In regards to the final episode of season four… ooo boi Ivar you really done goofed up there.
Shantigal: yesssss their play fighting is my fav part to write, but also super difficult to write! Gotta start writing more of it though. And I can imagine both Freydis and Aslaug doing sort of petty things for Ivar's attention because they both want his love…
BlueEyedPisces: You need an award for top commenting! But thank you so much! It's nice to know people get what I'm going for with the prophecy and the complex way Aslaug is trying to use Freydis J
x XRoweenaJAugustineX x: Yes I'm so glad you get it! But that's such a great point that Aslaug is probably super protective and jealous over Ivar because of Ragnar.
.WLove: aw I'm happy you like her so much! She is my precious baby, but yeah a love triangle certainly adds to the tension! I'm just trying to write it well without it being too blurgh and basic y'know? I am actually planning on using Margritte soon but not in the way people think, since I've been thinking a lot about why she hoeing around with all the Ragnarssons. But thank you for the support, it means a lot J
And finally to that one guest who used some colourful language in their review: I'm very sorry you feel that way, but if this fic isn't your cup of tea then feel free to discontinue reading J
Thank you to everyone else who commented, it's really appreciated!
**NOTE**
This chapter is set in the Winter at the start of the same year the Ragnar returns, so the lead up to the Summer raids in which Ivar and Ragnar go to England.
**WARNING**
Graphic violence inspired by a horror movie, summary will be provided below.
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A landscape of ice and jutting rock was all the surrounded them with a slate-coloured sky hanging overhead, threatening to unleash a snow storm at anymoment. The bluish hue that engulfed the underside of the clouds betrayed that, and Ivar couldn't help but wish their hunting trip would be over.
He hated spending long hours on the ice fishing and hunting for seals, as the fish were rare and seals rarer still. Freydis stood poised with a long spear aimed high above an open gap in the ice they had made pre-dawn and the sun was beginning to set. She had hardly moved a muscle since then, only concentrating on the gentle ripples of water at the surface.
Ivar had long since given up on catching any fish and instead lay back on the ice to stare at the brooding sky. Mountain crests dotted the horizon as the sun began to dip below their snowy caps, and he groaned heavily at the prospect of crawling home in the dark and cold, only to be berated by his mother once they arrived back. Her nagging drove him insane often enough that he would rather avoid them as best he could.
As the cripple began to voice his concerns he was swiftly shushed by Freydis who had been eyeing off a dark shape gliding below the surface of the ice. Its shape was near undetectable, though her keen eyes followed it intensely and without blinking. Ivar heard the water break and Freydis shift her feet slightly to drive the spear into the seal's skull. He twisted his head to see her long, corded braid fall across her shoulder and atop her breast as she raised the spear higher. It reminded Ivar of the dark silks brought through Kattegat by traders from the east: glossy and priceless.
Ivar let out a sudden shout, and the blubbery seal disappeared back beneath the ice before its head at broken past the surface, its dark form disappearing beyond Freydis' sight. He shot her a wicked grin, lavishing in the deep frustration and annoyance that lit up her eyes.
She tossed the spear side wards at him and hissed in frustration, "Dammit, Ivar! Why would you do that?"
He blocked the long wooden staff of the spear with his forearm and shrugged nonchalantly. The rise and fall of her chest betrayed her annoyance, or perhaps just the rush of adrenaline from striking so quickly, though Ivar suspected the former. A flush of red blotted Freydis' cheeks as she spoke, glaring down at the one who had sabotaged their hunt for no apparent reason.
"Because I wanted to see you get mad," Ivar replied whilst maintaining that devilish smirk that too often held a meaning other than what he conveyed. Truth be told he had intended for her to get mad, if only to push the boundaries of her seemingly endless patience.
Freydi's dark eyes narrowed, aware that he often acted counter intuitively for his own amusement. One of his favourite games was too see how far he could push her before she snapped, showing him a glimpse of her rare frustration. For days Ivar would yank on Freydis' long braid, spill ale on her dresses or pinch her ass all in the hope of having the girl step out from her usual façade of being entirely settled in calm, when in reality her Beserker side simmered just below the surface.
To Ivar, her Beserker gift was an entirely fascinating thing to watch as it contrasted her normal personality like night and day, or like Ivar and Freydis themselves. Both were so different but shared a threatening rage that took only the barest of moments to become unleashed.
Freydis bit deeply into her lip as her chest heaved with frustration at having wasted an entire day due to Ivar's immature jokes, and made to stomp past him and towards Kattegat. She scooped up her rucksack and looped it over her shoulder, passing Ivar without so much as a glance. The spear lay forgotten on the ice as Freydis tried to leave him behind only for him to reach up and latch onto her wrist, dragging her down to the icey ground with him.
Yanked back by her arm, Freydis' boots slid across the ice in front of her and she fell flat on her back beside Ivar so quickly her mind whirled as it tried to comprehend how she had ended up on her back. However when her mind registered the loose grip Ivar continued to hold on her small wrist, Freydis went entirely still as if the slightest movement might jeopardise the rare display of affection on Ivar's behalf. With stilling breath and numb fingers, Ivar slowly inched his fingers from their grip and back to his side.
Neither said anything for many moments until Ivar looked to his side, catching a glimpse of the girl beside him as she stared up at the brooding sky with parted lips. Gentle mist floated from her mouth and was eventually lost to the air as she watched the world above her, the rise and fall of her chest slow and rhythmic like the tide.
Freydis had grown into her bearskin in the six years since she had earned it, and it no longer skimmed the ground as she moved about. Rather it curled around the curve of her body and just grazed her mid calf, hiding the young woman beneath from the world. Though it was as she wanted, as Freydis had never enjoyed the many eyes that seemed to follow her at every moment on account of the foreboding warning the bearskin promised. She had grown into a woman in every sense of the word: stronger and more confident to a degree. That is she had improved from her youth but continued to shy away from strangers or conflict.
The young woman shifted her attention to Ivar, catching him staring back at her with an unreadable expression. He quickly rolled onto his stomach as the first signs of snow landed on his lips, signaling it was high time to leave. The leather coverings of his hands scrapped along the ground as he crawled away from the ice fishing hole, leaving Freydis to once again retrieve her rucksack, spear and what few fish they had managed to catch. Their sleek, silvery bodies glinted in the diminishing sunlight as the pair travelled in near silence as the snowfall grew ever heavier.
By the time they had arrived back at Kattegat the snow carpeted the town with an inch of white powder and Ivar's fingers stung with the bitter cold. The wind had picked up considerably and had begun to batter Freydis around as she unsteadily tottered towards the Great Hall. With the strength she could muster after the difficult walk she opened one of the doors only wide enough so that both could pass through, lest too much of the chilling wind enter.
Ivar crawled in and hoisted himself onto a stool by the bright fire as Freydis hung the fish on a string and looped it over a hook hanging from the rafters. She sat diagonally to him on the stone edge of the fire, reveling in the heat it projected.
Noticing the tips of his fingers tingled with the numbing cold, she gently clasped them in her own. Although her hands were ashen from the quickly dropping temperatures, his had begun turning purple and so she took the opportunity to rub them gently.
"We should have come back earlier," Freydis mumbled, eyes focused on their clasped hands. Never had she the nerve to touch him like this, and it made her heart flutter uncomfortably in spite of the innocent care behind it. "It fell too cold and dark so quickly."
Ivar scoffed and pulled back his hands to press them close to the flickering flames. "That's what I was trying to say before you shushed me," he glowered. The movement had been involuntary yet he couldn't bring himself to undo it.
Freydis tilted her head slightly, causing hair frayed braid to fall from the weak throng that held it in place. He had pulled back without a second thought, leaving her hands glacially cold, though not from the frosty air. It seemed he had sucked more warmth from her in the act than the wintery nights ever could. And yet Freydis had expected such a reaction.
The young woman bit her tongue and said, "I shall let your mother know we have returned."
Grunting in reply, Ivar hardly moved as his companion rose from the fireside to fetch Aslaug, who she guessed was likely in the private quarters. The Great Hall itself was bustling with slaves and servants trying to heat up the structure with fire and steam as quickly as they could, and yet on her way to Aslaug, Hvitserk managed to eye her off amongst the crowd.
He caught her attention and within moments he was in front of her, pressing a chaste kiss to her cheek. "Did you forget to say hello, Freydis?" Hvisterk jested whilst clasping her shoulder with his warm hand. She shuffled in her thick boots at having been caught out forgetting to be polite, but nonetheless shook her head in reply.
"Sorry, Ivar and I only just returned, and I need to fetch Queen Aslaug," Freydis replied and inched away from his grip. She never minded his company, although his over assertiveness had always caused a seed of discomfort to lodge itself inside his mind.
Hvisterk's eyes darted up, making contact with Ivar's and he tried to suppress the emerging smirk that threatened to give away his intentions. Freydis was quite clearly hurt by Ivar' unintended rejection, and yet the youngest Ragnarsson still scowled possessively at him as he pressed an innocent kiss to Freydis' cheek. Getting under his skin was simple enough, particularly as Ivar would never make himself vulnerable enough to bring Freydis any closer. Only on his terms when he was ready, which unfortunately enough wasn't often.
"Why don't you join me for dinner?" He asked, hoping to ensnare her with his dark eyes that were so unlike that of his brothers. They were wide and plaintive, almost begging her to agree until she glanced over her shoulder in Ivar's direction.
He had begun too drink deeply from a stein of mead, glaring over the rim of it with a brooding expression. Ivar looked back to the fire, obviously displeased. The Beserker chewed on her lip as she turned her attentions to Hvitserk once again.
"Ivar is in a foul mood, so I… will but I don't think he will agree," Freydis replied as she pinched the fabric of her winter trousers nervously. "But I really must find your mother, if you don't mind."
Instead of stepping aside to let Freydis pass, Hvitserk leaned in closer, saying, "Why not have one night without Ivar? You spend every minute of the day with him, and he is a big boy now he can look out for himself."
By the way he spoke of his younger brother as a 'boy', it was clear to Freydis that Hvitserk continued to hold little respect for Ivar, likely perpetuated by the latters response to minor provocations. Truth be told, in spite of Ivar's generally foul attitude, she could not bring herself to dislike him for it, let alone hate him. Rather the love for him that had formed when they were but children was not extinguished, but rather inflamed as the years passed. It wasn't an overwhelming passion or burning lust for Freydis as women had described in their fleeting loves that never lasted the summer. On the contrary it was it unmovable and steadfast like the great mountain ranges that surrounded Kattegat.
Freydis sucked air in sharply between her teeth and said, "I will ask Ivar. Now excuse me." Her curt farewell was followed by the girl briskly side stepping Hvitserk and all but marching to the family's royal quarters in search of Aslaug, whom she found staring blankly through the mesh divider, cup in hand.
The Queen seemed to have many such moments, all attributed to Harbard and what little Ivar had told her of him. It seemed to Freydis that Ivar had a very conflicting view of Harbard in that he was simultaneously grateful and resentful to the man for what he had done. When Freydis had asked if he were truly a man and not a god, Ivar simply glowered and said nothing more on the matter.
Aslaug stirred slightly and looked to Freydis sullenly. "You're back," she said shortly and stood, flattening out the crinkles in her dress. "Where is Ivar?"
"By the fire, he does not seem to be in a good mood," Freydis replied in a gentle voice and followed the woman out as she went to greet her favourite son. The Queen's friendliness towards Freydis had been diminishing the older the girl grew, and particularly as Ivar began choosing Freydis' company over that of his own mother's. She was, apparently, not taking Ivar's transition into manhood well.
When he saw his mother approaching, the foulness in his expression did not lift, rather it deepened and he spoke into his stein saying, "Hello, Mother. I was going to come greet you soon."
"Not lately you haven't been," Aslaug scoffed before leaning down to embrace her son in a hug that was not entirely reciprocated. "And you two were gone for such a very long time, I was beginning to worry you would be caught out in the storm."
"We did, but not that you need concern yourself, Mother. I am able to look after myself now," retorted Ivar, almost indignant at the well-placed concern of Queen Aslaug. Snowstorms were a truly dangerous threat that snuffed out the lives of many a traveller or those too poor to afford luxuries such as thick animal furs or seal blubber. Though Ivar clearly had no idea of the struggles of common folk.
In most ways Ivar was correct in that he could care for himself, however his over compensation by way of false bravado often got him into deep waters with those around him. The presence of a Beserker, as evidenced by the large bearskin his companion wore, often deterred any form of backlash, leaving Ivar untouchable and able to scathingly criticize his brothers and other warriors with little to no repercussions.
And yet that night his self-reliance would be tested through blood and brutality.
Aslaug's face twisted with distaste for the way in which her son spoke, though it was present for only the barest of moments before she assumed her usual demure smile. Clearly she was not yet drunk enough to have all comments breeze over her head.
She then turned to Freydis and said, "Freydis, go and fetch Ivar some cured meat from the larder house for his stew. Just a vegetable stew will not be enough tonight."
"She is not a slave," Ivar grunted, setting his stein of mead on the stones that made up the edge of the long hearth. "Have one of the servants do it."
The atmosphere was growing tense as the two strong-willed individuals began to butt heads.
"As your betrothed, surely she should begin learning her wifely duties?" Aslaug said levelly.
"The wife of a prince should not do a servant's duty, we will have plenty to do that for us," replied Ivar in a false light tone that betrayed his growing annoyance. Freydis saw the muscles in his jaw clench, a telltale sign that his patience would not last much longer. "Besides, I do not remember you ever fetching Father anything from the larder house."
"You were too young to remember," she hissed.
Ivar tilted his head in an unspoken threat that he was willing to go to any lengths in order to win the argument, though Freydis couldn't tell if it was for her sake or for Ivar's own stubbornness.
"I remember well enough," Ivar muttered and turned his attention back to the fire, sparing Freydis only a brief flash of his brilliant blue eyes. The look made Freydis' heart flutter in her chest and caused her cheeks to be tinted pink. She was accustomed to defending Ivar's cruel comments and slyness in spite of how much he likely deserved to be hit for them, and yet the joy of being defended herself was overwhelming, threatening to spill out in a broad smile.
However she contained herself silently as Aslaug relented and called a slave to fetch the cured meat before silently gliding back to take her place on the throne. Aslaug's side-eyed disapproval of Freydis was not lost on the girl and she struggled not to shrink under the beautiful queen's gaze. No doubt was left in Freydis' mind that Aslaug possessed some form of magic for the way her eyes seemed to make the girl's blood freeze.
Ivar's defensive actions had entirely made up for his prior rejection in her mind, and so she resumed her seat beside him, sitting a little closer than she had before. Whilst he was aware of Freydis' utter adoration for him, for whatever reason he was not yet sure of himself, he had never encouraged any romantic relationship.
She was not unattractive, but rather quite pretty as she had grown up with a small nose, pink cheeks and skin unmarked by disease. Her eyes gleamed brightly with life and the dark locks that had fallen from their braid to frame her face were so long and dark that they almost resembled midnight.
And yet, in spite of her physical attractiveness when Ivar stared at Freydis what made his heart truly beat faster was memories of her falling under the spell of the Beserker nearly eight years ago in which she brutally slaughtered to men four times her size. Like a feral dog with strength beyond bodily capabilities she had killed them and their blood littered the floor and walls like ocean spray. Ivar longed to see that spectacle again, to watch as such a dangerous creature could destroy all around it but him, as though he was the one with the true power in the room.
The commotion in the Great Hall began to die down as the night wound on, with many of the slaves cleaning up the mess and retiring to their quarters. Ivar and Freydis eventually joined his brothers, to the dismay of most of the brothers for one reason or another. It was painfully obvious how much Sigurd disliked Ivar for his crass nature, whilst Ubbe was on edge at the very sound of Freydis' prim voice that littered the conversation on occasion. It appeared as though he would never overlook that night in the cabin or what he had seen, forever on guard for one of her Beserker outbursts.
Freydis sat close enough to her betrothed that their legs barely brushed, though she wondered if Ivar could feel the light touch at all or had simply chosen to ignore it. In the dimness of the fire and the low voices of the Ragnarssons, she managed to pluck up the courage to even allow her shoulder to skim against his. The touch was light, though Freydis was sure he noticed that time by the brief flicker of his eyes from the conversation.
He was belittling Sigurd and his outlandish hairstyle in particular, though barely skipped a breath as he minced around the intense distaste both held for each other. Yet most of what he said was muffled out by the sudden and very raucous laughter of a table of warriors not far from them and closer to the hearth. Their voices illuminated the Great Hall with howls of laughter.
"Be quiet you fat oafs," Ivar hollered back over his shoulder. "Nobody wants to hear your shitty stories of false conquest."
Ubbe dragged a hand down his face at the oncoming conflict, whilst Freydis shrunk back into her seat facing away from the boisterous group. Conflict on such a nice night was the last thing she wanted, or indeed needed in general though Hvitserk gave an encouraging smirk as if to egg his little brother on.
Drunk of mead, the largest of the warriors retorted with, "Shut it, little boy! This hall 'ere was built on the backs of raids I fought in."
"Actually it was built on the back of my father, King Ragnar," he seethed back, earning a unanimous groan from the Ragnarssons, to which Ivar shot them scathing looks. "My brother's all know it, don't they?"
"Don't drag us into fights about father, Ivar," Sigurd grunted in a low voice. "You know how I feel about him."
"Yes, Sigurd. We all know how you feel every moment of the day, all you do is whinge like a little child," he growled back with a snarl forming on his lips.
"Uh? Well if your father was such a great man, then surely he wouldn't have a damn cripple for a son!" Came the nasty reply that seemed to tip the scales of Ivar's seemingly endless rage.
His jaw clenched so tightly that the sound of his teeth grinding could be heard, and Ivar clenched his fists so tightly that his nails drew blood from his palm. Freydis edged away, fearing she was in the way of his violent temper that so easily threatened to spill over. She curled the bearskin around her body in a false sense of comfort and Ivar whirled around on the bench, knocking Freydis from her seat as he did.
She yelped as her back colliding with the ground for a second time that day and Hvitserk immediately rose to his feet in her defence. Rather than turning on the person closest to him, Ivar hauled his legs over the bench and shuffled down to crawl along the ground. Powerful arms let him cross the distance quite easily whilst his chest heaved with his uncontrollable emotions.
The warriors merely mocked how he crawled with such lithe grace, like a dangerous predator making its way through the tall undergrowth. Hvitserk curled an arm under the winded girl's arm and hoisted her back onto the bench, with Ubbe and Sigurd watching tensely. Ubbe then rose in turn as the warriors stood to face the young crippled prince.
"If you think we will fight are cripple, then you must be as mad as they say," the leader of the small group spat insultingly before waving him off.
Ivar spat at his feet and snarled, "You won't need to fight me, I will just kill you." And, quicker than a coiled snake ready to strike, he yanked the ever-present knife from its loop in his belt and drove it into the man's foot, causing him to howl in pain and more so as Ivar twisted the knife in the wound. The man attempted to lurch away, and Ivar let him by unsheathing the knife from his booted foot.
Freydis shivered at the sight of blood, feeling her limbs rush cold and the bearskin that cloaked her shoulders felt weightless. The Beserker side prowled beneath the surface of her calmness, as it often did when violence occurred. She knew the retaliation of the other men was imminent, and that it was likely a way for Ivar to goad her into going Beserk as well as to prove his own self-reliance. He was not going to wait for Freydis to defend him, as he had done the past and enjoyed the way the promise of her bearskin made them tremble in their boots. Rather his brutality and immediate reaction had shown that.
One of the warriors raised his shield above his head in a striking motion to use the shield itself as a blunt weapon, presumably on Ivar's neck. The other Ragnarssons rose to their feet, inciting the remaining warriors to reveal what few weapons they held on their persons.
It was a showdown of bravado that would only be resolved once their blood stopped boiling or everyone was dead, and Ivar's pride would not allow the former. As the shield came hurtling down towards Ivar's neck, he rolled away on his belly and slashed at the man's Achilles tendon, causing him too to topple to the ground with an agonized scream. By now the small groups of slaves and women had retreated to the furthest corners of the Great Hall, leaving the remainder as the optimal space to engage in a bloody brawl.
The sickening crack of the wood splintering against the earth as the shield connecting with the earth jolted Freydis' mind back to memories of England; of bones and metal clashing, hot blood splattering her face and the insurmountable calm followed by a disappearance of consciousness followed by carnage. She tried to resist the feeling of tranquility, but it swallowed her whole with little more than a mere whimper of disagreement on her behalf.
The man with the slashed tendon attempted to strike Ivar again and again, with the defendant only managing to avoid the strikes by a hair's breadth. Ubbe leapt of the table with surprising agility, engaging one the warriors whilst Hvitserk followed in suit.
Freydis, however, rose unsteadily to her feet with glazed over eyes that saw little and understood even less. However her rage erupted in within a second she was on the man with the shield, pining him to the ground. He shouted in shock but quickly screamed as she inserted two thumbs into the inner corners of his eyes, burying them as deep as they would go. Blood welled around her thumbs as he flailed, but her immense strength born from the overwhelming adrenaline of a Beserker allowed her to keep him pinned.
His eyes bubbled and squelched, whilst his screams reverberated from his chest up through the legs she used to pin him to the ground. The man finally managed to break away a free hand and shove it in Freydis' face in an attempt to break free, and she in turn jerked her face away whilst pushing her body weight into her thumbs, and thus into his eyes.
Agonised screams filled the Great Hall as she buried her thumbs deeper into his eyes until nothing but blood filled pools remained in his eye sockets. It seemed the air had been snatched from his lungs as no screams followed, only the listless twitching of his limbs as he lost consciousness. Eventually the thick liquid welled over and streaked down from his eyes towards his eyes like faux tears.
Upon seeing her shift, Hvitserk and Ubbe immediately back away apprehensively, aware of the unpredictability of a Beserker.
Freydis' breathing was labored and none dared move a muscle for fear of attracting her attention. The man below her would likely die from his wounds, or at the very least suffer in blindness for the remainder of it, a fate no others wished to share.
Bolstered by the mead coursing through their veins, the final two assailants mounted their final attacks. One seized Ivar with a knife to his throat while the other took advantage of Freydis' stalemate and took her in a tight headlock from which she struggled to break from. His forearms clamped down hard on her throat and she reached behind her head to scratch furiously at his bald head, leaving streaks of vermillion wounds in her wake.
Ivar, however, went completely still at the sensation of cold steel at his throat and his mind raced with ideas of how to escape the predicament. His mind drew a blank for the longest moment until a shrill cry from his mother distantly crackled against his ears. She cried something along the lines of an order to release him, only for the man holding a feral Freydis to respond with some pitiful excuse that the Beserker would kill them the instant she was let go. And they were correct, she would have been on them in an instant if they even hesitated.
In his nervousness, the Viking with his knife to Ivar's throat pricked the tender flesh of his neck. It was no more than a shaving cut, but it was enough for the Beserker to erupt once more.
She somehow swiveled in her captor's headlock and looped her hands around the back of his neck like a gentle lover, only to sink her pearly teeth deep into the front of his throat. The man's eyes bulged and he struggled to cry out as Freydis' iron grip on his throat tightened, severing flesh from flesh and piercing his jugular. Unlike watching a wolf take down a young deer, the primal nature of the attack was simply horrifying. As the girl clamped down on his throat and jerked it away from the rest of his neck, the attacker was left to splutter and gargle on the blood that filled his mouth.
Staring up at the ceiling with eyes beginning to glaze over, unable to feel the warmth from the hearth or from the blood staining his tunic, he settled back on his haunches, dead.
Only then did Freydis' sense come back to her in the most horribly of ironic ways as she too knelt with her face to the rafters of the Great Hall. Something hot ran down the inside of her throat, blocking her airways and for a moment she choked, coughing out some meaty material from her mouth. On her hands and knees she spluttered out the remaining foreign substance, oblivious to the noise around her.
Ivar's assailant shakily dropped his knife and crawled away from the cripple whom had he been pinning to the ground with his weapon.
Eyes, many eyes stared in disbelief and unreserved horror at the spectacle. It was a blood bath, most of which was caused by the Beserker. The blood that stained her clothes and bearskin looked eerie enough to resemble one of their sacrifices, though the brutality of it was unnerving. Some of the more seasoned Vikings merely cringed back at the sight of gristle and sinew in the young girl's mouth, whilst the women hurried from the Great Hall with much panic.
Freydis touched her mouth and looked to both men, one of whom was only barely breathing whilst the other remained in a kneeling position, staring empty-eyed at the ceiling. His throat was missing, literally torn from him and the blood continued to bubble down the front of him. The other man's eyes had been gouged so deeply that nothing remained of them but a puddle of scarlet liquid.
The emptiness that was left over stung her deeply as the room was frozen with the intensity of the situation. Queen Aslaug found her muscles would barely move, until Ivar slowly crawled over to his companion and clapped her on the back. She barely flinched.
"You did well, Freydis!" He laughed, dispelling the atmosphere yet adding to its callousness in the way he joked. Ivar could feel his pulse rush through his ears like a waterfall of excitement, causing his fingers to tremble as he held the Beserkers shoulder tightly.
"Ivar, get away from her!" Aslaug hissed, barely able to step closer to her son to pull him from the obvious hazard.
The young man's broad smile evaporated as he turned his head to face his mother, but said nothing. Sharp blue eyes engulfed in a blurry anger gave away how much the situation excited him, and not just in the way that satiated his blood lust. Hot tingling blew over Ivar's limbs and loins in waves, stirring him in a way he had never felt before, and he drew closer to Freydis' neck. His breath fanned over her bloodied neck, but she felt nothing as he whispered small words of encouragement to her.
Ivar felt invigorated, and he wanted more.
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To answer the unspoken question YES their romantic relationship will improve in the coming chapters! But perhaps in a very strange way…
SUMMARY: so basically Ivar and Freydis are ice fishing, but he spoils it and they have a small moment. They go back to Kattegat and Freydis is minorly rejected, but then Ivar defends her from his mother which makes it up to her in her mind. But then they get into a fight with some drunks, started by Ivar (obviously), to which Freydis ends up very brutally killing two and sexually/emotionally exciting Ivar and terrifying everyone else.
DISCLAIMER: I don't wish to promote the kind of relationship Ivar has with pretty much anyway, let alone Freydis. For the sake of the story this is how I have chosen to portray their relationship but it is in no way healthy or okay in real life. This is fiction and should not be taken as relationship advice. Don't tolerate this kind of behaviour from ANYONE.