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viskovie · 1 year

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Raven-speak (AssCreed Valhalla)

Vili watches the deer across the river silently, crouched in the undergrowth with his bow in hand. There's a magnificent stag among them - the first he's seen in Ravensthorpe so far. Its hide would earn him some silver from Wallace and Petra and its antlers would be lovely mounted on the wall behind the throne.

If he were to sit in exactly the right place during dinner, it might even look as though Eivor were wearing them...

He grins at the image. The breeze suddenly shifts direction and the stag raises its head. Vili freezes, praying with bated breath that he hasn't been scented.

After a tense moment, it goes back to its peaceful grazing.

"Vili!"

He waves a hand hurriedly, shushing Eivor before he gives them away. Then his brain catches up and calls him an idiot.

He's alone; the new Jarl is overseeing another shouting match between the sticky-fingered Holger and his latest victim, and likely wouldn't be done for a while.

Lowering his bow, he looks about for whoever's calling him. When he sees no one, he shrugs and returns his attention to the deer. They've moved up the river a bit in his distraction and he weighs the risk of standing up to move with them.

Nahhh, I'm a good enough shot, he thinks. I can still down one from here.

A young doe stands between him and the stag, but soon shuffles away to a different patch of grass. Vili takes a deep breath and nocks an arrow. He aims carefully, knowing that he can't afford to miss. Not unless he wants to go for a swim and then a long sprint.

"Vili!"

He startles, the arrow flying without his permission. It hits the water with a splash and the deer scatter.

"Fuck!" He snarls, whirling around and ready to hit someone.

There's nobody there.

He stomps through the brush, swinging his bow in the hopes of catching the troublemaker across the ear. There's no trace of anyone other than himself, however, and he is eventually forced to admit defeat.

"Alright, come out." He growls. Out of the corner of his eye, he spots motion behind a nearby tree.

Oh, you're in for it now, you little shit.

"You!" He grabs for the culprit before they can escape and comes face to face with... Eivor. His brilliant blue eyes widen as Vili's hand lands heavily on his shoulder.

"It's me, arse-stick. Who else did you think I was?" He asks curiously.

"Were you calling me a minute ago?" Vili can't help the accusatory note out of his voice as he stares hard at his friend. Eivor crosses his arms, raising an eyebrow.

"I only just got here." He answers sniffily. "I wanted to hunt with you, but if you'd rather be-"

"No, no. You're more than welcome," Vili hastily amends. "It's just that, well..." He's starting to realise how it sounds. Eivor's annoyed look is melting away again, and he doesn't really want to see it come back. He casts around for the right words.

"Someone keeps calling my name." He explains with a sigh. Eivor's brows furrow just the tiniest bit. "It startled me and scared off my buck. I thought it was a prankster trying to get himself thrown in the river, but I didn't find anyone."

Eivor hums in that contemplative way of his, the way that tells Vili exactly nothing about what's going on in his head.

"Am I going mad?" He says, scouring his memories to try and remember if hallucinations run in his family.

"It's possible." Eivor says evenly. "But who knows what strange seidr is woven in England's soil?" As he speaks, Sýnin lands lightly on his shoulder. He reaches up absently to stroke her feathers.

Vili eyes her. Speaking of seidr, he still doesn't understand how or why she took to Eivor so affectionately. He probably feeds her delicious things she wouldn't find in the wild. Or maybe he's Odin in disguise.

She opens her beak to caw and then tilts her head as if sizing him up.

"Vili!"

He gapes. Eivor is, of course, completely unperturbed by the fact that his raven just spoke.

"What the fuck?" He whispers.

"Hm?"

"Sýnin- I- she-" Vili's certain he's losing it now. Eivor blinks at him, confused out of his musings. He glances at the bird as if she will give him an answer. For all Vili knows, she might.

"Oh, yeah!" He laughs suddenly. Sýnin squawks as her perch moves. "I forgot to tell you. I -close your mouth, arse-stick- I say your name probably ten times a day, so she picked it up and started saying it too." He clutches his sides, shaking with mirth as Vili slowly processes this information.

Sýnin caws again and fluffs herself up. If ravens had lips, he'd say she was smirking. Eivor grins up at him, eyes sparkling.

"Come on." He says mischievously. "If there's no more deer to be caught here, I want to teach her to call Basim too. That would be hilarious to witness."

A smile finds its way onto Vili's face as he pictures what an absolute nitwit he must've looked like, rummaging around in the bushes for an imaginary enemy.

"Alright, but only so long as I'm not implicated. I don't want to find out what that thing on his wrist is for."

#is this a fic? from me???#u betcha #ravens are incredibly clever and can learn to speak if they spend enough time with humans #sýnin is the cleverest of them all #ac eivor #vili hemmingson #assassin's creed valhalla

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caernua · 1 year

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No feast for you, Sýnin. My crew is in danger. You must be my eyes.

#Assassin's Creed #acedit #gamingedit #ac valhalla #eivor wolfsmal #gameplaydaily #dailygaming #videogamewomen #tuserautumn #alethiometry #userwolfkissed #userdina #userezio #mine: all #mine: gifs #mine: ac #mine: valhalla #YES BITCH I REINSTALLED VALHALLA #SEROTONIN WENT UP INSTANTLY 😍😍😍

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teecupangel · 7 months

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So I remember a post that I think you had about the assassin ancestor reborn in the modern day as animals and I want to see the Frye twins reborn as rooks eivor as a raven Edward a jackdaw that teams up with his fluffy cat son and Desmond being a Disney princess

Here’s the “Desmond’s ancestors gets reborn into the future as animals” idea me and @saberamane had https://www.tumblr.com/teecupangel/719043682766077952/how-about-a-reverse-of-animal-desmond-in-the-past with Altaïr as the eagle, Ezio as the bear and Ratonhnhaké:ton as the wolf (that Desmond keeps telling people is a dog even when he knew that he was a wolf). The other ancestors: Aquilus as a dog who stayed on the Farm to help Desmond escape, Haytham as a pure white fluffy cat and Edward was either a fish or a jackdaw (so we’re picking Jackdaw for this).

Other than them, I suggested the following:

Shay as a crow because of Morrígan’s primary ‘forms’

Arno as a sea otter because he shares his birthday with Rosa the Sea Otter XD

Jacob and Evie I thought of as corgis as a reference to Desmond the Dog but making them rooks would be fun. Or maybe… to mess with them. Jacob gets turned into a corgi but Evie gets turned into a rook so we have Jacob complaining that it’s not fair that Evie is the rook when the Rooks is his thing! XD

Bayek as a ram as a reference to how Amun is usually symbolized by the ram-headed sphinx.

Aya as the kind of snake she got the venom she gave to Cleopatra.

Kassandra I was going for goat because Adrestia gave goat’s milk to Zeus when he was a baby and… also… it would be funny if she thought she was being punished for the whole eye on the goat’s awss incident XD

Eivor is a raven that looks exactly like the default skin of Sýnin.

Additional ideas!

Aveline could mean ‘little bird’ so maybe some sort of small bird like a humming bird?

Adéwalé as a panther or a lion, maybe?

Nikolai as a sable.

Arbaaz as a barasingha.

Shao Jun as a red panda? Or a Chinese mountain cat?

Basim as a persian squirrel that Eivor can just grab with her beak and fly away XD

If we want Desmond to be a Disney Princess before the end of AC3, we can have them start showing up when Desmond is already in Turin. They got in the Grand Temple and Shaun is freaking out because he knows this is all Desmond’s fault but he can’t find a way to confirm it!

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author-morgan · 2 years

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Eivor has really started grow on me (honestly that boy is 🥵 - could I ask for a Eivor/reader where the reader misinterprets a moment between Eivor and Randvi and gets upset, thank you 😊

here you go! sorry it took so long. I'm finally getting caught up on everything. hope you like it! as always, @mrsragnarlodbrok helped develop the plot. m!Eivor x fem!Reader

“DO YOU EVER miss Norway?” Ceolbert asks, untangling his fishing line. The young ætheling has been in Ravensthorpe for no less than a full moon’s cycle. He’s good company —eager to help and learn under your and Randvi’s tutelage. The River Nene burbles past the growing settlement, flowing out to the sea. A fish takes the bait, a piece of three-day-old bread, and you start hauling in the line. A small perch is on the hook, too small to worry with. You free the fish and let it back into the river, searching for a larger catch to add to the evening’s pot of stew.

“At times,” you answer —knowing you miss the snowcapped peaks, the winter lights dancing in the sky, and the pink-purple sunrises most of all. England is not so poor a substitute, with green rolling hills, pale sea cliffs, and the lonely ruins of a once-great civilization. “But all my friends and those who I love is here now” —you smile— “what more could I ask for than to be among them?” And for you, home will always be where they are, regardless of where in the world you may lay your head to sleep. Though, of late, Ravensthorpe has felt a little less like home with Sigurd and Eivor gone so often.

Ceolbert echoes your smile. He’s heard stories from Eivor and his brother about you, and now that he’s grown to know you, he realizes none of them held any embellishments. Despite only being a handful of years older than him, there is already a dignified shrewdness surrounding you, especially when compared to his compatriots. You’ve already taught him a great deal, and he’s eager to learn more. “Eivor often spoke of your wisdom,” he notes.

“So,” you muse, “he does listen.” The young ætheling laughs and starts pulling in a decent size brown trout to add to the basket. You often cursed Eivor for his stubbornness and how it seems he often disregards your counsel in favor of the more reckless options, but it does soothe your heart to know he remembers your words —even if he does not listen. There’s a tug on your line, and you begin to pull in the catch, a bullhead just the right size to join the evening pot.

A familiar squawk draws your attention to the sky —a raven circles above before diving down, eager to make off with a small fish or two from the basket. But you know the raven and his oil-slick colored feathers, and instead of making off with one of your daily catches, he settles on your shoulder and begins to preen his belly. “Hello, Sýnin,” you greet, offering one of the bait worms as a snack. Casting your line out into the river again, you wait for another fish to bite; knowing where Sýnin goes, Eivor will not be far behind. But until then, it feels like time has slowed.

You spot the sails emblazoned with the Raven Clan’s sigil coming around one of the river's bends, and Ceolbert notices how you seem to light up —and your smile when you first spot Eivor Wolfsmal standing at the prowl. The ætheling takes your fishing line and the basket holding the day’s catch and starts back toward the heart of the settlement as you make your way to the docks.

“Eivor!” He steps from the longship, not sparing a moment before engulfing you in his arms. You press your face into his scarred neck and breathe a long sigh —now Ravensthorpe feels like home again. Eivor’s lips brush against your temple before he parts, keeping you close at his side as the others unburden the longship with goods and supplies. “How did you get on in East Anglia?” This journey was not planned, but one made in haste after Rued’s Clan attacked in the night, an offense he could not let stand.

He drapes his arm over your shoulders. “The Raven Clan has new friends,” Eivor tells you. Oswald is an unlikely ally for sure, but one who will answer the call should it ever sound.

“That is good to hear” —you smile. “We must celebrate,” you tell him, knowing the people would want to hear of his tales, just as they had when he returned from treating with the Sons of Ragnar. The thought of readying a feast sets your mind racing with a long list of chores.

Eivor shakes his head and steps in front of you. He settles his hands on your cheeks, thumbs running over your cheekbones. It nigh stops your heart, and then he smiles. “Ah,” Eivor sighs, “seeing you once more is enough for me.” He steps closer and bends at the waist, pressing his lips —cracked and wind-chapped— to your forehead. And he’s home again.

RAVENSTHORPE FEASTS IN celebration. It is good to have new friends —new allies in what would be a hostile land. The evening passes with boisterous tales of battle, roast boar, and Tekla’s mead. It is good to have everyone, save Sigurd, present once more too. You sit back, leaning against one of the great wooden pillars of the longhouse, and let out a long and tired sigh, wondering how much longer it would be before you end up like Revna beside you —slumped over on the table and fast asleep.

Nigh everyone is far enough into their tankards and ale horns for the night that they will not notice Eivor’s absence. His gaze flits around the longhouse, finding you sitting at the far end with Sýnin perched on your shoulder. The raven croaks at his approach and ruffles his feathers. You look up at Eivor and smile —and his heart swells and flutters with the sight. Sýnin hops from your shoulder to Eivor’s then settles in the rafters above.

“Come with me,” he whispers at your ear, offering his hand. His fingers curl around yours when you place your hand into his, and you only hope the warmth rising to your cheeks can be blamed on the mead.

Eivor leads you to the waterfall just behind the longhouse. It’s one of your favorite spots to come in the settlement —the constant rush of the water is enough to soothe your heart and mind, and the rippling pool has served as a place you often frequent to reflect.

Tonight, a full moon turns the water silver. Eivor eases his hand from yours and reaches behind him, pulling out a small earthen vase with a piece of fabric stretched over the opening. He pulls back the fabric, and a dozen little insects take flight toward the water —lighting up with a yellow-green glow. “They’re called fireflies,” Eivor explains, extending his hand over the water’s edge. One of the sparking bugs lands in his palm, and he reaches for your hand, letting the firefly crawl from his hand to yours.

You watch the bright flashes of light —like tiny stars— and smile, yet another wonder of England. “How lovely,” you muse aloud, holding your hand out for the firefly to rejoin its brethren. They flutter around the waterfall, twinkling in the night. You sit, and Eivor sits next to you, his shoulder brushing against yours —it sets your heart aflutter, but you gather the courage and lean your head on his shoulder. Instinctively, Eivor wraps his arm around your waist, holding you close to his side. “Can I expect you to stay a while this time?” You ask, hoping he will not have to leave again so quickly.

He shifts and presses his cheek to the crown of your head. “Until Sigurd sends for me,” Eivor tells you, watching the fireflies flit around above.

IT’S ONLY TWO days after his return that you see Eivor and Randvi ride from Ravensthorpe in the early hours of the morn. Seeing him go without a word makes your heart fall. It isn’t like Eivor to go off without telling you, and given one of the late-night conversations you’d had with Randvi in Sigurd’s absence —well, you refuse to dwell on the thoughts. Ceolbert leaves the stables from helping Rowan when he sees you approach, crestfallen though you try to hide it. “Did they say where they’re going?” You ask, looking toward the east and the direction Eivor and Randvi had gone.

“Grantebridge,” Ceolbert answers, still unsure why they were going there unless Soma had sent a message —but you nor anyone else had mentioned receiving anything from the jarlskona. He looks between you and the morning sky and tries to think of something that might help cheer you up. “There’s an orchard to the north,” the ætheling supplements, hoping he can help remedy the crushing waves of despondency which have overtaken you so quickly. “Perhaps we could go?” He asks. “It’s only a short ride.”

You smile, and Ceolbert can see it doesn’t reach your eyes. “Very well,” you agree. Rowan helps saddle two horses —one speckled and one chestnut— and the two of you ride out before midday. It’s a slow and steady ride across the hills and rivers to the orchard just south of Ledecestre. A bramble of unkempt trees heavy with green-red apples too tart to eat raw but good for stewing and baking. It’s easy to fill two small sacks, just enough for Tarben to make a pie or two.

Ceolbert secures his sack of apples to his saddle and pulls himself back into the saddle as you do so, starting back to Ravensthorpe. The ætheling asks about a story from childhood that Eivor told him at the feast —he’d fallen from the roof of the longhouse in Fornburg and on his arse, right in front of you, only you’d been carrying a basket of deer offal.

The memory makes you smile and laugh, the first time you’ve genuinely done so today. You dropped the basket in surprise —it landed on Eivor, spilling guts and blood over him. It took several washes to clean the stench from his clothes and hair. Ceolbert glance at you and smiles too, and from the fondness in your voice, he thinks it’s obvious. “You love him, don’t you?”

Yes, but for some reason, you struggle to say it aloud, Regardless, Ceolbert can tell, and despite what you may think, he believes Eivor loves you too —if only you could both see it. You look ahead at the winding road, wishing to change the subject away from your feelings, away from Eivor. “They say Ivarr the Boneless was also your mentor.” You’ve heard stories of Ivarr Ragnarsson from other Northmen and Saxons alike, part of you envies Eivor and Sigurd for getting to meet the renowned Sons of Ragnar —let alone being able to call them friends. Ceolbert nods. “Will you tell me about him?” He nods and weaves a tale of his time with Ivarr, helping distract you from the woes of life.

The sun is close to setting when you and Ceolbert return to the stables of Ravensthorpe, passing off your horses to Rowan. “I’ll have Tarben make us a pie,” you tell the boy, collecting the small sacks of apples to take to the bakery. But hooves thud, fast approaching —Eivor and Randvi have returned. You do not stay to greet them, quickly slipping away.

“Ceolbert,” Eivor greets, leading his dark mount back into one of the stalls. “Where is…” his voice trails off as he turns to look for you, wondering where you’d gone.

“She was here a moment ago,” Ceolbert says, turning to look around the stables, but you’re already gone, and so is Eivor when he turns back.

EIVOR FINDS YOU sitting beneath one of the great trees near Valka’s hut —knees pulled up to your chest as your look over the ripping pool of water. He kneels in front of you and reaches out, rough fingertips brushing along your jaw to gently lift your chin and gaze. Tearstains are not the sight he wishes to see. Eivor frowns, brushing away the dampness under your eyes with his thumb. “Why are you crying?” You do not answer. “Has something happened?” He asks, unsure what could cause this bout —just last night, you and he were both laughing and drinking without care.

“I am not sure,” you admit. It's heartbreak and a tinge of betrayal. With his return, you had thought, had hoped, but it seems it’s only foolish and childish wishes. You meet his gaze, clear and blue like the sky, and feel a lump grow in your throat. Sýnin croaks from the branches above —the raven has refused to let you be alone since he first perched on your knee and dropped a smooth river pebble in your lap after finding you so distraught. The raven croaks again, and Eivor’s eyes flit up to see a pair of beady dark eyes staring down at him. Sýnin takes your side in whatever quarrel this may be.

His frown deepens. “You can tell me anything,” Eivor breathes. You’re his best friend —have been since the two of you were children all those years ago.

But I can’t, you think, not wanting to risk a lifelong friendship over a dream. You inhale shakily and shake your head, pushing his hands away. “I need a moment, is all.” It’s a trembling whisper, and Eivor does not want to leave you in this state, but he relents, knowing nothing good will come of forced words. You always gave him time and space when asked for it; the least he can do is offer the same. He sighs and stands, hesitant to leave —a look back, and he sees Sýnin swoop down and perch on your shoulder, offering a golden oak leaf.

Eivor goes to the longhouse and grabs an empty cup, filling it from the cask of ale before taking a seat at the table across from Ceolbert —picking at a hunk of bread and slab of pickled fish. “Do you know what’s upset her?” He asks the ætheling, thinking the boy might know given the time he’s spent under your guidance.

“I” —Ceolbert looks down into his cup of ale. He didn’t think it would be difficult for Eivor to figure out. Almost all of Ravensthorpe knows. Everyone but him. Ceolbert frowns. “I do not think it is my place to say,” he tells Eivor.

It feels like Thor has brought Mjölnir down upon his chest when the realization hits him —and suddenly, everything makes sense now, or at least he thinks it does. Eivor feels his heart clench, then fall into the pit of his stomach, and all he can say is a soft, nigh inaudible: “oh.”

IT’S ONLY A short ride to the south, near the border of Grantebridgescire, but Eivor convinces you to go with him even in the dead of night. He cannot bear the thought of you being upset —let alone upset with him. You’re quiet, unusually so, but when he pulls the reigns of his horse to a stop by the edge of the mire, you gasp —albeit softly. Skirting over the still surface of the water and into the air are hundreds of fireflies, all flashing and twinkling like little stars come to settle in the darkness. He dismounts and helps you down too. “There are so many,” you breathe, smiling.

Eivor stands behind you, his hands settling on your waist, chin resting on your shoulder to watch the fireflies with you. But the closeness and how your heart begins to ache and beat quicker, it’s too much to bear after today. You shake your head and step away from him, feeling dampness prick at your eyes again. “I wish you would not play so carelessly with my heart, Eivor,” you tell him, hugging yourself.

“It’s not careless,” he whispers, gently pulling you back to him. Eivor takes your hands, his gaze drawn downward to see how perfectly your hand fits in his —as though the gods always meant for the two of you to be together. And then he looks at you, eyes shining in the moonlight, glimmering with the reflection of fireflies flitting around his head and yours.

It makes your breath catch —how he looks at you. How he’s always looked at you. “You’ve always been at my side,” he tells you. It’s the truth, even when he was a boy and at odds with Sigurd, you were there —you were always there, and he’s been a fool not to tell you sooner. “It’s only ever been you.” Eivor lets your hands go but is quick to take your face into his hands, thumbs brushing over your cheeks with gentle reverence.

“I love you.” But he gives you no time to respond or react even as one of his hands slips back into your hair and he leans forward. Eivor’s lips find your own. His kiss is everything you’ve dreamt of and more —a sweet paradox with his rough but gentle lips and the tickle of his golden beard.

He pulls away too soon but only to watch the soft smile overtake your lips. You comb your fingers through his beard and lean toward him, arms draping over his shoulders, fingers locking at the nape of his neck. You kiss him back, and he wraps his arms around your middle, keeping you close to him —where he had always kept you in his heart.

“Ek ann þér,” you breathe against his lips, and a weight lifts from your heart at finally being able to tell him. You can feel his lips twitch into a smile against your own. When you part, it’s to turn back to watch the fireflies, and now Eivor’s arms are around your middle, his nose nuzzled into your neck. You lean back into him and sigh, almost thinking this is all a dream, but Sýnin’s low croak from the trees above is enough to assure you it’s real.

[ taglist: @mrsragnarlodbrok @vanillabeanlattes @withered-poppies @ananriel @itseivwhore @maximalblaze @overratedsun @theelvenvalkyrie @xxdearlybeloved @erzsebetrosztoczy @elluvians @letsloveimagines @finick94 @wallsarecrumbling @kitkitvm @edelaen @darkravenqueen98 @callmemythicalminx @rhienn-lavellan-rutherford @certifiedlittleshit @queenyalo @thedragonqueenfan @alessyaraven ] if your name is italicized, tumblr would not let me tag you. tumblr was giving me a lot of grief with the tags this time, apologies if I missed anyone! if you’d like to be added to my Eivor taglist, just let me know with this Google Form!

#Eivor #Eivor Wolfsmal #Eivor x Reader #m!Eivor #m!Eivor x Reader #male Eivor #male Eivor x Reader #Eivor Imagine #Eivor Fanfiction #Assassin's Creed Valhalla #Assassin's Creed #requested #shamelesspsychicpursebuscuit #lil-monitsu #my writing #remember if you liked this pleases reblog it #also can we appreciate how stunning he looks #valhalla finally gave me some decent lighting and it was a cutscene #also i call these lightning bugs bc thats just how we do in the south

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syninplays · 1 year

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She had a wish to get a horse and whatever my girl wants I provide so meet (I might change her name if I find an actual raven) Sýnin 🐴

#sims 3 pets #sims 3 horse #synin #?#I don't know how else to call it bc her in-game horse has no name #unless I take the name of that horse in east anglia #my sims #ts3 #ts3 screenshoot #reshade #fun fact she's holding air in the first pic #eivor

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assassinscreedblogs · 1 year

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#assassin's creed #polls #tumblr polls #eagles

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werewolfsmile · 2 years

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soaring free

#ac valhalla #sýnin #my shots #raven #landscape #can't actually remember what dlc this is #wrath of the druids #i think??#feel free to correct me if you know lol

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inothechief · 2 years

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Companions

#eivor varinsdóttir #f!eivor #ac sýnin #assassin's creed valhalla #assassin's creed #andrea edits #ps4 photomode

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kassandras-one-braincell · 1 year

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You said you wanted to write blurbs! I’d love to know what you think Eivor’s favorite nickname/title for herself is, maybe in a little character study? (if you really felt like fleshing it out. Just your opinion is cool too) She’s called so many things: drengr, warrior-poet, etc. but I don’t know if she ever reacts to any of them for us to see what she sees herself as.

Hi!! Trying to wrack my brain for all the things she gets called over the course of the game is tough, but:

I think she ironically quite likes when people call her "raven-feeder" as an insult. Sýnin is a little shit, and she finds hidden comedy in the name. And, typically, it's used towards the start of an acquaintanceship with her by someone who is gravely underestimating her prowess in stealth and combat. It's a challenging title, to her.

Her attitude towards being called "drengr" probably changed over the course of the game's events. Earlier in her life, she took great pride in it. Between then and Hordafylke, she likely felt indifferent about the title - it's occupational. But after Hordafylke, I can imagine it became quite troubling for her, given its virtuous nature and how she had to re-evaluate her entire concept of virtue and purpose.

Then, from a perspective of reverence, I can imagine Eivor rather likes when some people refer to her as "the scourge of Mercia". There would be two different trains of thought:

From an ally, the words are spoken with admiration. But to her, they might jog a painful reminder of the consequences of her reckoning on Mercia, especially the lives lost.

However, from a stranger, the words are spoken with intimidation. A slight tremble, an anxious glance for solidarity, for someone to back them up if things start to go south. People talk, and the masses know that it was Eivor's axe which cut through the mess of false kingdoms. That has to spark some gratification, and keeps her connected to her fighting spirit.

"Warrior-poet" strikes me as her favourite. Firstly, because it gives her some recognition outside of her skill in battle; whomever bestowed it upon her views her as more than a sellsword. But most importantly, there's a huge difference between someone who dabbles in poetry, and a poet. Eivor's natural inclination towards written arts is a beautiful thing, and something she is definitely proud of, so to be recognised for that is a very high compliment.

#eivor #eivor varinsdottir

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mass-convergence · 2 years

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Randivor Prompts Fic

Prompt 1: Negotiation

Chapter 1: A Fowl Situation

AO3

Summary: Picture presented without further comment

Notes: Dedicated to the lovely folks at the ER Discord server! Please don't take this fic as any kind of manual or source on how geese act. This is definitely not how geese act. This fic is absolute crack.

Eivor leaned against the doorframe of the longhouse and stared down the gaggle of geese that had gathered at the docks. The normally busy and lively streets of Ravensthorpe were quieter than usual, most opting to stay in after the arrival of the geese flock that decided the waterfront was a perfect place to nest. She had been traveling around England for a while now, forging alliances with the surrounding shires and jarls. She had seen a lot of geese in her travels. She had never seen geese quite so … aggressive before.

They flew at anyone who got close to the docks, chasing them with loud discordant honks and nipping at the heads and necks of anyone foolhardy enough to continue into their territory.

Eivor grunted in annoyance.

They were trespassing on her land, not the other way around!

Petra had snuck up to the docks with Eivor a few evenings ago to finally put an end to madness and bag themselves a few geese. That went about as well as poking a bear with a stick.

Eivor touched the bandage that covered her cheek, a wound that Randvi had so kindly cleaned and bandaged when she and Petra returned to the longhouse covered in feathers, twigs, mud, and a little bit of blood. Unfortunately most of that blood didn’t belong to the geese.

If she got a scar from this she would definitely lie about how she got it.

The worst part was that now Sýnin had gotten involved in this mess. Her raven had been harassing the geese flock all morning and somehow looping other local ravens into the aerial turf war. It was all quite maddening and not doing any good in de-escalating the precarious situation in Ravensthorpe. None of her warriors could even get to longship without invoking the wrath of about twenty avian foes.

The chaos was at a point that she had considered reaching out to Grantebridge for some assistance in chasing off the flock. Soma certainly wouldn’t mind helping out a friend even with a problem as ridiculous as this. Then again, Eivor wasn’t sure she’d ever live down the fact that she had to ask for outside assistance for a flock of geese.

How embarrassing for the jarlskona of Ravensthorpe, a woman who had faced literal armies and warriors twice her size, to sit cowering in her longhouse from a bird that was barely a tenth her size! She grit her teeth and glared at the flock, specifically the apparent ringleader of the gaggle - a large gray-feathered gander with a scar that ran over one of his eyes.

The previous night they had had a town meeting in the longhouse to discuss the situation that ended up giving Eivor a bigger headache than what she had before the meeting. People were angry and she couldn’t blame them. Randvi stood beside her, a firm and grounding presence as the townsfolk argued over what to do.

“We can’t just let them take over our docks for gods knows how long!” Gudmund argued, “We must take action!”

“What do you think we’ve been doing this entire time?” Eivor retorted, “That flock has resisted every attempt of ours to clear it out.”

“Perhaps more drastic action is necessary then,” Eydis said.

“No!” a small cry came up from the corner of the room and Sylvi ran out from behind a few of those gathered there, “You can’t hurt them! They’re just nesting!”

Viggo ran after his daughter, trying to pull her back, “Forgive me jarlskona, we didn’t know she had snuck out.”

Sylvi stood her ground, balled her hands into fists, puffed her chest out, and stared up at Eivor, “You mustn’t hurt them!”

Eivor sighed, looking between the young child and the adults gathered there, “I’ll make my decision tomorrow.”

Eivor felt two arms wrap around her waist and she smiled as Randvi rested her chin on her shoulder, “What are you thinking, my love?”

Eivor leaned back slightly into Randvi’s embrace, “That I cannot allow myself to be bested by a flock of birds.”

“They are pretty mean birds,” Randvi pointed out, “They had Gunnar running for his life yesterday afternoon.”

Eivor remembered that incident very well. The sight of the blacksmith protecting his head and neck with one hand while flailing violently at an aggressive goose would have been hilarious if it were not connected to the larger issue facing Ravensthorpe. She really should just go out there with several of her crew (all equipped with shields and helmets of course) and end the problem once and for all.

But the look on Sylvi’s face gave her pause.

The absolute anguish on her features as she pleaded for the geese’s lives.

Eivor wasn’t entirely sure she could face the young girl again if she went through with the more direct route. But it wasn’t like she could negotiate with a wild bird.

She and Sýnin had a bond forged by Odin.

She had no such bond with a random goose.

But she had to try right?

‘Maybe that goose hit me harder in the head than I thought.’

“Randvi … I may have an idea,” Eivor said, “I’ll need some supplies.”

And that was how Randvi found herself following Eivor out of the longhouse with a basket of vegetable peelings and grain, still not entirely sure what Eivor was up to. Eivor strode towards the docks, stopping just short of them when the gander hissed at her and approached her, wings raised.

The gander charged at her but Eivor didn’t budge.

Randvi thought of calling out to her partner but thought better of it. She trusted Eivor to know what she was doing, despite her confusion about what exactly Eivor was intending on doing.

Overhead, Sýnin circled.

Eivor reached into her pocket and withdrew a fist full of grain. She crouched and held out her hand towards the aggressive gander.

He stopped his charge and regarded her with its good eye. If Randvi didn’t know any better she’d say the bird was regarding Eivor with suspicion. It was as if he were sizing the jarlskona up in preparation for battle.

Eivor stayed silent and still, feeling a bead of sweat trickle down the back of her neck in the warmth of the late spring afternoon. The gander tilted its head and slowly waddled towards Eivor’s hand and the grain. Behind him, the rest of the flock watched; twenty pairs of beady black eyes stared at the two women impassively.

The gander cautiously pecked at Eivor’s hand, noisily gobbling up the proffered grain.

“You’ve taken over my docks for far too long,” Eivor said to the gander and he stopped eating, looking sharply back up at her.

“Honk,” the call was quiet; less aggressive and more inquisitive.

“I’ll give you two options: you leave with your flock and nest elsewhere … or we make you leave,” Eivor said.

Randvi wasn’t quite sure what she found more shocking: Eivor trying diplomacy with a goose or the fact that the goose seemed to be responding.

The gander leaned back and ruffled his feathers, “Hoonk.”

Eivor jerked her head back towards Randvi and the basket she was holding, a basket that she was becoming increasingly aware of its purpose, “If you leave now we’ll give you food.”

The gander looked past Eivor and to Randvi. He began to waddle towards her and she quickly set down the basket. Eivor stood up and followed him and stood by Randvi as it rifled through the offerings in the basket as if inspecting them.

“Well this is certainly a … creative way to solve our goose problem,” Randvi muttered to Eivor.

“I figured this was the best way to resolve this without any more bloodshed … on both sides,” Eivor murmured back.

The gander, seemingly satisfied with the bribe, stepped away and with final look at Eivor and Randvi, waddled back towards his compatriots at the docks. For about ten minutes there was a meeting of sorts between the members of the gaggle. All was quiet save for the soft honking at the end of the dock.

Finally the meeting adjourned and the gander looked back at Eivor, letting out a loud honk. Eivor braced herself for the attack but it never came, the geese just … sat there. They looked expectantly at Eivor and more specifically, the basket by her feet.

“Are you sure you trust them?” Randvi asked.

“I don’t know if I have any other choice,” Eivor said with a shrug.

Eivor picked up the basket and slowly walked forward. A warning hiss from the gander let her know when she had walked far enough onto the dock and she set down the basket and backed away slowly. The gaggle made quick work of the vegetable scraps and grain in the basket and, one by one, began to take off. The gander left last, dipping his head towards Eivor and with a loud honk he took to the skies following the flock further down the river.

Eivor and Randvi waited several tense moments as the honks became quieter and quieter. Finally they were left in silence and Eivor heaved a sigh of relief, the tension melting from her shoulders. Gudrun cautiously approached the docks with her husband, keeping a wary eye to the skies, “Did they really leave?”

“It seems that way,” Eivor said.

There was a lot of work to be done at the docks to repair it from the damage the geese had done during their stay - not even mentioning the pile of bird shit that needed to be scrubbed from the wood of the dock and the longship. At least though, the work could be done in peace. A few weeks ago, Eivor would have considered it silly to have a feast celebrating the exodus of a flock of geese. But after the ordeal Ravensthorpe had just gone through, she practically ordered a night of revelry that no one argued against.

Sylvi had approached Eivor at the feast, wrapping her arms around Eivor’s waist in a tight hug, “Thank you!”

The fires burned low and those still gathered in the longhouse were passed out from the copious mead they had consumed. All except Eivor and Randvi.

Randvi pulled Eivor in for a hug and a kiss that quickly deepened. When they broke for air, Randvi said lowly, “Everyone else has expressed their gratitude but I don’t believe I’ve properly thanked my silver-tongued goose whisperer.”

Eivor chuckled, “And what did you have in mind, søta?”

Randvi pulled Eivor towards the bedroom with a smile that made her insides melt, “I have a few ideas…”

And what wonderful ideas they were.

A few weeks later Ravensthorpe got a visit.

Eivor and Randvi stood at the docks as Soma hopped off the prow of her longship and onto the pier. She greeted Eivor warmly with a smile and a hug, “I was intending to visit sooner but we’ve run into a bit of a problem with a flock of geese at our port.”

Randvi had to cough to hide her laugh.

Eivor kept a better poker face but the corner of her mouth twitched, “We’ve had our own issues here. Come friend,” she slung an arm around Soma’s shoulders and began walking towards the longhouse, “I think I can help you with your goose problem.”

#randivor #randvi x eivor #assassins creed valhalla #mass writes shit #mass writes fanfic #eivor varinsdóttir #eivor varinsdottir #randvi #and a shit ton of angry geese

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