The Doppelgänger Mikaelson

The air grew colder as the duo walked through the snowy landscape, Ayanna matching Ivar's brisk pace, though her steps were far less certain. Her breath fogged in the icy air, and she occasionally glanced at Ivar, her expression a mixture of unease and curiosity. The tension between them was palpable, yet unspoken words hung heavy, begging to be voiced.

Ayanna cleared her throat, breaking the silence. "Ivar," she began, her voice soft but tinged with hesitation. "I... I never apologized. For sealing your magic."

Ivar didn't stop walking, his stride steady and unwavering. "You don't need to," he said, his tone calm, though his eyes remained fixed on the path ahead.

"I do," Ayanna insisted, quickening her pace slightly to walk beside him. Her fur-lined cloak fluttered in the wind as she glanced at him, searching his stoic expression for any flicker of emotion. "I thought I was protecting the world from you. My ancestors warned me about what would happen if your power grew unchecked. But after seeing how you rose without it… how you became this War God with just your physical training—" She hesitated, her voice faltering. "I believe now they weren't wrong about you."

Ivar's expression didn't change, but the faintest twitch of his lips suggested he was listening. His hands remained by his sides, fingers brushing the edges of his cloak. "You did what you thought was right," he said simply, his voice steady. "I know that."

Ayanna stopped for a moment, blinking in surprise at his words. Then, catching up to him again, she asked, "And Nova Scotia? Why are we going there? And why… why do you need me?"

Ivar didn't look at her, his eyes fixed on the horizon. "I'm going to get rid of my weakness," he said evenly, his voice carrying the weight of an unshakable resolve.

Ayanna's steps faltered slightly. "Weakness?" she echoed, frowning. "What weakness?"

Without pausing, Ivar continued. "The one your ancestor created. Qetsiyah." His tone darkened slightly, though his expression remained as unreadable as ever. "She made it because of her betrothed's betrayal. He left her for her handmaiden, and her bitterness birthed my flaw."

Ayanna froze mid-step, her breath catching. "Qetsiyah?" she whispered, her eyes widening. "She created it? But why… why would—" Her words trailed off as realization dawned, and she felt a cold shiver crawl up her spine. "You're different from your siblings, aren't you?"

Ivar stopped walking and turned his head slightly, just enough for her to see the faint smirk tugging at his lips. "Yes," he said simply, reaching into his cloak. From its folds, he withdrew a ring—simple yet elegant, its band glinting faintly in the pale light. "This daylight ring my mother made for us? I don't need it." He held it up briefly before slipping it back into his pocket.

Ayanna's eyes widened, her gaze flickering between him and the ring. "That's why," she murmured, her voice tinged with both awe and fear. "That's why you were able to enter my home without being invited. You're… an anomaly."

Ivar chuckled softly, the sound low and almost mocking. "That's correct," he said, his lips curling into a faint smirk. "And I have only one weakness." His expression darkened, his gaze hardening as he continued walking. "It's what Qetsiyah sealed on that island."

Ayanna hesitated, her steps growing slower as doubt gnawed at her. Her hand instinctively moved to the clasp of her cloak, her fingers tightening around it. "Ivar," she began, her voice quiet but heavy with unease. "If you get rid of your weakness… what happens then? How can I trust—"

"Don't." Ivar's voice was sharp, cutting through her hesitation. He glanced at her over his shoulder, his icy gaze piercing. "Don't start doubting now. I know you're afraid of what I might become without my weakness. But before you let your imagination run wild, think about your daughter." His lips twisted into a cold smile, devoid of warmth. "Think about what might happen to her if you try anything… funny."

Ayanna's heart sank, and her brows furrowed deeply as she stopped in her tracks. She stared at Ivar's back, her mind racing. The weight of his words pressed down on her, and she felt a bitter mix of anger and helplessness swirl in her chest. He's thought of everything, hasn't he? she realized, her fingers trembling slightly. There was no room for error with Ivar. He was unpredictable, calculating, and always five steps ahead.

Reluctantly, she started walking again, her steps slow but deliberate. She clenched her fists at her sides, her jaw tightening as she muttered under her breath, "Nature has a way of keeping balance. Even for you, Ivar."

Ivar's smirk deepened, though he didn't respond. He strode forward with renewed purpose, the faint outline of Kattegat appearing on the horizon.

---

At the Gates of Kattegat

Two Viking guards, clad in thick furs and armed with axes, stood at the gates. Their broad shoulders and fierce expressions matched the rugged terrain surrounding them. Snow clung to their beards and helmets as they eyed Ayanna and Ivar warily. One guard stepped forward, his voice rough and thick with the distinct Norse accent. "Halt! State yer names."

Ayanna opened her mouth, her voice calm and steady. "Ayanna Vinterfeldt," she said, lifting her chin slightly as she addressed the men.

The guards exchanged glances before turning their attention to Ivar. The second guard squinted at him, his hand tightening on his weapon. "And you? Who're ye?"

Ivar stepped forward, his cloak sweeping behind him as he met their gaze without flinching. "Ivar," he said, his voice cold and confident. "Ivar Mikaelson."

The first guard frowned deeply, his brows knitting together in suspicion. He gestured sharply with his axe. "Ivar? You dare impersonate the prince? The son of Ragnar Lothbrok?"

Ivar tilted his head slightly, a faint glimmer of amusement in his icy eyes. "Impersonate?" he repeated, his lips curling into a smirk. "I impersonate no one."

The guards bristled, their grips tightening on their weapons. The second guard stepped closer, his face twisted into a snarl. "We don't take kindly to liars," he growled. "Especially ones who invoke the name of our prince."

Ivar's gaze sharpened, his smirk widening into something far more menacing. "I am not your prince," he said, his voice dropping into a low, dangerous tone. "And if you value your lives, you will not mistake me for him again."

The guards hesitated, exchanging uncertain glances as unease crept into their expressions. Something about the way he carried himself—unwavering, unflinching—sent a chill through them.