The Great and The Boneless - Chapter 2

Ivar limped towards Alfred's cell, with the help of his crutches to help him, he ventured through the halls of the dungeon, radiated by the torch's harrowing light. The echoing silence made him nervous, contrasting with the tormentous screams that once filled its void. Pain and suffering reeked here, a comforting scent to Ivar's nostrils but today, it filled him with a nauseating distress. Was he dead? The perturbed thought antagonised his mind till he got to the cell door.

His hand pressed against the metal frame as he peeked through the small window above the door, but the sight of cobwebs, a blood-stained stone floor and rotten chunks of food did nothing to ease his anxiety. Yet still he was hopeful. The sound of keys jangled against his ear as he looked for the right one to open the cell door. Once he found them, he took a deep breath and braced himself for the worse as he opened it - but instead he saw something far more unpleasant.

Alfred was chained to the corner of the wall, vicious cuts and purple bruises branded over his skin, red worms oozing out of them like crimson snakes. They were relentless, Ivar thought, then again, they were Vikings, provoking pain and fear was in their blood.

Ivar shifted his stance and straightened his back when he noticed Alfred lift his head towards the door. He squinted through his plumped eyes as Ivar put on his classical cocky smile and immediately, Alfred knew who it was.

"Get out," Alfred said, his voice low and weak.

Ivar entered the cell, disregarding Alfred's fibble remark. "You look well, Alfred. I think red suits suits you perfectly."

"I said get out!" Alfred bellowed.

Ivar clicked his tongue tauntingly. "Someone's angry." He pressed the end of his crutches against his chin and lifted it up, forcing Alfred to face his oppressor. "You should watch how you speak to me, Alfred. We're not kids anymore, I am your king now."

Alfred spat at him and Ivar staggered back, wiping away his salvia off his cheek. "I see no king before me, only a child."

Ivar curled his lips in detest at his insult.

"Are you such a coward that you have to order your men to torture me and leave me here to die, or are you too weak to kill me yourself?"

Spitefully, Ivar striked Alfred's cheek with the end of his crutches but Alfred didn't howl or griminance in pain, instead he let out a goading laugh.

"You still are weak," Alfred derided. "Ivar the Boneless."

Just as Ivar was about to strike him again, a voice spoke from behind.

"What are you doing, Ivar?"

Ivar turned on his heel to see Hvitserk standing behind him, his eyes narrowed in curiosity and confusion.

"Bring him to the main hall," Ivar ordered as he limped out of the cell. "It's time to put this filthy Christian to use."