𝑳𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑻𝒆𝒏𝒔𝒊𝒐𝒏 - 𝑰𝒗𝒂𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑩𝒐𝒏𝒆𝒍𝒆𝒔𝒔

26

The bishop looked up, his voice quiet but laced with confusion. "Why offer me this choice?"

Ivar's head snapped toward him, his expression unreadable at first. But then something shifted—truth, vulnerable and sharp, pierced the tension.

"Because I'm jealous of you," he said, voice stripped of cruelty or pride. "I want to be like you. Strong." His gaze drifted downward to the twisted shape of his own legs. "And whole. A great warrior."

The silence that followed felt like a confession.

"That is why I saved you," Ivar went on. "And that is why I want you to fight beside me."

—

He sat outside after the conversation, the weight of it still heavy on his shoulders. The wind rustled low through the trees until he heard soft footsteps. When he turned, Daenaera stood before him, silver hair glinting like starlight.

"Sīr, skorkydoso iksis ñuha vīlībāzmio?" she asked with a smile.

Ivar's eyes lit up at the sight of her. He reached out and placed his hands firmly on her hips, pulling her into his lap and kissing her deeply.

"Better, now that you're here," he murmured, his lips brushing against hers.

She leaned down and kissed him again—just as Hvitserk approached with a dramatic groan.

"Oh, come on! Can you two stay apart for more than a minute?"

"Is that jealousy talking, Hvitserk?" Daenaera asked without turning her head.

"I totally agree with you, wife," Ivar chimed in, grinning.

Hvitserk flopped beside his brother with a huff. "Will the bishop fight with us?"

"I really have no idea," Ivar said, tearing a piece of meat and holding it to Daenaera's lips. She took it without hesitation.

"You didn't tell me about the arrangement you made with King Harald," Hvitserk said, his tone sharper now. "That you'd be king... but that the crown would pass to him—not to me."

Daenaera scoffed. "That's because, dear Hvitserk, it's not really an arrangement."

Ivar smirked. "I love my smart woman," he whispered into her ear.

"It's just words," he added with a shrug. "Who's to say he won't try to kill me?"

"Or you might try to kill him," Daenaera said pointedly, frowning at her husband.

"Or," Hvitserk said dryly, "you might try to kill both of us."

"Then why pretend there's an arrangement at all?" he asked.

"Because it suits everyone—for now," Ivar answered, scrunching his nose. "But then again, everything can change in a moment."

"I don't know, Ivar," Hvitserk said as he stood. "I wish I could believe you."

"Do you always have to be this pessimistic?" Daenaera sighed, rolling her eyes.

"I wish I knew who you really were," Hvitserk muttered before walking away.

Ivar chuckled. "You know exactly who I am, brother. I'm your crippled sibling—the one you used to pull through Kattegat on a sledge. The only difference now is, I married a Targaryen princess."

He tapped Daenaera's nose, and she smiled back.

"But tell me, Ivar," Hvitserk called over his shoulder, "what is it you really want?"

Ivar's voice came cold and clear. "I want to be the most famous man who ever lived."

"Even greater than Father?" Hvitserk asked.

"Much greater." Ivar's face darkened with conviction. "In time, the name Ragnar Lothbrok will fade. But Ivar the Boneless... will never be forgotten."

Daenaera chuckled, her voice like silver rain.
"Aōha brōzi kessa dōrī sagon vūjōre kesrio syt iksā se mērī viking qilōni vībrar iā Targārien dārilaros."

Ivar blinked, caught off guard. "Really?" he asked with mock offense.

"Hmm," she teased. "Your name will be in the Targaryen history books. That's for sure."

—

Later that night, the longhall roared with music and firelight. A feast thrown by King Harald had drawn every warrior and noble to the tables.

"To the overthrow of the witch, Lagertha!" Hvitserk bellowed, "And the liberation of Kattegat!"

Ivar raised his cup with a howl, joining the voices that echoed off the beams.

Harald leaned toward Ivar. "So, when do we attack?"

Daenaera's head rested against Ivar's shoulder, her lashes fluttering, eyes heavy from wine and warmth.

"I will summon my jarls," Harald continued. "But the ships must be repaired—yours and mine. When they're ready, we'll have a fleet of seventy strong."

"There's a full moon tonight," Ivar said, cutting a piece of bread for his wife and placing it near her lips. She ate it slowly. "We attack in two moons' time."

Harald nodded. "Agreed."

"I want fish," Daenaera whispered, barely audible over the din. Ivar nodded, carved a slice from the platter, and fed it to her with his fingers.

"Skol," Ivar said, raising his horn.

"Skol," Harald echoed.

Harald glanced at Daenaera. "It will be strange for you... returning to Kattegat. As a queen."

Daenaera lifted her head off Ivar's shoulder, her green eyes sharp.
"Skoro syt gaomagon nyke jiōragon se dija bona ziry gȳt zirȳla?" she asked, narrowing her gaze.

Before Ivar could answer, Astrid spoke.

"Does your wife only speak her mother tongue?"

The question was laced with condescension.

"No," Daenaera said, her voice cool and proud. "I speak many languages."

Ivar leaned in. "Issi jeme paktot?"

"Kessa," she replied, sipping from her goblet, eyes never leaving Astrid's.

Harald rose from his seat and lifted his cup high.
"And here's to our sacred agreement. If any man breaks it... he deserves to die."

The fire cracked. And in Daenaera's silence, her thoughts burned brighter than flame.