He'll follow through with his end of the bargain. If this allows him to plunder and wage more war, then all the better for it. Ivar nods. "I would."
Hospitality was always a good way to seal a formal deal. Plus, it allowed him to spend more time in Alfred's company, something that he would never say no to.
Alfred is pleased when Ivar agrees and he doesn't bother to hide the fact. The truth that they enjoyed one another's company despite their differences is one that Alfred had never been bothered by. There was no shame in it and perhaps in their similarities, they could find a way to make peace between their people's lasting.
So, Alfred called one of the servants and requested meal and drink for the two to share. He thought that maybe he should allow others to join but decided against it. Ivar is far too volatile and there are those in his court he can't trust.
Ivar enjoys being able to have a quiet moment like this alone with Alfred. They're both good at reading each other, so he doesn't feel the need to shield himself in layers of anger and fury as he so often does.
He pours himself a generous amount of mead as he tears into the food, starting off with the stew. He soaks some bread in it. "Why did you decide to try and persuade me? I'm sure all of your advisers told you otherwise." He knows what they would have said about him. That he was an insane and volatile warlord that couldn't be trusted. That he would stab Alfred in the back the first chance he got. That he was some Godless pagan just interested in causing carnage. But Alfred had apparently listened to his own council.
Alfred is quiet as he starts to eat, his eyes on Ivar through it all. The servants were hardly noticeable once the meal was served and he shakes his head at the question. It is the truth that everyone advised him against it but that is part of why he had been so determined to do it. "Sometimes, it is better the devil you know than the one you don't or that is pretending to be an angel."
Alfred smiles, and he didn't mean the way he said it to be offensive. "I can trust you far more than I can some of the people closest to me here," he's glad then that he can speak Norse and that his servants decidedly cannot. His mother is the only person he's certain he can trust here. He's not blind to the resentment festering in his half-brother. In truth, Athelred was just as likely to take the first chance to stab him as Ivar was only with Ivar Alfred knew what he was getting into and he knew that if they could make an agreement that Ivar would be honorable until he made it clear that he was not honoring their agreement any longer.
Ivar's eyes glitter at Alfred's description of him and he smiles just a little. Far from being offended, he seems pleased by it. His reputation among the English seems to be that they think he's some sort of demon from the pits of Hell. He's done nothing to dissuade them of this notion. Fear is how to make men remember him forever.
He shifts so that he's leaning a little bit closer to Alfred. "If I stab you, it'll be from the front. Not the back." He means that wholeheartedly. Ivar has been burned and betrayed many times in his life, but he doesn't want to be proven right this time. He wants to believe that this is the start of something new between their new people, and maybe, just maybe, something between the two of them as well.
Alfred’s eyes linger on Ivar’s face a long moment and he knows he can believe him. He shifts and takes a long drink of his wine. “I know that you do not get along with all of your brothers but..” his voice trails off and then he shakes his head.
The smile wipes off his face at the mention of his brothers. That is still such a sore spot with Ivar. Not that he has anyone to blame but himself for how he'd pushed them all away. But he still doesn't like to be reminded of what his selfishness and inability to compromise had cost him.
He turns his attention back to the food, stabbing a bit of meat onto his fork. "It's good." He looks over at Alfred. "The company could be better." He's just joking, of course.
Alfred has worries about the loyalty of his half-brother but he doesn't know how to frame the questions that he has or if he really should trust Ivar with such information or at least if he should yet.
"I do think you would be hard pressed to find such good company as I," Alfred quips with a smile relaxing once more.
"Perhaps. You're more intelligent than half of your advisers." Ivar's eyes run over Alfred slowly and in a manner that is clearly not simple observation. There's a slight lewdness to the gesture as he checks out the English monarch.
Perhaps it's because of their shared past or merely because Ivar is probably the only one who would dare be so blatant. The English tend to put their kings up on a lofty pedestal where none can touch them. The Norse were far more casual.
"Only half?" Alfred asks, brow raising but then the way the other's eyes move over him cause him to flush and clear his throat. He reaches for his drink and takes a sip, his eyes turning to Ivar once more. He doesn't know what to do with that look or the fact that he had liked Ivar looking at him in such a way.
No one in the court had ever or if they had it had never been in such a blatant way that Alfred would actually have noticed.
"You're still too trusting of the other half. You like to see the good in people." He pauses as if considering what to add on. "Even me." Ivar, unlike most people, goes through life without any delusions as to who or what he is. He knows exactly who he is at his core and it gives him the confidence to do what must be done.
As the meal wraps up, he lingers over his drink, still watching Alfred over the edge of his flagon. "Perhaps....we could continue discussing strategy in your chambers?" Is that what they were calling it now?
“There is good and bad in everyone, Ivar,” Alfred says without a hint of doubt. People simply choose which side of themselves to feed or they try to do both. Ivar clearly is more devil than angel but there is plenty good possible. He’s never had the opportunity in his life to feed it though and perhaps it’s too late for him to change for the better but it’s enough for Alfred to trust him and his honor.
Alfred raises a brow at the suggestion and then sets his now empty drink down.
“Very well,” he agrees, though he could hear his mother in his head already detesting such an action. She would say bringing a heathen to his chambers would be more than reckless. She’d have a lot to say that Alfred wouldn’t care to listen to.
"That's an assumption. I've seen plenty that says otherwise," Ivar states. It was perhaps a bit sad that even at this age he's already cynical about the state of people's minds, but Ivar's always viewed the world through jade-colored glasses.
He hadn't really expected Alfred to agree to his proposal. Fortunately, Ivar was never without a plan. He got back into his leg braces and limped alongside him to his chambers. Despite having just talked and eaten together, this was the first time they were truly alone. Alfred was always surrounded by his servants and guards. Even though he knew none of them understood the Norse tongue, it did make it hard to find any sort of real privacy or intimacy with the other teen.
Ivar, without any sense of propriety, immediately sits down on Alfred's bed so that he can take his braces off again. He never lets on to anyone just how uncomfortable they are or how tiring it is to wear them for any length of time. But whether he wears them or not, he's always in pain, so he might as well be mobile even while his legs ache.
Alfred shakes his head. "It's an observation. I have a feeling that you are rarely trying to see the good in anyone, Ivar," Alfred says and it's not judgemental but yet again more observational than anything else. They went to his chambers in relative silence though and he tries not to look uneasy as his eyes search out to make sure they don't pass by his mother or anyone that would be likely to tell her straight away. The last thing he needed was Judith making a scene.
He trusted Ivar enough to be alone with him.
"Those seem tiresome," Alfred says gently, moving to pour them both something to drink and offering the cup to Ivar before sitting beside him.
Ivar just shrugs. "It's better than crawling." Which means, yes, they do tire him out quite a bit. They weigh a lot more than people think they do, what with the amount of metal that's used to keep him upright, and the leather added in both to keep them strapped down and add in some cushioning to keep the worst of the iron from biting into his flesh.
He will never admit any sort of weakness to Alfred, but the other knows him better than most. Alfred was one of the first to see he was more than just a cripple. He leans a little into the English monarch as he drinks. Perhaps it's just tiredness...perhaps not.
“I suppose that’s true,” Alfred agrees and well, he can’t really imagine how difficult it must be for Ivar. He had been a child with questionable health but it has never been something as debilitating but Ivar isn’t weak. His legs probably are what make him strongest. He takes a sip of his drink, unsure what to do with Ivar’s proximity. He doesn’t shift away to deny the closeness, though.
“Are you tired?”
He wouldn’t be opposed to just letting Ivar rest in his chambers even though he could have given him a guest one too.
"That depends. Are you going to let me rest in here with you?" A bold question laced with sexual tension underneath it. But Ivar has never been shy in going after what he wanted.
While he can only guess at what Alfred has experienced, he's royalty too. It doesn't lend a lot of time to being able to associate with anyone in a romantic fashion. It can be isolating and lonely. But they're on the same level, both kings, and so there's no power imbalance. He's always been awfully fond of Alfred, a blind spot that he wonders isn't going to get him taken advantage of one of these days.
Alfred could figure out the implication easily enough, although it somehow manages to surprise him — if only a very little. He had little... mostly no experience at all. His mother was always hovering or trying to hover and he had always had other things that he was focused on other than women... or men.
“I could...” Alfred says, a smile tugging at his lips somewhere between shy and coy.
Ivar grins as Alfred seems to acquiesce to his question. "You should," Ivar said, reaching out a hand, and tucking a lock of hair behind Alfred's ear in a show of affection that he wouldn't do with nearly anyone else.
They're both so new at this that sex isn't even on Ivar's mind. Just sleeping beside Alfred, having him close enough to hold, that...that would be very nice.
Alfred can’t help how his smile broadens a bit at the unexpected but certainly welcomed affection that the other gave him. It’s a simple gesture but From Ivar... it means more than others grand gestures would have.
“My mother will have a fit if she finds out,” Alfred says but he’s not going anywhere, which should be clear enough as he gets up to change into sleep clothes and out of the courtly garb from the day.
"So let's make sure she doesn't find out," Ivar says as he shifts around, pulling off the vest and shirt he'd been wearing during the day. Is the move deliberate? Of course. After all, he's admiring Alfred too as he changes clothes. Then off come his boots, dropping to the floor. He leans back on the bed, groaning softly at the softness of it.
"I need one of these." During the English raids, he generally ended up sleeping in a tent on the ground, save for the times when they took over a town where he could claim a bed as his own.
Once Alfred is in a simple sleeping outfit he sits back on the edge of the bed, he’d certainly noticed Ivar’s exposed skin, maybe a little too much. He shifts to look at him directly now that they’re both on the bed and all, a small smile on his lips. He’s rather sure they can’t really hide from Judith but he’ll try.
“A bed?” He asks. “Perhaps you should create a portable one.”
"Now there's an idea," Ivar says thoughtfully as he's propped up on his elbows. If he could find a way to carry one around with him, it would save his legs some aching. He looks over at Alfred almost shyly as if suddenly realizing the implications of sleeping so close to someone he sees as a friend.
"Or maybe I'll just stay here instead in between raids," he says. Honestly, he wouldn't mind that. Alfred is one of the only friends he has.
Alfred shifts to push further into the bed, leaning against the head and not laying down all the way yet. There is still a few modest inches between himself and Ivar and the thought to get closer and wondering what his skin would feel like if he touched him wandered unbidden through his mind but he ignored the somewhat embarrassing thoughts.
“That would certainly turn the rest of my advisers against me,” Alfred said with a hint of amusement. “But I would never turn you away.”
"You listen to them too much as it is. The mark of a good king is knowing when to listen to his own council." Alfred was getting there. He'd ignored everyone's advice in getting into a meeting with Ivar and it had now netted him a great ally.
He scoots a little bit closer to Alfred, not for any particular reason other than he wants to. There's a tension between them, he can sense that much, but he's not sure if this is a good path to be going down. They both are completely different and have responsibilities as kings they can't just ignore...but the heart wants what the heart wants.
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Hospitality was always a good way to seal a formal deal. Plus, it allowed him to spend more time in Alfred's company, something that he would never say no to.
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So, Alfred called one of the servants and requested meal and drink for the two to share. He thought that maybe he should allow others to join but decided against it. Ivar is far too volatile and there are those in his court he can't trust.
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He pours himself a generous amount of mead as he tears into the food, starting off with the stew. He soaks some bread in it. "Why did you decide to try and persuade me? I'm sure all of your advisers told you otherwise." He knows what they would have said about him. That he was an insane and volatile warlord that couldn't be trusted. That he would stab Alfred in the back the first chance he got. That he was some Godless pagan just interested in causing carnage. But Alfred had apparently listened to his own council.
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Alfred smiles, and he didn't mean the way he said it to be offensive. "I can trust you far more than I can some of the people closest to me here," he's glad then that he can speak Norse and that his servants decidedly cannot. His mother is the only person he's certain he can trust here. He's not blind to the resentment festering in his half-brother. In truth, Athelred was just as likely to take the first chance to stab him as Ivar was only with Ivar Alfred knew what he was getting into and he knew that if they could make an agreement that Ivar would be honorable until he made it clear that he was not honoring their agreement any longer.
It would be no surprise or great betrayal.
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He shifts so that he's leaning a little bit closer to Alfred. "If I stab you, it'll be from the front. Not the back." He means that wholeheartedly. Ivar has been burned and betrayed many times in his life, but he doesn't want to be proven right this time. He wants to believe that this is the start of something new between their new people, and maybe, just maybe, something between the two of them as well.
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“Never mind. How is the food? To your liking?”
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He turns his attention back to the food, stabbing a bit of meat onto his fork. "It's good." He looks over at Alfred. "The company could be better." He's just joking, of course.
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"I do think you would be hard pressed to find such good company as I," Alfred quips with a smile relaxing once more.
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Perhaps it's because of their shared past or merely because Ivar is probably the only one who would dare be so blatant. The English tend to put their kings up on a lofty pedestal where none can touch them. The Norse were far more casual.
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No one in the court had ever or if they had it had never been in such a blatant way that Alfred would actually have noticed.
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As the meal wraps up, he lingers over his drink, still watching Alfred over the edge of his flagon. "Perhaps....we could continue discussing strategy in your chambers?" Is that what they were calling it now?
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Alfred raises a brow at the suggestion and then sets his now empty drink down.
“Very well,” he agrees, though he could hear his mother in his head already detesting such an action. She would say bringing a heathen to his chambers would be more than reckless. She’d have a lot to say that Alfred wouldn’t care to listen to.
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He hadn't really expected Alfred to agree to his proposal. Fortunately, Ivar was never without a plan. He got back into his leg braces and limped alongside him to his chambers. Despite having just talked and eaten together, this was the first time they were truly alone. Alfred was always surrounded by his servants and guards. Even though he knew none of them understood the Norse tongue, it did make it hard to find any sort of real privacy or intimacy with the other teen.
Ivar, without any sense of propriety, immediately sits down on Alfred's bed so that he can take his braces off again. He never lets on to anyone just how uncomfortable they are or how tiring it is to wear them for any length of time. But whether he wears them or not, he's always in pain, so he might as well be mobile even while his legs ache.
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He trusted Ivar enough to be alone with him.
"Those seem tiresome," Alfred says gently, moving to pour them both something to drink and offering the cup to Ivar before sitting beside him.
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He will never admit any sort of weakness to Alfred, but the other knows him better than most. Alfred was one of the first to see he was more than just a cripple. He leans a little into the English monarch as he drinks. Perhaps it's just tiredness...perhaps not.
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“Are you tired?”
He wouldn’t be opposed to just letting Ivar rest in his chambers even though he could have given him a guest one too.
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While he can only guess at what Alfred has experienced, he's royalty too. It doesn't lend a lot of time to being able to associate with anyone in a romantic fashion. It can be isolating and lonely. But they're on the same level, both kings, and so there's no power imbalance. He's always been awfully fond of Alfred, a blind spot that he wonders isn't going to get him taken advantage of one of these days.
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“I could...” Alfred says, a smile tugging at his lips somewhere between shy and coy.
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They're both so new at this that sex isn't even on Ivar's mind. Just sleeping beside Alfred, having him close enough to hold, that...that would be very nice.
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“My mother will have a fit if she finds out,” Alfred says but he’s not going anywhere, which should be clear enough as he gets up to change into sleep clothes and out of the courtly garb from the day.
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"I need one of these." During the English raids, he generally ended up sleeping in a tent on the ground, save for the times when they took over a town where he could claim a bed as his own.
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“A bed?” He asks. “Perhaps you should create a portable one.”
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"Or maybe I'll just stay here instead in between raids," he says. Honestly, he wouldn't mind that. Alfred is one of the only friends he has.
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“That would certainly turn the rest of my advisers against me,” Alfred said with a hint of amusement. “But I would never turn you away.”
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He scoots a little bit closer to Alfred, not for any particular reason other than he wants to. There's a tension between them, he can sense that much, but he's not sure if this is a good path to be going down. They both are completely different and have responsibilities as kings they can't just ignore...but the heart wants what the heart wants.
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