Knife's Edge [Ivar]

Thora's been in Kattegat for a while now, and she's decided that maybe it's time to have a weapon that was made here. Not a sword, of course, she has her father's sword and she will never replace it. And not her axes, because they were made for her in Uddevalla, and they fit her hand better than any other weapon would anyway. But a knife would be fine, or maybe a short sword. She belts her sword to her left hip and an ax on her right and sets off to the blacksmith. If she shows him the blade she already carries, maybe he can craft its little sister. Then she'll have a weapon from Kattegat, a short sword to come up beneath a shield. A short-sword is easier for the shield wall anyway, although she prefers her axes in those types of situations. But maybe if she had a good short-sword, she would use that instead. She's happy as she heads to the blacksmith's shop. She's never been to Kattegat's blacksmith before, but she's heard he's from Uddevalla. At least she knows, then, that his weapons will be strong. She thinks maybe it doesn't count if a blacksmith from Uddevalla makes her short-sword, but she waves that thought off. If it's made in Kattegat, then it's a weapon from Kattegat. The matter is settled in her mind.

She's cheerful as she enters the forge, her steps springy and energetic, and the handful of colorful beads braided into her blond hair gleam as they catch the light cast by the forge. She spots the blacksmith at work and gives him a bright smile and a short wave. He nods in return, and when he sets his work aside and steps over to her she greets him. "My name's Thora. I was wondering if you could make me a short-sword? The little sister to my long-blade." Her manner of speaking about weapons is familiar and affectionate, almost as if they're family. She takes the sword from her hip, sheath and all, and hands it to the blacksmith for him to inspect. He takes his time looking over the blade, hands it back to her with a smile, and tells her he can do it. When he asks if it's an Uddevallan blade, she nods. "It was my father's. I'm from Uddevalla. But you can make her a little sister?" He assures her again that he can, and Thora gives him a grateful grin as she belts the sword back to her hip.

If she was less disciplined, she would have jumped at the sound of the voice beside her. As it is, she'd felt the eyes on her, a warrior's instinct honed from years of fighting, and so she wasn't surprised when the other person spoke up. It was a voice she'd never heard before, and Thora turned from the blacksmith to find the newcomer, still buckling the belt around her waist. She watched as the young man pulled himself into a seat, her eyes narrowed. She'd seen him before, at the harvest feast, sitting at the high table. She knew a son of Ragnar was crippled in this manner, that he crawled around the town instead of walking. And she knew he was the youngest, Ivar. When she'd said something to Ubbe about one of his brothers disliking her, he'd assumed she meant Ivar. What did that say about his character? Thora had half-hoped she'd be able to avoid Ubbe's youngest brother, but it seemed the gods didn't wish that. Besides, she muses, she would probably have to meet him eventually anyway, if her and Ubbe carried on their current situation.

That was why she was so cheerful today. Thora had finally come to terms with her own feelings, had finally realized she was falling in love with Ubbe. And he'd told her he felt the same. She carried the memory of his lips on her skin, of his body warm against hers, like a sun that warms her and cheers her up from within. That was why there was a smile on her face even as her eyes narrowed at her lover's youngest brother. "Long-swords need little sisters. Short blades are better for the shield wall." She explains impatiently, expecting him to already know that. Unless they don't fight that way in Kattegat? But when shields are pressed against enemy shields close as lovers, the deadlier blade is the short-sword, hacking up from beneath the shield, to embed itself in an enemy's groin and rip up into his belly. There isn't enough room to swing a long blade in close-packed shield walls.

She's just about to open her mouth, to explain this further to him just in case Kattegat doesn't fight the same way as Uddevalla, when he speaks again. Her bright green eyes narrow further, the smile melting from her face, and an annoyed look taking its place. She puts her hands on her hips, matching his surly attitude with nothing but sass. "In case you haven't realized, your brothers are grown men who can make their own decisions. And as for causing damage," the grin she gives him is tinged with something almost savage, an answer to the temper in his striking blue eyes. "What good is a harmless shield maiden?" She raises her brows, not really expecting an answer to her question, but feeling like this conversation is going to be about as pleasant as trying to reason with an angry bear.

Thora was determined to hold on to her good mood, but it seemed the youngest Ragnarsson before her was just as determined to make her lose her temper. Her green eyes darken, hands still resting on her hips, and she knows he's just trying to get a reaction out of her. She knows, and yet something about him just irritates her in a way she doesn't understand. She knows he's going to win this conversation simply because he's so obnoxious, and he's questioning her. She's a shieldmaiden, her reputation is very important to her, and this unblooded boy is questioning her. Her eyebrows lower in a frown, her bright green eyes darkening, and her hands are still resting on her slim hips as she retorts. She knows perhaps she should bite her tongue, and yet she finds it nearly impossible. She didn't even hold back when Bjorn, a seasoned warrior, questioned her, and so why should she hold back for the spoiled youngest son, untested boy that he is? "When you've actually seen a battle, then you can question me. Until then, your opinions don't matter to me." Her face is mostly blank except for the annoyance in her eyes.

She watches as he begins to sharpen the knife, and she can't help but note he seems very familiar with the weapon. He clearly knows how to care for it, and that's something she can grudgingly respect about him. His laughter at her statement annoyed her again, though she shows no outward signs of it. She isn't surprised when he points the knife at her, gesturing over her body, and she feels his sharp gaze on her. She doesn't waver beneath it, only meets his gaze with a steely one of her own as he looks her over. She knows they're testing each other, and she's determined not to be the one to show weakness first. He speaks and immediately turns back to sharpening the knife, almost as if he's dismissing her. She hates that statement, and yet she can't deny the truth of it. She hates that she seems to be the cause of a fight between Ubbe and Bjorn, hates that she seems to bring some painful memories to Bjorn's mind, and is angry that he would even consider pulling an axe on his own brother. She bites her tongue, not saying anything to that remark, knowing somehow Ivar will sniff out that weakness and use it against her, but she feels too guilty to even defend herself.

She only snorts as Ivar continues, saying he's curious about what makes her so special, and her laugh is bitter as she shakes her head. "There's nothing special about me, I'm just a shieldmaiden from Uddevalla." She doesn't add that maybe that's what makes her so intriguing. She fights differently, she thinks a bit differently about battle, her weapons are crafted a bit differently. Maybe it's that slight otherness that makes her so intriguing, or maybe it's the vulnerability she refuses to show Ivar that draws his brothers to her. Maybe she'll never know what it is. If she truly cared to know, she could ask Ubbe, but she doesn't want to know, not really. She's afraid that asking questions will reveal a pain in Bjorn's past that's better left untouched. She watches as he points the dagger at his temple, seemingly pleased at his ability to remember her name. She tilts her head to the side a bit, raising her brows, and responds immediately with his name, a taunting, challenging note to her voice. "Ivar." She feels the blacksmith looking between the two of them as if he fears bloodshed, but Thora doesn't care.

There's a part of Thora that understands why he's pushing her this way, why he wants to see exactly how much he can get away with, how far he can push her before she snaps. She understands because she can be the same way sometimes, headstrong and arrogant, and she hates seeing those parts of herself reflected back at her and being used against her. She's annoyed that anything about her personality could be so similar to this sullen prince's, and so she's pushing him back, trying to see which one will snap first while knowing that this will not end well. She knows neither of them are going to back down, that this talk will just keep escalating and escalating, and that her and Ivar will probably never enjoy each other's company. She's fine with that, just as long as he doesn't win all the time, and maybe that's what it comes down to. They act similar sometimes, with the challenging and testing people, because they're both driven to prove that they're the best. They're competitive, and both hate losing. They will never have easy discussions, only competitions. But maybe sometimes competition is what makes you stronger.

She's pleased that he concedes her one point, that he won't question her until he's at least seen a battle, and decides that maybe for now, she'll relent a bit. That maybe not all of their discussions will be battles. But then he's speaking again, asking her if she isn't going to argue, and she only shrugs as he whispers that it's a pity. She hears the soft laugh fall from his mouth and has to suppress the urge to sigh in frustration. "What is the point of arguing? You are right, a shield maiden out of Uddevalla is a foolish reason for brothers to fight." He continues and she tilts her head, considering him as she watches him sharpen the knife. "There's no need to wonder why. Bjorn started it, I know I remind him of someone long gone. It is not my place to ask. And Ubbe..." She trails off for a second, shrugging, before she continues again. "Well, it wasn't much of a fight, was it? Maybe you didn't see the whole thing, but I stepped between them. The fight was over before it started, thank the gods."

She watches the stubborn way he raises his chin as she says his name, her head tilted and hands on her hips, the challenging note in her voice. There was a challenge in his voice, too, when he asked her if that was all. She knows what he's pushing her toward, but she doesn't want to give him the satisfaction. She knows what they call him, the title his father gave him at his birth. Everyone knows it, but she refuses to give him the satisfaction of calling him that. It's a title that he's embraced, that he can draw strength from, and she doesn't want him to have the upper hand. Her face settles into a stubborn expression, arms crossing over her chest, and she raises her eyebrows as she speaks. "Prince Ivar?" The challenging note is still in her voice, and she knows she's being foolish. She knows Ubbe will probably be annoyed at both of them when he hears about this, but she can't back down from this. She'll never live it down if she does, because then Ivar will know he can walk all over her, and she is not a woman to be taken lightly. She is a shield maiden, and full of pride. She knows it will get her into trouble, but she can't back down now.

Her good mood is quickly evaporating under Ivar's piercing blue eyes and his insistence on pushing her further. Thora is glad Ubbe is the first son of Ragnar she'd met, because if she'd met Bjorn or Ivar first she might have just gone back to Uddevalla and taken her chances with her ex-husband. But instead she met Ubbe and swore to fight alongside him, and then she met Bjorn who told her the shield wall was no place for a girl like her, and now she's met Ivar who seems intent on pushing the limits of her temper. She tries to remind herself that he's nearly ten years younger than her, that she has the experience of years of training and years of fighting; and that he's the youngest and crippled son of a man who's nearly a legend. She tries to remind herself that being Ivar must not be an easy thing, but that stubborn tilt of his chin and the challenging look in his piercing eyes make her forget all that because he seems to know exactly what to say to make her angry.

He mocks the way she stepped between his brothers and finally she gives in to the anger he fuels in her, her eyebrows raising as she takes a step forward. "Bjorn could have killed Ubbe, and you think this is funny? Do you think other people live only for your amusement, little Ivar?" She shakes her head and gives him a look of disgust, and she doesn't bother continuing. She doesn't bother telling him that she would die for Ubbe without a second's hesitation, because why does this sullen little brat deserve to know what's in her heart? She shakes her head as he continues. "I do not want to know about the girl in the past." He may be able to taunt her in other ways, but she isn't going to rise to that bait. He'll have to try a different approach if he wants to get a reaction out of her. She doesn't answer when he tells her they never know what the gods have in store, because he's right and she will never admit aloud that he's right.

His next words drive her to a new level of anger, and it seems he's figured out how to get a reaction out of her after all. He only needs to question her prowess or her reputation, or he only needs to bring uo Ubbe. Her bright green eyes narrow and she takes a half-step toward him, one hand going to her hip to trail lightly over the edge of the axe hanging on her right hip, and she shakes her head. The beads braided in her hair catch the light from the forge as she shakes her head, and her voice is soft, soft to match his, when she speaks. "I can stop you myself. And leave Ubbe out of this. I swore to fight alongside him before I knew he was a son of Ragnar. I faced an axe for him, and I would face a thousand more. You do not understand how to inspire loyalty in people, only how to push them away. You would do well, to learn from Ubbe." Her finger is still tracing lightly over the head of her axe, and her voice stayed soft through her entire speech despite her narrowed, angry green eyes.

Thora isn't afraid of dying. She knows that when she dies the Valkyries will carry her home, and she'll spend ages drinking and fighting until the end of the world. And when the world dies, she will spill forth from the doors of Odin's great hall with the other warriors to fight in that final great battle, and that last time when she falls from a spear or sword-wound, there will be no rising again. She does not fear death, but she does not want to die in a blacksmith shop at the hands of a bratty teenager, either. She wants to die in a rush of blood, with a battle-cry on her lips, dragging other warriors to Valhalla with her. She had known calling him little would get a reaction out of him, but he seemed intent on getting a reaction out of her, so fair is fair. He's chuckling as she speaks, but it dies immediately as soon as she calls him little, and frankly she isn't surprised by the way his eyes darken and the menacing tone of his voice when he says her name.

There's no mistaking the threat in his words, but all she does is raise an eyebrow at him. "Do you think I'm some slave-girl that you can terrify, Ivar? I'm not afraid of that anger in you. I want to see you unleash it." She raises her arms, spreading them out to the sides, leaving her torso completely vulnerable should he chose to throw the knife. She only looks at him, brows raised, her chin raised defiantly, and the blacksmith is sputtering something in the background about how her sword will be ready early next week. He's clearly trying to get her to leave before Ivar follows through on his threat, but Thora can't back down from a challenge like this. She shakes her head just once, pointing a finger at him before she lowers her hands to her sides. "I thank the gods I came to Kattegat, because when you do snap, I don't want to be on the opposite side of a battlefield from you." She dislikes Ivar, but she lets the grudging admiration creep into her voice anyway. There's something about him that makes her blood run cold, something that tells her that he's going to be a force to be reckoned with on the battlefield, and that's something she can't overlook. She's just annoyed it has to come in such an obnoxious package.

He continues on, throwing Ubbe in her face again, and again she shakes her head. "And what will you do after you give them victory? Uddevalla is ruled by a man who gives his people victory, and still his people leave. You need not only strategies, but loyalty. Warriors will not care how good your plans are, if you are a ruthless leader. The warrior who fears his own lord will not fight bravely enough to bring him victory. Why do you think people leave Uddevalla, hmm? Dislike me all you want, I certainly do not like you. But if you want to be wise, you will realize that what I'm saying has truth to it, and you will learn to make warriors love you, to make them want to fight for you, and then you will be unstoppable." She pauses to lock her bright green eyes on his before she continues. "Love makes warriors unafraid to die. It makes us ready to sacrifice ourselves. That is the strength of the shield wall, to love the one fighting next to you. So you can say that loving each other will make Ubbe and I weak, but we will prove you wrong." Thora has fought in the shield wall, she knows the trust and the love it takes to place your wellbeing in the hands of the warrior standing next to you, because when the shield splinters on your arm and the shield wall collapses, when there is no hope of victory, warriors must fight for each other. She's been in such a shield wall. She carries the scar on her sword-arm, and the splintered shield hangs on the wall of her house.

Thora simply doesn't understand how two brothers can be so different. The only thing even remotely similar about them was the bright blue of their eyes, and maybe Ivar would be tall like Ubbe if his legs weren't twisted, but that's something she'll never know. The similarities end with their eyes. Where Ubbe is kind, patient, loyal, and quick to smile; Ivar is vicious and angry, and she's never seen him smile, only smirk. Ubbe is grounded. He knows he's a man of Midgard. But Ivar, she thinks, reckons himself closer to the gods of Asgard. She only hopes that arrogance doesn't call the wrath of the gods down on Kattegat. She wouldn't mind so much if the wrath of the gods was called down on Ivar himself--it might be good for him to be humbled. But if his arrogance caused a tragedy in Kattegat, if his cockiness made something bad happen to Ubbe.... She would not think twice about challenging him to a fight between the hazel rods. He deserved to be defeated, to be reminded that he is mortal. Thora, of course, happily ignores the fact that she is just as arrogant as Ivar. She deserves to be arrogant because she's proven herself, or at least that's how she reasons it in her own mind.

She raises her eyebrows at his little statement. Of course she knows him, she's known men just like him her entire life. Obviously the gods put him in the wrong place. He belongs in Uddevalla. She's expecting the dagger when it flies past her. She doesn't flinch, doesn't even take her eyes off him. She's only smiling faintly because he did almost exactly what she expected. "If I don't know you, why was I able to guess what you would do?" Her statement isn't an obvious challenge, more curiosity than anything. She genuinely wants to hear what he's going to say about this. She thinks she's won the argument, but some deeper part of her knows there can never be any winning with Ivar. But she has to try, because she can't make it easy for him. She laughs when Ivar asks why people always challenge him, she can't help it. His statement is so ludicrous, so insane, there can be no other response. "Maybe because you challenge them first?" Her tone is one that might be used when explaining something to a child. Maybe she should be more careful, but he already threw a knife at her. What more could he do?

She watches as the blacksmith pulls the dagger from the wall and hands it back to Ivar. If she were the blacksmith, she wouldn't have given it back, but maybe he trusts Ivar more than she does. If he does, well, that's his mistake. She's not surprised Ivar isn't listening because he's a stubborn little prick, but she's still infuriated by his obvious lack of respect. "Clearly you didn't listen to anything I've said. I have never called you a cripple. I've never uttered the name people call you in the streets." She points an accusatory finger at him. "You think I do not know you? Perhaps that is true. What is also true is that you don't know me." She realizes that he probably thinks he knows her. She'll just have to prove him wrong.