For The Sake of Revenge

III~Chapter 2: Reliving the Woes

Respect me, Ivar's voice hissed. I started at his tone. He hasn't used that tone with me since...since I was first captured by him. I felt my stomach drop with inexplicable dread.

Ivar? I asked hesitantly, my voice sounding as though I was underwater, even though my 'r's rolled perfectly. Ivar, what do you mean?

You are a common fucking slave, Yasmeen. I jerked, shocked.

Why are you saying that? I demanded furiously. What do you mean by that? I thought--

A sharp pain bloomed in my ear and I sat up.

*~*~*

"Please don't!" Ivar jerked awake, grabbing the closest weapon to him, a wicked-sharp long-dagger, looking around him. His dream was a distant memory now. But it didn't deviate from the usual, ominous symbolism of crows and gray seas. What shocked him into wakefulness was Yasmeen's shreik, and begging to stop.

Ivar quickly surveilled the room; no one was there, the windows were shuttered close, no scent of smoke, the embers were slowly dying out in the fireplace, and the door of the long-house room was seiled shut. No safety hazards. Ivar exhaled softly, relieved. A cool draft made Ivar pause but he was soon looking at Yasmeen.

But now he had another issue to content with; a visibly distressed Yasmeen, wailing in her sleep. Ivar quickly began shaking her gently, so as to not injure her. Yasmeen was typically a lighter sort of sleeper. He knew she was usully aware if he was shifting in bed when one side of his fur pillow was warm and uncomfortable.

And sure enough, she jerked awake, turning to him and Ivar's heart stuttered. She looked frightened and shocked. Ivar was confused. He had tried to be as minimally invasive as possible. There were no moves on his part that were threatening to her. Or presumably so. So why was she still looking at him like that?

"What is it, Yasmeen?" Ivar asked her softly, reaching out to tuck a stray curl behind her ear. It was the same curl that went wayward at their wedding and made her seem ten times more fuckable. That lock of her hair held a special place in Ivar's heart. "What has you so frightened, mine lile fugl?"

Yasmeen blinked, shocked. "W-what?"

Ivar repeated himself, slower, bringing her closer to him and tucking her against his chest. Yasmeen might not believe it, but dreams were omens--be they good or bad. Nightmares can have good omens, just as they have bad omens. And good dreams can have bad omens, just as they can have good omens. Mimir* did not differentiate so blatantly.

*Norse god of wisdom and prophecy.

"Nothing," she lied. Ivar closed his eyes, praying for patience. He hated when people lied to him. It incensed him. But it was different now. Yasmeen was different. Her lies...they were there for a reason, he had come to learn. The hard way. Her lies...he didn't know how to classify them. They were not malicious, nor did they have the unpleasant stench of betrayal. Yet Ivar had treated Yasmeen as though they were, and isolated himself from her in a time of her life where she needed him the most. Helga had been cruel in her assessment of Ivar's reaction to Yasmeen's lies, though Helga never knew why he did that.

Nor would she, nor anyone else, ever know. They were unique to each other now. They understood things about eachother, that no one can ever understand, and nor will they ever. So Ivar forced himself to be patient with Yasmeen, who tried her best and was his greatest supporter. Still, he wouldn't suffer it.

"Try again," he called her bluff and she stiffened. What was going on? Why was she being so skittish? "What is bothering you? What did you dream about?"