𝑳𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑻𝒆𝒏𝒔𝒊𝒐𝒏 - 𝑰𝒗𝒂𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑩𝒐𝒏𝒆𝒍𝒆𝒔𝒔

34

Ivar emerged from behind the army and stepped forward, throwing his crutch aside with a sharp clang. He turned to face the warriors assembled before him.

"Erum vér hræddir dauða?" he roared in Old Norse.
(Are we afraid of death?)

A thunderous "No!" answered back.

"We do not intend to die in our beds as old men! Victory is sweetest when it is hardest won! Valhalla awaits us! Valhalla awaits us! Forward, my brothers! Forward! Forward!"

The Vikings surged forward in a roar of fury and steel, while Ivar stood resolute beside his wife, Daenaera, her white horse poised gracefully beside him.

⸻

Later, as the arrows rained like storm-driven hail, none found Ivar's flesh. He laughed wildly, flipping his dagger with reckless delight, then pointed it downward, signaling the charge.

"Run them down!" he shouted, eyes glittering with savage glee.

Bjorn's voice rose above the din. "Retreat! Retreat!"

⸻

After the battle, the victorious Vikings and their Frankish allies returned to Kattegat, the city bursting with celebration. Ivar rode proudly in his chariot, Daenaera riding her white steed beside him. He reined in the horses at the city's heart, raising his voice.

"People of Kattegat! I am Ivar the Boneless, son of Ragnar Lothbrok. All hail your new king!"

The crowd dropped to their knees, voices raising in reverence and allegiance.

⸻

That evening, amid feasts and firelight, Harald lifted his cup.

"To Kattegat! The greatest prize of all."

Ivar sat beside him, a restless shadow behind his eyes.

"As long as Lagertha lives, my revenge is incomplete. We hold the kingdom, yet something hollow gnaws inside me."

Harald nodded slowly. "How long can she and the others evade us? Scouts spread far and wide. What can they do? Who will shelter them? I, too, feel hollow. I have gained kingdoms, yet lost everything. My brother, my wife... and my unborn child."

Ivar clapped Harald on the shoulder. "Don't dwell on that. Life moves on. Look around—there are many beauties here."

"Bring that queen here!" Ivar roared. The black sheep was dragged forward, its neck swiftly cut in sacrifice to the gods.

⸻

A tall, dark-haired man entered, and a voice announced: "Rollo, Duke of Normandy."

Rollo nodded to the gathered lords. "King Ivar. King Harald. Hvitserk."

Ivar greeted him warmly. "Your Highness, welcome back to Kattegat. We thank you for your support in this glorious victory."

Rollo's eyes gleamed with calculated interest. "Kattegat is vital for trade. Hvitserk persuaded me that together, you and Harald could overcome Lagertha, Bjorn, and Ubbe."

Harald asked, curious, "Why come here in person now?"

"Because I miss the old place," Rollo replied, his voice tinged with nostalgia.

Harald's gaze sharpened. "Perhaps you harbor ambitions to rule it."

Rollo laughed softly. "I govern enough cities and lands to satisfy any man. Why add the burden of Kattegat?"

Ivar smirked. "We intend to reward you handsomely for your aid."

"Don't worry," Rollo said, glancing sideways. "We'll strike a trade deal favoring me greatly. And an alliance for mutual defense—if attacked, you'll send warriors to my aid." He smiled thinly. "In the old days, hospitality was sacred here. Even Ragnar fed and watered his guests, yes?"

⸻

Rollo's voice grew reflective. "When Hvitserk told me of your civil war, I was jealous. I cannot fight anymore—not allowed. I am too important. I once heard of a berserker who, in frustration and rage, ordered his servants to cast all his iron weapons and utensils off a cliff, just to hear the sound of battle one last time."

Hvitserk smiled. "Ah, you would have loved it, uncle. The battles were fierce. Many great warriors fell. Odin must be pleased."

Ivar turned toward his brother. "But not you?"

"No," Hvitserk said. "Ubbe spared my life."

Rollo chuckled. "He is your brother, after all."

Ivar glanced between Harald and Rollo, measuring.

⸻

"There's one still alive," Ivar said quietly. "The woman who haunts my days and nights. The one I swore on my sacred ring to kill."

Rollo raised an eyebrow. "Lagertha?"

"We don't know where," Hvitserk replied. "After the defeat, Lagertha, Ubbe, Bjorn, and Torvi fled Kattegat in haste."

"Scouts are searching," Harald confirmed.

"I wish you luck," Rollo said, raising his cup.

⸻

The next day, Rollo left to find the fugitives. Upon return, Ivar awaited him.

"Did you find them?"

"Yes," Rollo said simply, continuing his meal.

"Where are they?" Ivar pressed, pulling Daenaera close by the hips.

"I could tell you—but first, we must discuss our deal," Rollo said with a smile that didn't reach his eyes.

⸻

Daenaera's brows furrowed. "Deal?"

Rollo nodded. "I helped them escape—they must pay."

She shot him a cold glare. "You don't agree, princess?"

She shook her head firmly.

"No," she snarled. "I could destroy your lands in minutes. No army needed." Her hand toyed with Ivar's braids.

Rollo scoffed. "How?"

"I am a Targaryen dragonrider," she said icily. "My dragon waits on the hill. I'll spare your life, but if you order more than your army, I'll burn your castle to ashes. And I won't regret it."

⸻

For the first time in his life, the French duke was afraid of a little girl.

She was different—a dragonrider unafraid to wield her power.

He watched as Ivar drew her even closer, whispering in a language foreign to him.

"Kirimvose donā ābrazȳrys."
(Thank you, sweet wife.)

Ivar kissed her hand, and she smiled back.