Ivar the Boneless Imagines

Broken Pieces

You took the broken pieces to your workshop. The light of a candle illuminated your work in creating a new, beautiful piece with countless sutures of gold holding together a piece of pottery.

"Shouldn't you be asleep?" A voice called out from darkened depths of the room. You knew who it was.

"I can't sleep. You inspire me. Sometimes to make things, sometimes to break things. Today it is to make things." You murmured, a small tool in your hand helping you line your work. A loud shifting shook you from the last large piece, unable to deny the pleasure of looking at him. His hair was unkept and wild as if it had been combed over to the side. You swallowed forcefully, looking back to your dish in a pouty silence.

"Why should I have asked you if I could raid with father?" Ivar says finally. Maybe he's right. He didn't need to ask you, but you wish he had.

"We've never just been friends Ivar." You sigh, sliding your brush across the crumbling edge. You set the tool down with a crack on the table, setting your hand to your forehead. "...and your mother said you will die."

There's a sudden warmth at your thigh. Ivar scales the chair to stand to the best of his ability, muscles quivering.

"I'm not going to die."

A change from earlier in which he could care less if he died, or what you had to say to it. It still doesn't convince you. Your lips part as he reclines with one arm over the neck of your chair.

"But what if you do?" You ask. "What will I do then without you? Father said—"

Ivar heaves a heavy breath, reaching his hand to cup your cheek. He turns your face up to his glove clad hands. "Why is it you have to listen to everyone other than me?"

Your cheeks felt hot. It was what Aslaug said, what your father said... but never what Ivar said. You clasp your hands over his as he goes on.

"Stop complicating things. I will go and then I will be back for you." He says. Your stomach flipped haughtily in your stomach.

"As your woman?" You say.

"If that is what you want."