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Love was what it was– and for you, it was ever complicated. You never professed to be a witty lover. After all you only knew so much about what it was to be one. What you did know was how to be a loyal friend. For Whitehair and you, you thought it would be all you needed. Your mother ran a comb through your long hair, preparing you for the wedding that was shortly to come. Your father spent a great deal of coin on this despite Ivar's hand over the whole thing. Both of them had been fussing over this for too long.
A simplistic gold crown sat upon your head with beautiful leaf. Initially you were shy of it but as your mother placed it on your head you felt a sense of pride washing over. It was a beautiful circlet upon your head that your mother once wore as well.
"It's beautiful." She looks you over. "I only wish it was for Ivar instead of that old fool. He'll die before I do!"
"Mother." You smile delicately in response. "He's a good man."
"The voice of wisdom, hm?"
Thump, thump, thump, thump!
"That must be him." Your mother sighs, dropping the last of preparations to your hair. You look down into the basin of water, inspecting carefully applied make up.
"She is ready?" Ivar's soft voice came from the doorway. There he stood in a dark tunic, hand tight on his crutch. You fuss momentarily over the dress that so haphazardly drapes over the floor. That was something you never thought you'd experience. A proper dress that would sweep over the floor instead of being tied up.
"I'm ready." You whisper, turning your head away. Your long hair sweeps over the curve of your ass. As you turn to face Ivar, you can't help but notice his long stare. You think it might be the dress. It was tailored unfamiliarly close to your body for this wedding. Or perhaps you have too much gold on and–
"You look beautiful. Almost like Freyja." He moistens his lips as he draws near. You hold your crutch tight when he finally made it in front of you. The king leans in, lips grazing your soft forehead.
"You're perfumed." His breath puffs across your forehead as he leans forward, his breath tickle the side of your face at the end of it all. "Rose hips?"
"Mhm." You say. "They're plentiful at home."
He lingers a moment longer, close enough that your chest grazes his. You clear your throat, raising your hand up to his chest, gently stroking his chest gently.
"I– Whitehair is likely waiting for us." You flutter your lightly kohl lined eyes at him.
"Yes." He doesn't move.
He raises his hand up to your delicate jawline, guiding you by your chin to look at him. He tilts his head down, nose lightly caressing yours. All thoughts stop as his cracked lips ease up against yours. Ivar turns his head, snatching the first of your kisses away. Before his lips could set a deeper kiss upon yours, you turn your face away. He reaches out to grasp your wrist with his, and so, you snap the hold on your wrist. A small simper of a smile pulls upon your lips.
