Virago - Ivar The Boneless

Heathen

Iona stood at the sides of the sewer alongside the men of the army. She watched as the rats scurried to get away from them, forcing them above the ground. Hvitserk followed Ivar as he walked in the middle of the hideout. She had seen them spending time together earlier, she'd watched as the younger of the two held a knife against the others throat before the two of them let it go. 

She closed her eyes as she listened to the bells ringing above the ground. The sound was followed by cheers. Her mind focused on what was above ground. 

Movement below got her attention, opening her eyes, she watched as the army began to climb ladders and make their way above the ground. She filed in with the crowd, climbing above the ground, taking her sword and fighting anyone who got in her way. 

Her swings were wild yet calucated as she fought with different people, men, women, warriors and just normal people who ahd been caught up. She was thrown back against a wall, a sword aimed at her head which she ducked before using her own sword and taking out the men's legs. She continued to fight through the streets, until falling to the ground. 

A scream came beside her as the man who raised his sword at her was viciously stabebd from behind. Little Bear's eyes were wide, the colour leaving them as she watched the man fall down in front of her, behind him stood Hvitserk who held a wild smirk on his face before he laughed. Offering his hand to her, she rolled her eyes before getting up herself. 

Leaving Hvitserk, she continued with her own personal battles with people. Her eyes remained dark as fought, she took scraps, bruises and slashes but not once did she stop. The fighting ceased when she mad her way to the area where Ivar watched from a high. Looking up at him, she narrowed her eyes a little. She knew he didn't see her, his attention was else where. 

Then she realised why when silence filled the area. A man was dragged from his horse as Ivar began his journey to the ground with the others. Most of the sounds that filled the area was the cries from the man was he thought his capturors. When Iona looked over, she realised who the man was. The Christian warrior. 

Ivar walked towards the man, his two henchmen just behind him as she watched from a distance. She noticed that Ivar was intrigued in this man, the same way she was. Little Bear knew better though, the way that Ivar's mind worked was much different to hers. 

Once the men were face to face, she heard the Christian cry out. "Heathen!" 

This only made Ivar laugh, causing a few laughs from the surrounding people. "Christian." Ivar was smug in his response. She tilted her head, noting the slight smirk on Ivar's lips before he flicked the sword in his hand which was the signal to lead this man away. 

XOXOX

Little Bear waited in Ivar's bedroom in the evening. She didn't know when he would return or what he was doing, she didn't care, she just wanted to see him. Closing her eyes as she leaned back on the bedding, she took a moment before moving further up the bed. Laying her head on the fur pillow, she felt her eyelids getting heavy. 

Her face had dried blood on it as she came straight to see him. A lot of different things had taken place. Maybe Ivar's time was being taken up by the Christian. 

Shaking her head to stay awake, she decided she needed to do something. 

Getting up from the bed, she took her axe with her not realising she had left her sword and Hvitserk's vest behind. The young blonde wondered through places before she found herself at the dungeons. Looking through the door, she noticed that the Christian was chained by the throat the same way she had been back at the church. 

He looked up at her as she pulled the door open. 

"Why do you come here?" He asked her as he watched her approach him. 

She sat on the ground, far enough away from him that she could see him yet he could not touch her. "Who are you?" She had so many questions for this man. 

"Headmund," he answered. "Bishop Headmund."

Little Bear looked into his eyes, something about him made her feel a little uneasy. She didn't know what he was thinking, she couldn't read him but something was not right. 

"You remind me of someone," he told her. His eyes scanned her face as he tried to work out what made her familiar. "I knew the first time I saw you that you were different to the others."

Taking a deep breath, she shook her head. "I am a heathen as you put it." 

The Bishop looked at the young blonde. She had an innocence to her, a warmth that surrounded her. "I can show you the way of God."

"I do not need the way of your God. I have my own Gods, the true Gods." Iona grinned as she thought of herself. "I ride with those Gods everytime I head into battle. They guide me and keep me safe."

"Let me show you the true way," he offered her as she tilted her head. 

Shaking her head a little, she raised her eyebrows. "I am a God." 

He let out a chuckle as he listened to the young woman. "What makes you believe that?"

The blonde pushed her hair from her face. "I am the child of a procephy. My mother was to never have children again, I have been sent here by the Gods." She shrugged her shoulders. "I know that I have much time left on this Earth before joining The Allfather in Valhalla." 

"Every child on this Earth has a father," he told her as he resisted the urge to roll his eyes at her ridiculous notion. "Mary is the only woman who has even given birth to a child without a human father. Your heathen mother would never be blessed with such a gift."

Her right hand gripped the axe that was close to her. 

"Iona."

Her attention was put on Ivar was had made his own way to the dungeon to see the Bishop. Looking at the man she was in love with, she bit her bottom lip as she dropped the axe by her side. "Ivar."

"Leave us," he told her hoping for some time alone with the prisoner. 

She obeyed, she was glad Ivar had intervened if she was honest. The man who had been captured seemed to be good at winding her up. Little Bear knew Ivar wanted Headmund alive, spending more time in his presence would result in his death, especially if he could not defend himself.