A/N: Part one I suppose. I’m not altogether sure of the direction I’m taking this piece. More of a Beauty and the Beast it seems. Sverri x Reader x Ivar love triangle, an AU of Irreplaceable where Kitta does not exist.
The room was murky and misty. The white hue filled the room like one he never seen before inside the Seer’s dwelling. He should have known this occasion would be bizarre. The seer had a visitor, a falcon perched on his shoulder as King Ivar the Boneless sat before him, hunched over and shaking. These shakes took ahold of him more and more. No healer could pinpoint the source. It’s not what ails him this visit. He could deal with these shakes that wracked down his increasingly sore bones. There is another thought on his mind.
“Why is it the gods won’t give me children?” Ivar’s hands fell to the loose, fluffy black hair on his head. The seer was chuckling raspily with the thinly veiled air stretched in the room.
“A mare has presented herself to the son of the raven.” The seer is speaking in riddles again, as if Ivar wasn’t frustrated enough to begin with. He can pick through them, sure.
“What mare?” He mumbles. Mares-- symbols of fertility. He had seeded many women the past few weeks. He began to think it wasn’t just the thralls on the receiving end of his rage when he could not fill them like a normal man. A son would be welcome… even if it was from useless thralls. Maybe it was him, maybe he was the one that couldn’t give sons. It grew him more and more bitter by the day.
“Under the wide branches of a cold tree, Ivar, you’ll find a mare of Freyja who will bear you many foals. Until then, none shall pass out of Frigg’s hands.” The seer laughs shallowly, falling over to breathe in raspy puffs of air. Ivar shakes behind his dark hood-- finding the realization smacks him in the face.
A mare of Freyja? (Y/N) Faksidottir. It had to be her.
On the opposite side of the spectrum, you were in the Great Hall of Sverri’s iced lands. The land here was cold and harsh, relying on exports of goods from the hunt and those of fingers that could weave. It was reaching the end of winter and you were gladdened for it. Well, mostly.
“I bled again, Sverri.”
Your hands shift shamefully along your stomach, eyes low as you sat on your marital bed beside your new husband. You had been married for all but a few months. This new place with dark woods and silvery white furs began to feel like home. As Sverri’s queen, you knew what your duties were: to supply him with many sons. The young king turns his face to you, deep brown strands waving in front of his almond shaped eyes. He looks over to you with a light smile on his slender lips as if something weighs heavily on his mind.
“In its time, we can’t rush such things…” His words run off. His hands drift up into his hair as he moves to pace through the room. Then a quiet comes over him. You notice that his frantic shaking isn’t limited to his body. No, he is shaking so harshly a thin veil of sweat has come over his body.
“What is wrong--” You follow him, finding that he would sit you back down onto his bed.
“He… he wants you.” Sverri’s breath sounds as if whomever this ‘he’ is, he has swiped words from right under Sverri’s tongue.
“My love you’re not making sense.” You tell him as he holds your hands in his. His head bent to meet your eyes clouded in concern.
“Ivar the Boneless.”
“Ubbe’s brother?” You ask, confused. What business did a Ragnarsson have with you? You thought he understood when you rejected his proposal-- but then, what Ragnarsson took denial well?
“Yes. He wants you as his wife.” Sverri watches as the confusion flits over your eyes. Of course you weren’t surprised to be someone’s end goal but in the same breath, given your reputation, you should have known. Faksi had spoken much of the daughter of Freyja-- and those far and wide began to see you as something more than the average princess you much rather be. They spoke of how Sverri wasn’t meant for you.
Now you did not personally know Ivar. You knew that he was known to be ruthless from your last visit to Kattegat. The people lamented that his lack of a proper queen left him harsh and hateful. Still, you knew the gods favoured him and Sverri’s family had fallen out of favour long ago. There was a reason he was a king.
The gods put kings in, the gods took Kings out.
“You won’t survive fighting him.” You look down to your hands. “Let him have me.”
Sverri jerks his head away at that prospect. “No.” He snaps in a rare flash of anger. “I would die before I let a man like that have you. He is insane.”
But he didn’t want to hurt you. Ivar the Boneless wanted your body. What use were you to him dead? Sverri doesn’t see it the same. You already know that. You know full and well what Ivar intends to do with you.
When you last visited Ivar, your father lamented to you the situation Ivar was in. Many men were saying that the king could not fill a woman. You almost fell into that talk, hoping to help the king with his own dilemma through marriage when he proposed to you. That day, you nearly took the offer. If Faksi hadn’t explained that the other offer came from a quiet king by the name of Sverri Askteillsson. The same man who comforted you about being used by the eldest of Aslaug’s sons.
“All he wants is children. If.. he hasn’t had luck thus far, it is for a reason.” You take Sverri’s hand and pull him down to sit beside you. “He would be a good ally.”
Sverri is jarred. “I am not going to divorce you. To ally myself at the price of your womb?”
You sigh a bit harder at that, curling your hands up in your lap. “I am suggesting I marry him as my second husband. Besides, if the other women he sleeps with have not fallen pregnant, why would I?”
His jaw knits tight. Something in his heart told him it wouldn’t be the case… but you were right. Sverri had no choice. Either he gave into Ivar voluntarily-- or he would wage war.
Ivar’s heathen army was knocking down Sverri’s small kingdom.
In comparison to Kattegat and the surrounding kingdoms, Sverri’s lands were minute. They were cold and icy, lacking of any warmth with dark trees that extended any which way. The trees here were massive and said to house Yggdrasil itself. That was why Sverri’s lands flew the great tree upon forest green banner outside the port where Ivar’s fleet had blocked any imports.
Ivar was witty-- because a portion of his army sat outside the lands on the opposite side port where slim farmers lived. They were in distress. That distress caused Sverri distress, written in his brow as Sverri complentated his options. The troops he set outside of his walls were decimated. Ivar the Boneless was closing in.
“You know we have to. Our people are starving.” You sat beside him.
Your cheeks were painted in dusty white smashed pearl, glistening your natural beauty. Sverri looks towards you, admiring your beautiful updo pinned with pearls. Faksi was coming but even Sverri knew the sort of army Ivar had.
If he came here to claim you, he was going to.
“I called him for an audience. A good portion of his army will come into our walls.”
The words crack out from his pale pink lips. He’s grown a dark stubble across his jawline. He called it stress. You lean out over the chair, stroking your hand over his handsome jaw.
“It’s never a shame to admit defeat.” You encourage him. But it doesn’t feel so. It feels as if Ivar was ripping you away from his fingers just as he sought some peace out to make children with you.
“It’s not the Viking way. I should have been able to protect you.” Sverri drinks ale from his horn. It’s but minutes later that there is a sounding of a horn-- a haze of the sun past the parting of scattered clouds. The Great Hall fills with shields of the deepest red spiraled in black. You inhale sharply, bringing your hands back to your lap. One could hear a pin drop in the Great Hall, if not for your breathing hitching and dropping to the sound of a heavy crutch beating the wood floors.
Thump, thump, thump.
You’re not sure if it’s his crutch of your heart that makes those noises. Your head bends to the ground as the figure approaches, hooded in black. He comes to a stop, slipping the helmet off of his head. Tightly packed rows of braids mark his head. A deep burn, searing the inside of your stomach bids you to look up. Instantaneously you regret the decision. His eyes, clear as they were, struck deep into your heart like the most rageful of storms. They glisten with victory.
“Sverri.” His head bobs as he abandons his crutch, falling to the steps. He drags himself like a prowling animal, arms like massive paws dragging himself to Sverri’s throne. He flicks his head in the opposite direction. Get out-- his head says. After all. He was, in fact, the guest. Sverri makes a growling noise as he stands. Ivar replaces him, hands stroking the deep wood of his throne.
“Ah and why are you hanging your head. Hm?” Ivar drags his scarf down from just under his eyes.
“Don’t think I don’t know why you’re here.” You say.
“Why do you think that is?” Ivar toys with you like a mouse after his prey. It serves to only anger you further.
“You know we have little. That is why you did not come to speak in private.” You begin. Little-- but everything you needed. It irks you to know that Ivar came here with reason. “You came for me. For the prophecy of the seer… because of my reputation.”
A rich chuckle slips of his lips and Ivar slips his hand out to offer it to you. He all but ignores the rightful King, whose eyes are downcast and lips tight. Sverri had no place in his own home anymore and he knows it. Good. That is what Ivar wants and craves.
“Ah, yes. I’ve come to steal beautiful mare of Freyja!” Ivar roars out like a beast. A cacophony of his soldiers fill the shaking walls of the Great Hall as the men beat their shields in pride of their king. “And of course, to kill your king.” Ivar glides his bloodied hands over your knuckles.
“You’ll do no such thing.” You snap your hand back from his grip. Ivar is almost jarred, used to sycophantic worship of his men and women that loved their king. You are sure of that much when you pull to a stand, your silvery skirts tight in your knuckles tight with tension.
“I will reject you. As Frigg as my only, holy witness I will promise that to you, Boneless. If you kill my husband, I will never give myself to you willingly. And I promise you… no matter what you do to me. I am a free woman.” You say. The burn must have roiled in Ivar’s gut from the shock that slaps over his face. Half in wonder and excitement, but the other deathly enraged by your daring to step up to him.
A surge of amusement boils in his chest. “Why should I care?” He asks. As if the gods had not forbidden the harsh treatment of women.
You shift to take your husband’s hand. Sverri, whose lips knit tight, glance down to the weaving of your hands together. You throw Ivar a side-eyed look. One that bleeds confidence even if you felt as if you would fall apart from the murderous gaze that glints in his eye.
“Because I am the only mare who can give you your sons.”
Now, Ivar was truly ready to address his queen in private.
