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Alfild stormed through the streets. For too long she'd felt weak, like a woman in someone else's saga who was doomed to play the lover. This was no one else's saga, it was hers.
She charged toward the large wooden doors of the church, stopping in front of a tall man that stood guard. He looked down at her, and that alone was enough to make her furious.
"Move." She growled, eyes of rage.
For many weeks now she had been ill, she hadn't been herself. She'd let emotions get in the way of duty, but never again. Once again, she wore her armour proudly. She would never forget the one truth in this otherwise meaningless world again. Although Ivar had taken charge in her absence; she was the queen.
"I can't-" Before the man could finish his sentence, Alfild had taken out her sword. She pushed it up to his throat, emerald eyes like balls of fire.
"You will move or I will show you why they call me Merciless." She roared. The man didn't have time to respond before she shoved him aside and charged into the church. Inside sat Ivar with men that looked like bodyguards, as though he was a god.
"I need to speak with you." She declared, chin aimed high.
Despite the fact she was clearly here to confront him, Ivar had missed this side of the girl. Her eyes were like an inferno once more, her stance tall and unwavering. The men looked towards him, all with a look of confusion. He couldn't give them any answers, instead he just looked at her, waiting to find out what exactly she wanted.
"Leave us." She held her hands in the air, signalling for the men to go. Again, they hesitated, but finally left when Ivar gave them a nod.
"And what exactly is this about?" He asked, curiosity in his ocean orbs.
She stepped closer, boots hitting the ground with the clank of her armour. "Did you know that Ubbe and Hvitserk plan to leave or have you been to busy pretending you're a king to care?"
"I knew." He spoke monosyllabicly.
"And what did you plan to do?" She questioned.
The raven haired man gave a shrug, amusement crossing his face, "Let them leave."
"You know that you're the reason they're leaving, right?" She exasperated. He gave no answer. "Well, who's next? How long until you drive me away? Hel, at this rate, you're probably just planning to kill me and take my kingdom anyway!" Again, he didn't answer. Alfild let out a bitter chuckle, her voice low as she shook her head. "Whatever." She spoke sourly. "I was a fool to think you cared about anyone but yourself."
And with the rage of a thousand storms, she left again. Ivar sat stiffly in his seat as he watched her go. He wanted to say something to her, anything, but what could he say? She'd already seen him look weak too many times, and he refused to be weak anymore. Now the people of York looked to him, and she was just going to have to learn how accept that.
As Alfild left, fire coursed through her veins, her fists clenched and she slammed the door closed behind her. With a loud roar, her fist struck the stone church wall. Small rocks crumbled away as she looked down to see her bloody knuckles. Slowly, she slumped to the ground, eyes still looking up towards the dent that she had made.
