Chapter Text
Ivar had been moody for days. He was well used to the typical ache of his body. But this new ache was weird and foreign— and mother had come with him to Floki’s cabin for a break of her own. It felt as if bony digits were digging deep within his swollen gums and carving out his teeth.
Which was happening but not by a spirit or ghoul, but by his father figure Floki. Sorely he clenched his jaw down, meeting only his cheeks with sweet Helga holding pressure between his cheeks.
“Ahh, I see now, Aslaug. He’s teething.” Floki says, twisting the loose jagged tooth with a wet pop that had Ivar shrilling so loud it ripped out into the streets. Helga fetches a damp cloth and Aslaug rushes forward.
“Ivar shhhh!” Aslaug cradles his cheek.
Helga comes back with a cloth of damp water. “This will help with the pain.”
Somehow unable to hurt Helga, he sniffles angrily instead as the cloth covers the socket where his baby tooth was. Aslaug keeps it in place for some time. After a moment or so, Floki returns.
“Look here Ivar.” Floki bends before him, stealing him from Aslaug’s arm and onto his hip. “This tooth is like gold to Loki. You can give it to him.”
“Why would Loki want a stupid tooth?” Ivar slurs.
“For its life force during Ragnarok when he and those of Hel fight Heimdal.” Floki swirls about to the crackling flame. Helga cleans her bloody hands in a basin of water, wiping it upon a gentle blue gown. Aslaug folds her arms, sitting about with a mug of ale.
“Then why should I give him it?” Ivar grumbles.
“For the glory,” Helga says sweetly. “He will give you a bone tooth if you throw it in the fire when it crackles.”
“I just throw it in?” He asks.
“You say: Loki, Loki give me a bone tooth! Here is a gold tooth.” Aslaug smiles.
Ivar considers his bloody tooth for a moment before he relents, jerking his head in the motion of the flame. Floki slides over with his eye trained on Ivar’s small one— chucking the hard tooth into the flame. The adults' shriek in glee; even Aslaug as inebriated as she might be. A rare smile comes to his lips, swishing his blonde hair in his mother’s direction with grabbing hands.
“When do I get my tooth?” Ivar asks confidently of her.
“Tonight.” She says, stepping out of the cabin where Floki was smiling wittily. That night he would stay up for hours with no success. Then in the middle of the Raven’s hour— he swore he saw a lithe figure.
He couldn’t say whether it was Floki or Loki by the flaming hair and warmness radiating the room. But he knew one thing… he did have a bone tooth.