Chapter 9) Caretaker

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There was one raven in the middle of the cobblestoned centre and it was looking directly at him, its patient eyes blinked. Once, twice, drilling it's beady eyes into Ivar's. Opening its beak, the bird let out a throaty kraa call before taking off flying far, far away.

'Valhala,' was Ivar's first conscious thought. Like the first time when he feared drowning, his father coached him through it.

'He did not abandon me,' Ivar thought as he coughed up the content of his lungs. As a newborn, he drew his first breath; deep and shuddering. His chest rose and fell with rapid breaths, his mind clear as daylight; his father had been the reason he'd survived yet another one of the Giant's retributions.

Ivar was brought back to the shed by his feet. His back dragged over all the cobblestones, through the mud and over the hay covered floor. Somewhere in between the cobblestones and the hay, the last fibers of his shirt gave in, leaving half his back uncovered and scraped raw.

Once dropped to the floor, Ivar did not bother getting up. Instead he rolled on his side. Extracting his arm, ever so gently he peeled off the mud caked layer of his shirt from his battered upper back. The abrasions should be cleaned and looked at to prevent infection and scarring, but Ivar was wiser then to ask for aid. Instead he lay motionless, soaked and numb on the floor, staring into the nothingness of the shed's shadows, begging for any sign of black feathers and beaks.

Time no longer seemed solid, Ivar was unsure how much had passed between him being tossed back into the shed and Piglet being manhandled into view.

He jerked his head in the direction of her faint yelps and watched the Giant throw her inside by her wrists. With miraculous swiftness, she jumped back on her heels and leaped towards the open door, only to be whipped back to the floor.

It puzzled Ivar that she'd do such a foolish thing as defying her master, until he realised his ankles hadn't been shackled.

He hadn't been shackled for a substantial amount of time and hadn't attempted to escape.

Piglet's pleads were far from over, clutching her fingers around the rim of the Giant's boot, her whimpers were eventually rewarded by a kick in the side. But the Giant did comply with her one wish and chained his crippled property back up.

Dusk brought silhouettes and coldness and it reached inside his bones. With his clothes lacking the proper time to dry, Ivar defeatedly wondered how he was going to survive once nightfall settled in. He remembered vividly how pneumonia had nearly taken his life and how the fever had plagued his body, mind and soul.

While his breath rose and fell quivering, Ivar listened absentmindedly to how Piglet's bare feet made their way across the shed.

"Hamar?" Her voice called him and when he lacked response she whistled through her teeth, "Hamar?" When Ivar still refused to acknowledge her presents, a bale of hay was tossed at his feet. Without uttering another word, the slave girl returned to her side of the shed to sleep with the cattle, leaving Ivar with her humble yet vital gift.

Once Ivar was sure she'd fallen asleep, he dragged his sore body near the bale and started filling up his trousers and the remains of his shirt. Although it itched and tickled, the dry grass provided him the warmth and shelter he desperately craved.

While he buried his face in the makeshift pillow of hay, his thoughts traveled back to the Great Hall. The comforting sounds of the nearby animals reminded him so much of home. Which was all he had left; memories of the prince he used to be.

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Due to Piglet's generous act, Ivar decided to cut the slave girl some slack; he postponed his murder plans, for now. Of course, he didn't want her to know that. The girl was the only person around who Ivar could unnerve. She was the only resemblance he had to home; a thrall who'd perceive him as a monster.

So once the Giant unleashed him from his chains, Ivar did his best to spook her, by growling at her and make a grab for her ankles every once in a while.

Although her immediate reaction was that of destress, it rapidly grew into annoyance, as both of them were very much aware that the all seeing eyes of the Giant were dead-set on catching Ivar's disobedience. Piglet knew that as long as she was out in the open, Ivar could not harm a hair on her head. She'd even had the audacity to stomp on Ivar's fingers once she had the chance. Her feet quickly hurried off after that, leaving Ivar to his duties.

The Giant had given him the most humiliating task of all; taking care of the pigs. Instead of a golden crown, Ivar's skull was soon covered with muck and grime.

He had to provide water for the filthy animals and so he reenacted his crawl of shame; dragging his lower body back to the well. That was the easy part; getting the water back to the pigsty was the hard part. During his life, Ivar grew accustomed to carry his legs around, but he'd always had a thrall or one of his brothers to carry his belongings; sword, shield, axe.

Now he had to pull a bucket along and he couldn't move forwards with just one arm. He did try however, but only managed to spill half of the content. Sensing the mocking eyes of strangers witnessing his clumsiness, Ivar feared that someone would alert the Giant. Which would not have a beneficial outcome for him.

So Ivar buried the last bit of his dignity and placed the handle of the bucket between his teeth, to crawl back to the pigsty; like a mule. He had to repeat the crawl once more and by the time he emptied the second bucket in the trough, his jaw ached and throbbed, while his heart bled.

Because of course his physique by itself was laughable, him actually fulfilling tasks was a joke on its own. The few peasant maidens paused their duties of hanging out the linen to spectate Ivar's struggles. Ivar tried to ignore the pointing and laughing, but the inevitable hurt of being ridiculed by his own peers seeped down into his chest. The repulsive undertone in their foreign tongues was not to be missed; rudeness is a universal language, one Ivar was well accustomed to.

Ivar did his best to ignore them, if he were to strike at either of the two fair skinned maidens he'd probably have both his hands cut off. To occupy his murderous thoughts, Ivar continued his tasks.

Feeding the pigs was a little less of a burden, the bucket Piglet previously used to defile Ivar's head was refilled with overripe vegetables and potato peels.

Ivar couldn't help himself and nicked a carrot; the scrawny little thing did not possess much nutritional value, but it felt good to fill up that empty hole that once had been his stomach, even if it was only for a little.

Ivar had never known true hunger, but now it clung to him like a pest-ridden man holding the hand of his beloved ones on his deathbed. It was always there, festering in the back of his mind; demolishing his willpower, making his insides cringe and making his muscles lack their normal strength.

Piglet tossed two haystacks near the hedge and tapped a rake against the wooden fence to catch Ivar's attention. She pointed to the small cot parallel to their shed and then shoved the hay and rake over the fence. It was clear to Ivar that she wanted him to change the pig's bedding and while Ivar dragged the stacks along he realised the fat animals had a much more comfortable living arrangement than he did.

Another personal demolisher, was the fact that he could not functionally use the rake; in order to use it properly he had to stand up, which of course was out of the question. So, instead of using the tool, Ivar was forced to scrape the piss soaked hay together with his arms and throw it inside the small wheelbarrow Piglet pulled in.

The slave girl made no effort to help him fulfill the task and used his suffering for a humbled break from her own labour; from a safe distance of course.

Now that the tables were slightly turned and Piglet felt as if she was having the upper hand, she grew a little more confident.

"Yallah, yallah," she taunted and picked up the rake Ivar wasn't using, "yallah," and poked him viciously between the ribs. She sniggered when Ivar swung his arm towards the rake and missed.

"I swear to you woman, if we'd been between those four walls I'd be bashing that damned smile off your dirty face!" Ivar promised in a low grunt and showed his teeth: "I'd even bite your fingers off for daring to touch me."

But his words were meaningless as Piglet did not comprehend the meaning within them. Even his threatening intonation lost its value completely. Maybe that weighed down Ivar the most; being nothing in a foreign country, due to the overall language barrier, Ivar was utterly and completely detached from the world around him.

Piglet's rake did not know mercy and buried itself back between his third and fourth rib. This time Ivar's starved reflexes did not let him down and regained their speed. With one swift move, Ivar managed to catch Piglet's tool. It surprised the both of them, but Ivar was the first to recover.

He yanked the end of the rake with might and Piglet's confusion left her off focus; she failed to let go fast enough and was pulled down, face first into the mud.

Ivar counted his blessings; the wheelbarrow blocked most of their view, so for a small range he was able to do whatever he pleased. With striking speed, Ivar straddled the squirming slave, forced her down onto her back and pressed a hand around her throat.

Piglet's dark eyes grew huge and bulged from their sockets as Ivar applied just enough pressure to enable her from screaming, yet not suffocate her enough to pass out. It was a fine balance he'd mastered perfectly.

"Who's the beast now, huh, little bitch?" Ivar swore and leaned near his prey, showing his row of perfect teeth, "mocking me, I should rip out your tongue for that." Although his words withheld value, their depth was written all over Ivar's face and casted out all strength from Piglet's body.

Her face jerked away from his, her hands faintly clenched around his wrist, but was a lost battle; even in his poor state Ivar's vigorous upper body strength could snap all of her fingers like twigs and choke her to death without breaking a sweat.

Then the most peculiar thing happened, one that made Ivar's blood run cold. Because besides scarring the living daylight out of Piglet, he hadn't had any intention to physically harm her.

Piglet's eyes rolled all the way to the back until there was only white and her body started convulsing. Shaking all over, unconscious, her head almost hitting the wheelbarrow.

"Piglet? Piglet?! PIGLET?!" Ivar called and grasped her chin to prevent her from harming herself. He slapped her on the cheeks, which did not lessen the convulsions and white foam started seeping from her mouth.

Ivar realised that if the slave died, she'd drag him down with her. It would not matter if Piglet's death had been intentional or an accident, if anyone would find her lifeless body they'd know it had to be him. By Odin, the Giant would use Piglet's rake to beat his body until it all turned into pulp.

Unless he acted heroically and try to save her life.

His body shot into action and he slithered his way towards the fence. Hunching forwards, Ivar reeled himself up and with great effort managed to sway on his feet. Puffing his cheeks, he shifted one foot to the other until he managed to stand and support all his weight on his arm and his two useless legs.

"Help! I need help!" Ivar shouted and thrust his fist into the air, his other arm trembled from all the weight it had to carry, while keeping balance on the wooden frame of the fence.

The few linen maidens once again paused their duty to glance at him, but continued their work once they realised who it was that shouted at them. Such a disfigured slave did not deserve a bat of their lashes.

"Damn you vixens!" Ivar shouted in frustration and felt how his right leg spasmed from an upcoming cramp. He wasn't going to manage to remain in this position much longer.

"Help me damn it!" he shouted again and banged his free hand on the wood. His heart sank when the Giant came through the rows of drying bedlinen and stormed his way.

"It's because of her!" Ivar sputtered, wildly gesturing to Piglet's convulsing body. The Giant clenched his jaw at the sight and took one massive step over the fence. The crude man used even less grace than Ivar and shook Piglet like a rag doll. After what seemed like an eternity, Piglet inhaled a sharp breath and the convulsions slowly diminished into tremors. She huddled against the wheelbarrow, eyes vacant and empty.

The Giant seemed alright with the poor state of his slave and rose from the mud. His grey beady eyes then rested upon Ivar, who'd still supported himself on the fence.

Although the Giant managed to step over the fence with ease the first time, the man slammed his massive hand down on Ivar's right shoulder and used him as support to step back onto the cobblestones. Fingers dug into Ivar's muscles like eagle claws and the brute could not leave out another chance to pester his slave. Before releasing Ivar, he gave him a sudden and hard thrust, resulting in Ivar losing his balance.

There was nothing graceful about tripping over your own two useless feet. Ivar fell on his arse hard and barely managed to keep in a moan.

"I swear by Odin, I will kill you," Ivar promised as he watched the broad shoulders of the Giant march away, "even if it's the last thing I'll do."

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A/N: this chapter was a total joy to write. I like how Ivar gives deeper meaning to the Raven, I think it's a good coping mechanism to deal with his losses. It's nice to feel that person near you even though they are no longer alive. Some use a gravestone, ashes, church, or pieces of clothes to feel near a deceased loved one. So why not a Raven, it's symbolic and suitable. I hope it was your father, you poor little prince.

I felt sorry for him, almost, but then he fucked it up by hurting Piglet. I hope that in this chapter I gave enough 'reason' for him to be so hostile to this girl. It's again his 'monster theory,' he'd rather be someone cruel then someone who's searching for love. Being a 'man' is out of the question, so he doesn't find himself worthy of love. Instead of spending his life searching for something that's out of his reach, he'd rather settle for being a monster. Another (twisted) form of coping mechanism. Those maidens were mocking him, that hurt, he can't deal with that kind of hurt, so instead of dealing with it, he takes his pain out on others who are even less fortunate. Sorry Piglet, that's you.

Yeah, so that was my Dr Phil cookie, thanks for reading!

Xoxox Nukyster