Ivar likes having Francis around. There’s something about the man that makes part of the anger and fury within the Viking king get turned down like a knob on a radio. It never fully goes away but it does ease up upon occasion. They both see each other so clearly, Francis seeing the brave, brilliant warrior rather than a cripple and Ivar seeing someone tough and sweet at the same time who had survived more than most people would first imagine.

Ivar can hear what’s going on with his tone of voice, how serious he suddenly is. Uh-oh. Much as Ivar would have preferred him to be here just for some flirting and perhaps a little more after that, it appears things are more serious than he would like. “Is there something I should be concerned about?” Also, should he be reaching for one of his knives right about now?

Well, there’s nothing to do. It’s not like he can just walk away if Francis wants to talk. He gestures for him to come closer, patting a spot on the mattress near him. It’s not meant to be sexual but it still might come off a bit as an invitation. From here, they can talk comfortably. Ivar can also easily reach the knives he carries beneath his pillow, but Francis doesn’t need to know that unless necessary.