I tried to pretend that I wasn't anxious... alright, terrified to leave my car. I could see activity going on at their house, the usual hubbub and chaos that circled them; a truck with the hood up, two motorcycles visible in the large garage and not for the first time I cursed the fact that, although we lived on the affluent side of town, with large landscaped yards, the Lothbrok home and my childhood home rested on the edges of our respective properties; meaning that we had a constant view of the other's goings-on. My old home was at the top of a small rise, which afforded some small privacy, but I'd had a front row seat to the Lothbrok brother's life my whole childhood.

When I had been a small child, they'd been nothing but loud and vaguely frightening figures roaring and running around, playing roughly, mock-fighting, wooden swords cracking against the other. The oldest, Bjorn, from the father's previous marriage was already a grown man then, calm and steady and tall, presiding over his half-brother's shenanigans with a benevolent, but iron fist.

Ubbe, the oldest, was always kind and steady, the one to soothe any hurt words or bumps caused by his younger siblings. Sigurd and Hvitserk were hellions, always raging around, but it had been the youngest son, Ivar, that had always intrigued me, and frightened me, the most. Born with a bone disease that left his legs spindly and useless, Ivar nonetheless was a powerful sight. His upper body more than made up for any weakness in his lower, but it was his mind that was truly terrifying. Angry and cunning, an unpredictable thinker with an unsurpassed streak of cruelty he had me going in fear of him even as a child.

We were the same age, Ivar and I, which meant we attended the same private school, the same classes. I did my best to stay away but it wasn't always possible. Ivar's parents, Ragnar and Aslaug and my parents were friends, and were always pushing us together in one way or another. We studied together, spent most afternoons after school together, whenever my parents needed to be away I, an only child, was shuttled over there to stay until they returned.

In time I'd grown used to them and their wild ways, even began to join in with their rough-housing. In many ways Ragnar was more of a father to me than my own, teaching me as he taught his own sons how to fight and defend myself. And after awhile, I'd even lost my fear of Ivar, taking his grumpy attitude in stride; we'd even become somewhat friends, meaning I tolerated Ivar and his moods, and he was more open and friendly with me than anyone else, except his brothers.

When Ivar and I were sixteen, my world had fallen apart and I had been dragged away from my home and the men I considered brothers and perhaps more; and now... eight years later, I was back.

Heaving a sigh, I kicked the car door open and stepped out. Trying not to look too closely down the hill I kicked the door shut then stormed to the front door. It still had not fully hit me, but the closer I got to the house, the more real it began to feel. My father was dead, and, according to his lawyer, he had left me everything, the house, his business, all his money, everything. I hadn't been here in eight years, not since my mother had dragged me out in the middle of the night, screaming at my father that he would never see us again, not since my mother had found out about my father and Ivar's mother.

I reached the door and fumbled for the keys. They had been clearly marked but I was having trouble reading them because of the tears clouding my eyes. Not for the first time, not for the first time today, and not for the last time I cursed myself and my stupid pride, the stubbornness that had kept me away from here even after I had become an adult, out from under my bitter mother's thumb. I had eventually forgiven my father for his sin, or at least no longer let it keep me awake at nights, but I hadn't been able to spur my obstinate ass into actually stepping away from the life and career I'd made myself and return in person to tell him. Our few phone calls had always been stilted and painfully awkward, the elephant in the room bellowing for attention and stomping it's massive feet.

Finally I found the correct key and pushed it into the lock, turned; nothing... what the fuck? I pulled it out and tried again, tried all the keys on the ring before groaning and turning away. I squinted at the offending key and growled, one of the teeth were broken off, it was useless. It was also Saturday, which meant my chances of tracking down my father's lawyer were slim to none. He turned off his cell phone on weekends, and moved out to the golf course. A number of options ran through my mind, return to the hotel I'd checked out of this morning, try calling the lawyer anyway, maybe finding out his house number so I could pester his wife or maid enough that they sent out the bat signal for him, smash a damn window (it was my house now, dammit), or... no. I looked back down the hill and sighed, my feet carrying me before my mind was ready.

The Lothbrok's had always had a spare key for our house when I was a child, and we did for their's. We'd hardly needed to use it, but it had always been that little bit of extra security, a reassurance. I wasn't sure how I felt about it now, I'd hoped to avoid this reunion for a bit longer.

Rock music, a mere drone at the top of the hill, became clearer as I neared the Lothbrok's house. It was coming from the garage, which was no surprise, many weekends had been spent out there, the boys teaching me about engines and mechanics. I veered that way, hoping to find perhaps Ubbe, or Hvitserk, and stopped at the pickup. A pair of jean covered legs stuck out from underneath the jacked-up truck, clad in heavy motorcycle boots, laying on a rolling creeper.

"Hey," I said tentatively, tapping gently at the nearest boot. A tool clanged underneath the truck, followed by a string of curses. Large, grimy hands appeared, gripping the edge of the truck's body and the creeper wheel's squeaked as it rolled out from under the truck. While the legs had been slim, the white t-shirt clad upper body was heavily built and powerful, muscles rippling across the broad chest and, even as my brain clamoured to warn me, my eyes locked with the most unbelievably blue pair I'd ever seen, set in the most devastatingly handsome face, a face I'd spent years trying to forget, a face I'd seen in my dreams every night, even before I'd left. His full lips pulled into a curious mix of surprise and scorn.

"Sera. Never thought we'd see you again." Ivar snarled.

Shit.

For a moment I was rendered speechless, in addition to leaving my father in the middle of the night, I had also left the Lothbroks, and the expression on Ivar's face showed that feelings were still raw. Pushing the rest of the way out from under the truck Ivar sat up, rubbing one thick forearm across his forehead.

"You lost?" He added, throwing me another baleful glare.

"No, I, uh..." Shit. "My key won't work, I was hoping you guys still had a spare."

Ivar scoffed, shaking his head, as if what I'd just said was the most ridiculous thing he'd ever heard. He looked away and sucked in his bottom lip for a moment; looking like he was contemplating a fresh insult to lob at me and I took the opportunity to study him. He'd grown into a man since I'd left, his shoulders broadening, body filling out with a mouth-watering expanse of muscle. He wore his hair long, shaved on the sides, pulled into a manbun. His naturally pale skin was tanned and smooth, offsetting his almost supernatural cobalt eyes, eyes that hypnotized me, eyes that saw right through me, eyes that made me shiver, for completely opposite reasons.

Before he had a chance to throw more verbal abuse my way however, a door slammed open at the far side of garage and familiar voices reached my ears. Although I wasn't any happier to see them, I turned gratefully towards the distraction anyway. Their half-shouted conversations died instantly when they saw me and they stumbled to a halt.

"Holy shit... Sera?" Ubbe called, glancing over at Hvitserk in shock before turning back to me. At some unspoken signal they both charged me and I was soon squashed between two hard chests. I wasn't even sure who was hugging me, as the brothers seemed to be playing tug of war with me, pulling me back and forth between them. Hvitserk planted a sloppy kiss on my forehead just before Ubbe pulled me into a headlock, shaking me like a terrier with a rat. Finally I was released and staggered back, grinning despite myself. The older Lothbrok brother's enthusiastic welcome almost took the sting out of Ivar's vitriol.

"Are you back?" Hvitserk asked, eyes dancing.

I dug my toe into the concrete, procrastinating. I wasn't even sure yet myself. I had a home and life started across the country, but standing here amidst all these familiar sights and sounds was giving me serious case of nostalgic homesickness.

A loud thump and clamouring of limbs stole our attention before I could answer. Grabbing a crutch Ivar started to struggle to his feet. I instinctively took a step forwards to help then stopped, remembering Ivar's fierce independence, even as a child; and surely he'd be no more receptive to my help now, not after his scornful welcome so far. Gaining his feet he shot one more furious glare at me before eyeing both his brothers balefully, as if they were traitors for being friendly to me.

"She just wants the spare key, she didn't come over to say hi." He snapped, turning away. Despite myself, I couldn't help but notice that Ivar only used one crutch now, and seemed to have a bit more sturdiness to his legs, I wondering if it was simply pure rage driving him on right now, or something more. Without glancing back at us again, he slammed the door shut behind him. Ubbe turned back to me with a mild expression, apparently Ivar's temper had remained as fiery as ever throughout my absence.

"You need the key?"

I blushed, dropped my head. "Yeah, I uh... I wasn't sure if I'd have the guts to come by and say hey, but I guess the gods had other plans."

Hvitserk grabbed me then, pulled me into another headlock and ruffled my hair gruffly. "Not going to pretend we didn't miss you kid, but... it was kind of a shit situation all around."

I nodded, wiping unexpected tears away as he released me. "I'm sorry about Aslaug, she... she was always good to me."

The brothers nodded soberly. Three years previous, Aslaug had succumbed to late stage breast cancer, and while I'd been disgusted at my mother's joy at the news, I had made excuse after excuse until the need to offer my condolences had faded.

Ubbe nodded while Hvitserk looked away briefly, then Ubbe perked up. "Ragnar will be thrilled to see you... you should come by for supper tonight."

I opened my mouth, prepared to decline but both brothers turned to me with irresistible puppy dog eyes and I felt my resolve crumbling. I'd sincerely hoped to duck in and back out of my father's house without attracting any Lothbrok's attention, but that was all out the window now. I had to stop hiding, had to stop making excuses. The brothers had done nothing wrong, they'd been hurt by their mother's infidelity as much as me by my father's, and, in all honesty, the homesickness and affection for the Lothbroks I'd thought I'd successfully buried over the years had come roaring back with a vengeance. There was only one snag.

"Um... how is Sigurd?" I mumbled, not really wanting to know. In the months leading up to my mother's midnight exit, she'd suspected something was amiss and my parent's relationship had become strained, the atmosphere at home in turns suffocating and frightening. I'd escaped to the Lothbroks when I could, and began to delve into more and more bad behaviour. Part of that bad behaviour had been a romantic relationship with the second youngest Lothbrok, Sigurd. His chronic chip on his shoulder and rebellious streak were just the outlet I thought I'd needed and I'd put up with a lot of shit that I wouldn't dream of tolerating now. Of all the brothers, Sigurd was the least likeable, rude just for the sake of it, and he hated his younger brother Ivar with a passion. Time and distance had helped me realize that even though Sigurd and I had been fairly hot and heavy for awhile, his attraction to me had been more about some twisted competition with Ivar, more about rubbing me in Ivar's face. I'd even given the asshole my virginity, a sweaty, noisy, squirming affair in the back of one of Ragnar's many cars; and to be honest, if I never saw this brother again, I'd be okay with it.

Ubbe and Hvitserk traded a glance and it was Ubbe who answered me. "He'll probably be here too, please don't let that stop you, we'd really like to catch up. He has a fiancé now, maybe he'll leave you alone."

I snorted, not likely. "Okay," I relented.

Hvitserk surprised me with a sloppy kiss on the cheek.

"Great!" Ubbe enthused, "come by around 5:00."

"Can I bring anything?"

"Just yourself, still hate eggplant?"

"Hell yes."

"Alright, I'll go get the key." Ubbe favoured me with a pat on the cheek before turning and disappearing into the house. Nervously, I met Hvitserk's gaze, was relieved to see him smiling down at me.

"Hvitserk... I'm sorry-"

He cut me off with a wave of his hand. "We'll talk about it later. Believe me, between Ivar and Sigurd, you'll be bombarded enough, tell me about yourself instead."

Where to begin? Thankfully my answer was cut off by Ubbe returning, holding out a familiar key ring. Gratefully I took it and turned away before I needed to reply, my heart racing.

Okay, so that went well genius. I berated myself as I climbed the hill. My heart was pounding, and not from the exercise. Why did I agree to meet them for supper? What the hell? Seeing Ubbe, Ivar and Hvitserk had been awkward enough... what about Sigurd? Unless he'd undergone a lobotomy in my absence, he was no doubt going to go out of his way to make things uncomfortable tonight. His chronic feud with Ivar would ensure that Sigurd would merrily goose-step down Memory Lane, reliving all our 'greatest hits' and reminiscing about the 'good old days'. Prick.

Reaching the door, I tried the spare and breathed a sigh of relief when the door opened. Grabbing my overnight bag from my car I stepped into my former childhood home and shut the door behind me, breathing in deeply. It didn't smell how I remembered, free from my mother's near fanatical love of potpourri; and instead smelled like how I remembered my father, a hint of aftershave, fresh laundry; he'd been active right up until he'd fallen over dead from a heart attack at the tennis club, another reason why I'd thought I had more time to make things right with him, he'd seemed immortal to me, even as a child, a flawed god, but a god nonetheless. Whoa, now was not the time for that train of thought, I would have to lament that tragedy later.

My feet took me to the second floor without my conscious intent and I found myself outside my old bedroom. I pushed the door open and was struck with the sudden impulse to bawl. Father had kept my room exactly as it had been when I'd left and my heart squeezed as I stepped inside, began to relive my childhood. I'd never been much for material possessions, but what I did keep around had been special to me. I hadn't had time to grab them all before I was taken away eight years ago, and I'd cried for weeks over the loss. What I'd lacked in stuffed animals, makeup and boy band posters on the walls I had instead made up for with pictures. I wondered if father had left my darkroom alone, down in the basement. I'd loved photography, loved taking pictures of my friends and I'd tacked them up everywhere.

I found my fingers trailing gently along the photos, pinned in random patterns to the walls. You could follow a timeline of my life looking at all these, starting from my first camera at age six, and my subsequent amateurish attempts that followed. Crooked landscapes, blurry motions, the occasion finger over the shutter-eye. But I'd persisted, and gotten better. As I'd grown, and my relationship with them had grown as well, more and more of my pictures had been of the Lothbrok boys; wrestling in the backyard, sword fighting, Ubbe trying to get Hvitserk to concentrate on the engine they were taking apart rather than on the Playboy he'd snagged from Ragnar. I pulled down the ones I'd taken of Sigurd while we'd been 'dating' and tossed them away. The predator's gleam in his eyes was devastatingly obvious now, and made me feel sick. I smiled at one I'd clearly cherished, framed and set on my dresser; Bjorn, Hvitserk, Ubbe, Ivar and I around a campfire, leaning in together for the shot, the firelight flickering in our eyes. Had I noticed before how Ivar's gaze had been on me, rather than the camera?

My heart rate started to pick up as I saw an emerging theme; whether I'd consciously realized it back then or not, an inordinate amount of the pictures I'd taken had been of the youngest Lothbrok. Poor Ivar had had to put up with me constantly shoving the camera in his face, had taken to wearing hoodies and caps so he'd have something to yank down over his eyes when he'd had enough. But sometimes... sometimes he hadn't, and the look in his eyes as he'd met my gaze through the lens now sent a shiver through me. My parent's fighting, my childhood growing up with them, my twisted relationship with Sigurd had all kept me blind to the love and devotion I now saw on Ivar's young face and I felt a new stab in my heart. Shit, had I been that much in denial? Now supper was going to be REALLY awkward.

At 4:58 I locked and shut the door behind me and looked down towards the Lothbrok house. More vehicles filled the driveway, and I wondered vaguely if Ubbe had been on the phone all afternoon, inviting everyone and their dogs to supper tonight. No time to worry about it now. I'd chosen a plain pair of grey skinny jeans, knee-high boots and two simple layered camisoles for supper, not too fancy, but a little more dressed up than my usual Lulu capris and wife-beaters. My auburn hair, which usually chose the most inopportune times to suddenly resemble a frizzy botched execution, was behaving tonight and I'd even cajoled it into a high ponytail. My contacts had been driving me insane lately, so I was instead wearing my chunky wayfarer glasses, nerd chic, c'est moi.

I had a death grip on the bottle of Rose in my left hand as I made my way down the hill and I shivered, suddenly grateful I'd grabbed a light, dove grey sweater on my way out the door. Taking a deep breath, I knocked on the door.

The door flew open and I found myself staring at a broad chest. Before I could look up, I was picked up and a familiar voice shouted in my ear.

"Sera! How you been, runt?" Bjorn's deep voice bellowed, his arms squeezing me tight. I struggled but I might as well have been fighting a brick wall. When he was good and ready, Bjorn finally dropped me back to my feet and I staggered slightly, grinning. His massive mitt dropped onto my shoulder and dragged me inside, Bjorn yelling ahead of me like a town crier and I was soon surrounded by people. Yanking my ponytail affectionately Bjorn began pointing out his family. I remembered Torvi, and had met his daughter as a baby, but the two younger boys were new and I was grateful for the distraction as they welcomed me as enthusiastically as their father. Ubbe appeared and gently shooed his niece and nephews away, then grabbed me in his own bear hug, releasing me only when Hvitserk elbowed him roughly. Sudden tears came to my eyes as I remembered my childhood, full of brotherly affection like this, rough hugs and playful punches, noogies and headlocks and my heart started to ache in longing.

"I heard you were back," a voice sneered.

I pulled away from Hvitserk reluctantly, grateful that he kept his arm slung around my waist and turned to the speaker. Sigurd hadn't changed, was still arrogant and defiant, standing with his arms crossed over his chest. The only difference I could see was his hair, he'd cut it short and frankly, it made his ears stick out.

"Hello Sigurd," I said stiffly.

Sigurd sniffed and eyed me up and down, as if I was a prize filly he was considering buying. "Looking good, nice to see you haven't let yourself go."

I turned to Hvitserk to hide my eye roll and was gratified to see he was curling his lip at his brother in annoyance. I tried again to be civil.

"How have you been?"

"Oh, you know. Career, fiancé, all that jazz."

I nodded in response. "Congratulations."

Sigurd smiled, a slippery twisting of his lips that made my skin crawl. "You ever feel like reliving some old memories, let me know."

Bjorn and Ubbe's dual growls were drowned out by a soft and gentle voice that still managed to dominate the room. "Sera."

I turned, heart starting to pound and fresh tears flooded my eyes. A few new lines, a few new grey hairs, but it was still the Ragnar I remembered. Forgetting all the shit of the last eight years I launched myself at my honorary father, the man who had been, in so many ways, more of a father to me than my own had been.

His arms closed around me and it felt like coming home. I found myself nuzzling my head under Ragnar's chin and inhaling his familiar scent deeply, his calloused hand stroked the side of my face and the tears flooding my eyes started to trickle down my cheeks. Pulling away slightly he cocked his head to the side in that quintessential Ragnar way and met my eyes, offering me a gentle smile and carefully wiping away my tears.

"Welcome home." He said warmly, patting my cheek.

Faintly, I heard a snort and glanced to the side in time to see Sigurd roll his eyes and storm away.

Ragnar's eyes followed his son for a brief moment before turning back to me. "You look well," he murmured, and although nearly identical to Sigurd's earlier words, they held none of the same malice and leer; I found myself smiling back.

"As do you," I replied, fingering his long beard thoughtfully, it was admittedly a little scruffy, but it suited his rustic vibe.

Ragnar smiled then, a wide grin so much like his sons and clapped my cheek gently, pulling me into one more bone-crushing hug before releasing me and stepping away. "I'm sure my sons are dying to catch up, I'll leave you for now. Supper will be ready in twenty minutes."

I smiled at his retreating back before being half-tackled by two familiar bodies.

"Love the glasses, little Red," Hvitserk teased, flicking them gently.

Ubbe tightened his headlock and ruffled my hair, "and the hair's still wild I see."

"Hey," I retorted, struggling ineffectually. "I got it into a ponytail!"

"Leave her be," Bjorn ordered softly. "You know as well as I that little Red's hair matches her temper, fiery and uncontrollable." He laughed, twisting away as I shook Ubbe free and launched myself at him. He held me at bay easily, one huge hand pressed to my forehead, his arm long enough to keep my swinging fists from making contact and roared in amusement. My heart soared and for the first time in a long time, I felt truly happy and light; I hadn't let myself realize until now just how much I had truly missed this, the easy banter and sibling affection I'd shared with the Lothbroks, well... most of them. Sigurd was a lost cause, and, after seeing and remembering all the pictures I'd taken displayed in my old room, my feelings for Ivar were a tangled mess.

Speak of the devil...

The thumping of crutches preceded him and soon Ivar was leaning in the doorframe, watching our antics with a mixture of boredom and scorn. By now I was riding Bjorn piggy-back, kicking joyfully and trying to fend off both Ubbe and Hvitserk, who were trying to unseat me from my mighty blonde steed.

"Grab her leg!" Hvitserk laughed, sidestepping another kick.

"YOU grab her leg, remember she kicks like a damn mule!" Ubbe retorted.

"Why are you bothering?" Came Ivar's pissy sounding voice. "She's not staying, she's just going to leave again."

Bjorn stopped his spinning while Ubbe and Hvitserk fixed Ivar with matching glowers. I felt my ears heat up. Yes, the original plan was to get in and get out fast, return to my life on the west coast, but... every moment I was spending in my rambunctious adopted brother's presence was eroding my will and intent. If asked point blank right now what I planned to do, I wouldn't honestly be able to answer. Fortunately, the boys had my back.

"Well then you should enjoy the time we have with her." Ubbe retorted. "Sera is free to live her life without worrying about your hurt feelings."

Christ, my ears could ignite kindling they were so hot right now.

Ivar's eyes drifted to me and for a moment I got lost in their hypnotic cobalt depths. Never, his gaze whispered.

My breath caught in my throat at the intensity of Ivar's gaze, he'd always been a determined person, but in my absence he'd become an irresistible force, all too used to getting his own way, and if that failed, making his own way. He was bound and determined to make my time here as difficult as possible, and, if it wasn't for the efforts of his father and older brothers, would be succeeding. After a long, baleful glare he turned back around and left, his broad back retreating from my vision.

"Ignore him little Red," Bjorn said quietly, turning his head over his shoulder to speak to me. Our faces were mere inches apart and I could see the gentle expression in his eyes, framed by faint laugh lines. I mustered a smile and reached down, slapping at his side.

"Go on, donkey!"

Bjorn laughed, snapping his head sideways to bop me in the forehead, and, with a yell, whirled back into the fray, Ubbe and Hvitserk resuming their quest to unseat me.

After a few minutes I took pity on my blonde donkey and called a truce, submitting to a noogie and thorough tickling from Ubbe and Hvitserk for my weakness. A wave of nostalgia hit me hard as I heard Ragnar yell at us to 'quiet down, you savages!' and fell back on the couch with a sigh, breathing hard from my non-stop laughing. Ubbe plopped on one side of me and Hvitserk the other, Hvitserk flopping sideways, dropping his braided head in my lap and Ubbe reached over to flick his nose, laughing at his brother's enraged squawk.

All too soon, Ragnar was calling everyone to the formal dining room for supper and I stood reluctantly. Ubbe and Hvitserk fell in step on either side of me and I felt Bjorn's comforting strength behind me, and it gave me the courage to walk straight-backed to the table.

Ivar eyed me nastily, chewing sullenly on a breadstick. Torvi favoured me with a welcoming smile as she herded her children to their chairs and I was introduced to Ubbe's wife, a quiet blonde woman named Margrethe then turned my head reluctantly towards Sigurd, who was clearing his throat importantly.

"Sera, this is my fiancé Veronique." Sigurd gestured to the brunette woman at his side. She gave me the same appraising look Sigurd had before extended her hand limply towards me.

"Enchante," she trilled.

"Nice to meet you," I replied neutrally and sat down in the chair Hvitserk was holding out for me. Ragnar smiled at me from the end of the table, I'd been placed at the other end, a spot normally previously by Aslaug but now for guests. I smiled back, grateful for his knowing wink as his relaxed gaze took in the tableau in front of him.

The first course was served and light conversation followed. Ivar remained stubbornly silent, and no one seemed overly eager to try and draw him out. I wasn't sure if my presence was the reason, but Sigurd saw fit to grace us all with a list of his and Veronique's accomplishments, I noticed she leaned frequently over, murmuring snide little comments to Sigurd in French and I rapidly grew tired of her cattiness.

As the second course wound down I found attention turning to me.

"Sera," came Ragnar's quiet voice, "tell us more of what you have been doing these past years." He question was innocent, merely curious, but I felt a pang of guilt nonetheless.

I took a deep breath and began. "After we... left, my mother took me to her family in California where we stayed until she enrolled me in an exclusive Swiss boarding school until I graduated. After that I transferred directly to Oxford. I completed my Masters in History this year, majoring in Early European, specifically 'Viking History'. Next year I'll begin my professorship at Columbia, at least... that was the plan before my father died. I basically haven't set foot on American soil since I was sixteen."

Silence met my response. Some, like Ragnar, were smiling proudly, seemingly pleased with my accomplishments. Others looked thoughtful, while Ivar continued to scowl. In truth, I'd channelled my grief and anger into working my ass off academically, burying my sadness and loss in textbooks and papers. Only near the end of my thesis had I given serious thought to my future, and whether or not I would return to my childhood home.

Veronique was again leaning towards Sigurd, murmuring in French and I was no longer able to let her comments slide.

'She's lying, inflating her accomplishments, I bet she hasn't done any of that.'

I saw red and before I could stop myself, my mouth was opening. "Je ne ments pas. J'ai compris tout ce que tu viens de dire. T'as pas entendu quand j'ai dit avoir passé 2 ans dans un internat en Suisse? Tout ce que j'ai raconte

sur mon education est vrai. Tu devrais plus t'inquieter de ton mec qui me mate que de mes qualitfiactions."

Again, silence greeted me. Everyone looked equal parts confused and wary, except for Sigurd, who'd obviously understood at least part of what I'd just said and looked furious; and Veronique, with spots of high colour on her sharp cheekbones. Without a word she stood and walked stiffly away, and with a snarl, Sigurd followed.

I turned immediately to Ragnar, mortified. "I'm sorry Ragnar, I lost my-"

"Do not apologize." Ragnar said sharply, his vibrant eyes blazing. I fell silent, not knowing what to expect. Then his face softened into a wide, genuine smile and he laughed. "I've been waiting for someone to put that bitch in her place for months! What did you say?"

I exhaled in relief, heart pounding as the my adopted brothers started laughing and throwing me thumbs-up. "She told Sigurd I was lying, I told her I wasn't, reminded her I'd studied for two years in Switzerland and was fluent in French and told her to worry more about Sigurd's wandering eye than my qualifications."

Bjorn pounded the table as he roared and Hvitserk saluted me with a loaded fork and a grin around a full mouth. Torvi bit her lips, fighting not to laugh and even Ivar looked to be struggling not to smile. I felt a rush of relief, but also shame. Again, my mouth opened before my brain could catch up.

"I apologize for being gone so long. I threw myself into my education so I wouldn't hurt so bad, to distract me. I had offers from Stanford and Berkley as well but I chose Columbia hoping I'd be close enough to start seeing father and all of you again on weekends... but I was selfish and too wrapped up in my own pain to worry about anyone else's for a long time."

Immediately the four eldest Lothbroks stood and surrounded me, pulling me from my chair, and for a long moment I was passed back and forth like toy, from one hard embrace to the next, all four deep voices reassuring me that it was okay, not to worry, all was forgiven and welcome home. Tears fell freely from my eyes and Ragnar squeezed me tightly.

"Don't cry," he whispered in my ear. "We are all here now, the family is complete again. Welcome home, little one." He held me a beat longer, then released me. I glanced at the table and saw that Ivar was gone.

"Excuse me," I murmured, trying not to notice the smirk on my adopted brother's faces.

I stepped quickly past one of the bedrooms as I walked towards where I expected Ivar to have gone. Sigurd and Veronique were arguing and I felt a brief moment of embarrassment for having caused it, they were talking about leaving early, and Sigurd was trying to convince her to stay. I snuck past without them noticing me and ducked out the side door. As I'd hoped, Ivar was seated on an old bench, leaning against the side of the house. This area was shaded and protected by large trees, safe from prying eyes. I'd often sit here with Ivar while he'd talked and dreamed of the future, trying to distract himself from the constant pain in his legs.

He glanced up as I approached, a half-dozen emotions rapidly crossing his face before he looked away again, dragging heavily on his cigarette with a mirthless chuckle. I sat hesitantly beside him, I'd not been immune to his moods and rages as a child, no matter how used to them I'd gotten, and he was a man now, no longer an awkward teenager.

"Boarding school," he grunted. "Oxford. You went off and got educated, left us all here."

"Ivar, I-"

Ivar whirled his head towards me, his supernatural eyes alight. "No," he barked. "I get to talk right now, you listen to me, I'm not the same lovesick little puppy following you around anymore."

I faltered, stunned silent. Lovesick little puppy? Is that how Ivar felt? Had my home life been that bad, that I'd missed this? When had Ivar started feeling this way?

Ivar continued to glare at me, brows furrowed, watching these thoughts flash in my eyes. He raised his eyebrows at me and took another drag, scoffed.

"So you didn't know? You couldn't look away from my asshole brother long enough to see that I would have died for you back then? That I loved you?!" His voice was rising with anger and my heart started to pound.

"Ivar-"

"And goddammit! I still would... I still do." His voice trailed off, his anger flaring hot but burning out almost instantly. He looked away and stubbed the cigarette out on the bench, tossed it to the side. He resumed looking forwards, ignoring me, glaring smoking holes in the tree trunk a few feet away.

I opened my mouth, closed it again. There was nothing I could think to say right now. Ivar was used to pain, used to excruciating aches in his legs, but I had been the cause of his worst agony.

"Just go." He growled.

"Ivar-"

"Just go!" He thundered, slamming his fist down on the bench beside me, eyes burning with banked rage. He was beyond listening to me right now, it would be best to leave him be.

I dropped my head and, after a moment, nodded assent. He was silent as I stood and walked away.

Sympathetic smiles and glances met me as I returned to the table, Ivar's temper had burned everyone at one time or another, and I was no exception. Sigurd had persuaded Veronique to stay, they were at the table again but she purposefully avoided my gaze as I took my seat and Ragnar motioned for the dessert to be brought out. Whatever, maybe she'd keep her nastiness to herself now. I gaped at my bowl for a moment before looking back up at Ragnar in shock. He beamed back.

"Ragnar? I haven't had this in years... Blueberry Grumble?!"

Ragnar laughed in delight. "My honorary daughter is finally home, of course I'm going to serve her favourite."

I looked back down at the dessert, my heart starting to pound in anticipation. In truth a simple dish, cooked in a basic cast-iron frying pan, Blueberry Grumble was a delicious bastardization of blueberry cobbler, only gooier and richer, the topping a mix of sugar cookie, shortbread and cake; the result of a manic afternoon in the Lothbrok kitchen one weekend when I was nine; I'd been staying over, my parents on a cruise of some sort. Ragnar had let Ivar, Hvitserk and I run wild while he'd laughed from his perch on the countertop, sipping 'adult coffee' and shooing Aslaug out when she'd stuck her head in to investigate the 'wild noises' drifting out. Blueberry Grumble had been the result, so named because Ivar had grumbled about it afterwards, lamenting the blueberry portion when he'd specifically wanted cherries. Fresh tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, Christ, I was a wreck today.

The grumble tasted better than I remembered, and I was mildly embarrassed at how fast I finished my bowl. Ragnar smiled at me from the other end, winking at my reddened cheeks.

I found myself relaxing as the evening wound down. Ivar didn't return, but no one seemed particularly surprised. We retired to the living room, perched on various chairs and couches and caught up, telling stories and adventures. Bjorn's sons fell asleep perched against their massive father, snuggled against his muscular chest and it was the cutest damned thing I'd ever seen. Soon I was yawning too and reluctantly said my goodbyes, not really looking forward to a night alone in my empty house.

Hvitserk offered to walk me home, but then got distracted by leftovers and, shaking my head in amusement, I decided to leave without him. Hearing the door slam behind me I slowed, expecting a sheepish Hvitserk to fall in step beside me.

"Leaving so soon?" Sigurd's voice was like an icy finger down my spine.

I glanced at him, decided to try a polite rebuff. "Yes, goodnight Sigurd."

"But we have so much to talk about," his hand grabbed my elbow, pulling me sharply off balance and I was forced to grab at his shoulders to keep from falling. As soon as I had my balance again, I pulled away angrily, my fist itching to break his nose, but he anticipated this and grabbed my upper arms roughly, shook me like an insolent puppy. He leaned in close, a cunning gleam in his eye and I ran through my options quickly. I must have given myself away however, for he blocked my knee to his groin and continued to invade my space; shit, I was out of practice.

"I missed you," he whispered and my skin crawled.

"What did I ever see in you?" I growled and the teasing light in Sigurd's unique eyes disappeared. His hands tightened and he dropped his head, trying to force his kiss on me. Suddenly, his hands were gone from my arms and my ears registered a painful sounding crack.

Bjorn stood in front of me, fists flexing, looking about ten feet tall. Sigurd staggered away, clasping at his nose, gushing blood and obviously broken. I caught sight of Veronique on the front step, watching us, a strange, calculating look on her face. Bjorn turned back to me, his hands gentle.

"Are you okay?" He muttered, one large hand cupping my cheek.

"Yeah, I'm rusty, I used to be able to defend myself." I was horrified to hear my voice shaking.

A low growl rumbled in Bjorn's chest. "You shouldn't have to against your own family."

"Sera? What happened?" Hvitserk jogged over, eyes wide with concern; he glanced over at Sigurd, now being helped to his car by Veronique and turned back to Bjorn, his expression hard.

Bjorn nodded angrily back, turning to glare daggers at the retreating couple. He looked back at Hvitserk. "She never gets left alone with him, ever."

Hvitserk nodded humbly and reached for my hand. "I'll take you home, if you're okay?"

I nodded, hugging Bjorn and whispering my thanks in his ear. He squeezed me tightly back and yanked my ponytail affectionately.

Hvitserk took my hand, to my surprise, and began to lead me home. I was grateful for his touch, but surprised nonetheless.

"Sorry, I should have been with you." He murmured, and I understood immediately.

"It's fine, you shouldn't have to worry about your own brother."

"He's been weird around you ever since Ivar started watching you."

"What do you mean?" I probed gently. Hvitserk would never make a spy, he wasn't good at keeping secrets, and as long as you didn't show too much immediate interest in what he was saying, you could usually get quite a lot of information from him before he figured it out.

We'd reached my house and I unlocked the door, pushing it open. "Come in?" I invited, but Hvitserk shook his head.

"Nah, I need to get going, but yeah... once Ivar started really watching you, then Sigurd seemed to get interested too." Hvitserk faltered, frowning in confusion. "You did know, right? That Ivar had a crush on you?"

I shook my head in a mix of shame and surprise. Christ, had everyone seen it but me?

Hvitserk nodded thoughtfully, "I didn't think you were purposefully breaking his heart, but Jesus Sera, you really didn't know? It was so obvious, Sigurd teased him all the time about it, and when you two started dating, he rubbed it in Ivar's face every chance he got. Christ, the night he popped your cherry-"

"Okay! Okay, Hvitserk, I get it. And no, I had no idea, I mean, I do now... but no, not at the time... with my parents and everything... " I trailed off lamely, god, I'd been an air headed teenager.

Hvitserk gave me a gentle smile. "You were going through a lot of shit with them, weren't you. You're mom's quite the lady."

"Jesus, no kidding. Woman's had a stick up her ass for years, my whole life actually. I... I let her dictate my decisions too much... I... I'm ashamed I let her run over me like that."

"You should be able to trust your own parents," Hvitserk replied thoughtfully. "That's on her, not you." He stepped forwards and placed a chaste kiss on my forehead.

"Goodnight Sera."

"Goodnight Hvitserk." He smiled again and turned away. "Hvitserk?"

He turned back, eyebrows raised.

I swallowed. "Could you tell Ivar goodnight for me too?"

A small grin pulled at Hvitserk's lips and he winked. "Sure thing, kid."

I shut the door behind him and leaned back against it for a long moment, trying to clear my tangled thoughts.