(Y/n) jumped down from the trees, slinging her bow back over her shoulder as she quickly made her way back to her father's home. She didn't care what Sigurd had said about her; she had never liked him anyway. He was a petulant child that in her opinion had always needed a good slap. And she was glad that he didn't want anything to do with her; the thought of him touching her, making her feel quite sick. No, what had hurt was what Ivar had said about her; that he wasn't interested in her, and she was boring, ignorant and ugly. That he didn't want anything more to do with her. The daughter of the boatbuilder questioning whether they had ever really been friends. Whether all those years of being by his side, had meant nothing. So, and as much as it hurt her, if that was what Ivar wanted, that was what he would get. (Y/n) sure that if someone like Hvitserk thought that she was worth his time, then how many more men might there be that thought she was beautiful and had never spoken to her, just because she was friends with Ivar. The silent woman telling herself not to dwell on it, to forget about her heart that wanted to break. After all, Ivar Ragnarsson was not the only man in Kattegat, not the only man in the world. (Y/n) sure that there must be someone, just one man that would not mind that she was boring, ignorant, ugly.....and couldn't talk. And despite knowing that she shouldn't have done it; despite knowing that all four of the boys would know it was her, she was glad that she had made that shot. Glad that she had made both Ivar and Sigurd bleed. It the least that they deserved. And tonight, she would make Ivar realise, that no matter what he thought, it had always been he that needed her more than she had ever needed him.

                                                            >>---------------------------------<<

"(Y/n).........?" Helga said, as her daughter came out of the room. Flóki turning to see what had made his wife gasp. The boatbuilder's brows furrowing as he joined Helga in looking at their child. Normally, the silent girl would don breeches and a tunic, preferring to wear clothes similar to those of her father, despite how many times Helga had tried to convince her to dress more like the young woman that she was. But this evening, here she was, clothed in the finest dress that had been sat at the bottom of a wooden box, for some time. It showing that she had grown since it had been made for her; but (Y/n) didn't mind. The fact that it was tight around her waist, hips and buttocks, and forced up her breasts was what she wanted. Happy to show every man, especially Ivar, that she was as much a woman as any other that called Kattegat home.

"Is everything alright.........?" Helga continued, as she got up and took her daughter's hand. (Y/n) holding up her head and nodding happily. She had refused to cry; even if Ivar had thought of her as a friend, that was all she had ever been. There never anything more between them than that, and now there never would be, even though she had to admit that many times she had hoped that one day, he would have come to look at her differently. But it was obviously not the gods wishes. Obvious that they had decided that she and the youngest son of Ragnar, should go their own ways; and given that she had been brought up to not question the god's decisions, she was not about to start now. No, she would go to the great hall and enjoy her evening. (Y/n) dismissing her parent's fears with more smiles and reassuring hugs, before Flóki offered the two women he loved most in the world, his arms, and led them out of the cabin.

                                                         >>-------------------------------------<<

Ivar sat on his chair in the hall, his fingers running across the deep scratch on his cheek. He hadn't said anything to any of his brothers since the afternoon. He blamed all of them for what had happened. He blamed Ubbe for bringing things up in the first place; he blamed Sigurd for saying that (Y/n) might as well be a cripple, just like he was. And Hvitserk......well, he wasn't quite sure what he should blame Hvitserk for; but he was sure that there was something. Though given that he hadn't liked how his brother had talked about what (Y/n) might be like in bed, he was sure that that was enough for him to be angry at Hvitserk too. Though, if truth be told, he was angrier at himself than anyone else. Ivar knowing that he should never have said what he said. That he should never have called her boring, ignorant and ugly, because she was anything but those things. For in spite of the fact that she could not speak, he and (Y/n) had always had a way of communicating, and they would spend hours talking; not just about the stories that Flóki had told them, but about one day fighting alongside his father; and about what may lay beyond the fjord. Both promising the other, that one day, together, they would sail away and find somewhere that didn't care that he could not walk, and she could not speak. And even if they had grown since they had made that promise, and dreams may have changed, that didn't mean that their friendship had. Though given that (Y/n) had obviously heard everything that he had said, he doubted that would still be true. Ivar shaking the thoughts from his mind, as the door to the hall was suddenly opened. The youngest son of Ragnar, along with all his brother's sitting up straighter in their chairs, as into the noisy space, came Flóki with Helga on one arm, and (Y/n) on the other. The silent beauty appearing as they had never seen her before.