The Nephilim & The Maiden

D o n ' t L e a v e

"Fill my cup, slave." Ivar barked out of breath from his perch across the training ground. He was panting from heaving his sword around against one of the trees, practicing his form. We had been in the meadow for most of the morning and afternoon as Ivar relentlessly practiced archery, axe combat and now with his sword.

Ivar's demeanor had drastically changed from the start of breakfast to when we left the great hall. Ivar had dismissed me once I had brought him his requested breakfast so I wasn't able to listen to the mornings conversations but judging by all of the muffled shouting I could hear from Ivar's room, I knew something was going on. A new drama between brothers or a disagreement on where they should raid? Maybe another argument about going to find Kind Ragnar?

Things seemed to be back to normal between Ivar and I, despite what had happened last night and now this morning. Ivar was being cold and uncaring towards me as he made demands; bring him more arrows, retrieve his axes, bring him drinks. His demeanor towards me only making my thoughts of last night even more confusing, especially since I practically threw myself at him.

Sighing to myself I walked the filled cup over to Ivar, my eyes cast down at the matted grass below me. Ivar snatched the cup from my hand, ale sloshing out of the cup from the force and onto my hand. Without having to be told I returned back to my spot across the field obediently.

My eyes drifted from my fidgeting hands to Ivar. I studied him as he moved with his weapon. Every move was precisely calculated yet completely unpredictable, like watching a beautiful dance. I couldn't hide the fact that I was a jealous of his skill. The way he wielded his sword with complete control even though he couldn't stand was a sight to behold let alone his deadly accuracy with his axe and bow.

Even though he didn't have the use of his legs, I knew he was a better warrior than his brothers. Even Bjorn. His grace and movements were far superior to his brothers, his only downfall was being stuck on his stump. As Ivar practiced there was some animalistic rage that took over his soul, how I imagine a berserker would look if I were to ever see one in battle.

Ivar swung his sword with all of his rage into the tree causing the blade to be imbedded into the grain. As he went to draw back his hand slipped from the hilt and the sword was left behind, stuck in place. Ivar let out a frustrated scream before taking a sip from his ale horn, downing the liquid and then throwing the cup at the tree.

He sat there, hunched over and sucking wind. Had he finally exhausted himself? "I must admit, this is a nice blade."

Turning towards me he held up the blade that was gifted to me by Lagertha. I felt my brows knit together as I glared in response to his provoking comment. He twirled it again in his hand as he examined it.

"Too bad it does not belong to you," I snapped.

"Slaves cannot own possessions, they are possessions." Ivar replied before he sent the knife sailing through the air to one of the targets that was carved into a tree.

"So that's what I am, your possession?" I fought to keep my tone flat to hide my emotions. Saying the words out loud hurt and I knew it was Ivar's intentions. Ivar smirked in response as he heard my voice falter, showing just how much his comment got to me.

Two could play at this game, I thought. "What brought Bjorn to Kattegat?"

Ivar's body tensed as I spoke Bjorn's name. I smirked knowing I'd struck a nerve. He turned so he was facing me before he slid from the stump and he made his way towards me, never breaking eye contact. The closer he got the faster my heart raced. Ivar's stare was always intense but now that I provoked him it seemed to be even more intense.