#berserking hvitserk

[dontlookintoit00]

Ivar: I'm beginning to think... maybe... I did something wrong.

Hvitserk: ...

Ivar: probably not.. but maybe

[ubbesbabymama]

Their friend is pregnant, pt. 2.

↳ Pairing. Hvitserk The Berserker, Sigurd Snake in The Eye, Ivar The Boneless.

↳ Summary. How would they react to their dear friend being pregnant. [I imagine this with them having the same kind of friendship that Ragnar had with Athelstan but with the reader].

↳ Warnings. Violence, death, abusive relationships, smut/mention of sex.

↳ Note. A second part so I could write the ones that are left because is just so much fun to write this plot.

Part one.

Hvitserk The Berserker.

He adores you, he genuinely thinks you’re the only perfect person on earth and he would do anything to protect you from anybody, even himself.

He is busy between a thrall’s legs, making everything in his power to make her scream his name, thrusting like a madman when he hears his name being called and he stops right away. That’s not the thrall’s voice.

“Hvitserk,” You sob and he can’t help but to pull out and push the woman, running to you while fixing his pants.

“Come here, come here,” He mumbles, taking you in his arms and walking to another room that doesn’t smell like sex.

He sits on the floor in front of a bonfire with you on his lap, and you move around till your legs are around him just like he is around you. You move again and he grunts.

“D-Don’t move too much,” He whispers.

“O-Oh! I’m sorry, forgive—,” You try to move but he grips your thighs. “Hvitserk.”

“Forget everything else and tell me why are you crying,” He says. “Talk to me.”

“Why do I have to talk to you while your cock is poking into my backside?” You ask him and he grunts again, this time because of your stubbornness.

“That is because I got interrupted while I was getting it down, now, talk to me or I am going to take my axe and go look for the information myself.” He threatens.

You sigh and clean your face a little before looking at him.

“I am with child.”

“That’s not true,” He chuckles and panics when your eyes start to fill with tears, and he takes your face in his hands. “Wait— no, no, no sweat heart.”

“Y-You don’t believe me either,” You sob in his hands and he shakes his head.

“I thought it was another one of your pranks, I apologize little one,” You nod, sobbing. He frowns. “Either?”

“He kicked me out of the house… literally,” You whisper, rolling your dress to show him your scratched knees, you show him your hands and they’re scratched too. “He said I cheated on him, that a whore like me could find a man to breed me really fast just so I could trap—,”

You stop talking when Hvitserk moves you around, standing up and taking you with him. He puts his hand on the small of your back to guide you out of the room and back to his room. In silence he takes off your dirty dress and tosses it to the side, he looks around for a moment and comes back with a shirt of him, he helps you put it on.

“I’m going to be right back, get under the covers,” He quietly says, you shake your head, and he sighs. “Under the covers, please.”

“You’re going to kill him.” You whisper.

“Of course, I’m going to kill him, for starters, I gave you that house, he has no right to kick you out, and second, while you’re with child?” He snorts with malice.

“Hvitserk,” He looks at you and holds your stare to let you know that he is not backing down. You nod to yourself and kiss his cheek. “I’ll wait for you awake.”

You know he is back when some thralls enter the room with the tub, he enters right behind them and you gasp, he is bathed in blood, from the hair to his boots.

“What in Odin’s green earth did you do to him?!” You ask alarmed, he shrugs and starts to take his clothes off in front of you and the thralls. “Hvitserk!”

“I tied him to a tree and started beating him,” He looks up slowly, his eyes cold. “I beat him till his last breath.”

“You’re insane,” You whisper, getting out of bed when he gets inside the tub. You start to undo his braids.

“For you, I can be worse than Ivar, you know this already.” He chants, not a single trace of regret on his face.

“Yeah well, you killed the abusive father of my child,” You roll your eyes. “So it’s safe to say that you’re now a father.”

He smirks.

“Great.”

Sigurd Snake In The Eye.

Everybody could see how much you mean to him, it was as obvious as the fact that the sun would shine every day. When it comes to you he knows no reason or shame, going as far as to beg if he needs to.

“I-I can’t find her,” He murmurs when all his brothers are gathered to hunt.

“Who?” Ubbe asks.

“What do you mean you can’t find her? It’s almost as if you live together,” Hvitserk jokes.

“I think her husband has something to do with her suddenly disappearing.” He swallows and just now everybody feels the tension in the air. “I-I need help, please.”

Suddenly Ivar starts crawling away and everybody looks at him, he stops and looks back directly at Sigurd.

“What are you doing there? We have to find her.” He grunts and in no time Sigurd is by his side.

That’s how much you mean to Sigurd, so much that even his younger brother whom he always argues about anything not dare to joke around.

And he finds you, in a small cabin deep in the woods, thanks to Hvitserk’s insight in the town he founds that your husband owns this cabin for when he goes hunting alone.

He enters the cabin and sucks a breath when he sees you in a corner hugging your legs. He takes one step and your husband comes out and pulls you by the hair, you yelp.

“If you get close I will kill them both!” He screams and Sigurd frown.

“Who’s them?” He whispers to himself, and you sob.

“You didn’t tell him? You’re carrying his child and you didn’t—,”

“Because it’s not his!” You cry, looking at Sigurd and his stare makes you stop trembling a little. You’re safe, Sigurd is here.

Suddenly an arrow enters from behind Sigurd, right on top of his head, and embedded right onto your husband’s head, him being so tall makes it easy for the archer to shoot without fearing it would hit you.

Sigurd looks behind him and nods to Ubbe, who just nods back and starts walking back with his brother, leaving him with you.

He opens his arms and watches how you run and jump on him, his arms sliding around you, one on your thigh and the other on your waist.

“I’m here now, shh…” He comforts you while walking till he leans on a wall. “Nobody can’t hurt you anymore.”

You sob on his neck and he hums.

“I’m tired,” You murmur and he nods.

He takes you back to the town and directly into his room and orders the thralls to prepare a bath for you. When everything’s ready he undresses you and lets you get inside the tub, he’s about to start looking for clothes for you but your grip on his hand stops him.

“I’m not going anywhere, I’m getting in with you,” He says to calm you down and when he sees you expectant he undresses and gets inside too, behind you.

He starts to caress your belly, he supposed you haven’t seen your monthly blood and that’s why you know you’re with child since it’s not clear in your belly.

“You’re going to start living here,” He whispers in your ear. “So I can take care of you better.”

“You have obligations,” You whisper.

“And you’re the main one,” He hums. “Yes?”

“Yes.”

Ivar The Boneless.

Nobody understands how you can stand Ivar, with the man being borderline obsessed with you. The only reason why you can lay with men is that he is certain that he can’t satisfy a woman and he would rather be burned alive than disappoint you from all people, but other than that, he lets no man get close to you unless you directly tell him that you chose that man to warm your chambers, he has bodyguards for you, thralls for you, he gives you a quarter of everything he owns or gets. Even when he goes raiding everybody knows that a lot of the goods are yours and yours only. That’s how obsessed Ivar The Boneless is with you.

Of course, it’s almost impossible to hide things from him, more so with the people in town being so eager to bring him information about you just to be favored, so as soon as you’re being yelled at and tossed around by the Viking Ivar is notified.

“You think after three times you can already be with child?! Do you think I’m stupid?!” The man was yelling at you, but you weren’t backing down. No sir.

“After ONE time of laying together, I can already be with child, or do you think your seed is so weak you need more than once? even more than three? Poor you.” You mock and gasp when he pushes you, making you fall onto your backside, you whimper at the burn in your hands for breaking the fall.

“I should just kill you and that bastard right now!” He yells, and you spit on your side in response.

“Who?” You freeze, feeling chills run down your spine. That voice only means problems, and a lot of them. “Who are you going to kill? My woman?”

You feel him right beside you, leaning on his crutch. He looks down at you and nods and you nod back, slowly standing up.

“L-Lord I-Ivar,” The man stuttered.

“So? You’re going to kill my woman, you say?” Ivar says, his tone friendly but his eyes, oh those eyes.

“N-no, no my lord,” The man keeps stuttering. “It’s this woman who says she’s carrying my child.”

Ivar face snaps to the side, looking at you while anger starts to bubble in his system, a burning feeling in his chest, he squints his eyes at you and silently you start to pray to the gods for the life of the man.

“When I was hunting and you were keeping me company, that was your last month bleeding, right?” Ivar says and he’s not actually asking, he knows that information, for he’s the one you always go to when you’re in pain, but you nod anyways. “And he pushed you while you’re carrying a child?”

You nod again.

“Yes, Ivar.” The man grimaces when he hears you call Ivar by his name and without honorifics, why nobody told him he was laying with someone so important? “He did.”

Ivar’s face slowly turns to the man, and he grins.

“Now I have to decide whether you die—,”

“Ivar can I—,” You start but are interrupted.

“NO!” He snaps, pointing at you with his finger. “You do not get to save him from this, you do not get a saying this time!”

“Ivar,” Your own anger makes you grind your teeth. “Can I go home? My feet are hurting and I need to get a healer for my hands.”

He blinks and looks down at your bloody hands from the fall before, he sighs, feeling bad at the way he talked to you when you weren’t even trying to help the man.

“I’ll finish this quickly,” Ivar says and in the blink of an eye, the man is being dragged by Ivar’s men while crying and babbling apologies.

You don’t let Ivar say anything more and start walking home and when you get there you ask for a healer and after being done with your hands and a quick checkup on your overall health you ask for a hot bath.

“It’s ready, my lady,” The thrall says just in time for Ivar’s entrance, she gasps and starts to tremble.

“You can go now, don’t come back again, you may take the tub out tomorrow,” You whisper tiredly.

Ivar is covered in blood and even you get a chill run down your spine. It looks grotesque, never has he had so much blood on him from just one person, he looks demonic even.

“I’m—,” He starts but you lift your hand.

“I honestly don’t want to hear it,” You murmur, starting to get undressed.

He looks at you with attention, watching you moan when the hot water gets in contact with your skin.

“I’m sorry.” He finishes what he was saying earlier and you roll your eyes.

“I’m with child, I got pushed by the father of the child and then he got killed by you and I imagine it was in the most animalistic way you could think of,” You tell him coldly. “I’m tired, I didn’t need you snapping at me when I was the one being mistreated, you may go now if that’s going to happen again.”

“I’m sorry.” It’s all he says, he looks emotionless, his voice too. But you know that those words coming out of Ivar’s mouth is already a blessing.

“I don’t want to talk to you.”

“I’m not leaving.” He says, crawling more closer.

“You look scary.”

“I’ll get clean after you tell me how are you,” He whispers and you sigh.

“What am I going to do now?” You whisper to him, getting close to him.

“Nothing, you don’t need to do anything,” He whispers. “Just let me take care of you. Both of you.”

“You already do that,” You smile.

He smiles and leans, giving you a soft kiss although you could tell it doesn’t mean anything more.

“Yes I do, until the gods call me to Valhalla.”

[undiscovered-horizon]

🙌🙌🙌🙌 Just read the one you did for me and holy shit, you are such a good writer 😭❤❤ now if it is okay I am going to do angst or on the verge of angst. One with the ragnarsson family ( both female and Male, maybe even ragnars brother if that is okay?). Their reaction if you got seriously injured maybe even dies when they left their house/town for like an raid??? ❤❤❤

Vikings preference: You get injured while they're gone

Ragnar On the outside, he appears relatively calm and collected, asking you what exactly happened. Once he makes sure you're alright in general terms, he goes out to search for whoever did this to you. Tells them that if they have a dispute with him, they could have simply talked to him but now that they have committed to a violent way, Ragnar challenges them to a duel. Fairly obviously, he wins but decides to spare the offender and instead of taking their life, he takes one of their limbs. Having children with him wouldn't really influence his actions, only the severity of his anger and the damage he does to the culprit.

Bjorn He's seething. Bjorn is very well aware that because of who he is, there are many people out there who don't need any more reason beyond that to spill blood. Apparently, if they can't spill his, yours is just fine. His method of solving the problem is finding whoever did this to you, dragging them out of their house, making a huge scene with an exalted speech, only to kill them in one strike in the end. Until you're alright, and he's very sceptical about your assurance, he visits you during the day but never lingers for too long. Bjorn think he should be out there to catch any scheme in the making. If you have a son of age, Bjorn will take his anger out on him partially: the boy was, after all, told to look after you when his father can't. But if you have smaller children, he's definitely not letting them out of his sight for the next month or so. Also prohibits them from spending time with strangers, just in case.

Ubbe Being a prince, part of him expected something like this to happen, so he's not exactly surprised but still, he thought people had more respect towards him and his family. No matter the severity of your injury, he's off to have a 'stern talk' with the offender, which means more or less that he's going to beat them within an inch of their life while making very believable threats of what happens should they try something like that again. Until you get better, only Ragnarok itself can force him to leave your side. But if you have children, the scale is tipped instantaneously and he's not afraid to decrease the population of Kattegat. He's very family-oriented, so a threat towards his offspring is a threat towards him personally.

Hvitserk Grabs Ubbe to get the problem 'sorted out' which comes down to Ubbe holding down the culprit and Hvitserk going absolutely berserk on them. If anyone asks, neither of them knows what happened. Suspiciously, the culprit themself doesn't speak up about how they got beaten nearly to death. Despite the suspicious obliviousness, everyone and anyone who once wished ill will on you are having second thoughts. If you have old enough children, he considers that 'incident' a sign to start teaching them to fight.

Sigurd More baffled than angry. Out of all the Ragnarsons, he's the least notorious, so why in Gods' names did someone specifically go after you? He figures that the offence wasn't really aimed at him but rather at his entire family and the culprit went for whoever was the easiest target. Which doesn't really make him feel any better: you got seriously hurt by random chance, only because you decided to settle down with him and you, apparently, were at the wrong place, at the wrong time. Depending on how severe your injuries are, he's willing to ask Ubbe and Hvitserk to join him in going after the culprit. After that is dealt with, he begins seriously considering moving away from Kattegat. If you have children, he both decides it's time to teach them to fight but if you have a son, he's going to get the short end of the stick: Sigurd will constantly remind him that when he's gone, it's your son's responsibility to defend you.

Ivar He may be a deranged individual but he's not stupid, so he doesn't storm off to fight the offender in a duel - Ivar knows his chances are slim at best. So he thinks of a perfect ruse, something that would lure the culprit into their own demise. It, quite obviously, ends up working and all of Kattegat gets to marvel at his horrendous and yet impressive genius. Whoever dared to raise their hand against you is not publicly begging for death as some of the bravest men around grimace in disgust. The message to his enemies should be considered received. For most of his life, he was quite convinced he couldn't have children so when he finally has them, he's horribly protective of them. And that means his ruse becomes slightly more unhinged.

Aslaug She can't retaliate in an equally violent way but that doesn't really matter - she has her own way of making life Hell for the offender. Aslaug exiles them publically, making sure that all of Kattegat heard about their wrongdoings. As a queen, she can go even a step further and ensure that all of Norway knows what they had done and no family or jarl will ever give them shelter.

Lagertha Publicly promises to kill them but not before a fair trial. It's not really about justice but rubbing their punishment in - in other words, she follows the way of the Gods to make sure that the culprit goes through absolute torture in this life and the next one. Once the verdict is announced, she spares no time in driving her sword through their chest. Similarly to Ragnar, having children doesn't really influence her choice of actions but only how much anger she expresses and the unsavoury language she uses.

[hvitserktheberserker]

Hvitserk Ragnarsson

My personal fate, my meaning in life, love of my existence, which gave me life and happiness and love like my children gave me. I couldn't be prouder or the most blessed, luckiest man in Midgard, with the most beautiful, wise, brave and strong wife. To my beloved wife, my personal Freyja, you, your love and our family are my happiness, my love and the reason for my existence. How much I love and adore you. @findmeinmywildestdreams

Hvitserk Ragnarsson or Lothbrok is the second eldest son of the famous Viking and former King Ragnar Lothbrok and former Queen Aslaug and, like his brothers, was born Prince of Kattegat. He is Bjorn's younger half-brother and younger brother of Ubbe and older brother of Sigurd and Ivar. Father of his beloved children Illian, Marlena and Ellinor and Grandfather of Ragnar Ivain, Lidija Marlene and Ranva Aleen. From an early age, Hvitserk has had a close relationship with his brother Ubbe and Caya, his future wife, and is always with them. Despite his later anger at being abandoned by his father, he is the happiest but also the most sensitive of Ragnar's sons. He inherited his father's religious curiosity as well as his sensitive side. Despite his and Ubbe's bond, as he grows older, Hvitserk begins to harbor resentment towards his big brother, as he does not like his leadership or his command over him. After victoriously avenging her father's death, Hvitserk decides for the first time freely and on his own and chooses the side of his younger brother Ivar. The Viking loves battle and so decides to fight with Ivar against the Saxons and Christians. Despite his loving and cheerful nature, Hvitserk's sadistic nature is clearly evident and how similar he really is to his little brother Ivar and seems to be closer to him than anyone else. Hvitserk is a dedicated warrior and bloodthirsty berserker who throws himself into every battle. Hvitserk supports his little brother, but always feels lost and struggles with his decision and with his fate, unsure of where he really belongs. Together they win the battle for Kattegat, but Hvitserk's relationship with Ivar becomes increasingly difficult, but he remains loyally by his side until he has had enough of Ivar's reign of terror and begins to stand up against his little brother. So he helps Bjorn to go into battle against Ivar and overthrow him from his throne. Despite the victory and in Kattegat with Bjorn, Caya and Ubbe, he feels neither joy nor belonging and finally loses himself in alcohol and drugs and the loss of Thora, who had Ivar burned alive and gives up completely. After he is banished from Kattegat by Bjorn as a wreck, his fate leads him back to Ivar. Despite their complicated relationship between him and Ivar, it becomes clear how much Hvitserk has always viewed and loved his little brother as an equal and how much he cares for Ivar. So Hvitserk slowly finds his way back to himself, realizes that his fate is Ivar's and his place at his side and is as ready to fight as ever, to throw himself into any battle and to sacrifice his life for Ivar at any time. After both of them almost died in Wessex, they take Kattegat back. There he is now considered Ivar's right-hand man and his most loyal, best warrior and begins his personal fate as the happy husband of his beloved Caya and the happy father of his three children. ( Vikings )

[bjornironsidelothbrok]

Bjorn Lothbrok, better known as Bjorn Ironside is the firstborn son of Ragnar with his first wife Lagertha, a famous and great shieldmaiden. He is the half-brother of Hvitserk, Ivar, Ubbe and Sigurd and has a father-son like relationship with the Flóki, who is an old friend of Ragnar and Lagertha. He's the uncle of Vidar, Edda, Cailan, Iwan, Illian, Marlena and Ellinor, the great uncle of Vidars and Marlenas son Ragnar and the cousin of Marcellus, who's now his brother too, after his mother adopted him, with whom he shares a deep connection and an unbreakable bond. He's the former king of Kattegat and lost the election for King of Norway to Harald. He is a descendant of Odin, as are his father and brothers. Bjorn is a great warrior in all respects, just like his father. As a young child he tries to keep his parents from fighting. He also wants to become a man in society so he can go on raids with his father and uncle. Norse society adheres to the belief that a “real man” is a killer, so Bjorn is eager for the chance to fight to prove his manhood. This is evident in how when he’s asked what a man does, his first answer is, “He fights.” Ragnar approves of this response, but nevertheless reminds him that they do more as well. At times, Bjorn seems to be the reasonable one in his family. Unlike his father, he appears to be much more in-tune with the emotions of those around him, which becomes even more apparent when he grows older. As an adult, Bjorn is Ragnar’s most trusted lieutenant and right-hand man. He shows extreme loyalty to Ragnar even after years of separation. With the death of Ragnar, Bjorn becomes arguably the most renowned Viking in Christendom aside from possibly his mother. The only person who is not frightened of him is Ivar, and even Ivar will later admit to Bishop Heahmund that he is a little scared of Bjorn. Like most Viking men, Bjorn yearns for glory on the battlefield and a place in Valhalla. He is passionate about fighting and eager to battle. He is a highly skilled warrior, even when he is young. He was strong enough to match Rollo in a drunken brawl and in his first battle is fast enough to get through without ever been struck. The true testament of Bjorn’s prowess as a warrior comes during his time alone in the wilderness. He survives for several months in the icy mountains, manages to track down and kill a bear with only a hatchet and knife, and outwits and overpowers a supposedly invincible Berserker who was sent to assassinate him. He calms down a bit after. Bjorn tends to be the most emotionally stable of the brothers. He is noticeably much more mellow and agreeable as an adult than he was as a child. Bjorn has a somewhat different personal code than most other Viking men. He refuses to rape women in raids or slaves. After his time living in the wilderness, Bjorn tends to act cold and distant to most people. While he still is a lot less willing than most Vikings to kill or throw away lives without need, he has definitely hardened since he was a kindly young adult. It’s clear that Bjorn doesn’t have his father’s intelligence or penchant for outside-the-box thinking. When he realizes that Ragnar doesn’t trust him to follow in his footsteps, this prompts Bjorn to strike out on his own and do some traveling to prove his worth to both himself and Ragnar. He takes great pride in his battle scars, bearskin cloak, and tattoos. His tattoos and hairstyle are clearly modelled after the ones Ragnar had in his younger years. Bjorn’s courage, deep devotion to his parents, and unshakeable code of honor are all similar to the personality of the god Baldr. He has been the new head of the family since his father's death and, like his father, sails under the Raven Banner.

[vikingstoriesblog]

Vikings writing

who i write for

Ivar the boneless

Ragnar Lothbrok

Bjorn Ironside

Harald Finehair

Halfdan Black

Hvitserk the berserker

Rollo Lothbrok

Helga

Floki

Lagertha

Aslaug

King Ecbert

what i write

Romance

Angst

Dark

Fluff

Comedy

[honestsycrets]

A Dog No Longer I

❛ request | this is a request for hvitserk’s 5crown, um i was wondering if you could possibly write something about reader rejecting his marriage proposal considering that their relationship was strictly for sex but he fell in love, then years later he sees her married to someone else and we see a little dark!hvit or like berserker!hvitty

for hvitserks 5crown, could you maybe write something where he is fed up being the brother who hasn’t accomplished much so he challenges another earl for their kingdom and wins but instead of removing the wife he marries her himself and she is like some incredible shield maiden and she really hates him but he’s hvit is determined to win her over ? thanks lots love your writing btw like so much

❛ word count | 2043

❛ genre | action 

❛ summary | You were always meant to be his. But you never took him seriously.

❛ warnings | dueling, character death, violence, jealousy, aggression, light humiliation

He had many women but never a wife. None gave him the desire to make her his wife. Or rather, none before the shield maiden (Y/N), Berseker’s Bane. When you entered the field his men felt a sense of rejuvenation. Long were the hours upon the field pressing on to claim land in the name of his brother Ubbe. So when you appeared and shouted with the howl of a Valkyrie, calling out to Odin and Freyja, they would shout with you.  They would handle the smaller sort of warriors and you, just like his brother Bjorn Ironside, would take care of berserkers. You had a knack for it and sought them out on a bloodied field of fear induced excrement.

Come here, son of Ragnar.

For some time he wondered if the introduction of sex was his idea or hers. If the way that she wove her hips in front of a lit flame in front of Torvi’s body, climbing over her with the pure intention of driving him wild, was all an act to bring a son of Ragnar into her bed. Every moment that you rode him, driving his cum out into your fertile womb was nothing to you. This was all for a purpose. To have a child from the house of Lothbrok growing within your stomach.

Did you think this was ever more than sex for me Hvitserk?

Did you think you were actually special?

One day-- You no longer wanted him.

You could never have me. You laughed and went on about your business leaving him to his with a stomach full of his child. Years passed and Ubbe passed in battle. Torvi, as she always claimed, went down with him. In the last years that he made up for the death of Guthrum with the life of his nephews, there was a rise in your name. That was fine… good. Good until he came to Aarhus and all went to shit.

“King Hvitserk!” The man bellows. Older, but not bad looking. His hair was cropped short, shaved around the sides. Snakes wrap from one side to another. Earl Eirikr was a fine earl. His people were well loved and cared for. Trade began to flourish in Aarhus, making it one of the larger trading points in his newly acquired lands. But�� there was an issue.

The woman sitting beside him as his would be queen? That was you. He can barely recognize you donning beautiful golden dangling earrings that contrasted against the passionate red that drove his hand straight to his pants as he walked in beside his nephews. The old man welcomes him forward with his other hand around your waist.

“My wife has told me much about you!”

He bet he fucking did. You wore that fine, unrepentant pride with your head raised. Obviously you were proud that you had gotten one up on a son of Ragnar. That couldn’t stand. He wouldn’t let it.

“What brings you to Aarhus?” King Eirikr asks. Hvitserk comes to a stop in front of the older king, his hand upon the pommel of his braid. Hvitserk’s nose tickles as he shifts to look at him past fluffy furs.

“You have stolen the woman I intended to make my wife. I need to spill blood.” Hvitserk says. Eirikr glances to you with his stormy grey eyes worn by bags of his stress. Reigning had aged him-- and so had you, apparently. He expects to speak and yet-- you did it for him.

“Ah.” Eirikr clears his throat turning to face you just slightly. “I did not not know you had an arrangement.”

“We didn’t. No man makes me do anything. I thought you would know that by now, Hvitserk. I suppose not, given how your brother-- dear late Ubbe always handed everything down to you.” Like a woman you egg him on. Hvitserk’s eyes keep still. The older he got, the wiser he became. He knew far more than expect that you would treat him with respect.

It’s a ploy to run him off.

“You’ve disrespected me. I challenge you to a duel.” Hvitserk folds his arms over his chest by his nephews. Gladly you step up to receive him.

“Not you.” Hvitserk holds your eyes. The heat he brings to the engagement is more than the little brat you were so used to. The pretty boy of the Ragnarssons who seemed to be more woman than man to you. His features are hardened. Once full cheeks streaked by scar and the long days of battle.

“If you are really a man, you will fight me for your wife’s hand. If you lose, I will take her and your lands.” Hvitserk says in a silken trill. At this you shove forward, huffing against his skin. The air you exhale into his face would normally have made him falter when it was you. Ubbe… and you. Nothing changes this time: if you were to say no on behalf of Eirikr, it would have been a show of weakness. After all, no man said no to a duel.

“Fine.”

Your fists clench into tight balls at your sides. If there was one thing Hvitserk knew you hated-- it was being the stereotypical woman looking for her forever man on her knees. You had rather take up his very sword and gut him like a raw fish regardless of the consequence.

“Mother? What are these men doing?”

A small figure pushes through the crowd. Young, yes, but approaching the age of manhood. These were vital years for him to learn the good art of battle, stratagem and self preservation. Hvitserk catches him within his vision-- green eye meeting green eye. No fool here would be able to tell Hvitserk Ragnarsson that this little boy was NOT his. The same willowy body, blond hair beginning to turn into his honey brown hue. You lurch out to tug the boy to your body, turning him and bringing your arms in front.

“This is your father, King Hvitserk and these are his men.”

Standing in front of him is a thin little boy. It doesn’t immediately register that this is the son you left him over at first. The same must have gone for the fine young man in front of him. What stories had you made up for why he was here?

“I don’t understand, mother. Why is he here?” The young man stands his ground in confidence that Hvitserk himself didn’t have at such a young age.

“For your mother.” Hvitserk unclips his furs and hands it off to his young nephew. He bends before his son, gliding his hand over the young boy’s arm to his shoulder.

“I’m here to take your mother as my wife.”

Never once had your son been approached by someone like that. There were shieldmaidens seeking your advice, men that congratulated his stepfather on arranging a good and fair marriage. All of these instances were blessings.

“No!”

With a whap of his fist against his cheek, Hvitserk raises away from his son. He would get used to it. Children were as fickle as women were. While he might be saying no now, he would be saying another story when his broken family was put together. The young man turns to hold you as if he could change this for an instant.

Something low in Eirikr’s stomach tells him that there was no coming out of this. For he had not the luck to fight a Ragnarsson, something that Hvitserk and all his glory did have. A man that was handed everything finally come to make something out of nothing? It would have been about time.

“Hurry up, Eirikr.” Hvitserk warms a dark, deep smile. “I can’t wait to bed my wife.”

Despite knowing better than to goad Hvitserk on, you reach out toward your husband. If another man wanted to fight for you, you wouldn’t just stand by without getting under Hvitserk’s skin. Long ago, Hvitserk used to be a man of primal things. Gluttony and pride were his chief concerns, oh but you knew, envy boiled underneath the surface.

“You can do this.” You brought your husband around, guiding his large hands around your waist. Slowly you guide Eirik into a smooth kiss, your palms against his furry beard. There’s something there beneath your rough exterior… something almost affectionate that Eirikr brings out of you. In all the time that he fucked you, he can’t recall once.

Not once that you touched him like that. Your hands never stroked the softness of his cheeks or held his jaw while you kissed him, lips and tongue all working against his own. Not during sex and especially not out of sex in the company of all these men. The normal, youthful Hvitserk would have just looked down. Look away and pretend that he was the dog that everyone on Midgard made him out to be. Even you who he thought… he truly thought he had something with. This in fact was another illusion by Loki and Hvitserk? Suddenly he was back to being that clueless dog. Not anymore.

His hand flew to his belt, clutching the grip of his sword and in one fine sweep he unsheathed it. You notice it before your husband, pulling your lips free from his just seconds too late.

“Uncle wait!”

He spins out and his blade slashes into the soft skin of your husband’s side to split his tunic open. Eirikr makes a sharp bark of pain in response, falling back toward the closest one of his men. Using the weight in his steps, Hvitserk stomps towards him without heeding anyone’s word in the matter. It’s not a fair start-- Hvitserk should have waited! The crowd begins to roar in protest.

You hold up your hand knowing that backing down would shame your husband who was… not of the same state of mind as Eirikr. For him, this was a fight. For Hvitserk, this was so much more. Everything accumulating up over the years in this one moment. In a way you thought he longed to show you the sort of man he could be.

“He is berserking.” You say from the side, reaching out toward your feisty green eyed son. Your arms tighten around him like a cage to keep him in place.

“I’ve never seen one up close!” Your young boy says as if it is a spectacle that causes you to cringe. No man should have to fight a man that bit his shield and roared with the feistiness of Nidghoggr. Eirikr darts underneath table in search for his weapon. Hvitserk follows close behind looking to devour him whole. When he finally gains ahold of a weapon, he might as well had not have had it in the first place.

Hvitserk is fast. He sweeps this way and that, weaving and ducking with every slash of the earl’s sword. Your son shouts something toward the man that raised him, pricking your ears with his words of love and encouragement. It wasn’t meant to last. Hvitserk puts all his weight into a sweep, thrusting the blade out of his hand. Hvitserk sweeps his blade up, then down his throat. It’s done.

Then, with that same hungry look, he looks to you.

The sons of Ubbe back away, your hands shake upon your little boy with every pounding step he takes. The innocent boy you once knew is now tainted by blood, splattered across his face with drips over his slender lips.

One of your hands leave your son’s chest, ignoring the stifled tears that spill down from his almond shaped eyes. Hvitserk spares the boy a look, flicking his head in the direction of his nephews. So you push him in that direction, raising your head with the same indignation as earlier. 

“You were always overly prideful.” Hvitserk husks, reaching a bloodied hand out to your chin. He tips your head up. “But not anymore, are you?” 

Before you can respond, Hvitserk ducks down to pick you up with his hands on the back of your knees. He stands with your body over his shoulder, pridefully stomping toward your room. As a shieldmaiden, it makes your teeth grind to be unable to stop him.

After all, he did win.

@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

[ofmanderley]

IN DEPTH FANDOM QUESTIONS 

@ritual-unions-gotme asked: Top 5 favourite characters? ( early seasons ) Rollo [ 1 / 5 ]

[kikuthestrange]

I love berserk hvitserk his movement is on point. Soooo good. Ugh I'm thirsty. :3

[siriustreasure]

drabbles 001

a/n: am i reviving this blog? i guess you’ll just have to wait and see :) also if a drabble says ‘final here’ but there’s no link yet, it’s because i haven’t finished the full version yet but when i do, i shall link it <3

summary: collection one of writings that a) i never finished or b) never made it into the final piece. most of these are hvitserk x sister! reader lmao

1. another one bites the dust: final here

summary : ivar’s temper results in the death of yet another sibling.

author’s note : ended up rewriting this section, if you’d like to read the final version click here !

once they had reached a point appropriate for the beserker’s send off, not so close that the men accompanying ragnarsson could hear and not so far that the send off was premature, they stopped. the two adults let go of the girl’s hands so that they could embrace each other.

2. blessing (first draft of bundle of joy): final here

summary : hvitserk finally has what he’s always wanted, someone to love. a daughter. he thinks he has, at least.

warnings : allusion to a still-birth, mentions of pregnancy and labour, mentions of death

author’s note : ended up rewriting this, final version is here ! also if you think “father’s here” is weird ( like as opposed to “daddy’s here” ) i’m sorry, i decided to say “father’s” instead because literally nobody in vikings ever says “daddy” so 1) it wouldn’t be very in character and 2) i don’t think it’d be era appropriate :’)

hvitserk waited with baited breath. it seemed that all he’d been doing recently was waiting. unfortunately for the new father, patience did not come easily, especially not for events he was excited for, such as your birth. he’d had to wait the standard nine months, an additional two months for spontaneous labour to finally occur, thirty-six hours of labour, then the unspecified time it took for you to take your first breath. idun had already gone. as she had when hvitserk first met her, she’d left once the task at hand had been accomplished. the goddess of youth had released you from the confines of her uterus, as she had been tasked, and thus was gone. it was apparently no concern of hers whether you lived or died. in that moment, all hvitserk cared about was the cry you had yet to free. a twitch, even, if you were shy.

in the time it took for you to give a sign of life, you’d been washed thoroughly and swaddled in fur. when a wail finally did break through the air, your wail to be exact, hvitserk gently snatched you out of the midwife’s arms and held you closely to his chest. first he cried, happy tears of course, then he laughed. “i have a baby!” your cries quickly turned to coos as you were fussed over. “she needs to be fed”, said the midwife, as she came to take you away. hvitserk glared at the woman, stopping her in her tracks. he’d almost forgotten, babies had to be carried by their mothers for at least one year, sometimes up to four years depending on the reliability of food sources, so they could be fed whenever necessary, and so that any signs of disability, not present at birth, could be recognised. motherless babies, therefore, were given to another woman which meant the time they got to spend with their fathers was limited. hvitserk wouldn’t allow that to happen. he couldn’t. holding you even closer to his chest, he stumbled backwards, taking you out of the midwife’s reach. “i’ll see to it that she is fed”, he said. the midwife opened and closed her mouth, like a fish. your father’s eyes darted between her, the floor and you. “i said, i’ll see to it.” smart enough to know not to annoy a son of ragnar, especially one known as the berserker, the midwife and her assistants left. hvitserk kissed the top of your head, “father’s here little one, father’s here.”

3. no title:

summary : ubbe must explain the events after the defeat of king aelle and king ecbert to his sister.

author’s note : i stopped writing this because i remembered that lagertha already knew about sigurd’s death when ubbe returned and i know she didn’t know that ivar and hvitserk had become ubbe’s enemies until he told her but sigurd’s death was going to be the thing with the highest impact but if the reader knew what had happened it wouldn’t be as dramatic y’know? i might rewrite it so it focuses more on like the reader comforting ubbe but idk it’s 6am and i still haven’t slept yet ✌️

y/n had made sure to be in the front line of welcomers, she’d missed her brothers terribly. kattegat was more like a house than home without them. life was too quiet. lonely. although lagertha treated her fairly, almost like her own daughter, and y/n sometimes found herself wishing lagertha had been her mother instead of aslaug, their lack of shared blood made it hard for y/n to fully accept lagertha as ‘family’. if ragnar’s sons ever did split, lagertha would not hesitate to choose bjorn, even if it meant labelling y/n as an enemy. of course, ragnar’s daughter would never condemn lagertha for that choice. she’d do the same.

perhaps y/n should’ve guessed that something was wrong as early as when the boats first came into view. despite how tiny they looked, it was obvious that the number of returning boats was far less than the number that had left. perhaps she was justified in not worrying. she was waiting for the sons of ragnar, after all. what on earth could’ve happened to them?

once the faces of the returning avengers were decipherable, y/n realised that out of the five figures she’d originally identified as her brothers, four had the right hair but the wrong faces. only one had both. her face fell. surely the gods were not so greedy. people began jumping into the arms of loved ones, jostling y/n who simply looked at ubbe, like a deer in headlights. whatever had happened, was bad. he wouldn’t get off the boat, opting instead to help others who were perfectly capable of getting off themselves. he wouldn’t even look at her. “ubbe?” she finally called as a wall of water began to block her eyes. silence. “ubbe.” some progress, he’d gotten off the boat… and walked right past his sister. he was not trying to be rude, and he would later regret behaving like this, he was just overwhelmed. he’d effectively lost three brothers. scared. what if y/n wanted to leave him too? disappointed. he’d failed. upon turning, ragnarsdottir found that ubbe had gone straight to margethe. the water wall in her eyes shattered. “ubbe!” everyone was now looking between them. “what happened?”

4. no title:

author’s note : this is a bit of an ✨artistic✨ vent, it doesn’t go into too much detail about what i’m dealing with, it’s more focused on what i wish would happen / what i think would help even a bit so pls proceed with some caution if you’re not in the right state of mind for a ( smol ) vent

warnings : angst, fluff, feeling alone, feeling unloved

“hvitserk?” “y/n!” he smiled, long pause “i feel unloved… like everyone who says they love me only say that because they have to, because we’re family but… not because they actually mean it.” she mumbled, with her head down, feeling ashamed. unbeknownst to her, hvitserk had come to crouch in front of her, in part to hear better and in part to comfort her because she was obviously distressed. he didn’t respond tho which made y/n even uneasier, eventually she looked up to see hvitserk staring back at her. “i don’t mean” he hugged her.

didn’t really know how to articulate what i wanted here

“what can i do? what can all of us do?”

“i don’t know. it’s just, when i was younger, you’d all fuss over me constantly. i only started to learn how to walk because of lagertha” they all chuckled “you all said that princesses shouldn’t have to walk. now i’m older, i know i can’t expect you to carry me all the time like you used to, though i miss it terribly, but i feel like you never want to be around me… like it’s a chore. i just… i guess i want to be noticed.”

5. heart bangs:

author’s note : this is a very self indulgent piece of trash that won’t mean anything to a lot of people but its 2am and i just gave myself heart bangs ( side note : they’re so cute but kinda hard to actually curl into the heart oof ) aNyWaY this is just all my pas ( like plural of pa ) reacting to it. in exactly the same way. because i feel kind of empowered rn but i also need encouragement / validation... um yeah the idea is just imagine it being said in their voice. ok ? ok

sirius black : “i’m so proud of you.”

arthur morgan : “i’m proud o’ ya.”

howl pendragon : “i’m so proud of you, sweetheart.”

hvitserk ragnarsson : “i’m so proud of you.”

6. survival of the fittest:

summary : inspired by the horse carcass scene from the revenant, as the winter sun progresses hvitserk worries his sister will not survive the cold. desperate to prove these worries wrong, hvitserk utilises a horse in a way not even ragnar had done. surely, the gods had guided them to the horse on purpose.

a/n : sorry if the horse bit lacks detail or doesn’t make much sense, i haven’t actually seen the revenant and i don’t really want to watch that scene so 🥺 i was just watching a video about method acting and the narrator mentioned this scene so yeah anyway i hope you enjoy... it? idk if ‘enjoy’ is the right word. also this is sort of linked to my ‘skogarmaor’ snippet but also not... it’s like an au i guess. idk it’s a mess ok? ok

“come on. it’s just like wearing a cloak... but bigger.”

“i can’t. i won’t.”

“hvitserk?” she whispered, eyes wide from shock

{{{ something about her throwing up }}}

her nose, her cheeks, her lips were all raw, red, ragged. they looked like they were bleeding. he blamed himself entirely. there was the obvious ‘if he hadn’t been drunk, if he’d beaten his addiction when ubbe tried to help him’ but there was also the fact that he, granted not only he, had sheltered y/n to the highest possible degree. she was hardly viking. yes she was viking by blood. yes she believed in the norse gods... but she was weak. small. delicate. a flower surrounded by thorns. a viking princess who, though she’d heavily deny it, was more akin to those in england.

he stared at her tiny face, now framed by the bear’s belly, “i’m right here. you’re ok... you’re going to be ok.” he smiled sadly, “sleep.”

7. untitled:

summary : dialogue between hvitserk and his sister after the events of the finale

“what do you want to do, hmm? do you want to go back to kattegat? do you want to find ubbe?”

“with you or without you?”

he sighed, “i’m staying here.”

“then that is what i will do. we’ve always been together, i know nothing else.”

“i jumped ship.”

“and look what happened.” she stormed out. hvitserk clenched a fist and assaulted the air. he was trying to help her.

8. untitled:

a/n : indulgent sad girl hours; father figure! teacher x daughter figure! oc

she’d had enough. all she wanted to do was give up but she couldn’t, and she didn’t know why. so, she ran. she ran through all the streets that brought her pain because those were the only places she knew to go. she ran until she couldn’t anymore. until her lungs were on fire. then, she sat on a little wall, well perhaps it was a wall once, she sat on a line of two bricks and cried her eyes out; without a care in the world for who saw. “y/n?” her attention was pulled to the main road. there, her english teacher sat in his car, at the red light. “you ok?” he asked. y/n aggressively wiped her tears away with a sleeve, before nodding, again aggressively. the man faltered, “are you sure?” y/n continued to nod, but her face grew redder and redder, until, eventually, her lips trembled and her tears flooded her face once again. the teacher glanced at his rear view mirrors, he could turn without disturbing the people behind him, so he did. into the little road in front of y/n. he parked, he got out, he approached her. “what happened?” he waited, patiently, but she didn’t respond. “it’s getting a little late, is there someone you want me to call? home, maybe?” “i don’t want to go home.” shit. “i know this is highly inappropriate but i don’t want to just leave you out here. do you want to come... do you want to come to mine?” she did. so he took her. nothing bad or inappropriate happened. he essentially babysat her. he took on the role of a father. she was his daughter.

[majesticwren]

Imagine: Hvitserk Ragnarsson is your Husband.

A/N: I personally packed and wrapped and presented this headcanon with as much fluff as I could. As requested by my lovely @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie 💕 I do hope it won't disappoint (and I am sorry it took me aeons to get around and finish it............ Let's ignore that part pls 😂) I am also, kind of, thinking to accept headcanons requests, since the only one I wrote before had a bit of success......... But we'll see. Trigger-warnings: as much fluff as I can possibly produce, Hvitserk being Hvitserk, mild to a bit less mild sex references.

You are everything for Hvitserk Ragnarsson. Let's begin from there. You are the reason why he breathes, let alone his research for glory and Viking pride. Every single one of his victories, he shares with you - he wants to win for you. It can be a brawl or war.

On your wedding day, he cried a little bit for how lucky he felt, and for how pretty he thought you were, with your crown of flowers and colourful dress. He proudly wears the wedding ring that binds him to you.

For a long time, Hvitserk Ragnarrson's quest has been to understand his fate and how much he believed, and in what. Since he met you his answers were found. He worships you, his wife.

His attention is always focused on you. When you enter the same room he is in, Hvitserk struggles to fight the need to be as close to you as possible. And that is one of the only fights he can lose, which is why, in the end, you will find him by your side.

If you're caught in a public event, he will take your hand, standing proudly by your side. But he won't deny himself the right to a kiss, or more than one. He is not a shy guy, everyone knows it.

He will try to get you to leave as soon as possible to have you all to himself.

But if that doesn't convince you, then he will accept it - without giving it up entirely, not gonna lie. Though, he makes sure to let you know, whispering to your ear that: "the longer he has to long for you, the longer he will spend keeping you awake later". With a kiss on your neck and a satisfied, impatient grin.

Throughout the rest of the event, he would probably indulge in food and ale, playing with your hair or dress, cracking jokes... If there's music, you can be sure he will expect you to dance with him.

But he would not forget his promise.

As soon as he finally has you for himself, he makes sure with every part of his body and soul, to remind you you are his wife and he loves you more than life itself, more than battles, more than food.

Every minute he has to spend apart from you, he passes fantasising about how sweet it would be to be buried between your arms and legs later. And if he has to take his focus off such thoughts, because he still has important things to do sometimes, his hunger for you just grows.

He is a passionate and attentive lover. Your pleasure is his priority, always. To the point, he is willing to sacrifice his own to give you everything he can.

With every kiss, caress or thrust, he gives himself to you.

He absolutely loves to hear and feel your pleasure growing and releasing, over and over again. Your moans, you crying our loud his name when you find release, your whimpers and pleas for him to both stop and continue, your nails dug into his skin, you pulling his hair, your body arched between his arms, your brightened eyes, red cheeks, swollen and wet lips.

But if there's something that sends him feral, transforming the man into a beast, is your wetness. He craves your flavour. He craves the scent of his own skin after taking you, being branded by you.

He is a berserker but he is your berserker. So, if you might find it attractive when he loses it through training or a brawl... Just imagine what it means to have such a beast looking at your naked body, not craving blood like he would on a battlefield, but you.

You are his companion for life. If you didn't already know how to fight, he would teach you. Even if you constantly need to keep him at bay, because he struggles to be that close to you without kissing you every three seconds.

When you get to match him in a fight, he finds it so hot. (Even if he has to tone his strength down, especially at the beginning, not to hurt you. But in the end, he knows you can take it.)

He is a proud man. He would always stand behind you, or by your side. But he would watch you intensely winning your own victories, just to happily share with you the triumphs. Getting in your way only when you ask for his help, never treading on your toes.

Hvitserk trusts you completely. He knows you're his as much as he makes sure you know he is yours.

He is not a jealous being, but he will let his berserker side shown if someone either offends your honour or threatens you.

Although he is completely faithful to you. Never a single doubt about it. He does find your possible jealousy hot.

He will always bring you with him through his travels. It can be for war, to explore or to be the politician he is, exchanging alliances.

On a day to day life, he enjoys being a husband.

He loves to sleep in with you. In the morning he always finds ways to keep you in bed longer, even and especially when you have things to do - you're definitely always late.

He loves to provide for you and to keep you safe.

As much as he loves the fact that you are what keeps him safe and gives him meaning. You're his lucky charm.

He cares for your advice and opinions.

Hvitserk loves to feed you. Especially from his own hands.

And he loves when you braid his hair.

He is not the kind of man who hides his emotions. He is always pretty clear about what he wants. Which is why he has no shame in telling you he wants a child from you. Or many. Particularly, he doesn't even try to hide his breeding kink.

And when you accept to build a big family with him, Hvitserk is truly the happiest man alive.

He always thought you were his reason to live and that he would never be able to love anyone, not even Ubbe, as much as he loves you. But he was wrong.

He finds a higher form of love and happiness, to share with you, in being a father.

And you will never see him smile quite as much, as for when he enters a room and his children assault him, all at the same time, to get a hug. Ending up in Hvitserk swooping them all up between his arms and kissing all of them.

As much as you won't ever feel quite as much love bursting inside your chest as to such a scene. Just when you thought you couldn't love anything more than that - then he looks at you, grateful, in love, hungry for your affection.

So, you fall in love with each other all over again.

[ubbesbabymama]

Scenarios.

ㄴUbbe Ragnarsson.

—Catching his attention. 𖧷︎ ♡

You catch the prince’s attention in the less-expected moment.

ㄴ Ivar The Boneless.

—We have a problem. ♡

In where Ivar despises how much he admires you.

ㄴ Hvitserk The Berserker.

—Finally. ♡ [M]

Hvitserk is kind of in love with his brother’s slave.

[therealcalicali]

Hvitserk the Berserker - Vikings

[mrsalwayswrite]

Fight For You (Ivar x Reader)

This is my contribution to @youbloodymadgenius​ 1k celebration! Congrats, love! 

My prompt was: You had my curiosity. But now you have my attention. (Django Unchained)

Warnings: a smidgeon of violence, talk of premeditative murder of a spouse, some possessive!Ivar? my poor attempts at humor and flirting.

Words:3900

  The talking of the other earls, jarls and king grated on Ivar's nerves. Instead of threatening to cut out all of their tongues and make a necklace of them, like he strongly desired to do, he silently reclined in his seat fuming. It was both boring and infuriating to listen to these lesser men squabble amongst themselves like children. But like Hvitserk frequently reminded him, the others needed to be included in the planning. Even if Ivar despised it. 

 So he sat back, pretending to listen to the others as they attempted to make a battle plan. Even if it was a piss poor attempt and honestly, laughable. He kept silent for now. For he had his own plan and when he felt he had given them enough time to argue, he would share what they needed to know to fulfill it. He never shared the full plan; he would never give another that kind of power and knowledge. 

 King Harald Finehair was the least incompetent of the warriors and since at least half of their heathen army was there due to him, many listened intently when he spoke. 

 "If our scouts are correct, our army vastly outnumbers anything the town has." King Harald placed both of his hands on the table, drawing the attention of those under the meeting tent to himself. "I say tomorrow we attack with our full force. If they barricade themselves in, then we burn the gate down."

 "How great will our casualties be then?" Earl Liefson questioned, eyeing most of Norway's King with scrutiny. 

 "Did you not hear King Harald? We outnumber them! Those that die during the fight will certainly go to Valhalla to feast with Odin and Thor. Let us attack without fear or worry!" Jarl Haakon boasted, slapping a hand to his broad chest in emphasis. 

 This time Ivar did not try to suppress his annoyance. He rolled his eyes at the Jarl, practically biting his tongue to withhold a scathing comment. Looking to his left, he caught the gaze of his brother, Hvitserk, who at least was better at hiding his irritation. 

 There were many men that Ivar detested, many men he loathed. Jarl Haakon was most certainly in the top five. The man loved the sound of his own voice and any idea spewed from his mouth usually equaled in value to a pig's fart. At first, Ivar could not fathom how the Jarl managed to stay in his position of power. Sure, he fought like a berserker and thrived on bloodlust like many Vikings…. but he was a pompous, narrow-minded idiot. 

 Yet once the meetings started, plans being drawn for this great raid, Ivar figured it out. 

 It was you. 

 In the beginning, some of the other earls initially protested when Jarl Haakon brought you into the meetings; especially since you were no shieldmaiden, you were only his wife. But when he flatly stated either you came with him or him and his men left, their protests died down. Those very men were further silenced when King Harald greeted you warmly and welcomed your company. 

 At first, Ivar loathed your presence, thinking you were there just to satisfy your husband's ego, his continuous need to show off his beautiful wife. It was only after plans were finalized and Jarl Haakon looked down at you, his hand possessively on your lower back, that Ivar realized you were not there just to look pretty. 

 You surveyed over the "map" drawn into the dirt, eyes analyzing. Then you did the most unexpected thing. You critiqued the plan. Perfecting it in ways that even Ivar had not seen. 

 And the bloodthirsty prince could only sit back in shock and awe. 

 It was after that first encounter, whenever you were nearby, his gaze never strayed far from you. 

 Now, you stood silently next to your husband, focused on the plan being discussed. Instead of fully listening to the others, Ivar watched you. The way you bit your lower lip in concentration, the faint twitch of your right eye when someone said something you disagreed with, the quiet way you controlled your husband with a simple word or touch. It all mesmerized him. 

 What inflamed him the most was the few times your gaze would rise to meet his. The way you would peek at him through your lashes like a shy maiden, as if silently asking for his permission, then speak to the group of men. The power and intellect you kept hidden would be unveiled with your words. It was enough to make Ivar salivate every time. 

 Most women bothered Ivar with their whimpering or tedious nature, even most of the shieldmaidens made him want to plunge a dagger into them. But not you. You were not most women. Ivar swore on all the gods that you were a Valkyrie sent from Odin to bless him, to confirm his favor with the Aesir and his lineage tracing back to Odin himself. 

 Yet somehow you were married to that fool of a Jarl….and Ivar hated it. 

 "What say you, Ivar?" King Harald asked, drawing the prince back to the current conversation. The gazes of the other leaders weighed heavily once their eyes turned to Ivar, but instead of buckling underneath their inquiry, he thrived. 

 "I say why waste time and men? Let us lead a main force from the river like they expect us to do. A second force will attack from the north, hiding in the woods. My scout says there is a second smaller gate that their hunters use to leave the town. Because of its location, it is not well defended. Using that, there will be no need for a siege." He confidently explained his plan, looking around the meeting tent. A knot in his core tightened as he saw the corners of your lips turned upward in a brief smile and the bright gleam in your eyes. His plan was flawless, but seeing your approval bolstered his confidence, made him straighten further in his chair. 

 "Why did you not tell us about this second gate sooner?" An older earl demanded. His fingers tapped on the axe he wore on his hip, either purposefully threatening or mindlessly was yet to be determined. 

 The dark-haired prince rolled his head to the side, glaring at the man with malice in his icy blue eyes. "I waited until the information was necessary. If you sent your own scouts, they may have discovered it themselves instead of wasting their time drunk everyday we've been here."

 "A second gate is fortuitous for us." King Harald interrupted before the earl could respond. "We will lose less men. I will lead the main attack with my men. Ivar will lead the second attack since you were the one who brought this information."

 Ivar cocked his head for a moment then nodded. "Agreed." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jarl Haakon turn to you with a silent question in his look. Without hesitation, you give a single nod and your husband smiled. 

 "What are we standing around for then? We have Saxons to kill and glory and riches to earn. Let us prepare!" Jarl Haakon loudly proclaimed, making a couple of the earls chuckle. After that everyone began to disperse back to their own tents and warriors. Word would spread to prepare for battle the next day. 

 Catching Hvitserk's eye, Ivar motioned for his older brother to accompany him. Together, they walked out of the meeting tent and past groups of warriors, tents and cooking fires. The noon sun blared down on them, causing many to seek shelter under tents or tree canopies. 

 "What is it?" The flaxen-haired warrior asked, falling easily into step with his little brother. 

 Ivar hated how easily his brother could keep pace with him, while he stumbled along with his crippled legs and crutch. It was not Hvitserk's fault, but it was a resentment that Ivar still held nonetheless. Keeping his gaze forward, he grunted a vague reply. "I have questions."

 "Ah." Hvitserk ran a hand over his mustache as he surveyed the camp around them. After a moment, he spoke up again. "Anything to do with y/n?"

 Ivar snapped his head around to glare only to meet the amused look of his smirking brother. His upper lip curled up in a snarl but Hvitserk cut him off with a shrug.

 "What? You're not as subtle as you think you are. You're lucky her husband hasn't taken notice of your…. attention."

 "Shut up."

 "Alright…. we are going to see her though, right?"

 Ivar did not respond, instead he grit his teeth as he pressed on to his destination. Beside him, Hvitserk laughed but kept pace and any further comments to himself. 

 The two princes walked towards Jarl Haakon's tent. From observing, Ivar knew that the Jarl would be off with King Harald, talking to their warriors and finalizing their own plans. Without fail, he always postured himself to the forefront in speaking to their warriors, most likely to make sure his voice was heard just after King Harald and to boost his own ego. Even if his usefulness in making the battle plans was nonexistent. He was a warrior, through and through, but not a strategist. His value lied on his ability to wield his sword and axe on the battlefield.  

 To Ivar's surprise, you always retired to your tent right away after meetings. He witnessed on more than one occasion where your husband tried to convince you to accompany him, all to no avail. Oh, it was obvious your husband cared for you, but he also thrived on the jealous looks from others. His hand continuously rested on your lower back or around your shoulders, pulling you against him, dwarfing you with his larger frame. Frequently, he loudly proclaimed how he was gifted with a wife from Freya herself, making sure to steal a kiss as he laughed boisterously. 

 A coy smile danced on your lips but Ivar could see it hidden in the depths of your eyes, the annoyance and disgust by your husband's actions. You were a goddess on Midgard. That simpleton of a husband was not worthy of you. He should worship at your feet, begging for a moment of your divine attention. Yet, you were his lawful wife.

 And jealousy threatened to burn Ivar alive as he looked on.  

 The son of Ragnar was further enraged as he approached your tent to witness no guards posted in front of it. How dare your husband leave you undefended? He was even more of a fool than Ivar thought.

 With his usual arrogance, Ivar drew back the flap to your tent without calling out for your permission. As he stepped through, he could hear Hvitserk mutter something under his breath behind him, but still followed into the Jarl's tent.

 You stood next to a short table on the far side of the tent. Your hair was out of its typical braids, catching the prince's eye. An image of him running his hand through your hair flashed through his mind without warning. With the cloth in hand and the shallow bowl before you, Ivar knew he had interrupted your cleansing. 

 "Prince Ivar," you started, dragging the cloth down your neck sensually before setting it softly into the bowl. "My husband is not here at the moment. Would you like me to send for him?"

 "That's alright. It's you I'm interested in." He smirked as he watched you straighten further, a faint furrow between your brows. Your eyes continued to hold his, sending a thrill straight down his spine. He moved to the center of the tent, drawing closer as if magnetized by you. Leaning on his crutch, he tipped his head to peer at you. Lesser men would fear being alone with him, a Viking known for his bloodlust and cruelty but not you. There was no fear, no concern for safety in your eyes, only interest….and that amused and enthralled the crippled prince. 

 "I confess, I find your relationship with your husband…. peculiar. At first, I thought you were another pretty face, just another useless wife. But I see now, you are far more cunning and clever than you let on. Even now. Your husband is a fool, but he is intelligent enough to recognize he's need for you. So, I have been curious. Why are you still married to that oaf? I suspect there are far better suitors out there for you."

 You shrugged, taking a couple steps closer to the center of the tent. "It was the gods' will, and he is a good man." 

 "He's an idiot." Ivar deadpanned.  A muffled snort came from the direction of Hvitserk behind him but he kept his piercing eyes on you. 

 "Perhaps. He is still my husband."

 "Mmm….and do you care for your husband?"

 You glanced over at Hvitserk, who stood near the entrance, leaning against a pole casually, and then back to Ivar. For the first time, he saw uncertainty flash across your eyes but it was quickly subdued. "Why does it matter?"

 He moved closer until he stood before you, the sound of his crutch muffled by the furs covering the ground. "He is always touching you, but you never reciprocate. You are…. complacent. Tell me, honestly. Does his intellect bore you? Is that why you run back to your tent?"

 "Ivar…." Hvitserk said in warning, only to be ignored. 

 "Would you bore me?" You asked coquettishly, looking at him from under your lashes, making his heart race. "I find most men…. simple."

 "I think you know the answer to that." His mouth curved in an arrogant smile. "Is that why you steal looks at me during meetings?"

 "Or is it because I feel your eyes on me already?"

 Gods, he wanted to touch you. As you stared into one another's eyes, a silent conversation flowed between you two. It was now he finally saw what he hoped for, what he silently prayed for. A longing lay hidden in your gaze that matched his own. An understanding. A hunger that bespoke of adventure and passion. The torturous desire was enough to drive him mad with need but he refrained. He would make you come to him though, he would make you touch him first to prove your want for him. 

 "Is this…. are you two flirting?" Hvitserk suddenly asked, shattering the revealing moment. 

 "No, brother. I would never flirt with a married woman." Ivar took a step back from you, feeling the space like a chasm between you two. "I think my questions have been answered." He turned around and started towards the entrance. 

 In anger, most people revealed their true selves. He had learned that if he could say the right thing, push people the right way, their true selves, their true desires would manifest. So he decided to see if the meek wife you portrayed was accurate or just a mask, if he could draw that longing out from you. He turned his head just enough to the side to make sure you heard his next statement. "It seems you are just another pretty face after all."

 In the next step, the sharp edge of a dagger pressed to his throat froze his step. Shifting his head slightly, the edge dug further, almost piercing his skin. You stood just behind him, the dagger in your hand. 

 "I may not be a shieldmaiden but I am no helpless Saxon woman." You slowly, teasingly, dragged the dagger's tip further up his neck to his pulse point. The whole time he never removed his eyes from yours over his shoulder. The tension glided across his body, shooting a shiver down his spine. He wondered if the heated look in your eyes matched his own. If he licked his lips, could he taste the ardor saturating the air between you.  

 When you spoke again, it was with a low and titillating tone. Your breath brushed against his neck, the feeling of your body almost touching his- tormenting. His hand clutched his crutch with a white-knuckle grip, his self-control slipping away with each moment. "I always have at least three daggers on me…. would you like to try and find them?"

 "I do!" Hvitserk said, raising his hand, breaking the tension. "I volunteer!"

 You winked at Hvitserk before withdrawing the dagger from Ivar's throat and taking a step back. Ivar continued to watch you as your gaze met his again. "Do not assume just because you cannot see something, does not mean it is not there. I may look like the submissive wife but that is far from the truth."

 To say he was aroused was an understatement. Spinning on his heel, he faced you, not even trying to suppress the hunger bubbling up within him. "You had my curiosity. But now you have my attention."

 "And what does that mean, 'I have your attention'? Is there a prize?" You raised an eyebrow but the devious smirk betrayed your amusement. 

 "I always reward those who…. interest me." He shifted forward to gently reach forward and caress your cheek. A sharp inhale and the fluttering of your lashes at his touch proved his effect on you. Carefully, you tipped your head, leaning your cheek against his hand. Never before had he coveted you so strongly. His instincts screamed at him to take your hand and lead you back to his tent, to make you his forever. You were a free woman though; the choice was yours. He wanted you to choose him. 

 "You are too smart for that idiot. Leave him." He muttered, tracing a finger over the seam of your lips. 

 "It's not that simple."

 "It can be."

 You pressed a kiss to the tip of his finger. "And what will I do then?"

 "You can be my woman!" Hvitserk declared, placing a hand over his heart. 

 You giggled at the harsh glare Ivar threw his brother over his shoulder. 

 "What?" Hvitserk asked in mock innocence. “You know I would share, little brother!"

 "Hvitty, say another word and I will cut your tongue out."

 The flaxen-haired prince rolled his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest. "Both of you need to work on your flirting. I did quite enjoy the little display you gave us, it's been far too long since someone threatened Ivar. We could make a shieldmaiden out of you yet, y/n."

 You stepped around Ivar to approach Hvitserk, much to Ivar's chagrin. He watched you give a quick peck on the cheek to his brother. Red began to color Ivar's sight, the tight grip on his crutch borderline painful.

 "I could make you very happy." Hvitserk said with a flirty wink, making you giggle. 

 The innuendo did not go over both Ivar and your heads. You smiled though, walking back towards the center of the tent. "I'm sure but I would hate to take that opportunity away from all the other women since I don't like to share."

 Ivar reached over and grabbed your arm, pulling you closer to him. The sweet smile lingered on your face but now directed at him softened some of his jealous anger. He cupped the side of your face, gazing down at you in something akin to reverence and longing. Silently, you placed your hands on his chest, staring up at him. He wondered if you caused his heart to beat or it beat for you. 

 "You fascinate me." He whispered, as if scared to utter the confession. 

 A sigh escaped you as you glanced downward at your hands on him. "If only we had met in another life."

 "Leave him. He doesn't deserve you. You deserve to be worshipped and recognized. Not treated as something to be shown off."

 "Perhaps one day." You lifted your eyes to meet his once more. "But I can't yet. An alliance relies on our marriage."

 He nodded, running his tongue along his bottom lip. It made sense. That would explain how you ended up married to the foolish warrior jarl. Lifting one of your hands from his chest, he pressed a lingering kiss to your knuckles, wishing it was your lips instead. Without another word, he started towards the entrance to your tent. His mind needed to process what it learned and how to best utilize that information for his plan. 

 Just before opening the flap, he turned back to you, surprised to see you still standing in the same spot but now rubbing your kissed knuckles across your bottom lip. Warmth and determination welled in his chest. 

 "Will you pray to the gods for our victory?"

 A smug smile curled the corners of your mouth. "I always do, but it is not necessary for who can defeat Ivar the Boneless?"

 He could not stop the grin from spreading across his face. "And do you pray for your husband's safety?"

 "That I leave to the gods."

 With one last heated look sent your way, he ducked out of the tent and back into the sunny camp.  

 "What now?" Hvitserk asked, walking beside him.

 "I need to talk with King Harald."

 "Ivar, you can't…. that’s…."

 He stopped to round on his brother, a scowl directed at him. "She deserves better than Jarl Haakon. Do you disagree?" He spat out, his wrath directed at your husband blazing once again. 

 Hvitserk sighed. "No, but…."

 "Then it's settled." Without waiting, he started in the direction of King Harald's tent. 

 Hvitserk rushed back to his side, falling into step. "So you'll pursue her after?"

 Ivar kept silent, mind already finalizing plans on how to best dispose of your husband. The battle coming up was the perfect opportunity, as if the timing was ordained and blessed by the gods. 

 "You won't be the only one. You're not the only man to watch her."

 Ivar sneered at the thought. "They will find themselves with my axe embedded in their guts if they even try."

 "So protective of her already and she is still another man's wife." 

 Ivar turned on his brother but Hvitserk just sidestepped the dagger aimed at his chest. 

 "If it's the gods' will for her to be your wife then I will help you." His older brother stated with his hands held up in surrender. "You know this. Besides I think you found your match with her."

 "She is…." The crippled prince started but his words trailed off. How could he adequately describe how you meant to him, how he longed for you, how he knew with you by his side he would be unstoppable and maybe for once in his life, actually happy. 

 "Is that Ivar the Boneless speechless? It must be love…. or the sun is getting to your head and you're going to be sick."

 "Shut up." Ivar snapped but without malice. 

 They walked for a few more minutes in silence before Hvitserk spoke up again. 

 "It will be pleasant to not hear his irritating voice anymore in meetings. We may be able to find an earl willing to just kill him for us."

 Ivar chuckled darkly. His thoughts returned to you and how he would willingly do anything to make you his wife. You were his Valkyrie, his goddess, you would complete him. Soon you would at his side, come death or Ragnarök, he would fight for you. 

[xbellaxcarolinax]

Knew Him Well

Pairing: Hvitserk x Plus-size reader

Word Count: 2664

Warnings: Sexual themes

Summary: As a goddess, you knew everything about him.

Thanks to @shannygoatgruff for beta reading. 

Beautiful moodboard by @flowers-in-your-hayr​ 

AN: So I kinda broke my writers block with this one. This was a request I wrote for the lovely @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie as promised. It’s my first time writing for Hvitserk, but it’s entirely in the point of the reader. I really hope you like it 🥺❤️

As always, I tagged those who might be interested.

...

You knew him well.

You knew of his heart's desires, his pains, his joys, his failures. You knew his likes and dislikes, what he loved and what he did not.

Hvitserk was a simple mortal. He loved apples.

When you allowed the frozen rivers and skeleton trees to burst forth again with life, apples were among the first you pushed to grow ripe.

You watched him often in his youth.

He had small chubby hands then, always reaching up towards the skies. His tiny fingers would spread in futile attempts to snatch a bright red apple that hung just a few feet above him.

Usually, there was always someone to reach one for him. Sometimes it was Siggy, pushing herself on her toes to please the little prince with the sweet fruit. Sometimes it was Floki, the gangly man easily plucking two from a branch with a smile. And sometimes it was his mother whenever she decided to pay her second son some attention, her fox-like face pinching in concentration while deciding which apple would be best to eat.

This time, no one was around to help.

He pouted, baby arms crossed over his chest in discontent.

You remembered his green eyes, bright against his dirt-covered face from a morning of mischief with his brother.

You pitied him.

A simple wave of your hand and the tree suddenly shook its branches, dancing in the gentle wind. A perfect apple landed by his small feet. It was a deep shade of red, rich like blood.

You smiled at his sudden squeals of delight.

He reached for it in glee, hands clumsily wiping the dirt away before taking a hefty bite with tiny teeth. He chewed once, then twice before his curious eyes spotted you. He took a few steps forward, searching behind the large base of the tree for your figure.

He caught sight of you. Your eyes were an impossible hue and your skin glowed brighter than the sun.

A goddess.

But you disappeared as quickly as you came, the scent of wildflowers lingering in the breeze.

He was only five, not fully capable of understanding the memory, but he'd never forgotten it. And neither did you.

...

You knew him well.

You watched him grow more curious as the seasons changed, watched how his tiny hands were finally able to firmly grip a sword without it slipping from his fingers.

He was a man now, long-limbed and broad-shouldered. His hair had grown, always neatly braided down his back by serving girls. A lopsided grin hung from his lips at any given moment, his talented fingers dancing over the smooth skin of his many conquests. But his eyes remained the same, bright green against his pale skin.

He was a man with an appetite that craved for more than apples.

He craved women.

The finest mortal women of Midgard easily caught his eye. Thick or thin, willing or not, it did not matter to him.

But it mattered to you. A goddess.

The sound of your voice commanded the earth to bloom green after a long winter, and your golden apples fed the gods their eternal youth. Power sizzled through your fingertips like blazing fire and yet you were not immune to jealousy, a fault that all the gods have endured.

Envy was unknown to you. There was no reason to be acquainted. You had everything you could want: eternal youth, immortality, power. These things had been enough.

But it was the women he bedded that had your stomach churning and your lips set in a frown. The countless women sprawled under him, legs wrapped around his hips with toes curling in the air. You'd sneer, the smallest hints of rage filling you enough to create a spark.

You wanted to strip the earth bare, strip away the beauty held by the women that he chased. But you would not punish the earth, nor the women for the faults of one man. One mortal man.

Still, you were not angry with him.

When the mortals of Kattegat congregated on festival days building altars and sacrificing their animals to appease the gods during the summer solstice, he worshipped you, pouring rich cider over your altar and muttering the words he practiced with his queen mother.

Bless our trees heavy with a sweetness that bears us through the winter cold.

You listened to his prayers, and the Autumn harvest swelled with ripened apples before Skadi laid the first frosts of winter.

You continued to watch him.

He took to journeying across foreign seas for fame, riches, and more women. He was in his prime, his features blooming with youth that would never glow the same way again.

It saddened you.

...

"You know him well." The Allfather appeared beside you, his hoarse voice erupting from deep within his chest. His black cloak billowed like thick smoke from under him.

His presence used to startle you back when you were a younger goddess, unaware of his nature. Now you've grown used to his silent footfall.

"I do." You said, your throat tightening as you watched how Hvitserk suffered. “I admire him.”

The older god regarded you for a moment before peering down towards Midgard. He watched as the young man vomited over himself, shifting quickly to huddle into a corner. His hair, damp from the harsh rains, made his eyes appear wild, like a wounded beast caught in a trap.

"Admire his weakness?" The Allfather questioned.

"His strengths." You corrected, daring to glance at the king of the gods. He raised an ancient hand to stroke down the length of his graying beard. He did not miss the harshness in your tone as hidden as it was. You were as sharp as knives.

"He is a troubled mortal," was all he said.

"Wronged by his own brothers." You reasoned. It was no wonder Hvitserk turned to wild herbs for comfort.

"Indeed." He agreed, shifting his godly gaze back to you, the blue of his eye deeper than the oceans belonging to Ràn. "I had favored his father once. Perhaps there is a reason you favor his son." He spoke as if he knew of things that you did not know of. Perhaps he did.

You remained silent, not knowing much else to say.

"You want to go to him," The king of the gods knew. "So go."

You held your basket tightly in your hands, your knuckles turning white against your golden skin from the pressure. You had wanted to go to him for so long, only allowing yourself the one encounter so many years ago. Gods did not mingle with mortals often.

But you knew Hvitserk was delirious. He would think of your presence as nothing but a hallucination. It would have to do.

The Allfather chuckled, his hand outstretched expectantly. You quickly reached into your woven basket to place a golden apple in his cold palm, watching how his large fingers curled over it. It was not for him. He was king of the gods, he did not fret over youthfulness as his wife did.

"Please send Frigg my love." The words barely left your berry-colored lips before he disappeared.

You turned back towards Midgard. Hvitserk was now asleep, limbs twitching and eyes rolling under his dark lids.

You went to him.

...

You had grown bold.

You visited him on many nights, watching him sleep. Your hand would gently caress his cheeks, smoothing down the arch of his sweaty brows as he dreamed of countless horrors. The foul murder of a woman. The burning of another.

You pitied him.

His eyes would barely open, lashes splitting apart to gaze at you. But he could not see you, not truly. Still, you would smile at him, pushing his stringy locks away from his face, and he’d fall back into a fitful slumber. You’d kiss his skin and leave by dawn, your touch remaining on his skin like a whisper once he woke.

Hvitserk had recuperated under your godly touch after a few weeks, waning himself away from the wild herbs that destroyed his body and mind.

But he no longer searched the trees for your apples, nor did he pour golden cider over your altar. He did not burn offerings in your name, nor whisper his prayers. He was lost as if caught at sea in a raging storm. He did not know his purpose, and without purpose, he would achieve nothing.

He had been a berserker once, a powerful warrior in battle. He had much to be proud of. Now he was but a mere soul wandering Midgard like a ghost.

He no longer believed.

And you pitied him once more.

…

You visited him again. It would be the last time.

"I know you well." Your voice, so simple in the realm of the gods, was like a bird song in his ears.

Hvitserk gawked at you, mouth open like a fish in a clear stream. He jumped up, feet now planted firmly over the soft grass of his favorite meadow.

He was a bit older, though not by much. His eyes were not as bright as you had known them to be, a dull green that held countless stories. He kept his hair pulled back recently, tightly bound towards his nape with a leather band. His fine tunic hid the worst of the battle scars, thin lines of healed skin barely peeking through the collar. Signs of a warrior.

You smiled, taking a step towards him. You were not wearing any shoes, your toes digging into the familiar earth. Fresh regrowth and new flowers bloomed after your every step. He noticed.

His eyes took in your bare feet, traveling up the length of your thick calves, your curvaceous hips, and your large chest until finally settling on your eyes. He swallowed. They were an impossible hue.

"Who are you?" He squinted, though he did not know whether it was from the glare of the sun or your powerfully glowing skin. "A ghost?"

A chuckle bubbled past your lips as you reached into your basket full of ripe apples. You plucked the brightest one, tossing it to him. He caught it easily.

"My name is Idun." You answered with the name mortals had given you centuries ago.

Hvitserk silently inspected the apple in his calloused hands. It was a deep shade of red, rich like blood. The fruit was fragrant and smooth to the touch, his fingers carefully grazing over the delicate red skin. His eyes went back to you.

"I remember." He finally said, eyes twinkling as they did when he was a child. Those were the eyes you knew. “I remember you.” His voice held a note of recognition, his mind searching through the memories from long ago.

The blood-red apple at his feet and the glow of your skin. The hue of your eyes and the smell of wildflowers. He remembered.

"I've watched you your whole life," You told him, your thin dress billowing with the gentle breeze, "I have shared your joys and your pains, dear Hvitserk. You are not alone." The smile that stretched the corners of your mouth was a sad one, but he did not notice. All he could see was your ethereal beauty.

His lips moved as if to speak but he found himself stunned by the goddess before him.

“I came to spend the night with you if you desire it.” You offered your hand to him and he did not hesitate in taking it.

…

His hands worshiped you.

His fingers dug into your full hips tightly, enough to leave bruises if not for your godly resilience.

You moved above him, up and down, gently then rapidly, giving him exactly what he desired. You whispered in his ear of his successes, blessing him with the fruitful future he deserved.

His lips traced heat over your skin, tongue teasing the jewels that hung from your ears. His fingers lingered in the strands of your hair, holding you flush against him.

You loved him, you realized. You had for years.

But it could never be. Dawn would come and you’d swiftly make your way back to the realm of the gods, watching him once again from afar.

It would have to be enough.

He filled you, a guttural groan escaping his throat as he held you close. Your bountiful chest molded perfectly against him as he lowered you both over the warm furs. The signs of sleep passed over his eyes and a lazy smile curled on his lips.

Dawn arrived faster than you had hoped.

You peeled away from him, setting his arm over his lean stomach. You cast him one last look, admiring how the dying fire made his skin glow like a god, before disappearing.

The sun placed itself high in the sky when his eyes opened next. He shifted, his nose picking up the scent of wildflowers. He looked over his shoulder, hoping to find you beside him but was greatly disappointed. You had left at dawn as you said you would.

The furs were cold where you once were. His fingers reached out, searching for the warmth he knew would not be there. But there was something that caught his attention.

His fingers grazed against a smooth surface, hidden under the furs. He ripped them off, his eyes settling over the golden apple you left behind.

…

The summer solstice began.

Altars were built for the gods. Animals were sacrificed and offerings burned. The air was filled with the sweet scent of worship.

You watched Hvitserk at your altar pouring rich cider over the offerings burned in your name. He whispered his prayers again with hopeful fervor.

You smiled. He believed again.

…

An older woman wept beside a funeral pyre, the body of her deceased husband igniting under the heat of violent flames. The smoke rose, swiftly taking his soul into the afterlife. His son and daughter comfort their mother, tears slipping down their cheeks.

You pitied them. Perhaps you pitied yourself, too.

“He is dead?” The Allfather asked, peering down toward Midgard. It was a useless question. He was king of the gods, he knew all. His two ravens sat obediently on each of his shoulders, beady black eyes searching down below.

“Yes.” You said, your voice monotone. “He fell in battle.”

“He was a good mortal,” The king of the gods commented, “But a mortal, nonetheless.” Mortal. You could not keep Hvitserk from aging. Your golden apples were not made for human consumption.

“Yes.” You repeated, watching how high the smoke traveled from his pyre. You could nearly touch it if you stretched your arm out toward the skies.

“Hvitserk.” You heard his wife wail. The name would be a memory now. You would remember him in his best days, when he was in the prime of his youth, green eyes bright and a grin that could conquer all of Midgard.

You had almost forgotten the Allfather was beside you, his looming presence not enough to deter your attention away from the funeral. He placed his spindly fingers on your shoulder. It was the only comfort he could give.

“He will serve me well when the time comes.” He promised. His words did not lift your spirits. He gazed back towards the grave filled with riches befitting Hvitserk’s station. “You knew him well.” He added before he disappeared, his two ravens flying off to collect more knowledge in unknown places.

You peered down below again, your eyes catching sight of a familiar glint. Buried among gold and silver trinkets was your golden apple, shining fiercely despite the overcast day.

You did not think you could cry. Nothing had ever moved you to tears before. You felt a foreign prickling behind your eyes. Tears filled to the brim until you no longer had the strength to hold them back.  

Gold ran down your cheeks in painted streaks.

You knew him well.

...

@didiintheblog @a-mess-of-fandoms @leilabeaux @shannygoatgruff @inforapound @fuchsiagrasshopper @pomegranates-and-blood  @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie @grimeundglow 

@doctorwhoandfairytaillover

[inmyfxith]

Legacy, Part. II

A/N: I'm sorry for the time it took. I hope not to lose you in my choice of names, in the next part I will add the last names to make it easier.

Link

→ Part. I

Words: 2 178

When the ship had reached the commercial port of Kattegat, Aslaug felt her heart clench in her chest, and a sense of excitement washed over her. She could finally see with her own eyes the core of the whole story. The city where most of the events had taken place. Her mother had spared no expense in detail, from the first visit of her older brother to the rise to power of the first king of all Norway. Aslaug had read everything, with a lot of attention, from the first line to the last. She was dying to follow in the footsteps of all those people whose blood ran through her veins. To have Ivar’s ambition, Hvitserk’s thirst for battle, Ubbe’s curiosity, Björn’s strength, Sigurd’s courage and Ragnar’s wisdom. The young girl wanted everyone to recognize her as the heir of this noble-blooded family, the one that had given the Norwegians, Danes, Swedes and Finns a way to be feared by the whole world.

As she touched down, her excitement quickly turned to a feeling of invincibility as Aslaug walked purposefully through the city as if she had always lived there and no one could stop her from fulfilling her destiny. She had never felt as close to the gods as she did at that moment. It was as if Freyja had made all fear disappear. But if there was one place that had become dangerous for any descendant of Ragnar Lothbrok, it was Kattegat. On paper, this city was flourishing, booming with trade. A fortified, impregnable place, but the reality was quite different. One look at the market would have made any stranger, even the shadiest of traders, turn back. Mud had invaded the streets, children, gathered in small groups, were huddling together to protect themselves from the cold. Children whose parents had followed the orders of a ruler who didn't care about the people themselves. Protecting the Nordic culture, the Nordic religion, and the heritage had been her priority to the detriment of the population who did not need an additional war after the years spent in the service of King Ragnar, Queen Aslaug, Queen Lagertha, King Björn, and King Harald.

Over the years, Kattegat had fallen into decline. This city was a woman who had been abused and was struggling to survive.

"Did you expect this?" Aslaug asked his brother, standing in front of the longhouse, her eyebrows furrowed, almost annoyed to see the work of great people reduced to dust. Ubbe, on the other hand, felt sadness and, his mind couldn’t help but think about what might become of the colony his father had built if he, or his sister, died on this journey. Who would own the colony ? Would that person be able to keep the business going and the farmers afloat ?

“All I feel is disgust.” The girl turned her head sharply toward her older brother, one eyebrow raised. Before she could answer, Ubbe dashed into the great hall with a determined step, followed, a few seconds later, by his sister. It was not night, the sun was still high in the sky and yet the Skali was dark. Sitting on her throne, her crown on her head, the queen had the look lost in her thoughts. Thoughts that were not very pleasant judging by her scowling expression. The crowd gathered in front of her was silent, as if all were waiting for orders that were slow in coming. On the faces of some, one could read fear, on others, despair. No one seemed happy to be there. Moving carefully through the crowd, Aslaug and Ubbe made their way to the front of the throne. To the right of the queen, a young man with brown hair was leaning toward her, whispering in her ear.

However, in the crowd, the two children of King Angantyr stood out. Their clothes were those of a prince and princess, not those of farmers who had come to ask for grievances, and they quickly drew attention to themselves, Ubbe in particular. He had the physique of a berserker, tall, broad-shouldered, with a long braid that faded into his lower back. But, what made him so special in the eyes of the inhabitants of Kattegat, was his eyes of a singular ocean blue that he shared with only one person, his uncle. Aslaug was a perfect mix of her mother and her grandmother. She had long brown hair, with reddish tints, green eyes, and a charming smile that, when used properly, allowed her to get what she wanted from anyone she wanted. Unlike her grandmother, she was not very tall, which reinforced the image of her big brother as a colossus.

Snapping out of her reverie, the queen looked around at the siblings, not expecting any visitors. She motioned to the young man beside her to be quiet and step back before standing up and approaching them. "No one warned me I was expecting company." Her voice, though that was not her intention, sounded authoritative. She was afraid, but of what? Her mind was disturbed and it showed. Aslaug wanted to answer but Ubbe cut her off almost instantly, he was the big brother, the new king of the black Danes, it was up to him to make the decisions. In a courteous gesture, Ubbe opened his palms towards Queen Ingrid to show her that he was not holding any weapons.

"Queen Ingrid, allow me to introduce myself, I am King Hemming and this is my younger sister, Æthelswith. We come in peace, for the simple purpose of exploration." Lying was the best solution in this situation. Everything about the Lothbrok family had been exterminated, and in Ubbe's mind, if the queen were to discover their true identity, she would consider them a threat and they would never see the English coast again. Ingrid turned to Aslaug and examined her from head to toe.

"A Saxon name, where are you from?" She had her suspicions, but Ubbe was an exceptional speaker who could make you swallow anything. To fool someone in the right way, the lie had to be as close to the truth as possible. "From Reading, England, I am the leader of the colony set up by King Angantyr some years ago. I took his place when he died. But we are Vikings, and the thirst for battle runs through our veins. I couldn't see myself staying on the land, I had to go on an adventure like my ancestors did before me." Passive, Aslaug listened to the answers her brother gave the queen, trying to appear as normal as possible. After a few minutes, almost convinced, Ingrid had a table set for her new guests. They were so rare, and an ally like Ubbe could not be refused. Aslaug and his brother sat down at Queen Ingrid's table without any bad thoughts. But soon the discussion turned to the evolution of Kattegat over the years, to Ingrid's life since the death of King Harald and the queen's son. Only a few months separated him from Aslaug and, growing up, both had missed a parent. He lacked a father and she lacked a mother. Sitting at the end of the table, he didn't speak, his mother had such a strong personality at that moment that she almost erased him.

The meal went on and on, the queen was testing Ubbe, she made him drink so that he would end up spilling the truth, but she didn't know him well. Drunk, Ubbe was becoming someone else, his memory was slipping away as if it had never existed, and all of Ingrid's questions were falling away like the leaves on a tree over a stream. Desperate, she finally had the brother and sister taken to a house in the city, close to the Skali and unoccupied for years. Aslaug had kept her brother, along with the queen's son, in a bad state but would be up and running again within hours.

"What's your name?" Aslaug asked the young boy after settling Ubbe on the bed. Despite the clear appearance of royal blood in his veins, no one could tell that one day he would become king. He only had the physique of a warrior and therefore Aslaug did not feel in danger with him. "Asbjørn" he answered, changing his tone as if he wanted to appear stronger than he was or, out of simple pride of bearing the name of a great king.

Asbjørn may not have been very strong but he had the merit of being intelligent and Ubbe's little trick in the Skali had not fooled him.

"I have something to show you." Without really hesitating, the girl followed him out of the house, through the forest and the trails. She'd had some regrets, however, when the moon enveloped them in its white light, making visibility less obvious. Together they stopped near what looked like a monument, an ama of stones forming a dome.

"What is that?" Aslaug asked innocently as she placed his hands on the smaller stones that closed it off.

"My father is buried there. He's a member of your family, isn't he?" Frowning, Aslaug took a few steps back, not knowing who he was talking about and wondering how he knew her brother was lying. There was no doubt that it was a grave. An identical monument had been built not far from the colony and housed the bones of King Angantyr. There was a strange atmosphere around the place as if it was full of magic. Standing near this place made the young girl feel watched, but by whom? The dead man himself? No way. From Odin? Perhaps he had sent his two ravens to protect the final resting place of his descendant.

"I thought you were King Harald's son." Asbjørn nodded, before sighing and looking up at the stars.

"My mother claims I am the son of King Bjorn and the rest of Kattegat says I am the son of Harald."

"You feel closer to the eldest son of Ragnar Lothbrok than to the first king of all Norway? You are the heir to the throne, you should wear the spirit of your ancestors proudly."

Asbjørn frowned.

"You did not answer my question." Reclining on the slightly damp grass, one arm supporting his head and the other resting on his stomach, the young man did not seem resigned to letting Aslaug return without her revealing the truth. Taking a seat beside him, the girl took a deep breath before delivering her version of the story."Then we're related."

"If you are who you say you are, then yes, you might be." Straightening up on his elbows, Aslaug suddenly took on a more threatening tone. "But don't tell your mother. My brother may be a good speaker, but he is also a good warrior and he will have no trouble killing you if you betray us."

Asbjørn promised Aslaug not to say anything, and as the girl rested her head on the grass she asked him a question.

"If your father is dead, why are you not king?"

"Because my mother became queen before I was born and she imposes her law without me having any say in the matter." The young man's voice betrayed a feeling of long-suppressed anger. Turning her head towards him, Aslaug had felt this frustration.

"You're a man, you're an adult, you can claim your due." They spent most of the night talking under the stars. Aslaug took advantage of this to glean some information about Kattegat, the queen, and the general situation.

When Aslaug woke up, she was surprised to find her brother leaning against the door frame, looking at the misery of the market. Ubbe turned as he heard the wood of the bed creak before asking his sister to join him. "I made a decision last night." He said, nodding to the blacksmith who had just greeted him.

"Before or after you drink?" Aslaug gently teased him so she wouldn't feel the sense of sadness that came over her when she saw the market.

"Before" The girl frowned, waiting for her brother to say more about his plan, expecting to hear the most ridiculous idea the world had ever known.

"We're going to take back what's rightfully ours."

"What's ours? What do you mean?" Aslaug suddenly felt his heart beating rapidly in his chest. She was afraid of what her brother had decided and yet she was the one who usually made the wrong decisions. Ubbe pointed to a man in the crowd with his chin before continuing.

"I know what you did last night, it was stupid, you didn't have to go but, I talked to him this morning and, he wants us to take over Kattegat." He was obviously talking about Asbjørn, the words of the girl had surely had an effect on the mind of the young man and Ubbe seemed now motivated to make him become king of the new capital of Norway.