Master of My Sea

Disclaimer: I only own my OCs. This isn't going to follow the timeline of the show, nor will it be completely historically accurate, but I'll try to be as realistic as possible, as well as do the best research as I can. I assure you though, that everything I've done is within the realm of possibility, which includes changing the condition of what was wrong with Ivar's legs. Since there is no solid evidence of what his condition was, I've talked it over with some people and determined a completely believable reason which will be addressed in this story.

This story will have a lot of dark themes pertaining to death, mental illness, and other things that should be fairly obvious for a story/show about Vikings. If you're easily triggered, it's probably not a good idea to read this fic.

Warning: This is a slow burn romance.

prologue:
THE LAST SUNRISE

The snow crunched with every step he took, followed by the groaning of the ice under the pressure of his weight. He neared the center of the lake, where the crystalline water began to thin and the air in his lungs grew heavy. The bitter winds swirled around him, calling out his name almost in a taunting manner. His clouded eyes were glued to his feet, red and frost bitten from walking barefooted on the snow and ice, but they were numb and no longer felt anything. The blizzard was harsh that day, so harsh that if he dared to look up from his feet, the flying snow and ice shards would cut his eyes and blind him. They already stung his cheeks, forehead, and nose harshly, but now, it did not matter. Nothing mattered.

The man had stopped suddenly, with his hands balled into fists at his sides and his breathing shaking and harsh. His teeth chattered as he bared them in anticipation of what laid underneath him. He waited for the moment when the ice would cave underneath him and his body would be enveloped in the cold grip of death beneath the frozen lake.

He let go of his senses the moment he closed his eyes, all except for his ears. They could not hear further than the rapid winds that whistled loudly around him and threatened to push him onto his back. However, mixed between the harsh thundering currents, he heard the sound of wings, or what he believed to be wings. They were so similar to the winter winds that he had told himself it was just that and kept his eyes closed, until he felt his face grow warm as if he was laying in a soft field under the mid-spring sun.

When he opened his eyes, a large woman stood before him. She was a foot taller, with long legs and broad shoulders, and her hair tumbled down her shoulders to her barefeet in drapes of blood-orange that contrasted the sea of white grey around them. On top of her head was a helmet of gold, with two pearl coloured wings from either side of the temple of the helm, and there under the brow were a pair of sea-weed coloured eyes shining through. Her face was coloured in sorrow as she stared at him with dew clinging to her eyelashes.

"Hvað ertu að gera?"

He did not know what to say, especially not now, where he was, in front of this divine being. It wasn't until they fell from his chin and onto his trembling hand that he had realized he had been crying hot tears. They didn't stop, and kept falling from his cheeks like a waterfall, falling down to his toes and pelted the ice underneath him.

"Ég veit ekki," came his answer at last through trembling lips.

A long pale arm extended towards him, her elegantly long fingers moved to touch his cheek, where his tears betrayed him and fell freely without his knowledge. However, before she could have brushed the tip of her finger against his skin, the ice under him cracked and gave in. He crashed through the glass-like surface instantly, and all the warmth was washed off his skin the moment the water bit his flesh. He stared upwards with wide blurred eyes, clawing at the water, trying to climb up the wall of darkness that curled around his body. The light that shone through the hole he fell through began to shrink the further he sank. Before the cold could take his sight, he could see a large body follow him through the water. Silky red ribbons clouded the water as the woman dove after him with her arms stretched foreword.

It was too late. His muscles had turned to lead, and his last breath of air escaped his throat and out of his open, blue lips. With a final blink, he stared into the face, blurred by water and death, that looked to him like his last sunrise.

Sept 21/17 edit: I didn't think I needed to address this, but after the second person pointing this out, I thought I should. I did not put in the translation of the Icelandic for a reason. The prologue is supposed to be mysterious and ominous, and if I wanted the words to be known, I wouldn't have bothered to put in Icelandic/old norse anyway. This is all I will say about it, because I don't want to give anything away.

Author's note: I plan on publishing the first chapter later today, probably when I come home from work, so I know I will not get any reviews, but they'd be greatly appreciated.

The Old Norse in this chapter is actually Icelandic, since I read that it's the closest to Old Norse. If it didn't translate well, blame Google Translate.