Bow and Arrow | Ivar the Boneless

E N E M I E S C O N V E R G E

Somewhere in Wessex

His boots press against the winter slush, heels seeping into mud and frost. They slip and slide through the slick and he silently curses the winters of this foreign land. Where he hails winter shares the entirety of her wrath. Ice consumes the sea and hills are buried in a blanket of white. Winds carry deadly frost that seeps into the flesh until it is raw as the meat of a fresh kill. Here they are meager gusts that only chill the bones.

Everything here bears weakness. The men, the women, the winters.. Their children had soft flesh, and the women didn't bear calluses on their hands. The men grew fat on wealth instead of building muscle with victories. Their muscle is their armies. But when they fight they sit atop ponies buckling from the weight above them while the nameless soldiers are slaughtered below. How could any coward such as that be worshipped as a king?

Their god was by far the worst attribute of their culture. An unforgiving being that demanded chastity and gentleness. It demanded more than it gave, and isn't swayed by the blood of sacrifice. Only one being rules over all. The scriptures are tales of warning for those who do not follow it. Hours are spent in a structure called a church, where their leader of worship rings bells and breaks bread.

More and more of his people were converting. Most by force of jarls that were seduced by this ridiculous religion. He remembers only years before when they looked at Christianity as a mockery. So long as he is king, his subjects will only bow to one all father. The one with ravens adorning each shoulder and an empty socket where his eye should be.

And for his loyalty Odin has blessed him with a growing kingdom and two heirs. Even if their mothers are beneath the ground, his offspring thrive. They whisper of him around fires. How any woman chosen to be his wife is cursed to death. If he were a younger man, the king would question the actions of his gods. Why take a woman from him when the ice around his heart was beginning to thaw? But perhaps they understood his only reasoning for marriage. The offspring that would carry on tradition. As long as they live, so does his legacy.

But another does not carry such a legacy. At least not with flesh and blood. His fame is achieved with cruelty and war. A cursed throne that he's held for over a decade. And for the life of him the king can't piece together how. Time and time again old skeletons emerge from the ground just to meet defeat from Ivar the Boneless.

The king has bided his time. Several kingdoms surrounding the Boneless have fallen. Time and time again their kings bend their knees and their land becomes his. Their men take his shield and their women warm his bed.

But Kattegat remains impenetrable, until now. His hands shake with impatience at the thought of waiting any longer to attack. But the young king isn't dull in the brain. His lack of legs are made up with the strength of his mind. When it comes to their alliance—if one could even call it that, arrangement is a more appropriate term. Ivar hasn't broken it. He's kept the kingdom safe, the throne away from usurpers. He's failed to produce an heir, and after the death of his strange wife, he's yet to take another. Not that the king can imagine many women find him desirable. Not when Hvitserk stood by his side with a capable lower body to please them.

By going through with selfish desires, he will be breaking their arrangement. Though one could only hope the young king wouldn't hear of it before his longships reached Kattegat's shores. But knowing Ivar, he would learn of it. Which is why he needs the element of surprise. A shock factor to distract Ivar from his real motive. For he has the numbers to attack Kattegat, but not a crippling factor. Ivar the Boneless has few weaknesses, and it's fortunate that this king has knowledge of them all.

Enough so that he suffered through spending the winter in England, in a coast so far from his own. He had one shared settlement with Ivar, and two of his own. But they matter little now that the entirety of his homeland is so close to resting in his grasp. He prefers raiding to settling. Stealing what he can from foolish Christian lords and returning home to the kingdom that whispers his name in the wind late at night.