#lagertha imagine

[claymoresword]

Fatal Attraction

Lagertha Lothbrok x Farmer Fem!Reader

Summary: After a long day of working on your farm, you have an accidental encounter with a gorgeous shield-maiden.

Wordcount: 2.1k

Warnings: smut, g!p reader, y/n could be transmasc, lust at first sight or whatever, y/n and lagertha are soulmates infact, porn no plot

Note: fairly certain no one's going to even read this silly thing but i've been rewatching vikings and something shifted.. that's all i have to say. (whenever there's a blonde milf trust claymoresword will be there)

gif cred: winnickdaily

You are forced to call it a day as you notice the sky dimming. Sundown is rapidly approaching and ypu recognize that it would not be productive to continue working through the night again.

Days at the farm have been long and tiring enough as it is while you prepare for winter.

You finally exit the stables after checking on the horses one last time. Slipping the hilt of your axe through your sword belt, you decide to head out into the forest to answer nature’s call once more before turning in for the night.

-

You relieve yourself upon a tree, subsequently clearing your throat whilst making a considerable amount of noise without much thought.

Once finished, you lace up your breeches in haste, anxious to return to the comfort and warmth of your farmhouse.

Then, a noise captures your attention, it is the crunching of leaves, a jarring snap of a twig just beside you.

Footsteps.

You reach for your axe, but before you can even attempt to retrieve it, the sensation of a pointed, cold object against the back of your neck causes you to freeze in place.

“Wait– don't harm me. I'm not here to cause trouble.” You declare in resignation, lifting your hands up as a gesture of surrender.

Today cannot be the day that you die.

“Who are you?” A woman's voice, edged and perilous, much like the blade that's being pressed up against your neck.

“I- I'm a farmer, I live just across the river.” You explain, and then, blessedly, you no longer feel the edged metal against your flesh.

You allow yourself a sigh of relief. However, just as suddenly, your breath hitches in your throat once more when you turn around to face the mystery woman– the most beautiful woman you have ever laid eyes on.

Clad in armour, she bears a sword like she was born to it. Evidently, she is a shield-maiden, the most captivating one you have ever seen.

“State your name.” The blonde haired goddess demands. Her expression is taut and fierce and she has yet to lower her sword, strangely enough, it only makes you want to smile, but you possess enough wit to fight the urge.

“Y/n. My name is y/n.” You state, breathless, incapable of concealing the look on your face.

She is captivating. Now that your eyes have met, you can hardly find the strength to look away.

The shield-maiden remains silent as she continues to observe you. Once satisfied, she finally sheaths her steel.

“What's a farmer like you doing in the middle of a forest? This place is dangerous, full of bandits looking for an easy target.” The goddess asks, eyeing you once more.

Her seemingly impenetrable demeanor only intrigues you further. You find yourself actively fighting the desire to step closer to the shield-maiden.

"It- the truth, it's humiliating." You mutter, chuckling slightly, finally averting your gaze.

"I came out here to take a piss, I don't like to do it infront of the animals.” You admit, and your heart sings as you catch a smile threatening to form upon the shield-maiden's lips.

Lagertha's eyebrows raise slightly with your confession but she forces an impartial stare.

"So.. you have chosen the most dangerous place in all of Hedeby to answer nature's call?" The shield-maiden asks, her tone sharp with judgment.

Her words don't graze you, in fact your grin only widens as you are filled with a stroke of confidence.

She is even more beautiful when she is trying not to smile at you.

“Are you going to kill me?” You ask boldly, and finally, it is the shield-maiden's turn to flush a light shade of pink. She bites her lip, focusing her attention on the ground for a moment.

“Tell me your name again.” She orders, and you catch her eyes, the colour of the ocean– you wonder what it would be like to get lost in them, to lose yourself in the depths of her.

You aim to find out.

“Y/n.” You repeat, finally inching closer, hypnotized.

The other woman fails to move, but she allows the proximity. A tantalizing smirk that pulls your gaze toward her lips once more.

"You know, y/n–" She begins, tilting her head gently to the side.

"You could have gone to take a piss in a bush near your farm. But you chose to go in the woods, alone, in danger, I wonder why..” The shield-maiden taunts.

You only shrug.

“Perhaps I enjoy the risk.” You claim in jest, taking another step. “What are you doing here all alone?” You redirect the question, and the other woman looks off into the distance for a beat.

“Hmm..” She hums, purposely taking ample time to conjure a response. Your bodies are now only an inch away from touching.

She enjoys this, leaving you wanting– like a pathetic, eager pup.

Finally, the other woman advances forward, you are close enough to smell the sweat on her skin.

A thrilling scent.

"I come out here to think, to clear my head, and–" She pauses to lean forward. "I also enjoy the risk.” The shield-maiden claims in a whisper, her lips brushing against the shell of your ear.

She is mocking you, and Gods do you enjoy it.

Your smile remains, as well as your stare upon her lips. “You never told me your name.”

“My name is Lagertha.” The shield-maiden answers, her hand leaves the hilt of her sword to carefully graze your chest, she traces the details on your tunic.

An action that takes you both by surprise, yet she fails to pull away, and you pray to Freya that she never does.

“Can I kiss you, Lagertha?” You ask. If this gorgeous woman before you aims to plunge her sword into you now, then so be it.

To your delight, Lagertha does nothing of the sort, instead, her hand clenched into a grip on your collar, she nods. “Kiss me.”

You regard her permission, leaning in to capture her lips for a passionate kiss. Subsequently pinning her up against the tree as she wraps her arms around the back of your neck.

Lagertha immediately parts her mouth wider, wanting your tongue. Once again you do not hesitate to do as she asks, your tongue meets her own, and she thanks you with a whimper and a slightly louder moan.

Your hand shifts further downwards to her rear, deliberately pulling her close until she is flush against your groin. You can already feel yourself growing painfully hard; kissing this woman you had just met mere moments ago.

“You are so beautiful..” You utter, earning another gasp of pleasure as your mouth finds Lagertha's neck.

“You are not so bad yourself.” She pants in return, pushing herself further against you. Her hand slips in between both your bodies, boldly palming your hardened cock over your breeches.

You poorly mask a moan with a strained chuckle, pulling away for a moment to look upon her flushed expression. Lagertha's mouth remains parted as she chases your lips. You grant her another deep kiss before separating once more to speak.

"Do you have a husband, Lagertha? Will he care that you are kissing strange women in the middle of the forest?" You remark with a certain playfulness, although secretly hoping she will admit that she is indeed unmarried.

Eventhough you knew that the chances of it are highly unlikely.

"I have no husband," Lagertha replies, her voice laced with desire as she pushes herself against your groin once more, well aware of how hard you had gotten for her.

Her answer is the sweetest there is– it is exactly what you want to hear. Yet, you don't believe her.

"A gorgeous woman such as yourself.. unwed?" You mutter skeptically before placing another open mouthed kiss against her throat. You swiftly begin sucking on the flesh, relishing in the desperate whimper you manage to pull from the shield-maiden.

Soon Lagertha finds strength enough to grip a fistful of your hair, tugging your head back so you are forced to look her in the eyes.

She appears delighted to watch you wince.

“My heart has not yet found its place.” The shield-maiden admits, and you accept it to be an earnest statement. Though the glimmer of doubt beneath her poised expression does not go unnoticed.

“Oh– then, perhaps..” You say, pausing to kiss her again.

“Your heart will find its place with me.” You declare brazenly, and it is met with a faint smile before Lagertha reacts with a feeble attempt to shove you away.

“You are incredibly arrogant..” She claims, and you kiss her neck again before leaving another deep bruise upon her milky white skin.

The shield maiden chokes out a moan as you repeated the action on another part of her neck.

“Presumptuous–” She tries to continue, but is ultimately overcome with pleasure as you move your mouth over a particularly tender spot.

“–ah, fuck.” Lagertha groans as you proceed to slip your hand underneath her bodice, soon your mouth finds the swell of her breasts.

“You are perfect.” You praise in retaliation to her insults.

Lagertha doesn't try to wound you with her words anymore, only guiding your face closer so she may kiss you again, hungry and anguished.

Now she is utterly lost within you– and you in turn are reduced to the simplest most vulnerable part of yourself.

There is nothing else; all you care to see, touch, and taste is her.

Lagertha eventually results in pulling you down onto the ground with her. Leaves rustling violently as you both fumbled to undress yourselves. You removed your sword belts, tossing your weapons aside. There is no time, you needed to have her now, and the shield-maiden wanted the same.

She hastily pulls down her breeches and smallclothes. Once they are off her body, she discards them heedlessly and without thought, while you do the exact same.

A grunt leaves you as Lagertha grasps the base of your shaft, she pumps the length of your cock, diligently guiding you closer.

In half a heartbeat you are sheathed inside of the other woman to the hilt. Lagertha moans aloud at the sensation of your large member impaling her. Her gasps of pleasure, bold enough to echo throughout the vast, open forest.

You begin a quick but steady pace with your thrusts, feeling every delicious inch of her cunt. With every movement of your hips, Lagertha squeezes desperately around your girth.

The feeling was utterly intoxicating, fucking her is what you intend to do; inside of her is where you intend to be for the rest of your life, if it was possible.

Your groans are continuously muffled in the crook of shield-maiden's neck as Lagertha's fingers dig into the flesh of your back. Her grip would no doubt have broken skin if it wasn't for the barrier provided by the fabric of your tunic.

Lagertha's noises of pleasure, in contrast, are unapologetic. She is whimpering and moaning with every thrust of your hips, her breathing shallow but loud.

If a bandit was indeed scouring the forest this evening, they are bound to stumble upon this display, and the thought excited you more than anything else.

“Oh, fuck, y/n– you are so good at that..” Lagertha manages just as you lean in to kiss her once again, you swallow her moans, tasting her.

“Gods– yes..” She says after your lips part.

Her hot breath against your ear, accompanied with the feeling of her warm and wet cunt clenching around your cock was overwhelming. You were nearing your peak already, far sooner than you had anticipated.

With a groan, you begin to pick up the pace. Although as it happens, Lagertha was much farther gone, it takes only one thrust, and then another for her to come completely undone. She comes hard around your cock like a wanton maiden, she screams out in ecstasy like a whore.

The sight of the shield-maiden writhing with pleasure underneath you was enough to coax you over the edge. You only manage a guttural noise as your entire body tenses, releasing thick spurts of warm seed inside of the other woman.

–

You have since climbed off the shield-maiden, Lagertha now laying beside you on a bed of dirt and dried leaves. A similar look of contentment highlights her delicate features as you both attempt to catch your breath.

Eventually, you turn to look at her properly. With an effort to make sure that you were definitely not dreaming, you reach out to gently brush a strand of her golden hair out of her face.

Lagertha glances at you with her bottom lip set in between her teeth, she is trying her hardest to conceal her grin.

“Come home with me.” You find yourself uttering, and the shield-maiden gazes at you in a similar manner.

It is not shock, she is only trying to decipher you in return.

“I would like that.” Lagertha simply replies, she lets herself smile then, her calloused yet tender hand upon your cheek.

[lostgirlfandom]

Vikings Masterlist

Old Masterlist

Ragnar

Lagertha

Floki

Ivar

Hvitserk

Food for a Viking

Halfdan

Harald Finehair

Bjorn Ironside

Athelstan

Ubbe

Poly!

[eu-nicola]

first love

summary: you always hated Ragnar until you realized that that hatred was not hatred but love

warnings: age-gap, infidelity, pregnancy

word counter: 9363

author's note: english is not my first language, inspired by something old that I also wrote

You had known Ragnar Lothbrok for as long as you could remember, and you had always known that his place in your life was not that of a stranger. He had been a part of your world even before you came into it.

Your father always spoke of Ragnar as if he were a son. When you were younger, you sat on your father’s knee as he told stories of Ragnar’s bravery and cunning, of how, as a mere boy, he had shown intelligence that few men possessed. You listened, but those words never filled you with pride. It wasn’t admiration you felt for him. It was jealousy. Jealousy of how your parents looked at him, jealousy of how your father laughed with him, a truer sound than the one you managed to coax out of him.

Ragnar wasn’t just bigger than you in age; he was bigger in every other way. He had always been that way. In your family’s eyes, he was more than an older brother. He was the perfect son they had never had before you.

You clearly remember the first time you realized how deep your connection to your father was. You were about six years old, running through the field near your house, chasing butterflies as your bare feet sank into the damp grass. When you came home, sweaty and leafy, you saw him there at the table next to your father. Your heads leaned forward, talking quietly as if they shared a secret that would never include you. Your small hands balled into fists, and you stood in the doorway, feeling like a stranger in your own home. 

“What are you doing standing there?” he had asked you, with an easy smile that lit up everyone’s eyes but your own. 

“I don’t like the way you talk to my father,” you told him with childlike sincerity that knew no filters. 

He laughed, a sound he had always hated because it was loud, as if the entire world could hear how much he enjoyed life. "And why not, little one? Is it yours and not mine?"

Your father laughed too, but you didn't. You looked down and crossed your arms, muttering something that even you didn't quite understand. At that moment, Ragnar had looked at you like someone would look at a child who barely understands the world, and that only increased your childish rage.

Over time, things didn't improve. Ragnar grew into a strong, cunning, and charismatic man. His exploits began to resonate beyond the borders of your small world, and while others celebrated him, you still felt overshadowed by his presence.

Sometimes, you tried to reason with yourself. It wasn't Ragnar's fault that your father adored him so much. It wasn't his fault that others looked at him with admiration. But those thoughts didn't ease the weight in your chest every time his name came up in family conversations, as if everything revolved around him.

There were days when you wished he would go away. That his ship would not return from the sea, that his laughter would stop filling the rooms, that his stories would become a thing of the past. And yet, there was a part of you that couldn’t deny that you were watching him intently. Like a wolf on the prowl, you memorized his every gesture, every word he said. 

One day, when you were ten, things reached their breaking point. Ragnar had returned from a long journey, and your father threw a banquet in his honor. The entire village gathered at your house, singing, drinking, and celebrating his return. You were at the back, in the darkest corner of the hall, watching as Ragnar moved through the crowd with the ease of someone who knew he belonged.

When you finally crossed paths with him, he gave you an amused look. “Why are you always so serious when you see me?”

“I’m not serious. I just don’t like you,” you blurted out without thinking.

He laughed, but it wasn’t as loud this time. There was something else in his expression, something you hadn’t seen before: curiosity. “Do you not like me because I’ve always been here, or because you think I don’t pay attention to you?”

The question left you silent, because you didn’t know how to respond. Ragnar always found a way to disarm you, even when you didn’t want to admit it.

“Maybe it’s not you who hates me,” he finally said, leaning in to look you in the eyes. “Maybe it’s you who doesn’t want to share your place in this world with me.”

Those words stuck in your mind, though at the time you didn’t know what to do with them. Because, as much as you hated to admit it, maybe he was right.

Over the years, you left behind the childish games and tantrums, but Ragnar remained a constant in your life. You no longer openly hated him, but you didn't seek him out either. You avoided him, always hiding behind the responsibilities of the house or the social gatherings that you so detested. But even from a distance, you felt his presence like a shadow that stretched over you, a force that you couldn't ignore. 

It was around your thirteenth birthday that you began to understand something that you didn't want to accept. Ragnar had returned from another of his trips, this time with the triumphant air of a man who had achieved something great. His face was covered in dust and sun, his eyes shining with that fire that seemed to ignite everyone around him. He entered your home as if he owned the place, with that laugh of his that always managed to put everyone in a good mood. Everyone except you, or at least that's what you forced yourself to believe. 

You watched him from the table, hidden behind a curtain of your hair, while he spoke to your father. Ragnar had this ability to capture everyone’s attention, as if words were something created just for him. He was charismatic, strong, and self-assured, and for the first time you noticed something that left you frozen: you didn’t look at him the way you look at a brother. 

The thought hit you like a bolt of lightning. All that time, all that anger you’d felt towards him, all the arguments and resentment, it hadn’t been because you wanted him to go away. You hadn’t hated Ragnar because he was your father’s favorite, or because he made you feel small next to him. You’d hated him because you liked him. 

The realization stunned you. You’d heard other girls in the village talk about what it was like to be attracted to a man, about how their hearts beat faster and their stomachs filled with nerves when they were around someone they liked. You’d always thought those things were ridiculous, that love was something you didn’t need or want. But now, you felt that same uneasiness in your chest whenever Ragnar was around. 

That night, you couldn't sleep. Images of him filled your mind: his laugh, the way his hair fell across his forehead, how his gaze seemed to pierce you every time it met yours. You felt caught between the desire to push him out of your life and the inability to imagine a world without him. 

The following days you tried harder than ever to avoid him. If you saw him coming, you would veer off on another path. If your father mentioned his name, you would quickly change the subject. But Ragnar didn't seem willing to ignore you. Every chance he got, he would look for you with his eyes, with that crooked smile that seemed to know more than he was willing to say. 

Some time later Ragnar had returned from the north with more than just stories of his travels. He returned with a woman at his side: Lagertha. The first time you saw her, you understood why he had chosen her. She was beautiful, with such a strong and determined presence that she seemed to fill the room without needing to say a word. She was not a simple peasant or any woman. She was a warrior, a shieldmaiden, someone worthy of accompanying a man like him.

And you hated her.

It wasn't because she was evil or cruel, because she wasn't. Lagertha, with her open smile and direct gaze, tried from the beginning to win your sympathy, but you refused point-blank. Every kind word she spoke to you crashed against the wall you had raised between you. You didn't want her friendship. You wanted nothing from her.

But what really tore you apart was Ragnar. He seemed different with Lagertha at his side, as if his world had become complete in a way you had never seen before. When he looked at her, there was something in his eyes that made you grit your teeth: affection. It wasn't the camaraderie she shared with your father or the teasing affection she sometimes gave you. It was something deeper, more real.

At first, you tried to ignore what you felt. You told yourself it didn’t matter, that what Ragnar did with his life wasn’t your problem. But the more time passed, the harder it was to contain the rage that was building up inside you.

You became a walking storm. Your words became sharper, your gestures more abrupt. Everything you did was tinged with an anger that you couldn’t explain to others, not even to yourself. When you crossed paths with Ragnar, you barely looked at him. And if he tried to talk to you, your answers were cold and distant.

“What’s wrong?” he asked you one day, after you completely ignored him during a conversation at the family table.

“What would happen to me?” you replied without looking at him, focusing on breaking off a piece of bread as if it were the most important thing in the world.

Ragnar wasn’t stupid. You knew that. He had always been shrewd, able to read people with an ease that was disturbing. But this time, he didn’t seem to quite understand you. He frowned, leaning towards you a little. “You’ve been in a bad mood since I got back. Is it because of Lagertha?”

The sound of her name on his lips made your stomach twist. You forced yourself to remain calm, though. You looked up, staring at him with a hardness you didn’t know you possessed. “So what if she is? I don’t like her. Is that enough for you?”

Ragnar arched an eyebrow, surprised by your bluntness. “She hasn’t done anything to you. Why does she bother you so much?”

“Because I do,” you snapped, bolting up from the table. “Because I didn’t have to bring her here, or marry her.”

He stared at you, and for a moment you thought he was going to insist. But instead, he leaned back against the back of his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. “I don’t understand why this matters so much to you.”

“And you don’t need to understand it,” you blurted out before exiting the room, leaving your anger and unfinished words behind you.

After that, you avoided any prolonged interaction with him. If he was in a room, you found an excuse to leave. If he spoke to you, you responded in monosyllables or ignored him completely. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing how much he affected you.

But there were times when you couldn’t help but see him, like when he walked beside Lagertha through the fields, his laughter mingling with hers as if they were the only ones who mattered in the world. On those occasions, you felt something inside you break a little more.

When you turned sixteen, the day was a cold, grey sky, as if even the gods shared the melancholy you felt inside. The village was busier than ever; Ragnar and Lagertha had just had their son, Bjorn, a little boy who had already stolen everyone's hearts with his loud cry and inquisitive look.

You received the news while helping your mother in the kitchen. A neighbor came in excitedly, her beaming smile lighting up the room. “A son has been born to Ragnar! A strong, healthy boy. They have named him Bjorn.”

You stood still for a moment, your hands still covered in flour. The air seemed to grow heavy, as if every word of that woman crushed you. Bjorn. Ragnar had a son.

You knew this moment would come. It was natural for a man like him to build a family, for his life to be filled with new bonds and responsibilities. But that certainty didn’t make it hurt any less.

That night, as the village celebrated the birth of the little boy, you stepped away from the crowd. Chants and laughter filled the air, but you couldn’t bear to be there, watching Ragnar and Lagertha receive everyone’s congratulations. Instead, you sat alone on the riverbank, watching the current carry away the fallen leaves.

It was then, in the pale moonlight, that something inside you changed. For years you had carried an unrequited love, a weight that had filled you with rage, sadness, and frustration. But now, thinking of Bjorn and the future Ragnar was building, you realized it was time to let it go.

It wasn't easy. It was like ripping out a part of yourself, a part that had been with you for as long as you could remember. But you knew you could no longer live trapped in that cycle of emotions. Ragnar wasn't yours, and he never would be. And that was okay.

You decided that if you wanted to find your place in the world, you had to free yourself from that weight. So you let it go, like the leaves falling into the river, allowing the current to carry them away to a place you couldn't follow.

Letting it go didn't mean forgetting it, though. Ragnar was still a part of your life, as he always had been. But now you saw him differently. He was no longer the man you wanted, but someone you had learned to respect from a distance.

He was still there when you needed him, though those occasions were becoming less frequent. You were no longer a child, and the world did not revolve around him as you had once felt it did. You were a woman now, and you were determined to forge your own path.

One afternoon, while you were working in the fields, Ragnar approached you. He was carrying Bjorn in his arms, and the boy looked at him with a mixture of curiosity and adoration that made you smile despite everything.

“Aren’t you coming to see the little one?” he asked you, with that smile of his that still managed to disarm you, although in a different way now.

You wiped the sweat from your forehead and walked towards them. Bjorn stared at you with his big blue eyes, so similar to his father’s. He extended a small hand towards you, and you couldn’t help but gently take it between your fingers.

“He’s strong,” you said, more to yourself than to Ragnar.

“Like his mother,” he replied with a soft laugh.

You looked at him, feeling a calmness you hadn’t known before. “And like his father.”

Ragnar watched you for a moment, as if trying to decipher something in your expression. But he didn’t say anything else. He didn’t need to.

That was the last time you allowed the ghosts of your past love to visit you. From then on, you focused on yourself, on your own goals and dreams. Ragnar was still a part of your life, but no longer the axis of your thoughts.

A year later when you turned seventeen, your world began to expand in ways you had never imagined. Ragnar, always restless, had begun to embark on more frequent trips, exploring new lands and discovering unknown horizons. It was on one of those days, while he was planning his next expedition, that you decided to accompany him. It wasn’t something you thought about much; you simply felt it. You wanted something more, something far from the confines of the village you had called home all your life.

“Are you sure you want to come?” Ragnar asked you when you proposed, with a raised eyebrow and a half-smile. “The sea is not as kind as it seems.”

“As kind as you, I suppose,” you replied with a spark of humor that made him laugh. “I don’t mind. I want to go.”

And so it was that you found yourself on the ship, surrounded by men weathered by wind and water, the smell of salt filling your senses. At first, you didn’t know what to expect. The constant movement of the waves was disconcerting, and the sound of the wood creaking beneath your feet made you feel small and insignificant. But as the days passed, you began to understand why Ragnar loved these voyages so much. 

There was a freedom at sea that couldn’t be found anywhere else. There were no village expectations, no inquisitive glances, no questions about your future. On the ship, you were simply you, facing a world that stretched beyond the horizon. 

Ragnar taught you to navigate by the stars, pointing out constellations you’d never noticed before. “Look there,” he said one night, as the sky spread out like a black blanket studded with diamonds. “Those take us north.”

“And those others,” you added, pointing to a group of stars that seemed especially bright to you, “where do they take us?”

He looked at you with a calm smile. “Wherever you want to go.”

It was in those moments, amidst the vastness of the ocean, that you began to understand something about yourself. You had spent years feeling trapped, first by your emotions towards Ragnar, then by the weight of your own expectations. But here, far away from everything, you realized that freedom was not something anyone could give you; it was something you had to claim for yourself.

When you reached land, every place you discovered filled you with wonder. The villages you visited, the new faces, the unfamiliar languages… everything was a reminder of how big the world was and how small you were within it. But that smallness did not intimidate you. On the contrary, it inspired you.

Ragnar seemed to notice the change in you. Although he did not say it openly, his gestures made it clear. When she watched you interact with the villagers or explore the markets with eyes full of curiosity, there was something in her expression that almost seemed like… pride.

When you returned from travels, there was always a mix of relief and melancholy. Returning meant safety, the warmth of home, but also the return to routines and inevitable questions.

Lagertha, who you had learned to get along with better, always greeted you with a smile and a question she couldn’t seem to avoid: “Well? When are you going to marry one of the men?”

That question always made you feel uncomfortable. You knew it was common for you to be engaged at your age, but the thought of tying yourself down to someone had never been appealing to you. Not after everything you had felt for Ragnar. Not after having tasted the freedom that travel offered you.

“I haven’t found anyone worth it yet,” you always answered with a noncommittal smile, trying to downplay it.

Lagertha would often laugh at your answer, though she would insist. “You are beautiful and strong. There is no shortage of men in this village who would want you as a wife.”

You would simply shrug and change the subject. Although you could now see that Lagertha was not your enemy, you could not confess the truth to her either. You could not tell her that deep down, there was still a part of you that could not imagine being with anyone but Ragnar, though you knew that dream would never come true.

It was not long before you were once again embarking on another journey with Ragnar. This time, the destination was beyond anything you had ever imagined. There was talk of faraway lands, with riches and wonders that few had ever seen. The preparations were long and meticulous; the journey would be longer and more dangerous, but the excitement in the air was palpable.

“Are you sure you want to come?” Ragnar asked for the umpteenth time, as he adjusted the oars on the boat.

“What kind of question is that?” you replied with a defiant smile. “Of course I’m going.”

Ragnar nodded, though his eyes reflected more than just acceptance. It was a mix of pride and concern, but you didn’t say anything. You didn’t need to.

The first leg of the journey was exciting, as always. The wind filled the sails and the horizon stretched out before you like an endless promise. But as the days passed, the conditions began to change. The waters grew colder, the air heavier, and your strength began to fail.

At first it was a simple malaise that you tried to ignore. A slight fever, some weakness. But soon it became impossible to hide. Your body was exhausted, and every movement cost you more effort than you wanted to admit. Ragnar was the first to notice.

“You look pale,” he commented one night as you stood by the fire, trying to warm up from the cold sea.

“I’m fine,” you lied, your tone firmer than you felt.

But the next day, when you tried to get up to help row, your legs wouldn't respond. Ragnar caught up with you before you could fall to the ground.

"Enough!" he said, his tone so authoritative it brooked no reply. "You're not well. You need to rest."

You were placed on a makeshift bed inside the ship, and though you resisted at first, your body soon gave out. The fever rose, and the weakness became unbearable. You could barely open your eyes, and when you did, everything seemed to spin around you.

Ragnar remained by your side from that moment on, like a constant shadow. He barely ate or slept, always attentive to any change in your condition. His face, normally full of confidence and energy, was now marked with worry.

In the moments when you were conscious, you could hear Ragnar speaking softly. You couldn't always understand what he said, but his words were often directed at you.

“This is my fault,” he muttered one night, as he changed the damp cloth on your forehead. “I shouldn’t have let you come. I was selfish to think you could handle this. I always wanted you around… but I should never have put you in danger.”

You wanted to respond, to tell him that it wasn't his fault, that this trip had been your decision, but the words wouldn't come out. All you could do was weakly squeeze his hand when he took it, a gesture that seemed to give him minimal comfort.

Your illness lasted for weeks in those distant lands, an unknown place where every dawn seemed just as uncertain. No one knew exactly what had caused you such extreme weakness: the change in climate, the different food, or simply the exhaustion of the journey. The days passed in a mix of hope and worry, and although the others continued with their tasks of exploration and looting, Ragnar did not leave your side.

The fever slowly subsided, and your strength began to return. At first, getting out of bed was a triumph, a small step towards normality. But as the weeks turned into a month and a half, you found yourself trapped in a state of endless recovery. Ragnar did not let you do absolutely anything, which at first you were grateful for, but soon began to drive you crazy.

“You’re not ready yet,” Ragnar insisted every time you tried to get up to do more than walk a few steps.

“I’m better,” you protested one day, crossing your arms in frustration. “I can carry something, help around camp, train even.”

“No, you can’t,” he replied, his tone firm enough to shut down the conversation before it even began. “I don’t want to see you lifting anything heavier than that plate of food.”

The concern on his face was evident, and though you understood where he was coming from, you couldn’t help but feel annoyed. You weren’t used to someone limiting you like that, least of all Ragnar.

“You’re worse than any disease,” you murmured, your tone more playful than angry.

Ragnar smiled slightly, but didn’t relent. “You can hate me all you want, but you’re staying here. I’m not going to risk you relapsing.”

With Ragnar acting as a relentless guardian, your world shrank to the walls of the house where you were staying. It was a simple building, with wooden walls and a roof that barely protected you from the icy wind. Although you were grateful to have a place to shelter, the stillness made you feel useless.

You did small tasks: cleaning utensils, mending the clothes of the men traveling with you, and even cooking when you were allowed. But none of that filled the void you felt from not being able to participate in training or scouting. The lack of action weighed on you like an invisible burden, and though you tried to hide it, it was clear that you were not satisfied. 

Sometimes, as you worked in silence, you felt Ragnar's eyes on you. When you faced him, he would simply smile and look away, as if he wanted to reassure you that everything was okay. But that only made you more upset. 

There were days when you felt like a burden. Seeing the others return to camp with stories of what they had seen and done while you had barely stepped out into the yard was a constant reminder of what you had lost. You didn't want to admit it, but you felt weak, and that was something you had never handled well. 

Ragnar seemed to sense your emotions even when you said nothing. “Why are you so quiet?” he asked you one night, as you ate dinner in silence.

“I’m thinking,” you replied, not wanting to go into details.

“Thinking about what?”

You paused, unsure if you wanted to tell him the truth. Finally, you decided to be honest. “About how useless I feel here. Everyone is out there, exploring, fighting… and I’m here, mending clothes.”

Ragnar set his bowl aside and looked you straight in the eyes. “That doesn’t make you useless. You’re alive, aren’t you? That’s all that matters now.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” you replied, your tone bordering on resentment. “You’re out there, being who you are. I’m stuck here, being… nothing.”

Ragnar sighed, as if he understood your frustration more than you cared to admit. “Sometimes, surviving is the hardest thing we can do. But don’t think for a moment that you’re not important. I wouldn’t be here, wasting my time with you, if I thought that.”

His words, though well-intentioned, didn’t completely dispel your unease.

In those days you tried to convince yourself that it was all behind you. The childish love you once felt for Ragnar was a distant memory, a whim buried beneath the years of maturity and the reality of his life with Lagertha. You had spent enough time hating him, loving him, and finally letting him go, or so you told yourself. However, as the days passed in that small village, something began to change.

The way Ragnar looked at you was different. You weren’t entirely sure at first, but there was something in the intensity of his gaze, in how his eyes seemed to search yours for no apparent reason. It was like every time you moved around the house, even in the most mundane moments, he was watching, watching.

That invisible weight, that tension between the two of you that seemed to fill the air. Every time you were near him, you felt a warmth in your chest that you hadn’t experienced in a long time. You tried to ignore it, to convince yourself it was just your imagination, but it wasn’t that simple.

For his part, Ragnar was experiencing something he couldn’t explain. For years, he’d always seen you as the little girl who ran around the camp, the younger sister who looked down on him or argued with him about anything. He’d been by your side like an older brother, like a protector. But now… now he couldn’t help but see you differently.

He didn’t know when it had started exactly. Maybe it was when he realized how strong you’d been during your illness, fighting weakness with silent determination. Or maybe it was simply the fact that, by spending so much time together, he’d started to notice things he hadn’t seen before.

The way the sunlight lit up your hair as you moved near the window. The softness in your gestures as you worked on chores around the house, even if you did it in annoyance. The way your eyes sparkled when you were angry at him for not letting you do more.

Everything about you intrigued him.

One afternoon, as you stood alone in the yard trying to mend an old coat, Ragnar appeared. He didn’t say anything at first, just sat next to you, watching your fingers move with precision.

“Why are you always staring at me?” you finally asked, without looking at him.

Ragnar smiled, but didn’t answer right away. “And why are you always so attentive to what I do?”

You rolled your eyes, trying to ignore the blush that rose to your cheeks. “Because you’re impossible to ignore. You’re always there, like a shadow.”

“Maybe because I like being where you are,” he replied with a sincerity that took you by surprise.

You stopped, the thread in your hands hanging. His words weren’t brazen, but they weren’t innocent either. You looked at him, trying to read on his face if he was joking or if there was something more behind his words. What you saw in his eyes disarmed you: there was no trace of mockery, only a curiosity that seemed to dig deep inside you.

From that moment on, everything seemed to be charged with a new energy between you. Casual conversations were filled with awkward silences, as if both of you knew something was changing but neither of you wanted to admit it.

Ragnar couldn’t help but find excuses to spend time with you. He always had some reason to come over, whether it was to bring you some water, check on how you were feeling, or just sit quietly beside you. And you, despite your frustration, couldn’t help but feel more aware of his presence than ever.

One night, while the others slept, you stepped out into the courtyard to get some air. Ragnar appeared shortly after, as if he knew exactly where you were.

“You can’t sleep,” he said, more of a statement than a question.

You shook your head. “The air here is different. It’s hard to breathe sometimes.”

He nodded, coming close enough that you could feel the warmth of his body in the cold night. “Do you regret coming?”

“No,” you answered quickly, looking up at the stars. “Despite everything… I don’t regret it.”

Ragnar was silent for a moment, before saying, “Me neither.”

You turned to look at him, searching for some meaning in his words. But before you could ask, he had already looked away, as if he was afraid to say anything more.

The day after the conversation in the courtyard, you decided that you couldn't allow what you felt for Ragnar to take shape. If you allowed those feelings to grow, you would lose control over yourself, over your life, over your ability to decide. And worst of all, you would lose Ragnar in a way you didn't want to even imagine. So, for three whole days, you avoided him. 

You didn't look him in the eye more than necessary, you kept yourself busy with tasks that took you away from him, and you always looked for excuses not to be around. Every time Ragnar showed up at camp, you somehow slipped out of his reach, seeking to avoid the tension you knew existed between the two of you. 

But despite all your efforts, you couldn't deny that every time Ragnar looked at you, there was something in his eyes that overwhelmed you. The tension grew like a storm about to break. You knew he felt the same way too, and even though you tried not to admit it, the emotions were eating you up from the inside.

On the fourth day, confrontation was inevitable. Ragnar found you in the small tent where you were busy organizing the equipment. He closed the entrance behind him with a soft knock, and stared at you silently, knowing you had been avoiding him.

“You can’t keep doing this,” he said, his voice low and calm, as always, but this time with something more. An urgency.

You stared at him for a long moment before speaking. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes, you do.” His footsteps echoed on the wooden floor as he came closer, closing the distance between you. “Stop running away from what’s happening between us.”

You breathed quickened at the closeness, at the certainty in his voice. You knew he was just as caught up in this game as you were. But you couldn’t let this be real. You shouldn’t.

“You’re right,” you murmured, looking away. “But we can’t…”

“We can’t keep ignoring what we feel, can we?” Ragnar interrupted, leaning slightly towards you, searching your eyes.

The space between you shrank to inches, the electricity in the air palpable. You could hear your own heartbeat quickening, the heat of his body overwhelming you. And before you could stop him, Ragnar raised a hand and gently touched your cheek.

The contact ignited a spark that ran through your entire body. You couldn’t resist it any longer. Without thinking, you launched yourself at him, your lips meeting his in a fiery kiss. It was as if all the time of tension, of repressed desires, exploded in that single moment.

Ragnar responded immediately, his hands moving up your back, pulling you closer to him. Your hands tangled in his hair, as the kiss deepened, moving from something passionate to something more urgent, more desperate.

“I love you… I always have,” you managed to whisper between the kisses, unable to keep quiet what you had held in for so long. The words came out of you with the same intensity you had repressed those feelings with for years.

Ragnar didn't respond. He looked into your eyes, as if he wanted to make sure you had really said it. But he didn't say anything, he just kissed you again, harder, as if the answer was in the act, not the words.

The intensity of that kiss didn't go away. Instead, it intensified as his hands moved with an urgency you had never seen in him. There were no more barriers, only the desire to explore what had been dormant between you.

Ragnar took you firmly, guiding you towards the bed with gentle but determined movements. You didn't say anything, because you knew you didn't need to. Everything that had been left unsaid between the two of you was now expressed in a much more intimate and direct way.

That night, was the first time you spent in his bed. And he was the first man you had ever been with. You felt it in every touch, in every caress, in the way he knew you and wanted you with an intensity you had never experienced before. At that moment, Ragnar was not only the man you had secretly desired, but the only one you wanted to share your body and soul with.

When you finally rested, breathing intertwined, you said nothing. There was no need. There was no turning back, no way to deny what had grown between you and finally unleashed.

The night stretched between you like a blanket of calm after the storm. The two of you lay together, the softness of your breaths intertwined in the stillness of the bed. Despite the intensity of what had happened, something in your chest was still churning.

Ragnar, lying next to you, watched you with an intensity that overwhelmed you. His gaze was deep, as if he were trying to decipher something that had been hidden for a long time. Finally, he broke the silence, his voice low, but with an unmistakable weight.

“You love me… Why didn’t you tell me before?”

The question left you speechless for a moment. You turned to look at him, and although his face was serene, his eyes reflected a mix of surprise and something else, something that seemed to be a request for explanations.

You knew you couldn’t hide it anymore, but how to respond? How to explain all the suffering and anguish you had felt loving someone who seemed unattainable?

“I didn’t say it because I knew you would never love me back,” you replied, your voice cracking, the pain of all those years of silence making a dent in your tone. “And besides… you have a family. Lagertha… your son…”

Ragnar looked at you in silence for a moment, as if he was processing your words. The seconds seemed eternal as his gaze softened, as if he too understood the weight of what you had just said.

“Don’t think about it,” he finally said, his tone filled with a firmness that left no room for doubt. “Let’s not think about what we can’t change.”

Before you could respond, Ragnar kissed you again. A deep kiss. In that kiss there was no room for doubt or fear.

The nights that followed were like a dream from which you didn’t want to wake up. Every night you spent in his bed, every night Ragnar adored you with an intensity that made you feel like you were the only woman in the world. In his eyes, you looked more beautiful than ever, and every word that came out of his mouth, every touch his hands offered, enveloped you in a feeling of ecstasy you had never known.

He treated you with a tenderness and fervor that overflowed from what you had imagined in your most secret dreams. His caresses were soft, but his kisses were ardent, as if he wanted to erase all the distance that had existed between you during all those years. You felt that you were finally seen, that Ragnar saw you, not as the girl who was once part of his life, but as the woman you were now. And, for the first time, you did not care what the future might bring.

However, that peace you had found in his closeness, that security that Ragnar seemed to give you, was shaken when the time of staying in distant lands came to an end. The journey home was long, tense, and for the first time, uncertainty settled over you.

Every day that passed, the question hung in the air, even if neither of you said it out loud: what will happen when we get home? You knew Ragnar had a family, and even though he told you not to think about it, you couldn't help it. Lagertha, his son and the one on the way, his life... it was all there, waiting for them. And what was left for you? What was left for what you had shared? The distance between the realities you faced became more and more evident as the journey progressed.

Despite everything, hope was still alive in your heart. Despite the doubts that haunted you, the constant question about what would happen when you returned home. 

Ragnar didn't talk much during the trip, and perhaps, in part, neither did you. You both knew there was something that needed to be resolved, something that couldn't be left hanging in the air. 

The wind blew hard, the waves of the sea crashed against the rocks, but as you approached the familiar shores, the weight of the unknown seemed to increase. You didn't know what you would do when you set foot in your home, nor how you would react to seeing Lagertha, nor what Ragnar would think of everything that had happened. 

Returning home was a heartbreaking contrast to the intense emotions of the trip. As soon as you arrived, the usual routine seemed to take its place as if time in distant lands had not happened. Lagertha had given birth to a girl while you were away, and Ragnar's joy for his new daughter filled the air. 

You stood by, watching from a distance. You went back home to your parents, trying to put a physical and emotional barrier between you and Ragnar. You thought that distance might help you forget, that staying away from him, from his family, might ease the weight of what you shared. 

You didn’t visit his home, not even when your parents mentioned his name. You tried to distract yourself with your own tasks, with the life you’d put on hold while you traveled. But, despite all your attempts, you couldn’t get him out of your mind. Every corner of your memory seemed to be permeated with his voice, his touch, the way he looked at you as if you were the only thing that mattered. 

And then, as if fate wanted to mock you, he appeared. Ragnar arrived at your house without warning, his laughter echoing from the living room as he spoke to your parents. You heard his voice before you saw him, and something inside you tensed. You knew you couldn't avoid him forever, but that encounter took you by surprise.

You decided to stay in your room, taking refuge in the distance you could still maintain. You figured that if you didn’t see him, it would be easier to ignore the reality of his presence, easier to remind yourself that you couldn’t keep feeding what you felt. 

But Ragnar wasn’t one to be ignored easily. As night fell and the house fell silent, you knew something was about to change. You felt his presence before he knocked on your door, before he peeked into the room with that look that always managed to disarm you. 

“Are you going to hide from me all night?” he asked quietly, closing the door behind him before you could answer. 

“I’m not hiding,” you replied, even though you both knew it was a lie. You didn’t look up from your hands, afraid that if you did, all the control you’d tried to build would crumble in an instant. 

Ragnar didn’t say anything. He walked over to where you were sitting and, with a calmness only he could project, knelt in front of you. His eyes searched yours, and when you finally looked at him, you felt all the weight of your will evaporate.

“You shouldn’t be here,” you whispered, though your voice lacked conviction.

“And yet, here I am,” he replied with a smile that only made things more complicated.

You didn’t know how it happened, but before you could stop him, his lips were on yours. It was a slow kiss, filled with an intensity you hadn’t forgotten. Everything you had tried to bury, all the distance you had tried to impose, crumbled in that instant.

“Ragnar…” you tried to speak, but he shook his head, silencing you with another kiss.

That night, you had him in your bed, and the weight of the forbidden made every moment even more intense. You tried to keep quiet, afraid someone might hear, but Ragnar seemed to be in no hurry, taking his time exploring every corner of your skin as if he wanted to memorize you.

Every caress, every whisper in your ear, made the outside world disappear. For a few hours, there were no wives or children, no families or responsibilities, just the two of you in that room, sharing something that couldn't be explained with words.

When the heat of the moment was behind you, your body intertwined with his. The silence in the room was deep, broken only by the sound of your breathing calming down. Ragnar wrapped one arm around you, pulling you towards him, while his other hand gently rested on your bare belly.

He began to trace slow, abstract movements on your stomach with the tips of his fingers, almost absentmindedly, as if his mind was somewhere else. You could feel the weight of his thoughts, though you couldn't guess what was going through his head.

“Once,” he began in a low, contemplative tone, “a witch told me I would have many children. More than I could count.”

His words, spoken with a mix of seriousness and curiosity, struck something deep within you. Even though he didn’t seem aware of the impact they might have, you felt a pang of sadness creep into your chest. You didn’t know exactly why; perhaps because those words were a reminder of the life he led, a life that didn’t include a future with you.

You swallowed, trying to contain the lump that formed in your throat, but it was useless. A silent tear rolled down your cheek, followed by another. You tried to turn your face away, you didn't want him to see you like that, you didn't want him to know how much those words had touched a wound you tried to ignore.

“What's wrong?” Ragnar asked, noticing your silence and the trembling in your breathing. He sat up slightly, turning to you with a worried expression. “Did I say something that hurt you?”

You shook your head, but your lips trembled. “It's not that... I just... I don't know.” The words escaped you; you couldn't explain this whirlwind of emotions that invaded you.

Ragnar took your face with both hands, wiping the tears with his thumb while looking at you with an intensity that disarmed you. “I didn't mean to make you feel bad. Never.”

His eyes, as blue as the clear sky, reflected a sincerity that hurt you even more. You wanted to tell him how you felt, but how to put into words something so complex? How to explain that it wasn’t his fault, but the weight of everything you shared, of everything that couldn’t be?

“I’m fine,” you finally managed to say, though your voice was a broken whisper. “I just… sometimes wonder how I fit into your life. Or if I do.”

Ragnar watched you in silence for a moment, and then pulled you into his chest, enveloping you in a warm, protective embrace. “Don’t think about it now,” he said softly, his voice echoing in his chest against your ear. “What we have here, now… that’s what matters. I don’t want you to cry for me. I don’t want this to hurt you.”

You clung to him, letting his warmth comfort you, though the questions in your mind remained unanswered. His words were a temporary balm, but they couldn’t undo the truth of the situation. Yet, at that moment, you decided to allow yourself to believe him, if only for that night. Because when you were in his arms, the world seemed a little less complicated, and that was enough to keep you going.

The days that followed were a whirlwind of emotions for you. You had tried to get back to the routine, to the normality that you so wanted to get back, but something inside you had changed. It wasn't just the guilt or the love you still felt for Ragnar, it was something deeper, something you hadn't faced until you started to notice the first signs.

At first, you ignored it. The constant tiredness, the nausea that hit you without warning, it could all be attributed to the wear and tear of the trip, or the stress you had accumulated. But you couldn't deny the truth for long. With each passing day, the signs became clearer, until you finally accepted what your body was trying to tell you: you were pregnant.

The revelation was a shock that left you breathless. You sat on the edge of your bed, trembling hands holding your belly as reality sank in. The life you carried inside was too big a secret to share, a secret that could change everything.

You couldn't tell your parents. Their disappointment would be an unbearable weight, and the scandal that could be unleashed if anyone else found out was something you weren't willing to face. You couldn't tell Ragnar either. He had a family. The last thing you wanted was to further complicate their life, or yours.

So you decided to keep it to yourself. He was yours, and yours alone.

Days turned into weeks, and you learned to hide the signs. When you felt sick, you found an excuse to get away. When tiredness got the better of you, you made sure no one noticed. But keeping the secret wasn't easy, especially when Ragnar was around.

There was something in his gaze that seemed to pierce through you, as if he could see past your attempts to hide the truth. Even though he didn't say anything, you knew he suspected something was bothering you. His questions were subtle, but constant, and every time you evaded them you felt the tension between you grow.

At night, when you lay alone, the weight of your decision crushed you. You wondered if you had done the right thing, if keeping the secret was really the best option. But every time you thought about what could happen if the truth came out, you convinced yourself that you had no other choice.

It was madness, a storm you couldn't control, but you had no choice but to face it alone.

The days continued to pass with a tension that seemed to cut off your air. Every glance from your parents, every conversation with Ragnar, was like walking on brittle ice. You knew you couldn't stay much longer. Not because you didn't want to, but because every moment prolonged the risk of your secret being discovered, and that wasn't something you could allow.

You hadn’t made the decision lightly. For days, you’d been turning it over in your mind, searching for options, wondering if there was any way to stay, to keep what you carried inside you safe without destroying everything else. But every path you imagined led to the same place: to chaos, to pain, and to a scandal that would affect not only you, but everyone around you.

You couldn’t allow that. And so, one night, as you sat alone in your room, you decided you had to leave.

The conversation with your parents was one of the hardest things you’d ever faced. You sat with them at the family table, your hands clenched in your lap to hide the shaking.

“I need to go,” you finally said, breaking the silence that seemed to weigh like a slab in the air.

Your parents looked at each other, confused. It was your mother who spoke first. “Leave? Where?”

“Away,” you replied, trying to keep your voice steady. “I need some time to myself, to find my own way. I’ve been feeling… trapped.”

It wasn’t quite a lie, but it wasn’t the whole truth either. Your parents seemed to hesitate, exchanging glances that clearly argued your request without the need for words.

“Does this have anything to do with Ragnar?” your father finally asked, his tone sterner.

Just hearing his name made your heart stop for a moment. But you shook your head. “No. This is something of mine, something I need to do.”

Your mother tried to convince you to stay. She told you about how dangerous it was to travel alone, how you’d always had a safe home with them. But you had already made up your mind. You listened to her in silence, letting her words flow over you like water over rock. When she was done, you simply repeated, “I have to.”

“If Ragnar knows you’re leaving…” your father began, but you cut him off with a gesture.

“He mustn’t know. I beg you. If he asks, tell him I left because I needed some space, but don’t tell him anything else.”

Your mother looked at you with concern, while your father frowned, clearly uncomfortable with the request. But eventually, they nodded. You gave them no other options.

You had planned everything in secret. You knew where you would go: a small settlement far from Kattegat, isolated enough to avoid questions. You had packed the few things you needed into a sack and prepared a horse to set out at dawn.

The night before your departure was the longest of your life. You were alone in your room, watching the shadows move on the walls as a storm of emotions raged within you. There was pain, sure, pain so deep it seemed to cut your soul in two. But there was also a strange sense of relief, as if you had finally taken control of your destiny.

You didn’t sleep that night. As the sun began to peek over the horizon, you got up, got dressed, and grabbed your things. Your parents bid you farewell in silence, though your mother couldn’t help but hug you tightly before you mounted your horse.

“Be careful,” she told you with tears in her eyes.

“I will be,” you promised, though you weren’t sure it was true.

As you left Kattegat behind you, you felt an emptiness in your chest that threatened to devour you. Each step of the horse seemed to take you further away from everything you knew, from everyone you loved, but also closer to a future that was now yours alone.

You knew this path would be difficult. You knew you would be alone, and that there would be times when you would question whether you had made the right decision. But you also knew you had no other choice. You had to protect your son, even if it meant sacrificing everything else.

As the landscape changed around you, you held on to that thought. Because while the pain of leaving Ragnar and your family was unbearable, it was also a reminder of how strong you were. And that no matter what, you would find a way to move forward.

[wh0reforcoriolanussnow]

Coming Back || Björn Ironside x Oc

gifs by: unknown & @gifshistorical

Summary: Bjorn returns back to Wessex just in time for the birth of his first child with Evangeline. After being forced into marriage, it is the first time they see each other after the wedding.

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Kingdom of Wessex

“Move it!” Björn yells as he moves past servants and guards rushing around the place. Ragnar follows, amused at his son’s mood. They had just set foot back in Wessex after news came that Evangeline was expected to give birth very soon. Of course shocked, Björn wanted to be by his wife’s side when his first child is born.

The married couple had not seen each other in many months as he left right after their consummating ceremony. Although their marriage was only a political matter, Björn still cared about her.

“Ah, my son-in-law! How are you Björn?” King Ebert opens his arms wide. Björn awkwardly looks to his father before hesitating and moving closer to the King who pulls him in for a hug and a pat on the back.

“My dear Evangeline has missed your presence, but rest assured, her pregnancy has been very smooth. I pray to the God above that she delivers the child safely without much pain.” He does the sign of the cross as Björn slowly nods. “And where is she? The soon to be mother of my child?” His deep voice questions the King.

King Ecbert beckons a servant, “Take them to the birthing room,” And with that, Björn quickly follows the servant, Ragnar following suit but not before giving a look to the King.

The two walk into a hallway where they could already hear Evangeline’s cries of pain. Björn stiffened at the sound of her screams, it was his first time becoming a father so he did not know what to expect. Ragnar takes ahold of his son’s upper arm making him stop. “When you go in there, she is obviously in a lot of pain. Take her hand, comfort her. And pray to Freyja.” He says lowly to Björn who just nods before exhaling from his nose.

The servant waited in front of the door. Björn nodded and the door opened revealing his wife pacing slowly around the room. Her hands on her back as she breathed heavily. Her hair was sticking to her shiny face and her white gown slightly covered with blood. Evangeline had not yet noticed his presence in the room.

Another cry left her mouth as she threw her head back, massaging her stomach as servants press a cloth to her sweaty forehead. Ragnar stayed leaned up by the door, his eyes scanning around the room. “Evangeline…” Björn called out making the princess turn her head to his direction.

In a matter of seconds, she stormed up to him, hitting his chest a few times. “Where have you been! I have been waiting for you-“ She stopped mid sentence as she winced and leaned her head against his firm chest. “Because of you, I seem to be fighting against a demon inside my stomach!” She fumed before she turned back around and continued pacing.

Björn watched his wife in shock as she kept yelling “get out, get out, get out” over and over. He looks behind his shoulder to his father for help but Ragnar only chuckles. “Sounds like a typical Viking baby” He shrugs as Björn walks to Evangeline. He takes her shoulders, “I think you should this to the bed, yes?” He says to her with his slight accent.

“I think that is a great idea, my Prince. Let’s go lay down in the bed shall we?” An older handmaiden gently takes Evangeline’s hands and move her to the bed. Now that he was married to the Princess of Wessex, he was technically considered Prince. It sure was still new to Björn.

Evangeline laid down on the bed with her husband trailing behind, his hand on her lower back. Björn takes ahold of her hand, just like what his father told her to do, placing a kiss on her knuckles before silently praying to Freyja.

“Princess, you need to start pushing!” Evangeline screams in pain but nonetheless pushes. “What are you doing?” She says in between her yells of pain. “Praying to the Goddess Freyja, so that you safely deliver our son or daughter” Björn says as he looks her in the eyes.

She doesn’t say anything but continues to push, tears streaming down her face from the pain she was experiencing. “This baby is going to be the death of me!” She screams before she gives one final push, her hand squeezing hard with Björn’s but he did not mind.

For the first time that afternoon, the villa fell silent until the noise of a baby crying broke it . Evangeline fell back on the bed, exhausted with her eyes closed. Björn stares amazed at the newborn, his child, a daughter. The handmaiden wraps the baby in cloth before taking her to the exhausted mother.

“Look, isn’t our daughter beautiful?” Björn softly whispers in Evangeline’s ear as she slowly opens her eyes, her daughter resting on her chest as tears of joy flow down her face. Björn couldn’t stop smiling at the little human being he helped create.

“She’s beautiful,” Evangeline whispers, looking down at the baby. “What should we name her?” The Princess looks at Björn with searching eyes as he takes a moment to think before looking to his father.

“I think we should name her Ingrid. It means beautiful goddess, because I know our daughter already is one,” He smiles down at the baby, her tiny hand wrapping themselves around Björn’s finger. Evangeline’s eyes move to Björn as everyone in the room exchanges looks.

No doubt were they questioning the name of the Princess’ child as it was old norse originated. “Ingrid. Princess Ingrid. I like that name,” Evangeline says softly as Björn smiles at her and kisses her cheek.

“Where is my granddaughter!” King Ecbert rushes in and stops to see the sight infront of him. His eyes immediately soften before coming to his daughter’s side, Evangeline notices his older brother Aethulwulf standing by the door awkwardly. Evangeline carefully gives her father Ingrid as the King admires his granddaughter silently.

The young Princess beckons her older brother who takes a hesitant step forward. He moves past his father and engulfs the younger in a hug. “How are you dear sister?” He rubs her back as Evangeline lets out a breath. “I’m fine. Though rest and sleep is all I can think about right now,” She chuckles as the others around do the same.

King Ecbert than passes Ingrid to her uncle. Evangeline watch as the two fuss over her daughter as she rests her head on Björn’s chest. “Thank you for being here,” She looks up to him with a gentle smile. He says nothing but moves her closer to him and places a kiss on her forehead.

The door opened and revealed Lagertha and Ragnar. The famous Shield-maiden immediately moves to the bed where the couple laid. She engulfed Björn in a tight hug before giving Evangeline one aswell. Lagertha moves to the other side and Aethulwolf passes Ingrid to her.

“Oh she’s beautiful,” Lagertha softly says, looking at Evangeline and Björn. “What is her name?” She questions as she brushes Ingrid’s cheek. “Ingrid.” Evangeline answers with a proud smile. “Ingrid.” Ragnar nods, moving behind Lagertha to look down at the baby in her arms.

“A beautiful name for a beautiful baby,” Ragnar acknowledges with a smile and winks at the young Princess.

[myocsfanfictions]

Under the Devil’s Eye

Vikings FanFiction

MASTERLIST

Selethryth, a young lady with strange eyes and prophetic dreams, is both feared and revered in King Ecbert's court. Though he sees her as a powerful tool for his ambitions, it is Ivar, the brutal and unpredictable son of Ragnar, who is drawn to her. As their fates collide, Selethryth finds herself entangled in a dangerous game where her gifts may lead her into the arms of darkness.

If you like it, please reblog!

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

[blakeswritingimagines]

Who fell first and who fell harder

Ragnar: You fell first but he fell harder.

Athelstan: He fell first and harder.

Floki: You fell first and harder.

Lagertha: You fell first but she fell harder.

Aslaug: She fell first and harder.

Bjorn: You fell first but he fell harder.

Ubbe: He fell first but you fell harder.

Hvitserk: He fell first and harder.

Sigurd: He fell first but you fell harder.

Ivar: You fell first but he fell harder.

Halfdan: You fell first and harder.

Harald: He fell first and harder.

[mrrrchn]

alexa play take me to church ix century remastered

[demon-of-the-ancient-world]

Said it before and I'll say it again: Lagertha can absolutely pick up Athelstan no problem. Like we know Ragnar can do it but she can also very much do it. And does. To his dismay.

[mads-weasley]

5. Hidden Connections

Hvitserk Ragnarsson x Eira Torsteinsdottir (OFC)

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Summary: Eira's anxiety comes to a head when she runs into the very person she'd been hellbent on avoiding (between 5x14-15).

Word Count: 1.2k

The days that followed passed uneventfully, though Eira found herself spending more time at Liv’s home whenever she could spare a moment. There was something comforting about the older woman’s presence…a motherly warmth and ease that Eira hadn’t realized she craved until she experienced it. Liv always had a kind word to say…well, kind in her own challenging way… and a story to tell, her laughter filling the small house with a brightness the young healer had missed since the passing of her brother.

Eira had begun to smile more in Liv’s company, though she kept her guard up in other aspects of her life. Her encounter with Hvitserk always lingered in her mind. It wasn’t anger she felt toward him anymore…at least, not entirely. It was something more cautious, like standing on the edge of a cliff and waiting to see if the ground beneath her feet would crumble.

Liv also didn’t press her about her thoughts anymore, but her sharp eyes missed nothing. Instead, she made Eira feel at home in her modest space, whether by sharing fresh bread or humming an old tune as she worked. And for the first time in a long while, Eira felt a sliver of peace.

That evening, as Eira prepared to leave, Liv walked her to the door. The chill of the evening air had begun to creep into the house and Eira wrapped her thin furs tightly around her shoulders. Liv pushed open the door and stepped aside to let Eira through, but the sight that met them on the doorstep made Eira freeze.

Standing just outside, leaning casually against the wooden wall of the house, was Hvitserk Ragnarsson. His arms were crossed and his fur-lined cloak hung loosely around his shoulders. His gaze lifted the moment the door opened.

Her heart leaped to her throat as she thought of Liv, who stood even less of a chance of surviving an attack from him than she did. Eira instinctively shifted closer to her, trying to shield her from his view. But before Eira could say anything, Liv spoke up, her voice filled with an unexpected familiarity.

“Is that little Hvitserk?” Liv asked, squinting slightly as if she couldn’t believe her eyes.

Eira blinked in confusion, her mind scrambling to catch up. Little Hvitserk?

Hvitserk looked up at the sound of her voice, and for a moment, his somber expression softened. A small, almost boyish smile tugged at his lips. “Liv. It’s been too long, hasn’t it? ” he said warmly, his face brightening as he nodded toward her.

“You are not so little anymore, son of Ragnar,” Liv teased, stepping forward without hesitation.

Hvitserk grinned and sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck. “Guess I couldn’t stay little forever.”

Liv laughed and gently cupped his cheek. “But I see time hasn’t taken away those cheeks. You still look like the boy who used to steal half the food in my kitchen.” She turned to Eira, who stood there dumbfounded. "Always eating, this one.”

She noticed a few crumbs on his furs and chuckled as she brushed them off. “But some things never change, do they?”

He smirked, raising an eyebrow with a shrug. "I guess not."

Liv laughed and reached out to pat his arm affectionately. “No, I suppose they don’t. But you’ve grown into quite the man. Your mother would be proud.”

He glanced away for a moment. The mention of Aslaug seemed to bring a flicker of something else to Hvitserk’s expression, but he covered it quickly. “Thank you, Liv.”

Observing the exchange in silence, Eira’s gaze flickered between the two. She hadn’t expected this…she had no reason to. The way Liv had spoken about him gave no indication she knew him, especially as well as it seemed. 

Liv gave him one last smile before turning to Eira with a smirk. “I will see you tomorrow.”

“Liv—” Eira began, her voice laced with concern, but the older woman simply patted her hand and slipped back inside, closing the door behind her. Eira turned back to Hvitserk and eyed him cautiously.

Neither of them spoke for a moment. Eira stood stiffly and clutched her satchel like a shield while Hvitserk stayed where he was, watching her. 

“How did you find me?” she asked carefully.

“It is easy to find someone in Kattegat if you know who to ask,” he shrugged, shooting her a quick grin. “People talk.”

Eira nodded and swallowed hard. “What do you want, Hvitserk? An apology?”

“No. I do not expect you to apologize. You spoke your mind, and that is something people do not do often.” 

“Then what did you come for?”

“People are often wrong about me. I-”

“Have you given them reason to think otherwise?” She asked with no trace of malice in her voice, just a quiet curiosity. A question that sounded like another challenge.

Hvitserk’s expression shifted slightly and his grin faded into something quieter, more introspective. He glanced to the ground, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips. Eira had seen it in both of their interactions. It must have been a fleeting expression out of habit, but it only seemed to surface when his thoughts drifted. When he looked up, it was gone.

“Maybe not.”

He held her gaze for a moment.

“Why are you here, Hvitserk? Really?”

“You told me to prove that I am not my brother,” he said plainly. “This is me proving it.”

Eira stood still, processing his words. She had told him to prove it, but she hadn’t expected him to actually try. Her mind buzzed with conflicting emotions: doubt, curiosity…

Hvitserk seemed pleased with himself as he watched her think over his words. After a few moments, he nodded and began walking toward the street. “Tell Liv it was good to see her, Eira Torsteinsdottir.” 

He knew her name, and that could lead to a whole slew of problems.

She froze for a few seconds but soon snapped out of it and called out to him. He stopped, looking over his shoulder. “Thank you…for not turning me in.”

A grin appeared on his face, a glimmer of mischief in his eyes. “Just don’t make me regret it.”

Hvitserk then continued toward the main street, sparing her one last glance before disappearing around the corner. Eira remained silent for a few moments. 

“Just don’t make me regret it.”

She scoffed. He was joking with her. After how stressed she’d been he would hunt her down and kill her, he joked?  Eira couldn’t wrap her mind around his actions and she also didn’t understand his motivations. She’d heard of his berserker-like fury on the battlefield and couldn’t see how that man translated to this one…the one throwing jokes at her over his shoulder. 

The creaking of the door behind her broke her concentration. “I think that went well,” Liv said. Though Eira couldn’t see her, she heard the smile in her voice. 

Eira turned and marched back inside, dropping back into the chair she’d left minutes before. “You have some explaining to do, Liv.”

She wanted to be angry, wanted to speak harshly at Liv’s breaking of her trust, but Eira couldn’t bring herself to. It was hard to be upset with Liv. And the information she withheld wouldn’t have changed anything in the situation. 

“Have I never told you I used to look after the Ragnarssons as children?” Liv asked, tilting her head with a smirk as she sat across from Eira.

A/N: message or comment if you want to be added to the tag list! <3

[hellisateenagewerewolf]

VIKINGS

SILVER BONES

Prologue

Summary

Iris is a Viking goddess, daughter of the powerful warrior-queen Lagertha and the god-like figure Ragnar. When Lagertha casts her out, fearing her daughter’s growing power and potential to surpass her, Iris is forced to grow up with her father and brothers in the harsh Viking world. As Iris matures, she becomes entangled in a complicated relationship with Ivar, her brother—one marked by growing tension, desire, and a dangerous pull of attraction.

This forbidden bond only escalates as both Iris and Ivar wrestle with their destinies and roles in their family’s legacy. However, the conflict between their parents reaches a breaking point when Lagertha, in a moment of deep betrayal, kills Ivar’s mother. This brutal act sparks an all-out war between Iris’s family and Ivar’s, plunging them into a world of violence, bloodshed, and fractured loyalties.

Amid the chaos, Iris must confront her dual heritage—caught between her divine lineage and the mortal, violent world she was born into. She grapples with her identity, torn between her love for Ivar and the loyalty to a family that once rejected her. The story weaves themes of forbidden love, betrayal, and the destructive nature of ambition, as both families clash in a bloody, inevitable conflict.

Settings : Viking Era

Warning: 18+

Theme song : Nothing Matters by The last dinner party

It was a dark cool night, everyone was sleeping peacefully. Except for one person; Lagertha . For what she didn’t know was that the gods were watching her but more importantly watching her womb for it was about to unleash complete and utter destruction upon the world.

Laying in bed Lagertha began to stir, she was dreaming, a terrible dream. She was drowning, falling deeper and deeper into the abyss of dark blue water. Her long white gown gifted to her body through her dream was swaying gracefully against the currents. Her long beautiful hair free of braids shaped around her body as if it was a crown placed upon her head. As she kept floating what she didn’t see was a long cold hand reaching deep into the water and pulling her out harshly. The sound of the water beat against her ears and the waves shook her body.

Experiencing this odd blessing of the gods Lagertha jumped out of her sleep, gasping for air, her hand clutching her chest, tears falling down her face. Quickly realizing she jumped out of her bed grabbing her cloak and placing her shoes on. Turning around behind her she started at the empty bed behind her. Tired of seeing that she was alone with no one except for this horrible excuse for a husband, but she had no baby, which she has desperately wanted since Bjorn has grown older, she closed her eyes with grief and began her journey through the storm to the all knowing , the one that knew what she would eventually unleash into the world ; The seer.

running through the village Lagertha frantically left her foot prints in the mud. she was scared, what could have the dream meant. the harsh wind and the nonstop rain drenching and whipping her every which way. Lagertha had no clue what was happening all she knew was something was gonna happen better yet someone was gonna happen, but who ?

to busy in her thoughts she didn't notice that the seer was looking for as well. he stood in the middle of the village, hood cloaked over him and the black abyss of shadows covering his face. if she didnt know of the seer she would have thought he was the gods coming to claim her life. " what is this ? do you know what it was" Lagertha frantically pushed out. of her mouth as she quickly approached the seer.

Not saying anything he just stares down at her. The two just stood there, rain pounding down on them, the lightning drowning their ears with sound. " why won't you answer me, what does it mean ?" shouted Lagertha, she was being to get fed up. The seer just tilts his head the left, " Those who fear thy they carry " softly spoke the seer as he raised his hand up to lagertha gently placing it upon her stomach " thy will be destroyed by whom thy creates, so thy must end creations for all time, or thy will grow to create with destruction "

hearing the seers word lagertha's face began to be painted In fear. scared she slaps the seers hand off her stomach" you make no sense I can't carry another, I have tried" fed up with the seer Lagertha begins to turn and walk away but not before turning to look at the seer " I should have killed you for you tell me nothing but lies and utter nonsense for you told me yourself that I can't carry another".

--- kattegat ---

Lagertha was resting in front of the fire eating for she had just finished a long travel to Kattegat to fight with Ragnar. Bjorn was still excited to be reunited with his father so he was in the house playing with is new discovered brothers. Lagertha didn't want to see the children or Aslaug for she didn't know what she would to her right now.

standing at the entrance of their hut stood Ragnar. He was staring at Lagertha, she was beautiful with her big blue eyes and her long blonde hair. but what he loved the most was how fierce she was , no one could stop Lagertha. seeing her husband at the threshold Aslaug started to feel jealous. " Ragnar, come I want to show you something" spoke Aslaug trying to find anyway to get his attention back on her. Not caring about anything in this moment but the beautiful fierce woman that was once and still is the love of his life, Ragnar quickly left the hut but not before lying to Aslaug " Im gonna go check on Bjorn" with him quickly rushing out he never noticed that bjorn was in their bedroom playing with the children.

not scared but still nervous Ragnar slowly walked up to Lagertha and sat in front of her. not saying anything he picked up a plate of food and began eating, occasionally he looked up just to make eye contact with her. Not in the mood for his games Lagertha spoke up " don't you have a wife and children to look after" she spat while tilting her head and smirked. rolling his neck Ragnar swallowed his food while setting bowl down. " Cant I see an old friend" raising his eyebrow he dared her to speak.

Tired of his shit she stood up and began walking to her tent that was kindly set up by her men. Not willing to lose the catch Ragnar began to follow her, pulling the flap to her tent open and stepping inside as if he owned the place. Lagertha unknowing began to remove her jewelry while occasionally sipping the mead on her stand. once her jewelry was off she began taking her armor off. Being as infatuated and longing as Ragnar was he stood in the shadows watching as Lagertha began undressing.

" I'm no fool Ragnar I know you are there " stopping mid way with taking her clothes off she turn around and stares directly where he stood. guilty he walked into the light his eyes holding a glimmer in it, like they were hiding something, something that hasn't been let out in years. " what are you doing in my tent, if you seek pleasure ask your wife" not liking what he heard Ragnar scuffs in dislike while rolling his eyes " Lagertha let me ask you something, have you remarried ? " caught off guard lagertha rolled her eyes " what I have done in my life is none of your business"

" uhh but see it is because you are important to me and I know even if you don't our story is not over yet" starring in disbelief and anger she quickly turn around grabbing the cup of mead and threw it at Ragnar " you have no right to say that for you slept with another" nodding Ragnar walked closer to her closing her in so she can't escape. " I know what I have done but the seer, the gods tell me you are holding something, something that must be done, something that only we as one must complete"

hearing his words lagertha snapped she picked up anything she could find and began to beat Ragnar with it . Item after item thrown just to make him feel the pain she was feeling. dodging every item Ragnar swiftly mad his way to her capturing her in his arms, flushing her body against his. They both stood there, eyes locked, breath fanning each others face. They both knew what they wanted but both struggled to make a move for one was scorned and the other was in the wrong.

but no matter how hard they fought it, it will always be just Lagertha and Ragnar, no matter how many times she was scorned and he was wrong. their blood and their bodies will always be drawn to each other for the gods knew what they were planning and what they needed to be created, and there was only two people who could create the blood of a god .

Unknowing that it was the gods that set them up they laid together that night creating the start and end to the world.

THE NEXT MORNING

The sky was gloomy, and Ragnar was still naked but not alone. His body was embraced with lagertha’s body. Both of the exhausted and sweaty from their nightly activities, just slayed there. Eyes closed and face relaxed as there bodies finally got to feel the touch of one another. But even thought Ragnar may be peaceful, the consequences definitely weren’t. For he had to face the wrath, Aslaug.

The camp was awake and everyone was wondering where Ragnar was. Ragnar was currently standing in lagertha’s tent putting his clothes back on. As he pulled his shirt on he turned his head slightly to start at lagertha.

The woman he once loved, the woman he will always love. He stared, memorizing the curve of her body, the feeling of her skin as the caressed each other. He knew what he had done and why, yes he may love aslaug but deep down he will always cherish LAGERTHA for she is the carrier of his heart .

Coming back to reality Ragnar shook his head as he rubbed his face with both hands. Turning around he hastily pulled the door open and left hoping no one saw. As he walked away one tear slightly ran down his poker face as his heart broke even more as He knew that he would never have her again.

Later that day

The fire crackled in the hearth, the warmth of the flames contrasting sharply with the coldness that had settled in Aslaug’s heart. She sat in their shared chamber, her pregnant belly swollen with the child she carried—a son, she hoped, though at this moment, it mattered little. The flickering shadows cast by the fire danced on the stone walls, but the room felt far too small, too suffocating, for the storm that raged inside her.

Aslaug had always known the complexity of Ragnar’s heart. She had accepted that he was a man of many loves, many desires—his passion was a wild, untamed force, much like the land they ruled. But she had never expected to find herself in this position—betrayed, humiliated, and utterly broken.

The door to their chamber opened slowly, the sound of the wood creaking faintly, and Ragnar entered. He looked weary, battle-worn, but there was an unmistakable glint in his eyes—satisfaction, perhaps even smugness.

He closed the door behind him and stood still for a moment, as if sensing the tension in the air. His gaze drifted to Aslaug, but she refused to meet his eyes. Instead, she stared into the fire, her hands folded over her pregnant belly.

“Aslaug,” Ragnar said softly, taking a step forward. “I’ve returned.”

“Yes, I can see that,” she replied, her voice cold, cutting through the air like a knife. “It must have been a very pleasant return, Ragnar.” Ragnar’s brow furrowed. He took another step, closer now, his hand outstretched as if to touch her, to calm her. But Aslaug recoiled, a sharp hiss escaping her lips. The hurt in her eyes was clear, but it was the fury that truly showed.

“You went to her,” Aslaug said, her voice rising, betraying the shaking rage beneath. “You spent the night with Lagertha.” The words felt like venom on her tongue, each syllable dripping with betrayal. She stood up abruptly, her hands gripping her swollen belly for support as she took a step toward him.

Ragnar opened his mouth to speak, but Aslaug silenced him with a raised hand.

“Do not try to explain,” she spat. “I have no patience for your lies, Ragnar. I know what you did.”

The truth hit her like a wave. She could feel the weight of it pressing on her chest. Lagertha. The woman who had been his first love, the one he had left behind for her—Aslaug. And yet, after everything, she was still there. Still in his heart. Still in his bed.

“How could you?” Aslaug’s voice cracked, and she fought to keep the tears at bay. “I am carrying your child, Ragnar. A son who will carry your name. And you choose her. You choose the woman who has always haunted us both.”

Ragnar stepped forward, this time reaching for her arm, his grip gentle but firm.

“Aslaug,” he said, his tone softer now. “You know how I feel about you, about this family. Lagertha… she was my past. But you, Aslaug, you are my future.”Aslaug jerked away from him, her eyes blazing with anger and hurt.

“My future?” she scoffed bitterly, tears threatening to spill over. “You slept with her. You spent the night with her, Ragnar. Tell me that was about the future. Tell me that was about us.”

Ragnar’s face twisted with guilt, and he lowered his gaze, his hands resting at his sides.“I didn’t mean for it to happen like that,” he murmured. “It was a mistake.”

“A mistake?” Aslaug’s voice shook with a mixture of disbelief and fury. “Do you think I am some fool, Ragnar? Do you think I will accept that as an answer? Do you think I will allow you to walk in and out of my life, betraying me with her, like it’s nothing?”

She took a step back, her chest heaving with emotion, her pregnant belly between them like an invisible barrier.

“You say you want me to bear your child. But do you truly want me, Ragnar? Or do you want me as a possession, a way to hold onto the family you think you should have? While you play with your first love in the dark corners of our home.”

Ragnar swallowed hard, guilt and regret swirling in his chest. He had no defense. No words to fix this, not with Aslaug’s fury so raw, so painfully clear. “I never meant to hurt you,” he said, his voice rough, strained.Aslaug shook her head, her eyes flashing with something more than hurt—pride.

“Then why do you?” she whispered, the pain seeping into every syllable. “Why do you wound me with every touch, with every word? You cannot have both of us, Ragnar. Not now. Not ever again.”

There was a long, tense silence between them, the weight of her words hanging in the air. Ragnar stared at her, unable to find the words that might undo the damage he had caused.Aslaug turned away from him, her body trembling with the mix of rage, hurt, and something darker—a decision that had begun to form deep within her.

“I will bear your son,” she said coldly, her voice low. “But make no mistake, Ragnar. You will never have me again.” And with that, she turned her back on him, her hand resting against her belly as if it could shield her from the pain.

Ragnar stood there, motionless, his heart sinking with the weight of his actions. But Aslaug had already made up her mind. There would be no going back for either of them. The walls between them had already been built—high, strong, and unyielding.

And it was all his doing.

Months later

It was a cold rainy day, labor nurses were running around like chickens with their heads cut off . Each nurse was grabbing something, water, towels, sterile tools, herbs, anything they thought could help.

Everyone was freighted due to their jarl giving birth. “Aaaahhhh” yelled lagertha ,as her womb was trying to force a child out of her. A child that she was told she’ll never have. A child that will grow up to be stronger than any person ever to grace the earth. all the wet nurses finally gathered around into the room of Lagertha. placing all their equipment down the began to work. one nurse began to knot sheets on to the bed post on each side; so that Lagertha will have something to grip. the other nurse grabbed a cool cloth and began to wipe the sweat of her head.

As they were working the head nurse came in, rolling up her sleeves and pulling a stool infant pf the bed in order to help birth Lagerthas baby. " water please ", yelled the head nurse as she held her hands up to be cleaned. quickly running over one of the assistants began to quickly clean her hands.

frantic Lagertha just laid there , eyes blood shot, face covered in sweat. she was thinking why ? how did this happen to her ? why was she meant to have this baby when she couldn't have the others. she may have been confused but there was someone who new exactly what they were doing ; THE GODS .

pulling lagertha's thin white undergown up over her legs and began to measure how dilated she was. " jarl it's time for you to push , this baby wants out." hearing this the other nurses began to help adjust the jarl. Lagertha turned over on to all fours and wrapped each arm into one of the sheets knotted to the bed.

The emotion of pure pain rushed through her veins. Pushing as hard as she could lagertha screamed releasing the sound of child birth. “ jarl please you need to breathe” said the worried midwife .” Fuck off I will breathe as I please “ yelled a sweaty and frustrated lagertha.

The bed and her body soaked in sweat and child birth. Still pushing lagertha started to lose strength dropping down to rest on her elbow. Fire that's all she felt shoot through her body. From her head to her toes. " what is happening to me !!!"yelled lagertha as tears bridged her eyes. Scared to answer the midwife stayed quiet as they never seen anything like this before.

The air was thick with the scent of burning wood and the distant sound of the northern winds howling against the walls. Inside, the room was tense with the anticipation of life and death, for a child was about to be born—a child whose fate was bound to the gods themselves. upon the birthing bed, her body slick with sweat, her face contorted in pain. The iron strength she had wielded in countless battles was nowhere to be found in this moment. Instead, she was at the mercy of an ancient force—one that would either tear her apart or bring forth life into the world.

Lagertha could not focus. Not on her breath, not on the midwife’s words. All she could feel was the power, the raw, untamed force of the birth. The child inside her was not just a mortal infant—it was something more. Even in her pain, Lagertha could sense it, as if the very blood running through her veins was infused with ancient magic.

With a guttural cry, Lagertha’s body twisted, her muscles strained, and the world around her seemed to fade, leaving only the darkness and the agony. She could hear the voices of the gods in the wind, whispers of something great, something powerful. And then, the moment came.

The room was filled with the sharp, bloody scent of birth, but it was accompanied by something else—something that made the air crackle with energy. The child’s first cry was not a mere wail. It was a roar, primal and wild, like the voice of the earth itself, calling out to the heavens.

Lagertha, exhausted and trembling, opened her eyes just as the midwife placed the child in her arms. Her breath hitched as she gazed down at the infant, the glow of the fire dancing in the child’s dark, raven-black hair. The newborn’s skin, smeared with blood, seemed to shimmer faintly with an otherworldly light, a soft, ethereal glow that sent a chill down Lagertha’s spine.

The baby’s eyes, though not yet open, seemed to hold an ancient knowledge, a depth that went beyond her years. There was a fire in those eyes, a fierce light that seemed to burn from within. Lagertha’s heart skipped a beat as she realized that this child was no ordinary mortal. This was a child of destiny—a child who would walk among the gods and the warriors.

The midwife, her hands trembling as she wiped the child’s face, whispered in awe, “She is marked by the gods, Lagertha. This one will be great. The gods themselves have chosen her.”

Lagertha’s eyes filled with tears, a mixture of exhaustion and wonder. She held the child close, her breath ragged as she whispered, “Isis. Her name will be Isis.” As the fire crackled and the wind howled outside, Lagertha could feel the presence of something larger than herself—the weight of prophecy, the weight of fate. She had given birth not just to a daughter, but to a force that would shape the world. The pain, the blood, the terror—those things were nothing compared to the weight of the future.

The room seemed to darken, as though the night itself had come to claim the moment, and yet the fire blazed brightly, casting long shadows across Lagertha’s face. She looked down at her daughter, her heart filled with both awe and fear. This child was destined for greatness, for war, for the gods. And though Lagertha had borne many battles, this was the greatest of them all.

As the wind howled louder, as if in response to the birth of the child, Lagertha knew in her heart that the world would never be the same. The gods had given her a daughter—one who would grow to wield power and wrath beyond mortal understanding. And when the time came, Isis would rise like a storm, fierce and unstoppable.

The birth had been bloody. It had been painful. But it had been mystical—marked by the gods, bound by destiny.

And so, the child of the north, the daughter of Lagertha, was born.

The world had just begun to tremble.

[entitled-fangirl]

if.... IF I was to write for Vikings...

I'M ONLY ON S2 SO EVERY OTHER CHARACTER WILL JUST HAVE TO WAIT

[claymoresword]

Fatal Attraction | Pt.2

Lagertha Lothbrok x Farmer Fem!Reader

Summary: After a long day of working on your farm, you have an accidental encounter with a gorgeous shield-maiden.

Pairing: Lagertha x Reader

Wordcount: 1.9k

Warnings: fluff, smut, cunnilingus, g!p reader, soulmate elements, in my mind lagertha & y/n live happily ever after

Note: hi, so this is a continuation from the other Lagertha one shot i did with the same title :D before anyone asks, no this won't be a series lmaoo i don't have the time or willpower to commit to one right now but trust there will be more Lagertha stories whenever i get the inspiration.

hope u enjoy!

Once you've laced up your breeches properly, you swiftly extend a hand, assisting Lagertha as she gets to her feet.

Quietly observing as she retrieves her own sword off the ground, the shield-maiden courteously reaches for your ax as well.

“Thank you.” You mutter, unable to wipe the evident smirk off your face. Lagertha rolls her eyes in a playful fashion, fastening her sword belt, whilst you do the same.

You soon take Lagertha's hand in your own, guiding her through the dense forest, towards your farmhouse. “Come, this way.”

It is nearly nightfall now so you had to move quickly, else risk being stranded till morning.

A period of comfortable silence as you walk side by side before Lagertha addresses you.

“Can I ask you something– before we get to your house?”

You nod, pushing past more undergrowth and brush. “You can ask me anything.”

“How old are you?” Lagertha inquires, her eyes fixed upon your face, as if eager for a response; anxious to dismantle you.

“Two and twenty.” You reply after a beat.

You manage to catch the way the older woman's brows furrow for an instant, before her expression sets impassively once more.

“How old are you?” You nudge her with a shoulder.

The distant noise of streaming water is all you hear before the other woman finally responds.

“Older.” Lagertha says simply, this time it is your turn to roll your eyes.

You scoff.

“I gathered that, but how much older?” You attempt, and once more the shield-maiden is opposed to answering.

“I am asking the questions.” She asserts, gesturing to herself.

You bite your bottom lip to conceal your amusement, holding your arms up in mock surrender. “My apologies, go on.���

“How many siblings do you have?” She asks, glancing at the riverbank as you come upon it.

“None. It was only me and my mother.. but she is gone now.” You admit, Lagertha accepts your hand as you ascend the bridge.

You cross the river in silence, but you can sense her stare. Intrigue and pity.

“I am sorry, the wound of losing a parent never truly heals.” Lagertha finally states, and you can only grace her with a nod, hoping to move away from the topic of your mother.

“How long have you been operating your farm alone?” Another question, you can feel your shoulders relax– merely thankful for the diversion.

“Five, almost six years now.” You have no issues replying with the truth once more, you relish the way Lagertha clasps your hand slightly tighter.

You anticipate her next words, willing to answer any question Lagertha might have, all night if necessary. Especially if it meant remaining in her company.

“Have you ever thought of getting married?” Her words prompt a smirk, you steal a swift glance at the older woman before responding.

“I have thought of it.. I suppose I have yet to meet a woman I would want to spend my life with.” You say, looking at her again.

Lagertha's brows furrowed once more, and you quickly realize that she does that because she is thinking. The sight makes your heart pound harder in your chest– she is truly the most enticing woman you have ever met.

“And what would you consider a woman you would spend your life with? What do you desire in a wife?” The shield maiden inquires, as her expectant gaze meets your own, you are tempted to pull her close and kiss her once more.

“Oh, that is easy to answer.” You remark as an idea occurred to you.

Tugging on Lagertha’s arm, you guide her to the body of water before pointing to it.

“You need only use your eyes.” With little light left in the sky, the river is dark, but her reflection is visible enough.

You watch it ripple as you both stare. The older woman is quiet for a while, though you swear she is fighting a smile.

“I don't think a fish would make a reliable companion.” Lagertha finally jests, brushing past you, her hand slips out of your grasp.

You can't help the involuntary laugh that erupts from your chest as Lagertha turns back to you with a grin. She waits for you to catch up and continue your journey back to your farmhouse.

“You are funny.” You compliment, and the older woman simply hums in acknowledgement.

“And you have a very smooth tongue.” Lagertha notes, now that you are practically beaming.

You don't fight the urge to reach for her hand once more; a sense of triumph as you feel the shield-maiden entwine your fingers in a more intimate manner.

“Just wait till you see what else I can do with my tongue.”

═══════════════════════════════════════════

You reach the farmhouse just as the sky has fully darkened, now the world is quiet, apart from the distant noise of crickets in the nearby forest. Even then, the sounds come few and far between. The insects must be hiding out to escape the cold– something you both should also do.

“After you, my lady.” You gesture into your home after pushing the door open.

Lagertha chuckles at your mock gallantry, she has her arms wrapped around herself for warmth as she steps through. “Thank you.”

You observed as the shield-maiden immediately began wandering around the inside of your home, taking in her surroundings. You let out a quiet sigh at the realization that you've left the space tidy enough, initially not expecting any company.

-

Routinely, you fetch a pile of firewood, making your way over to the hearth.

Lagertha's tentative stare is accompanied by a wild fluttering in your belly. She watches you feed the fire as if it was the most fascinating sight in the world– you had to bite back a grin.

“Do you really live alone?” The older woman asks again, and your expression contorts incredulously for a moment.

Why is that so difficult for her to believe?

“Yes, it is just me.” You respond in earnest as you move from a squatting position to approach her.

You hold her eye contact as you stand only an inch or two away. The shield maiden is first to avert her gaze– somehow she is even more gorgeous now, with light from the firepit dancing on her skin.

“Can I ask you another thing?” Lagertha's brows are knitted together once more. Now it is a familiar sight to you, you allow yourself to smile as you reach out to caress her cheek.

“What is it, beautiful?” You coax.

You desperately want to feel her lips against your own, though you decide to wait patiently for her next words.

“Do you believe that sometimes two people are meant to cross paths, for better or worse?” Lagertha inquires, and your expression grows almost mirthful as you quickly understand her meaning.

“Yes, I do believe that.” You ensure, shifting even closer, your gaze flits down to her mouth for an instance.

To your delight, Lagertha is first to eliminate all space between you– practically crashing her lips against your own, your tongue slips in her mouth, allowing you to taste her as you swallow her whimper. The shield-maiden's hand swiftly gets lost in your hair.

Lagertha gasps as your lips part, as if it pained her to separate. Although she maintains a firm hand against your chest, forcibly keeping you at a distance so she may speak.

“I do not understand it but– it feels like I am supposed to be here with you.” She breathes and you nod in agreement it feels as though you had been waiting for her all your life.

“Yes, I feel the same.” You admit, kissing her again, hard and eager until she moaned.

*

You feel your cock quickly stirring within your wool breeches, you want her again, you need her.

Lagertha seemingly shares that sentiment as she swiftly unclasps your ax belt before slipping her hand underneath the hem of your tunic, lifting it over your head to leave you in your smallclothes.

You repeat the same with her garments, and soon enough she stands before you bare, flushed and vulnerable.

“You are breathtaking.” You praise as your open mouth finds her neck. Lagertha is already panting by the time your hand cups her breast, she can only moan at the contact, guiding you closer to your bed.

You watched as the shield-maiden climbed onto your bed, unreservedly, as if it was her own. In truth, she looked as though she really did belong here, in your home.

You can hardly fathom a time when she wasn't in it.

“Come here.” Lagertha coaxes after she catches you staring, her legs parting willingly as you settle yourself on top of her.

Your clothed groin makes contact with her swollen, wet heat as you kiss. She immediately wraps her legs around your waist, seeking more friction.

Her arousal begins to leave a wet patch on your breeches, and the feel of it makes you groan.

She is utterly intoxicating.

“Fuck–” You grunt into her mouth, you needed to feel her and taste her, properly.

Lagertha’s grip on the nape of your neck tightens as you pull away, but the feel of your warm tongue on her breasts causes an involuntary shiver to run through her body.

She is weakened at the mere feeling of your mouth on her flesh, and it makes you giddy with want.

The older woman gasps once more as you deliberately nip at the skin just above her belly button, before smoothing over it with your tongue.

Lagertha trembles anew.

“Please..” Her voice is meek and desperate. What she is pleading for is unclear, although her insistent hand guiding your head further down her body gives you a clearer idea of her desires.

You decide not to deprive either of you a moment longer. Propping her thigh up slightly, at last your mouth makes contact with her weeping sex, ripping a wanton moan out of the older woman.

Her fingers tighten in your hair as you begin to run your tongue through her folds, sucking and licking with little reverence.

“Y/n– oh, Gods–” You proceed to coax a slew of incoherent muttering and groans from Lagertha as you continue to pleasure her with your mouth. Determined to make her feel the best she has ever felt.

The volume of her moans would suggest that you are succeeding.

You begin sucking on her already sensitive clit, and soon the shield-maiden arches her back, grinding her cunt against your mouth.

You decide to present her your tongue once more, this time dipping it inside of her entrance, and this is all it takes for Lagertha to come undone.

She screams out in ecstasy, her hand has fallen away from your hair to grip the sheets next to her, as the violent orgasm rips through her body.

You pull back, moaning at the taste of her on your lips. You kiss a gentle path up her still writhing frame until your face is once more, hovering over hers.

Lagertha's eyes are visibly glossed over from pleasure and arousal. She lets out a breathless chuckle as she looks up at you, wiping your mouth clean.

You kissed her palm then, and she hastily drew you close in response. Her chest is still heaving as her mouth meets your own, heavy and passionate.

As your lips eventually separate, you open your mouth to speak, but the words swiftly die in your throat.

Lagertha's hand begins to travel further down, she expertly locates your hardened bulge.

The older woman squeezes your cock through your breeches, and now all you can manage is a grunt. She beams at your reaction, leaving a contrastingly innocent kiss on your cheek before pulling her hand away and propping herself up on her elbows.

“Lay back.” Lagertha commands.

[tryingtoremembermyname]

« what are you so afraid of ? it’s only death ! »

[eu-nicola]

first love part 2

summary: you always hated Ragnar until you realized that that hatred was not hatred but love

warnings: age-gap, infidelity

word counter: 6437

author's note: english is not my first language, inspired by something old that I also wrote, penultimate part

tags: @abelhudaz @gigo-gatinha @ameliahaa @silverwingxox @kcd15 @zoexme

The journey had been long and exhausting. The days spent on horseback had worn down your body and spirit, but you couldn’t allow yourself to stop. You knew that the farther you were from Kattegat, the safer you would be. Now, with the settlement in sight, a mix of relief and fear washed over you.  

The place was small, barely a dozen wooden houses with thatched roofs, scattered irregularly around a gently flowing river. The sound of the water, the scent of the pines, and the distant birdsong offered a peace you hadn’t felt in weeks. It was a secluded corner of the world, far from prying eyes and rumors. Here, no one knew you. Here, you could start anew.  

As you reached the edge of the settlement, a group of children playing with improvised bows stopped to look at you. Their laughter ceased, and their wide, curious eyes examined you as if you were an apparition. An older woman appeared behind them, drying her hands on an apron. Her gray hair was tied in a messy bun, and her face was marked by deep wrinkles.  

“Who are you, and what do you want here?” she asked in a rough but not hostile voice.  

“My name is…” You hesitated for a moment. Should you give your real name? You decided to keep things simple. “I’m a traveler. I’m looking for a place to stay.”  

The woman scrutinized you, as if assessing whether you were a threat. Finally, she nodded. “We don’t have much here, but we also don’t turn away those who need help. Come, we’ll speak with the settlement’s leader.”  

She led you to a cabin larger than the others, situated near the river. There you met Eirik, the leader of the small group living in the settlement. He was a robust man with a thick beard and eyes that seemed to read everything you were trying to hide. However, he didn’t ask unnecessary questions. After hearing you explain that you needed a place to stay, he simply nodded.  

“There’s an abandoned cabin on the edge of the settlement,” he said. “It’s not in the best condition, but if you can work to fix it up, it’s yours. In return, we expect you to help out however you can. Everyone here contributes.”  

You accepted with gratitude, relieved by the lack of interrogation. That same afternoon, you were taken to the cabin that would be your home.  

The cabin was in ruins. The roof had holes that let sunlight through, and the door barely hung on one of its hinges. The interior was filled with dust and cobwebs, but you didn’t care. To you, it was a refuge.  

With the help of a woman named Astrid, you began cleaning the place. She was a kind woman with calloused hands and a warm smile. “Don’t worry, we’ll fix it. All of us here have been through hard times. This place is a fresh start for many,” she told you as she energetically swept the floor.  

Little by little, the cabin started to take shape. A man named Gunnar, who was a carpenter, helped you repair the roof and door, while other women brought you blankets and some basic utensils. Although you felt uneasy about the kindness of others, you accepted their help. You had no other choice.  

The following days were a whirlwind of activity. You joined the women in daily tasks: gathering berries, tending to animals, and maintaining the homes. Though your farming skills were limited, you quickly learned. Astrid became a sort of mentor, teaching you how to identify useful plants in the forest and prepare meals with the few resources they had.  

At night, the settlement gathered around a central bonfire. You listened to the elders’ stories of times past, battles fought, and loves lost. Though you tried to keep to yourself, you sometimes felt the curious gazes of others. You knew they were intrigued by you, by your story, but you appreciated that they respected your silence.  

Over time, you began to feel like part of the place. Not as someone who belonged there, but as someone who had found a space to breathe.  

However, the nights were difficult. When you were alone in the cabin, the silence enveloped you like a heavy cloak. You found yourself instinctively touching your belly, dreaming of the future you had imagined for your child. The solitude was a constant reminder of what you had left behind: your home, your parents, and Ragnar.  

You wondered if he was looking for you, if he suspected why you had left. Sometimes, a sharp pain struck you when you remembered his smile, his laughter, and the weight of his gaze that always seemed to see beyond your words. But you shook off those thoughts. Ragnar belonged to another life, one you had left behind to protect what you carried within.  

Meanwhile, in Kattegat, Ragnar paced back and forth in the main hall of his house, his jaw clenched and his hands balled into fists. Weeks had passed since he returned to Kattegat and discovered you were gone. No one had given him a clear explanation. No one could or would tell him why you had left everything behind.  

Your parents had been his first stop, of course. When he asked them directly, your mother avoided his gaze, and your father, rigid as a wall, only gave him vague answers.  

“She needed space,” your father had said tensely. “She left to find her own path.”  

Ragnar was not a man easily deceived. His blue eyes gleamed with suspicion as he watched them both. “Where did she go? Tell me the truth.”  

“We don’t even know,” your mother replied, and for the first time in that conversation, Ragnar saw some truth in her words. She seemed worried, even fearful, as she spoke.  

“How is that possible? She’s your daughter,” he retorted, his voice filled with frustration.  

“The only thing we know,” your father interjected, “is that she asked us not to tell anyone anything. Not even you.”  

That confession hit Ragnar like a hammer. Had you specifically asked to keep him in the dark? Why? The thought that you had deliberately excluded him from your life left him cold. However, he refused to believe that was the whole truth.  

As time passed, his obsession only grew. Ragnar spent every spare moment wondering what he had done to make you leave. Images of your last encounters replayed in his mind: your evasive answers, the glances you avoided, your evident exhaustion.  

“What are you hiding from me?” he muttered to himself at night, as anger and frustration built in his chest.  

He sought answers elsewhere. He questioned merchants and travelers who came to Kattegat, describing you in precise detail: your hair, your smile, even the way you walked. But no one knew anything.  

His behavior began to affect everyone around him. Lagertha watched him silently, noticing how his attention drifted further away. One night, she finally confronted him.  

“Ragnar, what’s happening to you?” she asked, crossing her arms in front of him. “You seem more concerned about a woman who’s no longer here than about your own family.”  

“You don’t understand,” he replied, his tone harsh enough to surprise Lagertha. “She left without saying anything. Something’s not right. I need to know what happened.”  

“Why do you care so much? She has her own life. Are you so dissatisfied here that you’re looking for something else elsewhere?”  

Lagertha’s words were cutting, and Ragnar knew she was partly right. But he couldn’t explain the depth of what he felt because even he didn’t fully understand it. Something about your departure unsettled him, something he couldn’t ignore.  

The days turned into weeks, and Ragnar’s frustration grew. Though he continued to fulfill his duties as a leader, there was a shadow on his face he couldn’t hide. At night, when the rest of Kattegat slept, Ragnar sat by the fire, staring at the flames and remembering every detail of you.  

Your laughter. The way you tilted your head when lost in thought. The times your eyes sparkled in a way that seemed to challenge the entire world.  

But he also remembered the signs he had ignored: the times you avoided looking at him directly, the moments when it seemed like you wanted to say something but stopped at the last moment. Had you been planning your departure all along?  

“It can’t be,” he murmured to himself. “She wouldn’t have left like that.”  

One day, after another failed attempt to get answers from your parents, Ragnar made a decision. If he couldn’t find you in Kattegat, he would have to look beyond its borders.  

He spoke to some of his trusted men, explaining that he needed to go on a journey. Though he didn’t share all the details, his determination was clear. Lagertha watched from a distance as he prepared to leave, her eyes full of disapproval.  

“How long will these useless searches take?” she asked, confronting him before he left. “You have responsibilities here, Ragnar. A family. If you keep acting as if none of this matters, you’ll end up losing everything.”  

Ragnar looked at her but didn’t respond. He knew her words carried weight, but he couldn’t stay. Something inside him wouldn’t let him.

And so, with the sound of horse hooves echoing against the ground, Ragnar left Kattegat, determined to find you, no matter how long it took or how far you were.  

Months had passed since your arrival, and although you had adapted to the routine of the place, exhaustion weighed on your body. The pregnancy made the days heavier, slower, but you couldn’t allow yourself to rest. You needed to prove you were useful, that you deserved a place in this remote corner of the world.  

That morning, as always, you got up early. The air was cold, and a thin layer of frost covered the grass. You felt slightly dizzy but ignored it. You had learned to hide any sign of weakness; after all, no one could suspect what you carried within.  

The work in the fields was arduous. The tools were rudimentary, and the soil seemed to resist every effort. But you had grown accustomed to this type of struggle: one not against others but against your own limitations.  

You were gathering roots when it happened. As you bent down, you lost your balance. Perhaps it was exhaustion or a lack of attention, but you tripped over a hidden stone and fell to your knees. The impact was brutal, sending sharp pain through your abdomen. You stayed still for a moment, trying to catch your breath as the world spun around you.  

“Are you all right?” Astrid’s voice reached you like a distant echo. She helped you to your feet, her eyes filled with concern.  

“Yes, I’m fine,” you lied, forcing a smile. But the cold sweat running down your back betrayed the truth.  

That night, the pain intensified. A persistent stabbing sensation in your abdomen forced you to double over, but still, you didn’t ask for help. The fear of your secret being discovered was greater than your fear of the pain.  

However, when the fever began to take hold of your body, you could no longer hide it. Astrid, who had noticed your pallor during the day, was the first to enter your cabin. Seeing your condition, she ran to fetch Sigrid, the settlement’s healer.  

Sigrid was an imposing woman, with steady hands and an expression that left no room for doubt. When she arrived, she found you trembling in your bed, your breathing shallow, and your cheeks burning with fever. Without saying a word, she began examining your body, her fingers searching for signs to confirm what you already feared.  

“How long have you been like this?” she asked, her tone stern.  

“I don’t know,” you murmured, unable to meet her eyes.  

Sigrid frowned and placed a hand on your abdomen. Her gaze darkened. “You’re young, but your body is weak. And this…” Her words trailed off, but her expression said it all.  

For two days, you fought the fever, drifting in and out of consciousness. You heard fragments of conversations around you: Astrid’s worried voice, Sigrid’s firm instructions. You felt the weight of cold compresses on your forehead and the bitter taste of the herbs they forced you to drink.  

But everything changed on the second night. The pain became unbearable, a fire that seemed to consume you from within. You tried to scream, but your voice came out as a choked whimper. Sigrid stayed by your side the entire time, her steady hands holding you as your body struggled against something it could no longer sustain.  

When it was over, the room fell silent. A heavy silence, laden with sorrow. Sigrid wiped her hands with a cloth and looked at you with an expression that was half compassion, half resignation.  

“I’m sorry,” she said simply.  

You didn’t need further explanations. You had lost it.  

The physical pain was intense, but the emotional pain was unbearable. For days, you could barely move. You spent hours lying in your bed, staring at the cabin’s ceiling as a sense of emptiness consumed you.  

You had made so many decisions thinking of protecting your child, and now everything seemed pointless. You had lost everything: your home, your family, Ragnar… and now your baby.  

Astrid became your only company. She brought you food and water, though you barely ate. “You need to take care of yourself,” she would say, but her words felt hollow. What was the point of taking care of yourself when there was nothing left to fight for?  

At night, silence was both your solace and your greatest torment. You closed your eyes and saw your baby’s face, even though you had never met them. You wondered if they would have had Ragnar’s eyes or your smile. But those dreams always shattered under the weight of reality.  

As the weeks passed, the settlement returned to its routine, but you felt disconnected. The laughter of children tore at your soul, and every time you saw a mother with her child, a pang of pain shot through your chest.  

Astrid, who had proven to be more than a friend, forced you to get up one day. “You can’t stay here forever,” she said, with a harshness you didn’t expect. “The world doesn’t stop for our pain. You have to move forward.”  

Although you resisted at first, you knew she was right. You couldn’t stay in the cabin forever, trapped in your grief. So, little by little, you returned to working in the fields, though every step was a reminder of what you had lost.  

Still, something inside you had changed. A part of you had died along with your child, and you knew you would never be the same again.  

Meanwhile, the sound of Ragnar’s horse hooves echoed across the rocky terrain as he approached another settlement, his face hardened by a mixture of hope and frustration. He had spent months traveling roads, speaking to merchants, explorers, and villagers. Each time he heard a rumor, no matter how vague, he followed it.  

This time was no different. A merchant who had passed through a remote settlement mentioned seeing a woman matching the description Ragnar had repeated countless times: dark hair, a sad look, a strange determination in her movements. It wasn’t a certainty, but Ragnar couldn’t afford to ignore it.  

The journey to the settlement was long, and Ragnar undertook it alone. His men had grown tired of the fruitless searches, and Lagertha no longer hid her disapproval. Yet he couldn’t give up. There was something about your absence that tormented him, a void no battle or conquest could fill.

When Ragnar arrived at the settlement, his eyes scanned quickly, searching among the passing faces. It was a small place, similar to many others he had visited: humble cabins, cultivated fields, and inhabitants working silently.  

He spent hours observing, speaking to locals, and trying to remain calm. At first, no one seemed to know anything. Most of the villagers looked at him cautiously, as if suspicious of his presence. But when he mentioned a woman who had arrived alone, an old woman working near the river lifted her gaze.  

“There is a woman,” she said in a hoarse voice. “She arrived a few months ago. She doesn’t talk much and works hard, but she always seems… lost.”  

Ragnar felt a spark of hope surge through him. “Where is she?” he asked, trying to control the urgency in his voice.  

The old woman shook her head. “I don’t know. I haven’t seen her in weeks. They say she got sick. Perhaps she left, or…” Her voice trailed off, as if unwilling to finish the sentence.  

Ragnar felt the ground shift beneath his feet. Could it be true? Were you sick? Had you died? The thought struck him harder than he expected.  

Not finding you at the settlement was a harsh blow. Ragnar had arrived there hoping to see you, even if only from afar, to confirm you were all right. Instead, all he found were more questions.  

The journey back to Kattegat was somber. Ragnar couldn’t help but wonder if he should abandon his search. He had spent months following a trail that seemed to vanish into thin air. Yet the thought of giving up filled him with an unbearable emptiness.  

When he returned home, Lagertha was waiting at the entrance, arms crossed. Her expression was serious, but there was a flicker of concern in her eyes.  

“Well?” she asked, her voice sharp.  

“She wasn’t there,” Ragnar replied, removing his cloak and dropping his bag to the floor.  

“How much longer will you keep this up?” Lagertha demanded, stepping closer to him. “People are starting to talk. They see you more obsessed with a woman who isn’t here than with your own family.”  

Ragnar looked at her with an intensity that made her pause. “You don’t understand, Lagertha. I can’t ignore this. She… I can’t explain it, but I feel something isn’t right. Something happened.”  

“And perhaps you’ll never know,” she replied, her tone softening. “Perhaps it’s time to leave the past behind and look ahead.”  

But Ragnar couldn’t. Though he didn’t tell Lagertha, something else haunted him: the sense that you had left to protect something, to hide something important. And until he had answers, he couldn’t let it go.  

His search didn’t end, just as your search for peace hadn’t either.  

Though the wounds still hurt both physical and emotional you knew you couldn’t let them consume you forever. You had spent months buried in your grief, refusing to look toward the future, but something within you a spark of life still clinging to the present urged you to rise from the bed.  

Your body was weaker than before. The fever and the loss had left their mark, but they had also taught you to value what you still had: the chance to move forward.  

Astrid was the first to notice the change in you. “I’m glad to see you on your feet,” she said one morning as you shared breakfast. Her warm smile reminded you that, although you had lost so much, there were still people who cared about you.  

The settlement was small, but its inhabitants were hardworking and supportive. A family that raised goats and sheep, the Ingvarssons, offered you work in exchange for food and a bit more stability. At first, you hesitated. The pain remained a constant weight, and you worried you wouldn’t meet their expectations. But you accepted, knowing you couldn’t rely on others forever.

The first days were tough. The work with the animals was exhausting, and many nights you came home with your hands full of scratches and your muscles tense. But there was something comforting in the routine: feeding the goats, caring for the newborn lambs, feeling the warmth of the animals as you helped them thrive.

“You’re good with them,” Ingrid, the matriarch of the family, said while watching you clean the stable. Her words surprised you. You had spent so much time feeling useless, as if everything you tried ended in failure, that hearing a compliment left you speechless.

“Thank you,” you finally replied, feeling a strange warmth in your chest.

Over time, you started to integrate more into the settlement. The neighbors stopped seeing you as a stranger and began greeting you as you passed by. They invited you to small gatherings, where they shared stories and songs around the fire. Though at first, you felt out of place, you soon realized that you enjoyed those nights, the laughter, and the company.

Astrid was always by your side, making sure you didn’t feel alone. There was something about her presence that gave you strength, as if she knew exactly when you needed a push or a moment of silence.

However, despite the new beginnings, you couldn’t stop thinking about what you had lost. On quiet nights, when the settlement slept and the only sound was the murmur of the nearby river, you allowed yourself to remember.

You had kept a small baby garment that you had secretly sewn during the first months of your pregnancy. It was a small wool vest, simple but made with love. You kept it hidden in a corner of your cabin, wrapped in a clean cloth.

Every time you took it out, you held it between your hands as if it were the only bridge to the child you never got to know. You couldn’t bring yourself to get rid of it. It was your only tangible connection to the life you had lost, a reminder of what could have been.

There were nights when you found yourself whispering to the air, as if the spirit of your baby could hear you. “I’m sorry,” you said, the words filled with guilt and sadness. “I wanted to protect you, but I failed.”

Despite your efforts to leave the past behind, Ragnar kept appearing in your thoughts. You wondered where he was, if he still thought about you or if he had already forgotten you. You had decided to leave to protect yourself and the baby, but sometimes you wondered if you had made a mistake by not trusting him.

There were moments when you wished he were with you, that he would hug you and tell you that everything would be okay. But you knew those thoughts were pointless. Ragnar had his own life, his own family, and you were no longer a part of it.

The months passed, and with them came a sense of stability. Though the wounds would never completely disappear, you learned to find comfort in the small things: the aroma of freshly baked bread, the laughter of the children in the settlement, the satisfaction of a job well done.

You had become an important part of the community. The Ingvarsson family spoke of you as if you were part of their family, and the other inhabitants of the settlement came to you whenever they needed help with something. You had built a new life, one that, though not perfect, gave you some peace.

However, every time you held the small wool vest between your hands, you felt that a part of you was still waiting. Waiting for something you didn’t even know how to describe.

And though you tried not to think about it, you knew your story with Ragnar was not over. The thread that connected you both was still there, tight and silent, waiting for the right moment to stretch again.

Days later, the day had begun like any other in the settlement. The fresh air filled your lungs as you worked in the fields, your hands accustomed to the weight of the tools and the constant rhythm of the work. The sun was high in the sky, and though sweat beaded on your forehead, you felt at peace. You had learned to find comfort in the routine, in the simplicity of the life you had built.

However, that peace was shattered the moment a figure appeared on the horizon.

At first, you didn’t pay much attention. It was common for solitary travelers to pass through the settlement, looking for provisions or a place to rest. But as the figure drew closer, something in you began to tense. There was something familiar in their walk, in the way they held their head high and their shoulders firm.

When you finally looked up to observe them more closely, your heart seemed to stop.

It was him.

Ragnar walked toward you with a determined step, his face marked by time and an endless search. Though years had passed, you recognized him instantly. His eyes were still the same: intense, filled with a mixture of determination and emotions you couldn’t decipher.

You dropped the tool you had in your hands, unable to move. Everything you had worked to bury the pain, the guilt, the love you still harbored deep in your heart surfaced all at once, hitting you like a furious wave.

Ragnar stopped a few meters away from you, his gaze fixed on yours. For a moment, neither of you spoke. The silence was heavy, laden with unsaid emotions.

“Why?” was the first thing he said, his voice low but filled with reproach.

You didn’t need him to explain what he meant. You knew.

“Ragnar…” you whispered, but you couldn’t say more. The words seemed to stick in your throat.

“No,” he interrupted, taking a step toward you. “Don’t say my name as if that could fix anything. I searched for you. For years, I searched for you.”

His tone was rough, and you could see the mix of pain and anger in his eyes. “Do you know how much time I’ve spent wondering why you left? Why you didn’t say anything? Didn’t I deserve to know?”

His words pierced you, but they also sparked something inside you. All the pain and guilt you had silently carried for so long began to transform into anger.

“And what did you want me to say, Ragnar?” you snapped, your voice trembling with emotion. “That I was pregnant with your child while you had your wife and your perfect life in Kattegat? That I was terrified of what others would say, of what my parents would think? What would have changed if you had known?”

“Everything,” he replied without hesitation.

His words took your breath away for a moment, but you refused to let him disarm you.

“That’s not true,” you said, crossing your arms. “You would have gone on with your life, and I would have been a burden. The only thing I did was protect myself and… and the baby.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Ragnar furrowed his brow, as if processing what you had said. His eyes searched yours, and for a moment, you saw something beyond the anger: pain.

“Where is it?” he asked finally, his voice barely a whisper.

Your heart broke upon hearing that question. You looked down, unable to meet his gaze. “I don’t know,” you murmured. “I lost it.”

Ragnar seemed to stagger, as if your words were a physical blow. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, and he closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, there was something broken in his expression.

“You didn’t tell me anything,” he repeated, his voice barely contained. “You stole the chance for me to know, to be there. You took away the chance for me to be its father.”

His words hit you hard, but you couldn’t let him blame you for everything. “And what would your presence have done, Ragnar? Would it have prevented it from dying? Would it have changed what happened?”

“Maybe not,” he admitted, his voice softer but still full of reproach. “But I would have been with you. You shouldn’t have gone through this alone.”

Ragnar’s words left you speechless. A part of you knew he was right, but another part was too hurt, too tired to admit it. You had done what you thought was necessary to protect yourself, to protect the baby, and though you knew it hadn’t been perfect, it was the best you could do at that moment.

“Ragnar, I… I can’t do this,” you said finally, your voice breaking. “I’ve spent years trying to rebuild my life. I can’t dig all of this up again.”

Ragnar looked at you with an intensity that made you feel naked, exposed. “I’m not here to destroy what you’ve built,” he said finally, his tone softer. “But I can’t ignore what happened, and I can’t ignore you. You… you still mean something to me.”

His words left a lump in your throat. You had waited so long to hear them, but now that you did, you didn’t know how to feel.

The rest of the day was a whirlwind of emotions. Ragnar didn’t leave, and you didn’t know how to deal with his presence. Everything you had worked to forget seemed to return with force, threatening to break down the barriers you had built around your heart.

Despite everything, you knew this encounter was only the beginning. Ragnar wasn’t someone who gave up easily, and now that he had found you, he wouldn’t leave without answers.

As the sun began to set on the horizon, you felt a mix of fear and hope. The past had returned, and though you didn’t know how to face what was to come, a part of you knew this encounter would change your life forever.

The days following the reunion with Ragnar were a whirlwind of emotions and conflicts. His presence in the settlement shook your entire world, disturbing the balance you had worked so hard to build. Although you tried to stay firm in your decision to stay, Ragnar kept insisting that you return with him to Kattegat.

Ragnar was not a man who easily accepted a 'no.' Every conversation between the two of them turned into an intense argument, full of emotions and reproaches.

“You don't understand what you're asking,” you said one night, as the light from the fireplace illuminated the small space of your cabin. “I’ve worked for years to find peace here. I can’t go back and face everything I left behind.”

“And you think I found peace without you?” he replied, his voice low but filled with intensity. “I didn’t ask you to leave, I didn’t ask you to exclude me from your life. I don’t understand why you prefer to live among strangers rather than with the people who love you.”

“The people who love me?,” you repeated, incredulous. “Are you talking about you? About your parents? About Lagertha? How do you think my life would have been there? Always pointed at, always a secret.”

Ragnar clenched his lips, his eyes fixed on yours. “I don’t want you to be a secret,” he said finally, and his words took your breath away.

But you couldn’t let yourself be carried away by them. You couldn’t forget what you had gone through, or all that you had sacrificed.

Despite your constant refusals, Ragnar kept insisting. Not just for you, but because he wanted you to say goodbye to your parents. “You owe them that,” he said in a tone that left no room for argument.

He was right, though it was hard to admit. You had left your parents without clear explanations, forcing them to carry the burden of your disappearance. You had avoided thinking about how they must have felt, but now that Ragnar brought it up, the guilt began to weigh heavily on you.

Finally, after days of arguments, you agreed to go with him to Kattegat. “Just to say goodbye,” you clarified, looking at him firmly. “This doesn’t mean I’m staying.”

Ragnar nodded but said no more. You knew this was just the first step for him.

The journey to Kattegat was long and silent. You traveled together, but barely spoke. Ragnar seemed focused, his thoughts hidden behind a mask of seriousness. As for you, you felt a constant knot in your stomach. Each step toward Kattegat felt like a weight pressing harder and harder on you.

When you finally arrived, the settlement seemed the same as always. The wooden houses, the docks, the bustle of the people; everything was intact, as if time had not passed. But for you, everything felt different. You had changed, and this place no longer felt like home.

The tension became evident as soon as Ragnar took you to his house. Lagertha was there, and her expression upon seeing you was anything but welcoming.

“What is she doing here?,” she asked, giving Ragnar a cold look.

“She’s come to say goodbye to her family,” he replied calmly, as though his tone could placate the evident hostility in the room.

Lagertha studied you closely, her blue eyes analyzing every detail of your face. “And why does she need your company for that?.”

You didn’t want to cause more problems than there already were. “Lagertha,” you began, trying to sound conciliatory, “I’m not here to stay. I just came to close a chapter of my life.”

“A chapter Ragnar seems too eager to dig up,” she retorted, her tone sharp.

Ragnar intervened before the argument could escalate. “This isn’t about you or me. This is about her and what she needs to do.”

Though his words seemed reasonable, they did little to calm things down. Lagertha remained silent, but you could feel the tension in her posture, in the way she avoided looking at you.

Seeing your parents was an emotional blow you hadn’t expected. Your mother hugged you tightly, tears running down her cheeks as she repeated your name as if she couldn’t believe you were there. Your father, more reserved, simply took you by the shoulders and nodded, his eyes shining with restrained emotion.

“We thought we would never see you again,” your mother said through her sobs. “Why did you leave without telling us where you were going?.”

You had no answer for them. All you could do was apologize, promising that it hadn’t been due to a lack of love.

The conversation was long and difficult. Your parents wanted you to stay, but you remained firm in your decision to return to the settlement. “This is no longer my home,” you told them, though the words broke your heart.

While you stayed in Kattegat, even if only for a short time, the tension between you, Ragnar, and Lagertha only grew. Ragnar tried to keep the peace, but his constant efforts to talk to you did not go unnoticed by Lagertha, who became colder with each passing day.

One night, Lagertha confronted Ragnar privately, but the walls weren’t thick enough to silence their words. “Why do you keep insisting on this?,” she asked, her voice full of anger. “What do you hope to achieve by bringing her here?.”

“I don’t hope to achieve anything,” Ragnar replied, though his tone betrayed the truth. “I’m just trying to fix what was broken.”

“You can’t fix everything, Ragnar,”

she shot back. “And if you keep trying, you’ll only break more.”

The time you spent in Kattegat was brief but intense. Although you managed to say goodbye to your parents and some of the people you had left behind, you couldn’t ignore the tension your presence created. Ragnar continued insisting that you stay, but you were determined to return to the settlement.

“This is not my place,” you told him one night, as you both stood in silence near the harbor. “You have your life here, and I have mine there.”

“It’s not that simple,” he replied, but he didn’t try to convince you anymore.

The days you spent in Kattegat after your arrival were filled with tension, and although you had planned to return to the settlement soon, Ragnar had other plans for you. It was on a quiet afternoon, while walking alone near the docks, that he approached you with a proposal that would change the course of everything: he wanted you to accompany him on his next journey.

“What do you say?,” he asked, with that mix of seriousness and enthusiasm that so characterized him. His eyes shone with an intensity that made it hard to look away.

“I don’t know if it’s a good idea,” you replied, crossing your arms. “I’ve only been here a few days. Going with you would complicate things even more.”

“What things?,” he asked, smiling slightly. “Lagertha? Me? Don’t worry about that. She understands that this journey is important.”

You knew that wasn’t entirely true. Lagertha wasn’t someone who accepted things easily, especially when it came to you. Still, there was something in the proposal that attracted you. You missed the feeling of traveling, of exploring new horizons, of losing yourself in unfamiliar landscapes. As much as you had built a peaceful life in the settlement, a part of you still longed for that freedom.

“Why do you want me to go?,” you finally asked, eyeing him warily.

Ragnar remained silent for a moment, as if searching for the right words. “Because I think you need this as much as I do,” he said sincerely. “And because I want you to be with me.”

His words were simple, but they struck something within you. Although you knew accepting it would bring consequences, you couldn’t resist.

“Fine,” you agreed with a sigh. “But if this goes wrong, it’ll be your fault.”

He smiled, satisfied with your answer. “We’ll see about that.”

[fofisstilinski]

Vikings

Oh my god, I just watched Vikings and I'm in love. I'll write ideas for one shots (and series).

If you are a writer and need ideas, you can message me .

[myocsfanfictions]

Under the Devil’s Eye

MASTERLIST

Selethryth, a young lady with strange eyes and prophetic dreams, is both feared and revered in King Ecbert's court. Though he sees her as a powerful tool for his ambitions, it is Ivar, the brutal and unpredictable son of Ragnar, who is drawn to her. As their fates collide, Selethryth finds herself entangled in a dangerous game where her gifts may lead her into the arms of darkness.

《 Previous - Next 》

Chapter 2

Selethryth felt utterly exhausted, as if her body had been forged from lead. Ever since the night she dreamt of the raven, sleep had become her enemy. Every time she closed her eyes, the nightmare returned—always the same. The vision of the bird, flying alone in the darkened sky, tired and abandoned. Then the serpent, coiling around the raven and swallowing it whole, its death slow and inevitable. And after, the earth trembling beneath her, decaying and foul, while a dark figure appeared in the shadows, familiar blue eyes gleaming with an unsettling intensity. The sea—the sea that devoured men and castles alike. And always, always, she was powerless, a silent witness the doom around her.

Each dream left her heart heavy, suffocated, as if a dark force had wrapped around her chest and was ready to crush her at any moment.

The King had grown restless after hearing about the raven, and since then, he summoned her every morning to ask what she had dreamt the night before. It was the only topic of conversation between them these days.

"Why do you keep pushing her to speak of this curse?" Her mother's voice broke the silence one night, trembling and low, as if she feared being overheard.

"The king has asked," her father replied quietly but tensely. "Who am I to deny him?"

"That man is a sinner. A dangerous, mad man," Lady Oswyth retorted, bitterness heavy in her voice, but also fear.

"Don't speak like that!" Lord Godric's voice was sharp, almost a whisper, but there was an unmistakable fear in it. "If the king hears—"

"If the king hears, it makes no difference," her mother whispered back. "We're already lost." She paused, her tone breaking. "But he doesn't see what I see. He doesn't understand the sign in her eyes... what she is."

"And the king doesn't want us to intervene. There will be no exorcism for her," her father said, trying to end the conversation, though his frustration was clear.

Oswyth sighed, her voice cracking. "You are condemning your daughter's soul for your own ambitions, Godric."

"Her soul has been lost since the day she was born!" Her father's words were harsh, like an old wound reopened. The anger was raw. "We knew it! She nearly killed you when you gave birth to her! And after her, you couldn't give me another child. We've always known, Oswyth!" His voice trembled with bitterness. "I thought we were cursed because of her. But the king... the king sees something else. And we've risen, like my father never could. I won't let anything ruin that."

Selethryth remained silent, hidden behind the ajar wooden door, shrouded in the darkness of her chamber. Her eyes lowered, and her heart ached as the cruel words pierced her. She had always known the truth of her birth—that she was the reason her mother had been unable to bear more children. The moment they had seen her eyes, they had known it was her fault. And now, hearing her father speak of it so openly, the weight of her existence pressed down on her, heavier than ever.

She slid down onto the cold floor, drawing her knees close to her chest, struggling to keep the sobs trapped within her. She could not allow herself to be heard, not even a sigh, as silent tears welled in her eyes. She didn't understand what she had done to deserve this. What had she done wrong? How had she offended the Lord, for Him to bring so much pain and dishonor to her family?

Selethryth had always tried to be a good Christian—going to church, learning everything that a noble lady was supposed to know—but none of it mattered. To them, she would always be a sinner. Always to blame. And there was nothing she could do to change their minds. To everyone, she would forever be a witch.

This pained her heart gravely.

"You're so quiet, child." Judith's voice broke through the silence, making Selethryth look up from her book. The lady was painting with careful hands, recreating a scene from the sacred scriptures. It was something Judith loved to do, though it was considered inappropriate for a lady—an indulgence that, by her position as the King's mistress, she was free to pursue. Women of her standing had the freedom to do things that others could not, like drawing or reading.

"Forgive me for not being good company, my lady," Selethryth apologized, her voice barely above a whisper. But Judith turned to her with softness in her eyes—eyes that no one else ever showed her. She was the only one who ever looked at her like that.

Selethryth still remembered when Judith had first feared her, when she had been labeled a witch—an accusation that had followed her like a shadow. But it didn't take long for Judith to grow fond of her, to see beyond the rumors and the fear. For Selethryth's mother, this was fitting. Judith, after all, was a woman with many flaws, living openly in her sins. To Oswyth, it made sense that she would not have ill thoughts about her daughter.

"Nonsense, Selethryth. You're always good company," Judith said gently, her gaze soft as she observed the young lady, who, after a long pause, found the strength to smile. "Do you want to tell me what happened?" she asked again, her brush never faltering as she continued painting.

Selethryth hesitated. She wanted to confide in Judith; she felt that the woman was the only one who might truly understand her. Judith had been the one to push her to read and study, to learn things she was never supposed to. And whenever someone spoke ill of her, it was Judith who had defended her without hesitation. But Judith was too close to the King for Selethryth to be completely honest with her. She could never speak of what had been said in her family's chamber, nor could she risk the royal family thinking her ungrateful. So, with a quiet breath, she decided to change the subject.

"I was reading about the Vikings," Selethryth said, her gaze dropping to the book in her hands.

"Vikings?" Judith asked with a curious tilt of her head. "What made them so interesting to you?"

"Magnus says he's the son of Ragnar Lothbrok," Selethryth replied, her voice soft.

Magnus, the son of the late Queen Kwenthrith, had been fathered by Ragnar Lothbrok during the war for Mercia. The very fact of his parentage had been the only reason Ecbert had agreed to raise him as his own.

"You've met him, haven't you?" Selethryth asked, her curiosity piqued. She saw Judith's expression shift to one of quiet nostalgia, a faint smile playing on her lips.

"You know I have," Judith replied, her voice tinged with something unreadable, though her smile was warm.

Selethryth, worried she had overstepped, realized the question had likely seemed unnecessary, considering Alfred's father had been one of Ragnar's most trusted companions.

"Was he truly as impressive as the stories say?" Selethryth asked, her voice full of wonder. She had read so much about the Vikings—their fierceness, their legends—and yet it was hard to believe such men existed outside of myth.

Judith nodded slowly, her eyes distant for a moment. "All of it is true," she said, her voice low and reverent. "He was an impressive warrior... with an even more impressive mind."

Then something on the page caught Selethryth's attention. She leaned in closer, her fingers tracing the edge of an illustration—a man, with a raven on his chest. She frowned, the image feeling oddly familiar. She turned the page back, her fingers trembling slightly, and found the same drawing, the same raven.

"Why a raven?" she muttered under her breath, unable to tear her eyes away from the image.

Judith, having noticed Selethryth's intense focus, hummed in curiosity and leaned in to see the drawing.

"You're looking at Ragnar," Judith said softly, almost as if speaking of an old friend. "The raven was his sigil."

Selethryth's breath caught in her throat as her gaze moved from Judith back to the drawing.

A raven...

She kept repeating to herself, It's just a drawing. There was no reason to think of it as anything more than what it was. She had dreamt of a bird dying. Nothing more. But she couldn't shake that strange feeling—like the image made sense. As if she were meant to look at it. But why would that be true?

She had never cared about Ragnar Lothbrok, why did she feel such a strong connection to that figure now?

She had never believed Ecbert's words. She had never believed that she had been blessed with prophetic dreams. They were just dreams, read by others, their meaning always coming later. Like with the first dream she had told him.

She had dreamt of a woman with black hair and a crown on her head, but suddenly the crown turned to ashes and the ground beneath her crawled away, as if it wanted to escape from her. But then, the same earth formed a bridge that led to King Ecbert, wearing an even bigger crown than the one he already wore. Both the people around him and those on the other side of the bridge bowed to him.

It held no meaning to her. There was no way she could have ever truly believed that the King would interpret this dream as a sign of his kingdom growing. But he did. And it happened again, and again. Every dream she shared seemed to follow a chance for Ecbert to expand his lands. And now, he ruled over the largest kingdom in England.

She had never wanted to believe that she had prophetic dreams. And she didn't want to believe it now. If she did, then the Devil really was her lover, and she didn't have a soul.

That thought terrified her. Was her destiny to be a dark creature? An empty one, causing pain and despair? Did she really have no soul? What would become of her when death came? Was she condemned to Hell?

But I have done nothing, she kept repeating to herself. She always did what her family expected of her, what the Lord had taught them to learn. She had done nothing to be hated like this.

And yet, that raven... that raven had scared her. The feeling it left behind terrified her even more.

"Why are you looking so pensive?" Eadgifu's voice made her look up from her needlework. Her sister was having her new dress fixed by the hands of Hilda. It was a gown of pale pink that matched perfectly with her sister's skin. On Eadgifu's face there was an excited smile as she observed herself in the mirror. "Are you worried about the feast of tomorrow night?"

Selethryth found herself smiling bitterly. She really wished that her mind could fix on those things, pretty dresses and feasts to meet suitors, but her mind kept coming back to the raven. The sadness that she felt in her dream, and the fear she had felt during the entire day.

"There's no reason to," Selethryth answered, meeting her sister's gaze through the glass, "You, however, must be excited."

Eadgifu's smile grew larger, "Mother said I'm ready to wed." She said with a dreamy expression. Marriage had always been her sister's greatest dream as they grew up.

"I'm sure you'll find an honorable man," Selethryth's words were enough to make Hilda look at her with unspoken fear. But Eadgifu didn't notice, as she giggled again.

"And handsome as well, I hope," she said before turning to Selethryth. "You could meet someone as well," Eadgifu insisted, but Selethryth looked down at her needlework again, with a little shake of her head.

"Only the Lord knows what plans He has for me," she said, folding the needle between her fingers. "For now, I must wait until He speaks through Father's mouth."

Eadgifu regarded her with a sad look, "Father knows that you'll have to wed, it is a woman's duty." Selethryth would have liked to ask her if it was the Witch of Wessex's duty as well. But she decided against it. Smiling at her sister to keep on with her needlework.

She was in the right age to marry, to be looking for a husband at least. But it was never the time. Lord Godric loved his high position at King Ecbert's court, but his presence was required because Selethryth was there. If she was to marry and leave for her husband's lands, what would become of Lord Godric? He would have to return to his own dark castle, and the king's attentions would be long forgotten. That, of course, if she would ever find a man daring enough to not be scared of superstitions. But Selethryth wasn't sure of it.

That night, her sleep had a form again, vivid as if she were awake.

Selethryth found herself standing at the edge of a vast and frozen lake, its surface smooth as glass, reflecting a stormy sky above. The wind howled through the barren trees at the lake's edge, their branches reaching toward the sky like skeletal hands, clawing at the air. The whole landscape felt dead, as if the world itself were holding its breath. The cold bit deep into her skin, and she shivered, but there was no warmth, no shelter to be found.

In the distance, two figures appeared, walking toward her across the frozen expanse. One was tall, shrouded in shadow, his form hidden beneath a dark cloak, but a raven flew beside him—its wings cutting through the air with a steady, rhythmic beat. The raven's presence felt both ominous and powerful, like a harbinger of change. The figure walked with a slow, deliberate pace, as if burdened by the weight of years, yet still possessing a quiet strength. He was the older figure, the one who had lived through much, but was now nearing the end of his journey.

The second figure was on the ground, but he radiated intensity. He slithered on the floor fast and urgent, almost as though he were driven by an unseen force. He seemed to move with a fury that contrasted sharply with the calmness of the first figure. His eyes, burning like blue fire, glinted with a sharpness that cut through the dim light. There was something in his gaze that was both haunting and intense, as though he had been touched by something beyond this world. His path was not one of peace, but of revenge.

As the figures drew closer, the sky above began to darken. The raven circling the older figure let out a sharp cry, and in an instant, a bolt of lightning struck down from the heavens, splitting the sky in two. The older figure stumbled, his cloak billowing around him, and fell to the ground. A cloud of shadow seemed to rise from the earth, swirling around him, until he was lost within it. The raven disappeared into the night, and the storm that had raged above seemed to swallow him whole.

But then, the second figure—the one with the burning blue eyes—stood tall, his face drawn in a fierce expression of grief and anger. He lifted his arms to the sky, and a great thunderclap followed, shaking the earth beneath her feet. He called out, his voice full of pain and rage, but also a powerful resolve. The sky above him seemed to tremble, as though the very heavens themselves were answering his cry. The storm intensified, lightning flashing with increasing frequency, each strike illuminating his face, now set in a mask of vengeance.

The power of the storm—the grief in his eyes—struck something deep within her, even if she could not quite understand the reason. She wanted to reach out, but the storm raged too fiercely, and the dream began to fade, pulling her back into the dark void. Her eyes shot open, and she realized she had been crying.

******

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