Okay I don't know if my last ask was sent so I will repeat, ignore this if you got the other one: How about you are Ivar's thrall and while he's having a reunion with Harald, because they will be allies, and you drop something, then Ivar deems a good idea punishing you in front of him? Maybe Harald can give a few ideas to Ivar too... And maybe Hvitserk is somewhere around, who knows, eating and staring.
You swallow your nerves as you take the heavy clay pitcher of ale up to the head table in the hall. Prince Ivar and King Harald are celebrating their new alliance and things are already getting rowdy. All you want is to get in, get out, and escape every man’s attention before the night is through.
You start refilling cups at the right, as Hvitserk is the first to notice you and raises his horn for more ale. This quiet prince has two moods, stone-faced or grinning, and you are thankful that right now it is the former. It means he is less likely to pull you into his lap when you get there. All of these Vikings are so rough and sloppy when they are drunk; you do your best to stay out of their beds on feast nights if you can help it.
Hvitserk barely looks at you as you tip the large flagon over the horn in his hand; he is too caught up in trying to hear Ivar and Harald as they speak together in hushed tones to his left. You only spill a little as you maneuver the unwieldy thing, and the prince doesn’t seem to notice.
Ivar has been drinking from a Saxon cup, it sits empty on the table at his elbow. You can easily reach it from where you stand now between the brothers and so you sneak the refill in quickly, grateful that his back is to you and you can fulfill your duties without him even becoming aware of you.
You step back to continue down the line. King Harald meets your eye with an inscrutable look as he listens to Ivar rant on about Lagertha’s faults. He smiles like a wolf pretending to be a sheep and lifts his cup, beckoning you over.
You can’t help but stare at the way Ivar’s face contorts as he rages on, expressive lips working around words so heated it is as if his body can barely contain them. The youngest Ragnarsson often seems to be made of nothing but fire, ready to burn anything in the world that falls before his eyes.
When Harald’s cup is filled you pivot to retreat, still distracted by Ivar’s beautiful, terrible countenance. He has a way of hypnotizing you despite your more rational urges to run. And so you are taken entirely by surprise when you feel King Finehair’s large hand cup your ass, groping fingers plunging between your cheeks as he squeezes more firmly than is comfortable.
You yelp at first in surprise and then in despair as the heavy clay pitcher falls from your hands, shattering on the ground between Harald and Ivar, soaking their boots and the bottom of your skirts in the fragrant ale.
Harald only laughs but Ivar is fuming. “I am so sorry!” you exclaim, dropping to your knees and trying lamely to pick up the pieces littering the floor.
“This one makes a better bed slave than serving maid, that is for certain,” you hear Ivar say acidly over your head.
“Is that so,” Harald muses, and your cheeks begin to burn.
“Excuse me while I punish her,” Ivar says next, and your stomach drops.
You look up to see Harald’s eyes twinkling down on you. “Why not do it here? I find that giving these girls what’s coming to them can be highly entertaining. She can start by cleaning our boots off with her tongue.”
Your shocked eyes flick to Ivar, knowing if you protest things will only get worse for you but hoping to all of the gods that your master sees how ridiculous that proposition is. Alas, Ivar’s face has brightened with amusement. He curls his tongue between his teeth as he locks eyes with you, then spreads his open hand in the air, indicating his feet. “Sounds like an excellent start towards making amends.”
(there will be more but I had other goals for today you devilish minx)