#VRP | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

draumstafir-blog · 1 month

Text

1.04 | vikings rewrite

episode summary: the vikings return home and are finally allowed to reap the consequences of their disobedience. (cw: mature themes)

the echoes of metal clangs and ambient mooing filled the bright midmorning sky. the sporadic ringing of the cowbells contrasted perfectly with the rhythmic footsteps of horses approaching. and beyond the seemingly endless green flatlands stood a great mead hall, where a reception party was already waiting.

“erling!” a familiar voice called to jarl haraldson, who busied himself helping his wife and daughter dismount from horseback.

“it has been too long since you have set foot in svealand!”

jarl haraldson beckoned for his family members to curtsy to the white-bearded, grandfatherly figure standing before them all. his smile continued to widen as he opened his arms, in great contrast to the man he was welcoming.

“it is wonderful to see you once more, at a joyous occasion such as this.” the old man’s head seemed to nod as he spoke, although it may have been a more involuntary shaking.

“likewise,” the jarl started, disinterested as ever, “i’d like for you to meet my wife, sigrún.”

the old man took her hand, kissing it near where the armband rested.

“and this is my daughter, þyri.”

the old man seemed particularly enchanted by þyri, raising an eyebrow slightly as he repeated the same gesture. the young woman used her other hand to swipe curly brown locks from out of her face, her rosy lips pursing into a straight line as she tried to conceal her unease.

“well, i’m sure you are all very tired from the journey. my servants will show the women and their ladies in waiting to their quarters, where you may feel free to freshen up before this evening’s marvelous banquet.” the old man clasped his hands together, all the while grinning from ear to ear.

þyri couldn’t help but pull her father aside, “you’ve not said a word about who this man is.”

“your handmaidens will explain it to you,” he did not reciprocate her discreet volume, in an attempt to shirk off the conversation, “just understand that he is a very important man, and pleasing him is our top priority.”

sigrún stayed back, her brows furrowing in a similar level of concern, as her daughter was ushered out of sight in one swift moment.

“siggy, dear, please. us men are going to be discussing business.” jarl haraldson clearly did not appreciate his wife’s apprehension, though he did not do much to disabuse her of it.

her grey-blue eyes wore a thin line of kohl on the upper lid, although her husband could still see them trembling behind it, “my capable husband, i only wish to know the nature of our visit, to this land which is completely new to our daughter and i.”

“jarl bjarni is going to be taking good care of us. we will sup in his halls this evening, and if your heart wills it so, we may leave at any point after that.” jarl haraldson was resolute, trying to end the discussion there, but his wife knew him too well.

stopping him with a gentle grip on his arm, sigrún posited, “and what of þyri?”

the jarl murmured reluctantly, “she will not be at liberty to come with us.”

a chilling breeze swept through sigrún’s hair, as beads of sweat seemed to turn to icicles clinging to her back. her husband hurried off, his demeanor callous as he caught up with jarl bjarni, who appeared as jovial as a man his age could be. a horde of servant women suddenly crowded around sigrún, trying to escort her away delicately, though their touch on her arms felt more so menacing. she had to swat them off like flies around a fresh corpse, and trudging forward on her own, she hoped that she might be able to do something - anything - if she got to her daughter soon enough.

once sigrún finally approached the door to þyri’s chambers, the faint sound of her only child weeping formed a darkness too vast to think through in the lady’s chest.

björn was eager to set out that morning, running around the house collecting his wooden shield and wooden sword, he nearly stepped on a couple of the family’s pigs in his haste. crumbs of his breakfast were still stuck to his lips.

“björn,” his mother called out from a window, “wait just a moment. there is a matter i wish to discuss with you today.”

the boy’s shoulders visibly deflated as he exited the blaring sunlight and shuffled into the family kitchen, where lagertha was pacing in the comparatively dank room, surrounded by black cooking pots that had yet to be cleaned.

“what is it, mother?” he asked, his tone sounding concerned, but a bit more for himself than for his poor mother.

“one of the neighbor women invited me to an evening at her sister’s residence in kattegat,” lagertha kept taking absentminded steps back and forth, apparently unable to stop herself from fidgeting, “it’s going to be a supper gathering just for a few women, i take it, for their old friends to catch up after a long while.”

“it wasn’t haftýr’s mother, was it? her hair looks like bird nests.” the young björn bluntly protested.

“she is a good woman! and, you should be thankful that she continues to allow you to torment her son with those toys every day.” lagertha gestured sardonically at her son’s makeshift weaponry, the boy pouting in response.

“if father would only allow me to train with real steel, as he did gyda, then it would not seem to onlookers that haftýr and i were jabbing each other with playthings!”

“then, perhaps upon your next visit to kattegat, your mother shall buy you a real weapon.” lagertha finally settled down, her mind slowly easing into the idea as she spoke it.

“really? you would take me with you?” björn perked up.

“well, i was more so hoping you would take me with you. my son is now a man in his own right, and has made the trip before, having lived in the outskirts of kattegat for his whole life. whereas i hail from hedeby, and have only ever voyaged to kattegat when your father has been there to guide me.” lagertha adopted a playful tone, enjoying her son’s adorable attempts at adulthood.

“father did tell me once that a woman should always be accompanied by a man if venturing out past sunset,” lagertha watched as björn cocked his head to the side and scratched his scalp, probably only half-remembering his father’s words, “and he used to tell me to watch over you and gyda when he would go away. but i did not think he meant it seriously, did he?”

“i am sure he did,” lagertha allowed her thought to trail off, the realization that these likely were ragnar’s teachings slowly dawning on her, “so it is decided. if we depart for kattegat within the hour, we can arrive before sundown tomorrow.”

björn jumped in place, excitedly scurrying around outside once more, only this time to prepare the livestock for their absence. trips to kattegat increasingly meant big changes for his family - and björn was intent on having his manhood proven, being a permanent shift.

þyri’s once defined cheeks became puffy and damp; dripping with tears and mucus, red around the eyes and nose, both from crying and from screaming. a servant girl had tied her hair into a loose knot, but the pieces that fell framing her face were still subjected to being soaked in salt and snot.

handmaidens frantically altered her bridal dress, their hands buzzing over her entire body like bees trying to locate their queen.

“you can’t let father give me away like this, mother i beg of you!” the young maid wailed, though she had already learned not to squirm, as her sides now boasted almost as many prick marks as a pin cushion.

“believe me, sweet daughter, for i am not pleased with these circumstances either,” sigrún proclaimed, not meaning to yell but her volume perhaps grew with the tension in the room, “although i wish to end this demeaning betrothal and whisk you away from this wretched place, the dowry has already been secured, and i am told that your father has brokered a very favorable deal in exchange for your hand.”

a vein on the side of sigrún’s temple bulged out, the sight of so many sets of foreign hands grasping at her daughter became harder to stomach.

“be still, lady þyri, we urge you,” one of sigrún’s own ladies in waiting tried to reason with þyri, “there is only eye kohl left to be applied, and then you may don your bridal wreaths.”

“then please, allow me to do it!” sigrún suddenly erupted, more authoritative than any of her servants had ever heard before.

from one of the pockets of her cloak, she took out a small drawstring bag, inside of which was a pot of kohl and a fine horse hair brush. she held her daughter’s face in her hands, using her thumbs to wipe warm tears, as being eye level with þyri caused her own tears to bubble up.

“you will be a beautiful bride. just have patience from this moment, and i shall draw thick strokes of kohl around your exhausted eyes, so that your new husband and new subjects will not pester you.” sigrún cooed, giving þyri the opportunity to steady her breaths and compose herself.

“if melancholy should befall you again,” the lady continued, “at least save your sobs for the bridal chambers. you are not obligated to bed the jarl, nor are you expected to bear him sons, as his line of succession is beyond secure. your only duty is to placate him, and in doing so, you placate your father. he has had many troubles as of late.”

“i am not a bargaining chip for father to use as he pleases. i should have, at the very least, been given notice beforehand.” þyri seethed, her eyes almost welling up again out of anger.

“you are our only living child, and therefore, you are your father’s greatest asset. he was willing to sacrifice even you for an alliance with this ancient man, so does that not speak volumes as to his desperation?” sigrún reasoned.

finished with the black kohl, she stepped back and admired her handiwork from a distance, trying not to be bothered by her daughter’s dejected expression beneath it all. a handmaiden promptly swooped in and draped a wreath woven with summer blossoms over þyri’s shoulders, while a matching floral crown was set atop her head.

in one last attempt at reaching out for comfort, the young maid shakily grabbed at her mother’s hand, intent on walking into the mead hall side-by-side.

rows and rows of oaken dining tables were arranged, and the seats were subsequently filled with rowdy off-duty soldiers, that barked and cheered when the bride arrived. jarl bjarni was waiting at a raised platform in the middle of the room, its short sides decorated with flowers and lit candles that glowed warm yellow as the sun set outside. musicians playing drums of various sizes and opulent harps were stationed in a corner. servants poured mugs of fine ale and wine, with the particularly elegant ones assigned to the jarl’s new father-in-law.

by all measures, it seemed as though this was a ceremony that all of svealand was present for, and that none of its residents should soon forget.

þyri reluctantly let go of her mother, who then assumed a seat next to her husband. looking on with a particularly dull and apathetic gaze, jarl haraldson watched as his only surviving bloodline was wed to a makeshift alliance that would deteriorate in less than a decade. although, he sweetened the situation by keeping his cup full for the whole night.

the feast and accompanying festivities carried on as dancers danced to the bards’ nauseating rhythms, and the fragrance of roasted meat seemed to trap the great hall in its own greasy noxious cloud. at one point in the evening, some kind of sweet course was served. and although the puddings and pastries smelled appetizingly of cinnamon, the obtuse amounts of butter in every dish had þyri forcing down each bite and gulping at her drink.

a middle-aged man dressed in clean furs with a gilded dagger strapped to his waist, approached þyri, and she presumed him to be the jarl’s son. he slurred together something resembling a sentence, and the young bride could only bring herself to nod along politely.

“my fine jutish beauty,” the elderly jarl interjected, “pay my foolish son no mind, for he can hold his liquors no better than a linen sack can hold wellwater. come, let us slip away and enjoy the peace of our bridal bed.”

dreading this moment with all of her being, þyri thought back to her mother explaining how necessary it was to be in her new husband’s good graces. she smiled wearily, accepting the hand that he offered her and heading out unnoticed into the deep blue night.

the bridal chambers were only a short walk away, though upon opening its doors, the jarl huffed and puffed as if he had ran all the way there.

“tonight was very lively indeed,” he plopped down onto the side of the bed, “i do not have much tolerance for such commotion nowadays.”

as þyri cautiously approached the bed, she was hit with an intrusive stench when the jarl breathed with his mouth open. his breath seemed to reek of fermented fish, which þyri did not recall being served at supper. she turned away only for a short moment to process her shock, but as she looked back at the jarl, he had already rolled over and immediately fallen asleep. the bride’s instincts told her to feel insulted, though she was only glad her maidenhood would live to see another day.

lagertha pushed the hood of her cloak back from its position over her head, revealing her silky blonde hair, and braid that wrapped around her skull like a crown. she was in awe of the late afternoon sky, with its hues of orange and pink, as björn was apparently also quite impressed with the speediness of their journey.

“…with father’s route, we would’ve taken at least until sundown!” he was in the middle of exclaiming, childishly oblivious to the other villagers side-eyeing him for shouting.

“now, björn,” lagertha placed her hands firmly onto his shoulders, bending her back to maintain eye contact, “you have the choice of sleeping tonight in the home of your friend haftýr’s aunt - though the gathering will consist of only women, and you will have no friends to play with - or we may take up the vacant bed of your uncle rollo, whose longhouse is not too far from the center of town.”

“mother, i wish to stay by your side and protect you like a good man,” björn started, his chubby cheeks naturally forming a pout as he furrowed his eyebrows, eliciting a proud smile from his mother, “but i cannot bear to sit through an evening full of wenches trading child stories or discussing soup recipes.”

lagertha straightened herself out, the grin on her lips becoming a scowl, “you dare call your mother’s chums wenches. this must be what your father has taught you to think of women at child-rearing age, lest you forget that your own mother is still a famous shieldmaiden!”

“i could never forget such a thing, mother, seeing as you remind me every day!” björn retorted.

“as i will continue to do until my son truly understands what it means.” letting out an irritated sigh, lagertha reached into her pocket and pulled out two items.

“here,” she handed björn a silver shilling, “when i am through trading child stories and discussing soup recipes, i will fetch you. but in the meantime, take this to the blacksmith and buy whatever your heart desires.”

in lagertha’s other hand, she held the hilt of a small hunting dagger, the blade of which was covered by a worn leather sheath.

“if you are really a man, you will not allow yourself to become the mark of petty thieves.” she placed the dagger’s hilt side into björn’s hand, folding his fingers over the top. she was almost loathe to loosen her grip.

“from what i observed last time, kattegat is very safe,” björn tried to console his mother, although he was seemingly just as nervous for her to leave, “i can handle an evening on my own. worry not.”

lagertha sent her son off with the stroke of her thumb across his cheek, tender yet brief. watching his short stature disappear into a crowd of other townsfolk was a most humbling feeling, as even the fierce shieldmaiden quickly found herself powerless to the will of the gods. after so many years of marriage and motherhood, lagertha was now alone once more - and for the first time, she was lucky enough to find companionship outside of her family. she corrected her posture and marched with conviction towards the house that was described to her by the neighbor.

it was a modest single family cabin, similar in size to lagertha’s own dwelling, though it had little outside space and was packed in somewhat tightly with the surrounding structures. smoke emulated through the designated openings in each house’s roof, signifying that the families of kattegat were all cooking dinner or lounging by the hearth; a simple joy that lagertha would not have been able to take part in, had she gone raiding with her husband. which was objectively a good fate, she tried to convince herself.

approaching the door to the cabin in question, lagertha got close enough to overhear the recognizable voice of her neighbor.

“my haftýr is so desperate to become a viking like his father,” the neighbor, who went by hlín, seemed to be in the midst of telling a grandiose tale judging by her exaggerated tone, “he will eat anything to grow taller and stronger! the neighborhood children once goaded him into eating a concoction made of mud, twigs, and disgusting things that they found outside. haftýr finished the whole bowl, and claimed that the only ingredient to his distaste was coriander!”

child stories and soup recipes. the piercing noise of the other women in the room seemingly exploding with laughs, mocked lagertha’s ears. she stepped away from the door, which was open a crack, pressing her back against the exterior wall of the house. all she could do was stare into the cloudless sky, breathing shallow, anxious breaths. the only truth she had known in all her life was that she did not belong in the kitchen.

she did not belong with those women. she would not allow herself to.

lagertha tried peaking through the open door once more, doing well to keep herself out of the line of sight. as she turned to leave, deciding to mercifully dispatch this misadventure, the setting sun blinded her momentarily.

she bumped into the backside of a woman walking by. but this woman was unlike any other she’d encountered before. the top of her head towered over lagertha, though the woman’s back seemed to be hunched over with terrible posture. the woman’s hair was long and graying, woven into a braid that could not disguise the tangled nature of it. the woman was dressed in tattered rags, her brown skirt somehow too long for even her spindly legs, the bottom of it looking torn and stained with dried mud.

lagertha’s stomach admittedly dropped when the woman finally turned around, keenly aware that she’d just given her only weapon to her son. lagertha was not looking to fight this woman, though upon finally seeing her face, she was too flabbergasted to try diffusing the situation.

the first place that lagertha’s eyes were drawn to was the wispy beard that adorned the lower third of woman’s face. the spot where her left eye should’ve been, seemed to be lacking any eye socket at all, whereas the right eye was covered by an old bandage.

“care to pity a wretched being,” the woman spoke, her voice clearly a male voice, “you may unlock your future for merely the price of a hot meal.”

lagertha nodded - although in vain - as she processed the situation, “are you a seiðmaðr?”

“i am many things. as are you. a daughter, a wife, a mother, a shieldmaiden,” lagertha swallowed a lump, becoming unnerved by the cryptic speech of the seiðmaðr, “i am a fortune seer of sorts. i am mímir.”

as lagertha’s mind raced, arguing with itself over whether or not to trust this stranger, the seer’s tall frame turned and left without warning. lagertha stammered for a moment, unsure of how to regain his attention, although she ultimately decided to just follow him. surely any good fortune seer would notice somehow.

weaving through the narrow streets of kattegat, the seer led lagertha at a surprisingly fast pace back to his abode. it was something of a wooden shack, much smaller than the other houses in the area. but the inside exhibited no kitchen, hearth, or any other rooms at all. the door opened to reveal simply a box, in the center were two stones, big enough for sitting on. and to the side, there lay a row of sacks on the floor, placed into a line just long enough for the seer to sleep on. as small of a space as it was, it was made even denser by the decorum that hung from the ceiling. they seemed to be dangling fish skeletons, chiming hollowly as they knocked against one another.

lagertha had known zealous mystics before - her husband’s friend flóki being a prime example - but this fortune seer’s home felt like entering another world. a world where men were at the mercy of magic. it was intimidating for the mighty shieldmaiden to feel so small in comparison, but the seer simply sat on one of the stones and waited for lagertha to follow suit. he did not seem interested in anything other than reciting prophecy, though lagertha’s own mind had already decided that a future told in such a place couldn’t be anything but bleak.

“so,” lagertha sat with a grunt, her demeanor switched to being straightforward and authoritative, wanting to shift some of the power back to herself, “how does seið usually work?”

“ask not about the present time,” the seer croaked, “for my sight extends only into the mists of evermore.”

“then, what about evermore? where is my place in the future that you see?” she asked assertively, growing impatient.

“you concern yourself much with your place in life. but take comfort in knowing that there is no such place here for you. not on the battlefield, though you have not had your fill of blood. and not in the birthing bed, though the bridal bed beckons you still. no, you will not feast in valhöll, nor frolic in fólkvangr. you shall only feel the comforting cushion of soil beneath your back.”

lagertha leaned back from the fortune seer, coiling into herself as she blinked furiously, troubled by what she’d heard. the seer licked his thin, cracked lips that had a sort of permanently frost bitten look, as they were so dry they turned a grayish blue in the center.

“how am i meant to be comfortable with such venomous doctrine?” she growled quietly, fuming so hotly she could barely muster enough air to form the words.

“for an extra shilling you may receive a more thorough reading with the oracle lots.” the seer toyed with a small pouch in his calloused hand, its contents rattling with the sound of the carved sticks he spoke of.

“why should i concern myself with any more of this foolishness, after the putrid invention you’ve spouted thus far?” lagertha straightened out her skirt, almost ready to get up from her seat.

“i would tell you the tale of the little bear.”

lagertha stopped in her tracks, the seer once again successfully piquing her interest.

“you speak of my son,” she pursed her lips with subtle ire, “whose delivery went totally without incident, though the womb from which he came now suddenly and inexplicably lay barren. is that the kind of fantastical tale you would have me believe, you sodomite?”

“go on then,” the seer’s voice became an inhospitable grumble, “the boy shall have to draw his own lots if he wishes to hear their secrets. he is welcome to do so, once his mother gains appreciation for the true nature of seið.”

lagertha took this as her cue to leave, not wanting to entangle herself any further with such an unpleasant magician - and possibly scam artist. although, the seer sensed her hesitation as she let her hand linger upon the misshapen door of his hut.

“allfather óðinn lost his eye in order to acquire the knowledge of the nine worlds. he sacrificed it to my namesake and drank from the well of infinite wisdom. yes, shieldmaiden, we must all lose to gain.”

she breathed deeply one last time before pushing through to the outside world again, the fishbone garlands scoring her exit with a sort of percussive serenade. the evening sky, which was now completely dark, disoriented her as she made haste to find björn near town square.

the stars that speckled the indigo abyss illuminated the boy’s hay yellow hair. the top of his head poked out from under a thatched awning, where the local blacksmith displayed some of his more eye-catching crafts. whatever chilling atmosphere was present in the seer’s shack melted away, as lagertha felt a wave of warmth in her heart, seeing björn acting friendly with a few other men there. they were older, past prime raiding age, and it seemed that one of them had offered the boy a horn of ale. it was clear they’d been charmed by his earnestness, as most everyone who met him was. lagertha smiled with a contentment so sincere, yet almost melancholic - envious, even.

she headed over to join her son, finding out that the brawny blacksmith was recommending a short sword for björn to train with as a novice viking. but the boy kept gravitating towards the stack of shields that rested against the display table. they were nowhere near as glamorous as the other goods on display, but björn recalled distinctly how his father bought one similarly as gyda’s first piece of equipment. lagertha patted her son’s back encouragingly, proud to give her coin for this purpose.

“a great warrior knows that to guard himself is most important,” lagertha remarked, “you have truly proven yourself today, my son.”

the blacksmith fastened a strap to the shield so that björn could wear it over his shoulder, and with a playful tussle of the boy’s hair, he sent the two customers on their way. lagertha linked arms with björn, guiding the both of them toward where she remembered ragnar mentioned his brother’s longhouse was. björn also knew the way, and when they finally arrived, he found that he knew something else which his mother was never made aware of.

“can i help you?” a woman opened the door, perhaps not much older than lagertha, although her tired expression and shabby dress made her appear very crone-like.

lagertha was almost too puzzled to reply, so björn stepped in, “we’re kinsmen of rollo, the raider. he has allowed us to take refuge in his vacant quarters for the evening.”

“ah yes, rollo has kin out on the sandy skagens odde…” the woman muttered, seemingly to herself, as the door creaked all the way open. the kitchen area now exposed, lagertha raised an eyebrow at the sight of several small children eating at the table, with a gauntly thin man who was presumably their father.

“why does your uncle live with this family?” lagertha whispered as she and björn slinked over to the far side of the house.

“they are kinsmen of his friend arne. uncle, torstein, and arne share the other half of this longhouse together, so as to travel more quickly to the jarl’s assemblies. torstein told me that he used to serve as jarl haraldson’s personal guard.” the boy paused his excited anecdote as he happened upon what was obviously his uncle’s bed.

in the unlit corner of the house, there were three single beds, each in varying states of disarray and still smelling faintly of sweat. there was no divider between the bachelors’ quarters and the family’s, though the difference in cleanliness felt to lagertha like separation enough.

she got started lighting a candle, “i suppose once your uncle starts a family of his own, he will have to find a new residence. perhaps even a single family dwelling, akin to ours.”

“in size alone, perhaps,” björn exhaled as he flopped down onto one of the beds, “but uncle will never be a boring, meek farmer like us. it is a lifestyle suitable for no one. you of all people should understand, mother.”

“it is a lifestyle suitable for parents with children, that is why we endure it, sweet björn. your father had already proven himself an excellent raider - he could have pulled himself from poverty with sheer talent - but when i became pregnant with your sister, he devoted himself to caring for her. being a raider or a hired warrior is demanding; the jarl of kattegat is paranoid and tough on his men, and living in the village is cramped. your father knew that being present was the best thing for his children, above being wealthy or famous. and he thusly joins only the first annual raids.”

“so you also gave up your dream of being famous raider?”

“for me, that was not a dream. it was simply my reality. before my first raids, most danesmen had never even seen a shieldmaiden with their own eyes. but i dreamt not for fame or fortune. i only wished to live happily - which i’ve now done for many years.”

lagertha felt a smile forming as her son, the object of her happiness, fluttered his eyes open and shut - much like a baby falling asleep to a story. she puttered about, trying to the best of her abilities to tidy up the belongings of her brother-in-law, before ultimately giving in to her tiredness. she chose the bed that was the more pleasant smelling of the two options, although its pillow sported long strands of hair in multiple colors. lagertha resolved to be content in not wondering how many other women had spent the night in this bed, and simply made herself comfortable in it. almost about to blow out the candle, she felt the call of nature, and opted to relieve herself one last time before turning in.

lagertha tiptoed across the house, noticing that the other children - all four of them - were huddled together in the same bed, being sung to sleep by their mother. the surly woman’s voice was no more pleasant than her appearance, but lagertha was just relieved to know that the children wouldn’t be running around or making noise whilst she slept. a basin of stillwater was placed in between the family’s beds and their hearth, filled with cookware. the father of the family squatted behind it, damp rag in hand, though it didn’t seem that his arms were moving at all. his empty gaze was palpable on lagertha as she opened the front door cautiously, and stumbled through the darkness to find a suitable hedge.

lagertha found herself blinking uncontrollably, gripping to the side of the house as her eyes adjusted to the blackness. as she finally reached the back of the house, she crouched down over a secluded patch of grass, once she was sure she was alone.

“how decent can a woman be,” a growling voice from behind lagertha’s back sent icy shivers up her spine, “if she so easily leaves her husband’s side, and exposes herself to another man?”

lagertha was reluctant to turn around, knowing whose unsightly face to expect when she did. and, as she arose anxiously, she remembered that her hunting dagger was still residing amongst björn’s belongings.

“there was no need to follow me if you did not wish to see me exposed,” lagertha’s voice shook as she tried to maintain composure, “indeed, only the indecent man seeks to mask his true dispositions.”

she finally allowed herself to face the wretched man - arne’s brother - and his top lip twitched with boiling rage.

“you are no shieldmaiden. you conduct yourself like a common whore.” the man’s withered and blackened teeth showed themselves as his expression morphed into a sinister smile.

from lagertha’s position behind the house, she would have to run past the man and nimbly around some bushes, if she wanted to get to the main street. she lunged left and then right, buying herself a head start over the man. then, she darted towards the light that was emanating from another nearby house, praying that the people inside would hear the commotion.

once on the clearing of the dirt road, lagertha’s heart dropped, when she realized that not a single soul was in sight. no one was milling about on the wide streets, as townsfolk often did in the daylight. kattegat after nightfall was like a void, and lagertha now fell prey to the pull of its cavernous maw. but, as she turned to face her attacker once more, now outrunning him by a safe distance, she remembered just how valiantly she had been fighting to rid herself of this weakness.

lagertha got into a hand-to-hand combat stance; she was not merely a wife, nor a mother, nor daughter, nor whore, nor victim, and not simply a decent woman. she was a shieldmaiden in the truest sense and her ferocity became her armor.

her left foot planted firmly on the ground, lagertha extended her right leg and kicked the man squarely in his stomach. he grunted as if the life had been torn from his body. although he’d been pushed back a good few paces, he answered by allowing his gangly arms to flail around haphazardly, attempting to strike lagertha at her left side. expertly, she raised her battle-hardened forearm to block his fist, though he used his other leg to sweep along the dusty path and trip her. she fell upon her rear end.

lagertha’s dastardly gown and cloak prevented her from getting back up as swiftly as she’d liked. she could only look up at the man’s dreadful face, feeling lowly like a worm as she dragged herself backwards.

“now you submit like a good whore,” the man mumbled through heavy breaths, “only now that you are powerless to my will. you ought to have learned by now that a man’s affections are only as sweet as his intended.”

lagertha slowed her desperate crawling to a halt, her forehead steaming with sweat in the dead cold of night. she took one last breath as the man just about hovered above her. she dug her hands into the gravel behind her.

then, with stunning athleticism and flexibility, lagertha’s back arched. she flung her body into a horseshoe shape and lifted her dominant leg, kicking the gaunt man in his groin. the momentum of her blow knocked him backwards as he attempted to catch himself by his elbows. he soon curled up in pain, and lagertha took this as an opportunity to finish the deed with a message.

“how dare you!” she screamed, her voice scarce as the air in her lungs was going toward kicking the man while he hugged his knees to his chest.

“you will not take! what belongs to me!” she exclaimed breathlessly and hysterically in between kicks.

eventually, the man propped himself up with the least sore of his two arms, and hobbled off into the darkness. lagertha lost sight of him, for she didn’t care to see more of him anyways. finding a nearby tree to compose herself against, lagertha pressed her back against the bark and allowed her head to fall backwards. her breathing couldn’t slow, despite her best efforts, as tears erupted from her squeezed shut eyes - the water scalding and salty, like runoff from a sulphuric geyser.

quiet, helpless sobs continued to pour out of lagertha, to the point that she didn’t notice the steady footsteps along the dirt road. they veered off into the wild grass and got louder, yet slower. lagertha attempted to soothe herself by folding her arms and letting her fingers massage her own elbows. her sorrow momentarily on pause, the figure that arrived in front of lagertha gave her a great shock.

“it does not take a soothsayer to recognize the distress you are in,” uttered the familiarly hoarse voice of mímir, the seer, “collect the little bear. i shall await you both, shieldmaiden.”

still battling some leftover sniffles, lagertha watched, confounded, as the seer vanished into the night. his tall, bony silhouette resembled a needle falling into a murky pool. between ghastly lechers and buxom soon-to-be crones, lagertha only felt more isolated than ever, having reaffirmed her suspicions that kattegat truly held no place for her.

not all men were good men like ragnar, and even he, lagertha was beginning to reckon, would not understand her plight. although, the seer was not quite a man, was he?

presupposing the seer expected lagertha to wordlessly follow him to his hut as before, she dashed into the longhouse to awake björn. the boy, still more asleep than not, got to hitch a ride on his mother’s back and made it practically to the other side of town without questioning the disheveled state of her once regal hairstyle.

lagertha laid björn down on the coarse sacks that seemed to be seer’s bed. he grumbled a faint complaint under his breath before drifting back off as if his slumber had never been disturbed.

the boy’s mother looked on. lagertha’s brows had furrowed into a perpetual worry, made even more obvious by the fact that she’d normally break into an uncontrollable grin at the sight of her son so peaceful. the seer simply stood at her side, the stone stool before his feet. without contorting his face nor motioning with his hands, lagertha understood that he wanted her to sit.

“i thought i had yet seen all the evils of men,” lagertha started, “for what viking raid is conducted without the plundering of some local women’s bodies?”

mímir sat too, expressionless.

“being on the other end… i loathe to admit that it has frightened me away. but alas, where would i seek refuge? at the hearth? like a wench kneading rye into bread, while my husband is free to fight and fuck to his heart’s content? before i had a husband, i too was free!” lagertha’s lips quivered as she found herself leaning into the seer, her volumed capped at a frantic whisper, though she made sure her point was being received.

“my input contains no prophecy, shieldmaiden, so you may find it suitable to be expressed.”

the guttural drone of the seer’s voice forced lagertha to forget her frustrations - if only for a moment, to focus on the trepidation she still felt from his unsettling presence.

“all men are slaves to their own shortcomings,” he continued, “cowards cannot have their choice of women through legitimate means; they can only seek the freedom of pleasure through force. but the coward is bound to treachery, and is doomed to be defeated. a raider married to the freedom of the sea can be brought to his knees by the bindings of that temptress - the drink. but he still forges the chains.”

lagertha blinked and sighed with all the air in her chest, “i know that ragnar has his own troubles. he seems to let his worries stew within him all day, and never wants to burden me with his woes.”

“his woes and yours weigh the same, shieldmaiden.”

“o cryptic one, i must concede! please, tell me what you make of our future! i fear that both of our woes combined would weigh too heavily on our marriage.”

lagertha had to stop herself from leaping into the seer’s arms and shaking the answers out of him. he never once moved.

“in your future, i see a little bear, as i stated before. truthfully, there are many bears. and serpents. and a hound.”

“i used to live further inland, on a mountaintop. there, i had a great hound and a fierce bear guarding my abode. my husband, ragnar, slew them both to win my hand in marriage. then, he went on to slay a legendary serpent, and now there lives not a soul that hasn’t heard of the shaggy breeches he wore on that day.”

“that was the past, my fair shieldmaiden. in your future, i see that your husband will not be able to protect you from these beasts. the bears, i see, are a family. one with fur white as snow, another crossing the ocean blue, and the last married to a princess; her crown gold as barley corn. the serpents, i see, are twins; one may not be born without the other. the dog, i see, will demand your demise.”

lagertha shifted back in her seat, the seer’s words haunting the air around them. all she could do was let this sinking feeling wash over her. with a shaky exhale, lagertha turned her attention to the drawstring pouch that was secured to her leather waist belt, and took a shilling out of it. mímir was clearly privy to the sounds that these objects were making, though he did not accept the offering when lagertha extended her hand to him.

instead, the seer rose from his seat, snuffed out the one candle that just barely lit up the room, and stood outside the wooden shack - keeping watch over the shieldmaiden and her son - where it seemed that he remained all night.

the weather at the harbor of kattegat was grim, the sun shone through not a single cloud as whispers of rain began to drip from the heavens. flóki had intended for his snekke ship to be brought back to the river near his house, though ragnar anticipated that the jarl would be waiting for them.

indeed, jarl haraldson had a unit of ten armed men stationed by the ports, offering an unsurprisingly cold reception to the returning raiders.

as the boat steadily approached the docks, gyda shrunk into her father’s side, perhaps more afraid than she ever was of any saxon. no one - neither ragnar’s crew nor the jarl’s - spoke a word. the sound of æthelstan’s teeth chattering thus became even more obvious. occupying the seat on the other side of ragnar, he scratched his head anxiously, short hairs already growing into the bald spot he usually shaved.

ragnar’s eye twitched as he sized up the jarl’s men; each of them tall and broad, their hands menacingly gripping at the hilts of their swords.

ragnar simply leaned back and tried not to let it bother him, at least to set an example for the rest of the raiding party. for a few fleeting moments, he allowed himself to be still, until his ear twitched at the shivering monk next to him.

he grabbed the small holy book that æthelstan stowed away under his robes, and with one swift motion, ragnar tossed it overboard.

rollo, torstein, and arne busied themselves tying the ship to the port, meanwhile æthelstan pitifully scrambled to reach for his sinking bible. the two other saxon monks onboard urged him in their native tongue to calm down.

“silence!” ragnar boomed. his daughter had never seen him become so enraged so quickly.

helga and flóki looked on with unease and unbridled glee, respectively.

“you simpleminded saxons forget that óðinn was the father of your people! you will show him the respect he deserves, here in his domain, or i will personally send you into the depths along with the words of your wicked christ!” ragnar had thoroughly exhausted his vocal range yelling, to the point that a vein flashed across the side of his neck like a lightning bolt.

one of the monks, a timid old man, managed to lock eyes with ragnar. for a second, the man’s trembling pupils gleamed with intent, as if he too was going to stand up and start preaching. ragnar’s upper lip instinctively curled with disgust as a second wave of rage rushed throughout his body. the viking roared like an aggravated beast and punched, with his bare fist, one of the decorative trims off the stern of the ship.

flóki’s smile promptly disappeared.

“torstein,” one of the burly soldiers standing at the dock called out, “your presence was missed at the raid in pomerania. how is it you’ve neglected to inform us of this merry ball we could have attended instead?”

the jarl’s men all shared a laugh.

the atmosphere on the ship was tense, torstein retorted through a clenched jaw, “refer not to me. ragnar loðbrók is the fearless leader of this band.”

“so you admit then,” the same soldier responded, “ragnar loðbrók is either a renegade or a fool.”

once the boat was close enough to the dock, members of the raiding party started to climb out of it. several of them held sacks full of riches and flóki held the rope that tied the three captive monks in a line. ragnar, from his position at the last bench onboard, was the last to reach the pier.

the jarl’s soldier - who must have known torstein from his time in the jarl’s employ - tried to intimidate ragnar. the viking’s admittedly average sized frame never once flinched, though.

“why don’t we let jarl haraldson decide this matter?” the man’s red, sun-damaged face and even redder beard taunted ragnar, as the jarl’s soldiers all snickered again. the burly soldier confronting ragnar then grabbed both of the viking’s arms, as other men did the same to rollo, flóki, torstein, and arne.

gyda’s eyes darted around frantically, unsure of what to do or how to help, at one point her gaze even settled on æthelstan for some kind of cue. a hand soon landed on the girl’s shoulder, but it was only helga. the group of them were being so cordially escorted to the jarl’s assembly hall.

jarl haraldson was ushered out of his chambers and into the great hall, after picking at his midday meal and finishing the entire accompanying mug of ale. his wife, who would usually join him in judicial affairs, was for the past several days too heartbroken to even leave her bed.

the relatively lackluster building was already full to the brim with townsfolk murmuring amongst themselves, all too eager to be entertained by the latest drama. and right on schedule, the main players were brought in by jarl haraldson’s guard.

“well, well, well, if it isn’t the heroic ragnar loðbrók,” the jarl relished in a rare opportunity to be smug, although his face quickly fell as his men began emptying the raiders’ loot onto the floor, “how did you find the english isle?”

ragnar maintained his composure, “the weather was not very pleasant, honorable jarl.”

“i take it the saxons mounted an awesome defense,” the jarl casually sat upon his ornate cherry wood throne, “judging by the measly haul of slaves you seem to have brought back.”

some of the spectating villagers laughed.

“on the contrary, jarl haraldson, the saxons we encountered were feeble and the plunder was plentiful. my own daughter, a mere novice with the blade, was able to capture one of these slaves here.” ragnar explained.

the jarl shifted his focus from the booty for a split second, only to find himself aghast by the sight of the girl at ragnar’s side.

“your daughter…” he trailed off, his mouth hanging slightly open, “i pray she would be but a novice with the blade, for this girl is but a child!”

the crowd seemed to exhibit mixed reactions, as did the raiders themselves. rollo wrapped an arm around his niece’s waist, wanting to shelter her from the jarl’s wrath, since the girl’s father was preoccupied with trying to win in the court of public opinion.

ragnar took a calming breath and began to explain again, “her stature may be small, jarl haraldson, but my daughter is older than her brother, whose coming of age ceremony you recently presided over.”

“loðbrók, children are a treasure worth more than any piece of gold in all the nine worlds. thus, i beseech you to tread carefully… the next time you plan to bring your sweet daughter on a raid.” as soon as the last word left jarl haraldson’s lips, rollo and gyda exchanged excited glances.

helga gasped audibly as several of the other raiders rejoiced between themselves. ragnar, however, did not break his emotionless exterior. he was in no way interested in letting the jarl get what he wanted.

“yes, ragnar and crew,” the jarl went on, “i will mercifully waive all punishment for your disobedience in this endeavor. you will be permitted to return to england and raid with full legal recognition in my jurisdiction. but, as a tax for bringing pillaged goods into my domain, i shall decree that each raider will be allowed one item of plunder. the rest will go towards financing future raids.”

the jarl’s declaration elicited loud chatter from the townsfolk. it seemed that most of them were distracted by the last part about future raids, praise coming from the spectators and whining from the raiders.

torstein’s old friend, the red soldier, pushed him forward with a bracing slap to the back, “get on with it then! everyone choose their one item.”

ragnar’s raiding party took turns going to and fro the pile, all the while their leader never broke eye contact with the jarl.

“you know, loðbrók,” the jarl addressed ragnar directly, his volume just low enough that onlookers wouldn’t interrupt, “if so much as a hair on your girl’s head is harmed during the next raid, i’ll see to it your testicles are floating in a jar of saltwater brine. even in norway, they tell stories of vikings sailing too far south and encountering vicious saxon warriors that still fight like the saxons of the old country. so take great caution.”

ragnar desired so desperately to quip back with something witty, but the jarl’s warning was startlingly ominous. the wanderer who gave ragnar his trusted compass had specifically suggested to sail south along the english coast. surely the words of such a greedy man deserved to be heeded far less than those of an experienced traveler.

“brother,” the red soldier barked, and suddenly it dawned on ragnar that he was addressing the jarl, “only ragnar loðbrók is left to pick his plunder.”

ragnar looked to his side and noticed gyda holding a silver wine pitcher, rollo was admiring a golden necklace inlaid with red jewels, and flóki and helga had chosen a set of matching chalices.

ragnar approached the pile cautiously. deep in his heart, he knew he hadn’t the slightest idea what to even look for. then, he looked above the pile, and saw the three monks off in the corner of the room; their wrists bound together by the rope which was now being held by a member of the jarl’s guard. æthelstan stood by his lonesome on the far end, his jaw still visibly chattering as though he’d been frozen.

“i shall take the boy priest,” ragnar announced, pointing to æthelstan, “what better than a living memory of my daughter’s first success in raiding.”

jarl haraldson hardly reacted. instead, with one limp gesture of his wrist, he ordered, “very well. knut, fetch the esteemed ragnar his new saxon slave.”

the red soldier glowered at ragnar as he obeyed his brother’s command. æthelstan was cut from the other two monks, whom he appeared to fret greatly about leaving behind, and was led to ragnar by knut - much like a dog on a leash.

“yes, i am overjoyed that this issue has been solved in a timely manner,” the jarl started, apparently trying to get everyone out of his hall as soon as possible, “but, in regards to financing future raids, there is one last endeavor i wish to inquire about.”

the jarl’s guard swooped in and picked up ragnar and crew’s hard-earned riches, filling their own linen sacks with the loot and leading the thralls outside.

“i wish to purchase the vessel on which you have so bravely sailed westward. i understand it to be the handiwork of boatbuilder flóki. and with another ship in my collection, we will be able to bring home even more plunder from the next raid.” announced jarl haraldson.

the crowd cheered.

helga nervously squeezed the hand of her betrothed, but flóki remained unphased, answering, “it is with great remorse, honorable jarl, that i must respectfully decline. for you see, the ship is now in a state of disrepair, and i could not responsibly sell it to you without first attending to the damages.”

the jarl shot a quick glance towards knut.

“it is true, brother.” knut confirmed, the wind seemingly ripped from his sails.

“very well,” the jarl leaned back in his seat, perhaps so that he may view ragnar from an even higher position, “then, boatbuilder, i shall expect you to complete the repairs and return to sea with ragnar loðbrók’s band within the fortnight.”

as the townsfolk and raiders alike began to pour out of the great hall, knut stopped torstein with an unexpectedly gentle pat on the shoulder.

“let us keep in better touch,” the red soldier suddenly had a friendly glint to his eye, “i would hate for our only meetings to be filled with such tension, dear torstein.”

torstein pursed his lips into a half-smile, and simply nodded politely before hurrying away.

gyda beamed with elation at her father, making sure to also giggle at æthelstan’s prolonged state of panic, as the trio set off for home on their little peninsula.

björn was waiting outside the house just before supper. the sun had not yet fully set, due to the long daylight hours of nordic summer, though the crickets and fireflies had already started their song and dance.

the footpath from kattegat sprang over the horizon, and from the treeline emerged ragnar and gyda, with æthelstan in tow. björn sprinted over to meet his father halfway, after a few minutes finally colliding into him in a spirited embrace. as soon as the boy pulled away, his sister grabbed him by the neck and took her own turn hugging him, roughly yet affectionately scratching the top of his head.

lagertha emerged from the house, her shining smile dropping faster than the evening sun upon seeing the strange man her husband had brought home.

“come inside, my dear ragnar,” she mustered as the rest of her family creeped closer, “rest, my sweet gyda. there are rye loaves baked fresh for you. i am stewing kid with turnips, too.”

ragnar could sense his wife’s discomfort; he knew he had much to explain. but, he was also eager to tell her that the status quo of their lives was forever altered.

#vrp tag #vikings #vikings fanfic #vikings headcanons #vikings imagine #vikings history channel #history channel vikings

2 notes · View notes