Ivar the Boneless Imagines

Lost Opportunities II

The messengers reported a happy marriage.

A farmer with honey coloured hair with a thin wave, pinned back on top of his head to keep it in place as he worked outside. When he spun you around in the fields of his crop, his green eyes danced like blades of grass under the effects of a good fruitful season.

His name was Sweyn.

He farmed fruits and vegetables. He scarcely joined in on raiding unless asked.

Many messengers reported back to him over the following year. Each time his heart would swell in the fear that one day– you would fall with child. One day that would be his reality. The wheels of his chariot bounce over the smoothness of the dirt and rock toward the bit of land he had given you in your bridal agreement. Ivar fists the reins around his horse, slapping his horse onward.

"King Ivar!"

"He's come!"

The strange men filter from the streets into their homes as if to be undetected. If Ivar were only a few years earlier, he might have considered addressing them for their love. Not before the revelation that shook his world– where you had gone, he could not account for until now. He lived vicariously through the stories of messengers.

You enjoyed being swept off your feet by a man that could twirl you like the queen you were. On two proper feet. Just like the man was doing now, whispering soft nothings in your ear when you popped down from his arms. Then it's almost like realization when you come to the large wooden gates separating your home from the land you used for herding the fluffy sheep.

"(Y/N)... (Y/N) get inside!"

Ivar overhears the chaos as he approaches the place in question. He so briefly hears the shrill argument when he turns the corner, tightening his grip on the reins of his horses.

"Are you crazy? He will kill you. You go inside."

He tightens his reins, lifting up his head with the smooth current of air ghosting his sharp features. The marching soldiers behind him urge Sweyn's attention out to the reality of the situation. With scarce allies, much less an army, he would die like a dog. Sweyn clicks his tongue upon the top of his mouth to call your dog to your side before flitting inside. With the leather collar, you hold him steady as he roars fearlessly by your side.

"Your husband has run off! Should we bring him back, hm?" Ivar comes to a stop within your home, using his crutch to lower himself to the ground. He examines the dog by your side– an elkhound.

"He won't bother us. Vígi still." You tell him, bringing your other hand about to stroke the head of your great beast. He still yet nips.

"A bithundr, isn't he?" Ivar approaches with his other hand loosely upon the head of his axe.

"You've seen worse than a defensive dog. Of course he is snappish, you've marched an army to our home." The men flank your home as proof of that. You had been so foolish as to go about business plainly expecting that the army marching your way was simply to see the earl.

"The dog makes a far better husband at least." Ivar can't help but to say.

What man would leave his wife undefended. Ivar looks toward your few head of cattle, acknowledging freely grazing horses. Your scarce few goats are pinned up and its evident to Ivar that you aren't nearly as well kept as he could have kept you.

"Who are you to talk, the god Ivar?" You ask and for your words, he cringes looking aside. His nostrils flair, exhaling forcefully over the prickles of his moustache.

"You were far better kept with me." Ivar sighs, looking down to Vígi. "Why don't you come home?"

So there it was. He wanted to take you home to Kattegat. To live and be the queen that he never truly wanted. If he had wanted you, you would have been the one he was so obsessed with. The still in his eyes when he looked at Freydis. The way he gingerly kissed her knuckles and motioned her to take her rightful seat while pushing you out of your throne... right, he really wanted you.