❛ request | Vampire Ivar in the vein of Johnny Lingo. He's watched the girl for a long time and is sad with how people treat her horribly. When it's time to pick a bride, he offers generously for her because he knows she's worth the world. Once they're married and she gets used to being in a positive environment, she blossoms outwardly and shows how beautiful she is inside.
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"(Y/N)!" your father yells. "Come here!"
Your father has never been the kindest man.
"I said to come here! Now!"
To be fair, he doesn't understand the ways of raising a girl like you. That was something you learned, raising the many children that your father had sired. You hold a child on your hip as you approach him.
"Did I say to bring that bastard?" he sneers. "Put him back in bed! Can't do anything right."
He clusters around the fire with your grown half-brothers. All grown and happy with their boots propped up against the rocks that cluster the firepit. You walk back to a poorly fashioned crib, settling the blanket back up under his stomach.
"Hurry the fuck up, you think the king has time to–"
"I can wait," soothes another voice.
King Ivar the Boneless. You recognize that smooth and gentle voice anywhere from his speeches in the great hall. And from that moment he took your hand for a kiss following the death of the seer. Your eyes follow his as you stop behind the old oak chair, flushing as you look down to his shoulder.
"I didn't know kings were patient." Remarks your oldest of brothers. He takes your hand from his shoulder and walks you in front of him. Your hands latch together in front of you.
"I can be."
"He should be if he wants one of mine!" The old farmer says, "She's not much to look at. But she has my line. Do you know how many sons I have? She has one there! A bastard. Don't even know his name."
Your father reclines back in his chair, and your palms sweat, suddenly unsure of what to say next. You're up for market like a cow. It... That was all it was. You would be sold now that the boys were grown. The king clears his throat.
"I see." Ivar says, "How much is her bridal price?"
"Bridal price? She's a thrall! Born by my slave Astrid. Six ounces of silver for her since she's been broken in."
"She's your daughter." Ivar points out. "And the boy?"
"Him? He's not up for sale."
The king sits back as if he's heard something he can't quite believe. His firm jaws spread apart, and you realize the rumours are all true, he's no human. Those strong jaws don't belong to any human that you had ever met.
