#halfdan fluff

[axelsagewrites]

Hello. I was wondering if you can write something for Halfdan from the show Vikings? I’ll be happy with some fluff. I don’t have anything specific in mind but just a sweet Halfdan would be a nice read ♥️Thank you in advance ♥️

Halfdan*Favourite Days

Pairing: Halfdan x wife!reader

Word count: 610

Warnings: none

Masterlist Here

Halfdan was a warrior, a Viking, someone who you should fear and run from when he approaches you. however, you just smile as the Viking saunters over to where you are sat against a great oak. “My love,” you great, offering your hand out to him, pulling him to sit next to you.

You placed the flower crown you had began to make down beside you. your hand moved to rest on his head while you placed a kiss to his cheek, “Thank you beautiful,” he murmured, moving his head to rest on top of yours.

Yes, the big, powerful, brutal Viking was merely just a puppy dog when it came to you. “How have you been?” you asked to which he just grunted making you laugh.

“I do not wish to ruin your good mood with idiotic men and their talks,”

“Okay sweetie,” you laughed, “Come here,” you instructed, moving him to lay with his head on your lap. He did not fight you, instead he allowed himself to relax into your soft thighs as your hand raked through his hair.

“What have you done today?” he asked.

“Well let’s see,” you said, leaning back against the tree as you absentmindedly scratched his scalp making him groan softly, “I helped my sister with her goats this morning and she gave me some Skyr for our supper which was nice. Then I went to the market. I got some better soaps to try wash the blood from your tunic,”

“I don’t know why you try. I always dirty them,”

“I don’t know why you try to tell me not to,” you countered, “I always get my way,”

“That you do my love,” he mumbled, half considering if he should just fall asleep right here, “What else?”

“I tended a few small errands, finished sewing part of my dress, and sharpened your axe,”

“You’re too good to me,”

“I know,” you said making him smile, “Then I came out here to relax and made this,” you said, picking up the flower crown.

He rolled onto his back, squinting at the sun as he took the flowers from your hand, “Its beautiful,” he smiled, resting it on his head making you laugh, “How do I look?”

“As pretty as a flower,” you grinned, leaning down to kiss him.

You enjoyed the moment, pulling back to looking into his eyes with a soft smile. It was perfect. That was till a loud wolf whistle rang out followed by Harald’s echoing laugh, “I’ll kill him,” Halfdan growled as he sat up, the flowers falling to the ground.

“I thought you were a man! Not a baby!” His brother called from several feet away.

You put your hand on his chest to stop him chasing his brother, “Bugger off Harald!” you shouted back, “At least he has a wife,” you teased, smirking when you saw the smile fall from his face, “Don’t be a baby Harald!” you called as he began to walk away.

“You’re lucky I like you sister!” he called back, turning away as he stalked off to presumably sulk.

You looked back to your husband with a grin, “Now where were we?”

He paused as he pretended to contemplate it, “Right,” he said, his hands grabbing your waist suddenly and flipping you onto your back making you laugh, “here,” he grinned as his lips went down to pepper your face in soft kisses.

“Stop!” you laughed as his hands moved to tickle your sides, “You’re killing me!”

“Don’t be a baby,” he teased, copying your earlier taunts as he leaned down to capture your lips again. Days like this were his favourite.

Taglist Sign Up Here

General taglist: @strvngestark @headinfantasy @meg-ro @427120lxld @obx-josie18 @ravenmoore14 @tessakate @justtilly @jjkjbhj @clairacassidy @valeskafics @perla434 @justtilly @selenestar78 @urmomsgirlfriend1

@tessakate @queen-dk @fleureeee @ellabellabus07 @sashadevil766 @thefirebreather00 @ringpopdust @hypocritic-trash-baby @bellroclucky03

[queenquinzel715]

Halfdan 18+

Wrd count 3,398

Y/n p.o.v

People always told my mother that twins were a true blessing of Freya, but when one is a crippled son while the other is a normal girl, it gets more difficult. My brother Ivar was born ten minutes after me, but he deems himself my boss. Growing up I was in charge of pulling Ivar everywhere I went, which was mostly to Uncle Floki's home. He taught us everything we needed to learn on how to be Viking. Most came to fear Ivar, but when I got caught in my own hunting cabin torturing a man that was watching over Kattegat. I got the nickname Galco which means monster. So far I've never been bothered by the name, people would run away, and I'd be left alone like I like.

Over the years my brothers have allowed me to be in charge of weapons, but of course I have my shadow behind me telling where I mess up.

"You have to sharpen that end or it won't snap into place." Ivar snaps over my shoulder.

"I know Ivar I'm not finished." I try to calmly respond.

"Don't snap at me, because you're to stupid to actually build weapons properly." He rolls his eyes with his sassy voice.

"Can't build…." I slam the arrow shooter down as I turn to him. "Ivar I've been building weapons while you were going crazy crawling after Floki, so would you shut up." I walk out of the work area we have in the blacksmiths.

I was stomping my way through Kattegat, people would jump out of my way, but one man kept following me without me even noticing. The brother of King Harald Finehair, Halfdan the Black, a man that has worked with my father and eldest brother, a man I've heard so many stories of, and admired since I began my own stories. I've heard he's been asking questions about me, and since the first stories that are told are my torture stories then I'd say it's good he wants to hear more. I'm opening my cabin's windows when I see a shoulder poking from behind a tree. I quickly grab my bow and arrow, shooting the tree in warning, and to my shock Halfdan jumps from behind with his hand up with a sly smirk on his face. I watch his every step as he walks across the field getting closer to the window.

"Why are you here?" I ask imitately.

"I heard of this cabin, and saw you coming out here. I thought I would get a look at your weapons." He seems to be speaking truthfully.

"Behind a tree?" I smirk at him as I lean on the window.

He seems to stagger a bit, but when I point to the door he walks inside. He eyes all the weapons I have hanging on the walls, but stops at my baskets of snakes.

"I tend to collect different snakes I see on my walks." I honestly tell him.

We get comfortable talking about the different weapons I have made or in the middle of making. He helps me finish the arrow shooter and advance another weapon I had. We tell stories as we work, mostly raiding stories, his England times, and I give him my details of my nickname sake. The way we move together is like we've been with each other for years. Once the sun starts to set I roast some meat and potatoes as we sit on the palette I have made of blankets and pillows.

"I still don't understand why Galco is your name. Why would a mother name a gorgeous girl like that?" He waves around the bone he has in his hand.

"My name is (y/n) Halfdan." I laugh. "People just call me that since I started torturing people." I take the plates away as I laugh.

"(Y/n) is much better." He compliments, standing up. "I'd much rather call you that." He's standing against my back now.

"Halfdan, you know my brothers will kill you if you continue to try this." I informed him.

"Love, do you think.." he runs his hands on my waist to connect them on my stomach. "I care about your brothers when I have a goddess like you in front of me." He softly kisses my shoulder, causing me to lean my head back. "I want you as mine (y/n)." He whispers to me as he moves his hands along my body. "I need someone who thinks like I do, who can handle my ways." He turns me around to face him.

"Halfdan, I take words seriously. If this happens then you are mine." I grab his arms so I can lean into him.

He deeply kisses me while he pulls me against his chest, and all I could do was move my hands to hold onto the back of his shoulders. Everything moves so fast as he pulls my dress off to me pulling his clothes apart. He slowly lays me onto the palette with a hand behind my head, and his arm around my waist. His lips move around my neck, shoulder, down my chest, and once to my breast he licks my nipple in circles. I hold onto the back of his head not really feeling anything in my body other than heat, and shaking.

"Halfdan please." I moan out as he kisses down.

His head goes in between my legs using his shoulders to keep them out of his way. I've never had a man do this to me before, and I'm angry at every man I've been with for not doing this amazing thing. I couldn't stop moaning his name loud, and having my back shoot up into an arch. He keeps moving his tongue around, but he adds his finger into me. With his finger curling up, his tongue circling around I tighten my legs around his head and cum so hard making him groan as he gets everything. As he stands on his knees he wipes his mouth, but his eyes stop me. They were almost black with a primal look, like he was claiming me completely just for him. I let my legs rest on his hips as he leans over me with his hard cock slowly entering making me gasp, but he kisses me as he bottoms out. I hold the back of his head with one hand, his side with the other as he starts moving. He rests his forehead against mine with a groan while I moan out. He grips my hip as he goes harder.

"Halfdan!" I yell from the stretch I've never felt.

"Mine" He groans, his head falling into my neck.

He starts pounding away like he lost all self power, and is letting everything go. I can't even begin to think of how good he feels from the non stop cumming. He lifts my legs higher to his shoulders making him go so much deeper than before. He's holding onto my hips using them to help him pound into me. My body arches as I let out a loud moan, but as I feel my body shake he groans loud.

"Fuck!" Halfdan finishes deep inside me with a tight grip on my hips.

He lets my legs fall as he slowly pulls out of me causing a surprise gasp to leave my mouth. He gives me a smirk as he leans back down to kiss me, and lay down next to me. I'm so relaxed my eyes won't open, and his body is so warm I don't want to move.

-Next Morning-

"Love, I have to get going." I'm woken up by Halfdan whispering into my ear.

"Then leave, why must I get up." I smirk at him.

He rolls his eyes before kissing me, rolling over me as his hands cage me to the pallet. He kisses around my face, neck, and down to my chest. He gives me a soft smirk as he stands.

"You have to get up, because I know your brothers will be looking for you if you aren't at breakfast." He holds his hand out to me.

"Ugh. I wish they'd let me be." I grumble as he helps me stand, but pulls me to his chest.

My naked body against his clothed body just makes him feel so much warmer than mine. He holds me by my lower back.

"I could always just take you with me. You'd be left alone… for the most part." He grabs me tighter causing me to laugh.

He gives me a last hug before leaving. I smile to myself as I lift my dress from the floor, but I almost lose my heart when an angry Ivar comes crutching his way into my cabin.

"Halfdan?! Have you…no no I know you've lost your mind!'' He yells pointing at his finger in my face.

"Ivar I'm a grown woman I don't need your approval. Now leave so I can get dressed in peace." I move to the small wall I have off to the side.

"Grown woman who's stupid enough to pick a man that won't actually care for you." He leaves once he realizes I'm not going to respond.

Not long after I'm about to reach the great hall when a body is thrown from the doors. Ubbe, Ivar, and Sigurd are glaring at the slowly moving body.

"You can beat me all you want, but (y/n) do as she wishes." I hear Halfdan tell my angry brothers.

"Well let's ask her ourselves." Hvitserk decides now to come outside, making everyone turn to me.

I can't move. I just look at my family, and then to the man I've actually felt normal with even before yesterday. He would always made me feel like a normal girl that liked a man. My brothers eye me like I'm some villain. Ivar shakes his head at me, because he knows what I'm going to do. He just doesn't know where. I give Halfdan one last look before bolting away from the great hall to the stables. I mount my horse, and push my poor girl as fast as she can until I reach the past the small river. I dismount to guide her into the water, going up the river, and getting out at the waterfall. I then ride my horse only a few miles til my father's cabin comes into view. This is the cabin he stayed in while he went into hiding. He only told me about this cabin, and I only come here for my moons.

It's only three days until we leave early for England. I'm glad I keep supplies up here. I know this seems cowardly, and Halfdan probably feels betrayed by me just leaving him there beaten up. I don't even understand why I ran. I just can't believe everything just flipped over night. One night my brothers, except Ivar, would eye me like I'm an angry dog that's one movement away from attacking, but now I'm their fragile little sister.

-Three days later-

I ride slowly into Kattegat with my head high as people point, and whisper about me, gods only know about what this time. I give my horse to the stable boy, and walk into the great hall as everyone is giving one last cheers to the gods for safe travels. I speak to no one as we load the boats, and set sail. I do keep looking over to King Finehair's boat to see Halfdan look over from time to time. I wish I actually talked to him, but I know he wouldn't want to speak with me.

As we get to England we start to build camp immediately. I'm helping with my tent as I looked over to see Halfdan move trunks of weapons to tents. I roll my eyes at my little girl act, and get to work. That night I swear I hear walking near my tent opening.

As I wake up, and get ready I find a new piece of armor that goes over my shoulders on the ground. I quickly strap them on as I walk to the front of lines with my brothers. Ubbe hugs me like always, giving me a quick nod, Hvitserk smirks at me from his spot, Sigurd touches axes with me, and as I step to Ivar's horse wagon he rolls his eyes at me.

"Don't die with those off-made weapons." He says as he ties his gloves.

"Don't worry I'll be close to protect you little brother." I laugh as he snaps his head to me.

"Ten minutes you awful…" He grumbles to himself. Cursing the Gods for giving him a twin.

Northumbria is an English kingdom my father spoke highly about, and since King Aelle is the one who killed our father we thought it'd be better to kill him first. The closer we march the faster my heart pounds the more I want to run ahead. The moment my axe makes contact with the Saxon's sword I get hit with my childhood of my father teaching me. The faces my father would make at my strength, at the precise strikes I'd make. I catch myself laughing at certain points in battle, and then laugh harder at myself.

Everything seems to stop once I hear my Viking family cheer I'm victory. I smile around catching my breath, but I'm spun around. Halfdan pulls me into a Saxon home, throwing everything on the ground, and putting me on the table. I grab hold of the table as he rips every strap in his way until he can finally push himself inside of me making me moan loud. I could only hold onto the table as Halfdan grip my hips in a bruising grip.

"You are mine." He grunts in my ear. "Think you can run from me, and act like I'm not here." He pulls out of me to quickly turn me around.

He enters me roughly again making the table scratch against the floor. He grips the ends of my hair to pull me up to have him bite my neck.

"HALFDAN!" I scream out as I shake against his body.

"What is it, love?" He mocks.

I keep moaning out as he grips my body in rough, tight grips. I can't gather any part of myself, but when he deeply groans with a final push so deep I get a sharp amazing feeling as he finishes inside me. He leans against me as we take deep breaths, and just cling to each other.

"I'm sorry I ran. I got scared with everyone looking at me." I tell him honestly.

"I know. I was going to wait until later, but I know your family's plans. I couldn't wait." We laugh at his last statement.

(Actual detail blood eagle)

He helps me tie everything in place in time for my brother's to collect King Aelle. My brothers Ubbe and Hvitserk tie him up as Ivar and I sharpen the tools we will use. Sigurd takes the first as Bjorn opens the great King open for me to crack his rib off. Ivar completes the rest, so Hvitserk can raise his arms to spread open more. We left him on the spot they dropped our father. We are joking like old times as we ride back to town where we set our new camp.

"So you and Halfdan?" Bjorn asks.

"Yea (y/n) him of all people." Hvitserk mocks.

"I don't think I could ever explain to you how I feel or how things are. However the Gods gave me a strong man, and I'm not going to question it." I laugh as we get to camp, and I go to my tent to bathe.

I have some of the girls help me with the water as I try to get as much of the blood off as I can before getting into the tub. I use some of the oils I found, and groan from the hot water. I can actually feel the knots untie along my back, some of the scars I have sting a little. My mind races from how battle went, what is to come, but I'm stopped with thoughts of Halfdan. I feel the water start cool, so I get out. As I wrap a linen around me Halfdan sneaks his way inside, making me stop in motion. He stops once he gets a look at me, and just falls to his knees.

"Goddess." He grumbles looking from my feet up to my eyes.

"Halfdan, get up." I laugh, but I'm stopped when he grabs the linen.

"I can't believe you are mine." He moves the linen over me to dry me off.

He helps me dry my whole body leaving soft kisses from my ankles as he rises to leave a long kiss on my lips. I smile at him, but when we hear my maids coming he tells me he'll see me at the celebration before running out.

I smile to myself as I walk into the celebration dinner in the town center. I'm about to sit next to Ubbe at the table when I hear Sigurd tormenting Ivar again, but something makes me snap my head at Ivar. He quickly grabs his axe, and throws it at Sigurd. I somehow grab it before it hits Sigurd. Everyone is quiet until Ivar crawls away with a shocked look on his face.

"Sigurd, I swear you never stop you torment. Next time I'll let him kill you if you don't learn to keep your mouth shut." I tell throwing the axe on the table.

He stands with a scowl as he steps closer.

"You're just defending him, because you know I'm right. No one, but other cares for him." That did it.

"Step back." I warn.

He comes closer with his hands reaching for his sword, but I stop him by putting Ivar's axe to his throat. Ubbe stands, but I give him one look making him sit back down with his eyes on his plate. I slowly feel a warm hand slide around my waist, and the other grab my wrist.

"Breath, love. He is your brother." Halfdan whispers to me as he takes the axe from my hand.

He slowly moves me from my brother's tables, and puts me in between him and King Finehair. I glare at Sigurd as Halfdan places a plate of food in front of me.

The rest of our time in England Sigurd stays away from me even though he and Ivar have made up. I will not tolerate him disrespecting me like he thinks he can with Ivar. I catch myself glaring at him as I help Halfdan pack up.

3rd pov

Ubbe watches his sister grow more and more dark toward Sigurd as he keeps being Sigurd. Even at her wedding to Halfdan. She doesn't even acknowledge her brother, Sigurd as he makes jokes on her life. She just whispers to Ivar, Halfdan, and her new King brother in law. It wasn't until (y/n) became pregnant that Ubbe understood what they whispered about. As (y/n) told her brothers of her new gift from the Gods Sigurd tried attacking her in her sleep the night before she was supposed to leave Kattegat to go to her new home in Norway. Ivar was waiting in her room to protect her, and (y/n) and Ivar killed Sigurd.

(Y/n) gives birth to two boys of perfect health, naming them Eirk and Egil. Once she is back raiding Ivar is king of Kattegat and tries to set up an attack on her, and her husband while they are planning to raid England with him. She ends up killing Ivar late at night, becoming Queen of Kattegat. Only to give birth shortly after to a girl, named Helga. She ends up giving Kattegat to Bjorn, so she can go home to Norway. Over time King Harald gives his kingdom to Halfdan when he gets too old, and still doesn't have sons. She dies with her pet owl watching over her howling as she goes to Valhalla to see her husband who died in the battle of Norway to keep our land from the Irish.

Fin

[ryuzakemo128]

Food for the heart and soul - Vikings Drabble

Genre: Fluff/ Angst

Pairing: Halfdan the Black x Freyja Raengyreon [Female Reader]

Content Warning: Possible themes of angst, heart melting fluff and mention of death.

Freyja's cooking was as chaotic as it was beautiful to watch. She insisted that she did it because it was a way of expressing her creativity and individuality. She also said that her father had taught her the importance of knowing what you put into your body, and that cooking was a way of ensuring that she took care of herself and her loved ones. And to make treats that tasted like home.

Halfdan watched her as she moved around the kitchen, humming to herself as she cooked and the reason she had him get the brie cheese became rather clear to him. Although at the time it was rather amusing, now he was quite curious as to why she was so interested in it. He'd never been one to really think much of food beyond the fact that it filled him up and gave him the energy to keep moving. But then again, he'd never been around anyone like Freyja before.

"Food is meant to taste good, give you more than just energy and enough to keep you alive," Freyja said, "I have a contact that gives me a small wheel every week, along with two other types of cheese along with it, just to try. He's a very loyal friend." She paused, giving Halfdan a sidelong glance before she added, "You should try it sometime. It's not just about the taste, but about the experience of enjoying it. You can really appreciate the difference."

He replied, "I'm not sure if I understand. You're saying that food can be more than just something we eat to survive?" She nodded, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "But why?" he asked, genuinely confused. "It's not like it's going to change anything about who we are or what we do."

"It will make it far more worthwhile, enjoyable and at the very least pleasant." Freyja answered with a small smile. "I went to Frankia, I had all sorts of things there, but Brie cheese stood out to me the most during my time there, my father also taught me it was important to know how to stay healthy and still eat well, just because we're Vikings, doesn't mean we can't enjoy what we eat."

From that day forward, she wanted to cook for him more often. He was never one to turn down her food, and after tasting the Brie cheese, he found himself enjoying it more than he thought he would. He began to see the world through her eyes, appreciating the little things in life that made it worth living.

At the end of each night, she would say, 'I love you and get back safely,' Despite never living together as a normal couple, they had become quite close. Halfdan found himself looking forward to the times he spent with her, and he couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to have a real home with her, filled with her cooking and the warmth of her presence.

Perhaps one they would or at least they would have in another life, had he not died that day. Had he not died on that battlefield. He would be with her one way or another. Even if it wasn't going to be then. It most certainly would in another lifetime.

[gulnarsultan]

Can I request something for Halfdan the Black from Vikings 🥰🥰🥰Anything that represents him in a jealous possessive light towards reader( but maybe ends with a bit of fluff explaining why he is so obsessed with her). Thank you in advance if you decide to read about him ❤️❤️❤️Sending hugs 🥰

Hello darling. I hope you like it.

"Scenario"

Halfdan was not a very talkative and good at talking man. Halfdan did not dare to speak, especially when it came to the reader. But he was better at doing things rather than talking. Halfdan was truly a man of action. He was always following the reader like a guard dog. He did not allow other men to approach the reader. He carried out actions such as carrying the reader's belongings and other things, giving the reader a place and paying for his needs without any interruption. Halfdan's protective behavior always infuriated his readers. One day the reader couldn't take it anymore.

"Half is enough. Why are you scaring my friends away?"

"They want to be with you. They want to steal you from me."

"You talk like I'm your girlfriend."

"I love you so much. And I want you to be my wife."

The reader is surprised by what he hears.

"That's why you were treating me like this?"

"Yes."

The reader chuckles as Halfdan approaches. She pats you on the shoulder.

"Be more direct next time. Let's go drink."

As the reader walks ahead, Halfdan happily follows.

[ktsumu]

three ticks and i’m home.

pairing: dainsleif x fem!reader, 4.2k words

summary: gods are never innocent; neither are godless men.

(or: a timeline of dainsleif's grief through the life of his broken watch, one that ticks backwards and the one you fixed, first.)

note: someone tell me to stop reading his lore and i will. beware for plot holes because genshin is nuts. crossposted to ao3 also!

content: major character death, destruction, angst, talk of children, you're a clocksmith, angst with like a sprinkle of fluff in one scene, a lot of worldbuilding regarding khaenri'ah + the cataclysm

Five years before.

Dainsleif is a serious guy.

He needs to be — it’s a must-have quality for a Commander. He smiles at children that look up to him, doesn’t leave bars with women who want to. His schedule is so tight that some say it wears a corset, or at least his friends do. He takes his job with the pride of a boy who grew up watching the soldiers march, a boy who now leads them.

Dainsleif runs a tight schedule.

That is, until his watch breaks, and disorder comes soon after.

He complains in the bunks for twenty minutes that night about the chaos his time regulates until one of his friends recommends an old friend, a clocksmith in the heart of the city. 

( “Get a digital one while you’re there. That thing’s ancient.”

“People are allowed to like old things, Halfdan.”

“Not things that break like that.” )

Dainsleif visits you the next day, setting the metal watch on your counter with his arms crossed. His brows tug together and his expression is more wary than it is expectant.

“Can you fix it?” he asks.

You look it over, rubbing your thumb over rust. “Who’s it from?”

“Can you fix it?”

You set the watch back down, looking back up at him with a little grin.

“For a price, Commander.”

Dainsleif swallows, rolling his shoulders back and digging out his wallet.

It takes you four hours to fix his ancient watch, and you even get the rust off of the band for him. You clasp it back around his wrist and tell him to get back to work when he tries to thank you, standing around for way too long. When he leaves, you set aside and refund his money.

15 years since the Cataclysm

“What do you mean you can’t fix it?”

“They call us horologists, sir. Not magicians.”

Dainsleif huffs, leaning on the counter and shaking his head. “My friend recommended you,” he says, pleads. “He said you can fix anything. Even this. Did you try?”

“I—”

“Try.”

The watchmaker tilts his head, an unsure look on his face. Dainslef’s shoulders fall. “Please,” he whispers. “Try.”

The man purses his lips, sighing, and extends a hand. His fingers wriggle.

“For a price.”

Dainsleif takes out his wallet and pays him double what he paid you — the watch takes four days to fix, and he doesn’t remove the rust. Dainsleif collects it with haste.

“Sorry, couldn’t change the time,” he tells his client. “That thing will always run backwards.”

Dainsleif nods. “Oh.”

Four.

Your favourite day is Sunday.

Dainsleif allows himself one day to relax, one day that he’s mandated, and what day other than a day reserved for a god you never had would be a better fit? On Sundays, you stay in bed, under your linen sheets and against his chest. Neither of you move until absolutely necessary; sometimes hours, sometimes less.

“Breakfast soon?” he asks. 

“I thought maybe a little while longer.”

“That’s fine.”

“Ugh, I love it when you agree with me,” you tease, giggling when he scoffs. He agrees with you most of the time; you’re reasonable people. 

Dainsleif sighs, humming when you curl further into his side. He's a serious guy, but that doesn’t count on Sundays. Not during your beautiful, godless mornings. He raises an eyebrow at the vase on your dresser, “Those are new.”

“Hm?”

“Inteyvats,” he comments, “the flowers.”

“Is it so wrong of me to show some nationalism, Dain?”

He grins, shaking his head as you laugh. You laugh and it shakes your shoulders. You laugh and it shakes his chest. 

“I just didn’t know you liked them,” he says, “that’s all.”

You settle, humming against the cotton of his shirt. “I love them.”

“Do you?”

“Yeah,” you nod. “Maybe someday, we’ll have someone to use their name.”

He thinks for a moment, “A daughter?”

You tilt your head back so you can see him, to the point where it aches to hold yourself up like that. “Would that be so bad?”

Dainsleif thinks for a moment — you and a daughter. “No,” he says, “not at all.”

“That’s down the road, anyway,” you laugh. “You know what isn’t?”

“What?”

“Our anniversary,” you say, pressing a kiss to his jaw. “How do you want to celebrate it?”

Dainsleif thinks about your one year anniversary, lying in bed with you on a Sunday, talking about a family and the flower you’ll start it with. He thinks about how content he would be if you did nothing at all but this; lie against his side and kiss his jaw, talk about the daughter he hopes will look just like you. He doesn’t think he could ask for anything more.

“This is okay.”

“Mm, alright,” you say, your smile against his collarbone. “I love you.”

Dainsleif tilts his head so you can stay where you are. “I love you," he echoes, "I love how you speak our language.”

“Oh? What’s so special about it?”

He smiles to himself.

“Tell me you love me again.”

Fifty years since

The watch breaks again on what would’ve been your seventy-fifth birthday.

The smith Dainsleif found this time looks over the stuttering clock hands, the numbers written in something unintelligible to him. He tosses it in his hand, a curious look on his face. “Old watch, no?”

“Very. Could you restore it?”

“By ‘restore’ you mean…”

“Fix it to tell time,” he clarifies. “And to still tick backwards.”

The clocksmith looks up with curious eyes, one of his eyebrows quirking up. “You want me to fix it ... to be broken?”

“If you can.” 

He hesitates. “I’ll do my best.”

Dainsleif lets him swivel around in his chair, flicking a light on over his desk as he hunches over. The shop he operates out of is personal, messy — never Dainsleif’s style, but he can admit it is quaint. Quilts and sewn tapestries line the walls, textbooks from the Akademiya line a bookcase filled with papers; a frame hangs on the wall.

A painting of a flower; inteyvat.

“Excuse me,” Dainsleif coughs, “I can’t help but notice your painting.”

“Hm? Oh, the flower.”

“Yes — you know where it’s from?”

The smith hums a laugh, nodding. “Khaenri’ah hasn’t been gone long enough to forget it.”

Dainsleif swallows. “I was just surprised to see it, is all.”

“Most are,” he replies, his eyes not leaving the watch he works on. He rummages through his drawer for tweezers. “It was a gift for my daughter.”

“Your daughter?”

“Yes,” he replies, happily. “We named her after them.”

Dainsleif takes a deep breath.

Three.

When Dainsleif comes home from his shift, you’re sitting at the table with your chin resting in your hands.

“Good evening,” he greets, shrugging off his jacket and kicking off his boots. He doesn’t seem to notice that you don’t reply in the twenty or so seconds it takes to writhe out of his uniform, or that you don’t bother to even look in his direction at all. The only time he realizes that something in the room has shifted is when you move away from his kiss. “Hello?”

You grit your teeth.

Dainsleif crosses his arms, slowly rounding the table to face you from across it. “What is it?”

You look up at him, finally. “Where’s my blueprint, Dain?”

He blinks. “I — your what?”

“Don’t act dumb,” you say with a pointed finger, your head shaking. Your body might as well be, too. “My analog blueprints, digital ones — they’re all gone and guess who is the only one I trusted enough to tell?”

He opens his mouth, closes it. “It wasn’t me,”

“Who else was it, then?” you shout, standing up to try and match his height. “Who? Tell me, Dainsleif, who else could it have been?”

He swallows, pulling one of your dining table chairs out. It squeals against the floor like it hates him just as much as you do. “Sit, please.”

“You know what I think, Dain?”

“Sit down, please.”

“I think you stole them for the factories you Guards don’t tell anyone about,” you whisper, “the metal soldiers you make.”

“They’re field tillers,”

“Field tillers don’t have missiles in their chest,” you spit. The air thickens as you shake your head.

He gestures to the seat you once sat in, but you don’t bite. Not that easily, not ever.

“Lie to me again and I’m gone for good.”

Dainsleif swallows again, folding his hands and looking down at them. You’re scorned and he’s holding the heat; there is no explanation he can offer that makes this look any bit okay to either of you. He’s dug his grave — now, he lies in it, shovel at his side.

“Tell me,” you plead, “tell me what you’re making an army for.”

Dainsleif shakes his head.

“Gods don’t like godless men,” he says, so low you hardly hear him. So simple, like he's being reasonable.

You shake your own. “Godless men don’t even like themselves.”

His eyes meet yours.

“I want my designs back,” you tell him, more desperate than you let on. “Every page, every scribble, everything. And I don’t want anything made with them.”

Dainsleif takes a deep breath, his eyes averting themselves back down to the table. He doesn’t need to see your face anymore — not when he knows you’ll hate him once he tells you.

“You can’t.”

“You—”

“I can’t,” he says. “It’s too late.”

150 years since

“Wow, this watch is beat.”

“It is — can you fix it?”

This one is in Fontaine, the clocksmith is — she’s eclectic, a little disorganized like you were, with a scary love for crushed velvet by the look of her shop. There’s metal dust everywhere and things that don’t belong to clocks or watches, but someone swore up and down she knows her stuff. Knows it well, too. 

She looks back up at Dainsleif with a wink. “Got Mora?”

He tosses a pouch on the counter. “Anything you need.”

He doesn’t bother watching what she takes from it, instead opting to turn and watch the bustling streets outside. He’s fond of Fontaine, it’s full of life and running water — every shop is full from wall to wall.

The girl he’s trusting to fix his watch is trying to speak to him, but he’s not listening; all he can see is the eye of a Ruin Guard that hangs in the window of a pawn shop across the street; marked down to half value, less if you trade-in for credit. Dainsleif thinks about the lives those parts were worth almost two centuries ago. 

No one in Khaenri’ah was ever worth just a couple hundred coins. 

Two.

Taverns in Khaenri’ah have so many songs that they fill walls with the lyrics.

They are loud and they are lively — you know something’s wrong when you catch one quiet and half-empty. The windows all made of stained glass, rustic to contrast the world around them; taverns in Khaenri’ah are like a world of their own. In them, people dance like such.

You dance that way, yourself. Not with him, but it’s nice to watch you spin again.

Dainsleif watches you clutch someone’s shoulder; he doesn’t know who he is but he’s wearing his uniform, someone he leads. He thinks he remembers you saying that you made an exception for him — you don’t date ‘snobs from the Royal Guard.’

(Dainsleif has hope that, maybe, you still remember your pact and, maybe, you try to keep it now.)

The wooden floors groan beneath stomping feet and gliding boots, the room a whirlwind of exhausted workers and the select few from the Guard that deem little places like this worthy of their presence. 

He catches your eye for a second, only one, but your smile fades quick enough for your dancing partner to whisk you around again. A blur of your dress, and then, you’re grinning again.

Halfdan sets a drink down on the bar in front of him, kicking out the stool beside Dainsleif and sitting down. He follows his commander’s eyes and they land on you; they typically do on Friday nights.

“It’s alright,” Halfdan says, with a heavy-handed pat on his back. “Everyone has the one that got away.”

Dainsleif shakes his head, you laugh against his knight’s chest. “It’s different.”

“How so?”

“It does not matter, now, does it?”

“Mm, and yet, you’re still watching her.”

Dainsleif sips on the drink that was brought to him, turning to face the bar instead. Halfdan purses his lips, drumming his fingers on the table.

“You know,” Halfdan says, “I worry about the … field tillers.”

Dainsleif nods. “They’ll work.”

“Godless doesn’t mean we need to create our own, Captain,”

“You don’t know the things that I do,” Dainsleif cuts, harsh but not mean. “All of this has been discussed before. Let us make the orders, Halfdan, let yourself follow them.”

Halfdan hesitates.

“Captain Dainsleif,”

“Halfdan.”

“I apologize for overstepping,” he says, “but I’m just afraid of what will happen to us.”

Dainsleif rolls his shoulders back, nodding subtly. He clinks the bottom of his glass against the table.

“I am too,” he replies, tilting his head back and his glass up.

When he sets his glass back down, swallowing with a wince, he turns around. You’re the only one still on the floor, and you’re looking right at him.

500 years since

Dainsleif has spent his life figuring out where to drink. He finds that Mondstadt is the best place to.

The taverns there are quiet enough, and he isn’t bothered by anyone — they’re less lively than the ones way back when. It's a blessing that he isn’t haunted by the laughter, and a curse that he forgets what it sounds like. The tap beer is good, too. Mondstadt only serves you in bottles or chilled glasses.

But Dainsleif knows that no good comes after two in the morning, and nothing good comes from watching the Knights of Favonius pour in. 

(It’s a little too familiar; he’s watching his bloodied soldiers laugh and topple to the bar.)

Dainsleif leaves enough Mora to cover his tab and tip, and bolts for the door.

He makes a beeline through the center, cutting the body of the bar in two as these faces he recognizes comment on his attire. He knows he looks like a fish out of water, he feels like a fish out of water. Five hundred years spent in this place and he still feels hated — he’s sure the next five centuries won’t change.

He knocks shoulders with someone near the door: “Woah there, pretty small hallway this must be, huh?”

He’s about to apologize, too, maybe count it as his crooked form of atonement, until he looks the guy he hit in the eye. Yes, eye — there's only one showing. The other hides beneath an eye patch.

He’s looking at him, but somehow, he’s now looking at you.

He’s lost in them, his eyes, and this new guy seems to notice — judging by the way he’s dressed, Dain guesses he’s a captain. He clears his throat.

“I know you’re heading out, but maybe another drink wouldn’t hurt?”

Dainsleif panics, because now he’s trapped. He doesn’t see you until he sleeps — not until he’s locked in bed somewhere, until it doesn’t matter what he says because no one else is there to listen but you and him. He can’t see you here, and he can’t see him.

“Sorry, but I’m afraid that I'm in a rush. I apologize for hitting you.”

(He doesn’t get very far.)

The man takes his wrist, making him turn around. 

“Please?” he asks, but it’s not really begging. More like a proposition, probably. “I’m not sure how to say that in Khaenri’ahn.”

Dainsleif lets out a breath.

One.

It is your old day, Sunday , when Dainsleif enters your shop again, the broken watch on his wrist thrumming against his pulse point with every jerk of its hands.

The bell rings above your door and he’s almost surprised the door isn’t locked — he remembers unlocking it for you after he had to go, way back when. Kissing you goodbye, apologizing for holding up your business. You aren’t far, either; you come out with a smile that fades quicker than he likes to admit.

“Hi.”

“Hello,” he says, all too formal. He winces, almost. “Uh, it's broken again.”

“Of course it did. It’s ancient.”

He just sighs a laugh, nodding, undoing it from his wrist, from beneath his sleeve. “Yes, it is. Do you think you can fix it again?”

You glance between him and the watch. Him, and the watch. “Let me see it.”

“Of course,”

“Okay.”

You examine it with delicate fingers, screwing off the back of the body with a small driver, squinting at its insides. Dainsleif watches you.

“Dain, this thing isn’t gonna last long.”

“I don’t mind. I can pay double.”

“Why do you like this watch so much?” you laugh, dropping it on the counter and crossing your arms. “I mean, they don’t pay you enough for a digital?”

Dainsleif shakes his head. “I like this one.” He coughs. “You fixed it, first.”

“Yeah, and I’m shocked it still works.”

“You craft well.”

The two of you don’t speak for a moment; you dwell on the watch, its body pulled apart on the table. Your fingers pull at your threading jeans, and Dainsleif must see you mutilating your pants because he leans on the counter, lowers himself to you.

He lets you look at him for a moment. “What is it?”

“Nothing,”

“What is it?” he asks again, like it isn’t the second time.

You take a deep breath, tilting your head up.

“I’m sorry about your designs. Every day.” He shakes his head, looking in behind you. Your desk is still full of paper. “I will reap what I sow, and that’s the only comfort I can give you.”

“I know.” “I’m sorry. Endlessly, I am.”

You huff. “I’ve had better things since. It’s not what bugs me, Dain.”

“What is it, then, my dear?”

Your tongue pushes against your cheek, regretful hands reaching out to grip his own. It’s like you know you’re doing yourself no favours, but you’ve always been a masochist.

“Are we going to be okay?” you ask. “Not us. This place.”

He can tell you’ve been sitting with this thought alone, he’s just not sure how long. Since you brought up the field tillers? Since his last expedition? When was he last here, he’s not entirely sure.

His thumb wipes over your knuckles. He doesn’t tell you whether you’re going to be okay.

“I will protect you,” he whispers, “even in my dying breath.”

The second time he meets the Traveller is when they ask him.

“What happened to Khaenri’ah?”

ZERO.

There is little you can see in smoke and ash. What Dainsleif can see, it is blurry and most likely dead.

(He doesn’t want to think about what happens to those who live — simply surviving is not enough, they’ll seek retribution in the living, too.)

He feels guilty for saying it, but he was glad when the castle fell — relinquished of his sworn duty, free to run to where your shop lives. It came down in a blow of fire, the castle did; more than just four mighty walls, built of minerals made to last. He’s afraid to think of what happens to simpler stones.

(He runs like you stand a chance.)

He’s running in the opposite direction of other people — hell, he’s directing them out of there. Whatever is behind them is a lost cause, for him it’s a little hope. The havoc being brought down on this place is proof that they’re not allowed to have hope, but he promises it’ll be his last bit. He’s assuming they can hear him when he prays for it.

The windows of your shop are blown out. He ignores the sound of crunching glass because you’re screaming his name.

(You stop when you see him, swallowing it. He drops to his knees and says you’re allowed to yell, even when he’s there.)

“Dain,”

“Just breathe, hold on,” he breathes, chest pumping as he starts to heave the rubble off of you, the thick pillars that bar you from moving. He lifts one, another falls down. He lifts that one, and another, and another.

“Dainsleif.”

He’s still heaving, grunting now. Sweat lines his forehead and he’s coughing up soot he smelt ages ago.

“Dain,”

He’s crying.

“Dainsleif,” you spit, grabbing his wrist. You shake your head. “You’re hurting me.”

“I have to get you out,”

“To where?” you whisper, voice shaking. “Where are we going to go?”

Dainsleif doesn’t cry intentionally. His eyes are so wet that he can’t see clearly and they’re cleaning off his cheeks, but if tears were invisible you would never be able to tell.

You shake your head. “I’m not going to die in the street.”

“Don’t be so blunt, dear, please.”

“There is no other way to p-put it,” you say with a shiver, swallowing the hurt that threatens to spill out between your teeth; you smile instead. You feel weak already, even weaker in front of a commander. “Don’t cry about it,"

“I can’t stop it,” he chokes out, shaking his head. He cradles your head in his lap, brushes back your hair until his fingers get caught in knots. “There is nothing I can do.”

The weight of your life, his world, is in his lap, and he thinks about tomorrow. One, or both of you, will be dead, and yet that weight will still be there.

“There’s no one but the gods that could stop this, Dain,”

“I—”

“I love you,” you gasp, “I forgive you. I love you.”

“No.”

“Say it back, you stubborn, stubborn man,” you grit. 

(Dainsleif keels over you, and he says it back. He repeats it until he feels your grip on him loosen, until your head lulls the other way. He repeats it until he feels sick and out of breath, because he knows he will never say it again. He repeats it until he's about to gag.)

He remains in your shop for the next few hours, unmoving, leaned up against the front desk that amazingly still stands. He’s holding your hand.

Dainsleif waits for something. Probably a sentence, to death or otherwise. He waits here for a chance for the roof to cave in, or to be struck down by someone that finds him. He hopes the gods get to him. He hopes this shop still stands if they pry him out of it. He hopes they call him Atlas and tell him to hold it up.

“This watch is never gonna work.”

Dainsleif blinks at the man across the counter, who looks at him with raised eyebrows — probably in shock that he even thought it was fixable — and a condescending frown. “You are sure?”

“Dude, this wasn’t supposed to work the last time you had it fixed. This looks like it’s centuries old.”

“It…”

Is. He doesn’t finish that.

“It’s an heirloom,” he says instead. “It's impossible, then?”

“Uh, yeah. I’m pretty good at what I do, but this is … miracle talk. This should have been up-cycled three hundred years ago.”

“I see.”

The two men stand in silence for a moment, and the clocksmith brings a hand down on the watch.

When he strikes it, he knocks the last bits of air out of its lungs; the watch ticks a final one, two, three times, and Dainsleif hears laughter to his left.

He turns, and there you are.

You’re sitting on a bench, alive, breathing. You’re holding a popsicle and leaning back like you don’t have a care in the world. 

Dainsleif thinks of all the things you can say to him. That you blame him, that you love him, that you hate what he did. That you wish he could save everyone, that you wish he could’ve maybe saved you. That you’re thankful you died and never had to live as a curse. That you think of him, too.

(You don’t do any of that.) 

Instead, you smile, close-lipped and gentle. And you wave.

The watch stops after the third tick. He loses you in a blink for one second, and you’re gone.

“Can you hit it again?”

“When I tell you that was its last life, I really mean it. I’d guess it had ten of them.”

He swallows, nodding, staring down at his broken watch. He’ll never see you again, hear it tick three times and go back to your bed on Sunday, hear it tick three times and listen to you say you love him in his native tongue. He’ll never go home, but he’s glad he saw you one more time.

He’ll never go home, but he’s glad he saw it one more time. 

“So? You gonna try and bargain, or…?”

Dainsleif is staring at the bench you were just in; his fingers itch for it. If he has to spend the next lifetime looking at that bench, he’s going to do it alone, and he’s going to learn how to do it without you.

You deserve to rest — he was the one cursed to live forever, not you. You did not die in vain.

He turns back to the clocksmith, who honestly looks pretty bored of him by now.

“Can I sell the parts?”

[author-morgan]

i see your requests are open!! can you do something sweet with Harald? (and Halfdan if you’re comfortable with polyamory!)

Of courseeeee. Here is some Harald fluff (with a pinch of bittersweetness and angst). I was going to have this be polyamorous (bc those two come as a pair more often than naught in my fics lbr lol), but once I got started it just turned into something more Harald-centric. Hope you don't mind! (I went a little overboard for him again) Harald Finehair x fem!Reader

HALFDAN THE BLACK is the first to enter Tamdrup’s great hall upon returning from a successful raiding season. The doors swing open wide, and those gathered for the tribunal part, making way for the victorious. Rising from the seat of power, you go to him with open arms, smiling. “I see you brought my husband back,” you muse, watching Harald enter the hall at last, surrounded by a score of rowdy warriors and overjoyed denizens—rightfully so, they have returned with riches and have lost fewer than a dozen warriors during the raids.

“I fear what you would do if I didn’t,” Halfdan laughs, tossing down a heavy coin purse on the table before taking you into his arms.

“It is always good to see you again,” you smile, kissing your marriage-brother’s cheek. He is inclined to agree. After long days at sea and many weeks away, it is good to be greeted by a fair and familiar face such as yours. Halfdan clasps your shoulder as he steps around you, pouring himself a cup of mead—leaving you to his brother. “Harald,” you greet, and the hall falls silent as he approaches you.

His breath catches as he beholds you, standing before him regal as ever with a gifted silver circlet resting upon your brow. His wife. His queen. His heart. It is as though the rest of the world falls away when he stops before you, rough hands cradling your face with the gentlest of touches. “By all the gods” —he strokes his thumbs over your cheeks— “you’re even more beautiful than I remember.”

Harald’s kiss is slow and soft—save for the familiar scratch of his beard against your cheek and jaw—and speaks of the months of longing to return to your loving arms. You kiss him like you’ve done a thousand times before, falling into the rhythm as though you never parted. Your fingers comb through his beard as you part, foreheads resting together, but then your smile widens as you wrap your arms around him, holding him tight. “I’ve missed you,” you breathe. But now he’ll be yours again until the next raiding season comes.

THE WHEEL OF time does not slow, and the harvest season fades into winter and then to the first buds of spring. Nigh all the Vestfold gathered in Tamdrup tonight for the feast to celebrate sowing the first seeds of the new crop and seasoning the turned soil with sacred blood. But that is not the only reason the jarls and fighting men have come all this way. In the coming weeks, Harald, Halfdan, and anyone else willing to sail will make their way to Frankia to raid Paris with Ragnar Lothbrok. Festivities last long into the night, but Harald comes to you soon after you take leave.

He draws lines over the length of your spine as you lay with him, head pillowed on his chest, listening to the slow rhythmic beat of his heat, bare legs entwined, but then you twist in his arms and lean up to kiss him—featherlight and sweet as the mead still on his breath—fingertips following the blue-black scrollwork of his tattoos. Then he tilts his head back, letting you trace the curving lines on his neck and down to the ones on his chest—only your touch could ever make him tremble.

“Paris?” You repeat, following one of the silver scars on his ribs with your fingertips. He’s spoken of the city to the south and of Ragnar Lothbrok before, but with the night’s feast, it became official. Come the spring, he would prepare his ships and set sail to join the farmer-turned-king on his second venture to Frankia.

“Yes,” Harald says, his voice a low rasp. He sees it in your eyes, a flicker of hope that maybe this time you will sail with him and his brother—that you will be able to visit the distant lands so many speak of—but now is not the time for you to venture into the unknown. Your life is not something he can risk so easily and carelessly. Harald curls his hand around yours, then kisses the center of your palm and holds your hand close to his chest. “I need you here, my heart,” he tells you, but you already know that.

“I’ll plan a feast and a sacrifice before you and Halfdan depart,” you tell him—it is what any good queen and wife would do to see her husband and people return safe and with victory. And then he takes your lips and your breath, holding you close. You sigh into his mouth, letting his tongue brush yours, fingers slipping back into his unbound hair. His kiss is reverent, and you cannot help but miss the cracked softness of his lips against yours when he parts, but it is only so he can hold you in his arms.

TEN DAYS AFTER Harald Finehair first sets sail to Kattegat, his brother and the remainder of the fleet are ready to follow. The last of the barrels and crates are being rolled and loaded into the longships when you arrive on the docks to bid everyone farewell and good fortune on their journeys. Six hundred men and shieldmaidens from the Vestfold have gathered over the last two moons, all to leave on this day to join Ragnar Lothbrok in his endeavors—but Tamdrup will feel empty without their presence. Though, there is already a newfound hollowness in the wake of Harald’s departure.

You find Halfdan amongst the chaos, checking the yellow-red shields secured on the side of one of the ships. “Halfdan,” you call, and he turns on heel to face you with a half-bow—nigh teasing in nature, but you are, after all, his queen. Before he can stand upright, you reach out and rest your hands on his cheeks, and he bends a little farther, accepting the kiss you bestow upon his brow. “Be safe,” you tell him, hands moving to clasp his. “Look after your brother.”

Halfdan squeezes your hands. “You know I will,” he assures you. That is something you’ll never have to worry about—the bonds of blood and brotherhood run deep. You nod, and he steps back down into the longship. At your hest, they will set sail for glory and, if the gods deem it so, Valhalla.

One of your attendants hastens to the dock, stepping forward to present the gift commissioned from the blacksmith and jeweler—it's meant to be a surprise in celebration of another year of marriage, but alas, such care and detail took longer than expected. It’s a necklace of bronze and silver with a pendant shaped into the likeness of Mjölnir clasped in the mouths of two silver dragonheads on a chain of alternating links. “It was not finished before Harald left,” you explain, placing the necklace in Halfdan’s palm. “Give it to him, please.” Halfdan nods. “And all my love.”

RESOUNDING HORNS ANNOUNCE the return of Harald Finehair’s fleet in the dark hours of the evening. You rise from bed and make haste to the docks—handmaids following close behind with slippers and a cloak, but decorum is the least of your concerns. So few have returned, you think, counting the dwindling number of ships gathered compared to how many set off. The first wave departs one of the docked ships, and there is no air of triumph in those who press past you—eager to return to home and hearth and for solid ground beneath their feet. “Harald!” You call as he steps from the longship and onto the dock.

But he does not embrace you as he normally would after such a long voyage, and the spark in his stormy blue eyes is faded. It is only when you see who the men are carrying off the ship on a crude stretcher do you understand the cause of your husband’s sullen mood. “Halfdan,” you breathe, looking between him and Harald. You step to your marriage-brother and lift the pelt of fur covering his torso, grimacing—the wound at his shoulder is a festered, blackish mess, and the sweat on his brow in the first chill of winter speaks of the fever that’s set in during the return voyage.

You turn to one of your handmaids. “Call on Mjöll,” you instruct, “quickly.” The years have seen you clean and bind both Harald and Halfdan’s wounds, but this is far beyond your skill, and an herbalist will be needed to call Halfdan back from the cusp of the next life. The girl nods and sets off to the healer’s hut. Looking back at the stretcher-bearers, you point up the way to the great hall. “Take him to the great hall.” In such a state, Halfdan will need several pairs of watchful eyes.

Dark shadows cast from torchlight and iron braziers shroud Harald’s expression—he does not understand how it is you can stand with so much equanimity when faced with such loss. Harald steps to you, and his shoulders fall, then wordless, he slumps into your arms, resting his forehead on your shoulder—another weight you must bear—hands twisting into the fabric of your pale linen shift. You smooth your hand over his back, following the length of his braid-bound hair. “I thank the gods you have returned to me, my love,” you breathe, unwilling to let him part just yet.

Mjöll works to prepare a cataplasm of moss and herbs into the hours of the night, and you kneel at the prepared pallet of fur and pillows, placing a cool, damp rag upon Halfdan’s brow. There is little else you can do for your marriage brother besides trust the herbalist’s remedies, pray to the gods, and hope they are merciful. Mjöll nods for you to leave and tend to your husband. She and her apprentice will care for Halfdan.

He is pacing the length of the foot of the bed when you enter your shared chambers—hands flexing into fists at his side. You step into Harald’s path, hands going to the ties and buckles of his leathern armor. “If the High One truly sought Halfdan’s company,” you tell him, setting aside his vambraces before turning back, “he would already be feasting in the Halls of the Slain.”

To Harald, it is poor consolation but consolation all the same. And deep down, he knows you are right. Shrugging off his worn and stained tunic, he goes to the washbasin and splashes water on his face and chest, scrubbing away a mix of sweat and salt spray, and blood too. Harald returns to sit at your side on the bed—he stares ahead at the flickering flames of tallow candles. “What happened?” You finally dare ask.

“The magic of Ragnar Lothbrok failed,” he tells you. The lingering taste of defeat is bitter on his tongue—the gods had forsaken them on that river, had forsaken Ragnar. As it happened to be, he was just like any other man. “We were humiliated and pushed out of Frankia with nothing to show for it.” He does not remember the last time he returned to Tamdrup, to you, with nothing to show for his travels. It will take time for the Vestfold to recover from such a defeat.

You touch his cheek, fingers combing through his unkempt beard, drawing his gaze to you. “You live, as does your brother.” The rancor in his expression falters, his jaw unclenching, and he leans into you—his nose just barely bumping against yours. Yes, he and Halfdan escaped with their lives. That is more than can be said for many who embarked on the journey to Paris. Ragnar Lothbrok may have lost the favor of the gods, but they still smiled upon Harald and his brother. “That is enough for me,” you say, softly. He kisses you then, and you meld against him with a sigh and a slight smile that he can feel on your lips.

HE SITS ON his throne—slouched to the side and staring into the abyss, twisting his shark-tooth crown in his hands. Your king has returned, yet still, it is only you shouldering the weight of the kingdom. You stop at the dais and extend your hand toward him. “Walk with me.” It is not a request. Harald rises and follows.

The path through the forest is well-worn, both into the Earth and memory. It carves a winding route through the forest and up bare rock to a promontory overlooking Tamdrup and the mouth of the fjord—a place you frequent to look for sails on the horizon when the men are away, a place where Harald promised he would marry you one day what now feels like a lifetime ago.

But the morning fog has yet to lift from the land, just as the fog of bitterness in the aftermath of what happened in Paris has yet to lift from your husband and king. There has been no feast to honor the memory of those lost since his return several days ago and no promise or mention of what comes next for the Vestfold. It is as though he is lost in despair, mourning his brother already despite the day-by-day recovery—just yesterday, Halfdan’s fever broke.

You sit atop one of the boulders there on the promontory. There’s space enough for him to join you, but, for a moment, he lingers and stares. In the morning the light and mist, you seem like one of the winged women—ethereal. A sight that makes his heart twist and ache given the dark thoughts and mood which have taken hold of him since returning to Tamdrup.

Harald sits next to you and hangs his head, letting his hand rest on your thigh—a gentle weight and warmth. “I fear I have not been a good husband,” he confesses. It is never an easy thing for a prideful man to admit weakness and accept his faults, less so for a king. But the failed siege, his brother’s injury, and the long months spent away from you, from home, have been a heavy weight on his heart.

It does not feel right, leaving you time and time again, each longer than the last, to rule over his lands and care for his people—duties which are his. But you rule so fairly, and his people love you for it. “I have left you too often,” he breathes, a new softness and the tremble of guilt in his voice. “And I have left you to carry a burden meant to be shouldered by two backs” —his hand runs across your shoulders, down your spine— “not one.”

You never expected being wife to a king—being a queen—would be easy. Least of all, the wife of an ambitious man with dreams of uniting Norway under a single crown. Harald Finehair is vikingr. To deny him that would be to deny his true self, and even on the loneliest and coldest of nights, you could and would never ask him to be anything other than who he is—the man you love.

“I knew what was expected of me” —you card your fingers through his beard, the first tinges of silver beginning to appear, and he can find nothing but underserved doting affection in your soft gaze— “of you, when we married.” Harald covers your hand with his own, the rough pads of his fingers pressing into your palm as his hand curls around yours, a sigh on his lips. “And I happily said yes, remember?” 

He remembers the day you married well—the crown of spring wildflowers you wore, the blood-tinged kiss after exchanging rings, the bridal race with Halfdan and your cousins tripping over one another to get to the mead hall first. It is still the happiest day of his life—tied with every other day the gods let him wake up beside you.  

Shifting, you lean your forehead against his and gently slip your hand free from his. “You will always have my love and support, wherever you may be.” Harald closes his eyes and curls his hand around the back of your neck, thumb stroking the soft skin beneath your ear. And you press your hand against the center of his chest—feeling the outline of the Mjölnir necklace under your palm. “And I will be here or at your side,” you tell him, a soft whisper dancing over his lips, “wherever you need me to be.” And now he’s certain—you are too good to him.

[Harald-Halfdan taglist: @ahotmesswithprivilege / @alicedopey / @certifiedlittleshit / @charming-merlin / @elluvians / @erzsebetrosztoczy / @gearhead66 / @gossamarnie / @hc-geralt-23 / @hereforreadandwrite / @moonlightsspirit / @morganamayne / @mrsragnarlodbrok / @n0sferatus / @naaladareia / @queenyalo / @rigshak / @savagemickey03 / @xinyourdreamsx / @yalos-writing ] if your name is italicized, tumblr would not let me tag you. if you’d like to be added to my Murder Bro taglist, or any other taglist, just let me know with this Google Form! if I missed you, I am sorry! but make sure to mention it in the replies or fill out the linked Google Form!

[vikingstoriesblog]

Vikings writing

who i write for

Ivar the boneless

Ragnar Lothbrok

Bjorn Ironside

Harald Finehair

Halfdan Black

Hvitserk the berserker

Rollo Lothbrok

Helga

Floki

Lagertha

Aslaug

King Ecbert

what i write

Romance

Angst

Dark

Fluff

Comedy

[knight-of-flowerss]

vikings

navigation | requests open!

🦁 fluff | 🍂smut | ☄️angst | 🍊suggestive | 🏵️platonic

tags - @thethreeeyed-raven , @lost-in-fiction-like-ur-mom

women

aslaug

nothing yet

astrid

nothing yet

freydis

nothing yet

gisla

nothing yet

gunnhild

nothing yet

helga

nothing yet

ingrid

nothing yet

judith

nothing yet

katia

nothing yet

kwenthrith

nothing yet

lagertha

nothing yet

siggy

nothing yet

torvi

nothing yet

men

alfred

nothing yet

athelstan

nothing yet

björn

nothing yet

floki

nothing yet

halfdan

🍂 halfdan smut

harald

nothing yet

heahmund

nothing yet

hvitserk

full length fics

she-bear [in progress]

characters | chapter one | chapter two

ivar

nothing yet

ragnar

nothing yet

rollo

nothing yet

sigurd

nothing yet

ubbe

🍂flings of war

[iinafarawaygalaxii]

Welcome to a Faraway Galaxii

-please read before proceeding to the fics-

About the Page~

Welcome!

For sometime now I have been encourage to post and share my fanfics with the public. I chose tumblr as a safe spot to place my writing because of the kindness in the community and the shared love for composition. I am a first time writer but a big dreamer, with an active imagination and if you’re here… your curiosity served you well.

Travel with me down the road of fantasies- for I would love to show you my world 💜 Here’s the information of the fics I’m currently working on. Some of these are all to be projected well over 15 chapters but, first: 

WARNINGS: These fics WILL contain scenes not appropriate for young minds so minors- this is not the page to follow. Warnings included in this series are:

Abuse, Violence, Death, War, Smut (Graphic Scenes), PiV, Fluff, Gore, Angst and Drama. If theres any others throughout the book please message me so that I can tag them for you!

If you are a MINOR stop reading- your journey ends here. 

Side Info~

~ Each fic with OCs will come with a prequel(s) explaining the original charters background to help you process the story in advanced.

~At the beginning of each post will hold information about the chapter (i.e if it’s nsfw or sfw, notes or trigger warnings).

~A Materialist will be posted shortly after I start posting and this post will be continuously updated as the fics come out! I

~’m always open to feedback as it will be the only way I can develop myself as a writer! Thank you for reading and I’m excited to continue posting

~Wattpad

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Fics:

Star Wars the Clone Wars: Bloodline

Fic Summary: After a brewing war intensified across the galaxy and the republic slowly diminishing; General Skywalker and his ARC unit discovers a way win the war with an unlikely ally. The question still remains, will they succeed when darkness still lurks around the corner...? Or to what extent will they need to sacrifice and achieve victory… 

Chapters: 4/?

Notes:

~Captain Rex x OC 

~Scenes not appropriate for young minds. Tags will be made

~Original character with an original planet that’s in the star wars universe 

~Translations will be under the 'notes' tab (similar to this post) that will help you understand what the characters are saying.

[The plot hole i discovered in my written chapters runs deep. I need time to fix it, Im so sorry- but thank you for being patient!!]

AC Valhalla: Freyjas Promise

Fic Summary: Alas! Eivor has become Jarlskona of Ravensthorpe but with leadership came many responsibilities- and enemies. Working hard to unite England with her many allies, an unknown force gathers beyond the winter stormed mountains of Northumbria. Creeping closer to home. With Halfdan out the door- what will become of Mercia and its people?

Chapters: 4/?

Notes:

~ F!Evior x Vili Hemmigston

~ Scenes not appropriate for young minds. Tags will be made

~This is based off the video game Assassin Creed: Valhalla. One of my all time fav games on the market. Is the fic canon? Not really but were here for the imagination. Our queen Eivor deserved so much more love than she got. So I am here to remedy ;')

~Fic is essentially an Arc. I thought it would be short but it got too good as I continued so now it’s much longer!

~My Eivor has black hair

~Also adding dragons? Think... Game of thrones hehe.

[Fic is being updated regularly on Wattpad.]

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Shorts

Star Wars the Clone Wars: A Ghost for Prospect

Fic Summary: Captain Rex needs information for the sake of Omega and the remainder of the clones being tapped and tortured. He had no choice but to search for you, one of the most dangerous bounty hunters in the settled systems and best information brokers in the galaxy. Knowing he didnt have the money to pay you off, he offered other ways to get the information he needed to save his family...

Notes: MINORS DNI 18+ this some spicy 🌶️ stuff

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Other Fics/Shorts I’ve been writing off and on with created OC’s and CCs that are not ready to post yet are:

Mass Effect Andromeda: The After Effect | Jaal Ama Darav x f!Ryder

Naruto: Queen of the Black Sea | Gaara x OC

Jujutsu Kasien: In the End There’s Always Red | Sukuna/Itadori x OC

Starfield: I'll Give You the Sun | Sam Coe x Reader

|| Last Updated: Sunday, August 11th, 2024 ||

[queenfinehair]

I also am so well aware that I turned down an anon ask/request earlier so let me clarify where I stand on requests;

I cannot write fantasy. (The 3 headed bull is so what I'd love to write... but I am not that creative nor is fantasy my bag of tea)

Be specific on the men you want. (I really only am comfy writing for Harald, Halfdan, Leif and my one woman, Freydis)

I DO write NSFW. (I'm completely happy to try and turn you on.)

I also write Angst & Fluff. (I actually prefer them)

I write for the time period but am also way happy to do an AU.

Any other questions just ask 💋

(If you send an ask off anon and want it to be private just state it please)

[artemiseamoon]

I couldn't pass up the opportunity to also request something. I'm excited because I love your work and I hope you're not tired of writing for our beloved blonde Viking boy.

I would like to request 37. “You’re just a softie.” from the Fluff list. f reader. Maybe seeing him doing a cute interaction with an animal or something like this and he definitely hates to be called soft because you know he's a bad and cruel viking hehe. You know I live for soft Halfdan.

Thank you so much♡

Big Bad Viking

Halfdan the Black x f reader fluff

Words: 402 | credit to gif creators @charming-merlin

❗️Warnings: none | moodboard by me

@charming-merlin 💜 My dear friend, I will never ever ever tire of writing about our beloved blonde Viking. Thank you for the request, this is a cute and fun! You are so sweet, thank you!

Gathering the last of the supplies, you tie them securely in the bundle and prop it over your left shoulder. When you reach the door, you look around the small little house you called home, taking a mental picture.

You were elated to go on the road and to travel. You also knew some hard nights and days were ahead as well, and there would be times all you wanted was the comfort and warmth of this place.

Taking one deep inhale, you savor the smells and step out, closing the door behind you. While away, your neighbor would check in on things and care for the garden, so you knew your oasis was in good hands.

Shifting the heavy bundle, you walk left of the house and see Halfdan. Stopping in place you can’t help but smile. You watch the way his beautiful hands move over your horse's skin and hair.

It was such a sharp contrast, seeing him in battle only a week ago and now he ever so gently soothed Eydis. She even tilts her head toward Halfdan, leaning into his touch.

You’re a little too far away to hear what he’s saying, but you can tell even from a distance it was soft.

Shifting your weight to the other leg, you continue to watch unseen until you nearly drop the bundle. Halfdan looks back at you, his hair like a curtain over the right side of his face.

Halfdan smirks, “how long have you been standing there?”

You walk over to him and hold the bundle close to your chest.

“Long enough to see you’re just a softie, Halfdan the black!”

Halfdan makes a serious face, “I am not a softie. I am Viking!”

You put the bundle down at your feet, laughing at him. “Yes yes, a cruel Viking you are!” You tease.

Halfdan picks up some hay and playfully tosses it at you. Giggling, you do the same and some goes into his mouth.

Halfdan spits it out and picks up the bundle, proceeding to tie it to the horse. “We must go, we’ll need the daylight we have.”

“Yes, big bad Viking.” You throw more hay at him.

After Halfdan's done securing the bundle, he pulls you into a kiss.

…

More Halfdan | More Vikings | Masterlist

Completed requests

Halfdan list: @charming-merlin @naaladareia @tephi101 @gearhead66 @beyond-the-ashes @shadow-of-wonder

Add yourself to my tag list

[axelsagewrites]

Could I ask about something fluffy for Halfdan the black from Vikings please for the V day creations 😁🥰🥰🥰🥰Thank you 🥰🥰🥰

Halfdan*Lofn

Pairing: halfdan x goddess!reader

Word count: 1352

Warnings: forbidden love, made up norse festival bc they didnt have valentines (or anything similar i could find)

Masterlist Here

Halfdan never felt the need to make friends. Not in the way his brother Harald did at least. Halfdan had drinking buddies, war buddies, hell even fuck buddies, but he did not see the point of befriending another lord just for his company. Though Halfdan was not the brother destined to be king.

Halfdan quite frankly didn’t understand why they even had to stop in this godforsaken village. So, when his brother told him they had to stay another five days to take part in their festival he found himself groaning and whining like a toddler.

The only reason he hadn’t abandoned his brother and went elsewhere was because of you. well, he didn’t know your name only your face. But the gods had made it the most beautiful face he’d ever seen.

When he asked his brother about the festival even Harald seemed to know nothing. your village had been named after Freyja so every year you would honour her but neither knew what to expect.

-

The bonfire was higher than any house with children dancing around the flames and drinks flowing freely with the adults. As Harald nursed his third cup his eyes fell upon you and finally, he felt like this may have been worth him staying.

You were sat alone, a few feet away from most on a fallen tree staring into the flames. Before he could think the alcohol had decided for him and he was crossing the grass towards you. “May I sit?” he asked, trying to act nonchalant but he felt an odd blush raise in his cheeks as you lifted your gaze.

Your eyes scanned over him for a moment in silence, from his tip toes to his hair, before finally you gave a small nod. “I’m Halfdan,” he said, breaking the silence once more as he sat down, and he felt relived you gave your name back. “Why are you sitting all alone?” he asked making you laugh a little, “What?”

“Nothing. I like someone who does not beat around the bush,” you said, a twinkle in your eye that made him blush again before your eyes returned to the fire, “I like to sit with my thoughts especially on days like this. Everyone seems so happy,”

“And you, are you happy?” he asked, his gaze fixed on you even if you do not return it.

However, he did notice the smile that tugged on your lips, “I can be at times,” usually he’d roll his eyes at an answer like yours, but this felt different.

“You never answered my question,” he said, and you hummed in response, “Why are you alone?”

“You were the first person to ask to sit,” you replied, finally turning to face him, “I think the better question is why did you?”

Up this close Halfdan could see the flames reflected in your eyes despite the fire being so far away. he could feel its warmth as if it was sat next to him, “I suppose I just wanted to meet you,” he said, his head becoming hazy.

“Are you well? you look like you may faint,” you said, brow knotting in concern.

“I don’t know,” he muttered, “It is very warm is it not?” he said, pulling at his shirt to fan himself.

He only stopped when you stood up, “Come with me. I know where you can cool down,” you said, and he did not need to be told twice.

He followed you down the hill the bonfire was on down to the edge of the shore where you slowly walked along as the breeze from the water finally cooled him down, “I’m not sure what happened,” Halfdan said when he finally felt he could breathe again.

Your smile almost took it away though, “It’s alright. Many become overwhelmed by the end of the night. The fire can burn awfully hot,”

“What is the fire for? I know your celebrating Freyja but why?” he asked, pausing in his tracks when you laughed softly.

You stopped as well and turned to face him, “We do not only celebrate her. well, I do not at least,” you said, turning your gaze to the sea, “We celebrate love. Freyja is of course only one of the three we celebrate,”

“And the other two?”

“Well one is Sjöfn though some rumour she is just Frigg in disguise,”

“Why would a goddess need to disguise herself?” Halfdan asked, suddenly very interested in every word you had to say. “Is she not the goddess of marriage?”

“She is. as well as prophecy and motherhood however sadly, love does not always lie in the marriage. That’s where the third comes in. Lofn,”

“I recognise the name,” he said though he could not place from when.

You chuckled however, “Many do. Few know why. She is protecting the forbidden love. The true love. The love that cannot always be, but you will never lose. She is who I celebrate on nights like these,” you said as your eyes turned to gaze back at the fire.

Halfdan felt a flare grow in his chest, “Why is that? I cannot imagine a man loving you and letting you go no matter the reason,”

Your lips quirked into a smile as your eyes turned to him, “I am not in a forbidden love. Not yet at least. Though I do find the notion romantical,”

“Romantical?”

“Romantical. Mesmerizing. Enthralling. Whatever word you choose. The notion of a love so strong it breaks the rules,”

“You do not like to follow the rules?”

“I do not see why I would,” you said.

Halfdan found himself cracking a slight smirk, “I knew there was a reason I liked you,” he said before you decided it was finally time to head back to the fire. As you began to walk up the hill, he decided to ask another question, “Why the bonfire?”

“They say no matter how far you are from the flames you will feel them on your skin if you’re sat with your one love and if you feel a chill stood beside it then it is not meant to be,”

“Is that why there are so many girls sat around it?” he snorted when he noticed just how close to the flames some of them sat. you however chose not to respond to that, and it was enough to make him swallow hard. “Do you believe in it?”

“I do,”

“Why?”

“Because I know it’s true,”

“How?”

“I just do,” you said with a small smile as you arrived back to your original seat, “Your brother is looking for you,” you said, nodding over at the dark-haired man motioning to Halfdan to come over. “I’ll wait here,”

Halfdan sighed, “I’ll only be a moment,” he said as he stalked over to his brother.

“I was wondering where you went,” Harald said as he held out a drink to his brother, “Another?”

“I went on a walk,” he said as he took the cup.

Harald made a face however, “By yourself?”

Halfdan rolled his eyes, “No with…” he said, turning to point to you only to realise the space you once stood was empty, “She was right there,” he muttered before telling Harald your name.

Harald just shook his head, “You weren’t with anyone brother. I saw you walk up the hill yourself,”

“That’s impossible,” he muttered as his eyes scanned the crowd.

His attention was only drawn back when he heard Harald shiver, “You’d think that fire would feel warmer,” he said making Halfdan’s eyes widen.

His eyes turned to the bonfire, staring into the flames. He saw you through them like before but this time he did not see you on the other side. Perhaps he’d drank too much Harald suggested when he assured him no one had been sitting on that fallen tree. However, when Halfdan saw the tree standing unbent and unwavering the next day he knew he had met you. he just had not realised you were a god. A god who he could never love. It was all so romantical he thought.

Taglist sign up here

General taglist: @strvngestark @headinfantasy @meg-ro @427120lxld @obx-josie18 @ravenmoore14 @tessakate @justtilly @jjkjbhj @clairacassidy @valeskafics @perla434 @selenestar78 @urmomsgirlfriend1 @urfavnoirette @randomstory56 @qardasngan @https-luvvia @im-the-fucking-lunar-prince /

Vikings Taglist: @fleureeee @ellabellabus07 @youn-jo @batmandallyboy @retro-baby69 @lenasdmns @thelirofnorthlands @tessakate @hypocritic-trash-baby @ringpopdust @bellroclucky03 @thefirebreather00 @sashadevil766 @eldritch-bunny-teeth @re-per @weasleytwins-41 @daughter-ofthe-forest

[hecohansen31]

Little Lady Of Mine

Halfdan+Transgender! Reader (Modern AU)

(A/N): Hey lovelies,

HUGE DISCLAIMER: I am not personally a transgender person so I just wanted to say that if you find this in any way offensive, I am ready to delete this, just know that I had this idea and I felt like it was perfect for this period.

I also wanted to tell you that if you have any suggestion to write better transgender characters, just let me know, since I have just started and I low key hope that this won’t suck, but please DO LET ME KNOW WHAT I CAN DO TO BECOME BETTER!

I also wanted to say thank you to @volvaaslaug​ (who probably hates me by now, because I am constantly bothering them) because they gave me some interesting suggestions and even suggested a lovely web series that I absolutely suggest to you as well! (Her Story)

This being said: I really hope you’ll like it!

WARNINGS: Mention of Transphobia and Depression, Transphobic Insults, Being Outed, Fear of Relationships and Comments.

You had loved Vesterfold since the first time you had moved there.

You had a nice job, although it wasn’t the best you could do it did pay the rent and you were also able to put aside a bit of money for the operation.

You had also developed a few friendships, although no one in the new circle of friends you had created around you knew about your ‘little secret’, because in the end it had been barely a month since you had transferred in the northern city, with the excuse of your new work at the bar.

And certainly, the climate was much more open than your closeted city, full of the narrow-minded people you had been running away from.

And then there was Halfdan.

He was the brother of the owner of the bar you worked in, and many times you had met him trying to run away from everyone, gaining a few free cocktail on the way, something he did not only because he owned partly the establishment but also because you found him inevitably cute, so you couldn’t deny him his daily glass of bourbon.

Although it was 9 a.m. in the morning.

He had a mix of dark biker vibes, with his pretty gelled blond hair and his leather jacket always on him, but you feel a softer aura that got you quite enamored with his shy personality.

You’d sometimes talk together, although your secrecy and his shyness made it difficult to have anything deeper than small talk when you were together, and you had caught him looking at you a few times, meanwhile you were serving drinks and you had noticed a few knowing smirks from his foreign friend, Bjorn.

He had been the one that had tried to set you and Halfdan up, although you always pushed it back, because boyfriends and lovers were something that you tried to swear off.

It was all a mess when things like this happened, you knew it all too well.

There were people who fetishized ‘your condition’ and there were others who would have found it sexy till it was brought out in the world, and then they were the firsts that threw stick and stones at you.

No matter the fact that behind closed door they enjoyed the thought of you.

So, you had been avoiding Bjorn’s attempt to set you up, joking that you ‘couldn’t just date your boss’, but when Halfdan had been the one marching to you to ask you out, your mind had gone blank and you hadn’t had any idea of what to say and what excuse to use and in the end on Friday night you were left choosing a dress and cursing yourself and your mind.

Why had you accepted it, when you knew that this couldn’t go further up than a small date?

It would have simply left you to torture yourself about the thought of a relationship with Halfdan.

You knew all too well that sadly, men like him, didn’t like women ‘like you’.

It would just make you fall again in the deep pit of sadness your life had been before you decided to move away.

But you had tried to push away all the overthinking you had done in these days, to try to appear relaxed at the date, in a small restaurant that Halfdan had suggested since it was the best in the city.

He had been a perfect gentleman, offering to come and pick you up and pushing your chair behind you as you sit down and complimenting on the dress you had chosen, a completely enamored look in his eyes, as he said it, making you smirk softly and hid your face in the menu.

“… are you… are you liking it in Vesterfold?” he had asked, hiding his own blushing face behind a menu, although he looked to know it by heart, as he suggested where you could find the freshest meals and the greasiest ones “… sorry if I am awful at this, I just… I haven’t had a date… in… in actually centuries”.

You had giggled softly, as you reassured him, gently putting down the defense of your menu.

“… don’t worry, I am in the same situation” you had commented, meanwhile he dropped for the surprise his own menu.

“With an angelic face like that? I doubt it” he had replied, with a truly surprised look, as you giggled louder “… Gosh, honestly what is a pretty girl like you doing in a shit place like my brother’s club?”.

“… just running away from responsibilities” you had commented lowly, with a sad smile.

“… aren’t we all?” Halfdan’s smile had matched your own “… but let me tell you (Y/N): I am glad that in your run, you walked in that bar”.

“… flatterer” you had been simply able to reply, even more when Halfdan looked at you with that smirk that made you feel all liquid inside.

Strangely dinner had been comfortable, since Halfdan seemed not only to be an amazing listener but also he seemed to understand what arguments could be deepened and which you didn’t like talking about, easing you up in giving him a little information, without needing to straight up lie to his face.

He had also insisted to pay the bill, telling you again with that small smirk that if ‘you desperately wanted to pay the bill, you would have done so next time you went out’.

Today he had been the one to ask you out, hence it was only fair he paid.

Next time you would have invited him outside and you’d have paid the bill.

A clear invite for one more date, something to which you weren’t exactly against, even more when the entire date had kept itself purely chaste.

Although as you both went out, his hand fell by his side, right next to yours, and slowly and slowly it came closer and closer to yours, till you decided to damn yourself gripping it.

He reacted with a blush that shone even in that dark night, which instead made you smirk, although you were again surprised by the tall man when he gently draped his leather jacket on you, noticing that you were shivering.

‘It won’t take too long to reach the car I swear’ he promised you sweetly and this time he was bolder, pushing you closer to him ‘… is this alright?’.

‘I am already feeling warmer’ you joked with a knowing smirk sent to him and right when you were reaching the parking lot, you saw a familiar silhouette and a breath choked in your mouth.

You moved closer to Halfdan, who didn’t notice it, meanwhile he searched in his pockets for the key.

You tried to put a bit of space between you and the known face, although it wasn’t possible anymore as he came to your side to open the door.

You hoped that for once your luck would work in your favor.

But it didn’t and suddenly the man was in front of you, turning to you who faced Halfdan, having finally fished out the keys from his pocket, and now he was ready to unlock the car, but then it was too late.

“Look who is here” the man commented arrogantly, and you were faced with Edgard, an old friend of your times in high school, when you hadn’t started the hormonal therapy, but you had already started transitioning, mostly in secret through some more feminine clothes and a bit of make-up you’d wipe off before coming back from school “… the freak”.

A shadow appeared on your face as you felt Halfdan still behind you, and he lightly pushed you back, coming face to face with Edgard, a third of his muscles weight but with no brain or sense of self-preservation.

“… you look incredibly real, also… the surgeon you paid must have been very very good” he continued commenting, as Halfdan grabbed the front of his shirt.

“Listen dude, you are ruining our night, I don’t know if you understand it… but we’d prefer to be left alone” he commented, lightly raising the man a bit “… fuck off”.

“Oh man, didn’t she tell you?” Edgard continued on goading him on, as you tried to have Halfdan back off “… or should I say did he…? Do you still have your cock? You are probably screwing old guys to get it removed, aren’t you?”.

Now a rather horrified shrink left your mouth at the truth being out, hurting you in every conceivable way.

But what truly got you was the way Halfdan’s whole body stilled and before you knew it, you had run away, not truly knowing where to go.

Just. Needing. To. Get. Away.

You had felt this way for your entire life, your high school life being completely hell for people like Edgard, who couldn’t simply accept that there was a reality that was different from the boring one he had lived in his whole life.

That people like you weren’t freak.

But were simply… people.

You could already see what would happen.

Halfdan would undoubtedly talk with his brother about this and by next week you’d be fired.

Probably Halfdan wouldn’t spread the word around, because he was afraid of having fallen for such a ‘trap’ but you would have lost the chance to go out with him again, after the lovely night you had been having.

Gosh… you fucking knew it.

You had gone through it so many times.

You were running right outside the parking lot, when an hand gripped tight your arm, and you were reeled back, right when a car appeared in front of you, almost running you over, hadn’t you been brought back by your own personal angel.

Which turned out to be a red-cheeked Halfdan.

“… please don’t run” he commented breathing heavily “… I am an old man, and you’ll give me a stroke”.

You were surprised that he hadn’t already tried insulting you, but maybe he did need to catch on his breath.

“That fucktard, by the way, I took care of it” a bloodthirsty grin appeared on his face “… I am sorry you had to go through that, it wasn’t certainly a planned idea for my date night”.

An awkward silence appeared between you two.

You didn’t know whether you should have just faked nothing happened and just let Halfdan bring yourself or confront him about what Edgard said.

In the end you just felt like you had to at least tell him you didn’t fuck old men for a living.

“… it wasn’t true what he said” you commented through your teeth, nervously “… about the older men, I wouldn’t date you for money or…”.

“That’s good, because Harald is the rich brother” he commented with a light laugh, as he reached out for your hand softly “… ok that wasn’t… nice of me, but… believe me I know that you aren’t faking it… I had the time of my life on this date and might I be so presumptuous to say that you did too?”.

You choked on air, again, nervous and unsure, as Halfdan blushed lightly letting you choose the pace of this relationship.

And it had never happened to you.

And it scared you.

“… but about the other thing… I…” you choked on a sad smile, meanwhile Halfdan patiently waited for you, lowering his gaze to make you feel less pressure on yourself “… I am a woman but…I am not… I am not operated, so I understand it… if you aren’t comfortable…”.

You didn’t know why you blurted it out, but usually with most people that was a dealbreaker, because it made you stick between two states and it made people uncomfortable, because they couldn’t put their noisy tags on you.

But if there was one thing you knew by now, it was that it wasn’t your fault.

You couldn’t change your thoughts and body to appease them.

But you still understood why Halfdan might not want to continue a relationship with you.

“… it is ok, if you want to end things here, I wouldn’t expect you…”.

“Listen… “ he commented, as he softly, moved you closer to him, trying to calm his body, to make himself appear less threatening and you couldn’t help but relax under those attentive moves “… it doesn’t change anything”.

“… seriously?” you weren’t used to people being so calm about it.

“Seriously” he breathed out “… you are the pretty girl I have had a crush on since the first moment you started working, which might make me pass off as the creeper…”.

You shut up Halfdan with a quick kiss to your lips, so fast that although you did effectively shut him up, it almost didn’t seem to happen and you laughed a bit at Halfdan’s ridiculous kiss face, as he slowly came back from it, blabbering something about ‘you definitely thinking that he was a creeper now’.

“… nobody had ever… been as gentle as you with me” you commented “… that is why I am… nervous”.

“I am sorry you had to go through that” he replied “… I mean… it is human decency to treat you like anybody else”.

“… not everybody has had the decency of that” you muttered, as Halfdan gently brought you closer, enveloping you in a soft hug, as he felt you completely shattering against him, but he simply smiled at you continuing his mission to reassure you.

You didn’t know if an entire day passed or an hour, what you knew was that Halfdan gave you all the time, making sure that you were comfortable once you were back in the car, even making a bit of fun with you to try to bring you a smile on his face.

‘Gosh people will think that this has been an awesome date if they see you cry’ he had tried to humor you, and your hand shot over his, as it stood on the gear shift, which made him turn around to you.

“… it was an awesome date” you confirmed it to him, as you gently moved in for another quick kiss, gaining a totally enamored look from Halfdan, who peppered a few more kisses on your lips.

And to think that you had worn lip-gloss because you were sure that there wouldn’t be any kisses.

Meanwhile he kissed you, he asked you, where he didn’t have to touch you and where he could.

He tried to avoid questions, letting you speak in case you wanted to, wanting to make you feel comfortable, although sometimes he’d interrupt you with a question, always trying to word it carefully but not as if you were a glass doll, but more like he wanted to give you all his respect.

Your eventually started a long conversation, meanwhile Halfdan held you comfortably, which was interrupted by Harald’s call, since he was worried his brother wasn’t home and you could hear a very distinct ‘please tell me that you didn’t get kidnapped and instead got laid’ which made you and Halfdan blush.

The man quickly shushed his brother with the promise of being home in a few minutes, after he dropped you off.

The rest of the ride was spent in silence, this time a comfortable silence lulling you in a peaceful mood, as your hands were joined together on the gear shift-

“… thank you for the lovely night” you commented once you were home and Halfdan insisted to escort you to the threshold of your apartment, as if he expected Edgard to appear again and attack you, although… from his slightly bruised knuckles you wouldn’t have to worry about any transphobe coming at you, soon “… if you haven’t changed your mind, we could do it again”.

“It’s more like… if you haven’t changed your mind…”.

“Don’t sell yourself short” you joked, with a laugh that made Halfdan kiss you.

And he did kiss you, on your lips, softly and gently.

“… goodnight, little lady of mine”.

[clumsywonderland]

Masterlist

Hobbit/LOTR blog and masterlist (click)

Vikings Masterlist

Ivar Ragnarsson

- Wild Eyes  - The Gods are Cruel - When Maidens go Swimming - nsfw - Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Ivar’s Firsts - Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9 - Part 10 nsfw - Part 11 - Part 12 - Part 13 - Part 14 nsfw - Part 15  - Inked - Request - Berserk - Request - Relax - Request - Rumour - Request - Promise - Request

Hvitserk Ragnarsson

- Hvitserk’s Firsts - Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5  - Playing Games - What About Dessert? - nsfw - Speechless - Request - Insecure - Request

Ubbe Ragnarsson

- Hiding - Request

Halfdan The Black

- Valhalla - Request - Freedom - Request - Regret - nsfw - Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Hvitserk x oc included - Request

1000 Celebration Prompts:

- Sigurd - One - Two  - Ubbe - One - Two  - Ivar - One  - Hvitserk - One 

[alicedopey]

One Last Wish

(credits to @that-was-not-supposed-to-happen​ for the gif)

Fandom: Vikings

Genre: Modern AU (sort of ), tiny bit of angst, fluff fluffity fluff

Pairing: Halfdan / OC (Gaby)

Words: 1546

Summary: Halfdan has been living with Gaby for a year but it might be time to say goodbye. 

A/N: Well what can I say ? This is the birthday fic for @naaladareia​ more than four months late. You know life hasn’t been easy lately and I had lost the pleasure to write but it looks like you helped me get back to it. Enjoy, my other half...and I’m sorry again for the delay.

This is the fourth and last installment of a series. Part I - Part II - Part III

A year. 365 days. 52 weeks. It’s been that long since Halfdan had magically landed on Gaby’s apartment and she could not help feeling overjoyed about it. She would lie if she said that everything had been easy all the time but most of the year next to him had gone smoothly. Lockdown and COVID were highly responsible for it, giving Halfdan the time to adjust and offering Gaby the time to explain how much the world had changed. Halfdan did not understand all of it and his first time outside has been quite a disaster, if almost beating a man to a pulp because he had bumped into her, or nearly attacking a church could be qualified as such.

But Gaby remained patient and managed to make him accept and embrace a good part of the modern world. Of course, he still refused to celebrate Christmas even though he did not mind gobbling up the several dishes she had cooked for the occasion. Nonetheless, it would be accurate to say he loved being here with her.

Though, he had shown some moodiness lately and was even sometimes short with her. It was useless to ask why, she knew he was probably missing his home, his brother, his time and she could not blame him for that. Indeed, as much as she liked Vikings, she could not imagine for a second leaving her home and friends behind to live in their era. Life expectancy, hygiene and all…

As she reached her house, her heart squeezed at the thought but maybe it was time to let him go and wish for him to go back home.

Sighing deeply, Gaby turned the key on the lock of her front door and opened it. She was surprised to see that the apartment was plunged into darkness.

“Halfdan?” She cried uncertainly and closed her eyes in relief when he shouted back “In here!”

She took the few steps that led to her living room and gasped at what she saw, her purse falling on the floor in the process. Halfdan had lit candles all around the room, the table was set up beautifully; a white tablecloth on which he had placed her finest crockery and a vase of roses in the center.

“You like it?” He whispered in her ear before kissing her cheek tenderly. “Figured it could be nice to celebrate your birthday with a romantic dinner. Didn’t you say that’s what women from the twenty-first century needed?”

“I sure did”. Gaby shook her head to wake up from her daze. “I love it Halfdan, thank you.”

She leaned back to admire him. He had put on black pants and a white shirt that outlined his muscles the perfect way. He had probably paid a visit to the barber by himself since his goat was neatly trimmed. Gaby caressed it. A smile appeared on her face when she thought about the first time she took him there and the way he had glared at the barber. The poor man had tried his best to work while shaking in his boots.

Halfdan soflty kissed her lips. “Wanna freshen up before dinner?”

“Now that would be a great idea.” She replied in a murmur and kissed him back languidly. She took the time to savor his warmth before pulling back reluctantly. She was about to go to her room when a thought made her freeze and her eyes widened.

“You…you didn’t cook, did you?” She asked in a tight voice.

The last time Halfdan had taken the initiative to surprise her with a romantic dinner, it had turned into a disaster. Gaby could still remember the combined stench coming from the burnt food and pan, plus the mess on the floor, the drawers, the cupboards; every surface had been stained with food. That damned Viking was definitely gifted with his hands but not when cooking was concerned.

Halfdan chuckled. “No, don’t worry. Food is coming.”

Gaby let out a sigh of relief and went to get ready. When she came back all freshened up and pampered a few minutes later, she was welcomed by the pleasant aroma of Indian food.

“Hmmm…smells good.”

“Well I had to please my woman so I ordered food from her favorite Indian place.” Halfdan explained, setting all the dishes on the table. When he was done, he looked up at her and smirked. “You are very sexy, woman. Are you trying to seduce me?”

“Is it working?”

“I believe it is.” He replied and gave her a charming smile. That charming smile of his that still made her heart skip a beat every time she saw it. He pulled out one of the chairs and invited her to sit down. “My Lady.”

Dinner was delicious. Halfdan had ordered a little bit of everything so that she could enjoy as much dishes as possible. For dessert, he brought an enormous chocolate cake he had purchased from this nice little bakery she loved so much. Then, he put some candles on it and lit them on. “Make a wish, love.”

The words made her heart clench painfully in her chest. During these last years, her wishes had proven to be powerful since they had all come true. This was it. Gaby realized she was holding Halfdan’s future in between her hands - or was it her brain? She could either give him what he wanted or keep him selfishly for herself. She watched him intently; his crooked smile, his numerous sexy tattoos, the playful glint in his eyes…and she knew what she had to do. Talking a deep breath, she made her wish and blew out the candles.

Halfdan clapped fervently. “So, what did you wish for?”

Gaby rolled her eyes. “You know I can’t tell anyone if I want it to come true.”

“You’re right, let’s devour the cake then.”

And devour it he did, since he ate half of the cake by himself. Viking appetite.

Afterwards, Halfdan cleaned everything up and they got ready for bed. They just laid between the sheets contently, Halfdan spooning her from behind, the two enjoying the fact to be in each other’s embraces.

“I’m sorry.” Hafdan softly said before kissing her neck.

Gaby frowned. “Sorry for what?”

“Those last few weeks, I’ve been a real moody Viking. It’s just that...”

“You miss home.” She cut him off gently.

“I miss my brother but home is with you.” He hugged her a little bit tighter. “It’s been a year and the Gods might decide to send me back.”

Gaby felt her heart flutter at his words. Halfdan had not been in a grumpy mood because he wanted to leave, only because he wanted to stay. He was as scared to lose her as she was to lose him.

“It’s alright.” Her throat tightened and she tried her best to keep the tears at bay. “Remember what you told me last year? You said we’d better enjoy it while we could and that’s exactly what we did. I absolutely have no regrets, no matter what happens.”

“Me neither.”

She turned around to face him and rested her forehead against his. “Then, I’m happy.”

And she kissed him, lovingly, desperately. He kissed back just the same and nearly tore her nightgown to have her naked against him. Their bare bodies collided, each touch became more urgent and needier but they took their time to make love, both afraid it could be the last time. They wanted to memorize each other perfectly. When they fell back on the pillows, sated, they did not let go of one another but intertwined their bodies instead. They fell asleep, like that, two as one.

The following morning, Gaby woke up hot and sweaty. With an annoyed groan, she tried to get away from the heat but someone grunted and pulled her closer. Her eyes opened up abruptly and she smiled. Halfdan was still there.

His eyes fluttered open and he smiled when he saw her. With a pleased sigh, he leaned over her body to kiss her collarbone.

“I’m still here.” He said against her skin. “It looks like the Gods wanted us to remain together…and maybe you wished for me to stay.”

“I did not wish for you to stay.”

Halfdan raised his head sharply to look at her. “You didn’t?” He sounded disappointed, almost hurt.

Gaby chased a lock of hair from his eyes. There was no danger in telling him now. “I wished for you to go and stay where your heart belongs.”

“Then I guess it came true because my heart definitely belongs with you.”

Tears welled up in her eyes. It was so uncommon of him to pour his heart out, it made her feel special and more loved than anyone.

Gaby let her eyes close when he resumed his kisses on her skin, his lips went down to her breast that he sucked gently. She let out a soft whine.

“Whaboutyoumeart?”

She frowned and looked down at him. “What?”

He sucked on her breast one last time before letting it go reluctantly with a wet pop. He looked up to meet her gaze. “What about your heart?”

“Oh.” She smiled. “It belongs with you my sexy murderous Viking. It always has.”

Tagging (feel free to ask if you want to be added or removed): @naaladareia​ @gearhead66​ @flowers-in-your-hayr​ @medievalfangirl​ @therealcalicali​

[author-morgan]

more halfdan, please? 🥺 he needs more love. could you maybe do something for Halfdan where he's traveling and meets and stays with a fem reader?

bless i am not alone in the simping. have a little fluff for Halfdan, as a treat. Halfdan x fem!Reader

THE HOUR IS late, but the storm raging outside makes it seem far later. Lightning streaks across the sky —Thor striking his hammer on anvil, the clash of iron echoing over the sky. The winds howl, and winds lash, shaking the planks and shingles of the wood and earth home. It’s been years since you’ve endured a storm such as this, and it shows no signs of stopping, having raged on since midday. It would be nearing sundown soon by your reckoning. You pity the poor souls who must endure Thor’s wrath without shelter and a warm hearth.

There’s a deceptive lull in the bedlam, the lightning and thunder subsiding though the wind and rain do not. Pausing in an attempt to tidy up after dinner, you take the moment to urge your daughter to bed. Þóra protests, with it still being so early, but there’s scarcely anything else to do on a dark and stormy evening. It takes a small bribe with half a honey cake and a tale of the gods for her to settle in, eyelids drooping shut —curling into the raised cot lined with wool and pelts. With a long sigh, you rise, having pressed a kiss to her brow.

Stripping down to your linen shift, you sit on the edge of your bed, fingers combing through the knots in your hair —watching water drip down into a bucket at the edge of the room, a leaky roof in need of fixing. You barely hear the knocking above the wailing wind, but when you crack open the door, you find a man looking up from under the hood of his oiled leather cloak. “Refuge from the storm?” The stranger asks. His stringy blond hair clings to his face —hiding part of the dark tattoos on his cheek and forehead— and his dark eyes are warm but dangerous.

Snapping from a trance, you move aside, opening the door farther for him to step into your home. “Of course,” you nod, offering a kindly smile. The gods often showed themselves as weary travelers. He steps over the threshold, untying his cloak, hanging it on an empty hook by the door. Out of the night and the storm, you recognize him as the brother to King Harald —Halfdan the Black— as he stands with water running off his sodden clothes and dripping from his hair. “I’ve some spare clothes,” you tell him, quickly moving behind one of the partitions blocking your bed from the rest of the home.

Rummaging around in the chest kept bedside, you return with a dry tunic and pair of britches in hand. Clothes you have no need of any longer but haven’t the strength to give away yet, so you keep them tucked away with part of your heart. “Please, take these” —you hold them out for Halfdan to take— “elsewise, you’ll catch your death.” He lowers his head in thanks and begins working the ties of his tunic and britches loose. Turning, as not to stare at the lithe muscle spanning his chest, you set the table with a bowl of the pot of stew still simmering over the hearth and a cup of ale. A warm meal always did the belly wonders after being soaked to the bone.

You motion for Halfdan to help himself to the stew and ale, taking his sodden clothes to string up to dry on a line spanning the low hanging rafters. “Far better than pickled fish and salted deer,” he jokes when you slide onto the bench opposite him.

“It’s been years since last I saw you and your brother,” you tell him, pouring a cup of ale for yourself and refilling his cup. You’ve rarely returned to Tamdrup in recent years, and the few times you had gone to market to trade livestock or buy fabric, Harald and Halfdan were scarcely around —too busy conquering and unifying the petty kingdoms under one crown. Once, you might have called the two brothers friends, but those days were long past, and many friendships were lost upon your marriage.

“Harald is why I am caught in this torrent,” Halfdan laments, none too happy about it. The two brothers are rarely parted from one another, but there are times when Harald only trusted one person, aside from himself, to deliver word and accept oaths of fealty. This is one of those times. It’s ill luck that his journey back to Tamdrup has been plagued by storms and exiles who unwisely mistook him for a simple vagabond.

“Well” —you reach across the table, resting your hand over his— “you are most welcome here, Halfdan.” His lips twitch upwards, his hand loosely curling around yours.

“Móðir?” A small voice calls, and then there’s the patter of small feet on the rough wooden floor.

“Þóra,” you sigh, knowing it was a fool’s hope to think she would sleep through the storm and night, especially given the arrival of an unexpected guest. She potters to the table dragging a ragged blanket behind her. Þóra stops, looking between you and Halfdan. Her wide amber eyes are glassy and still heavy with sleep.

“A little shield-maiden,” Halfdan notes, flicking his hair away from his eyes, the smallest of smiles pulling at the corner of his lips. Þóra grins, giggling, swaying on her feet. She’s been bugging you of late about training with her cousins —pointing out if she’s to become as famous as Lagertha, she needs a sword and shield. “Or maybe a princess.”

It surprises you when she goes to him, but Halfdan doesn’t hesitate to lift your daughter onto his knee. He’s not particularly versed with children or women, but he tries his best to be decent company, at least. You see the sharp flash of light through the crack under the door; a heartbeat later, the house rattles —it sounds as though Ragnarök is upon you. Þóra jumps. “It is only Thor, little one,” Halfdan reassures her.

“Is it just the two of you then?” He queries, eyes darting around the single-room home for any signs of Þóra’s father —your husband. His quick search yields nothing besides hastily made arrows, a rusty sword, and a shield with fading orpiment and hematite paint. You glance at your hands —the first wrinkles beginning to show among rough patches from years of doing the duties of both a mother and father.

“My family is not far,” you answer, meeting Halfdan’s curious stare, smiling. It’s a rare occasion when your brothers do not come for a daily visit and to help with the farm labor. Your sister and her husband make sure to come weekly too, bringing their children for Þóra to play with. It’s not always easy, but you make do. Halfdan glances down at the little girl, holding her blanket tight as her head rests on the center of his chest, almost asleep once more. He’s met with your smile, wider than the last, and a silent thank you, though you still see the question lingering in his eyes.

“My husband was killed in the raid on Paris,” you explain, remembering how you waited in the central street of Tamdrup to see your husband return, only to hear he was taken to Valhalla. It was not a day you were like to forget, especially given the little girl holding tight to your hand, waiting to meet her father for the first time.

Halfdan nods. Many women were made widows by Ragnar’s pursuits against his brother. There’s a tingle at his shoulder as he remembers the crossbow bolt that could’ve killed him and the scar it left behind. “He waits for you in Valhalla then.” The encouragement somehow lightens a weight on your chest —that one day you and your beloved will be reunited, but until then, you must care for Þóra and maybe, in time, find someone to love as you once loved your husband.

Þóra is fast asleep by the time you and Halfdan finish reminiscing about the days when you were both younger and twice as foolish. Halfdan lays your daughter down in her small bed made of wool. “Thank you,” you breathe, lightly touching his arm before kneeling to cover her with a wolf pelt and her cherished blanket, parting with a kiss upon her cheek.

“I’ll take the floor,” he offers, reaching for the wool blanket and the pelt draped across your arms —he’s slept in far worse conditions than a warm and dry home.

You shake your head, extending your hand toward the bed. He has been on the road for many days and still has at least four more before. A good night’s rest would do him well. “You are my guest, Halfdan, I insist.”

Halfdan looks between the bed and down at himself —he’s never had the same breadth as other warriors, not even the same as his brother and given the size of the lumpy mattress. There’s mirth shining in his eyes. “I do not take up that much room,” he says, shrugging his shoulders. You laugh softly, knowing this back-and-forth banter could go on the rest of the night. Instead, you fold back the blankets, sliding between them, and gesture for him to take the space next to you.

THERE’S A GLIMMER of light and a low rumble of thunder —the storm is dissipating or at least moving farther away. You stir, feeling a heavy warmth draped across your middle. It takes a moment to remember Halfdan lays next to you, occupying a space that’s been empty for years. You’ve woken him too, or he has failed to find rest. His eyes shine with the embers still glimmering in the hearth, a warm amber —like dark honey or fresh soil. “What is it?” He asks, voice rough and low, hand curling unwittingly around your hip, warm breath hitting your neck and shoulder.

Your heart leaps at the thoughts crossing your mind, but you’re quick to shake them away —it would be improper. “It’s silly,” you whisper. Halfdan raises his brow, and though it’s dark, he can see the flush on your cheeks. “I haven’t shared a bed with anyone since my husband left for Paris,” you admit, eyes flicking down, unable to hold his intense gaze. A piece of him finds it difficult to believe —if he recalls, you had a fair number of willing suitors. He imagines the number has not dwindled should you wish to remarry. Halfdan’s fingers uncurl from your hip, tracing a long line up your arm until he pauses, cupping your cheek —thumb running just under your bottom lip.

He’s so close and warm and handsome, and you can’t help the fluttering in your chest or how your stomach twists. You press your hand against the bare skin of his chest exposed by the tunic’s open neck, unwilling to back down from the newfound boldness. “Halfdan?” He moves closer as if anticipating your next words. “Will you kiss me?” His dark eyes flit down to your lips, and he does. The hand on your cheek slides back into your hair until he leans your head back and kisses you, softly at first, then with a swift increase in intensity that makes you cling to him. His lips are warm and soft, opening you to his insistent mouth, parting your shaking lips, sending wild tremors racing through your veins, and you kiss him back with the same fervor and longing.

You part with a hazy smile —it is good to know you remember how to kiss a man. He presses his forehead against yours, fingers still trailing through your hair. For a moment, you draw back, tracing the intricacies of the blue-black tattoo on his brow and down his cheek, until Halfdan pulls your hand away and draws you into his arms, repaying your kindness by taking away the deep-seated loneliness plaguing your heart, if only for the night.

HALFDAN SLIPS FROM your arms at first light and dresses in his dried clothes, laying the borrowed tunic and britches at the foot of the bed. When he turns back, Þóra is awake and staring up at him with eyes that mirror his own and blond hair to match. Is this what my children will look like? He wonders, crouching down, level with Þóra, and lifts a brow as if to question her intentions. She grins, shoving him back and off-balance, and so begins a silent tussle with kindling stacked by the hearth as swords. “Our battle cries are heard,” Halfdan proclaims from the floor, seeing you emerge from behind the partition. He sits up, brushing back his dirty-blond hair. “This one is a fighter,” he says with no uncertainty. “She should have a sword and shield.”

Þóra clambers over to you, giggling, and you scoop her up into your arms as Halfdan rises, brushing the dust from his shoulders. “We’ll have to see if one of her uncles can fashion her a sword and shield that’s her size,” you concede, seeing no use in denying her dreams. She could be both a farmer and a warrior —just as her hero, Lagertha. Þóra wraps her arms around your neck, hearing the decision.

You share a simple breakfast of smashed berries and brown bread and soft sheep’s milk cheese made in yesterday’s morning hours. And afterward, Halfdan readies to leave, buckling his sword belt and replacing the cloak on his shoulders. He musses Þóra’s hair, leaving her laughing and grinning. “Maybe another storm will bring you back,” you think aloud, leaning against the doorframe, each of you looking at the clear skies left in the wake of the gods' anger.

“Only the gods know,” Halfdan tells you, a glimmer in his dark eyes. He steps toward you, his hand extended —the backs of his fingers brushing across your cheek. It’s unspoken when you both move at the same time, closing the distance. His lips brush yours, hesitant then firmly —unwavering. You draw him closer, hand at the back of his neck, thumb following a raised scar wrapping around his neck. “Though, I do not think it will take Thor’s wrath for me to return,” he whispers upon parting. Smiling, you watch him step back, turning down the path that will lead him to his brother and Tamdrup and the same path that will lead him back to you.

[ taglist: @elizabethroestone @naaladareia @charming-merlin (because i know you like Halfdan) ]