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The concept of war was an easy one for Alfild. She had thought many times about the best strategies. It seemed that it, in fact, was the way Alfild solved most of her problems.
In her life, passion had followed her everywhere. Many people in this world live a simple life with passion for nothing. They enjoy things, but never so deeply as to call it passion. They walk through the trees and see trees. They listen to music and hear a song. They hear stories and think only that it was a good story. But Alfild had never shared this apathy. In fact, she found it almost impossible to be truly apathetic over anything. For, in the trees she saw stories of hundreds of years. In music she heard the soul of the musician, she heard life and death in the making. In stories she felt every character as though she knew them. She fought and argued and conquered with a passionate ferocity. For it is true that those who feel the mist deeply get hurt the most, but they also achieve this odd level of being that those who become numb cannot feel. Nothing was numbed for Alfild. And that's what she found most intriguing about Ivar. He wasn't just another cog either. He felt just as deeply as her, and passion ran through his veins.
Many whom Alfild had enjoyed the company of had grown tiresome. Often, it was their lust for simple pleasures. Like wild beasts they craved only one thing. They had no interest in exploring their true desires and passions. They had none. They sought instant satisfaction over knowledge. It would always be pleasure over pain for them. But Alfild understood that, in order to grow and gain what you wish for, you must also be willing to sacrifice.
She was largely uninterested in these animal pleasures. Of course, she enjoyed the company of men. But they meant nothing to her, and it was the meaning she craved. That understanding on a level that could not be defined by something so simple as pleasure. No, it was far deeper than that. It was something that she could feel. A connection of the spirit. A connection that she had found with Ivar.
Her fingers traced the blade of her sword, small scratchings outlining the imperfect steel. Scars and marks covered it from head to toe. And yet, to her, it was the most beautiful. Because beauty did not come from perfection. It came from the heart. The stories one could tell would always be more valuable than a pretty face without any substance.
"Queen Alfild, one of the sons of Ragnar Lothbrok are here to see you." One of her soldiers entered the tent, bowing before he spoke. Her emeralds shifted up, that curious gleam glistening.
Have you ever seen the curiosity of a cat? That small glimmer in their eyes, that little spark, as the watch something new and unheard of with great intent. That was the look that shot through Alfild on so many occasions. That of a curious cat, searching for answers. One would think it was an odd look for a queen, but was it not a Queen's job to be curious? As her friends and subjects gathered and talked, Alfild was always the silent specter. Her catty eyes watched the scene, emeralds of intrigue.
Her fingers caressed her sword as she spoke with a subtle gaze, "Which one?"
"Ivar The Boneless, my queen." He had answered.
The queen gave a small gesture to the man, signalling to send the Prince in, and sat up straight. Though her crown was now worn by another, she balanced it with chin aimed upward to show her strength.
Ivar limped in, resting his weight on the heavy crutch beside him. His static eyes were like bolts of Thor's lightning, sparks shooting from them at all time. Alfild didn't move. She sat in her throne and watched as Ivar made his way over to her and took a seat in the center of the room. Neither spoke, they simply watched eachother. A silence spread, a silence that both parties were all too used to by now. Their personalities made it so many occasions were filled with such a silence that left both clawing their way to prove that they, in fact, were better. A constant competition.
Finally, Ivar spoke, his tone smooth as always with this underlying emotion that Alfild struggled to place. It was like a snake, though Alfild knew she could not exactly name such an emotion. "I hear that you're planning to leave."
Those stormy eyes watched the girl, her every movement under endless scrutiny. But she was calm. Her head was still held high, her sword still rested in her grip. "I wish to take back my kingdom."
Ivar nodded, his relentless gaze remaining upon her. "And how do you plan to take it back without anyone to help you, hm?" His voice held that tone, that tone that could infuriate even the calmest of men.
"I will strike a deal with one of the other Kings." She shrugged, as though the answer was obvious.
"I thought we already had a deal." Ivar shot back, now defensive.
The girl answered quickly and thoroughly, "So did I." She began. "But allies do not hide things from eachother. Not allies that can be trusted, anyway."
"Do you not trust me now?" Was all Ivar asked.
"Perhaps I have trusted you too much." She answered, trying her hardest to keep her tender voice from breaking. The words were difficult to let loose, an agony pouring out with them. And, as she looked over at Ivar, she saw that her words cut him deeper than they had even cut her. "I have let my feelings rule me instead of listening to reason. I will not make that my mistake again. My people need a leader who they can rely on."
"And you don't want to rely on me." He finished her words with a disdainful bitterness, as though the words were poison on his tongue.
Alfild stood, her green eyes filled with emotions that one could not even fathom. So many thoughts raced through her head, fears of loss suddenly striking at her chest. "Just tell me what's going on Ivar, please." She pleaded, heart aching as she spoke.
Before he could even answer she had turned away, the thought of showing weakness now in such a moment was one that she could not abide. Her lips quivered with silent tears that she pushed back with all her might and she inhaled a singular deep breath.
Soon, Ivar spoke again, his ocean eyes still watching her intensely, "I want him to fight for us. I wanted him to help us."
"For Lagertha?" She almost sneered. Hvitserk was right.
But, without even a second passing, he retorted, "For you."
Silence fell once more as she turned, emeralds against sapphires again. That ferocious storm had died down, no fire or ice left in either of them. All that remained was pain. Pain for both of them. Pain that neither could push back, as hard as they had tried.
"Ivar I-" Before she could finish, hed held up one hand to stop her. His eyes were icing up, that pain now turning to rage.
"Leave if you want. I won't stop you." He stood, turning and leaving the room.
Alfild sat back in her throne, an agony coursing through her. She didn't know what to do, how to cope. Simply, she sat in her own thoughts. A thousand fears made her grief multiply. This was her fault. And she feared that now she had lost him forever.
With a deep breath, she kept her composure. But a single stray tear still fell past her broken emeralds.
