Ivar the Boneless Imagines

kis-kis

❛ pairing | ivar x reader

❛ type | drabble of domestic floof

❛ summary | the day after his wedding, ivar presents his morgengifu to his wife

❛ warnings | intense floof, domestic life, marriage

❛ sy's notes | ketlinger: a kitten, kis-kis: kitty-kitty, freyjur: lady (in regards to comparing his wife to freyja), various norse names for cats. This is an apology fic for missing wednesday of an ancient request.

There were better ideas than carrying a bucket of yew wood in his arm. The other, taken with his crutch, pierced holes into the wall. His arm was tight around the brass fittings, tight on an iron hoop. The night after his wedding meant he felt like a new man. Whitehair patted his shoulder as if he'd made some miraculous task. No one had missed the thralls rushing out a soiled wool cover that morning.

He stops in the front of his great hall at the steps of his throne. You were not where you should have been-- on your throne. Instead, you speak with his people. Your hands tightly guarded your cup of mead, flowing freely for another day of festivities following the wedding.

"My sweet," he calls out to you.

You shift around, nursing your drink. Your smile grows, seeing him with such a great basket. After a small request to be forgiven, for your king and husband was sooo needy, you came to his side.

"And what is this?" You ask, leaning over into the basket. There you find thick boned kittens, crawling over one another. In the ruckus of the hall, you hadn't heard their frantic mewling.

"Ketlinger," you gasp, pulling the basket from his fingers. You pluck one up-- realizing these fluffy kittens were tiny and needy. Desperate to be set free from the tall basket. Ivar leans back to his guards, motioning for them to close the doors. One after another of these furred, well tufted kitties were pulled out. One, then another, and another-- until you were with four adorable kittens.

"It's time for your morgengifu," Ivar relaxed at the steps of his throne. He tugs a kitten closer by its tails, jovially making note that the cat was raising guest-spears when her little legs flicked into the air. "I thought you'd like them."

"We agreed my morgengifu would be land," you sit beside him, rubbing a black cat's little tummy. "But this is much better, isn't it kis-kis?"

"You will have both. And jewelry! To mark this occasion."

"This is more than I could ask for," you remark. Ivar's hand leaves the little kitten who would later be called bleyða-- as she was soft and cowardly from his touch. "I'll call you... kolr!"

"Creative." Ivar remarks, settling his arm over your shoulder to bring you in. The last of the kittens were Bygul and Mjaldr, for their respective colours. The women gathered tended to the kittens-- while the men of your family found the morgengifu acceptable. Otherwise, they would have been in arms.

He places a small kiss upon the side of your head, just below the headpiece that composes of your crown. With a whisper, he speaks sweetly. "You are more than I could ask the gods for, freyjur."

"Oh, he flatters me now." You whisper with bright admiration for his love-poetry. Surely as his mother was a follower of Freyja, she had been made proud by him. "I love them, Ivar. They will bless us. But I am not sure they will be able to lead my chariot."

He leans down to the kitten on your lap, nipping and biting your fingertip. He's full of energy, wild and unashamed.

"No," he muses. "I suppose not. Perhaps they can keep you busy from chasing me into England."

"That was one time, my love."

Ivar stares out into his people, rejoicing from the new marriage. A no, then. Perhaps a child would better serve to keep you busy.