#ivar fluff

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.”

He looked exhausted. Paler somehow. 

Another sharp breath escaped him. The kind pain stole from a man before pride remembered itself.

His eyes lifted suddenly. Found her already watching.

Something flickered there. Annoyance and embarrassment.

Then command returned.

“Tighten them.”

His voice sounded roughened by exhaustion.

He shifted, attempting to straighten, and immediately folded inward again as pain seized somewhere deep between hip and spine. His jaw locked hard enough for a muscle to jump visibly beneath his skin.

“There is a feast in my name tonight,” he said through controlled breaths, irritation sharpened mostly towards himself. “I would prefer not to collapse in front of everyone.”

Magdalena pushed herself upright slowly. The healer inside her noticed things before fear settled. The stiffness. The tremor in his good hand. The way one leg dragged fractionally inward even while sitting still. The exhaustion written plainly throughout a body long denied mercy. 

“You should not be wearing them,” she said quietly.

He gave a humourless sound through his nose.

“And yet here we are.”

She hesitated only briefly before stepping closer.

“If you wish not to collapse tonight,” she said carefully, lowering herself to her knees beside the bed, “then please allow me to do my work.”

Something unreadable crossed his face. Pride resisted, but pain won. 

After a long moment he leaned back against the piled furs with visible reluctance.

“Fine.”

He sounded deeply unconvinced.

Magdalena reached first for the leather bindings. Up close the braces looked worse than she remembered. Ingenious in their cruelty.

Her fingers moved carefully over straps stiffened by long use, loosening them one by one. The buckles resisted. Cold iron shifted beneath her hands.

The first brace came loose.

Ivar exhaled sharply before catching himself. The relief had escaped involuntarily. He looked irritated by that too.

The second followed slower.

When the last fastening finally released, his body shifted almost immediately beneath the absence of restraint.

His right foot curled inward sharply. A spasm followed, violent enough that his jaw tightened again.

Magdalena stilled. Brother Amandus’ osteoarthritic hands were not the same. But near enough. Old pains. Cold mornings. Muscles locked hard around suffering until warmth coaxed them loose again.

“You need warmth,” she said before thinking.

He looked at her flatly.

“I need ale.”

She ignored him.

“Willow bark tea,” she continued quietly, already thinking through remedies. “More blankets.”

One brow lifted.

“You are giving me orders now?”

“No,” she said automatically. “I am trying to make it possible for you to walk by sunset.”

Silence. Then unexpectedly something that almost looked like a smile appeared at the corner of his mouth.

He whistled sharply. The dog lifted its head instantly. A brief command followed in Norse, followed by a name: “Brechje.” The dog tottered off. Moments later the scarred young woman who had given her food and a cloak appeared again. 

Ivar spoke quickly in his own language, clipped and impatient. Brechje glanced once toward Magdalena, something almost sympathetic flickering briefly across her face before disappearing again.

Brechje returned not long after.

A steaming clay cup was balanced carefully between her hands, blankets draped over one arm, the sharp scent of willow bark rising faintly into the air of the tent. She avoided looking too long at either of them, though Magdalena caught the brief flicker of curiosity in her eyes. 

A few quiet words passed between Brechje and Ivar in Norse. Then the young woman set everything down and slipped outside once more, the canvas settling closed behind her.

Only when the tent quieted once more did Magdalena look back at him.

“You should move higher,” she said carefully.

Suspicion crossed his face immediately.

“Why?”

“So I can see.”

For a moment he simply looked at her. Annoyance warred visibly with exhaustion. But pain won again.

With a muttered curse beneath his breath, he pushed awkwardly against the furs, bracing himself with his good arm and dragging himself higher onto the bed. The effort cost him.

She saw it plainly. The tightening of his jaw. The sharp breath caught halfway through the movement. The instinctive curl of his shoulders inward, as though pain had taught his body to fold around itself. His body had learned to endure too well.

Still, it was not enough.

The thick wool trousers had twisted badly beneath the braces during the night, bunched tightly around swollen joints and tender skin.

Magdalena hesitated only briefly. Pain was humiliating enough on its own.

“The fabric,” she said quietly. “I need to see properly.”

His expression closed at once.

A flicker of resistance. Embarrassment, sharper than irritation.

“No.”

The answer came too quickly.

She lowered her gaze instinctively.

“My lord,” she said softly, patient rather than pleading, “I cannot treat what I cannot examine.”

Silence followed. Ivar looked away first. Towards the tent wall. Anywhere but her. His hand tightened once against the furs. Then loosened again.

“Fine,” he muttered at last, sounding deeply unconvinced.

Magdalena moved carefully. Without hesitation or ceremony.

She moved the heavy wool aside and loosened the thick fabric where it had twisted too tightly around his ankles. When the clothes resisted, caught awkwardly beneath stiff joints that refused to move easily, she paused.

“You will have to lift slightly.”

His jaw tightened. For a moment she thought he might refuse out of sheer pride.

Then, with visible reluctance, he shifted his weight enough for her to ease the trousers downward to mid-thigh, only as far as necessary.

Nothing more. Only enough to examine the damage properly.

His pale skin was marked by angry red impressions from where leather and iron had pressed too long. One knee rested at an awkward angle, muscles drawn taut beneath it. His right foot had curled inward again, seized by a lingering spasm.

Without the braces, it became evident what demanding too much from his body cost him. 

Ivar turned his face away completely. 

“I know what they look like,” he muttered quietly, not in anger, not in warning. This was his ultimate humiliation, not because pain existed, because she suspected he understood pain too well. 

But because she had become a witness to it. Magdalena pretended not to notice his inability to meet her eyes; sometimes kindness looked very much like practicality. 

“Please,” she said softly, settling at the edge of the bed. “Allow me to do my work.”

Magdalena wrapped both hands around the warm clay cup first and offered it carefully.

“For the pain,” she said quietly.

Ivar accepted it with his good hand. Something guarded moved briefly through his expression. He drank the tea he disliked slowly. 

Only when the worst of the strain eased from his face did Magdalena look back at his legs.

The stiffness remained. Muscles still pulled too tightly beneath pale skin. The right foot curled inward again intermittently, seized by its own rebellion.

Magdalena reached for the folded blankets first.

She tucked them carefully beneath his knees, raising the angle slightly to ease strain through hips and spine.

“There,” she murmured. “That will help.”

He glanced down skeptically.

“You speak with surprising confidence for a slave.”

“I cared for Brother Amandus on bad days,” she answered quietly. “Pain is rarely different between men.”

He went still as if he suddenly understood. To her, this was not extraordinary. Not shameful. Only suffering. Only a body in pain. Some of the rigid tension left him then, though he would never admit it.

Magdalena had already turned her attention elsewhere.

To the muscles drawn rigid beneath skin.

“Place your heel here.”

He frowned.

“What?”

“Between my knees,” she clarified softly. “It will stop the muscle from fighting me.”

Reluctantly he obeyed. His heel rested lightly between her knees, enough to steady it without force.

Her hands moved first to his calf. The muscle was cold and rigid, knotted hard beneath skin.

Carefully she began working warmth back into it. With slow pressure and steady movement.  Thumbs pressing where muscle seized hardest. Never forcing.

Brother Amandus had taught patience before skill. Healing rarely listened to violence.

At first his whole body resisted. Shoulders fully rigid again. Jaw locked. Hands curled hard into fists atop the furs.  He looked resolutely away. Towards the tent wall. Anywhere but down. Anywhere but her.

Pain crossed plainly through his face whenever she worked through the worst places.

A sharp inhale. Tightening around his eyes. His fist flexed once. 

But gradually, slowly, his breathing changed; less sharp and guarded as the violent tension began to loosen beneath practiced hands.

When she moved carefully towards the curled foot, supporting it gently while easing stiffness through careful pressure, she felt resistance begin to surrender.

The rigid angle softened. Only slightly. Enough.

When she finally eased her hands away, he shifted fractionally against the furs. Less guarded. Still hurting. But bearable now.

Without comment, Magdalena reached for his wounded arm. The linen had shifted badly. The limb had been used too much already. Too much foolish stubbornness.

“You overworked it.”

His jaw tightened immediately.

“The camp does not stop because my arm hurts. Rest is a luxury I do not have.”

“But you reopened it.”

“I did reopen it.” He agreed matter-of-factly. Almost irritated she had noticed. 

Her gaze lifted sharply. Faint rust-coloured stains bled deeper through the linen.

Annoyance rose before caution stopped it.

“You are impossible.”

One brow lifted.

“You speak strangely to your master.”

“You speak strangely for someone who wishes to keep his arm.”

That nearly startled the amusement out of him. Nearly. Instead something sharper settled into his expression.

“Fair.”

Carefully she unwound the linen. Layer by layer. The wound still held. Thank God. No signs of rot nor foul heat. Only strain where healing flesh had been pulled too soon.

Her fingers moved with practiced certainty. Cleaning. Checking. Warming honey between fingertips before easing it carefully across torn edges.

Fresh linen followed. The world narrowed again. Not to fear. Not to captivity. Only work. Healing. Purpose.

Brother Amandus had once told her that pain listened best to calm hands.

When she finished securing the bandage, she sat back slightly.

“You were fortunate enough not to redo the damage.”

Ivar looked unimpressed.

“I dislike relying on fortune.”

“No,” she murmured before thinking. “You prefer forcing things through will alone.” 

Unexpectedly he made a low sound that almost resembled laughter.

His gaze lingered on her longer this time.

Then, quieter: “Will I be able to use my arm fully again?”

Magdalena looked back towards the arm carefully.

“Considering you allow time and rest to heal properly?”

His expression darkened immediately. Meaning no, he already intended to ignore that advice. 

She hesitated before continuing her verdict. 

“Scar tissue may remain.”

His jaw shifted.

“How bad?”

“You may lose some movement,” she admitted softly. “Strength, perhaps. Some pain in cold weather.”

His mouth flattened. As though the answer offended him personally.

“I hate cold weather.”

“You are a Northman.”

“Yes,” he said dryly. “Deeply inconvenient.”

Despite herself, something dangerous that nearly resembled amusement crossed her face. It vanished quickly.

He noticed anyway.

“There.”

She blinked.

“What?”

“That face.”

“What face?”

“The one where you nearly smile.”

Heat rose immediately to her cheeks.

“I did not smile.”

“You nearly did.”

“I did not.”

“Terrible liar. And what happened to my Lord?”

She looked away quickly, refusing to acknowledge the strange warmth rising somewhere inside her chest.

Outside, the camp stirred louder with morning.

Voices rising. Movement beginning. Preparations already underway. Inside the tent, however; calm lingered. Neither of them seemed eager to disturb it.

Eventually exhaustion reclaimed him. Gradual. Unwilling. His body settled carefully against the furs. Pain remained. But not as sharp as before. Manageable.

Without thinking, Magdalena adjusted the blanket higher over him. The reflex of the gesture startled her. She withdrew almost immediately.

But he had already closed his eyes. Pretending not to notice. Or perhaps too tired to care.

His breathing slowed and steadied. Sleep came hard from necessity. 

For a while, the tent belonged only to rain, softly ticking on the canvas. To silence, to strange temporary peace. 

Eventually, restlessness won. Magdalena had never learned idleness well. Her hands needed purpose; she needed something useful to do. The healer in her moved towards the crate of medical supplies before thought could stop it. 

She crushed garlic carefully into honey, sorted herbs, and refolded fresh linen. All small rituals that steadied her. 

As morning passed, the camp outside grew louder. Voices rising, laughter somewhere beyond the rain. The smell of smoke thickening as fires were kindled properly for the day. 

Inside however, the tent remained strangely quiet. The dog slept heavily near the entrance, its full length stretched upon the furs, occasionally twitching in its dreams. 

And Ivar still slept. Though not peacefully. Even resting, pain lingered. She saw it in the occasional tightening in his jaw, the way his shoulders shifted fractionally against invisible discomfort. A body that never fully surrendered. 

Her gaze drifted again. Maps lay scattered across the tables; river bends, trade routes. Small markings carved with deliberate precision. 

Beside the maps sat something smaller: a carved board. Dark wood worn smooth by years of touch. Small pieces rested in a leather pouch beside it. 

Curiosity moved faster than caution. She reached for one carefully. Carved bone, a king perhaps, or a soldier. She had barely touched a second piece when Ivar spoke.

“Don’t you know,” came his voice, roughened by sleep, “it is rude to go through another person’s things?” 

She startled hard enough that the piece nearly slipped from her hand.

Ivar watched her from the bed, fully awake and observing; far too amused by catching her in the act.

“Especially,” he added lazily, “your master’s.” 

Her throat tightened instantly. 

“I am sorry, my lord.”

He rolled his eyes. The motion looked strangely boyish, stripped of audience and authority.

“Bring it here.” He gestured to the board and pieces. “I am bored. And you look bored too.” 

Magdalena hesitated only briefly before obeying.

The board felt heavier than expected as she approached him cautiously.

Ivar had shifted only slightly in his sleep. One leg remained propped higher beneath blankets to ease strain through hips and spine. Without the braces he seemed somehow altered. Smaller. And yet more dangerous. Less of a warlord. More of a man.

He gestured vaguely towards the edge of the bed.

“Sit.”

Magdalena hesitated. Only briefly. But enough that irritation crossed his face.

“I am not asking you to climb into it.”

Heat touched her cheeks instantly.

The dog huffed softly nearby. As though offended on everyone’s behalf.

Carefully, Magdalena settled near the edge of the bed, leaving distance between them.

Enough space to breathe. Enough space to flee. Though flee had become a rather meaningless word.

Ivar pulled the board between them.

“Hnefatafl.”

The unfamiliar word meant nothing to her. 

Confusion must have shown plainly on her face.

His mouth curved faintly.

“Of course you do not know it…” 

Something annoyingly close to fondness filtered through the irritation.

“The king escapes,” he explained, moving pieces into place with practiced ease. “The attackers trap him.”

His fingers moved quickly.

“This side defends.”

He pointed.

“This side kills.”

A beat.

“You may choose whichever feels most familiar.”

Her gaze lifted despite herself.

“That is cruel.”

“It is a choice.”

Still, he gave her the defending side. Whether out of kindness or arrogance she could not tell.

Probably arrogance.

He briefly explained the rules once. Then started the game.

Magdalena lost almost immediately. The second round lasted not much longer, and only because he allowed it.

The third ended before she fully understood what mistake she had made.

She lost, again. And again.

His irritation grew visibly.

“You are not even trying.”

“I am,” she answered softly.

“No, you are not.”

He leaned back slightly, watching her with visible disbelief.

“You move pieces like someone arranging flowers.”

“I’m not familiar with this game.”

“But you know war.”

Her stomach tightened. The convent burning. The cages. The screams.

“Yes,” she said quietly. “I suppose I do now.”

That stole something sharp from him. Only briefly; he recovered quickly. A dangerous boredom settled instead. Then slowly he tilted his head and grinned. 

“Let us make this more interesting.”

Something cold moved quietly through her stomach.

“My lord?” Her pulse stumbled. 

“The old monk.”

Her fingers stilled completely.

Ivar rearranged the pieces lazily.

“If you lose this game…”

He looked up, calm and casual. 

“I will have his head.”

The words landed without warning. Without anger. Without cruelty, even. Just matter-of-fact.

Magdalena stared at him. Waiting for mockery. For the joke. But it never came.

“You would not.”

His expression remained stoic.

“You think I would not?”

Fear moved cold through her chest. Because suddenly she realised he meant it. He held power here. Real power over life and death. 

“Play,” Ivar said softly, making his change of rules final.

The board blurred briefly before her vision. 

This time she focused. Truly focused. She watched every move he made. Forced herself to think.

Ivar noticed immediately, clearly pleased by her sudden competitiveness. 

The game stretched longer. Hope began breathing carefully. She cornered one of his pieces. Then another.

His brows lifted slightly.

“You do learn.”

But he still controlled the board patiently. Slowly, as a predator playing with its prey, driving her exactly where he wanted.

Until it was too late. 

She saw it; the trap. Her king was surrounded, there was no escape.

Ivar moved the final piece and tipped her king. 

“What a loss.”

His tone remained conversational. Almost disappointed.

“The old fool was rather gifted.”

Her breath caught painfully. No! Not Brother Armandus. 

“No, please, you cannot…”

He looked up. Waiting calmly for her pleas.    

That somehow broke something desperate inside of her.

“I will not treat you anymore.”

The words escaped before fear stopped them. She realised immediately that she had gone too far. 

But unexpectedly, Ivar clapped, almost delighted. 

“There she is.”

His eyes brightened. Not warm, but interested.

“The lioness instead of the mouse.”

He leaned slightly forward.

“You will treat me. Unless,” he continued lightly, “you wish me to explain to your people how the Viking fury entered your holy sanctuary.”

Her stomach dropped. He saw understanding strike her. Saw guilt arrive.

And continued mercilessly.

“You enabled us.”

She looked away, breathing shallow now.

“But,” he said after a pause, waving dismissively, “I will let the monk live.”

Her gaze snapped back immediately. 

“He is more useful alive. But let this be your lesson.”

His gaze held hers fully now.

“Do not lie to me, you were not trying to win before. You are now.”

Anger arrived unexpectedly. Bright enough to outrun fear for one reckless moment.

“You keep using me.”

He blinked once. Then nodded.

“That is true.”

There was no shame. No apology. Only honesty in his response. 

“You were a pawn.”

The bluntness angered her more.

“And yet,” he continued, irritation sharpening slightly now, “I gave you proper advice.”

His voice lowered.

“The world is rarely gentle with those who refuse to hate the right people.”

The familiar words landed harder now. Because he believed them. Because now, a part of her understood them.

“So first I am your pawn, now I am your slave,” she said quietly.

“Yes.” He answered immediately, without complications. “Because right now, slave, this is your best chance at survival.”

His tone sharpened suddenly.

“And you are forgetting your place.”

Fear returned quickly enough, although the anger hadn’t fully left yet.

“I am sorry, my lord.”

The hollowness in her voice did not escape him. He watched her for a long moment. Then rubbed briefly at his temples.

“You are infuriatingly impossible.”

“If you say so, my lord.”

That nearly earned another laugh. Instead he let himself fall back harder into the furs with visible irritation.

“This,” he muttered at the canvas ceiling, “is going to be a very long day.”

.-.-.

A/N: This chapter was an absolute joy to write. I loved exploring the moment where Ivar’s body finally breaks down enough to force him into something he hates: accepting that he cannot simply will himself better. For the first time since the raid, they had a moment of quiet. Almost peaceful. Their roles shifted back into healer and patient for a little while, before inevitably returning to master and slave. I really enjoy writing that dynamic between them. He reminds her what she is to him, property. She reminds him that, beneath everything else, he is still a wounded man. They challenge each other constantly and keep each other on their toes. There is something I love about those quiet moments inside the tent, away from all eyes, where reality slips through and both of them become harder to define.

Love to read your thoughts,

Xoxoxo Nukyster

(If you want to be tagged let me know)

Taglist: @miksmom-blog

Five-year-old Ivar was sceptical at first, being equally as silent as you. Eventually you ended up at the edge of the forest sat beside Ivar as you watched the older three ‘train’ sword fighting with sticks. Ivar was angrily stabbing the dirt with his stick and didn’t even notice when you wondered off. However, he looked with interest when you returned, what looked like a hundred picked flowers in your apron.

You sat back beside him, dumping the flowers on the ground as you began to fashion a flower crown. “What are you doing?” Ivar’s voice made you jump making him mumble, “Sorry,” as he shuffled to see what you were creating.

“Daisy chains,” you told him, and you sat in silence as he watched you turn the hundred little flowers into a perfectly crafted crown. The whole thing was oddly fascinating for Ivar. “How does it look?” you asked as you placed it on your head.

Ivar grinned, “I love it,” and a toothy smile appeared on your face, “what else can you do?”

Soon you began to play games in the dirt, carving tik tac toe into it with the stick he’d been using earlier. You were laughing away so oblivious you didn’t realise the older boys had gotten bored and wandered off till you heard something howl in the distance.

“Where did they go?” you asked panicked.

“They do that sometimes,” Ivar shrugged. He’d gotten used to his brothers’ antics, but he’d been so wrapped up in the game he hadn’t noticed this time, “We’ll be fine, don’t worry,” another howl, “Okay maybe worry a little,”

Unfortunately, still Ubbe had been the one to carry him here. Ivar tried to pull himself along but soon you were trying to pull him through the forest. “I hate this!” he pouted, trying to pull away.

“It’ll be easier if you’re still!” you snapped, pulling his arms harder in frustration. “Wait here,” you dropped him with a huff as you went to grab a fallen branch.

“What are you doing?”

“Use it like a walking stick,” you said, hooking your arm around his back like in a three-legged race.

“This wont work,” he huffed making you glare. Begrudgingly he tried the crutch and a small washed over his face in a few steps. “I’m walking!”

“You’re walking!” you gleefully joined in as you helped him out the Forrest as the sun began to set. More laughter followed you on the way home though you had no idea that Aslaug had already found his brothers and scolded them immensely when she realised, you’d both been left behind. The anger soon washed away as you and Ivar walked into view.

For the next few days, you and Ivar did everything together. You were essentially attached at the hip. One evening while playing inside the Lodbrok’s house due to the storm outside Aslaug called you to the other room to rebraid your now messy hair.

“Bye boys. Bye Ivar,” you grinned before running to join Aslaug, all shyness gone.

“Bye Ivar,” Hvitserk and Sigurd teased, blowing kisses at Ivar.

“Shut up,” he grumbled.

“Is she your girlfriend?”

“Are you gonna marry her?”

“Please what girl wants to marry a cripple?”

“Have you kissed her yet?” even Ubbe joined in the teasing now and any semblance of calm was soon gone.

“No!” Ivar screeched. “I don’t even like her!”

“You’re right,” Ubbe smirked, “you love her,” more fake kissing noises came from the three of them.

“Do not!” another screech came from him. He hadn’t seen Aslaug stand from the other room to come see what the fuss was all about, nor did he see you by her ankles, “She’s ugly and weird and I hate her!”

“Ivar!” Aslaug’s voice was the only one louder than Ivar’s. You however didn’t even wait before turning on your heels and running out the house into the storm. “No, wait!” Aslaug tried to stop you, but your feet were too fast.

 You came burling up to your father, burying your head in his legs sobbing. “I want to go home. I hate it here. I hate it!” and for the rest of your trip which was thankfully only another day you clung to his side again. You vowed as you rode away, you’d never return.

-

The glares Ivar was getting from his mother could cut glass. “why would she play with you after all those things you said?” she hissed after pulling him aside.

“I didn’t mean it,” he mumbled, already on the verge of tears when you refused to play with him all day before leaving, “she wasn’t supposed to hear it,”

“Then maybe you shouldn’t have said it,”

-

Ivar was convinced you’d come back. a week later, maybe a month. Possibly a year. He kept changing the goal post when you never came. He got his hopes up at one point when he saw your father but was disappointed when he realised, you’d been allowed to stay home this time. The more years that passed the more he forgot.

He was shocked when he saw you again in the first time in over a decade. He almost didn’t recognise you at first, but you could say the same about him. You weren’t some shy, meek little girl anymore. You wore an infection smile, you laughed loudly, and you were downright gorgeous. Unfortunately, he wasn’t the only one to notice.

Its all his brothers had been talking about since you arrived this morning. “I hope mother has them over for dinner tonight,” Hvirserk said as the boys practised their axe throwing, “See if she wants to catch up,” the way he wiggled his brow made Ivar want to throw his axe at him.

Especially when the other two joined in with their agreements. “Please as if you have a chance brother,” Ubbe smirked, flinging the axe and almost hitting the bullseye, “Girl like that needs a real man,”

With a growl Ivar flung his own axe into the bullseye, knocking Ubbe’s out of place in the process before dragging himself away before he sunk his next axe in someone’s eye. “Talk about someone with no chances,” he heard Sigurd laugh as he stalked away.

-

You didn’t come over for dinner that night like they’d all hoped but rather the next day they saw you in the hall as your fathers celebrated their latest decision to go raiding together. You’d came in later than most and eyes were drawn to you instantly.

“Red is defiantly her colour,” Hvitserk slurred beside him, already several ales in, “I’m going to talk to her,” he tried to stand but Ubbe put a hand on his shoulder.

He pushed him back into his seat, “Brother you’re drunk. You’ll scare her of. Allow me to welcome her,”

“Please if you don’t want to scare her, I should go,” Sigurd joined the protests.

None of them except Ivar whose eyes never left you had noticed you walking straight for them, “Hello boys. Long time no see,” you smiled, even sending a small one to Ivar which made him wonder if you’d forgotten the whole affair.

“Well, well, look who it is,” Ubbe grinned, going in for a hug that made Ivar want to rip his skin off, “You look so different,” he said as he pulled away.

“Good different,” Hvitserk jumped in, “I barely recognised you,”

“I thought you always looked beautiful but now you’re just- “Sigurd rambled as you awkwardly blushed praying for them to stop. “a woman now,”

“Thanks?” you said, glancing down at Ivar, “Ivar,” all he could do was nod in response, scared anything he said would make it worse. “Well, I need to say hello to my family. I’ll see you boys around,” oh gods how he’d fucked this up.

-

While many were still in the hall drinking there had been a bonfire lit in the village square that Ivar was now staring into blankly. He’d left the festivities a while ago though he knew he wouldn’t be missed. There were a few people sitting around the fire, most with ale in their hands or a woman on their arms being obnoxious. If his legs didn’t hurt, he’d go into the forest to get away from them all.

“Hey,” a small, timid voice came from behind him making him turn. “Can I sit?” it was like you were children again, him permanently silent and you scared to even move.

Ivar nodded before turning back to the fire as you moved to sit beside him. You sat in silence for a few moments, staring into the flames. The fire was a good excuse for why Ivar’s cheeks felt so hot, but he knew deep down it was because of you.

“How have you been- “

“I’m sorry,” the words came spluttering out his mouth before he could think, his head whipping round to face your shocked expression, “For everything I said. I didn’t mean it, but I said it and I hated myself for it,” he paused when you stayed silent, turning back to the flames, “I doubt you even remember it. It was so long ago,”

A moment passed before you spoke even quieter than before, “I remember,” the words made his heart shatter, “I used to hate you,” somehow it broke more.

“And now?”

You turned to him with a small smile, “Now I’m not five anymore,” a smile crept onto his own face, “Besides if I’m to move here ill need someone to keep me company,” you grinned, nudging his knee with your own.

“You’re moving here?”  Ivar felt his heart light up as you chuckled, nodding to confirm his glee. Then a sinking feeling hit him, “Did you tell my brothers yet?”

Ivar would be lying if he said the grimace on your face didn’t fill him with joy, “Not yet. You’re the only one of them who looked at my face the whole night,” you chuckled. He laughed but he felt his cheeks tinge pink, “They’re an interesting bunch, ill give them that. also, who’s Margaret?”

“What?” Ivar spluttered as you shrugged.

“Some girls told me to be careful after they saw me talking to Ubbe,”

He couldn’t help laughing a little, “Oh you’ve missed so much,”

“Good thing we’ve got plenty of time to catch up,” you grinned.

-

For the next week you were inseparable. Attached at the hip almost. It brought a smile to Aslaug face and a grimace to every boy your age. You’d both heard the subtle jabs about your closeness from his brothers, especially Sigurd, but somehow when you would put your hand on his clenched fist under the table, he felt his anger melt away.

You also seemed to be the only one who did not notice his legs. Right now, you were both sat by a tree on the edge of a lake as Ivar stared across the water and you worked daisies into your flower crown. “You’re improving,” he teased, seeing this one was in a much better state than your previous attempts.

“Please, id like to see you try,” you snorted, “You’re too rough to even make one chain,”

“I’m not rough with you,” he defended, and his heart melted at the small smile on your face.

“I know,” there was a breeze in the air, a slight chill that made you huddle closer, and no one else around to ruin the quiet. Ivar didn’t even protest when your head eventually made its way onto his shoulder, and you said nothing when his arm went around yours. For once everything was perfect. Especially when Ivar finally brought up the courage to say what he’d been thinking since the moment you reappeared in his life.

“I think I’m falling in love with you,”

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“It would be wise for your marriage if you have passion in the bedroom, darling,” my mother says.

I know she means good, and I know she is probably right, but I have to bite my tongue from mentioning her passion with my grandfather. Her marriage with my father is a mere paper. I do not wish my marriage with Ivar to be the same, despite the circumstances. But she does have a point, she has a very good relationship with my grandfather, whom she beds. Sex must be the answer to get closer to Ivar. And maybe, with time, we could learn to love each other. That is a foolish thought, but it is what motivates me to wait naked in bed. He arrives at the dormitory shortly after twelve. He has been drinking with his brothers, but all the inebriation leaves him once he sees me.

“Hello, my…” he does not like it when I call him titles, so I correct myself, “... Ivar. I have been waiting for you.” He does not say anything. Heat accumulates in my face. Does he not like what he sees? I fight the urge to cover myself and hide between the covers. His hands tighten around his crutches.

“What… What are you doing like that? What if someone other than me were to come in?” He questions, he seems angry at the idea, but his eyes do not leave my body.

“I made sure no one other than you were to come inside, my husband,” I whisper. Ivar must notice that I am not completely myself acting like this, because he looks away.

“You don’t have to do that, you know.” He approaches the bed and sits down, his back to me. “I know this is an arranged marriage, we do not have to do anything that you do not want.” His voice is uninterested but his words are sweet. I hesitate.

“I know, but we are expected to bear children.” He tenses. He does not say anything, he starts to take off his leg braces. I wait patiently. The room is colder when he speaks.

“If that is what you wish this is unnecessary, you do not have to remove your camisole.” His voice is harsh and I know I said something I was not supposed to.

“It is not only about that,” I try to correct myself though my voice waivers in nervousness, “I wish… I wish for us to enjoy making children.” It is the most direct way for me to express my desire for him.

He stops what he is doing and turns around. He looks me in the eyes looking for uncertainty. I know he finds none when he drags his body towards me. His arms muscles flex and something knots in my belly. He looms over me with a hungry stare.

When he opens his mouth I think he is about to devour me but he speaks. “Do you not know the rumors? Do you not know what they say?” He does not wait for me to answer, “apparently, I can not please a woman, I can not give children, I am a useless husband.”

I do not hesitate to answer, “I do not listen to rumors, I like to verify for myself,” I put a hand on his chest and the other around his neck. “If it is false, then we shall prove them so, and if it is true, then we shall not give up until we try everything.” He looks doubtful, “I… have learned a few tricks that shall please my husband.”

His surprise is evident when he speaks, “well, I have also learned a few tricks that shall please my wife."

I smile, “then, let us learn from one another.” I do not have time to say anything else before his lips crash with mine.

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.

“Please don’t let me die here Thor.” You pleaded towards the sky before going under again trying to not swallow anymore water.

“Please don’t let me die here Thor.” You pleaded towards the sky before going under again trying to not swallow anymore water.

When you came back up you realised the storm was spreading around you. You let tears fall down your face as you decided to float on your back for a while. You stared up at the sky suddenly feeling very tired. You tried to fight it but you had been out here for too long.

You knew you wouldn’t survive this despite praying to Thor so you let yourself slip your eyes shut. You hated that you had yet to do so much with your life. You didn’t regret much but you did have one regret swimming through your head as you felt your body slip into unconsciousness.

‘Please let me fall in love once before you take me to Valhalla.’

“Wake up woman! Come on!” You heard someone scream as your body was being shaken. You let your eyes flicker open and the first thing you saw was blue. You thought it was the sea for a second but then realised it was someone’s eyes.

You shot up and backed into a corner anxiously as you looked around the boat your were on. The Vikings on the boat were staring at you curiously as you assessed your dripping wet clothes. You were only in a white night gown which was wet enough to see through making you cross your arms to cover yourself as you curled into a ball.

“What is your name?” The blue eyed man asked with a small glare.

“Y-Y/N.” You stuttered as a cold gust of wind swept over you.

“I am King Ivar.” You stared into his blue eyes and handsome appearance before looking towards the sky with a laugh. Thor couldn’t be serious you thought humorously.

“King Ivar the Boneless.” You chuckled as you shot him a sweet smile. The ruthless Viking that killed his own brother in anger, conquered England and Kattegat.

“You’ve heard of me.” Ivar snorted before staring you down as if trying to read you.

“Yes the ruthless Viking Ivar the Boneless you are a legend. I also know a lot about your condition.” You muttered pointing to his legs.

“I used to treat someone with the same problem.” You whispered softly with a polite smile.

“So you’re a healer?” He asked with a glare almost like he didn’t wish to talk about his illness.

“I have traveled the world learning every kind of healing knowledge I could. My goal was to be the best healer in the world. But it appears Thor has made my fate known.” You chuckled as you recalled your prayer to Thor.

“And what fate would that be?” Ivar asked curiously as he moved closer to you.

“I think I am here to take care of you.” You muttered shyly as you avoided his eyes.

“Maybe you are right. We’re almost at Kattegat, get some rest.” Ivar snorted before throwing his own furs over you as well.

He didn’t say anything and you chose to just accept the unusual kindness with a smile as you drifted off to sleep. You barely registered when your head leaned onto his shoulder but he made no move to remove you so you fell into a peaceful sleep.

Ivar watched you as you slept thinking about how beautiful you were and kind. You hadn’t even been scared of him when you found out who he was and that made him more curious about what kind of woman you were.

He also justified his fascination of you by telling himself you were a healer and could help him manage his pain, but he knew that was a lie. He wanted to get to know you. Find out everything about you and maybe even test your loyalty to him.

Once you had arrived at Kattegat Ivar shook your shoulder gently, rousing you from your slumber. You stood up before bending down to help Ivar stand with the help of his crutch. He gave you a nod before being lifted off the boat.

You followed closely behind as he walked to what you guess was his throne room. He smashed the door open startling the people inside of the room and he was approached by 3 men who looked at him with various emotions.

“Brother thank the gods your finally back.” The one with the same piercing blue eyes said as he approached Ivar with a hug.

“Yes and it appears the gods may favour this young woman here too.” He chuckled as he guided you by you hand to stand in front of him.

“This is Y/N she’s a healer that has traveled the world.” He explained slowly and his brothers looked you up and down. There was a small amount of lust in each of the brothers face which made you step back into Ivar’s space so you were stood in front of him your back pressed against his chest.

“Get your eyes off her brothers she not a slave she’s a free woman who will be my personal healer.” He huffed irritably as his arm wrapped around you waist. His touch was comforting and if made your heart race which was unexpected but you leaned into his touch and his eyes widened a little at that.

“I would like to wash up before we talk about anything else. If that is okay with you my King.” You muttered softly as you turned in his grip, your face was barely a hand width from his, your face flushed which seemed to amuse him.

“Of course love.” He muttered softly, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear sweetly.

You giggled softly at the new pet name, ducking your head shyly as he asked his slave to help you prepare a bath in his room. You were shocked he was allowing you into his room but you nodded as you followed the slave.

******

Once you had bathed you were dressed in the nicest dress you’d ever seen and the slave braided parts of your hair but left the rest hang loosely around your back. Your dress was pure black with blood red lace wrapped around the sleeves, they also gave you a long fur coat that made you feel like a queen.

You smiled down at your clothes before getting dragged back to the great hall. The slave had barely spoke to you which was a little awkward but once you saw Ivar again you felt more relaxed. He looked you up and down before giving a nod.

You approached him slowly and he pulled a stool up next to his seat at the head of the table. You sat down without a word, laying your hands on your lap as you waited for your next instruction. Slave were bringing in the food when someone finally addressed you.

“I have a question if you don’t mind?” Bjorn asked scepticism clear in his voice.

“Please ask away Bjorn Ironside I have nothing to hide.” You gave him a sweet smile which only seemed to make him more sceptical.

“You know of all our stories?” He questioned slowly and you just gave him a nod.

“Are you not scared of any of us? Even Ivar? No offence but you’re a healer not a shield maiden yet you have no fear of us.” He seemed confused but his question had you laughing which made everyone look at you.

“As you know I was stranded in the ocean when King Ivar found me.” They all nodded and waited for you to continue.

“Before I felt myself drift into unconsciousness I begged Thor for something before I died. It appears he listened.” You added with a giggle.

“What did you ask for?” Hvitserk asked with excitement in his eyes.everyone began eating as they waited for your response.

Bjorn and Ubbe were drinking their mead and Hvitserk and Ivar were eating a piece of meat when you finally spoke up. Let’s just say everyone was shocked by your next sentence.

“To fall in love.” You muttered casually as you vegans to eat your own food.

The drink in the two eldest brother mouth was spat everywhere in shock, Ivar dropped his meat and his mouth fell open and Hvitserk started laughing almost choking on his food as he did.

“You think the gods brought you here to meet someone you will love?” Ubbe asked as he coughed awkwardly.

“No I think the gods brought me here to love Ivar.” You answered simply giving Ivar a sweet smile who flushed a little but his eyes were full of amazement.

“Ivar?” Bjorn asked humorously as he began eating his food.

“Why is that so funny?” You huffed angrily suddenly feeling very offended by how they were treating you.

“Yes, why is that so funny?” Ivar asked irritably, his hand coming down to give yours a reassuring squeeze.

“Because you cannot…you know…” Ubbe muttered awkwardly and you shot a glare his way.

“Because you cannot satisfy a woman.” Hvitserk blurted out and you stood up so fast making everyone jump.

“I can imagine you don’t do a great job at doing it either!” You screamed throwing a cup in Hvitserk’s direction hitting him square it the head. He stood up to retaliate but Ivar stood up in warning.

“Don’t you dare touch her!” Ivar growled as he pulled stroked your hair gently making you smile to yourself.

“I apologise I lost my temper but you should not talk about things you do not understand.” You muttered with a pout.

“He is our brother we know more about him than you.” Ubbe huffed in annoyance.

“Yes about him but not his illness! I have treated another person like him and his cock works just fine from what his wife said. In fact last I heard his wife had given birth to their 4th child.” You snorted as you remembered the joy of the first time his wife managed to conceive.

“How?” Bjorn asked curiously as he leaned his chin on his intertwined fingers.

“The first step is actually getting the person walking and seeing as that has already done all he needs is a special herb from China and a woman to warm his bed.” You answered honestly though the last string of words caused your heart to ache at the thought of another woman enjoying him.

“Kattegat has a few Chinese traders who pass through here maybe one of them has it.” Ivar responded with a small amount of excitement in his voice.

You nodded softly as you stared at your hands and tried not to think about the lucky woman who would be held by this beautiful man. Suddenly you heard Hvitserk laugh at your eyes shot up at the sound.

“And you want to be that woman.” He snorted with a smirk and you frowned.

“I would never presume that a King would want to bed me. I said I was sent by the gods to love Ivar I did not say he was to love me. I will spend my life serving him as his healer and loving him silently.” You muttered with tears in your eyes before standing up and walking out of the great hall.

You could not bare anymore snide comments or horrible things being said about Ivar. How could brothers be so mean to their brother. Not to mention he is their King they should show respect despite being blood.

You were strolling round the markets when you came across what looked like a Chinese trader. You gave him a nod before asking in Chinese if he had the herb you were looking for. He gave you a shocked grin at your perfect Chinese before passing you a bag of the herbs. You inspected it and gave him a nod before telling him you’d be back with gold for him.

You slowly strolled back to the great hall with a small smile but as you entered the hall to see the brothers now drinking around the fire you smile dropped and you walked past them to Ivar.

“I found the herb but I have nothing to trade for it.” You mumbled awkwardly as you avoided his gaze.

He stood up, making his way to his bedroom, you followed him slowly and as you stood in front of him he passed you a bag of gold coins. You gave him a nod and turned to walk out the room but Ivar’s hand grabbed your hand spinning you back around.

“Do you truly believe the Gods sent here to love me?” He asked quietly as he locked his eyes into yours.

“Yes. I feel a connection to you. I feel so calm when I am near you.” You answered him, his hand came up to caress your cheek and you leaned into his touch involuntarily.

“You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. I find it hard to believe you have never loved a man.” He chuckled as if the thought was ridiculous.

“I have spent my life travelling I have never even bed a man before.” You muttered shyly as you averted your eyes from his now wide ones.

Ivar nodded and released you so you quickly ran back to the market and received the herbs. Hopefully this worked because even if it was not you he chose to bed you hoped it would make him happy. His happiness was your only concern right now.

Once you returned you passed the herbs to Ivar who looked at them with a raised brow. His brothers came over to the throne and gave there brother a sign to hurry up. You nodded at Ivar as you took the bag from him.

You took the meat leg in Ubbe hand with a cheeky smile before ripping off a piece of meet and coating it with green herbs. You picked up the coated meat and passed it to Ivar.

“It called Yin Yang Hou. It’s a Chinese herb.” You stated as Ivar threw in his mouth nervously. You waited for what felt like years but really it was only 20 minutes before Ivar’s eyes widened.

“It works.” Ivar laughed as he stood up.

“Yes we can see that.” Ubbe laughed as you all looked at his noticeable erection.

“Very clearly.” You giggled as you looked at his size through his pants.

Ivar hobbled over to you with a smile before he pulled you in for what felt like a hug from a lover. One hand was in your hair while the other was very low on your back. You actually felt his hardened member pressed against your stomach as he held you.

“Thank you.” He whispered in your ear before stepping back.

“So who shall I bring to your room?” Ubbe asked joyfully as he patted his brother back.

“No one.” Ivar answered and your eyes shot to his.

“But you are finally able to bed a woman.” Hvitserk laughed evenly as he frowned at Ivar.

“Y/N would you excuse us for a moment.” Ivar spoke, you gave him a nod before leaving the Greta hall and waiting outside. Ivar watched as you walked out before turning to his brothers with a smile.

“You’re going to bed her aren’t you?” Bjorn snorted with an approving nod.

“No I am going to make her my wife.” Ivar grinned and his brothers laughed and congratulated him.

******

Later that night there was a meeting called by Ivar, saying everyone must attend. You were already by Ivar’s side as everyone started pouring into the great hall with chatter. You could here people asking each other if they knew what was going on but no one seemed to know except Ivar and his brothers.

Ivar stood up and everyone stopped talking, listening to whatever he was about to say. You bowed you head in respect before lifting it to watch him address his people.

“I have brought you all here to inform you I have found a woman that I wish to make queen.” You stomach dropped as the words left his mouth. Your heart squeezed painfully as you looked down to hide your tears.

“Her name is Y/N and she is a healer.” Your eyes shot up to him who was staring down at you. The tears that had escaped seemed to shock him and he approached you carefully.

“What is wrong my love?” He asked gently and you wiped your eyes with a smile.

“I thought you were going to marry some random beautiful Princess or something.” You sniffled with a pout and he just laughed before cupping your cheek and leaning down.

When his lips touched yours it was like a million sparks exploding behind your eyes. It felt like the most amazing thing you’d ever felt. It was your first kiss and you wished it would never end. He pulled away to look at his people who were smiling.

“Meet your future Queen of Kattegat!” He cheered heartily before leading you to the queens throne. You blushed as he made you sit down.

If someone would if told you as a year ago that you would one day be a queen you would’ve laughed. Yet here you were with the most beautiful man you’d ever seen holding your hand as he tells you he wishes to marry you.

“I am shocked you wish to marry me my King.” You whispered to him as he laced your finger together.

“Why? You are beautiful, kind and know how to handle my legs among other things.” He smirked as he brought your hand to his lips with a lustful gaze. You flushed under his gaze but gave him a smile to show him you were happy.

“I wish to make a sacrifice to Thor as a thank you to him for leading me to you.” You chuckled happily and he nodded his head in agreement.

“And maybe to Freya so she might bless us with a child.” He added making you giggle returned his nod.

Ivar ran his hand over his face as he slowly limped down the hall, leaning heavily on his crutch.

It had been a long day of duties, from listening to villagers worries and woes to planning for the coming summer raids. All he wished was to cuddle beside his wife who he'd missed deeply throughout the day.

You were normally by his side through it all but over the past few weeks you had been condemned to bedrest on the healers orders.

He paused as he got to the doorway of your bedroom, admiring the view before him. He never understood how you could sleep in such contorted ways.

As the fire in heath lit the room, you laid with your head buried in his pillows while the furs meant to keep you warm were tossed in a bundle beside you. Your night dress had risen up to expose your legs and tattooed thigh.

It had been a year and he still adored the sight of the ink on your skin. His innocent Francia princess turned Viking queen.

He moved towards the bed making as little sound as possible but from the soft snores it was clear you were in deep sleep. You hated when he told you, you snored but he found it adorable, although he never brought it up again as it earned him silence treatment for a few hours until he made you laugh about something.

Gently he perched himself on the edge of the bed, removing his shirt before carefully trying to remove his braces, something you had always done but he wished not to wake you.

He swore under his breath as he struggled before jumping slightly as you moved behind him. Slowly looking over his shoulder, he found you'd shifted towards him, like a magnet in your sleep.

Smiling, he gently tucked some stray hairs behind your ear and cupped your cheek as you hummed. You made little noises at him as if you were trying to talk to him but the capture of sleep was stopping you. Another thing you hated but he found heartwarming.

His eyes travelled down your body, taking in everything little detail from the freckle on your shoulder to the ink on your thigh down to your toes. He still couldn't believe after all these years, you were his and he was yours.

With a small smirk he lightly trailed a finger up your leg and traced the design on your thigh. He watched as your toes wiggled before tiptoeing his fingers up your hip.

His hand rested there a moment as he watched you shift more onto your back, relieving the swell of your stomach.

Ivar's eyes lit up as he felt tiny movements against his palm while he placed his hand gently on the bump.

"Hello, my little love" He whispered as he leaned down beside you, braces forgotten for the moment.

His thumb caressed your stomach over the fabric of your night dress, his face in a beaming smile as the movements continued. He was lost in a world of bless until you suddenly gasped and bolted up.

"My love?" Concern flooded his features as he watched you hold your side, eyes scrunched tightly. He had moved his hand away quickly as if his touch had burnt you.

You shook your head, getting your breath back before replying.

"It's ok mon coeur. Just a hard kick to the ribs" you sighed softly, kneading the dull pain in your side.

"Did I cause that?" He asked, still nervous to touch you again for fear of causing harm.

"No, I believe he was just excited to hear his father" you gave him a gentle smile took his hand in yours "you did nothing wrong"

"That was a kick?" He frowned "I thought the small movements were kicks?"

"In the beginning but he is growing stronger and bigger everyday" You felt were his hand had been before laughing slightly "I think that he was wiggling his arse"

"Oh" Ivar said softly, casting his eyes down before looking up at you as you placed his hand back and yours on his cheek, stroking his cheek bone.

"It's ok, I'm ok" you smiled gently "we are both ok, the kicks means he's healthy"

Ivar hummed as he moved to kiss you before breaking away as he felt a few kicks on his palm. His eyes widened as he checked if it hurt you before smiling down.

Ever since you told Ivar, he was to be a father, he had worried non stop about the health of the baby and yourself. The fear was justified as there was a small chance the baby could be like him and over the years of trying for an heir things hadn't been smooth.

After no success in the first couple of years, you decided to stop trying, if was meant to happen, it would. Over time you both believe it wasn't meant to be and were content with each other, this pregnancy was a shock but a happy one.

He shifted to place his head on your stomach while you ran your fingers through his hair.

"Little love, I know you are showing us what a strong warrior you will be but let's make a pact to be gentle on your beautiful mother" He murmured as he caressed your bump and earned a few softer kicks back.

"Oh Ivar" you smiled down at him, tears in your eyes.

He glanced up at you and smirked "Excuse me, I'm having words with my little love, my love" He teased dismissively, "this is not for you, go back to sleep"

You laughed and shook your head at him before you relaxed onto the pillows once more, listening to Ivar as you closed your eyes and played with his hair.

"I know your mother refers to you as he. Something about mothers instinct but just know my little love, we will love you whatever you are. You just focus on staying healthy and strong" He whispered as your hand slowed in his hair "we can't wait to meet you, I have so many things to show and teach you"