#priest heahmund

[bjornironsidelothbrok]

Bjorn Lothbrok, better known as Bjorn Ironside is the firstborn son of Ragnar with his first wife Lagertha, a famous and great shield-maiden. He is the half-brother of Hvitserk, Ivar, Ubbe and Sigurd and has a father-son like relationship with the boat builder Floki, who is an old friend of Ragnar and Lagertha. He's the former king of Kattegat and lost the election for King of Norway to Harald. He is a descendant of Odin, as are his father and brothers. Bjorn is a great warrior in all respects, just like his father. As a young child he tries to keep his parents from fighting. He also wants to become a man in society so he can go on raids with his father and uncle. Norse society adheres to the belief that a “real man” is a killer, so Bjorn is eager for the chance to fight to prove his manhood. This is evident in how when he’s asked what a man does, his first answer is, “He fights.” Ragnar approves of this response, but nevertheless reminds him that they do more as well. Like all children, Bjorn has his moments of being a bratty kid. This happens especially around Athelstan. Like most of Norse society, Bjorn scorns him for being a Christian and a slave. He is shown to be indifferent and even cruel towards Athelstan. Thankfully, Bjorn grows out of it, and openly laments Athelstan’s death. He thoroughly rebukes King Horik’s cruel words about the priest being a traitor and worthless individual. At times, Bjorn seems to be the reasonable one in his family. Unlike his father, he appears to be much more in-tune with the emotions of those around him, which becomes even more apparent when he grows older. As an adult, Bjorn is Ragnar’s most trusted lieutenant and right-hand man. He shows extreme loyalty to Ragnar even after years of separation. With the death of Ragnar, Bjorn becomes arguably the most renowned Viking in Christendom aside from possibly his mother. With his own people, him merely stepping into Kattegat was enough to shock everyone. The only person who is not frightened of him is Ivar, and even Ivar will later admit to Bishop Heahmund that he is a little scared of Bjorn.Like most Viking men, Bjorn yearns for glory on the battlefield and a place in Valhalla. He is passionate about fighting and eager to battle. He is a highly skilled warrior, even when he is young. He was strong enough to match Rollo in a drunken brawl and in his first battle is fast enough to get through without ever been struck. The true testament of Bjorn’s prowess as a warrior comes during his time alone in the wilderness. He survives for several months in the icy mountains, manages to track down and kill a bear with only a hatchet and knife, and outwits and overpowers a supposedly invincible Berserker who was sent to assassinate him. He calms down a bit after. Bjorn tends to be the most emotionally stable of the brothers. He is noticeably much more mellow and agreeable as an adult than he was as a child. Bjorn has a somewhat different personal code than most other Viking men. He refuses to rape women in raids or slaves. After his time living in the wilderness, Bjorn tends to act cold and distant to most people. While he still is a lot less willing than most Vikings to kill or throw away lives without need, he has definitely hardened since he was a kindly young adult. It’s clear that Bjorn doesn’t have his father’s intelligence or penchant for outside-the-box thinking. When he realizes that Ragnar doesn’t trust him to follow in his footsteps, this prompts Bjorn to strike out on his own and do some traveling to prove his worth to both himself and Ragnar. He takes great pride in his battle scars, bearskin cloak, and tattoos. His tattoos and hairstyle are clearly modelled after the ones Ragnar had in his younger years. Bjorn’s courage, deep devotion to his parents, and unshakeable code of honor are all similar to the personality of the god Baldr. He has been the new head of the family since his father's death and, like his father, sails under the Raven Banner.

#userfakevz #bjorn ironside #Ragnarson

[procrastinatingsoicanreadfanfics]

ch. 7 – heald (to hold)

notes: i lowk hate the second half of this...

summary: goodbyes and hellos

warnings: none i think? minor mentions of trauma, ecbert is a bitch but whats new

tagged: @demon-of-the-ancient-world @levithestripper @grantairescurls

general masterlist | series masterlist

Alethia

Godwin’s chubby fingers grasped her hand, the boy trying to bite Alethia’s hand. She let him, rocking him absentmindedly as she stared into the bonfire. Next to her sat Eadith, John in her arms and Finnian next to her, drifting off to sleep. Insects chirped from the field, and Ethelfleda’s children were chasing each other around the flames. Clothilda sat at Alethia’s feet, her head leaning against Alethia’s knee. The girl stared up into the sky, eyes desperate to grasp a last look at the stars.

It was a cool spring night, just on the cusp of summer, and the air smelled of it. Ethelfleda had said that this night would be their last reprieve of the heat that the village would have for a while. Alethia knew what that meant.

She had to leave soon.

Tomorrow, Heahmund would take Clothilda to the nunnery in Wroughton. Alethia would accompany them, carry Clothilda’s few belongings and help the girl find her place amongst the nuns. And when she was done, she’d slip away. She’d give Heahmund a message, but she would not say goodbye. Not to him, nor to Finnian or Eadith or Godwin or John. It felt like betrayal, even if she had told them what was going to happen.

“What’s wrong?” Eadith asked. She was playing peek-a-boo with John, who only gave his mother a few happy laughs. When her hands covered her eyes again, Alethia spoke.

“Nothing. I just…” Alethia trailed off. Quietly, she adjusted Godwin in her lap. “I miss home.”

“Is this not home?” Eadith replied.

“You know what I mean. And besides, I do not belong here. I think I shall try to return to Frankia. To my family.”

“I love you. We all love you.” Eadith said. “You could stay. Remarry. None of us would think any less of you for it.”

“And who would I marry?” Alethia asked dryly.

“Heahmund.”

Alethia looked to the priest across from her, watching intently as she and Eadith spoke. His sword was lain across his lap, blade glinting with the flames. Perhaps she should take it. 

Instead of answering, Alethia snorted. Eadith giggled with her, like the girl she truly was. 

“I’m going to miss you.” Alethia said suddenly, and immediately, she wished she hadn’t.

“You’ll only be gone for a few days.” Eadith replied, brows furrowing with worry. She knew something was wrong with Alethia, but she did not say anything. Yet.

“Still. You are my best friend here.”

Eadith smiled at that, leaning towards Alethia.

“And you mine. But do not tell that to Titha or Darelene.”

Alethia committed her face to memory, then. The freckles on the bridge of her nose, the reddish-brown hair, the delicate lashes and crooked nose, the small scar and low-set brows. 

“I could never.” She said finally. 

Five days later, Alethia betrayed Eadith. She waited until Heahmund was fast asleep, and then, she took his cloak and dagger, drawing the hood into her face before she began running. Heahmund did not have a horse, and so, he would not be able to catch her as quickly as Aethelwulf would have, had he looked in the right direction. If anything, he’d have to run into the forest right after Alethia.

She trudged South where the village was East, wiping her face as the tears began to spill. There was no reason for her to cry. Alethia, and only Alethia, had made the choice to leave. It was something good, she was going back to Athelstan, but the fact that she was leaving still left a bitter taste on her tongue.

Perhaps leaving hurt because she was afraid Athelstan had found someone else, that he was not willing to forgive her and the Northmen would chase her away. Perhaps, though it was good she was leaving, she could still allow herself to let it hurt.  

All alone in the forest, Alethia had too much time to think. So, she began running until her lungs burned and her feet ached. It made her feel a little better.

And then, she was all alone again.

Athelstan

He stepped into Ecbert’s villa with the same fear he’d felt when he’d come there the first time. Athelstan forced himself to remember that he was with Ragnar and Lagertha, with the Northmen. That he was safe. Still, he could not help the fact that his hand curled around the head of his axe a little more tightly as he passed under the gates. 

Ragnar looked around, taking in all details of the villa, while Lagertha kept her eyes trained on Ecbert and Aethelwulf, eyeing both with suspicion. She pushed herself in front of Athelstan, and he knew precisely why she did it.

“Thank you.” Athelstan said quietly. Lagertha barely nodded. Still, he ducked away from Ecbert, painfully careful to keep his distance from him. It did not work.

“Welcome here! I bid you all welcome.” Ecbert said, turning to Ragnar. “Earl Ragnar.”

“He is King now.” Athelstan smirked.

“King Ragnar Lothbrok. What happened to King Horik?” Ecbert asked.

“He met with a, uh… unfortunate accident.” Ragnar mumbled, trying, and failing, not to smile.

“Then we are truly equal.” Ecbert replied, clapping Ragnar on the back before he turned to the other Northmen. “It is my pleasure to feed you and prove the bounty of our Earth.”

“What has happened to our people who chose to fight for Mercia?” Lagertha asked impatiently.

Kwentrith stepped forward. “Unfortunately, the forces of my uncle and younger brother have prevailed. But if you, Ragnar Lothbrok, and you, Lagertha, would join with us I am sure of victory.”

“King Ragnar,” Ecbert began again, and Athelstan noticed that he had the decency to look embarassed. “I have given you land. Let me tell you the truth, as God is my witness, some of my nobles do not agree with what I have done. They are afraid. But, I am determined to honor our treaty. In return, some of you, at least must fight for Princess Kwenthrith.”

“That is not part of our original agreement, but… in good faith, and in hopes of creating a long and prosperous… friendship,I will fight. But I cannot speak for the others.” Ragnar said.

“I will fight, alongside these pagans. For Mercia.” Aethelwulf agreed as well.

“Bjorn?”

The young man nodded, and Athelstan thought of his… woman. Sometimes, Porunn’s willfulness reminded him of Alethia.

“All have agreed, except Lagertha.” Athelstan announced.

“Go and translate to Lagertha for me.” Ecbert commanded, and Athelstan noticed how easy it was for the king to slip back into commanding him. “In order to establish the settlement here in Wessex, I need the help of one of your leaders. A strong leader. Someone that my nobles will respect.” Ecbert said. Quickly, Athelstan translated.

“Why does he see me as a leader?” Lagertha asked. “Is he not a Christian?”

Ecbert thought before he answered her translated question. 

“Alethia showed me that women can be more than just dangerously stupid.” he said finally. “That woman could have torn down this villa, and it is good she is dead.”

Athelstan’s heart sunk. Still, he told Lagertha. The shieldmaiden seemed to consider for a moment, before she agreed with a nod.

“She agrees to remain in Wessex, to establish the settlement and to help farm the land.” Athelstan said.

“And you also must stay, Athelstan. You can speak for all sides. We need you. I need you.I trust you more than anyone else.”

“You killed Alethia.” Athelstan bit out. “You just admitted it.”

“I did not. I would not have. She managed that all by herself, running off into the woods to get torn apart by the wolves. We never even found a trace of her! As if she vanished.” Ecbert said, eyes narrow. The king’s fury was barely concealed and Athelstan guessed that, in her attempt to escape, Alethia had embarrassed him. It gave Athelstan some satisfaction. “I think you should stay.”

Did he have a choice? “Then I shall stay.” Athelstan agreed.

The feast was not for him. Athelstan slipped away when Kwentrith tried to play cat and mouse with Lagertha and Ecbert’s eyes began following his figure more than he was comfortable with. Instead, Athelstan walked into empty hallways and snuck away into the library, where he knew he would find solace amongst scrolls.

Amongst his work.

It was no use. The library was no longer a safe haven, instead reminding him of Alethia. There, at the table that was now coated in a layer of dust, he had taught her his languages. First English, then Norse. There, a few steps away, he had kissed her for the first and last time.

His hand reached up, fingers ghosting over his lips absentmindedly. Then, Athelstan pressed the balls of his hands into his eyes until small sparks began to fly behind his closed lids. Why was he always thinking like this? So destructively, so stupidly pointless in a way that only made everything hurt. 

Leaving the library was harder than it should have been, and yet, Athelstan dragged himself out of it, past the roman bath and back up the stairs into the courtyard. There, the faint sound of a Norse drinking song spilled outside, but the summer heat had cooled down into a considerably more bearable night.

Athelstan did not know why he walked to the church. He supposed that it was his nature, as a monk, to go there. It was easy to walk the path there, habit even, and even if the church doors were heavy, they swung open for him, almost invitingly.

He breathed in, smelling the incense. This was better. At least here, Alethia was not the only one haunting him. Athelstan walked towards the altar, staring at the gleaming golden cross. Then, suddenly, he heard footsteps and froze.

Behind him, a serving girl smiled timidly. 

“Who are you?” Athelstan asked. 

The girl smiled, and Athelstan noticed the small gap between her front teeth. She was young, maybe ten years old, and yet, a scar made a gap in her lip. It caused her to lisp when she spoke.

“I’m Miriam. Hagar sends me.”

“Hagar?” Athelstan asked.

“She fixed my lip. I could not eat properly before. She’s the healer in the woods. She said to bring the monk from the Norsemen to her when I see him. You are that monk, right? Athelstan?” the girl said, the words practically tumbling out. Perhaps, she was trying to make up for all the years she could not express herself properly.

“Yes, but who is she?” Athelstan asked.

“I don’t know. But she is nice, even if some of the servants call her a witch. It’s because she never comes for mass.”

Without asking him, Miriam grabbed his hand and pulled Athelstan out of the church. A witch in the woods sounded terrible, like something his mother would have warned him about, and yet, Athelstan followed Miriam.

“Hagar is Frankian.” Miriam continued. “She married some Mercian, but he’s dead, so she left Mercia and came here. Said she wanted to go home over the summer.”

“A Frankian in Mercia?” Athelstan asked. “How do you know she’s Frankian?”

“She talks funny. Her husband taught her English, at least that’s what she said. She misses him very much. His name is Athelstan. What is your name?”

“Athelstan.” he replied slowly. Miriam giggled at that, her laugh stopping her from spilling out more and more words. 

“That’s funny. I’ll tell her all about it when we get there.” Miriam said, pulling Athelstan past the gate and out into the dark. When he paused at the border of the forest, Miriam tugged his hand.

“Come on, the dark doesn’t have to scare you. Hagar can cure you from that, if you want. She can give you some medicine, or you can talk to her. Some of the soldiers go to her every week, and they always come back with red eyes. I think she allows them to cry.” Miriam prattled on, and Athelstan nodded dimly.

“Why does she want to meet me?” Athelstan asked.

“I don’t know.” Miriam shrugged. “But it’s very important. She made me promise not to tell anyone about my mission. She said I should treat it like an adventure, and it’s been very fun. I almost gave up because waiting for you was so boring. You should have shown up earlier! But she told me that you would probably be waiting in the church for something, so I followed you when you left the feast. I hope you’re the right person, because if you’re not, my adventure is ruined.”

“I hope I’m the right person as well, then.” Athelstan replied. When Miriam let go of his wrist, he looked down at her. She stood to his right, in the middle of the thicket. In the dark, Athelstan could see a thin trail leading into the woods, where it was so dark that there was almost no light.

“You have to go to her alone, she said.” Miriam explained. “It’s right behind the trees, her house. You can’t miss it, just stay on the trail. I’ll be in the villa in case you’re not the right person.”

“Alright.” Athelstan replied hesitantly. He should have refused, should have stayed in the church and prayed, repented, but it was too late for that now. The trail felt smooth under his feet, trampled down by countless others that had made their way to Hagar.

Athelstan knew the story of her namesake. Father Cuthbert had made him copy it seventeen times, and each time, Athelstan had refused to give her a happy expression in the decoration that accompanied her story. Eventually, Cuthbert had given up, and another monk had copied the story. Everyone in the monastery had always found it to be a good story, and Hagar a good example of a Christian woman.

Athelstan could not imagine how she could have felt happy, forced to have Abraham’s child, only for it to be taken from her again. 

He almost stumbled into the clearing in front of the hut before he could regain his footing. Athelstan looked around, noticing the stack of firewood, as well as a black cat that slunk past him, and into the hut. A flap had been built into the door of it, through which the cat disappeared. Athelstan stared with fascination. 

Inside, a strangely familiar laugh rung out, probably at Hagar finding the cat. Hesitantly, Athelstan stepped closer, reaching up to knock when Hagar began singing. He paused. 

Athelstan knew that melody. He knew it, and he knew the laugh. He knew Hagar, and yet, Hagar was not the woman’s name. Athelstan did not knock. Instead, he simply pulled the door open and froze in the doorway.

“Alethia.” he said. Athelstan exhaled, and suddenly, a weight disappeared from his shoulders.

“Athelstan.” she replied. The cat was in her arms, and Alethia set it down gently, staring at Athelstan with those accursed green eyes, before she broke out of her trance, crossing the space between them and hugging him. Her arms enveloped Athelstan, and God, she was warm. She was home.

Alethia buried her face in the crook of his neck, saying nothing at all. She did not need to. Athelstan returned the embrace, arms coiling around her waist as he held her close. His hand found her hair, gently stroking, and Athelstan could finally close his eyes. Alethia smelled of lavender soap and rain and herbs. It was right.

Home, finally.

Alethia

“I am sorry.” she whispered after a while. “I wanted to… I couldn’t… Ecbert would have found me, and I did not want to be a prisoner.”

Athelstan broke their embrace, and stepped back. He did not say anything for a while, and Alethia let Salem jump up onto the table to her left, scratching the cat’s ears. Athelstan took a few moments before he spoke, and Alethia let him. She could only smile, at him for returning, at Miriam for bringing him here. At God, for letting it happen.

“You needed to be free.” Athelstan replied. “I understand. I should have known he would…”

“We should have known. It is not your fault. I only… I wish I had been brave enough to face them all.” Alethia whispered.

“Had you tried, Ecbert would have chained you to a wall in his dungeons. Your mind being intact matters to me the most, far more than finding you in the villa, Alethia.”

At the sound of her name, Alethia shed her disguise like wings, and laughed. It was good to be free.

Her hand slipped into Athelstan’s with practiced ease. She noticed the new callouses.

“Have you been training?” She asked, her voice soft.

“I have. Ragnar insisted I steal you away.” Athelstan replied, smiling at her. “But… Ragnar does not know you. I know you. I will not steal you, I know that I could not.”

He tucked her hair behind her ear, fingers brushing her cheek. Alethia strung out his words into their full length, reveling in them. Athelstan did not want to steal her away, he wanted her to come by her own accord. How badly she wanted to kiss him. 

Alethia bit the inside of her cheek, throwing the thought away. She could not. She did not know if he still would want her to. Instead, she hugged him again, squeezing Athelstan until the blood drained from her arms and he huffed in her embrace. Alethia wondered if loving her hurt Athelstan.

“I have to return.” Athelstan said as Alethia let him go, and she wished he hadn’t.

“I understand.”

“Come with me, Alethia. What could Ecbert do to you now, apart from stare angrily?”

“He would chain me again, and you know it.” Alethia replied. “I understand that you… nothing can protect us from Ecbert here. I will stay in the forest, and I will go with you wherever you want, but not back to the villa.”

“He wants me to work as a translator.” Athelstan admitted. “We will be in England for a while so that the Vikings can establish their settlement here.”

“What of Mercia?” Alethia asked.

“Mercia will tear itself apart over and over, and Ecbert will send the Northmen to fix it.”

Alethia wanted to reply before Athelstan stopped her.

“Don’t fight, Alethia. Don’t do it. If you go to war, I am afraid you will not come back.”

“I won’t die.”

“That is not what I mean.” Athelstan said. The room was so quiet that Alethia swore she could hear him blink and the grass outside grow. “That is not what I mean, and you know it.”

“Then I will come with you.”

“That is where Ecbert will go.”

“It is not his villa, right? Not Winchester?” Alethia asked.

“No. It will be further south, closer to the coast. More to the East.”

“Will any of the Northmen come? Any that are important?”

“Lagertha will.” Athelstan replied. “And she will keep you from Ecbert if I tell her.”

“There is no need. I just think… here, I am nothing but Hagar. Even if I go by my own name, I will never be free in Winchester.”

“I understand.” Athelstan said.

“I know you do.”

Athelstan smiled, then. Alethia wished he would more often.

***

Alethia stayed away from Ecbert, Lagertha and Athelstan when the Northmen travelled to the new settlement. Up until today, Ecbert did not know that she was alive, and she had been living in the woods close to Winchester for two months. In a way, she prided herself on disappearing like that.

In a way, she was scared of how easy it was for her to slip into insignificance. Was it like that back home, in Winterfell? Was she already becoming a ghost, a footnote in the annals of Northern history? What had she done, really, apart from fighting in a few battles?

For the hundredth time that day, Alethia checked to see if the dagger in her boot and the knife in her belt were still in the right place. Somehow, she was still afraid that Ecbert had taken some force of soldiers with him to capture her. 

And then, when the king was finally away from Athelstan and Lagertha, Alethia felt her heart pounding in her throat. Would she remember any of the Norse Athelstan had taught her? Would Lagertha even be able to understand her through her accent, or would the shieldmaiden simply laugh? 

Beneath the hood of her cloak, she met Athelstan’s eyes, and the monk directed Lagertha further away from Ecbert, where they were hidden from sight. Alethia followed them, slipping away.

As soon as she rounded the corner, she pulled her hood down and smiled. Lagertha was almost forgotten, secondary as Alethia pulled Athelstan into a hug.

“Athelstan.”

“Alethia.” Athelstan replied, continuing in Norse. “Lagertha, this is Alethia, the woman I told you about.”

Lagertha looked her up and down, and Alethia felt as if she was reading her soul like a book, before she smiled with the warmth of an early summer evening, and embraced Alethia.

“It is good to meet you. Athelstan has told me much about you.” She said. Then, Lagertha’s eyes narrowed. “But why did you not come to Kattegat with us? Athelstan tells me that Ecbert would have chained you.”

“It is true.” Alethia said. Her head was already spinning, too much time having passed since she practiced Norse. She was finding it difficult to find the right words. “I went North instead of South, so that I could be free. I stayed with a few farmers. I returned for the summer, when the Northmen would come to raid.”

“So you are a farmer?” Lagertha asked.

“A healer, and a shieldmaiden. Though neither happened by choice.”

“But more by fate.” Lagertha finished. “I understand. I should like to spar with you.”

Alethia looked down, twiddling her hands. “I have not practiced in a year. I am quite rusty.”

“No matter.” Lagertha said, before looking to Athelstan. “Ragnar will hear an earful from me. ‘As fickle as the moon’, rather fitting for him, but not for him to say.”

Alethia laughed before she could catch herself. For a moment, she worried that Lagertha would be angry at her, but then, the other woman smiled too.

She leaned to Athelstan, only half-whispering. “You chose well, my friend.”

Athelstan blushed, a mirror image of Alethia. He cleared his throat before he spoke again.

“Will you face Ecbert?”

“Don’t you want to see his face when he realises I am still alive?”

“What if he makes you a prisoner?” Lagertha interjected. “I am already willing to vouch for you, and Ragnar will too, but that may very well not be enough.”

“He can try.” Alethia said. “I have put crowns on women’s heads. Let him attempt to chain me again.”

And so, she pulled the hood back up over her face, shadowing Lagertha and Athelstan as the shieldmaiden prepared herself for the sacrifice. Ecbert stood closeby, not sparing her another glance. Alethia was glad for his arrogance, oozing off of him in waves today like always. If he thought her a peasant, she would let him.

All the better for her.

During the sacrifice, Alethia stood close to Athelstan, her hand finding his in the crowd. He squeezed it in reassurance.

“You did well today. Your Norse has remained strong, but we need to work on your grammar and vocabulary.” Athelstan whispered. 

“How good is it really, then?” Alethia jabbed. 

“It has… worsened.” Athelstan said.

“You can be blunt with me.”

“It has become quite bad. Lagertha is admirable for her control over her facial features.”

“Thanks.” Alethia snorted. 

“I was joking.”

“I doubt that.”

“I was!” Athelstan said. “You are a good student. I did not expect anything less.”

“A good student?” Alethia asked with a smirk.

“And an even better warrior.”

Alethia looked to Lagertha, who drew two stripes of blood down her throat calmly. She exuded such confidence, such strength, that it almost made Alethia shiver.

“She is magnificent.” Alethia whispered.

“So are you.” Athelstan replied. Alethia froze, turning to Athelstan abruptly. 

“I…”

“I’m sorry.” Athelstan said immediately. 

“No, don’t be.” Alethia replied. “I was just not… expecting that.”

“I was telling the truth.” He reiterated. “You are magnificent. That is why King Ecbert was so afraid of you.”

“Afraid?” Alethia asked with a laugh. “He is the king of Wessex, and he will be king of England one day.”

“And he was afraid that you were going to tear down his kingdom. You could have. You should.”

“Oh?”

“I am beginning to grow sick of his little smirks.” Athelstan said. This time, Alethia had to laugh out loud. A few heads turned, and Athelstan turned to her, half-obscuring her from view. 

“I would like to reiterate former comments and tell you that, for you, I would commit regicide. Without question.” Alethia replied.

“Why?”

“I am willing to do just about anything to keep you safe.” Alethia said. “Remember that, Athelstan.”

“I never forget anything about you.”

Alethia felt as if she could not breathe.

“You are the only thing that is holding me in this world.” she whispered. Blood ran into the earth, soaking the ground on which she stood. In that moment, the sky could have fallen on their heads, and Alethia would have kept looking at Athelstan.

“I never should have run. I was willing to do anything to get back to you, but it was not enough. I should have… I don’t know. I should have swam across the sea for you. I know I could have. I apologize.” Alethia said.

“You are here.” Athelstan replied. He had turned his back to the sacrifice, only looking at her. “You are here, and that is all that matters.”

She wished she had the courage to do more than feel tears sting in her eyes. 

***

Ecbert only recognized her days later, when all the Northmen have returned to the villa to celebrate. Alethia stood in the courtyard, watching from her usual spot as the warriors streamed inside. She thought she recognized Ragnar, talking to Athelstan like they were brothers. Lagertha gave her a small smile as she slipped inside, accompanied by her shieldmaidens. Then, there were Floki and Rollo, presumably. Alethia was confused to not see Torstein with them. Had he not raided this year?

The first of the Saxons that noticed her was not Ecbert, but Aethelwulf. The prince had developed deep shadows under his eyes in her absence, looking as if he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.

When he saw her, he made to point and shout, but Alethia raised a finger to her lips, and, surprisingly, Aethelwulf did not rat her out immediately. Instead, he slipped away from his soldiers, crossing his arms as he approached her.

“We could have used you out there, in Mercia.” Aethelwulf said. 

“But then again, your father would have chained me to a wall to keep me compliant. And anyway, I would not have come back the same.”

“I know. You fight like a demon.” Aethelwulf replied. “I have never met anyone, neither Northman nor Saxon. Do you know what the Mercians call you?”

“What? Is it something silly?” Alethia asked, her tone sharp.

“Demon of death. I saw you that time we fought the Northmen with the Northumbrians, covered in blood. I saw the corpse of the man whose throat you tore out with your bare teeth. I saw you do it, and I think my father had good reason to try and chain you.”

“How long did you search for me?” Alethia continued.

“Three moons.”

“How silly.”

“And why is that?”

“I was less than a day’s ride away. The only thing I did to throw you off was walk North, and upstream. Was that really enough?”

“We expected you to follow… your monk.”

“I know.”

“What are you going to do?” Aethelwulf asked.

“Kill your father, perhaps.” Alethia replied. The prince’s hand dropped to the grip of his sword. “Don’t worry, I don’t have my sword anymore. But, you know, I have this weird feeling that you respect me. Why is that?”

“Because I do.” Aethelwulf admitted.

“You do?”

“You do not try to hide the monster you are. My father is a liar, and at the very least, you are honest about yourself. And you are a warrior, one that does not take pleasure in killing. Like a Christian should.”

Alethia smirked cruelly. She felt the bile rise in the back of her throat at being called a monster. “Oh? Do you take pleasure in killing, Prince Aethelwulf? Go on then, run to the church and give yourself some lashes. If you’ll excuse me.”

“Why should I?”

Alethia leaned forward. “I have a king to kill.”

Aethelwulf ran after her as she made for the villa, and Alethia could not help but laugh dryly. “Oh my fucking God! I was joking! I don’t care about Ecbert enough for that. And, for what it’s worth, the people of Wessex are good if they happen to live outside this villa. Ecbert is keeping them safe. Go, atone for your sins, or whatever it is you do in your free time.”

“Why the fuck would you joke about that?” Aethelwulf snarled. 

“Why are you so cruel? Why do you think your wife does not love you?” Alethia replied, hurling insults back at the Prince. She was glad they were alone in the courtyard, and that no one else could see the tears beginning to fall down her face. “You are so… why? I am twenty! Twenty! I took my first life when I was fifteen! I still think about that man, every single day! I am not a monster! Why does everyone think I am? I wish… I thought you’d understand! You of all people, used by your father to be nothing more than a weapon! Stop respecting me for the killer you say I am and see me as the person I am. I promise you, I will do the same for you.”

Aethelwulf stared at her, the hurt written across his face as Alethia said aloud what he knew to be true about his father. 

“I wish… oh, I don’t fucking know. What does it matter?” Alethia sighed, dropping her hands at her sides. “I’m going inside, gonna scare your father shitless. Want to see?”

Aethelwulf considered for a moment. “You are impossible. Thank you.”

“Here.” Alethia said, handing Aethelwulf Heahmund’s dagger. “I stole this from some priest called Heahmund. Feel kind of bad about it. He’s a good guy, so if he ever comes to court… give it back to him from me.”

“You could return it to him.” Aethelwulf replied.

“Fuck no. I’m leaving England, and I am not coming back.”

“You don’t believe that.” 

“Take the fucking dagger before I stick you with it.” Alethia hissed. Aethelwulf laughed, and the shadows under his eyes seemed a little lighter.

Athelstan

Of all people, Athelstan had not expected Alethia to join the feast together with Prince Aethelwulf. Ragnar looked up, spotting the prince before he could and clicking his tongue in distaste. 

“Cannot stand that man.” he mumbled. “But his new mistress looks quite rough for an English lady.”

Athelstan felt his jaw tighten. “That is not Aethelwulf’s mistress. She is not anyone’s mistress.”

Ragnar’s eyes snapped up, suddenly examining Alethia much more closely. “And why do you care so much about her?”

Then, his friend’s eyes widened. With the scars and her angry eyes, it was not hard to guess who this strange woman amongst Saxons was. 

“Is that-” Ragnar began. 

“Alethia!” Kwentrith called out, standing with a pitcher of wine in one hand and a cup in the other. She looked dangerously close to falling over. Immediately, Athelstan’s eyes went to Ecbert. 

The king looked visibly pallid. Still, he forced himself to smile. “Look at what my son dragged inside!”

“King Ecbert. What a pleasure.” Alethia replied, her voice so dry that Ragnar had to laugh.

“Some woman you chose. She looks like she’s about to castrate King Ecbert.”

“She might.” Athelstan replied honestly. “He tried to kill her last summer. It is the reason she could not come with us.”

“Truly? If he wanted to kill her, then she must be quite dangerous.” Ragnar said. Suddenly, there was an interested glint in his eyes.

“That is what I am always telling you.” Athelstan replied calmly. “And you never quite seemed to believe me.”

“I did not think your type to be the dangerous sort of woman.” Ragnar shrugged.

“What did you think it was?”

“Someone softer.”

Alethia looked over to Athelstan with an unsure smile, and he gave her an encouraging nod. Perhaps it would have been smart to shake his head, to try and stop her, but Athelstan wanted her to rain hellfire on Ecbert. And still, he thought that Alethia was the sort of soft that Ragnar could not see. For all his genius, Athelstan’s friend did not understand that people were just many facets of one thing.

Next to him, Ragnar gasped through his teeth.

“Her face is split in half.” he observed. “Interesting.”

“Spit it out.” Athelstan said, never taking his eyes off of Alethia. She was looking at Ecbert as if he was her prey. 

“Why did she choose you?” Ragnar asked. “She looks like she has seen more battles than Rollo, Lagertha and I combined. No offense, but you do not have the look of a warrior.”

“She is tired of war.”

“Why?”

“You want to return to the farm.” Athelstan said, his voice a sharp hiss. “I see it in your eyes. Do not pretend otherwise. She is the same, but her farm is even more unreachable than yours.”

Ragnar fell silent. 

Alethia’s voice cut through the great hall of Winchester like a sword drew blood. “You owe me, King Ecbert.”

The sounds of the feast quieted as the Saxon heads turned first, and then, at the silence, the Northern ones did too.

“And what would that be? What would you demand?” Ecbert asked, his tone cold. His eyes were void of any emotion, apart from an icy anger that sent a chill down Athelstan’s spine.

Alethia climbed the stairs towards Ecbert, but before she could reach him, two guards stopped her, crossing their spears. Still, even from where he stood, Athelstan could see the way she stared Ecbert down. It was a wonder the king could still keep himself on his feet.

“You tried to take my freedom.”

“You swore to serve me.”

“And the reason for it disappeared before I could fulfill my vow. You know that.”

“What is she talking about?” Ragnar asked.

“She lost her child.” Athelstan whispered. Ragnar grimaced, jaw suddenly set.

“She is determined.” He praised.

“Alethia would be dead were she not.” Athelstan said, his tone simple as it should have been for all those years he’d been a monk. Was he still? When he looked at Alethia, Athelstan could not imagine being a man of God any longer, only hers.

“I will leave England.” Alethia said. Her hands were shaking, but Athelstan thought that he was the only one who noticed. “And you will not stop me. If you do…”

“If I do?” Ecbert challenged.

“Sic semper tyrannis. I will tear down this villa, and the sky that hangs above Wessex with it.”

Ecbert laughed, but Alethia simply stared at him, and the King quieted again. Athelstan swore that there was a glint of fear in his eyes. 

No longer interested, the guests in attendance turned away, resuming their chatter. Alethia’s shoulders dropped as she stepped away from the guards, away from the king, and her test was finally over.

Athelstan wanted to comfort her. To hold her.

Would she still want him to? So much time had passed, and she could have any man… As Alethia approached the table, he quickly forced a smile on his face. She looked confused as her gaze landed on him, but she shook it quickly. 

With Alethia, Lagertha followed, and soon thereafter, Floki and Rollo slipped onto the bench as well. The Northmen looked at each other, as if they needed to decide upon what to ask Alethia, before Lagertha smiled.

“Athelstan is lucky to have a friend like you.” She said, and Floki giggled.

“Friends. The poor priest.” He laughed. Athelstan wanted him to shut up, but he was Floki, and never would.

“Do you mean to tell me the two of you have never fucked?” Rollo asked, blunt in the way only he could be. Athelstan felt heat rise to his cheeks immediately. 

“Quite the contrary. We fucked in the church.” Alethia said, her tone flat. Everyone but Rollo got the joke, and even so, Athelstan tried to stop blushing even more. The suggestion was… blasphemy at best.

“So you are not a Christian?” Floki asked.

“I don’t really know.” Alethia admitted. “I suppose I’ll see when I’m old and afraid.”

Floki clicked his tongue in annoyance, but he still side-eyed Athelstan. “Better to be godless than a priest.”

“Of course.” Athelstan bit back. Ragnar was staring at Alethia, eyes flitting between her and Lagertha, and suddenly, Athelstan felt his hands ball to fists. He gave Ragnar a sharp look, one at which Ragnar’s eyes widened, before his mouth pulled into a smirk. The same smirk did not disappear for the rest of the night.

Alethia left with a soft touch to Athelstan’s shoulder.

“I’ll go home for the night.” She said, her eyes glancing over to Ecbert.

“Do you think that’s a good idea?” Athelstan asked.

“He has no idea where it is, and I do believe Prince Aethelwulf is on my side.”

“Alright. Goodnight.” 

“Goodnight Athelstan.”

Alethia smiled back at him as she slipped out of the great hall, and as soon as she was gone, Floki, Rollo, Lagertha and Ragnar all turned on him.

“What do you mean, you haven’t even fucked?” Ragnar blurted out. Athelstan shifted under his gaze, but he knew that Ragnar had him pinned.

“Well…”

“He is a bloody priest. Only a priest would wait so long with a woman like that.” Rollo said.

“A woman like what?” Lagertha asked.

“A shieldmaiden. I saw her, last year, as she tore out a soldier’s throat when she had no sword, no dagger, no shield.” Rollo explained. 

“Really? What is she doing giving you heart eyes, priest?” Floki asked.

“I don’t… know? But, she did choose me. Though I do not know if she is giving me ‘heart eyes’ as you say, Floki.”

Ragnar snorted. “Are you blind?”

“Give him a break.” Lagertha said, and Athelstan was glad for it. Until he saw her give him that look.

“I think I understand her better than you men.” Lagertha continued. “She needs to be wooed. No doubt she could seduce our dear Athelstan… but where is the fun in that?”

“To woo a shieldmaiden.” Ragnar mused. “Good luck with that, Athelstan.”

“It is not luck he needs. Only courage.” Lagertha said. “Go on, Athelstan. Find her.”

“I am a monk.” Athelstan pressed out. He knew it was a lie. It had been a long time since he had been a monk, and even longer since he had been a true man of God.

#alestan #heorte til heorte #athelstan #vikings #history vikings #athelstan x alethia #vikings fanfic #vikings fanfiction #alethia x athelstan #alethia stahl

[niishiki]

@youbloodymadgenius​

@hashimily​

#modern au #heavar #heahmund/ivar #heahmund #priest heahmund #ivar #ivar the boneless #the snake in the garden au #floki #ubbe #hvitserk

[taurielisms]

tag dump !!

#x. You couldn't kill me if you tried for a hundred years | Lagertha #x. I am iron and I forge myself | aesthetic #x. The truth can be a bad choice for a wise man | musings #x. A melody of godsrinn | music #x. Suddenly what she realized she was regretting was not the lost past but the lost future | Rollo #x. Till death do us part. You were unholy right from the start | Kalf #x. If we shall die I will not see you again. Kiss me one last time. | Heahmund #x. For I have never stopped loving you not for one second. You and I were born to be together | Ragnar #x. I hope it was enjoyable otherwise it was not worth it | Astrid #x. I have known him a long time & he is a good man. | Floki #x. I would have loved you for a thousand years. I would have died for you. | R x L x F #x. Forgive me priest for I have sinned. I can feel a holy war within | Athelstan

[dragon-writer]

Thinks he is going to hell for fornication and not the metric shit ton of murders he's committed.

Dude will use his horse to crush skulls and then show up at church like, "Father forgive me, there's this girl I like..."

#vikings #bishop heahmund #worst priest #best priest #murder priest

[ginger-moomin]

Athelstan ✝ Vikings

#athelstan #rollo lothbrok #ragnar lothbrok #ragnar #friendship #love #gay #lgbt #chrystian #priest #bjorn #death #valhalla #heaven #chrystianity #bishop heahmund #heahmund #les miserables #musical #grantaire #george blagden #versailles #aesthetic #aesthetics #church #jesus

[peaceisadirtyword]

Heathen V (Ivar/Edlynn)

A/N: Hello! I might have gotten a bit carried away with this(?) Sorry😅 I hope it’s not too boring though🥺 I was just going to rewrite the ending and suddenly... I had 1000 more words💀 anyway, I hope you like it!♥️ In this chapter I talk about norse mythology and christianity, and even if I’ve read about it (norse mythology, at least) I’m by no means an expert, so I had to consult some friends and people I know that are professionals. In any case, I’m sorry if I wrote anything wrong, please tell and forgive me.

Btw, thank you so much for your messages! I’m feeling better now🥰 I watched some videos of Alex and Marco and I calmed down a bit! I suppose I just need to relax a bit, it’s okay, but seriously thank you for your messages and for always being so understanding with me💞🙏🏻

Warnings: talk about religion, mentions of violence, war and all that sh1t... Ivar is too perfect I’d like to marry him but, unfortunately, I can't 

Words: don’t hate me but there’s 5492 words under this... I hope it’s worth it (?)

Heathen Masterlist

gif belongs to @therealcalicali​

For Edlynn, it was both scary and hypnotizing to see Ivar learning how to read. He seemed to understand things quickly and even if they didn't really have any materials for him to practice writing, Edlynn saw him carving letters on wood more than once, like he did with the runes. In a few days, Ivar could understand some parts of the books, even if he still needed help, and Edlynn remembered bitterly how much time it took for her to learn basic words and how many times the priest that taught her and her siblings scolded her.

In return, Ivar agreed to tell her a bit more about his culture. He talked about the Gods, even showed some runes to her, she asked him to show her their longships, and was amazed by the carvings and the designs. Sometimes, she'd ask him to translate some words from English to Norse, and soon became obsessed with his language, trying to memorize everything she could for when she went back home. Mildrith would love it. 

"Can we go back to reading?" Ivar sighed, raising an eyebrow when Edlynn asked him to translate a few words more. He had spent the entire day with Hvitserk and was on a good mood, but he was also tired. 

"Yes, sorry" she blushed a bit, realizing her eagerness was probably improper "Just one more, please" 

Ivar nodded slowly. He found her excitement adorable, and he had to hold back a smile more than once when she tried to repeat some words with a soft voice. 

"How do you say sun and moon?" she tilted her head, curiously "It's true that they are Gods for you?" 

Mildrith had told her once that the northman she had been with had told her that they worshipped the sun and the moon, as if they were Saints or Gods. And, for some reason, Edlynn became obsessed with it. 

"Those are two words" Ivar smirked "But they are Sól and Máni, and they are Gods, yes, but slightly different from the Aesir and the Vanir" he shrugged "It's a long story"

Edlynn waited a few more seconds, maybe expecting for him to keep telling the story. 

"So the moon is a Goddess?"

Ivar hummed, nodding. 

"She's a woman, sister to Sól, the sun" he shrugged.

"That makes sense" Edlynn bit her lip, interested "But, how can you say they are a man and a woman? They're not humans" she smiled softly, amused "They can't be man and woman" 

"But they are" Ivar frowned "It's like that story of yours about the Virgin, I've heard that one before, how can you tell she was a virgin?" he shrugged. 

"Because God chose her to carry his son, the one who would bring His word to us"

"You christians are too obsessed with virginity" Ivar rolled his eyes. Edlynn felt her cheeks burn, and cleared her throat. 

"It's a sin not to be a virgin when you get married"

"Yes, I've heard a lot about those sins" Ivar nodded "And I still think it's ridiculous, why would your God demand that you deny the pleasure of having sex to yourselves?"

"It's an act of purity, of faith" Edlynn narrowed her eyes. She knew the northmen were much less... Traditional, with these things, and sometimes she felt somehow curious. It wasn't a topic that was very discussed at the court, and much less at home with her father... Once, Edlynn and Mildrith saw a couple on the stables and asked Hilda about it. The nun was so angry at them that she made them pray for hours, and then made them promise they wouldn't go around talking about it.

"It's stupid" Ivar shrugged "You would be much happier if you forgot about that"

The girl pressed her lips together, a bit bothered. Ivar's smirk showed he was trying to get a reaction from her, but Edlynn wouldn't start arguing. 

"I didn't expect a heathen to understand it" she shrugged.

Ivar chuckled, shaking his head. 

"I've spent maybe too much time around christians to understand many things, but I still believe your God is weak" he licked his lips "Compared to Odin and Thor, he's weak and demanding"

She ignored him, looking back at the books and parchments they were studying. Finally, Ivar stood up, making Edlynn raise her head as he walked over to the bed, and sat down to take his braces off. She watched as his fingers worked quickly on them, freeing his legs. When Ivar started taking his clothes, she stiffened, blushing again, and stood up to tidy the books and avoid looking at him. If she had looked, she would have seen Ivar's amused smile. 

"The day and the night are also man and a woman" he continued, startling Edlynn. She turned to look at him, curious, but turned around when she realized he was shirtless "What? Are you also not allowed to look at me?"

"It's not proper" she muttered, looking down. During the nights she had been sharing his tent, she always slept with her back turned to him, and usually she would already be asleep when he went to bed. 

"Do you want to hear the rest of the story or not?" 

Edlynn hesitated, but finally turned around. He was doing it to bother her, and wouldn't give him the satisfaction of knowing it was working. The sight left her breathless. Ivar was one of the most handsome men she had ever seen, but not only his face was beautiful; he was strong, she had already noticed it when he grabbed her for the first time. Edlynn tried her best to avoid staring at his beautiful hair, collected in braids and tied that fell down his back and shoulder. 

"Dagr is the day, and he's the son of Nótt, the night, Odin gave each of them a chariot that they can ride on the sky... And two horses, Skinfaxi and Hrímfaxi" his own finger pointed at his chest, which was crossed by dark lines. Those strange drawings on his skin were normal among the northmen; she had seen those on their arms, necks, faces... It was weird but she had to bite her tongue more than once to avoid asking about them. 

Ivar had also another one on his back. Edlynn couldn't see much, but from the few glimpses she had caught, it looked like a snake. The ones he showed now had an intricate pattern, and she frowned softly while looking at them. 

"They don't look like horses" 

That made Ivar chuckle, but he didn't say anything else as she approached him, her eyes still fixed on his chest. When she was close enough, she raised her hand slowly. 

"Can I?" 

Ivar tensed, but finally nodded softly. Edlynn didn't know what to expect when her fingers touched the dark ink, but was somewhat surprised by the feeling of his skin. It was warm and his muscles tensed under her touch when her finger roamed around his chest following the lines. It was hypnotizing, and she couldn't feel anything else that wasn't Ivar. 

She found his necklace. It was always hidden under his clothes, so it caught her attention. The question was written all over her face when she looked at his eyes again. 

"Mjölnir" he answered quietly "Thor's hammer" 

Edlynn nodded. She had heard about that, and thought it would be something like the cross that hang from her own neck. 

Finally, she moved her hand backwards, almost like she just realized what she was doing and was suddenly too shy to keep touching him. Ivar's eyes were still fixed on Edlynn as she turned around, getting away from him faster than he would have liked, and soon she was laying on her side of the bed, with her back turned to him and her body tense and stiff, not bothering to cover herself. 

______________________________

Edlynn was amazed by the shieldmaidens. She had heard about them more than once, since she was a kid, and sometimes imagined herself with a sword when she watched her brother, Edward, train with their father. But when she said it once, during dinner, everyone turned to look at her with widened eyes. Both her father and her sister reprimanded her; the battlefield is no place for women, you're needed at home, praying and taking care of the children. 

Since then, the thought hadn't crossed her mind again. 

She also saw the two viking women training when they were staying with King Alfred. They moved gracefully, and easily defeated male warriors, it was entertaining and interesting to see, and Mildrith and her would always sit and watch her, but always under the stern gaze of their fathers. Once, the blonde woman she had often seen with Bishop Heahmund offered them to try. Edlynn remembered the soft smile and how she approached them. She was sure her face lightened up, but as soon as she opened her mouth, Lord Eldred was behind her, he gripped her shoulder with maybe too much force. His daughter wouldn't go near a sword, he had said sternly. And the viking woman sighed, shooting her a sad smile before leaving. 

But in that camp, even with her wrists tied and three northmen around her, she was free to watch as much as she wanted. 

There was a group of many women, training with her swords, axes and shields. They fought fiercely, but laughing and hugging each other, and Edlynn was amazed. She barely blinked and didn't know how much time she had been there watching them. The women didn't seem to care, and she felt more at ease around them than around the men. 

But when she turned her head, startled by some other sounds coming from her right, something else caught her attention. The first thing she saw was Hvitserk dodging a dagger as he trained with another viking. She knew that dagger, and soon her eyes fixed on Ivar, who was leant on a tree and smirked softly. He had a horn on his hand, and his eyes shone as they only did when he was around his brother. Next to him, Edlynn saw some arrows and a wooden bow, an axe and another sword.

He hadn't seen her, and she stayed silent and still, watching. He was relaxed, laughing and had a playful smirk on his lips. In some way, he was even more handsome. Soon, he got tired of just watching and grabbed the bow and arrows, tensing it slowly. His gaze was fixed on the tree in front of him, and Edlynn couldn't help but stare at him as his whole body tensed. She remembered when her brother learnt archery, when his arms were always shaking. Ivar didn't move a single muscle until he shoot the arrow. 

"Don't miss, brother, you have an audience" Hvitserk's voice startled both Ivar and Edlynn, and when his eyes finally landed on her, his expression changed. She wasn't able to point exactly what changed, but Ivar barely looked at her. 

"See something you like, princess?" 

Edlynn felt her cheeks burn, and pressed her lips together when she heard the guards and some other men chuckling behind her, refusing to let them see her. Ivar also smirked, leaning to grab another arrow. 

"I was just watching" she muttered. Ivar looked amused when he turned his head to look at her. 

"Want to try?" he pointed at the tree. Edlynn hesitated, knowing that grabbing a bow and shooting arrows wasn't proper. But then again... There was no one there to scold her, right? And probably, if King Alfred reached an agreement with them, she wouldn't have to see any of them again. 

She nodded softly, feeling a strange rush of excitement like the ones she used to feel when she was little and did something that was strictly forbidden. Ivar nodded at the guards and they let her go after untying her wrists. 

"I don't think you have done this before, am I right?"

Edlynn narrowed her eyes at him and snatched the bow from his hands, making him laugh. It was heavier than she ever thought, and nearly let it fall to the ground. But she could already imagine how much the men would laugh if she dropped the bow. 

"Turn around" Ivar ordered, and Edlynn obeyed slowly, still hesitating and nervous because of all those pairs of eyes fixed on her, studying her every move. She wasn't a warrior, but a noble lady that lived  in a castle, so her movements were clumsy and not graceful at all. 

She startled and nearly jumped when Ivar's hands touched her waist. 

"What are you doing?" she whispered, widening her eyes. 

"Don't you want to learn?" Ivar shrugged, an innocent tone on his voice that Edlynn didn't believe. 

His strong hands moved her effortlessly, and she tried not to blush even more when she felt Ivar's body closer to hers. She could even feel his breathing behind her neck. 

Ivar worked in silence, making sure she was on the right position before taking a new arrow. Edlynn frowned when she tensed the bow and her arms started shaking, even if Ivar was the one that practically held it behind her. 

"Stop shaking" he scolded her, and Edlynn could hear some chuckles around her. Some of the shieldmaidens had stopped training and came to watch. The saxon girl making a fool of herself, how amusing. 

Ivar's closeness, his scent and his body practically wrapped around her weren't helping. Edlynn felt her heart beating faster and faster as his fingers touched hers to position them around the arrow. 

"Now" he muttered into her ear when he was finally satisfied "Loose"

Edlynn tried her best to point at the tree, but the arrow flew next to it and got lost into one of the bushes. 

Everyone laughed. She could even hear Ivar chuckling next to her ear, and her cheeks reddened again. She glared at them and scoffed. 

"It's fine, you'll get better if you practice" Ivar had a smile on his lips, but Edlynn couldn't say if he was mocking her or actually being nice. 

One of the northmen said something loudly in their language, making everyone laugh even harder. Ivar sighed and shook his head, but had that small smirk on his face. 

Narrowing her eyes, Edlynn reached for another arrow, making everyone stop laughing and look at her with an eyebrow raised. Ivar had an even bigger smile on his face when she turned to look at him. 

"I want to try again"

_______________________________

Mildrith was furious. She couldn't understand why they kept discussing God knows what in that tent when Edlynn was held as a prisoner in the enemies' camp. It was true that she was more calmed now that the scout came back and assured she was well and unharmed. Mildrith always knew her friend would survive; Edlynn was strong and smart, but she also knew they could have hurt her in many ways. Especially Ivar the Boneless. 

She almost shivered when she thought about him. Mildrith had always wanted to see Ivar at least once, to see if what they said was true, but to be captured by him? Her mind had replayed every single story she had heard about that heathen from the women of York. 

Even that young viking she had had a quick affair with had talked about him; he was the most letal of the sons of Ragnar, a monster. 

And King Alfred knew it! He had met him more than once, he had been fighting in York after the Great Heathen Army killed both his grandfathers. How he had allowed them to keep Edlynn for so long was a mystery to her. 

Hilda kept praying, kneeled at the feet of what one day was Edlynn's bed with a cross between her hands. Mildrith didn't understand what praying would do, God didn't help her before and it seemed he wouldn't help her now. She was also angry at Him. 

More than once, she had wished she could use a sword so she could enter the northmen's camp and free her. 

"Mildrith" the nun sighed. She had dark circles under her eyes and her voice sounded weak. Hilda had barely slept or ate since Edlynn, the little girl she had raised almost as if she was her own, had been taken. She prayed day and night, hoping she would be well and no one would hurt her in any way "Please, stop pacing around the tent, sit here with me and let's pray"

"I don't want to pray" the young, raven-haired girl, clenched her fists, glaring at her "I want them to get out of that tent and go find Edlynn"

"They can't do that" Hilda sighed, her trembling hands rubbing her own face "The king is doing everything he can, Mildrith, and you know it, he appreciates Edlynn a lot, but they're asking for a high price, and he must think about the rest of the country too"

Mildrith scoffed. She hated it, she hated politics, war and negotiations. She couldn't understand it. They were in their own country! They were stronger! Why couldn't they just raise a bigger army to go and free her?

"We have do something" 

"We can't" the nun shook her head "You know we can't, we can only have faith and hope she will be returned to us soon"

The young girl sighed, sitting down on the bed. She didn't want to have faith nor pray, she wanted her friend back. Her only comfort was to know that Edlynn would have many stories to tell, when she came back. 

___________________________________

"They're asking for all of that, for a young woman?" 

Alfred raised his head, narrowing his eyes at the man who just spoke. 

"They're not asking anything, my lord, they demand all of this" he explained, slowly "And Edlynn isn't just a young woman, she is a dear friend, the daughter of one of my most trusted advisors and the sister to one of the men that I trust with my life every day"

"They want gold" Lord Eldred sighed. He was pale and had lost weight, Alfred hadn't seen him sleep nor eat for days "A lot of gold... And land, more land?" he sounded desperate. 

"Yes, but separated from the land I gave to Björn and Ubbe Ragnarsson" the king rubbed his face "They also want a truce, some time to settle on our lands" 

"That's the part that worries me" Lord Eldred shook his head "Why do they want time to settle? Do I have to choose between my daughter's death and a possible invasion?"

"We don't know if they plan an invasion, my lord" Alfred shrugged "For now, I am trying to save your daughter's life before anything else" 

"She must be so scared" her father rubbed his eyes "All alone, surrounded by barbarians, God knows what they are doing to her"

"Our scout assured she was unharmed, Lord Eldred, I believe him" the king softened his tone "Ivar won't hurt her for as long as we don't anger him" 

"I will pay as much as I can" Lord Edmund spoke for the first time since the reunion started "To ensure my lady's safe return"

Her father looked at her with a sad smile. 

"Thank you, my lord" Alfred nodded "The messenger is out there, ready to leave for their camp to give them our reply"

"What do you say, my king?" Queen Elsewith put a hand on his shoulder. Alfred took her hand softly and sighed, looking down at the table. For days, he had been thinking about his decision, trying to find the best solution for all of them. If he agreed, there would be consequences, Ivar would know he had an advantage, many of his lords wouldn't agree with him. If he refused, Edlynn would suffer things worse than death before her head was sent to them, he was nearly sure of that. 

Edlynn was a good girl. Responsible, obedient and polite. They had played together when they were children, and he couldn't stop thinking that it was Elsewith whom they wanted. Would they have so many doubts about saving her or not if it had been his queen?

He sighed. 

"I say we agree" he nodded "And that we will meet them in the forest to give them what they want in exchange for Lady Edlynn"

____________________________________

Ivar's arms hurt. It had been a while since he practiced so much archery, and the muscles of his back and arms were already sore when he retired to the tent. His face also hurt from laughing so much, and he didn't remember when was the last time he had laughed so much, probably it was when he was still with Igor. He couldn't help but smile softly remembering the kid he had learnt to love as if he was his own son. 

Before entering the tent, he could hear Edlynn whispering some words in English. He supposed she'd be reading, as she used to do since he let her read the books freely. He had to wait outside to force himself to stop smiling like an idiot before entering. 

Edlynn raised her head and smiled softly when he entered the tent. In part, it was because of her he had had so much fun that day, he never guessed that teaching archery to a saxon girl could be that entertaining.

She was also tired. Her arms hurt and she only wanted to get into bed and sleep, but at the same time every time she closed her eyes, with her head leant on the soft pillows and inhaled Ivar's scent her mind went back to his hands around her waist, his breath on her neck and the soft whispers with which he had guided her. She even remembered the small smile she had seen on his face when she had finally managed to struck the tree and her cheeks would redden. Now, seeing him entering the tent leant onto his crutch with clouded eyes from drinking so much mead, laughing with his brother and even letting himself take a nap next to the fire, made her heart beat faster again. 

"How are you, princess?" the playful tone made her nearly sigh in relief. He was still in a good mood.

"Tired" she muttered "But fine, it was... Interesting, to use a bow" 

Ivar hummed softly, sitting down on the bed as Edlynn closed the huge book she had on the bed, leaning to leave it on the floor, next to the bed, she kneeled behind him and watching him as he fiddled with the braces. She bit her lip, not knowing what to say but wanting to keep talking to him. 

"The men were quite impressed with you" he said, not looking at her "A shame we don't have time, I'm sure we could turn you into a fine shieldmaiden" 

Edlynn tried to hide her excited smile. 

"Really?" 

This time Ivar turned around a bit. His amazing eyes fixed on her curving lips before landing on her eyes. 

"Yes, I think you have potential, it would be though, we'd have to work a lot with those little arms and small hands, but we could do something" he shrugged "But we can't, you're too eager to go back to your castle, your husband and your dresses"

Her smiled faded slowly as he turned away once again. It was true she really wanted to see and hug Mildrith, Hilda, Edward and her father, but at the same time, she didn't want to say goodbye to Ivar. 

At first, she had been scared, even tried to run thinking those heathens would torture and kill her, remembering all those stories she had heard about the ruthless Ivar the Boneless. But that playful, blue-eyed northman that she had seen giggling with his brother, telling stories about his Gods and who had guided her until she had finally succeeded with the bow didn't look like the monster they described on their stories. It was almost human; a human with his own beliefs and ambitions that wasn't so different from all those men she had met in England. 

"Lord Edmund is not..."

"Not your husband yet, I know, princess" he chuckled "But he will be soon, right? Even if I would advise you to reconsider that marriage, taking in consideration that he didn't came to this camp to cut my head off for taking his woman" 

Edlynn chuckled. She knew Lord Edmund couldn't really make that decision, besides, she didn't expect him to risk his life for a woman he just met. 

"I can't reconsider anything, actually" she smiled sadly "It wasn't my decision" 

Ivar raised his eyebrows, nodding slowly. Then he moved to take off his clothes, and Edlynn looked away with her cheeks flushed. 

"If I was your father, then, I wouldn't give my daughter to a man that wouldn't die for her" 

"I can't ask him that" she smiled, his words warmed her heart "He barely knows me" 

"Wouldn't you prefer to marry someone you loved?" Ivar got rid of his shirt, and Edlynn couldn't help but take a look of the dark lines of his back, shaped like a snake. 

"I..." she frowned "I will learn to love him, he's... He's good, a good man, he's nice and handsome and... I'm lucky that he chose me, I know many women that had to marry old men that didn't treat them well... Also, I don't know anyone who married for love" she chuckled. With time, she convinced herself that love was built, not found. All those tales Hilda had told her when she was little were fantasy. 

"I married for love" Ivar muttered, almost like he didn't mean for Edlynn to hear "I did love the woman I married"

She felt as if someone had kicked her chest. Suddenly, she stopped looking at him and felt stupid for even feeling sad about the fact that he had a wife. Of course he had a wife. 

Ivar groaned as he laid on the bed, covering his legs with the furs and closing his eyes as he relaxed against the pillows. 

"I didn't know you were married"

Ivar opened his eyes, looking up with what she could describe as a heartbroken expression. 

"I was" he muttered "Some time ago" 

Edlynn tilted her head with curiosity. 

"What happened to her?" she almost felt bad for asking, but Ivar didn't seem to mind. 

"She died" his jaw clenched "She betrayed me and she died"

"And... how was she?" 

"She was... Beautiful" he almost smiled, and Edlynn bit her lip, looking down "She looked like Freyja, she was blonde and had blue eyes" 

The opposite of me, she thought, and immediately felt stupid for even thinking it. 

"She sounds pretty" she smiled softly, hating that sad look on his eyes. Ivar then turned his head to look at her, and blinked slowly, almost like he was realizing something. 

"I've only loved three women in my life" he shrugged "And one of them was my mother" 

His face contorted again, almost like it pained him to think about her. 

"And who was the other one?" 

Ivar's lips curved on a smile. 

"The mother of my child" he muttered "She was a princess, like you, but she was mysterious while you are not" he chuckled. Edlynn glared at him, but ignored his comment once again. 

"I'm not a princess, though" 

"Because you don't want to" he shrugged "You could be a princess, even a queen, if you wanted to, you are pretty enough to conquer a king" 

"Me?" Edlynn giggled, blushing softly "No, I don't think so" 

"You would be a good queen" he insisted "You're strong and smart, you respect people" Ivar nodded.

"I still need to find a king" she shrugged "Still pretty impossible" 

"Lord Edmund could be your king" Ivar pronounced her betrothed's name mockingly, as always. 

"No" Edlynn shook her head "He's handsome, brave and good, but he couldn't be my king, nor my prince, I'd have to find another" 

The intensity of Ivar's gaze burned her skin. Edlynn looked away, and moved to lay down and rest her head on the pillows, sticking to her side of the bed as she always did. 

"I never knew my mother" she muttered, changing the topic before the tension on the tent escalated too much "She died not long after I was born... She was from Ireland, from a place called Dubh Linn, have you heard about it?" 

Ivar nodded slowly. His people had raided that place more than once.

"So she wasn't a saxon?" 

Edlynn shook her head. 

"Her father brought her here when his lands were taken from him, trying to procure a good future for her and marry her to a lord, my father asked for her hand... At least, that's what they always told me" she shrugged "Father always said I have her hair, and that I look like her... I think that's why he didn't want to raise me when she died, I think it was painful for him... But I can't complain, Hilda is great" Edlynn groaned and rubbed her eyes when she realized she was talking a lot "Please, forgive me, I talk too much" 

"No, it's fine" Ivar shook his head with a soft voice, he had turned to look at her, and he felt like he was looking at a goddess. Maybe it was the mead, maybe the exhaustion, but he couldn't help but move a bit closer to her. 

"My mother died too" he added "She was killed" he clenched his fists in rage "She always cared for me, she always protected me, even when my father wasn't there" he had a small, sad smile on his lips as he remembered the, sometimes suffocating, love his mother had showed him "And I miss her everyday" 

Edlynn nodded. Even if she didn't remember her mother, she also missed her. And in some way she wished she could have had such a relationship with her, maybe she would have been able to explain to her what was that thing she felt, laying down on a northmen's bed and looking at him closely. 

"You and I aren't so different, then" she pointed out, smiling softly. Was it her or they were closer now?

"I suppose we are not" the thought seemed to amuse him "Even if we worship different Gods and speak different languages" 

When Ivar turned his head again, Edlynn was so close he could feel her quick breathing on his lips. It was nearly as intoxicating as the mead he had drank. 

Ivar's hand reached to caress her hair, making Edlynn shudder and gasp, almost like she realized what she was doing. 

"Is it not... Inappropriate to be so close to a heathen, princess?" he teased a bit, enjoying the way her cheeks turned red once again. 

"At this point..." she sighed, barely able to think about anything that wasn't Ivar "I don't really care" 

That made him laugh and his grip on her hair tightened. Edlynn wasn't lying, she couldn't think about God or anything that weren't his blue eyes and his lips parted. Without even thinking about it, she leant in while closing her eyes, and didn't stop until she felt his warm lips against hers. 

Edlynn had never kissed anyone, unlike Mildrith and some of the girls at the court, that were stolen a kiss or two in the stables or in a hidden corner of the castle. She never looked at the boys, too occupied with her books, her prayers and other important things. But she could understand now what the priests meant when they talked about temptation. Ivar's lips were addictive, better than anything she had ever tasted, and ignited something inside her that she couldn't recognize. 

The kiss was slow, passionate but also shy. They stopped kissing for a moment, but she had barely opened her eyes when Ivar's hand cupped her neck, his thumb caressing her cheek softly before he leant in again. And Edlynn had to put her hand on his warm chest to balance herself, moving her lips against his and leaning more and more into him, feeling like she would die if she wasn’t as close to him as possible. 

When they finally broke the kiss, none of them opened their eyes. Ivar was panting, one hand secured against her neck, to keep her lips close to his, and the other one had landed on her waist when she had leant into him almost straddling his waist, and his heart was beating so fast it was almost scary. Her forehead leant into his and Ivar sighed. It had been a long time since he had felt that warmth inside him. 

________________________________________

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#ivar imagine #ivar the boneless #ivar ragnarsson #vikings #ivar x ofc #vikings imagine #heathen

[therealvikingstrash]

Title: Humiliation

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Hvitserk/Ubbe

Warnings: Incest, dubious non-con, POV Hvitserk

A/N: gifs by @underragingwaves, moodboard is mine.

Words: 1,413

Excerpt:

They spoke in Saxon and you only caught a few words that sounded familiar, then, while Ubbe was groaning and recovering from the blow, Heahmund looked at you, "Did I understand correctly, you two are brothers, right?"

You didn't answer, but swallowed when the sword near your throat was raised, "Yes," you replied through gritted teeth. "What of it?" Heahmund's reasoning behind his question just made no sense to you. Of course you were brothers, what else would you two be?

"I heard you heathens had no rules when it comes to the joys of the flesh." Heahmund lamented, spinning his weapon in his hand tauntingly. "What about family, any rules there?" he smirked, eyes going back to Ubbe as he straightened again.

"We don't have sex with our kin," Ubbe replied, spitting on the ground in front of the priest, "If that's what you meant. Only you Saxon's keep it in the family." It said a lot that even you were aware that this hadn't been Ubbe's best idea and you anticipated the next blow, sending your brother to his knees, taking you down with him.

Read the whole story here!

#vtrash writes #vikings #hvitserk x ubbe #ubbe #hvitserk #smut #heed the warnings

[pomegranates-and-blood]

Salvation, Damnation

My Masterlist

Pairing: Ivar/Reader, Heahmund&Reader (brother/sister relationship)

Summary: “Where the reader is Heahmund's sister (or some kind of close relative) and she ends up meeting Ivar, but while Heahmund's always seen her as quiet, shy and insecure, she finds Ivar attractive and starts hitting on him and openly flirting with him in front of any and everyone. Ivar notices that it bothers Heahmund, so he flirts with her back until they end up spending 1 on 1 time with each other (something cute and romantic) and he starts to genuinely like her.”

I am so sorry anon if I dissapointed you, this story got away from me.

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: Mentions of violence and death, nothing major. My awful attempt at masking my dislike for Heahmund. Horrible, horrible attempts at writing sexual tension. Subtle (and not so subtle) D/s dynamics. Implied sex. Implied bondage, and knife/blood kink. Nothing exactly explicit, but still.

A/N: I really need to put my foot down and write a meek reader character at some point, they always turn out being crazy or annoying little shits. Or both.

Also, alternate title to this: two switches try to out-dom one another for 3k words. Hope you enjoy!

Taglist: @youbloodymadgenius @xbellaxcarolinax @1950schick​ @ietss​ 

Heahmund paces in front of you, head low and hand gripping tightly at his cross.

“You will be sent to Kent, I have friends there that can-…”

“No, I will not leave you.” You argue, to which your brother replies only with a sigh.

“I want you safe.”

“I will be safe with you, not surrounded by old men and priests somewhere in Engl-...”

“Can’t you see we are surrounded by enemies!?” Heahmund’s voice doesn’t rise, but it still makes you tremble, “We can’t afford to stay together.”

“Then why make that Viking take me from Lindsey? You put me in his grasp.”

“Lindsey won’t hold under English control for long,” He promises, voice almost a whisper though you can still hear the anger, the impotence, the fear bubbling beneath “It is too close to York. You’ve seen their army, they’ll…they’ll crush them all.”

“And yet you fight for them, for pagans.”

“I don’t have a choice,” His hands are warm on your arms, “But you do. I have to send you to Kent, I have to keep you alive.”

“Why would they kill me?”

“Punishment for a failure, maybe. Ivar knows he needs only to threaten your life to have me do his bidding.”

“And you think he’ll allow you to ship me away? The one thing that keeps you on a leash?” You shake your head, “Brother, this is madness.”

“I don’t care if he allows it,” Heahmund sentences, voice grave and certain. “Whatever punishment befalls on me, I shall endure.”

You shake your head again, and you want to fight back, argue, but you know that dead look in his eyes, you know that deadly stillness, that terrifying certainty.

And so you lower your eyes, and accept his words with a nod of your head.

He needn’t know you retrace each and every one of his steps, and undo his plans for sending you off to England. You will die before leaving your brother alone at the mercy of these heathens.

____

“Does your sister know how to play?” The Viking asks, moving a wooden piece on the board. Without missing a beat, he adds, “Or are nuns not allowed to learn chess?”

“She’s not a-…” Heahmund closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “She does.”

The Viking looks down at the board, and his expression twists into a mix of surprise and disapproval at your brother’s move.

“Hopefully better than you,” And it seems answering a question about you, acknowledging your presence, was a wrong move on your brother’s part. “Does she have a tongue?”

You keep your eyes on the pale ones of the youngest son of Ragnar.

“I do.” You reply slowly. The Viking only seems to grow more delighted with this little game of his.

“And you know who I am, don’t you, little dove?”

“There are more fun ways to make me say your name, you know.” You quip, and not even a thousand years of teachings of chastity and restraint could keep you from smiling when the Viking’s eyes widen, right before he runs his tongue over his bottom lip, looking…hungry.

The youngest son of Ragnar stands, using the table and then the crutch at his side to stand tall and walk towards you.

When your brother growls his name in warning, Ivar only laughs darkly, and continues approaching you until he towers over you, eyes dark and set on you.

“What would those ways be, little dove?” He reaches down, and hooks one finger on the rosary bracelet you wear, tugging on it and reminding you strikingly of bindings.

“Hands-on practice is much more…rewarding than lessons.”

“Hmm,” The Viking muses, eyes studying you with an intensity that should make you uncomfortable. He doesn’t release his hold on the rosary on your wrist, for a moment tugging on it harder and making it tighten on your skin like rope. He chuckles, “I like you. You are…interesting, for a Christian.”

“And you are…intriguing, for a Viking.”

Ivar the Boneless only huffs a laugh, but there’s still a spark of excitement in his gaze, of pride, of satisfaction.

He turns his head to the side, and addresses your brother, ordering him to leave.

Heahmund hesitates, of course he does, and his hand goes to the handle of his sword at his side. You hold your breath.

But after a moment, with the restrained anger of a dog brought to heel, the threat that he might take these Vikings and this kingdom down single-handedly if you are to come to harm written in his dark eyes; your brother takes his leave.

The Viking’s hand closes around your throat, and you only stare back at him with wide eyes as he corners you towards the wall. He is so close to you, with each breath you take you feel his armor against your own chest, you can discern every speck of blue in his eyes.

“What game are you playing?” He snarls, but you cannot find the words, your heart beating wildly in your chest and the blood in your veins singing with fear and something else. “Answer me!”

“I am not playing anything!”

“I don’t believe you,” He snarls without hesitation, lips curved into what looks like a beast threatening to attack. The hand on your neck moves up, cupping your jaw roughly and moving your head to the side. You feel his breath on your neck as he speaks again, quieter, “I don’t like being lied to.”

“I am not lying, you brute. Now get your hand off me.”

“Or what?”

Your eyes widen, but something in your blood sings at his defiance, something in his blue eyes as he dares you makes your heart quicken.

“What?”

“You heard me, little dove. What will you do, if I don’t do as you say?”

You are pushed against a wall in some Viking kingdom, with the most feared Viking alive holding you by the throat, and yet you smile at him.

You reach up with your hand, and, the same way he did earlier to you, you hook a finger on the metal arm-ring on his wrist, and tug, hard enough he feels the strain of the makeshift binding.

“Why don’t you do as I say?” You prompt sweetly, “I prefer rewarding to punishing, I have too soft a heart.”

Ivar’s lips part at your words, and naked want is written in his face. It is barely a moment, where the mask slips, the game grants you a victory, and you see him feeling the siren call of giving in.

Still, slowly his lips curve into a sinister smile, and he leans even closer.

“I don’t.” He promises by your ear, what you could swear is the scrap of teeth against the shell of your ear before he lets you go.

You stay there, back against the wall, trying to regain your breath, regain your control, as you watch him walk out of the room.

It is an easy, fun game to play, this push and pull you engage on with the Viking. Circling one another over and over, taunting one another, testing one another; waiting for the other to pounce or retreat.

You know on your end there’s more than pretense and empty words, and you dare think on his end it’s the same.

It is fun, and thrilling and liberating; and you soon find yourself enthralled by the Viking and his captivating voice, his depthless eyes that give so much away.

You know it is wrong, you know it is sinful and awful, you know no Christian would speak, wish, dream, of such things, much less with a heathen of all men.

But, at the end, you were never a very good Christian.

And so, much to your brother’s horror, you grow closer and closer to the Viking. In between the games you both play, in between the taunts and the defiance, grows what you dare call a comfortable intimacy, an understanding of one another.

It doesn’t hurt your cause that Heahmund cannot even dream of taking you right from under Ivar’s nose now, send you off to England so you can be safe, but alone.

____

A sharp tug on the rosary on your wrist draws your attention to Ivar, and you turn to him with questions written in your eyes.

“We will sail for Vestfold in two days,” He tells you, smiling slightly when you make a point of wrenching your wrist, your bracelet, from his grasp. “Will you be coming with us?”

“Are you asking me to?”

“If I were, what would you say?”

You offer only a smile, partly exasperated and partly enthralled.

Heahmund stands up from his place in the table in front of you, and with a grunt of your name stalks away, to a place of relative privacy. You notice Ivar’s eyes following your brother’s retreating back with what strikes you as suspicion, as disdain, and so you hurry to follow Heahmund.

He runs a hand through short dark hair, and shakes his head as if to try and dispel himself of his anger.

“What on God’s name are you doing?”

“I’m not doing anything,” You reply innocently, before your eyes find those of the son of Ragnar across the room. A thrill runs through your spine when you find he was already looking at you. “He is rather handsome, isn’t he?”

“Are you mad!?” Heahmund says lowly, in that way of his of yelling at you with a whisper. His brows furrow, “My sweet sister wo-…”

“Your sweet sister refuses to be shipped off to England, Heahmund,” You finish for him, “I would have believed you knew better than to expect me to leave you behind.”

“You put yourself at the mercy of Ivar the Boneless! That monster has none!”

You hear the Viking call your name from across the room, and even if you didn’t have a point to prove, you know you’d answer the call.

“I bought us -you- time, if anything.” You tell your brother, before you go off to sit at Ivar’s side.

____

The Viking King he takes you to meet -Harald, you remind yourself- is a strange character. A man that makes a strange thrill of disgust and fear run down your spine.

You don’t miss the implication of Ivar’s display. While your brother is brought in chains and forced to kneel at Harald’s feet, you remain standing at the Viking’s side, Ivar’s hold on the rosary bracelet you wear for once not the promise of thrill, of lust, but a silent oath of protection.

You awaken in the dead of night to the soft sound of knuckles rasping against your door. You hold on tight to the dagger in your hand, even though you know if any of these men wanted you dead you would be so.

Ivar stands at the other side of it, and it steals the breath from your lungs, the words from your lips.

Still, you let him in, and watch with wide eyes as he takes a seat on a low settee near your bed.

“Doesn’t it scare you? To be all alone with a heathen?”

You shrug, and find your voice again,

“If I were to fear, it would be for being all alone with a murderer, with a warrior. Not a pagan.”

“And why is that?”

You study him in silence for a few moments, before offering, “I am not my brother, I don’t share his…conviction.”

“His faith.”

“His fervor,” You correct, before sighing, “Maybe it will damn me for eternity, but…I ought to fear you, to hate you, for the things you have done and the things you will do, not the Gods you follow.”

“And do you?” The Viking asks, and your eyes narrow at his question. After a breath, eyes searching yours, he presses, “Hate me.”

“You care about some nun’s scorn?”

“You definitely aren’t a nun,” He offers, the hint of an amused smile on his lips, “And you are…fascinating, I’d like to know if you despise me.”

“I don’t,” At his strange expression, you press, “You’re disappointed?”

Ivar shrugs, head moving side to side as his mouth curves downwards, indecisive.

“I don’t know. There is something to be said about a poor Christian nun at the hands of a Viking; fearing, fighting, resisting.”

His words, the images they conjure up in your head, make a thrill run down your spine, a rush of heat settle low on your stomach. You lick your lips, and because you cannot help yourself, you offer a counteroffer,

“There’s also something to be said about a Viking at the mercy of a wayward Christian. Makes one wonder what it takes to have him…cave, obey, beg.”

Ivar laughs, shaking his head, “I’d like to see you try, little dove.”

There’s no mistaking the darkening of his gaze, the quickened breaths, the hunger in his expression, though. He wants it as much as you do, he craves control as much as he craves surrendering it.

You cross your legs and try focusing on the matter at hand.

“But you didn’t come here to talk…hypotheticals, did you?”

Ivar sobers, and you could swear he grits his teeth as he toys with the crutch on his hand.

“Harald promised us support. We will march for Kattegat soon.”

“I don’t have my brother’s strategic mind, I’m afraid,” You offer when he stays quiet. “I fear I won’t be of much help.”

“Lagertha could be dead, in a matter of weeks. I could…I could finally kill her.” He confesses, eyes falling from yours, and there’s the clear tell of anger in his expression. Anger at what you are sure he considers weakness, anger at having you be a witness to it.

“That is what you want, is it not?”

“To you Christians…my people are monsters, are we not?”

“You honor your Gods with blood, you value death over life, you pillage and burn and conquer. Of course my countrymen think that, of course they fear you.”

“Do you think I’m a monster, little dove?” Ivar asks you, taking you aback. If you weren’t so used to him, if you weren’t so familiar with the tones of his voice, with the subtle tells in his expression; you’d think he’s daring you.

You wouldn’t have believed, months ago, when he barged into Lindsey with an army at his back trying to find Bishop Heahmund’s sister, that one day you’d be sitting on front of Ivar the Boneless and see his eyes shining with hesitation, with vulnerability, with fear.

The answer you can offer is a smile, and a shake of your head. The answer he demands is the bruising kiss he presses against your lips, is the breath he steals from your lungs.

____

For all the ruckus planning a battle implies, for all the chaos that comes before a siege, for all the months of war talks and battle plans; the battle for Kattegat sneaks up on you.

On your happiness. On your sin.

Ivar presses a kiss to the inside of your wrist, eyeing the marks of rope on your skin with careful eyes. You only watch him, sated and tranquil and at peace; letting him make inventory of the marks, of the evidence of your surrender.

“Tomorrow we will march,” He tells you quietly, rough fingers still circling your wrist delicately. “Kattegat could be mine in days.”

You hum an agreement, and stretch. Because you cannot help it, you burrow into him, your face hidden at the crook of his neck, and trace your own marks on his skin, the evidence of his surrender.

The faint cuts of a knife are still visible in his chest, and when you trace your fingers over them, Ivar shudders. You smile.

“Ivar the Boneless,” You whisper against his skin, before you give in and press a soft kiss over a darkening bite mark on his shoulder. “King of Kattegat.”

He huffs a breath that could have been an amused chuckle.

“When it is all done, I…I will send your brother to York.”

Your heart drops to your stomach, and your breath shudders past your lips.

“York?”

“To defend us from some Danes that threaten it with capture. He won’t fight Christians, you have my word.

But that isn’t what made you freeze under his touch, and he knows it. Ivar swallows, and returns his gaze to the ceiling.

His hand tightens on your wrist, before he takes a deep breath.

“I want you to stay with me,” He confesses, not looking at you. “I want you at my side, I…I want to make you Queen of Kattegat.”

Your eyes widen, and you lean back, even though he doesn’t release your wrist.

“Ivar…”

“I’ll release Heahmund from his vow, he will be free, and safe. You…if you want, we can marry before your God after we marry before mine,” He promises, rushed and anxious. You realize he’s giving you reasons to say yes, as if you didn’t have enough of those written in his gaze, in his burning touch, in the marks that litter both your bodies. “I-…

You lean in, and kiss him. It has always been surprisingly useful in getting him to stop thinking, to stop talking; and you realize when he presses back against your lips with a soft sound, when his hand tangles in your hair and he brings you closer, that it continues to be so.

When you part, his eyes open slowly, and when they meet yours you see in them that emotion neither of you has been brave enough to admit yet.

“Marry me.” He whispers.

You press your brow to his with a breathed laugh, happy and mad and warm.

“Yes,” You reply, voice hushed, eyes shining. You steal a kiss from his lips, and another one when he continues to stare up at you, surprise and awe and hope written in his pale eyes. “I love you, Ivar.”

His eyes search yours, looking for the lie, for the mirage. When he finds none, Ivar smiles, wide and hopeful and happy.

“I love you, little dove.”

That night, he promises his love between fervent kisses, brands it against your skin in the mark of his fingers on your hips. That night, he demands your love with whispers of your name, steals it from your lungs in the air he robs you of with skillful fingers and tongue.

____

Soooooo, whaddya think?

Ik I need to write smut at some point, but I’m too much of a coward atm. At some point I will, and mark my words, I will return to this one shot.

Thank you so much for reading! I hope you liked it!! Love you!

#ivar the boneless x reader #ivar x reader #ivar the boneless imagine #ivar the boneless #ivar

[jackson--t]

The last one turns off the light - Chapter 2

Words: 4.6 k

Tag Buddys: @youbloodymadgenius @ritual-unions-gotme

Here we go. Remember: this is just a fun thing for me, so it's not deep or serious. 🖤 AO3 down here, or if you want to stay - underneath the link. 😁

Bjorn, Torvi, Sigurd & Uncle Alfy

 Bjorn stared at the coffin in the living room. It was a strange feeling to see it standing here, now that it was the right one - they had taken an extra look before the funeral home had left. It left a certain kind of heaviness on Bjorn's heart, and the pain of losing his father bored into his mind a little more real with this sight. Bjorn was tough, and he would hardly show any outward emotion here either - yet there was something numbing about it.

Aslaug and Ragnar's house slowly filled up. Relatives trickled in, and the priest came as well. He shook hands with Bjorn, Sigurd, and Torvi; he seemed kind and composed, and Bjorn was grateful that he did not offer his condolences as well. The fact that this funeral was much earlier than they thought was hard enough.

"I think we should start as soon as everyone gets here. Is Ivar going to give the speech after me?" the priest asked with a smile; Bjorn scratched his head slightly, then shook his head.

"Oh no, I'll... I'll give that one."

"Oh." the priest said, smiling encouragingly at Bjorn; he nodded to the three as he turned to more guests. Bjorn turned his gaze to Sigurd, who could hardly contain his laughter.

"What? That's not funny, he looked at me like I was learning disabled," Bjorn muttered; he could feel Torvi lightly stroking his back as Sigurd still laughed softly.

"You are learning disabled. That's probably what everyone who hears the news thinks," he grumbled, cashing in on a smack to the back of his head from Torvi. The three were silent for a moment; then Bjorn suddenly crossed his arms in front of his chest and stared at a man mingling with the guests with a soft smile. He seemed odd; he had brown curls and didn't seem like he knew anyone here.

"Look at that guy, Sigurd. Who the hell is that?" he whispered; his brother and Torvi also turned their gaze to the strange man, and Torvi raised his eyebrows.

"Maybe he's a friend of your father?" she said quietly; the three of them smiled affectedly as the guy looked in their direction with a soft smile.

"He's looks like a fag."

"Sigurd!"

"What, look at him. We know dad's friends, they're all different than that one. Oh my god, and here comes Uncle Alfy, oh shit. Did he have to come in a wheelchair?" Sigurd grumbled, and Bjorn had to stifle a smile. He knew exactly what Sigurd meant; Uncle Alfy may have been old, but he was by no means a smart mouth. He had the meanest mouth after Ivar, and was never above beating up people who got in his way with his cane or calling them potato Nazis.

"He just can't walk right." Bjorn retorted; he waved at Uncle Alfy, and was only dismissed with a grumbling look.

"He'll never forgive you for taking his...heeeey, Uncle Alfy!" Sigurd said, amused, as Uncle Alfy scowled and rolled over to them, and Bjorn patted him lightly on the back. Uncle Alfy's mouth twisted; he looked at the three of them and then wrinkled his nose.

"What are you losers doing here, standing around so stupid? Can we get this started now?" Uncle Alfy grumbled, looking up at Sigurd, who by now had almost hidden his smile again.

"We're still waiting for our brothers, Uncle Alfy."

"What, aren't those bums here yet? And cut your hair, you look like a used tampon!" the old man grunted before pushing past them, almost running over Sigurd's foot in the process.

Sigurd crossed his arms and rolled his eyes. "My God, why didn't he bite the dust instead of Dad? I don't think he's ever had any kind words for us. He used to call me a rug rat when I was a kid."

"Excuse me?"

A soft, masculine voice addressed Bjorn from the side; Bjorn turned slightly to the side and saw that it was the strange man from a moment ago they had been talking about; he returned the smile wanly and raised his eyebrows as the man began to speak softly.

"Hello, I'm really very sorry to bother you here... I... I'm an old friend of your father's, and I've heard a lot about you. You're Bjorn, aren't you?" the man said kindly; Bjorn's eyebrows drew together slightly, but then he nodded bluntly. His eyes remained on the man, who was still looking at him in an overly friendly manner; something told him that something was wrong with the man.

"Yes... exactly. Is there something I can do for you?" Bjorn asked.

The man smiled. "Did your father ever mention me? My name is Athelstan."

Bjorn considered; he breathed in and out for a moment, his mind actually elsewhere than on an old friend of his father's, and gave Sigurd a quick glance, who only rolled his eyes.

"No, he didn't."

"Oh, what a pity. Do you think we can talk a little later? I have something important to discuss with you."

"What here, now?" Bjorn asked; he looked at the strange man, and he nodded slightly. What was on the guy's mind? They were at his father's funeral, and no one really knew him - Bjorn could suppress his anger, but his confusion certainly jumped in the man's face.

But when Bjorn wanted to retort something less friendly, he came to no answer, because the doors of the front door opened again, and his brothers entered.

 

Ubbe, Ivar, Heahmund, Hvitserk & Eggsy

 

"Holy shit, I hate funerals," Ivar grumbled; his hand had clasped around Heahmund's forearm as he gave various relatives a smiling look.

Ivar didn't like death in general; but to be at his father's funeral now, that was really completely something he was inwardly resisting. He didn't like to feel grief, and he didn't like to see anyone feeling grief - especially his own family. His hand gripped tighter around Heahmund's arm, and he pulled Hvitserk along with him as well, who turned his head in all directions, slightly confused.

"Wow.", Hvitserk said quietly; his gaze went over the windows in confusion, and he pointed to the large pane in the living room that led out to the garden. "Dude, that looks like it's indoors outside. This room is so green."

"What?" Ivar grunted; though of course it was terrible that Hvitserk was on Eggsy's tablets; but they had to make the best of it. Stick it out, and hope no one exchanged too many words with the extremely confused Hvitserk. Ivar felt a slight chill run down his arm when he saw his father's coffin placed in the middle of the room - there was something real about it that made the whole situation not quite as funny anymore; at least for the moment Ivar's eyes were fixed on the coffin. But that was quickly changed again when he had to pull Hvitserk to him once more so that he wasn't running around haphazardly in the area.

"He's as high as anything... Just be glad Ubbe hasn't noticed anything yet," Heahmund murmured to him. They both glanced at Ubbe, who had just shaken hands with their aunt and put on his "I'm so terribly sad" look; they stared at him for a moment, then Heahmund sighed.

"I'm going to kill Eggsy for this."

Ivar grinned slightly. "Me too. Which I think is actually quite funny too, I mean... Hvitserk at least isn't sad. He would have cried all the time otherwise, you know him. So, I'd rather like this than have to see him hurt."

"Already, yes... Ah, speak of the devil." Heahmund replied, pointing to the front door; Eggsy was just entering. He was indeed wearing a shirt and jacket and had sensible pants on; but Heahmund's hand went directly to his forehead in embarrassment, and he clicked his tongue. Eggsy was wearing his ever-popular baseball cap and white sneakers to boot.

"He looks like he stole the clothes from the nearest Snipes store," Ivar laughed softly, and had to pull himself together when Aunt Helga gave Eggsy a strange look. Eggsy didn't seem to mind; he winked at Aunt Helga in amusement before joining Heahmund and Ivar. Hvitserk stared open-mouthed at the ceiling.

"Guys, I feel dressed up." Eggsy muttered, scratching at his jacket; Ivar let out a low snort, and almost choked on his own laughter when Ubbe suddenly set his sights on the four of them.

"Shh, be quiet. Ubbe's coming over, and you know what to do. Don't you actually have an antidote for this shit? I'm really scared this is going to go to shit," Ivar whispered, pressed; his arm gripped his brother tighter.

"No, man, how the hell am I supposed to... Well, Ubbe? How are ya? Sorry, funerals aren't my thing at all." Eggsy muttered, throwing Ubbe a smile; Ubbe raised his eyebrows in confusion, then nodded to Ivar and Heahmund.

"The speech of the priest is about to begin. Hvitserk, do you want to sit next to me?" Ubbe said; Hvitserk responded with a snort.

"Hahahaha, nope."

Ivar yanked Hvitserk by the arm even closer, then smiled. "He said he wants to sit next to us, it's okay, right? He's not doing so well, somehow..."

Ubbe raised his eyebrows, then turned his gaze to Heahmund and Ivar, both of whom were putting on absolute innocent airs and trying to look as composed as possible; only Hvitserk was grinning broadly and slightly drooling at Ubbe, while Eggsy scratched the back of his neck, not looking at Ubbe at all, but suddenly finding the carpet pattern on the floor terribly interesting. It took exactly two seconds for Ubbe to grab Eggsy hard by the back of the neck and pull him along.

"Hey, what the...?" Eggsy said still; he gave Ivar an uncertain look as he was dragged outside the door by Ubbe; Ivar bit his lower lip hard and looked at Heahmund.

"He knows."

"He sure does."

"I hope he leaves him in one piece, and that before the speech starts. Oh no..." Ivar grumbled, pressing his face lightly into Heahmund's upper arm; but even so he knew it was no use. "Uncle Alfy's coming over. Shoot me, please, Heahmund."

Ivar had actually still had the best rapport with Uncle Alfy; but now that he was finally appearing in public with Heahmund for the first time, he wasn't quite so sure it would end well. Uncle Alfy was already rough and rude when it came to normal people, but Ivar had a burning feeling in his throat that the old man wouldn't find his boyfriend all that funny. His fingers clutched tighter at Heahmund, and he smiled at the grumpy old man from a distance, who was slowly rolling toward them.

Hvitserk beside them audibly choked on his own spit as he murmured softly to Ivar, "Do you see a bear on a unicycle, too?"

 

Ubbe & Eggsy

 

"WHAT the hell did you do?" Ubbe murmured darkly as his fingers dug into Eggsy's collar; Eggsy gulped, but he looked at Ubbe openly, albeit with a slight look of panic in his eyes.

Ubbe had pulled him around the corner of the house so the other guests wouldn't see them; it was beautiful weather outside, and yet on a day like this it was supposed to be forbidden. But even when he had gotten up, Ubbe had had the strange feeling in his bones that something was wrong. That no matter how hard they tried, this day would end in disaster. Because that's just the way their family was. They had always been chaotic, and now that Ragnar was no longer there to keep them in check... Ubbe sighed softly, then pressed Eggsy's back harder against the wall of the house. Brown, warm eyes looked at him, and Ubbe fought the inner urge to weaken. Just not here.

"Theoretically, I didn't do anything wrong, you did. Just hypothetically, I mean.", Eggsy stuttered; his lips were slightly parted as Ubbe pressed him harder against the wall.

"What have you done? What's wrong with Hvitserk? Do you think I'm stupid? I could tell in the car when he was talking about imaginary dogs. I know your eyes, Eggsy. So, tell me."

Eggsy exhaled deeply; he turned his gaze briefly to the wonderful garden before meeting Ubbe's bright, blue eyes again. The back of his neck prickled slightly.

"There were no paracetamol in the brown bottle in the hallway. It was a new party drug I mixed together. I couldn't have known you'd give him two of them at once! And anyway, you asked me, and... you don't just take pills like that!" Eggsy complained meekly; Ubbe felt his fingers tighten violently in Eggsy's collar.

"What, you're not serious?!... That means Hvitserk is totally high? Especially today?" he asked, and Eggsy nodded; he flinched slightly as Ubbe released a hand from his collar and balled it up; his left eye tightened in anticipation of a punch, but Ubbe merely boxed his fist into the wall beside him. He exhaled deeply, then looked at Eggsy again.

"Shit... Man, I'd love to punch you in the mouth for that, for real! Do you know what kind of work that's going to be, holding him back? How am I going to explain this to mom? What's going to happen to him?" Ubbe asked darkly; his eyes once again turned to Eggsy, who by now was standing a little looser again and straightening his jacket slightly; he lightly tucked his chin.

"I don't even know myself, I was actually going to throw these in at a party tomorrow. He only has to last 12 hours, roughly, if I've done my math right. Basically, he's just happy and seeing funny colors... and apparently any dogs in the car... barking.", Eggsy said quietly; Ubbe grunted deeply and ran with a slow motion through his hair.

"Heahmund and Ivar know?" he asked, and Eggsy nodded.

"Yeah, since the beginnin'. They're trying to keep him together."

"Oh fuck, this is going to end in a disaster," Ubbe muttered; he could hear more guests entering the house, but he also noticed Eggsy's burning gaze on him. His bright eyes turned back to his future brother-in-law's little brother, his own little brother's best friend.

He looked around when he saw Eggsy's definite look.

"No, Eggsy, not here. You know very well that the risk of getting caught is too high. And despite that, it's Dad's funeral," Ubbe grumbled, trying to suppress the feeling of intense longing as Eggsy's hand closed around his forearm.

"Come on, two minutes. I can make you feel good again! We'll hide in the pantry, nobody goes in there," Eggsy whispered softly, and Ubbe allowed himself to be pulled closer, albeit grumbling.

It had been going on for a while, quite a while, that the two of them met secretly and had something together. It had first happened on one of the evenings he had picked up the unconsciously drunk Ivar and the cheerful Eggsy from a festival; after a very brief discussion of right and wrong, they had fallen over each other so violently that it was still a masturbation fantasy of Ubbe's today. The only problem was that this could never get out. Ivar would never speak a word to either of them again, and Ubbe was sure that Heahmund's fist bump would be legendary and fierce if he found out that Ubbe was fucking his little brother.

But they were also naive about their affair; even now Ubbe looked around slightly before taking Eggsy by the hand and pulling him along to the back entrance of the house.

"I know a perfect place, no one will look for us or find us there. But hurry, the speech is about to start."

 

Bjorn & Athelstan

 

"Can I speak to you just now, please?" the oddly curled man said after Bjorn greeted his brothers with a nod; Bjorn rolled his eyes slightly and looked around, but then nodded. He turned briefly to Torvi, who was standing next to him.

"I'm just going to go talk to this strange guy, maybe he'll go away. You just make sure everything goes according to plan here. And keep Sigurd and Ivar apart, okay? Where did Ubbe go anyway? He was supposed to bring me something," Bjorn muttered, and Torvi shrugged; she affirmed his task, however, before Bjorn took the strange man into one of the back rooms with a stiff nod.

They went into their father's study room; here were bookshelves, his expensive, large desk, and other things he liked; his father had always liked to retreat here. Bjorn breathed heavily; it was almost as if he could still smell his father's heavy aftershave in this room.

"Why don't you sit down? I must say, you astonish me a bit.", Bjorn grumbled; he himself sat down across from the guy, still eyeing him with slightly furrowed brows, before the latter began to speak, smiling slightly.

"I know, and I'm also sorry for just showing up today... But it couldn't be helped. Your father and I were very good friends, if you understand." the man said, smiling; he rummaged around in his strange jacket, pulling out a small stack of photos.

Bjorn raised an eyebrow; what was this becoming? Was this becoming a weird slide show? He had a strange feeling in his stomach as he picked up one of the photos, and sure enough: it was his father, along with this guy.

"I see. But what exactly...", Bjorn started, but the man pushed another photo into his hand.

"Here we are in Venice. We've done a lot of tours. And here, your father dressed up as a Viking, that was a party. He looked great, didn't he?"

Bjorn accepted the other photos as well and looked at them. His father looked happy on them, but Bjorn still didn't realize the meaning behind it. He looked at the photos for a moment, then raised his eyebrows again. His gaze fell on the man who still had a photo in his hand, which he held strangely twisted. Bjorn exhaled deeply, then said, "I don't quite understand what they want. I'm going to leave now, and you're going to stay at the funeral normally, okay? I don't have time for this."

"Wait. I have one more thing...You know, I loved your father," the man said, and Bjorn grunted.

"We all did."

"No, I really did lo... oh, see for yourself."

He thrusted the last photo into Bjorn's hand, and Bjorn's mouth dropped open.

For a moment he just stared at the photo like something that didn't exist; like it simply wasn't there, and yet there it was on his hand, staring back at him, pulling all the ground out from under him. It took him a while to even wake up from his stupor, then he hissed.

"What the fuck...No, that's... no."

"Yes, it is, I'm sorry. Did he ever mention me?"

Bjorn swallowed; he stared at the photo where his father and this strange guy were... and that naked. In a clear pose, and his father was grinning at the camera to boot. For a moment Bjorn didn't believe it was true, but there was no doubt in his mind.

"No, did he... oh my God, does our mother know?" Bjorn said; his shock bored deeper and deeper into his bones, and he had to catch himself for a moment. He had expected many things, after all. But guaranteed not that a curly-haired asshole would show up at the funeral and hold out gay photos of him and his father.

"No, she doesn't know, and she doesn't need to know... And that's my problem, you know? Your father and I, we loved each other, and I feel... so cheap, like a tramp, yes. I want a part of the inheritance, otherwise I'll go around showing everyone the photos."

Bjorn stared at the man.

The brown curls and warm face screamed innocence, but he wore the glint of the devil in his eyes. Against this man, Ivar seemed almost the image of the Christian and holy virgin, and Bjorn had to swallow hard.

"You come into our house, and blackmail me at my father's funeral? Really?" he said, and the man shrugged.

"I'm sorry, but I don't know any other way to help myself. Ten years we knew each other."

"Oh man." Bjorn ran his hand over his forehead and sighed deeply; his head was spinning.

Of course, he would have loved to smash the dwarf's skull in and throw him out on edge. But he couldn't ruin his father's reputation either, certainly not in this way, and certainly not on this important day. His mother would have a heart attack, guaranteed, and his brothers first... Bjorn raised his eyes again and grunted darkly.

"How much." he said bluntly, and the man named Athelstan smiled.

"Oh, ten thousand is enough for me. That would be... reasonable."

Bjorn stared at him for a moment; he had to resist his inner urge to smash one of Dad's bronze sculptures on the guy's head here and now; and as he looked around the room, it suddenly struck him all at once what kind of figures they were; fighting, naked men, young men touching each other. He had never paid attention to these statures, but now it felt like the gayness was surrounding him just with every single inch of this room.

"Oh man, Dad...," Bjorn grumbled softly, then turned his gaze back to the guy.

"Wait here. I'll discuss this with my brothers, and then... we'll see what happens. Will you disappear for good when we pay?"

Athelstan nodded. "I'd be gone, of course. Without a word And I'll wait."

“With these… disgusting pictures.”

Bjorn stood up, after giving the guy another threatening look, and left the room; he left the clear photo in his jacket pocket and walked towards the main room. Everything inside of him was spinning.

 

Heahmund, Ivar & Hvitserk

 

"Where is everybody? Sigurd is just standing in the corner looking like an idiot, and Torvi is just running after our mom...She got fat, didn't she? And where the hell are Ubbe and Eggsy? And where's Bjorn?" Ivar grumbled quietly; he had already taken a seat with Heahmund and Hvitserk on a couple of the many chairs placed in front of the coffin - many people were already seated, but most were still standing around talking quietly. Ivar snorted; he looked at Heahmund, who was smiling at an elderly lady.

"Will you stop flirting with old grannies, you disgusting dream of a son-in-law?" Ivar growled, and Heahmund laughed softly. He let his gaze slide around the room again, but there was no sign of his little brother and Ubbe; and it was beginning to seem strange to him.

"I flirt with whom I please. We're not engaged yet." Heahmund joked, almost regretting having said that; for a deep wrinkle bored into Ivar's forehead, and he looked at Heahmund with narrowed eyes.

"Asshole. Good, then I can flirt with other guys, besides, you're old enough to propose to me!"

"Ivar, please don't bring that up today."

"No."

"Yes!"

"Guys, the coffin is moving." Hvitserk mumbled dryly between them; he had opened his mouth and looked at his younger brother in shock. Ivar frowned and took a quick look at the coffin; but it was still standing there. Quiet.

"Hvitty, it's not moving. Shut up, we'll buy you an ice cream in a minute, too," Ivar muttered; he smiled wanly at Aunt Helga, who was sitting immediately nearby. Sigurd also moved in their direction; he sat down next to Hvitserk, who was still staring at the coffin with wide eyes.

"It moved..." Hvitserk said a little louder, and several people looked over at them. Ivar bit his lip hard and pulled Hvitserk closer; he could see Sigurd's questioning face, but he would not and could not explain it now.

"Hvit, please be quiet now, I'm begging you... People are already looking," Ivar hissed; he had his hand firmly cupped in Hvitserk's forearm, but Hvitserk pushed his hand away easily. He blinked a few times in panic, and then stood up even before Ivar could grab hold of him.

"Guys, don't you see that? THE COFFIN IS MOVING! DAD, are you alive?!" Hvitserk roared, lunging towards the coffin.

Heahmund, Ivar, and Sigurd ran after him, trying to stop him before he could lunge at the wooden coffin; only with their very last strength and effort could they hold the roaring Hvitserk away from the coffin, and yank him away. People were shocked, staring at them as they pulled Hvitserk out into the fresh air with some commotion; Aunt Helga fainted, Ivar saw it clearly before he and Heahmund and Sigurd maneuvered the still wriggling Hvitserk out the door.

"My God, what's the matter, Hvitserk?" Sigurd cried, aghast; the three stared at Hvitserk, and Ivar had to swallow hard.

"He took pills from Eggsy, and they were...not so good. You know he's not usually like that."

"What, it was clear that your family was going to fuck up here again, Heahmund!" Sigurd sighed at Heahmund, and Ivar stood protectively in front of Heahmund.

"He didn't do anything, actually it wasn't anyone's fault, it was an accident!" Ivar said; meanwhile Hvitserk was walking through the garden laughing softly and touching the leaves of the hedge. He could be heard singing softly.

"Oh man, but what kind of pills were those, please? Mom's going to freak out! Just look at him...did he just call the leaves his friends?" Sigurd grunted; the three watched Hvitserk roll up a green leaf and play it like a flute; the three looked at each other for a moment, then Ivar sighed.

"We have to watch him, I mean..."

But he got no further, for suddenly Bjorn came running out of the door; he was breathless and looked terribly pale. His eyes were fixed first on the dancing Hvitserk, then on the three, who were looking at him as bewilderedly as he was at them.

"What's wrong with Hvitty?" Bjorn said breathlessly; the three looked at each other for a moment, then Heahmund said quietly, "Long story, really. Did something happen?"

"Guys, you need to come with me. Real quick. And where's Ubbe? He has to come, too. You won't believe what happened. Remember that weird curly-haired guy who was hanging around the corners like a sex offender?" Bjorn said breathlessly; Sigurd nodded, and Ivar and Heahmund shook their heads.

"He... Oh man, I don't even know how to say this. Find Ubbe, now! Meet me in Dad's study room. Please. It's life and death, so to speak. And... um..." he said, casting an uncertain glance over at Hvitserk, who was apparently on an important phone call with a leaf; the brothers and Heahmund looked at each other, then Bjorn added, "Best we lock Hvitserk in a bathroom or something. You do that, Sigurd. And Heahmund and Ivar, you look for Ubbe, and then quickly to the study room! The speech will have to wait, the priest already knows!"

With these words, Bjorn disappeared into the doorway, and the three looked at each other questioningly.

"Well guys... I don't want to say anything, but the day already started out shitty when they delivered the wrong coffin," Sigurd muttered; he rolled up his sleeves and nodded to the two before turning towards Hvitserk; Ivar bit his lip.

"Well, great. After all, I'll be interested to see what kind of disaster Bjorn has to report. He looked like he'd seen a ghost," he muttered, nodding at Heahmund. "Come on, I think I know where we can find Ubbe. He's probably giving Eggsy an endless lecture about drugs and shit, and I don't want those two fighting to the point of yelling again."

"Sure." Heahmund mumbled, letting Ivar pull him along. He took one last look at Sigurd, who was trying with angelic patience to corral Hvitserk, while the latter was only lightly singing as he jumped away from his brother.

What a strange day. It could hardly get any worse.

#vikings #ivar the boneless #heahmund x ivar #ubbe x eggsy #eggsy unwin #ubbe lothbrok #bjorn ironside #modern hvitserk #modern au

[the-girl-in-the-box]

Not Today- XXXIV

A/N: Aaand, another late chapter, oops! I had a bit of a crazy week, finishing preparations for an audition I had Wednesday for a music program at my university, then passing the audition, scrambling to get my schedule sorted on Thursday, attending my first day of classes Friday, and making up any work I missed Friday afternoon and all day Saturday. YIKES! 😅 But, I’m very happy in this program, and I can tell I’m finally right where I’m meant to be. Unfortunately, all that did lead to another late chapter, but I have made it an extra thousand words- hopefully that makes up for the lateness!! A trigger warning for child abuse toward the end (canon typical), but enjoy the chapter! Even bigger things are coming soon 👀 Skål!

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

Masterlist

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Ivar was woken first by the light streaming in through their window, and he shifted slightly as if he could avoid it. He felt Asta shifting with him, though far more subtly, as she moved only to press her back closer to his side. He smiled a little, turning his head toward her, and then he shifted once more. Rolling up onto his side, he let one of his arms drape over her waist, and then pulled her tightly against his chest, burying his face in her hair. He found it blocked the sun out perfectly, and so he let out a contented sigh. Yes, he could get used to this.

She rolled over, and he chuckled a bit to himself as he felt her turning back towards him, her arms wrapping around him and head tucking up under his chin.  He adjusted his grip to hold her more securely, his hand resting against her upper back as he pulled her under his arm. There was a greater intimacy between them now, he realized, than there had been before. All the nights they’d slept at each other’s sides, he had still held her then, but it hadn’t been the same as this. Whatever wall she had put up between them had finally cracked that night. With it, Ivar’s insecurities about her had as well.

Now, as he pulled back just a bit to look down at her, he smiled softly. The early morning light was reflecting gently off her skin, making her almost seem to glow in it, contrasting with the thick, dark waves which stretched out behind her. Truly, he would believe she was a goddess, if he was told it was so. As it stood, he believed with all his heart she truly was a Prophet.

“Your blood is fated together.”

The words entered his mind in the Seer’s voice, and when Ivar lifted his eyes, he saw him, sitting somewhere just behind her. But it wasn’t his own voice he heard reply, it was hers.

“Our blood?” she asked. “How can our blood be fated together?”

“In the blood of your fathers,” the Seer answered, no less frustratingly vague than he had been in life. “In the blood of your sons. King begets King, Priest begets Princess, and blood is fated to blood. The darkness grows as the light stays by his side. The tides are pulled by command of the moon.”

“What do you mean by that? What moon, and what tides?” she questioned.

“You are surrounded by the tides, Prophet. But they do not darken your light. You remain. You are all that remains. Wake, and drown in them.”

Asta’s eyes opened suddenly, taking a deep breath as she looked up at Ivar. He found himself blinking a few times, and… he smiled. Even though he knew she had rather mundane ways of making her prophecies, he had no doubt she was somehow truly a Prophet. If the Seer were here, were still alive, and could somehow speak with her, he would say the same. Ivar was sure of it.

Confusion crossed his face as he saw it grow in her, and she even sat up a bit, took a little bit of a look around. “Was there a man in here?” she asked, looking back to Ivar now with her brows drawn. He shook his head.

“None that I’m aware of,” he said. If there had been one, he’d snuck in while they’d slept. But Ivar couldn’t recall anyone but himself and Asta. “Did you hear something?”

“A man’s voice,” she answered. “He spoke to me. You’re sure you heard nothing?”

“I heard nothing,” he answered her honestly. “I have only been awake a few moments, but I think I would have noticed. Did you dream it?”

“Perhaps.”

“They say the Seer has appeared in dreams to people,” he told her. “I have not seen him since his death, but I know I have heard it said.”

Asta hummed, growing more thoughtful at this response from Ivar. “Was he a strangely cryptic man?” Ivar chuckled.

“There was nothing he said which made any sense until you saw it played out in your life,” he replied, which in turn made her chuckle as well. “What did the man in your dream say, hmm?”

To Ivar, it was beginning to sound as if the Seer had come to Asta in a dream, which was only serving to further convince him she was truly a Prophet. If the Seer gave her a prophecy, could that be how she knew to say some of what she did? Things such as her various warnings to Oleg? That would certainly make sense.

“He told me the tides would be pulled at the command of the moon.”

Ivar froze.

He’d heard those words, once before, when the very same prophecy had been given to him. Many times, he’d reflected on it as he watched Asta, and as he found himself doing whatever it was she needed. Even now, as he had proposed marriage to her, not only to ensure he never loses her, but also for her own security in Wessex, he was doing all he could for her. He couldn’t remember the last time another person had had such influence over him.

Well, there was Freydis. And, had Asta not stayed so steadfastly by his side, he might have questioned her in the aftermath of Freydis’s betrayal.  But as it was, he found that he trusted her. He wanted to trust her. He didn’t know if he would be able to take her betrayal, not so shortly after Freydis’s. He needed her, and so he was pulled at her command. Ivar the Boneless would always be pulled at the command of Asta the Prophet.

He hummed, and brought a hand up to push her hair behind her ear. “What do you think it means, hmm?”

“I don’t know,” Asta replied. She leaned into Ivar’s touch, the way he brushed her hair back, and gave a sigh. “He said many other things, but nothing I could pick any meaning out of.”

“Try not to worry too much then, my love,” he said. “Just take some time to rest, instead.”

Asta nodded a little, taking in a deep breath and letting it out in a long exhale. “You’re right,” she said. “Yes, I’ll just…” She paused as she looked up at him, and cupped his jaw with her hand. “I’ll focus on you instead.”

Ivar smiled and nodded. “And I will focus on you,” he promised. He let his hand move from her hair to her back, pulling her closer as he leaned down to press his lips to hers. The little hum she gave, a sound of contentment he had learned to recognize from her the night before, made warmth spread through his chest. Indeed, if he could wake up with her like this every morning, he would die a happy man.

Unfortunately, as with all things, their morning together eventually came to an end, and Ivar and Asta had to get up and prepare for their day. Their routine was well established by now, and they moved around their chambers as if they’d been practicing this all their lives- stopping to help the other as needed, and finding the other there almost before the request was made.

If nothing else, they were nearly perfectly attuned to the other. Ivar would take a different breath when he was about to speak, and if he was sitting on the bed without his braces, then Asta knew what he wanted before he had even voiced it. She’d easily go to get his braces, and bring them to him, helping him to get them on his legs without being asked. 

Likewise, she would give a very particular huff when she was struggling with her hair, and so Ivar would call her over before she even requested he help her with it. A perfect team was what they had become, and when the time came for them to take Igor to the market, both were prepared simultaneously, and ready to start their day. It was all terribly convenient, and gave them a sense of domesticity with the other about which they’d never complain.

Igor was already prepared to leave when they arrived at his chambers, and today, he’d clearly decided to bring along his puppet. Asta had smiled when she saw this, and chuckled softly.

“Ah, the King will be joining us today, then?” she asked him teasingly, and Igor grinned and nodded.

“He has decided he wants to get out,” he replied. “See his Kingdom.”

“Is that so, your Majesty?” Ivar asked the puppet.

Taking on a voice as if the puppet were speaking, Igor answered, “It is. I want to see my people, and how they are doing.”

The three went into the marketplace as they had planned, walking about and looking at different things for sale, laughing at a hat Asta tried on which didn’t suit her at all, and Ivar even bought a necklace for her, which did rather well suit her. It was a silver pendant, in which was carved the Triskele, a symbol of growth and change. The symbol seemed rather fitting, and so when she took to it, he gifted it to her. She’d grinned and hugged him happily, kissed his cheek, and asked him to put it around her neck. Seeing her so happy with the little gift had warmed Ivar’s heart.

Later, sometime that afternoon, a man approached Ivar while Asta was off at another booth, entertaining the boy with something. The message was something Ivar wasn’t overly fond of hearing, but accepted, and went to Asta and Igor with. “We must go,” he explained, and Asta sighed softly.

“Can I assume that…?” she began, and he gave a nod. This only caused her to let out an irritated huff. “He can’t even give us a day, can he? One day, just to do whatever we feel like?”

Ivar chuckled softly, and shook his head. “Apparently, he cannot,” he said. “Come.”

Asta rolled her eyes again, and turned to Igor. “Well?” she asked the boy. “Are you coming?”

“Where are we going?” he questioned, though he did follow Asta and Ivar as they started back toward the palace.

The latter of them answered, “To see Uncle Oleg.”

Igor wasn’t happy with this answer, and so decided to entertain himself by speaking once more through his puppet. “About what?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” Ivar replied. “Oleg is… an enigma.”

“What’s an ‘igma’?” Igor asked then, confused enough at the word to drop the puppet voice and look up at Ivar. Asta chuckled softly, and corrected him.

“An enigma,” she said.

“What’s an enigma?”

Ivar chuckled softly, and shook his head. “I’ve no idea,” he replied.

“An enigma is something that cannot be understood,” Asta explained to them both. “And… a very fitting description for Oleg.”

Igor had stopped paying so much attention to what Asta and Ivar were saying, wondering to himself what it might be that his uncle wanted with them that was so important he had to interrupt their day out. “Perhaps Uncle Oleg wants to give me a present,” he suggested somewhat hopefully.

“Perhaps he does,” Asta agreed. She rather doubted it.

But, it was enough for Igor, who smiled and said, “Perhaps he wants to give me half of the sky.”

Ivar and Asta shared a brief look. The sky did not belong to Oleg, and so to hear Igor speak as though it did, even after the talks they’d had with him, was concerning to say the least. Ivar stopped, putting a hand on Igor’s shoulder as he turned to him.

“He cannot give you something that is already yours,” he told the boy seriously. “Remember that, hmm?”

Asta looked up, back toward the palace, where she found Oleg watching them from the balcony just above the door. He turned and went inside.

The trio soon found their way back into the palace, and into the main dining hall, where Oleg was already waiting for them, sitting at the head of the table as he did so. Katia sat to his right, and Asta swallowed slightly at the sight. Something didn’t sit right with her about this, though she wasn’t sure just what it was.

“Prince Igor,” she greeted, smiling at the sight of him. “And Ivar the Boneless and Asta the Prophet. How very lovely.” She smiled as well at the Vikings. “Will you have some tea?”

Oleg patted the place to his left as the Princess stood, gesturing for Igor to come and sit there, and the boy did so eagerly. Asta, still more than a touch suspicious, lifted her brow as she watched Katia go for the pot.

“Tea?” she questioned.

As opposed to answering, Katia simply repeated, “Tea,” with a warm smile.

Asta hummed and sat down, as Ivar asked, “What is tea?”

“A plant, from Asia,” Katia replied.

Of course, she answers him, Asta thought a bit bitterly.

As Ivar sat down beside her, Katia knelt to pour him a cup of tea, holding eye contact with him for far longer than necessary. She repeated this exactly with Asta, who looked up into her eyes with a silent question behind them. What are you playing at? they almost seemed to ask.

Katia’s seemed to answer, Trust me.

Asta blinked a few times, confusion crossing her face. Something in Katia’s expression made the Shieldmaiden want to do exactly that, though realistically she knew doing so would likely be a horrible decision. But what if it wasn’t? What if trusting Katia was something she was meant to do? What if nothing was as it seemed here in Kiev, and Katia was not doing as she seemed to be?

Oleg spoke again, pulling Asta’s attention away from the Rus Princess with his anxious tone as he suggested, of what tea was, that it was, “Medicine, perhaps,” and chuckled shortly after.  So, Katia’s behavior was unsettling? Asta’s attention immediately returned to her, as Oleg began to try and move things along. “I thought you might be interested in the further plans for the invasion of your countries,” he said. “I mean, of course, our countries.”

A telling, “Hmm,” from Katia, who finished pouring the tea, and returned to her place at Oleg’s side.

Ivar replied, “Of course,” but Asta was now unable to stop thinking.

There was a message in Katia’s little hum, something about what Oleg had just said. What had he just said? The invasion of your countries. I mean, of course, our countries… Had that been a slip of the tongue, or of the subconscious? What was he saying through that?

She began to pay more attention as he explained, “As you know, we cannot put our plan into operation until next spring,” wanting to see if she could pick up on anything else out of the ordinary. “However,” he continued, “it seems to me it would be ill-advised to commit such huge forces into many unknown…”

At this time, Igor began to play with the puppet again, bored of the conversation regarding so much plotting and planning. He was still a child, after all, and what child wanted to plan the invasion of another country? Oleg noticed this, and gave a small sigh as he finished, “...theatres of war.”

Igor got up then, carrying the puppet around behind Oleg to go and sit beside Katia, who wrapped an arm around him and began to tend him much as a mother would. Oleg ignored this, and continued to speak.

“I know you can advise us on what we are likely to encounter,” he said to Ivar and Asta, “but I feel as though we need a more current and a much broader knowledge of those countries…” He became distracted by Igor pretending to feed the puppet, watching him for a few moments before continuing with a groan, “we plan to attack.”

Ivar could see the irritation beginning to grow in Oleg, and it occurred to him that if the man’s attention was not pulled away from the boy once more, he may lose his temper. That was something no one there, he didn’t doubt, would want to see. “Strategy and planning are everything,” he agreed as means of doing exactly this, and tapped the side of his head for emphasis. “The mind is a far better battlefield than the sword.”

“My intention is to send small raiding parties,” Oleg explained. Ivar’s plan had worked, then. “To take prisoners, from whom further information can be gleaned.”

Igor again got up, and moved to sit just to Ivar’s right, as if having been reminded by the Viking speaking up that he was there, and could indeed be sat with. Said Viking answered Oleg, “I agree, that is very sensible.”

“And, perhaps you would even consider appointing us to lead a couple of these raiding parties?” Asta suggested. 

Oleg looked to her, as if a bit surprised she would make this suggestion. But, he smiled falsely at her, and replied insincerely, “I will definitely take your request into consideration. Although, Katia and I both enjoy your… intimate company.”

Asta wasn’t surprised he was already wanting to turn this down. After all, the entire reason she did want to go was to see if she could run into Hvitserk, or perhaps Torvi, Ubbe, even Björn… There was still a horrible feeling in her gut when she thought of Lagertha, of the nightmare she’d had concerning the older Shieldmaiden, and if she could just make contact with one of her old friends, without alerting them to Ivar’s location… she thought she might be able to find something out, and set her mind at ease.

She stopped staring Oleg down as Katia spoke up, seeming to agree with her husband. “You are both… very intriguing,” she said. “Some of the things you say surprise me, and I never know what you will say next. You claim there is a connection between us, which I cannot fully understand…”

Ivar smiled tightly at her, and Asta hummed. “I wish I could understand it,” she said. “You aren’t alone in that lack of understanding. In fact, I find it likely that only the gods know.”

Katia hummed, but before she could answer Asta, Igor began to beat the hand of the puppet on the table, as if the puppet were demanding everyone’s attention. Oleg glared irritatedly, but Ivar took a different approach, looking instead to appease the boy.

“What do you say, Prince Igor?” he asked. “Do you want to come with us on a raiding party?”

“I must consult the King,” Igor said, and Ivar acquiesced with a hum, and a gesture to the puppet which clearly encouraged Igor to do so. Taking on the puppet’s ‘voice’ once again, Igor said, “I think you should make your own decisions!”

Oleg cracked.

“What are you doing, huh?!” he demanded, almost launching himself to his feet and storming around the table toward Igor. He pulled the boy up to his feet, and yelled, “Are you crazy?” before throwing him back down again.

Asta gasped, but before she could get up to push Oleg away from Igor, Igor himself stood, and putting the puppet between himself and Oleg, speaking once more through it, he shouted back, “I am not crazy! I am the King and I own everything! This table, this room, this palace! I own the land and the sky!”

Ivar watched, almost as if enthralled or entranced, as Igor finally stood up for himself. It was a far cry from the anxious expression his ‘wife’ wore, and her hand closed around his arm tightly. Oh yes, she was anxious indeed.

And, she was right to be, as Oleg then screamed, and snatched the puppet away from Igor, throwing it to the ground and stomping on it, shredding it until it was nothing more than chips of wood. When Igor tried to run, Oleg grabbed him by the back of his collar, and threw him down as if he weighed no more than the puppet. He got down into Igor’s face, and snapped, “Don’t do that anymore! Don’t be stupid. You are not the King, you are my ward. I am responsible for you, and without you, you are nothing. Do you understand?” Igor tried to look away from him, and Oleg grabbed his jaw, forcing the boy’s attention back. “Don’t ever try to make fun of me again, or I’ll cut out your tongue and feed your liver to my dogs.”

Finally released, Igor jumped to his feet, and fled the room. 

Asta, horrified, turned to watch Oleg as he stood, straightened his coat, and returned to sit beside Katia once more- though, the Princess seemed to, at the least, be judging Oleg’s actions quite harshly in her head. “He’s a good boy,” Oleg said. “He just needs to be controlled.”

Katia took a sip of her tea.

When the room remained silent, Oleg again spoke. “You had a child once, didn’t you, Ivar?”

Asta’s eyes hardened, and she glared daggers at Oleg, sensing how Ivar tensed up beside her in a highly uncomfortable way. He gave Oleg a tight smile, took his crutch, and stood. “Forgive me,” he said. “I’ve had enough to eat.” The way he picked up the shattered puppet, and carried it from the room, revealed that was far from the true problem.

Asta took a deep breath, closing her eyes briefly as she stood, and looked down at Oleg. His eyes met hers once more, preparing for another battle of will with her, but today, she wasn’t playing. She spoke one sentence. “The gods will judge you harshly, Prince Oleg.” One sentence, and she left.

Ivar and Asta had eventually found Igor up in the nest in his room, and both had managed the climb up in there to sit with him. The boy now rested against Ivar, who held him tightly, with Asta’s arms wrapped around them both. 

“Do not weep, dear Igor,” Ivar said softly, and pressed a soothing kiss to the top of his head. “Sweet child, do not weep. We are here, now.”

Asta knew Igor likely didn’t realize the full meaning of Ivar’s words. But she did, and she agreed with him wholeheartedly. She and Ivar had become fiercely protective of Igor, in their time in Kiev, and now that they were there, they weren’t going to let Oleg get away with treating him like this. No, on the contrary.

They were going to make him pay.

Taglist: @youbloodymadgenius, @katfett, @sylki-simp, @heavenly1927, @pomegranates-and-blood, @kingniazx, @dekusdante

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#ivar the boneless #ivar #ivar ragnarsson #alex høgh andersen #ivar's heathen army #ivar x oc #ivar x original female character #ivar x ofc #ivar x christian!oc #vikings #vikings history channel #history channel vikings #not today #chapter thirty-four

[thewrittingworldofeva]

"God or Gods, does it matter?" PART 13

The base of the story :

“York is envied by the vikings and during the battle Ivar sees a Saxon girl fight with one of his warriors. The protagonist has a brother with the same disease as Ivar.”

Ligeia arrived at their settlement. She looked around her, making sure that she knows her surroundings. She was technically on the enemy side, everything can happen. Especially because she is a foreigner. She hides her anxiety, with a confident walk and a neutral face. They bring her under a little tent and give her a cup of ale. She hesitates at first, but finally, grabs the drink. “You can sit.” Offers Lagertha sitting in front of her. She doesn’t argue and sits. “Why did you want to talk to me?” Questioned Ligeia straight forward. “I know Hedda Shewolf, your mother.”

Ligeia’s heart starts beating fast. She hopes for years to know more about her mother's history, but, that was too dangerous in England because of where she is from. “How can I believe you?” Even so, she was thrilled with excitement, she was also very suspicious, that can a ruse. “She was my best friend. I grew up with her.” Announced Lagertha, smiling at the memories. “She was a great warrior and very smart. But also very curious, putting herself in danger!” Ligeia smiles, remembering exactly these qualities of her mother. “My ex-husband, knows her too, Ragnar. We were inseparable.” She continued her story, taking a sip. “Then she met this priest Treader. Curious about his faith, she questioned him every day he was here.” Lagertha laughs, making Ligeia chuckle.

Bjorn, Ubbe, and Torvi were listening silently. Bjorn has the chance to meet the woman before she left. “Obviously, they fell in love, deeply. I never see a man looking at her like he was looking at her. And that was the same for her. So, it’s natural that when he has to leave, she has decided to go with him.” Knowing that her parents were deeply in love, and her mother having the courage to leave her country for a man, is beautiful. “She was an incredible shield-maiden. Fierce, brave, and wise. She prevents us to make a useless man loss. I can see that you have that of her.” The queen finishes, looking at the brown hair girl. “And I don’t understand, why you are fighting with Ivar.”

Ligeia looked at the liquid in her cup. She sighs and raises her head. “He invades York. I kill one of his men when I tried to run away with my little sister. He saw the fight and he sends men to find me. He takes my siblings and me as prisoners. I am just protecting my siblings, you need to understand that.” Acknowledged Ligeia looking at everyone. “They are all that I have, I can’t lose them. They are the reason I am still alive.” She vouched with emotions. Bjorn looked at her taking her fully. She was tired but deeply sad. She didn’t have the time of grief. She grew up too fast, taking responsibilities to a younger age. “You just want to protect them, that honorable.” He said softly, meeting her eyes for the first time. Intense and unique. Deep down, he knows that she will be the reason for their salvation. The end of this war.

The morning after, Bjorn brings her back to the field that they were yesterday. She slides down the horse and starts walking. “Ligeia.” He called her. She turns herself, waiting for him to continue. “Please, try to resonate with him.” He begged. She looked down a second, feeling the weight on her shoulder. “I see what I can do. But I can’t promise you anything.” She says. “I know, but that’s enough for me.” She said goodbye with a slight movement of the head and make her way to her settlement. A few meters away from the camp, the guards start screaming: “Someone approaching!” Men's starts to get agitated thinking this is an enemy. One of them alerts Ivar and Harald. Ivar grabs his crotch and gets out of his tent. He approaches the entrance of the settlement. He immediately recognizes her. The little, human sea, let her pass, she stands in the face of Ivar. “Where are they?” Demand Ligeia. He quickly analyses her face and body, to find no scratches. “In my tent.” He informed her. She bypasses him and goes straight to his tent.

Dinner time arrived, the night as settled, Ligeia has taken off, the heavy pieces of her armor. Rosalia on her lap, she tried to braid her hair. “Rosi stop moving! I can’t braid your hair if you are moving!” She giggles at her little sister. “But I want to hug you!” Cries blondie. “I know, but if you stop moving, I will be already done and you can hug me.” Rosalia stops moving and Ligeia can swiftly braid her hair. “Done!” She announced. Rosalia turns herself, encircles Ligeia's waist with her legs, and rests her head on Ligeia’s neck. Enveloping her little body with her arms, she strokes her back and puts a kiss on top of her hair.

Closing her eyes, she hums a lullaby. Apollo lays on the small bed, was holding hands with Ligeia. Relaxes, he closes his eyes too and falls asleep. Ivar walks in the direction of the three siblings' tent, he enters without announcing himself and froze when he sees the picture in front of him. The love between brother and sisters, true and pure love. Ligeia is still humming, didn’t hear him coming. He clears his throat. Ligeia opens her eyes and looks towards the entrance, and finds Ivar standing there. He doesn’t need to talk, that she understands that he wanted to talk to her. She puts Rosalia on the bed, next to Apollo and covers their bodies with a blanket. She goes out of the tent, followed by the Viking.

“Help me takes them off.” He says, sounding more like an order. She agrees and followed him. Walking next to him, she may observe that everyone was looking at her. She didn’t know if that was because she was walking with their leader or just because of her. Entering his tent, she realizes that she is in his intimacy. She felt trapped. He sits on the edge of his bed, looking at her. Hesitant she takes small steps. She kneeled and starts to undo his mental splints. A grimace of pain, twisted his face when her legs are free. Whiteout asking any questions, she starts massaging his legs, like she does for her brother. Ivar’s body tenses a little, not used by someone touching his legs.

“What did she tell you?” He couldn’t hold it anymore, he needs to know. “Nothing about you, sorry.” She said looking at him through her eyelashes. He grabs her by her shirt and pulls her violently towards him. His other hand holds her by the back of her neck, their noses brushing against each other. Holding herself on his shoulder, fear flashed in her eyes. “What did she tell you?” He separates every word harshly. “Answer me.” He groans, tightening his grip. “We talked about my mother.” She doesn’t control the tears that filled her eyes. Ivar’s face softens a second. “She knew my mother and wanted to talk about her. That’s all.” He releases her and she gets far away from him, massaging her neck.

The hatred in her eyes, break his heart. And he doesn’t know why, that bothers him that she looks at him like this. She turns her back and walks to the exit, but she froze. She decides to face him. “This is stupid!” She screams. “Your war is stupid! You are going to sacrifice a hundred of man’s life for something that happened years ago. They love you and you didn’t even see it, because you are stuck with your little person!”

“She killed my mother!” He responds raising his voice. “He killed my parents!” Now she is yelling, tears streaming down her face. She never cried this that day, she didn’t grief, she didn’t take the time to mourn. “He killed them, and I have to see him every day without being able to do anything! Your mother wasn’t a saint, she knows what she was doing when she seduces your dad. So, stop putting her on a pedestal.” She was furious that he was ready to lose his brothers, his family, for revenge. This is ludicrous. “What did you know about my mother, uh?” He added, annoyed that she dares talking about his mother. “People like to talk Ivar! But Hvitserk and I had a discussion about it.”

Silenced fell inside the tent. Her chest rising up and down. Jesus, she wanted to smack his face to put his brain in place. “This war can be avoided and you know that! But, shit, you are so fucking stubborn!” Tight jaws, breathing from his nose, he tried to control himself and not hurt her. “You should be careful with your words! You seem to forget who you are talking to.” He threatens her with a hollow voice. She sees red, a cold air washing her body. She gets closer and almost collides her forehead against his. “Kill me then! I am not scared of you. Kill me! But let me tell you something, you will have to explain it to Apollo and Rosalia. And of course, you will have to take care of them, because this is your fault that they are far away from their home.” She quickly goes out and opens furiously the curtain.

Her words, turning in his mind. She was right, but he didn’t want to see it. To see that this war is ridiculous. That this was his anger speaking. Landing one foot outside, she empties the air from her lungs, then taking a deep breath. When she opens her eyes, she felts like she was observed. She turns her head to her right and finds Heahmund, looking at her. Her hands ball into fists and she leaves rapidly. She moves away from the camp, she finds a quiet place. Her hands start shaking, her eyes starting to get flooded with tears. She broke down and burst into tears. She fell on her knees in a dying cry. Painful to hear. Astrid looked at her from afar, it broke her heart to hear a cry.

tags : @youbloodymadgenius @al-lwiisa @otakufrenchfries @funmadnessandbadassvikings @akaward-potato@heavenly1927

#ivartheboneless #vikings ivar #fanfiction

[niishiki]

@youbloodymadgenius​

@apenas-mais-uma-pessoa

#vikings #modern au #Heavar #Hehamund/Ivar #Ivar the boneless #Ivar #Ivar's poor life choices #Heahmund #Priest Heahmund #Heahmund's poor life choices #Idiots in love #absolute morons #murder confessions as flirting #community service

[fuchsiagrasshopper]

Contending the Flame IX

Author’s note: Happy New Year everyone! Let’s start it off right with positivity and no looking back on a bad 2020. Can’t wait to continue to write for such excellent fans, you guys/gals are the best!

Masterlist

Word count: 2741

Pairing: Ivar x Reader

Warnings: The usual, nothing new to add.

Since your unexpected kiss with Ivar in that dark corridor, you had avoided him. It was no simple task, as he seemed hell-bent on getting you alone if he could, and that made you feel like a mouse living with a cat. You double-checked every corner before turning, and you tried to finish your work before sundown. Audhild had been an additional ally to you, whether intentionally or by happy accident, you weren't sure. She kept you by her side even with tasks she could have accomplished without your help. You weren't certain of her relationships with the sons of Ragnar, only that she acted independently of them. That was something that still took getting used to; women operating on their own accord.

While you continued to ponder over Ivar's pursuing you, you also tried to make sense of your feelings. Men in general were something you had always been fearful of. You had seen rape and abuse from an early age on the streets of Rendlesham, and you learned quickly not to trust an innocent face. Ivar's face was fair when not screwed up and twisted in rage, and he had the shyness of a boy when he kissed you. But you could not forget he was a heathen. His affection had been severe, clutching and pulling with desperation you thought you would drown in. 

Your feelings were beginning to frighten you. You had returned the kiss without struggle, and you had been tempted to give in to more before a heightened sense of self had kicked in. This Viking had murdered your priests and his own brother, yet you were having lustful thoughts. God would be disappointed in your lack of restraint. 

You needed guidance. When you had been in the abbey, you would often go to the senior Sisters for advice. Audhild was patient, but she would not understand the inner turmoil of a Christian. There was only one other in the encampment who you could speak to, and the moment you were no longer needed by the healers, you snuck off towards the courtyard where Bishop Heahmund was being held.

Only one guard was posted now, as the Bishop had given them no more trouble since you had been brought to him. He was still fettered in chains, but he wore a serene look that would have angered the devil. His faith could not be shaken, and you envied his composure.

As you approached from the building across the way, the guard glanced at you. He did not dismiss you from coming closer to Heahmund, instead seeming to lose interest in you entirely. 

"Bishop Heahmund," You called softly, creeping nearer.

His eyes shot open, but he did not appear surprised by your intrusion. Giving you a smile, he indicated for you to sit. "Hello, Sister Mary Catharine. I wondered if I would see you again, but I had hoped. You are the bright light of York in this nest of heathens."

He couldn't seem to cease with the flattery, and you remembered the rumors about Heahmund being led into temptation by widows. Ivar wasn't wrong when he had accused you of having desirable thoughts for the man. Hearing stories of the Bishop, he had sounded larger than life, like a hero from a story. You used to envision him coming to take you away from your lonely days in the convent, this handsome and brave warrior. Those had been the daydreams of a young girl. Seeing him captured by the same heathens who had enslaved you, the glass had shattered, and what remained was just a man.

"How have you been?" You asked while tucking your dress behind you as you sat on the ground.

"My head is clear, and my resolve is set. They want me to fight for their cause, and I see no alternative to this request. If I want my freedom, I'll have to go along with whatever the Boneless one commands."

You frowned, not understanding why Ivar wanted Heahmund on his side. He was a devout Christian who wouldn't stray from his path and could turn on the heathens at the opportune moment. A part of you worried for Ivar. 

"Are you certain this is what God would want?"

"I do not see this as a defeat, rather that God has a new plan for me and this is the way I must follow," Heahmund said, and the chains rattled as he readjusted his position to look at you. "But you did not come here to discuss my fate, Sister. You are still bothered by what we spoke of the last time we met. The youngest son of Ragnar is still giving you trouble."

You ducked your head in a penitent gesture. "I feel lost, and in need of guidance. You keep calling me Sister, but shamefully I no longer think of myself as a nun."

"You have forsaken our Lord?"

You were surprised by how there was no venom behind his question, just bald-faced curiosity. "No, I still have my faith, but my station is misplaced. I would like it if you called me (Y/N)."

"(Y/N)? That was your name before you took your vows?"

"Yes, and though I haven't gone by it in years, I feel more like that abandoned little girl than I do Sister Mary Catharine."

"Their people are changing you," Heahmund said, appearing thoughtful. "Your heart is growing restless, and you are curious about their ways. The youngest son of Ragnar is trying to steal you away, but look sharp, for God would never allow one of his children to be pried from his embrace."

"Ivar he…he frightens me, but I am also excited when I am with him," You confessed, and your heart thundered at the admission. "I come alive when he's near. He sees me in a way that no one else ever has."

"(Y/N), look at me," Heahmund demanded, and you did, startled by his tone. "You cannot fall in love with this heathen. He will lead you astray, and leave when it is of most convenience for him. You must pray for forgiveness, and honor God by respecting the vows you have entered into."

His severe expression was marred by what he was preaching, and you felt your hand clench tight in anger. You surged up onto your feet, standing over him like a scarecrow in a field.

"And what of you, Bishop? Were you honoring your vows when you were between the legs of those widows?"

Heahmund turned away with a stiffness to his face, as if he couldn't believe you had spoken such a thing. You had surprised yourself as well. "That was different, and you wouldn't understand."

"You're right about that. Unless you were hoping to find God in the arms of those women, I couldn't possibly understand your reason."

"You are young, and you have yet to learn that life is often complicated."

You threw your arms up in the air, a wild gesture that probably resembled an agitated bird more than that of a rational woman. "Then let it be complicated. Hurt, and lust, and pain, and hunger; these aren't terrible things. They let us know that we are alive, and I've felt more of that here with these heathens than I ever did back home."

"You cannot possibly understand what you are saying," He argued back, and you thought he was going to lecture you further, but he took a moment to collect his breath. "My apologies. You sought my counsel, and I have only offered judgement. We should cling to each other in this desolate place if we are to survive the Northmen."

You didn't want to fight with him any longer either, but you could see that as far as Ivar and his people were concerned, you were not of one mind with Heahmund. Coming to him had erased some of your doubts, but you did not realize how much your tolerance towards the Vikings had shifted. There were bad men among them, but nothing anymore abhorrent than what you had seen from Saxons. 

"I'm sorry as well," You said, shifting back and forth on your feet. "I was quick to anger. Maybe I wasn't ready to admit in my heart how I have begun to change towards them."

"May I inquire something else about you? Seeing as I've already insulted you, I don't believe it is too bold to ask."

"You may," You said, permitting him. 

"If we were to be liberated by the King and his army this very moment, and brought back to Wessex, would you return to the Church?"

You came to your answer quickly and without trepidation. "No."

"I see." Heahmund didn't let on about how he felt about your answer, and you didn't want to know. Disappointing him seemed about the worst thing you could have done, and you didn't want to dwell on that. "(Y/N), you shouldn't have come here."

You frowned. "Why not?"

"We've been careless. Ivar knew you would come here. See there, the guard is gone."

You looked to where Heahmund's watch had been stationed to find the spot no longer occupied. The guard had taken his leave the moment you two had been engaged in your disagreement. Ivar must have known you would seek out Heahmund eventually. 

"It's fine," You said with more confidence than you felt. It was to be expected that Ivar would be waiting to speak with you again, and you knew he could have done so whenever he desired. He had held back on forcing you, but you didn't know if it was kindness or another manipulation on his part. "I think I'm ready to face him. There will be no more running for me."

"Go with the grace and strength God has given you. Even if you have turned from your path of the Church, God will never stop fighting for you."

You knelt before Heahmund. "Thank you, Bishop. I hope I am granted with clarity to see my true path."

You placed a parting kiss on his forehead and offered him a smile before standing. Taking a look around the courtyard you did not spot Ivar waiting for you. You knew he would find you though, and you began making your way back to the small room that you had been sharing with the other slaves who aided the healers. 

For such a short walk, one you had taken many times, it seemed to have grown in distance. You kept expecting Ivar or one of his guards to pop out and grab you, but nothing so substantial occurred. The faces you passed paid you no mind, and you arrived at your destination relieved and a little bit let down. You had been ready to get the confrontation over with.

You opened the door, ready to be met with the company of some of the other slaves. None of them spoke with you outside of your duties, and it bothered you. It was an act of self-preservation. They knew you held the attention of Ivar, and so that meant he spared them little mind. Better you than them was probably what many of them thought, and you couldn't fault them for that. It seemed you were fated to be alone. The only other slave who had gone out of her way to speak with you had been a spy, and you hadn't seen her since. Something about that felt deliberate.

When you entered inside of the cramped quarters, you did not find any of your bunkmates. You were alone with Ivar, and that meant his guard couldn't have been far behind. He had kept hidden, luring you into a false sense of security. 

"Hello," You greeted dumbly, not knowing what else to say. You kept tight by the door, not taking a step further in. Ivar was looking pensive, with an air of despondence clinging to him. 

"How is the Bishop fairing?"

"Resilient," You said, relaxing a bit that he didn't immediately discuss something of a more delicate nature. "He says he will fight for you."

"He doesn't have a choice. Either he fights or he dies, and I will need his strength soon enough," Ivar said, his severe tone causing you to flinch. With stiff movements, he maneuvered himself to stand, but he did not try to encroach upon your space. "The time to leave York has come, but some of my people have chosen to stay behind. Our army needs allies, but this business with the spy has made me doubtful of who I can trust."

"What will you do?" You asked, feeling out of depth to be having this conversation. You knew little of wars and alliances, and you didn't understand why Ivar was sharing this with you. 

"It's been decided that Ubbe will return home to Kattegat with a handful of warriors, under the pretense that he has abandoned our army. The woman ruling there murdered our mother, and it is likely she sent the spy."

"Where will you go then, if not home?"

Ivar hesitated, and you had never known him to look away when speaking with you. "I need to meet with Harald Finehair. He could be a potential ally to retake Kattegat...but I also suspect he sent the spy. The sons of Ragnar losing control of the Great Heathen army would benefit him in his bid to become King of Norway."

There was another man with lofty ambitions. The world must look different when you wake up as a Viking. You took a step forward, garnering Ivar's attention. 

"And where does he live?"

"In Vestfold, but you will not be going there," Ivar said, and he looked overcome with guilt. "I'm sending you with Ubbe to Kattegat. It is safer for you there."

"But I'm only a slave. What difference does it make where I go?"

"Harald and his men do not exercise restraint when it comes to Christians, and I can't have my eyes constantly on you nor can I keep a guard around one slave without arousing suspicion," He explained, but his reasoning was flawed. You had no doubt Heahmund would be going with him, and you knew Ivar didn't hold back when it came to murdering your people. "Ubbe will keep you safe, and Audhild will go with you as well."

You let out a dry chuckle, feeling any control over your life seeping through your fingers like sand. "I don't know what I'm supposed to do in Kattegat."

"I need you to stay alive," Ivar said with a fierceness that made it sound like an order. He crossed the short distance of the room before you could blink, and took your hands together to place something cold in your grasp. "Take this. It can take a life if you wield it right."

You looked down at the sheathed knife he had gifted you with. It was a heavy weight compared to the ones in the kitchen, and the hilt was carved into the shape of a wolf's head. You gave him a startled look before beginning to protest. "No, I cannot take a life Ivar."

You tried to return it to him, but he was forceful in making sure it stayed with you. "You will if someone wants to take yours. I won't let you die because of your stupid Christian beliefs about hell and perdition."

He squeezed his hand over the top of yours to secure your grip on the knife, and with the other he cupped the back of your neck, bringing you together for another kiss that you had been fearfully longing for. You didn't want to fight him, and you returned the kiss with all of the words you couldn't say. It wasn't a goodbye, you refused to believe that your time with this violent and vulnerable man was at an end. It was an 'until next we meet', and you cradled his jaw in your free hand, while you both still held onto the knife in the other. You don't know when you began to cry, only that the tears were silent as they slid down your face and transferred onto Ivar's cheeks. This caused him to hold you tighter. Even as the fire in the kiss dwindled, you clung to one another knowing this was the last moment you would share before you were to be parted.

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#ivar x reader #ivar x you #ivar ragnarsson #ivar the boneless x reader #ivar the boneless #vikings #history vikings #vikings ivar #vikings imagine #ivar lothbrok #ivar imagine

[dragon-writer]

Thinking about all the sex and murders he will get to do in heaven

#vikings #bishop heahmund #worst priest #best priest #gonna miss his crazy ass

[prepare4trouble]

Idk if you ship Heahmund/Ivar but if you do, wanna write something with Hvitserk dealing with the fact that his brother is falling hard for a christian menace?

I don't ship them, but I thought I'd give this a go anyway. Unfortunately, it didn't go according to plan, and I ended up writing and re-writing it for over a week until I ended up with one single scene that... isn’t exactly what I intended to write. Still, I have to post it or I'll keep chipping away at it forever

Sorry if it's not what you were hoping for...

(Prompts are still open, by the way)

Seated on a bench in the hall of King Harold’s home, Hvitserk watched out of the corner of his eye as Ivar made his way slowly across the room. His brother leaned more heavily than usual on his crutch, his steps shorter and slower than they had been earlier in the day, and it was clear that he had spent too long on his feet.

Hvitserk knew why. He had been visiting the prisoner again, the Saxon priest that they had, for reasons known only to Ivar, brought back with them from England.

Ivar reached the table and carefully lowered himself onto the bench next to Hvitserk, but leaving some distance between them. He sat with his back to the table, then turned to meet Hvitserk’s eyes as though daring him to say something. Hvitserk declined the offer, and turned his attention instead to the cup of ale that sat on the table in front of him.

Hvitserk didn’t trust the prisoner. The priest had betrayed him once before, when he had left he and Ubbe bruised and bloodied before sending them back to Ivar as a message that there would be no peace between their peoples. It was a move that had precipitated the rift in their family, and even if he chose to believe that it had been fate, Hvitserk couldn’t help but hold the priest responsible.

Holding onto the table for leverage, Ivar leaned forward, grabbed one leg with his free hand, and hoisted it up onto the bench with his foot pointing toward Hvitserk. He began to unfasten the buckles on the leather straps that held the brace in place. “Problem, Hvitserk?” he asked.

“Uh…” Hvitserk picked up his cup of ale and downed it in a single gulp. “What?”

“You looked as though you had something to say,” Ivar told him. His voice was calm and measured. He looked Hvitserk in the eye as practised fingers continued to work on the straps. “Why don’t you just say it instead of grinding your teeth and glaring at me?”

Hvitserk tapped the back of a fingernail on the side of his empty cup, and considered the request. “Okay,” he said. “I will. He’s dangerous, and you shouldn’t trust him.”

Ivar’s fingers stilled on the final buckle of his brace, and his brows knotted into an exaggerated parody of a frown. A hint of an amused smile played on his lips. “Who are you talking about?”

Hvitserk scowled, not in the mood to play games. “You know exactly who I’m talking about.”

“No…” Ivar shook his head thoughtfully as his frown deepened. “No, I do not believe that I do. After all, I know a great many dangerous people.” He paused, then smiled somewhat pointedly. “I am a dangerous person myself.”

“I was talking about the Christian, Ivar.” Hvitserk told him. “As you well know.”

Ivar gave him a dismissive shake of the head and turned his attention back to his leg. He unfastened the final strap, then winced noticeably as he removed the brace. He placed it on the floor next to the bench, near to where he had rested his crutch, for some slave to collect and return to his room later.

“Heahmund?” he asked.

Hvitserk scowled at the sound of the man’s name. “Are there any other Christians around here?”

“How would I know?” Ivar asked with a dismissive shrug. “Probably not, but we are in a new place. King Harold’s kingdom could be rife with Christians for all I know. Anyway, Heahmund is a sly one. He tried to convert me to his faith. Perhaps he has succeeded with somebody more weak minded than myself.”

“He…” Hvitserk found himself smiling at the idea of the Christian attempting to convert Ivar of all people. “Really?”

“Really. It did not exactly go as he had hoped.”

No, he imagined not. Hvitserk shook his head. “But that’s exactly what I mean. He’s dangerous, and not just because he will try to poison our minds against the gods. He would kill you without a moment’s thought if he believed that his god wanted it.”

“I know,” Ivar told him, apparently unconcerned by the idea.

“But still you carry on visiting him like he’s an old friend, talking to him for hours at a time. It’s almost as though you are infatuated with him. Almost like you’re...” he stopped as a realisation hit him.

“Almost like I…?” Ivar said, waving a hand in the air as he prompted him to continue.

Suddenly Hvitserk understood. He knew what was happening between his brother and the Christian. He shook his head, as though he could shake loose the thought, but it was stuck fast. Ivar really was infatuated by the Christian. Perhaps he even loved him.

“Hvitserk?” Ivar said. He waved a hand before his eyes mockingly.

Hvitserk blinked. He couldn’t say that, not with everything that it might imply. Not yet, not when he had no idea how his brother might react.

“You… like him,” Hvitserk said instead.

Ivar chuckled quietly under his breath, then turned his attention back to his legs. He moved his other leg onto the bench and began the slow task of removing the slightly more complicated brace. As he did, he shook his head. “You’re crazy.”

“Am I? Why else would you have brought him here? And why else would you spend so much time talking with him?”

“I brought you back, didn’t I? Ivar said. He winced in pain again as he released one part of the brace and got to work on the next. “He’s a great warrior, he has insight I can use. I find him interesting, that is all.”

“He’s a Christian priest.”

Ivar shook his head. “A bishop, actually.”

Hvitserk frowned. “And what is the difference?”

“I don’t know, but perhaps I could ask him for you, and then we will know. And that is why he is useful; it is important to know as much as we can about our enemies, wouldn’t you agree, brother?”

Hvitserk rubbed a hand wearily across his face and reached for a jug of ale. ��He would happily kill you, given half a chance.”

“I know he would,” Ivar told him, “and that is one of the interesting things about him. But don’t worry, brother. He’ll never get that chance, and even if he did, he wouldn’t take it.”

That was not a promise that Ivar could make. Hvitserk frowned, unconvinced.

“It is true,” Ivar assured him. “I haven’t simply been talking to him, I have been slowly winning him over, convincing him that I’m not the monster he thought I was. I think he’s starting to like me, too. Anyway, he knows that I am the only person keeping him alive. If he did manage to kill me, you would have him put to death immediately, and he doesn’t want to die. If he were so eager to join his god, he would have tried to do so already.

There was an undeniable logic to Ivar’s argument, as usual. Hvitserk forced down a stab of irritation. “One of these days, Ivar, you’re going to make an assumption like that and be wrong.”

Ivar shrugged. “Maybe. But not today.”

“You should still be careful. Take somebody in with you when you see him.”

“Having an armed bodyguard present is no way to build trust. I am hoping that he will fight for us, remember? Do you think he would do that if he thought I was afraid of him?

“You told him you would crucify him if he didn’t. Don’t you think that is incentive enough to fight for us?”

“Perhaps,” Ivar shrugged, “But I would prefer it if he wanted to do it. That way he is less likely to betray me to my enemies. Besides,” he reached to his belt and removed a short but dangerous looking knife, I am not so stupid as to go in there unarmed. After all, as you say, he would happily murder me if his god asked him to, and I am just a helpless cripple.”

Hvitserk reached for the jug of ale and refilled his cup, then poured one for Ivar too, and pushed it across the table toward his brother. “You are anything but helpless, Ivar, and you know that wasn’t what I meant.”

Ivar finished removing the second brace and placed it carefully next to the first, then accepted the drink with a nod. He smiled knowingly. “Oh, but that is exactly what you meant, brother.”

And once again, he was right. In a way, that was what he had meant. Ivar would be terrifying to face across the battlefield, coated in in the blood of his enemies, screaming a battle cry from his chariot, but in close, one-on-one combat, especially if he caught him off-guard, Heahmund would have the advantage. Even Ivar would have to admit that, surely.

“And you are right,” Ivar told him.

Hvitserk blinked in surprise. “What?”

Ivar slipped his knife back into its holster, produced a length of strong cloth from a pocket and tied it around his legs below the knees. “I said, you are right. Heahmund is a great warrior. I have no doubt that he would be able to overpower me if he chose to do so. In fact, I have no doubt he could overpower you too. But yet I am safe with him, as I have already explained to you.”

“It’s not only that he could hurt you,” Hvitserk told him. “You might find him…” he hesitated, “You might find him interesting, but I don’t think he feels the same way.”

Ivar laughed quietly. “Are you worried about me, brother?”

Hvitserk set his lips in a thin line. There were only so many ways that it could end, and there was no room for the possibility of happiness. He decided to change the direction of the argument. “Father had a Christian that he found interesting once,” he said. “Do you remember?”

“Athelstan.” Ivar shook his head. “Not really. I was too young when he died to really remember.”

“Well, I remember,” Hvitserk told him. He had been a child too, but he had been old enough to understand what had happened, and to follow what the adults around him were saying. “I just don’t want the same thing to happen to you as happened to father.”

Ivar rolled his eyes. “Ragnar was dropped into a pit of snakes by a king that we have since killed.” Ivar shook his head, then took a long gulp of his drink. “It is unlikely to happen again.”

He was playing dumb, of course. Or, perhaps he wasn’t, not completely. Ivar had been little more than an infant when Floki had killed the priest; a coddled and protected child who had had very little contact with his father. By the time he would have been old enough to understand, the people had stopped speaking of Ragnar and his pet Christian. There was a chance that Ivar didn’t know how deep their father’s feelings for the other man had been, or that after his death, Ragnar had never been the same.

Hvitserk sighed. “Yes, Ivar.” he said, returning to the question his brother had asked him a moment earlier. “I am worried about you. No matter what happens, Heahmund will eventually turn against you, and when he does, I think that it will break your heart.”

Ivar shook his head. “It would not be the first break I have had to endure.”

Hvitserk shook his head. “It’s not the same thing, Ivar. It’s not the same thing at all.”

“I disagree,” Ivar told him. “You think my heart didn’t break when Father died? Or Mother? When Floki climbed into a boat and disappeared into the open ocean? I know heartbreak, Hvitserk. I know it every bit as well as you do. Perhaps even more.”

Once again, his little brother was right. Hvitserk sighed and nodded. “Of course. I’m sorry, Ivar.”

“Anyway,” Ivar added, dismissing the moment with a wave of his hand. “If Heahmund betrays me, I will simply kill him, or have him killed.

“And you think you could just kill somebody that you love?”

Ivar frowned. “Whoever said anything about love?”

Hvitserk closed his eyes briefly. He hadn’t meant to say that, it had simply slipped out.

“Anyway,” Ivar added. “I am sure that if I could bury an ax in my own brother’s chest, I would have no trouble doing the same to a Christian priest. Whether I 'love' him, or not.”

Uninvited, the image of Sigurd staggering toward Ivar before dropping lifeless to the ground, forced its way into Hvitserk’s mind, and he took another swig of his drink as though he could wash it away. “He’s a bishop,” he reminded him, repeating Ivar’s words back to him.

Ivar smiled, apparently unaffected by the memory of their brother. “So he is.”

“And whatever you feel for him, Ivar, he doesn’t feel the same way about you.” Hvitserk was still thinking of Sigurd; he had already lost one brother, and after everything that had happened, he doubted that he could ever repair things between himself and Ubbe, or Björn either for that matter; they were trying to kill his mother after all. That left Ivar as the only family that he had left. He sighed deeply, trying not to think of everything that he had lost, but suddenly unable to think of anything else. “I don’t want to lose you as well.”

Apparently unmoved by the plea, Ivar finished his drink in a single gulp, put the cup down heavily on the table, pressed his palms into the bench to lift himself, then slid down to the ground. “You won’t,” he said. “I think we are stuck with each other, I am beginning to think the gods want us to stay together.”

With that, using his hands to move across the ground, he made his way to the door far more quickly than he had arrived on his feet.

For a moment, Hvitserk watched him go. “You might not love him yet, Ivar, but you’re halfway there,” he called after him. “Don’t deny it.”

Ivar paused briefly. He turned back to look at his brother with a smirk on his face, then continued on his way. As he reached the door, he turned again. “I deny it,” he said, then quickly pulled himself out of the door and disappeared out of Hvitserk’s sight, leaving behind nothing but his crutch and braces, and the sound of a quiet chuckle floating back into the room.

Hvitserk glared after his brother helplessly, left, as Ivar had no doubt intended, with two equally unappealing options; chasing after him and attempting to finish a conversation that Ivar clearly didn’t want to continue with, or shouting a response after him through the wall, with no idea whether Ivar had heard him.

Instead, Hvitserk finished his drink and poured himself another. For all that he still thought of Ivar as his little brother, he was a grown man, and he was capable of making his own mistakes. Hvitserk just hoped it wouldn’t be as costly a mistake as he feared…

#vikings #vikings fanfic #ivar the boneless #ivar ragnarsson #hvitserk #hvitserk ragnarsson