#maybe if we ever get a chill Nobody they can call him Odysseus

[toast-in-a-cowboy-hat]

Nobody should have been a little bit more pretentious and called himself Odysseus instead, like you know he would've loved making a bunch of smug parallels between himself/his missions and a Greek Hero/his Quests

[indigos-shits-and-giggles]

i wanna hear abt wes!!!

Okay SO Wes is this very anxious, standoffish guy who recently moved to Hatchetfield from Clivesdale and it's generally seen as just... nice but very weird by the other citizens in Hatchetfield. Like, for some reason he rarely ever gives out its actual name, leading to his acquaintances giving it a lot of creative nicknames. Even its closest friends only know him by just Wes, and if someone annoys him enough it'll just pull an Odysseus and claim his name is Nobody. It's generally just very paranoid and rather cagey about certain bits of information about himself, even around people it DOES know and trust.

So, why the hell is it like this?

Well, waaaaaayyyyy back in the day when Wes was like four and its older brother, Ridley, was eight, he and its family actually used to live in Hatchetfield! In fact, Wes and Ridley were born there and probably have a touch of the Gift but that's not important right now. However, their parents had gotten tangled up in some pretty nasty cult bullshit and decided they needed to leave right the hell now, because they didn't want their kids getting stuck in that stuff too. So, they moved to where they knew no one would follow: CLIVESDALE.

Their childhood in Clivesdale is pretty chill all things considered. The first year or so was definitely a bit to adjust to, but Ridley made sure to look out for Wes whenever he could. Naturally this kinda led Wes to look up to him a little because, hey, Ridley Very Fucking Cool and adventurous, and he never backs down from a challenge.

However, they still got family stuck in Hatchetfield, aunts, uncles, grandparents, and cousins, so naturally the second Ridley turns 20, he gets the bright idea to go back to Hatchetfield for a few weeks, maybe a month depending on how much he enjoys himself, just to shoot the shit with some family and get in some much needed adventure. See, he's heard some pretty neat rumours about Hatchetfield, and because thing has long since gotten stale in Clivesdale, he figured it'd be a nice change of pace.

So, Ridley heads down to Hatchetfield, writing Wes letters every other week with photographs and illustrations of all the things he's seen, the people he met, stuff like that. It seems to be going fan fucking tastic for him, until...

The letters stop.

As a month goes by, Wes tries to not think too much about it. It's always had a problem with anxiety and being paranoid, he wouldn't put it past itself to be stressed out like this for no reason. Maybe Ridley was having too much fun, or maybe he's still sending letters but they're just getting lost in the mail. But then, another week goes by. And another. Two whole months pass and Wes STILL hasn't heard from Ridley. He's called him a gazillion times, sent him letter after letter, care package after care package, but it just doesn't know if Ridley's getting them, or if Ridley's even alive.

So, Wes and his family calls the police and files his brother missing. For a moment, Wes considers trying to march down to Hatchetfield to look for Ridley himself. Only, at this point it's 16, he still has its parents to worry about and tell him what to do, and it hasn't even learned how to drive yet. Also, the Nantucket bridge is hardly ever lowered, he'd have to wait 'til the perfect moment to sneak across.

So, he waited. Waited until it'd would be old enough to move out too, waited until he could finally have the freedom to find its goddamn brother again. At first, it felt like he was waiting forever, but when he got old enough, the exact same age Ridley was when he first left, Wes is finally ready to leave. He packs his things, scrapes together what little change it can, and moves into a shitty, shitty apartment in the tiny town of Hatchetfield.

Somewhere along the way, he finds a bunch of unsent letters written by its brother, journals filled back to back with notes on all the cool shit Ridley found there. But as Wes continues reading, he realizes with a start that Ridley, adventurous, curious Ridley, may have gotten himself into something he really shouldn't. Yeaaahhhh, Ridley managed to piss off both the Church of Starry Children AND CCRP (despite their parents' attempts to make sure that wouldn't happen), and both were more than ready to make this guy "from" Clivesdale disappear. And of course, Wes is destined to follow the same exact fate as his poor, older brother, the one it looked up to the most.

But don't worry! Ridley's still alive, in a way. Sure, he... may not be entirely human anymore. It's hard to tell if there's any of him still left in the broken, shambling husk that roams the Witchwood. But he's there, waiting for Wes to find him.

[octaviadblake]

Ὀδύσσεια + τό ἑκᾰτόν

OR The Odyssey + The 100, an in-depth look at parallels to Homeric canon in season 6, and how the themes and motifs present on Sanctum mirror Odysseus’s 10-year journey back to Ithaca.

DISCLAIMER: I was a Russian Lit major, not a Classics major, so I’m not an expert on this. I did study Ancient Greek and Ancient Greek Drama for 6 and 2 semesters in college, respectively, though, but my expertise is more on The Iliad than The Odyssey so just...cut me some slack lol

If you’re not down for this 2.7k word mini-dissertation, here’s your chance to turn back.

So for those of you who don’t know me, I’m a major Classics nerd. I studied The Iliad in the original in college (and yes, I will be writing a series of metas about how s1-5 are The Iliad so keep an eye out for that), but The Odyssey remains, arguably, Homer’s most prolific epic. I’ve never parsed the text in the original, so I’m not going to be doing any sort of text-to-quote analysis because I think using a translation would be a disservice to the text (major Classics nerd. cannot stress this enough.), but I’m gonna be doing a rundown of all the major stops on Odysseus’s journey and how The 100 has mimicked each and every one of those stops in season 6 thus far.

Still reading? Cool, let’s do this thing.

Some of you may have already read my theory on the anomaly and how I think what lies inside is something like the Island of the Lotus Eaters. If you haven’t read it, you can check it out here, but brief summary: the Lotus Eaters is the first stop Odysseus and his crew make. The Lotus plant is so entrancing that it makes people forget all about their lives outside the island and coerces them to stay there, stuck in a sort of opiate-like blissed out haze of chillness for the rest of their lives, and I think that may be what’s happening in the anomaly, not time travel like others have theorized. Cool, moving on.

The next stop of Odysseus’s journey is the island of Polyphemus, the cyclops who intends to eat him and his men. 

(Giulio Romano, Polyphemus)

They manage to escape when Odysseus (using the fake name of “Nobody”) blinds Polyphemus and they hide under the bellies of his sheep in order to avoid detection as they escape his cave.

Let’s think, how does this relate to our heroes? What’s happening right now on the show, going into episode 6x12? 

(gif credit: @commander-anya)

Clarke is pretending to be Josephine in order to blindside the Primes and help her people escape.

In The Odyssey, this is a continuation of the theme of “hosting” or “guest-friendship” (a term I’m borrowing from wikipedia since I’ve been out of school for over a year and don’t feel like actually thinking for this pseudo literary analysis). We saw this with the Lotus-Eaters, and we see it again with Polyphemus. But the Cyclops is a bad host. So are the Primes. 

Polyphemus’s host gift to Odysseus is that he tells him he’ll eat him last. He won’t spare him, but he’ll give him longer to live than the rest of his men. One of the drawbacks, is that means Odysseus is going to watch all of his people die, one by one, until he meets his demise. 

God, how many times have Clarke and Bellamy watched their people suffer? And now the Primes have a way to make nightblood. They’ve turned Echo into a nightblood. Who’s next? Presumably all of them, one by one, until all the Primes are brought back to life. And with Clarke masquerading as Josephine, how many of her people is she going to watch be tortured? How many might she lose in tonight’s episode and in next week’s episode before they manage to beat the Primes and escape? How much have they lost? How much more must they lose?

We also get our first hint of the theme of “cunning over strength” (a term I’m borrowing from SparkNotes because, again, I really don’t feel like putting more effort into this than I already am lmfao) at this point in The Odyssey. Odysseus devises a plan to escape the Cyclops that involves very little violence compared to the blood-soaked battles that we saw in The Iliad. Rather than brute force, he uses his cunning to escape. 

Clarke is going in as Josephine. She's not going for brute force. She’s not barging in with an army (that part comes later). This move is pure Clarke, all head. Going with the most cunning plan, not the most direct, not the most violent, the most strategic. 

Clarke Griffin is Odysseus.

GODDAMN IM LOVING THIS. I digress.

The next major plot point in The Odyssey is Odysseus running into Aeolus, the god of the winds. 

(source unknown by me, but this image is public domain)

He gives Odysseus a bag containing the four cardinal winds which, when opened at the right time, will send him straight home to Ithaca. His men think that the bag secretly contains a treasure that Odysseus is hoarding for himself and they open the bag, releasing the winds, and sending their ship even further off course than before, prolonging their journey.

I stumbled over this one for a second because it could be a few different moments in season 6. Gabriel giving Clarke info on how to take down the Primes? No, where’s the sabotage there? Murphy attempting to help Josephine to get mind drives for him and Emori? No, he ends up doing the right thing and puts them on the right track. Spacekru & friends devising a plan to defeat the Primes and Madi attacking them, sending them off the proverbial course? Hmm, sounds about right.

To make this easier for me, let’s call Bellamy, Echo, Emori, Murphy, Jordan, Miller, and Madi Spacekru 2.0. Well, they’re trying to make their plan to “work with” the Primes so they can get a compound, a home, for them and their people. But Madi is the crew to Spacekru 2.0′s Odysseus. She has her own agenda. She wants the treasure, she wants her revenge. 

She attacks the Primes, releases the winds as it were, and all hell breaks loose.

(gif credit: @bellamyblakepositivity)

They’re thrown off course. How will they ever get their compound now? How will they get their home? 

[Fun etymology fact break: Homecoming is stylized in The Odyssey as “νόστος” (nostos), when an epic hero returns home via voyage by sea, aka the MAIN theme in this epic. We get the word “nostalgia” from nostos, mixed with άλγος (algos) which means pain. Nostalgia is the pain of yearning for the past or for home. Is nostalgia/homecoming not one of the key themes of The 100? Is it not one of the key themes of The Odyssey? (also you could probably write an analysis of how nostos is a hero returning by sea and the way that space and the sea are often visually/metaphorically compared, the way you navigate both domains in a ship, the way you have an odyssey and a space odyssey....but that’s a discussion for another time)]

Next up on the journey? Aeaea, Circe’s island. 

(gif credit: ? if anyone knows, hmu so i can give credit please!)

Circe was a witch who turned men into animals (mainly pigs in The Odyssey, but in another myth, into a woodpecker, which isn’t relevant, I just think it’s funny). Here we get the motif of transformation and false appearances, a continuation of the Nobody plot, and a motif that we also see with the Primes taking over other people’s bodies, constantly transforming their appearances. 

While climbing a mountain to reach Circe’s palace, Hermes points Odysseus to a plant which will make him immune to Circe’s transformation magic. Why does this sound familiar......

The neural mesh in Clarke’s head gives her resistance to the mind drive allowing her consciousness to survive the “transformation.”

 Like the Island of the Lotus Eaters (and the anomaly) Circe has the ability to manipulate the passage of time, or rather, the perception of the passage of time. Odysseus loses quite a significant amount of time trapped on her island. (It’s not actually 5 years, the mini-series fudged that bit a little since Homer never specifies how long it is, but I’ll forgive you, The Odyssey mini-series, because I love you so very much that I cried when I found you on DVD in a tiny Wal-Mart in the backwoods of Tallahassee two years ago)

We also get another look at the complicated theme of guest-friendship on Circe’s island. She is, quite simply, a terrible host. She traps Odysseus’s men, just like the Primes trap Spacekru 2.0. Odysseus frees them. It’s on Clarke to free her people from the terrible hosts that are the Primes. There’s a joke in there about the Primes bodies being hosts to the mind-drives. Anyway.

Odysseus’s next stop is the land of the dead. He descends into Hades (a very perilous feat) to talk with the blind prophet Tiresias. He also talks to Anticlea, his deceased mother.

My god, if that stop isn’t exactly 6x07 Nevermind. 

Clarke talks to Jake Griffin, and tells him she thinks she’s dead, she’s ready to give up, she’s ready to let go. Odysseus tells Anticlea he feels the gods are against him, his journey is fruitless, he’ll never make it home. I don’t think that parallel could be more obvious if it punched you in the face.

I think maybe Monty is Tiresias in this scenario, giving Clarke advice and helping her navigate the mindspace so she can send a message to Bellamy that she’s alive which will give her the advantage of having an ally on her side. Odysseus promises Tiresias he’ll make a sacrifice to him once he gets back into the world of the living bc the dead feast on blood or something like that, but that’s like Clarke promising Monty she’ll do her best to continue to honor his challenge to her to do better. So cool. Love it.

(gif credit: @janemichaels)

Thematically, this mimics the theme of “testing” that’s present in The Odyssey (thank wikipedia again for helping me on this one lmao). You get Odysseus’s men’s loyalty being tested, and you get Odysseus’s identity itself being tested.

Clarke is tested when she is faced with the option of giving up and letting go. Spacekru 2.0 (and particularly Murphy and Emori) are tested when they learn Clarke is gone, then learn she’s alive. Will they be loyal enough to her to save her? Hint: yes, obviously, because Spacekru 2.0 is way better than Odysseus’s crew. Will Clarke decide to push forward and fight for her life? Hint: yeah, duh, because she’s just as badass as Odysseus. 

Next comes the sirens. 

Odysseus’s ship sails through the isle of the sirens, whose song lures sailors to their deaths. Odysseus makes his men stuff their ears with beeswax so they won’t be tempted by the song, but he ties himself to the mast, wanting to hear it. I kinda struggled with this one, but then I realized, at this point, we’re not looking at Clarke as Odysseus.

We’re looking at Octavia as Odysseus.

Octavia is faced with her greatest fear. She ends up running into the anomaly after Diyoza. If I’m right about the anomaly being sort of the Lotus Eaters, then we could assume that the anomaly holds Octavia’s deepest desires; that might have been what she’d have seen if she’d chosen the green box. She hears the call, and resists. The temptation and the overcoming thereof. 

I think that’s clear enough, so I’m gonna skip ahead to the passage between Scylla and Charybdis.

Earlier, Circe had warned Odysseus of this choice he would have to make. Choose the 6-headed monster on the left and lose at best, 6 of his men. Choose the whirlpool on the right, and lose them all.

[Sidenote: how interesting is it that the anomaly is associated with a spiral shape, mimicking that of a whirlpool? Should we believe that if they enter the anomaly it is, in fact, certain death that awaits them? Or is it a metaphoric whirlpool, and they’re just being sucked in, never to return to their original mission of returning home (*cough* Lotus Eaters again *cough*)?]

(gif credit: @aryastarktheshewolf)

So I think this choice is reminiscent of Octavia’s choices of the red box versus the green box. Presumably, face her greatest fears or her deepest desires. She chooses the red box. Better to face her fears and risk dying that way than face her desires (the same green of the anomaly anyone??) and risk getting sucked in like Diyoza was, never to return. 

She never saw her deepest desires in the forest (from what we saw) so it makes sense that she would choose the red box. She knows she can escape her fears. Blodreina no more. But if she faces her desires, who’s to say she could ever turn back? 

(gif credit: @daeneryskairipa)

Cool cool, so freaking cool, I love these parallels so much, y’all. 

Now we get to explore the most Prime-like example of “guest-friendship” in The Odyssey.

Ogygia. Calypso’s island. 

[Fun etymology fact break: “Kαλύπτω” (kalupto), the word that lends its root to Calypso’s name, means “to conceal” or “to deceive.” Calypso is “the one who conceals,” she’s “the deceiver.” “Ὠγύγιος” (ogugios), which lends its meaning to Ogygia, means “primeval” or “primal.” The Primes...the first settlers of Sanctum...the ones from the earliest ages (another interpretation of the word). The Primes, the deceivers. The Primes, the primeval ones. Hmmm.]

(screencap from The Odyssey mini-series, 1997. btw, Vanessa Williams will ALWAYS be Calypso in my mind)

Calypso offers Odysseus a home on Ogygia, but he will have to abandon his dream of returning to Ithaca, to his home, to his wife, Penelope, and to his son, Telemachus. She actually prevents him from leaving for seven years (more warped passage of time a la the anomaly), effectively keeping him prisoner. But he wants for nothing there. He is fed and clothed and bathed and sheltered. 

Our heroes are offered a home on Sanctum, but it’s not all it appears. It’s not the paradise they’re lead to believe it to be. They’re deceived. 

[EDIT: Leah @braveprincess offered an interesting take on Calypso, which I absolutely HAVE to share with y’all:

Anyway, let my rant continue]

In order to stay, they must sacrifice Clarke, Madi too, and well, now, all of their people the Primes want to make into nightbloods. They’re prisoners in Sanctum. They can’t leave, not only because the Primes won’t let them, but because what awaits them is the Children of Gabriel and the mysteries of this new planet. Their best chance at survival is with the Primes. But that also means compromising and losing people they refuse to be without.

Bellamy is Odysseus now. Clarke is his Penelope. 

(gif credit: @bellarkedaily)

He won’t negotiate with the Primes. He won’t sacrifice Clarke. Shut up, I’m not crying, you’re crying. 

Athena asks Zeus to intervene, so he sends Hermes to tell Calypso she must release Odysseus. Odysseus leaves to continue the next, and last, part of his journey. His return home. 

Bellamy leaves Sanctum to save Clarke. Once he has her back, they can continue their final journey, building a home on this new world. Or so we hope. 

But who knows? We haven’t seen the finale yet. Maybe they’ll stay on this world. Maybe not.

Some people have been theorizing that they’ll return to Earth (via time travel or whatever it is, which I don’t really buy but whatever), which would be a really nice conclusion to the theme of nostos, but the problem with that is right now, there is no Earth to return to. Nostos only works if there’s a home to go back to. And that home, usually, must be unchanged from when the hero left to fit into the proper meaning of the word.

So, what would be the best way for The 100 to get our heroes back to Earth to fulfill this Odyssey-esque narrative that they (probably unwittingly) have set up? 

SEND ‘EM INTO THE ANOMALY!

Let them chill there, enjoy a little bit of paradise, let time pass super fast in the outside world while it passes normally for them, let Earth recover, and send ‘em back. But that bit is more of a pipe dream than anything else and I doubt that’s what they’ll do. I’m not a big fan of most anomaly theories, but I think that could be a cool one. Who knows.

Anyway, that’s all I have for today. Next week post-finale, I’ll probably work through the rest of The Odyssey, with Odysseus’s return to Ithaca, defeating the suitors, and winning his wife back, if all goes to plan with beating the Primes. So if you liked this (admittedly rambling half-cocked mini thesis paper), keep an eye out for that one. 

After this season, I’m gonna be doing a series on how seasons 1-5 are actually The Iliad, so if you wanna scream about Classics & The 100 with me, just drop a line in my ask :)

[easilyaddictedin123]

Clashing of Wilds and Blood

Once again a huge thanks to @holy-minseok for the encouraging words, your my motivation!

This can also be read on AO3 : http://archiveofourown.org/works/11465187/chapters/25705545

PT1: https://easilyaddictedin123.tumblr.com/post/162841562811/clashing-of-wilds-and-blood

PT2: https://easilyaddictedin123.tumblr.com/post/162902440496/clashing-of-wilds-and-blood

PT4:  https://easilyaddictedin123.tumblr.com/post/163344208916/clashing-of-blood-and-wilds

PT3 (Pride)

“So this fire has blue flames, does it not?” -Maude glanced back as you sighed , you’d been dreading this exact moment- “Need I remind you that it wasn’t just you that was burned the last time you played with this fire.”

“You do not, I was there Maude, I remember what my father did to him.” you hissed back at the woman in the calmest tone you could muster.

It had been heart wrenching, you’d slipped away in some of the nights before Aelle was actually keeping a look on you and in turn you’d met Joseph, he was a stable boy, poor, and beautiful. His hair like fire and eyes the color of the forest leaves, freckles on his nose and when he smiled he had dimples. He’d been so kind, so loving, and gentle. He didn’t deserve his fate that when Aelle discovered you’d taken him to bed, the loft in the barn had never been so devastating than on that night. You’d been dragged down by your hair with a mere shift on, by your ‘father’, he’d paraded you in front of his men speaking on if you were going to act like a whore he might sell you out like one. The threat had been empty but what wasn’t was the moment Alfred had been dragged down too.

Your maiden honor had been stripped from you by a man who wasn’t your husband, worse by someone that King Aelle couldn’t coerce into marrying you for their allegiance, and to keep the kingdom from knowing “their princess is a wench” Joseph was put to death in the courtyard while kneeling on muddy ground with your screaming to hail him into his death. He didn’t cry out to you, he didn’t beg, simply let himself be thrown about and his head taken from his shoulders all on account of loving a foolish girl. You weren’t that girl anymore. The fire had burned your fingertips but consumed poor Joseph and you didn’t want that upon another person, Northman or no. You’d long learned your lesson.

“A hard lesson but you need to remember it, you tread on thin ice Little Lamb and I only hope that you do not stand as it crumbles beneath you.” Maude always meant well but you couldn’t help but wondering if she saved all her allegories just for when you were enjoying yourself or was that her natural state of being?

“I walk on no ice, there’s nothing between he and I in that way. He just wants to learn about the Sins and who knows maybe I can convert him?” It was a thin and measly lie but she didn’t call you upon it.

Time had fallen upon evening feast while you spoke and she picked a different dress not covered in dirt and dust and gravy to keep you meeting King Ragnar’s son. Say what she will on keeping secrets from your betters and peers but there was a curious part on how carefully constructed Maude could make lies when protecting you. How did she know what dresses to use perfectly to cover your arm’s bruise? How did she know to get dust off the back of your neck and hair before you even noticed it was there? Your mother had only been in her affair with King Aelle for a few months before leaving and the handing you up to him. Was it in any way considerable that she learned all this from a few months of passion between two people?

It didn’t matter to you once she yanked upon your hair, “Are you even listening?”, a sheepish grin crossed your features as you began to fiddle with the red dress’ sleeve. “Och, of course not. I said that Aethelwulf won’t buy you going to the kitchen the whole day. Say you spent half the day there then came here for stitching.”

Before you could even protest that there was nothing to show that you had been stitching she took a finger and with a needle pricked you, the sharpness and sudden hurt made you yelp like a child, then she handed you a plain white stitching already halfway done. Taking a moment to work on it the blood had seeped into the fabric to mimic an accident then she bandaged the finger.

“I’ve seen desire kill one of my charges, I’ll not see it get you beaten.” Her thumb brushed tenderly over the cut on your bottom lip, “Now, time for you to sup with your kin.”

It hadn’t taken long to get to the feast hall, the table already filled with more food than the four of you could possibly eat with an irked Alfred. You sat next to him with your ever present mischievous smile that now caused your lip to throb, Alfred’s irritation melted into slight concern but you simply ruffled his hair in play, turning to the feast you clasped your hands together in prayer. It was a short thanks to God for his generosity to your family’s feast and you were all too happy about that because not a second later your stomach released a rather unladylike growl.

Judith laughed lightly at it and as always Aethelwulf glared despite your redeeming table manners, “ How was your day, I didn’t see you after this morning.” The pathetic excuse for politeness used as interrogation of your whereabouts.

“I went to the kitchens, Lily always has some sweets set aside for me.” Judith chuckled at you.

“Those dresses won’t grow with you dear sister.” You gaped at the woman, she was Ecbert’s lover but Aethelwulf was still her husband and not too forgiving of her antics.

“My dear sweet sister don’t you know I pray upon my knees for not a single gain of weight.” The innuendo not lost on her as she chuckled and shook her head, “After the kitchen I went to stitching with Maude, pricked myself something painful to and messed up the fabric.”

You displayed the finger that had the slightest red tinge to assist in the smooth lie, Maude was your life saver. Super passed in relative ease, as much as was expected at least, and upon Alfred walking with you down the halls you were ready for the demands.

“You promised I could go with you.” He sounded more hurt than angry, “You got hit for it, didn’t you? And don’t lie telling me you just ran into something.”

“Oh, Alfred you are too clever for your age.” You ruffled his hair much to his pinched face of displeasure, “I’m sorry that I can’t take you to see the Northmen, we’ll just have to wait until your grandfather gets here. He’ll let you meet them no doubt.”

The answer soothed him as he walked you to your room. The four walls were cold despite the bed and fire, the room bare but filled with ornaments and tapestries hanging on the walls. You just sighed and shrugged out of the clothes, unbecoming of you to sleep in nothing you pulled a sheer nightgown on and slid in bed, intent on dreaming away the occasional throb in your lip and even the bright blue eyes inquisitively looking at you.  The rise of sleep cascading gently down on you made you sigh in gratefulness, nothingness and quiet cradling while you willingly fell into the dark of it.

You expected to not dream, you hadn’t since you were a child after all, not the sound of waves lapping against the grainy sand under your bare feet. The breeze  was dancing through your hair, tossing whichever way it pleased, while the sun was warm but the chill pressed you upon the ground of having goosebumps yet not needing a cloak. The air was crisp feeling your lungs and birds sang while there were creaks of boats somewhere with the laughter of children. You couldn’t see them. You could see the bank and the farm and trees rising with the cliffs. All of it familiar and not at all.

A child ran by, a girl with blonde hair, that grabbed your hand and tugged you into a run; she was small to be so strong while she pulled this way and that. You were passing the farm and going into the trees where it was dark and soft greens played against vibrant browns.

“Where are we going?” Your voice sounded far off and seemed to echo but the girl only giggled you hadn’t noticed she’d already let go of you as your feet carried after her in curiosity.

She spoke in some language all the while twirling about with you desperately trying to keep up and almost falling off the cliff if you hadn’t looked down. It was a sharp drop into water far below but she hovered above it looking at you expectantly and waved you to come over. You shook your head and instead of running off like you’d expected her to do she simply sat on nothing looking content to wait.

The dream didn’t shatter or fall from under your feet instead you just sat up with the odd sensation of wanting to run. Not in fear but just to run. To feel the muddy sand under your feet or taste the cool air despite it being summer. You shook loose the thoughts and lingering sensations to be met with a cool room and a purple dress. You slid it on over egear at the idea of teaching Ragnar’s son about sin. It was better than spending the day in the castle with a heinous, temperamental, self entitled-

“I hope you’re not talking about yourself.” Maude’s crooning voice sounded from the door as you struggled with your back lacings, “You’re up rather early, my lady.”

“Of course; I’m off to see Nobody.” You grinned at the name, if lying was a sin then you wouldn’t lie.

Nobody was what Odysseus had called himself to keep the cyclops Polyphemus from calling to his comrades. Seeing as how you didn’t know his name then your new student would be called Nobody until he got exasperated enough to actually tell you his name. He was being smug because he didn’t know how impatiently patient you could be, a contradictory of course but if you could get under his skin just enough to antagonize him it might force him into telling you.

The guards were asleep on their feet as you had two apples, one balancing in the grip of your teeth and a wine skin of water courtesy of Maude, and slid by them with ease thankful that your antics had made you quiet. You had learned your lesson by getting too close to Nobody in attempt to wake him up, instead you made loud clacking to sound that you were in the room. He didn’t sit up but one eye did open, seemingly uncaring of your being there.

“Good morning, I’ve got you an apple and then we can get to talking about Sins.” You had to admit to the excited sensation and impatience in your chest.

He groaned and rolled onto his side, away from you while you jutted your hip out, “Or I could take my breakfast and just let you beat your head against the wall in frustrated loneliness.”

You could feel him roll his eyes before turning back to you, “And why do you think I am lonely?”

“Because you asked me yesterday to come back and talk about Sin. You could have easily dismissed me.” A sly grin slid across your face at his scowl, “So Nobody-”

“Why Nobody? I do have a name?” Ivar partly growled and huffed.

“Do you? If you tell me I’ll call you by it.” At that he huffed out a laugh and you smiled.

It was a small sound but still pleasing to the ear while he shifted about to let you sit by him and give him the apple that was bitten into with a loud ‘crunch’ to echo of the walls. Odd that they didn’t seem as cold as your room’s had.

“You said sins, more than one?” You nodded thinking of which one to speak of first.

“Seven and we’ll talk about Pride today. Pride is to think of yourself high than others, and to -”

“But you are higher than others, if you are higher.” He didn’t let you finish, “How can you not have pride in what you do or how it defines you from the rest of people?”

“That’s why it’s a sin, you should be humble in getting recognition.” He raised an eyebrow, “Do you not know what humble is?”

“I’m not an idiot, woman, I know what humble is.” He snarled out at what he took as an insult, “It seems foolish not to want to take claim on what you’ve rightfully done. If you are not proud of your death or what you have done in life how do you know what your accomplishments are worth?”

“That’s the thing though, your accomplishments of good are weighed against those actions of evil like stealing from others.” You watched him mull about in his mind, blue eyes drifting off on their focus.

“If you’ve conquered and take what is yours though by right is that considered your evil?” Ivar sounded amused at the look on your face, “After all whatever you conquer now becomes yours does it not? Taking lands from those who had it before you like your kings would do in war. Is that not evil?”

“Well, yes but”-

“Then are you all not guilty if you have taken the land that you stand on. Even you? After all this belonged to someone else and now you claim it as home and hearth.” He grinned leaning back and taking another bite of the apple, it’s juice running down his chin.

It was your brief thought to lean forwards and...no that’s not a good place to go, “I suppose that’s one way of looking at it. Though you can be forgiven by God for any sin.”

“You conquered this land, no? It had its own people, its own Gods but yours came and took it. You put up odd houses with your bells and take pride in that you are ‘spreading’ the word of your God. Is that not taking pride in a sin you committed of taking land, or accomplishing that you took what was theirs?” You eyebrows scrunched together in thought.

“I think I liked you better when I had to guess your name.” He laughed and you thought it was peculiar to be captivated by such a simple sound, higher than you thought it’d be, and though it took pleasure out of mocking you perhaps it wasn’t so bad.

“Then shall you guess again? Or am I to turn your words upon yourself.” Ivar’s eyes were slow in taking you in, under the words you might have had to clear the lack of anything in your throat.

Ivar was certain he’d been in here far too long despite how short of a time it might be. He was able to admit to a small degree that he was going to enjoy turning things on yourself but he hadn’t expected to enjoy it so much. Nor expect to enjoy the pale morning light shining into his dark hole that made all the brighter by your being here. Not the sweetness of an offered apple that he took from your hands. He could smell lavender lingering on your skin and wondered how close you’d let him if he moved a little. Ivar could easily blame it upon you being the only one to even dare to look in here.

“You are odd.” You tilted your head at that, “You see my legs but yet you don’t stare or laugh at it.”

“Well you are a North-”

“Viking. The word is Viking.” He offered, tired of the Northman title.

“Viking. Well you are a Viking and it wouldn’t be in best interest to make you want to throttle me. Besides they’re just legs. I’ve seen worse.” He scoffed.

“I’m serious. I’ve seen a man with no eye. And a woman without either of her legs. At least you still have yours.” You teased, “You can still feel can’t you?”

Ivar shifted now uncomfortable, “I think I liked you better when you were guessing my name.”

He parroted back and you blushed but nodded agreeing on talking of different things and of Pride. It was to a point infuriating and worse still? Some things that he said made sense, some tales of his Gods made sense and you couldn’t help but find similarities between the two.

“Do you have any brothers” at the question he groaned, you snickered, “I’ll take that as a yes.”

“They’re all a pain.” Laughter came easy around him, bruises lessened and rooms became warmer.

“Do you play games, besides weapons I mean?” Ivar enjoyed your eagerness in your questioning.

“Do you besides your stitching?” He cocked his head and you grinned.

“I play chess, I’m rather good at it.” You boasted proudly, him smirking at how you’d just sinned on your own without thought.

“Think you so? I could beat you.” Ivar took amusement and the snort that escaped you.

“You could try. In any case I suppose I should at least bring the board here to prove myself.” You stood up rather excitedly and walked to the door.

“Woman.” You turned before opening it, “Did you not sin of pride at how good you are at chess?”

The thought washed over you and for once in his company you felt heat on your face. You looked down thinking over something to say before the tale of your mother came to mind.

“God forgives all.” and with that you left for the chance at beating him in chess.

Ivar watched you leave, the dress trailing behind you as it flowed, there was something to the way your h/c locks shifted through the movements it must be soft. He found a small part of him thankful that you’d not been caught or perhaps you lied well enough that you wouldn’t be beaten again. He begrudgingly admitted to himself what he’d never do allowed, your company both soothed and infuriated him. The ringing laughter was agreeable to his silence that paraded in the room leaving him to thoughts. The wide eyes of fascination about the simplest of things, the soft sounds of interest. Those were deadly to the ears, the hum of questioning or the rolling ‘ah’ of understanding.

There was no denying the beauty that graced you but it was difficult to fully grasp at the fact that you were enraptured by his world as he was with the way you lived as yourself. Suffocating in your own home, bursting at the seams for a small filter of fresh air into your dank life and how silent you could be slipping in and out of shadows. The soft hands that had seen nothing but needlework, could they ever threaten a weapon? You walked back in with a smile and a checkerboard willing to play a game.

The game was slow, planned, a challenge, the soft ‘tak’ of moving pieces made you grin, “I’m going to win dear Nobody.”

“That so?” He put you in check to which you bite your lower lips, something about the movement was appealing.

“Your pride will be your downfall.” Moving out of check forced him into checkmate, “I won.” He scoffed but had a grin on his face.

“Tell me more of your home, this Kattegat.”

“It’s a trading post with boats coming in and docking. The flourishing is made by wares and the Longhouse where the thrones sit are filled with the slaves going back and forth for anything you could ask. Not unlike your servant woman.”

“Maude, she’s my keeper or at least that’s what she keeps trying to imprint in my head.” You chuckled, “All the while she is torn of encouraging me or scolding me and I don’t understand her half the time with her speaking in riddles.”

“I know someone that she might be like, save that he’s a little more...more.” You couldn’t help the snicker nor notice Maude leaving wine in the room as you fetched it for the two of you.

Wine was a wonder of the world, the way it made your mind hazy the ease it cause and the lack of control it helped spin. Such a drink helped to the moment where you were curiously looking over Nobody’s hands. They’d ended in your lap as you pressed against the rough skin, feeling the callouses under your fingertips.

“They’re rough. Rougher than a soldier's I’ve touched those before, why?” You questioned turning his hands and looking at the small scars and tracing lines.

“They’re the hands of a sinner.” He chided carefully and you chuffed at the thought, you had sin on your own hands and yet they were not as rough nor were the men’s hands in the castle, “I go to the smiths, the buckles aren’t kind either.”

The smile was soft and gentle that played over your lips. When had you gotten this close? He wasn’t sure and found it humorous that you were holding and inquiring over the hands that could strangle you with ease, these hands that would be dripping in red with your kinsmen from a raid. What would you think of them then? Would you run and hide from him? You weren’t like the shield-maidens of his home, no your hands were more like a royals. Small, smooth, dainty.

These hands could never kill, "Yours are soft, what do they do?” “Perhaps they sin too, more gently than yours but sin is still sin.” You looked up shyly from under your eyelashes at him- “They’re pricked by needles.” -his finger pressed gently on the wrapped pointer finger.

“They sneak around on walls no doubt, and play chess. But they couldn’t hold an axe or shield.” He now examined your hands just as intently, tracing the lines on your palm with callouses dragging against the skin.

“No, but maybe one day a bow?” Ivar shook his head, blue eyes like the sky after a storm flickered up to you there was something there, something vibrant and fierce in them made you pull your hand back.

‘Too close to the fire and it will burn, too close.’ You cleared your throat resting your hands back on your lap.

“You said there were seven.” You raised an eyebrow, “Sins.”

“Yes. We’ll speak of Gluttony tomorrow, won’t we?” Why had your voice gone so hoarse?

“Another game too.” The noncommittal hum from your mouth had you already trying to plan the next day and talks of Gluttony.

Even then you were hoping there was a way around warming your hands against the fire that was burning hot enough to be blue in it’s hue. Burning like his eyes. Burning.

‘Would it be so bad to be burned?���