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Alvina woke up to arguing that morning. Thunderous yells and booming rage made her jolt awake. For a moment it sounded like a battle was taking place, she could hear the scuffles of a fight and what sounded like a metal blade slamming against stone.
Quickly, she stood and threw on a dress, her black hair cascading down the side of her face as she rushed to slam open the door. Of course, upon the opening of the door, she paused. There, upon the floor like squabbling children, lay Ivar and Sigurd. Ivar had just picked up a knife and was preparing to jab it into Sigurd's throat, when Alvina made herself known.
"Will you two stop!" She yelled, making Ivar freeze. Sigurd, of course smirked, and took the opportunity to throw his little brother off him. But before he could attack again, Alvina ran over and pulled him back. "You're brothers! Would you, for once, act like it?"
Sigurd looked up to her with a glare, before muttering something in his native tongue that she couldn't quite understand. Ivar seemed to understand it though, as he lunged forward with the knife in his hand once again. This time, however, it was Ubbe that entered. "Ivar!" He yelled, holding his little brother back.
Ivar yelled with the ferocity of all the Gods, a terrifying roar that sent chills up Alvina's spine. Sigurd left angrily, and Alvina slowly lowered herself to crouch beside her friend. Gently, she reached out to touch his hand as he shook with rage. His sapphire eyes darted towards her and the sympathetic smile that she'd pushed onto her features, and slowly his breathing began to steady. He softened ever so slightly, beginning to calm down.
"Are you alright?" She whispered gently silently, and he gave a barely visible nod in response.
Ubbe stepped closer, looking between the two of them in intrigue. "What happened?" He asked finally.
Ivar didn't look at his brother, simply giving a sigh. "It's Sigurd." He answered.
Ubbe seemed satisfied, giving a nod and leaving the two of them. As soon as the door closed, Alvina's gaze shot straight back to Ivar - who sat staring vacantly at the floor with a look of unyeilding anger. She tucked a strand of raven hair behind her ear, biting her lower lip nervously before finally working up the courage to speak.
"What did he say?" She asked softly, making Ivar look at her again - though this time it seemed almost like a look of regret, regret and sorrow.
"Alvina I-"
"What did he say?" She spoke more firmly this time.
As Ivar thought about what to tell her, reminding himself of his brother's brutal words, a cold look ran over him again. "We were arguing about you." He answered. "He hates you."
"Ivar-" She began again, trying to find out what Sigurd had said to make his brother so furious. When Ubbe entered, she could see the fire in Ivar's eyes. She could see that need to spill his brother's blood. It was terrifying, and she had to know what Sigurd had done to provoke such animalistic rage.
But Ivar interrupted, finally telling her with impatience. "He called you a Christian Whore." Alvina froze. A small smile slowly crept its way onto her lips. Ivar was, of course, confused as to why she was so happy about being called that. But her happiness was still a sight that he seemed to enjoy. "Why are you smiling?"
"That's why you just tried to kill your brother?" She chuckled slightly, unable to contain it. "The ruthless Ivar The Boneless was defending my honour?"
He gave a surly pout, folding his arms. "Don't flatter yourself, I've never been close with Sigurd."
Still, she smiled, gently giving his hand a squeeze. At this, however, he winced slightly, and Alvina looked down in shock to see his bloodied hand that appeared beaten and injured by his fight with Sigurd, a deep cut running along it from the knife that he was now twirling in his other hand.
Alvina frowned, sending him a reprimanding look. "Give me your hand, you idiot."
"Why?" He narrowed his eyes suspiciously.
"So I can fix it." She answered stubbornly.
"I'm fine." He glared back. "Vikings don't feel pain."
At this she rolled her eyes, jabbing the cut on his hand - which made blood pour out - and Ivar hissed in pain. "Now, if you don't wish to lose your hand, I suggest you let me fix it."
He gave a grumble, reluctantly letting her take his hand, "Fine."
"No more fighting." She answered. "Especially with Sigurd."
"No promises." Was all that he said as Alvina cleaned the wound.
