Chapter Text
All eyes are on him as he makes his way to the princess. He is supposed to go to her, bow, and hand her a flower. He does not understand why, but he wants to make his mother happy. She has asked him to do this and so he will.
People coo and awe as he steps before her. Her head is held high. Her chin juts out in obvious defiance as her gray eyes narrow in Ubbe’s direction.
It was only a few hours earlier that they had played hide-and-seek with Hvitserk in the garden. Hvitserk had hid at the base of the tree and jumped out when she turned, making her shriek in terror. The boys had laughed heartily at the noise she had made, much to her dismay. She had yelled and pouted, telling them it was not fair because she had no sibling to join her against them both.
She is still scowling at Ubbe - brows furrowed, lips tight - with clear resentment holding tight in her heart. Her demeanor softens as more eyes turn to her, searching for a type of comfort that comes from a shared experience. Ubbe offers her a smile. This is just a game, much like the same silly games they have been playing all week. The only difference is that now everyone watches. She smiles back, not because she is comforted by his presence but because she cannot ignore the pointed look of her own mother, dropping into a curtsy at his bow, exactly as she has been instructed only moments before.
He offers her the flower, a single rose, littered with so many thorns that even he holds it with a careful delicacy he is not used to. Her own fingers bump awkwardly against Ubbe’s as she attempts to accept it without hurting herself. His tongue darts out of his mouth as he tries to help. He wants to make his mother proud. He has done as he was told but he can’t comprehend why the crowd is so excited by his accomplishment. Ubbe looks across the tent in search of his mother who smiles kindly back at him. Ragnar on the other hand is wearing the same bemused expression that he has sported since the moment they set foot in England.
Avery’s face is pale when he looks back at her. The crowd is in a wild frenzy at the passing of the rose. She leans towards Ubbe, her lips parting to ask him - why is everyone looking at us?
The crowd erupts even further at their closeness and she jumps away before she can speak.
Startled, she frantically seeks out her mother, darting to her side.
Ubbe laughs, tumbling in Hvitserk’s direction, falling into his brother’s side with ease. They would make fun of her tomorrow for hiding in her mother’s skirts and her eyes are already narrowing at their conspiratorial glances. Hvitserk tugs on his brother’s shirt sleeve, head nodding in the direction of the tent flaps. The sun is close to setting, but there are still a few moments of light left that would allow them to play.
He turns, searching out his friend and motions towards Hvitserk and their waiting escape. Mischief fills her eyes as she loosens her grip from her mother’s skirts. Avery tip-toes her way carefully to their side, sharing a quick laugh to wash away the awkwardness of the ceremony before they all leave the tent to play together as friends one last time.
Regularly Ubbe had the same recurring dream of that night in England, of the time he had traveled with his family to King Ecbert’s court. He rarely dreamed of the past. Mostly he had no dreams at all, or sometimes of his brother, Ivar, walking on two legs. The latter had come true, but Ubbe did not think he would ever be in England to see his childhood promise come to fruition.
When he thought back on his time in England, he had strange visions of too many colors and loud jabbering of foreign voices. He had played with Avery all week. She had become one of the boys, playing games and picking on one another endlessly until someone, usually Avery, cried in frustration. They hadn’t needed a mutual language to understand one another, the innocence of childhood was enough. Their expressions were so plainly written on their faces, nothing was left unsaid.
His mother had tricked him into giving Avery the rose. A simple gift, he had thought. A token of their friendship, his mother had said, the next day they would sail back to Norway, and it was likely they would not see one another for many years.
Aslaug had been right about not seeing his friend for many years, but she had failed to tell him the truth about the flower until much later. So much later in fact, that it was a distant memory save for his dreams that stood as a soft reminder against the years. When word got around about Wessex and the destruction of the settlement, his mother finally decided to inform him about the weight his flower had carried ten years ago.
“It’s likely because we didn’t keep on our promise,” Aslaug said to him the night before Ragnar reappeared.
“Why?” He wondered. Why even go through the actions of ceremony if they had no intentions of keeping their promise?
“Ragnar.” Her answer was simple. Another promise Ragnar could not keep. The list grew longer: fidelity, fatherhood, leadership, friend, diplomat. Another broken promise Ubbe wore heavy around his neck.
“They didn’t keep theirs either,” Ubbe had replied bitterly, thinking of all the people who had never received word of the family members who had settled there, now dead, with no one around to mourn them properly, though more it was a bitterness towards his father and the promises he could not keep.
Such burdens would crush any other man, but not Ubbe, he refused. He would work towards his father’s dreams and achieve them, not because of him but despite him. He would be better.
Ubbe moved towards England and Alfred like a tidal wave. A fate he could not control. He let it wash over him, letting go as he allowed the Saxons to baptize him in the Christian faith, dismissing his brief romance with Torvi and ordering her to go home with Bjorn. Ubbe took on the role as an advisor to Alfred. All these things he had never imagined for himself but knew was best for his people, something Ragnar had never been able to achieve.
When he was presented with his long ago promise of betrothal he was once again forced to submit to the power of the Nornes, the tricky hands of fate that laughed at him as he suffered the failings of his father.
“I will marry your princess but I must go home first.” He had agreed to Alfred’s demands easily enough, tying his people to the Saxons by marriage was the only sensible thing to do. He would suffer the decisions of his father but first he had to do one thing for himself.
Bringing Hvitserk back to England had not been easy. He regretted it in the beginning, watching as his beloved brother detoxed all the demons of his past. Was this really the same man who had led troops of men into battle? Who had laughed with him over the dinner table at Sigurd’s bratty behavior? Who had learned to fight and kill by his side? It caused him physical pain to watch as Hvitserk suffered and so he left the villa most days to ride or hunt or be anywhere but present to his mistakes.
In the end it had been the best decision he had made for himself. Ubbe needed Hvitserk as much as he needed air, making each promise he agreed to that much easier. With Hvitserk by his side anything was possible - he could marry some Saxon who would likely hate him as much as he loathed the cross that hung around his neck. As well as every other promise he had made to see his father’s dreams come to fruition.