FLAMES OF DREAMS SERIES: GODS & MONSTERS [READER x IVAR]

CHAPTER 5: FIGHT INSIDE

Surrounded by people, yet still alone.

That's how Ivar felt. He couldn't count all of the people in the throne room even if he wanted to. There were those wrestling, those drinking and laughing, and him, sitting on the throne of Essex and observing them all. The wine in his goblet was long gone, but he didn't even notice it, twirling it around in his hands while his eyes wandered around the room. It was a magnificent castle he had gained, and he was proud that it was all because of the strategy he himself had thought of.

But something was missing. He had three kingdoms in a foreign land he was the king of; soon, the woman who murdered his mother would be dead and he would be the king of Kattegat. He was to marry a woman he felt was equal to his great self, yet his heart was craving something or someone - Ivar in all of his intelligence couldn't figure out what it was. It was the frustration - as well as the loneliness - that forced him to leave the feast early in its beginning. Those who noticed paid their respects to him; only Hvitserk tried to stop him, but it took one glare from Ivar for him to abandon his intention.

For a second his blue eyes softened when he saw your sister Darelle by Hvitserk's side. It was unmistakable she didn't want to be there, yet a smile was on her face. He wondered if it was because of fear for her life - or for yours - that forced her to act as if she was happy to be with his brother. When his eyes met hers, the smile quickly disappeared, but reappeared as soon as Hvitserk played attention to her once more.

With the help of his crutch he moved towards the room he had claimed as his. It was the most lavish one in the whole castle, fit for a king or a queen. One of the maids was present in the room when he entered it - her eyes betrayed her fear as if she was sure Ivar would violate her soul and body in ways some of his countrymen did to the women of Essex.

With a wave of his hand the maid hurried out of the room - Ivar was sure she would cry tears of joy as soon as she was safe in the comfort of her own four walls. A sigh escaped his lips when he threw his crutch onto the bed; the room felt so empty, so foreign to him. He tried to remind himself it belonged to him now, yet he couldn't wait to leave England and return home. After all, he had gotten what he had came there for.

***

"Dear God, I have not asked much from you. I know that whatever happens must happen, as it is what you wish. I only ask you to keep my sweet sister Darelle safe. It does not matter what happens to me, but if something was to happen to her-" you stopped, your eyes solemnly focused on the cross in front of you. You forced those thoughts out of your mind, but couldn't stop them from returning. Your heart worried for Darelle; you hadn't seen her for two sunsets. For all you knew she was dead, or perhaps the pagan Hvitserk had forced himself onto her - you weren't sure which of those options was the worse one.

The uncertainty killed you inside. You would have done anything just to see her for a second, just to briefly glance at her and see that she was alright. For a second you were willing to beg Ivar for his permission, yet you knew it would have been a fruitless undertaking. He would let you see her only when he himself choose so - not any moment sooner. You had no power left in Essex; you wanted to shed a tear for your odious future, but none left your eyes.

"Do you believe a man on a cross can help you?" Ivar's loud voice questioned from behind you. You quickly responded by turning around, annoyed at the fact that you couldn't even spend time in prayer alone without him or any of the other pagans observing your every move.

He didn't have his crutch with him. It was the first time you saw him crawling on the floor; the man didn't now seem as if he was the greatest king of the Heathens. With you on your knees, the two of you were on the same level - he wasn't towering over you like he usually was or looking down at you. At that moment he seemed vulnerable; perhaps he was waiting for you to make fun of him like so many had done in his life.

In your mind, the only laughable matter was the situation you were in. He might have been a cripple, yet he had managed to do many things no one had done before.

You didn't reply, instead turning your attention back to the figure you had stared before his arrival. His eyes too followed yours, yet he didn't pay much attention to it. He had seen the same figure on a necklace his father wore secretly, and knew it meant a great deal to the Christians with the same kind of importance his arm ring was to him.

Ivar hated the silence more than he dared to admit. He wanted you to do anything - hit him or shout at him; he wouldn't have been surprised if you'd try to kill him when he was there. Anything would have been better than the silence. You had been a pleasant company in the past, one whose presence he enjoyed which was saying something - he didn't enjoy anyone's company.

He let out an angry sigh when you didn't say anything for minutes. Looking over to him you saw him rolling his eyes as if he was a annoyed child who didn't get what he wanted. The sight amused you - you debated whether to comment on it or not, deciding not to do so. His wrath was the last thing you needed.

"Is my sister well?" You asked, hoping to gain a truthful answer from Ivar.

"Perhaps you should worry more about yourself." He answered quickly. He could clearly see the desperation in your eyes, as if you would be content with any piece of information he would give you.

"You will see your sister tomorrow. Tomorrow we leave Essex behind."