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Alvina hadn't been particularly fond of Sigurd during her time with the heathens. Ubbe was kind to her, and she enjoyed his company. Hvitserk was also rather friendly, unlike their little brothers. Ivar was, well, Ivar. And Sigurd most certainly hated her.
She'd tried quite hard to not appear like some obnoxious Christian in a den of pagans, though at this point she came to the conclusion that Sigurd didn't even care about her beliefs - he cared more that she was, as he put it, "Ivar's pet". Which she fervently objected to, of course.
She loathed the concept, and yet it seemed almost accurate. He was the only person keeping her alive, and it seemed sometimes that she almost followed him around like a lost puppy. Of course, Ivar loved every minute of that. Meanwhile, she sat glaring at Sigurd, hoping that he would cease being so obnoxious.
As the weeks went by and the heathens prepared their next move, Alvina grew into their way of life more and more. She saw them not as the devil's that she had always been told of, but as men like any others - men with souls and hearts that loved as fiercely as they fought.
She knew she didn't belong here, that she was a young woman in the wrong world. But everyday she became more inclined to this pagan way of life, and more distant from the Christian world that she had once lived in.
"Do you know how to hunt?" Hvitserk asked her warmly, handing her a bow. Ivar was otherwise engaged with his brothers, and Hvitserk had explained that he was, in his words, 'sick of their arguing'. And so, she remained with him.
Alvina nodded, forming a smile. "My brother taught me."
As they walked, Hvitserk spoke again, "You have a brother?"
"Three." She answered. "Magnus and Alfred are my younger brothers. Aethelred and I are the same age, though he is a little older."
"And it was this Aethelred that taught you to hunt?" He asked, drawing parallels between his own family and hers.
She smiled again, giving another cheery nod. "We were always closest." She answered meekly. Just the thought of her brother and father now made her feel sick with shame. It wasn't their fault. Hell, it wasn't even Alfred's fault. And yet she had made them all suffer, she had joined with their mortal enemies and enemies of God. She had failed them. And the worst part was that she liked it here, amongst them. She liked the sons of Ragnar, even Sigurd as much as he hated her. They seemed so warm, so familiar, in a way that she had never before known in the backstabbing politics of her family court.
As they approached the forest, Hvitserk found his words once more. He'd been contemplating how he would say this since he first saw the princess interact with his little brother. It was like nothing he'd seen before. She was gentle and sweet and yet when she looked at Ivar she looked with equal ferocity. She feared him not. And what was arguably more astounding was the way that Ivar looked at her - as though she had the whole world in her hand. And as though he didn't even notice the spark in his eyes when he saw her.
