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mylifeisactuallyamess · 2 years

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Sami’s Fic Stash

Dröttning

Warnings: graphic mentions of blood, gore, mutilation, mentions of non-con, kidnap, war, death, Ivar. Harald is also a warning. 18+. There are some gaps in this 😲 it’s unfinished 🤣 also strong religious views in this.

Pairing: Ivar x English Princess!Reader (past Heahmund x F!Reader.) and Hvitserk.

Word Count: 21k+

Tagging: @adrille88 @istorkyou

You stumbled through the woods, your foot catching on a root so you fell face first. One of the Northmen picked you up by your bindings, he was tall with darker hair braided down his back. He spat something at you in Old Norse dragging a terrified whimper from you. Your face ached where it had struck the ground, no doubt the blood was mingling with the tears already wetting your skin. The sound of your father’s cries echoed in the murky wood as the chariot dragged him over the rough ground. He was going to die, you knew he was as soon as he took Ragnar from King Ecbert. You had pleaded, begged for him to listen to your sister when she warned about the Northman reaching the shores of England but your father was a stubborn man and had refused to listen to you or Judith. And now, it was his undoing.

The chariot stopped and they hauled your father upright, his feet slipping on the mud as the rain pattered down on the wet ground. A chill seeped through your dress as you recognised the woodland around you. The dip in the clearing drew your gaze and instantly you were dragged back to the death of the Viking. You had hated every second, seeing him tortured and locked in a cage like an animal but your father, King Ælle had made you stand there at watch. The big Northman, the one with lighter hair tied down his back, grabbed the front of the King’s tunic, shouting in his face. You knew who these men were, they were Ragnar’s sons and they terrified you. Dragging your father down the rain sodden slope you hoped they would forget you were there but the one charged with keeping an eye on you shoved at your shoulder. The mud was thick, clinging to your shoes wishing you were wearing your boots. Your dress was ruined, not that you cared really, it just felt uncomfortable. Torn at the seams down your leg, mud permeating the hem and weighing you down, the rain dripping down your back made you wish you were in anything else right now.

The brothers surrounded the pit, the larger one stamping hard on the wooden trap doors and the others all looked at each other. You shied to the side when the younger one crawled past you, dragging his legs with him as they opened the wooden door revealing an empty pit. You could hear them talking, snatches of words you recognised but not much. Your father stared at them, still hoping to buy his way out of this no doubt. Sniffing you wiped the wetness off your nose trying to believe that he wouldn’t offer you up so they would leave him alone.

“How much gold and silver do you want to spare my life? Name your price! Anything!” You jangled the shackles on your wrists hoping to draw his attention so he could beg for your life too but he didn’t even look in your direction, so set on saving his own skin he’d clearly forgotten you were tangled up in this mess as well. The Viking on the floor spoke, his face twisted with hatred and hope died inside your chest. There was no way out, you were going to die in these forsaken woods at the hands of these filthy heathens.

The Viking with the black face approached the King, his face like a cloud as he forced your father to his knees.

“I’ve been told your god is a carpenter,” he spoke softly and fluently but nothing could disguise the venom in his voice. “And guess what? So am I.” The one that had been by your side suddenly grabbed the back of your neck, your pulse throbbed as he dragged you forward forcing you into the mud next to your father. He gestured to you and it looked like he was asking what to do with you. The cripple turned, his eyes a stormy blue in the dark light and they were fixed on you. He came close, looking you over like you were cattle, just an object that he was deciding whether to keep or not. You tried not to flinch when he reached for your face, his bare fingers digging into your sore cheeks pulling your face around so he could have a good look at you. He said something and the others shifted, a deep rumble of amusement sounded from them. You hated not knowing what they were saying so you did the only thing you could, you spat in his face. You expected the slap, working your jaw to try and ease the pain as it blossomed under your skin.

“Kristinn Hóra!” He shouted at you, wiping the blood tinged spit off his cheek. Your father wasn’t even watching, offering no comfort as he mourned for his life in the mud of the woodland floor.

“Father!” You were grabbed at the elbow and lifted to your feet. “Father!”

“Enough!” The Viking with the black face approached, making you stumble into the chest of the one who had a hold on your arm.

With a firm shove from the Northman you slammed into the trunk of the nearest tree and he hauled your tied hands up above your head. The shackles were unforgiving against your skin and you felt it was an insult to be bound by English iron. He pulled the rope tight, making you rest on the balls of your feet. Instantly your arms began to go numb but there was nothing you could do except helplessly watch and weep.

Darkness descended and soon you were all seeing via firelight. Torches and fire pits lit the clearing, your father was spread against a fallen tree his cries ringing out as they nailed his hands mercilessly to the wood. Tears streaked down your face but not a sound left you, soon you were going to be the only Saxon surviving and you were sure the Northman were going to deal with you next. The atmosphere as it weaved between the trees made the hairs on your tired body stand on end. You tried to shut out the awful yells the King made but he wouldn’t stop, almost as if he thought shouting would get him out of this. The brothers stood around him creating an inner circle. The crippled one looked over his shoulder, an evil grin spreading across his face before he crawled his way over to you. His hands grabbed your clothes as he heaved himself up your body. Your wrists screamed in protest at the extra weight he applied to your bonds and desperately you closed your eyes hoping to block him out. The pain was unbearable, the feel of his hot breath covered your skin and you wanted nothing more than to kick him away.

“You will watch,” he spat, grabbing your face so you had no choice but to look into his turbulent gaze, the smell of his leather bracer clogged your nose. “You took our father from us,” he carried on in broken English. “And now, we will take yours.” His touch slithered back down your body, his teeth bright against the dirt on his face as he continued to smirk at you until he returned to the tree stump. Other Vikings were placed in a semi circle around them all watching intently as if they knew what was going to happen.

The tall one approached your father, ripping the back off his tunic in a single pull, from where you were tied you could see everything. A red hot blade was pulled from the flames and all the Vikings leaned in with anticipation. Your father cried out in pain, the sound of searing flesh reached your ears followed by a smell that had you gagging. It was dragged down your fathers spine, the skin almost breaking gratefully apart to create a welt down his back. You couldn’t look away watching in horror as they peeled the very skin off your fathers back.

Everything about you itched with fear and a heaviness for the life you had once lived rested on your soul.

Your lips moved, whispering words out into the void as you begged for forgiveness. Your body cried out to be saved but even now you knew no one was listening. The God you had once looked up to you and trusted with your life was nowhere to be found. Your tears tasted bitter on the corners of your mouth, continuing to spit out words in desperation yet you knew they did nothing to serve you.

As you watched them butcher your father your eyes were drawn to the youngest Ragnarsson. He slipped off the wooden stump, his gaze locked with the Kings and he crept forward. You knew what he was doing and it made you sick to your stomach. A gleeful smile twisted his features when your father finally stopped crying out, the life in his body visibly draining away. Nausea rippled through your own body making it clench your twisted stomach so that it emptied, the sound of your fathers ribs cracking would be a noise you’d have nightmares about for years. Blood made the ground even more slick, it had splashed up onto the brothers faces yet they did nothing to wipe it away. Standing and silently watching as the biggest extracted the entirety of his revenge on the King.

You must have blacked out, the next thing you knew it was daylight, pain eviscerated the muscles in your arms and you fell unceremoniously to the floor. Your eyes fluttered open only to be faced with the sight of your dead father strung up before you. He looked like an Angel with his skin spread out and you sniggered knowing that was one thing your father could never be. Were you next? You didn’t care, your body was broken and bruised if anything death would be a release right now.

—

It was peaceful, the mist hung low over the water of the river. Silence clung to every particle only dispersing when the oars broke the surface of the water, a soft sound that relaxed you. If you closed your eyes you imagined you were on an English boat, gliding through the stillness on a crisp morning. But when you felt movement beside you that illusion was shattered. You had no idea why but the youngest son, Ivar, had taken to being at your side. He watched you all the time, his piercing gaze boring right down into your soul. To your relief the other Vikings left you alone but from what you could gather they were concentrating on getting to Wessex to kill King Ecbert. Out of habit you said a quick prayer hoping your sister and her children had at least made it from the villa but it went unnoticed.

You had given up weeping, tears did not serve you, they just attracted attention and you were hoping to eventually slip through the cracks. While they were busy with the ransacking of Wessex you hoped to escape, maybe you’d die but maybe you’d make it.

You picked at the wood on the side of the boat, catching your nail and pulling. This tiny sensation was all that kept you from spiralling into nothingness, the pain started as you applied more pressure and you felt a sick sense of satisfaction. Hissing you gave it a final push, the nail finally splintered, ripping a chunk off and blood welled up from the wound. Instantly hands were on you, his body covered yours as he responded to your noise.

“What did you do that for, huh?” His English had improved rapidly and it shocked you a little that this heathen seemed fairly intelligent. He lifted your finger to his mouth but you snatched it back watching the amusement play around his mouth. He grabbed your hand, this time applying enough pressure to make you cry out drawing the attention of the Viking that stood next to you both. This was his brother Hvitserk. Closing your eyes and turning away you had no choice but to let Ivar take your finger in his mouth. His tongue was warm as he licked the wound, repulsion curling all your insides into one another at the sensation. His spit dribbled down your wrist and finally you struggled enough so he released you, wiping his chin and grinning at you.

“Careful now dröttning. Don’t want to get sick.”

“Ivar.” The other brother, Ubbe stepped up beside you looking over the edge of the boat. “We’re here.” You felt your heart thump a little harder in your chest as they all started to move, the boat jolted as it grounded itself against the embankment. They jumped off the edge of the boat, the first thing they did was take you ashore. A pole was shoved into the ground and you were tied against it, your arms wrenched behind your back so no matter how you stood it wasn’t comfortable. All you could do now was observe. They unloaded quickly and efficiently, the camp only taking hours to take shape, Ivar sat on a seat near you overseeing the unloading of his chariot and horse. You tried to ignore a Northman that was staring at you, his head tilted slightly to the side. He had tattoos across his face and a long single braid down his back. His clothes were slightly different telling you he was of higher standing than most of the others and he had a sword. His boots squelched in the mud as he approached, which Ivar noticed almost immediately.

“Harald,” he called. “What do you think of my dröttning?” Your knowledge of their language was getting better, the need to understand drove you to listen and learn.

“What are you going to do with her Ivar?” He reached out and flicked the damage material of your clothes, his eyes raking over your exposed skin with a hungry look. “Is she for entertainment?” Ivar’s expression hardened slightly even though it never changed. His eyes seemed to darken in colour, the quick movement of his lips against his teeth was all that gave away how much he disliked the question.

“I haven’t decided what I’m going to do with her,” his tone was light and dismissive as he turned away to watch some Vikings chop wood. “I’m sure I’ll come up with something. In the meantime, she is not to be harmed.” You both watched as he crawled away and you relaxed in your bindings. From what you’d seen the Ragnarsson’s words held power here and you were sure this, Harald would listen. You hoped anyway.

—

Once the encampment was erected fully you were moved, dragged away from the river's edge and dumped near a shelter where food was being served. Your hands were bound but they were in front of you for a change so you took the opportunity to roll your shoulders trying to ease the ache that plagued them. The brothers were all sitting down wrapped in cloaks and warm furs, feasting on the freshly caught wildlife. The smell of the wild stag they were cooking over the fire made your stomach growl loudly and you watched intently as they all ate with gusto. Hvitserk leaned forward, deftly slicing off a chunk of meat. To your surprise he got up and approached you, crouching down he held it out to you yet still you hesitated. Glancing up at him he smiled a little, offering you the meat again. Your hands were filthy, covered in the mud from the ground and it coated the food as soon as you took it but you didn’t care. It was delicious, your teeth tearing into the softness of the meat, the juices dripping off your chin and he gave a little chuckle.

He moved back to sit with the rest and you concentrated on what Ivar was saying. It seemed he was insulting your fellow Englishmen with Björn disagreeing at every turn.

“I can only see what my eyes tell me Björn and what I see is frightened people running before us. I see their spineless God running away from our Gods.” You hated how you automatically agreed with him. Where was your God? It seemed he had abandoned your people in the face of these many Gods that the Heathens worshipped. How could you compete? One never faired well against the many. The argument continued as they dismissed their youngest brother but you had the feeling this Viking was not to be underestimated.

Being the youngest daughter of King Ælle you were mainly left to your own devices until he found someone for you to marry and take you away. You took it upon yourself to learn to read and write, your cousin Mannel had given you secret sparring lessons and you observed interactions between men. Hiding in the shadows and mainly going unnoticed you knew far more than your father ever believed. You had watched the dynamic between the brothers for over a week now, Björn and Ubbe being the eldest were the calmer ones. Trying to keep their brothers from fighting and yet they all would argue with Ivar, telling him he knows nothing at the first chance they had. Ivar may be the youngest like you but you saw in him a rebellious nature that you could relate to. If you hadn’t been born worlds apart you’d have possibly got on rather well. The name Ragnar pulled you back, all the brothers were staring at each other with almost undisguised hatred and you mentally kicked yourself for not listening.

“So this was what the grunting of the little pigs was all about,” a tall Viking chastised. As one they turned to look at Floki, you hid a small smirk and leaned against your pole. It seemed no matter where you were from, family was a problem.

—

The days blended together in a blur of misery and mud. You felt cold all the time, tied to this pole with nowhere to shelter against the rain. Not once did you complain, the brothers kept an eye on you but really it was only Hvitserk who seemed to care about keeping you fed and watered. You had spied King Harald a few times watching you but he didn’t approach you, much to your relief. Keeping yourself tucked into a ball not many people paid you much attention. Thinking you couldn’t understand what they were saying you were privy to all the information that was brought to the Ragnarssons. Listening closely as reports came in of a Saxon army, Æthelwulf leading the charge from the gates of Wessex. If he defeated the Vikings you would be saved and returned to your dreary life in Northumbria. You weren’t sure what was better, slowly dying here in the mud or slowly dying behind the scenes of the royal throne in Northumbria.

“Floki let me take her,” you looked up to see Helga. One of the few women you observed not to be a shieldmaiden, she had a teenager under her arm. A girl with long flowing dark hair who looked like her soul had died. Her eyes held no life, clearly a shell of who she once was. “She will get sick.”

“Alright take her. But make sure she doesn’t get away,” he hissed before stalking off. Your rope was placed in her hands meaning you had no choice but to follow her. She took you and the younger girl a little way from encampment and stepped towards the river.

“Wash,” she said in Anglo-Saxon, pointing at you. “Wash.” You didn’t even remove your clothes, stepping into the water you gasped at the chill but you did shed yourself of as much mud as possible. Dragging your fingers as best as you could through your hair you ducked down under the water. The rope tugged and you broke the surface wishing you could have stayed under there and slipped away unnoticed. Helga pulled you back to the bank, her kohl rimmed eyes were slightly wide as she watched you. “Come on, let’s dry you and give you some clean clothes.” By the time you got to her little hut you were shivering uncontrollably, even your feet felt numb and she pushed you towards the fire pit in the middle. She removed the rope and you let her strip your clothes off, her hands pausing when she saw your scars. Carefully she traced the outline on your side. “Where did you get this?” You didn’t respond, staring deep into the glow of the fire as you remembered. The echoes of pain licked at you causing you to shiver and not with the cold. Helga wrapped you in a thick fur and forced you to the ground. All the while the young girl just stared into space and you wondered if that was going to be you soon, soulless and devoid of life. A cup of some steaming mead was shoved in your hands and you guzzled it quickly, snuggling down as you finally began to dry off and warm up.

Helga approached you with a dress, gesturing for you to stand up. Her eyes were drawn to the silver cross that dangled around your neck and she reached for it. Turning it over in the firelight she held it up before your face.

“This cannot save you.” She furrowed her brow and sighed like she was disappointed in you. Letting it fall back against your skin, she lifted the dress and you shed the fur to slip into the coarse clothing she put on you.

“Helga!” A trickle of dread weaved its way down your spine at the sound of his sing-song voice. The thud of his hands on the ground followed by the drag of his legs. He heaved himself inside, pulling his legs round with a grunt. “Was she good?” He asked brightly.

“Yes, but she wears this,” she told him, grabbing the cross out from under the collar of the dress. To your surprise he grinned leaning forward slightly he squinted at the silver cross.

“So? We know she’s a Christian,” his accent made the word almost spit out of him. “Soon she will see that her God is nothing compared to ours.” You felt Helga press a pair of boots against your leg, the hide was supple in your hands and you gratefully put them on. The fur you had dried in was placed around your shoulders and you clutched at the edges fearful that someone might take it from you. “Come dröttning. Let’s go and find your kin.” You looked back at Helga but she was already focussed on the girl who’s name you didn’t even know so you had no choice but to follow Ivar.

You watched him pull himself up into his chariot, standing awkwardly to the side you waited. Your gaze lifted, seeing the weapons on Ivar’s belt and a reckless scenario played out before you of a daring escape after killing the Northman. Twisting your hands together you let out a soft breath, watching it mist before you in the cold air. Ivar sat in his seat, a knowing look on his face as his hands rested casually on the pommel, the reins loose in his grip.

“Get up,” he demanded in Saxon.

“Where are we going?” It was the first time you’d really spoken out loud in days and your throat felt scratchy. You asked even though you knew Judith's husband Prince Æthelwulf had raised an army to counter the Vikings but you weren’t sure it was enough. The Northmen certainly weren’t worried.

“We are going to find your brother by marriage,” he said softly, leaning forward slightly. “Now get up,” he told you, inclining his head to the chariot. You took a step back only to thump into the chest of Ubbe. His hands wedged under your armpits and lifted you forcefully into the chariot to stand next to Ivar.

“You’ve stayed alive this long,” he murmured looking up at you. His blue eyes flicked to Ivar before he stepped away, knocking his hand on the side of the chariot. Ivar shook the reins jolting his horse into motion and you held tightly onto the wooden side, spreading your legs automatically to balance yourself.

—

The army was like a snake, weaving its way through the countryside in a long line. The brothers walked around the chariot like a personal guard, Björn walking next to Ivar’s horse near the front. Hvitserk was beside you wrapped in his cloak and furs, no one spoke until the sound of a galloping horse made everyone look up.

“Stop!” Yelled Björn, bringing the company to a halt as the rider approached. You tried to look puzzled even disinterested when the rider told them the Saxon army was less than a days ride away. The scout said the army was large but Björn didn’t even comment, just saying they were going to camp here and tomorrow face Æthelwulf in battle. Ivar watched his brothers for a moment as the horns blasted through the trees of the woodland alerting the rest of the army to what was happening.

“You can make camp. I want to take a look at where we are going to fight.” They turned as one at Ivar’s words.

“What are you talking about?” Asked Ubbe.

“They will expect us to fight in a certain way,” Ivar explained. “Why should we do that?” It took all of your control not to show your surprise at his words. If the Vikings changed from well known tactics the Prince didn’t stand a chance. “Why don’t we plan to fight in a different way and surprise them?” Hvitserk stepped closer followed by Björn who looked thoroughly annoyed that Ivar had even suggested something out of the ordinary.

“Our warriors won’t understand what’s happening. We fight in a shieldwall, that’s how we fight,” Hvitserk said.

“But we have a bigger army now. And they have a bigger army now, Hvitserk. We cannot fight in the same way.” You didn’t move, your hands curling over the edge of the chariot as you intently listened, you agreed with Ivar, smashing two armies together with such vast numbers could mean the battle lasted for days not to mention the number of casualties.

“It’s too late to change now,” Sigurd spoke up and instantly everything about Ivar changed, his posture tensed, the tone of his voice grew deeper and you could sense the dislike they had for each other.

“Who are you to say that? Shut your mouth,” he scolded, squaring his shoulders slightly.

“We are brothers,” interrupted Björn. “Together.” He looked at them all before sighing slightly. “Why do you want to change the tactics?” He asked Ivar.

“Do you want to win, brother?” You could see the youngest Ragnarsson was trying not to lose his temper as he attempted to get Björn on side, if he did that the rest would follow without question. “Come with me Björn,” he pleaded softly. “Let’s investigate the battlefield. Perhaps instead of the narrow and small place we should stretch the battle over a large area. Many miles, and use the landscape. Ditches, hills, woods…” he paused. Ubbe looked at Björn, a passive expression on his face, Hvitserk nodded slightly as though admitting to himself that Ivar’s idea was worth investigating. Björn pondered in quiet for a moment, exchanging a look with Ubbe before he spoke.

“If it works, then it is a good plan. If it doesn’t, then it is a bad plan.” You refrained from smirking at the big Vikings logic. Yes, Ivar was definitely the smartest out of them.

“What do you say, dröttning?” Suddenly all their gazes were on you but you refused to feel flustered at the direct attention.

“About what?” You asked quickly, pretending you had no idea what they’d been saying. Hvitserk laughed out loud running a hand over his chin, his hazel eyes dancing with amusement. Ivar smirked, uncrossing his arms so he could turn to look at you next to him.

“I may be a cripple but I am not stupid.” You opened your mouth to protest and claim all innocence but Björn was already mounting a horse, the other brothers backing up to give him and Ivar room.

“What are you waiting for?” He called, kicking the horse in the sides and charging off. Ivar studied your features for a few more seconds as though he could see right through you. Maybe he could.

—

You knew this countryside, where Ivar had chosen to meet Æthelwulf in battle, was a place you would have picked as well. The Saxons would approach from the bottom of the hill, making them expend energy before the battle had even started but that was Ivar’s plan all along. Not to meet them head on in combat, but to drive Æthelwulf insane by toying with him, to lead him into a choice that Ivar predicted he would take. They mainly ignored you as they discussed battle tactics, wondering why, if Ivar suspected you knew more Norse than you let on, was he letting you hear all of this? Maybe he was that cocksure in your inability to escape.

“Good plan dröttning?” With a soft sigh you looked over the hillocks, the grassy clumps filling the steep decline from where you were standing. There was a woodland at the bottom all murky and dark with thick foliage. A deep ditch ran along the tree line, something horses could barely leap without breaking a leg. Drizzle settled on your skin and the fur around your shoulders sagged slightly in the fine wetness.

“I don’t know what the plan is,” you told him. Björn huffed, reining his horse round to gallop back to the Northman army. You expected Ivar to follow but he didn’t, his armour began to glisten in the dying light of the day as the drizzle collected on the surface.

“I know you think we are stupid. Some of us are,” he moved abruptly, barely giving you time to flinch as the blade of his knife was pressed against the side of your neck. His other hand grabbed the front of your clothes pulling you closer to him. “But I am not.”

“Forgive me Hlaford Ivar! I-I did not mean to cause offence!”

“What is this word…Hlaford?” He inquired, his eyes flitting over your face.

“It is a title you are worthy of,” you whispered. The knife moved up to stroke along your cheek and you saw he had a scar on his own, if you lived long enough maybe you’d hear how he received such a wound. He released you as though bored, throwing you against the side of the chariot making you hiss in surprise.

“You will come to battle tomorrow,” he sniffed, wiping the moisture that had collected on his nose. “I want to see Prince Æthelwulf look into your eyes and know he cannot save you.” Slapping the reins his horse responded but you frowned.

“You want me at the battle?”

“You are no stranger to a battle you were with your father. Why? I thought you Saxon women hid in your halls cowering behind your fake God.”

“It’s true. But I am not like other Saxon women,” you told him bristling slightly as his perception, your hand lifting out of habit to brush the hidden cross on your chest only to drop as soon as you’d done it.

“That I already know.” He snapped the reins and his horse broke into a canter shutting down the conversation.

—

Back with the army you were trussed up by Hvitserk, his hazel eyes were kinder than his brothers and he seemed more gentle but he was still a Viking and you’d seen him fight against your own soldiers. He adjusted the fur on your shoulders, pulling it more around you quickly making eye contact before he exited the makeshift hut you were in. Looking around you saw a bed, some chairs and a small table set with some plates of food. It wasn't much but you wondered who was going to be staying in here with you. At least you were out of the weather, and there was grass underfoot rather than slick mud. Sliding down to sit you tried to get as comfortable as you could, ignoring the food that was just out of your reach. Light streamed in when the flap was shoved to the side revealing the last person you expected to see.

King Harald stalked towards you with dark intent clouding his eyes and you opened your mouth to scream. The sound was muffled by his hand over your face, lifting you effortlessly with the other and ramming you against the pole you were tied to.

“It’s unfair for Ivar to keep you all to himself,” he growled in your ear as you squirmed against him. You pleaded but it fell on deaf ears, jamming your thighs together but still he lifted your dress and forced them apart. You heaved your body to try and dislodge him but all he did was chuckle softly against your cheek. “Such pretty squealing.” As you squeezed your eyes shut, tears were forced to fall down your face, the muscles in your thighs screaming at the invasion as he ran his hand higher to your groin. If you could shove him away, make him stumble you could have got the leverage to kick him or head butt him in the nose, anything to dislodge him. His breath was panting against your face, his body suffocating yours when he pressed in closer, the ridges of his leather armour cutting into you.

“Did Ivar give you permission, King Harald?” Your eyes flew open to see Björn holding up a knife as though inspecting the edge of the blade. To your relief Harald withdrew his hand, straightening up slightly and you wasted no time in throwing your head forward. Your forehead connected forcefully with his nose making him cry out and stumble back. He went to step towards you in anger but Björn grabbed his arm, halting him. “I wouldn’t.” He warned.

“What does he want with some spoilt girl anyway?” Exclaimed Harald. “What’s the point of her if we can’t fuck her?”

“He thinks the Saxons will bargain for her or something. So she is to remain unharmed,” Björn told him.

“I wasn’t going to ruin her completely. Since when did we start taking orders from Ivar?” Björn glared at the shorter man for a moment before answering.

“Come, let us drink and I will tell you what we have planned for tomorrow.” To your relief they left and you flopped back to the floor allowing yourself to take a deep breath. Emotion gathered in your chest but you refused to let it out, pursing your lips together to stop them quivering. You highly doubted Æthelwulf would even consider bargaining for your life, you were the youngest of 4 what use were you to the line of succession? Hanging your head low your thoughts went again to what would happen to you once the Vikings found out you were a useless prisoner. Hopefully they killed you quickly but you doubted it.

You must have dozed because the next thing you knew Ivar was sitting in front of you, a plate of food on his strapped legs as he watched you with curiosity.

“Ah, she wakes.” Your shoulders ached and your body was tired from being uncomfortable not to mention the pain in your stomach from being hungry. You tried not to look at his plate but the bread looked delicious, the meat although cold would still taste fantastic. You looked away trying not to show interest but your stomach growled loudly and Ivar smirked. “Hungry?” He asked, tilting his head to the side.

“I could eat,” you replied. He shuffled closer until his shoulder brushed against yours.

“Open,” he coaxed you softly, holding a piece of bread in his fingers.

“If you just bring my hands…” your words died when he grabbed your chin.

“I said, open.” His fingers dug into your face, forcing your jaw to open enough to shove the bread past your teeth with his thumb. “There. Wasn’t hard was it?” He spoke with a gleeful tone which you tried not to glare at him for. “Open,” he demanded again and this time you complied. He slipped the meat into your mouth, trailing a finger over your lip, his eyes watching your face intently. “Good girl,” he breathed. You let him feed you, ignoring the little touches he gave your lips, your chin, your cheeks. His eyes never left you save to dip down to the plate and back up to you as he placed more food in your mouth. Next he offered you some mead, the liquid spilling past your lips but you didn’t care, it was the most satisfied you’d felt since they had captured you. Licking your lips you let out a hmm of contentment.

To your surprise he untied you from the pole but the rope remained around your wrists, your hands were almost numb and dried blood marking the bindings from your struggle earlier.

“Get on the bed.” You didn’t even question it, stumbling as best as you could onto the fur laden cot and laying down snuggling your face into the hides. Ivar forcefully turned you over and fear made you rigid as he yanked your hands up attaching them to the base of the cot so you were stretched out beneath him. Ivar smirked at your lips clenched together, the rapid rise of your chest and the blank expression on your face as you glared at him. Daring him to try it with you. “Go to sleep dröttning.” He lay down next to you, his armour digging into your side as he draped an arm over your stomach but soon his breathing was even enough for you to relax. You studied him in the dying firelight, his hair was growing out from a shorter cut and you found yourself wondering how soft it was.

Because of who you were and your station you should not have any experience of being this close to a man, but you did. A holy man no less, but you had accepted his advances without a care in the world. You had a reckless streak, a sense of contemptment for your position in this world. You did everything someone of your standing shouldn’t do but you had slipped under your fathers notice plenty of times.

Ivar shifted, tucking himself impossibly closer to you and you tensed a little out of reflex. This was probably one of the most dangerous Northman you’d ever encountered and he was currently using you as a pillow. A weakness you could play on, his unspoken need for reassurance, comfort, maybe even love. He was, after all, human.

—

Your seat on the chariot was uncomfortable. Ivar sat you on the bar in front of his own seat, his hands holding the reins either side of you as you raced through the countryside. Your hands were bound but you’d managed to plead your way out of a gag, not that Ivar cared. As far as he was concerned you weren’t getting close enough to the Saxons to say anything anyway. The wooden bar jarred your coccyx as the chariot ran over the uneven ground, you leaned forward slightly hoping to relieve the pressure.

You crested the hill, Ivar pulling his horse to a stop and looked down the line of the army. It spread all the way across the top of the hill, flags snapping in the brisk breeze. You could see the Saxons at the bottom with their own banners tugging on the flag poles, Æthelwulf was there on his mount. You had no particular feelings towards your sister’s husband, only having met him a couple of times when the courts mingled.

You expected your heart to melt with homesickness, you thought seeing him would have you scrabbling over the edge of the chariot in desperation. But none of that happened. A cool indifference seemed to settle on your shoulders, even when the Prince saw you, recognition dawning on his bearded face as he yelled instructions, no doubt for your rescue. One you weren’t sure you wanted. The drums silenced and a hush settled over the field as the two sides sized each other up. It was a habit to want a weapon in your hand, staring at this many soldiers made you jittery even if they were your kin.

Ivar pulled gently on his reins, the horse turning away with the rest of the heathens but you kept your eyes trained on Æthelwulf until it felt like your back was breaking. The blare of a horn broke the grey stillness and you finally dragged your attention to your hands. The blood on the rope now brown with age, your wrists still raw and split but it was a pain you were used to a pain you were willing to put up with.

The trees swallowed up the army, the mist and murkiness of the English countryside offering you cover to sneak behind Æthelwulf’s forces. And so the game began. From where you were with Ivar in the trees you heard the arrows fly, the shouts of the Saxons, the orders from the Prince as his men fell around him. Their defence was meagre at best, a mild attempt of protection at a foe they couldn’t see. Ivar’s plan was working. The positioning was perfect, his foresight unparalleled and you had no doubt the rest of his tactics were going to work. You waited for it, the heaviness of your heart, the disappointment at your lack of rescue but still, it did not come.

The sounds stopped. Ivar leaned forward in the quiet, his breath warm on the back of your neck as he wrapped a hand around your throat.

“You see dröttning?” He whispered. “No one can save you.” His fingers tightened possessively around the front of your throat, his face almost pressed against the side of your own. The closeness reminded you of being in his bed and the fear died down to just a shimmer over your skin. You had no doubt this man could end you and think nothing of it but also…he’d kept you alive.

He released you, gesturing to Floki and the Vikings began to move to the top of the hill once more. The big Viking was winded, leaning heavily on the chariot as Ivar rested nonchalantly in his seat. You heard the yells, saw the Saxons charging up the hill once more, the ground slick with sticky mud, churned up by hooves and feet alike.

“Mmmmm, four blasts,” Ivar told Floki.

“If you say so,” he gasped lifting the massive horn and blowing four deep rumbles across the field.

—

I moved on from this bit 😅 a huge chunk is missing.

—

You watched as one of Ivar’s men approached with a slave girl. You looked her up and down as she walked forward, trailing a hand across the back of Ivar’s chair. Her dress was simple, a deep red colour that made her blondeness stand out against it. She was pretty and instantly captured Ivar’s attention much to your annoyance.

“Slave,” his voice rung out in the church, echoing back to you slightly and you thought how much nicer it sounded in here than a priests voice chanting useless words to his congregation. “You know who I am?”

“Of course,” her voice had a melodic quality making it pleasing to listen to. “You are Ivar,” she stated simply. Turning on your heel the sound reverberated in the almost empty hall and Ivar cast a quick glance at you but her attention never wavered from him.

“Ivar,” he sounded almost disappointed at the lack of the rest of his name. His head tilted forward watching her come towards him and you allowed yourself a quick smirk. “Is that it?”

“No. Ivar the Boneless.”

“You don’t…seem afraid of me.” You trailed your hand over the gilded curve of his seat again, daring to brush the ends of his hair as you glared at the slave. She smiled, creating a heat to prickle under your skin.

“No.”

“We are expecting to be attacked by the Saxons, they have a large army outside of these walls. We must ask the Gods for help. We must offer them a sacrifice.” The chair creaked loudly as he leaned forward, the aged wood protesting from the movement. He crossed his arms and you carried on walking, your dress raking quietly along the floor. “Would you be willing to offer yourself as a sacrifice?”

“I will do anything you ask me to do,” she replied confidently. You studied the stone wall almost hating yourself for needing to turn around as the blood rushes past your ears. Ivar slumped back in the seat spreading his arms resting them on the arms of the chair.

“Then take off your clothes.”

“Is that really necessary?” The words slipped from you as you turned on your heel again but Ivar held up a hand to silence you, never taking his eyes off the slave. To your dismay she began to remove her dress, slipping the shoulders over her slim figure to let it pool at her feet. You looked away, wanting to march from this place but you also knew that where Ivar was you had to be. It was the condition of you being allowed to roam free, if that’s what you could call it.

“Come closer,” you recognised the tone of Ivar’s voice, the coaxing playfulness he used when he wanted his own way. Clutching your hands together you dug your fingernails into your skin, concentrating on the pain and not what was happening in front of you. Refusing to recognise the burning feeling in your chest that intensified with each step the slave girl took. She stopped at the first step clearly not wanting to overstep her boundaries but you saw the self satisfied look on her face that Ivar the Boneless himself was admiring her naked form. “Kiss me,” your heart jumped at the sound of his plea. The whispered words, still loud enough to echo against the stone pillars and you grit your teeth trying to erase them from your mind. Finally your body found the motor function to move as she mounted his lap. Turning slightly you headed to the burning candles on the altar, carefully dancing your fingers among the flames in an effort to burn away what was happening behind you. The sound of Ivar’s sigh had your stomach clenching with jealousy, a nauseating feeling crept up the back of your throat and you coughed lightly.

“I-I don’t understand,” he breathed.

“I know you’re a cripple, Boneless. But let me tell you something. Your deformity means that the Gods favour you, especially. I’ve always known that. I’ve always looked for people who are born different. Because that’s the true sign. You are a very special person. Nobody else here is like you.” You sneaked a look over your shoulder to see she was still seated on his lap like a tavern whore. She leaned forward to speak into his ear but her eyes were trained on you. “You are destined for great things.” Your gaze narrowed. How dare she come and throw herself at him like this, filling his head with nonsense. You still had much to learn about the Norse Gods but you were going to learn from people like Floki and not listen to the poison that dripped from this slave.

“You are free to go,” Ivar finally said. Your hand came down onto the altar knocking a candle over to splatter onto the floor.

“Do you not want me to…?”

“No, no you don't understand. You’re a free woman now.” Lifting your eyes up to the ceiling, you questioned his state of mind at this moment. She was the perfect candidate for a sacrifice and although the practice was new to you, this wouldn’t have been someone you missed. “Leave.” She walked away, grabbing her dress and sauntering down to the door where the guards waited.

“She would have been perfect,” you commented dryly, picking wax off the hem of your dress and trying to appear indifferent.

“What makes you say that?” He asked, turning to regard you with a furrowed brow.

“She was willing, isn’t that what you…we look for?”

“Then we shall just find someone else,” he said matter-of-factly. He leaned over the arm of the chair, that evil knowing sneer slithering across his face. “Were you jealous dröttning?” You scoffed loudly while still looking at the weave of your own garment even though your eyes were out of focus.

“Of a slave girl?”

“Of a free woman,” he reminded you slowly. “I could take her for my wife if I so wished.”

“You can do whatever you like. You are Ivar the Boneless,” you replied, forcing all emotion out of your voice. He eyed you for a moment before changing the subject completely.

“I heard King Æthelwulf arrived with his wife and sons to increase the numbers of these warrior priests.”

“The Knights Templar,” you whispered, ignoring the way he just slipped in the mention of your family.

“You need a set band of warriors to fight on behalf of your god?” He asked in disbelief. “The arrogance, he must be a great god indeed!” He reached for his spiked cane, lifting himself off the chair using the arm to steady himself. You chose not to respond, was it arrogant? Where was your god? He let the Vikings into his sacred halls, defiling everything without any repercussions. The scream from the priest as Ivar poured the gold into his mouth still lingered at the edge of your thoughts. The way Hvitserk butchered the nun at the back of the church after he’d had his way with her still turned your stomach. His blood stained face would haunt your nightmares for months and you were grateful Ivar hadn’t seen fit to treat you in such a way.

You tried not to be affected, you desperately tried not to see because you needed to survive. Ivar seemed to show an interest in you for now and you couldn’t let his interest run out. You knew if that day came, it was the day your life ended.

—

You sat at the table as Ivar ate, staring hard at your plate. You tried to ignore the Viking sitting on your right. Hvitserk sighed with frustration as he looked at his brother swigging out of his cup before he spoke. His arm settled on the table and you involuntarily jerked away from him causing Ivar to stop his brother mid sentence.

“What’s the matter with you?” He asked incredulously.

“I’m just not hungry,” you breathed.

“No, eat. You’re going to need it.”

“Ivar, would you listen to me?” Hvitserk seemed utterly oblivious to your fear of him. You don’t know why it had unsettled you so much, you saw Björn blood eagle your father, you witnessed Ivar’s sharp battle tactics and the whole army’s ruthlessness. But Hvitserk…the one brother you were beginning to like because he brought you food and blankets. Because he seemed more mellow than the rest had shocked you to your very centre. You weren’t an innocent wallflower by any stretch of the imagination, your hands had been coated with blood more than once, animal and human. Your cousin had prepared you as well as he could for battle, he told you the horrors of war but he didn’t mention that.

You listened as Ivar taunted Hvitserk, tears pooling in the corners of your eyes as your heart raced frantically. Angry Hvitserk was not something you could deal with today, flinching when he slammed his cup down and left to a chorus of laughter.

“You shouldn’t anger him like that,” you whispered.

“What? Not allowed to torment my own brother?” Ivar continued to eat the meat off the bone, his attention on you now his entertainment had gone. Settling back in his chair he had some of his mead and wiped his face giving a little satisfied gasp. “What has happened? Hvitserk, did he hurt you?”

“No,” you frowned. You put your arms around yourself suddenly feeling very cold. Ivar cast a glance down the hall, dragging his tongue over the front of his teeth as he tried to figure out what had happened. “Then why are you so frightened of him?”

“Tell me about the gods,” you blurted.

“Why? What good would knowledge of our gods be for a Kristinn like you?” He sneered the word at you, making your skin crawl. Your fingers fumbled blindly for the chain around your neck, wrenching it so the silver cut into your flesh, breaking from the force of your pull. Raising your gaze to meet Ivar’s, you slammed the cross onto the table. He sat up slightly rolling his shoulder before he reached for the offending piece of jewellery.

“I don’t want it anymore. I have forsaken him the way he has forsaken me.” Sadness welled inside you and for a second it felt like you were going to break but you stayed strong. Curling your fingers into your dress as Ivar picked up the chain, dangling the still warm cross between you both.

“This is all you have left,” he told you even though you already knew.

“I don’t. Want it.” It took all your composure not to flinch when he tossed it over his shoulder, flinging the cross into the mud and filth that lined the floor of what was once a house of god. His eyes studied you closely looking for any sign of weakness, waiting to pounce and exploit it as much as he could. But you didn’t give him the satisfaction and he grinned lazily, settling back into his chair as he picked up his knife.

“What do you want to know?”

—

You’d been confined to your room for a few days slowly going crazy and finding yourself missing the company of Ivar and even Hvitserk. Although his face covered in blood still haunted your nightmares, his smile and soft voice sometimes entered your dreams. Staring out of the window you could see activity down in the streets and you wondered if the Vikings ever stopped. They constantly seemed busy, always doing or building something.

You turned as your door opened to reveal Ivar standing there, his blue eyes resting on you by the window, that knife swinging from his fingers as usual. A cocky lopsided grin turned up the corner of his mouth.

“Come on,” he said as though he’s been waiting for you this whole time. You almost charged after him so grateful to see someone other than the thrall who never spoke when she delivered your food.

“Where are we going?” You asked, desperate to have some form of conversation even if it was with your captor.

“I want to show you something,” he replied. He led you to the very edge where an abandoned building made of stone stood. He paused outside leaning forcefully on his cane as you peered through the open door. “Go,” he ordered you gesturing inside. All your nerves seemed to come alight as you stepped over the threshold hoping you weren’t going to be brutally murdered. The entryway was small but it soon opened up into a wide area and in the middle was a large bath. Ivar’s cane rang out loudly in this space but your gaze was drawn to the mosaics, running your hands over the smooth tile and rough grout not even sure what the picture was trying to tell you. On the other side Ivar lowered himself onto a seat, seeming content to watch your fingers dance over the different colours on the wall. Next you crouched by the water, dipping your fingertips just below the water line. It was warm, deliciously warm. Curling your hand into a fist you stood, wishing you could slip in and wash the grime from your body and you wondered if Ivar brought you here to tease you.

“Are you going to get in?” Sharply you looked up, noticing the table was laden with food and a flagon mead.

“In here?” You pointed at the water by your feet and Ivar smirked.

“If you want I can have you locked back up…” he made to get up but your voice echoed loudly in protest. He sat back down and you let the noise of your shout diminish before speaking again.

“No, I—I would like to get in.” He waved a hand dismissively and poured himself a drink. You didn’t care that he was here, you didn’t care that he could see you, so needy you were for the touch of warm water over your skin you stripped immediately. Trailing your hands through the water you sighed, ducking down to feel the caress just under your chin. The water was glorious, smooth and soft, warm and comforting so much so that a soft groan left you that bounced off the walls. You wet your hair, dragging your hands through it, releasing knots and shedding yourself of weeks of dirt. So lost in enjoying yourself you didn’t see someone else enter until he spoke.

“You not getting in brother?” Hvitserk was already half undressed when you saw him standing at the edge looking over at Ivar. You retreated to the far corner keeping yourself covered by the murky water trying to look anywhere else but Hvitserk as he pulled off his boots and leather britches. He laughed, making a show of splashing as he stepped into the pool before hunkering down like you were with a rough moan of satisfaction. “The water is perfect. How did you find this place?” He rested his arms on the side, back to you as he spoke to Ivar and your eyes were drawn to the dark lines on his skin.

“I look Hvitserk, I take an interest. I don’t intend on leaving this place so why not make myself at home.” Ivar stabbed a piece of fruit, his icy gaze sliding to you but you didn’t see. Captivated by the marking on Hvitserk’s arm and shoulder you didn’t realise you’d crept closer until you heard how quiet it was. Looking up you saw the older of the two watching you with those hazel eyes and a half smile.

“Like it?” He asked, peering over his own shoulder. “Want a closer look?” He turned to face you but you were already moving, the water sloshing around with each movement and all you could think about was getting out. Their gazes burned into your skin as you hurriedly slipped the dress back over your now soaking body, ringing your hair out so it splashed onto the side.

“Can I go?” You asked Ivar, barely bringing yourself to look at him in the eye as he lazed comfortably in his chair.

“Vik!” He called and a guard appeared from outside. “Take her back to her room.” He grabbed your arm like you were going to run away but you just accepted it, you’d seen what they did to people who fought back.

—

You didn’t sleep that night. Maybe it was the impending battle, you had no idea what was going to happen. With a sigh you got off the bed, thankful that Ivar had let you have some privacy. Your hand instantly went to the vacant spot on your chest, the lack of your cross a burning reminder of what you’d said to Ivar. For a fleeting moment you wondered if you should retrieve the cross but then you thought, why should I? You owed him nothing. The god had abandoned you and now you needed to find a way to survive without him. Padding over to the window you looked at the plumes of smoke that rose into the moonlit sky, soon the fires would be out and then the battle would commence.

“I had this made for you.” You looked up from eating your breakfast in the dullness of the early dawn. Ivar stood by the bed you had tossed and turned in all night as a slave girl stepped around him holding what looked like armour. Standing and running you hand over the leather you gazed up at him in surprise.

“Ivar…”

“You are to stay with me at all times,” he demanded. “Wouldn’t want you to ruin what I have planned,” he spoke with a self satisfied smirk, his custom made dagger swirling round his finger as he leaned on his crutch. “Get ready.” He swiftly cast his blue eyes over you before leaving. The slave got to work straight away encasing you in the armour. It covered your torso and arms, chainmail hung from the shoulders where the lamellar didn’t reach and supple leather fingerless gloves were slipped over your hands. You tested your range of movement and found it didn’t hinder you at all, made perfectly for your shape and size.

You were led outside where you saw Ivar and Hvitserk overseeing the army disappearing underground. Hvitserk turned as you approached his hazel roamed appreciatively over you for a moment before judging his brother. Your eyes were drawn to the small belt and hilt in Ivar’s hand daring to hope that would finally see fit to give you a weapon. To your disappointment he passed it to Hvitserk.

“This is clever,” you murmured. Instantly you knew what he had done, the boats had been moved, the fires burned, the place ransacked and empty to give the illusion that the Vikings had left when in fact they hadn’t at all.

“I knew you’d appreciate it dröttning.” You flinched when you felt Hvitserk’s hands around your waist, the belt pulling taught and you jolted slightly trying to fight the rising bile that crept up the back of your throat. “Use the seax only if you need to,” Ivar tossed at you as you delicately ran your hand over the hilt. “I do not want to see it aimed in my direction.” He looked up at the sky squinting as the sun finally began to crest over the horizon. “Let us go.” You were the last ones down into the sewers, the smell made you cough and your eyes water but you obediently followed Ivar with Hvitserk right on your heels. Now, you waited.

It felt hours when finally the rumble of feet sounded overhead and you gasped as Hvitserk grabbed you. One hand pressed over your mouth and the other around your waist, pinning your arms to your sides. You knew better than the fight, refusing to let the fear overtake you but still your insides trembled and your skin sweated.

Shouts of joy sounded from above, the Saxons thought they had won, they thought the Vikings had abandoned their stronghold and again you found yourself admiring Ivar’s tactical prowess. He motioned for the ladders to go up and that’s when carnage was unleashed. The Saxons were unprepared, caught unaware as the Vikings spilled from the grates in the ground. Screams from citizens that had returned as well as from seasoned soldiers filled the air and the slaughter began. Ivar was lifted from the grate and you were roughly hauled up after him, Hvitserk pushing past you to clear the way for his brother. Your heart was pounding, there was fighting everywhere, noises shattered against your ears and you stumbled on the bodies of Saxons and Vikings alike. Ivar threw his knives with an ease and precision that almost defied humanity, hitting his intended targets and you watched the Saxon soldiers drop like stones with his blades in their eyes.

You heard a shout, your name.

“Æthelwulf!” You couldn’t see him no matter how frantically you looked. Strong hands wrapped around your wrist and Ivar’s guards dragged you into the parapet, up the stone steps and breaking out into the daylight. The battle lay before you, Knights and soldiers fighting side by side against the Vikings but you could already see the Northmen had the advantage. Ivar watched with cold calculating eyes and a sneer splitting his lips, the knife never stopped swirling around his finger. Your breath caught when a man rode into the courtyard, you recognised him instantly, his voice rose above the clammer of battle as he directed the Saxons, but from your vantage point you saw the futility of his direction.

“Spears!” Bellowed Ivar and almost half the Saxons dropped with wooden shafts buried through their bodies. You watched with horror as Heahmund used his horse as a weapon, trampling over a woman that had tried to face him until archers took out the beast so it threw the Bishop onto the ground.

Ivar was watching with strong interest and suddenly he shouted for the fighting to cease much to your surprise. Heahmund grabbed his sword, swinging the mighty blade like it wasn’t made of steel, his eyes wide with fear as he glanced up at you both. Recognition dawned in his eyes when he saw you, encased in Viking armour and standing next to Ivar the Boneless himself, anything but a prisoner.

“Give him my horse.” Ivar yelled down, his knife emphasising his words as he pointed. “Give him my horse.” He repeated, Heahmund fell to his knees, leaning heavily on his sword and you saw him begin to pray. Won't do you any good, you wanted to tell him. “He is too great a warrior to fight on foot!” The sound of hooves made the crowd part and Ivar’s horse was ridden in. Your chest felt tight as you watched the blood drenched Bishop lift his sword to his lips, but you knew Ivar’s intention wasn’t to kill him. If it was, he'd have done it already. Oh no, Ivar was intrigued by him and when Ivar was intrigued you were in luck.

Heahmund laughed as he looked round at the heathens watching him with death in their eyes, lifting his sword he performed a mock bow of thanks to Ivar who returned the gesture with a smug air. The grin was wiped from Ivar’s expression as Heahmund mounted the horse and everyone looked up to Ivar and you. He sliced his knife through the air, baring his teeth when he did and your stomach dropped as the cacophony of noise rose once more.

Very quickly not a Saxon was left breathing save the bishop and he was dragged from the horse to be held at the point of his own sword. Ivar moved and automatically you followed, noticing the way he huffed in pain today. The slowness of his steps and the way he relied on his cane. It would have been so easy for you to trip him, to watch him fall down the steps but the body heat of Ivar’s guard at your back told you it was an action you wouldn’t survive.

You followed Ivar as if tied on a string, obedient little Princess and her heathen Prince. You watched Heahmund’s face as Ivar took the hilt of his sword, lifting it and admiring the blood drenched blade. He tapped it against the bishop's armour and Heahmund shouted loudly, making you flinch. Hatred and rage filled his voice, his eyes never leaving Ivar’s face as the Viking sneered with amusement.

“Christian,” spat Ivar, baring his teeth as a couple of the Vikings laughed and he motioned for the bishop to be dragged away. The sound of your name had the blood thrumming right to your finger tips, a tingle of adrenaline when his eyes met yours desperately seeking out an ally.

“He calls to you,” stated Ivar, the sword hanging loosely from his grip. You had nothing to say, even if you wanted to, no words could escape the tightness of your throat. “He knows you.” Swallowing you struggled to make yourself relax.

“I am a Princess of Northumbria. Everyone knows me,” you finally managed to breathe out. The sounds of skirmishes reached your ears as the Saxons were driven yet again from the streets of York and you followed behind Ivar as he surveyed the success of his great army. Passing under an arch you paused, you could see his face staring sightlessly up at the sky, his eyes wide in perpetual horror. Mannel. Your cousin. The one who taught you how to fight and survive not only the courts but war. Although some days they felt the same.

“What is it?” You stirred from your reverie, ignoring the sadness that rose up in your chest threatening to consume you there and then. Ivar came to a stop beside you, his cane shoving the body of a Viking to the side revealing more of Mannel’s mangled body. You allowed yourself a silent gasp, a slight parting of your lips but nothing else betrayed how you were feeling. “He your kin?” Ivar asked, his cane now pushing Mannel’s face to the side and you quickly tore your gaze away.

“No. I thought I recognised him but I do not.”

“Maybe you are looking for the body of a lover, hmm?” He sneered. You managed to drag your brow down and shoot him a hot look of distaste. You didn’t even dignify him with an answer as he continued to grin wolfishly at you. Stepping over more bodies you moved away, trying not to think what you were stepping in as each footfall squelched hideously. You heard Ivar grunt and the splintering of bone behind you but you daren’t look back, knowing you’d see Ivar’s spiked cane in your beloved cousin's face. You felt rage that Judith had pulled him into this but you also knew Mannel was not one to turn away from a fight.

—

Moonlight streamed through your window, bodies still littered the streets and the smell of it all made you want to gag so you let the memories claim you, to take you away for just a moment.

“Your Grace.” You kneeled before him, the cushion soft under your knees and the hood hid your face.

“Princess.” His voice sent a shiver through your body and instantly you tried to banish these thoughts from your mind. “Will you take mass from my hands?”

“Yes,” you almost gasped. Gazing up as he recited the passage in Latin, a direct blessing from god and all you could think about was the blessing his body could give yours. You opened your mouth obediently to take the bread, noticing the lingering way he pressed the bread onto your waiting tongue. His fingers, just for the briefest moment brushing your lips. Next he offered the wine. His intense eyes locked with yours as you drank, feeling exposed and vulnerable in your kneeling position. He helped you up, his hands gripping yours tightly like he didn’t want to let you go. You don’t even remember leaving the chapel and ending up in his chambers. His body pushing deeply into yours like no man had ever before. He made you feel things you didn’t know you could, his body lithe and strong against your own as he showed you that there was pleasure in this world….god given pleasure.

—

The next morning you made your way to the cathedral that Ivar had commandeered as his personal meeting place. Food littered the tables and you assumed he sent out hunters last night.

“There she is,” said Hvitserk softly. He reclined back in his seat, cocking his leg against the table looking every bit the prince that he was. “Ivar said you were a good girl. He said you can ask whatever you want and I have to grant it. Within reason.” He added quickly. Whatever I want. Heahmund.

“I wish to talk to Bishop Heahmund.” You noticed Vikings taking an interest as your voice rang out loudly, their heads swivelling round, looking over your armour. Your hair had been braided by a thrall this morning and you knew you looked every inch the Viking shieldmaiden. Minus a weapon, save the seax.

“I do not know…” started Hvitserk but he was interrupted.

“It’s fine Hvitserk.” Ivar limped into view. He looked tired and you wondered if he got any sleep at all last night. “His Grace has been asking after our dröttning, she can go see him.” So Ivar had spoken to him, that’s why he looked so tired. Your hands twisted and you waited expectantly for someone to take you but no one moved. Ivar lowered himself into a chair, his face contorting in pain with a soft grunt. When he looked up his eyes blazed with fury that both you and Hvitserk were watching him. “What are you waiting for?” He snarled. Hvitserk jumped up like he’d been burnt by his chair, snatching his cup and downing whatever was in there before beckoning you to follow.

You were led down, the stone steps slippery with grime, water dripped somewhere echoing through the darkness only to be accompanied by the rattling of chains. You tried not to wrinkle your nose in distaste and be one of those members of royalty but it really was filthy down here. Hvitserk pushed you past the guard stationed by the heavy wooden door and you bit back a curse not befitting your station. Truthfully you didn’t want to anger him but he seemed oblivious to the new way you looked at him now.

“He’s in there.” The door creaked ominously on its large hinges and you purposely shut it behind you, yet neither of the Northmen protested. A shard of light angled in from above, it highlighted the metal pole he was chained to. His shadow was stretched, reaching your feet where you had stopped. He looked up with those blue/green eyes that reminded you of a stormy day and watched you wearily as you approached him. A thick chain was attached to a collar around his neck and chains bound his hands and ankles so he had no choice but to kneel. Such was the irony of Ivar.

“Your Grace,” your voice was soft and everything this place wasn’t. His lips parted at the sound like a spell had been broken over him and he was just cresting awake from the effects.

“Princess,” even here and now his voice made you shiver. “How?” You heard the unspoken questions even if he didn’t utter the words. How were you alive? How were you not bound? How had you survived Ivar the Boneless?

“I was captured at the same time as my father,” you started. “He tried to bargain for his own life.” But not mine. “God spared neither of us that day.” You moved to the side, skirting round the light that bathed the bishop.

“I prayed for you.” You had to refrain from scoffing, knowing he expected you to thank him for such a gesture.

“And for yourself in the meantime?” You managed to bite at him. “Because if praying is what this—,” you gestured around you both. “—gets us then I don’t want it.” Walking behind him you saw him bow his head in exhaustion or from the weight of your words you had no idea.

“The Lord will provide…” with a hiss of rage you were before him, yanking his head up by his chin to glare into those eyes you knew so well.

“Don’t feed me that nonsense.” Pity filled his gaze as anger threaded through you. “God abandoned me. My spirit broke. I called and I called but I was not saved.” You released him with a shove, the chains tinkling from the movement.

“He has a plan for us. A path that we must walk to understand his intent.”

“No,” you said firmly, turning away from him. “And don’t tell me I have lost my way because my path has never been clearer. Maybe…” your eyes trailed over the stone pillar trying to say the words that burned on your soul. “Maybe my lack of faith is my punishment.”

“It is a test,” he told you. Closing your eyes you imagined you both back at his cathedral, golden sunlight streaming through the large windows and warming you both.

“Then it is one I have already failed,” it weighed on you. The emptiness from the hole that your faith and belief had left, the dark yawning chasm within you was the heaviest thing you’d ever carried.

“Let me help you,” he said softly and now you did laugh, huffing from you to echo in the stone chamber.

“Are you really in a position to help me, Your Grace?”

“We came here for you.” Frustration began to edge his tone and the corner of your lips turned up, the warrior bishop was still in there after all.

“Not entirely. Æthelwulf came to extract revenge for King Ecbert, maybe Ælle,” you shrugged. “I am but the youngest Princess I shall not be missed. I have no doubt once Ivar is done with me I will cease to exist.” He watched you pace before him assessing your behaviour, your resignation and defeat clearly trying to find out a way to help you both. “Who enlisted Mannel?” You asked suddenly.

“Did he…?”

“He did not leave the walls of this city.” Heahmund closed his eyes, the whisper of a prayer on his lips and you found yourself sneering. “Pretty words won’t help him now.”

“It is my faith, I believe even if you do not anymore!” He strained against the iron, his neck cording from the force of his yell. Crouching down to his level you laced your hands together, leaning your elbows on your knees. Cocking your head you observed him realising that he had no sway over you, not anymore.

“I was young when we met, Heahmund. You words used to invoke passion and fire inside me, now all I am filled with is darkness and ash.” His eyes widened. “I have changed since the Northmen took me, they are showing me a new path. One I am willing to walk.”

“No! You cannot let them blind you with their lies. Their gods are not true! Pagans and heathens, liars and murders!” He spat as you stood, taking time to adjust your tunic letting him get a good look at the armour you were encased in. Turning to your shoulder you moved the chainmail, it was a pointless motion but it told him of your disdain, your dismissal of his useless words. “You belong here, more than you know. You are Anglo-Saxon royalty, born and raised to rule.”

“Maybe I was born to rule elsewhere.” Looking back you saw the rage etched on his features. “You and I both know I would never see the throne in Northumbria. It’s why you chose me that day. The youngest, the most naive, the most…pliant.” He had the minor decency to look ashamed as memories of your twisted forms came to his mind. “I let you, but you stole something from me that day and maybe you're the reason I’m now in this damnation.” A shuffle behind the door made you listen for a moment and you had not a single doubt that Ivar was listening. “I forsake him.” Heahmund looked physically pained at your loud declaration. “You should do the same because he has clearly forsaken you.” You went to leave but he called your name.

“I cut myself to ribbons that day. I bled for what I did to you.” Your feet carried on moving.

“What a lot of good it did you.” Wrenching the door open with a screech of iron you saw Ivar, his blue eyes blazing even in the darkness. Not even waiting for him to say anything you left, Hvitserk close behind as you darted back up the stone steps and bursting into the grey sunlight once more.

Your breath felt like it was trapped still in the cell with Heahmund and you swayed alarmingly. Hvitserk quickly put his arms around you to steady you, murmuring quietly in Norse as you struggled to get yourself under control. Finally you managed to shrug him off, nausea twisting your stomach and he lifted his hands off you. Leaning heavily against the wall you grounded yourself to the roughness under your fingertips, the murky sunshine holding barely any warmth today only the promise of rain. Hvitserk stood near you, resting his hand easily against the pommel of his sword as he looked at the people passing by with a watchful eye. Because you were Ivar’s. You knew you were breaking free from the confines of being his prisoner and becoming something…else. The words replayed in your mind; maybe I was born to rule elsewhere… Maybe you were. It intrigued you, this new found desire for power. Possibly shadowing Ivar for this long had given you a glimpse of something you missed from your previous life. Because you couldn’t go back, not to the confines of court and stiffness of Anglo-Saxon society. You’d always rebelled against it, hating every moment, every stitch of clothing, every word that was said. No, you didn’t want to go back.

—

You stood behind Ivar as he lounged on the bench, Hvitserk next to him drinking from a goblet, the tangy sweetness of communion wine made your nose wrinkle. White Hair, the tallest of Ivar’s men approached and Ivar gestured for him to speak.

“The Saxon army or what remains of it,” his eyes slid briefly to you but you kept your expression neutral. “Has abandoned their camp and left.” Left. Æthelwolf was gone, Alfred and Æthelred…Judith. Gone. You weren’t surprised, the defeat they suffered was catastrophic and if they assumed Heahmund was dead…

White Hair cast one more weary look at you as Ivar waved him away. Hvitserk smirked, the goblet hanging from his fingers as he swayed it slightly down the side of his chair.

“If you want to, we can pursue them and destroy them,” your eyes fell out of focus at Ivar’s words. The flames blended together the longer you stared only to snap up and fix on Hvitserk when he spoke.

“I think we have more important things to do,” he said softly. He looked up at you briefly before continuing with Ivar. “We must look to Kattegat. What if Ubbe kills Lagertha or persuades her to crown him king? The loss of our homebase would be a devastating blow.” You’d forgotten about Ubbe, it felt like a lifetime ago you were standing on that embankment watching him leave. Seeing Hvitserk make his choice between brothers, the relief in your chest when he jumped ship knowing that he wouldn't leave you alone with Ivar.

The bench creaked as Ivar faced his brother full on, his expression intense as he listened and you watched the exchange curiously.

“We need to sort things out,” Hvitserk continued. “We must kill Ubbe and Lagertha. And you must be crowned King of Kattegat, before Björn returns.” King. If Ivar was crowned King it would be a step closer to what you wanted. Hvitserk sat back in his chair drinking deeply as he waited for his suggestion to take hold. Ivar shook his head a gleeful smile stretching across his face and you knew already he agreed.

“You are making more and more sense my brother! Good man.” Hvitserk preened smugly at his brother's praise and you felt like rolling your eyes and telling them to pay each other on the back for their ingenious idea. “I remember also that King Harald had an ambition of invading Kattegat.” Your blood ran icy at the mention of his name. You were pleased to see the back of him after Wessex hoping you’d never have to see those facial tattoos or that braid ever again. “In the short term, we should make an alliance and work with him.” You shifted beside Ivar’s bench once again drawing Hvitserk’s attention to you. You didn’t know if anyone else knew what had happened that day, or if anyone else saw the hungry look that clouded Harald’s eyes whenever he set his sights on you. Your thoughts scattered as Ivar carried on speaking. “This time we will truly quit York, though leaving a big enough garrison to keep it safe until our return. Hmm?” You watched the way he fiddled with his blade, knowing the devastation he could cause with such a small weapon.

“And what of our prisoner…prisoners?” Hvitserk corrected himself, casually putting his feet up and running his hazel gaze over you at the same time. You almost forgot what he did in the church when they entered York for the first time. Almost. “This bishop and our princess?”

“Well,” Ivar looked up at you, his crystal blue eyes locking with yours and a sense of dread infiltrated your chest at his light tone. “What do you propose?”

“He seems like an important man, we could offer him back to the Saxons for a great ransom.”

“Or we could crucify him. That would be fun,” Ivar sniggered darkly and you clasped your hands together trying to ignore how sweaty your palms were. “But what of our dröttning?”

“Oh,” Hvitserk leaned back in his chair, tilting it onto just its back legs as he looked you over. “She’s too pretty to be crucified. Especially in our armour.”

“What would you like to do?” Ivar tilted his head to the side and you knew you had to play the game. Smiling slightly you leaned on the back of the bench hopefully exuding confidence you didn’t feel.

“I would like to stay with you. I want to see Kattegat with my own eyes.” Bravely you brushed some imaginary dirt off Ivar’s shoulder, just an excuse to touch him. “I want to see where you grew up and learn more about you, Hlaford Ivar.”

“Huh…” he ran his tongue over the inside of his mouth studying your face for a just moment before he swung himself round, swiping an apple he stood up. “Come dröttning mínn.” Hvitserk’s eyebrows would have disappeared if they rose any higher, hiding his expression in his golden goblet. You wanted to ask him what it meant but you didn’t have time.

Dutifully you followed him, aware of the distrustful eyes that tracked your every movement. Down and down you went, the repetitive thud of Ivar’s cane on the stone was soon accompanied by the dripping water. Why had he brought you down here? So you could witness him kill Heahmund? See if you’d intervene? You eye caught the redness in his hand and you wondered if he was going to feed the bishop. More likely eat it himself in front of the bishop.

You were let in, the door closing behind you and Ivar made a show of settling down to the side of Heahmund. The crunch of his teeth breaking the skin of the fruit echoed loudly and you grimaced in the shadows.

“Blessed is he who walked not in the counsel of the ungodly…” Now you did roll your eyes. Pacing away from the bishop as he droned on, uttering words that he thought might save him, preserve him maybe? Flaunt his Christian faith in the face of an unbeliever. Did he think Ivar would prostrate himself onto the muddy floor and beg to worship the god who forsakes his followers? You sniggered at the thought not aware of how it carried clearly against the stone.

Ivar let the bishop spout his nonsense, munching his apple loudly as he listened with an amused expression on his face. He laughed a little which you appreciated, gently trailing your hand across the loose ends of his hair as you touched the armour near the back of his neck. He looked up and smiled, chewing on the last of the apple before he dumped the core in front of the bishop. You were aware of Heahmund watching you but refused to even acknowledge him, only having eyes for Ivar as he dusted his hands off.

“You call me a heathen, but to me I am godly. I live by the gods.”

“There is only one god!” Snapped Heahmund and you couldn’t stop the dry laugh that left you.

“Then where is he?” You couldn’t help yourself, forcing the question out between gritted teeth.

“I have seen other gods. I have seen Odin, the Allfather with my own eyes.” Ivar’s words made you sigh and again you walked past him not able to resist touching him. A man who had seen a god. Ivar watched you from the corner of his eye as you stepped past him before looking knowingly at Heahmund, tilting his head.

“They are the devil's work.” Ivar laughed and you with him. “He conjures up demons and fallen angels to beguile us and lead us into evil.” Heahmund looked for you in desperation. “You know this!” He hissed but all you did was crouch next to Ivar knowing the bishop couldn’t look at you without seeing the man he called a heathen.

“What is evil? Huh?” Asked Ivar his voice full of simple naivety, a tone you had come to recognise that he used when toying with someone. Heahmund looked at the ground and for a moment you didn’t think he was going to reply.

“Answer him,” you pressed. You needed him to say it.

“The slaughter of the innocent.” You bristled and instantly Ivar had a comeback already falling from his mouth.

“You slaughter when it suits you.”

“He who chooses to be heathen is not innocent!” Your eyes bored into Heahmund’s as his words hung heavily between you all.

“Do you hear that dröttning? You are not innocent,” Ivar murmured to you. His face was inches from yours, his breath still smelling of the apple he’d just eaten. Heahmund held your gaze almost silently pleading with you.

“I can show you the ways of god, it could reawaken that side of you,” he whispered your name but you didn’t want to hear it. “I can bring you to salvation. And to eternal life.” You stood, resting a hand on Ivar’s shoulder, surprise making your breath hitch when he put his hand over yours. You felt the laughter course through him, his shoulders shaking until the chuckle erupted from him and he laughed in the bishop's face.

“Do you know who I am?” His fingers tightened around yours when Heahmund looked away.

“Of course. You are Ivar, son of Ragnar Lothbrok and many there are, who fear you.” His grip didn’t let you go, almost pulling you closer as he rested back against your legs.

“But not you?” He asked Heahmund who replied almost instantly.

“No.”

“You should.” Your words echoed around you all, heavy and damning. Heahmund slowly cast his gaze over you, all pleading helplessness gone from his expression.

“I fear no man. No matter how wicked,” he stated. You felt the inhale from Ivar as he breathed in ready to retaliate.

“People tell stories about other people. People they don’t know. Have never met. And yet, they still curse them and tell lies about them. Isn’t that true?”

“Yes. People tell lies about our saviour.”

“The saviour that saves no one?” You asked with a shrug enjoying the pain that contorted your once lover's face.

“He saved you from that fire,” the bishop threw at you.

“No! Mannel saved me from that fire!!” You snarled wanting to move forward but the weight of Ivar stopped you, his fingers now almost holding you even tighter. “Mannel my beloved cousin! Mannel who never made it out of this city! Who lies dead in the mud!” You clamped your teeth together, suddenly realising what you just said as the pain radiated up your arm.

“Ah lies,” said Ivar softly. “They get everywhere and maybe people tell lies about me.” You had lied to Ivar and now he knew it, now he had reason to question your motives and ask where your loyalty really lay.

“I wouldn’t know,” Heahmund said steadily. Carefully you tried to extract your hand but Ivar would not release you.

“I will give you the chance to find out. You are coming on a journey with us. That would be fun, wouldn’t it, dröttning?” The way how he wrapped his accent around the name he had given you spoke of danger and you tried to stop the tremor from encompassing your entire body. “Come, we have much to discuss.” Although he was grinning, Ivar's eyes held no mirth and your heart skipped a few beats, trepidation making sweat run under the collar of your armour. As soon as he released your hand you snatched it to your chest following him out of the chamber.

“I am already on a journey!” Called Heahmund.

“Aren’t we all.” Ivar sang back. Your gaze lingered on Heahmund and he read the fear in your eyes, his chains jangling in a futile effort to reach you. No help was coming, only you could save yourself.

Everything was too bright as you both surfaced. Maybe you could run for it? A quick glance told you that it wasn't possible there were eyes on every single movement you made. Each breath was short and ragged, like your chest couldn’t expand. He led you back to the cathedral, his hand clutching you and hauling you with brute strength through the door. The momentum carried you through, knocking into chairs and finally a table, spilling the contents as it toppled. The Vikings all rose as one ready to watch the exchange between Ivar and his Saxon prisoner.

“Everybody OUT!” Ivar bellowed. “OUT!” You arched your back, trying not to whine at the pain that lanced down your spine as he advanced slowly. Fury rippled across his face, his tongue pressing on his lower lip and you knew he was going to kill you.

“You lied to me,” his voice slightly raspy from his bellow. “You told me he was no one to you.”

“He was my cousin. I did not think it was of importance!” You wanted to crawl away, hide in a corner or run and never look back except you were trapped as he bore down on you. His hand grabbed the front of your armour, hooking into the armhole so he could bring you up to his face. “I’m sorry!”

“What else have you lied to me about huh?”

“N-nothing!” You stuttered.

“You silver tongued snake!” He flung you to the side with what seemed like inhuman strength, another table falling as you barrelling into it. Pain blossomed against your side and you knew already you had at least one broken rib. Your breath wheezed and you tried to scramble away from him, closing your eyes and hoping the blow came swiftly.

“Ivar! What are you doing?” Hvitserk. You’d never been so happy to hear his voice as he crouched down beside you.

“She lied to us brother. She is a LIAR!” Ivar pointed at you with his knife and fear told you to draw yours but instinct told you no.

“Put it down, she is no threat to us.” Ivar stamped his cane against the floor but he made no move to stop Hvitserk picking you up from the debris.

“If you believe that then you deal with her.” His rage filled glare ran over you and he sniffed dismissively. “She’s your responsibility until we get to Vestfold. If she survives the journey.” He turned sharply and made his way back out.

“Where are you hurt?”

“Here,” you breathed. You didn’t have it in you to even voice a protest when he stripped your armour back to look at your side.

“Come on. Let’s get you looked at. Lean on me, I’ve got you.” He spoke softly and it calmed you, leaning into him as he led you out to see a healer. You tried not to think about the weeks you were about to spend on a ship, a confined space with Ivar, Hvitserk and Heahmund.

—

In the weeks it took you to sail from England to Vestfold you were confined to a longboat with the Ragnarssons and Heahmund. You could go days without talking, the pain in your ribs from Ivar’s temper a constant reminder that you lied to him. Hvitserk tended to you, sitting by you and being a shield against any men who wanted to approach. Having a woman prisoner on board that they couldn’t touch was a novelty. You felt eyes on you all the time, watching, waiting and biding their time.

It was night time, the moonlight filtered through the clouds, reflecting off the calm sea. The sound of the water lapping at the hull sung a tranquil song that had your head bobbing with drowsiness in your little corner. Hvitserk was asleep a few feet away and Ivar was at the other end of the boat near where Heahmund was tied up. You didn’t sleep during the night, choosing to stay awake until Hvitserk had awoken but you were just so exhausted, the furs warm and inviting you allowed yourself to drift off to sleep.

Something woke you, a pressure on your ankle and you frowned. Opening your eyes you expected to see daylight and Vikings moving about the boat but instead it was as black as when you closed your eyes. You went to snuggle down again when movement over your body made you stiffen, reacting blindly you went to cry out but the hand was already sealing off your screams. You tried to thrash, to reach Hvitserk but he was too far away and already the Viking had pinned you down in the darkness. His breath was hot and reeking over your face, your eyes rolled in pure fear but no matter what you did you couldn’t dislodge him.

Memories of being tied to the pole back in Repton with Harald’s filthy hands all over your body and the feeling of helplessness rolled over you once more. Stupid, so stupid falling asleep! You didn’t stop fighting, still looking for a way to free yourself but he just snickered lightly at your futile attempts. Weeks from lack of exercise and training was showing.

“So feisty,” he breathed. “I’m going to enjoy taking you.” No! NO! Your efforts doubled but still he managed to lift up your tunic to pull down your leather breeches. Sheer terror seized your brain as his body covered yours, the bare skin of his legs brushing against you had sobs rising in your chest. Closing your eyes tightly you screamed one last time.

The pressure was lifted off your body and you saw the glint of a sword in the moonlight. The Viking that had been about to rape you had his hands up, his head pulled back by Hvitserk was almost snarling his face as he yanked on his hair.

“What do you think you are doing?” Hvitserk asked him in a dangerously low tone.

“I wanted her. She wanted me.” It took every ounce of control not to fire yourself at him and claw his eyes out at his blatant lie.

“Oh no, I don’t think that was the case at all.” A voice said as Ivar crawled his way down to your end of the boat. The others were waking up now, their attention being drawn to what was happening.

“I will slit your throat,” threatened Hvitserk, tightening his hold and bringing the sword up higher.

“Stay your hand brother.” The whole boat was awake now, a collective breath held in everyone’s chests as they waited for Ivar to swing his legs round. He looked gleefully between you and Hvitserk, settling his hands on his legs before he spoke. “Do you want Arne, dröttning?” Arne. Now you knew his name. The only response you could give was to spit fiercely in the Vikings direction and Ivar tutted loudly. “I think, Arne, that she doesn’t want you.” Ivar pulled one of his blades free and began to clean a nail with it as though he was bored of the interaction already.

“Ivar?” You could see Hvitserk’s fingers flex on the hilt of his sword as though he was holding himself back from killing the man in his grip. Ivar sighed loudly, rolling his shoulders and his jaw worked furiously. You jumped slightly when he stretched towards you, holding out his knife. Your heart thumped and the question you wanted to ask was right on the top of your tongue. “Take it,” he encouraged. “Do what you want to him.” You snatched the knife, your own seax had been taken as soon as you were on board with Ivar claiming he didn’t want you stabbing people in their sleep. Thoughts raced through your mind, some didn’t stick but your creativity ran wild as your gaze locked with Ivar’s.

“Anything I want?” You asked, watching the wicked grin that spread over his face. It was a test, Ivar wanted to see what you would do for revenge and you weren’t going to disappoint. You stood so everyone on the boat could see you holding the knife. Stepping towards the man who had you weeping for your life just moments ago you felt the shift in power. Hvitserk kept his eyes trained on Arne, his fingers still entwined roughly in his braids, blood seeped from a slight cut in his neck and you grinned. You grabbed his chin, forcing him to look directly into your eyes, gritting your teeth you slashed the blade along both cheeks in quick succession. The wet cut of his flesh carried over the still waters and you heard Arne’s sharp inhale but he didn’t cry out. Dipping your shaking fingers into his blood you did what you had seen many do before battle and trailed your wet fingers down your face, painting yourself with his blood. Arne’s eyes widened in fear and you heard Ivar snigger.

“Can I kill him now?” Snarled Hvitserk but Ivar held up a hand.

“No. She is not done yet.” No you weren’t. You dropped into a crouch, running the knife down his chest feeling immense satisfaction when his chest heaved nervously. You tapped his navel, your eyes continuing down to where his leather ties were still undone exposing his most vulnerable parts. You looked over your shoulder at Ivar as he watched you intently, a slight tilt of his head and flash of his teeth in a smirk told you not to stop.

Your hand lashed out, grabbing Arne tightly and making him lurch back into Hvitserk’s legs who didn’t give any ground at all.

“No! Please…I won’t go near her again!”

“Maybe,” started Ivar in his playful tone. “You should not have gone near her in the first place.” Placing the knife against your knuckles right under his balls you heard him whimper. His eyes closed tightly and his body trembled as you let him feel the coolness of the blade before contracting your muscles and slicing upwards in one swift stroke. Blood spattered over your face, coating your hands instantly but it was his scream that shattered your mind. He tapered off into a sobbing mess when Hvitserk finally released him, dumping him on the bottom of the boat. You heard a rich laugh behind you, it rose from Ivar loudly, carrying across to the other boats as you all floated over the calm sea. He clapped his hands together and you stood up, stepping backwards out of the blood pool to seeped over the wood and tossing what you were holding over the side. “Good girl,” his blue eyes watched you carefully, the blade still gripped tightly in your hand. “Throw him overboard Hvitserk to join his balls, he’s staining the wood. Come dröttning.” You watched as Hvitserk grabbed the bleeding man and without a second thought and tossed him with a splash into the sea. You could hear him, pleading weakly to be let back on board so you shut him out. Stepping carefully as you followed Ivar to the front of the boat aware of how the others refused to meet your gaze. How they shrank away from your presence when you passed them, blood still dripping from your hands.

You knew why he did it, not only did it assert Ivar’s command that you must not be touched but it gave you some semblance of power in the eyes of his army. You weren’t to be messed with and Ivar wanted them to know that, even if you deferred to him. You cowed to no one else. Hvitserk was right behind you, forever your guard and shadow but you didn't think you’d need him anymore.

—

Sunlight streamed down on you as you sat at the front of the boat, the breeze wafted past you and the land on the horizon got closer and closer. You hadn’t washed Arne’s blood off your face or hands; you wanted the Northmen to look at you and remember what had happened, what you were capable of. You wanted King Harald to ask what happened. Hvitserk stood to the side and you felt his gaze on you every now and again but you ignored him just wanting to get off this boat and onto solid ground. Horns sounded announcing your arrival and you waited for the nerves but they didn’t come. The last time Harald saw you were trussed up to a pole, now you were strides away from that person, that prisoner that he remembered and you wanted to look him in the eye. Glancing back you saw Heahmund, his head dipping onto his chest, his lips cracked and dry from the lack of water. Without a word you made a move towards him not caring how it looked as you scooped up some of the last remaining fresh water. The boats were about to dock anyway and everything would be replenished.

“Heahmund,” you whispered. “Water.”

—

You followed Ivar’s dragging footsteps, he was suffering from sitting on the boat for weeks on end and suddenly wearing his heavy iron supports again was a weight he shouldn’t be struggling through. But he did, so he didn’t appear weak like so many thought he was. You saw his pain, you saw him. It flowed from his gaze even as he sneered with fake joy at the man sitting on the throne to your left, the man with a crown on his head who watched with knowing eyes as you approached. On the other throne sat a woman, at first glance she looked like she belonged. Regal and watchful but when you looked closer she was a shell. Her blue eyes were stunning, her dark hair impeccably set, the dress she wore was arranged perfectly but she was there in person and not in spirit.

“Ivar and Hvitserk Ragnarsson. Why did you not return to Kattegat?” His voice made you want to shiver but you managed to banish the feeling, refusing to show weakness yourself.

“You don’t need to be a seer to know that Ubbe and I fell out.” His voice was light, breathless from the strain of walking and you subconsciously moved closer to him drawing the gaze of King Harald as you did. “We disagreed about many things. But in the end Hvitserk agreed with me and Ubbe sailed alone to Kattegat and that is why we are here.”

“Good choice,” Harald looked you up and down with nothing short of contempt marking his features. “A good choice.” You saw Ivar’s attention flick to the woman, his look of astonishment quickly covered with a smug look. “Surely you both remember Astrid. She’s my queen now.” She looked coolly at the brothers and you disguised your shock at them knowing each other, this was their life you had been dragged into. It was all new to you. Queen Astrid gave a little smile when Harald said her name but it didn’t reach her eyes. Ivar smiled, you could see the tension in his neck and you daren’t turn around to gauge Hvitserk’s reaction.

“I am happy for both of you,” his tone left much to be desired and you honestly couldn’t tell if he was actually happy or not for this union.

“Oh thank you. Ivar.” The way she pushed his name out of her had you bristling just behind Ivar’s shoulder. His fingers curled on his cane, the creak of his leather loud in the hall as he kept hold of Astrid’s glare.

“So,” it took all of your willpower to drag your attention off the Queen and back to the King, your gaze hot with hatred for them both. “Do I understand that you and your warriors will support me when I attack Kattegat?” Ivar let out a huff of amusement at the change of pace, pointing at Harald he answered.

“Straight to it, I like it. Yes we will.” You nearly jumped when Hvitserk spoke behind you, perched on the table no doubt next to a plate of food.

“But only if Ivar is made King.” Ivar turned to glare at his brother and you looked over as well, not sure where Hvitserk suddenly got this bout of confidence from as he stared right back at his youngest brother.

“You know that I have my own plans for that kingdom.” You kept your gaze on Hvitserk and he grinned lazily with a small shrug and you turned your attention back to Ivar who was trying to placate Harald.

“Of course, of course. And that is why we are here. What—,” he paused to look round at Hvitserk again, his expression unreadable. “I think my dear brother is trying to say is that, in the long term, what is to stop you from ruling Kattegat when I am dead and gone, hmm?” Your heart dropped at those flippant words. You knew why he was saying it, to draw Harald in with the promise of having the land he so desperately wanted but still it didn’t make it any easier and you… “How long can that be? I’m not a healthy person. I’m a cripple.” You controlled your breathing through your nose hoping you weren’t flaring your nostrils too much. Harald hadn’t looked at you in a while and you wanted to get through this meeting unnoticed. The tension was fraught and if you had a knife you could have cut the air with it.

“But your brother Hvitserk…”

“All that matters,” Ivar said loudly, cutting across Harald. “To the both of us, is to reclaim the kingdom that was torn from us by that murderous bitch Lagertha.” Ivar kept his tone light but at the mention of this, Lagertha you saw Astrid come alive. Her expression barely changed but observing people in court since you were very young meant you saw things other people possibly didn’t. She gave a tiny almost discernible shake of her head at his words and you cocked your head as her gaze slid to you. “We want to be in an alliance with you. To make that happen. And soon.” You could feel Ivar had Harald’s interest, his persuasive tone, the lightness of his manner as Ivar edged the king right to where he wanted him. And still you held Astrid’s gaze over your prince's shoulder until your cockiness evaporated at Harald’s next words.

“I hear you had an extra prisoner as well as your princess.”

“Ah,” Ivar exclaimed with a smile, putting his arm behind you and bringing you two paces forward. “You remember my dröttning?” From his sneer of course he remembered you, shame bruising wasn’t permanent.

“I can’t believe she’s still alive,” he told Ivar with a rough chuckle.

“Oh, we had our…moments,” he murmured almost intimately as he looked at you. “But she performed admirably when she castrated one of my men for going near her.” Silence. Except for Hvitserk shifting slightly on the wooden table you could have heard a needle drop. Harald cleared his throat, his eyes raking over you as he noticed the blood that stained you. Settling far back into the throne and you swore he paled slightly but the intent in his eyes didn’t change, you could feel his throbbing dislike for you from where you stood.

“What are you going to do with her or are you just going to let her loose on your men like a guard dog?” Ivar ran his tongue over his teeth beside you, bowing his head as he smirked.

“I would choose your words carefully, maybe she is exactly that. My guard dog, with a score to settle.” The threat hung unspoken between them but it told Harald that Ivar knew of his handsy indiscretion back at Repton.

“What of your other prisoner?” Ivar’s hand dropped and you carefully stepped back, moving over slightly to be nearer Hvitserk who stood up from the table and rested a foot on the bench, his hand never straying far from the pommel of his sword. “I have heard of this man,” Harald continued. “Where is he?” Jutting your chin out you tried not to look concerned knowing the state that Heahmund was in, you were worried for him.

“Bring the Christian,” demanded Ivar loudly and turned to face the doors. You didn’t, instead you observed the King and Queen as they craned their necks to see this latest acquisition of Ivar’s like he was a pack animal. The clink of his chains made your heart flutter but you didn’t show outwardly the effect it had on you. Heahmund however was nearly nowhere as composed as you were, his eyes were wide, his muscles tense and you could see he was surreptitiously fighting the men that brought him in by leaning back into their hold.

“On his knees,” sang Ivar. Nothing could stop the wince furrowing your brow as Heahmund was slammed onto the wooden floor, his hands going out to catch him with more rattles from his chains. “Bishop Heahmund,” Ivar introduced him as though he was providing a prize stallion to King Harald. The bishop straightened, yanking on his tunic in disgust as he levelled his gaze at Harald. Astrid lost interest quickly but the King sized him up before leaning back in his chair and gesturing lazily.

“What’s the point of him? Why don’t you just kill him?” You weren’t even aware you moved until Hvitserk put out a hand that pressed through your armour against your stomach. No other movement was made and thankfully no one seemed to notice. Your heart thudded in your veins but you managed to rein yourself in as Hvitserk slid his hand down your armour and let it drop away to hang loosely at his side.

“Because he is a great warrior. I’ve seen how he fights with my own eyes and I…admire great warriors.” Your eyes flickered up to meet his striking blue ones as he shuffled around Heahmund and you knew he was talking about you as well.

“He will fight for us?” Harald asked curiously.

“Maybe,” teased Ivar. “If he doesn’t want to get crucified!” As their mingled laughter rose you felt cold dread trickle down your spine. Memories of your father being strung up in a cross shape threatened to haunt you and again you shuffled closer to Hvitserk letting your arm just brush alongside his for a moment. You almost jumped out of your skin when Heahmund spoke. Ivar grabbed his hair in a tight fist, yanking his head back so he stopped the flow of words.

“No, let him speak,” encouraged Harald.

—

“I will see that some space is made for you. Heahmund and your…princess can go in the hut.” Panic blazed through your body and automatically you looked helplessly at Hvitserk. If you were away from them even for a moment anything could happen and you were in Harald’s territory.

“Wait…” Hvitserk started but it was Ivar’s voice that settled everything.

“She stays with me.” Even Hvitserk frowned at his brother but Harald smiled broadly.

“Are you sure?” He asked slyly.

“I don’t want my guard dog being bitten by any of yours,” Ivar snapped, jerking his head to the side in annoyance. “Come,” was all he needed to say to have you falling obediently to his side Hvitserk right behind you.

“If she takes up too much room she can share with the priest!” Harald called down the hall and you let yourself imagine stabbing him in the face.

“Ivar you said she was my responsibility…” Hvitserk was saying, coming to stop before his brother.

“Yes, until we reached Vestfold and unless my eyes are deceiving me brother we are here.”

“You don’t want—,” Hvitserk started but Ivar interrupted him again.

“She stays with me.” You shifted nervously to the side at the deep rolling anger in Ivar’s voice. He was tired and his legs were hurting, not that he’d ever voice that. Hvitserk looked almost apologetic as he backed away, his hazel eyes locking with yours for a moment before he got lost in the crowd.

—

Darkness fell on Vestfold but not the inky blackness that devoured the horizon at sea. A darkness of dancing shadows and untrustworthy whispers skirted around as you followed Ivar to the great hall. The feast was in full swing, music played, men were drunk, food littered every surface and your stomach rumbled slightly at the sounds and smells that encapsulated you.

“Ivar!” Roared King Harald, mead sloshing out of his horn as he stood. “Princess,” he said with less gusto and a mocking tone followed by an insulting bow that had your hands balling at your sides. “I see you’re still escaping the shackles.” A rumble of laughter swelled from everyone that was listening except Hvitserk who was hunched over his plate. “A priest and a princess. Quite a collection you’ve got going on. Who’s next?” Asked Harald loudly. Ivar gestured for you to sit opposite Hvitserk who finally raised his gaze to meet yours.

“Maybe I’ll add a King to my collection,” Ivar replied, easing himself onto the bench next to you. Harald’s expression dropped for a second before he hitched the smile back up.

“Maybe you will! Skål!” A mingled roar of Skål answered him and they all drank heavily as you carefully took some food from the table and put it on your plate. “Eat, drink. Make merry,” he told you both. You tried to ignore the feel of his eyes on you as an unsettled weariness crept over your skin and you wondered if you were more in danger here than you were on the boat.

—

You were so tired, your eyes drooping as the festivities continued. The warmth of the braziers licked at your tired body but you knew you had to keep yourself awake. Ivar was across the hall talking with Harald and for a moment a spark of panic ignited in your chest at being alone when a familiar presence covered your side. Hvitserk swung his leg over the bench, he reeked of mead and cooked venison. His braids were slightly loose and he had a stupid grin on his face as he leaned back against the wall.

“He is keeping an eye on you, don’t worry,” he told you in that soft tone.

“Who is?” You asked frowning slightly.

“Ivar.” You watched your captor for a moment and sure enough as he took a sip of drink his gaze slid to you, noting the people near you before turning his attention back to King Harald.

—

Another huge chunk is missed here.

—

You recognised her instantly, the way her blonde hair shone brightly against her red dress. Stepping to the side you heard her talking to Ivar, telling him she lived alone and was unmarried. The feeling rose in your chest once again like acid, that this slave girl could create a wedge between you and Ivar. That she could cost you the throne of Kattegat? You didn’t leave your family, your country, your kingdom, to be usurped by a slave. This was your birthright, it flowed in your very veins the right to rule, to be a Queen.

“I never forgot what you told me,” Ivar said, lifting the cup to his lips.

“You are a very special person, Ivar.” She smirked slightly looking down at his hands.

“It is still hard for me to believe that,” he confessed. “All my life has been a struggle. A war against myself.” You despised how open he was being with her, laying himself out there to a stranger he barely knew. Not wanting to hear anymore you swept into his chamber.

“I heard a yell I came to check on you…oh forgive me King Ivar. I didn’t realise you were entertaining.” Cocking an eyebrow you made no move to leave and she rose from her chair.

“It was nice talking with you King Ivar,” keeping her head bowed she slunk past you and back out into the great hall.

“Are you alright?” You asked, eyeing the supports on his legs.

“Yes. Won’t you have a drink with me?” You took her seat wondering what you were going to do about this slave.

—

Leaning close to him, your hand on his shoulder you whispered in his ear.

“I must retire. Too much mead maybe.” He laughed clearly having had plenty of mead himself.

“Make yourself comfortable in my bed,” he offered. His blue eyes tracing the lines of your face before turning back to look out at the feast. “I don’t think I will sleep tonight.” Bowing your head you dipped into his chambers, shedding your dress and laying it out. Finding a cloak you wrapped it around you pulling the hood up you slipped out into the night. You found her almost instantly, most people had gone to bed and the streets were empty. You wasted no time in grabbing her from behind, muffling her screams with your hand as you dragged her into the shadows. She fought you, clawing at your hand and kicking with her feet but she was no fighter, you easily overpowered her forcing her face down to the ground.

“I won’t let you take him from me,” you snarled into her ear, pressing the knife you had taken from Ivar into her throat.

“Ivar will see what you have done. He will kill you for this.” Wrenching her head back she was helpless as you pulled on the blonde tresses.

“You are a slave,” you spat.

“He freed me! You know nothing about us!” Suddenly she started to laugh, a breathy chuckle through her strained neck. “You want to rule,” she wheezed. “He will not pick you, a prisoner of war.” She tried to turn and look at you. “He doesn’t want you, some Saxon bitch or he would have chosen you already. He wants a Viking woman,” her eyes fluttered when you pulled harder, almost ripping the golden hair out by the roots.

“I am more woman than he could ever want.”

“He doesn’t want you…” she breathed again. The words whispered in your mind, clawing at your thoughts and dragging your doubts forward. What if she was right? She couldn’t be, Ivar needed a peer full woman by his side and you were determined to prove just how powerful you could be. The rage flared in your limbs and with a quick motion you sliced her throat open. Jumping back you released her as she gurgled loudly trying to stem the flow of blood that poured from the wound. It stained her dress an even deeper shade, her skin turning paler in the moonlight. You backed away, hurriedly wiping the blade on your cloak knowing you had to return before Ivar realised you were gone. It didn’t take long for her to stop moving, a last breath expelling in a hurry from her body. Wasting no time you grabbed the back of her dress and hauled her round the back of the huts, ducking down when two guards walked past on their rounds. Your heart was thudding wildly but you could see the pig pen just round the corner, if you could get her in there she would be gone for good. You looked up, making sure the guards had moved on, moving swiftly you shoved her through a gap in the wooden fence relieved to hear the snuffling of the pigs as they came to investigate.

“Don’t waste any,” you whispered. Getting back to Ivar’s chamber was easy, washing yourself in the bowl and disposing of the water quickly and quietly before you allowed yourself to slip between the furs of his bed.

—

Another massive bit of the story is missing here, continue at your own risk 😅.

—

“I love you.” His words wrapped around you like an embrace and you wanted to go to him, regardless of the guards either side of you. Lifting your chin defiantly he waited for you to return the sentiment which you felt bursting from you. It burned inside your chest like a white hot flame, searing up your throat to spill from your eyes as tears.

“You will have to see me again to get my reply,” your voice stronger than you thought possible. His blue eyes flashed in the firelight, the telltale sneer of anger and amusement tugging at his lips as his head bowed. Please Ivar. You almost begged out loud for him to touch you, to trail his fingers down your throat like he used to.

“I’m not sure that will be possible, dröttning mínn.” You detected the hint of sadness in his voice, if he truly loved you he’d take you with him surely? Shrugging the hold of the guards off your arms he held out a hand to stop them from pulling you back.

“King Ivar we must leave!” One hissed as the sound of fighting got closer. Björn was coming, he was coming to claim what was rightfully his. His icy eyes watched you wearily as you approached, warring with yourself in this very moment as you clocked the dagger on his belt. Your heart pounded. The blood rushed past your ears and it sounded like the sea against the hull of a longboat. He had taken you worlds away from where you originated, showed you sights your title and lineage would never have allowed you to see. He had let you live. But now, he was leaving.

“Ivar,” you whispered, drawing closer. His eyes fluttered closed as your breath ghosted over his face, completely trusting you in this moment. Pressing your cheek against his you felt him tense as the noise increased, both guards turning to face the threat of certain death and you chose that moment to act. Pulling his knife free with your right hand, reversing it in a swift movement as you plunged it into his neck. He let out a surprised cry that had the crack widening in your heart, blood spurted forcefully from the wound, landing on your face and trickling down your neck and running onto the fabric of your dress. Now the tears spilled, your lips parting in distress at what you had done as he sagged against you. The guards bolted, leaving through the secret back door you had used more than once.

You fell with Ivar, holding your gasping King to you as he bled into your embrace.

“I’m sorry my love,” you sobbed. His blood pooled in the fabric of your dress, warm and slick as it stained your skin. His face became pale, his lips trying to form words as he gazed up helplessly at you. Leaning down, you finally heard what he was whispering.

“You are worthy to be Viking, dröttning mínn.” His hand slacked against his neck as he sighed and you screamed. Loud and piercing just as the doors opened and Björn strode in covered in mud and blood. You looked up through the tears of hatred for yourself and your desperation to hold onto power.

“Please spare me,” you whispered through the shattering of your soul as you cradled Ivar to you. “I am with child.”

#sami’s fic stash #ivar the boneless x reader #ivar x reader #dröttning #Vikings

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