Dinner that night was strangely pleasant, and Freydis found that Ivar was in an oddly good mood considering how pained his legs had been earlier on. Following her midday meal with Hvitserk, which had end with a kiss on the cheek, Ivar had hollered loudly for her. His legs ached once more and so Freydis hurried to his bedside to massage the twisted limbs.

Freydis had seated herself at the table before the Ragnarssons, though Aslaug had taken her place at the head of the table. Her fingers were laced together and partially hid the woman's mouth as she stared down the centre of the table, deep into the brightly burning fire. Servants and slaves were beginning to bring cups and plates laden with food. Naturally Freydis' had less meat than that of the royal family, as was natural in the hierarchical society of Kattegat.

"You did well to weather Ivar's pains," Queen Aslaug said dryly as an offhanded comment. "And you made it out unharmed too, which is a blessing."

There was a hint of amusement in the Queen's voice, which was not lost on Freydis. However it was sobering to imagine how easily Ivar would have lashed out, and she held no doubts that he would have at the slightest provocation. Dealing with him was like walking on eggshells. Though eggshells did not strike one across the face, as Ivar had done in his youth when Freydis was only beginning to learn how to ease his pains. He rarely resorted to violence as he matured, rather using nasty quips to hurt others instead.

"Thank you, Queen Aslaug. I only learnt from the best," she replied, pandering to Aslaug's doting love. Freydis was aware how the woman resented Ivar's growing attachment to her and how it affected Aslaug's relationship with her son, so deflecting the flattery to the Queen was the least she could do.

With a tight smile, Aslaug remarked, "It is a shame I cannot teach you everything."

It was clear to her what Queen Aslaug meant and that was she never intended to let Freydis assume all her wifely duties, in effect sidelining Aslaug in favour of Freydis.

"Of course not, you are his mother after all," she whispered back, smoothing her tunic out. "I would never dream of taking your place."

Aslaug smiled back at her, taking the girl's words as a sign of defeat even if they were not intended to be so. While the Queen's smile was placating, Freydis could not help but sense the brewing tension, not only between the women themselves but also between Ivar and his mother. He was growing too old to remain under his mother's wing where he had grown up, and nor did he want Freydis as a replacement. So for his betrothed, her role was undefined and was to be worked at as they progressed.

Ubbe was the first to enter, alongside Sigurd, who took their seats opposite Freydis. The reeked of sweat and fish, suggesting they had spent the day fishing before the bay froze over for winter. Their mother greeted them coolly, as did Freydis, who gently quizzed them with small talk of the weather and the abundance of fish. She was not close to Sigurd nor did Ubbe feel entirely comfortable around the girl, so the atmosphere was slightly strained.

Eventually Hvitserk meandered in from outside the Great Hall, earning him a displeased glance from Aslaug. "You are late, Hvitserk," she reprimanded before taking a deep drink from her adorned goblet.

His eyes betrayed his annoyance at the comment, though he said nothing and took his place beside Freydis, who immediately tensed up. It was a small movement but enough to have Ubbe raise his eyebrows and catch his younger brother's eyes. Hvitserk mouth formed a firm line but he said nothing intially.

"How are you?" Hvitserk asked her in a low hum, to which Freydis nervously coughed into her hand. The air had only grown tenser with Hvitserk's arrival and although only they knew why, the suspicion was beginning to grow in the others' minds.

"Oh I am well, Hvitserk," announced a voice behind Freydis that made her jolt and her voice seize in her throat. She immediately recognised the voice of Ivar and turned to see him crawling towards the table. In her staring, Freydis noticed how his muscles rippled beneath his tunic as Ivar moved across the ground.

Ivar hoisted himself onto the bench and swung his legs around the end of it and beneath the table. "Thank you for asking, brother, you are so considerate," Ivar added in a sickly sweet voice with that charming smile that made her all weak at the knees. He then turned his attentions to Freydis who was seated between the two brothers, placing his hand upon the girl's knee with a gentle squeeze. "And you, Freydis?"

"F-Fine, thank you," Freydis stuttered, startled at his consideration. Rarely did he ever give her an affectionate gesture, particularly in public though she wouldn't call it unpleasant. Rather it was a welcome surprise and Freydis settle under his touch, a smile present on her face.

Slaves entered with seared chickens, bread and what few grilled vegetables had survived the winter chill, setting them along the length of the table. The aromas were irresistible and Freydis had to admit the constant supply of food was one of the nicer perks of being engaged to a prince. She supposed none of them had gone hungry their entire lives.

Once the food was laid out the Ragnarssons languidly picked at the food, with Ivar eagerly snatching the best cut of meat for himself. Freydis' plate was largely vegetables and bread, with a few stringy pieces of meat pushed to the side; however she had taken one of the only small slices of bread that was dashed with butter, a rarity in Kattegat.

The dinner continued in relatively quiet, disturbed only by Ivar and Sigurd incessant bickering to which both Freydis and Ubbe were forced to act as mediators between the rowdy brothers. During the night Ivar's arm had snaked around her shoulders and pulled her in tight underneath the crook of his arm. She felt the flush of embarrassment as Aslaug eyed her son suspiciously over his affectionate behaviour.

Hvitserk pushed down the growing urge to fling Ivar's tight grip on his betrothed off, as it looked more like a headlock than anything else.

"She does not look comfortable, Ivar," Hvitserk finally said, piercing through the light tone that had encompassed the small but broken family over the course of the meal.

Ivar turned his glowing blue eyes to his brother and pulled Freydis a little closer to his side, sensing Hvitserk's attempt at showing concern. He knew the girl beneath his arm was susceptible to the false kindnesses of others, particularly from Hvitserk who strained so hard to woo her with faux worry for her wellbeing. While he might fool Freydis, Ivar knew all too well Freydis was meant to be with him and no other man would suffice. None other could handle a Beserker like he could.

"She is plenty comfortable, Hvitserk," Ivar hissed back, causing Freydis to shrink under his rising hostility. It was all too easy for him to misfire his frustrations onto her. Though as quickly as it appeared, the hostility evaporated. "Go and get me some ale, Freydis."

His command was light hearted yet left no room for argument and so Freydis stood while Ivar's hand slid down to her ass. The two brothers' eyes locked, and whilst Hvitserk adopted an irritated expression, Ivar's remained cocky. It was a clear game of possession that brewed tension in the atmosphere, and Queen Aslaug only added to said tensions.

"Ivar, I do remember you saying she was not a slave," Aslaug said lowly in a half-joking manner that was down played by the bleariness of her eyes. "Have a servant fetch some ale."

Ivar cast her a vexed look and hissed, "She is already up, so she can bring me some ale."

"It is fine, Queen Aslaug, I do not mind," Freydis said gently in an attempt to diffuse the situation.

"Bring me some ale while you're up, Freydis," Hvitserk added, which earned him an equally aggravated stare from Ivar. She could not help but feel caught between their brotherly rivalry but nevertheless slipped from the bench and Ivar's wandering hand to the back kitchen which housed the ale.

When she returned, the brothers' staring had only intensified and Ivar sullenly glared at Hvitserk over the rim of his stein has he down the ale.

"Why not spend the night with me, Freydis?" He asked, causing both Hvitserk and his mother to splutter and choke on their drinks. "Just for warmth, Mother. I will not doing anything to her… Unless she wants me to, of course," he purred into her ear, causing heat to rise up her neck in a humiliating blush. The last part was said so softly that none other than Freydis could hear, for which she was grateful.

Sigurd's face twisted in disgust and he grunted, "The better question would be: Why would she want to spend the night with a cripple?"

Ivar launched his half-empty plate of food at his older brother, dousing him in animal fats and half eaten vegetables, and the stunned Sigurd awkwardly blocked the incoming plate, though it managed to clonk him on the head. He snarled back at Ivar, rising to his feet with fists pressed against the table.

"Sit down, Sigurd," Queen Aslaug said irritably, voice drawn and unfocused as she stared at the expansive double doors of the Great Hall. In one hand she held her loyal goblet, fingers clutching it unsteadily. She seemed frustrated by the cyclical nature of her sons' bickering. "Do not throw food, Ivar."

Ivar suppressed the growl in his throat and stared Sigurd down as he slowly sunk back into his seat. Freydis sunk into his side in the hopes of calming him, and his finger curled so tightly around her upper arm that she feared vivid bruises would be left behind.

Hvitserk glowered at him as their eyes met, Ivar's cocky smile taunting him. He knew he had won, and it had not taken much at all. Ivar never thought of Hvitserk as worthy competition, but merely an obstacle that interrupted the full submission of his Beserker. And the way he made small circles on Freydis' arm with his thumb belayed this to Hvitserk in a way that stung his throat.

By this point, all hopes of enjoying the meal were dashed, and Aslaug took another long drawl from her goblet to drown out the strain of family relations.

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Freydis had agreed to share Ivar's bed for the night, though was concerned at subsequently sharing a room with the rest of his brothers. Nevertheless the thought of finally having a warm bed to sleep in was irresistible after many years on the cold floor with only her bearskin and goat hide to keep her warm.

Hvitserk did not approach her again that night, but skulked off into Kattegat for the night, likely to bed somewhere else until morning. He did not trust Ivar to keep his hands to himself and did not wish to hear him moaning into her skin as he took Freydis in the same room as him. She was a sweet girl and Hvitserk knew Ivar's personality was not one to take 'no' for an answer. Much like a petulant child. But if she had chosen to go to his bed, then there was no stopping her.

She in turn slid into Ivar's bed beneath the furs, careful not to invade his privacy as he nodded off on the other side of the relatively small bed. The furs were already soft and cozy from the heat of his body, and Freydis reveled in it. She removed her bearskin and gently laid it on the ground beside the bed.

Ivar turned towards her, eyes gleaming in the dark like those of a predator stalking its prey in the night. He coiled his arms around Freydis' waist and jerked her close to him, until her ass pressed against his crotch and he could encircle her with his arms. Freydis resisted the urge to yelp at the sudden motion, fearing she would alert the other brothers to Ivar's intentions. Hands hungrily roamed about her body, one groping at her breast and rubbing the soft mounds beneath her tunic. Her face lit up in hot embarrassment, but it was not an unpleasant sensation. As if continuing from that morning, he moaned into her messy plait of dark hair as one hand latched onto her hip bone and ground her ass against his hardening cock.

They were generating heat truly, though it was clear Ivar had not intended for them to share a bed for warmth only. Ivar's hand snaked up her tunic and grasped her bare breast, fingers curiously gliding across her nipples until they hardened and she mewled gentle at the pleasurable sensation. Memories of his dream circulated through his mind and he dared to squeeze her breast until mounds of flesh appeared between his large fingers like the squeezing of a balloon.

Freydis gasped and jerked away from his grip while his other hand snaked down along her smooth belly and towards the hem of her pants. His fingers eagerly searched for the cords that kept her pants clinging to that luscious waist of hers, only to be interrupted by a downy pillow launched at his head. It hit him square on the head and the owner of the pillow piped up.

"No funny business, Ivar," Sigurd hissed through the gloom. "You are not being as quiet as you think you are."

"Shut up, Sigurd. At least I have a woman in my bed," Ivar snapped back in a hushed voice so as not to wake Ubbe, who would likely scold all three of them for their behaviour.

"Only because you are Mother's favourite," he replied and Ivar threw off the furs as if to lunge at Sigurd.

However Freydis turned to him and gripped his broad shoulders, quieting him down, saying, "Shh, Ivar. He is just trying to anger you, leave it be."

Ivar groaned in frustration, and as Freydis continued to hold him still she could feel the strain of his muscles as he struggled to calm down. She instead reached up and once again gently scraped his scalp with her fingers, and he visibly slackened in his arms. It seemed that she had found the surefire way to diffuse his rage.

He finally settled and his breathing steadied as he drifted asleep, Freydis wound so tightly in his arms so tight she feared he might crush her.