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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"ik hate Ailbe." The young Celt tried, her head resting back against the pillow. "ak hit Ailbe."
"ek heit." Ivar corrected, the vague hints of a smile spread across his features.
"This is so hard!" She groaned, rolling over to smother her head in the pillow.
"It's not that hard." Ivar looked down at her with a smirk. "A éasca i ndáiríre." He spoke in her language. (it's really easy)
"Show off." She pouted, making him chuckle at her response.
"Ek heit." He repeated, making her groan again.
"Ek heit." She sighed.
"See, it's not that hard."
Ailbe couldn't contain the tears any longer. Now that her cell was empty, her body beaten and bruised beyond recognition, she felt such waves of vast emotions drag her down.
She could not see light or joy or beauty in that moment. She saw only darkness and misery. Her pain was not just physical, but emotional as well. Her heart welled with such agony.
Something had broken within her after many days of torture. For moments she feared that she simply was not strong enough to continue. All she wanted was to go home, to return to Ivar instead of being locked away in darkness.
She had not seen the sun in so long that she had scarcely been able to keep track of time. Days had blended together in an eternal emptiness. Where she had once been overwhelmed by the beauty of life, her heart had now become a bottomless pit of despair from which she could not crawl back out again.
She wanted desperately to get out, to leave, but she couldn't. She couldn't do anything and that was half the agony. And worst of all, she was terrified.
The young princess had not grown up a warrior. She had not the strength nor fortitude to withstand this. She'd grown up a healer, and had never expected to live through such torment. She was not made of stone with an unbreakable iron exterior. She had a gentle heart and, as we all know, gentle is easily broken.
"What are you doing?" Hvitserk asked, watching as Ailbe lit an obnoxious amount of candles all around the camp. It wasn't as if she could see them anyway, so what use were they to her? What was she doing?
"It's Samhain!" She explained with a huge grin. "I don't want the spirits to get lost."
Hvitserk paused for a moment, trying to make sense of her almost gibberish. By now, he should've been used to her nonsense. And yet, he doubted he ever would be. "You're what?"
Ailbe smiled brightly, "On Samhain, my people believe that the veil between our world and the spirit world is so thin that spirits can cross over and visit their loved ones. We light candles and put them in our windows to guide the spirits so they don't get stuck here."
"So you light one per person?" He asked dubiously. She nodded. "Then how come you've lit enough candles for everyone in England?"
Ailbe giggled nervously, a pink blush covering her cheeks as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "I get a little carried away."
"I'm sorry," The King lied, his tone cold and sociopathic. "I get carried away." He stroked his work with admiration.
The large scars that ran down Ailbe's back made her wince. The flesh was red raw. She couldn't move without sharp pains shooting through her, her body aching and convulsing.
The King slowly walked round like a predator stalking its prey. His fingers caressed her cheek like she had once felt Ivar do. Oh how she wished it was him she was with now. "For a Celt," He began with a bitter taste when saying the word 'Celt'. "You are rather beautiful."
"For a King," She croaked out, her voice barely audible from the strain of whimpers and screams. "You are rather obnoxious."
"Now now Princess," He grinned bitterly, his grasp on her face tightening painfully. "You wouldn't want to upset your King."
"My King," She persisted with all the strength that she could muster. "Is Ivar The Boneless, and it is him and him alone that I will never upset."
"Such fire and loyalty." He observed, his hand moving lower down her throat. "I wonder what he has done to earn such loyalty. Perhaps it's the same reason that he's been burning my villages and taking my men to torture, hm?"
"Perhaps all that is because you were the one who upset him, hm?" She repeated his tone almost exactly, her voice cold and bitter like it had never been before. Next she knew, she was pinned to the ground with his hand around her throat. She couldn't breath.
"We'll see." He narrowed his eyes at her, before releasing her from his iron grip.
But Ailbe was not afraid this time. Just the mention of all that Ivar had been doing was enough to spur her on. She would get back to him. One way or another.
