Title: The Alliance
Summary: While the princess hunts, Ivar learns how to be a good husband.
Pairing: Ivar x Reader
Part One
Part Two
Part Three
Part Four
Part Five
Part Six
For a few glorious seconds when she had first woken up she believed she would sit up and be in her quarters with Ivar beside her. Her dream of simply being his wife had been so vivid she felt in her bones it was the reality.
But the seconds only last so long and she feels the ache of sleeping on the hard ground as she opens her eyes to her tiny little shelter lit by rising sun.
She groaned in discomfort as she stood up and looked down at the rocky surface she laid on in distaste.
With what she knew to be a childish temper she walked over to the bloody bag that would have been her blanket and kicked it. She knew the fabric would have provided her little comfort, but it would have been better than nothing.
With a silent apology to the Great and Many she pulled out some more bread and biltong then tried not to glare at the bloody bag again. The lion had not only been unworthy of skinning, it was also unworthy of eating too, she complained silently.
Still, as she ate she knew she needed to do something with the carcass before its scent attracted trouble.
What was the best way to get rid of it alone, she wondered; considering abandoning it a few miles away from the shelter or even trying to burn the remains.
The idea of burning it made the princess feel wasteful, and even a tad bit sorrowful for the lion. It was a very respected animal and it seemed to have had a hard time living as long as it had before you crossed his path. Burning it properly and safely would take hours and every second of sunlight felt precious, and the Spirits would know that this body was wasted and not returned to the soil it was born in.
Soil…land, hunt; water…fishing?
The words had bounced around in her head in a weird procession of word association, soil is on land where you hunt, water is where you fish. What if she tried to fish on land?
(Y/N) quickly shoved the rest of her food in her mouth as she hurried to see how much rope she had left in her sack. It was only about twenty feet of twine, but it would have to be enough.
The next hour was spent preparing to go out and put her plan in motion, putting out the embers of the fire last night and shallowly burying a large portion of the lion's dismembered body a good visible distance away from her shelter and marking the spot with a large fallen branch.
(Y/N) had plans to cut out a widow in one of the walls of her shelter so that she could watch the burial site. If the first plan didn’t work out then she could hope to catch something digging up the free meal.
With that in mind she exited her humble dwelling, rope tied around the largest and best piece of meat the lion had to offer. The poor beast was really in bad shape and finding a piece of meat large enough to lure and entice anything had been ghastly work, but eventually she settled for the left hind leg.
She felt the burning sun above her as she walked towards the waterhole, the bait meat was hanging on her hip, tied tightly around her waist so her hands were free if she needed to fire an arrow.
Luckily, she didn’t run into any trouble on her way, reaching the trees that surrounded the water.
She knew from experience on previous hunts that most animals came to the warterhole to either bathe or drink so the trees were mostly empty. There were mandrills that kept to the denser trees where they had more shade, but she had no intention of getting in their way.
The princess took one large sip of water from her canteen before securing it along with the bow and arrows, the next part was not going to be easy and that excited her in the midst of her unease.
She had no idea if this hunting tactic would work, (Y/N) never even heard of any of the royal hunters attempting something like it.
‘Land fishing.’ she whispered before she began her first attempt at climbing a doum palm tree.
The bark was rough and splintery and the first initial step resulted in two red and raw palms that left her hissing.
She removed as many splinters as she could see, but her hands were still stinging.
The height and uniquely structured rough bark of the great tree were the largest hurdles for the time being, she couldn’t hold onto the leaf scars of the trunk without ripping them off the tree bark entirely.
She walked once around the tree, hoping to see something, anything on the tree that would make climbing it possible before noon.
There was nothing, the tree seemed in much better health than her lion visitor had been yesterday. She looked at her new dilemma and tried to find a new solution, but a sound of rustling leaves quickly distracted her, making her curse securing her weapon.
The sound was actually very far off, over where the mandrills were lounging in the thicker tree branches. The princess’s eyes followed the motion of fallen leaves and saw that a young infant had apparently fallen from a low branch of the tree.
In the next second the mother jumped into the grass to retrieve her screaming babe; (Y/N) made sure that she was not visible to either mother or child, ducking behind the trunk of the tree, and prayed the distance was enough to keep her scent from being noticed.
Mandrills moved in hordes and even as a wealthy princess, (Y/N) couldn’t afford to get their attention right now.
For a few stiff moments the mandrill sat still and searched for something other than her child, like she had caught a scent she didn’t like. The magnificent beast paced around the base of the tree, her head turning as she searched for any movement or sign of a threat.
The princess was as still as stone in her hiding spot.
She watched from behind her unclimbed tree as the mother mandrill placed her young onto her back and began climbing back to their sanctuary in the high branches.
Wide eyed the princess saw how the creature climbed, using the fragile leaf scars as steps rather than handles. Its powerful arms wrapped around the bark and interlocked the fingers so they connected like a belt as it pulled itself up higher until the leaves concealed them once more.
Of course she knew she couldn’t perfectly imitate the primate’s climbing but it had definitely given her an idea.
Carefully she untied the twine around her waist, making sure not to drop anything in case the mandrills were being cautious.
Once the twine was unravelled enough for her to wrap around both the tree and herself she tied it tightly behind her back. Looking again at how thin the twine was she made another loop around the tree and secured a second knot.
‘Please Great and Many, I want to marry that man. Be with me in this hunt and protect me, do not let me fail.’ (Y/N) prayed softly, feeling a breeze and hoping the wind carried your prayer to listening ears.
At last she gathered the strength to make a second attempt.
She leaned back feeling the twine support a large portion of her weight as she wrapped her arms around the trunk and pulled herself up using her arms. Once her feet were off the ground she gently placed them on the leaf scars and found that they held her weight well enough, but she wouldn’t push her luck.
Before the leaf scar could begin to snap under her foot the princess lifted her interlocked hands and pulled her body up higher as she moved her foot to the next scar, only a few inches off the ground but she tried to memorize the position and motion as she did it.
It took a large amount of strength to pull her own body weight along with her supplies and bait, but it also took an unprecedented amount of balance.
After repeating the motion about seven more times Princess (Y/N) found herself out of breath and with another twenty feet at least left to climb. Her arms, legs and abdomen were already beginning to ache and the rough texture of the twine seemed to be rubbing any skin it touched raw.
The sun was not yet fully peaked just yet and the shade the tree provided was heavily appreciated, but she felt drenched in sweat as she continued her strenuous climb.
Higher and higher she climbed, trying to focus on the next step she would take, but already she was not looking forward to doing this backwards on the way down.
As the beloved princess of Tunisia was trying to prove her worth as a valuable wife, Ivar was on his way to learn what it meant to be a good husband in Tunisian culture.
Of course he was genuinely interested in what the markets had to offer, but more than that he wanted to see the people. How they speak to one another, how the men show their affection and what the women found attractive.
Ivar had been truly touched by Princess (Y/N)’s assurances that she would be with only him even if he couldn’t please her, but he wanted to at least give her the best of what he knew he could.
He would learn every marriage custom and be sure he never did anything in ignorance to disrespect her as his wife.
It seemed the servant girl originally assigned the task of escorting them was experiencing her bleeding time and would not be available for a few days. So now Bintu was leading him along with the rest of his family out of the castle to begin the tour of the markets and the heavy mood that had dominated breakfast had mostly subsided.
Though Ivar suspected it was because Aslaug had chosen to stay behind with Queen Aza in court.
‘Your young royals are the ones who take these daily patrols?’ Hvitserk asked as they began their outing.
‘Yes, it is custom. Once they are educated enough, this teaches them what is happening among the people, to communicate it properly and put faces to the complaints.’ the older woman informed.
‘Who has been doing them while Princess (Y/N) was in Kattegat?’ Ivar asked.
‘A rotation of nobles, that way it’s harder for corruption to form. Lies start to fall apart when you involve large amounts of people to coordinate.’
‘I can confirm that, even now I’m King because an old man included the wrong people in his schemes against me.’ Ragnar sighed in reminiscence.
‘Sven told us how you and your magical boat builder overthrew your last King, it was a favorite with our young warriors. I imagine you will be asked to bless a few blades once we reach the market.’ their guide smiled.
‘Magical? Don’t let Floki hear you call him that…it would go right to that bald head of his.’ Ivar laughed.
‘Only a man with magic could build those long ships, even as the journey sickened me I appreciated the craftsmanship.’ Bintu said praisingly as they at last seemed to reach the market.
A large square with randomly placed carts, tables and tents, each accompanied by a merchant who had displayed their goods as intricately as possible to capture the attention of the passersby.
‘Speaking so fondly of other men now Bintu? Are you hoping to provoke me into acting rash next week?’ Sven asked as he approached their group.
He seemed to have been looking at a blacksmith’s cart before he noticed their arrival.
‘If I am? What could you do about it?’ Bintu challenged, but Sven only smiled fondly.
‘Nothing now, but I will remember.’ he said casually, but the look he gave the Tunisian woman was hungry and wanting.
Ragnar looked in amusement between the two, and a knowing smile crept its way onto his wrinkled face.
‘Ah, another union!’ the king teased.
Sven proudly raised his tunic and revealed a bloody bandage on the right side of his ribs.
‘Our Matrimonial Fight is next full moon. It won’t be a large event like Ivar’s but I imagine it will be a good show.’ the old man beamed.
Everyone gave their congratulations, even Bintu couldn’t keep her indifferent facade going in the midst of such celebration.
‘Thank the Gods, thought we’d see you two stumbling out of the boathouses for ages.’ Ubbe joked.
‘Our tour! You are interrupting our tour of the market! Go away, go train…just don’t be here!’ Bintu said quickly, pushing the jolly giant that was Sven back to the blacksmith’s cart before herding Ivar and his family further into the market.
Without the distraction of Sven and Bintu’s courtship Ivar began to look closer at the items on display.
Colorful fabrics with complicated designs and patterns, elegantly beaded jewelry, gold accessories, headdresses, strange spotted and striped furs, vibrant paints, spices, herbs, unfamiliar crops and so much more that Ivar didn’t even know how to describe.
‘What stall would you all like to see first?’ Bintu asked, her eyes still occasionally moving back to the Blacksmith’s cart.
‘I want to see what all you harvest.’ Ragnar answered for them all.
Bintu nodded and began to lead them to a section of carts and tables laid out with what appeared to be vegetables, grains and butchered meat.
The merchants had taken notice of their foreign audience and had begun to advertise their products vigorously.
‘The best biltong you can have!’
‘Fine potatoes and turnips. Perfect for even the most royal of meals!’
‘Palm wine! Honey sweetened and perfectly aged!’
There were so many people speaking Ivar had a hard time translating it all at once, but his family looked more and more excited the louder things got.
Soon their group had been separated despite Bintu’s wishes, everyone wanted to see different things that were scattered too far apart.
Hvitserk was tasting things at every cart, Ubbe was fascinated with the gold accessories on display, Ragnar spoke with a turnip farmer, and Sigurd had purchased what looked like a flute.
Ivar had taken longer than he wanted to reach the stand that interested him the most, his crutches really did slow him down.
‘Stylish cloaks! Perfect for every occasion and life saving in the winter season.’ the old woman said, her weathered hands presenting her collection that was displayed on a table.
There were all types of furs and even some beaded cloaks that Ivar couldn’t help touching as he greeted the woman politely.
‘Hello Elder, may I ask a few questions?’ he asked.
‘Of course, anything for our Prince Consort, many blessings to you and our princess. I’ve asked the Great and Many to guide her home safely for your wedding.’ the woman smiled brightly.
‘I thank you, I wanted to ask you what kind of animals are used in the finest cloaks? I would hate not to know the significance of what she presents to me after she has worked so hard.’
The old woman tutted and came around the table to hold his face, pinching his cheeks firmly.
‘Eh Eh, such a good good husband! Oh that blessed princess to find such a kind strong man! Sweet child, so much work goes into a cloak of any kind, but a warrior woman’s matrimonial cloak…I’ve seen women so determined they stitched full cloaks from rabbits alone.’ the woman spoke openly.
‘Those don’t tend to end well from what I’ve seen.’ she said quietly looking over her shoulder.
‘You didn’t hear it from me, but the salt merchant’s wife presented him with a cloak of rats! He accepted because she was a well sought out beauty, but now…come supper time, you can find her under the docks with all types of urchins!’ she laughed.
Ivar looked over at the salt merchant in amusement, he found the old woman’s presence comforting and warm. She spoke to him the way he imagined a grandmother would if he had one. She, like every other person Ivar had interacted with in Tunisia, said nothing about his legs and didn’t look at him like he had no right to exist.
‘The best animals are the large prey, pack animals and predators. Like this leopard here.’
Ivar looked at the cloak she pointed out and he was amazed by the orange black spotted pattern of the fur, he ran fingers through it.
He imagined what the leopard looked like before it was skinned to be this thick and large cloak in his hands. Then he imagined (Y/N) alone with one out in the desert that surrounded the capital village.
‘There are also gazelle, lion, wild boar, tiger, baboon, zebra, mandrill and hyena. Those are the best! Never seen an unhappy marriage for any couples with those furs, they are difficult to hunt successfully with a full party, it’s dangerous to do alone. Only women who are truly interested in the marriage seek these furs, even fewer have the skill to obtain it.’
‘How dangerous is it to do alone?’ Ivar asked, his worry growing.
‘Do not fret my pale patreon, I have lived in this village many years and I’ve seen Princess (Y/N) grow into such a skilled warrior. I am certain she will have a magnificent cloak to present to you, I will personally be helping her in the skinning tents when she returns.’
‘You are one of the skinners?’ Ivar asked.
‘No, but we all use the tents, and the best way to get the finest furs and leathers for your product is to help make it. It also doesn’t hurt if the skinners love your cooking, but again I did not tell you this.’ she smiled conspiratorially.
Ivar got the message; bribe the skinners with food.
‘Thank you Elder, I hate not to buy anything after taking so much of your time, please take this.’ Ivar took out a few gold coins and the old woman thanked him heavily and insisted he take at the very least a bright beaded bracelet.
‘Ivar, you have to try this fruit!’ Hvitserk called excitedly from a table so far away it made Ivar wince before he even began to approach it.
‘It had better be amazing.’ he mumbled as he finally got within reasonable hearing distance.
‘My brother, try this.’ his brother repeated.
‘Baobab fruit, my visiting friend. A local delicacy here, it dries naturally on the branch so the flesh is always perfectly preserved.’ the merchant advertised eagerly. Still holding the handful of golden coins Hvitserk must have given him.
Ivar looked at the strange fruit that littered the table, it looked more like a root vegetable or an odd type of melon. The merchant took out a knife and kissed the blade before he cut into the mysterious fruit.
‘Why do you…Ah Ivar.’ Hvitserk had started to ask but he seemed to have a hard time finding the correct way to ask his question in Derja, so he looked to Ivar for help.
Ivar sighed in annoyance but he looked to see what his brother was trying to ask; Hvitserk kissed the back of his own hand and pointed at the man’s knife.
‘My brother wants to know why do you kiss the blade?’ he asked.
The man shook his head as he removed the flesh from inside the fruit and placed it in a small clay bowl for Ivar to try.
‘Ahhh, it is a sad custom for widowers.’ the mad said.
Ivar’s hand froze on its way to reach into the bowl and he looked closer at the merchant he was speaking with.
This man was not elderly, nor did he look particularly sick or hard weathered. The Tunisian looked to be maybe a few years older than Ubbe, but his posture had changed after he gave his answer. His shoulders slumped and his head hung low as he seemed to caress the blade now.
‘My late wife’s last family blade…she died in childbirth and there is no child to pass this on to now. So I keep it with me, I ask it and her spirit to watch over me in my remaining years.’ he said softly, not looking at Ivar or Hvitserk, just his knife.
Ivar fought hard not to imagine himself in this man’s shoes; alone with no wife or child, just a knife that never gets to be inherited.
‘I am sorry for your losses,’ he said.
The man nodded in silent thanks before he straightened his composure, and put the knife back into the sheath.
‘No more widower talk, I’m sure you are interested in more positive things with a grand wedding to plan. My congratulations on winning the Matrimonial Fight for our sweet Princess (Y/N) I’m sure she will gift you an extravagant cloak.’ he beamed.
Ivar finally did get to try the Baobab, it was the strangest and sweetest thing he’d ever experienced. The flesh was sweet but dry and the seeds should not ever be thrown out, according to the merchant’s horrified expression when he first did it.
‘The seed can be crushed into powder, roasted or eaten raw.’ the man informed.
‘I’m going to convince father we need to add these to our trade, and I’m buying two barrels if he refuses. One way or another these are coming home with me.’ Hvitserk said, his voice determined.
‘I agree these are delicious.’ Ivar complimented and he gave the man a gold coin and took a few fruits and added them to Hvitserk’s bag.
‘Thank you for your story, may the Great and Many bless you.’ Ivar said before moving on to another cart.
‘Many Blessings, have this coriander for good health.’ said a kind young woman standing by a tent that smelled of fresh spice.
‘Congratulations! Please take these shell beads as my humble wedding gift.’ an old man said, handing Ivar a small rattling sack.
In all his years as a prince, Ivar had never felt so openly accepted. More than simply accepted, he felt as though for the first time he was being revered. No open glares, or cursed laughter when he passed by; all he saw was smiling faces directed at him as he limped along.
More and more people congratulated him as he passed, the merchant’s becoming less skeptical of them as they saw there was no ill intent on the pale unscared faces. And eventually, the young men began to interrupt Ragnar's exploring to nervously ask him to bless their various weapons, just as Bintu had teased.
Ivar soon had to offer seven gold coins for carrying his gifts to a passing young man, but the man refused; he insisted he was at the willing service of the royal family. Confused by the rejection, Ivar asked why.
‘I am not in need of it, the next person you meet might be.’ the man who introduced himself as Dele said as he walked alongside Ivar.
‘Ah! Our lucky man! Come come! I have by far the best wedding gift for any young married couple!’ a man exclaimed enthusiastically from under a tent.
‘Go, that is a tent you cannot afford to miss if you want to please your wife. Trust me.’ Dele urged with a smile.
‘Why?’ Ivar asked curiously as they turned to approach the tent.
‘I may not be married yet, but I can assure no woman has ever been upset seeing their husband coming out of there, look!’ his new companion said, pointing at a man exiting the tent behind the merchant.
He looked like the exact man (Y/N) said she would gladly overlook for Ivar; dark skin, long dreadlocks and a warrior’s physique. He walked over to a woman who smiled brightly as she looked around to see if anyone was watching.
When she noticed Ivar her eyes widened, she quickly hid her face in the man’s chest. He looked confused before he laughed and waved at Ivar happily, Ivar waved back and the woman dragged the cackling man away.
‘Good man, come inside.’ the merchant smiled as he ducked into his small tent.
Ivar followed, greatly appreciating the reprieve from the harsh sun. The tent had the strongest scent Ivar had experienced outside of a few select religious ceremonies.
It made him slightly lightheaded in a pleasant way.
‘Welcome Prince Consort, my congratulations! I have something special for your wedding gift.’ the merchant promised.
‘Thank you Uncle, may I say I am very curious about your trade. It seems infamous.’ Ivar complimented.
‘Ah, the Great and Many push me to be humble, but I must confess I picked a great trade.’ the man smiled as he searched for something in a crate of what looked like organized painted eggs.
‘What is it exactly that you offer?’
‘I offer what everyone needs, a little help.’ the man grinned, and Dele failed to restrain his laughter.
‘Help?’ he asked.
‘Aphrodisiacs! A little bit of the right herbs can help keep even the most mundane of married couples happy. Instead of passionless nights; imagine your wife wanting you so much she loses her senses for hours, then imagine having the stamina to satisfy her fully.’ the man explained.
Ivar’s eyes widened, his brows probably touching his hairline; he could hear Dele laughing outright at his expression but he knew his face wasn’t warming from shame.
‘No need for shyness. The tent gives you privacy, in here we are all people, merely seeking a little…help.’ Dele assured as he placed his arm over Ivar’s shoulder in a friendly way.
Between the overwhelming scent that surrounded him and the unfamiliar friendly faces, the young prince couldn’t help opening up. Speaking freely on one of his deepest secrets in front of total strangers.
‘What if you’ve never…been able.’ he asked in a small voice, waiting for the crude laugh that would rip this fantasy away from him.
No such laughter came, instead the merchant smiled as he went back to searching the eggs.
‘Fear not, I have just the thing for you my friend. I have something for absolutely everything and everyone. Have you never, or do you simply prefer pleasure alone?’ the merchant asked casually.
‘Nothing ever, not even alone…not once.’
The merchant hummed, then his smile widened; to his own surprise Ivar recognized the expression. A challenge had been accepted.
‘A blend I believe will be the best…Grains of Paradise surely yes, and Mondia Whitei for calming nerves and increasing hunger.’ the man muttered as he took out two eggs.
They were simple chicken’s eggs but they were clearly already cracked open and held together by strips of twine turning the potentially scandalous merchandise into eggs into easy to miss in an inventory.
Both were painted in extravagant patterns but they were notably different from each other.
‘Mix equal parts of this into your broth, about a pinch of each, two to three hours before you perform your husbandly duties. My gift to you and the Princess (Y/N), but if you are more interested I offer a variety of things to guarantee you a happy marriage.’
Ivar took the two eggs and studied them in wonder, he could hear the spices rattling inside the shells. He imagined following the instructions and being truly able to satisfy his betrothed on their wedding night.
‘What all do you offer Uncle?’
‘For first timers I strongly suggest burning Duffra incense, they are not overwhelming and slowly erase inhibitions and allow a woman’s desire to increase gradually. Also the scent is unforgettable, every time she burns these incense she will recall that first night.’
Ivar felt as if he were back in the Great Hall as a boy, sitting at Floki’s side and learning about the very first raids. Like it was one of the few Godly things men were capable of doing and he wanted to experience it.
He was unsure of how long he spent in the tent but he knew his gold purse was significantly lighter and Dele was carrying a larger load. Ivar learned everything he could while inside the tent, he asked every question that came to him.
Thankfully, Dele and the Merchant Chu’ Ku were happy to enlighten him, they answered his questions and gave him the societal sub-context he needed to navigate efficiently in public and behind closed doors with his wife.
For instance nudity was an odd concept here, if a person works outdoors they can be naked and it only means it is a hot day. However, being naked indoors is a show of trust with the person you sleep with. It made him feel somehow even better about the nights he lay beside (Y/N), and it made him miss her more.
Looking around the market he could see the crowd had reduced greatly and the sun was beginning to fall. Still a large number of merchant’s remained and he could see his family still wandering, and all of them had volunteers carrying their newly acquired treasures.
‘Good tent?’ Ubbe asked.
‘Of no use to any of you my brothers.’ Ivar said quickly.
He didn’t want them to know what he had needed “help” with, and he was certain his brothers had no issues exciting women. So why expose his own private blessing?
Ubbe looked curious for a moment but shrugged it off before moving to another cart. Ivar instructed Dele to take his things to the castle and return, he would ask the merchant’s to hold onto their gifts until the kind helper returned.
With that done Ivar went back to his own browsing, still accepting good wishes from almost every person he passed.
Then he saw something unbelievably recognizable in this strange place.
Crutches.
A whole collection of them leaning against a modest wooden table, a young boy stood by and smiled brightly up at Ivar’s astonished face.
‘Pale Prince, are you looking for new crutches? Mother was hoping to gift you some but she left to help a man home.’ the boy explained eagerly.
‘Dear child, has there been any war in Tunisia.’ Ivar asked.
The boy’s smile fell as confusion took over his expression, he shook his head no.
‘Why does your mother sell crutches?’ Ivar asked as he looked over the craftsmanship. They were wooden, unlike his bronze forged pair; they were taller and meant to hold the user under the arms and the bottoms were flat instead of spiked to stab into rich soil or wooden floors.
‘For the people who can’t walk?’ the boy said, as if it were so obvious it was a little concerning for the Prince to not know.
Ivar notices even smaller crutches that were so short they couldn’t possibly be for an injured warrior or field hand.
‘And are there many people…children who can not walk?’
‘Enough to get us by, but not make us rich; is what my mother says.’
Chike!’ a young woman scolded as she rushed to the child’s side.
‘My deepest apologies Prince Consort, my son has not been bled and doesn’t know the custom yet.’ she said quickly, her face struck with panic.
‘Not necessary, I am also still learning the customs so I do not know how to be offended.’ he soothed.
The woman sighed in relief and sent him a grateful smile.
‘Please, any you would like.’ she said, motioning to the display.
Ivar was fascinated not only by the crutches themselves, but also by the fact that this woman made enough selling them to support her family. That meant there were children like him born here that were never at risk of being left to die.
That Tunisian women did not discard imperfect babes, that (Y/N) would never be told by her friends to reject his children. It explained why none of the Tunisians stared or questioned him as he crawled past them that first meeting in Kattegat, to them he was not strange or wrong,
He found a pair that suited his height comfortably and gave them the same test he had performed on his first pair. These were much better suited for the hard dry soil and his weight was much easier to support while standing, but most importantly he could move noticeably faster.
‘Good choice, I hope my humble work can serve you well.’ the woman smiled, wrapping her arms over her son as she watched the prince.
When she did so Ivar noticed a familiar X shaped scar that had a horizontal line cut through it placed on her left forearm.
‘Tell me, I am so curious about your culture; what is it like to be married?’ he asked openly.
He found that simply was the way Tunisians spoke; openly, the same way they show their scars. No riddles or mind tricks, simply speaking directly and giving honest straightforward answers.
The woman looked down at her arm and smiled fondly at the scar.
‘I can not pretend to know the complexity of a royal union, but…simply being a wife and mother are my greatest joys. Waking up and knowing no matter what happens my husband will be at my side, that he works hard to provide for me and our child and that he would never allow any harm to fall upon us.’ she answered.
Ivar listened, hanging on to her every word, he wanted nothing more than to make (Y/N) feel the way this woman felt with her modest business and lack of status.
Loved.
He spoke with the woman more about the population of people who couldn’t walk, and learned that he could find any number of them in the healers tents on the other side of the market. There were several children born healthy that lost the ability to walk due to illnesses and others like him who were born that way.
These children would be trained in some craft that they could learn to live off of and they were most often taken in at the castle as royal workers where they can work within their limitations while also having their own servants for assistance.
At some point Dele found him again, carrying all the things the merchants had gifted Ivar while he was dropping off the first load.
‘NORTHMEN!’ Bintu called from the entrance of the market.
It seemed that their excursion had come to its end.
Ivar gave the sweet woman the remaining gold coins in his purse, and when she refused to accept he handed it to the child.
‘I do not know the customs…can you accept this favor?’ Ivar asked playfully.
The boy smiled, literally jumping in his excitement as he accepted the money.
‘I also do not know the customs, I will ask father during supper.’ the child grinned before running off.
The woman looked prepared to call her boy back but she saw the grin on Ivar’s face and admitted defeat.
‘Thank you.’ she smiled.
Ivar bid her farewell before joining the others at the entrance trail, where they all took immediate notice of his newest wedding gift.
‘A woman sells them…for all ages.’ he said.
They all again congratulated him and listened as he explained how these compared to his first crutches, and how he was already planning to visit the healers' tents to meet the others.
Ragnar came closer and allowed his son to lean against his side while he studied one of the crutches closely.
‘Better.’ he conceded.
