#heahmund imagine | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

nothingtolosebutweight · 2 years ago

Text

F*CK ME LIKE YOU HATE ME - 2|2

| Pairing: Ivar x Heahmund | Words: ~ 5900 [AO3] | Warnings: Smut that includes BJ and Anal Sex , Rough Handling/Sex, Choking, Hair Pulling, Spitting, Sex without Love, Rusty Writing | Summary: Ivar and Heahmund can't get through a day without getting into an argument over something small. Heated discussions between the two have become an everyday occurrence for all bystanders. Everyone is annoyed by it, except the two of them. After all, it's the best kind of foreplay for them. | Notes: It was all much more exciting in my head ಠ╭╮ಠ

Part 1

﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Right after his last word, Ivar felt the bishop’s lips against his own. Harsh and demanding, leaving no doubt that he considered himself superior. Heahmund’s hand, which until just now had held Ivar's chin in a firm grip, slipped down a bit and came to rest around his throat. No pressure was exerted yet, but Heahmund held Ivar firmly in the position he wanted him to be, guiding his head a bit more to the side for better access.

Ivar opened his mouth a little more, which caused a satisfied sigh to be heard. Heahmund immediately took advantage of it to deepen the kiss. Lips greedily sought their counterpart as soon as the contact was interrupted for too long. Their tongues circled and rubbed unbridled against each other. They savored the taste of one another as well as the electrifying feeling the kiss awakened in both of them as hot breath and soft moans were mingling. A tremor, triggered by his inner tension, ran through Ivar as Heahmund took his lower lip between his teeth, pulled on it, and sucked it into his mouth before letting his tongue flick forward, taking possession of him.

Ivar imitated the movements of Heahmund's lips and tongue as best he could. He wasn't an experienced kisser, had never had anyone kiss him the way Heahmund did. So raw and passionate. His beard rubbed over his skin, leaving an interesting scratchy feeling. For the life of him, Ivar couldn't imagine that it could be as exciting with a woman, that she could dominate him the same way and drive him out of his mind by doing so. It would taste different, feel different, and in Ivar’s case, different just wouldn't be good enough.

He was a prince after all. A future king. He needed this kind of special treatment.

The idea that Heahmund had a strange way of acting out his hatred crossed Ivar’s mind, made him smirk into the kiss. Not that he minded being kissed like that. Kissing Heahmund felt to Ivar in some ways like getting drunk on mead. It was the same warm feeling spreading through him. It made him hot, made him sweat. At the same time, he felt a pleasant lightness in his thinking. Nothing mattered, everything seemed possible. His self-confidence increased immeasurably. But unlike mead, kissing Heahmund didn't make him tired and sluggish, it spurred him on, made him feel more alive. His whole body was on alert, every touch felt so much more intense, every bite on his lips more tingling, and every play of their tongues sent jolts of electricity through him, making him gasp regularly into the kiss.

The arm around his waist tightened, giving Ivar not only the support he needed to continue standing upright, but also the feeling of being trapped. Heahmund's fingers dug possessively into his side, leaving a slight pain and certainly the imprints of crescents. This was exactly to Ivar's liking, and he returned the favor by burying his hand in Heahmund's hair and taking a goodly portion of strands between his fingers. Every time Heahmund deepened the kiss or his fingers dug harder into his skin, Ivar pulled on them, causing Heahmund to hiss and groan in pain and annoyance as well.

Ivar's other hand was still in his pants. A tight grip around his cock, which he stroked in slow motions. It was still overwhelming for him, each time anew, to feel the arousal building up inside it. He could feel the heart of his own lust pulsing through it and how with each of Heahmund's rough touches and bites more blood rushed downwards. Each new gush of blood that gathered in his dick, filled Ivar with pride. Every drop that escaped from his tip and spread over his fingers made him more confident.

As the bishop pressed his erection against his ass and began to rub against him, Ivar felt not only his cock twitching with excitement, but also his hole contracting as if the longed-for hard Christian cock had already entered him and was giving him the best pleasure he could imagine. He grew impatient, no longer wanting to feel Heahmund pressed against him muffled by fabric.

Ivar didn't want to let go of his own cock, so he released his hand from Heahmund's hair and slid it between their bodies, unabashedly sliding over the noticeable bulge, dignifying it in his palm before he began rubbing over it in firm circular motions. He closed his eyes, concentrating entirely on the feeling in his hands, both filled with proud virility. One more prominent than the other. Through their connection, Ivar had the feeling that the strength that Heahmund's cock radiated seemed to spill over into his. This was again noticeable as he felt both cocks twitch almost simultaneously as another firm thrust caused him to have to take a step forward to cushion it.

With two fingers, Ivar tried to undo Heahmund’s pants, fumbling impatiently with the strings until he moaned desperately into the still-ongoing kiss. He opened his eyes again and, despite Heahmund's attempts to hold him in the current position, turned his head to the front, thus interrupting the play of their mouths. Heahmund tightened his grip, trying to pull him back, but Ivar withstood the pressure even though fingertips dug painfully into his jaw.

"Get the only thing I like about you out of there. Now!" Ivar said through clenched teeth. There was no room for pleasantries. He had waited long enough. He wanted to feel its strength right against his skin. He was about to turn around when he only heard a dark laugh, but didn't feel Heahmund loosen his hands from him to comply with his command. However, the grip around his waist, which Heahmund tightened once more when he noticed Ivar's intention, didn't allow him to break free from it.

Ivar gave up his resistance and a frustrated growl escaped his throat but was immediately suppressed by Heahmund's lips as he sealed their mouths again after forcing Ivar to turn his head sideways once more. Heahmund pressed teasingly against the warm palm, grinding against it while moaning into the kiss as Ivar began massaging the outlines of his cock with kneading motions. It annoyed him that he was so easily controlled. He would have liked to make Ivar squirm longer, but he himself had no strength to hold back any longer. There was no escape from his weak mind.

Heahmund briefly considered which grip he could loosen to have a free hand to implement Ivar's wish, which of course also served him well. He wanted to feel Ivars warm skin against his arousal as much as the boy wanted to feel him. Heahmund made a quick decision, decided for the supporting hand, not wanting to run the risk that Ivar withdrew from the kiss again as soon as he could move his head freely. This mouth had to stay busy, at all costs, so Heahmund kept chasing after Ivar's lips. Fueled by his urge to rob Ivar of his breath, he licked deep into his mouth and took possession of the dirty thing that in some ways even tasted like an insult. An insult to the one true God, for not only was he once again standing in the Viking's chamber, with arousal throbbing so wildly between his loins that he could hardly think a normal thought, but he was also enjoying it on top of it. Too much. He feasted on Ivar's taste, craving the sweet sounds of pain-filled pleasure that traveled right into his hard-on. The need to fuck him into obedience grew immeasurably, causing his movements to become more and more frantic.

With quick and uncoordinated movements, Heahmund loosened the cords holding his pants closed, and let his tongue slide back into Ivar's mouth at the exact moment he pulled his cock out of his pants and slid it into Ivar's waiting hand. They both moaned at the same time, briefly parting their lips and continuing the dance of their tongues outside their mouths, while Heahmund kept thrusting into the hand that willingly tightened around him.

Without further ado, Heahmund started to open Ivar's pants as well, breathing heavily against his lips, stimulated by the quickened hand movements. As soon as he had opened them, he tore the fabric down a bit until the plump buttocks were exposed to which his eyes were immediately directed. A sound of craving escaped him and forgotten was the intention to keep Ivar's mouth occupied. His interest had wandered downward.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ivar's tongue licking over his upper lip, probably chasing the taste he had left on them. Ivar looked thoughtful, surely already thinking of his next taunting words he could get rid of now that he could do it again.

With one hand Heahmund grabbed one of the plump cheeks, growling deep in lust just by the nice and soft feel of it, and pushed it aside a little. Again, he let his cock slide through Ivar's curled fingers, guiding it so that it slid between his buttocks as well. His tip pressed against the tight ring of muscle that inevitably contracted at the contact.

Ivar let out a long-drawn moan, which he initially had tried to suppress. The grip on his own cock loosened, his hand swung backward onto Heahmund's butt, trying to push him closer. His stomach fluttered at the anticipation and the corners of his mouth dropped when Heahmund didn't thrust forward, but simply slid his cock between his cleft. Up and down, at a pace slow enough to be maddening, but with no intention to breach in. Each time Ivar could feel him moving back and coming forward again his hopes rose that this time he would finally feel the pleasant stretch.

It didn’t happen, though. With a sadistic grin on his face, Heahmund watched Ivar's features become increasingly bitter, his attempts to impale himself more and more impetuous.

"Come on, just..." Before Ivar could voice his displeasure at the delaying tactic in detail, Heahmund shoved two fingers deep into his mouth, silencing him in an instant.

"Shh. You better keep your mouth shut." Heahmund exhaled audibly as Ivar began sucking on his fingers. Startled by this kind of reaction, he pulled them out a bit, briefly thinking about whether this had been such a good idea. The tongue sliding over his fingertips, inviting them to plunge back in, made him give in and push his fingers in deeper again. After all, Ivar couldn't talk this way. It was worth losing two fingers in the worst case.

He did this a few times, matching the motion of his hips to the movement of his fingers. Images unfolded in Heahmund’s mind that he would not formulate aloud even before God alone. They were too shameless and betrayed too much of his sad true nature, which was not based on his faith but driven solely by primal instincts.

Grinning halfway, as best he could in his position, Ivar let it happen. His cunning in strategic plans was not limited to the battlefield. He also knew by now how to achieve his own goals when dealing with Heahmund. He was able to take good advantage of the bishop's weakness when it came to passion and desire and while he continued to do his best to welcome the fingers in his mouth, he simultaneously began to intensify the movements around Heahmund's cock, jerking it harder and faster. His thumb rubbed over the slippery tip, circling the slit from which came more beads of pleasure, which he spread around. By flicking his tongue around Heahmund's finger, he tried to convey that his talents were wasted at the moment.

It wasn't long before Heahmund abandoned his original plan. The sensations on his fingers were too much of an enticement, the hand on his cock suddenly insufficient. How could he resist this underlying promise? He wanted that wicked tongue pressed against his length and those sinful lips wrapped around his cock, sucking on it like Ivar was trying to get the last piece of meat off a bone.

One last time he pushed his fingers into the willingly opening mouth and let Ivar play with them one more time before he withdrew them. The slapping sound as his palm met the bare skin of Ivar's ass was accompanied by a surprised gasp as Heahmund had not held back.

A few purposeful maneuvers later, which made Ivar feel like a will-less doll being jerked around until it was positioned satisfactorily, he was face to face with Heahmund. His mouth immediately twisted into a grin as he glanced at his handsome face. Ivar liked the way Heahmund looked at him, how dilated his pupils were, how stern and determined his features. His bishop looked like a warrior ready to satisfy his hunger and greed.

"And here I thought you were going to bore me to death with your fingers," he said teasingly as he grabbed the hem of Heahmund's shirt and pulled it over his head.

"You don't seem bored." Heahmund snorted and directed his gaze downward. With a casual movement, he skimmed over Ivar's still proudly erect arousal and chuckled as this touch made Ivar tremble and his cheeks turn red with embarrassment. "And besides, it was a good way to keep you from talking too much."

"Oh really? You couldn't think of something a little more…fitting? You disappoint me." Ivar tried to cover his reaction with a thick, mocking tone. His lips twisted into a wry grin as he felt a shove against his chest that brought him back into a sitting position on the chaise longue behind him. His eyes remained locked with Heahmund's at first, still enjoying the hungry expression they held. Only when his counterpart stepped out of his pants and carelessly threw them away, Ivar could no longer keep his gaze directed upward.

It was not the first time he had seen Heahmund naked, yet Ivar let his gaze slide with delight over his well-defined chest down to the flat belly at the bottom of which thick protruding veins led the way to the object of his desire. Instantly, Ivar felt his mouth literally watering and he sucked his lower lip between his teeth, biting down on it tensely. An amused snort made him glance back up momentarily. Heahmund looked down at him, seeming to know exactly what Ivar was thinking about.

"It's about time you get that big mouth of yours stuffed again, huh?" A wave of pleasure swept over Heahmund at the thought of what he was about to do. He could think of nothing but the image of him burrowing himself deep into that wet hole, mouth-fucking Ivar speechless. He reached out to him, grabbed him by the hair this time, and pulled him closer against his crotch.

"Ah, now you're finally starting to make sense, my dear bishop," Ivar said, hissing at the sudden pain. His breath brushed over the cock in front of him, giving Heahmund goosebumps that spread around his lower belly.

Once again, Ivar was annoyed by the uselessness of his legs and by the fact that he was still wearing his leg braces. He wanted nothing more than to be able to drop to his knees and thus put himself in a better position to devour the thick cock he was thirsting for. However, he couldn't do this, but to allow Heahmund to step closer, Ivar grabbed both of his legs and moved them to the side.

As if magnetically attracted, his hand reached for Heahmund's cock right after, stroking it a few times until Heahmund increased the pressure against the back of his head a bit more, bringing him even closer and making it clear what he wanted.

Ivar pulled back the foreskin, exposing the sensitive redness. He let the tip of his tongue brush over it, absorbing the salty drop that had formed there. Another press on his head made Ivar tilt his head to the side, licking once along Heahmunds entire length. He could feel the vein he slid over twitching. He blanked out everything else around him and concentrated entirely on what he was doing. Even his own arousal remained uncared for.

"Now you bore me," Heahmund pressed out tensely, watching Ivar's actions closely. "Do what you are good for!" With his free hand, he grabbed Ivar by the chin, forcing him to open his mouth by digging his thumb and index finger into his cheeks. Without further ado, he pushed his cock into the resulting opening, exhaling audibly as Ivar voluntarily opened his mouth a little more, the blue eyes searching for his again. It was stunning to maintain the look while watching Ivar devour more and more of his cock. The sight burned deep into his soul.

At the first resistance, he paused, pulled back a little, only to thrust into him again right after. Deeper this time, meeting more resistance as Ivar began to press his lips tightly around him.

For Heahmund it was the best satisfaction to see Ivar like this. He, who otherwise always had a haughty look, marked by arrogance and perceived superiority. Seeing him now so submissive, sucking his cock like a good boy, which he most certainly was not, helped Heahmund a little to overcome his anger about the previous council. He found it hard to control himself, though, especially when Ivar swallowed, squeezing the tip of his cock in his throat.

He grabbed Ivar tighter by the hair and held him close as he sank into him again and again. Smacking sounds filled the room, complemented by gagging as his cock thrust deep into Ivar's throat. The resulting tightness whenever Ivar's throat tightened made Heahmund groan and become greedy to repeat it again.

Ivar pressed one of his hands against Heahmund's thigh when it became too much for him. He tried to keep him in control so as not to suffocate on his dick. It certainly was no way to Valhalla and even if so, he was not keen to enter Odin’s hall that way.

With his other one, he tried at the same time to undo the cords of his braces. He didn't really have to look at what his fingers were doing. He knew the position of each string, knew without looking how to untie the knots. Still, some could only be loosened with two hands, and Heahmund shamelessly exploited this by entering him up to the balls - with a wide and satisfied grin on his face, as he clearly enjoyed his superiority at that moment.

Heahmund was getting more and more impatient. Fascinated, he watched how much saliva had already spread on his cock, how long strings were pulled as he briefly withdrew completely to let Ivar take a few deep breaths before making him his plaything again. The tightness around his cockhead was driving him crazy, the vacuum Ivar was creating was robbing him of the last bit of self-control. He couldn't stop driving himself into him, didn't want this sweet pleasure to ever end. Heahmund felt the telltale tingling, perceived the lightning-like jolts that twitched through his abdomen. The greedy breaths that reached his ears whenever he withdrew a little sent shiver after shiver down his spine. His gasps became more frequent, louder, and turned into dark moans.

The sounds Ivar made, an interesting mix of wheezes and moans, fired him up even more. These were sounds he loved to hear coming out of Ivar's mouth - as he muttered out loud just a few seconds later.

His statement made Ivar laugh - or at least he tried to do so. The slight vibration this produced made Heahmund roll his eyes in pleasure. He briefly paused again, pulled out while looking at his wet cock and then at Ivar who was watching him in anticipation. His hair was disheveled, the braids not as neat as before, and his face had taken on a healthy red glow. With his thumb, Heahmund wiped a tear from Ivar's cheek that had escaped from his watery and slightly reddened eyes.

"Take those off," Heahmund said while kicking lightly against the metal frames that were still loosely wrapped around Ivar's legs.

Ivar waited a moment with his answer, first taking a few deep breaths. That his answer would be teasing was already evident from the grin he wore on his face.

"Are the consequences of disobedience something I would enjoy?" His lips shone with wetness, his voice now slightly rough in contrast to the otherwise rather soft tone. Before he bent down to comply with the request, Ivar spat the too much remaining spit in his mouth on Heahmund's cock.

"With your sick mind, I could imagine just that," replied as he smeared the spit over his shaft.

"Tell me more about the things you imagine about me," Ivar said while he removed the heavy supports from his legs. Gently, so as not to trigger those pains from which he couldn't gain anything good. He also got rid of his shirt right after. It had become far too hot in this room to keep it on. His pants, however, he kept as it was, pulled over his butt and crotch but continuing to cover everything underneath. "Do you think of me when you are on your knees in your church wasting your time with a weak god?" he continued to ask after receiving no response to his previous request.

Heahmund refused to answer Ivar's allegations or fantasies. There was not necessarily any untruth in them, but Ivar didn't need to know anything about what lay in the abysses of his mind. The images that actually haunted him in unfavorable situations were meant only for him.

As soon as both braces came undone, Heahmund pushed them aside with his feet, not caring to be careful with them. They were in the way, they had to go. With the next movement, he reached under Ivar's legs, put them one-sided over his shoulder and was about to pull Ivar's butt closer to the edge of the seat when he was stopped by a grip on his arms.

"Bed," was the only thing Ivar said as an explanation, and Heahmund murmured in annoyance. A glance down made him hesitate, the next willing hole was right in front of him. All he had to do was push forward hard once, and he would be back in his temporary heaven. His being filled with delight.

"The chains. I want it there," Ivar continued, also not so sure anymore if he really wanted to wait for about two breaths longer before he was finally filled by Heahmund. His wet tip was already touching his ass cheek, letting the heat it radiated transfer to him. With both forearms, he propped himself up on the cushion beneath him, bracing himself, unsure whether Heahmund would listen to him or whether he would immediately start fucking him on the spot.

Heahmund turned his head to the said objects and briefly weighed his options. Sighing, he let Ivar's legs slide off his shoulder again, grabbed him under the buttocks and lifted him up to carry him to the bed. With their heads so close again, it wasn't long before they found themselves in another heated kiss that bridged the short distance nicely.

Ivar was grateful that Heahmund saved him the way in this manner. Crawling on the floor in front of others always had something humiliating about it. Doing this with a boner, on top of everything else, was not something Ivar particularly fancied.

The chains above his bed, which usually helped him to get up, and which Alfred had been so nice to put up here in this room as well, clanked as Ivar reached into them and pulled himself up a bit, seeking a good grip. In this position, his shins only lightly bumped against the surface of the bed and no weight rested on them, which could cause harm.

Heahmund had crawled onto the bed right behind Ivar and without further ado pulled the boy's pants down a bit more and tightened the belt in the area of his middle thighs so that they wouldn't slide down even further on their own. He didn't need to see those legs. The bony feeling whenever he happened to touch them was enough for him to know that the sight of them would not bring him any eye candy. He, therefore, focused with great favor on the features that provided him with a pleasant view. Like, for example, the naked ass in front of him.

With both hands, he grabbed it and dug his fingers into the soft skin to push the buttocks further apart. He bent over the resulting crevice and spat into it, spreading the moisture with his thumb around the ring of muscle that contracted at the touch. Spurred on by Ivar's shaky exhale, Heahmund leaned his forehead against Ivar's shoulder. Not wanting to wait any longer, he thrust his hips forward without further warning and let his tip break through the barrier in one go. One of his hands held his cock at the root, pushing it deeper into the tight opening.

The chains clanked again as Ivar threw his head back, his mouth open in a silent scream, his eyes squinted. His breathing stopped for a moment, his heart was hammering wildly against his chest as Heahmund penetrated him deeper and deeper without wavering, stopping only when he had fully sunk in. Ivar felt it when the curly hair caused a tickling sensation on his skin. The knowledge made him take a deep breath again. Everything inside him tingled. The burning sensation of being stretched so quickly spread throughout his abdomen. He gritted his teeth to keep himself from screaming in bliss. He feasted on the sensation that made his cock twitch instantly, pleasurably tormented.

The pause didn't last long and didn't give Ivar enough time to get used to being filled so roughly. Heahmund increased his grip on Ivar's hips and pushed him forward, causing his cock to slip out. Again he spat on it, trying to hit the opening to ease his way inside. He was not doing this for Ivar's sake. He had no mercy on him, for he knew he would enjoy it just as much without. For his own sensibilities, however, it was more pleasant this way.

With a forceful movement, he pulled Ivar's lower body back against himself. They both moaned loudly as he sank into him again in one go. Since Ivar was virtually hanging from the ceiling, he had enough leeway to direct him as he wished. The resulting momentum also benefited Heahmund and ensured that he could generate a fast pace without much effort, continuously conquering Ivar, impaling him, accompanied by the sound of skin meeting skin and the noises that came uncontrollably out of both their mouths.

Ivar's moans became louder, almost turning into screams with every thrust that made his butt slap noisily against Heahmund's crotch. He tried to control himself, to be quieter, but the hardness of the thrusts knocked him out of his mind. The speed with which he was fucked made him barely catch his breath. The roughness with which he was handled almost made him burn up with inner heat. Again and again, the cock inside him rubbed over that spot inside him that made him see flashes in front of his inner eye. The clanking of the chains no longer managed to drown out his gasping sounds.

Heahmund had to muffle his moans by biting the shoulder in front of him as well. When Ivar's sounds became too loud, he unceremoniously took one of his hands from his waist and placed it over his mouth, pressing the side of his index finger against his nostrils at the same time. He slowed down his pace, letting his hips gyrate more in return. Ivar should feel how good he filled him.

The effort to hold himself up made itself felt in Ivar's arms. They began to ache, providing additional sweet pain. The need to touch himself grew equally into an unbearable urge in Ivar. His cock bobbed up and down with each thrust, craving touch. Just the thought of how good it would feel if he could jerk himself off caused a milky drop to emerge, sliding towards the sheet in one long thread. The squeezing of his airway did the rest to make Ivar want to get out of his current situation.

Without hesitation, Ivar simply let go of the chains and tried to catch himself with his hands as he fell forward, but his arms were too strained from the previous exertion that they collapsed under him. He fell headfirst into the pillows and felt Heahmund slip completely out of him for a moment. Only a breath later he was already above him again, pushing his legs to the side and entering him anew.

Ivar turned his head to the side to get some air and immediately saw that Heahmund was about to put his hand over his mouth again. He batted it away at first, but then reached for it only a second later, guiding it to his throat instead.

Pleased with the outcome, Ivar closed his eyes. He listened to the strained breathing close to his ear, stretched out to the thrusts that caused him a new wave of sweet agony. Heahmund kept fucking him incessantly, constantly changing the angle and his rhythm. It was driving Ivar crazy. His hole throbbed, clenched to keep that godsent cock deep inside him. He could feel the panic that automatically rose slowly in him as he was deprived of air. His heartbeat accelerated. Although his life was threatened in some way at that moment, he felt strangely more alive than before. He could hear his blood rushing in his ears, felt it racing through his body. His hand shot down, gripping his own cock tightly. A deep moan escaped him as he finally felt the longed-for touch. Quickly he began to move his hand, squeezing tighter whenever he rubbed over his tip.

A firm grip around his wrist made Ivar pause. It stopped him from getting some much needed relief. Confused and a little desperate, he turned his head further back, feeling the tug of overstretching as he tried to catch Heahmund's gaze.

"Let go!" he ordered in his classic commanding tone, a little more breathless than usual, but Heahmund just grinned superiorly in his face. Instead of obeying, he pressed Ivar's hand into the sheet next to his head, reducing his movement to a minimum.

"I said let go!"

"Oh, I heard you." Slowly, he let his cock slip in again, enjoying the squirm that ran through Ivar's body and the annoyance on his face.

"Then do it!"

"No mercy, you said," Heahmund reminded Ivar of his carelessly spoken words shortly after he had entered the room.

Ivar puffed in frustration and tried to slide his other hand under his body to get to his swollen dick. Heahmund was faster. As soon as he saw through the attempt, he grabbed it as well and pressed it into the sheet, just as he had done with the other. Both hands were now next to his head and Ivar didn't like the current situation at all. A plea was on the tip of his tongue, held back only by his pride.

In a rather pitiful attempt, Ivar tried to rear up and get his hands free, but Heahmund shifted his weight and supported himself entirely on his hands, pressing Ivar's hands even tighter into the sheets, and slowly they turned paler as they could no longer get proper blood flow.

Again Ivar groaned in frustration, more indignant this time. He wanted to yell at Heahmund. Wanted to give vent to his inner despair, but he held back. He knew it wouldn’t be smart.

That he couldn't drive himself to climax was one thing, but that Heahmund remained almost still was hardly endurable. "At least move then." He tried another command. One that he was sure Heahmund would be more willing to carry out.

And so he did.

Short, abrupt, and breathing harder and harder, his stamina slowly coming to an end.

Although each new deep thrust that pushed over his sensitive spot brought him close to falling apart, Heahmund changed his angle and rhythm too often for Ivar to reach his climax. Ivar tried hard to suppress his noises, not to give Heahmund any signs, because he felt as if Heahmund knew exactly when he had brought him to the edge of the cliff and he was ready to jump into the waves of the raging ocean that would sweep him away. Every time he was at that point, Heahmund would pull him back by changing something. It seemed that he had in fact no spark of mercy for him.

It was a cruel tactic. Ivar hated it as much as he loved this feeling of absolute submission and being at someone's mercy. A shiver ran through him as the thought briefly occurred to him that Heahmund could just leave him here, unsatisfied, after he was done with him, after he had satisfied his own lust.

He did not want this to happen.

When the tingling started to build up in his lower abdomen again and his breath only came out of him erratically, Ivar finally forced the words out he was almost choking on.

"Let go," he muttered breathlessly, adding through clenched teeth, almost whining, "Please!"

Only a few moments later, a gush of white liquid shot out of him and wetted his hand, which had immediately begun frantically jerking his cock as soon as Heahmund had released it. He screamed his cry of relief into the pillow, into which he was pressed even harder by one hand on the back of his neck to muffle the sound.

Ivar's whole body tensed, making Heahmund his prisoner once again.

Robbed of his sanity by the breathtaking tightness, Heahmund mobilized his last reserves and thrust himself madly into the pulsating hole, further goaded by Ivar's spasms.

"I hate you," he moaned in a voice dark with lust before digging his teeth into Ivar's shoulder and jerking violently as he spurted his seed deep inside him, fucking him even further through his orgasm. Abandoned of his strength, he slumped down on Ivar.

They were both busy with themselves, quietly enjoying the aftermath. It took a while for them to catch their breath, and only then did Heahmund roll off Ivar and come to lie next to him on his back, letting out a wheeze that testified to his exhaustion. His eyes focused on the ceiling, his mind was blank, the anger gone.

Ivar used his newfound freedom and propped himself up on his forearms. Still flushed in the face and with wet strands sticking to his forehead and cheek, he looked at Heahmund.

"I love the way you hate me."

﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

@youbloodymadgenius@istorkyou@ivarlover

#heavar #heahmund & ivar #heahmund x ivar #bishop heahmund #ivar the boneless #ivar x heahmund #ivar vikings #vikings #vikings fanfiction #vikings fic #my stuff #my writing

42 notes · View notes

the-girl-in-the-box · 2 years ago

Text

Not Today XLII

A/N: And we're finally back with another update! I posted on my last update to Can You Imagine? That I was going to try and get on a system of posting an update weekly, rotating which fic I'm updating, which means this will probably be updated about every three weeks going forward. So that said, I hope you all enjoy being back to this story, and I hope you'll stick around for the coming updates- I told you this wasn't abandoned XD Skål!

Summary: When Ivar takes the throne of Kattegat, Lagertha flees to Wessex along with Björn, Ubbe, Torvi, and the Bishop Heahmund. There, they seek the aid of King Alfred. This aid comes in the form of his sister, Aethelind, who agrees to travel to Kattegat and try to reason Ivar, who she spent some time with during their youth, when her grandfather King Ecbert hosted Ragnar Lothbrok in their castle. Now, she is the only hope for Lagertha and her supporters to retake Kattegat from Ivar the Boneless.

Masterlist

Asta felt like she was going to explode. Talking to Olaf had brought up all the grief she’d felt over the years, everything she felt she had locked away when she left Kattegat, and now it was threatening to burst out of her if one more thing happened to bring it out of her. That’s why she needed to talk to Ivar- if anyone would know how to stay sane in the face of everything they were facing… Well, it wasn’t him, but he could help her sort through things at the least.

She let Hvitserk lead her back through the town quickly, indulging herself in the protective arm he’d wrapped around her shoulders. How would she be able to stand it if something were to happen to him, or to Ivar? She’d already lost so much… Truthfully, she wasn’t sure she would be able to handle it- and not like this, when she wasn’t sure she’d handled what had happened so far just yet. If she went through it in her mind- the father she hadn’t known, Heahmund, the father she had, Aethelred, her mother, Freydis, Lagertha, Bjorn… And those were only the deaths. What about Alfred, and Torvi and Ubbe who she hadn’t heard from in… who knew how long at this point?

Her mind turned back to something her beloved Freydis had once said to her, after the death of the Bishop Heahmund. When she had confessed her heart had broken with news of his death, Freydis had told her that her heart would repair. But that had been before everything else she had lost. She wasn’t so sure anymore that was true. Very suddenly, she held out her hand and held it to Hvitserk’s chest. “Wait,” she said, and he looked down at her confusedly.

“Princess?” he questioned. “What is it?”

“I think I need to be alone,” she confessed. “I need… I need to think. Please.”

“Of course,” Hvitserk replied. “Where will you be should we need you?”

Asta swallowed, looking out over the mountains. “I’d say wandering, but that wouldn’t be of any help, would it?” she said with a quiet chuckle. “There’s a clearing not far from here, take the path out of Vestfold and follow it to the east. I’ll be there.”

Hvitserk nodded a little. “Be careful,” he warned her. “Keep your sword about you at all times, just in case.”

“I will, thank you, Hvitserk,” she replied. “Will you let Ivar know?” She didn’t worry about clarifying, sure enough of him to believe that he would know what she was asking him to tell his brother. And happily, she saw she was right, as Hvitserk asked no questions. Instead, he kissed her on the head and wished her well before heading toward the palace.

Now all alone, Asta started down the path she’d indicated to Hvitserk, keeping an eye out as he’d requested. Besides, as little as she trusted Oleg and his men, she didn’t want to take any risks.

In the days since Asta left Wessex, she had noticed something about the way she’d picked up Viking customs. She didn’t pray the way she once did, not anymore. She had grown up praying in church, on her knees in the pews, hands clasped together and head bowed. Now, she just… prayed. The rituals had all stayed behind in England, and in their wake was left comfort and familiarity, a relationship as opposed to religion. Freedom she hadn’t once known.

Unlike Kattegat, Kiev had been stifling. She had to hide so many things there, for fear of what Oleg may do if he learned, even having to resort to hiding away to say a prayer. It wasn’t because Oleg had something against Christians- on the contrary, the man claimed to be one himself- but rather because everything he believed about her would begin to unravel if he learned this one truth about her. Asta knew Oleg would never understand how a wanderer who came to Kattegat, and became the wife of Ivar the Boneless, had become a Christian in her time there in Kiev- and to not partake in the rituals of the Kievan Rus would simply make him question things even more. She knew if he continued to pull on that thread, it would inevitably lead him to the truth- that she was English, and nearly everything he knew about her was a lie. No, she couldn’t allow that.

Thus, she waited until she was well enough alone to pray, and even sought out a hidden place to do so. Somehow, she found that just stepping into that space released the restraints she felt she now lived her life in, and she let out a long breath as she felt the peace of it wash over her. “I don’t know what to do,” she confessed quietly, her voice nearly a whisper. “My life has changed… so much in the past years, Lord. My family are all but gone, my past buried so deeply inside me that I can hardly tell where the truth ends and this lie begins. Add to that how miserable I feel with each and every lie I tell, and I just… I’m so lost. Telling my story to King Olaf has brought it all back, every part of myself I’d silenced, and I know now that I cannot continue on this path I’ve set myself on. But what happens to Ivar and Hvitserk, if I reveal the truth? They’ve known me for years now, won’t Oleg know this? Know what they’ve done in helping me to conceal this? What will he do to them for covering the lie? I need You to show me what I am meant to do, to give me the strength to do it. I’m so afraid, Lord… of losing anything more than I already have.” She swallowed hard, letting out a shaky breath. “Help me overcome these fears. Bring me back to You. In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti.”

The sound of footsteps approaching interrupted Asta, and she turned back to see Hvitserk running down the path. “Asta, you need to come now,” he said, urgency lacing his voice. “They are going to kill King Olaf.”

Asta’s eyes widened as she processed the words, and she blinked a few times. “What are we doing?” she questioned. “What does Ivar want us to do?”

Hvitserk shook his head. “Nothing,” he answered. “He wants us to attend the execution, but we will not interfere. He wants to keep Oleg’s trust still.”

As little as Asta liked the idea of just letting this happen, she nodded. “Alright,” she replied. “Then we should go.”

They nearly ran back to town, to the docks where the execution was to take place, so they wouldn’t miss any of it, and by the time they wormed their way up to the front Asta could see that Olaf had already been tied down to a chair. Ivar, Oleg, and Igor were there as well, standing up at the front to watch the execution. Hvitserk moved to lean against a post nearby, while Asta came to stand beside Ivar, watching as two men stepped forward and began to pour oil all over… the wood piled around the chair? Oh. It was then that Olaf began to speak, and Asta’s eyes widened.

“There is someone beside me,” he said.

Oleg frowned. “There is no one beside you,” he said. “You are all alone.”

“No, there is someone beside me,” Olaf reiterated. “Although I cannot see Him, I know He is here.”

“How do you know, you old fool?” Oleg demanded.

“Because He speaks to me,” Olaf said. “I hear His voice.”

Asta swallowed as she realised what he meant, and a chill ran down her spine. Anticipation began to build in her. Listen.

Hvitserk glanced over at Asta, noticing the suddenly attentive gaze she had pinned on King Olaf. He hadn’t confessed to this earlier, but he’d heard the tale end of her prayer. He knew now what the woman was struggling with, so he asked, “And what does He say?”

Olaf answered, “He says, ‘He who believes in Me, though he may die, he shall live. I am the resurrection and the life. I shall walk beside you. Always. Always.”

Asta was stunned. I shall walk beside you. She glanced over at Ivar, who she could tell understood the point of Olaf’s words, and had grown concerned. Why, she couldn’t say, but she knew what it meant to her. She had to do what was right, and the rest wasn’t up to her.

Still, she was distracted from trying to figure that out by Oleg’s interruption, as he instructed Igor, “Don’t listen to him, get on with it.” When he shoved the boy forward, a torch in hand, Asta felt anger boil up inside her. He was really going to make a child do this? He had the gall to order a man’s death, but not to go through with it on his own? To do it himself? She wasn’t sure her opinion of him could get any lower than this. Then, she noticed how anxious Igor clearly was, and her heart clenched.

“This isn’t right,” she murmured from beside Ivar. “He’s a child…”

“I know,” Ivar whispered in return. “But we cannot stop it. Not without raising suspicion.”

She swallowed again as she heard Olaf trying to comfort Igor, even as the young Prince was preparing to end his life. “Don’t be afraid,” he said, though in Asta’s experience that rarely actually helped.

“I can’t,” Igor replied.

“Think of me as already dead,” Olaf advised. “Nothing more can hurt me. Not the thunder, nor the deep swell of the waves, nor yet, the tongues of fire.”

Igor turned back to Ivar, as if silently asking whether or not he should go through with this, and while Ivar nodded to encourage him, Asta glanced over at Oleg. He was clearly quite unnerved by this, seeing that Igor preferred Ivar’s encouragement to his own, and that, at least, brought a small smirk to Asta’s lips as she turned to watch the execution again. Let him stew on that. Children rarely sought strength from the person who pushed them too far, anyway.

The boy knelt down in front of Olaf, lowering the torch toward the pyre built at the King’s feet. “I’m sorry,” he said.

“Don’t be,” Olaf replied. “My lands are in order, and I am ripe for Heaven.”

He offered Igor a reassuring smile, and Igor finally lit the pyre, before standing and beginning to back up. Ivar reached out and wrapped his arm around him to pull him back, protecting him from the flames that grew quickly to ensnare Olaf within them. To the surprise of most there, however, the man lifted his hands as if in prayer, and gave nothing even close to a cry of pain as he was consumed. Oleg shook his head and stalked off.

For once, his behavior left Asta unbothered as she watched Olaf’s life fade before her eyes. She hadn’t known him for very long, but she had quickly realized how wise he was, the depth of his knowledge, and the fact he had asked the question that had been the catalyst to her awakening was something she couldn’t simply overlook. It hadn’t taken very long at all, but King Olaf had become quite an influential figure in her life. But the Lord worked in mysterious ways, she knew, and all paths crossed for a reason. She found herself thanking God for Olaf’s life, and for the chance she got to meet him, swallowing as she blinked to clear the wetness from her eyes. The crowd began to disburse, and Ivar asked her if she was coming along with him, Hvitserk, and Igor, but she answered that she wanted to be left alone for a while.

She stayed until there was nothing left to stay for, a lone figure on the dock.

Eventually, Asta returned to the Great Hall, and she quickly became aware of Ivar at her side. “My love,” he whispered, disguising it with a kiss to the side of her head. “Are you alright? Hmm?”

She nodded slightly and leaned her head over against his. “Just tired,” she answered. “I don’t think I’ll stay for the feast tonight. I need to get some rest, think about some things.”

Ivar frowned, not convinced at all that Asta really was ‘just tired’ as she said. But, he wasn’t about to force the truth out of her in front of this crowd, so instead of trying he simply nodded and kissed her head again. “I’ll come and join you soon,” he promised. “And I’ll bring you food and drink. Go rest.”

Asta smiled up at him lovingly, reaching up to cup his cheek. “Thank you,” she said. “You don’t know how much of a comfort you are to me.” She leaned up to kiss him softly, and rested her forehead against his, taking a deep breath as if she could draw some sort of strength from him. Ivar returned her kiss before pressing one of his own to her forehead, and releasing her.

She wandered off to head to their room, stopping to press a kiss to the top of Igor’s head and telling him she was proud of him, and when she got in there, the sounds of the feast now distant, she felt a weight come off her shoulders. Running a hand through her hair, she went and flopped down on the bed. It was then that her door opened, and she looked up to see who had come in.

If there was anyone she had expected to see, it wasn’t Igor. Still, she smiled a little when she saw him, sitting up to greet him. “Igor,” she said. “Can I help you with something?”

“You did not seem like you were well when you left the feast,” he told her. “I wanted to come and see what was wrong.”

Asta let out a touched sort of sound and smiled at him, reaching out to invite him to come and sit with her. “Oh, sweet boy,” she said affectionately. He did as she offered and settled in beside her, so that she started to run her fingers through his hair. “I’m more worried about you than you need to be about me. How are you after today?”

Igor swallowed and shifted uncomfortably. “I didn’t want to kill him,” he said. “I’m not even sure what he did wrong.”

This brought forth a sigh from Asta, who ended up laying back with Igor and holding him close still. “Nothing,” she said. “Your uncle wanted him dead because he feared the loyalty King Olaf could inspire in the remaining Vikings. This sort of thing isn’t exactly uncommon in war, but…” She paused and gave a soft sigh. “It wasn’t right, especially not the way it was done. Your uncle made the decision, and he should have seen it through himself- not passed it off to his young nephew. I can’t tell you how sorry I am he did that, and how much I wish he hadn’t.”

Igor shrugged a little as if he wasn’t all that bothered. “He said he wanted to teach me how to be strong,” he said. “So I had to be the one to do it.”

“Killing a man doesn’t make you strong, darling,” Asta told him. “Although you are strong for enduring what your uncle made you do today. But killing in itself isn’t what defines strength. In fact, your uncle showed a lack of it when he didn’t kill King Olaf himself.”

“He did?” Igor asked, looking up at her with wide eyes.

She hummed as she nodded. “He did,” she confirmed. “Never forget this, Igor. If you ever decide to execute a man, you must always be willing to carry it out yourself. If you aren’t so convinced it’s the right thing to do that you have the strength to do it, then it isn’t right. Do you understand?”

He nodded at her. “I think I do,” he confirmed.

It was just then that the door opened again, and Ivar was coming in with a plate full of food, a cup balanced carefully on it and leaned up against his arm. He blinked a few times when he saw his wife and Igor laying together. “Did I miss the invitation?” he deadpanned.

“Yes,” Asta teased him in response. “I was just telling Igor how he couldn’t trust you anymore, and he could only trust me.”

Ivar raised a brow and asked Igor, “Is that true?”

“No,” he replied. “She was teaching me about strength.”

“Ah,” Ivar said. “This makes more sense. I did not think she would betray me that way.”

Asta chuckled softly. “Mm, but he could be lying, you’ll never know,” she joked.

Ivar smirked and brought her food and drink to her. “Then I suppose I will just have to trust you,” he answered, and once the food was sat on the small table beside the bed, leaned down to kiss her softly.

That was when Igor gave a fake gag and got up. “I’m going to go now,” he announced, causing Asta to fall into a fit of giggles. “Enjoy… that.” He shuddered and then walked out of the room.

“Should we have stopped him?” Asta asked, looking up at Ivar and trying not to laugh, especially when he shrugged.

“I wanted to see if you were doing better anyway,” he said. Her laughter died down instantly. “Mm, you are not. Hvitserk told me you had left the village to pray. You only leave for that when something is bothering you. What is it?”

Asta swallowed and looked away from him, sitting up slowly as she took in a deep breath. This wasn’t a conversation she had expected to have this way, but… she had asked for a path, hadn’t she? The time had simply come to take it. She looked back up at him, and said, “I think we need to talk.”

Taglist: @youbloodymadgenius, @katfett, @crashbyers, @heavenly1927, @pomegranates-and-blood, @lotr-got, @dekusdante

If you want to be added to the taglist, feel free to reach out either by commenting, reblogging, DMing me, or sending an ask, and I’ll be more than happy to add you!

#ivar the boneless #ivar #ivar ragnarsson #ivar x oc #ivar x ofc #ivar x original female character #ivar x christian!oc #ivar's heathen army #alex hogh andersen #vikings #vikings history channel #history channel vikings #not today #chapter forty-two

9 notes · View notes

levithestripper · 1 year ago

Text

this chapter was SO GOOD omg ily

“Clothilda sat at Alethia’s feet, her head leaning against Alethia’s knee.”

i’ve only had her for a day but if anything happens to her ill kill everyone in this room than myself

“Heahmund.”

thanks but no thanks

“Perhaps leaving hurt because she was afraid Athelstan had found someone else, that he was not willing to forgive her…”

pookie hes obsessed w you dw

““He is King now.” Athelstan smirked.”

GODS I LOVE THIS SCENE

“Ecbert’s eyes began following his figure more than he was comfortable with.”

DIE DIE DIE!!!!!!

““She talks funny. Her husband taught her English, at least that’s what she said. She misses him very much. His name is Athelstan. What is your name?””

TEEHEE *rubs hands together like an evil fly*

I love Miriam btw

“Athelstan knew that melody. He knew it, and he knew the laugh. He knew Hagar, and yet, Hagar was not the woman’s name. Athelstan did not knock. Instead, he simply pulled the door open and froze in the doorway. “Alethia.” he said. Athelstan exhaled, and suddenly, a weight disappeared from his shoulders. “Athelstan.” she replied.”

SCREAMING CRYING THROWING UP ROLLING ON THE FLOOR

““I have. Ragnar insisted I steal you away.” Athelstan replied”

steal me away who said that

“Athelstan wanted him to shut up, but he was Floki, and never would.”

floki shut up challenge: level impossible

““What do you mean, you haven’t even fucked?” Ragnar blurted out. Athelstan shifted under his gaze, but he knew that Ragnar had him pinned.”

HELP

the entirety of the ending convo with floki, ragnar, lagertha, and rollo is fucking gold i love it more than you can imagine

ch. 7 – heald (to hold)

notes: i lowk hate the second half of this...

summary: goodbyes and hellos

warnings: none i think? minor mentions of trauma, ecbert is a bitch but whats new

tagged: @demon-of-the-ancient-world @levithestripper @grantairescurls

general masterlist | series masterlist

Alethia

Godwin’s chubby fingers grasped her hand, the boy trying to bite Alethia’s hand. She let him, rocking him absentmindedly as she stared into the bonfire. Next to her sat Eadith, John in her arms and Finnian next to her, drifting off to sleep. Insects chirped from the field, and Ethelfleda’s children were chasing each other around the flames. Clothilda sat at Alethia’s feet, her head leaning against Alethia’s knee. The girl stared up into the sky, eyes desperate to grasp a last look at the stars.

It was a cool spring night, just on the cusp of summer, and the air smelled of it. Ethelfleda had said that this night would be their last reprieve of the heat that the village would have for a while. Alethia knew what that meant.

She had to leave soon.

Tomorrow, Heahmund would take Clothilda to the nunnery in Wroughton. Alethia would accompany them, carry Clothilda’s few belongings and help the girl find her place amongst the nuns. And when she was done, she’d slip away. She’d give Heahmund a message, but she would not say goodbye. Not to him, nor to Finnian or Eadith or Godwin or John. It felt like betrayal, even if she had told them what was going to happen.

“What’s wrong?” Eadith asked. She was playing peek-a-boo with John, who only gave his mother a few happy laughs. When her hands covered her eyes again, Alethia spoke.

“Nothing. I just…” Alethia trailed off. Quietly, she adjusted Godwin in her lap. “I miss home.”

“Is this not home?” Eadith replied.

“You know what I mean. And besides, I do not belong here. I think I shall try to return to Frankia. To my family.”

“I love you. We all love you.” Eadith said. “You could stay. Remarry. None of us would think any less of you for it.”

“And who would I marry?” Alethia asked dryly.

“Heahmund.”

Alethia looked to the priest across from her, watching intently as she and Eadith spoke. His sword was lain across his lap, blade glinting with the flames. Perhaps she should take it.

Instead of answering, Alethia snorted. Eadith giggled with her, like the girl she truly was.

“I’m going to miss you.” Alethia said suddenly, and immediately, she wished she hadn’t.

“You’ll only be gone for a few days.” Eadith replied, brows furrowing with worry. She knew something was wrong with Alethia, but she did not say anything. Yet.

“Still. You are my best friend here.”

Eadith smiled at that, leaning towards Alethia.

“And you mine. But do not tell that to Titha or Darelene.”

Alethia committed her face to memory, then. The freckles on the bridge of her nose, the reddish-brown hair, the delicate lashes and crooked nose, the small scar and low-set brows.

“I could never.” She said finally.

Five days later, Alethia betrayed Eadith. She waited until Heahmund was fast asleep, and then, she took his cloak and dagger, drawing the hood into her face before she began running. Heahmund did not have a horse, and so, he would not be able to catch her as quickly as Aethelwulf would have, had he looked in the right direction. If anything, he’d have to run into the forest right after Alethia.

She trudged South where the village was East, wiping her face as the tears began to spill. There was no reason for her to cry. Alethia, and only Alethia, had made the choice to leave. It was something good, she was going back to Athelstan, but the fact that she was leaving still left a bitter taste on her tongue.

Perhaps leaving hurt because she was afraid Athelstan had found someone else, that he was not willing to forgive her and the Northmen would chase her away. Perhaps, though it was good she was leaving, she could still allow herself to let it hurt.

All alone in the forest, Alethia had too much time to think. So, she began running until her lungs burned and her feet ached. It made her feel a little better.

And then, she was all alone again.

Athelstan

He stepped into Ecbert’s villa with the same fear he’d felt when he’d come there the first time. Athelstan forced himself to remember that he was with Ragnar and Lagertha, with the Northmen. That he was safe. Still, he could not help the fact that his hand curled around the head of his axe a little more tightly as he passed under the gates.

Ragnar looked around, taking in all details of the villa, while Lagertha kept her eyes trained on Ecbert and Aethelwulf, eyeing both with suspicion. She pushed herself in front of Athelstan, and he knew precisely why she did it.

“Thank you.” Athelstan said quietly. Lagertha barely nodded. Still, he ducked away from Ecbert, painfully careful to keep his distance from him. It did not work.

“Welcome here! I bid you all welcome.” Ecbert said, turning to Ragnar. “Earl Ragnar.”

“He is King now.” Athelstan smirked.

“King Ragnar Lothbrok. What happened to King Horik?” Ecbert asked.

“He met with a, uh… unfortunate accident.” Ragnar mumbled, trying, and failing, not to smile.

“Then we are truly equal.” Ecbert replied, clapping Ragnar on the back before he turned to the other Northmen. “It is my pleasure to feed you and prove the bounty of our Earth.”

“What has happened to our people who chose to fight for Mercia?” Lagertha asked impatiently.

Kwentrith stepped forward. “Unfortunately, the forces of my uncle and younger brother have prevailed. But if you, Ragnar Lothbrok, and you, Lagertha, would join with us I am sure of victory.”

“King Ragnar,” Ecbert began again, and Athelstan noticed that he had the decency to look embarassed. “I have given you land. Let me tell you the truth, as God is my witness, some of my nobles do not agree with what I have done. They are afraid. But, I am determined to honor our treaty. In return, some of you, at least must fight for Princess Kwenthrith.”

“That is not part of our original agreement, but… in good faith, and in hopes of creating a long and prosperous… friendship,I will fight. But I cannot speak for the others.” Ragnar said.

“I will fight, alongside these pagans. For Mercia.” Aethelwulf agreed as well.

“Bjorn?”

The young man nodded, and Athelstan thought of his… woman. Sometimes, Porunn’s willfulness reminded him of Alethia.

“All have agreed, except Lagertha.” Athelstan announced.

“Go and translate to Lagertha for me.” Ecbert commanded, and Athelstan noticed how easy it was for the king to slip back into commanding him. “In order to establish the settlement here in Wessex, I need the help of one of your leaders. A strong leader. Someone that my nobles will respect.” Ecbert said. Quickly, Athelstan translated.

“Why does he see me as a leader?” Lagertha asked. “Is he not a Christian?”

Ecbert thought before he answered her translated question.

“Alethia showed me that women can be more than just dangerously stupid.” he said finally. “That woman could have torn down this villa, and it is good she is dead.”

Athelstan’s heart sunk. Still, he told Lagertha. The shieldmaiden seemed to consider for a moment, before she agreed with a nod.

“She agrees to remain in Wessex, to establish the settlement and to help farm the land.” Athelstan said.

“And you also must stay, Athelstan. You can speak for all sides. We need you. I need you.I trust you more than anyone else.”

“You killed Alethia.” Athelstan bit out. “You just admitted it.”

“I did not. I would not have. She managed that all by herself, running off into the woods to get torn apart by the wolves. We never even found a trace of her! As if she vanished.” Ecbert said, eyes narrow. The king’s fury was barely concealed and Athelstan guessed that, in her attempt to escape, Alethia had embarrassed him. It gave Athelstan some satisfaction. “I think you should stay.”

Did he have a choice? “Then I shall stay.” Athelstan agreed.

The feast was not for him. Athelstan slipped away when Kwentrith tried to play cat and mouse with Lagertha and Ecbert’s eyes began following his figure more than he was comfortable with. Instead, Athelstan walked into empty hallways and snuck away into the library, where he knew he would find solace amongst scrolls.

Amongst his work.

It was no use. The library was no longer a safe haven, instead reminding him of Alethia. There, at the table that was now coated in a layer of dust, he had taught her his languages. First English, then Norse. There, a few steps away, he had kissed her for the first and last time.

His hand reached up, fingers ghosting over his lips absentmindedly. Then, Athelstan pressed the balls of his hands into his eyes until small sparks began to fly behind his closed lids. Why was he always thinking like this? So destructively, so stupidly pointless in a way that only made everything hurt.

Leaving the library was harder than it should have been, and yet, Athelstan dragged himself out of it, past the roman bath and back up the stairs into the courtyard. There, the faint sound of a Norse drinking song spilled outside, but the summer heat had cooled down into a considerably more bearable night.

Athelstan did not know why he walked to the church. He supposed that it was his nature, as a monk, to go there. It was easy to walk the path there, habit even, and even if the church doors were heavy, they swung open for him, almost invitingly.

He breathed in, smelling the incense. This was better. At least here, Alethia was not the only one haunting him. Athelstan walked towards the altar, staring at the gleaming golden cross. Then, suddenly, he heard footsteps and froze.

Behind him, a serving girl smiled timidly.

“Who are you?” Athelstan asked.

The girl smiled, and Athelstan noticed the small gap between her front teeth. She was young, maybe ten years old, and yet, a scar made a gap in her lip. It caused her to lisp when she spoke.

“I’m Miriam. Hagar sends me.”

“Hagar?” Athelstan asked.

“She fixed my lip. I could not eat properly before. She’s the healer in the woods. She said to bring the monk from the Norsemen to her when I see him. You are that monk, right? Athelstan?” the girl said, the words practically tumbling out. Perhaps, she was trying to make up for all the years she could not express herself properly.

“Yes, but who is she?” Athelstan asked.

“I don’t know. But she is nice, even if some of the servants call her a witch. It’s because she never comes for mass.”

Without asking him, Miriam grabbed his hand and pulled Athelstan out of the church. A witch in the woods sounded terrible, like something his mother would have warned him about, and yet, Athelstan followed Miriam.

“Hagar is Frankian.” Miriam continued. “She married some Mercian, but he’s dead, so she left Mercia and came here. Said she wanted to go home over the summer.”

“A Frankian in Mercia?” Athelstan asked. “How do you know she’s Frankian?”

“She talks funny. Her husband taught her English, at least that’s what she said. She misses him very much. His name is Athelstan. What is your name?”

“Athelstan.” he replied slowly. Miriam giggled at that, her laugh stopping her from spilling out more and more words.

“That’s funny. I’ll tell her all about it when we get there.” Miriam said, pulling Athelstan past the gate and out into the dark. When he paused at the border of the forest, Miriam tugged his hand.

“Come on, the dark doesn’t have to scare you. Hagar can cure you from that, if you want. She can give you some medicine, or you can talk to her. Some of the soldiers go to her every week, and they always come back with red eyes. I think she allows them to cry.” Miriam prattled on, and Athelstan nodded dimly.

“Why does she want to meet me?” Athelstan asked.

“I don’t know.” Miriam shrugged. “But it’s very important. She made me promise not to tell anyone about my mission. She said I should treat it like an adventure, and it’s been very fun. I almost gave up because waiting for you was so boring. You should have shown up earlier! But she told me that you would probably be waiting in the church for something, so I followed you when you left the feast. I hope you’re the right person, because if you’re not, my adventure is ruined.”

“I hope I’m the right person as well, then.” Athelstan replied. When Miriam let go of his wrist, he looked down at her. She stood to his right, in the middle of the thicket. In the dark, Athelstan could see a thin trail leading into the woods, where it was so dark that there was almost no light.

“You have to go to her alone, she said.” Miriam explained. “It’s right behind the trees, her house. You can’t miss it, just stay on the trail. I’ll be in the villa in case you’re not the right person.”

“Alright.” Athelstan replied hesitantly. He should have refused, should have stayed in the church and prayed, repented, but it was too late for that now. The trail felt smooth under his feet, trampled down by countless others that had made their way to Hagar.

Athelstan knew the story of her namesake. Father Cuthbert had made him copy it seventeen times, and each time, Athelstan had refused to give her a happy expression in the decoration that accompanied her story. Eventually, Cuthbert had given up, and another monk had copied the story. Everyone in the monastery had always found it to be a good story, and Hagar a good example of a Christian woman.

Athelstan could not imagine how she could have felt happy, forced to have Abraham’s child, only for it to be taken from her again.

He almost stumbled into the clearing in front of the hut before he could regain his footing. Athelstan looked around, noticing the stack of firewood, as well as a black cat that slunk past him, and into the hut. A flap had been built into the door of it, through which the cat disappeared. Athelstan stared with fascination.

Inside, a strangely familiar laugh rung out, probably at Hagar finding the cat. Hesitantly, Athelstan stepped closer, reaching up to knock when Hagar began singing. He paused.

Athelstan knew that melody. He knew it, and he knew the laugh. He knew Hagar, and yet, Hagar was not the woman’s name. Athelstan did not knock. Instead, he simply pulled the door open and froze in the doorway.

“Alethia.” he said. Athelstan exhaled, and suddenly, a weight disappeared from his shoulders.

“Athelstan.” she replied. The cat was in her arms, and Alethia set it down gently, staring at Athelstan with those accursed green eyes, before she broke out of her trance, crossing the space between them and hugging him. Her arms enveloped Athelstan, and God, she was warm. She was home.

Alethia buried her face in the crook of his neck, saying nothing at all. She did not need to. Athelstan returned the embrace, arms coiling around her waist as he held her close. His hand found her hair, gently stroking, and Athelstan could finally close his eyes. Alethia smelled of lavender soap and rain and herbs. It was right.

Home, finally.

Alethia

“I am sorry.” she whispered after a while. “I wanted to… I couldn’t… Ecbert would have found me, and I did not want to be a prisoner.”

Athelstan broke their embrace, and stepped back. He did not say anything for a while, and Alethia let Salem jump up onto the table to her left, scratching the cat’s ears. Athelstan took a few moments before he spoke, and Alethia let him. She could only smile, at him for returning, at Miriam for bringing him here. At God, for letting it happen.

“You needed to be free.” Athelstan replied. “I understand. I should have known he would…”

“We should have known. It is not your fault. I only… I wish I had been brave enough to face them all.” Alethia whispered.

“Had you tried, Ecbert would have chained you to a wall in his dungeons. Your mind being intact matters to me the most, far more than finding you in the villa, Alethia.”

At the sound of her name, Alethia shed her disguise like wings, and laughed. It was good to be free.

Her hand slipped into Athelstan’s with practiced ease. She noticed the new callouses.

“Have you been training?” She asked, her voice soft.

“I have. Ragnar insisted I steal you away.” Athelstan replied, smiling at her. “But… Ragnar does not know you. I know you. I will not steal you, I know that I could not.”

He tucked her hair behind her ear, fingers brushing her cheek. Alethia strung out his words into their full length, reveling in them. Athelstan did not want to steal her away, he wanted her to come by her own accord. How badly she wanted to kiss him.

Alethia bit the inside of her cheek, throwing the thought away. She could not. She did not know if he still would want her to. Instead, she hugged him again, squeezing Athelstan until the blood drained from her arms and he huffed in her embrace. Alethia wondered if loving her hurt Athelstan.

“I have to return.” Athelstan said as Alethia let him go, and she wished he hadn’t.

“I understand.”

“Come with me, Alethia. What could Ecbert do to you now, apart from stare angrily?”

“He would chain me again, and you know it.” Alethia replied. “I understand that you… nothing can protect us from Ecbert here. I will stay in the forest, and I will go with you wherever you want, but not back to the villa.”

“He wants me to work as a translator.” Athelstan admitted. “We will be in England for a while so that the Vikings can establish their settlement here.”

“What of Mercia?” Alethia asked.

“Mercia will tear itself apart over and over, and Ecbert will send the Northmen to fix it.”

Alethia wanted to reply before Athelstan stopped her.

“Don’t fight, Alethia. Don’t do it. If you go to war, I am afraid you will not come back.”

“I won’t die.”

“That is not what I mean.” Athelstan said. The room was so quiet that Alethia swore she could hear him blink and the grass outside grow. “That is not what I mean, and you know it.”

“Then I will come with you.”

“That is where Ecbert will go.”

“It is not his villa, right? Not Winchester?” Alethia asked.

“No. It will be further south, closer to the coast. More to the East.”

“Will any of the Northmen come? Any that are important?”

“Lagertha will.” Athelstan replied. “And she will keep you from Ecbert if I tell her.”

“There is no need. I just think… here, I am nothing but Hagar. Even if I go by my own name, I will never be free in Winchester.”

“I understand.” Athelstan said.

“I know you do.”

Athelstan smiled, then. Alethia wished he would more often.

***

Alethia stayed away from Ecbert, Lagertha and Athelstan when the Northmen travelled to the new settlement. Up until today, Ecbert did not know that she was alive, and she had been living in the woods close to Winchester for two months. In a way, she prided herself on disappearing like that.

In a way, she was scared of how easy it was for her to slip into insignificance. Was it like that back home, in Winterfell? Was she already becoming a ghost, a footnote in the annals of Northern history? What had she done, really, apart from fighting in a few battles?

For the hundredth time that day, Alethia checked to see if the dagger in her boot and the knife in her belt were still in the right place. Somehow, she was still afraid that Ecbert had taken some force of soldiers with him to capture her.

And then, when the king was finally away from Athelstan and Lagertha, Alethia felt her heart pounding in her throat. Would she remember any of the Norse Athelstan had taught her? Would Lagertha even be able to understand her through her accent, or would the shieldmaiden simply laugh?

Beneath the hood of her cloak, she met Athelstan’s eyes, and the monk directed Lagertha further away from Ecbert, where they were hidden from sight. Alethia followed them, slipping away.

As soon as she rounded the corner, she pulled her hood down and smiled. Lagertha was almost forgotten, secondary as Alethia pulled Athelstan into a hug.

“Athelstan.”

“Alethia.” Athelstan replied, continuing in Norse. “Lagertha, this is Alethia, the woman I told you about.”

Lagertha looked her up and down, and Alethia felt as if she was reading her soul like a book, before she smiled with the warmth of an early summer evening, and embraced Alethia.

“It is good to meet you. Athelstan has told me much about you.” She said. Then, Lagertha’s eyes narrowed. “But why did you not come to Kattegat with us? Athelstan tells me that Ecbert would have chained you.”

“It is true.” Alethia said. Her head was already spinning, too much time having passed since she practiced Norse. She was finding it difficult to find the right words. “I went North instead of South, so that I could be free. I stayed with a few farmers. I returned for the summer, when the Northmen would come to raid.”

“So you are a farmer?” Lagertha asked.

“A healer, and a shieldmaiden. Though neither happened by choice.”

“But more by fate.” Lagertha finished. “I understand. I should like to spar with you.”

Alethia looked down, twiddling her hands. “I have not practiced in a year. I am quite rusty.”

“No matter.” Lagertha said, before looking to Athelstan. “Ragnar will hear an earful from me. ‘As fickle as the moon’, rather fitting for him, but not for him to say.”

Alethia laughed before she could catch herself. For a moment, she worried that Lagertha would be angry at her, but then, the other woman smiled too.

She leaned to Athelstan, only half-whispering. “You chose well, my friend.”

Athelstan blushed, a mirror image of Alethia. He cleared his throat before he spoke again.

“Will you face Ecbert?”

“Don’t you want to see his face when he realises I am still alive?”

“What if he makes you a prisoner?” Lagertha interjected. “I am already willing to vouch for you, and Ragnar will too, but that may very well not be enough.”

“He can try.” Alethia said. “I have put crowns on women’s heads. Let him attempt to chain me again.”

And so, she pulled the hood back up over her face, shadowing Lagertha and Athelstan as the shieldmaiden prepared herself for the sacrifice. Ecbert stood closeby, not sparing her another glance. Alethia was glad for his arrogance, oozing off of him in waves today like always. If he thought her a peasant, she would let him.

All the better for her.

During the sacrifice, Alethia stood close to Athelstan, her hand finding his in the crowd. He squeezed it in reassurance.

“You did well today. Your Norse has remained strong, but we need to work on your grammar and vocabulary.” Athelstan whispered.

“How good is it really, then?” Alethia jabbed.

“It has… worsened.” Athelstan said.

“You can be blunt with me.”

“It has become quite bad. Lagertha is admirable for her control over her facial features.”

“Thanks.” Alethia snorted.

“I was joking.”

“I doubt that.”

“I was!” Athelstan said. “You are a good student. I did not expect anything less.”

“A good student?” Alethia asked with a smirk.

“And an even better warrior.”

Alethia looked to Lagertha, who drew two stripes of blood down her throat calmly. She exuded such confidence, such strength, that it almost made Alethia shiver.

“She is magnificent.” Alethia whispered.

“So are you.” Athelstan replied. Alethia froze, turning to Athelstan abruptly.

“I…”

“I’m sorry.” Athelstan said immediately.

“No, don’t be.” Alethia replied. “I was just not… expecting that.”

“I was telling the truth.” He reiterated. “You are magnificent. That is why King Ecbert was so afraid of you.”

“Afraid?” Alethia asked with a laugh. “He is the king of Wessex, and he will be king of England one day.��

“And he was afraid that you were going to tear down his kingdom. You could have. You should.”

“Oh?”

“I am beginning to grow sick of his little smirks.” Athelstan said. This time, Alethia had to laugh out loud. A few heads turned, and Athelstan turned to her, half-obscuring her from view.

“I would like to reiterate former comments and tell you that, for you, I would commit regicide. Without question.” Alethia replied.

“Why?”

“I am willing to do just about anything to keep you safe.” Alethia said. “Remember that, Athelstan.”

“I never forget anything about you.”

Alethia felt as if she could not breathe.

“You are the only thing that is holding me in this world.” she whispered. Blood ran into the earth, soaking the ground on which she stood. In that moment, the sky could have fallen on their heads, and Alethia would have kept looking at Athelstan.

“I never should have run. I was willing to do anything to get back to you, but it was not enough. I should have… I don’t know. I should have swam across the sea for you. I know I could have. I apologize.” Alethia said.

“You are here.” Athelstan replied. He had turned his back to the sacrifice, only looking at her. “You are here, and that is all that matters.”

She wished she had the courage to do more than feel tears sting in her eyes.

***

Ecbert only recognized her days later, when all the Northmen have returned to the villa to celebrate. Alethia stood in the courtyard, watching from her usual spot as the warriors streamed inside. She thought she recognized Ragnar, talking to Athelstan like they were brothers. Lagertha gave her a small smile as she slipped inside, accompanied by her shieldmaidens. Then, there were Floki and Rollo, presumably. Alethia was confused to not see Torstein with them. Had he not raided this year?

The first of the Saxons that noticed her was not Ecbert, but Aethelwulf. The prince had developed deep shadows under his eyes in her absence, looking as if he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.

When he saw her, he made to point and shout, but Alethia raised a finger to her lips, and, surprisingly, Aethelwulf did not rat her out immediately. Instead, he slipped away from his soldiers, crossing his arms as he approached her.

“We could have used you out there, in Mercia.” Aethelwulf said.

“But then again, your father would have chained me to a wall to keep me compliant. And anyway, I would not have come back the same.”

“I know. You fight like a demon.” Aethelwulf replied. “I have never met anyone, neither Northman nor Saxon. Do you know what the Mercians call you?”

“What? Is it something silly?” Alethia asked, her tone sharp.

“Demon of death. I saw you that time we fought the Northmen with the Northumbrians, covered in blood. I saw the corpse of the man whose throat you tore out with your bare teeth. I saw you do it, and I think my father had good reason to try and chain you.”

“How long did you search for me?” Alethia continued.

“Three moons.”

“How silly.”

“And why is that?”

“I was less than a day’s ride away. The only thing I did to throw you off was walk North, and upstream. Was that really enough?”

“We expected you to follow… your monk.”

“I know.”

“What are you going to do?” Aethelwulf asked.

“Kill your father, perhaps.” Alethia replied. The prince’s hand dropped to the grip of his sword. “Don’t worry, I don’t have my sword anymore. But, you know, I have this weird feeling that you respect me. Why is that?”

“Because I do.” Aethelwulf admitted.

“You do?”

“You do not try to hide the monster you are. My father is a liar, and at the very least, you are honest about yourself. And you are a warrior, one that does not take pleasure in killing. Like a Christian should.”

Alethia smirked cruelly. She felt the bile rise in the back of her throat at being called a monster. “Oh? Do you take pleasure in killing, Prince Aethelwulf? Go on then, run to the church and give yourself some lashes. If you’ll excuse me.”

“Why should I?”

Alethia leaned forward. “I have a king to kill.”

Aethelwulf ran after her as she made for the villa, and Alethia could not help but laugh dryly. “Oh my fucking God! I was joking! I don’t care about Ecbert enough for that. And, for what it’s worth, the people of Wessex are good if they happen to live outside this villa. Ecbert is keeping them safe. Go, atone for your sins, or whatever it is you do in your free time.”

“Why the fuck would you joke about that?” Aethelwulf snarled.

“Why are you so cruel? Why do you think your wife does not love you?” Alethia replied, hurling insults back at the Prince. She was glad they were alone in the courtyard, and that no one else could see the tears beginning to fall down her face. “You are so… why? I am twenty! Twenty! I took my first life when I was fifteen! I still think about that man, every single day! I am not a monster! Why does everyone think I am? I wish… I thought you’d understand! You of all people, used by your father to be nothing more than a weapon! Stop respecting me for the killer you say I am and see me as the person I am. I promise you, I will do the same for you.”

Aethelwulf stared at her, the hurt written across his face as Alethia said aloud what he knew to be true about his father.

“I wish… oh, I don’t fucking know. What does it matter?” Alethia sighed, dropping her hands at her sides. “I’m going inside, gonna scare your father shitless. Want to see?”

Aethelwulf considered for a moment. “You are impossible. Thank you.”

“Here.” Alethia said, handing Aethelwulf Heahmund’s dagger. “I stole this from some priest called Heahmund. Feel kind of bad about it. He’s a good guy, so if he ever comes to court… give it back to him from me.”

“You could return it to him.” Aethelwulf replied.

“Fuck no. I’m leaving England, and I am not coming back.”

“You don’t believe that.”

“Take the fucking dagger before I stick you with it.” Alethia hissed. Aethelwulf laughed, and the shadows under his eyes seemed a little lighter.

Athelstan

Of all people, Athelstan had not expected Alethia to join the feast together with Prince Aethelwulf. Ragnar looked up, spotting the prince before he could and clicking his tongue in distaste.

“Cannot stand that man.” he mumbled. “But his new mistress looks quite rough for an English lady.”

Athelstan felt his jaw tighten. “That is not Aethelwulf’s mistress. She is not anyone’s mistress.”

Ragnar’s eyes snapped up, suddenly examining Alethia much more closely. “And why do you care so much about her?”

Then, his friend’s eyes widened. With the scars and her angry eyes, it was not hard to guess who this strange woman amongst Saxons was.

“Is that-” Ragnar began.

“Alethia!” Kwentrith called out, standing with a pitcher of wine in one hand and a cup in the other. She looked dangerously close to falling over. Immediately, Athelstan’s eyes went to Ecbert.

The king looked visibly pallid. Still, he forced himself to smile. “Look at what my son dragged inside!”

“King Ecbert. What a pleasure.” Alethia replied, her voice so dry that Ragnar had to laugh.

“Some woman you chose. She looks like she’s about to castrate King Ecbert.”

“She might.” Athelstan replied honestly. “He tried to kill her last summer. It is the reason she could not come with us.”

“Truly? If he wanted to kill her, then she must be quite dangerous.” Ragnar said. Suddenly, there was an interested glint in his eyes.

“That is what I am always telling you.” Athelstan replied calmly. “And you never quite seemed to believe me.”

“I did not think your type to be the dangerous sort of woman.” Ragnar shrugged.

“What did you think it was?”

“Someone softer.”

Alethia looked over to Athelstan with an unsure smile, and he gave her an encouraging nod. Perhaps it would have been smart to shake his head, to try and stop her, but Athelstan wanted her to rain hellfire on Ecbert. And still, he thought that Alethia was the sort of soft that Ragnar could not see. For all his genius, Athelstan’s friend did not understand that people were just many facets of one thing.

Next to him, Ragnar gasped through his teeth.

“Her face is split in half.” he observed. “Interesting.”

“Spit it out.” Athelstan said, never taking his eyes off of Alethia. She was looking at Ecbert as if he was her prey.

“Why did she choose you?” Ragnar asked. “She looks like she has seen more battles than Rollo, Lagertha and I combined. No offense, but you do not have the look of a warrior.”

“She is tired of war.”

“Why?”

“You want to return to the farm.” Athelstan said, his voice a sharp hiss. “I see it in your eyes. Do not pretend otherwise. She is the same, but her farm is even more unreachable than yours.”

Ragnar fell silent.

Alethia’s voice cut through the great hall of Winchester like a sword drew blood. “You owe me, King Ecbert.”

The sounds of the feast quieted as the Saxon heads turned first, and then, at the silence, the Northern ones did too.

“And what would that be? What would you demand?” Ecbert asked, his tone cold. His eyes were void of any emotion, apart from an icy anger that sent a chill down Athelstan’s spine.

Alethia climbed the stairs towards Ecbert, but before she could reach him, two guards stopped her, crossing their spears. Still, even from where he stood, Athelstan could see the way she stared Ecbert down. It was a wonder the king could still keep himself on his feet.

“You tried to take my freedom.”

“You swore to serve me.”

“And the reason for it disappeared before I could fulfill my vow. You know that.”

“What is she talking about?” Ragnar asked.

“She lost her child.” Athelstan whispered. Ragnar grimaced, jaw suddenly set.

“She is determined.” He praised.

“Alethia would be dead were she not.” Athelstan said, his tone simple as it should have been for all those years he’d been a monk. Was he still? When he looked at Alethia, Athelstan could not imagine being a man of God any longer, only hers.

“I will leave England.” Alethia said. Her hands were shaking, but Athelstan thought that he was the only one who noticed. “And you will not stop me. If you do…”

“If I do?” Ecbert challenged.

“Sic semper tyrannis. I will tear down this villa, and the sky that hangs above Wessex with it.”

Ecbert laughed, but Alethia simply stared at him, and the King quieted again. Athelstan swore that there was a glint of fear in his eyes.

No longer interested, the guests in attendance turned away, resuming their chatter. Alethia’s shoulders dropped as she stepped away from the guards, away from the king, and her test was finally over.

Athelstan wanted to comfort her. To hold her.

Would she still want him to? So much time had passed, and she could have any man… As Alethia approached the table, he quickly forced a smile on his face. She looked confused as her gaze landed on him, but she shook it quickly.

With Alethia, Lagertha followed, and soon thereafter, Floki and Rollo slipped onto the bench as well. The Northmen looked at each other, as if they needed to decide upon what to ask Alethia, before Lagertha smiled.

“Athelstan is lucky to have a friend like you.” She said, and Floki giggled.

“Friends. The poor priest.” He laughed. Athelstan wanted him to shut up, but he was Floki, and never would.

“Do you mean to tell me the two of you have never fucked?” Rollo asked, blunt in the way only he could be. Athelstan felt heat rise to his cheeks immediately.

“Quite the contrary. We fucked in the church.” Alethia said, her tone flat. Everyone but Rollo got the joke, and even so, Athelstan tried to stop blushing even more. The suggestion was… blasphemy at best.

“So you are not a Christian?” Floki asked.

“I don’t really know.” Alethia admitted. “I suppose I’ll see when I’m old and afraid.”

Floki clicked his tongue in annoyance, but he still side-eyed Athelstan. “Better to be godless than a priest.”

“Of course.” Athelstan bit back. Ragnar was staring at Alethia, eyes flitting between her and Lagertha, and suddenly, Athelstan felt his hands ball to fists. He gave Ragnar a sharp look, one at which Ragnar’s eyes widened, before his mouth pulled into a smirk. The same smirk did not disappear for the rest of the night.

Alethia left with a soft touch to Athelstan’s shoulder.

“I’ll go home for the night.” She said, her eyes glancing over to Ecbert.

“Do you think that’s a good idea?” Athelstan asked.

“He has no idea where it is, and I do believe Prince Aethelwulf is on my side.”

“Alright. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight Athelstan.”

Alethia smiled back at him as she slipped out of the great hall, and as soon as she was gone, Floki, Rollo, Lagertha and Ragnar all turned on him.

“What do you mean, you haven’t even fucked?” Ragnar blurted out. Athelstan shifted under his gaze, but he knew that Ragnar had him pinned.

“Well…”

“He is a bloody priest. Only a priest would wait so long with a woman like that.” Rollo said.

“A woman like what?” Lagertha asked.

“A shieldmaiden. I saw her, last year, as she tore out a soldier’s throat when she had no sword, no dagger, no shield.” Rollo explained.

“Really? What is she doing giving you heart eyes, priest?” Floki asked.

“I don’t… know? But, she did choose me. Though I do not know if she is giving me ‘heart eyes’ as you say, Floki.”

Ragnar snorted. “Are you blind?”

“Give him a break.” Lagertha said, and Athelstan was glad for it. Until he saw her give him that look.

“I think I understand her better than you men.” Lagertha continued. “She needs to be wooed. No doubt she could seduce our dear Athelstan… but where is the fun in that?”

“To woo a shieldmaiden.” Ragnar mused. “Good luck with that, Athelstan.”

“It is not luck he needs. Only courage.” Lagertha said. “Go on, Athelstan. Find her.”

“I am a monk.” Athelstan pressed out. He knew it was a lie. It had been a long time since he had been a monk, and even longer since he had been a true man of God.

#jack's recs #jack says look #jack's writing recs #oc: alethia stahl #ch: athelstan (vikings)#alethia x athelstan #vikings

13 notes · View notes

fangirlings-things · 4 years ago

Text

§ Vikings Preference: Their reaction to be in a arranged marriage with a Viking

I've been wanting to do this for a while now so here it is, finally!!! Hope you guys like it and let me know what your thoughts are xx

─━━━━━━⊱❉⊰━━━━━━─

Athelstan → The idea intrigues him. He has lived alongisde the pagans for a long while, years indeed, but the thought of marrying one of them had never crossed his mind. His conflicted mind about religion would probably be even greater, but it would get to a point where he would realize that the Gods or the Christian God to not have to decide everything in his life. That he could choose to love you, and so he would.

"You don't really believe in our Gods, do you, Athelstan?" you walked towards him, slowly, your eyes focused on his face as you did. "In your heart, you are still a Christian"

"Honestly, I do not know what I believe. What my heart tries to tell me" he looked down at his feet, almost as if he was embarrassed.

"Well, in that case" you placed your hands on his face and gently, made him look you in the eyes. "Let us forget about our beliefs and enjoy each other's company"

Athelstan smiled, and you realized he agreed to your idea when he leaned into your touch.

─━━━━━━⊱❉⊰━━━━━━─

Ecbert → The idea of getting married to a Viking crossed his mind years before the proposal was formally done. He was intelligent enough to know that a long, prosperous alliance would rely on something far more meaningful than a settlement. So he was the one who made the proposal, with a smile on his face and a that cleverness in his eyes.

"I want you to know, that I am nothing like the English people" you stared deeply at him, rage evident in your expression. "I am not under your control and I will never be"

"I know that" he said, smiling. His smile angered you even more and made you got closer to him, just a inch between your bodies.

"Good, because if you do not respect me, I will kill you" you looked down at his lips and then back at his eyes, incapable of helping it. "I will do it slowly, as you look me in the eye"

Ecbert smiled as he too, analyzed your features from up close. "I think we will get along just fine, my dear"

─━━━━━━⊱❉⊰━━━━━━─

Aethelwulf → Displease, is a word that could be used to describe his feelings towards your marriage. Despise, would fit more into the situation however. He is a true devoted christian, perhaps the most of all in Wessex's royalty. He loves his God and considers every other kind of beliefs an abomination. So when he was betrothed to you by his father, without being consulted, his anger would probably fall entirely upon you.

"This is unacceptable. My own father, to make me bond myself in holy matrimony with a pagan!" he walked around the room where you two had been left alone, to 'know each other better' had been King Ecbert's words precisely.

"As if the idea of marrying a christian pleases me" you looked him with disgust, up and down. The view was not hard in the eyes but the mind inside that body, well, it was different from everyone you had met before.

"You believe in false gods! There is only one, true god and your people is foolish to think otherwise!" he stopped walking and stared at you deeply, his dark eyes seeming to want to burn holes in your face.

"Guess we will find out who is right when we die, huh?" you raised your eyebrows at him and then sighted heavily. "For now, let us worry about the fact that he will have to spend a lifetime together"

─━━━━━━⊱❉⊰━━━━━━─

Alfred → He is a very open minded person. Someone who truly believes in a peaceful future between different cultures and the coexistence of pagans and christians. He would face your marriage firstly as a duty, something he must do to secure the future he is trying to give to his people and to Wessex. But as time passed, he would realize that the marriage was not built only upon responsibility. He found himself growing found of you and caring about you, deeply. Of course the Lords of the Witan would not approve such a union, but he did not care. He was the King, after all. He could do whatever he pleased.

"In the day our marriage was announced, I thought my life was ended" you caressed his face with your fingertips slowly, feeling the soft skin under it with a smile on your lips. "I thought that I would be bound eternally to a christian that would hate and mistreat me. But I was wrong"

"Were you?" he smiled too, grabbing your wrist gently and taking it towards his mouth. He kissed the region with care.

"Yes" you shivered due to the touch of his lips. "You treat me better than everyone else. You pay me attention and listen to me, even though your people does not. I don't care that you are a christian. I love you, Alfred"

The King of Wessex did not say anything. Instead, he kissed your lips hard and full of passion.

─━━━━━━⊱❉⊰━━━━━━─

Heahmund → He is very attached to his beliefs so to him, it would be difficult to acknowledge your Gods and marry you. Also, he has made vows of celibacy before in order to become a Bishop. So to break those vows, that would be a huge step. But if that had to be done in favor of the Church or his country, so he would do it.

"If you are a priest of your faith, how can you marry me? I have heard that you, Christians, deny yourself the pleasures of the flesh" you searched for an answer in his face, analyzing his handsome features. That was the first time you two were together alone.

"It is true, as a man of God I am not supposed to find comfort in mundane matters. But for my country, I will renounce this vow and take you as my companion" his dark eyes met yours and you sighted.

"Well, in that case, I think we may live peacefully together, Lord Heahmund" you nodded your head to him, in respect.

He smiled minimally and nodded his head in return. You both new, there would be a long way to cross before you would trust each other.

192 notes · View notes

komotionlessqueenmm · 5 years ago

Text

Imagine # 524

Gifs NOT mine. (Found on Pinterest.)

If any gif is yours please let me know, so I can give you credit.

Gif credit goes to - Unknown.

Year posted - 2020

355 notes · View notes

geeky-introvert · 5 years ago

Text

Persuade . Heahmund X OC

Summary: Ivar sends one of his favourite shield maidens to persuade Heahmund to fight with them….One-shot.

Word count: 2633

Warning: Smut and bondage.

Tag List: @lisinfleur @mdlady @didiintheblog @alicedopey @lupy22 @rekdreams247 @mblaqgi @oddsnendsfanfics @aphnxrising @happydaysandersen @therealcalicali @naaladareia @inforapound @captstefanbrandt @waiting4inspiration @tabalugax @p8tn0lish

If anyone else wants to be added to the tag list let me know please.

The people who followed Ivar had their reasons why they did. To be a part of the Heathen army was big but to have Ivar’s trust was very difficult. He even had trouble trusting his own brother, Hvitserk, and that just goes to tell how his trust wasn’t easily gained. There was one though who did have his trust, a shield maiden named Inger.

Inger grew up in Kattegat and it wasn’t until she started training that Ivar took notice in her. He admired her quick ability to learn, and was even more pleased when she asked if they could train together. She was intrigued by him, there was no one else like him and that’s what she admired about him most. They were friends; at least that’s what she’d call it. She never slept with him though there was never any attraction there, but if he ever asked for her to join him in bed she wouldn’t hesitate.

She wasn’t the type to settle. Having a family was never on her mind, and that was why she never worried about her virtue and just had some fun with other warriors or shield maidens. Going raiding was one of her desires and would only stop the day she died.

Taking over York was an interesting experience and it was when Ivar showed just how brilliant he was with his battle plans and fighting against the Christians. She felt proud of him, and admired his ability to lead the Great Heathen Army with so many followers. Ubbe disagreed though and left the army to Ivar not wanting any part in it. Hvitserk however stayed with Ivar which did surprise a lot, but no one ever questioned. They all had their reasons to follow Ivar.

After Ivar’s plan to trick the Christians into believing they had left had worked they ended up capturing one of the warriors. She had learned he was Bishop Heahmund, a great warrior and someone Ivar took an interest in, and the same went for her.

She couldn’t help but feel a tug pulling her towards the Christian, an allure and found it hard to not look at him when they sailed back to King Harald Finehair’s kingdom to form an alliance. Heahmund was at a weak point and that was Ivar’s plan. She didn’t think he would kill the bishop, not yet at least, but knew he kept him alive because he was a great fighter, and Ivar admired that in him, despite his Christian belief.

It had been about a week since their arrival and Inger had just finished training as she strolled through the streets looking for Ivar. One of his body guards had just told her that he wanted to speak with her and she didn’t want to keep him waiting. It didn’t take her long to spot both him and Hvitserk together.

“Inger! Come, sit with us.” Ivar proudly announced as he pulled out a stool for her to sit down upon.

“Ivar and Hvitserk it’s always good to see you both.” She sat down with an upturned smile. “I was told you wanted to speak with me.”

“That is true.” Ivar smirked while he poured her a drink.

She knew he wanted something, a request probably, and felt pretty giddy to know what it was he wanted even before she knew what it was.

“What do you think about the prisoner?” The question was out.

“Well, despite his belief in his false god he’s an interesting man. He fights well I’ll give him that at least.”

“I agree. He’s a true warrior and we both know that is why he’s still alive. I would like for him to fight with me against Lagertha when we take back Kattegat.” His intentions were suspected but a lot of people but never really spoke about it.

“Will he fight with us?” She asked curiously.

“That was what we were just discussing.” Hvitserk spoke up.

“I have spoken to him already and have tried persuading him into fighting with me, but I honestly have no idea. He’s a strong minded man with a heavy devotion to his Christian god.” He drank from his cup and met eyes with her. “Would you be interested in helping?”

“Of course, what is it you want me to do?” No hesitation, that’s what Ivar liked about her.

“I have heard rumours that Heahmund had a reputation with women back in his land. Perhaps all he needs is a woman’s voice and touch to persuade him into agreeing.” She understood what he was implying and didn’t hide her growing grin.

“I’d be happy to help. Is he still in the barn?”

“He’s all yours whenever you are ready.”

“Enjoy your afternoon boys.” Inger drank the remaining of her drink and strolled away swaying hips, both Ivar and Hvitserk’s eyes lingering on her as she disappeared into the crowd.

“Have you ever bedded her?” Ivar asked his brother.

“Not yet, but I would like to have a taste of her.” Hvitserk smirked and noticed Ivar still trying to locate her again through the crowd. “What about you, do you want her?”

“I think a lot of people want her.” Ivar wouldn’t admit it to his brother.

In the barn it was dark, the filled with dust, sun rays seeming through the cracks and holes with the bishop kneeling on the wet ground. Inger quietly entered and approached, circling around and grabbing chair to sit down right in front of him. Heahmund’s eye’s slowly gazed up at Inger with no emotion. He looked almost broken and she offered him a warm smile.

Heahmund stared at the woman with curiosity, a hint of awe in his eyes was shown from her beauty of blue eyes and blonde hair, but mostly because of her warrior like figure. He’d never seen anything quite like her before back in his land.

Inger was familiar with his language, thanks to Ivar she was able to learn. Most thought it silly but not her, it was smart.

“Bishop Heahmund, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you face to face. I’m Inger.” She spoke gently holding his stare with her dimple smile lingering for him to see.

He continued to stare with eyes dilated, looking upon the woman sitting in front of him with only introducing her name to him. “Tell me, Inger, why are you here?”

“Would it surprise you if I am here because I want to be?” He didn’t answer, almost like he refused to give her one. “Ivar sent me. We want you to fight with us, against our enemies, your enemies. I’ve seen you fight in battle and I’m impressed, you show how a true warrior should fight and I admire that.”

“I know why you’re here.” He started softly still kneeling in his position. “Ivar sent you to try and influence me to join you. As I’ve told him, I’m not afraid to die what I believe in and I remain true to my word. Fighting with heathen’s isn’t something I’m tempted to do. Nothing will change that.”

Inger smirked and stood up from her stool, remaining standing in front of him as her hands removed her tunic, belt, shoes, before wiggling out of her trousers, standing there with her naked figure for him to observe. She could tell from his reaction that it had an effect on him.

“Nothing, you say?” She giggled softly stepping closer while picking up a damp piece of torn cloth in her hand.

She gently pushed against his chest forcing his legs to stretch out in front of him and that allowed her to straddle his lap properly. He started shaking and she placed a finger over his lips hushing him softly. “It’s ok.” She cooed him like he was a frightened animal.

Carefully she wiped the cloth over the dried blood on his face and then down to his wrists where the cuffs had cut into his skin. Once she had cleaned enough from him she threw the cloth aside and ran her thumb over his lips. He seemed hesitant but she was going to change his mind quickly.

“You shouldn’t…”

“Why not? You like what you see, don’t’ you?” She guided his hand up and rested it over her breast while letting out a gentle sigh. Even though he was chained he was still able to move about, which made it easier for him to touch her in ways she pleased.

He shivered the moment he felt her breast. She teased him with her body slowly, rubbing his hand over her the softness and pinching her nipple lightly with the other while she made sure it was all in his view to see.

“You know, I’m not the only one here that is curious about you. I’m sure there are other women who would love to have you ravage them.” She giggled gently when she heard him moan from those last words. “I can tell that you are not like other bishops from you land. Christians call it sin, right? You, Heahmund, have sinned. I can tell you enjoy rutting away, consuming the pleasure from what you get with women. Nothing about that is sinful here. It’s just us, for now that is. Who knows who will want to take a try of you tomorrow?” She giggled again seeing the struggle in his eyes.

He didn’t answer her or he refused too. Whatever it was she was determined to have him wrapped around her little finger. She leaned down closer and brushed her lips against his before moving them over his cheek and pressed them against his ear. “If you weren’t chained, I’d let you ravage me, use me in any way you pleased. Today it’s my moment with you and by the end I’ll have you wanting more, that I promise you.” She than locked lips with him and savoured every passing moment.

At first it was tender. But then it grew more intense as she tasted him with her tongue that traced across his bottom lip. He leaned more into the kiss and accepted her exposed tongue, allowing her to invade his mouth as the kiss grew more heated between them. His hand still remained over her breast, palming her gently while his other roamed over her waist and hip.

She took his bottom lip between her teeth and gently tugged as she moved away, and smirked when she saw his eyes were lost in an allure. “Did you like that?”

He nodded softly still holding her stare.

“You’re very quiet, nothing to say?”

“What would you like me to say?”

“Whatever is on your mind.” She started to kiss her neck, suckling against his skin and nipping at his flesh.

“I think…you’re trying to manipulate me.” Of course, he was a clever man.

She guided both hands down between them and unbuckled the belt holding his pants and moved them down to release his already erect cock.

“So?” She giggled and started to stroke his erection, and it earned her a low moan from his slightly parted lips. “You’re not trying to stop me either.” He remained silent as she continued to pump her hand on him.

Heahmund shivered as he felt his cock grew harder under the heathen’s touch. He knew what she was and with his mind already clouded he felt little care about it. All he cared about was the growing pressure he felt surrounding his cock and build up more waiting for his release to burst. As much as his mind screamed that he had sinned, he fell pray under the devil’s touch.

She removed her hand, leaving his erection twitching and demanding to be touched. He grunted when her contact was gone and stared like he was about to murder her.

“We’re only just getting started.” She leaned up and rubbed his tip along her moist folds, probing him against her core and giggling seeing how desperate he looked. “How bad do you want it, Christian?”

“You tell me, Heathen…” It was almost like they were both insulting each other with little effect.

“You don’t just want it, you need it. To feel of a woman wrapped around your prick, squeezing the life from you.” She lowered herself over his cock letting out a deep sigh as she was filled.

He held her waist with both hands, the chain that remained cuffed to him rattled at every small movement they made. His teeth clenched with heavy breaths through them almost like a raged bull. She sunk down fully and rocked her hips in small motions, continuing to tease him with a smug smile.

“For a Christian, you’re quite the man.” She started to move firmer, rocking against his shaft buried deep in her letting out satisfied sighs at each thrust.

“And you’re quite the woman, for a Heathen.” It was thrown back but sounded like he was almost pleased with himself.

She wrapped both her arms around his neck and pulled him closer to trap his lips with her own while lifting herself up and down his erection in harsh monitions. “Oh fuck,” it came out from her before she thought of it. His hands held her tighter at her hips and with strong hands she yanked them from her and pinned them on the damp ground. “It’s my moment, not yours. I’ll use you as I see fit.”

No words we spoken but gave a silent nod letting her know he understood and wouldn’t argue with her. Pleased with his respond she took over the control she had on him.

The sounds of heavy breathing and grunting surrounded the barn, the guards outside the door were fully aware what was happening. Heahmund was a very handsome man with true abilities to please a woman; he didn’t even need to do anything to have women through themselves at him. She had him pushed down onto his back, both his chained wrists held under her own as she rocked herself harder against him.

He groaned deeply as he released his seed in her, much sooner than she hoped but didn’t pay much mind about it and continued to thrust herself harder along his erection feeling her own release approach. With a final soft cry her orgasm erupted through her sending pleasing chills over her body. It was still worth it, she thought to herself.

After a moment of them coming down Inger removed herself from his softened cock with a pleased sigh and pressed her lips to his ear once more. “Fight with us, I promise you won’t regret it. Maybe Ivar will let me have you again, and next time I’ll gladly let you ravage me.” She placed one last kiss against his lips before she removed herself from him and dressed herself again.

She sent one last smirk towards Heahmund before she left the barn feeling rather giddy. For her it was worth it and wondered if he would choose to fight with them.

#vikings #heahmund #bishop heahmund #heahmund x reader #heahmund x oc #fanfiction #fandom #smut #heahmund imagine

130 notes · View notes

aikaterini-drag · 1 year ago

Text

Behold, the fierce Harald, draped in fur, a warrior's warmth amidst the cold winds of the North! 🌬️🛡️❄️

355 notes · View notes

gamesofmuggles · 6 years ago

Text

SHIP #65

@tis-itheapplepie I ship you with Heahmund

You are Aethelwuf wife, well that’s the official title.

You have all the privilege you want, but when you can have everything you want, you always desire more right?

As the queen, you asked to be teach English

All of your domestics love you because you know a lot about many subjects, sometimes they set on your bed and listen to you for hours before someone told you you're late on your day.

You knew your husband was seeing someone else, so deeply you didn't feel guilty to look for Heahmund

Everybody knew about his adventures with women of "faith" but who could fight him about it? The country needed him.

While seating at a roundtable talking about ressources for Wessex with a few men of power, as he talked Heahmud slide his hands on your thigh. Your body rigid at his touch, when the meeting was over and everyone left, only you two remaining, he pull you against a wall "He's not looking at you like the queen you deserved to be"

As the shy and introvert women you are, he was very turned on by it and enjoyed when he could surprise yourself with a touch.

As you're relationship involved in secret, you admit you never had so much fun with Aethelwuf ever.

One day, as you had an encounter with your husband, it was too much.

"How hypocritical on you to reject the fault on me"

"I have sinned, so do you" Aethelwuf grab your arms in a strong grip not in your taste. "Fucking bishop Heahmund" with the free hand you had, and in a movement, you didn't control, you slapped him. Aethelwuf didn't move, he knew that was what he deserved. He let go your hand and turn to mind his business, when you left the room, Heahmund was leaning against the wall.

"Meet me tonight," you said, your hands still burning.

He comes and put a hand on your cheek,

"You're like fire, captivating and burning when we get too close"

#vikings #history vikings #vikings imagine #vikings ship #heahmund #bishop heahmund #heahmund imagine #heahmund vikings imagine #jonathan rhys meyers

27 notes · View notes

whisperer-of-freya · 6 years ago

Photo

They are all pagans and devils, nothing more. Though, when my sight beheld her presence, I knew and had no doubt in my soul that she was an angel. An enlightened being of the Lord.

Perhaps, it had been the way she smiled. The way the soft pink ribbons of her lips were gently tugged upwards as she seemed to steal all the glory of sun’s rays with her beautiful smile.

Perhaps, it had been her golden hair that glistened and danced along with the summer’s breeze.

Perhaps, it had been her fair complexion that brought to light her azure eyes that resembled a cerulean ocean of shining stars.

Whatever it might have been, I was convinced that she had not been of our world.

#the vikings #vikings tv show #the vikings imagine #bishop heahmund #heahmund #heahmund imagine

112 notes · View notes

northside-serpent · 7 years ago

Text

Fate (Part 1)

This is the winning imagine from the vote I held. This is my first imagine I’ve written with an OC, so I hope it’s okay. This is my first attempt at smut, even if it doesn't quite go all the way, so it probably sucks, but please don't hold me accountable for it.The other two imagines should be out soon after this, but for now, I hope you enjoy!

-H

P.S. Yngvild is pronounced ENG-HILD

Pairing: Bishop Heahmund x OC, Lagertha x Daughter!OC, Mentioned Hvitserk x OC

Fandom: Vikings

Warnings: Slight smut, nudity, spoilers for 5x09

Words: 1,449

The dust was settling in the aftermath of the battle against Ivar’s army. Yngvild, along with Ubbe, Bjorn, and Torvi scanned the abandoned battlefield for survivors.

A silver glint of light caught Yngvild’s eye as she passed a mass of bodies. She knelt down before a man in strange clothing, reaching beneath him and pulling the his sword out.

The blade was magnificent, silver blade and accents with a thick leather handle. On the blade, there were letters engraved to form strange words that she couldn’t make out, English most likely.

Yngvild turned her attention to the man who had previously wielded the sword and used whatever strength she could muster to turn the man over. She ran a hand over his cheek as she allowed her eyes to drink in his features.

His hair was short and dark, sideburns running into a thin beard. His eyes were closed, framed by two thick brows, his long eyelashes sitting on his cheeks. His nose was rather large, and same with his pink lips. He was very attractive, beautiful even.

“Who is this?” She asked Ubbe as he wandered passed.

Ubbe moved to look at the man over her shoulder.

“That is the Christian priest, Heahmund.” He told you, distaste gracing his tone.

The priest coughed, blood spurting from his lips. His eyes opened wide as he stared at Yngvild.

“He’s alive.” Yngvild held his head, putting her hand on Ubbe’s stomach to stop him as he drew his sword. “Save him, if it’s possible.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know why.” Yngvild thought for a moment. “Maybe the gods know why.”

She stood up and began to march away, calling to a healer nearby. “Save him!”

***

It wasn't until the next day when Yngvild saw Heahmund again. He sat on a cot as she entered his tent.

They held eye contact for a few moments before he spoke. “You saved me. Thank you.”

Yngvild cracked a smile. “But if I had not saved you, you would now be in heaven.” She paused. “I believe you are a Christian priest, isn’t that where you would prefer to be?”

“I am a priest,” he began, “but I am also a man. I love God, but I also love life.”

“And what is it about life that you love so much?”

“Its joy, its pain.”

She was silent for a moment. “And do you love human beings?”

“Our Lord loved all human beings. His love was agape, not eros. A great, embracing love.”

“And do you have that same embracing love? Do you love all men and women just the same?”

He chuckled. “I am not our Lord. Agape is too hard for me.”

Yngvild opened her mouth to speak again, but closed her lips when he continued.

“I love women. Not just spiritually.”

“We have no problems loving the spirit and the flesh.” She told him. “Our gods encourage it.”

Heahmund’s face contorted into an expression of confusion. “Then you have no guilt? No remorse?”

Yngvild shook her head. “No.”

“I envy you.” He confessed. “I have spent many years of my life sinfully.”

Yngvild stood and turned to leave the tent.

“Why didn’t you kill me?”

“I don’t know. Perhaps we will find out."

***

It was later that day when Yngvild’s attention was drawn from her mother, who sat next to her on a stump.

A crowd hollered and roared as Heahmund approached the two shieldmaidens, placing all of his weight on a thin tree branch. A man kicked the branch out from its place in the dirt.

“Down in the mud, Christian!” The man laughed.

“Get up, Christian!” Another ordered.

Heahmund gripped the branch tightly and crawled along the muddy path to where the Queen and her daughter were perched.

“What are you doing?” Lagertha ordered.

“I wanted to speak to your daughter.”

Her cold glare remained on him for a moment before she stood up, placing a gentle hand on her daughter’s cheek, and marching off, Torvi hot on her heels.

“What did you want to talk to me about?” Yngvild asked as she turned, sauntering off to her tent, Heahmund struggling along behind her.

“Everything.” He dropped the stick when he entered the dark tent. “The gods, life and death, my soul…” he listed off.

“Why with me?”

“I think you may know some of the answers.”

“What gave you that idea?”

He scoffed. “Do you believe in fate?”

“Of course I do.”

“Then fate has brought us together.”

She laughed. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

“No.” Heahmund chuckled. “I think we are equals. I think you know that too. I’m interested in you, fascinated. I want to know more. I think we have more in common than you know. And there is some urgency to this conversation.”

“What is so urgent, priest?” She questioned.

“I know we’re going to fight again, and soon.”

Yngvild leaned against the wooden post that held up the center of the tent, crossing her arms over her chest. “You don’t have to fight for us.”

Heahmund responded with a bitter laugh. “Of course I do. That’s why you saved me. You hoped I would take up my sword and fight for your mother against Ivar.”

“Will you?”

“I will fight for Lagertha.” He moved closer, now almost pressed against you. “But I would die for you.”

Yngvild scoffed. “You don’t even know me.”

“Oh,” he reached up, pushing a lock of blonde hair that had come loose from your braid. “I know you. I’ve known you my entire life.”

She stared into his blue eyes, processing everything that he’d told her. A wicked grin grew across her cheeks as she reached up to the ties on the front of her dress. “Do you really want to sin again?”

She pulled the string, allowing her gown to drop to her feet. The cool air made goose pimples rise on her smooth skin.

Heahmund was silent, absorbing her naked body.

When he made no move to touch nor deny her, she gripped his hands, placing one onto her left breast, allowing him to feel her rock hard nippled between his fingers, and the other between her legs, where he was able to feel her heat and wetness.

“I would do anything for you. I would sin for you. I would worship you.”

She pushed his hand closer to her, feeling a finger slip inside her. A whimper fell from her lips as she moved to press them against his. Quickly, one finger turned into two, and he was pumping them in with no assistance from her.

She pulled back from his mouth and removed his fingers within her, ripping his clothes from his body and pushing him onto her bed before straddling his hips.

“Then worship me.”

***

Yngvild traced a slim finger through the hair on Heahmund’s chest, leaning up on her elbow to be able to see his face. She leaned in and began to place kisses from his chest, up his throat, and to his lips, where she slipped her tongue into his mouth.

He pulled away, brushing her hair from her face. “You are the first woman that I have truly been with.”

She smirked at his confession. “You are the first Christian I have ever been with.”

“You’ve been with other men?” He asked.

“Yes.” She answered shortly. “But none like you.”

Yngvild slid on top on him once more, feeling his hardening manhood against her core.

“How many?” He questioned.

She thought for a moment. “Three.” She began rocking her hips.

Heahmund sat up so he was face to face with her. “And… how were they?”

Whimpers began to slip from her lips as she continued to grind on him.

“All the same.” She panted. “Rough, needy. Only one made me finish.”

“Who?” He demanded.

“Hvitserk.” She managed out as she lowered herself onto him, but whined as he stopped her at the tip.

“Ivar’s brother.” He stated, an expression of distaste crossing his features.

“Yes.” She dropped herself onto him fully. “He made me finish, but only once each time. You've already beaten him.”

#heahmund imagine #bishop heahmund imagine #heahmund x reader #bishop heahmund x reader #bishop heahmund #vikings #vikings imagine #lagertha x reader #lagertha #lagertha imagine #hvitserk x reader #hvitserk imagine #smut #bishop heahmund smut

254 notes · View notes

mrsalwayswrite · 4 years ago

Text

To Choose the Sword (Bishop Heahmund x Reader)

Summary: There is only person that Heahmund cherishes above all, and when she is threatened, he realizes he would do anything to protect her…. even sell his soul to a blue-eyed devil.

This is my contribution to @maggiescarborough 500 followers celebration! (I’m so sorry this is late but here we are.)

Flower chosen: periwinkle- religious symbol in the Middle Ages tied to the Virgin Mary, benevolence (desire to do good to others, charitable), nostalgia and purity.

I also decided to add an extra challenge and write for a character I would not normally write for- hence Heahmund.

Words: 6000

Warnings: implied abuse/mistreatment, mutual pining, couple swear words, heavy religious overtones, Ivar being manipulative

Tag List: @youbloodymadgenius @evelynshelby @pomegranates-and-blood @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie

Also, a huge shout-out to @flowers-in-your-hayr for this absolutely stunning moodboard. Look at this! Its gorgeous! Be in awe!

He knew where she would be.

The leaves and twigs underfoot crunched beneath his boots. The morning sun casted shadows as it peeked through the foliage above him. His sword bounced against his back almost in sync with the cross upon his chest. The weight of both, something he was continuously aware of.

It was here he first met her on a hazy summer day.

It was here the two of them always seemed to find one another like two stars caught in each other's orbits.

It was here he could never decide if she was his salvation or his damnation.

Along the thin trail, his feet guided him, stepping over sticks and rocks. His mind wrestled with the news, but as his mind fought, his heart broke within his chest. It was a selfish reaction, he knew. Yet that did not cease the pain welling in his chest, so strong it threatened to bring forth tears. He kept them at bay. For he was a man of the cloth, a man of God.

But sometimes he struggled with just being a man.

Soon the gurgling of the bubbling creek could be heard amidst the summer songs of the birds. His footfalls quickened and after several more paces, she finally came into view. Kneeling near the creek, hands folded before her in supplication, she appeared the very vision of pious purity.

Heahmund gently called out her name, like a whisper in the breeze, a soft caress on skin. When her head lifted, turning to find him walking closer, his heart skipped a beat. Those eyes that beguiled him, those sweet lips that only allowed kind words to pass through, and her smile…. oh, that smile that lit up her face like a lamp uncovered to shine in the darkest of nights.

To his dying breath, he would fervently believe she was an angel in disguise, a blessing from the Lord God bestowed on his creation to remind them of His goodness.

And that was why she was both his salvation and damnation.

Because he wanted her. He wanted her with all his soul. But she was too pure, too benevolent, too holy for someone like him. She made him want to be better in both his vows and himself. To fight without wavering in protecting his country from the heathens. To protect her from ever having to fear them.

And when she turned those eyes to him, when she smiled gently at him like he was her favorite person on earth, he was undone.

"Your Grace." She rose to her feet, brushing off the few pieces of grass that stuck to her green dress.

"I heard the news that you will no longer be in my congregation."

"Yes. My father has family in York. With his failing health, he thinks it wise for us to move there."

Heahmund hummed in thought as he moved closer. Even though his face remained impassive, his heart clenched at the thought of her leaving. For who else would he look to while saying prayers at Mass? Who else would he recite scripture and poems to while they reclined next to the bubbling creek? Who else was kind enough to seek him out after he returned from a raid, to clean his wounds if any and make sure he was fed?

"I shall keep your family in my prayers to our Lord." He whispered, now standing before her. "My congregation will not be the same without you…. or your family."

She gazed shyly at him through those long eyelashes. "You are too kind, Bishop Heahmund."

"You have denied yourself for many years to look after your ailing father and the rest of your family. If the Pope heard of all your sacrifices for your family and our church, he would name you a Saint."

"I am nowhere worthy of sainthood. You tease me."

A smile drew his lips upward as he watched her. "Perhaps a little."

She laughed, covering her mouth with her hand as she looked downward. It took all of his willpower not to lay a hand beneath her chin, the draw those beautiful eyes back to his own, to gaze upon her beauty, both inside and out, for longer. To ask her to never leave him.

But it was not his place. No matter how he felt for her.

"If it is not too bold of me…." She broke through his turbulent thoughts, her sweet voice trailing off as she toyed with one of her sleeves.

"Go on." He encouraged, heart hammering away inside of him.

"I made something for you. It's not much, but…. but it's just something to remember me by and know you will be in my prayers as well…. for your protection against the heathens." Quickly she dropped to her knees, digging in the basket by her feet.

The basket had gone unnoticed by him as his focus resided with soaking in these last few minutes with her. For he was unsure if the Lord's work would bring him to York. She swiftly pulled something out and held it out with both hands like an offering. His eyes momentarily widened before he reverently reached out and clasped it in his hand. It was a white, square kerchief, soft and pure. It was when he looked at the corners that he truly saw the beauty of it. A small cross was stitched in one corner and in the other opposite corner was a grouping of three small, periwinkle flowers.

"Thank you, y/n, truly." He returned his gaze to her, struggling to keep the awe out of his tone. "I shall cherish your gift as if the Virgin Mary herself gave it unto me."

She giggled, a coy smile on her face. "I would hope that she would bestow a better present for someone as holy as yourself."

"I would never cherish it as much as yours." He admitted with more candor than he should.

Her gaze snapped to his then darted away like a startled bird. A weighty, tense silence hung over them, drawing them closer yet apart simultaneously. For it was this blissful, torturous attraction that left them both spellbound, lost to reality in the presence of the other.

Unable to stay away a moment longer, he cupped her cheek with his calloused hand, forcing her eyes to meet his.

"Bishop Heahmund…." She breathed out.

"Must I remind you to call me just Heahmund when we are alone?"

"Heahmund." She murmured, one of her hands coming to rest on the center of his chest. To anchor herself or him to this moment, he did not know.

Desire and longing colored the air around them. A tension that pushed their bodies closer without their awareness, until they could feel the breath of the other gliding across their lips. Something burned between them, this thing that remained unnamed for so long. Heahmund knew it was not lust. For that carnal sin was something he intimately knew and had used other women for, much to his disgrace. No, this was something far stronger, far more powerful, far more dangerous for both of them. For as the years passed, it never faded or wavered like a dying flame. It endured.

His gaze zeroed in on her bottom lip as his thumb caressed it with an almost-there touch. Her lips parted on a quiet gasp but she made no move to pull away. Those enchanting eyes beheld him with absolute trust. Something he was unworthy of.

After taking a deep breath, his hand traced down her neck, to her shoulder and down her arm to hold her hand leaving goosebumps in its wake. He brought her delicate hand to his lips, pressing a lingering kiss to her knuckles. Then, regretfully, he released her hand.

"Come, I shall escort you back to the city. You should not linger out here alone for too long." He said, taking a step back. Needing space before he did something indecent and unbecoming of his station.

"Thank you." She replied automatically, blinking rapidly for a second as if waking from a dream. A dream he wished he could have further explored, to share openly with her. Bending down, she grabbed her basket and held it against her hip.

They walked back through the woods in silence, more spoken in their actions and looks than could ever openly cross their lips. With each step, Heahmund silently beseeched his God that this encounter would not be their last. Although she was his sweetest temptation, his forbidden apple in the garden, he could not abandon her. It was for her that he picked up a sword to fight the heathens that invaded their land. With what might he had, he would see her protected and defended, that the purity she wore like a veil, the benevolence that dressed her daily, the pure goodness she radiated, would never be blemished.

Even if he never had the honor of holding her against his body, of tasting the sweetness of her lips, to hear the pleasured cry of his name from her mouth, to ever be more than just a man of God to her. It was worth it. For she was his angel.

*****

With eyes that could pierce stone in the raging fury bubbling beneath his skin, Heahmund stared at the city of York.

Captured by heathens.

Those damned sons of Ragnar Lothbrok.

Saxon warriors moved about him, none bothering him, either thinking he was strategizing how to reclaim the city or praying for the Lord's protection over His people as they beat back the devils.

What none knew, what no one could see, was the despair and wrath gnawing away in the bishop's mind. It took every ounce of his willpower to remain in the Saxon camp with the new King and his sons and not to scourge the city of the infestation of heathens. But to go seek for her. To find and protect her. Somehow in his heart, he knew she was down there. In what condition though, he dared not imagine.

When the two sons of Ragnar came in the night to talk of peace, his resolve almost broke. Questions of her coated his tongue like the sweetest of poisons, slowly driving him mad. Yet he swallowed them back down. Not just for fear of his fellow warriors learning of his unholy affections towards her; but fear if she was alive and the heathens realized the depth of his care for her. Surely it would bring about her doom. So when he slipped into their tent like a snake cornering its prey, his fists dirtied by the blood of the Ragnarssons, it was his silent promise to save her, that even from here he would protect her.

They must retake the city, to drive out the Vikings, for God and country and justice. Most importantly for him- they must retake the city so he could find her.

*****

"You call me heathen, but to me, I am godly. I live by the gods."

"There is only one God." Heahmund bit out. The chain around his neck was even more sharp than his tongue.

Ivar continued, arrogance dripping off each word. "But I have seen other gods. I have seen the Odin, the All-Father, with my own eyes."

"They are the devil's work. He conjures up demons and fallen angels to beguile us. And lead us into evil."

"What is evil?" The raven-haired heathen asked in a haughty undertone.

Heahmund sighed, dropping his chin back to his chest. His legs were growing weary beneath him, having been chained here for hours already and he saw no true reprieve in sight. "Slaughter of the innocent." He answered in a whisper.

"You slaughter when it suits you."

Rage filled the Bishop at the way this heathen turned his words, how he taunted with that arrogant smirk on his face, how he disrespected the one true God. "He who chooses to be heathen is not innocent." He shouted, pointing his finger in condemnation at the ungodly sinner beside him. Then for a moment he wondered if this was why he had been captured by the Danes. If this was all the Lord's mysterious work. His tone softened as he continued to stare at his captor. "But I could show you the ways of God, to salvation and eternal life."

But it was all in vain.

He chuckled darkly, almost as if shocked that the bishop would even try to convert him. "Do you know who I am?"

"Of course. You are Ivar…. son of Ragnar Lothbrok. Many there are that fear you."

"But not you."

"No, I fear no man….no matter how wicked." Heahmund allowed the sneer to taint his voice at the end. For it was true. No matter the horrendous stories he heard about the sons of Ragnar Lothbrok, fear never sunk its claws into him. For he followed the Will of God.

There was only one reason alone that fear gripped him, tighter than a lover, slipped beneath his skin to momentarily poison his mind…. but that reason was gone now. Dead.

The two sat in silence for several minutes, a heathen and a bishop, lost in their own thoughts. Heahmund could not help but wonder as he eyed the young man, if this was all some bloody, gruesome game to him. Was he even capable of remorse? Fear? Mercy? Love? Or had the fires of hell already scourged them from his soul?

The shackles around his wrists grew heavier by the hour. The chain around his neck chaffed. The cold mud beneath him seeped into his trousers, slowly injecting a chill into his bones, amplified by the chains keeping him bound.

"I beseech thee, Lord. Save me or show me why I am here. Grant me Your mercy. Do not cast be aside into the darkness. Grant me Your light so I may see." He murmured to himself.

The sound of a door opening just off to the side of Ivar could be heard but Heahmund paid no mind. He knew his time on earth was dwindling, for how much longer would the heathen bother to keep him? Surely, he would be killed in a cruel and painful way. When he first took up the sword to defend his faith and his people against the Danes, he assumed that was how his life would end. On a battlefield somewhere, surrounded by blood and screams, with his cross upon his chest and sword in hand. Not like this. Not a prisoner to be tortured for amusement.

A soft voice hesitantly spoke up from behind Ivar. "My prince, your brother…."

That voice. Oh, that voice had haunted his dreams, but lately it had only been heard in his nightmares. She would beg for his help to save her, only to witness her dragged away or killed before his eyes, chains or ropes or fire keeping him imprisoned, unable to do more than scream her name. More than once he had jerked awake to find tears streaming down his cheeks.

Now his head jerked up, ears attuned, desperate to see or hear her again, to confirm she was alive and not just a hallucination. To know all his nightmares were wrong.

He prayed his nightmares were wrong.

Ivar beckoned her closer with an annoyed huff and a roll of his eyes. Then she appeared, as if from the mist. His fears confirmed. Her green dress was ripped and filthy. Her hair matted and unwashed. But it was the dark circles that lay beneath her dimmed eyes, the bruise on her cheek and the split lip that adorned her face which brought his rage to the surface, festering in his gut. His hands clenched into fists at the sight of her and images of what all she must have endured played in his mind.

The heathen snatched the cup from her outstretched hands, mumbling something in his own language. "Go." He arrogantly dismissed her with a wave of his hand as if she was some pest he detested.

As she turned to walk away, her eyes drifted over to Heahmund and she froze. Time stood still as their gazes locked. He watched as a series of emotions passed over her face- surprise, relief, concern, fear, worry- they all took their turn to shine from her eyes. He wondered if his own expression mirrored hers. Her name, that name that tasted like the sweetest of honey on his lips, danced on his tongue. How he wanted to pull her into his arms and never let her out of his sight. To promise no one would ever hurt her again. To press his lips to hers tenderly. His chest constricted as he witnessed a single tear slip from her right eye, washing away a streak of grime on her cheek. His own tears burned in his eyes, threatening to betray him. Here she was. Alive. But mistreated by these heathens. Something he could never forgive.

"You know this…. priest, thrall?" Ivar's amused voice broke their staring, like a bucket of cold water suddenly thrown on them.

She jerked, brought back to the here and now, that her and Heahmund were not alone. Wordlessly, she lowered her head and nodded.

"Ah, I see." Ivar's shrewd blue eyes jumped between the two as his smirk widened. "You may go to him. I will allow it for now. Ah! And here, give him this." He held the untouched cup out to her.

Hesitantly, she reached out and took it, as if expecting it to get thrown in her face at the last minute. Keeping her gaze downcast, she walked the few steps to stand before Heahmund. Once more, she peered over to the side at Ivar, silently requesting his permission before proceeding.

"Let him drink! I am certain he is quite…. thirsty." The heathen chuckled, playing with his bottom lip.

"Y/n…" Heahmund started quietly but she interrupted him.

"Drink, please." Immediately, she brought the cup to his lips and carefully helped him to drink. At the slow pace she allowed the water to flow, it was perfect to quench his thirst but not fast enough he would choke on it. A skill she must have learned from the many times she was forced to take care of her ailing father. The whole time, he locked his gaze on her face, refusing to look away for even a moment. For fear of her vanishing. For fear of missing even a second of this cherished time in her presence. Even if he was bound in chains like a common criminal.

"Are you well?" He asked once she pulled the empty cup away from his mouth, keeping his voice low for some resemblance of privacy under the heathen's scrutinizing gaze.

She peeked at Ivar out of the corner of her eye before whispering back. "I'm alive."

"Are they treating you well?"

Her gaze dropped to her hands, clutching the cup.

And her silence burned through Heahmund like a wildfire. He knew it was foolish to ask as soon as he uttered the question. The evidence on her face was proof enough. But he had hoped for a different answer. Wanted a different answer. And the truth ate away at him like leprosy. For chained here…. a prisoner…. a prize…. he could do nothing to save her. To protect her.

His nightmare coming to pass.

He swallowed thickly, emotions clogging his throat. "Stay strong, y/n. The Lord knows the challenges we face and will give us strength to endure. We are not forgotten."

She nodded, hastily wiping away another tear that slipped down her cheek. "What…. what about you? What will happen to you?"

Her concern for him warned his soul more than a fire and hot meal ever could. Even amidst her circumstances, she worried for him. She cared about him. Heaven certainly lost an angel when she was born onto this earth. For she was far too good to not be one of the Lord's divine beings.

"I'm deciding if I want to keep him alive," Ivar interrupted, tone all together smug and cocky, "or crucify him, like your god. A fitting ending for his priest."

She inhaled sharply, eyes widening at the revelation.

Heahmund wanted to comfort her, but words failed him as he gazed upon her. For his life was no longer in his own hands. A fate he despised. Before he could speak words that would hopefully bring her some solace, the heathen spoke again.

"Thrall, come here." Ivar commanded. She walked over to him with visible trepidation, cup still clutched in her hands. Instantly, he grabbed her wrist when she was close enough, the movement as sharp and fast as a viper. The cup dropped and bounced on the ground as she gasped. In the next moment he yanked her down to kneel before him, a soft cry slipping from her lips that seemed to spur him on, a malicious smile forming on his face. So reminiscent of a hungry wolf cornering a young lamb, the taste of blood already tainting the air. An allure the wolf feasted on shamelessly.

Heahmund could taste iron in his mouth from how hard he bit his tongue to keep from demanding her release. He could only watch helplessly as this devil toyed with her.

"Hmmm…. what is your name, thrall?"

She said, voice barely above a whisper, eyes firmly planted on the dirt. "Y/n."

Complacently, the heathen tipped her chin up, staring into her eyes for long enough she began to tremble. He chuckled, moving her face side to side and scanning her body like examining an item for sale at the market. "And who owns you now?"

"Ha…. Haakon, my prince."

"Ah. Haakon. A good warrior by our people. But I have heard he is not so kind to his thralls. Hmm?" He stated, but this time his smug gaze was directed at Heahmund, waiting for a reaction. Waiting to see what his latest prize would do.

At his statement, she flinched and it felt like a flaming sword was driven through Heahmund's gut. He made no appeal to mask his hatred nor fury, his eyes hard as stone as he met the heathen's unnatural blue eyes. In his mind, he swore to himself that he would never forget the name she spoke with such a mixture of fear and despair. Somehow, he would kill this man. God, help him.

Ivar grinned, still focused on his prisoner, even as he traced a finger over her split bottom lip, tears springing forth from her eyes. "Maybe I'll buy you from him. What do you think?"

She just stared at the ground, body trembling. Completely submissive. Entirely surrendered.

"You may go. Tell my brother I will join him soon." Ivar said, releasing her chin.

Carefully she scrambled to her feet and took a hasty step back. Her watery gaze flickered over to Heahmund's, meeting his eyes. Oh, how he wished these chains no longer held him. He would slaughter every Dane in York in holy recompense for the abuse she endured. He would shield her with his body, keeping her close until the fear bled from her like poison from a wound, until she was the sweet, vibrant woman he knew.

"I said leave, thrall."

As if startled out of a dream, she jumped at Ivar's shout. Then spun around on her heel and disappeared the way she had come. The cup laid forgotten on the ground, having rolled away.

The bishop dropped his head to his chest. What was left of his heart slowly eroded away inside of him. Why must she be made to suffer at the hands of these devils? Was this why the Lord allowed him to be captured? To save her?

"Y/n…." The heathen rolled her name on his tongue, voice inquisitive with his following question. "What is she to you?"

The Saxon remained silent. He owed his captor nothing. The heathen had no right to say her blessed name, let alone touch her. He was evil, darkness, something to be destroyed. To touch y/n, her perfect soul, was a crime against all that was holy and good.

"Ah, you act like she is nothing but I could see it in your eyes. You want her. Like a man wants a beautiful woman. But more than that…. she means something to you. So, answer my question or maybe I'll call her back and slit her throat in front of you."

Heahmund licked his lips, debating what to say. "She is the Virgin Mary."

"She's a virgin?" Ivar scoffed. "I doubt that's the truth anymore."

"No," he snapped, glaring at Ivar before turning back to stare straight ahead. "She is holy and pure. She is the epitome of benevolence, something you would never understand. She is a soft breeze on a scorching day, the spring rain come to bring new life. She is the candle of fond memories, keeping away the dark thoughts that threatened to cloud my mind. She is…. y/n."

"You love her."

"How could I not?" He sighed, for that was the truth. No matter how hard he tried, prayed for deliverance, she had wormed her way into his heart and planted herself there like an oak tree.

"Well, if Haakon owns her, then she will be leaving soon to journey to Norway with us." Ivar stared at him for a moment before looking away. They sat in silence for several minutes before Ivar laughed and shifted from a sitting position. "Prepare yourself, Bishop Heahmund, you are coming on a journey with us."

"I am already on a journey." He called out, voice unwavering.

"Aren't we all."

He watched the heathen crawl away like an overgrown snake, deceptive and cunning, wondering what this journey meant for him. What it meant for her. Closing his eyes, shutting out his surroundings, he focused on the feeling of her kerchief tucked away under his tunic. Close to his heart.

*****

The crowd jeered around him, a sound beating against his mind like a hammer. The stench of the ocean clogged his nostrils, the fish guts spilled on the docks and ground, the masses of unrighteous bodies pressing closer to have their chance to spit at him. For once, he was grateful that he did not understand their language so his ears would remain untainted by their insults and taunts.

The flaxen-haired Ragnarsson led the parade with Heahmund being the center of attention. Like a spectacle for all to see. A large blond Viking pulled on the chains binding his hands, chuckling at making Heahmund stumble drunkenly to keep his feet beneath him in the unsteady mud. The bishop spat out a mouthful of blood onto the mud. The cut on the inside of his lip a courtesy from a punch to the mouth by the brutish Viking who currently held the chains.

Stubbornly, he yanked on the chain binding him, refusing to let himself be dragged around like some stray mongrel. The brute growled at the Saxon and gave a strong pull, disrupting Heahmund's already unstable footing. In the next moment, he found himself face-first in the revolting mud. The cheers of the crowd exploded around him to new heights at his predicament.

Through sheer determination and a refusal to appear weak to these ungodly wretches, he rose back to his feet. Will unbroken. Though he walked through the valley of death, he refused to fear the evil around him. The Lord would provide a way. Somehow, he would be delivered. Carefully he wiped the mud from his face on his sleeve.

Once back on his feet, he could see Ivar sitting at a nearby table. Although from the way he reclined, he acted more as if it was a throne. The infuriating smug look on his face as he met Heahmund's gaze. All resemblance of vulnerability and unveiled candor from the prior night was gone. Replaced with the arrogant warlord who sentenced people to death with laughter on his lips.

All night his mind wrestled with their conversation from the prior night. How could he fight for this godless heathen? Surely the Lord would smite him for that? Even if in the fighting he only killed more heathens. Was he not also a man of peace like the Lord Jesus Christ? Which was more important right now? Which one was stronger in times like these…. the olive branch or the sword?

He walked with confidence until he noticed y/n standing just behind Ivar. His feet faltered for a moment, shocked to see her. Since their encounter in York, he had only snatched a glimpse of her as he was being loaded onto the boats. His mind wandered to her fate more than he cared to admit. There were many times as he sat alone, he gently toyed with the kerchief she made for him, touching the periwinkle flower sewed onto it. His thoughts on her and all his regrets.

Now his eyes quickly scanned her, noting the different dress she wore. Something rough and bland he had noticed other slaves wearing. She appeared no worse. The bruise on her cheek was gone, the split lip healed. Her hands clasped before her as if waiting for instruction as her eyes followed him. When they finally met, a flood of relief and concern passed between them. For no words needed to be spoken to understand the predicament they both were in. Both of their fates were no longer in their control, only in the Lord's and their captors'.

He could not help but wonder why she was here? To witness his shame? His death? What game was Ivar playing?

As he watched her, his mind returned to his short burst of despair earlier. How he had called out to the Lord for deliverance. But if the Lord delivered him from the hands of these heathens…. would the Lord deliver her also? But did not the Lord send angels to protect the Virgin Mary as she carried Jesus in her womb? How could he then abandon y/n in her hour of need? For it was unthinkable to leave her alone in their clutches. And seeing her now, dressed as a slave, at the beck and call of the blood-thirsty Ragnarsson, Heahmund would rather slit his own throat than leave her alone.

Determination saturating his veins, he tried to move closer towards Ivar but as he took a step, the brutish Viking held him back with an animalistic grunt.

Ivar waved a hand. "Let him approach, Haakon."

For a moment, Heahmund froze, his blood boiling at the name. This name he swore he would always remember. He turned to stare at the brute with a newfound understanding, fury a living thing beneath his skin. This was the man who mistreated the one most precious to him. An unforgivable sin. A heinous crime. And with the mischievous glint in Ivar's eyes, the bishop knew the prince had purposefully orchestrated for them to meet. Tearing his fiery gaze away from the brutish Viking, he walked over to stand before Ivar like a convict awaiting judgment.

"Shhhh…." Ivar hushed the crowd, his voice carrying with an air of authority. "Now will decide if you fight for us." Grabbing the knife out of the table from beside him, he continued. "Or whether I kill you." He paused, pressing the knife to Heahmund's chest. When he spoke next, his voice was low, a harsh truth only to be heard between them. "Nothing is keeping you alive but me."

The tip of the knife pressed against Heahmund's jerkin, not a threat but a promise depending on the bishop's choice. With his quiet sigh, he peered past Ivar to look at y/n one more time. One of her hands covered her mouth, eyes wide with fear. Only now was Heahmund able to see the red marks on her wrist, marking of chains, ones he knew he carried also.

Without hesitation, the Saxon warrior-priest whispered back, "If I fight for you, y/n goes free."

Ivar leaned closer, smirk growing on his lips. "If you fight for me…. I will give her to you."

"Hmmm…." Heahmund's gaze dropped down to the knife still touching his sternum for a second before returning to meet Ivar's penetrating gaze. "Why don't you give me the knife?"

The manic excitement in Ivar's eyes should have scared Heahmund, but right now he needed blood on his hands. With a wicked grin, Ivar handed the knife over, as if already knowing what was to occur next. He accepted the knife with a huff, surprised Ivar gave it to him. Both smiled darkly at one another, the draw and lust for blood staining their lips. Revenge- a language they both spoke fluently.

Slowly Heahmund turned around, the knife pressed to his sternum like he was about to take his own life. Aware of the crowd's eyes on him, he stepped away from Ivar, back into the street. Closer to the brute Viking.

Haakon began yelling in his thickly accented English. "Die! Are you afraid?" He sneered, getting right into the bishop's face. "Do it! Coward. Do it!"

Without a second thought, Heahmund slid the knife home into the Viking's neck. Blood spurting out, coating his hand gripping the knife. As the heathen gurgled, he spat blood onto the heathen's face. The blood on his face was for the punch Heahmund received from him. The knife, though, that was for her. His gift to her. To deliver her from the abuse of the ungodly. He could see death sinking its claws into the Viking, latching itself onto the man's soul to drag him to Hell. With that he let the man drop limply to the mud and threw the knife to the ground nearby.

He gazed over the silenced crowd with his piercing eyes, weaponless once again, and curious if one would fight him for revenge for Haakon. They stared back at him, a mixture of shock and anger on many of their faces. A slow clap and madden laughter startled him. He turned back to see Ivar clapping with an unhinged smile.

"He will fight with us!" Ivar yelled, arms outstretched as if in victory.

The crowd cheered. An example of how fickle a mob can be. As he arrived, being led like an animal to sacrifice, they cheered for his death. Now they cheered for his sword, to fight alongside him.

Suddenly a form slammed into him, almost knocking him off his feet. He tensed, prepared to fight until he looked down to see y/n burying her face against his chest, hands gripping his tunic. Her body trembled against his, muffled sobs reached his ears as she clung to him like a lifeline. The bishop lifted his gaze to meet Ivar's, who leaned forward with a side smirk, eyes intently watching the two. As their gazes met, Ivar made a subtle motion with his hand, a quick wave, as if telling him to accept his prize.

Careful because of the many eyes still on them and not wishing to cause her harm, he brought his bound hands around her, pulling her closer against him. Embracing her in a way he had only fantasized about. Using his body as a shield, blood staining his hands.

"You are safe now." He murmured against the top of her head, a storm of emotion whirling in his heart and mind. "You are safe, I promise. I will not let anyone hurt you again. I am here, my angel."

Silently, she looked up at him, tears streaming down her cheeks, washing away what grime had been on them. But it was the relief and adoration in her eyes that made him freeze. How she beheld him as if a miracle or answer to her prayers. A reverence in her gaze but also joy intermingled.

His heart constricted in his chest; air momentarily cut off by the strong emotion stirring within him. For he knew with every fiber of his being as he gazed down at her, he would do anything to protect her. Would travel any sea to keep her. Fight any army with just his sword by his side. Even sell his own soul to the devil to see her safe.

Glancing up at Ivar and the manic smile on his mouth, Heahmund wondered if he had done just that.

#sophies500 #vikings #vikings fanfiction #vikings fandom #vikings ivar #bishop heahmund #heahmund #bishop heahmund x reader #heahmund x reader #ivar the boneless #ivar ragnarsson #ivar's heathen army #vikings imagine #bishop heahmund imagine #mzwrites

179 notes · View notes