Master of My Sea
So I just wanted to repeat that the timeline for this story does not follow the one of the show. It starts off sometime after Ragnar returns from Paris, and much time after Floki's punishment and the death of his daughter, but the ages of everyone, especially the children and Ragnar's sons, are upped a few years. So yes, this story starts off as them being children.
chapter one:
THE BIRD AND THE SNAKE
The spring breeze was stronger the higher up the hill Ivar went. Without the help of someone else, or the wheelbarrow he was put in, the twelve-year old struggled quite a bit to reach his destination. By the time that he got to a tree, his face was flushed and he was sweating; the breeze felt like the kiss of a goddess, and was well appreciated. If his mother knew he had left on his own and climbed up the hill, she would keep him in a cage once she got her hands on him.
Ivar had no muscle, unlike his brothers, but he stirred restless constantly sitting in a cot or chair, glued to the hip of his mother, and always under the shadow of her eye. This moment on the hill, as high he could possibly get, was his new sanctuary. A moment of solace and freedom; even the pain in his arms and stomach from crawling like a snake on his belly was invited. He relished in the aches in his muscles, as they were a reminder of being alive, when he spent his entire life lying like a corpse.
Once he situated himself between the roots of the tree he decided to rest on, he took his skin of weak mead and took a well deserved drink. He winced at the taste, the bittersweet liquid burning down his throat. That was another thing his mother did not allow him to have, but every once in awhile, Ubbe would sneak him a horn of it at feasts. He still hadn't gotten used to the taste, but at this moment it was his victory spirits. Small for everyone else, but a big one for him. Ivar leaned his head back and relaxed, then lazily gazed at the view from where he sat. He could see the stretch of the sea from here, and the cliffs on the far west that hugged Kattegat. From here, he felt like he was on top of the world, standing taller than anyone else.
Suddenly his peace was interrupted by an object falling and hitting him painfully on his shoulder. He winced as his hand flew to his shoulder, and when he pulled away he saw bright red on his fingers. Next to him shone a silver arrowhead, just the size of a finger, but the tip was sharp and had a small dot of red, his blood, on the very tip. He furrowed his eyebrow at it, and picked it up gingerly, then weighed it in his palm.
"Hey, that's mine!"
The voice came from above him, so he quickly looked up. How did he not notice someone was sitting in this tree?
"What are you doing?" Ivar asked, his fingers curling around the arrowhead.
"Fletching," she answered, unmoved from the branch she sat on, which was at least 6 or more feet above Ivar's head.
"You could've killed me, if this landed on my head," he held up the arrow in his hand and waved it at her.
She seemed to roll her eyes, "It wouldn't have killed you. At most, it would have given you a nice scar to brag about."
"Why would I brag about a scar I got from an arrow falling on my head?"
She shrugged, "Boys always lie about how they got a scar. Now, come on, give me my arrow, it's my last one."
Ivar's nostrils flared a bit, and looked at her through an irritated hooded gaze, "I can't."
"What do you mean you can't?"
"I said I can't," he responded aggressively. His lips curled, as his fingers did around the arrow. His day was ruined. His sanctuary compromised by a tree-dwelling ginger and her falling arrows, and now his shoulder was bleeding on his tunic. Mother would not be happy.
The girl strained her neck to get a better look at him, and immediately saw his legs, thin and bound together by leather belts and iron buckles. She immediately knew who it was; she'd be a fool if she didn't.
"Hold on," she said, but Ivar ignored her. His hand went back to his shoulder, his lip curled in pain and annoyance. As soon as he got the chance, he would shiv the girl with her own bloody arrow; it was entirely her fault, not his.
A curtain of red and orange disrupted his view of the sea, and a pair of green-blue eyes stared at him upside down. They were so close that their noses touched, which caused Ivar to pull back in surprise, uncomfortable with the close proximity of a girl that wasn't his mother. He glanced up, noticing that she was hanging off the branch above him by the grip of the back of her knee.
"What are you, part bat?"
"Just give me my arrowhead," she extended her hand.
Ivar looked at her, then to her hand; it was blistered and full of tiny cuts. Dots of red were on her fingertips, likely from fletching, but the state of it overall showed signs of labour. Her hands weren't the delicate hands most girls had, which meant that she was likely an orphan, or some kind of working hand's child. Ivar looked at his own hands, smooth and untainted, save for the dirt and slight scratches from his trip up the hill.
His fingers tightened around the arrowhead, the action wasn't lost on the girl. Her eyes narrowed at him, but he didn't notice that she was watching him closely.
"If you cut me with it, I'll punch you in the throat," the threat snapped Ivar out of his thoughts. His eyes looked at her, for a moment a flash of fear flickered across his young blue eyes before it was quickly replaced by with the same irritation. He then shoved the arrowhead into her open hand and pulled away from her.
"I wasn't going to cut you," he huffed, crossing his arms.
The girl ignored him as she pulled herself up to the branch with ease. Ivar watched with acute envy as she expertly flipped over the branch before dropping before him perfectly on her feet without losing her balance.
"I was told not to go near you," she said out of the blue, her eyes looking at the arrowhead, not missing the presence of blood on the tip. "Did this cut you?"
With furrowed brows, Ivar adjusted himself on the floor before moving his hand to his shoulder. "It's only a scratch—" He didn't want to know that she hurt him. This was the first time he actually got a scratch or cut that deep, even if it wasn't as deep to most people's standards. However, her first statement held more interest to him. "— Who told you not to go near me?"
She looked at him finally, "The other children. They saw you kill that boy with an axe, simply because you did not like him."
He stared back her with clenched teeth and a jutted jaw. It had been a couple of years since that had happened, but he forgot it completely. It was only now, with her mentioning it had brought back the memory. It came to him so vividly, as if it was a dream he had the night before. From the sound of the skull crushing from the impact of his axe, to his head splitting open so easily, as if he was cutting into an apple. The once forgotten memory stirred something in him, pulling at his belly button, which seemed to intensify in ferocity when he matched her eyes. She did not seem phased by it, by the unperturbed look she gave him.
With his lip curled, he answered with a slight tilt of his head. "Maybe you should listen to them, as you are not quite high on my list of people I like after this first meeting."
The girl gave a snort, "I'm not afraid of you."
"How very stupid of you, then. After all, I did kill a boy for less of a reason. You did maim me with your stupid arrow. You should be afraid of me."
Her green eyes rolled, the curl of the corner of her lips showed her amusement, which only irritated him more, if that was possible. "All I need to do is move five feet to the left or climb back in this tree. Besides, you came up here unarmed, which was stupid of you."
Ivar launched himself at her, his arms outreached, aiming for her throat, but before he could even touch her, a dagger was placed under his chin. He froze, and suddenly he felt his blood run ice cold in fear. The feeling of dread crept into his mind as he found himself staring into this girl's eyes, just as wild and unpredictable that some would say was like his own.
"That's quite the journey you took, from your cushioned seat in the hall. You traveled all the way up here, where no one could possibly find you," She kept the dagger still on his chin. There was nothing impressive about it, it was about 5 inches long, with a cloth handle, and it had early signs of rust; she was clearly using it to fletch the feathers. Still, it was enough to end his life without effort, all she needed to do was drag it across his throat, which was only a couple of inches from where she held it. "If I kill you, no one would know. All I need to do is throw your body off the cliff, and no one will ever find you."
Ivar swallowed, his hands shook either out of fear or anger, he did not know. But he felt resilient nonetheless. He was too prideful and resentful to show he was frightened, especially to a stupid peasant girl. He was a son of Ragnar! He wasn't afraid of death.
"Do it," He jutted out his chin and widened his eyes, challenging her. "I don't care."
The girl just stared at him, knife still at his throat, eyes searching his. She was completely unreadable, outside the sly smirk she had not let fallen since she pulled the dagger on him. The girl took this moment to examine him fully, since she had no chance before crossing paths. His face was showing signs of puberty, his hair was darkening, and his brow was showing the signs of manhood. Ivar did not look like he had when he murdered that boy. Small as he was, he was still Ragnar's son, and they all took a liking to him in some shape or form. Even a cripple, Ivar was still attractive, and as a twelve year old girl, she obviously noticed this distinction.
In a quick movement, the knife was moved from his chin, but in it's place were a pair of soft petal-like lips on his. It was fast, too fast, and Ivar questioned if it even happened. Before he knew it, he was left moulded against the tree trunk, staring at the back of the giggling girl as she ran across the meadow and down the hill.
"Nice to meet you, Ivar!"
The journey home was even more exhausting than the journey up the hill. His muscles still ached from before, and on top of that, the wound on his shoulder added to the pain. It bled through his tunic, down to his clavicle and he could feel it sticking against his breast. By the time he reached Kattegat, his injured arm was on fire, but everything else was numbed in comparison. The sun had begun to set, and there were only a few people standing outside on the docks, mostly slaves and peasants doing their jobs. Ivar could see the orange light peaking through the door of the Hall, where he knew his mother would be sitting, waiting; worried. He was honestly surprised that she wasn't ripping and tearing down houses to find him.
Just as he was going to drag his body in that direction, a familiar voice stopped him.
"There you are," Floki appeared, and Ivar froze. Laying on his belly, the boy looked up at him, expecting him to have a furrowed brow and a lecture on his tongue. However, it was the opposite; Floki looked amused, his eyes kind yet twinkling in mischief as he squatted down next to him. "You surprise me, Ivar. I did not think a cripple would get too far if he were crawling on his belly."
Ivar rolled his eyes and groaned as he flopped on his back before sitting up, "Help me up, Floki."
In that moment, the older man had noticed the dark stain coming from his shoulder, and his amusement disappeared and changed to one of concern. "Who did that to you?"
The boy's nostrils flares before giving a pointed look at Floki and repeated a little forcefully, "Help me up."
He hesitated before relenting and taking the boy's good arm and hauling him onto his back. Ivar winced and gritted his teeth, but allowed him to carry him away from the longhouse, and into a separate shelter that was used as an infirmary for the common folk. Floki sat him down in a stool, and lit a lantern before going to work to prepare to mend the wound.
"Are you going to tell me what happened?" The viking asked, his back turned to the boy.
"I climbed a hill," His answer was laced with condescension, which didn't help it's verity.
"Did the hill attack you?" He turned around, grabbed the dagger from his hip and started to rip the seams of Ivar's tunic. Dry and fresh blood were painted all over his shoulder, but the wound looked like a puncture; round and slightly jagged. The perfect shape of the tip of an arrow. Taking a damp cloth soaked in ale, Floki went to work on cleaning the blood and disinfecting the wound.
Ivar winced and jerked back, glaring at Floki, "Ow!"
Floki tilted his head at him mockingly, "Oh, did that sting you? Do you need me to get Aslaug to come kiss it better?"
"No!"
"Then sit still, or you're going to make it worse for yourself."
Pouting, Ivar sat up straight, but kept the snarl on his face as his mentor proceeded in mending the wound. There was some silence between them, the only sound was Ivar's soft groaning as he attempted to suppress the pain between gritted teeth. Once Floki got out the needle and put it under the candle flame, Ivar briefly looked at him before caving.
"A girl kissed me," His eyes flickered away, almost embarrassed, especially under the circumstances.
Floki looked at him for a long second before returning his eyes to the flame, waiting for the needle to turn a bright red. "Did she change her mind, and try to stab you after?"
Ivar scoffed, "No. Her stupid arrow fell on me. She was in a tree."
Floki gave a giggle, and sat back down next to the pouting boy. The viking thoroughly enjoyed the irony of a boy glued to the floor like a snake, and a girl in a tree like a bird crossing paths like a cruel fate. "Hold still-" he took the needle and thread and made the first puncture into the flesh.
Ivar swore as he grit his teeth and tightened his fists. He mentally cursed the same girl in question, and Floki for mocking him, but he remained seated, patient, albeit flustered beyond measure.
"Did you enjoy it?" Floki asked, as he continued to stitch the wound.
Still in pain, Ivar spoke through his teeth. "I-do not...know! Ah!"
"Almost done-" The third stitch, and finally the fourth. He took the thread and cut it with his teeth, then tied it while he continued. "What do you mean, you do not know?"
Breathing hard, Ivar loosened his fists. "One minute, she was threatening to kill me, the next thing I know she had her lips on me, and ran away."
Floki gave another giggle and glanced at the boy as he cleaned up the rest of the blood. "Sounds like quite the woman. What is your future bride's name?"
Ivar tilted his head to look at his mentor with a utterly disgusted look, "I don't know, and she's not my bride!"
"Well, she certainly made an impression on you, my dear Ivar," He tossed the bloodied cloth and dumped it into the bucket of water.
"Only because of how annoying she was. Even her hair was annoying; bright red, like a ray of sun on your eye, coming through a crack in the wall while you try to sleep."
Floki paused for a moment, looking at the profile of his best friend's youngest son. His eyes flickered to the window and the door before taking a long cloth and started to bandage the boy's shoulder, "Red hair, you say?"
Ivar looked at him suspiciously before nodding, "Yes…. and green eyes. Do you know her?"
Floki paused again, just before tying the knot of the bandage. He was avoiding the boy's gaze, but he finally sighed and gently placed his hand on the boy's other shoulder. Floki brought his face close to his so his eyes leveled with the boy's, and his forehead nearly touching the other's as well. The action made Ivar's blood went slightly cold at the ominous aura that poured into the room the moment Floki drew serious.
"I do, my dear Ivar, and there is something that you must know," He gripped the boy's shoulder a little tighter, and his voice grew low and dark. "This red-haired girl you saw…. She will, one day, be the mother of your children."
Floki burst out in a fit of giggles as he pulled away from Ivar, who in turn began to punch him in the shoulder, screaming: "Shut up! I do not like her!"
Well that was the most cute I could possibly write. I hope Ivar and Floki didn't sound too out of character since this is my first viking fic. I'm sure I'll get better with time.
Next chapter has a lot more info in it, you'll learn more about the girl in the tree and her past. I usually don't like to keep OCs completely mysterious, because it's hard to connect to them when you don't know anything about them, so don't worry about her sounding like one of those surreptitious Mary Sues.
I don't expect to get any reviews until a few more chapters in, but I'd still love some, as well as alerts/faves so I know people are actually enjoying the story!
~CB
