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levithestripper · 1 year ago

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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

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fangirlings-things · 5 years ago

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§ 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

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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.

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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"

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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"

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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.

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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.

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komotionlessqueenmm · 5 years ago

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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

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geeky-introvert · 6 years ago

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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

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gamesofmuggles · 6 years ago

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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

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whisperer-of-freya · 7 years ago

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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

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aikaterini-drag · 2 years ago

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

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northside-serpent · 7 years ago

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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

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mrsalwayswrite · 4 years ago

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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.

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