but Ivar cut him off, “Y/N. yes. it is.” his eyes watched your every movement as you battled against his men. even at a distance it was obvious you were a force to be reckoned with, and Ivar felt his blood racing through his viens with every moment he watched.
he had loved you since the first day he saw you pick up a sword. you had always been beautiful and with a weapon… well, Ivar could die knowing he’d seen a true Valkyrie. yes, you were on the other side, but Ivar still had hope.
he would always have hope, even if he took that hope with him to his grave.
I am still not over his death… I actually like Ivar but that wasn’t cool at all . Sigurd’s character was growing and they just kill him off for no reason…But I really hope that this was just a vision The same goes to Helga, I can’t believe that she died, I really loved her… I am so sorry for floki :(
“Hvitserk…? HVITSERK?!”, you said, started to ran towards him and he just stood there and smiled. You hugged him and he hugged you too, pressed his lips on yours. “I missed you my beautiful star”, he said. “I missed you too, Hvitserk. I was so afraid that you wouldn’t come back”, you mumbled in his shoulders. “ I would never leave you alone”, he smiled and kissed you again.
I finally watched the new episode after a long, busy and hard day. What are your thoughts till now? Yay or Nay? For me, it’s defintely a yay. I loved the new episode and I love the story of the Ragnarsson’s brothers. Their story is really interesting. I don’t want to go into detail coz Spoilerrrrs.
If I forgot to tag you I’M SO SORRY and please just shoot me a message and I will add you ASAP. please do not ask to be tagged in the comments bc I’m scared your request is gonna get swallowed up! it’s a lot easier for me to keep track of it if you submit is as a question \message. <3
TW: None really.
His voice is a small thunder in the dead of night. The question lingers, swells, takes a life of its own between the two of you. He’s angry, you’re angry. It doesn’t have to be this way. Or does it?
Where is your god?
Where was he when Ivar tore Erik apart with no mercy?
He didn’t have the right to take a life.
But you had no business explaining these things to a heathen.
Yet…feelings were universal. You knew this now, you knew this as surely as you knew you needed air to breath. Because when the two of you were sitting on his bed suddenly there was no heaven or hell. There was no Valhalla or purgatory. No one god, nor multiple gods.
There was only skin, breath and tension.
“You asked for me Ivar. What more do you want?” Your voice inquiries, frustrated. As soon as the question is asked, you realize you’re scared of the answer.
“You know what I want, nun. Don’t play coy. Or stupid. You’re not stupid.” he spits, his expression scornful. You flinch. He’s being hateful, cruel.
But did you expect anything else? Heathens had feelings too, and his apparently have been hurt.
“No, I don’t. I really don’t.” You swallow, suddenly feeling brave. If he said it out loud, if you finally talked about all of this, perhaps he could see how ridiculous and impossible the situation was.
“Renounce your god, Y/N. Be mine.” his voice is definitive but his eyes are looking fragile, almost weak. You purse your lips instantly, your heart is starting to pump and beat at an impossible pace, you swear it’s going to fly right out of your ribcage.
The thought makes you angry and scared. Did he really think he could persuade you into such heresy? He might have been king. Hell, he might have been a god around here. But he was no more than a misguided cruel man to you.
In the heat of the moment, you speak your mind, your cheeks catching fire. “You might be a king around here, Ivar Lothbrok. Some people might even call you a god. But you are nothing more than a sad, lost, little man for me.” You spit, then immediately regret it while watching his expression crumple momentarily.
His face begins to shiver a little, then his entire body shakes like he’s about to explode.
“I hate you!” he roars, launching as his hands grip your throat. You stumble back onto the bed, his body weight pressing you onto the furs beneath. He squeezes, all you see is black. “I hate you, and your Christian god!” he screams in your face. The moment seems immense, yet it can’t be more than two or three seconds before the pressure around your throat eases up and all you can see is the blue of the ocean in his eyes. Then you feel the wetness on your face. Then it finally clicks - Ivar the Boneless is lying on top of you, crying.
Your chest is heaving, rising and falling - desperate for air.
Ivar’s fingers slowly let go, like a snake slowly peeling off its skin. Then he rolls to his back next to you silently. You can hear him breathing but neither one of you speaks for a long time afterwards.
“I should go.” You mumble eventually. All tears have dried, there was nothing left to shed for the beautiful, crippled, incredibly messed up young man.
“I should send you back. Or give you to my men.” he retorts, spiteful. You turn to look at him, pressing your cheek against the fabrics, but he won’t look at you - a petulant child.
“I can’t go back. They won’t have me…they will never believe that…well…” Your voice travels. The priests would never believe your virtue had remained intact in Viking-land where rape came as easy as the swatting of a fly.
“Sleep, Ivar the boneless. I hope tonight’s dreams will bring you remorse and compassion.” you whisper and remove yourself from his bed.
In your chamber, the night feels colder and darker now. You pray for forgiveness and guidance but god is silent as ever.
You wake up to the feeling of someone watching you. The skin of your shoulder is bare and the covers have slid to the floor. You realize you feel asleep crying, before you could even change your clothes.
A dark shadow in the corner of the room startles you and now you’re wide awake and reaching for the covers as he leans forward - his serpentine eyes latching onto every centimetre of skin. “Good morning, Y/N.” Ivar’s voice sounds cheerful as ever. Was last night just a bad dream?
“Good morning. W-what are you doing here?” you ask, disoriented. “Now, now. That is no way to address your king, is it, nun?” he points out. The question lingers. The boundaries are completely mixed up now. “But since last night had left us both pretty upset - I will let it slide. For now.” he gestures with one hand and a nod.
“The servant girls are going down to the river soon to fetch water and…ah, other things. Today you will join them.” he says somewhat ceremoniously, but it feels like you’re missing something here.
“I better go now.” he announces after a moment of silence, then takes his crutches and disappears - leaving you confused and dumbfounded.
After washing and preparing for the day you join the rest of the servant girls as instructed. The walk to the river is strange…it feels longer, and you can almost feel the tension in the air when they whisper amongst themselves - giving you strange looks.
One of the girls, Hilda, is frowning as she whispers something in Tora’s ear. A third girl you don’t know overhears and giggles. Hilda hisses as she suddenly begins to walk your way, her shoulder bumps into yours, nearly knocking you over with the stack of dirty clothes you’re holding. “Do you really think it is wise, Hilda?” the nameless girl asks provokingly, she seems younger.
“What is she going to do? They say king Ivar no longer keeps her under his wing. I guess this whore of a nun is out of luck.” Hilda says, giving you a hostile look.
Swallowing, you don’t say another word to them. Instead, you sit on a rock, ankle-deep in the cold river as you begin to wash the fabrics. Soon, your hands turn blue and numb. At first they shake with the cold and it feels like hundreds of tiny pins are piercing the frozen skin - but after a while you lose all sensation in them.
The other girls laugh and talk as they go about their chores. A few hours later, when the sun is already high in the sky, they tell you it’s time to go back. You are shuffling close behind them, carrying the largest basket of clothes - they are wet now and naturally heavier.
Walking through the main square on your way to Ivar’s cabin, you can see the men standing outside and eyeing you and the other servant girls shamelessly. Suddenly, someone sends out their leg, tackling you and sending all the wet clothes into the muddy puddles beneath you. You land on your hands and feet, feeling a few drops of mud on your cheek.
“Christian Nun, the dirt suits you.” he mocks, a small group of men soon huddles behind him.
The days that followed Erik’s execution were stressful. As soon as Ivar was done unleashing his wrath on the warrior who dared to step out of line - Y/N assumed he’d satisfy his need for revenge and his thirst for blood. But surprisingly enough, the opposite seemed to happen. Ivar was becoming increasingly frustrated, upset and volatile. He’d lash out, break things, train in the woods for hours on end. Most of all, he’d avoid Y/N and barely seek to engage her in any sort of interaction.
Sitting in her bed, Y/N caressed her wooden cross with a delicate finger as she tried to replay the events that followed Erik’s death that night.
“Come closer Y/N. Help me wash away my sins.”
His voice taunted her, haunting her conscious mind at all hours of the day. Then, as the sun set on another day in bitter-sweet captivity, the unique sound of his walk would reach her cautious ears. Those crutches thumping against the ground. The sound they made when put down as his bed squeaked. Y/N bit her lip and fought off the fantasies. The fantasies one simple, yet sinful collision, had planted within her.
His voice hummed softly in her ears as she grabbed the cloth, dipping it in the warm waters. If her soul belonged to an element, she thought, it’d have been water. Ivar’s was fire, no doubt. They were so very different. Her conscious mind mused as her eyes wandered to the man sitting on his bed, a little too close, and a little too eager to rid himself of his clothes.
At that point Y/N was done lying to herself. She craved intimacy. She craved what all men and women craved by nature regardless of their color, religion or alliance.
Her hand trembled across his chest as blood began to mix with water. Her eyes studied his blood-spattered torso with hypnotic fascination. The symbolic irony in the thought of water = her soul, cleansing blood = Ivar’s sins, was not lost on her. Ivar didn’t say anything, he just stared at her through a pair of large blue eyes, and for the first time she saw something else in them…could it be…caution?
Dipping the blood-soaked cloth back into the waters, she squeezed over and over, making the cloth clean again. As soon as she pulled it out once more, intending to continue, Ivar spoke. “I remember my mother used to do this a lot.” His voice sounds far off. “She is the only one who ever loved me, you know.” suddenly his voice sounds vulnerable and Y/N swears it’s about to crack. What would she do if he cried now? The thought is absolutely heartbreaking. Especially because it is not true. And she wants to tell him he’s wrong. She want to tell him she…too.
Opening her mouth to speak, he waits. He leans forward, his eyes shifting between the cloth floating in the air between them, then her slightly parted lips. His eyes drink the sight of her lips with wonder and curiosity and desperation. He wants her to say something. But Y/N backs down. Instead, her hand finds his right pectoral and begins to move in slow and steady circles. She notices the movement under his chest as he sucks the air in, but in a flash Ivar’s hand is behind her neck and he forces their mouths together.
His mouth is demanding as a soft sigh escapes him. The hand that holds her against him is firm, but the lips that open on top of hers are in no hurry, just in great need.
For a moment everything goes black. Y/N forgets how to breath. Inhaling, all she can allow into her is Ivar. His breath feels cold, like smelling a snowball. He tastes crisp.
Mere seconds stretch onto months or years, she’s not entirely sure. But the moment feels longer than her entire period in the Scandinavian captivity. Ivar groans as his hand tightens its grip of her neck for a split second, then he lets go. But his mouth is hungry, relentless. He’s been waiting for this moment for far too long, and is now determined to make it last as long as she’d allow it.
Y/N pulls back too soon. What a fool I’ve been. She shakes her head when the memory strikes again. How she pulled back, stammering, shaking her head in disapproval.
“My god would not be happy about this, Ivar.” she says as her eyes harden. They take in every bit of the mesmerizing sight before her. His lean torso is almost shaking, his chest heaving with labored breathing, his hands in fists. Those careful eyes are now blue flames full of arousal and want. No trace of a once cripple boy, he’s now all man.
“Well, I do not see him here, Y/N. Do you?” he asks, a mixture of hurt and anger in his voice as he spreads his hands and looks around. “Where is your god now, Y/N? Where was he when I took a man’s life, if it’s so wrong?” he continues to spit venom as if he’s looking for an answer that would make sense on her face. There is no answer.
At that moment, even her faith is lacking - if not lost, altogether.
Ivar seemed to be taking his sweet time as the scenario unfolded before him. His face was almost expressionless, nonchalant, showing little to no emotion in those deep ocean eyes. They altered between the nun’s almost naked body and Erik’s terrified face - the man looked like he was staring at the angel of death right in the face.
But under the surface Ivar wasn’t as calm as he’d portrayed himself to be. Underneath the surface he was seething. Someone was trying to steal his beloved and most precious prize. Because that’s all she was to him, right? A tiny voice inquired in his head. Just a prize. A means to an end. A tiny lapdog or a lamb he could drag around on a leash, to keep him entertained when he was bored. No, Y/N was not just that - and Ivar has been lying to himself for quite some time now.
Granted, he liked the stories. The tales about the Christian god and all the miracles he performed. His heathen heart sped up just a tad bit in her presence when he felt the strength of her belief whenever she clutched onto the simple wooden cross hanging from her neck. He allowed it because however insignificant this little piece of wood was - to her it seemed priceless. More precious than any piece of silver and gold they robbed from the temples.
“I’m going to make an example out of you, Erik.” Ivar said eventually, his tone deceptively even. Almost musical. “Get up. Y/N. Get up.” he prompted the nun. An expression of sheer horror flashed across his face, but the warrior did not speak. “Walk out. Walk out now.” Ivar instructed, and Erik obeyed without another world, looking every bit like a lamb being led to the slaughter.
“Fix yourself, nun. Then join us. You should see this too.” Ivar said without even taking his eyes off of his new prey.
Y/N adjusted herself shakily, covering every bit of skin that was revealed to the lecherous man that was about to meet his ruthless end soon, for his crime. A part of her almost pitied him because overtime, she had learned to know Ivar and what he could be like when someone had tried to take away his toy. The thought that she was merely a toy to him hurt, a lot. But she had a feeling it was going to hurt Erik much much more.
By the time Y/N walked out, joining the roaring crowd outside, she could spot Ivar standing in the middle of the circle. His men stood behind him and Erik was kneeling on the floor. She had heard of the blood eagle before - terrifying tales of betrayal never going unpunished. Of lungs being pulled out and spines exposed, left out to freeze all night - only to be snapped like a twig at the crack of dawn.
At first she couldn’t see too well, but Ivar’s hands were clearly preoccupied. She could see his face though. And his face wore an expression of great effort. The closer she grew, the more she could hear. The sound of cracking bones over the laughter and cheering of the people was barely audible at first. But once her eyes registered the sight before her - it was all she could hear.
Ivar was removing Erik’s fingers one by one. With each finger he tore off, another roar of agony pierced the cold night air. He threw them into a pile at Y/N’s feet without even looking at her. How strange. It was almost like he could sense her presence, somehow.
Erik fell forward, the snow around him now stained crimson red. He sobbed, his long hair hiding a good portion of his face. “Good god.” Y/N’s voice betrayed her just when Ivar’s eyes found hers. All these contradicting emotions were raging inside her. Horror. Gratitude. Disgust. Mercy. Anger.
Ivar’s eyes are hollow as he tears them away from her, raising his bloodied hands as if he was intending to hug his blood-thirsty crowd. They’re cheering for him. They love their fearless leader.
He smiles for a split second. Revealing his lovely pearly whites that she’s learned to appreciate over time. But she knows his charm is just a beautiful mask. He is a killer.“Let every man, woman and child in Kattegat know!” He roared out of the blue, catching his crowd off guard. “This is the price you pay for trying to steal what is mine. And Erik’s end is nowhere near, although I’m sure he wishes it to be.” Ivar announced, stepping closer to the fingerless man bleeding on the ground.
“By the time I will be done with him, he will beg for death.”
At one point Y/N looks away, but Ivar makes her watch. His roar is more than enough to let her know he means business. So she continues to watch as Erik transforms into…something she can barely recognize.
When his voice finally dies down every tear on Y/N’s face has dried off. His soul, as she believed, left his body - and all that was left behind was an exceptionally messy meat suit. The thought makes her want to hurl.
Once the crowd is dispersed Ivar takes Y/N’S hand, leading her back into the hall and through his bedroom. A slave girl soon rushes over with water and clothes. Noticing the cleaning tools, Y/N turns to look at Ivar, only to realize there is blood everywhere - on his neck, his forearms, his chest. Ivar begins to remove his blood-splattered clothes and for a few moments he acts like she doesn’t exist, like he’s all alone. Y/N watches silently.
Eventually he speaks.
“I would like to know what you must be thinking of me right now, nun.” He says, and the way he expresses the word “nun” makes her uneasy. Clearing her throat, Y/N speaks. “I…am in awe. Speechless.” she admits. Ivar doesn’t seem happy. His expression is unreadable, blocked.
“Have you got nothing to say?” he asks after a long moment, his eyes looking like hard pebbles.
Eyeing the slavegirl, Y/N is uncomfortable, unwilling to speak freely. Ivar nods and eyes the girl as she intends to move closer to wash him. “Leave us.” he commands and the girl scurries away.
“I’m grateful…but…executions aren’t something to be taken lightly in my world, Ivar.” Y/N explains. The thought of a life being taken so swiftly, so brutally. An entire lineage being cut off as if one had merely plucked a blade of grass. Nothing more.
“Yes, we’ve spoken of this before many times.” Ivar muses, then eyes the cloth and pot of water that was left beside his bed. He sits down and eyes Y/N wearily for a long moment before reaching out a hand.
![IVAR THE BONELESS (MY ART)[ PEOPLE OF KATTEGAT, WE HAVE A GREAT SACRIFICE.]Alex Høgh Andersen as Iva](https://64.media.tumblr.com/4cb94f634f267d8fe60466e94628c121/tumblr_p4tbarFygE1rie3uvo1_1280.jpg "IVAR THE BONELESS (MY ART)[ PEOPLE OF KATTEGAT, WE HAVE A GREAT SACRIFICE.]Alex Høgh Andersen as Iva")
