don't you ever tame your demons - lothbrok

[Ivar]

The very edge of the sun had just begun to creep over the eastern edge of the horizon when Ivar emerges from the water. With his belly full from a successful hunt, the adrenaline of the chase still lingers in his veins. Too wired to sleep, the scaled creature moves down the shoreline until he reaches the cave where his family rests.

Isobell is curled around their sleeping son, and Ivar is careful not too rouse her as he nudges Lothbrok awake. The kelpie gestures toward the mouth of the cave and the open ocean beyond, waiting for affirmation from the colt before turning away.

The sand gives beneath his hooves in a familiar way, and the piebald stallion crosses the land with long and easy strides. He flicks a dark ear back to be sure that Lothbrok is following, but he does not hesitate before he enters the water.

They have kept Lothbrok from the depths and strong currents, as good parents do, but it is time for the boy to learn. He is not a creature of the land, despite Isobell's origins. Lothbrok belongs in the water, like his father and grandfather before him.

The last waves crest over him and Ivar is underwater. The familiar shifting of muscle gives him a tail that he uses to spin back, facing the shallows where his son will soon be.

[Lothbrok]

The boy-child is a tall, leggy thing much like young boys should be. He is bright eyed and curious of the world and flattens his ears when his mother scolds him for wandering too deep in the water or when he ventures to far from her side. The storm coat of the child blends much more easily in with the blue grey of the water, his white patches like the water caps above.

On this day, mother has curled around him so she may feel him and thwart his attempts to sneak to the water unsupervised. Lothy knows he is a big boy and is certain he could fend off any shark, whale, or hippo that attempted to quarrel with him! But thankful, instead of the warm rough tongue of Isobell is the gentle nudge of his handsome father. Sleepy silver eyes blink open as he yawns, tiny mouth opening to expose the few small milk teeth growing in.

A smile is on the boys lips instantly when his father is awakening him and motioning him away from Isobell. The boy is slow to move so he may not rouse her for if father was quiet and letting mother sleep then so should he! Spindly legs are following after they are back on the sand, the cave slipping away as father suddenly dives into the water. Lothy does not balk but slams clumsily into the water and nearly trips before he falls downward with a gurgle.

Father is farther away, he is sleek and shiny in the water and the young boy wills the same. He is not as coordinated and he is slow to change but as front legs are kicking rapidly and his hips wiggling in an unusual way, the boy's legs blend to a long dark charcoal tail and thick fin that slow brings him up near Ivar.

Lothbrok beams proud for his father's approval, tail wiggling so he may stay close despite the tug of a stronger current that eluded to even deeper waters. 'I did it, Dad!" The kelpie colt quips brightly, bubbles rushing excitedly from his nose.

[Ivar]

He knows now, the source of his infinite wanderlust.

Since childhood he has longed for more, for different. Young Ivar had explored every place his feet might take him, from Nerine in the north to eastern Tephra. He’s climbed the tallest mountains and scaled the cliffs of deep caverns, and yet nothing had felt quite enough. Not until he’d found the sea, and given it to it, has he felt truly satisfied.

There are times, now and again, when he thinks of the shore and the temptations.

Those times are becoming ever more infrequent.

There is more than enough prey in the sea and his dark-eyed lover’s passion had not been quelled by the arrival of their son. He wants for nothing, and slow and slothful days are no longer foreign as they had been in Loess.

So little for him to do, yet he takes this newest set of responsibilities - fatherhood - with far more grace than he’d accepted any others.

His delight at Lothbrok’s shift is more than apparent in Ivar’s grin, and the scaled stallion reaches forward to brush his nose against Lothbrok’s shoulder.

”Faster than last time, too." He says admiringly.

The memory of his own first shift has faded in his mind, but this interaction brings it to the forefront. He’d been racing Kylin to one of the smaller Ischian islands. At first he’d not noticed at all; having a tail seemed as natural as breathing. It still does, he decides as he circles Lothbrok and tugs playfully at his son’s tail.

”Ready to swim to the bottom of the ocean?"