#anyway the reveal of the true wolf my BELOVED you think it's just some half man werewolf form that everyone's afraid of | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

leah-halliwell92 · 4 years

Text

Red Wolf

Summary: Ylva daughter of Thorsten the smith of their settlement has declared her of marriageable age. The contract had been struck between him and Bjørn Njalsson the skillful carpenter and former warrior of the settlement. His only daughter would be protected and future secured, now to actually tell her.

Ylva = female wolf Njalsson = Great Bjørn = Bear

Part 1

“Ylva my little wolf please consider the prospects of such a union,” Thorsten pleaded with his youngest and only daughter as they sat at for their dinner.

Ylva held a sigh as she pushed the bread about her bowl of stew. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to marry. Her reluctance came from something else...

“It has been five years since the loss of the lady Ingrid,” she said trying with all her might to remain calm, “Five years of being on his own and five years without a woman by his side.”

Thorsten sighed at this and nodded for he knew it was true.

It had been five long years since the death of the wood carver’s wife, many in the towns had speculated that it was a jilted lover who killed her for choosing the carver over him. Other, the more kindly of neighbors thought something more real...and close to home had occurred. Burning questions and gossip had gone rampant back home about it, about him. It had driven her to near madness how they treated the normal stoic yet kind soul that is Bjørn Bergman.

“Maybe he knows it’s time for a second chance,” her father reassured her, “He will be a good match for you.”

Ylva nodded hoping to be convincing before sighing in relief that her father bought the act.

‘It has nothing to do with him that is the problem,’ she thought as she continued eating, ‘I will be the problem. I will be a burden to him as a young wife, I may be young but I am far from a fool. I fear the ghost of his beloved will haunt me till I join my kin in Valhalla.’

Ylva was not expecting a warm welcome when she went to meet him officially the following day. Her father insisted on arriving at Bjørn’s home near the sea early, insisting that punctuality was important. That it showed they were people of their word when they made it. She’d have believed him but knew that appearing in a man’s home unannounced whether they would be going anyway or not is not a good way to make a good impression.

Upon arrival to the sea side road Ylva marveled at the sight. It is like the best of both worlds to her the sea on one side and the forest on the other, both resources needed to survive. Arriving at the homestead, she saw the one story home and nearly gasped at how lovely it is. Single floored home with space for both a garden and small animal pen, the home itself looked big enough to house a family of four. It wasn’t a long house like those back home but it had an appeal she wouldn’t mind calling home.

The closer they got, Ylva saw her betrothed to be on sheer size alone. His height astounded her! She’d heard he is the tallest of the men in their settlement but had not believed it until she saw him. A side view provided her with some details on his physicality. Dark hair cut short close to his scalp, equally dark eyes (from what little she could see) and a dark beard streaked with grey gave him a distinguished look without making him look old. It did make her wonder what he looked like underneath all that hair.

“Greetings friend!” Her father called out as he rode to the gate of the yard.

Bjørn turned to face him and gave a half grin and nod in greeting.

Ylva gave a small nod and grin in greeting before dismounting her horse.

“Welcome,” Bjørn said with a kind grin on his face as he walked over.

“Thank you for agreeing to meet with us,” her Thorsten said, “Forgive the early arrival, the day’s orders can be put on hold for so long.”

Bjørn nodded in understanding at this and motioned for them to enter his home.

“This is my daughter Ylva,” he introduced before they went in.

Ylva felt the taller man’s gaze on her and she met it head on, not in challenge but showing that she was not afraid. Ylva knew he’d seen battle just as she had and she wouldn't take anything less than what she deserves. She can be patient and all the qualities a good wife is and should be. However she will not be cowed for being female.

Bjørn looked at her appreciatively, liking the hidden strength he saw in her blue eyes.

“Welcome,” he said with a kind grin nodding them to enter his home.

Inside, Ylva saw his shield and sword and marveled, she isn’t short by any means but that sword could have dwarfed her. She was impressed, very impressed. His prospects were looking more than incredible.

She gave opted to explore the woods behind his home affording the men time to discuss the marriage contract.

In her explorations, she took the time to center herself and really think about what it would be like to be married. If you’d asked her if she was looking forward to it she’d have said yes...that is if the identity of her suitor was not revealed. It has nothing to do with Bjørn himself either. He’s a widower, all in town knew how he’d adored his late wife. Raven haired and crystalline blue eyes.

She’d heard talk around their settlement of the late of Astrid the Raven. How she fought bravely and married an equally brave and strong fighter. Her reluctance in marrying Bjørn stems from her own insecurities, he may grow to like her yes but he’d never lover her as a man loves a woman.

Ylva shook herself away from those thoughts, sending a prayer of thanks to the gods for just giving her the chance and honor to be the wife of such a great warrior. She is optimistically hopeful for there to be mutual affection between them even if it is just to alleviate sexual tension. Even if it was a bad idea to hope for more.

On her way back to the house, she saw her father and Bjørn shaking hands and nodding at each other. Ylva could see that they’d come to an agreement, this was confirmed when her father called for her, “Ylva!”

Ylva approached the men hoping her appearance looked passive.

“Yes father,” she said with a small grin.

Your father looked on you fondly and explained how all would go now that the final negotiations have been made and approved of by not only both parties but by her as well and a date was set for the last Friday of the month for all preparations to take place.

00//00//00

“He’s coming to meet you,” your father said as he followed you about your home not a week after your meeting with Bjørn, “You need to be ready.”

Ylva rolled her eyes as she took the rolls of fire wood she’d gathered earlier in the day and taking it to the smithy where her father worked.

“I know father,” she said trying not to sound as exasperated as she felt with him anxiously following her around, “But not so soon that I cannot finish my morning chores.”

Thorsten eve her a peaked look but left her be going to the shop to see what needed mending or who needed their orders filled.

Ylva breathed a sigh of relief and followed with the wood before rinsing her hands in some water and getting started on the dinner they would eat that day. This would have to be the best thing she’d need to make to see if Bjørn sees her as a good cook. This would be the first time he’d be visiting with them in their home, first impressions were everything and all she could hope for that he saw she keeps her father’s home in order enough to approve of her leading his home.

She is but isn’t nervous of the coming visit. She approves of him and from her father had told her of their meeting alone, Bjørn had approved of her as well.

00//00//00

A/N: Don’t forget to leave feedback, like and reblog peeps!!! And if you want to tagged hit me up!

Dracula Tag-List: @kaddis-world, @count-snackula, @your-pixels-are-showing, @peachlogiic, @the-life-and-times-of-a-nerd, @lokiisbrucebanner, @deny-black, @drsherlockmoffat, @festering-queen, @ashashashashashie, @hoefordarkness, @jd-johndeacon-or-jackdaniels, @glamrockmonarch, @damesteph, @carydorse, @allis143, @break-free-killer-queen, @bloodspatteredprincess, @dracula-s-bride, @disneymarina @thebeautyofdisorder, @purvana, @hyacinth-meadow

#claes bang #viking!claes #actor fic #the thirst for a viking dracula is real #this will have to do #claes bang fic

30 notes · View notes

winterrose527 · 6 years

Text

A Loyal Subject

@asoiafrarepairs Day 5: Arranged Marriages (This actually started as my Salty Teens AU but I got lazy last night so here we are).

“There, there, it will all be alright, you’ll see,” the Queen said, helping the woman to her feet. She smiled sympathetically at the woman’s son, a boy no older than four, who was looking at her dress like it was made of pure gold.

It was a Northern dress, far more simple and practical than the ones she’d worn growing up, but the rich midnight blue velvet caught in the light and had been made to fit her exact proportions. She wore only a small coronet, tucked into her golden curls, but still - to a boy who often wondered where his next meal would come from, she was like a mythical creature.

The Queen knelt down so she was at eye level with him and said, “You’re quite a lucky boy, you’ve got a very strong Mum, do you know that?”

“Yes ma’am,” the little boy said solemnly.

“Rollin mind your manners, that’s the Queen you’re speaking to,” his mother chided but she waved her off. She gave the little boy another smile and stroked his cheek, earning one of his own before standing up.

“I fear there is little we can do to ease your pain,” the Queen said, “But perhaps we can ease your troubles. Would you consider taking a post here, in the castle? Your little boy could go to lessons with the other children while you worked, and there’s a little apartment near the kitchens. It isn’t sprawling mind you, but it’s tidy, and warm, and there’s always little treats to steal,” she said with a wink at the boy.

“Oh your majesty,” the woman said, wiping her eyes, “Thank you, thank you.”

“My pleasure,” the Queen said, “Your husband sacrificed his life for my husband’s, it is only fair that we do what we can for you. Isn’t that right, Your Grace?”

She kept her body perpendicular to him and only turned her head, allowing the light from the torches to catch in the rivets of her crown. She fixed him with a cool expression, which anyone else might have mistaken as loving, but he could see, she wasn’t truly looking at him, and her beautiful face was set in an empty smile.

He would not be put out by her indifference towards him, so he merely nodded and smiled at the woman and her son, “Of course, my Queen. Please see Maester Sam, he will sort out your rooms this evening and will tell you where to report in the morning.”

The woman curtsied awkwardly and her son did a half-bow before exiting the Great Hall. His wife walked back up to the high table and took the seat she’d recently vacated.

“That was a nice touch,” he noted, so low that only she could hear, “Using her husband’s sacrifice to my cause as your reasoning. Someone might almost be fooled into thinking you cared for me.”

She didn’t look at him, and he knew that passive smile was once again on her face when she said, “You are my husband, Your Grace, I care for nothing else.”

He clenched his fist. She was so much better at their little games than he was. Everything she said was formed so perfectly, that even if one were to overhear, she could never be accused of disrespect. He wanted her to lash out at him, to fight him, blame him for bringing her up to this Northern hovel with all of the barbarians. Anything, anything to justify his hostility in kind.

They had been married three months prior, as part of the peace accord struck between him and her grandfather. There had been bloodshed, too much bloodshed, on both sides, and it had left his house without parents and hers without an eldest son. It seemed perfectly suitable to everyone that one girl was little sacrifice for thousands of sons, and so the little lioness married the young wolf.

Even he was not so foolish as to think he had a right to complain about the match. He was a king now, but had been born the son of lord, while she was a princess of the blood. She spoke five languages and played the flute and the harp, and sang sweeter than any bird in the sky. She had a good head for numbers and knew how to speak with the lords. She was kind to his people, to his brothers. To everyone, it seemed, other than him. And, the stubborn, unavoidable, truth was that she was a beauty. A true beauty. No, he did not gain much sympathy when he tried to complain of marital woes.

If she thought she had fared the worse in the deal, she had never said so to him. Not directly anyway. And none could accuse her of disloyalty. Her every gesture, every word, was for him. If she gave a gift from her own purse it was in his name. If a woman from the village brought her a honey cake, it was to him she gave the first piece.

He knew he was not entirely blameless. He had adopted a formal courtesy with her from the start, never quite looking her in the eye. He didn’t trust her at the beginning, and wasn’t sure that he did even now, and he knew that it was clear in the way he lowered his voice when she was near. He was home and she was in a new place, it was for him to make her comfortable, not the other way around. Though he set her up with servants and one of the warmest rooms in the castle, he had done little else to see to her comfort - physical or otherwise. Sometimes he thought he might - see if she wanted to go to the glass gardens, or ask if there was a special type of tea she’d like to drink - but then she’d fix him with one of her empty smiles and he would bury the thought once again.

“I will come to you this evening,” he told her.

“As you will, Your Grace,” she said, avoiding his gaze.

He wanted to catch her out, anything, anything to be able to accuse her of - something.

“Do you not want me to?,” he asked her.

“You are my husband, Your Grace, I want what you want,” she said lightly.

She was better at these games than him.

***

She had sent her handmaids away only moments before. They had removed her dark gown and had dressed her in a soft light robe. They had brushed out her hair and placed lavender oil behind her ears and between her breasts.

The King always came after they had gone. As though he were embarrassed of his husbandly duty - or of her. She preferred not to consider which.

She sat in one of the chairs by the fireplace, rereading a letter from her brother Tommen, the Southern King. It was a blessing that she had the letter at all. A different husband would not let her correspond with a man who had only recently been his enemy. So she supposed she could not really complain when it came to the King.

He was a war hero, infamous amongst his people, and hers. He was young, not like some of the men the noble ladies her age had been forced to marry. He was a good fighter, quick and strong, and a loyal friend. He had a strategic mind, her grandfather had always said so, and was beloved. And he was handsome. Undeniably, obnoxiously so. So no, she supposed she couldn’t complain too much about her husband.

In the South, they always said the Northerners were barbarians. She hadn’t found it to be so. Sure, their fabrics were thicker, though they had to be, and their manners less refined. They spoke more openly and loved more freely. All except their King and Queen it seemed.

There was a quick succession of knocks on the door. A courtesy. Every room in the castle was his.

“Come in,” she said as calmly as she could.

He entered and she rose. She dropped into a curtsey but he waved her off, going to sit on the bed, both feet on the floor.

“Would you like wine, Your Grace?,” she asked, moving towards him. He too was wearing a robe, though it was thicker and less fine than her own.

“No,” he said, though his throat sounded dry.

“Shall I call for more kindling, Your Grace?,” she asked, moving towards him.

“The fire’s long from burning out,” he noted.

She nodded and moved closer, until she stood right in front of him.

“So tell me, Your Grace, what is it that you desire?,” she asked.

He hardly had to look up at her, he was so much larger than her even seated. He widened his legs and placed a hand on her back, pulling her towards him.

“You know what I desire, Wife,” he said gruffly, as though almost at war with himself.

It sent a delicious shiver through her body and she felt her nipples peak. She took hold of one of the strings on her robe and tugged it, letting it fall open and exposing herself to him. He reached a hand inside and grabbed her waist, the callouses on his fingers bringing goosebumps to her skin.

He kissed in between her breasts before taking one of her nipples in his mouth. Her hands unwilling found his hair and tugged on his curls when he closed his teeth around her nipple. He pulled on it and she let out a cry as she fought rubbing her legs together, something, anything, to ease the tension that was building between them.

His need was clearly as great as hers when he undid his robe, revealing his magnificent form. He was battle-hardened and lean, and his impressive manhood was almost impossibly hard.

There was fire in his eyes and it spurred her on. She climbed onto his lap and sunk down onto him. It was he that cried out when he was fully inside her and he squeezed her butt with both hands. She hadn’t moved yet, and he didn’t rush her. He never rushed her, he was a Stark after all.

“I want a son,” he said, matter-of-factly. There lips were so close together and yet they did not kiss. “Do you?”

“You are my husband, Your Grace,” she said, and rolled her hips slowly on him. She savored his groan, her own personal victory. “I want what you want.”

This encouraged him, enraged him more like it. Just as she’d intended. He started moving her on him.

“My perfect little Queen,” he murmured.

She held onto him, her nails digging into his shoulders as she arched her back so that every thrust hit her at that oh so sensitive spot. She let out a sharp cry and it released the animal in him. He started thrusting up into her, releasing stifled moans.

“My King…,” she held on for dear life, “My powerful King.”

He let out a groan and flipped them.

“I wonder what the Lords would say if they saw their Good Queen like this,” he mused. He braced himself on his knees and his his arms hooked under her legs, holding them up as he thrusted into her again and again. “No one would ever suspect their perfect Queen of taking it so well.”

She should hate to be spoken to like this, by him of all people. He had been born the son of a lord, she the daughter of a King. His armies had killed her brother, humiliated her uncle, threatened her kingdom. She had been sold to him like a brood mare and was being treated like one now and she should hate him for it. Maybe she did, maybe she truly did. But not right now.

“I am your wife, Your Grace, your subject just like they are,” she said in between moans.

“Play with yourself,” he groaned.

He had made this request, demand more like it, a few times before. It was always when she had tested him in some way, like she had today.

She reached her hand up to his lips and stuck her index and middle fingers into his mouth. His blue eyes were flames as he let his tongue swirl around them, until they rolled into the back of his head when he felt her clench around him.

She trailed her hands down her body, pushing her breasts together and tweaking her nipples - earning a snap of of his hips - before they reached her sensitive nub. She stroked herself and could have fallen over the edge from only the way his face crumbled watching her do so.

“That’s it, my perfect little Queen,” he groaned, “Just like that, that’s what you need to be doing for your King. Does that feel good?”

“Yes Your Grace,” she nodded, “It feels so good. With you inside me.”

“Gods be good you will damn me to every one of the seven hells,” he cried. “Come for me, come for me now.”

She was his perfect little Queen, his most loyal subject, so she did as he demanded. He cried out swiftly after her, collapsing on top of her.

They lay there, her legs spread open beneath him, panting. He moved to get off of her and their noses brushed. It would be so easy to kiss him. Perhaps it would change nothing, but perhaps it could change everything. They looked into each others eyes and she swore his wandered down to her lips, but he cleared his throat and shoved off of her.

He retrieved his robe and passed her her own, pulling his own and retying the ties.

“I will take my leave, my Queen,” he said formally, “I will see you when we break our fast.”

“Until then, Your Grace,” she said as formal as he.

He closed the door behind him and she didn’t bother latching it. There were guards stationed outside her door at all times. She blew out the candle next to her bed and laid alone once again in the dark.

If I have a son then I will not be alone, she thought. If I give him a son, maybe he will love me, she thought, but pushed it away.

She was a Queen, theirs was a a political marriage. Love was not a part of the arrangement.

***

She sat next to him in the Great Hall, in a velvet gown of dark green. Her little coronet sparkled defiantly in the candle light and she sat with that empty smile on her beautiful face.

“That was a nice touch,” he said, more genuinely than he once might have. “Using the ten soldiers we provided as a way of reminding him where his loyalties lie.”

“Some subjects need reminding,” she offered, “Not all, Your Grace,” she said quickly.

“No,” he surmised, and stole a glance at her. She really was beautiful. There was something new about her, something he couldn’t quite place that made her shine with an otherwordly glow. “Not you, my perfect little Queen.”

He once used that phrase almost of insult, but now he found that he murmured it. And where it had once brought fire to her eyes, he noted, it now brought a blush to her cheeks.

“You are my husband, and my King,” she said, “Two reasons to give you my loyalty. Everything, everything I have is yours. You know that.”

Except your heart, he thought, but banished it away.

He was a King, theirs was a political marriage. Love was not part of the arrangement.

#Game of Thrones #Fanfiction #Conon Divergence #Robb x Myrcella

69 notes · View notes