Forging A Heart (Ivar the Boneless)

13- Wessex

Her head hurt.

It was a pounding that rattled the side of her temple that seemed intune with her heartbeat.

She couldn't sleep.

Whenever she closed her tired eyes, Bjorn's bloody knife tortured her. It was one of the many more tragedies she knew was to come.

She would be lying to say her lack of sleep that night had nothing to do with the heathen nestled within the furs beside her. Like her, he did not rest easy. He was in pain, she could hear it in the small grunts mutterred in his sleep. She was almost sure that his brows were knitted in that look he couldn't hide on particular days when he struggled with pain.

Sighing internally, she removes herself from the comfort of the furs to light a candle, bringing it up to the bed. Ivar's broad back was suddenly illuminated, his muscles expanding with every breath he took.

She watches him for a while, wondering how the Ivar in the daytime was the same one that slept fitfully beside her. He looked harmless, curled up on his side with bedridden hair. He even pouted in his sleep. It was almost enough to make her smile, but she refrained from doing so.

His legs were exposed from under the fleece, heavily covered in thick trousers. Sometimes she wondered what his legs might look like underneath all that fabric. Thin and frail, perhaps, from lack of use. For obvious reasons, she was never to be near when he bathed or dressed, his legs being a vulnerability that he didn't want her or anyone else to see.

Artemis didn't blame him.

Carefully, and with subtle movement, she crosses her legs bringing the flame to hold between her hands. She supposed she had Ivar to thank for...whatever it is he did for her. He was being uncharacteristically kind, though she knew the only reason was his newfound use of her. She had much more to offer than the average slave, and now there were certain expectations of her.

She must serve this heathen army, the people who will continue to murder others that she was connected to through Christ. But even so, Ivar treated her in the best way he could. Somehow, he came to tolerate her.

She brings a hand to the golden cross hidden in her bodice, tugging at the string that kept it round her neck. It felt so much more significant to her now than it did before. Her traitorous thoughts caused her cheeks to blaze like a bad sunburn.

Her eyes lingered over him once more before sliding from the bed and onto the moist ground. She needed to pray and ease her mind, and perhaps she would receive an answer. She begins to recite.

"Our Father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name, thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth at it is in heaven,"

Ivar's eyes snap open at the intrusive words, hand already gripping the hilt of his dagger under his pillow. He looks out over his shoulder, immediately noticing the empty bed side before rolling his body over to the other side. Pushing the furs aside, he peers down over the edge of the bed to find his thrall on her knees in a Christian prayer.

He blinked his eyes to adjust to the dim light of the candle beside her, getting a better view of her muttering lips. It took him a minute to realize her babbling was in Greek.

"Give us this day, our daily bread, and-"

"What are you going on about?" Ivar interupts, sitting up on his elbows to rub the sleep from his eyes. Artemis looks up at him as if she were caught stealing something of value. He notices the dark hues under her eyes.

"Were you praying?" He asks in exaggerated disbelief. He's never seen her do that before.

"...Yes."