#and everyons already sick of my comments/complaints so ill have to keep my mouth shut for two weeks

[fuchsiagrasshopper]

Falling Together Part IV

Author’s Notes: Here it is, the finale! What fun it was writing for this mini series, and now I can’t wait to embark on something else. Thanks to you lovely readers who made this a fun journey. If you have ideas on what you want me to write next, let me know in a comment or message. Enjoy!

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

Pairing: Ivar x Reader

Word Count: 2977

Warnings: light angst

From his time as King of Kattegat, Ivar had taken many lessons from his failed ruling. He was intuitive, and would never make the same mistake twice. The people had followed him in battle, feared him, revolted against his crown until finally, he had crept away in exile. After all of that, there was one challenge he had never faced, and it was an illness.

The fever first started as a whisper,  maybe one or two elderly succumbing to a quick death. It was nothing out of the ordinary, and it had not caught the attention of the healers. But as able-bodied warriors began to grow weak and pallid, and children dropped weight, the alarm was raised. 

The first blow came when Hvitserk fell ill. He had shown signs during a discussion regarding the start of the fever, and now he was housed with the others in a large makeshift tent in the center of the city. The sick were kept away from the healthy, and only the healers came and went at their own peril. They tended to the infirm without complaint, even as it kept many of them isolated from their own families.

Ivar had heard stories of when the plague had crossed through Kattegat from Bjorn. A half-sister he would never know had been taken by the illness. He was reminded of this tale because of Hvitserk's condition. Fear was ever-present in his mind about losing his brother, and he had been passing along messages to the healers to take to him. Even though they refused to let him be by his side, he wanted Hvitserk to know he wasn't alone.

"We need to do something for the healers," You said, your voice bringing him back to the warmth of your chambers.

Ivar turned to you and watched you in silence. The occurrence of the fever had taken a toll on you as well. Memories of your mother's early death had been brought up in the still of the night as you lied together. Though he didn't have the words to comfort you, he had held you close, skin to skin, your air mingling together as you each took turns whispering soft things of care.

"Any provisions we don't need will go to them first," He said, coming to sit beside you on the bed. Dáire was sleeping against your leg, and Ivar ran his fingers through the dog's hair.

"I've written to Father, and he has agreed to send food and linens. We'll have to send men to retrieve the cart. I don't want outsiders risking coming through the gates."

You were calm and pragmatic in the face of turmoil, and Ivar was grateful to have you by his side. He leaned across Dáire, reaching for you to lay a quick kiss on your temple. You replied with a short laugh.

"What was that for?"

"For being strong. I have never dealt with illness among the people, but having you here has helped me with the difficult decisions."

You took his hand from your face and gave a kiss against his palm. "It's something we have to do, right? When the people suffer, we have to be strong."

You were strong, and with the both of you together, Ivar felt invincible. But there were the first signs of exhaustion creeping up. He felt it in his frail bones and saw it on your face. This was an invisible enemy, and no amount of brute force could be submitted. It was an isolating situation, helping the people from afar and relying on the information from the healers. The air in the city was reek from the sick, and the ground damp. Neither of you ventured out from the Great Hall unless it was of the utmost importance.

"Rest," Ivar told you, gentle but firm. "The people will need you."

'I need you' was what he wanted to say, but your eyes had grown heavy, and Ivar didn't like how warm your hand felt in his.

You agreed without complaint, and Ivar didn't mind that Dáire was nestled between you. He settled into sleep as well, for the few hours he could. He had been awoken in the night the past while by thralls or guards with updates on the illness, and he couldn't afford to squander a chance at rest. Turning to face you, Ivar pulled the furs over and let his eyes close, falling into a fitful sleep.

ooOOoo

It was still dark when your eyes shot open. Your chambers were filled with shadows in the small light of the candles that burned low. The season was late, but you were warm and covered in sweat. A sinking feeling woke you, something you had been trying to hide from your husband. In the past few days, your appetite had vanished, and an increasing malaise had taken hold. 

You jumped out of bed, jolting both Dáire and Ivar awake. An empty chamber pot was near, and you lunged for it, landing hard on your knees as you emptied your stomach. With your head buried, and your hair falling around your face, you couldn't make out what was happening around you. The room fell into chaos. Ivar was already shouting for a healer, and Dáire was running around, whimpering frantically.

"(Y/N)," Ivar called, combing your hair away from your face. 

You didn't know when he had joined you on the ground, but you pushed at his chest with a weak hand. "No, stay away. You'll get sick."

"I'm not leaving you," He barked back. "Nothing can stop that. We share everything together. I'm already at risk."

Dáire let out a growl at the guard that came into the room. He had two thralls and a healer with him, and they worked to separate you from Ivar. You were maneuvered back onto the bed, while one of the thralls took Dáire out from the room. Your husband refused to leave at the order of the healer, occupying the chair at your side with an immovable resolve. 

A cool cloth was draped over your forehead, and the healer was grinding down herbs for you to drink. You had lost control over what was happening, your body spent while everyone else spoke around you. Your head was stuffy, and you felt bloated even after retching.

"For the time being, you should room elsewhere, my King. And your wife should be put into isolation with the other sick," The healer said.

"No, she'll remain here with me," Ivar argued. "I will help look after her."

You felt the first drop of hot brew as the healer tilted your head up to drink the medicine. The taste was aromatic and bitter, and you hoped your empty stomach would be able to keep it down.

"How long has she been showing signs of the fever?" The healer asked Ivar.

"This is the first time I've seen her sick."

A wave of guilt washed over you for keeping your symptoms hidden. "It started a few days ago," You murmured.

You could barely make out what was being said by the healer, but you could see the anger and disappointment furrow Ivar's brow. Your marriage was a strong union and without lies. Downplaying your sickness had simply been about sparing him of the worry you now knew he felt. On top of Hvitserk being struck with the fever, and managing the concerns of the people, you didn't want to be his burden. 

When the guard stepped out, and the thralls were ordered around by the healer  Ivar took your clammy hand in his.

"If you weren't sick, I would be furious at you for your silence."

You smiled while running the cool cloth down your face. "That's unlike you to hold back. I like our arguments."

"Then I'll save it for when you are well again."

That was more on par with the Ivar you had come to know. From tales of his mother to the boat builder, Floki, you knew your husband struggled with loss. So he chose to deal in absolutes. He couldn’t fathom losing you from the sickness. 'When you are well', as if saying it aloud, it would keep you from death.

Your own mortality was not something you had considered until now either. When your mother had been taken by fever, she had still been young, and you wondered if she had thoughts about her own death before succumbing to it.

"I need to get word to my father that I've taken to bedrest," You said, pushing yourself up in bed.

"I'll help with that," Ivar said while easing you back down to rest.

It would be the first time Ivar would get to test his writing skills after your teachings. The thought would have made you happy had it been under better circumstances than informing your father you had taken ill.

The throbbing feeling was back in your head, and the fever made your eyes burn. You allowed your lids to shut, hoping to rest even if you were too worried to sleep. Thoughts of the people suffering weighed heavily on your mind, and you did not want to leave Ivar to deal with everything. You were aware that he was at your side, and you soon succumbed to the will of your body, falling into much-needed rest.

ooOOoo

"You look like shit," Hvitserk said, the first words Ivar had heard his brother say in person since he had been taken to isolating with the others.

The days had advanced, and so had Ivar's haggardness. More bodies had been piled to be burned in a massive pyre, and it was decided that once the fever was swept away, a celebration would be held for the dead. It was just one of few things Ivar had wanted to give back to the people. Their hope was clinging by a thread, and he struggled in your stead to keep it alive.

Many others had managed to fight off the illness, which included Hvitserk who was now on the mend. He was thinner from the ordeal, but his appetite had returned with a fierce need to prove he could still devour a whole chicken in one sitting. Ivar was pleased, if not disgusted, to witness his brother's return to form.

"Did you want something?" He asked around a mouthful of meat, indicating to the rest of the spread down the table.

Ivar shook his head while nursing his mead, which had begun to cool. "I'll eat with (Y/N) later."

"How is she feeling?"

Ivar frowned as his thoughts continued to swirl around that same thought for the past week. The last wave of the illness was ending with fewer people falling sick each day. You still remained on rest in your chambers, and while the fever had broken on you two days prior, you were still showing signs of illness.

"She's fighting," Ivar said shortly.

"(Y/N) is strong. I don't think the Gods would choose this to be her end."

If it was he would renounce them all...but he couldn't give in to such caitiff thoughts. You might not have shared the same Gods, but he preyed they would all grant you more time at his side. His days without you were endless, and though he had not spoken the words aloud, he knew he loved you. It was difficult to comprehend when it had happened, but it was a simple thing. With Freydis he had been besotted by her beauty but was embarrassed to find he didn't know what else he loved about her. His marriage to you was different. What started as a strange and loveless affair had grown into what he had always searched for. Perhaps it had been too easy, and now the Gods wanted to take you away. 

"I owe much to her father," Ivar said, thinking out loud his train of thought. "Without the extra supplies and medicine, our losses would be much higher."

"And how's he handling the news of his daughter's illness?"

The first letter Ivar had written to King Conall had been with your dictation, but what you didn't know was Ivar had continued to write to your father in his own words. He was the only other man who could understand his position, and Ivar craved the guidance and wise words he was able to provide.

"When he first heard of (Y/N) falling ill, he had wanted to come here, and damned the chance of catching the fever himself, but I persuaded him to remain away."

"I'm sure Ragnar felt the same way after he returned to find Gyda had passed," Hvitserk said, and it was the first time either of them had mentioned her name. "I wonder what she was like."

Ivar didn't. Dwelling on the dead was something he had done for so long after his mother's murder, and he could bring himself to do it again. He was comforted by the idea that Gyda was reunited with her mother and father in Valhalla, even if it meant peace for Lagertha.

"My King," They were interrupted by your personal thrall. She appeared rather giddy, which had Hvitserk tossing him a confused look. "The Queen requests your presence in your chambers."

"Is she well?" Ivar asked, bracing to stand on his crutch. 

"Aye, she is eating again," The thrall replied with a giggle. "Almost as much as master Hvitserk."

Hvitserk let out a belch and a chuckle. "Odin had heard you, brother."

Ivar refrained from allowing his relief to get the better of him, but he started for your chambers as quickly as he could propel his body. It was the first time in days he was approaching your shared room with excitement rather than dread. Seeing you spread out in the center of the bed with the furs pulled down to stave off the fever had weakened his heart. He took the words of your thrall with a grain of salt, deciding he would determine your state for himself.

He burst forth through the threshold the moment he reached it and was met with the strong smell of fermented fish. You were propped up with furs and cushions, a plate balanced on your lap. Dáire was perched up on his hind legs by your side as you tossed him a scrap of food.

"You're awake," Ivar said out of breath. 

"And you came all this way to see me," You teased with a tired but pleasant smile. "I missed you."

Ivar shut the door and came to sit on the bed. "I've hardly left your side."

"I know, but I wasn't aware of much that went on around me, and I must have made for dreadful company."

The only dreadful thing had been when watching the color fade out from your face as you slept through the fever. A warm glow was set upon your cheeks again, and it was the first time he'd seen you eat whole food.

"How is Hvitserk?" You asked, interrupting his reminiscing of terrible thoughts.

"He remains eating any extra provisions your father had sent to us," He explained, and you laughed at the answer. "I should grab a healer."

Your hand reached out and tugged on his sleeve, keeping him in place. "Hlíf was already here before you came. She thinks I've been free of the sickness for two days now."

"But you were sick this morning," Ivar said, not understanding the healer’s interpretation. 

"Yes, and that will likely continue for a time," You paused and breathed a small laugh. "I'm with child."

Ivar's strange first reaction was to look down at your stomach as if expecting to find a curve to your middle. It was too soon to tell by looking, but that didn't stop him from reaching out and placing a hand down on your warm belly.

"When did you find out?"

"The healer told me this morning, but I suspected it was possible as the fever faded, and I still was waking up unwell," You said, your hand joining his. "What are you thinking?"

So many things, yet his mind was quiet. There was fear that the child wouldn't survive long enough to be born, or worse it would carry his affliction. He couldn’t do to you what he did to Freydis, but he wondered if he would see his own child as a burden, much as Ragnar saw him.

"Ivar," You whispered, moving in close. "Come back to me."

He blinked, seeing the worried look appear on your face. "I'm afraid when I should be happy. What if this child brings nothing but disappointment?"

"Only if we let it. We cannot control our fate, and if we fall off one path we won't stop. We'll take a new one together, with our child. I don't believe this is a miracle or a blessing, it is just the result of us falling in love, together."

"I thought good Christians believed in those miracles," He murmured, while brought to ease by what you had said.

You wrinkled your nose in disgust. "No God should be so lazy, and they can't claim responsibility for every child born of one breath."

Ivar pulled you down beside him on the, and he was pleased by the surprised shriek you let out. "I'll make a heathen out of you yet."

"I love you, husband."

He'd held on for so long without the need for love, but now as you offered it, so safe and simple, he knew he would take it all. It was different than any other time before, not smothering or conniving. It was a tranquil pool he could wade into without the worry of squalls or tidal waves. Ivar was grateful you had both fallen together. 

"Of course you do, and I love you right back."

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