#you're telling me Sky wouldn't see Wild's arm and not immediately be asking for names? specially after he sees Fi? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

xbellaxcarolinax · 4 years

Text

Forging a Heart (Ivar the Boneless) 11- Arvid/ The Sacrifice

Pairings: Ivar x Artemis (OFC)

Word Count: 4160

Warnings: Some violence.

10- Requests

AN: Thank you guys for the notes and reblogs 😊

...

Gold.

Something about the yellow metal was hypnotic, causing both wealth and greed.

Ivar and Arvid had watched her work in tense silence, not being able to take their eyes off the shinning metal in her delicate hands. Her fingers worked tirelessly in the way her father had taught her. It was meticulous and tedious, far from the stylings of deadly weaponry.

Floki was quite pleased.

It looked beautiful on Helga, decorating her pale collarbone like a queen. She should be a queen.

Helga's smile was brighter than the summer sun as she lightly touched the pearls embedded in the gold.

"My husband put you up to this?" She asks her, bending down to the young Moorish girl now in her care.

"Floki insisted." Artemis nods

"Tanaruz, look how pretty the gold shines." The child stares at the necklace uninterested. The poor girl appeared so lifeless and Artemis watches her with sad eyes. She didn't deserve such sadness, no one taken away from their home deserved it.

"And who is this?" Ivar asks, crawling over to the girl. He reaches a hand out towards her as a friendly invitation, but the child let's out a shrill scream in reaction. She was so frightened that her screaming didn't sieze until Ivar pulled away completely.

Helga reacts immediately, pulling the girl to her side and rocking her back and forth in comfort. Floki sighs, rubbing a hand down his face in frustration as Ivar casted him a look of confusion.

Artemis watches the girl cower into Helga's skirts, the tears spilling from her eyes like waterfalls. If she recalled correctly, the girl was from Moorish Spain, which meant she spoke the language of Arabs. Many Moorish merchants often flocked towards the south of the Mediterranean, selling their silks and spices.

The language was difficult, so much more that the northern tongue.

Artemis had grown up hearing it, her father and brother almost fluent from their travels selling their work, and she was able to pick up on it here and there. She wouldn't be the best, but she probably knew enough to speak to the scared girl.

She closes her eyes for a moment, searching her mind for basic words, and when she opens them, Ivar was watching her in confusion.

"What are you doing?" He asks.

"I'm thinking."

"Well do not hurt yourself." He snorts. Artemis let's a smile slip at his teasing, getting down on her knees beside him so that she may attempt to speak with the girl.

"Your name is Tanaruz?" She tries in her broken Arabic, immediately feeling Ivar stiffen beside her. The child's watery brown eyes looked at her in awe, but she remains silent, nodding her head in response

"Artemis." She points to herself, smiling at the girl. Helga watches their exchange with keen eyes, absentmindedly petting the girl's dark sleek hair.

"How do you know my language?" Tanaruz asks her timidly, trying to shrink away from Helga's touch. She reminded Artemis so much of herself, scared and alone.

"Your people trade with mine." Artemis tells her, searching in the folds of her cloak to produce a shiny red apple. She offers it to the girl with a smile, watching in satisfaction as she grabbed hold of it without hesitation.

"Helga is kind. She will treat you well." Artemis speaks as best she could. Helga smiles now that Tanaruz was calmer.

"So, you can speak other languages?" Ivar asks, teasily yanking at one of Artemis's curls to get her attention. She scowls, turning to look at him and his little grin.

"Not very well," She mutters, "I can barely speak yours properly." Ivar chuckles, nodding in agreement.

"You have a terrible accent." He replies, grinning when she scowls again, but it was just for show. Both Floki and Helga watch their exchange with wide eyes, shocked at the playful nature they had with each other.

Artemis rips her eyes away from Ivar's teasing ones in favor of looking back at Tanaruz. She leans forward, holding out her hands encouragingly to her. Tanaruz hesitates but finally lowers the apple to her lap to grasp her hands. They were so small and cold, and she shook like a frightened rabbit.

"Do not be afraid." Tanaruz blinks at the statement, twisting her body round to look up towards Helga and Floki before glaring at them.

"They killed my mother," The girl begins, "And took me away from home." Artemis was stunned into silence for a moment. She licks her lips and sighs, lowering her head in sadness for the girl. Tanaruz was traumatized, and she had every reason to feel resentment.

"What does she say?" Floki asks with arms crossed. He was growing tired of the interaction. This must have been what he meant about losing his patience.

"She is distressed. She says her mother was killed." Artemis answers, her eyes never leaving the girl who had tears in her eyes again. She squeezes her little hands in comfort before turning to look at Ivar. He was not at all invested in the situation, but his interest only peaked whenever Artemis let the foreign language tumble from her lips.

"Do you have a god?" She asks Tanaruz, and the child nods, moving away from Helga to get a better look at the girl who spoke her language.

"Allah." She says.

"Pray to him. He will give you strength." Tanaruz sniffles, looking up at Artemis through her thick lashes. After a moment she nods, turning back to bury her head in the soft wool of Helga's bodice.

"What did you tell her?" Helga asks frantically, her large blue eyes inquisitive.

"I told her you are a kind woman," Helga smiles at this, "And that she should find comfort in her god."

"Her god wont help her." Ivar snorts, taking one last look at Tanaruz before crawling to the door.

"Perhaps not," Artemis sighs again, moving to stand, "But she is young. She needs comfort." Ivar grumbles, before looking to the older couple.

"I hope Artemis has pleased you in her work. Floki, Helga?" Helga smiles and nods, gripping at the gold around her neck lovingly. Floki waves his hand aimlessly, but he offers Artemis the smallest of smiles, a genuine one that she'd never seen before.

"The Chrisitian is talented, that much is evident."

Ivar smirks, pride swelling in his chest as he glanced at Artemis. She was looking at Tanaruz with such sad eyes, and he knew she sympathized for the girl.

They leave the humble home, and Ivar decides he wanted to sit by the beach before heading home. The hood of his cloak flies off his head as the winds grew stronger at the waters edge. Artemis trails behind him, plopping beside him when he motions for her to sit.

"You gave the girl an apple." He says, eyes following the crashing waves.

"I did." She looks down towards the sand that surrounded them, grabbing a fist full of it and watching as the wind drags it away from her skin.

"Did you take it from the kitchens?" He asks, though his tone wasn't angry, "Stealing is very bad, you know." The words were said in a childlike form, and he finally turns to look at her. His cloak was large on her but she wore it faithfully, something that seemed to bring him great satisfaction.

"I would never steal," She stresses, scooping up more of the cold grainy sand into her hand, "Prince Ubbe gifted it to me."

"Ubbe?" Ivar voices his confusion, pursing his lips. He lays back against the sand, bringing an arm behind his head to comfortably watch the passing gray clouds, "Ubbe gifts you things now?"

"Only apples when he can." Ivar hums, closing his eyes for a moment to feel the frigid wind nip at his skin. He breathes in the cold salty air, exhaling through his nose like a little bull. He then moves his head to the side, glancing at Artemis shivering viciously despite the warm cloak he'd given her.

"You cannot handle the cold." He says, reaching up to brush his fingers through the fur at her collar. She flinches slightly but does not move away, finally bringing her gaze to his large fingers and then to his eyes.

"The cold does not exist in my home. Only the heat," She looks up at the gray sky and the lack of sunlight, "And the sun."

"Sounds terrible." Ivar snorts, pulling his hand away. He sits up, squinting when the grains of sand whip against his face. He sighs with a roll of his eyes when he sees Artemis burrow her red cheeks into the warmth of the fur.

"You're like a baby bird," He says, "Weak and fragile." He turns over onto his hands and stomach, smiling at her unamused look.

"Come on, baby bird. Time to go home."

...

Artemis would not miss the winter.

That much was clear when the frost began to melt, and the spring flowers slowly began to bloom. The hills were now turning a luscious green, along with the forests and mountains. Norway was a land full of life in the wild. The birds came back to sing their song of rebirth, and the deer pranced in between the trees. There was beauty that Artemis did not wish to see at first, but she could not deny it anymore.

The harsh winter winds slowed into a chill breeze. Thick furs were required less, eventually stored away for the next winter to come. The usual stews were cooked less as the cold nights turned pleasantly cool.

She noticed that Ivar enjoyed the change in seasons. For one, he could crawl about better than he could in the snow, but his most preferred way to travel was now on his new chariot. That was Floki's surprise for the crippled bastard those weeks ago, but he couldn't test it properly until the snow melted away.

She had always compared Ivar to a child when it came to certain areas of emotion, and his wild antics and anger only proved it to her more, but when she'd watch him on his chariot pushing through the newly blooming trees, she all she saw was a man ready for war.

Ivar was practically at his happiest, beating the reins on the back of the white mare that galloped ferociously over the dew coated grass. His usual brooding features were smoothed over with that of contentment, that even the helmet he wore could not hide his beaming features.

Ivar would often interrupt her chores in order to accompany him to his chariot practices, whether it was her practicing her mending with Aria, or at the blacksmith's shop where he knew she preferred to be. After crafting Ivar's precious axe and Helga's gift from Floki, the people of Kattegat began to flock to the forge, requesting minisucle items such as a silver candle holders for a wealthy home, or iron nails and tools for the average farmer.

Then she began getting issued gifts.

They started out small, in the form of an extra meal or bath. Then they increased in value. She was given a comb made of bone, similar to the one Margrethe had let her use long ago. Ivar claimed her wild hair needed taming. Then she was given a fleece blanket. It was of simple construction, nothing special, but the material was nice, andn he wouldn't have to sleep blanketed in her cloak anymore.

Despite the gifted items, Ivar never gave her anything personally, his pride wouldn't allow it. He preferred to send a thrall in his place.

One of the last items was one she was surprised to see. It was a golden cross pendant belonging to one of the monks of the monestary before he passed. It was the only connection she had to home, and Ivar had allowed her to have it. When she tried to thank him humbly, Ivar would brush her off and send her away.

"He's a pining dog, can't you see?" Arvid tells her with a laugh one day as she sat repairing weapons for the other princes. Hvitserk's axes and daggers were particularly worn out from his first raids in the Mediterranean. Even Bjorn had given her his weapons for repair.

"Pining? The only one pinning here is you, Arvid," Artemis couldn't hide the smirk from stretching over her lips.

They often danced around each other, a flirtatious battle that would remain unexplored. There was a flame there, that much was true, but it would not evolve. It was nothing more than a platonic friendship.

Her long braided hair fell over her shoulder when she turned to look at the young blacksmith, a slight blush dusting his pale cheeks, but there was an amusement in his blue eyes.

"You mean to tell me that you do not see those things he gives you as lovesick gifts? Ivar has always been angry and stubborn, but I've never seen him like this. I've known him my entire life."

"Don't be ridiculous. Ivar has always hated me." Artemis responds, passing her finger over a nick on the tip of Ubbe's dagger. It was a simple fix, but Arvid was a great distraction.

"Oh? If that were the case, then he wouldn't have threatened me at the point of his axe." Artemis stops her movememts, quickly glancing at Arvid who quietly stoked the fire. The fire blazed as roughly as the beating of her own heart.

"What do you mean?" Her voice rose an octave as she voiced her confusion fiercely.

"What I mean is," Arvid begins, bending down to meet her eyes, "That Ivar sees me as a threat upon winning your affections." He placed his hands upon her small shoulders, holding that charming smile that made her pleasantly nervous.

"Which also means," He continues, "That if he were to see us now, he'd kill me."

Arvid had always adored her eyes. He gazed into them until he settles on her lips. He was so close that he could almost hear her little heart hammering in her chest.

He smiled, moving forward to place a gentle kiss on her lips, the soft muscle moving against his instantaneously. It wasn't passionate in any way, but it was soft and kind, a simple caress of lips that could leave anyone wanting more. It was nothing like Sigurd's ale covered kiss, desperate and messy. Arvid's felt like a farewell.

Artemis enjoyed his kiss more than she thought she would, and she took in a shaky breath when they pulled apart. Her eyes fluttered and her lips remained pursed, until she heard Arvid's deep chuckle.

"I thought I'd do that now, as I'll probably never get the chance to again." She says nothing, clearly not understanding him. Arvid stands, turning from her to stoke the fire that began to diminish.

"What are you talking about?"

Arvid offers her a sad smile, running a hand through his dark hair that curled just below his broad shoulders.

"I am to be married," He reveals with a shrug, "It is time for heirs, and father has chosen a suitable wife." Artemis sighs, pushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear as a distraction, but she offers Arvid a timid smile.

"You would have been a suitable match, if you were a free woman," Arvid's eyes follow the crackle of the fire, wiping his brow when the sweat began to build, "But I see now Ivar intends to keep you for himself."

Artemis continues her work, putting on the leather gloves and standing beside him. She let's the flames lick at the dagger with a pair of pincers.

"The prince intends to keep me as property, he has made that quite clear."

Ivar was master of fickleness, a character that no one could read. He wasn't particularly kind to her. Sometimes he'd reprimand her without reason when he felt he was being too soft-hearted. She had grown used to his sudden outbursts against her.

"Do not fool yourself, silly girl," Arvid laughs, giving her a crooked smile, "Ivar isn't alone in his affections." Artemis snorts.

"You've gone mad."

"I only say what I see," He replies, eyeing the cross about her neck, "There is a fondness there between you."

"He finds me useful, you mean."

"You lie." Arvid accuses.

"I do not!"

"Your eyes wander over him."

"I..." Artemis hesitates, the metal pincers threatening to snap in her deadly grip. She would be in such denial to lie and say her eyes have not wandered towards the youngest prince.

"My eyes do not wander." She finally says, removing the dagger from the fire and plancing it on the anvil. She does nothing but stare at the bright colored metal.

"You're lying." Arvid taunts, moving away from her as if he were truly bothered. Perhaps he was.

"Ignorance does not suit you, Artemis," He concludes with a sigh, "But ignorance is bliss."

...

She pricked herself with the needle again, cursing in her language before sucking at the bead of blood forming on her fingertip.

"You must learn patience, Artemis."

Artemis watches the redhead's skilled hands move quickly, bone needle going in and out at a rapid pace.

"I have no patience for needle work." She groans, dropping the fabric onto her lap. Aria sucks her teeth.

"If you intend on helping, then pick up the banner and try again." Artemis huffs, picking up the thick fabric, working her already sore fingertips to the bone. Aria was on a mission to help her with her terrible sewing skills, but it has proven to be a challenge.

"This is not my strongest point," She says, tongue sticking out slightly as she brought the fabric close to her face. She had lost her place and now had to find her way back to the previous stitch. Such a tedious task.

"You can't thread a needle but can easily beat metal with a hammer? What sense is that?" Aria snorts, putting down her work to flick Artemis on the forehead. The action made her laugh, swatting Aria's hand away.

"We all have our strengths."

They worked in silence for a while, both glad that it was not their turn that day to milk the cows or deal with the stable animals. The female thralls of most households were to report to the Great Hall, helping in the last minute preparations for the journey ahead, which meant the mending of many sails and banners.

Queen Lagertha was currently out checking on the fortifications. The snow had caused some damage, but not enough to cause alarm, and she believed spring would be kind to them.

"There will be a sacrifice soon, you know." Aria speaks above a whisper, stopping her movements. She seemed extremely excited about it.

"A sacrifice?" Artemis blinked, her blood running cold, "An animal?"

"No. A human. The Queen will choose someone of strong faith in their gods and sacrifice them. It is to gain favor for the army to succeed in England."

Artemis was left completely speechless. She's heard of such practices, but she'd put it to the back of her mind. Oddly enough, no one ever talked or mentioned human sacrifices, not even Ivar.

"You've gone pale," Aria laughs, reaching forward to place a hand on Artemis's cold cheek, "Are you unwell?"

"I do not know."

"Are you not familiar with sacrifices?"

"Of course not," Artemis hisses. Her hand were shaking and her chest felt tight, "Your people sacrifice?"

"We do. The Druids perform sacrifices every solstice," Aria explains, confused as to why Artemis was reacting negatively, "It is something that must be done if we are to please our gods, is this not the Christian way?"

"No!" Artemis squeals, catching the attention of the others in the hall. Embarrassed, she clears her throat and lowers her head until the stares stop and the isolated conversations began again. She notices the way the Queen's most trusted warriors watched her. If she remembered correctly, the fair haired one was Torvi, who she now knew was Bjorn's companion and mother to his childern. The dark haired one was Astrid, rumored lover of Queen Lagertha herself.

They were both beautiful and fierce, shieldmaidens in their own right. Artemis did not want to cross paths with them. They did not trust the weapon making slave that belonged to Ivar the Boneless.

"No," Artemis repeats quite breathlessly, "It is not the Chrisitan way," She pauses, "It is not the moral way."

"But it is the Pagan way. That is what the Chrisitan priests call my people." There was no kindness in Aria's voice when she spoke, mostly resentment, "The whole of Ireland has almost turned to the Christian religion, but a few factions remain faithful to the gods. These sacrafices must be done, Artemis," Aria says sternly, "They must be done if things are to return to normal,"

"But you do not believe in the same gods."

"No, I do not," Aria agrees, "But I will pray to my gods on the night of the sacrifice, and I hope they will hear me."

"And what will you pray for?" Artemis asks, bringing her eyes back to her mending. She hears Aria sigh.

"A better life, I suppose."

...

The drums were beating loudly, reverberating into the star filled sky. Torches were lit and hung around the center, illuminating the very center of the city. The air around them was ominous, and a shiver ran down Artemis's spine.

There she was, the Queen, looking as beautiful as ever to perform such a heinous act. Her ceremonial dress was bone white, but it would soon be covered in the blood of an innocent man. The sword in her hand glimmered as she placed the tip of it on the stomach on the man. He was a Jarl, and a willing participant. It was courage that Artemis had never known.

"Do not look away," Ubbe warns her, his blue eyes watching as the queen stabbed the willing sacrifice cleanly, "You will offend the gods." Artemis watched unwillingy, her nails pressing deeply into her palms.

Blood poured out from the man, the tip of the sword now visible from the other side of him. The Jarl did not scream, nor whimper in pain, but the blood kept flowing.

Artemis looks beside her as the brothers watched in fascination, Ubbe being the only one to reprimand her. Margrethe was in between Ubbe and Hvitserk, gripping their arms in anticipation. She seemed to be enjoying the scene. Sigurd was just as attentive, but he must have felt her gaze. He catches her eyes, staring intently at her for a moment. It was as if he were searching for something, but finds nothing. He motions for her to look back at the bloody scene with a jerk of his head before turning away.

Suddenly the crowd began to chant along side their queen:

For a good year and peace, may Thor watch over us

Artemis felt a knot forming in her throat, watching the pagan priest collect the blood in a golden bowl, sprinkling their faces with the thick crimson liquid. She immediately makes a noise of discomfort, closing her eyes at the sensation of the warm blood gliding down her face. The image was already engraved behind her eyelids. The sight of the dying man would be permanent.

The sacrificed man was dead, and placed upon the ground as if he were in a deep slumber. The fires burned long into the night as the people worshipped and prayed to their gods.

Helga moves to her side, grabbing her hand in the little comfort she could offer. Tanaruz burys her face in Helga's skirts. If Artemis was frightened, then surely Tanaruz was as well.

Shs feels the familiar tug on the hem of her dress, and she slowly lowers herself to her knees to meet the wide eyes of her crippled master. His eyes trace over her blood spotted face, immediately taking note of her frown.

"Are you afraid?" Ivar smirks, his own bloodied face quite fearsome in the light of the fires. He seemed calmer than ever, completely in his element when surrounded by death and blood.

"Are you afraid of our ways?"

She remains quiet, not sure how to respond. She wanted so much to hide in that moment. She wanted God to save her. She felt a loneliness like no other. A sadness reaches her dark eyes and Ivar's amusement faded at her frightened expression. She sniffles, little tears streaming down her cheeks, smearing the blood in their path.

"I am afraid." Ivar hears her whispered words despite the loudness of the drums. She wipes her nose with her sleeve, not meeting his eyes.

"Veikr," He sucks his teeth, "Stop your crying, baby bird. My legs ache and I wish to have ale. Let us go,"

...

Veikr- Weak

...

@heavenly1927 @didiintheblog

#ivar #ivar imagine #ivarfanfiction #vikings #ivar lothbrok #ivarxofc #alex hogh andersen #vikings ivar #hvitserk #ubbe #sigurd #helga #floki

81 notes · View notes

ivebeenreadingandwriting · 3 years

Text

If Lyra and Iorek were hoping for a quiet stay, they were wrong.

---------------------

It was incredibly chilling how much a city could smell so of fear, of escape, of life left halfway in that picturesque colorful landscape, yet cold and bare despite the sea waves creating a sort of contrast between the tranquility of an abandoned country and the awareness to be alone in a place so ... empty, messily chaotic for the matter.

But still empty.

The only figures to fill the calculated spaces with a triangular architecture connected to itself were the girl, her daemon, and the white bear. All three were battered with no injuries, so on this side they had been fortunate not to have suffered bodily repercussions from crossing parallel worlds. But they were hot and cold at the same time, tired and badly in need of a full night's sleep.

But caution was inherent in Lyra's footsteps: she and Pan walked a few paces ahead of Iorek, who was holding the rear guard with a skeptical, wary, unconvinced look of his surroundings. Lyra had seen him snort just before passing him with two steps, but immediately he had stretched his muzzle and through the delicate use of his teeth had pulled her back to him from the teal shirt that she still wore from Bolvangar. "Do not start walking away." he told her. Offended, Lyra turned her wild head towards him. "I wasn't! I was looking around!" she bristled, her nose wrinkled in the process. Any other human who faced him so brazenly would have ended up with his face smashed to the ground without going out of the way: but when Lyra was proving her worth, not backing down, Iorek felt his heart grow so proud. And also amused in a way, because the sight of that little face so ferocious yet still so childish brought up big smiles. But Panserbjørne don't smile, they show their affection in other ways.

And his affection was playfully snorting in her face, tickling her cheeks in the process. Lyra immediately chuckled, albeit with some annoyance, shielding her face. "stop that!" she screeched laughing. "Iorek!"

"Now listen to me. Walk beside me and don't go away." he said "if I lose sight of you, I won't have the chance to find you here."

His senses might not work as well as in their world, and if Lyra got lost, finding her would be a mess. Prevention is better than cure.

Lyra, who was stubborn but not disobedient, realized that Iorek had no intention of giving her way. Then she followed him: Iorek had the power to make her obey in the net time of five seconds, seven at the most. But because Lyra admired him so much that even just arguing as she did with Asriel seemed disrespectful to her, precisely because Iorek had great respect and admiration for the little girl he had renamed, and whom he considered as one of them. It would have been ungrateful.

Then the little girl walks cautiously next to the white bear as he gazes at his surroundings equally wary and cautious. The city was a real disaster, a slaughterhouse. Some wooden doors had been removed from the hinges, others lay on the ground ... there were writing erased on signs everywhere and childish drawings on the walls. Some shops still had clothing and food inside, but all the doors that remained were wide open.

Crates of fruit had been spilled on the ground, and apples, pears, apricots lay motionless on the roughly set stone ground. Lyra bent down to pick a few, just to understand what she was talking about. "someone must have gone in a hurry." Pan murmured as he leaned over to smell a very bad looking fruit. "It's been a while ... this stuff has gone rotten." His marten face twisted at that acrid smell. "this kind of fruit goes rotten quickly." corrected Iorek "they may have been gone for a day."

But the town was too decayed to have been abandoned for a single day. It had been uninhabited for weeks, perhaps ... difficult to understand. "what happened in this place?" Lyra wondered as she stood up and started walking next to Iorek. "maybe Asriel...?" Pan began.

"I wouldn't rule it out." Lyra responded with acidity and anger, continuing to observe the town and the sky slowly unfolding above their heads.

Something had happened in this place ... maybe people had fled for an outside attack? Iorek surveyed the walls, peering at them carefully with a critical eye. He excluded a war on his own: there were no signs of blood or marks from bullets or arrows. It was as if the city had depopulated overnight. "Lyra, can you consult the alethiometer and ask where we are?" but before Iorek could even finish, an unknown though subtle rage in Lyra railed at him briefly. "I'm not going to ask that thing anything." she growled, not looking at the Panserbjørne in his eyes. Lyra had been, more often than not, quite calm beside Iorek's presence. But now he could clearly see anger in her and frustration, clearly at Roger's death. He paused to watch her marching, her soft brown curls sitting on her shoulders and rocking with each abrupt step. "Lyra-" Pan began.

"No." she answered resolutely, her thin brows curled down threateningly as she looked at the wall beside her for signs in their language.

Not even Iorek recognized the language he saw written everywhere ... By ear it could have been Latin, but it was much less articulate and short."now we have to make our way alone." Iorek spoke calmly, "Lyra, try to be reasonable."

But the girl shook her head, lips tightly closed in a strike of silence.

And once Lyra gets stubborn like this, good luck trying to move her. Iorek gave her a nudge with his nose to make her walk "let us find a place to stay, then we shall decide what to do."

"what place?"

"It is full of empty houses, any one will do."

The house they found, which seemed quite spacious from the outside, had been closed with wooden poles stuck between the two handles of the main door. But once those were broken, the house would be accessible.

"Can you break down the door?" Lyra suggested to Iorek.

"Let's try the sweet manners for once." replied the bear, simply cutting the piece of wood in half with his index claw (thick, strong and sharp as a knife) The half-broken wood fell to the ground with a crashing sound, and automatically the dusty doors swung open sending dust in the face of the trio, who coughed and sneezed in response. "we're off to a good start ..." Lyra commented, sneezing into her arm. Pan sniffed "A dusting in here wouldn't hurt." Iorek did not deign to answer them, he just poked his head inside the house to observe the surroundings. He smelled stuffy, musty ... but the oxygen was there and seemed quite livable. He took a sniff in the air to see if there was any danger, but the way seemed clear "Come in, but do be careful." he said "don't go upstairs until I tell you."

"you say there might be someone here?"

"Do not move too fast, and do not attract attention anyway."

Whose attention, exactly? that city was empty. But without arguing and wasting their time Lyra walked in behind the bear with cautious and slow steps, coat still leaning on her shoulder and her daemon trotting behind her. Iorek now had one paw resting on the rough surface of the symmetrical stairs leading upstairs, neck tilted up and nose functioning to detect foreign odors or dangers. Lyra put her coat down on a chair, walking towards the back of the stove to see if there was any water they could carry around so as not to die of thirst, when suddenly she felt watched.

It wasn't Iorek.

It wasn't Pan.

And when a dark hand came to touch her shoulder, her nerves jumped before Iorek could even warn her of the danger. She turned with a lightning jerk, violently planted a hand in the shoulder of the one behind her and gave a shove grabbing the opposite arm of the other to keep it yanked backwards and with equal violence she sank her elbow into the back of their neck, shoving with all the force that stood straight on the surface of the table with a dull thud. Whoever it was, landing so hard on the wooden table was hurt quite badly. "Lyra!"

Before Iorek's voice could even reach her, he had already rushed to her rescue. But he had stopped immediately at the sight of a boy, at a guess much taller and stronger than her, stuck under Lyra's elbow and trying to tilt his neck to look at the one who had just landed him against a table without a precise reason. "you're hurting me!" he said in a loud, frightened voice.

Lyra had no mercy. In fact, she gritted her teeth and pushed her arm even further into the back of his neck. "so you learn to move stealthily." she growled straight into his ear.

"okay! I scared you! I'm sorry!"

"you didn't scare me! I scared you!"

Iorek had never felt more proud.

The boy spoke again. "let me go, please." he said quickly, breathing heavily. With yet another shove against the table Lyra freed him, and he hurried to get up and walk away from Lyra with his back to Iorek. And the bear was silent. "who are you?" the boy asked.

"Lyra Silvertongue."

It was the first time the new name Iorek had given her had left Lyra's mouth, and with so much pride. As if she meant 'yes, Silvertongue will forever be my name.' as the boy picked up some meanwhile fallen vase pieces, inadvertently bumping into the white mountain that was Iorek and backing away before he even got to look him in the eye "oh my god-"

"that's Iorek." Lyra replied nonchalantly while Iorek's eyes flashed in the direction of the boy, intent on fearing for his life as he swung his gaze between the girl and the bear. "Where does it come from?"

"he, not it." Lyra corrected sharply "his name is Iorek, and I'm Lyra. Are you deaf or what? Is this your house" The boy didn't seem angry, he was just confused and a little sore. You know how it is ... An unknown girl had just slammed his face against a table, and a white bear was glaring at him. "No. I'm Will." he answered, keeping a safe distance from both of them "Will Parry." he gave a tentative smile, but it was cut off quickly because Lyra was glaring at him suspiciously. At least until Pan came out from behind her, little black eyes looked at Will in surprise. "finally, someone else to talk to!" he said.

Will's eyesbrows shot up.

"and that's Pan."

The boy remained silent, total silence as he stared at Pan with wide eyes "how does he talk?"

Iorek and Lyra blinked in sync. Why did the boy seem so perplexed and surprised?

"Is this your town?"

if Pan's voice had unsettled him, Iorek's voice made him jump with fright. Hearing a bear speak in such an inquisitive way would make anyone turn white. Will opened his mouth, suddenly dry, and tried to let out a few words. Amazement stopped him, and he turned back to Lyra indicating briefly to Iorek "He talks too?" And the girl shrugged "yeah, but he doesn't talk much." She answered.

Pan began to look around the boy, while Will waved his gaze between Iorek and Pan "Talking animals ..." and a smile had made its way across his serious face. He didn't even try to reach out to caress Iorek, because he knew losing a limb would be all too easy. He then he turned to caress Pan's little head, bending over to the counter and holding out a hand.

But before she could even get close, Lyra tensed and stepped between Pan and him making a steady, threatening eye contact with him. "he's not a talking animal!" she exclaimed indignantly. "he's my daemon!"

Dæmon?

In the sense of a demon?

Will felt his brows curve down. "your what?"

The bear took a step forward from behind them, eyes pricking up. "you don't have a dæmon?" Lyra asked, looking around. "I don't see one." Pan enchoed softly, a lot more softly than Lyra.

Who was this girl? Who were the animals that accompanied her? Will shrugged gently. "I don't know what you're talking about- I don't know who you guys are, nor where you come from-" But it was at that moment that an unfriendly spark appeared in Lyra's eyes, and the girl immediately backed away. "No." she murmured, turning only to the last when she was towards the door. "Pan, Iorek, let's go." The ermine on the counter followed closely, the bear did not hesitate to go behind them leaving Will alone in the room.

"Lyra Silvertongue, wait!"

#his dark materials #hdm fanfiction #hdm spoilers #hdm season 2 #hdm series

0 notes