When my time comes around Lay me gently in the cold, dark earth No grave can hold my body down I'll crawl home to her

Ivar grunted with exertion as he crawled along the tavern floor. The men were extra jovial tonight, the drinks flowing in celebration of the latest raid. Sigurd had knocked Ivar's wooden crutch out from under his arm in the midst of the crowd. Knowing Sigurd the action was on purpose, but he'd deny it if Ubbe or Hvitserk asked.

Boys, when my baby found me I was three days on a drunken sin I woke with her walls around me Nothin' in her room but an empty crib

A sharp pain went through his hand as someone stepped on his knuckles. Ivar let out a string of curses, cringing away from the boots that nearly trampled him. The whole night was just a reminder of how humiliating his condition was. He, Ivar Ragnarsson, reduced to crawling on his belly like a lizard.

"Are you alright?" a soft voice broke through the noise. A woman crouched beside him, taking his now bruised hand.

"Fine," he snapped, looking away. Ivar spotted his crutch discarded on the tavern floor. Sigurd had probably kicked it as far away as possible. Another of his older brother's 'accidents'.

And I was burnin' up a fever I didn't care much how long I lived But I swear, I thought I dreamed her She never asked me once about the wrong I did

"Let me help."

Ivar didn't have the chance to protest before she was lifting him. The young lady struggled for a moment, nearly dropping Ivar back on the hardwood floor, but was able to support him. No words were exchanged. None of the usual questions about his legs.

She got his crutch, helping him regain his balance.