Chapter Text
Your parents moved to the town of Kattegat a couple of years after the legendary King Ragnar Lothbrok had disappeared, leaving behind Queen Aslaug to rule. Your father had attended a raid with the King some years before his disappearance, and had heard of the town starting to flourish with trade, and so you had left your small village to start a new life.
Being the only daughter and youngest child to your parents, they were overprotective of you, however your constant fighting with your five older brothers gave you the experience to deal with other people, which was how you first came to meet Ivar.
Your parents and two oldest brothers had sent you and your three youngest brothers - Einar, Geir, and Stigr - out to explore the town and play whilst they set up the belongings from your old home in the new hut you had moved into. Seven, nine, and ten, your brothers proposed that they should play hide and go seek, leaving a four-year old you to stumble over numbers whilst they ran off to hide.
Running off into the crowd in search of your brothers, you busied yourself with looking under stalls and behind buildings, even going so far as to peek into huts, but to no avail could you find your siblings. Frustrated, you stomped through the town, mud splashing up as your little leather boots slapped the ground, only to perk up when you overhear the familiar shouts of your brothers.
Picking up your pace, you darted off in the direction of their voices, eager to find them so that you could take your time to hide. Your triumphant grin falls though when you see the three of them circling a cart, jeering and taunting the young boy sat inside. They were laughing and pointing, reminding you of the time that you had fallen over in the mud, and an anger washes over your tiny frame.
"No! Leave him alone!" You yell, young voice shrill.
Scooping up a muddy stone, you pull your arm back before launching it forward. The rock strikes Stigr's shoulder, and he yelps before spinning around to scowl at you. "Go away, Y/N! We don't want to play with you!"
"And I don't want to play with you!" You snap back, bending down to grab another rock. This time, the rock hits the side of the cart, bouncing off to land at your brother's foot, and he laughs at you before picking it up and throwing it back. The pebble hits your temple, the force splitting the thin skin, and a trickle of blood makes its way down the side of your face. Tears well up in your eyes at the sting of pain, but you hold them back. "Go away, Stigr! I'll tell mother what you did! Father will punish you!"
"Shut up!" He hisses at you, and like any other stubborn for-year-old, you poke your tongue out at him.
"No! Go away!" You throw back, before a devious grin lights up your bloodied face. "If you don't leave, then I'll tell mother and father that you hurt me! But if you go, then I will tell them that I fell over."
Your brothers gather together, and Einar, the youngest, glanced nervously between you and the others. The prospect of punishment scared him, and he knew from experience that your parents were inclined to listen to you. "Maybe we should..."
Geir huffs, picking up the first stone that you had thrown, and chucks it at you. It strikes your lip and tooth, and you cry out when blood wells in your mouth. Your tooth breaks on impact, and you spit out the tiny shard alongside a mouthful of red spittle before glaring up at your brothers and charging at them. The three of them scatter, disappearing in different directions, and you shout, an angry shriek of pain and anger, before stuttering to a halt in front of the boy in the cart.
Too young to feel embarrassed at your actions, you lift the hem of your long dress to wipe at your bloodied lip before dropping the fabric to study the boy. He looked to be your age, perhaps a year or two older than you, and he was staring at you curiously with a tilted head. "Are you okay?" You ask, your own head tilting to the side in question.
Instead of responding to your question of concern, he sniffs and straightens up in the cart.
"You are stupid." He spits, a scowl twisting up his pretty face.
Sniffing, you cross your arms over your chest and scowl right back. "And you are mean."
"You cannot insult me! Don't you know who I am?!" He shouts, blue eyes dark with anger, but you simply shrug.
"I don't care who you are." You snap, dropping your arms to your sides, your hands balling into tiny fists. "I did not have to save you!"
"I don't need saving!" He screams, eyes blazing, and your bottom lip wobbles as your tears once again returns. "See, you are crying! You are stupid!"
Another boy runs up to the cart, about the same age as Stigr, and looks curiously between you and the boy. "Ivar, what happened?!"
"Nothing." He growls, still glaring at you, and your emotions switch once again, your anger returning.
"You are a liar!" You shout, and the new boy stares at you with wide eyes, the same shade of blue as the angry boy in the cart. "You're as mean as my brothers! I did not need to save you from them! They hurt me and you did not even say thank you!"
The standing boy takes in the shock on Ivar's face and the blood on yours. "Ivar, say thank you," He coaxes, his hand reaching out to rest on Ivar's shoulder. "It was very nice of her to stand up to her brothers for you, especially when they hurt her."
"I do not care." He mutters, but his anger has melted away to a petulant frown.
The older boy sighs, frowning down at Ivar before turning back to you. "I am Ubbe, and this is my brother, Ivar. What is your name?"
"Y-Y/N."
"Thank you for helping my brother, Y/N," Ubbe said, and you return his grateful smile. "Will you come back with us so that my mother can clean your wounds?"
Nodding hesitantly, your fingers twist into the skirt of your dress, watching as Ubbe grabs the handle of the cart and pulls it off in the direction he came. Trailing after them, you fail to notice the way people glance at you and the two boys, instead focusing on the back of Ivar's head and turning your head away sharply when he looks over his shoulder to glare at you.
Before long, the three of you come to a stop in front of the great hall, and a tall woman comes out, her elvish face severe as she regards Ubbe before softening at the sight of Ivar. "Boys, are you playing nicely?"
"Mother, this is Y/N," Ubbe says, gesturing to where you stood several steps away from the brothers. "She helped fight off some boys who were taunting Ivar, but they hurt her."
"Are you alright?" She asks you, reaching out and gesturing for you to come closer. "Come, let me clean your cuts, it's the least I can do for you helping my dear Ivar."
Said boy huffs, and as his mother reaches down, he snaps, "I do not need your help! I do not need to be carried like a baby!"
Ubbe studies his brother with wide eyes and raised brows, but you only watch curiously as he wrestles out of the cart with a grunt and lands on his front before lifting himself up on his forearms. With one last defiant glare at you, he starts to crawl into the hall, legs dragging behind him, and you watch with wide eyes before turning to Ubbe. Suddenly shy with their mother present, you tug on his sleeve, and when he leans down to your height, you whisper into his ear, "Is Ivar okay? Did my brothers do that to him?"
Ubbe laughs, shaking his head. "No, Ivar was born like that. Your brothers did not hurt him, I do not think."
"Good, because I'll throw stones at them again if they do!"
Again, he laughs, the fierce determination a funny combination with your baby-round cheeks, though admiration gleams in his eyes at the loyalty you had declared for his youngest brother, despite Ivar's cruelty towards you and the fact that you had stood up to your own brothers. "Come, we have to clean your cuts."
Staying close to Ubbe's side, you enter the great hall with him, finding Ivar sat in a chair and two boys playing together several feet away from him. Ivar scowls when he sees you beside his brother, and you look about uncertainly. "Come here." He demands, stabbing a finger at the space beside him on the chair, and you glance up at Ubbe who nods encouragingly. You skitter forwards, feet tapping the wooden floor, and struggle to pull yourself up on the high chair, grunting as you wrestle with your dress.
Finally, you settle into the seat beside Ivar with a sigh, and you glance at him for some form of approval, perhaps a nod or smile, but he simply glowers. "Are you okay now?" You decide to ask, eyes earnest.
"Shut up." He snaps, and you sniff in frustration, your arms once again coming up to cross over your chest.
"Stop being mean," You scold, turning away to find Ubbe with the other two boys, all three of them staring at you and Ivar. "I'm going to sit with Ubbe."
"No!" Ivar hisses, grabbing your arms in a biting grip that makes you whimper.
"Let go of me! That hurts!" He lets go immediately when you shout, and you lean away from him. "You are mean like my brothers."
"Ivar is mean to everyone." A new voice claims, and you look over to find a boy who looks to be only a little older than Ivar staring at you. "It's because he's a cripple."
"I don't know what that is," You admit, before tilting your head back. "And I don't care either, but that sounded mean, so you are mean too."
The boy stares at you, mouth hanging open, and Ivar laughs at him. "See, brother, we are not that different. We are both mean."
"Brother?" You echo, looking between them curiously, and Ubbe nods.
"Yes, that is Sigurd, and this is Hvitserk. Our mother is Queen Aslaug and our father is King Ragnar Lothbrok." His chest puffs with pride, as he introduces his family.
"We are princes," Ivar adds, and when you turn to look at him, he is grinning at you. "And that is why you cannot insult me."
Huffing, you throw yourself back in the chair. "I don't care. Ubbe, my mouth hurts." Before he can respond, Ivar tugs on your shoulder and forces you to turn. Grabbing your chin with both hands, Ivar inspects your face, and you frown, struggling to pull away. "What are you doing?"
"You broke your tooth." he says simply, and you reach up to touch it at the same time that Hvitserk says,
"You should kiss it better, Ivar!"
"Shut up, Hvitserk!" He screams, hands scrabbling to find something to throw, and without thought, you throw your arms around him and cling as tight as possible.
"Stop! Stop fighting!" You yell sharply, before pulling away. "I do not want anybody to kiss me!"
Aslaug comes back at that moment, eyebrows raised in amusement. "Is everything okay, little Y/N?" She asks, her eyes darting between her sons before remaining on you and Ivar.
Nodding softly, you reach up and push your hair back with both hands, jumping when you touch the cut on your temple. "Ow," You whisper, the pain beginning to register. "It hurts."
"I will do it." Ivar insists when his mother stops in front of you, and he reaches out impatiently to the bowl in Aslaug's hands. Taking the rag, he wrings the water from it before taking your chin in one hand again and turning your face to him. He presses the rough cloth to your tender temple, and you yelp, jerking away from the pressure, but his grip on your chin only tightens as he frowns in concentration, lifting the rag away to dab at the wound instead.
He cleans the blood away, and then dips the rag in the water before wiping at your lip. Finally, he drops the bloody cloth back into the bowl and lets go of your face, turning away as if nothing had happened. "They broke her tooth." He grumbles, and Aslaug's eyes widen.
"Who broke her tooth?" She asks softly, setting the bowl down on the floor to reach out, placing one hand on Ivar's cheek and the other on yours.
"Her brothers."
"It is okay," You say, eyes ardent and jaw set. "They were being mean to Ivar, but I threw stones at them and made them go away."
"And then they threw the stones back at you and hurt you!" Ivar snaps, and you jump. "When I see them next I will throw stones until they bleed."
Aslaug laughs softly, taken aback by the sudden protective streak that had emerged within her youngest son, and she caresses his cheek before standing up. "Be careful, Ivar."
"I have to go now, my mother thinks I am playing with my brothers." You say, wriggling off the edge of the seat, and as your feet make contact with the floor, Ivar's hand snatches yours, holding you in place.
"Come back tomorrow." He demands, and you only nod when his grip tightens.
"Okay," You whisper, and he stares at you before throwing your hand and turning to look away. Feet pattering on the worn wood, you turn back when you reach the door and wave. "Bye!"