she wanted to make her own fate. the gods laughed, how would a mortal change what's already set in stone?
vikings
season 4B - 6B
oc x ivar (slow burn)
slow updates
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄'𝐒 𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐌𝐀𝐃 𝐖𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐍 that scares most men. You see when a man is considered crazy, he merely becomes somewhat of a comic relief that has occasional moments of wisdom. A crazy man can still be valued despite his insanity. So why are mad women so dangerous enough to be cast away? Why is it so different? Sigyn found herself wondering so after she found Margrethe's bloody corpse on her cabin's floor. Of the many things Ivar could be scared of he chose to be scared of a crazy girl who desperately wanted to fulfil her impossible dreams — she'd never succeed, he knew that. No one would actually listen to her. Margrethe might have been considered mad but, most of all, though, she was just broken.
"King Harald!" Ivar called in a boisterous voice, bringing most of the talk in the great hall to a halt. Even Sigyn glanced up from her plate. "I will think of you in York." he raised his horn filled with ale. "I left some good men in charge there."
"I will be glad to meet them." Harald replied with that hint of fake politeness he was too good at. "But York will only be a staging post for us."
"Good." the cripple shot back with narrowed eyes that were glued to the man he was speaking to. "I still consider it part of my new kingdom."
"I think it is a good thing that I'm leaving."
"Yes, I agree. I think it is a good thing."
"But don't worry." the Finehair man said with a faint grin on his lips. "With my ships filled with treasures and slaves, I will come back." he promised, then raised his cup. "Skol."
Sigyn rolled her emerald eyes at the battle of egos and shook her head. Men and their egos, what ridiculous little things. The people in the great hall got back with their random chatter, but Ivar still wasn't done with having attention to himself.
"What's the matter with you, huh, little brother?" the cripple threw a chicken's bone at Hvitserk, the tone of his voice ever so taunting.
"I'm not your little brother." the older Ragnarsson spoke with gritted teeth. "And you know exactly what's wrong with me. Margrethe is dead!"
The youngest son of Ragnar looked down and sucked in a deep breath. "I know."
"Of course, you know!" Hvitersek lost the barely existing composure he still had and accused his brother in a thundering tone. The cup he held in his hand was the unfortunate victim of his fury, as he repeatedly slammed it on the table causing ale to fly everywhere. From her spot next to him, Sigyn had to dodge some of the liquid that flew in her direction. "You ordered the killing!"
