Summary: Ivar the boneless jealous? Absolutely not.
Word count: 862
Warnings: possessive and jealous Ivar. fluff. slight angst. insecurity (ivar). naked reader - not sexual. mentions of murder (not detailed). shorter than i honestly wanted it to be, sorry.
A/N: thank you anon for sending this request🤍
Masterlist
Ivar’s jaw was clenched painfully tight that Ubbe thought he was going to crack a tooth or two. Jealousy burning his veins as he watched the scene before him. Hvitserk was playing with fire and he knew it, Ivar knew it, everyone in the Great Hall knew it, not that he cared as he continued to dance with Ivar’s queen.
You didn’t see a problem with having fun and have a dance with your brother in law, however your husband clearly thought differently, his blunt nails digging into the wooden arms of his throne, it wasn’t until he banged his crutches down loud enough to catch the attention from everyone in the room - without saying a word he walked out.
That was your queue to follow.
Bidding goodbye to Hvitserk and thanking him for a wonderful night, you made your way towards your shared chambers, twisting the lace of your dress nervously as you pushed the door open. “Husband.”
“Husband? I’m surprised you remembered.” He muttered as he unlanced his braces. “You were all over him tonight.”
“I-I was-”
“All over him! My brother.”
Flinching at his tone, you lowered her head. “It was a dance, nothing more. I promise.”
“He was all over you.”
“It was a dance Ivar I swear.” Carefully shuffling closer to him, to nervous of his reaction, when he didn’t react to your action you knelt down in front of him. “I was just having fun, I’m sorry.”
Raising his hand, he smoothed your hair out of your face - loving the way the soft strands felt against his rough fingers. “He wants to fuck you.”
“Don’t be silly.” The glare he gave you took the smile straight off of your lips. “I do not want him, I swear.”
“You are mine.”
“Yours, and yours only.” It was true, you didn’t want any other man, it was always Ivar from the moment you saw him one day in the market. He was sat on the steps leading up to the Great Hall, a scowl on his face as he watched people walk around, standing by your fathers stall as he spoke to a customer you couldn’t take your eyes off of the man. From that day on, you kept a look out for him, when you saw him crawling around you didn’t even find it weird or funny - not like your father. It took you nearly three months to gather the courage to speak to him, finding him sat on the beach on his own, you were a stuttering mess - only getting worse when he told you he was one of the princes of Kattegat, but from there a friendship was formed between the two of you. He told you several months later that when he became king he wanted you by his side as his wife and queen, at first you thought he was joking but his face said otherwise. When the brothers and the Great Heathen Army went to England to avenge king Ragnar’s death, Ivar made sure he took you with him, against the wishes from his brothers, whilst over there you two got married and from that moment he called you queen. “I love you and only you, Ivar.”
His only reaction was to pout. The ruthless, fearless Ivar the Boneless sat there on the bed he shared with his wife pouting. “You could if you want.”
“Could what, my love?”
“Have him, or-or anyone.” He whispered, twisting your wedding ring around. “It can not be easy with being married to a cripple.”
“I do not wish, want or need anyone else Ivar. I am happy, I am loved- you do love me d-”
“Don’t even think about finishing that sentence! You know I love you.”
“And you know I love you.” Turning you hand around, linking your fingers with his. “Please never ever doubt me.”
“I didn’t like the way he was holding you.”
“We were just dancing Ivar.”
“Still don’t like it.” He huffed. “Only I get to touch you.”
“Yes, only you get to touch me.” Lifting up and walking over to the vanity you removed the heavy crown that was given to you by Ivar, you began to attempt to undo your dress.
“Want a hand, my love?”
“Please.”
“Come here then my beautiful queen.” Standing between his legs, your skin began to tingle as he fingers danced along your bare skin. Turning around as the dress pooled around your ankles, his hands went straight to your naked waist. “I love you.”
“And I love you.” Climbing into bed after helping Ivar undress, he instantly pulled you closer to him and wrapped his arms around you. “Ivar?”
“Yes, my love?”
“I like it when your jealous.”
He huffed, rolling his eyes. “I’m never jealous.”
“No, of course not.” Giggling at the memories of all the times Ivar threatened and even killed men who looked at you longer than he deemed necessary, doing it all out of jealousy. “The great Ivar the boneless doesn’t get jealous.”
Rolling his eyes once again with a soft smile tugging at his lips as your giggles filled the room. “Shut up and go to sleep.”
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The Morvan was a mountainous area that had a rich flora and fauna. Wild flowers bloomed, primroses, figwort, wood anemones, wild daffodils. Raspberries and strawberries were widespread. Birds found it a paradise, buzzards, hawks and falcons preyed on the much smaller sparrows, magpies and swallows. Small hunters such as foxes and badgers kept the rabbit, hare, and squirrel population under control. Deer were also frequent visitors of the beautiful area.
For the first time since Ivar had been dragged through the walls of the castle of de Haar, food was abundant. It was bittersweet, because every bite seemed to turn to ash in his mouth.
As the last ember of the campfire diminished, he chose the solitude of the forest, crawling far away from their camp once dawn spared him enough light.
Truth was; he could not stand to be in the presence of the maidens. It was like an avalanche; the thickness of the air as he dared to think of either one of them. It choked him as he submerged himself in his own flagellating thoughts. He had to face the fact that one maiden would never trust him again if she knew what he did with the other.
Ivar hadn’t feared much in his life, but he’d rather drown than read this betrayal in Piglet’s dark eyes.
“I know Utstott, I fucked up,” Ivar agreed with a deep huff as his faithful companion nipped sharp at his earlobe, digging his claws into his shoulder. The white raven hopped a little aside, agitated.
It pained Ivar to confess; but there were moments he missed being locked inside the walls of the castle of de Haar. Life had been cruel; but simple. Everything wore either the color white or black; everyone was simply the enemy. His days were mundane and well-organized; survive, endure, feed the pigs, eat as many scraps as you can. He did not need to think nor feel, simply because he lacked the strength, and hunger occupied every inch of his being, too much to care about anything or anyone else.
Now that those cherished walls had crumbled, everything else started to grab him by the throat.
There wasn’t any pain nor hunger to occupy his mind, body and soul. And in all honesty, he’d love to trade places with his former self locked inside that dingy shed; because he struggled so dearly with coming to terms with these feelings.
“Oh Utstott, if I could trade bodies just for a day,” Ivar reminisced to the white raven and swallowed a large lump in the back of his throat as he watched the bird lift itself atop the wind and leave him all alone in his solemness.
The guttural distraught cry of Piglet made all the hairs of his neck and arm bristle. His entire body snapped toward the sound and into fight-mode.
Following Utstott’s rushed caws, Ivar dragged his lower body forth as fast as he could. At the camp, he spotted Valeríe huddling underneath the ox-wagon, both animals bucking and bolting at the forestline.
“Where is she?!” Ivar shouted in panic, crawling agitated underneath the wagon once he did not receive an immediate answer. Dragging her palms away from her face he gave her a harsh shove.
“WHERE IS SHE?!” he repeated, screaming this time as Piglet’s scream echoed through the maze of trees.
“I don’t know!” Valeríe cried out, “there was a wild boar, it attacked the oxes, she tried to distract them and it went after her.”
The muscles in his arms tightened and for a moment air evaporated from his lungs. A damn boar. He let go of Valeríe immediately, trudging toward the immediate danger. A damn boar, his nostrils flared and he shouted out: “PIGLET, FIND A TREE, HIDE UP HIGH!”
The head of a wild boar could take up a third of its body. They were unpredictable, once they started to charge it was almost impossible to outrun them. Their razor sharp tusks could do a lot of damage, if not be lethal.
In blind panic Ivar pushed himself through bushes, crushing ferns, hitting his knees over tree roots until he finally spotted Piglet.
Of all damn trees she could have picked she’d taken refuge into a gaunt elm tree of not even ten winters old. Screaming at the top of her lungs she only agitated the four legged furry monster, who was growling and charging the tree trunk over and over again.
Ivar had the advantage of being on higher ground, and was given the bird's eye view of the situation. He would have had a clear shot, if he’d possessed a bow and arrow, or any other weapon. But Piglet’s distress call had casted all logic from his system and so it was time for a rash decision.
He threw himself downhill, making as much noise as was humanly possible. Once his body rolled into view it stunned the wild boar for a mere moment. And then the animal did what Ivar hoped it would do; it focused on a new target. Him.
The collision was so powerful it nearly knocked him out. The agitated squeals of the feral animal kept him conscious and, instinctively, he covered his face in his arms. The speed of the animal was incredible, before Ivar could brace himself for another attack the animal charged at him again. His body scraped over the uneven terrain, curling into fetal position; the third charge was the worst; the animal trampled over him. His view started to turn black and Ivar sensed that if he did not fight back the mauling would not end.
Reacting out of sheer willpower, Ivar managed to sit up and block the forth collision by grabbing the fierce sharp tusks. The animal squealed high and in pain. Although his sight started to fail him, Ivar caught a glimpse of Piglet bracing herself atop the animal, stabbing her dagger inside the boar’s broad neck over and over again. At the sight of her, Ivar managed to draw in one long breath and steady the vigorously bucking animal.
It was Ivar’s last image; Piglet's trembling hands, chin and lips, covered in blood before collapsing.
.-.-.
Valeríe had seen her fair share of maladies, but the sight of the massacred boar left a bad taste in her mouth and an everlasting image for her nightmares. The unrestrained weeping from the bloody maiden would be the soundtrack of said nightmares.
Lifeless, the cripple lay on his side, the boar's tusks had ripped the skin of his face open from his lower lip, over his upper lip all the way up to his cheekbone. He must be bleeding from other places too; Valeríe had watched in horror how the wild boar’s hooves had stomped all over him.
“Hamar, hamar!” Piglet whaled, shaking the unconscious form by the shoulders, “hamar, don’t leave me, hamar!” Quivering from head to toe, she pressed a hand to his throat, bringing her face close to his chest.
Their eyes met and locked, it took a lot of effort for the veiled maiden to repose her venomous tone to address her.
“He’s breathing, barely, go get water, clean clothes, hurry!”
Valeríe found herself reacting obediently to the barking commands of the other young woman. Once Valerie returned with the requested items, the two of them performed a small miracle; the cripple opened his eyes. He clutched his chest to gasp for air and heave, blood stained saliva drooling from his slack jaws.
Piglet shouted at him to breathe, he gurgled up more blood, face shaking from side to side, pressing into the dry terrain while trying to inhale. But it was hard on him, chest rising and falling with rapid breaths. His breathing quickened and he gasped as if he was choking on his own breath.
‘He is’, Valeríe realized, she’d seen it happen once or twice before when customers drank themselves into near oblivion. She got down on her knees and clasped her hand over his mouth, cutting off the airflow. She had to brace her grip around his face, eyes snapping open in blind panic and head twisting and turning.
Piglet must have known what she tried to do, because objectively it appeared she was trying to smother him. The unrelenting glare she gave to go forth told Valeríe she trusted her as far as she could throw her, but she did not stop her when she pressed both hands on the cripple’s mouth to prevent him from squirming out of her grip.
“Hamar, breath! Slow deep breath, from here” Piglet shouted, pressing her hand down below his ribs. Both flinched once the cripple let out an awful moan followed by a lot of gurgling, bloody bubbles foamed up from Valeríe hands and the gasping started all over again.
It dawned on Valeríe that she had no idea what damage might have erupted on the inside and in horror she stared at her bloody hands and her grip eased for a mere moment.
He was fast, given he was in such a state. He gripped her palms with both his hands and started twisting them. Valeríe cried out and was about to let go, not wanting both her wrist to be broken.
“IVAR!” Piglet exclaimed at the top of her lungs and he jerked his head into her direction.
“Don’t fight, breathe, please, breathe!” She exclaimed, bracing both her palms on his temples. For a moment Valerie thought Piglet was going to kiss him, leaning in until the tips of their noses touched.
“You are viking Ivar, breathe!” She pleaded, keeping his head firmly pressed into the dirt. His grip around Valeríe’s wrists eased, his animosity of her hold evaporated and changed, instead of fighting her he clung to her, like a small child did to the skirts of his mother. He drew in a sharp breath and gasped and of all of the things she could do, Piglet started singing.
A small shadow circled over their heads and the white raven Valeríe had seen before landed on Piglet’s shoulder cocking his head from side to side to watch the cripple slowly catch back his breath. In and exhaling through his nose his breathing went from shallow to deep, gasping every few breaths.
The troublesome gasps eventually dissipated, but Piglet never stopped singing. Not when she rose up to fetch water and rip apart pieces of clean clothing, not when she pragmatically started to tear open his tunic to locate more damage.
There it was again, that intimacy in their actions. Although Ivar still held Valeríe’s wrist in a dead grip his focus lay on Piglet and although his body was in pain his gaze was at ease, exhausted but relieved.
As Piglet tore away layers of fabric, a blotched path of hoove shaped bruises came into view. The large animal had run over his chest.
Piglet’s song paused once she worked her way down his legs. There were two skin deep tissue lacerations on his thigh. Before more blood could flow from the wounds, Piglet pressed the clean rags over them and started bandaging them further up.
Piglet refocused her attention back at Valeríe imposing the same utilitarian tone: “this needs stitches, I can’t do it here,” evidently asking was too much effort. Instead, Piglet nudged toward Ivar’s shoulders.
As the pair of maidens dragged the cripple, Piglet resumed her sweet song.
.-.-.
A/N: Did I spend half a night on ‘wild boar attacks?’ You bet I did! Ok, can I just say how utterly devoted Ivar is to Piglet? It did not take him a second to throw himself into battle to keep her out of harm's way. Now can we rewind back to tv-show-Ivar? Who claimed to love a certain maiden, then beat her and eventually murder her child? Yeah, adrift-Ivar is so rocking this redemption arc.
And isn’t it wonderful that it takes just about a violent death to make Piglet pick up speaking again? This maiden and her grudges…
Warnings: Animal sacrifice, the family abandon the reader
The words of King Ragnar still echo in your ears, an unknown joy rises in you when you realize that your request has been heard and that you would soon be the wife of Prince Ivar. However, this feeling of happiness is short-lived, a glance at your father shows you that he appears to be anything but happy about your decision. He sits on his throne, a frown lingering on his face, fingers digging deeply into the uneven wood of the armrests, while the corners of his mouth twitch suspiciously. The coldness in his voice makes you wince as he addresses the word to King Ragnar.
"I wish to speak with my daughter in private."
Not a single emotion can be read on his face as he fixes you with his gaze, yet the tone of his voice tells you all you need to know. He is angry. Incredibly angry.
"As you wish. In the meantime, I will seek out my sons to inform them of the changes."
Ragnar gives you a warm, reassuring smile before nodding briefly to your father while making his way out of the throne room, your eyes following his every proud move of his. Only when the heavy wooden doors fall shut and the whole hall is filled with an almost disturbing silence, you turn to your father. He is still sitting on his throne, deep wrinkles cover his forehead and make him look even older.
"Father..."
"Silence!"
Immediately you swallow your words. Never before has your father spoken to you like this, never before has he sounded so disappointed and angry at any of your actions. Your eyes turn towards the floor, but the soft crunching sound of the wooden throne lets you know that your father has risen from it. Just a few seconds later, you can hear his footsteps approaching you. This causes you to lift your head and look at him with feigned confidence. His normally warm brown eyes are filled with a coldness you never thought possible, his whole face contorted into a hard mask.
For a brief moment, you simply look into each other's eyes, and shortly after that , all you can hear is the slapping of skin on skin. Bewildered, you look at your father, one of your hands finding its way to your now reddened. stinging cheek. Never before has your father raised his hand against you. Not ever, until this moment. Tears well up in your eyes, whether for pain or anger you can't tell yourself at this moment. The shock lingering deeply in your bones.
"You ungrateful little brat. How dare you?"
You wince, his frigid tone feeling like a whip is striking down on your skin.
"How dare you embarrass me like this in front of King Ragnar? How can you doubt my decision in front of him?"
Your hands begin to tremble as you remove them from your cheek, yet you try to justify your decision.
"But father, all that mattered was that I marry one of the princes, and that I do."
"You doubted my decision, and you did so in front of the most powerful Northman we have ever dealt with. How can he now believe that I can command our army, and be a fearless reder, when not even my own daughter listens to me and respects me."
"But father, I respect you."
"Don't you ever dare say that again when your actions clearly speak to the contrary. Your mother was right from the beginning, I should not have been so lenient with you. I should have been more strict, more firm."
A brief silence falls over you as your father seems to search for the right words.
"I will tell King Ragnar that you will leave my kingdom this very day."
Your heart begins to pound furiously, one of your hands reaching for the cross pendant around your neck.
"But what about the wedding?"
"You will not marry this prince in the presence of my god. Sigurd I could still have coped with. But not this bloodthirsty cripple. If you want to marry him, marry him before his war-obsessed gods."
"But father..."
But before you can finish your sentence, your father has turned his back on you.
"Go pack your things, I'll let you know when you sail."
Tears well up in your eyes, in a last desperate attempt you reach out your hand to your father, wanting to put it on his shoulders. But as soon as it comes to rest there, he shakes it off in a jerky movement and moves even further away from you in quick steps.
With a heavy heart, you climb the stone stairs to your room, your vision blurred by your tears, but you realize that there is no time to lose if the ship is to leave for Kattegat tonight.
You have already stowed most of your possessions in cloth bags, when all at once the door to your room crashes against the stone wall behind it with a loud noise. Abruptly you turn towards the door.
"(y/n), tell me is it true what my father told me? You want to marry me instead of Sigurd?"
A silent nod from you is all Ivar gets in response. A beaming smile spreads across his otherwise serious face as he approaches you with the help of his crutches. With each step he takes toward you, his smile seems to grow even wider, so that when he finally stands before you, his entire face lights up. This changes, however, when he sees the tears in your eyes. Lovingly, he brushes the remaining traces of tears from your cheek.
"What happened?"
The concern is clear in his eyes.
"My father has decided that I am a disgrace to the family because of my decision to prefer to marry you instead of Sigurd, so I will sail with you to Kattegat as early as tonight."
After your words, the concern in his gaze turns to anger.
"You are not a disgrace just for sharing your desire. I for one am proud of you, and I am honored that I may soon call myself your husband and we will build a life together. You're as strong as Freya and just as beautiful."
His words cause a slight smile to appear on your lips, yet sadness at your father's reaction and words prevails at this moment.
"Thank you Ivar. But I can't really be happy about it right now."
"Of course my love, but believe me, the day will come when you can."
"I hope so..."
Ivar leans his crutch against your bed before pulling you against him in a careful motion, your head immediately burying itself in the crook of his neck as your fingers dig into the soft fabric of his shirt. You feel him press a gentle kiss to the top of your head before resting his chin on the crown of your head.
"Do you want me to help you with anything?"
"No thanks, I'd rather be alone for the last while."
"As you wish my princes, I'll help my brothers get the ships ready."
With a quick kiss on your cheek, he disappears from your chamber. Again, a stifling silence spreads through your chamber, yet this is exactly what you need at the moment.
Your heart breaks when, you realize that none of your family has come to say goodbye to you, when you find yourself standing in front of the Northmen's ships, a few hours later.
None of them thought it necessary to bid you farewell. With your head drooping, you stride towards the large wooden ship and a short time later, you no longer feel the solid ground of the earth beneath you, but the damp wooden planks of the ship, which is swung back and forth by the waves in slight movements. A gentle arm tightens you against a firm chest, the sudden warmth making you tremble.
"All will be well, my love."
Ivar presses a kiss to the top of your head as his arm wraps around your stomach a little tighter, giving you reassurance as the boat starts to move in steady motions. With tears in your eyes, you watch as your home becomes smaller and smaller the further you move away from it, as you put more and more distance between you and the people you thought would always love you. But they are your past and Ivar is your future. With these thoughts you tear your gaze away and turn in your fiancé's arms to look up at him. His blue eyes seem even bluer due to the water that surrounds you, a slight smile is on his lips, yet you can clearly see the concern in his eyes. You notice the puzzled looks of the other Northmen upon you as he thoughtfully brushes a loose strand of hair behind your ear, but you don't really pay attention.
"Yes. Yes it will my love."
You intertwine your hands in his neck and pull his face down to you a little to press a tender kiss to his soft lips. All while King Ragnar watches the both of you with fond eyes.
Life in Kattegat is a marked change from your previous life, but you try to come to terms with it as best you can. The pain of your family's rejection still deep inside you, but you try not to let it show. In a few days you will be a princess of the Vikings, so it is time to act like one.
Closely embraced by Ivar's strong arms, you lie next to him on your bed, a matter that would have been unimaginable in your previous life. The furs on the bed give you warmth, the closeness to each other security. You run your index finger over the drawings on his now so familiar bare chest. A light laugh escapes you.
"Why are you laughing dearest?"
His warm voice snaps out of your thoughts, a small smile adorning his lips.
"I was just thinking about how I reacted the first time you undressed in front of me."
The memory of that, elicits a hearty laugh from Ivar as well.
"I've never seen anyone press their hands to their eyes as fast and hard as you did at this moment. And all because of a naked man."
"You are the first man I have ever seen naked, I was just surprised."
"I still don't understand what your God has against people seeing each other naked before they get married and even after that."
"That way, you're not tempted to perform intercourse before marriage."
Not long ago, all of this made sense to you, but ever since you caught a glimpse of Ivar's muscular body, you've begun to doubt it. Yet, in all this time, he has accepted your desire to wait until your wedding night to do so.
Your answer to his question elicits only an incomprehensible snort before he presses a kiss to your nose and pulls you a little closer to his warm chest.
A comfortable silence spreads in your chamber, which you break only a few minutes later.
"How exactly will our wedding go?"
As always when you ask a question about the Northmen's ways, a breathtaking smile creeps onto his lips.
"We will meet under a large wooden arch in which the writings of the gods are carved, to give us blessing. There, the volva will already be waiting for us to confirm our marriage."
"Volva?"
"A volva is a sorceress, Freya herself gave her these gifts, to help us, the gods often speak to us through them. There are also men who practice magic, the Seidmadr. But women are more skilled and powerful at using these abilities, which is why we prefer a Volva to a Seidmadr."
With a short nod you indicate to Ivar that you have perceived his words. After a brief kiss on the top of your head, he continues.
"Before the actual ceremony begins, we make offerings to our gods. Thus, one sacrifices a goat for Thor, a pig for Freya and a horse for Freyr. The animals are bled and later the meat is eaten at the feast. This is how we make sure the union is in the favor of the gods."
Your stomach turns at the thought of having to watch animals being slaughtered, but you try not to let it show.
"Then the man hands the woman an axe or a sword to show her that he will protect her until the gods call them to Valhalla. The woman does this only if she is a Shieldmaiden, which is not the case in our wedding. Then we testify our love before the gods and ask them for their protection and favor. Afterwards we have a great feast, with food and drink and music."
Your voice is quiet as you address the next question to Ivar.
"And what is expected of us on our wedding night?"
Ivar immediately notices that you are having a hard time asking this question, so is especially happy that you are doing it.
"Nothing is expected of us my love. If you want to consummate the marriage we will, if you don't feel ready we will wait."
Relief spreads through your body as you hear Ivar's words. The pressure disappears from your shoulders as you realize that he is ready to take on everything at your pace. With each day you spend with Ivar, you can understand less why so many people are afraid of him.
"Thank you."
Your eyes meet his, light blue orbs beaming lovingly at you.
"For you always."
A few days later, the time has come. Wrapped in a simple, white, floor-length dress, you stand in your shared room while one of the servants stands on her tiptoes to place a crown of white, yellow and purple wildflowers on your head. Anticipation and excitement mix together in the pit of your stomach as you spin around once, watching the dress sway with your movement. The shy voice of a servant snaps you out of your movement.
"It's time princess."
You give her a smiling nod before grabbing the fabric of the dress with your hands to lift it slightly off the ground. Accompanied by your maids, you make your way to the said place.
Even from afar you can see the crowd, all of Kattegat has come together to witness the wedding of their youngest prince, with the unknown princess from a distant land. Immediately you can feel their eyes on you, some of them still reflecting a certain wariness towards you and your God, others giving you a warm smile. The children give you looks of admiration as you walk past them. But the gaze that is most important to you, beams at you full of dignity and love, his eyes gliding over your form again and again, taking in every detail of your shape.
"You are beautiful, my love."
Are the first words you hear when you finally stand next to him. You notice your cheeks heating up, yet you hold his gaze.
"Thank you, dearest."
The ceremony proceeds just as Ivar had explained it to you, the sacrificial animals are brought up to you. Your stomach turns as they are offered as sacrifices to the gods and their blood is collected in an iron bowl. While words in a language not yet known to you are directed heavenward. Nevertheless, you bravely keep your eyes on the events before you, proving to the last doubters that you have it in you to be a true Viking. Afterwards, Ivar hands you his battle axe and with this gesture promises to protect and honor you until the end of his life.
Finally, the Volva takes the bowl with the animal blood in her hand and sinks her fingers into it, before she spreads the blood on Ivar and you. You feel the blood run over your face in warm, thick streams. Afterwards, you and Ivar seal your love with a long, passionate kiss. The gods and the people of Kattegat are thus witnesses to a long and happy marriage, of a union that will last even in Vallahlla.
this is the first time I write for a Vikings character. Also English isn‘t my first language, so I apologize in advance for possible mistakes.
I hope you have a great day!
Warnings: mention of killing disabled children, mention of alcohol, kind of arranged marriage but also not
"How can you ask this of me father?" you turn to him angrily, your dress swinging elegantly around your body. All of your father's advisors look at the floor, not daring to say a word. Even the priest, who always follows your father like a faithful, obedient dog, stands before you with his head bowed.
"How can you ask me to marry one of these barbarians, they stand for all that we despise. How in God's holy name can you ask me to marry one of these sinners?"
Your face is flushed red with rage, your hands clenched into tight fists. You have always been different from all the other princesses you have known. You never let anyone tell you to shut up and you always stood up for your convictions. At some point your parents realized that they could never chastise you and made a deal with you to control your temper at least in front of visitors and other nobles.
"You must do it my beloved daughter, for our kingdom, for our freedom and for our people."
Tears well up in your eyes, whether from anger or sadness you can't quite tell yourself. A few days ago, you were simply the princess of one of the smaller kingdoms in England, never attracting the interest of the Northmen until they suddenly and without warning attacked your city. Half of your army have already been killed and it is almost certain that your city could not withstand another attack.
"But why me father, why not Sophie, you've wanted to marry her off for a long time, she's older and wiser than me." Your tone has by now lost its sharpness, desperation winning out over fear.
"Sophie does not have your strength, my child, she would perish in their world, but you can become stronger in it." The look in your father's eyes becomes softer, you even think you can recognize pity in it.
"Do I even have a chance of getting out of this unmarried?" your father shakes his head, a defeated sigh escaping your throat.
"They are already on their way to us, King Ragnar with his sons and some retainers, we will discuss the details at a feast today."
"May I at least know the name of my intended?" you cross your arms stubbornly in front of your chest, a behavior for which other princesses would have experienced great suffering, but your father has to suppress a smirk.
"Prince Sigurd"
A few hours later, the feast is in full swing, together with your sister, your father, and his closest confidants, you sit on a raised table in the back of the Great Hall.
Your appetite has left after a closer observation of the Nordic table manners. Disgusted, your mouth tightens as you see them talking with their mouths full and not seeming to understand the meaning of cutlery at all. The wine flows in streams and soon you realize that they seem to be able to hold more alcohol than the men in your town.
All evening you feel the eyes of one of Ragnar's sons on you, you know from the description your father gave you of your future husband that it is not Sigurd. Crutches are leaning against the wooden bench next to him and his attentive, alert eyes follow your every move. His dark brown hair, like the hair of the other Northmen is worked into beautiful braided hairstyles. Your father seems to be able to interpret your gaze clearly, as unobtrusively as possible, he leans in your direction and whispers to you:
"This is Ivar, he is the youngest son of Ragnar and according to stories also by far the most bloodthirsty and brutal among the brothers. So stay away from him."
A silent nod is your answer, but to your own dismay, your father's words don't repulse you, but rather make the interest in Ivar grow in you. During the whole time, his ice-blue eyes are constantly directed at you, even when you look directly at him, he does not avert his gaze from you, but gives you an arrogant smile, much to your astonishment.
Throughout the evening, your eyes meet again and again, and each time anew goose bumps cover your body, the dangerous aura that surrounds him captivates you, and as if automatically, your hand finds its way to the cross that hangs around your neck, you clasp it tightly with your fist.
The festivity goes on like all the previous ones. Everyone gets drunk and all the noble, God-fearing men, as time passes and alcohol consumption increases, look for a young woman for the night, who in no way resembles their spouse.
With your father's consent, you get up from the table as inconspicuously as you can and leave the hall almost in a hurry. You hold up the skirt of your dress to get ahead faster and so you walk quickly straight towards the stables.
Your entrance is accompanied by the excited neighing and nervous scraping of hooves as you make your way as quietly as possible to the last stall. In it stands your most faithful friend in the kingdom, the only one you don't have to worry about betraying you. Carefully you push the latch aside and enter the box with slow steps. Dark, loyal eyes beam at you as you lovingly bury the flat of your hand on the snow-white fur.
"Greetings, my old friend," you carefully lean your forehead against his and close your eyes, the smell of fresh hay rising to your nostrils, and for the first time this evening, you seem to be able to breathe properly. You tenderly stroke your horse's nostrils as you hear a steady clacking sound in the front of the stable. With a jerk, you turn around, prepared to spot the potential danger and fight back if necessary.
However, you would never have expected to meet the person who is now standing in front of you. You watch as he moves slowly but smoothly toward one of the hay bales and drops onto it, his crutches leaning next to him within reach. Now he looks at you through his thick lashes. The sky-blue of his eyes makes you shiver pleasantly and for a brief moment you think your legs would give out their service and make you fall uncomfortably to the ground. Quickly you try to hide this.
"What are you doing here my prince, shouldn't you be out in the hall getting drunk with the other men and lusting after the women?"
You yourself are taken aback by your direct words, but you don't let this show. Unlike expected, your words do not make him angry, but rather seem to amuse him. For a short time later, a raucous, throaty laugh fills the stables.
"You're different little raven, aren't you? Most of the other princesses I know are obedient and well-behaved, but you carry the fire of Freya in you." An arrogant but also admiring smile spreads on Ivar's face.
"You are also different from most people I know, because most people I know have two functioning legs and can actually walk of their own free will."
no sooner have you said these words than you regret them. You never wanted to be someone who limited others only to physical attributes. His smile begins to stiffen and the playful spark has also disappeared from his eyes.
"I guess you're right about that little raven" you notice him reach for his crutch and tense his upper body to hoist himself up. You hurry to place a hand on his forearm, an apologetic expression coming to your face.
"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that. It's just you they don't get many people like you, most of you are..." you dare not finish the sentence, which Ivar takes from you though.
".... Killed or left for dead. I know."
Under your hand you notice how his muscles relax again and Ivar seems to loosen up again. An uncomfortable silence spreads over you, only the scraping of hooves and the flaring of nostrils can be heard around you.
"You said before that I had the fire of Freya in me."
With a nod, Ivar indicates for you to continue talking.
"Who is Freya?"
a slight smile spreads across his face after your question and he leans a little further towards you.
"One of our goddesses, especially in times of war we think of her and make sacrifices to be in her favor."
"So you're comparing me to a goddess who brings death and disaster to people?"
you raise an eyebrow.
"Believe me that is an honor, she is one of our Most Favored Gods, but if it soothes your Christian heart, she is also the Goddess of Marriage and Love."
Slightly you nod to yourself as you soak up this knowledge.
"You said Freya is one of your gods, who else do you make sacrifices for?"
Ivar looks into your face trying to find some form of dishonesty there, however the only thing Ivar can discern there is genuine curiosity.
Eagerly, you listen to his soothing voice as he tells you about the father of the gods, Odin, Thor, Loki, and all the others gods.
After the feast, King Ragnar has decided to stay with his whole troupe until your and Sigurd's wedding, so that you can then sail back with them to their homeland and a new life.
Against all expectations, you spend most of your time with Ivar instead of your future husband. You realize that none of the stories do justice to Ivar's character, at least not when he is with you. Of course, you recognize his gruff, sometimes even sadistic manner when he is with other people. With you, however, he is tender and attentive, always giving you his complete attention and patiently explaining everything you want to know. He tells you stories of his adventures and of what awaits you in your new home.
With each passing day you notice how your feelings for Ivar increase and your interest in Sigurd decreases until it finally ceases to exist, each day your heart yearns more for the man with the crippled legs. Never does he treat you as if you were beneath him. Every day he tells you stories about his travels, his homeland and his gods and to your own amazement he listens attentively to your stories about your god. After only a few days you realize that his mere presence makes you happy, every day you wake up in anticipation of spending your day with him. And he seems to feel the same way. In all this time Sigurd never once seeks your company, nor does he make any effort to get to know you better. Ivar even more so.
Three days before the wedding you can't take it anymore, you have to stand by your feelings or you will be unhappy for the rest of your life.
With quick steps you make your way to the throne room with one hand grasping the skirt of your dress so as not to trip without knocking you push open the heavy wooden door and look into the astonished faces of your father and King Ragnar.
"Daughter, how dare you..."
"Father, please forgive the intrusion, however, I need to talk to you about something that has been depriving me of sleep for several nights now."
At your words, your father's features soften and his voice loses some of its original sharpness.
"Speak then, my daughter."
"I don't want to marry Sigurd, I don't think we're right for each other either..."
Your father interrupts you, before you can finish your sentence.
“You are going to marry one of King Ragnars sons, that’s not something I’m going to debate with you, daughter.”
“Yes father I know and I’m going to marry one of his sons, just not Sigurd..”
Your father sinks back into his chair, your eyes briefly fall on the King of the Northmen, his bright blue eyes patterning you with interest.
"Why don't you want to marry my son Sigurd, he's a good man".
The Northman squints his eyes slightly, eagerly waiting for your answer.
"I do not question that he is a good man, however I have the impression that we would not be good for each other."
"And why do you think that?"
Ragnar rises from his chair and walks toward you with slow steps, his eyes not leaving yours for a second. Nervousness rises in you, but you try to suppress it with all your might.
"And I want to hear the real reason."
"With all due respect King Ragnar, I am not under the impression that Prince Sigurd is interested in finding a wife and starting a family. Besides, I don't think I have the physical attributes your son desires in a partner."
A smile creeps onto his lips, while your father is shocked and enraged by your bluntness.
“Daughter, how dare you to speak to King Rag..”
“Fair enough…”
The Northman interrupts your father without sparing him so much as a glance.
…..which one of my sons do you want to marry princess (y/n)?“
“Prince Ivar, my king”
The shocked gasp of you father fills the thronroom and even king Ragnar seems surprised by your demand.
“I noticed on our first day here, that you weren’t really found of him, so what changed?”
“That’s true, at first I was scared of him, I heard many stories about how brutal and violent he can be and to be honest I don’t doubt that for a second. But as I spend time with him, he showed me, what I believe is the real him. He is soft and caring with me, he lifts up my spirit every time I see him. And he never gave me the feeling like I was inferior to him because of my gender. He is smart and a excellent strategiest, I wasn’t lucky enough to see him fight so far. But from what I heard, he is a outstanding warrior too. And I would be honored to become his wife.”
After your speech you lower your head slightly, not daring to look at your father, a short but intense silence falls over the three of you. It feels like an eternity, until you hear King Ragnars loud an clear voice.
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Could you do one where the reader is Lagertha younger sister and in a relationship with ivar the boneless( they dont have to be full sister amd she was born a day after ivar and ended up being raised by her sister with the boys)
I tried ♡
Warnings - mainly fluff, death of family, blood.
Word count - +1k
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It was a cold and stormy night when the doors to the Great Hall were thrown open. Ragnar, who had been stumped in his throne, sat bolt upright, spilling ale into his lap.
He froze, eyes wide at the sight before him. His ex wife stood in the doorway, blood covering her face and hair under her cloak hood with a tiny bundle squirming in her arms.
Ragnar stumbled towards her as his eldest son Björn stood dutifully next to his mother, looking battle worn himself.
With shaking hands, he gently pulled the blanket to reveal the baby's face. This wasn't the babe he'd left for dead in the woods, they were smaller and were wailing at him like he'd deeply offended them.
Revealing the child eased one fear but caused more confusion. Frowning, Ragnar spluttered some incoherent words as he tried to wade through his drunken mind.
Was the baby his? How? How long was a woman with child for again?
Laughter broke through his thoughts as Lagertha laughed in his face, Björn and a few of their company joining in.
"By the gods, Ragnar. You are going to cause yourself an injury, " She chuckled "Stop thinking so hard, she is not yours"
"Then who's she?" The voice of his wife startled him once more.
Aslaug walked through from the back, cradling a bundle in her own arms. Now that was the baby he'd left, the one he'd just been mourning and drowning his guilt for.
Ragnar looked up to the roof, cursing the gods in his mind, for putting him in this situation. He looked between the two loves of his life, staring at each other, appearing as a mirror image.
Aslaug cradled her precious boy to her chest as he stoically stared up at her. She was a vision of elegance, royalty and grace, a princess.
While Lagertha looked the opposite, as she hushed the screaming bundle in her arms. She was a vision of bravery, bold and regal, a warrior.
"This is YN" Lagertha smiled down at the baby who began to calm "My baby sister"
Lagertha looked back up to Aslaug. "I wouldn't be here if I had another choice. My childhood village was attacked by raiders"
She stroked the little one's cheek as she spoke, as if to ground herself, to make sure she was real.
"I've lost so many, they murdered my younger brothers. My mother died protecting her, just hours after she was born" she looked behind her before looking to Aslaug again "who you see before you is all I have left"
Behind Lagertha and Björn stood only a handful of men and women, all covered in blood and injuries, some worse than others.
After a few moments and a glance back down at her son, Aslaug spoke with a knowing smile. Before the birth of her son, she had dreamt of a girl but not her own.
"Come sit, warm yourselves. You are welcome to stay as long as you like. Kattegat is your home too"
There was a sudden commotion of tiny feet hurrying into the hall.
"BJÖRN" a small Ubbe barrelled towards him before a smaller Hvitserk attacked his legs. Sigurd toddled behind his brothers to greet their eldest.
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As the years passed you grew up with the chaos that was the Ragnarsons.
Soon after your sister's unexpected arrival, Ragnar and a group of his warriors raided Francia. Many did not return including Ragnar, leaving Aslaug widowed and with four young sons to raise alone.
Lagertha saw an opportunity to make the thriving town of Kattegat like one that many had never seen before. A town ruled by two queens, in order to give subtlety to their families.
The sons of Ragnar kept their prince titles and in turn you gained the title of princess.
You were by no means a dainty princess though, no matter how hard Aslaug tried to make you one.
You were your sister's ward after all. A mini version of her, much to Aslaug dismay.
One girl among four boys, she had hoped you were to be a daughter she always dreamed of.
While Aslaug tried to teach you to be a proper little lady, Lagertha encouraged your wild side. Often cheering you on as you held a poor Sigurd in a headlock at the breakfast table, for teasing Ivar.
You were often found covered in mud and muck from play fighting with the brothers, charging after them with sticks or attacking Björn by climbing over him while Ivar attacked his ankles.
Each of you were always careful around Ivar but never left him out, you most of all tried to make him feel included.
When playing battles you and Hvitserk were his warriors, protecting him while he planned how your team would win against Ubbe and Sigurd, joined by Björn when he was around.
As time passed play skills would turn into practiced battle skills.
As you grew older, feelings for Ivar grew too. Having been so close all your lives, it surprised no one when flirty comments were thrown into the mix of playful teasing. How glances and smiles would linger longer than before and the way your cheeks turn blush pink if he made comments or suggested things a little further out of the friend boundaries.
Your first kiss was shared around the back of the Great Hall. Ivar had become jealous of you sitting in Hvitserk's lap.
It had been the result of a dare by Sigurd for losing a game of Tafl against him. He knew Ivar had a crush on you and that it would make his blood boil and oh boil it did.
He blamed you for the feelings driving him crazy, for growing beautiful and for being you. He blamed you giving him this urge to kiss you all the time. According to him it was all your fault, he felt this way, to which you yelled back.
"Just kiss me then!"
After what felt like a lifetime of him frowning at you, he yelled back.
"Oh, I will!"
He cupped your cheeks and pulled you into him, his lips crashing with yours before it turned into a heated, messy kiss. Noses bumped, teeth clashed and lips were bitten as each fought for control.
From that moment on your relationship blossomed from childhood friends to lovers. Unsure of how the others would take the new relationship, the pair keep it secret for a while.
In your minds, it was you and Ivar against the world.
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Unknown to them, the family already knew.
They had all placed bets on when it would happen.
Hvitserk sat smugly at the table, with a pile of his winnings from gold and jewels to Ubbe's best dagger and Sigurd's lyre with a mountain of food in front of him.
He had been whispering for weeks in Ivar's ear about taking you as his own, to which he knew Ivar would break.
As always apologises for grammar, spelling and any mistakes.
Some of the mermaid lore in this is random and yes, that is a the little mermaid quote. Please ask any questions if things don't make sense.
Tags - @youbloodymadgenius ♡
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Kattegat was beautiful in the snow, it remained Nix of the time when she was younger. She had longed to see how humans lived, always admiring them from afar.
Her mother had spoken of them fondly, how the ones she met were caring and how they were similar to themselves. Instead of a tail, they had two legs and weren't able to breathe below the waves. They used boats to explore the world around them, fire for warmth and used odd man-made caves on land for shelter.
Nix had always been more interested in the strange creatures than her sisters. Fascinated by the trinkets her mother would return with.
Even after her mother disappeared and her older sisters told her stories of war, bloodshed, of being hunted and labelled the humans, demons, Nix never understood how a world that made such wonderful things could be so bad.
A few months after her mother's disappearance, her sisters and herself stayed behind in the cold waters instead of migrating to warmer waters, in the hope that their mother would return. The sun had set and the water on the shore line was frozen but the caves on land were giving off a warm glow as music and laughter filled the air.
The sand beneath her feet moved and changed, crunching as the snow melted with each step. It caused a sharp tingle on the sole of her foot as the icy air whipped around her. Hugging herself, Nix looked up at the moon and stars before watching thier reflection on the water's surface. She could see the beauty in which her mother described, the ocean, her home, looked very different from on land.
The warm glow and music called to her as she could wobbly steps towards it. Once closer she hid behind the huts as people walked by, laughing as they hurried by covered in furs. That must be how the humans kept warm, she noted, spotting more in similar attire.
As the cold night air made her shiver and her fingers turn blue, she noticed a rug hanging over a door. Pulling it slowly towards her as not to be seen she quickly wrapped it around herself and continued towards the Great Hall where most of the magical noise was coming from.
Peering through the cracks in the wood, she saw people eating, drinking and dancing. Looking down at her own feet she wondered if she'd be able to do the same. Watching the humans move in time with the melody as people around them clapped, she couldn't help but smile and long to join in.
At the centre of the circle was a woman in white with a crown of flowers in her golden hair.
Her smile was shining as she looked to the man in front of her, his eyes surrounded in black looking at her with a look, Nix could only imagine was love.
They reminded her of the tale her mother would tell her, of how the sea loved the moon. How their love was a dance.
Nix was so engrossed in the dancing couple she never noticed someone appear behind her until she felt a hand on her ankle and tugging on the fabric around her.
Looking down at the man at her feet, she couldn't understand the noises he snarled at her, pointing a knife towards her, gesturing to her up and down.
As she didn't respond his smirk dropped and his brow frowned as he tilted his head at her.
"I shouldn't be here" Nix said helplessly, knowing he couldn't understand her "I will go"
She turned around to walk away but his hand was still on her ankle, causing her to stumble. As her back hit the cold ground, he quickly crawled over her, placed his knife to her throat. His face was so close to hers, Nix could see every detail as she stared up at him. His eyes were an enchanting blue.
He looked at her in question and Nix shook her head, hoping it was the right thing to do. At first it seemed the wrong answer as his blade pushed hard into her neck before his eyes flickered from her eyes to her lips and the pressure lessened.
His lips inched dangerously closer to hers. His warm breath fluttered over her cold cheeks but as his lips brushed hers, he suddenly pulled away, throwing himself backwards with strong upper body strength. He pulled himself across the ground, creating distance between them as for a moment he had a look of shock and horror, his icy blue eyes wide.
Nix got to her feet, looking at the young man, she paused for a moment before hurrying away into the night back to the safety of the ocean.
Her older sister Nerida, reprimanded her, reminding her of how awful, cruel and monstrous humans could be. That they were only useful for reproducing, for there were no male mermaids. One rule was never to visit the same place again, that had been their mother's mistake.
Nix, at that moment, still believed humans could be wonderful as she pictured the happy couple and the young man's enchanting eyes. Her faith in them wasn't broken until boats, carrying hordes of demons, hunted and slayed her sisters.
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As her hand began to heal, so did her heart. Although far bigger and far scary, these humans didn't seem so bad compared to her previous captures. These allowed her comfort but never gave her freedom, for the one called Ebony was always by her side.
Ebony was a foot taller than Nix and often reminded her of Nerida with her raven hair. She helped Nix with everything from dressing, bathing and even helped her learn words to understand the world and language spoken around her. It only took Nix a short while to understand as mermaids were gifted in language.
Nix grew fond of the ones around her, Helga, an was a kind older woman with golden hair and a sweet smile but her husband Floki always gave Nix an odd look as if not trusting of her.
It had surprised her to learn that the brothers were considered royalty and that Ivar was king. For in her world there was no royalty, just different family pods, consisting of a mother and her daughters. When she learnt what being a king meant, Nix was even more confused as to why Ivar and his brothers had treated her with such kindness, spoiled her with comfort for they didn't treat their other thralls and captives this way.
One evening as Nix returned from seeing Helga to have the bandage on her hand removed, she heard yelling from the room she resided in. Cries of pain rang out as a thrall tried to help Ivar remove his braces.
"Forgive me, my king" he whimpered as Ivar hissed in pain and pulled a knife against him
"No more mistakes" Ivar gritted his teeth before letting the terrified thrall go, who hurried away.
He sighed, groaning in pain as he lay back to look up at the roof before sitting up quickly sensing someone watching. His face softened as he noticed Nix, standing at the door.
"Please, don't just stand there, come in" he said softly, offering his hand to her. "I needed a quiet space and Hvitserk is using his room"
Nix approached him cautiously as she accepted his hand. His larger ones gently turned her hand over and inspected the pink scar on her palm from the injury she gained from the shattered glass. "This has healed nicely"
"Yes, Helga is wonderful," Nix smiled as he let her hand go. She moved to kneel before him and help with the braces.
Ivar moved his leg away and hissed in pain, desperately trying to hide it. "Don't"
"Let me help you," She offered softly "you have cared for me, allow me to do the same"
Ivar shook his head and removed her hands from his leg "I am fine. I just need a rest" he moved to stand, trying to cover his pain as he did so. "Hvitserk should be done by now"
Nix placed a hand on his shoulder to try and stop him "Stay here, this is yours after all. You have been far too kind keeping me here. I can join Ebony"
Ivar frowned before grabbing her hand again. "You are not a thrall" he said, making Nix frown, if she wasn't like Ebony, what was she?
"Stay with me" he uttered, his blue eyes looking so vulnerable. The mask he wore so often, cracking before her. Nix had a flash of a memory from long ago.
His eyes were an enchanting blue.
They lay in silence, heads resting on the pillows as Ivar studied her face, with a sense that he knew her.
"Can a mermaid's kiss save someone from drowning?" Ivar asked, having asked a few questions about myths already. He felt like a boy again as it helped to distract from the pain.
"My sister, Nerida said it was true but only in a mermaid true form" Nix shrugged "but I don't know"
"Is it true, mermaid tears can heal?" He asked, glancing briefly down to his legs and back up to Nix.
"No" she said softly "Mermaids don't cry for there is no sense in crying in water"
Ivar nodded lost in thought as Nix gently combed a hand over his braids, humming a soft but haunting melody. As she hummed Ivar, felt his mind become light and his pain ease as he against his own will moved closer to her.
As sleep began to take a hold, he shook his head, desperately fighting against the sensation taking over him. "Tell me a tale of your people" He muttered, wanting to learn more from her world, to continue to hear his dear mermaid talk.
Nix told him the tale of the sea that loved the moon as he drifted into the first restful sleep in his life.
