mads-weasley

[mads-weasley]

bro. there is no pain like that of looking up one of your favorite blogs only to find it completely DEACTIVATED!

*sobbing noises*

[mads-weasley]

me in five years when i still don’t have my life together:

[mads-weasley]

Advice for a Long Fic

Someone asked me recently for advice about writing a long fic, and I started making a list before realizing this was probably a post rather than a message.

I know I've said most of this before, and none of it is new advice. As with any advice, take what you think will serve you and leave what you think will not. Everyone's process is different.

-*-

Start a new folder in the place where you save your things. This is your new big project folder. You are going to save all the things here.

Decide whether you are going to write the whole thing and then post it, or post it as you go. There are benefits to both of these approaches. I am a post it as you go person, and I have friends who think this is the dumbest approach imaginable. It is whatever works for you and causes less anxiety.

I have a spreadsheet for all of my characters. While I didn't reference it too often while I was writing, the act of making the document helped solidify people in my mind a little. It was also nice to have in case you felt like doing an askbox game on a slow day.

Come up with a naming convention for the things in the big project folder. When your chapter is 'done' it should be switched to the naming convention. Mine was Darkening Sky - Working Chapter Title (for things that were still in progress) and Darkening Sky - 35 - Chapter Title for things that I'd finished. This helped me find things later after I'd been working for three years and would not have remembered what was in a document.

I personally like the model of doing a separate document for each chapter. This allows me to move these episodes around at will without the danger of possibly deleting a large chunk of text. This does not work for everyone! If you like one big document, use one big document.

The other reason I liked lots of little documents is that it gave me the opportunity to slot in other things that I didn't think were originally going to be chapters. When I first started working on TDS, I had a lot of flashes of ideas for different things throughout the whole story, and I wanted to get them down all at once. Some of those made it into the final story. Some did not. Some of them were written for one part of the story but got recycled into a different part. But they are all in the big document folder in case I needed them.

I also did something for TDS that I've never done for a story before - I wrote down all the different story beats and show beats on notecards and I laid them out on my floor underneath cards that had the show episodes on them. (You may have seen pictures of this.) By putting the plot points on notecards, rather than a list, I had maximum flexibility to move them throughout the story and could visualize over a larger space where the story was going. This also allowed the story and the characters to go places I did not think they would go.

Give yourself grace and time. It will not all happen overnight. It does not need to all happen overnight. The people who are expecting it to all happen overnight are not the people you need in your life.

Having said that, a schedule can be a wonderful and valuable thing. I was trying to post a chapter every two weeks during the pandemic, and then when work picked up again I scaled that back to once a month. The schedule was not for the readers. The schedule was for me. Having something to keep myself accountable was helpful to me to prevent burnout (a chapter a day, no thank you) but keep myself moving forward.

I am going to say something provocative here: There is Writing the Fic, and there is Doing Fandom On The Fic. Doing Fandom On The Fic is the "New chapter coming soon!!!" sorts of things. I would be very cautious about feeling like you need to do the second thing. Work on it first. When it is done, it will promote itself. (If you have already created the Doing Fandom thing as a part of your creative process - great! share that! But don't go out of your way to Make Something Just To Have Something.) There is a time and place for the second thing, and it fills a specific need, but there is a different and I would argue more effective way to do that, which is -

Find a Pit Crew. This is an endurance race, not a sprint, which means at some point you are going to look at what you have on the page and you're going to want someone to tell you that you are doing a good job. You're going to need someone to change your tires and change your oil and talk to you at ten o'clock at night when you want to rip everything up. This is not a big public server - this is one or two trusted friends who will listen to your bonkers AUs and what your characters ate for breakfast. Create a server for you and those two people and go have fun. If no one else shows up to this party, you and those two people are still having a great time, and that is what counts.

[mads-weasley]

16. Thoughts and Memories

Hvitserk Ragnarsson x Eira Torsteinsdottir (OFC)

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Word Count: 2.1k

Darkness had fallen over Kattegat when Hvitserk returned to Eira’s house. The door creaked as Hvitserk pushed it open, a wave of warmth instantly hitting him as he entered. The home’s usual aroma of herbs comforted him as he breathed it in. But that comfort abruptly faded as he glanced at the bed.

But it was empty. 

“Eira?”

The faint shuffle of movement from the far side of the room drew his attention, and relief flooded him when he saw her. But the relief was short-lived. She was bent over the table, her pale and shaky hands awkwardly wiping at a stubborn stain.

“What are you doing, Eira?” Hvitserk sighed tiredly, fighting back a small grin as he closed the door behind him and strode toward her. 

This would be interesting.

She froze at the sound of his voice, knowing he would surely scold her. Eira turned slowly to face him, sending him a sheepish smile, but it was clear from the way her shoulders were still hunched and her posture not quite right that the exhaustion hadn’t left her.

“Cleaning.” She said as if it were an obvious answer.

This woman.

“You shouldn’t be out of bed,” Hvitserk replied, rolling his eyes playfully as he took the rag from her hand and tossed it aside. “You’re still weak.”

Eira lifted her chin, her smirk returning. "I’m not an invalid."

"Could’ve fooled me," he muttered, his voice softer but still with that teasing edge.

"Well, someone had to clean up the disaster you made while I was unconscious," she added, her arms crossing over her chest, a little defensiveness slipping through despite her weariness

Hvitserk’s lips pressed together for a moment, his eyes dropping to the mess he’d left. Empty bowls, scattered herbs…he’d meant to clean it up, of course. It was just that he’d been too preoccupied with her well-being to think of anything else. But, as always, Eira was quick to point it out.

“I knew you’d say something about it,” he chuckled, glancing back up at her with a lopsided grun. “I was planning on cleaning it up.”

Eira raised an eyebrow, her smirk deepening. “I didn’t know I was so predictable.”

“Only when it comes to irritating me,” Hvitserk shrugged. 

“Well, someone has to keep you on your toes,” she quipped, a flicker of mischief in her blue eyes. But the smile faltered, and she leaned back against the table, exhaustion creeping back into her features.

He could see it now, the way her energy had drained away despite the bravado she’d tried to show. Something about her expression told him she didn’t remember the same words he’d spoken to her in the midst of her fever. 

Without thinking, he held up the bundle of food in his hands between them. “This is yours, if you sit down.”

Eira sent him a dry look. “No ale, right?” 

Hvitserk’s grin widened and he chortled, his eyes flicking away momentarily before returning to her face. “Against my better judgment.”

Her gaze softened for the briefest moment, though she didn’t let it linger. "You’re impossible," she muttered, but she relented, shuffling toward the small chair by the table.

"Not nearly as much as you," Hvitserk shot back, his voice a little too quick as he watched her sit.

Hvitserk laid out the food for her, and the savory aroma of roasted meat, bread, and cheese filled the room. It took every ounce of restraint in him not to pick something off her plate. Maybe Liv was onto something when she said he was ‘always eating.’ He sat down across from her as she started eating, leaning back in the chair, spinning his armband on his wrist. He was far away…his mind still tangled with the words Ivar had left hanging in the air in the longhouse. The confrontation with his brother hadn’t left him, and now it was festering inside, gnawing at his peace.

Eira broke the silence first. “Hvitserk…” Her voice was low, careful, like she was testing the waters. “Are you alright?”

He blinked, slowly pulling himself out of his thoughts. It was a question that felt too simple, yet it cut through the layers of confusion and anger swirling in his mind. “I’m fine,” he muttered as he avoided her gaze, instead focusing on his hands.

His avoidance told her everything she needed to know. 

Eira wouldn’t push him, wouldn’t pry, and soon continued eating, accepting his deflection. A few minutes later, Hvitserk readjusted in his chair, sitting up a little straighter as he took a deep breath.

“Ivar,” he admitted softly.

Hvitserk’s eyes were distant, his fingers still idly spinning his armband. He didn’t seem to notice how the mention of Ivar’s name made Eira’s body stiffen.

“Ivar,” Hvitserk repeated, this time with a slight edge to his voice, like he was working through the emotions his brother’s word had stirred. “He said something earlier, in the longhouse.”

He thought of how the teasing had quickly turned dark, to Ivar throwing Margrethe’s death in his face as if he wasn’t the one to have her killed. 

Eira didn’t respond at first. She kept her focus on her food, though her appetite seemed to have waned, her fingers gripping her cup tighter than necessary. She wanted to ask what Ivar had said, but the air between them felt fragile, and she wasn’t sure how far she should push

Hvitserk let out a slow exhale, his eyes flicking toward her for a brief moment before returning to the table. “He is…suffocating. He torments me, Eira…tries to control me. This isn’t what I imagined when I jumped ship.” His voice was low, almost to himself.

“Jumped ship?” she asked quietly.

One corner of his mouth quirked into a flicker of a grin, but it quickly fell into a frown, his lip twitching. “After we defeated the kings in England, Ubbe wanted to return to Kattegat. I was going to go with him but as we were leaving, I changed my mind and stayed with Ivar. I still don’t know why, but one day I will.”

She remained silent, waiting for him to continue.

“I love my brothers, all of them…even Ivar. I don’t know what to do. But all-” he paused, trying to find the words. “All I do know is that I cannot undo the past. Now I am stuck here, unable to leave.”

Eira’s eyes softened as Hvitserk spoke. She wasn’t used to seeing him this vulnerable, this conflicted. Her usual instinct was to be sharp with him, to mask her own emotions with sarcasm and wit, but now, watching him struggle with the heavy truth of his own feelings, she hesitated.

“You feel trapped,” she murmured, setting her fork down carefully. Her voice was quieter now, almost tentative.

Hvitserk’s gaze flicked to her for a second before it dropped back to the table. "That's the thing about being the son of Ragnar," he muttered, a bitter laugh escaping him. "People expect things from you. And I’ve spent so much time trying to live up to their expectations, I’ve forgotten how to live for myself."

There was a hardness in his tone, a subtle edge of resentment toward the life that had been thrust upon him…toward his family, toward the gods, and especially toward Ivar, whose hold on him seemed inescapable.

"You know," she said slowly, lifting her eyes to meet his, "I’m not sure anyone ever really knows what they’re doing. Most of us are just stumbling along, hoping it works out."

Hvitserk gave a small chuckle, though it lacked humor. “You always seem to know what you are doing, Eira Torsteinsdottir.”

Eira stilled. Every tearful prayer, every day she’d spent crying to the gods for guidance, for any help, flashed in her mind…the two weeks she spent in her house after Vali’s death, praying for Thor to strike her where she stood, to end the pain, the torment.

She fought against the burning of her eyes, the tears threatening to fill them. “I don’t,” she responded, trying to keep her voice even. “I only act like I do.”

The words left her mouth before she could stop them, and she quickly cleared her aching throat and took a sip of water, continuing to eat in hopes he would move on from the loaded statement.

Hvitserk studied her as the faint quiver in her voice pulled his focus away from his own troubles. She wasn’t looking at him now, her gaze fixed on her food. The usual sharpness, the edge that she wielded so skillfully, was dulled, and he recognized that vulnerability…he lived in it every day, even if he tried to mask it behind jests and bravado.

For a moment, he thought about teasing her, breaking the tension with a light jab about how she always seemed to have a snappy remark or an answer for everything. But something in her demeanor stopped him. Instead, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table as his expression softened.

“We’re both liars, then,” he said quietly, his voice devoid of its usual playfulness. “You act like you’re unshakable, but you’re not. And I…” He paused, his jaw tightening. “I act like I know what I’m doing, but most days, I don’t even know why I bother getting out of bed.”

Eira’s head snapped up at his admission, her blue eyes locking onto his. There was no jest, no mask. Just Hvitserk, raw and unguarded. She didn’t know what to say, so she stayed silent, her gaze holding his.

Hvitserk exhaled, leaning back in his chair and spinning his armband again, a nervous habit she’d started to notice more and more. “Ivar…he gets in my head,” he admitted. “Sometimes I think he enjoys seeing me suffer. Like it makes him feel…stronger. But then there are moments where I see it…the part of him that’s still my brother. The part that cares. And it’s…” He trailed off, shaking his head, his lips pressing into a thin line. “It’s maddening.”

Even after all he’d done, Ivar was still Hvitserk’s little brother. It was a fact Eira had never considered. 

Her mind involuntarily drifted to Vali. To the moments they’d shared, the ones filled with laughter, with wide grins. Whether it was going to the creek to fish near their house as children or almost burning their house down baking bread when they’d first moved to Kattegat, she cherished every memory. But Hvitserk had cherished memories of his brother, too. Memories that made Ivar’s actions today even harder to swallow.

Eira watched him, her chest tightening at the frustration etched into his features. She had her own feelings about Ivar, ones she wasn’t ready to unpack with him yet. But seeing Hvitserk like this, torn between love and loathing for his brother, made her see another layer of the man she was starting to trust. She shifted in her seat, her fork now abandoned on the plate. Her arms felt heavier than they should, and the soft throb at her temple reminded her that she wasn’t fully recovered. The exhaustion she’d been ignoring began to creep back, wrapping around her like an unwelcome blanket.

“Why don’t you leave? Surely he couldn’t stop you?”

Hvitserk noticed the slight droop in her shoulders and the way her eyelids seemed heavier. He sighed, leaning closer. “I want to leave, but I can’t,” he replied. “There’s some reason I need to stay here.”

His expression shifted, and a small grin played at his lips as his gaze met hers. “Besides, I cannot leave you or Liv here. Who would pester me to no end?”

Eira huffed softly at his remark, the corner of her mouth barely twitching upward. Fatigue washed over her suddenly, as if all her energy was sucked from her body.  “I think you’d survive just fine without my nagging, Hvitserk,” she said with a yawn, leaning back into her chair as her body surrendered to the tiredness. 

Hvitserk’s grin faltered as he caught the faint paleness of her cheeks and the way her hands rested limply in her lap. “You’re tired.”

“I’m fine,” she replied, though the words sounded weak, even to her own ears. 

“You are a terrible liar.” Hvitserk stood, rounding the table. “Come on. Enough of this. You need to rest.”

Eira sighed, the resistance she’d shown earlier melting under the pull of her exhaustion. “Alright,” she conceded, her voice soft as she allowed him to guide her toward the bed. “But don’t think I’ll start listening to you now, Ragnarsson. This is a one-time thing.”

“I don’t doubt it,” he chuckled, shaking his head as he helped ease onto the bed, draping the furs over her. 

For a moment, he stood there, watching as she shifted to find a comfortable position. Her breathing slowed, and her eyes fluttered closed, but her lips still managed to quirk up a faint, sleepy smirk. 

“You’re worse than Liv,” she mumbled, her voice heavy with exhaustion.

Hvitserk raised an eyebrow, amused by the comparison. “I’m not sure whether to be insulted or flattered.”

“Maybe both.”

tag list: @purplerose291 @heyitsayjayy

A/N: message or comment if you want to be added to the tag list! <3

[mads-weasley]

15. Simple Curiosities

Hvitserk Ragnarsson x Eira Torsteinsdottir (OFC)

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Word Count: 1.3k

Quiet chatter filled the longhouse as Ivar's men went about their day, coming and going like nothing was wrong, like the townspeople weren't suffering...like Eira wasn't suffering.

They didn't know, of course. They didn't care. 

Hvitserk sat at the table, leaning back in his chair and sipping his ale as he waited for the servants to bring his food. He could barely wait for the meal. Hunger churned in his stomach endlessly but he decided it was worth it. 

She was worth it.

The last day and a half had been a blur of herbs, teas, and exhaustion. He’d barely left Eira’s side, unwilling to abandon her to her fever's grip. Everything edible in her house had long since been consumed…by him, mostly. He’d thankfully gotten her to eat a few bites of bread at times she was more lucid, knowing the importance of keeping her strength up. Hvitserk had watched her do the same for the sick in the houses they’d visited. 

Now, though, her fever had broken. She’d woken earlier, tired but undeniably herself, reminding him with her teases and snarky jabs. 

Relief had washed over him the second her first quip had left her paled lips.

Hvitserk shook his head, a faint smile tugging at his lips as he stared into his cup. She was something else…that was for sure. A woman unlike anyone he'd ever met, a woman not easily understood. And yet, he was undeniably drawn to her.

He couldn’t ignore the itch to return to her bedside, the feeling unsettling him more than anything.

He glanced up as Freydis approached, one hand lightly resting on her stomach and the other holding a plate of food. Though she hadn’t begun to show, there was a newfound softness in her demeanor that hadn’t been there before. She offered a faint smile, which he returned, then sat across from him, sliding the place across the table. 

“You’re brooding,” she said lightly as she set the plate in front of Hvitserk.

“Thank you. I’m hungry,” Hvitserk replied, straightening slightly. 

She tilted her head. “You look like you’ve been dragged through Hel and back.”

Hvitserk gave a small shrug and a faint smirk, but the truth of her words lingered. He was exhausted…physically, mentally, and, though he wouldn’t admit it, emotionally. “I’ve been busy.”

Freydis raised a brow as she sat across from him, her hands folding neatly over her lap. Her gaze was curious but not prying. “Busy, hm? In the village?”

He didn’t answer right away, just looked down at the plate she’d placed before him. It looked amazing, and smelled even better, its aroma making his stomach growl. “Something like that,” he said quietly.

Before she could respond, a voice broke through the chatter.

“Hello, brother.”

Hvitserk sighed inwardly as his brother approached, his crutch clicking against the floor. Ivar stopped beside the table, his eyes bright with mischief. Freydis shifted slightly, and her neutral expression softened as her gaze met her husband’s.

Ivar grinned behind the rim of his cup. “Did you enjoy your night?” Ivar’s voice was laced with amusement, and something else…skepticism, maybe? His gaze flicked briefly to Freydis before landing back on Hvitserk. “Well, judging by the tired look on your face, I assume the answer is yes?”

Hvitserk’s upper lip twitched as he tried to keep his face neutral, though he really didn’t know what his brother hinted at. “What?”

“You weren’t in your bed last night,” Ivar said, his grin widening. “Unless I’m mistaken.”

Ivar’s meaning suddenly dawned on him: he thought he spent the night with a woman. Although he technically did, it wasn’t in the way his brother thought. Luckily, it seemed Ivar had no idea where or who he was with.

Hvitserk added that to the list of things to thank the gods for…if they were even listening. But he hated the idea of his brother keeping tabs on him, subtly trying to control him, to manipulate him as always.

“And if I wasn’t?” he shot back, unable to keep the half-sneer off his face.

“Easy brother,” Ivar remarked in a rather high-pitched tone, raising his brow as mock surprise flashed across his face. “I was simply curious.”

This was him digging for a response, and he knew it. Ivar wanted something else to hold over his head, something to make Hvitserk do his bidding in the possibility he rebelled against him. It was no surprise he sensed the growing divide between them.

The silence between them was tense but brief, broken by Freydis’s calm voice. “You’ve been gone a lot lately, Hvitserk. Always finding ways to stay busy.”

Hvitserk looked at her and then at Ivar, who was watching him closely, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “I just needed a break,” he said, his tone deliberately neutral.

Ivar’s smirk grew. “From here? Or from me?”

“Why do-”

“Do not torment him, my love. Can’t you see he’s exhausted?” Freydis interrupted, placing a hand on Ivar’s arm to draw his attention.

“It is what brothers do.” Ivar rolled his eyes but straightened, glancing over at his wife. “But…if you say so, Freydis. I still think there’s a story here.”

“There isn’t,” Hvitserk muttered, focusing on the food before him.

Freydis’s gaze lingered on him for a moment, her blue eyes studying his face. She opened her mouth to speak, but Ivar interrupted her with a small laugh.

“Well,” Ivar said, a touch of mockery still in his tone, “at least you’re finally finding something, or someone, to occupy your time, Hvitserk. It’s about time you did something other than drink and mope around.”

About Margrethe. It went unsaid.

Hvitserk didn’t respond, but his jaw tightened, his lip curling in anger as he tried to control his breathing. The accusation that he had done nothing but wallow and drink after Margrethe's death felt like a slap to his face, especially after he was the one who had her killed.

The silence felt too thick, too suffocating. He could feel the tension building within him, his anger at Ivar's cruel remarks threatening to boil over.

Freydis must have sensed it too, because she quickly turned her attention to Ivar, the hand on his arm tightening. “Ivar, can we go lay down? I am tired.”

That was enough to break his questioning. He helped Freydis up, and they soon disappeared behind the curtain into the family quarters.

Hvitserk sat there in the silence that followed, a deep exhale escaping his lungs as he tried to calm himself. He was angry…furious, even…but more than that, he felt like he was constantly being poked and prodded by Ivar’s words, like a caged wild animal being baited to attack. His words were only meant to rile Hvitserk up, seemingly waiting for some excuse to get rid of him…at least that’s what it felt like.

It worked a lot of the time, but Hvitserk allowed it to push him to action. Not yet.

Although Hvitserk speculated Freydis was the one behind the ‘god’ belief Ivar had adopted, she had her moments of clarity. She wasn’t always the manipulative figure she sometimes seemed to be, though Hvitserk still wasn’t sure how much of her kindness was genuine.

With a final quiet huff, he finally turned his attention to his plate. It didn’t take long for him to devour it, and when he finished, he stood abruptly and made his way to one of the servants. 

“Can you pack some food in a bag for me?” he asked quietly, ensuring no one overheard. 

The servant nodded and disappeared into the kitchen. She returned with a bundle a moment later, which Hvitserk accepted with a brief nod of thanks. He exited the longhouse without another glance toward her, but she watched him go with a curious tilt of her head.

He had someone to get back to.

A/N: message or comment if you want to be added to the tag list! <3

[mads-weasley]

14. Of Gods and Choices

Hvitserk Ragnarsson x Eira Torsteinsdottir (OFC)

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Word Count: 1.7k

“Maybe I want to be…”

Eira studied his face as he fidgeted with his armband, his gaze firmly fixed downward. What did he mean by that? Why would he want to stay? To prove her wrong? To see if he could win her over? Her instincts screamed to distrust him, to remind herself who he was. But then, why did he look so…sincere? Why did his words make her chest tighten instead of her fists clench?

If not…why?

“What doesn that mean,” Eira asked softly, hesitantly. She didn’t want the moment to slip away, for she was starting to see behind his well-crafted mask of indifference. “Why would you want to be here, Hvitserk? You barely know me.”

His lips pressed into a thin line as he leaned back in the chair, running a hand over his mustache. For a long moment, he didn’t respond, and the silence stretched between them wide as the fjord on the horizon before Kattegat. Eira didn’t push him, didn’t press for an answer. She saw the battle raging inside him, the way his jaw clenched and unclenched, his brows furrowing deeper with every passing second.

He knew the truth: he cared for her. But he couldn’t reveal that…not yet, possibly not ever.

Finally, he let out a humorless chuckle, shaking his head. “You think I have all the answers?” he said quietly. “That I know why I do the things I do? Because I don’t. I never have.”

Eira’s stomach twisted at the rawness in his tone. She’d seen glimpses of his pain before when Liv mentioned his mother and when he’d spoken about his hunting cabin, but never this openly, never so unguarded. He looked at her then, hazel meeting blue, and the storm inside his eyes made it hard to look away. 

“All I know is that I couldn’t leave you there in the street, or when I got you here. You–,” he took a deep breath and leaned onto his elbows. “You take care of the whole of Kattegat, Eira, but who looks after you, huh? You nearly work yourself to death, get sick, and expect no one to care for you? After all you do?”

Eira’s heart skipped a beat and she looked down at her hands, her fingers nervously tracing the edge of the fur blanket draped over her. The room felt smaller somehow, the walls closing in as her emotions threatened overwhelm her, her mind going haywire. 

No one had ever said those words to her before…not like this, not without wanting something in return. Eira didn’t know what to say, how to respond. She had spent so long pretending she didn’t need anyone, so long convincing herself that independence was her only armor. And yet, here he was, sitting at her bedside, chipping away at her defenses with every soft word and quiet look.

“I’m not good at this,” Hvitserk admitted, breaking the silence. “Talking, explaining myself. Talking was always Ubbe’s thing. But I’m trying, Eira. You make me want to try.”

The honesty in his voice left Eira speechless. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected when she asked the question, but it definitely wasn’t this. If her head wasn’t spinning before, it was now, and Eira could almost hear her carefully constructed walls crumbing inside her mind. 

You make me want to try.

His words hung in the air, heavier than the silence that followed. Eira realized she was gripping the edge of the blanket so tightly that her knuckles turned white. She forced herself to relax, to steady her breath, but her heart still betrayed her, thudding unevenly in her chest. Why did he have to make her feel this way? Why did he have to care?

Eira sighed, confusion mixing with the butterflies flitting about in her stomach. “I don’t understand you, Hvitserk.” Her eyes flicked to the door… the door where Ivar’s men broke in and tore her from her home. “How you are with him? You are not…cruel.”

That was one of the only absolutes she knew of him, and she secretly hoped that he proved every one of her preconceived notions wrong.

He didn’t need to ask who she meant. Hvitserk’s expression darkened at the mention of his brother, his jaw tightening as he looked away.

“My relationship with my brother has cost me much,” he said after a long pause. His voice was steady, but there was an edge to it, a quiet fury simmering just beneath the surface. “And yet, I have stayed. I followed him. I’ve done his bidding. Do you know why?”

Eira shook her head.

“Because I thought it was my fate,” he said bitterly. “I thought I was bound to him, that the gods wanted me to stand by his side no matter what. But now…” He trailed off, his gaze distant. “Now I don’t know what the gods want from me anymore. Maybe they don’t want anything. Maybe they never did.”

The despair in his voice sent a shiver down Eira’s spine. She’d seen that same hopelessness in herself, in the long, lonely nights when the weight of her losses felt unbearable. But hearing it from Hvitserk, seeing it in him, was something else entirely. It made her chest ache in a way she couldn’t explain.

“Maybe the gods aren���t the ones who decide,” she said quietly. Her words surprised even herself, but once they were out, she realized she believed them. “Maybe we decide our own fates.”

The silence of the gods suddenly made sense in her mind. Perhaps they had abandoned her…but didn’t that mean she could control her own fate? That there were no gods up above pulling the strings of her life?

Hvitserk looked at her then, really looked at her, and for a moment, she thought she saw a flicker of something in his eyes. Hope, maybe. Or at least the faintest spark of it.

“Do you believe that?” he asked, his voice barely audible.

Eira nodded. “I have to.”

Silence settled over them once more, but it was a different kind of silence this time. Not heavy or uncomfortable, but quiet and calm, like the stillness after a storm. Hvitserk leaned back in his chair, his shoulders relaxing for the first time that day. Eira watched him, her own body feeling lighter somehow, as if the weight she’d been carrying had shifted, just a little.

“Thank you,” he said suddenly, his voice breaking the silence

Eira blinked, startled. “For what?

He hesitated, then gave her a small, almost shy smile. “For giving me a chance.”

She was conflicted. Men like him always had an agenda, didn’t they? Vali had warned her once not to trust pretty words or soft smiles…they were a mask for something else. And yet, when she looked at Hvitserk, she didn’t see cruelty or deception. What she saw instead was...pain. And it scared her because it mirrored her own.

Her chest tightened, but she forced a faint grin in return. “You didn’t give me much of a choice.”

“I suppose not,” he sighed.

It was as if the invisible barrier between them was broken, and they were just two people…not a warrior and a healer, a prince and an orphan.

They soon fell into quiet small talk, their first true conversation in the past month that had any substance. He told her a few stories of his youth, of his trips to the Mediterranean and England. Eira didn’t divulge too much about herself, only telling him of how she was taught to heal by an old man in her village before Kattegat. She left out the part about leaving after the fire, about losing her mother and sister…and Vali. That was something Eira kept close to the vest, and even though she was starting to trust him, they weren’t there yet.

After a while, the conversation died down. The silence between them was comforting, almost natural, but Eira’s sharp healer’s gaze didn’t miss the way Hvitserk shifted in his chair. His stomach growled softly, breaking the quiet, and his lips pressed together as if willing it to stop.

Eira bit back a grin. “You’re hungry,” she observed lightly. 

“I’m fine,” he said quickly, though his fidgeting betrayed him. He avoided her eyes and messed with the ties of his vest. “It’s nothing. 

Her brow quirked up at his answer. “Hvitserk, go eat something. I’m not going anywhere.”

He shook his head, a stubbornness flashing in his eyes that Eira was beginning to recognize. “I’m staying.”

“I said I’ll be fine.” Eira folded her arms over her chest, ignoring the slight weakness in her limbs. “If you’re so decided on looking after me, you probably need to eat. Or do you want me to start worrying about you now?”

Hvitserk snorted at that, though a faint smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “You? Worry about me? That’ll be the day.”

“If you starve to death right here in this chair, who do you think will clean up the mess?”

Though he chuckled at her dry humor, he still hesitated. “What if you need something?”

Eira softened slightly. “Then I’ll call for someone else. Or I’ll wait until you’re back. I’m not helpless, Hvitserk.”

“I know,” he said quietly, his gaze flicking to hers as he thought it through. “But still…”

Suppressing a low moan from the movement, Eira leaned forward off the backboard closer to him. “Go. Eat. You won’t do us any good if you keel over from hunger.”

They stared at each other, willing the other to yield, but after a minute, Hvitserk sighed at last and ran a hand over his mouth. “You’re irritating, you know that?” he muttered, though his tone was more amused than annoyed.

“Someone has to be,” she shot back, hiding a grin.

He stood reluctantly, glancing at her one last time as if to make sure she wouldn’t disappear the moment he left the room. “I’ll be back soon.”

“And I’ll be here,” she chirped, settling back against the pillows. “And Hvitserk?”

He paused in the doorway, looking back at her. “What?”

“Don’t bring back any ale,” she groaned. “Just food.”

He laughed, the sound light and genuine. “I’ll see what I can do.”

With that, he stepped out into the corridor, and Eira let herself relax, the faint smile lingering on her lips. The air had shifted, and to her surprise, she didn’t think she minded.

A/N: message or comment if you want to be added to the tag list! <3

[mads-weasley]

writing historical fic set in real places is so scary. what if someone who knows more about Philadelphia's timeline to move from gas to electric streetlamps reads my fanfiction and laughs at me

[mads-weasley]

Ch. 13: Fevered Truths

Hvitserk Ragnarsson x Eira Torsteinsdottir (OFC)

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Summary: Eira confronts her shifting feelings for Hvitserk as she battles lingering memories, her illness, and an unexpected trust in the man who has stayed by her side.

Word Count: 1.6k

Flames. They licked the edges of her vision, eating away at the trees and crackling like the hiss of a serpent. Among the smoke, a battlefield stretched before her, and its cacophony of clashing steel and dreams made her head pound. 

What battle was this? Who was fighting?

She stood frozen in the center of it, barefoot on the icy ground as the fighting raged around her. Something warm trickled down her arm…blood, but she couldn’t tell if it was hers. 

Eira stepped through the battle, untouched by the warriors as if she were invisible to them, like a Valkyrie choosing men to go to Valhalla. From the chaos came a familiar cry.

“Eira!”

She spun toward the sound, and her heart stopped when she saw him. Vali. He was fighting just ahead of her, his axe swinging powerfully as he struck one enemy after another. Just the sight of his dark eyes and short, braided hair brought tears to her eyes. 

He was alive!

“Vali!” she screamed.

He looked up at her, his fearsome expression softening for a fleeting moment into relief, recognition…but then it twisted into something else: horror. Eira’s legs felt frozen in place as she watched a blade pierce through his stomach, its sharp point gleaming crimson. Vali’s mouth opened in a silent scream, his knees buckling. Time slowed as he fell, his body hitting the ground with a sickening thud that echoed in her ears.

Then she saw who held the shining blade.

Ivar the Boneless.

He stood over Vali’s body with a cruel smirk as he leaned on his crutch. Blood dripped from the sword onto the snow, staining it red. Slowly raising the blade to his mouth, he licked it before smiling wider, his teeth stained pink.

“No,” she whispered, shaking her head. “No, no, no.”

Then the scene shifted again. Vali’s body disappeared as if swallowed by the earth, and the battlefield faded into a black void. Eira spun around, her heart hammering in her chest, and she jumped roughly at the terrifying face before her. She tried to back away, to run from him, but her feet wouldn’t move.

“You think you can escape this?” Ivar asked, tilting his head. “You can’t run from me.”

His sword plunged into her stomach before she could scream, the sharp, hot pain stealing the air from her lungs. She gasped, looking down at the blade protruding from her, then looked back up to see Ivar’s face was only inches from hers. His lips twisted into a sneer.

“You will never escape me,” he hissed. Then he shoved her back, and she fell, his menacing figure wisping away into darkness.

Eira’s eyes flew open, her breath hitching in her throat as her hand flew to her stomach. The room was dark, lit only by the dying embers in the hearth, but it took a moment for her to remember where she was. Her chest heaved as she tried to calm herself. Her body trembled beneath the weight of the furs, and the ache in her stomach was still there, phantom pain from the dream.

Her gaze darted around the room, and then she saw him. Slumped in the chair beside her bed was Hvitserk, his arms crossed over his chest and his head tilted at an awkward angle. His mouth hung slightly open and soft snores escaped him. His steady breathing was the only sound in the room, a quiet rhythm that anchored her to reality. 

Eira swallowed hard, her throat dry and scratchy. She closed her eyes briefly and tried to shake the lingering images of the dream. Despite her efforts, Vali’s horrified face remained in the forefront of her mind, and it tore at her heart. She’d tried not to think about exactly how he’d died, tried not to picture it, but her dream, no, nightmare, destroyed that. Her only comfort was that he was feasting in Valhalla with his father, and her father for that matter. Vali’s father, Bodil, was their mother’s first husband and had been killed shortly after he was born. It was where he’d gotten his brown eyes and tar-black hair from. He and Eira were opposites in appearance, but they were brother and sister, through and through. 

She opened her eyes again and allowed her gaze to drift to Hvitserk. He looked uncomfortable, his taller frame crammed into the too-small chair, but there was something strangely peaceful about him in sleep. His usual guarded expression was gone, replaced by something softer, almost boyish. She’d never seen him like this before. Vulnerable.

It brought a small smile to her face.

A sense of peace washed over Eira as she watched him, and her guilt over their unnamed association seemed to fade. Here he was taking care of her with nothing to gain, no ulterior motive, no deception, and no power play behind his actions. Glancing over at Vali’s carved wolf on the nightstand, she thought back to the nightmare. Hvitserk was not Ivar. He was not cruel, manipulating, or deceiving. He was…Hvitserk. He was his own man outside of his brother's shadow. One with a heart, a conscience, and who wanted to right his wrongs.

Surely Vali would see that. Surely he would understand? Eira prayed to the gods he would.

Her thoughts began to spiral from there. Why was he still here? Why had he stayed? She didn’t know when her feelings toward him had started to shift. Hatred had been easy in the beginning…he was Ivar’s brother, and Ivar had taken everything from her. Hatred gave way to annoyance when he insisted on meddling in her life, showing up at the most inconvenient times.

But lately, that annoyance had faded, replaced by something more complicated. She didn’t hate him anymore. She didn’t even dislike him. If anything, she found his company…bearable. Sometimes even comforting.

Eira swallowed hard, her chest tightening as she realized just how much her feelings had changed. When had this happened? How had this happened?

She didn’t know, but she did know that she trusted him…or was at least starting to.

As she took a deep breath, something tickled her throat, and a harsh cough broke free from her chest before she could stop it. The sound was sharp as broken glass, and it rattled her entire sore body. The pain in her throat flared, and she winced, holding a hand to her throat. It felt as if the cough had torn through her insides, leaving an aching trail behind it.

The sudden noise sliced through the room’s stillness, and Eira froze, realizing too late that it had woken Hvitserk. His eyes fluttered open, confused and bleary at first, before they focused on her.

“Eira?” His voice was rough from sleep, and he straightened in the chair, barely concealing a wince from his stiff muscles. 

She gave a weak, half-hearted wave of her hand, trying to dismiss the cough, but it flew to cover her mouth as another fit wracked through her body. She winced, her eyes watering as her body trembled with the strain.

Hvitserk stood quickly and poured a cup of water at the table, his long legs making quick work of closing the distance between them. He crouched beside the bed and helped her sit up against the headboard before holding out the cup. “Here.”

“I’m fine,” Eira managed to croak out, but her voice betrayed her, and she coughed again. After a moment, she avoided his gaze and took the cup from him, their fingers brushing lightly.

His eyes watched her intently as she sipped the cool liquid, allowing her eyes to flutter shut at the relief it offered. When she finished, Hvitserk set the cup aside and slowly reached his hand towards her forehead, as if giving her time to object if she wished. She didn’t, and his cool hand gently pressed against her forehead. A small shiver ran through her at the coolness of his touch.

His shoulders dropped, losing their tension, and his lip twitched into a flicker of a smile as his gaze lowered. “Your fever’s gone,” he said softly.

“Good riddance,” Eira muttered. She peered over at him, her own weakened grin tugging at her lips. “You haven’t killed me yet, Hvitserk, so it seems you’re not a bad healer after all.”

“Don’t worry, there’s still time for that,” he teased, a genuine smile forming as he raised his brow. “I did have a good teacher.”

His fingers twitched as if he hadn’t realized he was still touching her, and Eira caught the brief flash of awkwardness that crossed his features. His eyes darted away quickly, as if suddenly aware of the intimacy of the gesture, and he pulled his hand back with a muttered apology. The familiar comfortable silence momentarily filled the air between them again. Eira chewed at the inside of her cheek as her mind wrestled with itself.

“Can I ask you something?” she asked finally, her voice uncharacteristically timid.

Hvitserk nodded and leaned his elbows on his knees to lean closer. “Sure.”

Eira took a deep breath before replying, thanking the gods it didn’t incite a coughing fit. “Why are you here? Why have you been helping me?”

He stared at her for a few seconds, his brow furrowing and upper lip twitching as his mind attempted to formulate an answer. The stormy look in his eyes told her he was conflicted. 

“I need to prove I’m not Iva-”

“I know you’re not him, Hvitserk,” she interrupted, her voice dropping. “I know that. And I think you do, too.”

Hvitserk let out a quick exhale under his breath and he looked away from her, a split-second, lopsided smirk returning to his expression. But he remained silent.

“Why are you here, Hvitserk?” Eira pressed ever-so gently, her heart racing as she waited for his reply.

He met her eyes at last. “Maybe I want to be,” he muttered, breaking from her gaze and looking down at his wrist to play with his armband.

A/N: message or comment if you want to be added to the tag list! <3

[mads-weasley]

[mads-weasley]

12. Through the Haze

Hvitserk Ragnarsson x Eira Torsteinsdottir (OFC)

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Summary: Finally getting the sickness she'd been treating for weeks, Eira is left with no one to care for her...or so she thought.

Word Count: 1.6k

Everything was warm…too warm. But why was she shivering? And was she in bed? Eira tried to remember what had happened, but her mind was too hazy to think of more than that exact moment, her body aching too badly. She instead attempted to focus on what was going on around her. She felt the brush of the soft furs against her slick skin, and– 

Her thoughts abruptly ended when a cool hand pressed against her forehead. It was so gentle…it had to be Liv.  

But then she heard it: a low, rumbling sigh from beside her as the hand lingered for a moment.

Who was with her?

“Liv?” she weakly groaned. 

The soft scrape of chair legs against the floor filled her ears as it slid closer. “Not Liv,” a familiar voice muttered.

Hvitserk.

He always had the knack for finding her in the most inopportune times, but the tightness in the muscles loosened just so slightly at his voice. Eira forced her eyes open and they fluttered for a moment, squinting against the dim light. She lazily gazed across at the wall across from her: shelves of herbs and jars…she was home.

How did she get home?

She tried to sit up, but her body felt too heavy, and she winced at the dull ache in her chest.

He sat up in his chair, moving closer as he leaned his elbows on his knees. “Easy.”

Eira’s gaze lingered on his face. “How did I get here?”

“You don’t remember?”

“Would I be asking if I did?” The retort left her before she could stop it. It brought a smile to Hvitserk’s face. 

She was still Eira.

“No, I suppose not,” he grinned, dropping his gaze to the floor, the fire’s soft glow highlighting his face. A moment of silence filled the air between them, and Eira found herself inspecting him more closely, noting the small features she’d never noticed: the small scars on his forehead and upper cheek, the intricate braids trailing down his back, his trimmed mustache, his lips that always seemed pursed in thought, always looking so-

‘Stop it!’ Eira scolded her mind. ‘What are you doing?’

She was delirious…she had to be. Because there was no way she would ever feel that way about him, ever think that way.

‘It’s just the fever,’ she told herself, her head pounding from the effort. ‘Just the fever.’

Hvitserk sighed, meeting her gaze. “You were dead on your feet, almost fell over a few times. I carried you here.”

“Why didn’t you take me to Liv?” she rasped, her voice weak and hoarse, almost foreign to her own ears.

Hvitserk nodded to himself. “I knew you wouldn’t want to get her sick. I figured I could handle it.”

“And when exactly did you become a healer?”

“I’ve picked up a few things from someone I know,” he shrugged, a strained smile lighting his features. “I’m afraid she’s not a great patient, though.”

Eira tried to chuckle but winced as the motion sent a sharp pain through her chest. She cleared her throat. “Sounds like she’s a fool for trusting you.”

His grin softened. “She might be.”

The conversation lulled, and Eira allowed her eyes to flutter shut, but her thoughts remained restless. The fever pressed down on her, urging her to sleep, yet the quietness unsettled her. Something about the way he was watching her felt different.

Eira turned her head slightly, glancing at him through heavy lids. She wanted to force him to leave, but she lacked the energy to endure the arguing that would surely follow. "You should go, Hvitserk. There’s nothing you can do here.”

He shook his head and crossed his arms, tilting his head at her. “I have to watch my patient.”

"You're not even comfortable." She tried to joke. “That chair looks like it's digging into you.”

“It is,” he admitted, smirking faintly. “But I’ve had worse…now go back to sleep. You need it.”

Eira shut her eyes slowly, turning away from him. “Fine.”

A few minutes passed in silence, and Eira's weak voice calling his name broke his concentration on the flickering of the nearby hearth. “Hvitserk.” 

He moved to lean over her with drawn brows. “Yes?”

Eira turned to him, a shadow of her usual sharpness glinting in her fevered eyes as she smiled faintly. “If you mess up my herbs, I’ll haunt you.”

Hvitserk couldn’t stop the laughter that bubbled within him, and he shook his head with a wide grin. “Go to sleep before I knock you out myself, Torsteinsdottir.”

He was worried. There was no hiding it. When he and Eira had gone around the village earlier in the week, he’d seen the true effects of the sickness. While the situation in Kattegat was improving overall, there were still a handful of people sick. And now Eira had it.

The hard chair beneath him had to be the most uncomfortable he’d ever sat in, its wooden frame not meant for a man of his stature, but he’d not moved from it. 

He didn’t dare leave.

Hvitserk recalled when his father told him and Ubbe about their half-sister, Gyda, and how she’d been taken by a sickness that decimated Kattegat before he was born. Back then, everyone gathered in the longhouse to be cared after by Lagertha and anyone able. If only they had a ruler that cared for them in the slightest…maybe things wouldn’t have gotten so bad.

He didn’t know where he stood with the gods or exactly how much he believed in them anymore, but as the hours passed, he prayed to them, to any god that would listen. He prayed that Eira would be alright, that she wouldn’t suffer the same fate as his sister.

But as time ticked by, she got worse. It started with more shivers, then coughing, and panic soon gripped his heart. The moment the first dry cough left her lips, he sprang to his feet, muttering to himself as he tried to remember what exact herbs Eira had used to help the villagers. To his relief, he found everything he was looking for and got to work making tea. The space was chaos, jars and herbs scattered across the table, a sight she’d surely scold him for later. But he didn’t care.

He lifted her carefully, supporting her back with one arm as he guided the cup of tea to her lips with his other hand. “Eira, you need to drink this. It will help your fever.”

Her body trembled slightly and she looked so small in that moment, so vulnerable. 

“Vali?” she mumbled.

The name stilled him. Who was Vali? 

Hvitserk ran through the mental list of everyone he’d known growing up in Kattegat, everyone he knew lived there today…but he didn’t know of a Vali. In the back of his mind, a thought flashed bright, and he was unable to ignore it.

What if this Vali was her lover? The person she’d lost…

He shook his head quickly, clearing the thought before it could even finish. Why would it matter? It didn’t, right? But that didn’t stop it from gnawing at him. Hvitserk pushed it aside, focusing on her fevered face instead. Now was not the time to ask.

“It’s Hvitserk, remember?” he said softly. His lips quirked into a small, teasing smile, but the worry in his eyes betrayed his playful tone. “Your favorite Ragnarsson.”

Eira’s eyes cracked open then, struggling to focus on him through her feverish haze. Her blue eyes looked distant, unfocused. “Hvit…serk,” she slowly whispered.

A tight knot twisted in his chest. He nodded down at her, trying to keep his voice steady. “Yes. Drink this, alright?”

He lifted the cup again, gently guiding it to her lips. She was so still, so fragile in his arms. He couldn’t stop thinking how small she seemed, the woman who had always stood strong and independent was now curled up and trembling with this terrible sickness.

Her eyes drifted shut as she finally took a sip, the tea cooling her burning throat. She only drank a few sips before breaking into a coughing fit that tensed every muscle in Hvitserk’s body. 

Once it passed, he gently lowered her back to the bed and covered her with furs once again. He brushed a stray blonde hair from her sweaty forehead. “Get better, little healer,” Hvitserk whispered. “I'm getting too comfortable without you keeping me on my toes.”

As Hvitserk watched over her sleeping figure, his mind reeled. Every memory with her, every moment, replayed, and with each one, the fluttering in his chest spread and warmed his entire body. Despite the pleasant feeling, his stomach churned as he came to a realization.

He knew this feeling. He hadn’t felt it in a long while, especially in its beginning stages, but he knew it like Thor knew his hammer. 

He cared for her.

It wasn’t the first time that realization had crept into his mind. It had been there for weeks, hovering just beneath the surface, but he had refused to acknowledge it. He’d been afraid, terrified even, of what it meant. His heart had been broken before. The death of his mother, his complicated relationship with Ivar, and the loss of Margrethe…they had all left scars. Those scars made him wary of attachment, of letting someone close to him again. He couldn’t let that happen again. Not to himself. Not to her.

But Eira…she’d done it without even trying, wormed her way into his fractured heart. Her fire challenged him, forced him to be a better man, and made him see things from a different perspective. 

Hvitserk sighed as the fire crackled in the hearth, casting a faint glow over her pale skin. He leaned forward, his hand instinctively brushing another stray lock of hair from her forehead.

“Stubborn Eira, what have I gotten myself into?” he murmured, his thumb tracing smoothing circles on her temple as if trying to smooth away not just her fever, but his own growing unease. And yet, for the first time in years, he felt like he was where he was supposed to be.

A/N: message or comment if you want to be added to the tag list! <3

[mads-weasley]

11. Breaking Point

Hvitserk Ragnarsson x Eira Torsteinsdottir (OFC)

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Summary: After caring for everyone around her, Eira finally hits her wall and is unable to continue. Luckily, someone is there to offer her help even when she doesn't want it (between 5x14-15).

Word Count: 1k

Leaving Liv’s house, Eira pushed her discomfort to the back of her mind, instead going over her mental list of the days' visits: two houses with the sickness, an expecting mother, and a probable broken ankle sat at the top. A sharp gust of wind blew through the air and interrupted her train of thought. Eira tugged her hood up, but it did nothing to stop the cold that had already seeped into her bones.

She knocked on the first door and was immediately met by a pair of wide, expectant eyes.

“Eira! Come in, come in,” a woman’s voice called.

Inside, the house smelled of sickness: burnt herbs, dampness, and the faint smell of sweat. Eira saw the woman’s husband lying in the corner, his face flushed with fever. She said a quick prayer to the gods.

She couldn’t bear to see another person wither away.

Eira set down her basket, but her hands felt unsteady as she unwrapped the herbs she’d brought. She tried to ignore the slight tremor in her hands, convincing herself it was just from the cold.

As she worked through the morning into the afternoon, moving from house to house, her symptoms grew more pronounced…dizziness that refused to go away, the sharp ache in her head worsening, and a gnawing sense of fatigue that was becoming harder to ignore.

“Just one more,” she mumbled as she made her way to the last house on the list. 

Eira forced one foot in front of the other as she left her final house of the day. Her body trembled from the cold and exhaustion, and the world around her tilted precariously, but she clenched her jaw, willing herself to keep moving. She just wanted to be home. The snow beneath her boots crunched louder than usual, or maybe the pounding in her head amplified every sound.

She barely registered the voice calling her name at first, muffled and distant, like it was coming from underwater.

“Eira!” The urgency broke through the fog in her mind. She turned slightly, blinking sluggishly as the figure approached her.

Hvitserk.

“Eira?” he asked, coming to a stop in front of her. His sharp eyes scanned her face and his trademark blank expression quickly morphed into one filled with concern, his brows furrowing. He ducked slightly to view her face better as her hood concealed much of it from his height. “You look terrible.”

She rolled her eyes, but the movement sent a searing pain surging into her already-pounding skull. She bit back a wince and raised a hand to cover her eyes. “Thanks for that,” she muttered.

“You look like you’re about to drop.”

“I’m done for the day,” she said shortly, shifting the basket in her arms. 

When had it become so heavy?

Hvitserk continued to inspect her face. He noted the thin sheen of sweat on her forehead, her slight shivers, and the worsened dark circles under her eyes. She didn’t look like herself. “How long have you been sick?” he asked after a moment, his voice losing its teasing edge.

Eira swayed on her feet, and Hvitserk fought every urge to reach out and hold her steady.

“I’m really fine. I just need some rest,” she replied, though the weakness in her voice betrayed her. She took a step past him, willing her legs not to give out.

“Sure,” he said, easily stepping past her to block her path. “That’s why you’re stumbling through the road like a drunk.”

Eira sighed. “I don’t need your help.”

“Says the woman about to keel over. You can’t even walk straight.”

“Hvitserk,” she warned shakily. Her body was beginning to shut down…she could feel it. It already took everything in her to remain upright.

His gaze softened as he stepped toward her, now less than an arm’s length away. “Eira,” he shot back, tilting his head. “You’re being stubborn.”

She just wanted to sleep, to close her eyes, to have some relief from the pain that coursed through her body, and here he was delaying that. Her saw tightened. “I said I’m fine,” she muttered, her voice betraying her. She tried to take a step, but the ground seemed to tilt beneath her.

Hvitserk couldn’t stay still this time. His arm quickly shot out and steadied her before she could fall. “Eira!”

She weakly pushed his hand away, her pride flaring. “I don’t need-”

“I know you don’t want my help,” he interrupted, “But I don’t think you can make it home like this.”

He was right…and she knew it.

Eira’s breath hitched and her body leaned slightly against him despite her best efforts to pull away. She hated how weak she felt, hated that he could see it.

“I don’t…” she started, but her legs buckled beneath her. This time, she didn’t even have the strength to catch herself. 

Hvitserk caught her easily, his hands gentle as he steadied her. For a moment, she thought he’d let her go, but instead, he swept her into his arms, ignoring her weak protests.

“Hvitserk. Put me down,” she demanded, though her voice was little more than a hoarse whisper. “I can walk.”

She may have protested, but on the inside, she praised the gods. Finally off her feet, Eira’s muscles relaxed and she closed her eyes, the semi-darkness offering her a semblance of relief. It also helped that his hold was warm and strong as he held her against his chest.

“No, you can’t,” he said bluntly, adjusting his grip on her. “And if you try, you’ll end up face-first in the snow. Let me help.”

She groaned softly, her head lolling against his chest. “Have I told you how irritating you are?”

“A few times. But I’ve been called worse,” Hvitserk replied, his tone lighter, but his expression still serious. “Now let’s get you home.”

Her only response was a quiet sigh, her breath warm against his collar as the warmth of his body and the rhythm of his stride lulled her closer to sleep.

“Stubborn woman,” he muttered under his breath, though his voice was tinged with worry, there was something else…something he wasn’t quite ready for.

A/N: message or comment if you want to be added to the tag list! <3

[mads-weasley]

10. Tug of War

Hvitserk Ragnarsson x Eira Torsteinsdottir (OFC)

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Summary: Eira's growing relationship...if you could call it that...tears at her mind and soul in ways she never expected (between 5x14-15).

Word Count: 1.5k

Eira awoke with a shiver, tugging her furs closer to her freezing body. A little over a week had passed since she and Hvitserk went to Astrid’s house, and he’d found her each day and accompanied her for portions of her duties. He’d helped her take care of the sick, watched a shoulder be put back in place, and almost watched a mother give birth…almost meaning he stepped out of the room before he could pass out. 

The small cracks that formed that day at Astrid’s were starting to become fissures that threatened to break her carefully built shield…the one that held her beliefs about him, that he was the indifferent warrior who only cared for himself and couldn’t care less for what was happening to his home. Eira didn’t want to admit it, but each time Hvitserk had shown up, he didn’t bring with him the coldness she’d expected. Instead, there was something different. And that made her question everything she’d known about him.

Little by little, interaction by interaction, he broke down that belief, but Eira still held onto it with a death grip. 

She didn’t want to let it go.

Eira caught herself looking for any sign of his true nature, any indication that he might be as cruel as his brother. She couldn’t…no, wouldn’t… let herself believe otherwise, not with the ghosts of her past still clinging to her heels. Hvitserk was just another part of the devastation…right?

She sat up in her bed with a sigh, but her hand instantly flew to her head when a sharp pain coursed through it.

“Not today,” she groaned, squeezing her eyes shut.

To her relief, the pain faded after a few moments, so she shook it off and continued with her routine. As she gathered the day’s necessary supplies, her eyes caught on the small wooden figure on the corner of her dresser. Picking it up, she ran her fingers over the smoothed wood of the tiny wolf Vali had gifted her for one of her childhood birthdays. She didn’t remember which.

Even then, he was restless, always needing something to occupy his hands, so carvings naturally became his hobby. She had a box of them somewhere, but many were lost in the fire that killed their mother Solveig.

Eira smiled as a memory flashed through her mind: the image of a toothless Vali grinning widely, holding out the wolf to her. “Happy birthday, little wolf.”

She stared at the figure in her hands, reflecting on her situation and who she now found herself associating with. What would Vali think of her newfound friendship? No. Acquaintanceship? Not that either. Eira didn’t know what exactly was happening with her and Hvitserk, but she couldn’t shake the guilt that ate at her.

How could she possibly give anyone in Ivar’s regime a chance to know her, to help her? How could she after all they’d taken from her? After they’d killed her brother?

So as she went about her day, taking care of the remnants of the sickness, her soul was tugged from right and left. Eira wished the tug-of-war in her heart would stop, but it was relentless. Condemnation clashed with compassion, anger battled empathy. But after all, she was the one who told him to prove it and show that he wasn’t his brother.

Now she reaped the consequences of her actions, but Eira had to admit, Hvitserk Ragnarsson was not the man she thought him to be. Though she didn’t know exactly who he was or what he stood for, he was not cruel like Ivar…that much was certain. Eira sighed and shook away the thought, sitting the figure back on the dresser and stuffing the supplies into her basket.

She had work to do.

But before Eira went to any sickness-ridden houses, she had to make a stop at Liv’s. The woman heard that the young healer was pushing herself to her limits and wanted to check on Eira herself. It wouldn’t have surprised her if Hvitserk had been the one to give her up to Liv.

Liv would never admit it, but it also gave her more information about Hvitserk and Eira’s interactions that were now increasing in frequency, whether Eira wanted it or not. Liv had a feeling he was growing on her, but she wasn’t certain…and that’s exactly why she needed to talk to her.

Hearing a sharp knock, Liv placed down her cup and hurried to the door. She swung it open with a smile, but it fell slightly at the sight before her. “Eira…are you alright?”

“I am fine, Liv,” she croaked, pushing a few stray hairs from her paled face. The wind blew harshly, and another shiver ran through her. “It’s cold out here, Liv. Can I come in?”

Though she didn’t quite believe her, Liv stepped aside, welcoming her into the warmth of her home. She went to speak, but Eira beat her to it.

“You’re not feeling sick at all, are you?” she asked, warming her hands by the fire. “No fever again, muscle aches, nau-”

Sitting back down in her chair, Liv shook her head. “No. I’m in perfect condition.”

Eira’s shoulders dropped slightly as if an invisible burden was lifted from them. “Good,” she muttered. “I don’t think I could take another person getting sick. I’m just glad it’s almost over.”

“You need a break.”

Eira knew she needed a break, but there was no possible way for her to take one. Someone was always in need of healing, whether it was the sickness, a broken bone, a childbirth, or some other injury, and it left little time for Eira to do anything else, including rest. Deep down, Eira craved the busyness, the never-ending work load because it kept her mind going. It kept her moving. 

Because the second she stopped, it all came rushing back. 

Eira glanced away from the fire back at Liv. “Hvitserk said he came by here the other day.”

Hvitserk. Not Ivar’s Brother. Not Ragnarsson. But Hvitserk.

Liv suppressed the smirk that threatened to pull at her lips. Eira said it so nonchalantly and without the venom and animosity she held for him the month prior. 

“Ah yes,” Liv nodded, sipping her tea before raising her brow. “So he found you, then.”

She sighed. “Yes, he did.”

Eira chewed at the inside of her cheek, and her mind wandered behind those big eyes of hers. Liv noticed the cloudiness of them…they were unclear, hazy. A few moments later, Eira’s eyes cleared just slightly and flicked to hers.

“I don’t know what to think,” she said finally, barely above a whisper.

“About what?”

She tilted her head at Liv. “You know what.”

Liv took a deep breath and closed her eyes, trying to conjure the perfect thing to say in her mind. She was invested in both parties, and knowing so much about them, she found that coming up with the right words was sometimes a challenge. 

“Tell me what is going through your mind,” she prompted as she placed down her mug and reached for Eira’s hand. “All of it.”

So she told her…she told it all���or most of it. Liv listened intently as she spoke of the constant tug of war in her mind, her heart, her soul, battling over whether to hold on to her anger and resentment or face the truth she’d seen. How she worried Vali was shaking his head at her from Valhalla for even daring to speak to Hvitserk after he’d fought with Ivar, after he fought with the side that killed him. Her head lay in her hands by the end of it, but it lifted a weight from her shoulders just to get the thoughts in the air and out of her already spinning mind.

Liv gently tugged one of Eira’s hands from her face to hold. “No wonder you’re so exhausted. You’ve been keeping all that up there?”

“There hasn’t exactly been time to…” she trailed off, her eyes widening.

Time.

She suddenly realized how long she’d been talking. She was only supposed to stop by for a few minutes, and it had surely been well over an hour.

Eira stood up abruptly, feeling a wave of dizziness rush through her. She placed a hand against the wall for balance, and her head spun for a few seconds before straightening. Her vision blurred as the familiar ache in her temples returned, sharper this time.

“Eira?” Liv’s voice sounded muffled as if it were coming from a distance. She tried to focus on it, but it didn’t help. Her vision blurred slightly but Eira quickly shook her head in an attempt to clear it.

“I’m fine,” she muttered, her voice a little weaker than she intended. She smiled at Liv, though it felt strained. “Just got up too quickly, that’s all.”

Liv’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t look fine.”

“Don’t worry,” she huffed quietly as she stepped away from the wall and approached the doorway. “I’ve got to make a few visits, so I won’t be back today. Let me know if you need anything.”

“You do the same.”

Eira paused at the door and turned to Liv over her shoulder, a weak smirk on her lips. “Don’t cause too much trouble.”

A few chuckles escaped the older woman as Eira opened the front door. The bite of the winter wind hit her like a slap to the face, and she wrapped her arms around herself. 

Had it been that cold when she’d arrived?

A/N: message or comment if you want to be added to the tag list! <3

[mads-weasley]

9. Cracks of Doubt

Hvitserk Ragnarsson x Eira Torsteinsdottir (OFC)

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Summary: Successfully helping the sick family was just the beginning of Hvitserk's plans, and he finds himself, once again, at odds with his brother (between 5x14-15).

Word Count: 1.4k

Hvitserk and Eira stayed with the family for a little over an hour and a half, and they were thanking the gods as they left, for Astrid’s fever had finally broken. The children offered them both hugs at the door and made them promise to return, and neither could stop the wide smiles painting their lips. The sun barely shone over the mountains surrounding Kattegat, and the temperature dropped drastically. With an involuntary shiver, Eira pulled her cloak tightly around her.

“Anymore stops tonight?” Hvitserk asked as they walked back through the village.

She shook her head absentmindedly. “No.” 

Glancing over at her, Hvitserk studied her face not concealed by her hood. She chewed the inside of her cheek as they walked, and her eyes were downcast, looking only a few feet ahead of her. While they’d walked in silence before, he’d never seen her quite like this…quiet and contemplative. Hvitserk wondered what was going on in that mind of hers. Little did he know that he was the subject of her thoughts.

Walking side by side, the cold air stinging her cheeks, Eira couldn’t help but replay the day’s events. She’d expected Hvitserk to be aloof, indifferent to the family’s plight in the same way he’d been indifferent to all Ivar had done. But she was proven wrong in how he’d occupied the children, played with them…he seemed to genuinely care.

The thought both warmed and unsettled her. She knew he was trying to complete her challenge and prove he wasn’t like his brother, but before today, something had told her his efforts had some type of ulterior motive. Eira had seen him trying, but she had resisted acknowledging it. It was easier to hold onto her anger, to the belief that anyone who stood by Ivar’s side could not be trusted. But then there were moments like this evening where he fractured that narrative.

Why had he helped her in the market? Why had he gone out of his way to help Astrid’s family? Hvitserk didn’t owe her anything…not after how cold she had been toward him. Yet, he stayed, offering his help without asking for anything in return. Eira’s grip on her basket tightened. She didn’t want to admit that Hvitserk might be different. That perhaps, beneath layers of guilt and grief that he carried, there was a man who sought redemption in earnest. 

Eira’s thoughts wavered, and her footsteps slowed slightly. If he truly cared, then why had he supported Ivar? Why hadn’t he done anything to oppose his brother’s rule in Kattegat?

A flicker of anger returned in a fragile shield against her growing doubts. But it wasn’t as strong as it once had been. Too many cracks had formed, and she wasn’t sure how much longer she could keep patching them.

“Eira?” Hvitserk’s voice pulled her from her thoughts. He had stopped walking, looking back at her with a curious tilt of his head. “You alright?”

She nodded quickly, forcing herself forward. “I’m fine.”

He didn’t press further, but his eyes lingered on her for a moment, searching for something she wasn’t ready to share. Then, with a faint smile, he turned and resumed walking.

Eira followed, her mind still churning. The weight of her animosity toward him felt different now…less like a shield and more like a chain she wasn’t ready to let go of. And for the first time, she wondered if it was keeping her safe...or holding her back.

The pair continued walking toward Eira’s house in silence. The closer they came to the center of town, the louder the laughter and yells echoing from the longhouse became. Hvitserk’s gaze lingered on the hall’s entrance and his stomach grumbled. 

The sound quickly pushed away her serious thoughts, and Eira couldn’t stop the grin that tugged at her lips. She remembered Liv’s words about Hvitserk from a few weeks before: ‘Always eating, this one.’ “Go on,” she urged, gesturing toward the hall.

His lip twitched and he tilted his head as his eyes flicked from the hall to her face. “Trying to get rid of me, Torsteinsdóttir? I thought I was being helpful.”

“You are hungry,” Eira nodded, rolling her eyes. She pointed to his stomach and then to the hall. “Go eat, Ragnarsson.”

Hvitserk gave a short laugh, the corners of his mouth twitching upward. “I could go for food but sitting there…” he glanced at the hall and shrugged. “Not my favorite thing.

Eira followed his gaze. “But you stay with them,” she said evenly, though the question behind her words was clear. 

He tilted his head. “I stay where I’m used to,” he said finally, almost nonchalantly. “For now anyway.”

“For now? What does that mean?”

Hvitserk let out a quiet sigh, rubbing the back of his neck as his gaze fell to the ground. “It means I don’t have a better place to go,” he admitted, no self-pity in his voice. “At least not yet.”

Eira frowned watching him shuffle around the snow and mud with his foot. “If you hate it so much, maybe you should stop waiting for ‘better’ and find it yourself.”

He looked up at her with a blank expression for a moment, but then he smiled faintly. “Maybe I will.”

She saw his eyes in the moonlight, unique for a Ragnarsson. The usual stark blue of his brothers was replaced with a striking mix of honey, icy grey, and an almost emerald color that ringed his iris. 

Those eyes…and that smile…

Eira’s lips pressed together, and she turned and started walking away, his response unsettling her. “Well, you won’t get far if you skip meals,” she muttered.

Hvitserk chuckled, the sound warm and soft. “You sound concerned, Eira.”

“I’m not,” she replied quickly, though her voice faltered. “But if you collapse tomorrow because you’re starving, it’ll just make more work for me.”

“Ah,” he said, tilting his head with a grin, a mannerism he did often, “So you’re just being practical.”

“Exactly,” she said firmly, though she didn’t quite meet his gaze.

He nodded toward her. “Then it’s only fair I return the favor. Should I walk you home?”

“Goodnight, Hvitserk,” she chimed, ignoring his question and resuming her walk. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Eira didn’t stop, didn’t look over her shoulder, but she could hear the smile in his voice. She was also glad he couldn’t see her own. “Hopefully not,” she called back, her basket bouncing on her hip. 

She heard a chuckle, the crunch of footsteps, and assumed he’d moved toward the building. After a few moments, she looked back just in time to see his billowing blue cloak disappear into the warmth of the hall.

“There is sickness in the town,” said Hvitserk as he looked up from his meal at his brother.

Ivar licked his fingers, his eyes remaining on his plate. “So?”

Irritation flared in Hvitserk’s veins, and his tongue instinctively went to his cheek. “What do you mean, “so?” Your people are sick, Ivar.”

Finally looking up, Ivar scoffed and tilted his head. “I am not sick. You are not sick.” His eyes flicked over to the throne. “Freydis is not sick. What does it matter?”

What does it matter?

Astrid’s pale face flashed in his mind…her precious children who could’ve lost a mother. Surely others already had lost parents to the sickness. And Eira…he saw her exhausted face, her fiery blue eyes dulled just slightly.

“It is deserved after their resistance to my reign,” he mumbled nonchalantly, popping another piece of chicken into his mouth. “It is not my fault they do not understand-”

Hvitserk couldn’t restrain himself any longer and slammed his fist onto the table, sending food and mead spilling onto the worn wooden surface as he stood. Most of the hall turned their attention to the brothers. 

“Ivar! Listen to yourself!” Hvitserk growled.

Ivar’s brow creased in confusion. “And why do you suddenly care, brother?”

“We grew up with these people,” he replied, bracing his palms against the table as he leaned over it towards Ivar. “This is our home.”

“Many of them fought against us.”

Hvitserk scoffed and glanced away for a moment. “That doesn’t matter.”

“Of course, it matters,” Ivar defended, the grip on his fork tightening. “I will not soon forget their disloyalty. I am their king, and-.”

“You are no king, Ivar,” Hvitserk interrupted sharply, shaking his head and pushing off the table to straighten.

Ivar’s eyes narrowed and a spine-tingling smirk tugged at his lips as he spoke slowly. “You are right, my brother. I am a god.”

“You are no god!” Hvitserk yelled, his booming voice accentuating each word and bringing any remaining conversations in the hall to a halt. “And you will never be a true king, either.” 

With that, he turned and stormed toward the exit, his chest heaving as anger burned in his stomach. 

“Go, poor Hvitserk,” Ivar called after him. “But know I will only tolerate so much of your insolence, brother!”

He pushed open the doors with a loud bang, exiting into the snowy night. Hvitserk didn’t feel the biting chill of the air or the stinging of his hand where he’d hit the table…he only felt an all-consuming feeling of frustration. But there was something else there, too. Helplessness, perhaps? 

What could he do?

A/N: message or comment if you want to be added to the tag list! <3

[mads-weasley]

this is nothing against people who call themselves "historians," but as a senior in college about to graduate with a history degree from an R1 university, there is so much more that goes into it than just researching. the real, real ones know what historiography is 💪

Me: I don't really believe in gatekeeping a field where anyone can learn with enough work. The training we get in academia isn't impossible to self-teach.

Also me: The number of people calling themselves "historians" or pretending to educate about history on social media when they're just reading Wiki or telling you fun facts is way too high. The job title has meaning. You wouldn't call yourself a mathematician for knowing how to make your graphing calculator make graphs.

[mads-weasley]

*writes two paragraphs after months of literally nothing and it took three hours*

[mads-weasley]

8. A Gentle Warrior

Hvitserk Ragnarsson x Eira Torsteinsdottir (OFC)

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Summary: Eira, with the help of Hvitserk, cares for a sick family on the outskirts of Kattegat. While there, she witnesses something that challenges everything she believes about him (between 5x14-15).

Word Count: 1.5k

Eira studied Hvitserk briefly, as if searching for any trace of insincerity. Did he really want to help her? Help this family? When she found none, she gave a curt nod and turned on her heel, heading down the narrow street. “Come on, then.”

The silence between them was heavy as they walked. The darkening streets of Kattegat were eerily empty, the dim glow of firelight flickering in windows casting long, wavering shadows. Hvitserk’s gaze flicked to Eira as she walked ahead of him.

“What do you know about this family?” he asked, breaking the silence and closing the distance to walk beside her.

Eira didn’t look up at him. “The mother, Astrid, is a widow. Her husband was killed in a raid last year. She has two children, both under the age of ten.“

Perhaps he’d fought with the husband in England or the Mediterranean. At least he hadn’t been killed in the civil war…Hvitserk knew he wouldn’t be able to face his children if he’d been on the side that killed their father.

“How long has Astrid been sick?”

She sighed. “Almost three days.”

“And how long does the sickness usually last?”

“Three days. But the second day is usually the worst. If the fever breaks, she’ll recover, but if it doesn’t…” Eira swallowed hard as the emotions within her crawled up her throat. She couldn’t handle more orphaned children in Kattegat…there were already too many.

Hvitserk nodded, more to himself than to her. This was a new side to her: one he’d only seen at a distance. Liv had said she felt deeply, “Much like you,” she’d said, and he was seeing it firsthand. Gone was the snarky, fiercely independent young woman. Beside him stood a caring, gentle, and talented healer who would go to any lengths to help the people around her. 

They walked the rest of the way in silence until reaching a small house on the outskirts of town. It sat just outside the forest. Smoke curled from the chimney and its thatched roof sagged under the weight of the snow. 

“I know this house,” he announced, his brow furrowing slightly in concentration as he scanned the surrounding terrain before pointing to a trail leading into the woods. “I have a hunting lodge up this way.”

He hadn’t been since he found Margarethe’s lifeless body in the doorway, the floor stained with her blood. Hvitserk shook away the memory as quickly as it came, and Eira seemed to notice the flicker of pain that flashed in his hazel eyes. He cleared his throat and looked down at her, his lip twitching habitually.

She didn’t comment on it and instead approached the entrance. Eira hesitated at the door, glancing back at him. “Are you sure about this?” she asked, her tone softer now. “It’s not easy to see people in such a state, and you could get sick.”

Hvitserk met her gaze. “I’m sure.”

She gave a small nod and pushed the door open. Hvitserk stepped in behind her, the warmth of the house enveloping him. The small space was cozy but cluttered. A fire crackled softly in the hearth and the scent of herbs mixed with the musty smell of illness. The two children, a boy and a girl, were darting around the room, giggling.

Eira’s eyes immediately shifted to the mother lying on a small bed in the corner, her face pale and drawn. Astrid breathed shallowly and her skin was clammy with fever. Eira quickly moved to her side, kneeling beside the bed, murmuring soft words to comfort her.

Hvitserk stood near the door unsure of what to do. He felt an odd sense of helplessness. The children, on the other hand, seemed to have no such reservations about his presence. The boy immediately ran over to him, pushing his dark hair from his face before tugging on Hvitserk’s cloak with wide eyes.

“Are you a warrior?” the boy asked, peering up at Hvitserk with an inquisitive gaze.

Hvitserk froze, looking down at the child. “I...I am,” he answered, his tone somewhat awkward, unsure how to respond.

The girl, a few years older than her brother, ran over as well. “Do you fight in battles?” she asked eagerly, her green eyes wide with curiosity.

Hvitserk’s lips twitched in a small smile. The innocent questions of the children pulled him out of his shell.  “I have fought,” he said slowly, crouching down to their level. “As will you, someday. You will surely be a mighty warrior.” His gaze flicked to the little girl with a nod. “And you a powerful shieldmaiden.”

Eira’s voice drifted over from the bed. “Hvitserk,” she called. “Can you keep them occupied for a little while? Their mother needs my attention, but I can’t keep an eye on them and her at the same time.”

Hvitserk nodded, though there was a slight hesitation in his movements. “Okay,” he said, glancing at the children. They were already pulling at his sleeves, clearly excited to have his attention. “What should I do with them?” he asked, his voice still a little uncertain.

“Just...just talk to them, play with them,” Eira replied, her focus never leaving Astrid on the bed. “They need a distraction.”

He stood up straight and watched as Eira worked for a moment, her fingers working quickly to prepare some type of mixture for Astrid’s fever. Eira was right…he was no healer, no idea about anything she was doing to help the poor woman. He also didn’t know how to distract children. He was a warrior, not a caretaker. But as he looked down at the boy and girl, something in him softened.

The boy grabbed his hand, tugging insistently. “Play with us, warrior!” he demanded, a gleam of mischief in his eyes.

Hvitserk blinked in surprise but then looked at Eira, who was still busy with the mother, her back turned. She didn’t have time to watch him, and yet, she trusted him with the children. Something about that made him feel oddly content.

With a deep breath, he dropped to one knee, lowering himself to their height. “Alright, what do you want to play?” he asked, trying his best to sound less like a warrior and more like someone the children could feel comfortable around.

The boy started running in circles a second later, his giggles echoing in the room. “Catch me!” he shouted. “Catch me, warrior!”

Hvitserk quickly stood up and lunged toward the boy, his hands outstretched. The boy squealed as he darted away, his tiny feet slipping on the wooden floor. Hvitserk’s eyes softened as he chased after the child, deliberately letting him get away before grabbing him by the waist and lifting him up into the air with a laugh.

The girl clapped her hands excitedly. “Do me! Do me!” she demanded, jumping in place.

Hvitserk smiled, his cheeks hurting from the constant grin on his lips. “Alright, alright.” He placed the boy down carefully and picked up the girl, lifting her into the air just as he had done with her brother. She laughed, her squeals filling the room, and for a brief moment, Hvitserk felt a warmth spread through him…it was an emotion he hadn’t experienced in quite some time.

Eira glanced over her shoulder and couldn’t help but notice the smile on Hvitserk’s face as he played with the children. The sight warmed her heart, though she quickly turned back to Astrid. It was a small thing, but it was enough for her to see.

The way he handled the children, the care in his movements, the gentleness in his voice…none of this reflected the ruthless warrior she had heard of, nor did it resemble the cold, distant man who watched as Ivar destroyed his home. In that moment, he wasn’t Hvitserk the Viking, Hvitserk the son of Ragnar, or even Hvitserk the warrior. He was just a man playing with innocent children, his sharp edges softened by their innocent laughter.

Eira’s chest tightened in relief and something else…something she wasn’t ready to face yet. She had always seen Hvitserk through the lens of his brother, through the chaos of Ivar’s reign. But now, she saw him differently. There was kindness in him, a warmth she hadn’t expected.

“Careful,” she said softly from across the room, though her voice was gentle as she watched Hvitserk. “They’re small.”

“I know,” Hvitserk replied with a soft chuckle, gently lowering the girl back down to the ground. “I’m not going to drop them.”

The children ran off again, their giggles filling the air, but Hvitserk stood still for a moment, his eyes lingering on Eira as she continued her work. 

Eira didn’t look at him again, but she could feel his presence, could feel the shift in the air around them. Hvitserk had always been more complicated than he appeared, but this…this side of him was one she hadn’t expected. And it added to her growing belief that perhaps there was more to him than his decisions in the past, more than the shadow of his brother.

A/N: message or comment if you want to be added to the tag list! <3

[mads-weasley]

7. The Offer

Hvitserk Ragnarsson x Eira Torsteinsdottir (OFC)

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Summary: After having a conversation with Liv, Hvitserk understands Eira a little better, and he later makes an offer she can't refuse (between 5x14-15).

Word Count: 1.5k

Knock. Knock.

The door swung open with a creak, and a warm, earthy smell drifted through the threshold.  “Little Hvitserk! What a surprise,” Liv laughed, waving him inside with a sweep of her hand. 

“Thank you.”

Hvitserk stepped inside, his boots leaving a faint snow trail on the floor. His eyes scanned the small space, the warmth of the hearth wrapping around him as he took in the familiar sight of shelves lined with jars of dried herbs and small trinkets. Her small fire crackled in the corner, and its orange glow danced over the walls

“Not much has changed,” he said, his voice a little softer, a hint of nostalgia creeping into his words. 

Liv chuckled. “I think I might have a few more grey hairs.”

Hvitserk raised an eyebrow, tilting his head as he sat at her table. The scent of fresh-baked bread drifted from the counter where a loaf rested cooling. He glanced at her, the flickering firelight catching her eyes as she regarded him with a knowing smile. 

“You know I meant the house.”

“Oh, I know.” Liv waved her hand dismissively. “What brings you by today?” Liv asked once she settled across from him, her eyes gleaming with mischief…as if she already knew his answer.

Why had he come?

Hvitserk paused as he pondered her question. He did want to see an old friend, but he also had questions he wanted answered.

“I haven’t seen Eira in a few days,” she stated, breaking his train of thought. “She is why you are here, yes?”

How did she know what he was thinking?

A soft chuckle escaped Hvitserk’s lips. He leaned back in his chair, the wood creaking as his thoughts shifted. “I will never understand how you do that,” he sighed. “Read my mind.”

“When you’ve lived as long as I have, you pick up on a few things.”

Hvitserk studied her for a moment. There was a truth to her words, but he also felt there was something deeper to her ability to see through him. Was it a gift from the gods? Or just the wisdom that came with age? She had always been there, watching over him like a hawk, stopping him before he could act on many of his reckless impulses as a child. 

“What do you know about Eira?” he asked finally. 

Over the previous week, he’d only gotten a few answers from the woman. She moved to Kattegat two years ago, she was a healer…that’s about all he knew.

Liv nodded to herself for a few seconds as she searched her mind for an answer. “As much as I like to meddle, I cannot tell you much, Hvitserk. I am sorry.”

“What do-”

She held up a hand, stopping him mid-sentence. “I will say this: she feels her emotions deeply, much like you.”

Hvitserk leaned forward, his elbows on his knees as she continued.

“Loss has a way of hardening hearts, especially when repeated. Trust is not something easily earned after all of that. You will have to work for it, Hvitserk. Give her time to trust you, and she’ll see who you really are, my dear boy.” Liv gently placed her hand atop his. “She will see the Hvitserk I know.”

Even more questions floated in his mind after Liv’s insight. Who had she lost? What had she lost? But the woman’s words sounded about right. Nothing about Eira was easy…down to merely keeping her in sight. It was no surprise that he’d have to work to earn her trust. She’d first have to trust him to truly believe he was his own person outside of Ivar’s shadow, that he was not his brother. 

Each day in Kattegat became more suffocating, and Hvitserk didn’t know how much longer he could bear it, so the sooner she was convinced, the better. He stood and gently squeezed her shoulder as he walked toward the door. “Thank you, Liv. For everything.”

The door’s loud creak once again filled the house, but Liv’s voice stopped him before he could close it completely. “Tell Eira I said hello!” she called, a sly grin plastered on her lips as she looked at him over her shoulder.

“Goodbye, Liv.”

Hvitserk’s eyes scanned the street before him, and he noted the absence of the normal hustle and bustle of the town. When he’d last spoken to Eira, she’d mentioned a sickness that was starting to spread, and if the almost abandoned street was any indicator, it had gotten worse. He couldn’t remember the last time the roads of Kattegat were this vacant…this empty. The usual chatter of vendors and children’s laughter was nowhere to be found. 

Hvitserk pondered Liv’s advice as he shoved his hands into his cloak to shield them from the biting wind. His feet carried him forward, though he paid little attention to where he was going. His mind wandered to Eira, as it often did.

He didn’t understand her…not in the slightest. While it made sense that she’d despised him because of his brother’s cruelty and his own inaction, Liv’s words of Eira’s repeated loss added another layer to the woman. 

Who had she lost to make her so hesitant to trust? 

So far, the only people she’d seemed comfortable around were Liv, Arne, and presumably his family. Liv was no surprise, for she had that effect on people. Eira lived alone, as far as he could tell, and she never spoke about family…not that she spoke to him about much of anything. 

Hvitserk wasn’t sure how long he had been walking. The air was crisp and his breaths clouded faintly in front of him, but his mind was elsewhere, still tangled in thought. He had barely registered where his feet were leading him until a voice called out.

“Ragnarsson?”

He looked up sharply and froze. Eira stood a short distance away, her basket full of herbs and jars tucked against her hip, her blonde hair loosely braided and peeking out from beneath her hood. Her expression was a combination of surprise and something closer to exasperation.

Hvitserk hesitated. “Eira.”

“Can I help you?”

Hvitserk opened his mouth, then closed it. He didn’t have an answer…not one that made sense, at least. “I-” He paused, frowning at his lack of clarity. “I wasn’t… I didn’t mean to come here.”

Eira’s brows lifted slightly, a hint of humor in her expression. “You just happened to wander all the way here from the longhouse? Seems like a strange coincidence.”

“I only came from Liv’s,” he defended. “She says hello.”

Her gaze fell to the snow-covered ground and she bit her cheek trying to hide a smirk. “So you did intend on finding me.” 

“Did I?” he muttered, his lips quirking into a faint, nervous smile. He shifted his weight and awkwardly scratched the back of his neck, unsure how to continue.

Her smirk fell almost instantly, however, and an exhausted look replaced it as she walked past him, her gray cloak billowing behind her.

Just like that, her moment of mirth was over.

“The sickness has spread, Hvitserk. I do not have time for your questions.”

“Where are you going?” he asked, turning on his heel to trail behind her.

“There’s a family near the edge of town. The mother is very sick and I need to check on her and her children,” she explained, her voice heavy. The sickness had spread too quickly, and there were only so many hands to help.

Hvitserk’s gaze followed her, his brow furrowed. “How bad is it?”

Eira paused and glanced down at the basket in her hands as she adjusted it slightly. “Several. Too many to count,” she said shakily. It was the first shred of emotion Hvitserk had seen from her since the docks, and the broken sound shifted something inside him. 

“I can help,” Hvitserk said quietly, stepping closer to her. 

She raised her gaze from the ground to meet his. “Help?” she asked. Her tone was cautious, guarded, though it didn’t carry the usual sharpness she reserved for him. “You’re no healer, Hvitserk.”

“I know,” he said almost matter-of-factly. “But I can follow directions, do what you tell me. If there’s something I can do, I’ll do it.”

“Why?”

Hvitserk didn’t answer immediately. His eyes flitted away and focused on the ground for a moment before lifting to meet hers again. “Because I can’t just stand here and do nothing,” he muttered, the words coming out with more force than he intended. “I’ve done enough of that.”

Was she hearing this correctly?

Hvitserk Ragnarsson was acknowledging his shortcomings, his mistakes, and was actually doing something about it. Eira’s eyes lingered on his face for a long moment. She seemed to be weighing his words, her grip tightening on the basket in her hands. If she was being truthful, she needed all the help she could get, and he was the only one offering. Finally, she let out a soft sigh and glanced away.

“If you truly want to help, I won’t stop you,” she said softly, her voice still lacking its edge. “But you’ll need to do exactly as I say. No arguments, no questions.”

“Understood.”

She prayed the gods would forgive her if this backfired…that Vali would forgive her for associating with the enemy.

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