𝑳𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑻𝒆𝒏𝒔𝒊𝒐𝒏 - 𝑰𝒗𝒂𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑩𝒐𝒏𝒆𝒍𝒆𝒔𝒔

31

"I do not want to fight against my brothers," Ivar muttered, voice heavy with pain. "I still hate myself for killing Sigurd. This... this would be ten times worse."
Daenaera's fingers tightened gently around his hand, a quiet reassurance, a promise: I am here.

"I renounce my promise to kill Lagertha," he said, voice low but resolute. "She can have Kattegat—I don't want it."

He released Daenaera's hand and rose, stepping toward Ubbe. "You're right. We are all sons of Ragnar. Forgive me."

Ubbe nodded solemnly. But Daenaera's eyes narrowed — something was wrong.

As the mead was brought and the men took their seats, Ivar's gaze met Daenaera's with a look she knew well. It was an act. His mind was elsewhere.

"Skol!" they all said in unison, raising their horns. Harald, however, did not drink. With a scowl, he spilled his mead onto the earth. Ivar took a slow sip from his horn—then flung the rest into Ubbe's face.

"How blue are my eyes, huh?" Ivar asked, stepping close.

Ubbe blinked in confusion.

"What?"

"How blue are my eyes?" Ivar shouted.

"Your eyes... they're very blue," Ubbe stammered, wiping the mead from his face. Daenaera rolled her eyes.

"Hmm," Ivar hummed thoughtfully. "You remember I had to ask every morning: how blue were the whites of my eyes? Because if they were very blue, I was in great danger of breaking a bone."

"Yes, I remember. It was the great question of my childhood—'How blue are Ivar's eyes today?'"

"I might break a bone," Ivar said, nose scrunched as he spoke, "but I can never break a promise. I can never forgive Lagertha for murdering our mother. How can you? How can you?"

As Ubbe turned to respond, Ivar shoved him hard in the shoulder.

"Our mother! Of course, I'm going to kill her!" he shouted.

"You can try," Lagertha said, draining her horn in a cold retort.

"Oh, I will," Ivar answered swiftly, axe glinting at his side.

"You said you wouldn't fight your brothers," Ubbe said, eyes locking with Ivar's.

"You are no longer my brother," Ivar spat, pressing a finger into Ubbe's chest. "You were once my legs—but not anymore."

Harald laughed, shaking his head at the bitter exchange.

"This is all a waste of time," Ubbe muttered.

"No," Ivar said sharply, stepping forward. "Not at all. You can surrender Kattegat now."

He pointed at the gathered men. "You've all talked about the slaughter to come—the killing of your nearest and dearest. I do not want that. Let us end it now. You, Bjorn, Lagertha—leave this place. Spare your men from this test."

In an instant, swords were drawn. Ivar hefted his axe, Sylvarion sensing the storm to come. The dragon shifted closer to Daenaera, shielding her with immense power.

Ubbe and Bjorn stepped forward—but Daenaera's voice stopped them cold.

"Be smarter than that, Ubbe," she warned, voice sharp as ice. "I will not hesitate to give Sylvarion the order."

Lagertha stepped in front of Ubbe, hand raised. "Not now."

Daenaera smiled, wicked and sure. They were afraid. Everyone was.

Ivar motioned for them to stand down, then turned to the silver-haired princess.

"Māzigon va Dae, ivestragī's jikagon issa byka warrior."
(Come on, Dae, let's go, my little warrior.)

⸻

Later, in their tent, Daenaera found Ivar sitting on the bed, his shoulders slumped, face drawn with exhaustion.

"Ivar?" she asked softly, a smile in her voice.

"Hi," he muttered, still trapped in his mood.

"What's wrong?" She crossed the room and stood before him, concern creasing her brow.

"My arms hurt... and Hvitserk is being a dickhead," he groaned. Daenaera chuckled lightly.

"Well, I can help with the first one."

She sat behind him, hands firm and warm as they kneaded tension from his shoulders, down his arms. He sighed, head falling back against her, muscles relaxing beneath her touch.

When she finished, Daenaera pressed a quick kiss to his lips. Ivar cupped her face, pulling her back into a deeper kiss.

"Thank you," he whispered, a small smile tugging at his lips.

"Anything for you, my love," she breathed.

Suddenly, Ivar hovered over her, his breath hot against her mouth.

"You make it very hard for me to stay away," he whispered.

"Even at war, you think of it, husband?" Daenaera teased, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

"Can you blame me?" Ivar smiled wider. "I have the best wife anyone could ever wish for."

⸻

The tent filled with the sounds of flesh meeting flesh, the princess's muffled moans pressed into the furs. Ivar's hips moved with steady, insistent power, pounding deep into her until she was sure she wouldn't sit properly for days.

Suddenly his hand yanked her head back, and she felt his breath ghost along her cheek.

"You're mine," he hissed fiercely. "Mine to love, mine to kiss, mine to fuck."