Irreplaceable IX: A Wager
See my masterlist for the rest of the series.
A/N: This chapter is going to be rough.
The clip of his crutch eventually stills. Around Ivar, two of his other brothers stood. His dark hood is drawn around his head, still smelling of his late wife. He met your eyes with his: an indecipherable amount of shame slips over your irises. How he came to know you were here-- you can only speculate. Ubbe, you think, would have kept it a secret if it meant peace and not fighting. Yet he is still here… somehow, he found out. You cringe to think that your father had been the one to tell him.
Now his eyes glaze over your sexed body, considering you with hateful eyes. Your skin flushed, sweaty and he didn’t need to be told to know what you had done. It lasted only a fraction of a second before his jaw depresses. Your eyes flit to the side. A shrill, deep howl from the king makes the others of the Great Heathen Army back up.
Ubbe’s hand meets Hvitserk’s chest, backing him against the wall with his sword drawn. The bastard King Sverri reaches his hand out to yours in consolation and yet, you turn away. You drop your tousled skirts in exchange for cradling his sons– your sons, the children he wanted more than anything. Ivar’s boom of a howl is wordless but anyone understood well.
You betrayed him. The worst of it was; he expected as much.
“He’s so cute.” You mutter in bed with Ivar. The first pregnancy left a two year old in a bassinet beside a shared bed, the second left your arms full with a newly born boy. Another boy to be proud of; another boy to prove the public wrong. Ivar’s arm wrapped around your shoulders before he glanced down to the small babe who fell asleep with his flaky little fingers protecting his face.
“What will you call him?” You asked Ivar. As you nestled into the space between his arms and torso, your smile was permanently fixed on your lips. Your hair was slick with sweat after hours and hours of harsh contractions on the floor, blood between your legs as you rocked your hips in agony. The pain you bared for him: pressing out Veifnr in the twilight hours of morning. Ivar turned his head towards you.
“You name him.” Ivar let his other hand tease your strands of hair.
“Really?” You leaned back to look at Ivar.
“You birthed him.” He said. As quick as day, you snapped back, Veifnr. Veifnr after Ivar’s bloodline. A tease at the dragon Fafnir, whom his grandfather slayed. He accepts as much, eyes lazily sliding closed when he heard it. Those four little words that made his chest clench tight. Breathless, he opened his eyes when you said it again.
“I love you, Ivar.” You said. He kicked himself in the ass for shrugging off your words. Ivar’s lips wavered a sigh.
“You say that now. Let us see when a good man comes along. I am not a good man.”
He was not a good man. He craved power, land and gold. Glory for Odin and children that would walk in the right ancient ways. His voice eventually strings dry, no longer able to howl so much in pain. You flinch back, boys in your arms as Ivar breathes hard in— then exhales hard out.
“There it is.” Sverri murmurs. “Now you know just how I felt when Faksi let you marry my (Y/N). Perhaps even more.”
Sverri teases, testing the waters as Ivar’s shaking hands jump. He snarls at the offending king with the handle of his axe now in his grip. The jealous King Sverri– Faksi had told him who the other man that wanted you was. He knew his ambitions and yet, he faltered his Kitta. He could have let you go that night. But he didn’t. Ivar could never let go of his wife– or his family. Even if it meant losing his sweet Kitta.
It didn’t mean that he would let it go so easily.
“I will kill you.” Ivar flips his blade, cutting through the air in a few whirls as Sverri held himself strong. The wooden shaft fa;;s back into his hand for only seconds before he launches it through the air. Sverri swivels to the side, narrowly clipped by the axe against his ear. Blood streams down the shell of his fleshy ear. He brings the knuckles of both thumb and middle finger together, a sharp whistle ringing through Ivar’s ear.
He knew what for. His warriors spill in from the inner crevices of the hall. Those outside remain hidden as if to guard the Great Hall. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught you huddling your boys close to Ubbe. His older brother moves forward to hold Uxi.
“Ivar– Ivar stop!” You shout. Words reaching his ears are rejected. I love you, Ivar– and he wants to believe them, take them into weight, explain what happened with his love for Kitta and comfort you. He sees red and precious little else.
“Ivar!” You call again, falling onto the ground. Ivar finally whirls around; his eyes, bloodshot and wide, to look at you when you yet again call out to him. “Please!”
“What is it woman! Do you have something else to say?!” He bellows. “How good it was that he ate of you? Or did he seed you–”
“Stop it. I don’t want to fight.” You whisper. You didn’t want him to fight. He wonders if that’s what you had in mind writhing with this stranger on top of you. Eating of your sweet cunt meant to be all his while Ivar meant to be in his tent preparing for war against Sverri. There he would lose hundreds of troops if not more, all for a wife that let a foreigner enjoy her body and destroy the homelife you both once had.
“This was destined when he killed Kitta. Our Kitta who loved you… and you betrayed me. Now I have to kill him.” He supplies the words, darkening phrase by phrase.
He hopes Kitta’s name filled you with guilt, reminding you of her fears days before her death. Those awful, blood curdling screams on the oven like heat of a funeral pyre. Kitta, the one who stepped in on your wedding day for your mother before she turned to such a beast. Kitta– who was like a second mother to Uxi and Veifnr; the two who held their words.
But their judgements felt heavy on your heart when they came in to see you in such a compromising position. If nothing else, Sverri had to be an example for his boys: never let a man make a fool of you. He would set a good example.
“He did not seed me.” You whisper. Ivar lulls his head, flicking it to the side with a scoffing laugh.
“Good– so then, when I kill him here, that will be it for the Askteil line.”
Sverri straightens himself while wiping blood from his ear. A cluster of warriors curl around King Sverri, ready at any moment to defend him. It was a death wish. Ivar expected more of the King Sverri. Perhaps he intended to kill him in some bizarre way or sent someone to raid his camps? Bjorn is back there. He thought of many excuses but none as powerful as the truth.
Maybe King Sverri was just a hopeless fool.
“Did you think it would be so easy?” Ivar roars. “To come take my lands– my wife with no allies.”
“Perhaps I did not care anymore.” He suggests, thrusting his other hand into the air. “I have been patient! I thought– it would not take long for a cripple to die. Thor will strike him down. But here you are, glory to Odin.”
Sverri drew a sword from above the bed, motioning it toward Ivar in his disgust for his life. A man like him was meant to die young. Still he was here… despite Sverri’s hope that the norns would have meant for him to die young. At least then the boys would not have been looking at him in the same way they were now.
“Sverri please.” You plead. Your ears are bleeding.
Your sweet king looks to you, vibrant eyes furious in his rare rage. “I am not going to just leave you with this monster again, (Y/N)! I am taking you.”
You glance over to Ivar and then to the other king again. “I will be fine! Just go!”
“No.” Sverri’s lips push tightly one against another. “So that he can abuse you? Force himself again upon you? Did you think I did not hear?”
It follows Ivar wherever he went.
Some people condemned him but others, once they heard of the lack of sex… agreed with Ivar that it was the “right” thing to do. Ivar knows better than that. A man never forced himself upon his wife. His expression reads the guilt; though his face was as hard as it came.
“I… You struggle for the words. Pathetic tears stream down your flushed cheeks. “I’ve forgiven him Sverri.”
The way Sverri turns up to stand straight tells you that he either doesn’t believe you, or, believes you shouldn’t forgive your husband of more than twelve years. Finally Ivar’s eyebrows contort heavily the shushing of his leather plates and crutch coming closer to Sverri. Within feet of him, Ivar swallows dryly. Through everything that had happened, he remained faithful. He made the worst decision by far taking you the way he did, yes, but the gods dealt with him harshly.
“She forgives me. Strange.” Ivar scoffs. “You see, Sverri, I don’t want to give her to you. I am the fool who took my marriage to her seriously. I filled her with children and I loved her.”
Your head snaps up.
“Then fight me at hand to hand combat. The winner takes the spoils– all of the spoils. The lands, gold and the woman.” He counters back. You hold Uxi close and strokes his hair much like his grandmother’s own. Ubbe takes the decision to stagger close in a few steps.
“Ivar you can’t–” Ubbe begins.
“Fine.” Ivar cuts off his brother.
Your heart drops. You know Ivar can handle hand to hand combat with most men. But this was no normal foot soldier. He would not have the element of surprise. Ivar was quick– but Sverri could be too. You only hope that the berserker in Ivar could stabilize him through such a fight. Yet-- you don’t even know if Sverri was a berserker either.
“No! Ivar won’t fight purely hand to hand in this sort of combat, Sverri. It is not a fair wager.” You stand up, grasping Uxi’s hand in your own. It wasn’t because Ivar wasn’t formidable. He was a berserker. He was strong. He was a Viking. But hand to hand with his crutch? You knew that Sverri was abusing opportunity.
But perhaps… it isn’t Ivar. Perhaps it is you because most of all-- you’re afraid for your husband. Your father Faksi clears his throat. Ubbe drops his hand upon your shoulder.
“Ivar can’t go back on his word, (Y/N).” He breathes lowly. “Its word between men.”
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