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When he was expelled, you ran after your best friend.
It was easy to pass as a married couple. A cripple and his woman, sitting on the edge of a cart being wheeled away. He had been quiet since his betrayal. Though you agreed in some unspoken understanding that the betrayal should not be talked about, you also understood he was lonely.
The flame crackled beside you. It's warm flames licked away the cold. Ivar sat under his thick fur as you came back, baring him a loaf that you had made from the chest you both shared. The rabbit stew on his lap was otherwise uneaten, but you brought up a spoon to his lips. He turns his head to avoid it.
"You need to eat," you soften your eyes at him.
He flicks the bread up, biting and swallowing it with emphasis. "Happy?"
You had no idea where you were going– but getting to a safe haven was ever a good idea. After all, the kings had a high price on Ivar's head. The more you could blend in as his wife, the better. You run your hands together, the fake wedding ring warm to the touch.
"You need your strength. The trip to Birka is–"
Ivar grumbles something unintelligible, plopping his cheek against your breast. You set the bowl aside, lifting your hands up almost to ask what the hell he was doing. "Stop being so cute," you whisper.
"You're my new pillow," Ivar answers, turning his head down to look at the flames. His warm fur tickles over the white, simple embroidered gown you wear for bed. You lift your hand up, settling over his unbraided hair in some unspoken consolation.
"Okay," you say sweetly, smoothing your hand over his hair time and time again. He must be tired, his legs had been aching and bones nearly breaking. But none at all as badly as his heart. You couldn't dare admit– that his head against your chest, finally, warmed you. It was too soon. "Okay."
