l e g e n d a r y

ivar vinter. thirty-eight. jarl of gierson; crusher of bones. His power should every sagacious man use with discretion; for he will find, when among the bold he comes, that no one alone is the doughtiest.

[ofivar]

     “Aye--watch your feet!” Since when had he been put into the position of father for every person that walked along? He supposed the large exterior didn’t assist in this assumption. With a grunt, he dismounted from his horse, sliding down a snowy slope, “The ice is thin, pup!”

[wulfshe]

“Here, you may have my ale if you like,” Ingrid offered. The drink was a little too strong for her liking, herself preferring it a little more watered down. “It’s a great help in fighting off the cold.”

[ofivar]

     “Don’t mind if I do,” Ivar grunted, squatting into the seat beside her and wrapping fingers around the great cup. Taking a mighty swig, he let out a sigh, wiping his beard with his arm. Ale really did do wonders for the soul. It made even the most sour of men jolly. 

     Sitting back, Ivar enjoyed taking a load off, relaxing, for the time being, “Your father could never handle the drink. Just a few sips and he’d be blasted,” The jarl chuckled at the memory, brushing his beard with thick fingers, “Once fell into the pig pen and earned a bite to the ass. A laugh, that.”

[ofivar]

     “It is in our nature to seek our brother’s possessions. And be willing to destroy to obtain them…” Ivar drained of his third brew, eyebrows raised, “And that is all the sober wisdom I got left in me. Another!”

[ofivar]

rcsethcrns:

        “ I suppose it’s foolish to keep pushing the idea– I’ll let it rest if only for the night. “ she jested the grin on her face only spreading til her teeth were showing. while she supported the idea of Ivar as High King a part of her was grateful that he did not want the throne, glad he was sated with his position, their people, but most importantly their family plus she could not see herself as High Queen nor did she have the desire to. “ How did the meeting fare ? “ elowen inquired though she had already heard the rumors of what had conspired behind the closed doors.

       she couldn’t resist the small growl that escaped her parted lips when their son started to make a fuss, but seeing his eyes light up as his father’s face came into view erased all irritation from her mind. “ He had just gotten to sleep. “ she berated her husband jokingly while trying to be cross; a joke in itself since she could never stay angry at Ivar. “ He had tried so hard to stay awake for you before the yawning started “ she soothed her hand reaching for Hakon’s as she pressed a small kiss to his palm. it was true that Hakon had started waiting for his father’s arrival refusing to even sit in his crib until he heard the loud footsteps often sending elowen into frustrated pacing. 

         melting into his hands  all of the worries that plagued her mind from the day gone the second his lips had touched hers. sighing in relief elowen returned the kiss wishing it lasted only a little bit longer. her smile only widening as they parted one of hands came to rest upon Ivar’s cheek, her fingers running over the hardened skin. “ You mean there’s more than changing shit ? “ she requited quickly in return a laugh escaping her. “ We explored a little bit before the rumors started making their rounds… I spoke with Jarl Arvid he said something about wanting to speak with you. “ She opted to ignore the part where he had told her she shouldn’t be out exploring the land alone most of all alone with her son. 

     “Arvid can wait. I’ve reigned in enough stubborn mules for a lifetime,” Simply by choosing not to tear off the heads of the men around him for one off remark, Ivar had suddenly become the peacemaker among his brethren. Suddenly the burden of tearing them apart like ravaging wolves had become too much of a habit. Was it weakness to simply want a good drink and laughs with your comrades, to lay with your woman at night and show affection to your child? Ivar thought not. It was foolish, he’d learned this in his younger years. He hoped the others would follow, but that was not something he was counting on. 

     Hakon’s snores bubbling from his bow lips signaled he’d once again fell into slumber, tucked warmly in the crook of his father’s arm. With upturned lips, Ivar laid him back into his basket, swaddling him clumsily with blankets. He was so small, so delicate. The day Elowen birthed their child was certainly not one he’d forget--nor his people, who’d feasted for a week after he’d ran through Gierson’s streets, shouting and celebrating the birth of a son.

     He wanted more. Many more. Vilkas’ latest son only made him want another. A girl, perhaps? Kneeling at his wife’s chair, he ran large, calloused hands over her waist, fingers angling in he cloth that concealed such soft, tender flesh from his grasp. His gaze dark, he looked into her eyes, clear and blue, “Help me forget.”

[ofivar]

     “It is in our nature to seek our brother's possessions. And be willing to destroy to obtain them...” Ivar drained of his third brew, eyebrows raised, “And that is all the sober wisdom I got left in me. Another!”

[ofivar]

babettevinter:

A glare was sent his way as Babette worked to clear the remaining braids from her hair. “I will never be a king, impossible for me to hold a crown.” She never desired one, she was fine with playing her roles, hearing her god whisper in her ears. Never would she want a crown. 

Wincing when he moved her hair she let out a snort, “No battles and yet my hair is matted with blood. I would rather have a reason for it to match instead of a shoving match I was blindsided with.”

     “Don’t look at me like that, pup. I’m just trying to get you laugh,” Laughing didn’t come easy in these times--that is, when you weren’t hanging with the common folk. Truly, when the royals weren’t looking, they were roaring with laughter in their taverns, gulping down drink and merriment. Gods, Ivar yearned for it. But duty called for him to keep the peace.

     He pulled a pouch from his side, dipping his fingers in a herbed poultice and gently dabbing them against her wound, “Maybe we’ll go on a hunt, yeah? Remember our hunts--the first one?” Ivar chuckled fondly, “Your red ass barely big enough to hold a bow.” 

[scftlcvers]

{ @ofivar }

           setting her son to bed the jarl;s wife stared down at the babe in awe that she had helped create something so wonderful. his light snores filled her ears and elowen could not conjure up a time she had felt such peace since being in Bolstaor than the current moment. brushing aside the hair on his forehead  elowen placed a careful kiss to his forehead before returning to the fireplace once she heard footsteps coming her way. heart skipping a few beats as she prayed for it to be the sounds of her husbands arrival. she had heard of the rumors running amuck, but nothing would put her to ease until she had spoken to Ivar. he was the only one that could calm her mind when talks of war was around every corner, ease her homesickness when another blanket of snow covered Bolstaor, he simply was the parts that completed her. “ Do you ever think you won’t make such a ruckus before ever stepping inside the door ?” the female teased as she hinted to her husbands heavy footsteps that echoed across whatever surface he stepped on. “ Hopefully you’ve come with news that everyone has decided to use their minds and beseech you the title High King ? “ she was only half joking with him now for he knew he had her support wholeheartedly if he were to want the throne and in elowen’s mind no one could serve Hlandul better than her husband. 

[ofivar]

     Ivar’s relief to finally be in the sanctuary of his temporary dwelling with his family knew no bounds. While the meeting was a failure--that was to be expected. Ivar came into that building expecting there to be a blow-out, for that is what they were. Violent, passionate souls, crashing into each other with fervor and ambition. It was but a few moments late that Ivar pulled Vilkas from the fight, where he’d already smashed a fist into young Ingrid Rosenburg’s groom. But perhaps that would be the most effective form of a lesson. If there was one man you didn’t want to get into an argument with, it was the jarl of Hallbjorn. 

     Sighing, with a chuckle, Ivar smacked the door shut securely behind him, kicking off his muck-crusted boots, “Not today--hopefully not tomorrow,” And that was true. Ivar, despite the strong encouragement from his family and people, didn’t desire the crown. He was content, happy with his place in the world. Gierson was the place where his body lay, his people the foundation, and his family the heart.

     Hakon started making a ruckus in his crib, and Ivar hurried over, picking up his boy with great pride and lifting him to the air. Woken up by his [unintentionally] loud entry, no doubt. Not that this was the first time, “My son!”

     He turned to his wife, settling Hakon into the crook of his arm, “Ellie,” He ran his fingers through her moonlit hair, pressing a kiss to her soft, sweet lips before pressing their foreheads together, “Tell me--what did you do this day?” Taking a deep inhale of her scent, he sat back with a sigh, mighty body making the chair creak below him, “Besides change cloths filled with shit.”

[liamsimmons]

Babette had her hair down for once, the braids had to be taken out after her head had been banged against the wall, along with her right shoulder, but her head was more important. “This is pointless.” she’d bled a little, grated it was from the pins in her hair stabbing into her head. “The whole thing is pointless.”

[ofivar]

   “Being a king is easy--governing’s harder. Almost as hard as your head hit that rock,” Ivar let out a hearty laugh, one that rumbled throughout his body. Perhaps if he hadn’t taken up the duty of dragging Vilkas away, it was he that the Husavikian would have shoved. At least, it certainly looked like a shove.

     In any case, Ivar quelled his laughter, pushing back Babette’s locks with a gentle touch to reveal dried, bloody scrapes, “At least your scalp matches your hair now, yeah?”

[ofivar]

jarlhusavik:

Arnor knew perhaps he should have kept his lips sealed. Given the stature of the man he had a good chance of being felled in one swoop, but truly he had too much ale in his system to care. Ale did bring out the worst in him, he feared. But the man’s tune changed, as did Arnor’s. Especially when the conversation came to exports. “’Aye,” he said, confirming his identity. If there was one thing he took pride in, it was the weapons his people made. “I do hope it was decorative,” he asked, a tinge of a smile on his lips. “Nevertheless I am glad to hear.” Although he could not say he could relate, Arnor being an unmarried man himself. “Dare I ask, what she needed a blade for?”

     Ivar paused, giving the man at his side a sideways stare. Why wouldn’t his wife need a blade? Why wouldn’t any woman need a blade? Ivar was in sincere belief that there was many a woman who stood mightier than a man. They had to, unfortunately. Or else, most men wouldn’t take them seriously. It was lucky that he’d always had such a view--he would have gained quite a few black eyes, otherwise.

     “You dare not ask,” Ivar took a swig of his ale, “Lest you lose your head.”

[ofivar]

jarlhusavik:

“Perhaps you do,” Arnor voiced, lifting his mug filled with ale. He was not above getting what was handed to him, even if he could hold his own. “But one thing is for certain, I am not a pup.”

     “I know a pup when I see a pup,” Nearly everyone was smaller than Ivar, whether that be in size, or personality. However, he wasn’t above knowing when to back away from a potential conflict. They were here to prevent war, right? “Now I recognize that face--Arnor, of Husavik, right?” He stroked his beard in thought, “I commissioned a blade for my wife about two years ago--I believe her joy truly speaks for the excellence of your craftsmen. You see, she’s a hard woman to please.”

[musesgonnamuse]

let me proтecт you

           no one else can proтecт you like i can

[ferrisbueller]

[ofivar]

❆ — Have you heard? [ IVAR VINTER ] has just set foot on Hlandul’s soil. He is the [ THIRTY-EIGHT ] year old [ JARL ] of [ GIERSON ]. Take heed, they are said to be [ WISE & GOOD-NATURED ], but are also quite [ STUBBORN & CRUDE ]. You might even say they are the [ CHIEF ].

BASICS:

FULL NAME: Ivar Vinter.

NICKNAME(S): Crusher of Bones, etc.

BIRTHDAY: February 1st.

AGE: 38.

HEIGHT: 6′6″

WEIGHT: 235 lbs.

BIRTHPLACE: Gierson.

GENDER IDENTITY: Cis-Male.

SEXUALITY: Heterosexual.

PERSONALITY:

MBTI TYPE: ENFP.

HOGWARTS HOUSE: Hufflepuff.

MORAL ALIGNMENT: Neutral Good.

ENNEAGRAM TYPES: The Helper.

+     Ivar was born on the battlefield, to a fiercely loyal shieldmaiden and queen, whose refusal to sit on the sidelines resulted in quite a spontaneous birth. It’s said that not even the blustering, freezing winds could match the wails of the child, and he was named Ivar, after arrows that could cut through the most resilient of flesh.

+     Despite the circumstances of his birth, the newborn babe was quite a healthy and hearty baby. Though Ivar is fairly mellow now, it certainly wasn’t always this way. Growing up he was loud, belligerent, and violent, which gained him quite a bit of favor. He’s always been a big boy, both large and strong, thus found victory more than loss. This made a young Ivar quite cocky, and his younger brother, Festus, rather jealous. Regardless, their relationship has never lost it’s brotherly bond, and they spent the majority of their youth fighting, drinking, sleeping around and really not caring about any responsibility, or the requirements of their birthright.

+     Soon enough, Ivar had risen to his title as Jarl, but he still didn’t find himself ready for the position. He wanted to be free, run around, get naked, not be tied down to the responsibility of upholding an entire land. However, that all changed when Ivar met his future wife, Freydis. He’d never been in love with anyone or anything before, let alone a woman, but she was utterly different, and the shift in Ivar was immediately evident. He made quite the fool of himself, but at the same time, a reformation was happening.

+     Upon his marriage, and the birth of his niece, Babette, Ivar’s temperament was on a downhill slope. While his strength and ferocity is nothing to be trifled with, he’s known as one of the more benevolent Jarls, fun and jovial, certainly fitting for a festival-ridden kingdom like Gierson. He’s feared and loved by his people, a pleasant combination.

+     Despite his wife’s and people’s urging, Ivar doesn’t aspire to be the next high king of Hlandul. He supports his brother in arms, Vilkas of Hallbjorn, for the title. 

[ofivar]

     “Aye... didn’t have to do that to get my attention, you know,” Ivar took assurance in the fact that his temper wasn’t nearly as hot as it had been when he was younger. While others had gotten angrier, more coarse, Ivar had cooled, softened. In the best of ways--while still maintaining the ferocity a jarl needed. Though, his size certainly helped, “I know a few people here that would squash you for that, pup.”

[ofivar]

     A hearty, bellowing laugh rumbled from Ivar’s chest, delighting in the festivities of the season. There was nothing like a Yule in Gierson, but he supposed this would do. He had his family and friends gathered here, after all, throughout all lands of Hlandul. He was, personally, glad that Yule had brought a break in the politics. Ivar could certainly do without.

     “Come, drink with me!” He chuckled, taking another swig. He was intent on getting particularly wasted this night. The reason for the season.

[queenssansa]

[ofivar]

snofugl:

🔪 *°.↷ burning blue gaze watched as he seemingly ignored the storm that brewed within her ( though surely he must know, surely he must sense her heated stare upon his skin ) in favor of undressing. though not an undesirable sight, she did not want to be d i s t r a c t e d from her anger and so kept her lips pressed into a firm line, frustrated hiss leaving her throat at his words. she had come to expect the sudden lift into the air ( he had been a constant irritation in the later months of her pregnancy, carrying her from the bed to the council table and then back again ) yet there was no restraining the b u r s t of laughter that escaped her lips, head shaking fondly at his antics.

    “it was not pleasant.” a lie. the other woman was decent company and they had the children as a common thread but as freydis was not entirely fond of vilkas or his family at the moment. “i dislike this, being forced to sit pretty with s a a n v i ─ we are too different. i want to speak to the jarls, torben and arvid are not the only ones worthy of the title.” words protest yet head tilts to the side, allowing him more space to shower affection upon skin. “don’t. i am angry with you.”

     With a grunt, Ivar twisted Freydis on his lap so her clear, blue eyes were facing him. He placed hands on either side of soft cheeks, looking at her intently. The longer he’d been married, the more he learned that it paid off to let his wife know that he was listening--sometimes, in the most obvious way possible. Ignoring her words never did him any good--and besides, she was his better half. Strong where he was weak.

     Angry when he was... suitably content.

     “Wife,” His gruff voice wasn’t near smooth or silky, but it was sincere, nonetheless, “You’re angry at me for giving you a warm bed, safe quarters, and good company?” The jarl chuckled, shaking his head, “I would rather be you. Instead I sit and my ears rattle with the chatter of pompous fucks.”

     He set his forehead against her’s, eyes fluttering closed as he reveled in the warmth of her breath, the hot, ambitious blood that pumped through her veins, “Soon you can gnaw off the head of any man you choose. Be patient. Trust in your jarl.”