#gotland i do not know her

[norsesuggestions]

Swedish limestone feelings be like:

"Pah! Bedrock of vastly inferior material (read NOT granite). Could not be me!"

*starts to plan some serious dynamite based engeeiner projects, because good luck doing any infrastructure in the majority if sweden, without needing to. Just baam bam through that granite*

[fornasedensgudar]

Hello! I have a questions but i'm not sure if there's even an answer: do you know whether there is a norse or continental germanic god/goddess that is associated with wind??

Oh Im so glad you asked because I love wind gods and spirits and I got two that I feel like almost no one outside of Scandinavia seemes to know about.

One is norse but not really germanic. The other, is not even norse just swedish af lol.

First I like to tell you about Kåre.

I bet most of you have never heard of him, but I also bet you heard of Ran, or Logi och Ägir.

As some may know, Ran is married to Ägir, a sea jötun. And I bet you know Logi, the jötun who is wild fire personified.

What does this have to do with Ägir? Well Ägir is listed as the brother of Logi and Ägir. Whos father Fornjot, is know in one saga to be the King of the swedish island of Gotland. (Perhaps a hint to an old cult or god of the island.)

These three sons of Fornjot personified the elements or the three most brutal aspects of nature, the wild deep seas, the every hungry wild fires and the ever harsh and cold northen wind. (With a father who rule over an island in the baltic sea that makes rather sense)

The name Kåre is also a swedish word describing a special form of wind or storm.

Kåre is also mentiond in Flatöboken and in one story in Fundinn Nóergr Kåre is the father of Frosti of the frost. But in Hversu the son is named Jökull wish means ice feald. This Jökull is in folklore (mostly in norway) said to be the father of old man winter.

So a lot of maybes here and things that hint he was more well known from Gotland to iceland and norway back in the day but a lot been lost.

But we do know he was a winter and wind jötun and one of the three elemental brothers.

My local group do offerings to him during winter and autum rituals but I know some pepole up north do as well. But overall hes rather forgotten compared to his brothers.

Here is a drawing of him by me:

THEN we get to the fun local part.

Ysätters-Kajsa!

Now who the heck is this and whats her deal?

Well Im from a Village called Asker, In Närke.

And back in the day, the farmers spoke about a troll by some, a Huldra by others and by some a spirit/creature who did not fitt any of the molds. Manny famous writers also wrote about her. Most famous of them all is Selma Lagerlöf.

Ysätters-Kajsas name came from the old Moss/lake in Ysätters thats said to be her home or birthplace, but she ruled the weather (but mainly wind) all over Närke but mostly Asker and the sorounding flat plains and fealds.

Ysätterskällan was likely an old offering place to what once was an old goddess or for spirits witch hints to her older roots before she was said to be an evil troll or forest spirit.

The Kajsa in her name is explained in a intervju with an old farmer from Asker in the start of the 1900s dokumentet in the book "Asker, Sant å sånt"

"that was just wat they named them trolls and giants back in the day"

That might seeme weird but tbh in the 1700s there are stories how pepole would toss coins to Kajsa of the sea while fishing.

Or in the 1800s when some in the Mountains and forest called forest and Mountain spirits for Kajsa as well.

It almost seemed as a form of a so called "noa-name" or maybe as the old man said: "it was just what them trolls was named back in the day."

(Im sure there is someone smarter here who can explain this weird Kajsa thing)

But ok, her wind aspect then?

Well first of all, its windy in East Närke.

Like the start of this old poem said

"Den ljuva Närke slätten, där enbart stormen består."

"The lovely Närke plains, where only the storm remains."

Also in manny stories she is said to controll wind and to travel by air.

In one story its said Ysätters-Kajsa looking down on Närke and was like "man this place is pretty, pepole have it good here, we cant have it like that."

And pretty much just made sure its always a bit windy and would play trick on the humans, making them get lost in forest, stealing laundry that hanged out to dry and in general just make the pepole of Närke just a little less comfy in their home.

But she is also a protector or the land!

In one myth, back in the day when a wild fire almost brought an end to the village of Asked she came to save the pepole, because even if she liked to play tricks on them she also deeply loved the pepole and needed them just as much as she they needed her.

So its said when the fire got to the center of the village, a woman was seen dancing up on the church towers roof and as she did storm clouds started to form and with wind and rain the fires was put out and the Village was saved.

Ysätters-Kajsa drawing by me:

This is also why my group call to her and giver her offerings for protection. Shes our local trickster and protector spirit of the wind.

But being a very Asker and Närke spirit. This is one I have to say I would think would be very weird and not really ok if like, pagans in america for some reason started to make offeings to. Because this is not just any big ol god or goddess. This is a local myth and spirit and part of my childhood and culture. I added a lot here from books just to get the facts right but I also just str8 up heared stories about her as a kid. She is just the protector of Asker and the bringer of wind in Närke.

Like if you dont live here, dont.

Go with Kåre then instead whos more wind in general.

But I had to share this about her becouse I just love her and wind spirits and gods in general.

Also, this is a good reminder to check what you have local, you might have myths and stories about old spirits and gods of the land you grow up and live in.

As I often say. The best way to do polytheism and anmism is to know and work with your local land and the spiritits and gods within said land. Because thats the best tools you got right here, right now. The land it self.

[demon-of-the-ancient-world]

There is Thunder in our Hearts (part 4)

Read on AO3

@levithestripper @grantairescurls @procrastinatingsoicanreadfanfics @eriexplosion @starrose17

Lagertha finds him.

Again, he hears her before he sees her. He would know her sounds anywhere.

"What are you doing?" she asks him, without coming into his line of sight.

"I," he says, "am making a handle. For a knife. For one of my boys."

"Which boy?"

He doesn't answer, only continues whittling away at the chunk of beechwood. It's the shape of a wolf's head, a strong shape. Each flick of the knife calms him. Somewhat.

"Ragnar." She's quiet now. Not angry.

His grip on the half-made handle tightens. "I am still listening."

Now she gets closer to him. When he looks up at her there are pinched lines of worry around her mouth, tired grey streaks around her eyes.

"Bjorn has returned," she says quietly. "Our son. He is unhurt."

Her words chip away at something in him, a gentler version of the knife he's using now. He lays the the project down, hands trembling. Bjorn. His eldest son. "And Floki?"

"Alive, too."

His oldest friend. His oldest son. Ragner is hit with a wave of almost giddy triumph. He's won. Again. "Did they say how it went with the Gotlanders?"

"They have agreed, for the time being, to side with us. With you."

"Good."

He keeps whittling. She doesn't need to say anything else. If he keeps his eyes locked away from her for long enough, she won't.

"The peace is a fragile one."

He shrugs.

"Ragnar," she says, softly. He keeps whittling. "Ragnar."

"What."

He hears her soft footsteps behind him, and then a hand brushes his shoulder, tightening there. "I will say it once: Athelstan may still die. I know it, you know it. Go to him. Speak to him."

Ragnar keeps whittling.

"He has asked for you. Many times."

"I can't."

His fingers grip the knife handle, hard enough that its surface digs into his skin. "I cannot face him, Lagertha. Why can no one understand that?"

She sits before him, pale brows drawn together in a frown. "You blame yourself. That does not mean he will blame you. You know how he is."

"I never said I blamed myself."

"Clearly you blame someone. And I don't think it's him."

She doesn't understand. Does she think he wants to see him, near death as he is?

"Go to him. You are being unreasonable - "

"I cannot stand the proof."

The truth explodes out of him like a sparking birch log. It sears his throat, it shames him.

Lagertha takes his hand in her own, roughened from gripping axe-hilts, from carding and spinning and weaving. Athelstan's hands are like that now, too. They weren't always. "Proof of what? Say it."

He can't look at her. His hand lifts, covers his face, and the other squeezes tight. The knife falls somewhere on the floor.

When he speaks it's hardly above a whisper. "That the gods can twist my fate too. That they can twist the fate of those I have claimed. That I am not my own god. I rule these people. I do not rule myself."

She is silent for a long time. The awful, raw thing he's just spat out lies thick between them, like a mass of blood and flesh.

"Well," she says, "I could have told you that."

He snorts out a a bitter laugh. The mass thins, slightly. "I am a man. I am not a god. And neither can I do battle with gods. There are times I forget that. I hate to admit I forget it."

But it doesn't seem to matter much now. There are other things that matter more than his pride. Even that, he cringes to admit - even to himself.

"Then you must - "

"I can't. Do not tell me what I must and must not do."

"Look at me." She takes his jaw in her hand, turning him toward her fierce face. "On this night, eight years ago, I burned our daughter's body on the beach."

He freezes in place. She has frozen him, her words have cast a frost spell.

"Look at me."

He can't not look. "You were not there."

"Don't." Something shatters the ice around him. "Do not speak to me about that - "

Her grip is like iron around his wrist. "I will speak of it as long as I have to. "Our child died. And you were not there. You went away and fucked another woman - "

Ragnar gets up. He wrenches his own hands from hers but they're still cold, icy rings about his wrists where she held him. He can't look, he can't think, all he can do is pace back and forth through the room like a goat soon to be slaughtered. She's finally done it, finally cracked away the piece of him he'd so badly tried to keep in place. How is it even after years of separation she still knows how to do that?

Somehow he ends up near a corner, forearms pressed into the wall, his head resting on his hands. He searches for thoughts but finds none, his mind a spinning whirl of cold, dark things he cannot start remembering. All he wants to do is tear something in half, or someone.

Eventually he hears Lagertha stand, make her way to the door. She doesn't come to him. "If you abandon the ones you love, they will begin to abandon you," he hears her say quietly. "Do not give yourself another night to regret."

Then the door closes, and he is alone.

****

When he walks into the room Athelstan lies in, it feels as if he's dragging his feet behind him, each step screaming not to proceed. But he does it. For you, priest, he thinks. For you, daughter.

A tallow candle stands by the bed, the only light in the otherwise shadowy room. Ragnar pulls up a stool and sits by the motionless, bedbound form.

Athelstan lies limp, breathing shallowly, but breathing. Someone has dressed him in a warm shirt, retied the bandages underneath. As Ragnar watches his head moves fitfully on the pillow, a line creasing between his brows. A small, pained sound escapes him that tears something deep in Ragnar's chest.

"Easy now," he says quietly. He dares to touch Athelstan's chest, to feel the warmth of life under his skin, the rapid little heart. Once he does, he finds it hard to move the hand away.

"You're all right now. I knew they'd take good care of you." The bandages - the ones Ragnar can see - are still clean for now. At least he doesn't have to see the blood his friend has spilled.

Rage comes over him, so quick and bright his hands shake and there's nowhere to contain it. Why had his men not listened to Athelstan? To him? Why did it have to come to this? Why were there those who supported Horrik still?

Why why why had he just not gone instead?

"Because I wanted to," he says aloud.

No, not for cowardice. He'd wanted to. Oh, by the gods he'd wanted to. But he had wanted to go to Gotland too, and to calm the outland raids Torstein had been sent to quell - and, more than anything, he wanted to be raiding with his brother across the sea, unknowing of and indifferent to all this chaos.

He had wanted so many things and couldn't have them all, so he had chosen to have none. "A king should deny himself wants in favour of his people's needs, isn't that right?" He says. "Denying yourself of pleasures - you taught me that idea, didn't you?"

Athelstan doesn't hear, doesn't speak.

"I don't know what brings you pleasure, my friend. I have tried to learn. But after all these years I still cannot understand parts of you. But I know the things that please me, and one of them is getting to kill those who have wronged me, and have done harm to those I care for. That pleases me a great deal."

Ragnar folds his trembling fingers together. The stain of blood still lingers under his nails. "You always tell me to wait. To think about my actions. To not act with impulse alone. So I waited. I thought. I didn't run off to Gotland or Guthbrand or the mountains - I stayed here. Had I gone away to fight for my people, I would leave them undefended. So I stayed, and others had died for it. How was I to win?"

Athelstan shifts in his sleep. He's facing Ragnar more now, and all Ragnar can see is the round bruise around his eye, the long still-healing cut on one cheek. Something reaches inside him and squeezes, crushing.

This is what happens, he thinks. Men who fight get hurt.

But Athelstan isn't men who fight. Athelstan is Athelstan.

His hands are tucked beneath a blanket, and Ragnar is reluctant to wake him, but he settles for laying his own hand on Athelstan's shoulder, squeezing it as tightly as he dares. He leans close, both hoping his friend can somehow hear him and hoping he cannot and won't remember a second of this when he is recovered.

"I'm sorry." he says.  "I know you can hear that."

His thumb strokes, gently as is possible, meeting bandages and feverish skin. By the gods...he's so small.

"I hurt you. You will hate me for it. You can, if you like. But you don't have to. If you want, give it to me and I swear I will hate myself enough for the both of us."

There's a small sound, something almost like a plea, that comes from the prone body. And Ragnar draws away, uncertain. He should not stay. If Athelstan wakes...

"I don't want you to die tonight," he says, so quietly. "You are not ready. I am not ready." He hides the tremor in his voice behind an uncertain smile. "Certainly the gods are not ready - not for you. You would puzzle them so much still, priest. Best you let them get used to you a little more before you join them."

Athelstan's head shifts. Very carefully, Ragnar lays his hand against his cheek, his forehead. Impatiently brushes away a few strands of ink-dark hair. "I did not mean to send you to your death," he tells him. "I never meant for that to happen. I believed...too much. Can you understand that? Can you forgive me?"

And I forgive you, he wants to say, but he can't. There is nothing for him to forgive.

He thinks of Athelstan, lying alone and bleeding into the mossy northern ground. He thinks of Gyda, who he could not save. "I'm here now," he says. He cannot be a god. Sometimes he fears he cannot even be a king. All he can be is here. "Do not let anyone let you think I've abandoned you. I never could."

The head in his hands shifts again, this time towards him. As if Athelstan wants to be closer.

"I will stay with you until the sun rises. I'm here now."

He stays right there, cradling Athelstan's head in his hand and listening to his every breath. To both their breaths, wound together. Making up for lost time.

Until the sun rises.

****

Birds.

When Athelstan begins to wake the first thing he hears is one of them, chirruping incessantly on the other side of the wall. For a moment he thinks he must be near a window, one of the narrow slices in Lindisfarne's walls that lets in the cold breath of the sea.

For a moment he lets it be true. He's slept late, perhaps he is unwell, and soon one of the brothers will see to him. There is no pain at his side, no beard on his cheeks and no scars on his hands.

He is at peace. For a moment.

But a twist in his side brings a closed sound of pain to his lips. Even so much as shifting his body is too tall of an order, so he endures. He aches in every part he can name.

Slowly, very slowly, he pries his eyes open. The first thing he notes is that he is in the same room as before, tucked away from the rest of the hall. The brief worry he had that he might have died and gone to...wherever he is fated to go, fades.

The second is that someone has dressed him in a warm wool shirt, soft against his skin - and the third is that he isn't alone in the room.

He has to blink hard several times to recognize the person sitting across from him. At first he thinks it could be Ragnar, but...

"Bjorn," he mutters.

He still wonders if he could be wrong until the figure looks up, eyes widening. "You're not dead!"

Athelstan can't help it - a small smile curves his mouth. "Neither are you. Does your mother know?"

The younger man nods enthusiastically. "I've seen her already. And my father. Floki came back unharmed as well."

He'll certainly be glad to see me alive, Athelstan thinks, drily. "And Gotland..."

Bjorn shrugs, his face darkening. "They have agreed not to wage war, that is something. But they see my father as a rival still, one they can intimidate. We will see."

Athelstan lies back, already feeling winded. But he's stronger than he was, he can feel in his bones a shaky energy already returning. The wound still aches, but not so terribly as it had. He isn't eager to move just yet.

"I heard about how your raid went...my father killed two of the men, did he tell you?"

Athelstan's stomach swoops out from under him. "He...he didn't."

Bjorn shrugs, though he looks uncomfortable. "Well. It happened. Before I returned. But they deserved it," he adds quickly. "That they would betray you when my father - when their king's honour is at stake...and you could have been killed."

"I could have been killed whether they betrayed me or not," Athelstan says.

"What they did didn't help," Bjorn says darkly. "My father gave you that position...that they could not respect it..."

"I know." Athelstan closes his eyes again, weary. The last thing he wants to think about is this, and yet it's the only thing it makes sense to think about. He has to think about it.

But Bjorn is eager to talk, eager to go over things. He is - unmaliciously, Athelstan is sure - thoughtless of the fact that his current conversation partner may not be in the best state for the talk he wants.

"He trusted them," Bjorn continues, "breaking my father's trust was never a thing that would end well for them."

Athelstan gives a noncommittal grunt, closing his eyes. He trusted me too, is all he can think. Are my own failings not breaking his trust?

"Athelstan?" says Bjorn, sounding alarmed. "Are you...still there?"

He drags his eyes back open, coming to fix them on the young man hovering near his bed. "I'm all right," he says in the most reassuring tone he can manage. "But I am weary. It is...difficult to speak to you, and I fear it will only get harder."

Bjorn nods, enthusiastic even about that. "I will go, and let you rest. My mother may come to you though...she says you need to be watched."

Of course she does. "Thank you, Bjorn."

He doesn't have the strength to do much else. His eyes fall shut and he's asleep again in seconds.

The cycle begins anew shortly after; waking to someone changing the bandages on one or more of his wounds, sipping water and healing herbs, falling asleep again. Sometimes he manages to get out a word or two in between, a question. Often he isn't awake long enough to hear the answer.

As Bjorn promised, Lagertha does show up after a time, and hovers over him with folded arms and a frown, scanning his wounds with an unflinching eye where the healing woman pulls away the bandages.

"I am better," he tells her, though the weakness in his voice isn't helping to convince her. "They've told me it's only a matter of time until I can walk again. With some help."

He adds the last part rather guiltily. In truth, despite wanting badly to rejoin the world, a part of him wishes he could remain hidden here for a little while longer. At least until he can sort out his many thoughts with a clearer head.

And he wants no one helping him. It is horribly embarrassing to need so much.

But he continues to need. Often he feels tired enough to sleep through an entire day if they'd let him, he cannot raise his right arm and he's always chilled, always thirsty. He is still working out how to tell those looking after him these things without them thinking he is complaining.

And his head aches. That he doesn't bother telling anyone.

Lagertha touches his forehead, lightly with the backs of her fingers. She sits beside him. "You are very lucky, you know," she says. "The gods have favoured you. I am sometimes alarmed at the amount of times you have escaped death."

Athelstan would have laughed, if it didn't hurt. He watches her hand, roughened from years of shield and sword-bearing, now carefully adjusting his blankets. "I hope it isn't the last time."

At his words her face only looks to be filled with a deeper sadness. "I feared it would be. Many times in the last few days I have thought your journey to Valhalla was near."

Athelstan smiles thinly. "I don't think the gods would welcome a sick man into the hall of warriors."

"They would," she says sharply. "Are these not battle wounds? And your fight continued long after your sword fell. I sat here beside you telling you not to surrender - I would know."

He doesn't remember that part.

"You scared me. I have watched friends die before." Her voice softens. "And this is not the first time I have sat with you while you battled a deadly fever."

Athelstan's heart sinks. He hadn't thought...

"Do you know what day it is?" she asks quietly, looking back at him.

What day? It takes him a moment, scrambling to count up how much time has passed since the raid - and then he remembers, and all her wanting to stay, the depth of her fear, makes sense.

Oh.

"I haven't prayed," is all he can think to say. "Normally I do - every year - and not only to my god..."

"I know." Lagertha has been thumbing his shoulder where blanket meets bandage, almost absent-mindedly. There is a heaviness in her face. "I hear you. The years when we have been in the same place, I've heard you. You ask for our gods to keep her safe. You ask them for a sign from her, that she can hear you. That she knows she is loved, that we think of her. You share your memories, and ask that the gods pass them on to her."

Warmth floods his cheeks. "I...I hope it has not insulted you. She was your child, not mine."

"It comforts me," she says. "No, I am glad someone thinks of her. She would want to hear you speak to her. She cared for you."

Athelstan doesn't cry. He is steady, as always, a great deal of hurt needed to elicit that response. But something is making it hard to speak, a hard knot forming at the back of his throat. "I did not know it was today," he manages. Any other year he would have kept track - and has.

"I did," Lagertha says quietly. "Do not worry, priest; I thought of her for both of us."

He gives a stiff nod. It's made his heart seem to fall out through his back, remembering.

"For a while I wondered if the gods were telling me and Ragnar something - that you should die when she did."

"But I didn't."

"No. No, you didn't."

Another memory. This one of his first time waking after his illness long ago, the first thing in his sight her face bent low over his. The world shining like dew, like a too-bright candle. Have I died? he'd asked, his words all running into one another.

No, you haven't, she'd answered, her face impossibly sad. He thinks he'd asked for Ragnar then too, and Lagertha said he's not here, go back to sleep.

When he'd woken next, Gyda was dead beside him.

"I prayed for her then, too," he tells Lagertha. "When I could manage it. If I could not say the prayers aloud I'd say them in my head, again and again, to as many gods as I could remember..."

The hand on his shoulder pauses. "I didn't know that," she says.

Keep her safe, he'd thought, his feverish mind in a thousand different places. Keep her safe. For me. For her mother.

"I'm sorry," he says. "I'm sorry it wasn't enough."

Lagertha brushes away a stray hair from his face. "It was enough. We did enough. We tried. And now she feasts with the gods."

Athelstan had wondered, at the time, whether it was because of him. That he had brought the plague on these people; he had been meant as a sacrifice and the gods were denied what they were promised. And so they had taken the lives of half the village, and left him alive to see what he had done.

Lagertha straightens. "It is the time to remember. To think of her, and to think of what comes next. But we have no room for guilt," she adds sternly, frowning at him. "That will do you no good."

He nods, feeling chided. Time to go forward, and forward.

The bedclothes rustle as she rises, and once again she adjusts them - though with his good hand he's perfectly capable of doing so himself. Her hand strokes his hair again, thumb brushing lightly over his forehead. "Sleep, priest," she says. "I think the worst is done."

Once she is gone, he shuts his eyes and rolls to his side. And prays in a whisper.

****

It's another day and a half before he can stand on his own, shaky and leaning heavily on a crutch, three before he's able to be out of bed for most of his waking hours. The arrow-pierced leg trembles badly and threatens to give out, but he's told if he rests it properly from time to time it shouldn't collapse under him. The wound in his side, which has left a tight and crooked scar, gives him a low constant ache, pulling unexpectedly at times and leaving him breathless and in pain.

And his broken arm is still in a sling. His writing arm. Of course, even the things he can do that aren't fighting are barred from him.

When he can, he ventures outside to sit on the steps of the hall, or further out into the village. The sun is too bright on his eyes, the breeze chill enough to leave him shivering after only a short time. But being somewhere other than that dark room is like breathing air anew, and he breathes it deep.

Sometimes folk he knows from the village - an elderly sail mender he greets whenever he sees him near the harbour, twin nine year old boys who admire his axes, the woman who sells onions and angelica root - will see him and come up to him, faces concerned or disbelieving. The boys tentatively ask if they can see his scar, and he's hesitant at first but when he finally pulls away his tunic their impressed comments can't help but make him smile.

The sail mender bides him sit on the dock when they talk, mentioning nothing but regarding him with concern. The onion seller passes him a bundle of herbs - ones he knows will help with pain and easy sleep - with a gentle pat on his hand as he passes her stall. An old woman he has hardly spoken to at all touches his arm and asks him how he fares.

This is how he finds out that word of his deeds, and word of his injuries, has travelled far beyond the confines of the great hall. Naturally, he finds it hard to spend any length of time outside without returning flushed with embarrassment.

Not that he isn't touched. He is, and deeply so. But in no way has he expected it.

"You are loved," Lagertha tells him one day. She insists on accompanying him on most ventures, hovering close enough to catch him should he stumble. "Don't you see how they all care for you? Even the ones you barely know?"

"I am a curiosity," he says drily, cheeks heated yet again. "An oddity. I fascinate them the way a foreign plant might."

"And you are good to people. All people. They remember that."

He doesn't think on it too hard. Doing so only makes his already aching head more painful.

On one of the rare occasions he manages to slip out unaccompanied, he limps to the yards behind the great hall, where he hopes he won't be seen. Once there he stands blinking in the sun, just breathing. He's still alive. The world is still alive.

He's still hobbling with his crutch, but makes it over to a low wall and sits, stretching his painful leg out in front of him. For the first time in a long while, he feels calm. At peace. The sky is nearing sunset, and streaked with rose-gold clouds, and smoke is rising from the hall's roof. He's at home.

The sound of movement from the hall's half open door makes him look up, and when he does he startles involuntarily. Ragnar stands just a few paces away, knife in hand.

For a long moment he stares at Athelstan, not saying a word. Then he strides up to him as if nothing could prevent him from doing so. Athelstan is momentarily envious at the sheer ease with which he moves through the world.

"Priest," he says, not looking at him but sitting down on the wall a few feet away. "I did not expect to find you here."

As he speaks, Athelstan is surprised to find his heart thudding anxiously in his chest. He's winded, close to internal panic. He has to clutch his hand in a fist to stop Ragnar from seeing it tremble. "Nor I you," he replies.

Ragnar takes out a block of dense wood, in the shape of a wolf's head. "Is that a hilt?"

His mouth twitches. "For Ubbe. He's in need of a good strong blade. I'd like to make one for each of my sons, each with a creature hiding in the hilt. A snake for Sigurd, of course, to match his eye."

Athelstan nods, the thunder beneath his ribs dimming somewhat. Maybe they don't have to talk, and instead can just - well, talk.

Ragnar whittles away, and Athelstan sits awkwardly beside him, unsure what to do or say.

"If I were to carve you a hilt, I think I would hide a pig within it."

"A pig?"

"Pigs," he gouges deep into where the wolf's eye would be, "are fiercer than they look. Because we keep them on our farms and eat them up on our tables, we forget that. But they are smart creatures, more so by far than a sheep or a cow. And they will eat anything they are given. Anything."

Ragnar frowns in concentration. "You take anything you are given. You accept and accept and accept, without judgement. Without fear. You think deeply. Have you ever seen a pig think? They do quite a bit of it. And - " he grins - "you don't look it, but you are near as stubborn as one sometimes, priest."

"I'm glad to hear it," Athelstan says drily, very unsure of whether he is being complimented or insulted.

"So. A wolf, a snake, and a pig. What other creatures have I surrounded myself with? We will see."

Athelstan nods again. Despite Ragnar being here - finally here - he feels suddenly lonely.

"Ragnar," he says in a low voice, "thank you. For bringing me back. For bringing me home."

The knife pauses, Ragnar's face unchanging. Athelstan prods onwards. "You saved my life."

The carving commences. "It was the healers who did that. And Lagertha."

"You could have left me where I was - "

"No, I could not."

His voice is sharp enough to make Athelstan hesitate. But something is replacing the anxious fluttering of his heart - a kind of warmth. He has nothing to fear from Ragnar, not his wrath and not whatever other feelings he may have.

There is no threat. None. There never was.

Daring himself, he nudges Ragnar on the arm. Playfully, in a way unlike him. Now Ragnar looks up, surprised. "You saved my life, and then you wouldn't see me. I was half dead, and you couldn't make the effort? You'd let your ex-wife do all the work?"

He says it lightly, and for the first time he feels lightly about it.

But Ragnar's face darkens. "I did see you," he says heavily, as though each word causes him pain. "I saw you. I held you. I was there."

The brief smile is wiped from Athelstan's face as he takes in Ragnar's words. "I didn't know."

Ragnar shrugs unevenly. "It was..." he waves his hand in a vague way. "You were not awake."

"I didn't know. I...thank you."

"Well. Lagertha made me do it."

The words sound so childlike that for a moment Athelstan has the bizarre desire to laugh. And Ragnar must sense it because the corners of his mouth have quirked up again.

I held you, he'd said...once again the heat of embarrassment crawls up Athelstan's neck. But more than that - gratitude.

"Ragnar," he says again, looking full at him, laying a hand more gently on his arm.

Dear friend.

Brother.

He knows not how to say all that he is thinking; I'm sorry, and forgive me, and I missed you, and thank you, and I forgive you, and let's put this all behind us. I respect you. I love you.

"Can we...can we stay here for a little while? Just...to sit. Will you stay with me?" He prays he doesn't sound desperate.

Ragnar finally looks back at him, eyes roving over the bandaged arm and the crutch and what's likely a face full of bruises. Athelstan is struck by how tired he looks. "Anything you like, priest," he says.

So they sit. It's not long at all before Ragnar puts down the carving knife and the wolf's head, and drapes an arm around Athelstan's shoulders, gently but firmly pulling him closer. And Athelstan lets out his breath, properly for the first time in days. All is right. All will be right, soon. It can be, and it will be.

The sun sets.

[laforzadelvoila]

Loreen: how a legacy of warrior women helped the star win Eurovision

I get to sit down not once, but twice, with Loreen, all in the space of a week. Our time together has done my soul a lot of good, she’s definitely calmed me. The first thing you need to know about the Swedish pop star is that spirituality is everything to her. This also leads to the Libra quickly trying to guess every crew member’s star signs on set for her Rolling Stone UK digital cover shoot. We’re meant to delve into the enigma that is Loreen right at the end of a frankly delirious day on set (soundtracked nearly solely by FKA Twigs’ and Pa Salieu’s banger ‘honda’). But everything runs well over and a planned eight-hour day, quickly slips into 11 hours, and she’s pretty exhausted. Our interview is subsequently moved to the weekend to take place at her London hotel. And breathe.

Loreen, a name now so synonymous with Eurovision, never watched the singing event, or its Swedish feeder, Melodifestivalen as a child. She’s one of six kids, raised by a single mum. “I was just a weird kid. I preferred my own company,” she recalls. “I was raised in a big family. A lot of siblings, a lot of helping Mother out because she was alone, trying to make ends meet. We didn’t have much. We had three channels and I didn’t know anything about Melodifestivalen or Eurovision. I just knew at some point in my life, very late though, that I wanted to work with music. I was just trying to find my way wherever I went.” Loreen, 39, has now competed in the Swedish Eurovision selection process four times, making it through twice, and winning both years – pretty good going. Her determination means her name will forever appear in pop music history books.

Raised in a spiritual family, it continues to act as a key component to her personality and outlook on life. She loves nature, star signs, meditating and even has a house she can take herself away to on the remote Swedish island of Gotland. Her Moroccan roots and heritage, she says, provide for a very spiritual backdrop and are a massive influence here, too. “I know what suffering feels like. If you’ve been in pain, and allowed yourself to be in pain, or life has given you painful situations, at some point, when you see another person in pain? Ooof, I can feel that, and I know what you’re going through, I can imagine what you’re going through. That’s why you can’t stop from reacting.”

Her childhood wasn’t easy. Along with her five siblings she grew up “poor”, which led her to start questioning things at an early age. “Why is that happening? Why am I doing that, what is this all about? That’s where spiritually starts,” she says. “So in my house, these conversations happened. ‘Why don’t we have what they have? What’s the purpose of that? That’s unfair. Those people died over there. Why is it like that?’ Spirituality is about questioning your environment and understanding the bigger picture of things.”

Meeting the artist for a second time feels like a huge intake of fresh air. I arrive at Kings Cross, albeit 10 minutes late, and there’s a massive air of calm ready to greet me. Loreen is sitting in the lobby of The Standard London hotel drinking a slightly tepid cup of Earl Grey tea. This time she’s dressed down in an all-black ensemble and instantly recognises me when I arrive. After giving me a hug, she is desperate to know what we’re going to talk about. We settle on: everything.

The star has been vocal about her initial reluctance for a possible Eurovision return. So much so that she originally turned down the idea of using fiery pop anthem ‘Tattoo’ for Melodifestivalen after being sent a demo. How different things could have been. “I was afraid,” she admits. “That was just my initial reaction [when asked to return to Melodifestivalen], because everything went so fast for us. First there was a song, and I loved the song. There was no talking about Melfest. It was just a beautiful song and I wanted to release it.”

From all directions, she was firmly nudged into entering it, in what turned out to be her fourth whirl at Melodifestivalen. “Initially, I said, ‘No, no, no, no!’ I usually do that when I don’t know the purpose of why I’m doing something. Initially, I said no, because I needed time to figure things out. When I say time to figure things out, what I mean is, I need to understand why I do things.”

Everything that happens in Loreen’s life acts as a test, she believes. The prospect of a Eurovision return is a prime example. “What is the story? What can I give you guys? Is this meant for me to do? If you’re at a crossroad, are you going to go right? Or are you going to go left? You can’t really rush into that. That’s why I said no. I said no for a while. I just thought, ‘How do I navigate this?’”

As time passed, signs it was lining up to be a good call started to appear, pointing in her direction. “They were beautiful, beautiful signs. The first was the song, the second sign was the people that I trusted around me, they were so happy whenever I said, ‘Yes’. There were so many positive things happening. People were happy and curious. That’s why I said yes, basically.”

There is such a strong sense of purpose that ripples through everything Loreen does. When she competed in Azerbaijan back in 2012, a country marred by its questionable human rights record, she was the only entrant to meet local human rights activists. She told reporters: “Human rights are violated in Azerbaijan every day. One should not be silent about such things.” An Azerbaijan government spokesman responded critically, calling for the contest to not “be politicised”, and demanded the EBU (European Broadcasting Union) prevent such meetings. But Swedish diplomats stayed firmly on her side. They replied that the EBU, the Swedish broadcaster SVT and Loreen had not acted against the competition’s rules.

Loreen is publicly bisexual, coming out in a TV interview in 2017. Eurovision and the LGBTQ+ community have strong ties, too. Previous LGBTQ+ contestants and winners such as trans star Dana International, drag queen Conchita Wurst and Duncan Laurence have all found success in the competition. She loves her queer fans dearly, too. The ‘Euphoria’ singer told TV host Renée Nyberg at the time: “Many people are so focused on sex, on sexuality. Love is so much more. I usually say ‘Love is where you find it’”. When asked to clarify whether this meant she identifies as bisexual, Loreen said she “quite simply” was.

Unsurprisingly, she has LGBTQ+ fans messaging her all the time. “I absolutely love that. Queer or not queer, I don’t see that, I just see us as people with certain attributes. That’s why I say these are my people. We have the same mindset. The thing is, if somebody asked me, ‘What is freedom, what is feeling free?’, that is just doing exactly what you feel like, expressing yourself exactly the way you want to express yourself. Clothe yourself the way you want to clothe yourself, talk the way you want to talk. Don’t care about what other people think. This is true freedom.”

She goes on passionately: “This community, we know what freedom is about and what that feels like. If you compare it to another community where there are rules and regulations… where someone says, you need to talk like this and be like this, that’s a f**king jail! I cannot do that. For me, when somebody says, ‘You are weird’ to me, that’s [them saying] that I’m free.”

“The women from my mother’s mother’s side, these are real warriors. Historically, the women from my tribe, they’re called Berber.” She explains that this word comes from ‘Barbarian’, and adds: “They were called Barbarians by the Egyptians because they were so aggressive. The women were so aggressive. Isn’t that interesting?” She smiles: “The women from my tribe, they weren’t so interested in monogamy, but being in a relationship. Historically, they went out to the village in search of a man. ‘You’re coming with me,’ right? They did whatever they wanted to do. Then they said, ‘Ta ta,’ and they raised their children by themselves. This whole concept of husband and wife was never a concept. They used these women in war, because they were like, ‘Ahhhhhh!’”

This energy is “generational”, Loreen confirms, but that seemed obvious from the get-go, and especially reflective, she says, through her grandmother. “My great grandmother, my grandmother, all of these women, they had a life presented to them. They were told, ‘This is what your life is going to be like,’ by men, but instead, they were like, ‘F**k no!’ They fought for their freedom. My great grandmother, she loved her husband, he died in the war. They wanted her to marry someone else. So, what does the bitch do? She says, ‘F**k no’.”

Her grandmother took her two children away to a different city, dressed as a man “with a kaftan and everything” and they fled, alongside her housekeeper. “I have pictures of her at home, seriously! She left everything behind, dressed as a man, so that nobody would notice her. She had a cousin in the next city, opened up a store, still dressed as a man, till she got f**king old. She raised those two children by herself with some help from her cousins and never married again. I have a picture of her; she didn’t stop wearing male clothes, she did until she died. The kaftan, the hat, the gold tooth. That was hardcore from my grandma!”

The unravelling of these “huge” stories leads her to repeat my initial question back to me: “So how was it, raised by these women? It’s a lot of pressure!” she laughs. “They have a lot of expectations of me. Like, girl, you better step up your game, change something in the world. It’s crazy to see what women can do. Women are so much more powerful, stronger than men are. That’s why we can have babies and s**t like that, just saying!”

It’s not just the women in her family who provide inspiration, but “all women within the industry that stand their ground”, she tells me. “You can tell when women are standing their ground and not buying into that whole concept of what a woman’s supposed to be. I’m not saying that women aren’t supposed to be sexy. Grace Jones, for instance, she owns her sexuality. She can run around naked. She’s still doing it! There are so many, not even just in the industry. All women [inspire me] because they’re taking positions for the next generation, they’re balancing things up. It’s necessary and it’s inevitable. It’s going to happen. The shift is going to happen, and men will take a step back. The thing is, they’re longing for it, because they’re messing things up…”

Her Eurovision victory was Sweden’s seventh win, and means the nation will host the competition on the 50th anniversary of Abba’s 1974 win. Many fans are begging the group to make a triumphant return to the stage, but after Abba recently created the Voyage experience featuring avatars of themselves, surely that amounts to a deliberate act to make sure they’d never have to perform again? Loreen is convinced they will be at the event. If I were a bookmaker, I’d feel inclined to back her on this.

“They’re going to be there,” she insists. “Maybe not all of them, but they won’t miss it. I promise. How old are they? They all have their own lives. They haven’t really played together in a while. But I’m pretty sure that some of them will be there. Don’t tell them I told you!”

Before she returns to Eurovision again, there’s a giant 2023 in store for Loreen. With tickets for her ‘Tattoo’ tour selling out in literally seconds, it seems Loreen’s going absolutely nowhere. “I’ve been waiting for this tour for years,” she exclaims. “My fans are like, ‘Can you please come to England? Can you please come to Spain? Can you please come to France?’ and now I’m coming! Finally, I’m doing this, and with everything that’s happened with ‘Tattoo’ it’s just a perfect time. I’m longing for it. I’ve longed for it for many years. So it’s going to be nice. I’m a people’s person, I just want to connect.”

Connection is the key feeling again for Loreen. It all feeds back to her spirituality, which has been the dominant force in her life since she was a kid. I point out that there’s no better place for an artist to connect with all their fans than taking themselves on tour. “Yeah! because we gather,” she notes. “They’re there because they want to be there, and I’m there because I want to be there. It’s effortless.” Loreen is already full of ideas. She is, she reminds me, “a bloody creative” after all. “I’m working with the same team that I did ‘Tattoo’ with. It depends on the venues, but it’s going to be a visual performance, obviously.”

She’s heading straight to the studio after our interview. “I haven’t released that much music over the years,” but she promises that absolutely will change. “Now there’s a shift going on, there’s going to be a lot more releases, which is nice. This year and next year. My medium, she told me that!” A move to London is likely, too. “I think it’s actually going to happen. I’m pretty sure. Hello, London! I don’t know what it is, but it’s almost like the UK is a creative hub.” Her top picks of UK artists to work with? Labrinth and Burna Boy. Watch this space.

As our interview wraps, Loreen gives me a huge hug. She made a point of hugging the whole crew on our shoot day earlier in the week, too. It’s a warmth that exudes from her at every stage. “I know we’ll meet again soon,” she says before she departs. “I just know it will happen.”

• Source: Rolling Stone UK •

[omarera]

Omar in “So much better”👏👏👏

So curious of what songs he will sing and what artist get to do a song of his and what song they pick!

The concept is that a mix of artists stay in a Hotel (villa) at Gotland. During lunch and dinner they talk about music and life and interpret each other’s songs. He will probably be there for around 4 days. It is hyped in Sweden and would love that he got to do some great songs. The other participants so far are:

Eagle-Eye Cherry a Swedish icon: I would love if he got the chance to do “Save tonight”. The best song!

Sanne Salomonsen a Danish grand old rock icon: She has a song called “love calls” Kaerligheten kalder” that I really like.

Marit Bergman: I really like her “I will always be your soldier”

Peg Parnevik: hmm don’t know really..”ain’t no saint” maybe lol or from her ”Gammal” period ”sånger från förut” is a pretty song

Mapei: I haven’t listened so much but a great singer songwriter !: “Don’t wait” would be a great match.

Ellen Krauss: would love one of her ballads “the one I love” maybe to pour his heart out.

Lasse Holm is an 80 year old that is really huge in Sweden and makes schlager music. There are tons of songs to pic.

Dogge Doggelito is a rapper/hip hop who does Swedish rap. Latin Kings were iconic but can’t really see this happening…

The last two participants seems to be:

Staffan Hellstrand an oldie who makes Swedish pop. “Lilla fågel blå” is a sweet song

Jonathan Johansson also mostly make songs in Swedish but love his Christmas song “Come whatever, come what may” with Molly Sanden not really a fit for a summer show though.

He mentioned Marit and Ellen himself and I would love that!!! And Eagle-Eye Cherry would be a dream🤞

[twracehorse]

The struggle of wanting to buy more horses to train, but not knowing which ones to get.

I've been eyeing the seal bay Shire. It's slightly too saturated for my tastes, but it's also super cute, and I'm a sucker for blaze face markings (please SSE do more blazes/stripes on horses). I'm thinking of naming him Sweet Boy "Yunho" and it would actually work out to get him next month (March 23rd). I just need to find a black rabbit running pet. I don't think we have any rn so imma have to go with the closest one.

The silver dapple Tennessee Walker is another on my list. Tbh, I was waiting to see if the Morgan would pull out the coat with the markings from the Gen 2. That has been a horse I've wanted for so long, but I never got around to buying her. And then they just... didn't add the face markings to the Morgan. So I'm gonna go with the TWH! Now do I wait for them to go on sale with the HoJ? hmm.

I love the Haflingers. Top 5 for me. I so wish they came in more colors, or SSE was like, "we've crossbred these to add a variety of coats!" So we could get white grey, dark bay, black, paint markings, and so on! But anyway, there's the one that is still a tan chestnut, but has the least amount of white on the legs/chest, THAT one! Yeah, that's gonna be Link. Noble Hero or Wild Hero. Either or. Since the new Zelda game is coming out soon, I'm definitely wanting this one! Issue is that I'm gonna be recording his training. Mainly so I can add Link sound effects like his "Hyah! Hup! Heyt!" whenever he jumps or gets hit (by a jump). Soon my lad... soon...

Final wish horse is the black Gotland pony. Now, previously, I was gonna name him Sweet Boy "Izumi." ... you can see my problem... While his nickname will stay, I have no idea what his new in-game name should be. I should probably figure that out soon because I heard that some ponies will go on sale during the pony champ revamp 👀

[anna-mellgren]

I will just add this too because I’ve had quite a few debates about NATO, Russia and history with several people. I don’t think there are any easy answers on how to solve the war in Ukraine. What happens if we push Russia too far into a corner? Are we facing armageddon? How far is too far?..  there are drone attacks in Moscow right now. Is Russia a threat or is a NATO membership unnecessary for Sweden? I believe Russia is mostly sending empty threats to Sweden but perhaps one day they will want Gotland. Nobody really knows for sure and there are a lot of theories.

One thing I don’t like however is when people ask why NATO was created in the first place and seem to forget that Russia has ever done anything wrong. Several villages in finnish lapland were attacked by Soviet partisans during WW2. Soviet partisans threw Finnish children into fires so they would burn to death and raped Finnish women before bayonetting them to death while their husbands were away fighting at the front. This happened in several villages in Finnish Lapland, not too far from where my grandmother lived. These victims were innocent souls who did harm to nobody while their husbands were away trying to protect their country from a ruthless & unprovoked war started by the Soviet Union. My ancestry is Swedish except for my great-grandmother Anna (the woman I am named after) who was Finnish and she came from Finnish Lapland. My grandmother is therefore half-Finnish but she was lucky enough to grow up with the Swedish side of her family but my grandmother had cousins who fought against the Russians in the Finnish army. It is a small part of my heritage but I am proud of the Finnish sisu blood in my veins.

I think this is why it is important to me that people do not forget how Russians committied war crimes similar to what the nazis did but on a smaller scale during WW2. Soviet war crimes were horrific in the Baltic states, Poland and Finland during WW2. If you are interested in learning more about the Winter War & The Continuation War you can read the book Unknown Soldier or watch the movie even though it is a bit long. I would also recommend the book Bloodlands by Timothy Snyder. Russian war crimes were brushed under a rug because they joined the allies after attacking Finland. What Hitler did was earth-shattering and should absolutely never be repeated but I can’t stand the narrative of Russians being innocent of any wrongdoing in WW2 or even today. Of course I know that some Russians are good people but Russia has gotten away with so much shit over the years and it is not until now that some people are waking up because of their brutality in Ukraine.

The Unknown Soldier (2017) | dir. Aku Louhimies

[skwonkk]

Welcome to ‶Mr. Old Man Sanctuary″

These Are The Men

Name: Hank Carol Age: 78 Date of birth: 25/01/1945 Place of birth: Michigan, United States Spouse(s): Carol Carol Previous career(s): Finances Height: 1.65 m Weight: 70.4 kg Body temperature: 35.7℃ Blood type: B+ Blood pressure: 132/70 Resting heart rate: 72 BPM Medications: Levothyroxine What Do You Have To Say For Yourself: Argh... it is what it is!

Name: Cayenne Smith Age: 110 Date of birth: 30/09/1912 Place of birth: It was some kind of desert in the forest Spouse(s): Chlorine Walters (deceased) Previous career(s): Cartographer back in '31... quit a few years later and became a wanderer Height: 1.63 m Weight: 58.9 kg Body temperature: 35℃ Blood type: O- Blood pressure: 128/68 Resting heart rate: 74 BPM Medications: "They were prescribed by a shrink, so you'd better reassess me" What Do You Have To Say For Yourself: I'm Going To The Land... Yes, I see it! It's a wondrous grey mountain.

Name: Abram Age: 81 Date of birth: Unknown Place of birth: Ashland? Ashalim? Haslam? Spouse(s): Has a wife, but no one knows her name Previous career(s): Radio assembler, printing Height: 1.74 m Weight: 61.4 kg Body temperature: 36.5℃ Blood type: AB+ Blood pressure: 130/80 Resting heart rate: 68 BPM Medications: None What Do You Have To Say For Yourself: I Miss My Wife. I Want To See My Wife. Nobody Here Tells Jokes Like Her. Can You Please Get Living Arrangements For My Wife Please

Name: Zekdorus II Age: 108 Date of birth: Spring 1915 Place of birth: Nowhere you'd be familiar with Spouse(s): None Previous career(s): "It was awful" (Won't expand beyond that) Height: 1.78 m Weight: 68.6 kg Body temperature: 33℃ Blood type: Won't have it drawn Blood pressure: Little to no consistency Resting heart rate: Little to no consistency Medications: Has a flask but won't say what's in it What Do You Have To Say For Yourself: I do not know if I deserve to be here. I am old, but not in the same way as the others. Nevertheless, I am grateful that I am allowed to stay here, deserving or not.

Name: "The Matador" Age: 68 Date of birth: 19/08/1955 Place of birth: Midland, Texas, United States Spouse(s): None Previous career(s): Matador of human sports Height: 1.70 m Weight: 79 kg Body temperature: 37.2℃ Blood type: A- Blood pressure: 148/85 Resting heart rate: 119 BPM Medications: Metoprolol What Do You Have To Say For Yourself: What? Are you a cop? Am I being interviewed like a circus animal? Shut up. I am THE MATADOR and YOU are the circus animals.

Name: Simon Liang Age: 96 Date of birth: 05/06/1926 Place of birth: Gotland, Sweden Spouse(s): Lucy Marley Previous career(s): Translator Height: 1.63 m Weight: 58.8 kg Body temperature: 36.8℃ Blood type: AB- Blood pressure: 137/80 Resting heart rate: 97 BPM Medications: Verapamil What Do You Have To Say For Yourself: Once upon a time, in front of the Eiffel Tower, a cat gave birth. The kittens were named Catears, Mirror and Silvie.

[skamenglishsubs]

Subtext and Culture, Young Royals, What's in a name?

I thought I was done, but I have material for one more post. I want to write more about how royal names work, because I've seen a lot of confusion and simple lack of knowledge in the tags, so think of this as more of an informative culture post than an analysis post of the show.

European royals and nobles have styles, names, titles, and houses. In addition, monarchs have regnal names.

A style is how you formally address someone, based on their rank and title. In Sweden, the only styles left are "majesty" and "royal higness", where kings and queens are addressed as "your majesty", and select members of the royal family are addressed as "your royal highness". In Swedish, these styles are often abbreviated as H.M. - Hans/Hennes Majestät and H.K.H. - Hans/Hennes Kungliga Höghet. In English, the abbreviations are HM and HRH.

In the show, you can see this when Simon meets the Queen, and shakily addresses her as "Your Majesty", or when Minou calls up August and says "Her Majesty the Queen has resolved your problems with the school fee".

In less formal, but still polite speech, you would use third person addressing when talking to or about the royals, and there are numerous examples of this in the show:

Anette to Erik: "How nice to see the crown prince again!"

Some aide to Wilhelm: "Could we get a shot of the prince shaking hands with the headmistress?"

Anette: "Wilhelm, sorry, the crown prince, how nice the memorial was!"

August: "The queen has asked me, personally, to take care of him."

Malin: "I just wanted to remind the crown prince that breakfast closes in five minutes."

Names for royals and nobles work just like the rest of us, but with one exception: Royals generally do not use last names, while lesser nobles do. They also tend to have several first names, and while they generally pick names for their children based on trends in society, they stay on the traditional conservative side, and they often pick names from their family history.

The show only tells us one first name for each member of the royal family: Kristina, Ludvig, Erik, and Wilhelm, so we have no idea what other names they might have.

In the real world, the name of the king of Sweden is Carl Gustaf Folke Hubertus, the crown princess' name is Victoria Ingrid Alice Désirée, and her oldest daughter's name is Estelle Silvia Ewa Mary, just to give you some flavour of what it could look like.

Titles are what sets higher nobles apart from us mere commoners, and have their origin in the feudal system of medieval Europe, which was a hierarchical socio-economic-military system where the lord of a land could grant a portion of his land, a fief, to a vassal in exchange for fealty - loyalty, taxes, and military service. Doing so would create a title, it would make the vassal a noble of a lower rank than his lord, because you could only create titles lower than the one you possessed. So, in general, kings could create dukes or lower, dukes could create counts or lower, and counts could create barons. The fief of a duke is called a duchy, a count ruled over a county, and a baron over a barony, although there were more ranks and more titles than that, depending on region and language, but those are the main ones.

Every single squabble or conflict or battle or civil war or war fought in the middle ages was over the titles, because the titles legally conferred ownership of a piece of land, and with it the rights of taxation and the economic value of that land. Over time, kingdoms got more centralized and the hierarchical nature of the system broke down, while the titles became more hereditary, and ownership of the land became less important, which meant that minor nobles lost the power to create vassals and fiefs, while the power to create titles was reserved for the monarchs, and titles created in this era usually only granted people a title for an area or a castle or a manor house that they already owned.

Going into modern times, European countries curbed title creation, but generally kept protections for existing titles and allowing them to be inherited according to whatever inheritance rules applied to each title. But if a title holder dies without a legal heir, the title is lost forever, which means that most modern day noble families want to make sure their title, their history, their legacy can survive long into the future. Also note that one person can hold several titles, and each of those titles can be inherited individually and under different rules.

In Sweden, there are currently 46 comital families (greve/grevinna - count/countess), 131 baronial families (friherre/friherrinna - baron/baroness), and 484 untitled lower noble families. There are no independent ducal families, instead the monarch grants royal children a ceremonial duchy at birth, for one of the 25 historical provinces of Sweden. This means that every single member of the Swedish royal family is a prince or princess of Sweden, and also duke or duchess of some province.

Again, we have no idea what province Wilhelm is the duke of in the show, while for example in the real Sweden, Princess Estelle is the duchess of Östergötland, Prince Carl Philip is duke of Värmland, and Princess Leonore is duchess of Gotland.

A noble house is a noble family or clan that is associated with one or more hereditary titles. Noble houses were founded when someone was ennobled and granted a title, and a noble house can branch and wither and split and form new houses over the ages, and it can gain or lose status as its members gain or lose noble titles and ranks.

In medieval times, these family bonds were very strong, and many major conflicts were a result of different houses fighting over various titles, for example the Wars of the Roses was a 32 year long civil war over the throne of England between the House of York and the House of Lancaster.

A royal house is a noble house that holds a title of king or queen, and for members of the royal family, their house name is what they have instead of a normal last name. We don't know which royal house Wilhelm belongs to in the show, but the current royal house of Sweden is the House of Bernadotte, named after the French rando we imported that I wrote about in the last post. Other houses that have been the royal house of Sweden throughout history include the House of Holstein-Gottorp, the House of Oldenburg, and the House of Vasa.

Finally, a regnal name is a name that a reigning monarch chooses for themselves when they ascend the throne, and it consists of one or more of their first names, and a roman numeral ordinal if there have been previous kings or queens with that name. If you're the first of your name to rule over a kingdom, you can choose to call yourself "the first", or you can choose not to.

In the show, Kristina doesn't appear to have an ordinal, but in real life Sweden there was a Queen Kristina who reigned in the middle of the 1600's. (She was probably a lesbian, caused the death of French philosopher René Descartes, abdicated in favour of her cousin, and moved to Rome and converted to Catholicism. As you do.)

In the real world, the king of Sweden reigns under the name Carl XVI Gustaf, because he's the sixteenth (tenth, actually) Karl to have been king of Sweden, and he also picked his second name because he liked it, or because he wanted to stand out from the fifteen other Karls who preceded him. His regnal name is pronounced Carl den sextonde Gustaf - Carl the sixteenth Gustaf.

Putting all of this together, the styles, the names, the titles, and the houses, and we can finally get the full formal names of various royals. Here are examples from some European royal families to demonstrate what it can look like:

HRH Madeleine Thérèse Amelie Josephine, Princess of Sweden, Duchess of Hälsingland and Gästrikland, of house Bernadotte.

HH Felix Henrik Valdemar Christian, Prince of Denmark, Count of Monpezat, of house Glücksburg.

HRH Ingrid Alexandra, Princess of Norway, of house Glücksburg.

HRH Prince William Arthur Philip Louis, Duke of Cambridge, of house Windsor.

HRH Catharina-Amalia Beatrix Carmen Victoria, Princess of the Netherlands, Princess of Orange, of house Orange-Nassau

HRH Emmanuel Léopold Guillaume François Marie, Prince of Belgium, of house Belgium.

HRH Infanta Sofía de Todos los Santos de Borbón y Ortiz, of house Bourbon.

These names are quite the mouthful, and the full names and styles are only used in very formal settings. Normally, these people are referred to with their highest title, and their chosen first names, i.e. Princess Madeleine, Prince Felix, Princess Ingrid Alexandra, Prince William, Princess Catharina-Amalia, Prince Emmanuel, and Infanta Sofía.

We only have the short name of Wilhelm, i.e. Prince Wilhelm, in the show. We don't have his full name, but if it follows form, he would be HRH Wilhelm <Name> <Name> <Name>, Prince of Sweden, Duke of <Province>, of house <House>.

Note that Wilhelm's father is not a king, he's a prince-consort, since Wilhelm's mother is the reigning monarch. The proper styles for his parents would be Her Majesty Queen Kristina (II?), and His Royal Highness Prince Ludvig.

The only other nobles in the show we have full names for is August and Felice, and August's full name would be August <Name?> Horn, Count (or Baron) of Årnäs. Felice's would be just Felice <Name?> Ehrencrona, because her parents are still alive and still hold whatever title they have.

Commoners marrying into a royal family is no longer forbidden or controversial, and all European royal families have had commoners marrying into them in the past few generations.

Based on precedence, if Wilhelm and Simon were to get back together and marry in the future, and if they get the consent of the Queen and the government, the following would happen:

Simon would be offered to be made a prince of Sweden, and with it gain the style of HRH.

Simon would be offered to be made a duke of some province.

If he accepts, he would lose his last name, and go from Simon Eriksson to HRH Simon, Prince of Sweden, Duke of <Province>, or simply Prince Simon.

If he declines, he would stay as Mr. Simon Eriksson.

When/If Wilhelm ascends the throne, he would chose a regnal name, and get an ordinal depending on the number of Wilhelms before him. If he's the first of his name, he would simply be King Wilhelm.

And if he and Simon are married when he ascends, Simon would not become king, he would become a prince-consort, and keep the title of prince.

[thorraborinn]

I am not the previous asker but i wonder did (any) runic alphabets have number letters? Or did they just transcribe the speech sounds of the number?

There's no evidence of runes being used as numbers the way that the Hebrew, Greek, and Gothic alphabet were, nor of a runic equivalent of Roman numerals. In normal runic texts, yeah, they spell it out. For example, from the Rök runestone:

þat sakum þritaunta huariʀ tuaiʀ tikiʀ kunukaʀ satin t siulunti fiakura uintur at fiakurum nabnum burn(i)ʀ fiakurum bruþrum

Þat sǫgum þrettánda, hverir tveir tigir konungar sæti at Sjólundi fjóra vetr at fjórum nǫfnum, bornir fjórum brœðrum.

'This I say as thirteenth, which twenty kings sat on Sjólund for four winters, of four names, born of four brothers.'

In some very late runestones, you can even find Arabic numerals for writing years. This one is from Iceland, a memorial for Margrét Ólafsdóttir (her name starts on the bottom left of the image, then top left), and the year she died, 1681, comes in a brief passage of Latin written in Latin letters (by that time, not terribly uncommon):

The one major exception is runic calendars, where they count 1 to 7, and 1 to 19 (with 17, 18, and 19 being designated with ᛮ árlaug, ᛯ tvímaðr, and ᛰ belgþór). This should actually not be underestimated. Gotland inscription 55 is precisely datable to the year 1459 because enough calendrical information is included:

ta en : iak : uar · (s)krivaþ : (t)a uar : (h)ahal · sunudah:r · untir-aþr : b-imstafr ++ i tolf:te : r(a)(d)(u) taflu

Þa en iak vaR skrivað, þa vaR hagal sunnudagR, undir[m]aðr p[r]imstafR i tolfti raðu taflu.

'When I was written, then Hail was the Sunday(-stave); Under-Man the Prime-stave in the twelfth row of the table.'

There as been some speculation about the Elder Futhark and number significance but it's kind of a dead end because it's unfalsifiable. If I remember correctly, the whole "Uthark theory" thing only happened because Sigurd Agrell had to rearrange all of the evidence to make his numerological speculations seem to work. In reality, the order of the Elder Futhark would need to be more stable than it seems to have been in order to work as a way to keep count of things (it's well known that the ᛞ d and ᛟ o runes switch depending on source, but for some reason few have realized that ᛇ ï and ᛈ p do as well). These types of speculation have to do with either the number of runes in an inscription or the sum of the values assigned to individual runes in the inscription, and as far as I know never touch on keeping track of numbers of things, and it seems counterintuitive to me that they could have such a complex system of numeral correspondence without ever actually using it to count stuff.

Of course, it's not impossible that if runes were used as numbers that we wouldn't know what we were looking at when we see it. But this is at least what we're able to draw from the evidence that we have.

[aryamistwood]

Alright lets do this:

The Escape Artist: TwinFlame (Paint) He's definitely the most rebellious!

Hates Being Tacked Up: SoulRider (Birthday Horse) maybe its because she's a wild, but I just can't find tack that works right for her, and I think she revels in that.

Naps Like the Dead: Grim (Tombhoof) Need I say more?

Very Picky Eater: Windbreak/Tootie (Gotland Pony) He has a very delicate tummy.

Loves to Swim: Runestone (JWH) He just loves walking through rivers, even if there's a dry path. I think it reminds him of the Wildwoods.

Super Protective: HoneyBear (Paso Fino) One of my more quiet/reserved horses. Very much a papa bear. Passive, but will spring into protective action if necessary. More cautious and alert compared to some of my other horses.

Borderline Crazy/The Orange Cat of Horses: JellyBean (Haflinger) Less crazy, more silly. She is the biggest joker and probably my true Soul Horse. Her silly antics always brighten up by day, even if they cause a mess I have to clean!

Only Likes You: Silversong (Knabstrupper) She's one of my elders. She might have liked more people in the past, but she's had an unfortunate history that has made her bitter and skeptical. It took me a little while to gain her trust and I'm not going to lose it.

One Braincell: RubyRebel (Guardian) oh my sweet summer child. You may be a revered Guardian horse of legend, destined to aid in the battle against Garnok, but you sure don't know that pinecones aren't food.

Might as Well Be From a Royal Bloodline: TuxedoMask (Arabian/Shadowshield) 1000% percent. Loves to show off, but hates putting in the work.

Born to Be a Rodeo Horse: Jasper (Calder) He rarely uses his magical form. I think he likes the attention for his skills, not his coat. Definitely feels most at home in the Starshine Ranch paddock.

Loves a Cat/Dog/Pet More Than Other Horses: NightShade (Woodear) Having some vision loss, she's very cautious, especially around other large creatures. In fact, her best friend is actually a crow who leads ahead and acts as her eyes. They've created their own beautiful language to understand each other!

AIGHT TELL ME ABOUT UR SSO HORSES!

Here's some random labels, tell me about which of your horse(s) would fall into each category. Go wild. Gimme the deets.

-The Escape Artist

-Hates Being Tacked Up

-Naps Like the Dead

-Very Picky Eater

-Loves to Swim

-Super Protective

-Borderline Crazy

-Only Likes You (hates all other humans)

-One Braincell

-The Orange Cat of Horses

-Might as Well Be From a Royal Bloodline

-Born to Be a Rodeo Horse

-Loves a Cat/Dog/Pet More Than Other Horses

[demon-of-the-ancient-world]

There is Thunder In Our Hearts (Chapter 2)

OOF. Here it is. (Part One)

***************

The sea is full of ghosts.

The gods have not granted Ragnar the gift of seeing the dead, but he feels them all the same. Like the delicate needles of fir trees, brushing him lightly from all sides.

Always the lap of waves against sand reminds him of the dead. Of his dead. That place where water meets sky far away...is that where they end up? Where he too will one day end up? Does Valhalla lie somewhere in that waiting place?

He hears the footsteps on the sand, and knows who it is before he has a chance to turn around. He heard them for more than twelve years; they sound the same as they always have.

"Athelstan is awake," says Lagertha.

He doesn't turn around. She must not see what those words do to him. "Good."

The hem of her cloak whispers against the sand as she comes closer. "Will you not go to him?" Irritation rises at the way she says it - as if it wasn't he who carried Athelstan back, he who felt his friend's lifeblood draining out of him the whole of the journey, who'd held him as the old healing woman pressed a burning brand into his wounds, who heard his weak cries of pain trailing into choking whimpers and then silence. What does it matter, if he's gone to him yet or not? How dare you suggest he means nothing.

He shrugs. "Does he want me to?"

"He is afraid of you." She steps closer, into his line of vision. Her lips are pressed into a thin line. "Can you not see that? He blames himself for how the attack ended, and thinks you will blame him, too."

"It was the fault of those fools who went with him," he snaps. "Had they any sense at all, we might have Guthbrand in our grasp now." And Athelstan would be further from the gates of his Heaven than he's appeared to be.

"They betrayed me," says Ragnar, somehow managing to keep the anger-fueled tremour from his voice. "They disobeyed an order from their king, and got good men killed because of it. I have dealt with them, and will deal further with them from tonight forward."

Never mind that it was him who'd sent them along with Athelstan in the first place. He had believed in their loyalty - they had chosen to bring a delicate mission to ruin.

He hears his former wife breathe out sharply through her nose. "The orders you speak of should never have been given in the first place. What were you thinking, sending out another raid? When you are so undefended here? Do you want the Gotlanders coming for you when you are weak? Do you want Guthbrand's men to retaliate?"

"What I want," he says, his patience thin, "is to think. In quiet."

She falls silent. Ragnar quickly pushes away his guilt.

He turns back to the sea, the rolling waves iron grey. Somewhere out there is his brother, not knowing of the enemies that surround them, not knowing of the position Ragnar now finds himself in. Not knowing that, of all people, he sent the priest out to do what might have otherwise been his job.

He lets out a snort at the irony of it all. "Is there still no sign of Guthbrand?" He'll kill that man himself if he has to. By the gods he wants to.

"None," says Lagertha, her voice stony.

"I will have to send - "

"You will send no one." She comes to face him, with such a fierce frown on her face that in spite of himself Ragnar can't help but grin. This feels more familiar than ever. "You did not listen even to Athelstan - will you not listen to me? All your strongest men are gone - trying to placate the Gotlanders, raiding with Rollo, or dead - and anyone else you send will only go the same way. Our son may go the same way. Wait, why don't you?"

Bjorn wanted to go. Begged me to go. "Wait until what? Until Guthbrand arrives at Kattegat itself? Until my enemies - our enemies - are at our doorstep because there are too many of them to control? Is that what you want?"

She glares back at him. "You are the most stubborn man I have ever met."

"Then tell me what to do." He steps closer to her, close enough to take in her scent. Aslaug's scent is not the same. "What would you choose to do, Lagertha, if you ruled here?"

She does not flinch. "To begin, I would not have sent Rollo of all people on a raid while in need of the same warriors he would bring with him. What gold could you need so badly you would leave your people at risk?"

"I would never have sent Rollo if I thought I would need his strength."

"Your rivals have not hidden their unhappiness with you since you became king - and neither have those who were once loyal to Horik - how could you have thought you wouldn't need men like him?"

Horik. If Ragnar could crush his traitorous head a hundred times more he would.

He stretches out a hand, tracing it along the curve of her jaw, brushing the delicate skin of her neck. "You speak as a rival does yourself. Do you wish to be queen here? Is that what you want?"

For a quick moment she doesn't move, then, irritated, she swats his hand away. "What I want is of no matter. What you do is what will next decide our fate. Or do you not know what a king does?"

That goes too far. All these people - Athelstan, her, even Aslaug - all telling him how to rule. They are not king. He comes closer. "Do I not know what a king does? A king protects his own people, even if that means remaining behind while others fight his enemies. Even if he hates to do it. A king makes sure his people don't go hungry - even if that means a raid at a dangerous time. How could I have known so much was going to happen at one time?"

Lagertha only stands there frowning, shaking her head slightly. His burning rage is quickly cooling, but still the sight of her face, thinking she knows more than he does about what he's supposed to do...

The waves lap against the sand, pebbles rattling in their wake. Dusk is falling over the sea. "I did what I thought was right. And that is all I did. Are you happy now?"

Lagertha sighs, a sigh heavy with weariness. "Go inside, Ragnar. Kattegat will want its king back."

With that she turns away, shadows embracing her as she passes back into the village.

***

In Athelstan's dreams, he still sees the burning town.

He sees the jeering faces of the men sent with him, the flickers lit by their own torches staining their skin blood-red. "Why should we take orders from a priest? Guthbrand has gold and goods, I'd rather take those." Then there is the frightened face of the young mother in one of the huts...he'd gone running when he heard the screams and found her cowering from one of the men Ragnar had assigned, an axe in each hand. There were two children behind her outspread arms.

And Athelstan killed him, before he could notice his presence in the doorway. Before he himself could debate over whether it was right.

The woman stared at him. "Barricade the door," he'd told her. They would have found her, had she run to the surrounding woods. "Hide yourself and your children. No one else will harm you."

He could not save them all. Soon the air was filled with screams and soot, and heat that wavered all around him. His own company was burning houses to the ground in their misguided passion, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

"We were supposed to take Guthbrand alive, and nothing else!" He'd grabbed the shoulder of the nearest eager torch-bearer. "These are innocent people - have you no honour?"

The man did nothing but scoff, joining his friends in the heat of the raid.

It was a heartbeat that he stood frozen, the flames and distant panicked shouts unlocking some chest of terror deep in his own mind. Then he began to run - not toward the houses, nor to Ragnar's raiders - but to the peaked roof of the great hall. Find the earl, convince him to surrender, do what was meant to be done, and all this could end...

He never got there. Guthbrand's own guards had been alerted, of course. And less than an hour later he lay stunned and bleeding on the ground, struggling too hard to stay awake and alive to block out the screams ringing in his ears.

Somehow amongst the chaos he'd crawled to the woods, unseen by either his own men or Guthbrand's. He couldn't say how long he lay there amongst the tree roots; at one point he tried to pull the arrow from his shoulder and nearly fainted. The air was black above him, the stars clouded...

That's the last he clearly remembers. There's a little more after that - cold and nightmarish weakness and his heart pounding in his head, and somebody shouting his name - but then there's only muddled pain and dark.

Athelstan wakes suddenly, breathless. Almost immediately a gnawing pain flares in his side and he barely stifles a cry, the herbs he was given seemingly worn off.

For several seconds he lies there simply trying to breathe without hurting, which soon proves impossible. The face of the woman from the village swirls in his head, and images of houses in flames...

When he closes his eyes again, it's different faces he sees, different walls that burn just the same. But the stench of flame-choked air is the same. The panic is the same.

He feels sick.

You ought to have known, he chides himself. Of course he planned to have you lead some day. You could not always be just his advisor. His priest. And you know very well what happens in a raid.

Only he hadn't thought it would be so soon.

He pushes aside the memories. Or tries to. For the woman and her children in the burning town, he says a silent prayer. Not to his own god - to Freya.

Not far down the passage where his room lies he can see a sliver of the great hall through the half open door. As usual there are figures moving around it, cooking or conversing. A sinking feeling swoops into his stomach - Ragnar is out there. He must be.

He is your friend, Athelstan thinks, go to him if you don't want to seem like a sulking child.

But he can't go, not unless he wants to make a scene trying to hobble along toward the fire; so covered in bandages he more resembles a shrouded corpse staggering from its grave.

This pathetic image causes a snort of almost laughter to escape him. And this hurts, making him wince as fire shoots up his side yet again.

On the little table near his bed still sits the water Lagertha gave him, hazy in his vision. Very slowly Athelstan pushes himself up until he's perched on one shaking arm, clumsily reaching out to grab the cup -

His fingers brush it at the wrong angle, and it falls to the floor, spilling entirely. He lies back, taking as deep breaths as he can through gritted teeth and wondering whether not calling for help follows the sin of pride, or if he's merely retaining the little dignity he feels he's got left.

It's only water. Someone will come. It doesn't matter if his throat is near parched, he won't die of thirst in an hour or so. Or so he hopes.

He manages to doze lightly, but he can't for long. Bright stabs of pain keep him awake as soon as he begins to drift, in places he didn't even realize could hurt. Instead he lies in a haze, caught up in that tangled tunnel of foul memories and false urgency only lack of sleep can bring.

He wakes again just as a sound of pain escapes his lips. For a moment he's not sure why he is where he is, or why his skin feels as though it's on fire and every limb aches down to the bone. After a brief and confused moment he realizes it's the sound of voices that woke him this time - one near him, one further away. Something touches his forehead - a rag damp with cool water - and he groans, trying to turn away from it.

The voices pause. "Are you awake?" says the one nearest him, "can you hear me?"

He opens his eyes a sliver. It's Lagertha again. And behind her...it takes him a moment to focus, but soon he sees it's Aslaug, looking unsure whether she's supposed to be there or not.

"I hear you."

Her face shifts into a frown. "You have been muttering in your sleep."

"Oh."

Even in his groggy state he can sense the faint thread of tension between the two of them. Glancing back at Aslaug - the queen, as she is now - an dread starts to pool in his belly. "What's happened now?"

The two women exchange a dark look - darker even than what Athelstan is used to seeing pass between them. It's Lagertha who speaks, gently applying the rag to his neck. Sweat, he's drenched in icy sweat...

"Ragnar has been conducting a trial," she says quietly. "For the raiding party. It has only just finished."

The pool of dread deepens. He tries in vain to shake off the last dregs of exhaustion, to listen for sound outside the door. There's commotion, he can hear it from here... "What did he decide?"

Aslaug starts to speak but Lagertha cuts her off. "He took the gold and whatever else they'd taken. This raid was not for riches, he said, and it was their greed in part that caused it to fail." She pauses. "And he executed two of the men. To set an example for the rest."

"He might have done more, had I not stopped him," Aslaug says stonily from the doorway. The taller woman stands majestically as she usually does, but her glance at Lagertha is wary. The last thing Athelstan wants now is to be in the midst of their feud.

"Maybe he should have done more," Lagertha retorts. "What they did was an act of betrayal - to Ragnar, to his cause -and many men are now dead needlessly."

"Any battle is an honourable one; I am sure the men who died are happily feasting in Valhalla. They did what they thought to be right."

"The men who died are fools and might have stayed alive longer had they not acted so. Do you think Ragnar should have shown mercy to those who sabotaged his chance to take Guthbrand alive? One of his dearest friends has nearly died because of them - "

"Who?" says Athelstan, panic rising again. Lagertha looks guiltily at him and after a moment he realizes with embarrassment that it's him she's talking about. One of her hands moves to his shoulder as if to keep him steady - she must somehow know he was fighting the urge to rise again.

Aslaug shrugs, and he can feel Lagertha bristling beside him. But their arguing isn't what gnaws at his thoughts, not anymore.

"Am I to be tried as well?" He asks it as steadily as he's able, though he's sure a touch of feverish anxiety creeps through.

Both of them glance sharply at him. Lagertha sighs, shifting the cloth back to his cheek. "Of course not. Don't be stupid, priest."

But I should be. Men had died because of something they did that he was present for - something he was at the head of. Should he not be punished too, by such logic? And if Ragnar refused to do so, wouldn't the survivors of his wrath resent Athelstan all the more?

"I want to speak with him," he says, "I want to ask him why. Why not."

This time, though, he doesn't have the strength even to attempt it and Lagertha's hand on his shoulder keeps him firmly in place. She says something quietly to Aslaug, followed by footsteps tapping out of the room.

"Look at me, Athelstan." Knowing he doesn't have an option, he does. Her eyes are shadowed, her expression unflinching. "I have spoken to Ragnar," she continues. "He won't say so, but he has feared for your life. He cares for you, and you know he does. Maybe he will act as if he thinks what happened was your fault, but he does not. He put those men on trial because of what they did to you, can you not understand that?"

He can well enough, but it doesn't seem right. It doesn't seem fair.

"I wish you had not woken. I wish she hadn't come in here and tried to ask me questions; it's disturbed your rest."

There's the soft sound of her placing the cloth on a low table near his bed. "Are you comfortable?" she asks. "Has anyone been to look at you?"

He manages a slight shrug. "I - I think somebody brought me food, while I slept." Even if he was too weak to eat it. "And I'm as comfortable as I can be, given..."

She nods, though her brows are drawn close together. One palm rests against his cheek, and the frown deepens. Before Athelstan can stop her, she draws back the covers from his chest and gently pries the thick bandages away from his side. A chill runs through him, making him shudder. He's grateful that at least he's only naked to the waist.

Lagertha's fingers probe the wound and he flinches involuntarily, struck with sudden dizziness. He can't even recall how that one came about, the last injury he remembers being the arrow piercing his shoulder. The rest is a blur of blades.

The bandages on his injured shoulder make his neck too stiff to turn away, so he keeps his eyes trained on her face. The pale features settle into grimness, but she says nothing.

"How is it?" Athelstan asks, hesitantly.

She shoots him a glance. "It was quite deep," is all she says.

He is no child, she ought to tell him if there's something worse than that...though he isn't sure he wants to know.

A different rag, this one dipped in some strong-smelling herbs, comes out and carefully cleans the wound. He lies as still as he can, gritting his teeth through the sting and burn that lingers even long after Lagertha has replaced the bandages.

She looks down at him, her arms crossed. Dimly he feels that he's being assessed.

In a deft motion she unclasps the pin of her cloak and drapes it over him where he lies. He begins to protest, but Lagertha only shushes him. "You must be kept warm, and you must rest. If you'd seen how badly you were hurt..."

His face grows hot. "I know well enough."

"Not nearly enough," she snaps. "You did not see yourself. Even by the time I arrived, you were already..." she shakes her head, lips tight.

She'd been afraid for him. "I'm all right now," he says, heart squeezing uncomfortably. "I'll be fine."

She shoots him another glare, but it's laced with worry. "I have seen many far more battle-hardened than you lose their lives from wounds they thought didn't matter. Do not be one of them."

"I won't."

For a moment she appears to be wrestling with herself, and then she comes to sit by Athelstan's bed again, folding her arms. "I will stay here with you. There may not be anyone else looking in on you for some time - the trial has left us all...distracted."

"You don't have to do that," Athelstan mutters, slightly embarrassed, as she picks up the cloth again and resumes sponging his forehead. "If Ragnar needs you - "

"Ragnar has another wife to take need of," she replies sharply. "It's you I worry about."

Athelstan glances over and sees her watching him like a hunting hawk. "You don't have to stay," he says again. "I don't need anything -"

"Hush."

He's defeated, and knows it.

He can't close his eyes. If he does, he'll only see the burning village. He'll see the frightened woman and her children. So he keeps them open, listening to the muffled sounds of faint commotion outside in the hall, trying to ignore the dull aches in his side and shoulder.

Lagertha is still laying the cloth against his face and neck - for comfort, he guesses, and it is comforting even despite the chill that's lingered under his skin since he awoke. She doesn't need to talk for him to be steadied by her presence - and he is far too weary to.

He shifts his head on the pillow, trying not to think of the burning. Trying not to think of Ragnar. And rests.

@procrastinatingsoicanreadfanfics @levithestripper @fuck-the-reaper

[dailylogyn]

Logyn Meta: Loki & Sigyn’s Family in Myth and Marvel (Comparison)

Photo Source: https://www.deviantart.com/youkai-no-shimo/art/Colouring-LOKI-s-FAMILY-260392721

The family that is ready to begin Ragnarok in order to defend your honor. It’s a tragic tale, but family is something worth fighting for!

Follow me as we explore this crazy, wonderful family that is probably the most famous of the Myth’s. 

We may not know much about Sigyn’s side, but Loki’s side is one that legends are made of. 

From the Norse Myths, to Marvel Comics and the MCU, we will see the similarities and differences for each member in the different universes as well as learn facts about each one and why they are important. 

Laufey (or Nál) - Loki’s Mother 

NORSE MYTHOLOGY

She is Loki’s Mother in Mythology.

Mostly mentioned by the matronymic, “Loki Laufeyjarson” meaning: Loki Laufey’s Son.

Her name (Laufey) is typically thought to mean leaves/foilage. Nal means Needle. 

Not much is known about her. We don’t even know if she was a Goddess, human or giant so it is assumed Loki gets his godhood from her. 

In the poem Sörla þáttr, Nál and Laufey are portrayed as the same person: "She was both slender and weak, and for that reason she was called Nál [Needle]." 

Laufey is listed among Ásynjar (goddesses) in one of the þulur, an ancestry that perhaps led her son Loki to be "enumerated among the Æsir", as Snorri Sturluson puts it in Gylfaginning.

Related to nature like forests and leaves.

MARVEL COMICS (Earth 616)

Laufey is Loki’s Father in this universe. 

As Loki was born small, a motive of embarrassment for his parents, his existence was kept a secret.

A younger Loki sends Laufey into a fateful battle between Odin, leading the All-Father to claim Loki as a son. Laufey was left for dead, wounded, but alive, leaving a future Loki to kill him. 

A group of Frost Giants try to revive Laufey by retrieving his skull. It ends with Malekith performing a spell to resurrect King Laufey. 

Laufey hates Loki and thinks of him as a disgrace

It ends with Loki killing his father again after he tries to steal the Casket of Winters and kill Frigga. 

MARVEL CINEMATIC UNIVERSE (MCU)

Same as Marvel Comics Counterpart. Appears in the first Thor movie. 

Fárbauti - Loki’s Father

NORSE MYTHOLOGY

He is Loki’s Father in Mythology. 

Attested in the Prose Edda and in Kennings of Viking Age Skalds.

A Jotunn

The Old Norse name Fárbauti has been translated as 'dangerous striker','anger striker',or 'sudden-striker'.

Related to lightning

MARVEL COMICS (Earth 616)

Mother of Loki in this universe.

Gave birth to an unusually small child to the annoyance of her husband.

It is said the night Loki was born that she stabbed her own heart with an ice dagger, but Loki suspects Laufey is the one who killed her. 

Appears as a figment taken on by a parasite. She’s mostly deceased in the comics. 

MARVEL CINEMATIC UNIVERSE (MCU)

Does not appear or have a reference in the MCU

Loki Laufeyjarson - Son of Laufey & Farbauti. Lover of Sigyn & Angrboda (and many others honestly)

NORSE MYTHOLOGY

Everyone already knows the tales about Loki, so I won’t repeat it all again. It’s pretty lengthy. I’ll just point down the basics for him with it. 

He’s famous for causing trouble among the gods as the Trickster and God of Mischief. Not a bad guy, but misinterpreted that way, although he can be a dick too. Despite how much he causes trouble for them, he also helps them out of situations too. He just wants to have fun, even if he takes it overboard at times.

Some sources put as Jotun and some say he is Half-Jotun, Half-Aesir (on his mother’s side.) 

A well-known Shapeshifter who can be anything: Salmon, Male, Female, Horse. The list just goes on. 

A really handsome being who loved to get it on. *finger guns*

Blood Brother’s with Odin. How? We don’t know. It’s interpreted as a friendship or foster-brothers. It’s unclear really.

Gonna start Ragnarok for valid reasons honestly after having his entire family taken away from him or killed by the Gods. #TeamLoki

MARVEL COMICS (Earth 616)

Far too many appearances to document here from 1942 to present. There has been some retcons as well with the fact the current Loki has been reborn in a new incarnation also known as Ikol.

In the comics Loki is the adopted son of Odin and Frigga and Adoptive brother to Thor & Balder. 

He’s depicted as being the God of Evil in the classic comics serval times. In fact, it’s one of his titles. 

Depending on the writer for the classic comics, Loki can have moments of humanity, but all around he causes trouble.

Just wants to rule Asgard and get rid of Thor who is his enemy. 

He’s honestly a bad guy most of the time in the classic comics #VillianTrope

I personally have yet to read any current comics of Loki that aren’t the classics so this is where my knowledge and research stops. 

MARVEL CINEMATIC UNIVERSE (MCU)

First off, Tom Hiddleston as Loki is just *chefs kiss* perfection. 

Pretty much the same as comics except for the fact he isn’t really a villain. He plays tricks on people for fun and laughs and truly cares about his family. 

However, things change when he discovers the truth that he is a Jotun and has been lied to about it his whole life despite being told countless stories of how Jotun’s are monsters to be slain (You fucked up a perfectly good kid, Odin. Look, he has anxiety and trauma.) 

He develops major identity problems on top of others things, but despite it, Loki tries to still do best by his family as he wants to belong. Yes, he becomes a villain in The Avengers movie, but not for the hell of it. #Thanos

Honestly, he just deserves better. That’s where this leads. Thank you.

Angrboda - Loki’s Consort/Lover (Fenrir, Jormungandr & Hel’s Mother)

NORSE MYTHOLOGY

She is only mentioned once in the Poetic Edda as the mother of Fenrir by Loki. The Prose Edda describes her as "a giantess in Jotunheim" and as the mother of three monsters: the wolf Fenrir, the Midgard serpent Jörmungand, and the ruler of the dead Hel.

A Jotun known as Mother of Monsters and Giantess of Ironwood. 

In Old Norse, Angrboda means: 'the one who brings grief', 'she-who-offers-sorrow', or 'harm-bidder'.

According to scholars, the name Angrboða is probably a late invention dating from no earlier than the 12th century, although the tradition of the three monsters born of Loki and a jötunn may be of a higher age.

Some scholars say she was a very powerful witch and that she had the ability to see into the future. She was confined to Hel and would not be released from the realm of the dead until Loki was unbound.

In some versions of the Myth’s she knows her children will bring about the end of the world (Ragnarok) as well as being a witch set on fire three times before Loki eats her heart. 

MARVEL COMICS (Earth 616)

A giantess of Jotunheim and a Witch.

Born to Elderspawn Vârcolac and Echidna.

She mated with Loki and gave birth to Fenrir and Jormungadr. Legends say she also gave birth to Hela, but it seems to be nothing more but legends. 

Angrboda died of unknown causes and was sent to the Underworld of Hel. 

When Thor needed to know how to get to Hela's realm because she had been taking mortals to Niffleheim, he went to the Hlidskjalf and summoned Angerboda from the underworld, forcing her to tell him how to get there. Once she revealed to Thor the path he had to follow, she tried to take him with her to the underworld.

Only has one appearance in the comics -- Thor #360 (1985)

MARVEL CINEMATIC UNIVERSE (MCU)

Does not appear or have a reference in the MCU

Sleipnir - Loki’s Son

NORSE MYTHOLOGY

Attested in the Poetic and Prose Edda. In both Sleipnir is Odin's eight-legged steed and child of Loki by Svaðilfari. He is described as the best of all horses.

The Prose Edda contains extra information saying he is grey. 

Old Norse meaning: Slippy or the Slipper. 

Sleipnir is also mentioned in a riddle found in the 13th century legendary saga Hervarar saga ok Heiðreks, in the 13th-century legendary saga Völsunga saga as the ancestor of the horse Grani, and book I of Gesta Danorum, written in the 12th century by Saxo Grammaticus, contains an episode considered by many scholars to involve Sleipnir. Sleipnir is generally accepted as depicted on two 8th century Gotlandic image stones: the Tjängvide image stone and the Ardre VIII image stone.

Scholarly theories have been proposed regarding Sleipnir's potential connection to shamanic practices among the Norse pagans.

Sleipnir was born when Loki shape-shifted into a mare and became pregnant by the stallion of a giant, as is recounted in the tale of The Fortification of Asgard.

MARVEL COMICS (Earth 616)

There are two different origins for Sleipnir in the comics: 1. Thor fighting off an army of the undead on Midgard. He promised to help as long as his horses weren’t eaten, however, Thor was betrayed and took his horses remains back to Asgard, coupling it with Asgardian Magic to create Sleipneir. 2. Loki had hastily agreed to let a Frost Giant re-build the wall around Asgard, in exchange for the Moon, the Sun, and Freya, only he had to do it in six months. The Frost Giant had only asked to use his grey stallion, Svadilfari. Right as the last brick was about to be placed, Loki transformed into a beautiful white mare, and lured Svadilfari off. Loki later gave birth to Sleipnir. (Just like in the Myths.) 

MARVEL CINEMATIC UNIVERSE (MCU)

Odin’s eight-legged steed. 

Sleipnir’s origins are unknown. He appears in the first Thor Movie. 

Fenrir Wolf - Loki & Angrboda’s Son

NORSE MYTHOLOGY

Attested in the Prose and Poetic Edda as the first son of the Jotun couple. He is a wolf destined to kill Odin. So, they bind and seal him when he's still young, with Tyr losing his arm in the process. When Ragnarok comes, he indeed kills Odin, but is killed by Odin's son Vidar in return.

Fenrir is the father of the wolves Sköll and Hati Hróðvitnisson. 

In the Prose Edda, additional information is given about Fenrir, including that, due to the gods' knowledge of prophecies foretelling great trouble from Fenrir and his rapid growth, the gods bound him, and as a result Fenrir bit off the right hand of the god Týr.

No chain can hold him, except for Gleipnir, a rope made by Dwarves containing the roots of a mountain, the breath of a fish, the sound of a cat's footfall, the sinews of a bear, the beard of a woman and the spittle of a bird, all of which were impossible items to obtain.

MARVEL COMICS (Earth 616)

Pretty much the same as his Mythos with some additional storylines. 

When Raganrok happened, Fenrir was reborn with the other gods on the New Asgard universe on Midgard. No details of his fate on Earth have been revealed.

Fenrir helped the mutant Wolfsbane as she was carrying the child of one of his descendants. 

It is one of the few individuals believed to be more powerful, or equally as powerful, as Dormammu; the others being galactic entities like The Beyonder.

Fenrir is Genderfluid in the comics. 

MARVEL CINEMATIC UNIVERSE (MCU)

Fenris is a giant Asgardian Wolf who serves under Hela and is portrayed as Female. She resurrects her as they take over Asgard. 

Instead of being her brother, Fenris is her loyal companion and mount. 

Fenris ends up getting into a fight against Hulk as he pushes her off, sending her falling into the void below to her supposed death. 

Appears in Thor: Ragnarok. 

Hel - Loki & Angrboda’s Daughter

NORSE MYTHOLOGY

Attested in the Prose and Poetic Edda. She is a giantess/goddess who resides over the Underworld that is also called Hel, a place where many of the dead reside. She is the daughter of Loki and Angrboda, sister to Fenrir and Jormungandr and usually depicted as the youngest of the three.

Goddess of Death and Graves and ruler of Hel who welcomes the souls of those who died of old age, disease or by accident.

Hel is described as having been appointed by the god Odin as ruler of a realm of the same name, located in Niflheim.

The Prose Edda details that Hel rules over vast mansions with many servants in her underworld realm and plays a key role in the attempted resurrection of the god Baldr.

Old Norse Name Meaning: Hidden

She’s mostly mentioned only in passing. Snorri describes her appearance as being half-black, half-white, and with a perpetually grim and fierce expression on her face.

MARVEL COMICS (Earth 616)

Renamed Hela in the comics.

Allegedly the daughter of Loki and Angrboda, but it’s never made clear or stated. Hela's genealogy is the subject of controversies and retellings. 

Her path pretty much follows her Mythos where she is destined to do terrible things and Odin makes her the ruler over the dead in the realms of Hel and Niflheim until maturity. 

At some point, she was considered the daughter of Odin and of a long-lost goddess.

Honestly, she usually tries to expand her powers, wanting to rule over Vahalla and obtain Asgardian souls. 

MARVEL CINEMATIC UNIVERSE (MCU):

Appears in Thor: Ragnarok as Odin’s firstborn and only daughter. Sister to Thor and Loki.

Kinda pissed her dad locked her away and wants to rule Asgard and take revenge.

The cause of Ragnarok and supposedly dies on Asgard after everything is said in done in the movie.

Jormungandr - Loki & Angrboda’s Son

NORSE MYTHOLOGY

Usually depicted as the middle child of Loki and Angrboda, he is known as the Midgard Serpent or World Serpent who is a giant snake. When Odin takes Loki’s kids away from him, he tosses Jormungadr into the ocean that encircles Midgard. The serpent grew so large that is was able to surround the Earth and grasp it’s own tail. When it releases it’s tail, Ragnarok will begin and he will fight his arch-enemy, Thor. 

The major sources for myths about Jörmungandr are the Prose Edda, the skaldic poem Húsdrápa, and the Eddic poems Hymiskviða and Völuspá. Other sources include the early skaldic poem Ragnarsdrápa and kennings in other skaldic poems; for example, in Þórsdrápa, faðir lögseims, "father of the sea-thread", is used as a kenning for Loki. There are also several image stones depicting the story of Thor fishing for Jörmungandr.

MARVEL COMICS (Earth 616)

Both Loki and Angerboda were descended from the Frost Giants of Jotunheim and were of humanoid appearance; however, the sons Angerboda bore Loki, Jormungand and the Fenris Wolf, did not. It has been suggested that Jormungand and the Fenris Wolf were born as sentient animals because their parents each had the magical ability to change his or her own shape. Hence, Jormungand and the Fenris Wolf each bear the form of the animal that their parents had assumed at the moment they were conceived.

Jormungandr follows the same as his Mythos to a certain degree with his fate to fight Thor during Ragnarok as the God of Thunder would die from his venom. 

MARVEL CINEMATIC UNIVERSE (MCU)

Does not appear or have a reference in the MCU

Sigyn - Loki’s Wife

NORSE MYTHOLOGY

Sadly, not many stories that have Sigyn in them have survived to this day. She is only attested in the followings works: Poetic Edda & Prose Edda. 

The most famous of her story tells of how Loki has been bound by the gods with the guts of his son, Nari, and how his son, Vari, has been turned into a wolf. The Goddess Skadi fastens a venomous snake over Loki’s face, from which venom drips. Sigyn, stated as Loki’s wife, stays by his side and holds a basin under and catches the venom so it won’t drip onto her husband, but when the basin grows full, she pulls it away to empty it, during which time venom drops onto Loki, causing him to wither so violently that earthquakes occur that shake the entire earth.

In the poem, Gylfaginning, Sigyn is introduced in Chapter 31 as being married to Loki and that they have a son by the name of “Narfi or Nari”. She is then mentioned again in Chapter 50 where events are described differently than in Lokasenna; Vali, described as a son of Loki only, is changed into a wolf by the gods and rips apart his brother, “Narfi or Nari.” The guts of Nari are then used to tie Loki to three stones, after which the guts turn to iron, and Skadi places a snake above Loki. Sigyn of course catches the venom in a bowl. This process is repeated until he breaks free, setting Ragnarok into motion.

In the poem, Skáldskaparmál, Sigyn is introduced as a goddess, an Æsir, where the gods are holding a feast for their visitors and in kennings for Loki: “husband of Sigyn” and “cargo [Loki] of incantation-fetter’s [Sigyn’s] arms.”

Old Norse Name meaning: Victory Girlfriend. 

MARVEL COMICS (Earth 616)

Lonely and looking for female companionship, Loki ends up coming across Sigyn and plans to make her his. However, she is already engaged to a warrior of Odin’s Crimson Hawks -- Theoric. Hence, Loki sets up a trap to have Theoric killed during a mission so Loki can disguise himself as Theoric. Once they are wed, Loki reveals himself and despite Odin attempting to annul the marriage (which goes against Asgardian Law)), Sigyn tells the Allfather that she will follow the duties of a loyal wife since she is Loki’s now. 

This is when Odin proclaims her to be the Goddess of Fidelity. This was a thing first started by the Marvel Comics.

Sigyn doesn’t have much of an agency in the comics except being a loyal wife to Loki, sometimes going along with his plans or getting on him for it. 

I personally haven’t been able to find any evidence of Sigyn’s parents being Iwaldi and Freya in the comics, so I’m not sure if this fact is Fanon or not. 

Sigyn has suddenly seemed to vanish from the comics with her last official appearance being in 1996. It has been allueded at that she died or was killed during Ragnarok. 

Her relationship with Loki in the comics is...complicated and changes a lot depending on the writer. 

MARVEL CINEMATIC UNIVERSE (MCU)

Does not appear or have a reference in the MCU

Narvi/Narfi & Vali - Loki & Sigyn’s Sons

NORSE MYTHOLOGY

Not much is known about Narfi and Vali except for being Loki & Sigyn’s sons with Vali being transformed into a wolf by the gods and killing his brother whose inners are used as a chain to bind Loki in the cave. 

Narfi and Vali are referred to in a number of sources. According to the Gylfaginning section of Snorri Sturluson's Prose Edda, he was also called Nari and was killed by his brother Váli, who was transformed into a wolf; in a prose passage at the end of the Eddic poem "Lokasenna", Váli became a wolf and his brother Nari was killed.

Snorri also names "Nari or Narfi" as the son of Loki and his wife Sigyn earlier in Gylfaginning, and lists "father of Nari" as a heiti for Loki in the Skáldskaparmál section of his work.

Narfi’s name could mean “Corpse” in Old Norse, relating to how he was killed by his brother. 

There's no mention of what became of Vali after he became a wolf.

MARVEL COMICS (Earth 616)

Narvi never makes an appearance in the comics and is only mentioned in: Free Comics Book Day Vol 2018 Avengers. 

There is a Vali in the comics called Vali Halfling. He is the son of loki and a unnamed mortal woman. So, I don’t consider this to be the same Vali that is the son of Loki and Sigyn. 

MARVEL CINEMATIC UNIVERSE (MCU)

Does not appear or have a reference in the MCU

_________________________________________________

Thanks for reading everyone. This required a bunch of research, but I hope this helps and has been educational. We only have what we can work with considering the surviving myths, but there is so many stories out there that we don’t know of that aren’t clear because of it. 

I tried my best to cover everything I knew about them in Marvel too, but sometimes so many retcons is too much to keep up with. I know there may be some errors in places, but it’s the best I could get this with what we have to work with.

SOURCES:

https://marvel.fandom.com/wiki/Laufey_(Earth-616)

https://marvelcinematicuniverse.fandom.com/wiki/Laufey

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Laufey

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fárbauti

https://marvel.fandom.com/wiki/Farbauti_(Earth-616)

https://marvel.fandom.com/wiki/Angerboda_(Earth-616)

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Angrboða

https://marvel.fandom.com/wiki/Hela_(Earth-616)

https://norse-mythology.org/gods-and-creatures/giants/hel/

https://norse-mythology.org/gods-and-creatures/giants/jormungand/

https://marvel.fandom.com/wiki/Jormungand_(Earth-616)

https://marvel.fandom.com/wiki/Sleipnir_(Earth-616)

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sleipnir

https://marvelcinematicuniverse.fandom.com/wiki/Sleipnir

https://norse-mythology.org/gods-and-creatures/giants/fenrir/

https://marvel.fandom.com/wiki/Fenris_Wolf_(Earth-616)

https://marvelcinematicuniverse.fandom.com/wiki/Fenris

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sigyn

https://marvel.fandom.com/wiki/Sigyn_(Earth-616)

https://marvel.fandom.com/wiki/Narvi_(Earth-616)

https://marvel.fandom.com/wiki/Vali_Halfling_(Earth-616)

https://norse-mythology.org/gods-and-creatures/the-aesir-gods-and-goddesses/loki/

https://marvel.fandom.com/wiki/Loki_Laufeyson_(Earth-616)

https://marvelcinematicuniverse.fandom.com/wiki/Loki

https://skjalden.com/narfi-and-vali/

https://marvelcinematicuniverse.fandom.com/wiki/Hela

[hugins-eye]

Anyone want my rating of SSO?

No? Fuck you you're getting it anyways.

Graphics: I like the new graphics even if many people feel nostalgia towards the old. The new character designs look amazing. The trees in the Goldenleaf valley might be my favourite, especially the floating leaves. The transition from foggy areas such as the Mirror Marshes to a normal atmosphere is a bit... sharp. The detailed graphics always load in time but the mountains do look a bit wonky especially on taller cliffs. Rating is 8/10

Controls: Very basic controls of WASD. I wish there was horse breeds that had a faster speed up time though. I would like the camera to take a little bit longer to spin back when you move it while riding. I do also wish you could slow down a horses speed while in a jump so that you might start in a canter but land trotting. Rating is 7/10

Story: I LOVE the story okay? I know some people have a problem with the "Soul riders fix everything because sisterhood!" but as an avid MLP fan, that doesn't phase me. I like stories of old legends and magic horses (even if the wild herds didn't get that much story). The story of Jorvik is also very cool. The idea that we are the reincarnation of Aideen is ofc very basic but I like it. What I would want is some sort of influence on the story. Right now if you get an option to answer with different things they don't have that much of an affect on the story. It doesn't have to be anything major but just slight diversions. Rating is 9/10

Bugs/Glitches: I know that Star Stable is a very buggy game. But so far the only glitches I have encountered are: The time of day turning to night whenever I take a picture of Token, taking a big fall and not returning to Jarlaheim after going back in Catherine's memories, staying in Jorvik city even though I took the bus back to the normal area and the glitch with selling a big stack of items and getting logged out. So it's not as many as people who have played since the beginning might have encountered. Rating is 4/10

Horses: Gen 1 and 2 horses? Ew. Gen 3? AMAZING. The old horses are very... weird. The manes and tails look clumpy and plasticky and have very sharp models. The shading on the Shire's are horrendous. The new designs? Perfections. Actual detail in the fur. Good hair physics (especially Icelandic's), nice movement in the gates. The models are awesome and do really resemble the breeds. My favorites are definitely the bay Gotland pony, Irish Cobs and Andalusians. Rating is 10/10 (I do not rate the old models since they are not the active models used)

Characters: The soul riders are of course the most fleshed out characters and the staff did a great job with it. Each of them has a backstory that makes you like them. I especially like Anne and her status as an elite dressage rider. I feel like they took some inspiration from many Swedish showjumpers. James might be the most annoying character though, god I hate him. Rating is 8/10

Overall rating: 8/10

[underthewingsofthblackeagle]

Foto: Panorama Helsinki / Finland - Dom und Parlamentsplatz (by   tap5a)

“We only do this for Fergus!” is a short Outlander Fan Fiction story and my contribution to the Outlander Prompt Exchange (Prompt 3: Fake Relationship AU: Jamie Fraser wants to formally adopt his foster son Fergus, but his application will probably not be approved… unless he is married and/or in a committed relationship. Enter one Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp (Randall?) to this story) @outlanderpromptexchange​

Chapter 7: Coming home

           "Papa, did you know that the Siberian tiger is the biggest cat in the world?"

           "Papa, did you know that a monk invented soda water?"

           "Papa, did you know why moka faux was invented?"

           "Papa, did you know that the first Christmas market was held in Bautzen back in 1384?"

           "Papa, do you know where the term 'glasses' comes from?"

           "Papa, do you know if titmouse dumplings are good or bad for the birds?"

           "Papa, did you know that Vikings didn't wear helmets with horns at all?"

           "Papa, did you know when writing was invented and when apothecaries began to exist?" 

           Fergus spoke about squirrels, trees, dogs, lighthouses, penguins, pyramids, birdsong, whales and dolphins, and of course, The Mouse. And this, of course, every new evening. Afterwards, he let himself be told where his Papa was, what he had experienced and seen.

           From Iceland, Fraser had flown first to the Swedish island of Gotland, then to Helsinki, and then back to Frankfurt am Main. One night later, he flew first to Bangkok, then to Hong Kong and finally to Taipei. The return trip took 22 hours and took him from Taipei via Bangkok and Amsterdam finally back to Berlin. He arrived there around noon and was picked up by a one of the company's chauffeurs. He had himself driven to the headquarters, where Ned Gowan was waiting for him and briefed him on current business developments over a light lunch. Fraser looked through his mail, packed a box of files, gave final instructions, and about 5 pm another chauffeur drove him to Potsdam. As the car left the underground garage, he dialed Claire's number and announced his arrival.

           Claire was in the dining room when Jamie's call reached her. When she hung up, Fergus was standing in the doorway.

           "Was that Papa?" he asked excitedly.

           "Yes," Claire replied, unable to suppress a joyful smile.  

           A few minutes before 6 pm, Fraser's car turned into the street leading to the house. He asked the driver to stop for a moment. Then he opened the window a crack and took a deep breath of the cool evening air. Closing his eyes, he paused for a moment. Fraser knew exactly how Fergus would welcome him. But Claire he would meet today for the first time after ten days of absence. He had to prepare himself inwardly for that. He took another deep breath, then asked the driver to move on. Shortly after, the car stopped again. Contrary to his habit, Fraser got out in front of the front door and let the driver bring the car into the garage. He himself took only his briefcase. Once again, he took a deep breath, then opened the small gate in the fence that separated the property from the street. Through the skylight above the front door, he saw that lights were on in the entryway and the hallway. He took the steps of the small staircase with a few sweeping strides and was about to take his keys from his pocket when the front door opened and Claire smiled at him. He couldn't help but smile joyfully as well. Claire stepped aside and let him into the house. Fraser walked through the porch and as he stepped into the hallway, he saw Fergus standing in the doorway to the living room.

           "Fergus!" he exclaimed joyfully.

           "Hello, Papa," the boy replied, coming slowly toward him.

           Fraser looked at him in wonder:

           "Aren't you glad to see me again?"

           The boy approached him and Jamie took him in his arms.

           "Oh yes Papa, but I ... wanted to ... be considerate. Claire explained to me that you need to rest because you have Jack's leg."

           The adults looked at each other and began to laugh uproariously. Now it was Fergus who looked at them in amazement. Claire approached Jamie, who still had Fergus in his arms.

           "It's called 'jet lag', not 'Jack's leg'. But you'll learn that soon enough."

           She stroked Fergus's brown curls and gave him a fleeting kiss on the forehead. Then she looked at Jamie and asked:

           "Do you want to go to sleep right away, or are you going to stay a little longer? Are you hungry? Thirsty?"

           "We'll sit in the living room for a bit, won't we Fergus?"

           The boy nodded.

           "Then I'll bring sandwiches and tea in a minute?"

           Jamie nodded, and while Claire disappeared into the kitchen, Jamie carried Fergus into the living room, where he set him down on the sofa. Then he took off his coat and laid it over one of the armchairs. At that moment the door opened and Claire pushed a serving cart into the room. At the sight of the platters of sandwiches, Fergus straightened up in his seat expectantly. Jamie went to help Claire, but she directed him toward Fergus with a motion of her head. Jamie nodded, sat down, and pulled the boy close.

           "Well, don't we have it good? Look, so many sandwiches!"

“Snack” by  congerdesign 

           Jamie took one of the plates and held it out to Fergus. As expected, the youngster had a hard time deciding. But then he reached for a sandwich with chicken, tomato, and mozzarella. Meanwhile, Claire poured herbal tea into three cups and pushed two of the cups toward Jamie and Fergus. Then she, too, sat down. They stayed together for about 40 minutes, eating, drinking, and talking a bit. Then Jamie and Claire managed to convince Fergus that it was now time to go to bed. They agreed that Claire would put Fergus to bed alone one more time that night. Together they went upstairs to Fraser's apartment, where outside the door was his suitcase, laptop bag, and box of business documents. Jamie unlocked the door and let Fergus and Claire go inside. Then he put the things away in his study. Half an hour later he was lying in his bed, freshly showered and fast asleep. Fergus, too, had already fallen asleep. Claire, on the other hand, had retired to the guest room, where she would sleep that night as well.

           Fraser had put his smartphone on his nightstand, not thinking that it had rejoined the domestic network when he entered the house. He shouldn't realize it until several hours later.

  Iphone by  Pexels

           Claire woke up immediately when she heard the cry that sounded from her smartphone paired with the baby monitor. Since she had been watching Fraser's son day and night, she no longer slept deeply, but was always on guard inside. She jumped out of bed, threw on her robe and ran out of the room. In the dark hallway, she bumped into a mountain of meat. Then the automatic light came on and she recognized Jamie.

           "What are you doing sneaking around outside my door?" she snapped at him.

           "I'm not sneaking around your door! I heard Fergus crying ..."

           At that moment, another scream rang out from Fergus' room. Together they ran down the hallway. Claire reached the door first, threw it open, and rushed toward Fergus' bed.

           "It's all right, Fergus. I'm right here, you just had a bad dream."

           The boy woke up and looked at her with wide eyes. Then he clung to her. Claire began to sway slightly. Jamie sat down next to her and gently stroked Fergus's back.

           "It's all right, Fergus. You don't have to be afraid. Claire and I are here."

           Claire gave Fergus some water to drink, then accompanied him to the bathroom. Back in bed, Jamie wrapped him in his comforter. When they heard Fergus' steady breathing, they left the room. Slowly, they walked down the hall. Before Claire turned into her room, she said:

           "I'm sorry I snapped at you like that ..."

           "No problem, I ... had forgotten that my smartphone ..."

           "It's okay ... Just turn it off. I am here if he should have another bad dream. But usually it doesn't happen twice in one night. Now go to sleep and get some rest. Good night."

           "Good night, Claire."

           Jamie slept until noon the next day. When Claire picked Fergus up from school, he came down from his apartment, talked to Mr. and Mrs. Curtius, and then strolled around the garden a bit. As soon as he heard the car turn into the driveway, he climbed the steps of the spiral staircase and headed for the dining room, where he planned to wait for Claire and Fergus. This time, his foster son's greeting turned out to be stormier:

           "Papa! You're awake!" exclaimed Fergus, who looked into the dining room from the hallway and immediately wanted to rush toward Fraser. But Claire held him by his jacket:

           "Fergus Fraser! First, we take off our dirty shoes and our jackets! We don't want to make Mrs. Curtius any more work than necessary, do we?"

           "Sorry, Claire," the boy said a little meekly. He took off his shoes, put them on the shoe rack, and slipped into his slippers. But then he was unstoppable. He ran toward Fraser, who had leaned down and caught him with outstretched arms. Jamie carried the boy up to the dining room table, sat down in his seat, and settled Fergus on his lap. Claire put down her coat, took a deep breath, and then listened to the conversation that was developing between father and son. Fraser inquired how the school day had gone. Fergus reported, but then in turn kept asking about Fraser's trip and his well-being. When Fraser asked his son if he was hungry and he answered in the affirmative, he rang the bell and shortly thereafter Mrs. Curtius brought lunch. Now Claire also joined "the men."

“Modelleisenbahn” by  naturfreund_pics 

          Jamie and Fergus spent the afternoon and early evening in the garden and then in the conservatory playing with their train set. Claire joined them only for tea and dinner. She had cleaned out the guest room and moved her things back to her apartment. After dinner, she said goodbye to Fergus with a quick kiss on his forehead. For the next few days, Fraser would be caring for his son alone, and Claire was looking forward to a few days with more free time to herself. However, as she sat at her desk and the time came when she would normally sit by Fergus' bedside and read to him, she missed that moment together. In fact, she had to force herself a bit to get back to the tasks she had set out to do that evening. Claire managed to distract herself for a few minutes, but then she suddenly thought of the evening Skype conversations she had had with Jamie every night for the past ten days. She realized that those evening conversations would now come to an end as well. They would all return to 'normality', whatever 'normality' meant in the Fraser-Fraser-Beauchamp constellation. And if she was honest, she had to admit to herself that she would miss the evening conversations with Fraser. But suddenly she was jolted from her thoughts by that familiar sound that announced the arrival of a video call. It was Jamie.

           "Sorry Claire, I'm interrupting again today after all."

           "Is something wrong with Fergus?"  

           "No, no, though of course he complained that … but I explained to him that he needs to give you a rest once in a while, too. The reason I'm getting back to you is ..." - Jamie sighed - " ... our meeting with your friend Geillis and her partner Dave .... I ... would then call him tomorrow and invite them over for next weekend ... if you're okay with that?"

           "Yeah, let's get over with this," Claire replied with a slightly snippy tone in her voice.

           "Claire, if you're not ..."

           "No, no, I'm allright, I ... we are doing this for Fergus, after all."

           "Speaking of Fergus. I've been thinking that I'm going to ask Mrs. Curtius if he can sleep at their livingroom that night."

           "Why?"

           "Well, uhm, so we don't run the risk that he might somehow slip ... regarding the status of our ... relationship."

           "Well, that's a thought, of course ... But do you think he'll do it willingly?"

           "I'll find some bait ..."

           Fraser smiled.

           "Well, Claire," he then said, "I'll get on the phone with Dave and tomorrow we'll talk again about it. Is that all right with you?"

           "Sure, but I'll be out all day tomorrow and won't be back until dinner."

           Jamie paused for a moment, then nodded.

           "Of course, take as much time for yourself as you like. Good night, Claire!"

           "Good night, Jamie."

           The screen went dark, but a kind of home movie started playing in Claire's head that would keep her awake for some time.

 “Kaffee” by  congerdesign

           Claire used her first day off in a long time to sleep in thoroughly. After taking a long shower and dressing a little warmer than usual, she went down to the kitchen, where Mrs. Kurtius was already preparing lunch for Jamie and Fergus. The caretaker offered her a cup of coffee, and while the two women talked about the experiences of the past few days, Claire made herself two sandwiches, which she ate at her leisure. Just as she was about to leave, Jamie returned, having brought Fergus, who had to be a little late for school that day, there.

           "Good morn... uhm, good day, Claire."

            "Good day, Jamie. I forgot to ask, but is the car free?"

           Fraser looked at her in surprise for a moment.

           "Basically, it is ... I uhm, wanted to pick up Fergus later though ..."

           "I just want to get into the city," Claire replied, "it would only take 30 minutes and then I'd send the driver back. And tonight, I'd call to have him pick me up again around 5:30. Is that all right?"

           "Sure. I don't have anything planned for today except a little paperwork, picking up Fergus, lunch, schoolwork, and then playing with him ... maybe we'll take a little walk to the lake, but, no, take the car. If something really important happens and I need a driver, I'll have one come from the company. Enjoy your day off!"

           Claire nodded.

           "Thanks!"

           She put on her coat, picked up her bag, and moments later was gone in the elevator that took her to the garage.

           Fraser watched her go, then stood in the hallway for a moment, undecided.

          "Well, Mr. Fraser? How about some fresh coffee?"  

           Surprised, he looked over at Mrs. Curtius, who was still standing at the kitchen counter, watching the whole scene with interest.

           "If it's strong, I'd love it," Jamie replied.

           "There's only coffee here the way you like it: black, hot, and strong!"

           Jamie climbed onto one of the counter chairs and Mrs. Curtius pushed a large mug of hot coffee toward him.

           "Thank you, Mrs. Curtius," Fraser said with a smile, sipping his fresh coffee. Then he decided to seize the opportunity:

           "Tell me, how have the past ten days been with Mrs. Beauchamp?"

“Museum Barberini” -  by nofu

           At the same time, Claire drove toward downtown and then dropped off in front of a bookstore. The bookseller greeted her warmly, and when he heard her name, his face lit up all the more. Claire had ordered some books, three of which had already arrived, others still awaited. She took the three books, paid, and then retreated to the back of the store, which was home to a small café. She placed her book bag in one of the large dark plush chairs and took off her coat. Before she had even sat down, a waitress appeared and took her order. Claire sat down, pulled up the small side table, and looked in the book bag. She took out one of the smaller copies and began to read. A few minutes later, the waitress brought her tea and a bagel - "smashed avocado, tomato, mint, arugula, and olive oil" - as the card announced it.

“Bagel” by  sanfirabogdan

        Claire enjoyed the food, but even more the peace and quiet that being in the store guaranteed her. Although the bookstore was bustling with comings and goings, and customers regularly showed up at the café to order pastries or other food as takeaways, patrons rarely strayed into the café's seating area on weekdays. Claire knew this from her previous visits and had chosen the day very deliberately. She stayed for a total of two hours, during which she ordered and ate a second bagel - "tapenade, goat cheese, arugula, tomato". She then strolled slowly through the city, enjoying looking at shop windows at her leisure. In the early afternoon, she visited a new exhibition at the Museum Barberini and then directed her steps toward the Dutch Quarter. There she wanted to try out a café that Ms. Curtius had recommended to her. And the caretaker had not promised too much. She was immediately impressed by the interior, the friendly manner of the staff, and the large, non-mainstream selection of baked goods. Again, Claire sat down as far as she could in the back of the café. She ordered a hot sea buckthorn juice with orange and cinnamon and a cake with blueberry lavender mousse. The time Claire spent enjoying the food and her reading flew by and after two hours it was time to call the driver to come pick her up.

“Haus Gutenberg / Hollänisches Viertel / Potsdam” via Von Clemensfranz - Eigenes Werk, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=19986832 

           Once home, Claire had dinner with Fergus and Jamie. Fergus, who had eaten two large sandwiches and some salad in no time, began to question Claire. Where had she been? What had she been doing? Jamie interrupted him:

           "Fergus Fraser! That's not the way to do it. It's very rude to question someone like that. If Claire wants to tell us something, she will. And if she doesn't want to tell us anything, that's her right too. And besides, we're eating. You're not giving Claire any time at all."

           The boy looked at the plate in front of him for a moment, embarrassed. He blushed to the tips of his ears. Then he looked at Claire:

           "Please excuse me, Claire."

           Claire gulped down her tea. Then she fleetingly stroked Fergus's hair:

           "Apology accepted. You know, Fergus, we'll eat in peace now and then I'll tell you about my afternoon over another cup of tea. Is that okay?"

           Fergus didn't have to answer at all. The smile that beamed all over his face was answer enough.

           And so, it happened. While Fraser cleared the table, Claire sat down with Fergus in the living room on the sofa and told him about her visit to the Museum Barberini. When she finished her little report, she noticed that Fraser was standing in the doorway, listening as well. He motioned Fergus to say goodbye to Claire and sent him up to the second floor where he was to get "ready for bed" ahead of time. Fergus slid awkwardly from the sofa to the floor, said goodbye to Claire, and sent himself off to his heavy fate with a deep sigh. Jamie glanced at Claire and fixed his eyes against the sky.

          "Don't dawdle, Fergus. I'll be right with you," he called after the boy.

           Claire had also risen and was about to make her way to her apartment.

           "Just a moment, Claire," Fraser asked. Then he grabbed a Din-A-5 envelope lying on the dining room table and handed it to her.

           "I have a little ‘thank you’ here for all your overtime."

“Brief” by  Catkin

         Claire opened the envelope and, to her amazement, held in her hands a confirmation of a vacation for two at a luxury hotel in Madeira for the period December 22, 2025, to January 3, 2026. Astonished, she looked at Jamie:

           "What's this?"

           "Well, I thought you might like to take a vacation with a friend over Christmas and New Year? You certainly deserve it."

           "So, you don't want me here over Christmas?"

           Now it was Jamie who was taken aback.

           "Maybe if you ... don't want to go ... to Madeira ... we can rebook that ... wherever you want to go."

           He was silent for a moment, then started again:

           "Claire, we can't ask you to spend your holidays with us, too ..."

           Suddenly, the CEO of "Fraser & Son International" looked a little helpless.

           "Jamie," Claire began, taking a step closer. Lowering her voice, she continued:

           "We're clear that our concern is for Fergus' well-being, right?"

           Fraser nodded.

           "For a child of Fergus' age, stable circumstances, regularities, rituals, and good experiences are very important. You've just been away for ten days. Now you're home again for a few days and then I take over again and just before Christmas it alternates again? Do you really think that's good for Fergus?"

           Claire didn't let Jamie get a word in edgewise.

           "He's really looking forward to the run-up to Christmas, and I promised him we'd do lots of crafts and baking together."

           Jamie looked at her thoughtfully.

           "Or do you want to spend Christmas alone with your son? Are you worried I'll have too much influence on him?"

           "For heaven's sake! No, Claire!"

           "Good," she said, pressing the booking forms for Madeira into his hands. "Then there's no need for this."

           Indecisively, Jamie looked at the envelope.

           "But if you need anything, free time or ..."

           "Then I'll say it, loud and clear. I have a mouth and I know how to use it."

           Jamie nodded. Then he asked:

           "Why are we whispering, anyway?"

           "Because this house has ears, little ears that grow on the head of a little boy who hides behind the dining room door and thinks we won't see him."

           Jamie wanted to turn away instantly, but Claire held him back and gave him a look that kept him from rushing to the dining room door and giving Fergus a lecture.

           "Well, Claire," Jamie then said in an exaggeratedly loud tone, "thanks for the info. I have to go see Fergus now though, I'm sure he's already showered and is waiting for me to read to him now."

           Only seconds later, they heard the floor door slam into the lock. Then tripping footsteps could be heard on the stairs.

           Jamie was about to run after him. But Claire's gaze held him back.

           "Give him a moment. He's already gotten a reprimand tonight for his investigative questions. That's enough."

           Jamie sighed.

           "If that's what you mean."

           Together they walked to the stairwell. Outside Fraser's apartment door, they said their goodbyes. Shortly after Claire got to her apartment, the app that paired the baby monitor with her smartphone popped on. She saw Fraser and Fergus sitting on the boy's bed, joking with each other. Then Fraser began reading aloud from the big book they had brought back from the museum trip to Chaff. For twenty minutes she watched and listened to the "two men." Then Fraser got up, tucked the boy in, and walked slowly to the door. Suddenly he stopped. To Claire's surprise, Jamie looked up at the wall clock that hung over the door and concealed the security camera. He smiled and winked one eye. Then Claire just heard the door close. Startled, she put the smartphone aside.

[lifeofkaze]

Caro, tell me about the best trip you’ve ever taken.

Selene, what happened on the best day of your life?

Thank you for asking and sorry for being so late, wifey 💛💙

Caro: The best trip I've ever taken has been home, obviously. No, I'm not talking about my family's manor in Yorkshire, silly. Stop with the stupid questions before you embarrass yourself, will you? I'm talking about Sweden of course. I try going back as often as I can, England just doesn't compare to the beauty of the North. You wouldn't understand if you haven't been, so don't bother trying. One especially memorable trip to Gotland would be the first time I took Bradford @kc-and-oc with me. Since our parents' arranged an engagement between us without bothering to ask us first, they figured Brady should learn about this side of our family. While I highly disapprove of these childish matchmaking methods, I have to admit Brady is a pleasant enough travel company. I felt like he truly appreciated the beauty of his place and seeing my grandmother Agatha and him matching wits was exceptionally entertaining to watch. I was a little surprised he could keep up with her, I have to say, but I'm glad he did. Grandmother is really fond of him, I believe. He made the stay even more enjoyable than usual. Don't tell him I said that.

Selene: The best day of my life has got to be my first day at Hogwarts! I never would have thought so in the beginning. I was so scared to leave my parents' home in Edinburgh because I never went anywhere without them, except for my grandparents' distillery near Inverness but I wasn't allowed to go there for some time now. They didn't tell me why, but I guess it has to do with Uncle Mortimer and his new husband. Anyway, I was scared and excited, too when they brought me to Hogsmeade. All the other students arrive by train, I'm told but my parents said going to London only to go back to Scotland was nonsense. When I was sorted into Gryffindor, I didn't quite know what to make of it, since all the other first-years seemed to have made friends on the train already and I didn't really know what to do. Who would have known that when a "Hexley, Ethel" @the-al-chemist was sorted into Gryffindor, too, and sat down next to me, I had just met the most important person in my life? She was so outgoing and funny and friendly right from the start, Effy instantly made me feel at home with her. She's like the sister I never had but always wanted to have. Without her, I'd never have realised how controlling my parents really were and how much more fun there is in making your own rules. Haha, I guess my parents wouldn't agree with me on that, the old bores.