Vikings Ivar Quotes

In 869 we have an event which rapidly achieved almost mythic status in English Christian folklore: the horrible martyrdom of King Edmund of East Anglia by the appalling Ivar the Boneless, who according to some traditions brought a great Viking army to England in pursuit of revenge for the killing of his father, the semi-legendary Ragnar Lothbrok, executed by the king of Northumbria.

His voice was reassuring and calm, his expression soft, his eyes brighter than ever. Oh Ahura Mazda, she’d never wanted any man so intently in all her life. She ached to have him touch her, kiss her, taste her. And Ivar did as she wished. He put her hand to his nose to smell her skin, kissed her inner wrist to taste her, his lips lingered over her racing pulse. Finally, it was confirmed in actions and direct words, spoken aloud and repeated seven times… She felt the rush of desire ripping through her body, an intense sensation of warmth upon her skin, the blissful waves of uneasiness swamped through her, tingling her nerves.

Ivar became one of the most successful warrior-kings. After several years of ruling, beheading, and conquering, he went back to Dublin and lived the rest of his life there.

When the Vikings stitched together strips of cloth, they built a continuous dramatic arc, from the top left of a tapestry to the bottom right. When Ivar began weaving a story, he created a similar effect. A listener had no choice but to follow him to the end. Whatever the topic, though, Ivar always returned to business. He might quote a stanza of poetry or an excerpt from a political speech, in one of five languages he spoke fluently, but invariably he would next mention how it brought to mind a passage from a quarterly corporate report he recently had read, or an announcement by a leading firm. The thread of his argument would be surprisingly continuous, and it would become apparent that Ivar had been moving the conversation toward that business item from the beginning. Even more striking than Ivar’s flowing prose was his gaze.

Angantyr was king in Reidgotaland for a long time. He was a great man and a great warrior, and from him sprang royal dynasties. His son was Heidrek Wolfcoat who was long king in Reidgotaland. He had a daughter named Hild. She was the mother of Halfdan the Valiant, father of Ivar Widegrasp. Ivar Widegrasp came with his army to Sweden, which is told of in the sagas of the kings[23], but King Ingjald the Ill-Advised feared his army and burned himself and all his retinue with him in his farm at Raening. Ivar Widegrasp laid under himself all of Sweden. He conquered Denmark and Kurland, Saxony and Estland and all realms east as far as Gardariki. In the west he ruled Saxony and that part of England that is called Northumbria. Ivar subjected to himself all Denmark, and then he set King Valdar over it and gave him Alfhild, his daughter. Their son was Harald Wartooth and Randver who was afterwards slain in England.

Einar could feel the fury pulsing from Ivar as he stalked back and forth in front of the fire like Fenris, the giant wolf who guarded the doors of Hel.

Then he meets my gaze and slams that warning glare upon me again. That I had better not put myself in danger. It’s his way of showing affection, I suppose. You’d better take care of yourself, or I’ll kick your arse. When I hold his gaze to challenge him, he curls a hand around his sword hilt. “If we die in some ridiculous manner, you find me in Valhöll,” Ivar tells me. “So I can express my feelings about it. With an axe.” I scoff. “If you follow me into a ridiculous death, you only have yourself to blame.

The morning sunlight gleams on Olaf’s chainmail and his cropped white-blond hair. He’s lying against a crate, thick arms crossed over his chest, mouth open as he snores. Around him, men are crouching and cackling to themselves as they balance things on him – he has a pile of round cheeses like a little tower on his forehead, and some stone kerns on his knees and elbows. I catch my burst of laughter with my hand. Ivar snorts at the sight, similarly trying not to wake him – but when Thrain comes out, his bark of surprised laughter does it.

The sigh that twists from Ivar’s chest seems born of the deepest frustration. “Tamsin. Please don’t torment me.” He leans closer again, his hand feeling for Tamsin’s shape in the crumpled wool. More quietly, he says, “I think this night belongs to the two of you.” “You always have a place in my nest, Ivar,” she replies groggily, her voice still breathy and intimate. That makes him go rather quiet.

Ivar ignores his elder brother and turns to me. “Were you lucid, Thrain? Did she command you to go riding out into the forest at midnight?” “She did not need to command me,” I grunt. “I do all manner of stupid things whilst being perfectly lucid, as you know.” Ivar laughs at that. “Well, I can’t argue with that.

Ivar scoffs at that. “I for one cannot wait to see you propose this to him,” he says. “Prince Olaf, the apple of his father’s eye… absolutely shitting on all his plans.

Ragnar Lothbrok, the famous Viking, is still a mysterious historical figure, hidden in myths and links to a few chieftains. He was the father of legendary figures such as Ivar the Boneless, Halfdan Ragnarsson, Bjorn Ironside, Sigurd Snake-in-the-Eye, and Ubba.

Oy!” Ivar’s boots creak across the deck towards us. “None of that! Thrain, release him. Lord Aedan, her dresses are in the hold, take her down there to change.