King Ivar spends much of his time with his infertile first wife: neglecting his second wife, the mother of his children, a Freyjasdottir. Eventually, it catches up to him when a foreign King Sverri invades his lands.
tw: abuse, character death, etc.
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Highly respected King Sverrri, the man who had a supposed alliance with Ivar and the one you... often found yourself looking forward to seeing no matter what the occasion was. He was here. He burned Kitta. The moment you found yourself back in your rooms, your arms were folded. Cheeks hot by the tears pricking your cheeks all night.
"Why would you do such a thing? Invading us? Kitta?" You ask as you sit on your bed. Sverri slowly saunters in front of you, his hand curling through your locks of hair to pull you into his firm chest. It would be a lie to say that you hadn't dreamed of him just like this-- his muscles against your body. It's tainted by the strong waft of smoldering smoke. He says nothing at first, such words escaping him for what he has done. You didn't look pleased. He thought you would be.
"It was a long time coming." He reassures you. "Ivar was going to invade my lands, wasn't he?"
You can't convince yourself to respond. It was hard enough to know that Sverri had done something he could not take back. Worse so knowing that Ivar would never let this slide. He would invade Kattegat for his own honour if nothing else. You sigh and eventually give him a nod of relinquishment. Sverri lowers down, kneeling before you with one of his large hands at your cheek.
"I came for you." He explains, tilting your chin up to look at him. He had done bad– he had killed Kitta. He was a murderer. You keep trying to tell yourself these things, but the way he went on, softens you. "Maybe I could have been happy seeing your beauty from afar, on those little trips to Kattegat. Then he banished me from your sight. The thought of never being with you again. I... no. I've wanted you to be with me for years."
Years? The words kiss your ears, deep into your soul with a bright smile unable to keep itself from your lips. It had been too long that Ivar had said anything sweet to you. Your eyes flutter shut when Sverri leans in.
"Is this okay?" He mutters, lips hovering against yours. You nod and the king would press forward with a small kiss barely gliding against your lips. Then another, gliding your back down against the plush silvery furs of your bed. As his hand rubs against your stomach, you broke his smooth kisses, bending your head to smell the soot and wood on his hair that dangled in your face.
"I shouldn't have done that. Aslaug and the boys..." You murmur gently, searching with the words to say.
"He named your daughter after his mother?" Sverri asks with his tattooed forearm bracing himself above your head.
"Of course he did."
Perhaps the baby was made out of your choice– but Ivar was quick to establish his paternal rights over her. Had he any shame, he would have let you. He knew what happened with the last pregnancy. He knew how much you wanted this little girl.
"I'll take care of Ivar." He says, watching as your head bobs to the corner of the room, gazing at training swords behind the wispy curtains of his dusky hair. You could only hope they made it safely.
