Fighting Gods

I care

The attack from the sewer required little to no preparation. You stayed hidden in silence inside those stinky tunnels for the better part of the days, until the unknowing cheers of the saxon resonated along the cracks. It went better than it should've gone.

Once again, Ivar prevailed.

The death toll of your own was greater than of last time, but Vikings were victorious, even in death. Surprisingly, when it was time to celebrate the victory, Ivar was not there.

"He captured an important man," one man had explained you as he caught you staring at the place where he would usually sit. "He must be with him."

"How important could he be if his brother is not implicated in the talk." He scoffed and you frowned. "What?" Hvitserk was standing near, speaking to some warriors.

"Hvitserk is not Ivar." You didn't know what he meant by it, but you did not like the condescending tone he had. "His voice does not matter here."

"He is a son of Ragnar, he is our leader too."

To prove his point, the man asked a servant to bring water to Ivar, she went with no question or detour. Then, he asked another to bring water to Hvitserk, and you watched as she completed many different tasks before. When she finally got to him, she smiled at him and he smiled back. This politeness had your belly tightened with an unpleasant feeling you had mostly controlled by now.

"She's a slave, it is not the same. You and me, free men and women, we should respect him."

"Oh, I respect him, he is just not my leader."

"He's your prince."

"Yet, he is not speaking with the best warrior the Christians have," he smiled and corrected himself. "Had."

You let out a frustrated sigh and passed by him, going directly to Hvitserk.

You did not think him so weak to believe he needed your protection from the voices, nor did you think him stupid enough to not know what they were saying about him, but something deep in you felt the need to anticipate and block whatever insulting nonsense they might say.

As you stood before him, you regretted. Even after having him deep inside of you more than once, you still felt wrong going to him so boldly. You were glad he was drunk enough to not see the hesitation in your face, or at least he was not showing it. "[Y/N]! You fought very well today."

"Thank you." The man at Hvitserk's right was also looking at you and you tried to look more sure of yourself, straightening your back and looking at him in the eyes. "So did you."

"Do you remember the hammer I showed you in the blacksmith's place."

Of course you did, how could you not remember that night he kissed you for the first time. "Yes?"

"I gave it to one of our berserker, you would not believe how many saxon's skulls he crushed."

"Where is he?" You remembered how heavy the thing was, whoever had taken it must be huge, you eyed the room in search of someone of this description.

"Valhalla!" He raised his eyebrows, a big smile on his face. "It was so great, I'm sure they are calling him king in their hall." He raised his cup. "Skol!"

The man standing next to him mimicked him, but Hvitserk stopped himself before taking his fill. "Where's your ale?"

Before you could answer, he wrapped an arm around your shoulder guiding you toward the barrel. "I don't feel like drinking tonight, Hvitserk." You would not admit it to him, but you felt a little offbeat about what the warrior had said about him.