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pomegranates-and-blood · 4 years ago

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νοσταλγία (Chapter 31)

νοσταλγία Masterlist

Pairing: Ivar/Reader

Word Count: 5.3k

Warnings: The usual

A/N: Hope you like this one! There’s a greek dress mentioned, and it is inspired by this one and this one

Thank you for reading lovelies, please lemme know what you think! Love ya!

Taglist: @youbloodymadgenius @heavenly1927 @toe-vind-ek-jou @xbellaxcarolinax @pieces-by-me @angelofthorr @samsationalwilson @peachyboneless @1950schick @punkrocknpearls @ietss @itsmysticalmystery @revolution-starter @receptionistfromhell

The sun is starting to leave way for the moon when the door to the shop is opened again. Words about being closed are leaving Valdís’ lips but she catches the figure of the Prince and saves them.

Hvitserk greets her and Freydis with murmured kindness, and turns to you with questions and also an apology in his eyes. Reminded of the last time you saw him, when he left you in the training fields after angering his brother, you think he may feel guilty, so you offer a smile as you approach him.

“What is the matter?”

He offers only a half-hearted shrug around his easy smile, “I will let you guess.”

“The King calls for me.” You say in a sigh. The Prince laughs quietly, nodding his head.

“Yeah,” Hvitserk says, offering you your cloak from the hanger by the door, “You didn’t need your premonition for that, did you?”

As you walk away from the shop with Hvitserk by your side, you cannot help but asking, “Is something wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong, but…we must talk of war, and Ivar wants you to be there,” After a few moments of silence, you hear him speak again, pride shining through his tone, “My plan to avoid more losses than necessary when raiding Strepshire, it pulled through.”

“What do you mean?”

“I had contacts that had traveled to that city, some even that had been called to bring forth some of the Lord’s more…extravagant tastes.”

“Should I ask?” You ponder out loud, a small furrow of your nose. The Prince chuckles.

“No,” He sentences without hesitation. With a deep breath, he continues explaining, “Well, I discovered through these…merchants that the city has tunnels for the family, servants, and all the like.”

“Tunnels your brother can use. Tunnels Stithulf wants to use.” You breathe out, stopping dead in your tracks and facing Hvitserk with a growing smile on your face.

But he only shrugs in response, and explains, “You mentioned old stone, and it didn’t…make sense that the Saxons would depend so much on a fishing town.”

“You are brilliant.” You laugh, eyes wide.

Hvitserk shrugs, but you see him puff his chest at the praise. It is almost adorable.

With an arm going around your shoulders casually he offers,

“I had to be. Can’t have the Greek Priestess outsmarting all of us.” He teases with a smile, to which you roll your eyes. Hvitserk keeps his arm around your shoulders, and guides you all the way to the longhouse.

____

The Vikings prepare for a raid on Strepshire, with Hvitserk’s information being the last piece they were waiting for to take the city. A matter of two days, and they will set sail.

The brothers and their men are discussing war, and once again you are reminded, as the King speaks, of how brilliant Ivar is when it comes to battle and thinking like his enemy.

He discusses how to ambush them from their tunnels, how the ships should approach the city, how the brunt of the forces -the ones that will approach directly through the front gate- should ready for the attack; he talks about it all with a certainty and a glint in his eye that speaks of seeing the world differently than everyone else, and you find yourself enthralled.

Hvitserk calls out your name and you turn to him. He gestures with his hand,

“Do you have anything to say?”

You share a look with your husband, “Ivar already knows all I know of Stithulf’s army.”

Leaving the longhouse behind with certain steps, you eye the area around it for a small clearing of peace, Ivar trailing behind you. When you find it, you stop walking, turning around to meet Ivar’s eyes. After a moment of consideration, you smooth the ground underneath you with a sweep of your foot, and try imagining the formations in the earth.

“What are you doing?”

“You asked me to show you my people’s ways of war,” You reply without hesitation, not lifting your gaze of the ground, “I’m showing you.”

You feel his eyes on you, but eventually Ivar sighs and with a small sound of exertion lowers himself to a sitting position across from you.

“Narses always fought like a Byzantine, waged war like one too,” You recall the outskirts of Dublin with a small smile, and draw the first line, “But here he bent to Stithulf’s formations, he accommodated our people to fit his plans. It cost us everything.”

“You spoke of someone else, a man from the Mediterranean.”

“Acar, the mercenary. He’s commander of the Arab forces. They are going to be the first forces Stithulf will send to aid the city, I’m certain,” You start confidently, “They are the same men that have brought a large part of my homeland to heel.”

“How do you Greeks fight against them?” One of the Vikings asks, and you are forced to walk up to the map when an opening for you to do so is made, silently, between the warriors discussing.

You do not fail to notice you are made to stand on the other end of the table, across from Ivar. You meet his eyes for a moment, and he only bows his head, prompting you to go on. An encouragement, a promise you have a safe place to land, a reassurance he has your back.

You never realized how much you needed it, needed him; until the moment you had so many eyes on you, awaiting like beasts for the next move of the foreign witch, and found your heart settling its beat, your confidence strengthening, when he met your eyes and promised he trusted you, promised you he was listening, promised he was proud.

Resting one hand on the table and letting your eyes trace the letters of Strepshire’s name, you explain, “We don’t fight them in open fields. The cavalry will always push for flanking your formations, especially if you hold a shield wall, and if you hold a direct onslaught against them for too long, their infantry will make way for their cavalry to strike through no matter the cost. Avoid that, avoid…predictability.”

After a breath, you add, “There’s also warriors we called champions. They are precise and deadly; they were used in the Mediterranean to weaken an army’s morale, to disarm their plans.”

“How?”

You swallow past a dry throat before answering, “By killing the leaders, the heroes. They send their best not to thin the army’s numbers, but to cut off the army’s head.”

You find Ivar’s eyes and you realize now what the knot in the pit of your stomach that settled since you heard they were to raid Strepshire was. Fear.

Even the best fall in battle, even the best go to their Valhalla when their Gods cut off the thread of their fate. And you cannot help but fear Ivar will not return from that city, even if he survived Repton, York, and so much more.

You tell yourself you should feel shame at wanting to keep him alive, that you are believing his lies and your own by allowing yourself to care about him. You also know if he were to die, if Ivar weren’t to return, your status as a free woman -and your status as Queen, even if consort and nothing more- would be useful and you could leave Kattegat, return to the Greeks, never spend another day on this cold land.

You know all this, and still you fear, still you know when time for battle comes both their Gods and yours will hear prayers for protection.

Returning your eyes to the map on the table, you suppress a sigh. You were never nothing other than hopelessly foolish, were you?

____

Ivar told you to go ahead and retire for bed without him, and from the room where they discuss war you two went on different directions.

While you were changing, you eyed the red dress Thora had helped you make a few days ago, while she’d not-so-subtly prodded at Hvitserk’s doings. It is a light and simple dress, certainly not made for the harsh cold of Kattegat, but confectioning it was familiar and nostalgic, and even if only as a keepsake of your home, you made it to resemble a Greek summer dress.

Instead of the night dress you usually wear, you chose the soft red fabric, and for a moment, with your feet bare and your hair loose, you felt closer to Gods you did even while standing in their temple.

You now sit on the ground by one of the larger windows of your bedroom, a collection of flowers and branches around you as you work on a wreath, not so different, even if life has proven to be so, from when you were a child in Eleusis, a healer in the Silk Roads, a Hiereia in Attica.

In your mind you go over what was discussed tonight, you go over all the certainties the Viking’s planning gives you that this will turn out in a victory.

You knew before this you trusted Ivar, his instinct, his intellect, his eyes that see beyond what others’ do. But Gods, to hear him speak of war and battle so surely, to see his eyes turn cold and calculating, the eyes of a strategist, to hear his voice imposing and certain, the voice of a leader…it is something else entirely.

He accepted your words about the Arab champions with surprising ease, and with his eyes on Hvitserk he asked about the dimensions of those tunnels under Strepshire.

In a matter of moments, Ivar turned the tide and decided to let Stithulf’s men have the tunnels, certain the Saxon would send through those tunnels the Arab champions to take out the sons of Ragnar and their higher-ranking men. With but a moment of consideration, he’d found a way to outsmart them.

You still hear his voice in your head, stating confidently that the Arabs haven’t faced enough Vikings, that the Saxons may be used to tricks but the foreigners aren’t. It still sends a thrill down your spine, remembering his voice lower when he stated the last steps of his plan, remembering his smile as he looked at the map on the table, certain of victory and hungry for it.

You don’t know how long you spend here, working on the wreath of flowers, with each intertwining of the stems a plea to the Goddess of Spring that she lets winter hold for a while longer, with each drop of blood you let the roses draw from your fingers an offering to the Queen of the Dead that she doesn’t take him from you just yet.

Ivar walks into the room, but don’t lift your gaze from your work, only greeting him with a hum.

“That dress is different, did you make it?”

“Greek peplos,” You tell him, nodding, “Or, my best attempt at it, anyways.”

“You look…”

“Cold? Yeah, I’m freezing.” You still stay there, your feet bare on the cold wood and your fingers carefully tracing over the crown of flowers.

“Beautiful,” He corrects, before taking his eyes off you with a slight twitch of what you could swear is embarrassment in his expression. Ivar acquiesces, “But…yes, also cold.”

You have to bite your lip to keep yourself from smiling like an idiot. Not even reminding yourself that you are Queen, that you are a grown woman, that you are married to him could keep the stupid flutter of your heart.

“T-Thank you,” Is what you settle for saying. “I’ve missed wearing familiar clothes, to be honest. I feel closer to my Gods in this.”

“Ah, so you’re praying.”

You lift your gaze from your work, eyes narrowed, “I was there at the sacrifice, I honored your Gods. That doesn’t mean I won’t honor my own.”

He doesn’t fight you on it, and a part of you wonders why.

Ivar chooses not to say anything, and with practiced ease starts working on the buckles and fastenings of the braces on his legs.

“What are you praying for?” He asks after a few moments.

Time.

You keep your gaze on the flowers in your hands, strikingly reminded of the last time he left you behind to chase after war and death.

Through gritted teeth, you bite out, “I hope you know that if you don’t return, if…if you leave me alone here, I’ll find a way to make you regret it. You won’t rest in your Valhalla while I have breath, Viking, so don’t…don’t die.”

Ivar only smiles, eyebrows lifted.

“Are you threatening me?”

You hold his gaze, and swallow past a tight throat. You only ask one thing, “Don’t leave me alone here.”

In this kingdom, in this world, in this life.

“You’re not…scared for me, are you?” You say nothing, only glare at him from the corner of your eye. “Are you saying you’d mourn me if I died?”

What kind of question is that? You resist the urge to let your fear become venom, you bite back accusations of how he continues to be so blind to how much he means to you.

“Ah, so you notice I care for the monster that took me captive?” You say, though there’s lightness, mirth, in your taunt, “You are either insulting me by implying I am weak enough to pray for the life of a man I supposedly hate, or…you are admitting you were wrong.”

Ivar accepts your words with a shrug, and crawls to one of the cushioned settees near the bed. After a few moments, with his hand by his mouth, he admits,

“I…realize you were right.”

“So you were wrong.”

He frowns, “I didn’t say that.”

“But you were.”

Ivar rolls his eyes, an exaggerated gesture that only manages to make your smug smile wider.

Still, when you’re close enough, he extends a hand, beckoning you to him. And it is as easy as breathing, for you to take it and sit next to him, drawing your legs up underneath you, as if to protect vulnerable feet from the cold of Kattegat.

“Gods, woman, you’re freezing.” Ivar frowns, warm fingers closing over your own.

“What happens if those ships don’t return, Ivar?” You ask, your voice wobbling. You feel your breath quicken, and you are once again a child looking over the horizon of Eleusis, waiting for a navy that was never to return. “What happens if you don’t return?”

“Then you are free. Free of me, free of-…”

“Ivar.” You interrupt him, and it is all you can say. His expression softens, and he sighs.

“Do you want me to promise you that I will survive?” He asks, an edge of incredulity, of levity in his tone. As if he is trying to make you see the madness in your request.

It is in the hands of the Gods, you know this. You know you should not fear, you know you should not worry, you know you should do and feel and be many things.

But you still offer the shrug of one shoulder, and Ivar almost smiles.

After a breath, he acquiesces, “Better men have tried to kill me and failed.”

You accept his words, his strange form of reassurance, with a smile and a sigh that trembles past your lips.

After a few beats if silence, you ask, “You will come back before winter, won’t you?”

“Yes,” He assures you, but Ivar spares you a glance out of the corner of his eye, and offers, “If I don’t…”

“You will,” You sentence, interrupting him. You don’t even hear whatever words he tried speaking, words that spoke of the possibility of a winter alone here, if not a lot longer than that. After a moment, you offer, “If you don’t, you’re easy pickings for the Saxons. Dublin cannot hold if Stithulf regains his strength.”

You know you’re right, and Ivar knows it too. Still, he offers you a smirk, and taunts you, “And you are certain of this, wife?”

“Your arrival, your support, spared Dublin of capture, you know this. We had the upper hand,” You motion towards him with your chin in a taunt, your lips pulled into a smile that dares him, “Even with your mighty army, Ivar the Boneless, us Greeks made you falter.”

“Arrogant.” He accuses, but he still smiles, dark and proud.

“We were hungry and cold, far from home,” You remind him, “But we made you change tactics a few times, didn’t we?”

“We weren’t going to lose.”

“No, I know that. It was Fated that it ended the way it did,” You shrug, “But we made you fight for it.”

You could swear Ivar’s smile turns softer, more secret. He lifts the hand he holds to his lips, and presses a soft kiss to your fingers.

“That you did.”

As he is to drop your hand back, his eyes focus on the small wounds you sport on your fingertips. A drop of blood trails slowly down your ring finger, and Ivar hesitates only for a moment before he brings your hand to his mouth again, only this time to lick off the offending drop.

Your breath catches in your throat, and in the hungry and proud smile he sends your way you see the faint stain of red. The only thought in your head for a moment is the need to taste that blood off his lips.

You quieten those thoughts, using that same hand to shove playfully at the side of his face. Ivar snorts a laugh, but you could swear his eyes are darker when he looks back at you.

Your own eyes are drawn to the slight smear of blood you leave on his pale skin and…Gods, what wouldn’t you do to be able to close the distance and lick it off.

But you force yourself to also let go of those thoughts, and you let your smile dim as silence reigns between you again. Your eyes trace the wreath of flowers that lays there near one of the windows, an evidence of your prayers, an evidence of your weakness and your fear.

An evidence that your heart isn’t yours anymore.

If it ever was.

You cannot keep yourself from remembering his words yesterday, his accusations that you were somehow playing with his head, with…

Before your thoughts get ahead of you, you ask, “Do you truly believe I’ve been playing with you?”

Ivar looks ahead as he considers his answer, leaves you to watch his profile and the way the dim lights of the room play with the angles of his face.

“If you’d been playing with me, you wouldn’t have fought the way you did.” He tells you finally, but there’s words he isn’t saying.

“And I’m not fighting anymore,” You offer, earning a half-hearted shrug from him, and nothing else. An exasperated yet fond smile curves at your lips, and you sigh, “I told you before, your own thoughts are what drives you mad most of the time.”

The smile Ivar offers is one purely for your benefit, tired and bitter and gone in an instant.

For a moment he lowers his gaze to your joined hands, distractedly brushes over a small cut on your finger. His gaze is enthralling even if his eyes still don’t meet yours, and there’s a fragile sort of vulnerability written into the way he holds himself that makes you pause.

“In all my life, nothing…nothing has come easy,” He explains quietly. After a moment, he offers another flickering smile, though this one does speak of softness, “You certainly didn’t either, but lately things are different, and I can’t help but think it a…a vision, a mirage, that once I get close enough to having will just…vanish.”

He finishes his sentence with a gesture of his hand, and your eyes follow the movement with a dull ache in your heart.

You’re suddenly a chained and wrathful Priestess again, sitting across the table from your captor and having him share very similar words, “Nothing has come easy in my life, and since I was a child I would always ask the Gods why.”

You still don’t have an answer, though you wish you did.

You do have the certainty that this isn’t a trick, that this isn’t something easily lost. Never could be.

And looking into his eyes, meeting your fear with his own, both so different from each other; you decide to let go of pretenses and masks, if only for a moment.

If only for a brief, stupid moment of courage.

It won’t vanish. I love you.

You let your hand cup the side of his face, your thumb caressing the scar you are so smitten by. Keeping your eyes on Ivar’s, you lean closer, silently begging that this is not wrong, that this is not another mistake.

His skin warms under your touch, and you watch with baited breath his lips part in innocent anticipation as you grow closer and closer. Ivar’s eyes travel to your own lips, before anxiously returning to meet your gaze again, looking more lost and vulnerable than you ever thought you would see him.

Deciding to listen to your heart, you press your lips softly against his, closing your eyes and letting the electricity and the warmth take control over your body.

Ivar’s sharp intake of breath through his nose, the way he tenses under your touch and almost freezes at the affection is not strange to you any longer, and it doesn’t deter you.

You move your mouth over his, the hand on the side of his face urging him close with as much tenderness as you can have when your heart beats like it wants to leave your chest and burrow into his.

When you pull back, his mouth chases after yours, and Ivar leans forward as if a thread tied you two together. You allow yourself a smile, tremulous and girlish as it is.

His eyes open slowly, as if awakening from a dream, and his breath leaves his parted lips quickly as he gazes back at you. A few moments go by, breaths shared and your heart beating fast and thrilled in your chest.

A challenge, really, to see who yields first, who admits to craving the touch of the other’s lips, who offers and who accepts or rejects.

The Gods may have made you arrogant but they didn’t make you stupid, and you’ve known for a while this is where you were headed, this is where you wanted to be.

Doesn’t mean you’ll admit it, at least not like this.

Surprisingly, it is Ivar who caves first.

“Kiss me.” He breathes out. A dare, a command, a plea.

And you do, with no hesitation this time.

Ivar kisses you back hungrily, deeply and desperately, demanding with teeth and tongue what you give freely.

His strong hand grabs onto your wrist tightly, keeping your caressing touch on his face, while the other finds a home in the back of your head, gripping onto the loose strands of your hair.

It feels like it is the first time you’ve kissed him -been kissed by him, been kissed at all- and yet it feels like the electrifying touch of his lips on yours is a dance as old as time itself.

There’s a tremble in your hand when you hold on to the fabric over his chest, there’s an urgency in his hands as he pulls you closer; but there’s an ease to the way you straddle him, there’s an intimacy in the way he breathes your name over your lips.

You lose track of time in the heady feeling of his lips on yours. One of his hands grabs at the side of your jaw, tilting your head to meet his kiss, the other settles roughly on your ass, bringing you down against him, drawing you closer, closer, closer.

You gasp his name against his lips, breaths labored when you rest your brow against his, heart beating wildly in your chest when you meet his eyes.

You smile, breathless and a little mad.

But Ivar looks at you like someone who just realized stands at the edge of a precipice. His eyes widen, and he pushes you off him, however shakily.

Rejection burns, it burns and scalds and your lips part but no words leave them. You can only stand there, cold and hesitant, and watch as he scrunches his face in reluctance, in hesitation, in anger.

Ivar lifts a hand to the back of his head, avoiding your eyes with a twitch of anger, of shame.

“You know I can’t…I can’t do this.”

You stare back at him, heart still beating fast and cold taking over you. However slighted you were by his abrupt rejection, however scared you are of your own feelings, however torn you are about the things you want; all of it pales when you see the expression in Ivar’s face.

When you learned Laconia was free, when Fate released you of the strings holding you by the throat and you threatened to break at the seams; you clung to Ivar like he was the one thing keeping you in this world, and past the unsteadiness of his legs that at the moment you couldn’t think of, maybe out of sheer will and strength alone, he stabbed the wooden floor and kept you upright, didn’t let you fall, didn’t let you break.

And the same certainty flows through you, the same steeled resolve, the same drive to grant safety and comfort and peace.

And so you don’t hesitate when you step closer again, one of your hands tentatively settling on his shoulder, the other, as if half of you was braver than the other, reaches for the side of his jaw, thumb going back and forth over the scar under his eye.

“This doesn’t have to be anything other than…this.”

You lean down and bring his mouth to yours, softly. It surprises you and delights you in equal measure, how easily Ivar surrenders to your kiss, how pliantly he leans to meet the touch of your mouth on his.

When you part, his eyes open slowly, and the absolutely enthralled expression on his face as he stares up at you sends a rush of heat through you.

But, after a moment the daze disappears. And he still grits his teeth, his eyes still jump from place to place, and he still insists, “I…can’t give you what you need, what you want.”

You shake your head, unwavering. You once again wonder which one of you is the bewitched one, when with but a look Ivar makes secrets spill from your lips, when with nothing but his touch he makes invisible bindings release you.

“What I need is you,” You whisper. Your hand on his shoulder lowers, presses softly over the center of his chest, and you lean your brow against his, never taking your eyes off his, “What I want is this.”

You wouldn’t have believed yourself to be brave enough to, even after the words leave your lips, and with the truth you tried ignoring is looking right at you; not falter, to not feel the instinct to pull back, to return to secrets and safety.

There’s no hiding you’ve wondered what the cost would be to give in, hoped maybe he would give in and so you would be able to have this without the guilt of having chosen it.

There’s no hiding you wished to just forget for a moment there’s a world past him and accept that maybe it was Fate after all, that maybe this borrowed time is a chance to live another life.

Your fingers digging into the wooden pillar of the home are the one thing that keeps you upright as you confess, the last breath of an already dead woman: “I wish I never returned here. I wish…I wish I had gone with you to Kattegat, like you said we could. I wish I could have lived another life, móðir.”

The life that should have been, maybe.

Maybe that is why it is so easy to accept his hands on your hips bringing you back to him with a gentleness that almost surprises you, maybe that is why it feels like home when you straddle him and put your arms over his shoulders, maybe that is why it feels like your heart beats in synch with another’s when Ivar leans his head against your chest and sighs.

Your hands trace over his back, his shoulders, you cannot help it. You find yourself almost giddy with the realization you can now touch as much as you want to, as much as he will let you.

A voice in the back of your mind reminds you that pretend as you wish, you are aware you could have had this, or something so much closer to this than the scraps you’ve been living off of, much earlier.

Ivar says something, but you do not hear it, and you ask him with a hum of question to speak again.

You feel his shoulders rise and fall with a deep breath, “You’re what I need too,” He breathes, before moving so that he presses a kiss right over your heart. Your breath catches in your throat and your hand moves to the back of his neck before you even realized you’ve moved. He smiles against the red fabric of your dress, and offers, “What I want, too.”

It is yours.

But you can’t say that. He will be taking your heart all the way to England with him, and you wish you could relent and let him know of that, if only to give him the task to bring it back to you.

You don’t make any attempt to move, and he doesn’t either. Your fingers tire of aimless wandering, and you silently take up the task of undoing his braids.

You could swear he leans more of his weight against you as you work your fingers through his hair.

You once prayed for the borrowed time you’re living on to last a lifetime, and as you sit there, his arms around your waist, his face pressed against your chest, you don’t see why it couldn’t be so. Why you couldn’t stretch time however you want it to. You have no doubt you could, as long as you can remain with him holding you like this, letting you hold him like this.

After a small lifetime, you whisper, “We should go to bed.”

Ivar hums an agreement, but it takes a few more breaths before he leans back. His hair falls loosely behind him, pliant and soft after you lost track of time running your fingers through it, and you find yourself smiling, lovesick and foolish, at the proof of your work.

That night you don’t sleep. You talk, and kiss, and touch, and discover. And you make out of the borrowed time you live on a small eternity.

____

Sooooooo...? :)

#ivar the boneless x reader #ivar x reader #ivar the boneless imagine #ivar the boneless #ivar #νοσταλγία masterlist

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conaionaru · 4 years ago

Text

The Drowned girl

No fear

Synopsis: Siggy leaves Kattegat for the first time, setting out on a journey of a lifetime. But of course danger follows as well

Warnings: violence, shit parenting (Bjorn), child abandonment, language, canon divergence

Tags:

@pieces-by-me

I don’t own the gifs.

Siggy stood at the side of the ship, holding onto a rope for stability. The wind ruffled her neatly braided hair and her new cloak. Floki stood proudly at the head of the boat, watching all his ships sail to Kattegat's docks so everyone else can come aboard as well.

Never before did she feel so light; all those times she leaped off high places was nothing compared to this. She felt like soaring in the sky, leaving behind Kattegat and all its shadows.

The people on the docks looked so small from up here, just spots that would soon be left behind. With a grin, she ran past the other sailors and Floki. "Siggy!" Warned Helga while the girl sprinted up the dragon's head and jumped onto the docks, giggling like a madwoman.

The docks were packed with people saying goodbye to their families. She could see Bjorn and his family, as well. How she loathed them all, looking happy and like a proper family. Someone nudged her shoulder.

Floki wiggled his eyebrows at her and jerked his head towards the Ragnarssons and Aslaug. "Say goodbye to Sigurd. We will not wait for you forever." Siggy rolled her eyes at him and skipped over to Sigurd.

The snake-eyed prince grinned at her and waited for her to reach him finally. "Don't die stupidly." He whispered into her ear in the middle of their tight hug. Siggy nodded against his neck and gripped his tunic tighter.

"You won't survive a day without me, Uncle Sigurd." He hit her over the head and glared at the title he hated so much.

"Go. The sight of you disgusts me."

"At least I don't look like a flock of raven's attacked my hair."

Sigurd touched his hair and glared at her remark. His hair was a touchy subject for him. Truth be told, it wouldn't be so touchy if he used a comb once in a while. But Siggy hates that torture device as well, so she won't judge too much.

"Be safe, Little Sig."

"You too, Sig."

She turned on her head and walked back to the boat, shouldering past Bjorn, who watched her with dark eyes. He always observed her, especially when she was happy. It seemed to offend him to some extent. But that was his problem.

Siggy watched the world pass by, the gentle breeze like a lover's touch against her face - adventures first caress. "Off to Rome, we go." Helga chuckled at her side and ruffled her hair affectionately, joining Floki and Bjorn at the brow. Hvitserk threw an apple at her head, snickering when it hit her in the ear.

"And here I thought I could suffer you for longer," Siggy complained and stormed after him, twirling around the mast and people as Bjorn barked at them to calm down. He must be regretting taking them with him.

The blonde run-up to the mast and climbed up using a rope as support. Taking a deep breath, Siggy closer her eyes, and enjoyed the more windy place. She could hear Helga warning her to be careful and Floki giggling as she stood on top of the sail.

Slowly she opened her eyes and grinned at the beautiful sight before her. The clear water with loads of boats on it seemed like the perfect place to be. She was meant to be here all along. Sailing the world and proving to the gods that she deserved to live. "Try to strike me down now..."

For all the love for traveling, Siggy felt, sailing there just took too long. Frankia was just within reach, and she had no desire to see Rollo. Floki talked of him sometimes - the traitor to his kind. What good would the man be? Raiding the towns and murdering those who attacked would be easier than striking a deal.

"Are you going to try and contact uncle Rollo?"

The silence that followed Hvitserk question sent shivers down Siggy's spine. Bjorn made his decision long ago, and no matter how everyone disapproved, he won't change it.

The Frankish boats met them head-on, warning bells tolling in Paris to announce their coming. When they docked, Bjorn chose men to go with him to meet with Rollo. To her great annoyance, Siggy was left behind because she can't "behave," whatever that's supposed to mean.

"If we get attacked, we will need all the fighters we can," Helga whispered to her, trying to brighten up her mood.

"And if they attack the envoys? What then?" Siggy seethed, watching the enemy soldiers lead everyone to the palace.

"Then Floki will fight his way out. You have not seen them fight. They will be alright." The young volva sighed and walked to the boat, and take out her arrows to sharpen them. It was a lie; Siggy had seen Floki fight. And Bjorn too.

Whenever Bjorn came over to visit Floki and Helga, Siggy sneaked off to spend some time alone. But the sun was already setting, and she felt lonely. Sigurd was sick, so he was home with Aslaug and Ivar. Floki was busy with the plans for the boats.

She wanted to train to become a great shieldmaiden. If she was meant to travel the world, as Floki said, she had to become the best fighter out there. Not cook or collect herbs with Helga.

Her destiny was laid out on the water and foreign lands, not in the forests of Kattegat. But at least the knowledge of herbs was useful for something. Making a sacrifice to the gods, for instance.

With a small skinny knife, she cut off bark from an oak and brought it to her little pyre made of twigs and dry grass. She lit the fire using two stones and blew into the flames, hoping the fire would grow.

When the flame was big enough, she stopped blowing and stepped back, looking at her gathered ingredients. "Oak for strength, Edelwise for courage, Sage for wisdom, and Dill to protect me from evil." One by one, she threw the items in.

The fire would bring the offerings to the gods, and they would protect her from now on. They have been cruel to her until now - abandoning her just like her parents, nearly letting her die. All because she was never acknowledged by her father - a bastard in everyone's eyes.

But that would change the moment she became famous; she would be like Ragnar. Then no one could call her a freak, failure, or insult her. They would all cheer for her, praise her and talk stories of her to their children. She wouldn't be Crazy Siggy or Siggy the Drowned girl. Instead, she could be Siggy the Great or Siggy Mighty.

The gods would accept her sacrifice and protect her from then on. She was a descendant of Odin, just like Ragnar. The gods should be on her side as well; she was a Völva and never turned her back on them! With a swift cut, Siggy cut open her palm and dripped the blood onto the fire.

"Hail All-father, Wise Warrior,

One-eyed wanderer, Come sit at my fire.

Tell me of your wisdom stories,

The scenes your missing eye sees. You who chooses the slain,

Look on my deeds and when my time comes

To run the sky with you,

Let my end be worthy of song.

In the meantime, let me feel

Excitement and poetry and fury and joy,

Let me understand sacrifice,

Think long, Remember well, And Journey Far.

Odin, Witness this."

The fire sizzled as Siggy watched it burn to the last amber, ignoring the world around her. She could feel herself grow lightheaded, and her ears grow deaf as she slowly faded. Her now milky white eyes watched the fire turn to ashes.

The scenery changed to a great ship out on the water, all alone as the water seemed to boil around it. Steam concealed everything around the vessel as thunder boomed above. On the boat stood a man made of light bound with chains sailing towards his doom.

Laughter broke her away from her vision as hands tugged at her neckline. Siggy startled and tried to break away from the dirty hands; three men stood around her. The one that was pulling on her tunic grinned, showing his rotten black teeth to her.

Siggy did her best to wretch away from him or stab him with the blade, but another man stepped on her hand. A crunch and a stab of pain made her cry out and pull her hand with two broken fingers to herself. The last one laughed at her panic and hit her own over her head to make her stop resisting.

When they were about to rip her tunic off an axe, hit him in the back of his head. Siggy shrieked in fright, and as he fell on top of her, blood seeping from his mortal wound. The two remaining men drew their weapons but were cut down as easily as their friend.

To her surprise, Bjorn beheaded the last man as Floki pulled the corpse off her. She shook on her spot and looked at the frantic man with tearful eyes. "What were you thinking wandering so far away? We told you there were berserkers in the woods."

She choked on her words and clung to him, rocking from side to side. He wiped the blood from her face with his thumbs, shushing her crying. Bjorn glared at her and stomped in front of her.

"Are you completely stupid?! Do you have any idea what they could have done to you? Your stupid fire attracted them here!"

"Quiet, Bjorn!" Floki snapped and made Siggy look at him.

Tears streamed down her face, her lips trembling in the aftershock. She leaned closer and whispered so the Ragnarsson wouldn't hear. "I made a sacrifice to the gods. I just wanted them to help me. So I could be a great traveler like you said I would."

Floki tutted at her and pulled her closer, hiding her face in his chest. Bjorn fumed behind them and gathered the men's weapons so no one else would find them. "I had a vision. I am sorry."

The boatbuilder pulled her back and shook her head slightly to make her pay attention. "There is nothing wrong with your visions. They are gifts from the gods, no matter how heavy of a burden they might seem. But never wander off so far without telling us. Do you hear me, Siggy?"

She nodded and let him pick her up like she was weightless. For such a skinny twig, Floki was strong from all the heavy work. She rested her chin on his shoulder, watching the dead bodies on the grass. Never before did she see someone fight like Bjorn. His fighting style was nothing like Floki's. It disgusted her how it intrigued her - how much she wanted to fight like him.

Siggy was growing antsy. The envoys have been gone for too long for her liking. So when she could hear footsteps from her spot on a tree, she notched her arrow and waited for the intruder to arrive. "Don't even try it, Little Menace."

She jumped from the tree and landed in front of Floki, grinning. Her eyes drifted to the tall stranger that joined them. He looked ridiculous in his orange tunic. "Who is the princeling?"

"My name is Rollo, Duke of Normandy."

Siggy looked at Floki with her head tilted to the side in confusion. "He is joining us. Now be quiet." Bjorn commanded and walked past her, not sparing her a glance.

"I hope the traitor slits your throat first!" She spun around and hit her chest with her fist, glaring at his retreating back. Helga took her by the shoulders and asked her how she has been, complimenting the yellow tunic that she changed into.

Of course, Helga didn't need to know that she only had to change because her old tunic was covered in mud from faceplanting into it. No one had to know that, in fact.

When the boats set sail again, Siggy watched the brother of Ragnar with wary eyes. He looked laughable in his clothes. So when Bjorn gave an order to drown him, she actually giggled in glee.

They pulled in the oars and tied up his hands and feet. Everyone watched as he was thrown in. Siggy enjoyed the view from the ship's head, Floki right under her. They pulled at both sides of the rope, trapping him under the boat, and halted at Bjorn's signal.

Siggy felt giddy at the thought of death so near her, even if there was not gonna be any blood. She will take what she gets and enjoy it too.

"Pull him up!"

Damn it, Bjorn! Siggy groaned and pouted at the boatbuilder, who looked as let down as her. When they pulled the traitor back up, he laid still before retching up the water that entered his lungs. Siggy pouted harder and jumped over his body as Bjorn gave the order to row. She could hear Rollo laughing but paid him no mind. Using Hvitserk's shoulder as support, she climbed back up the mast and watched the sixty ships sail away from the castle.

They dressed him in leather as if he didn't cause the deaths of many Vikings and betray his own blood. When it was time to eat, Siggy climbed from her seat and sat down next to Helga and Floki. She watched his back as he stood next to Bjorn. She didn't know who she hated more. Floki always spoke of Rollo as scum that deserved to die. And she saw Bjorn the same way.

Maybe it was a blood thing? Rollow betrayed Ragnar and the Vikings, Ragnar betrayed the Vikings, and Bjorn betrayed her. Hopefully, Aslaug gave the other Ragnarssons some sense.

Passing by Hvitserk munching on an apple, she jumped on the edge of the boat and balanced over it. "Be careful. You don't know how to swim."

Rollo turned around and watched her dance on top of the wooden edge, dipping her toes in happily. "You don't know how to swim?"

"And you don't know how to be loyal. We all have our faults, Rollo." The man chuckled and observed her. She was a mystery to him; by her age, she couldn't be Floki's and Helga's daughter. Angrboða died as a child, and this one was too old to have been born after her. And the way she beat her chest when angry seemed so familiar to him.

She nearly tipped over into the water but steadied herself and strode on fearlessly. "It would be fun if I drowned. Like the original Siggy."

The blood in his veins grew cold at that. He hadn't heard the name; the last time he did, Bjorn's daughter was born. This annoying little madwoman couldn't be Bjorn's Siggy.

The blonde teenager twirled around on her toes and gripped a rope in her hands. She wrapped it around her throat and gasped mockingly. "Or maybe I could hang myself instead. Be original and spice it up."

"Stop fooling around!" Bjorn's voice boomed from behind them, and Siggy's features darkened. Now that she was angry, they looked so much alike. "For once in your life, be responsible and act your age!"

Jumping off the edge, she glared at him, fists clenched tightly by her sides. Helga ran to her and tried to calm down, but it was to no vain. When she spoke, her voice was icy and colder than the first frost in Kattegat used to be. "I am acting my age, your Highness. I am fifteen, as you would know if you cared enough. I always wondered why my mother left."

Bjorn pushed his shoulders back to scare her into shutting up. But it didn't work one bit; all it did was make her talk louder for all to hear. "Maybe I was an ugly baby or cried too much. But I am sure the problem wasn't me. I mean... How could she ever suffer to be near you? You are angry, unloyal, neglectful, and stupid. No wonder she left! I would have done the same!"

"That is enough! You will treat me with respect!"

"I will do no such thing, you fucking oaf!"

"You little-"

Floki cut in between them and smiled uneasily. "Don't do something you might regret, Bjorn. Friend or not, you will not touch Siggy." It always amazed Rollo how menacing someone as skinny as Floki can look. It must be the wild look in his eyes and the deranged mind.

With a huff, Bjorn turned away and stalked towards the head of the ship, his back turned to the still fuming blonde. Siggy stood there glaring at him; face stuck between anger and sadness. Everyone stared at her as Helga tried to calm her down, but nothing helped.

That is until Floki turned to her and cupped her cheek, patting her on it while tutting at her. "You will scare off all the men like this. How are we ever meant to get rid of you then, huh? And here I was hoping to get a castle for you."

Siggy turned her brooding blue eyes at his, shining the say way Ragnar's used to do. "Floki!" She scoffed and hit him over the side of the head, feigning to be insulted. "What man would be stupid enough to want me?"

"There are lots of deranged men out there." Floki joked, giggling.

"Speaking from experience, are you, Old man?"

The boatbuilder snickered again and took her by the shoulders, leading her back to their sleeping place. "Who are you calling old, huh? I am younger than I have ever been."

"Keep telling yourself that."

Hvitserk came to her later, eating like always. He ate from her share of food while she repainted the markings on her face. She had taken up to the art after she wanted to impress Floki. A child really, probably twelve or so. Back then, it looked bad, but with some practice, she got better. Now she can do it, still half asleep with her eyes closed.

"Didn't think you were a flower kind of girl." Glaring at him, she tried to grasp what he meant but then sighed. In her lap laid the flower Sigurd gave her as a parting gift.

"Bay flower means glory. It was a wish for me to wet my blade with blood and gain the people's respect."

"Aaah, so it's from Sigurd."

"No, Hvitserk. It's from your latest conquest. She cried when she gave it to me. Said I was far better than you ever were."

Hvitserk chuckled and leaned closer to her. "Why? Is your cock bigger than mine?"

"As long and thick as the mast behind you." She teased back, smirking, putting away her paint to steal back her food from him. He laughed at her boldness, patting her on the head as one might do to a dog.

Hvitserk left her to sit by Bjorn and Rollo, who tried to make sense of where they were. So Siggy made her way to her parents, who were having an argument.

"No, Helga."

"Yes. I need something more from this life."

"But not a child. Don't you remember?"

"Of course, I remember. How would I not remember?"

"There won't be a "this time." I have set my face against it. I do not want another child. Siggy is enough."

Floki stalked off, and Siggy watched Helga sob with sad eyes. It tore at her heart to see her sad. "Are you alright, Helga?"

The woman looked at her and sniffled before opening her blanket and waving her to herself. Siggy settled against her chest, her head tucked under her chin. "I am sorry."

"'Tis, alright. I have you. My pretty little warrior." The blonde gave a timid smile and hugged her mother closer. If her presence could give her some solace, Siggy would gladly look like a child in need of its mother to the other warriors. If anyone voiced it, well, they would die, of course.

#vikings #history vikings #vikings imagine #Siggy Bjornsdottir #Siggy #sigurd ragnarsson #sigurd snake in the eye #Sigurd #floki #helga

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rosepetals-flyingbirds · 5 years ago

Text

Blue Eyes. 8

With: Ghost!Ivar x Reader.

Word Count: 4,484.

Note: That is my favorite chapter.

Laid behind the biggest tree where Ivar could have a good vision of the area -in any case someone gets close- you were watching his face since your body was almost above his and it gave you all the details you loved so much.

Your head on his right shoulder with your face near his, your finger tracing slowly his cheek up and down, Ivar likes to say you truly mesmerize him, but sometimes you think it’s the other way around. “Ivar?”

With his eyes closed and a grin he hummed. “Mmm?”

“Can we talk about your brothers?”

Ivar has barely mentioned them. You know he was the younger and the oldest wasn’t his mother’s son, it was Ragnar’s first marriage. “Why?”

He opened his eyes and looked at you, making his lips almost touch your own.

“I don’t know, I guess I want to know about everything… Sigurd was the one that killed you… do you hate him?” It was a delicate topic but glad you hadn’t to walk on eggshells with Ivar.

Shrugging Ivar started to move making you grunt when it made your loved perfect position end. “I don’t know, maybe not.”

“Do you think that is why you got locked? To find forgiveness on your ruthless heart?”

“Ruthless heart?”

“Well, you did pretty much bad things back in the day.”

“I guess, it was my fault.” Placing your elbow in the tree root you looked at him close by, searching his eyes. “I started the fight, and I would have killed him if it wasn’t the way around.” He simply stated, apparently the years alone taught him something.

“Do you regret it?” Ivar moved so he could lie on his side, looking up at you he shook his head.

“No.” He sincerely answered and you tried to win a few extra words, he wouldn’t declare his heart, in his mind, he has been doing this much lately.

Smirking you tried either way. “Why?”

He chuckled and got back on his previous position staring at the trees leaves avoiding your eyes. “You know why, you Christian.”

“Girls likes words, Heathen. And I mean, has anyone else around to make you feel emasculated.”

Ivar tried to understand the word but he couldn’t find a idea of what it actually meant. “What?”

“Normally when men want to say something cute they don’t because they are too scared to hear any nicknames from their friends.”

Ivar smiled at the stupidity. “That is stupid.”

“It’s.” You stated and lifted your hand to touch his forearm. “Especially because you don't have friends." You joked. "But still…” Trancing your finger up and down you looked at him pouting.

Rolling his eyes he looked at you with a serious expression. “Okay. Y/N Y/L/N I love you, and even that I spent years, and I mean years! Here, alone, sad, and mad!” He exclaimed but took a deep breath avoiding your eyes, he was too nervous to say it looking at you. “I wouldn’t change a thing, because you make me truly happy.”

With an ear to ear smile you laid back and passed your leg around his waist.

“Awn! See?! It wasn’t that hard!” You lifted your hand and squeezed his face.

Ivar grinned and felt relaxed by your touch, he could easily become used to it, but stopped when he didn’t hear any word leaving you pretty mouth. “Don’t ‘awn’ me! It makes me feel emascula- emascu…” He didn’t remember the word you used.

“Emasculated!”

“I would ask what that means but I really don’t care.” He shrugged and looked at you, who was too fascinated by the number of eyelashes he had to say something else. “Well?”

Tracing his upper lip you smiled at the urgency he used. “What?”

“You need to tell me back!”

“Tell what?” You played coy and Ivar’s nostrils flared with his lips going into a thin line.

“Oh, yeah… Ivar, I love you. You make me feel… Like a protagonist in some sort of goth book for teenagers.”

Scoffing he grabbed your hand to stop wandering over his cold skin. “No no no I want more.”

“I said too much already.” A mischievous idea came into his mind and he started to tickle you making you try your hardest to not scream and take any attention to your locality. “Okay okay okay.” Calming down you looked at his hands raising yours to hold his just to make sure he wouldn’t ‘attack’ you again. “I love you and it’s sad that you are dead because you’re the first person I think when something good happens to me, you are the first one I want to talk didn’t matter if its 3 at afternoon or 3 in the morning. And also my impossible dream is to travel the world with you because I don’t believe it would be nice or pretty without you by my side.”

A blush came to his face and his lips quickly found yours, the kiss was messy because he couldn’t stop smiling. “That is better.”

A Few Days Later.

Another funeral was being made and you wanted to watch, of course you didn’t stand near the family because they would surely want privacy. Ivar was by your side and even if he watched funerals thousands of times he was seeing with different eyes.

You were so sorry about the situation that Ivar’s words went unnoticed. “I would come back to you.”

“What?”

The person being buried was a woman who got into a car accident, her husband was crying and Ivar sensed his pain.

“I would come back to you.” He repeated making you understand his deep meaning. “Somehow, I would find a way.”

You gave him a side smile and looked at your hands before glancing back at the scene. “How?”

He shrugged and lowered his eyebrows on deep thought, he didn’t know how. “I don’t believe they would take me now.”

He said somehow relieved, but felt a pinch at his heart thinking that the gods wouldn’t take him now, and maybe never. He was cursed to watch you die and he knew it would kill him. Just the idea of seeing a stone with your name on it... brought tears to his eyes.

You grabbed his hand and held onto both of yours giving him a reassuring smile, you didn’t know what to say and it was better to not bring any attention to you, since people could spot you talking 'alone’.

At the end of the day, you went home to take a shower and see if your father was okay before going back to the cemetery, since they wouldn’t finish the crypt work you took an inflatable mattress there a few days prior, it was definitely more comfortable than the bare floor.

You and Ivar had made sex other times and each one was becoming better.

Currently it wouldn’t happen since you were on your period, but either way, just sleeping his side was great.

Which worried you because you would certainly miss it when the work finish and the crypt become “occupied.”

Which day was great, once a guy tried to approach you which you politely declined, but as men don’t listen, he just backed off when you literally said: “I’m not interested, and if I have or haven’t a boyfriend is none of your business. Just because men can’t listen unless has another male on the story doesn’t make it right for you to bother me. Now if you excuse me, I have job to do.” The guy gulped and murmured something as “PMS” and walked away.

Ivar was surprised yet proud of your answer, he wanted to hear you calling him your boyfriend -how he wish you would call him husband- but he knew the guy was stupid enough and would make stupid jokes.

2 Weeks Later.

Eating your lunch you looked at Ivar watching the movie on your phone.

Ivar never ate around you. “Had you tried to eat?”

He shrugged but didn’t take his eyes off the device. “I don’t feel the urge to.” He shook his head but didn’t look at you to not lose his concentration in the medieval old movie. “No.”

“But have you tried?”

You grabbed your fork and filled with food. You pointed to his mouth and placed your other hand under the fork to make sure it wouldn’t feel on the floor.

“Here.” Knowing it would do no bad Ivar placed his mouth over the fork and chewed the food swallowing right after.

You looked excited and waited for his answer. “So?”

His face contorted like he had just eaten a lemon. “It tastes like sand.”

“What? How?“

He tried to get rid of the taste. “I will never do it again.”

Shrugging you kept eating your delicious food, even though your loved friend didn’t like it. “Well, at least it didn’t fell in the floor.“

“Why it would fell on the floor?“ Ivar asked confused.

“You know, you are a ghost and blah blah.“

“Y/N my prick literally entered you. It wouldn’t be food that would make me disappear.“ Choking on your food you started to cough, Ivar smirked at that, the fucker loved to make you blush.

When you calmed down and drank a bit of water you punched his shoulder. “You know, if I die you know I won't join you in here.“ You pointed and he apologized with a smirk.

Blushing at his words you giggle feeling shy.

Stupid feelings.

Mr.Hogh had made a quick travel letting the place only with you, gladly the city was on a holiday and almost everyone traveled.

Enjoying the quietness you laid next to Ivar under your favorite tree and you two talked until the sleep caught you.

While you were deep in your slumber Ivar was watching you, you were laid near him, your head on his shoulder. He played softly with your hair locks and his thoughts ran wild.

He was worried, you would die eventually. He hoped it would be later than sooner, but would you grow old living only for him?

Locked in a town you wanted to leave so badly before? He couldn’t allow that.

“What do you do when I leave? Aren’t you tired? Matter fact what will happen when I die?”

But he also couldn’t get alone again, Ivar was between I love her and want her to be happy, and I love her but she is the only one and maybe that is why I allowed to fell for a Christian.

Ivar took a deep breath and tried to enjoy the moment, he could worry about the future later on.

Your father became better and with that Jane started to make more night shifts rather than the daytime. And with that you slept in the cemetery more often, you never felt so grateful for the city contributions getting low because with that they didn’t manage to finish the crypt.

The moon was glowing and you were laid on Ivar’s chest. His arms interlaced around you and he was telling you who was the moon. That it was a woman and all of her ambitions. You were fascinated one more time by his stories and soothing voice explaining so.

A hint of sadness got into you, you were truly happy to be with Ivar. But then the thoughts of growing old working only on a place made you sad, it was nice but it would always be like that.

Even a few thoughts of children came to your mind, it wasn’t something you were desperate to have, but eventually?

Maybe?

But a ghost wouldn’t "knock you up", and if it did, well it would surely bring a few problems.

But for now on it was great. You accommodated to his cold body against yours, to his voice so near you. It was all fine.

A few hours later you were asleep and Ivar was just gazing at you. He was truly mesmerized.

He heard a lighting and titled his head, the weather wasn’t rainy or anything.

Ivar saw a raven ran near him, he hadn’t seen one in ages. Then another flew by.

He adjusted his body waking you up in the process, Ivar was staring at nothing and you asked what happened, worried if some stranger entered the place and found you asleep. “Can you see it?”

Looking around you couldn't spot a different thing. Ivar was seeing the ravens flying near each other while a few more flew to their reach. “Ravens.”

Confusedly you tried to follow his gaze, Ivar got to his feet and you did too completely worried. Ivar felt something gripping on his body, his head started to ache and he felt a bloody taste in his tongue. “Ivar?”

He walked ahead trying to reach the birds that joined more and more. The ravens quadrupled and soon enough their feathers were beating so strongly that the trees around moved in the air.

All you could see was Ivar with his hands bleeding looking at the air.

The ravens beat each other until they started to bleed, the blood spread in the floor and then the black feather turned into a large piece of cloth and the seer appeared in its place.

Ivar widened his eyes, not believing in what was in front of him.

“Come, son of Ragnar.” The seer told and Ivar shook his head looking over his shoulders to see you, but he saw nothing.

You saw nothing.

He was suddenly on a dark beach, the black sand on his feet and the man was near. The seer who wore the black cloak, a raven on his shoulder and a long stick cane supporting his tall body.

Ivar tried to walk but felt the heaviness in his legs and felt his old metal cane around his forearm and felt the thigh bracers around his legs.

He yelled at the seer but the man only pointed ahead. Ivar saw Kattegat, saw his brothers and his mother pregnant with him.

Everything was calm.

Smiling Ivar couldn’t contain his joy seeing his mother. “Mother!” He shouted and tried to walk as fast as possible to reach her.

He almost did but she started to walk away with Siggy and the young sons of Ragnar, Aslaug placed her hand on her belly and grunted, Siggy helped her walk back to the great hall. “Come on, that one is wearying you already,” Siggy told and Ivar shook his head, he knew his time as a mere unborn baby was difficult for his mother’s body.

Ubbe and Hvitserk ran ahead and Siggy carried Sigurd aside Aslaug, Ivar followed them and saw the great hall, he hadn’t seen it for a long time.

“Mother mother! Look, I’m just like daddy.” Ubbe raised his wooden sword and Hvitserk giggled as his brother.

Aslaug walked to her bedroom ignoring her oldest son attempt, his face got sad and Hvitserk padded his older brother’s shoulder.

“Is the baby, she is just tired.” Ubbe nodded and both ran around for the slaves’ sadness.

Ivar looked at Sigurd, he was so small and was sat alone looking at the fire. His eyes and hands moving with which flame, the boy looked at the small shield on the floor and grabbed it trying to find some sort of fun.

He was too young to play with Ubbe and Hvitserk, sometimes he looked at Aslaug’s belly and hoped he would win a good friend, a small brother who he would be like Ubbe is for Hvitserk.

Sigurd liked Bjorn too, but he was never around.

Ivar looked at his brother with different eyes, he was just a kid. “You can’t do much with that,” Ivar said and pointed his fingers to the shield.

Sigurd looked at his side but shrugged, tilting his head Ivar sat by his side. Never in any of Ivar’s visions, someone noticed him.

“Sigurd.” Ivar called and the kid looked up.

“Who are you?” Little Sigurd asked, and Ivar got even more confused, he finally was happy with you, and then the seer took him away?

“You don’t know who I am?” Ivar asked and Sigurd shook his head and looked back at his shield tracing his small fingers over the marks his brothers managed to do on the wood. Ivar found it better to not say 'I’m your dead brother’. “I’m a man that used to live here.”

“Really? Do you know my father? He is the great Ragnar Loðbrók! You heard of him, right?” It has such an enthusiasm for Sigurd pitched voice, Ivar couldn’t believe himself was smiling seeing his brother's innocence.

It wasn’t the brother that spent the majority of his life hating him, nor the man that ended his life.

No.

It was just a lonely kid who was tired of being alone. “Yeah, I know him. He is truly a great man.” Ivar smiled thinking about his father, he truly missed him.

He darted his eyes to the thrones and remembered how he used to tell Hvitserk and everyone that he would be greater than father, unfortunately, it didn’t happen. “The greatest.”

Sigurd felt proud, he was the son of a great king after all. “And my older brother? Bjorn Ionside.”

Ivar smiled at his small voice, how small he was. “Ironside, yes.” He slowly corrected, Aslaug made the boys try all the names rightly, in her head everyone should know her children were princes.

Ivar used to hate how she always repeated all the names of her famous relatives while he couldn’t even speak rightly. “I heard a few stories.” Aslaug grunted on her room and Sigurd looked at it startled and shook his head.

Looking back at the strange man he saw how worried he looked. “Don’t worry, is just Ivar.”

“Her baby?” Ivar asked while looked at the fire, was he really born to make people feel pain?

“Yeah, my small brother. The gods gave him to me.” Widening his eyes Ivar looked at the little kid at his side.

“What?”

Sigurd extended his hands and tried his best to explain. “Look Bjorn is old enough to have his friends,” Using his index finger he pointed to the other hand with the five fingers up. “Ubbe have Hvitserk and, Hvitserk has my brother Ubbe.” He placed both index’s fingers together. “I,” He threw his hands to his lap and shrugged his small shoulders letting a puff of air before glancing at his feet. “I have no one. I want a friend. So one day I prayed for a friend. And then father came back and I thought it was it!” He yelled with joy remembering his father. “But he always goes away after a few days,” Looking at Ivar who almost jumped when the kid suddenly yelled again. “But then! Then mother told she was pregnant. And that is it! The answer to my prayers! They heard me. Right?”

Saying that Ivar was in shock was an understatement.

“You asked for m- Ivar?”

“Yes, I didn’t know his name was going to be that but yeah! I asked a Hvitserk for me, you know so I can be like Ubbe.” Ivar smirked and patted Sigurd’s head, which worked and Sigurd smiled at the tall man. “Do you want to be my friend too? Then you can be like Bjorn!”

Once Ivar watched a movie where some “random weird looking guy” traveled in time but he couldn’t change a thing. For a moment Ivar thought in using Sigurd’s innocence to make sure he wouldn’t hate him, but… if he did so, he would lose you, right? He wouldn’t die and wouldn’t find you.

“I wish I could stay, but I have somewhere to go.” Sigurd big smiled faded.

“It’s okay, everyone has somewhere to go.” Ivar’s cold-dead heart almost melted hearing the words.

Before Ivar could pick some careful words the door opened and the seer called him again, Sigurd didn’t look at the door or even showed any expression of having someone else in the place.

Ivar raised his hand but didn’t know where to place it. Choosing to place on his shoulder he took a deep breath.

“Goodbye, small friend.” Ivar got on his feet bringing his cane closer to support his weight.

Sigurd looked at him and the 'snake in the eye’ made Ivar regret all the stupidity he made with his brother.

“Goodbye Ivar.” The kid told but before Ivar could reply he was transported outside.

The sky shifted bright again and he heard a scream.

Aslaug’s scream.

The seer pointed inside the great hall again and Ivar walked grunting in pain in the process.

Inside he saw some random women around his crying mother and saw Ragnar near the door. Aslaug’s dress covered in blood and her sweaty face and pain made Ivar realize it was the day of his birth.

Ragnar was desperate, he couldn’t stop his hands and saw his mother almost giving up if it wasn’t for Siggy’s words.

After a few trials, the baby was born and Ragnar cut the umbilical cord with his bare teeth. Ivar saw himself as an innocent child, saw his mother covering his legs trying to prevent Ragnar’s words.

He heard an owl and the sound was somehow so captivating that Ivar didn’t even feel his legs walking to its reach.

He stepped into the dark florets and cursed when his cane got stuck in the mud, cursed until he saw his father approaching with some towels in his chest.

Ivar tried to give it a better look and when he did he saw it was baby-Ivar and not some towels.

Looking at the dark sky and watching the leaves leaving the tree his eyes floated with tears.

Ragnar kneeled on the floor putting Ivar there, an innocent kid that wasn’t the one to blame for his deformation, he was just an innocent being.

“There is no other way, there is no other way.” Ragnar kept repeating.

Placing the axe near the baby’s neck, Ivar sobbed at the vision. He heard Ragnar’s words and tried to see his father point of view, but he made it!

Ivar made it even with his nonfunctional legs.

Ragnar tears fell and he walked out of the place leaving the baby behind for the wolfs. Maybe Fenrir itself would devour the baby and prevent years of pain, Ragnar thought.

Ivar walked near the baby, if it wasn’t so difficult he would bend and grab him in his arms. But before he would try Aslaug reached the area and held her son on her arms.

Ivar’s fingers itched to touch her, to thank her for saving him. But she walked away before he could try to make her notice him.

Some kids started to laugh and it was so loud that Ivar walked to see what was happening.

While he walked the sky turned bright again. He reached the sound and it was a day he remembers too well. The first time he killed someone.

Sigurd and Hvitserk were running chasing some kids, everyone laughing and happy. Floki’s laugh for Ivar’s attention and he found his beloved uncle and him sitting inside a small cottage talking about the gods.

Floki saw the sad face on his believed nephew and grabbed the kid walking outside.

Placing young Ivar on his wagon the kids kept playing. Ivar held his cane near his body and looked at his side seeing the smile on his mother’s face. As Ivar well remember no one gave him the ball, no one until Floki intervened.

Ivar looked at his old self-smile, the innocence.

The calm before the storm.

When his axe hit the kid’s head he screamed and Aslaug ran to her child.

Floki looked at the situation and shook his head. “There is nothing here. Go.” He yelled at the people and children around gazing at the dead tiny body on the floor.

The mother holding the dead infant with torturous pain.

Ivar looked at Floki, saw the upcoming fear in his eyes. Floki was always a wise man. Sigurd running after his mother took Ivar’s attention and he followed his old family steps.

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“It wasn’t your fault,”

Aslaug repeated over and over trying to calm herself rather than her son, she was scared of what the future would hold for him.

She felt guilty, the main reason was she was always so close to him. He told Ragnar they couldn’t have sex after Sigurd’s birth, told him that the next child would be born a beast.

She felt blamed for so.

Blamed for Ivar’s defective legs, incessant pain and evilness.

Horses galloping around made a sand smoke and Ivar fell on his butt, he coughed due to the sand and when it calmed down he saw a few men and women passing by with drums and flags.

“All hail King Ragnar.” Someone shouted and Ivar cleaned his eyes looking up.

Ragnar passed by him and Ivar’s heart beat faster. “Father! Father!”

Ragnar kept going on his path not hearing his youngest son’s yells.

Ivar grunted and got on his feet slowly trying to not make the pain worse, looking back at his shoulder searching the seer.

He saw the seer again. “What is this all about? Uh? And what is with the time changing?” He yelled mad and the sky shifted again. Ivar grunting at the seer and looked at his previous vision, but he saw Bjorn, Hvitserk, and Ubbe preparing to sail. Ivar saw himself at as a teenager and saw the look in his eyes. “My hair was terrible.” He thought of what would you say and laughed. “Oh Y/N, where are you?” His face fell.

“Ivar Ivar.” Aslaug ran near her son with tears in her eyes. “Don’t go.”

“Mother I need to, I don’t want the pitiful eyes anymore. 'Look, the cripple Ivar’ please mother.” Ivar heard his words and got happy about his decision, if he hadn’t left to England with his father, he wouldn’t have lived his life.

Looking back at the docs the seer nodded his head and called Ivar. “Follow me.”

Slowly walking into the woods the trees moved so the seer could lead Ivar. They walked and walked and Ivar was almost crying in unending pain. “Where are we going?”

The seer chuckled but didn’t stop his steps. “I thought you missed your memories.” The answer made Ivar confused, he saw his past before, he rather be reclining under the tree with you in his arms than drag his heavy form into the woods.

The cold weather made it look like the pain was bigger, Ivar could feel his spine almost breaking. “I can’t.” He stopped and the seer kept walking. “I said I can’t!” He yelled but the seer didn’t stop his steps.

Ivar feet got stock making he lose his balance and fell on the floor losing his cane.

Grunting he tried to make the pain go away somehow, he closed his eyes squeezing then tight and he heard some windy sound. The pain didn’t go away but at least he could breathe without feeling the sharp pain in his back.

Opening his eyes he saw his chariot, oh his chariot! Ivar loved the thing, how Floki made it especially for him, how the vehicle was his legs in battles. So grandly with the art that matched Ivar’s back tattoos.

Touching the wood he smiled, how his greatly fast his white horse moved.

The seer appeared again and saw Ivar’s smile. “Have been a long time, right?”

“A lifetime,” Ivar answered still in trance, so many memories, so many battles and victories.

“We have some other place to go, come.” The seer waited and Ivar got on his feet slowly. The pain subsided and he kept his walk.

Reaching some clear space he saw a village. The village where he died on, the future cemetery. “Why am I here?”

The seer didn’t answer and Ivar’s rage almost made him scream. Step by step he reached the nearest place.

“Ivar you are crazy, we are brothers! We don’t have to fight.” Sigurd told but Ivar shrugged and smirked.

“You’re saying that because you know I’m stronger than you!” Ivar yelled and people gathered around, Ubbe was desperate.

Sigurd chuckled and gave him his shoulder. Ivar punched his shoulder and grabbed his axe ready to kill his brother, Sigurd out of an instinct used his sword and it entered Ivar’s chest.

“No!” Ubbe yelled and Sigurd widened his eyes seeing his younger brother bleeding on his sword. “What did you do!” Ubbe yelled and grabbed Ivar’s body.

Hvitserk ran into the scene and Sigurd was clearly in shock, Ivar started to gush blood out of his mouth and Ubbe was nearly crying. “Ivar! Ivar!”

“I’m so- sorry.” Sigurd chocked and gave a few steps backs. Hvitserk touched the sword and pulled it out from Ivar’s chest. “Sorry, I didn’t want to…”

Ivar saw the scene and realized the expressions, some Vikings were surprised but not sad. Ubbe, Hvitserk, and Sigurd were devastated.

“Why am I seeing it?” Ivar asked but couldn’t take his eyes off the scene. “Why?”

“You have to.” The seer answered blankly and Ivar saw Sigurd crying, he hadn’t seen it before.

A terrible pain reached Ivar and he grunted in agony. It was like the sting of the sword was reliving again. “Stop!” He yelled but the seer couldn’t do much.

“It was good to see you, Ivar.” The seer’s voice chimed in Ivar’s ears but he couldn’t open his sore eyes. The floor began to tremble and he dropped to his knees. He felt heartache and closed his eyes, squeezing them tightly trying to suppress the pain.

When the winds slowed down aside the shaking ground he opened his eyes finding himself on florets in the middle of the mountains.

And then.

He saw the golden gates.

Widening his eyes Ivar was speechless, he finally was in front of the golden gates of Valhalla.

“Ivar?“ A celestial voice said and Ivar could feel a shiver ran over his body.

“Odin?“

#ivar x reader #ivar the boneless x reader #ghosty boyfriend i miss you

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lisinfleur · 5 years ago

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Vikings - ep1 and 2 analysis

OOOOOOOK! New season, new episode, and here I am again - for probably the last time! - to rant about Vikings!

SPOILERS AHEAD! If you didn't see the last 2 episodes then... GO FUCKING SEE THEM!

Well... What to say, what to say... Let's play Jack the Ripper and slice it in parts... In Nightwish's words, "prepare to hate me..."

Lagertha - The Bitch Kill me. I don't care. I hate her! WHY THE FUCK DID SHE KILL ASLAUG FOR THE CROWN IF SHE-DIDN'T-FUCKING-WANT-THE-DAMN-CROWN? I just can't understand why ruining the fucking balance and hurt Ivar even more - which probably was the reason why this FUCKING MONSTER was created in the first place! - if she would just jump out of the boat in the end and retire like a good farmer. Fuck me, Lags! You were better when you were killing your husband to become an Earl! At least, she had a good reason to act like that and become someone great! Now? She's lost to me. Valhalla is the best retirement. And in this matter? I'm team Ivar. The only good thing about this situation was Björn earning the first of many kicks in his balls of these episodes: no, my dear, mommy won't be by your side now, little boy. FUCKING GROW UP AND... How did Ragnar say to Ubbe? Oh, yeah! BE A MAN! Speaking of the devil...

Ubbe - The Collared Wolf Fine. I thought I would hate him more these first two episodes, but I had a wrong impression of the teasers. At least, for now, I kinda can understand his point about Hvitserk - he's sick indeed, but this is another topic. What I can't understand is this sudden syndrome of momma's boy towards Lagertha. Fuck, my man, she fucking killed your mother, brother! You don't go there and build a damn dollhouse to play home with the woman who fucking killed your family! I mean... You cannot forgive your favorite brother for jumping a damn boat to side with another, but you can gods damn forget the woman who fucking placed an arrow into your mother's back? What the fuck, dude? Where are your priorities? Oh, yes... On your "wanna be Björn" kink... Got it. He became everything Torvi wanted in life: a copy of Björn who wants to raise her children, stay with her, and play home all the time, unlike the original one that was too busy traveling the world - and fucking princesses around - to really think his family was important enough for him to spend time home with it. And more than anything: a copy that she can control, cause it is the second time she just moves her chin up and he does what she wants. Yeah, Ubbe... You quite understood what being a good husband looks like (#no #HELLno!)... Let's just beg the gods that she doesn't go insane, cause good Ubbe cannot deal with insane people, right? Speaking of insanity...

Hvitserk - The Mad Mad Margreth... oops! In two words? POOR PUPPY! Hvitserk seems to be fully lost. And it was clear for me when he spoke about the men that burned Thora. He fully blamed them for her loss and seeing Björn releasing them alive - even banished the way he did - was too much for his heart. He was expecting Björn to allow him to kill them, or to kill them himself and maybe it would have solved Thora's topic in his mind - despite the fact that Ivar is the major responsible for her death. But the way he saw Whitehair and the others going out of those gates alive was too much... Hvitserk now doubts Björn's love for him, he can't understand Ubbe's behavior - and neither can I! I mean, you forgive our mother's murderer but not me??? - and he feels abandoned by both sides, alone. It seems for him that he will never be anything to anyone, not to Ivar - who saw him like a dog and humiliated him - nor to Ubbe - who feeds nothing but contempt for his insane brother the same way he fed contempt for the mad wife he left behind - nor to Björn - who ignored his pain and set free the men who killed the woman he loved. Hvitserk is alone, lost, forgotten, and going down the same hill of self-destruction Ragnar once went through. He's my biggest hope - despite knowing Marco said that Hvitserk "is fucked up" - that somehow this story will have a turn and we won't see a new Ragnar going down into drugs and ending up defeated, killing himself like Ragnar did (Cause tell me whatever you want! Ecbert would have never caught Ragnar and Aelle would have never killed him if it wasn't HIS choice). Now, let's move on to...

Björn - The Super-Wooper-Dooper-Ultra-MOMMA'S BOY!!! Where is Sigurd to spit on his face and call him Momma's Little Favorite? Someone call David and tell him we have one more scene for Sigurd's ghost to do! Not that I never saw this before - I saw, since the beginning! - that Björn was a momma's boy that can't face the world by himself or accept his mother did something that fucked up his brothers' lives and relationship and that she should pay for what she did. But I have to say few things in these episodes were more pleasurable for me than seeing Björn receiving multiple kicks in his damn overused balls! First of all, the amazing domino effect of Lagertha's actions in retiring causing the beautiful baby bear to be all alone at the throne. BEAUTIFUL. Then, Ubbe's carelessness. "Just makes me happy I'm not King." GO-FUCKING-ORGEOUS! The dead Seer (that somehow talks to the living and seems to be Björn's hallucination) even in his own mind, leaving him all alone to make his own decisions. AMAZING! Then Hvitserk's self-consciousness. "I think you're crazy but it doesn't matter for you anyway". I almost had an orgasm. Serious. You fucking wanted the crown. You gods damn fought for it! Now DO IT YOURSELF, LITTLE PRINCESS! I'm really rejoicing to see his arrogant ass being put on its place in this season! But I have to clap my hands and applaud at least one of his actions. I'm here to fuck up his reputation about his mistakes, so I must be here to put in the highlight when he does something good and to go against everyone and answer Harald's cry for help was something good and honored - despite my thoughts and feelings that this is a trap and Olaf didn't steal anything from anyone. As the cherry on top of his cake was Torvi's amazing answer to his credits for the children's raising. "And Ubbe!" I almost peed on my pants laughing! You never wanted to raise your children and be a father, now, admit your brother is occupying your place very well... Speaking of good things and girls...

Torvi - THE LOVE OF MY LIFE IN THESE EPISODES! ALL HAIL QUEEN TORVI, man! She fucking kicked ass in these episodes and I have to thank that girl for kicking the right balls I wanted to kick! While Gunnhild became the calm and cold ruler that's just sitting beside Björn giving him good advice and sewing for her child to come, Torvi fucking took that braid behind Ubbe's head as reins and is guiding the stallion! Hail, girl!! That chin-up of hers is amazing! I laugh out loud when Ubbe put his dick back into his pants and nods like a good dog just because she put her chin up with a mute "Solve it!". Man, the girl was amazing! I loved the few lines she had and I really want to see more of this in this season! Speaking of things I want to see...

Oleg - The... There is a name in human words for such a char? FUCK-ME! AND I MEAN IT! Guy is amazing! Guy-is-fucking-amazing! I just LOVED this man! He's A THOUSAND TIMES better than Headmund and I'm in love! What was that TRUCK that fucking rode over me?? Oleg is incredible! Crazy, like Ivar, but through a WHOLE different way! He takes the fights among brothers to a whole new level and I have to say I LOVED his interaction to Ivar so far. I'm eager for more! GIMME MORE OLEG IN THIS SHIT!! But speaking of Ivar...

I didn't forget to say goodbye to the crippled. What the fuck was Ivar in these episodes? I laughed SO HARD with him! He was amazing! His curiosity, his fear, his tears, his feelings! HIS LAUGHS!!! YAS!!! Fucking human again! Just like I love him! Human! Not a god, not a commander, A HUMAN! Who fears, who shits on his pants when suspended too high, who feels for a man who died saluting his name for loyalty. Who plays with a boy and sits to hear him playing the oud (was it an oud? Idk, but I bet that boy is Sigurd reincarnated just to make Ivar have to tolerate an oud beside him!). This was amazing and I fucking loved the interaction of Ivar with all the things that happened to him since he went through that road. Well, maybe Hvitserk will see this as well and the human-Ivar will attract him back to his side. Maybe not. Idk. I just know that...

Speaking of the whole season start: I'm happy! For the first time since this series entered the boys' phase, I'm happy to see a season starting and so many things that REALLY caught my attention. And I'm really full of hope that Hirst will keep up with this rhythm and offer us a good ending to something that was so enormously loved as Vikings has been since Ragnar. I loved these two episodes, I'm full of energy and all I can say now is...

GIMME MORE!

#lis talks #positive reviews #season 6 #SPOILERS

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seriefic · 5 years ago

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Chance (IV)

Summary: Your arrival to Kattegat had more surprises than you could have expected

A/N: English is not my first language and there will be a few more chapters, enjoy.

Tagging: @youbloodymadgenius

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 5 Part 6

It was a gray day, the sky was full of clouds and the atmosphere invaded by a strong smell of rain, your favorite kind of day, it didn't take long to see the city with its port full of boats and busy people coming from one place to another. Finding your brothers wasn´t difficult, you found them at the entrance of the small town mounted on their horses, ready to go looking for you again.

-We thought you werw dead-Eritz shouted while running into you, you were glad to see him, you could say he was your favorite brother, always smiling and nice to everyone.

-I'm not dead but I'm exhausted-you said hugging each of your brothers who seemed to have taken a great weight off

-What happened to your hair? - Ales asked touching the tips of the hair on your shoulders.

-It was cut during a fight.

-We found your dead horse full of arrows, but there were also some things that were not yours.

You froze for a moment looking at Eritz, your older brother, he was next to you while Ales was ahead of you, leading the way and his voice sounded cold, he had always been like that, while Eritz always spoiled you Ales only tried to find the minimum mistake to expose it to the world and always talked and acted as if he knew everything you did, always.

-I met a wanderer who helped me.

-Can we meet the hero who has saved my sister?- Eritz asked jokingly and you laughed.

-I can save myself

-I don´t doubt it

-When are we going to continue our travel?-You were tired of spending your days riding, camping and moving from one place to another without knowing exactly where you were going.

-We´re already where we should be.

-What do you mean?

-You never listen

-Ales shut up, we never told her where we were going neither the name of her fiance

You gave your brother a smile that said "I won" and he turned and came back to the front, the rest of the short road was flooded by Eritz's anecdotes, who always made an effort to lessen the tension between you and your brother.

-I think you´ll like your husband, he is a handsome man and quite nice, his brothers too.

-I think our dear older brother should tell you who is his favorite.

Eritz showed a wide smile of satisfaction and greatness and you looked at him without understanding anything.

- Have you slept with any of the princes? - You asked opening your eyes like plates and shaking your head

-Maybe

-Whenever you do those things we have problems, keep your dick in your pants until you go back home.

-She´s right-rarely, Ales agreed with you- we always have problems because of your crotch.

Eritz ignored all your criticisms and just laughed at them and mocked you, you admired your brother for his ability to ignore what others thought of him and all his actions, although sometimes that had negative parts, like ignoring any advice.

You arrived to the center of Kattegat to the home of the king and the princes, your brothers guided you inside where you found an incredibly beautiful woman, you had never seen such a beauty and you assumed she had to be the queen.

-You must be the princess (YN) - She said taking your hand and talking to you directly -I am Queen Aslaug

You smiled and turned red, you felt ashamed to be in front of that woman with your shabby clothes.

-It´s a pleasure to meet you my queen, I am very sorry that my arrival has been delayed and I´m sorry for my appearance.

-Don't worry, right now the maids will take care of washing and changing you, then at diner, you will meet my sons and your fiancé.-she gestured with her hand and two young girls approached you and took you with them.

You quickly found yourself in a hot tub, with new clothes in front of you and two girls combing your hair, little images from the previous night sneaked into your mind, you couldn't believe that you really would have done that with a stranger but you didn´t regret it at all.

The maids were well dressed, combed and seemed to be in perfect physical and mood conditions, that always said a lot about how the families they worked for were.

What's your name? -You asked the girl closest to you

-Margrethe

-Margrethe can you tell me how the princes are? are they friendly?

-Yes, almost everyone is friendly most of the time, you don't have to worry.

-In addition they are very handsome-laughed the girl on the other side and you couldn´t help smiling at the dreamy tone with which she had said it.

-And strong warriors

The girls continued talking and giggling about some anecdotes of the princes until a slightly older woman came in the door.

-My princess, you must get out of the water, they are waiting for dinner. You smiled at the woman and followed her orders, without objecting to be helped to dress even if you usually did it alone, it was a light purple dress with small white details, accompanied by earrings and a necklace of the same color as the details.

You were nervous, it was impossible to deny or avoid it, you were going to meet your future husband and the family that you would live from that moment on, you couldn't help it. When you crossed the door and reached the grand hall the first person you saw was the queen who smiled at you warmly, then your brothers and finally three young men who watched you without saying a word, you knew that one of them was your fiance.

The oldest of the three approached and took your hand in his, you looked at him nervously and smiled while he left a kiss on your cheek and finally spoke- Nice to meet you my future wife, I'm Ubbe Lorthbrok, son of Ragnar Lothbrok and prince of Kattegat

-It's nice to meet you Ubbe, I'm the princess (YN)

You stared at each other for a while, in silence, Ubbe was incredibly handsome but you didn't feel any kind of spark or crush, what you thought you should feel in that moment, When you arrived at the dinner table you could see that there was an empty place and that it stayed like that all the night, Ubbe didn´t give you much conversation, he was more interested in Margrethe and it was normal but you still felt a little offended, your brothers talked to the queen about the deal derived from your marriage and the other two brothers argued, in conclusion, you were bored .

-Who sits there? -You asked pointing to the empty chair.

-Our brother-Ubbe responded quickly before some of the other boys could do it but still Sigurd spoke

-He hasn't come to dinner because he thinks weddings are stupid, the truth is that he's probably jealous because nobody loves him.

-Sigurd-Shouted his mother to shut up and this downplayed his hand.

You looked at him for a few moments until he got unconfortable, then at your brother who was drinking from his cup, looking at both of you, the boy was cute and seemed not to know how to shut up, just the type of guy for wich your brother always got into messes, wherever there was a cute boy or girl unable to shut up, there will be Eritz.

-Tell me (YN) what happened to your hair? they had told me it was very long- The queen asked, clearly trying to dismiss his son's comment.

-While I was lost I found a wanderer who showed me the way and attacked us, in the middle of the fight he cut my hair to save me, but I think he didn't like my hair very much and that's why he cut it- you said laughing and remembering how annoyed there was Ivar been when you made him wait to comb your hair.

-You are still pretty with short hair.

-Thank you Ubbe

When dinner was over Ubbe took you by the hand and asked you to accompany him, Eritz patted him on the back cheering him up and making you die of shame and Ales remained serious and his only words were "don't do anything stupid" when you were about to leave outside a man on crutches entered the room, you looked at him and you knew immediately who he was, his appearance had changed a bit, just like you were wearing clean clothes, he was clean, had taken a bath and wore new clothes. Ivar had not seen you yet, he was heading straight for the queen.

-Mother, if you have finished this stupid dinner, can I have mine?

-Ivar, your brother's fiancee is here, be kind.

That was when he turned to you and you probably both had the same expression of surprise because Ubbe asked if you were feeling good and Asalug said the same to his son.

He approached you and looked you up and down very seriously and then looked at his brother who seemed somewhat uncomfortable with the direct attention of his brother, Ivar smiled, a smile of self-realization

-So this is the woman you're going to marry- he took a strand of hair between his fingers and played with it, you did nothing,only closed your eyes waiting for that situation to end quickly, you felt your heart racing, you were scared, embarrassed, ashamed. Ubbe moved his brother's hand away from you quickly, causing the laughter of the youngest.

-Yes, and I don't want you to touch her.

-She´s afraid, you scared her - Sigurd said laughing and that made you open your eyes to meet those of Ivar and you could see the bitterness in them, all his playful and mocking way had disappeared

-I'm not afraid, I was only surprised -You contradicted him by taking the situation seriously -Nice to meet you, I'm princess (YN)

Ivar looked at you for a few more seconds and turned around to disappear again.

Although the place where Ubbe had taken you was beautiful and he was very handsome and kind you were unable to concentrate on the landscape or him, your head was on Ivar and how bad you felt.

What would happen if Ubbe found out what had happened between you? Could you live in the same house as Ivar while you were married to his brother? and even more important, you had the need to go after the man with deep blue eyes and apologize, although you didn't know exactly why.

#ivar x reader #Ivar #ivar the boneless #Vikings #ivar lothbrok #ivar ragnarson #Ivar x OC #ubbe #imagine #scenario

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lettersofwrittencollective · 6 years ago

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Binti Ra's al Ghul (1/?)

Pairing: Ivar x OC

Word Count: 2339

A/N: Ok so I TOTALLY 1000000000% blame both @dreamwritesimagines and @stiles-o-dylan24 for this. I had a small idea and they were excited for it when I shared it and I can pretty much guarantee you that I will write these two anything they want. Like I literally told one of them I would write Aliens into a story if they wanted it though there would be a lot of eye twitching involved. I have no posting schedule planned because as I write this I should be working on anatomy and physiology but this is obviously not that?

Also - the way that I have this envisioned in my head, it may be a re-write of Vikings for a bit but I promise that that’s not what I am going for. I do have plot ideas that throw out Viking's cannon completely so there is that...

BIG NOTE: There is a reference to Luke 10 at the end of the story. It is not completely accurate! The basic idea is there but the story was embellished in a way I thought the reader may have heard from their father.

Anyways (wow this is a large A/N i swear they aren’t usually this big) let me know what you think! Comments, questions, concerns all the things! I live for the interaction

“Again!” he yells after knocking you down.

Groaning, you push yourself back up to your feet. You can’t remember the last time that your muscles hadn’t protested your movements but that was to be expected with who your father was.

After you picked up your knives you found your center and waited for the attack to come your way. One of your father's men ran towards you and you were able to maneuver around him, then the second. But it was when the third came that you worried. You had been training and training, working at this for months but you always seemed to lose when a third opponent was added to the mix.

While fighting against the two in front of you, dodging the blows or moving with them, you tried to keep an eye for the third man that would be jumping into the fray. Seeing the glint of metal from the corner of your eye, you move to block when suddenly there’s an arm around your throat and your feet are knocked from under you.

You hit the floor and this time an audible groan escapes you with the impact.

“Again!” your father yells.

Your father had instilled many things in you before he’d allowed you into the world of man. He had trained you until you could stand in line with his fiercest men and stand against them.

You had studied the fighting styles of Persians, Romans, Greeks, Scandanavian and then he’d started on the political training. You’d never had any real interest in it, more interested in war tactics than in court evenings. Such was the way of children. But, your father had reminded you countless times that the two are different sides of the same coin. Though arguably, a battle on the battlefield was actually easier as you usually knew who your enemies were but a battle in court required a step finer than any warrior. Many times, it was carried it in sly words from the lips of those who proclaimed to be your friends or on the toes of assassins.

Moving to the bow of the ship, you had turned and watched your fathers men navigate by the stars. It had been at least a moons cycle since leaving your homeland and you had begun to get anxious. You remember you had turned to the sea scanning the waters, trying to find some kind of light against the pitch black.

“When will we get there?”

“Patient Binti, we will arrive in Kattegat soon enough,” your father had said. His tone was soft against your ear. You’re not sure if time has warped the memory but you could swear that you remembered being able to feel the smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“You know,” you had said as you crossed back to your cabins, your father following not far behind. “While no one will say it outright, they do say that the Queen, Aslaug is detached from her sons and that after some affair years ago, she has become somewhat of a recluse. The brothers are a confusing story though it sounds that they do not get along.”

“So you have been paying attention to the traveling merchants and the reports my men bring back,” your father's voice was laced with pride and there was that sparkle in his eye that was usually there when you’d passed one of your tests.

It had been a worry of his the last couple of years before this journey. Though he knew, that even at such a young age, you would be able to stand your own in an actual battle and had seen you destroy unjust rulers, he always worried that you did not pay attention to the unsaid words or the underlying meanings. So, it was good to see that you had paid attention to the things that he and your mother had taught you.

“What are we actually doing in Kattegat, Abba?” You’d asked as you’d sat on the small bed, making yourself comfortable.

Your father had made himself comfortable in one of the chairs, sitting not far from your bed, “One of our men has advised that one of the brothers, Bjorn, was interested in setting up a set of trades and, perhaps, interested in traveling towards the Mediterranean.”

Bjorn… you had had to think about what you had heard of the brothers and when you did you’d asked your father if Bjorn had indeed been the one Ragnarsson who wasn’t born of the current queen.

Your father had gladly told you the story of Bjorn's mother. They said his mother is a fierce Shield-maiden and that when King Ragnar went to ask for her hand in marriage before he had become King, he had to fight a bear and a wolf before he was able to win her hand.

You had thought it was romantic but you remember telling your father, “Baba, one cannot fight a bear and a wolf at the same time. One or the other sure, but with both? There’s no way!”

Laughing, your father had stood up, “Perhaps you are right, my Binti.” He’d then crossed and placed a kiss on your forehead. “Rest young one, we will be in Kattegat before nightfall tomorrow and you must be rested as I am told that they have grand receptions. We would not want to insult our hosts, now would we?”

You can remember being much too excited that night to get much sleep and the next day, you had watched as Kattegat came into view. You can remember the awe that had filled you as your father's ships had come to dock in the harbor and you saw the different people trading amongst themselves. There were men whose hair was longer than even some of the women you knew. Women here, it seemed, were allowed to be warriors as there were many that wore something you thought was armor.

Queen Aslaug had met you, your father and his men at the docks and welcomed you. With her stood 5 boys. She’d introduced them as Bjorn and her sons, Ubbe, Hvitserk, Sigurd and Ivar.

That had been almost five summers ago and since then your father had established trade with Kattegat. Many others have as well and Now Kattegat is a major trading city. While you did travel home and to other lands with your father, after that first trip, you had been allowed to return pretty consistently Your father seemed to have developed a fondness for the Ragnarssons that surprised you. It was rare for your father to care for many outside of yourself, your mother, or his men. He would even be sending some of his men with Bjorn when they went to explore the Mediterranean and you wondered if they would set up more trade or if they planned on simply raiding the towns they came across.

Queen Aslaug had seemed pleased with you returning but truthfully, you couldn’t be sure if she was as you usually saw her somewhat intoxicated and it had been worse since King Ragnar had returned. You understood it, she had been left to raise four boys on her own while dealing with their brother at the same time.

Though you only ever saw Bjorn treat Queen Aslaug with respect, you could tell that she was wary of him. You’d paid attention in the courts in England and throughout the Middle East. To you, it seemed that Queen Aslaug had the same idea that many others had. Her rivals child would come for her children's seat.

Ivar had been in constant pain as a child and, even when your family had first come, she doted on him at the cost of her own children. Those unsaid things had been true.

You had just gotten to your rooms within the Great Hall after a long day of training with Ubbe, and an even longer time in the bath, when there was a knock at the door.

You hadn’t seen the brothers since this afternoon. You had spent much of the morning training with them but then Ragnar had wanted to speak to them.

Ivar and Ubbe both invited you to join them but you’d sent them on their way, telling them that it was important that they spend time with their father, after the years he had been gone, it was important that they spend time with him alone. After they had gone, you had spent the rest of the afternoon wandering through Kattegat.

Most of the locals recognized you and they always treated you with respect. The women, both young and old, seemed to like to talk to you and you could sometimes spend hours talking to them about your home and telling them stories of the places you had seen and the people you had met.

The men, however, were a different story. You suspect that has more to do with the Ragnarssons than anything else though. Most of the older men treated you as a niece or a daughter, they were kind to you and would help you when you needed something but the younger men avoided you like the plague.

Once the door opened, you were surprised to see who it was at the door. Smiling, you stepped aside and motioned for the youngest of the brothers to come in, “I thought you may have retired for the night.”

“And why is that?” the brunette asked as he moved into your room.

“Well, it may have to do with not having heard from you or any of your thralls all day, can you truly blame me?”

Leaving the door open, you crossed back into the room and sat in the chair across from him as he pulled himself into the chair. Once situated, he scoffed, “Don’t be stupid, of course, I would come to see you! When have I ever missed a day when you are here?”

Laughing, you tucked your legs beneath your chin while sitting on the chair. “Who is to say that you have not grown bored of me?” you tease him, the jest in your voice obvious and still he tenses.

In typical Ivar fashion, he ignores the comment. Instead, he says “He wants to sail to back to England.”

You had known well enough that Ragnar would want something with his sons. Is that not what all fathers want? For their children to continue their legacy? Sighing you avoid looking at Ivar and turn your gaze into the fire in the hearth, “Will you go with him?”

“What kind of question is that? Of course, I will go!”

“And what of your brothers? Will any of them go?”

Ivars scoff gives you all the answers that you need. He will be the only one to go.

“You’ll have to be careful Ivar. The people there are not, they’re not like you or anyone in Kattegat. They are not even like my people.”

‘What do you mean?”

“They have taken their God and corrupted him. If you read their book, the one they call the bible, you would see that their God is a loving God, one that no longer demands a sacrifice for forgiveness. There was a story that stood out to me, it was one of a man who was traveling through an area and had been robbed and beaten, left for dead on the side of the road- “

“Well then he wasn’t a very good man,” Ivar interrupts you, “What kind of man-”

“Oh shush!” you swat at him, “That’s not the point of the story. Let me tell it,” you tell him and wait for his response. Ivar doesn’t like to be interrupted and it’s not much different with you but you’ve never been afraid to fight back with him so he motions for you to continue, “Thank you. Anyways, so the story goes that this man apparently was attacked on one of their holy days, and so there were thousands upon thousands of people from his own home town that went right by him because it was a holy day and somehow that meant that they couldn’t help him. They left him to die Ivar. But that this one man did stop. The man helped get him care and paid an innkeeper to look after the man as he got better.”

“What does it matter, so one of them decided to help a beaten man during a holy day. They should have let him die.”

It takes you a moment to realize that you had missed a part of the story, “Ivar, the man that saved the broken man? That was his enemy. Someone that should have killed him or let him die.”

“Then he is an idiot.”

“No, he was compassionate. Have we not talked about how compassion can help a person. Or are you saying you would have picked up the man and taken him to a healer?”

Ivar shrugs his shoulders and you can’t help but shake your head, “My point is, father always said that the English are more like the ones that left him for dead. They will pretend that they care about their God or even other people but they do not. So, please, just be careful?”

“You worry too much, you almost sound like mother.”

“It’s only because we care Ivar. Don’t make it a bad thing. Now, will you be careful?”

You can feel him scrutinizing you. It’s one of his favorite past times that you still do not understand, but he has always done it. This time, he gets off the chair and begins to drag himself out of your chambers without a word.

“Ivar?’ you call after him, your voice hard and demanding.

“I will be careful but only because I choose to be. Not because you have asked me to or because my mother chooses to worry,” he says before nodding his head towards you and making his way out of the room.

Tag list: @dreamwritesimagines @stiles-o-dylan24 @lucifersnipnips @imayhavemisunderstood

#Reader insert #ivar the boneless #ivar imagine #ivar imagines #ivar the boneless imagine #ivar the boneless imagines #ivars heathen army #history vikings #history vikings ima

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kristylovesvikings · 7 years ago

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Ivar imagine #8 “If we dont talk again remember that i loved you.”

King Ragnar and Queen Aslaug had a feast a few weeks ago announcing the raid to a village of non-vikings just across the sea. When you had first heard the news you didn’t know what to make of it. Vikings raid there is no way around that. No what you couldn’t wrap your head around was that Aslaug made a point to tell the entire feast of people that ALL of the Ragnarsson boys would be on the raid. All meaning Ivar too. Ivar and you had been speaking for a few months. It wasn’t courtship because that meant you were serious about the other person. The type of serious in a way where you wanted to get married. You were very serious about Ivar. Ivar not so much. You knew he could be demanding but it always made you feel so special when he demanded you over anyone else.

It hurt when you told him how much you cared for him. It hurt more when he looked far out to sea and told you he would raid soon. It hurt even more when he followed that by saying he didn’t care for you. It hurt when he said it was a game and if you had feelings for him you no longer could be friends. It hurt. It hurt when you woke up and when you went to sleep. It hurt when you took in a breath and when you let the breath out. Ivar hurt you but what was worse was you knew he hurt him too.

The hours passed as you watched the men and women load the boats with everything they would need for a raid. Everything from food to armor to weapons crate after crate went by and all you could do was watch. You knew you should help many people that were non-fighters were helping but something about carrying all of these crates to a boat that would sail a man you care greatly about into danger did not sit right with you.

So many people were sitting on the edge of town. Children too young to understand crying to their parents asking them not to go. Older children hissing not to cry they are Viking only to get a little misty eyed when hugging their loved ones one more time. Some just a year too young to raid looking on in envy as the fighters made a last attempt to sharpen the swords and check the balance of the blades as their arm bands glistened in the sun. You watched the children. You had to otherwise you would notice the husbands and the wives stealing a moment one last time. If you looked too long you would see the lovers holding each other one last time trying not to promise they will be home to start families. You watched the children. You had to.

You should leave. You needed to fade to the background that way when it got too much to see Ivar sail away you could leave. You turned to leave when you spotted him. He was fixing his leg straps just off to the side of the great hall. You watched him you couldn’t help but feel lonely at the thought of him leaving. Your legs carried you before you even realized what you were doing you were in front of Ivar. He looked up as you stopped walking. Starting to smile he greeted you “Hello y/n. I hadn’t realized you were coming to see the boats off. Do you have someone you are saying goodbye to?”

You grit your teeth. Ivar knew. He knew and he still teased you. You cared for him so what why did he think that was so awful? Why did he find it funny to tease you? You weren’t going to ask. You couldn’t. “Yes Ivar I am saying goodbye to someone.” His smile seemed to fall for just one second but it was just long enough for you to see. “Well then I won’t keep you all to myself then. I must go the ships won’t wait even for me.” Ivar started to crawl to the boats. Watching Ivar go you can’t stop thinking how stupid he was all you wanted was to be his. Again it seemed your body had its own mind and you found yourself on the dock next to Ivar as he situated himself on the boat.

“Ivar…” you paused you could back out and tell him to have a safe raid but the way he was looking at you made you want to tell the truth praying to the gods and goddesses that you wouldn’t regret telling him goodbye you started again. “Ivar…” sucking in a breath “If we dont talk again remember that i loved you.” NO. No that is not what you were going to say. You were going to say goodbye and tell him to keep safe. You felt your cheeks burn and before he could say anything back you turned away smacking into his older brother Ubbe. Ubbe held a smirk on his face that softened into a smile as he looked at your face flush with embarrassment and slight anger. Not wanting to give Ivar a chance to tease you more you speed past the people still loading the boats and started to climb the hill.

Once you were seated on the hill you watched the remaining men and women settle onto the boats. Ragnar being the last to walk the dock he seated himself next to all of his boys with Floki by his side. From your spot on the hillside you could see Ivar searching the crowds. Maybe he was looking for another girl. Maybe she was the reason you and him weren’t together. You noticed Ubbe roll his eyes at his brothers Hvitserk and Sigurd laughing at Ivar. You and he seemed to make eye contact even from such a distance. Smirking again he hit Ivar in the chest and pointing to the hillside where you were sat. Ivar jerked his head to where his brother was pointing. A smile bloomed on his face as he raised a hand to give a slight wave even from the hill you could see his cheeks reddening as his brothers turned to see the person their youngest and most closed off brother was waving to.

Two weeks passed as the village waited for the raiding boats to come home. You choose to make your favorite food a potato stew for the dinner. Traveling to the market something different was in the air. Something exiting making your heart almost crawl up your throat. Wanting to get away you bought all the items you would need for your stew you rushed home. You started a fire so it would burn to kindling allowing you to cook your dinner soon you started cutting everything up and putting it on the pot sitting above the fire. Stirring the pot to make sure the stew didn’t burn you watched the flames of the fire. Your mind briefly wondered to Ivar wondering if he and his family was safe on the raid. You shoved the thoughts out of your head as you heard the blow of the horn that signaled ships arriving to Kattegat. Looking to your stew you didn’t know if you wanted to take it off the fire and risk it cooling and cooking uneven or if you would risk a look outside to see the boats coming into the docks. Deciding the stew would be fine for a few moments as it was almost done you stepped out of your home to giggling children and adults smoothing their clothes and hair back into place awaiting the arrival of their loved ones.

Huffing out a sigh you stood barefoot in the sandy shores of Kattegat thinking of your stew that must be on its way to burn rolling your eyes at the thought of the wasted ingredients you sat at the docks not wanting to look bad not welcoming your fighters home. The anchors were dropped and the boats slowed to rock with the tide that hit the shores as the men and women jumped from the boats bringing the injured to the healing tents that were always set up before the raiders left. Too many people fighters and non-fighters swarmed everywhere it all felt like too much but you were curious now. Seeing each ragnarsson travel the dock your stomach sank when the boat emptied you saw Ubbe and Ragnar come stand next to a smiling Aslaug as she greeted them. Your mind went black and all you could think about was that Ivar was dead and your stew was burnt. Your stew! Getting up to your feet you ran home feeling the bile rise in your throat at the thought of not having Ivar breathing. Ivar not in love with you was something that you could handle but Ivar dead no that was not something you could handle.

Busting through the door you saw Ivar sitting at your dinner table with a bowl of your stew in front of him. You felt like your world was falling from under your feet. You had just learned Ivars fate and you were already seeing his ghost. Letting out a laugh you slid to the chair opposite him. Ivars face lit up at the sight of you “I like a woman that has food on the table as I come home from a raid. And Potato stew at that how did you know it is my favorite?” Answering back with the shake of a head “NO this boy will not make me crazy. I will not talk to the dead. I will eat my stew then sleep. Dear gods do not torture me with this man’s ghost please I beg you.” Ivar looked at you worried and confused. He didn’t know what you were talking about. ‘Y/n I am alive. I’m here. Let me take your hand I have something to say.” Ivar slowly reached for your hand cradling it like it was something to be cherished. “We are talking again and I love you. Not loved but love as in I am so in love with you that when I left all I dreamt about was you and coming home to you. Please tell me you haven’t found another while I was gone?” Ivar sounded desperate and scared as he finished his sentences. You felt a sigh of relief as he spoke. “I love you Ivar. I was so scared when I didn’t see you leave the boats I thought you were dead. It felt like my world was turning.”

As you and Ivar continued to speak about your futures all you wanted to do was cuddle into his arms and sleep so that is what you did. Waking the next morning to Ivar shifting in bed. You barely could hold in your laugh as he tried to wiggle off the bed and start a fire without making too much noise. You broke out laughing when he started the flame giving a victory dance only for the wave of his arms to blow out the flame. Startled he looked to you seeing all trace of sleep gone from your face “good morning y/n.”

“Morning need help?” You couldn’t help but tease him a little. Smiling Ivar convinced you because you laughed at him trying to cook for you that you now had to eat breakfast in the great hall with the rest of his family fully knowing with him disappearing last night and turning up with a girl in the same clothes with ruffled hair what it would be saying. Walking to the great hall you noticed how quiet the day was. Most people in Kattegat were still sleeping and laying with their family’s telling stories of the weeks that passed thinking such things you couldn’t help but envy them and their families.

Sitting in the great hall with King Ragnar and Queen Aslaug was an experience. You all sat quiet after Ivar and Aslaug had a whisper argument about what it would mean if you were seen together in your state of dress. Eating your food you couldn’t help but wish to be rescued. Apparently Ivar was the first of the boys to wake which meant that the majority of the meal was silent and unnerving as everyone seated quickly ran out of nice conversations to hold. Hvitserk and his wife woke next shortly followed by Sigurd and his girl stumbling in still not yet ready to let go of each other. Once they were settled with their plates in walked Ubbe holding his wife’s hand. Making eye contact with you he stopped short his wife noticing the change turned to glare at you. “Ubbe sit down and stop staring at my girl.” Ivar spoke. Ragnar smiled at the mention of his youngest finally getting a girl he could call his own. Hvitserk and Sigurd exchanged glances like they thought it was a trick. Ubbe smirked pulling the chair away from the table for his wife to take her seat. Aslaug seemed to take in a breath. Oh how you envied her and her ability to breathe right now. Ivar noticed how still you were and settled a hand on your leg leaning into your ear he spoke “I hope it wasn’t too forward. I know we spoke last night about it. I love you and you love me. Let’s be together. I’m not saying marriage right now. Not that I don’t want to marry you just that it’s still too soon. Let’s be together. I don’t want to say goodbye again.” Placing your hand over his you smiled at him “I don’t want to say goodbye ever. Let’s be together. I love you and you love me.”

#ivar imagine #ivar imagines #ivar ragnarsson #ivar ragnarsson imagine #ivar the boneless

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honestsycrets · 6 years ago

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Björn Ironside || Love Alphabet

A = Affection (PDA, what sort of affection they give)

Bjorn motions his arm out to you, saying little with words, but looking to you with his sharp eyes.

Like with many things, he’s not shy. But he’s also not someone who will go overboard with his affection. He enjoys being sparse about it and seeing if you’ll press him for more. Holding your arm in public, laying kisses on your lips or otherwise. He lets you make a scene if you want more, though.

B = Babies (Anything you want about babies)

“If you want them.” He says, turning down his head. “I will be happy to give them.”

If you want them, he’ll give them. He’s a well-bred man but takes great pride in his line. As a busy man, he doesn’t often get the pleasure of being there to raise them as much as he wants. So he soaks in the moments that he can with your pregnant belly.

C = Cuddles (How they cuddle or are cuddled)

“Don’t go just yet.” Bjorn verbalizes his complaints when you want to leave, but before, well he won’t open his lips.

Lazily. Bjorn prefers to hold his woman on his chest, raise his hand to her back and keep her on top of them. Sometimes he’ll raise her leg over his, stroking over normally covered skin until he decides to be a little playful.

D = Darling (Pet names)

“(Y/N), come here.”

He’s not a very large user of pet names. He prefers to call you your own name. Though it might just be something that was taught to him through the guidance of Lagertha and Ragnar, later by Princess Aslaug.

E = Enamored (how hard do they fall when in love)

“I’m...” He mutters, looking around the room to avoid eye contact. He doesn’t say it, what’s on his mind, and you have to push him along to admit it.

Carefully. Bjorn has done the hard fall in love before-- he doesn’t like it. Not because it wasn’t good while it lasted, but that’s just it. It didn’t last. He’s squeamish to fall hard in love and so he does so carefully until he’s more confident that this good thing won’t blow up in his face.

F = Firsts (A first on anything you pick)

“I’ve had better ideas.”

The first kiss is a dare from his drunk brothers to go and kiss a random shieldmaiden. After all, who can deny Bjorn Ironside? Tell that to his public humiliation of being slapped. He could get retribution, but, he did get a blowjob out of it.

G = Good Morning (How do they wake you up)

Silently slipping his hand up your underdress to awaken you from your slumber.

One of two ways. Either leaving you in bed to sneak off and do what he has to do-- or, opening you up under his fingers with plenty of warming up done beforehand. He finds it amusing how you squirm under him.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs?)

“Hugs?” He jerks his head back, eyes big and bright. “Why would you give me a hug, hm?”

With his brothers and father, maybe. It strikes him as strange if you ask him for a hug. Nonetheless, he’ll give it to you with a little bit of a confused furrow in his eyebrows.

I = In Labor (Labour and Delivery)

On the standby. He’s not exactly squeamish to birth. He’s seen it before with Porunn and Torvi. As someone who grew up with a host of siblings, he thinks that you can handle it. If something goes awry though, he might inject himself carefully into the situation by getting his mother.

J = Jealousy (Are they jealous? How do they handle it?)

“And who was that?”

Tons of glaring. Bjorn isn’t really afraid to approach someone that he finds to be a threat. More often then not, he’ll do something about it in front of anyone that is around. He’s not shy. He’s Bjorn Ironside-- and the gods love him.

K = Kisses (How do they kiss? How often?)

He enjoys cornering you for kisses.

Despite what you might think, he does kiss his woman more than anyone might think! It’s a bit of foreplay for him, getting you warmed up is all a fun part of the game.

L = Loyal (How loyal are they?)

“I have a... bad reputation.” Bjorn reasons. He abandoned Torvi, so of course, you might worry about the same. “But that is not me.”

He knows he has a bad reputation for being a man who wanders bed to bed-- but it wasn’t always this way. When he finds someone he’s truly in love with, he has no true reason to wander. There are other ambitions than sex, after all.

M = Memory (Their favourite memory about you?)

Giving birth. Yeah, he knows that most men would be terrified to admit such a favourite memory like this. For Bjorn, there’s nothing more beautiful than a maiden becoming a mother.

N = Never! (Dealbreakers)

“How could you side with my uncle?”

Betrayal. He can’t handle someone that will lie to his face or side against him and his family.

O = On the Rocks (How do they make up?)

Usually letting things go to shit, he swears this time will be different.

He sits on the side of the bed and waits. He’s not necessarily one that apologizes often. But, if he thinks he’s done something wrong, he will. The last thing he wants to model for his children is how to be a shitty father. Though, he has a feeling he already is.

P = Playtime (Any headcanons on sex)

Standing up is his favourite position. Bjorn loves throwing his size around. There’s nothing sexier to him than shoving you up against the wall and taking you there where you stand.

Q = Quiet Time (How do they wind down?)

“Have I told you of the thresher?” He bounces his son on his lap.

Telling stories. It travels far back to when his family was still together. Lagertha and Ragnar, his mother and father, telling him stories of Odin and the gods. Being special enough that these stories were the only thing he had to worry about.

R = Rapture (What makes them happy?)

“Do you want to be king one day?”

Being king makes him happy, but nothing is as special to him as having his child on his lap while he sits in the very same throne that his father sat.

S = Soulmate (What do they think of soulmates?)

“Is this a Christian belief?”

Skeptical. He’s seen the love between his mother and father-- but also saw the hand the gods gave them. He’s seen the love between his father and Athelstan, and saw the same. Maybe he believes them, but he thinks if he believes in soulmates, the gods will tear you apart. It’s better not to give it a name.

T = Together (What do you like to do together?)

Raiding. It’s the ultimate bonding experience for him. But, if you don’t fancy the life of a shieldmaiden, he enjoys storytelling under the stars. Lazing about and talking about the gods. Watching you grow with children and recounting to you the creation of the world to your stomach.

U = Unyielding (How do they handle interlopers on the relationship?)

“Stay out of my way. I have no issue making scarce of you.”

Not well. Bjorn is the type to make his presence known and to also make them as small and irrelevant as he can. He’s territorial. He’s known to get into fights with others. This often means trouble and more scars to add to the count.

V = Vulnerable (Are they vulnerable often? How do they handle it?)

Heavy huffs, uncertain eyes and a tongue that almost feels tied.

No. No, no, no. The more vulnerable he is, the softer he takes it to mean. Being soft in the past has not gotten him far. His father hated it, his mother hated it. The only one who didn’t... Queen Aslaug. And so, he decides that he can’t have anyone see it unless they’re absolutely going to stay.

W = Wedding (Wedding headcanons)

Something small and private. He’ll invite his brothers, perhaps his mother if she isn’t busy. Otherwise, he enjoys small private ceremonies where he can feel comfortable enough to let loose.

X = (E)x (How do they handle exes? What do they do if they see them)

“Who was that one looking at you?” He says, scrunching his nose.

With a level head. His feelings have been buried. What’s done is done, the only issue he has is raising his children with you. Sometimes that might mean a few snide comments that he often throws his hands up about.

Y = Yearning (What do they do when they miss you?)

Never admits it!

Fondles a small hammer of Thor that you gave your big, strong man. You blessed it yourself. He’ll look out over the sea and count the moments until he gets back into your arms.

Z = Zzz… (Sleeping headcanons)

Bjorn loves to drag his fingers across your back, swirling them softly while you sleep. He sleeps better knowing you’re by his side-- loyal and truthful to him. While he can’t say that he sleeps peacefully all of the time, after an hour of you being asleep, he’ll finally allow himself some rest.

@igetcarriedawaywithyou, @kylobien, @titty-teetee, @breathlessouls, @nejijjeoroo, @bcat1291, @readsalot73, @mslothbrok, @romanchronicles, @captstefanbrandt, @ailucascen, @michaeliskindahot, @cbouvier23, @naaladareia, @cbouvier23, @the-geeky-engineer, @dorned, @lisinfleur, @funmadnessandbadassvikings, @tephi101, @akamaiden, @ethereallysimple, @venusloviing, @happylittlepuppydog, @beyond-the-ashes, @slutforrpg, @hipsternoionlylikeunicorns, @mixedwiththemoon, @sparklemichele, @alicedopey, @lif3snotouttogetyou, @rubyquartzshades, @noregretsandyeteveryregret, @dangerous-like-a-loaded-pistol, @deathbyarabbit, @unacceptabletatertots, @beyond-the-ashes (no sig), @babypink224221, @ivarandersen, @queen-see-ya-in-valhalla, @moose-squirrel-asstiel, @icarus-fell-in-spring, @end-of-night, @gruffle1, @lol-haha-joke @arses21434, @smileyparrots, @Moosemittens13, @miss-artemis-wild, @two-unbeatable-beaters, @wonderwoman292, @wish-i-was-a-mermaid, @fangirls94, @mcuimxgine, @killerb00sdeath, @heartbeats-wildly, @boo20017, @acacheofstrange, @shaelyn102, @astoryoffireandlight, @smokealone, @shaelyn102 @laketaj24, @peaceisadirtyword, @ly--canthrope@cris101071 @daughterofthenight117 @unassumingviking , @inforapound @wichesterwife27 , @ladyofsoa

#Bjorn x Reader #Bjorn Ironside x Reader #Bjorn/Reader #Bjorn Ragnarsson x Reader #Vikings imagines #Vikings imagine #vikings/reader #vikings x reader #the vikings #Bjorn imagines #Bjorn Ironsides Imagines

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pomegranates-and-blood · 4 years ago

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νοσταλγία (Chapter 5)

νοσταλγία Masterlist

Pairing: Ivar/Reader (eventual)

Summary: This is a retelling/romantization of the Greek myth of Persephone’s abduction with Ivar as Hades and you as Persephone. The Reader character is a Byzantine woman, follower of the Greek Pantheon/Religion, and a devoted follower of Persephone. This takes place after 5A, but the universe of this is a little changed in relation with the series, of course. Thank you for giving it a chance, hope you enjoy!

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings: The usual :)

A/N: Hi! I really hope you like this chapter, and that you are enjoying the story so far. I didn’t notice many people reading chapter 4, and it was posted out of schedule, cause I decided every one wednesday I’m gonna post an extra chapter of something related to this story, so just in case I’m linking it here. Thank you for reading, hope you like it, and please let me know what you think!

Taglist: @youbloodymadgenius

Your eyes travel over the ship and its crew without you meaning to, taking in curiously the wooden ship that seems to have two bows instead of one. The sea laps at the worn wood but of course, it holds and breaks the waves with ease as you move further and further away from the city captured by Stithulf and his men.

The salty wind makes a mess of your hair, and you reach up unconsciously to move it out of the way, when the rattling of chains and the weight on your wrists stops you. A bubble of panic, of terror and of impotence starts at your chest, but you shut it down as quickly as you can, refusing to show weakness in front of these Norsemen.

Narses takes a seat on your side, his rough fingers moving your wind-swept hair out of the way so he can press a kiss on your bare neck in greeting. You smile faintly at him, and put your hand on his thigh with ease, ignoring Galla’s stare.

“We will be in Sparta in a matter of days,” The girl informs instead of voicing her real thoughts that you see shining in her dark gaze, and you nod. After a breath, she states, “The Laconians won’t take happily to the last of Lysander’s blood marrying a Thebesian.”

“I was raised by a Varangian and we just lost the war I decided to start,” You inform her without stopping to think about the pain of defeat, “Do you truly believe the biggest of their concerns is who I’m taking to bed?”

“I love you too, dear.” Narses states dryly under his breath, and you turn to him, offering him a smile that he returns with ease, promising he was jesting.

“My advice, little one?” Sieghild calls out, and you three turn to watch the Varangian approach you from the stern of the trireme. Without waiting for your answer, the redhead continues, “Do not pretend not to have your share of arrogance, of pride. Embrace it, for you are of Spartan blood. Embrace their brutality, their pride, their strength. Show weakness once and you will be like a lamb surrounded by lions.”

You look into her green eyes, and something in her words makes you think she speaks from experience. Rorik, your mind recalls, and you feel a pang of pain for your mother, but don’t say anything about it.

“You sound proud of the Laconians, Varangian.” Galla teases around a smile, leaning back on the wooden edge.

“Nothing on Viking berserkers,” She dismisses without hesitation before turning to you again, “But your blood is that of warriors, little one. And…you are my daughter, I raised you,” She points an inked finger your way, a threat and a caution, “and Viking women don’t raise lambs.”

“Priestess,” You captor calls out arrogantly, taking your attention away from your memories and your eyes away from the sea. King Ivar sits on a wooden crate by one of the edges of the ship, his hands toying with his crutch as he watches you.

When you lift your eyebrows, he motions for a place at his side, “Come sit with me.”

Sieghild’s horror stories of what Vikings do to prisoners, how they fight, how they kill, return to your mind like passing memories, setting your nerves alight and making your heart pound in your chest. It unnerves you more than unbridled rage, this courtesy.

You stand your ground and spit back, “Thinking I will jump ship?”

The Viking looks at you with a terrifying smile on his face, like he is reminding you of winning a fight you didn’t know you partook in. “You know, I went through a lot of trouble to find you.” He says, fingers near his mouth as his clear eyes roam over your red clad figure.

“Am I to be impressed?” You ask, your own eyes narrowed. You are well aware you are playing with fire, but whatever ought to happen to you will happen regardless of how you act. And granting the Varangian the satisfaction of seeing how scared, how unmoored, how exposed you feel is something you want to avoid.

Instead of holding your gaze, the Viking looks over your shoulder and gestures with a hand.

The sharp edge of a battle axe setting silently at the side of your neck brings you to stiff attention and forces all the breath out your lungs. The warrior that holds it looks ahead, you notice through a side-glace, keeping obedient eyes on his King.

“Ivar, is this really necessary?” The voice of the Viking that saved your skin in Stithulf’s docks breaks the silence. You watch the young man straighten in his place, biting into an apple but keeping his eyes on the King.

“She’s my prize, brother.” King Ivar reminds him, a dangerous edge to his voice that lets loose a new kind of tension in the air.

The two brothers remain still, measuring each other for a few moments, before the Prince sighs and desists, walking away into somewhere in the ship you cannot see.

So this is what you have been reduced to: a spoiled King’s plaything. Delightful.

The King turns his attention back to you, and the cold that runs down your spine when you face his pale eyes makes the blade of the axe sitting at your neck nothing but a bonus.

Viking women don’t raise lambs.

You straighten your spine and stare him down, daring him even when you know how dangerous it is to do so. And you could swear the beginning of a smile teases at Ivar’s lips.

In answer to your previous question, as if pretending the interaction with his brother didn’t happen, the King says,

“You are smarter than that,” He dismisses, and the blade leaves its place at the side of your neck silently. Still, you say nothing in response, so he gestures again to the empty space at his side, “Sit.”

You bite your tongue and take the seat, eyeing him coldly and angrily the entire time. This only seems to please him further, and it is infuriating and terrifying.

“Why am I here, King Ivar?” You ask quietly instead of voicing other thoughts, and look into his eyes trying to find any attempt to lie.

“I will explain later,” He says simply, the arrogance of a spoiled child in the gesture of his hand that you grit your teeth at, but say nothing. He looks up at you, his chin turned downwards and if you didn’t know better the gesture would look innocent. The King starts again, “And now you say my name, so I think I should finally know yours.”

You kept your name a secret for a long time, from many a man. Not that it means anything, not that it carries any value anymore. But…it is yours. It is yours to invoke and to know, yours to voice, yours to give away.

Names bind us, names define us; that’s what Attica taught you. Names are dangerous things when one aims to be free, because names chain us. To a family, to a legacy, to an ideal, to a home. To nostalgia.

You didn’t want Ivar knowing your name then, the same way you didn’t want to acknowledge his, because it wouldn’t make you two just…you two. It would make you Daughter of Athens, Heir to Sparta, Anassa of the Attics. It would make him King of Kattegat, Son of Ragnar Lothbrok, Ivar the Boneless.

But those hopes of escaping a world of chains and burdens, it was so foolish and childish you feel not only regret but embarrassment at how you almost thought you could trust the man now before you. Those hopes that you could be anything more than a witch, a queen, a betrothed; those hopes escaped you when they put chains on your wrists.

So, you tell him quietly, and ignore the pang of…something in your chest when he tries the foreign syllables in his tongue a few times.

“Now you know all my secrets, King Ivar. Happy?” You ask dryly, looking at him from the corner of your eye as your face turns to the sea.

He hums to himself, clearly not believing you, but stays silent for the time being, and as time trickles down you realize you feel less and less eyes on the two of you. If his fame is to be believed, him taking a prisoner alive is reason of curiosity if not outright disbelief, so you try not to think too much of it.

“You didn’t tell me you were their Queen.” The Viking starts, and you shrug.

“My kingdom is ashes, and my people are dead. I have no interest in being queen over death,” You reply almost mechanically, but then catch yourself and frown his way, “You didn’t tell me you were counting on making me a prisoner, either.”

The anger is clear in his face as he sighs, his head moving slightly with the movement. Angering him shouldn’t delight you the way it does, for it may mean pain and death for you, but the glimpse of something real, something that is because of you, that brings control back to you; is enough and more than worth it.

“You are not a prisoner.” He grits out, but all you do is lift your shackled hands in response.

His gaze holds yours for a few moments, his jaw set tight. But you remain still and trying with all your might that your expression doesn’t betray your fear, your anxiety, your pain.

His loud bark of a name startles you, but you stay still as he motions for the warrior he called up to remove your chains. After a moment of hesitation, the young Viking approaches you, kneeling in front of you and making quick work of the iron bindings.

Soon enough the shackles around your wrists fall to the floor. You refuse to show the relief your sore skin feels at the newfound freedom, instead murmuring a thanks to the warrior as he takes his leave away from the two of you.

Lifting your eyes to the King, you raise your eyebrows at his almost expectant silence, “I am not thanking you.”

But he only smiles, and you could swear there’s an edge of hunger in his pale eyes.

____

Apollo’s chariot is almost at the end of its journey when the rattling of chains startles you from restless sleep, the monotonous movement of the ship having lulled you to sleep on a corner of the ship not so subtly guarded by the King like a dog protecting an old bone.

Two chained women who you assume to be slaves given as part of Stithulf’s deal with Ivar turn wide eyes to you as they see you move, huddled together a few feet from you.

Your eyes sweep the area around you and you find no trace of the King, but a glimpse of the man that announced himself as Hvitserk keeping vigilant eyes on you from the distance tells you the King hasn’t let go of this particular bone yet.

Still, you turn to the women.

“Are you injured?” You ask in a poor attempt at their language, and while one of them seems to consider your question for a moment the other grips a necklace at her throat and mutters something to herself. Of course, their cross can protect them from the Mediterranean witch, how could you forget. Gritting your teeth, you look away, unable to avoid the sting of shame and hurt.

Stealing a glance to the Prince that lingers with his watchful gaze on you as he eats an apple, you stand up on stiff legs and roll your shoulders as you walk to a part of the ship away from the women but also away from most of the Vikings.

The presence of the King behind you is not silent, the heavy stabs of the crutch on the wooden floor of the ship letting you know he approaches. But even without those sounds, you ponder, you’d still feel his curious and cruel eyes set upon you, like you do now.

The Viking calls your name, and you face him to see he is offering you a knife, handle turned to you.

Your wide eyes go from the small blade in his bandaged hand, up his arm and up to meet his own eyes, but the King does not falter, still offering you the weapon.

“What are…Why are you offering me that?”

“It’s yours,” He promises, moving his hand and inciting you to take it. With caution, you do, closing your fingers around the circular handle and bringing the knife close to you. Leaning back, seemingly satisfied, the King says, “After stealing it from me and almost gauging out that Saxon’s eye, Priestess, you have earned yourself a weapon.”

You do not know if he means it as a compliment or a patronizing way of recognizing what you did, so of course you respond with a curl of your lip and looking down at the knife.

“You are certain I won’t use it against you?” You ask before you can stop yourself, but the King only huffs a breath.

“It would be interesting to see you try, Priestess.”

“I may not be like one of your shieldmaidens but I know how to hurt.” You offer, if a bit defensive, raising your eyes to meet his.

But Ivar smiles, and although the darkness in his expression doesn’t surprise you, the hunger in it does.

“That’s the thing, Priestess, you hurt,” A small, cruelly delighted laugh leaves his lips as he regards you like he did on that carnage that occurred outside of the city’s walls. “You could have done so much with that knife in your small hand, and you kno this. You could have slit your own throat, killed yourself before becoming a ‘Varangian’s prisoner’; you could have tried to kill me, punished me for putting chains on you,” His eyes are intense when his smile quietens, when his expression, although just as hungry and dark, becomes more a truth than a mask. Ivar’s voice drops when he promises, “You could have killed Stithulf. But you didn’t. You want him dead, but you didn’t kill him.”

You force your gaze away from his in what feels like an acceptance of defeat, and grit your teeth, trying to ignore the memory of blood on your lips. It tasted sweet when it shouldn’t have.

“I am not like you, I do not…delight myself with death, my King.” You offer still, reminding yourself you will not let the cruel nature of the man that imprisoned you change your own.

“That man you killed in that field,” Your body freezes in your seat, for a moment the errant thought of having killed someone he wants revenge for making your blood run cold. The King leans an elbow on his iron-encased thigh, his face close to yours, eyes intent on reading your every expression, “Why did you do it?”

“What? H-He would have killed me.”

“Was it just that that made you do it?” He insists, voice a purr and even if phrased as a question he looks into your eyes like he knows the answer.

“Yes.” You reply stiffly, teeth gritted.

The King laughs darkly, gesturing with his hand as if attempting to placate you. You do not, and instead of voicing whatever the blood in your veins wants you to -and get you killed for-, you bite your tongue.

“Then, if it was just survival, just a woman of the Gods defending herself; why is it that you want Stithulf dead, Priestess?” Ivar asks, voice dark and eyes with that same intensity as if he looks past the title turned burden that your people gave you and sees the parts of you that fill you with shame and regret. The Viking leans even closer, and continues, “I know you want him dead. And you don’t want to give him a clean death, he does not deserve it. You want to make him bleed, you want to make him scream; like you did to that warrior in the field.

You remain frozen in place, enthralled and terrified all at once. The King leans even closer, or maybe you do, and your breaths are almost one.

He watches you with that same intensity that he did from across the battlefield, where you stood in shaky ground with blood on your face, your mouth, your hands, your dress.

“I saw you, remember that. It was not a vow to your Gods that made you bash his face with the shield until he couldn’t fight anymore, it was not your desire to return to your…peaceful city that made you rip out his skin with your teeth, your Goddess did not kill him pushing that arrow into his eye.” You can only look back at him, eyes wide and heart beating fast. Ivar’s smile widens, tip of his pink tongue tracing his lower lip before he rasps out, “No, it was none of that…was it?”

I wanted to kill him, I wanted to make him scream in pain. I wanted to make him pay for what his brothers in arms did to mine, to Narses.

In his face I saw the face of every man that thought he could raise a hand to me, that silenced me, that wanted to take what’s mine.

But you refuse to voice those thoughts, you refuse to let that part of you breathe, and instead hiss,

“I come from a kingdom of peace and civility, and no matter what assumptions you make, I shall not forget that.” You tell him, almost feeling you are talking to yourself, repeating to yourself the same thoughts that you’ve been forcing into your mind for years now.

It is wrong to want death. It is wrong to want blood. It is wrong to want chaos.

You cannot find your belonging surrounded by death and iron, you tell yourself, but a whisper in the back of your mind offers: you will not find your belonging amongst flowers.

So you force your eyes to focus on the horizon of the sea meeting the sky all around you, not daring to even breathe.

“Of course, your home of flower fields and warmth.” He mocks, and although you steal a glance his way, your stomach lurching at his taunt, you say nothing else.

Admitting you starved in the flower fields of Eleusis, admitting you chased war and death like old friends asking you to dance, admitting your drive to deny the Byzantine Christians their foothold in Attica was more than the desire for freedom; it would all mean that your people died for nothing more than a fraud, that the priestess they followed and loved was a mirage, that you failed not only your legacy but yourself.

It would mean you are not your mother’s daughter, it would mean the baby they decided would be a follower of the Goddess of Spring failed the Gods themselves by craving chaos.

____

Hi, thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed this, I hope you like where it is going. I’d love to know what you think of this story so far!

Ik some correlations to the myth are very on-the-nose here, and they will continue to be bc that’s the point of the story, but we’ll pretend the Priestess can’t tell, for suspension of disbelief’s sake lol.

#ivar the boneless imagine #ivar the boneless x reader #ivar the boneless #ivar x reader #vikings #vikings imagine #νοσταλγία #νοσταλγία masterlist

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odins-missing-eye · 7 years ago

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So as i’m working on my (what is to be my) main fanfiction called Spoons to Swords i’ve also been working on a side story that will be shorter and only have a couple parts. this is the intro to that side story. (my gods i feel like ragnar with somethin’ on the side...)

PAIRINGS: MAIN- Eikhríð x Sigurd SIDE- Asta Bergljot x Ivar Title: Moving a Tree (in a Storm) Summery: How one takes grief varies on the person but you must keep moving. In a land where she was born an outsider Eikhríð will gain a family and maybe make one of her own. Slave to free women she will learn that her actions as one may allow for her to grow as the other, Eikhríð owes nothing to her mistress yet she stays loyal not out of pity or fear but out of love and need. Her mistress’s future is blessed by the gods yet hers, hers in unknown.

Asta Bergljot (blond) is based on my bestie @imaginesparadise this story is dedicated to them.

story rated: 18+ This story will include: SLOW BUILD, swearing, mentions of rape, attempted rape, blood, smut, graphic gore, and a lot of other stuff though warnings will be on each chapter.

tagging: @imaginesparadise @ivars-pet @cherrytrinkets (let me know if you want to be tagged in the next part)

Moving a Tree (in a Storm) - INTRO

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The strange dragon ships came one day in the fog. By then they needed no cover of night as rumors across the shores had already started to travel and take root in this once quiet town as more and more accounts of blood shed and fear made its way down the coast.

Chaos, that's what this was. No organization. Exit plans? What exit plans, it was pure mayhem. Women, children executed by family members so the 'heathens' wouldn't do it, or worse. Churches boarded up in haste as if pieces of wood would keep them out. They knew wood, their boats perfectly crafted and unlike any others. And the fire, the blaze of the end times surely. Buildings, people, the fire cleansed all who it touched. Fire didn't pick and choose, it took. If their was one element in this world those northmen could be described as, it was fire. They took, burned, and took more. Their was no recess. But just like a fire some things Hardy make it. She was such a thing. She was the type to endure but this was ridiculous! If you thought when a raid happened you only had to watch out for the raiders you would be wrong. It seemed her people in panic went insane. Slaying their own. She not only had to watch out for the new comers but her own neighbors as well. She was never really lucky however and this day was no different, but it seemed she wasn't down right UN-lucky either. She was taken last, found among the crates and stalls at the markets, the ropes cutting into her hands on her end, the other end was in the hands of a large heathen of a man but was snagged by a young women quickly after. words were exchanged quickly between the two. Consintrating on who’s hand now owned her leash gave her enough distraction to what was going on around. The young women had blond hair blazed red and orange, golden even when the fires around them both hit it just right it was tied back in long braids and her grey eyes didn't look at her but they were fierce and glared at others of her people as she passed. She didn't speak much but seemed to growl in announce to her kin when she needed to. This was someone in charge if people leaving no sooner then her words were spit had anything to go by. The young women wasn't very tall though a couple inches more so then she, a small waist and curvy hips she was dirty with Ash, dirt and blood and smelled of all three. Her leather clothing..or was it armor were fitted to her and she wore pants of all things! women here didn't wear them except in the winter if it was cold enough but even then that was under a dress still. These men and women cleared out as quickly as they came. They did not linger and when all was loaded including her she was in the middle of the water looking at endless waves. Her own black hair kept getting blown in her face. She would need to braid it when she could use her hands again. You would think she would be afraid, among strangers, tied to a pole under the ship, she wasn't, she was far to curious. Everything had happened so fast she was alert looking over everything she could, the others captured like her didn't even look at her, that was no surprise considering she was an outsider to them all. Her green eyes took in who had been spared and she recognized some young women and stronger men. No children or elderly. That meant her father had not made it. Her father, a great healer, was one of them but her mother, a witch of a healer, came from another land. She had her mother's looks mostly, some were unique to herself, all she had been given by her father was her striking eyes, identical to his. Black hair, palest of skin almond shaped eyes and high cheek bones. Skinny and short with a small chest she got these things from her mother but she also had birthing hips or so she had been told her thighs were a bit on the bigger scale and her butt wasn't flat like her mothers these were the parts of her her father said came from his mother. Green, not to bright like emeralds but more like the Jade her mother had favored from her home land, her eyes stood out just more so then her fathers seemed to as his features didn't seem too make them exotic. on her they seemed foreign, not right. In the darkness like now under the main deck Her eyes seemed black. Her father had been the main healer for their rich small area and was so good others from other areas around contacted him. Even Kings and royalty had called for him. After Her mother had died it was just him and her, she learned everything he would teach her and as he got older she was thankful she did get to travel with him. In fact they had both just gotten back from the royal castle in the east, they had delivered a child of the young queen. She had gone to the markets to get some supplies as three weeks of being gone had their store room needing fresh food. She let herself shed a couple tears in his memory before wiping them away. The Northwomen came back looking far better and less agitated then before, her hair down now and clothes a little cleaner. she untied her and pulled out some bread and water both from the land they had just left. She almost choked on both when the young women opened her mouth and spoke her language. You may think how she spoke wasn't the best but besides a light accent proving she wasn't a native you couldn't tell. So they talked and they learned each other's names, the Northwomen was called Asta Bergljot, Asta by her mother but called Bergljot by her men and her brothers. Asta was the name her mother wished for her to have and the other the name her father called her. It seemed her people called her Asta as a title almost rather then a name but it was shorter and easy to say.Her own name wasn't impressive but she shared it anyway and when the women had trouble she told her how her name meant treestorm so the lady Asta called her Eikhríð eik meant tree, hríð meant storm It was harsher then her own language but she liked it. It was different like she.They talked about that to, about her parents and Asta was impressed with her abilities as a healer she even offered condolences when she talked about her father. Eikhríð knew she shouldn't be spilling so much but she was never good at stopping once she started something. She had never connected with anyone before. Her father's people hated her and no one opened up to her. Asta did. The whole journey to Asta's land was filled with conversation and lessons about their ways. Asta opened about her people about her brothers two older and one younger and a sister as well. Her father was a Jarl in their land and that made Asta a princess of sorts. they talked about many things for many days, above deck and below. Asta seemed to enjoy her company, one of her older brothers was in change of this raid and didn't even seem to mind them both gossiping like kitchen slaves in a palace.

By the time they got off the ship Eikhríð had gained a lot of knowledge she no longer had to be led around like her kin though Asta did tie her hands and hold on to her just for show as she was still a slave.

Life moved on, Asta's family treated her well. Eikhríð was Asta's personal handmaid but only acted like it when they were in front of others. two years past this way, Eikhríð learned their language, how they fought, how they lived.

Though she was a slave she had earned the title 'The Wagging' due to always having information to give. she didn't give the information freely, secrets were kept but it wasn't a secret that she knew enough to bury most people. She looked so foreign she could play the part of new slave well to over hear things. most in their land knew not she could speak their language as well as she could.

Asta thought of Eikhríð more of a sister as her own was older and had been married off. They were close so when Asta went raiding Eikhríð went too. When the sons of Ragnar called upon an army news spread. Asta's father didn't like Ragnar, he wouldn't let his sons go. Asta grew angry at her fathers decisions and left a little farther north to see her uncle who always favored her. Her uncle had raided with Ragnar before he was already packing to answer the call so it wasn't to hard for both women to slip in among his ranks. Her father would no doubt be furious but both women knew he wouldn't send anyone after her.

Eikhríð knew to stay close when they reached Kattegat, the town was bigger then what both were used to, it was new, exciting and Eikhríð thought dangerous. Eikhríð herself tied a rope to one of her wrists and the other end to Asta's, she wouldn't be getting lost or taken off to who knows where. As a friend, a sister and a slave Eikhríð knew Asta would do great things. she could listen to her talk all day of plans for the future, where she wanted to go, things she wanted to do. heading to the great hall Asta walked proud next to her uncle and behind her Eikhríð quickened her steps as not to have the rope pull her along, eyes scanning everything, she wanted no surprises. all three stopped once in the threshold to take it in.

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leaving it here as this is only the intro <3

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pomegranates-and-blood · 4 years ago

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νοσταλγία (Chapter 14)

νοσταλγία Masterlist

Pairing: Ivar/Reader

Word Count: 3.8k

Warnings: The usual, tho I should add mentions of polygyny

A/N: Hi!! Hope you like this chapter, and I look forward to hearing your thoughts on this!! Thank you so much for reading <3

Taglist: @youbloodymadgenius @heavenly1927 @toe-vind-ek-jou @xbellaxcarolinax @pieces-by-me @angelofthorr

You catch up to Ivar near the main hall, waiting for him outside the room Prince Hvitserk told you he’d be in with your hands crossed behind your back.

He eyes you with suspicion when he sees you, but still approaches and starts walking at your side.

“You are not here to apologize.”

Why would I? You want to retort, but instead you just shake your head.

“No, but…” You shrug, “I have trusted my mother more than anyone on this world, I will trust she knew what she was doing. I’ll choose to believe maybe the Goddess she worships has a reason for this to happen.”

“So you have accepted it, you will not fight anymore.” He states, and you raise your eyebrows in response.

“If you expect to see me defeated, King Ivar, I’m afraid you’ll be disappointed.”

“I would never want that.” He replies easily, squaring his shoulders as he returns his gaze ahead, and something tells you he is telling the truth. You do not know what to do with that knowledge.

“What do you want, then?” You ask boldly, surprising even yourself, “You get nothing out of marrying me. You are a smart man; you know you might lose power by making me your wife.”

“Why?”

He knows the answer, he knows. You have an inkling he is testing to see if you do, with how much certainty you can speak of power and its intricacies.

“You could marry a woman with…land here, a princess or an heir.” You explain, but Ivar just shrugs.

“I could still do that, I could find a second wife.”

You stop dead in your tracks at the realization that he could, and sensing you stop walking Ivar turns to you, eyebrows raised and the beginning of a mocking smile on his lips.

But to a child born in the cult of Persephone, promises of unloyalty are not something to be simply accepted. You were told that the Goddess you dedicated your life to was loyal and true to her husband even if she was a victim of him; you saw many new couples at your temple there to bless them with faithfulness and prosperity. You refuse the humiliation of sharing the one you are bound with before the Gods themselves.

So you walk the few steps that separate you, back straight and posture that of a woman with a confidence you do not truly have. What you do have, though, is arrogance, is pride, is relentlessness.

No man has made your nature change before, and certainly no King can, no matter how cruel.

You tilt your head and look into his eyes, unwavering.

“A Hiereia of Despoina does not take lightly to marriage. Your people may do things differently, but my people don’t, my Gods don’t,” Your heart remembers your homeland, your mother’s smiles as your father passed by and left a gentle caress on her face, her empty eyes as she waited for weeks for the ships that never returned, the love that years after their deaths all the way in Laconia -even with the bitterness of having lost their heir to Sparta to an Athenian- your family spoke of how blessed were they to have each other as husband and wife. The bitterness and grief make your resolve falter for a moment, but you still continue, “Before your Gods and my own I will promise loyalty to you, I will promise faithfulness. I ask-…no, I demand the same in return.”

“You demand.” He repeats, clearly a mock, a bait that you choose not to bite this time.

You nod.

“Which brings me back to my question, Viking,” You lift your eyebrows, “What is it you want?”

“I want many things,” He replies vaguely, shrugging before turning eyes like Greek fire to your own. “But I demand nothing more than that.”

With a small sound of exertion, he turns his back to you and continues walking towards the main room of the longhouse, leaving you dumbfounded and partly impressed, leaving you with the realization you played exactly how he wanted you to.

It feels like those times you would run to cross the dangerous and wild stream near the temple, your hair wild and feet bare. It feels like the deafening noise of the current in your ears, the fear and excitement running through your veins, the possibility of failure or success.

You smile.

____

“Why am I not surprised?” Ivar starts from behind you, and you turn to him without removing your hands from your task.

“Because I am predictable.”

“Stubborn,” He corrects as he steps into your room, eyes on the small sapling you planted on a ceramic vase. “You know it will not grow here, it needs warmer and softer ground than ours.”

You nod before leaving the plant by the window, hoping it will absorb as much sunlight as it needs, as it can.

“I have to try.”

He remains silent for a few moments, before the rustling of him moving where he stands brings your gaze to him. The King extends a hand and motions with his head,

“Come with me.”

You frown, but still stand up and walk slowly to his side. Your eyes travel to his still extended hand, but you cannot bring yourself to take it, choosing instead to ask,

“What is it?”

He doesn’t reply, and his jaw clenches before his hand drops back to his side. Still, he insists with a gesture of his head that you follow him.

The paths through his home are familiar to you by now, and you follow blindly as you try scrubbing off the dirt from your hands. Selene’s chariot is high up in the skies, the people have already retired to their homes, the thralls are making quick work of the mess left behind after tonight’s dinner.

After crossing a doorway, you find yourself in a spacious room with only a hearth in the middle of it, and some chairs and lunges. Chairs where, expectantly, the sons of Ragnar sit.

Prince Hvitserk greets you with your name, and you smile faintly, and he smiles back as he states, “I’m surprised to see you.”

“Prince Hvi-…”

“What is she doing here, Ivar?” The older Prince interrupts, eyes burning on you with a distrust and a vitriol quite alike his brother’s but more contained.

And you know it is not a mere question. Years alongside mercenaries, alongside warriors and leaders, they let you know this is a public defiance, a test of both mettles.

The way Prince Ubbe speaks, with the same tone in his voice, the same carry of his loud words, that has made you fear before; it makes you stay frozen in the doorway for a moment too long.

The King only shrugs, walking ahead and taking a seat, absently using his crutch to move a chair at his side back so you can sit.

Before replying to his brother, he turns to you and motions for you to sit.

“She is my…advisor.”

His gesture may speak of nonchalance, but his words have that slight carry you have noticed before, the pride of authority and the will and strength to carry said authority.

But his brother still takes his words with a dismissive smile, shaking his head, “You take a Greek witch as an advisor?”

You bite your tongue to keep yourself from saying that better men have tried better insults, and that nor your blood or your gifts, and the titles they warrant, call for you to feel offended at their mention, even if he wills it so.

Instead, you grit your teeth and swallow your pride to keep silent as you take your gaze to the King, studying his façade as he lifts purposely falsely innocent eyebrows at his brother, his mouth curved in a small mocking smile.

“I never did things the normal way, did I?” Some silent conversation seems to flow between the two sons of Ragnar, and you catch Hvitserk’s eyes for a moment.

He smiles, an apology, a gesture that says you ought to get used to this; and you offer a small smile in return, one of the first honest ones you’ve given the Prince.

“Why?” Ubbe insists.

Stithulf’s disgust as you are caught in the tent where they discuss war, his demand for answers when he turns to the man that would be your husband, “What is the witch doing here?”

“She is to be my wife, I trust her advice.” Narses replies simply. It irks of too little when the Gods know you are the reason he won against the Saracens, but you are still grateful, because you have to be.

“She is a smart woman,” Ivar replies, leaning back and crossing his arms over his chest, “I trust her judgement when it comes to Stithulf more than yours, brother.”

Before he can taunt his brother into throwing an axe to your face, you decide to intervene, voice low as you lean closer.

“Ivar…”

“Dublin is being hounded by Stithulf’s forces,” He explains without a second thought. He leans on the table before him, not turning to you as he speaks so you are left studying the way the light draws his profile, “We are leaving in two days.”

“We?”

“Hvitty will stay here with you.” He reassures, or attempts to at least, yet all he manages is to make you frown.

“Why are you going?” You hiss, and as he turns to you the King furrows his nose in annoyance, the beginning of a snarl starting to curl at his lip.

“Afraid the cripple can’t defend himself?”

“Stithulf couldn’t care less about Dublin. He wants your head, Viking.” You insist instead of replying to the obvious taunt. He opens his mouth to retort, clearly surprised by your revelation, but is interrupted before he can speak.

“Ivar, witch,” Ubbe calls out, startling you out of your conversation. He raises his eyebrows, “Share with the rest of us, will you?”

After a breath, you explain, “Stithulf is after the men that killed his King. He doesn’t care about cities, or land, or…fame. He wants the sons of Ragnar.”

“So you think he is trying to draw us out.”

I know so. You want to say, but you bite your tongue, you swallow your pride, your arrogance, even if you know that if you were a man they’d call it confidence.

“He reached my homeland searching for an edge over your armies, and found it in Arab and Greek forces. I doubt he will waste them destroying buildings, my Prince.” You answer with a nod, not missing the way Ivar’s eyes remain glued to you as you speak. It thrills you when it should make you want to crawl out of your own skin.

They continue talking to each other, discussing what they ought to do, how they are to approach the city. You doubt the reinforcements from Ivar’s army will hold the same element of surprise as they did the last time Stithulf readied his army near Dublin; and it seems they have the same idea for they don’t plan on being subtle about Kattegat’s navy supporting Dublin.

And as the moon travels through the skies, when you should be exhausted and ready to sleep; you are thrilled and beyond interested. The song of war, Athena’s boardgame, it all wraps around you like a familiar cloak.

So you soak in their talks about formations, about ways they can approach, you rejoice in listening to the way Dublin can be defended. With your elbows on the table and your head in your hands, you listen and observe, for once without fear of being told you are out of place.

____

And before you know it two days have passed. On the last night, when the ships are readied for the journey, the warriors celebrating their last night in Kattegat; you sit with Freydis and other women from the apothecary, exchanging laughs and stories as the feast goes on around you.

More than once during the night, your foolish heart makes your eyes roam the hall in search of the King, and you find yourself smiling like a fool at the sight of him drinking and laughing with his brothers, with his men.

The times where you look for him only to find him already with his eyes on you, those times make your foolish heart beat faster, but you will deny it if anyone asks.

You swirl the mead in your cup as you lay back on your chair, taking in the ongoing celebration and trying to remember the last time you felt this comfortable and safe and…

“You feel at home, witch.” Freydis states quietly, almost by your ear, interrupting your thoughts.

Wide eyes find hers, but she only smiles calmly, with that hint that she knows a secret you don’t.

Before you can ask her to kindly be a bit less cryptic for once, she looks at someone behind you, and a hand gently calling for your attention when it rests on your shoulder stops you.

You turn to meet the warm eyes of Prince Hvitserk, who offers you a silent greeting and a small smile.

“My brother calls for you.” He whispers, eyes on yours and the promise of what is to come written on them. You wonder how much of how you have come to become his brother’s wife is known to him.

Ivar stands before his throne and your heart lurches when you see another seat arranged besides it. You find his eyes, and he extends a hand.

“I will not sit there.” You hiss at him. He grits his teeth, the annoyance at how you are unwilling to follow even the simplest of commands clear in his expression.

“You will be at my side, get up here.”

Your eyes travel to his still extended hand, palm facing upwards, fingers open and vulnerable expecting the touch of your own. Rationally, you know there’s a feast going around you, you know there’s yells and songs and laughs, but you cannot hear anything but the ringing in your own ears.

You cannot see anything but his hand expecting the touch of your own, and his eyes searching yours.

And though you know it is the tug of the invisible binds set upon you what makes you take the steps necessary and hold his hand, the chains don’t feel as heavy as you thought they would.

Calloused but warm fingers close around your hand, and Ivar stands taller.

He calls for the attention of his people, and when the hall quietens and you feel all their eyes on the pair of you, it is you that grips tighter onto his hand on yours.

“My people,” He starts, proud and confident and infuriatingly performative, “Most of you already know of this fine woman I have at my side since our return from Dublin, Greek by birth but a daughter of one Sieghild Vorsdottir,” You hear the mumbled replies, the hushed whispers at the mention of your mother, and you narrow your eyes. Ivar continues, “You will all soon know her as your Queen, for when we return from Dublin again, she will be my wife, and Queen of Kattegat.”

You hold your head high as the Varangians lift their cups and horns and hands and voices in celebration and congratulations. Ivar thanks them with a smile and a gesture of his hand, and aside from a few men that approach to give their congratulations face to face, soon enough the aura of calm -or what calm has come to mean in these strange lands- returns to the room.

You eye the chair they set for you at the side of Ivar’s throne cautiously, but you will not lie to yourself and say it feels constricting to sit up there.

You make a point of letting go of the King’s hand as soon as you sit, though, and based on the way his jaw clenches and his head moves to the side in clear anger, you can tell he’s obviously noticed.

The feast lives on, and a few times -repeatedly, actually, which you will blame on the mead and ale- toasts arise to wish for the Gods’ favor on the incoming battles across the sea, to congratulate the King and his foreign bride, to celebrate the death that is to come and the death that might escape them.

It is all incredibly strange to you, painfully foreign. You have no choice but to remain at your seat, facing the loud and boastful warriors, listening to foreign tongues, trying to understand strange customs.

It makes you think of what Sieghild would make out of this. She always accused you of being too arrogant, too proud, too ambitious for a Greek woman. Boasted about it being her influence what taught you to stand straight and never bite your tongue.

What would she make out of her daughter being fated to become wife of one Ivar the Boneless?

“My mother,” You start, and almost startled the King turns to you. “You brought up her name twice now, as if she is…”

“Famous?” He supplies, beginning of a smirk in place, “She is.”

“Sieghild?”

“Women with hair and eyes like hers are not easily ignored. Doesn’t help she is taller and stronger than many men,” He shrugs, looking ahead, “King Rorik had to fight a bear to get her hand, or so the Danes say.

You have heard that name before, only once in your mother’s lips. It doesn’t cease to make disgust and hate churn at your stomach.

At your silence, Ivar insists,

“You know of him, don’t you? The only madman before my brother Bjorn to take sail to your Mediterranean.”

“He didn’t reach the Mediterranean,” You offer quietly, “His ships docked in a land colder than this one, many died because of cold or hunger. And though he and the warriors that were left founded Aldeigja, it is still a long way from the Mediterranean.”

“Did you ever meet him?” He asks, and your eyebrows raise in surprise. The King only shrugs, “You mentioned travelling a lot.”

You shake your head, “Sieghild…she was betrayed by him. She would never let him close to me.”

“But she told you of him.”

“To warn me of what men in power are capable of.”

“A woman made Anassa,” He retorts, the word still foreign on his lips but you find it oddly endearing that he tries speaking your tongue, using your titles, “wouldn’t have much to fear from men in power, now would she?”

You only raise your eyebrows in response, “You think I had any real power back in Greece?” Before he can answer, you shake your head with a chuckle, “Ivar, my own people didn’t take me as a leader until I died for them. Even that wasn’t enough, Anassa is only a title, it wouldn’t change their hearts. I am a woman that refuses to fight like a man to achieve my goals, I had no place being queen in their eyes.

He stays silent, one of his hands by his mouth and his eyes intent on yours, and you let your lip curl in anger as you lay your back once again on the backrest of your seat, looking ahead.

“Because of me and what I learned they managed to fend off the Saracen raiders, because of me and my blood Laconia came to their support with the finest warriors in the Mediterranean, because of me they had time to escape Eleusis when the Christians came,” You grit your teeth, and if it is bitterness and anger and hunger all that’s left within you once the veil of nostalgia is gone, then so be it. “And yet I had to prove myself more than any man, more than-…

More than Narses.

You stop yourself, stealing a glance at the Viking that still keeps unwavering interest in the words that leave your lips. You shake your head, and reach for the cup a thrall refilled a few moments ago.

“It doesn’t matter. Most of the free Attics are dead somewhere near Aneridge, the rest will perish when winter comes. It doesn’t matter.”

The King touches his own cup with yours, and you eye him carefully, wary of what the outburst might mean for you, but Ivar only smirks.

“If you say so.” He mocks, drinking from his own cup but with his expression still dripping mirth and skepticism.

You roll your eyes, and settling better in the undeserved seat, you let conversation between the two of you go somewhere else.

And so it does, because frustratingly enough the Viking will never cease to be fascinating to you, and no matter what the two of you talk about it always manages to fill you with curiosity and warmth.

The ruckus of the feast eventually dies down, although not that far from the time the sun will rise over the sea, and you shake off your drowsiness as you watch people take their leave from the main hall.

Ivar stands up from his throne and gestures the mock of a bow your way, mumbling his goodnight. You watch him leave, reminded of the ships that are to depart over the horizon soon.

So, stealing a glance at the few remaining people and guards around you, you stand up and follow.

____

A bit of a cliffhanger, ik, I’m sorry. If I continued the last scene till the end this chapter would be a 10k word beast, so cliffhanger it is.

Also yes Rorik (Rurik) as in Igor’s father, as in the King that sailed East and started the Rus dynasty is in my canon a Danish King and Sieghild’s former husband, whom she followed in that adventure to wherever-the-fuck. Then they parted ways, and she found herself in the Mediterranean. I will probably go in more detail about this in Sieghild’s PoV, which should be the spinoff chapter uploaded next Tuesday.

Anyway, hope you liked this chapter, I hope you don’t completely hate where the story goes after the Sieghild revelation and all that. But yeah, would love to hear back from you, thank you for reading, and have a nice day/night!!

#ivar the boneless x reader #ivar x reader #ivar the boneless imagine #ivar the boneless #vikings #νοσταλγία masterlist

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