#soft ivar

You slowly looked up, as you noticed his blue eyes were studying every movement of your working hands, like he always did. You almost started to think he enjoyed watching you farm. “How was raiding the Saxons, got loads of riches i suppose?” You asked Ivar with a soft smile, as your hands kept working the soil, digging the seeds with a well thought through distance between every seed, also feeling where the soil would be wet enough. You hadn’t always been this at ease around Ivar, nooo not even close. At the beginning you found him more intriguing, fearsome even as you didn’t understand the condition he carried. He did seem to find your intrigue funny, the visits he made to farm were always played off as a supply run from his side. Though you knew very well, the amount of times he had visited your farm had nothing to do with getting supplies. You had teased him with it a few times lately and he would just say “Instead of openly fearing me, you hand me a basket and put me to work”.

“Of course we did. Enough silver to make half of Kattegat drunk before nightfall” He answered your question, with that recognisable smug smirk on his face. When he spoke he had shifted his shoulder slightly, a faint hiss leaving his lips before he quickly hid it. You noticed and saw dried blood near his shoulder along with torn fabric hanging from his shoulder, showing the bloody gash beneath his clothes. “Guess you could use some patching up” You spoke, it wasn’t a question. “I did not come here to be treated like a wounded animal.” His voice was low, almost defensive, though the slight tension in his jaw betrayed him. “Accepting help is not a weakness… Ivar” Your voice is soft, you meant it. Ivar gazed into your eyes for a moment, a moment of studying your face before realizing you genuinely meant it as your eyes held concern, instead of pity. He didn’t say anything, just followed you inside the wooden cabin. Him not fighting your attempts at help was a huge step already, it actually secretly surprised you. 

The wooden cabin was dimly lit, candles burning throughout the place, soft glow of candlelight dancing across the wooden walls. Different kinds of fur decorated the place, radiating a certain kind of warmth. Ivar had taken a seat and you placed a bowl of water beside him, crushing herbs between your fingers before mixing them into a paste with honey. Your mother had once taught you this to make for infected wounds. When you were getting it all set, Ivar had sunk into deep thought as he was watching your every move silently. Apparently he was thinking about the first time he realised you had stopped fearing him, that you were seeing him for the strong, intelligent warrior he was instead of a cripple. It was the moment that made you realise he feared nothing himself, you saw him as a strong and smart warrior ever since. That moment had made him realize, you intrigued him as well. That had been the moment you began haunting his thoughts. Your gentle manner, the way you spoke to him, treated him like an equal, the way your name sounded on his tongue. But he didn’t speak about it out loud.

You wetted a linen cloth in the water bowl and stepped in between his legs carefully. Your fingers carefully moved the torn cloth down his shoulder, your touches soft and gentle as the cloth would stick a little due to the dried blood, revealing a bit of his muscular chest and upper arm. Up close you could smell traces of smoke, iron and the cold air that was still clinging to him from his journey back home. Ivar his muscles would tense beneath your touch, but he remained silent. “This might sting a little” Your voice was soft, assuring as you started to dab the nasty wound on his shoulder. You were cleaning his wound thoroughly, making his jaw tighten while his fingers gripped the chair and his nostrils would flare lightly. his blue eyes would never leave your E/C ones. It was almost like he was focusing on you to distract him from the sting of the wound. For a moment, the sting of the wound no longer seemed to be what made Ivar tense beneath your touch. The small cabin suddenly felt far warmer than the burning candles could explain as neither of you seemed eager to break the silence settling between the both of you. 

You tossed the linen cloth that was now drenched in blood and dirt aside, dipping your fingers in the paste of herbs and honey. Your touch was careful and slow, spreading the paste across the cleaned wound on his shoulder. Your touch lingered longer than necessary, warmth radiating from your hands into his skin. “Do you always stare this intensely when patching people up” He asked, his voice almost quiet, trying to distract himself from the warmth of your hands and how good it felt to have your hands touching him. “Only the wounded ones who refuse to admit they are hurt” You answered softly, making sure the entire wound was covered with the paste, your fingers tracing his skin once again as you enjoyed the closeness too much. Your words and the touch of your fingers earned the faintest smirk on him. When he realised you were done and ready to remove your fingers from his skin he suddenly grabbed your wrist. It wasn’t to stop you, no it was to keep your touch there for a moment longer. Your fingers slowed, once you realised just how close the two of you had gotten, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from him beneath your fingertips.

Your breath caught in your chest softly as your eyes lifted once more to meet his blue gaze. The usual sharpness in Ivar's eyes had faded, being replaced by something more quiet, almost uncertain even. It was something softer, something dangerously close to longing. “You do not look at me the way they do.” His voice had softened, almost sounding like a confession. By now you even forgot you were done with patching him up, the touch of his hand around your wrist, the look in his eyes, the softness in his voice kept you right in place and drew you in even closer. “It is because they do not see you the way I do.” Your voice was soft, certain, honest. His grip around your wrist had softened by now, his thumb slowly brushing against your skin absentmindedly. Silence had settled between the two of you once again, this time it did feel heavier, warmer even. His eyes were wandering down from your eyes to your lips for the briefest moment, before roaming back up again. You drew in closer to him, not really noticing it because of the intensity of the moment. Yearning for more, as he was eternally fighting the doubt if he should even do this, if you even wanted this. 

Exterior Facade :

Basement / Laundry room :

Living Room & Dining Room :

Kitchen :

Scullery :

4 Bedrooms : Ivar, Y/n + two others

4 Bathrooms : Y/n, Ivar + two others

2 Desks : Ivar, Y/n

Backyard :

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English is not my mother tongue

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Previous Chapter

“I want you to meet Ivar The Boneless Y/N” simply said Oleg as he turns his back on you to go up to his throne. “I have heard of him my Prince,” you said reluctantly. He exhales and sits, he is now looking at you with one of his legs stretches whereas his elbows leaning on the armrest “Don’t you think it will be better to know who you are going to travel with? Plus, he is my friend now. I want you to meet him” he looks down on you. This wasn’t an order, but you could hear in his tone he wanted to be persuasive “As you command my Prince” you simply nodded and take a step back before leaving. It was true, you heard about Ivar, when he was Prince but also when he was King and during some trips longing the Silk Road you heard here and there that he was in the area, but you never thought you would meet him let alone that you would hear Oleg say he found a friend in him. But the situation was made that way and you wanted to be apart of the battalions that will live the next morning to Scandinavia anyway, so the meeting was inevitable. If you were so unwilling to meet him it was because you didn’t want him to see your face, when you’re on a mission you never reveal your real identity. After all, you knew how people would act knowing you’re a mercenary and add to that the fact that you’re a woman, a woman mercenary. Just imagine their reactions give you headaches, you had two lives, sort of. On one hand, you could be mistaken for a young woman coming from a rich family and on the other hand, you were the bloody mercenary working for Pince Oleg everybody was afraid of. Nobody knew your identity or who you truly were and when walking down the market you could hear whispers that you were Prince Oleg’s cousin, everybody sticks on that version and that was okay with you.

You were so deep in your thoughts you didn’t notice Ivar’s silhouette walking on your way, you deeply inhale, and before you could think twice about what you were about to do, you catch his eye. He stops walking and continues eyeing you as you get nearer him “Prince Oleg wanted us to meet, what a coincidence to see you here and now" you simply said looking at his face as he frowns “You know Prince Oleg?” he hesitantly asks. His confused face let you believe the Prince didn’t talk to Ivar about you. So you’ll have to introduce yourself and the more time you’ll have to talk to him, the more time Ivar has to imprint your face. You sigh in the disappointment of that last thought and look forward vanquished “I’m Y/N, I will go with you tomorrow”. You glanced at Ivar only to see him more and more confused, that whole situation seriously began to bother you. You get closer to him as he was staring at you bewildered “I’m a mercenary, I work for our Prince” you simply whispered making sure nobody could hear your words. His eyes that were then focusing on your body slowly lift up to your eyes and you look at him unblinkingly as to show him how serious you were. “A woman.,” he mutters so quietly you could barely hear him as he was now looking away. You were about to respond to him angrily but before you could say anything he was now looking at you in awe to your surprise. You took a step back and cleared your voice looking back down before lifting up your gaze to meet his “Don’t ask me how and why I won’t answer Ivar” you firmly say. “You know who I am?” he lets out and you shrug “Who doesn’t? I mean, I heard stories here and there about your achievements” you nonchalantly answer. “I never heard about a mercenary woman named Y/N” he chuckles, it seems like remembering him things about his past boosted his confidence. “It’s because you were too busy claiming you’re a god” you snap and he suddenly stops chuckling, looking at the ground. He now had an expressionless face and you knew you hit a nerve, you were kinda proud of yourself, if he thought he could simply teasing you like that, he was madly wrong. You tuck a lock of your long black hair behind your ear and you couldn’t help but smile at the situation “Now that the presentations have been made, would you excuse me I have matters to manage” you arrogantly say as you leave him with his thoughts. You go to the nearer merchant stand and start discussing with the owner and slowly glance at Ivar that was looking at you in disbelief.

Back to the palace later the afternoon, Oleg sent a guard looking for you, he wanted to see you. You took off the white fur pillbox hat, the white fur scarf, and your beige coat. Once cleared of all those layers you intend to go meet your Prince. The guards opened the door and you get inside as you silently walk toward the throne. “My Prince,” you say but your peaceful voice break when you see you weren’t alone, Ivar was also here staring at you as you get closer to them. You stop yourself and just ignore the man who was leaning on his crutches to look at Oleg. “How was your day Y/N?” he asks as he was walking around like he was occupied searching for something as usual. “Well, I bought supplies my prince” you answer without saying much. “Good to hear” he mutters as if he didn’t really care “Here is Ivar The Boneless, the friend I was talking to you about earlier” he excitedly said. He seemed to be surprisingly happy about the arrival of that stranger in Kiev. You fake a smile at Ivar in an attempt to not spoil the mood “Nice to meet you” you hiss while you nod. Wrinkles appear at the corner of his eyes as if he wanted to tell what happens at the market and you glower at him to get him to understand neither of you would want to irritate the Prince. It seems like he gets it “Nice to meet you” he responds softly. You now turn your face to Oleg and your facial expression completely changes as you genuinely smile at him. He walks towards you and put his hand on your arm before looking at Ivar “She and I work together since my soldiers bring her to me after she killed an outrageous number of them” his brows raised and he winces “Nobody would want to face her, that I can assure you my friend” he adds before patting your shoulder. You could feel Ivar’s gaze looking at every inch of your body, he didn’t think you could be that fierce with such a harmonious body. You choose to ignore the lust growing in his eyes and look at your Prince as your smile grew even wider at each of his words. “You could’ve killed me that time, but you didn’t my Prince, that is why I stayed in Kiev working for you,” you say. “Oh, you don’t work for me Y/N you know I admire your fearlessness. We work together” he shakes his head and looks you in the eyes. “Fortunately she wanted to go watch over you,” he says in favor of Ivar. The greedy eyes of the man left your body to meet the gaze of your Prince and he then looks at you. You just realized what Oleg said and you close your eyes in discontentment, you knew too damn well it was true you wanted to go to Scandinavia with the troop, but you never specify to the Prince it was to “watch over” no nobody and even less Ivar The Boneless. During the conference you were not anymore listening to Oleg, you just thought about how you could get the thought that you cared for him out of the head of the foreigner. Unfortunately for you, you didn’t find any way out “Y/N?” Oleg asks and you lift up your gaze to him and glance at Ivar “Yes my Prince” you mutter, “Perfect” he says before allowing you to retire. You curtsey and walk toward the doors as you hear the crutches of Ivar behind you when you two were too far from Oleg to hear, you turn your head to look at him and try to walk faster “Y/N” you hear and you close your eyes as if closing them would avoid you to face the stranger. “Y/N?” you hear once again and this time you inhale deeply before you stop and turn to face him “I don’t do no child care” you let out with a fake smile. “You don’t have to fake a smile when we’re only the two of us. And I know you only wanted to travel. You want to go with the troop has nothing to do with me” he lets you know without looking at your face. You were a bit surprised by the fact he knew you needed to travel but you didn’t say anything and just slightly frown “I wanted to ask you something” he softly said as he raises his head to let his eyes met yours. You blink without saying anything and now he is beside you but instead of stoping himself he continues to walk and you silently follow. “Why do you hate me?” he finally lets out and you stop yourself as you suddenly look at him but he keeps looking down walking so you inhale and nervously swallow as you were trying to think about something to get yourself out of that situation, but your thoughts got twisted “I don’t-” you finally say but you stop as you let out a long sigh putting one of your hand on your face and let it run down your skin “I mean, I know why my brothers hate me, I know why my people hate me I didn’t make the best decisions. But you, I don’t get why you hate me” he added with the same softness in his voice. “First, I’d like to say past is just something we told ourselves,” you say. He doesn’t answer and you look up to see him looking like he was lost in his thoughts. You close once again your eyes and you feel a hand grab your wrist as your eyes snapped open. The door was only a few inches away from your face and it was Ivar that stopped you from literally going into a wall. You get to meet his gaze for the first time ever since he said all those things to you. “Then, I’d like to say that places cannot change who and what you are” you mutter as you could feel your cheeks getting warmer seeing how charming his blue eyes turning dark were. “If you can run from people, you cannot run from yourself Ivar” you add while you close your eyes and shake your head. He was genuine when he said he understood why his family and his people hated him and that just broke your heart, but the answer wasn’t to run away, you spoke by experience. You didn’t say this to feel better about yourself because you were so mean to him but because you could totally understand his feeling. You weren’t appreciated either in your hometown. Your father wasn’t there for you, he was raiding each spring letting you all alone and your mother died giving birth to you. You didn’t even have someone or somewhere to truly call home. When your father didn’t come back after a raid, you left your town and began to travel. You could’ve died and nobody would’ve even remembered your name but thanks to your addiction to observe the older train you learn how to fight like a little girl. And the more you traveled the more you learned new ways of fighting, but you were always alone... Always. So you were well aware of the feeling to not fit anywhere or being rejected and not belong to anything. “Listen Ivar, I don’t hate you... it’s just... I’m not used to talking to people, to be honest, and nobody has ever been kind to me beside Prince Oleg, that is why when I meet someone knew I assume they will treat me like everybody else... Why would they act any differently?” You say and he lets go of your wrist looking in your eyes as if he was looking through your soul. You wanted to look away but you just couldn’t he was sincere and you were too, to be fully honest you didn’t even understand why you opened your heart to him. But the way he made you feel when asking you why you hated him followed by all the memories that ran back in your mind was something you didn’t feel in a long time... You two stayed like that for a moment without saying anything just looking in each other's eyes as you were having a silent conversation when the guards opened the door missing to hit you. You then leave going directly to your room and lock yourself in as you put your back against the door looking at the ground. What did just happen? You wonder as you notice your heavy breath and the warmth that grew in your chest. You simply swallow and close your eyes taking a deep breath in.

At night, you were about to go downtown like you always do, it was your way of meditating and get rid of bad dreams. It’s been sometime now you were used to this solitary life but the face of your father followed you wherever you were going. You remember it perfectly as if the last time you saw it was some minutes ago, his brows were always furrowed and he always looked mad even when he was the happiest. He was known to be the fiercest warrior in your town and feared by all human beings he knew, kids wouldn’t play with you because they were afraid of your father but that didn’t bother you as long as you could watch your father train and train with him. You were always obsessed with war and fights, you remember when there were sacrifices for the gods you were fascinated. Your father always called you a “weird kid” and it made you laugh because you thought it was the other kids that weren’t “normal”. Part of the reason why you were obsessed with war, blood, and fights was that even though you were the thing your father loved the most he would always go back to raiding, he never missed one. So you started to wonder what was so special about raiding and traveling for your father to be okay with abandon you almost every year. Nevertheless, even if that no man's land lifestyle was your choice, solitude wasn’t. And how could you trust anyone when the person you trusted the most wasn’t annoyed by the thought of losing you?

If you didn’t go out to clear your mind, you would be sure to see his face in those bad dreams that didn’t want to leave you ever since you left the house you two once shared.

You make sure to place some knives here and there on you before you open your door to come face to face with Ivar. You weren’t in the same mood as the last time you saw him. Now you just wanted to get fresh air and think about something that didn’t make you suffocated as much as the thought of your father did. Assuming your bad mood you roll your eyes at him “What do you want now?” you abruptly ask “cannot live without me?” you add raising your brows. You didn’t care about his feelings anymore, you were focused on trying to cope with the loss of your father. He raised his brows and close his eyes “Stop telling me whatever is on your mind like I care” he snaps and you frown. Was he meaning you annoyed him with thoughts and memories you shared with him a bit earlier? You just wanted to punch him in his damn face but you did nothing and kept your mouth close “Oleg want you to come to eat with us and even I don’t want it" he added and he directly turns his back to you. You once again rolled your eyes and hold back the thought of throwing one of your knives directly in his neck. On the way to the dining room, the words of Ivar come back in your head ‘Even I don’t want it”... “Like I care”... So there was a moment he was looking at you like he wanted you and now he was acting like he didn’t care at all what a strange and unpredictable man. You didn’t like that, why on earth what he said to have this effect on you, it’s not like you two were close or anything. Even when Oleg was harsh on you that didn’t make you feel that way and he was the only person you considered as someone “close to you”. One time the words of Ivar made you feel like you could finally be understood and another time words spoken by the same mouth made you feel like you were a fraud and that you were talking too much.  You shake those thoughts off your head before entering the room. "Y/N! I thought you were already out for your usual walk, seems like something was on your mind for you to be late!” Oleg teased and at that moment you thought he was the one responsible for this. He wasn’t innocent in the way things were between the foreigner and you. You look in your Prince's eyes and see the mischief you were looking for, it was clear now, he intended for you to meet because he knew two explosive characters like yours would obviously collide. Maybe he was tired always seeing you calm and patient when he knew the volcano that was sleeping in you.

 You decide it was time for you to show Ivar what you were made of, you would talk later with Oleg “Yep, Ivar asked me a really good question earlier and I gave him a response I wasn’t satisfied with so I thought about the right words to give him a proper response” you smile to the Prince before looking at Ivar that looks at you in confusion. “If I see someone try to catch and kill you I will watch and enjoy the show just because I don’t have any reason not to hate you. At least I know who I am, can you say the same Ivar The Boneless?” you smile to the foreigner then curtsey to your Prince  “ I’d like to talk to you tomorrow at the crack of dawn Oleg” you added as you turned your back on them walking to get out. The only reason why you called Oleg by his title was that you were kind and shit but that time he really got you on your nerves and you knew he was too proud of his scheme to get mad anyway. But you also know you were playing with fire because the last thing you could say about the Prince was that he was emotionally stable, but you weren’t afraid because that fire could never burn you. You heard Oleg’s laugh “Seems like you awaken the beast” he shouts as he burst out laughing.

Following part ❱

When they found her she’d been locked away, dressed in nothing but thin, filthy, nightdress. The room was cold and empty minus the bed and furs covering it. She’d been in a corner-- not quite cowering but seemingly preparing for someone to attack her by the time he’d arrived. Despite the amused looks on the Vikings faces as they lowered their own weapons she held hers at the ready- a bloodied piece of almost sharp wood she had pried from her headboard and now clenched tightly in her fist. The blood from her hands had run in small rivers down her wrist to her elbow and had already begun to dry, the rust colored rivulets a stark contrast against her pale skin.

King Ivar and the others certainly hadn’t intended to find her, they never really expected to find people locked away, but he’d been going through some of the rooms with a few of his men and.. there she was. Practically waiting to be found. He had been one room over when they’d broken through her door at first, she’d started screaming as his men had entered the room and he had gone to find out what the commotion was about. The click of his crutch on the stone echoing loudly as he entered the now silent room.

“What’s your name?” He’d asked sharply, but she either hadn’t understood him or was refusing to answer. Trying again in what he thought may be her language, tone clipped as the word slipped from his lips, he asked her, “Name?”

After a brief moment of hesitation she’d finally responded. “Sansa” she’d said quietly, eyes to the floor while a mess of fiery red tresses hung down to hide her face. Between the dirty strands he could see the heavy bags beneath her eyes, almost purple against her fair skin. “The Lady here?” But he got no response despite what he was sure had been the right words. Settling on to the crutch tucked under his arm he looked her over curiously. As he went to approach her the movement seemed to set her off, she came at him quickly but he stopped her. She was soft, worn down from whatever she’d endured in this cage of a room, and he knocked her to the side easily with the hand not tightly gripping his crutch. He hadn’t intended to hurt her, but she had tried to stab him. It only seemed fair enough. As she hit the ground the blanket slipped away and he could see the angry tips of thick welts along her shoulders, disappearing beneath the thin and bloodied material trying to cover her. When a few of his men stepped forward he shook his head, a sharp ‘no’ cutting through the silence.

One of the men that had found her stepped forward, eyeing the seemingly wild girl splayed on the ground, “King Ivar... what do you want to do with her?” It was a good question and he searched for an answer, considering the things he’d heard in their days leading up to the attack on Winterfell. He knew the Lord had a wife, but they assumed like the others before him they would send her away, off to her family to be protected until the heathen threat had gone.  

Ivar chewed the inside his cheeks for a moment, eyeing the girl on the ground while she watched him through the safety of her hair. They appraised each other in a loaded silence, each trying to gauge just how much trouble the other might be. When the king found nothing but sadness in her eyes he tore his own away, looking past her to the bed once more. “Take her to my tent at the camp, keep her safe,” he said quietly, turning on the man after a moment to give him a serious look. “Give her your cloak and don’t let her out of your sight. Go.” Turning away from the confused looks he received he left the room, moving on to the next one. No one would be bold enough to question his motives in the moment.

-

Back at the camp Ivar rounded up a few of the thralls he’d collected along their journey- the war the Saxons were waging amongst each other had made their last couple of raids easy and they’d been blessed with several bountiful ones that season already. It made selecting the girls to tend to his guest easy, though he did choose them each for specific reasons. Two had come from within the Earl’s home of the first kingdom they’d attacked upon their arrival and had been tending to him since. The third had come from the village before they’d reached Winterfell, if there really was a language barrier he’d hoped she would be the one to overcome it.

Inside of his tent she sat beside the bed, back pressed against the edge of it as she stared at the furs beneath her feet. Taking a seat at the table a good ways away from her he waved a hand at the man at the doorway, sending him out. Pointing at the girl he’d found nearest to her city he motioned her over to Sansa, she would relate to her the most, maybe know who she was, the other two he directed to the wash basin. One went off to fetch the water while the other gathered the supplies they would need to clean her up.

Looking back to Sansa and the thrall he watched the low-born girl whispering to her, trying to coax her up, but the so-called Lady wasn’t budging. What did she think was happening? She needed to bathe, to eat, they needed answers from her— who would be looking for her, who would pay for her. Ivar slammed a fist down on the table, pitcher and glasses rattling from the motion. As the thrall returned with the first bucket of water and filled the basin Sansa finally looked up, looking from the basin, to Ivar and back to the girl kneeling in front of her. She murmured something to the slave and the girl gave her a sheepish look before crossing the room to Ivar. “Sir, your majesty...” the thrall struggled with what to say, considering her words carefully, “she’s... she’s shy, she says she doesn’t want you to see her.”

A strangled laugh worked its way out and he shook his head, “Tell her to get in the fuckin’ tub or this is the last polite thing I will do. Remind her that the only people that care she is a Lady are...” he motioned around the room as both girls watched him speak, “not here.” When the thrall hesitated he hit the table again and she hurried back across the room. He was still unsure why he was concerned with her well-being, but something was telling him he had to be.  

Ivar watched as the thrall got the other girl to her feet, shushing the protests she was whimpering out and trying to wipe the rapidly falling tears from her face. The slave girls' reassurances were falling on deaf ears, she just kept repeating the same phrase, ”He’s nice, he’s nice,” and wiping at eyes that wouldn’t stop weeping. Leading her across the room as the other two girls finished putting the bath together, the thrall paused, a hand on the other girl's back as she urged her forward, looking back to the king to see if he saw what she did. The bloodstains that scattered the back of her gown varied in color and size, from shoulder to knee, welts and lacerations still peeked from her collar. “I know,” was all he said on it, nodding at her to continue despite the girls sobbing. If it was as bad as he presumed the bath would be good for her, they’d clean her up then they would bring someone in to treat it in the morning.

It would take all three of the girls to get the gown off of her as she struggled, one of the girls going to leave to wash it. Ivar stopped her, beckoning her over to take it from her hands. He’d just begun to unfold it when he’d caught sight of her bare skin as the remaining girls helped her into the tub. His lip curled back in disgust and he looked to thrall, away from the painful sight of the girls back. “Find her a new one, something suitable to travel in,” It had been worse than he’d thought, they weren’t old, not all of them. Most were fresh, some had split in the centers of bursts of overlapping bites from whatever they had taken to her and there was no mistaking the carefully carved characters in her skin for the normally hand printed letters he had seen himself in the Christians texts. “Who?” He demanded, leaning forward in his seat as he waited expectantly for an answer.

The thrall that had gotten Sansa to the tub knelt down beside it with her now, wiping at the girl's face once more as her own eyes watered. “He wants to know who did this to you...” she whispered, reaching into the tub to pull one of the girl’s hands off her shoulders and into her own. While the king had lashed out a time or two since she’d been with them, she hadn’t seen him act out with downright cruelty, not like what was displayed on the girls back. Maybe a swat at her ass when he was drunk and a compliment in poor taste, a bit of yelling when something was done wrong, the ruthless treatment of the Christian men, but never cruel with her or the other girls.

A distressed whimper left Sansa’s lip and she leaned on to the edge of the tub, “He was supposed to be my husband,” she whispered, squeezing the thrall’s hand tightly in hers, “he was supposed to be a Lord.” From across the room Ivar could see the reaction to his guests’ words and his brow furrowed as he waited to be filled in.

“It was the Lord there,” the slave girl repeated, looking past Sansa to the King again, “His name was Bolton. Ramsay Bolton.. I knew of him before..” she shook her head, trailing off, that didn’t matter now. Focusing back on Sansa she picked up a rag, joining the other girl in tending to the woman.

Ivar stayed quiet, processing the information before collecting his crutch and rising from his chair. Disappearing out of the tent he tasked the man currently stationed at the entrance with finding out if the offender was alive or dead and few follow up instructions for either outcome. It didn’t matter that she was a Lady, not really, that didn’t guarantee anyone would pay for her, but as he took his seat back at the table and watched the bathing with a morbid curiosity he considered why he was invested. The absolute and utter cruelty behind it all? The time that was put into it? He couldn’t be sure, not quite yet. Not until he saw the man— whether it be alive or dead with his head on a spike. They’d certainly need something to leave behind for the others to find.

As the thralls started on her hair he snapped his fingers at them for their attention, watching as they paused on the knots they were working at. “Do something with it when you get her out, we’ll leave tomorrow,” he’d intended to find her people at first, bargain with them for a reward, but now he was not sure that it would be worth it— for himself or Sansa. The slave girls shared a look between each other— they had observed the customs over their few days of being around the Vikings, they knew that braids were only meant for shield maidens preparing for battle and those that were married. Did The King have a plan?

“Where are we going?” Sansa whispered from the safety of the tub to the thrall’s, arms wrapping tightly around her chest once more. “To Kattegat,” one whispered back to her, “he is the king there…” they had all glanced back at him at the mention of it and he attempted to return their stares with a soft smile, though his eyes were still narrowed and dark. A chill ran down her spine despite the warm water and she looked away, thankful to see the missing thrall returning with what looked like a fresh dress.

-

As the girls were finishing up with Sansa in the tub there was a commotion outside of the tent and Ivar had to wave a hand at the thrall’s to get them to keep moving. “Get her out of there, take her to the bed, get her dressed and finish up,” he snapped, hoisting himself up from his position in the chair and herding them to the back of the tent as they dried off his guest. In a mix of eagerness to see her attacker and a bit of desire to humor her earlier request that he not watch he turned away from them, only glancing back once to make sure they’d dressed her before calling out to the people outside. Off the table he grabbed a fairly large knife, clenching the handle tightly in his grip while they brought in his newest visitor. This one seemed to be struggling more than the other, he’d expected him to be a better sport.

At the sight of Ramsay Bolton in the flesh Ivar couldn’t help but sneer, he’d seen the man fighting, spotted him across the field before he’d retreated to the castle. In comparison to the beginning of his day he looked as though he were from a different life— blood matted his hair to the sides of his head, an eye had swollen shut and he’d been stripped to almost nothing; no sword to save him, no armor to protect him, no tunic to cover him. He had been tough, but not smart enough to get away and Ivar intended to make him regret all the wrong decisions he’d made.

“Put him on the ground, I want to see his back,” the king instructed and the two men that had brought him flattened him to the ground. One held his hands while the other held his feet, the prisoner cursing to himself as he refused to look at any of them. With another glance over his shoulder at Sansa and the thrall’s he turned back to Ramsay, tossing the crutch aside and using the table to lower himself to the ground, knife still firmly in hand as he focused back on the task at hand. On his stomach Ivar crawled the distance between himself and Ramsay, bringing himself face to face with the so-called Lord as the girls stopped their braiding to watch him. A wicked smile twisted his lips as he poked at the man's swollen face with the sharp tip of his knife, barely eliciting a squeal from him. “This is on behalf of the Lady,” he told the room, the tip of the knife poking a cheek once more, drawing a fat dab of blood this time as the two men locked eyes. With his free hand he grasped a handful of the offending man's hair, turning his head and pressing a cheek against the ground so he had no choice but to look at Sansa in the bed. One of the thrall’s was trying not to watch, fingers working quickly as she began to braid back the bulk of Sansa’s fine hair, but even she couldn’t help but peek.

Sansa was crying again, though even she wasn’t sure as to why. Her face was numb, brain simultaneously overwhelmed with emotions and void of them as she tried to decide how she felt. Ramsay had been no prize-- the time leading up to their marriage had been just as bad if not worse… and of course he deserved to die. Or whatever it was that was happening before her, but who was this King? It was enough to assume they were the Vikings she’d heard about, there’d been plenty of shouting about it when they’d arrived... but why take care of her? All the men in her life so far had used her for something, hadn’t they? He’d be expecting something in return, she knew that much. The idea alone made her tremble and in return a thrall draped her in furs as they all watched the display, mistaking her fear for a chill.

On the ground Ivar had moved his body away from the man’s face, making sure he had a clear view of the girls in the bed as he set to work. From the base of his neck to the far edge of each shoulder he drug the blade down and across the man’s back, a thick line of blood bubbling up from each sect of split skin as the knife punctured it. Then, from the same starting point as the others, he carved out a line right along the spine to form a large Teiwaz rune. It seemed only fitting, all things considered.  

Silent for the most part since he’d been brought into the tent Ramsay was trying to restrain himself, but there’d be no fooling his captors. Despite his already battered appearance his one almost good eye had squeezed tightly shut and he was clenching his jaw so hard it was turning the unbruised parts of his pale face a deep shade of crimson. When he wasn’t holding it he was sucking in shaky breaths, body and limbs rattling with effort. Ivar had expected a bit more dramatics from him, he found men that consistently chose women as their victims were never quite as tough as they seemed. Reaching to the man’s face he pried the good eye open and miraculously it stayed while the other seemed to leak an endless stream of bloody tears.

Unsatisfied with the reaction he was getting the king stuck the tip of the knife into the man’s side, giving it a sharp twist as he did so to draw the perfect squeal out of his victim. One of the girls on the bed— he wasn't sure which— sucked in a sharp breath, another stifled a shriek. Their reactions seemed to snap something in the man beneath his blade and he struggled against the men restraining him despite their superior size and strength, cursing at them as he did so.

That was more like it…

-

Once Ivar had his fill— long after there was no more usable canvas left—  he’d had the man taken away. While there wasn’t much left of Ramsay, there’d be less before the night was over as his wounds steadily leaked blood. He’d sent the two men away with explicit instructions on what came next for his work of art. They wouldn’t outright kill him just yet, suffering seemed appropriate, should he make it to the morning they would kill him and do something to set him on display for whoever came upon the castle next. Deciding just what would be the difficult part. For now they would keep an eye on him, try to keep him awake and miserable if they could.  

With just himself and the girls left in the tent he turned to them from his spot on the floor, bloody knife still tight in his grip. “One of you come here, clean me up,” he ordered, dragging himself back to the chair at the table. After he was seated he wiped the blade on his sleeve and tossed it onto the table, looking at the remaining girls on the bed but never breaking focus from Sansa’s horrified expression he sighed, his own expression neutral. While he’d gotten carried away, that hadn’t been quite the reaction he’d hoped to get from her. He finally looked away as the thrall set a large bowl of water on the table and helped him strip his top layers away. After draping the clothing across another chair she began to wipe down his bloodied face as he rinsed his hands and arms before leaning forward in the chair so she could move on to his neck and decorated shoulders.  

Being exposed to brutality was not new for Sansa, certainly. If the man only knew the extent of what she’d seen and endured maybe they would better understand each other, but she wasn’t sure she could share those details with him- or anyone. Not yet. Instead she watched from the current safety of the bed as he was tended to, enjoying the change of roles for a brief moment before the nervousness set in. The girls had finished up on her hair but the two he hadn’t summoned remained on the bed with her, smoothing out the baby hairs along her crown and adjusting the soft dress they’d found for her. It had come out of a chest taken from the first Earl’s home, something they’d taken out of one of the ladie’s rooms that had been left behind. It was soft, colored a deep purple and would only be suitable for the night. In the morning they would have to bring her a new one and find her a cloak if she stood any chance of holding up against the wind on the water when they set sail. It had been refreshing to be in something other than what she had been, but she was unsure if it was a sign of what was to come or not.

Finally free of the blood and sweat that had coated his skin the thrall brought Ivar something to dry his face before clearing the mess away. Taking the crutch under his arm once more he rose from the chair, waving the remaining girls away from the bed as he made his way over and took a seat on the edge, back to Sansa as he laid down the crutch and began on the braces secured to his legs. One of the girls had lingered, moving towards him to offer help with the contraptions, but he shot her a dark look- she blew out all the candles but the one beside him and left the two alone instead.

With the others gone a silence fell over the room, the only sounds filling it the quiet grunts escaping Ivar as he worked the braces off. The day had been easy enough, the pain no better and no worse than usual, and he silently thanked The Gods for that. He was still unsure why he’d brought the girl back with him, why he intended to take her back to Kattegat, but he felt as though they knew something about it as well and thanked them for her too. There were other places she could have stayed, with the thrall’s or in a tent of her own even, but something told him she wouldn’t be safe. Her status and state when they found her marked her as an easy target, he knew that. He knew better than that. If anything were to happen to her he would feel obligated now, having taken her out of one situation to bring her into a worse one.

Braces discarded to the side he let out a heavy sigh, happy to be out of them despite the sense of normalcy they brought him on a daily basis. It had been easy enough to get out of them that night, The Gods must have been listening to him. Though while he wasn’t expecting anything out of their night together, Sansa seemed to be convinced he did as she scooted herself to the far edge of the bed. With his pants still on he folded back the furs covering his side of the bed and lifted his legs in, one by one, before laying the furs over them and settling back against the pillows. Patting the spot next to him he cleared his throat, “It is okay…” he whispered, “you are safe. He can not hurt you anymore,” he had made sure of that.  

Sansa had flinched at his words, but looked over at him nonetheless. “What will you do with him?” The question was quiet, murmured down at the bed as she couldn’t bring herself to look her apparent savior in the eyes just yet.

Raising a questioning brow at her he patted the spot again before holding out a hand to her, waiting for her to take it and come closer to him before answering her question. He folded back a few of the furs for her to climb underneath, making sure to keep his own legs carefully swaddled. She took his hand, closing the space between them before pulling her hand back to her lap. While she let him cover her she stayed upright, not sitting back against the pillows just yet. When she finally met his eyes he began to speak, “We will put his head on a spike, left out front for the next men to find. To let them know what happened there. It is almost what he deserves…” though simultaneously too good for him at the same time. What he had done to her was uncalled for, no matter the imagined crime he was sure the man had justified it with- because certainly there had to be a reason for something so cruel. The silence was back, Sansa had broken their eye contact and focused on the fur in her lap, fingers running through it for a moment. Finally looking up at him she sighed, steeling herself and setting her face to keep the tears that threatened to spill again from coming out, “You should feed him to his dogs,” she told him, voice cracking as she settled back against the pillows beside him and leaning into his chest. Ivar wrapped his arm around her, pulling her closer as she tucked into the nook that was formed. “That’s what he deserves,” she muttered, turning her face into his shoulder as the tears broke though.

He settled his cheek against the top of her head and sighed, eyes slipping close in the comfort of the moment. This is all he had really wanted out of the night, the closeness. Of all people he understood her desire to not be seen, the feelings of being disfigured, and for that he wanted to protect her.

“Then that’s what he’ll get…”