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38. Heart in Motion

Hvitserk Ragnarsson x Eira Torsteinsdottir (OFC)

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Word Count: 1.1k

Sleep never welcomed Eira.

She couldn't sleep, couldn't stop thinking about him...his promise, the unspoken emotions between them, and the ghost of his touch still on her skin. Her restless thoughts carried her through the nights, and as the first rays of dawn began to creep through her window, she found herself already slipping on her cloak. Eira reached for her basket, determined to busy herself. If she could just visit Liv, she thought, surely the ache in her chest would lessen.

Eira couldn't change anything now, but the words left unsaid weighed on her heart, pressed into her stomach and left a deep pit she thought would never go away until she saw him again.

The streets of Kattegat began stirring to life, though not in the usual way. Traders and craftsmen were absent, instead replaced by armored men gathering their supplies and hauling provisions toward the docks for the journey to Ringerike. The clatter of shields and general chatter drifted from the docks, but Eira pushed away any thoughts of the place. It was the place they'd met, and now the place he'd leave her. What cruel irony.

By the time she reached Liv's house, the ache in her stomach had spread to her entire body. Liv opened the door before she could knock, her inquisitive eyes immediately catching the distress written across her face. "Eira? What is wrong?"

Eira spared the street a quick glance before slipping inside the house, dropping her basket on the cluttered table as Liv closed the door. She couldn't sit. Her muscles were too restless after lying in the bed staring at the ceiling all night, so she paced. It was a habit she'd picked up from her favorite Ragnarsson.

"He's leaving," she said quietly as she hugged herself, the words twisting the knife in her chest. "Ivar is sending him to Ringerike to meet with King Olaf."

Liv nodded to herself, taking a seat at the table. "He's going willingly?" She asked with a creased brow.

"No," Eira shook her head, finally raising her gaze to meet Liv's. "Ivar threatened me."

Liv's expression hardened and she leaned forward, clasping her hands on the table. "Of course, he did. That snake. I should've strangled him when he was a child."

Despite the heaviness in her chest, Eira couldn't help the faintest flicker of a smile. "You're always so subtle, Liv."

"I'm serious," Liv huffed with a hint of humor. "Hvitserk's clever, but he's blind when it comes to those he loves. He'll do anything to keep them safe. Just like his father...stubborn as a mule."

Eira chewed at her cheek. "What do you mean?"

Liv tilted her head, a knowing look in her eyes. "He may be lost at times, but when he loves someone...he doesn't know how to hold back, even if it destroys him."

Eira glanced away. "He never said anything about love."

"Have you?" She asked as her tone softened, her lips curving in a faint smile. "It doesn't mean it isn't there. I see it in the way you look at each other, Eira."

Then she said it. Three simple words. "You love him."

Eira froze. 

Love? The idea struck her like a sudden gust of icy wind off the fjord. Love? The word hit her like a sudden gust of wind off the fjord. It wasn't a question. It was a statement, spoken as plainly as the sky being blue or the sea being cold.

 And yet, Eira's first instinct was to reject it.

She cared for him, yes. Worried about him. Thought about him constantly. But love?

Eira searched the depths of her soul for a reply, for an answer, but none came. The room suddenly felt smaller, the walls pressing in. Her heart pounded as she reached for Liv's mantle to steady herself.

Did she love him?

The thought alone terrified her, but her memories had no such hesitation.

She thought of the first time she saw him, standing on the docks. The quiet way he carried himself, the weight behind his eyes. When she had confronted him, accusing him of standing by while Ivar terrorized their home, he hadn't fought back. He had simply listened. Guilt, she realized now. Pain.

Then came the moments she hadn't even noticed at the time. How he carried her things without asking. Walked her home without a word. How he had watched over her while she was sick, his fingers brushing against her forehead in a touch so gentle it lingered long after. She remembered the way he had played with Astrid's children, lifting them effortlessly into the air, their laughter echoing in the small house. He hadn't done it for praise. He had done it because that was who he was—a man who cared, even when he tried to hide it. Hvitserk was flawed, yes...stubborn, reckless, haunted...but he was also kind. Brave. Thoughtful.

Then came the deeper moments. Late-night conversations about the gods, about their pasts, their families. The nights he made her laugh, and the nights he sat with her in silence, offering comfort without expectation.

And then... the grief. The way he had held her after Arne's death, how he had let her break apart in his arms. How, in his own pain, he still made space for hers.

The realization rose slowly within her like the sun cresting over the snow-covered mountaintops above Kattegat. There had been no grand moment, no sudden, all-consuming epiphany. Only the quiet, undeniable truth: he had always been there.

And she had let herself need him.

Eira's fingers curled into the fabric of her cloak as she pressed a hand against her chest, feeling the rapid pulse beneath her palm.

And then, like a thunderclap from Thor himself, it hit her.

She loved him.

The thought stole her breath and left her feeling weightless and unsteady. She looked up at Liv but didn't need to say it aloud.

Liv already knew.

A knowing smile spread across Liv's face. She'd seen it all along...perhaps since the night Hvitserk showed up at her door all those months ago. "Go to him."

Eira's lips parted in surprise. "What?"

Liv took her hands, squeezing them lightly. "Go. Don't let him leave with words left unsaid." She glanced toward the door. "They're leaving any moment now."

Eira hesitated for only a heartbeat before her feet moved on their own. She paused at the door, casting Liv one last look. Then she stepped onto the street, pulling her cloak tighter around her shoulders.

 The city blurred around her. She barely registered the clang of blacksmiths and the low murmur of the market. All she knew was the pounding of her own heart that was focused on one thing. One person.

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Jamie x Claire | Outlander Key Art Season One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven A | Seven B | Eight

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37. A Broken Promise

Hvitserk Ragnarsson x Eira Torsteinsdottir (OFC)

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Word Count: 1.7k

Eira rocked back and forth on her feet as she tied a string around a bundle of herbs. Bringing it to her nose, she inhaled the sweet lavender scent and allowed her eyes to close for a moment. She repeated the routine until a line of bundles hung above her workspace. Before she could move on to another task, a soft knock echoed through her house. Her heart fluttered in her chest at the familiar sound, and she quickly ran a hand over her hair, taming the stray, wispy hairs falling out of her braid. She wiped her hands on her apron before making her way to the door.

When she opened it, Hvitserk stood there, looking worse for wear. His eyes seemed troubled, their usual warmth replaced by something more guarded.

"Eira," he said at last, the word heavy as it slipped from his lips.

She swallowed thickly. "Hvitserk," she replied, a slight frown pulling at her lips. "What's wrong?"

He hesitated before speaking again, his gaze flickering to the ground like he was searching for the right words. "I need to talk to you."

Eira's stomach tightened and she nodded, stepping back to let him inside.

As Hvitserk entered, she noticed how his fingers fidgeted at his sides, as if he couldn't quite keep still. Eira's heart beat faster and something in her gut told her something was very wrong.

Eira stood before him, chewing the inside of her cheek as Hvitserk paced slowly, his eyes fixed on the floor as he gathered his thoughts. Finally, Hvitserk stopped and faced her, their eyes meeting. For a long moment, they stood in silence, each waiting for the other to speak.

"I'm leaving in the morning, Eira," he said quietly.

"Very funny," she sighed, but when he didn't respond, her brow creased. "What do you mean, leaving?"

Hvitserk exhaled slowly, his face drawn with barely concealed anguish. "Ivar's sending me to Ringerike to speak to King Olaf on his behalf. He doesn't trust me to be here anymore."

"Why?" She battled to keep her voice steady. "You said that you wouldn't go unless—"

"I have no choice," he interrupted. "I don't want to risk what he'll do if I refuse."

Eira turned away from him as her throat tightened just slightly, all of Ivar's atrocities flashing in her mind. "What could he do that he hasn't already?"

So much more, he wanted to say.

Hvitserk had sailed across the globe, fought countless battles against formidable foes, against countless kings, but this...this was by far the hardest thing he'd ever done. He was sure the pain in his chest would tear him apart, and the slight tremble in her voice almost brought him to his knees.

He crossed the distance between them and gently turned her toward him, resting his hands on her upper arms. In the moment when her gaze met his, Hvitserk made a decision: he had to tell her. He owed her the truth about Ivar's threat.

"He threatened you, Eira."

"What?" Eira blinked, trying to push down the surge of emotion that began to swell within her. She swallowed, but it didn't stop her voice from trembling slightly as she spoke. "You're going because of me, aren't you?"

His silence answered her question.

Hvitserk's hands fell from her arms, and his gaze did the same. "It's my fault," he muttered, his lip curling just slightly. "He had someone follow me last night. I should've been more care-"

"No," Eira interrupted sharply with a shake of her head, her voice surprisingly strong. "This is not your fault."

He still refused to meet her gaze, to respond, and she slowly raised her hands to his face. "Look at me, Hvitserk Ragnarsson."

Eira nodded as he looked down at her. "This is nobody's fault but Ivar's, okay?"

"Yes," he murmured, unconsciously leaning into her warm touch. "I'm sorry, Eira."

Eira's eyes flicked to his lips as their closeness proved too much. She reluctantly retracted her touch and stepped back, managing a weak grin, but it didn't reach her eyes. "Don't be. You know I've been defending myself long before you came into the picture. I can do it again."

"Not from him, Eira," Hvitserk shook his head. "What you've seen here...it barely scratches the surface of what he's capable of. And I-I can't stand the thought of...He'd have no problem hurting you. And if going is what it takes to keep you safe..." his voice trailed off, and he exhaled sharply. "Then I'll go."

For a long moment, Eira stood frozen, her attempt at humor quickly fading as her heart pounded in her chest. She could see the weight of his decision in his eyes...the uncertainty, the struggle of having to make such a choice. But there was something else there too. 

It was the same look from the night before...the same way he'd looked at her as they'd been so close, when they'd almost stepped off the thin line they'd been walking for months. It had become more noticeable in the past weeks, lingering in the air between them, waiting for a spark to set it alight...and the spark had almost caught fire. Eira had tried so hard to keep herself in check, but the temptation swirling in her soul threatened to pull her under completely.

The silence stretched between them. Eira knew this was a moment of decision, not just for him, but for them both, and her heart ached endlessly in her chest. She was torn between accepting reality and the burning desire to keep him here, close. But she knew, deep down, that he was right. Ivar's threat was very real.

But after everything, he was still a pawn in Ivar's game, still going wherever he sent him, and she was the bait being held over his head. It made her sick.

"Listen," she said, her voice steady though her heart was breaking. "I know he gets in your head, how he twists things until you feel like you don't have a choice. But you do, Hvitserk. You always have."

His gaze softened, something breaking in his expression as he reached for her hand and pulled it gently into his. "What do you want me to do, Eira?" he pleaded, his mind going over his plan and the dangers it posed them both. "Tell me, because I don't know anymore. Whatever I choose, you're still in danger."

"I want you to fight back, Hvitserk. Ivar is using you and you know it. You're not his pawn...you never have been. So if you leave, don't do it for me. Don't do it for him. Do it for yourself." 

She paused, sucking in a sharp breath before adding. "But more than anything, I want you to find a way to stop him. You have to."

A flicker of hope sparked in his eyes. This was the woman he loved: the one who pushed him to do what was right, who showed him more compassion than he deserved, who cared for others much more than herself.

Hvitserk exhaled sharply before leaning in, pressing his forehead gently against hers. "I will try," he whispered. "I swear it, Eira. I'll try."

Eira closed her eyes, allowing herself to feel his presence, the warmth of his breath against her skin. After a long moment of silence, she pulled back slightly, her gaze locked with his. 

"Then promise me something."

He nodded without hesitation. "Anything?"

"You have to do whatever it takes to stop him. For Kattegat. For our home." Eira's voice wavered, but she forced herself to keep going. "No matter what happens to me."

Hvitserk shook his head with a sharp breath, his gaze breaking from her face. "Eira, I can't-"

"Promise me," she interrupted shakily. "Please, Hvitserk."

Hvitserk's heart clenched in his chest as her words sank deep into his soul. She was his first priority, his first and last thought. And now he was supposed to possibly sacrifice her for the good of Kattegat? The thought was unbearable, but so was the look of torment in her eyes every time Ivar destroyed their home.

He swallowed hard before answering. "I promise."

Despite the vow he'd just made, and the loss it could cause, for the first time in a long while, it felt like the right decision, even if it seemed impossible.

"I'll be back, Eira," he said with a soft grin. He reached up to gently push a blonde strand behind her ear, his touch lingering as if trying to imprint the memory of the moment into both their minds. "I will come back. I swear it."

Eira couldn't bring herself to speak, afraid of the words that would tumble from her lips before she could stop them. She simply nodded instead, her fingers tightening around his. He squeezed her hand once more before letting it go, a pained expression crossing his face as he took a step back.

Hvitserk moved toward the door but stopped just short of it, looking back at her, conflict filling his hazel gaze. "Don't see me off when I go, Eira."

"Why?"

Hvitserk's gaze softened, but he shook his head slightly. "I don't want you to see me leave like this...like I'm abandoning you."

"I know you're not," Eira replied quickly with a tilt of her head.

Hvitserk remained silent for a few seconds until a flicker of a smirk appeared. "Still," he shrugged, but she saw the hesitation, the tension in his shoulders. "It will be better for us both.

She wanted to argue, to insist on being there, but she could see this was his decision, and it was final. It didn't stop the pain from panging in her chest, however.

With a steadying breath, she nodded. "Okay."

Hvitserk's hand hovered over the door, but something held him there, something pulling him back to her. Before he could think better of it, he turned around and crossed the room to her once more.

"I..." his voice faltered for a moment before he gave up, cutting himself off.

He gazed at her one last time before leaning down. He pressed a delicate kiss to her cheek, his lips lingering for a heartbeat longer than necessary, savoring the feeling of her close to him, her skin beneath his touch.

When he pulled back, he gave her a small grin. "I'll be back," he said again, this time with a touch more humor in his voice. "And when I do, I'll pester you again. You'll have no choice but to listen to me complain about the journey to Ringerike."

"I'll hold you to that, Ragnarsson."

"I'll come back," he promised once more, but this time, there was something stronger in his voice. "To annoy you. To make you listen."

Eira nodded, her eyes never leaving his as a small grin formed on her face. She wanted to believe him. Needed to believe him.

He took a deep breath and stepped back toward the door, his hand hovering over the handle once more. "See you later, Eira," he said softly. "Watch out for my brother, please."

She nodded. "See you later."

With one final lingering glance, he opened the door and stepped out into the night. And as he walked away, Eira stood there, her fingers pressed lightly against her cheek where his lips had been, praying to the gods that he would keep his word...that he would come back to her.

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1ST MOTAVERSARY | Week 2 Faceless

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CALLUM TURNER AS JOHN "BUCKY" EGAN masters of the air ・part three

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36. The Decision

Hvitserk Ragnarsson x Eira Torsteinsdottir (OFC)

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Word Count: 1.8k

Hvitserk lingered by the window of the longhouse, the fading light slanting through the cracks in the wood. He rested his hand on the sill, his thumb absently tracing the rough grain of the wood as his mind wandered to her. He could still feel the softness of her hand in his, the magnetic pull, the closeness of her lips. Eira's gaze had set his blood alight and made his chest ache all at once in a way he'd never experienced.

The sound of Ivar's crutch against the stone floor snapped him back to the present. Hvitserk turned as his brother approached, his sharp blue eyes already fixed on him.

"You've been...distracted lately," Ivar began, his tone deceptively light. "Tell me, brother, where do you go?"

Hvitserk forced a smile, leaning against the window frame with feigned nonchalance. "Nowhere in particular. Just walking, thinking. Nothing to concern yourself with."

Ivar's lips curled upward. "Oh, but I am concerned. You've been wandering around quite a bit, haven't you?" He tilted his head. "Always out, always disappearing. I find that curious."

Hvitserk raised an eyebrow but kept his expression neutral. He had to. "What are you getting at?"

Ivar's smile tightened as he tapped his crutch against the floor. "Well, you left the Thing last night rather suddenly. Strange behavior, wouldn't you say?"

"Stop playing your games, Ivar," Hvitserk hissed. "Say what you mean."

He chuckled and raised his eyebrows, lowering his gaze before whispering mockingly into Hvitserk's ear. "Sounds like I struck a nerve."

"You don't-"

"Are you even going to defend yourself, brother?" Ivar interrupted. "Do you have no excuse?"

He shrugged, but his gaze never left Ivar's. "I needed some air."

"You see, I might have believed that," Ivar mused, stepping back and pointing toward Hvitserk. "But then, as any good ruler would, I decided to be thorough. I sent one of my men to follow you."

Hvitserk's grip on the windowsill tightened. A rush of anger flared in his chest, but he swallowed it down. He couldn't react. Not now.

"You what?" he breathed. His upper lip twitched as he fought to keep his voice even.

"I sent someone to follow you," Ivar repeated, his grin widening as he leaned heavily on his crutch. He knew the power of the information he held, and how he said it almost playfully...it made Hvitserk's blood boil. "Imagine my surprise when I heard where you went. Or rather...to whom."

Hvitserk's mind raced, scrambling for an explanation, an excuse, or anything that could steer this conversation away from where it was heading. "I don't know what you think you know, Ivar, but-"

"Oh, don't bother lying to me, Hvitserk," Ivar interrupted, his voice laced with mock sympathy. "My man saw you go to her house. So tell me, what's so important about this woman?"

"She is no one," Hvitserk said quickly, the words tumbling out before he could stop them. They felt like poison on his tongue.

Ivar hummed. "Is she? Because I find it fascinating that you've been visiting her. Day after day. Night after night. Almost like you...care about her."

Hvitserk met his brother's gaze. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, but I do," Ivar's tone darkened before he sighed, feigning disinterest. "But I get ahead of myself. You need a purpose, my dear brother. Other than this woman, you are idle...empty. I have found something to remedy that."

"What? How could I make myself...useful?" he asked, his lip twitching as his brother spoke of Eira like she was just a warm body in his bed. She was far from it.

Ivar shrugged. "You could leave Kattegat."

The twitch of Hvitserk's lip turned into a full curl at his brother's words. He couldn't leave Kattegat now. Not after everything. No. He wouldn't leave her.

"Go on a diplomatic trip to the great hall of King Olaf the Stout," Ivar continued. "Cement our alliance, help him prepare for our springtime attacks on York and Wessex."

Hvitserk straightened and pushed off the window sill. "And if I refuse? What if I don't want to leave Kattegat."

"I'm afraid you cannot refuse," Ivar replied slowly, his unsettling stark blue eyes staring into Hvitserk's. "Tell me of your woman, brother. She is a healer, yes?"

Hvitserk clenched his jaw but remained quiet, glancing away from Ivar's face. His silence told Ivar the answer, though.

"Eira Torsteinsdottir," Ivar drawled, tilting his head with a smirk. "The daughter of our father's friend...I wonder if he would approve of-"

"Enough," Hvitserk snapped. "What does she have to do with this?"

Any hope Ivar didn't know everything about her was dashed, and Hvitserk's stomach instantly began to churn with worry. The cat was out of the bag, and that only meant trouble.

"It would be a shame if something would happen to this Eira."

The words barely left Ivar's mouth before Hvitserk unsheathed his dagger and held it to Ivar's neck, his chest heaving. "You wouldn't dare do that, brother. Now would you?"

"No," Ivar chuckled and shook his head, unfazed by the weapon. "I wouldn't. Not if you agree to leave Kattegat first thing in the morning."

Hvitserk's grip tightened on the dagger. "Don't do this, Ivar."

"I don't want to," Ivar admitted as his grin returned. "But I will if I must."

Silence stretched between them, taut as a bowstring. Hvitserk could hear his heartbeat pounding in his skull.

Ivar leaned closer, unconcerned with the blade at his throat. "You'll go to King Olaf on my behalf, and you'll do exactly as I tell you. No questions, no hesitation. And if you do that... well, let's just say your little healer won't have to worry about any...," he hummed, "...unfortunate accidents."

Hvitserk's jaw clenched so tightly it ached, and his nails dug into the palm of his free hand as he fought the urge to slit Ivar's throat right there. He was cornered. He hated how easily Ivar manipulated him, hated the smug look on his brother's face as he wielded power over him, and, most of all, hated the thought of Eira being dragged into this mess because of him.

She'd already suffered enough because of them, already lost her brother, Arne, Randi...Runa. He couldn't let her suffer anymore.

With a frustrated growl, he yanked the dagger back and stepped away as anger coursed through his veins.

Ivar's grin widened. "Good. I knew you'd see reason."

Without another word, Ivar turned and hobbled away, leaving Hvitserk standing there, his body trembling with barely contained rage.

Ivar disappeared into his quarters and Hvitserk huffed, his thoughts immediately turning to Eira. He had tried so hard to keep her safe, to keep her out of Ivar's reach. And now, despite all his efforts, she was caught in the crossfire.

A few moments later, Ivar's smirk reappeared in the doorway to his chambers. "Oh. If you betray me, brother, she will pay the price...Happy travels."

Hvitserk's fists slammed against the windowsill as the door shut behind Ivar, the wood groaning under the force of his frustration. He couldn't stay here. Not now. The longhouse's walls felt like they were closing in, and he needed space to think. To breathe.

He couldn't go to Eira's.

So grabbing his cloak, he left the hall and headed toward the docks, his feet carrying him through the narrow streets of Kattegat. He stopped at the edge of the pier, the wooden planks creaking beneath his boots as he stared out at the endless expanse of the fjord. The water reflected the fiery hues of the setting sun, the sight as beautiful as it was indifferent to his turmoil.

Hvitserk let out a frustrated breath, his hands gripping the dock's railing until his knuckles turned white. He closed his eyes in an attempt to steady the whirlwind in his mind.

Ivar's words echoed in his ears.

"If you betray me, brother, she will pay the price."

He hated how easily Ivar could find and exploit the cracks in his armor. Hated how powerless he felt, always a step behind, always the pawn in Ivar's games. And now Eira was in danger because of him.

He didn't know how long he stood there, but eventually, his gaze lifted to the ships bobbing gently in the harbor. His mission to King Olaf loomed over him. He had agreed, but what was the right thing to do?

If he went along with Ivar's plan, he could protect Eira...for now. But if he used the opportunity to turn Olaf against Ivar, he might finally end his brother's reign of terror. It was a risk, though. A single misstep and Ivar would know. He would retaliate. Eira would suffer.

Her face came to mind. Hvitserk could picture her lips quirked in a wry smile as she teased him, challenged him. She deserved better than this. Better than him. Yet, he couldn't let her go...not now, and believed he would never be able to.

He turned his attention back to the ships. The path was clear: either he found a way to ensure Olaf's allegiance to overthrow Ivar, or he played the part of a dutiful brother and let the cycle continue. Either way, the stakes were unbearably high.

A faint sound behind him made him turn sharply, and his hand went instinctively to the hilt of his dagger. It was only a stray dog sniffing around some barrels. He exhaled slowly, forcing his muscles to relax.

Focus, Hvitserk.

Hvitserk shook his head, and as he stared at the horizon, a plan began solidifying in his mind. He would go to King Olaf and do as Ivar asked, but at the same time, he would plant the seeds of rebellion and build an alliance to bring his brother down.

And he would keep Eira safe. He wouldn't dare think otherwise.

But first, he needed to tell her of his departure. The mere thought of telling Eira twisted something deep within Hvitserk's chest. He had just told her he wouldn't leave unless he absolutely had to, and now he was.

How would she react?

Would it shatter everything they had built? The closeness that had begun to seep into his very bones? Would she understand? 

He had never been good with goodbyes, and he couldn't imagine how it would feel to see her face when she realized he was actually leaving. The truth was, the idea of being apart from her for even a short while left him feeling... hollow. He had finally acknowledged how much he needed her presence in his life, how much he had begun to rely on the calm she brought to his storm. 

Even as he walked up the steps to her door, he hesitated, wrestling with how much he should tell her. Should he tell her of Ivar's threat, of the real reason that he was leaving? And did she deserve to know his plans...his true plans, after she'd been the one prompting her to act for months? Or would it put her in more danger?

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35. Most Terrible Thing

Hvitserk Ragnarsson x Eira Torsteinsdottir (OFC)

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Word Count: 2.1k

The air inside the longhouse was suffocating.

Smoke curled from the torches along the walls, the heat of too many bodies pressed together making Eira feel sick. A dull murmur ran through the gathered crowd, hushed voices dripping with worry. Everyone knew better than to speak too loudly, lest they draw attention to themselves.

She didn't want to be here.

Her fingers tightened around the basket at her hip as she moved through the hall. Everyone on the street was herded inside the longhouse for Ivar's Thing. Oh, how she missed Lagertha's things where the people were given a chance to speak, to decide on issues affecting the town. Now, they were stuck with a power-hungry tyrant who cared nothing for his people. 

She found herself searching the longhouse before she could stop herself. Then she saw him. Hvitserk stood near the center with his arms crossed, jaw tight. He looked exhausted. Tense. Like he'd rather be anywhere else.

Just like her.

Eira instinctively moved toward him, weaving through the mob until she reached his side. "This isn't good," she mumbled, just low enough for him to hear.

He stilled. 

For a moment, he didn't turn. He ust stood there, rigid, as if pretending she wasn't there would make her disappear. Then he looked at her, and something in his expression made her stomach drop.

"Eira," he muttered, his voice tight...almost strained. "You need to get away from me. Right now."

She blinked up at him with drawn brows. "What?" she frowned, taking a step closer. "What are you—"

"Go away," he snapped. "Leave me alone."

It hit her like a punch to the ribs.

Her lips parted and a hundred things sat on the tip of her tongue. But he had already turned his head away, his jaw clenching so tight she thought it might crack. She swallowed hard, something bitter rising in her throat. Eira swallowed against the lump in her throat and turned on her heel, slipping back into the sea of bodies.

 Hvitserk had never spoken to her like that before. Never.

What was that?

Eira found a new spot across the crowd from him just as the drums stopped and the firelight dimmed. Torches were placed before Ivar and Freydis, illuminating them in the bright glow as he spoke.

"My people, you are all welcome to the Thing."

He continued on, but Eira didn't hear much of it, just hearing snippets as she cursed the burning in her eyes...the pain that each beat of her heart sent through her.

"I will take care of you. I will lead you."

How could he look at her like that?

"Now it is time to find out those who threaten us, who is against us. Maybe it is your neighbor. Perhaps it is someone you know. A family member. A brother."

She looked up at that, and her eyes flicked to Hvitserk before she could stop them as she clocked Ivar's not-so-subtle threat. Though worry mixed in her chest, she looked away from him as her mind returned to his words.

"Go away. Leave me alone."

Ivar's speech drug on but she felt numb, disconnected from the world around her. When he dismissed them and the hall cheered, she pushed her way through the crowd, slipping out of the longhouse as fast as her feet would carry her. The cold air outside hit her like a slap, but it did nothing to quiet the storm in her chest. Eira walked quickly to her house, ignoring the cheers spilling from the longhouse behind her. 

Hvitserk had looked her in the eye and told her to leave. To go away like she meant nothing.

Had all of this been a mistake?

Had she been stupid to trust him?

By the time she reached the door to her house, she was shaking with something too tangled to name: anger, hurt, betrayal. She slammed the door harder than she meant to before pressing her back against it as her chest heaved.

"You need to get away from me."

Her jaw clenched.

The worst part—the part that made her feel like an idiot—was that he looked like it hurt him too. How his voice strained, how his hands tightened into fists at his sides like he was forcing himself to say it.

That was what made it so much worse. Because if he didn't mean it, then why did he say it at all?

Her stomach twisted violently as nausea swirled there, and she cursed under her breath, running her hands into her hair. But then a sharp knock at the door made her freeze.

She didn't move. It sounded again—knock, knock, knock. And then...his voice.

"Eira."

She squeezed her eyes shut, willing herself not to care. 

"I know you're in there," he said, voice just barely above the wind. "Please let me in. I can explain."

"I do not want to hear what you have to say!"

For a moment, there was nothing. No response.

Then Eira heard a soft, barely audible exhale. She felt it through the wood of the door almost like he was standing just close enough for his regret to seep through.

"Eira," he tried again, almost pleading. "Come on."

She swallowed hard, anger still curling hot beneath her ribs, but it tangled with something else inside her.

"Please."

Eira wanted to tell him to leave. Wanted to shut the door in his face. But instead, after a long and agonizing pause, she undid the latch and pulled it open. Hvitserk stood there with exhaustion lining his face. His eyes, though. Gods, his eyes...they held something raw. Something desperate.

She hated that it made her hesitate.

Stepping aside, she didn't say anything as he slipped inside. Eira glanced toward the street once before she shut the door behind him. She turned to face him with her arms still tightly crossed.

"You humiliated me."

Hvitserk swallowed hard, but she didn't give him the chance to speak.

"After everything we've been through," she went on, her voice shaking slightly, "you stood there, looked me in the eyes, and told me to go away like I was nothing to you."

His lips pressed together as his upper lip twitched.

"And the worst part?" Eira released a humorless laugh. "You didn't even look like you meant it. You just—" She huffed, shaking her head. "You knew how much that would hurt me. And you still did it."

Hvitserk inhaled sharply through his nose and exhaled like he was trying to steady himself.

"I had to," he said finally, his voice hoarse. "Eira, the last person who was close to me...Ivar had them killed."

The words landed heavily in the air between them and she stilled.

Hvitserk clenched his jaw and looked away toward the flickering hearth. "I couldn't live with myself if something happened to you because of me."

Out of everything she thought he'd say, that was not what she was expecting.

"I know you're angry," Hvitserk said after a moment. "You should be. I deserve that."

His throat bobbed. "But I need you to understand."

Eira closed her eyes briefly, exhaling hard. She was still angry. Still hurt. But the pain in his voice made it harder to hold onto.

"Who was it?" she asked softly, sitting on her bed, much like the night before.

A ghost of a smile flickered across his lips, but it was empty. "Her name was Margrethe."

Her.

Eira shoved the thought aside.

"I knew of her," she replied, remembering seeing the blonde around town. Hadn't she been Ubbe's wife at one point? She pushed away the thought. "Why did he-"

He sighed and moved to sit beside her. "Ivar thought she would kill him. And he was worried she would tell everyone he could not have children, and with Freydis-"

"Being pregnant..." Eira continued with a nod, her voice gentle, as if she worried her words might break his composure. 

A few beats of silence passed in the air between them and she glanced over at him. Hvitserk's eyes were glued to his lap where he mindlessly toyed with his armband, spinning it around his wrist. The subtle twitch of his lower lip and the despondent look on his face continued to calm the simmering anger inside her.

He'd lost even more than she thought, she realized. Here was yet another layer of him, another past experience that shed light on his present self, his motivations, and his fears.

Eira gingerly reached for his hand and stilled his fidgeting, lacing their fingers together. "I'm still mad at you," she muttered. "But you should have told me." 

"I know I should've." Hvitserk shook his head before meeting her gaze. "I couldn't risk it, Eira."

She just held his hand while she waited for him to continue, running her thumb lightly over the back of it without even realizing it. His fingers curled around hers, tightening like he was afraid she'd slip away. 

"Ivar's watching me, Eira. I'm walking a line so thin I can barely see it anymore. And if he thinks—if he even suspects—" He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "I couldn't risk it."

Eira's chest ached as she listened. Because she understood now. He had never wanted to push her away. He had been trying to protect her, even if it tore him apart to do it.

"Is that why you came here?" she asked. "To make sure I understood?"

Hvitserk hesitated, then nodded. "I couldn't stand the thought of you believing that you mean nothing to me. I—"

"I was never going to believe that," Eira interrupted.

His lips parted slightly, but he stopped the words before they reached the air. His gaze flickered down to where their hands were still joined, then back to her face. "Eira..."

The way he said her name sent a shiver down her spine. She didn't know if it was the firelight flickering in his eyes or the way his thumb brushed over her knuckles, but something between them shifted. The anger, the hurt, the fear—it was still there, but now something else wove between it.

Something unspoken. Something fragile.

Eira exhaled, dropping her gaze briefly before meeting his eyes once more. "You can't do that to me again," she whispered.

"I won't," he promised.

She wanted to believe him. And maybe she did, more than she should.

For a long moment, neither of them moved.

The firelight danced along the planes of Hvitserk's face, casting golden shadows beneath his cheekbones and jaw. His eyes searched hers like he was looking for something.

She wasn't sure what.

Eira's pulse pounded in her ears and drowned out everything but the silence stretching between them. She should have let go of his hand, but she didn't. And neither did he.

Hvitserk exhaled slowly as his gaze dropped to her lips for the briefest of moments before flicking back up. It was barely anything, just the space of a heartbeat, but Eira felt it. The almost. The dangerous pull between them that felt like standing on the edge of a waterfall, fighting not to get washed over the edge into the unknown.

His hand moved then, his fingers ghosting up her wrist. And Eira didn't stop him. The air between them felt suddenly charged, and she wasn't sure if it was warmth or fear curling in her stomach. She wasn't sure if there was a difference.

His face was so close now. The heat of Hvitserk's body seeped into her skin. All she had to do was tilt her chin just a little and—

 A gust of wind rattled the door, shattering the spell that had fallen upon them.

Eira blinked as she was suddenly hyperaware of everything—of how her chest rose and fell too quickly, of the heat burning beneath her skin, of the fact that she wasn't sure if she had leaned in first or if he had.

Hvitserk inhaled sharply, the muscle in his jaw twitching as he pulled back just slightly. His hand lingered for half a second longer before he finally let go.

The absence of his touch was almost unbearable.

"I should go," he said roughly as his tongue tongue flicked out to wet his lips.

She nodded. It was all she could do.

Hvitserk hesitated and acted like he didn't quite want to leave, but then he exhaled, pushing himself to his feet. 

Eira didn't move as he walked to the door.

He paused with his hand on the handle, glancing back at her one last time. The air between them still crackled, but instead of breaking it, he just gave her a small, almost hesitant nod.

And then he was gone.

Eira stayed there, staring at the fire with her pulse still racing.

tag list: @purplerose291 @heyitsayjayy @severesharkkid

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[mads-weasley]

34. The Buddha

Hvitserk Ragnarsson x Eira Torsteinsdottir (OFC)

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Word Count: 3.8k

Eira walked through the bustling market, her basket heavy on her hip as she mentally went through her list. 

Yarrow. Check.

Beeswax. Check.

Linen strips. Check.

Honey. Check.

Flour.

"One more stop," she muttered to herself, squeezing between the narrow streets already filled to the brim with people.  

The booth was somewhere around here...

As she meandered past countless merchants shouting about their goods, her eyes caught on a particular corner. It was Arne's booth, but now a new trader stood behind it. She hesitated for just a moment, her throat tightening at the sight. Even though it had been two months since Arne's hanging and his family's escape, her feet still led her here, as if expecting to see Runa's bright eyes peeking up at her from behind the table.

But the little girl was gone. They were all gone.

Eira also sometimes wandered her to their empty house, to the memories she'd made inside the small space. She sighed, her gaze falling to the ground as the questions that circled constantly in her mind reappeared:

Are they okay? Did they make it to Lindholmen? Are they safe?

Hvitserk had told her it was useless to worry, but it didn't stop her from doing so anyway. 

With a deep breath, she forced herself forward. There was still work to do.

Reaching the grain merchant, she greeted the older woman behind the stall. "Good morning, Skadi. How is your husband doing?"

The woman gave a weary smile as she scooped flour into a sack. "Better, thanks to you. Your salve helped more than you know."

Eira nodded. "I'm glad."

"And you, dear? You look tired."

"That's just how I look these days," Eira huffed, a small laugh escaping her as she adjusted her basket.

Skadi gave her a knowing glance. "You work too much. Maybe you need something—or someone—to distract you."

'I have a distraction, alright,' she thought.

"We'll have to wait and see."

With a chuckle, Astrid tied the sack of flour and handed it over, taking a few coins from Eira. "Be careful, dear."

"Always."

With her arms now full, she hoisted the flour onto her hip and turned to leave, only to catch sight of a familiar figure moving through the market. He looked...different. Lighter, almost. A grin tugged at the corners of his lips, and his steps were quick and uncharacteristically eager. It was strange. Hvitserk rarely looked genuinely happy beyond the closed doors of her or Liv's house—smirking, amused, entertained, yes. But this? 

She watched him for a moment before their eyes met and he turned straight for her, his entire face brightening. He bounded over to her with such energy she blinked a few times to make sure she wasn't having visions.

"Hello, Eira," he greeted, slightly breathless.

She shifted the flour in her arms and raised a brow. "What's got you in such a good mood?"

"Can't I just be happy to see you?"

Eira rolled her eyes. "That's doubtful."

His smirk widened, but instead of teasing back, he said, "The Buddha."

"The what?"

"The Buddha," Hvitserk repeated. His voice was filled with something strange...wonder, maybe.

She gave him a skeptical look. "And what is that, exactly?"

"A man," Hvitserk said, as if that explained everything. "A wanderer told me about him. He came from the East, from lands we've never seen—farther than the Mediterranean. He said the Buddha was once a prince who gave up everything to search for the truth. He reached enlightenment."

"What is enlightenment?"

"It means...to understand," he replied, his voice slower, almost like he was trying to grasp the meaning himself. "To see the world as it truly is, without lies or illusions."

"And what did he learn from this enlightenment?"

Hvitserk's eyes gleamed in a way she'd never seen before, his words tumbling from his lips at such a fast rate she didn't know she could keep up.

"That life is suffering," he added. "That suffering comes from desire—because we want things, we hold on too tightly. But if we let go, if we understand that nothing lasts, we can finally be at peace."

Eira studied him, her brow furrowing slightly. "So, you're happy because someone told you that life is suffering?"

Hvitserk chuckled and shook his head. "You don't understand yet, Eira. It's not suffering itself. It's that we create our own suffering by clinging to things. To people. To ideas of what should be instead of what is."

Eira exhaled and nudged his shoulder lightly with hers, beginning to walk again. "Come on, philosopher. Walk with me before you start floating away."

"You're mocking me," Hvitserk chuckled, falling into step beside her.

"I am," she confirmed. "But only a little."

She handed him the sack of flour as they walked, and he took it without missing a beat, still lost in his thoughts.

"You see, the Buddha believed that life is suffering, but not in the way we think," he continued. "He believed that suffering isn't just pain or loss—it's the constant yearning, the need for things to be a certain way. We want power, love, meaning... but none of it lasts. So we suffer."

Eira frowned slightly. "That sounds...hopeless."

Hvitserk shook his head. "No. Because if we understand that nothing lasts, we stop fighting it. We stop chasing things that slip through our fingers. And in that, we can be free."

Eira studied him for a long moment, then exhaled. "And you believe that?"

His grin faded slightly, shifting into something quieter, more thoughtful. "I don't know," he admitted. "But the man told me I can go talk to him again."

She shook her head but couldn't stop a small smile from tugging at her lips. "Liv is going to love this."

Hvitserk knocked once before pushing open the door and stepping inside. Liv didn't look up from where she sat at the table, mending an old shirt. "Hvitserk Ragnarsson, if you have tracked snow into my house again, I'll feed you to the goats."

He smirked, kicking off his boots with exaggerated care before stepping fully inside. "You don't have goats."

"No, but I can find some."

Eira shut the door behind her. She shivered off the last bit of cold from outside. "We brought flour," she announced, gesturing to the sack in Hvitserk's hands.

"Thank you." Liv glanced up finally, and her eyes immediately scanned Hvitserk's face. She knew him too well.

"What is it?" she asked, arching a brow. "You're almost glowing."

Hvitserk practically lit up at the opening. "The Buddha."

He turned to Eira with an almost victorious look, and a smile formed on her lips. He'd been waiting for this moment. Eira sighed and pulled off her cloak, settling into a chair near the fire. "I told you she'd love this."

Liv placed the shirt aside and leaned forward, looking unimpressed. "Alright, out with it, then. Who—or what—is the Buddha, and why has it turned you into a giddy child?"

As Hvitserk dove into his explanation again, Eira watched him more than she listened. She'd had seen many sides of Hvitserk. She had seen him lost in thought, staring at the fjord with that distant look in his eyes...had seen him in the soft firelight of her house as he took care of her, felt the gentleness in his touch, seen the frustration when it came to his brother.

But this...this was very different.

She was captivated by his passion for this newfound obsession—how his entire body seemed to lean into the words, his hands moving through the air as he shared his thoughts.

Eira had told herself she understood him by now; his contradictions, his quiet grief, his guilt, his desperate need to find meaning in a world that had never been kind to him. But watching him now, seeing how his eyes gleamed with a different kind of fire, she realized there were still parts of him she had yet to uncover.

And gods, she wasn't sure she wanted to.

Because acknowledging those pieces meant acknowledging the way he made her feel. The warmth that curled beneath her ribs. The way her pulse had started to stutter whenever he turned his gaze on her.

It wasn't until Liv kicked Eira's foot from under the table that she broke her stare.

"So let me get this straight," Liv said, reaching for her cup. "You met a wanderer, he gave you a tiny statue, and now you think you've figured out how to stop being miserable?"

Hvitserk smirked. "Something like that."

Liv snorted. "Well, I suppose that's an improvement. I was beginning to think you were only surviving off ale and Eira's company."

Eira smothered a laugh behind her cup, simultaneously hiding the new redness on her cheeks while Liv shot her a knowing glance.

"It's not just the statue," he corrected as he leaned forward. "It's the idea of him. Of his wisdom. He said, 'Everything is One. And only the One is. Life is a bridge—build no house upon it. It's a river—don't cling to its banks.'"

Liv hummed and swirled her drink. "Sounds like gibberish a drunk would say"

Hvitserk only chuckled.

Then, a thought suddenly popped into Eira's head. One that instantly wiped the smirk off her face.

Does that mean he'll leave?

Eira swallowed thickly but tried not to let her worry shine through.  "So...what now? Are you going to leave Kattegat and wander in search of this peace?"

He just looked at her for a moment, watching as she chewed at the inside of her cheek just slightly. It was her tell. "Would you miss me, Torsteinsdottir?" 

"You're deflecting," Eira hummed, rolling her eyes as she leaned back in her chair.

"Maybe," he admitted as he took a slow sip from his cup, though his gaze never left her. "Maybe I don't know the answer yet."

That...that did not sit well with her.

She told herself it shouldn't matter. It didn't matter. He was free to do whatever he wanted, to chase whatever meaning he thought he'd find beyond Kattegat. But how could he leave after all they'd been through? How could he leave Liv? How could he leave her?

"Sounds about right," Liv cut in with a sigh, oblivious to the thoughts racing through Eira's mind. "I see you still don't think things through."

Hvitserk smirked. "That's not true. I think plenty."

"You drink plenty," Liv corrected.

Eira barely heard their banter. She was too focused on how Hvitserk still looked at her like he knew what she was thinking. Like he could see straight through her.

Annoying man.

She tore her gaze away and forced herself to focus on her hands, her cup, anything but him.

"Besides," he continued, finally turning back to Liv. "I don't need to leave to try and understand the Buddha's wisdom. I am going to talk to the wanderer again tomorrow. And I couldn't leave with what is going on in Kattegat."

Eira exhaled before she could stop herself, a little too relieved by his words. Gods, she was being ridiculous.

Liv caught it immediately.

The old woman's eyes flickered between the two of them, something knowing tugging at the edges of her lips. "Good, because I need both of you around here to keep me sane."

Hvitserk and Eira went their separate ways after leaving Liv's house, and he now found himself standing before Ivar. 

"Hvitserk, I have just received some very interesting news."

He stepped up the steps in front of Ivar's throne,  resting his hand on the sword at his hip.

"It seems King Harald was defeated in Wessex by the new King, Alfred," he paused, nodding slightly. "But with the help of Lagertha, Bjorn, and Ubbe."

Frustration flared in Hvitserk's chest and his lip twitched as he leaned closer to his brother "Then you knew all along that you didn't sacrifice Lagertha."

Ivar didn't speak and only tilted his head, sending Hvitserk an unsettling smirk that told him all he needed to know. He exhaled sharply, looking over at Freydis before asking.

"Did Harald survive the battle?"

"Yes, he retreated to York." He sighed, tightening his grip on his throne's armrests. "It seems to me that now it is time for us to return to England."

Hvitserk just stared at him as he continued. 

"Harald has learned his lesson. He cannot win without me."

Me.

Hvitserk had to withhold a scoff. It was like he wasn't even there. 

Ivar banged a small object on the armrest like he wanted Hvitserk to ask about it. "What is that?"

"When our father took me to England and was imprisoned by King Ecbert," he started, holding up the small item in front of him as Hvitserk nodded. "I played chess with Prince Alfred. Now I would like to play chess with him again. Only this time, on the battlefield."

"When?"

Ivar shrugged. "Hopefully in the spring," he turned to Freydis. "But not before our divine child is born."

Divine child.

Huffing a quiet chuckle, Hvitserk raised his eyebrows before heading for the doors. 

Maybe their upcoming raid in England would give him a chance to act, to take Ivar off the throne once and for all. Things had cooled down since Arne's rebellion, but people still suffered from Ivar's inactive rule. In addition to his suppressing orders, he neglected the duties of a king that allowed life in the city to run smoothly. 

He never listened to disputes or any concerned citizens with questions...he only loved the power of the position, the high it gave him controlling everything.

Hvitserk sighed and knocked on the door. She answered in a few moments, stepping aside and closing the door behind him. 

"Have more wisdom to tell me about?" she grinned, plopping down at the end of her bed.

"Well, that depends on whether you mock me or not."

"I would never."

The bed dipped slightly as he sat beside her, their shoulders close but not touching. "I've been thinking—"

She raised a brow. "That's never good."

"See, this is what I was talking about," he replied, nudging her with his elbow before pulling out a small figure and holding it in front of him. His face fell, and his expression turned serious, "I've been thinking more about the Buddha. What if it's all a joke?"

He briefly glanced at her, a split-second uncomfortable smile tugging on his lips. "Floki would have said so."

 Eira saw the sincerity in his eyes, and her next tease died on her tongue. "Do you think it's a joke?"

"I don't know," he said after a moment, staring at the figure. "Maybe I could ask the wanderer more tomorrow."

"You should. And honestly, it doesn't matter what I think...or what Liv thinks."

Hvitserk smirked at her. "I know."

Eira rolled her eyes, but she couldn't ignore the way he was still looking at her like he was trying to get inside her head. Like he was waiting for her to say something else. But she didn't.

Instead, she turned her attention to the small Buddha figure in his hand, reaching out without thinking. "Can I see it?"

He hesitated for only a second before handing it over.

Eira turned the small wooden figure between her fingers, tracing the smooth edges, the carved lines of the peaceful face.

"What a fat little man."

Hvitserk huffed a quiet laugh and shook his head. "You take nothing seriously, do you?"

Eira smirked but didn't look away from the carving. "I take many things seriously. Just not tiny wooden men."

She expected him to laugh, to make some type of sound, but he didn't. He just stared at his lap with his brows creased as his lip twitched slightly.

"Earlier at Liv's," he said at last. "You didn't think I would really leave Kattegat, did you?"

She remained quiet for a few moments before lowering the Buddha, her gaze drifting to the floor. "I didn't know."

"Eira," he whispered. "I wouldn't leave."

Her gaze stayed on the floor, and her fingers still gripped the small wooden figure.

"I wouldn't leave," Hvitserk repeated, softer this time.

She didn't say anything at first. She just continued to trace a thumb over the figurine, her brows knitted together in that way that told him she was thinking—really thinking.

Then, finally, she exhaled. "You say that now."

"I mean it."

Eira glanced up at him, and her eyes searched his for a long moment before standing and moving to work station. She placed the Buddha on the table. "Maybe you do," she admitted, fiddling with some of her jars of herbs. "But what happens when you wake up one day and have had enough of Ivar? What if you realize that maybe the gods aren't keeping you here like you said? That this—" she gestured vaguely around her "—isn't worth it?"

Hvitserk released a slow breath and ran his thumb over the edge of his jaw as he considered her words. "Maybe I will wake up one day and have had enough of Ivar," he replied. "Maybe I already have." 

She put down the jars and leaned back against the table, watching him closely.

"But that doesn't mean I'll leave. Kattegat is my home, and I won't leave it unless I have to."

There was a silent implication in his words...unless I have to. He was back to his struggle of free will, of choosing things for himself. He would only leave Kattegat if he had no choice, and though it should have comforted her, it did the opposite. Ivar was a master manipulator, especially when it came to Hvitserk, and something in her gut told her that he would pull something...and soon. 

"Unless you have to," she muttered to herself, looking back down at the Buddha. "Is that why you like this so much?"

Hvitserk's lips twitched. "Like what?"

She lifted the Buddha. "This. The idea of it."

"And what idea is that?"

"That no matter what you do...the choices you do or don't make. It doesn't matter in the end."

Eira still wasn't looking at him, her fingers tracing over the smooth surface of the Buddha's belly. She had never been good at this—at speaking aloud the things that lingered in the back of her mind. But somehow, he always managed to pull them out of her.

She laughed humorlessly. "It's easier that way, isn't it? To tell yourself that suffering is inevitable. That wanting is the reason we hurt. That nothing lasts, so why hold on to anything at all?"

"That's not what I meant."

She finally looked at him, half-expecting that lazy smirk, the one he wore like armor when things got too real. But it wasn't there. His expression was unguarded. Open in a way that made something twist uncomfortably in her chest.

"Tell me."

"I mean that maybe everything that has happened has been for a reason. Perhaps it has all been part of the One."

"The One?" She asked, furrowing her brows.

Hvitserk exhaled, running a hand over his mustache before shifting to lean his elbows on his knees. "The wanderer said... everything is connected. Everything is part of the One." His fingers tapped idly against his knee as his expression turned pensive. "Maybe all of it...the battles, the losses, the mistakes...maybe it all had to happen. Maybe I had to end up here. Maybe you did, too."

Eira shook her head as she turned the Buddha over in her palm. "Sounds a lot like fate to me."

Silence settled between them, stretching just long enough to feel heavy. It wasn't until after a long beat, that Hvitserk spoke. 

"You didn't answer my question."

She knew exactly what he was referring to, but she still asked, "Which one?"

Hvitserk tilted his head with a lopsided smirk. "Would you miss me?"

Eira wanted to scoff, to roll her eyes and swat the question away like an annoying fly. It would have been easier that way—to treat it like just another of his teasing remarks. But something in the way he looked at her, how his voice had dripped in both sarcasm and genuine curiosity kept her from doing so. 

She inhaled slowly, then let out an exaggerated sigh as she tilted her head. "Does a foot miss the thorn lodged in it?" she mused, raising an eyebrow.

"You wound me."

"Do I?" she asked with a smirk.

Hvitserk didn't shoot another quip back like she'd thought. He just held her gaze for a longer than necessary, prompting her next words.

"You already know the answer, Hvitserk," she said, ignoring the heat on her cheeks as she turned back to the table.

"Maybe," he shrugged. "But I'd still like to hear it."

"Yes," she said with a roll of her eyes, looking at him over her shoulder. "I would miss you. There. Happy now?"

Hvitserk wasn’t smirking anymore. He just…watched her. Not in the teasing, playful way he usually did, but in that rare way that made her feel like he was really seeing her. Like he was committing something to memory. Eira swallowed and forced herself to hold his gaze, but it was a mistake.

But before she could look away or speak, Hvitserk exhaled, and the corner of his mouth twitched upward. "That was almost sincere," he mused.

Eira rolled her eyes as she turned back toward the table. "Almost sincere? I take it back then."

Hvitserk laughed. Really laughed, and the deep, rough sound sent a strange warmth through her stomach. "No, no," he said, standing. "You already said it. No take-backs."

"Watch me," she muttered.

When she turned, he was already approaching her, holding out his hand. "My Buddha, please."

She dangled it between two fingers before dropping it into his palm. "There. Take your little fat man and get out."

Hvitserk closed his fingers around the Buddha but he didn’t move. Eira arched a brow. “What? Do you need me to walk you to the door, too?”

He smirked. “I wouldn’t mind. Maybe with a feast in my honor? A few songs about my greatness?”

Eira scoffed and leaned back against the table. “Really? You mean the great Hvitserk Ragnarsson, master of drinking and eating Liv out of house and home?”

“Good thing I have him now," He sighed dramatically, then held up the Buddha. "He wouldn’t mock me like this.”

“I don’t know, Hvitserk. Look at his face—he seems unimpressed.”

Hvitserk frowned, squinting at the little wooden figure. “Hmm. Maybe you’re right.” He traced a thumb over the Buddha’s belly before tucking it into his belt. “But I think I’ll keep him anyway. He’s growing on me.”

“You get attached to the strangest things.” Eira shook her head with a smirk.

Hvitserk's grin widened. “That so?”

Her smirk faltered slightly, but she quickly masked it by rolling her eyes and pushing off the table. “Get out, Hvitserk.”

He chuckled, making his way toward the door. But before stepping out, he glanced back over his shoulder. “You know, I think the Buddha likes me. He wants to stay with me.”

Eira crossed her arms. “He told you that, did he?”

“Of course,” Hvitserk said with a deadpan expression. “He said, ‘Hvitserk, my old friend, you are clearly the wisest of men. Please, take me on your adventures.’”

Eira laughed under her breath. “You need to get out more.”

“Careful, Eira. If I start listening to your advice, you won’t have anything left to complain about.”

“Oh, I’ll find something,” she shot back without missing a beat.

He let out a low chuckle and reached for the door. “I don’t doubt that.”

With that, he stepped outside and shut the door behind him. Eira shook her head as she turned back to her worktable. She wasn’t smiling.

Not really.

And if she glanced at the empty space where he’d been sitting a little longer than necessary, well…that was nobody’s business but hers.

tag list: @purplerose291 @heyitsayjayy @severesharkkid

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

[mads-weasley]

33 | Return to Reality

Hvitserk Ragnarsson x Eira Torsteinsdottir (OFC)

Series Masterlist

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Word Count: 1.7k

A gentle touch against her shoulder pulled Eira from her sleep. She stirred, blinking slowly in the dim light. Her mind lingered somewhere between sleeping and waking until the voice that followed pulled her the rest of the way out. 

"Eira."

She exhaled, stretching slightly before cracking one eye open. He was crouched beside the bed, his face close, watching her with an amused glint in his tired eyes. 

"It's time," he murmured.

Eira hummed in response, shifting onto her side but making no move to rise. "Too early," she mumbled.

 "It'll be too late if we don't leave soon," he chuckled, shaking his head.

She sighed and rubbed a hand over her face before pushing herself up to sit. It was still dark outside, but the faintest whisper of blue had begun creeping into the sky. Hvitserk stood as she swung her legs over the side of the bed, adjusting his cloak while she rubbed the sleep from her eyes. He was quiet as she gathered her things, giving her the space to wake fully.

Eira's thick hair fell over her shoulders and down her back in a tangled mess. It took her a few minutes, but she tamed the rat's nest and braided it over her shoulder. She'd done it a million times and her fingers worked on autopilot—until she caught Hvitserk watching her with a smirk from the corner of her eye.

"What?" she asked.

He shrugged, lips downturned. "Nothing."

"You have no room to talk, Ragnarsson," she teased. "Your hair looks..." She blinked blearily at him, then grinned."Like a bird tried to build a nest in it."

Hvitserk huffed a quiet laugh, running a hand over his unruly braids—or what was left of them. "That bad?" 

Eira didn't answer immediately. She just shook her head, her lips curling as she grabbed her cloak. "Worse."

Instead of defending himself, Hvitserk plopped down on the stool near the fire, stretching out his legs like he had all the time in the world. "You're good with your hands," he mused, watching her pull her furs over her shoulders. "Might as well fix it."

"I thought you said we had to go?"

Hvitserk grinned, completely unbothered. "We do. But if I walk into Kattegat looking like this, people might think I fought off a bear in my sleep."

"Oh, I'd believe it."

His grin widened, but he only tilted his head slightly. "Come on, healer. You already have practice dealing with lost causes."

She let out a quiet sigh, but there was no real frustration in it. Truthfully, she didn't entirely mind. He knew it too.

"Sit still," she muttered, stepping behind him.

Hvitserk smirked but did as she asked, resting his forearms on his knees, leaning his head down slightly to give her better access. Eira's fingers threaded through his hair and undid the messy remnants of his braids before weaving them back into place. He sat comfortably beneath her touch, his usual restless energy quieted for once.

"You've done this before," he murmured after a moment.

Her fingers paused for a moment. "For my brother."

Hvitserk was silent for a beat before exhaling, his shoulders easing under her touch. "He was lucky then. This is nice."

"This?" Eira asked, tugging a piece of hair just enough to make him squirm.

He pulled away from her briefly. "Not that," he muttered.

Eira smirked, but her hands kept working. "So, a fearsome warrior like you enjoys being fussed over?"

"Wouldn't say fussed over. More like..." He trailed off, searching for the right words. His voice softened. "It's just... relaxing."

It only took her a few moments to finish his braids, tying them together with a few thin leather strips. She gave his head a small pat. "There. Now you won't embarrass yourself."

Hvitserk reached up, running a hand over the fresh braids with an approving nod. "New style," he raised a brow. "I like it."

"It was always Vali's favorite."

He watched as she busied herself fastening her cloak, avoiding his gaze. 

"Eira."

She finally looked up at him. 

"Thank you."

She held his gaze for a beat before shaking her head with a small, almost reluctant smile. "Come on, Ragnarsson," she said. "Before I start charging you for my services. We need to get back before someone notices we're gone."

He grinned and followed her out into the cold as the first traces of dawn crept over the horizon. They walked in easy silence for a while, their boots crunching over the frost-covered ground.

"You should do it again sometime," he said without looking over at her, his gaze fixed on the darkened forest before them.

Eira glanced at him. "What?"

"The braids," he said, smirking slightly. "Since I obviously can't be trusted to do it myself."

She scoffed and tucked her arms beneath her cloak. "That's for sure."

They continued walking, the quiet between them feeling easier than it once had. The sky was shifting now, dark blue softening at the edges with the first hints of morning. The thoughts of Kattegat—of Ivar, of everything waiting for them—loomed ahead, but for the moment, it was just the two of them.

Eira exhaled, glancing at him. "If you ask nicely, maybe I'll consider it."

"Nicely?" Hvitserk asked with a raised brow.

She shot him a look. "Yes. Nicely."

Hvitserk chuckled under his breath, shaking his head as he kept his gaze on the path ahead. "I don't think anyone's ever asked me to do something nicely before. Maybe my mother years ago, but..."

Eira smirked. "Maybe that's your problem, Ragnarsson."

"I have a lot of those, apparently."

"Oh," she sighed, looking up at him with a wide grin. "Too many to count."

Hvitserk held her gaze for a few moments before rolling his eyes. "So you tell me."

"Someone has to," Eira smirked, but there was something softer in her expression as she looked ahead.

"Lucky me, then."

They fell back into silence, the only sound the crunch of frost under their boots and the distant whisper of the fjord against the shore. Kattegat was still a ways off, but the closer they got, the heavier the air felt, thick with the thought of returning to reality.

Eira's breath was visible in the crisp morning air as she spoke. "Do you think anyone noticed we were gone?"

Hvitserk tilted his head slightly, considering. "If they did, no one would question me." His smirk was there, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "You, on the other hand..."

"I'm not the one with a reputation."

He sent her a sidelong glance. "People still talk."

"I could say I was collecting roots or something if anyone asks."

"Hopefully you won't have to," Hvitserk sighed.

Eira hummed. She hoped everyone would still be sleeping and wouldn't notice their return. She hadn't missed any visits or commitments, and the only people who would notice were gone now. And Liv...she never left her house, so she wouldn't notice either.

They fell back into a comfortable silence, their steps steady as they wound their way through the darkened forest. The distant outline of Kattegat was beginning to form through the thinning trees, and with it, the weight of reality settled in. Life was complicated in Kattegat, even more so when it came to them, to their pasts and struggles. 

As they reached a fork in the path just inside the treeline, Hvitserk slowed his pace. "We should split up here," he said, his voice quiet. "You go first. I'll wait a bit before heading back."

Eira nodded, pulling her hood up to shield her face. It was the logical thing to do. But still, she hesitated for a breath longer than she should have. Hvitserk must have noticed because his smirk softened. He reached up and tugged on the end of her braid—just lightly, just enough to make her look at him with a playful scowl.

"See you soon, healer."

Eira rolled her eyes but didn't push his hand away. "Try not to get into trouble before then."

He grinned. "No promises."

With that, she spun and began walking toward the outskirts of Kattegat. Just before she left the treeline, she turned. "Thank you."

He just nodded.

She passed by Astrid's house on her way to the city. Hvitserk watched her go and exhaled slowly before leaning against a tree, waiting.

Just a little longer. Just enough to make it seem like they hadn't left together.

As he stood there, watching her disappear behind the houses lining the road, he thought back to Randi and Runa. They should've been in Lindholmen by now—should be safe from Ivar's grasp.

For once, the weight sitting in his chest wasn't guilt. It wasn't failure.

It was something lighter. Something earned.

He had done something. Not just for himself, not for Ivar, not for the ghosts that followed him...but for them. For Randi and Runa. For people who needed it.

It was a strange feeling. He wasn't sure what to do with it.

His fingers ran over his freshly braided hair, smirking slightly at the thought of Eira's hands working through it. She had done that without question, without hesitation—just like she had helped him help them.

You already have practice dealing with lost causes.

She had meant it as a tease, but maybe there had been some truth to it.

Maybe he wasn't as much of a lost cause as he thought.

Pushing off the tree, Hvitserk rolled his shoulders and shook off his lingering thoughts as he started toward Kattegat. He'd spent a long while thinking, and the city was starting to stir now, the first signs of life creeping into the streets. Soon, Ivar's men would be watching. Soon, he would have to slip back into his usual skin: the brother who laughed, who drank, who didn't care too much about anything.

But as he walked through Kattegat's gates, something about him felt different.

This time, when he smirked, it wasn't armor.

It was real...but it faded when he walked up on a giant statue being raised, and when he heard the Seer had "disappeared." 

Reality was back, and it was just as suffocating as he remembered.

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[mads-weasley]

32. The Space Between

Hvitserk Ragnarsson x Eira Torsteinsdottir (OFC)

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Word Count: 2.3k

The room was silent except for the quiet crackling of the fire when Eira stirred. She opened her eyes for a second and turned over. Something shifted at the foot of the bed.

Eira squinted, her mind still thick with sleep. "Hvitserk?" she called groggily.

He turned. "Yes?"

"What are you doing?"

"Nothing," he muttered.

Her gaze flickered to the fur draped over his shoulders, how he sat up against the footboard.

"Have you slept at all?"

"Some," he replied with a shrug.

Eira let out a quiet huff. "That's a no."

"I'm fine, Eira," Hvitserk sighed, running a hand down his face. "Go back to sleep."

"No," she sat up, her blonde hair sticking in every direction. Her voice was still heavy with sleep, but there was no mistaking the stubborn edge to it. She leveled him with a look, blinking the bleariness from her eyes. "I'm not going to let you sleep on the floor."

Hvitserk let out a quiet breath, tilting his head back against the footboard. "Eira," he said. "It's fine. I've slept on worse."

"That's not the point," she countered as she rubbed her eyes. She was more awake now, and the stubborn set of her jaw told him she wasn't about to let this go.

"I'm fine. Really."

Eira rolled her eyes. "Right. So the hard floor isn't the reason you're wide awake right now?"

She wasn't wrong, but there was more to it than that.

Hvitserk huffed a short laugh, shaking his head. "You really won't let this go, will you?"

"No," she said simply, suppressing a smirk. "There's plenty of room. You'll be cranky if you don't get any sleep, and I don't want to deal with that."

He chuckled dryly but didn't move, his gaze drifting to the door. The memories resurfaced and flashed what he could only imagine had happened to Margrethe...how she spent her last moments. He couldn't let down his guard.

Eira frowned. "Hvitserk."

"Alright," he sighed, rising from the floor with a small grunt. Hvitserk hesitated only a second longer before stiffly climbing onto the bed. Eira pulled the blankets back over herself and shifted so there was more space between them. He laid on his back, arms folded behind his head as he stared at the ceiling.

"See?" she chuckled. "Not so bad."

Hvitserk half-scoffed, but she caught how his body relaxed slightly, how the tension in his shoulders eased. Eira lay still, eyes drifting half-closed, but her mind was too awake now. She turned her head slightly, peering at Hvitserk through the dim firelight. His gaze was still on the ceiling, his fingers tapping absentmindedly against his stomach.

"Do you normally have trouble sleeping?" she asked.

Hvitserk released a quiet breath. "Depends."

"On what?"

His fingers drummed once before going still. "On how loud my thoughts are."

"That's a poetic way of saying you overthink everything," she huffed a quiet laugh.

His lips twitched, but his gaze stayed on the ceiling. "Not everything."

Humming, Eira rolled onto her side and propped her head on her arm. "Just the things you don't want to think about?"

"Something like that."

"I know what you mean," she murmured, her gaze dropping as her fingers ran over the warm fur beneath her. "Sometimes what I don't want to think about are the only things I can."

Hvitserk turned his head to look at her. The firelight cast shifting shadows over her face, but he recognized her expression—the kind of weariness that settled deep in the bones, the kind that sleep never truly erased.

She hid it so well beneath her pointed humor and busy schedule, but if she was anything like him, the quiet moments were the times she was most vulnerable. 

Eira must have felt his gaze lingering because she sighed, shifting to lay on her back. He thought he spotted a flush creep up her neck, but he decided it was the firelight playing tricks on him. "You're staring."

"You're talking," he countered, lips quirking just slightly. "I'm just listening."

"Listening? Or avoiding sleep?"

Hvitserk exhaled through his nose, turning his gaze back to the ceiling. "Maybe both."

Eira shook her head fondly, the flicker of amusement in her eyes softening into something more thoughtful. "You should try, though. Sleeping."

Hvitserk hummed a noncommittal sound. He hadn't intended on falling asleep tonight, but somehow, in her presence, the restless hum in his chest quieted just enough for him to consider it.

"Does it help? Talking about it?" she asked, her voice softer than before.

He was quiet for a long time...enough that she almost assumed he wouldn't answer. But then, his voice broke through the silence. "I don't know. I—I haven't exactly had anyone to talk to. Well," Hvitserk sent her a small half-smile. "Not until recently."

This time a pink flush crept up her neck, he had no doubt what it was. Eira sent him a sidelong glance as the corner of her lips barely tilted into a smirk. He caught her gaze before she looked away with a soft exhale. A small smirk of his own played on his lips as he turned back toward the ceiling.

After a few minutes of silence, Eira took a slow breath. "You know," she murmured, "if you ever wanted to talk about it...whatever it is keeping you awake...you could."

Hvitserk tilted his head as his eyes shifted toward her. There was no expectation in her voice, no pressing demand. Just an offering. A choice.

He swallowed. "I wouldn't even know where to start."

"Then don't start at the beginning," she said simply. "Start with the part that's keeping you awake the most."

"That would take all night." He rubbed a hand down his face before resting it back behind his head. 

Eira smirked, shifting slightly under the furs. "Good thing I'm not tired, then."

He turned his head, watching her through the flickering firelight. She wasn't lying. Though her voice was laced with teasing, there was something genuine in her expression. She was stubborn and far too good at reading him for his liking, but she also had a way of making him feel...steadier. Like maybe the chaos in his mind didn't have to be so all-consuming.

"You go first."

"Why?"

"If we're doing this," he said, shifting his head to glance at her, "you go first."

She huffed lightly and rolled onto her side again to face him. "That's not how it works."

Hvitserk merely shrugged. "Why not?"

Eira sighed. "Alright," she mumbled. "I'll start with something good."

Hvitserk didn't say anything, but she could feel him listening. He always listened, even when he pretended not to.

"My father..." Eira paused for a moment, sorting through the memories. "People knew him as a warrior, one of Ragnar's men. Brave, and loyal, and all the things they sing about in their stories. But to me?" She huffed a small, tired laugh. "To me, he was just...my father."

She shifted onto her back to stare at the ceiling. "He always smelled like salt and pine. I don't know why—maybe from all the time on ships, maybe just because he was always outside. And his laugh—gods, you could hear it from halfway across the village. It was loud and a little ridiculous, but when he laughed, really laughed, you couldn't help but laugh, too."

"He always said that the best warriors weren't the strongest, just the ones too stubborn to die," Eira murmured, a small, tired smile tugging at her lips. "And if that's true, then he was one of the best. He should've died a dozen times before he actually did."

She exhaled a quiet laugh. "He used to sit by the fire and show off his scars like they were something to be proud of. And every time he told the story of how he got them, it changed just a little. A cut from a Saxon sword would turn into a battle with five warriors. A scrape from a fall on deck suddenly became a wound from a shield wall that almost killed him. By the end, you'd think he wrestled a bear and won."

She shook her head. "I don't even know if he did it on purpose—if he was testing how gullible we were or if he just liked hearing himself talk. Maybe both."

Eira's voice softened as she continued. "He wasn't home much, but when he was, he spent every second with us. He told us stories. He taught me archery and taught Vali how to fight. Solvieg," she paused, realizing for the first time she'd never shared about her sister...or that she even had one.

She waited for his response for a moment, expecting a question, but none ever came.  Turning her head slightly, she found him fully asleep. His eyes were closed, chest rising and falling in deep, steady breaths. The tension he always carried in his shoulders had finally eased completely. 

The realization settled in her chest, warm and unfamiliar.

He hadn't intended to sleep. He hadn't trusted himself to.

But he had.

With her.

Eira let out a slow breath, a small, almost wistful smile tugging at her lips. She leaned over and pulled the furs up over his shoulders before taking out her braid and settling back against her own pillow.

She closed her eyes.

And this time, sleep came easier, more peacefully, knowing he was beside her.

Darkness. It surrounded him...wherever he was.

A sound echoed in the black, and Hvitserk spun around, the cabin suddenly there like it had always been. His brows furrowed as he looked around, but he froze when a whimper reached his ears. He turned again. Something was there now—small, unmoving. His stomach twisted as his gaze dropped to the floor. A pool of dark red seeped into the wood, spreading outward, inch by inch. A body lay at its center.

Then it hit him.

"No, no, no," he muttered, his heart racing. "Not again. Please, not again."

Hvitserk dropped to his knees and rolled the figure over, warmth slick on his fingers. Thick. Wet. The scent of iron flooded his nose.

Blonde hair clung to pale skin, strands matted with blood. Eyes, half-lidded and dull, stared past him, their usual fire extinguished.

A sharp, raw and broken noise punched from his chest. His fingers pressed against her face and smeared red across her cheek like he could wipe this away...like he could bring her back. His throat locked tight.

"Eira," he choked.

She didn't move. Didn't blink. Didn't breathe.

His hands shook so hard he barely recognized them as his own. He pulled her closer, pressing his forehead against hers, a shudder racking through his body. This was a mistake. This was wrong. It wasn't supposed to happen like this.

He should have protected her. Should have—

A gust of wind slammed against the cabin and rattled the walls. The fire flickered and died in an instant, swallowing the room in shadow. A whisper curled through the air.

"You let it happen again."

Hvitserk stiffened.

The shadows stretched to reveal a figure looming in the doorway.

Ubbe.

He didn't speak at first, and instead just stared. Not with anger. Not even with hatred.

With disappointment.

Hvitserk's stomach turned to lead, and his grip on Eira tightened, though it didn't matter—she was already gone.

"What have you become, brother? How could you let this happen again?"

Hvitserk's mouth dried. His fault. The voice wasn't wrong. He let it happen.

Ubbe stepped forward.

"Who will you let die, next?"

The walls closed in, the cabin twisting and warping, crushing him beneath its weight. The shadows swallowed him whole—

And then he was falling.

Hvitserk jolted awake, his chest heaving, pulse pounding in his ears as the remnants of the nightmare clung to him like a suffocating mist.

The fire had burned lower and only illuminated the room in a barely noticeable amber glow. He couldn't place where he was for a moment. His fingers twitched, still half-expecting to feel warmth slick on his hands, the phantom sensation of blood lingering even though there was none.

Then he turned his head. 

Eira lay beside him, her features softened in sleep. Blonde hair spilled across the furs and caught the firelight in a way that made it almost glow. Her lashes fluttered slightly, lost in whatever dream held her. 

She was here.

Alive.

A small shudder racked through Hvitserk's body as he released a breath. He closed his eyes for a second and pressed his hands into his face, trying to shake off the lingering nightmare. But when he opened them again, she was still there.

Hvitserk's fingers moved before he could think. His touch was light, tentative, barely a brush as he traced the soft strands of her hair between his fingertips as though convincing himself she was real—that she wasn't just something his mind had conjured to torment him.

His hand drifted lower to brush against the curve of her cheek, her soft skin warm beneath his touch. She stirred slightly but didn't wake, only sighing quietly.

Something twisted in his chest.

Hvitserk swallowed hard.

When had this happened? When had she become this to him—something precious, irreplaceable—something worth fearing to lose?

She hadn't stormed into his life like a battle won with brute force. No, she had slipped in quietly, past his defenses, until one day, he simply knew. Knew that she had settled into the spaces between his ribs, knew that the thought of losing her was a fear he hadn't felt since Margrethe.

He had spent so long chasing ghosts, drowning in past mistakes. But now, with her, something was different. For the first time in what felt like forever, he was not just following fate. 

He was choosing something. Choosing her.

His fingers lingered at her temple, brushing a stray lock away from her face. The urge to lean closer, to commit every detail of her to memory, burned in his chest. But he didn't. He only exhaled softly, pressing his palm to his forehead as he leaned back against the pillow.

Eira sighed in her sleep and shifted, instinctively tucking herself a fraction closer to him.

Hvitserk closed his eyes, forcing his breathing to steady.

He was in trouble. 

And gods help him, he didn't know how to stop falling. 

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[mads-weasley]

31. Be Alright

Hvitserk Ragnarsson x Eira Torsteinsdottir (OFC)

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Word Count: 2.1k

The night air only got colder as Hvitserk led them to his cabin, snow swirling around them as the wind picked up. He'd been silent the whole way, but Eira noticed the slight crease in his brow, how his lip twitched every now and then. She remembered his reaction the first time he'd mentioned the cabin all those months ago: the hesitation, the flash of guilt, of pain.

What had happened there that made him so reluctant to return?

Eira thought about asking, but she'd never been one to push him about his feelings—she hadn't then, and she wouldn't now. Still, the question stuck, lingering in the back of her mind like an itch she couldn't quite reach. There was a time she would have ignored it, dismissed it outright. Now, after everything... she wasn't sure what to do. But at the same time, she welcomed the distraction. It was something to take her mind off the heaviness swirling in her stomach since Randi and Runa's departure. Would she ever see them again?

As they continued, Eira's mind was miles away and tangled in worries. Her feet moved on autopilot, following Hvitserk's lead through the trees.

She didn't see the stream until her boot hit the edge of an icy rock. Her foot slid and her body tilted, but then a hand shot out and caught her arm. Strong fingers tightened around her wrist and pulled her back before she could fall.

"Careful," he warned, arching an eyebrow at her before pulling her upright. 

Eira's cheeks burned, and she straightened, brushing snow off her cloak as if that could also sweep away her embarrassment. "I wasn't paying attention."

"No kidding," Hvitserk muttered, his eyes lingering on her a moment longer than necessary. His grip loosened and his fingers trailed down her wrist before he let go. "Try not to fall in. It's too cold for me to drag you out."

Eira rolled her eyes. "So you'd let me freeze to death."

A flicker of amusement passed over his face, a smirk finally tugging at his lips. "I never said that." He turned and easily stepped across the slick rocks.

Hvitserk reached the other side and looked back, his expression softening just slightly. He held out his hand. "Come on. It's slippery."

Eira hesitated, eyeing the rocks between them. They were coated in ice, the water below dark and cold. She could make it without help...probably.

But she took his hand anyway.

It was only a few minutes until they reached the cabin. It stood atop a small hill, nothing more than a shack, but Hvitserk's reaction made Eira's earlier questions reappear in her mind. He froze for a moment when it came into view, his shoulders tensing. He ran a hand over his mouth and exhaled sharply—a nervous habit of his she'd picked up on.

He didn't move.

Eira watched him, her brow furrowing. "Hvitserk?"

He glanced at her. "Yeah. Right." His voice was too tight, the words clipped like he had to force them out. 

The cabin was colder than he remembered. 

Hvitserk stood in the doorway, gripping the handle much tighter than necessary. After months of disuse, the air inside was stale and dusty. His gaze flickered toward the center of the room.

The mat was still there.

A muscle in his jaw twitched. He didn't need to lift it to know what lay beneath. The memory lurked at the edges of his mind, waiting to drag him under if he let it. He'd tried to scrub the blood away, but it had seeped too deep into the wood. In the end, he'd just given up and thrown the mat over it before leaving...he hadn't returned since. 

Eira shifted beside him, her gaze flicking toward his face. He could feel her watching him, assessing, piecing things together. She always did that—saw too much, understood more than he wanted her to.

But instead of questioning him, she raised an eyebrow and said, "Are we going in, or do you plan to freeze out here?"

Hvitserk huffed, exhaling a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. "I was just admiring the craftsmanship," he muttered, stepping inside.

Eira snorted softly behind him as she followed, pulling the door shut. "Well, it's not completely falling apart," she conceded, brushing snow from her cloak. "I expected worse."

"You wound me," Hvitserk deadpanned, kneeling in front of the hearth. He grabbed a few logs from the small pile beside it and began stacking them.

"How long has it been since you were here?" she asked, brushing dust off the furs covering the bed.

Hvitserk struck the flint against steel, sending a spark into the dry kindling. "A while."

The fire caught and crackled as it licked up the bark. He slowly blew on the growing flame, watching as it spread.

Eira sat on the edge of the cot and rubbed her arms. "Bad memories?" she guessed.

Hvitserk's jaw tightened. "Something like that."

She didn't press, but something in her expression softened. Not pity—he knew that much. Just...understanding.

Soon the fire filled the hearth, its warm glow spreading across the small cabin. Hvitserk added another log and watched as the flames curled around the wood. He flexed his fingers, letting the heat seep into his skin.

Eira lingered near the bed, brushing her hand over the furs absentmindedly. "It's warmer than outside," she muttered.

"High praise," he smirked. It was faint, but it was there.

She shot him a look before sitting on the bed, pulling her knees up, and wrapping her arms around them. The firelight flickered over her face, casting shifting shadows beneath her eyes.  She watched him as she leaned back against the headboard. For a while, neither of them spoke. The wind howled outside and rattled the wooden walls, but quiet inside the cabin. 

Eira sighed, resting her chin on her knees. "You know...when I first met you, I assumed you were exactly like him."

Hvitserk didn't have to ask who she meant.

His jaw tightened, but he didn't look at her. Instead, he grabbed a stick and poked at the fire, watching the embers shift and glow in the hearth.

"I thought you'd say anything to protect him. Do anything that he wanted," Eira continued. "I was sure of it. But...I was wrong."

Hvitserk snorted quietly. "First time for everything, I guess."

Eira rolled her eyes but didn't argue. "You helped them," she exhaled slowly. "Runa and Randi. They wouldn't have made it out without you."

"I just did what I should've done long ago." 

"That's the thing," Eira murmured, toying with a loose thread on her sleeve. "You did something." 

Neither spoke for a moment, but he moved to sit on the other side of the bed and mirrored her, leaning against the headboard. There were a few feet between them where they sat atop the furs. Hvitserk watched her as she chewed at her lip.

"Thank you," she said finally, meeting his gaze. "I'm sorry for what I said before. I—"

"Eira—"

"Don't apologize. I deserved it."

Eira exhaled. "You've proved me wrong in every way, Hvitserk."

He raised his eyebrows briefly. "That's a first." 

"Don't let it get to your head."

Hvitserk huffed a quiet laugh. "Too late."

She meant to argue, but then their eyes met. For a moment, she forgot what she was going to say. His hazel gaze held none of its usual sharpness—just something quiet, something steady

Hvitserk's lips twitched like he might do the same, and the moment after they did, the amusement in her eyes dimmed. She took a deep breath and looked away as her fingers tightened around the fabric of her sleeve. Hvitserk noticed the shift—how her shoulders tensed and her gaze flickered toward the fire but didn't quite focus.

His smirk faded.

"They'll be alright," he said softly.

Her sharp inhale was the only indication she'd heard him. He could only imagine the turmoil raging in her mind. 

Vali.

Randi.

Arne.

Runa.

She'd lost them all in the six months. Just like that, her remaining sibling and those she saw as family were gone. Now Liv was all she had left. 

And him... she had him. Did she know that? He wasn't sure. Hvitserk hoped she did.

"I'm tired," she admitted. "Tired of losing people. Of—Of feeling like no matter what I do, it's never enough. I know we did the right thing helping them escape, but gods, Hvitserk...what if something happens to them out there? What if—"

Her voice wavered and she couldn't bring herself to finish the thought.

"Hey."

Eira turned to him, her eyes burning. 

"They'll be alright," Hvitserk repeated even softer. 

She swallowed and held his gaze for a few moments before looking away, blinking rapidly as she nodded to herself. The metallic taste of blood filled her mouth as she bit her lip to keep it from wobbling. 

His eyes were on her, Eira was sure of it. Surely he was watching with that intense gaze of his, analyzing her, seeing through her carefully built defenses. The red flush of embarrassment she expected to creep up her neck never came. Instead, the bed shifted beneath her.

Hvitserk slowly moved closer and wrapped his arm around her shoulder, giving her the space to pull away if she wanted to. But she didn't. Eira swallowed hard. She hadn't realized how cold she was until now, how tense she had been holding herself. She hesitated for only a second before leaning into him, her head pressing against his shoulder.

Hvitserk didn't stiffen or pull away. He only adjusted slightly, making the position more comfortable like it was the most natural thing in the world. His fingers brushed against her upper arm lightly.

For a moment, Eira just let herself breathe. She breathed in his scent, felt the warmth of his touch seeping into her skin and keeping the cold at bay. Eira let her eyes flutter shut as exhaustion settled over her limbs. 

She hadn't expected this...hadn't expected him to be the one to make her feel safe.

But as she sat there pressed against his side, the weight in her chest loosened just a little. She had spent so long carrying everything alone, bracing herself for the next loss. But here, wrapped in the warmth of...him, she felt something that was becoming more common in his presence.

An overwhelming sense of comfort.

The silence stretched between them, but it wasn't uncomfortable...it never was anymore. The fire flickered lower, and its warmth blended with the heat of him against her. She wasn't sure how long they sat like that, but eventually, exhaustion crept in and weighed down her limbs.

Her breathing slowed, and her body fully relaxed against him. Hviterk glanced down, his gaze lingering on her face. Her eyes had drifted shut and her lips were parted slightly with each steady breath.

For a moment, he just watched her, listening to the quiet.

Then he carefully eased her down onto the furs. She barely stirred, only curling slightly into the blankets as he pulled them over her. Hvitserk sat there a moment longer, rubbing a hand over his mouth before exhaling softly.

He reluctantly grabbed a spare fur and moved to the floor, stretching out against the wooden planks at the end of the bed. Hvitserk sat back against the footboard and stretched his legs out with a sigh. It was then that his eyes subconsciously flicked to the mat a few feet away, and it all came rushing back...the blood, the anger, the betrayal. Hvitserk's jaw clenched instantly, and any hopes of sleep left his mind. Eira had kept his mind off it long enough for him to let down his guard. But now, the past was clawing its way back in. 

His gaze flickered toward the bed where Eira lay curled beneath the blankets, and for a moment, Hvitserk let himself look at her.

In the same way she'd never expected him, he hadn't expected her.

Eira had been a sharp-edged, persistent thorn in his side when they first met, so quick to challenge him, to assume the worst. And yet, somewhere along the way, she had become...something else.

Something he didn't realize he needed.

His fingers curled against the fur draped over him, but his jaw remained tight. The mat across the room felt like it was burning into his vision, the memories threatening to pull him under.

Hvitserk dragged a hand over his face and willed himself to focus on the warmth of the fire, the quiet of the cabin...anything. He exhaled sharply and leaned his head back against the footboard, staring at the ceiling.

Maybe sleep wouldn't come for him.

But as long as Eira was safe, as long as she was here with him, he would keep her safe. Ivar's men wouldn't catch him off guard...not this time.

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[mads-weasley]

ROSIE ROSENTHAL + outfits ✨ Masters of The Air • part 6

[mads-weasley]

How to use Em Dash (—) and Semi Colon ( ; )

Since the ai accusations are still being thrown around, here's how i personally like to use these GASP ai telltales. 🦄✨

Em Dashes (—)

To emphasize a shift / action / thought.

They're accusing us—actually accusing us—of using AI.

To add drama.

They dismissed our skills as AI—didn't even think twice, the dimwits—and believed they were onto something.

To insert a sudden thought. Surely they wouldn't do that to us—would they?

To interrupt someone's speech. "Hey, please don't say that. I honed my craft through years of blood and tears—" "Shut up, prompter."

To interrupt someone's thoughts / insert a sudden event.

We're going to get those kudos. We're going to get those reblogs—

A chronically online Steve commented, “it sounds like ai, idk.”

Semi Colons ( ; )

To join two closely related independent sentences / connect ideas.

Not only ChatGPT is capable of correct punctuation; who do you think it learned from in the first place?

Ultimate pro tip: use them whenever the fuck you want. You don't owe anyone your creative process. 🌈