#jarl slave

[karel-luthor]

THE QUEEN OF JARLS

[pinkykats-place]

Ivar (Vikings) x Reader Insert Fics

Tumblr Recommendations

Disclaimers!

None of the stories linked are mine.

Mostly female reader inserts.

Some contain mature content.

GIFs are not mine.

Finnish polka

Ivar the Boneless x fem!Reader

SUMMARY: After helping one of the northern Jarls, the Lothbrok brothers attend a celebratory feast. There, they're faced with a tradition of warriors catching flower crowns that belong to young women. How surprised Ivar is when you almost shove your crown into his hands.

Jealous Games

Ivar x floki’s daughter!Reader

Summary: One day, your father enters your room, unveiling that your parents want you to marry Ubbe. Though, the past years you grew feeling for another man: Ivar. You never told anyone about your true feelings for the man but now that Ubbe is supposed to be your husband, you feel utterly broken down. Refusing the offer, you leave the scene, only to discover a life changing secret...

She’s Real

Ivar x fem!Reader

Summary: Family dinners never go as expected.

Whispers of Love

Summary: Reader is new in Kattegat and catches the attention of a certain Ragnarsson.

Some Good Advice

Ivar x older!fem!reader

Voyeur - Part 1

Ivar the Boneless x fem!Reader

Summary: You catch Ivar watching you bathing.

Early Mornings

Ivar x female!Reader

Summary: You find yourself in a delightful situation after waking up, but are suddenly interrupted by an unexpected visitor...

Shy

Ivar x f!reader

Summary: As a child reader had a crush on ivar and followed him around. He ends up saying mean things about her to his brothers, not realizing she can hear him. He ends up realizing he has feelings for her but she ends up moving away. Years later, she returns, and she's extremely pretty. Ivars hoping to confess how he feels, but his brothers have also noticed how pretty she's become.

Ivar the Boneless x Reader

Summary: Ivar is having dreams of you, of the goddess he sees on walking his nights. You prove him things, show him things and he can’t handle your ways or the fact they are just dreams. Until one day battle proves him wrong.

army of ivarrsons

ivar the boneless x fem!reader

summary : Ivar has always thought of himself to be a failure of a man, his legs did not work like an normal man, his prick did not work. The only thing he was good for was being a prince and a warrior though he wasn’t all that good at being even those in his eyes, but then along came a woman. One so pure, so beautiful she looked to be a goddess amongst men. And with those sweet words she spoke “I will bare you many sons ivar the boneless.”

In Love with a Monster

Ivar x Princess!reader

Summary: Being in an arranged marriage, you told your husband was a monster.

Does it hurt? Bleeding every month

Ivar x fem!wife!Reader

Summary: you find out your husband, who had two partners before you was clueless when it came to women

Affection

Ivar x fem!slave!reader

Summary: Reader helps Ivar prove that Margrethe was wrong about him.

Redemption

Ivar × reader

Truth or Dare

Warnings: ivar being insecure, drinking, brief mentions of sex, kissing

Rumors aren’t Always True

Ivar x Slave!Reader

Summary: When rumors start to spread that Ivar can’t satisfy a woman, you decide to put his mind and ease and show him that it’s not true

Right Beside You

Ivar x thrall!Reader

Series: Imagine being ivar’s slave

Summary: Your first journey to England. Ivar took you with him to avange the dead of his father with the great heathen army. But you are afraid, the feelings he putted there maked you that ... afraid to lose him. What if he never came back? What if you never would feel his touch again?

SOLD! (TO IVAR)

IMAGINE BEING SOLD TO IVAR BY YOUR DESPERATE MOTHER.

I Can Be Your Biggest Fan

Ivar the Boneless x slave!Reader

Summary: You are a slave and have been most of your life but because of this you got the chance to meet the most handsome man you’d ever seen...cripple or not.

A Gift From Thor

Ivar the Boneless x healer!Reader

Description: You are a Viking healer, who travels the world to learn all healing techniques. After an unfortunate tumble from a ship you get lost at sea. As Valhalla becomes more certain you pray to Thor for love and boy does he deliver.

The Wanderer - Part 1

Ivar x fem!shield-maiden!Reader

Valkyrie - Part 2

Ivar x fem!Reader

Summary: You meet Ivar again after a battle.

Fate - Part 3

Ivar x wife!Reader

Summary: wedding night

Healing Hands

2 Parts

Summary: your mom was ivar’s healer but after she dies it’s up to you to help ivar

A Proposal

4 Part Series

Summary: Ivar and reader share a moment, but are separated by miscommunication

The Girl Ivar Loves

4 Part Series

Summary: When you lose your parents and other arrangements fall through, you find yourself living with the Ragnarssons in their cabin. Much to the chagrin of Ivar who complains about you at every opportunity he gets.

The Aftermath of Intimacy

Ivar The Boneless x gn!reader

Summary: The shared moments after your intimate hours always were your favorite. His aftercare and love embraced you in Ivar's vulnerability. You loved it so much.

Take Care of Him

modern!ivar x reader

summary: heahmund takes a vacation from his physical therapy job. except he doesn’t exactly tell his most impatient patient.

@ablueeyesangel ’s Masterlist

@akamaiden ’s Ivar Masterlist

@ijustwant2write ’s Masterlist

[plusvanity]

Øystein, son of Aarseth, is the one and only son of the King of Norway. He's the innate leader of the viking army, conquistador and future ruller of the North Sea empire.

He's known to be fearless, radical, and merciless towards his enemies, a brilliant strategist, but an arrogant and selfish commander.

Pelle is the first child of a noble family from Stockholm. Although he never had an inclination for heroism (nor enough stamina for it), he became a viking at the peer pressure of his household.

After a near dead experience during one of the Swedish raids, he came back 'from the dead' as a shaman. He ditched the battlefield to be guided by gods to his new enlightenment. Although reluctant and resistant at first, his kin slowly became aware of his new wave of wisdom and his fortune-telling gift and proclaimed him a 'bridge between gods and mortals'.

Obsessed by death and the occult, Pelle embraced his new status as a nonhuman (how else, really)

After hearing about his powers, Øystein decided to kidnap Pelle for his own benefits. He made Pelle his personal clairvoyant and advicer, but didn't take him as a slave. He was Øystein's loyal companion during raids, following him everywhere and having a privileged place next to the smol and grumpy Majesty.

Varg was the son of a Jarl who had a very close companionship with the King, so (unfortunately) Varg and Øystein have quite a history together.

They never standed each other. At first, the animosity was one sided, but in time it became mutual.

Varg was only 11 years old when he had to follow his father to a congregation in Oslo. He and Øystein had a (seemingly ordinary) sword fight until Øystein cut Varg's face. Naturally, he got away with it, but Varg never forgot him for the humiliation he endured and the new scar that became a constant reminder of his weakness. This is when the hatred became dual.

10 years later, at his father's order, he had to join the youth's movement and become part of Aarseth's army. Arrogant, confident (or so he tries to portray himself), and revengeful, he gladly took the role of a viking, but the worst part had yet to come. He was rendered to have a close position to Øystein and to travel alongside him and his other minions (Jan, Jørn, Fenriz, Snorre, Faust, etc).

Fights occurred on countless times and if they were caught together in a 'life or death' situation, they would let each other simply die rather than work a way out, so the tension was always high, trust was non-existent and curtesy was another word for forced-agreeableness.

Øystein wanted to get rid of Varg as much as Varg wanted to obtain his revenge (kill him and take the throne), but in unfavorable circumstances there was little to nothing they could do (yet).

When Pelle entered the picture, Varg fell in love with his mystic beauty. He began sneaking out and postponing duties to spend time with the shaman.

Pelle's interest in the mortal way of living and human affection was limited, but he became fond of Varg to a certain extent.

Having both Øystein and Varg's trust put Pelle in a delicate position. Typically impartial, he tried his best to stay away from taking sides, but he couldn't deny the ever-growing antagonism between the two.

The story is basically about them having to survive the cold, the hunger, the fights and each other while Varg has a massive crush on Pelle, Pelle acts like he doesn't understand the languages and Øystein munches on elg meat.

[elderscrollsconceptart]

Maybe its my intense bias but almost all the Stormcloak Jarls suck? I mean like as people AND as rulers. There's a few exceptions but still..

----

Eastmarch: Ulfric. Helps Nords. Doesn't help anyone else. Even the other Stormcloak Jarls say they think Ulfic is self interested. Many also seem to think his rebellion is justified, but that Ulfric is doing it for selfish reasons.

Falkreath: Dengeir. Lowkey losing his mind. Suspicious of everyone including abjectly loyal citizens. Only better than Siddgeir because he's not corrupt.

Haafingar: Ulfric again except hes King now. See above.

Hjaalmarch: Sorli the Builder. Totally aloof. Morthal's citizens seem to hate her just as much as Igrod Ravencrone. Cut dialogue shows she isn't even interested in ruling Morthal and wants a position in a more prestigious Hold like Riften.

The Pale: Skald. Huge asshole and abusive to everyone. Probably the worst jarl in any hold because he cant even get Stormcloak loyalists to like him. Enough said.

The Reach: Thongvor Silver-Blood. Genocidal and enriches his family via Cidnha mine slave labor. Thinks his money entitles him to power. Huge racist against non-nords. Hates Forsworn but seems to cover up for their presence in the city while also wanting to imprison them for his mines. Basically a dumber racist version of Maven Black-Briar.

The Rift: Laila Law-Giver. Decent as Jarls go but along with everyone else in Riften politics, she is complicit in corruption. Still far far better than Maven Black-Briar *literally* running the city after the Empire retakes it.

Whiterun: Vignar Grey-Mane. Decent old coot. Has pride in his strong Nord values while not being a racist or overly xenophobic (in comparison at least). Seems proactive about working to protect Whiterun and it's people.

Winterhold: Korir. Racist xenophobic bigot who seems to be passing his prejudice to his son who espouses similar views. Actively hates the College despite it being the only thing bringing people to Winterhold anymore. Won't even foster good relations with the only thing contributing to the economy of Winterhold. Complains about Winterholds decay so asks you to get some ancient crown purely so *he* can get more respect from other jarls. No actual benefit to the hold. Literally blames it on the College when it gets extra cold outside.

All in all, the Imperial Jarls of Falkreath and Riften are the only ones who seem worse than their Stormcloak replacements/alternatives IMO.

Of course it's all my opinion! What are your thoughts?

[dailyadventureprompts]

Dungeon: The Bleakfather’s Throne

The world is heavy here, cold knaws at the bones of your companions making every step forward a struggle and the desolate wind sounds like a lamentation. Coming over the rise you see it, the regal corpse that rivals the surrounding mountains for imposing grandeur, the source of this dread season that seeks to smother all good things beneath its sorrow. 

Not all archfey are tricksters or stag-crowned gentry. Like the realm they inhabit, they embody stories, emotions, and the strongest aspects of nature.  The Bleakfather is an aspect of winter at it’s most cruel and deadly, as well as the sorrow that saps the will to go on living, all too common in those long, dark months. For ages untold he has sat his mountain-hewn throne, mummified by the cold winds of his domain as the depths of his misery chokes every spark of life from the land. 

So titanic in size, the bleakfather’s throne is itself a fortress inhabited by ice giants who claim decent from the archfey and raid in his name. They fear their father’s stirring from his glacial malaise, and so listen for his voice on the wind and scour the surrounding lands for any note of happiness that would defy the tyrant’s sorrowful reign. 

Adventure Hooks: 

With his eyes on becoming Jarl of the Bleakfather’s Children, an upstart Jotunn by the name of Talfjarn has assembled a warband and is going raiding in the realm of mortals, hunting the coast on longships the size of wargalleys with an enchanted storm at their back. Though he’s willing to crack towns open in the hopes of gathering pillage and slaves, he’s heard tell of a dragon slumbering somewhere up river that he wishes to test his mettle against. 

The giants have constructed a great temple in the vault of their father’s sword hand, where the trophies of great battles are heaped and the haunted wind howls between his pillar like fingers. Here there shamans divine the Bleakfather’s will, and listen for disturbances that might dare wake him.  Unluckily for our heroes, a celebration they attended ended up getting rowdy enough that its echoes were heard all the way in the feywild..and now a squad of towering winter warriors will be showing up to crash the party and put an end to their good times.   

There is power in mythology. It’s said in years beyond counting that the Bleakfather destroyed the ancient dwarven kingdom in order to steal a relic of great beauty upon which the dwarven lords and ladies swore their oath. Seeking to reunite the warring clans, a would-be hero has set her sights on breaking into the archfey’s vaults and taking back the relic.  It’s only after the party aid her in this daring task that they realize that her advisor had a very different end in mind: Waking the Bleakfather and letting him rampage through the material plane in a jealous rage, to better clear the way for a new order with the advisor at its head. 

[thenameswinterfics]

BOUND TO YOU

Fandom: The Last Kingdom Pairing: Sihtric Kjartansson x Succubus!Reader Settings: Seven Kings Must Die Summary: Since becoming the new lord of Dunholm, Sihtric has ruled alone, with no woman at his side to call "wife". Things begin to change when you begin to appear in his dreams, a human so perfect that he believes he has finally found the one, a blessing from the gods. Little does he know that behind your appearance lies a devil in disguise. Word Count: 4,6 K Warnings: SMUT, mention of death, monsterfucking, oral (m receiving), fingering, p in v sex. A/N: This is for my beautiful woman @sihtricfedaraaahvicius: happy birthday again my beloved, I really really hope you have a wonderful day and you enjoyed yourself. I hope you enjoy this as well, in case you can cancel me from your existence ahahaha. This story is not outlined, so if you find some confusing and rushing parts, I deeply apologise. Double apologise because this is my first time writing this kind of creature, I hope I have done them justice. A special thanks to @foxyanon for the title and to her and @zaldritzosrose for the brainstorm, the beta reading and for having a lot of patience with me.

ENGLISH IS NOT MY FIRST LANGUAGE. I APOLOGISE IN ADVANCE FOR MY GRAMMAR AND VOCABULARY MISTAKES.

Header & dividers by @zaldritzosrose

Sihtric crossed the courtyard, one hand rubbing the bridge of his nose as he continued to fight fatigue. His eyes darted around, greeting with an absent nod of his head a few of his men who crossed his path, sighing nervously at the cold air that hit his face, making him feel more tired than relieved. 

Destiny had worked with him in a singular way, and if many years ago it made him leave his birthplace as Sihtric Kjartansson, the bastard son of Kjartan the Cruel, it allowed him to return as Sihtric of Dunholm, a man forged in blood and battle, and who stepped up to rule a fortress that he had always seen through the eyes of a slave, never a leader. 

Years had passed since Uhtred claimed his birthright over Bebbanburg, and with what little interest he had in ruling Dunholm, Sihtric became its new Jarl, without ever breaking the oath he had made to his friend and lord. And so he worked hard to make his own legacy, trying to obscure the trail of cruelty and violence his father left behind. 

All this time he had ruled Dunholm alone, without a woman at his side to support and guide him, or even to share a warm meal and a bed in his private moments. Long gone were the days when he spent all his silver seeking the company of women, longing for the love he had never received in his life: his naivety even led him to fall in love with a whore he paid all his silver for, leaving him with empty pockets and a broken heart. With the battles he had to face over the years, Sihtric never found the opportunity to bind himself to another woman.

Until you started to appear in his dreams at night. 

At first you were just a glimpse, a soft and soothing whisper that made his heart flutter in his chest, your laughter a melody carried on the wind. Each night his dreams became more vivid, and the mysterious silhouette transformed into a woman of disarming beauty, a being so perfect that she was forged by the gods. Sihtric was fascinated by you: he saw the way you carried yourself with your elegance, the way your long hair danced softly in the wind. He saw your eyes, two bright pools that sparkled with an irresistible glimpse of mischief. And he saw your smile. Oh, your beautiful smile. So warm and inviting that it relieved him of all fatigue, spreading a pleasant warmth in his chest and making his head spin with your unmistakable scent. 

Every night Sihtric would reach for your hand and lean for your touch, wanting to feel the warmth of your body as close to his. But the morning would always come, and the Dane would wake up to the reality that you were not at his side, and with an unbearable void in his heart. 

But the gods seemed to smile at him, and when Sihtric raised his eyes to see a familiar silhouette, he could hardly believe his eyes. It was as if one of Thor's lightning bolts had struck him, rendering him speechless for a moment. Sihtric's mismatched eyes blinked rapidly, trying to reconcile the image before him with the memories of the dreams that haunted him every night. 

For the first time, here you were, made of nothing but flesh and bone. He recognised the outline of your face, the way your eyes held that sparkle of mischief even as your lips curved in that warm smile that clouded his thoughts, that same intoxicating scent that made the warmth in his chest rise again and spread to his stomach. The Lord of Dunholm shook his head at first, thinking that either fatigue or Loki himself was playing with his mind. But the more he rubbed his eyes, the clearer his vision became, and you were still there, wandering about the courtyard of the fortress. 

As Sihtric gathered his courage and began to walk towards you, he was interrupted by one of his soldiers, who called him to attend to urgent matters within the fortress. Though he longed for your presence, he was still a man bound to his duties as leader, and he accepted the soldier's help by swallowing the bitter pill and disappearing behind the massive doors of the great hall. His mind was still on you, thinking that the gods had finally blessed him by sending you on his path.

Little did he know that beneath this divine appearance, there was a devil in disguise.

You arrived in Dunholm a few weeks ago, drawn by a life force so strong you could hardly ignore it. As soon as you stepped through the gates, your eyes scanned every hidden corner, licking your lips eagerly as you searched for your next prey, your body quivering with anticipation.

It was not the first time you had hunted humans: the young warriors were your favourite prey because of their high energy and strength. Draining the life force from their souls was nothing more than a sweet banquet for your evil essence, an elixir that fuelled your dark power and increased your demonic impulses.

You began by playing with their dreams, first appearing as a dark figure with a melodious voice, before revealing yourself as the most ethereal creature in the mortal world. And when you felt they were ready to receive you, you would appear before them, showing your graceful appearance and wearing the most attractive clothes. 

You learned over the years that men were easier to bend to your will; your sweet smile and the fluttering of your eyelashes attracted them like a mirror to the larks. And only when they had let down their defences would you strike, your lips capturing them in a kiss that drained the essence from their souls, their life force flowing into you like an exhilarating rush of adrenaline. As their body fell to their eternal rest, your succubus nature revealed itself in all its dark power, seeking the next prey to hunt. 

While at first the souls of young warriors were enough to satisfy your needs, your hunts became less and less satisfying, and you soon began to demand a strong life force to claim. You began to travel across England, intensifying your activities from Wessex to Mercia, from Danelaw to East Anglia, but nothing seemed to tame the beast growing inside you. And it was when you crossed the borders of Northumbria that you felt a strong and vibrant aura calling to you, and soon you found yourself living in disguise among the men of Dunholm.

There you met Sihtric, the fascinating Jarl of Dunholm, who carried himself with dignity. He was a man far too old compared to the young ones you were used to hunting, but it was his long experience on the battlefield that attracted you most, the power of his vitality telling you how much blood flowed from his hands and the wounds he had suffered. It was an irresistible force that drew you to him like an invisible string. You had to dominate him.

And so you worked like your former prey, appearing in his dreams, feeding his insatiable desire to have someone to call his wife and love to the end of his days. When your trap bore its fruit, you began to show yourself more, wandering about like a common and innocent woman. And you knew that every time you crossed the courtyards, his eyes yearned for you from afar, and a small grin formed on your face.

Sihtric would be yours, no matter what the cost.

The night was filled with a vibrant atmosphere, the dim lights of the houses illuminating the streets in warm colours that mingled with the pallor of the moonlight. Several warriors gathered outside to share mugs of ale and stories of their days, their chatter and loud laughter the only sounds of the night, along with the song of some night bird. Other soldiers were stationed on the palisades of the fortress, making sure no surprise attacks could be launched at night.

You slipped outside, out of a small door on the east wall usually used by the servants. You quietly followed the small stream until you reached a small pond not far from Dunholm, but isolated enough to give you some peace.

Normally, you would join the chaos outside, as it is one of the easiest places to find a prey, take it away from the group, work it and seduce it as you please. But tonight you didn't find yourself enjoying the noisy company of the soldiers, or company in general. You had not absorbed any life force for days, the weak auras of the young men's souls could hardly satisfy the great hunger that was growing within you, forcing you to get away from crowded places: you did not want to hunt multiple prey in the night and cause a terrible mess, preferring to work methodically and continue to keep your identity hidden. In the end, it was just you and your inner beast, desperately asking you to be fed with some powerful human elixir. 

“A gracious lady like you should not be walking around alone at this time of night,” was a deep, male voice that brought you back to reality, sensing a life force so strong as to make your head spin and your core trembling in anticipation. 

And as you turned, you recognised the voice as that of Sihtric, the Lord approaching you cautiously so as not to frighten you. You could see the moonlight illuminating his features, its pale rays gently caressing his sharp features and highlighting the scars on his forehead and cheekbones. It was indeed a charming man, his hair half shaved, half combed into plaits that revealed a tattoo that started at the side of his head and reached down to his neck. But it was his eyes that struck you most: two beautiful bicoloured irises, barely covered by his dilated pupils, looking at you with a gaze full of love and anticipation. 

“This gracious lady can defend herself against the pitfalls of the night,” you retorted back, feigning offence at his words, which were welcomed with Sihtric’s loud chuckle. "I have no desire for protection,” you continued, noticing his fingers gripping the hilt of his swords, his body tensing in alarm. 

Your words make Sihtric calm down, his body relaxed and the grip on his sword became weak. “If it is not protection what you seek, then allow me to keep you company,” the Dane politely asked you, and you took this as an opportunity to finally feed your unsatisfied hunger: never had a prey voluntarily approached you. 

“It would be an honour to spend this peaceful night with you, Lord,” you replied in a soft and soothing voice, the same tone you used in his dreams. Your voice was music to his ears and Sihtric swallowed a lump in his throat, feeling his body heat up and his cheeks turn red at your words, the lust growing inside him.

And the two of you sat by the pond, watching the moon cast a beautiful play of light on the surface of the water. There was silence at first, the air filled with a thin layer of intimacy, then a brief pause in conversation as you became accustomed to each other's presence. You told Sihtric a half-truth, concealing your true identity and introducing yourself as a traveller who had travelled far and found her next resting place in Dunholm before continuing her journey. Sihtric told you his story, of how he had escaped his father's cruelty to serve a true lord, of the endless battles, from the simplest to the most violent, that he had fought to help Uhtred reclaim Bebbanburg, of how he had become the new lord of Dunholm, ruling over a land that knew nothing but cruelty and fear. He also told you how he struggled every day with his loneliness, and how not even the company of his friends could fill that void. 

“But then I saw you in my dreams,” Sihtric continued, closing the remaining distance between you. There was a fire in his eyes, a burning desire that could tame the fiercest of the beasts and the darkest of the creatures. A chill ran down your spine, and for the very first time you felt like the prey you hunted all your life. “And I could not believe that such a perfect creature could have been created by the gods,”

You held your breath, your head spinning, for many reasons: his strong, vital strength so close to you, an inviting, tantalising temptation; his gaze, dark with desire, looking at you as if he were peering into your soul; his deep, warm voice echoing in the night, a velvet murmur that hid such a powerful force to alter your senses and awaken your hidden desires. Sihtric was nothing like the ordinary men you had seduced and drained in the past: he was an experienced warrior and a handsome man, and a great challenge that stimulated you.

Without your spirit faltering at his declaration, you raised your hand, one of your fingers tracing the contour of his throat and Adam's apple until you forced his chin up. 

“I did not think you had such a strong devotion to your gods,” you replied with a smirk, your eyes dark as well. “But I am afraid I must warn you: I am anything but what you think I am, Lord,” your voice toned down, wrapping your arms around his neck and drawing him close. 

Your foreheads almost touched, your scent inviting enough to cloud Sihtric's mind, the Lord of Dunholm confused but not frightened: part of him would not believe your words, but the other part wanted nothing more than to make you his, craving your touch and the way your bodies would melt together.

"No witch is a product of the gods, for you have bewitched me," he whispered, tensing slightly as the word witch escaped his lips. He leaned closer again, the temptation to taste your lips strong, but you pushed him away slightly, shaking your head with a grin. 

"I am more than a mere witch, my lord," you replied boldly, your hands intertwining in an intricate embrace, his tattooed, calloused fingers meeting the smoothness of your skin. "I am a superior being, the darkness itself. Nothing a human can control," you continued, squeezing his hand in a tight vice. The conviction in your voice soon faltered when you felt his lips brushing against your wrist, kissing your veins with a tenderness that made you feel weak. 

"Then tell me who you are," Sihtric murmured against your flesh, his lips trailing down to your forearm. "Tell me your name." 

You sneered, shaking your head as you looked at him with your piercing gaze. "My name has power, and you are not yet worthy to bear it. But I am generous today and will allow you to call me whatever you wish."

With slow, fluid movements, Sihtric's lips shook your entire arm, reached for your shoulder and nibbled gently. Then he lifted his head, your lips almost touching. 

"Then allow me to call you mine," he whispered huskily, closing the distance between you with a deep, passionate kiss.

The night air warmed with a burning heat and unspoken desire, the sound of your muffled moans and gasping breaths echoing with the songs of the owls. Your lips met again and again in fierce kisses, your tongues dancing together as you swallowed each other's moans, your hands exploring your clothed bodies. Sihtric’s hands firmly held your back, pulling you close as his mouth claimed you again, a glimpse of his life force flowing in your veins.

All rational logic gave way to the most animal thoughts, an aura of lust enveloping you as a battle of possession took place between you: the two of you teasing each other, Sihtric rubbing your pulsing and sensitive spot as the palm of your hand brushed against his arousal, your touch so seductive it made him growl in your mouth. 

Sihtric arched his head back as you took him in your mouth, your head resting between his legs as you playfully teased the tip of his length, swallowing the salty taste of the pre-cum before wrapping your lips completely around his thickness, your head bobbing up so you could take all of him. He rolled his eyes and nibbled at his lower lips as you began your slow pace, ignoring the firm grip he had on your head, a few strands of hair held in place by his fist. Enjoying your sweet torture at first, his impatience grew and forced him to act, his loud moans turning to ragged breaths and heavy grunts as he began to move his hips in a desperate motion, lust destroying any resistance and ignoring the trembling of his legs. 

He soon came, allowing you to take all he had to give. As you released him, Sihtric felt his head spin, a sudden dizziness hit him as he tried to sit down on the grass, his body suddenly heavy and drained of energy. His eyes closed quickly as he rested his head on your shoulder, falling into a deep sleep as you tended to him. 

You absently scratched his head, licking your lips as you savoured the taste of his life energy feeding your primal hunger. However, the way he made you feel, how he boldly challenged your dark nature and how well he satisfied your lustful desires made you spare him. For how long you craved for his life to amplify your powers, you could not ignore the way he made your heart feel, the thump so ferocious you thought it could escape from your rib cage. 

With the thump of your heart you could not ignore, you leaned your head and gently kissed his forehead, watching him sleeping peacefully in your arms while the spark of the attraction had ignited, destined to burn brightly. 

It was supposed to be an easy hunt, to have him at your mercy. You were supposed to weaken him with your charm and your aura, kiss him and drain him of his life force, and then resume your hunt, your hunger sated, eager to feast on your next victim. 

But in truth it was Sihtric who tamed you: from the first moment you allowed him to call you his, to the way your head turned with each of his kisses, the touch of his calloused hands so diabolically seductive, the ghost of his lips still trailing across your body. No man had ever accepted you with such devotion, nor had you ever allowed him to go beyond the boundaries of a simple brush of your lips. 

But the truth was that you liked his attentions: you loved how Sihtric was a caring and attentive partner, the way he treated you made you forget you were born as a demonic creature. He ignored the trail of victims you left behind in the past, as well as your urge to quench your hunger and have a taste of his strong life force: he would be willing to sacrifice his own life to show you how strong his love was for you. 

You allowed Sihtric to be tempted by the devil, but in return you burned yourself in the flames of his heart. Sparing his life was your greatest act of love, not a mere act of mercy, as you always told yourself.

The days passed and your secret meetings continued after that night at the pond, each time finding a secluded spot when you both craved privacy. The flames of pleasure engulfed you each night, bruising kisses and grabs mixed with strangled moans and high-pitched whimpers as you fucked each other into oblivion, both of you leaving marks on your bodies and pulling at each other's hair. And each time the two of you came in unison, Sihtric's head would collapse in your lap as he allowed you to feed on his life force every time you needed to, as you accepted his physical act of loyalty to you, to finally be loved for who you really were and not hated for being a creature from hell. 

The more time you spent together, the stronger your bond became, an invisible thread that drew you closer together: a bond forged by the forces of the underworld, a dark twist of fate that led a human and a succubus to love each other, a sinister tapestry that defied the logic of fate. 

And the strength of your bond reached its peak when Sihtric, on a cold winter's night in his room, enjoyed your company before he was forced to leave you behind. A message had come from Bebbanburg and he was to rejoin Uhtred and Finan, summoned to resolve urgent matters. He had heard that King Edward’s rule was soon to be faltered, but never could tell that things would escalate so quickly. 

You both lay down in his bed, your hands exploring each other’s curves while your lips met again in a head-spinning kiss, none of you seemed to want to say goodbye to the other. For how long you refused to admit yourself, your heart ached at the feeling of spending your days without Sihtric at your side, and the thought you could lose him on the battlefield was a death sentence even worse than spending your eternal afterlife wrapped in the flames of Hell.   

"Let me come with you," you protested weakly as his lips pressed against yours, his bare arms holding you close as he feared you might escape his embrace. You had become extremely needy of his touch, your defences so low you could hardly recognise yourself. 

“No,” was his firm reply, as he kissed the contour of your lips, trailing down to your jaw and your neck. “This is not a war I will ask you to fight on my behalf,”

He then gently pushed you down, your back resting on the furs. “I will always find a way to come back to you,”

His lips trailed down again on your neck, his touch as light as a feather as his lips kept brushing on your skin, an attempt to cool your anger and to fill your disappointment. But this time you were not fooled by his actions, and you pushed him back with firmness.

“Are you really casting me aside, Sihtric?” you hissed, pushing him back again as you felt him approaching, a regretful expression painted on his face. “You cannot me leave me behind, not after the bond we built-“

“A bond I do not intend to break because I have answered the call of the lord I’m still serving,” Sihtric interrupted you with an authoritative tone, pushing you back on bed and caging you with his body. He could see the tears forming in your eyes, a sight that breaks his heart. Never had he seen you so vulnerable, nor had you ever allowed yourself to lower your defences. 

“I swear to you, on my Thor’s hammer, that I will do everything I am called to do to survive and to return to your arms,” the Dane spoke with a low and soft voice, lowering his head so he could kiss your forehead. “For now, let me take care of you for tonight, my devil lady,” 

With a faint nod of your head, you let him close the distance, sealing with a bittersweet kiss, a soft touch that soon became a desperate embrace of two souls forced to separate for a time you both could not quantify. And for the very first time you allowed yourself to raise down your barriers, crying in his arms as he squeezed you, his mouth swallowing all your faint sobs escaping from your throat. 

It was no longer a stay at his side for his life force, despite the fact that your demonic nature would yearn with all his being. You fell in love with everything about him: for the way he looked in his eyes, for the way he touched and loved you, mostly risking his own life to tame your demonic impulses: a respect and delicacy you would never find in another man, should you ever start another hunt. 

And with the same delicacy he took you that night, your lips exploring every nook and cranny of your body, whispering sweet words and praising you softly, his tongue crossing your throat as he found his way to your breast, teasing you with his hands and mouth, pinching and sucking your hardening nipples. Soon, your sobs turned into sharp breaths and moans, trembling at how good he made you feel. 

His hand slipped down to your stomach, his thick fingers rubbing down on your pulsing core, already wet with anticipation. A loud gasp escaped your lips as you felt one of his fingers inside you, your eyes rolling back at the slow thrust of his hand, fucking you with a steady pace. Sihtric lips trailed over your neck, kissing and nibbling as he quickened the pace, his self control abandoning him completely once he felt how good your walls were clenching on his finger.

“Look at you, my sweet devil is already so tight for me,” Sihtric murmured against your lips, swallowing another loud moan with an eager kiss. “I cannot wait to see how tight you will be around my cock,” 

You muttered nonsense words, pleasure engulfing your mind as you felt your head light as well as your body, your eyes shut from the pleasure you were receiving. You felt as if your own life force was abandoning you, letting you weaken and trembling.

You whined as you felt Sihtric’s finger slowly pulling out you, frustration rising as you well ready to reach the peak of your climax. When you opened your eyes you saw Sihtric holding your hip with one hand, the other hand giving himself a few strokes on his cock, throbbing with anticipation. He entered inside you with a swift motion, an inhuman grunt escaped his throat at how deliciously tight you were around his length. He set up a rough pace, fucking you restlessly as he could not control himself anymore. Whimpers and groans were the only audible things in the room, both of you teasing each other with kisses and nibbles, you often pulling on Sihtric’s wild curls, forcing him to expose his throat and biting it eagerly, leaving visible marks on his fair skin. 

The climax between you quickly raised as you both simultaneously were reaching your peaks, and his grip on your hips became rougher.

“Yes, come for me, my devil queen,” the Dane praised you with a low groan, loving how good was ravaging, how vulnerable you were under his control. “I want you to hear you shout my name while I fill you up,”

“Sihtric,” you whispered between loud moans, and while chanting his name over and over you both reach your peak, him spilling inside you while you coming over his thick length, a blissful feeling hit both of you as you both collapsed on your bed, his strong arms wrapping you as he left soft kisses on your temple. 

And it was when he fell asleep several minutes after that your demonic form showed up, your slender fingers rubbing over his curls as you watched your lover one last time before leaving you for war.

You both know, deep in your heart, that neither death cannot break your bond. 

Because he was bound to you, and you were bound to him. 

If you've come this far, thank you so much for reading my fic! Hope you enjoyed it!

Taglist: @whitedarkmoonflower @sihtricfedaraaahvicius @foxyanon @legitalicat @zaldritzosrose

@alexagirlie @sylasthegrim @lord-aldhelm @sihtricsafin @arcielee

[usmsgutterson]

omg hi i never realised i wasnt following you, i was wodering if you could do something with kaz brekker (romantic) /crows (plationic) where reader is mattias's sister and they met her and its really angsty like shes a new recruit for the fjerdian girl in the menengrie and inej sees her

and i love your writing so much!! you were the first kaz brekker fanfiction i ever read <3

Brandy- K.B x platonic! crows x matthias' sister! reader

First off, thank you so much for sending this in! I am so sorry it's taken me so long--I've been demotivated and only started getting into a kind of rhythm again recently!

On another note: the kaz brekker part of the fic is more implied to come later on than right as the fic takes place because the reader goes through a lot and having a romantic subplot just BOOM RIGHT THERE didn't feel right to me in the writing process

Fic type- this is some heavy angst that leads into hurt/comfort

Warnings- this one is a heavier fic--trafficking and rape are mentioned. The scenes wherein the reader is taken and put onto the slavers ship is depicted but not in too graphic detail (it's described as being knocked unconscious and blindfolded before being loaded onto a boat. The room that the reader ends up in isn't described in too heavy detail either, but there are mentions that the food the reader got came at random and their access to sunlight was restricted), theres a lot of discussion of death and a couple of mentions of strangulation--I've edited this but still might have missed a thing or two so feel free to tell me just in case.

You'd left Fjerda in search of your brother a solid eight months after he'd disappeared, when the letters you'd exchanged while he was in Druskelle training ceased and hadn't come in for that duration. You'd initially gone to the Druskelle--Jarl Brum, the Druskelle your brother had mentioned by name in the letters you'd exchanged. They'd all told you he'd been dead, but you didn't believe it.

So, you kept your ears open, and when you heard of a Fjerdan going to trial for involvement in the slave trade in Ketterdam, your instincts set you off on a boat to Ketterdam to find out if it was him, thinking that it could go two ways.

Either the first way, which was that it was Matthias and he'd been a shitty person for getting involved with the slave trade, or the second.

He was dead, the person on the slave trading charges was someone different, and you had lodgings in Ketterdam booked for a months stay before you headed back to your beloved country of ice and snow that would turn out to be pointless.

But you never did get to Ketterdam.

At least not on the boat you'd booked a ticket for. The night before you were to leave, the tavern you'd been drinking warmed brandy in was raided by slave traders. You were knocked unconscious, blind folded, and loaded onto a boat.

In the time thereafter, you spent no less than a week in a dodgy room, eating and drinking when your slavers deemed it a good enough time.

You were allowed sunlight only when you were taken to Tante Heleen, auctioned off to her and then forced by her to sign a contract in a language you hardly understood, as you'd barely been learning Kerch for six months by then. She'd grinned at you when you signed though she made it clear that you could not walk out of the room without doing so, and to even attempt it would result either in your death or her grabbing your hand and forcing you to sign the contract in a way that made the forcing seem much more obvious than it was.

As you were taken to the Menagerie, she'd grinned at you again. She'd asked where you were from, and when you told her that you were Fjerdan, her eyes had lit up.

"Oh, I've needed a new wolf! My men have been excellent to me this day, little wolf, and you shall reap the benefits!"

You got to the Menagerie and were given a tattoo on your wrist, silvery furs to wear and the natural color of your hair was tailored away in favor of a platinum blonde.

There were golden bars on the window of your room and each night, rather than sleeping, you looked through them. You watched the sun as it set and you watched the people blunder from one pleasure house to the next.

You cried whenever Heleen would introduce you to a client at first, but crying warranted a beating, so you stopped after the first month and a half. You took to crying when you were alone, thanking Heleen for every meal you got and hoping, hoping your indenture decreased by the minute.

But then, one night, as you were people watching, you caught sight of a girl on the roof of the building across from you. Your eyes widened as she met your gaze, pleading, desperate.

Get me out of here, you thought. Get me out. Please, get me out. Make this madness end.

Her gaze hardened and you thought you'd mistaken her for someone who could've sympathized with you, but then she rolled up her sleeve and you saw a patch of scarring. It looked almost like a botched tattoo removal, and as much made you confused.

But you didn't have time to question it. She was there one second, gone running and jumping across rooftops the next. You wondered if you'd ever see her again, hoped that you did. If the marks she'd showed you were any consolation, you had at least one person to rely on and that moment, a solid six or so months since you'd been taken to Ketterdam, even one person to rely on meant the world.

-

It had been two months since Inej had seen you that first time. Two months of plotting, planning, and it was all coming to a head that morning.

"Tante," Inej greeted on the first morning of autumn. "I am in need of one of the girls you keep here. She's Fjerdan."

"You walk into my enclosure," Tante said, gesturing at it all as she sat behind her desk. "Knowing that you, too, were once indentured here? I can have you indentured here again just as easily, my little lynx. What do you require of my little wolf?"

"If you try to kidnap me again, there is a sharpshooter ready to aim and fire at you within a split seconds notice," she said. "There is a very angry ex-Druskelle standing outside the front door, along with a heartrender, a bombs expert, and a someone so good at cards he can control any hand he wants. Let me see the girl or so help me, I will stab myself and make it seem from the sharpshooters perspective that you are doing it, and you will lose your life right here in this parlor, in front of all of your girls and all of the rapists that you call clientele."

At that, Tante showed a second of pause before turning to one of her men and nodding. "Unlock her door," she said. "Tell the little wolf that the lynx has come to visit. I can grant you fifteen minutes, Mrs. Ghafa."

Inej nodded. That was enough. It had to be enough.

Enough time for Tante to busy herself when Matthias came in posing as a client, for Nina and Kaz to sneak in through a back entrance and steal your indenture contract right from her desk, swap it with a contract that held both your signature and her own but had different wording, and make it back to the front, where the three of them were meant to be waiting while Wylan smoked a cigarette--a fake, one with chamomile and lavender in the filter--and tried his damndest to look casual.

She followed the man to your room, tried not to feel her heart break when she watched you flinch before she showed herself from behind his back.

Carefully, Inej slipped a knife out from her forearm--Sankta Alina--and pressed it against the mans back.

"You report that flinch to Tante and I will find you and cut you in two," she whispered. "You are actively participating in the trafficking of innocent girls. I understand that this is the Barrel, but I guarantee there are less vile crimes to commit. I would reccomend you find something better unless the last thing you fancy a sight of is my knife plunging into your chest."

The man gave a single nod and left the room, standing guard outside the door.

"Who are you?" You asked. "I wasn't informed anyone would be visiting, let alone the girl who's been watching me like a hawk since I hit the six month mark of being indentured here."

"My name is Inej Ghafa," she said. "I showed you the spot where my tattoo used to be--I was the Suli Lynx before Kaz bought out my indenture and I started working for the Dregs. I assume that your name is Y/N Helvar?"

"I have been Tante Heleens precious little wolf since I got here," you said. "I need to leave--I've been trying to figure out how, but I just can't figure it out for the life of me."

"Matthias is downstairs now, pretending to be a client very interested in owning a share of the business," Inej said. "Kaz and Nina are currently doing a grab and swap--they've managed to forge a contract and your signature based off of old job contracts you signed while in Fjerda. It'll hold up to scrutiny and at worst, look like Tante Heleen made a mistake. The contract they'll replace with the one they burn later will say that your indenture was set at a finite amount that's decreased rather than increasing since you were brought here."

"Has it not been?" You asked. "My Kerch wasn't great when I first got here--it's definitely gotten better since, I will say--but I thought that it had been decreasing. The decrease was what I'd been hinging my hope on."

"Tante writes them so that the cost of the indenture increases," Inej said. "You would've been stuck here--but our time is limited. I've only got fifteen minutes before I'm gone. Tante will call you down no less than ten after I've left, and you'll meet a guy who is all sharp edges and rough cuts--his name is Kaz Brekker, and he's someone you can trust, Y/N. I promise."

You stepped forward, hesitant, and Inej pulled you into a hug, using the hug as an excuse to tuck a knife into your furs.

"I understand hesitancy to kill," she said. "But if maiming, in the least, is necessary, I can pray to your Fjerdan saints with you later. We can ask that you get forgiveness for doing harm to those who have done worse to you."

"Did--did you say Matthias?" You asked. "I'm sorry--it's just that a lot has been thrown at me today. Matthias as in Helvar?"

"Yeah," Inej said, smiling at you as she puled away from the hug. You had tears in your eyes. "He's alive, Y/N, and he thought you were dead from the Ice Court heist onward, but he's relieved you aren't."

You wanted to cry, but of happiness or sadness, you didn't know.

Inej didn't say much of anything during the rest of her time, just sat with you on your bed, your hands locked together, until her time was up and the man who stood guard outside your door knocked to let you know that your time with her was done.

She left with tears in her eyes, remembering a time where she looked and felt just as helpless as you did.

-

Fifteen minutes later, you were being called down to the parlor. You followed a guard down the stairs, and when you caught sight of the person Inej had described--all sharp edges, rough cuts--you forced yourself to meet his gaze briefly. He was the one shot you had at getting out. His plan had to have worked or you would've died while stuck working as a slave to Heleen.

Next to him stood Matthias.

"Do you know this person?" Tante asked, gesturing to the one beside whom your brother stood.

"I do," you said, hoping that the lie was convincing enough. "I do know him."

"And do you know his business partner?" Tante asked. You glanced at your brother. He had murder in his gaze, and he kept it focused on the woman who'd been holding you in the hostage that was your indenture.

"Yes," you said. "His name is Matthias Helvar. His associate is called Kaz Brekker."

"See?" Kaz asked. "Old friends, she and I, and if I am to remember it correctly, she told me that you told her her indenture would be out with the start of fall. Today is the first day of the season."

"Her contract says otherwise," Tante said. "And I said no such things to her--Y/N, did I?"

"You did," you said, hopefully going along with the plan that was in place. "You said I'd only be here for eight months. It has been eight months, Tante."

"Must've been an error," she said, glaring at you. You stepped back in your fear and like the protective brother he tended to be, Matthias stepped forward.

Kaz glared at him as Tante pulled your contract from her desk.

"Does the contract say as we claim?" Matthias asked. "Y/Ns signature should be on it. As should yours."

Tante glowered at Kaz. "Whatever you've done, this fake will not hold up to close scrutiny."

At that, Kaz shrugged. "I've not done a bloody thing, Ms. Heleen. Perhaps you were drunk in the contract writeup, decided to take pity on one of your girls?"

"I was sober as a cow," she said. "But--fine. You win for now."

"You will give Y/N to us immediately," Matthias said. Kaz nodded, affirming the words.

"She is to be under the protection of the Dregs," Kaz said. "Any attempt on her life is as good as an attempt on mine, and I will make you pay for it. It will cost you more than all of the indentures of the girls here combined, Ms. Heleen."

"Fine," she said. "Take my little wolf away from me."

You stepped toward Matthias.

"You have a good day, Tante," Kaz said. The three of you made a beeline for the exit, and Inej gave you her hand. She let you lean on her in the walk from the Menagerie to the Slat, where Nina gave you clothes to change into and toiletries to shower.

You showered, washed eight months of grime and dirt and the general feeling of disgust off of yourself in the forty five minutes it took to get most of it. The feeling of disgust, the extreme disdain, the pain that you carried, were things that you were sure could not be washed away with a simple shower.

The outfitting you'd been given had been a dress that was flowy and did not adhere to every part of your body. It was black and stopped just a bit above your ankles. There was a dip in the neckline but nothing that would have anybody looking, and sleeves that stopped at your elbows.

Along with it, you were given an old cardigan, a pair of appropriate socks, and brand new combat boots, good for giving anyone a kick where it hurt the most if need be.

You headed to the bottom floor of the Slat, thanked Nina as you found her amidst the chaos and decided to lean against a wall rather than sitting down.

Matthias brought you a glass of brandy, and that was all it took.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I'm sorry it took me so long."

You took a sip of the brandy. "It's not your fault," you said. "I was going to come to Ketterdam to look for you--I couldn't believe you'd died--and the tavern I was in the night before I left was overtaken. I was put on a slavers ship and sold to Tante. None of that is on you, Matthias."

"You came looking for me," he said. "So, therefore, it's my fault."

"No," you said. "It's not. It's the fault of the slavers, the captain and crew of that boat, and Tante Heleen. You and I are blameless."

"But--"

"I was trafficked, Matthias," you said. "I was sold to a woman who indentured me to servitude. I was raped. None of that is your burden to bear, and if you start bearing it I will cut off one of your fingers."

You took a sip of your brandy.

As much as you loved your brother, you knew that a meaningful conversation was not likely to start until you both had time to think. Matthias was at the stage of it wherein he blamed himself. You had long grown past that, and the shame you felt because of it had transformed in two different cycles--first, desperation to get out of the Menagerie, and second, anger at Tante Heleen and those involved with your capture and sale.

"Matthias, dear," the one called Nina called out to him. "Wylan thinks that an espresso martini is better than bourbon. Discuss."

You shot her a grateful look. She nodded at you and for a moment you almost thought she understood.

"I've gotten into contact with a tailor," Kaz said. You took a sip of your brandy. "Inejs removal was botched, but Matthias forked over the kruge if you want it removed."

"You said that I am to be under the protection of the Dregs," you said. "A gang, as is obvious now, but what does that protection mean, in no uncertain terms?"

"It means exactly what it says on the tin. You are protected by us, Y/N. I can't promise you safety, nor happiness or health in the Barrel, but I can at least promise you that. Inej already seems like she'd fight tooth and nail to keep you alive, and she is the best ally you can have in these parts."

"Might it also mean a job?" You asked. "I have nothing, Kaz. People home probably think I'm dead. I wanted a fresh start terribly when I was in Fjerda, so this might just be my best bet."

Kaz nodded. "Your first shift at the Crow Club is in two days time, and a room in the Slat is free. I'll have the current bartender teach you how to make a couple of decent drinks, and provided I see any other ways in which you might prove to be an asset, you'll join us on the jobs that make us rich. You don't need to take up the crow and cup if you don't want to--I am sure you've had enough of tattoos for a lifetime."

You nodded. "Thank you."

"You could still die," Kaz said. "Your death was a likely thing in the Menagerie--I saw one Karl Van Houden on your list of clients? He killed two of the girls in other brothels city wide--and it's just as likely outside of it."

"If I die in these streets, I am dying with my dignity," you said. "In the Menagerie, I would've died without it, strangled by a client who hated the fact that I was crying. Dying with your dignity intact, you'll find, makes a world of difference."

Kaz shrugged. "I will be taking your word for it," he said.

You shook your head as he walked away, grinned at Inej as you noticed her approaching.

"How are you doing?"

"I've been worse," you said with a shrug. "I've been without brandy and good music. Definitely worse."

Inej grinned, took your free hand in hers and gave it a squeeze. "Does it hurt?" She asked. "The pain of accepting all of it. Are you okay?"

"It burns in my chest when I think about it too long," you said. "I just--I think about Heleen and I want to set the Menagerie on fire. I hate it. I hate her. I don't know how to deal with this."

"And you won't figure out the right way for a bit," Inej said. "It varies for everyone. You just come to a point where--you accept that what happened happened, that sometimes, good people are subjected to terrible things and the people who subjected them to those things just go on living in places like this one. It does get easier with time, though you never feel like it will."

"Thank you," you said. "For rescuing me. For giving me council as you have."

Inej shook her head. "I've been trying to convince Kaz to let you onto the team since we first made eye contact," she said. "It wasn't an easy feat until Matthias, Nina, Jesper and Wylan backed me up without knowing any of the real details, and even then, it still took a bit more convincing. Kaz is very selective with the people he lets onto the team, but you'll be a good asset."

"Thank you," you said again. "Seriously. I would've died within those walls, Inej. Thank you for saving me from that."

She walked away, and you glanced at your nearly empty glass of brandy, heading to the bar to get yourself another.

You had your entire future ahead, and you didn't want to think another minute of Tante Heleen, but you did.

You decided you'd get your revenge on her someday, even if it was just a miniscule form of such.

[mircsy]

Where's the rebloggable version of this picture??

It's so beautiful, I want to know who they are...

This drawing is not posted on Tumblr, only on my Instagram account and OOOOOHOHOHOHOHO don’t get me started who they are😂

Jk, I’ll tell you

These two are my favourite original characters who basically have an enemies-to-lovers sequence in my OG story

The blond guy is named Bjarte, a former viking (from the 9th century AD) who wanted to find the secret tenth world "Fróðleikrheim" [or as natives call it "Vrancaosga"] to gain power and knowledge to be equal to gods. And he manages to do it (with two of his friends) after his people exiled him for killing the Jarl's son (who had bullied him ever since he was a child btw)

In Vrancaosga... let's say they don't like humans. I won't elaborate the reason for it now. Bjarte gets captured with one of his friends (they had lost their other friend during their journey), and are brought in front of a king who ends this friend, and would execute Bjarte as well BUT Dalias, the brunett-haired guy with beard, interrupts.

Why would he do that, you might ask, since Dalias is the commander of the king's army and should not care. For this we need to dive into his backstory. Dalias had a cousin, Limlal, who was his superior when he was a rookie at the army. Once, they went on a spying mission together and due to a mistake Dalias made they got exposed. To save Dalias, Limlal sacrifices himself, which leaves Dalias with guilt.

Bjarte's situation reminds Dalias of this past occasion, and he "saves" him to have someone else alive who can share this feeling of guilt. (He never tells anyone about this, except Bjarte later on, when their relationship deepens.)

Bjarte becomes the first slave of the king, and the two of them just despise each other. HOWEVER, Bjarte has a quality that his body will move on its own when someone needs to be saved. And that is how he kills a boar that attacked Dalias. With this he gains some amount of respect among the other soldiers, AND Dalias starts to get interested in him and becomes less of an a-hole. They don't exactly become friends, but have a chiller attitude towards each other.

Story goes on, the main character (Fimotutt) of my OG story appears, Bjarte becomes her/his father figure, Fimo escapes slavery because of certain reasons with the promise she/he will free Bjarte, the king blames Bjarte for Fimo's escape and... does things to him, which break Bjarte.

At this point, Dalias has serious feelings for Bjarte already (even though he hides them), and Bjarte too looks at him softer... Dalias actually saves Bjarte by taking him to his aunt, Klementina (Limlal's mother). They officially become lovers here.

AAAAAAAND.... in a nutshell that's who they are. They were never supposed to turn out this way. Dalias would have had a one-time appearance, and Bjarte was meant to die in the story as a final push to the main character. But they grabbed me by the throat (/j) and demanded they wanted a happy ending. So they got their happy ending.

[spooky-donut-ghost-house]

Markarth has to be like the worst place in Skyrim to live in

Like yeah there's a Mafia, a guild of thieves and corrupt guards in Riften and racists and a serial killer in Windhelm and there's moronic jarls in Dawnstar and Winterhold

But in Markarth you have to worry about potentially getting killed in a Forsworn attack on the city because The Reach was overtaken by colonizers, you have dwemer automatons, falmer and their pets and a giant spider living in the abandoned dwemer city underneath the actual city, a third of the city's population are cannibals and are taking part in a cannibal cult who is stealing corpses from The Hall of The Dead, there's a fucking Mafia in the city that supports Ulfric, there's a fucking haunted house, there's a fucking Thalmor patrol in the goddamn Jarl's palace, the jarl and guards are corrupt and are being payed off by the Mafia, the jail is a fucking slave mine which mainly consists of the indigenous population of The Reach put in there by the local Mafia

[kirk-says-wah]

44 with James and Lars. Viking jarl/chieftain James and his slave boy Lars that he captured on a raid. 🥵🔥

Thank you for the ask! I think I got a bit carried away with this one but I hope you like it 💕

Send me a pairing and a number and I’ll write a little something

44 - Class or power differences AU (noble/commoner, master/slave, etc.)

James leans down, smooths his hands through long brown hair. Lars shifts, kneeling at James’s feet, unsure if he should do something.

James always likes him to be silent during his meetings, and Lars doesn’t mind keeping still as long as James keeps touching him. He likes to preen under the attention, even when everything is screaming at him not to.

Eventually, James dismisses the meeting, stands, drags Lars onto his feet by his hair. Lars tries not to hiss with pain, but James will still see the slight twitch to his mouth.

Lars is ushered along to the bedroom, which is where he spends most of his time these days.

“Bitch,” James grumbles, kicking at his ankles when he doesn’t move fast enough, and Lars picks up speed until finally they’re next to the bed.

Lars automatically takes his pants off, James doesn’t let him wear anything else, and dutifully gets on the bed on all fours.

James gives a deep hum, pressing his fingers purposely hard into the knobs of Lars’s spine. Lars swallows the whine in his throat.

“Have you had a good day?” James murmurs, unhooking his animal skin belt from around his waist. It drops to the floor with a resounding thud and Lars shudders, his cock filling out between his legs.

“Yes sir,” Lars says, doesn’t look at James. He knows not to look at him unless told to.

James drops his trousers, not bothering to take off his tunic. He’s still got business to take care of after this. He just likes to take time out to let himself go and enjoy himself. He hasn’t had someone so willing to be at his beck and call in a long time and it’s refreshing.

He smooths his palm over Lars’s asscheek, before hitting it, watching it wobble as a branded handprint stings into his flesh. Lars lets out a cut off moan, embarrassment making his stomach go tight, face flushed.

James grabs his chin, yanks his head so they’re face to face.

“Did I say you can make a sound?”

Lars swallows, eyes wide as he takes in James’s fierce appearance. His long blonde mane bulking out over his shoulders, dark black kohl smudged around his eyes, over his nose in a rough stripe, making his stark blue eyes stand out. His beard is growing, longer now than when James had first captured Lars, and Lars already loves the scrape of it against his chin when he kisses him, against his taint when he eats him out.

James looks like a monster, even without all his armour, and it still makes Lars shrink, still has him shaking slightly.

“No sir,” he replies, mouth dry, and James bares his teeth before leaning forwards, smashing their mouths together.

Lars sink forwards, arms hardly holding him up as he relishes in the feeling of James’s lips against his own. James smiles against him before pulling back, letting go of Lars’s chin so hard that Lars’s head is pushed backwards, landing on the pillow at the top of the bed.

Lars wiggles his ass where it’s raised upwards, and James climbs on to sit behind him, pressing his cock through the tunic against Lars’s cheeks.

“You’re the prettiest little slave boy I’ve ever had,” he says, rakes his nails over Lars’s hips. Lars knows there where guys before him, and he dreads to think what happened to them before he got here. Hopefully James likes him enough to make him stick around.

“Thank you, sir,” Lars breathes, rocks his ass back minutely, feeling the outline of James’s cock press into his crack.

Wet fingers finally prod at his entrance, and Lars sucks in a breath. He’s already prepped, James already reamed his ass only an hour ago, but he won’t lie, having James take his time with him is nice.

James quickly presses three fingers into Lars’s tight hole, pumping them quickly, always angling away from his prostate just to make Lars frustrated.

Lars just wants to whine for him to get on with it, but he knows that will just end in punishment. Punishment being no cock in his ass.

He instead buries his face into the pillow until finally James presses his fat cock to Lars’s little furled hole.

“You want this?” James grunts, bucks his hips so that his cock slides over Lars’s hole.

Lars keens, daring to look over his shoulder. James is looking back at him, eyebrow arched, nostrils flared. He looks like a god, all tan sweaty skin and golden hair.

“Please, sir,” Lars whines, grasps his fingers into the sheets.

James smiles, teeth bared, before he slowly sheaths himself into Lars’s warm, tight heat.

Lars buries his moan into the pillow, hands clamped into the bedding as James pushes apart his insides, presses in so deep Lars is pretty sure if he looked down he’d see James’s bulge pressing through the thinness of his stomach.

Lars can hardly breath, gasping harshly as James finally seats himself in his ass.

James grunts behind him, reaches up to yank on Lars’s hair.

Lars yelps, head flying back, and he’s driven even further onto James’s thick cock.

“You’re my bitch, got it?” James spits, thrusts his hips to punctuate his words.

Lars cries out, James’s dick so big that it presses against his prostate. James’s hand pushes down, pressing Lars’s face into the mattress.

“My little sex slave,” he grunts, and Lars has to try and breathe to make sure he doesn’t just blow his load already.

He pushes back into James’s thrusts, and James praises him, smooths a hand over Lars’s hair.

[thevagueambition]

When people frame Norse society as one were women had more power than in concurrent or subsequent societies that is possibly true where free women were concerned, but these were slave-based societies* – yeah, the jarl's wife could divorce him but his slaves had no real rights

One of the issues with conflating what viking raiders did with what was done at home in said societies is that it obscures a lot of nuance

The reason viking raiders are known for rape** while norse society is (now) known for women having more rights is because it's a question of who laws and norms apply to. Legally and culturally, how a norseman treated a free woman at home had very little to do with how he treated foreign women on a raid. Similarly to how sex between free men was very taboo, but topping a male slave or raid victim was not

When raiding they were operating outside the laws and norms of their home society and committed the sorts of crimes disorganised armies often do – but additionally, they also had people in their home societies whom laws did not apply to

* Slavery continued for a good while after Christianisation, but as soon as raids stopped being profitable slavery started to decline since most slaves were captured on raids + it coincided with the general decline in slavery in Europe around (iirc) year 1000. Which brings us to the other caveat – Early Medieval Scandinavia was hardly unique in ita dependence on slavery, that was common at the time. I do think it was somewhat more prominent, though, in that the slave trade was part of why raiding was economically viable

** The other reason is that history is written by terrified monks

[alexagirlie]

TLK WIP MasterList

Always happy to talk about or answer questions about upcoming stories! Header by me, divider by @/zaldritzosrose

Vampire AUs:

☆ bonus scene from Monstrous May Part 8 (Osferth x Sihtric)

☆ Something Pretending to be Human (Sihtric x Uhtred)

☆ Love at First Bite (Finan x Sihtric)

☆ Tooth and Claw (Finan/Sihtric/Uhtred)

☆ Vampiric Entity (Sihtric)

☆ Ritual Circle (Sihtric x Skade)

☆ Blood Sport (Sihtric x Masema)

☆ Either Finan x Sihtric x Sigtrygrr or just Sihtric x Sigtrygrr

Werewolf AUs:

☆ Werewolves AU (Finan x Sihtric x Uhtred)

☆ Werewolves of Bebbanburg - True Mates Au (Reader x Sihtric? Reader x Sihtric x Finan?)

Omegaverse AUs:

☆ Monster they made me - Shadowwalker Sihtric AU (Finan x Sihtric x Uhtred)

☆ Exes (Finan x Sihtric x Uhtred)

☆ Heat (Finan x Sihtric)

☆ One Night (Sihtric)

☆ Realization (Sihtric x Finan)

☆ Orgy AU (Finan x Sihtric x Uhtred, Sihtric x a lot of people)

☆ Free Use Kink (Finan x Sihtric x Uhtred, Sihtric x a lot of people)

Modern AUs:

☆ MMA AU (Finan x Sihtric x Uhtred)

☆ Spandauers and Crowns of Flowers - Bakery AU (Finan x Sihtric x Uhtred)

☆ Stunt man Sihtric AU (Finan x Sihtric x Uhtred)

☆ Fuck Machine (Finan x Sihtric x Uhtred)

☆ Music Festival Modern AU (Finan x Sihtric)

☆ Shotgunning (Finan x Sihtric)

☆ Sex Worker AU (Virgin Sihtric x High End Hooker Finan)

Canon Era:

☆ Monster They Made Me - Shadowwalker Sihtric AU (Finan x Sihtric x Uhtred)

☆ Taking Bebbanburg - S3 canon divergence (Finan x Sihtric x Uhtred)

☆ Danger Days Part 3 - Post Tettenhall (Finan x Sihtric)

☆ Danger Days Part 4 (Finan x Sihtric)

☆ Danger Days Part 5 (Finan x Sihtric)

☆ Danger Days Part 6 (Finan x Sihtric)

☆ Slave Sihtric AU (Finan x Sihtric)

☆ Prostitute Sihtric AU (FInan x Sihtric x Uhtred)

☆ Dark Sign - Post SKMD (Finan x Sihtric x Uhtred)

☆ Games (Finan x Sihtric)

Crossovers:

☆ War of Hearts Part 2 - Shadowhunters Crossover (Finan x Sihtric x Uhtred)

☆ War of Hearts Part 3 (Finan x Sihtric x Uhtred)

☆ War of Hearts Part 4 (Finan x Sihtric x Uhtred)

☆ War of Hearts Part 5 (Finan x Sihtric x Uhtred)

☆ Masema x Sihtric WOT AU (Masema x Sihtric)

X Reader:

☆ Figure You Out Part 3 (Finan x Reader X Sihtric)

☆ Figure You Out Part 4 (Finan x Reader x Sihtric)

☆ Figure You Out Part 5 (Osferth x Reader x SIhtric)

☆ Sihtric x Dane Reader

☆ Werewolves of Bebbanburg - True Mates Au (Reader x sihtric? Reader x sihtric x finan?)

☆ Sihtric x Reader x Sigtrygrr - Sihtric had been sent to Jorvik to assess how it's new Jarl is settling in. You catch Sihtric's eyes not realizing you were already coveted by another.

☆ Bathhouse Rewards Sequel - reader x coccham squad - Finan, Osferth and Sihtric have returned from scouting Bebbanburg and are in a desperate need of a wash in the river.

[thorraborinn]

I have this kind of idea in my head that Odinn was worshipped more by the wealthy/warrior class whereas Thorr was the guy for the working class people of the viking age. I think I remember reading something about that, perhaps even on your blog? But I can't find much about it anymore. Is that true and how do we know it?

The main piece of evidence for this is the poem Hárbarðsljóð, in which the disguised Óðinn taunts Þórr like this:

Óðinn á jarla, þá er í val falla, en Þórr á þrælakyn.

'Óðinn has the jarls who fall in battle, but Þórr has the kindred of slaves.'

Interpreting this, especially in light of other evidence, is not easy. Clearly, the jarlar that Óðinn is talking about are the einherjar in Valhöll. We do get some pieces of lore about Þórr also having a place where people go in the afterlife, but not in detail, and as I'll discuss below, all of the most famous Þórr-worshipers are not slaves (though, let's keep in mind our sources for the religious beliefs of slaves is not good). Hárbarðr's taunt might be alluding to something like Óðinn being worshiped by a very specific elite, while Þórr was worshiped by people at all strata of society, including but not limited to slaves.

The idea is mentioned in recent literature pretty frequently, but some key articles are "How High Was the High One? The Roles of Oðinn and Þórr in Pre-Christian Icelandic Society" by Terry Gunnell (in the book Theorizing Old Norse Myth), "Pantheon? What Pantheon?" also by Gunnell, and to a certain extent also "How Uniform was Old Norse Religion?" by Stefan Brink (which is not about class, but about geography, which is a much stronger indicator). In "Cunning Intelligence in Norse Myth: Loki, Óðinn, and the Limits of Sovereignty," Kevin Wanner makes use of the absence of royalty in Iceland, and just within Iceland Þórr. Both of the Gunnell pieces are highly synthetic of other peoples' work, revisiting ideas that were already decades old in light of new evidence, and are full of citations to other resources you might find useful.

As an example of where it starts to break down, part of the evidence for this is the way that Þórr was widely recognized in Iceland (which we know about though place-names, personal names, and saga descriptions of people and their religious expression) while Óðinn seems not to have been (based on the same types of evidence; the most famous Icelander dedicated to Óðinn was Egill Skallagrímsson, who was renowned as a poet, and whose family did serve Norwegian royalty at one time).

But within Iceland, the people we're drawing evidence from were in many cases wealthy land-owners. People like Þórólfr Mostrarskegg were marginalized from formal power in Norway, but did become part of Iceland's less centralized, land-owning aristocracy.

We might even be able to say that, by comparing the highest classes of Iceland and Norway, worship of Þórr and worship of Óðinn respectively pertain to two different ideologies of wielding and maintaining power (Olof Sundqvist has written quite a lot about "religious strategies for rulership"). Though, we can also bring it back to the original question by framing Þórr worship in this context as "We are commoners who happen to have more wealth and power than other commoners, so support us, because we support you, because we are essentially the same" where Óðinn-worship might have been something more like "we rule because we are categorically above commoners."

We can find examples pertaining to worship of Freyr as well. So while there's a class dimension here, Iceland and Norway had different class configurations due to the absence of royalty in Iceland, and just within Iceland Þórr was worshiped by people of the highest class attainable. We also have reason to believe that Freyr was worshiped as a god of specific and exceptional importance by royalty (just not the particular royal culture that would eventually produce a great deal of written Norse mythology), so the fact that he was also worshiped by Icelandic farmers means that in his case too we can't really pin it to class in a general sense.

So basically, yeah, what you asked about is a real idea, and it may have been an idea that had currency already in the Viking age, but there was probably never an actual time or place where it was unambiguously true, and even if it were, even that was probably only true of a very specific subsection of people.

[dndhistory]

50. Gary Gygax - G1: Steading of the Hill Giant Chief (1978)

The first official adventure module published by TSR, it is the first of many, many such modules, now that Gary Gygax finally realised that people wanted these modules. He wrote this as a way to take a break between writing the Monster Manual and the Player's Handbook so it actually came out before we even had a PHB for AD&D. 

This is a very barebones adventure, clocking in at some 8 pages, but it's still a beloved adventure, frequently coming very high on "best adventure" lists and this is not only due to a nostalgia or historical factor. This is an adventure that rewards lateral thinking and planning, as the adventurers have to raid a Hill Giant Fortress inhabited by a large number of giants and their servants/slaves, if they go in "guns blazing"... well "swords blazing"... this is going to be a hard adventure to get through. The feasting hall near the entrance is chock-full of powerful giants and even a cave bear which will leave a party either dead or severely depleted before they even get to the dungeon level. Sneaking around is definitely the smart option here, also seeing as the treasure is mainly in treasure rooms and armories and not with the giants themselves. Remember that in early AD&D most XP came from treasure and not killing monsters.

As the PCs get to the dungeon level they will uncover a number of potential allies that they should really use to facilitate their progress an by the end of the adventure they will have a pointer towards the next part of the campaign, G2's The Glacial Rift of the Frost Giant Jarl, which we will cover next post. A great start to a long and influential campaign in only 8 pages! Well done Gary.

[sirthisisa-wendys]

Distractions (Part 5): Ken Ryuguji x Fem!Reader

synopsis: this is the end you've been dreaming of - the end you deserve.

wc: 854

tw: mentions of smut

previous part👁 masterlist 👁 end

"Give me her dowry."

Chuckles echo around the longhall.

"She's a former slave woman; she has no dowry." Draken leans on the table and exhales, tightly holding his sword's hilt. You swallow hard, glancing from the jarl to your betrothed. Without a dowry, there would be hard times ahead. The money... it's what you were owed. The jarl, newly patched up, leans back in his seat. "You think you can come in here and demand money from me when--"

"I will slit your throat from end to end if you fail to give me what I am owed. The law is still the law."

The jarl pales. "Send the people away." People are ushered out of the longhouse, and the doors are barred. The man clears his throat as Draken sits across from him, face grim. He lays the sword on the table as a reminder.

"You owe me."

"I will give you what you are owed." Coins clink onto the table, and you watch as the men count up the total. It equals about a year's worth of wages for a thrall. Draken collects the money and drops it into a pouch provided by the jarl, then stands easily.

"Come," Draken murmurs to you, taking your hand. You don't even offer a "goodbye" to the jarl. You're perched on a horse not long after and taken away.

"Daddy, daddy!"

You can hear the shouts of your child in the field from your kitchen, where you prepare dinner.

"Daddy, look!"

It's not much - the house, that is - but it's yours. Your husband comes in from the spring, carrying your son in his arms and growling. "And then I will cook you and eat you!"

The toddler cries out gleefully as Draken pretends to consume him by sticking his chubby fingers in his mouth. You chuckle as they tumble around, the toddler kicking and yelling in fake outrage as his father 'eats' another hand.

"I love the flesh of little children in the evening!"

"Can we pause in eating children and maybe eat dinner?" The two stop playing instantly and prepare for your meal of meats and vegetables. Within minutes, you place the stew in bowls and observe as they eat eagerly.

"Hot, hot, hot," the younger boy chants before spooning the broth into his mouth. Draken doesn't chant "hot" but happily spoons the meal into his mouth, humming in time with his son.

"Is it good?" you ask, and they nod quickly, spoons held upright. They're replicas of each other - blonde, hungry, and happy.

Happy.

You tuck your child into bed soon after, telling him a short but sweet bedtime story and smoothing his hair away from his forehead with tender fingers. Once you've placed your kiss on his head and Draken's done the same, you join him in the bedroom, watching as he strips out of his shirt.

Little scars are like constellations on his back, and you trace them when he sits on the edge of the bed, pressing your lips to a few before he looks back at you. “What are thinking about, my love?”

“You.”

Each scar is a reminder of a sacrifice Draken made over the years, from restarting his life with you, becoming a mercenary for hire, then settling down once he felt it was time. You remember the day you realized you were in love with him like it was yesterday, too.

It had been a particularly windy day that rattled the shutters and caused the house to creak, but you chose to go outside anyways to fetch something irrelevant. You'd gotten caught in a gust on your way back to the house, but Draken had been there to rescue you, his broad arms and back blocking the wind for you.

"I've got you," he whispered in your ear and held onto you tightly. "I've got you."

From then on, the chaste kisses he'd give when he returned home became more than just a simple greeting, and his sweet nothings were more than just words. The first time you made love with him was one you'd never forget: a sweet bouquet of jonquils had preceded the evening, along with a few thorns and scratches from other escapades.

But Draken had not allowed his pain to quell his love for you, his eyes dancing with attraction as you showed him all of you. The deed had been done in the moonlight with colliding hips and fumbling fingers, but it was meaningful nonetheless.

A year later, you had your son, and now... Peace.

"Daydreaming again?" Draken wonders, pulling you back from your memory.

"A little," you admit, blushing.

"Tell me all of your thoughts," he adds, leaning back on the bed and placing his arm around your shoulders. "I'm listening." And so you do in the waning light of the evening while he traces circles into your warm skin.

When you're done, Draken is asleep, his arm still wrapped around your shoulder as the candles burn low. You place a final kiss on his cheek, wordlessly thanking him for another peaceful day and another loving embrace.

taglist: @galactict3a @bontensbabygirl @cheriibakudan @bertholdts--butt @mettacrybaby @brownskinnedgirll @penguinlovestowrite @southside-otaku

[gerec]

AU-gust 2023

14 & 15. Wizards & Witches and Ancient History

Pairing(s): Cherik, Charles/Jakob Lehnsherr Warnings: N/A

Erik was only twelve when they first brought the slave to his village, taken during his father’s most recent expedition to England. The boy was only a few years older than him, no more than sixteen, with soft dark hair and eyes bluer than the North Sea. His own people had offered him as tribute, the Jarl explained; called him a witch and an evil omen, and blamed him for the Norsemen’s arrival on their shores. But that was pure folly, for the tribe had followed no call but their own. Still, his father was quite happy with their newest addition, for their people did not shun their seers, instead, choosing to revere them for their gifts of vision and foresight.

In fact, the Jarl was so pleased that he brought Charles into his own household, and took him on as his concubine. In this way, Erik began spending much of his time with the older boy, sharing mealtimes and lessons during the day, before Charles returned each night to his father’s bed. Slowly, they got to know each other and became best of friends, and Erik took it upon himself to teach Charles the ways of his people. In turn, Charles taught him the language of his people – the Saxons – and shared stories of his land and the family he left behind.

To Erik, Charles’ seemed happy in his new life, his kind and friendly nature winning the hearts of everyone in the village. His father treated Charles with respect and listened to his advice, trusting him to divine signs and omens portending the tribe’s future. And Erik came to cherish Charles greatly, though as he grew into manhood, his feelings became less familial and bloomed into love.

At age twenty, his father died while on another expedition to England, and Erik became the new Jarl in his place.

Per tradition, Erik offered a boon to those closest and most loyal to him, doing his best to care for his people as his beloved father would. Most asked for land or livestock or a first choice of the plunder, and Erik was only too pleased to oblige, for he cared little for these material things of which he had plenty.

Eagerly, he asked Charles to name his desire, for what wouldn’t Erik do to make him happy?

“Let me go home,” Charles said, his head on Erik’s chest, as they lay sweaty and spent on the Jarl’s bed. “You must let me go home, Erik, or a great calamity will come to these shores, and demolish all in its path. It comes for me, and only by my leaving will it be averted.”

“No, you’re mistaken.”

Charles shook his head. “I am not. I have foreseen it.”

“You will not leave me,” Erik insisted, for nothing frightened him so much as the thought of losing Charles from his life. “You are mine and I will keep you…I would hear no more talk of you returning to your old life.”

Unhappy, and far from satisfied with Erik’s answer, Charles merely nodded, and said no more.

Six months later, a fleet of English warships came over the horizon, with Charles’ siblings at its helm.