vredeir

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- You said you wouldn’t fight your brothers. - You are no longer my brother.

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@vinduri​​,  meme,  ——  " i find comfort in being misunderstood. "

It  seems  almost  superficial.  It  could  mean  nothing.  I  could  mean  everything.  Maybe  it’s  something  Basim  tells  people  to  make  them  overthink  everything  he  says.  Much  like  a  self - fulfilling  prophecy,  they  will  misunderstand.  It  summons  a  slow  smile  on  his  lips  as  the  Son  of  Ragnar  tilts  his  head  to  the  side  to  gaze  at  Basim  with  sudden  focus.  He  tries  not  to  question  his  statement.  He  simply  accepts.  It’s  not  an  entirely  unknown  notion  to  Ivar.  He  cares  little  whether  people  understand  or  misunderstand  his  motives,  but  he  finds  great  pleasure  upon  acknowledging  that  he’s  been  underestimated.  They  do  so  at  great  many  lengths.  They  underestimate  his  physical  prowess  because  all  they  see  are  frail  legs.  They  underestimate  his  wits  because  all  they  see  is  young  age.  They  underestimate  him  because  all  they  see  are  supposedly  greater  legends  in  his  family  such  as  his  father  Ragnar  Lothbrok  or  even  his  half  brother  Björn  Ironside.     ❝     What  about  promises  ?  Oaths  ?  Vows  ?  Mustn’t  they  be  precise  in  their  meaning  ?     ❞    Simple  and  casual  conversation  between  two  people  of  different  cultures  shift  to  pointed  questions  as  Ivar  regards  the  other  with  raised  eyebrows.  Maybe  this  is  something  else  people  do  not  expect  from  him,  first.  His  inquisitive  nature.  His  desire  for  knowledge  as  well  as  his  impatience  with  people  who  protect  old  traditions  and  care  little  for  new  techniques  and  growth.     ❝     So  many  different  words  to  pledge  loyalty.  Do  they  even  mean  the  same  thing,  or  do  people  attach  different  expectations  with  each  term  ?     ❞

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He who chooses to be heathen is not innocent! But I could show you the ways of God. I could bring you to salvation and to eternal life.

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—elisabeth hewer, from “love letters from helen of troy” (x)

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Ivar: 5x02 “The Departed Pt 2”

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LEVIR BEARCLAW

❝   there'll  be  plenty  more  before  this  is  over… .   ❞

FOR  CENTURIES  THE  NORTH  DEPRIVED  STONEBORN  OF  THEIR  CULTURAL  ROOTS :  DESTROYED  THEIR  SHIPS  AND  FORBADE  THEM  THE  SEE.  However,  these  days  Stoneborn  are  renowned  as  exceptional  shipbuilders  &  seafarers  unafraid  of  the  hazardous  sea  around  the  isles  of  Skagos.  They  are  feared  as  conquerors,  too.  ESPECIALLY  THE  CLAN  ODINSSON.  What  Ivar  of  the  Clan Odinsson  hoped  for,  sailing  to  the  shores  beyond  the  wall,  remains  an  untold  tale  he  keeps  close  to  himself.  He  does  not  have  any  qualms  with  the  Free  Folk,  not  yet,  but  he  remains  reluctant  to  acknowledge  any  commonalities  between  their  culture  &  his.     ❝     You  will  lose  if  you  keep  fighting  those  battles  on  open  fields———  Bearclaw.     ❞     It’s  spoken  without  hesitance.  It’s  spoken  without  fear  as  he  holds  the  other’s  gaze  with  his  own  blue  eyes.  He  does  not  bother  to  shade  the  truth.  Brute  force  is  what  they  are  fighting  against.  Overwhelmed  they  are  by  an  enemy  who  takes  advantage  of  their  own  greater  number.     ❝     I’d  suggest  to  lure  your  enemy  into  the  woods.  Let  them  walk  into  traps  &  snares  to  reduce  their  number.  Let  your  archers  dwell  far  up  on  treetops.  Put  the  cat  among  the  pigeons.     ❞     Seated  upon  his  horse,  with  a  loose  hold  on  the  reins,  he  shrugs  nonchalantly,  arching  his  eyebrows  as  he  tilts  his  head  to  the  side.     ❝     Even  then  there  is  a  chance  for  great  many  losses  on  your  side  though.     ❞

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I’ve been waiting for the opportunity to talk to you privately. ↪ Vikings 6.05 “The Key”

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—a memory of wind, by rachel swirsky

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BASIM IBN ISHAQ

@vredeir​ :   THE THING ABOUT LIFE IS TO BEAR IT.

   basim’s mouth curls in a white flash of teeth. an iron smell of axes and blood is suspended in the early morning rain, some grim reminder of a recent battle;  that should put ivar the boneless in a tamely good mood, but from what little he’s learned in the last two days as his guest, england could bleed for days til the fields are slick and it still wouldn’t be enough to sate him. a true vikingr, says some deep-seated echo to the hidden one’s thoughts. he acknowledges ivar’s with a slow bow, but the wide-grinning wisdom feels too strangely toned to be sincerely heartfelt. 

   “ great minds thought so. ”   basim settles, his drawled accent stretching over too impersonal words carefully selected.   “ the stoics believed the only way a man can be at peace is by accepting fate as it comes, like driftwood in the ocean. swaying but never sinking. ”   he pauses, dark eyes wondering. something stirs briefly, something like awareness.   “ now, if you’d receive me, i was hoping we could discuss more earthly matters, ivar ragnarsson. ”

ENGLAND AND ITS KINGDOMS IS BUT A CHESSBOARD AND THE KING OF KINGS HIS GREATEST ENEMY.  The Norns have woven Ivar’s thread of fate all along whereas the Gods keep throwing their dices about the Ragnarssons’ gaining ground throughout his campaign. He eyes the wooden figure in his hand which has been a symbol for his current ambitions. It reminds him of days in captivity, his father’s certain death and learning about this strategic game and its Kings  &  Queens  &  Knights  &  Pawns  (  among  others.  )  Lost at sea. No land in sight. No Purpose. No meaning to his voyage. That is what Ivar has always been afraid of. Turns out, he always carried an answer to his legacy in his pocket.

His attention shifts. Blue eyes looking up to meet the other’s gaze and to listen carefully to all he says. How ironic that he almost speaks of Ivar’s greatest fear.  ( To be lost at sea. )  The corner of his lips twitch, curling into a little smile as he arches his eyebrows.     ❝     Earthly matters———  ?     ❞     It piques his interest. If nothing else, Ivar suspects they might share an affinity for KNOWLEDGE. Basim is but a stranger to this Kingdom himself, but it seems like he does not travel along without purpose.  (  On the contrary.  )  Ivar did not bother to dig into who the other man truly is, it mattered little so far, but curiosity grows with each passing day. With one hand he wordlessly gestures for the other to take a seat. To sit on grass, their camp behind and the valley below in front— where pyres are in work to burn the dead.     ❝     Let me ask what I’ve been asked for so many times: What do you want ?     ❞

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JEAN OF MUSPELHEIM​

standing  idle,     in  a  realm  far  different  than  infernal  heat,  she’s  quietly  behind  a  tree  watching  a  young  man  strike  down  men  with  shields  in  brute  force.   if  she’s  not  careful  with  the  fire  burning  within,  this  ‘safe’  distance  will  reveal  with  snow  melting  fast;  so  nerves  begin  to  calm,     breathing  comes  easier  with  each  passing  moment.      green  eyes  lose  their  enraged  colour  of  emblazoned  will,     flesh  repairs  the  cracks  that  dare  to  unleash  that     muspel  rage.      the  magick  bestowed  unto  this  woman  slows  to  a  dull  roar,       but  still  all  eyes  are  on  him.

snow  was  the  first  thing  she  saw  coming  out  the  gates  that  tyr  hid  so  well  for  so  many  lifetimes;       cold         this  was  the  first  time  she  felt  cold.        (  so  this  must  be  midgard,  where  the  warriors  pray  for  valhalla.  )      inner  voices  boom  within  her  head,  but  is  distracted  by  the  scream  of  a  raven.  the  woman  is  thrown  off,  loses  that  self  tempered  emotion  and  sends  fire  towards  the  bird  that  is  so  well  known  to  be  the  eyes  of  odin.    the  raven  was  the  third  object  witnessed  on  this  would  be        realm  of  mortals. 

her  heart  stops  once  they  notice  her,  once  he  notices  her.  any  steps  towards  her  direction  increases  the  strength  of  her  pulse,  beating  like  war drums  with  instincts  to  fight.          “ Don’t   come  any  closer,  I’m  warning  you. ”     this  grip  on  the  tree  used  for  protection,  now  has  markings  of  embers  burning  into  the  bark. 

UNAFRAID  IS  HE  WHO  WALKS  ON  THREE  LEGS  AS  HE  THROWS  HIMSELF  RIGHT  INTO  A  WALL  OF  SHIELDS.  Though  no  harm  is  meant  by  any  means  as   he  simply  uses  the  weight  &  strength  of  his  own  body  to  break  through  the  shield  -  wall.  He  spins  around,  wielding  a  sword  in  one  hand  and  bracing  himself  up  with  the  other.  A  clash  of  swords  follows  until  both  warriors,  he  and  his  brother  Hvitserk,  once  more  end  with  a  tied  match.  IVAR  HAS  HIMSELF  BORNE  ON  STAVES  FOR  HE  COULD  NOT  WALK  WITHOUT.     Yet  he  grew  so  strong  beyond  all  expectations.     It  all  dissolves  with  the  scream  of  a  raven.  His  brother  laughs,  like  he  always  does  when  they  once  again  conclude  their  clash  of  swords  in  a  tie.  Though  Ivar  knows,  if  on  the  battlefield,  he  would  not  stand  a  chance  against  any  of  his  brothers.  He  is  a  true  Vikingr  by  heart  &  faith  &  wisdom,  but  the  limits  of  his  body  shall  forever  confine  him.  MUCH  LIKE  FENRISÚLFR  WHO’S  BEEN  PUT  IN  CHAINS  TO  BE  TAMED.

Upon  conclusion  they  all  —  Shieldmaidens  &  Vikingr  —  turn  away  to  refresh  themselves.  To  wash  off  sweat,  grime  &  blood,  to  find  warmth  at  a  nearby  fireplace  and  to  fill  their  bellies  with  mead.  Except  Ivar.  Ravens  once  announced  the  arrival  of  Óðinn  who  wandered  this  realm  to  inform  all  Ragnarssons  of  the  death  of  their  father.  It  seems  like,  once  again,  they  are  making  an  announcement.     ❝     Who  are  you  ?     ❞     Ivar  opens  his  mouth  like  he  intends  to  say  something  else,  but  nothing  but  silence  escapes  his  lips  as  he  scrutinizes  her.  Piercing  blue  eyes  narrowed  upon  his  stare.  His  gaze  drops  to  where  her  hand  rests  on  the  tree,  nostrils  flare  as  he  breathes  in  air  filled  with  tinder.     ❝     What  are  you———  ?     ❞

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HEDA ONTARI KOM AZGEDA

        words peel off of the man like nails through rotting carcases ; while seemingly easy  there’s a strange sense of wrongness to them , even though she can’t quite place it. but that sense of wrongness could simply be the man before her ; ivar , was — a dangerous creature , and one she knew better than to speak with unless spoken to.            ice-grey eyes focus on the kife between his figures , a small slip of her lips and she’d be finding out out how deep the small knife can cut. the sameness , that came with speaking to one who thought and acted oh so similarly to herself on the outside , was bizzare. she wondered if , this was what it was like for others to confornt her , the danger she felt at the simple notion that trying to read ivar was like trying to read a black solid wall.    she wonder’s what she’s done form him to confide such , strange words in her direction.                but wonder was not something that would keep her head on her shoulders if the wrong word was spoken.  « superiority , what a god-like quality. i have yet to meet a man who is in all ways superior to any other.  » she pauses, lips pursing for a moment.  « but , then again , you ivar , are not like most men, so it seems mankind finally has it’s contendor for it’s place amongst the gods. »

TO  BE  A  KING.  TO  BE  LIKE  A  GOD.  TO  BE  A  GOD.  He’s  been  playing  with  all  these  notions  for  his  purposes,  (  revenge  for  the  murder  of  his  mother,  )  for  his  ambitions,  (  to  be  far  more  famous  than  his  own  father,  )  . . . and  he  likes  none.  Ivar  still  prefers  to  honor  Floki’s  guidance  and  to  live  by  the  gods.  HE’S  GODLY.     ❝     Well,  maybe  not  superior  in  all  ways.  I’m  a  cripple———  How  could  I  be  superior  to  any  capable  warrior,  no  matter  where  they  are  from,  in  questions  of  combat  on  the  battlefield  ?     ❞     He  cackles.  Eyes  lit  with  mischief  as  he  arches  both  of  his  eyebrows.  It’s  both  the  truth  &  a  lie.  Maybe  they  both  know  he  is  not  entirely  helpless  either  though.  Underestimation  more  often  than  not  leads  to  hesitation.  That’s  when  Ivar  strikes.  He  lashes  out.  Enraged,  loud  and  driven  by  blood.  He  chuckles  quietly  as  he  shrugs  with  one  of  his  shoulders,  unbothered  by  his  own  claim.  He  no  more  play  with  the  knife  between  his  fingers,  instead  he  continues  to  carve  a  small  statue  he’s  been  working  on  all  along.     ❝     Is  that  what  you  said  truly  what  you  believe  ?  Or  is  that  something  you  think  I’d  like  to  hear.     ❞

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;; its been years and im just gonna say i still love your writing. you do ivar so much justice. <3 ty for writing him.

you know what's funny ?  i too have been away from tumblr for a long while and i came back writing ivar a few weeks ago <3 if this isn't perfect timing, idk what else. love to see you back again and thank you so much for your kind words. basically i can write one muse only and it just happens to be ivar because that’s how much i love writing him. asdfghjkl.

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Vet du ikke hvem jeg er!? Du kan ikke dræbe mig! Vet du ikke hvem jeg er!? Jeg er Ivar den Boneless! Du kan ikke dræbe mig!!

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SPARTACUS

            The edges of his lips lift in a smile. It was this very thing the Thracian so often used to his advantage. Too many on the opposite side of the battle field saw him as a slave, a champion of the arena, the Bringer of Rain. What could a gladiator know about war? Too few saw him for the skill in tactical planing that matched his skill with a blade. Batiatus had seen a glimmer of it, but had been too amused by the fact Spartacus knew how to play the game to take any real note. Which had proved to be fatal error. Despite equal talent in the arena, this was also why his brothers looked to him to lead, the whole plan of free themselves from bondage had been his after all. There’s a nod of his head in agreement. “A lesson not easily learned by the unwilling, and often learned too late to make a difference.”

THE  SILKEN  ROAD  REMAINS  TO  BE  A  FASCINATING  PLACE  OF  TRADE  &  STORIES.  It  may  not  be  the  first  time  the  youngest  Son  of  Ragnar  travels  this  road,  but  never  fails  this  place  to  lose  its  very  own  magic.  Cultures  clash  by  scrolls  and  spoken  words,  seldomly  by  iron.  Ivar  knows  very  little  about  the  man  who  he  speaks  to,  but  it  seems  like  he,  too,  travels  with  a  reputation.  BRINGER  OF  RAIN.  Might  he  be  a  beloved  of  the  God  of  Thunder  ?  Thor  ?  Does  he  even  live  by  any  god  or  goddess  ?  The  Ragnarsson  remains  seated  on  top  of  a  tree  stump,  holding  his  head  high  and  narrowing  his  eyes  as  he  openly  stares  at  the  warrior.     ❝     Then  we  both  know  that  KNOWLEDGE  is  everything———  is  that  why  you  are  here  ?  To  figure  out  where  to  go  next  ?     ❞

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#mama bear n baby bear