Alfred is annoyed. He’s been annoyed since Ivar got hurt. He’d been rather not helpful with the whole monster thing but afterward he might have been hovering over him more than he should. But a question was burning in his mind as he studied Ivar while the Viking was resting. At least he’d been tended to well. But he’d not been completely in the best of moods. When Ivar didn’t need something, Alfred had been giving him the cold shoulder again — he really had picked up his mother’s worst habits to be honest.

“You honestly were thinking about a knife when you could have been dead?” Alfred asks while not looking directly at Ivar and drinking a glass of what is probably wine. Definitely wine or something parading to be.