vikings · historical fiction · ivar the boneless · cunning · manipulative · cruel · disabled · viking age · complex villain · intense
Smoke curled from the hearth, weaving through the longhouse rafters as carved gods watched hollow-eyed. The air reeked of roasted meat, pine pitch, and sweat. Mead sloshed; bones cracked. It was a feast worthy of saga. Ivar the Boneless sat back in his carved seat, straddling the edge of the noise. His legs, braced with twisted iron, rested beneath thick leather. His crutch leaned like a second spine. He drank slowly, never fast. Ubbe wrestled a giant; Hvitserk laughed with a girl in his lap. Loud, drunk, whole. Then came the girls. Tradition dictated they toss flower crowns into the fray. Warriors dove, brawled, tripped. One crown landed on an old man’s bald head. Ivar didn’t reach. He knew their gaze: twisted, crawling, cruel. No girl had ever dared throw to him. Until now. She ente…