#bc Sigurd is so strong and takes so much of the weight

[darkwood-sleddog]

It’s only been a day but I already miss this lol.

[pomegranates-and-blood]

νοσταλγία (Prologue)

(Gif credit to @honestsycrets​)

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 Greek/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: Like 7k, I’m sorry

Warnings: As usual, mentions and descriptions of blood, death, torture, injury and people being burnt alive. Mentions or allusions to rape. If there’s anything else I didn’t mention, please let me know. Fair warning that the Reader Character may not be everyone’s cup of tea, but please give her a chance.

A/N: So, in this universe, bc fuck Michael Hirst, Sigurd is alive (tho Ivar did throw the axe) but married and away, Bjorn is still somewhere sunny, and Dublin was founded in Saxon land by Hvitty, Ivar and Ubbe, but it is the latter the one in control, prompting Ivar to eventually return to Kattegat and take the throne form Lagertha (she is alive just like in the show, only Bjorn is not here -I like to think he would understand his brothers wanting to avenge Aslaug?- and Floki departed bc he didn’t want to have to choose between supporting the kid he raised and an old friend), leaving him as King, Ubbe as ruler of Dublin, Hvitserk in Kattegat for now like in the show, Bjorn getting a tan in the Mediterranean, and Sigurd alive and happy cause goddammit killing him was a stupid choice. Sorry and btw this isn’t my creation, this is based on some exchanges I saw on reddit and a lil bit of me lol)

The warrior hesitates before letting you enter the tent, but you do so quietly and without a word, like it is expected out of you, and the men discussing war take no notice of you as you slip into a seat and watch them discuss.

Narses, still in the armor of a Byzantine Strategus despite his back having been turned to the Empire for a long time, turns to look at you as you enter. He doesn’t say a word, but in his green eyes there’s a plea for you not to speak, one that you must obey with gritted teeth and bitten tongue.

He understands, and there’s relief in Narses’ eyes.

Your friend. Your confidante.

Your fool.

His lips are pressed into a thin line, his hands supporting most of his weight as he leans on the war table.

“Our numbers are strong enough to hold until support from Strepshire arrives.” The Christian you recognize as Leofric -a bishop? Cleric? You have no idea anymore- speaks, his voice not much unlike the sound of the Byzantine soldiers’ armor plates rustling together as they march down the streets, burning idols and slaying the poor fools that believed the Gods would save them.

“If we retreat, we can-…” Narses argues, but is quickly interrupted.

“You belong to us!” Leofric barks, and you startle at the sudden aggression, “You have made a deal, Greeks. You must honor it.”

“I am aware. I am also aware you Saxons would sacrifice everything for your revenge.” Narses scoffs back, interrupting the Saxon and your train of thought at the same time.

“You want the same, boy. Is it not why you insist on gaining our support?” Stithulf, the leader, states, leaning back on his chair and resting his hands on the back of his head.

His posture screams of arrogance, his young age of a boy with too much power, his scars of a monster eager to fight.

You could use someone like him leading your army. You have seen too many of the so-called soldiers in your home bend the knee to a false Emperor. Maybe you need a monster on your side, someone with the same thirst for blood Greece left you with, someone willing and able to bring the Gods down from the very Olympus for retribution.

And as he leans back he catches sight of you, his expression tightens into a scowl, and you discard the remote possibility.

Not only is he a Christian, the same brand of men that burned your home, your mother, and years later you as well; but he looks upon you like all you are to do is be one of more of virginal maidens for his strange pantheon.

“What is the witch doing here?” He asks out loud, and you swallow down the words you want to say, but still holding his gaze.

“She is to be my wife, I trust her advice.” Narses sentences, sending you a glance that you return with a grateful one of your own.

“I didn’t know you Greeks were ruled over by your women.”

“Greek women are the only ones to birth real men.” You quip before you can stop yourself, reminded with the bittersweet feeling of nostalgia of when your father told you those exact words.

“Is that what your Goddess tells you, Heathen?”

Even the cadence of Leofric’s voice is enough to get you to twist your lip as you turn your gaze to him, but he remains stoic, a quiet sort of anger bubbling behind his eyes. You could swear a small smile tugs at his lips, as if he truly believes a simple word is enough to silence you.

The loud interruption of Narses’ fists colliding with the table stops his mocking, and the man’s eyes shift to his Byzantine ally within a moment.

“Do not call her that.”

“It is not an insu-…” You start, but your friend turns to you once again, begging you in silence to keep quiet. Biting down a sigh, you lean back in your chair and return your eyes to the map.

A long way from home, setting tents alongside Christians, and shutting your mouth because a man told you to. For all the visions and counsel the Gods have sent you through the years, a word of what was to become of your integrity would have been appreciated.

The sound of the curtains of the tent flapping open and closed makes you lift your gaze from the map, and you see Stithulf’s retrieving back.

Narses sighs, not looking at you when he concedes, both to inform you and the rest of the Saxons and Arab mercenaries in the room,

“We will hold.”

A cold hand grips your heart and the names of the Goddesses you seek for guidance and comfort are at the tip of your tongue, shaped by your lips but never spoken.

The Christians leave you two alone, and you walk to the soldier hunched over the war table. Your native Greek feels like a soft song evoking nostalgia as it dances past your lips:

“You cannot…”

“Please, my love.”

Anger bubbles within you, and you stand up straighter as you meet his eyes, “Narses, the Varangians will overpower us, you know we lost too many already, the support from Ivar the Boneless’ incoming army will crush us, you know h-…”

“This is a matter of war, love, let me handle it.” Narses interrupts, to which you frown.

“I know of war Narses! And I know this is a foolish move!”

“Do you know how to lift a sword?” He retorts, a challenge in his voice that does not go unnoticed.

“I…” You clench your teeth, looking up at him with narrowed eyes. “I do not need to fight to…”

He laughs bitterly, interrupting you, “Are you hearing your own words?”

“Are you hearing yours? The Varangian King has a crown made of bones and blood, Narses, don’t be foolish. Athena rejoices when he wages war, his army carries her favor.” You spit out your words, trying to make him understand. Narses remains impassive, though, eyes on the map and jaw clenched tight.

“You cannot argue of battle if you have never-…”

You interrupt him with a scoff, pointing an accusing finger at him even when he doesn’t meet your eyes, “I do not need to know how to kill to know the Varangians will swallow you whole. And you’ll drag our people with you.”

At your last words, his head snaps up, eyes facing yours with ferocity and more than old anger, “What choice do I have, huh? We will freeze or starve come winter, we need to move for Eleusis soon!”

“Our people…” You start, but he interrupts you again.

“Our people chose to follow me, and they will.”

“They followed me, they believe in me,” You correct without hesitation, teeth bared, “You followed me, Narses, and I let you, because you promised me an army.”

For a second he hesitates, takes you in with what seem to be new eyes. He seems to have forgotten there’s more than a meek priestess to the woman he followed from Attica. He seems to forget the bloodied hands and hungry smile that greeted him when you gave him the choice to be at your side.

“And I followed you because I love you, because I believe in you!” He exclaims, making shame and regret churn at your insides. You deviate your eyes from his, gritting your teeth.

“I begged you not to force our people to fight against these Norsemen, and you didn’t listen,” You grit out after a few breaths, anger returning to your voice, “Where was your love, your trust, when you chose to ally with these…Christians?”

He takes one of your hands in his, and the touch feels cold.

“You must trust me with this,” He intreats, warm eyes looking for something in your own you don’t think he can find. “Can you trust me?” A small pause, and you taste your own regrets in your mouth, “Love me?”

You press your lips into a line, and because you cannot say anything else, because the lie has gone on for too long and you might as well offer a truth before you entreat your soul to Hades, you whisper,

“Once, I could have.”

But he shakes his head, fervent and certain as he finds your eyes again,

“I promised you Attica, and it will be yours.”

But his words are empty. You do not care for that kingdom if the people that you love are not alive and prospering in it.

“Pray to the Gods you are killed by the Varangians, old friend. I will sacrifice you to Hades myself if you dare return alive from the place you are condemning my people to die on.” You sentence, unable to keep from showing the curl of disgust in your lip, the ancient pain in your eyes.

Narses walks closer to you, eyes searching yours and hands on your shoulders. You clench your jaw. He is gentle, he always is. Gentle, but so were the men that held you as their brothers in arms dragged your mother out of that temple.

You take a step back, but Narses speaks still, ignoring your discomfort,

“These Christians care not for their God, they just want Ivar the Boneless and his brothers. We give them to Stithulf, and they will march for Eleusis with us.”

You shake your head as you watch him believe his own lies.

“Even if we succeed, you are exchanging one master for another, Narses.” The words are your farewell as you turn your back to him and walk towards the entrance of the tent.

____

You walk into your tent and are greeted with a language these Saxons want to have you killed for speaking. The tongue of savages, of barbarians, of Vikings.

“Did they threaten to burn you yet?” Sieghild asks, and you can hear the smile in her voice even if her back is turned to you as she tends to the fire.

“Narses and Stithulf command us to remain,” You confess instead, voice breaking, “Kattegat’s army will be here in a day’s time to aid Dublin’s, but we will not retreat.”

The gasp she lets out forces you to shut your eyes tight in hope of keeping the tears at bay.

You both remain silent for a few instants, and you let yourself fall to the log she brought as a seat. Taking a seat next to you, she places a motherly hand on your knee, squeezing lightly until you look back up at her.

Blueish ink traces ancient marks on the skin of her face, and she moves a lock of your hair away from your face, the rattling sounds of her bracelets and trinkets reaching your ears and filling you with a sense of nostalgia you have difficulty explaining.

“If we must, we will die. Resisting, like your mother and I taught you.”

“This is not the war I will die fighting on!” You yell back, closing your hands into fists as they start shaking. “I will not see my people die fighting a cause not their own, Sieghild. I can’t.”

She takes your head in her hands gently, and, pressing cold lips to your forehead, she gives you the comfort only a mother can.

“Even if we die tomorrow, the Gods are with us. They have been close to you since your birth. You will understand soon.”

“I will certainly see Hades soon.” You smile bitterly, but Sieghild doesn’t falter.

“Then challenge his throne.” She states, and the feral, hungry, look in her eyes makes you think she is not speaking of your God.

You do not even believe in the same Gods, and yet Sieghild remains at your side, you at hers, since she found a crying child clutching a wooden carving of Persephone.

“They want me to give them up, but I won’t.” You argue stubbornly, as the red-haired woman cleans your face with a warm wet cloth. She smiles.

“Arguing about Gods is a matter for adults, little one,” She silences your next argument with a single finger, inked and painted like her face and arms. “They cannot make you believe in their God.”

“But…Mother’s altar, th-they…”

“Those are merely worldly things. The Christians fight with fire what Logi and Glöð themselves have created.”

“Who?”

She chuckles, fingers going through your hair and places a finger on your chest.

“Your faith, your legacy, remain here.”

And at dawn, when the men sound the horns and ready for a battle they must know will be lost, you whisper a prayer to Athena and Enyo, your heart griped tight by the cruel mistresses of Fate.

Even all the tales travelers and mercenaries told you about the army of Kattegat, the sheer strength, the flawless tactics, the barbarian-like warriors; none of that prepared you for the display of forces, however small considering his actual army, Ivar the Boneless has displayed before you.

You catch a glimpse of Narses and Stithulf approaching the King, you hear faintly of the Viking’s taunts.

“Narses is a fool.” You bite out, anger poisoning your voice even as tears clogging your throat make the words wobble.

“A Byzantine Strategus doesn’t fall without a fight, girl. Do not grant my countrymen their victory just yet.”

Even if you hide it as you lower your face, a surge of pride for the foolish warrior that followed you to the ends of the world makes a small smile blossom in your face.

“Do I hear you admitting us soft citizens stand a chance against your brutes, mother?” You mock with a smile, even as you discuss the imminent danger that the Norse men represent to you and your people. Maybe it’s because of the way Sieghild, with all her harshness and tough lessons, comforts you even facing death itself. Maybe it’s the Gods that have guided you your whole life embracing you as you near your descent to Hades.

She laughs, raspy and warm, as always. “I’m saying your boy may give the sons of Ragnar an entertainment.”

A crow flies overhead, cawing loudly and taking your gaze away from the soldiers ahead and into the sky. Something within you, something primal and asleep seems to follow its path in the skies with more than just your eyes.

“Odin is watching. History will be made today.” Sieghild whispers behind you, but you cannot take your gaze away from the black feathers as you answer.

“Apollo sends us an omen. The Gods do not favor us.”

She laughs quietly, shaking her head as she rests a heavy hand on your shoulder

“Your Goddess surely revels in this, dear. The spilled blood of those who will be to arrive at her kingdom waters her flowers, after all."

Flashes of a life before chaos blossom behind your closed eyes, images of a life under the spring sun, of fertility festivals and your mother’s warm laughter as she honors the Daughter of Nature.

And for a second, with the warmth of nostalgia encompassing you, you want to argue that Persephone looks after life; but when your eyes open and all you see is war and cold, you realize maybe she wasn’t the one captured.

Maybe she was not a stolen maiden, but a bloodthirsty usurper.

“May she rejoice, then, and be merciful when we reach her Kingdom.” You whisper.

The war cries reach your ears before you can even see the warriors attack, but soon chaos follows the chariot, that marches not with the set pace of Apollo’s, but free and leaving chaos and death at its wake.

With a heavy weight on your stomach, you hold your place as the battle begins, the injured and dying falling back to the area you look after with Greek soldiers at your back, granting a safe haven for the fallen, either to give them another chance to fight or a merciful end.

_____

It’s been days and the Saxons still push for victory, despite the losses. And, despite their losses and bloodshed, the Vikings push ruthlessly for death.

The camp of healers you have set by the entrance of the woods is so filled with the stench of blood and death that you fear you will never be able to smell a flower again. The warriors come and go, the drachmas in their eyes or in their hands. Your heart dies a little with every familiar face you send off to Hades.

You are working on pressing down with the poultice of herbs to stop a soldier from bleeding from the wound on his back when you hear, past the yells and death and fighting, your name.

You would know that voice anywhere, and you leave the safety of the healing camp to follow the hoarse call.

Narses’ figure stumbles and crawls as he tries reaching you, and, not caring for battle, you run the space separating you. Your knees dig painfully into the earth as you kneel at his side, but the pain in your heart drowns it all.

“No, no, no,” You sob, shaking fingers tracing his bloodied cheeks as he gasps in pain in your arms. His eyes are focused on you, and you cannot deny him the answer of yours, even if battle still goes on around you. With another broken gasp, you whisper, “You fool, you fool.”

Galla calls your name from somewhere at your side, and you turn blind attention to her, murmuring to have people take him to the healers’ tent. She agrees, and you start to pull away from your childhood friend.

Narses opens his mouth to speak, but only blood pours out. You silence him with trembling fingers against his lips, granting the kiss you cannot. Your heart begs you to do something, anything, to keep him alive, to take away his pain, to…to…

But all you do is remain kneeling on the ground, and you cannot take your eyes off his shield. Splattered with blood and mud, left behind a few feet away from you, on the cold and unrelenting earth.

Your mother’s last words to your father, you remember them as if it were yesterday, as if you could still see the warmth in her gaze, the hardened adoration in his. Her delicate hands offering him the shield with Sparta’s symbol on it as he prepared to storm Macedonia, her words a murmur that meant come back to us, my love even when her sentence was other.

Return home with it, or on it.

With it, or on it. With it, or on it. With it, or on it.

But Narses never returned home, none of you ever did. He never returned home, he didn’t die for your home, he died for…for…

You hear hurried footsteps coming towards you, the feeling of having Varangian eyes on you makes you turn just in time to see the warrior approaching. You grab Narses’ shield from the ground, moving as fast as you can to guard your back and block the Viking’s strike with the metal shield.

It is sheer anger and grief, nothing more than the desire to hurt back, that pushes you to take an arrow from the quiver at your back and drive it through the warrior’s knee with your bloodied hand.

He falters, stumbling away from you, but you don’t let go, holding on tightly to the shaft of the arrow and inflicting as much pain as you can. When he finally hits the ground with his back, you crawl over him, sitting on his stomach and bashing his face with the shield.

With your weight upon him, his axe cannot find a home in your skin and instead meets the shield. Over and over, metal meets metal. With a growl, the Viking lets go of it and grabs your hair, pulling roughly and forcing your blows in his face to stop.

You let go of the shield, and your eyes focus on the skies above for a moment before you find the strength to fight.

A yell leaves your lips, and your hungry teeth find the tender skin at the inside of his arm, forcing him to let go of your hair. Blood fills your mouth and almost makes you gag. You spit the flesh from your mouth and with a snarl you drive another arrow through his eye.

He screams as your whole weight leans on the arrow, making sure the projectile you use as a spear kills fast. Your hands keep slipping from the shaft as the blood you have tried to keep from spilling and the blood you have spilled wets your hands.

When he finally stops moving, you know you should feel nothing but emptiness and dread.

Looking with frantic eyes for Narses and Galla, you find him being carried by two of his soldiers back to the tent. You should follow, but you cannot bring yourself to do so.

You look down at your dress. Red, the color of a bride’s veil, stained with the blood of the man you just killed. Your ears ring, your eyes cloud with tears as you realize what you have done, and you scurry away from the corpse as if your breath cannot get into your chest because of your proximity to him…to it.

You know what you should feel, you know what a Priestess, a woman, ought to feel at the sight of death, you know. But dread and horror are not the only things you feel. A part of you is satiated, like a snake curling satisfied and vindicated after injecting its poison; you taste the blood and feel alive.

When you lift your gaze to the battle again, you catch the eyes of the Varangian King. You know who he is, you have heard the tales and even without the chariot he sits on you would still recognize the eyes of the man that rules over Kattegat.

Ivar the Boneless.

He looks at you for a few moments, and you fear he is to call for his men or kill you himself, but he doesn’t. A slow, cruel, ruthless smile starts curving at his bloodthirsty lips, and when he regards you, you feel he can see through your eyes and into whatever it is that made you kill that man.

He lifts his arm not on the reins, bloodied axe held in his hand and slowly, with the same terrifying grin still on his lips, the King points towards you and grants you a curt bow of his head. If it’s a recognition of your kill, a promise to kill you himself, or something else, you cannot know.

You scurry back to the woods, fearing an axe to your back that never comes.

____

Whatever advantage the Christians were so sure to have quickly dissolves like mist, and within days the Vikings push forward with no regard for the lines your people or your unwanted masters wanted to protect.

There’s three injured men under your care when you hear the warning that a group of enemies is coming your way. A quick glance towards Galla, the childhood friend that followed you from Eleusis into this cold hell lets her know what to do.

Her dark eyes fill with understanding before you can even utter a word.

“Lift them up, we are retreating.” She barks at the other soldiers, bow held tightly in her hand betraying her fear, her pain. The men accompanying her hesitate, looking at you for a second before turning to her.

“I may not be able to fight like a Strategus, but I can distract them enough for you to run.”

“Our people…” One of them starts, but you interrupt with a shake of your head, reaching forward with a courage you do not believe to truly possess and take his sword from its holster.

“Our people live on in you,” You promise, and even as your voice wavers you still try not to show how fear grips at your throat or how unbalanced you are with the new weight in your hands. Galla’s eyes lock with yours, and you give her a nod, “Go.”

I pray you find Sieghild on your way out of this slaughter.

“You better make it out alive.” She threatens in good will, and you find yourself smiling. Just before she is to take off with the others, you call out.

“Galla,” You hesitate, feeling like asking to deploy this would be an acceptance of your death. Still, you take a deep breath and say, “Once the dust settles, send some of your people to Thebes, Constantinople and Sparta.”

“What for?” She asks, but in her tone you can hear she understands your words: she is to protect your people, she is to lead them. Because you will not be alive to do so.

“You’ll need spies. When the time comes, you’ll know what to do with them.” You sentence, and after a moment of hesitation you hear the girl’s footsteps fading behind you.

Galla’s hoarse yells in Greek to call your people to retreat become the rhythm at which you let loose arrows to find the Viking warriors. You tell yourself it’s just like hunting deer, you tell yourself it is not men and women you kill. Brothers, sisters, friends, fathers, mothers, sons, daughters.

You tell yourself it is just like hunting, but the tears clogging at your throat and making pain and rage accompany your moves as you let the arrows loose show you that you don’t believe your own lies.

It doesn’t matter how fast you move, how efficient your shots are, there will always be more of them. And you know this, and fear has a cold grip on your heart, even as you continue trying to take out any straggler that chases after the retreating Greeks.

So, the bodies dropping and the injured yells bring the attention to you, and you buy Galla and the others as much time as you have arrows and legs to run on.

Running helps when the Vikings can be distracted by something else, but after you took down some of his countrymen, this warrior seems to only have eyes for you. You scramble to lift the sword you took from your warrior before they took off, and, cornered as you are, you are forced to face the offending Viking.

The Viking strikes first, but you block his attack with the sword. The blunt force of his swing makes it so that the axe stops just shy of the intended blow to your head, opening a deep cut on your forehead as it is slowed by the sword.

Wincing past the pain you hold your ground, facing the hungry gaze of the warrior with your own, although you are forced to close one of your eyes as the blood from the cut in your forehead starts dripping down your face.

The man’s attack has failed, but he smirks, though, before wrenching the weapon from your hands with a twist of his axe.

You can do nothing but stumble back, you Goddess’ name on your lips as you face him with wide eyes.

He mutters something in his own language before discarding your sword and moving to strike again. This time you are defenseless, and can only step back and try and dodge his continuous blows with increasing panic.

Blood, probably his own and his enemy’s, stains his mouth, his face, his hands. He still smiles, and you wonder if bloodthirst becomes more literal than what Sieghild explained in her tales of her people.

His movements stop suddenly, though, and he falls limply to the ground, a small axe protruding from the back of his head.

“I told you you’d need to know how to fight, little one,” Sieghild boasts as she approaches you. The axe leaving the dead man’s skull makes a horrible sound, but she’s not bothered by it, choosing instead to say, “Even you Greeks must see the advantage of fighting like a Viking.”

An arrow in his knee, you feel the iron piercing the muscle, the bone, the tendons. The edge of the shield breaking the bones in his face, the sound it makes. Screams of pain, that you silence with another arrow in the eye.

The King’s hungry smile when he spared you.

You shake your head, returning your thoughts back to the moment, and regard the woman in front of you with a smile.

“Galla told me you chose to stay behind.” She states, and years knowing her let you know of the reprimand shining past the gruff tone. Her hand, bloodied as it is, reaches for the cut in your forehead, inspecting it with the eyes of someone that saw countless wounds and fought in countless wars.

“I wanted to distract the warriors from the path they took.” You offer in explanation.

“For someone so…small you sure take a lot of risks, my child.” She sighs. You’re about to answer when the thrumming of the ground underneath your feet stops you. Sieghild’s movements stop, your breath dies in your lungs.

Bees swarming. You remember an Arab merchant telling you about Varangian armies, and he spoke of chaos and deadliness and bloodthirst. And as you watch the Varangians flank the battlefield, archers at the ready, warriors beating their shields, while the King that crossed the sea to assist his brother commands them to hold with a single gesture; you cannot help but think why didn’t the merchant talk about the grace of it all, the beauty in the blood.

“That boy carries his father’s cleverness with him. And his mother’s favor.” Sieghild mutters in the strange calm that settles as Ivar the Boneless and his brothers taunt Stithulf, dare him to continue the fight and face certain death or retreat.

“You knew that before.”

“So did you. You tried to warn Narses against facing him, little one.” She says, and the name makes a pit of guilt and grief form in your heart.

“Maybe my warnings are the reason he is dead now.” You bite out, voice quivering and eyes burning.

The shieldmaiden turns to you, lips parted and eyes wide. You offer her a nod and a tight-lipped smile, a small sign that it is okay, that…that it is Fate.

You promised Narses you’d kill him yourself for sending your people to die, and grief and pain do not stray you from that resolve. He sentenced your people to die at the hands of these Varangians, it is only right he leads them to the Underworld.

It doesn’t help the pit of pain and absence and fear and cold that forms at your chest, but…but it makes it easier to burden.

Murmured words in Norse startle you out of your thoughts, and you find Sieghild’s eyes still on you, expression still stunned and in a mix of awe and terror.

“When the last of the chains of nostalgia fades away even as she clutches it in her arms.”

“What did you say, mother?” You ask, taking a small step closer and looking into her eyes searching for any answer.

But the shieldmaiden is quick to put on a smile on her face,

“You told me before you had no interest in what Lady Freyja has to tell me, little one.” She mocks, but there’s a shadow in her expression, a strange darkness looming behind her eyes.

A familiar one.

“You are the one that taught me-…”

“I taught you to be your own woman!” The Varangian roars, and for the first time you realize exactly the kind of fire the women from her homeland have, that made them capable and free. “I taught my daughter better than this!”

“What choice do I have? We need the support from Narses’ army, we need someone to lead the men into battle the way I know will grant us victory!”

Two long strides, and the tall and imposing shieldmaiden is standing before you, a mix of reluctant softness and angry stoicism in her inked face.

“You fight. You fight against the notions these men have about you, you fight against that boy that only listens to what you have to say when you promise him love in exchange,” Her green eyes burn into yours, “You fight, little one. That’s what I taught you to do, what you were born to do.”

“Narses is a good man, mother. I will not fight him.” You reply, as calmly as you can even as your chest caves under a strange pressure, as evenly as you can even if the words leaving your lips taste like lies.

“You wouldn’t give your love without a fight though, minn dóttir.” Her hand grasps at your chin, and there’s a strange storm in her gaze, “I won’t lose my daughter to that boy’s whims.”

“I am not lost to any man.”

Her lips curve into a smile, a little savage, a little Viking.

“I know. You are my daughter, after all.”

“He was a good man, mother.” You offer quietly, and even if the binds to Narses, the binds you set on yourself and your mother hated the most, are gone, there’s still the same dark desperation, that same stubbornness you saw in her eyes that day you told her about your choice to marry him.

“Not good enough,” Is all she replies, and her eyes focus somewhere past the two of you, on the center of the battlefield where everything seems to have stopped. Sieghild sighs, “And your Gods and mine know that, little one. Your Mistress may have touched your soul, but Freyja lays claim to your heart.”

With your eyes on the thick of battle, you watch Stithulf and his trusted men lay down their weapons, and slowly retreat. You have been defeated.

____

“I told you only death would follow,” You say, your back against the foot of a table as you sit on the cold ground, your bloodied hands in your lap, motionless. You allow yourself a small laugh, manic and broken as it is, “You fought for so long, sacrificed so much, and you couldn’t even make the Varangian King bleed.”

You followed the Saxons back to their decadent city, and now sit past their walls awaiting the death that will follow. The city may have held for long enough that the Saxons could secure an escape, back when your people were with them and they didn’t have more corpses than soldiers.

But now, now it is just a matter of time before the Varangians return to finish it all.

Stithulf turns to you, cold fury shining past his gaze, but you hold his stare. The man walks over to you, armor rustling and making a sound that rings in the ears that have heard nothing but war for so long now.

He bends down to be at your level, face close to yours and lips set on a snarl.

“You ordered your people to pull back.” He accuses, but you shrug in response.

The pretense of what a good little fucking woman you ought to be to make these fools content with their idea of supremacy is long gone from your mind. You will die without masks, and if it means earning a few deserved hits from these Saxons for not shutting your mouth, then so be it.

“It was never our war, Christian.”

“Where have they gone to!?” He asks, ignoring your words. His fascination with how the Greek forces work shines through his bloodthirst and anger as he regards you. You know the reason why he went to Narses for an allegiance in the first place is because of the tactics, the fighting style, of your people; and you know he longed to make them a part of his own army.

But you will leave your own under the boot of a Christian the day Persephone calls for your soul to become one of her Furies.

“You will never find them.” You promise through a tired and battle-worn smile, morbidly delighting yourself in the way he seems to grow more enraged.

“How are you so certain?”

“The Varangians, Vikings, will find us first. They will kill us all, and you know this.” You sentence, standing up. You cannot help it when your eyes fixate themselves on the drying blood staining your hands.

You wish you could say most of it was Christian, or even Varangian.

But no, the blood of Greeks stains your hands. The blood of thousands, even if only less than eight hundred died today.

“And why are you so certain?”

“If you had retreated before that King came from across the sea-…”

“Narses told us your mother is Viking, how are we certain you did not plan this, plan to betray us?” One of his trusted men speaks out, limping from his place by the war table. You watch the deep and bloodied gash in his thigh, wondering why that old man survives being incapacitated while in battle but Narses is to fall.

You shake your head mutely before offering him a hollow chuckle.

“Me betraying you would imply I ever faked loyalty for you, or pretended to care for your survival.”

“You live, witch. Any sane man would question why.”

“You think…what? That I have helped any of the sons of Ragnar defeat you?” You let out a small laugh. “No, I did not. I will not let you blame me for your own weakness.”

You move to leave the tent, but Stithulf’s hand wraps around your arm. His voice is low when he speaks.

“If you tell your soldiers to fight with us, I can-…”

“I am not Narses, you cannot fool me with empty promises,” You interrupt, wrenching your arm from his grasp. Less than two hundred Greek warriors still remain in this city, and the Saxon wants still for every last drop of their blood. “The Greeks that remain here will not die quietly, but do not fool yourself into thinking you can ever command them.”

He stalks even closer, looming over you with enraged factions, and you cannot help the pang of fear that the murderous intent in his eyes sends through you.

His sword leaving its holster startles the room of men into silence, and you feel their attention set on the two of you. The blade finds a home right under your chin, piercing mildly at the soft skin.

Your breath quickens in fear, and when you swallow past your dry throat you feel the tip of the sword inflicting sharp pain in your neck.

Stithulf smiles darkly, “I could kill you now and leave them leaderless, heathen.”

But you refuse to let him see the fear in your eyes, instead promising, “Make me a martyr and you will not survive the night, Christian. The Greeks will kill and die for me.”

Even as you leave the tent behind, you hear the heavy footsteps of the Saxon behind you. A call of your name, and you stop. Not your title -Anassa, Hiereiai-, not an insult -heathen, pagan-, not your lineage -Daughter of Athens, Daughter of Sparta-. Your name.

“If you wanted to kill me you would have done so in front of your men.” You state without turning around, and the Christian reaches your side with his sword holstered.

“I don’t want to kill you,” He insists, shaking his head, “But I should do it regardless. You are a smart woman, which makes you dangerous.”

Not even a muzzle would keep your next words from leaving your lips, “Dangerous? Is a man dangerous for being knowledgeable?”

“If he has nothing to lose, like you, yes.”

“What are you saying, Stithulf?”

The Saxon sighs, an act of regret and humanity you don’t believe for a moment.

“I’m saying you should know that you have forced my hand, Greek, that I had every intention to have you wage war alongside us, had you chosen to do so.

_____

Hi, I’m kinda amazed you got this far down lol, but thank you so much for reading! This is one of the first projects in a while that I am really loving to write, and I hope you like it!

Please let me know what you think, I am one needy fuck when it comes to feedback :)

[peaceisadirtyword]

Attention (Ivar/Reader)

A/N: Hi! So last night I couldn't sleep (bc it was hot af) and at 02:30 am the inspiration came to me and I had to write this. It’s my first time writing smut (at least in English) and I wrote it in like 2 hours, so probably it isn't very good, but I tried, I promise. When I was writing this I didn't think about posting it here, but here I am, being mature and overcoming my fears. Also, I will try and post the second part of Pity before Monday, and I have ideas for an Hvitserk/Reader, Ubbe/Reader and Alex(Høgh)/Reader. I’m on fire. I hope you enjoy this, thank you so much for reading♥️

Warnings: Smut, Ivar being possessive and my bad writing again.Please, do not read if you're under 18.

Words: 2905 (I hope its not too boring I'm so sorry)

gif isn’t mine 

"You wanted to see me?" Ivar raised his head at the sound of your voice, turning around to see you standing at the door. "Yes" he smirked before leaning forward to take his crutches "Close the door" he commanded, and you rolled your eyes before obeying him. He had been sitting on a wooden chair, in front of a large table and studying a map. You could see he had been marking some things on the map; of course he hadn't had enough conquering York, he wanted more. He got off the chair, grunting when he stood up and started to walk over to you. The room was large, you were sure it belonged to someone important... Someone who had most likely been killed by Ivar. "You took your time" said Ivar, raising an eyebrow. You crossed your arms, annoyed at him. Since he took the city of York he had been ignoring you, and suddenly he wanted you to drop anything you were doing and run to him as if you were his little faithful dog. It was Ivar's style. "I was busy" you answered "What do you want, Ivar?" He smiled, with that dark, twisted smile of his. "I just wanted to check on you, are you okay? Do you need anything? We haven't spoken for a few weeks" You raised an eyebrow, looking at him in disbelief. "We haven't spoken because you've been ignoring me" you replied. "Well I'm not ignoring you now" he talked to you the same way he would speak to a toddler "So tell me how are you" You sighed, he clearly wanted something from you, and wouldn't let you go until he had that something, so you gave in. "I'm fine, Ivar, bored but fine" "Oh" he mimicked a surprised expression, getting closer to you "I thought my brothers were entertaining you... How silly of me, thinking that you'd be perfectly fine without me and with Ubbe warming your bed" his tone changed, and something dark crossed his eyes. He pressed his lips together, looking at your reaction. You blushed. You had heard the rumors; almost half of the army thought you were fucking Ubbe, you wouldn't have minded if it was actually true. But it wasn't. "Ubbe isn't..." "Don't take me for a fool, Y/N" spat Ivar, with his beautiful blue eyes full of rage "I've seen you, talking to him, disappearing with him for hours and even sleeping together" "I'm not sleeping with Ubbe, Ivar" you replied "But if I was fucking him it would be none of your business, the last time I checked I was a free woman who could do whatever she wanted to" His face contorted in rage. He was getting angrier and angrier, and you started getting an idea of where you were gonna end up that night. You didn't mind, hate sex with Ivar was the best thing the gods could give to you. "I think you're mistaken, Y/N" Ivar's voice trembled with rage as he got closer to you until your noses were almost touching "You may be a free woman, but you're mine, have you forgotten that already? Maybe I should remind you". You looked right into his eyes, challenging him. You hadn't slept with Ubbe and had no intention of doing it, you only enjoyed his company, and, as Ivar seemed too busy with his new role of leader of the Great Army to pay you the attention you craved for, you decided to spend time with his older brother. "I'm no one's, Ivar" You had been Ivar's lover for a long time, since before he went to England with his father, and both of you used to be inseparable. When he and his brothers planned to go to England and avenge Ragnar's death, you followed him without thinking it twice. But since Sigurd's death he had been avoiding you, he stopped talking to you, and sometimes he didn't even look at you, as if you weren't there. "You will stop seeing him" he said with a threatening glare, and when you moved your head to roll your eyes, one of his hands gripped your hair, forcing you to look at him and  "At least when I'm not there to see what you're doing" You felt a familiar tingle between your legs, and realized you were already soaking wet. Yeah, you had missed him and his stupid jealousy. "I'll do whatever I want to, Ivar" you shot him a teasing smile, your eyes sparkling with mischief. He growled, pushing your head forward until your lips met in a savage, passionate kiss. You felt your knees weaken and you had to place your hands on his broad shoulders to avoid falling down. He bit your lip hard, drawing blood and making you moan softly. He took advantage of your parted lips and shoved his tongue in your mouth, savoring your blood. When you finally broke the kiss, your lungs ached from the lack of oxygen, but Ivar didn't seemed to care if you died by suffocation. He only let you breathe for a couple of seconds until he kissed you again, this time more tenderly, with his hand traveling down your back and gripping your ass with a growl, pulling you closer to him. You gasped into the kiss, your hands tangling into his braided hair. Ivar's lips left yours and traveled to your ear, placing open-mouthed kisses and nipping your neck softly. "You're mine, not Ubbe's" he whispered into your ear, his hoarse voice alone could have made you cum right then and there, you pressed your eyes shut and bit your lip hard to prevent a moan "But as you seem to have forgotten that, I might have to punish you" his hand brushed your hip, making you shiver. Ivar smirked at that and cupped your sex through your trousers, pressing down just on the right spot. This time you couldn't help it and moaned out loud, burying your face in his neck and inhaling his scent. Ivar pushed you to the enormous bed located in the centre of the room, making you fall on your back onto the soft mattress. You looked at him through your lashes, biting your lip and moving to stand on your hands and knees, facing him. Ivar watched you closely, standing just before you with his eyes darkened with lust. You sat on your knees, one of your hands traveled up his left leg, until you reached his already hard member. Your mouth watered as you started palming him through his clothes. Ivar hissed, clenching his jaw. You giggled playfully, enjoying the effect you had on him. Ivar was dominant, and you knew that moment wouldn't last and soon you'd be laying on your back, with your hands pinned down and completely at his mercy. Ivar grunted loudly when you licked your lips, looking up at him, and he pushed you away before throwing his crutch aside and climbing to the bed, crawling to you as if he was ready to devour you. You found yourself trapped under his powerful body, with each one of his strong arms at both sides of your head, supporting his weight. Ivar's mouth went back to your earlobe, where he bit hard before whispering: "Do not dare to tease me, Y/N" You turned your head and trapped his lips with yours in a heated kiss. You tried to take off your shirt, but his mouth was a big distraction. Ivar ended up ripping your shirt out, and ignored you when you whined in protest. As always, your clothes didn't survive Ivar's desire, they ended up on the floor, torn apart and useless. You gripped the material of Ivar's shirt, trying -and failing- to get him as naked as you were. His lips seemed to be everywhere; you arched your back when you felt his wet tongue caressing one of your already hard nipples, his hand cupping your other breast and making you moan loudly. You lost the count of how many marks his teeth had left on your neck and chest, but you were sure you would have problems trying to cover all of them up. "Oh, fuck" you gasped when you felt his lips traveling down your body, until they reached your sex. Ivar smirked, noticing how wet you were for him. You were already trembling, your hands fisted on the covers and your back arched. He looked at you as his soft tongue licked your clit, it was just a small, teasing lick, but it had you raising your hips and breathing heavily as you tried to get him closer to your sex. Ivar chuckled, his calloused hands caressing your thighs as his lips hovered over your clit, teasing you. "Stop it" you growled "Stop what? I'm not doing anything" he replied, raising a brow to you and smiling. Yeah, that's the problem you fucker, you thought, glaring at him while he placed your legs over his shoulders. "I don't think you deserve this" his lips barely touching the skin of your thigh, making you shiver and close your eyes "You have been a bad girl, Y/N, sneaking around with my brother and coming late when I call you" he whispered. Your head was dizzy and your legs were shaking. You needed him. "Ivar" you mewled, forgetting about your pride and jerking your hips closer to his mouth. "Beg for it" he ordered looking at you intensely. "Please Ivar, please, just..." You moaned, trying to create some friction to relieve the pressure you felt between your legs. "Just what, Y/N? What do you want me to do?" he tilted his head, biting his lip. "Please Ivar" you begged "Fuck me with your tongue" you didn't even think about what you just said, only tangled your hands between his braids and tugged at them. Ivar chuckled, his eyes directed to your sex as he bit his lip, eyes darkened with lust. "So eager" he muttered before bending his head down. You cried out in surprise when you felt his lips licking and sucking on your clit as if it was his favorite meal. Ivar pinned your hips down with his arm before starting licking your entrance, and you moaned even louder when he finally stuck his tongue into your cunt. His other hand started rubbing your clit with his fingers, leaving you breathless. "Gods Ivar" you praised, earning a hum that vibrated trough your sex, making you bit your lip "Just like that" you moaned, and for a moment you felt bad for the men who guarded Ivar's room and who could probably hear you crying out at the other side of the door. His fingers increased their speed, rubbing your clit frantically while he flicked his tongue, making you see stars and start shaking, your legs tightening around his head and your hands pulling at his hair, making him moan. You felt the familiar tension building on your lower belly, and made a strangle noise as Ivar delved his tongue in. "I'm going to cum" you panted, trembling and squirming as your orgasm approached. You came screaming his name, and Ivar continued lapping at your juices until you started flinching away, too sensitive. But he didn't let you go, and replaced his tongue with his fingers, caressing your entrance with them. "Ivar I can't, it's too much" you whimpered, trying to get away from him "Please" He ignored you, letting his fingers explore your sex before burying two of them inside you. You cried out in pleasure again, your hands gripping the bed covers as Ivar leaned forward to lick at your clit. "Come on" he whispered, his lips brushing your clit and his fingers stretching your walls "Cum for me again, love". You couldn't even moan, it was too much and you could feel your second orgasm approaching. Too soon. Ivar curled his fingers just right, pressing on your G-spot, and suddenly he closed his teeth around your clit. This time you came moaning his name out loud, with your legs shaking and, for a moment, you couldn't even move. Ivar growled when your walls clenched around his fingers, helping you ride your orgasm. You felt him taking his fingers out of you, and watched as he licked them clean, holding back a moan. You grabbed his face and pulled him closer to you, trying not to hurt him or his legs. Immediately, your lips collapsed together, making you moan as you tasted yourself on his tongue. You broke the kiss to help him get rid of his clothes, running your hands down his torso eagerly. Ivar leaned into your ear to bite it softly. He had a thing for biting you everywhere. "Did Ubbe make you feel that good? Hmm?" he purred "Did Ubbe make you cum twice with only his mouth and fingers?" You rolled your eyes, turning your head to kiss him again, hoping he would shut up. "Answer me" he growled, biting your lip hard, annoyed. "No, now shut up and fuck me" you said, your hand palming him through his trousers.   Ivar moaned into your mouth as you put your hand inside his clothes and started stroking him. It didn't last too long, as he pushed your hand aside and pulled his trousers down to his thighs, freeing his cock. You licked your lips, reaching out to stroke him, but he pushed your hand away again. "I want to cum inside of you" he positioned himself between your legs and pressed his thick tip to your entrance, teasing you "I want to fill you up, and, if the gods are willing, give you a child" he whispered, pressing your foreheads together. His hands went to your waist, keeping you in place "So Ubbe will know you're mine" "For the last time, Ivar, I'm not fucking Ub..." you couldn't finish your sentence as he slammed his hips into yours, penetrating you at once. You cried out, digging your nails into his shoulders and hooked a leg around his waist, allowing him to go deeper and making you both moan in pleasure at the same time. You started raising your hips to meet his thrusts, and buried your face in his neck, nibbling at it to suppress your moans. Ivar growled, one of his hands clasping around your throat, squeezing it. You closed your eyes as you felt another intense wave of pleasure, but Ivar slapped you softly on the face, making you open your eyes. "Look at me while I'm fucking you" he said. You gasped, your hand gripped his, which was still closed around your neck, and you dig your nails on it, earning a sharp thrust. It didn't take long for him to find your G-spot and start hitting it roughly. "Oh gods Ivar, right there" you cried out, your legs started shaking again, clasped around his waist "Fuck... Harder" Ivar started pounding into you faster, and tightened his grip on your throat, breathing heavily and grunting loudly. Your hand traveled down your body and started rubbing your swollen clit. The pleasure was almost unbearable. The third orgasm was almost painful, you screamed his name, scratching his back with your nails as you writhed under him in pleasure. Ivar moaned out loud when he felt your walls clenching around his cock, making him cum. He was panting when he released your throat and collapsed beside you on the bed with a proud smile on his lips. You were exhausted, with your blood buzzing in your ears and your entire body trembling. When you tried to turn around to look at him, a sting of pain ran trough your body, and you groaned realizing you wouldn't be able to sit in a few days. Ivar seemed pleased with himself as he tuck an arm under your waist and pulled you closer to him. You relaxed between his arms, closing your eyes and sighing happily. The wait was worth it. "You don't... Have feelings for Ubbe, do you?" Ivar asked, staring at the ceiling. You raised your head and made him look at you by grabbing his face. "Ubbe is my friend, I enjoy spending time with him but I love you" you blurted out, blushing as it was the first time you said it out loud "So no, I don't have feelings for him, but if you ask me one more time I will fuck him and make you watch" you threatened, narrowing your eyes. Ivar chuckled, squeezing your waist. "You couldn't fuck any other man in front of me even if you wanted to... Because I'd kill him before he had the chance of even looking at you" You were left speechless, looking at him with wide eyes. "We need to work on that possessiveness of yours" you muttered, still shocked. "There's nothing to work on, you're mine and that's all" he shrugged "Now get some sleep, you look a bit tired" "I can't stay in bed all day, Ivar, I have things to do" you said, but yawned and rested your head back on his chest, closing your eyes. "Yeah, you have to ride me" he whispered, making you snort "So rest well" And just when you were drifting off to sleep, you heard him cooing into your ear. "I think I love you too".

Tags: @mblaqgi 

If you wanted to be tagged and I didn't I’m so sorry, some people asked me to be tagged on the second part of Pity, I thought about tagging all of you on this too, but I didn't want to annoy you 🙄 sorry, I’m new at this and I’m a disaster too, so probably I’ll mess it up like a thousand times .

Anyway, thank you so much for reading, I hope you liked it💞.