Forging A Heart (Ivar the Boneless)

4- Distaste

The sun did nothing to warm her as she trudged towards the river, woven basket resting on her hip. It was the beginning of autumn in Kattegat, but it already felt like a harsh winter was at their doorstep.

There wasn't a day that passed in which she didn't think of her home. Crete seemed a life time away, and when she closed her eyes it's as if she never left. She could easily imagine being at the Aegean's edge, legs ankle deep in the crystal blue waters. Everytime she did, it left her feeling empty.

It had been nearly two weeks since Artemis arrived to Kattegat, and each day was a bit more overwhelming. Many warriors, men and women alike, gathered together, preparing for a war to be fought in another land, and many other northern leaders came one by one to aid in the destruction of their enemies. The city was constantly preparing for departure. Everyday supplies were collected, and everyday more ships filled their harbor.

Artemis didn't understand these people or their warrior culture. There was constant feasting and talk of warfare. The words that she seemed to learn efficiently were the ones shes heard in conversation, words relating to some form of violence. She kept quiet most of the time, though she tried her best to learn the northern tongue from the thralls that were fluent.

Within 2 weeks she's grown weary of the male gaze. It was too often when she's caught the eyes of some random man in the market or during some feast. Someone went as far as to touch her once in a crowd, though she never discovered who it was.

As a thrall, she had come to learn that other than being the lowest member of their society, she, along with the other female captives who were sold to many other households and visiting Viking leaders, were sold for some form of labor, or for the entertainment of the male gaze.

And what was her purpose?

Apparently to distract the mind of an angry youth that she barely had any encounters with since the day she met him.

As for his brothers, she only spoke when absolutely necessary. They were decent for the most part, and sometimes kind in their own way.  Whenever Ubbe could, he'd offer her a fresh apple before going on about his day. As for Hvitserk and Sigurd, they were far more trouble. Sometimes they watched her, and they didn't hide the fact that they did, muttering to themselves while smiling and laughing like young boys. It embarrassed her and made the simplest task much more difficult. Luckily they were busy in the matters of war, and she busied herself with the chores she was taught to do.

It was laundry day down by the chilly river, and she scrubbed Ivar's fine clothing furiously, releasing the anger she felt on the stains that were the hardest to remove.

"If you scrub my favorite tunic any harder, it will be ruined, and I will be forced to punish you,"

Artemis dropped the tunic and soap in her lap, turning in surprise to meet the bright blue eyes of Ivar himself, a smirk forming on his lips.

When he wasn't off disappearing into the woods, he was usually at the blacksmith's shop, pounding away at his axes. Artemis never had the chance to pass by the village blacksmith yet, but she hoped in time she would. Nothing would calm her more than observing the different forging techniques of the Northerners. And it would be far better than to sit and wash a cripples dirty clothes anyway.

The rumors Margrethe mentioned were everywhere. The people of Kattegat whispered of how he silently plots against the Queen for the death and usurpation of his mother, former Queen Asluag. He was young, but he had the fury of the mightiest warrior, even if his legs didn't work. He also had a way of making Artemis feel uneasy with his sulking and glaring. His blue eyes would sometimes follow her form, but he was the only one that didn't really utter a word to her. After all, he thinks her ugly and useless, and that was fine with her.