𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐦𝐧𝐞𝐝 | 𝐯𝐢𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬

ꜰᴊóʀɪʀ.

Ivar, son of Ragnar, was born accursed, his conception only the beginning of the omen foretold by his own mother, a sight ignored solely for selfish desire. The blight upon his family took root then and when he arrived into the world, a squalling mass of rose-coloured flesh, it was his tangled legs which only affirmed the end of Ragnar's tremendous legacy.

Under the coddling of his mother, he could feign unawareness to these facts: that he was the living embodiment of his father's shame and the sole way to diminish it was to pluck the weed from his pristine guise and leave it in the woods to die. One of the village boys had told him so. Unlike so many others, in his anger and vexation, he had been unafraid to tell Ivar what he refused to acknowledge all along and after hours of screaming at his mother to reveal it to him, she finally relented and confirmed it all. He had only been five; and now at the age of seven, the burden of this cognition was, however unconscious, a driving force of his very being.

Despite being subjected to his mother's constant cosset, it was there where he extinguished anything akin to indulgence. He did not need friends nor toys nor love for he had tried and failed so far to obtain them. He was too much of an eyesore to be welcomed willingly into the village, too anomalous, too un-Viking, the only thing keeping him alive the title of 'Prince' and the blood of Ragnar Lothbrok coursing through his veins. Although everyone knew of his kin's true feelings of his birth even if they were never spoken of.

After leaving Ivar in the woods, Ragnar sought sanctum in nature, always wandering, always seeking the Gods for the purpose he lost, and without so much as a note of departure, he left his family to tend to Kattegat alone while he ventured and hid away in his homeland. The Lothbrok house could not withstand its fate without its maker. They were divided by blame. His mother, Aslaug, daughter of the great hero Sigurd and famed shieldmaiden Brynhildr, took to ruling in Ragnar's stead, tending to the people and aiding to build Kattegat into a strong trading hold. She believed too fiercely in her husband's return and continued to believe it to this day, for it was her confidence in him which made her fierce enough to govern.

Ragnar's second wife, however, was not so forgiving.

Þóra Borgarhjǫrtr was a beauty—angelic, otherworldly, as though she were not meant to walk the Earth and instead inhabit the pages of the sagas—milk-like skin and haunting blue eyes with hair as white as silk. She was the most arresting of all of Ragnar's wives, the one who easily took on the more traditional roles, and although it was said that Ragnar loved her the same as the others, it was clear to those who observed them that she was merely but a prize of his conquerings. Just another trophy to put on the shelf alongside the Lindworm's head even if, for a while, she was fetching enough to sit beside him at the banquet table. And Ragnar, as fickle as he was, grew bored with her as soon as he realised she was nothing more than a bride.

They had two twin sons together, Eirikr and Agnar, who, like their mother, were as beautiful as they were terrifying; though as soon as Þóra gave birth to them, her husband had already turned his gaze towards another. That other being Aslaug, who, unlike Þóra, was known as a sacred seer and revelled for her knowledge in clairvoyance. It was the end for her, she knew it, and so when Ragnar requested a divorce, there was nothing for her to do but concede however much she loathed it.