A Grecian girl is taken from her home in the Mediterranean during a raid in a Christian monestary. She is thrown into dangerous waters after she is gifted to Ivar, who believes she is nothing good but a pretty distraction, until he learns of her true talents, using her to his advantage for his growing army against the Christians of England, and the usurper, Lagertha.
Forging A Heart (Ivar the Boneless) Epilogue- Home
Pairings: Ivar x Artemis (OFC)
Word Count: 5105
Warnings: Only that Ivar likes to monologue like a super villain.
AN: And we've finally reached the end! Again, thank you to those who stuck around, liked, reblogged, and left such lovely comments 💙
28- New Beginnings
...
The gods had blessed their journey with fair weather.
The mountainous skyline was finally in their line of vision after months of travel. The sun followed them, searing them through their wool lined clothes. Most of the men grumbled, removing the layers of heated fabric and leather to find some relief under the sweltering heat.
The water was bluer than Artemis remembered, the colorful fish swimming beside their ships as if greeting them. Their surroundings were vivid and full of color, far from the gray skies that dominated the sky in Norway. The Mediterranean skies were full of unimaginable life.
She brings her eyes to the shadowy figures atop the cliffside. One by one foreign men mounted on impressive horses lined up on the edge of the rocky hill watching the ships head closer to their captured coast line. She was hoping it was a lie, or that perhaps these men had left back to where they came from. But those were childish thoughts, and she couldn't hide her disappointment. She grips tightly at the wool covering her knees, knuckles turning white from the pressure.
"Andalusian's." Ivar comments beside her, the hood of his cloak hiding the seasick look on his face. He watches her features harden, her eyes holding a reckless darkness to them. He reaches over to cover her hand with his own, successfully loosening the tension between her fingers and laces their fingers together.
She lets out a breath through her nose, muttering something that was most certainly insulting towards those men, but remains silent after that.
"They will come to greet us at shore," He says after a moment, "And they will try to threaten us." Artemis finally turns to look at him, tightening her grip on his rough hand.
"Are you worried?" She wanted so much to tease him, but only succeeded in revealing her own concerns. She was the worried one.
Ivar scoffs.
"I command the most powerful army in the world," He boasts, waving his hand about, "There is nothing to fear." Artemis smiles. She always did admire her husband's courage and ambition.
Under Ivar's command was an impressive fleet, accompanied by his best warriors such as Dafi and Whitehair, alongside Bjorn and his men. The oldest Ragnarson joined their expedition without hesitation, honoring the alliance between Kattegat and Hedeby, as well as honoring his own ambitious heart. He loved the Mediterranean.
Bjorn too had his eyes on the cliffside, commanding his men to have their shields at the ready, and Ivar followed suit with his own warriors.
Artemis struggles to remain calm, closing her eyes as the salty wind caresses her heated cheeks, her ears focusing on the soft grunts of the men steering their ships. For a moment her mind wanders back to Kattegat, to Hvitserk who was ruling over the Kingdom in their absence, and most of all, to their child that was left behind for safety. The image of their little princess appears behind her lids, and she wanted so much in that moment to hold her.
"Baby bird," Ivar calls out to her, releasing the hold she had on his fingers to tug the sleeve of her simplistic tunic, "Our daughter is fine." He reassures her. Even now he always seemed to know what she was thinking. He pulls her closer in an embrace so that she may settle against him, planting a kiss to her brow. "You know Hvitserk is protecting her. He loves her as if she were his own."
"Yes, I know." Was her mumbled reply.
"And I'm sure she is having a wonderful time with Asa and Heracles." Artemis listens, but her eyes go back to the men on the cliff side.
"But she is so young, and if we don't return..."
"Artemis." Ivar reprimands her as if he were reprimanding their own child. He never once thought that his daughter would become orphaned while they went on this journey. It was simply a scenario he refused to mull over. He vowed to return to her, no matter the circumstances.
"I miss her." Was all his wife said, resting her head against his shoulder in comfort.
"I know, I miss her too. We will reunite soon enough, hmm?" He lays his head atop of hers, stroking his fingers over her hair, "I promised you long ago we would journey to your homeland. I did not intend to break that promise." Artemis lets out the smallest hint of a smile, lifting Ivar's large hand to place a kiss on it.
The hours passed slowly, until finally they neared the shore. The ships hadn't quite settled onto the sandy bank, and before Ivar could blink, his wife was already splashing into the water, her bow and quiver in hand. He watches her struggle, the water seeping into the material of her thick breeches weighing her down but still, she pushes forward.
Ivar grunts, swinging his legs over the edge of the small boat before stabbing his crutch into the wet sand. He pulls himself up, moving through the shallow water as quickly as he could manage before the waves could set in. He barks out orders, telling his warriors to be alert in case of attack, their swords and shields on hand. Ivar himself was covered in his weapons, his axe and sword hanging from his waist, as well as his usual daggers hidden within his trousers.
Bjorn settles beside his youngest brother, surveying the familiar area as quickly as he could. The nature surrounding them was just as breathtaking as the first time he had seen it.
"Well?" Bjorn questions him, "What do you think?
"You always did dream of sunnier places," Ivar tells him, "I now understand why." The brothers stayed silent for a moment, enjoying the sound of the waves and the squawking of the seagulls soaring above.
"I took her away from her home and you've managed to bring her back," Bjorn comments. He crosses his arms, licking his dry lips before casting down a look towards his brother.
"She deserves it." Ivar replies, not wanting to disturb his wife's peace. They watched her as she reached down to touch the sand, grabbing a handful of the grainy stuff only to watch it slip through her fingers. Quickly she bends to remove the boots from her bare feet to feel the hot sand between her toes.
With a smile he looks on before whispering to himself,
"Welcome home, my love."
...
Ivar's suspicions were correct. The entourage of men from the cliffside met their own, their horses stomping around in an act of intimidation. That didn't work out too well. Ivar, finally within his chariot, smirks. He leans against the railing, already looking like a predator waiting for its prey. It has been quite some time since he's killed anyone.
"Do not taunt them, Ivar." Artemis mutters a warning as she moves to stand beside his chariot, casting him a look when he scoffs in reply before bringing her attention towards the well dressed leader.
He was a man of a darker complexion with equally dark eyes lined in khol. He immediately recognizes Bjorn, the smallest hints of a sneer forming on his lips. It seemed Bjorn had left an impression in the past, and from the looks of it, not a very good one.
"I see you're back, Bjorn Ironside," He grunts, his accent heavy on the northern tongue, "There is no mistaking those ships." Both Ivar and Artemis look at the man before turning to Bjorn in disbelief. Bjorn was not at all phased with seeing this particular man again.
"A pleasant surprise, Abu Hafs," The oldest Ragnarsson says the man's name as greeting, "The years have been good to you," The man barks out a laugh, tilting his head in amusement.
"I can't say the same for you, Viking." He proceeds to rake his eyes over his companions.
"My brother, King Ivar of Kattegat, and his wife, Queen Artemis." Bjorn answers the silent question. The man makes a low noise of confusion, eyes scrutinizing them. How could they be king and queen looking the way they did? The King was quite tall, but leaned heavily on a crutch. Metal wrapped around his legs like iron serpents. The Queen had on as much leather as a man would, wearing the gear of a warrior. The Arab man blinks, thinking what an odd pair of royalty they were. He did not miss the look they both held in their eyes, though he noticed the King's gaze promised far more danger then he let on.
"It is a pleasure, King Ivar, Queen Artemis," He politely greets them with a tiny bow of his head, and the pair return his sentiments. He then shifts his gaze towards their warriors behind them bearing their weapons. "I don't suppose this is a friendly meeting?"
"We're not here to raid." Artemis responds in her native Greek, far too tired of fake pleasantries and small talk. She approaches the man with careful steps, being mindful of the large horse he was mounted on. The horse whinnies, but does nothing more at her presence. Said man was taken aback, his brows shooting up so high they could have hid under his bright orange head wrap.
"You're Greek?" He asks in disbelief, wondering to himself how he hadn't noticed it before.
"Yes," She answers, "From this very island." Her tone was far from agreeable, it could have been picked up from anyone in hearing distance. The leader narrows his eyes, not appreciating her insinuation. He mutters something in Arabic that she couldn't make out, causing his men to snort in quiet laughter.
"Then what are you all here for, woman?" Artemis scowls, pushing down the strong desire to shoot this man with an arrow. She could already sense what he was about and what he thought of the opposite gender. Crossing her arms, Artemis lifts her chin up to look at him directly despite how much shorter she was.
"I seek a blacksmith in one of the main villages in Chania."
"You've come all this way for a blacksmith?" The man replies to her, finally jumping off his horse. He wasn't very tall, much shorter than anticipated, but still, he towered over her.
Ivar immediately moves his chariot forward in response. He picked up on a few words in their conversation, getting a sense of what was being said, and he did not like the sound of it. He steps off the chariot, masking his discomfort well, and stood behind his wife, ready to defend her if need be.
Bjorn stares between the Arab leader and his sister in law, catching very few words as he did not pick up Greek as well as Ivar had.
"We've come for my father."
"Ahh," Then Arab man quickly sweeps his eyes over her again before coming to a conclusion, "You were taken by these people as a slave."
"With all due respect, that is no concern of yours."
"How cunning you must have been to become queen of a foreign people." Artemis blinks, not sure how she should retaliate without potentially endangering them all. She glares at him, and the Arab man smirks back.
"Should I kill him?" Ivar asks her rather loudly, his fingers lightly dancing on her waist, "I could kill him."
"Ivar." Bjorn warns, but is cut short when Artemis removes a hidden dagger from Ivar's side, bringing the pad of her finger to the tip.
"Or I could do it myself." She says casually, speaking as if the man weren't there. She teasingly points the dagger at the Arab man, waiting for him to react. The Andalusian warriors immediately point their weapons at them, swords and bows just a few feet away. Ivar's men did not hesitate in reciprocating their actions, axes glimmering in the sunlight.
Bjorn stomps over to snatch the dagger from Artemis's hand with a hard yank.
"Enough," The older Ragnarsson says, putting a hand up in a form of surrender, "When did you become as impulsive as my brother?"
Suddenly the Arab man barks out another laugh, clearly amused. He orders his men to lower their weapons before putting his hands to his hips.
"I see you both make for better company than Bjorn ever did," He jokes, watching Bjorn furrow his flaxen brows in displeasure before bringing his attention back to Ivar, "Your wife is very vivacious, King Ivar. An admirable trait."
"I wouldn't have it any other way." Ivar bites out a quick response, a smirk settling on his lips as he holds her tight.
"Very well, I will accept you are here in search of someone, a certain blacksmith, but what have you to offer in return for allowing you and your men into my lands?" Artemis scoffs, rolling her eyes at the sheer audacity this man had at calling the island his. Before she could spit out a sarcastic comment, Bjorn interjects.
"We wish to trade," He tells him, "I'm sure you will be satisfied with the items we've brought." The leader hums.
"Go on."
"We bring furs from all over Scandinavia," Ivar continues, "The best pelt's of brown bear from Norway." He motions to Dafi, ordering him and a few men to drag a crate off one of the ships. Once opened, Ivar digs a hand inside, pulling out a shiny pelt of fur belonging to a large brown bear. He runs his thumb over the soft hairs, offering the pelt to the Arab man, who took it from him with eager hands.
They all watch the man inspect the fur, impressed with the fine quality. He nods with a grunt of approval, handing Ivar back the pelt.
"Very well," He says, "I will grant you my hospitality," He mounts his horse, steering the beast round with his men following his lead. Picking up the reigns he turns to glance at them, "I humbly welcome you all to the Emirate of Crete."
...
The Emirate of Crete.
Artemis thinks bitterly, her eyes glaring daggers at the Arab leader's back. She didn't like him, she didn't like his men, and she most certainly didn't like his arrogance.
"I fear your face will remain that way." Ivar jokes, peering up at her with his charming smile. It was his attempt to calm her nerves.
"I don't like him."
"Neither do I, my love," He mutters, "Though he trades with us decent goods."
"Slaves?" She mutters defensively, and Ivar thinks that perhaps Bjorn was right, she was taking after him.
"Some slaves, yes," He responds, "Among other items." Artemis only grunts in response. "Such is the way of the world, Artemis, you know this."
"And they will not be as lucky as I." She says, finally deciding to rip her eyes away from the offending man and towards their surroundings.
Part of her didn't want to be there.
How long had she dreamt of this very moment, only to feel like she wanted to run and hide?
4 years?
4 years of sadness, pain, happiness and peace all in one congested mess of emotions that had her questioning her sanity in such moments.
She remembered that day vividly.
It was as if it all occurred just days ago. Sometimes when she closed her eyes, she could reimagine it all again, the screams, the blood, the tears.
She chooses to watch Ivar's face taking in the foreign sights. It was a lovely distraction. He'd never been this far from home before. Ivar wouldn't admit it, but he was fascinated to be in such a land so unlike his own, where the sun never seemed to set and the heat was beyond anything he'd felt on his pale skin.
He seemed so childlike, like a curious babe entering the world.
Artemis wanted to appreciate such a moment, the rare sight of her husband being absorbed into his surroundings was adorable. He swore no lands could outshine Kattegat, but judging by his curious eyes, he found something close to it.
Finally, her eyes catch the sight of the monastery. That was when the dam of her emotions broke, and she couldn't hold herself together any longer. She fights with herself, the stubborn tears already pooling at the rim of her eyes, threatening to spill. She sniffles, wiping the falling tears angrily. Her hot tears fall against Ivar, droplets landing on his hand.
He gazes up at her again, seeing how she wiped at her face furiously, skin flushed from fighting her emotions. Ivar frowns, taking up her hand to brush a kiss over her knuckles. He lets her have a moment to herself, deciding to wrap an arm about her waist in simple comfort.
Keeping a tight grip on the reigns, he turns to look at the infamous monestary, made of white stone and now donning a symbol that he knew was not that of the Christian's.
Abu Haf's men led the procession along into the bustling village, the roads small and rocky under the wheels of the chariot. It looked war torn, signs of battle and struggle through every corner. The people gaze at Ivar's men with wide eyes. Many glared, and many others hid in their homes and shops. Just like the Andalusian's, they were not welcomed.
It was a short ride. Bjorn took it upon himself to stay back and watch over the ships with a few of his own warriors under the watchful eye of the Andalusian men.
A few moments later and the procession stops in the main square of the village.
"The blacksmith," Abu Hafs says from atop his horse. He points to the familiar shop, but Artemis already knew the way. She grips Ivar's shoulder tightly in her nervousness. Everything appeared the same, though the stones were a bit eroded since she was there last. Smoke escaped from the chimney above, a clear sign that someone was at work.
"Artemis?" Ivar questions, moving to push a few stray hairs behind her ear. She turns to him with shining eyes, a look of fear settling within the dark pools. She hadn't looked that frightened in such a long time. It broke his heart to see her in such grief.
"Are you ready?"
"No," She whispers, "No, I don't think I am." Her feet seemed rooted to the base of his chariot, and it appeared she wouldn't be moving for a while. Ivar stood with a grunt, quickly placing a kiss to her cheek before stepping off into the direction of the shop.
"Ivar?" She calls out to him frantically, "What are you doing?"
"Going to meet my father in law, is it not obvious?" He turns around to look at her with a smile, "He is part of the family, no?"
"Yes but-"
"You come in whenever you're ready, hmm? Dafi, watch over her." Ivar orders the warrior, giving a quick glance to Abu Hafs, his eyes sending a warning.
Once he pushes the door, he immediately catches sight of an older man. He was of moderate height and quite burly for his age. He worked as every blacksmith would, dipping a sword into a bucket of cold water. The steam rose and cleared before Ivar decided to speak.
"Giannis?"
The older man turns around, immediately stiffening at the sight of him. He stares at Ivar long and hard, raking his eyes over his form before whispering.
"Viking."
Ivar smirks, hobbling in to get a closer look at the man who truly had a strong resemblance to his wife. It was unmistakable.
He searches his mind for the proper words before speaking.
"Your daughter has been waiting for this moment a long time," He tells him, finding a stool to sit on, "And in some ways, I have as well. She speaks fondly of you." It was quite amusing really, to see the man as frozen as a deer moments before its death by an arrow.
The man says nothing, his hand twitching over the pommel of the sword left to cool in the bucket. He scrutinizes the northerner before him and his calm actions. Ivar doesn't bat an eye when the man lifts the sword in a defensive stance, pointing it towards him.
"I want no trouble." The man, Giannis, says, thick brows furrowing when Ivar scoffs, waving his hand about as he usually did.
"I'm not here to cause trouble." The blacksmith was even more confused, slowly lowering the sword cautiously. Isn't causing trouble what Vikings did?
"You know, she is a queen now." Ivar tells him, choosing to observe his surroundings. It was a quaint little forge, supplied with what was necessary, similar to the one back home. He could already imagine Artemis scurrying about in there once upon a time.
The man blinks, quite stunned into silence. Frankly, it appeared as if he were struck in the face. He couldn't fathom what was more odd, a pillaging Northman sitting before him, or the fact that he spoke Greek. Both were equally odd.
"You understand me, yes?" Ivar questions him, eyebrows raised. He leans his arms on his crutch, waiting for the man to answer him. The blacksmith nods, placing the sword atop the table before removing his gloves. He then glances at Ivar's braces and crutch, finally bringing his gaze to look him in the eyes. The same eyes of his wife.
"You like them?" A smile begins to curl at the corners of Ivar's lips, "Your daughter's creation. You taught her well."
"How do you know my daughter?" The man's voice was suddenly like a whip. Any normal person would have flinched, but Ivar was far from normal. Ivar lets out a chuckle, as it became clear to him where Artemis had inherited her temper from.
"She is my wife," Ivar articulates as best he could, enjoying the way the man's face went from panic, to an even greater panic, "And that makes you my father in law."
"What?" The blacksmith sneers.
"As well as a grandfather." Ivar continues his chatter. The man was greatly overwhelmed. He runs a hand through his graying hair, his aged skin seemingly more pronounced as he ponders the situation.
"I don't understand," He says, "My daughter was killed by your people."
"She was captured," Ivar corrects, though not very happy to have said that, "And is very much alive." The older man grunts, picking up the sword and placing it back into the bucket with a force that surprised Ivar.
The blacksmith says nothing, walking toward the far corner of the forge and quickly producing a clay jug along with 2 clay cups. He pours himself wine, quickly gulping it down before filling the other cup and handing it over to Ivar.
"Drink."
Ivar sniffs at the wine out of habit, not much a fan of the fermented grape drink as his wife was, but decides to take a sip.
"It has been nearly 4 years," The man begins, bringing a stool over to sit a few feet from Ivar, "Artemis is dead. I have come to terms with it." He pours himself another cup and downs it with a deep grunt, holding the cup so tightly Ivar thought it might shatter in his grasp. "We haven't seen your people around here in quite a while, so tell me, has a man of the North come to kill me, or pester me, hm?"
"Neither." Was Ivar's simple reply.
"Then what is it you want? Weapons?"
"Just a man wanting to reunite his wife with her family." The older man was skeptical, looking at Ivar with narrowed eyes.
"If what you claim is true then where is she?"
"Right outside."
As if on cue, Artemis bursts into the forge, her chest heaving as if she ran for miles. She swallows thickly, her throat feeling dry from the anxiousness.
Both Ivar and her father turn to look towards the outburst, only to find a nervous young woman wringing her hands together as she slowly steps forward.
She didn't know what to think, what to say, what would he-
Her fathers eyes found hers instantly, and the cup fell from his hand, shattering across the floor in pieces. She takes a step back on instinct, her eyes following the shattered clay pieces that scattered towards her feet.
"I must be dreaming," The blacksmith says, shooting up from the stool, yet makes no movement to approach her, "The devil tests me." Ivar snorts immediately, bringing them both out from their haze.
"This is no work of the devil, I assure you." He tells him.
Father and daughter merely stare, eyes battling each other, waiting to see which one of them was the illusion.
"Father," Artemis's voice cracks, "I thought you were..." She stops herself, choking back a sob. She couldn't speak after that, giving in to the grief of painful separation. It hurt Ivar to see her in such a state. He hated it. He attempts to reach for her but stops himself short when her father finally strides forward, grabbing her into a tight embrace.
"My sweet girl." He struggles to say through his own sorrow, enveloping his daughter in a tight embrace. This was the moment that Artemis had been waiting for, the moment she thought impossible. To feel her father's touch again was almost bittersweet, as her new home was worlds apart from his.
After a few moments her father pulls away from her.
"Let me get a proper look at you," He says, holding her at arm's length, "You've not changed, though your state of dress is certainly different." He gives her a teary smile, hearing the tiny hiccup of a laugh within her sobs. Her delicate face hadn't changed much, but it was obvious to him that she had matured. She was far from the young girl he remembered. Her eyes held many tales from across the seas.
"This Viking says you are a queen, that you are his wife." Her father's tone was gentle as he was known to have a soft nature by those who knew him well. His previous panic with Ivar had subsided and was replaced with a new found curiosity. Artemis nods, wiping her face free of tears.
"His name is Ivar," She begins, "It is true...I am his wife. We rule a kingdom in the far North." She tries to keep her voice leveled, wanting to be strong. She was proud of being wife to her husband. Turning to look back at Ivar he offers her a reassuring smile. He was listening intently, making sure to follow their conversation. She smiles back, feeling much more confident.
"I thought I would never see you again," She admits, turning back towards the older man "And when I was told about the Andalusian's, I assumed nothing but the worst for you." Her father nods, running a hand down his face.
"It has been a challenging few years," He admits, "But we still persevere. We always do." He then turns away from them for a moment to collect his thoughts, a question burning in his mind. He turns back round with a sigh, placing a hand on his daughter's shoulder. "I was told you have a child?"
"A daughter, Sól," Artemis smiles at the thought of her little girl, "She is back home with Ivar's brother for safety." Her father hums in response, though he was saddened at his daughter's idea of home.
"Home? Is it not here in Chania?"
"This place is just a memory of what it once was. There is nothing for me here. There is nothing for you here either, father." Her father frowns at her response. It was true. Though the Andalusian's ransacked their island, it was still home.
"Her home is where her family is," Ivar finally interjects, "And her family is in Norway." The older man gives Ivar a stern look.
"Tell me, Viking, do you know the pain of losing a child?" His voice was calm, but behind the cool exterior was a slow boiling rage. Ivar clenches his jaw, his lips forming into a tight line. He gives the man a hard look before bringing his gaze towards his worried wife, and then towards his hands gripping his crutch.
"No," Ivar answers bitterly, "I do not know of such pain. Nor do I ever wish to feel it with my own child."
"I have lost a wife, a son, and for 4 agonizing years I believed I had lost a daughter," The blacksmith explains, grunting as he sits back down upon the stool opposite of Ivar, "Your people have caused damage to many hearts here." Ivar remains silent, fingers tightening over his crutch while he listens to the words of the old man.
"Forgive me for wanting my daughter to return home." He raises his eyes to glance at his daughter, who stood beside the northern as if she were always meant to be there, "But I could already see that remaining here is not part of her plan," He sighs with smile and a shake of his head," Artemis has always been a force to be reckoned with."
"Oh?" Ivar grins, bringing his eyes to his wife. Her cheeks burned red.
"Father-"
"Did she ever tell you of the butcher boy? Scared the poor boy to death when she tried bringing a hammer to his head. Put me in much trouble with the boy's father." Ivar grins hearing the tale, his fingers trailing over Artemis's lower back.
"I would very much like to hear more of these stories." He laughs at his wife's embarrassment, squeezing her tight from round her waist.
Her father beckons his daughter forward, offering his aged hand for her to grasp,"Oh daughter," He stands, embracing her again, "My heart both sings and weeps for you." She hears the pain in his voice, the grief of an old man at wits end.
"You mustn't worry for me. I am well and Ivar takes good care of me."
"He treats you well?"
"Like a queen." She responds, and the father could feel her smiling against his tunic.
"And your daughter?"
"Takes after her mother," Ivar answers, "She is the jewel of Kattegat." The blacksmith smiles, quiet content with the answers received. They stayed silent for a few moments before he lets out another sigh, speaking with slight amusement in his tone.
"Well then," He begins, looking down at Artemis, "I suppose I can't threaten to marry you off to the butcher's boy anymore, hmm?"
Artemis breaks out into a smile more blinding than the Mediterranean sun.
AN: Ya’ll have no idea how much I love this GIF of Ivar. His eye roll is literally what I imagine him doing all the time.
16- Free
...
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
Steady your stance.
Pull the string.
Release the arrow.
It was a lot harder than Artemis anticipated.
She missed her target, a small, dark rabbit that fled the moment the arrow pierced into the damp earth beside it.
She sucks her teeth.
"Mm, that was better, but you still lack the patience." Ivar says to her with a chuckle. To him it was second nature, but watching Artemis with a bow was like watching a babe attempting to walk.
He sat as comfortably as he could on a chair brought by one of his many other thralls, and he watched as Artemis lowered her bow in defeat. It amused him to see her strive for perfection. It reminded him of himself when he was a child and still learning the ways of archery.
At his heels were his obedient elkhounds brought with him from Norway, eager to run wild and hunt even in the early summer heat. They were the same ones Ivar threatened her with, but that was neither here nor there.
He held one of them tightly in place with a leather strap, the other 3 pulling hard against a male thralls grip. They were beautiful things, large, with cream and black fur and large dark eyes. The hounds were adorable at first glance, but they were fierce, destroying anything in their path with ease if Ivar commanded them to.
Ivar snapped his fingers, and the wolf like dogs immediately ceased their whinning, staring up at their master with expecting eyes.
"Go." He commands, both he and the thrall letting go of the leather, the hounds instantly fled into the trees. All 4 returned with a dead rabbit in its mouth in a matter of minutes, surrounding their masters feet.
"Your hounds are show offs." Artemis pouts while Ivar grins, giving his beasts meat treats as the thrall collects the rabbits.
"Who else is to provide our dinner if you can't manage to shoot anything?" He says with a tired chuckle. His features betrayed him, revealing his discomfort from the usual pain that inflicted him daily, but it passed just as quickly as it came. He extended his arm out, palm open as an invitation for Artemis to hand over the bow.
Once securely in his hand, Ivar places his crutch to the side. He looks about slowly, listening to the sounds of the forest with his blue eyes closed and his lashes dusting over his cheekbones. Moments like these were the ones that Artemis admired the most, quickly scanning her eyes over him.
Ivar was no master of blades, but he was extremely skilled with a bow, and he almost never missed his target, Artemis had witnessed it many times when he use to train with his brothers.
Suddenly his piercing eyes fluttered open, and he silently motioned for Artemis to hand him an arrow from her quiver.
"Wha-"
"Shh."
He quickly reprimands her, putting a finger over his lips before placing the arrow in its place and stretching back the bow string as far as he could, aiming the sharp arrow towards the bright green tree tops. He stared up toward the skies for a moment in comfortable silence. Artemis would have spoken again if it weren't for the whizzing of the arrow soaring through the air at a raging velocity.
The tree tops shook a bit, and a squeal emitted from its depths before a dark shadow descended from above, falling at the foot of the large tree trunk. How Ivar had the ability to shoot down a squirrel from such a distance was beyond her, but most impressive nonetheless.
"Did you not mention your patron goddess was a huntress?" He asks with a smirk, and Artemis rolls her eyes with a snort.
"I am named after a goddess, but it does not mean I am one." Ivar shrugs, handing her back the bow.
"I like to think you are." He says, turning his blue gaze towards the familiar brown.
Artemis blinks, only able to conjure up a shy smile as she felt her cheeks burn. A strange feeling began to flutter in her lower abdomine. It was a strange feeling indeed, but she liked it, the fluttering intensifying when he bites his lips in apprehension.
"And what have you done to elicit such flattery from my brother?" Both too distracted with each other, they failed to noticed Hvitserk watching their scene, smirking at them in the way all the brother's
It was borderline infuriating.
"Shut up, Hvitserk." Ivar says with a growl, far less malicious than he wanted. He watches his hounds charge from sniffing at the green pastures to leaping towards his older brother in excitement.
"Forgive me for interrupting," Hvitserk laughs, trying to individually caress eat dog that pounced up his legs, "But the bishop has come to a decision. He wishes to speak with you."
Ivar hums nodding his head as he grabs his crutch, "Very well. Perhaps we shall gain a warrior on our side."
"Why do you wish for the bishop to fight for you?" Artemis asks quietly, cocking her head to the side in curiosity, "I thought you hated Christian's?"
"I thought so too." Hvitserk agrees, the smirk never leaving his lips.
"I suppose there are a few that aren't so bad." Ivar speaks just as quietly, his penetrating gaze lingering on her for another moment before motioning with his hands for the party to head back into the city.
...
The bishop, after being humiliated in the streets of York by the foreigners, proved himself, killing a taunting man before Ivar's very eyes and swearing allegiance to him. To sink a knife into another man's flesh and ending his life was enough to ignite Ivar, it could be seen in the way his eyes glowed.
Plans were set in motion once again, this time with King Harald Finehair, who had been a head strong ally with them thus far. The viking settlement in York would be overseen by one of Ivar's men now that the king of Northumbria was eliminated and the kingdom of Wessex weakend tremendously. Many who came with the Ragnarson's decided to stay in the Yorkish settlement, and that included Arvid and Alfhild. Artemis didn't know whether it was their decision or Ivar's, but she supposed it was for the best.
Alfhild was pregnant, perhaps a sign of their gods that their growing family should remain on English soil until their call back to Kattegat would come.
She was excited as any future mother would, rubbing her still flat belly in affection for her child to be. Arvid was pleased, though not as much as a man who truly loves his wife. There was a pride in knowing that a man could impregnate his woman, but if he could not love her, then what was the point? Arranged marriages usually ended in this way, loveless and disconnected, but it was clear Alfhild held much love for her husband who was as stubborn as mule. Arvid was a good man, but like most men, he failed in the arts of love.
The news spread rather quickly: Ivar the Boneless's slave was a woman whose life was now her own to command.
A few men saw it as an advantage to steer their eyes away from their duties. Admirers would visit to forge for idle talk, much to Artemis's annoyance, and Arvid's. Usually he'd send them away with a mouthful of curses.
Ivar remained good spirited. The leader of the largest army known to man spent whatever free time he had giving her archery lessons on days where he had the most time to spare. Normally any great leader would strain their minds on more pressing matters, but Ivar always seemed to make the time for her. She never asked for it, but she was starting to enjoy him company.
Artemis supposed life was bearable, for now. Ivar treated her well as he said he would, with a decent space in the church of her own, and she had access to as much food as she could want. After supper, she'd collect as much as she could, offering bread and fruit to the other thralls who were in far worse conditions than she’d ever been. It was the least she could do.
She spends her days in the forge with the other smith's, repairing weapons and restoring the ships, replacing the large iron nails holding the thick wood together. Her nights were held under candle light, mending and creating new chainmail.
Sometimes, her mind wandered off to her father, and whenever it did, she'd have to pause to gather herself before she could burst into tears.
The only thing she could hope for was for the dreadful weather to clear.
...
The weather never did clear.
The rains of York bombarded them. Each day the clouds grew darker and closer, bringing with them the harsh rains that soaked them to the bone. It worried some if they were to travel in a few days time in such conditions, but the men worked through it, preparing their supplies for their journey back to the north.
Ivar managed to crack the iron on the side of his brace, and Artemis spent her morning welding the split metal back together. After wiping her hands on a wet cloth, she quickly puts her cloak on with the hood over her face, running through the showers and into the church.
Inside was mostly vacant, save for a few guards that roamed about with ale in their hands as their pass time. Their eyes lingered on her for a moment, but she learned to ignore it.
The bishop sat alone with a dreary look on his face as he was clearly annoyed with the intoxicated guards. He was seated among the many rows of benches placed within, his chained hands set atop the wooden table top with a plate in between of bread and cheese.
He greets her with a nod of his head. His dirty hands worked to rip apart bread, popping them in his mouth and chewing the pieces unbecomingly. She returns the greeting, quickly making her way to Ivar's chamber.
"You will not like what you see." The bishop's smile was hidden behind a crust of bread. Her obvious confusion amused him.
"What?"
Heahmund chuckles in the way that older men do, deep and guttural. He shakes his head, ripping another piece of bread.
"I've heard many rumors of the boneless leader and his...condition," He begins, watching Artemis's mouth twitch at the corners, "Well, nevermind. I suppose you will see soon enough." Annoyed with his chatter, she stomps over to the chamber, finding the door slightly ajar.
She hesitates, before stepping in.
"Prince Ivar, I've repaired your braces as reque-" She stops, eyes wide at the scene before her. The blonde, Freydis, was completely naked and looming over a shirtless Ivar with a predatory smile. She was in the middle of kneeling, before both look towards the intrusion.
His fingers paused their skimming over the nakedness of her side, and Artemis thought it would be in her best interests to leave such an intimate sight, yet she found herself momentarily frozen in place.
"Gods, Artemis, have you no regard for privacy?" Ivar reacts quickly, pushing Freydis away roughly as he eyed Artemis with a look of...well, she didn't know what to call that look. It was strange, almost apologetic.
"F-forgive me." She stutters, placing the sack with his braces neatly into a corner before running off. She stops beside the bishop, placing a hand over her beating heart as she let's out a shuddering breath. The bishop raises a brow, watching her in amusement as she places her hands over her face in embarrassment.
"I warned you."
"Shut up." She snarls at him, dashing off into the rain without another word. The last thing she heard was Heahmund's laughter echoing after her.
She stomps into the forge, the heat of the fire mixed with rain made an uncomfortable combination of humidity and moisture, dampening her mood further.
"Did Ivar favor the repairs?" Arvid asks cautiously, raising at brow at how disheveled she looked. He was already sensing her foul mood. They were barely on speaking terms, treading softly around each other, but he knew when she was upset, and it was very obvious that she was now. He didn't want to leave her alone, but his duties were to help the other men load their wares onto the ships. He places his cloak about his shoulders, awaiting an answer.
"It was fine." She grunts, not meeting his eyes. Arvid frowns, placing on his hood.
"I am to help the others gather the supplies for departure. See to the repairs." With that he stepped out into the rain, leaving her alone with her troubling thoughts.
So what if he preferred the company of Freydis? That was no business of hers...she attempts to lecture herself.
She peels off her cloak, tossing it aside carelessly. Her hair was soaked, chunks of it across her brow and cheeks from running without her hood on.
The scene replayed in her mind over and over again. The image of Ivar's face and how his fingers lingered over Freydis's skin was seared in her mind. She wondered how his touch would feel on her own skin before scowling.
"Shit." She groans dramatically, wasting no time in busying herself pounding away at the whatever weapons needed repairs. She was glad for the distraction, as her mind raced with unholy thoughts that bolied her blood. She found comfort in the sounds of metal hitting metal, the pattering of the rain soothing her for once.
The familiar scraping of metal and the stabbing of a crutch engulfed the empty forge. She sighs, her eyes peering up at Ivar as he entered. Now fully dressed and looking very much like himself, he was certainly amused.
She glares but says nothing, looking back at the task at hand. The blade was almost new again, and with one more dip in the fire it would be complete.
"Artemis," Ivar grins, grabbing a stool to sit beside her as she worked, "I can hear your ridiculous hammering from my chambers," His smile remained, and before she could raise the hammer again to beat the sword, he curls his fingers around her wrist, halting her actions.
"Something is troubling you." He remarks, easily snatching the hammer from her hand. She rolls her eyes, placing the sword into the bucket of cold water behind her. It was finished anyway.
"I am fine. " She replies stubbornly, attempting to grab the hammer, but he successfully holds it away from her. Even sitting he was much taller then her, and he held the hammer above his head like a child stealing another's toy. Artemis scowls, not bothering to reach for it anymore.
"Why are you here?" Ivar rolled his eyes, handing her back the tool.
"I think it only right to check on the work of my blacksmith."
"Here," She says, removing the sword from the bucket to shove the blade in his face, "Here is my work. Good?" Ivar smirks, humming as he moved two of his fingers to push the blade away from him.
"She was just a whore, Artemis, a bed warmer." She gives him a sharp look, watching as his blue eyes twinkle with mirth. He was teasing her.
"So?"
"So why do you seem so upset?"
"I am not upset."
"You're a terrible liar." She scoffs, pursing her lips.
"They say you freed her. Is it true?" Ivar hesitates.
"Yes."
"I wonder what she has done to merit that," Artemis mutters, "But I suppose it is no concern of mine." She turns away from him, wanting so badly to hide her emotions.
Ivar frowns.
"Artemis, look at me." She sighs, but obeys, moving to bring her gaze back to his. He reaches a hand out, gently moving away the wet pieces of hair from her face with a chuckle. He admires her for a moment, watching her lashes flutter in nervousness. Her cheeks were flushed, and she worried her lip between her teeth.
Ivar sighs, bringing his hand back to run it down the expanse of the new braids he sported. He couldn't bring himself to admit what he was truly feeling, and neither could she. Instead he teased her, offering her a toothy grin.
"Did you want to be in Freydis's place? Did you want to be the one about to suck me off?"
There it was, the reaction he knew was to come. Her face transformed into that of an angry wolf, eyebrows arched and lips set in a line. She wanted to punch him so badly, feeling her fists curl up on instinct.
She stops herself. Still not a good idea to punch a viking prince.
She quickly grabs her cloak, removing her gloves and tossing them at Ivar before stepping out into the foul weather. She needed to think, and be away from him.
...
"So, have you done...anything with her...yet?" Hvisterk inquires, ripping the meat off a chicken bone with his teeth, chewing unceremoniously. Ivar sat quietly, picking at his food, his mind running off.
"Who?"
"You know who, " Hvitserk rolls his eyes but continues, "Because if you don't, I would not mind." He shrugs, a smile breaking out when his brother glares at him.
"You will do no such thing." Ivar growls, slamming his hands down on the wooden table top, immediately silencing the church. He looked around before motioning for everyone to continue their meals, and so the chatter began again. Hvitserk laughs, tossing the chicken bone at Ivar, who quickly swatted it out his way.
"So I see she is still yours without being yours. Tell me brother, how can you have such a brilliant mind for war, yet such ignorance towards affection?" Hvitserk wasn't much of a romantic man himself, but even he wanted to feel the tender touches of love.
"Blame these useless legs." Ivar snarls. His nose flares in annoyance, reaching out to gulp down his own ale, and once he finished it, he grabbed at Hvitserk’s. He slammed the cup down when he finished, and after a moment, he relaxes, drumming his fingers over the table top and finally meeting his brothers eyes.
"Artemis is a distraction," He begins with a hiccup, "She is a Christian."
"That cannot be the issue," Hvitserk snorts, reaching out to eat another leg of chicken, "She is educated in our ways, you saw to that. I think you're scared baby brother."
"Hvitserk," Ivar warns, "Shut. Up."
"And she is beautiful, Ivar, " He continues, lowering his tone, "You decided to free her. You know men will venture towards her like hawks. If you desire her, then claim her." He shrugs.
"She is not the type to be...claimed, Hvitserk. She is not like...Freydis." He mutters the blonde girls name as if a poison were coated on his lips. She had been so convincing, whispering in his ear all the things he wished to hear, telling him the things he was capable of, and yet it all felt so wrong. Especially seeing Artemis's eyes after that.
"What happened with that anyway? Was she any good?" Hvitserk asks, crossing his arms over the table and leaning forward with a suggestive wiggle of his brows.
"Nothing happened," Ivar hisses, "She couldn't-I couldn't," He hesitates, "Artemis walked in on us-"
"She what?" Laughter bubbled in Hvitserk's chest, and he couldn't hold back the grin, "Ivar you must be daft. You’re setting her up to fall into the arms of another! As I said, I wouldn’t mind taking her off your hands-"
"I will fight you and all the others that dare approach her!" Ivar booms, slamming his hands onto the table, raising himself up as if ready to pounce at him. He gulps down the sudden rage, his eyes blinking, noticing his men once again stop to look at him.
"Then what are you waiting for?" Hvitserk asks, far use to his brothers outbursts. Ivar exhales through his nostrils, willing himself to relax. Slowly, he lowers himself back down with a plop, his eyes following his brother as he gets up and leaves the church.
He sighs, ripping apart a loaf of bread, and shoving the piece in his mouth.
How could he feel the way he did for a Christian? He swore to the gods he would stay faithful to his people, and to be with a true northern woman, but he found himself less interested in the women faithful to his gods, and more interested in that insuffereable woman faithful to her one.
"Shit." Ivar groans, dropping his head into his hands.
He was stupid.
...
Daylight came to an end and it had continued to rain in light showers that evening when the moon began to rise into the sky. Artemis searched for a moments peace, leaving the other blacksmith's with the remaining work that needed completing.
She bid England a farewell, knowing she'd never cross the sea again to view its horizon. Although it rained as if the sky were weeping, the surrounding nature was beautiful. Maybe not as beautiful as the hills of Crete or even the mountains in Norway, but it was peaceful.
There was a little yelp behind her, and she felt light nips against her ankles. Looking down she smiles at the pup as it cocks its head at her before wagging his tail, jumping on 2 legs to balance his paws on her leg. He was small, and a bit malnourished, with cream colored fur, black floppy ears and snout.
She often gave him bits of food when she had the chance, giving the pup reason to trail after her.
She smiles, bending down to scratch him behind his ears, grateful for his company. Picking a spot on the dewy grass, she spreads her cloak over it before laying down and closing her eyes with a content sigh. The rain had finally stopped and she was grateful, breathing in the night air. The river Thames' rushing waters helped to sooth her nerves.
It had taken some time, but her anger diffused. She couldn't be angry at him anymore, it was nearly impossible. Or perhaps she was just tired.
Or stupid.
The hound went to snuggle beside her, seeking out her warmth. It must have been an eventful day for both hound and girl, but they could forget all their troubles in that moment.
"Goddess of the moon, and hounds? And perhaps of torment as well." Ivar's voice was unmistakeable. Artemis could pinpoint it in a noisy crowd if she needed to. The sound of his voice in the distance was enough to have the hound act in suspicion.
"Prince Ivar." She greets him, eyes still closed, "To what do I owe the pleasure?" He slithers along the damp grass, shushing the baby hound when it moved to growl at him.
"I never thanked you for repairing my braces, so...thank you." He plops beside her, laying down with his arms behind his head.
Artemis cracks an eye open with a snort. She turns to look at him, her eyes following the line of his profile. Ivar had his long hair loose, the dark strands forming waves from his earlier hairstyle, spread over the grass. It was a look Artemis was enamored with, but would never cared to admit. He was handsome indeed.
"Something tells me that is not why you are here." She says, and he finally turns to look at her, his blue eyes hard with determination.
"I wanted to...apologize for earlier. I did not mean to tease you so." Artemis sat up, turning to peer down at Ivar with a look of disbelief.
"Prince Ivar the Boneless does not apologize."
"I am being serious."
"So am I." He huffs, turning away from her to look at the moon, bright among the stars.
"It's fine." She finally says.
"That's it? It's fine?"
"Yes. "
"I meant what I said, you know," He continues, "Freydis was only a whore to warm my bed." He could almost hear how hard she was thinking.
"It's fine," She repeats, "There is no need to explain yourself, P-"
"Ivar," He cut her off, "You may call me Ivar." She pauses, fingers passing over the pups fur.
"Ivar." She corrects with a sigh, biting her lip to fight back a smile. It was different addressing him without his title.
She plops back down against the damp grass, her eyes moving across the night sky to catch a glimpse of all the stars. There was a comfortable silence that fell between them as they looked up at the heavens.
"Do you ever wonder," Artemis begins, "About the night sky, or the moon and stars?"
"No." Ivar snorts.
"There are stories my ancestors believed of the night," She recounts, "My father use to tell them to me when I was a girl."
"We have stories too. Nótt is the night sky, Mani the moon, and one of Aurvandil's toes is that star right over there." He points up, turning with a frown when Artemis laughs.
"What's so funny?"
"A toe?"
"Yes," He grunts, "What is it you Christian's believe?"
"That God created everything, of course."
"How dull." She laughs again, rolling her body to her side, finding he was already looking at her.
"The old Greeks believed the stars were people rewarded by the gods for noble deeds." Ivar smiles through his confusion.
"I like Aurvandil's toe better."
"It's, uhh, a beautiful toe, I suppose." Ivar chuckles, leaning up on his elbows.
"Why the sudden interest in the stars?"
"It was never sudden," She says, "I would sleep under the stars everyday of my life if I could. It is a comfort to admire the beauty in this world when it can be so cruel."
"Do you think me cruel?" Ivar utters the words softly, lowering himself to face her. It was getting darker, her features hard to make out with the simple light of the moon, but there was enough to see the surprise in her eyes.
"I...I think you cruel when the moment calls for it. Because you feel you need to be." Ivar closes his eyes for a moment, swallowing the lump in his throat. She was right.
"Cruelty wins wars. It conquers land," He pauses with a shaky breath, "But it would not win your heart." Her brows knit together in confusion.
"What?"
Ivar rolls his body closer to hers until he looms over her, maneuvering himself easily between her legs. She didn't put up a fight, though her eyes were wide with shock. He holds himself up, putting a hand atop her chest and feeling how her heart beated like drum.
"What must I do to win your heart?" She blinks up at him, debating if she should take him seriously.
"Why would you want to win my heart?" She holds his stare, their breaths puffing over each other with every timid exhale, "I thought perhaps you held the heart of another."
Ivar sucks his teeth, knowing exactly of who she meant. He dips his body lower until their chests touched and the tip of their noses brushed. His hair shields the sides of her face, cocooning her with his intense eyes. She hesitates before bringing her hands up to his chest, skimming the leather until her fingers curl over his shoulders.
"You are a foolish girl, you know that?" He chuckles, "A beautiful, yet foolish girl." He pauses, biting his lip in nervousness before gently placing his lips over hers.
Her lips were so soft, molding against his like a dance they had rehearsed over and over again. It was everything he could have hoped for, and he already begins to feel the buzz of excitement. She grips the back of his neck, bringing him closer, needing to feel his warmth. She melts into his kisses, feeling a pleasant heat engulf her.
It was...perfect.
After what felt like an eternity, their lips parted with an obscene sound, and he places his brow on hers, breathing in her scent of damp earth. Artemis brings a hand up to trace her fingers over his face, down the length of his nose, and to his jaw. She bites her lip, feeling her skin blaze like a fever.
"Do you really think me foolish?" She whispers, her eyes lingering over his lips before trailing them up to his eyes. They lit up when he smiles, crinkling at the corners.
"Did you really think she could warm my heart?" He counters.
"It was quite convincing." She mutters, "I thought perhaps I’d have to make one for you as I did your braces." She shifts her head away from his to save herself the embarrassment.
"Stop," He says gently, nudging her face back with his nose, "Do not hide from me anymore." He rolls off of her, and within a few seconds, he tugs her over him, her legs coming to rest on either side of his thighs. She grips the neckline of his leather vest to stabilize herself, and his hands sneak up to settle on her hips.
"Ivar, I-"
"Just listen to me, Artemis," She nods, resting her hands over his chest, "I was never fortunate enough to show affection as plainly as any other man could." He takes in a breath, closing his eyes as if to sum up the courage, before opening them again.
"I cannot explain it, but there is something you ignite in me that I could not ignore, no matter how hard I pleaded with the gods to make the ache in my heart stop. I can no longer ignore it." This time he turns his face away from hers, and this time, she brings him back, her palm brushing gently over his sideburn.
"Do not hide from me." She repeats his words with a smile, pushing a lock of hair behind his ear. The same fluttering sensations in her abdomen from days ago resurfaced just from the simple intimate action.
"My heart aches for you." He admits, and she could feel his heart beating wildly as he said those words, his eyes swimming with...fear. She watches him carefully in silence.
"Artemis." Ivar pleads in a tone that was foreign to her ears. He was anxious.
"What of Freydis?" He sucks his teeth, lifting himself on his elbows to get a better look at her.
"If I truly wanted her, would I be wasting time revealing my heart to you?"
"I am not sure what you would do, Ivar." She admits, and he sighs, understanding her skepticism.
"I've never used her before." He mutters under his breath.
"Hmm?" Another sigh.
"I said, I've never used her...services before. Today would have been the first time." Artemis lowers herself over him, pushing him back down so that her face hovered a few inches above his.
"Are you lying?" She questions.
"No, baby bird, I am not," He smooths her over with the nickname, bringing both his hands up to grip the sides of her delicate face, her eyes suddenly glossing over.
"I did not have the strength to rid my thoughts of you. I thought perhaps she could rid them for me. For once, I was wrong." He runs the pads of his thumbs over her cheekbones, and her eyes flutter at the sensation.
There was silence for a moment as their eyes battled each others.
"You torment me." He whines.
"Not a pleasant feeling, is it?" She laughs at the pout forming on his pink lips, letting him guide her back to his lips. He nips at her lips, smiling when she moans in what was a mixture of discomfort and desire. She pulls away, panting slightly as she buried herself in the crook of his neck.
"You are not alone in your affections," She mumbles over his skin, "But I must confess that I am afraid."
"I must confess the same," He says, "Love turns even the bravest of men into cowards. I see that now." She shifts her face to skim her lips over the hot skin of his face before lifting her upper body up again.
"Hmm." She considers his words as she shifts her hips over his, watching how his eyes screwed shut, mouth falling open. She freezes, unaware of what she’d just done.
"Fuck," He growls, his fingers sinking into her hips, "How did you do that?" Her eyes widened, totally naive of her own actions.
"I-I dont know." She stutters. Ivar shifts her hips over his again, and she chokes, closing her eyes as her body trembled from the foreign sensations.
"That," Ivar moans, drinking in the sight of her own face of pleasure, "That."
She feels him growing under her, the pressure pushing up against the heat between her legs. She licks her lips, feeling a desire surge through her that she'd never experienced before.
Ivar stares up at her in wonder, chest heaving and hands twitching over her hips before pulling her down for another heated kiss. His large hands explore the expanse of her back, settling right on the dip, pushing down to follow the rhythm in which she moved.
"I've never done this before." He pants shyly over her lips, releasing another moan that seemed to vibrate through her.
"Neither have I." She pants back, gripping his shoulders tightly.
"But the rumors-"
"Forget the rumors," She interrupts him, moving back just enough to make eye contact, "You believe love is what you feel for me?"
"I do." He nods without hesitation. She throws caution to the wind, swooping down for another kiss before replying.
Forging A Heart (Ivar the Boneless) 20- Always A Hero Comes Home
Pairings: Ivar x Artemis (OFC)
Word Count: 8612
Warnings: Awkwardness from these two at the end.
AN: Another Long ass chapter. Sorry for making your eyes hurt!
19- Ragnarok
...
"Hold still." Hvitserk grunts, tilting his waterskin over the torn flesh of Artemis's ear. She hisses, fighting to slap away his probing hands. The red liquid spills down her neck and onto her clothing, and when she snatches the waterskin to sniff its contents, a familiar smell invades her nostrils.
Wine.
She takes a large swig of it without hesitation, the familiar bitterness coating her taste buds. It spills down her chin, her thirst completely taking over. She'd missed the taste of wine after only drinking bitter ale for about a year.
"Hey! If I'd known you'd drink it all I would've never used it on you." Hvitserk laughs, snatching back the waterskin and pouring the remainder over her wounded ear again.
"I thought I'd never taste it again." She pants against the pain, slapping Hvitserk's hand away to no avail.
"I stole it from Bjorn- stop it!" He reprimands, pushing her hair aside to inspect her ear. A chunk of flesh was torn away, leaving Artemis's ear badly disfigured. It would heal in time but if left untreated by a proper healer, it would surely fester.
She sighs, shifting uncomfortably upon a boulder that was making her backside sore. She lets Hvitserk work, watching as he pulls at her left leg. He removed her trousers from her boot and ripped off the edge of the fabric to place over her still bleeding wound.
As he works, her eyes scan the area to keep her mind busy. The camp was utterly destroyed, the yellow tarps that were once tents turned into ashes, littering the field and mixing into the soil as if no fire had occurred in the first place. Her eyes absentmindedly searched for Freydis's body, but she knew it had been engulfed by the flames, her ashes scattered in the wind.
The smell of smoke lingered through the misty showers, mingling with the stench of rapidly decomposing bodies just over the hill. But the destruction of the camp was nothing compared to the victory of Ivar's men over Lagertha's. They rejoiced, howling cries shouted into the skies in delight.
In the distance, wails of pain could be heard, the screams of a warrior getting an arm amputated just a few feet away. There were others hurt too, much worse than a wounded ear.
"Other warrior's need attention,” She grunts, “An ear is nothing compared to an arm." Another blood curdling scream made her jump, causing Hvitserk to suck his teeth.
"Hold still. Ivar would have a fit if I neglected you. I have the duty now of protecting you when he can't." Artemis blinks up at him, not knowing whether to thank him or roll her eyes.
"Where is Ivar?" She asks instead.
"Somewhere. Scouting the battlefield with Heahmund."
"Heahmund survived?" Hvitserk snorts.
"Did you not want him to?"
"I just...I didn't know if he would. Said this was his duty to God," Artemis swallows thickly, rubbing her eyes hard enough to see black dots in her vision. Hvitserk shrugs, still dabbing the torn fabric against the missing shell of her ear. After a moment, he nods to himself but frowns. The wound was still bleeding.
"I've done what I could but you need to see a healer," He steps back to inspect his work, a hand on his chin in thought, "You look like shit by the way."
"Because you look so much better." Artemis snaps back with a roll of her eyes. Leave it to Hvitserk to have a sense of humor after fighting a war. He belts out a laugh, and she drops her head with a sigh. After a few moments, the sound of a galloping horse was heard in the distance.
"Artemis!" Ivar's voice, though exhausted, was unmistakable. Her head shot up immediately despite the throbbing pain, and her eyes met his instantly.
His chariot had always given him a majestic appearance, but now, as he looked at her with such intensity, a lopsided grin stretching slowly over his lips, blood and dirt covering him from head to toe, her only thoughts were on how beautiful he looked.
"So...are you both just going to stare at each other?" Hvitserk comments after a few moments with a huff, and it was enough for her to jump off the boulder, ignoring the protestation of her sore limbs. She rushes to him and throws herself into Ivar's waiting arms, the force almost knocking them both over. He chuckles, an arm snaking around her while the other shoots out to stabilize the chariot before she sends them tumbling.
Artemis wasted no time in kissing him, tasting the salty sweat and iron on his lips without much care.
But it was electrifying. She felt the spark throughout her entire body, and it was everything she could have asked for. Ivar held her close, placing repeated kisses over her face, her nose, her cheeks, her eyes, her brow, and then finally back to her lips, another spark attacking them in waves and sending that fluttering feeling to their stomachs like lovesick children.
Grabbing her into a tight embrace, he cradling her head to his chest, but when she lets out a hiss and slightly pushes him away, he lets go immediately. He pulls back his hand and sees small smears of blood on his fingers.
"Her ear is wounded! You've gone and festered it." Hviterk sucks his teeth, tossing his younger brother the already bloodied cloth, "The blood won't clot yet."
"It's fine, I'm fine." Artemis says, still breathless from their kiss. Ivar gently pulls her messy hair back to reveal the torn flesh of her ear and the drying blood on her neck.
"How did this happen? Hvitserk, where the hell were you?!" Ivar presses the scrap of cloth over her ear as gently as he could, irrationally glaring at his brother.
"Me? I was the one who found her here in a state of panic!" Hvistserk throws his hands up in exasperation, "Where were you, hmm?"
"Winning this war!"
"Oh I see, because you fought this war all on your own?"
"Hvitserk, if you don't shut the fu-"
"Stop it! Both of you!" Artemis yells out, forcing herself out of Ivar's embrace despite his whine of protest.
"There was nothing either of you could have done, alright? Lagertha's men attacked the camp, and one of them had better aim with a bow than the others." With a tired sigh, she collapses back onto Ivar again, and he welcomes her back into his arms gratefully.
"How many men?"
"Five."
"Wait, how did you manage to escape five men?" Hvitserk asks, crossing his arms in disbelief. She wasn’t in any mood to answer so many questions. She just wanted to sleep, preferably with Ivar beside her.
"I almost didn't," Her voice was muffled by Ivar's leather chest, "But they are dead, or at least I know one of them is." She pulls the hammer that she used from her belt to show them both. Luckily she was able to find it after her fall.
The large iron mass was covered in dried blood and tissue, the wooden handle coated with bloody handprints. She should have been disgusted, that should have been a normal reaction, but at that point, she had no sensitivity toward it anymore. She was just tired.
"Baby bird killed a man?" Ivar murmurs, his lips on her hair as he continues to absentmindedly kiss the top of it. He feels her nod against him, her arms squeezing him tight around his waist.
"Can you show us?"
...
"You did this?"
Hvitserk knelt down on a knee, his eyes raking over the man with no face. It was beaten into a bloody pulp. The man was unrecognizable, only the blue cloth wrapped around his armored bicep gave him away. He turns to look over his shoulder, a large grin on his face. Somehow, Hvitserk found it highly amusing.
"Artemis, you killed him?" The question was asked in disbelief, his eyes twinkling with mirth as he kicks at the lifeless body buried within the tall grass.
She nods silently, her eyes lingering over the corpse. Her hands grip the hammer tighter at the memory, knuckles white with pressure. She only just realized that the fires never reached far into the clearing, the blaze only scorching the edges of the forest.
"I assume they killed the guards that were left behind. They killed Freydis."
"What?" Ivar asks, eyebrows shooting up towards his messy twists. So many emotions seemed to flash across his eyes. Was it for the death of his previous lover?
Well, that was hardly fair, they weren’t much of anything really, but it still left her wondering. She couldn't tell at first, but once Ivar looks down at her with that signiture lopsided grin of his, she knew there was little sympathy for Freydis. He was impressed she managed to escape.
The edges of his eyes crinkled as he lets out a laugh. He grips her shoulders, planting a kiss over her matted hair comically before hopping off the chariot with a grunt.
His crutch forgotten in the chariot, Ivar crawls over the damp grass towards the body like the snake he was. He was smiling proudly, his eyes raking over the dead man.
After a minimal amount of searching, he finds the other four bodies in the distance. There were no physical injuries, at least none that Ivar could see. They appeared asleep, as if dreaming, but when he crawled over and placed two fingers on one man's throat, there was no pulse. Confused, Ivar looks over at Hvitserk then at Artemis, who was extremely silent, her eyes seemingly distant.
"How is this possible?" Ivar comments, hands roaming over the leather covered corpse in search of any clues. Artemis drops the hammer gently onto the chariot before walking toward the lifeless bodies.
She stared at every man, each sprawled out across the grass, not a drop of blood nor indication of any wounds. She remembered how she felt, the adrenaline in her veins, the raven and the look in its beady eyes.
She remembered the old man.
Odin.
She takes a deep breath, kneeling beside Ivar. The next words that tumbled from her lips made a shiver run down her spine.
"Ivar," She begins, clearing her throat, "The stories you have told me of Odin..." Artemis stops, not knowing how to continue. Her hands begin to tremble slightly at the thought of speaking against her own beliefs.
"What is it?" He urges.
"I think..." She shakes her head, "I know I saw him. He helped me. He helped you." Ivar blinks stupidly. For a moment he wonders how she was given such a privilege to witness something as incredible as Odin himself. Though he was a firm believer in his gods, the privilege was never given to him despite his mother’s abilities in all things spiritual. It just never happened. Naturally, he was a bit put off, perhaps a bit...envious? No, he’d never admit to envy, but he wouldn’t call her a liar either. The look on her face and the emotions pouring from her eyes told him that perhaps there was truth to her words.
Isn’t that what he was waiting for? For her to feel a complete connection with him and his beliefs? Yes, that was exactly what he wanted, and the more he looked into her deep colored eyes, the more he realized the great need he had for her, strong like the winds against the sails at sea.
"What?" Hvitserk cuts in, filling in the space of his brother’s silence, "What are you talking about?"
"Do you not see, brother?” Ivar finally finds his voice, the words oddly gentle. He lifts his hand to pass a knuckle over Artemis’s dirty cheek, “She is blessed by the All Father." His eyes bore into hers with a deep admiration swimming in its blue depths.
As much as she loves those particular soft looks he gives her, his words were not enough to settle her mind. She frowns, reaching under the neckline of her dirty tunic to reveal both pendants of the cross and Mjölnir. Yanking the threadings from about her neck, she tosses them both onto the dampening earth.
"Why did you do that?" Ivar asks her frantically, brows arched in worry as if the gods were watching this very encounter. She doesn’t give him an answer, her silence always speaking louder to him than any words could.
Hvitserk watches their exchange before moving to pick up the pendants, turning them over in his hand before squeezing them in his palm. “She didn’t mean it,” He seemed to announce, as if the action would seek forgiveness to whichever gods were out there listening, "She is conflicted. She doesn't understand what she's seen," Hvitserk crouches down to offer her the pendants back, "You will come to find the truth for yourself, in time."
"I don't want them." Was her stubborn reply. She swallowed thickly, licking her lips as she eyes both pendants in his large hand. The cross and hammer both seemed to glitter despite the droplets of mist landing on their surface. It was as if they were mocking her. Quickly, she curls Hvitserk’s fingers over the religious trinkets, pushing his hand away.
With a sigh, Ivar shifts to look directly into her watery eyes and confusion was indeed all he saw in them. "Artemis," He takes that gentle tone with her again, "Can't you see Odin has protected you?" She shakes her head.
"I don't know what to believe anymore." Everything she had been raised to believe, everything that she thought was true, had come crumbling down the moment that raven touched her.
The tense air was interrupted as more shouts were heard over the hill. More of their men were found alive. Hvitserk glances over to a battle torn Heahmund and Harald, the latter not physically ruined, but his mind gone.
"Ivar, it is best if we leave. We have no provisions and the men are wounded." Ivar grunts in agreement, turning his back to Artemis. He brings her long braided hair over her shoulder, pushing stray locks of hair away from her face before trailing his fingers down her cheek to gently grip her chin. He smiles at her.
"Let us go home."
...
Anyone walking into Kattegat could not miss the decapitated head of its former queen impaled on a tall spike and placed on the fortifications she had worked so diligently on. Her blue lifeless eyes stared down most hauntingly, her equally blue mouth open as if to speak the tales of her demise. The ravens made a feast of her cheeks and the insects a home in her hair.
Ivar sighs, leaning his dirty cheek against Artemis’s standing form as his chariot led the procession of warriors back to his home. He should be angry- no, he should be furious! Bjorn had managed to escape along with Ubbe and his new whore. They slipped right through his fingers. With that lot running loosely about, there was always a chance of another battle, of a rebellion against his rule once he established himself as king of Kattegat. But for now, he was satiated with the outcome.
Lagertha was dead, and Ivar had given the orders for her head to be placed on a spear and paraded into Kattegat as proof of his sovereignty before his arrival. With that bitch finally gone, he had succeeded in his revenge. Would mother be proud? Certainly. Would father? Perhaps not. But that didn't matter, the gods were on his side as was the pensive woman beside him.
She summed up a courage unknown to him, and when he saw her form upon the hill top, bloody from her own battles, he knew that she must have been destined for greater things. He couldn't call her a weak baby bird anymore, she had proven that nickname wrong, but it was still endearing to him.
Artemis finds herself gazing up at the dead woman, and once they enter Kattegat, she kept turning back to look. She was something brutal to glance at, an example of the consequences a usurper faced.
Lagertha had been beautiful. She painted herself as a just queen and powerful shieldmaiden. Artemis didn't know how far her influence had reached, but if she had to guess, Lagertha must have been successful. Ivar had taken back a flourishing village that was becoming a city in it's own right.
"I have never met the woman, but in battle, she was beautiful." Heahmund comments softly, walking beside the chariot, his eyes stuck on Kattegat's former queen.
"Indeed she was." Artemis remarks, turning one last time to catch sight of the matted yellow hair.
"Beautiful or not, she is dead now," Ivar hisses, tightening his hold on her, "Such a joyous day, why must we continue to speak of her? I will hear no more of it." Artemis sighs, offering him the smallest hint of a smile before leaning to place a kiss on Ivar's brow.
"You are now king, it is as you say." That was more than enough to lift his spirits.
Many of the villagers were outside their homes and businesses, watching quietly at the arrival of their new king. No one rejoiced as fervently than Ivar himself, though. The new king had won the battle, an old generation against a new one, and rode from the battlefield to the city that had always been his home.
Ivar had left a boy, and now returned triumphantly as a man. The people stared, their eyes gazing at the young crippled leader, no longer the weak boy that crawled about on their muddy planes, but now a figure of authority that walked, a symbol of a new Kattegat.
Long live the king.
Ivar led the procession of his remaining warriors to the Great Hall, the home he had grown up in. Harald sent his men and officials to report back to Vestfold, and many of Lagertha's men that survived had decided to join Ivar and accept him as their king.
The hall was just as Artemis remembered, the same colors and warmth, but it was stripped of its wealth, probably Bjorn's doing. The only thing that remained was Lagertha's banners and her owl, perched in its usual spot by the throne. It had an ominous look, as if the creature understood the circumstances.
"Well Ivar," Harald says tiredly, "You've done it." She had only now noticed his long braided hair had been abandoned for a shorter look. The older king looked exhausted, his eyes distant.
"Do not forget our agreement." He continues, and Ivar rolls his eyes.
"I haven't forgotten, do you wish to discuss the terms now?"
"Settle it now? Yes." Harald grunts, rubbing a dirty hand down his equally dirty face.
"Very well," Ivar sighs tiredly, his fatigue showing with every step taken. He was in pain, and had been for hours. Ignoring the eyes on them, Artemis steps close to him, tugging gently at his sleeve to get his attention.
"Are you well enough to continue? You all just fought in a war." She whispers, gazing up at him. He smiles at her, bending to rest his brow against hers before speaking.
"I will be fine. It is nothing I cannot handle," Ivar takes another look at her ear, "Hvitserk will take you to the healer."
"But-"
"Go see a healer, I will meet with you later." He pecks her cheek, motioning for his men to follow him. Harald offers Artemis a small smile, though it didn't reach his eyes, before following Ivar with Heahmund and the other men in tow.
"Well," Hvitserk says with a sigh, "Shall we pay the healers a visit?"
"I remember the way," She says, "Join their meeting." He shakes his head, stepping out of the hall and into the warmth of the outside.
"I already know the details, I don't need to sit around and hear more. Come on, let's go."
...
A feast was organized upon arrival, chickens, goats, and sheep slaughtered to fill the hungry bellies of the people. The fire pit in the center of the hall was made ablaze, the smell of the roasting animal flesh wafting about. Ale was served, a cup given to every empty hand that could hold it. The hall was decorated accordingly, expelling any memory of Lagertha, the owl set free into the forest. Ivar's banners, the circle of gold and black swirls against rich red, was displayed around his throne, exactly where his father once sat.
Day quickly fell into night, and although Ivar was distracted with the celebrations, he noticed the absence of his baby bird. His eyes searched for her through the crowd of his supporters, his father's throne now feeling uncomfortable and rather lonely. The throne beside him, empty and collecting dust, lacked a presence he thought should be filled soon if he were to be viewed as a legitimate ruler.
He glances below, looking down at his older brother who sat on the steps leading to the throne, his attention entirely on Harland . The old king was mourning, drinking away in his misery as his brother, wife, and unborn child were gone in a matter of hours. Ivar didn't blame the grieving man, but he did not care all that much either, a side effect of being, well, Ivar.
Heahmund stood brooding behind Ivar like his shadow, his cropped hair now long enough to fall over his eyes. He has now sworn allegiance to his new king, and has sworn to protect him if need be. Ivar was surrounded by those he believed were his most trusted men, yet he felt like something was missing.
Ivar places his drinking horn to his lips, gulping the bitter liquid down as he drums his fingers lightly on the armrest of his throne. A fight broke out in the center of the hall, whether it was deliberate or for amusement, it didn't matter so long as the crowd was pleased. He stayed silent for a few minutes until his fingers began to twitch in annoyance and he couldn't help but ask.
"Hvitserk, where's Artemis?"
His brothers attention was now taken up by the fight, a grin stretching across his face like a child playing with a toy. Ignoring Ivar at first, he cheers for the fighter with the advantage, the men rolling about like pigs on the floor.
"Hvitserk!"
"How am I to know?! Is she not your woman?"
"I left her in your care!"
"She wanted to take a walk, clear her mind, perhaps speak to the gods, I don't know." The older brother shrugs, "You know how her mind wanders, Ivar, and Bjorn had given her unsettling news that she is most likely pondering."
"What?"
"Her home has been invaded by foreigners." Ivar's brow furrows, and a frown forms on his lips.
"She's probably worried about her father." Ivar says quietly, but then his eyes turn back to his brother, "And how do you know all this?" He questions.
"Bjorn told us both." Hvitserk says with a roll of his eyes. Ivar grumbles, sipping his ale, but a hint of worry begins to bloom in his chest. How long did she intend to wander around on her own? He knows her to be extremely pensive, and her own thoughts would be the death of her.
Their relationship was no secret. The people knew that Ivar the Boneless had given a bit of his heart to his former slave he had freed. There was nothing wrong with the people knowing, but Ivar knew his enemies could use Artemis as leverage. Lagertha did, sending men to destroy the camp and kill her, hoping it would affect him. It would have, if the situation played out differently but he tried not to think of it lest his mind be plagued as Artemis’s often was. She had defended herself, the man with the unrecognizable face was a testament to that, but she was no warrior, and Ivar had as many enemies as he did supporters. He worried for her more than for himself.
He sighs, rubbing a hand down his face.
"She will be alright," Heahmund says to him in that apathetic tone he often spoke in, "The girl is far from meek. Is that not why you favor her so much?"
"Shut up." Ivar mutters from behind his horn. Heahmund's norse was improving, but he was far more irritating that way. Ivar continued brooding as much as Heahmund did, annoyed with himself for being unsociable and displeased on a night he should be celebrating his success.
But then, he spotted her.
The large oak doors crack open enough to let her slim form slip through. His blue orbs followed her as she slinked into the rowdy crowd, dodging the intoxicated men and women in her way. She thought she could sneak in, and to the drunken crowd she did, but she did not go unnoticed by him.
She was back in a simple dress, free of those ugly trousers he didn't care for. Ivar took his time to admire the way it hugged her in all the right places. She had taken the time to bathe, he could tell by her glowing skin and how tamed her hair was, two simple braids pulled back just enough to reveal her pretty eyes. Her long locks were brushed over her left shoulder, no doubt in a failed attempt to conceal her wounded ear.
Artemis is greeted by a red headed thrall, the one belonging to Jarl Erik, if Ivar remembered correctly. The thrall throws her pale freckled arms around Artemis's form, causing both the girls to stumble in laughter.
Ivar continues to watch their short lived interaction until her familiar eyes meet with his own. He beckons her forward silently, his eyes doing all the talking, and she understands, moving towards him without hesitation.
"My king." She addresses him with his new title, much kinder than all the times she had ever addressed him as a prince. She bows her head in respect before politely greeting the men around him. Ivar swells with pride at the greeting, smiling as he holds out a hand for her to take.
"Baby bird," He smiles at the unamused look twisting her features, motioning for her to take the seat beside him.
“He gets quite indecent when you are not around.” Hvitserk mutters, chuckling when he hears Ivar’s annoyed mutter behind him.
"I've been waiting for you. Sit." Ivar ignores his brother, motioning again to the throne.
"I cannot sit there." Artemis hesitates.
"I don’t see why not."
"I am not a queen."
"It is merely a chair."
"A symbol of authority. The people will not have it." She retorts, ending their back and forth. She quickly moves out of the way as another fight breaks out.
"Do you Christian's always take such formalities to extremes?" Hvitserk chimes in, patting a space for her to sit beside him.
"Only a king and queen are allowed to sit in their respective thrones. It is a symbol of their authority. That has always been the way," Heahmund stood rigid as always, but for once, he made no claims against her.
"Us Northerners care little for such formalities. The people know who rules over them." Ivar hands his horn over to Artemis, offering her a drink. She tired of ale, especially after having a taste of the glorious wine from earlier, but she took it gratefully, making sure to take extra care in glancing over Ivar's form.
He was well dressed, abandoning the usual leather and wool he sported for a silky tunic in a nice earthy color. His hair was neatly braided and tied at the nape of his neck, and the bottom was left loose to flow freely. Even his trousers were swapped for one of much finer quality, the iron braces caging his legs as always. Ivar was a handsome sight, and as kingly as any northerner could be. His golden arm ring shone in the light of the fire as he took back his horn from her grip.
Oblivious to her staring, he took his hand to push away her hair, and a white gauze with a bloody undertone was visible, placed directed over her ear. He gently grips her chin to turn her face towards him. A few scratches and slight bruising, all minor wounds that would heal in time. Her eyes were shining, burning like the fire in the center of the hall. After all this time, he still couldn't fathom how passionate her eyes were.
"I hear you have caused quite the damage, Artemis." Harald comments, interrupting their tender moment.
The older king looks out towards the drunken sea of people. He was borderline drunk, but still able to carry conversation. Artemis couldn't blame his lack of sobriety, she'd heard what happened, and the news had probably reached Vestfold by now. Halfdan would not be joining him in his hall, and he was now without a queen. Although Astrid did not seem to care for him, he somehow cared for her a great deal.
"I'd hardly call it damage." She says, suddenly timid.
"You destroyed a man's face with a hammer," Hvitserk scoffs, "And now you have a battle scar to boast about."
"Far from meek." Heahmund repeats to Ivar, who had stars in his eyes. He appeared lovestruck.
Artemis puts a hand to her ear out of habit now. It was a terrible battle scar, nothing to boast about. When she looked at her reflection in the bowl of water the healer used to clean her wound properly, she froze. The flesh had an ugly form to it, and would heal awkwardly.
"You are more skilled with a bow than I thought," Ivar interrupts her thoughts, "Do you know how far you were to have aimed that well? The arrow went straight through Lagertha's wrist."
"I didn't realize, I just...did it, I suppose." She shrugs. Her memory of that particular moment was blurred.
"My lessons have made a difference," He states proudly, reaching down to grab her hand, placing his lips over her knuckles. She smelled of lavender oils.
"I've given her plenty of lessons as well, Ivar, you cannot possibly take all the credit." Hvitserk reminds his younger brother with a scoff, eyebrows raised, but with no true heat behind his words. He was having fun, everyone was.
"Mm, I'm speaking of our private lessons, brother." Ivar grins at the red that flushes over her cheeks, and the roll of his eyes. Heahmund let's out a grunt of disapproval, as if he were the celibate man he wished he was.
"Ivar." Artemis warns, her heated glare doing nothing for his mischievous smile to falter.
"What?" He questions innocently, chuckling at the way her lips pouted. He draws closer to her, smirking when she shivers at his close proximity, "I think it's time for a private lesson."
...
Kattegat was beautiful in the summer, from the green pastures to the wild flowers. But the pastures were slowly withering away and the wild flowers were beginning to die out. The autumn season was but a few weeks away, and already the weather was revealing itself at night. Artemis remembered the brutality of the cold season in the north, and how merciless the snow was. She would be spending another winter in Kattegat, which was how she remembered it the most, in an everlasting cold.
Things started falling into a routine now that Ivar was king. Much of it was the same as before with business starting early in the morning and ceasing in the evenings. The fortifications were being worked on again, tweaked to perfection for any future threats.
Ivar sent Heahmund along with a few scouts daily in search of his brothers. Bjorn, Ubbe, and Torvi had escaped successfully, much to Ivar's displeasure. They left behind Margrethe, now a mad woman. Ivar was hoping to extract something from her, any information he could find useful, but she had proven rather useless. She was left to her own devices, until she disappeared.
The new king was as paranoid as he had been at York, his worst fear being a potential rebellion, and so, it was advised to him that it was time he found himself a wife to establish his allies.
Artemis knew this. Of course she did, but she absolutely detested it. Who did she think she was? A future queen? The thought always made her laugh bitterly.
She was a foreigner and a recently freed slave with nothing to offer a king, not that she ever wanted to be a queen. While most young girls dreamt of being princesses and being married off to rich husbands, she only wanted a life she could call her own. Falling for someone of royal lineage was not part of the plan.
She had nothing to offer to a peasant, least of all a prince, newly crowned king. No lands, no titles, no alliances or wealth. Only her craft and her heart, which she stupidly guarded less the more she yearned for Ivar.
Ivar spared no expense despite her humble ways, treating her like treasure that had been lost to him for a millennia. He had grown to become someone better than he was before, maturing like the sweetest of fruits, ripe and ready to eat. Such was the duty of a king. Both loved and feared by the people, Ivar had the world at his feet and yet, he was beyond that.
Ivar the Boneless had become to her something she never imagined, the sweetest taste on her lips at night, and a bitter flavor on her tongue when he left in the mornings. His touch felt like fire upon her skin, calloused fingers leaving traces of heat all over.
But how could something like that last?
Eligible women of high status flocked from different kingdoms in Scandinavia in the hopes of gaining a young king as a husband. Most were beautiful, with flowing hair and bright eyes, and always adorned in the most expensive fabrics and precious jewels. They offered everything a ruler could hope for when establishing an alliance through marriage.
More feasts were thrown to entertain the visiting families, where they paraded their daughters under Ivar's nose. Artemis would hide away in the only place she could ever feel in her element, in a haven among the hammers and heat of the forge. She always liked to keep her hands busy, and if her hands were busy, then her mind wouldn't wander.
She had no desire to witness any interaction between him and his suitors lest she feel jealousy rear its ugly head again. Instead, she reflected such ill feelings into her work, helping Arvid's father, Master Hagen, with the whatever he could not do himself.
But before every feast would end, Ivar would sneak out the hall to come and drag her back to his chambers.
And suddenly, the entertainments were brought down to a minimum, until the feasts were stopped entirely. Ivar feasted less and held private council more with potential allies. One by one, he’d send the high born women and their families home with an attempt at a polite smile and successful business conducted with their fathers. In the end, Ivar got the alliances he needed for Kattegat to increase its wealth, but he still lacked a queen, and he had one in mind.
"I knew I'd find you here." Ivar's voice was so gentle, that Artemis was surprised she'd heard it over the roaring of the fire. She looks up from her work, eyes squinting against the daylight that blinded her vision before focusing entirely on Ivar's smiling face.
He sets his crutch down against the table she worked on, slowly lowering himself onto a stool beside her with a grunt. His legs didn't pain him as much as they usually did, she could tell by his uplifting mood. His spirits made her smile, her own brightening at the mere sight of him.
"You know me well." She says, removing her gloves and grasping the object she was polishing to show him. It was a small golden ring, the very ones that young boys received when they came of age. It gleamed brightly, the wolf head at each end baring their shiny little teeth.
"The fisherman requested it for his son. He will be of age soon.”
Ivar takes the golden band, running his thumb over the groves of the textured gold, welded in a rope like fashion. She quickly learned to replicate the northern style, yet somehow she had incorporated the delicate curves and swirls from her homeland. It was a simple trinket, but most beautiful.
"Beautiful." Ivar murmurs, directing it towards her as he lifts his eyes to meet hers, causing the color to rise on her cheeks and a smile to creep up on her lips. That was enough to give him the confidence to move on with his plan. She leans over to peck his cheek innocently before standing and wiping her damp hands on her apron.
"You're now a busy man, Ivar. How did you manage to escape your nobles?"
"I always have time for you, baby bird." He states, pulling at her skirts to bring her closer. Wrapping his arms around her waist, he gazes up at her with his big blue eyes. She swore the sky itself dwelled within his irises.
"Even with those pretty noble ladies running around vying for your attention?" She wraps her arms around his broad shoulders, smirking as he rolls his eyes.
"Formalities." He says.
"It comes with being king." She nods, her nails scratching at the hairs on the nape of his neck. She learned how much he liked that.
"Come, take a walk with me." He tells her with the enthusiasm of a small child.
"Only if you are in no pain."
"I am fine," He insists, "Let us go down towards the river."
Dropping off the golden trinket to the fisherman and recieving payment, the pair head towards the forests that encircled Kattegat. The familiar river was beginning to change that time of year. Its gentle waters in summer were now a rushing flow with the increase of the northern winds. It was where Artemis once did a spoiled Ivar's laundry before the colder months would hit.
"It was here when I noticed your boney little fingers making a mess of my tunics." Ivar pointed towards the edge of the river with a smirk. Artemis scoffs, pinching his stubbled cheek in retaliation, earning a scowl from him.
"You were severely unpleasant then." When they walked down slowly towards the edge, Ivar abandoned his crutch, sliding down the trunk of a tree to sit comfortably on the grass.
"I still am," Ivar points out, "Only the gods know what you saw in a cripple." She smiles, sitting beside him and grasping his calloused hand in her own.
"Only the gods know." She agrees, causing him to raise a brow. That was something very unlike her to say. They haven't spoken of the gods thoroughly, as Artemis was uncomfortable with the topic. He knew it was an internal battle for her and he let her be until she was ready to address her faith. Perhaps she chose not to believe in anything.
He holds onto her hand in a comfortable grip, deciding to speak of other matters.
"Crete," He begins, getting her attention immediately, "You have yet to tell me it was invaded." He watches her intently and after a moment she sighs looking away, removing her hand from his grasp in favor of fiddling with the ends of her hair.
"Hvitserk told you?"
"Mhm."
"I...didn't know how to talk about it." She struggled to say. Her eyes were sad now, and when she brought them to Ivar's, he could practically read off all her emotions with that one look.
The stories of Bjorn's adventures with Halfdan seemed like the stuff of legends, and the more the stories spread, the more the people became interested in the Mediterranean. Aria even gave into the chatter, wondering if the Mediterranean was as the people whispered, a land of sun and cities of gold. That made Artemis laugh. There might not have been cities of gold, but the sun was in abundance.
She chose to avoid speaking of her home, and put it out of her mind constantly, the memory of her father haunting her. Crete was a lost cause, and if Ivar were to keep his word and travel there, then he'd need to assemble a fighting force as he did in England if he planned to go up against the Andalusian's.
"I have no desire to think or speak of my home." She says after a while, dropping her hands to her lap.
"Do you not wish for me to take you back?" Ivar asks her cautiously.
"I'm afraid there would be nothing to take me back to. I've heard stories. They are fierce." Ivar snorts, picking up small stones at the river's edge and tactfully gliding them across the water.
"Surely, they cannot compare to how my people wage war." She shrugs, but offers him a smile, something he found accomplishing.
"I promised I would take you back if only to find your father, and it shall be done." His determination was admirable, but she believed it was too late to even be speaking about her father. The safest thing for her to do was to accept that he might be gone. It hurt far less than being hopeful.
Immediately noting the frown forming of her lips again, Ivar changes topic. He carefully grasps her hand again before speaking.
"I am in need of a wife," He begin, and that only succeeded in deepening her frown.
Bad topic change.
Artemis wastes no time in snatching her hand away, despite how cold it felt now. She knew what this was about. Perhaps he finally found a suitable woman. The thought made her heartache something terrible, and she looks away in fear of revealing herself. She knew this would come sooner than later.
"I am well aware of that, Ivar." She finally replies, though the words were extremely bitter.
"What's wrong?" He asks, his brows knitting in confusion. He couldn't be that dense. She ignores his questions and asks her own.
"When will you marry?"
"Before the first snowfall, if all goes well," So soon. They both remain very quiet after that. She distracts herself with the singing of the birds but that did nothing to ease her. What a cruel joke to think she could live a life of simplicity with Ivar, and what a fool she was to believe it.
Her hands. She needed to do something with her hands. She fiddles with her skirts, arranging and rearranging them, telling herself Ivar would go away if she ignored him, that the whole situation would disappear if she just ignored it. But nothing was that easy, especially with matters of the heart.
"My love..."
"Why do you call me that?" She rages, stubbornly refusing to look at him. If she had just looked over, she would have seen the smirk forming on his lips.
"You're bothered."
"Your new wife would not take kindly to me," She announces suddenly, "It is best if I leave and find accommodations elsewhere." This causes a severe eye roll from him, the worst of them yet.
It seemed they were both incredibly stupid.
"Now why would I want you to leave my bed?"
"I will not be the king's mistress."
"Who said you would be my mistress?"
"Ivar, stop this foolishness." He sucks his teeth with a shake of his head, opting to just go on and say it.
"I wish for you to be my wife."
Her rage stops, and she finally brings her eyes to meet his. His chest was heaving as if he crawled up the tallest mountain, eyes wild and filled with uncertainty.
Artemis wasn't sure what had shocked her more, the marriage proposal, or the language he said it in. The Greek rolled off his tongue so perfectly, that she would have mistaken him for a native speaker.
Ivar's cheeks blazed and his brows furrowed in embarrassment at her silence.
"Did I say it wrong?" He mutters to himself, his mind going over the words he had practiced for weeks before summing up the courage to actually say them. "Fucking Heahmund." He growls the bishop's name in blame, lowering his head in defeat.
"No...you said it perfectly." Artemis chokes out, the fluttering feeling returning as it always did when she felt particularly shy. To say she was at a loss for words was an understatement. They both stared at each other for quite some time, eyes at war until Ivar shifted uncomfortably, clearing his throat.
"Normally, an answer is given by now." He says, feeling the beginning sting of rejection.
"I...uh, you want me...as your wife?" She stumbles stupidly with her words, feeling quite incompetent, the Norse falling from her lips just like it did when she was first learning it.
"I would not have asked you if I didn't want you to be." He said, worrying his lip between his pointy teeth. The longer she took to respond, the more embarrassed he became and the anger began to rise.
"The choice is yours, but an answer would be nice." He growls out, his hands forming tight fists at his sides, shaking with the want to punch something, preferably the tree trunk he leaned against.
Leave it to Artemis to make him feel this way, completely vulnerable and open. He put his emotions at risk, and he should've known better than to just simply ask, as if everything could just fall into place. But that's exactly what he had been hoping for. With Artemis, things seemed to always fall into place, like they were always meant to be that way.
Naturally, a marriage proposal felt right. It was not a decision that he had come up with over night, no, he had deliberated it over and over and over again in his mind until he was sure that it was what he wanted.
And it was what he wanted.
Of course, he kept in mind the daughters of the visiting nobles. As king, it was his priority to sustain Kattegat and keep it flourishing as a trading capital, and a marriage alliance from a powerful family could increase the chances of gaining more power. It was until Ivar realized he didn't need to marry some girl who would never love him, for more power.
He had power.
Ivar was no simpleton. He was incredibly intelligent, blessed with the ability to strategize and understand the concept of running a kingdom. His charm and vivacious words were enough to have any potential ally join forces with him, and it could all be done without marriage.
His few advisors were against a non political marriage. Even Heahmund, his loyal shadow, agreed it would not work. Artemis was a foreigner, and a woman of a different faith. For a Christian to marry a heathen was unheard of, and as much as Heahmund had detested Artemis at first, he now presented himself as a brotherly figure to her. Heahmund disapproved.
But Ivar didn't care for any of that. Artemis was more than her views on divine beings. To him, she was perfect, a woman who overlooked his deformity; a talented craftsman with a fiery soul.
Fuck. He did truly love her.
And what could he do now but let those feelings overwhelm him, waiting for her to yes even though it seemed the answer was far from it.
The silence was killing him. She knew how to torture him in the worst way. His eyes began to sting uncomfortably, and he blinked rapidly, willing the wetness that pooled to go away. The rejection hurt. It hurt more than his stupid legs ever could.
He stares angrily at the river, rubbing at his eyes furiously, contemplating whether to crawl away and nurse his wounded pride.
"Ivar..." She says his name so softly that it seemed to be swept away by the gentle waters. His gaze lands on her, her features revealing uncertainty and fear, but in her eyes there was a spark of something that glimmered, and he couldn't tear his eyes away from hers.
She moves to face him, her hand tracing the angular shape of his jaw, now clenched tightly in frustration. Taking hold of his face gently in her hands, she places the sweetest kiss on his lips that had his eyes fluttering shut to revel in the moment. It was almost intoxicating, and could have escalated, but that kiss was meant to remain sweet and innocent.
She pulls away, much to Ivar's displeasure, earning a grunt from him. She stifles a laugh, placing her brow against his and taking in his scent. Pine leaves.
"Do you truly wish for me to be your wife?" She asks softly, moving back slightly at Ivar's gentle push so that he may gaze at her through half lid eyes.
"Only if you'll have me." He responds just as gently.
"I have nothing to offer you."
"You give me enough,"
"I've no dowry." Ivar sighs, running his fingers over the paths between his braids in irritation. Artemis was a master at conjuring excuses.
"I don't need it. And I don't need lands either, I have had enough meetings for a lifetime to settle alliances." He raises an eyebrow at her, waiting for another excuse.
"I am not a northerner."
"If I understand correctly, the kings of the south marry foreign women all the time. Why should this be any different?" Ivar was beginning to grow weary with her answers, turning his head away as if to keep her excuses at bay. "If you do not wish to marry me, then just say so." He spits out, ready to push her away from him and crawl away in defeat, but she was quicker than him.
She pushes him back against the tree with a hard thud before straddling him. He freezes, her bold movements having him intake a sharp breath. She quickly grabs his face again, pressing her lips to his with much more urgency than before. This time, there was nothing sweet about it, just a hunger that needed to be satiated, and Ivar complied, fisting his hand into her hair and kissing back with such intensity, that they were both gasping for air when they pulled away.
She laughs in between huffs, and Ivar grins, his own chest heaving. Placing his fingers under her chin to grab her attention, he poses the question again.
"Do you wish to be my wife?"
There was no more room for questions or excuses, or fear and hesitation, and finally, she smiles, answering with a gentle nod.
"I wish to hear you say it." He pleads, not able to hide the smile that lit up his features. His hands fall to her hips, squeezing her tightly, desperate for the words to leave her lips.
She rests her brow against his again, wrapping her arms around his neck, knowing he would pull her closer. She kisses him again, almost lazily, feeling his breath fanning over her. It drove her crazy. Pecking his lips once more, she pulls away just enough to whisper the words over his lips.
Beads of gold and small pearls were threaded into her hair, weaved into one large plait perfected by Geirdis's thin fingers.
"You look lovely, my lady." She says, placing the pendant of Mjölnir over Artemis’s collarbone, securing it at the nape of her neck.
The lady in question did not recognize herself. The lavender water in the large bronze bowl ripples at the slight touch of her small fingers, her distorted reflection revealing kohl lined eyes and rouge colored lips.
"She's quite right, dear sister-in-law, as lovely as Frejya herself." Hvitserk smiles as he walks in past the leather divider, hands clasped behind his back. Artemis turns around to look at him, smiling happily at his arrival.
He too was dressed extremely well. His golden hair was braided neatly in an intricate style, pulled back into one singular braid. The silken green shirt brought out his eyes and his dark breeches looked soft to the touch. He steps closer, pulling from behind his back a thin silver coronet shaped as vined hollies with small rubies in between.
A traditional northern bride was to wear a crown of wild flowers. A summer wedding meant an abundance of beautiful flowers, but with the coming of winter, they were dying with the slow passage of the winds. There was nothing traditional about this particular wedding.
"Hvitserk..."
"It was our mothers. Ivar would like you to have it." Her eyes focus on the shining coronet, a delicate symbol of power.
"Would you not like to give this to your woman someday?" She questions.
"Ivar is king, and these are his wishes. He was always the closest to our mother, and besides," Hvitserk shrugs, "I've no interest in such things. Today you become Kattegat's queen, it is only right for you to wear a queen's crown." She takes the thin coronet from Hvitserk's outstretched hands, the delicate silver feeling heavy in her hands. It was a thing of beauty with remarkable detail despite its simplistic design.
"I cannot accept this." She says suddenly, catching the way Geirdis's eyes followed the shining metal in admiration. Artemis stubbornly gives back the crown, waiting for Hvitserk to grasp it, but he never does. He only smiles, shaking his head as if dealing with a rowdy child.
"It is rude to deny something as significant as a family heirloom," He jokes, moving forward to grasp the coronet, "I've never known a woman to deny jewels." Carefully taking it in both hands, he gently places it atop her dark hair, sinking it into place. He then steps back, smiling bashfully.
"If anyone is to wear my mother's crown, it should be you." He says warmly, adjusting a piece of hair over her still healing ear, "And Ivar wouldn't have it any other way."
She smiles back just as warmly, turning back towards the bronze bowl to scan her eyes over her reflection once more. The silver coronet gleamed in the natural light coming from the window, and the rubies sparkled vividly, like the reddest roses on a fair spring day.
"Thank you, Hvitserk." He nods with a smile, head turning back when he hears the guard call for him.
"Prince Hvitserk, My Lady," Dafi steps in with a slight bow, "Heahmund has informed me that the king is ready."
"Very well," Hvitserk replies, looking back at the nervous bride, "It is time. Let's go show Kattegat its new queen." He stretches out a hand for her to take, and she does, albeit very nervously. She gives Geirdis a quick glance, and the girl waste no time in offering her mistress a smile. Artemis smiles back, standing up, and linking her arm with Hvitserk.
"Artemis?"
"Hmm?"
"You're shaking." She could hear the teasing his voice, whispering for only her to hear.
"I'm nervous, do not tease me." She whispers back, swallowing the lump in her throat.
They step out from the great hall and into the sunlight. Already the people crowded round the entrance, waiting to see the bride and their future queen. There were so many eyes on her, and all she wanted to do was shrink away from the attention. Gripping the side of her blue dress she intakes a harsh breath, willing her feet to guide her.
"Hold your head high." Hvitserk says, patting her arm with his other hand in reassurance. Releasing the breath, she squares her shoulders as if readying her bow, and slowly raises her head, directly meeting the gazes of many onlookers. Some looks were kind and warm, some were indifferent, but she did her best to pay them no mind.
Ravens cawed from up above, and Artemis looks at the sky to see a small cluster of the black creatures, perching themselves in the trees nearby as if to watch the procession. One tilted its head, gazing at her knowingly before cawing and taking flight. Its black wings soared ahead of them as if leading the way.
They walked farther away from the great hall and closer to the center of the city where the crowd was even larger. The people part to make way for the bride, her head now held up in confidence. Her eyes searched the crowd, and what a relief it was for her to see familiar faces. Aria's fiery hair was unmistakable, peeking out through the sea of town folk, and beside her was her master dressed in all his finery.
Heahmund comes into view, tall and a bit less brooding, nodding at her. He struggles to grasp tightly onto a leather cord holding back her massive beast who longed to be by her side.
King Harald steps forward, surrounded by his Vestfold men, taking Artemis's hand and placing a chaste kiss on her lavender coated skin.
"How far you have come, little Artemis." He says to her, his eyes sparkling in the way they used to before so much misfortune had befallen him.
"I shall miss your mirth, King Harald."
"We will see each other again, young Queen."
"You keep her from her husband," Hvitserk interjects, "You know he hates to be kept waiting," He smirks, a glint in his green eyes as they turn to look at her.
"Quite right." Harald chuckles in agreement, moving his large form away from the bride to give her a perfect view of the figure behind him. Suddenly, nothing else mattered. Not her nervousness, not the people waiting for the ceremony, not even Hvitserk who stood close beside her.
Whatever anxiousness she felt had completely melted away, replaced by the warmth of Ivar's eyes, like twinkling stars gazing at her.
He smiles, his eyes falling to his mother's coronet placed upon her hair, right where he intended it to be. It was fitting, really. He holds his crutch tightly in his hand, extending the other for her to take her place beside him, and she does so with no hesitation. Ivar pulls her away from Hvitserk's light grasp, bringing her to his side in a fluid motion. He places a tender kiss to her hand, placing his brow against her and breathing in her lavender scent.
Her eyes move over his handsome features, taking note of his nicely braided hair and silk shirt the very color of her own dress, the blue catching the gleam of the sun and the silver embroidery shining as brightly as his own eyes. She smiles at him happily, feeling how her heart pounded profusely. She thought it would beat right out her chest.
"You shake like a leaf in the wind." Ivar chuckles.
"I am nervous." She says to him, "This is unreal."
"Of course this is real, baby bird. Just look at me," Ivar says to her, "Nothing else matters but you and I, hmm?" He nudges her nose lightly with his own, emitting a laugh from her before she nods.
"The ceremony!" Hvitserk speaks out, reminding them of the affair. Heracles barks at the outburst, and the people murmur in anticipation.
"Are you ready?" Ivar asks. It did not show, but he too was apprehensive, looking down at her with the eyes of a child. Artemis takes a breath and nods, gripping his hand tightly.
"I am ready."
They both turn to face the gothi, and Ivar motions for the ceremony to begin. A goat was brought once a dagger was produced from somewhere in the gothi's robes. She closes her eyes, awaiting the cry from the animal and the sprinkling of warm blood over her face, something she was still unaccustomed to. She felt Ivar squeeze her hand, knowing exactly of her thoughts and fears, and the action alone gave her comfort. She didn't catch him grinning despite the ache in his legs from standing far too long.
He would suffer through the worst of pains just for her.
And now she would finally be his queen.
...
A Viking wedding was to last a minimum of 3 days, and the festivities were only just beginning. The music was lively, the food in abundance, and the mead flowing.
Wild chatter filled the great hall, along with boisterous story telling of lands farther than the West, and the shining cities of the East. There was dancing and performances to entertain the mass crowd, already too intoxicated to focus on anything but the drink in their hands.
The fire was roaring in the center, its flames licking at the juicy meats that hung above them. Thralls walked about, handing out dried fruits and foreign wine for all to taste.
Ivar sits in his throne, content to rest his legs, a grin on his face as he hears the stories told by Hvitserk of his adventures in Spain. Hvitserk, always an animated speaker, uses his hands, already drunk off whatever was in his cup. Harald jokes and laughs along with the rest of the men, the tattoos on his face creasing with the lines of his aged face. Heahmund too bore a smile, his lips stained with wine.
Ivar turns to gaze at his newly crowned queen, finally sitting beside him in her designated throne for the first time. In her lap was an oud, a gift to her from Hvitserk. It was beautifully crafted, with dark blue spiraled designs painted on its light brown surface. Her fingers pluck at the stings, a smile on her face as she creates the smallest of tunes from her homeland.
Her hair was now loose from its plait, the long strands hanging carelessly down her back, falling over her shoulder as she bent forward to watch the clumsy movements of her small fingers.
In that moment Artemis reminded Ivar so much of his past. He imagined Sigurd, plucking at his oud as enthusiastically as she did. There was a fleeting ache in his heart, but it passed as he reached over to brush his fingers softly against her arm. She turns to him, his mother's coronet gleaming in the fire light. She looked just as beautiful as his mother did when she wore it. That aching feeling returned, pulling at his heart strings whenever he thought of both his mother and Sigurd, but his queen's eyes had him coming back to their reality as her face twisted in concern.
"My love," Artemis says to him sweetly, "Are you unwell?" Her obedient beast lay between them, his floppy ears perking up at the sound of her voice, but his alerted eyes watched the meats being passed about by the thralls to feed the hungry guests.
"I was just admiring you. You look beautiful, just as a queen should," Ivar replies, reaching over to grip her hand most lovingly. She smiles at him shyly, rubbing her thumb gently over the surface of his hand.
"I have a gift for you." He announces suddenly, motioning for Geirdis to fetch whatever it was that he had waiting for her.
"More gifts? You've already given me enough."
"Yes, well, jewels and a new quiver seem silly now. You can make them yourself." Ivar mutters. He scratches the back of his neck as if he had committed some form of crime and Artemis rolls her eyes.
Geirdis returns with a large basket, its contents covered by a white linen sheet. The young thrall holds it over her queen who had a questioning look on her face. She glances at Ivar, who motions for her to look inside.
Peeling back the linen, she grins at the sight of four mewling kittens, all in different shades of white, black and brown.
"Forest cats. It is important for any Viking bride to have kittens in her household." Ivar tells her, smiling in satisfaction as Artemis reaches over immediately to cradle a kitten in her hands. It was a tiny thing, big eyes and large tufts of hair on its pointy ears. Its tiny teeth barely pierced the skin of her hand as it bites down in a weak attack.
"Now you have your own little cats as Frejya does." Ivar continues, watching in content as she coddles the mewling thing. His hand goes to scratch at Heracles ears, the jealous mastiff now sitting to attention, his nose detecting the smell of the tiny things.
"Thank you." She lowers her head with a smile, informing Geirdis to attend the kittens in their chambers. The young blonde girl bows, waiting for Artemis to place the kitten back in the basket with the others before hauling them towards the back of the great hall.
"Are you enjoying the festivities?" Ivar asks, bringing his drinking horn to his lips and taking a large swig of the bitter liquid. She nods, her fingers going back to pluck at the strings of the oud, and Ivar makes a mental note to hire a suitable instructor for her in the future.
"Very much, husband." The term makes him swell in pride, his chest puffing out and a smile breaking out on his lips. He had finally accomplished what no one thought he could, and now here he sat, a king with a beautiful wife on his arm.
Many men moved forward to pay their respects to their new queen with gifts of scented oils, rich fabrics, and shining gold. The women bow, offering precious trinkets and jewels, as well as their rouge colored smiles.
Ivar could already tell Artemis was overwhelmed, unaccustomed to praise, gifts, and attention. In time she would gain familiarity, but until then, he took quiet joy at the reddening of her cheeks and her fluttering lashes as she shyly thanked all who offered their best wishes, as well as allegiance to their new queen.
When all gifts were collected and put away, Artemis puts her oud down, motioning for Heahmund to come forward, who now held in his hands a large object wrapped in similar white linen placed over the basket of kittens.
"Your gift." She says, watching Heahmund place the large object in Ivar's waiting hands.
By the shape, Ivar immediately knew what it was. A sword, and a large one by the looks of it. Pulling at the linen his eyes meet with a beautifully crafted war sword, heavy yet powerful in his hands. The handle was slim, with a decorated pommel at the end in the style of the northerners. The steel shined so brightly it hurt his eyes for a moment, reflecting the vivid colors of the flames. What was unfamiliar to him was that the sword was curved.
"It's called a paramerion, used by soldiers of the Byzantine army," Artemis explains as if reading his thoughts, "Sharp and deadly in battle, you should have no problem cutting an enemy down." Ivar ran his thumb over the edge, and it was indeed sharp to the touch. Its sleek design intrigued the king, as it was nothing like the swords he's seen or owned.
"So this is what kept you for weeks, hmm?" He smiles, gripping Artemis's hand to place a soft kiss upon her sweetly smelling skin. "Such talent you have, my love."
She hums in agreement, smiling tiredly as she watches Hvitserk grab the sword, inspecting it with glittering eyes.
"Use it well." She tells Ivar, grabbing at her oud again and playing the soft tune she had been practicing moments before. The festivities continued well into the night until morning when the birds sang their song and the sun began its journey across the sky.
...
She awakens in comfortable warmth, the furs beneath her creating a cocoon of comfort. The mewling of the kittens and Heracles's soft whines for his breakfast could be heard in the distance beyond the leather divider. She turns over, eyes still closed, burrowing further into the worn out bedding. Gentle touches fall upon her cheek, and her eyes flutter open to see Ivar's equally tired features. He continues to stroke her cheek, his sleepy gaze focused on her despite the lateness of the day. She breathes out a content sigh and leans into his touch.
Quiet mornings such as these were Ivar's favorite. The comfortable silence and their sleepy haze was all he could want. He yawns, draping an arm over her waist, pulling her closer to him so that he may bury his face into her messy hair. She giggles, feeling him grip her tighter.
"Good morning, my love." Ivar says, muttering into her hair as he places repeated kisses over it.
"Good morning."
"How is the Queen?"
"Very content," She says to him, reaching up to place a kiss under his jaw, "And the King?"
"Mmm, I'd like it if we could stay right here for the rest of the day." She snorts, pushing at his tattooed chest. She sits up, stretching her limbs and yawning the sleepiness away.
"You have a kingdom to rule." She says to him as if he were unaware of his duties, and he in turn snorts back, resting his weight on one arm while the other traces the planes of her shoulders exposed by her nightdress with the tip of his pointer finger.
"The people can wait."
"Then who will they petition their grievances to?"
"The dog, of course." He says, almost sounding serious.
"You speak too much nonsense."
"And you speak very little," He counters back, moving to sit up, "Why haven't you told me of the seer?" He did not have to see her to know she pulled a face.
"Because I did not want to dampen the mood of our wedding." His brows furrowed in confusion.
"Has he given you ill words?" She flops back down against the furs, curling her body against his. She waited a moment to collect her thoughts before speaking.
"He said a child is to be born."
The silence that followed after wasn't long, but it was enough for her to peer up at him, his expression beyond what shock could be. His eyes were blown wide and his brow wrinkled further into confusion.
"Ivar?" She says his name tentatively, wondering if perhaps the subject was far too sudden to be discussed.
"A child." He repeats, his mind already drifting off at the prospect. Artemis watches the emotions flicker across his eyes. She herself never thought of producing a child, let alone marrying. The idea of bringing a child into the world frightened her, it always had. She had known many women in her village that had passed due to the struggles of labor and birth, and she did not envy such a fate.
She watches him for a moment more, not sure of what his reaction would be.
The rumors had always eaten Ivar alive, the ones that ridiculed him. Impotency was what the people whispered and Artemis herself had heard it time and time again. She never cared for such talk, of course, why should she let something of such irrelevance affect her?
One night of passion was enough to dispel such idle talk.
"Is that what you want?" She asks him softly.
Ivar suddenly let's out a short laugh, grabbing Artemis into a tight embrace. She rests her head in the crook of his neck, smiling against his skin as he let's out his rare little bursts of joy.
"A child!" He says again, pushing her back at arms length to look directly into her eyes, "A child born of our union is a wonderful blessing. Of course it is what I want." Ivar pauses, the look of emotion passing through his eyes again as his mind filled with thoughts. Ivar was always so sure of himself, but for once it was he who was the pensive one.
"A child should have been conceived by now," He says, "We've had so many nights together..." Ivar pauses, looking away from her to gather his thoughts.
"I thought it was impossible." He says finally, looking back at her with glassy eyes.
"Perhaps it will take time. Perhaps...we must invoke the gods," Her words were spoken so softly, Ivar just barely made them out. There it was again, that small hesitation he saw in her whenever she spoke of the gods. It made him smile, because he knew she was making an effort.
"I do not know whether to trust the words of such a man," She continues, "But the seer foresees danger, and if a child is born, then it will be at risk," Ivar's joyous smile dropped into a tight line.
"What do you mean?"
"He said a shadow looms over me but was unable to detect whether it is good or bad." Ivar frowns, scratching at his lengthy hair before dropping his hand to his lap.
"A child shall be born, the eye of the raven. Winter draws near and so will the enemy, lurking like a pack of wolves in the dark night. They wait for Sòl to set," Artemis recites the words of the seer, she could not forget them, "Lagertha may be dead, but her spirit lives on."
Ivar let out a frustrated breath.
"I've always believed she'd come back to haunt us." He mutters.
"How am I to bring a child into this world and already worry for its safety when I can scarcely protect myself?"
"The gods will protect you. I will protect you," Ivar speaks gently, "I will always protect you, baby bird."
"I know." She says, "I know you will, but it still does not keep my worry at bay."
"If our love produces a child, I will fight to protect you both, do you hear me? No one will dare hurt you." There was so much emotion behind his words, Artemis thought he could cry. His eyes shone with determination and perhaps, a bit of hope. She nods, drawing back to rest her head against him again. It was a promise she hoped didn't need to come into fruition, but she knew it was a promise he'd keep.
Warnings: Violence in this one. Bad description of battle.
AN: This is a super long chapter. I’m so sorry. If you guys prefer shorter ones then I have no problem splitting them, just let me know. I also think this chapter is both boring and intense at the same time. You guys can judge. Hope you enjoy!
18- Protection
...
Ivar had always been a light sleeper, so it was no surprise to him that the smallest of noises made his eyes crack open in the dimly lit chambers. Recently, sleep came to him easily, despite the aches. After a long day of constant strategizing and training for the battle to come, slipping underneath the furs on a cool night was just enough to lull him into a dreamless slumber.
He never had a problem sleeping alone. It had allowed him to be alert if need be, but now, laying next to a much welcomed heat, Ivar had no problems drifting away, so long as Artemis was beside him.
Ivar made no movements, but his eyes scanned the perimeter of the chamber out of habit. There was a table with parchments littering its surface, a large changing screen, a fireplace not in use, and some candles scattered about to illuminate the area. Nothing seemed out of place, and nothing seemed to hide in the shadows. He looked over at Artemis who had her back towards him, and he decided nothing was out of the ordinary.
He shifted under the sheets, drawing closer to the woman beside him, his eyes slowly drooping until he heard it again. It was more distinguishable as a whimper, so low, yet loud enough for his trained ears to detect.
Ah. He should've known.
Artemis was having another nightmare.
He'd seen first hand how often they came to her at night. While his sleep had always been limited due to the constant pain in his legs, her sleep was always interrupted by terrors of some kind.
He runs a finger down the center of her back before gently placing his hand on her hip. He didn’t consider himself to be the first choice of comfort, but it was a start.
It seemed to soothe her for a moment as she stopped her whimpers. Satisfied, Ivar curves around her, careful with shifting his legs. He then moves his hand into the mass of her dark hair, fingers gently caressing her scalp in gentle motions.
This was oddly domestic.
But it was nice. He finds himself devoted to her, like a husband would to a wife.
Ivar bites his lips, suddenly aware of his heightened sensitivity. He felt he was a bigger mess of emotions when it came to Artemis, more so after their first night together. He knew who he was, embittered and rage filled. Such angry feelings within and yet, he melted at the sight of her.
No matter, there needn't be justification for things such as love or feelings or anything that relates to matters of the heart. Only the gods knew, and Ivar was fine with that.
He continues to gaze at her, his lazy eyes mapping out her small form.
Suddenly she turns over in her fitful sleep, facing him now with arched brows and eyes screwed shut. Her lips were tightly sealed, set in a frown.
Ivar sighs, carefully sitting up against the soft pillows. He places the back of his hand against her cheek, gently rubbing a knuckle across her smooth skin soothingly. Then he runs a finger over her brow in an attempt to smooth them down and ease her tension.
He frowns.
He had caused her such strife. He didn't need to be told what plagued her mind. Behind her lids he knew she replayed the images of blood, death and destruction. Subjects that he couldn't be bothered with ate away at her soul. Artemis was no fighter. She was a Christian, what he saw as an everyday occurrence was utterly disturbing for her.
Artemis exhales roughly through her nose before her eyes flutter open, blinking to clear her vision.
"Another nightmare?" He asks softly, smiling when she nuzzles her face against his hand almost instantly.
"They're like a plague," She groans, "I'm sorry for waking you."
"It's fine." Ivar tugs her towards him, having her cupped under his arm, her head laying on his chest. He could feel her lashes skimming over his skin when she blinked.
Oh yes, this was incredibly domestic, and extremely different then what he was used to, but he wouldn't change it for the world, not now, not ever.
"We've done this to you, all of us," Ivar mutters quietly, absentmindedly playing with her hair that draped over the two of them. She was silent, so silent in fact, that Ivar thought she might have dozed off again, as her breathing was steady.
"Some nights are better than others." She says, lazily dragging her finger across his bare chest, following the thick lines of his most recent tattoo. The swirls formed an image she was only just beginning to understand. She takes a breath as if she wanted to say more, but decides to settle into the calm silence instead. Ivar squeezes her closer, enjoying her warmth. She would talk to him when she was ready.
His eyes scan the light that filtered through the cracks between the fur drapes. It was daybreak, and in about an hour, preparations would begin for training.
"We have to leave soon." She mutters, looking up at him with a pout.
They were both still getting used to this, such intimacy and closeness. Her heart sang for Ivar, no matter how much her mind had been against it, but she willingly ignored it.
Ivar was shy at times, a side that was nothing compared to his war like demeanor. He skimmed his rough fingers over the soft skin of her exposed arm, humming in agreement.
"We don't have to leave just yet." He proposes, turning his body to fully face her, eyes glimmering with silent requests. His timidness certainly had its limits.
Artemis smiles up at him as he wraps strong arms around her. He captures her lips in a kiss that erases all rational thoughts and bad dreams.
Perhaps they could stay in bed a little while longer.
...
Vestfold was unpleasant.
King Harald's kingdom specialized in fishing, mostly whaling. In fact, upon setting eyes on its docks, one could not miss the skeletal form of a giant whale that was made to loom above them menacingly. The smells that lingered about were horrific, and the blood of the massive sea creatures dampened the soil in large puddles.
Harald was a contradiction of what Vestfold was like. He was a delight, throwing feasts without reason and talking of his brother often. He was the brightness that illuminated his kingdom, and if they were to be stationed there for some time, then it was only fair to make the best of it.
It was the forests where Artemis loved to reside as it was lush and green, so much green that it had her drifting off into other magical worlds. It was a place of shade in the summer heat, a tranquil, peaceful area with nothing but the birds singing and the cicadas chirping in the treetops.
Archery was practiced everyday for a couple of hours in the early morning before the sun was at its highest point in the sky. The skill came easily to her, and she learned a fair amount, but she was nowhere near as skilled as Hvitserk, and not even close to Ivar, but it became a routine for her to take her lessons with either one of the brothers, and both were merciless in their training.
There would be no private lesson that morning. Ivar decided to train with their most skilled archer's as they would have the duty to protect both himself and Harald on the battlefield. Artemis personally knew some of the warriors in Ivar's company, large and fierce with even larger bows in their hands. Those from Vestfold were equally as fearsome, their women tall with kohl streaked eyes. They emulated their beautiful queen who stood with them, though she lacked a bow in her hands or any form of weapon. She had sad eyes ever since the announcement of her pregnancy.
Harald and Hvitserk were out training with the other men and women in physical combat, along with Bishop Heahmund. Although Ivar is skilled with his axe, his specialty was as a bowman.
Ivar slowly walks in front of the crowd of archers, his slight limp and his crutch in perfect view for all to see. His eyes held the haughtiness of being in command, of having total control over the warriors.
"Archers!" He yells, and all the men and women of the first row immediately raised their bows, strings pulled back tightly and hands grazing their chests in practiced movements. Artemis obediently follows suit, raising her arms with the heavy bow in her hands, her muscles protesting the movement.
"Hold your positions!" Ivar booms, eyes already meeting with his lover. He smirked as he always did when she was particularly annoyed with him, and he knew she was.
In their lessons, when they weren't off giving each other gentle kisses under the shade of the trees, Ivar would always repeatedly say that warriors are made to hold their positions for longer periods of time during times of war.
She absolutely hated it.
"Straighten your posture, it'll send the arrow flying faster at a farther distance." Astrid suddenly appears at her side. The queen places her hands on Artemis's tense shoulders, forcibly smoothing them down. Artemis knew that Harald's queen had recognized her. Lagertha had always made Astrid keep an eye on her.
Artemis takes a deep breath, squaring her shoulders off and pulling the bow string as far back as she could, despite the ache in her shoulders and the tightness in her chest.
"Hold your position." Astrid urges, sensing the discomfort she felt being surrounded by capable beings. Artemis's arm trembled from the pressure of the string as it did these past weeks of training. She turned her eyes to Ivar, who flashed her a grin as he walked off to the side of their flanks.
"Loose!" Ivar yells, and immediately arrows whizzed in the air, straight to their destinations. Artemis didn’t hesitate. She took a deep breath, letting her fingertips release the string, watching her arrow fly. It hits its mark and she beamed, a grin growing large on her face.
"Seems like the blacksmith will make for a shieldmaiden. Will you be fighting?" Astrid smiles at her, but before she could answer, Ivar grunts over to them with every step, brows arched in displeasure. His hawk ears didn’t miss a thing and he didn't trust the new queen.
"Absolutely not," He interjects, placing an arm about her shoulders, bringing her closer before instructing the next row of archers to shoot at the distant targets. Astrid crosses her arms, unamused.
"I've seen her with a hammer Ivar."
"And?"
"Would she not make a good warrior? I think she would." Ivar sucks his teeth, dismissing the comment.
"Perhaps in the future," He says, looking down at his new love from his great height, "But not in this battle."
"Have I no say?" Artemis feigns annoyance, crossing her arms as he quickly bends to plant a kiss to her brow.
Astrid was taken back. She'd been around Ivar long enough to know his dark nature, but next to the foreign girl he was a stranger.
"You think I would dare lose you when I just got a hold of you?" Ivar answers with a scoff, nodding at Astrid before turning them away from her. He orders the large crowd of archers to depart. They were ready, but Artemis was not.
"I will not lose you." He tells her, letting her go in order to summon his chariot, but she grabs his arm, stopping him in his tracks.
"Am I to lose you?" She questions.
"No," He replies with a grin, "The gods would not allow it."
...
The blacksmith's forge in Vestfold was nothing compared to York's. It was quaint, and ran by a family that reminded her too much of her own. A father, his wife, and their little boy and girl.
It made a knot form in her throat that made it difficult to swallow. The nostalgia ate away at her very core and she constantly had to blink back the tears of fond memories that she kept nestled in the back of her mind. Perhaps all the gods of the world did not intend for her to have a family.
She was set on the task of making arrowheads, and her nimble fingers were immediately at work, forcibly shaping the iron into deadly pointed edges. Working in silence beside her was the little boy of the family, making the shafts of wood to attach the arrowheads to.
His father and the other men worked to keep the fire going as they repaired whatever weapons needed attention.
The little boy hums to himself, not paying her any mind as his small hands attempt to shave down thin branches with his tiny blade. He struggled, his hand unable to pass it over the jagged surface of the branch. He grunts in frustration, tossing the branch and blade aside before crossing his arms stubbornly.
Artemis stops her sharpening, turning to look at the little boy with a smile.
"Here," She places down her own tools in favor of picking up his, "Like this." She flicks her wrist at an angle, showing him how to carve down the branch in a steadier motion, "It's like peeling a carrot." She tells him.
"I don't peel carrots," He pouts, "My mother and sister do when they cook."
"Well, if they can manage, so can you," She jokes, handing him back the small blade and branch, "Go on, try again." The boy hesitates before grasping the items, and after a few minutes of him trying and her watching, he gets the hang of it.
"See? You got it."
"Mhm!" The boy hums in glee with a tiny smile, turning his large eyes to hers, "Thank you." Artemis smiles, ruffling the boy's hair.
"Are you from England?" He then asks her, his tongue poking out as he worked, "You don't sound like us."
"No," She tells him, "I come from an island in the south." He turns to her again, his eyes twinkling in curiosity.
"Really?" That peaked his interest, "Farther than England?"
"Much farther," She voices with exaggeration in her tone, "Much hotter, and full of life." The little boy blinks up at her in awe.
"And how did you come to Vestfold?"
"Him." Artemis points out towards the bustling activity of the village, her finger following Ivar's hobbling form as he practiced swinging Heahmund's large sword.
"Ivar the Boneless!" The boy exclaims.
"Mhm."
They both watch on as Ivar approaches a whale suspended in the air by its tail, ready to be used for its supply of oil. In one swift movement he swings the sword, slicing the whale cleanly in half with a maddening grin on his face. He was obsessed with the blade, turning it round in his calloused grip. Artemis watches the blood and entrails spill out from the whale in disgust before looking down at the nameless boy.
He didn't shy away from the sight, though his little brows curved slightly at the scene.
"Caldur!" A woman's voice calls out, "Caldur, let the men finish the work, come help with the animals." The little boy groans, releasing his tools with a small grunt. Hopping off the chair he quickly turns to wave at her before running off.
Heahmund passes the boy, watching him run towards his mother before taking the seat beside Artemis. She doesn't say anything, not noticing him much as she was lost in thought, her eyes still watching Ivar handle the sword as he began a conversation with King Harald.
"Have you figured it out yet?" The sudden sounds of her native tongue startled her, and she pricked her finger with one of her arrowheads. She hisses in pain. She knew she should have worn gloves.
"Figured what out?"
"My sword. The steel." The bishop chuckles. They both glance at Ivar before turning to look at each other. Heahmund did not brood quite as much as he used to, but he was still just as irritating now that Ivar gave him leeway.
"No." She says irritably.
"It is Damascus steel."
"Damascus steel is a myth."
"So you've heard of it?"
"Yes," She drawls out, "And it is a myth." She repeats with finality. Damascus steel was said to be a strange metal that was resistant to rusting and shattering. No one knew how it was produced, and the secret was so well guarded in the east that it became legend.
"Then how would you explain the superiority of my blade?"
"Dwarfs." Was all she says, as if she believed it herself.
The older man sucks his teeth, clearly unamused. He grabs at an arrowhead for closer inspection. They were well made, even by his standards, and he knew they would be deadly once attached to wood.
"I've gone on pilgrimage to the Holy Land," He says after a moment, "The Arabs forge the steel. They say it comes from a land called India."
"India," She repeats the name, blinking in surprise, "I've never heard of such a place. If it is true, I shall like to go there one day."
"Perhaps you will."
"Do you wish to have your sword returned to you?" She asks, her eyes now focusing back on Ivar. He noticed them and immediately made his way over to them.
"He will tire of it soon enough. He prefers his bow."
"And will you truly fight for him?"
"It is our Lord's will that I do," Heahmund says, placing the arrowhead back upon the table Artemis worked over, his rough tone oddly drowning out her worries, "What is it you fear?"
Artemis shrugs before bringing her eyes to his. He held such unrelenting faith, such will and courage, strengths she did not possess. She didn't know who she was anymore.
"I am afraid of losing myself."
"We all have destinies. It just so happens that yours lies beside the crippled heathen."
She's never really believed in destiny.
"So you're friends with the bishop now?" Ivar barges in with a grunt, his eyes falling over the pair. He goes to stand by the work table, eyeing the tools and arrows with keen interest. He only knew how to sharpen his weapons but he couldn't actually make anything, really. It was impressive work, as always.
"We're civil," She answers with a smile, tilting her head towards the older man, "Isn't that right, bishop?" Heahmund grunts in annoyance, crossing his arms over his chest.
Ivar lowers himself closer to Artemis, quickly bringing a hand to shove at Heahmund's head so that his prying eyes would not see him kiss her plush lips. It was not the bishop's business.
"It's time for training." He then announces, turning to the bishop, shoving his head playfully one more time, "I thought you might want this back," He removes the sword from his belt, tossing it to him. Heahmund easily caught it very easily in his grip.
"I will see you tonight." Ivar mutters to her, placing another quick kiss to her brow before following Heahmund out.
They leave Artemis alone with her thoughts, and she almost wished the little boy didn't have to leave, so that she may have some form of company.
...
It was a beautiful day when their army departed.
The sun was blinding and the heat blistering. Back on their boats they went and into the sea, the calming waves carrying them to their destination.
Both armies were hundreds of feet away, biding their time for their leaders to ready themselves to declare war.
Ivar against Lagertha.
Brother against brother.
The intensity and ferocity could be felt in the air, from the birds soaring in the skies, to the creatures dwelling in the seas, it could be felt by everyone. Opposing camps were set before the battle and a last negotiation attempt was discussed before blood would be spilt.
Ivar's anger got the best of him when seeing Ubbe on Lagertha's side, as well as her son Bjorn, who had come from the Mediterranean just in time to defend his mother.
King Harald faces his own complications, extremely displeased with his brother. He tried to convince him to switch sides, but it seemed Halfdan's loyalty to Bjorn was stronger than his loyalty to his own brother. It was sad to see such battles within their own families. They would soon kill each other no doubt.
The camp was set up similarly to the one upon arriving in England, tents peppering all the way towards the horizon. The forging tent was miniscule, as there wouldn't be much need for it. The expectation was that the battle would end very quickly, and Artemis hoped that it did, with positive results.
Ivar had made arrangements for her to remain out of sight until he could come back for her, assuming he would come back. 2 guards were set to remain behind and watch over the camp, and in some ways, to look after her.
She sits on the ground at the far end of her tent to shield herself from the sun, fiddling with the loose threads that held her leather vest together, an anxious antic of the circumstances. To pass the time, she watches the warriors gather in preparation for the inevitable. Ivar was busy meeting with Harald, most likely more talk of strategy and such. She couldn't be bothered with the details, but it ultimately left her lonelier than she cared to admit.
The day continues, as well as the heat. Hvitserk appears suddenly in the campsite with Bjorn following behind, and the warriors instantly begin to murmur of his sudden return from the Mediterranean. They stopped in front of the tent, bickering quietly between themselves.
Her eyes catch a glimpse of Bjorns form, immediately noting his change in appearance. His skin was tanned, kissed by the sun, and his face glowed like she's never seen it before. His hair was paler, extremely flaxen and bright. He seemed to be a completely different person somehow; a changed person.
"Ivar will not back down," Hvitserk tells him with a sigh, crossing his arms and standing firm. They took shade in her tent, and she suddenly felt awkward as they began to bicker again.
"And neither will my mother," Bjorn answers back, "We are brothers, all sons of Ragnar. I do not wish to fight my blood." Hvitserk runs a hand down his face in frustration.
"And you think that I do? Lagertha killed my mother!"
"And your mother ripped apart my family!" They bickered so quickly that they were almost incomprehensible, tongues lashing at one another. They were in such a heated debate that they had both failed to notice her.
"All Ivar has done was separate us," Bjorn mutters, "You and Ubbe cannot even look at each other. Do not think I haven't noticed." Hvitserk proceeds to frown, knowing his relationship with Ubbe had deteriorated. It made him feel terrible.
Hvitserk remains quiet and Bjorn scoffs in response, blonde hair whipping about as he turns to show his younger brother his back. Bjorn's blue eyes landed on Artemis's small form, crouched in the corner, her head turned away from them as she worked to rip apart blades of grass between her fingers.
"Artemis?" He calls out to her, shifting his head to get a closer look at her from behind the small table. She says nothing, but offers him a nod of acknowledgement.
"I thought the tent was empty," Hvitserk says, "We sound like a couple of old fools, hm?"
"Hvitserk tells me you are now a free woman." Bjorn's curiosity had gotten the better of him.
"Yes." She nods again.
"Ivar is full of surprises, isn't he?" Bjorn chuckles darkly, crossing his arms in amusement.
"Without a doubt."
"I want you to know that I've seen the rest of your island," He continues, the small hints of a sad smile on his burned lips. Her heart suddenly drops, "And I must admit I've met the strangest people."
"I'm sure they thought the same of you." Was her snarky response, watching his shoulders shake in genuine amusement. "Was it to your liking?"
"The Mediterranean is a beauty. I've seen things I could have never dreamed of. I will remember it fondly."
"Yet you hide something." She tells him, rubbing her hands down the sides of her trousers, reaching out to rip more grass from the dirt. Bjorn sighs, turning to glance at a frowning Hvitserk before replying.
"Crete has been invaded. Andalusian's conquer the island. I left just as war had broken out." She could feel her heart pulsing in her ears as soon as he uttered those words. An uncomfortable heat rushed through her, as if her body were trying to fight off something within her.
"Andalusian's?" She finds herself asking in the softest tone, suddenly feeling faint. She blinks rapidly to gain her senses back, watching Bjorn tilt his head at her before nodding.
"They are Muslim's from Spain." Finally, she releases a breath, her hands gripping at the roots of her hair to make sense of the words.
"They say that the Arabs attempted to conquer Crete well over a hundred years ago," She speaks so low that both Hvitserk and Bjorn had to step a bit closer to hear her, "Everyone knows the story."
"And what happened then?" Hvitserk asks her, crouching down to sit beside her.
"The Emperor had prevailed in its defense," She continues, bringing her glossy eyes to Bjorn, "Why...?" She couldn't even formulate the words to ask him, but he understood.
"They were exiled from Spain. The island was an easy target for them to control."
"Artemis, you're crying." Hvitserk states dumbly, watching little tears roll down the apples of her cheeks. Somehow Hvitserk was always there to see her cry.
"If what Bjorn says is true, and war has broken out," She struggles to say, fighting the feeling of her throat constricting, "Then people were killed. My father could have been killed."
"You don't know that," Bjorn interjected, "You cannot say for sure."
"How can you say that?" She challenges, "You are a warrior. You should know well the fickle outcomes of war." Bjorn remains silent, releasing a large sigh at her comment.
"War spares no one, not even the innocent." She sniffles.
They all knew it to be true.
...
Negotiations failed miserably, and war was officially declared.
Horns blasted and the warriors assembled into their places in an orderly fashion on both sides. Chanting echoed across the green pastures and weapons were held high in the air.
Harald cheered alongside his men, giving them some kind of speech to arouse them with the need to slaughter. It wasn't very hard to get them to react in the way he wanted.
Ivar smiles, his feet hanging off the edge of the small cliff. His eyes scanned the field eagerly, gaze trained on Hvitserk and Heahmund as they took their positions. He'd need to join them soon.
"Men will speak of this day." He says quietly to himself, but Artemis hears him well enough, slowly approaching to kneel beside him. Just below were his archers waiting to defend him, his chariot prepared to ride off.
He turns to her, offering a grin despite the frown tugging at her lips.
"Are you worried?" He asks, reaching out a hand to smooth the lines on her brow. It was wrinkled in concern.
"A bit." She quietly admits, wringing her hands as proof that she was much more worried than she let on.
He notices the quiver strapped to her back, the unstrung bow nestled neatly within the arrows.
"What do you think you're doing with that?" Ivar jerks his chin towards her weapon with brows raised, "Do you intend to fight? I cannot allow you to be here. You are to go back to camp."
He watches her scan the battlefield just as he had. The men roared at each other as they pounded their fists against their chest. They were desperate to fight, and the energy that once made her uneasy seemed to fill her with something she couldn't really identify, but it made her want to run into danger.
"And what if I do not wish to go to camp?" She finally retorts, shifting her gaze to his.
"Do not be foolish," He grunts, playfully tugging at the ends of her braided hair, "It is not a matter of debate. The battlefield is too dangerous for a baby bird such as yourself." Somehow, he still had a sense of humor, even at the very brink of a war.
"I do not care," Her tone was stubborn like a child, "I do not care for my fate." Not anymore, anyway.
A noise resembling a growl brewed in Ivar's throat as a sign of his displeasure. He grips her chin tightly with his fingers, turning her face up to look at him. His eyes were hard and calculating, but impossibly blue, and filled with so much more emotion than he could ever express.
"Do not say such words so carelessly," He grits his teeth, the pressure of his fingers enough to make her wince, "What is the matter with you, hm? Do you not think when all this is over that I wouldn't want to rejoice with you in my arms?" Artemis shakes off his grip, bringing her eyes down towards the open plains at the very bottom of the cliff, worrying her lip between her teeth.
He sighs, throwing his arm around her shoulders to bring her close to him again.
"It is dangerous," He repeats, "And I do not wish to see you hurt." She listens intently as he murmurs the words into her hair, struggling to make his affections clear.
"You are not afraid?" Her voice sounded so small, drowning in the sea of war cries.
"No," He answers without hesitation, "I've waited for this long enough." Artemis shifts under his arm to get a good look at him. She searches his eyes again as if it were the last time she would see them, reaching up to place her hand over his prickly sideburns. Ivar sensed a farewell in her actions.
"Do not look at me like that," He demands, his lips curving into a gentle smile, "Your eyes say too much. You wound me before I can even go into battle."
She begins to feel the familiar pricking sensation in her eyes again, and they quickly gloss over, fixing her a blurry image of Ivar. Overwhelmed with emotion, she suddenly moves forward to smash her lips against his, the force causing Ivar to lean back unsteadily before pushing forward with the same fervent intensity that she had. After a few urgent kisses she pulls away, throwing her arms around him as she buries her face in the crook of his neck.
"Ivar?" She sniffles.
"Yes, baby bird?" He holds her tight, knowing in just a few moments a battle would be separating them. He runs a hand down her braided hair, feeling her tears against his skin, her voice wavering as she speaks.
"Pray that your gods protect you."
...
She was forced to stay back at the camp, utterly alone, save for those two guards, but she noticed they had silently disappeared a while ago. Probably bored of playing caretaker. She had robbed them of the excitement.
She could hear the battle, the warriors crying out in the distance. It drifted over the camp like a wave crashing against a shoreline. It was unlike anything she's ever heard before, and just the sound alone made the battle of York seem trivial.
It was enough to peak her curiosity, wondering what it must feel like to stab and kill another living being. The thought never crossed her mind before, and as a Christian, why would it?
If Heahmund, a bishop, could fight so vigorously, then why couldn't she...right?
She had a strong desire to just walk off into the middle of their war, to witness death first hand, perhaps even walk into a blade.
Who did she think she was? A fighter? No. A coward? Maybe. Yes.
She sighs, feeling the need to escape the tent after a few minutes of playing the scenarios over and over in her mind. The outcome of such a battle was uncertain. Ivar was undoubtedly a master strategist, he'd been planning the attack for 2 months, and although she knew he'd been trained in the skills of a warrior, she still wondered...would he escape out of this alive?
She could already imagine his rage if she voiced such a thought to him.
What, you think me weak like you, baby bird?
She allows herself a small smile, releasing a little puff of laughter. Her fondness for him had grown exponentially, which made all of this much harder.
She roams about the empty campsite until she finally decides to plop down on the grass, continuing to listen to the faint yells in the distance. A few minutes passed and she was growing weary.
Pulling an arrow from her quiver, she brings it down with a force, stabbing the sharp point deep into the dry earth to distract her mind.
Stab, stab, stab. Sigh.
As she littered the ground in slashes, old scuffed shoes appeared in front of her, and she quickly jerked away to get a good look at the intruder.
"What are you doing?" Freydis looms over her with a quizzical look upon her pretty little face. Artemis watches the blonde sit in front of her, the old dress she wore pooling around her.
"You have been traveling with the army?" Artemis questions her, hand tightly gripping the arrow as if ready to stab her. She was already in a foul mood.
"Of course I have. Wherever Ivar goes, I go." Artemis doesn't bother gracing her with an answer, only looks on at her with a curious expression. They've never had a formal conversation before, and the last time she'd seen the blonde was that day in York.
"I was so sure I had him. I thought perhaps I could please him," Freydis continues, smiling bitterly as she leans back on her hands, comfortably stretching out her legs, "But I see you have caught his eye instead."
"What a pity," Artemis feigns sympathy, twirling the arrow in her fingers, "You sound bothered."
"I had a plan," Freydis hisses, suddenly lurching forward on her knees to point an accusing finger at her, "I had a plan and you stole him away from me." Artemis jerks away from her, using the wood of the arrow to push Freydis's finger away from her.
"You had a plan." She repeats Freydis's words flatly, unamused.
"Of course I did! I convinced Ivar to free me. He takes kindly to words of praise, loves to be told of what a great king he would be." Freydis releases a hysterical giggle, and something about that makes Artemis uneasy. The blonde seemed to be at wit's end.
"And so you offered your body to him, in return for what? Power?" Artemis concludes.
"It is what all men want," Freydis says, the little angry arch in her brow becoming more apparent, her voice rising a few octaves as her frustration bubbled to the surface, "I was supposed to be taken care of, he was supposed to take care of me. I do not have the means to survive as a freewoman." She brings her blue eyes to glare at Artemis. "And I do not like competition." She finishes her rant.
"There is no competition," Artemis sucks her teeth, shifting to stand before returning the glare.
"I do not understand why he chose a foreigner," Freydis shouts in frustration, "You are nothing compared to a true northern woman." Artemis bites her lip, her eyes racking over the blondes features. Freydis was quite beautiful, even in hysterics, and she felt the tugs of jealousy on her heartstrings at the memory of her looming over Ivar.
She huffs, heat rising to her cheeks in anger, but she refused to feel the hands of envy. There were other things to worry about, and a conniving woman should be the least of them.
"Perhaps he realized how much of a poison you are," Artemis sneers, "Trying to latch on to him like a leech to blood. If all you have to offer is your body, then I'm sure you will have no trouble finding work." Freydis glares, her pretty face scrunched up in displeasure at the insult.
"You're ambitious." Artemis continues to say.
"And you lack it!" Freydis throws her hands up, "Ivar could make you his queen if he wished it so!"
"I've no interest. I am a foreigner as you say." The thought had never crossed her mind before. She saw herself as nothing more than, what, a companion? She shakes her head, focusing her attention towards the edge of the camp to avoid punching the blonde.
"Then step aside," Was the last thing she heard Freydis say, but she ignored it, her eyes catching bright colors lapping at the tents at the edge of the campsite. She blinks, squinting her eyes until the smoke begins to reach high as if to touch the heavens.
Fire.
It was spreading rapidly.
Artemis felt she couldn't move, her body rigid as all she could do was stare stupidly at the scene.
"What is wrong with you?" Freydis snarls, "Have you suddenly gone stupid?"
Artemis ignores the blonde's babbling again, her eyes making out silhouettes that now turned into the shape of men, warriors, all carrying torches, and all charging towards them with immense speed.
"Freydis, get up."
"What?"
"Get up and run!" Artemis lurches forward, grabbing the blonde by the arm and using all her strength to pull her to her feet. Freydis stands and looks over her shoulder, immediately letting out a terrible shriek. They grew closer, setting fire to all the tents and to whatever else they could burn. They were about five, all Lagertha's men by the blue colors they wore on their arms.
"Run!" Artemis pushes Freydis forward and they both take off in a sprint.
"Who are they?!" Freydis heaves, turning back again to glance at the men, easily setting the entire encampment aflame. The summer heat increased the fires tenfold.
"Lagertha's men, they're destroying the campsite!" Artemis coughs, the fumes of the fire already reaching her throat as they ran past the many tents that began to burn. Rations, supplies, everything was burning to cinders.
Her boots stomped over the dry grass, crushing twigs and everything else in her hurried pace, yet she felt they'd never reach the forests quick enough.
Freydis screams as an arrow whizzes by her, grazing her blonde tresses. She lets out a wail of fear, tears pouring down her pale face that blurred her vision. She stumbles, skirt tangling in her legs enough to cause her to fall, grabbing onto Artemis's quiver on the way.
Artemis let out a yelp on impact, her face colliding into the hot dirt. Tears ran freely down her cheeks, and she hisses as the pouch of arrows and her bow dig painfully into her side.
The flames grew taller, brighter than the sun. It was as if they had descended into hell itself.
Still, the men grew closer, smiles on their faces as one readied his bow again, pulling the string back.
"Freydis, get up! Get up!" Artemis cried hysterically, stumbling to her feet and pulling her up, but the blonde refused, becoming a sobbing mess as she choked on poisoned air. "If you don't get up, we will die!"
"It is fated! The gods, they-" Freydis stops, her eyes bulging out and blood immediately dripping from her mouth. An arrow pierced her throat completely, lodged all the way through. The tip of the arrow was visible through the skin, blood pouring out the deadly wound. A shriek lodged itself in Artemis's throat at the sight of a choking Freydis.
There was so much blood spilling out, and finally she did scream, sweat mixing in with her tears as she fought to rise to her feet. She glanced down at Freydis, watching her choke to death, her chest rising and falling rapidly, her voice weak gurgles against her blood.
That was not a fate she wanted for herself.
She couldn't spare Freydis a second glance, turning on stumbling legs and pushing forward.
"She's the one! Shoot her down already!" She barely heard one shout, and immediately another arrow soars, the tip tearing at the flesh of her left ear. She ignores the blooming pain as she runs, already feeling the blood leaking down her jaw and onto her neck.
She wanted so much to collapse, the bad air and her tired legs slowing her down.
Another arrow whizzed by, barely missing her cheek as it fell flat to the ground.
Run run run run!
She repeated the mantra, frantically searching for those guards that Ivar had assigned, until coming to the realization that they were most likely dead at the hands of those men. This was obviously planned.
The bow and quiver felt heavy on her back, completely useless as she was not yet skilled to render a man dead, and she was much too fearful to do so. But she needed something, anything.
The forging tent comes into view, and she thinks she had surely left something lying about, anything that would help her if she came face to face with one of the warriors. She could nearly see it, the tarp slowly catching onto the flames that spread.
More arrows were shot, along with more shouts of frustration, enough to make her wonder how they haven't pierced her already in the way they so easily did to Freydis.
She turns round quickly to see the men at her heels before finally entering the tent. Her large hammer sat untouched on the wooden table top, seemingly ready to be used. She grabbed it tightly in her hand and sprinted out the tent just as it began to collapse in fire.
She runs into the surrounding trees, hoping that they'd lose her, but they probably knew the forests far better than she.
One of them was successful in reaching her, his long legs stomping behind her. He was big in stature and a nasty smile played on his lips. Large dirty hands reached for her, grabbing onto the front of her vest and jerking her forward. She screams, knowing his intentions were beyond just killing once he rips her vest open.
The hammer hanging lifeless in her grip suddenly felt hot in her hand, enough for her to muster all her strength to swing the it against him as if beating a mighty sword. Though uncoordinated, she struck him well enough across the head with all her might, a cry passing through her dried lips. Blood splattered over her face but she barely noticed, blinking the red from her burning eyes as he released her with a shove.
He stumbled back from the impact; stunned, eyes rolling to the back of his skull before falling onto his back. His blood spilled onto the grass, pieces of skin and grime hanging from the deep gash. Her hands trembled, but again, she raised her arms high above her head, bringing it down with a sickening crack, smashing his face into mush until he was completely unrecognizable.
She sways, falling hard on her knees, vomiting the contents of her stomach right beside her first kill.
She just killed a man.
Adrenaline pumped through her veins, her ears perking up at the sound of heavy feet crushing leaves and fallen branches. The others were close, and she had to escape, but the farther into the forest she ventured, the closer she was to the clearing where the battlefield was. She was running away from an opponent, only to fall into another trap.
Her breathing was erratic and her muscles tensed, but she pushed on, bloody hammer in hand. The faster she went the farther away she was from the attackers, slithering her way behind ancient trees and large shrubs, but it was as if they had just vanished. She could not hear them tracking her down anymore, but it wasn't enough to stop her from pushing further.
Move. Keep going. Faster.
Turning to look over her shoulder she trips over a large jagged stone, her legs finally giving out. With a yelp her body slams to the ground, twisting and rolling down the harsh forest floor. Twigs and leaves stuck into her hair as her world spun.
After what felt like an eternity, she finally comes to a stop with a pained grunt. She lands on her face, grass and dirt entering her mouth. She spat, turning her head to the side, groaning at the feel of her aching body. So much noise surrounded her, the clash of metal and the war cries of men. She closes her eyes, wheezing as she fights to breathe. Her throat burned still from breathing in the toxic fumes.
She was tired.
If the attackers wouldn't reach her, then something else would finish her off.
She began to drift off, eyes fluttering when an annoying pain bloomed on her cheek over and over. It was a pecking, like a needle trying to pierce through her skin. She cracked her eyes open, blinking to clear her vision.
It was a raven.
It's beady eyes were as dark as its feathers, cocking its head as if questioning her. It pecked her again, this time on her hand before flapping its wings erratically as if to take flight, but it never did. It just looked at her.
Artemis squints against the glare of the weak sun, now hiding behind the darkest of clouds. A storm was approaching. She glances back at the bird that remained very still by her side before rolling her tired body over at the scene before her.
She had landed on the small hill where she bid Ivar goodbye, and she was surrounded by some of the dead bodies of Ivar's archers.
With a startled kick to the body beside her, she shifts, moving to crawl away to be at a distance from the bodies. All were littered with arrows.
The bile rose again as her eyes scanned the field. It was nothing she could have imagined. Hundreds of bloody bodies strewn across the clearing, and hundreds more fighting with all their might in the name of their leader.
Her eyes memorized the images of the deformed bodies, some disemboweled, others dismembered. Limbs were hanging off the bodies of the wounded who screamed from the shocking pain.
The bile came out, and she gags, sweat clinging her hair to her brow like a second skin. She spat, wiping the back of her hand over her mouth, feeling the sting of cuts littering her cheeks from the sharp branches. The pain of her torn ear finally hit her full force, and she squeezed her eyes shut at the unusual pain. She brings her fingers to touch the wound, and what should have been the shell of her ear was gone. Horrified, she looks at the fresh blood coating her fingertips, swallowing thickly.
With a shuddering breath she struggles to ignore the pain, scanning her eyes once more over the field, searching for his chariot.
Could he be...dead?
Before she could fall back into the dirt against the prospect, she spots him, riding across the field like the king he knew he would be.
He was yelling orders at his men, stopping occasionally to lodge his axe into someone’s skull. Even from a distance she could see the blood that coated his face and the look of determination he had.
He wasn't afraid.
She was in absolute awe. Ivar looked incredible.
She would smile if she could, but all chances were taken away when Queen Lagertha, clear as day, makes her way towards Ivar's chariot, sword held high in hand.
The wheel of his chariot was stuck, and he couldn't get the mare to pull him out.
That was just enough time to make her kill.
"No, no, no," Artemis begins to cry, gripping her loose hair as she watches the scene unfold.
The raven, already forgotten, begins to flap its wings rapidly, cawing quite loudly. As soon as she stood on her shaky legs, the raven flew, perching itself on her shoulder. Its claws sunk into her flesh, though she hardly noticed. What she did notice was the raven was still cawing, like it was urging her to do something.
But what? All she had was her bow.
Oh.
She reaches for the bow strapped to her back, taking the splintered wood in her bloody hand. It should have snapped from the impact of her fall, but it strangely remained in one piece, along with some of her arrows. Quickly, she digs in the pocket of her trousers for the bowstring, her shaking hands attaching the stretchy fibers to the bow as she was taught.
Taking a deep breath, she removed an arrow from her quiver, locking into place. The raven pecked at her cheek gently and she knew what she had to do.
But could she do it?
Ivar ceased his desperation to move his chariot. For a moment he was smiling, realizing he had the upper hand in the battle anyway, but all would be for nothing if Lagertha got to him first.
The queen stabbed at the warriors in her way, going straight towards him ever so slowly, and it was like everything around them had disappeared. All Artemis could see was Ivar and Lagertha, nothing else.
And she only had one shot.
She raises the bow, pulling the string as far back as she could.
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
Steady your stance.
Pull the string.
Release the arrow.
She recites the lesson in her head.
Lagertha raises her sword above her head, ready to bring it down in one swift movement. She yells as she builds up momentum, and Ivar quickly turns in surprise, his instinct quick to react, raising his axe to clash against her sword. She falls back, and again, raises her sword, so close to penetrating his armor.
Shoot!
A voice boomed, whether it was around her or in her head, Artemis didn't know, but there was no hesitation. Her fingertips released the sting and the arrow went flying at a fierce velocity to its target, impaling itself all the way through the flesh of the queen's wrist.
She cries out both in anger and pain, staggering back again as she gritted her teeth harshly against the excruciating pain. Her fingers spread open to drop her sword, falling onto her knees as she weakly cradled her wrist.
Ivar wasted no time. He grabbed a hold of his axe, slithering down to the ground and pushing Lagertha on her back, twisting the arrow lodge in her flesh to keep her from attacking. She screams and flails, Ivar's weight taking a toll on her already weak body.
He places his large hand over her eyes tightly, using the force to smash her head onto the ground. He lowers himself closer before bringing down his axe against her throat, slicing her head cleanly off.
That was it. The war was his. Kattegat was his.
He collapses onto his back beside the dead woman, he chest heaving as warriors continue to fight around him.
Slowly he sits up, the head of Lagertha in a death grip as he dragged his tired body over to his chariot, mounting the seat. He raised her head in the air by the hair, the blood leaking over his arm and onto his armored chest.
"Surrender!" He booms, "Lagertha is dead! All hail your new king!"
The opposing warriors began to retreat, fleeing back into their camps. Ivar's warriors cheered, yelling their praises to the gods, until some noticed the smoke filling the atmosphere from the tree tops.
The camp! The camp! Yelled the warriors.
Ivar's smile fades. He drops his arm, turning to look over his shoulder at what the other men gazed at.
The trees on the hill top were indeed surrounded by smoke, but that was not what held his attention.
Artemis stood there, blood, dirt and soot covering her face, chest heaving and bow held in a death grip in her trembling hand. A raven sat comfortably on her shoulder, flapping its wings wildly.
She was a sight to behold. Ivar couldn't tear his eyes from her. She looked every bit a warrior, even now as she fell to her knees, staring at him just as intently.
And then he realizes.
She was the one. She shot the arrow.
Ivar had so many questions, his mouth opening like a fish out of water as if to shout them to her from where he was.
He barks at a passing warrior to move his chariot, and once it was loosened, he turns it to bring it closer to the cliff. They stare at each other for a while until Ivar slowly raises Lagertha's head in the air towards her, as if offering it to her as a prize.
She stares at the decapitated head before dragging her eyes over Ivar's armoured body, covered in the sticky blood of his enemies. She would have been fearful of such a sight once, but now, all she wanted to do was fall into his arms.
The raven cawed loudly, flapping its wings again to gain her attention, but when she turned her head to look at the creature, it flew off, disappearing into the smokey sky.
Suddenly in the midst of the smoke stood a figure, an old man in all black. He held a long wooden staff in his spindly fingers. His beard was gray, long and matted, and when Artemis finally settled her eyes to look into his, she was startled. One eye was beautiful, different shades of blue in its depths, but the other a gaping black hole with dried blood around the edges.
He smiles at her.
"Well done." His voice seemed to vibrate through her before disappearing into a cluster of cawing ravens that colored the skies black.
Forging A Heart (Ivar the Boneless) 28- New Beginnings
Pairings: Ivar x Artemis (OFC)
Word Count: 5716
Warnings: Sexual themes but nothing crazy.
AN: This is it! Thank you to those who have come along on this slow burning journey! Last chapter before the epilogue!
27- The Raven Queen
...
Ivar's tired eyes were glued to the horizon, the familiar sight of Kattegat in the far distance covered in a blanket of orange and yellow from the slow rising sun. It filled him with joy and suddenly, he felt a sense of urgency to reach its shores.
"You know, we won't reach the beach any faster by staring at it." Heahmund comments lazily with a yawn. He smiles at the look Ivar shoots him, a non threatening glance that the bishop had gotten use to.
"And still I wonder why I've kept you around this long." Ivar scowls, twisting his body to fit back into the very corner of the ship. The seasickness had subsided a while ago, but it was replaced with that returning feeling of uncertainty.
"It is God's will," Heahmund says, and Ivar almost mimicks him in his annoyance, hearing this particular claim from the bishop one too many times. He sucks his teeth, waving his hand about to dismiss the bishops comment. Apparently it was one that the Saxon man truly believed.
Ivar sighs, running a hand atop his smooth unbraided hair. He looks out towards the ships rocking gently beside his own; returning with less than when he left. Such was the sacrifice he made for his idiotic older brother, who promised to return the favor. Most of his remaining warriors were in deep sleep, something he wished he were doing, but his mind would allow him no rest.
One warrior was awake, Dafi, who sat so vigilant, so still in the cape of dawn while the others slept like the dead. Even now he felt the need to prove himself, keeping watch of the calming waves as if he'd have the power to control them if need be. The once trusted warrior nods to his King before fixing his gaze back towards the Northern Sea. Ivar keeps his eyes on him for a moment more, raking over the scar he'd given him before turning away, his rough fingers reaching up to trace the healing wound on his cheekbone. He grunts at the slight sting of it while his mind wandered back to Hedeby.
The taking of Hedeby was fairly easy, and quite successful thanks to Ivar and his men. Of course, the reigning Jarl and the few warriors he had rounded up had quite the fight in them. Their determination to keep the town was strong, but Bjorn's ambition was much stronger.
Within a few days, Bjorn had Hedeby in the palm of his hand and after 2 weeks, he had everything running smoothly with Ivar's intervention. The youngest Ragnarson had a better understanding of organizing the systems in which a kingdom was to run by. By the 3rd week, feasts were being thrown every night in celebration of their success, though Kattegat's King was in no mood to celebrate. He just wanted to get back home to his wife.
A terrible feeling nagged at him that had made him grow uneasy for the rest of his stay in the Danish city. In his desperation he invoked the gods, praying for the safety of his wife and his kingdom. There were moments in which he finally felt his mind was at peace, though he still had a strong desire to return home.
"I worry something might have happened." Ivar mutters loud enough for Heahmund to hear over the soft waves. The bishop grunts.
"What could have happened in 3 weeks?" He responds back with a shrug, crossing his arms and linking his ankles together.
"I don't know," Ivar says, turning back to look at the horizon, "But I've prayed to the gods that they are safe."
...
Asa had the habit of rising before anyone else did in the household, always ready to cause mischief. Giving herself a few moments to blink the sleep from her eyes, her gaze fell toward the raven perched right over the sleeping Queen. She stares at it for a while as she always did, its beady little eyes watching her movements. She rises from her little bed, padding over to the larger one where Artemis slept soundly. The child goes over to pet the mastiff and the cats scattered about the chamber before climbing up the furs to get on the bed.
Siggy was curled up on the empty side of the bed, waiting for her favorite human to return from wherever he had gone to. Asa pushes the feline away, crawling over to the sleeping form hiding under the sheets and placing a chubby hand against Artemis's cheek. She does this a few more times, poking her cheek until finally, she shifts.
"Asa," Artemis groans, cracking an eye open to get a blurry look at the smiling girl, "It's barely morning." The girl giggles, plopping down to lay beside her.
"I'm not tired," Asa whines, fiddling with the sheets until her new guardian finally pulls at them so that she may snuggle with her underneath, "I miss mother." The child says in a melancholic tone not missed by Artemis, who then immediately draws her closer and places a comforting kiss upon her brow.
"I know, sweetness," She whispers to her tiredly, "And I know your mother misses you very much." Asa says nothing, already distracting herself by playing with the Queen's messy hair that she held in her small fingers. A few minutes passed and it was enough for Artemis to try to succumb to the sleep that was drawing her back in.
"Artemis." Asa calls out to her, gently pulling at her hair to get her attention.
"Hmm?"
"Uncle Ivar must love you." To this, Artemis snaps her eyes open, now giving the child her undivided attention. She turns slightly, eyeing the girl who was looking directly at her.
"What?" Artemis asks dumbly.
"Uncle Ivar," Asa repeats, "He loves you." The girl usually had a baby talk to her, as a young child it was expected, but her words were articulated almost perfectly. It struck Artemis odd.
"What makes you say so, sweet girl?"
"He only smiles when you are near him." She lets out a tired laugh, moving a hand forward to push away Asa's fringe and getting a better look at her.
"Uncle Ivar is a menace," She teases, poking at her little nose, "But I love him just the same."
"Father doesn't love mother," The words tumble out the girl's lips so nonchalantly, and Artemis slightly jerks back in surprise, momentarily struggling to find a response to such a statement.
"Why do you say such things?"
"Because father does not look at mother the way Uncle Ivar looks at you." Artemis remains quiet for a few seconds, finding it hard to believe she was speaking with a 4 year old girl. She sighs, shifting her body so that she may look directly at the girl.
"Your father and mother care for each other deeply." She says, though she did not believe the words herself. She did not feel she was the one to be having this particular conversation with her.
"But not in the way you and uncle care for each other," Asa says, "Is that why they left me here? Because they don't love me either?"
"Do not say such nonsense," Artemis scolds her, gently holding onto her so that they may sit up against the pillows. She takes a breath, placing her arm over her tiny shoulders, resting her cheek atop the blonde tresses, "Do not ever think that your family does not love you. You are loved, do not think otherwise."
"Do you love me?" Asa turns, bringing those innocent blue eyes to look at her.
"Of course I do." She reassures her, squeezing her tight. If the child wanted to feel loved, then she would try her best to give it to her. She deserved that much. Asa seemed to accept the answer, her lips pulling into a grin revealing her missing teeth.
Artemis let's out a huff of laughter, laying her head back against the soft pillows in her weariness. It was then that the horns blasted over all of Kattegat, signaling the arrival of ships on their horizon.
The Queen sits up immediately, her heart beginning to thump, and it felt as if it would burst right through her chest. Asa scrambles down the bed and towards the window, Heracles already at her heels. She gets on her tippy toes, pulling the fur curtains back to reveal the ships in the distance bearing Kattegat's sigils.
"Uncle Ivar." She says through little puffs, struggling to keep herself up. Artemis rises from the bed, going over to the window to catch an quick glimpse before picking the child up against her hip and holding back the curtain to get a better look. The ships had the appearance of sailing through the rising sun, close enough to come into view, but still too far from shore. It was a welcoming sight nonetheless.
"Your Uncle Ivar is home." Artemis beams, all the sleep gone from her eyes as she gives Asa one last kiss to her brow before gently placing her down. "We have much to prepare." She tells the child, poking through the leather dividers to call upon Geirdis.
"A feast?" Asa asks, running over to her new little chest that was filled with dresses provided by her new caretaker.
"Mhm. We must welcome the King back home." Artemis tells her, glancing at the raven that now flapped its wings vigorously, "And thank the gods for his and your fathers success."
...
Not once had Ivar thought of gifting a woman flowers.
The idea always seemed ridiculous to him. In the days of his youth he'd often accompany his mother flower picking, as she so loved the wild flowers that bloomed in the spring, but he hated the pastime. He'd sit within the tall grass and pout, watching the clouds float by as his mother and her favored thrall set out to pick the most beautiful blossoms to decorate the hall with. Once they were picked there was limited time to admire their beauty before they easily wilted and died. He didn't appreciate the delicate blooms and their careful beauty.
He wished he could go back to those simple days, the fleeting memories passing through his mind as he eyed a few wild daisies growing by the sandy bank. They were nothing spectacular, white in color with a yellow center, simple blooms Kattegat had to offer.
Ivar grumbles, shuffling over slowly to yank them from the earth, brutally crushing the thin green stems between thick fingers. He ignores the noise surrounding him, of warriors disembarking the ships and greeting their loved ones, in favor of gazing at the daisies.
Of all the things he had gifted his wife, flowers were not among such items, but the tiny little plants reminded him of her gentle ways and soft beauty. So pathetic of a trinket, yet he had such a desire to see her hold delicate blossoms in her hands that so often crafted things for war.
He hears Heahmund behind him, already knowing the bishop had a comment or two to say about the flowers he held. Ivar whips around, flowers held tightly in his fist, watching with narrowed eyes as amusement filled the older man's eyes.
"You're growing soft." Was all he says to the King, a slight snort escaping his lips before his eyes settle past him. Ivar turns and sees Geirdis with Aria beside her, both inevitably waiting for the men of their interests. Ivar smirks.
"You grow soft as well," He says with a snort, "You're looking at my wife's maid?" He questions the bishop, a teasing tone already settling in his words.
"Who?"
"She's young," Ivar continues with a roll of his eyes, ignoring the feign ignorance that Heahmund had attempted, "But I could arrange something for you...if that is what you'd like."
"A conversation for a later time, My King." He says, gently pointing in front of them. Relief floods through Ivar's entire being, spotting Artemis walking down towards the path to the docks with Hvitserk, his little niece holding his older brother's hand as she stumbled into the sand to play. Ivar immediately notices the absence of the mastiff, and wondered what havoc the beast was causing in the hall, but still, he silently thanked his gods, watching his wife as if she'd disappear from his sight the moment he looked away.
"All that worrying was a waste of time." Heahmund points out, though his blue eyes were locked upon the young blonde girl, now gazing back at him with a timid smile.
"Shut up." Ivar mutters, leaving behind the lovestruck bishop in favor of his wife, gliding to her as quickly as he could manage. It was then that he realized the two guards trailing behind her, alongside Tordis. He frowns. An increase in protection meant something far worse had occurred.
"She is heavily guarded." Heahmund comments catching up with him, already aware of what Ivar was thinking.
"Then something did happen." He growls, his fist tightening around the flowers. He pauses to collect his thoughts, feeling as if he were sinking straight into the sand. He let's out a frustrated breath, ready to bark out and demand just what happened during his absence, but the heavy hand upon his shoulder stopped him, and when he sees Heahmund beside him, Ivar's lips form into a tight line.
"Don't," The Bishop says to him, "Not in front of the people."
Perhaps the Bishop was right.
Artemis was momentarily distracted, bending down to pick up Asa who had stumbled and fallen into the sand. She laughs along with his brother as she dusts off the sandy grains from the child's dress as best she could. Such simple actions could have made Ivar smile, to see tender moments he wished to have with his own children someday.
When Artemis finally looks up, her eyes magnetized to his and the grin that breaks out on her lips is blinding. It's enough to make his pulse quicken, and all he wants to do is get to her. He tightens his hand around his crutch, stabbing it deep into the sand with every painful step as he swallows against the dryness of his throat. Seeing her so genuinely happy to see him filled him with an unexplainable emotion, a heat that burned at his fingertips.
They meet half way. Ivar immediately grips her waist, pulling her close as he closes his eyes to savor the moment. She let's out a soft grunt at the pressure and then puffs out a laugh, wrapping her arms about his shoulders just as tightly while on the tips of her toes.
"I've missed you." Ivar mumbles into her hair, smelling the sweet scent of lavender that she seemed to favor. He doesn't let her speak, moving to grasp her chin tightly and planting a kiss over her parted lips. Artemis smiles, laughing against his lips before returning the gesture, molding her lips against his like the perfect puzzle piece.
"I've missed you too." She finally has the chance to mummer, the words hot over Ivar's soft lips, "All of Kattegat did." He hums, peppering her face with little pecks.
"Welcome home, my love." She says to him after his pecks of affection, breathing in his piney scent that was greatly missed. Ivar steps back, feeling a small presence between them. He glances down toward Asa, the girl already revealing her shy nature by hiding behind his wife's skirts, peeking her little head out.
"I have something for you, little one." He softly calls out to her. Artemis lifts the child up against her hip bringing her closer to her uncle. Ivar holds out between his fingers the daisy for her to take. Asa's blue eyes brighten, glancing at Ivar before grasping the small daisy in her chubby hand, eyes marveling the white petals.
"The first bloom of spring," He comments, placing the other daisies right above his wife's healed ear and into the dark sea of her hair, "Pretty flowers for the prettiest girls in Midgard." Artemis rolls her eyes but grins, bouncing the child on her hip to get a reaction from her.
"Thank you Uncle Ivar." Asa says with a yawn, placing her head back into the crook of her neck, bringing her hand that held the daisy to rest on her shoulder.
Ivar smiles triumphantly, chest puffing out in pride. He gently brings a finger to his niece's cheek, stroking her skin softly before turning his attention to Hvitserk, recieving a playful pat on the back from his older brother.
3 weeks felt endless, but he was glad to finally be home.
...
His hands were everywhere.
They grabbed at her, running up the side of her slim waist and up toward her shoulder, gently caressing her neck until finally burrowing into the depths of her hair. Their lips crashed against one another's in passionate kisses drowned out by the ongoing feast.
Ivar hovered over her, nestled as comfortably as he could between her legs, hiking up her pretty dress in the process. He ran a hand down the smooth expanse of her leg tucked tightly against his side in anticipation. He moved away from her lips in favor of kissing her neck, her skin leaving a sweet taste on his tongue making him moan out in delight.
She let's out a giggle, moving her hands to work the tie out of his hair, letting the strands loose as she buries her fingers deeper into his mane. He growls against her neck, a shiver running through him at the contact of her fingertips against his scalp. Lifting himself up, he gazes at her lidded eyes, a lazy smile forming on the very edges of her swollen lips.
"We're missing the feast." She says to him quietly, bringing a hand from his hair to trace a finger over his flushed face. Ivar snorts.
"You think I care for a silly feast when I finally have you in my arms? I'd much rather be with my wife."
"I wouldn't call it silly," She mutters with a smile, "I organized it just for you."
"And our people are enjoying their time there, while I'm enjoying my time here." He tells her with a wicked little grin, but it quickly falters when the music in the hall stops suddenly and the people began to speak in low whispers. Ivar turns his head at the obvious change in mood, looking behind him to see a raven enter their chambers, only to perch itself on its usual spot over the bed. The music slowly begins again and the hall quickly comes back to life as if nothing had happened.
Ivar blinks up at the creature.
"My love," He questions her, turning to see her more than calm demeanor, "What is the meaning of this?"
"It's a raven." Artemis gives a simple reply, the most obvious answer in the world.
"Yes," Ivar agrees, slowly inching his face closer to hers, "But what is it doing here?"
"It has made a home in our hall." She explains, trying her best to get his attention again, though he was too busy making eye contact with the silent bird. She pouts. "The people say it was sent from the gods," She finally gives in with a sigh, feeding into her husband's curiosity, "A symbol of protection." Ivar cocks his head slightly, her words holding his attention.
"Protection against what, exactly?" Artemis pursed her lips, moving to lean against her elbows. Suddenly she looked so tired, as if the weight of the world were on her shoulders.
"Why weigh your mind with troubles so soon? Tonight should be of celebration," She looks at him with the eyes of a child, no doubt his nieces doing, "You deserve a night of rest before settling your mind into Kattegat's affairs." Ivar grunts, giving the odd raven one last look, wondering when his hall became a barn to house all these animals. He shakes his head, pacifying his wife and giving her his undivided attention.
He chuckles when she beams at him, bringing her finger toward the small wound on his cheekbone. She taps it gently, a silent way of telling him to reveal its origin.
"A passing arrow." He answers quietly, watching her eyes trace over his face. They were not so lidded anymore, fully open and alert.
"Ivar-"
"Artemis." He cuts her off, mimicking her tone with a smile. She let's out a huff, moving both her hands down his leather covered chest before placing them upon his shoulders and linking her fingers behind his neck.
"You should have been more careful."
"A minor inconvenience during battle, baby bird." He snorts again, shaking his head before placing his lips against hers in much softer and tender kisses than before. He breathes in deeply, allowing her scent to overwhelm him as his kisses grew more hungry, and an ache began to bloom between his legs.
"How did it happen?" She struggles to say, pulling away from him so that they may both breathe. He groans, but obliges her.
"A warrior shot his arrow faster than I could turn my chariot," He begins to say, placing his brow atop hers, "It would have been far worse if Dafi hadn't pulled me down."
"Dafi saved you?" She brightens up, a smile breaking out on her face. Ivar hums his response, moving his rough hand from her leg, burrowing it under her dress to better caress her side.
"He is a good man," He admits, pinching at her waist and emiting a yelp from her.
"Reward him," She says, "Raise him back up the ranks. Let him marry Aria." Ivar chuckles.
"You should be rewarding me, dear wife, have I not earned it?" She intakes a sharp breath as Ivar's hand ventured higher up her body, caressing her side as he went. He slowly moves up toward her chest, the other steadying himself over her. His eyes never left hers, watching the way her lips part as she let's out little breaths. She stares back at him, her eyes now glazed in desire as he continues to move his fingers over her like he had mastered an instrument, working her up into a panting mess.
Removing her hands from behind his neck, she brings them to his stubbled cheeks, pulling him back down to firecely kiss him, moaning against his lips as she gently jerks her hips up against his in silent request. She breathes softly over his lips before replying.
"Then claim your prize."
...
The feast was still in motion, music lazily being played by drunk musicians. Mummered chatter could be heard in the distance by those who lingered; Hvitserk could be heard clear as day, and the scent of roasted meats still lingered about.
It was still nightfall when Artemis picks up the sound of movement. She blinks the haze from her eyes, having fallen into a deep sleep, so deep in fact, that she had no recollection of Asa being placed into her little bed on the other side of the chamber.
She stares at the sleeping child for a moment before shifting, only then noticing the emptiness beside her and Ivar moving about in the dying candle light. He sits at his desk, a cloth in his hand, and she slowly processes the blood splattered on his face and his hands. He works the cloth over a surface, over the sword she had gifted him. Heracles laid by his feet asleep, while Siggy watched his movements from atop the desk, sniffing at the stench that was permeating around the chamber. It was an endearing sight really, if it weren't for the blood.
The sword was drenched in it, yet Ivar did not seem bothered in the least. In quick movements he wipes the sword down from base to the very curved tip with the now bloodied cloth, the once white fabric stained nothing but red. He began humming something to himself, a low tune to help him work through the mess he had created.
Artemis slowly rises from her pillow, rubbing at her eyes to clear her vision. She pauses, focusing on the song he was humming and how he made it sound so beautiful despite the absence of words. The smell of iron finally reached her nose and she makes a face at the unpleasant smell. Moving the sheets she swings her legs over the edge of the bed before cautiously calling out to him.
"Ivar?" He turns his head slightly at her weary tone, his eyes not showing much of his emotions. He puts the cloth and sword down atop the desk before turning to extend a hand towards her.
"Come." He beckons to her softly, the gentleness in that one word a contradiction towards his actions. Still she goes to him, hesitating in grasping his bloody hand, but she does so anyway. Ivar immediately pulls her closer to him, covering her cream colored sleeping shift in red streaked handprints.
She says nothing for a while, her eyes glued to the sword. She could scarcely see her reflection, her face scattered upon its surface. Leaning against him she finally brings her eyes to his and finds him already gazing at her, his own searching for any hints of discomfort or fear, though he found none. She bends to grip the flowy hem of her nightgown, bringing the edge to his bloody cheeks and wiping the red away.
"You killed them." It was meant to be posed as a question though it came out more of a statement. She knew exactly what Ivar had done. He had enacted his punishment on the rebels in the best way he saw fit.
"I did." He replies quietly, moving a bloody finger up and down the curve of her lower back until finally, he let his hand rest there.
"All of them?"
"Mhm." Ivar grunts his reply, "Though one did beg for your forgiveness quite vocally. Hagen's apprentice."
"Arne." Artemis says his name sadly.
"That's the one, yes," Ivar agrees, shifting to look up at his wife, "I ran my blade through him, through every single one of them, and they all watched each other die." She remains silent, but she nods, accepting the fate that Ivar had delievered to them.
"I am sorry, my love." Ivar says to her, holding her as tightly as she would allow. Bewildered, she looks down at him, noting a sadness in his eyes that wasn't there before.
"What ever for?" She questions him.
"I was not there to protect you," He mumbles, burying his face into her shift, turning his cheek flat against the smooth plane of her abdomine.
"You were away, Ivar, this was out of your control." He growls low at her words. He loathed not being in control of a situation. "Besides," She continues, "I was unharmed, thanks to Hvitserk." Suddenly there was a cawing, and they both turned to look towards the sound. The forgotten raven stood in the center of their bed, wings flapping erratically until it finally stopped to stare at the both of them, a reminder.
"It seems I was protected all along." Artemis looks back down at Ivar, running a hand down his smooth hair. Ivar says nothing, letting her play with his locks as it did help to calm him. They stayed like this for a few moments in comfortable silence.
"Artemis." Ivar says her name, turning once again to look up at her.
"Mm?"
"I am sorry."
"Ivar, I don't understand."
"I feel as though I have failed you as a husband." He let's out a sigh, twisting his fingers into her shift.
"What are you talking about?"
"You have endured so much for me, and yet I've only hurt you in return." Ivar's tone was dropping lower and lower until she thought he might cry, his voice wavering. She removes his hands from her waist, getting on her knees to get a better look at him. He was not crying, but those blue eyes were glassy, a rare sight for him. He'd only ever gotten like that when mourning his mother or Sigurd.
"We have both endured hardships, my love." She says to him, taking his hands into her own. Some of the blood had dried on his skin, but it didn't bother her.
"I killed these people, that young boy, all for daring to hurt you, and I liked it," He tells her with downcast eyes, looking at their entwined fingers, "I liked it. I liked hearing them scream. I liked watching the blood pour from their bodies. And I liked knowing that the cause of their pain was by my hands." She swallows thickly, licking her lips while processing Ivar's dark words.
"I am sorry, my love," He says again, bringing their joined hands to his mouth to place kisses over her skin, "I am sorry that you must play mother to a child not of your blood, when I cannot even provide you with our own to nurture."
"Ivar-"
"I am sorry you were taken away from your home, and I am sorry for being cruel to you in our earliest days."
"My lo-"
"I am sorry for ever causing you pain with my words. For underestimating you and accusing you of ridiculous things." Ivar the vulnerable was overshadowing his usual self, and he finally let's the tears leak from his eyes, like little crystal's running down his chiseled cheeks. Artemis's heart breaks, her own eyes watering at the sight of her husband revealing his most vulnerable side of him. She removes one hand from his grip, placing it on his cheek to rub a falling tear with her thumb.
"I've treated you as everything but a Queen. The whole world can see your strength, your wit, your brilliance," Ivar closes his eyes, taking a deep breath to calm himself, "And I could have lost you so easily. I go away and in mere days anyone could have harmed you."
"All this danger you knew was to come remaining by my side, and yet you still stay. I over look that, using cruel words when I should have sang your praises." He opens his eyes, blinking the wet drops from his lashes, and finally, brings his gaze to her. Artemis was smiling through her own tears, and she let's out a laugh, not one of mockery, but one of joy. This was the apology he meant to give her some time ago. This was him pouring out his soul to her.
Moving both her hands towards the edges of his chair, she brings herself up and forward, angling her head right under his to gently press her lips to his. After all this time, their kisses always seemed like the first time.
They both ignore the wetness of their cheeks and noses, and Ivar brings a hand up to grip the side of her face, the other moving into her bed slept hair. Their breathing became erratic, their kisses growing hungrier and hungrier until suddenly, Ivar pulls his lips away from hers. He places his brow to hers, both trying to catch their breath, before he repeats himself again.
"I am sorry, my love. Forgive me." He looked lost, almost defeated. His shoulders sagged and it seemed he had been plagued with such thoughts for some time. She let's out a breath, reaching up again to steal a kiss from him. She offers him a smile, though he doesn't reciprocate it, only anxiously awaiting her next words.
"You are forgiven," She mutters to him softly, "You have been forgiven, my love. Despite everything that has happened, and despite what is to come. You have my heart." His eyes glossed over once more, letting the smallest hints of a smile poke through.
"And you have mine." He replied, reaching forward to engulf her in a tight embrace. She burrows her face into his neck with her arms going round his broad shoulders. She smiles against his skin at the way his fingers pressed against her sides, as if she might just suddenly disappear.
"What is it that you are afraid of, hmm?" She asks him, burrying her hands into his silky hair.
"I'm not afraid of anything." He mutters a half truth.
"Ivar." He sighs.
"I fear you leaving me." He says into her skin, repositioning his hold on her and if he could, he'd never let her go. He's expressed this fear once, right before their wedding. In his head she runs away from him, just as she had attempted to in Wessex. He fears being left alone with nothing but his thoughts. Such a fierce warrior he was, and yet his only fear was his woman leaving him.
"Kattegat is my home now," She tells him, pushing away from him and poking her finger onto his chest, "Anywhere you are is my home." Ivar blinks, licking his lips before nodding.
"I will not give up on you..." Artemis begins as Ivar grasps her hand.
"If you will not give up on me." He finishes, kissing her hands so tenderly, so unlike him in the face of his people. Ivar sighs, rubbing the wetness from his eyes with the back of his hand before smiling at her. That smile made Artemis swell with warmth, and all she could do was return it.
"I love you." He tells her in a tone that held the same strength when speaking to his warriors. He wanted her to know the truth behind those 3 simple words that he'd been guarding away, words he's never said to anyone.
"And I love you."
"To new beginnings?" He asks her, his dark brows raised, the smile daring not to fade from his lips.
Artemis smiles. She was ready for what ever may come their way.
Besides, who can claim to have given Ivar the Boneless a heart? Or rather, who can say their heart was stolen by him?
She could have pounced on him in all her joy, but instead she calmly nods, accepting the kisses Ivar gives her before replying against his lips.
AN: I swear, Ivar will show up in the next chapter 😅
1- Taken
...
The bread was stale but she took it eagerly out of the woman's hands. It had been days since the captives were fed, as their food supply was running low. The woman's large blue eyes stared deeply into hers, and she had a smile on her face, as if satisfied.
The woman pushes her long blonde hair behind her shoulder, wrapping herself tighter within her woolen shawl, offering another crust of bread.
"Helga." She says, pointing at herself. The girl swallows the piece of stale bread gratefully, looking up at the kind woman.
"Artemis."
Helga smiled brightly, showing her teeth before patting the top of the younger girl's head and walking back towards the wild man with the kohl lined eyes. They began to speak among themselves, and from the sounds of it, he was reprimanding her, but she merely swatted at his shoulder before snuggling against him with a smile.
She later learned that the wild man was her husband, and his name was Floki.
More days passed and Helga had grown a fondness for the girl as she was the only captive on their boat that was a woman. It continued in that way, Helga offering her small scraps, sometimes even singing a little tune. Other times, she taught her a few words and phrases in the northern tongue.
Quite liking the company of the older woman, Artemis does her best in learning the difficult language. It was a way to pass the time, and no one really stared at her quite so much as before. In turn, she attempts to teach Helga her own language, though the older woman struggled.
Weeks went by, and Artemis found herself accustomed to the sounds the Helga produced, the words not sounding so thick and harsh in her ears as it once did. With their time almost always spent together, the younger of the two was able to recognize simple conversation.
"We are almost home," Helga tells her one morning. The journey to the north had taken months, but to Artemis, it felt like years. She licks her dry lips and burrows as far as she could in her cloak. The closer north they sailed, the colder the winds were.
"Your home, not mine." She replies, bitterly, the foreign words feeling strange on her tongue. Helga ignored her tone, only offering a kind smile.
"Your pronunciations are better. With more practice you will be fluent in no time," Artemis snorts in response. She didn't really care for fluency, in fact, she didn't care about anything at all anymore, but she nods in response if it meant she'd be treated better.
Artemis scans her eyes over the horizon, watching as the clouds turned from a soft white to an angry gray.
"A storm comes." She tells Helga. The woman looks up, causing the others on the boat to notice the change in weather.
"Thor will protect us." Helga simply says, handing Artemis a small ration of salted meat.
"Not our god." Artemis mumbles, making sure she said the words right. She takes a bite of the salted meat while pointing towards the monks. Some slept in their weak state, while others hung their heads low, muttering their prayers. Artemis admired the strong faith the monks had. She felt her devotion could never match theirs.
Helga sighs, annoyed with the simple statement, and looks at Artemis with a stern expression. Helga was never angry.
"Thor will protect us." She says with finality in her tone. Artemis thought she would leave in her anger, but Helga chose to remain beside her, though it was as if her presence wasn't there anymore.
Artemis grumbles, looking towards the angry gray sky with pleading eyes.
If it is your will, Lord, drown us.
...
She didn't know how long she passed out for.
The last thing she remembered was rain, strong rain that encouraged the salty waves to crash down upon their ships with a ferocity she'd never seen before. She remembers hearing Bjorn shouting out orders, as his men huddled all the captives together into one congested mess. She panicked along with the others around her. The sound of the crashing waves was the last thing she rememebered before someone knocked her head against the mast.
Then it was total darkness.
"Is she dead?"
The male voice seemed to rattle inside her head. It was distant, yet so close that it felt like a buzzing in her ear. Despite the ache in her head, she could almost detect the hopeful tone in the voice. It took her a moment to force her eyes open, lurching forward to take in a shuddering breath. She blinks to clear her vision, fighting away the lightheadedness that came with her sudden movements.
She coughs, blinking her eyes a few more times. In her confusion, she didn't fight off the hands that suddenly gripped her cheeks.
"She's alive." Helga cries out, a blurry version of her bright smile coming into view. Floki was kneeling behind her, a clear frown forming on his lips. They were both soaked, as was everyone else on the boat. The storm had caused much damage and disarray. It was awfully quiet.
"Artemis, child, I told you, Thor would protect us." Artemis glances at Helga before looking up towards the clear skies. It was as if a storm never occurred.
Most of the men stood at the head of the boat looking out towards the sea with smiles despite what had happened. They must have been nearing their homeland.
Artemis turns to look at her surroundings, immediately noticing the remaining monks were fewer than before.
"Some willingly jumped off the ship," Helga begins to explain, "Others were washed away." The captive girl sniffs in response. She hadn't known any of the monks personally, but she was saddened by their untimely deaths. Perhaps they had made the right decision.
"Your god has no mercy." Artemis finally speaks, her words coated in sorrow. She struggles to shift her body, her wet cloak feeling like a heavy burden upon her shoulders.
"Thor had no need to protect them," Sneered Floki, "It is a wonder why he even spared you."
"Floki!" Helga scolded, shoving the man away before pushing Artemis's matted hair away from her face in a motherly fashion, "It doesn't matter now, you are safe," Helga was a kind woman, there was no denying it, but Artemis didn't want to be coddled by her. She had a growing resentment for them. She grunts when one of the young men on the boat moves forward to kneel between them, tying fresh rope around her already bruised wrists.
"You're a fighter, aren't you?" He mutters to her, flashing her a toothy grin. She focused on his smiling green eyes as she slowly dissected his words. She didn't think she was a fighter. She thought herself unlucky.
The young man reaches over to pinch her cheek, laughing when she scowls in return.
"Hvitserk, stop your teasing." Helga scolds him, slapping away his hand. The man, Hvitserk, shrugs, smiling again as he winks at Artemis before taking his place beside Bjorn at the head of the boat.
"It's ok child, you are safe." Helga begins to reassure her, ignoring the way her husband sucked his teeth at her gentle ministrations.
"She is meant to be a slave, Helga, you coddle her too much."
Artemis lowers her head in defeat, opting to stare at her bounded wrists. She sniffs again, feeling the tears well up at the rim of her eyes before releasing a shuddering breath.
