#Lothbrok
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Of yore, our firey fathers sped upon the Viking Path; Of yore, their dreaded dragons braved the ocean in its wrath; And we, their sons, are reaping now their glory’s aftermath; The waves are rolling on.
#viking#vikings#ragnar lodbrok#ragnar lothbrok#lodbrok#lothbrok#athelstan#folki#viking age#norse#old norse#s2e2
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Björn Ironside - Vikings
#vikings#vikings icons#bjorn#bjorn icons#bjorn ironside icons#icons with psd#icons#bjorn ironside#alexander ludwig#alexander ludwig icons#psd#lothbrok#ragnarsson#séries#séries icons#björn ironside#icons alexander ludwig#icons bjorn ironside#icons vikings
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I should be working on music but made The Last Kingdom & Vikings wallpaper for my laptop instead. 😂❤️🎶 hopefully some of you will enjoy it
#the last kingdom#tlk#vikings#vikings tv show#uhtred and his pretty boys#lothbrok#uhtred#sihtric#finan#bjorn#Ragnar#lagertha#ivar the boneless
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Laguertha Lavigne / Avril Shieldmaiden
#lagertha#viking#vikings#Lothbrok#shieldmaidens#earl ingstad#Lagertha vikings#kattegat#fanart#fandom#mashup#crossover#mashup vikings#avril lavigne#avril#Avril Lavigne#avril mashup#Avril Crossover#avril 2024
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Just a little Moodboard of Bjorn and Lagertha, if it were Targaryen style.
#vikings#vikings tv#vikinge tv show#bjorn and lagertha#lagertha lothbrok#bjorn ironside#bjorn x lagertha#vikings lagertha x bjorn#lagertha x bjorn#otp#ship#romance#ironside#lothbrok#moodboard#vikings moodboard#vikings lagertha lothbrok#vikings lagertha#lagertha#viking bjorn#vikings bjorn ironside#vikings Bjorn#bjorn and lagertha moodboard
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This. This is fucking... I love this.
I loved the Ragnarsons. I wish we had gotten to see Bjorn, Ubbe, Hvitserk and Ivar work together. Had their brotherly bonds and love been stronger, they would have been invincible.
I know it is vital to the entire plot that they fight and love the way they do, but, let me have fun with this -
Ubbe. The humble lion. Ubbe, Floki's pride. Ubbe would have tamed Ivar's anger when it was unnecessary, his wilder ambitions and arrogance. Settled the differences between Ivar and Hvitserk. Ubbe would stop them making wrong decisions, ha, Bjorn might've even stopped at Gunnhild.. (i'm sorry I love Bjorn but, he should not have married Ingrid.). Ubbe would drag them back to the earth and all that is real should their dreams be unhealthy and dirty. He would be simple. Loving, and lovely.
Bjorn Ironside. The legend. The true King of Norway. Who better to lead and command an army if not the eldest son of Ragnar Lothbrok? And what man on the gods' black earth could dare challenge a people led by Bjorn Ironside and planned by his own greatest foe, his brother, Ivar the Boneless? Bjorn would be Ubbe's support, his pillar when the noise of the Christian God and the voices of the All-father battled in his head, driving him crazy. Bjorn would stand up to Ivar, and be the affirmation with Ubbe in Hvitserk's life.
Hvitserk. The fated man, the subject of destiny, the weapon and agent of time itself. Hvitserk would lurk, he would lurk around Kattegat, a drunk, a junkie. That is what they will whisper, there goes the mad Ragnarson, the drunk. Not, alas, just a junkie. From the shadows Hvitserk emerged, his knife sinking deep into the shoulder blades of the men that dare think the thought of betrayal for his brothers. He is silent, unpredictable in a concerning manner. But he strikes, he strikes surgically, to the enemies of his family. Calculated, after a long, hard life of being lost and confused. Hvitserk explains to his nieces and nephews, to love fiercely is not all that life is worth.
From the myths, clawing at rags on the floor, to painting his riches with the blood of any man or woman he wishes. His anger alone fueling the ambitions when his brothers tire to do so. His arrogance upholding the ruthless legacy of his father. But for the cripple that he is, his crutches are his brothers, for they know, and they alone understand, that when fallen, Ivar the Boneless is but more menacing, not a cripple.
I present to you,
The legacy and the name of Ragnar Lothbrok, the farmer who dared to dream. I give you,
The Ragnarsons.
Since we’re talking about Vikings, I’m obsessed with with dynamic of the the Ragnarsons. I love the way they each call on a part of the legacy of their father, and how the tension between them is his internal struggle laid bare.
Ivar is his brilliance, his ability to understand the whole of the picture before most people can even seen it. It’s also his strive for recognition and fame. but it’s also about how that brilliance and that desire for legacy drove him to a place of madness, and eventually led him away from his homeland.
Bjorn is the deeply Viking part of Ragnar. The strong, almost invincible soldier, a descendant of the gods. The leader, the warrior. He represents Norway, and Ragnar’s duty to her, in a way. He also represents how that duty stifled Ragnar, in that Bjorn never truly achieved everything he desired.
Hvitserk is the lost part of Ragnar. The addiction is the most obvious part, but it’s also the way he is searching endlessly for his purpose. The man who was uncertain of his place in the world, the man who is battling his faith in his own gods with his growing knowledge that there is other paths out there.
Ubbe is the part of Ragnar who always longed to go back to that farm with Lagartha. the part of him that ached to be just a man again, after becoming a legend. The way Ubbe ends up living with Floki in a new land , unknown and ready for a quiet life, shows how Ragnar wished he could have been, in some parts of himself.
the clashes between them are so beautifully mirroring Ragnars own clashes. the way Bjorn and Ivar never see eye to eye but together are unstoppable. The way Ivars brilliance and lust for legacy shapes slowly into madness, and none but Hvitserk remain with him, and in turn Hvitserk can find Ivar, because Ragnar wandering soul always found solace in the ability to understand the new worlds he was seeking. the way Bjorn and Ubbe clash least, two different forms of a typical viking man, but yet they never seem to connect deeply, because the farmer and the viking legend cannot be one man.
One man, and his four sons. A beautiful picture of the difference facets of humanity, in a single story and then splintered into four.
#vikings history channel#vikings#ragnar lothbrok#ragnar#ubbe lothbrok#ivar the boneless#Bjorn ironside#fuck#Ragnarsons#brotherhood#uhhh alternate story line???#it's cool to think about ok#i had fun writing this don't bully me#aaaa#bjorn#hvitserk#hvitserk lothbrok#lothbrok#ivar lothbrok#ugh but istg these guys have the most fragile bonds man#like for why
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VIKINGS (2013-2020) - 3.01
#vikings#vikingsedit#ragnar lothbrok#athelstan#athelnar#travis fimmel#george blagden#tvedit#perioddramasource#perioddramaedit#perioddramagif#cinematv#userbbelcher#ours#lena#*gifs
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A ring and a cold heart.
Ivar the Boneless x Lagerthasdottir!reader
Summary: Lagertha's gift of a daughter and Ragnar's monster of a son have loved one another for far too long. But things in Kattegat are fragile, and the two now must make choices.
Warnings: mostly spoilers for S4b
A/n: I had to break this into sections. Trust that p2 is gonna get serious real fast.
Masterlist
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The Seer had been right.
Lagertha would never give Ragnar a son, never bearing one after her Bjorn. But when Earl Kalf came into her life, she suddenly found herself with child.
There was little hope that the child would make it. After all, the Seer said so.
But a daughter?
Lagertha's second chance to make up for the death of her sweet Gyda. She held the babe close.
And yet.
No one predicted that she'd one day end up in the arms of Ivar the Boneless.
…
"It seems like a death sentence," she explained to Ivar. "Suicide, even."
"My father wants me to go," Ivar shrugged. "He needs me. I can't say no to that. To the gods."
She sighed. He was beyond stubborn. A true Ragnarsson trait.
She often traveled between Hedeby and Kattegat, staying with Bjorn when here. It was a strange thing to have her around, but Bjorn was the Prince of Kattegat, so others didn't have much room to question.
Plus, the Ragnarssons didn't mind a bit.
She was neither the daughter of Ragnar or Aslaug, but because of her connection to Bjorn, she was a sister to all five of them.
Well, four of them.
Ivar's love had always gone beyond that. As did hers for him.
"What if you go with Bjorn instead?" She tried. Her hand stretched out over his. "To the Mediterranean."
His head lulled. "My brothers have always doubted me. Not my father. He knows what the gods have in store for me."
"And what if all that is store is your death?"
He ran his tongue across his teeth. "Then I will die."
"Marry me before you go," she rushed out, immediately caving in once it was uttered.
"I will not risk making you a widow before you get to truly be a wife."
She felt tears well up in her eyes. She was never the strong one around. Lagertha swore to have a peaceful reign when she became Earl. There was no need to teach her daughter the hardships of being a shield maiden. She had no need to- Lagertha on one side and Bjorn on the other always. Gyda was so soft. So kind. Y/n was no different, only older. She had a chance to grow up kind.
"Don't cry," Ivar huffed. He had no idea what to do with tears. "I'll be back soon enough."
"Swear to it."
He shook his head. "I will not swear if I don't know the will of the gods."
"Then swear you'll marry me if you return."
He couldn't stop another scoff, "woman-"
"-Ivar, please."
"Ivar!" Aslaug's voice interrupted.
The queen stepped into the room, her worry turning to amusement at the sight of the two. She'd always had an odd relationship with Lagertha. How strange was fate to bring their children together?
"Let me speak to my mother," Ivar gently waved.
Y/n nodded and stood, but her wrist was caught by him. "I swear to it," he remarked, looking her firmly in the eye.
…
Lagertha had come to Kattegat with the help of Torvi and Margerette. She hadn't dragged Y/n into the plans.
So when she took Kattegat, Y/n stood at the sidelines in shock, even letting out a shriek when Aslaug fell to the ground dead.
She wanted to feel betrayed by her mother. She should have. But she couldn't find it in herself. Lagertha had sat on the sidelines for too long as her world was taken away.
So she was torn when Ubbe and Sigurd had come to her privately.
"How are you not angry," Ubbe lectured his brother. "Our mother is dead."
"And it is for the best," Sigurd huffed. "Y/n's mother is the only one around here that knows how to truly mother. Look at Bjorn."
"Y/n?" Ubbe questioned.
She sat with her head in her hands, utterly confused by it all. "I won't choose sides."
"We all know it will come to it eventually."
She lifted her head with a heartbroken look. "Then I side with Bjorn. The side he chooses, I follow."
Ubbe nodded. "Very well. So, we wait for Bjorn."
"No," Sigurd shivered. "We wait for Ivar more."
The three exchanged nervous glances.
…
Ivar had returned first. Carried by soldiers of King Ecbert's guard, he was set onto the wooden dock of Kattegat.
She couldn't muster the strength to go welcome him. He wouldn't find out such devastating news from her.
But the next day, Ivar crawled his way into the feast hall with his picks. The entire room quieted as they waited for what the angry son of Aslaug would say.
His eyes slowly trailed from Lagertha, to Torvi, to Astrid, then finally, Y/n.
She stood to the side, a completely guilty expression strung across her face.
No one was immune to noticing the way his eyes glued themselves to her in every room.
It had been like that since her first visit to Kattegat.
It's what finally drove the stake between Sigurd and Ivar. The love Bjorn had for Y/n that he never had for his own daughter, Siggy. And how Sigurd had loved little Siggy.
Y/n's life was always a comparison to one's already dead. All did it but Ivar. Perhaps that is why she was so content to be stuck in his web.
When Largertha refused Ivar's challenge, he was becoming angrier. He knew his easiest chance to kill her was by hand-to-hand combat. Ivar was a cripple, but a damn good one.
"I will kill you, Lagertha. Your fate is fixed," he growled.
Content with his threat, he looked back to Y/n, pulling a chain from around his neck.
A ring.
She felt something in her stomach twist at the shimmer that crossed her vision. His fingers rubbed over it a few times, egging for a reaction from the girl he promised to marry.
He let the chain drop to his chest with a smirk. Especially when her eyes followed it.
…
As soon as the meeting was adjourned, she rushed out to Ragnar's old cabin. The children had found it when he'd left, and it was their designated space away from the rest of the world. Plus, that was all the boys had to live in now. Ivar would be there.
She rushed in, not caring that the other brothers were gathered around. "Ivar?"
The three others looked at one another with questioning glances before completely packing up and walking out. The brothers weren't about to intervene.
The door closed before Ivar finally spoke. "What do you want?"
"Are you not grateful to be home? To be back? To be the only survivor?" She sat next to him, her voice lowering. "Are you not happy to see me?"
He scoffed, turning away.
"I didn't know, Ivar. I swear to you."
"Seems like we enjoy making swears we don't intend to keep, hm?" He mocked.
Her eyes moved down to the chain again. She sat up straighter and brushed a hand over his chest. Over the ring. "You truly won't marry me now?" She asked softly.
His hand wrapped around her wrist gruffly. But after the initial touch, his grip softened. His jaw was clenched, his anger unchecked. But he couldn't help the flutter that still moved through his chest. "I don't know," he answered honestly. "I don't know if I want children with traitor blood."
Her fingers twiddled with the ring. "You know better than I that we don't choose our mothers. The gods do."
"And yet, you'll never help me get my revenge."
"No," she agreed. "I won't."
His eyes wandered over her face. The anger bubbled under his skin. But not at her. And that frustrated him more. "I'll still marry you. But you cannot fault your future husband when he has his revenge."
"But Bjorn will-"
"-That is my offer to you, my love. If you want this ring," he offered, pulling the chain from around his neck and setting it on the wooden table, "Then that is your choice. I have taken my stand. You know what I will do. Will you still marry me?"
She stared down at the jewelry. She'd longed for this for years now. Being his wife.
This could make or break everything.
"I… I don't know," she admitted back to him.
"You don't know?"
"I should wait. For Bjorn to come back. And Hvitserk."
He set a heavy hand on her thigh. Not menacing, but not softly either. "Will you ever choose things for yourself? Or will you wait on Bjorn hand and foot as he decides your fate?"
"Ivar-"
"-No. I do not mind if you must think on it more. But do not do what Bjorn says purely because you think it is right. He makes mistakes." His head tipped down and his gaze turned menacing. "You will choose."
She nodded. "I need time."
"Good," his voice lightened. He even managed a smile. His body leaned forward like he was thinking of kissing her, but he paused and gave a quick nod of his head in acceptance. Then he looked at the ring and her one last time before pulling himself down to the floor and leaving.
She exhaled a long breath, taking the chain and placing it around her neck, tucking it away.
…
Another feast, another problem.
Y/n wasn't far off from Torvi and Astrid, hearing them speak about something being wrong as the large doors closed.
"Like what?" Astrid asked.
"I don't know, but something."
Sigurd let out a small grunt as someone grabbed him from behind and held him at knifepoint. That began a whole group coming forward and grabbing at Lagertha's shield maidens and earls alike, restraining them all.
A hand grabbed Y/n's wrist, holding it out.
Ivar's ring was wrapped around her finger. She'd chosen.
Whoever it was dropped her hand entirely and stepped away from her, meaning she stood amidst the chaos, entirely left alone.
Everyone began to part, and Y/n tucked away towards Sigurd. Her hand grabbed the wrist of the man holding him in an attempt to pry him away.
Ivar and Ubbe approached Lagertha's throne. Lagertha was rather unfazed by it, standing and grabbing her sword slowly. She was a fighter to the end.
Ivar was impressed by her willingness to face him. He sat up with his spike as Ubbe circled around the queen.
The tension could be cut with a knife. Waiting for someone to make the first move.
The door burst open, and in walks Bjorn.
"If you kill her, my brothers," he sauntered, "you'll have to kill me too."
Y/n and Sigurd both let out relieved sighs. The argument was far from over. But with Bjorn there, the fight would not be one-sided.
"Maybe we should," Ivar warned.
"Shut up," Ubbe immediately countered. He respected Bjorn immensely, and starting conflict with Ironside was like starting to dig your own grave. "She killed our mother," he mentioned. Bjorn would see where he was coming from. Surely.
"I know. You want revenge. So would I." He took in a deep breath. "But more importantly, we have to avenge our father. That is why I came back. And that," he tapped his axe against Ivar's cheek, "is what we are going to do."
Lagertha smiled and threw down her sword, prompting the rest to follow.
As Sigurd was let go, Y/n immediately tended to him, rubbing a soft hand over his neck at the irritated skin.
Frustrated, Ubbe and Ivar left.
She was torn between following them and staying with Bjorn and Lagertha.
But after speaking to the new queen, Bjorn spotted her. That made the decision. She approached him, smoothing out her dress as she weaved through everyone.
Within a few minutes, the feast began again like nothing had happened, but Bjorn was still far from jovial.
She wasn't even sure the viking knew what that word meant.
"So, I travel all the way past Frankia, through pirated seas and storms, I keelhaul my own uncle, and still," he grumbles, "things turn to ruin here the moment I turn away."
"You hated Aslaug," Y/n points out. "You always have."
"Since I watched her sleep with my father the first time they met, yes. Yes, I have," he complained. "But our mother has caused a rift that I'd rather not have now. I have revenge of my own to get and I need my brothers in order to do it."
"You have your brothers," she pointed out. "Of Ragnar's wrongful death, you all agree."
"I will not play guard to mother's kingdom more than I did before. I want to sail. To travel."
"Then don't."
He let out a long sigh. "This is why I love the sea. It is predictable. People are not. Like you," he pointed his cup towards her.
"Like me?"
"You wear a ring and you say nothing about it. You have not asked for my allowance. Let me see it." He held out a large hand, to which she slipped the band off and gave to him.
Bjorn flipped it in his palm a few times before a daunting thought came over him. "Where did you get this?" He questioned roughly. "Who is proposing with this ring? I'll kill him."
"Brother," she scoffed. "Why the sudden rage?"
"Does mother know?" He asked in complete ignorance of her previous question.
"No. No, and she won't. Not right now."
"I'll ask one more time," Bjorn growled, leaning across the table. "Who is proposing with Mother's ring?"
Oh.
Where had Ivar gotten Lagertha's ring?
"Our mother wore this ring until the day she and I left Ragnar. Her wedding band. Now answer the question, sister."
"Give it back, Bjorn." She tried to muster up confidence. It didn't quite work.
Bjorn's lips quirked up at that, all too amused. "I don't think I will. I think I'll hold onto this until you decide to ask for my blessing."
"That is cruel!"
He shrugged. "I don't care. Either you tell me now or he can come get it from me himself."
She let out a tantrum-like grunt and stood up, her chair scrapping against the wood. She weaved through the crowd and finally out into the cold air.
…
The journey was a little harder in the dark than she'd thought. The air was cold and frigid, and she was far from dressed for it. The wind chilled her immensely, traveling down her bones. Her chattering teeth exhaled a visible breath when she saw the cabin.
"Ivar? Ivar!" She called out as she neared.
Hvitserk was the one to come out with a concerned brow raised.
Y/n felt guilty, still not welcoming Hvitserk after the raid. She all but collapsed into his chest, wrapping her arms around him and finally relaxing.
Hvitserk froze for a moment. Touch was never his thing. "You miss me?"
"Like hell," she mumbled against his chest.
He chuckled and circled his arm around her. "Already using Christian phrases, hm? Don't let Ivar hear you. Congratulations, by the way."
It was her turn to freeze, her head tilting up until she looked straight up at him. "What?"
"You're to be married, are you not? He said so." At her hum of agreement, he rubbed a hand down her back. "You're freezing, sister. You'll catch a chill if I don't get you inside."
He guided her in. The warm air from their small fire immediately caused a shiver down her body. Hvitserk frowned and held a hand to her forehead. "Gods. I'd think you were half dead like this."
That caught Ivar's attention. His head snapped up, his entire body relaxing at the sight of her. "Did you travel this far like that?" He questioned, his hand motioning to her lack of heavy clothing.
She stepped to the fire, sitting down next to Ubbe. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, trying to transfer some of his heat. After all, he'd been scheming over the flames for a while now. He could afford to give some of the warmth up.
Ubbe gave a small glare to Ivar, effectively telling him to drop the question. "Let me see this ring Ivar said so much about."
Her face dropped. "Oh. I… it's…"
One by one, the siblings realized that something was not quite right and Ubbe should have minded his own business. In all honesty, it was a fair ask. One that usually is fine to ask to an engaged woman.
Ivar let out a long, loud breath. He seethed from his place at the table. "Where is it? I was told it was on your finger only hours ago."
How to explain that Bjorn had taken it without Ivar immediately growing angry? After all, Ironside didn't know that it was Ivar's. It wasn't personal at all. But that's not how Ivar saw things.
"Where is it?" He asked in a firmer tone. His head tilted. His tongue ran over the back of his teeth. "Did someone take it from you?"
"Don't be angry-"
"-No I AM ANGRY!" He yelled. "Tell me yes or no. Have you gone back on your word?"
"Ivar," Ubbe scorned. "Let the woman speak." He pulled a piece of hair from her face. "Go on."
She sniffled and moved closer to the fire to warm her hands. She stared at her ring finger longingly. "I do, Ivar. I want to marry you."
Hvitserk smirked widely, peering at his brother in a tease. His brother. In love.
Ivar exhaled in a hidden form of relief. "Alright."
"I did not tell Bjorn about it yet. I wanted to wait…"
"-But?" Ubbe interrupted.
"But Bjorn saw it before I could." She frowned. "Where did you get Lagertha's ring?"
Every head shot to Ivar in shock.
He shrugged. "Father gave it to me. On our way to Wessex. I told him that we would marry when I returned and he gave me the ring. Chain and all. He said he'd worn it around his neck since the day your mother left him."
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#fanfiction#ivar imagine#ivar lothbrok#vikings ivar#ivar ragnarsson#ivar the boneless#ivar x reader#ivar the boneless x y/n#ivar the boneless x reader#ivar the boneless fanfiction#ivar the boneless imagine#ivar ragnarsson x reader#ivar ragnarsson imagine#vikings x you#vikings x reader#vikings imagines#vikings fandom#vikings fanfiction#vikings series#Ivar the boneless fic
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ME WITH FICTIONAL MEN
#no matter how evil they turn aemond my delulu brain is like… he’s just misunderstood#aemond targaryen#daemon targaryen#aegon targaryen#ivar lothbrok#aemond x reader#daemon x reader#aegon x reader#game of thrones#house of the dragon#got#vikings#ivar vikings
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getting thirsty over a sick ruler in a historical movie is in every hot girl's list
#two of them are from ridley scotts films help meee#another two from vikings shit im fine im fine#kingdom of heaven#king baldwin iv#the last kingdom#king alfred#king alfred the great#alfred the great#ivar the boneless#ivar ragnarsson#ivar lothbrok#emperor caracalla#gladiator caracalla#edward norton#david dawson#alex høgh andersen#fred hechinger#vikings#vikings tv show#gladiator#gladiator 2#gladiator ii
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"Finnish polka" - Ivar the Boneless x Reader
SUMMARY: After helping one of the northern Jarls, the Lothbrok brothers attend a celebratory feast. There, they're faced with a tradition of warriors catching flower crowns that belong to young women. How surprised Ivar is when you almost shove your crown into his hands.
WORDCOUNT: ~ 2.1k
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Ivar is tired.
Of course he's glad that Jarl Thorstein came out victorious. And that his brothers are fine. Still, he feels weary as the adrenaline leaves his body. His legs start to ache. Ivar downs the rest of his mead in hopes it makes him a little more deaf to his mood.
The upbeat, bright music fills his mind like an obsessive thought. His heart beats to the rhythm tapped by the feet of dancing women. They spin, jump and run around with flower crowns sitting atop their heads. How the wreaths remain immovable, he can't quite say.
Ivar is also angry.
As the local tradition entails, when the song ends, all the dancing young maidens will throw their flower crowns to the crowd. Whoever catches it, is believed to be the girl's lover chosen by the gods. However, whether the couple indulges and trusts gods' judgement is a different story. But if the wreath falls to the floor, the girl is said to remain unmarried for the next five years.
Ivar knows the chance of him somehow catching one of those is near zero. He's sitting quite far from the dancers. Even if he did catch it, he's disillusioned about the imminent dissatisfaction of the flower crown's ownert. Not only is he disabled in a way that almost entirely excludes him from fighting but he's also infamous for his ruthless nature and vengeful heart. Hardly a man who invokes desire. Still, some naive piece of him remains hopeful that maybe he's wrong. Maybe he can be terrible and loved all the same.
He shakes those weak delusions away from himself before they sour his mood further.
His piercing eyes have been following one of the dancers for the better part of the song when he catches himself. Her movements look effortless even when the musicians pick up the tempo. Clearly, she's done this dance one too many times to have any doubts about what she's doing. Joy beams from her in a way that makes her appear almost shining. The wreath on the top of her head is mostly green with white and red flowers. It makes Ivar think of the woods surrounding Kattegat; it makes him think of home.
Ivar leans toward Oddleif, one of the Jarl's men, who's sitting next to him.
"Who is she?"
Oddleif looks at Ivar out of the corner of his eye. He scoffs, takes a large sip of his drink and only then decides to answer:
"If you're thinking of catching her flower crown, don't." His blond braids dance slightly as he shakes his head. There's a hint of laughter hiding in the back of Oddleif's throat. "Half of the surviving army wants it."
"I have no care for flowers," Ivar lies through his teeth. "They have no use. They wilt and die and soon no one remembers them. I am simply curious about her."
"Her father is the blacksmith. You might have seen him in the battle, swinging that damned sledgehammer." Ivar silently nods. He remembers that man - tall as a pine tree and wider than a stable. The blacksmith invokes respect even when he's not decimating enemies like a troll equipped with a tree trunk. "He said once that he'll let any man marry his daughter but only if he can lift an anvil. Tried it once myself. Not that I had any success as you can imagine." Oddleif laughs bitterly and continues drinking. His eyes are glued to the dancers but Ivar knows that right now, the two of them are admiring the very same girl with a flower crown like a forest.
The melody continues to quicken. Despite being out of breath, you don't want it to end. Your feet ache but they do not falter nor do they stumble. It seems that their muscles know the dance better than your mind. There are a dozen girls dancing with you but you do not see them. Not really. They appear worlds away from you and the song of bagpipes and strings.
And then appears he.
A slouched, dark figure flies before your eyes as you're doing another pirouette. The man simply sits there, in the corner, but his presence is overwhelming. Or so you think. He does nothing and yet he tears his way into your microcosm of quick footwork, turns and lively polka.
You recognize him. Of course you do. Many whispers, equally frightened and amazed, have spoken of him. You have believed in all of them until the moment you met his gaze for that split second. Right then, somewhere between blinks and breaths, you renounce every gossip you've ever heard about him. A voice in the back of your head, a trickster or an oracle, nags at you to learn the truth yourself.
When the lively, fast melody comes to a stop, you find yourself shaken awake from the thoughts about Ivar the Boneless. The end of the song seems somewhat abrupt to you as you've been letting your fantasy run wild without paying much attention to what's going on around you. Dancing the last part purely by the memory of your muscles. The moment musicians stop playing, a small crowd begins to form in front of you. Men of different class, age and ancestry reach out their hands. Each one of them is more determined than the other to catch your wreath. They start to yell something but considering that the inside of the long hall is awfully loud anyway, you can't make out any words. Reading their lips, you can only tell when they're exclaiming different variations of your name.
They're only pushing towards you, shoving each other away. You keep taking steps backwards but the distance you create with each step is quickly shortened with the men calling out to you. You knew there would be many of them in front of you but never assumed that many. Instead of somewhat flattering, the siege is terrifying and imposing.
Looking for help or advice, just something that will ease your tension, you silently look around the long hall. Your gaze falls on the same slouched, dark figure. Strange peacefulness washes over you when his eyes meet yours.
The dim candlelight seems to bend around Ivar, making his corner appear darker than anywhere else in the long hall. He's simply sitting there. Maybe he's not interested? But the way he's staring at you shows nothing if not burning curiosity. The sons of Ragnar aren't know for their patience. No, they're said to take whatever they want the moment their desire sparks. Despite that, the youngest of them, and arguably the most famous, appears to be waiting. But for what exactly?
The fresh pine needles prick your skin. You furrow your eyebrows. Your gaze falls to the wreath and then comes back to Ivar. Could it be...?
It isn't much of a throw, really. You toss the flower crown towards him without looking anywhere else but into Ivar's eyes. Without as much as blinking, he catches the wreath with ease as though he has been prepared for that. Low murmurs hit your ears but quickly the sounds of disappointment fall silent as it's made clear who caught your wreath. Despite their initial determination, the men who had been reaching out to you suddenly disperse like fog does in the early morning. They knew better than to get under the skin of a Lothbrok. Especially that one.
"I believe this belongs to you."
Ivar is holding up the wreath. Despite his words, he makes no effort to offer it back to you. His eyes are bright and glistening, the corner of his mouth is tugged ever-so-slightly upwards. He appears amused.
At first, it was nice to finally sit down after dancing for what seemed to be hours on end. But now, when you're facing the consequences of your spur-of-the-moment decision, the tension sets in once more. This time, however, it doesn't feel threatening. In turn, the nervousness is somewhat welcome like the jittery state before a surprise is revealed.
"If I wanted to keep it, I wouldn't have thrown it," you answer in a light tone.
"And why should I keep it?"
The blue eyes study you for a moment. It's a strange feeling - you can't help but think that the longer you are in Ivar's presence, talking or not, he's reading your mind and soul. He stares at you in a way that tells you he already holds all the answers but wants you to confirm them.
"It's said to bring good luck." You shrug your shoulders. "Until the wreath wilts and dies, Freya and Freyr will look after you."
Ivar looks at the flower crown again. Only now, when he's holding it, does he realize that for a flower crown, there aren't many flowers. A few sandworts and poppies, yes, but the wreath is made mostly of evergreen plants. It might take weeks until the crown wilts.
The microcosm seems closed again. Now it's not you and the bagpipes but you and him. It's strange and it's new but it's not threatening. It's not the kind of presence a man of his infamy should have. Or perhaps you've simply fallen for his honey trap.
"Why did you throw it to me?" Ivar tries to make the question seem unimportant, just curiosity brought to light. But he can't quite convince himself that he doesn't care. There's a hint of something vulnerable and genuine when the words roll off his tongue. It's easy to miss like a dandelion clock carried away by a gust of wind.
You wish you knew the answer yourself.
"I don't know really," you say honestly. "Perhaps it was one of the gods that threw the flower crown for me." You make a pause. Ivar's face is unreadable. "Or perhaps I have no interest in urgent, desperate men."
Ivar chuckles. A deep shadow is covering part of his face, making him appear kind of sinister. For a moment, you question whether he's laughing with you or at you.
"And what exactly makes you think I'm not urgent or desperate?" he continues. You notice his smile is growing wider. That glint of amusement in his blue eyes has changed in mischief. "What if I'm worse than all of them? You surely know who I am."
"Of course I do, Ivar the Boneless," you drone the words. In a barely noticeable fashion, he clenches his jaw when you say his name. It makes him feel a strange, burning sensation in his stomach but Ivar is left unsure whether he likes it or detests. "The whispers of your ruthless character are unending."
"But you're not afraid?" he asks with both disbelief and suspicion. A girl with a flower crown doesn't necessarily strike him as fearless in any way. Or this whole strange situation is a little too good, too dream-like, for him to accept it at face-value.
Ivar's smile falters when your face takes on a confident, maybe even arrogant, expression. He's taken aback.
"I'm a woman of the North," you say while leaning towards him on the table. The distance between your faces shortnes. "The only person I fear is my own reflection."
The sudden closeness makes Ivar inhale sharply. The strong smell of pine needles fills his nostrils. For a moment, his imagination runs wild but it's not his fault - he has no grasp on it:
How those big eyes glistened in the semi-dark of the long hall as you were staring at him. Your smirk, somewhat challenging and beckoning him to push on. Then, the smell of conifer that shakes all senses awake. His fantasy leaves the northern snows and travelles to forests, to him brushing pine needles from your hair and your naked, flushes skin smelling of evergreen trees.
But quickly his shaken awake, to his utmost displeasure, by you:
"Well, if you don't want it, I suppose I should take it back, no?"
Your hand unsurely reaches out for the wreath in Ivar's hand. He's quick to pull his arm back.
"It's bad luck to take back gifts," he states plainly. In an act of nonchalance, Ivar is playing with the wreath, spinning it around his finger. "I should like to keep it."
Sometimes you come back to the night you've met the infamous Viking, when you're rendered sleepless while he's calmly breathing next to you, getting the rest he desperately needs. How funny all of it seems - that a flower crown in bloodied, merciless hands could lead to having a genuine crown on your head. Maybe you were right, after all, and it really was the hand of one of the gods that threw the wreath for you.
#vikings#vikings series#vikings tv series#vikings fanfiction#vikings imagine#vikings x reader#vikings ivar#ivar x reader#ivar lothbrok#ivar the boneless#ivar the boneless x reader#ivar the boneless fanfiction#ivar the boneless imagnie
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I would like to request sth 🥰
Could you write one with reader being daughter of a great king and shes married with Ivar and she hears Margrethe talking bad about him and he hears, gets really sad and reader sees just red and gets really mad and Ivar just loves how she is just as tyrannt as him?
I would totally understand if you dont want to write it.
Anyways I hope you have a great day ❤️
Fury Amongst Us

Pairing: Ivar x fem!reader
Summary: Despite the forced marriage between you and Ivar, the two of you developed some sort of adoration. Still, you didn’t exchange much words to one another, until that one evening; you could not stand Magrethe talking bad about your husband.
Note: Thank you so much for requesting! I hope you will like it! I made Reader a little more tame than Ivar, but still fierce and respectable. I had quite some fun writing this. Have a lovely day anon. <3
Content: established relationship, swearing, arguing, fluff, blood
Word count: ~1400
You prepared yourself for the festivities in the grand hall as your people prepared to celebrate the successes of the recent raids and the goods they had brought back. Each time the warriors returned, your father made the journey to Kattegat for the grand celebrations. He always claimed he came to see you, his daughter, but you knew he was drawn to the infamous vibrance of the town. You loved your father, and you couldn’t complain about seeing him. You had grown accustomed to these occasions, yet tonight was more exciting than the festivities before: it was your first evening in the grand hall as a married woman.
Your marriage to Ivar Ragnarsson, the son of Ragnar Lothbrok, was not born of love but of strategy - a political alliance to unite your families and strengthen ties between your folk. It was an act of power, not passion. Therefore you met with prejudice and discomfort, which vanished quickly. You did not begrudge your fate. The man could have been an ugly, aging warrior; instead, you were married to a man who was young, complex, and intriguing.
You had heard of Ivar's reputation long before meeting him. His anger and cruelty were legendary, and those who spoke of him did so with both fear and awe. Yet in the months since your marriage, you had glimpsed a different side to him, one the world rarely saw. His legs, which many deemed a weakness, were not so to him. His ambitious will and sharp mind more than compensated for any physical limitation. You found this quality admirable, even endearing. But with his strength came a quiet torment. You have experienced his rage, however, it was never turned on you but others. As if he tried to spare you from his ugliness, which you appreciated. He cared somewhat about his wife.
Over the past week, you had tried to overcome the distance between you and Ivar, seeking moments of closeness and tenderness. Yet he remained distant, avoiding your affections not with cruelty but with a quiet humility that suggested he believed himself unworthy of your love. He declined intimate acts, and your efforts to make up for the lack of romance between you. Who would have thought that Ivar the Boneless, the man feared across lands, carried such a burden of self-doubt? You respected his boundaries, offering him space but showing your care in subtle ways. And with each glance, each moment shared in silence, you felt a growing pull in your heart. You watched him, often questioning what thoughts stirred his mind. Was this marriage beginning to blossom into something real? If not, why did you feel those emotions then? You weren’t sure, but you found yourself eager to explore.
As Magrethe and another woman helped you dress, their usual gossip floated around the room. You paid little attention to it, your mind drifting to thoughts of Ivar. Magrethe’s sharp tongue often spilled tea, and though her stories rarely concerned you, today her words felt especially bitter. She rambled on about a couple who had argued loudly the night before, her tone dismissive and mocking.
The room quieted when Ivar appeared in the doorway. His presence was commanding, his piercing blue eyes immediately finding yours. For a fleeting moment, you thought he might say something, but he quickly averted his gaze, moving into the next room where his brothers waited. The door remained slightly open, and you caught him glancing back, as though reluctant to leave the sight of you.
Magrethe noticed your melancholic expression and, despite the envy that often laced her words, she tried to comfort you. "Ivar is not only ruthless in battle but also with the people closest to him," she said, her voice deceptively soft. "You should be careful, my lady. His anger might one day find you, too."
Her words, though spoken with genuine concern, carried a hidden mischief. You replied calmly, your tone steady.
"I appreciate your concern, Magrethe, but I am his wife, not the cause of his fury."
Your chest tightened at her cruel words, but you remained composed. Through the mirror, you saw Ivar just beyond the door, his head bowed as if trying to shrink away. His brothers’ laughter did little to drown out the sting of Magrethe’s remarks, and you knew he had heard every word. His eyes reflected the self hatred and disgust he owned for himself, and that alone hurt you.
"But haven’t you noticed?" she pressed, her voice growing sharper. "He cares only for power and pays no mind to the cost of his ambitions. He would hurt anyone to achieve importance. Yet, no matter how much power he has, he will always remain a cripple - a man who must rely on others to carry him."
With curiosity, you encouraged her to continue. "Go on," you said calmly.
Though the fire in your heart burned hotter with every passing moment. You set a trap for her to step in, and so she did.
Magrethe leaned closer, her tone dripping with mean words. "I pity you, my lady, being tied to such a man. The worst of it is that Ivar doesn’t love anyone… not even himself. He pushes everyone away. That’s why he’ll always be alone, no matter how powerful he becomes."
Her words were the final spark. Fury surged within you, and you turned to face her, your gaze cold and unyielding. Through the open door, you caught a glimpse of Ivar, his shoulders stiff, bracing for what he assumed would be your agreement with Magrethe’s cruel assessment. He clearly expected you to complain and cry. But what came next was far from what anyone expected.
Without warning, your hand struck Magrethe’s cheek with a sharp small object, the force sending her stumbling backward and falling to ground. Blood welled from a thin cut where your hidden blade had grazed her pure skin. Her shocked whimpers filled the room as she clutched her face.
Ubbe burst into the room, his expression one of alarm. Before he could speak, you turned to him, your voice cutting through the tension like steel.
"You allow such insolence to fester in your household, Ubbe? This woman insults your brother and dares to do so in my presence."
Magrethe sobbed before you, her arrogance shattered. Kneeling, you grasped her chin, forcing her to meet your gaze.
"You speak of my husband as though you understand him, but you know nothing of his strength, his pain. You, Magrethe, are nothing more than a jealous, envious snake, slithering beneath the feet of those greater than you." You continued to torment her, not letting that behavior go. „How can you speak of self esteem when you’re reeking of jealousy? How can you act as if you’re above him?“
Your voice softened, but each word carried the weight of your fury.
"If Ivar is broken, then I will carry him. If the world taunts him, I will silence it. And if you or anyone else dares to challenge him, I will make the gods themselves regret it. The world will burn in flames, and I will cause it if someone dares to question us, our marriage or our love."
As you stepped into the hall, the cool air brushing against your flushed skin, you found Ivar waiting. His blue eyes were filled with a mixture of awe and longing. For the first time, he reached for your hand, his touch tentative but warm.
The room was silent, only for Magrethe’s soft sobs. Even Ubbe was speechless, his gaze flicking between you and the trembling woman at your feet. You rose, your movements deliberate and commanding, and turned to Ubbe.
"Teach her to learn her place. If I hear another insult, I will not stop at a scar."
"You didn’t have to do that," he said softly, his voice laced with emotion.
For the first time, Ivar allowed himself to believe that perhaps he was worthy of such love. The anger he owned, he burdened himself with, now was shared with you.
Meeting his gaze, you replied with quiet intensity.
"I would do it again, Ivar. You are my husband, and I will not let anyone, not even you, think you are less than what you are."
#vikings ivar#ivar x reader#ivar lothbrok#ivar ragnarsson#ivar the boneless#vikings x reader#vikings
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“We will go together to Wessex, and you will be my... John, the uhm...” “The Baptist?” “John the Baptist, yes.” VIKINGS— 03x01 “Mercenary”
#jack's gifs#vikingsfavorites#ragnar lothbrok#ragnar lodbrok#athelstan#athelstan vikings#ragnar lothbrok x athelstan#ragnar x athelstan#athelnar#vikings#vikings tv#vikings tv show#vikings gifs#vikings gifset#vikingsedit#vikings edit#history channels vikings#history channel#historyedit#huluedit#tvedit#tvgifs#movieedit#moviegifs#filmedit#filmgifs#filmtv#dailyflicks#dailyfilmandtv#perioddramaedit
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Hvitserk: I sleep with an axe under my pillow
Ubbe: I sleep with a knife under mine
Y/N: you're both pathetic
Hvitserk: oh yeah, than what do you sleep with?
Y/N: Ivar
#vikings tv#ivar x reader#ivar imagine#ivar lothbrok#ivar ragnarsson#ivar the boneless#ivar ragnarsson x reader#ivar the boneless x reader#hvitserk#ubbe ragnarsson
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first love



summary: you always hated Ragnar until you realized that that hatred was not hatred but love
warnings: age-gap, infidelity, pregnancy
word counter: 9363
author's note: english is not my first language, inspired by something old that I also wrote

You had known Ragnar Lothbrok for as long as you could remember, and you had always known that his place in your life was not that of a stranger. He had been a part of your world even before you came into it.
Your father always spoke of Ragnar as if he were a son. When you were younger, you sat on your father’s knee as he told stories of Ragnar’s bravery and cunning, of how, as a mere boy, he had shown intelligence that few men possessed. You listened, but those words never filled you with pride. It wasn’t admiration you felt for him. It was jealousy. Jealousy of how your parents looked at him, jealousy of how your father laughed with him, a truer sound than the one you managed to coax out of him.
Ragnar wasn’t just bigger than you in age; he was bigger in every other way. He had always been that way. In your family’s eyes, he was more than an older brother. He was the perfect son they had never had before you.
You clearly remember the first time you realized how deep your connection to your father was. You were about six years old, running through the field near your house, chasing butterflies as your bare feet sank into the damp grass. When you came home, sweaty and leafy, you saw him there at the table next to your father. Your heads leaned forward, talking quietly as if they shared a secret that would never include you. Your small hands balled into fists, and you stood in the doorway, feeling like a stranger in your own home.
“What are you doing standing there?” he had asked you, with an easy smile that lit up everyone’s eyes but your own.
“I don’t like the way you talk to my father,” you told him with childlike sincerity that knew no filters.
He laughed, a sound he had always hated because it was loud, as if the entire world could hear how much he enjoyed life. "And why not, little one? Is it yours and not mine?"
Your father laughed too, but you didn't. You looked down and crossed your arms, muttering something that even you didn't quite understand. At that moment, Ragnar had looked at you like someone would look at a child who barely understands the world, and that only increased your childish rage.
Over time, things didn't improve. Ragnar grew into a strong, cunning, and charismatic man. His exploits began to resonate beyond the borders of your small world, and while others celebrated him, you still felt overshadowed by his presence.
Sometimes, you tried to reason with yourself. It wasn't Ragnar's fault that your father adored him so much. It wasn't his fault that others looked at him with admiration. But those thoughts didn't ease the weight in your chest every time his name came up in family conversations, as if everything revolved around him.
There were days when you wished he would go away. That his ship would not return from the sea, that his laughter would stop filling the rooms, that his stories would become a thing of the past. And yet, there was a part of you that couldn’t deny that you were watching him intently. Like a wolf on the prowl, you memorized his every gesture, every word he said.
One day, when you were ten, things reached their breaking point. Ragnar had returned from a long journey, and your father threw a banquet in his honor. The entire village gathered at your house, singing, drinking, and celebrating his return. You were at the back, in the darkest corner of the hall, watching as Ragnar moved through the crowd with the ease of someone who knew he belonged.
When you finally crossed paths with him, he gave you an amused look. “Why are you always so serious when you see me?”
“I’m not serious. I just don’t like you,” you blurted out without thinking.
He laughed, but it wasn’t as loud this time. There was something else in his expression, something you hadn’t seen before: curiosity. “Do you not like me because I’ve always been here, or because you think I don’t pay attention to you?”
The question left you silent, because you didn’t know how to respond. Ragnar always found a way to disarm you, even when you didn’t want to admit it.
“Maybe it’s not you who hates me,” he finally said, leaning in to look you in the eyes. “Maybe it’s you who doesn’t want to share your place in this world with me.”
Those words stuck in your mind, though at the time you didn’t know what to do with them. Because, as much as you hated to admit it, maybe he was right.
Over the years, you left behind the childish games and tantrums, but Ragnar remained a constant in your life. You no longer openly hated him, but you didn't seek him out either. You avoided him, always hiding behind the responsibilities of the house or the social gatherings that you so detested. But even from a distance, you felt his presence like a shadow that stretched over you, a force that you couldn't ignore.
It was around your thirteenth birthday that you began to understand something that you didn't want to accept. Ragnar had returned from another of his trips, this time with the triumphant air of a man who had achieved something great. His face was covered in dust and sun, his eyes shining with that fire that seemed to ignite everyone around him. He entered your home as if he owned the place, with that laugh of his that always managed to put everyone in a good mood. Everyone except you, or at least that's what you forced yourself to believe.
You watched him from the table, hidden behind a curtain of your hair, while he spoke to your father. Ragnar had this ability to capture everyone’s attention, as if words were something created just for him. He was charismatic, strong, and self-assured, and for the first time you noticed something that left you frozen: you didn’t look at him the way you look at a brother.
The thought hit you like a bolt of lightning. All that time, all that anger you’d felt towards him, all the arguments and resentment, it hadn’t been because you wanted him to go away. You hadn’t hated Ragnar because he was your father’s favorite, or because he made you feel small next to him. You’d hated him because you liked him.
The realization stunned you. You’d heard other girls in the village talk about what it was like to be attracted to a man, about how their hearts beat faster and their stomachs filled with nerves when they were around someone they liked. You’d always thought those things were ridiculous, that love was something you didn’t need or want. But now, you felt that same uneasiness in your chest whenever Ragnar was around.
That night, you couldn't sleep. Images of him filled your mind: his laugh, the way his hair fell across his forehead, how his gaze seemed to pierce you every time it met yours. You felt caught between the desire to push him out of your life and the inability to imagine a world without him.
The following days you tried harder than ever to avoid him. If you saw him coming, you would veer off on another path. If your father mentioned his name, you would quickly change the subject. But Ragnar didn't seem willing to ignore you. Every chance he got, he would look for you with his eyes, with that crooked smile that seemed to know more than he was willing to say.
Some time later Ragnar had returned from the north with more than just stories of his travels. He returned with a woman at his side: Lagertha. The first time you saw her, you understood why he had chosen her. She was beautiful, with such a strong and determined presence that she seemed to fill the room without needing to say a word. She was not a simple peasant or any woman. She was a warrior, a shieldmaiden, someone worthy of accompanying a man like him.
And you hated her.
It wasn't because she was evil or cruel, because she wasn't. Lagertha, with her open smile and direct gaze, tried from the beginning to win your sympathy, but you refused point-blank. Every kind word she spoke to you crashed against the wall you had raised between you. You didn't want her friendship. You wanted nothing from her.
But what really tore you apart was Ragnar. He seemed different with Lagertha at his side, as if his world had become complete in a way you had never seen before. When he looked at her, there was something in his eyes that made you grit your teeth: affection. It wasn't the camaraderie she shared with your father or the teasing affection she sometimes gave you. It was something deeper, more real.
At first, you tried to ignore what you felt. You told yourself it didn’t matter, that what Ragnar did with his life wasn’t your problem. But the more time passed, the harder it was to contain the rage that was building up inside you.
You became a walking storm. Your words became sharper, your gestures more abrupt. Everything you did was tinged with an anger that you couldn’t explain to others, not even to yourself. When you crossed paths with Ragnar, you barely looked at him. And if he tried to talk to you, your answers were cold and distant.
“What’s wrong?” he asked you one day, after you completely ignored him during a conversation at the family table.
“What would happen to me?” you replied without looking at him, focusing on breaking off a piece of bread as if it were the most important thing in the world.
Ragnar wasn’t stupid. You knew that. He had always been shrewd, able to read people with an ease that was disturbing. But this time, he didn’t seem to quite understand you. He frowned, leaning towards you a little. “You’ve been in a bad mood since I got back. Is it because of Lagertha?”
The sound of her name on his lips made your stomach twist. You forced yourself to remain calm, though. You looked up, staring at him with a hardness you didn’t know you possessed. “So what if she is? I don’t like her. Is that enough for you?”
Ragnar arched an eyebrow, surprised by your bluntness. “She hasn’t done anything to you. Why does she bother you so much?”
“Because I do,” you snapped, bolting up from the table. “Because I didn’t have to bring her here, or marry her.”
He stared at you, and for a moment you thought he was going to insist. But instead, he leaned back against the back of his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. “I don’t understand why this matters so much to you.”
“And you don’t need to understand it,” you blurted out before exiting the room, leaving your anger and unfinished words behind you.
After that, you avoided any prolonged interaction with him. If he was in a room, you found an excuse to leave. If he spoke to you, you responded in monosyllables or ignored him completely. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing how much he affected you.
But there were times when you couldn’t help but see him, like when he walked beside Lagertha through the fields, his laughter mingling with hers as if they were the only ones who mattered in the world. On those occasions, you felt something inside you break a little more.
When you turned sixteen, the day was a cold, grey sky, as if even the gods shared the melancholy you felt inside. The village was busier than ever; Ragnar and Lagertha had just had their son, Bjorn, a little boy who had already stolen everyone's hearts with his loud cry and inquisitive look.
You received the news while helping your mother in the kitchen. A neighbor came in excitedly, her beaming smile lighting up the room. “A son has been born to Ragnar! A strong, healthy boy. They have named him Bjorn.”
You stood still for a moment, your hands still covered in flour. The air seemed to grow heavy, as if every word of that woman crushed you. Bjorn. Ragnar had a son.
You knew this moment would come. It was natural for a man like him to build a family, for his life to be filled with new bonds and responsibilities. But that certainty didn’t make it hurt any less.
That night, as the village celebrated the birth of the little boy, you stepped away from the crowd. Chants and laughter filled the air, but you couldn’t bear to be there, watching Ragnar and Lagertha receive everyone’s congratulations. Instead, you sat alone on the riverbank, watching the current carry away the fallen leaves.
It was then, in the pale moonlight, that something inside you changed. For years you had carried an unrequited love, a weight that had filled you with rage, sadness, and frustration. But now, thinking of Bjorn and the future Ragnar was building, you realized it was time to let it go.
It wasn't easy. It was like ripping out a part of yourself, a part that had been with you for as long as you could remember. But you knew you could no longer live trapped in that cycle of emotions. Ragnar wasn't yours, and he never would be. And that was okay.
You decided that if you wanted to find your place in the world, you had to free yourself from that weight. So you let it go, like the leaves falling into the river, allowing the current to carry them away to a place you couldn't follow.
Letting it go didn't mean forgetting it, though. Ragnar was still a part of your life, as he always had been. But now you saw him differently. He was no longer the man you wanted, but someone you had learned to respect from a distance.
He was still there when you needed him, though those occasions were becoming less frequent. You were no longer a child, and the world did not revolve around him as you had once felt it did. You were a woman now, and you were determined to forge your own path.
One afternoon, while you were working in the fields, Ragnar approached you. He was carrying Bjorn in his arms, and the boy looked at him with a mixture of curiosity and adoration that made you smile despite everything.
“Aren’t you coming to see the little one?” he asked you, with that smile of his that still managed to disarm you, although in a different way now.
You wiped the sweat from your forehead and walked towards them. Bjorn stared at you with his big blue eyes, so similar to his father’s. He extended a small hand towards you, and you couldn’t help but gently take it between your fingers.
“He’s strong,” you said, more to yourself than to Ragnar.
“Like his mother,” he replied with a soft laugh.
You looked at him, feeling a calmness you hadn’t known before. “And like his father.”
Ragnar watched you for a moment, as if trying to decipher something in your expression. But he didn’t say anything else. He didn’t need to.
That was the last time you allowed the ghosts of your past love to visit you. From then on, you focused on yourself, on your own goals and dreams. Ragnar was still a part of your life, but no longer the axis of your thoughts.
A year later when you turned seventeen, your world began to expand in ways you had never imagined. Ragnar, always restless, had begun to embark on more frequent trips, exploring new lands and discovering unknown horizons. It was on one of those days, while he was planning his next expedition, that you decided to accompany him. It wasn’t something you thought about much; you simply felt it. You wanted something more, something far from the confines of the village you had called home all your life.
“Are you sure you want to come?” Ragnar asked you when you proposed, with a raised eyebrow and a half-smile. “The sea is not as kind as it seems.”
“As kind as you, I suppose,” you replied with a spark of humor that made him laugh. “I don’t mind. I want to go.”
And so it was that you found yourself on the ship, surrounded by men weathered by wind and water, the smell of salt filling your senses. At first, you didn’t know what to expect. The constant movement of the waves was disconcerting, and the sound of the wood creaking beneath your feet made you feel small and insignificant. But as the days passed, you began to understand why Ragnar loved these voyages so much.
There was a freedom at sea that couldn’t be found anywhere else. There were no village expectations, no inquisitive glances, no questions about your future. On the ship, you were simply you, facing a world that stretched beyond the horizon.
Ragnar taught you to navigate by the stars, pointing out constellations you’d never noticed before. “Look there,” he said one night, as the sky spread out like a black blanket studded with diamonds. “Those take us north.”
“And those others,” you added, pointing to a group of stars that seemed especially bright to you, “where do they take us?”
He looked at you with a calm smile. “Wherever you want to go.”
It was in those moments, amidst the vastness of the ocean, that you began to understand something about yourself. You had spent years feeling trapped, first by your emotions towards Ragnar, then by the weight of your own expectations. But here, far away from everything, you realized that freedom was not something anyone could give you; it was something you had to claim for yourself.
When you reached land, every place you discovered filled you with wonder. The villages you visited, the new faces, the unfamiliar languages… everything was a reminder of how big the world was and how small you were within it. But that smallness did not intimidate you. On the contrary, it inspired you.
Ragnar seemed to notice the change in you. Although he did not say it openly, his gestures made it clear. When she watched you interact with the villagers or explore the markets with eyes full of curiosity, there was something in her expression that almost seemed like… pride.
When you returned from travels, there was always a mix of relief and melancholy. Returning meant safety, the warmth of home, but also the return to routines and inevitable questions.
Lagertha, who you had learned to get along with better, always greeted you with a smile and a question she couldn’t seem to avoid: “Well? When are you going to marry one of the men?”
That question always made you feel uncomfortable. You knew it was common for you to be engaged at your age, but the thought of tying yourself down to someone had never been appealing to you. Not after everything you had felt for Ragnar. Not after having tasted the freedom that travel offered you.
“I haven’t found anyone worth it yet,” you always answered with a noncommittal smile, trying to downplay it.
Lagertha would often laugh at your answer, though she would insist. “You are beautiful and strong. There is no shortage of men in this village who would want you as a wife.”
You would simply shrug and change the subject. Although you could now see that Lagertha was not your enemy, you could not confess the truth to her either. You could not tell her that deep down, there was still a part of you that could not imagine being with anyone but Ragnar, though you knew that dream would never come true.
It was not long before you were once again embarking on another journey with Ragnar. This time, the destination was beyond anything you had ever imagined. There was talk of faraway lands, with riches and wonders that few had ever seen. The preparations were long and meticulous; the journey would be longer and more dangerous, but the excitement in the air was palpable.
“Are you sure you want to come?” Ragnar asked for the umpteenth time, as he adjusted the oars on the boat.
“What kind of question is that?” you replied with a defiant smile. “Of course I’m going.”
Ragnar nodded, though his eyes reflected more than just acceptance. It was a mix of pride and concern, but you didn’t say anything. You didn’t need to.
The first leg of the journey was exciting, as always. The wind filled the sails and the horizon stretched out before you like an endless promise. But as the days passed, the conditions began to change. The waters grew colder, the air heavier, and your strength began to fail.
At first it was a simple malaise that you tried to ignore. A slight fever, some weakness. But soon it became impossible to hide. Your body was exhausted, and every movement cost you more effort than you wanted to admit. Ragnar was the first to notice.
“You look pale,” he commented one night as you stood by the fire, trying to warm up from the cold sea.
“I’m fine,” you lied, your tone firmer than you felt.
But the next day, when you tried to get up to help row, your legs wouldn't respond. Ragnar caught up with you before you could fall to the ground.
"Enough!" he said, his tone so authoritative it brooked no reply. "You're not well. You need to rest."
You were placed on a makeshift bed inside the ship, and though you resisted at first, your body soon gave out. The fever rose, and the weakness became unbearable. You could barely open your eyes, and when you did, everything seemed to spin around you.
Ragnar remained by your side from that moment on, like a constant shadow. He barely ate or slept, always attentive to any change in your condition. His face, normally full of confidence and energy, was now marked with worry.
In the moments when you were conscious, you could hear Ragnar speaking softly. You couldn't always understand what he said, but his words were often directed at you.
“This is my fault,” he muttered one night, as he changed the damp cloth on your forehead. “I shouldn’t have let you come. I was selfish to think you could handle this. I always wanted you around… but I should never have put you in danger.”
You wanted to respond, to tell him that it wasn't his fault, that this trip had been your decision, but the words wouldn't come out. All you could do was weakly squeeze his hand when he took it, a gesture that seemed to give him minimal comfort.
Your illness lasted for weeks in those distant lands, an unknown place where every dawn seemed just as uncertain. No one knew exactly what had caused you such extreme weakness: the change in climate, the different food, or simply the exhaustion of the journey. The days passed in a mix of hope and worry, and although the others continued with their tasks of exploration and looting, Ragnar did not leave your side.
The fever slowly subsided, and your strength began to return. At first, getting out of bed was a triumph, a small step towards normality. But as the weeks turned into a month and a half, you found yourself trapped in a state of endless recovery. Ragnar did not let you do absolutely anything, which at first you were grateful for, but soon began to drive you crazy.
“You’re not ready yet,” Ragnar insisted every time you tried to get up to do more than walk a few steps.
“I’m better,” you protested one day, crossing your arms in frustration. “I can carry something, help around camp, train even.”
“No, you can’t,” he replied, his tone firm enough to shut down the conversation before it even began. “I don’t want to see you lifting anything heavier than that plate of food.”
The concern on his face was evident, and though you understood where he was coming from, you couldn’t help but feel annoyed. You weren’t used to someone limiting you like that, least of all Ragnar.
“You’re worse than any disease,” you murmured, your tone more playful than angry.
Ragnar smiled slightly, but didn’t relent. “You can hate me all you want, but you’re staying here. I’m not going to risk you relapsing.”
With Ragnar acting as a relentless guardian, your world shrank to the walls of the house where you were staying. It was a simple building, with wooden walls and a roof that barely protected you from the icy wind. Although you were grateful to have a place to shelter, the stillness made you feel useless.
You did small tasks: cleaning utensils, mending the clothes of the men traveling with you, and even cooking when you were allowed. But none of that filled the void you felt from not being able to participate in training or scouting. The lack of action weighed on you like an invisible burden, and though you tried to hide it, it was clear that you were not satisfied.
Sometimes, as you worked in silence, you felt Ragnar's eyes on you. When you faced him, he would simply smile and look away, as if he wanted to reassure you that everything was okay. But that only made you more upset.
There were days when you felt like a burden. Seeing the others return to camp with stories of what they had seen and done while you had barely stepped out into the yard was a constant reminder of what you had lost. You didn't want to admit it, but you felt weak, and that was something you had never handled well.
Ragnar seemed to sense your emotions even when you said nothing. “Why are you so quiet?” he asked you one night, as you ate dinner in silence.
“I’m thinking,” you replied, not wanting to go into details.
“Thinking about what?”
You paused, unsure if you wanted to tell him the truth. Finally, you decided to be honest. “About how useless I feel here. Everyone is out there, exploring, fighting… and I’m here, mending clothes.”
Ragnar set his bowl aside and looked you straight in the eyes. “That doesn’t make you useless. You’re alive, aren’t you? That’s all that matters now.”
“That’s easy for you to say,” you replied, your tone bordering on resentment. “You’re out there, being who you are. I’m stuck here, being… nothing.”
Ragnar sighed, as if he understood your frustration more than you cared to admit. “Sometimes, surviving is the hardest thing we can do. But don’t think for a moment that you’re not important. I wouldn’t be here, wasting my time with you, if I thought that.”
His words, though well-intentioned, didn’t completely dispel your unease.
In those days you tried to convince yourself that it was all behind you. The childish love you once felt for Ragnar was a distant memory, a whim buried beneath the years of maturity and the reality of his life with Lagertha. You had spent enough time hating him, loving him, and finally letting him go, or so you told yourself. However, as the days passed in that small village, something began to change.
The way Ragnar looked at you was different. You weren’t entirely sure at first, but there was something in the intensity of his gaze, in how his eyes seemed to search yours for no apparent reason. It was like every time you moved around the house, even in the most mundane moments, he was watching, watching.
That invisible weight, that tension between the two of you that seemed to fill the air. Every time you were near him, you felt a warmth in your chest that you hadn’t experienced in a long time. You tried to ignore it, to convince yourself it was just your imagination, but it wasn’t that simple.
For his part, Ragnar was experiencing something he couldn’t explain. For years, he’d always seen you as the little girl who ran around the camp, the younger sister who looked down on him or argued with him about anything. He’d been by your side like an older brother, like a protector. But now… now he couldn’t help but see you differently.
He didn’t know when it had started exactly. Maybe it was when he realized how strong you’d been during your illness, fighting weakness with silent determination. Or maybe it was simply the fact that, by spending so much time together, he’d started to notice things he hadn’t seen before.
The way the sunlight lit up your hair as you moved near the window. The softness in your gestures as you worked on chores around the house, even if you did it in annoyance. The way your eyes sparkled when you were angry at him for not letting you do more.
Everything about you intrigued him.
One afternoon, as you stood alone in the yard trying to mend an old coat, Ragnar appeared. He didn’t say anything at first, just sat next to you, watching your fingers move with precision.
“Why are you always staring at me?” you finally asked, without looking at him.
Ragnar smiled, but didn’t answer right away. “And why are you always so attentive to what I do?”
You rolled your eyes, trying to ignore the blush that rose to your cheeks. “Because you’re impossible to ignore. You’re always there, like a shadow.”
“Maybe because I like being where you are,” he replied with a sincerity that took you by surprise.
You stopped, the thread in your hands hanging. His words weren’t brazen, but they weren’t innocent either. You looked at him, trying to read on his face if he was joking or if there was something more behind his words. What you saw in his eyes disarmed you: there was no trace of mockery, only a curiosity that seemed to dig deep inside you.
From that moment on, everything seemed to be charged with a new energy between you. Casual conversations were filled with awkward silences, as if both of you knew something was changing but neither of you wanted to admit it.
Ragnar couldn’t help but find excuses to spend time with you. He always had some reason to come over, whether it was to bring you some water, check on how you were feeling, or just sit quietly beside you. And you, despite your frustration, couldn’t help but feel more aware of his presence than ever.
One night, while the others slept, you stepped out into the courtyard to get some air. Ragnar appeared shortly after, as if he knew exactly where you were.
“You can’t sleep,” he said, more of a statement than a question.
You shook your head. “The air here is different. It’s hard to breathe sometimes.”
He nodded, coming close enough that you could feel the warmth of his body in the cold night. “Do you regret coming?”
“No,” you answered quickly, looking up at the stars. “Despite everything… I don’t regret it.”
Ragnar was silent for a moment, before saying, “Me neither.”
You turned to look at him, searching for some meaning in his words. But before you could ask, he had already looked away, as if he was afraid to say anything more.
The day after the conversation in the courtyard, you decided that you couldn't allow what you felt for Ragnar to take shape. If you allowed those feelings to grow, you would lose control over yourself, over your life, over your ability to decide. And worst of all, you would lose Ragnar in a way you didn't want to even imagine. So, for three whole days, you avoided him.
You didn't look him in the eye more than necessary, you kept yourself busy with tasks that took you away from him, and you always looked for excuses not to be around. Every time Ragnar showed up at camp, you somehow slipped out of his reach, seeking to avoid the tension you knew existed between the two of you.
But despite all your efforts, you couldn't deny that every time Ragnar looked at you, there was something in his eyes that overwhelmed you. The tension grew like a storm about to break. You knew he felt the same way too, and even though you tried not to admit it, the emotions were eating you up from the inside.
On the fourth day, confrontation was inevitable. Ragnar found you in the small tent where you were busy organizing the equipment. He closed the entrance behind him with a soft knock, and stared at you silently, knowing you had been avoiding him.
“You can’t keep doing this,” he said, his voice low and calm, as always, but this time with something more. An urgency.
You stared at him for a long moment before speaking. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yes, you do.” His footsteps echoed on the wooden floor as he came closer, closing the distance between you. “Stop running away from what’s happening between us.”
You breathed quickened at the closeness, at the certainty in his voice. You knew he was just as caught up in this game as you were. But you couldn’t let this be real. You shouldn’t.
“You’re right,” you murmured, looking away. “But we can’t…”
“We can’t keep ignoring what we feel, can we?” Ragnar interrupted, leaning slightly towards you, searching your eyes.
The space between you shrank to inches, the electricity in the air palpable. You could hear your own heartbeat quickening, the heat of his body overwhelming you. And before you could stop him, Ragnar raised a hand and gently touched your cheek.
The contact ignited a spark that ran through your entire body. You couldn’t resist it any longer. Without thinking, you launched yourself at him, your lips meeting his in a fiery kiss. It was as if all the time of tension, of repressed desires, exploded in that single moment.
Ragnar responded immediately, his hands moving up your back, pulling you closer to him. Your hands tangled in his hair, as the kiss deepened, moving from something passionate to something more urgent, more desperate.
“I love you… I always have,” you managed to whisper between the kisses, unable to keep quiet what you had held in for so long. The words came out of you with the same intensity you had repressed those feelings with for years.
Ragnar didn't respond. He looked into your eyes, as if he wanted to make sure you had really said it. But he didn't say anything, he just kissed you again, harder, as if the answer was in the act, not the words.
The intensity of that kiss didn't go away. Instead, it intensified as his hands moved with an urgency you had never seen in him. There were no more barriers, only the desire to explore what had been dormant between you.
Ragnar took you firmly, guiding you towards the bed with gentle but determined movements. You didn't say anything, because you knew you didn't need to. Everything that had been left unsaid between the two of you was now expressed in a much more intimate and direct way.
That night, was the first time you spent in his bed. And he was the first man you had ever been with. You felt it in every touch, in every caress, in the way he knew you and wanted you with an intensity you had never experienced before. At that moment, Ragnar was not only the man you had secretly desired, but the only one you wanted to share your body and soul with.
When you finally rested, breathing intertwined, you said nothing. There was no need. There was no turning back, no way to deny what had grown between you and finally unleashed.
The night stretched between you like a blanket of calm after the storm. The two of you lay together, the softness of your breaths intertwined in the stillness of the bed. Despite the intensity of what had happened, something in your chest was still churning.
Ragnar, lying next to you, watched you with an intensity that overwhelmed you. His gaze was deep, as if he were trying to decipher something that had been hidden for a long time. Finally, he broke the silence, his voice low, but with an unmistakable weight.
“You love me… Why didn’t you tell me before?”
The question left you speechless for a moment. You turned to look at him, and although his face was serene, his eyes reflected a mix of surprise and something else, something that seemed to be a request for explanations.
You knew you couldn’t hide it anymore, but how to respond? How to explain all the suffering and anguish you had felt loving someone who seemed unattainable?
“I didn’t say it because I knew you would never love me back,” you replied, your voice cracking, the pain of all those years of silence making a dent in your tone. “And besides… you have a family. Lagertha… your son…”
Ragnar looked at you in silence for a moment, as if he was processing your words. The seconds seemed eternal as his gaze softened, as if he too understood the weight of what you had just said.
“Don’t think about it,” he finally said, his tone filled with a firmness that left no room for doubt. “Let’s not think about what we can’t change.”
Before you could respond, Ragnar kissed you again. A deep kiss. In that kiss there was no room for doubt or fear.
The nights that followed were like a dream from which you didn’t want to wake up. Every night you spent in his bed, every night Ragnar adored you with an intensity that made you feel like you were the only woman in the world. In his eyes, you looked more beautiful than ever, and every word that came out of his mouth, every touch his hands offered, enveloped you in a feeling of ecstasy you had never known.
He treated you with a tenderness and fervor that overflowed from what you had imagined in your most secret dreams. His caresses were soft, but his kisses were ardent, as if he wanted to erase all the distance that had existed between you during all those years. You felt that you were finally seen, that Ragnar saw you, not as the girl who was once part of his life, but as the woman you were now. And, for the first time, you did not care what the future might bring.
However, that peace you had found in his closeness, that security that Ragnar seemed to give you, was shaken when the time of staying in distant lands came to an end. The journey home was long, tense, and for the first time, uncertainty settled over you.
Every day that passed, the question hung in the air, even if neither of you said it out loud: what will happen when we get home? You knew Ragnar had a family, and even though he told you not to think about it, you couldn't help it. Lagertha, his son and the one on the way, his life... it was all there, waiting for them. And what was left for you? What was left for what you had shared? The distance between the realities you faced became more and more evident as the journey progressed.
Despite everything, hope was still alive in your heart. Despite the doubts that haunted you, the constant question about what would happen when you returned home.
Ragnar didn't talk much during the trip, and perhaps, in part, neither did you. You both knew there was something that needed to be resolved, something that couldn't be left hanging in the air.
The wind blew hard, the waves of the sea crashed against the rocks, but as you approached the familiar shores, the weight of the unknown seemed to increase. You didn't know what you would do when you set foot in your home, nor how you would react to seeing Lagertha, nor what Ragnar would think of everything that had happened.
Returning home was a heartbreaking contrast to the intense emotions of the trip. As soon as you arrived, the usual routine seemed to take its place as if time in distant lands had not happened. Lagertha had given birth to a girl while you were away, and Ragnar's joy for his new daughter filled the air.
You stood by, watching from a distance. You went back home to your parents, trying to put a physical and emotional barrier between you and Ragnar. You thought that distance might help you forget, that staying away from him, from his family, might ease the weight of what you shared.
You didn’t visit his home, not even when your parents mentioned his name. You tried to distract yourself with your own tasks, with the life you’d put on hold while you traveled. But, despite all your attempts, you couldn’t get him out of your mind. Every corner of your memory seemed to be permeated with his voice, his touch, the way he looked at you as if you were the only thing that mattered.
And then, as if fate wanted to mock you, he appeared. Ragnar arrived at your house without warning, his laughter echoing from the living room as he spoke to your parents. You heard his voice before you saw him, and something inside you tensed. You knew you couldn't avoid him forever, but that encounter took you by surprise.
You decided to stay in your room, taking refuge in the distance you could still maintain. You figured that if you didn’t see him, it would be easier to ignore the reality of his presence, easier to remind yourself that you couldn’t keep feeding what you felt.
But Ragnar wasn’t one to be ignored easily. As night fell and the house fell silent, you knew something was about to change. You felt his presence before he knocked on your door, before he peeked into the room with that look that always managed to disarm you.
“Are you going to hide from me all night?” he asked quietly, closing the door behind him before you could answer.
“I’m not hiding,” you replied, even though you both knew it was a lie. You didn’t look up from your hands, afraid that if you did, all the control you’d tried to build would crumble in an instant.
Ragnar didn’t say anything. He walked over to where you were sitting and, with a calmness only he could project, knelt in front of you. His eyes searched yours, and when you finally looked at him, you felt all the weight of your will evaporate.
“You shouldn’t be here,” you whispered, though your voice lacked conviction.
“And yet, here I am,” he replied with a smile that only made things more complicated.
You didn’t know how it happened, but before you could stop him, his lips were on yours. It was a slow kiss, filled with an intensity you hadn’t forgotten. Everything you had tried to bury, all the distance you had tried to impose, crumbled in that instant.
“Ragnar…” you tried to speak, but he shook his head, silencing you with another kiss.
That night, you had him in your bed, and the weight of the forbidden made every moment even more intense. You tried to keep quiet, afraid someone might hear, but Ragnar seemed to be in no hurry, taking his time exploring every corner of your skin as if he wanted to memorize you.
Every caress, every whisper in your ear, made the outside world disappear. For a few hours, there were no wives or children, no families or responsibilities, just the two of you in that room, sharing something that couldn't be explained with words.
When the heat of the moment was behind you, your body intertwined with his. The silence in the room was deep, broken only by the sound of your breathing calming down. Ragnar wrapped one arm around you, pulling you towards him, while his other hand gently rested on your bare belly.
He began to trace slow, abstract movements on your stomach with the tips of his fingers, almost absentmindedly, as if his mind was somewhere else. You could feel the weight of his thoughts, though you couldn't guess what was going through his head.
“Once,” he began in a low, contemplative tone, “a witch told me I would have many children. More than I could count.”
His words, spoken with a mix of seriousness and curiosity, struck something deep within you. Even though he didn’t seem aware of the impact they might have, you felt a pang of sadness creep into your chest. You didn’t know exactly why; perhaps because those words were a reminder of the life he led, a life that didn’t include a future with you.
You swallowed, trying to contain the lump that formed in your throat, but it was useless. A silent tear rolled down your cheek, followed by another. You tried to turn your face away, you didn't want him to see you like that, you didn't want him to know how much those words had touched a wound you tried to ignore.
“What's wrong?” Ragnar asked, noticing your silence and the trembling in your breathing. He sat up slightly, turning to you with a worried expression. “Did I say something that hurt you?”
You shook your head, but your lips trembled. “It's not that... I just... I don't know.” The words escaped you; you couldn't explain this whirlwind of emotions that invaded you.
Ragnar took your face with both hands, wiping the tears with his thumb while looking at you with an intensity that disarmed you. “I didn't mean to make you feel bad. Never.”
His eyes, as blue as the clear sky, reflected a sincerity that hurt you even more. You wanted to tell him how you felt, but how to put into words something so complex? How to explain that it wasn’t his fault, but the weight of everything you shared, of everything that couldn’t be?
“I’m fine,” you finally managed to say, though your voice was a broken whisper. “I just… sometimes wonder how I fit into your life. Or if I do.”
Ragnar watched you in silence for a moment, and then pulled you into his chest, enveloping you in a warm, protective embrace. “Don’t think about it now,” he said softly, his voice echoing in his chest against your ear. “What we have here, now… that’s what matters. I don’t want you to cry for me. I don’t want this to hurt you.”
You clung to him, letting his warmth comfort you, though the questions in your mind remained unanswered. His words were a temporary balm, but they couldn’t undo the truth of the situation. Yet, at that moment, you decided to allow yourself to believe him, if only for that night. Because when you were in his arms, the world seemed a little less complicated, and that was enough to keep you going.
The days that followed were a whirlwind of emotions for you. You had tried to get back to the routine, to the normality that you so wanted to get back, but something inside you had changed. It wasn't just the guilt or the love you still felt for Ragnar, it was something deeper, something you hadn't faced until you started to notice the first signs.
At first, you ignored it. The constant tiredness, the nausea that hit you without warning, it could all be attributed to the wear and tear of the trip, or the stress you had accumulated. But you couldn't deny the truth for long. With each passing day, the signs became clearer, until you finally accepted what your body was trying to tell you: you were pregnant.
The revelation was a shock that left you breathless. You sat on the edge of your bed, trembling hands holding your belly as reality sank in. The life you carried inside was too big a secret to share, a secret that could change everything.
You couldn't tell your parents. Their disappointment would be an unbearable weight, and the scandal that could be unleashed if anyone else found out was something you weren't willing to face. You couldn't tell Ragnar either. He had a family. The last thing you wanted was to further complicate their life, or yours.
So you decided to keep it to yourself. He was yours, and yours alone.
Days turned into weeks, and you learned to hide the signs. When you felt sick, you found an excuse to get away. When tiredness got the better of you, you made sure no one noticed. But keeping the secret wasn't easy, especially when Ragnar was around.
There was something in his gaze that seemed to pierce through you, as if he could see past your attempts to hide the truth. Even though he didn't say anything, you knew he suspected something was bothering you. His questions were subtle, but constant, and every time you evaded them you felt the tension between you grow.
At night, when you lay alone, the weight of your decision crushed you. You wondered if you had done the right thing, if keeping the secret was really the best option. But every time you thought about what could happen if the truth came out, you convinced yourself that you had no other choice.
It was madness, a storm you couldn't control, but you had no choice but to face it alone.
The days continued to pass with a tension that seemed to cut off your air. Every glance from your parents, every conversation with Ragnar, was like walking on brittle ice. You knew you couldn't stay much longer. Not because you didn't want to, but because every moment prolonged the risk of your secret being discovered, and that wasn't something you could allow.
You hadn’t made the decision lightly. For days, you’d been turning it over in your mind, searching for options, wondering if there was any way to stay, to keep what you carried inside you safe without destroying everything else. But every path you imagined led to the same place: to chaos, to pain, and to a scandal that would affect not only you, but everyone around you.
You couldn’t allow that. And so, one night, as you sat alone in your room, you decided you had to leave.
The conversation with your parents was one of the hardest things you’d ever faced. You sat with them at the family table, your hands clenched in your lap to hide the shaking.
“I need to go,” you finally said, breaking the silence that seemed to weigh like a slab in the air.
Your parents looked at each other, confused. It was your mother who spoke first. “Leave? Where?”
“Away,” you replied, trying to keep your voice steady. “I need some time to myself, to find my own way. I’ve been feeling… trapped.”
It wasn’t quite a lie, but it wasn’t the whole truth either. Your parents seemed to hesitate, exchanging glances that clearly argued your request without the need for words.
“Does this have anything to do with Ragnar?” your father finally asked, his tone sterner.
Just hearing his name made your heart stop for a moment. But you shook your head. “No. This is something of mine, something I need to do.”
Your mother tried to convince you to stay. She told you about how dangerous it was to travel alone, how you’d always had a safe home with them. But you had already made up your mind. You listened to her in silence, letting her words flow over you like water over rock. When she was done, you simply repeated, “I have to.”
“If Ragnar knows you’re leaving…” your father began, but you cut him off with a gesture.
“He mustn’t know. I beg you. If he asks, tell him I left because I needed some space, but don’t tell him anything else.”
Your mother looked at you with concern, while your father frowned, clearly uncomfortable with the request. But eventually, they nodded. You gave them no other options.
You had planned everything in secret. You knew where you would go: a small settlement far from Kattegat, isolated enough to avoid questions. You had packed the few things you needed into a sack and prepared a horse to set out at dawn.
The night before your departure was the longest of your life. You were alone in your room, watching the shadows move on the walls as a storm of emotions raged within you. There was pain, sure, pain so deep it seemed to cut your soul in two. But there was also a strange sense of relief, as if you had finally taken control of your destiny.
You didn’t sleep that night. As the sun began to peek over the horizon, you got up, got dressed, and grabbed your things. Your parents bid you farewell in silence, though your mother couldn’t help but hug you tightly before you mounted your horse.
“Be careful,” she told you with tears in her eyes.
“I will be,” you promised, though you weren’t sure it was true.
As you left Kattegat behind you, you felt an emptiness in your chest that threatened to devour you. Each step of the horse seemed to take you further away from everything you knew, from everyone you loved, but also closer to a future that was now yours alone.
You knew this path would be difficult. You knew you would be alone, and that there would be times when you would question whether you had made the right decision. But you also knew you had no other choice. You had to protect your son, even if it meant sacrificing everything else.
As the landscape changed around you, you held on to that thought. Because while the pain of leaving Ragnar and your family was unbearable, it was also a reminder of how strong you were. And that no matter what, you would find a way to move forward.
#fanfic#oneshot#imagine#x reader#ragnar lothbrok#ragnar lothbrok x reader#vikings#ragnar x reader#ragnar x lagertha#vikings fic#vikings fanfiction#lagertha#ragnar x you#bjorn ragnarsson
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Hi lovely, I want to request Ivar from Vikings! I hope that's okay, if not, that'll be totally fine! 🤗
I wanna request Ivar x saxon reader who came to Kattegat as a slave and who was sold to Lagertha. In her hometown she was forced to wear a blindfold made of black lace so no one could see her eyes because they were deemed as demonic from the church. Like her eyes are really crystalline and were unsettling for Christians, and she continues to wear it even in Kattegat. Perhaps the young Rangarsson finds himself to wonder about her and one day a jealous woman rips it from her face during a festive in the main hall when she was serving ivar...?
I know it's a lot but I've been thinking about this all week. 😭✨ Thank you so much!
Angel eyes
summary: Ivar thinks your eyes must be Gods-sent.
warnings: Margrethe being Margrethe, vikings scaring reader, Ivar being Ivar.
ch3rrybbie says: love the request bby, I changed it a lil hope you don’t mind🩷 sorry it took so long lol
———
It’s been three whole moons away from England. Away from the cruelty you knew, but that cruelty was yours. It was home.
Kattegat wasn’t too dissimilar to England but it wasn’t the same.
You trudged through the thick mud of the central market. People didn’t stare at you and you reveled in the anonymity. The thin cotton you always wore around your eyes shielding your oddities was nothing to the people of Kattegat and you had grown to love it during the few days you’d spent here.
Lagethera had brought you along wanting to show you the ways of her culture. After being sold to her she declared you free yet you refused,you would not settle to a life here. You wished to serve her in hopes you could make enough money to flee home.
Slave to handmaiden.
Handmaiden to home.
You refused to learn to fight, to speak her tongue comfortably, to like the viking life. The foolish hope of home held strong within you. And yet you knew you’d never return to England you’d seen what they’d done to the village of those who’d ostracised and belittled you. Luckily your family was away selling the spoils of their labour at market.
They would’ve come back to an empty village stinking of death. The thought makes your heart clench and your steps falter.
Lagertha had playfully commanded you go out and see Kattegat, to see her ex-husbands lands. And to bring her seawater, its purpose left you clueless but you obeyed.
The heathens were strange people after all.
And yet your own had forced you to learn to squint through your blindfold to see shapes and sounds.
To live life veiled.
———
Lagertha was repulsed by the idea. The Christian rigidity that had left you believing in the need to hide your eyes.
She watched you from afar, leant against the entrance of the great hall. You were a sweet girl yet you could be so much more.
And she would see to it.
Ragnar follows her gaze, “what is so special about this slave anyways?”
Lagertha’s head whips towards him, “she is no slave Ragnar, she is blessed by the Gods”
Ragnar’s laugh almost shakes the great hall itself, he walks off still chuckling.
———
Later as the moon begins its race to the crest of the sky you braid Lagertha’s hair. The bucket of seawater stuck out in the corner.
“Why did you ask for the seawater?” You break the gentle silence and she turns smiling at you softly.
“Bring it here” she gestures towards it a sly smirk emerging upon her face.
Standing in front of her seawater at hand she starts to command you.
“Smell it”
“Taste it”
“Feel it”
You end up giggling at the foolish tasks until she asks.
“What is the difference between this seawater and England’s?”
The smile drops from your face and you set the bucket down and return to your tasks bring her dress to ready her for the great feast.
“My sweet girl this is your fate do not run from it, you will come to love Kattegat as much as England as there isn’t much difference”.
“To you, there isn’t much difference to you, my lady” the words bite bitterly at her.
She sighs and you step back from her outstretched arms. You didn’t understand her fondness of you.
“We must go to the hall” you turn on your heel and march into the frosty air, she follows carefully.
———
You pause outside, the noise reminding you of the nights spent around a fire at home.
Perfumed with smoke and stories of old.
You shake the thought away and wait for Lagertha. She come to you a hand on your shoulder and squeezes gently.
“You ready?”, you nod and clench you fists at your sides as she pushes the door open.
Truth is you’d never be ready for a feasting hall full of vikings.
“Mother!” A thundering voice cuts through the rowdy masses.
Bjorn comes thumping over sweeping Lagertha into a crushing hug. Once their greetings are finished he turns to you inquisitively
“And who is this little birdy mother” you manage to grasp from your basic understanding of their tounge.
He reaches to peek under your eye covering and instinctively you slap his hand away. Your breath catches as you wait to be struck to the ground.
Instead a sharp laugh cuts at your action you turn to see someone with eyes almost as striking as yours. He regards you a cruel smile and glaringly sharp beauty confronts you. You hold back a gasp and turn from his gaze. Bjorn is also bellowing out a laugh.
“I am sorry bird, ignore Ivar” he plants a kiss on his mother’s cheek and is gone into the crowd of hedonism.
It was going to be a long night.
———
Refusing to sit by Lagertha’s side you stood ignoring the curious looks from Aslaug.
You couldn’t stop thinking about Ivar. It was so strange, he didn’t seem to mock you.
“Hello birdy” a gruff tease voice floats out behind you.
You whip round to see a man that looks exactly like an older Bjorn, Ragnar you conclude.
“Why do you stand here all alone, hmm? Lagertha tells me you are a free woman, here free woman can do as they please you should try it!” He chuckles and it takes you aback, he doesn’t know you yet he treats you like he has for years.
You don’t speak and turn to watch the crowds further, eyes searching for Ivar.
He’s looking right back at you, with a gasp you turn away.
“You know, I had a friend like you once” Ragnar whispers, voice taught with emotion. The pain in his voice pulls you from thoughts of Ivar.
At that you turn and take him in. Towering next to you he looks deep in grief. Eyes watery and gone to distant memories, you recognise it all too well.
“I’m sorry for your loss” you murmur, their language is crude and harsh on your tounge.
Your voice pulls him back, he grabs your shoulder and thanks you with a smile.
And once again you’re alone amongst heathens.
———
“Girl! Come serve me wine” a voice throws its self against you cutting through the bustle of the hall.
Ivar.
“Ivar do not command her like that!” Lagertha bites at him.
You frown at her remark and make your way over.
Aslaug is watching you as though you are a mirage, you ignore her stares and focus on the task at hand.
“She is no servant, please sit down” Lagertha implores you and you ignore her, Ragnar watches on curiously.
Fingers clasping over the mead jug you come closer towards Ivar ignoring the way he drinks you in.
“Surely she’s just a servant” a pretty blonde remarks from a group of boys, the rest of Ragnar’s sons you presume.
“You will watch your tongue upon my mother’s friend Margrethe” Bjorn booms at her, seemingly tired of her presence.
Lagertha frown and you lean to pour Ivar more mead.
“Thank you” he grins up at you, ignoring him you turn to be met by Margrethe.
“Why do you wear that silly cloth on your face?” She giggles and takes you in.
Everyone watches with bated breath.
Someone cuts out her name as another warning.
Attempting to step past her you don’t make it far.
“Here let me help you slave”
Her nails scrape against your skin, harsh in its endeavour.
The room brightens and grows in life as you see it more clearly.
An outraged roar emerges as Margrethe is chastised greatly. Everyone turns to look and the same whispers you’ve heard your whole life break out.
“Blessed Freya” sounded in a wave of murmurs.
The seer shuffles over parting the crowd and you retreat slowly. His interest peaked at such an odd display.
“My child you are kissed by the Gods, you shall see to their vision” his words curl through the fog of fear.
Embarrassed you flee the hall into the icy night and collapse in a heap by the fjord.
Finally you have peace.
They hadn’t cast curses or spat at your feet. They were almost reverent in their discovery of you. Perhaps they truly believe you were someone sent or blessed by their heathen Gods.
A repetitive click and shuffle sounds behind you and you whip around to see Ivar approaching. Embarrassed you turn back to look at the still waters, struggling to think upon his intentions. He groans as he lowers himself aside you.
“You know you didn’t have to run off so quick birdy” he chuckles cruelly
“You would do well not to mock me” you bite back and he simply laughs in your face.
“Maybe you really are sent by the Gods, no other woman in the whole of Kattegat would speak to me this way” he seems to grow serious and take you in.
Fixated on your eyes he stares into them, “They really are beautiful you should not cover them anymore, I command it so”.
“You command it so!” You can’t help exclaim incredulous. Dragged from home and commanded by the bratty son of a king.
“Yes I command it so!” He giggles and watches your perplexed face. You resort back to silence and the pair of you just sit there until he coaxes you to talk of England.
So you do.
You tell him of its fields and wildflowers. How the moon feels different and the sun is sweeter. How the grass will always be greener to you and the songs louder.
And for once he just listens and he knows you were meant for him. Every laugh and lilt makes his heart climb. Without telling you he makes a prayer to the Gods commanding you be by his side every day till death do you part. That you may tell him what you please and speak how no woman ever had to him.
And for the first time you’d found something wholly dissimilar to England and you wouldn’t compare it for all the homesickness in your heart. You could not have found Ivar in England. You would never have found the appreciation of your beauty there.
With the intermission of his laugh at your tales, you thank his Gods and yours for kissing your eyes.
———
Lagertha and Ragnar watch your silhouettes from the mouth of the great hall. They needn’t speak the thoughts they share but they know the nights they’d spent together talking till the sun kissed the fjord had seemingly come to life in front of them.
#ragnar lothbrok#vikings#ivar x reader#ivar lothbrok#ivar ragnarsson#vikings x reader#ivar the boneless#vikings ivar#ivar imagine#viking#hvitserk x reader#hvitserk ragnarsson#hvitserk lothbrok#ubbe ragnarsson#ubbe x reader#ubbe lothbrok#bjorn ironside#bjorn x reader#lagertha#Lagertha x reader
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