Ivar the Boneless Imagines

Away With the Loneliness I

How amazing a night in Kattegat it was.

There was a soft, chill wind carrying on the stands of your hair as you sat on the pier. Moonlight hours illuminated neverending deep blue casting out between the fjord. The salinity of the sea carried deep in your button like nose as you sat with your hands tight against your sides, swinging your legs out and then in with the lapse of the waters.

It was easier to be here than the sides of Kattegat's pier where warm beach fires kept the inhabitants of the seaport village warm. You were another of the same, dragging your fur across your shoulders with no other shoulder to lean on. That's after all, what this festival was all about: fertility and sweet flowers offered to the men and women that intended after one another.

"Are you trying to spoil the evening?" Beside you, you realize that your best friend has come to stand beside you. His crutch steadies his body.

"Why would I mean to do that, Ivar?"

Ivar stumbles to a turn, motioning his hand outwards to the bonfire. "I do not see you there. You're moping on the pier. I wonder why I would say such a thing if not."

Your jaw knits, "The fires are for couples, Ivar. No one brought me a pretty flower. You should go enjoy yourself with Freydis. You brought her those fine flowers, didn't you?"

Ivar looks down upon you as you bring your warm fur around your shoulders, fingers notched with pain of the cold. "So." He says as if its nothing.

"It means you intend on marrying her." You smile to yourself, looking down to your swaying feet. His tongue strokes the outfacing side of his teeth with a lack for an answer to your statement. It is as good as an admittance.

"No one ever gives me flowers for the festival because they are so frightened by Ivar the Boneless." You snort, puffing up your shoulders and acting as if you are the muscled male that stands just to the left of you. Your shoulders lose that tense quality. "Once you marry, perhaps a brave Viking will be brave enough to sweep me off my feet just like Freydis."

You gaze beyond your friend to where she was, slightly leaning to the side with beautiful flowers tucked into her pale, blonde hair. She was the picture perfect Norse woman. Pale blonde hair, a slender frame and fit to bare children with those round hips. She would be perfect for him... if only...

You clear your throat. "Go, she's waiting for you!" You push him.

"Don't tell me what to do!" He barks– but eventually, complies. You sit out upon the pier, eyes high in the sky. Ivar makes his way back to the area where Hvitserk sits by Freydis, peeling his apple with a knife. He takes a bite when Ivar shoves his shoulders to get his attention. Hvitserk flicks his chin up as if offended that Ivar would attack him while his thumb held a knife.

"Go give (Y/N) some flowers."

Hvitserk gapes at his younger brother. "Wha... what?" He seems to stutter, looking to where an exhale left your shoulders slacking.

"You see she is all alone." Ivar says quickly, letting his hand wander off to Freydis's. She sits quietly as Ivar turns to her, bringing her hand up to his lips for a sole kiss. "I used to sit with her. Now she has no one."

Releasing Freydis's hands, he reaches for her bundle of flowers. He pulls of it a sole white flower and presents it to his older brother. "Take it to her."

A question or an order, it doesn't matter. Hvitserk takes the little flower and bobs off of his stone to head out towards the pier where you sat. Ivar watches as you turn, gazing up to Hvitserk's posed frame bending down to hand you the flower. Your fingers were at your chest... but then, at long last you take the flower. His stomach feels suddenly squeamish. The brilliant moonlight illuminates the glee smashed over your features, raising to start down the pier. Your hands slip around his. Hvitserk's other hand rests upon the pommel of his sword.

"Ivar sent you?" He hears as you pass him.

"He might have given me a push." Hvitserk looks down, a small laugh sliding out of his lips. "But maybe the rest is all me."

He only meant for Hvitserk to keep you company that night.

What resulted, even he couldn't guess how it developed. The intimacy between Hvitserk and you built slowly... it made his skin itch to see how you sat beside him, filling his ale and laughing with your head upon his shoulder. It was his wedding day, and he should have been proud to marry Freydis, but it was smeared. You were quickly fixing his long braids, making sure they were braided effortlessly down his back in a delicate weave.

"There we go." You sidestep Ivar in order to go find his sword, presenting it to him. He takes it from your hand and slides it into his belt. You step away from Ivar as if he was nothing to primp. The tease of your palm smoothing over your skirts, straightening out over your curves.

"What is it between Hvitserk and you?" Ivar asks.

"Why is it always something bad with me, hm?" You say. Your spin out on your toes, your skirts twirling as you bent over, stomping your feet with little girlish laughs. You stop and paw his shoulder playfully. His bitten worn lips part when you cut him off altogether, bopping him playfully with your knuckles.

"Hvitserk has proposed!"

H... how? It was just a few weeks ago that he was offering Hvitserk flowers to take to you! Thinking nothing but the possibility of Hvitserk tearing you from his arms, Ivar's breath falls hard and heavy in his chest. The bridge of his nose scrunches up with harsh tension. You spin around to face him, taking his hands in yours.

"Oh, Ivar! Thank you for sending him to me. I never knew how good it would be to belong to him." You laugh. His heart feels as if its swollen so tightly to the spaces of his chest. Even his snake like tongue has wrought itself in constrictive knots. It unables him from being as harsh as he wishes to be. He turns his head to the side, unable to say anything more.

"Hvitserk doesn't marry. He has toys." His teeth gnit tight.

You cut him off with a sugar sweet smile. "It will be a small wedding next Freyja's day. If you and Freydis aren't taken in mead and love making, you can come too. Now I'll see you at your wedding." You lean up to kiss his forehead, bouncing off the same way you came in: happy. Just outside of the tent, Hvitserk was waiting for you. Your hand slipped through the space of his elbow.

"How did he take it?" Hvitserk asks.

"I think it went over well."

Needless to say, you both exchange a look when the shrill howl slips from Ivar's milky white tent. You always knew he wanted to control everything! Hvitserk was taking the decision out of his fingertips.