Ivar laughs, delighted by the idea of little Christian kings-in-the-making scrambling after some warrior like servants and calling it an honor. No, that's certainly not how they do things where he is from. He can't imagine any of his brothers sweating through an honest day's work in their lives, aside from Bjorn, who grew up on a farm before their father had seized any power. And Bjorn only barely counts as a brother anyway. "We do not do anything like that. Apprenticeships are not wasted on any who aren't going to use the skill later." Coming from such a resource-poor place, Vikings tend towards artless practicality often. Including in their style of rule.

In any case, he can almost appreciate the kind of pointless optimism that comes with Kelson's stubborn diplomacy here. Almost.

"Oh, well," he tips his stein of mead jauntily in the king's direction before bringing it to his mouth. "I hope you will let me know how that goes." He doesn't sound terribly confident in Kelson's chances of talking down any god, even such silly ones as these here.