Forging A Heart (Ivar the Boneless)

16- Free

One thing Ivar loved to do was sing.

They were usually the old lullabies his mother would sing to him as a child on nights when the pain was impossible to ignore. It remind him of his father. It was his peace of mind.

"Just wait, though wide he may roam, always a hero comes home,"

Ivar's hand hovered over the chess board as he contemplated his next move. His voice was almost a whisper, the melody ghosting over his pink lips, haunting yet beautiful.

"He goes where no one has gone,
But always a hero comes home."

He quickly moves his piece forward, snatching his opponent's piece from the board and into the small horde of his collection. His opponent, the bishop, was as surprised as Artemis, his eyebrows shooting up at Ivar's quick attack. Ivar continues to hum the rest of the tune while waiting for the bishop to make his move. Apparently he learned the game from Prince Alfred sometime ago.

"What do you think of the bishop?" He suddenly asks her, his blue eyes following the bishop's scarred hand.

"I'm more interested in the game, I think."

Bishop Heahmund did not seem like a pleasant man. He often shot her accusatory glares after noticing the cross about her neck. He didn't resemble a man of the clergy with his leather clothes and cropped hair, and even less so with a sword in his hand. He didn't speak often, but when he did, it was rough and strained, as if he'd been screaming for an entire lifetime.

"He fascinates me. He is quite an impressive fighter." Ivar comments, turning his body to look at her from across the room, "His sword, I'd like you to examine it. It is unlike anything I've seen."

"As you wish, Prince."

The bishop mutters something to Ivar in that Saxon language. It was so dissimilar to the other languages of the Mediterranean, so foreign and strange. The way his mouth would move and how his tongue shifted to make certain sounds was beyond her, but Ivar grasped it with ease.

The bishop gazes at her with scrutiny in his eyes before looking back at Ivar's amused ones.

"He asks of your origins. He can clearly see you're not of the north."

"And I can clearly see he is no bishop." Ivar snorts at her comment, beckoning her closer. She was much too far for his liking. Artemis was hesitant in taking the seat that Ivar offered beside him, but she complies. She kept her eyes trained on the pieces on the chess board, very elaborately decorated.

Ivar speaks once again in the Saxon tongue, repeating her words and watching as the bishop rolled his eyes.

"I am a Greek." She tells the man, waiting to see if he understood her. She didn't know whether he spoke her language or not, but most priests and clergymen did. He must have, because he hesitated, completely caught off guard.

"Do you understand me?"

"Minimal." The bishop answers brokenly. Perhaps he really was a bishop. "You are far from home." He continues.

"I have his brother to thank for that." She discreetly motions toward Ivar, who watches their conversation in fascination.

"Your people do not follow the Holy Father in Rome." Bishop Heahmund grunts out in his terrible Greek, finally losing his king piece to Ivar. Artemis rolls her eyes.

"Right. It has been a pleasure." She stands, pushing the chair back with an unpleasant screech before marching off to where she previously stood.