In the burning ruins of an ancient city, Ragnar Lothbrok's eldest son with his second wife Aslaug, Ubbe, found one lone survivor. A young girl. A girl with deep and dark and red eyes, and hair black as night with a single streak of white.
"Aila." Ha...
Through the camp, a brown furred horse was led. On its saddle less back, a young woman sat with her coal black hair braided tightly. Ivar could spot that streak of white anywhere, and his breath hitched in his throat.
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Björn Ironside watched as the horse came to a halt. Everyone stared at Aila Bloodeye, and she inhaled deeply before jumping off the animal. While Ivar simply stared, a cup of ale in his hand, his eldest brother stood to his feet and marched towards Bloodeye.
It would be a lie to say that Aila was not terrified at that point. A lump formed in the back of her throat and she wanted to turn around and gallop off, letting the horse carry her to the ends of the world. Instead, Aila simply closed her eyes, awaiting whatever would come . . . and what came was a slap from the back of Ironside's hand so powerful it sent her to the ground. The horse neighed and whinnied. It did not take long before Bloodeye had lost consciousness. Björn was incredibly strong.
"Take her to her tent." Ivar looked down at the cup, he had not raised his eyes to look at her. The ale he gulped down in three large gulps, and he threw the cup away, hitting a tree. It shattered upon the impact and Ivar felt himself tremble. Anger . . . was it anger, or was it sadness? Perhaps, Ivar thought, it was regret. Or everything at once, even.
Ivar had no idea how long he had been sitting when he finally pushed his body to the cold ground with a soft grunt as his legs bothered him. Slowly, he began to crawl towards her tent. He had not seen his brothers for some time, and he wished to keep it that way. For now he wanted only Aila . . . his Aila.
Finally, he reached the tent. Ivar crawled inside, dragging his useless legs behind him. He all but ripped his cloak off and dragged himself to where Aila lied above the fur covers.
He would not believe it. He would not believe it! There was no way in heaven or hell that she would ever betray him, and if she had, why on earth would she return to him after escaping? Aila could not have escaped, she had been too weak to find a way out of the metal chains. She simply could not have betrayed him, any of them.
Her eyes fluttered open.
Aila was met with a sight she had believed she would never get to see again. Ivar's bright blue eyes held so many emotions, the most evident of which was pain. Not physical . . . no . . . physical pain was easy to deal with, especially for Ivar. She knew the cause of his pain, and Aila raised her hand. Softly, tenderly, she traced the tips of her fingers across his jaw. Her soft skin was met with a short stubble. It had been a while since Ivar had shaved. He looked handsome. She palmed his cheek. Ivar wrapped his strong fingers around her wrist and traced his thumb across the back of her hand. "I would not have come back if I-. . ."
