#oh and there's a little tiny salamander on one of the rocks in the drawing because I love those little guys too | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

thewatercolours · 2 years

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King's Quest Ficlet: Salamanders and Diamonds

Finally delivering on my bribe to @gerbiloftriumph for drawing the fabulous illustration of Neese in rescuing attire. The prompt was Graham and his salamanders, and being forced to take part in a fairytale against his will. There was only one fairytale I could think of with salamanders in it... ;-) The thing grew to rather longer proportions than I'd planned, and maybe could stand some editing, but it's taken too long as it is.

---

“Seems to me if you were all starving down there, you could’ve just eaten the salamanders.”

“Not that type of story.”

“Oh come on, Grandpa! It was life or death, and you didn’t even think about it?”

“Some are poisonous. And not after the toads and diamonds incident, I didn’t.”

“Huh?”

“You never heard that fairy tale?”

“Um… the one with the girl who helps the old woman at the well, and gets cursed to have jewels and gold fall out of her mouth when she talks?”

“The master storytellers call that a reward.”

“If I couldn’t speak without drooling rocks all over the place, I’d call that a curse.”

“Fair point. But a lot better than what happened to the stepsister who wouldn't help, don’t you think?”

“I mean, if you have to have one or the other, you might as well drop frogs and lizards. It’d be gross for a few seconds, but after that you’ve got pets. And gross pets are the best kind.”

“On the other side of the coin, you’d be rich.”

“Yes. And I completely believe that you’d rather be rich than have a bunch of cute little friends, Grandpa.”

“I won’t ague with you there. They can be consoling company. But…”

“… But you called it the toads and diamonds “incident.” That sounds juicy.”

“Thank the shining stars, I’m not in a position to comment on whether it was, ahem, juicy. But on the understanding that I have a duty to forearm my granddaughter with knowledge in case she ever runs into to an old lady who needs help fetching water from a well, I’d better fill you in.”

---

A teal glow seeped between King Graham’s closed eyelashes and nudged him out of a shallow sleep. He didn’t need to look to fill in the blanks. Tiny, gummy toes slickered along his neck. Ear-popping trills screeched by his temple. He blinked his eyes open to roll them, only for a miniature, amphibious tongue to flick into the left one. “Gaggh!” he cried, springing half upright and batting at his face. The wall-mounted bed jiggled on its hinge at the suddenness. Perhaps twenty luminous salamanders bounced a few inches off the mattress, all shrieking together.

If they’d been slow before, now they swarmed him, as they did every waking cycle. Now that he was sitting up, they clambered up his shoulders and slid down the slick folds of his cloak like children coasting muddy hills. One nipped his ear toothlessly so it might scale his head and take up a post in the watchtower of his crown. Another burrowed into his cowl and hooked itself in the neck of his shirt. Graham smiled wearily, and pulled his cape around backwards, so that it blanketed him. He lowered himself again, cautious not to squish the salamanders. He squeezed his eyes closed again and gently bent one knee, then the other, into rising and falling mountains for the salamanders to toboggan. They liked that. They’d taken it upon themselves to rouse him after he’d started doing it a few days before, and Graham was pretty sure it was a settled contract at this point.

While his cellmates hummed, and slid, and made nooks and tents in his clothes, Graham’s body came awake to all the reminders of yesterday’s failures. The quicks of his nails ached, lodged too deep with dirt from digging out what he’d thought a lever near one of the abandoned cells. It had turned out to be a root. Wakening dizziness after yet another late night spent wandering the prison’s upper levels, revisiting the same cavern over and over, putting off sleep in fruitless hopes of finding some new elements to add to his hazy plan. Even the out-of-placeness of his big toe felt like a testimony of precious days slipping by while he blundered about. Back at the castle, the state of the king’s stockings was not a matter that came up, nor was it any indicator of the passage of time. But his toe had frayed a hole in the perpetually damp wool. What had he to show for nearly a week? A rank chunderblossom. Chopsticks without even a bowl of rice. The beginnings of a calloused toe as it rubbed against the rawness of his boot. While his friends died.

The last thought made him start. Ginger’s voice snorted in his imagination. “Buck up, twerp. You can stand. You’ve even got the stamina to run, now. Some of your pals are flat on their backs! And not because they’re having a pillow pity party, but because they literally can’t get up. Are you even a Cracker?”

The keeper would be coming with the drumstick soon. He had to get up so he wouldn’t miss his chance to collect it. Perhaps he should start dividing the meat into even portions so everyone could have a meagre meal every day – or would that be a mistake? Even his foolproof plans morphed into mistakes these days. If only he could find another shiny gold coin. It wouldn’t mean escape, but the relief would be nearly as great just now, if it meant he didn’t have to hear the death knell chime again. Just one more coin, just one.

The salamanders whined as he found his feet – if they’d been larger Graham felt certain they’d make to hold him down so they could keep their playground. They scrambled for riding places, one even successfully popping a belt pouch’s clasp to curl up inside. Graham sighed, but he’d long since given up on de-salamandering before venturing abroad as futile.

---

“Um… if this is supposed to convince me that diamonds are better than salamanders, it’s not working. Is this story seriously just about you lying in bed and getting ready for the day and getting climbed over?”

“I’m sorry, dear. When a memory comes back that vividly, it’s easy to tangle yourself up in it and forget that you eventually must come out. You know that old chestnut about the stars and the old people, eh?”

“No?”

“That when the stars first shone down on us all, what they loved most in us was the way we’d tell stories. And so they ordained that no twist or turn of a story should ever remain untold – whatever goes into our memories must at some point be repeated. And when you get old, you have such a lot of stories piled up that you can’t help it. You’ve got to tell them all before your time comes, whether you know that’s what you’re doing or not. Even the parts you hid away, or forgot, they start clamouring in your heart to be told, down to the last detail.”

“Oh. Um. What if…”

“Speak up, sweetheart. These old ears are stuffed with cotton these days.”

“What if someone didn’t finish telling their stories in time?”

“Gwendolyn, what kind of a face is that? Don’t you get anxious about it. That couldn’t happen. Didn’t I tell you it was ordained by the stars? And - Oh, oh I see. If your mind’s wandering where I think it might be, you can call it to heel right now. I’m not deluging you with stories is not because I’m near the end – I’m not - but because you are so near the beginning. Everyone else in the house has heard my best stories, and it’s a pleasure to have someone I can tell them to fresh. I’m nowhere near finished.”

“You sure?”

“Sure as Decree .05.”

“.05?”

“ ‘In event of true pressing need,(that is to say, if you’ve got a sieve for a memory when it comes to addendum numbering,)the king of Daventry may invoke this ordinance in place of an already legally established section of the code, so long as the intended ordinance can be stated accurately in full and verified within twelve hours.’ Used that one more than I cared to admit in the early days…. But we were talking about salamanders.”

“Can we skip to the part where you end up with one in your mouth?”

“Did I say that was where this story was going?”

“It’s kind of obvious.”

“Is it, now? Ha, such astuteness shouldn’t be allowed. Well, I guess a skip wouldn’t take much away from the story. Well, after I’d made my rounds, checking on everyone and scrounging up what food I could for them. I ended up on the prison’s top story. I was bound for the glowing garden. Muriel had mentioned something about edible flowers and weeds, and I planned to pick samples of every last one for her to examine, just in case. And I might have made it unhindered if one of my cellmates hadn’t lost his grip.”

---

Graham scrabbled over the ladder’s top rung and onto the brink. A cough from the napping goblin on the nearby ledge made him wheel. The goblin glanced up, but then snuggled its shoulders back into its stony bunk. Something shifted in Graham’s hair at the king’s sharp turn. A moment later, a weight was gone from his head, and the forgotten salamander in his crown went into terrified freefall a few inches away from the ladder. “THKREEEEP!”

Graham jolted forward, grabbed at empty air, and almost pitched over the edge himself. He gasped and caught his balance just in time.

The salamander thumped to the ground ten feet below. It shook its head from side to side like a dog shaking water from its fur, gave an unimpressed “PIP!” and scuttled into a crevice.

As Graham sighed with relief, he looked up to see the sleepy goblin jumping to its feet. it stood remarkably still but its twitching claws, leaning toward him and craning its neck, like a child rapt at an alley magician’s mysteries.

Graham wrung one hand round the other, suddenly nervous. Had this goblin out of all of them finally cottoned to the fact that it wasn’t in their best interest to let a captured king have the run of the prison just for the sake of rats and cobwebs? Would he be ordered back to the cell, locked in by day as well as night?

The goblin practically tiptoed up to him. For a moment it hesitated, then pulled him down to its level by the cowl, jabbing a bony finger at his lips.

Graham pried at the hand tangled in his cloak, and cried, “Wh-whoa! Unhand me!” but not forcefully enough to command any sway. A part of him was afraid to raise his voice lest a pack of reinforcements descend. As he struggled, two more disturbed salamanders evacuated cloak and dropped from his neck to the ground.

The goblin immediately released him, scooping one of the salamanders up before it could flee. It outright shook with joy, crowing and crooning while it turned the salamander about. Graham took advantage of the distraction to hurry through the enormous door into the theatre foyer, rounding the corner as quickly as possible on the “out of sight, out of mind” principle. If the goblin liked salamanders so much, why didn’t it just catch a few on the bottom level?

He reached the garden in no time at all. After a quick reshuffling of his pockets’ contents to make it more convenient to tuck away the enormous selection of plants he was about to collect, he cracked his knuckles, and set about the task. It would have been far easier with a knife or scissors, but at least he’d broken himself of chewing his nails a few years earlier.

He’d only gathered a handful, however, when his errand was cut short. A gurgle from behind made him turn his head, affording him three seconds to register a goblin atop a step ladder – the twenty minutes ago, he thought. A sturdy, pocketed apron hung about its waist, bulging with pincushions, scissors, and remnants of fabric. It tapped his head and unspooled a yellow weighted tape measure, the bottom of which thunked to the ground by his boot.

“What…?” Graham murmured.

Then the acrobatics began. Quicker than a Whisper, the tailor goblin caught hold of his cape and flipped over his cowl, pulling the measuring tape straight across Graham’s shoulders meantime. Then it firepoled down his arm, taking the length of it. It jostled all over him, up and down, prodding him to stand straighter, and pushing his chin about to get it out of the way as Graham’s eyes only just kept up with its progress. A long stream of gibberish followed, and Graham caught a glimpse through the flurry of another goblin scribbling furiously in a black book. It looked to him more like a toddler’s imitation of handwriting, or a very choppy outline for a seascape. With a final inky splatter, it gave a thumbs up.

Feet pattered from every direction.

If he hadn’t been looking down at the notetaker, Graham might have thrown up his arms before a flurry of colours plopped over him, obscuring his vision. He flailed, swimming in linen and gossamer and wool, and drooped under the weight despite his best efforts. The cloth smelt of cave must, and he sneezed mightily two or three times. Then he saw light again as at least a dozen goblins swarmed him. They rotated him this way and that, draping and tucking him into long swathes of mismatched fabrics, pins and threaded needles flying. They seemed to regard his own clothing as a handy base to which to attach things. Proceedings did half-halt momentarily when they found his stiff hide cuirass and bracers less cooperative in this regard, and a high-voiced goblin with nimble fingers set to unlacing the leather cords that held them in place, clicking its tongue disapprovingly the whole time. Any attempts on Graham’s part to prevent this only ended with more dusty material being thrown over his head, and nasty pinches and pokes till he cooperated.

After a rough twenty minutes the goblins set about the finishing touches of their costuming project. Graham found himself gussied up in the gaudiest, most piecemeal ballgown he’d ever seen. Six or seven trains spilled over the floor, one sparkling sleeve had no opening for his hand, and somewhere in the mix his cape had been wadded into a kind of bustle. The goblins stepped back to survey their work, some cheering, some awestruck. A stubby goblin climbed the stepladder. It carefully tied a bright yellow bow round Graham’s head, plumping it up lovingly over the king’s right eyebrow. It cooed and clasped its hands by its cheek.

A salamander that had ducked for cover down Graham’s collar during the clothing frenzy popped its head out again, and trilled. The goblins cheered manically, and four of them took him by the hand, leading him out of the garden gate and through a twisting corridor. Several pushed from behind, tripping over the trains periodically.

Graham didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. This was certainly a comedown from always figuring as the handsome prince in their little games.

They emerged in a room lit by the greatest outcropping of mushrooms Graham had ever seen. The mist of incandescent spores round it was truthfully one of the most beautiful sights he could remember, though he took care to hold his breath as they passed. In the centre of the cavern stood a hastily carpentered well, rather like the one in the woods near Daventry Town, if it were made of awkwardly crisscrossed boards held together by wonky nails and the roof were sagging on one side. Two costumed goblins were leaning dangerously against it. One had perched a grey yarn wig over the curlicue of its helmet. The other wore a baby pink party dress that looked more likely to have been stolen than scrapped together like his own. Unusually, this one had no helmet, and it clutched a bucket half full of water.

As soon as Graham and his excited escort entered the ring of light, the playacting goblins sprang up and seemed to assume character. Another fairytale, then. The pink goblin coyly offered the bucket to the wigged one, who took it and nattered happily. They turned expectantly toward Graham. The wigged one point at the well, then the bucket, and made praying hands.

Well, the sooner this was over, the better. Graham kicked his foot free of a jumble of taffeta and canvas, and leaned to pick up the bucket. Strangely, the goblins threw a tantrum. They growled and griped. One of them shambled the bucket out of his reach with its foot, and cuffed his ear. Did they want him to pick it up or not? He shrugged at the wigged goblin, but they had already moved on.

The pink goblin was reaching into its pocket, its orange eyes full of anticipation, and stuffing a handful of something into its mouth so that its cheeks bulged. It spat out a green stone with the abruptness of a cannon. The stone - jade? some kind of geode?- caught Graham off guard, and bounced off his stomach, which might have stung had it not been for the thick improvised bodice of his “gown.” The other goblins giggled as the pink one spun like a cyclone, expelling jewels and precious rocks of all colours. Graham even thought he saw a ring or two, and the pendant of necklace that looked suspiciously like the one Bramble kept in her sister’s memory.

Graham’s old friend the tailor, still with the measuring tape hanging about its neck, elbowed him the leg. Was he supposed to do something, or was the goblin trying to get him in on the joke? Graham shrugged again, realizing that he was finally at the point after all these days where he’d stopped wondering if it was all in a fact a fever dream. The tailor prodded him again, and when it got no response, it produced the salamander from goodness-knew-where, and held it up eagerly.

“Ah… thank you for… returning my salamander, I guess…” Graham said uncertainly.

Taking it. But this wouldn’t do either. The goblin stamped, pointed over and over at the expectorating goblin, who was still at it, and finally seemed to lose all patience. It seized the salamander back out of his hands, backed up for a running leap, and crammed a moist, wriggling, contaminated-vinegar-tasting salamander into Graham’s mouth.

---

“Eeeeughhh!”

“I seem to remember this was the part you wanted to skip to.”

“Of course! This is the most disgusting thing you’ve ever told me. Keep going.”

“There’s a trash basket over there if you need one.”

---

The worst thing, even than the slimy texture or the way it instantly made the roof of his mouth tingle like a rash, was that he could feel the salamander’s heart beating through its ribs. He’d felt his fair share of salamanders all over. But, but in his mouth! The creature was large enough that the goblin could only shove it halfway in. Graham’s seized it by the tail, threw it across the room (where is landed on a plushy mushroom) and plunged his head into the water bucket to wash his mouth out. He was shocked that he wasn’t ill then and there. Outside the bucket he could hear the ruckus of goblin applause, whistles, and presumable calls for an encore.

At last he came up, gasping, only having succeeded in spreading diluted salamander flavour to all the corners of his mouth it hadn’t reached before. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a crowd of crazed fans chasing down the frightened salamander in the fungus path. For a moment his indignation on the little thing’s behalf topped even his fear that he’d have to taste it again. Had it not escaped through a crack a moment later, he might had rushed to its defense – and probably tripped on his skirts and somersaulted into a laundry heap. As it was, he glanced over his shoulder, and saw the way back through the tunnel was clear.

Graham tore as much of his costume free as he could, pulling his bustle back into a cape in a couple of tugs, and turned on his heel. A golden shimmer caught his attention as he turned. There, amongst the slobbery mess of gems and jewelry, shone three coins on the floor. It practically knocked the breath out of him. No traps, no unreachable distance, no locks. He pounced and swept them into his cape, then ran as though the dragon of his past were at his heels.

Coins! Coins! Coins! Food for his friends. Tools to free them. Possibilities and hope. He couldn’t stop sticking his hand into his pocket as he ran, turning the little discs round and round.

When at last he stopped running, he was standing with his back to Mr. Fancycakes’ cell with no clear idea of quite how he had made his way down there. He was winded, and his ear still smarted from the goblin’s blow, but he had three coins to gloat over. Two faded ones with King Edward’s bearded profile etched into them. And one that glistened new as fresh paint, with his own boyish face on the one side, minted two weeks ago. The crown especially had been lovingly reproduced to the finest detail.

His hand stole, unwitting, to the real crown on his head. He nodded, to no one in particular. The dirt stilled prickled in his fingernails, his toe still rubbed miserably against his boot leather, and heaven knew what adventures his irritated mouth was about to embark on. But he had three shiny gold coins to show for today.

And he hadn’t even been up for an hour.

#Not a lot happens in this ficlet #and it's not the most polished #but I had fun.#Even managed to throw in a hint for Rippling Consequences.#king's quest #kings quest #king's quest 2015 #fanfic #ficlet #rippling consequences #king graham #chapter two #goblins #salamanders #gerbiloftriumph

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wristic · 7 years

Text

The Green Lady (Part 2)

Pairing: Hvitserk X Reader

Word Count: 2300

Warnings: You’re a fairy, its bound to get a little weird.

-Part 1- -Part 2-

Whats funny is while this series doesn’t have a lot of notes it got so many people excited and giving me advice for fairy shenanigans! Also someone needs to get on making Hvitserk gifs cause I think I already used all the viable ones for vague story context. So I just used one that inspired me instead.

He had thought he was done with you, that his life could go back to raiding and conquering. Instead you make your unexpected return as harrowing as possible, repaying him with a gift, but this gift comes with a price.

The troops had long since moved on from the haunted woods, Hvitserk's tale of the strange woman with ivy antlers spooking everyone into thinking they would also end up kidnapped to some Otherworld where the dead whispered to you. The distance brought Hvitserk all kinds of peace, the only torment now was wondering about what other creatures hid in the land.

One of the slaves had finished braiding his hair and left, the curtain having just fell when an oh so familiar voice slithered behind his ear, shattering every last comfort he had. “She was cute. I think she liked you too.”

In a quick jump from his bed he was standing with a blade in hand, aimed at your throat. Glancing to it you smiled smugly to hide how the nearing tip burned under your skin and intimidated you. In your favor Hvitserk looked like he might puke to see you again, a little tell he’d been thinking about you often, and you didn’t exactly take that in the wrong way you should have, instead reminiscing how you hadn’t stopped thinking about him either. The handle twisted in his palm, itching to draw closer before you did. “What are you doing here? I did what you asked, you are suppose to leave me alone!”

You took in a long hiss of breath, leaning back and getting comfortable on his bed. “Perhaps my friends were making fun of me, saying I was too distracted to ‘garden’ properly. Perhaps I’d grown rather attached to you in our short time together.”

The knife wavered, dipping in strength as he pulled back with a confused grimace. “Excuse me?”

“In the simplest of words, I missed you.” you shrugged like he wasn't completely lost at what game you were trying to play. “This is the part where you're suppose to be flattered.”

“What does that mean exactly? Because offending you nearly killed me.”

Your smile alone was enough to fill the tent was a pompous arrogance. “Nothing really, unless you make it something.”

Hvitserk growled at you. “I want nothing but for you to stay away from me! That was the deal!”

Sighing you stood up with submissive hands. “Alright, alright… I see our last encounter spooked you. I promise I don't mean any harm this time. I just wanted to hang out.”

“Yeah?” His arm found its strength again and poised the blade at your chest, your heart skipping a beat when the heat brewed against it. “And what does 'hang out’ mean for a creature like you?”

Cautiously you pushed his hand away at the wrist, allowing yourself to step closer, a purely innocent look and tone surrounding you. “I haven’t stopped thinking about you since we departed. This isn’t any sort of game. I may be different from you but I’m still a woman, capable of a wayward heart. I only want to be with you.” Once close enough you wrapped you arms over his shoulders, relaxing quite nicely against him. “Come on now, most men would be honored to attract the affections of a Tylwyth Teg.”

For a brief moment it looked like he might cave to you, looking along your face in thought of your most sincere confession before he snapped. “I won't have you anywhere near me, you are nothing but some cursed creature!”

Your face went slack, a terrible hurt in your eyes Hvitserk mirrored as he realized maybe he went to far, that you may not have been lying after all. Sliding your hands from around his neck you stepped away. “Well if that's how you feel…” Before he could answer you finished, “-I suppose I’ll just have to make your life a living hell.” With a smirk and a wink you blinked into a ball of light, slipping out through a crack in his tent.

Rubbing his agitated eyes Hvitserk grumbled. “Damn it.”

Hvitserk was beyond paranoid now, waiting for you to do something terrible for days, him having warned only Ivar of your return. His brother had suggested asking the Saxon’s how to set up a trap and kill you but it forced Hvitserk to admit, he didn’t want to see you dead. You were strange and maybe just didn’t understand human customs, but you were also clever and had a certain infections playfulness. Nonetheless, even as he sat with friends by the bonfire, drinking with loud cheer, his leg was bouncing uncontrollably as he looked around for you.

When you reappeared he was suddenly rethinking the not killing you idea. Hearing you whisper his name only to see you holding a small poisonous salamander over Ivar’s drink instilled an instant panic. He reached out as you teasingly inched the wiggling creature closer. When Ivar caught him reaching it was clear he hadn’t caught on yet, but Hvitserk had a sinking feeling it was more than that.

“Look… look that way.” Ivar eyed him suspiciously. “Just for a quick moment.”

Ivar looked directly at your readying prank and gave no reaction. He didn't see you. Hvitserk smiled at his brother before making like he was leaving, only to stop a distance whispering as quietly as he could. “Stop, stop that!” He came closer and you dropped it down faster, your smile beaming and excited. “Stop it! For the love of- what do you want?!”

“A trinket would be nice.” You spoke in a casual volume, apparently no one hearing you either. Hvitserk looked around frustrated. He couldn’t just tell everyone you were there, they would just think he was crazy.

Grinding his teeth, doing his damnedest to stay in control, “You are messing me.”

You shook your head. “A ring maybe, make sure it's shiny, and silver.”

With a growl he left, returning quickly to save his brother with a thick silver band and a cloudy emerald set in its center. It certainly impressed you, giving a loud, “Ooh!” And examining it away from the fire and into the moonlight, thoughtlessly eating the salamander yourself.

When Ivar noticed Hvitserk's return he saw his brother with an exaggerated and disgusted grimace, staring off into nothing. “Hvitserk… Hvitserk!” He looked, his face not changing in the least. “What are you doing?” Hvitserk only grunted before sitting and downing most of his drink to keep at bay the crawling in his stomach, as if he’d eaten the salamander.

As hands came around his shoulders into a hug, the ring somehow fitting you perfectly, he was stiff trying to play you weren't there, not wanting anyone to notice him talking to himself. Hiding behind his cup he asked you. “What's your fascination with me? Don't you have other people to torment?”

“Maybe. But I like you, I like your face.” Subtly he moved to stared at you, still having a hard time understanding what you meant when you spoke so plainly, surely it was a game. You only brushed his cheek, eyes dropping to his lips and filling his with tension he needed to break.

“Does that mean you are going to eat my face?”

You snickered with a roll of your eyes. “Bare in mind no matter what I do, you wouldn't be much fun dead.” You lifted, disappearing from his view and from the camp.

Your next requests were as ridiculous and random as the last. One week spent sewing, something he’d never done before, an exceedingly long green cloak. He had to lest you throw every weapon into the ocean. The next was a crown of wild flowers and something you handed over yourself called ‘snapdragon’. Before the slaves laughed at him pinching the top and bottom part of the small white blossoms, they taught him how to weave the stems in creating a crown fit for a loving bride, which you forced him to wear ‘when the time was right’ lest his army ‘never find their way’.

He was exhausted. Between worrying people by yelling and whispering to empty space, being forced into these odd and somehow grueling tasks, when you woke him up in the morning and told him to wear the crown and cloak and meet you in the woods, that the ‘wisps’ would guide him, he could just jump off a cliff if it meant he could sleep the rest of the day instead.

Doing as he was told, when he reached the outline of the woods a small blue ball of fire appeared before him. In curiosity he reached out for it causing it to disappeared, only to come back into the world a little further away with a strange musical hum to catch his attention. Taking a deep breath, he pushed himself forward, following the little creature.

As the clouds rolled in to cover up the morning sun, he found you in an open space, large rectangular rocks sprouting from the ground in a circle. You were in the center, dancing in a plain white dress, the ivy that grew from your antlers had grown plentiful and vibrant, little red berries throughout it and the faint sound a whimsical music just barely brushing his ears. The little blue flame bounced toward you, grabbing your attention with a whistle before fading as it entered the circle.

“Hvitserk!” He’d never seen you so drunk with happiness, outstretching your hands for him to come closer as you were breathless from the dancing. The gut instinct something was up wouldn’t leave him but he still walked forward, cautiously.

As he entered the clouds lifted almost instantly, the sun warm and golden as it fed the green of the forest around. The music was loud inside, hundreds of glittering lights shifting about like dust in a beam of light. At the edges were different tiny creatures, some gangly and pale with wings like butterflies, others with eyes like frogs and red caps. Your dress now brilliantly shined, glowing under the sun.

Hvitserk realized he was back in the Otherworld, your Tír na nÓg. As he started to panic, drifting back to leave, you pushed yourself in his view grabbing his hands. Compared to the last time he was here, you seemed serene, gentle, like a young woman in love.

The music slowed to a stop while you caught your breath. “Hvitserk, I wanted to apologize for scaring you the way I did-”

“You didn't scare me-”

“-because I regret that we had met under the circumstances we did. If you were less of a ass at the time, maybe we could have been friends instead. Your gift to me was as an apology, allow mine to be one of charity.”

Holding one hand, the other came to his cheek, pulling him into a soft kiss, your skin unusually warm and his head starting to spin with something strange as it dragged on. It was different than the last time you kissed him, now feeling so dizzy he broke away by stumbling back, your hand holding his the only thing keeping him up. Your mischievous giggle unnerved him as the music started back up with sing-song cheering, fading in and out of tune with his ears. Heat took his hand you held until it scorched his flesh. In a cry he ripped his hand from yours, a sigil glowing green seared into his palm. It was a line straight up and down, two parallel lines crossing it from under his pinky to the bottom of his thumb. Staring into it caused his world to shift double as he mumbled.

“What, what did you-”

“The attire didn't dawn on you?” you teased. “Nor the exchanging of rings?” you held up the silver ring he gave you, snugly on your wedding finger.

“Oh no no no,” Hvitserk stumble as he felt the heat go burn through every little nerve, pooling a furnace at his heart. “No, we are not married, I didn't agree to this-”

“You are all mine now Hvitserk, my nearest and dearest, wherever you go a piece of me will always have it's claim to your soul. It's not without its perks I promise. You will see in your next battle.” You threading your fingers under his braids, stabling him as the charm got comfortable under his flesh. “No matter where you go, I will always be at your heels, whispering, inspiring you. I've lived a long time Hvitserk, I have magics beyond your simple imagining. You’ve been blessed this day. Find joy in what my affection brings.”

As the burning faded, so did the sun and the music, the glowing of your dress and your ivy branches. Everything magical in the world and about you faded like it had never been, only you and him standing in the strange circle of stones.

As you smiled up at him, he couldn't deny he felt different, felt… spectral, like half his spirit was detached and already standing in Valhalla, communing with the Gods for inspiration, for glory, for old and dark magic.

In a sigh he took one last look at his hand scarred with your symbol, then slowly threaded his fingers through yours. Leading you back to camp he somehow knew you wouldn't disappear, that they would see you as the whimsical human beside him.

As he made his way to the Commanders table, Ivar signaled for the soldiers to surround you both. Hvitserk found himself getting defensive, his hands crawling for you on their own accord, feeling a shade of himself reach you first and pull you in. “So she finally shows herself. The imp who's been playing my brother for a fool. What say you Hvitserk, isn't it about time she got what's been coming to her?”

“No…” Hvitserk rubbed your back, keeping you close to him and away from the iron. “No we’re married now.”

Ivar raised his brow, “Married?”

Hvitserk looked at you, drenched in a sinister air and far too confident nothing bad would happen. “Yes. She's given me a boon for my hand, it's…” an eerie laugh broke out on him, “Ivar, it's amazing.”

It unnerved everyone around, the way he hung onto you was possessive as you toyed with a flower that had fallen from his crown.

“Cheers brother-in-law!” You motioned to Ivar. “May we be a loving and happy family in the coming days!”

#hvitserk #hvitserk imagine #hvitserk ragnarsson #hvitserk lothbrok #hvitserk x reader #vikings imagine #my stuff #The Green Lady: The Greenening #The Green Lady #Tylwyth Teg: Ancient term for wood farie spirit...something like that #I never claimed to know everything okay man

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