's not fighting to leave the womb,” Ingrid shouted in desperation.
The baby started bawling and Ivar felt his hands trembling. He didn't know how to soothe the child and his throat was tightening with the thought his son had no reasons to trust him. You're scared of me, aren't you? Why wouldn't you be?
“Be patient, son! Now it's time for the men to wait as women are so used to,” Ivar whispered, rocking the baby back and forth while trying to give Moyra a reassuring smile. She averted her eyes, clenching her teeth while Màiri talked to her.
Ingrid added more runes on Moyra’s abdomen with red paint.
“Frigga, mighty Lady, loan her your keys opening her limbs and easing this birth,” Ingrid begged, voice croaking.
“It’s tearing me apart! Make it stop!” Moyra implored for Màiri’s help.
Màiri keeps whispering encouraging words and rubbing Moyra’s lower back. The women help Moyra to change her position. She is squatting with Màiri supporting her from behind while Ingrid is kneeling in front of her to catch the baby. Moyra finally starts pushing the baby through the pain.
“The baby’s head is in my hands. You must keep pushing when the pain comes,” Ingrid warned.
“I can’t take it anymore!” Moyra supplicated.
“You’re being so brave! One more big push, please?” Màiri was wiping the sweat from her forehead.
Moyra pushed with a low moan and Ingrid let out her breath after catching the baby.
I want it to be over soon, but I'm terrified to bring one more child to this world. I can’t protect myself, I never could. But I feel that if I push my baby, I’ll be as cruel as Ivar that put them inside of me. I can’t hold on anymore, it’s hard to breathe and to pay attention to the events around me while I’m being ripped to shreds.
The more I look at Ivar the more I want to avoid pushing another baby. He returns my look with a smile. I’m sure he thinks he is supporting me and is pleased as, once more, it's my body that is bringing him fulfillment. I don't want to be the reason for his satisfaction anymore. I don't want to give him children that will keep his legacy.
I shift my glance from Ivar’s face to the bundle in his arms. The son that came from inside of me. He might be innocent now, but he will grow to be like his father. My vision is blurred by the salty tears and sweat and when I look down at my thighs I see the crimson blood is flowing. I’m almost there. If I endure a little more, I’ll take my child with me. I feel death is calling us, and maybe with God's forgiveness, we will ascend to Heaven.
I can’t longer catch my breath because of the sharp and burning agony. It’s like I’m drowning. I fight the urge to push and find relief, but my body is not my own, it is controlled by odd instincts that belong to something ancient and certainly wiser than myself. It reminds me that I’m one with the nature around me. I cry out my mother’s name, but I remember she can’t help me. No one can. But when I look up I see my mother standing behind Ingrid. She smiles at me and I feel she still love me. I haven't disappointed her. I smile back and understand what she wants me to do. I start pushing with all my might. I throw my head back in Màiri’s shoulder to breath and keep going until I feel the burning sensation of my child slipping from my insides combined with the wetness of more blood.
There was no first cry. Ivar approaches and sees Ingrid releasing the neck of the baby from the cord. It is a girl. She is not moving and her skin is blue pale. Ivar's heart skips a beat as he looks at his daughter. She is as adorable as her brother, and he holds back a tear rolling down his cheeks. The boy in his arms opens his eyes that are as blue as Ivar’s. Despite the chaos around them, the baby is calm.
Please, Freyja! Ivar is asking for the Goddess’ assistance, but he is not sure if as a woman, she will give him what he wants. He doesn't even know what he is asking for.
Moyra’s head is leaning against Màiri’s shoulder. She looks exhausted.
Ingrid is massaging the baby's chest with determination. She places her lips on the small mouth, trying to help the girl to breathe on her own for the first time. All in vain. She is dead. Ivar will never see her first smile, know the color of her eyes, she will never say her first words or give the first steps followed or even chase her brother.
The midwife cuts the cord, taking the baby away to clean. Moyra opens her eyes slowly, searching the room for her children. Ivar hears her whispering something to Màiri and the servant shakes her head. Moyra is strangely calm. Ivar feels so lost and useless. If he knew her language, he would be the one comforting her.
Why don't they give me my child?
“Is there something wrong?” I look at Màiri, but she doesn’t answer me.
“Tell me!” I insist and Màiri starts with a trembling voice.
“The girl is with God!” Màiri whispers under her breath, unable to look at my face.
I notice Ivar’s eyes filled with pity. He is moving towards me with slow and deliberate steps.
Does he think I will find some relief in him?
The pain of labor had left my body frail. But I find my voice and start screaming my lungs out. It's my fault and yet I'm relieved my daughter won't suffer anymore.
Ingrid looks at Ivar not knowing if she should give Moyra the baby. He nods and Ingrid places the baby in her mother's arms. Moyra kisses the girl's forehead, talking to her calmly. Ivar can't look away from the scene, even feeling like he is an foreigner. An intruder breaking into someone’s house and seeing something he shouldn’t. He desires that she will have the same sweetness towards the baby in his arms. As if he is reading Ivar's mind, the boy starts squirming, sticking out his tongue. He is hungry.
Ingrid moves toward Moyra to take her stillborn baby away.
“The baby is hungry. Let me hold the girl and you can feed the boy," Ingrid offers.
Moyra raises her head from her girl and glances at Ivar, she keeps holding the girl tight against her chest.
“I can’t! I-I must take care of my daughter,” her voice is cracking from the weight of guilt and conflicted emotions as she is relieved the baby won't suffer as she did.
Ivar gives the boy to Màiri. Kneeling by Moyra’s side, he tries to convince her that the girl can wait.
“I'll hold our daughter so you can feed our boy,” Ivar raises his hand to take the girl from Moyra.
Moyra is quivering and still bleeding. The vision is sending shudders down his spine, not from the usual excitement the blood from carnage usually brings. He fears for her.
“Trust me!” His hands are shaking with a sense of urgency. He knows that if she refuses to take the boy to her breast it means she is walking their daughter's path.
“You don't own my body anymore. I shouldn't have even pushed him out for you. If I had a choice, I would take him with me as well. Only in this way I could protect him from the future that lies ahead. I know you will turn him into something I don't want to witness,” Her voice comes out as a low threat. There’s nothing clearly powerful in the woman daring to defy Ivar, but he had never felt so overwhelmed in his whole life.
“What happened it's not his fault! You can't refuse him because of me,” Ivar touches her hand and she blinks weakly.
“You're right! He is innocent, but I won't help you to expand your reign of terror. Against my desire you have a son, take care of him because you can't demand more from me. My only regret is that I can't save him from you too,.” Moyra’s body starts convulsing and Ingrid rushes to her side to help. Ivar is paralyzed and wide-eyed. Not even the loud cry from his son is enough to distract him from the scene. She is dying. Ingrid tries to turn her body to the side, but she is not strong enough.
“HELP ME! Hold her! Hold her down,” Ingrid's screams awake Ivar from his trance. He helps her to move Moyra to her side. After a few minutes, her convulsion stops and Ingrid checks her pulse.
Ivar can't bring himself to ask what he dreads the most, his eyes are downcast and hot tears keep running down his cheeks.
Ingrid walks away followed by Màiri, leaving Ivar with Moyra.
For what appeared like an eternity to her, it was as if nothing existed. Or maybe like what existed didn’t matter to Moyra. While she still heard faraway noises and felt touches on her body, neither belonged to her anymore. At one point, just as she was about to give herself completely to oblivion, some very potent vertigo took over her and she was unexpectedly dragged out of her unconsciousness. Tensing, she fought to regain her balance until the swaying stopped so violently that her whole body shook in a sudden jerk.
Many hands successfully immobilized Moyra against the bed. The woman could hear her own animalistic wails echo into the house. She had never been in so much pain in all of her life. That’s it. I’m dying, was the last coherent thought she had.
“King Ivar?” he doesn't know how long Màiri has been calling him. He blinks his tears, looking at her.
“We must find someone to feed the baby. Do I have your permission?” she is rocking the baby, trying to calm him in vain.
Ivar feels his throat tightening that his son is suffering from rejection and abandonment because of him, he can only nod his approval. Màiri runs to the door to find someone suitable to feed Ivar's son.
Her body was washed and dressed in a beautiful dress. Our daughter is resting in her arms. She looks so beautiful even in death. Her face is peaceful at last and it looks like she might wake up at any time. But when I lean forward to press a final kiss on her lips, her cold skin reminds me I’ve ruined our chances.
I run my fingers over her face and hair while thinking about the many times I slept with her warm body pressed against my chest, and smelling the fragrance of her dark locks. I try to memorize her features because memories will be the only thing I'll have now. Memories of someone that was never mine. Certainly, she would have different memories. Images of terror, impotence, and hatred.
My eyes travel to the baby in her arms. Her death is my burden too, but at least she is at peace. I kiss her forehead just in time to hear Màiri’s footsteps.
“Are you ready, King Ivar?” Màiri whispers not to wake Sigtrygg who sleeps in her arms.
I nod because I can't answer her with words that I know would be lies. I'm not ready to bury the only woman I've ever wanted or the baby that I know would bring sweetness to my life, as all daughters do.
I carry the coffin with the help of one of my warriors. There is not a crowd. Only Màiri, Ingrid and I. Sigtrygg is at home feeding from one of the villagers. Astrid had lost her baby the week before and was more than satisfied to nurture my son. I offered a payment which she refused saying that at least her tragedy was not complete and she could feel life coming from her again. I'm glad my son will be surrounded by love since I can't bring myself to hold him. Moyra’s words are still echoing in my head. I don't want to transform our son into a monster. So, I will keep myself busy going to a new raid.
Two years later...
I have no other purpose in life than to bring terror upon every shore I land on. She died carrying with her not only our daughter but the possibility that I could be a better man. I embraced the monstrosity she said I was capable of.
The only one that can soften my heart is our son, but I can't bring myself to look at him too much. He is so much like her. Sigtrygg is growing so fast and I can't help thinking he misses his mother. But I won't marry or take another woman. She yelled I was not capable of loving anyone. I've been proving her wrong only in this aspect. I don't care about what people say, accusing me of lack of lust or love. My lust has decayed with her inside that grave. To build a kingdom and a legend of my name is the only reason I'm living for. My son will be proud of my accomplishments and keep our legacy. Words of our actions will echo through time long after we leave this world. Her name might be forgotten, but by her blood, she will be the winner. The mother of a strong lineage that will destroy and build kingdoms.