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Ivar watched silently down at the sleeping girl. Her eyes fluttered with unknown dreams, face soft and gentle. She didn't seem so ferocious like this, she seemed delicate. And he intended to protect such a delicacy.
Her fingers trembled, body shaking and stirring. Ivar's brows furrowed as he watched her face contort. She looked afraid. Before he could even contemplate waking her, she'd jolted up. Her eyes darted around the room, breath heavy and labored, until they finally settled on the man sat beside her.
In an instant, she regretted her sudden movements. It had been only a few days since she had awoken, and still she found herself in pain. It was utterly unbearable. All she craved was to be healed, to fight beside her men and return to her former strength and glory. She felt weak, a feeling she loathed more than any other. She'd made sure that she had not become a victim for many years, not since her mother. And she vowed that she never would again.
"What happened?" Her eyes were still wide with narrowed pupils.
Ivar remained calm, sitting beside her unsure what he should do. "We fought the Saxons." He answered with a small shrug. As soon as his sentence was finished, he regretted it. As, the look in those flaming orbs was one no man would ever wish to receive. She was furious.
"What?" She yelled, eyes aflame.
"We have defeated the Saxons." He repeated.
The girl leant up, resting upon her arm to look into his eyes. "And no one even thought to tell me? Hm?" She fumed. "What am I? An invalid? Can I not fight now? Am I too weak?"
"Well," Ivar shrugged. "Yes."
This only increased Alfild's rage more. Her fury knew no bounds as she threw her knife up into the air and across the room. It narrowly missed the Prince, landing firmly in the wall behind him. He looked back at it and then to her, an expression that seemed less than amused. Slowly, he stood and leant on his crutch, preparing to leave.
"Now you're leaving? Are you scared I could beat you even in this state? Hm?" Her eyes narrowed, tone accusing. For a split second, the boy felt as if he was at the edge of his own sword. In her words, he could hear himself. And he didn't like it.
He turned round, eyes now like a storm. "Who says you could beat me?"
"I'm Alfild The Merciless." She shrugged, as though the answer was obvious.
This only built the anger within the boy, his eyes sending a hurricane towards her. "I am Ivar The Boneless."
For a moment, they both sat stubbornly. Glares bore into glares, both refusing to give into eachother. It seemed as though their rage was never ending.
But, slowly, a small smile crept onto Alfild's face. She laughed, emeralds holding sparks of joy as she chuckled. Ivar watched her for a moment in sheer confusion as to what on earth was happening. Still, she just laughed joyously.
As the laughter died down, her smile became warm and, once more, her mossy eyes peered up towards him. "Next time, do not keep all the glory to yourself." She spoke calmly.
"There's no glory in killing yourself, Alfild." Was his only answer.
To this, she gave a curt nod and smiled. "There is no glory in hiding behind you either."
"I won't let anything happen to you." He spoke with an unfamiliar fear in his voice. "I promise."
