A/N:

* Sequel to Warlord of the Great Army * This story can be read solely without reading Warlord.

I relocated Kattegat. It is now located in Denmark, making all Ragnarssons Danes.

The story is in first person told by a forty-year-old Ivar recalling his past adventures.

London of 886

Hvitserk stood near the prow staring at the Roman village we were coming upon. Our ship rocked from the current, but my crew never faltered as they rowed her into port. London was constructed tactfully. I'll admit that. I wonder what price Alfred would accept to acquire this land. Stoned palisade walls surrounded the dock, all well-guarded.

London was a sight to see, but my attention had wandered to a small fisher ship hauling shackled slaves out of it.

'King Ivar, looks like they want us to dock up ahead,' said Magnus pointing in the direction of the Saxon guards.

I couldn't take my eyes off the slaves being guided off the boat. Seventeen years ago, that was me. A slave, a possession. Seventeen years ago, I was betrayed by my brothers and sold into slavery. I lost Yorvik, my rank as warlord of the Great Army, and my rights to my name.

I shut my eyes, trying to remember my dearest friend, my adopted brother, a man I'd go to the end of the realm for. Olaf the White.

My fate had changed, and it led me to Ireland. Alongside a man who was enslaved with me. Together we became the Kings of Dublin.

The Northern Uí Néill Territory of 869

'Row! Row you worthless slaves,' shouted the shipmaster in his thick Irish tongue.

A stalky man in his forties walked up and down the ship crouching next to the rower's benches, shouting in our faces. He was the shipmaster. I learned early on that his name was Niall.

A cold spray of saltwater showered my face when the boat tilted into the current. I swear I'll get my revenge on my brothers. I'll make them suffer for this.

My lips were cracked, I never been so thirsty, and my hands were burning. My palms were covered in blisters from pulling the oar constantly, and the saltwater striking my wounds wasn't helping.

Whoever was assigned for bailing water from the ship was doing a piss poor job today. I had lost all feeling in my feet since dawn from the water swishing around the floorboards. I couldn't move my feet due to having steel shackles bounding my ankles in place. I still had my leg braces on. I never wore them for this prolonged of a time, and now my legs were violently shaking from the intense spasms that had built up. There was nothing I could do except continue rowing this damn oar.

A mixture of ale stench, breath, and piss struck me when the shipmaster crouched at my bench. A whip was strapped to his belt, the same whip that had hit my back throughout this voyage.

I was his newest slave, his newest toy, and unfortunately, his latest fascination. I didn't dare turn to meet his gaze. No, I kept my focus ahead as I gripped onto my oar, rowing it against the current.

Niall reached out, snatching my chin and yanking me to face him. I immediately dropped my gaze to the floorboards. This was a game he loved to play with me. As a slave, you never look a free man in the eyes.

'Oh Ímar, whatever am I going to do with you? A cripple, what am I supposed to do with a cripple? Luckily, you have a pretty face, and you can speak many languages.'

I slowly lifted my gaze, staring the bastard in the eyes with as much defiance I could muster. He reached for my silver cross and Thor's hammer amulets that I wore on a silver chain around my neck. Yanking harshly, he nearly pulled me off the bench bringing me in closer towards him.

'I'm going to enjoy breaking you Ímar. I own you. Your old life is nothing but a memory. You belong to me now.'

My name is Ivar, Ivar the Boneless, son of Ragnar Lothbrok. No one owns me.

With a sharp tug, he snapped the chain from off my neck, stuffing my possessions inside his pocket. I unconsciously gasped at being stripped the last thing I had left of my father's. Sure, the cross came from Prince Alfred, but my father had worn it prior. I accidentally dropped my oar, nearly reaching for his pocket. He swatted my hand, bending down and picking up the oar, slamming the barked wood against my chest.

'Oh, don't worry that pretty little face of yours. I'll be giving you back your cross and hammer. How I present it to you, though, you may not find comforting. Drop my oar again, and I'll throw your crippled body overboard.'

I swear I'll kill this man one day.

I seethed with anger but winced from a painful strike to my back from a whip. I refused to cry out and give them the satisfaction. I muffled the grunt as I pushed the oar back into the sea, rowing to this forsaken endless destination.

After a week out in the sea and little to nothing to eat or drink, the view of land never looked so welcoming. Rowing towards the pier, I could sense the vibes of my fellow slaves' demeanor change to a caution.

Nearly on the brink of passing out, I put forth the last of my energy paddling the oar to the docks. Niall and his crew began breaking out in a commotion as they started unloading their cargo and tying the lines to the pier. I remained seated, keeping my gaze to the floorboards mimicking what the other slaves were doing. The crew was laughing and talking about which whore they wanted to fuck but none of us slaves dared to release a sound.

So this is Ireland. It looks no different than Northumbria. I wonder how far Tara is.

The rattling of metal chains and shackles snapped me out of my thoughts. Finally, I was getting off this cursed boat. They must've started unlatching the slaves at the stern because I was the last one to be released.

A crewmember bent over, roughly tugging at my leg. His name was Bran. From what I observed, he was Niall's son.

'Move your leg up, so I can unlatch it,' shouted Bran in his Irish tongue.

I reached with both hands to my left leg picking it up. Bran stared at me for a second as if realizing I was crippled for the first time.

'Oh,' said Bran. A faint blush began covering his youthful face. 'Hey father, what do we do about the crippled? How is he supposed to follow us? He can't even walk?'

'Dammit boy, I know he can't walk. That's what a cripple is, you idiot,' said Niall, who began walking towards us. He grabbed onto my wet, torn cloth shirt bringing me to my feet. I accidentally winced in front of him due to my legs rebelling against accepting the weight. 'If you can't get to my land, I'll have my horse drag your worthless body across the ground until you figure a way out.'

I nodded my head. That wasn't the correct response Niall wanted to receive. He raised his arm, backhanding me across the cheek. The force would've knocked me over if he still wasn't holding me up with his other hand. I bit down as he pointed a finger in my face.

'You will speak when I talk to you.'

'Yes,' I said quietly.

'Yes, master! Now say it,' shouted Niall, shaking me in his grip.

'Yes, master.'

Gods, kill me now, or on second thought, please kill them.

Niall released his grip on me. No longer having the aided support, I fell backward, landing between the benches. Grunting, I quickly rolled over onto my stomach and began crawling. Niall burse in a laughing fit mocking me, but I kept crawling, ignoring the taunts.

I don't care, laugh all you want. I'm a cripple. I've accepted who I am. I'm the cripple who nearly conquered all of Britain.

As I reached the ledge of the ship, getting ready to pull myself onto the dock, large hands gripped onto my upper arm, pulling me up. It was the slave who rowed parallel to me, a large Norseman with bright ginger hair. His name was Olaf, Olaf the White. I had slept next to him every night for shared warmth. He was the only other Northman here and currently my only ally for the moment.

Soon he'll turn on me too, no doubt. Probably once he finds out my identity or when he gets tired of a cripple.

'Ímar put your arms around my neck. I'll carry you, trust me,' said Olaf in the Norwegian tongue.

The Norwegian tongue was slightly different from my Danish, but I knew all my mother's tongues. Languages came easy for me.

Our wrists were still shackled and chained together along with everyone's ankles except mine. I didn't have long to argue with Olaf, for he shoved his head between my arms, lifting me. Another slave tucked my legs on top of Olaf's arms, and I was carried onto his back.

This is so damn humiliating.

'What the hell is this, hey Olaf, you may carry Ímar, but if your cock goes anywhere near my property, you'll be dead by morning. And that goes for the rest of you worthless slaves. Don't make me lock the cripple up with the women. I get the first fuck! Lord knows I overpaid for it.'

My heart contracted hearing that, and I instinctively tightened my grip on Olaf as they began walking.

'Don't listen to that nonsense Ímar, your safe with me. He won't touch you, and that's the truth. That man has too many beautiful women slaves of the fullest breast on his property. Why you're so hideous you'll be the last on his list,' whispered Olaf as he lightly chuckled at his jest.

I prayed to the gods he was right. I didn't know Olaf, but I was wary he'd betray me just like my brothers had. Just like, Hvitserk had. Hvitserk's betrayal hurt the most and left a sour taste in my mouth thinking about him. I prayed I was wrong about Olaf. Just once, I wanted to find someone who was truthful in their intentions. I prayed it was Olaf I could trust.

I felt horrible having him carrying me as we trekked through the snow on foot. He kept reassuring me I weight that of a baby. I don't know how I felt about that comment, but who was I to complain.

Every major landmark we passed, I tried instilling the location into my memory. I had no intention of being a slave for long, and soon I'd be working on my escape.

Niall's land wasn't too far a walk from the pier, but still a reasonable distance that'd require caution when making my escape. His pasture was vast, telling me he was probably equal to that of an ealdorman in this kingdom. Ealdorman was what the Saxons had called their lords who owned land. Instead of using timber palisade walls to secure his land, Niall relied on stones stacked high circling his property. There were a few wooden houses, but I got the feeling we'd be locked into the shed with the livestock.

A stout woman walked out of a house with her arms folded across her chest, giving Niall a stern look. This was probably the shipmaster's wife. Two children ran past her, both a boy and girl who looked around ten. They ran to Niall, who knelt over, embracing them.

The woman at the house began eyeing us like a hawk looking for her prey. Her eyes landed on me, and her frown deepened. Niall must've picked up on the scrutiny as he walked over to me, clasping onto my arms and removing me from Olaf. The slaves were rallied into a shed, but I remained in Niall's hold. He hauled me over to the house. My legs were being dragged against the snow, and I was afraid he would dislocate my arm.

Upon reaching the front of the house, Niall held me up to the woman as if to show off his newest possession. Her eyes bore over my body, landing on my braced legs.

Oh, here we go.

'Niall, where in heaven did you find this slave? I hope to God you didn't pay too much.'

'Darling, it can speak many, many languages. It also did good working at the prow paddling alongside Olaf. This slave will be valuable for my trades with the Scots and Saxons. Wait and see, I tell you. It's young too. I reckon only eighteen at most.'

I had to bite down about being talked about as if I weren't here. I'm twenty-three, you bastard! Call me an it one more damn time. The little girl I imagined was curious about my legs as she reached for my left leg brace.

'What is this, father?'

'Anya dear, don't touch Ímar, it's not trained yet.'

Trained! I'll show you trained.

'Ímar, that's a funny name,' said Anya giggling.

I kept my eyes adverted to the ground as they talked. Niall still had a tight hold on me. My hair was snatched tightly. I looked up, greeted with a cold gaze from the shipmaster's wife.

'I know mischief, and this one is filled with it. Mark my words, this slave will be more trouble than it's worth. The devil lives in it.'

Piss off, woman.

Niall laughed behind me. Heavy breathing and a shuffle of snow alerted me someone was approaching. A sharp click of metal clasping against my collar told me whoever just arrived must've latched a chain onto my steel collar.

'Took you long enough, alright dear, I'm going to get this one locked in.'

The damn shipmaster leaned in towards his wife, crushing me in between them as they kissed. I resisted the gag at the scene. This became difficult when he released his grip on my left arm only to squeeze his wife's breast.

At that point, I could no longer hold back my disgusted expression imitating a silent belch. My face didn't go unnoticed by Anya who was giggling in her hands.

When they pulled away, Niall released his grip on my other arm. I tumbled forward into the snow. Muffling a groan, I dug my blistered hands into the ice, pushing my upper half up.

'Supper will be on the table when you're done,' said the wife.

I gasped for air as my collar was yanked roughly in the direction of a small wooden building. I tried keeping up with Niall as he tugged the chain latched to my collar. My hands couldn't keep up, and with a strong force of a pull, he was dragging me across the ground. I began wheezing and gasping for air as snow cut into my already tore up back. I gripped onto my collar, trying to pull it down to breathe.

'He's hurting Ímar, mommy! Oh no, oh no!' shrieked Anya in her high pitch voice.

I was dragged into an empty stable that had tools and, to my surprise, a hearth. Niall dropped the chain once he pulled me to the center of the stable. I inhaled sharply, coughing from the released pressure around my throat. The crewmembers who were on the ship stood inside the stable. Whatever awaited me here was nothing good.

'Strip it of everything,' said Niall in a stern voice.

My heart contracted violently. I tried to control my breathing while the crewmembers grabbed onto me, unlatching my leg braces and cloth clothing. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to ready myself for whatever was to come. Tight hands clasped onto my upper arms and shoulders, restraining me to the ground. The last of my clothing was stripped off and tossed across the building, far out of my reach. Niall stood by me his eyes, scanning my body and resting on my deformed legs.

My breathing became sharp when the bastard lowered himself down over me. His fat hands roamed over my upper chest, tracing my tattoos. I shivered beneath him at the unwanted contact meeting his gaze. Yellow teeth were grinning down at me as he pressed his hands firmly over my chest and slowly worked his way down my naked body.

I was his possession, and he wanted to own and inspect every portion of my body. His fingers halted on my abdomen. He roughly traced over the scar King Æthelred inflicted with his seax a couple of years ago. I bit down as my body released another uncontrolled shiver.

Olaf, please help.

I couldn't control my uneven breathing to the point my lungs hurt each time I inhaled those short breaths. I wanted to roll out beneath him desperately, but I was restrained. Held down against my will, he brought his hands scaling lower down my hip to my thighs.

'Stop!' I shouted in the Irish tongue thrashing beneath their hold.

'You dare order me, slave,' said Niall snatching my jaw bringing our faces close together.

The crewmembers that held me down laughed. I pressed my lips together, looking away from him as he continued his inspection. His rough hands began kneading over my skin. I squirmed in a futile attempt. I wanted to heave, but there was nothing in my stomach to release. I couldn't stop the tears that began silently pouring down my cheeks.

I'm not weak! I won't let these filths break me.

My breath hitched when his hands cuffed my upper thighs. Slowly he pressed his hands in between my tights, spreading my legs. I couldn't control the tears that gushed down my cheeks or the uncontrolled shivers from freight.

Ubbe, Hvitserk, Björn … I'm so sorry for everything I did. Please forgive me. I'm sorry. I'm sorry!

He sharply pressed his hand up, and I caught a glimpse of his haunted glint over his eyes. The bastard was still grinning at me. He brought his knees between my legs, hovering over me. His hands brushed across my lower portion, and with tear-soaked cheeks, I clenched my eyes shut, shaking my head vigorously.

I'm sorry, Ubbe! I'm sorry, Hvitserk, I'm sorry, Björn! Please help. Not again, please not again!

'Ímar, my beautiful young slave. Let's begin your training now. I am your master. Whatever and however I choose to use you. I will because you belong to me.'

Niall released his hands, turning his gaze over to a crewmember that was pinning my shoulders down. With a firm nod, the crewmember removed his hold, walking towards the hearth.

'I told you I'd be returning your cross and hammer, didn't I,' said Niall laughing.

I tried looking past him to see what danger was coming my way. The crewmember lifted a pot from the hearth. He slowly approached me, crouching back over my head, holding onto small steel clamps. The shape of a cross was amber lit held in the clamp as the man came down, placing the scorched metal over my collar. I screamed out from the collar heating up against my throat. The crewmember returned with a heated hammer inside the clamp, placing it next to the cross.

My cries intensified as the collar heated, scalding my entire throat. Later that night, I realized they had melted the backs of my cross and hammer amulets onto the front of my collar.

I thrashed in their hold with my eyes tightly shut, praying for the heat to ease off my throat. An intense burn suddenly emitted from my right wrist, screaming out and snapping my eyes open. The pain jolted up my arm, and the smell of burnt flesh struck my nostrils. The crewmember was holding a metal rod retreating towards the hearth where he discarded it.

'Now Ímar, you carry my crest. If you ever try to escape, everyone will know you're my property,' said Niall.

This filth just branded me.

They flipped me over onto my stomach only for the bastard to repeat feeling me up all over again. I was shaking when he cuffed my ass. The torture finally halted when he removed his hands and clothing was tossed on top of me.

The chain still latched onto my collar was picked up, and with a forceful tug, I was hoisted up. Chocking from my collar, I sat up.

'Get dressed.'

I wanted to shout at him, but my survival depended on me being patient. Instead, I rushed for the wool garments slipping the fabric on. The clothing was greasy and damaged, but it was better than nothing. I was given peasant brown wool pants and a tunic. I was surprised when they returned my boots and leg braces to me. Quickly I latched the metal braces back onto my legs, reuniting with discomfort.

'Ímar, why do you wear those contraptions if you can't walk?' asked Niall folding his arms over his chest.

'I can with a crutch,' I said, waiting a second before lowering my voice, 'master.'

I could taste the sickness over my tongue saying that last word. Niall was nodding his head, looking around.

'Bran, get that broke oar to my slave.'

The shipmaster's son ran to the back of the stable only to return with an oar. The oar was broken off at the tip, making it look more like a walking stick. Bran tossed it at me. Quickly catching it, I picked myself up, thrusting my weight onto the oar. I grimaced at my joints, protesting from me applying too much pressure on them. Inhaling a deep breath for the first time in over a week, I stood high, staring Niall in the eyes.

Niall grinned, nodding his head.

'And thus, I gave my little birdie its wings. Did you make these?' asked Niall pointing at my leg braces.

'Yes,' I said and then clenched my teeth together, 'master.'

Niall laughed, bending down, and glancing over at my braces.

'This is some fine workmanship. Ímar, you're becoming more useful by the day. Bran, take Ímar and secure it with my other slaves, and feed them while you're at it,' said Niall while he unlatched the chain from my collar.

'Yes, father. Slave, come,' said Bran snapping his fingers.

The things I'll do to this piece of shit family one day.

I inhaled a breath as I struck the oar into the ground, leaning my weight onto it. I slid one foot over the dirt, followed by my other foot. I couldn't move as quickly as I could with my crutch, but at least I wasn't dragging my body over this snow.

Bran was annoyed at waiting on me, for he kept exhaling loudly and looking behind his shoulder at me. Eventually, I made it to the shack that housed all the other slaves. It was crowded inside. Niall had more slaves than I had assumed. Stepping forward into the building, I noted most of the slaves were eyeing me. They were probably both curious and trying to gauge if I would be a threat.

The building was poorly built. There were many openings in the ceiling, and no wooden floorboards covered the ground. No, I'd be sleeping on a mixture of mud and straw. No hearth was present inside here. My only warmth would be my fellow slaves to the left and right of me.

'Ímar over here,' whispered Olaf waving for me.

I had bedded down beside Olaf just as we had done on the ship for the past week. We were given a roll of stale bread. It was so hard I could've lost a tooth biting into it. For the first time, I could openly talk to Olaf without the risk of getting welted by a whip. I had learned he was in his late thirties, and he had a wife and son. He had a settlement he ruled alongside his younger brother in the Kingdom of Mide, called Dublin.

I asked Olaf how he was captured, but he evaded the question asking me how I came to be here. I placed my hand over my collar brushing my cross and hammer with my fingers as the memories flooded back.

Ubbe on the ship kneeling next to me.

'You burned my men and women alive, for what, for destroying your belongings. I promise you Ivar, you are no longer a son of Ragnar. You're no longer a Lothbrok, no longer a Ragnarsson, no longer our brother. You are no longer welcomed in this army or at Kattegat,' said Ubbe in a hollow voice.

I squeezed my eyes shut, briefly clearing my thoughts before looking at Olaf.

'Fate led me here.'

Olaf chuckled, throwing a pebble at my forehead.

'Well, I say we guide our fates back to my settlement. You'll like Dublin. There's plenty of beautiful women there.'

I smirked while closing my eyes. 'Soon, will get out of here.'