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.
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Things changed today. It wasn't just the fact that Aethelwulf visited you so many times today, or that Alfred came to visit you clad for war. Guilt was eating you up. You didn't do anything wrong. Of course you didn't. You didn't warm his bed and you certainly hadn't even kissed him. But it felt like it, sitting with Alfred and staring at your plate of salty meats while knowing Ivar would be coming for you.
"There's something on your mind." Alfred picks up a piece of meat, sliding it between your chapped lips. The salt drains you of any moisture left in your dry mouth. Your plate was nearly untouched. The past few days, you had been eating less and less with him. It wasn't for a lack of food. He usually brought you delicacies but it was the food familiar to you that brought a smile to your lips. The jagged floor now had a bed of blankets to rest on. He sought to your necessities to treat you well. You turn your face away from him, then back again as if to reflect your internal battle
"Have you..." You laugh, nervous. "Have you ever known someone that is so completely opposite of you? But that you can't get enough of?" You ask, finally getting the courage to look at him. Alfred makes a slight noise, turning your hand over to lace your fingers together.
"I enjoy the company of a very pagan but gentle woman." Alfred says pleasantly, giving your hand a light squeeze. He looks different today, more confident if there was such a thing. He's as confident as Ivar with half the reason to be. You hardly knew him, but he was lovely and familiar to you.
"But you speak of Ivar." He says and you catch his words, looking down. He looks to the floor as well. Your mouth is tightly shut, feeling like you hadn't done enough to fool the Christian about your thoughts. Outside, you can hear a man barking orders to another, reminding you of the situation you are in. A group of soldiers march past your room with a clank, clank clank! Their steps quicken.
"I'm sorry," You say without looking to his face. After a short while, Alfred puffs out air of his nose.
"Will you speak to him on my behalf?" Alfred alternates in front of you, sliding your chains to the side away from his feet. It makes you question his entire intent on treating you well. It shows in your eyes.
"You are my friend." Alfred says, slowly and evenly, making you look back into his deep eyes.
"Yes, you are my friend." You say, rubbing your hand over the purplish welts on your ankles. The wear of the chain has eaten through your skin– leaving a nasty mottled bruise that purpled your skin. "But you know, I can't leave the dungeon. Unless..." You say. Alfred nods sharp and quick, like he already planned for this in the way he speaks.
"I'm not my father, I don't aim to slaughter a gentle woman for spite." Alfred says, caressing his thumb against your thicker lower lip. That's precisely the problem, you think. You're too gentle. Everyone knew you to be gentle, you loathed the fact. Gentleness meant weakness. It meant that you needed someone to look after you. Just like Alfred was doing now. Just like Ivar always had.
