Forging A Heart (Ivar the Boneless)

18- Protection

"Are you afraid of me?" He asks.

"...Should I be?"

"You once were."

"I was. You were an ass." Ivar chuckles.

"And now?"

"And now it is you who looks afraid." Artemis smiles, shifting under the furs. He sucks his teeth.

"I do not."

"But you are nervous."

"Are you not?" He asks, tugging her arm when she tried to leave the bed. She giggles in his warm embrace, laying her chin on his chest as she brings her eyes to his.

"I am," She says, "But I trust you."
...

Ivar grunts as he hobbled his way toward the church. He barely paid any mind to the meeting, thoughts of the night before circulating in his mind. Heat creeped up towards his neck and onto his chiseled cheeks.

He hoped Hvitserk paid enough attention to explain whatever the meeting was about.

Ivar felt like a child, worse, he felt like Arvid, the hopeless dope. But while Arvid displayed his hopeless romanticism, Ivar buried his true feelings, only displaying, well, his usual self. Cranky, bitter, and dissatisfied. Ivar could only hope that he wouldnt mess it up.

He couldn't mess it up.

The harshness of his braces scraped along the stone floors of the church. He could never be inconspicuous like he wanted, but not even he could disturb her from her prayers. The light shinning through the crucifix shaped windows casted over her, giving her an ethereal appearance.

Ivar blinks, biting his lips before grunting again.

"Must you do that?" He calls out to her, his voice palpitating against stone walls. The response was immediate.

"Yes. Must you always interrupt?"

"Yes," Ivar snorts, "Is your cross not enough?" Artemis flutters her eyes open, craning her head slightly to flash Ivar an annoyed expression. He never forbade her from praying to who ever she was praying to, but he didn't prefer it. He'd rather have her on her knees for him.

Before he could conjure up more inappropriate thoughts like a prepubescent boy, she interrupts him.

"You are ridiculous." Artemis stands, dusting off her skirts before making a sign of the cross.

"And you are like the bishop, always in prayer." Ivar grumbles, sending away the guards and sinking himself down onto the alter steps behind her to rest his aching legs. He twisted round to gaze at her "What are you even praying for, hmm?"

"Forgiveness." She says without hesitation.

"What for?"

"Fornication." She mutters, already knowing Ivar could not make sense of the word.

"What?"

"For mounting a heathen." She says, plopping down again on her knees beside him.

Ivar narrows his eyes, a pout ready to form as pink dusted over his cheekbones. He was more timid and introverted about such things than she was, for obvious reasons. He knew she'd heard the stories back in Kattegat, the rumors of his impotence. But they were just stories concocted to shame him, as he had been shamed the entirety of his life.

Perhaps she regretted it.

He prepared his words, fiery and dangerous on the very tip of his tongue in retaliation but cut himself short when she broke out into a grin.