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ivarthebadbitch · 3 years

Text

Strange things can happen

Chapter 17 summary: The real work begins.

Canon divergent, everybody lives, arranged marriage AU after 4x14. Read this chapter on Ao3.

Previous chapters: [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11] [12] [13] [14] [15] [16]

On Ao3: [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11] [12] [13] [14] [15] [16]

Pairings: Ivar x OC, Ivar vs. basically everyone

Warnings: None

Word count: 1831

Notes: This is it! Thanks to all for the likes, reblogs, comments...every single one is appreciated <3

Tagged: @youbloodymadgenius @heavenly1927 @nukyster-blog @bae-roman @adhdnightmare @danisnotsosecret @punkrocknpearls @istorkyou

CHAPTER 17: Strange things happened

“Well, this is unexpected news,” Ecbert remarked over breakfast to his granddaughter and her husband. “You’re absolutely certain you consummated the marriage?”

Aldreda and Ivar glanced at each other and then looked away, both turning red. Ivar cleared his throat. “You did instruct me, King Ecbert.”

“So I did,” he said. It still seemed rather unlikely. He glanced at Ragnar on the other side of the table, who was rubbing his eyes blearily as Ubbe leaned over to whisper something in his ear. For once, the Northman seemed significantly more hungover than Ecbert after a late night of drinking, discussion, and sundry other activities. Ragnar briefly met his eyes and then slumped down in his seat, tilting his head back.

“Aldreda,” Ecbert addressed his granddaughter. “Is this true? Lying is a sin.”

“Father…” Aethelwulf complained, gesturing around the table at Aethelred and Alfred, who both were staring very intently at their porridge. “This is hardly an appropriate place to discuss such matters. The children are present.”

Ecbert brushed him aside. “We’re all family here, and besides, the boys will be married eventually and so they should learn now what will be expected of them.” He turned once again to his granddaughter. “Well, Aldreda?”

She blushed and looked away. “It’s true.”

Ecbert considered the pair for a moment, toying idly with his spoon. “Until very recently, neither of you were forthcoming about the status of your marriage. Are we to believe you now? Shall Ragnar Lothbrok and I stake our alliance on your word alone?”

Ivar and Aldreda were quiet, neither daring to even look at each other. Ragnar, though obviously still nursing a severe headache, let out a humorless chuckle and whispered something in Ubbe’s ear. Ubbe snorted in response.

As the silence stretched on, Judith finally cleared her throat. All eyes turned in her direction. “If the marriage has been consummated as they say, it does save the archbishop some paperwork, and the trouble of having to organize a second wedding,” she observed. “No expense was spared for the first wedding, and it would look rather poor to our allies for Aldreda to have to wear the same wedding dress twice in two months.”

“A good point,” Ecbert concurred. “But the validity of Ivar and Aldreda’s marriage should not be subject to doubt. Not in the eyes of our allies nor anyone else.”

“There will only be doubts about the marriage if those of us inside this room allow it,” Aethelwulf argued. He set his spoon down firmly on the table and shook his head. “Judith is correct. Father, your own judgment will be in question if the marriage is disrupted under such circumstances, especially since Aldreda and Ivar both claim it was consummated and they no longer wish to seek an annulment.”

Ecbert looked from Aethelwulf to Judith and back at Aethelwulf again, mildly surprised. It was rare for the two of them to be in agreement. He stirred his porridge thoughtfully, smashing the lumps against the side of the bowl. “I will take your point into consideration,” he said. “However, this matter equally concerns Ragnar, as it affects both of his sons.”

Ragnar, who had quietly been conveying the details of the conversation to Ubbe, finally straightened up with a skeptical expression on his face. Ubbe crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair, staring at his younger brother with raised eyebrows. “Come on, Ivar,” Ubbe said in Norse as Ecbert turned his head and pretended to not understand. “You didn’t really do it. Somehow you convinced her to go along with this.”

Ivar rolled his eyes. “I didn’t convince her of anything.”

Ragnar scoffed. “Oh, something was agreed to,” he said to his sons in his own language. “But I don’t think Ivar was the one doing the convincing.” Having turned his head too quickly, he winced and rubbed his temples, and then lowered his forehead to rest on the table.

“There’s something else,” Aldreda spoke up in the silence that followed. “Ivar misses his home, and I would like to see Kattegat. With your permission, we would like to arrange for both of us to return there with his father and brother, for at least a year or two.”

Aethelwulf looked up sharply. “Aldreda…”

“I want to see the world outside of Wessex, Father,” she explained. She glanced at Ivar with a small smile. “And I will not be alone. This is what both of us want.”

Ecbert studied the conflicted expression on his son’s face—pride and doubt and fear. Just over a month ago, Aethelwulf had objected to his daughter even traveling to Mercia. Kattegat was considerably farther away, and not even a Christian kingdom. But finally, Aethelwulf nodded reluctantly. “One year,” he insisted, looking from his daughter to Ivar. “You have my blessing. I trust you will take care of each other.”

Aldreda beamed at him and turned to look at Ecbert. “Grandfather?” she asked in a small voice.

“Hm.” He looked from Ivar and Aldreda, both with anxious yet hopeful expressions on their faces. It was more than saving the archbishop paperwork or the expense of another wedding on Ecbert’s mind, of course: it had not escaped him that it could be very useful indeed to have one of his own in Kattegat to ensure that the terms of the trade deal were being followed and who could reliably report back on other matters concerning the Northmen. And although Aldreda was young, her word would still hold authority as his granddaughter and representative. Perhaps it was time to put her to the test.

“The marriage will not be annulled,” he said at last. “Indeed, any such suggestion that an annulment had ever been considered will be dismissed as baseless rumor. I will also allow one year to be spent in Kattegat. If my friend and ally Ragnar Lothbrok is satisfied with this resolution, then so am I.”

Ragnar shrugged and fixed his gaze on his son. Some silent communication passed between the two of them. Ragnar looked away first and sighed. “I am satisfied.”

A huge grin spread across Ivar’s face, and Aldreda clapped a hand over her mouth as though she could hardly believe what she was hearing. Around the table, the boys were giggling, Judith and Aethelwulf were looking at each other with surprising warmth, and even the skepticism on Ubbe and Ragnar’s faces was beginning to ease. Ecbert tapped the side of his bowl with his spoon and raised his voice.

“Well, that’s all settled, then,” he concluded. “Everyone, finish your porridge; we have much to make ready.”

Despite his order, nobody else was paying much attention to breakfast at that point, least of all Ivar and Aldreda, who still looked rather dazed by the turn of events. Ecbert shook his head, smiled to himself, and dug back into his porridge: the two didn’t realize it yet, but now the real work was about to begin.

It took several weeks of preparation, but at last, everything that needed arranging had been arranged, Ivar and Aldredea had said their farewells, the carriage was packed to the brim with Aldreda’s trunks, and they were on their way to the coast. With Ubbe and Ragnar going ahead of them on horseback, that left Ivar and Aldreda crammed in together in the carriage and practically sitting on top of each other.

“Why do you need to bring so many clothes?” Ivar complained as he wiggled around in the seat to try to get more comfortable, pushing her to the side with his body. “We could find you something to wear in Kattegat, you know.”

She pushed him back not very gently and stared at him as though he had just suggested that she travel to Kattegat naked. “They’re my clothes,” she said, sounding absolutely scandalized. “I need them.”

He rolled his eyes. “When I came to England, all I had with me were the clothes I was wearing.”

“Oh, I remember. You and your father were absolutely filthy the first time I saw you. Some of us have higher standards. Besides, I have to look my best when I meet your mother.”

He grinned and took her hand. “She’ll like you,” he said, and then backtracked. From the impression he had gotten from his father and Ubbe, his mother had not taken well to the idea of his marriage. “Well, maybe not right away. But eventually.”

“That’s why I have to make a good first impression,” she replied tartly.

He smiled and looked down at their intertwined hands. None of this still felt entirely real to him—that they were still married, that both of their families had agreed to it, that they were in a carriage headed to the coast and from there, to Kattegat. “What if they figure it out?” he asked quietly. “That we didn’t really...you know. Consummate the marriage.”

She squeezed his hand. “It doesn’t matter that much if they know or don’t know,” she reassured him. “They were willing to go along with it. Otherwise, we wouldn’t be here, would we?”

“I guess not,” he said, still not entirely convinced.

“The most important thing is that we’ll be together,” she said firmly. “Besides, we will be in Kattegat for an entire year. Who knows what will happen in that much time?”

“It’s enough time to make a pagan out of you,” he joked. “I can teach you how to sacrifice a goat. That would please my mother for sure.”

She smacked his shoulder with her free hand. “I’m sure there must be other ways I can please your mother.”

“Your father tried to make me learn about your bread god,” Ivar complained. “I think this is a fair trade.”

“You had to sit down one time with a priest to learn a prayer, and you didn’t even do that. That’s not the same thing as me sacrificing a goat,” she said dryly.

“Fine, no goats,” he agreed. He looked down, running his thumb along her palm, thinking back to the last time they had been together in a carriage like this.

Aldreda rested her head on his shoulder. “What are you thinking about?” she asked.

He shrugged. “Just remembering the journey from Mercia back to Wessex,” he said. Aldreda had asked him to tell her about Kattegat. He had thought back then about what it would be like for him to take her to see his home and meet his family, and how impossible that had seemed. And something else had happened as well…

“Oh.” Aldreda blushed and sat up. She was obviously thinking about the same thing.

“You kissed me.”

She turned even redder, but she didn’t let go of his hand. After regarding him for a moment, she asked him shyly, “What if...we did it again?”

He grinned. “I thought you’d never ask.”

So she kissed him and laughed, and to Ivar, her laugh sounded like joy, like hope, like the beginning of something wonderful.

#vikings #ivar the boneless #fanfiction #fic: strange things can happen

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ivarthebadbitch · 3 years

Text

Strange things can happen

Chapter 15 summary: Ubbe attempts to turn on the charm for Aldreda, and Ivar has some unexpected visitors.

Canon divergent, everybody lives, arranged marriage AU after 4x14. Read this chapter on Ao3.

Previous chapters: [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11] [12] [13] [14]

On Ao3: [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11] [12] [13] [14]

Pairings: Ivar x OC, Ivar vs. basically everyone

Warnings: None

Word count: 2466

Notes: Yes, I know I said no chapter this week, but lucky(?) for you, I actually got my shit together. No promises for next week though!

Tagged: @youbloodymadgenius @heavenly1927 @nukyster-blog @bae-roman @adhdnightmare @danisnotsosecret (let me know if you would like to be tagged)

CHAPTER 15: All we can do is...

Although Aldreda had by her own choice been sequestered in a spare room for much of the day after speaking to her grandfather, with no particular desire to see or talk to anybody, the news of the unexpected arrival of Ragnar Lothbrok and his son Ubbe around sundown had trickled in nevertheless. Not for the first time, she wanted to be a thousand miles away from this place. Getting herself smuggled out of the palace in a wine barrel increasingly sounded like a reasonable solution to all her problems. Maybe Ivar had been on to something after all.

But before she could start planning her escape in earnest, there was a knock on the door. She reluctantly got up to answer it. It turned out to be her father, with a vaguely familiar-looking Northman hovering behind him in the hallway. Her heart immediately sank.

“Aldreda, may I present Ragnar Lothbrok’s other son, Ubbe,” he said with a strained smile, motioning for Ivar’s brother to step forward. She was extremely relieved in that moment that she was still dressed and did not have to meet Ivar’s brother while wearing her nightgown.

After glancing at Aethelwulf, Ubbe hesitated and dipped into what Aldreda supposed was some sort of bow. Then, to her surprise, he took her hand and kissed it. “Hello,” he said in English.

She let go of his hand and curtsied back awkwardly. “My lord Ubbe, it is a pleasure to meet you.”

He stared at her in confusion. Her father nudged her and murmured, “I don’t think he knows our language.”

“Oh,” she said. Embarrassingly enough, though Ivar’s English had improved to a remarkable degree in the past couple months, the same could not be said for her Norse. She frantically tried to recall her vocabulary. “Ah...how are you?”

He seemed relieved to hear her speak his language, however badly, and he smiled at her. “Our journey was long and difficult, but I am better now that I have met you.”

She had no idea what to say to that in either language. “Thank you,” she finally replied. Then she turned to her father. “I would like to speak to you,” she said in English.

He looked surprised. “Oh, of course. Right now?”

“Yes.” She tilted her head at Ubbe. “And alone.”

“Right.” Her father grasped Ubbe by the elbow and then escorted him back into the hallway with a polite smile before closing the door in his face.

“What is going on, Father?” she demanded once the door was closed.

He took a seat at the desk and ran his hands through his hair wearily. “Should the annulment proceed—and now it certainly will—Ragnar Lothbrok has proposed that you marry Ubbe. Your grandfather was receptive to the idea.”

She supposed she should have expected this: to be handed off immediately to the next available suitor with no say of her own, or even the faintest gesture that her feelings might have mattered in the least. Somehow, foolishly, she had thought that maybe this time would be different. But clearly she was mistaken. Judith had been right after all.

“And you?” she asked in a small voice.

Her father sighed and looked away. “I did not like the idea of you marrying Ivar,” he said. “Neither of you even had time to get to know each other before you wed, though I admit I was too quick to judge him. You did your duty, of course, for the good of Wessex. But sometimes our hearts pull us in other directions, and that is no sin. Though your grandfather and Ragnar Lothbrok would like this matter resolved quickly, I have requested that you be allowed to decide whether the match is to proceed, and that Ubbe be baptized into our faith. They have agreed to these conditions.”

She threw herself into his arms without hesitation. “Thank you,” she whispered, hugging him tightly. Then she stepped back with a frown. “What will happen to Ivar?”

“The king has decided that the annulment can be formalized the day after tomorrow, once the final details have been worked out with Ragnar Lothbrok,” he said. “Afterwards, Ivar will return to Kattegat with his father. Ubbe will remain here and preparations will be made for the engagement. Tomorrow, you should spend at least a little time with him.”

She nodded, not quite trusting herself to speak. It is for the best, she told herself for the thousandth time. Ivar could hate her if that was what he needed. She hoped he wouldn’t.

Her father squeezed her shoulder. “All my life, I have tried to do the right thing for my country, and my father, and my god,” he said. “I believed that if doing the right thing came at the expense of my personal happiness, then the cost was worth it. But now I see that these two things may not always be in opposition to each other. Sometimes happiness can be the right thing, and I would very much wish for all my children to be happy. I am sure that your mother would have wanted the same.”

“Yes, Father,” she whispered. She was a woman now; she knew she should maintain her composure and not weep in front of him. Once she started, she would not be able to stop.

It must have been obvious. “Oh, my dear,” her father said gently, pulling her close and touching his forehead to hers, and she lost herself entirely. She sobbed in his arms for what felt like an eternity as he patted her back and murmured soothing words. Finally, as her sobs began to subside, he poured her a cup of water from the pitcher on the desk and gave her his handkerchief to wipe her eyes.

“You always raised me to understand my duty towards others came first,” she said once she could speak again. She blew her nose and returned the handkerchief. “In a way, that made everything easier, because then I could say I didn’t have a choice. But what if I make the wrong choice now? What if I make a mistake and I don’t know how to fix it?”

He squeezed her hand. “We can’t always fix everything,” he said. “All we can do is the best that we can.”

With that, her father smiled and left her. Alone in her room, she undressed, blew out the candles, and climbed into bed. She didn’t think she would sleep at all that night, but somehow she had exhausted herself. Within minutes of closing her eyes, she was fast asleep.

When Ivar woke in the morning, the sun was already shining high in the sky and flooding the room with light. He hadn’t meant to sleep for so long. Usually, Aldreda would wake before him, and she would eventually nudge him to get up. But she hadn’t slept there last night, presumably having found herself another room for the time being. Of course, it hardly made sense for them to continue to share a bed if they were no longer going to be married.

His stomach growled and he suddenly realized he was ravenous. He might have elected to stay in bed all day otherwise, having nowhere else to go and nothing to do, but he finally forced himself up, washed his face, and slowly got dressed. Then he crawled over to the door, and finding it still locked from the outside, he banged on it until an annoyed guard opened it and glared down at him.

“Does King Ecbert mean for me to starve?” he snapped.

The guard closed the door in his face without a word, but within ten minutes, a servant came by with a plate of food and then hurried out before Ivar could make any additional demands. He wolfed his breakfast down in minutes. Once he was done, he picked up the plate and turned it around in his hands a few times. Even though he felt a little better after eating, he thought he would feel much better if he threw the plate at the locked door.

The moment it left his hands, the door opened without warning and his father stepped inside. The plate struck him squarely in the chest and bounced off. It clattered around noisily on the floor until Ragnar bent down with a groan to pick it up and set it on the table.

“Father,” Ivar said in what he hoped was a steady voice, staring up at him.

“Ivar.” Ragnar sighed and sank down to the ground with his back to the door and legs splayed. “I am meeting again with King Ecbert today. Tomorrow morning, you’ll go to the priest and the marriage will be annulled. Then you and I will return right away to Kattegat while Ubbe remains here to be formally engaged to Aldreda. You will do this without making a scene and embarrassing your people, your family, and yourself. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Father,” he said dully.

“Hm.” Ragnar tilted his head back against the door. “Do you have anything to say to me, boy?”

He had spent hours since yesterday working through various defenses and excuses for his behavior, but in that moment, his mind went blank. He picked at the fabric of his pants, overcome by emotion. “You left me,” he said at last, his voice suddenly breaking. “You left me again and you didn’t even bother to ask how I felt about it.”

Ragnar watched him in silence. As a child, Ivar had seen his father as a giant, unreachable and untouchable, but in this moment, sitting across from him—all he looked like was a tired old man, nothing like the great king and warrior he had always idolized.

“I remember, you know,” Ivar continued. “Sigurd said I just dreamed it and I couldn’t possibly remember because I was only a baby back then, and maybe he’s right, but it doesn’t matter. I remember looking up at your face. I remember you leaving me somewhere cold. You said you did it because you thought my legs were a weakness and I would die anyway. But I don’t care anymore why you left me. I just want to know if you’re sorry that you did it.”

Without taking his eyes off him, Ragnar slowly got to his feet. “Do you think you’re the first child to be left by his father?” he asked harshly. “I survived. You survived. The gods willed it. It doesn’t matter whether I’m sorry or not.”

With that, he turned and left as abruptly as he had come, leaving Ivar sitting alone on the floor. He sat there in silence and watched the shadows creep along the walls and listened to the sounds of the servants walking by in the hall, laughing and arguing cheerfully. If the door had been unlocked, he would have been tempted to charge out of the room, snarling curses to make them turn and run, but Ragnar had of course been careful to lock the door behind him. Even if his father was not sorry, he was ashamed of what he had done, Ivar realized. It still hurt. But he remembered what Aethelwulf had told him in the carriage: that he didn’t have to make the same mistakes as his parents; that it was possible to be better. He hoped he was right.

With nothing else to do, Ivar finally hauled himself back onto the bed and stared at the ceiling as the sun gradually sank below the horizon. He tried without success to avoid thinking about Aldreda, who was probably off having dinner with Ubbe and blushing when he smiled at her. His brothers all knew how to charm women; a skill he had never bothered to try to pick up—what was the use? He’d never be like them.

He unsuccessfully tried to wrench his thoughts away from Aldreda and Ubbe and plan for his future back in Kattegat, but he just couldn’t shake the image out of his mind. If Ubbe really could make her happy, though...if this was really what she wanted...well, maybe that was what mattered most. Maybe he just had to figure out how to let her go.

At some point in the evening, the servants came in to light the candles and bring him another plate of food, even though he had no appetite. He lay back on the bed, shut his eyes, and firmly ignored them, which no doubt made them happy. He even let himself doze for a while. His dreams were fragmented and hazy: he was lying in a tent in Mercia with Aldreda curled up at his side; he was on the boat to England again, watching Jormungandr rising out of the dark water to strike; he was sitting on the throne of Kattegat before a room full of cheering skeletons; he was his own father, looking down at the helpless infant in his arms. No other way, my son.

He woke to a hesitant knock at the door. “Fuck off,” he snapped sleepily in Norse. It was probably Ubbe dropping by with some long winded explanation about how this was all being done for Ivar’s own good. Ubbe was the last person on earth he wanted to see right now.

He sat up in surprise when Aldreda poked her head inside. She had a hesitant look on her face, as though she thought he would shout at her. “Sorry, I thought you were my brother,” he explained sheepishly, rubbing his eyes.

“Can I come in?” she asked. Before he could answer, she quickly added, “You can say no. That’s all right too. I just...I didn’t want to be alone tonight.”

Some part of him wanted to refuse out of spite; to say don’t worry, you’ll be rid of me soon enough and won’t have to look at me anymore, just like you wanted, same as everybody else. He could watch her expression turn from uncertainty to shock before slamming the door. Then she would go back to her own room and he would lie in bed awake all night, and he would only see her one last time in the morning to formally annul the marriage before getting sent home. That would be the end of it.

She hovered in the doorway, hair loose over her shoulders and dark circles under her eyes for lack of sleep. In that moment, she didn’t look like a princess of Wessex or the granddaughter of a king: just a girl, not much older than himself, and no more certain about the future than he was. He sighed and shifted over on the bed to make room for her. After a few seconds, she stepped inside, shut the door, and joined him.

#vikings #ivar the boneless #fanfiction #fic: strange things can happen

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ivarthebadbitch · 3 years

Text

Strange things can happen

Chapter 8 summary: Ivar fucks around and finds out.

Canon divergent, everybody lives, arranged marriage AU after 4x14. Read this chapter on Ao3.

Previous chapters: [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7]

On Ao3: [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7]

Pairings: Ivar x OC, Ivar vs. basically everyone

Warnings: None

Word count: 3468 (big chapter this time!)

Tagged: @youbloodymadgenius @heavenly1927 @nukyster-blog @bae-roman @adhdnightmare (let me know if you would like to be tagged)

CHAPTER 8: And lead us not into temptation

“Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come, thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our debts, as we forgive our debtors.”

“Have your debts been forgiven, Father Wilfred?” the boy asked.

The priest looked up warily from his prayer book. He had been reluctant to teach Ivar again after their first lesson, but under pressure from Prince Aethelwulf and his daughter Aldreda, he had little choice but agree—on the condition that Ivar was not to touch any of his books ever again, let alone eat the pages. Everyone had felt that this was a reasonable request, and so lessons had resumed.

Father Wilfred cleared his throat and continued the prayer. “And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory, for ever and ever. Amen.” He crossed himself and frowned at Ivar. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The boy raised his eyebrows. He reached out, grabbed at the priest’s sleeve, and poked his finger through a hole in the fabric just below his wrist. “I think you do,” he said slyly. “I heard you had a problem with your debts, Father Wilfred. As a matter of fact, I heard you stole from the church.” He clicked his tongue. “I can help you.”

Father Wilfred scoffed and pulled away. How in God’s name had the boy heard about that? “I doubt that very much. I sinned, but the king has been gracious.”

“Of course,” Ivar nodded. “And I am sure you have done nothing since then that would cause him to regret his decision to show you mercy.”

He dabbed at the small beads of sweat forming on his forehead. It was a bluff, surely. There was absolutely no way that this boy could know that, in a moment of weakness about a month ago, he had taken a small silver bowl that had been carelessly left out on the altar after mass. Although Ecbert had pardoned him before, he wasn’t the only individual to whom he still owed money, and those others were not so forgiving. But Ivar didn’t know about that. Or did he?

He swallowed hard. “What do you want?”

Ivar leaned in close and lowered his voice. “I want you to help me escape this place and return home to Kattegat. I promise you that the reward will make it worthwhile.”

Father Wilfred stared at him. To meddle with the family of the king bordered on treason, and was a far worse crime than stealing or gambling. As the son of Ragnar Lothbrok, Ivar would no doubt be fine if they were caught conspiring, but Father Wilfred certainly could not plead for leniency on the basis of maintaining important diplomatic ties. His head would be on a stake in the courtyard in hours.

His jaw twitched. “How much can you give me in return?”

Ivar told him, and his eyes widened. With that amount, he could pay off his most demanding creditors and still have enough left over to leave Wessex and begin a new life somewhere else, far from Ecbert’s reach—assuming, of course, that Ivar could actually deliver what he was promising, which was no certain thing. It was reckless and risky. But it was a way out. Perhaps God had provided for him after all.

“Is it enough?” Ivar asked nervously. For a brief moment, Father Wilfred could see the desperation in his eyes. If he didn’t agree, then the boy had told him his conspiracy for nothing. And given their first encounter, it gave him some small amount of satisfaction to watch him sweat.

“It is,” he said at last, and watched Ivar breathe a small sigh of relief.

The boy stuck out his hand and after a moment and against his better judgment, Father Wilfred reached out and shook it. “So it’s agreed, then?”

God, he was absolutely going to regret this. “Agreed.”

***

Ivar dedicated the next two weeks to reconnaissance while Father Wilfred arranged his transportation to the nearest port and secured his spot on a boat home. He worked out the schedule of the guards that were assigned to patrol the hallway during the night. He found a suitable location to meet the priest for when he made his escape. He discovered that the gates to the villa were usually closed at sunset, except for the nights before and after a feast for one of the many Christian saints. On those nights, it was normal for carts full of food and drink to arrive and depart at all hours, and the guards tended to be more lax in their inspections. Lucky for him, one such feast was fast approaching.

The Feasts of Saint Peter and Saint Paul, as Aldreda explained to him with probably more patience than he deserved, commemorated the martyrdom of the two apostles. The main thing he took away from the whole story was that Christians had some sort of unhealthy fixation on crucifixion. Aldreda gave him a little smack on the shoulder when he told her this, but she didn’t exactly deny it.

Since their trip to Mercia, she had been more relaxed around him and wasn’t going out of her way to avoid him any longer. By the gods, she had even kissed him. To his profound relief, nothing had happened after that and she hadn’t pressed him on it. Not that he wasn’t interested—even though she didn’t look much like the usual type of woman he liked, he found her attractive enough in her own way—but the prospect of trying and failing with a woman once again terrified him. It wasn’t even important if nobody else ever found out. He would know and she would know for certain that he wasn’t really a man, not in the way that mattered.

At any rate, he would be gone soon and then it really wouldn’t matter. He just had to sit through an exceptionally long and boring mass first. He was too on edge to nod off to sleep as he usually did during these things, so he ended up fidgeting and shuffling around in his seat until Aldreda inevitably jabbed an elbow into his ribs.

“Ow,” he whispered, pretending she had hurt him more than she actually had. She rolled her eyes and he grinned back.

Finally, after an eternity of listening to the archbishop blather on in Latin and watching everyone else in the room but him go up to the altar to eat the bread god, it was time for the actual feast. The guards carried him to the main hall, which had been fully transformed for the banquet. The first dishes had been brought out by the servants and the wine was already flowing by the time he settled into his usual place at Aldreda’s side at the highest table, which was reserved for Ecbert’s family. Ecbert stood up and clapped his hands, gave a mercifully short blessing, and the feast began in earnest.

Ivar cast his gaze around the hall in what he hoped was a casual manner, until he finally spotted Father Wilfred on the far side of the room. When he caught the priest’s eye, he gave him a cheerful little wave. Father Wilfred immediately looked away. As long as the miserable little priest wasn’t planning to betray him, that was fine. Now it was time to set the next part of his plan in motion.

A servant came by with a wine jug, and he held out his cup. After the girl had filled his cup, he gestured for her to fill Aldreda’s next. “To my wife,” he said, and clinked his cup against hers. Aldreda blushed and took a long sip.

He made sure to keep her cup full throughout the feast. Though she was not a particularly small woman, she was no match for him when it came to holding her liquor. She soon grew tipsy and then somewhat more than tipsy. By the point she nearly fell backwards out of her chair, he decided he had gone far enough. The banquet was winding down anyway; the hall was already half empty and the servants were busy carting empty platters back to the kitchen and mopping up spilled food and drink.

With a word to the ever-present guards, one man draped Ivar’s arm across his shoulder and levered him up while the other offered Aldreda a hand and steadied her when she stumbled. Ivar felt a sudden surge of frustration as he watched. He was her husband and that was supposed to be his job, if only...

“Ivar?” Aldreda asked him woozily. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he lied. “Let’s go to bed.”

They finally made their way back to their room, albeit more slowly than usual. Aldreda stumbled to the bed and sat down heavily beside him, hiccuping and then giggling at her own hiccups. She fumbled a little while undoing the buttons on the front of her dress, and Ivar waved away the servant who stepped forward to help her. “You can leave us,” he said. “I’ll take care of her.”

Once the servant was gone, he took over the task of helping her out of her dress, letting down her hair, and unclasping her necklace. “I don’t know why, but I think you wanted to get me drunk tonight,” she accused him, words slurring together. She giggled again and bunched the fabric of her shift between her fingers. “Are you trying to seduce me? Do you think that if you give a lady enough wine, you can get her to do whatever you want?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he said, unable to stop himself from blushing. He hoped he could hide her necklace before she noticed, but she stood up, crossed the room on unsteady feet, and dropped it on top of the dressing table where she usually kept it. Then she plopped back down on the bed and watched as he undressed. For the first time in weeks, he suddenly felt shy around her.

“You could try, if you want,” she said. “To seduce me, I mean. I wouldn’t mind. We’re married, after all.”

“You’re drunk,” he told her bluntly as he set aside his shirt. He didn’t think she was mocking him, but he couldn’t quite believe she actually meant it either. At any rate, her timing couldn’t have been worse. “And you know I can’t do that.”

His words came out more harshly than he had intended, and she winced. “I meant no offense,” she said.

He sighed. “I know you didn’t.”

They didn’t talk after that. Aldreda turned on her side, facing away from him. Before long, he heard her breathing grow slow and steady. He lay on his back, wide awake, and watched the shadows move across the ceiling. There was nothing he could do now except wait until Father Wilfred was ready for him, but his mind was already racing ahead to the next thing. By evening the next day, he would be on a boat headed home. He could already picture the approach to Kattegat and the curious crowd gathered on the dock, with his parents and brothers at the front waiting for him...

The bells rang. It was exactly one hour after midnight. With his heart thumping in his chest, Ivar slid out of bed as quietly as he could and started to get dressed. Usually, he would just scatter his clothes on the ground and let a servant pick them up for him later, but tonight, he had been careful to keep everything he needed in a neat pile so he wouldn’t waste time fumbling around. As he pulled on his boots and laced up the leather braces he wore around his legs, he listened to Aldreda snoring faintly on the bed. She was normally a heavy sleeper anyway, but with all the wine he had plied her with, he felt certain she would not wake.

Once he was fully dressed, he crawled over to the dressing table she had left her necklace on top of. Ivar suddenly realized that it was just out of his reach while he was on his hands and knees. He let out a quiet curse as he gripped the edges of the table and painstakingly pulled himself to his feet.

Aldreda shifted in bed and he froze, his legs trembling underneath him as he tried to keep his balance. “Ivar?” she asked sleepily.

“Go back to sleep,” he told her. He could feel the table starting to tip and he threw all his weight forward to prevent it—and himself—from crashing to the floor. He had prepared an excuse in case Aldreda woke while he was getting dressed or leaving, but it would be a little more difficult to explain to her that he had inadvertently knocked over her dressing table while trying to steal her mother’s necklace as a bribe for his escape attempt.

“Mm,” she answered. She rolled over and her breathing slowed once again, and Ivar let out a silent sigh of relief. He quickly snatched the necklace, lowered himself back down to the floor, and shoved it into his pocket before he could change his mind. It’s just a necklace, he lied to himself. Her father can get her another one.

He knew he couldn’t linger any longer. The guard that patrolled the hall outside their room would be changing soon, and he had to time it so that he left while the hallway was clear and before the next set of guards arrived. He crawled to the door and strained his ears, listening to the faint murmur of voices on the other side. An eternity passed before he finally heard them walking away.

Ivar exhaled slowly and waited another moment. He cast one final look back at Aldreda before reaching up to grab the handle and tentatively pushing the door open.

The hallway was empty. The next set of guards was late, no doubt caught up in the aftermath of the feast. He silently thanked the gods, dragged himself into the hall, and carefully shut the door behind him, checking again to make sure he hadn’t been seen. Then he made his way as quietly and as quickly as he could to the meeting place he had chosen with Father Wilfred.

The priest was already waiting for him inside the rarely-used storage room down the hall, tapping his foot impatiently as Ivar crawled inside. “You’re late,” Father Wilfred snapped. The man looked like he hadn’t slept in days, and he kept anxiously glancing over his shoulder even though it was just the two of them in the room. He held out his hand. “I want what you promised me.”

“Fine.” Ivar took the necklace out of his pocket and reluctantly handed it over. The priest held it in his hands for a moment as though weighing it, and then he stuffed it down his shirt. They both knew there would be no going back for either of them after this.

“Cover yourself,” the priest ordered, tossing Ivar a large, dirty blanket in return. After Ivar wrapped himself in the blanket and covered his head, Father Wilfred picked him up with a grunt and slung him over his shoulder, staggering under his weight.

“Really?” Ivar groaned as Father Wilfred started walking. It would be extremely obvious to anybody they passed that the priest was carrying a body, blanket or no blanket. “This is the best disguise you could come up with? We’re going to get caught.”

“We will definitely get caught if you keep talking,” Father Wilfred whispered back. “And if you had a better idea for a disguise, you should’ve told me. You’re the most recognizable person in this entire palace!”

“That’s not my fault,” Ivar said, but he shut up after that. From inside the blanket, he had no clue which direction Father Wilfred was taking him, and for a moment, he wondered if he had horribly misjudged the man. The priest could be taking him straight to Aethelwulf to tell him everything. Then they’d toss him in the dungeon and leave him there for the rest of his life. He could call the man a liar, but it would be no use—after all, it was hard to come up with an innocent explanation for why he had just stolen Aldreda’s mother’s necklace and had himself wrapped in a blanket to get smuggled out of the palace.

Fortunately for him, Father Wilfred did not take him to Aethelwulf. After a considerable amount of huffing and puffing and Ivar repeatedly banging his chin into the priest’s back as he went down some stairs, Father Wilfred finally paused, dumped Ivar on the ground, and pulled the blanket off his head.

Ivar blinked as his eyes adjusted to the dim light. They had ended up on the grounds just outside the kitchen, behind a cart full of wine barrels. Father Wilfred was saying a few words to a burly man that Ivar assumed was the owner of the cart. Then he turned back to Ivar and gestured to an empty barrel that was lying on its side. “In you go,” he said. “Everything has been arranged. My friend here will take you directly to the closest port and the boat to Kattegat.”

Ivar looked dubiously at the inside of the empty barrel. It seemed far too small. “You can’t be serious,” he complained, but after a moment he scooted inside and discovered that it was indeed a very tight fit. His joints protested as he tried to fold his legs in closer to his body in a hopeless attempt to get comfortable. The wood reeked of wine and it made him slightly nauseous.

Once he was in, Father Wilfred and the other man turned the barrel upright and lifted it onto the cart. Ivar looked up to see the priest staring down at him with a thoroughly annoyed expression on his face. It occurred to him that he was unlikely to see Father Wilfred after this. He opened his mouth to speak.

“I hope I never see you again in my life,” Father Wilfred said before he could say anything. Then he jammed down the lid and left Ivar in almost complete darkness.

He waited there for what felt like years. Finally, the cart began to move. He gritted his teeth as they hit seemingly every pothole in the road and he attempted without success to find a better position for his cramped legs. With the lid on the barrel, the smell of stale alcohol was nearly overwhelming and he could hardly keep himself from retching.

His adrenaline had kept him going all night, but as the cart rattled on through the darkness he finally felt himself growing sleepy. Despite the discomfort of being squeezed into a barrel, he ended up dozing intermittently and then jolting awake whenever the cart hit a rough patch. After the first few times this happened, he found himself longing for the soft sheets and down-filled pillows on Aldreda’s bed, and the gentle warmth of the sunlight hitting his face in the morning, and lying there half-awake until finally Aldreda yawned and nudged him to get up…

Gods, what was wrong with him? He had left all of that behind. He tried instead to think about home, and everything he was going to do when he made it back to Kattegat—assuming his mother ever let him out of her sight again. But he would wear her down eventually. He always did.

After a long while, he could hear the birds starting to chirp, and around the edges of the lid, there was the faintest hint of light. He inhaled deeply, trying in vain to pick up the smell of salty air over the stench of old wine. Father Wilfred had told him it would be a day’s journey to reach the port by cart, but perhaps he had overestimated it. They might be there sooner.

The cart came to an abrupt halt. Ivar heard men talking and then the sound of somebody climbing onto the back of the cart. His heart beat faster. Perhaps the cart driver had decided they were far enough away from the royal villa and it was safe to let him out. Or maybe they had already arrived. Once he was on the boat, nothing—barring another storm or some other intervention of the gods—would keep him from making it home to Kattegat.

The top of the barrel was suddenly wrenched open. Ivar blinked as his eyes adjusted to the light only to find Aethelwulf glaring down at him. His father-in-law’s face was red with fury.

#vikings #ivar the boneless #fanfiction #fic: strange things can happen

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ivarthebadbitch · 3 years

Text

Strange things can happen

Chapter 7 summary: Aldreda and Ivar have a cultural exchange. Ivar hatches a plan of his own.

Canon divergent, everybody lives, arranged marriage AU after 4x14. Read this chapter on Ao3.

Previous chapters: [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6]

On Ao3: [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6]

Pairings: Ivar x OC, Ivar vs. basically everyone

Warnings: None

Word count: 1856

Notes: I 100% made up the “cultural” stuff in this chapter, don’t get mad at me.

Tagged: @youbloodymadgenius @heavenly1927 @nukyster-blog @bae-roman @adhdnightmare (let me know if you would like to be tagged)

CHAPTER 7: Maybe someday

With the majority of the Mercian rebels either killed, captured, or fled, a treaty skewed heavily in favor of Wessex was swiftly drawn up and signed by the victorious and defeated parties. Aldreda’s father was clearly pleased with the turn of events, and he allowed her, Aethelred, Alfred, and Ivar to witness the signing. Afterwards, he hugged Aldreda and her brothers and even gave Ivar an awkward pat on the shoulder.

As everyone else began packing up camp outside to return home, Aldreda and Ivar lingered to look at the treaty. “So that’s it, then?” Ivar asked. He turned the piece of parchment sideways and frowned. “This chicken scratch is the agreement between Wessex and Mercia? A good rain would wash the ink right out. Or I could tear it in half. And then...no more treaty.”

She rolled her eyes. “Please don’t. My father is already upset with you.”

“I just think it is a stupid way to make an agreement. It’s just parchment. It doesn’t mean anything.”

She took the treaty out of his hands in case he changed his mind and decided to tear it up. Or eat it. “So how would your people do it, then?”

“Easy. You make your agreement and swear an oath, and then you perform a sacrifice so that the gods will be witnesses to it and show favor. Usually a goat.” He regarded her thoughtfully and then shook his head. “Well, I see the problem. You Christians don’t do sacrifices. How does your god know when you make an agreement?”

“Maybe He reads it over later,” Aldreda said dryly. “The whole reason to write it down and sign it is to record the details of the agreement so that all parties can be held to account if they break it. What happens if you make an agreement with someone, take an oath, perform a sacrifice, and later on the other person claims that you agreed to something else?”

Ivar shrugged. “Challenge him to single combat for lying. Then you kill him and take his land and his wife as your own.”

“Ah. Of course,” she said. “Well, then, what about us? You and I made an agreement, but we did not perform a sacrifice as your people would do, so your gods don’t recognize it. Nor did we write it down.”

“That is true.” He gave her a thoughtful look, even though she hadn’t been entirely serious. “So what do you want to do about it?”

“Write it down,” she said on impulse, reaching for the quill and ink pot left on the table. She took her small prayer book out of her pocket and flipped to the blank final page. Near the bottom, she wrote in small, neat letters: Ivar and Aldreda have an agreement. She signed her name underneath and handed the quill to Ivar.

He took it hesitantly. “I can’t write,” he said.

She pointed out his name on the page. “Just try to copy this,” she told him.

He studied his name for a moment, frowning, and then he set the quill to the parchment and laboriously drew the letters. They came out crooked and wobbly, but it was undeniably his name, and she felt a sudden surge of pride. “It takes practice, but not so bad, right?” she said as she tucked the book back inside her pocket.

“No,” he said. He sounded a little surprised. “So, we wrote it down like you wanted. Now we should make a sacrifice.”

She arched an eyebrow. “I am not sacrificing a goat. I hope you will understand.”

“It doesn’t have to be a goat.” He pulled out a knife.

Aldreda hesitated, and he rolled his eyes at her. “Don’t look at me like that. What, do you really think I’d kill you? Right here in the middle of your father’s camp? Even if I wanted to, I’m not that stupid. We can use your knife if you want. I know you have one.”

She did have one, but that was beside the point. She watched as he nicked his index finger with a small hiss. Then he held out the knife to her, handle first, and after a moment she accepted it from him and followed suit. He took her hand and pressed their fingers together. It felt strangely intimate. She could feel her face turning red.

“There,” he said. “Now our oath is sealed in blood.”

He wiped his bloody finger on his pants while she pressed down on hers to stop the bleeding. “I thought you were going to tell me to lick your finger or something,” she joked. “Don’t you pagans drink blood?”

He looked up in surprise. “Oh, of course, we can do that too if you want.”

“Ah...no. That won’t be necessary. Thank you.”

***

A plan began taking shape in Ivar’s mind in earnest as they made their slow and bumpy way back to Wessex. To make his way home to Kattegat, he would need somebody to help smuggle him many miles to the coast and get him on a boat. The only reason anyone in this place would do that would be for a substantial amount of money. So he needed to find someone greedy. Or, even better—someone desperate. And beyond that, he needed a bribe, since his fellow conspirator would not be satisfied with empty promises. He would want to see payment upfront. Something valuable enough to make it worth the risk.

His eyes went to Aldreda’s gold necklace.

“You look thoughtful,” she said in an amused voice, and he almost jumped. Though they had started this trip to Mercia bickering, at some point along the way he could feel something had changed between them. It made him a little uneasy that he was beginning to actually like her company, and that she seemed to like his more and more. But he couldn’t allow that to be a distraction.

“That priest your father sent to teach me,” he said. “Father...Wilfred, I think. Why did Aethelwulf choose him?”

“I suppose because he knows your language,” she said with a shrug.

“Not as some sort of punishment for him, then.”

“Well, now that you say that…” She frowned and then leaned forward and lowered her voice, even though it was just the two of them in the carriage. “There was a scandal a few months back. Father Wilfred and a few other priests were caught gambling using church funds. My grandfather and the bishop decided to be merciful because his skill in Norse and in Frankish is useful, but he had to pay back the funds he had stolen, which I believe was a substantial amount. It is possible that teaching you is also part of his penance.”

Perfect. Ivar forced himself to keep his expression neutral. He couldn’t give her any hint of what he was planning to do. “I would like to continue my lessons with Father Wilfred,” he said. “I want to know more about your religion.”

Aldreda stared at him in surprise, and for a moment, he thought she would see right through his subterfuge. But then she unexpectedly gave him a warm smile. “I will tell my father; he will be pleased to hear it.” She added almost shyly, “And I am pleased to hear it too.”

He blushed and looked away, unable to stop himself. She looked happier than he had ever seen her in the past several weeks since they had married.

“Oh, but Ivar—” she said—had she called him by his name before now?—“don’t torment the poor priest like you did last time. If you want some parchment to gnaw on, I’m sure we can find some scraps around.”

She was actually teasing him. Somehow, he didn’t mind. He rolled his eyes at her but smiled back. “Fine. I promise.”

Aldreda leaned back in her seat and gave him an almost hesitant look. “Will you tell me about your home?” she asked shyly. “I’ve never been outside of Wessex, except for this trip.”

“Kattegat?” He took a moment to think about what to say. “The city is on the edge of the bay, surrounded by mountains. It was small when I was born, not much more than a fishing village—that was before my father became king. When I was a child, of course, I thought it was the entire world. Now it’s much bigger and merchants come from all over to sell things. You see all kinds of people there, not like here.

“It gets cold in the winters, but in the great hall where my parents sit, it is always warm,” he continued. “Everyone gathers in there for meetings and feasts. In the summer, I would go with my brothers to the hunting cabin in the mountains to fish and hunt deer and rabbits. The forest there is so thick that even during the middle of the day, it always stays cool and dark…”

There was more he could tell her about Kattegat, like the excitement of the horns blowing when ships arrived in the harbor, or how the hills were carpeted with purple wildflowers in spring, or about the secret waterfall where he sometimes went swimming with his brothers. His heart suddenly felt tight in his chest as he remembered all the things he missed from home. He wondered what his family was doing without him and how long it would take before they no longer noticed his absence. It was almost unbearable to think about.

“Sometimes we sacrifice goats, that sort of thing,” he finally finished, just to make her laugh. “We’re heathens, after all.”

“I’d like to see it,” she sighed. “Not the sacrificing goats part, but everything else. Perhaps my grandfather will allow it someday.”

It was wishful thinking and they both knew it. He allowed himself to imagine what that would be like anyway. His brothers would tease them mercilessly and his mother would initially be suspicious since she had never approved of the marriage in the first place, but with time they would be won over. And perhaps Aldreda would like to see the ocean, since there was none at Ecbert’s court in Winchester. She was sure to be surprised by the size of the mountains.

He shook his head. That was never going to happen. He was going to find a way to get home and that would be the end of it, and it would be better for both of them. She could marry again, this time to someone more suitable. She might be upset about it for a little while, and then she would move on.

“Maybe someday,” he ended up telling her. “But you should improve your Norse first. Your accent is horrible.”

They didn’t speak much after that, but after a little while, she reached out and took his hand. Then, she hesitantly leaned forward and kissed him quickly on the lips. She sat back, blushing furiously—he was certain his face was as red as hers was—and looked away.

Still, she kept holding on to his hand. He couldn’t quite bring himself to let go.

#vikings #ivar the boneless #fanfiction #fic: strange things can happen

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