Thank you for reading && all the lovely comments. We’re getting to the good parts, I swear.
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Read the previous: Expo, Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4
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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
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 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.
This cannot end well for you.
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