#oc: Aslaug Ivarsdottir | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

honestsycrets · 6 years ago

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Aslaug’s Initiation

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Credits: Collage mine, pictures not.

A/N: Um... so this is a rough read but eh. It’s important to how she moves forward in her life.

She’ll always be her father’s princess.

He meant those words. He constantly kept an eye on his jewel-- the only daughter you had given him. It was one more than his father had. One of seven children that you had blessed him with. For all the trouble, for the pain of his loss of Kitta, he was well rewarded in children. Save little Avaldr whom never had his chance.

No, no. He wouldn’t think of his son now. He would think of his daughter whom was a constant flower upon the Great Hall’s wall. You always assured him that she would need her distance from the Ivarssons and he, but he never imagined that you would play a game of wit and riddle with this boy.

A prince that couldn’t just mysteriously go vanishing without good reason. Ivar was stewing on his throne, long hair braided back by your loving fingers over the other side of his sharp features.

“Do you think she wants him?” Ivar asks you. He knows the answer. His dark haired princess with hair that could rival yours was interested. The way her eyes glistened like the most ravenous of seas told him all he needed to know.

“Aslaug?” You hum, looking out toward your slender daughter. There she sat, ringed fingers under her sharp jawline as she listened to his riddle. The way she smoothed out her deep wine coloured dress told you that she had solved the riddle. For she did that when she was proud. Then she stood up, offering her long hand out to them. Ivar lurches in his chair, steadied by your hand across his chest.

“She needs to choose. You promised her.” You purse your lips at him.

But what would you know? Ivar wants to say. You chose Ubbe. Ubbe who left you with child as he later learned deep in his years with you. His knuckles beat on the arm of his chair in his frustration. You were right… and deep in his gut, he felt a churning.

Something was wrong.

A father always knew when something was awry.

You were a mother. There were things that you understood. Love, children, family-- these things. But when it came to the protection of his family, it was his job. He failed once before. He wasn’t going to fail again. He had tried to give Aslaug the space you asked him to.

But in the end, he was only Viking. A Viking man with one beautiful daughter who could be sullied and abused just as you had. She could find herself married to someone as awful as he was. Someone that would keep her for twelve years in an abusive relationship and never look back. Ivar’s crutch was tight under his tunic, clacking the ground with every motion he took.

He would just take a look. A look to make sure she was safe. He was not going to sit outside the house and loiter. No this was to reassure himself that his girl was safe. There would be no abuse, no sobbing tears when he left or ache of his heart to see her in such a state.

It was only seconds later that he heard the bewildered and harsh gasps. At first, sex. He thought it was sex-- and if he wouldn’t rip off the man’s balls. But something flowed in the undercurrent of that breath. They were too forced.

And as his tunic swirled about him inside like a tempest, there was a ragged scream. Not the deep commanding voice of his daughter, plagued with playful jubilee. These screams were harsh and deep like a young man’s own. Ivar immediately knew that somewhere below that ball of muscle was Aslaug, thrusting a sharp and pointed dagger repeatedly against the man’s chest. Ivar reclined onto his crutch, closing the door behind him with a click of the lock when his daughter thrust the body beside her off, the torn shoulders of her dress exposing arm and a pale portion of the meat of her breast.

It was so sudden that she slipped her hand into her cincher, striking the prince in the throat to cease his pathetic cries with a warpick Ivar made for her twelfth birthday.

“Disgusting--” She says, lurching her bare leg over him. “May you never reach Valhalla, coward.”

The blood below her soaked the panels of wood plating the floor of this cabin, thick like syrup while the blond haired prince oozed out.

“You know, your mother did the exact same thing to a lover of hers.” Ivar said from the entrance. Aslaug’s head would snap in his direction, arm raised over her shoulder as if to chuck a pick at him when she realized-- it was her father.He wasn’t angry? She can hardly believe it.

“Daddie.” Aslaug’s hand snaps to her torn dress. “He had it coming.”

No debate in his mind. Ivar grasps a chair beside him to lower onto the ground, his nonexistent bones becoming more and more painful in his older age. His worn hands are calloused, hard. He carries himself closer to his daughter, legs carrying limply behind him.

“Yes.” He grunts. “He did.”

No remourse was purchased in his voice. A man that forced himself on a free Viking woman was no man at all. Any Viking would attest to that.

“I’ve made a mess of your alliance.” Guilt weighs heavy in her voice for a millisecond. “But don’t think I’m sorry, I would kill him again!”

Ivar snickers. “No one will blame you for defending yourself.”

Viking ideology was that the woman was always right-- always. If she told him that he had forced himself on her, it was the truth. By the condition of his daughter’s dress, it would be the truth. Ivar sweeps his furs from his shoulders and drape them over her shoulders. Her eyes are yet still firm and prideful, despite a glimmer of shame.

“I don’t need comforting, Daddie.” Aslaug pushes herself up from the puddle of blood that dies Ivar’s leather gloves a whole new colour.

“No, no. Of course not.” Ivar grunts, turning around on his hands to drag himself back to the door. She follows after. “You are Viking.”

He stops just before the door, dragging himself onto the chair before taking ahold of the crutch to stand back up. His freehand collides with his daughter’s shoulder, searching her almond shaped eyes for any fear. He finds none there-- nor anywhere else in her heartshaped face.

“We will consider this an initiation.” He shakes her shoulder once.

“An initiation of what? Congratulations on your first murder, Ivarsdottir?” She pulls her furs around her chest, flicking her head to the body. Ivar takes back his bloody palm, licking a line from wrist to the tip of his third finger.

“Of becoming a shieldmaiden.”

With that, he breaks out the door. Aslaug bites back a stupid smile on slender lips. She liked the sound of that. Much more than becoming a woman in a placid future, pushing baby after baby out of her womb.

Aslaug was made for greater things.

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#Ivar #Ivar the boneless #Father!Ivar/Daughter #vikings #vikings imagines #irreplaceable sideline #oc: Aslaug #oc: Aslaug Ivarsdottir

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