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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It wasn't enough that she was back. She was in this camp with the men prowling about for her, smelling the spices on her skin. The other shieldmaidens were a healthy distraction but he felt the swell of jealousy any time someone spoke to her the wrong way. He sat in his rooms sharpening his tools late at night when the door was pressed open. Ivar shot up in his seat, turning to glare at the newcomer: an old man of his that had yet to earn his place in Valhalla.
"There is an Englishman here, Ivar." Ivar glances over his shoulder back to (Y/N). You cease braiding your hair, glancing over to Ivar before speaking.
"Who is it?" You say. The envoy scratches his itchy beard before exhaling through cracked lips. He carries news that he really didn't want to carry.
"Messenger. Brought somethin' for the princess." He says with a scratchy rasp. The repetitive motion of metal shushing against metal comes to a stop when Ivar hears the words. You sigh gently, looking up to nod at your elder.
"Please let him in, Asger, and thank you." Your head bobs in a confident manner; as if you are already Ivar's queen despite your lack of ring. You made it a point to know the name of everyone you could. Asger excuses himself. Moments later, the door opens back up. You hurry to your feet, rolling your hands anxiously atop of one another.
"Princess (Y/N)," He pauses, jittering in place. "Prince Alfred sent me to deliver a gift to his dear friend." The messenger speaks as confidently as he could. You didn't need to look behind to know that Ivar's shoulders were raised with a tense quality. The room suddenly feels asphyxiating.
"Oh. Then might you give him this?" You cross the room in a few wide steps, grasping a sword encrusted in gems. The sword you fought with. The messenger steps back away from your gift.
"He instructed me not to take anything of you, my lady." The messenger says. You wonder how Alfred could know your behaviour so well after only a few days. You drop the sword back to its place, coming back beside Ivar while shaking your head.
"Then I am confused–why is he giving me more?" You ask and set your hand on Ivar's tight shoulder. The messenger draws a drawstring bag open to reveal a glittering necklace of gold and precious stones. It's precious and sweet; but your chest tightens at sight of it.
"An apology for his father's actions. He hopes that your people would turn their eyes away from England. Allow me." The messenger moves forward, stopped by Ivar's axe pressed flatly against the chest of his armor.
"Do not touch her."
Ivar's other hand unravels into an open faced palm. You aren't sure whether to feel relieved that Ivar took the choice out of your hands to receive the gift or embarrassed. The messenger drops the necklace into his hand.
"Get out." Ivar throws back to the man. He skitters back to the door like a reptile to a crack in the wall. As he walks out, Ivar stands with his weight thrown onto his crutch.
