When Ivar's dear friend, a princess, is captured by Aethelwulf and intended to be killed, Ivar goes to recover her. Little does he know that his witty girl has a plan of her own to escape, and a friend in the most unlikely of places.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Since the day you were born, everyone took you lightly. You were the small runt that no one thought was capable of fighting. So you took to womanly tasks, but no one knew your best friend trained you. Of course, even if they knew they would say it was the blind leading the blind. That best friend was Ivar the Boneless and while he was a Ragnarsson, he had much to prove. As did you. Rumors carried themselves to Aethelwulf that you were the wife of Ivar the Boneless, captured in a settlement he burned to the ground. Your dainty nature and soft appearance made Aethelwulf think light of you. Small, dainty and meek. You were used to being called small and not formidable.
"You are not at all what I expected of a Heathen Queen." Aethelwulf bends down beside your side. With wrists weighed down by heavy ropes, you look up to him with a biting glare. The ropes itch across your normally untouched skin.
"I am not a Queen." You say, your voice heavy with your native tongue. Your braid has fallen out of its ties, spiraling around your body in waves. Aethelwulf drifts his fingers up to jingle the expensive golden earrings that dangled down from your lobes. The tips of the glimmering fringe tickled your shoulders.
"Then you are Ivar's whore. It doesn't make much difference to me." Aethelwulf snarls the words in your face. It hurts to know someone thinks that Ivar would hold you in such light regard. You admit that you knew about his time with Margrethe but it was short lived and a poor relationship at best. Your nose squeezes with a valley of irritable wrinkles before you
"Ivar doesn't keep whores, he never has. He's a good man!" You shout back at him. Aethelwulf snorts sharply at your words, muttering that a heathen is many things: but never a good man. Your stomach churns when he turns back to you.
"Of all the pagans I've seen in my life, you are the most beautiful. So how is it that you expect me to believe he hasn't made you his wife?" Aethelwulf suggests in a mocking but somehow sweet tone. You're not sure whether to be insulted or flattered by his comments. It softens you, ever so slightly, to Aethelwulf.
"He... Ivar is not my husband but he is my friend. He spoils me." You murmur softly and gently, so much so that it brings a smile to his face. A friend that spoils with gold and riches is a friend that is most likely, not just a friend.
"Then the answer is, you aren't his queen yet. Good. It will be better that way." Aethelwulf moves to the doorway. As he leaves, you have to wonder just what he meant.
The remains of the settlement were strewn over the ground. The ash formed a heavy fog over the still land. The only movement of life was the clank of warriors and shield maidens. The remains of his people were spread across the cold ground. As he counted each, his eyes were constantly scanning across the features of each person. There were faces darkened with fear and horror, their bodies bloating, reeking of death and other spilled bodily functions.None of the faces were the soft and divine features that he looked for.
"She isn't among the dead," Hvitserk jots up beside him. Ivar limps along frantically before he realizes his brother is right, shifting around to face him. Somehow, he wishes you had been. It really would have been easier that way.
"Then where did she go? Why would they take her? She's useless. She can't even fight." Ivar trills, knitting his brows together with his large fingers massaging the ball of stress welling in the front of his head. The more he thought on it, the more he was sure this was his fault. Hvitserk kicks over a body bearing Aethelwulf's colours. Ivar snapped to attention when he heard the words, little more than a whisper, escape the man's lips.
"He took your wife to camp."
The man made a wet gurgling sound, coughing something sludgy off the side of his lips. After a tense moment Ivar dropped beside him and grasps his jaw firmly. In his other hand Ivar raises his bloodied axe high in the air. The man gurgles in fear, blood surely rising into his throat.
"Who took her to camp?" Ivar shouts at the trembling foot soldier. He's shaking profusely either of blood loss or the fear of his impending death. Please, please help me. Please, please don't kill me. The man's words fall on death ears. Ivar bring's his hand to the soldier's forehead, lifting and thrashing the man back against the crumbling earth until the words finally come out.
"Ae..thelwulf!"
A fraction of a second later, Ivar's axe came down on the man's forehead, echoing a rippling crack in tune with the man's horrified scream. His blood coated Ivar down and washed over his furrowed features. Usually it was gratifying feeling. This time, his brows still contorted in frustration. As he wipes the blood away from his eyes, he looks back up to his brother. Hvitserk's gaze lingers only moments before looking to a group of soldiers.
"Ready Ivar's chariot." He barks orders to the others. The soldiers rush away from the scene while Ivar draws his axe out of the man's head, flipping the blade in his hand.
It had been some days since Aethelwulf had captured you in the settlement Ivar never wanted you to visit. Every day you relived the regret in coming here, wishing that you had stayed home where it was safe.
"I forbid you from going, (Y/N). I won't be there to protect you. No one will be." Ivar was motionless over the table as another man worked markings into his skin. His broad arms hugged the edges of the table and while you were packing, you couldn't help feel incredibly distracted by his smooth voice.
"I don't need your permission Ivar. I am a princess. I can go where I wish without you." You close your chest then move to eye level with Ivar.
"My princess." Ivar glanced up to you as if disgusted with the ideal that you didn't need him. Of course you needed him.
"Your mother's princess." You correct all too excitedly. That was how Aslaug addressed you. At one point, you were a princess to some far off land. But it was gone now. That was why you were her princess. Now she was gone. Did that really make you his princess?
"I don't need you, Ivar."
"The Gods have the last say in that." Ivar commends the words to you. You agree of course, but find that it is much better to kiss his head and slide out of the room than argue any further.
"Freya, what do I do?" You asked, peering outside of the room you were trapped in. Unlike the other prisoners, Aethelwulf claimed this room would be more suited to you. Not the dungeons, where Ivar might look for you if he even did. You could already hear his snarky voice and bobbling head saying 'I told you so,' over and over again.
He's going to kill you.
Strong feminine words echoed in your mind like the beating of a drum, loud and clear. It made sense now. They killed Ragnar, they killed all those innocent settlers, so why not you? You knew the words were placed into your mind for a reason. You slumped away from the window having received the answer from your goddess.
