Ivar's thrall (Y/N) is hopelessly in love with her master. Her master might love her too, and after she is punished by Ubbe, Ivar finds himself feeling overprotective. However, he's scared of falling in love and forces her to do things she does not...
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(Y/N)!
(Y/N) wake up!
Getting up ached when your whole body felt like Ubbe had been slicing into it with a knife. God, you wanted nothing but to lay under these cozy covers with Ivar's warm– Wait. Your eyes snap open at that thought. Ivar's warm body wasn't here. In fact, it wasn't in the bed or room at all. Instead as you sat up in nothing but the fur to cover you, the thrall above you wore a sneer. You wear your embarrassment like a fur coat as the thrall throws your dress at you.
An echoing scream down the hall becomes thinner by the moment. Vigdis barks at you to hurry up, and you do, winding it as quickly as you could manage before she thrusts you out of Ivar's room and outside.
"Since you went crying to Ivar, you have to dig the grave. Your little ass jumped his cage." Vigdis, the eldest of the thralls never liked you. She constantly gave you the hardest of work to do knowing how Ivar would get if things were off schedule. Most of the time you tried to do it with a smile, but today you were aching.
"Please... Vigdis I'm in pain. Can't I do household chores?" You beg. Feeding the animals, churning milk into cheese, cleaning anything inside– those were all preferable to the constant stretch and bend of your back.
"Shut up and get to work!" She says as you arrive at the area where you were to dig. You look about as if shocked that a thrall would be buried. Would it not be easier to burn? You don't ask any further, bending your back with the shovel and beginning to dig.
"And it needs to be deep. Or the wolves will come to drag her out, (Y/N)!" Vigdis throws over her should as she dissipates into Kattegat's crowd like a feather in a field. You look around, women and men come in and out of Kattegat by where you were. They spoke amongst one another of how wild you looked, hair unkept and no shoes. But still, you dug the shovel into the ground and thrust it another way. Your back felt if it was tearing already as you move, evening yourself out as you go every half a foot. It wasn't too hard at first– but the further you went, the harder to ground was to pick at.
"What are you doing?"
A voice burst through your concentration and just like that, the pain of your wounds comes flooding forth like a vast wave. You were to your hips in the hole by the time the sun came directly above you, cooking you in your long sleeved dress. As you look up, you realize that it's Prince Sigurd with Prince Hvitserk. Both boys look to one another with cheeky laughter as you set your shovel down.
"I was told to dig this..." You mumble, awkwardly rubbing your arm when the boys lean over to offer you their hands.
"For the thrall girls Ivar killed?" Prince Sigurd suggests. You guess that is what this is for and nod, taking Hvitserk and Sigurd's hands. They haul you up out of the hole and you wipe yourself of the dirt.
