Book two of Blind Love
After being saved from the Saxons and brought back to the man she loves, Ailbe has grown far less naive. Still a gentle soul with a heart of gold, Ailbe begins to find the balance between compassion and subservience. She becom...
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"How do you know when you fall in love?" Ailbe asked Eavann, sighing softly as she thought about her future. She had dreams that one day she may meet someone and they would understand eachother and love one another. Passionate kisses on the shore and her own children to care for.
"You'll know." Eavann answered with a smile. "Trust me."
"Well that's not useful at all." Ailbe pouted making her younger sister laugh. "Do you love your husband?"
But Eavann got quiet.
Ailbe felt the sun flicker over her softly, though not enough to wake her. The room was dark except small cracks in the wall that let daylight through. It was the heat that disturbed Ailbe, shed grown accustomed to feeling the sun upon her even though she could never see it.
She could taste salt, and smell her favourite flowers from beside her. Lavender, Tulip, Rose, Forget Me Not, Daffodil. It was all there, she could smell it. They'd even laid sage out beside her and she could feel soft linen sheets beneath her.
She couldn't move, even though she willed her limbs to make some form of action. But she couldn't. All she could do was lie there.
And then she heard her next visitor.
"Ailbe?" Hvitserk asked, catching her attention and making her wipe away tears.
"No." She answered sniffling.
"Listen it's nothing personal just-"
"Why won't he let me help him? Why? Sometimes he is such an ass!" She cut him off, though her voice sounded far too gentle to be angry. Instead she just sounded hurt.
"I know." Hvitserk answered with a ringing endorsement. Slowly he sat beside her, looking out into the dark ocean as he wrapped his cloak around her to keep her warm. "When we were children," He began. "Ivar cried every single night. He was in so much pain and none of us could help him. None of us could do anything. Our mother tried but it never stopped him from crying. Crying over the pain in his legs, crying over the pain of the fact he knew he'd never be like the rest of us." Ailbe listened quietly. "And then one day he just stopped." Hvitserk continued. "He didn't cry. He got angry. And none of us understood why. Sigurd had been annoying him all day and Ubbe was ready to comfort him and tell him everything would be fine. But instead me and Ubbe both had to drag him off Sigurd kicking and screaming." His words made sense, and slowly she could envision the Ivar she knew taking shape. "For a while we still heard him cry from behind closed doors. We learned that when he was upset, he'd slither away to do so in private. But by the time he was fourteen he didn't even do that anymore. He spent so much time in the blacksmith's, hammering down weapons as though they were people's skulls. And soon he wasn't the little boy who cried every night. He was just angry."
"I'm sorry." Ivar's voice came out so quietly that she was certain he wouldn't be saying any of this if he knew she was awake. "I'm sorry that I let this happen to you." She could hear something in his voice. It wasn't just fear. He was crying. Crying real tears. "All I do is hurt people." He told her with a broken voice. "I'm a monster, just like my mother said I'd be."
Ailbe couldn't form words. Her mouth wouldn't move. But, with all her applied strength, she moved her hand ever so slightly to the left, and touched his hand to let him know that she was still there for him as she always was. She wouldn't give up on him. Not ever.
He didn't speak, but Ivar looked down at the small movement and then back up to her face in pure shock. His heart raced as he looked to her. His Queen.
"My father was always awful at saying I love you." Ailbe admitted. "For a while, I just thought he didn't care, but I realised as I grew that he was just like that - always bad at talking about his feelings."
"What did you do?" Ivar asked tiredly, hoping that she'd actually tire out and sleep soon.
"We did this." She demonstrated, tapping his hand. "One tap means I love you, two means I'm sad, three means I'm sorry, and four means I'm scared."
"Really?" He asked as though it was the stupidest thing in the world.
Ailbe chuckled, hitting his arm. "Alright, shut up."
"Does that mean you love me?" He smiled, looking down at her as she rested her head on his chest with a fake sulky expression.
Ailbe chuckled. "More than anything."
Throughout the night, Ailbe felt singular taps against her hand. She supposed that Ivar thought she was asleep, but she felt every single one.
A small smile tugged up Ailbe's lips in recognition as she felt a singular tap against her hand. Ivar looked to her, hoping with all his heart that she felt it. Ailbe's reaction made him forget all his pain for just a moment.
And then he felt a tap against his own hand. A singular tap that told him all he needed.
