Master of My Sea
Hello everyone! It's been a long time, I know, im sorry. It hasn't been the most pleasant summer, and writing has been exceptionally difficult. I'm sure a lot of you can relate. But, I really like this story, and Vikings is my favourite show next to Game of Thrones. I also need to see this through just to prove to myself I can actually finish something i started.
Anyway, a couple of notes:
I am exceptionally flattered and grateful for all these reviews since the last chapter! I enjoy them all, and every one of them is great encouragement.
***** HOWEVER, while I recognize excitement about my story and that's awesome, I do feel it is necessary to discourage spamming reviews and putting in spoilers of the story in the reviews, especially reviewing on earlier chapters and talking about spoilers that happen in the latest chapter. *****
If you wish to discuss with me about the story, we can do that via private messaging or contacting me on my tumblr oceanwitch or cncevpon. If you review this story without an account registered, I have no way of contacting you and addressing you personally about your review and questions, and I rather not clutter each chapter with questions and answers.
Alright, now that we got that out of the way, onto the long awaited chapter 11.
chapter eleven:
THE HARBINGER
The day after Kára's return, Ragnar had climbed up the hill to the highest point, where the fields were littered with ship-shaped burials lined with white stones. There were many great warriors, shieldmaidens, earls, and warlords buried in this field, and yet they all looked the same. Some were smaller than others, and those were children or younger folk. But, out of all the graves, there was one that was absolutely covered in purple forget-me-not flowers, so much so that the white stones were all but little white dots in the collage of colours.
Ragnar had little memory of sleeping at all that night, nor did he remember moving from his bed and walking through the slumbering city and silently through the trees. He felt numb at the events of the past few days, but also hollow as he had only just began to digest the truth he was given a few days ago. The orange glow of dawn was just peeking over the ocean's horizon, painting the black ripples orange and kissing the graves with the first light of the day. Ragnar sat with his knees up, and his elbows draped on them. In his fingers, he fiddled with the stem of a flower he had pulled from the ground.
"I cannot say that I did not have my suspicions; you looked more like me than any son I've had after you," the flower spun in his fingers. "Perhaps I was too afraid to lose Lagertha in the early years of our marriage to admit to myself that I had fathered a child with another woman, but that is no excuse." After some thought, he let out an laugh through his nose, "I remember the first day I met you. You were two years old, eyes like sapphires, wide and bright light the summer sea. You kept running into the bay, and your mother kept on chasing after you, but you were so adamant to see what was out there. You kept on saying that the sea was singing to you."
A frown replaced his smile at the memory, "I was promised by the gods to have many sons, and I had another staring in my face without my knowledge. And now, I see that I take for granted the ones that are alive. The ones you had died to protect." He brushed the back of his knuckles across his bottom lid to brush away the stray tear that betrayed his breaking heart. "My only regret is that I wasn't there to be a father for you. But I am grateful for Ulf, more than any man could be, for raising you as if you were his own… Even after what I took from him. I did not deserve him for friend, and Freya decided I did not deserve you."
His knees collapsed to the grass as his legs spread out before him. Ragnar's hand reached out to the mound of earth that protected Eirik's body. His eyes glazed over and reddened as the emotions took control of his body, which began to rock and shake from the sobs he couldn't control. The digits of his fingers dug into the grass and soil in an attempt to reach him, but instead he folded his body into himself at the weight of his broken heart.
"I… I am a terrible father. And you were too good for me..."
x x x
The deep voice of a man bellowed in Kattegat's bay as he sung towards the departing ships. The drums and his voice could be heard as far as the bluffs, where Ivar, Sigurd, Kára, Hulda, and Aslaug stood as they watched Ragnar and the warband sail back to Paris. As the wind picked up in the sails the further out into the ocean they went, the shift of change was undeniable among the four, but they remained silent.
Sigurd watched in mild envy as his brothers went off with their father to an epic raid, but that feeling had overshadowed by a cloud of dread. He smelled something familiar and unpleasant in that wind, but he couldn't quite place the memory it originated. Ivar had the same feeling to a certain degree; he wasn't put at unease at the scent on the wind, almost as if he associated it with relief. Still, there was something stale or rotten about it that put a vile taste in his mouth. For some reason, he cut off his gaze from the ships and moved it to Kára.
Her face was unmoving like stone and her eyes seemed to be looking at the ships, but they were adrift into nothingness. Clearly lost in thought and ignorant to Ivar's staring, he took advantage of her not noticing and openly stared at her. He had noticed changes in Kára since he found her at the riverbank, but when he tried to point them out to himself, he couldn't place how she changed. Perhaps she was cleaner than she was before, and that was why her hair seemed to glow more, and her freckles appeared to him like a galaxy of red stars in an ivory sky. He never liked her freckles before; it made her face look textured and clustered, but now… They were alluring.
Unbeknownst to Ivar, Aslaug was looking at him. The children sat on the grass before her and Hulda, who stood only a couple of feet behind her. The queen's eyes were sharp as she watched her son watch Kára in the exact way Ragnar claimed he had. Her mind was no longer on her departing husband and sons, but the blossoming nightshade flower before her. Her fingers curled into her palms and her nails cut crescent shapes into them. She hated Kára for who her mother was, and what she represented. It was, of course, not rational to hate a child by any means, but Aslaug was nowhere near rational in this stage of her life. The Queen felt her regality and power fading as age gripped her throat and salt poison her veins. Aslaug had become so salty that when the girl had gone missing, she had only given a dry apology to Hulda, but her stomach fluttered in amusement and she silently relished at her petty victory. The thought sprung to her at the idea of Kára being found dead or never returning for one reason or another, and Aslaug felt indifferent. There was moment of shame as well, especially when she woke up to find Ivar had disappeared, and she prayed to the gods to forgive her selfish wishes and hopes.
Then Kára returned as did Ivar, and Ragnar started a feast. She watched her husband dance with the little girl to a flute and drum. Hulda played Tafl with Ivar; Ubbe and Hvitserk were listening to stories told by King Harald Finehair and his brother, Halfdan; Bjorn had Sigurd on his shoulders as her son strung his first lute and sung loudly. Everyone was happy, everyone was merry - except for Aslaug. With a goblet of wine in her hand, she sat in her throne and hid her frown behind the rim. Her anger and hatred bubbled under everyone's noses, but she had done her best to appear content in everyone's merriment. Until, that was, when she saw Ragnar share a look with Hulda from across the hall.
It was that same look Ivar had as he gazed at the red-headed girl next to him.
Hulda had also been looking at both Ivar and her daughter, but her eyes trailed to Aslaug. The red woman too felt the shift in the air, but she had felt it much sooner. Like an animal prior to a storm, she knew something was coming, and it was now that the winds of change had beat through the city like a cloud of arrows. Bonds were going to be severed, relationships will be strained, and people were going to die.
x x x
Ivar laid like a dead fish, staring at the sky that was obstructed by tangled branches and green leafs. One of his hands fisted the rune that hung around his neck, while the other one dug into his cuticles with his thumb. He tried his best not to wince in pain, but his teeth digging into his bottom lip was a dead gave him away.
Hulda had promised him weeks ago that she would give him something that was taken away from him. At the time, he was confused, but after some dilberating, he realized what she meant: his legs. After they had left the great all, Hulda put a hand on her shoulder and told him to come to her hut by noon, and not to tell his mother. Without questions, Ivar had done what he was told, which lead him to this position.
He was bare bottomed, with only a loincloth protecting his privacy, laying on a wooden table as the soft pedal like finger tips of the witch massaged his thin and frail legs. Ivar was grateful that Hulda had sent Kára off to hunt and fish for the day, for the boy never felt more embarrassed and vulnerable in his life. The only person alive that had seen him this nude, especially his legs, was his mother. But under the natural light of the sun, Ivar was exposed to the world, and the idea that someone might stroll into the clearing made his heart pump rapidly. It didn't help that a stranger's fingers were sliding along his most sensitive limbs.
Ivar winced when she had felt along his calves, his most weakest bones next to his ankles.
Over the years Ivar had become immune to the pain his legs had caused, to a certain extent. When the weather got chilly, his bones quaked and ached. Recently, though, as his body began to grow, the pain had been almost unbearable some nights. His calves had always been particularly painful.
"You had broken your leg here," He heard Hulda said, her finger running along the deformation under the stretched and thin skin. "Do you remember when this happened?"
With his eyes tightly shut, he shook his head, "No. It has always been painful."
"That is because it was not properly set, so it did not heal properly," the woman let out a sigh, and went to examine the left leg. His skin was littered with purple and green bruises from dragging his body around; his sensitive skin keen to bruising as easy as placing a finger onto the skin for more than a minute. It was a wonder he had not died from pain alone. "For it to grow evenly, we would have to break it again to reset it."
At that, Ivar sat up on his elbows to look at Hulda with a wildly incredulous look, "Are you insane?"
Hulda looked at him with a raised eyebrow, but otherwise neutral expression, "If we do not reset this bone, Ivar, you will never walk like a normal man."
"Do not get my hopes up, woman!" He sighed and laid back down on the table. "My legs were broken since birth. The gods had already decided I would never walk."
"You were born with bent knees, not broken bones," Hulda's words made Ivar squint and roll his head to her. She was sitting on a stool with her legs crossed looking at him.
"What do you mean?"
"I helped give birth to you, so I know what you looked like when you took your first scream into this world. Your legs were bent at the knees, and the shape of your bones would not straighten as a normal babe's would. As a midwife, I've seen many babes being born with deformities, but your birth was the first, and not the last."
His brow furrowed as he looked at her, "There are others like me?"
"There are no others like you, Ivar," she smiled before continuing. "You were in a lot of pain because your legs were restless, and you could not bend them comfortably. We all believed your legs were broken, and you would never walk. By the time I learned otherwise, it was too late; you were two or three years old, and your legs had grown so weak already, that to try to fix anything would only cause you more pain, because you were so young, it might kill you. If you hadn't spent your entire life in a cot and barrow all your life, you might have developed muscle and fat in your legs that would have saved you from breaking a bone. But now- now is the perfect time to fix what has been broken for a long time."
"Why now?"
"You are growing into a man, and your bones are growing faster than before. If we fix this now, they will grow in the right direction."
Ivar let out a defeated sigh, not wanting to re break his most sensitive calf bone. He thought back to Harbard, who he had vague memories of visually. All that he remembered of the man was what his mother told him, and that was how he cured his pain with a touch and a prayer.
The boy looked back at Hulda, "Isn't there some kind of magic that could heal my legs or kill my pain? A man named Harbard-"
"I know who Harbard is, and I know what he had done," Hulda's face visibly turned sour. Ivar quirked an eyebrow and opened his mouth to ask her what her problem with the wanderer was, but she continued for him. "Harbard is no god, like many of them say. He is a deceiver, a trickster, who takes advantage of times when men leave to raid and leave their women behind."
Ivar furrowed his eyebrow at this, "But he healed my pain."
Hulda's face began soften, but there was a vindictiveness in her eyes as they settled on his. "Ivar, do you know who your niece, Siggy, was named after?"
He blinked at the random question, but shook his head no.
"Siggy was an amazing woman and friend, not only to me, but to Helga, Lagertha, and your mother. She was also the wife of Earl Haraldson, the former earl of Kattegat that your father defeated, and then later became the lover of your uncle, Rollo. She took care of you, your brothers, and was there when you were born.
"Before Harbard had came to Kattegat, your mother, Helga, Siggy and I all had visions of him shortly after Ragnar and his warband left to England. While Helga and your mother had taken a liking to Harbard, Siggy and I were not easily fooled by him. The two of us warned Aslaug not to trust him, but she was so smitten she did not heed those warnings until it was too late.
"I had warned Aslaug that all magic has a price to be paid, but she refused to believe me, and instead chose Harbard, and allowed him to use his magic to heal your pain. One night, during of the coldest days of that winter, your brother Ubbe and Hvitserk had fled the great hall suddenly, and traveled through the woods hand in hand. Siggy had run after them with nothing to shield her from the cold, not even shoes. She followed the trail until she found them standing on the thin ice of the lake. The ice collapsed underneath them, and Siggy plunged into the water.
"Your niece was named after the woman who had saved your brothers' lives, but in doing so her life had replaced theirs. Harbard drowned her in the lake, because life was the debt that needed to be paid for the magic he had done. If it was not going to be your brothers, it would have been someone else."
Ivar had listened silently, showing no sign of his reaction to this side of the story. It was a complete contrast to what his mother had told him about Harbard. She never once mentioned Siggy, let alone that someone had to die in order for him to be relieved of his pain. As young as he was, Ivar was intelligent and clever, and understood now more than ever what ignited the uneasy relationship between his mother and Hulda the Red.
Aslaug had chosen Harbard, a deciever, over Hulda, a life-long friend.
One thing Ivar could not digest was the idea that his two older brothers nearly died for him without their consent or knowledge. Moreso, Ivar didn't know how to wrap his head around the idea that someone he didn't know, or had no memory of, had died for him. Perhaps not willfully, or perhaps she had allowed Harbard to drown her in the lake. Another life, Ivar realized, was given to the gods for the sake of saving the Ragnarssons. Eirik, Hulda's first child, was said to have fought in the siege orchestrated by Jarl Borg and had died protecting the queen and her sons.
Ivar had no idea how many more lives were given to the pursuit of keeping him and his brothers alive, but it seemed that Hulda had lost two people to the cause. A son, and a friend, and Aslaug repaid their sacrifices by forgetting them.
He didn't realize it, but his eyes had trailed to the floor for the longest time, completely lost in his thoughts. Ivar still couldn't decide if he could swallow this truth. He was cross that he was lied to more than anything; his mother allowed him to put Harbard on a pedestal as if he was Odin himself. The older he got, he suspected there was more man to the myth of the wanderer, but he didn't even consider that Harbard was a deceiver. There was some part of him that didn't want to believe in Hulda, but he was a smart kid. His mother had more of a reason to lie than the Völva did.
"I do not wish for anyone else to die for me," Ivar set his jaw and turned his head to look at the red woman. "How much is this going to hurt?"
"I will give you some poppy milk to help, but it will still feel like hot rods sticking up your leg."
Ivar swallowed the bile in his throat and looked back at the trees. He had lived his life endearing the pain that still originated from his legs, and yet he was still afraid of it. But- if he wanted to be viking, if he wanted to be like his father, and greater than his brothers, then pain is something he would not escape from. Pain reminded him he was alive.
He felt her gentle touch again, but this time on his cheek as she turned him to face her, "All worthy things in this world are not obtained easily, Ivar. However, it will always be your choice to choose between the easy path, or the one less traveled by."
Ivar took another beat to mull over her words before making a decision. The negatives of this choice of course were flooding to the forefront of his mind, but then suddenly he remembered that day he crawled up the hill, and sat under that tree. Kára was in that tree, and he acutely remembered the envy he had that she was able to climb up there and even hang upside down by her knees with ease.
"Do it," he squared his shoulders against the table and looked up at the branches that hung over him. One day he will be sitting in them with her.
Moments later, about a quarter of a mile away, Kára sat in the elbow of a tree, looking down at a cluster of pheasants pecking at the ground for worms. Her bow was aimed and ready to shoot a particular fat looking one when suddenly a blood curdling scream shook the forest and caused the birds to fly away at the abrupt and loud disturbance.
x x x
Explaining to Aslaug the reason behind Ivar's broken leg would be result in immediate death, so Ivar had opted to avoid telling her the truth entirely. He told her he had rolled down a hill and slammed his leg on a jutted boulder, and that Hulda was close enough that ran to him on time and mended him immediately. Nevertheless, his mother freaked out over his carelessness, and chose to keep Ivar beside him for the next few days.
However, Hulda was not finished with her treatment for his legs. She had splinted them and bound them at the thigh and knee in order to straighten the knocked knees, but in order for him to one day stand with any semblance of strength, he needed to eat the correct foods. Being that most of the healers of Kattegat had left with Ragnar to tend to their wounded, Hulda was Aslaug's last resort, which was the only reason why she allowed her to stay in the Great Hall to take care of his broken legs.
Ivar never ate so much liver in his life; not to mention as much fruit as Hulda made him eat. He was used to consuming porridge every morning like most children do, but his diet had doubled. After two moons passed, Ivar felt his stomach bulge from the food he had consumed, but most importantly, he noticed his thighs had gotten thicker to the point where they needed to loosen the bindings, and resize him for new trousers.
Kára took amusement to his growing tummy, often poking the doughiness of it just to watch his gut jiggle, then promptly laugh like a child right after. As annoying as that was, it was nothing compared to Sigurd calling him "Ivar the Fatness" every chance he got. During dinner one day, Kára had flung a potato from her spoon right into Sigurd's eye, and called him "Sigurd-Potato-In-The-Eye" ever since.
At the third month of his healing process, he was given permission to leave the comfort of the Great Hall and Aslaug's watchful eye. He was still splinted, and wasn't able to drag himself, but he was allowed to be pushed around by Sigurd and Kára around Kattegat. His niece, Siggy, sat on his lap, screaming her delights as she was pushed around.
By the time the sun began to set, Siggy had fallen asleep on Ivar's lap, Sigurd was forced to pick her up and take her back to the longhouse while Kára and Ivar remained. They sat at the bank of water near Floki's hut, which was abandoned with both Helga and the boatman in Paris. Being away from the city, it was blissfully quiet there. Ever since Ivar had been allowed out of the safety of the longhouse, it had become their chosen destination to go and talk. There wasn't much else that Ivar could do with his splinted leg, and bound to the wheelbarrow as he was once when he was small. So most of their time spent together was fletching arrows, telling tales of the gods, and talking about what they wish their futures would be.
"Now that you are no longer afraid of the water, sailing on a raid should no longer be an issue for you, " Ivar looked off in the water as he dug up a slim rock and attempted to skid it across the surface of the river, only for it to plop into it.
Kára scrunched up her face, "The sea is much deeper and darker than the lake," she looked at her own smooth rock in her hand and backed up. Flinging it, it had skated off the surface of the water three times before plunging into water. "There are many unknown creatures it can hide."
Ivar craned his neck to look at her, "How do you know this?"
"It is home to Jörmungandr," she replied matter-of-factly. "And the sea is not like the lake, which freezes solid and unmoving once a year. The lake can be easily navigated, and never changes in size or depth. But the sea is unpredictable and unforgiving, and no god can control it."
"It has no master," Ivar added, which earned a nod from Kára.
She took a moment to let out a long sigh before continuing, "Besides, Floki told me of a creature tha-"
Ivar blinked, and looked back over at Kára when she cut herself off. "That what-?"
She didn't reply, though Ivar didn't need her to. He followed her gaze further down the bay, where a man in travelers garb stood. His cloak was brown and rough, his tunic over worn and faded in colour, and his hair was plaited in a braid so long it reached the small of his back. The man was far away, and looked unarmed, but Kára wasted no time in grabbing the woodcutter's axe from the stump nearby.
"At ease, children," the man said, the voice eerily familiar to Ivar. There was an odd comfort to it, almost like Hulda's, but at the same time, it felt like it came from the lips of a liar. Kára's grip on the axe tightened, but the man continued his slow steps towards them, this time with his hands out in surrender. "I mean you no harm."
"Says the wolf to the doe," Kára muttered. "Name yourself, traveller, so I may know what runes to mark your shallow grave."
Kára's threat stirred something in Ivar he couldn't quite comprehend. It was akin to excitement, but instead of the familiar rapid beatings of his heart caused by adrenalin, it ached his stomach and pelvis. However, he could not dwell on this feeling any longer, because the stranger's eyes were on him this time.
"I am a friend of Ivar's," the man said, earning Ivar a confused look from Kára. Ivar was just as confused, but when he moved his eyes from his red-headed friend and back to the stranger, the man was closer and Ivar had a better look at him. "Do you not remember me, Ivar?" his smile was soft, knowing, and unwavering.
Kára's hand had not slackened from the firm grip she had on the axe, nor did her eyes stray far away from the stranger, and his movements. The moment he came walking towards Ivar, she had placed herself between him and her friend. This action made the stranger move his eyes to Kára, with that smile of ease still in place. His eyes, deep and mysterious as they were, sparkled with interest now that he could see the girl's fire.
However, the longer the traveller looked into her eyes, the smile began to fall a fraction. Kára did not tear her eyes from him, but the moment the turn of his lips moved into a straight line, her brow furrowed deeper.
"Who. Are. You?" She demanded again, raising the axe over her shoulder, ready to plunge the blade between his eyes.
"I think that is a question you should be asking yourself," the man said, the straight line of his mouth now returning to his smile of ease.
"Harbard," came another voice, "His name is Harbard."
All three heads turned to the trees; a sea of green and brown, save for a canvas of flowing red fabrics and blood red hair. Hulda's white face peaked beyond the hood of her cloak, her eyes like two sharp arrowheads glittering under the flaming sun, and they pointed at the shrouded stranger.
The man, Harbard, slowly stepped back from his approach of the two children upon seeing the Völva standing there. He tilted his head up, exposing his neck, not unlike an animal submitting to an alpha. Hulda moved along the grass and over the gravel before she reached her daughter's side.
"Kára, it is time to bring Ivar back home,"
"But, mother-" In a rapid movement, Hulda's eyes were on the girl, a look like she had never seen. Clamping her mouth shut, she dropped the woodcutter's axe into the stump and hurried over to Ivar and his wheelbarrow.
Hulda had waited until they were out of earshot and out of sight before turning to look at Harbard. Her jaw was as hard as steel as she regarded him for a silent second.
"Your company is not wanted in Kattegat."
Harbard quirked an eyebrow, "You cannot prevent me from going into the city."
"Perhaps I cannot stop your physical body," she admits, but steps closer, "But you have no power here anymore. You will no longer blind and torture the Seer as you did all those years ago, and you will no longer be taking any lives as you did before."
Harbard merely stared at her in silence, his face neutral for the most part, but her warning had wiped off any ease he wore on his features. "Does Aslaug approve of this, I wonder? You, repressing my magic here, and the work you've doing on her favourite son's legs?" He tilted his head and brought back his simple smile. "Do not doubt my love for Queen Aslaug, her sons, and the people of Kattegat. That love extends to you, as well, Hulda the Red, if you would only open your heart to me as the others."
Hulda narrowed her eyes at him, but remained silent.
Harbard took a step closer to her, "How lonely you must be, after all these years a widow-" he paused and leaned back when he felt the curved iron blade tucked under his chin.
The witch remained unmoved in her spot, only her arm, extended to reach his height as it balanced the iron dagger under his bearded chin. "I would not use that word so loosely, Harbard. Love is rare; use it foolishly, and you will never be able to recognize it when you see its true form."
"Do you speak from experience?"
A second hand reached out to him, too fast that he hadn't a moment to react, but he wished he had. She grabbed his beard and the iron sagger sliced through the hair like fabric. In her hand she held half of his beard. This meant many different things; she emasculated him, but most of all, what she held in her hand was a leverage. If she really wanted to, she could turn him into a puppet, but he knew that she wasn't the kind of witch.
He watched with wide eyes as she tucked the lock of his beard between her breasts, "And what do you intend to do with that?"
Hulda began to walk backwards around him, the dagger still clutched in her hand, "Collateral damage." That's all she needed to say for him to understand.
Hulda returned to the forest that protected her all these years, and left him where he stood. Harbard intended to finish what he began the last time he had been in Kattegat, but with his magic repressed, and now his life in the hands of a woman who hated him, his only tool was his charm. Any sacrifice he made for a ritual, be it animal or otherwise, would only end up backfiring and killing him instead. So with a tentative step, Harbard began his trek towards Kattegat, where he knew someone else was waiting for him, for a very long time.
Information regarding my decision that I had mentioned in the prologue to change Ivar's condition:
So I don't claim to be a medical expert, and anatomy and medicine could only go so far back then, so what Hulda spoke of probably isn't 100%. But I digress: I changed the condition Ivar has, because if you actually look into it, there is no proof he had Osteogenesis Imperfecta (brittle bone disease), or was disabled at all. Historics have claimed he was called boneless because he was ruthless and felt no pain. But i'd never take away his disability for the sake of convenience, I just wanted to make it more realistic, because contrary to what the show portrays, that isn't how Osteogenesis Imperfecta works. They got the blue eyes right, but to be frank, if he did have Osteogenesis Imperfecta, he a) wouldn't be impotent, because it has nothing to do with the ability to procreate or get an erection b) his legs wouldn't be the only thing that is affected by the disease (eg. his teeth would be small and brittle, his spine would be curved, he would be shorter than he should be, he would have bad eyesight.), and c) there are a long list of other issues that people with Osteogenesis Imperfecta face that would make what he does extremely difficult physically.
Bare in mind I have done enough research on this before I made this decision. I as well have discussed the opinions of other fans and history nerds about this and they all agree that the direction in the show does not reflect what Osteogenesis Imperfecta actually looks like. This may be an unpopular opinion to one or more of you, and I'm willing to discuss what I got wrong with anyone through private messaging, but at the end of the day, my decision for Ivar was to give him another disability.
I gave him undiagnosed and untreated Genu valgum, also known as knock-knee, which is common in a lot of infants after birth. My idea was that due to the lack of knowledge in this area, everyone believed that Ivar could never walk when they saw his misshapen legs when he was born, and as a result had bound him to sitting his entire life, which contributed to his fragile legs, because they lacked muscle and fat to protect his bones. At a young age he broke his leg and it was left untreated and thus healed wrong, and that was why he was in so much pain.
Even though I hinted at the possibility of Ivar walking again with Hulda's care, I will never take away his disability; he would not be Ivar without it. He will always have a difficult time walking; this was just to explain how he was able to stand on his knees and eventually gain the leg power to stand up in the later seasons using his crutches and metal splint and not be in severe pain.
Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the chapter. Chapter 12 was difficult to write, but after that is published, things will start to speed up timeline wise.
