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ritual-unions · 8 months

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My Heart's Aflame

Part 3 of Wolf Like Me: read previous parts here

Summary: Ylva Ragnardottir is used to getting what she wants. As the only daughter of the great Ragnar Lothbrok and the famous Princess Aslaug she wants to marry Haakon, the bastard son of King Harald Finehair but Ubbe, forced into a position that should be their missing father's, will not allow it.

Setting: Kattegat, pre-season 4b, maybe by a month, before Bjorn leaves for the Mediterranean.

Word Count: 2,700

Warnings: none, just sibling banter and secret meetings.

Ylva knew it wasn’t right, sneaking away before everyone had woken for the day, not sharing her whereabouts. Her mother, Aslaug, would be asking for her, wanting to go over the details of the feast that evening. She had promised Sigurd she could cut his hair and Hvitserk had asked her to go fishing after breaking their fast.

And then there was Ubbe, her twin brother, who she hated lying to most of all. He had asked her to be by his side as he greeted each visitor who planned to sail with Bjorn to their Great Hall. Many had never been to Kattegat before. It had been chaotic trying to find enough suitable lodgings for each man who sported the title jarl and king. Ubbe appreciated her ease of mind when dealing with so many moving pieces and boisterous egos, and Ylva wanted to be there for him, to help him figure it all out but for now, all her chores, and her duties, and loyalties to her brothers would have to wait.

She had sent word to Haakon to meet her here, on the outskirts of Kattegat. Haakon’s older half-brother, Eric Bloodaxe, would not approve of their relationship, and neither would her own brothers, for that matter, so she is careful which channels she uses to communicate with Haakon as they are not always reliable. She isn’t even sure if he had received the message in time, she just knew had to see him.

Her fur lined boots crunch loudly in the icy snow underfoot, followed by the soft padding of her large wolf-dog, Hati, that trots happily at her heels. Their footfalls are the only sound in the frosted forest. Puffs of warm breath pillow out before her, leaving a dewy mist on her cheeks. She pushes back the wool hood of her cloak, scanning the area before her.

A nightingale chirps noisily in the birch tree above, calling for a mate but no reply comes. Lazily, the sun pushes above the skyline catching in Yvla’s eyes when she looks eastward. Spring is here but winter’s icy grip clings to everything it touches.

The long body of a pine marten scurries across the base of an oak tree catching the attention of the dog at her side. Hati’s ears prick, half raising off her haunches, ready to attack her prey.

A quick snap of Ylva’s fingers has Hati sitting back, a pathetic whimper from the dog’s throat lets her master know her disappointment. Ylva eyes the pine marten until she was certain it was safely away before she releases the dog from her side. Hati rarely obeys commands that involve prey and for a moment Ylva’s ego sings her praise when the dog listens. She does not wish for the small rodent to be the subject of her poor training. Ubbe had done what he could to help Ylva with Hati but it is her tender heart towards the dog that allows her to get away with so many bad habits.

The crunch of icy snow alerts both dog and woman away from the pine marten. Hackles raised, Hati growls a deep throaty noise out of her chest in warning. Ylva’s leather mittens smooth over the milky fur of Hati’s head, trying to ease her aggression as Haakon appears from behind a large pine tree.

“She does not approve of me,” Haakon acknowledges, eyeing the dog warily.

Ylva chuckles, releasing the dog from her side. “She knows what my brothers would say.”

Hati bounds up to Haakon in a playful lope that ends with her paws resting on his shoulders. A long pink tongue rolls across Haakon’s face and when she sits back down on her haunches a piece of dried meat appears in his palm. Greedily, the animal devours the treat in one bite.

Crouching low to his heels, Haakon’s dark eyes meet Hati’s golden ones, he leans to the dog, whispering in her large white ear, loud enough for Ylva to hear. “You know I would never hurt her.”

A playful smile tugs on Ylva’s bow shaped lips as the dog gives Haakon another satisfied lick to face.

Haakon stands to embrace Ylva, circling her waist as he brings her in for a kiss of his own. His hand is cold on her neck as his fingers intertwine in her hair. His mouth molds onto hers as his hand travels the length of her bound hair, tugging at the ends until the ties set free.

“Haakon,” Ylva whines with feigned annoyance, her mittens smooth over her wild hair, blonde curls springing into her eyes.

“A maiden such as yourself shouldn’t wear her hair up. People will think you are married.” Haakon jests, brushing a stray strand from her cheek.

“Let them think.” Ylva replies haughtily, her chin jutting out defiantly. “I am taken, no one else matters.”

A smile softens her angular features and Haakon finds himself leaning in for another kiss before adding, “Besides your brothers.”

Ylva scoffs against his mouth, mitten-hands bracing against his chest. “My brothers would do best to mind their own.” She gives him a quick peck, and then glances down at Hati to divert her blushing cheeks. “Only this morning some woman was sneaking out of Ubbe’s room.”

“At least she was there willingly,” Haakon replies, reaching over to pet Hati’s head lovingly. “I had to offer a hefty sum to the kitchen wench after I caught Eric harassing her near the root cellar.” Haakon grimaces, turning his head to look anywhere but at Ylva, embarrassed by his brother’s actions.

“Your brother was not always this way,” Ylva says, squeezing his hand in reassurance. She does not judge Haakon for the deeds of his half-brother or his father and uncle, for that matter, who have been lusting after Ragnar’s throne for as long as she has known the family. She hopes that Haakon extends the same grace to her own not-so-perfect ancestry.

“After Ragnhild died -” Haakon shrugs his shoulders as if there is nothing more to say on the matter of Eric’s famed-mother, and Harald Finehair’s most beloved wife. Taking Ylva’s hand tight in his, he walks down the snow covered path. “Let us speak on happier matters.” Haakon smiles, turning to take in Ylva fully.

“What is there to say?” Ylva pouts, the same fake pout she used to use on her youngest brother, Ivar, when he did not want to play with her or on Hvitserk when he would not share a sweet treat that he had stolen from the kitchen. “In little time, you are leaving me to sail with my brothers to a place that might not even exist.”

Haakon’s fingers slip around her chin, tilting her head back till he is able to look her in the eyes. “That is why -” he presses his lips against hers - “must not waste a single moment on trivial matters.”

Ylva giggles against his mouth. “You mean you don’t want to talk about Sigurd? How he put a frog in Ivar’s boot. It made the worst squishing sound. For the rest of the day Sigurd called him -”

“You can talk,” Haakon grins, his lips a whisper against her cheek. “But I won’t hear any of it, I will be too busy kissing you,” he finishes pressing his lips firmly to her’s.

+++

Ylva’s fingers feel as if they might fall off if she does not warm them near the fire at once. Rubbing her mittened hands together she skirts around the practice yard without so much as a hello to her brothers. A thin layer of ice prevents them from practicing swordplay but it does not stop them from attending to dulled blades or broken arrow shafts, anything to get them outside and into the fresh air, tired of being cooped up all winter long.

Hvitserk stands next to Ivar as they absentmindedly watch Sigurd throw his ax at a target across the yard. They are disputing the finer points of an ax versus a short sword in one-on-one combat, kept warm by the brass stove next to them, when Hati bounds up happily to the men.

“Where have you been?” Hvitserk asks, his voice casual and low, as he strokes Hati’s snow white head lovingly, not bothering to lift his gaze to his sister, but Ylva knows there is some ulterior motive behind his question.

With a wide wagging tail, Hati scoots closer between the two brothers, hoping for more attention. Knowing better than to jump on the youngest son of Ragnar, Hati turns soft pleading eyes on Ivar instead, hoping for double the amount of attention.

“Does it matter?” Ylva taunts, only a few steps away from the stairs that lead up to the entrance of the Great Hall. She quietly curses her dog for giving away her arrival. She is a bad liar, she always has been, and she is not interested in explaining why she missed breakfast.

Hvitserk guffaws at her attitude. The serious expression of an older brother distorts his boyish features. He prowls around her, much like Skoll when he is trying to assert dominance over Hati. Hvitserk’s eyes narrow as he observes Ylva, trying to sniff out her lies.

“No,” he finally quips, having fully stalked her. He looks down at her, mouth twisting in humor at her suddenly stoic face. “You look as though you're hiding something,” he half jests.

Her wind-burned cheeks pale at his accusation and his green eyes light up with excitement.

“She snuck out early this morning,” Ivar casually announces from his seat, thick furs covering his legs. Hati’s muzzle is buried in his lap as he affectionately strokes her head.

“Mind your own, Ivar,” Ylva hisses through gritted teeth. Hvitserk’s mouth is alive with humor now, twisting in uncontained excitement at the thought of tattling on his sister.

“Oh leave me be, Hvitserk,” Ylva half whines in annoyance.

Hvitserk throws up his hands in defense of his honor, then pressing his hand over his heart he bows his head. “I would never, sweet sister.”

“But you do every time,” Ivar mumbles out Ylva’s exact thoughts.

“What,” Hvitserk blurts out feign innocence. “Sigurd is worse!” He quickly exclaims when Ylva offers him a knowing look.

“Not as bad as you,” Sigurd retorts as he warms his hands near the stove fire. “Not as bad when it comes to Ylva.”

An impish smile curls onto Ylva’s lips as Hvitserk gives each of his siblings a disbelieving look.

“You just want to be Ubbe’s loyal dog. We should’ve named you Skoll and his wolf Hvitserk,” Ylva says, laughing when the humor he had held so proudly in the corner of his mouth drops in annoyance. He shakes his head, stepping away from Ylva without another word. Ivar lets out a barking laughter from his seat and Ylva knows she has gone too far.

She calls out for Hati to heel, knowing the dog won’t judge her for her harsh words and turns to walk up the steps to the Great Hall.

“Ubbe is looking for you,” Sigurd calls out to her on her last step.

“What for?”

Sigurd shrugs his shoulders in indifference as he reaches for his ax, fingers sufficiently warmed. Hvitserk pulls the hood of his cloak over his head as he glares in her direction, trying to ignore Ivar’s poking attempt to insult him further. Ylva, muttering a thanks of appreciation to Sigurd, disappears into the Great Hall, no longer interested in sibling banter.

+++

It is mostly empty inside the Great Hall and Ylva breathes out a sigh of relief. The moment the fjord had started cracking free of the ice that had enthralled it all winter, ships had started to arrive daily, both for trade and travel. Bjorn’s plans to sail to the Mediterranean had spread far and many jarls and petty kings had flocked to Kattegat’s shores in hopes of accompanying him on his grand adventure.

Men boasted their large coffers, plentiful ships, and the honorable warriors who would accompany them if Bjorn accepted their oath. Not one to deny a man of adventure, Bjorn allowed any king or jarl who pledged their allegiance to sail with him.

The nightly overcrowded hall had derailed Ylva’s sensitive nerves after a winter spent peacefully near her family and while she flourished as the center of attention at any gathering she relished the moment’s peace.

Hati’s wet nose brushes her hand, bumping the leather pouch on her belt. The ivory trinkets inside tap against one another, reminding Ylva of the gift Haakon gave her in the forest. His grandmother had carved the runes herself, blessing them with powerful magic. Knowing Ylva’s long held interest in runes, Haakon had presented the gift alongside a soft kiss to her cheek.

Pulling one out at random, her fingers run over the grooves surface of the ivory piece. She can imagine the rune carved on the ivory in her mind. Othila. Heritage. Her family. Her brothers whose presence gave her peace and her mother who kept the warmth glowing inside her.

Inherited estate. The thought flutters through her mind though she tries vainly to push it aside. She would inherit nothing that was her father’s, forced instead to marry into her own prosperity.

If Ragnar was around would she already be married to some king or high ranking jarl? She scowls at the thought. It had been almost ten years since she had seen her father. She wants to believe he would never force her into a loveless marriage but anymore she does not know what he would have done.

“Ylva,” her name is a soft whisper on a foreign tongue. She turns to greet whoever calls out to her, smiling graciously at the man before her. He is long legged and angular, his name floats around in her mind before she grabs on to it.

“Víkar,” she says smoothly. “My brother and my mother are away this morning. You’ll have to come back later -”

“I could not wait to see you,” Víkar interrupts with a soft bow, the openings of his collar showing off the markings of dark tattoos hidden on his chest. He pushes away the blonde curls that have fallen in his face in a practiced gesture.

“Me? What for?” Ylva frowns, not understanding his intention, they had only just met a few days prior.

“I have a gift for you.” He motions to the basket at his feet. Removing a thick wool blanket he reveals a soft purring cat and her four kittens who rut around in search of nourishment. Ylva’s finger jams through the wicker walls, rubbing the white head of the feline. Hati’s wet nose nudges the cage in irritation, wanting to inspect the creatures closer.

“But -” Ylva frowns further, lifting her gaze to the blonde haired man before her - “why would you want to give me such a gift?”

A sense of dread fills her belly, and spreads across her chest. The dreamy state of Víkar’s face is that of a man just afforded all the riches of the world.

“I know your brother doesn't want word to get out until the announcement but I couldn’t wait,” Vikar smiles.

Ylva curses Ubbe’s name under her breath.

Unblinking, Vikar continues, “you can keep the cats here, of course. When I return from the Mediterranean we will go back to Lade, to my father’s home.”

White noise fills Ylva’s ears as Vikar rambles on about his plans for the future. They are full of new estates and tithes, tenants and suitable farming land with many animals and babies.

Ylva’s breath catches in her throat. Babies. Who was this man to tell her she will bear his children? Her future does not lie with him. No. She refuses. It is Haakon who is her everything. The one she has loved since young children. They had promised themselves to one other long before they knew the meaning of a chaste life. Haakon is the man to give her a home and children, not this -

“Ylva where are you going?” Vikar stutters as Ylva turns her back on his rambling. “I was talking -” His fingers reach out, brushing against her arm but Hati’s snapping jaws withdraw his touch before he can get a grip on her.

+++

My entire Vikings masterlist or WLM series masterlist

#vikings fanfiction #ubbe fanfiction #hvitserk fanfiction #ragnarsson fanfic

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heavenlymorals · 2 years

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Norðrljós

The Ragnarssons spend time with each other, marveling and bonding over the beauty of the sky, for everything is good.

Thank you so much @bragisrunes for allowing me to take inspiration from one of your headcanons. Your galaxy brain is just too powerful ❤❤

"I see a…a knife!"

Ubbe turned his head slightly to the side to see his youngest brother Ivar point at the ink-stained sky streaked with wisps of clouds and an intense sprinkling of stars. He returned his head to face the heavens, with the back of his neck resting comfortably on his overlapping palms. He craned his neck upwards a bit to try to find the celestial weapon that Ivar created with his colorful imagination.

"Where?" Ubbe inquired, trying his best to create a pattern with the stars that matched Ivar's constellation.

Ivar tutted a bit and began pointing again, going slowly in angular directions to paint a picture of the blade. "See? It's there. The big star starts the pommel. And there's the crossguard. And those two pairs of stars that are parallel to each other and then come together at that bigger star is the blade."

Ubbe squinted his eyes a bit and tried following Ivar's trailing finger. After a bit, he made up the shape and smiled. "I see it. How about you guys, do you see it?" Ubbe turned to his opposite side and was faced with Hvitserk removing his forearm from his eyes to find the star. Hvitserk's lying body occulted Sigurd's, but Ubbe was able to make out some movement as Sigurd wiggled on his back to find the knife.

"It looks more like an erect penis…" Bjorn's lazy voice wrang out, cutting through the tranquil air, disturbing the ambiance of the excited chirping of the crickets and the hushed hooting of the owls. Their eldest brother wasn't lying on the harbor's bank like the rest of them. Instead, he was resting upon the trunk of a tree, his hands holding, coincidently, a knife. He was busy shaping a hunk of wood into a spearhead so they could go fishing the next day. Ubbe felt his thin lips crack into an open smile, Hvitserk snorted and Sigurd chuckled before propping his body of his elbow to have a full gaze on his younger brother, an amused grin plastered on his lips.

Ivar scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief. "Where-I-honestly, how do you see a penis? Please, big brother of mine, explain your thought process, you dog."

Bjorn shrugged, putting down the crude spearhead and started connecting stars with his pointed finger. He connected a few other stars with the crossguard to make it more plump, so they now looked like two balls. He ignored the grip and the pommel entirely. The silver light spilling from the moon lit up Ivar's fate and it was obvious that there was a flush of red painting his boyish features. A quaint little mixture of embarrassment and annoyance.

"Do you not see the pommel and the grip? And those other stars that you connected were not even a part of my constellation!" Ivar sputtered, jabbing his finger intensely in the air to redraw the path of the stars to extinguish Bjorn's crude mind.

"I still see a penis." Obviously, to no avail.

Ivar rolled his eyes and tried to show Bjorn his point of view once more. What a stubborn boy. His attempts were interrupted by the gleeful voice of Sigurd.

"Mm, I have to agree with Bjorn, Ivar. Your 'crossguard' looks more like a pair of testicles. Come on, Ivar, you're old enough to know what the male anatomy looks like when it's hard. Or is Mother just far too protective of her precious baby's innocent little mind-" Sigurd was promptly cut off by a small stone hitting him flat against the forehead. He yelped, surprised, as he then rubbed the spot where the rock assaulted him. No one could say that Ivar's marksmanship was nothing short of legendary.

"Shut up, Sigurd-"

"Sigurd, Ivar, please. We came out here to relax. When we go back to the longhouse, you can both squabble to your heart's content. As of now though? Stop being children." Ubbe growled. He was tired after a long day of hunting and working at the outskirts of Kattegat before coming to the bank of the harbor with his brothers. Hunting, skinning animals, and tanning leathers from sunrise to sunset left him feeling unbelievably exhausted. It was an ache that made its home in his bones and the soreness left him longing for a night of peaceful tranquility, which was going quite well in his humble opinion, until now.

Fortunately though, the two of them huffed simultaneously before collapsing back onto the ground and staring back at the sky. Ubbe wanted nothing more than to see his two youngest brothers get along with each other. Of course, it wasn't as if they were like hostile cats with each other all the time. In fact, sometimes, rarely, once in a blue moon, they even got along with one another. But again, it was rare. Ubbe, perhaps being far too idealistic, wondered why he and Hviterk were able to get along so well with each other while Sigurd and Ivar were like fire and water. He wished that they would be their own pair of support and friendship, much like he and Hvitserk were, but alas, that was simply not the case. Of course, he could pinpoint some reasons as to why, but to him, the main reason why they couldn't get along was because they were both stubborn bastards with skulls thicker than that of a smith's whetstone.

Hvitserk cleared his throat and tried to revert the topic back to the original subject. Daggers drawn from stars. "I wonder which of the gods dropped the knife…"

Ubbe turned his head slightly to the side and saw a small ghost of a smile on Ivar's face. He seemed satisfied knowing that his imagined constellation still held some legitimacy instead of being completely degraded to a starry cock.

"Maybe Heimdallr dropped it while he was guarding the Bifrost?" Ubbe suggested, bouncing off of Hvitserk's words. They always worked well together, and it was obvious to the both of them that they were trying to guide the conversation to more…peaceful? Respectable topics? Topics that didn't lead to unreasonable and frankly ridiculous tensions about anatomical constellations in this quaint night.

"Doesn't Heimdallr wield a sword, though? What's it called again?" Sigurd wondered out loud. Bjorn opted to help out.

"Hmm, I think it's called either Hofund or Lævateinn. Ivar, you probably know more about the gods than all of us combined because of how much you spend time with Floki, which one is it?"

"It's Hofund. Lævateinn is Loki's sword." Ivar said.

"It might've been a dart or a wand. It's probably a dart. We all know how much that bastard loves his darts…"

Ubbe felt amused at the sardonic tone in which Sigurd spoke about the mischievous Jotunn. Everyone, every year, deep down inside in the faint crevices of their very being were somewhat anxious of Ragnarok. Anxious that they may be alive when Fimbulwinter comes, that they may be alive when Skoll and Hati devour Sol and Mani, and that they may be alive when all depravity is let loose on the All-Father's creations for the bright one, precious Bauldr, is now dead because of the vile envy of Loki. No one wanted to face such horrors as long as they were alive and it was sometimes disheartening knowing it is a fate bound to happen at some point.

"Alright, it's Hofund. That doesn't mean Heimdallr might've not carried a knife." Ubbe pointed out and all four of them seemed to agree with his logic for they didn't have anything to object.

A few seconds pass in silence until Hvitserk points out his own constellation.

"I see a boar."

"Where?" Sigurd's voice was quiet and calm, a quaint little tone that paired wonderfully with the swift, yet still gentle breeze that filtered through the branches of the gnarly trees that lined the forest behind the bank. It was pleasant on Ubbe's skin, though Ivar beside him seemed to shiver in on himself. He was always more prone to the cold than the rest of them. When they were younger, Ivar had no qualms about crawling into either his or Hvitserk's beds and demanding their warmth. Ubbe was fairly certain that if Sigurd and Bjorn weren't here, he might've nestled himself between their arms to leech the warmth from either Ubbe's or Hvitserk's bodies, or both as he was between them (it was Ubbe's verdict that he and Hvitserk always lie down between Ivar and Sigurd during moments like these to prevent any unnecessary squabbles). Obviously, his pride wouldn't let him here, so Ubbe shifted a bit to pull out one of the furs from the pile underneath him and handed it over to Ivar to cover himself. Thankfully, because of the darkness, no one noticed their little exchange except themselves.

"He's rrrriiiiiggggghhhhhttttttt…there." Hvitserk connected the stars with his fingers and clicked them in triumph when he finished the constellation. Ubbe tilted his head slightly to see his brother's creation. He could definitely see the thought process behind it but it looked a bit more…abstract in its anatomy. It was very stretched out.

"It looks like someone went overboard with stretching it out and tying it on a spit." Ivar muttered, pulling the fur closer to his chin. Ubbe found himself to very much agree with that statement.

"You can make a spit with those four stars in front of the head and at the back of the legs. See? Now it looks like it's tied onto it." Sigurd suggested, and Ubbe had to agree. Now the strange position that the constellation was in originally had some sort of context. Hvitserk hummed in agreement before sighing.

"Say, when was the last time we had a spit going?" Hvitserk pondered, his elbow on his furs as his raised hand absentmindedly kept tracing over the hampered boar. His hand then went down and rested on the lower parts of his stomach.

"I think when King Harald last visited. You know mother. She always wants the best for her guests," Ubbe suggested. The last time Harald arrived, he and Aslaug were able to conduct valuable trade networks and negotiations with each other. They also reignited the alliance that Harald had with Ragnar, though in more domestic terms such as taxes and land corollaries. A rumor amongst the thralls was that on that day, Harald supposedly proposed to Aslaug, but was denied on the basis that he was far too…imposing. Of course, it was only a rumor, so Ubbe didn't really find it important to have a forsure answer for whether it did or didn't happen. And even if it did happen, Harald wanted nothing more than a child to be his heir and Aslaug had more than enough of her fair share of children.

"And what's better than a pig on a spit. Gods, we should invite someone over just to have an excuse to get the spit going," Hvitserk mused, and just from his tone, Ubbe knew that his brother was thinking of the savory meat dripping in fat and adorned with a wonderful golden-brown skin laced with char. He could've sworn he heard a rumble from his stomach.

"I mean, it's not like we're at the great hall. We're at the cabin, we can do as we please. We can set a spit here tomorrow-," Sigurd suggested but was then promptly cut off by the annoyed tuts of Bjorn.

"Absolutely not. I spent too much time creating these fishing spears. Thanks, by the way, you lazy bastards for not making your own."

Obviously, he couldn't tell since his eyes were plastered on the celestial tapestry that hung proudly in the sky, but he was fairly certain that Ivar was giving Bjorn his rather legendary eyeroll.

"First of all, you were the one who offered to make them for us since you burned our food on cooking duty. And second, can't we just use the spears to hunt…a…boar?" Ivar purposely spaced out the last three words as if he was speaking to a complete and utter dunce who had the mental capability of a rotting piece of driftwood. It made Ubbe slightly cringe. He could never imagine himself speaking to Bjorn with such disrespect. He was the oldest of them all and was the most experienced. Then again, Ivar never much cared for Bjorn's authority, so he had no problem giving Bjorn lip.

"I didn't burn it, I just gave it a light char-"

Hvitserk cut him off, always so ready to give his opinion when it came to the basis of food. "No, you burnt it. It was atrocious."

"Alright, fine, whatever, maybe I did burn it," Bjorn quickly acknowledged and brushed off, "and we could hunt boars, sure. However, I don't feel like chasing around a homicidal pig with nothing but a crudely made spear. And besides, we left our bows back in the Great Hall, because this was originally supposed to be a fishing trip." Bjorn replied, completely unfazed by Ivar's haughtiness. In fact, he seemed rather bored. Ivar huffed, but did not say anything for Bjorn was right. Ivar never liked it much when Bjorn was right because it would force the idea that perhaps Ivar wasn't this omniscient all-knowing being that drank from the well of Mimir and now knew everything there was to know about absolutely anything.

"Well, speaking of fish, I see one. It's right under the boar." Sigurd remarked and sure enough, there was a fish under the boar. Sigurd was far more refined than the rest of them so he didn't really need to point it out, as it was quite obvious. Three stars came down in a gentle slope that then connected to five more stars that created a head with an open mouth. The lower jaw of the mouth then connected to a slope inverted to the other one that then came to connect to a rather enlarged tail that connected the back and the belly of the fish. The cosmic creature had its peculiar tail raised upwards as if it was forced out of water and was now flopping around with the carnal and instinctual will to get back into its aquatic sanctuary.

"I'd like to slap you with a fish…" Ivar yawned, trying to rub the sleepiness out of his eyes. Sigurd scoffed and heaved his upper body upwards to lean over Hvitserk and flick his thumb and index finger on Ivar's forehead. Ivar yelped rather dramatically and batted away Sigurd's hand. Probably payback for Ivar throwing that pebble at him earlier. Ubbe felt his body tense a bit and he mentally prepared himself to intervene in another possible squabble between those two. Gods know they had a history of resorting to physical violence with each other for lesser and more stupider things.

Thankfully, they didn't. Ubbe wasn't sure if the credit of that miracle was derived exclusively from the calming aura of the caliginous sky, decorated with wisps of silver clouds and the scattering of twinkling, or just their general fatigue, but he was just grateful nonetheless.

"Is that a threat, Ivar?" Sigurd snarked, and Ubbe was sure that there was a smug grin on his face. Ivar scoffed. "It is now. Just wait till tomorrow, my brother."

"I'd be careful, Sigurd. Now you know he won't just slap you with a fish." Hvitserk mused, elbowing Sigurd on his side a couple times. Sigurd pushed away Hvitserk's elbow and quickly waved his hand in a dismissive manner.

"He can try."

"Oh, now you are truly doomed." Ubbe chuckled, looking over to Ivar to try to read his expression. The moon now revealed itself from the occulting of clouds, all perfect and round. It was a full moon tonight and the spilt silver luminescence shone brilliantly on all their faces, allowing Ubbe to see the smug, upturned lips of his youngest brother. He'll pray for Sigurd's well-being. The older he got, the more intense his retaliations and pranks got.

A wave of comfortable silence followed afterwards and all five of them were not in any real hurry to break it. What accompanied the blissful silence was the minstrels of nature.

The rustling of leaves as wind sifted through gnarly branches, the soft splashes in the water as fish jerked around and small ripples hit the sandy banks, the melodic tripping of crickets, the occasional wise hoot of an owl, the ringing howling of the wolves, and their deep breathing, reminding them subconsciously that they were all together on this strip of nature that became an almost second home to them when they all wanted to leave Kattegat.

Kattegat was a beautiful kingdom in its own right, but to Ubbe, the undisturbed sanctuaries of Ymir's mummified body was far more magical and alluring than that bustling trading pub could ever be. And to share it with his brothers was an honor and a privilege that he held near and dear to his romantic heart.

It was almost as if the sweet Bauldr with all his gifts of clairvoyance heard his thoughts and granted him a boon. The sky, a blanket of deep blues that faded into lighter shades as the purple-hued mountains silhouetted against its endless domain, became infiltrated with another celestial phenomenon that was more queer and more alluring and awesome than all the stars and the moon and the sun combined.

New light, all gleaming and boasting a wonderful pallet of curious greens, charming teals, electrifying blues, and soft delicate purples, rippled across the tapestry of darkness like when a pond was disturbed by the touch of a finger. The light twisted like resplendent snakes, slow and calm, a true show to the curious eyes.

The green light seemed to overpower the other colors, and after a while, they shined so brightly that the darkness of the sky was illuminated to the degree where it looked like a faux sun was rising up from the cover of the snow-tipped mountains. The luminance, expectedly, made the stars fade into obscurity as they no longer held the sovereignty of the sky. How could they?

How could the sparks of the fire of Muspelheim ever compete with the artistry of Bauldr? When the god of light and beauty decided to experiment with his domain and create such marvels that could leave even the most cultured man speechless and gobsmacked?

Funny enough, everything around them seemed to be blanketed with silence. The beauty of the Northern Lights was so intense that it seemed not only the Ragnarssons but the entirety of the nature around them plunged into noiseless tranquility. There seemed to be no more wind rustling leaves, no crickets chirping, no howling wolves, no water slapping against the bank. Nothing, just pure silence. Even the scraping of metal on wood from Bjorn's labor ceased as he was just as allured by the lights as the rest of them.

Ubbe was sure that because of the silence, he could hear the voice of the lights. A soft rustling accompanied by crackling, whizzing, and buzzing. A more ethereal version perhaps of the popping of wood and leaves when flames lick their surface in a campfire. Either way, the voice of the lights soothed his ears, as how the glow of them soothed his eyes.

He managed to break out of the lights' trance for a few seconds, turned his head to the side, and then heaved his body upwards on his elbow to look at the faces of his brothers. Ivar was the closest to him and his face was contorted with childish awe, with his rosy lips slightly parted and his eyes, stained with that sinister blue ink, seemed to positively glow. Hvitserk bore a similar look on his face, as did Sigurd and Bjorn.

How could they not?

The knife, the boar, the fish, and any other constellation that they might've conjured became irrelevant in comparison to the grandeur of the lights.

They said nothing to each other, but it was clear to Ubbe that all of them were just as hypnotized as he was by the lights.

Like they came, they disappeared. Like they disappeared, the stars reappeared and they continued making and sharing constellations in the sky.

They could never hold a candle to the lights though.

#vikings #vikings fanfic #fanfic #ubbe ragnarsson #hvitserk ragnarsson #ivar the boneless #bjorn ironside #sigurd snake in the eye #theyre just vibing and i love that for them #everything is good and nothing hurts

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lokifromvalhalla · 2 years

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I'm here for you

╔═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╗ Ivar The Boneless x Reader Genre: Comfort / Angst Words: ± 1 800

Everyone can feel the weight of the last events on their shoulders. Mainly Ivar, but he won't be able to handle it if (y/n)'s also angry at him.

╚═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╝

“I’m not coming with you.”

“Well, and I’m not leaving without you.”

Ivar had shot me that look that showed I had no choice as much as the pride in my chest made me want to bury my feet in the ground in a way no one would be able to get me off there, but I know Ivar would still find a way. That bastard.

It’s not really that I didn’t want to avenge Ragnar’s death, but knowing how Kattegat would still need my presence had me reluctant to leave. Then, perhaps, my presence wasn’t actually needed, after all, since the gods seemed to favor my presence in the trip, despite my distaste for it, so all I can do now is to thank the gods for guiding and protecting me. Not only a couple of lives were lost in the battles against Aelle’s and Ecbert’s warriors, no matter our victory. Not all of the deaths were caused by the enemies, too. For the gods, Sigurd.

A heavy feeling still settles itself over my chest whenever I think about what happened. We were all laughing and partying at one moment, then gasping and falling silent at the other. The event is somewhat difficult to digest, somehow, given how being by Bjorn’s side while he blood eagle-d Aelle didn’t even make the ground swirl under my feet—something that used to happen quite often—, and I had never been that close to Sigurd, after all. He never allowed me to. Whatever it is, the gods shall reveal everything at some point, I hope.

Perhaps I’m not mentally as strong as I thought I am; I came here against my will at first, still feeling not only angry at being here but also the rage boil under my skin at the thought of how they killed Ragnar, giving him a death that he surely didn’t deserve, then faced stupid Christians who cursed me even while having my axe in their chest, dealt with Ubbe’s bad humour after I established support towards Ivar’s strategies, and Sigurd’s death was probably the final trigger. May Freyr help me.

Last time I saw Ivar, he had gone over to Floki, if I’m not wrong, and the other three siblings seem as enthusiastic to talk with me as I am about them, so I just walk past them without a word on my way up the creek to the woods nearby, seeking a while alone with myself and my bow.

These lands are different, warmer, but we haven’t faced any difficulties regarding feeding so far, so it’s not really a problem. No fish swim around the creek nor does any other animal wander nearby—at least none of decent size—, turning darker spots on the trees into my arrows’ aim. Four of the arrows must be shot in total, though. Not exactly due to how I don’t want the arrows to go in waste—I can simply retrieve some of them—, but because my mind keeps wandering around in the intervals between each shot.

I have no idea how long I stay in the woods, sitting there on a log that has fallen near the creek, I just know that sometimes it feels like too long has gone by at the same time nothing did whilst I kept replaying the past events in my mind. It was all too fast.

A twig cracking immediately makes me point a new arrow towards whoever is approaching, and even if I look directly at his face, it takes me a moment to finally notice it’s Ivar there, raising an eyebrow at me, something between surprised and daring. My bow and arrow are dropped to the grass with a soft thud, and I let out a breath I didn’t know to be holding, observing the water go down the creek while Ivar crawls closer until taking place some feet away from me, eventually pulling his legs to sit in front of him.

Ivar does take a few breaths that make it sound like he’s going to say something, only for the words to never leave his lips, instead leaving us in a silence that’s only interrupted by the soft sound of water and birds chirping, occasionally also by the sound of the wind going through the leaves of the trees whenever the breeze picks up.

“Are you...” Ivar clears his throat. “Are you angry at me?” He looks down at first, taking a couple of glances at me.

“Angry?” My eyebrows knit together, and my lips are tugged into a frown automatically; I roll my eyes at myself. “Why— No, Ivar, no! Come here.” I push my bow and arrows further away with my foot whilst pulling my legs apart, patting the space on the grass between my feet. His eyes narrow for a moment, and he looks me up and down. What’s taking him so long? A sigh escapes my lips as I let my elbow rest on my knee, raising an eyebrow at him until he finally moves closer, and I can’t help but to notice how it seems like his movements are heavier than usual. Not only that, but the dark circles under his eyes are also puffy and red. “Have you been sleeping?”

Ivar pulls his legs forward in order to sit properly, scooting back until his back hits the log, and looks back at me with his eyebrows furrowed in that semi-permanent scowl he seems to be carrying lately.

“Trying to,” he sighs heavily. He rests his head on my thigh as I cup his face to clean the dirt that stuck to his cheeks due to the tears that once stained them, trying not to let any emotion slip—which might actually work this time given Ivar’s tired mind state, not the alert one that catches on every minimum difference on my mood—and eventually let him return to a more comfortable position in which his cheek presses against my thigh instead.

My fingers run through his strands, which are greasy, though thankfully not tied into knots, not giving me a lot of trouble to take a few strands of hair in hand to start braiding them. It’s messy, of course. My hands shake with the tiredness already tugging onto my muscles from so long of holding onto the bow and its string, not to mention how I’m also sleepy, in a way. Something weighs my eyelids, but I know I’ll just keep tossing around if I lie down to try to get some rest.

I inhale, about to tell him something when Ivar speaks up instead, leaning back a little into my hands when nails scratch his scalp lightly. “They don’t believe me.”

A silent sigh escapes my nose, but I never let my emotions reach Ivar, no, only giving us a long break before I hum, nodding a little. “They’re still taking in what happened, Ivar. Give them a while, and to yourself as well.” I let my hand fall to the side of his neck for a moment, leaning in to press a kiss to his temple, where I let my lips linger for a moment, appreciating the closeness. It didn’t even feel like it had actually been so long since I last spent time with him, lost among the thirst for revenge and taking care of fresh wounds, not to mention I preferred not to get more involved in the brothers’ discussions, given how Ubbe and Sigurd had already not shown so much sympathy towards me in the beginning.

“Will you hold me?” Ivar’s words are almost lost between the sound of the water and the wind, but I still catch on, feeling the vibrations of his throat under my fingers. “I miss you, I need you.” His voice trembles a little, nearly cracks, and I move back a little, struggling, but enough to see how glossy his eyes seem as he looks into the distance.

“Yes, of course,” I hum, giving him another kiss, this time on the side of his face. “You know how I do everything for you.”

I let Ivar rest there for a moment, given how calm he seems in most likely so long, but soon I gather my things, which Ivar actually takes so my arms are free in order to carry him back, with my arms hooked under his legs and his arms wrapped around my neck. His breath tickles my neck a little, and for a moment I wonder whether he’s awake or not given the slow breathing movements of his chest against my back, only finding my answer through the way he still holds onto my bow and arrows firmly.

People are off to their tasks, of course—Bjorn plans on leaving whilst Hvitserk and Ubbe still sulk around, but some of the others prepare to leave with Bjorn, hence the rest probably already sorts out the outturns of the last hunt or guard the place—, so those aren’t many who see Ivar and I returning, getting into the tent so we can finally find peace.

Ivar sighs when I finally let him down on the furs, simply collapsing against them whereas I put my things away, also getting rid of my boots. I light some fire, given how the sunset approaches an end, then join him, finally; pain tugs on my muscles, mainly down my back, as I lie back down against the nice surface, letting myself get used to it for a moment then glance to the side to see Ivar already looking at me.

“Why don’t you at least get rid of the vest?” I raise an eyebrow. “Must help you get more comfortable.” The whiny groan I earn myself in response almost makes me chuckle before I am pressing a kiss to Ivar’s cheek, bringing myself to sit up in order to help him get rid of it.

“Thank you,” Ivar sighs.

“It’s nothing.” I lean in, pressing my lips to his; for the gods, I swear it’s everything I have been needing these last few days, and maybe it’s the same for him. Ivar’s hand cups the side of my neck with a gentle touch that almost tickles at first before growing firm, pulling me closer.

Ivar’s mouth twitches a little as if he were to say something after we pull away, but he just closes his eyes, choosing to remain silent, after all. “Come on,” he says softly, rolling onto his side.

I press a kiss to Ivar’s bare shoulder, letting my lips trail down to the crook of his neck, where I close my eyes for a moment and finally press myself closer, wrapping my arm around him, and whatever magic is in it, feeling Ivar against me, his back moving with his shallow and patterned breathing against my chest, does bring the calmness I needed to finally rest not only my body, but also my mind.

#fan fic #fan fiction #ivar the boneless x you #ivar the boneless x reader #ivar x reader #ivar ragnarsson #ivar the boneless #x reader #x female reader #x male reader #x gender neutral reader #x nonbinary reader #vikings #vikings show #vikings fanfic #ubbe ragnarsson #hvitserk ragnarsson

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asa-do-your-thing · 2 years

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The whisper in the Fog - tveir

Hvitserk X OC / Ivar X OC

Summary: Being a normal girl on her normal farmstead, living a normal, quiet life was all that Asa had wanted. What could happen? Well, Hvitserk and his ever-so jealous brother Ivar might just almost divide Kattegat and murder some people to get to marry her. But then again, wasn’t that normal?

Before we begin: as always, this story is mature, 18+. Not all parts are mature, like this one per se, but I thought that marking everything as Mature would keep me on the safe side. I’ve just decided to give Ivar some action as well later on haha so there’ll be an amended header. Enjoy!

¦ ivar being ivar, to a certain extent, fluff, mentions of alcohol, mentions of SA ¦

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Following Hvitserk, Asa had let out a slow breath. Certainly there could have been worse days; being rescued by the ever-so-handsome Hvitserk Ragnarsson was, in theory, a great day. The problem was that Hvitserk had guided her triumphantly toward his brothers and sat down, leaving her to be gawked at by everyone in Kattegat. "Evening everyone!", he chirped and grabbed a pitcher of mead and gave it to her. Four handsome men, not to mention that all were the sons of Ragnar, were staring down at her with great interest. Ubbe raised an eyebrow. "I was looking for you.", he said in Hvitserk's direction and turned his attention to her. "I think I've seen you somewhere around. Do I know you?", he asked her.

Asa uncomfortably took a sip and shrugged. "You might. I'm Asa Silje. Daughter of Throndr Silje. I have a farm not far from here.", she said and nervously bit her lip. Someone's hand quickly grazed her thigh - she quickly looked to her other side and to her shock, saw Ivar the Boneless. The Ivar that was known to rage, to kill, to beat.... That Ivar had just touched her dirty dress where her thighs were. Björn gave her a small smile. "I knew your father. He died so bravely that we thought that the Valkyries themselves would carry him away from the battlefield. Whatever brings you here?", he asked curiously. Hvitserk sat up proudly and laid a hand on Asa's shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze. "I saved her from being kidnapped into marriage."

Clearing her throat, she bobbed her head from side to side. "Well, I mean, I was washing my clothes when a random man appeared, was shot by an arrow and... then Prince Hvitserk came and rescued me.", she said, blushing immensly and feeling her palms beggining to sweat. Sigurd lifted an eyebrow. "An arrow, you say?", he said somewhat mockingly. Asa nodded nervously. "I mean, he... laid there in front of me. I saw it clearly." Clearing his throat, Ivar narrowed his eyes and got up, almost pulling Asa down onto the floor. Thankfully she could steady herself on Hvitserk's shoulder. She gave him a little apologetic smile, which he returned with a blank stare, his moustache twitching.

"Asa. Come with me.", Ivar said pointedly and gave his brothers (especially Sigurd) a nod, who contidued to watch Asa following their crippled brother, her looking back and forth from him to Hvitserk, as if she didn't know what to do. "Ivar, Ivar- please, where are you taking me?", she cried quietly once they had left the great hall. He turned around and shook his head, walking towards the beach, his crutch clanging with every step he took. "I will walk as long as I have to to get you away from Hvitserk. For now, that is." Shaking her head, Asa stopped walking. "Of what importance am I to him? Or to you, in that matter?", she grumbled and threw her arms into the sky, annoyed at being unceremoniously dragged out of the hall.

Ivar chuckled and continued walking toward the beach, where he sat down, not far from the small waves that broke upon the shore. Asa took another long look back at the great hall and walked down to him. "So?", she said and pulled her knees up to her chest. Ivar looked at her with a smirk. "I shot him.", he said and leaned onto his arm, facing her, watching her every move. She also noted how he conviniently avoided her previous question. Quietly shaking her head, she scoffed. "Congratulations. You have killed a random man I have never seen before just so your brother could pick me up and 'rescue' me. I am truly impressed."

Ivar's face darkened. "You're the epitome of gratitude.", he spat and came closer to her, grabbing her wrist. "Einarr would have kidnapped you! Do you understand, you stupid thing? You're not meant to be kidnapped, you're meant to be mine!" His piercing eyes twinkled in the moonlight. Gathering her long brown hair over her shoulder, she groaned incredulously. "If I'm the epitome of gratitude then you are the epitome of charm. You know, at least your brother hasn't called me a stupid thing. You should abstain from calling me that if I am really to be 'yours'", she said angrily and tried freeing herself from his grasp.

She knew that she had crossed the point of no return - there would be no meek excuses anymore, she had angered him. He flared his nostrils and tightened his grip on her wrist, hurting her immensley. "STOP TALKING ABOUT MY BROTHER!", he roared and threw her down onto the sand, hovering above her, the scent of mead, leather and sweat engulfing her. Asa turned her head to the side, not wanting to be stared at any longer. "O... Okay. Just... please let me go.", she whimpered, hoping the he wouldn't take her or worse, kill her. She shouldn't have angered him, she told herself, but then again, he shouldn't have acted like a self-righteous, jealous arsehole.

Loosening his grip on her wrist, he used his other hand to turn her face towards him. "The Seer have told me that you shall change my destiny, so I know that in the end you will be mine. I'll leave you be, for now, and will be waiting for you in my bed.", he said with such a force, as if he was threatening to kill her and let her go completely, taking his crutches and retreating into the warm summer evening. Silently crying, Asa took her wrist into her hand and tried her hardest not to curl into a ball. Was he lying about the seer? Or was he really promised that she would change his life? Surely he was not meant to be her husband?

"Asa?", she heard Hvitserk shout in the distance and damned the gods for, well, just about anything in this moment. Quickly standing up and brushing the sand off of her mud-stained dress, she walked towards him, trying to quickly brush away her tears, yet with every step she took that came closer to him, they seemed to stream ever faster. Seeing his concerned face, she ran up to him and hugged him. At first, it seemed like he didn't expect it, but the longer the both of them stood there, he gently hugged her back and, much to her surprise and delight, kissed her sweetly. His lips were begging for Asa's to open up and for her to give herself to him, so that was what she did.

Just as she was about to pull back, he took her wrists and quickly stepped back from her, glancing down at her bruised wrists. "Don't tell me that Ivar...", he said quietly, his voice filled with rage and concern. Asa blushed and shook her head. "No, no, not at all. He just... He was telling me that I should stop talking about you and that the seer had seen me changing his destiny. Or something like that." Hvitserk shook his head and put his hand on the small of her back. "What nonsense... No, dearest, come with me, I'll make sure to bring you to my chambers safely.", he said gently.

Grinning, Asa nudged him. A wave of courage flooded through her. "I'm sure that you will see to it that I am safely tucked in, won't you?" Internally she was screaming with glee and nervousness. Did she just invite him to sleep with her? Maybe. But then again, it had been such an unnormal day and he had been so good-natured to her and handsome... Hvitserk clearly understood her cheeky comment and guided her through the great hall up to his room, his hand travelling from the small of your back down to your butt.

#hvitserk #hvitserk ragnarsson #hvitserk x oc #hvitty #ivar x oc #ivar the boneless #vikings #vikings fanfiction #asa silje #fanfiction

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dini73 · 3 years

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Not Today

It's finally here! Thanks so much @whatsmyline-pb for all your help and all you wonderful people out there who always are such an inspiration and motivation. Anyone who wants to be added to the tag list, please let me know.

Fandom: Vikings Rating: Mature Categories: M/F; M/M Relationships: Ivar/Hvitserk; Ivar/Heahmund; Ivar/Reader Trigger warning for mentioning of past drug abuse, loss of loved one, psychological child abuse; see Ao3 for all tags Words: 3808

Bright sunlight blinded Hvitserk’s eyes when he climbed up higher and higher into the huge oak, closely followed by his little brother.

“Wait for me,” he heard toddler Ivar cheerfully giggle. “I’ll get you, Hvitserk!”

And Hvitserk turned around, looking into Ivar’s shining eyes, light blue like a frozen lake and yet full of life and warmth. Tiny teeth innocently exposed to the sun, a chubby hand reaching out to his older brother who leaned forward to grip it and lift Ivar up to the next branch. But just as their soft hands touched, Ivar slipped and Hvitserk couldn’t do anything but watch in horror as his little brother fell and fell until he landed in the meadow below with a dull thud.

The sound went straight to Hvitserk’s core, pumping adrenaline through his veins and waking him up with a racing heartbeat, breathing hard, bare chest covered in cold sweat.

“Ivar,” he breathed panicked, still trying to fully escape the dream, having already stumbled out of bed and towards the entrance of his apartment. There in a little clay bowl, made by his half-sister Gyda, were the keys to the next-door apartment, which belonged to his younger brother, Ivar.

When Hvitserk arrived in his brother’s pitch-dark bedroom, he was devastated to make out the shadow of Ivar on the floor. That could only mean two things: that his baby brother was deadly drunk…or worse.

Not sure which option he’d have to face, Hvitserk slowly knelt. He stretched his arm out but hesitated to let his hand touch Ivar yet.

“Hey brother? Ivar!” and when he carefully shook his brother’s shoulder and was not yelled at, he started to wish Ivar was drunk. Selfishly, Hvitserk longed for the less painful explanation, knowing what followed would break both their hearts. Again.

He carefully leaned over Ivar and whispered, “It’s okay, I’m here.” Then he stood up, turned back the covers on the bed and waited for his brother to drag himself onto it. The ongoing silence, so unlike his brother, scared Hvitserk. After Ivargot himself up and into bed Hvitserk’s heart felt enormously heavy, and he got to bed as well, lining himself up behind his brother, carefully pushing one of his knees between Ivar’s cold, lifeless legs. Just when he lay his arm around Ivar’s waist, offering his other arm as a pillow, the latter mumbled, barely audible, “I can’t take it anymore.”

Fuck. What is he supposed to say to that? “It’s all going to be okay”? Because how could it? They both knew it would be such a lie.

So instead Hvitserk drew Ivar closer and asked him: “Hear my heartbeat? Just focus on that. Breathe.”

After a few minutes Ivar’s breathing steadied and Hvitserk calmed down a bit himself, only to start wondering what had put Ivar in such a state. His thoughts wandered and Hvitserk didn’t realise that he was slowly drifting back to sleep until a rough voice suddenly mumbled, “I wish I could be just like everyone else. Not standing out. Not in constant pain. And not needing to be looked after.”

And while that should have made Hvitserk’s heart break, it nearly cheered him up; all his brother longed for, was so reasonable. But above all, the bitterness with which he proclaimed his dreams, although only whispered, showed his strength. Yes, he might be in despair, and who wouldn’t? But Ivar would never give up. That was something Hvitserk was so sure of in that moment.

He cleared his throat: “Well my dear brother, if you of all the people would be just like everybody else, this world would be a damn boring place.” And he knew how Ivar smiled in that moment even if he couldn’t see it, and he felt his chest broaden. And he went on: “And -as much as it hurts me to admit - someone so remarkable, like you, will always stand out.” And hey, that even earned him a little huff.

Ivar had taken his brother’s hand and their thumbs brushed over each other’s fingers, just the way they had done when they were kids.

“Regarding the pain, brother; not the one who never fell, but the one who always stood up again is the strongest of them all.”

“That some wisdom of your Buddha, huh?” Ivar teased playfully.

“Fuck you,” Hvitserk smiled and hurried to bury his face in Ivar’s neck. They both knew that these two words were actually saying: “There is nothing in this world I’d rather do than to take care of you. I love you.”

It was silent again. No cars were driving outside yet and Hvitserk couldn’t even hear a bird over the loud pulsing of his blood. It must be between two or three o’clock in the morning.

Ivar’s strong hands clasped close around his brother’s wrist while his right elbow punched Hvitserk playfully in his side.

“Hey,” he complained.

Ivar then twisted his upper body, pushed himself a bit up and turned his face towards his brother. Their lips were just inches apart and Hvitserk felt Ivar’s warm breath on his when he looked him deep in the eyes and then hummed a drowsy, “Good night”.

They must have fallen asleep straight afterwards since Hvitserk couldn’t remember closing his eyes at all, but now, awake again, he heard many birds chirping outside. Once more he was grateful, they had not only found neighbouring apartments, but that they had come with a roof terrace. Not only thecoolest thing for parties but also a great space to grow strawberries in the summer, some herbs, tomatoes lavender and some tiny trees, which attracted a lot of tiny birds. Sometimes Hvitserk was still surprised how much he really liked gardening, but it had helped him a lot during his past struggle. Taking care of something that could grow and prosper under his touch, through his care, proved to him once again that he was needed and able to do good.

It had always been like that though, Hvitserk had always been the one everyone in the family could rely on. He had always gladly helped and still it was just so often overlooked. Being sandwiched between siblings— three older, two elevated by their superior lineage, and the two youngest, so loud and demanding, constantly fighting for their parent’s attention— Hvitserk shared the fate of most middle children; being taken granted for by everyone.

Somehow no one had ever wondered, why it was him who started to get up at night and go over to the room Sigurd and Ivar shared as kids when the latter cried. Hvitserk didn’t blame Sigurd though, who was still so young himself, and he would never blame anyone anyway. Still, sometimes he had wondered why Ubbe never thought it was his duty as the eldest to help their overtired parents by looking after Ivar at night sometimes. After a while Hvitserk’s sleep got so light that Ivar just had to whimper, and his older brother was there to soothe him before his parents even heard anything.

Of course, it was their mom, and only she, who was able to get through to Ivar when he was in really bad pain, when he had another broken bone or had extreme growing pains. And during the days it was Ubbe or their dad who made sure to keep Ivar entertained and occupied as good as possible, as much as Aslaug allowed, to distract Ivar from his chronic pain. But it was always Hvitserk who calmed Ivar when he had a bad dream or was sad and frustrated and couldn’t sleep because the rising pain kept him awake. Then his older brother would carefully cuddle up to him and retell him the stories he himself had just heard from Ubbe. Hvitserk loved Ubbe dearly and his storytelling abilities was only one of the many things Hvitserk admired him for.

Cuddling up to each other became their routine, and then sometimes Hvitserk would stroke his baby brother’s back in calming circles, sometimes he just held his tiny shaking hand, sometimes he’d whisper stories and sometimes it took never-ending assurances of “it will soon be better” before Ivar fell asleep again.

The calming circles was a trick Gyda had shown him; Hvitserk was sure that he would have had no chance of ever looking after Ivar if Gyda and Björn had lived in the same house. But sharing the same property with two main houses was all Lagertha and Aslaug could agree to. The houses had to be in fact the exact replicas, his father grumbling that this made him look like an idiot to the rest of Kattegat, while Aslaug was furious hers wasn’t bigger, as she had given him not only two but four children and one needed special care, while Lagertha always played the “but I was his first wife and gave birth to his first son” card. This bickering had been a constant background noise to them all throughout their childhood.

The kids all got along well. Sometimes it seemed as if they were making up for their parent’s constant fighting. Hvitserk looked up to Ubbe, Ubbe adored Björn, Sigurd was a needy little pest but was always kept in check by their sweet sister Gyda who was the one person all of them always instantly listened to, even though she never raised her voice. And they all loved their baby brother Ivar.

Looking back, Hvitserk thought that never raising her voice had worked wonders for Gyda and had been her superpower in the often so loud household. Wherever she went, Gyda exuded an atmosphere of calm and friendliness.

Hvitserk missed his half-sister, while, lost in thought, he stroked a strand of damp hair from Ivar's forehead. After some time, he carefully made sure that Ivar was still asleep and then snuck out of the bed and back to his own apartment.

These neighbouring apartments had been a gift from the gods, just when both had needed a wink from fate. After Hvitserk got released from rehab Aslaug didn’t want to have him in their house anymore. She was very outspoken about it and about her reason for it: she feared for Ivar. Those words, yelled in a high-pitched voice, made Ivar doubt his mother’s sanity for the second time in his life. Her angry announcement also led to a fierce fight between Ragnar and Athelstan; Athelstan didn’t want to waste a moment before welcoming Hvitserk in the home he and Ragnar shared. But Ragnar proclaimed that it would do Hvitserk no good if he wasn’t forced to stand on his own feet again.

Being of age and with both his parents not wanting him around, Hvitserk was overjoyed that his little brother was finally sick of Aslaug’s suffocating love and was similarly anxious to get out of the toxic household.

It also helped immensely that Ragnar’s guilty consciousness led him to move mountains and loads of money to grant them their neighbouring apartments over the roofs of Copenhagen.

Aslaug had a fit that someone in a wheelchairwould want to move to a roof top loft, but all three men had done their best to just ignore her. The boys would swear they had later heard their dad’s thoughts on exactly where their mom could shove her concerns regarding the roof top, as they argued on the street.

The modern building had an excellent lift, and the character of the loft gave Ivar all the space he needed. Ragnar made sure that his good friend Floki oversaw any needed adjustments in regards of the widths of the doors or the accessibility of the terrace.

Ivar’s apartment also had adjusted furniture throughout all rooms and Floki took pride in designing the kitchen himself.

Now, back in his own apartment, the cold blanket over Hvitserk’s unused bed made him shiver as he wrapped himself in it. He couldn’t fall asleep again. Instead, he lay there, stared at his ceiling, a wave of emotions suddenly clashing over him. The last three years had been such a roller coaster.

Thora.

His fingers clung to the blanket almost painfully.

Hvitserk pressed his eyes together and forced himself to try some steady breaths, just as he had shown to Ivar only a few hours ago. After a few minutes, he breathed out deeply, opened his eyes and mumbled into the darkness: “You did well. You overcame things, Hvits. You did it and you can still do it.” And suddenly, his anxiety switched to a slightly hysterical laughter. “Oh fuck!” he laughed staring at the ceiling again. “I’m such a pathetic loser, mumbling to myself in the dark…”

But his words didn’t contain any heat and a small smile formed on his lips since he knew he wasn’t a pathetic looser. At least definitely not when it came to other people. Hvitserk knew that he was a good brother. Especially to Ivar. Always had, always would be.

Hvitserk relaxed a bit more in his bed and thought back to their childhood again. He had always understood Ivar’s despair, his illness making him incapable to certain aspects of life. Hvitserk had never looked to the side or pretend not to hear when small sniffles filled his brother’s bedroom. Hvitserk could never stand anyone being in pain.

That’s how he and Ivar had become inseparable, even though Hvitserk had never stopped loving spending time with Ubbe. But the nights filled with hidden sobs belonged to him and his baby brother. When they had gotten a bit older and started school, they started to hide their cuddling from the rest, Hvitserk always sneaking back to his bed before anyone woke up. Just as they had done now. But nevertheless, hiding it sometimes didn’t sit well with Hvitserk since they weren’t doing anything wrong. And he often longed for owning up to it.

Especially when the comforting felt so good.

******

The next time Hvitserk woke was thanks to his vibrating phone. With narrowed eyes he tapped around his bed to find it. The sun was already shining brightly into his room, and he wondered what time it was.

With a groan he opened the screen but then smiled.

Ivar had sent a picture of his famous pancakes and the teasing/taunting message, “Liking them cold now?”

Hvitserk answered with the running man emoji and jumped out of bed to get a quick shower.

About 15 minutes and a stack of freshly made pancakes later, Ivar asked, “Good?” with a raised eyebrow, rather amused about the way Hvitserk stuffed the sweets in.

“Sure,” Hvitserk grinned and held his coffee cup up shaking it in the air in silent request.

“Huh! Don’t you have legs, anymore?” Ivar huffed with mocked indignation, nevertheless taking the cup and limping towards his fancy coffee machine.

Those were the good moments. And Ivar had them, and they both loved them, but there was still the underlying question about last night. While Ivar pushed the buttons on the shiny coffee machine to make his brother an Americano, Hvitserk started to play around on his phone.

And there it was, the explanation for last night:

Special needs Ragnarsson to join university of Copenhagen

There are pictures too. They must have caught Ivar yesterday afternoon; looking very grumpy while he had tried to climb the stairs of the university, struggling with his crutches while carrying the registration paperwork under one arm as well.

“Ivar…” he sighed, a dull plain already clenching around his heart.

He could see how Ivar’s back muscles stiffened before he hissed a frustrated: “Don’t.”

Gosh, how Hvitserk hated the paparazzi for what they were constantly doing to them. If it wasn’t him being caught drunk, Björn with some women or Sigurd with some guy, they could always rip on Ivar.

“You could’ve…” he started but got harshly interrupted by his brother.

“No, I can’t always run whining to Ubbe, okay?” He slammed his coffee angrily on the table with such a force, that little droplets of coffee splashed to his plate. “And I won’t! Besides they just caught me off guard,” Ivar hissed through gritted teeth.

They both sat silently for a while, trying to concentrate on their breakfast, which no longer tasted that good, with all the tension in the air.

Ivar knew his brother was just worried about him, but he didn’t need that, well at least he didn’t want it. He wanted to stand up for himself and make his own decisions. And it was probably this thought that made him admit: “I visited mom, afterward.”

He didn’t even have to look over to Hvitserk to know how immediately tense he became. Biting his lower lip, a frown on his forehead Ivar prepared himself to hear a litany of reasons why that had been a fucking stupid idea.

Just as Hvitserk opened his mouth, Ivar got ahead of him. Looking out of the huge window, concentrating on the clouds to avoid looking at his brother, he admitted in a low voice:

“I just had to, Hvit. I wanted to show her the stuff from university and just share that with her.” And then he turned around facing his brother, suddenly quite furiously: “Just because you all hate her, I don’t, okay!?”

Hvitserk dropped his fork in resignation. Pancakes or not, it was too early to have this discussion again. And while he wondered how they could have arrived at this argument again, his phone beeped.

Ubbe: Is he okay?

Hvitserk huffed, rolled his eyes, and typed the fitting emoji in the box, adding, “what do you think?” Then added another message: “for even more fun, he went to see mother afterwards…”

Ubbe: ugh, one day I’ll get her a restraining order, I swear!

Hvitserk: only if you want Ivar never to speak to you again…

Unnerved from the typing, Ivar felt he’d lash out on his brother any second when he got a message himself.

The sender startled him, though, and a surprised “Huh” escaped his lips. He was supporting himself with one hand on the kitchen island, staring at his mobile in the other with quite some disbelieve.

“What’s it?”

“It’s from Lagertha,” Ivar frowned.

Abandoning his own mobile and instead reaching for the last pancake – because tension or not, Hvitserk was definitely not wasting any food - he wondered what Lagertha was up to.

They all tried to be civil with her, although being honest and more precise, it was only Ivar and he who needed some effort to behave around her. Ubbe had always adored her, although maybe Ubbe had only always adored Björn and dreamt about having the same mother as his big idol.

And do not get him started on Sigurd. That idiot would write an essay about the hardships of this poor, hard fighting women, who lost her husband to some bitch of a woman. Whose then ex-husband never stop hitting on her and dreaming about the three of them living together before he finally gave up on both and moved on. On to Athelstan, the ex-priest he had fallen in love with on one of his many travels.

It was no wonder Sigurd adored Lagertha as she had never - in contrast to both his biological parents – looked down on his musical aspirations as weak, and even supported him to try turn his passion into a proper job. Nonetheless, Hvitserk never understood why his little brother had come out as bisexual to Lagertha first and not to their father, given his current situation. That was one step too many if you asked Hvitserk. He and all his brothers would have been – well were – supportive of Sigurd. The fact he trusted Lagertha more than them, had driven a wedge between Sigurd and him. It had hurt and confused him, and he didn’t want to dislike Sigurd. And sometimes Hvitserk thought it had just been another way for his younger brother to get attention.

For a very short time Sigurd had been the family’s baby and gotten all their mother’s attention. She was so proud of him when he was born with a sign in his eyes. She had been walking around telling everyone about old sagas and that “Sigurd Snake in the Eye” was born for higher things. And then Ivar was born and all of Aslaug’s attention was drawn to him.

As understandable as it was that Ivar needed more attention than other babies, Aslaug just completely forgot about Sigurd. Forgot about all of them, actually, but Hvitserk and Ubbe had already been at an age where not too much attention from their mother was actually welcomed. Whereas Sigurd was just a toddler himself and didn’t understand what he could have done wrong to be totally wiped from his mother’s plate. Still craving for her love and attention, Sigurd identified Ivar as the cause of his misery and had despised him since then.

It was entirely thanks to Gyda that things between the two youngest never escalated. She had always put so much effort in bringing the two youngest together and creating a mutual understanding for each other’s situations. And while their dad was grateful, in awe of his daughter, both of his ex-wives, at some point, grew weary of Gyda’s efforts. Hvitserk never understood what had happened then and neither Lagertha nor his mother ever cared to explain anything to them. One day, Gyda had simply left. It had taken a whole year for her to reach out to them again.

“What does she want?” Hvitserk sighed, not sure if he really cared. Sometimes Hvitserk just wanted his former, very uncomplicated life back. The life they had, when their parents were still together, the life prior to Sigurd getting caught being fucked up the ass by a slimy music producer or Hvitserk lying in his own vomit after a bad trip. No, don’t think back to the drugs, he instantly told himself. He closed his eyes and wished that Ivar either wouldn’t notice his trembling hand or would think that it was Lagertha stressing him out. After all, he had been clean for nearly two years now.

Luckily Ivar didn’t seem to realise his sudden instability or maybe put it down as him still needing more sugar. He didn’t comment on it, at least, but instead explained:

“She said some guy saw one of my photographs at her home and asked if there was more. He might be interested in buying.”

“Oh. Well, that’d be cool, no?” Hvitserk replied with a full mouth.

Ivar huffed, and then looked at his brother. He had a smirk on his lips and didn’t seem to be angry any longer: “Well, definitely cooler than the guy’s name.”

Hvitserk raised an eyebrow questioningly. And when Ivar read, with exaggerated clarity, “Heahmund” they both started to laugh.

@not-another-viking-fanfic-blog @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie @pieces-by-me @punkrocknpearls @vikingstrash

#vikings au #vikings fanfiction #vikings ivar #ivar the boneless #hvitserk #vikings hvitserk #ragnarssons #ragnar lothbrok #heahmund x ivar #ivar x reader #floki #athelstan #lagertha #gyda #vikings #sigurd #vikings ubbe #aslaug #vikings bjorn

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pomegranates-and-blood · 3 years

Text

To the edge of days (Prologue, pt. 2)

To the edge of days Masterlist

Pairing: Hvitserk/Reader

Summary: A fairytale retelling of the story of the Sea Tsar and Vasilisa the Wise, with some elements of the Swan Maiden myths and folklore.

Word Count: 4.5k (sorry!)

Warnings: Fantasy/Magic!AU, canon-typical mentions or descriptions of violence and injuries, and ✨magic✨ (and shapeshifter!Reader and OCs, but if you don’t like that sort of stuff rest assured that both the swan maiden/shapeshifting and the magic only have relevance on the prologue and 1st chapter, then it’s just basically canon universe rules in an AU with a few mentioned fantasy elements -well that was a needlessly complicated description-).

A/N: Second and final part of the prologue, hope this is alright! Thank you for reading!

I’m sorry it took me this long to post this part. I’m probably going to go with an update every two weeks instead of one like I did for the other series bc I’m currently writing very slowly and I have countless other stuff I need to focus on and post. Thank you for understanding!

Under your feet you could feel the vibrations of a battle, you could feel in a way neither of your sisters were ever able to the way the blood of Živa’s victims wets the hard earth of these lands; but now you cannot.

Now the quiet that reigns in the forests around you is not that unnatural quiet of the land holding its breath as a beast prowls in its hunt, but the quiet accompanied by the breeze flowing between the high trees and the birds chirping away as if calling for spring to rush its approach.

You realize only then, only in that quiet, that your sisters’ hunt has ended, that blood has been spilled and repaid.

Only then you realize you’ve been entertaining your foolishly soft heart with the company of this man for half a day.

And you know that at the reminder you should make yourself pull away, but you have no desire to do so.

He has offered tales of his land -Kattegat, he called it, and you learned that his voice sounds more his own when he says it, just as when he says words in his own language, unsure on what the translation to the tongue of the Rus is- and of his family -he has told you of the father he barely knew but keeps being told he should remember and the mother he tells himself he shouldn’t remember as not to miss her-; and in exchange you foolishly give away tales of your own, of your land and your family.

Shamefully almost, you realize your tales of your land are limited to these forests, to the distant and stolen Kiev, while his are of travels to warm lands with his eldest half-brother, and battles and conquests in lands of fog and rain with his other three brothers; and your family is this greedily-kept secret of your two sisters and the ghosts only Morana remembers enough to grieve for, while he has a glorious father the world will always remember and a mother that awaits them in their Kattegat, and four brothers that have stretched their fame all over their world and have explored greatly, married princesses, or made themselves lords of vast lands.

But he seems honest in his curiosity for you, it feels like he is as awed by your tales as you are by his, and it fills you with a warmth you know you should be spurning.

He tells you that after they avenged their father he and his brothers went on their own paths, the eldest returning to warm and sunny lands, while the second eldest -Ubbe, he told you, and you are still amazed by how easily he gives away their names, but much more so by how his voice changes when he speaks of home- earned himself lands to farm and form a family in, the last one having married a princess of some faraway lands.

He tells you that he and his youngest brother went in search of conquests and battle and found themselves in Oleg’s grasp, only now finding the allies and resources needed to turn their back to Oleg and retreat to Novgorod.

Only that it was today he was supposed to reach Dir’s city with his brother, and here he is, lost in some forest the Kievans speak of in fear, talking with you.

“I don’t understand,” You breathe out, realizing only after you have done it that you have leant closer to him. A part of you, skittish and distrusting, wants to move back, but pride keeps you from retreating. Eyes searching his and telling yourself the desire to not show weakness is the only reason you don’t pull away, you ask, “Do you not wish to be with your brother?”

A small smile, and he confesses, “The Fates will always bring Ivar and me back together. I do not know much, but I know this.”

“Trusting Fate to act in your place is not going to lead you in a good path.”

“It has so far.”

“You were in Kiev.” You tell him slowly, expecting him to realize it hasn’t been a very good path if it ended or even passed through Oleg’s city.

He chuckles at your words, but doesn’t quite acquiesce, instead arguing, “With my brother. And we made it out.”

“You haven’t, not yet.”

“I will,” He reassures without missing a beat. Your eyes narrow a you consider him, and after a while he prompts, “Unless your sisters plan on stopping me again.”

“Again?”

“We were separated, I told you.”

“You think we had anything to do with it?”

His gaze pointedly travels to the cloak over your shoulders, a nonchalant downward curve of his mouth as he shrugs, “Call it a hunch.”

The words stumble past your lips before you can remind yourself to have tact, “They have probably done more than stopping him, then.”

“You haven’t met Ivar.” He says without hesitation, and it is not a threat, but a promise.

He holds a certainty towards his brother’s strength that you are almost surprised by. A part of you considers that perhaps it is not at his brother’s strength, but at his stubbornness. A life beside Živa has taught you that it is more often the latter and not the former that more often lets people persevere.

“And you haven’t met my sister,” You correct. At his silence, you narrow your eyes, lips curving into a smile as you add, “If you expect me to give you her name, you will wait for a long time.”

His expression flickers to an almost affronted kind of curiosity for a moment, but as easily as you can read that on his face, you can read that he chooses to let go of it.

With a deep breath, “Would it help if I told you my name?”

“You would give it freely?”

A name might not mean to them as much as it means to you, but you truly are curious to see whether he would give it away regardless. You are not Morana, you are not one to have a hold over death and health, you can barely do anything with a man’s name; but he doesn’t know that.

He has been a witness to your magic, willingly gave away his weapons and offered only awe when you turned iron to dust, he has sat here and talked with you giving away truths as if you were a human just like him, and now you cannot help but wonder if he will trust you with his name as well.

You are tempted to call this instinct to trust others carelessness, or foolishness.

His warm gaze searches yours, and you know it is not carelessness because of the way he is hesitating to give his name away, you know it is not foolishness because of the way only in his hesitation he gives away knowing how important this choice might be.

It is not carelessness, it is not foolishness. It is something else, something you can’t quite understand.

“My name is Hvitserk.”

“Hvitserk,” You repeat, tasting the word on your tongue. You notice the way his smile widens, softens, at the sound of his name on your lips, and your heart does a strange thing in your chest at the sight. Scrambling to speak of something that isn’t that foolish warmth in your chest, or the way he’s looking at you, you prompt, “You truly did not intend to come here, then?”

“I don’t know exactly where here is.”

“Half a day on horseback from Kiev’s eastern forward camp,” You reply easily, shrugging your shoulders when he looks at you questioningly. At his silence, you motion with your head to his horse, “So you ought to make haste if you want to get there before nightfall.”

He doesn’t answer for a few breaths, the ghost of a smile curving at his lips that seems to be there without his permission to. That foolish thought makes your mouth almost curve to meet that smile, but you catch yourself before it betrays you.

“Yes, I, uh, I was told creatures lurk in these forests at night.”

This time you do not bother holding back a smile, and you walk closer, a skip in your step as you tilt your head to look at him.

“And do you believe that?”

“Should I?”

“Why are you asking me? Can’t you make up your own mind?”

“More often than not, no,” He chuckles despite himself, offering a nonchalant gesture as if to say he cannot help it. Licking his lips, the man considers you again, warm eyes roaming over you in a way that doesn’t feel abrasive, or unkind. It seems…curious, awed, and it catches your heart by surprise. “Is it true? They say women live in these forests, daughters of…Gods.”

Your nose furrows as you sigh, “Gods, kings. The centuries make those words mean the same thing entirely too often.”

“You haven’t answered, I still don’t know what you are.”

You wonder if you should, for that instant. A breath, and you almost tell him that your father’s name was in a tongue not even the echoes remember, that the gold of Kiev’s gates once was thread with which your mother wove, that your and your sister’s seclusion in these forests was nothing if not banishment.

“I’ll lead you to Kiev,” You tell him instead, walking towards the horse and daring a caress of its mane as you challenge his rider, “If you can keep up.”

His almost-startled laugh makes you turn around, and you find him with eyebrows raised, pointedly looking down at your bare feet before meeting your eyes.

“Is that a challenge?” He prompts, to which you shrug. Hvitserk walks closer, and holding his gaze, you silently offer him the reins of the horse with a teasing tilt of your head. “What will I get when I win?”

“If. What is it you want?”

He licks his lips as his gaze drops to your mouth, and your treacherous breath catches in your throat. You refuse to give anything away, and you patiently wait for his answer.

“A kiss?” He dares, smile widening just slightly as the words leave his lips. You could swear he almost leans closer, but stops himself.

Regardless, you take a step back, and nod your head once in assent.

Once he settles comfortably on his horse and gives you a gesture of his head that he is ready, you reach for that tether that always lingers in the back of your mind, a string tying you to this world that sometimes comforts you and sometimes chokes you.

The transformation is seamless, and taking to the darkening skies feels like emerging from cold waters and taking grateful gulps of air for the first time in entirely too long.

Perching yourself on a nearby branch, you feel the man’s eyes on you and give one shrill vocalization before you take off.

You hear the almost-hidden chuckle that leaves Hvitserk’s lips as he tries urging the horse to be faster, you hear the animal’s huffs and quickened heartbeat, you hear the wind rushing past you as you breach the tree line and face the almost barren vastness of land before you.

In the back of your mind, you hear the song of your home calling you back, warning you not to get too far. It sounds like Živa’s burst of boastful laughter as she lands a good shot during a hunt, and Morana’s quiet voice as she shares stories of the world before the Kievans in the dead of night; and it gets louder and louder as you approach the stolen city.

But you can ignore it, you can focus instead of the rhythm of a horse’s hooves on the cold ground, you can focus on the wind against your wings; and before long you reach the forward camp, or as close to it as you will allow yourself to go.

Of course, you get there before Hvitserk. You can see him grinning even as he approaches you, and your own lips curve into a smile as well.

He jumps down from the horse, eyes locked on you, and the way he looks at you, as if he is seeing you for the first time even if you are back in your true form, makes a strange pang of something flow through you.

“Word of advice: never bet against me.”

He chuckles, looks down at the ground with an expression that lingers somewhere near bashfulness, and your heart skips a beat.

“I’ll keep it in mind,” He promises almost absently, before admitting, “I-…for a moment, I thought you wanted to lose.”

“Oh?” You draw back, eyebrows raised. You know the answer, but you still have to ask, “And why did you think I would I want to?”

He doesn’t have much of a silver tongue when you put him on the spot, and that is entirely too endearing.

Clearing his throat, Hvitserk instead asks, “What will you ask for, since you won?”

They say giving someone your name gives them power over you, and in the refuge of your and your sisters’ world you never thought much of such a thing; but now the old warning comes unbidden to your mind.

Because it is a certainty that you can only attribute to magic -attributing it to something other would be possible but you do not want to consider that to blame there might be something softer, something more foolish- that lets you confidently step towards him, crossing the distance between you until you are tilting your head back to look into his warm eyes.

“We are more alike than I thought,” You admit, lips quirking into a smile and heart speeding up when his eyes follow the movement, drawn to the curve of your mouth. “I ask for the same prize you did.”

He hesitates, only a moment, gaze dragged back to your own and something soft swimming in the warmth of his eyes, before he takes that small step forward, hand daring rest on the side of your waist.

“You didn’t have to win the race to get a kiss from me.” He murmurs, voice low as his head bows down, brow almost pressed against yours.

Your breath hitches, and you lift a trembling hand to rest against his chest, thrill and excitement making your blood sing, your smile widen, your heart flutter.

Your voice is a whisper as you tilt your head, up lips a breath away from his own, “Neither did you.”

That same smile you have seen a few times today, that smile that almost startles you in its softness, in its warmth, is a smile you can now feel pressed against your own foolish smile, as Hvitserk crosses the small distance that separates you and finally captures your mouth.

He kisses you deeply, slowly, as if you both have all the time in the world to introduce your bodies to one another. Bringing you closer with his hands -gentle, impossibly so, and you think absently that might shatter because of that reckless gentleness- on either side of your waist, his tongue ventures past the seam of your lips, and in the maddening and intoxicating feel of his kiss you can almost pretend alongside him that there is nothing more urgent or more important than the taste of his kiss, the warmth of his skin, the sound of his name.

But eventually you have to part, and put your feet back on the ground, realize it isn’t possible to keep to the skies forever. Your hands on his chest serve both as a way to push yourself away and a barrier to keep him from claiming your mouth again as the elan of his body towards yours told you he intended to.

The warmth in his gaze swims alongside something darker, something that makes a pang of heat go through you.

Hvitserk licks his lips absently, as if chasing the taste of you, and you have to close your hand into a fist to keep yourself from reaching up with careless fingers and tracing the shape of his lips.

Instead of any such foolish thing, you step back, unable still to turn your back but content with being strong enough to pull away. You hold his gaze, you wouldn’t dare not to, even if your resolve almost falters when he seems to hesitate, arm stretching towards you as if to stop you from putting too much distance between you before he catches himself.

“Farewell, Hvitserk.” You tell him, taking another step back. Your body still refuses to obey and turn around, turn your back to him, and you are thankful for it, for you realize one last thing about this stranger.

You noticed before that his voice changes, his posture changes, his whole demeanor changes, when he speaks of his home, when he utters even a single word in his tongue or a name from his world. You notice now that his name on your lips evokes in him the same, bringing forth that inviting warmth, that captivating openness; and ensnaring you all the more.

With one last bow of your head as goodbye, you change back and take to the skies silently. You pretend not to feel his gaze on you as you fly towards the refuge of your lands, you pretend not to feel a strange dull ache in your chest as you leave him behind.

____

You never will stop being amazed by Morana’s ability to find you and Živa wherever it is you are, ever the eldest sister, and your eyes follow the path of the raven and the for-once slower hawk as they descend further away from the tree line with a small smile starting to curve at your lips.

Past the distance, you hear them arguing long before you can see them approach.

“Well, forgive me for thinking my sister would have my back!”

“I told you not t-…”

An angry huff interrupts Morana’s calm words soon enough.

“What is the matter?” You ask, and try as you might you cannot keep the smile that starts curving your lips at the petulant anger that darkens Živa’s voice.

“Morana tried to have me killed.”

Both your sisters make their way to you, and you see the mark of battle on both of them, but they are -as always- thankfully alive and well.

“Why would I try? That Kievan almost succeeded on his own.” Morana retorts, laughing as she dodges Živa’s half-hearted kick. Only when the latter moves you notice the stain of red on her side, thick blood that slithers down from her ribs.

If the pain is too much to bear, she doesn’t show it, instead arguing, “At least I didn’t run away.”

“No, you stayed and almost died. Brilliant strategy, truly.”

She huffs, petulant, “You are duller than I thought if you believe a man can kill me.”

Morana sighs, and though her attention lingers on the conversation, you notice the way she looks back, presses her lips together at the few drops of blood Živa is leaving as a trail. It is not often that you or one of your sisters bleeds, and though you saw no battle today it still unsettles to be a witness to the aftermath, so you can imagine Morana is more affected by Živa’s injuries that she lets on.

Regardless, she teases, a cold quirk of her lips, “I would think needing me to save you again would humble you.”

“You should know better.” You quip, earning a smile from the eldest.

But, of course, Živa argues, “Don’t flatter yourself, you didn’t save me. Besides, it wasn’t a fair fight.”

“You can fly, and that Kievan couldn’t walk properly. How much more in your favor do you want it to be?”

Živa furrows her lips to hide a pout, and all she answers with at the end is a petulant, “Hmph.”

“I have to ask how It happened, Živa.” You prompt, but she doesn’t answer, stubbornly remaining silent as she summons a small whisper of spring to come to her, thawing snow from a nearby fallen tree before she sits down on it.

Morana takes advantage of that silence without hesitation, “‘The fastest sister’ cannot dodge an arrow, it seems. Nicked her on the side, right under her wing, and took her down. She was off balance after that, couldn’t fight well.”

It is not every day a man, a human, is able to take one of you from the skies. In all the years you have waged your secret and already-lost war against the Kievans, no one has ever taken Živa down, few of the scars she bears have a man as the reason; and though in the back of your mind grows the worry that it might happen again and she might not be lucky or strong enough to survive such a mistake again, you still start turning towards her with an expression that gives away your intention to tease her long before you open your mouth.

“Whatever it is, save it,” Živa is groaning before you even finish turning your head to her. Eyes wide and smile mocking, you approach her, ignoring her glare and the way she puffs up like an irked bird, “Vasilisa…”

“Don’t call me that,” You dismiss quickly, but you do not let up, “You let a Kievan win against you?”

Živa only offers a curse in a language you are too young to remember, dark eyes narrowed but still following your movements as you motion for her to move her arm to let you see the wound.

It is worrying, it always is when any of your sisters gets harmed, but she will be fine. Though, you worry how much harder flying will prove for her as she heals, and how your stubborn sister will refuse to let her body heal if it means she has to keep herself from doing as she pleases.

After a moment of silence, in a mumble that shouldn’t be as adorable as it is, she pouts, “He didn’t win.”

“Yes, he did.” Morana quips without missing a beat.

“Oi, whose side are you on!?”

She shrugs, “Yours, but you must allow me this, it is not every day I see you defeated,” You both ignore Živa’s petulant huff of defeated as if the very meaning of the word is strange to her, and diverting her attention to you and putting an end to the previous conversation, Morana presses, “Can you follow their trail? I think they were headed for Novgorod, but we should make sure they are past our borders.”

Calling your and your sisters’ strained attempts at keeping control of the forests that make the stretch of wilderness between the main cities of the Rus any semblance of a border is laughable and frankly more than generous; but she is right to speak of the woods that surround you, the wilderness no Rus would venture into in fear of the creatures -shapeshifters in some tongues, demons in others, and even ghosts according to some- that inhabit them, as yours.

And because they are yours, because your name speaks of your bond to these lands and your sisters’ of their influence on it, you know you must protect it.

You know you must make sure the foreigners have departed.

But you cannot help yourself when you once again look beyond the tree line into the distant vastness that somewhere in it holds the great city of Kiev. You cannot help but hesitate.

“I will take flight before dawn, I can catch up,” You offer a smile and turn to Živa, “We all know I am the fastest, after all.”

Her eyes narrow at your taunt, but she insists, “And what reasons might you have to not go now?”

“I, uh, there was a man here. He was watching me while I was in the river.”

Morana steps forward, furrowed brows and eyes cold, “Did he hurt you?”

“If he had tried to, his corpse would be keeping me company.” You reassure her, to which your sister only smiles, falling back into silence as she sits down on one of the cold rocks in front of you.

“Why are you here alone, then?”

“I am curious,” You venture, looking back at the barren landscape past the edge of the forest where you three sit. You can almost see the distant lights of Kiev in the distance, and make out the shapes of its palace. “He isn’t from here, and didn’t speak kindly of Oleg. He said he was leaving Kiev soon, that he was to leave today but got lost.”

“We forced them to split their forces, when we attacked earlier,” Morana states, “Many were lost in the chaos, I made sure the snow kept no tracks.”

Živa acquiesces with a gesture of her head before she says, explaining to you, “They had their course marked for Novgorod, they wouldn’t have taken a route through our forests otherwise.”

“And they didn’t have the numbers of an army that would go there to try and reinstate Oleg’s influence on the city,” Morana confirms, nodding her head. “Whoever those people were, they were not allies of Oleg. Perhaps th-…why are you smiling like that?”

Jutting her chin forward, Živa boasts, “I wasn’t bested by a Kievan after all.”

“You have no certainty that they were all foreigners.”

But she is unwavering now, arrogant tilt of her head as she insists, “Oh, but I do. No Rus can defeat me.”

Your eyebrows raise, and you tease, “So you were defeated after all?”

“It was a draw.”

Around a chuckle, Morana says, “I would argue against that.”

“And you would be wrong, as you usually are,” She dismisses easily, leaning back where she sits and expertly hiding a wince at what the sudden movement does to her wounded side. Attention once again on you, she asks, “Are you here to see if that man was lying?”

“She’s here to protect him,” Morana states before you can answer. You turn your gaze to your sister, wide eyes looking into the endless darkness of hers and finding nothing but that serene calmness that even you sometimes find eerie. She betrays a smile -cold, but they always are- as she murmurs, a curse and a law all in one, “The powerful do not cross Kiev’s gates.”

“And the powerless hang from its walls,” Živa finishes, realization dawning on her as she too turns to look over at the kingdom in the distant horizon. “Whoever he was, he isn’t going to leave these lands alive, is he?”

“Not without help,” You quip, pointedly avoiding looking at them when Morana turns her head to you, eyes narrowed. Trying and failing to hide a smile, you turn to your sisters and gesture with your arm, “Are you coming or not?”

Živa huffs an angry breath, and even as she stands back up, securing the cloak back over her shoulders, she complains, “Your soft heart will get us killed one day, you know.”

Your laughter blends into the call of an owl as you take to the dark skies, with your sisters in tow.

____ ____ ____

Thank you for reading, I hope you liked this!

Btw, I made lil aesthetic boards for the Reader and the sisters, idk if I should post them bc it’s a reader insert after all, but if you’ve read my work you know that even for reader inserts I have a faceclaim to imagine the mannerisms and stuff (I make no descriptions in the story of her or her sisters bc I still want it to be as inclusive as I can, it’s just for myself), so idk, if you wanna see them lemme know.

To the edge of days taglist: @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie @solinarimoon @adrille88 @whenimaunicorn

#hvitserk x reader #hvitserk imagine #Hvitserk #to the edge of days masterlist

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waiting4inspiration · 3 years

Text

A Secret World I: The Outsider

Summary: Hvitserk wakes up in a strange place, surrounded by people (and creatures) he has never seen. The creatures are like those in the stories his mother used to tell when he was a child. And the people...well, they seem to be riding these creatures.

Warnings: mentions of a war, mentions of death, strong language, magical element, dragon rider au, fluff, little angst

Word Count: 2,201

A Secret World Masterlist II Vikings Masterlist

War had brought the Sons of Ragnar together. But it had been that exact war that ripped them apart from each other and from the world. When someone else threatened Kattegat, they came together to defend their home city. It seems that the only ones that could fight over the city are the brothers and no one else. While they were so concerned over fighting each other for the city their father once ruled, they were blind to the power growing outside, seeking to claim the gem to the Lothbrok legend.

The morning of the battle was the last time Hvitserk saw his brothers. Things went so wrong, so quickly. Ivar’s plan had failed and the garrison Hvitserk had to lead fell into an ambush and now lie dead in the clearing they had to pass through. Hvitserk does know how he had survived or how he had managed to trundle through the trees and bushes of the forest before finding his savior.

He thought it had been a trick his mind was playing on him due to blood loss, but he was sure he saw a giant beast he had never seen before hiding behind a huge collection of bushes. It was...growling at him in a low growl he had imagined Fenrir to growl when his mother told him stories of the wolf. And a woman, crouched in front of the bushes, with a look of trepidation in her eyes, wearing clothing he has never seen before. As she approached, the blackness clouded his vision and he fell with a thud.

The next moment, he wakes in a place so bright, it could be Valhalla. But there are women hovering above him, giggling and whispering. He’s sure this isn’t Valhalla. Not to mention that he doesn’t feel dead. He feels very much alive and very much in pain.

“He’s awake,” one woman gasps, and Hvitserk almost regrets letting his eyes flutter open for a second. Knowing he can’t fake being asleep anymore, he lazily rolls his head to the side and opens his eyes to see where he is.

There’s a strange creature by his face that startles him with a scream and flaps its leathery wings to land in the arms of one of the women beside the bed Hvitserk lays on. He jumps at the sight, pushing himself up but then hisses at the pain shooting through his side. The creature shots at him again before it takes flight out of the window. Hvitserk doesn’t think about the pain in his body, but about the creature and what it might be. He’s never seen anything like it before.

A clap echoes through the room, making him jump again as every head turns to the sound. Hvitserk’s eyes widen at the woman making her way into the room.

“Alright, leave him alone,” you order, a chorus of protests sounding as the girls around the wounded man slowly back away. “Come on, I let you have a look, now it’s time to do your duties. Runa, go feed Darkar for me.”

“But Darkar doesn’t like me.” The girl who had mentioned Hvitserk’s awakening and who has been close to his side this whole time stands and faces you.

“Well, then you’d best do it with caution,” you snidely state, placing a hand on her shoulder and moving her away from the bed, urging her to leave with the others.

The girl, Runa, leaves with a frustrated huff and arms crossed over her chest as she mutters to herself. She’s followed by the others after you had given them a hard look but before they exit through the door, they take one last look at Hvitserk, giggle, and then walk away.

“Forgive my sisters. They are still quite young,” you laugh, walking past the bed to collect a cup from a table. “I think the only way they will bother you is by asking questions about where you come from. They have yet to explore the outside world.” As you speak, you walk across the room and towards what seems to be a stream trickling down the wall of the room. A small waterfall Hvitserk had not noticed.

He gets a better look of your face when you turn towards him. “You,” he whispers, remembering you from what feels like a dream. The woman with the strange creature lurking behind the bushes.

“(Y/n).” You walk to him, holding the cup in your hand and a smile on your face. Sitting beside him, you hold out the cup for him. “And what do I call you?” you ask.

Taking the cup from you, he looks down at what’s in it. It looks like water but there’s a sweet smell coming from it. His eyes lift to you, holding the cup closer to his chest. “Hvitserk,” he whispers, finding himself smiling back at you when you nod your head. “Where am I?” he asks, looking over at the windows of the room to see if he recognize the surroundings. When he looks back at you, he finds your smile is now bigger.

“Drink up and I’ll show you,” you sing, smiling brightly at him as you stand to your feet. “Oh, and don’t encourage the hatchlings otherwise they’ll never leave you alone.”

Hvitserk frowns at your words as you chuckle and turn to walk out the room. He wants to ask you what hatchlings are, but you’re gone before the words can even make it past his throat. What are hatchlings, he asks himself, his head turning away from the door you had closed behind you to the window of the room.

His first thought goes to birds. Is this place that he’s in a place filled with birds? Is that creature that he saw when he woke up some kind of bird that he’s never seen before? He’s sure it didn’t have any feathers.

How far is he from Kattegat?

Curiosity gets the better of him and he slowly pushes himself out of the bed. He sways a bit on his feet, hissing in pain as his free hand clutches his side that he only realizes now is bandaged. He had been wounded and he’s only realizing that now. He had been so taken aback by the strange creature by his face when he woke and then being in a strange room surrounded by women he’s never seen, wearing clothing he’s never seen, not even in the stalls in the marketplace. The clothing doesn’t look as smooth as the silks merchants would try to sell, or anything that any normal person in Kattegat would wear. It doesn’t even look like the armor he’s used to. Though it does look like armor.

But, when he thinks about it, closing his eyes as he supports himself against the wall beside him to picture what you were wearing, it seems like the clothing was made out of scales. And yet, the scales are not a normal size, a size he’s used to. It’s as if four scales had been used to create a breastplate. What kind of creature, what kind of beast, could be that large to produce such enormous scales?

His eyes open and he glances down at the cup he still holds. Staring down at the liquid in it, he slowly raises the cup to his lips to take a sip. Even though it looks like water, it smells quite different. A sweet smell drifts into his nose as he takes a sip, but the taste is almost that of ale. It’s not like the ale he’s had back at home. No, this is like ale that he imagines the Gods drink in Valhalla.

It leaves a burn in his throat, and yet it is not an unpleasant one. It makes it feel like a fire fills his body and he doesn’t feel as tired and weak as he did when he woke.

He downs the drink, breathing out a satisfied sigh when he lowers the cup from his lips and places it on the table beside the bed. His gaze returns to the window that seems to be carved out of the stone wall of the room and with a small limp, his hand still clutching his injured side, he walks over to it.

The sounds coming from outside are not like the ones he’s used to hearing. Sure, it sounds like a busy city, but not in the ways Kattegat sounded when new shipments came in or when they returned from the summer raids. There is shouting, but Hvitserk can’t distinguish whether they are ones of anger or happiness.

He reaches the window, rests his hand on the walls, and cautiously peers out of it. As he does, someone shouts ‘Look out’ and something -Hvitserk’s not sure what - swoops up in front of him, It’s something big, and big enough to send a gust of wind through the open window, knocking Hvitserk backward.

His head snaps up to see what the hell that creature is but the sight his eyes land on is something he does not expect to see in this lifetime or any other.

The bright blue sky not filled with birds like the thought. In fact, he sees one of these creatures catch a bird in flight, sending features flying everywhere. Just like that creature by his head, these have leathery wings. But they are bigger. Much bigger. He’s sure that if they were closer, they would be the size of a house or a boat.

Instead of chirps like birds, they roar with great might and it feels like the ground is shaking under his feet from it.

The longer he looks at these creatures, the more he thinks about the stories his mother used to tell him when he and Ubbe were children. They almost seem to be like Jǫrmungandr but with wings.

He knows now what they are. He knows what that creature was that he saw behind you before he passed out. He knows what the small one is. Dragons. And it seems that here - wherever here is - they come in all shapes and sizes.

The more he looks around, the more he sees. Some of these Dragons sit perched on the tops of the house that seem to be emerging from the mountains and Hvitserk sees that on their backs are saddles like those he’d put on a horse. He shakes his head at the thought that people could actually be riding these wild beasts.

But slightly to the side, he sees someone climbing stairs up to the roof of the house. The person rests a hand on the dragon as they make their way closer to it. And then, they mount it like a horse, and Hvitserk watches as the Dragon takes off, the rider holding onto the saddle a horn from the dragon’s neck tightly. The more Hvitserk looks around, the more he sees these people interacting with these Dragons. Smaller ones lie in the arms of women and others play with children as a puppy would play with its owner.

“Hatchlings,” he mutters to himself with a small smile as he sees a smaller dragon try to fly, but its body is too big for its wings.

He looks directly beneath him, a breath hitching in his throat when he sees how high up he actually is. Never in his life has he been so far off the ground it almost makes him nauseous. But then he sees you and the beast he had seen hiding behind the bushes. He watches you walking up to it with no fear. You hold out your hand and the creature presses its head - that’s roughly half the size you are - against your palm. It then shifts on its feet, standing and now towering over everyone around, and cranes its neck to keep its head at your level.

When another Dragon tries to come near you, the one in front of you Hvitserk concludes as your own turns and harshly snaps at the other, making it take to the skies as you try to pull the attention of your dragon back to you.

As you do this, Hvitserk looks around at what he can see of the city again. He’s never seen anything like this before. It’s all so amazing. He can’t help but wonder why no one has ever found this place or even a creature like these Dragon, small or big. It’s obvious that they have free reign and who knows how far they’ll fly away from this place.

He looks back down at you, smiles at the sight of the gentle moment between you and this grey scaled dragon. After a moment, the Dragon pulls away and turns to fly off. Hvitserk watches it join a group of other dragons all of different sizes.

This place is so different from Kattegat. It’s so different from what he grew up with and grew up knowing. And yet, he never felt like he belonged there. He never felt like he belonged in that world. Perhaps this is the change he needs. Maybe this is the new life he’s been hoping for.

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ficstoreadinthedark · 4 years

Text

Werk

ᵍᶦᶠ ᶜʳᵉᵈᶦᵗˢ ᵗᵒ ˢᵃⁿʲᵘʳᵒᵏᵘʷᵃᵇᵃᵗᵃᵏᵉ

Tags: Ivar x Reader, threats, violence, pregnancy

Genre: A little Angst and a little smutty towards the end ;) (this was supposed to be fluff, but I don’t know how I ended up with this?)

Request: Anonymous said:#20 with ivar the boneless, like she says it to get him and sigurd to stop fighting and he gets pissed when he finds out she’s not so she’s like “stop wasting time and get me pregnant if you’re wanting a baby!”

Note: I changed the prompt terminology to suit the time period still the same general idea (: (the “werk” title was intentional it’s not an error.)

Please do leave some feedback just to let me know you guys are still around 🤗

✨

You were quite a distance from the great hall yet you could hear all the screaming and bickering going on in there, you could distinguish your husband's voice as you approached, your steps made haste as you balanced a basket of linens on your hip, the argument seemed only to worsen; the resounding of objects being chucked made you grip your basket tighter up against your hip. You knew your husband had quite the temper, but to hear him howling such terrible threats as he was, truly worried you. Upon crossing the threshold to the great hall you were more than displeased at the sight before you, Ivar, and Sigurd were at it once again, always going at each other's throats. This time almost quite literally, as Ivar flung himself out his chair grasping Sigurd by the neck as he knocked him out of his seat on to the hard plank wooden floor along with himself.

“What’s wrong Ivar!? Can’t handle the truth?” His brother mocked him as he wrestled to get Ivar off of him.

“Close your mouth! or I’ll have it swollen shut!” Ivar threatened as he delivered a sharp blow to his brother's jaw.

You stood disturbed for a mere split second as you watched the younger Ragnarssons fight each other while the older two seemed to be amused, Ubbe leaned against a wooden pillar with his ever so expressive eyes closely following the brawling with no apparent concern. He had gotten quite used to his younger brothers’ scuffles, meanwhile Hvitserk did the same as he sat at the table with his feet kicked up as he chugged his mead.

“Stop! Both of you stop fighting!” You cried out as you dropped your basket of linens and approached them both begging them to stop hurting each other, but it was as if they could not hear you.

“Ubbe! Please, do something.” You pleaded for your brother in law to step in before they could severely hurt each other.

“Alright, alright.” Ubbe conceded as he nonchalantly made his way to separate the two, he took them both by the back collars of their tunics and flung them back. Ubbe held Sigurd back as you went to Ivar and helped him sit upon a chair.

“That’s right Ivar, go on. Hide behind your woman’s skirts now that your mommy isn’t here.” Sigurd continued to egg him on as he did before. Ivar’s erratic breathing and the harsh scowl that hadn’t left his brows was more than enough for you to know Ivar had full intention of lunging himself at his brother again and pick up the fight just where it left off if given the chance. The way his shoulders continued to tense up where the dead give away before he could get a chance to respond you placed a gentle hand on his shoulder as you stood to the side, a step behind him, “Do not heed his words Ivar. You know he only does it to bother you.” You attempted to pacify him, and it seemed to somewhat work as he reached out an arm pulling you closer and wrapping his right arm around your waist.

“You are right, my sweet wife.” He agreed as he looked up to you and gave you a smile before continuing, “You see Sigurd here, the snake seems to yearn for what is mine” he emphasized as he pulled you closer.

Sigurd scoffed “I may have one in the eye but you sure slither like one on the ground. You’re more snake than a man.” He made a brief pause to look straight in your eyes before admiring your features. “I’m sure your wife tires of it.” He made no effort to hide how his eyes coveted you, his eyes slowly took you in your curves admiring your supple breasts, your waist, and how he desired to know how it would feel to have your hips between his hands one night. “She soon may seek to warm another’s bed, someone who can offer her more than just warmth. I would not mind giving her more than just warmth, I could put those hips to good use.” He mocked with a smirk.

You looked at him in repugnance and anger, who was he to look at you and speak of you as if you were some common whore and not his own brother’s wife, you angered that he thought you’d be so fickle-minded to abandon your husband, for another. Without hesitation or much thought you interlaced your fingers with Ivar’s as his hand rested on you and delivered a surprise to all, “Foolish little snake, it seems even the gods are set on making a fool of you.” All of them seemed confused by your words, you turned to Ivar and gave him a sweet smile. “I wanted to surprise my husband alone tonight with the good fortune that has come to us.” You continued s you lifted your free hand and gently placed it on your abdomen. Ivar’s brothers looked at you wide-eyed as he looked at you puzzled. “Don’t look so startled that I am with child, I knew it would happen, even if you all doubted.”

Ivar beamed with joy so much he felt he would not be able to contain it, he wrapped both arms around your middle and leaned his head on you. “Our child?” You nodded your head yes to him.

His oldest brothers laughed in amusement while Sigurd stormed out of the hall.

“Well, I’ll drink to that! Skål!” Hvitserk chirped in as if he ever needed a reason to drink.

“So will I brother!” Ubbe agreed.

——-

Later that night as you readied for bed with Ivar your guilt was overwhelming, all Ivar had done all day and evening was speak of his child, a child yet not conceived. A child you very much yearned for, a child you longed for so very long to hold in your arms, tangible proof of your love and Ivar’s. You were silent as you took out your earrings and unhooked the lavish ornament around your neck, listening to him go on about what things he would do with his child if you were expecting a son. It pained you to soon have to take that joy from him and you began to regret having lied but at that moment you didn’t know what else to do.

“Beloved? Are you listening?” He asked as he slipped off his tunic baring his toned chest.

“I am, husband.” You assured as you undid the laces on the sides of your dress before slipping out of it, leaving you in your thin ivory slip. You neared him as he sat at the edge of your bed, you lowered to your knees before him, undoing the braces on his legs, like you did every night, you liked to tend to your husband on your own without the help of any thralls. He continued on about his child, “And if we have a daughter…”

“Ivar…” You stopped him mid-sentence as you took his bigger hands in yours. He looked down at you confused yet attentive. “I have something I must confess…” you looked down, you couldn’t bring yourself to look him in the eyes as you were to break his hopes. “I’m sorry.” You admitted. He held your hands in one hand as the other reached under your chin to tilt your face up to meet your eyes, they were so sorrowful, his own eyes mimicked the pain in yours as he was filled with concern.

“What is it, my love?” Surely you could not have done anything that he was not willing to forgive. Your eyes watered a bit but you did not let a tear fall, you weren’t sad for yourself but for Ivar, you knew how much he wanted this.

“Ivar, please forgive me. I do not mean to hurt you but I can not lie to you… I am not with child.”

He promptly pulled his hands away from you and that sent a pang of pain right through you. He was greatly perplexed, how could you in a day give him the greatest joy and also on the same day take it away just like that with a few words. “I’m sorry Ivar.” You pleaded as your hands rested on his knees. He refused to look at you.

“You must have had fun, mocking my brother up to be a fool, while truly you make a fool out of your husband.”

“ I just wanted him to stop. It was not my intention…” you were cut off by Ivar.

“Maybe Sigurd is right, maybe I cannot offer you anything more than warmth. Maybe…”

“Ivar!” You would not let him continue where he was going. “I will not stray to another man’s bed, and you know it well.” The way he looked down at you so intently almost as if you were prey set off something very deep in your core that you could not repress. Surely you knew one of many ways to comfort your husband and soothe away his ill-temper. Ever so gently you began to glide your fingers from his knees up to his thighs tenderly snaking your fingers up him with just the right pressure not so much that you’d cause him discomfort but just enough to stimulate his senses.

His breath hitched, “What are you doing?” He instinctively leaned back a bit resting on his forearms.

“Ivar~” You cooed as your fingers playfully drew up abstract shapes on his pelvis, you toyed with him touching near but never where he wanted you to touch. “If you are yearning so much for a child. Then…” you paused just before giving him what he wanted you traced your middle finger up his arousal, “Don’t let time go to waste and get to work.” You said mischievously before cupping the bulge between his legs.

His breath caught in his throat at the unexpected contact, his hands snapped around your wrists pulling you up as he guided you to straddle his hips. You attempted to carefully adjust yourself on his hips but he returned the surprise by harshly gripping your hips and grinding your core against his bulge, “It’s going to be a very long night.” You caught yourself on his chest as he leaned in and whispered, “You’ve got a lot of making up to do my sweet wife, perhaps if you work hard enough tonight our prayers might be answered.” His lips nipped down your neck while his hands stealthily slipped under and up your slip to knead your bottom and cup it his hands. You looked down only to behold his mischievous eyes looking right back into yours, and you knew indeed you were in for a very long night. Perhaps he was right tonight just might be that night.

______

edit: so I tried to edit one small error on the tumblr app and it had the freaking audacity to delete everything but the tags, so I hope everything looks/reads normal. I forgot what I originally wrote for the ending note

your comments and feed back would be very appreciated (:

#ivar x reader #ivar x you #vikings #vikings fanfic #vikings imagine #ivar fanfic #ivar fic #ivar x reader smut #ivar the boneless smut #vikings smut #ivar imagine #alex høgh andersen #alex hogh andersen #alex hogh smut #Sigurd #sigurd snake in the eye #vikings sigurd #Ivar the boneless

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thranduilsperkybutt · 4 years

Photo

A/N: Nonnie, did I get carried away??? Yes. But I hope you like this, anyway, lol! Even if it is longer than usual. There are time skips.

Gif source: 1 | 2 | 3

Imagine being a great warrior princess in a loveless arranged marriage to Sigurd, but Ivar grows to have feelings for you, and after Sigurd is killed he takes you as his wife instead.

——— Request for anon ———

Ivar crawled through the forest underbrush, not far behind his brothers, staying careful to keep quiet as they positioned themselves not far off the main road. There was news of a procession heading down the north road into Kattegat, bannered under that of Sigurd’s soon to be in-laws. This marriage that had been arranged many years ago, back when their father was in need of more men for his undertakings in England, would be soon fulfilled. With, or without, Ragnar’s presence, it seemed.

Ivar figured himself lucky, that it was Sigurd instead of himself who was arranged to marry this girl none of them had ever seen.

“What if she is not like the stories?” Hvitserk whispered breathlessly, grasping onto Sigurd’s shoulder while they both peered around a tree. Biting a grin, he continued, “What if she looks like a troll?”

“Heh,” Sigurd scoffed, “then, I will just tell her you are the one who she is fated to, instead of me, brother.”

“You should be so lucky, to marry even a troll,” smacking Sigurd’s calf with the back of his hand, Ivar called up to them, “she does not need to be beautiful to best you on the battlefield.” Cheekily, he grinned, “Not that it’s hard to do, in the first place.”

“Do not think I won’t kick you—” Sigurd began, only to be interrupted by the harsh shushing of Ubbe, who nodded their attention further up the road, where carts and footmen were emerging from beyond the trees.

“Will you quiet down? There they come,” only a glance was spared for his brothers, “your new wife should be in the first cart.”

And so Ivar watched, waiting within the covert treeline, for a glimpse of this girl of Sigurd’s. All that was known was the stories, most of which boasted her prowess as a warrior, with little guide for what to expect of her appearance. But, she was a princess, and her father a king with many men, so beauty might not matter so much as all that in the end, Ivar supposed.

“There!” the quick word, hushed from Ubbe’s lips, sounds deafening to Ivar’s ears as he strains to see. Hvitserk’s sharp intake of air is all to remind him that he was barely breathing, when he first catches sight of this girl. This striking vision of a girl.

Perhaps, he was not so lucky Sigurd was to be the one to marry her, after all.

—

You were breathtaking, is all Ivar can manage to think, when you strike the sword from Hvitserk’s hand, grinning wide in your victory. Chest heaving from your sparring with the Ragnarsson brothers, you offer the blonde your hand, which results in Hvitserk tugging you roughly to the ground to dissolve into your giggles.

“I win!” he grins, as you smack at him.

“That is not fair, Hvitserk,” laughter ringing through the trees, you push up from the dirt. “I already bested you! Did I not, Ivar?”

“You did,” Ivar hums from beyond his drinking glass, teeth emerging behind his smile, “but be careful. I’m sure Sigurd will be ill if you prove yourself a better warrior than him to the rest of us.”

Perhaps he was getting a bit bold with his praises of you, but any accusation of flirtation would be worth the way you reciprocate it.

“Ivar,” Ubbe shakes his head, helping Hvitserk up as you move towards the youngest Ragnarsson, reaching to take the mug he offers you.

“What?” Ivar’s grin only widens at the amusement dancing in your eyes, silently egging him on, “It is only true. Sigurd neglects his fighting like he neglects his wife, preferring his oud to both, so it is no wonder she should be better—”

The axe whizzing by his hand just barely misses his fingers, taking the cup there instead, and snapping Ivar’s gaze towards Sigurd’s glare, but your scolding gasp of your husband’s name cuts in before things can escalate further than that.

But Ivar’s hand remains as clenched as his jaw, tight along the axe in his lap.

—

He was dead. Your husband was dead.

Sigurd was dead.

You had not expected to be widowed so soon, but even more than that, you didn’t expect to be so bafflingly indifferent to it. Truthfully, Sigurd hadn’t laid with you in the months since your wedding night. Avoidance of one another had come to be your particular expectation when it came to your marriage to him, as any hope of developing some deep love within this arrangement dwindled.

At least, not for Sigurd.

Maybe, your affinity for Ivar had not helped your marriage any, but you could never have anticipated it would play even a small role in the total annihilation of it.

Ivar had looked just as shocked as the rest of you, when he killed him. Axe to the heart, thrown so quick it seemed almost unreal with your disbelief, until the red blossom of blood seeped through the fabric of Sigurd’s shirt.

And he said he hadn't meant to do it, but none of you were sure of that.

It had been a haze, a blur, as you lived through the shock of it, and, for the first time since you had been married, you avoided the youngest Ragnarsson. You had known he had a temper— of course, you had known— but you never quite feared it, until now. That, you realize now, was foolish, and an underestimation of him.

Perhaps you were still underestimating him, because in the depths of your soul, you wanted to believe him when he said, “You have to believe me, I would never hurt you.” But he looks so sincere, pushing up to where you sat in the midst of this field you had sparred in not long before setting out to avenge his father’s death. Adjusting his legs, Ivar settles beside you, blue eyes pleading and brimmed with tears, “No one believes me, but you have to.”

If you told him you did, it would sound like the lie that it is, so you stay silent.

Taking a shaky breath, before staring into his desperate gaze with your own uncertainty, “With Sigurd dead, my father will call me back home. We did not have any children,” you were trying to change the subject, as much as you were trying to believe him, watching his brow furrow with more trouble, “so he will probably remarry me to another alliance, and recall his men from here. After all, Ragnar is dead and avenged.”

“You cannot go,” Ivar looks like he genuinely might cry, this time, pounding his fist into the dirt beside him as he chokes. “Floki is leaving, too, and if you leave, I will be truly alone.”

“Ubbe and Hvitserk—”

“Don’t believe me either!” Ivar bites, frustration raising in his tone, and you flinch before you can help yourself, which just makes him look even more upset.

“I have no reason to stay in Kattegat, Ivar,” you say softly. “It won’t be my decision to make, when my father hears of Sigurd’s death.”

There’s silence for what feels like the longest time. Simply the rustling of the trees overhead and the chirping of the wildlife further in, as you rip grass from the ground and throw it in as much frustration as seemed to be swirling in his eyes.

Until, he murmurs something so soft you can barely hear it. Your gaze snaps to him, breath catching in your throat, uncertain if you’ve heard him right.

“Ivar?”

“Marry me, then,” he repeats, looking more vulnerable than you’ve ever seen him, and equally as upset. Desperate, almost, “If you marry me, you won’t have to go.”

#ivar the boneless imagine #ivar ragnarsson imagine #sigurd ragnarsson imagine #sigurd snake in the eye imagine #vikings imagine #history vikings imagine #me? writing longass imagines at 3AM? more likely than you think #imagines by me #gif not mine #spoilers

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urbanbirdbud · 5 months

Text

slay the princess is yuri. to me.

#slay the princess #someone has prob already said it but yeah. it just is.#just finished my first run through of the entire game and. wow. made me cry a bit at the end #got the soft ending I think. granted I kept leaving the knife behind bc I immediately fell for the princess upon seeing her.#I’m gay and committed to the yuri I make in my brain #this too is yuri #yuri posting #ubb chirps

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a-smile-hides · 4 years

Text

WARPAINT - I.R.

WARNINGS: long fic, description of battles, blood, wounds, death, some time jumps, I had a bit of a block during this …

This was actually requested, so thank you for that! Sorry for the wait. I kind of got carried away with this. My first draft was not so long, but then I realised I kind of wanted a stronger reader and now… well this happened. Hope you enjoy!! xxx

The request: Hello! I wasn't sure if requests were open or not, but I had this idea were the reader is not a shield maiden and prefers doing other things, and shes not exactly that well-built. Maybe there's an attack on kattagat and she's one of the people who were taken? But she fights her way out and goes back to kattagat when ivar was planning a rescue mission (nobody thinks she could fight) but she can because of some reason in the past and she was forced to? I'm literally just throwing ideas.

---

“Correct me if I am wrong, but the Christians that you just defeated have invited you and your brothers – and only you three – to come to their palace to talk about peace?” You scoffed, shaking your head in disbelieve. “You honestly can’t believe that Ivar.”

Ivar sighed. His back was turned towards you as he tightened the straps of his gloves.

“Ivar… Do you?”

Ivar threw his head back, looking up to the sky above him. The sky was bright blue. A couple of birds flew over, following the largest one in their group to their next adventure. Behind him a couple of men sat together whispering and pointing at the exchange in front of them, wondering aloud what or who made you qualified to step up and talk to one of their leaders. “Of course not. It is not me who has turned into a fool.”

His words made you bite your lip. Merely a few hours after the army had returned victorious, a petit man dressed in beautiful red robes decorated with golden leaves had fearfully entered the camp. Stuttering and barely looking into anyone’s eyes, the man proclaimed his lord acknowledged their triumph and had asked the three leaders to come to the castle at sunset. In that way they could discuss the outcome of this victory. This lord, the prince of this dying land, clearly did not want to lose any time.

Ubbe, wanting to take this opportunity of peace, had immediately accepted the offer to which the messenger nodded and ran away, looking like a dog with its tail between his legs. Ivar had been furious and confused by his brother’s naïve decision. But he could not ignore the fact that a part of him was curious to what this prince wanted to offer in exchange for “peace”. This soil was rich, and he knew this land held unknown treasures. Its only flaw was the leadership. And so, he wanted to follow his brothers to this castle. Yet, he knew how foolish they would be if they did not bring their most trusted warriors to the castle.

“You are going no matter what I say?” The question came out as a statement. You didn’t need any answer. The silence that followed and the slight second his movements halted were enough. Slowly, he turned around. A sly grin concealed the doubts he had.

“Do I suspect some concern?”

You licked your lips, shifting your weight to one leg. “I am only worried about my place in this camp. You know they don’t like me here, Ivar. Without you, they might come up with something to get rid of me.” You said laughing airily, your head subtlety nodding in the direction of the men behind you whose eyes were still locked on you two. And although you said it with a small grin, your words held a certain truth. And he knew it too.

Ivar nodded his head. “I would like to see them try.” He whispered, narrowing his eyes.

You could hold back you laugh. Ivar pressed his lips together at the sound, hiding his smile as he watched you. And then, the mood changed. That airy, light feeling disappeared. Everything became serious, while the two of you just stared at each other.

“Be careful?” You asked him again. Your voice was small, barely audible.

Ivar looked up at you and extended his hand, mentioning you to come closer. In a few steps you stood in front of him, patiently waiting for his answer. Tenderly, he grabbed your hand. His thumb brushed over your skin, while his other hand followed the curve of your hip. His brilliant blue eyes stared right up at you. The corners of his mouth slightly curled upwards.

Ivar breathed in deeply, leading your hand to his lips. Without breaking eye contact, he pressed his lips on your hand.

With that you got his silent promise.

***

A fire crackled in the background as the sun began her descent. The dry ground felt cool against your feet. The birds chirped loudly as they flew over the camp. From behind you, you heard someone howl as his friend emptied his cup in one big gulp. The music that was played by some of Sigurd friends amused the crowd. And slowly but surely more and more people joined the drinking game going on around the fire.

The mood was light and happy. Every last man or woman that decided to come along this raid was cheerful because of the recent victory on those pathetic Christians. Ivar had used his tactics and bright mind to conceive a master plan. Ubbe had led them forward with his skills as a warrior and Hvitserk gave the men the support they needed in the middle of the fight. The army, for once, was not big in numbers, but with those three it hardly was necessary.

No one knew who came up with the idea to organize this raid. But not a single soul cared. Since Ragnar’s disappearance, those voyages had been put to a halt and many men and women longed for this opportunity. An opportunity to raid and find treasures and make their families proud. An opportunity to get access to Valhalla.

Now that the three brothers had left to negotiate, the camp had decided to feast. No one was worried for their safety. Even if they had been gone for longer than the few hours they anticipated. The road to the battlefield had been long and tiring. Who knew how far this castle lay?

A fine grin formed on your lips as the sounds filled your ears. With your back turned towards them all as you let your body sway to the rhythm of the music. With both hands you lifted your skirt up, keeping it out of the dust’s range you kicked up as your movements got bigger. The music swelled up and you closed your eyes.

Your mind had been clouded by worries and possible disastrous outcomes for the sons of Ragnar, but now for the very first time since they left, you could let go of those dark thoughts.

Getting lost in the story the tune told you, you did not notice the girl that joined your side. She had come along this raid with her mother, a gifted healer. It was clear she had inherited this knowledge, and therefore wished to accompany her mother on this voyage. Her big eyes were focused on you as she tried her best to imitate your moves. Many times, she almost tripped over her own feet.

With your eyes closed, you kept twirling and dancing to the music. Lost to the world around you and the crowd that watched with amused eyes to the show going on in front of them. Some men catcalled while others were completely obvious to the dance. As the music slowed down, you took a moment to catch your breath. Only now you noticed the people that had their gaze pointed at you.

“Is it true?”

The high voice of the young girl next to you made you snap out of your daze, looking at her with your eyebrow raised.

The young girl grinned; her eyes glimmered with mischief. “Is it true you dance for the brothers like this every evening? They say you do it for Ivar whenever he demands it.”

Her innocent question made you snort; her innocence could not stop the irritation from building up inside of you. It was not the first time someone had asked you this.

Unlike other children, who helped their parents in their line of work, you often hung around the brothers. Acting as a shadow and sneaking up on them. This continued until you came of age, and Hvitserk saw you disappear into the woods with your father. He dragged a heavy cart with him, knives, axes and ropes thrown into it, while you carried a large basket with food in it. At first it did not worry him, but when you did not return for five days, questions arose amongst the brothers. When the day of your return arrived, the men were confused, but happy to see you. Only Ivar had been reluctant, focussing more on the scars and bruises that covered your body. It was only after you had shaken your head at him and asked Sigurd to play your favourite song once again that he warmed up, trying his best to hide his smile as you danced to the music his brother played.

Many wondered why you always danced until your feet got raw. Swaying your hips and twirling around in circles until the sun set in the evening. Many thought it was the effect of plants that you were not supposed to eat or the consequence of your mysterious disappearing in the woods. You learned fast that everything that was not done by most people, was considered odd.

This could be the reason why the youngest prince let you walk beside him. He too was considered as someone odd, someone unusual. Although you were not a shieldmaiden, nor a woman with a famous background, a connection was shared.

Ivar often said to be irritated by your presence and loudly proclaimed that when he was around his brothers. He would hide his smile, only giving it when he knew no one else was around. Sometimes he would utter out a sneaky comment as you passed them, making Hvitserk snicker and Sigurd roll his eyes. Yet never would he allow another to say those out loud. The ones who dared to mock you in his presence usually ended up with a nasty cut on their forehead.

“Y/N, you’re ignoring my question.” The healer’s daughter sang out.

This time you laughed out heartily. “People believe what they want to believe. I must say that I don’t know wh-“

Your voice died as you looked to your left, where the road lay on which Ivar, Ubbe and Hvitserk had departed. Appearing at the horizon was a horse, soon followed by four others. Their riders hitting the animals to make them run faster. Squinting your eyes at the moving figures, you saw how each of them seemed to be shouting, one even raising their sword high in the air. The metal reflected some of the sunlight and made turn your head. The sight only made your heart miss a beat. Behind you, although hard to see due to the evening sun, you could make out the silhouettes of the men that slowly stepped out of the woods.

The girl beside you noticed your worried gaze and followed it to the tree line. Her cheeky smile disappeared immediately once she too noticed the men storming at your camp. All of them carrying various weapons.

The young girl screamed out, making the musicians stop playing and everyone look up. Frightened the girl ran in the direction of her mother’s tent, while you shouted out at the top of your lungs.

“Ambush!”

***

“Does he really think he can bribe us with a bit of land, now?”

Ivar’s soft but menacing words made every Christian man in the large palace room look up alarmed. They did not know what he was saying, because suddenly he had changed to his own language, but his tone had changed drastically. During this whole ordeal, the young man had not spoken much. Only asking a couple of questions on a light and airy tone. Now it seemed as if his patience had reached its end.

“Do not forget that we are in another country, Ivar”

“Ubbe, this kingdom is dying. You are the one forgetting we destroyed them on the battlefield. We should just raid and move on. Maybe we can send word to our home. To little Sigurd. He could stand in as our man here?” He grinned, “Then at least he does something useful.”

Hvitserk lowered his head as Ubbe sighed out.

The prince coughed, snapping the men out of their argument. This man, the only living member of the royal family, had been sitting on his throne uncomfortably ever since the Viking brothers had arrived. He had invited them over in hopes of finding a truce. Some form of agreement so that he and every last resident in his land could come out of this alive. But so far, none of his offers had pleased all the brothers.

“We could take the land, Ivar. The best that is out there. We can demand it from him.” Hvitserk urged, a wide grin on his face. Ubbe nodded at him, patting him on the back. The prince grinned at the interaction.

Ivar rolled his eyes. Something did not feel right. The land was theirs to take. This prince knew it too. He did not get why his brothers suddenly became too soft to continue.

Ivar’s suspicion only grew when a slim man dressed in the same red and golden robes as the messenger that directed them here entered the room. His gaze was only pointed at his lord, trying his best to avoid the heathens that he feared. Bowing for a second, the man stepped forward. He opened his mouth, but then closed it as he finally locked eyes with the three men sitting in front of him. Those heathens knew his language. Leaning forward, he quickly whispered something in the prince’s ear which made him sit up straight. The prince nodded his head at his messenger, thanking him and letting him leave.

For the first time, he stepped off his throne and walked towards the three brothers. He took a moment, nodding to himself as if he were encouraging himself to continue. “Good news, my informant just told me the council has agreed to come together and talk about this arrangement.” The prince stretched his arms out wide, a hopeful smile on his face. Ubbe and Hvitserk nodded their head at him, while Ivar looked away. “This all on the condition that you spare the people and myself and do not attempt another attack on my kingdom.”

***

Blood covered the dusty ground as the large group of men fought their way through the camp. Each of them entering the tents to drag the ones that tried to hide in them outside, claiming their most valuable belongings as their own. Laughing wickedly, each of them left the tent ravished behind them, setting them on fire once all the goods had been taken out of it. Women thrashed around in their holds as men of different ages fought bravely against the marching forces.

It became clear very early that this was a planned attack. A strategical set in a game of vengeance. The clearing had been chosen carefully by the three brothers. It was large enough so anyone who had joined this raiding party could place their tent where they wanted to. It provided a good view on any upcoming forces. And enough scouts were present in the forest, carefully placed there to warn everyone if an attack may happen.

And yet, no signal was sent. Those Christian men snuck up on the camp as if someone had opened the door for them.

As you hid in the tent, you watched with sorrowful eyes how the girl that admired you earlier sat beside her mother. Her little body shook in fear, while tears kept rolling over her rosy cheeks. In the chaos of the attack, you had pulled them with you inside a tent. Your hideout was fragile. Nothing more than a piece of cloth. But at least it was something. A place to think of a better plan.

Two shieldmaidens had followed you inside. One tried her best to look outside, while the other tried to mend her broken bow.

Outside, the screams of anguish and the shouts of war became less prominent, making you think the Christian forces were retreating or at least, that the fight was ending. The shieldmaiden at the opening of the tent seemed to share your thoughts, lifting her hand in a silent demand for the girl to calm down.

Her brows were furrowed as she slowly pushed away the material that closed your hideout. Her eyes scanned the area, but seemed not to find any enemy.

“I can’t see anyone. We cannot stay here. The girl will betray us with her cries.” She whispered out. Her eyes going from her fellow shieldmaiden to the mother.

“She is a child!” The woman whisper-shouted, pressing her whimpering daughter against her chest.

“If she is a child than why is she even here?” The other shieldmaiden snapped back. “The camp is not a sacred place free of any harm.”

The mother scowled at the woman, running her hand over her daughter’s head in a comforting way. “I’ve come along raids many times. Not once have I-“

Her angry words were silenced by the gasp her daughter lets out. Frightened for the safety of her girl, the women grabbed her tightly. But her daughter had not been harmed. Her finger shakily pointed forward as her eyes filled themselves with tears.

The shieldmaiden that was looking out the tent, lay now dead on the floor. Her throat pierced by an arrow.

“Audhilde” Her fellow shieldmaiden whispered out, her hands clenched into fists. Without thinking you jumped up, grabbing the axe the fallen shieldmaiden had taken with her.

In the moment it took you to grab the axe, a second arrow entered the tent, missing you by an inch. The feeling of the arrow zooming past your face made you choke on your breath. Looking to the left you saw two men fight with each other, one of them holding a crossbow in his hands.

Sniffing, the other shieldmaiden took a seat next to you. Her eyes were clouded by the anger rising inside of her. With harsh movements, she lined up her arrow.

“What are you playing at?” She hissed, as you held her back.

Remaining silent, you stared straight into the fiery eyes of the shieldmaiden next to you, while your hand kept pushing the bow down. The woman in front of you frowned, opening her mouth, but was silenced when you placed your finger on your lip. Slowly, you crawled backwards, pulling the woman with you to hide behind the fabric.

Nodding your head towards the small mirror that was placed on the box next to the healer and her child, you made the shieldmaiden aware of the danger right outside the tent. In the reflection you could make out a man. He walked hastily around the tent in front of your hideout, before deciding that the one on its right was the one he needed. A second soldier joined him, and together they entered the tent.

You tilted your head, frowning at their odd behaviour. As you took a better look at them, your confusion only grew. They seemed to be in a rush. As if they were the ones being hunted, as if they were struck with fear and wanted this to end as fast as possible.

The shieldmaiden next to you grew tired of waiting inside the tent. Waiting was just the same as giving up, she thought. Pushing you aside, she took a seat next to the entrance. With the tip of her arrow she carefully pulled back the material of the tent, giving herself more room to get a good look at the outside world.

“Why haven’t they burned ours yet?” You wondered out loud.

The shieldmaiden snorted, looking over her shoulder briefly. “Why should I care?”

“Look around you. They are not walking around as men that believe in their cause. Only a few seem proud to fight for their lord. We are losing this. We are being slaughtered. And still, most of them seem so scared of what may come after them…”

Your words made the woman in front of you think for a second, before she shook her head and lined up her arrow once more.

“Try to get out as fast as you can. Run to the forest. Take ‘whiny’ and her mother with you. I will take care of those fuckers outside.” She groaned, before she shot her first arrow and launched herself out of the tent.

The shake of your head went not unnoticed by the mother, who looked at you confused. Her insides boiling with anger due to the shieldmaiden abandoning her and her only child in the middles of an ambush with a woman who seemed unfit to protect them.

“Pure suicide. This is going way too fast. Attacking now that the three brothers are not here ...” You mumbled out. The words coming out fast and quiet, crumbling the little hope the woman had. Not only did that shieldmaiden leave her alone with a seemingly unfit person, but now that person was mad too. “They planned this all!”

The conclusion made you snap back to the reality around you. The frightened girl shaking in her mother’s arms, the sounds of swords clashing just outside your tent, yells of terror in the distance. You looked down, the axe lying comfortably in your hand. With a small nod to the mother you told her to get up. Quickly, she scrambled to her feet, lifting her daughter up. Her eyes immediately went to the entrance of the tent, but you held her back.

“Go out there and you’ll die.”

The words made her halt. She wanted to scream back at you, but the confident glare on your face made her bite her tongue. “Where do we go then?”

Not answering her, you stepped forward slightly, bending down to get a look of the frightening world outside the tent. Outside the shieldmaiden who had carelessly run out of her hideout was fighting against one of the soldiers. Her face was covered in the blood of her opponents. Skilfully, she kept the man at bay with a sword she had taken from the ground. But beyond her knowing, a second man slowly made his way towards them. The grin on his face was vicious. He was one of the few who enjoyed this all. Collecting all of your power to restrain yourself, you watched how he snuck up on the shieldmaiden and sliced her shoulder with his sword. Turning around before you saw her end, you tried to see if you could find another way to escape.

There was no way you could fight your way out of here. Even if you wanted to, the possibility of stepping outside this tent and be met with the same fate as that woman was too high. Nevertheless, staying in this tent was no option either.

Blinking at the weapon in your hand, an idea struck you. Without hesitation you walked straight towards the back of the tent, followed by the mother and her daughter. With brute force, your pushed away everything that kept you from reaching the fabric of the tent. A couple of boxes, the mirror, some candles, they all landed harshly on the ground. The mother watched perplexed as her daughter escaped her grip and helped you. Your lips curved upward as you looked into her eyes. Raising your eyebrows, you lifted up the axe in the air.

“We’re making us a way out of here…”

With the axe, you sliced the fabric of the tent, ripping it apart. Careful not to end up like the death shieldmaiden inside the tent, you opened the gab slowly, searching for any possible foe.

“Everything’s clear. When I say go, run. Run and do not stop until you’re deep into the woods.”

Not waiting for an answer, you walked around the tent, straight towards the boxes you carelessly threw through the tent. There had to be something in here for them to protect themselves with. The mother narrowed her eyes at your plan, the concern for her daughter made her be on edge. But her daughter nodded determined.

You smiled as you stumbled across a knife. Nodding your head at yourself, you walked up to the mother.

Her confusion did not disappear once you presented her with the knife, but without hesitation she took it from you. “How do you know all of this?”

Not containing the sinister laugh that escaped your lips, you grinned back at the mother.

“My dad wished for a son.” You muttered out, raising your eyebrows at her.

Before you could step outside to get one final look, you heard a low chuckle behind you. Turning around, your eyes widened as they made contact with the men that had attacked the shieldmaiden only a few moments ago.

“Three little birds in a cage.”

“Now!”

In a flinch the mother and her daughter ran out of the tent. The young girl screamed and cried while she held the hand of her mother, her tearful eyes glued on you until she disappeared out of your sight.

The man grunted, irritated by their escape. However, he still had one little bird left. Slowly, as a fox sneaking up on his prey, he walked towards you. Confident in his skills. You licked your lips. Chuckling, the man took a step forward, the sword in his hand raised high above his head. Without thinking, you ducked underneath his swing, sidestepping to avoid him completely. With all the power you could muster up, you sliced the axe across his back. The man hollered, pressing his hand against the wound. As he took sight of the blood on his hand the man simply laughed at you, muttering under his breath. There was no sign that this man was one of those weak one-God lovers Ivar used to tell you about.

The man’s eyes had become very dark. And with a load roar he ran towards you, making you duck to avoid his dangerous move. The man, not expecting this, could not hold himself back and thrashed through the tent and the opening you just made, falling down on his face as he flew through the gab. Not wasting the moment, you ran after him, pushing him down with your foot and hitting him with the stump side of your axe so you could knock him out. As fierce as you may be now, a shieldmaiden was not what you were at heart.

“Heathen!”

The word made your blood run cold. A couple of men had spotted you. Running towards you at full speed, their swords raised high in the air. Turning around and deciding that your time acting as a hero was over, you tried to make a run for it, sprinting to the trees.

With each step the tree line came closer. And with that, your freedom. An escape from the terrible fate of being captured by the enemy. Behind you, tents were still burning. Christian soldiers and Viking warriors lay dead on the bloody floor. Those that had started their escape too late either trashing in the hold of those Christians or hiding in the few tents that were still untouched.

Another step. The trees were so close. Two men ran in front of you. Both carrying their wounded friend, trying their best to get him to safety. Grunting as they carried him forward, completely ignoring his pleas to leave him behind.

Another step. With a quick look behind your shoulder, you noticed that those Christian soldiers had stopped following you. Instead, there was only one remaining. Standing lonesome, next to a tent that was lightened on fire. Not slowing down, you kept running.

And then.

Pain.

A sharp cry passed your lips as the piercing, throbbing pain in your shoulder knocked you off your feet. Falling down on your stomach, you tried your best to look at your right shoulder, where an arrow had pierced your flesh. Moving felt almost impossible, the pain keeping you down on the ground. Leaving you vulnerable. An easy prey for the Christian soldier that walked up to you, grinning wickedly while playing with the bow in his hand.

---

Thank you for reading xxx

Tags: @fairyofvoid

#vikings #vikings imagine #ivar the boneless #ivar the boneless x reader #ivar the boneless imagines #ivar the boneless imagine #ivar imagines #ivar x reader #ivar ragnarsson #ivar the boneless fic #first request

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otakufrenchfries · 3 years

Text

Mom

Summary : (Ragnar x reader) when neither aslaug nor lagertha are mothers of the sons of ragnar. Why they never met their mother ?

Words : 1154

It was a morning like any other in Kattegat. The winter birds were chirping on their branches, the market was already bustling and teeming with people looking for what they were missing for their meal of the day. And as you would expect, it was not the biting cold of the northern winters that would prevent the brave Vikings of Kattegat from leaving their homes. Through this colony of buyers we could see five young men walking, or crawling, with a conquering step knowing without any doubt where they were to go under the orders of their father. We have just met Bjorn, Ubbe, Hvitserk, Sigurd and Ivar, the five children and boys of the great Ragnar Lotbrok. For them there was nothing strange or different about the situation, after all they were often called by their father for one reason or another. But this was not the case for Bjorn, although he was already called by their father like his brothers, but according to his recollection he had never called them all at the same time. When we arrived at the door of the great hall Bjorn had a strange impression, the one you get when you are about to discover something very important. Ubbe pushed open the large doors, which opened in a sinister creaking sound, finally giving access to the sight of Ragnar sitting on the great throne in the middle of the room.

"Come forward, I must reveal to you something extremely important." The five brothers looked at each other disturbed and moved forward.

"I need to talk to you about your mother."

A heavy atmosphere filled the room when, in addition to their father's words, they noticed that neither Aslaug, the mother of the four youngest children, nor Lagertha, Bjorn's mother, was in the room with them.

"I'm going to lecture and simply, neither Aslaug nor Lagertha is the mother of any of you."

A deathly silence overwhelmed those present in the hall. The boys' breaths quickened, their eyes wide open and their thoughts going in all directions.

"Sorry?" Bjorn whispered.

Let's just say that only Bjorn had the courage to ask what everyone was thinking.

"I'll tell you the whole story and don't let any of you cut me off, is that clear? The questions will come later", Ragnar took a deep breath and said, "When I was your age I was careless and clumsy, one day when I went hunting with my father I got lost and met a young woman who was just as lost as I was in those woods. Before I approached her I observed her for a while and she was the most beautiful woman I ever had the chance to meet. Long curly brown hair that fell on her soft round chest, a body to make goddesses jealous and eyes as blue as the Baltic Sea. A wonderful discovery, isn't it? It was even better when I got closer, I was able to meet a sweet and shy young woman who loved flowers but who above all was running away from her father who wanted to marry her against her will. When we left each other at the edge of the forest she offered me a smile full of kindness and shyness, it was then that I promised myself that I would make her my wife and marry her. That's how I met your mother, you are not half brothers but full brothers, which also explains why Ivar you don't have hair as light as your brothers and I wanted to apologise, if you never met your mother it's my fault. I was far too jealous and possessive with her, I couldn't even bear to have my own sons in her arms so when you were born I took you and gave you to some of my old friends, the ones you consider to be your mothers".

The boys were speechless. They had spent their whole lives in the company of a woman they called a mother when she was not. The second shock came from the fact that they all had the same mother and that in the end they were not half-brothers.

"Know one thing, I never really loved Aslaug and Lagertha, the only woman I have ever loved is your mother. I imagine you are also wondering where she is or why she never came to see you?"

They nodded their heads, it is true that after this story they wondered if they could one day meet this woman they gave birth to.

"I locked her up so she wouldn't come out and look for you. She loves you all. Believe me when I tell you that she cried her eyes out when I took each of you from her arms when you were born. Your sister Gyda was the only one who knew about it, being a girl I didn't find it necessary to take her from her mother's arms."

"Can we meet her now? After all this time lying to us and taking her children from her, we all deserve it," Bjorn asked.

"I don't really have a choice, I've spent enough years watching her suffer because of me. I took away her right to have a family when I knew it was her biggest dream..." he stood up, "Follow me and we'll go visit her."

They all crossed the forest together on a little path not much used, they could without o=doubt imagine that this path was only used by their father. They came out in front of a small wooden house surrounded by large flower gardens. Ragnar motioned to them to wait a few seconds and walked straight towards the hut, entering without knocking. A few minutes passed when his father came out with a woman on his arm who looked their age but who resembled the description their father had given of their mother. She raised her head, froze and ran towards the hut, taking Hvitserk in her arms, who was further forward than the others.

"It is you!!! Is it really them?!" she shouted as she turned around to see Ragnar. - Yes darling, it is them," he smiled.

She observed them all meticulously, caressing their cheeks and taking them in her arms.

"You all look so much like your father, you can't imagine how happy I am to have you in my arms, last time you were only babies", she cried as she turned to Ivar, "You are Ivar, aren't you? You're the only dark-haired man like me in this family but also the only one whose name I had the right to choose, I'm sorry boys I've always loved you and prayed for you without ever knowing what name your father gave you".

After this meeting the boys could only say one thing. Their mother was much more maternal in a few minutes than Aslaug and Lagertha had been all their lives.

@hugopowell @thewrittingworldofeva

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honestsycrets · 4 years

Text

Show Me I: Bitter Chocolate | [ Ivar x Reader ]

❛ pairing | ivar x reader

❛ type | oneshot

❛ summary | even though its relatively recent since you’ve graduated, you’ve always had a passion for dessert making. you’re confident! just... maybe not with your new boss, ivar.

❛ tags | bjorn & hvitserk dynamic, baking or restaurant au, referenced osteogenesis imperfecta, reader sucks at picking up on clues, referenced deafness, deaf!ivar

❛ sy’s notes | i tried my best to lean on my shitty knowledge of baking shows to come up with some bullshit for this. additionally, he’s going deaf, hasn’t always been deaf. I tried to mix up since i usually see a lot of focus on the reader in reader inserts being the deaf one.

You’re sitting barrel down from a tasting table, rolling a ring size too short over and over along your middle finger. The more you try not to look like a meek new graduate with a grand diplome in pastry, the more you felt like you were up a creek without a paddle.

“Sigurd showed us your portfolio but-- I don’t think this was in it.” one of the owners stood by your pastry. He had the type of eyes that could intimidate anyone back-- man or woman -- and imposition in the way he folds his arms one over another. He’s massive.

“It wouldn’t be. I made it just for this.”

The man sitting next to him laughs as he plucks up the bottle of wine you brought for the dessert. Far from being insulted, or turned off, the brothers look amused. “Wine and dine, Bjorn, get it?”

The big blond ignores him.

“Ignore him.”

“A pistachio cake filled with raspberry, wrapped in a mirror glaze and topped with a half-moon of tempered sugar, Mr. Ragnarsson.”

“Call me Bjorn.” he corrects before gesturing to his much punier brother. His hair is smooth as honey, eyes a murky green-- or blue. His brother scratches his beard, lowering himself at eye level with your piece. “We’re both Ragnarssons. There are five of us. What do you think Hvitserk?”

“You tempered it yourself?” came his reply. He looks silly, alright, but he has the sort of hunger that you only hope to keep as a chef when he reaches for a fork. He slides his knife into the cake and pulls it apart.

“I wasn’t aware there was an alternative.”

Hvitserk looks up from his place lowered among the pastry. At once you think he’s making a mental note of how not to hire you, but his dumb grin widens, flicking his eye over to Bjorn. “I think she can handle him.”

Bjorn unfurls his arms and takes a fork, swiping into the pastry. His brother crunches on your spun sugar with a little bob of his head. “It doesn’t take much to impress Hvitserk,” he remarks, then eases his bite into his thin lips, considering what he’s eating for longer than he should.

“See, ah, ah?” Hvitserk teases, elbowing his much thicker brother in the gut. “She knows what she’s doing. Eat another. Do burpees later.”

“Shut up, Hvitserk.”

You bring your hands together and lace your fingers together hard enough that it’s like a prayer to god-- please, please, please let this be the one. For a moment, Bjorn looks unconvincingly at you. There’s something about you, you decide, that he has some reservations about.

You glance out of the office toward the grandeur of a full running kitchen. They’re crammed in it, everyone with their own station-- pans, pots, skillets, and plates. They’re squished three at a station and still, it seems to run at its perfect pace. You never hoped to be in culinary-- you wanted something bigger and better. Pastry-- that was your home.

“Well,” Hvitserk teases with a big, dopey smile. “If you want it, it’s yours.”

“Your plating looks like shiiiiit,” Hvitserk has this sing song to his voice that you could only attribute to a man that should have been on broadway.

“What’s wrong with it?” Bjorn leans back, raising his hands up.

“Too much sauce,” Hvitserk rumbles without missing a beat. “Looks like a jizzed up prostitute.”

“I hate to break it to you, brother, but most prostitutes wrap it.”

Hvitserk shrugs. “Guess you would know.”

The bad thing about working for five brothers was that you worked for five brothers. Bjorn and Hvitserk jumped off of one another in the kitchen like they were made to be there with one another. A head chef and his much littler, less imposing chef.

You rarely saw Sigurd, their brother, who kept himself to supplying before hours. Ubbe worked the front of the house. Time passed smoothly since your hiring a little over a month ago, and it was easy to get into the swing of the four brothers.

Despite there being five, as Bjorn once told you, you’d yet to hear of the last.

“Careful,” Ubbe stops you on your way in one day. You smooth your hand over your clean white uniform and tilt your head.

“What is it?”

“Our brother Ivar is back from England.” He almost seems anxious in his own sort of way. Strange for a Maitre D. But he’s there for his smooth personality and his handsome face-- because who could really get mad at someone that handsome? “He’s the head pastry chef. I’m not sure Sigurd let him know you were hired. He’s the sort of man that will snap on you if you’re the wrong person.”

This was why Ubbe was the front of house. Not only did he look good in a nice suit, or a good dress shirt with a slender tie, but he had the sort of stubbly smile that reflected genuine concern in his eyes. Enough to be imposing when he needed to be, enough to back down if that needed to be too. He must know something that you didn’t. You try not to think about it.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

You were the wrong person.

You know that you had done something wrong when you brought the chocolate molds out from the blast chiller. Not because it wasn’t some beautiful chocolate, but because when you flipped it-- it didn’t flip. Unfortunately for you, you’re not saved by extra time.

“That looks like shit,” Amma peers over your station, biting her lip hard.

“Amma-- shhh,” you hiss.

“It’s not like he’s out--” Amma drops her sentence when she hears a heavy footfall one after another from the slapping gates. You glance over where she’s looking, finding that the man who must be Ivar, walks in with the aid of a crutch under his all-black uniform. He looks like he’s all business, more so than all the other brothers, because of the lack of humor on his face. His brothers hardly acknowledge his presence. For you, it’s hard not to.

It’s not like he’s particularly bad looking, after all.

“Hi Ivar,” she chirps, rushing past him when he doesn’t answer. Amma, you shout as gently as you can whisper. She’s gone in an instant. Ivar makes his way past the busy lunch party toward your working area.

“Hello,” you say as he shoulders by you without a response. You figure-- because you’re a good damn employee -- that you should make friendlies with the last of the Ragnarssons. Something catches his eye and Ivar seizes to a stop and looks to your mold on your workstation. He snatches it from you, flipping it around onto the counter and slams it. Over-- and over-- and over.

And it’s not coming out.

And then worse, it breaks apart.

Ivar bows his head on his forearm and out of nervousness your find your eye wandering-- over to Hvitserk. He’s holding what looks to be a gravy boat in his hand, grimacing with a little shrug, as he mouths for you to pay attention.

Ivar thumps his thick knuckle at your work station. Try again.

Maybe worse of all-- the man doesn’t even say one word to you. You retemper the chocolate.

Usually, something simple like tempering chocolate? Easy, done, finished. No problemo. This is the sort of stuff you could do in your dreams! Except, Ivar has this quality about him, the kind that is scrutinizing even when he isn’t saying anything. The rest of the week progresses the same. Either he doesn’t speak to you at all or doesn’t respond to questions, or has that look about him that you’re the greatest fuck-up to walk in his kitchen.

For the most part, his other chefs seem to not only be used to that, but flourish underneath his scrutiny. Chocolate, something that is so simple, is now your worst enemy. He works hunched over the lead pastry table on his elbows when not on his crutch, glaring at your chocolate like it had done something wrong.

“--if it’s wrong,” you start.

Ivar glances up at you, hard. Shut up, it feels like he says. Your lips press together in a tight seal.

“Right. I’ll just go-- go get the cheesecake.”

Yeah, mini cheesecakes sound good-- somewhere where you could bury your head and scream in the many shelves of the frigid walk in closet. One where your inaccuracies didn’t have to match up to Ivar’s forceful standards and failure didn’t flash like a neon light over and over again. Ivar flips the molds over and slip your chocolate domes out of their home, reaching for the soft foam to go with the dessert. And again, he doesn’t even acknowledge you.

He’s being a dick, so you leave.

“Wow,” the door behind you clacked open. There’s a quiet shuffle of feet as Hvitserk comes in, wiping the sweat off his forehead with a not-for-cooking cloth, because that’s gross, and tips his head to the side. A lock of his chestnut hair clings to his sheening forehead. It’s fucking cold in here. Maybe that’s why he came in. Or, like the others, maybe he wanted to laugh a little bit.

“He hates me.”

“He doesn’t hate you,” Hvitserk laughs, clasping his hands together, then release. “You’d know if he hated you.”

“Yeah.” You snap back. “I do. He’s acting like a bitch. He doesn’t even talk to me.”

“He didn’t throw the plate at you.”

You snort. That’s a great start to a relationship with your new boss.

“But that might be because you’re a woman.” Hvitserk slips his hand beside your head, reaching past you to slide out the mini cheesecakes for the event, then taps you on the nose with his opposing hand, and you’re not crying, it’s just the change of temperature that’s messing with your head, because you’re NOT crying.

“Don’t worry babe,” Hvitserk strokes your back with his other hand. “He’s like that with everyone.”

“Not his other pastry chefs,” you say pointedly. Hvitserk opens his mouth, as if to tell you that you’re new, that Ivar will take time to warm up to you, when the door opens. Your boss stands there, holding his crutch stubbornly with one hand, looking at the metal tray. Then, his head shifts, accusatorily toward Hvitserk.

He turns to his brother. “I got your pie.”

“Hurry up,” Ivar says with a low drag that sounds slurred over.

Hvitserk shifts to the side, shrugging his shoulders, “But I got your pie.”

“I didn’t ask you.” Ivar stuffs his crutch under his arm to support his weight. Then, gesturing with two hands, he signs something that you only catch because of Hvitserk’s roaring laughter shaking the cooler altogether.

Hvitserk shuffles out, “Man, you just got back. Don’t be a bitch.”

Or maybe, you were the asshole.

After service, you’re sweeping the crumbles of chocolate that Ivar’s flung off the side during plating. The stations have been cleaned and most the other chefs had gone already. All but Ivar, reclining against his station, watching you sweep until he speaks with that same drag, the first words you ever heard out of him.

“I can teach you how to temper chocolate.”

You glance up at him, sweeping the bits into a picker upper, and you’ve never heard something more demeaning spoken in the kindest of way. His expression seems softer now. “I was nervous,” you excuse, bringing your hand to your chest. With a swirl of your wrist in a circle, you gesture, sorry. Ivar turns his head down. “How long have you been--”

“It’s a recent occurrence.” He snaps, cutting you off. “It’s not like-- not completely. Where did you learn that?”

“My niece? She’s uh-- speech impaired. I know ‘I’m hungry’, ‘Please’ and ‘More,’ too.”

Not the greatest way to start. Ivar cracks into his laughter slowly, running his hands through his long hair, then tipping his head back. His arms fold defensively over his chest. “Good for you.”

It should have died there, but rather, you went on.

“Look I’m not usually this shitty.”

He tips his head forward, raising his eyebrows. Really?

“--I’d like to show you that. I don’t work Sunday, if you have time for brunch?”

It’s not a half-cocked attempt for a date, it’s this stupid desire to show him you could be more than that girl who couldn’t make the simplest of dessert elements. It wasn’t sugar for god's sakes! It was chocolate! After a moment of mulling it over, he nods. You exchange phone numbers, and later, your address.

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#ivar x reader #ivar/reader #ivar the boneless x reader #ivar ragnarsson x reader #ivar's heathen army #vikings imagine #vikings imagines #vikings/reader #vikings x reader

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the-girl-in-the-box · 3 years

Text

Not Today V

A/N: Hello everyone! So, if you didn’t see my announcement earlier this week, this update may seem early compared to my usual posting schedule, and it's true! But also not. Let me explain- from here out, I will be posting chapters twice a week! These will go up late Wednesday night/early Thursday morning, and late Saturday night/early Sunday morning. That said, I hope you enjoy this chapter, and the next chapter will come in a few days! Skål!

Summary: When Ivar takes the throne of Kattegat, Lagertha flees to Wessex along with Björn, Ubbe, Torvi, and the Bishop Heahmund. There, they seek the aid of King Alfred. This aid comes in the form of his sister, Aethelind, who agrees to travel to Kattegat and try to reason Ivar, who she spent some time with during their youth, when her grandfather King Ecbert hosted Ragnar Lothbrok in their castle. Now, she is the only hope for Lagertha and her supporters to retake Kattegat from Ivar the Boneless.

Masterlist

Björn was somehow unsurprised entirely when Aethelind approached him once more, a very happy look on her face. He figured her talks with Torvi, Ubbe, and his mother must have all gone well. He’d be lying to say he hadn’t sort of kept an eye out from his place, watching to see if he could tell anything, and each time, Aethelind had seemed thrilled by their answers. So… He guessed they’d all come around to her plan- daft as it seemed to him.

When she finally reached him, he chuckled a little. “Am I outnumbered?” he questioned with a small, expectant grin.

“Drastically so, I’m afraid,” Aethelind answered him. “Though, with specifications I believe you’ll approve of.”

“Let me hear them,” Björn said, “and I will tell you if I approve or if I do not.”

Aethelind nodded, and took a deep breath. “Torvi and your mother wish to train me to defend myself before I go, and with a majority rule, and my brother’s permission for this quest, I can go to Kattegat to speak with Ivar.”

"You could have no better mentors than Torvi and my mother,” Björn agreed. “But Ivar would not send two shieldmaidens to kill you if he wanted it done. He would likely send an assassin in the night. We would need more than defense training for you… We would need a reason for you to gain his trust, before he ever learns you are there on our behalf.”

“Your mother agrees that we need to work out more details before she can agree to send me to Kattegat, but she has at least agreed to begin working toward that goal. You know we only need a majority, per Torvi, and I have her support, your mother’s, Ubbe’s, and even Bishop Heahmund’s. So, the majority is had, but I would still like to have your support, Björn. The more support I have in this, the greater success I believe we’ll have, and you are quite the ally. You could do much for this plan, I’m sure. We’d be all the better for having you.”

Björn hummed as he thought over what she said. It was true, they would all be better off if he’d agree to give them aid. And his agreement to provide aid, assuming Alfred didn’t stop this- which, considering how Aethelind had talked him into multiple things already, he figured he wouldn’t- then it was really Aethelind who would be better off. And could he hold his support, to have the ‘moral high ground’, so to speak, just so he could say he didn’t support it if something went wrong? Or would he be angry with himself, for not having given her all he could have, and always wondering if it hadn’t been because of him that things had failed, if they did.

This wasn’t a question Björn was certain he had the answer to, just yet. There was too much on each end to consider.

“I imagine you will speak to your brother about this regardless of my decision?” he soon questioned, having already taken a few moments to ponder on what he would decide. When she nodded, he sighed slightly. “Then ask him to allow us all to meet,” he requested. “I want to discuss this with all involved, and then we should take a vote. Those who agree to the final plan will speak in support of it, and those opposed will speak against. I cannot decide now what I think.”

Stubborn, just as Torvi said, Aethelind thought, and yet still gave a slight nod. “That’s very understandable,” she said. “I’ll go and speak to my brother, then, and we can have that arranged. I’m sure he won’t have any issue with it.”

“Aside from sending you to Kattegat?” Björn asked, and Aethelind grimaced.

“Well… that, he may not like at first. But that’s what this meeting will be for!” she almost chirped. “Not to… convince him, exactly, but at least to make everyone feel better about it.”

“Why do I get the feeling you’ll go regardless of what is decided?” he questioned, regarding her with a curious, yet suspicious gaze.

The almost guilty expression she wore proved his theory. “I-” she began, and then paused. A sigh escaped her, and her eyes dropped. “I can’t stand to see this situation stay this way, or end in violence,” she finally confessed. “Or, more violence, at least. I want to at least try to do some good in it. More than just offering food and shelter. I want to be part of bringing peace back to your lands. It isn’t my place, to shove myself into these plans, I know, but…”

Björn put a hand on her arm, cutting her off there. “Your eagerness to help is appreciated, Princess,” he said, and she smiled.

“Björn, please. You’re my guest. Aethelind is just fine, you needn’t hold to the formalities.” She smiled sweetly and genuinely at him, and he returned the smile, nodding.

“Then it is very appreciated, Aethelind.”

The Princess beamed at him, and nodded. “I’m glad to be of help, then,” she said. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to go and speak with my brother. But I hope you’ll enjoy the feast, and I’ll try to stop back by before it’s all over, hm?”

“I will be waiting,” he said, and gave a small nod. Aethelind smiled, gave a quick, somewhat playful curtsy, and started off to find her brother, unaware of Björn watching her with an interested smile on his face- one Torvi could recognize all too well as she watched the two. She shared a look with Ubbe, who simply sighed.

Alfred smiled as he saw his sister approaching, and Elsewith at his side smiled as well. The Queen herself, Judith, had finally joined the feast, standing with her son and his betrothed. Her dark hair was pinned up as always in a braided sort of bun, a crown resting atop her head that accented her dark gold gown. The bun rested in such a way that it covered the space Aethelind and Alfred knew should have had an ear. But adultery wasn’t treated lightly in Wessex, and they both knew their father had not been her husband.

“Mother,” Aethelind greeted with a warm smile, and took Judith by the arm, kissing her cheek affectionately, before turning to the Northumbrian Princess beside her brother. “Princess Elsewith.” Elsewith nodded politely to Aethelind, a form of quiet greeting, as she turned to her brother. “Alfred, I need to speak with you alone for a moment.”

Alfred looked a bit concerned by her request, but nodded anyhow. “Alright,” he said. He turned to Elsewith and Judith briefly, saying, “Please, excuse us for a moment,” before he followed Aethelind out of the hall.

Once they were out there, Aethelind looked around for anyone who might be nearby to listen, and then positioned herself in such a way that she’d see if anyone tried to do so. Spies tended to be everywhere at an event like this, and while she doubted Ivar would somehow have any there… She wanted to be sure no one overheard anything.

This behavior, of course, only concerned Alfred further, and his brows creased together in show of this. “Aethelind… What’s going on?” he finally asked her. She took a deep breath, and grinned.

“The Vikings and I have a plan to help the situation in Kattegat, but we need your approval for it before we do anything. So, I can explain everything to you as best I know now, and then Björn has requested we hold a meeting to discuss it all with each other. You, me, all the Vikings, and Bishop Heahmund, as he could be very helpful in a few different ways.”

“What could Bishop Heahmund do?” Alfred questioned, tilting his head a bit.

Aethelind took a deep breath at that question, and seemed to grow a bit more anxious. “Train me, and… give me some advice regarding how to handle Ivar,” she explained slowly.

The look of shock on his face might have been priceless in any other situation, but right now, she was too anxious about him taking this well to really enjoy it. “You want- he wants to train you in what?”

Alfred was very nearly certain he knew what she meant, and that it was the cause of her suddenly nervous disposition, but he wanted it confirmed first. There was no need to panic about what exactly this plan entailed, not until she answered-

"To fight.”

Oh no.

Alfred turned as white as a sheet at her words, and he felt like his heart lifted into his throat. Or sunk into his stomach. He couldn’t be too sure, but he knew it couldn’t have been in his chest anymore. It just… it couldn’t have been.

“I’m going to regret asking this, but… Aethelind, why do you need Bishop Heahmund to teach you to fight?” he questioned her. Another deep breath from her, and Alfred was far more concerned than he’d been a moment before. He’d hoped that perhaps she just wanted to learn because it would be interesting, now that two shieldmaidens had turned up- and hadn’t he just told Ubbe he’d thought she’d have been happier with the Vikings? This made sense to him.

“I want to go to Kattegat.”

Oh no.

“And, I regret asking that,” he said.

Aethelind chuckled a little. “We have more plans, Torvi and I, mainly, though I do have her support, as well as that of Prince Ubbe, Queen Lagertha, Bishop Heahmund, and possibly Björn Ironside. He wants to have this meeting, come up with a more solid plan, and have a vote, and he will either give his support or deny it there.”

Alfred sighed, and nodded. “Very well,” he said. “I’ll allow this meeting and arrange for it, but I am not yet backing this. Not until I feel that you could go safely. I could… I could write to him, perhaps, find a way to warn him you’re coming, and make some reason you would be?”

Aethelind smirked slightly. “It sounds as though you’re already on my side with this,” she pointed out, and he shook his head.

“I just know you’re too stubborn to be stopped if you want to go. It’s better I work with you to ensure your safety on this,” he said.

“I believe that’s what Björn is trying to decide. If he wants to support me so I have my best chance, or if he wants no part in something that could go wrong for me,” Aethelind commented, and chuckled. “I just hope he comes around.”

“It seems you have his favor, I’m sure he will,” Alfred said, smirking slightly, and her eyes widened a bit.

“His… his favor?” she questioned, blinking. “How do you mean I have his favor?”

This now earned a slightly shocked look from Alfred. “Surely, you must know?” he said. “He looks at you like… Well, you must see it?”

Aethelind shook her head. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about, Alfred. See what, exactly? You don’t think Björn is interested in me, do you?”

The look from Alfred assured her that was exactly what he thought, and the girl blanched. “But- but he’s a Viking. Won’t he be returning to Kattegat as soon as we handle all this with Ivar the Boneless, however we handle it? What good would be done for him by having a wife in Wessex, unless he chose not to return to Kattegat after all?”

“I’m not entirely sure Vikings are ever… only interested in marriage, when they meet someone they’re interested in.” Aethelind’s cheeks turned red.

"Oh,” she said, swallowing. “Right. Well… I wouldn’t… You think that’s what he wants here?”

Alfred shrugged a little. “Perhaps,” he said. “But even if that weren’t all he wants, I don’t imagine he’d be open to a Christian marriage.” Through his conversation with Ubbe, he’d quickly learned which of the Ragnarssons were more, and less, open to things not of their culture. And Björn… he was not one of the more open ones. And if he wouldn’t be open to a Christian marriage, then the Princess would not be marrying him, if he asked- and if she approved, of course. But Alfred had already decided the terms of giving his blessing to such a thing when he saw how Björn was watching her. Now, though, he was beginning to wonder if that would ever be an issue, considering the fact Aethelind clearly didn’t even realize he was interested.

But if both Björn and Aethelind ended up in Kattegat, who was to say Björn wouldn’t pursue her? He was getting ahead of himself. Aethelind would first have to go to Kattegat, succeed against Ivar, then Björn would have to go, and she would also still have to be there. Aethelind wasn’t going to pop up wanting to marry a Viking, and that was likely a bridge he was trying to cross before he ever came to the bridge. He did that with many bridges.

“Well.” Alfred was brought out of his thoughts and anxieties by Aethelind beginning to speak. “If he doesn’t want to marry me, we’ll have no issue.”

Alfred nodded. “Right, yes,” he agreed. “So… tell me more of your plan concerning your journey to Kattegat.”

Aethelind began to explain to him everything she had discussed with Björn, Torvi, Ubbe, Lagertha, and Heahmund, and while there was obviously a lot to go over, there wasn’t quite enough for Alfred to agree right there, just as there hadn’t been for Björn.

“We’ll have the meeting, then,” he said with a nod. “And we can set more in stone there, come up with a stronger plan, and see what still needs to be done. Does that sound alright?”

Aethelind nodded her agreement eagerly, grinning widely. “Yes,” she said. “Yes, thank you, Alfred. I know it’s unnerving, but-”

"Oh, it’s more than unnerving, Aethelind. I’d be sending you to possibly one of the most dangerous places I could be sending you. You won’t be safe in Kattegat, not unless you’re trained as best you can be by these Vikings we have here.”

“Or, if I can earn Ivar’s trust and care again,” she pointed out. “I don’t think he’d let anything happen, then.”

“I think that’s going to be harder than simply defeating him in battle.”

Aethelind hated herself momentarily for giggling at that, but she had a bad feeling he was right. “Well, hopefully we can try this first,” she said. “And if we do, then there’ll be peace once again.”

Alfred sighed. He just hoped ‘peace’ wouldn’t mean the Vikings turning their raids back to Wessex once again.

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