#Not as good as Asvaldr | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

honestsycrets · 4 years ago

Text

The Milkmaid VII: Bright Lights

❛ pairing | ivar x reader, harald & ivar (friend?ship)

❛ type | multi

❛ summary | reader finds her way while ivar argues with a dog.

❛ tags | pregnancy themes, supernatural intervention, ivar being a bad dog owner, he’s a pet boy okay, just not today, angst, but not dark?, i’m not @lisinfleur 😂

❛ sy’s notes | no really he argues with a dog. i was gonna post a gif of ivar on this but my 5B gifs are real s h i t t y. redo.

He should throw your stupid dog down a well. Maybe, if he were lucky, Mimir would shake the knowledge out of the damn thing. But no, instead, he has no more leads to go on than he originally had. The kings stand considering from which direction the dog came from.

“He came from behind the barn,” says Harald.

“He came from the barn,” Ivar scoffs, jerking his finger in the direction. “You think my slave was hiding away in some barn in the cold of night?”

“Maybe if she were hiding from you.”

“That is so helpful,” Ivar snaps at the other king. His men, deep in the woods, shout: there is nothing here! Ivar then turns to Harald with that knowing, all too cocky scowl. He hates it, when he is right. “Do you know what is back there? Brush. Woods and wolves.”

“I’m sure you know what is back there.”

Ivar leers back to the other king confident of his astringent purpose for saying that. Ivar grips his crutch, hobbling a bit closer. “What are you saying, hm?”

“I am saying these things have a way of recurring.”

These things, Harald suggested, is the death of royal children. His child, Freydis’s child, and now… Ivar holds Harald’s gaze for a stubborn few moments before he hisses, not bearing to waste his time with the old king.

“I don’t know why I brought you Harald,” Ivar walks away from the other kind. Harald, now dressed, follows Ivar toward the line of trees. “You have no faith in the gods, no faith in anything.”

“Here I am,” Harald’s expression smooths over from bunched up wrinkles to a state of relaxation, despite his companion’s jabs. After this many years, he became used to the constant jeer of kinds underestimating him. “Are we checking in the brush?”

“If we have to.”

The woods hold their own secrets. Deep in their hearth, past the arching trees and branches that nipped the sky, there had to be something. At the very least, all it could hold, is a vast amount of nothing. He has nothing to gain from continuing to deny Harald. They find themselves following Vala’s tiny steps that carry them deeper and deeper before they stop. Vala turns in a circle. Then sits.

Stupid dog.

“The dog doesn’t know,” Harald grumbles. “Look at him, he is confused.”

Ivar glares at the dog, wondering why, why hadn’t he picked a grown and well-trained dog. He had to pick this thing. Because you wanted him so much. He shouldn’t have let you pick the dog-- you knew good, domestic things. Things of war, protection, and-- this, not so much.

The pup scratches the grown, sniffing and turning, whining and whimpering. And Ivar wants nothing more than to boot him with the butt of his crutch. The dog yips and Ivar’s about had it. He whirls around-- and finds the dog sitting there looking right back at him.

Pest.

If he had been smart, he would have chosen a well-trained hound. But no-- because his heart is weak when it comes to the complaints of his woman, he chose a creature that was as useless as it was cute.

The sun disappeared behind the fjord. You were left with the chill of night as Kattegat’s temperature plummeted below comfortable levels. Too cold to move but too afraid to let the fire run out, you chucked remnants of wood you gathered into the dismal fire until there was nothing but scraps that the fire would snap apart, cracking into its dying breaths. With nothing else to give to the greedy flames, you fold your hands into your woolen dress and pray tight lipped prayers to Frigg.

A small light, barely a flicker, caught your attention out of your peripheral vision. At first you thought it was nothing, perhaps the flicker of an animal’s eyes. If you stayed very still, the wild beast would leave you be, or you so you hoped. It would be tragic, you thought, for the wolves to have two of Ivar’s children. You your legs in a little tighter and curl into the Asvaldr’s plump belly, even as he whines impatiently for your attention.

“Shh, what if it is a beast?” you smooth your hand over his muscular body. “We shouldn’t worry about it, morning will come soon enough.”

Despite your pleads, Asvaldr’s limbs flailed with his attempt to get up. When he does, he effectively thrusts you to the dirt floor. Your hand snaps to your stomach with precaution, resting on your hip. “Asvaldr what is it?”

It was then you saw it for what it was.

A whimsical bouncy flourish of light between the wall of thick trees over a prominent rock. You swing your legs around, using the ground to shove yourself up. Asvaldr clopped closer so that you might hold his reins to support your stance.

“A wisp?”

Asvaldr clops a closer, dragging you along with. It had been some time since you had seen one of these things. The bouncy lights that dragged you, so you heard, to your fate. You chase the wisps into the untraveled path of the forest that way, hanging onto your master’s horse, and praying to the gods the wisps path is a good one.

Well, chase is being kind, when you walk like that.

Ivar’s eyes chase the edges of old trees. They are tall, well grown, wild. All the good plants are wild and free to hold spirits that are just as wild and free. He moistens his cracked lips for the fifth time, debating--

Perhaps Harald had been right. Perhaps you wanted to run to get away from him. Everyone else shared that sentiment. Margrethe, ran from him. Freydis then-- she tried to run from him.

At least he took care of that one. He made sure she didn’t run.

“Ivar!” Harald paces until he finds something, lackadaisically whistling at Ivar. Ivar takes his crutch and jabs it into the hard dirt, carefully scaling the mountain side to where the other king was. He stood about the crispy remains that weren’t yet cool. “Ashes. She was here.”

The stupid little shit yips at his feet. They scan the surrounding area for clues that you had been there. Moist poignantly, he finds, is an overlooked trail leading away from the campsite. He realizes that there is something there-- better than a burnt out campsite or sweep of luck.

A bouncy red flame.

It held his attention for longer than it should have. “Thank the gods,” he finds himself raising the hammer of Thor to his lips, placing a kiss to it, before setting it back upon his sturdy chest.

In looking at Harald, he realized that the old man did not see what he saw. But it was there, jovial and light. “And where are you going?” Harald called out to him. Harald growls a half hearted response and disappears into the trees behind his so called friend. It had better been a lead.

“Come on, old man. You’re falling behind!”

Ivar believes in the ways of the gods and the norns. There is not a fate that lay before man that was not woven from their fingertips. From the strong standing trees to the ones that have collapsed and bore their craggly roots, the trees have an understanding with the nine worlds that humans did not. Humans unlike Ivar, whose faith was uncrackable.

He pressed down from the rolling hill down toward the fjord, scaling with a curse behind every step, because his crutch was complaining as he moved down the hillside. How he could walk the battlefield freely, like a titan, and now plummet to the ground with sand was beyond him. He breaks his fall on his elbows, and to his surprise, his bones don’t crack. He knows Harald is watching him agape as he hurries on his forearms.

“What are those?” Harald at last sees it with that dumb, lost expression splattered across his face. “Is there a Valkyrie here?”

“Do you see a Valkyrie?” he looks to the sky, then across the streaming waters that washed by, searching for the sight of a swan. There was none. He can’t help tease. “Perhaps its all that ale you’ve been drinking.”

Harald’s face is flat and free from a response, just the small, scoffing laugh as he looks about.

At least, Ivar knows, it isn’t in his head this time. Last time-- as it were -- was Freydis’s lies. At least now, here, he knows that Harald sees exactly what he sees. The wisps, fireballs of the norn’s might, leads down from Norway’s rise and drop to the lapsing waves of the water to the grainy shore.

“Hold this,” he hands the crutch he’s been crawling with to Harald.

The scouts he’s gathered fall in a defensive position around the kings. Harald stuffs the crutch under his arm, following Ivar, who now snakes over the ground toward the rocky bend of the beach like he’s fifteen again and innocent to the world despite the men around him. He can see his brother’s long bodies splashing in the cool water against the warm orange that reflected on the sun. Then Hvitserk and Ubbe would come with their spears and Ubbe would show him a feast of fish while Hvitserk had none. Sigurd would have one.

Nostalgia isn’t a good taste on his tongue. That boy-- the one who dreamed of being able to hunt with his big brothers? He’s not a boy he wants to know. He doesn’t want to know the boy that would have rathered slit his throat if only it wouldn’t destroy his mother. So he turns his head across from the still waters and looks toward the forest. At the banks of the waters, he recognizes a decrepit sight-- not from anything he’s ever seen, but something he’s always felt.

“As much as I hate to break up a good moment,” Harald kneels down, holding the crutch over his trousers, “We were hunting your very pregnant slave.”

“Shht,” Ivar snaps back to Harald. “Look there.”

“Look where?” He lurches then, grasping Harald’s wrinkled face and jerks it into the right direction across the waters. A long, grated sigh breaks free from his lips. The waters do not look deep, no. It strikes Harald as strange, as he knows he’s passed by here with his warships, and they’ve been deeper still than the crystal clear waters before. He turns toward his men to shrill something-- when he finds the only company they have is the cold chill of the sea.

Ivar looks back at him, reclining on the palms of his hands, before his head tilts-- and a shit eating smile makes its way up his face. He clicks his tongue like a man would after a lost animal.

“...I’m the donkey then.”

There is a cabin.

It is a thin looking thing that would make anyone question why it was still standing. It’s heavy brown wood stands, but it has clearly been burned by the crispness of its black edges. Someone did not want it to stand. But there it was, proudly displaying a shield that spun above the top of the double doors. Pure blood red with one lone symbol: a raven soars the expanse of the shield.

“This must be your father’s cabin,” Harald says, verging on a dry laughter. Ten years, and here he was, static in the same position he’s always been-- behind Ragnar’s legacy. He sets his hand over a twig like fence that reflects Ragnar and Lagertha’s condition prior to taking up raiding once again. Ivar cradles the crutch, using it like a horse’s bit, over Harald’s throat.

The farm’s gate is shaky at best. When he looks out to the fencing, he recognizes a wispy figure dashing into the gate. That handsome, cut jawline with curls. Inquisitive eyes free of any exhaustion. If he were asked, he knew it could never be.

But it looks like him. It’s his father’s whimsical young figure that dashes in, kissing the soft cheeks of a girl he’s never known, and a brother he wish he never had. Another figure stands at the gate; his energy wispy and white. Athelstan, he recognizes the name, not the body.

“So it seems. Have you been here before?”

The girl stops from watching her father and her brother. Harald pauses, helping Ivar off his sodden wet back, and onto the ground. Ivar upright, the crutch fit under his arm. He’s taller than he’s ever been. More handsome than he’s ever felt.

She offers her hand, and Ivar can’t help look up to it in question. The girl-- he’s never known her name. Only that she was at the midpoint between girlhood and crossing into womanhood.

“You’re my brother, Ivar. I am Gyda,” her voice, it’s softer than the waves that lapse the shoreline. “Have you come here to look for someone?”

“My w--” Ivar stops himself. “My slave. She’s with child.”

“I see.” She hovers there, transparent, but defined in features that paint her energy a rich gold. She was radiant. “I sent Baldur after you to help you find her.”

His heart catches in his throat. A quick glance around reveals nothing. There is no boy next to Harald and he. Harald, sensing the discomfort, glances around the farm to the cooing animals. To the handsome visage of Ragnar and Bjorn, ducking and weaving. Ivar recognizes a pang of longing across his friend’s face. Harald steps over the wooden gate.

“I don’t understand.”

She smiles. “My nephew.”

Somewhere, through the mist, he spots the fireball of light. Something in the deep of his mind reminds him of that cursed little soul: Baldur.

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#Ivar x Reader #Ivar/Reader #Ivar & Harald #ivar the boneless/reader #ivar the boneless x reader #vikings imagines #vikings imagine #vikings/reader #vikings x reader #honestsycrets fics

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