The Irish Sea of 886

Are we able to shape our fate? I tried just that one time. Maybe we are nothing more than pawns to the gods.

Shaking my head, I reach into my pocket, pulling out my chess piece, tossing it up in the air, and catching it. I stare down at the game piece rolling it over my scar palm.

Soon I'd be back on Wessex soil, bringing my fleet of warships to aid King Alfred against the Dane's invasion. I'll be fighting against my people.

Nausea swept over my senses just thinking about both Britain and Alfred. It had been twenty years since I last commanded the Great Army.

My name is Ivar, King of all Northmen in these lands. But back then, I was known as Ivar the Boneless, the feared Warlord of the Great Army. What I should've labeled myself as was an idiot.

Back then I was young and attractive. Although even at forty I still get those hungry stares often from both men and women when I walk through the courts. But twenty years ago, I was young and ambitious. My body wasn't hardened from battles and slavery nor was I covered in scars. I was innocent back then, an innocence that wanted to make a name for myself.

All great sagas have a starting point. Unfortunately, my saga began when I was that twenty-year-old cynical, reckless fool. A fool who challenged fate.

November of 866 - Yorvik (York) - Kingdom of Northumbria

I dropped my dull gaze to the river muffling a yawn as I leaned forward over the dock boards. It was always a surprise to see my attractive appearance staring back at me. Starring with those calculating blue eyes that offered no warmth. My short brown hair laid loose today pushed back behind my ears.

A clashing of metal against metal and shouts were heard from a distance. My army was strengthening the defenses here at Yorvik. Yorvik, the Saxons had called the town Eoforwic prior. If we were to establish a stronghold on this land, it was best to start with a new name, a Danish name.

A shadow crept over me, turning to see my brother, Hvitserk, standing over me. Hvitserk was everything I longed to be. He was a perfect warrior, a master at his craft. He had a tranquility in his mood until thrown in battle, then he became a wild berserker. Out of all my brothers, Hvitserk was my favorite. The gods he's still my favorite even today. Hvitserk was the only sibling that treated me like an equal, despite my useless crippled legs. For that small act, I loved him.

Hvitserk crouched over next to me. His thick eyebrows were scrunched over his youthful face looking conflicted.

'Ivar, why are we heavily defending this town? The Saxons already fled south.'

'I know, but to make a permanent residence, we need a fortress that won't fall.'

'I think we have more important things to do. We must look to Kattegat. What if Ubbe kills Lagertha or persuades her to crown him king? The loss of our home base would be a devastating blow. We need to start things out, we need to kill Ubbe and Lagertha, and you must be crowned King of Kattegat. Before Björn returns,' said Hvitserk smiling at me.

I didn't know it at the time, but that decision would come back to haunt me a few years later. Returning the smile, but I shook my head. That would've been a great idea, but Kattegat was not my destiny. No, when I left there, I knew I'd most likely never return. It was probably the same thoughts our father, Ragnar Lothbrok, had when he and I had sailed to Wessex.

'There are too many wolves and not enough glory at Kattegat. I remember King Harald having the ambition to attack Kattegat. I think it's best to enhance our claim here. Build our strength up, and then after the wolves finished attacking themselves. We go in with an unbeatable army and claim our rights to the throne.'

Hvitserk looked down, shaking his head, but then he nodded in agreement afterward.

'What about the bishop?'

'What about him?'

'Well, he looks like an important person. Maybe we could ransom for him.'

I chuckled to myself. Or I could kill my Christian pet.

'Or we could crucify him. That would be fun,' I said, grinning.

Hvitserk shook his head, not amused as he stood up. I rolled my eyes, grabbing my crutch and easing myself up, and silencing a grunt at the stabs of pain shooting up my legs. The metal braces that strapped over my legs were snatching onto my skin in places. Distributing some of my weight onto the crutch, I walked with Hvitserk back into the town. Every other step, I had to hold onto my right leg brace by the hip because it was pinching me while I walked.

A few men walked past us carrying timber spiked on one end towards the gate.

'What are you planning, brother?' Hvitserk asked as he stared at the new reinforced palisades.

'Another attack, of course, but this will be one of the last, hopefully.'

We were walking up to the front entrance of the castle, if you would call it that. Our main hall was here. It was also one of the main buildings that housed most of the army. I refused to live in the castle due to the stoned steps. Realizing my displeasure for castles as I found myself constantly walking over those damn steps. I ended up settling for a small Roman-built house near the town's tavern.

My trusted housecarl, Skul, stood out front of the castle. She had a handful of robes, restraining Bishop Wulfhere.

She was one of the shield-maidens that helped me pour molten gold down a priest's throat during our takeover. A tall attractive young woman with long dark hair and black runic tattoos under her eyes and lip. I had asked her if she'd want to join my housecarl, making her the last addition to my bodyguards. She had agreed, telling me later she never belonged with the other maidens. I assumed it was due to her sinister attitude.

'Skul play nice. He'll be useful,' I said, walking away from them.

'If you so much as think of laying a finger on my lord. I'll gouge your eyes out,' said Skul shoving her finger in the bishop's plumped chest.

Hvitserk stopped and furrowed his brows at her. I shook my head, chuckling. Yes, I'm tracking she's demented, but she's loyal. I tugged my brother's jerkin getting him to follow me inside the hall.

The castle's hall had high stoned pillars with long tables and benches that lined the building. A single table was positioned at the front of the hall with a few chairs. The center chair I liked to consider the throne was far more significant than the rest, made from fine wooden craftsmanship and lined with gold.

I moved towards a bench, refusing to walk up those forsaken steps that led to the front table. I leaned into the bench, adjusting my weight as I brought my body down. I wasted no time unstrapping my right leg brace to ease the damn cramping. Hvitserk leaned over me, grabbing a plate of untouched ribs from the table. He began pacing in front of me, tearing into the meat.

'So, who is going to attack us?' Hvitserk asked with a mouth full of food.

'Another man is claiming to be king of this kingdom. What my scouts had gathered, I'd expect them to attack possibly tomorrow. Which is why I'll need your help.'

'Of course, with what?'

The hall doors opened with my two other housecarls. Egil was a soft-spoken dark-haired warrior who was soundless in movement, making the archer a valuable scout. He was also a poet who created songs of our battles.

Leif was Egil's opposite, the other housecarl, for he was an obnoxious and cheerful large, toned Dane of light hair. I doubted the man could ever get angry even in battle. While slaying his enemies, Leif found humor with slaughter. I had noticed Leif at the fight for Yorvik and had sought him out after getting White Hair to join. White Hair was my housecarl commander, a man in his early forties with long white hair. He was away completing a special task for me at the moment.

Both men were escorting Bishop Heahmund towards me. I admired the bishop for his warrior spirit and supreme swordsmanship skills. If there were ever a person I wished I could swap bodies with, it would've been with the Christian. The way he commanded and fought with such fierceness had left a desire inside of me I craved to be.

I grinned eyeing my prisoner as my housecarls slammed the bishop down in front of me to his knees.

'Ah Christian,' I said, speaking in the English tongue. 'I have a job for you. Let us say you'll be getting acquainted with your two companions, Egil and Leif. Along with my older brother Hvitserk.'

'I refuse to help you heathens. Kill me, Ivar son of Ragnar. I'm not afraid to see my savior Jesus Christ.'

I rolled my eyes groaning, I transferred my gaze to my brother and the other housecarls.

'You men will be my scouting party for this supposed king's army. They've been sighted marching from the north. I need to know when they'll attack. Take the horses and ride north as soon as you spot them. Get me an estimated count and come back,' I said. I swapped my gaze back towards the Christian snatching his chin, digging my nails into his skin. Giving him a smug look, I changed back to the English tongue. 'You will help navigate my brother through the land. Betray me, and I'll send you to your god. Mutilated.'

The bishop didn't get a chance to challenge me as Leif yanked him by the shoulder, dragging him out of the hall.

Goodbye, my little pet. I smirked, grasping my brother's arm before he departed with Egil.

I groaned, leaning forward. I took off my metal leg brace and waved for a servant while I pulled the last part off. Handing the brace and my crutch over to the man, I pointed at a location.

'Take that to the blacksmith and have him tighten this piece up a little more,' I said. The servant nodded his head, running out of the hall.

My right leg was cramping. Usually, I ignored the cramps and pain, but I knew that the minor pain would worsen if I dismissed it much longer. Reaching down, I began massaging the spot as two men walked inside the hall. Looking up, I noted both were earls from lands in Denmark.

If they don't remove those stupid disgusted facial expressions, I'm going to give them a reason to scrunch their faces up. Growing annoyed at the ridicule, I sat up.

'Yes, what is it?'

'Where is Lord Hvitserk?' said one of the earls while he looked around the hall.

'He's occupied with an important task I've instructed him on,' I said, grinding my teeth. I pointed at the men, 'I also remembering instructed you both with a task, yet here you stand, why?'

'What purpose could you possibly need our sails for off our ships?'

I exhaled slowly. It's one thing for the gods to curse me into being crippled. It's another always having to be surrounded by idiots.

'Seeing as I'm in charge here, I have the last say. If you want to hold this town for another night. You'll get those sails off your ships and deliver them to the men working outside the gates.'

'What purpose could our sails have in defending this town?' said the other man who had remained quiet.

I smiled, looking down at the floor, slowly I rose my head staring them down in the eyes.

'Get the sails off your ships, or you won't have a ship,' I hissed.

Both men looked as if they wanted to say more, but one grabbed the other by the arm, halting him as they walked away. I could make out something of taking orders from a crippled under their mumbles. Clenching my fingers into a fist, I banged down on top of the table. I must've startled the slaves because they shrieked at my rage. Rolling my eyes, I dropped down to the floor, crawling, dragging my legs over the stoned pavement. A slave opened the door for me as I left the hall.

Skul and the bishop were still standing outside the castle as I approached them, crawling in their direction. The plump bishop trembled, making his stupid sign of the cross over himself. I sat in front of them, picking my hopeless legs up to position them in front of me. Skul grabbed the bishop by the shoulders and kicked his legs in, slamming the older man to his knees.

'You'll make eye level with my lord, you pathetic Christian.'

I smiled, wiping the dirt off my hands.

'Bishop, why are you choosing to stay in a town ran by us pagans, huh?' I asked in the English tongue.

'It's God's will that I must be a light to the Northman so long as Christianity lives in these lands. I'll remain here to serve the new king of Northumbria, King Ivar Ragnarsson,' said Bishop Wulfhere in an annoyingly high pitch voice.

I laughed at his speech. Idiot Christian, to assume I'd label myself as king. I reached over, placing a hand on his shoulder, he flinched back.

'You have my protection in Yorvik. You may come and go as you please, on the condition that you swear your loyalty to your new king.'

'I can only swear to serve the O' Mighty Father my savior Jesus Christ.'

I groaned glaring at the bishop, these people and their annoying love for their god.

'I'm not asking you to change your beliefs. I would never disrespect the Allfather like that. You'd make a pathetic Dane. But this way when you decide to betray me. I'll have a good enough reason to kill you, slowly,' I said, grinning. Bishop Wulfhere shuddered at my threat while clasping his hands together.

'I, Archbishop Wulfhere, swear on the holy scriptures.'

'Stop, stop, stop before I sacrifice you, don't swear your loyalty to me. I'm not your king. I have no interest in only ruling Northumbria. Your king, a Christian, will be arriving here soon. You'll swear to him,' I said as the bishop who seemed relieved by that news nodded his head. I looked up at Skul. 'Escort our guest to the hall and wait for the new king to arrive. Once White Hair relieves you, find me.'

'Yes, my lord, up on your feet filth,' said Skul seizing the bishop off the ground forcing him into the castle.

Crawling across the street, men and women were staring at me.

Yes, I'm a crippled.

I knew the army resented me for it. Sitting down out front of the blacksmith's shop on the wooden steps, I waited for the smith to finish my brace. One of my earls waved at me, walking with a horse tugging a wagon with barrels inside.

'Lord Ivar, the trenches are just about all dugout. I came to grab the boys some ale.'

'Good, men should be bringing you the sails we need to get this all laid out before nightfall.'

'Yes lord, it'll be ready.'

The blacksmith stepped outside, setting down my right leg brace and crutch. I started strapping it back on, reuniting with discomfort from the metal. I muffled grunts from the pain, trying my best to ignore it.

Footsteps were coming towards me. I looked up to see White Hair. He had an older Saxon dressed in robes trailing behind him. The Saxon had short white hair. I've noticed this was a thing with these people. In this kingdom, the men all loved to keep their hair short. It looked as if the Saxon had pissed himself once he entered Yorvik.

'Lord king, welcome to your new kingdom,' I said in the English tongue with a half mock bow still sitting down.

The older Saxon's eyes fell on my legs. Yes, I'm crippled. I coughed to get his attention. He averted his gaze from my legs.

'You must be Ivar the Boneless, thank you for sparing my life,' said the Saxon. I smirked at his response. My puppet king.

'Take our king to his throne and observe that the bishop makes him king,' I said, looking at White Hair.

'Yes, lord.'

Standing up, ignoring the small stabs of pain running up my legs, I walked over to the stoned Roman wall stairs. I strapped my crutch to my back and dropped to the ground crawling up them. I stood over the ramparts observing the progress the army made. Massive trenches were dug out beyond the gates. The sails from the earl's ships were being brought out now.

I dropped my gaze down below the gates where the fallen Saxon corpse laid piled up. I had ordered their red uniforms stripped off them. The uniforms may come to good use later.

'My lord, what can I do for you?' asked Skul climbing over the stairs on top of the fortifications to stand next to me.

I explained what I needed her to do while pointing down at the fallen bodies. She looked back up at me with a shocked expression formed into a morbid grin.

'Take a few men that are sitting around and get it done before nightfall.'

'Yes lord, I'll leave an impression that will bring terror in these Christians for nights to come.'

Skul was the perfect shield maiden for that order, and I knew she'd do it well. I remained at the wall observing my army as the servants brought out large oil buckets to the trenches. I could feel the adrenaline kicking in. My father had once told me happiness was nothing, but oh father, how you were wrong.

I walked back into the hall, twirling a golden crown with gems around my fingers. White Hair walked behind me as I held up the crown for both the king and the bishop to see. The bishop performed his stupid cross sign motion over his chest. The Saxon king stared at the crown with greedy eyes. Standing up from his throne, he bowed at me as I reached him.

'Your crown, King, umm what is your name again?'

'Egbert, Lord Ivar,' said King Egbert, and with power hunger hands, snatched the crown from me.

I shrugged my shoulders, not caring about the information. I sat down in the seat next to King Egbert. I adjusted my legs in front of me and leaned against the backrest. A slave brought me a cup of ale. Taking the cup, I looked over at the hall in content.

'Ivar, if I may ask,' said King Egbert.

'You are the king. You can ask whatever you wish in your kingdom,' I said, playing the part.

'Why did you choose me to rule Northumbria?'

'Don't you want to be king?'

'Of course, don't all men? Even a young, ambitious man such as yourself.'

I smirked at his interception to get me to reveal my plans. Egbert was the fool with the right bloodline to sit on the throne.

'I have other ambitions. I plan on marching my army south. In the meantime, I'll need someone to rule while I concentrate on overthrowing the other kingdoms. I don't care how you choose to rule this kingdom. So long as nothing hinders my forces, we could coincide. I don't care for dealing with law, murder, land disputes, or even marriages. Not when I'm commanding such a large force, you see. Now you, you're a Saxon, a Christian, you speak their language, and you have a legitimate claim to this throne,' I said, warming the king up with my words.

King Egbert nodded his head, altogether buying into the shit I was telling him. Bishop Wulfhere grasped onto his golden cross, staring at us in uncertainty. I held up my cup of ale, sitting up straight.

'All I expect from you is to collect the taxes due from your people. It's a full moon tonight. By the next full moon, I'll need horses delivered here to Yorvik from your earls.'

'Ealdorman, lord,' said Bishop Wulfhere interrupting me.

'What?'

'The lords of the land are called ealdorman here, lord.'

What a stupid name.

'Right, ealdorman, and here in the next eight full moons will say I'll need livestock, barrels of smoked meat, grain, and ale delivered to the town. Do we understand each other?'

'Ivar, maybe it's your thick accent speaking our language. I believe I misheard you, or you're ask for a heavy tax. What makes you believe the people will listen to these demands,' said King Egbert.

I gave the king a forced smile while clenching my teeth. At least I learned your damn tongue.

'Because, king, if I'm right in my planning, your ealdorman will be swearing their loyalty to you tomorrow. In that regard, I'll need you to do your part. If you agree with my terms, I'll keep you as king of Northumbria. You'll be under my protection,' I said, still holding my cup up in his direction.

King Egbert nodded, grabbing his cup and tapping it against mine. We drank on our newly formed oaths.

By the time the sun was getting ready to set, Hvitserk and my housecarls had returned. Greeting them at the gate, Hvitserk was grinning as he dropped from his horse.

'You were right, brother, there's an army marching lead by a man named Osberht. He's leading roughly three hundred men. We snatched one of their scouts and got him to talk. Or at least I think he gave us the correct information. Either that or your bishop betrayed us. Regardless we killed the scout and rode back here with your sullen Saxon,' said Hvitserk.

He reached over, grasping the back of my head placing his forehead against mine. Hvitserk was excited about going into battle. All my brothers shared this trait. I, too, enjoyed going into battle so long as my strategies were in place. Hvitserk, on the other hand, just craved fighting at the front of a shield wall. Something I'd never be able to do.

'Well done, brother, take three hundred of our warriors who want reputation and get staged out deep into those woods,' I said, pointing to the right. 'Stay hidden, so no fires must be lit tonight. The army will attack us at first daylight. Remain in your position until you receive my signal. It'll be a signal you can't miss.'

Hvitserk's grin widened at the details, nodded his head as he rubbed his hands together.

Bishop Heahmund came into view, escorted by Leif and Egil. I gave him a half bow. The Christian stopped and stared back at me with such intensity in his gray eyes.

Who in Odin's name does he want to kill? Thrown off by his murderous stare, I looked behind me. Finding no one in sight, I blinked and then grinned as I slowly turned back at the bishop. I'm going to enjoy having this Christian around.