#first in the white queen and now in vikings valhalla

[earlgodwin]

"When commanded by my husband, I even danced with my brother-in-law George: hand to hand and smiling into his handsome, boyish face. Again I am struck by how people like him on sight. He has all of the York easy charm and none of Edward’s honor."

#they wanna hatefvck sooooo bad it's actually pathetic at this point #what's the deal with david oakes and the apparent hot tension he has with the queens of england whom he has beefs with lol?? #first in the white queen and now in vikings valhalla #he's so chaotic i love him #david oakes #rebecca ferguson #elizabeth woodville #george plantagenet #the white queen #rebeccafergusonedit #twqedit #perioddramaedit #perioddramagif #smallscreensource #adaptationsdaily #periodedits #cinemapix #tvedit #perioddramacentral #by jen

[spaghettificationandpretzels]

Hello! how are you? I don't know if your requests are still open, but I would like to ask Ragnar something... with a lot of dirt, something like Ragnar falls in love with a Christian she meets his desires with a lot of dirt... lol thank you! (sorry my first language is not english) 😝

Thank you so much for this request, you have no idea how much your support for my writing means. Not proofread we die like men

Requests are open

Little Doe

4,166 words

Warnings: Fluff, smut, P in V sex, oral sex (M and F receiving), fingering, loss of virginity, running away to live with a handsome Viking, talks of religious repression and arranged marriage. While this sort of fits with the cultural timeline, I must stress that it's all consensual. Period typical treatment of daughters and women.

Ragnar sees you from far away on a raid. It's love at first sight, and now he has to have you.

He had been trudging through the woods when he saw you, crouched by a stream in nothing but your undergarments washing your clothes.

He was awestruck, it was like Frigg herself had opened up a window to Valhalla to shine upon you.

The rustle of other raiders behind him pulled him out of his daydreams; you in the river, coming out with your clothes stuck to your form.

"By the Gods, she is beautiful" at that moment Ragnar hated the sound of that man's voice, you were his alone to look at, to admire.

"She's not yours to pluck Olaf, we must stay quiet or we'll reveal our position." Ragnar felt like a wolf staring down a doe, you would be his.

He gave a whispered order to the rest of his men "we have no idea how many people are in the area, we need to backtrack and go through a more dense area of forest."

His men listened without a question, he knew he was just adding hours to their journey but there was no way he would put you in their path.

"Frode take them men around the back while I stay here and check for scouts" Ragnar knew there were no scouts in the area, the men here were lazy and clearly didn't know how to fight. He was there to take a longer look at you, maybe he would even get to hear your voice.

He moved closer methodically, being careful not to make a sound, then he slipped on a loose rock.

You're head shot up at the soft sound, you have heard rumours of men from the north coming to your shores and you were prepared. Your damp clothes forgotten, you reached behind a rock to produce a sword.

Ranger watched as you took the stance of a warrior, sword held in hand like a practised expert. He felt pride spread through his chest, maybe his little doe was more of a wolf than he thought.

He slinked away, content at his first experience of your beauty.

Your POV

You were being watched, you could feel it like cold hands running up your back. A soft crack directed you towards a cluster of trees, for only a brief movement you saw a flash of white flesh and the outline of a large man.

A realisation of both fear and excitement crossed over you, the Northmen were here.

"I saw a man in the trees this morning father." You had mentioned it in passing while you chopped the vegetables, your Father was sitting in a wooden chair doing nothing, as usually.

"It's was probably one of the boys spying on you, I really wish you would wash from the well, you will dishonour my good name if you keep it up."

You hated the man, he was a lazy, rude, drunk. Not only that, but he was planning on marrying you off to the highest bidder the moment your older brother left. You were already late to marry, having turned down every suiter at your door, your Father would be very displeased if he found out you had no plans on marrying the man he had lined up for you.

Ragnar POV

He could not think of anything other than the feel of your skin under his hands, he imagined it would be soft but with the hardness of village life underneath.

He imagined the children you would give him, he could see girls as brave and beautiful as you, with his eyes and your hair.

He imagined you as his Queen.

****

Your POV

It had been three days since you saw a flash of a man by the river. A storm had come upon the area, God was angry for some reason, maybe it's because you couldn't stop thinking about a faceless man whisking you away from here, away from your Father and your wrathful God.

"We need water!" your Father's voice was far too booming for your small home. It was pouring outside, the rain so cold it had turned into shards of hard ice.

"Father I collected enough for the day this morning" you knew you should have kept your mouth shut but it was so cold out there, and your bother had taken all your furs to go hunting.

He was not having your backtalk, before you knew it, you were being tossed outside, and the bucket was being launched at your head. "Go get some water from the river or you will sleep outside tonight."

The only thing you could feel was the cold, you were soaked the moment you started walking, but you could hear the river racing close by.

Wary of the things that might be lurking in the woods, you walked as fast as you could in the almost pitch dark. You hoped your Father had the sense to start a fire for your return.

As you got closer, the raging river was spitting icy water at your face, it felt like the brush of tiny knives. You have moved to a slower moving area pilled with rocks, at least if you fell in here you wouldn't be swept away. But it was slippery and the heavy bucket was weighing you down, all it took was one foot wrong and you were falling into the unforgiving water.

Ragnar POV

He had split from the group to have some time by himself and found himself by the same river he saw you washing in three days ago. His thoughts drifted to you for the millionth time that day when he heard a pained shout, his head flung over just in time to see your form falling under the water.

His legs were moving before his brain gave him permission, he could see you losing the flight to the cold and the current. He did not hesitate to pull off his tunic and drive into the shallow water after you.

The cold didn't bother him, many swims in the frozen North Sea had prepared him for this very moment, he reached you with speed he didn't think was possible, it was as if Hermod the Swift had taken control over his body.

Your POV

This must be the coldness of death, your lungs burnt with the urge to breathe, you had seen people disappear under the cold water more than once, you knew you had to get out but the rolling surface was drifting suther and further away.

Then you felt it, an agonising heat that felt like the hands of a demon, and then you could breathe. The last thing you saw was a face and a mass of hair before you passed out.

Ragnar POV

You were shaking and there was no life to your skin, gone was the woman who looked ready to slit him from navel to nose, he felt as if he was holding the most fragile thing in all the nine realms.

He saw the looks he was getting as he came upon his tent, he did not care. Your clothes were stuck to you in the worse way possible, he could almost see them sucking the heat from your skin.

"You can never let someone stay in wet clothes, they will steal the warmth from someone. I've seen people die faster from wet clothes than from the cold water" He was ever grateful for Kattegat's healer, the insistent that everyone learns how to treat a drowning victim had never gone astray.

This was not how he imagined removing your clothes for the first time. In his dreams, you were awake and responsive, he imagined you would moan like a valkyrie.

He chose to advert his eyes while he pulled off your life-sucking clothing, he would look at you when you were awake and soft and small under his touch.

Duty done, he wrapped you in as many furs as he could find and went about building a fire close enough to the tent that you would be able to feel its warmth.

****

Your POV

God must have taken pity on you, for you were sure you were in heaven. You were wrapped in something warm that smelt of spices and musk, you could hear the crackle of a fire and smell the burning wood.

Except as you opened your eyes, you didn't think heaven would look like a small canvas tent. When you sat up, you could see someone sitting just inside the tent, the man shared the same shape as the man you saw in the woods days ago, the man that picked you from the icy depths.

The warmth meant that it took time for you to realise you were naked. However, you felt no pain, only heat and safety. Regardless you looked for a weapon and your eyes fell on a small dagger in the corner.

"I'm not going to hurt you little doe, there's no need to stab me" his voice was foreign but friendly, his tongue slid over the words like cream falling over baked apples.

He looked like one of the paintings in the church, made by God himself and painted in his image. He had the kindest blue eyes you had ever seen, like pools of seawater in the winter.

"Thank you sir, but I must go back home. My Father will be worried sick" you knew he wasn't but that didn't matter, the rumours would spread fast and you couldn't be seen near a Northmen encampment.

"No, he won't, I overheard some men in your village talking about how much he wanted to get rid of you" he seemed very angry, it wasn't directed at you by you found it hard not to be scared of him.

When he saw the change in you he softened himself. "He sent you out in the freezing cold to collect water you didn't need, he hasn't sent anyone to look for you and he hasn't come looking himself." He was not being mean or harsh, his tone was kind, like how a parent explains a nastiness to a sensitive child.

You had no idea how he knew all of this. Maybe he was a demon.

"Don't be alarmed, little doe, you talk in your sleep" thoughts of evil were gone, all you could think of was this nice stranger wrapping you in his arms to keep the cold air at bay.

"You may stay here as long as you like, your clothes are almost dry." He looked so sad as if he was letting go of a bird whose wing he had healed.

"Or, you can stay and I can show you the world and make you my Queen."

****

That night had been uneventful after that, he had collected your clothes and turned his back while you dressed. When it came time to settle for the night he pressed himself to the opposite side of the tent so you could sleep in peace.

That didn't matter, by the time the morning glow drifted into the tent you were in his arms with your face pressed into his chest.

"Good morning little doe, did you sleep well?" he had a smug smile on his face, he knew something he wasn't letting on.

"Yes actually, for the first time in a long time I'm not waking up feeling like the walls are falling in on me."

"You really do talk in your sleep, I had no idea you thought I was so tall" you went to hind your face in shame but he grabbed your hands.

"There's no need for that anymore, when you come back to my kingdom you can have me as much as you want" it felt as if you'd known him your whole life, there was no doubt in your mind you would follow him to the ends of the earth.

He looked over your face carefully "So you are staying with me?"

You took a deep breath and squared your shoulders "I see no reason to go back, you've shown me more kindness in the last few hours than I've had in my whole life"

"Do you have a name little doe?" he didn't know what would fit you, he imagined it was something that reflected all he saw in you.

"Perhaps I should introduce myself first, I'm Ragnar Lothbrok, king of Kattegat and the scourge of Christians through all of England.

"I'm y/n, I have no titles or claims or royalty, just y/n." You seemed so sad, like you had been told being you wasn't enough.

Ragnar POV

He wanted to blood eagle your Father, however, he didn't deserve a warrior's death. So he would settle for raiding his village, corrupting his daughter, and then, he will make watch while he makes you his Queen.

He could see far more of you this close, the found the colour of your eyes and the fall of your hair more intoxicated than any mead or wine he has ever drunk.

His thoughts were drifting again, your hair wrapped in his hands, your lips around him. His thoughts didn't matter now, as far as he saw it you were his and he was yours.

****

The raid had ended much easier than he expected, the village was poorly defended and there was very little to take. In fact, per your request, no one unarmed was hurt and the men kept their hands to themselves.

Ragnar never had the stomach for that sort of thing, real men fought with their fists and swords so he had no problem telling his men to take the loot and leave the women.

Your younger Cousin had decided to follow you to Kattegat, wooed by Ragnar's brother's tales of women being able to learn to fight, of being able to own property and partake in the law.

The only one that was dragged away against their will was your Father. He was put in chains and made to walk behind Ragnar's horse, you could feel the steady breathing of the beast under you, Ragnar had been stunned by your care for the animal, your worry that he couldn't hold both of you.

The ride to the boats was calm, the horses trotted along stopping occasionally to eat some grass or drink some water. Your Father soon learnt to keep his mouth shut, he had met his match in Ragnar, all it took was one look and the man was shrinking away from him.

You had always been frightened of the ocean but the broiling sea may as have been an ocean breeze when you were in Ragnar's arms, you spent the journey hearing of tales from your new home and of the Gods.

As you got closer you could feel the excitement, it was like a charge in the air. Your cousin had taken a liking to one of the younger men, he couldn't have been more than 16 but he was tall and already had tattoos over his arms and chest. Ragnar told you he was a good choice, that he was a brave warrior and good man.

At the end the of last day you could see the fires of Kattegat burning in the distance and see the tall watchtowers. As the ship pulled into port you'd felt like you were coming home after being away for years, this place was so much brighter than your tiny hamlet.

****

Nightfall brought a huge feast, you had never seen so much food or so many kinds. Ragnar look at you with joy as you tried all the new things, fresh berries and tender meat that had been cooking for days

Ragnar lifted a sticky yellow goo to your mouth. You had grown to love every one of his touches, each one portraying his building affection.

"Is this honey?" There was a wonder in your voice that made his mind drift to other things.

"Try it and find out" he didn't know what you'd do, he was hoping you'd take his finger into your mouth so he could get a taste of what was to come.

You leaned forward and licked the tip of his finger, the slight of your pink tongue was making his life even harder. You couldn't help the smile that came over your face, it was the most delicious thing you had ever eaten.

You could see the expression on Ragnar's face, like he wanted to consume you whole, like he wanted to climb inside your chest and see what was going on in there.

"Perhaps you can show me to our new quarters?" you didn't want to overstep, maybe you only slept so close in the last few weeks because of the lack of space.

"Of course, my doe, it's getting late anyway."

****

The room was huge, in the middle was a vast bed that could have slept at least 4 people, it and the floor were covered in various furs and there were draws and chests throughout the room. It was lit with a few large candles, casting a soft yellow light that faded at the edges.

"This is your home now y/n I want you to have anything your heart desires"

"And if my heart desires you?"

You knew what you wanted to say but you were having trouble getting the words out. The open and casual contact was a lot to get used to. You had come from a place where you don't even kiss a man until your wedding night, and you were about to crawl into bed with someone who only a few weeks ago, you thought was a godless heathen.

"I heard some of the other men talking, they said you would enjoy me." You took another deep breath.

"I would like to be able to enjoy you as well"

Ragnar reached up to you with a soft touch, your eyes closed on instinct as he leaned in to kiss you. This was not the first time you two had kissed, it wasn't even the tenth but this one was different.

You could feel an edge, an urgency. You wanted nothing more than to collapse into him, to let him have you in whichever way his heart wished.

"I'm yours little doe"

With that you were falling to your knees, Ragnar looked a little shocked, if not very happy.

"I heard some other women talking, it sounded fun"

He let you undress him, let you run your hands over his body and regard him. You were a little taken aback when his undergarments were gone, sure you had seen one in person but it didn't look like that.

Ragnar saw your curious look, "We are much cleaner than English men, there's no need to remove anything when we bathe every day"

You suddenly looked shy.

"I'm not sure what I'm doing here" he ran his hands over your scalp, it was a gesture full of love.

"Do whatever feels right, I'll help you if you need it"

You wrapped your hand around it, you were surprised at how warm and soft it was.

"Can you show me what you like?" you wanted it to be good for him, you knew men strayed when they didn't get what they wanted.

He looked at you with such fondness as he reached down to wrap his hands over yours, his grip was a little harder as he moved your hand up and down his cock.

His head was slowly dropping back and his mouth was slightly open, you leaned forward and mimicked what you did to his finger earlier in the night and Ragnar inhaled like he was dying to breathe.

"You're doing so well my doe" Ragnar wanted nothing more than to fuck your face until he came down your throat but there's was plenty of time for that later.

Emboldened by his praise you put the tip in your mouth and sucked gently, Ragnar made the mistake of looking down at you and he realised that if he let you continue the night might end sooner than he wanted it to.

"Your turn y/n"

He stood to his full height and you suddenly felt very small. He was deliberate in removing your clothes, each piece gone was met with a brush of his hand over your skin and a kiss to your face.

"You are the most beautiful thing I've ever seen" by the look on his face you believed every word.

"Lay on the bed and relax"

You knew what was coming next, all the older girls talked about it.

"It always hurts, the sooner you put up with it the sooner it's over"

"Men don't care how we feel, they just get off and leave"

"Don't deny your husband ever, it will just make him hard to live with"

Ragnar saw the change in you, his touch become gentle and benign.

"We won't do anything you don't want to do and I promise I will never do anything to hurt you, if you don't like something or it causes you pain it stops"

You wanted to weep with relief, maybe the hushed whispers between some of the women were true and this would be good.

He kissed just your face at first, then he slowly moved down your body. Over each collar bone and to your breasts, he kissed your nipples and when you let out a breath he pull one into his mouth.

He looked up at you, assessing for a change of heart. When he found none, he continued his path down your body, over your hip bones up both your legs and then towards your centre.

"You're so wet already, good girl"

"Please" You had no idea what you were asking for but he seemed to. With a practised movement he licked from your clit to your entrance and then back again.

After doing that for a few minutes, he brought your clit into his mouth and sucked softly. Your back bowed, there was no way this could feel so good.

It got even better when you felt something breach you, it didn't hurt quite the opposite, it was a wonderful pressure that created an exquisite stretch. Another gasp, this one higher and more desperate.

"More, please more" all you could hear was the rush of blood in your ears and Ragnar's soft chuckle against your skin.

You felt him shift and the pressure increased, it was just past the good side of comfortable.

"I feel so full"

Ragnar didn't think he could get any harder, you were going to be so much fun.

"It's just two of my fingers my love, how about we do this for a little while then see how you feel?"

You nodded and then moaned as he pressed his fingers upwards. You were starting to feel overwhelmed in the best way possible. You felt something snap and within the next heartbeat, you were filled with amazing pleasure.

You lost count of how many times you reached that peak before Ragnar pulled away from you. He was spreading the ample wetness from his earlier work all over his cock.

"You are ready little doe?" You nodded violently.

"Remember, if it hurts we stop" the look he was giving you gave you the impression that he really meant what he said.

"Yes, please I need you"

With that, he was on top of you laying soft kisses on your lips, you could feel him moving his body around and then one hand was holding your leg open.

You felt more pressure, this time more intense.

More

More

More

And then it stopped and you felt as if he was going to spilt you open, he took in the look on your face and your small breaths.

"Do you want me to stop?" you shook your head.

"Do you want to stay here, just like this for a little while?" you gave a tentative nod and he pressed some more weight onto you. It was comforting, the added weight of his body added to the floating feeling that was taking over your brain.

It may have been a minute it may have been a heartbeat when you felt the uncomfortable fullness fade.

"Move please" with another kiss to your lips Ragnar began a slow drag in and out.

In out in out in out in out in out.

Your fingers dug into his arms.

In out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out.

Your back bent as you shook.

Inoutinoutinoutinoutinoutinoutinoutinoutinoutinoutinout.

"Y/n, by the Gods you are a gift" he let out one last groan and you felt him pulse inside of you as he dropped on top of you.

You shuttered as he pulled out.

"Sore?" he sounded worried.

"No, just a little sensitive"

After a few moments, he got up and got a cloth to clean you up. Then he was pulling you into his arms and draping a blanket over both of you.

"I love you little doe"

"I love you, Ragnar"

I hoped you liked it, it's by far the longest thing I've written.

Feedback is very much appreciated.

#vikings #vikings fanfiction #ragnar lothbrok #vikings series #rollo #ragnar x reader #ragnar smut #Ragnar fluff #smut #fluff #Ragnar lothbrok

[lisinfleur]

Blómstur

The request:

Author’s Notes | This was definitely one of the cutest things I ever wrote. Universe | Vikings Pairing | Ivar x Reader Info | Viking Age AU, requested by @blonddnamedhandz​ for 5CW Ivar II. Posted for HTGI Event. Title translation: Flower. Words | 1306 ⁑ Warnings: Mentions to labor pains, Ivar’s ableism about his children.

It was what? The fifth one? The sixth if he would count the twins as two. There was Sigtryggr, Ingvar and Ímar - the twins. There was Udir and the little ones Erik and Einar - this last one his major concern since he didn't have left your boobs when Ivar accidentally got you full of his seed once again.

Would he be able to avoid his children from hating each other as Sigurd and he had done for so long?

Another sip of his mead, and, one more time, the cup almost fell from his hand with a growl of pain in your voice coming from the bedroom.

Why did it have to be so loud every single time?

Sigtryggr was taking care of his little brothers for him, outside of the house, to grant none of them would listen to your screams. As the older one, he had already age enough to understand those moments, and he knew how afraid his little brothers could be. He was thinking about getting a wife himself, on top of his fifteen years, and maybe carrying for his little brothers was a good way to learn how to behave when it was the time to see his wife screaming to put his children into Midgard like you were doing for his father's one more time.

Another scream cutting his thoughts.

"Gods..." Ivar mumbled, drinking from his cup one more time. "Why does it have to be so painful?"

Couldn't the gods be merciful about the birth part of that process?

To make the children was something so pleasurable! Why should putting them into this world be that horrible, bloody, and painful way?

You cried once again, louder. And Ivar swore he heard the midwife asking you to be strong and do it one more time.

Fuck that shit! You were the strongest human being he'd ever seen in his life!

Sword wounds? He could handle them.

Burning bleeding wounds with red-hot blades? Easy!

Now passing something as big as his children through a hole where his dick was used to feel tightly compressed? This was something his manly mind wasn't able to figure out how it was possible.

You'd always had long deliveries. His children were painfully big, healthy boys he could call everything but little. Sigtryggr was fifteen, and he was already taller than him! Ivar could bet he would be as tall as Ubbe or maybe Björn! And the twins weren't going through a different way: tall children, all of them! Big babies, all of them!

A new scream cut his ears. Were you giving birth to twins once again?

He got his crutch, forcing himself to stand.

It was taking too long!

Thinking closely, Siggtryggr had taken one day and half of a night. The twins took two days to be born. Erik was the shorter with one whole night. And Einar had taken almost as long as his twin brothers - the lazy thing. This one was approaching the end of its first day, but fuck! It was supposed to be quicker now, wasn't it?

Ivar thought about sitting down once again. What would he do inside that room but bother the women's work? What did he know about labor, to start with?

But what if something was wrong with this baby?

What if it was something wrong like...

Ivar felt startled by his own thoughts. Was it possible that the gods would allow Hel to touch one of his children like she had caressed his legs? After all the others, this one?

His eyes looked at the door, his heart speeding, his breath becoming shorter until everything stopped in his mind.

And around him.

A freezing cold shiver slid down his spine.

Why was everything so deep silent?

As fast as he could, Ivar rushed into the room, not minding the scared expression on his face when he opened the door, catching all the pairs of eyes into that place at once.

You were laid in bed, tired and sweaty like the last times you've done that. Ivar's eyes ran over the midwives, none of them seeming to be scared or anything but surprised with his sudden entrance.

One of them approached you, delivering a moving package in your hands.

It was smaller. Why was it smaller than the others?

Ivar's heart sunk into his chest as he approached the bed, but your smile confused him for a moment before you could show him the little package in your hands.

"Isn't she lovely, husband?" you asked.

And everything broke into shards of stars and light around him.

She was smaller than the others.

She.

His little gift from Freya was looking at him, with icy little blues exactly like his, filling his eyes with tears and making his lips break in a giggle that remembered that knock-kneed fool's voice for a moment.

Oh, Floki would be surely laughing at his anxiousness if he was there to see that moment. Or else, he would be making any stupid joke about how visibly melted Ivar's heart was with the sight of that little preciosity in your arms.

"A girl..." he mumbled, giggling again. "You gave me a beautiful little girl."

"Yes, my love. And I want to name her Aslog Ivarsðóttir. To remember your beautiful mother she'll probably grow to follow in beauty.”

He giggled again.

Oh, damn that fool! He would grow into an old wreck just like him.

But how wouldn't he be happy in front of such a thing? You passed the little package into his hands, and he cut the cord like he'd done so many times for his children before, marking her little forehead with the blood as a blessing.

"Oh, gods, look at you..." he mumbled, speechless in front of the small blue eyes looking at him so full of curiosity.

How, in the name of Odin, could something be that beautiful?

"I grow, I get older, but the gods don't get tired to bless me, do they?" he asked the little one as if she could answer him. "I've seen many things in this life, my child, but none... None was as beautiful as you are, looking at me like this."

His words were making you feel your heart full.

"My father once told me his daughter was the light of his heart. I never understood what he was talking about... With the many sons he had, how could she be different?" Ivar said, looking at you.

And then, turning himself to caress his little girl's face, as gently as if his fingers could break her delicate skin like the flowers you've once seen him braiding into a crown for you.

Maybe now, he would have more flower crowns braided by his hands in the course of his life.

"I get him now," he said. "It is different." Ivar completed.

He loved his children. Every single one of them.

But that moment was unique, and her way to look at him was unspeakable.

His heart was sure he would never see the world the same way once again.

She would be the light to enlighten his way. And what once was black and white had just been painted in the most beautiful colors Ivar ever had seen in his life.

"Are you happy, husband?" you asked.

Just to see him lifting his teary eyes to smile at you.

"No... Happy is too little of a word to define how enormous is what I'm feeling now."

Happiness is nothing, his father once said.

In that little girl's eyes, he could understand it too. It's nothing.

Happiness is nothing compared to the wonders he could experience with you by his side.

Happiness was nothing compared to what it was to hold that little package knowing his world would never be dark ever again.  

Do you like my work? Support me!

Tagged ones:

|| @bluearchersstuff || @ivarswickedqueen || @akamaiden || @bang-kim-bap || @cris101071 || @elysias-temple || @alicedopey || @queen-see-ya-in-valhalla || @lol-haha-joke || @readsalot73 || @rekdreams247 || @naaladareia​ || @laketaj24​ || @therealcalicali​ || @grungyblonde​ || @arses21434 || @honestsycrets​ || @2thequietone4 || @blackspiritshake​ || @vikingsbifrost​ || @wallabieswisher || @cyarikashakira​ || @chinduda​ || @isthat-tyra98​ || @xinyourdreamsx​ || @thiahilmarsdottir​ || @queenbeeta​ || @winchesterwife27​ || @gold-dragon-slayer​ || @mzliterarydreamer​ || @youbloodymadgenius​ || @marvelouuse​ || @tgrrose​ || @lif3snotouttogetyou​ || @lordsexmachine​ || @deathbyarabbit​ || @ietss​ || @thorins-queen-of-erebor​ || @didiintheblog​ || @h-e-a-v-y-l-e-a-t-h-e-r || @heavenly1927​ || @alexhandersenx​ || @alexisshoto​ || @letsloveimagines​ || @astrape-the-weatherwitch​ || @destynelseclipsa​ || @charming-merlin​ || @violetidk​ || @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie​ || @ghvsts​ || @littlemoonchildbear​ ||

Want to be tagged? Ask me! 

#history vikings #imagine vikings #ivar #ivar the boneless #ivar imagine #ivar x reader #ivar x OC #ivar ragnarsson #ivar lothbrok #ivar's heathen army #sister wives #HTGI #shot

[pomegranates-and-blood]

Atfǫr (Ivar’s PoV)

νοσταλγία Masterlist

Atfǫr: method, execution (law), attack (Old Norse)

Pairing: Ivar/Reader

Summary: Ivar’s perspective of what’s happening on Strepshire. Stretches over chapter 33 till 35-ish (chapter 35 picks up a lil bit after the end of this one)

Word Count: 3.9k

Warnings: Mentions and descriptions of death, war, and wounds.

A/N: Friendly reminder, so that you’re not caught off guard later, that in this universe Sigurd is alive, living in Bamburgh (Northumbria) married to Blaeja.

Long before Ragnar took him to England and Alfred taught Ivar to play chess, Ivar learned to play hnefa-tafl with Floki.

Ivar remembers, as if it were yesterday that he was spending time with him and not years since Floki had left them; how with the laugh that was uniquely his Floki would taunt him about his wrong moves, and when Ivar would get angry and refuse to play anymore, the boatbuilder would still set the pieces back on the board.

Sometimes it took days, sometimes it took hours, but Ivar always dragged himself back to that chair and called for Floki to join him for another match. Without fail, he was there, sitting across from him with that glint in his eye and taunting him to make his next move.

He remembers those days, and Helga’s quiet laugh as she passed by Floki, her hand over his back and her kohl-lined eyes on the board. And he remembers the first time he won was because of Helga.

It was some years before his father returned, and Ivar remembers the bubbling anger inside him at how Floki had managed to outsmart him for days on end when playing hnefa-tafl. He remembers Helga kneeling next to him so she could be on level with the table, and he remembers her hand over one of the pieces.

“Floki always gives up half of his defenders in the beginning,” She told him, a smile that, like all her smiles were, had a sadness to it. “Even he is predictable, Ivar. Everyone is.”

And she was right. Floki’s moves were predictable in hnefa-tafl, and Alfred’s moves were predictable in chess. And Stithulf’s moves are predictable in war.

And it is easy, at least for him, to see pieces on a board, even now.

It feels strangely reminiscent of the time they faced Aethelwulf, taunting the Saxons with only the presence of the army. It certainly feels the same to Ubbe, it seems, who by the third time they almost taunt Stithulf into attacking grunts a breath and tells him it is easy to do this all day when you’re sitting on a chariot, brother.

Still, they make enough time to let the few men they send inside settle and prepare the tunnels to wait for Stithulf, and when tomorrow comes they will make him face them while pretending not to know of the tunnels he will send his best through.

There’s familiarity in the way Ivar and Ubbe lay on the grass near the camp and overlook the city just like they did before York, only this time Hvitserk isn’t with them, only this time so many things have changed that it is almost as if they aren’t the same men.

“Hvitserk did good in finding about those tunnels.” Ubbe comments, and all Ivar offers in response is a grunt.

“They won’t be able to ambush us, but we still need to try to keep the Arabs inside that city,” He tells him, “Fighting them in open fields gives them a victory.”

“That is not something you’d have learned in Dublin.” His brother intones, and Ivar rolls his eyes, turning to lay on his back on the grass.

After a breath, Ubbe does the same, and they lay side by side looking up at the darkening skies.

“Of course I listen to her. Unlike you, I intend to keep my wife with me.”

He ignores the jab at him, only sighs.

After a few breaths of silence, his brother asks, “How is she, by the way? I haven’t seen her in…months?”

“Weeks.”

“Still.”

“She’s…” Ivar shrugs, and at the lack of words offers, “She threatened me to keep me from reaching Valhalla for as long as she has breath if I don’t return.”

Ubbe laughs, but still asks, “Do you think she can do that?”

“I don’t intend to find out.” He sentences, before sitting up and grabbing his bound legs to move them behind him and crawl back to camp.

At his back, Ubbe clears his throat.

“I am happy for you. Proud of you,” His brother tells him. Ivar stays silent, he doesn’t really know what to say to that. Ubbe chuckles, “You…you chose well, Ivar.”

“Better than you, certainly.” He taunts, but his smile is something less cutting than it should be, less mocking than he intended, as he returns to camp.

Late that night, when the few men they sent ahead have already set up within Strepshire, when the tunnels Hvitserk learned about are already theirs and await the Saxons’ ambush through them; Ivar lingers by the map of the city and its surroundings that his brother managed to find before he was to leave Kattegat.

He hears the steps he knows by memory now, and doesn’t turn to acknowledge Ubbe as he walks in. The older man takes a seat nearby, a horn of mead in his hand.

“There’s enough of an opening by now. We can send our men in during the night, wait within the walls.” Ubbe offers, but Ivar doesn’t hesitate to shake his head.

“You have to be careful, Ivar,” Floki tells him, holding the piece he took like a trophy between them. He narrows his eyes, but the man continues, “The fort will hurt you -and me- once the game starts. You can easily be trapped and cornered inside the walls.”

“No, we fight on open fields. The Arabs are going to be in those tunnels, we can take care of the Saxons outside the walls.” He orders, and for once Ubbe doesn’t argue.

“If those mercenaries join him outside the walls…”

“We will know. They stick out.” Ivar tells him, the conversation so similar to how they planned to defend Dublin from those foreigners of strange weapons and stranger tactics.

“I will take the flank. They will count on them to unbalance us, right? Well, I have fought them before, I can lead my men against them.”

Ivar doesn’t take his eyes off the map, but he does betray a mocking smile,

“Look at you, brother, taking advice from a Greek witch.”

Ubbe lets out a huff of laughter, and it is in that small moment of quiet, in that small and private moment past all the pride and the jealousy, that Ivar admits, only to himself of course, that he has missed his brother, missed what he thought lost when he almost killed Sigurd.

____

Ubbe pushed his men to cover the opening in the city’s walls, keeping the Arab mercenaries trapped inside and at the mercy of the long and thin streets, easily ambushed with each wave they send in.

And on the open fields outside Strepshire, the Saxon army takes heavy losses, and Ivar watches raptly as the armies clash. Pieces on a board, but so much more entertaining to watch.

He sees the commander call for retreat across half a battlefield.

Alfred’s eyes lift to meet his for barely a moment, and he retreats his hand from hovering over the knight and grabs his King, moving him away and closer to the Queen. And Ivar doesn’t know much of this game the Saxons play yet, but he knows when the most important piece retreats, he has won. It is only a matter of time now.

Ivar knows it is Stithulf. He would recognize the man anywhere. Both his death and his life haunt Ivar more than he would ever admit.

It is the man that threatened his kingdom, the man that tried killing him and his brothers, the man that his wife vowed revenge against. More than almost anything, he wants him dead.

Yet he is also the man that, just by breathing, keeps you with him.

The Saxon lives in a state between dead and alive as much as you do, as much as Ivar does, it seems.

“I want that one,” He tells his men, eyes on the Christian that at the sound of his voice turns to meet his eyes. Ivar smiles, his voice a hoarse yell when he orders, “And I want him alive!”

And something familiar shines in the Saxon’s eyes. Fear.

And Ivar wonders who it is Stithulf fears, truly. If it is him, or you.

And it fills Ivar with a strange sort of thrill, to imagine that his wife, the woman that looks at him -and only him- with softness and warmth and what he could fool himself into believing is love, is the woman that across a sea, with nothing but the implication of her wrath, manages to make a man like Stithulf fear.

You’re smiling down at him, a smile that reminds him of that first time he saw you, of blood dripping down your lips and the war cry of a Valkyrie, “What a pair we make, then. The Viking King and the Greek witch.”

They don’t need Stithulf to retreat, and he signals his men to let them go and cower. They will strike again soon, and even if they can get far enough, they will meet again.

Now settled comfortable inside the city, Ivar walks the narrow streets, still littered with injured or dead men, towards the dilapidated building where he was told they kept Stithulf, trying to ignore the building pain in his legs at forcing himself to wear the braces for too long now.

They keep Stithulf in a darkened room, hands and legs bound with rope and arms tied to a wooden pillar at his back. Ivar takes a seat in front of him, toying with the crutch as he observes the older man.

He hadn’t noticed, though he realizes now he should have guessed, that Stithulf was not only scarred by his last encounter with you, but blinded. His eye is white and unseeing, surrounded by still-pink scar tissue.

Ivar leans closer to the Saxon, who keeps a defiant eye on his.

“That plan of yours, how is it going?”

“I’m not Bishop Heahmund, I won’t entertain your ramblings, heathen.”

That does make him smile. The fool thinks he gives nothing away by offering resistance, when he actually shows his hand more than he ever could with an open stance.

Ivar leans back with a downward curve of his mouth, “I am willing to entertain yours. So, tell me, why do all this?” He motions with his free hand all around him, “You had to know you’d lose.”

“Why did you and your brothers gather your Great Army and marched on England? Why did your wife vow to take my soul with her to her Hell?”

“Revenge? Not very Christian of you.”

“The seat of power of my home is occupied by Vikings, the last of my King’s blood was abducted by a son of Ragnar,” Stithulf’s eyes hold a certainty, a fire, that almost surprises Ivar. “Revenge is all I have left.”

“Bamburgh is not occupied, it is legally my brother’s. And your princess’ marriage to Sigurd was the work of Ecbert, no…abduction.”

The Christian laughs bitterly, mocking, “Ah, and your wife is willingly staying by your side? Tell yourself all the lies you wish, heathen, we both know the tale is other.”

“And what is this tale?”

“That none of you beasts, you…sons of Ragnar, can hold on to anything. Not land, not love, not each other.”

But you do not care to be called a beast, a monster, do you? One such as you knows better than to expect love, I suppose.

The anger starts in his chest, an old blend of too many things that it is easier to name wrath, and Ivar feels his nose furrow in a snarl, his teeth gritting together.

With the anger comes the restlessness, the need to make the pain and the anger take form, the desire to hurt back.

And he gathers, out of all the things you’ve forgiven, you could certainly forgive him for killing Stithulf instead of bringing him to you alive, couldn’t you?

For a few moments he lingers on it, he lets himself be lulled by the siren song of silencing the iron-willed Saxon once and for all. To silence his voice and all the others that agree with him.

But your voice is clear in his head as if it were being spoken by you again, as if you were sitting across from him and looking into his eyes and whispering, while he still lives, I have reasons to stay here.

And he stays frozen, lingering on the realization that bound and helpless lies the man that he promised you as a gift, that the one thing keeping you in Kattegat could be dead soon, that the promise could be fulfilled and you could be gone before winter is over. And so Ivar stays there, frozen for too long trying to think of all the possible outcomes, as if this were but yet another battle, but finding himself unable to think of anything other than a life without you in it.

Gone is the woman that had an axe to her neck and still asked if she should be impressed, and pleading eyes search his, “You cannot do this, you cannot expect me to-…don’t put chains on me.”

The answer was always there, wasn’t it? Even if you say you can’t choose, the choice has already been made.

You turn to face him, steeled resolve shining in your gaze, arrogance in your posture, “You won’t be the first man to try to chain me. My very blood makes me belong to them. Athens, and Sparta, Greece; it’ll summon me to return sooner or later.”

It was never even a choice, was it? You were always going to belong to them, you were always going to love and need and choose them.

A deep breath, and you meet your gaze, a resigned sort of strength making you give him your answer, that is as unwavering as your voice, “I would leave.”

He stays frozen, for so long it seems, that even Stithulf grows bored of the silence.

“I assume you’ll be taking me with you to your home?”

“It won’t do you any good to assume anything.” Ivar tells him, curving his mouth downwards in a nonchalant grimace, trying to dispel the thoughts from his head, trying to focus on the present.

The older man only keeps his eyes on the nothingness ahead, as if he can see a ghost in his mind’s eye.

A ghost that with a knife in her hand and his neck within reach chose to scar him, a ghost that with a smile talked in a foreign tongue and promised him suffering and death.

“She made you promise her my head, didn’t she? And you agreed,” Stithulf chuckles, and he almost sounds proud, “Too smart for her own good, that witch. And too beautiful for ours.”

Ivar doesn’t bother hiding his disgust, toys with the idea of blinding Stithulf’s remaining eye. What was that story you told him? Walk the Underworld blind, deaf, and dumb, so that all the dead know…

Instead, he mocks, “Are you going to sit there and talk about my wife?”

“Well, I am sitting here with nowhere to go, and you aren’t talking about anything.”

“I thought you weren’t to entertain my ramblings.”

Stithulf only shrugs as well as he can with bound arms, keeping his one good eye on Ivar.

“Plans change.”

“Ah, like your plans involving your Bishop. You sent him to die to Kattegat’s border.” Ivar tells him, eyeing him from the corner of his eye as he pours himself a drink.

“Leofric? It was his choice, a choice he made once he was no longer needed. He is-…” Stithulf stops himself, considering his choice of words, and looks at Ivar inquisitively. All he offers in response is a small smile and the lift of his eyebrows over the rim of his cup. The Saxon amends, “…was a man of God, he lived by Christian teachings, he died for the Lord and so he shall be-…”

Ivar decides to ignore the rest of his words, rolling his eyes and letting his head follow the movement. For a man that claims to not be anything like Heahmund, Stithulf seems to love the sound of his own voice as much as the other man did.

But there were things Leofric said before dying that Ivar still needs answers to.

“Your Bishop, he said something about dead men breathing.” Ivar interrupts, eyeing Stithulf carefully, looking for any give in his expression.

The Saxon only stares at him, impassively, “Are you one to fear ghosts, heathen?”

He looks into his eyes, both blinded and piercing, and he doesn’t see a man. But he doesn’t see a piece on a board.

He sees a dying fire, he sees a choked flame, he sees an ending. He sees the last flickering light that’s keeping Ivar from the darkness.

And he cannot let it go out, not yet.

Even though Ivar will deny it until Valhalla calls to him, it is infuriatingly easy for you to get him to grant you whatever you wish.

You need only look at him and offer a soft and secret smile, or a touch of your hand on his arm, or a whisper of his name, and he is pathetically gone, ready to grant you whatever it will be that could keep you happy, safe.

You asked him without words to know where the place you were in was located on a map, long before he knew your name, in some old hut in Aneridge. And as if the Gods themselves moved his hand, he pointed to the location of the small town, growing a little warm at the sight of the softness in grateful eyes that looked up at him.

You ask silently for his attention with your chin resting on his shoulder, with your fingers skimming over his arm, with your hand on his. And, lovesick fool he is, he answers each of those summonses without thinking twice about it; turning to you and meeting your gaze.

And he likes to think -no, no, he knows, because he knows you, because…he knows- that in the last kiss you shared while it was still just the two of you, before the people set watchful eyes on you and the titles laid heavy on your heads; you asked him for the same thing he asks the Gods: for more time.

And so he leans forward, holding onto a knife, one of a set of five of which one still is kept safe by you.

Ivar’s eyes look into Stithulf’s grey one, and he watches the Christian squirm and groan as he retraces with the knife the scar you gave him, drawing blood and pain.

As he restarts the count, he breathes life to the dying embers.

“Run,” He tells him, the next movement of the bloodied knife cutting the rope that binds Stithulf’s legs, but not the one on his wrists. “We will meet again.”

And when the sun rises and the men wake up, they will hear him demand to know where the Christian has gone to, maybe they will even see him punish some undeserving fool.

And he will ignore Ubbe’s knowing stare, and he will set sail home and lie through his teeth, and live in this borrowed time a while longer.

Just this winter. Just one winter with you, and he’ll readily face spring and whatever it brings then.

____

Ivar never really saw love. Or experienced it. He doesn’t really know what it is like to love, or be loved, other than his mother, and Floki, maybe.

But he never witnessed it either, and that’s what he dwells on as the ships approach the docks. For a lifetime of watching, of being witness to how other men achieved the things he once believed he never could achieve himself; Ivar never really saw love.

His father was never there, and even when he was, it wasn’t love what kept him and Aslaug married. It was a quiet respect, a strange rivalry kept at bay by something other than themselves.

He hasn’t seen Sigurd in years, but even before it all fell apart, Ivar knew it wasn’t love what he and Blaeja had. It was companionship, a blend of resignation and relief at how out of all the possible outcomes, they happened to be bound to one another.

Floki did love Helga, he knows that, and he knows Helga loved him. But it was so drowned by the quiet sorrow, the way Helga would look at Floki, and it was so jarringly painful, the way Floki would look at his wife.

And Ivar still remembers the edge in that Greek’s voice as he called your name, he still remembers the look in your face as he died in your arms. But in quiet nights you’ve told him that was never love, that was illusion and guilt.

So, he doesn’t really know what love looks like, or what it is.

He doesn’t really know if the way your eyes have a strange shine to them and you smile despite yourself as you meet his gaze from the docks is love.

But he wants it to be.

And he understands the poor fool that believed every lie you told him, including that you loved him. Because you do not need speak a word other than his name, and Ivar is willing to close his eyes and pretend what you said were words of love.

He doesn’t have time to dwell on it, and grow angry at himself for still craving useless things, like softness, like love.

You are standing in front of him, wide smile and the faint shine of tears in your eyes, and he realizes in the quiet that you bring that he has had this small voice whispering that it would all turn out to be a mirage all this time.

Because this is real, because this is his; Ivar’s hand is certain on the back of your head, and he brings you to him and claims your mouth.

There’s a soft sound against his lips that sends a thrill of warmth down his spine, and your hands are warm against him as your mouth moves against his own, as you surrender to his kiss.

In the warmth you bring he realizes there truly was a part of him that believed that when he returned everything that had changed before he left would turn out to be nothing but a dream.

Your hands are on his chest, and your eyes focus on them for a few moments before you lift your gaze up to him.

“I missed you, Ivar.” You tell him, quietly, easily. You say it in a breath, as if it is simple. And it is simple, he gathers, though it doesn’t feel like simple in the way his chest pulls tight at the words.

He leans down and kisses you again, seals those words against his own lips, finds a way to make the promise they whisper more than words. And he kisses you -or you kiss him, he doesn’t think he minds the difference- until your lips are bearing the mark of him, and your breaths are labored.

You blink, dazedly, as if awakening from a dream, and it feels Ivar with pride to be able to disarm you, at least partly.

“How many…how many injured?” You ask, for the first time looking around you, “Your brother, is he…?”

“He’s well,” He tells you, and searches your eyes before adding, “Stithulf still lives.”

And Ivar may not know what love looks like, but he does know what relief looks like. And that surely shines in your eyes at his words.

____ ____ ____

Hope you liked it, thank you so much for reading!!

Taglist: @youbloodymadgenius @heavenly1927 @toe-vind-ek-jou @xbellaxcarolinax @pieces-by-me @angelofthorr @samsationalwilson @peachyboneless @1950schick @punkrocknpearls @ietss   @itsmysticalmystery @revolution-starter @chibisgotovalhalla @the-a-word-2214 @fae-sedai​ @crazybunnyladysworld   @funmadnessandbadassvikings (won’t met me tag you bb)  

#ivar the boneless x reader #ivar x reader #ivar the boneless imagine #ivar the boneless #ivar #νοσταλγία masterlist

[the-girl-in-the-box]

Can You Imagine? I

Summary: Freydis was dead. At least, when she’d lost consciousness, she’d been sure she was. But now she has woken up in a cold, sterile environment, one she is certain is not Valhalla, and the world as she once knew it has changed. People now have strange abilities, some of them, and people they call ‘scientists’ are trying to give them to her. The bigger issue, though, is the fact they have also woken the very man who killed her. Ivar the Boneless lives again as well, in the same way Freydis does, and if they want to survive... she may have to learn to trust him again.

A/N: As you can see from the summary above, I have... had a very strange idea. But! It’s one I look forward to exploring, and this is an AU of a sort that will be revealed as the story progresses :) If you have any ideas what the AU is exactly, I’d love to hear them! Otherwise, I would also love to hear any other feedback, and I hope you enjoy! Please reach out with DMs, reblogs, or asks if you’d like to be added to the taglist, which will be at the end of the post. Skål!

Warnings: Hospital-like environments, mad science, injections, human experimentation, etc. Google translated Norwegian and German, and Old Norse in Italics!

Masterlist

—

The World Turned Upside Down

The first thing Freydis noticed was the bright lights overhead, even if she didn’t know how they were so bright. She shut her eyes against them, and moved her arm to cover her face in an attempt to block them out. When her arm didn’t move, held down by something wrapped around her wrist, her heart lept into her throat. She had thought to wake in Valhalla, to be welcomed by the gods after her sacrifice in saving Kattegat from Ivar the Boneless, facing him with what she had done and still fighting to save her own life from him. But… this could not be Valhalla, she thought.

Wherever she was, it was cold, and almost unnaturally bright. Her eyes finally opened again as her chest rose and fell quickly. She was hyperventilating. Vaguely, she became aware of a strange, high pitched sound that was short and quick. People around her were speaking, she heard their voices, but their words were foreign and unfamiliar to her. It didn’t seem to her this could be Hel either. It didn’t match any description of what she knew from the legends and stories from home.

So… what was this place?

Freydis’s eyes soon adjusted to the bright lights, which she saw were coming from strange spheres, held up by… some sort of disk, on a pole? Her head turned to the side, and she groaned quietly. “Where am I?” she tried to call out. “Who is there?” Her voice was scratchy, and cracked under the attempted volume.

“Hun er våken,” she heard someone say, and she frowned. It sounded vaguely similar to her own language, but not quite familiar enough that she could make it out. She caught the first word, she, so… they were talking about her, weren’t they?

“Who are you?” she tried again.

A door behind her opened, catching her attention and making her quickly turn her head to look. The room began to spin with the speed she’d turned with, and she closed her eyes and swallowed hard.

“God morgen, Freydis,” the voice said, and her eyes opened to see a woman standing in front of her. The woman was dressed like no woman she’d seen before, in a strange white coat that came to her thighs, beyond which Freydis could see she wore loose pants, of a dark shade, and strange shoes which covered the front, sides, and back of her feet, but not the tops. “Ikke vær redd, vi er dine vinner, hm?”

She couldn’t understand enough of the woman’s words to respond, though she could catch not, we, and… friends? Was she saying they weren’t her friends? Her heart jumped again.

“What is happening?” the Viking woman tried to ask. When the woman put what was meant to be a calming hand on her arm, Freydis flinched and tried to jump away. A soft sob left her throat, one she hadn’t even realized had been building. “I don’t know what you want with me,” she started to say, “but please, just let me go. I will not cause you any trouble, I swear it.”

“Shh,” the woman said, beginning to stroke her hair. “Du er trygg her.”

You, and here. She wished they could understand each other, at the least. The woman looked toward the source of the strange sound, and sighed. It’s speed and frequency had increased. “Du er for stresset,” she mumbled. “Du må slappe av.”

“I cannot understand you,” Freydis tried to tell her, but the woman just shook her head.

“Du burde hvile,” she said. “Vi flytter deg til annet rom.”

The woman picked up a strange looking device, like a tube with some liquid in it, a long thing off the tip. Her breaths only became more shallow, more quick, as she brought the thing closer. “What is that?” Freydis asked. The woman didn’t answer, and she pushed the tip to her neck. A sharp pain immediately pierced her skin, and a soft cry came from the Viking woman. Something burned through her under her skin, making her gasp and writhe on the cold surface they had her strapped to.

“Hvil, Freydis,” the woman said. “Du vil føle deg bedre når du våkner igjen.”

The corners of Freydis’s vision were darkening, and she let out a quiet whine as she started to lose consciousness. Her chest ached in the worst way, feeling tight and strained. One last choked sob left her, and she descended into darkness.

—

When Freydis woke the next time, there was still darkness. Her head hurt, and her body felt stiff, but she could move. She was laid in a bed now, blankets laid over her body, her head resting on a pillow. It was better than what she’d been used to as a slave, the straw pallets she slept on, but not what she’d had as a Queen, as Ivar’s wife. The bed was small, with a firm mattress and flat pillow.

She sat up slowly, closing her eyes to combat again the way her head was spinning. Her hand went to her forehead as if that could help, brows creasing. Once she felt more steady, Freydis opened her eyes once again and started to look around, her eyes adjusting to the darkness. There was nothing else in the room, it seemed, aside from her little bed. But that was better than that harsh surface from earlier. The woman rubbed the back of her neck, sighing.

At least now, Freydis could see she was alone. Without that woman in with her, she began to mumble softly to herself- or, really, to the gods. “You gods, you cannot leave me alone here,” she whispered. “Here I know no one, and I have nothing. If I must remain, help me to understand what it is I am to do here, and bring me a companion, so the loneliness will not set in and take my desire to do your will.” She sighed, running her hands over the wall, which felt much like the cold, hard surface she’d been strapped to earlier. It must have been made of the same material.

“I do not doubt that it is my fate to be here,” she continued, “and I will not question your judgement of my fate. I only ask it be made more bearable for me. For your servant, Freydis.”

At that time, she heard a clicking sound, the same sound that before had signalled a door opening. Her heart jumped as she whipped around, looking for whoever may have entered the space. This time, she was joined by a man, one who still dressed in no way she had ever seen. He wore similar pants to the woman, though his shoes covered his whole foot, and he had no strange white coat. Just a long sleeved shirt, a vest over that, and a… strange sort of bow fixed around his neck. What sort of clothing did they have there?

(It should be noted, at this time Freydis had not yet noticed the far stranger garment she wore- an almost nightgown sort of thing that stopped above her knees, and opened down the back except for the three or four places it was tied together.)

“Hei,” he greeted, smiling at her. Freydis lifted a brow in response, and subtly pressed herself closer to the wall. “Snakker du norsk?”

“I… do not fully understand you,” she told him, more confident without being tied down. “I can tell this once you have asked if I speak Norwegian, but only because the words are so similar to my own. But I do not speak your language.”

The man chuckled a little. “So my theory is correct, then,” he said. Her eyes widened as she recognized every word that came out of his mouth. “The Norwegian spoken today is similar to the Old Norse spoken in your time, similar enough much meaning can be understood, but not similar enough for the languages to be interchangeable. Fascinating.”

“What do you mean, ‘the Norwegian spoken today’?” Freydis questioned. “‘The Old Norse spoken in my time’? Hm? I don’t deny I am glad to hear my own language spoken, but you must understand the unnerving situation I find myself in. I do not know where I am, who you are- only that you are not my friends- and it would appear that I am being held captive. All I want, is-”

“Who has told you we are not your friends?” the man interrupted her. “Of course we are your friends. We’re- well, we’re the reason you’re alive, My Lady.”

“That woman who came to me when I was restrained. She said we were not friends. And then she took my consciousness.”

“Yes,” the man confirmed. “You were having a panic attack. We knew there’d be no use talking to you, explaining anything, if you were panicking. My colleague chose to sedate you so we could restore you to a calmer state, and explain then. She does not speak Old Norse, or perhaps she could have calmed you better than she did.”

“Perhaps I should not have been restrained, if calming me was your goal,” she pointed out flatly.

The man’s cheeks turned a slight shade of pink, and her brow lifted. “Perhaps not,” he agreed. “But what we have done with you, has never been done before- not successfully. It has been attempted, but you are the first success.”

His words brought no comfort to Freydis, and her eyes narrowed, her head tilted slightly to the side. “What did you do to me?” she questioned. Her voice had turned more firm than before, losing any of its naturally amicable tone, as she demanded this answer.

“We brought you back to life, of course.”

Everything froze at his words, including Freydis herself. She watched him with wide eyes, her mouth slightly agape, and then she laughed bitterly. “That is a cruel joke. If you want me to believe you have brought me back to life, then I must first have died. But I know I have not died, as I have not seen Valhalla. I do not believe you.”

The man sighed, and bit his lip. “Could I convince you to come with me, then?” he asked. “I can show you proof of my claims. Then, perhaps, you will let us help you.”

“If it is true you raised me from the dead, then you should be horrified with your actions. You have stolen me from Valhalla, and the gods, and interfered in fate. They will be angry.”

“Or, perhaps you have found a new fate with us,” the man suggested. “Come. I’ll introduce myself along the way.”

Perhaps against her better judgement, as she had nothing else she could do, Freydis walked to the man, and allowed him to take her from the small room she was in.

The man led her out into a long, bright hallway that felt similar in nature to the first room she’d woken in. Large, white rectangles seemed to light the space, and she creased her brows as she looked up at them. Something about them made her quite uncomfortable. She swallowed again.

“You have not told me where I am,” she commented. The man merely chuckled in response. “Do not laugh at me.”

“My apologies, Queen Freydis,” he said. “I was laughing because you’re right. You don’t miss a thing, do you?”

Freydis narrowed her eyes at the man’s back. “No, I don’t,” she agreed harshly. “And I will not ask again. Where am I?”

“You are… in Germany, not that this will make any sense to you. You’d have known Germany as the Germanic tribes, which were part of the Frankish Empire.”

“Has it been taken from the Frankish?” she questioned. Her mind turned to her husband’s uncle, Duke Rollo, who had helped him take Kattegat. Freydis wondered vaguely if Rollo was alright.

The man chuckled again, but answered before he could anger the Viking woman behind him. “Many centuries ago, yes.”

A frown set on her lips as her brows creased harshly again. “I still do not believe you, that I have been dead before,” she said. “I fell unconscious at the Battle for Kattegat, and you have kidnapped me. Perhaps I am not even in the Germanic tribes.” She swallowed hard, making sure her voice did not shake, and no nerves were heard in her voice as she spoke again. “My husband will come and find me. You should return me to him before he destroys you and your people.”

She couldn’t see the way the man grimaced. History didn’t know that Ivar the Boneless murdered his wife after her betrayal. After all, she had been found sharing a tomb with him, buried like heroes together, and none of the sons of Ragnar had taken note of how Freydis had died- other than it was the day Björn Ironside took Kattegat. So, with her question, he was hit with the realisation that she didn’t know her husband was dead.

“He… is not a concern to us. We are safe, keeping you here,” he said vaguely. He hoped that Freydis wouldn’t realise anything about Ivar’s passing until she learned it truly was centuries later, and it would only make sense that he was gone, just as she once had been.

This caused Freydis to frown more deeply, and she suddenly stepped quicker to the man, grabbing his shoulder and slamming him into the wall. He immediately pulled away from her as best he could, though he did not escape her. His eyes squeezed tightly shut. Clearly, he was terrified of her.

“Ivar the Boneless will come for me,” she hissed out. “You would be wise to return me to him, entirely unharmed, before he raises up his Great Heathen Army again, to come and rescue his Queen.”

The man was shaking under her. Freydis wondered how little prepared these people must have been, if their men fell apart so easily. She wasn’t even a shieldmaiden, and yet he was terrified of her. “If- if we could get through this tour, I think you would see just what- what I mean about your husband, Your Highness.”

She huffed, and narrowed her eyes. “If you try anything, and he finds out, he will kill you. I’ll be sure of it.”

He nodded enthusiastically, still grimacing and trying to push himself into the wall. “Of course,” he said. “I’ve told you- we are your friends, here. We won’t hurt you.”

“See that you do not, or there will be Hel to pay.”

Eventually, he took Freydis into another strange room. Though this one was still different from all she had seen so far. It was filled with strange slabs of metal, all with moving images on them. People in the funny white coats, including the woman from earlier, were watching these moving images, and writing in a language she couldn’t read.

The images showed men and women strapped down the way she had been, the same strange devices put to their skin, sometimes multiple of them, and various liquids were pushed into them. The woman from earlier soon noticed Freydis’s presence, and she smiled, coming toward her. The Queen backed up immediately, and the woman’s face fell.

“Jeg antar at det er fornuftig at du ikke vil like meg, ikke sant?” she said. Freydis looked up to the man, as he had clearly understood her, and she didn’t understand this woman.

“Doktor Schmidt, sie spricht kein modernes Norwegisch,” the man said. This was yet another language, and Freydis frowned sharply. What the hell were they playing at.

“It is rude to speak in front of a guest in a way they cannot understand you,” she reminded him pointedly. “What are you saying to her, and what is she saying?”

The man turned to Freydis to answer, “I was telling her that you don’t understand modern Norwegian. She doesn’t speak the Old Norse you do, so I’m going to have to translate between you two, I suppose.”

“No need,” Freydis said. “She is the one who has brought me here, is she not? She put that strange liquid in me which took my consciousness. I will not speak to her.”

The man grimaced and relayed what she said to the woman, who pressed her lips together and sighed, before answering him. Freydis’s eyes watched his response intently.

“She is sad to hear this, but understands. Though, she asks your forgiveness for making you sleep earlier. You were beginning to have a panic attack, and she wanted to keep you from going through that.”

The harsh glare Freydis shot the woman revealed she did not have Freydis’s forgiveness. “Anxiety and panic are nothing I have not experienced before,” she said. “I would have been fine.”

Again, he spoke to the woman, but this time she didn’t stay to listen, her eyes catching on one of the moving images. She had seen herself flicker across it. An image of her sitting in a throne, eyes open yet unseeing, hovered in the upper right corner. She looked beautiful, if not… dead. Covering the whole thing was a moving image- the one in the corner was still- of people moving around a woman, strapped to and laid out on a cold… hard…

Gods above… she thought. It was her.

What Freydis was watching was footage of her being brought back to life by these scientists, who were testing various things on her corpse, monitoring her, until an order was given. A shot of something was put straight into her heart by one scientist, and then they all quickly cleared the room. It was then that she woke, and she watched the interaction she had had with the woman- now standing behind her- before she’d been rendered unconscious.

She watched as she was given a shot of a tranquiliser, and fell asleep, and then the image froze. “This is a monitor,” the man at her side said. “We play back videos on it, and can take notes on what we see in them. That video was of you being woken up for the first time- brought back to life. The picture in the corner there, that was your corpse as we found it. You were with your husband, Ivar the Boneless, in a tomb meant for heroes. Preserved. It was… it was incredible, really. To find you both so perfect, even after death. We were thrilled, naturally, and-”

Freydis stopped listening as another one of the ‘monitors’ shifted, and showed a different image that struck her to her core.

Ivar’s corpse, laid out on the same sort of table as she had been, and he was being injected with various things, just as she had been. She hadn’t seen that part of her own footage. She walked away from the scientists again, and up to the monitor, watching as an injection was given to him in his heart, just as had been done to her. The scientists in the room with him cleared out, and just as she lifted her fingers to the screen, her expression unreadable… Ivar the Boneless took a breath.

Freydis promptly passed out, and collapsed to the floor.

Taglist: @youbloodymadgenius, @katfett, @zuzus-sun

#ivar the boneless #vikings #ivar ragnarsson #alex hogh andersen #history channel vikings #ivar's heathen army #vikings history #ivar #ivar x freydis

[silverlysilence]

An Emissary’s Duty

@madcapmiss and I have worked together to bring you this little collaboration steaming from the comment section of Spirit of a Guardian.  (She did most of the work meshing the two ideas into one and I formatted the DMs into this, please praise her).  Enjoy.

Officially he's come as a peaceful emissary, looking to negotiate a trade agreement with the young chief of the Hooligan tribe. Officially. Truthfully his people have sent him to take the boy’s measure and gather the pertinent information needed to launch a successful attack.

They've heard the stories, of course. Who hasn't by now?  It’s been the talk of the entire Barbaric Archipelago for the last few years.  The stories growing and new details added with each rendition.  Still, they're not fool enough to actually believe in such tall tales. They go beyond the realm of far-fetched and straight into the downright insulting.

They say the chief rides a Night Fury, the Unholy Offspring of Lightning and Death itself; more than that there are whispers he is more kin to the beast than he is to men. They say he struck down Drago Bludvist, a nightmare of a man who once slaughtered nearly every Chieftain in the isles in the space of a single night. They say he defeated a vast army from beyond the archipelago with only five warriors at his back. They say he built himself wings, that he can command dragons and call lightning and walk through fire. They say that he is so fierce that the queen of the fair folk herself asked him for an alliance, that when he grew lonely for companionship, he stole a god from Asgard itself for his lover.

The emissary, like the rest of his tribe, holds these stories in contempt. It's one thing to exaggerate your strength to ward off attackers, but this boy’s efforts have strayed beyond the realm of arrogance into utter foolishness. Stoick the Vast may have been formidable in his day but he must have long since lost his wits to old age if he's stepped aside to let a child trying to frighten them all with shadow-tales to take his place. Given the hubris of the tales, a few of the weak-minded foals whispered that they’d heard his tribe were acting on behalf of the Gods themselves. It was only right that more sensible, worthy men should deal with such upstarts before the Gods decide to take offence and retaliate against the whole of the archipelago over such blasphemy. And with a prize as rich as Dragon's Edge there for the taking, there's plenty of incentive to be...worthy.

He was expecting to see the dragons of course because there had to be SOME seed of truth in the stories for the rumors to have spread so far. There are more than he expected but it's fine. They've been fighting dragons for generations; they could still take the Hooligans with some cunning and a bit of Dragon Root. Though there are a handful of oddities beyond the dragons that catches his eye and makes him pause; the shimmering liquids in the alchemist's workshop, a burnt-orange orb of light that flickers in the corner of his eye as he passes a short brunet Viking only to disappear whenever tries to catch sight of whatever made the strange glow.

The minute distractions hold his attention far more than they should as he fails to notice the way the dark-haired alchemist looks at him from over her potions, or the sharp-edged grin she flashes at the young Guard Captain. He fails to hear the mean-spirited chuckle that escapes the stocky, mace-wielding warrior at her side when the burnt-orange orb seemingly appears off to the side but a twist of the head reveals nothing there. He doesn't see the danger in the way said Guard Captain goes from straight backed and polite to lazily welcoming.

He doesn't know to be alarmed by the very distinct silence from a pair of twins that only ever pass unnoticed when they have business to attend to. He does, however, take notice of the tattoos and scars the broad-shouldered man who leads him through the village at the young Guard Captain’s command. The man is strong, the emissary will give him that, and has obviously seen much of both war and the world, but he isn't worried. He's felled bigger of men under less than ideal circumstances. Case in point, the hulking blonde squealing over baby dragons isn't even worth mentioning, though the sword he carries on his waist would make a fine trophy. Better by far than those spears with blackened tips the pair of blondes lazily trailing them carry.

Then he enters the forge and his dismissive hunger shatters, his heart pounding in a helpless echo of the smith's hammer blows.

There's a tall figure looming over the anvil, wielding a large blacksmith’s hammer with the ease other men lift their ale flagons. His head is bent intently over his work and there is lightning crawling, dancing, skittering over his skin like ripples on water. A blinding bolt leaps from smith to anvil and the emissary flinches violently. A second bolt cracks from the anvil to a nearby workbench. He draws a shaking breath and firmly reminds himself that a single rumor validated is no reason for the creeping dread trying to rise in his throat. A third bolt leaps from the anvil to the smith, twisting around his arm like a snake before dripping down to race across black scales.

The emissary blanches. There, a terrible black beast is curled at the forge-master’s feet, near invisible in the shadows but for the acidic green of its eyes, the deadly fangs glittering from its snarl, and the lightning crackling across it's hide. The emissary swallows hard and though he tries to rationalize, to remind himself that yet a second partially-validated rumor is no reason for alarm, he cannot help taking an involuntary step back.

He doesn't get far. Someone is in the doorway at his back, blocking his escape route. The young Guard Captain's voice calls out to the forge-master, and a detached part of his mind wonders when she had arrived and where his original guide has gone. The man (is he even a man? Surely not. This- this thing before him cannot possibly be flesh and blood, to pretend otherwise is nothing but a polite fiction) doesn't respond right away.

Instead he sets his hammer down and walks away to quench the red-hot metal held casually in his bare hand. He plunges the metal into the barrel of water against the far wall, flames dancing up his arm as vivid green eyes crackling with storm-light glances over his shoulder towards the mortals standing on the threshold. The emissary could feel his hands trembling, his adrenaline spiking as his mind shouted at him to draw his weapon and fulfill his duty to his tribe, to strike down the threat before it could reach them. He still had the element of surprise on his side and even if he died in the attempt, even if the Guard Captain killed him afterward, his people would sing his praises and he would be welcomed into the Halls of Valhalla.

He wraps a trembling hand around the hilt of his blade as those terrible eyes seemed to wring both the breath from his lungs and the strength from his soul. He sends up a brief but heartfelt prayer for the courage to die well and is gathering himself for a desperate attack when a sneeze breaks the tense atmosphere. Once more the emissary's eyes are pulled towards the fiendish dragon curled in the deep shadows at the foot of the anvil.

For the first time he notices a delicate pattern of ice ferns curling across half the creature’s scales, spreading across the floor around it. Even in the intense heat of the forge the frost refuses to melt. The dragon rumbles, lifting a wing to reveal a slender silver-haired youth rubbing sleep from icy blue eyes. The boy stretches and the ferns spread almost searchingly across the floor, reaching the chief and twining lovingly up his ankles and calves almost to his knees.

The emissary feels his heart leap to his throat as the creature that is clearly NOT a mortal boy rises and nonchalantly walks across the room towards the chief. He doesn't even look in the emissary's direction, but the blade in his hand suddenly burns with a deadly cold that leeches all warmth from his flesh. He's forced to jerk his hand hastily away from the weapon or risk losing fingers to its chill. The youth smiles, kisses the chief softly on the cheek, and asks if the man would like for him to show their guest to Niflheim since he clearly didn't have any courtesy.

The chief agrees.

He collapses where he stands and begs; for lenience, for his life. He begs them to keep the white-haired jötnar runt away from him. The last earns him a terrifying scowl from the jötnar but the chief relents and the smirking Guard Captain leads him out of their lair, back to the alchemist's workshop where the dark-haired woman sits waiting for them with her shimmering vials and a too-sharp grin.

#Heart of a Dragon's Soul #Rumors Tend to Have a Grain of Truth #Or a Whole Dragon of Truth #And Then Some #This Guy is Regretting His Life Choices #Madcap's Fanfic #SilverlySilence's Fanfics #FanFic #HiJack #Jack Frost #Jackson Overland #Hiccup Haddock #Toothless

[laketaj24]

Bound III: The Ravenous

Author’S Note: This one has some dark themes. My taglist is open. Thank you for reading and let me know what you think!! Also I had a moment and got carried away! thanks to everyone who helped me out with Hvitserk last night lol 

Warnings: Voyuerism, Smut, Slight NonCon, dubcon

Pairings: Hvitserk X Reader, Ragnar X Reader

Bound I, Bound II

Vikings Masterlist

The winter nights had passed with haste all filled with lust filled nights and days of training. Those times had now faded into spring and Ragnar was dead set on taking you to England. There was no doubt in his mind you were ready, and if not, you were faded to die there. He ran his hands through the short strip of hair atop of his head and sighed. “The ships are ready, we will leave in three weeks times.” Ragnar announced to you and his sons.

His sons were all eager or blood to wet their sword. Especially the middle one, Hvitserk. Every mention of the raids yielded excitement to him that you had never witnessed. “I will kill so many Saxons.” He smiled. “The gods will craft a special seat for me in Valhalla.”

“One for you to expel all of the shit your holding.” Bjorn laughed. He gave you a small nod. The tall brute of a man done things to you that you were unfamiliar with, the small looks, the occasional smolder and the tolerance for him not caring of his father’s disposition with you were all alluring enough. “And you Y/N are you excited to see England?”

Aslaug cleared her throat. “I am sure she is more than delighted to see the lush lands of England. It is a shame though. She will be missed here.”

There was no tension between the great queen and yourself, but you were well aware she had knowledge of you and Ragnar. Ragnar was never the boastful. He never flaunted you in front of her, he granted her upmost respect, even denying visits when she needed him.

“Thank you, Queen Aslaug.”

“In the meantime. Your mother and I are to the Baltic lands for talks of Alliance with the Jarl and his wife.” Ragnar adds from the head of the table. “Y/N you are to continue to train. Ubbe and Hvitserk will be capable teachers. Ivar can help with archery.”

Ivar’s eyes are on you as they always are, and you detach from making eye contact with him. The young prince had found a source of endearment in watching you and you didn’t mind but in the company of other’s you couldn’t stop the heat from racing to your cheeks. “I look forward to it.”

“I am sure you do, Ivar.”

“You imply that I cannot help her, father?” Bjorn asks.

“I am saying that you are not patient enough to,” Ragnar laughs.

“And Ubbe is?”

“I am the most patient.” He smirks.

“Y/N I have seen you with your sword. You are quite good.” Hvitserk takes another sip of his ale and stands from the table. “Shall we get a head start on the practicing today?”

“I simply cannot today.” You smile. “I have to help your mother pack her things and there are a few other matters that have diverted my attention.”

“Well, I’ll see you soon enough.” He winked.

  The week without Ragnar had started to wear on yourself control. His directions were simple. Do not come. He wanted to enjoy your denial himself. But seven whole days without any form of relief was not going to do, and after all, how would he know? He riled you up even if it had been ten minutes. The brothers done as he had instructed. Ubbe worked with you on balance while Hvitserk tested your agility. Ivar worked one day on archery and decided to focus his time elsewhere, it was evident the attention you were receiving from the other two Ragnarssons was far too much from him. It didn’t bother you.

Ubbe was a click toucher, he’d graze your stomach or slightly touch the nape of your back while working with you but Hvitserk was the King of uncompromising positions. You’d train with him and end up beneath him panting for the wrong reasons. He was well blessed by the gods; his cock had brushed against you enough times for you to know. But there was something about the middle brother that you could not grasp.  

The one perk of the King and Queen being out of the Hall was that they’d granted you access to their hall. The chambers Aslaug had requested you stay in upon their absence was extravagant compared to the small shack you usually resided in. You called upon a servant to help with the water and filled the wooden tub in near the fire to the brim with the water, oils and sweet flowers and then sunk down rinsing your body of the day’s training and sweat. Peace was all you wanted, that and some relief.

Your fingers drifted between the crevice of your thighs and in they slipped between your plump folds as if they were at home. You drape your legs of the brim thrusting your fingers in and out of your hungry cunt to get their quickly. With your eyes shut up and mouth barely open you could picture king Ragnar, his finger’s much thicker pushing into you. You could even hear his eager moans as your pussy clenched around his fingers and you nearly met your climax.  And then door opens, slamming against the wall.

You try not to act startled but the water sloshes over the brim wasting to the floor. Your heart races as you peer up to the brown-haired brother. There was no usual smile. Just a menacing look in the flicker of the candlelight.

“Enjoying yourself, Y/N?” Hvitserk closes the door and then stands in front of it.

“No.” You lower yourself in the warmth of the bath water, covering the yourself from his wandering eyes. “I am here just to bathe.”

“No need to explain to me.” He crouches at the foot of the wooden tub with amused eyes. “What were you were you doing?”

“Nothing.” Your hands slide under the slope of your thigh and you reach for the cloth to dry your body, but he gets it first tossing it to the side and then returning his arms to fold across his chest. “Why dry off so soon? I like you wet.”  The menace in his voice was eminent. Hvitserk stands and with one pull snatches you from the warmth of the water. “You should show me what you were doing. Do not fear me.”

Your bold taking your slippery arm from him and scurrying back to the white cloth on the bed, “You have some nerve barging in here as if you are invited. I wish to be alone. Get out!”

“But do you really wish to be alone? From what I heard you were yearning for my father? Why not end that yearning?” Your eyes are drawn to manacles in his hands as he takes another step towards you. He gives you another creepily innocent smile, but there is nothing innocent about it as he steps closer.

“Did you not hear me? I said for you to get the fuck out Hvitserk White Shirt. Take your leave.”

“Do not make this difficult, Y/N. I like a woman with a fight.”

The weight of your heart increases ten-fold as you reach for your dress and he snatches it from you. The actions are quick as you hop onto the bed in attempts to spring towards the door. Hvitserk snatches your legs dragging you back to him and he climbs over your body and secures the manacles around your wrists. He gives you a smile. “Now. Let’s talk some things out, shall we?”

“I think we should talk it out.” Ragnar’s voice shocks you.

“Ragnar!” You say with hope.

“Shut up.” He pushes his son from your body. “I gave specific directions, did I not?”

“You were to return home tomorrow.”

“Queen Aslaug is to return home tomorrow. Now stand to your feet. I don’t like to punish. But you broke a rule. The only rule that I had. Hvitserk tie her up.”

“King Ragnar, it was,” you lose your words as Ragnar occupies your space.

“An accident? You pushed your fingers inside of yourself and moaned my name by accident. Falls are accidents. That Was intentional, and now you lie… spread her legs. Take a seat and enjoy her.”

“No.”

“Shut up.” Ragnar says silencing you. He lays back on the bed propping himself on his elbows. “Hvitserk has an issue, he can’t stop eating. It’s like he never gets full. So maybe your cum will satiate him?”

“I did not cum.”

“Then you should have.” Hvitserk teased as he lifted the manacles to the ceiling and your body hung from the ceiling. “you will like it.” He grinned. And with that his finger rubbed your swollen nub and he watched you wriggle beneath his touch. “So jumpy.” He falls to his knees raising his head up to your thighs. He nibbles. He sends the small jolts of pleasure through your whole body until finally he is on your clit and his lips latch on and suck at you. They were soft, taking everything, you weren’t sure you wanted to give until that moment. Your hips start to wind and his tongue dives into you and the whimpers start.

“Listen to her. She doesn’t know you can’t stop.” You look over to Ragnar whose raised himself from the bed, propped on his elbows. You better save that energy. I plan to make you crawl to me. We have only just begun.”

Hvitserk’s tongue swirls into you and like a wave your body rushes over in pleasure and your flooded everywhere. The scream erupts and he doesn’t stop. He continues to fuck you with his tongue thrashing and sucking at your clit. He laps up every ounce of your cum and starts working you for more as he adds one finger into the mix. Your legs clamp over his head and the slurping sounds of him continuing aid to the arousal as your body erupts again. “Hvitserk.” You start to plea, breathless.

“Don’t beg him now. He is not done.” Ragnar smiles at you. “one more time. You cum so pretty.”

Perhaps he was talking of the way your back arched and arms pulled at the metal around your wrists, but you saw no beauty you only saw pleasure that teetered pain. Hvitserk listened to his father and his damp cheek grazed your thighs as he took another bite and then drug you to stupor again.

Hvitserk stood wiping his face. He admired you as if you were his masterpiece, as you hung from the manacles panting and limp. “What now father?”

“Unchain her, and she can crawl to me.”

“You take your seat, you will join us soon enough.”

He lowered you to the ground carefully making sure you made it to the plush furs that lead to Ragnar and sat in the stool nearest to the bed. You were on all fours. Your hair dripped wet and you were unsure from where it came, sweat or the bath. You crawl to Ragnar peering up at him through your hooded, lazy eyes.

“Are you worn out?”

“Yes, King Ragnar.”

“Don’t be. I am not done with you. Suck.”

This was a request he had never asked of you. He had always been about pleasuring you and never himself. Where to start? You lift his thick cock with wide eyes and he notices your curiosity. “Start with the tip in your mouth, no teeth.” He smiles, and you feel a little bitter. But how the hell was it going to fit in your mouth? You lower your head to him placing his tip on your lips and then parting your lips and he pushes in slowly. “hollow your mouth and suck.”

It takes a minute to catch on to what he was talking about, but you do. You open your mouth taking all the king to the back of your throat and gag trying to back away and his hands grip your hair. “you can take it.” He breathes as he start his assault. He thrust in and out of your mouth over and over. The sounds are absurd but at the same time you can feel yourself growing more aroused than you are already. You start to suck, twirling your tongue around his tip and he starts to moan. The moans being the sexiest aphrodisiac you’d ever heard. “Like that,” you watch as he gripped the sheets of the bed with one hand and the stern King known as Ragnar started to unravel before you. “Like that Y/N, fuck sake, yes.” You groaned. Then abruptly, He stopped. Pulling you up. “Stand up.” He breathes. “Bend over so Hvitserk can see how your pussy glisten.”

Ragnar pushes you to the bed and he grips your hips pulling you up before slamming into you. Your body shakes still recuperating from the earth-shattering orgasms from earlier. “Ahh, fuck.” His pace is maddening. He pulls you to meet him and the clapping of your skin resonates around the room combined with the sound of the stool moving closer to you. You grit your teeth as he fuck you deep arching your back to get the perfect angle and you can feel him bottoming out. He must have missed you too, as he coats your walls with his cum quicker than you expect and the sounds of him cuming usher you into your third one of the night.” Ragnar falls on you and then rolls next to you.

He pulls out of you and turns you to face him. “I missed you too.” He grins.

“I think you did.” You smile kissing him and he kisses you back anchoring your face between both of his hands and you feel the bed lower behind you. “What is he doing?”

“He’s going to fuck you.” Ragnar whispers kissing you again.

Hvitserk rolls you onto his stomach and you feel Ragnar’s cum drip out of you onto his stomach. “Don’t worry, I like it messy.” He bites his lip and pulls you to his lips. Strange how you could still taste yourself on his lips. Your lips move to his and Ragnar rises from the bed watching from corner. Hvitserk was very keen. He moved his hands to your breast gripping them in his hands and twisting until a hiss escaped from your lips. Then his lips are on them kissing them deeply and sucking. You throw your head back in pleasure and gasp. “Like that?”

“Love it.”

Ragnar chuckles. “Watch it.” He adds.

Hvitserk reaches down to his cock lifting it from his stomach and pushes inside of you. You’re full of Ragnar and you can feel his cum dripping down your thigh as Hvitserk starts to move. His moves are longer strokes and deeper winds. Every single time he entered you, your walls clutched around him as if you had never been fucked and you were so wet you feared he would slip out. “Greedy?” he whispered.

“Hungry?” you smile finding your rhythm and beginning to bounce on him. You anchor yourself on his chest and his hands find their home at your ass as he grips it, aiding your bounce. This was the best punishment you’d ever received.

You lie between the two of them staring at the bleu eyes of King Ragnar. “Why’d you let him fuck me?”

“I want all of them to have you… the Gods have sealed my fate.” He says in your ear. “I will not return from the raids. But one of them will have you. That is your decision, after me… who will you be bound to Y/N.”

 Taglist: @ivarsshieldmadien @equalstrashflavoredtrash @whenimaunicorn @akamaiden @siren-queen03 @titty-teetee @sparklemichele @wilddrabble @imgoldielikehawn @greennightspider @tomarisela @scumyeol @raindrop-dewdrop @naaladareia @vikingsmania  @readsalot73 @oddsnendsfanfics @amour-quinn @wheredidallthedreamersgo @unsure-but-trying @lisinfleur @ceridwenofwales @leaderradiante @microsmacrosandneedles @valynsia @captstefanbrandt @therealcalicali @lol-haha-joke @b-j-d @cinnabearice @tephi101 @grungyblonde @ivarswickedqueen @ivarslittlebadgirll @igetcarriedawaywithyou @honestsycrets @sunnyfortomorrow @earthsmightiestasses @sincerelysinister @dangerousvikings @queen-see-ya-in-valhalla @tgrrose @tierneygonzalez @ivaraddict @alicedopey  @brownsugerhippy @purplerain85 @quaint-and-curious-being @doloreschanal @ilvebeenabad @strangunddurm @dangerous-like-a-loaded-pistol @pebblesz892 @young-ugly-god  @blackspiritshake @starrmoondaisy @trailerthoughtstexas @booyouwhore @athroatfullofglass @riottkatt @honeyofthegods @funmadnessandbadassvikings

#ragnar x reader #hvitserk x reader #ragnar #hvitserk white shirt #hvitserk #ragnar lothbrok #ragnar lodbrok #viking fanfic #vikings season 5 #vikings imagine #vikings fandom #vikings #laketa j writes

[thevikingsheaux]

Jól (aka Yule)

Part 4

Masterlist

A/N: I’m sorry but I can’t read anyone else’s work while I write Jól because I’m trying to keep my writing as original as possible and I don’t wanna even subliminally get ideas from other ppl’s fics. But just know I SUPPORT U and U ARE DOING AMAZING and I will catch up on your stuff after Jól is done! Please continue to tag me though! Also, sorry this chapter is a bit long! Most media not mine - gifs and pictures are found from Google, but I did make the last Hvitserk gif myself. 

Warning: mild animal sacrifice, tiny bit NSFW

Pairing: Hvitserk x reader

Laid out on Dagmar’s bed was your dress, the white mute swan feathers as perfect as when you had first stitched them on. You had a particular affinity for swans, hence the swan feathers with which your dress was adorned. When you had put it on a few weeks ago but had been interrupted by Ivar, a strange feeling had overcome you. At the time you had brushed it off as anxiety, but now, when you put it on again you had the same strange feeling. It was as if anywhere the feathers were on the dress, your skin tingled and warmed.

Dagmar had allowed you to keep the dress there since her room was much closer to the square that the altar was in than your home. She followed you and Torvi to her room so she could help you get ready, too. They helped you out of the bloody dress and draped it over the chair, careful not to let it drag on the ground. It was now sacred and would be burned along with the altar and sacrifices when Yule concluded in three weeks time.

Dagmar brought you a pail of warm water and began to rinse the goat’s blood from your hair as you sat on the bed. You were exhausted from the intensity of the ritual you had just performed. You stood to pull your dress on and then allowed Torvi to rebraid your hair. You thought you would have to wear your fur coat with the dress since it was so cold out, but the rush of the sacrifice and the feathers on your dress seemed to stir an inexplicable warmth in you that allowed you to go without it.

(The braids Torvi pulled your hair into.)

By the time you were redressed and cleaned up, most of the Vikings had moved their celebrations into the Great Hall. They were ready to feast and drink all night long. You smiled as the crowd parted to allow you up to where Aslaug sat on her throne. Just a couple short weeks ago you were a simple farmer and leather worker who was the daughter of a great warrior and sister of Björn Ironside. With the spotlight on them, you were often overlooked. Now, everything was different. Aslaug’s interest in you had made you as well known throughout Kattegat as your father and brother were. A chair was waiting for you near the head of the massive table set with a huge feast. There were fruits and vegetables of every kind, an enormous boar, lamb, two seals, and even a reindeer.

As you took your seat, Aslaug rose and Ivar roared, “QUIET! My mother wishes to speak!” She looked at Ivar and smiled before turning to face the crowd.

“Welcome all,” Aslaug began, “please, eat and drink your fill! Tonight we celebrate the rebirth of the Sun, and we must all ask Thor to protect her as she grows and to protect us from the spirits that roam Midgard during the darkness of winter.” At this, everyone voiced their agreement and then she continued. “As everyone saw earlier, Y/N performed the sacrifice for us tonight,” she said while looking at you. “The gods have made it known to me that she is very special. You will all treat her with the same respect you give my sons.” Someone in the back of the Hall yelled, “SKAL!” and everyone else echoed the toast, making you smile widely.

After the feast began, you slipped out of the Great Hall to fetch the Sword of Kings. Normally, a slave would do something as menial as fetching something, but since the sword was so revered, only you and Aslaug knew where it was kept to prevent it from being stolen. The day Aslaug had told you that you would perform the sacrifice she had also shown you where it was kept, and said that the gods had told her to do so.

The Sword would be put on display over the throne for the duration of Yule and guarded 24 hours a day by two sentries that would rotate with another two sentries. It was meant to offer further protection to the Sun goddess through her fragile development during Yule.

On your way to get it you paused and turned to look behind you because you had the suspicion you were being followed. Unexpectedly, Hvitserk’s rough, warm hands ran across the back of your neck. He surprised you from behind and whispered into your neck as his hands moved to trace the metal link he had made for your dress. “I finally see why you needed this.” His warm breath on your neck combined with the crisp winter air made you shiver. One of his hands moved along the side of your body, following the curve of your waist before snaking across your supple hips as he pressed his body against your back. You closed your eyes with pleasure and let out a breathy sigh.

Again, Floki interrupted you. “Y/N,” he called from a dark alley, making you jump. Hvitserk was unflinching and you could feel the annoyance radiating off of him in waves. He bit your neck possessively before stalking away.

“You know he is nothing but trouble, Y/N,” Floki warned as he stared in the direction that Hvitserk had disappeared. When he turned back to you he had a stern look in his eyes and his lips pressed firmly together. You could tell that he was fighting the urge to follow Hvitserk and punch him. It was no secret that Floki preferred Ivar over his brothers. The way they taunted Ivar had always bothered him, and now Hvitserk threatened to take you for his own.

“Floki, I am an adult, I can handle myself. You are not my father,” you said defiantly. His eyes flared with a mix of anger and hurt, making you regret the acid in your tone. “Fine, do what you like,” he called out bitterly over his shoulder as he stormed off into the dark forest, heading for his cabin.

After being left alone, you continued on to the place the Sword was hidden and reached it without interruption. Just outside Kattegat, there was a medium-sized rock situated discreetly in the craggy terrain that disguised a decent sized hole in the earth that was lined with cloth and leather to protect the Sword from the elements. After you retrieved it, you hurried back into the Hall and made your way to Aslaug’s throne. She stood and got everyone’s attention before lifting the Sword high above her head. “Behold the Sword of Kings! May it aid the Sun goddess and defend her this Yule! May it safeguard our own homes and children! And finally, may it call the spirit of Ragnar down from Valhalla, to watch over his family and his people!” At those words, the entire Hall erupted with cheers and a celebratory song picked up in the background.

Some hours later, you woke up with your head on the table of the Great Hall, a very faint light from the sun starting to filter in, and Hvitserk peering down at you. He was poking you and asked if you needed him to go feed your animals. Still disoriented by being woken up from a deep sleep and a bit hungover, you nodded yes and he headed for the doors.

You were still wearing your swan feather dress from the night before so you stumbled to Dagmar’s room and changed into something more casual. You washed your face and rebraided your hair and headed to the kitchen.

(The dress you changed into.)

“Good morning, sunshine,” Dagmar greeted you. “Want breakfast?” You replied, “Yes, of course. Somehow I’m starving!”

After you ate, you went back into the Hall and found Aslaug sitting and sipping some mead. You sat down and she looked up at you thoughtfully.

“I saw my son with you on the altar yesterday, Y/N,” Aslaug said. Since the fervor that had overcome you during the sacrifice was gone, you blushed a bright red. Aslaug continued, “Don’t be embarrassed, who could have resisted you? The power you wield was very obvious during that ritual, much more than it usually is. Any man, or woman for that matter, who says they didn’t want to fuck you then and there has to be lying.” Confused, you wondered aloud, “What power?”

Aslaug smiled a little and asked you if you remembered that her mother is Brynhildr the famous Valkyrie and shieldmaiden and her father is Sigurd who slew the dragon Fafnir. Then she reminded you, “I am also the wife of Ragnar, the son of Odin.”

At the mention of Ragnar’s name you thought you detected a hint of sadness flash across her eyes, but it was gone in an instant. Ragnar had left her, his sons, and all of Kattegat for gods knows where years ago. Aslaug had seen his death in a vision, so everyone knew that he would never return.

“I am also a Völva, so you know that I can see what the gods reveal to me in dreams and visions. I can see the power you have, even though it is buried deep within you,” she asserted.

“No, Queen Aslaug, you must be wrong,” you said, despite your growing feeling that she was correct. Her expression became stormy at your denial. “I am certain that I am not wrong about this, Y/N,” she insisted, “I feel it in my bones.”

After thinking back on your life, you were sure she was right. You had always been different from the other children growing up, and now from the other women in Kattegat. You had never really connected with anyone fully, not even Torvi, your best friend. As a child, you loved to swim more than play with the other children. Your mother could barely keep you out of the river. Floki adored this about you because it meant that you loved to get on his boats and stay with him for days at a time. You loved to crawl up on the helm of his boats, stretch out your arms, and feel the wind on your face. It always felt like you were free, flying over the water. Talking and playing with the other kids never interested you as much as that feeling.

People had always acted a little different around you, but you could never figure out exactly why. You had grown up thinking you were just weird, but Aslaug’s words changed your perspective. Maybe this power she spoke of meant you had a different energy, a different aura, that made some people feel indescribably odd when around you.

Aslaug shook you from your memories when she spoke again to bring up the subject of the traditional tournament that occurred during the first few days of Yule following the winter solstice. “I want you to preside over it,” she stated firmly. “The gods have made it known that you will play a very important role this Yule. I want you to consider participating in the fights and give me your decision by tonight.” Dazed, you left the Great Hall and headed for the cliff overlooking the fjord. You needed to breathe.

When you arrived at the fjord, you found a rock to rest on and sat wrapped in the fur coat you made. The wind on the cliff was bitterly cold, and little snowflakes gusted around you. The cold, crisp air offered your mind a clarity that it could not find within the city.

After contemplating the idea for a while, you decided that for the first time in your life you would participate. Aslaug’s revelation that you wielded considerable power and insistence that you oversee the fights, empowered you to join the fighting this year. As you grew up, your parents trained you to fight but forced you to keep your prowess hidden. They forbid you from ever sparring with anyone in all of Kattegat and denied your wishes to raid with the other shieldmaidens. Your mother and father knew that you were the most formidable fighter in all of Scandinavia and that too much attention and fame would only bring trouble and they wanted to protect their daughter.

You returned to Aslaug and told her that you would not only preside over the tournament but fight in it too, which pleased her greatly. After that, you made the trek home and started a fire as soon as you got home. As you undressed, you thought about the sacrifice that would take place tomorrow morning before the sun rose, which would allow the tournament to begin. Another goat had to be sacrificed to ask the gods to give strength and luck to the fighters in the tournament. Aslaug would be the one to do it though, not you.

---

The goat was led up to the altar and stopped in front of Aslaug. After she slit the goat’s throat, the blood was collected in several bowls, ready to be used as body paint for the fighters. The bowls of blood were taken to the platform overlooking the fighting ring that had been set up the night before. While all of this went on, you were putting your armor on in the small shack that the fighters used to get ready.

(This is what I imagine the ring looks like minus the stone walls to the right of the picture and plus a big crowd around the ring. Also, imagine that there is a light coating of snow on everything.)

You surprised everyone, especially Hvitserk, by emerging from the shack and stepping up on the platform that overlooked the fighting ring and the crowd gathered around it, dressed in your mother’s old leather armor. It was the most beautiful piece of armor you had ever laid eyes on and you had always wondered where she had gotten it from. Though it was several years old, it was in flawless condition and your mother didn’t even try to maintain it. It was like the armor itself was laced with a powerful magic. It had intricate patterns in the leather and studs throughout the design. It also had chainmail shoulders, allowing you more freedom of movement in a fight. Your hair was skillfully braided by Torvi and decorated with leather braids you had made from leftover strips you had from making other leather wares and a circlet that your braids twisted around.

As your eyes surveyed the crowd of Vikings, you wished that Björn was there. You yearned to spar with him in the fighting pit. You knew he was likely having grand adventures, but you still wished he was there to celebrate Yule with you. If only he could see you now. Before he had even met your mother, your father had had Björn by another woman who died during his birth, so Björn had always felt a little out of place in your house and in Kattegat. He was respected as a great warrior but had few real friends. He had set out with his only close friend, Torstein, and a horde of Vikings that followed him to distant lands because they too wanted adventure and treasure from endless raids. You drove these thoughts from your head as you registered that all eyes were on you. Before sitting next to Aslaug, you raised your arms, signaling for the fighting to begin.

(This music is what I imagine is playing throughout parts of the tournament, but especially during Y/N’s fights. Listen while you read the fight scene.)

After your signal, growls ripped across the square, then chants and music picked up and men began to fight each other and then the shieldmaidens fought after the first few rounds of men. The sparring was intense, all of them driven mad by adrenaline and the music and chants from those who weren’t fighting.

Once you tired of just watching, you jumped down from the platform and made your way to the fighting ring. The first three men were easy for you to defeat. They were large and slow, so you could nimbly move around them. The next two were quicker, but not as strong. The sixth was both strong and quick, proving a decent match. Your fight with him lasted much longer than with the others, but you eventually ended up besting him. Your victories had you giddy and you screamed, “WHO IS NEXT?!” while holding your arms up, eyes wild. Ubbe stepped out of the crowd with a dark grin and started on the offensive immediately. Ubbe had been trained by his father, Ragnar, making him the best warrior you had faced thus far.

You struggled against Ubbe’s onslaught, catching many blows with your shield, and dodging others completely. He was fighting like a rabid dog, determined to defeat you. Every time he struck, he let out a roar. This was the first challenging fight you had ever had, not including those with your parents or brother. He forced you back, to the edge of the ring, but you managed to duck underneath his arm and land a blow, knocking him off balance. You took that opportunity to sweep his feet out from under him, making him land square on his back as you let out a fierce cry. You put your boot on his chest and poked the tip of your sword under his chin. He smiled and acknowledged your skills, “I have to say I am impressed, Y/N.”

As you let Ubbe up, Hvitserk was covering his face in some of the goat’s blood, hoping Thor would grant him strength in this fight. He had watched you defeat six men plus Ubbe before he decided he wanted to try. Seeing you fight so hard actually turned him on quite a bit. He was completely amazed. No one had any idea that you were this talented.

He stepped into the ring and you turned to face him, smirking as you saw him. “So you want a taste, Hvitserk?” you called out. “Yes, I want to taste you,” he growled, low enough that only you could hear. You fought back a smile before suddenly lunging forward, taking him off guard.

Hvitserk barely sidestepped your swing and ducked as you brought it speeding back towards his head. He popped back up and engaged you with his axe, as worthy a fighter as his brother, though not as fervent. You both went back and forth, relatively evenly matched. After a few minutes, you could tell Hvitserk was starting to tire but you were barely out of breath, even after fighting seven people.

You began to land heavy blows on his shield more frequently until you finally struck it from his hands and got your sword to his neck before he could raise his axe. He looked up at you, chest heaving from the effort of the fight. He looked as if he wanted to fuck you right there, in the middle of the ring with the crowd watching.

“You are the best fighter I have ever faced in single combat,” he panted, “better even than all of my brothers. Better than even your half-brother, Björn Ironside. You are more fierce than a berserker, and maybe the best warrior in all of Scandinavia.” His eyes burned with a lustful fire.

A satisfied smile broke across your face because of his comment and it grew wider as the crowd swarmed you and lifted you up over their heads, hailing you the victor of the tournament. They carried you into the Great Hall where another feast was laid out and stood you on an empty spot on top of the great table. You turned in a circle to look at everyone who filled the Hall as they began to cheer for you. After a moment you got down and took your place near the head of the table.

---

Once most of the Vikings had passed out drunk, you slipped out and made your way home with a torch. As you hiked there, you didn’t notice Hvitserk following you. Little did you know, he had been watching you and was worried that you were going off alone. When you made it home safe, Hvitserk returned to the Great Hall.

You slept soundly that night and awoke when you heard the massive horn blowing in Kattegat. You realized that ships must be sailing up the fjord, headed for Kattegat. You got ready quickly and after feeding your animals, you rushed down to the docks to see who had arrived. There were already several people gathered there, including Aslaug and all her sons.

A man you would always recognize no matter how much he changed stepped off the boat with a huff. “Björn!!!” you exclaimed. You ran to him, jumping into his arms. “How are you here?! Oh, how I have missed you, brother!!” Björn laughed as he picked you up and spun you around. “Y/N! I hope I’m not too late for the final Yule bonfire!”

To be continued...

Tags: @laketaj24 @tephi101 @grungyblonde @voodoodollgirl @tierneygonzalez @captstefanbrandt @lisinfleur @two-unbeatable-beaters @moondustmemories

Please please let me know if I accidentally left you out of the tags!! I promise it was not on purpose!

Fun fact: Y’all may have already known this, but Aslaug basically means wife of god. So, it is interesting that she married Ragnar and bore him four children. Her name seems to imply that Ragnar was a god, or at least he truly was the son of Odin. 

Another A/N: Hvit and Y/N will do it soon, I promise. ;) Just wrote their first sex scene and you guys are gonna die

#hvitserk #hvitserk x reader #ubbe lothbrok #ubbe #vikings #vikings fandom #aslaug #bjorn ironside

[mary-tudor]

“ᴛʜᴇ sᴛᴏʀʏ ᴏғ ᴀsʟᴀᴜɢ”, from Anglo-Saxons classics.

"DURING prehistoric times in ancient Scandinavia, when the land was divided into a number of little principalities, over each of which a chief or king ruled, generally at war with his neighbour, the liege of the bordering state,there lived and ruled a famous family of chiefs called the house of Volsung. Of these Sigurd Fafnirsbane, or Snake-Killer, was the most renowned; he was espoused to the warlike but beautiful Amazon Brynhild, whom he had liberated from the charmed imprisonment of that aforenamed mythical huge snake, which had held her enthralled in a deep trance for a long time. The issue of this union was a little daughter, whom they called Aslog. [...]

Dearly loved at the court of Sigurd, there lived an exiled king called Heimer, who was the accepted scald or bard of this chief and hero; and when Sigurd and Brynhild met their untimely end, the old kingly bard took their little daughter Aslog, then only a few years of age, and hastened into other petty states, to seek refuge and save the only surviving child of her race from the general carnage which raged amongst her infuriated kinsfolk. Better to conceal his infantile charge, he had a large harp constructed, in which he was able to hide the child. And now began a period of strange adventures [...]

Sometimes, when far from the habitations of men, the old harper would allow his little darling to run by his side gathering flowers and berries from the wayside. He opened the foot of the harp and lifted out his little charge, Aslog, who had fallen asleep within, overpowered with grief at the recollection of her lost parents which the song had evoked in her loving and childish heart.

It was a cold evening, and the stars were out; so the old man bethought himself that he had better warm little Aslog in his embrace. Soon, locked in his arms, she looked up into his face and leaned her head against his cheek, when her silent tears trickled down into his long white beard, and lay like gems reflecting the silvery glimmer of the moon-beams which like a halo played round the group. 

"Hush, my little one, you have me still who loves you, and the good god Balder, Odin's most beloved son, the god of Light and Song. He will protect you when I am dead and gone. Do you know, child, those rustics and warriors who listened to my song about Sigurd and Brynhild (may Balder bless their union in Valhalla!) they, simple folk, thought the harp bewitched, because you muled and wailed, little one. Do not do so again, but cheer up ; we will soon arrive at a place of refuge and safety, where we will find friends that love us. If you weep in the harp to my playing, and bewitch the listeners, I shall have to call you my little witch, and you would not like that, King Sigurd's daughter! The old man had to sing out of tune to drown your sobs; give me now a kiss and say you love me as much as ever, though I won't let you cry. You cry indeed ! the daughter of the famous hero and Amazon! Oh no, we will have no mo-re tears now, only love and song.”

[...] This crime accomplished, they eagerly hurried to the harp, and opened the little door of the instrument; but picture their surprise when out stepped a little girl, fairhaired and blue-eyed, just awakened by their bustle, and looking enquiringly around for her aged guardian. When little Aslog saw the sinister-looking couple, she ran frightened to old Heimer, where he lay stretched on the floor; but when she could get no answer to her repeated call upon his name, even though she pulled him by his hands and beard, as she was wont to do, she at last realized the fact that her beloved protector was dead, and would speak no more to her. She burst into bitter sobs, clinging to her silent friend, and flung her little arms around his neck and nestled in his clothes and silvery hair. 

The inhuman old wretches considered for a short time whether they should not murder the little girl as well; but her despair was so touching, and her rare beauty so winning, that at last they resolved to spare her and adopt her as their own child. To silence inquisitive people who might call at their lonely hut, she was forthwith dressed in coarse grey baize, as was customary with the children of bondsmen, Aslog was compelled to remain with the old people, who called her Kraka, and she grew up to become a most beautiful maiden, slender, tall, and graceful, and with the inborn gait of a princess. All who saw her admired her wondrous beauty. Her native wit and wisdom were also most remarkable, though she spoke but seldom, and never with strangers, who therefore imagined she was deaf and dumb. Only with her grim wardens did she exchange a few words, when she was alone with them, and only then when their daily intercourse compelled her, for she loathed them' from her inmost soul, because they had murdered her beloved and venerated guardian, and detained her, the daughter of Sigurd and Brynhild, a slave to wretched bondsmen. She repeated to herself every day the song Heimer had sung to his harp's accompaniment about her heroic parents, and thus she kept in vivid recollection for many long years the story of their loves and untimely fate.

When Kraka had lived with the wicked old couple thus for more than twelve years she was now sixteen years old a Viking sailed into the creek one day with several galleys, and landed with his men near her home. It was no less a person than Ragnar Lodbrook, a hero famous all over the north for his deeds of daring.

When the hut was observed by the mariners, some of the men were sent thither to bake some bread, of which provision they had been short for the last few days.

When the men returned with the hard-baked bread, it was found to be burned and wholly spoiled; upon this the Viking became greatly exasperated, and gave orders to have the negligent fellows severely punished. But the men tried to excuse themselves, and said that in the hut they had beheld such a beautiful maiden that they had quite forgotten all about the bread in the oven, and they could not help it, for she had quite bewitched them.

The Viking became interested at this, and asked who the girl might be. They answered that she was the daughter of Ake and Grima, the bondsmen who lived in the hut, though they could scarcely believe it, for they were such an aged and repugnant-looking couple, and the old woman such a vicious old harridan; and yet they said she was their daughter Kraka, their only child, who tended the goats on the mountain slopes. 

But her beauty, they persisted, was fairly bewitching, and her bearing that of a queen. "Impossible!" the Viking answered, "I cannot believe it. [...]  You have all seen my lamented consort,the incomparable Thora, and any one who ever saw her ought not to speak of other women's loveliness."

Yet the men maintained that the girl's rare beauty would in every respect vie with that of their dead queen. Then the chief ordered that Kraka should immediately be brought before him, and promised that if he really found her so exceedingly lovely as the men had given out, he would forgive them their negligence.

Kraka was soon brought, and Ragnar Lodbrook was even more bewitched than his men by her incomparable beauty, and was quite spellbound by the prudent and ready answers she gave to all his questions. The Viking thought her a fair prize, and took her aboard his own galley, and told her she should never return to the old people at the hut. 

Her radiant beauty at first repelled every advance from the wild and passionate hero of many lands, for she was virtuous as she was wise and beautiful; and this pleased her captor much, and he could not hdp admiring that lofty spirit which dared even him, the hero of his time.

Ragnar already possessed two sons, Eric and Agnar, by his former consort, and they found in Kraka a loving stepmother; indeed the young queen, through her many virtues and rare wisdom, endeared herself not only to her newly-found family, but to all the people over whom Ragnar Lodbrook ruled. Many years of happy married life followed, during which she presented her royal husband with five sons, all of whom became more or less famous in the warfares of the times.

When King Ragnar, already advanced in years, was on a visit to King Eisten Bele, one of the Swedish petty kings, he saw this chief's daughter Ingeborg, whose beauty quite captivated the gallant champion. The Princess* went the round of the table at the banquet given in his honour, and filled the goblets of the royal guest Her beauty, and the wine, must have intoxicated him, for he determined upon separating himself from Kraka, whom he but knew as a bondsman's daughter, and thus unworthy to share his throne, and then marry Ingeborg, the daughter of a king, as more befitting his royal state. Eisten Bele readily consented to this union, to be contracted as soon as Ragnar had rid himself of Kraka. When the ice broke up Ragnar sailed away, promising to return during the summer to celebrate the nuptials with the fair Ingeborg.

Upon his return home he divulged nothing to Kraka of his design, but the news came to her through other channels at the court. Instead of upbraiding her spouse, she resorted to other means far wiser; she increased her loving attention to him, and was more charming than ever; and she told the king that at last she thought the right time had come to tell him who were her real parents, and that she was no vile bondsman's child. 

With unfeigned amazement he learnt that she was the daughter of Sigurd and Brynhild; he listened eagerly to the recital of her wondrous flight in the harp; effected by King Heimer, and to her tale of woe during her long captivity with Ake and Grima. His joy to possess a queen of noble descent and equal to himself was sincere; he thought he had never loved her so- well before, and dispelled all thoughts of parting with her. 

The image of Ingeborg vanished from his heart for ever, and no journey to Eisten Bele was taken to celebrate the contemplated union, which this warrior thought a great insult to him, as his daughter was a princess, and he the King oif Upsala. But Eisten Bele got no opportunity to avenge this breach of promise, for Queen Aslog, the name she now resumed, persuaded her two stepsons to hasten to Upsala to war with its king in his own domains. This they did, but Agnar fell in the battle, which grieved his noble and grateful stepmother as if he had been her own son.

When Ragnar Lodbrook, on one of his seafaring expeditions, fell into the hands of King Ella of Northumbria, and by his victor was thrown into a pit filled with serpents, and there met his tragic death, which event is recorded in the English Chronicles, Aslog sent all her own five sons to avenge his death. 

She survived her spouse many years, a disconsolate widow, honouring the memory of the noble Viking who had rescued her from ignoble thraldom and made her queen of his heart and realm, Aslog, the little child princess, who had lain in a harp, and sobbed in harmony with its tremulous strings to the piteous lay recording the fate of her hapless parents.”

#Norse Sagas #Aslaug #the story of aslaug #Ragnar Lothbrok #Ragnar Lodbrok #Vikings

[greetingfromthedead]

Loki - Midgardian princess pt7

Reader gender: Female, but isn’t too important

Warning!: I’m a DramaQueen, so don’t expect anything less from my oneshots!

Summary: Midgard is very different from the other Nine Realms. Odin and Frigga decide to wed Loki to a Midgardian to bring peace to the realm, for that they will raise a suitable princess from Earth themselves.

Author’s note: As @sarahivi wished, I will not tease you all with anything else, but get straight to the good part ;) But I do have to make a disclaimer. I am quite bad at writing such things so I got a lot of inspiration from “Vikings” and GoT for the ceremony. I hope you enjoy :)

Parts: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, Epilogue

You walk down the long path, guards standing shoulder to shoulder either side of the walkway to separate you from the cheering people. Pink and white cherry blossoms fall down as people are throwing them at you. Your wide white dress brushes over the floor, the golden ornaments and jewels glittering in the light. You see Odin sitting in his throne. Frigga and Thor stand beside him, just a bit lower. Loki waits for you at the bottom of the steps, he has a golden cloak over his right arm and he watches you with wonder. Loki wears his golden and green armor with a long emerald cape and his horned helmet. You see his lips crack open a bit as you come closer and you smile at him before turning your gaze back at the All-Father.

You stop at the bottom of the steps and kneel down. Your dress surrounds you and everyone looks at you mesmerized. You look up at Odin and he stands up.

“Y/n from Midgard. Do you swear to guard your realm?” Odin asks calmly.

“I swear,” you promise.

“And so you swear to preserve its peace?”

“I swear.”

“And do you swear to do your best to unite Midgard and its people with the other Realms?”

“I swear.”

“Then I, Odin, son of Bor, proclaim you guardian of Midgard and for that grant you the lifespan of an Asgardian.”

You stand up and look proud as the crowd cheers and claps.

“An Asgardian soul from the gates of Valhalla, brought by Thor. The tears of a mother, cried by the All-Mother Frigga. The blood of a loved one, given by Loki. Ancient magic and knowledge gifted by the Tabled of Life and Time. I give you the Lifeline Serum. Present the item you want to tie your life to.”

Loki takes a step forward and hands you your mother’s necklace. You thank him in a whisper. A guard comes closer from the other side and hands you a goblet. The liquid inside is silver. You hold the necklace in your right hand and place it above your heart as Odin had told you before the ceremony. With your free hand you lift the goblet to your lips and drink the sweet liquid until there is none left. You feel nauseous for a moment, but you don’t show it. You are filled with joy. The goblet is taken from you and you step in front of Loki to fasten the necklace behind his neck. He slips the pendant under his clothes and armor and you smile.

The man offers you his left arm and you take it. Together you walk up the first set of steps. Now you stand on the same level as Frigga and Thor, but still lower than Odin.

“Loki Odinson, prince of Asgard, my son,” Odin started with a booming voice, “Y/n, guardian of Midgard. People from the Nine Realms, we stand here in the sight of all to witness the union of man and wife. Now and forever.”

Odin looks at the two of you and then over your heads to address the people who have all fallen silent.

“Do you, Loki son of Odin, before all witnesses here gathered swear to take this woman, Y/n from Midgard, as your wife, do have and to hold, from this moment until Death parts you?” the All-Father asks in a demanding voice from his son.

“I swear it,” Loki says, there isn’t a shadow of a doubt in his voice.

“Do you, Y/n from Midgard, before all witnesses swear to take this man, Loki, as your husband, do have and to hold and forsaking all others to serve and obey from this time forth until you die?”

Odin’s heavy gaze lies on you again.

“I swear,” you say just as sure.

“In the sight of the people of the Nine Realms, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one for eternity. Cursed be those who would seek to tear them asunder,” Odin spoke, “You may now cloak the bride and bring her under your protection.”

You turn to face Loki and fall slowly to your knees. You smile up at him as he takes the golden cloak from his arm and straightens it out. You lower your head as he puts the cape over you and fastens it on your either shoulder to the golden leaves. He gently takes both of your hands and help you stand back up.

“Say the words,” you hear Odin, but you only have eyes for the man in front of you.

Without letting go of one another’s hands you say the ancient promise together in unity:

“I am yours as you are mine. One flesh, one heart, one soul, from this day to the end of my days.”

“Then on this day, I, Odin All-Father proclaim you man and wife.”

Loki gently takes your face between his hands and kisses you. You place your hands on his chest and kiss him back as everyone cheers and claps and throws cherry blossoms at you. Frigga isn’t hiding her tears of joy and Thor is shouting congratulations at the two of you.

When you finally part, you turn to face the crowd. You see thousands and thousands of cheerful and happy faces and you smile at them before feeling Loki pick you up and carry you down the steps and putting you back on the ground. Arm in arm you walk down the path you had less than an hour ago came up alone. You wave to the loving people all around you.

To be continued…

Part 8

Masterlist

Taglist

@white-chocolate-mocha-fan @1800-fight-me @spookycatqueen @ikeneasul11@true-queen-of-mischief @obsessed–with @gliderbudgie @witchinghour24 @sarahivi

Read more about getting tagged here.

#mcu #marvel #marvel cinemaric universe #marvel studios #thor #the dark world #avengers #loki #odinson #laufeyson #loki x reader #reader x loki #lokixreader #readerxloki #x reader #x loki #oneshot #fanfic #fan fiction #imagine

[lisinfleur]

Dirty Linen

The request:

Author’s Notes | I just couldn’t resist the joke! Universe | Vikings Pairing | Ivar x Reader Info | Modern AU, requested by anon for 5CW7 Words | 1453 ⁑ Warnings: Cursing a lot.

"Stupid fucking automatic gods damn shit!"

You could bet the clang you listened after all those beautiful sweet words was the sound of something metallic hitting one of the laundry machines, full strength. Hard to believe, but someone was having a day worse than yours...

"Give back my clothes, you cursed piece of trash!" you heard some more sweet words and looked at the second corridor beside yours where a blue-eyed man was fighting with his machine, furious with the thing that apparently ate his clothes.

"Not wanting to remember you that song that will fucking glue in your mind for the rest of the day, but... It is easier if you 'toss a coin to your witcher', ya know?" you said, pointing the hole where he was supposed to put the coins so the machine would wash and open to give back his clean clothes; your index poking beside the hole causing his frowned face to twist looking at you with an ironic smile.

"Don't you think I've tried this tactic before trying to dismember this shit into tiny little pieces?" he answered, debauched.

And you giggled, causing his furious eyes to turn towards you.

"Look, I don't know who the fuck is you but if you came here to mock me, you can go back through the way you came!"

"Calm down," you said, raising your hands and smiling at him. "I just want to help. Sorry. It's just that's funny to see such a handsome man with a mouth so dirty."

Somehow, you got his weak spot: the "handsome" word in your sentence got him unprepared and you had the moment you wanted to calm things down for him.

"I'm Y/N," you said, offering your hand and noticing he took his out of a crutch to shake yours.

"I'm Ivar," he answered, straightening the crutches you were sure were the metallic thing he used to hit the machine before. "And this shit ate my clothes for the third cycle of washing!"

"Oh, I can see... You got the temperamental one," you said, smiling at him and touching the machine he chose, "Lemme see..."

Three or four buttons and two little punches and you got the thing on centrifugation once again - the last cycle before it would deliver his clothes dry.

"Done!" you smiled "Now you only have to wait until it ends and then I'll open it for you. This one is kinda messy and I bet the owner reprogramed it to suck some more money from our pockets. Always choose the ones from the left. They are the newest ones and will give you fewer troubles," you winked at him, listening to the sound of your machine stopping.

"I think I have time for a coffee," Ivar threw, causing you to smile.

"I have time for five if you want... There is a lot of this shit for me today," you said, kinda accepting his implicit invitation while filling the second basket of clothes of the five you had to wash.

The number of things you were washing - and of course, the presence of some obvious masculine outfits among the clothes you were picking up - tickled Ivar's curiosity and he didn't hold back his tongue.

"Family's laundry day or did you lost a bet?" he tried to be playful.

And you smiled at him. You wish it was.

"Cheating bastard," you said raising one of your ex-boyfriend's shorts. "And his naked bitch," you raised his lover's bra, showing it to Ivar before tossing everything into the washing machine for the third basket of your day.

Ivar's face frowned into a funny expression and you couldn't avoid thinking his expressivity was very captivating.

"I don't understand..." he said and you smiled.

"Bring me that coffee you promised and I'll have plenty of time to explain," you joked, touching the other two baskets you still had to wash.

Ivar nodded, smiling, and ordered two coffees for you and him at the Starbucks on the other side of the street, sitting by your side and placing his crutches beside him before sipping from his coffee, seeming to be comfortably waiting for you to start.

"Well, I made a trip to work," you started from what you thought was the beginning, "I'm a photographer and I received an amazing proposal to make some pics for a famous series. Promo material, full package. It paid me a small fortune! But the package wasn't including any companion so I would have to go alone and spend a month working before I would be able to come back."

"Uh," Ivar mumbled, fully interested.

Something you had to admit you weren't that used to seeing: your ex-boyfriend had that same expression, but his tone was bored and he was never really paying that much of attention in whatever you were saying.

If he was, maybe he had listened to you when you called him warning you would be home earlier than the expected...

"The fact is that I'm good at what I do. And my work was done a week earlier than what we planned, which gave me a small bonus and free pass to come home sooner than what we were expecting."

Ivar's expression changed as if he already knew what was to come.

"Lemme guess: the bastard thought your apartment could become a whorehouse while you were away?" he asked, and you giggled.

It was funny to hear a man that wasn't somehow supporting the sick bastard you called a boyfriend.

"Bullseye, handsome,” you said, smiling at him. "The bastard thought my bed was a good place for dogs to mate and when I came home, he was still fucking the bitch of the time. Over my sheets! I wanna burn that mattress so bad!" you sighed.

It was a good mattress. But how many chicks that bastard had seeded over it when you weren't there to stop him?

"Then burn it, girl," Ivar said, sipping from his coffee. "But kill my curiosity: why are you here washing their clothes after this?"

"Oh, I decided they were mine like every other thing inside that apartment I bought with my money. And since he used it at his own pleasure, I thought his belongings would be a good payment for the rent of the motel room..."

Ivar almost choked with his coffee, laughing through his nose trying not to burst and spit everything.

"You think this is funny? You should have seen his face, covering his dick with both of his hands with that white ass exposed in the middle of the street and nothing but the shoes he didn't have taken off to fuck the bitch," you remembered. "Oh, that was a hell of a scene!"

"Wait, you've thrown both of them naked outside??" Ivar asked and this time he burst in laughs when you nodded, confirming the scene his imagination was trying to portrait. "Fuck! That was something I would like to have seen. Gods, woman, you're amazing!"

"Yeah, but now this amazing woman has a whole wardrobe to wash and donate and a mattress to sell. I guess I'll be sleeping on my couch until I find a way to get rid of all those DNA samples..." you mourned.

And with the sound of his machine ending the cycle, Ivar finished his coffee, getting up with his crutches to walk towards the machine.

A smile in his face.

"I have a big backyard... I think it would be nice to make a fire pit tonight. Wanna come?" he joked.

And you smiled.

"Trying to find a way to see me again and keep me around to open your machines, handsome?" you entered his joke, approaching to help him with the door of the washing machine that opened easily to your touch.

"Perhaps," Ivar answered, with a smile locked in the corner of his mouth you thought was the most charming thing you ever saw in a man's face.

"I think you earned your machine operator... But only if you can warrant me there will be a good coffee for us to share," you joked, negotiating.

And Ivar smiled looking at you.

You were really his kind of girl... And that smile of his was the kind of smile to make you fall like a leaf in Autumn.

"I bring the coffee; you bring the mattress. Tonight, at eight," he settled with a fun tone.

"It sounds like a first date for me," you smiled, feeling when he touched the tip of your nose before picking up his basket with his clothes.

"Perhaps..." he said again, leaving you with the sensation something very good was about to happen in your life.

Do you like my work? Support me!

Tagged ones:

|| @bluearchersstuff​ || @ivarswickedqueen​ || @directionlessbuthappy​ || @akamaiden​ || @bang-kim-bap​ || @cris101071​ || @elysias-temple​ || @alicedopey​ || @captstefanbrandt || @queen-see-ya-in-valhalla​ || @lol-haha-joke​ || @normatural​ || @readsalot73​ || @rekdreams247​ || @slutforasoldier || @naaladareia​ || @laketaj24​ || @therealcalicali​ || @grungyblonde​ || @arses21434​ || @honestsycrets​ || @rabeccablake || @2thequietone4​ || @blackspiritshake​ || @vikingsbifrost​ || @wallabieswisher​ || @sincerelysinister || @lyanna-the-giantsbane​ || @chinduda​ || @isthat-tyra98​ || @xinyourdreamsx​ || @littledeadrottinghood || @thiahilmarsdottir​ || @queenbeeta​ || @notyouraveragegirl17 || @winchesterwife27​ || @gold-dragon-slayer​ || @mzliterarydreamer​ || @youbloodymadgenius​ || @alwaysbenhardysgirl​ || @marvelouuse​ || @tgrrose​ || @lif3snotouttogetyou​ || @lordsexmachine​ || @deathbyarabbit​ || @ietss​ ||  @hissouthernprincess​ || @thorins-queen-of-erebor​ 

Want to be tagged? Ask me!

#history vikings #imagine vikings #ivar #ivar the boneless #ivar imagine #ivar x reader #ivar ragnarsson #ivar lothbrok #ivar's heathen army #sister wives #5CW Event #5CW #5CWIvar2 #shot #later works

[aion-rsa]

Vikings Season 6 Episode 15 Review: All At Sea

https://ift.tt/3rNIelB

This Vikings review contains spoilers.

Vikings Season 6 Episode 15

“I have other ambitions, unfinished business.”

Vikings continues to deftly interweave the multiple story threads that have long been a staple of the series, and whether these connections are driven by characters, action, or visuals, they provide a deeper layer of meaning within this elaborate saga. From the images of Katia and Gunnhild wearing all white to the emotionally disturbed actions of Kjetill Flatnose and Prince Oleg, “All At Sea” maintains these exquisitely subtle narrative touches as one set of conflicts are put to rest and new ones begin to brew.

The natural inclination may be to overlook the significance of Ivar’s time in Kiev since the only tangible result lies in Prince Igor’s escape from his uncle Oleg. Ivar aspires to greatness and seeks to once again rule Kattegat, but he clearly needs to change his approach if he’s to win the hearts and minds of his fellow vikings. Meeting Katia in Rus forces him to re-evaluate his relationship with Freyis, and while Igor’s assessment that Ivar sees himself in the young prince, the son of Ragnar Lothbrok undergoes an emotional epiphany that appears to change his total outlook. Yes, he prods Igor to kill his uncle, but when we examine the alternative, there really is little choice. The boy becomes a man in that instant, and the people love him for it.

Despite the importance of Ivar’s transformation, this chapter belongs to Oleg and the impact the Easter celebration appears to have on the prince’s mental health. On the one hand, it does seem as if his descent into madness happens rather quickly, but his first wife’s betrayal and natural suspicions of Ivar and Hvitserk lead him down a path from which he seems unable to escape. The irony of his devout Christian faith set against the sadistic methods he employs momentarily gives pause, but when it’s clear he’s devolved into thinking he is the son of God, a sense of relief begins to filter into the scene. It’s still difficult to feel empathy for him even when he quotes Jesus’ words on the cross just before Igor sends an arrow into his chest. 

Nevertheless, the real bombshell that drops in Kiev is the revelation that Katia is pregnant with Ivar’s child. While this can certainly be viewed as a bit of a narrative cheat, it does force Ivar to make a decision he’s not sure he’d ever have to make. With all the subterfuge surrounding many of the characters, Katia’s motives along the way turn out to be relatively pure and provide a sense of relief that are embodied in her frank assessment of her relationship with Ivar. “I will only disappoint you when you realize [I am not Freydis].” Has Ivar fallen in love with her because it gives him a chance to correct his earlier mistakes with Freydis, or does this turn out to be a case of star crossed lovers fated to remain apart? In truth, they give each other what they need at the moment and are probably wise to go their separate ways now that each has been freed.

Read more

TV

Vikings Season 6 Episode 14 Review: Lost Souls

By Dave Vitagliano

TV

Why Vikings Is Ending

By Michael Ahr

Amidst all the often duplicitous machinations of the adults, it’s easy to miss the fine work from Oran Glynn O’Donovan (Prince Igor) as he’s grown up before our eyes. Igor’s learned a lot in a short period of time, and when he watches Ivar and Hvitserk ride out of Kiev, the young prince no longer hides his emotions. Tellingly, Hvitserk tells his brother that he too notices a change, and we’ll know soon enough what that actually means.

Set against Oleg’s deterioration are the watershed events taking place on the newly settled Greenland. The episode’s opening scene in which Kjetill and his family erect a fence around their piece of land perfectly sets up the confrontation that ultimately gives him what he wants – to be king of Greenland. As if Ubbe doesn’t have enough to deal with after the death of his child, Kjetill goes rogue and purposely isolates himself from the rest of the community. Season 6B has been relatively light on battle sequences, and though the attack on Kjetill’s family is short lived, the rage emanating from the starving settlers dominates the scene. Not that we ever doubted Torvi’s battle readiness, but when she fights one-handed while clutching her infant in the other, her desperation speaks loudly for the entire community.

It wasn’t clear how Ubbe would re-enter the situation in Kattegat, but his quick decision to flee the island without a plan also reinforces the fact that peaceful coexistence with Kjetill no longer remains a viable option. Like Oleg, Kjetill loses touch with the reality of the situation, but here, unlike the prince, Flatnose’s murderous nature re-emerges. Standing atop the beached whale screaming at the retreating Ubbe, Kjetill makes clear his group is in for a rocky road. “I am king of Greenland. Rejoice.” While rejoicing may have to wait for this group, Othere’s insistence that God will provide comes to pass, and though Torvi and Ubbe once passed themselves off as Christians, which deity is responsible for the rain that provides drinking water doesn’t really matter at this point.

And while the events in Kattegat appear relatively mundane compared to those in Greenland and Kiev, the impact there is just as momentous. Who would have thought Harald Finehair would end up being a good guy, but his decision to take both Ingrid and Gunnhild goes beyond mere egocentric behavior and should restore a sense of stability to the town as it moves forward. The revelation that in his prior incarnation as a slave trader, Erik once sold Ingrid comes at an opportune time as his influence with Harald is on the rise. And while her marriage to Harald is purely political, she seems willing to work with him even though her child’s parentage remains in flux. Should Erik somehow get squeezed out of Harald’s inner circle, sparks will undoubtedly fly.

However, it’s Gunnhild’s decision to “join Bjorn in Valhalla” that fuels the most controversial aspect of the episode. Though she doesn’t kill herself with a dagger as she seemed to presage in the previous episode, the choice to carry out this act during the wedding ceremony raises other questions. Does she intend to disrupt and sabotage Harald’s reign in Kattegat? That seems out of character for the beloved shieldmaiden, and the tears falling softly on Harald’s cheek as she swims to her death add a touch of sensitivity to the scene and affirm the love he holds for the woman who would have truly been queen of Kattegat.

cnx.cmd.push(function() { cnx({ playerId: "106e33c0-3911-473c-b599-b1426db57530", }).render("0270c398a82f44f49c23c16122516796"); });

Vikings reaches the halfway point of Season 6B, and “All At Sea” teases not only Ivar’s determination to regain power in Kattegat but Ubbe’s to make a mark for himself outside of the family dominion. Will fate bring the sons of Ragnar Lothbrok together one final time? Only the gods know. 

The post Vikings Season 6 Episode 15 Review: All At Sea appeared first on Den of Geek.

from Den of Geek https://ift.tt/2X00g6f

#aion-rsa #Den of Geek

[soonhoonsol]

Okay done for now -rant anon

oops

(1) Okay so, I'm from Denmark. Aka I'm white. Which means apparently that I inherently have no culture. And that's what I'm sick of. I'm sick of people disregarding and disrespecting the culture we have. I so often hear "white people have no culture" "you're white stop acting like you have culture" and I'm sick of it. Danish culture and danish history is wildly mistreated everywhere in the world. People wear "Viking" helmets that have horns when that's wrong. Those were rarely (very rarely) used and

(2) Only for ceremonies, like weddings(if you were super special) or some special rituals for the gods. Horns were mainly for drinking, which, when you cheered it was important you banged the horns hard enough together that a bit of you drink spilled into everyone drink and vice versa. This was to avoid anyone poisoning the drinks (as they would have to drink it too) which is also why you start every meal with cheering and why it's super rude (like deadass you will be scolded) if you cheers with an

(3) Empty cup or if you don't drink immediately after. And don't get me started on what marvel gas done to our mythology, how they have morphed and twisted the stories into something unrecognisable. Thor and Loki are not brother. Loki and Odin are blood brother, meaning Loki is Thor's blood father. Thor's wives is supposed to have the longest golden hair as she is the goddess for harvest. Everything is wrong with the marvel interpretation. Everything. And people depicting Jörmungandr as a serpent

(4) Or even a dragon when it's a worm. A huge worm. Child of Loki btw, which many don't know and wrongfully say it's some random elder beast when that's wrong. And people not realising that just because white people don't have "flashy" "exotic" or otherwise "outthere" culture doesn't mean we have none. Our societies are just as coloured by culture as any other ethnicity and I'm so done with apologising for being born in a notheren country.

(5)  We have just as much history and culture as any other countrym and don't get me started on the "yeah but your history is enslaving other countries" fuck that. First off, we didn't enslave entire countries, we got slaves. YES GOT. Slaves were used in trades by everyone. We sold danish slaves, English slaves Irish slaves everyone could be a slave. The slaves gotten from Africa were mostly giving in trade by chieftains (aka they were already slaves, usually war slaves from attacking other tribes)

(6) Every culture in the entire history of humankind has taken slaves, from their own people and from other countries. In so done with people ignoring history just because America is that one loud child ™. As if being loud means your argument is valid. As if Americans aren't one of the biggest changers of history (aka they just write what they want). Like for god's sake, Denmark is a kingdom, we have traditions for watching the new years and the queen's prepares a speak. Our military regularly holds

(7) flight shows and other exercits for the queen and the countrym we literally have the oldest and the first flag in the world. First and oldest theme park in the world. the longest unbroken chain of monarchy in europe and even aome parts of asia. we are so much more than just white people without culture. just because some people are loud doesnt mean theyre valid. and dont get my started on braids and hairpins. apparently its wrong and racist to ca african braids and asian hairpins but when people

(8) ca dane braids and hairpins its okay and just " a normal braid you cant claim that" excuse you but normal dkesnt exist across cultures like that. ove seen people wear ceremonial warrior and ritual braids only recorded in dane history and call them normal and fashionable. like no, at keast, at the very least. recognise that those are not your culture's braids and that you dont have an inherent right to wear them. if you can do it for the africans why not for the rest of us.

(9) and ive seen people calling danes racist and say we ca when wearing hairpins when theyre a part of our history too. they arent exclusive to parts if asia, they were used by our ancestors too, in different ways, and different styles than im asia. we have a right to wear them too. -fuuny rant anon (more like angry rn) (lowkey dinoe but still upset) (also there's so many typos I'm so sorry)

(10) Oh and also. Not saying Vikings invested braids. Braids have been used everywhere and no one can claim the invention since it has appeared independently in multiple cultures. However people wear Viking style braids for fashion when those braids were for actual warriors, ready to join Valhalla. Young boys still learning to fight couldn't wear them. Some braids were only for significant fights, others were for rituals. Also getting back to something else that bothers me. Vikings weren't all warrio

(11) Rs. In fact, the word Viking wasn't even used until later. Danes or Norsemen were mostly farmers and merchants. Only a handful were warriors (as any country should have a decent fighting force in case of enemies) I'm sick of the Viking age being depicted as a while society of bloodthirsty men and boring women, when that's such a minor part of that time. Also women were allowed to fight as much as any man, they even held more power than men in some household or otherwise they were equal. We had

(12) equality between genders with women being in charge of economics, often gifted daggers in presents and even encouraged to cut of the jewels of any man rhat attempted to rape them. they would even sometimes hang these in their houses to discourage strangers from making the same mistake. in just. So done. So sick. So tired. Of people disregarding and generalising all white people as having the same lack of culture

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

okie so there’s a lot to unpack here. i just wanted to put a disclaimer here that i’m not very familiar with your culture so i apologize beforehand if i say anything offensive.

i think people just lump so many different races into “white”, which tbh is kind of dumb. and you’re right, every country has its own culture. it’s ignorant people that act like that doesn’t exist.

i wanna point out that you are not your ancestors!! you are NOT responsible for things they did. 

i’m not exactly sure about the Marvel aspect because idrk what people say about Thor and Loki, but from what you mentioned it seems to be the main trigger for this rant? please correct me if i’m wrong

but yes, again to reiterate, you are NOT your ancestors. you should not be blamed for things they did. and for people who just ignore white culture, or more specifically Danish culture in this case, walk away from them. like, for real just walk away from them. if they’re not going to open their minds to at least find out a bit about the history, then they’re not worth talking to at all.

screw those ignorant people. they’re not worth it at all.

#askchey #anonymous #funny rant anon #did not know the read more doesnt work without smtg above it oops

[geekade]

PAX East is Fun

The beginning of “Convention season” always gets me excited for PAX East which fortunately for me, is in the first quarter of the year. PAX (Penny Arcade Expo) started out west in Bellevue, Washington for their first show in 2004. Then in 2010, it expanded to Boston for PAX East, and it has been growing ever since. What makes this special for me is that it’s a convention focused only on games, but not just video games. From hardcore D&D to casual tabletop games & card games, they have it all covered. Many of these truly wonderful tabletop game creators even allow you and your friends can try out whole games before you even buy them in a special section of the convention designated for that purpose. The people of PAX are a very friendly community and it is always an enjoyable experience.

PAX East is a much smaller convention than the ones I’m used to, which is a breath of fresh air. I only purchased a Saturday pass because I can normally get through the whole show floor in a day. This year there was a much larger indie gaming presence and while I couldn’t have been happier, it did present me with a challenge. Being the completionist that I am, I had to attempt to get to each booth and find something that would leave a lasting impression on me.

As soon as you get onto the escalator to the show floor, you immediately know where all the big-name studios are. What surprised me was that Twitch had a much larger presence this year than in 2016. They had a lounge where you could network with Twitch streamers and relax. It was a nice addition because all they did last year was hand out deodorant (which I certainly didn’t mind. It sometimes gets a little stinky at the convention) and pamphlets to let people know about Twitch. Then there was also a see-through box with a single streamer inside playing a game. People would press their hands and faces against the glass and watch them like they were in a human exhibit at the zoo. There was also an area where an interviewer would talk to people and developers from the stow floor, but I was more interested in the indie games.

My first stop of the day was at a gaming booth dedicated to Polish game studios. The publisher of the following games was 11 Bit Studios:

Digital Sun is the developer of a game by the name of Moonlighter, an Action RPG with rogue-like elements. You play as Will, a shopkeeper that dreams of becoming a hero. This was my favorite game at the booth. You’re told a story of how the village you live in was once a profitable merchant town and shop owners would venture into the caves and bring back supplies to fill their shop, but soon the caves became too dangerous and the merchants began to leave. You are a brave young hero who dreams of becoming a hero and vanquishing the monsters in these caves. It's a dungeon crawling game, bit it's also a shopkeeper simulator. When you get back from exploring caves you can put the items you find on sale.

Pixel Crow is the developer of Beat Cop, a game where you play as Jack Kelly, a former detective framed for murder. You are reassigned to a new precinct where you are stuck writing tickets. Yes, you read that right. This is a text-heavy, story-driven game with multiple endings and sadly I didn’t get enough time it. I’d love to sit down with this one some more and read every bit of the text I can find. Lucky for me and other fans of the game, it releases in Spring of 2017.

The final game in this booth was Tower 57, a top-down twin stick shooter with 16-bit-inspired pixel art, destructible environments, and a heavy focus on co-op. This game was a lot of fun, and the way the “display” was set up was very cute. There was a couch at the very end of the booth. I was handed a controller and taken to the character select screen. There are 7 different characters you can choose from with different abilities. I obviously picked a female scientist, steampunk Abraham Lincoln, and a detective. You pick these 3 character and they act as your lives. If your first character dies you switch to the 2nd one, and so on. This game took me back to my childhood where I’d play these types of games with my little brother. I loved the couch setup which made it seem like you were in a living room playing with friends.

My next stop of the day was the Shovel Knight booth which was oddly tucked into the back corner of the convention. There were only a few show-goers there so I decided to try out the new co-op mode. If you weren’t aware, like myself, Shovel Knight and all of its related DLC are available now on Nintendo Switch, including Specter of Torment, which is currently only available on Switch, and hitting all other platforms in April. Playing it on the Nintendo Switch wasn’t really my cup of tea because the Joycon controllers were a bit too small to work with. After beating the first boss, the trial was over and I left to pick up a Shovel Knight keychain.

My next destination was the Raw Fury booth. The games they had were GoNNER; a cute 2-d platformer with an award winning soundtrack, Tormenter X Punisher; a top-down twin stick shooter where the goal is to survive and you only get 1 life, Kingdom; a kingdom-building simulation game where you control a king or queen and spend your coins expanding your kingdom, and finally Dandara; a metroidvania gravity bending game based on an Afro-Brazilian woman in the colonial period of Brazil.

Across the way was an elaborate set-up of booths for Melbourne International Games Week, Asia Pacific’s largest digital games celebration featuring conferences, events and activities for the games industry, game enthusiasts and the general public. The game that stuck out most was a beautiful water-colored mobile game called Paperbark.

“Paperbark is a game that tells a playful short story of the bush, a wombat and a very hot Australian Summer. It presents a sincere representation of Australian bushland, which has been inspired by iconic historical and contemporary landscape Artists and Australian children’s literature. The player follows a sleepy wombat; who spends it’s day exploring, solving problems and foraging for interesting things. As the story unfolds and new locations are discovered, the adventure builds with the heat of the day. The game has been created as a love letter to wandering through the bush and can resonate with anyone who grew up in Australia, or is interested in it.”

It was a cute whimsical game where you would swipe the screen to make the wombat walk around and if you swipe over the white space that uncovered more of the area around you.

Afterwards I decided to switch gears and try out some VR games. My friend had been deciding between getting VR or the Nintendo Switch and this was a perfect place to try both. Unfortunately for her, she hates horror games which is the biggest genre in VR right now but, we were able to find a few games that were safe for her. The first one we found was called The Lab, a mini-game collection created by Valve. After putting on the headset I was told by the woman at the booth to select the “Longbow” mini-game which is a bow and arrow “shooter”. This game was pretty straightforward. You are perched on top of a wall in your fort and you must shoot at the stick-figure people who are trying to break down your fort’s gate to enter it. When you shoot the stick-figures they release balloons you can shoot to regain your health. It was a silly game but it did a pretty great job of introducing you to the VR world.

We moved onto another VR shooter called Dick Wilde on the Oculus Home. In this particular game you must shoot mutated alligators and other giant swamp creatures while actively dodging projectiles being shot at you. This one was a bit more involved than the other VR shooter, but also more difficult because you have to remember to move around shoot. At the end of each round your score is tallied up according to how many creatures you shot and how many projectiles you were able to dodge.

The Cartoon Network booth was my next stop. Grumpyface Studios, which brought us the critically acclaimed Steven Universe game Attack the Light, is releasing their sequel Save the Light on consoles this summer. I never played Attack the Light, but had heard nothing but good things about the game. It is a blend of turn-based and real-time combat, sort of like Paper Mario, featuring the main characters of the Steven Universe show. The game will still be co-written by the shows creator Rebecca Sugar and it looks like it will further explore the lore in the Steven Universe universe. The only other game at the Cartoon Network booth was OK K.O.! Lakewood Plaza Turbo based on an upcoming Cartoon Network show OK K.O. Let’s Be Heroes. This game is a beat-em-up featuring characters from the show. The portion of the game I played had rhythm elements to it almost like DDR or Stepmania which I enjoyed.

My final destination of the day was the IndieBox booth. I had been excited about this for weeks because there was a rumor they would have Jotun, an action exploration game where you play as a viking warrior who must prove herself to the Gods so that she may enter Valhalla. I grabbed the box and was on my way to purchase the game when a sales rep at the booth informed me that they were having a special deal that day. If I spent another $20 I would get one IndieBox for the following month and 5 game codes. Typoman is their game for the next month and after receiving such high praise I thought it was an amazing deal.

As I headed up the escalator to leave the convention I couldn’t help but feel a little sad leaving my favorite convention. It’s wonderful to be able to get through a whole convention in a day, but I always think about the games I had missed out on playing or the people I never got a chance to talk to. All in all this is a great way to start the convention season and I wouldn’t want it any other way.

#Video Games #Tabletop #articles

[thevikingspromise-blog]

The Viking’s Promise

Don’t forget to check out the rest of my novel. The full list of chapters can be found here. Bi-weekly uploads.

Chapter Five

Her muscles ached. It felt as if Odin himself was stamping his feet on her body. She knew neither up from down, darkness from light, everything was just pain and confusion.

Her eyes flickered open. A dark figure loomed over her, but she couldn’t focus and his features blurred together in one dark mass.

“Frea,” he murmured.

Esben.

“It’s going to be all right.” He tightened his arms, pulling her closer to his chest. They were moving. He was carrying her. “I’m take you away. Somewhere safe.”

Safe. She tried to form the word but her lips wouldn’t move. Where? She tried to reach up and touch his check but her arm wouldn’t respond.

“Somewhere safe,” he repeated, lowering his head to brush her temple with his lips.

Her eyes flickered shut. Finally, her Norseman was taking her to freedom.

"The poison was in her food," confirmed the healer. "Thankfully she didn't eat enough for there to be any lasting damage. Just temporary paralyse and it's already beginning to wear off."

She stepped away from the bed but Esben didn't respond. He'd rushed Frea from Alf's longhouse back to the safety of his isolated hut. She was resting in his bed, her face deathly pale and her limps stiff with inactivity. He sat by her side, gripping her hand in one of his. It was a small, fine boned hand but still the hand of a thrall. The skin was roughened with work, and her fingertips slightly chapped. He rubbed his thumb over the back of her palm and she murmured softly in her sleep.

How could anyone want to harm her? He clenched his teeth. She was a thrall. She owned nothing and hadn’t harmed anyone. She certainly hadn’t done anything to provoke anyone. This appeared to be a crime of pure spite.

On the windowsill, Tyra ruffled her feathers. The healer glanced nervously her.

“Ah…thanks,” said Stein. “If that’s everything—" He opened the door and the healer left, her eyes on Esben's hunched form.

The moment the door, Esben straightened. "Was it Dalla?"

Stein shook her head. "Dalla what?"

"Who tried to kill Frea, of course."

Stein shrugged. "Why her? She gets that privilege in a couple of days time at the funeral. Remember." He rested a hand on Esben's upper arm. "What's got into you? The thrall is going to be fine."

"Not Dalla then." He tapped his knee with his free hand. Stein was right. Dalla didn't want Frea to die before the funeral. She'd made her delight of Frea's impending sacrifice very clear. He tapped faster. Gerd? She hated Frea with a passion but she'd had no opportunity to poison the food.

"I get that it was a slight against your honour," continued Stein, "I just don't think you should worry—"

Esben raised a hand, silencing him.

The poison had been in Frea's food, and nobody else's therefore whoever had poisoned her must have come into contact with the food after it had been served.

He jumped to his feet—that left only one person. The thrall who'd served their meal had ample of opportunity. He remembered Frea speaking to her, but the woman hadn't replied.

"Stein," he said, throwing open his trunk and buckling on his weapons' belt. "Watch her. Don't let anyone in, and lock the door behind me."

"Captain, what are you going?"

Esben crossed to the door, throwing it open with such forced it hit the outside wall and bounced back. "Seeking justice."

"For Thor's sake, Esben. Frea didn't die, you're honour's intact."

"She was under my care." He raked a hand through his hair. He could hardly keep his thoughts in order. It was as if the heat of battle was upon him and he needed to act. The axe at his hip sung, crying to be put to use. "I never should have taken her back to the village. It's my fault. I need... I need—" He needed to punish the thrall who'd hurt Frea!

He stepped outside, and Stein grabbed his shoulder, trying to pull him back. "You need what?"

Esben wrenched himself free and stormed down the hill. "Protect her with your life."

The blood was pounding in his ears. This had nothing to do with his honour and everything to do with Frea. She’d almost died and he’d almost lost her forever.

Surprise rooted him to the spot. Where had that thought come from? True, he'd already admitted there was a connection between them but this was different. This was something else, something stronger. His heart thumped against his chest.

“This is an honour mission," he said, as if saying the words aloud would make them true. “I’m sworn to protect her, that’s why I seek justice. The thrall woman insulted me when she threatened my ward.”

He burst into Alf’s house. The table had been cleared and only a few people remained—Gerd, Dalla, Bersi, Tue and a handful of thralls. “Where is she?” he barked. “Where’s the thrall who served at table?”

Tue stepped forward, Gerd just half a step behind him. “You behave beyond your rank, Captain. You have no authority here.”

Esben grimaced. Tue was one of his crew but it seemed that in this blood was thicker than water. “I swore a blood oath to protect her, that’s all the authority I need. Whoever harmed her will be caught and punished by my hand.”

“You can’t—”

Gerd laid a hand on Tue’s arm. “You’re right,” she conceded, meeting his stare with a challenge. “The girl is here. Do as you see fit.” She pointed towards the fire and the thrall stoking the coals looked up.

Her eyes widened. “I didn’t...”

He pushed the blade against the woman’s throat. A necklace of ruby red blood droplets coloured her pale skin.

“Why?”

Her mouth opened but she didn’t speak.

“Why?”

“She’s a sorceress.” He pulled her closer, gripping her wrist and she recoiled. Her eyes darted to Gerd then, “She always got Alf’s favours. He pampered her. And now she’s been treated like a queen. Good food, drink, her own place at the council table.” She tossed her head, her voice rising. “It should have been me. I’ve been here for fifteen winters, I deserve a place in Valhalla.”

“You superstitious fool.” He gritted his teeth, ready to strike.

She stared back at him with eyes full of fear and a thick, iron collar clamped around her neck. He  dropped his arm—he couldn’t do it. She’d poisoned Frea, and his blood boiled to think of Frea harmed, but this woman was a thrall too.

Uskit’r. A few days ago he would have killed this woman without a second thought. Now all he could see was the fear in Frea’s eyes. It was as though the walls and furnisher of the longhouse were lost behind mist and the only reality was those eyes—big and dark.

He pulled back.

“Weakness,” hissed Gerd. Then she nodded at Tue who pushed forward and buried his dagger in the thrall’s heart, silencing her forever. With a sigh, she collapsed against Esben. He tried to catch her but blood soaked her dress, and she slipped from his grasp, crumpling on the ground at his feet.

“It wasn’t you place to kill her,” he barked at Tue. “She wasn’t your thrall. Or yours,” he snapped at Gerd.

“Dalla will understand.” Gerd sat back down on the chair by the hearth and picked up the white shroud she was working on. “Dalla trusts my judgement.”

He opened his mouth, a string of curses on the tip of his tongue, then stopped. A thought was niggling at his mind—everything was beginning to fall into place. Gerd had manipulated the thrall, somehow convincing her to poison Frea. “If Frea died while under my care, the village would have lost faith in me”—however little—“giving you the perfect excuse to take away my command, my crew and my ship,” he theorised.

She pursed her lips, not saying anything.

“You were trying to discredit me,” he confirmed.

He wrinkled his nose. Why would she want to do that?

Power. He owned the allegiance of thirteen strong sea-warriors. And Gerd saw him as a threat.

He sheathed his sword, rubbing his hands down his breeches to clean them of blood. He had worked too hard to let Gerd undermine everything. “I wasn’t weak” he said, glancing down at the seat thrall. “Just compassionate.”

She shook her head. “A warrior shouldn’t know feelings of compassion. You are weak.”

“Alf didn’t think so.”

“Alf—” The word seemed to burst from her mouth. She started again. “He was a born leader. He kept the settlement safe, protecting us from our ambitious neighbours. I’m proud to be his mother.”

“But not everything he did was to your liking.” Like promoting him to raid commander.

She stared at him, and the loose skin around her mouth sagged a fraction. “Your mother... We were friends, even though she was a few winters younger than me”

He let out a short, sharp breath. Friends? Thor’s blood they weren’t. This was just another scheme to discredit him.

“I always knew there was something not quite right. She didn’t respond as other people did. She angered quicker and tried faster.” She took a step back, sinking behind Tue. “You look a lot like her.”

“Why hasn’t anyone told me this before? I don’t remember you being friends. You never came to visit. You didn’t even come to the funeral.”

“Your mother died long before her body left this earth.” She straightened. “I’m tired. I’m in mourning. You can leave now.”

Dalla and Bersi emerged from the shadows.

Esben gritted his teeth. Gerd had to be lying; trying to enrage him into violence. But he wouldn’t respond. Tue and Bersi were ready to cut him down if he acted out of place and if Esben attacked first, they be fully justified.

He looked them up and down. They overestimated themselves, he was more than a match for them. Tue’s bottom lip stiffened as their gazes met. Did he hope to inherit Alf’s position? Perhaps.

He signed. It seemed he had the allegiance of only twelve sea-warriors.

Her eyes fluttered open. Shadows covered the world and the low glow of embers cast a soft, flickering light over the figure hunched in the chair beside her bed. Between his hands, he clasped a ceramic cup.

Esben. No, Stein.

She shifted and her insides screamed. Everything ached.

“You’re awake.” Stein straightened. “Esben was worried. Just for a moment,” he added, as if it wasn’t quite possible for a Norseman to worry all that much about a thrall.

“Is this awake?” she asked, her words slurring. She tried to push herself into a sitting position but her arms gave way. “What happened?”

“You were poisoned. We think it was snake venom.”

“P-poisoned?” Had she heard right? “I don’t understand.”

His eyes softened half a shade and he lend in closer, resting his elbows on the arms of the chair. “I’m not really sure what happened exactly, but it seems the poison was in your noon-meal.”

“My meal—” She’d eaten at Alf’s house and Mildburg had been there. And now... She glanced around: Esben’s house. Her heart sank. He hadn’t taken her to freedom at all. Nothing had changed. But she’d been so sure...

God, what a stupid thought. Of course he wasn’t going to save her. He was her guard, her jailor, her killer, but never her rescuer. It had been a hallucination, not a true thought.

Stein ran his hand over his head, a gesture very similar to Esben’s frustrated twitch. She blinked. Where was he? Was the thought of her death so unimportant that her poisoning provoked such a small reaction?

“How long was I out for?”

“All afternoon and most of the night.” He took a sip from his cup.

“And Esben?” She tried to sound casual but the question caught in her throat.

“He brought you back here then left again.” He tensed. “He hasn’t returned yet.”

Another night had passed. Only eight days left. She was running out of time.

And Esben cared nothing for her.

She needed to escape. Now.

Her eyes darted around the room, searching for inspiration. What she really needed was a distraction so she could sneak passed Stein.

“I’m not feeling so well,” she murmured. “Perhaps a little drink?” Straightening, she pointed to Dalla’s flask still resting on the small table.

“Oh, right.” He passed it over and she pulled out the stopper, bring the lip to her mouth and pretending to drink.

“Thanks.” She relaxed against the bed-board and it creaked.

He watched her for a moment longer then settled back in his chair.

Silence resumed.

She wiggled her toes and clenched her fists. Everything ached, but the agony was subsiding. She could walk. She would have to walk.

“I’m a little cold,” she murmured, glancing towards the dying fire.

He didn’t move.

“I’m sorry,” she nudged, her heart hammering in her mouth. If Dalla heard her speak this way to a Norseman she’d be whipped. Then again, Dalla was going to plunge a knife into her heart. At least Stein appeared to care a little. “I don’t mean to be a nuisance,” she said, playing on his sensitivities—if he had any.

“No, it’s fine.” He put his cup on the ground, turned in his chair and stoked the fire.

Quickly, she lent over the edge of the bed and tipped some of the ceremonial wine into his cup. She straightened just as he turned back.

“That better?”

“Yes, thank you.” She settled back down, watching him through her lashes. He downed the liquid in a couple of sips, then crossed his legs on the small table and lent back in the chair.

Time passed. His eyes drifted shut and his deep breaths filled the room. She pulled back the reindeer skins, watching him intently. Had it worked? How deeply did he sleep? If he woke while she attempted to escape she’d surely be punished.

Tyra lifted her head out from under a wing, her blackest-black eyes piercing the semi-darkness.

Don’t, she silently willed the raven to stay still.

She turned her head, watching Frea, but didn’t move from the window sill.

It’s time, Alf would have nudged. Don’t fear, you’ve done this once before, you can do it again.

She scuttled from bed on unsteady legs, pulled the knife out from under the mattress, and pushed the door open. A cold wind rushed in and she shivered. If she was going to survive she needed more clothes.

Stein’s cloak was hanging on a hook by the door. She pulled it around her shoulders, then paused. “Alf?” she whispered, her eyes searching the hut for any sign of him.

Go.

It suddenly felt as if he was dying all over again. She couldn’t go through the pain of losing him again. She couldn’t leave him, not for eternity!

Frea. Please. It wasn’t a suggestion, authority laced his words. Now.

The blood was pumping in Esben’s ears, sweat rolled down his back and in one hand he grasped his battle-axe. Before him, a disarmed Wodan doubled over, his hands resting on his knees.

“Here.” Esben sheathed his dagger and offered Wodan his hand, pulling his crewman upright. “Good fight.”

They were standing in the training yard to the east of the settlement. Kormak lent against the wooden railings surrounding the open area, squinting at them through the evening gloom. Wodan wiped his hands down his tunic then retrieved his sword from the ground.

“You fought well, Captain.” His voice faulted.

“But what?”

“But nothing.” Woden shook his head.

Esben signed. He knew exactly what. He’d let his emotions interfere with his training. He glanced towards his house, invisible in the darkness. Frea was up there, her body fighting against the poison’s hold. He looked towards the village where Gerd planned his ultimate downward spiral back through the ranks.

He’d been so distracted by Frea, he’d almost missed Gerd’s attempt to disempower him. How could he have been so foolish? Winters of work almost destroyed by a moment of attraction.

A moment of attraction to a thrall. If that wasn’t weakness, then he didn’t know what was. Where had his self control gone?

“Esben,” called Kormak, jumping the fence. “It’s too dark to keeping training. Lets call it a night.”

He ignored Kormak, tightening his grip on his battle-axe. He couldn’t finish the training session like this, he needed to prove to himself he hadn’t lost all sense of discipline. “Wodan, again?”

He nodded and Esben smiled. Wodan was an older man but up for pretty much anything. He was also a deadly fighter, extremely skilled in close weapons combat.

Kormak backed out of their way, dragging his feet.

“Salute.” Esben touched the hilt of his weapon to his chest. “Guarding stance.” He slipped his left foot back, centring his weight. “Begin.”

Wodan lunged forward, cutting towards Esben’s neck. Esben stepped to the side, slashing at Wodan’s ribs. The sea-warrior scuttled back and Esben’s axe just missed his hip.

Esben took a deep breath and began circling Wodan, his eyes never leaving his opponent’s face. This was better. The carefully controlled movements of battle were beautiful in their logic and calculability. Calm washed through him.

Wodan cut the distance between them in half, thrusting his sword against Esben’s axe. They grappled, muscles tight, and Wodan’s eyes narrowed, his grip slipping.

The inevitability of victory made Esben’s heart leap. This was how the world was supposed to work; with an opponent before him everything else began to fade away. It was as if Frea had never existed.

Frea.

Thor’s hammer! He broke contact. How dare Gerd attempt to poison her! How dare Gerd attempt to undermine his command! His hands shook and heat flooded his face. He re-engaged, meeting his opponent blow for blow. Metal resounded as their weapons clashed.

Everything was out of control. When Alf had lived, life have been hard but everyone knew their place. His death had thrown everything into mayhem. Gerd was trying to discredit him and kill Frea. And she had Dalla, Bersi and Tue on her side.

Tue. Rage tore thought him as he continued the fight. Tue had been his crewman, they’d fought side by side, defending each other from their enemies’ attack. And now he’d been abandoned. Did Tue think so little of him after all their time together? What had Dalla said to change Tue’s mind?

Of course, Gerd’s mistrust of him was the result of his mother’s madness. She didn’t trust him because his mother’s blood flowed through his veins. A battle cry tore from his lips, and he was dimly aware that Kormak was yelling. How could a woman he remembered so little have affected his life so greatly? And what was all that nonsense about Gerd and his mother being friends?

“Esben!” Kormak’s voice sounded very far away. He blinked, clearing his vision. Wodan lay on the ground, his sword several feet away. Esben lent over him, knees pressed against each of Wodan’s sides, and his axe against his throat. What had happened? He couldn’t remember.

“W-what...” He scrambled back. “I’m sorry Wodan.”

Wodan touched his neck, wiping away a thin line of blood, then rose to his feet. “You lost control.”

Esben pushed his axe into his belt, the weapon suddenly an unwelcome weight in his hand. “I’m don’t know what happened— We were grappling...” And then he’d though of Frea. Again. And it had all gone down hill from there. It really was as if he’d been bewitched by her. His mind seemed unable to comprehend any other thought with clarity.

Neinn. He didn’t believe in magic or sorcery, just human emotion and frailty. What had happened here had been all his own fault. He’d lost control of his mind and body, almost killing one of his crew. He closed his eyes. Only the most dishonourable warriors evoked the berserker fury. It had never happened to Esben before.

“Don’t worry about, there was no serious harm done. You’re just a bit out of sorts.” Kormak clapped him on the back. “It’s understandable. Alf was your best friend. The two of you were close.”

Esben looked at Wodan. Would he forgive Esben for putting his life in unnecessary danger?

He shrugged, weariness fading from his eyes. “I remember when my brother died. It was about a month before you started raiding with us. I was so angry and distracted—” He pulled back the collar of his shirt to reveal a jagged scar beginning at his shoulder and disappearing beneath his shirt. “It happens to us all. We just have to make sure it never happens twice.”

Esben pursed his lips. It shouldn’t have happened. He should never have put his men at risk like that. If Woden had been injured or worse, Esben would have nobody to blame but himself.

There was nothing else to it: in the morning he’d relinquish his position as Frea’s guard. Dalla would gloat but at least life would return to some sort of normality. He never wanted to experience the berserker fury again. It would mean failing his promise to Alf and he’d never forgive himself but it was a price he was willing to pay for the sake of his men and his sanity. Nothing was worse than losing control.

“Yes?” pressed Woden.

Esben nodded. Wodan and Kormak’s loyalty was invaluable. They still respected him, despite the fact he was several winters younger and still, it seemed, had a lot to learn.

“Call it a night?”

“I guess.” Esben sighed. “I’m am sorry Woden about—”

“It’s fine.” Woden clamped him on the back and strode from the training yard, Kormak at his keels.

Esben turned his face towards the wind and let the cold rush over him. He didn’t want to return home right away. Frea was up there and she was probably waiting for some answers. He’d have to tell her about Gerd and the poison and how it had all been because of him.

He gave a humourless laugh. At least that would soften the blow of his abandonment. Nobody wanted a guard that got them poisoned. She’d probably be glad to get away from him.

His stomach tightened. His house could seem very empty without her.

He hit his chest with a fist. He had to stop thinking like that. He felt nothing towards Frea. Nothing more than lust and simple physical attraction.

Tomorrow she’d be gone from his life.

It was better that way, he needed to focus on his own problems. Gerd and Tue, Dalla and Bersi.

“Esben,” Stein called, stumbling through the dark towards the training yard. “She’s gone.”

Shock held Esben ridged for a moment then his mouth dropped open. “What?” He broke into a run, charging up the hill, back towards his house. “Where is she?” He threw the door open, glancing left and right. The bed was empty and the house deserted.

“I don’t know.” Stein followed Esben inside. “She drugged me. I’ve only just come round.”

“She drugged you?” Esben could hear the words but barely comprehended their meaning. Frea. Gone. He rounded on Stein. “I ordered you to protect her, not let her escape.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“Get out.”

“But I can help. We can go after her together.” Stein raised a hand imploringly towards Esben. “She can’t have gotten very far, she’s still recovering from the poison.”

“Neinn! Just go. I’ll deal with you later.” He banged his fist against the windowsill and Tyra ruffled her feathers indignantly. How could he have been so stupid? He’d known how unhappy she’d been, he just hadn’t wanted to admit it to himself. When he’d taken her outside that morning and she stared at the ocean with such longing, anyone should have been able to guess her thoughts.

He’d have to go after her, she wouldn’t survive outside the settlement by herself. Somebody would eventually find her and he’d seen enough sea-warrior brutality to know she’d be better off dead. He grabbed his cloak, then paused. It wasn’t the first time Frea had done something like this. She was of Celtic blood, but ten winters ago she’d wondered into the settlement all by herself. She had to have been a run away thrall, even before Alf had found her. There was no other way she could have travelled across the sea to Scandinavia. And, if she’d survived in the wild once before, she could do it again.

A strange sense of pride tingled in his chest. He’d known there was a fighting spirit in her still. He dropped his cloak. She’d be fine without his help. There were settlements up and down the coast, she’d seek refuge in one of them. And they’d take her in gladly, nobody would turn away free labour. She’d still be a thrall but at least not a sacrificial victim.  

Not everyone was as kind as Alf.

He slumped into the chair by the dying fire. Perhaps not, but that wasn’t his concern. She was no longer in his care and her future was now beyond his control.

His only concern need be Gerd’s reaction to his failure. He’d sworn a blood oath to protect Frea until the funeral but now it had been broken. She could use this against him. The village already mistrusted him but with this black spot against his name, it might just convince his crew he wasn’t the right man to lead them across the sea. Already today he’d lost the allegiance of Tue.

He signed. They’d have to set sail tomorrow morning. If he left with his crew for a few months raiding hopefully this would all blow over by the time they returned. True, he’d miss Alf’s funeral but that was little when compared to his broken promise.

He closed his eyes. It was turning out to be a really crappy night.

Promise me. Protect her. No matter what.

Outside, a dog howled.

Esben tensed. Surely not. They wouldn’t—

Somebody shouted, more dogs barked, a thundering of horses, then silence.

They were hunting her down! He gripped the chair arms so tightly his knuckles whitened. Stein must have told Tue about Frea’s escape and the bastard had set his wolf hounds on her. She’d be mauled and killed.

Protect her.

He flung open the door. Tyra took off, the tip of her wing just brushing his check as she swooped outside.

To hell with everything. There was no way he was letting anyone harm Frea!

#the viking's promise #vikings #viking romance #love #fiction #historical romance #copyright #charlotte gardner #fiction romance #free fiction #free novel #book #my writing #writing #art #creation #love viking