When Ivar meets a girl with flaming red hair and eyes that cannot see, he begins to wonder how a sightless girl can see so much beauty in the world... And in him.
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As they rode into battle, thoughts of Ailbe continued to cloud Ivar's mind. Her beautiful smile, her melodic laugh. Everything that made him love her.
She was this eternal sun and sometimes it felt like no amount of darkness could ever put out her light. Knowing that he was fighting for her, that he could soon return to her, urged him on further. Even if she hated conflict, he knew the truth of the situation. These Saxons would try to kill all their people if they didn't fight. And he did not intend to let her die.
"I wish you didn't have to fight sometimes." She sighed, laying back in the grass. "Even if you are the strongest, I still worry about you."
Ivar laughed a little, looking back over at her. "You don't need to worry about me."
"I know... But I can't help it." She answered. "Couldn't you just stay here with me?"
"I could..." He grinned, kissing her gently. "But that would leave my brother in charge, and I don't exactly trust him with that."
"Wasn't it Hvitserk who brought you to us?" She smiled gently.
"Yes, but we were trying to get to England." Ivar chuckled at her words, making her smile brighten.
"Some mistakes are worth making, no? Otherwise how would you have ever met me?" She kissed him again, sitting up to do so with the golden sun making her hair shine with an iridescent glow.
"But I have you now." He told her, taking her hand in his gently. "I don't need anymore mistakes because I don't need anyone else."
As his chariot sped on in the early morning light, and the call of warriors grew, Ivar could feel his lust for blood multiply and grow.
Rain poured down over the hillsides and drenched the ground with mud. The warriors all marched on, singing songs of their homes and bashing axes against shields. They were ready. This English army could not defeat them, not with the famed Ivar The Boneless as their leader.
Ivar did all he could to push thoughts of Ailbe from his mind, to clear his head do that he could think without distraction. But it was no use. Everywhere he looked he could see her.
"You'd think a King would have his pick of women, instead of settling for a little old blind girl like myself." Ailbe teased.
"A cripple." He corrected bitterly. But his tone did nothing to deter her gentle nature. Before she could rebut, he spoke again. "And stop calling yourself that." He grumbled out. "You are more than that."
"I will when you stop calling yourself a cripple, my love." She answered, giving him a quick kiss. "Stop being so grumpy, Ivar."
"I'm not grumpy." He argued.
"Tell that to your voice, hm?" She chuckled.
He stayed silent for a moment, an agitated silence. Ailbe stood to leave with a heavy sigh, as though wishing she could do something to make him happy. She had no idea that her very presence did just that. As she stood, Ivar tugged her arm and she fell into his lap with a yelp.
"Don't leave me." He mumbled.
When the army reached the Saxon camp, they were ready for blood. They were prepared to fight, especially Ivar. With a roar, the gates fell down and in charged the army.
But Ivar knew something was wrong before the gates even fell.
There was no struggle. No warriors. Not even a sound. The entire camp was silent and still.
"I'll miss you." She whispered quietly as Ivar pulled on his armour.
He was quiet for a moment before his hand moved to his neck. His necklace of Mjolnir hung around it as it had done since he was a small child. Floki had made it for him himself.
"Give me your hand." He told her, to which she complied. The feeling of the necklace in her hand made a confused look spread across her features. She'd felt it many times before, so new instantly what it was.
"Ivar I-"
"Hold onto it for me, while I'm gone."
"It's empty!" A warrior yelled from within the camp. But, of course, Ivar already knew that. It didn't exactly take a genius to figure it out. Oh how he was sick of people. Or most people, at least.
"If the camp is empty then where are the Saxons?" Hvitserk asked the next most obvious question.
Before he could make a snarly reply about how he was not in fact the seer, Ivar was cut off by a blood curdling scream. A scream that echoed through the moores and hillsides of England and permeated every soul of the army.
