A/N: Hey guys! How are y'all doing?
Life and school got in the way again as per usual. The last few months have been extremely stressful for me, unfortunately. But I'm back with another chapter for this story!
Now, a LOT happens in this chapter. I felt bad that the previous chapter was only 5 pages long, so I wanted to make this a bit longer than usual. According to Microsoft Word, this chapter is 12 pages long. So, not too bad overall.
As for an extremely brief summary for what happens in this chapter: Ivar's infamous temper gets triggered around Ursula, The Elder Brother's 3 being the nosy shits they are, Ivar having enough of said shit, Ursula not feeling the greatest, and Halfnir making a minor reappearance in helping Ivar once again.
The ending is a bit rushed, but I honestly want to move the story along and I kind of feel bad with the constant filler chapters I keep posting. I have plans for the next 5-10 chapters and I'm hoping, but I'm not going to make any promises, that the wedding and wedding night will happen by chapters 16 to 18-ish. And then by chapter 20 - again hopefully but nothing definite - Ragnar will make his famous reappearance after bailing on his family for God knows how long.
The reunion scene with Ragnar and Ivar is NOT going to happen like it did in the show. Just warning you ahead of time. Ursula, being from the future and having seen the show, tells Ivar a brief summary of what Ragnar did to baby Ivar (y'all know what I'm talking about. If not, watch Season 3.) And let's just say that Ivar will have some "words" with Ragnar and leave it at that.
Anywho, onwards with the chapter! Hope you all enjoy reading this next chapter of "Hyrrokkin and the Boneless" :D!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter XII
It took quite a while Ivar to get used to the new set of pains that came with moving his leg muscles like they were supposed to.
There were a lot of times where he wanted to give in to the agony, the frustration, the utter insanity that came with the utter uncomfortable feelings coming from these exercises Ursula puts him through. It's worth it though; more than worth it. Even now after so many days where he got so consumed with his emotional turmoil that he … it's too painful to even think about.
He didn't know how it all started or what had ignited his turbulent emotions. One minute Ursula is sitting at his bedside massaging out his aching legs and the next … red clouds his vision, consumes his heart, devours his very thoughts. Then he wakes up to Ursula holding back his arm as his fist tightly gripped his ax.
Confusion replaced the red as coherency came back to him. Then he noticed the paleness
of her pallor, the wide-eyed look of worry, confusion and heart wrenching fear. Not of him, but for him.
Then he saw the intense redness that led to bruising on her arms and a cold harsher, far more painful than Jotunheim's winters gripped his soul. His eyes widened and his jaw dropped at the sight. Immense shame, agony, and regret painfully gripped his heart as his glacial eyes locked with the oceans belonging to his sváss.
For the first time since he was a babe, hot tears rolled down his chilled, clammy skin as his grip laxed around his ax. Noticing it still in his hand, he forcefully threw it away ignoring the resonating thud as it connected with the wall.
Tears kept pouring thickly and quickly as he reached for her yet quickly jerked his hands back terrified of hurting her further. Her hands relentlessly gripped his own before he pulled away completely.
Apologies shamelessly poured out of his mouth as he embraced Ursula tightly. She returned it gently consoling him by silently rubbing his back.
"It's okay. I'm okay." Ivar let out a choked sob in response having no other motivation than to keep her close to his body. He vowed to her that he wouldn't dare lay another hand with wrathful intentions on her ever again. By accident or not, he will kill himself before doing it a second time. If there is one person he prizes above all else, even his family, Floki, and Helga, it's Ursula. His betrothed. His hjarta. His sváss. The very reason he hasn't lost his soul to madness and apathy.
It had been a berserker's rage as she called it. An accumulation of negative, turbulent emotions that fester and gain strength the longer they are ignored and contained. Until they are no longer willing to be ignored, they possess their creator and makes them release the tension often in the form of violence. Whether to one's self or those around them with no differentiating between friend, family, and foe.
"It has no place outside the battlefield." His tone's full of self-loathing and anger. The feeling of her hand against his cheek drew his attention towards Ursula.
"Maybe but," She gently tapped his temple twice to emphasize her next statement. "The real battlefield goes on in here. And it is far more deadly than the physical one."
Ivar had opened his mouth to stubbornly argue against it vehemently. But it all got chocked up in his throat upon seeing the expression on her face. The all-knowing, somber, face full of unseen torment. The words stuck in his throat were forcefully swallowed at the gut-wrenchingly familiar expression on her face. One that has been displayed on his face far more times than he ever cared to count.
He had brought his own hand to the back of her neck and gently brought their foreheads together. A feeling of warmth and overwhelming peace overcame him that he can easily see had also overcame his sváss and heart. It brought a sense of fulfillment washed over him as he saw her lids closed over her eyes and her whole countenance relaxed at the simple yet profound gesture of affection.
Those memories are being carried within him even now months later. Plagued him, to be far more accurate. It took many days before he would touch his weapons again. For fear of falling into that "berserker's rage" again and hurting Ursula.
His brother's and mother noticed how he willingly didn't participate in practice as much as he used to. The only weapon he would actively use is his bow. And well, while his mother didn't care much about it, his brothers, on the other hand, did care. Even if they are the nosiest shits that he's ever had the displeasure of knowing in his life.
"Ivar," The youngest brother looked up as Ubbe, Hvitserk, and Sigurd made their way into his longhouse. Ivar's eyes flickered to Ursula reflexively checking up on her even as she sewed them some winter clothing and repaired the one's they already had. "What's going on?"
He knew exactly what Ubbe is asking of him, and he is not about to have this conversation around Ursula. She didn't need the extra stress or anxiety right now. Now when she hasn't felt the greatest these past few days. With that in mind, Ivar carefully got out of his chair, kisses Ursula on her cheek gaining a wholesome smile from her. Which in turn, had him return it just the same. "I'll take them outside and talk. You just relax and keep warm, okay?"
Normally, she would give him her signature raised-brow look, but given how badly her joints are affecting her, she only replies with a nod of her head. "Take your cloak, please. It's too cold to go without."
Seeing how she wrapped herself in two of her thick, knitted, woolen winter blankets and that she remains in her chair by the fire, Ivar decides to follow her advice. He gives her another kiss to the cheek before heaving himself to his feet.
If the wide-eyed, slack-jawed expressions on their faces were any indication, well Ivar must have made quite the sight. A subtle smirk stretched his lips while grabbing his custom-made crutch as he carefully made over to the door passing his shock-stiff brothers. He grabbed his thick, fur lined cloak (which had been made by his sváss) before securing it around his shoulders.
Ivar looked back at his brothers looking both parts unimpressed and amused. "Well? Are you coming or not?"
This seemed to shock his brother out of whatever stupor they fell into as they quickly followed out the door into the cold. Ivar quickly shut the door beyond him to keep the cold out of the longhouse and away from Ursula as much as possible. Despite having grown in a colder environment, she admitted to not being used to it completely due to her own body's reaction to the severe weather. Which is understandable considering where they are now and the signs of a harshly bitter winter brewing right around the corner.
Ivar sat himself onto the bench by the door having started to feel the effects of the cold on his own body. He looked up at his brothers seeing the various expressions they all had.
"What's going on Ivar?" Surprising it is Hvitserk that asks this as an unusual seriousness overcame his features.
"Can you be more specific?" The tilt of his head both conveyed a warning and a curiosity as his features remained placid despite the sense of urgency to get back to Ursula as quick as possible.
"You know exactly what we're talking about." Came the sneering voice of Sigurd as he bared an expression of contempt towards Ivar.
Ivar sighed as he placed his crutch in front of him. "If I did know, I wouldn't have asked what you meant, now would I?"
"Practice, Ivar." Came the unusually impatient voice of Ubbe as he put his hands on his hips. "Usually, you're an active participant. Now, you aren't. Why?"
Ivar leaned his head back towards the sky closing his eyes praying to the gods for patience in dealing with his brothers and to stop himself from killing them.
"What business is it of yours to know everything I do?" He sneered at them quite fed up with their behavior in general when far more important things were on his mind. "Got so dreadfully bored that you had to come bother me with your inane words? Fuck off. All of you."
All three of the elder brothers didn't know what to make of this new version of Ivar. It is like he had completely changed overnight despite it all happening within a years' time. More confident, self-assured, and far calmer than before with a sense of otherworldly maturity.
Ubbe didn't know what to make of it. Though he had high hopes that it is all for the better. All thanks to Ivar's slave to chosen woman – that Hyrrokkin if that even is her true name. However, that is none of his concern, for now.
He is not stupid. He knows that Ivar had chosen to have her as a wife long before his little realized his true feelings towards her. For all his confusion, Ubbe can partially see what Ivar sees in Hyrrokkin to have him give his twisted, dark heart. Her kindness, her grace and unshaking resolve in handling his mood swings, how she took no bullshit from Ivar and gave it right back, how her wit and intellect could keep up with Ivar's in ways they – his family – could not, and how she took care of his needs without hindering his independence, identity, thoughts, and emotions. In a much healthier way that their mother had never managed to accomplish on her own.
It had not been just her appearance that ensnared Ivar. Though in Ivar's drunken ramblings, he always went on and on over her "wonderfully textured golden hair, eyes that put Aegir's oceans to shame, and that smile that outshined the sun." Ubbe has yet to see what Ivar sees in her in that regard. Yet she is having a far more positive influence over their brother that reminded him so much Floki and Helga's relationship – just not as extreme in any regard.
In many ways, Ubbe is both afraid and jealous of Ivar's relationship with Hyrrokkin. Yet he knows that he shouldn't be. Ivar is a feral, crippled Alpha male guarding his mate with a zeal that put the fear of the gods in him. He just hoped that it isn't turned against him at an unexpectant time and place.
Hvitserk can't help but feel even more suspicious of all that's happened. First the raid in Gaul[1], where he and their eldest brother, Bjorn, had taken many of the people to be sold as thralls to those interested. Then this fair-haired unsightly tall, plush giantess catches the manic eyes of his youngest brother from the start. Sure, despite her countenance, a woman's a woman and most had no troubles resisting his charms which would usually have them in his bed soon enough. However, not once did she fall for his usual tactics. It had been Ivar who she had fallen for both figuratively and literally which baffled him to no end!
For him, it's the chase and no-strings attached way of interacting with women that he enjoyed. However, to see such a woman, a foreign Dane no doubt, becoming bewitched with his little brother and remained unscathed? It shouldn't be possible!
Now, to see Ivar act this towards this now freewoman like a man possessed, and to have her return it in spades, it is inconceivable.
Sigurd didn't know how to deal with this completely different Ivar. All he can think of is their niece Siggy, barely six seasons old (maybe even younger), in that stream covered in mud, blood, and bodily fluids. He was no older than she had been at the time and could have been easily mistaken as siblings. Then the reactions of a completely uncaring, drunk Aslaug, and an uncaring Ivar for her death and the neglect she went through. It left his mark on him in more ways than one. To make matters worse Bjorn, her own father, never once showed any sort of emotion towards his own flesh and blood. That he made himself!
To see that the once apathetic, pampered, manic Ivar now turning into his near-complete opposite is Earth-shattering in more ways than one. And the stupid part of all this? It hadn't been a sudden change. It feels like it, certainly, but it had not been in any way obviously sudden. And it's all because of that Giantess he had … attached himself to, for lack of a better term.
What is so special about this Giantess? What does his crippled brother see that they cannot? Sigurd had heard what little explanations Ivar gave them, but it all still illudes them all. Himself especially, however, he doesn't concern himself with the matter when it would serve to stir unwanted thoughts and emotions from within.
"What are you all still doing here?!" Ivar stood to his feet in a feral hunched-over posture, his teeth barely hidden behind his lips. "FUCK OFF!"
He shocked them with a swing of his crutch startling them enough to send his elder brother's running through the cold temperatures of early winter. His body protested but not enough to cause him too much pain to lock up entirely.
The rustling of the door took his attention seeing his sváss standing three wrapped in a large bear fur that swallowed her. He blinked his widened eyes at her before making his way over.
"Is everything okay?" The worry plain as day on her supple face yet unbearably pale, pain-pinched face. His chilled hand cupped her face kissing in a loving embrace as he brought a unbelievably tender kiss to her forehead as she gave a smile in return.
"Yes. My brothers are being nosy where it's not wanted." His turbulent emotions immediately waned and calmed at the sight of his sváss calming even further at her hand cupping his own cheek.
"Alright. C'mon let's get out of the cold. I have a feeling it's going to be worse tonight." He agreed with her as they entered the house shutting the door tightly behind them. "Maybe we can put some of the spare furs along the walls to help trap some of the warmth in."
"We'll have to do it now or we won't be able to do it until tomorrow. However," He looks at her seriously as he gently placed her in her chair. "You need to rest and stay warm. I'll see if I can get Halfnir to help."
"Oh, alright. Please be careful." Those imploring ocean blues did him in to agreeing almost immediately.
"Of course." He gave her another forehead kiss and then a long, heavily emotional kiss on her lips one that she returned in full. "I'll try to be back before náttmal. If not, then before we usually head for bed."
She nodded with a worried expression sighing heavily. They exchanged another kiss for good measure expressing what they could without words even if they couldn't fully understand what is being said.
Ivar shivered as he closed the door behind him with an axe attached to his belt and a crutch to help in case of losing his newfound balance.
The trek through the snow is nothing new for Ivar – not in the very least. However, the only difference between now and years past is that he is no longer dragging himself through the multiple feet of snow. Now, he no longer has to concern himself with the constant danger of being severally frostbitten and lose his hands – his once only source of mobility.
Thanks to Ursula, who he thanks the gods daily for sending her his way, he now can be mobile on his legs and feet. Ivar can still remember the day he and Ursula walked – albeit slowly with care – into town. Everyone stopped and stared with faces so ashen they could be mistaken for corpses, eyes so widened that they were in danger of falling out, and mouths gapping with the potential of collecting flies.
He had been hunched over not used to using a straight-backed posture standing up just yet. His arm wrapped around Ursula's for support and his crutch for balance. Not a single leg and back brace in sight. Muscles still strained from the unfamiliar use yet not as much as it would have if they hadn't stretched them out just before leaving the longhouse.
Both Ursula and he carried on as though this had been a daily occurrence. As they entered the Great Hall, they went by without notice – at first. As more and more did started noticing, all the previous noise, talking, and movement ceased to exist. They received the same reactions as the townsfolk only in far more variously stoic and extreme expressions.
Some chocked on their food and drink alike.
Some did spit-takes of their ale and mead.
Some froze up completely in shock.
Some did double-takes multiple times.
Some cussed out loudly and intensely.
Some did all the above at the same time in various intensities.
Ivar reveled in their reactions to a point of having to fight a smirk off his face entirely. Yet, he knew his beloved while also very amused, felt incredibly uncomfortable with all the attention they are receiving at the moment. The slight tightening of the grip on his arm gave it away as well as the gradually closed off, stony expression that took place of her once openly warm features.
He gently bumped his shoulder against hers for support as they made their way to their semi-usual seats. Ignoring any and all silent enquiries, murmurs, whispers, and looks as they ate their dágmal in semi-relative peace.
Even now, many months later, Ivar still found humor in the memory. Over time, both himself and his sváss stopped taking meals in the Great Hall. Many of the previously disinterested women now followed his movements with their eyes causing Ursula to react rather … territorially possessive, in her own way.
Glares of absolute death pierced the more weak-willed women enough to cease their actions altogether. An arm wrapped around his waist with her hand rubbing his side caused the cautiously curious ones to pause and back off. However, the very few braver ones managed to get closer and attempted at pathetic means of seduction. Pathetic in terms of their much leaner, minimally curved physiques had absolutely no effect on his sexual inclinations in any way possible.
So, Ivar did as any faithful man would do, he ignored them. Why would he in any way even consider them over Ursula? They never showed anything other than disgust and fear before. So, why are they expressing this disgustingly fickle interest now? The minds of women, except Ursula, would forever evade him it seems.
To his shock and delight, Ursula, having had enough, stalked up to him and kissed him tongue-and-all in front of those two-faced whores. And he most definitely returned it wholeheartedly and with vigor. Fire roared within his blood once more even as they broke apart. That got those women to back off immediately.
"If I see anyone of you near Ivar, I will ensure that you understand to fear a pissed-off, spurned giantess. That I promise you."
Ivar had never seen Ursula angry before. Sure, irritated, annoyed, and the like but never truly angry. To see and hear that anger now out of good-intended protective possessiveness, well it was an awe-inspiring sight to behold.
Pursed lips, furrowed brows shadowing her wildly storm-raging ocean blue eyes. Her features somehow sharpening further conveying the darkly dangerous anger behind it all. She had become the ocean incarnate in her glorious anger – when not directed at him, of course.
It set him aflame with the mere thought of it even now many months later. He had long gotten Halfnir at this point. Not needing more than to come within the vicinity of the forge to be told with a gruff, "Be there in a moment" from the man.
One of the many reasons why Ivar trusted the man enough to even be within 10 feet of his house and Ursula. No ass-kissing, bootlicking, or unnecessarily flowery words have ever come from Halfnir which both Ursula and he greatly appreciate.
When the two men got out of the cold, Ivar immediately turned his attention to a sleeping Ursula still bundled in her chair wrapped in those blankets and shawl of hers. A sigh of relief escaped him at the sight. She began her monthly bleeding the morning before (which had been quite the conversation when it first happened) with the pains and weakness in her lower body becoming far more prominent now that it is getting colder. By now they had taken to sharing a bed, literally sleeping not engaging in sex just yet, for both comfort and warmth in each other to stave off the weather.
They both had a hard time sleeping last night. Ursula due to her womanly pains and Ivar out of worry and wanting to watch over her in case she needed anything. To see her finally getting a peaceful rest is one of many prayers answered. Perhaps, it's time to invest in a newer far more cushioned bed, just in case.
Ivar turned back to the patiently waiting Halfnir who had taken to glancing at his sváss in both concern and curiosity.
Halfnir despite having been newly married for a few months, knew the signs of a woman's monthly bleeding. Combine that with what little he knew of his Prince's woman's aliments, well it is cause for worry, but nothing too drastic.
Said Prince spoke up gaining back the attention of the older man, "We would like to put more furs on the walls to keep the heat in. If you don't mind, I appreciate another pair of hands to accomplish it."
Ivar got a curt nod of agreement before they got to work. It took them both a while, a few hours more than anticipated, but they managed to get the entire house covered in as many furs that could be spared. Shortly after they finished, Ursula started waking up to the sound of their door opening and closing once again signaling Halfnir's departure.
When they had gone to bed that evening, it was to a much warmer house, full stomachs, and a restful sleep in each other's arms.
[1] Gaul – the ancient name for modern-day France given by the Germanic tribes that had been made popular by an Irish monk called St. Gall; a Celtic word meaning "foreigner, stranger"; a distinguished German surname.
A/N: Sooo, what do y'all think so far? Not too shabby, right? *nervously laughs*
I'm hoping I didn't go too much out of character with anyone just yet. And that you all are enjoying my interpretations of everyone thus far :).
Ursula's POV is next, and Floki will have words with her about her Christian faith as well as her relationship with Ivar. I can only imagine how that conversation will go at this point considering all that's happened so far.
Anyways, I'm off to posting this chapter on AO3 and I hope you have a wonderful day/night!