#not alfred also....finding out how many times can he use the word king in a sentence so that patrick GETS THE HINT SJDLKFSJDLFJSD

[melloreturn]

@jeoseungsaja​​ got dragged back into the garden!

Is that- oh shit it is, isn’t it? Alfred’s not exactly sure why Myungdae insists on keeping out of sight of this guy ( wow he’s looks so bitter, like black coffee, no milk or sugar added in- ), but he always freaks out whenever the guy’s in close proximity so the only option right now is- Alfred slams an arm front of the doorway, blocking the newcomer’s way in.  “Sorry dude.” He smiles as if he were greeting a customer coming in. “Can’t let you through. Why don’t you come back later, get some Burger KING in the meanwhile?”

[mrsalwayswrite]

Sinners and Saints (Sihtric x reader)

Summary: One day you stumble upon your childhood friend, Osferth, whom you have not seen in years. Yet the more time you spend with him, the more you find yourself drawn to his companion, Sihtric….and the butterflies his dark eyes give you.

This is my contribution to @emilyhufflepufftlk 100 followers challenge! Congratulations again! I’m so happy for you! 

My prompt was - "Love doesn't discriminate, between the sinners and the saints." - Lin-Manuel Miranda, Hamilton (in bold within the story)

Words: 5500

Warnings: A couple of swear words, fluff, my poor attempts at humor, Osferth being a good bro. 

Tag List: @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie @flowers-in-your-hayr​

This gorgeous moodboard was made by @flowers-in-your-hayr​. All credit goes to her! 

"...so there she was, aye, and next thing I know, she flips 'er dress up and I see the most perfect set of…."

 "I'm going to be sick." Osferth mumbled to himself, trying to block out Finan's retelling of his prior night. To the laughter of his companions, he started to push away from the outdoor table at the alehouse. He was no virgin anymore, Finan and Uhtred had seen to that, but he still felt squeamish when listening to their stories of recent conquests. His mother's voice whispered in the back of his mind, things she had told him before her passing, about respect and love. Plus, he could not help but think that this idea of conquests, of women's worth derived from what pleasure a man could take from their bodies, was what brought bastards into this world….like him. 

 "Alright, Finan, we get it. You saw the arse of a goat and couldn't help yourself." Uhtred teased, slinging an arm around Osferth so he could not escape them- most likely to find a church and pray for their souls. 

 "Oi, lord! Ya know that was one time!" Finan feigned mock-outrage, making Uhtred and Sihtric laugh. 

 Osferth put a hand over his eyes as if that would somehow block the image from his mind. Something he desperately did not want there. 

 "How much longer are we here, lord?" Sihtric asked, changing the subject, while twirling a dagger between his hands fluidly. 

 Although Osferth would never admit it aloud, and God forgive him, it was hard not to be jealous of how easily his companions handled their weapons like they had been born with weapons in hand. They continued to tell him it was practice. Recently though, he decided it was a gift that he clearly did not have. 

 "Until I feel satisfied with the training of Lord Godwin's fyrd and his defenses." Uhtred stated indifferently, as if it was something he had to repeat to himself often. 

 "Ya think King Alfred knew how much of a horse's arse Lord Godwin is?"

 Uhtred glanced up, a tiny smirk on his lips. "Probably."

 "But he knew you were the man for the job." Osferth commented. Not necessarily to defend his father but to hopefully bolster Uhtred's confidence. "The men respect you, even if their lord fails to acknowledge his own respect."

 "The baby monk is right." Finan said. "What else needs to be done for the town?"

 Uhtred and Finan began discussing ideas and strategies, Sihtric adding an occasional comment but mostly just listening. 

 Osferth found his attention wandering, since this was an area outside of his expertise. His gaze drifted to the town and its residents who moved about to complete their duties under the midday sun. Their group had only been in this large town for two days and already Osferth was keen to return to Coccham. 

 From amidst the crowd, a familiar face caught his attention. The world tilted off its axis as his entire body went rigid, all his focus zeroed in on her. His heart hammered in his chest and the air whooshed from his lungs painfully. 

 "Y/n?" He muttered to himself, disbelief and shock clearly painted in his tone and on his face. 

 "Baby monk, ya alright?"

 Finan's words did even register, so consumed by the ghost before him. Rapidly, he slid off the bench, almost losing his footing when he went to stand, but pressed on, hurrying towards her. 

 "Y/n!" He called, an almost desperate tone in his yell. 

 When she did not turn around, he shouted louder. "Y/N!" 

 That time she paused, then slowly turned to find him standing still amongst those walking around him, a solid rock in a stream of people. He held his breath as he intently watched her expression, suddenly worried seeing him would not be as meaningful as he hoped. He could see her utter his name silently, eyes wide. Then in the next moment, she dropped the basket on her hip and ran towards him. He opened his arms just in time for her to collide with him, and with her embrace, a painful wave of nostalgia and guilt crashed over him with the strength of a tempest. 

 "It's really you." She finally whispered, peering at him in awe. 

 "Hi." He smiled, his own shock clouding his mind from forming coherent sentences.  

 Then to his surprise, she reared back and punched him in the arm. 

 "Ouch! What was that for?" He whined, rubbing the offended limb. 

 Throwing her hands in the air, they landed on her hips as her voice rose in anger. "For disappearing in the middle of the night without telling me!"

 "I did tell you."

 "That you were THINKING about leaving, not that you WERE leaving!" She reared back and punched him in the arm again, ignoring his pained cry as she continued to berate him. "I spent an entire day running around the monastery trying to find you only for Father Harold to finally pull me aside and tell me you left for Wincheaster." 

 And there was the heaping of guilt he knew he deserved. "I'm sorry….I just….I just knew if I didn't leave that night, then I never would."

 Her face softened at his quiet admission, understanding passing in her eyes. "I know. I wasn't truly surprised…. Just wish you'd have told me before."

 "I'm sorry."

 She sighed, all anger and frustration disappearing, much to his relief. She was a force to be reckoned with when truly in her fury. "So, what are you doing here?"

 "Ah, traveled here with the Lord Uhtred to assist Lord Godwin in his defenses….or something."

 "Uhtred? That Uhtred?"

 He smiled at her, catching the reverence in her tone. "That very one."

 "How did you find him? How did you join him? Wait! Are you a warrior now? We have a lot to talk about and you better get started." There went the hands on her hips again, making his smile widen at the image. Even as a young girl, when her hands were on her hips, you knew she meant business. 

 "Would you like to meet him first?"

 A shy look passed over her face that he was unused to seeing. "I'm…. I'm not presentable to meet a lord."

 He scanned her, noting the dried mud on the hem of her dress and shoes, the small smear of what looked like flour on her left temple. What he noticed most was how the years had made her even more beautiful. She had always been a pretty girl but now, she truly looked like a beautiful woman. A fact he was unsure of how to feel about. 

 He chuckled lightly after a moment. "Well, you certainly smell better than Lord Uhtred so I think it's fine."

 That caused her to tip her head back and laugh loudly, the desired effect of his comment. She gathered up her basket and walked next to Osferth, back to the table where his companions were. It was impossible to ignore their curious stares as they approached. 

 "Lord Uhtred, may I introduce y/n. Y/n, this is Lord Uhtred of Bebbanburg." Osferth said, standing next to her at the end of the table.

 Uhtred nodded graciously, clearly wondering why this woman mattered and why Osferth was introducing her. 

 "Oh, it's an honor to meet you!" Y/n gushed, a bright smile on her face. "Uncle Leofric told us so much about you, but I never thought I'd ever meet you in person."

 "Leofric?" That caught his lord's attention, his gaze narrowing and eyeing her with renewed interest. "How did you know that turd?"

 "When he came to visit Osferth, he'd tell us stories."

 "Ah….all exaggerated, of course." Uhtred said with a cocky smirk. 

 "Wait. I think we're missin' the most important thing here." Finan leaned forward, dark eyes bouncing between Osferth and her, as he pointed a finger at them, hand still wrapped around his cup. "Ya said 'Uncle Leofric'....are ya related to Osferth?"

 Osferth answered quickly. "No, her family owned the farm next to the monastery, so we grew up together." Then he furrowed his brows as a thought hit him. He had been so amazed to see his childhood best friend (only friend really) that he had not realized that she should be back at the farm and not in this town. "Wait, y/n, why are you here and not at the farm?"

 Her face crumpled for a brief second before she was able to mask it into a neutral expression. She shrugged casually, but he could read the subtle tension in the action. "We lost the farm, so mother and I came here to look for work."

 "Ah." There were so many things he wanted to ask but could tell now was not the right time. If she lived here, he would have plenty of time to hear the full story later. Instead he decided to change the subject. "So, you know Lord Uhtred, the others are Finan and Sihtric…. And Sihtric is also a bastard." He added as an afterthought. 

 That made her face light up as she turned to look at the Dane. "Hey, another bastard! We really need to start a club. We can all rant about how awful our fathers are."

 "You're a bastard?" Uhtred asked, shock evident in his voice. 

 "Yes, my lord. My mother was a servant for a lord. Got pregnant. The lord's wife did not like that so sent my pregnant mother back to her family. Certainly, it was our Lord's Will because how else would I have been able to grow up with Osferth?" She asked, patting him on the cheek affectionately. He blushed and swatted her hand away, much to the other's amusement. 

 "I reckon you have quite a few amusin' stories of growin' up with Osferth, eh?" Finan smirked. 

 "I might….but I don't share secrets for free." She matched his smirk with her own crooked smile. 

 He slapped his hand on the table. "I'll owe ya a drink! I need to 'ear this."

 "No….oh no, no, no." Osferth said but knew it was a lost cause before he even tried to deter them. The rest were already deciding when and where to meet that night. "Lord help me."

 "It's not that bad." She teased, bumping his arm with hers. "The worst one is when we went streaking naked through the monastery."

 Osferth felt his face heat up like the flames of hell itself as everyone laughed. "It was your idea."

 "Yeah, yeah, so you like to remind me." She smiled fondly. "Now, if I don't get back home, my mother is going to think I've run off with some man or I've been kidnapped. Either way, she will raise the fyrd herself to find me. I will see you all tonight."

 The others said their goodbyes but before she could step too far away, Osferth gently touched her arm, halting her movement. 

 "Y/n….I'm….I'm glad our paths have crossed once again."

 She pulled him into a tight embrace. "I am too, Osferth. I've missed you." With that, she turned and walked away with her basket still on her hip; but not without glancing over her shoulder at the group before disappearing around some buildings. 

 Once out of sight, Osferth sighed and turned back to his companions, only to see them all still staring intently in the direction she disappeared. 

 "No….y/n is off-limits to you fornicators." He stated firmly, well as firmly as he could be. 

 "She's very pretty…." Uhtred declared, a playful grin on his face. 

 "Lord, no. All of you, keep your hands off of her."

 "Or what?" Finan chuckled, eyes alight with mischief. "You'll fight us, baby monk?"

 "I will if I must."

 "Alright. Her dignity won't be tarnished." Uhtred lifted his cup in Osferth's direction. "Your reputation might be tonight depending on what stories she shares." 

 Osferth groaned, sitting back down next to his lord. "I'm going to need a lot of ale."

 "That can certainly be arranged!" Finan laughed, jovial once more. 

 As discussion started back up again, they all missed the silent, longing glance Sihtric snuck one last time in the direction she walked away….

 *****

 Over the next several weeks Lord Uhtred helped increase the defenses of the town and instructed the guards and fyrd how to better defend against the Danes. 

 During those weeks, you found yourself frequently spending time with Osferth and his companions. First it started off with meeting them in the evenings for ale, laughter and good company. Within days, it became almost expected for one of them to purposefully seek you out. Most of the time it was Osferth and Sihtric coming to join you in whatever your tasks for the day because they were bored or unwanted in meetings. It was not difficult to tell that although they were certainly welcomed members of Uhtred's group, not everyone else saw them in such a positive light. 

 So the three of you often passed the hours away together, waiting until evening to rejoin Uhtred and Finan at the alehouse. Their presence became such a regular occurrence that your mother practically adopted them, they even had their assigned seats at your small kitchen table for meals. Somehow, they seamlessly slipped into your daily life in a way that seemed like they were meant to be there this whole time. 

 Even at the alehouse in the evenings, you usually found yourself nestled between Osferth and Sihtric on the bench. A place you certainly found yourself enjoying more and more….especially next to the Dane. 

 Over the weeks, there was something growing between you and the Dane. It gradually revealed itself with each passing day, growing like the roots of an oak tree. It was through the borderline flirtatious comments that you teased each other with. It was in the subtle touches that caused butterflies in your stomach to dance, from your fingers barely gracing each other when passing something, to the way you leaned your head on his shoulder when your eyelids threatened to close, to the way your thighs would touch under the table and away from view of the others. It was in the lingering looks when your gazes locked and you swore you never wanted to look away. It was in the consistency of being next to one another whenever you could, either sitting at a table or just walking down the street, almost like your bodies were magnetized to one another's. 

 Plus the more you talked to Sihtric, the more you desired to know about him. For he was like no other man you had ever met. 

 Almost a fortnight after you reunited with Osferth, there was one particular evening after staying out far too late with the four men and drinking a bit too much, Sihtric graciously offered to walk you back home. You knew propriety demanded Osferth should be the one to escort you but he was already passed out, head on the table and snores emitting from his mouth. Giggling at your childhood friend, you accepted Sihtric's offer and the two of you easily fell into step. 

 On the walk you learned more about his past, about going up in Dunholm and his cruel father. You had heard bits and pieces while with Osferth and the others. Maybe it was under the cover of darkness, maybe it was the extra ale flowing through both of your blood, but he confessed secrets to you he had never told another besides his mother. When you reached your home, before he could slip away, you clutched his arm and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. After, you bid him goodnight and slipped inside your humble home. 

 After that night, he always walked you home, sometimes alone and sometimes one of the others would join. But when it was just you two, when you were alone, you would bid him a goodnight with a kiss on the cheek or he would kiss your hand, locking eyes with you in a way that made a fire stir in your belly and your core clench. 

 There was definitely something between the two of you, but neither seemed able to verbalize it or take the next step. 

 *****

 "So, what is going on between you and Cedric?" 

 You turned your head to look at Osferth, who laid on the grass next to you, soaking in the heat of the early afternoon sun. "What?"

 "You know….that blacksmith. The one you were talking to the other day."

 "Oh." The memory hit you. You had stopped by to drop off your mother's damaged cooking pot for Cedric to attempt in fixing, although you personally thought it was a helpless cause. The dent in it was significant, but he offered to see what he could do. As you dropped it off at his workshop, the two of you began discussing an approaching saint's day and the celebration that would occur with it. 

 Several minutes later, you heard your name called and looked over to see Osferth and Sihtric walking towards you. You bid Cedric a farewell, promising to stop by the next day to come pick up the pot. After receiving his promise to try his best at fixing it, you headed off towards the stables with your fellow bastards. At the time, you had not thought the encounter significant but with it happening two days ago and Osferth now bringing it up, you wondered how long he had been ruminating on it. 

 Finally, you simply said, "he's a good man, and has been kind to my mother and I since we arrived here."

 "Is he….pursuing you?" Osferth turned his head to scrutinize you, his lips pursed slightly as if concerned about your answer. 

 You openly laughed at the notion. "No, that's silly. He is just a kind man."

 If anything, you had to fend off flirtatious advancements from some of the young men that worked under Cedric. Those same young men quickly learned to keep their eyes on their work and mouths shut. When one openly called out to you, and before you could offer a sharp retort, Cedric threw a hammer at him from across the shop. He bellowed that he did not allow heathens to work for him and if they chose to act godless then they needed to find a new place of work. Their blatant interest diminished after that and Cedric made a point to be the only one that conversed with you if you came to the shop. Although he was easily ten years your senior, you found him a likeable man with a quick wit and sarcastic comments that occasionally left you in stitches. 

 The idea of him pursuing you was an amusing idea. He was still a bachelor, never having married, claiming that his work and apprentices kept him far too busy for much else. 

 Your answer appeared to satisfy Osferth. A thoughtful look crossed his face and he opened his mouth as if to speak, but immediately slowly closed it and turned his head back to stare at the blue sky. 

 A stillness settled after your answer, only interrupted by the frequent bird song and the wind through the tall grass. You closed your eyes, enjoying the sun's warmth and just lying around relaxing on the hill outside of the town, away from the hustle and bustle and chores that demanded your attention.  

 "He was watching you like a man who wants a woman." Sihtric stated after a couple minutes of peaceful silence. 

 Startled by his sour tone, you shifted up to look over at the Dane. He sat on the other side of Osferth, one leg propped up and an arm casually slung over it, but his gaze was focused straight ahead, staring off into the distance. Now that you thought about it, over the past two days Sihtric had become more reserved and sullen than you had ever seen. Even his companions commented on it a few times to which he would shrug his shoulders or make an excuse and walk away. You had thought he just missed Coccham, the group having been away for so long, or something happened that made him introspective. It had also not escaped your notice how the prior closeness between you two had halted. Now you wondered if there was something more to his demeanor.  

 "Well, that is most unfortunate for him since I am not interested in him."

 "Does your mother not want you to marry?" Osferth asked, his voice deceptively neutral. 

 Sighing, you leaned back on your hands. Eventually you knew Osferth would bring up the topic, he was your friend after all and you were certainly of marriageable age. Actually far too old to not be married by some people's standards, but you ignored them. "She does but she has told me that she will not force it upon me. She said I should make my own choice….that if I am able, I should choose love."

 You knew your mother offered you that choice in hopes your life would turn out differently than her own. 

 "But if Cedric is a good, kind man….could you not love him….or someone like him?" Osferth pressed. 

 "Perhaps. There are plenty of men I have seen who the church would call a 'good' man but are cruel in their own home, and there are many men who are calloused but it's obvious they love their wife and children. My love doesn't discriminate, between the sinners and the saints. I would rather choose a man whom I know loves and cares for me than a man I know is 'good' but carries no love in his heart." You paused, the candid confession rolling off your tongue before you realized it. Sighing, you ran a hand over your hair before quietly saying. "I just….I just want someone that loves me….sinner or saint."

 Not a word was spoken as all three contemplated your statement, the silence hanging heavy like a brewing storm. Tilting your face to the sky, unable to meet the gazes of your companions, you chastised yourself for the candor with which you spoke. Osferth had asked a simple question initially and you chose to make it complicated. They did not need to know how you longed for love, how the hope for it in your potential future was what kept you going. It was foolish and you supposed after this, they would only see you as a silly girl with outlandish dreams of a storybook romance. 

 Finally, Osferth broke the silence. "Well, I shall be praying fervently for this man….hopefully he knows what he is getting into before he marries you."

 You laughed, appreciating his lighthearted comment. Reaching a hand out to smack Osferth's arm, you teased. "Keep that up and you won't be invited to my wedding."

 "Your mother will let me in."

 "Yeah, you're probably right." You glanced over in the direction of the town, regretting that your time away had to end. "I need to head back, those chores won't finish themselves."

 The three of you headed back to the town, quiet contemplation cloaking your group. Yet you feared that whatever spark lay between you and the Dane had been extinguished forever by your unexpected honesty. For still he refused to look your way, keeping his gaze focused forward. If your heart fissured within your chest, you swallowed down the pain. It was better for the spark to die out now then burn brightly only to be smothered later. 

 Or at least that was what you told yourself. 

 *****

 "What you said….about the sinners and the saints…."

 You whirled around, heart leaping into your throat with a silent scream on your tongue. In the small herb garden behind your house, you had thought you were alone. After the awkward conversation on the hill earlier that day, you sought solace in your chores. Thankfully Osferth and Sihtric headed back to meet with their companions on their own accord, leaving you to trudge through your muddled thoughts with all the grace of a newborn foal. 

 Now you found the very person who your thoughts centered on, standing just a few paces from you….and your heart began to race for a very different reason. 

 When his voice trailed off, those dark eyes that set fire licking through your veins dropped to the ground, you quietly stood up from where you had knelt, wiping the dirt from your hands, although you moved no closer. 

 "Sihtric?" You tried to prompt him. 

 "Is it true?" His piercing gaze lifted to meet yours, stealing the very breath from your lungs. "Your love doesn't discriminate?"

 "Yes." You breathed out. 

 He nodded silently before taking a step closer to you. "And what about….what about Danes?"

 Your chest pulled tight at his words, yet a coy smile grew on your lips. The flutter in your belly made your gaze drop for a moment as you tried to stifle the excitement making butterflies dance. Although this was no declaration, it was the closest the two of you had talked about what lay between you. Taking a steadying breath, you prayed this moment would not pass by without confessing the truth that you had harbored in your heart for weeks now. 

 "Not even towards Danes." You shook your head, the smile still on your lips. "And…. There is one I'm becoming quite fond of lately."

 "Yeah?" He took two steps closer, somehow moving cautiously but eating the ground with each determined step. 

 "But….do you think this Dane could be….fond of me?" You softly murmured, feeling as if your heart lay in the palms of your hands for all to see. 

 That last step separating you two disappeared almost before you finished asking your question. His hands ever so gently reached over to take yours, entwining your fingers together. The two of you stood so close, your chests almost touched with each breath you took. Your breathing seemed to cease under the intensity of his gaze and a shiver raced up your spine. Yet you had no desire to withdraw from him.

 "He would be a fool not to." He whispered, the barest hint of a tremble in his voice. "I'd bet you are constantly on this Dane's mind. That he cannot go a day without seeing your face and hearing your laugh. You are the first thought that he wakes to and the reason he falls asleep with a smile. That you have become the north star that it seems the gods have been guiding him towards for his whole life."

  As he spoke, everything faded to oblivion around you. The past and future vanished. Dane versus Saxon disappeared. The world narrowed down to this….this moment….this moment that you had dreamt of but never thought would come true. 

 The two of you continued to stand there, lost in one another's eyes with fingers intertwined. Your heart raced within your chest but a cooling breeze swept away the fears that plagued your mind. For staring at him, you knew he spoke no falsehoods. That he owned your heart just as much as you owned his. That very heart you could feel hammering away in his own chest. His eyes fervently held yours, a silent conversation, a confession, spoken only in looks but you both understood the language. His gaze dipped down to your lips, tracing them before slowly rising once again to your eyes. A curl of pleasure blossomed in your core as you witnessed the fire now in his eyes. 

 "If this Dane wanted to kiss me…. I wouldn't mind."

 A deliciously, sinful smirk teased his mouth. "As my lady commands."

 His head tilted, leaning towards yours. Unconsciously your eyelids fluttered closed. Then the briefest of touches made your knees weak and your mouth part open in a sigh. After a moment's hesitation, he continued to shower your jawline with kisses. Needing to touch him, your hands landed on his chest, feeling the tunic that covered his firm chest. Your hands moved upward to grasp the back of his neck, his pulse jumping for a second as your nails scraped his skin. His hands landed on the curve of your waist, bringing you even closer to him, erasing the unwanted space between your bodies. 

 As his lips began their ascent upward along the otherwise of your jaw, you moved. For the burning sparks in your body screamed if he did not kiss you, you would spontaneously combust. Shifting your face, you stole a kiss on his lips before he could place it on your skin. It was more of a gentle pressing of your mouths, but even then, you heard a sharp inhale from him. Before you could question him, his mouth returned to yours with soft, probing kisses that urged you to respond. Not that you would ever deny him. What started off as a gentle flame quickly became a roaring fire. Breathing became unnecessary, for how could air bring you life when your body craved Sihtric, when your lungs demanded to breathe him in instead. He led you in a drugging kiss that had you melting against him. Your lips drank from one another as if that alone could sustain you forevermore.  

 "THANK YA, GOD!!" 

 The passionate kiss abruptly ended as Sihtric and your gazes darted towards the side of your house. Only to be met with the sight of his three companions standing at the entrance in various states of smugness. 

 "Oh, for the love of Odin…." Sihtric mumbled. 

 You buried your face in Sihtric's chest, face heated in embarrassment but unable to stop the giggles that poured forth. So caught up in finally confessing your feelings and kissing the man who haunted your dreams, you forgot that anyone could walk by and see you. His arms tightened around you, keeping you within his protective, loving embrace….and you knew there was nowhere else you would rather be. 

 "Took the two of ya long enough." Finan continued, leaning against the side of your humble home with a shit-eating grin. 

 "Amen." Osferth had a small, teasing smile on his face. "Thought I would have to lock them in a room together before one of them finally confessed."

 Apparently, you and Sihtric were not as subtle as you previously thought. Now it made sense why Osferth was questioning you about Cedric and your thoughts on love and marriage earlier. Your heart flooded with gratitude towards your childhood friend, for without him you doubted neither Sihtric or you would have spoken up. Peering over, you caught Osferth's eye and mouthed a quick 'thank you'. He nodded, a simple joy radiating from his face. 

 "Lord?" Sihtric called over with a blank expression. "Permission to continue?"

 Uhtred chuckled. "I guess you've waited long enough. Go ahead." 

 Without waiting a moment longer, Sihtric tipped your face back up towards his and claimed your lips once more. You vaguely thought you heard laughter coming from the others but it all blurred away, like a faint sound while underwater. All you could see, all you could feel, all you could hear was Sihtric. 

 Just how you wanted it. 

 Suddenly you yanked your head back, your breathing labored and lips swollen. "My mother is helping at a nearby farm today. She won't be back until it's dark."

 He hummed against your skin trailing small kisses along your jawline and down your neck as if unable to keep his hands and mouth off you now that the dam had been released. 

 "I'm not as pure as Osferth thinks me to be."

 That statement made his actions stop. Carefully he raised his head to meet your gaze. "After dark?" He confirmed, voice rough in a way that sent a bolt of heat through you. 

 "Yes, she planned on having supper with them….so my home is currently empty….and I did just clean my blankets the other day…."

 He swooped in to give you a feverish, greedy kiss that left no doubt where his mind had gone. When he finally pulled back, you were surprised your legs could still hold you upright. Your whole body felt like puddy in his arms and he had only kissed you, albeit you doubted you would ever forget the way his mouth worshiped yours. 

 "You are certain? You want this?" He softly asked, staring into your eyes once more. "You want me?" 

 It was the last question, the vulnerable undertone, the hint of insecurity in it that sealed your decision. Letting your actions be your answer, you grabbed his hand and started pulling him in the direction of the door to your home. It did not take more than a second for him to come beside you, wrapping his arm around your waist. 

 With his taste on your lips, the future did not matter right now. It did not matter that he was Dane and you were not. All you knew was Sihtric was neither a saint nor a sinner, but simply a man deserving of love. The river of your love was pointing you directly towards him, and you silently vowed to never let it run dry. 

[peaceisadirtyword]

Heathen (Ivar/Edlynn)

A/N: Hello♥️ as I promised, here’s the first chapter of the new series I’m writing. The idea came to me when I was rewatching Vikings and then I planned it while rewatching The Last Kingdom. So I started writing it, doing a bit of worldbuilding to introduce some original characters and here I am. It’s set on season 6B (I'm changing things, so it will not follow the show’s storyline). And I was really excited to write the mature version of Ivar, so I’m sorry if he seems a bit out of character. This chapter might be a bit boring, but it serves as an introduction. I hope you enjoy it, thank you for reading🥰 I will post a new chapter every Thursday at 21:00 (CET). 

Warnings: mentions of violence and war, talk of arranged marriage, alcohol... Well, it’s Vikings😅

Words: 4197 

Summary

gif belongs to @therealcalicali 

"I've heard the pagans are back" 

Edlynn raised her head. She sat next to the window, and had spent most of the time looking at the rain falling outside as she leant her head against the wall. It had been raining a lot those days. The beautiful cloth she was trying to practice her embroidery on was already forgotten and abandoned on her lap, a bit dirty with blood from all those times she had poked her finger with the needle.

The queen looked nervous when one of the girls in the room mentioned the northmen. Edlynn had also heard her father and even the king himself talking about it, whispering and with a frown, like men do when they talk about a very serious matter. They had already evacuated some of the towns near the coast, but no one really told her what was happening. 

"We must trust on our men and on God" she smiled at her "They will protect England, they always have" 

"I heard the king is thinking about evacuating the city too" other of the girls whined "What if they find us?" 

"They won't, my dear" the queen looked uncomfortable "I don't know about the plans my husband has, he won't discuss them with me, but I'm sure he'll do what is best for our people" 

Edlynn bit her lip. Queen Elsewith was nervous, she had seen her ordering the servants to start packing slowly, in case everyone had to leave the town. And there were whispers and an uneasiness that everyone had noticed. 

Next to her, her friend Mildrith leant in to speak softly. 

"I hope we can see the heathens from up close this time" she giggled. 

Edlynn had to hold back a smile. For some reason, Mildrith had a fascination for the northmen that called themselves vikings, even if everyone else was scared of them. She had been infatuated with a viking boy that worked on the lands King Alfred had given to the northmen some time ago. Even if neither Mildrith nor Edlynn had been allowed to visit those lands, King Alfred invited some of the settlers to dine in his own home sometimes, to secure the good relations with them. The boy and Mildrith had had a short but intense romance that Edlynn helped to hide from her family and the king, and since then she had been obsessed with learning about their culture. 

Edlynn could understand why, their ways and their traditions were different from the ones she had grown up with, and anyone with a bit of curiosity in them would want to know more. But no one let her learn about their Gods or they beliefs, for it was a sin. 

"I don't think we will" she shook her head and spoke softly "The King won't let them"

"Maybe they will be invited for a feast" Mildrith bit her lip, excited "And we can see them. They say they're are the same ones that took York" 

"We should go and pray" one of the women in the room stood up, interrupting Edlynn as she was about to answer her friend "For the safety of our country and our king, ask God to protect us"

Some of the women muttered in agreement, and soon the room filled with the noise of everyone standing and walking to the door. But before she could even stand, the queen approached. Quickly, Mildrith and her bowed their heads at Queen Elsewith respectfully. 

"Edlynn, I'd like to talk to you for a moment, if you will" 

She nodded slowly, and Mildrith excused herself after widening her eyes. 

"Yes, queen Elsewith?" 

"I just wanted to see if you were alright, Edlynn, these days I've barely seen you" 

She bit her lip again. The queen was always nice and kind to her, but it was still the queen and she couldn't act like close friends with her. And she definitely couldn't speak her mind freely. 

"Yes, I'm fine" she smiled softly "These days I wasn't feeling too well, I... Spent some time in my chambers just resting" 

"I was worried about you, you disappeared just after your engagement to Lord Edmund, and as I've also been there, I thought maybe I could help" 

The engagement. She had tried her best not to think about it the past few days. Even if Edlynn knew since she was born that she'd have to marry a stranger, it was still awkward to meet a man during a small feast that was announced as her future husband just half an hour later. 

In any case, she was still lucky, Lord Edmund was handsome, young and, as far as everyone knew, nice. Edlynn wasn't that upset about it, but it was still overwhelming, and the fact that she'd have to abandon the court, her friends -oh, what would she do without Mildrith?- and her family to go and live in a stranger's home saddened her. 

"Lord Edmund is a very good man that I can't wait to get to know better, and I feel honored and lucky that he chose me to be his wife" Edlynn repeated the words that Hilda, the nun that raised her after her mother's death, had made her learn in preparation for this moment. 

Elsewith smiled sadly at the young girl. It was a woman's duty, but she saw a lot of herself on Edlynn and she knew she must have been scared and nervous, even if she understood it. But Edlynn had always been a proper and obedient lady and, like many other women in her position, learnt to hide her true feelings. She'd never do anything that went against her father and the King's wishes.

"The king would never have let him ask for your hand in marriage if he didn't know he's a good man, a good warrior and a good Christian" the queen reassured her "He loves your family a lot and just wishes a good life for you"

"I know, my queen, and I will always be thankful to him and to you for how much kindness you've shown me and my family" 

Her smile widened. 

"I also wanted to talk to you about Mildrith" Elsewith sighed and started walking to the door "She really shouldn't go around talking about how she'd like to meet a northman, it's... Not proper"

"I know" muttered Edlynn, following her "I'll talk to her" 

She nodded, and just before exiting the room, Elsewith took her hand and squeezed it softly. In some way, she had always considered Edlynn her friend. 

"Remember you can come and talk to me any time you need" the queen smiled again "Women understand each other much better than men" 

"I will" she nodded "Thank you, my queen" Edlynn bowed her head again before Queen Elsewith turned around, walking to the nearest chapel escorted by two of the guards. 

__________________________________________

King Alfred threw a feast to celebrate the engagement. Usually, this kind of things weren't celebrated that much, but Edlynn's father, Lord Eldred, had been close to King Aethelwulf and was close to King Alfred,  becoming one of his most trusted men after his mother's death. Besides, Alfred and Edlynn grew up together and even if with time the both of them had learnt to keep their relationship purely formal, he still had a soft spot for her. 

Edlynn's sister had been married to a lord from Mercia and her brother was a proud member of King Alfred's personal guard. Now it was her turn to make the family proud by doing her duty and what she had been born to: Stand next to her soon-to-be-husband and smile politely at strangers that couldn't care less about her and her happiness but that queued to wish the both of them a happy marriage. 

Even if she knew that was what she was supposed to do, it was still boring. 

"The king has told me you enjoy reading" Lord Edmund, sitting next to her, was the one that started the conversation after talking with the king and her father about war. 

Edlynn was surprised when he spoke to her. It was the first time the two of them talked. She wasn't very talkative, at least not at the beginning, and didn't really expect more from him than the usual formalities. She had seen marriages like this many times, and didn't really expected him to acknowledge her much in public.

"I do" she smiled politely. 

"It's nice, what kind of things you like to read?" 

"Mostly, about history" she bit her lip nervously "I find the Romans particularly interesting" 

Lord Edmund nodded. 

"I will make sure that you have enough to read back in my castle" he said softly "And don't be afraid of asking for anything that you need or want to feel comfortable" 

That surprised Edlynn even more. He smiled at her confused face and his grey eyes fixed on hers. 'At least he has pretty eyes' she thought. Maybe their children would inherit his grey eyes and not her brown ones. For some reason, she didn't feel that overwhelmed by the thought of a young child with his grey eyes and her auburn hair.

"I knew you were special since I saw you, when I first arrived here to take an oath to King Alfred after my father's death, that's why I asked your father for your hand in marriage, and I'm pleased to know there's much more about you behind your beauty" 

His words were so sweet, and one lock of his bright black hair fell next to his face, giving him an attractive look that made Edlynn understand why many women had been glaring at her since the engagement was announced. 

"You flatter me, my lord" she tried your best to sound confident "I appreciate your kindness, thank you" 

From the corner of her eye, she could see her father and Hilda, the nun, watching her. Edlynn straightened her back and kept talking to Lord Edmund, feeling a strange emptiness inside her. 

____________________________________

Ivar knew taking England wouldn't be easy, but it would definitely be easier if he was leading the entire army. 

King Harald had the last word, and even if he trusted him enough to let him think about the strategies, it wasn't the same. Ivar made a flawless plan, he thought about every single detail, and he knew exactly what the english would do. It wasn't too hard. 

"So, King Alfred is evacuating the city" Harald emptied his drink, taking another piece of meat before his deep blue eyes fixed on Ivar, who ate in silence next to his brother. Hvitserk ignored them, focusing on the food on his plate "Should we take it?"

Ivar raised an eyebrow and swallowed the food before taking his cup to drink some more ale. 

"We need to defeat Alfred first, we can't do much with just the city"

Harald shrugged. 

"Defeating him in battle won't change much either, we need to gain some more ground" 

Ivar hummed, nodding. 

"I agree, and we should try and find something that gives us some kind of advantage over them, because we are outnumbered and we can't defeat them just by winning battles, they can assemble another army faster than us" 

"And? You're the strategist here, Ivar" Harald chuckled. In some way, he was happy to have the youngest Ragnarsson back on his side.

"We need to find something that makes them surrender to our terms and buys us some time" Ivar raised an eyebrow. 

"Like a hostage?" Hvitserk raised his head for the first time since the food arrived. He let Ivar do the talk, and stuck to fighting. 

Ivar smirked at his brother. 

"Exactly. A hostage, dear brother" 

"I don't think that a couple of soldiers captured in battle will make them surrender to our terms" Harald shrugged again "We'd need someone else, someone like..."

"The queen" 

The king raised an eyebrow at him, while Ivar smiled softly.

"Christian women don't go to battle, and we can't try and break into their camp, there will be too many guards"

"Exactly, so we need to find a moment in which the men are occupied with something else, something like..."

"A battle" Hvitserk chuckled. 

Ivar nodded winking at his brother.

"So you mean to kidnap the queen during the battle" Harald nodded slowly "It could work"

"The queen won't be far from the battlefield, and there won't be so many guards" Ivar shrugged, taking another bite from his plate. 

"We could go and meet them on a battlefield, I already explored some of the lands around here and I think it would be easier to attract them to the woods" Ivar nibbled one of the ribs "Then, we ambush them, and keep them distracted enough time to sneak into their camp and take the queen"

"And then?" Harald looked interested. Sometimes, he found Ivar's mind fascinating.

"Then we negotiate" he shrugged "We just want some land, right? The queen in exchange for that land, I think it's a fair exchange, then, when we have the land, some resources and a place to settle down, we can continue fighting, because we will be stronger" 

"But he could betray us after he gets his queen back" Hvitserk raised an eyebrow. 

"I know Alfred, he won't" Ivar shook his head "Not as long as he thinks we're willing to stop the raids and the invasion if we get the land" 

"So we lie to him" Harald pointed, and Ivar nodded slowly. 

"But first" he raised an eyebrow "We need the queen"

_________________________________

 The beds on the camp were uncomfortable. Edlynn didn't complain, though, knowing everyone had bigger problems than worrying about her not getting any sleep. 

Just two days after the engagement feast, king Alfred ordered to evacuate the city. The northmen were too close, and it was too dangerous, it was the only explanation she got when her father bursted into the chambers and ordered to pack only the necessary. Edlynn barely saw him since then, as he and Edward, her brother, would ride with the king when everyone was moving and didn't leave the king's tent when they camped, too busy with battle plans and strategies. Queen Elsewith was also with them, and Edlynn's betrothed, Lord Edmund, too. Betrothed... It still sounded too irreal. At least, he rode next to the carriage she traveled in. 

Mildrith was the only one that found the entire thing exciting. Edlynn often found her wandering outside the camp, and didn't mind how many times she begged her to stay in the tent, Mildrith wouldn't listen. 

Edlynn could sneak a couple of books inside of her trunk, hidden between some dresses, and it was the only entertainment she had. 

"They say tomorrow there will be a battle" Mildrith muttered as she watched some of the soldiers training. It was raining and the both of them stayed inside of the tent, just at the entrance so Edlynn could read and Mildrith could watch the people around. 

"The King and our men will be victorious" Edlynn repeated what Hilda said every time she mentioned the war "We have God on our side"

Mildrith frowned, as she always did when she heard that phrase, which was the only thing everyone seemed to say these days.

"I'm not so sure about that, Lynn" she muttered "They are smart and their Gods are fierce, they say that they're lead by the same one that took York" she lowered her tone "Ivar the Boneless" 

Her friend raised an eyebrow, the name was familiar. 

"Why do they call him boneless?" 

"Because he can't walk" Mildrith shrugged like it was obvious "They say he crawls around like a snake, and that he's fierce and vicious... Some even say he's the Devil incarnated" 

Edlynn rolled her eyes.

"Those are tales, Mildrith, he's just a man" she chuckled "A cruel one, a heathen, but just a man, he's just like you and me" 

"Some women say he's handsome too" she giggled. 

"Have they seen him?" 

"Yes, in York, they said he's cruel but beautiful, just looking at him felt like a sin" 

Edlynn closed her book. 

"You shouldn't go around saying these things, Mildrith, anyone would think you're in love with that heathen"

She laughed out loud, making some of the soldiers near them turn to look at her. 

"I'm not in love with him, I don't know him" she shrugged "But I'd like to see him, at least once" 

Edlynn rolled her eyes again, shaking her head before going back to the book.

__________________________________

Edlynn didn't know how to feel when she saw the men leaving. King Alfred said goodbye to his queen and Edlynn hugged her father and brother. Even Lord Edmund kissed the back of her hand and bowed his head with a gentle smile on his lips. She didn't know how to react, as she never had to say goodbye to the men when they left to battle. Should I cry? Smile? She tried her best to imitate queen Elsewith. 

"Pray for us" her father kissed Edlynn's forehead softly for the last time before getting on his horse "And may God be with us" 

She nodded slowly and kept silent as they left the camp. 

After a couple of minutes in silence, the queen walked towards her, making Edlynn nervous. Will she scold me for not doing this well? 

"Edlynn, I'd like you to join me in my tent to pray for the safe return of the king and his men"

She looked around. Some of the women looked at her, probably jealous of seeing she had the queen's favor and thinking that was the reason why she had been betrothed to Lord Edmund. 

"Of course" Edlynn nodded her head respectfully, ignoring them.

The queen smiled brightly at her, relieved to hear her agreeing. She had a bad feeling about this new war, and worried about her husband, but  also hoped to find some kind of peace on the tent. 

"You can go, there's food and wine, I'll go talk to the priest first, and then I'll join you"

Edlynn nodded with a small smile. Her eyes found Hilda's, who smiled proudly at the young girl she loved so much. Mildrith waited until the queen had walked away and then approached her friend. 

"What's with you and the queen?" 

Edlynn shrugged. 

"I suppose she's just trying to be nice, after all she understands what's like to be betrothed to someone you don't know" 

"Oh" Mildrith bit her lip, almost like she had forgotten Edlynn was about to marry a stranger "Yes, it makes sense... Anyway, be careful, people will start thinking you're trying to win the queen's favor" 

Edlynn glanced to a group of women from the court, who looked at the both of them and whispered. 

"I'll go to the queen's tent now" she decided to ignore it "Join me later? We could go to the river and maybe bathe" 

Anything to avoid thinking about the battle that was probably going to take place soon. 

Mildrith nodded with a smile and waved at her as she approached the tent. The guards bowed their heads respectfully and moved to let her enter. It was much bigger than the tent Edlynn shared with Hilda, and the bed looked much comfortable than the one they had given to her. The bedding was soft and warm, and made her sigh in jealousy as her eyes wandered around the tent. 

There was a table with some food and wine on it, and Edlynn's mouth watered as she realized she still hadn't eaten. In front of the bed, there was a table with a cross and a few candles, which was where she supposed both the king and the queen said their prayers. 

Edlynn glanced at the entrance to make sure no one entered and quickly grabbed a grape from one of the bronze plates and turned around to savor it. She loved grapes, and the best ones could only be found at the king's table. 

But as she glanced down to hide her face in case the queen entered, Edlynn noticed something on the rug that covered the floor of the tent. Frowning, and wondering why there was a dark spot just before her, she bended down to examine it, widening her eyes when she realized it was blood. There wasn't just one spot, but a trail that disappeared behind a curtain, and suddenly she realized something else. 

The guards didn't ask who I was before letting me in. 

Before Edlynn could even react, someone grabbed her from behind, putting their hands on her mouth to stifle the scream that left her throat. She writhed and fought, but there was two of them, too strong for her. Suddenly, she heard a whisper on a foreign language and then an intense pain on the back of her head as one of the two men hit the back of her head with the handle of his sword before there was only darkness. 

________________________________

Ivar was proud. Once again, he ensured a clear victory over the saxons with a flawless plan, and he demonstrated he still was the brilliant strategist everyone admired. Even Harald looked impressed to see that the risky plan to defeat King Alfred's army had been successful. Ivar seemed to read the young king's mind perfectly, and if everything had gone well with the other part of the plan, they'd have a queen waiting for them in the camp that would make things even easier for them. Hvitserk also looked satisfied, having missed the adrenaline of the battlefield and the satisfaction of killing too much. Harald admitted he was wary of those two, with Ivar's sharp mind and Hvitserk's skills in battle, they were nearly unbeatable. 

Thanks Odin any of them had given any signs of wanting the crown of Norway Harald had fought so hard to get. But he still didn't trust Ivar completely. 

But now they had a common cause, and he hoped that controlling some lands in England would satisfy Ivar's hunger for power. 

"So..." Ivar didn't speak until he had finished two horns of ale. The intensity of the battle, standing for so long and walking with the crutches left him exhausted "Do we have a queen or not?" 

The men that had just entered the tent, still wearing the saxon's armor, bowed their heads before speaking. 

"We do" one of them smiled victoriously "She's unconscious, but guarded, we had to hit her to bring her here" 

Hvitserk raised an eyebrow. Ivar had made very clear that he didn't want the queen harmed. Not yet at least, he had said with a chuckle the night before, Alfred won't surrender to our terms if we harm her. 

"She's fine, though" the other man glared at his companion "It was just a small blow on the head" 

Harald nodded, ignoring the stern glare Ivar sent their way. 

"Try and wake her up" the king ordered "We'll talk to her before feasting and resting" 

The men bowed again and left. Harald then turned to look at the brothers. In some way, it hurt to see them so close again, reminding him of his own brother, who had also been his most loyal friend. The Ragnarssons didn't have the best relationship, but he noticed they looked much closer since they went back to Kattegat after being with the Rus. He didn't know what had happened there between them, but now he was sure no one could get between them. He envied them for that. 

Now they seemed to be having a conversation in silence, with just some stares and grimaces. 

"Your plan worked" he said out loud, looking at Ivar. The youngest son of Ragnar shot him a cocky smile. 

"Of course it worked, saxons are predictable" he shrugged "And Alfred won't dare to attack us when we have his queen" his eyes shone with pride. 

"I wonder if she's pretty" Hvitserk muttered with a dreamy smile as he chewed on a piece of bread. Harald smirked at that, he understood the feeling of coming back from battle and feeling the need to have a woman after filling his belly with warm food and cold drinks. It helped to relax. 

Ivar rolled his eyes. He was never as interested in women as his brothers were, and the few times he actually was with women had ended in disaster. So he couldn't understand the obsession. 

"She's a christian, so probably not" he shrugged "Anyway, that's the last thing we should worry about" 

"There are beautiful christian women out there, little brother" Hvitserk chuckled, amused by his brother's annoyance. 

"They're weak" he narrowed his eyes "They are always scared, they don't fight and they don't have the spirit and the courage of viking women"

"How many christian women have you met, Ivar?" Harald laughed. 

Ivar frowned. He had had too much contact with christians for his liking.

"Anyway" he scowled, annoyed, as he stood up leaning on his crutch "Let's go, we have a queen to meet".

__________________________________

Tags: @mblaqgi @alicedopey @lol-haha-joke @hallowed-heathen @naaladareia @tephi101 @captstefanbrandt @love-hate-love @titty-teetee @readsalot73 @moondustmemories @therealcalicali @blushingskywalker @awkwardfangirl02 @gruffle1​ @justacripple​ @love-dria @heartbeats-wildly​ @letsrunawaytotomorrow​ @inforapound​ @sallydelys​ @hellogabysblog​ @winchesterwife27​ @hecohansen31​ @youbloodymadgenius​ @xinyourdreamsx​ @funmadnessandbadassvikings​ @tgrrose​ @lovessce​ @tootie-fruity​ @didiintheblog​ @alexhandersenx​ @belovedcherry​ @fantasydevil2002​ @xceafh​ @astrape-the-weatherwitch​ @destynelseclipsa​ @momowhoo​ @mcrmarvelloki​ @nanahachikyuu​ @valopz​ @mrsalwayswrite​ @poisonous00​ @whenimaunicorn​ @heavenly1927​

[willyoufindmetlk]

The Siege of Winchester - Sigtryggr x Stiorra (Part 4)

Part 1   Part 2   Part 3 

** “Ha! Another win!” Stiorra clapped.

Sigtryggr shook his head with a laugh, “Apparently you have played this game several times before.”

“Perhaps,” she smirked.

“Let us take a break,” Sigtryggr said. “I’ll send for some food.”

Stiorra nodded, pushing the game to the middle of the table. Thirty Days. Sigtryggr had held Winchester for thirty days and it seemed as though Edward and his men were running out of time. Stiorra wondered how long this would last. She knew the Saxon king would never surrender Winchester to the Danes. He had too much honor in that. No, he would fight for it.

“How much longer do you plan to hold onto Winchester?” She asked.

“For as long as I need,” he said.

“So, have you decided what it is you plan to do?” Stiorra questioned. “What the point of this is?”

Sigtryggr looked at her, “I want land. A place to build a home for my people.”

Stiorra placed her head on her chin, “And you think Edward will offer you land in exchange for Winchester?”

“I do not know,” he said. “But I will try. And if he does not, then Winchester will suit us just fine.”

“Then what about me?” She asked. “Am I to stay here until you get what you want? Held in this room?”

He sighed, looking down at his ring, “No, I will not keep you here any longer should Edward not make a bargain. You will be returned to your father.”

Stiorra bit her lip, “And what if I do not wish to return to my father?”

He looks at her, confusion on his face, “What do you mean?”

“If I return to my father, he will take me to Coccham,” she spoke. “I do not want to live in Coccham. I do not want to live a small life there waiting until I must marry. That is not the life I want.”

“Then what do you want?” He asked.

She sighed, “I wish to live amongst other Danes. I’ve lived the life of a Saxon. I want a chance to live the life of a Dane. To find the part of myself that died along with my mother.”

Sigtryggr’s heart began to race as he listened to her words. He had no idea where this was coming from, nor what it meant. But he understood it.

“If Edward gives you land, I would like to live there,” she said.

“You would give up your life in England, to live in Daneland?” He asked.

“I do not see it as giving up my life here,” she said. “I see it as living my life. Feeling free to discover the other part of myself that I’ve longed for. Yes, I can do that here, but it is not the same. I will miss my father and my brother, but we have been apart for most of my life, so it would not be any different.”

Sigtryggr longed to say yes. He felt something stirring inside of him hearing she wished to go with him. But was she really saying she wanted to go with him? Not in so many words. She wanted to live amongst the Danes, but that did not mean she wanted to live with him.

“All Danes will be welcome,” he said.

“Even half danes,” he added with a smile. “But will your father agree to such a thing?”

“Depends,” she said. “He is protective. He knows we have missed many years together. He wants us to be a family in Coccham, but that will only be until he is needed elsewhere. I would like for my father to agree, but I’m also willing to go without his blessing.”

“And have the Dane Slayer attack to get you back?” he laughed.

She laughed, “Only if he thought I was being harmed.”

“I would not let that happen,” he whispered.

“Then you should have nothing to worry about,” she smiled.

**

“755, Cynewulf and the West Saxons deprived Sigbert of his kingdom because of his unlawful deeds. Cynewulf often fought great battles in Wealas,” Stiorra read out loud.

Reading from Alfred’s chronicle was another activity she and Sigtryggr did to pass the time away. It was mostly her reading it, while he sat and listened.

Stiorra sighed, “Please, this is so dull. I want to pull out my own eyes.”

Sigtryggr laughed, toying with one of his braids, “Spoken like a true heathen.”

“Shall we play another game?” Stiorra suggested.

“What was the tally again?” she smirked.

Looking over at her, “I am not keeping count,” he responded.

“Come, read,” he sighed.

Setting the game pieces onto the board, Stiorra groaned, “I’m too hungry to read.”

Quickly, Sigtryggr got up from his chair, grabbing the remainder of the bread from the basket. He placed it onto the book in front of Stiorra, gazing down at her.

“Is this the last of the bread?” She asked, looking up at him.

Leaning closer to her, “I’m not keeping count of that either,” he whispered.

“Do you still have the grain?” She asked, eyeing him as he walked around to the other side of her.

Before he could answer, the door is pushed open, in walked Brida and Haesten.

“I’m taking the girl. We need to kill a hostage,” Brida said, reaching for Stiorra.

“And she will get their attention.” she added.

Sigtryggr looked over at Haesten.

“They threatened fire,” he responded.

“And in response we show no mercy,” Brida declared.

Shaking his head, he placed his arm between Stiorra and Brida, “Then not her. She is worthless.”

Brida rolled her eyes, “Not to the Dane Slayer. Sigtryggr I need Uhtred to come out and fight.”

“This will force his hand,” Brida said, grabbing for Stiorra again.

Sigtryggr looked at Stiorra, “Is this true? Will your father attack us?”

Glaring at Brida, Stiorra responded, “If he does, he’ll destroy you.”

Brida lunged for Stiorra, but Sigtryggr stood in between them, “Do not succumb to anger, Brida.”

“Haesten, tell the men to get clay and water,” he said. “Dampen the roofs. Protect the walls from fire.”

“Then I will select a hostage… and we will see what they do, hm,” he said.

Annoyed Brida turned on her heel walking out the room, Haesten following her. Sigtryggr gave Stiorra one last look before leaving her alone in the reading room.

**

Stiorra paced around the room. She grew anxious about what was happening. She had not seen or heard from Sigtryggr since he left with Brida and Haestan. Not knowing how long she’d be waiting around, but by the light shining in the window, it had to be hours.

All of a sudden, she heard war cries and swords clanking against one another from outside. Rushing over to the window, she climbed up to see.

She gasped. Edward’s army had attacked. Danes and Saxons were fighting to the death. Her father was out there. Sigtryggr was out there.

“No!” She cried.

She banged on the glass, trying to get it to break, but it held against her strength. Jumping down, she goes to the door, tugging on it, but it was no use. She was locked inside.

“Damn it!” She shouted.

She rushed back to the window. There was smoke everywhere. She couldn’t see anything.

And once again, all she could do was sit and wait.

**

The door opened. Stiorra brought her head up from where she laid on the table. She looked over, seeing Sigtryggr walking inside. Without realizing what she was doing, she jumped to her feet, running over to him. She wrapped her arms around him. Taken aback by her actions, he hesitated at first, before wrapping his arms around her waist.

“What happened?” She asked, looking up at him. “I saw Edward attacked. My father is he-”

“Calm down,” he said. “Come sit down and I will tell you everything.”

The two sat down at the table, facing one another.

Sigtryggr sighed, “I chose the boys, Edward’s heirs, as the hostages. I gave him the option to retreat and he may have one of the boys.”

Stiorra gasped, “Aethelstan-” she whispered.

“But he did not choose,” he said. “Instead your father offered to come into Winchester alone if I let the boys go. We made the exchange.”

Tears filled her eyes, but she refused to let them fall, “My father is he- Did you-”

“Do not worry,” he said. “The Dane Slayer is alive. I spoke with him about a bargain for peace and land. We spoke for quite a while. It was during that time, Edward’s army attacked.”

“So, there is no bargain, then?” She asked.

“We called a truce and both Edward and Aethelfeld agreed to speak with me,” he said.

“And?” She asked.

“You are very impatient,” he laughed. “They agreed to give me Eoforwick and the surrounding lands.”

Stiorra smiled.

“They also agreed to peace, as long as I do not cross the Merica and Wessex borders. Then both Saxons and Danes may live in peace,” he whispered.

“You did it, then,” she smiled. “You have a homeland for you and your people.”

Sigtryggr smiled, “There is one more thing I asked for.”

Stiorra looked confused, “What?”

“You,” he whispered.

“Me?” she asked, shocked.

“And they agreed,” he said. “But it is still up to you, but I must ask-”

Stiorra’s eyes looked into his.

“If you come, is it only because you wish to live in Daneland or-” he whispered. “Or would you wish to live there with me?”

And there it was. Her life was about to change with whatever decision she was to make. She previously told him of her want to live in Daneland and while her reasoning before was true. Deep down she knew it was the man she wished to follow. There was still much to learn about him and of the feelings she grew to feel for him. But she could not see a life without him.

She could not bear to leave with her father today and never see Sigtryggr again.

“I wish-” she started. “I wish to live with you in Daneland.”

Sigtryggr’s lips turned up into a smile. He placed his forehead against Stiorra’s.

“Then you shall have your wish,” he whispered.

[emilyhufflepufftlk]

The Blind Monk

TLK x Daredevil Crossover

MASTERLIST

A/N: This was posted on AO3 back in March, I re-read it recently and decided to post it here as well. This is a crossover with the Netflix/Marvel show, Daredevil, however no prior knowledge is needed.

Brother Matthew is blind but can see better than any man. God has given him a gift and he uses it to protect his monastery from raiding Danes. Uhtred, Finan, Sihtric and Osferth come across Matthew's monastery after a Dane attack, but are surprised what they find.

Word Count: 1,518

Warnings: some violence

Read on AO3 if you prefer

Shafts of early morning light poured from the windows of the dark chapel as the group of monks knelt for their morning prayers. One monk sat away from the others, his eyes covered with a cloth bound around his head, his staff positioned beside him. He was a strange kind of monk, young and fit with the body of a warrior rather than a man of God. Indeed, he had once been a soldier in the great King Alfred’s army, before his injury at Beamfleot had put his fighting days to an end. Despite losing his eyes at the hands of the Danes, the monk could see better than any of his fellow brothers. He had a gift from God, or so the monks said. Many said that he had the gift of prophesy, able to warn of incoming riders before they came into view and able to pre-empt the movements and decisions of others. Although they believed he saw the future, the monk knew that his gift was entirely different in nature. He was able to warn of riders because he could hear the hooves of their horses trampling the earth from a mile away. He could tell when a man was lying or anticipating an attack from his heart rate that he was able to hear as clear as his own. He knew how long men had been on the road from the way they smelt and could react to a man’s movements due to the tiny tremors in the ground underneath his feet and in the air around him. God had indeed given him a gift, one that allowed him to observe the world in far more detail than any seeing man.

The blind monk tilted his head, a low rumble far off in the distance drawing his attention away from his prayers. Slowly he got to his feet. ‘Brother Matthew, what is it?’ one of his fellow brothers asked.

‘Danes,’ he replied calmly, ‘they are coming.’ The monks rose to their feet, crossing themselves and bowing their heads to the cross before leaving the chapel. Brother Matthew had been correct in his predictions too many times for them to doubt him. They gathered all the valuables they could carry and headed to the woods. No doubt the Danes would tear their monastery apart, taking anything they found of value, and possibly burn it to the ground, but with God’s mercy they should live.

---

‘Lord!’ Sihtric called from just behind them, ‘Look! Smoke!’

Uhtred looked to where his friend was pointing. Dark clouds of smoke were rising above the treeline, an ominous sign that the land was still not at peace.

‘Danes, Lord?’ asked Finan.

‘I would not be surprised,’ answered Uhtred. They were in an area of Mercia not far from Danelaw, the villages and churches would no doubt provide easy pickings for Danish raiding parties. ‘Let’s go and see if there are still any Danes to kill.’

---

‘I see no one, Lord,’ Osferth observed, walking between the burning remains of the monastery.

‘Perhaps they took them as slaves?’ Finan offered, but Uhtred shook his head.

‘Danes do not make priests slaves. They kill them, and they enjoy it.’

‘Lord,’ Sihtric said in a low voice, barely above a whisper. ‘We are being watched.’

Uhtred gave a silent order to Sihtric with a simple nod, they had been fighting together long enough not to have to communicate with words. He walked away from the others and circled round behind the building where he had spotted the figure who watched them. Several minutes of silence followed.

‘It’s alright, Lord,’ Sihtric called to them, ‘it is only a monk.’ He returned moments later, half dragging the monk along beside him.

‘Are you going to kill me?’ the monk asked, clearly terrified. ‘We have nothing to give you. Danes have already taken everything we have.’

‘We are not here to harm you,’ Uhtred reassured him, ‘we serve the Lady Aethelflaed of Mercia. We wish to help you.’ The monk relaxed a little but continued to be uneasy, looking from Uhtred and to Sihtric and back again, obviously weary of men who looked so much like Danes.

‘It is alright, brother,’ a voice came from behind one of the buildings, ‘he is Lord Uhtred of Bebbenburg. He is a friend, and he will not harm us.’ A blind monk walked out towards them, using his staff to guide himself.

‘Do I know you?’

‘Before I was a monk, I was a warrior. I fought at Beamfleot, Lord. I recognised your voice,’ the blind monk explained. ‘My name is Brother Matthew, please come with me, you must be hungry after your long journey.’

---

‘Here, eat this, lord.’ One of the monks handed Uhtred a bowl of hot stew. They sat in a small clearing in the woods next to a small river. It appeared that the monks had hidden provisions in the woods for just this situation.

‘How did you escape? We saw no bodies at the monastery?’

‘We were forewarned, lord. We were able to run to the woods before they arrived.’

‘Who warned you?’

‘God is great. He guides us.’ The monk’s answer made Uhtred roll his eyes. He was about to make some sarcastic comment when he was interrupted.

‘Everyone be quiet,’ Brother Matthew ordered. Uhtred frowned, not liking taking orders from a monk. ‘Danes, they are here in the woods.’

‘And how the hell do you know that?’ Finan asked, a sceptical look on his face.

‘How I know is not relevant. They are coming and my guess is that they wish to kill us,’ Matthew snapped.

‘How many men? From which direction?’ Uhtred demanded.

The blind monk stayed incredibly still for a moment, slightly cocking his head to one side as if listening intently. ‘Twelve, lord. They come from all directions; they mean to surround us.’

‘Lord, what do we do?’ Sihtric asked, his eyes darting from tree to tree trying to spot the imminent danger.

There was only four of them, plus the monks who he doubted could fight. That meant they would have to take three each; they had faced worse odds in the past and survived. If the monk was to be believed, Uhtred had few choices available to him. He turned to face his men. ‘We fight.’

---

The Danes came from all sides, pinning them against the river. There were twelve of them, just like the monk had said. Uhtred and his men were the better fighters, but they were outnumbered one to three and had the monks to protect. It was a fight that they seemed unlikely to win. Uhtred swung his sword with all his might, fighting two Danes at once. Finan and Sihtric fought back to back beside him, taking on five men between them. He couldn’t see Osferth but heard the clash of his sword behind him, defending the monks that had retreated to the river. They had dispatched several of the Danes to Valhalla already but there were still too many left standing.

Suddenly one of the Danes he was fighting was no longer on his feet, instead he was bent double in pain. Uhtred did not see who had cast the blow to the man’s stomach, too focused on the other men that attacked him from all sides. He rammed his sword through a large Dane’s throat, blood pouring down his neck and flooding his mouth as he fell to the floor. He turned to where Finan and Sihtric fought, ready to run to his friends’ aid but found he was not needed.

Over half the Danes lay dead or wounded on the ground. Finan and Sihtric stood over the two they had just killed and Uhtred watched as Osferth slit open the belly of another. That left only three fighting, and yet none of them were fighting Uhtred or his men. Instead they stood and watched as the blind monk fought them, using his staff as a club. He hit with great precision, dodging and swerving attacks better than most able sighted men. He twirled the staff around and landed a blow to one of the Dane’s head, knocking him to the ground. The monk then knocked the legs from under the other two men, causing them to stumble to the ground. With two strong wielded blows of his staff they lay unconscious on the ground.

They all stood dumbfounded. It would have been a shock to see a monk fight like that even without him also being blind. Uhtred could not understand how a warrior could fight without eyesight, your other senses were important in battle, but they could never compensate for the loss of sight completely.

‘God has granted me a gift, Lord Uhtred,’ the blind monk explained. ‘He works in the most mysterious of ways. Wouldn’t you agree?’ And with that he left them, walking over to where the other monks stood, shaken but unharmed. Uhtred looked at Finan, his friend as confused and shocked as he was. It seemed neither of them were sure what they had just witnessed.

@morosemagick @magravenwrites @solinarimoon @lauwrite1225 @thebohemianpenguin @93xdiagonxalley

[pomegranates-and-blood]

Atfǫr (Ivar’s PoV)

νοσταλγία Masterlist

Atfǫr: method, execution (law), attack (Old Norse)

Pairing: Ivar/Reader

Summary: Ivar’s perspective of what’s happening on Strepshire. Stretches over chapter 33 till 35-ish (chapter 35 picks up a lil bit after the end of this one)

Word Count: 3.9k

Warnings: Mentions and descriptions of death, war, and wounds.

A/N: Friendly reminder, so that you’re not caught off guard later, that in this universe Sigurd is alive, living in Bamburgh (Northumbria) married to Blaeja.

Long before Ragnar took him to England and Alfred taught Ivar to play chess, Ivar learned to play hnefa-tafl with Floki.

Ivar remembers, as if it were yesterday that he was spending time with him and not years since Floki had left them; how with the laugh that was uniquely his Floki would taunt him about his wrong moves, and when Ivar would get angry and refuse to play anymore, the boatbuilder would still set the pieces back on the board.

Sometimes it took days, sometimes it took hours, but Ivar always dragged himself back to that chair and called for Floki to join him for another match. Without fail, he was there, sitting across from him with that glint in his eye and taunting him to make his next move.

He remembers those days, and Helga’s quiet laugh as she passed by Floki, her hand over his back and her kohl-lined eyes on the board. And he remembers the first time he won was because of Helga.

It was some years before his father returned, and Ivar remembers the bubbling anger inside him at how Floki had managed to outsmart him for days on end when playing hnefa-tafl. He remembers Helga kneeling next to him so she could be on level with the table, and he remembers her hand over one of the pieces.

“Floki always gives up half of his defenders in the beginning,” She told him, a smile that, like all her smiles were, had a sadness to it. “Even he is predictable, Ivar. Everyone is.”

And she was right. Floki’s moves were predictable in hnefa-tafl, and Alfred’s moves were predictable in chess. And Stithulf’s moves are predictable in war.

And it is easy, at least for him, to see pieces on a board, even now.

It feels strangely reminiscent of the time they faced Aethelwulf, taunting the Saxons with only the presence of the army. It certainly feels the same to Ubbe, it seems, who by the third time they almost taunt Stithulf into attacking grunts a breath and tells him it is easy to do this all day when you’re sitting on a chariot, brother.

Still, they make enough time to let the few men they send inside settle and prepare the tunnels to wait for Stithulf, and when tomorrow comes they will make him face them while pretending not to know of the tunnels he will send his best through.

There’s familiarity in the way Ivar and Ubbe lay on the grass near the camp and overlook the city just like they did before York, only this time Hvitserk isn’t with them, only this time so many things have changed that it is almost as if they aren’t the same men.

“Hvitserk did good in finding about those tunnels.” Ubbe comments, and all Ivar offers in response is a grunt.

“They won’t be able to ambush us, but we still need to try to keep the Arabs inside that city,” He tells him, “Fighting them in open fields gives them a victory.”

“That is not something you’d have learned in Dublin.” His brother intones, and Ivar rolls his eyes, turning to lay on his back on the grass.

After a breath, Ubbe does the same, and they lay side by side looking up at the darkening skies.

“Of course I listen to her. Unlike you, I intend to keep my wife with me.”

He ignores the jab at him, only sighs.

After a few breaths of silence, his brother asks, “How is she, by the way? I haven’t seen her in…months?”

“Weeks.”

“Still.”

“She’s…” Ivar shrugs, and at the lack of words offers, “She threatened me to keep me from reaching Valhalla for as long as she has breath if I don’t return.”

Ubbe laughs, but still asks, “Do you think she can do that?”

“I don’t intend to find out.” He sentences, before sitting up and grabbing his bound legs to move them behind him and crawl back to camp.

At his back, Ubbe clears his throat.

“I am happy for you. Proud of you,” His brother tells him. Ivar stays silent, he doesn’t really know what to say to that. Ubbe chuckles, “You…you chose well, Ivar.”

“Better than you, certainly.” He taunts, but his smile is something less cutting than it should be, less mocking than he intended, as he returns to camp.

Late that night, when the few men they sent ahead have already set up within Strepshire, when the tunnels Hvitserk learned about are already theirs and await the Saxons’ ambush through them; Ivar lingers by the map of the city and its surroundings that his brother managed to find before he was to leave Kattegat.

He hears the steps he knows by memory now, and doesn’t turn to acknowledge Ubbe as he walks in. The older man takes a seat nearby, a horn of mead in his hand.

“There’s enough of an opening by now. We can send our men in during the night, wait within the walls.” Ubbe offers, but Ivar doesn’t hesitate to shake his head.

“You have to be careful, Ivar,” Floki tells him, holding the piece he took like a trophy between them. He narrows his eyes, but the man continues, “The fort will hurt you -and me- once the game starts. You can easily be trapped and cornered inside the walls.”

“No, we fight on open fields. The Arabs are going to be in those tunnels, we can take care of the Saxons outside the walls.” He orders, and for once Ubbe doesn’t argue.

“If those mercenaries join him outside the walls…”

“We will know. They stick out.” Ivar tells him, the conversation so similar to how they planned to defend Dublin from those foreigners of strange weapons and stranger tactics.

“I will take the flank. They will count on them to unbalance us, right? Well, I have fought them before, I can lead my men against them.”

Ivar doesn’t take his eyes off the map, but he does betray a mocking smile,

“Look at you, brother, taking advice from a Greek witch.”

Ubbe lets out a huff of laughter, and it is in that small moment of quiet, in that small and private moment past all the pride and the jealousy, that Ivar admits, only to himself of course, that he has missed his brother, missed what he thought lost when he almost killed Sigurd.

____

Ubbe pushed his men to cover the opening in the city’s walls, keeping the Arab mercenaries trapped inside and at the mercy of the long and thin streets, easily ambushed with each wave they send in.

And on the open fields outside Strepshire, the Saxon army takes heavy losses, and Ivar watches raptly as the armies clash. Pieces on a board, but so much more entertaining to watch.

He sees the commander call for retreat across half a battlefield.

Alfred’s eyes lift to meet his for barely a moment, and he retreats his hand from hovering over the knight and grabs his King, moving him away and closer to the Queen. And Ivar doesn’t know much of this game the Saxons play yet, but he knows when the most important piece retreats, he has won. It is only a matter of time now.

Ivar knows it is Stithulf. He would recognize the man anywhere. Both his death and his life haunt Ivar more than he would ever admit.

It is the man that threatened his kingdom, the man that tried killing him and his brothers, the man that his wife vowed revenge against. More than almost anything, he wants him dead.

Yet he is also the man that, just by breathing, keeps you with him.

The Saxon lives in a state between dead and alive as much as you do, as much as Ivar does, it seems.

“I want that one,” He tells his men, eyes on the Christian that at the sound of his voice turns to meet his eyes. Ivar smiles, his voice a hoarse yell when he orders, “And I want him alive!”

And something familiar shines in the Saxon’s eyes. Fear.

And Ivar wonders who it is Stithulf fears, truly. If it is him, or you.

And it fills Ivar with a strange sort of thrill, to imagine that his wife, the woman that looks at him -and only him- with softness and warmth and what he could fool himself into believing is love, is the woman that across a sea, with nothing but the implication of her wrath, manages to make a man like Stithulf fear.

You’re smiling down at him, a smile that reminds him of that first time he saw you, of blood dripping down your lips and the war cry of a Valkyrie, “What a pair we make, then. The Viking King and the Greek witch.”

They don’t need Stithulf to retreat, and he signals his men to let them go and cower. They will strike again soon, and even if they can get far enough, they will meet again.

Now settled comfortable inside the city, Ivar walks the narrow streets, still littered with injured or dead men, towards the dilapidated building where he was told they kept Stithulf, trying to ignore the building pain in his legs at forcing himself to wear the braces for too long now.

They keep Stithulf in a darkened room, hands and legs bound with rope and arms tied to a wooden pillar at his back. Ivar takes a seat in front of him, toying with the crutch as he observes the older man.

He hadn’t noticed, though he realizes now he should have guessed, that Stithulf was not only scarred by his last encounter with you, but blinded. His eye is white and unseeing, surrounded by still-pink scar tissue.

Ivar leans closer to the Saxon, who keeps a defiant eye on his.

“That plan of yours, how is it going?”

“I’m not Bishop Heahmund, I won’t entertain your ramblings, heathen.”

That does make him smile. The fool thinks he gives nothing away by offering resistance, when he actually shows his hand more than he ever could with an open stance.

Ivar leans back with a downward curve of his mouth, “I am willing to entertain yours. So, tell me, why do all this?” He motions with his free hand all around him, “You had to know you’d lose.”

“Why did you and your brothers gather your Great Army and marched on England? Why did your wife vow to take my soul with her to her Hell?”

“Revenge? Not very Christian of you.”

“The seat of power of my home is occupied by Vikings, the last of my King’s blood was abducted by a son of Ragnar,” Stithulf’s eyes hold a certainty, a fire, that almost surprises Ivar. “Revenge is all I have left.”

“Bamburgh is not occupied, it is legally my brother’s. And your princess’ marriage to Sigurd was the work of Ecbert, no…abduction.”

The Christian laughs bitterly, mocking, “Ah, and your wife is willingly staying by your side? Tell yourself all the lies you wish, heathen, we both know the tale is other.”

“And what is this tale?”

“That none of you beasts, you…sons of Ragnar, can hold on to anything. Not land, not love, not each other.”

But you do not care to be called a beast, a monster, do you? One such as you knows better than to expect love, I suppose.

The anger starts in his chest, an old blend of too many things that it is easier to name wrath, and Ivar feels his nose furrow in a snarl, his teeth gritting together.

With the anger comes the restlessness, the need to make the pain and the anger take form, the desire to hurt back.

And he gathers, out of all the things you’ve forgiven, you could certainly forgive him for killing Stithulf instead of bringing him to you alive, couldn’t you?

For a few moments he lingers on it, he lets himself be lulled by the siren song of silencing the iron-willed Saxon once and for all. To silence his voice and all the others that agree with him.

But your voice is clear in his head as if it were being spoken by you again, as if you were sitting across from him and looking into his eyes and whispering, while he still lives, I have reasons to stay here.

And he stays frozen, lingering on the realization that bound and helpless lies the man that he promised you as a gift, that the one thing keeping you in Kattegat could be dead soon, that the promise could be fulfilled and you could be gone before winter is over. And so Ivar stays there, frozen for too long trying to think of all the possible outcomes, as if this were but yet another battle, but finding himself unable to think of anything other than a life without you in it.

Gone is the woman that had an axe to her neck and still asked if she should be impressed, and pleading eyes search his, “You cannot do this, you cannot expect me to-…don’t put chains on me.”

The answer was always there, wasn’t it? Even if you say you can’t choose, the choice has already been made.

You turn to face him, steeled resolve shining in your gaze, arrogance in your posture, “You won’t be the first man to try to chain me. My very blood makes me belong to them. Athens, and Sparta, Greece; it’ll summon me to return sooner or later.”

It was never even a choice, was it? You were always going to belong to them, you were always going to love and need and choose them.

A deep breath, and you meet your gaze, a resigned sort of strength making you give him your answer, that is as unwavering as your voice, “I would leave.”

He stays frozen, for so long it seems, that even Stithulf grows bored of the silence.

“I assume you’ll be taking me with you to your home?”

“It won’t do you any good to assume anything.” Ivar tells him, curving his mouth downwards in a nonchalant grimace, trying to dispel the thoughts from his head, trying to focus on the present.

The older man only keeps his eyes on the nothingness ahead, as if he can see a ghost in his mind’s eye.

A ghost that with a knife in her hand and his neck within reach chose to scar him, a ghost that with a smile talked in a foreign tongue and promised him suffering and death.

“She made you promise her my head, didn’t she? And you agreed,” Stithulf chuckles, and he almost sounds proud, “Too smart for her own good, that witch. And too beautiful for ours.”

Ivar doesn’t bother hiding his disgust, toys with the idea of blinding Stithulf’s remaining eye. What was that story you told him? Walk the Underworld blind, deaf, and dumb, so that all the dead know…

Instead, he mocks, “Are you going to sit there and talk about my wife?”

“Well, I am sitting here with nowhere to go, and you aren’t talking about anything.”

“I thought you weren’t to entertain my ramblings.”

Stithulf only shrugs as well as he can with bound arms, keeping his one good eye on Ivar.

“Plans change.”

“Ah, like your plans involving your Bishop. You sent him to die to Kattegat’s border.” Ivar tells him, eyeing him from the corner of his eye as he pours himself a drink.

“Leofric? It was his choice, a choice he made once he was no longer needed. He is-…” Stithulf stops himself, considering his choice of words, and looks at Ivar inquisitively. All he offers in response is a small smile and the lift of his eyebrows over the rim of his cup. The Saxon amends, ���…was a man of God, he lived by Christian teachings, he died for the Lord and so he shall be-…”

Ivar decides to ignore the rest of his words, rolling his eyes and letting his head follow the movement. For a man that claims to not be anything like Heahmund, Stithulf seems to love the sound of his own voice as much as the other man did.

But there were things Leofric said before dying that Ivar still needs answers to.

“Your Bishop, he said something about dead men breathing.” Ivar interrupts, eyeing Stithulf carefully, looking for any give in his expression.

The Saxon only stares at him, impassively, “Are you one to fear ghosts, heathen?”

He looks into his eyes, both blinded and piercing, and he doesn’t see a man. But he doesn’t see a piece on a board.

He sees a dying fire, he sees a choked flame, he sees an ending. He sees the last flickering light that’s keeping Ivar from the darkness.

And he cannot let it go out, not yet.

Even though Ivar will deny it until Valhalla calls to him, it is infuriatingly easy for you to get him to grant you whatever you wish.

You need only look at him and offer a soft and secret smile, or a touch of your hand on his arm, or a whisper of his name, and he is pathetically gone, ready to grant you whatever it will be that could keep you happy, safe.

You asked him without words to know where the place you were in was located on a map, long before he knew your name, in some old hut in Aneridge. And as if the Gods themselves moved his hand, he pointed to the location of the small town, growing a little warm at the sight of the softness in grateful eyes that looked up at him.

You ask silently for his attention with your chin resting on his shoulder, with your fingers skimming over his arm, with your hand on his. And, lovesick fool he is, he answers each of those summonses without thinking twice about it; turning to you and meeting your gaze.

And he likes to think -no, no, he knows, because he knows you, because…he knows- that in the last kiss you shared while it was still just the two of you, before the people set watchful eyes on you and the titles laid heavy on your heads; you asked him for the same thing he asks the Gods: for more time.

And so he leans forward, holding onto a knife, one of a set of five of which one still is kept safe by you.

Ivar’s eyes look into Stithulf’s grey one, and he watches the Christian squirm and groan as he retraces with the knife the scar you gave him, drawing blood and pain.

As he restarts the count, he breathes life to the dying embers.

“Run,” He tells him, the next movement of the bloodied knife cutting the rope that binds Stithulf’s legs, but not the one on his wrists. “We will meet again.”

And when the sun rises and the men wake up, they will hear him demand to know where the Christian has gone to, maybe they will even see him punish some undeserving fool.

And he will ignore Ubbe’s knowing stare, and he will set sail home and lie through his teeth, and live in this borrowed time a while longer.

Just this winter. Just one winter with you, and he’ll readily face spring and whatever it brings then.

____

Ivar never really saw love. Or experienced it. He doesn’t really know what it is like to love, or be loved, other than his mother, and Floki, maybe.

But he never witnessed it either, and that’s what he dwells on as the ships approach the docks. For a lifetime of watching, of being witness to how other men achieved the things he once believed he never could achieve himself; Ivar never really saw love.

His father was never there, and even when he was, it wasn’t love what kept him and Aslaug married. It was a quiet respect, a strange rivalry kept at bay by something other than themselves.

He hasn’t seen Sigurd in years, but even before it all fell apart, Ivar knew it wasn’t love what he and Blaeja had. It was companionship, a blend of resignation and relief at how out of all the possible outcomes, they happened to be bound to one another.

Floki did love Helga, he knows that, and he knows Helga loved him. But it was so drowned by the quiet sorrow, the way Helga would look at Floki, and it was so jarringly painful, the way Floki would look at his wife.

And Ivar still remembers the edge in that Greek’s voice as he called your name, he still remembers the look in your face as he died in your arms. But in quiet nights you’ve told him that was never love, that was illusion and guilt.

So, he doesn’t really know what love looks like, or what it is.

He doesn’t really know if the way your eyes have a strange shine to them and you smile despite yourself as you meet his gaze from the docks is love.

But he wants it to be.

And he understands the poor fool that believed every lie you told him, including that you loved him. Because you do not need speak a word other than his name, and Ivar is willing to close his eyes and pretend what you said were words of love.

He doesn’t have time to dwell on it, and grow angry at himself for still craving useless things, like softness, like love.

You are standing in front of him, wide smile and the faint shine of tears in your eyes, and he realizes in the quiet that you bring that he has had this small voice whispering that it would all turn out to be a mirage all this time.

Because this is real, because this is his; Ivar’s hand is certain on the back of your head, and he brings you to him and claims your mouth.

There’s a soft sound against his lips that sends a thrill of warmth down his spine, and your hands are warm against him as your mouth moves against his own, as you surrender to his kiss.

In the warmth you bring he realizes there truly was a part of him that believed that when he returned everything that had changed before he left would turn out to be nothing but a dream.

Your hands are on his chest, and your eyes focus on them for a few moments before you lift your gaze up to him.

“I missed you, Ivar.” You tell him, quietly, easily. You say it in a breath, as if it is simple. And it is simple, he gathers, though it doesn’t feel like simple in the way his chest pulls tight at the words.

He leans down and kisses you again, seals those words against his own lips, finds a way to make the promise they whisper more than words. And he kisses you -or you kiss him, he doesn’t think he minds the difference- until your lips are bearing the mark of him, and your breaths are labored.

You blink, dazedly, as if awakening from a dream, and it feels Ivar with pride to be able to disarm you, at least partly.

“How many…how many injured?” You ask, for the first time looking around you, “Your brother, is he…?”

“He’s well,” He tells you, and searches your eyes before adding, “Stithulf still lives.”

And Ivar may not know what love looks like, but he does know what relief looks like. And that surely shines in your eyes at his words.

____ ____ ____

Hope you liked it, thank you so much for reading!!

Taglist: @youbloodymadgenius @heavenly1927 @toe-vind-ek-jou @xbellaxcarolinax @pieces-by-me @angelofthorr @samsationalwilson @peachyboneless @1950schick @punkrocknpearls @ietss   @itsmysticalmystery @revolution-starter @chibisgotovalhalla @the-a-word-2214 @fae-sedai​ @crazybunnyladysworld   @funmadnessandbadassvikings (won’t met me tag you bb)  

[the-girl-in-the-box]

Not Today- XXXIV

A/N: Aaand, another late chapter, oops! I had a bit of a crazy week, finishing preparations for an audition I had Wednesday for a music program at my university, then passing the audition, scrambling to get my schedule sorted on Thursday, attending my first day of classes Friday, and making up any work I missed Friday afternoon and all day Saturday. YIKES! 😅 But, I’m very happy in this program, and I can tell I’m finally right where I’m meant to be. Unfortunately, all that did lead to another late chapter, but I have made it an extra thousand words- hopefully that makes up for the lateness!! A trigger warning for child abuse toward the end (canon typical), but enjoy the chapter! Even bigger things are coming soon 👀 Skål!

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

Masterlist

--

Ivar was woken first by the light streaming in through their window, and he shifted slightly as if he could avoid it. He felt Asta shifting with him, though far more subtly, as she moved only to press her back closer to his side. He smiled a little, turning his head toward her, and then he shifted once more. Rolling up onto his side, he let one of his arms drape over her waist, and then pulled her tightly against his chest, burying his face in her hair. He found it blocked the sun out perfectly, and so he let out a contented sigh. Yes, he could get used to this.

She rolled over, and he chuckled a bit to himself as he felt her turning back towards him, her arms wrapping around him and head tucking up under his chin.  He adjusted his grip to hold her more securely, his hand resting against her upper back as he pulled her under his arm. There was a greater intimacy between them now, he realized, than there had been before. All the nights they’d slept at each other’s sides, he had still held her then, but it hadn’t been the same as this. Whatever wall she had put up between them had finally cracked that night. With it, Ivar’s insecurities about her had as well.

Now, as he pulled back just a bit to look down at her, he smiled softly. The early morning light was reflecting gently off her skin, making her almost seem to glow in it, contrasting with the thick, dark waves which stretched out behind her. Truly, he would believe she was a goddess, if he was told it was so. As it stood, he believed with all his heart she truly was a Prophet.

“Your blood is fated together.”

The words entered his mind in the Seer’s voice, and when Ivar lifted his eyes, he saw him, sitting somewhere just behind her. But it wasn’t his own voice he heard reply, it was hers.

“Our blood?” she asked. “How can our blood be fated together?”

“In the blood of your fathers,” the Seer answered, no less frustratingly vague than he had been in life. “In the blood of your sons. King begets King, Priest begets Princess, and blood is fated to blood. The darkness grows as the light stays by his side. The tides are pulled by command of the moon.”

“What do you mean by that? What moon, and what tides?” she questioned.

“You are surrounded by the tides, Prophet. But they do not darken your light. You remain. You are all that remains. Wake, and drown in them.”

Asta’s eyes opened suddenly, taking a deep breath as she looked up at Ivar. He found himself blinking a few times, and… he smiled. Even though he knew she had rather mundane ways of making her prophecies, he had no doubt she was somehow truly a Prophet. If the Seer were here, were still alive, and could somehow speak with her, he would say the same. Ivar was sure of it.

Confusion crossed his face as he saw it grow in her, and she even sat up a bit, took a little bit of a look around. “Was there a man in here?” she asked, looking back to Ivar now with her brows drawn. He shook his head.

“None that I’m aware of,” he said. If there had been one, he’d snuck in while they’d slept. But Ivar couldn’t recall anyone but himself and Asta. “Did you hear something?”

“A man’s voice,” she answered. “He spoke to me. You’re sure you heard nothing?”

“I heard nothing,” he answered her honestly. “I have only been awake a few moments, but I think I would have noticed. Did you dream it?”

“Perhaps.”

“They say the Seer has appeared in dreams to people,” he told her. “I have not seen him since his death, but I know I have heard it said.”

Asta hummed, growing more thoughtful at this response from Ivar. “Was he a strangely cryptic man?” Ivar chuckled.

“There was nothing he said which made any sense until you saw it played out in your life,” he replied, which in turn made her chuckle as well. “What did the man in your dream say, hmm?”

To Ivar, it was beginning to sound as if the Seer had come to Asta in a dream, which was only serving to further convince him she was truly a Prophet. If the Seer gave her a prophecy, could that be how she knew to say some of what she did? Things such as her various warnings to Oleg? That would certainly make sense.

“He told me the tides would be pulled at the command of the moon.”

Ivar froze.

He’d heard those words, once before, when the very same prophecy had been given to him. Many times, he’d reflected on it as he watched Asta, and as he found himself doing whatever it was she needed. Even now, as he had proposed marriage to her, not only to ensure he never loses her, but also for her own security in Wessex, he was doing all he could for her. He couldn’t remember the last time another person had had such influence over him.

Well, there was Freydis. And, had Asta not stayed so steadfastly by his side, he might have questioned her in the aftermath of Freydis’s betrayal.  But as it was, he found that he trusted her. He wanted to trust her. He didn’t know if he would be able to take her betrayal, not so shortly after Freydis’s. He needed her, and so he was pulled at her command. Ivar the Boneless would always be pulled at the command of Asta the Prophet.

He hummed, and brought a hand up to push her hair behind her ear. “What do you think it means, hmm?”

“I don’t know,” Asta replied. She leaned into Ivar’s touch, the way he brushed her hair back, and gave a sigh. “He said many other things, but nothing I could pick any meaning out of.”

“Try not to worry too much then, my love,” he said. “Just take some time to rest, instead.”

Asta nodded a little, taking in a deep breath and letting it out in a long exhale. “You’re right,” she said. “Yes, I’ll just…” She paused as she looked up at him, and cupped his jaw with her hand. “I’ll focus on you instead.”

Ivar smiled and nodded. “And I will focus on you,” he promised. He let his hand move from her hair to her back, pulling her closer as he leaned down to press his lips to hers. The little hum she gave, a sound of contentment he had learned to recognize from her the night before, made warmth spread through his chest. Indeed, if he could wake up with her like this every morning, he would die a happy man.

Unfortunately, as with all things, their morning together eventually came to an end, and Ivar and Asta had to get up and prepare for their day. Their routine was well established by now, and they moved around their chambers as if they’d been practicing this all their lives- stopping to help the other as needed, and finding the other there almost before the request was made.

If nothing else, they were nearly perfectly attuned to the other. Ivar would take a different breath when he was about to speak, and if he was sitting on the bed without his braces, then Asta knew what he wanted before he had even voiced it. She’d easily go to get his braces, and bring them to him, helping him to get them on his legs without being asked. 

Likewise, she would give a very particular huff when she was struggling with her hair, and so Ivar would call her over before she even requested he help her with it. A perfect team was what they had become, and when the time came for them to take Igor to the market, both were prepared simultaneously, and ready to start their day. It was all terribly convenient, and gave them a sense of domesticity with the other about which they’d never complain.

Igor was already prepared to leave when they arrived at his chambers, and today, he’d clearly decided to bring along his puppet. Asta had smiled when she saw this, and chuckled softly.

“Ah, the King will be joining us today, then?” she asked him teasingly, and Igor grinned and nodded.

“He has decided he wants to get out,” he replied. “See his Kingdom.”

“Is that so, your Majesty?” Ivar asked the puppet.

Taking on a voice as if the puppet were speaking, Igor answered, “It is. I want to see my people, and how they are doing.”

The three went into the marketplace as they had planned, walking about and looking at different things for sale, laughing at a hat Asta tried on which didn’t suit her at all, and Ivar even bought a necklace for her, which did rather well suit her. It was a silver pendant, in which was carved the Triskele, a symbol of growth and change. The symbol seemed rather fitting, and so when she took to it, he gifted it to her. She’d grinned and hugged him happily, kissed his cheek, and asked him to put it around her neck. Seeing her so happy with the little gift had warmed Ivar’s heart.

Later, sometime that afternoon, a man approached Ivar while Asta was off at another booth, entertaining the boy with something. The message was something Ivar wasn’t overly fond of hearing, but accepted, and went to Asta and Igor with. “We must go,” he explained, and Asta sighed softly.

“Can I assume that…?” she began, and he gave a nod. This only caused her to let out an irritated huff. “He can’t even give us a day, can he? One day, just to do whatever we feel like?”

Ivar chuckled softly, and shook his head. “Apparently, he cannot,” he said. “Come.”

Asta rolled her eyes again, and turned to Igor. “Well?” she asked the boy. “Are you coming?”

“Where are we going?” he questioned, though he did follow Asta and Ivar as they started back toward the palace.

The latter of them answered, “To see Uncle Oleg.”

Igor wasn’t happy with this answer, and so decided to entertain himself by speaking once more through his puppet. “About what?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” Ivar replied. “Oleg is… an enigma.”

“What’s an ‘igma’?” Igor asked then, confused enough at the word to drop the puppet voice and look up at Ivar. Asta chuckled softly, and corrected him.

“An enigma,” she said.

“What’s an enigma?”

Ivar chuckled softly, and shook his head. “I’ve no idea,” he replied.

“An enigma is something that cannot be understood,” Asta explained to them both. “And… a very fitting description for Oleg.”

Igor had stopped paying so much attention to what Asta and Ivar were saying, wondering to himself what it might be that his uncle wanted with them that was so important he had to interrupt their day out. “Perhaps Uncle Oleg wants to give me a present,” he suggested somewhat hopefully.

“Perhaps he does,” Asta agreed. She rather doubted it.

But, it was enough for Igor, who smiled and said, “Perhaps he wants to give me half of the sky.”

Ivar and Asta shared a brief look. The sky did not belong to Oleg, and so to hear Igor speak as though it did, even after the talks they’d had with him, was concerning to say the least. Ivar stopped, putting a hand on Igor’s shoulder as he turned to him.

“He cannot give you something that is already yours,” he told the boy seriously. “Remember that, hmm?”

Asta looked up, back toward the palace, where she found Oleg watching them from the balcony just above the door. He turned and went inside.

The trio soon found their way back into the palace, and into the main dining hall, where Oleg was already waiting for them, sitting at the head of the table as he did so. Katia sat to his right, and Asta swallowed slightly at the sight. Something didn’t sit right with her about this, though she wasn’t sure just what it was.

“Prince Igor,” she greeted, smiling at the sight of him. “And Ivar the Boneless and Asta the Prophet. How very lovely.” She smiled as well at the Vikings. “Will you have some tea?”

Oleg patted the place to his left as the Princess stood, gesturing for Igor to come and sit there, and the boy did so eagerly. Asta, still more than a touch suspicious, lifted her brow as she watched Katia go for the pot.

“Tea?” she questioned.

As opposed to answering, Katia simply repeated, “Tea,” with a warm smile.

Asta hummed and sat down, as Ivar asked, “What is tea?”

“A plant, from Asia,” Katia replied.

Of course, she answers him, Asta thought a bit bitterly.

As Ivar sat down beside her, Katia knelt to pour him a cup of tea, holding eye contact with him for far longer than necessary. She repeated this exactly with Asta, who looked up into her eyes with a silent question behind them. What are you playing at? they almost seemed to ask.

Katia’s seemed to answer, Trust me.

Asta blinked a few times, confusion crossing her face. Something in Katia’s expression made the Shieldmaiden want to do exactly that, though realistically she knew doing so would likely be a horrible decision. But what if it wasn’t? What if trusting Katia was something she was meant to do? What if nothing was as it seemed here in Kiev, and Katia was not doing as she seemed to be?

Oleg spoke again, pulling Asta’s attention away from the Rus Princess with his anxious tone as he suggested, of what tea was, that it was, “Medicine, perhaps,” and chuckled shortly after.  So, Katia’s behavior was unsettling? Asta’s attention immediately returned to her, as Oleg began to try and move things along. “I thought you might be interested in the further plans for the invasion of your countries,” he said. “I mean, of course, our countries.”

A telling, “Hmm,” from Katia, who finished pouring the tea, and returned to her place at Oleg’s side.

Ivar replied, “Of course,” but Asta was now unable to stop thinking.

There was a message in Katia’s little hum, something about what Oleg had just said. What had he just said? The invasion of your countries. I mean, of course, our countries… Had that been a slip of the tongue, or of the subconscious? What was he saying through that?

She began to pay more attention as he explained, “As you know, we cannot put our plan into operation until next spring,” wanting to see if she could pick up on anything else out of the ordinary. “However,” he continued, “it seems to me it would be ill-advised to commit such huge forces into many unknown…”

At this time, Igor began to play with the puppet again, bored of the conversation regarding so much plotting and planning. He was still a child, after all, and what child wanted to plan the invasion of another country? Oleg noticed this, and gave a small sigh as he finished, “...theatres of war.”

Igor got up then, carrying the puppet around behind Oleg to go and sit beside Katia, who wrapped an arm around him and began to tend him much as a mother would. Oleg ignored this, and continued to speak.

“I know you can advise us on what we are likely to encounter,” he said to Ivar and Asta, “but I feel as though we need a more current and a much broader knowledge of those countries…” He became distracted by Igor pretending to feed the puppet, watching him for a few moments before continuing with a groan, “we plan to attack.”

Ivar could see the irritation beginning to grow in Oleg, and it occurred to him that if the man’s attention was not pulled away from the boy once more, he may lose his temper. That was something no one there, he didn’t doubt, would want to see. “Strategy and planning are everything,” he agreed as means of doing exactly this, and tapped the side of his head for emphasis. “The mind is a far better battlefield than the sword.”

“My intention is to send small raiding parties,” Oleg explained. Ivar’s plan had worked, then. “To take prisoners, from whom further information can be gleaned.”

Igor again got up, and moved to sit just to Ivar’s right, as if having been reminded by the Viking speaking up that he was there, and could indeed be sat with. Said Viking answered Oleg, “I agree, that is very sensible.”

“And, perhaps you would even consider appointing us to lead a couple of these raiding parties?” Asta suggested. 

Oleg looked to her, as if a bit surprised she would make this suggestion. But, he smiled falsely at her, and replied insincerely, “I will definitely take your request into consideration. Although, Katia and I both enjoy your… intimate company.”

Asta wasn’t surprised he was already wanting to turn this down. After all, the entire reason she did want to go was to see if she could run into Hvitserk, or perhaps Torvi, Ubbe, even Björn… There was still a horrible feeling in her gut when she thought of Lagertha, of the nightmare she’d had concerning the older Shieldmaiden, and if she could just make contact with one of her old friends, without alerting them to Ivar’s location… she thought she might be able to find something out, and set her mind at ease.

She stopped staring Oleg down as Katia spoke up, seeming to agree with her husband. “You are both… very intriguing,” she said. “Some of the things you say surprise me, and I never know what you will say next. You claim there is a connection between us, which I cannot fully understand…”

Ivar smiled tightly at her, and Asta hummed. “I wish I could understand it,” she said. “You aren’t alone in that lack of understanding. In fact, I find it likely that only the gods know.”

Katia hummed, but before she could answer Asta, Igor began to beat the hand of the puppet on the table, as if the puppet were demanding everyone’s attention. Oleg glared irritatedly, but Ivar took a different approach, looking instead to appease the boy.

“What do you say, Prince Igor?” he asked. “Do you want to come with us on a raiding party?”

“I must consult the King,” Igor said, and Ivar acquiesced with a hum, and a gesture to the puppet which clearly encouraged Igor to do so. Taking on the puppet’s ‘voice’ once again, Igor said, “I think you should make your own decisions!”

Oleg cracked.

“What are you doing, huh?!” he demanded, almost launching himself to his feet and storming around the table toward Igor. He pulled the boy up to his feet, and yelled, “Are you crazy?” before throwing him back down again.

Asta gasped, but before she could get up to push Oleg away from Igor, Igor himself stood, and putting the puppet between himself and Oleg, speaking once more through it, he shouted back, “I am not crazy! I am the King and I own everything! This table, this room, this palace! I own the land and the sky!”

Ivar watched, almost as if enthralled or entranced, as Igor finally stood up for himself. It was a far cry from the anxious expression his ‘wife’ wore, and her hand closed around his arm tightly. Oh yes, she was anxious indeed.

And, she was right to be, as Oleg then screamed, and snatched the puppet away from Igor, throwing it to the ground and stomping on it, shredding it until it was nothing more than chips of wood. When Igor tried to run, Oleg grabbed him by the back of his collar, and threw him down as if he weighed no more than the puppet. He got down into Igor’s face, and snapped, “Don’t do that anymore! Don’t be stupid. You are not the King, you are my ward. I am responsible for you, and without you, you are nothing. Do you understand?” Igor tried to look away from him, and Oleg grabbed his jaw, forcing the boy’s attention back. “Don’t ever try to make fun of me again, or I’ll cut out your tongue and feed your liver to my dogs.”

Finally released, Igor jumped to his feet, and fled the room. 

Asta, horrified, turned to watch Oleg as he stood, straightened his coat, and returned to sit beside Katia once more- though, the Princess seemed to, at the least, be judging Oleg’s actions quite harshly in her head. “He’s a good boy,” Oleg said. “He just needs to be controlled.”

Katia took a sip of her tea.

When the room remained silent, Oleg again spoke. “You had a child once, didn’t you, Ivar?”

Asta’s eyes hardened, and she glared daggers at Oleg, sensing how Ivar tensed up beside her in a highly uncomfortable way. He gave Oleg a tight smile, took his crutch, and stood. “Forgive me,” he said. “I’ve had enough to eat.” The way he picked up the shattered puppet, and carried it from the room, revealed that was far from the true problem.

Asta took a deep breath, closing her eyes briefly as she stood, and looked down at Oleg. His eyes met hers once more, preparing for another battle of will with her, but today, she wasn’t playing. She spoke one sentence. “The gods will judge you harshly, Prince Oleg.” One sentence, and she left.

Ivar and Asta had eventually found Igor up in the nest in his room, and both had managed the climb up in there to sit with him. The boy now rested against Ivar, who held him tightly, with Asta’s arms wrapped around them both. 

“Do not weep, dear Igor,” Ivar said softly, and pressed a soothing kiss to the top of his head. “Sweet child, do not weep. We are here, now.”

Asta knew Igor likely didn’t realize the full meaning of Ivar’s words. But she did, and she agreed with him wholeheartedly. She and Ivar had become fiercely protective of Igor, in their time in Kiev, and now that they were there, they weren’t going to let Oleg get away with treating him like this. No, on the contrary.

They were going to make him pay.

Taglist: @youbloodymadgenius, @katfett, @sylki-simp, @heavenly1927, @pomegranates-and-blood, @kingniazx, @dekusdante

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

[lisinfleur]

In your arms

The request:

Author’s Notes | Fuck the whole universe. I can't see that shitty ending for our pup and not doing anything about this. So, here is the first of the many things I'll write to correct what made us bleed in this last season of our beloved show! Hope you guys like it! Universe | Vikings Pairing | Hvitserk x Reader Info | Viking age AU, fixing plot AU, requested by anon. Words | 2941 ⁑ Warnings: Spoilers ahead. Mention to major character’s death, some angst.

"No brother! You've done your work! Do not interfere anymore. All my life has been a preparation for this moment. Stay back."

The sound of Ivar's voice and their last conversation for a long time populated his mind.

The many times they'd tried to reach for each other's ends and failed miserably made sense all at once in a single sentence.

"I could never kill you..."

What was left untold for their whole life, finally spoken.

"I love you. Now go. Go!"

Screams of strength and bravery overcame Ivar's final words of fear in Hvitserk's mind.

"Are we afraid of the death? No!"

For days he laid among the Christians after burying his brother like a true Viking lord, ensuring whoever was to find his grave would know what his brother wanted...

"Here is the grave of the most famous Viking that ever lived!"

The last promise he made before his little brother's eyes were lost from his to go into the golden doors he wasn't able to see, but was sure were open for Ivar to enter, engraved in his mind as if they were marked by fire.

"No one will ever forget Ivar, the Boneless."

He had to do it. He had to push forward his brother's legacy and what better way than doing what Ivar intended when they came back to stand on those cursed lands once again? Those poisonous lands that took his father, two of his little brothers, and the memory of the older one from who he separated in that place. That terrible place.

He would burn that place to ashes! And then he would spread those ashes over Ivar's grave like a gift to his brother's memory.

And so... He would come home. To fulfill one last promise also marked on fire in his mind and his heart.

"I'll come back, Y/N. I'll come back to you."

He had just found you after the many years of tragedy in his life. So, you became his secret in Kattegat. A secret he didn't tell not even to his beloved little brother, afraid somehow Ivar's hands could reach and rip his heart from his chest one more time.

You served his tables when he was younger and became a free woman since no one was caring about the fleeing slaves in the middle of that whole war he and his brothers fought with each other. But you'd never forgotten him and when he came back with his brother under the angry words of the town, you came after him, spoke of long-gone times and memories. And you offered your services for him who was once a good master in exchange for his mercy since now you were lost and helpless in the middle of the confusion Kattegat had become with so many rulers in so little time.

It didn't take too long for him to see you were a gift the gods had blessed him with. In a matter of days, his heart was bent.

To fall in love with you was easy. To leave you at the cabin when the time to leave had come was the hardest thing he'd ever done.

You cried in his chest and he could still remember how hard it was to hold your tears. He knew it could be his last battle... You knew he could never come back from that trip. But they had to do it.

You couldn't argue with his fate.

You couldn't beg him to stay.

So, you made him promise he would come back to you and swore you would wait for him. To warrant his promise was real, he left his recently recovered arm ring in your hands.

His fingers touched the pendant on his chest. Another hacksilver, placed alongside the one he had earned from his father on his necklace. You had given that pendant to him saying you wanted it back and so, he would have to come back to give it back to you.

Sometimes Hvitserk would wonder what was in your mind now. He knew the news of Ivar's defeat and Harald's death had reached Kattegat at that point. Would they say he was dead as well? Did they know he was a prisoner for so long?

Would you be there, waiting for him yet?

Promises were promises. Things were close to an end.

Hvitserk stopped a moment to admire his little brother's mind and toughness once again: it was hard as fuck to play games with the Christians and mislead them was one of the hardest things he ever had to do. Hvitserk was a berserker. The mindless battle was his favorite game and those mental games were Ivar's specialty.

Maybe it was why he decided to do it that way.

Ivar's way.

It was his brother's legacy after all.

For months he had played the Christian. He accepted that stupid baptism and walked with a cross around his neck. He spoke meekly and accepted that stupid name they gave him as if it could erase everything he was and would ever be.

From behind, his crows were cawing at the Dane kings' ears at the settlement beside Wessex, remembering them he himself was also a son of Ragnar, fated to Valhalla, who, unlike Ubbe, wanted those lands entirely to their people as a fair payment for the lives those Christians had stolen from them.

Ragnar Loðbrók.

Harald Finehair.

Ivar, the Boneless.

The whole unavenged settlement prince Aethelwulf had destroyed years ago in time...

Their blood was considered a fair price for his people to rise. The position of third Dane king, abandoned by his older brother, was a vacancy Hvitserk was considered fitting to occupy.

Under the mantle of lies and with the night by his side, Hvitserk dressed his armor once again and headed up to the doors of the Royal Villa to open them to his people like once his brother Ubbe had opened the gates of York for them to enter.

Standing in the middle of the gates as the army of Vikings invaded the town, Hvitserk could almost hear his brother's voice screaming and the sound of that unmistakable chariot filling the air as if Ivar was riding with them into the Royal Villa, conquering what he wasn't able to see falling in front of his eyes.

Alfred fled with Elsewith and their child. Hvitserk spared their lives as they had spared his own. What's fair is fair and Ivar would forgive him for denying the royal blood to his vengeance, but Alfred had respected his brother's death, his grave wasn't touched and his life was preserved.

But the town was on fire, invaded and taken as Ivar once planned.

With the dawn, Hvitserk received a mark on his face to resemble his crown as the third Dane King his brother didn't want to be. But he knew he wouldn't stay as much as Ubbe didn't stay.

He was wounded and tired, but Ivar was avenged and it was time to fulfill his next promise.

"I ordered them to build a shrine for you, brother. They must start soon and the Danes ensured me they'll use the stones from the royal castle to build it around your grave," Hvitserk said, touching the stones of the simple tomb he had rose with his own hands. "They'll paint runes and make sacrifices. And this place shall be marked with your story, my brother. No one will ever forget who you were and, in the future, when they find this place, everyone will know here is the grave of the great Ivar, the Boneless, son of Ragnar Loðbrók, feared by many around the world and for whom this land fell into our hands."

His fingers caressed the stone as if he could touch Ivar's face once again.

"But now I think you know I have to go... And leave you behind, brother. For you'll be always alive in my heart, but she's waiting for me. I know I never told you anything about her... I had my reasons, you know them very well," he sighed. "I did it all for you, Ivar. And if she ever gives me a son, I'll name him after you, so he can keep telling your story throughout the years. I'll never forget you, brother. Hail and farewell, Ivar. We'll see each other again when the time comes..."

Leaving behind the first hacksilver of his necklace as a gift to his brother, Hvitserk left, mounting his horse and riding towards the docks where a Dane boat was already waiting for him, ready to take him home.

For a moment, Hvitserk placed his eyes on that land once again. Maybe it was the last time he would ever see that cursed place. Maybe one day he would come back to see Sigurd and Ivar and his father as well. Or maybe, like Ivar, he would come and die there alongside the ones he loved. The time would say. Fate would say.

He was finally coming home.

The boat took ages to make a trip he didn't remember was that long. Ingrid was the new queen and he could see the awe in her eyes when he jumped out of that boat, holding himself whole in spite of his tiredness.

"We thought you were..."

"Dead, like my brother. And your husband, I suppose," Hvitserk didn't care about cutting the queen's sentence. "Release your breath, woman. I have my own crown and have no interest in the one on your head. You're Harald's wife and he was Norway's king. This is now your problem, but still, my homelands so get used to having me walking around from time to time," he said, carelessly pointing down to the ground. "Now you excuse me, your highness... I have more important matters to treat. Spare me from feasts in your hall: The son of Ragnar may be back home, but I'm tired, exhausted... All I want is to find my woman and rest in her arms."

"Your what?"

But he left Ingrid and her whole surprise behind, walking away from the boat as the Danes were preparing to move with their trip. They wouldn't stay. He wouldn't come back, at least, for now.

If he ever had to die in those cursed lands, he would do it like his father: before growing too old.

After living his whole life.

His steps were still limping and for a moment, he giggled, remembering how Ivar had limped that whole pier under horrible words where now there were smiles and grateful faces blessing his return. Would they bless if Ivar was back as well?

Oh, they would. But his brother wanted more than just their blessings.

And he wanted more than just their words.

Hvitserk straightened his cloak. His limping steps walking through the streets with many memories, sometimes sad memories, sometimes sweet ones. And as his steps shortened the distance towards his cabin, the sweetest memories came, remembering him of his sneaky movements through those streets to find you without his little brother's eyes over him. The kisses you'd exchanged. Your hands against his skin.

His heart pounded when his eyes finally reached that door. It was still the same... The cabin was still exactly as his memories could build it in his mind. But it was silent and it, for a moment, stopped everything into Hvitserk's heart.

Could it be that the news of his death had sent you away for good?

Did he take too long to come back? Did someone tell you he was turned into a Christian and you believed it was for real?

His fingers touched the door and he hesitated before knocking on it.

What if you weren't there to answer?

What if there was another with you in his place now?

It was easier to burn down the Christians' village than it was to knock on his own house's door, but the sound of footsteps inside approaching the door turned Hvitserk's mind completely blank for a second.

The lock was opened and his eyes watched as the light from outside invaded the darkened cabin, covering your figure and showing the pale tones of your apron dress.

"Now it's not a good time, I'm..."

Your voice died into your throat. And your eyes met his in a long moment of silence where the whole world seemed to be stopped along with time itself.

Hvitserk could watch as the line of your eyes filled slowly with tears. He observed as the tears became thicker and broke the line, rolling down your face. Your beautiful face... He thought so many times he would never see you again.

You sobbed, losing the strength of your legs. And Hvitserk held you in his arms, feeling the warmth of your body against his chest once again.

It wasn't one more of his dreams. You were there.

He was home.

His scent invaded your nose and your sobs engulfed you whole as you nestled into his arms, holding him so tight that your knuckles became white against his clothes.

"Shh... Hush, my sweet love. I'm here now. I'm here with you," he mumbled as your sobs became louder.

You thought he was dead.

They told you he was dead.

You cried your soul out on that pier, begging the gods to drag your body into the waters and allow you to swim towards him into Valhalla as queen Gunnhild had done after her beloved Björn.

But instead, they held you back.

And as Hvitserk's hands cupped your face before he could seal his lips against yours, tasting your flavors he missed so bad once again, you understood why the gods had given you a reason to keep yourself alive.

It was for him. You were his gift.

And the gods had decided to bless him once more.

"I brought it back to you, my love," he said, giving your pendant back with his necklace. "The other... I left with him," he mumbled.

Eyes full of sadness for his brother you knew wouldn't come back with him.

You gave back his arm ring, caressing his hand as he smiled.

"I thought I would never see you again," he mumbled.

His warm and big hand caressing your face, drying the tears from it before you could finally speak between the sobs.

"They told us you were dead, my sweet prince. I mourned alone and wanted to follow you into Valhalla to serve your feast. But the gods forbade me. They took my freedom for it wasn't my choice anymore."

Hvitserk looked at you curious, not understanding your words until you brought him into the cabin enough for his eyes to land on the basket over his bed.

"They filled me with life and entrusted me with your legacy. I couldn't go. They made me stay. And now I understand that's because you're here, my love. You're back to me."

There weren't words in his mouth anymore.

Hvitserk's steps limped towards the bed and he sat, looking at that basket with surprise and admiration. Inside, a pair of icy blues was facing him, remembering him of so much in his life inside those little eyes.

Ragnar's eyes.

Ubbe's eyes.

Ivar's eyes...

All looking at him into the little one's orbs as his son was trying to eat his own hand, hungry like himself.

"His name is Herleifr, son of Hvitserk. For he's indeed the son of a warrior and I wanted him to know where he came from..." you mumbled as Hvitserk gently lifted the little one from the basket, holding the baby against his chest.

This time it was his eye line unable to hold back his tears as his fingers gently touched the little one's hands and face.

He had seen so much death...

He had lost so much on that trip...

His hands had buried his own little brother and burned that town to the ground, but now, they were holding his future.

Hvitserk giggled.

"Herleifr... My brother shall forgive me once again. I must have to produce another so I can name it after him as I promised," he said, making you smile at his teary face.

You came closer, caressing his cheeks, drying his tears.

"We shall take care of you, my precious prince. And so, when you're healed, we shall produce as many heirs you think you want to honor all the ones you lost and more," you smiled, feeling his hand touching your face, pulling you closer so he could kiss you that way you loved so bad.

The baby cooed in his hand when your lips separated from each other and Hvitserk smiled.

"Now I'm home... Now... I'm back where I belong," he said, touching his forehead to yours, caressing your face with his thumb. "In your arms, my love. I belong in your arms and this is my place in this world."

For a second, Hvitserk could feel Ivar's eyes over him. And he smiled remembering he could be there to watch for him.

"Valhalla will wait," he said, almost being able to hear his little brother's giggle as he caressed your face, smiling at you. "I have a whole dynasty to produce with you first."

His time to find his beloved ones at Valhalla would come, he knew that. But until there, he would enjoy his place in Miðgarð and produce as many heirs as you were up to bear for him.

His time to fight was over for now and now it was time for him to be happy. And he would, by your side.

By your side, he would.

Do you like my work? Support me!

Tagged ones:

|| @bluearchersstuff​ || @ivarswickedqueen​ || @directionlessbuthappy || @akamaiden​ || @bang-kim-bap​ || @cris101071​ || @elysias-temple​ || @alicedopey​ || @queen-see-ya-in-valhalla​ || @lol-haha-joke​ || @readsalot73​ || @rekdreams247​ || @naaladareia​ || @laketaj24​ || @therealcalicali​ || @grungyblonde​ || @arses21434 || @honestsycrets​ || @2thequietone4​ || @blackspiritshake​ || @vikingsbifrost​ || @x-valhalla​ || @lyanna-the-giantsbane​ || @chinduda​ || @isthat-tyra98​ || @xinyourdreamsx​ || @thiahilmarsdottir​ || @queenbeeta​ || @winchesterwife27​ || @gold-dragon-slayer​ || @mzliterarydreamer​ || @marvelouuse​ || @lif3snotouttogetyou​ || @lordsexmachine​ || @deathbyarabbit​ || @ietss​ || @tgrrose​ || @alexisshoto​ || @letsloveimagines​ || @thorins-queen-of-erebor​ || @astrape-the-weatherwitch​ || @destynelseclipsa​ || @charming-merlin​ || @violetidk​ ||

Want to be tagged? Ask me!

[ivarthebadbitch]

Strange things can happen

Chapter 17 summary: The real work begins.

Canon divergent, everybody lives, arranged marriage AU after 4x14. Read this chapter on Ao3.

Previous chapters: [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11] [12] [13] [14] [15] [16]

On Ao3: [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11] [12] [13] [14] [15] [16]

Pairings: Ivar x OC, Ivar vs. basically everyone

Warnings: None

Word count: 1831

Notes: This is it! Thanks to all for the likes, reblogs, comments...every single one is appreciated <3

Tagged: @youbloodymadgenius @heavenly1927 @nukyster-blog @bae-roman @adhdnightmare @danisnotsosecret @punkrocknpearls @istorkyou

CHAPTER 17: Strange things happened

“Well, this is unexpected news,” Ecbert remarked over breakfast to his granddaughter and her husband. “You’re absolutely certain you consummated the marriage?”

Aldreda and Ivar glanced at each other and then looked away, both turning red. Ivar cleared his throat. “You did instruct me, King Ecbert.”

“So I did,” he said. It still seemed rather unlikely. He glanced at Ragnar on the other side of the table, who was rubbing his eyes blearily as Ubbe leaned over to whisper something in his ear. For once, the Northman seemed significantly more hungover than Ecbert after a late night of drinking, discussion, and sundry other activities. Ragnar briefly met his eyes and then slumped down in his seat, tilting his head back. 

“Aldreda,” Ecbert addressed his granddaughter. “Is this true? Lying is a sin.”

“Father…” Aethelwulf complained, gesturing around the table at Aethelred and Alfred, who both were staring very intently at their porridge. “This is hardly an appropriate place to discuss such matters. The children are present.”

Ecbert brushed him aside. “We’re all family here, and besides, the boys will be married eventually and so they should learn now what will be expected of them.” He turned once again to his granddaughter. “Well, Aldreda?”

She blushed and looked away. “It’s true.”

Ecbert considered the pair for a moment, toying idly with his spoon. “Until very recently, neither of you were forthcoming about the status of your marriage. Are we to believe you now? Shall Ragnar Lothbrok and I stake our alliance on your word alone?”

Ivar and Aldreda were quiet, neither daring to even look at each other. Ragnar, though obviously still nursing a severe headache, let out a humorless chuckle and whispered something in Ubbe’s ear. Ubbe snorted in response.

As the silence stretched on, Judith finally cleared her throat. All eyes turned in her direction. “If the marriage has been consummated as they say, it does save the archbishop some paperwork, and the trouble of having to organize a second wedding,” she observed. “No expense was spared for the first wedding, and it would look rather poor to our allies for Aldreda to have to wear the same wedding dress twice in two months.”

“A good point,” Ecbert concurred. “But the validity of Ivar and Aldreda’s marriage should not be subject to doubt. Not in the eyes of our allies nor anyone else.”

“There will only be doubts about the marriage if those of us inside this room allow it,” Aethelwulf argued. He set his spoon down firmly on the table and shook his head. “Judith is correct. Father, your own judgment will be in question if the marriage is disrupted under such circumstances, especially since Aldreda and Ivar both claim it was consummated and they no longer wish to seek an annulment.”

Ecbert looked from Aethelwulf to Judith and back at Aethelwulf again, mildly surprised. It was rare for the two of them to be in agreement. He stirred his porridge thoughtfully, smashing the lumps against the side of the bowl. “I will take your point into consideration,” he said. “However, this matter equally concerns Ragnar, as it affects both of his sons.”

Ragnar, who had quietly been conveying the details of the conversation to Ubbe, finally straightened up with a skeptical expression on his face. Ubbe crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair, staring at his younger brother with raised eyebrows. “Come on, Ivar,” Ubbe said in Norse as Ecbert turned his head and pretended to not understand. “You didn’t really do it. Somehow you convinced her to go along with this.”

Ivar rolled his eyes. “I didn’t convince her of anything.”

Ragnar scoffed. “Oh, something was agreed to,” he said to his sons in his own language. “But I don’t think Ivar was the one doing the convincing.” Having turned his head too quickly, he winced and rubbed his temples, and then lowered his forehead to rest on the table.

“There’s something else,” Aldreda spoke up in the silence that followed. “Ivar misses his home, and I would like to see Kattegat. With your permission, we would like to arrange for both of us to return there with his father and brother, for at least a year or two.”

Aethelwulf looked up sharply. “Aldreda…”

“I want to see the world outside of Wessex, Father,” she explained. She glanced at Ivar with a small smile. “And I will not be alone. This is what both of us want.”

Ecbert studied the conflicted expression on his son’s face—pride and doubt and fear. Just over a month ago, Aethelwulf had objected to his daughter even traveling to Mercia. Kattegat was considerably farther away, and not even a Christian kingdom. But finally, Aethelwulf nodded reluctantly. “One year,” he insisted, looking from his daughter to Ivar. “You have my blessing. I trust you will take care of each other.”

Aldreda beamed at him and turned to look at Ecbert. “Grandfather?” she asked in a small voice.

“Hm.” He looked from Ivar and Aldreda, both with anxious yet hopeful expressions on their faces. It was more than saving the archbishop paperwork or the expense of another wedding on Ecbert’s mind, of course: it had not escaped him that it could be very useful indeed to have one of his own in Kattegat to ensure that the terms of the trade deal were being followed and who could reliably report back on other matters concerning the Northmen. And although Aldreda was young, her word would still hold authority as his granddaughter and representative. Perhaps it was time to put her to the test.

“The marriage will not be annulled,” he said at last. “Indeed, any such suggestion that an annulment had ever been considered will be dismissed as baseless rumor. I will also allow one year to be spent in Kattegat. If my friend and ally Ragnar Lothbrok is satisfied with this resolution, then so am I.”

Ragnar shrugged and fixed his gaze on his son. Some silent communication passed between the two of them. Ragnar looked away first and sighed. “I am satisfied.”

A huge grin spread across Ivar’s face, and Aldreda clapped a hand over her mouth as though she could hardly believe what she was hearing. Around the table, the boys were giggling, Judith and Aethelwulf were looking at each other with surprising warmth, and even the skepticism on Ubbe and Ragnar’s faces was beginning to ease. Ecbert tapped the side of his bowl with his spoon and raised his voice.

“Well, that’s all settled, then,” he concluded. “Everyone, finish your porridge; we have much to make ready.”

Despite his order, nobody else was paying much attention to breakfast at that point, least of all Ivar and Aldreda, who still looked rather dazed by the turn of events. Ecbert shook his head, smiled to himself, and dug back into his porridge: the two didn’t realize it yet, but now the real work was about to begin.

                                                            **

It took several weeks of preparation, but at last, everything that needed arranging had been arranged, Ivar and Aldredea had said their farewells, the carriage was packed to the brim with Aldreda’s trunks, and they were on their way to the coast. With Ubbe and Ragnar going ahead of them on horseback, that left Ivar and Aldreda crammed in together in the carriage and practically sitting on top of each other. 

“Why do you need to bring so many clothes?” Ivar complained as he wiggled around in the seat to try to get more comfortable, pushing her to the side with his body. “We could find you something to wear in Kattegat, you know.”

She pushed him back not very gently and stared at him as though he had just suggested that she travel to Kattegat naked. “They’re my clothes,” she said, sounding absolutely scandalized. “I need them.”

He rolled his eyes. “When I came to England, all I had with me were the clothes I was wearing.”

“Oh, I remember. You and your father were absolutely filthy the first time I saw you. Some of us have higher standards. Besides, I have to look my best when I meet your mother.”

He grinned and took her hand. “She’ll like you,” he said, and then backtracked. From the impression he had gotten from his father and Ubbe, his mother had not taken well to the idea of his marriage. “Well, maybe not right away. But eventually.”

“That’s why I have to make a good first impression,” she replied tartly.

He smiled and looked down at their intertwined hands. None of this still felt entirely real to him—that they were still married, that both of their families had agreed to it, that they were in a carriage headed to the coast and from there, to Kattegat. “What if they figure it out?” he asked quietly. “That we didn’t really...you know. Consummate the marriage.”

She squeezed his hand. “It doesn’t matter that much if they know or don’t know,” she reassured him. “They were willing to go along with it. Otherwise, we wouldn’t be here, would we?”

“I guess not,” he said, still not entirely convinced. 

“The most important thing is that we’ll be together,” she said firmly. “Besides, we will be in Kattegat for an entire year. Who knows what will happen in that much time?”

“It’s enough time to make a pagan out of you,” he joked. “I can teach you how to sacrifice a goat. That would please my mother for sure.”

She smacked his shoulder with her free hand. “I’m sure there must be other ways I can please your mother.”

“Your father tried to make me learn about your bread god,” Ivar complained. “I think this is a fair trade.”

“You had to sit down one time with a priest to learn a prayer, and you didn’t even do that. That’s not the same thing as me sacrificing a goat,” she said dryly.

“Fine, no goats,” he agreed. He looked down, running his thumb along her palm, thinking back to the last time they had been together in a carriage like this. 

Aldreda rested her head on his shoulder. “What are you thinking about?” she asked.

He shrugged. “Just remembering the journey from Mercia back to Wessex,” he said. Aldreda had asked him to tell her about Kattegat. He had thought back then about what it would be like for him to take her to see his home and meet his family, and how impossible that had seemed. And something else had happened as well…

“Oh.” Aldreda blushed and sat up. She was obviously thinking about the same thing.

“You kissed me.”

She turned even redder, but she didn’t let go of his hand. After regarding him for a moment, she asked him shyly, “What if...we did it again?”

He grinned. “I thought you’d never ask.”

So she kissed him and laughed, and to Ivar, her laugh sounded like joy, like hope, like the beginning of something wonderful.

[mrsalwayswrite]

Bloody Vengeance (Ivar x reader)

Summary: Reader wants vengeance and knows what Heathen Prince can help her. 

So I decided to add a spin to the trope-Ivar takes over a city and reader is captured. Hope you enjoy! 

Words:3500

Warnings: canon-typical violence, mentions of past domestic violence, death and torture, plus some sexual tension cause why not?

Tag List: @youbloodymadgenius​

"Prince Ivar, there is someone who wishes to speak with you."

 The youngest Ragnarsson looked up from the dagger he was sharpening. The Viking before him was one of his own, supposed to be guarding the entrance to the great hall of York. It had been a good fight yesterday, especially when all of his plans came to fruition in taking the city. The way his man had made his declaration, it was obvious the Viking only came to Ivar out of obligation, meaning whomever was seeking an audience was no one of importance. Though, it was interesting that this petitioner requested him personally as his two elder brothers also reclined nearby at a table, nibbling away at the food on it. 

 "Who is it?" He drawled, spinning the blade in his hand. 

 "It is a Saxon woman who speaks our language." 

 That intrigued the bloodthirsty prince. His eyes jumped back up to his man for a moment before glancing at his brothers. Even from where he sat, he could see the curiosity on their faces. There were only a few in England who knew their language, and none were ever a woman. Without hesitation he commanded, "bring her to me."

 His man bowed his head before turning and retreating back towards the entrance.

 "What do you think she wants?" Hvitserk asked from where he reclined, eyes towards the entrance as if that would provide the answer he sought. 

 Ubbe spoke first. "The better question is why did she ask for Ivar specifically?" 

 "Because I am more important." Ivar retorted without even looking at his two brothers. He leaned back in his chair, idly spinning his dagger as he thought. Perhaps this city of York would yield more interests than just a stronghold. 

 *****

 Several minutes later, you were led before three of the most feared men in all of England. You were insane for asking for this meeting. Beyond insane. You planned on attempting to make a deal with the devil incarnate. But from what you had heard, if anyone understood revenge, it was the sons of Ragnar Lothbrok. 

 Specifically, Ivar the Boneless. 

 Their eyes slid over your body like oil as you approached, leaving you feeling dirty and tainted without them even touching you. These conquering heathens had no decency. As if unbothered by the obvious lustful gazes, you kept your head up, eyes straight ahead and without fear. Though no one else knew you clasped your hands before you as to not betray the way they shook with trepidation. 

 Without stopping, when the Heathen guard who led you in did, you walked the few extra steps to stand before Ivar. For a brief moment, you thought you saw shock cross his face; for through your movements you made known, you knew specifically who he was, your gaze never wavering to his brothers or the other Heathens scattered in the room.

 The two of you stared at one another for an excruciatingly long minute, his turbulent and piercing, blue eyes refusing to look away, demanding for you to relent and look away first. Though your knees threatened to falter beneath you, you met his gaze head-on, not letting him intimidate you yet. To your surprise, you thought you witnessed a corner of his mouth turn up in a barely-there smirk, but the image vanished just as soon as you thought you imagined it. 

 "How come you know our language?" One of the brothers asked in their native tongue, running a hand over his beard. He eyed you like you were a newly crafted tool, interesting but easily discarded if no longer serving a purpose. 

 You glanced over at the one who spoke, curious his name but not willing to ask. Continuing to speak in their language, the words felt coarse on your tongue but you had excellent tutors so the words poured from your mouth with ease. "I learned it while being a ward at the court of King Ecbert."

 The dark-haired Prince's eyebrows furrowed as he continued to eye you. His gaze shifted from your eyes to scanning your body as if to jog his memory. "I recognize your face."

 "I would frequently watch you and Prince Alfred play chess."

 "Mmm….so what do you want, Christian?" He sneered the title like it was a curse word, leaning back in his chair as if a throne. "Why did you ask for me? Are we to play chess?"

 That earned a chuckle from those nearby. He smirked down at you, pleased by his quip and his attempt to demean you. 

 "If you want, my Prince, but I doubt you will find me a worthy enough opponent." You took a deep breath before continuing. "I came to ask two favors of you…."

 "You are in no position to be asking for favors! Your city is overtaken, you are a slave no matter your birthright! Why would I care about your favors?" Ivar demanded, standing up and stepping closer with all the feel of a venomous snake ready to strike. 

 You refused to allow him to intimidate you, even if the sinister look on his face made you internally quake. Seeing him now only solidified all the horrifying stories you had heard, eclipsing your memories of him as a young man in King Ecbert's court. Someone who had intrigued you at the time, causing you to pursue knowledge of his language even after he left England's shores, in foolish hopes you may one day see him again. Yet before you now was the menacing, bloodthirsty warrior prince you had heard tales of that were enough to freeze one's blood….and you believed them. 

 "Come on, brother. Let us hear her out." The other brother with the kind face stated, eating an apple. "I am curious now." When he caught your eye, he gave you a flirtatious wink. 

 Ivar rolled his eyes and then gestured for you to continue with unconcealed contempt.  

 "Thank you, my Prince." You started, giving the dark-haired prince your undivided attention once again. "In exchange for my favors, I will forfeit my life to you to do with as you please, be that a slave or kill me in whatever way most entertains you. I will not argue or fight back. I will graciously accept your choice."

 "I could do that already, Christian." Ivar interrupted with a sneer. "Or have you forgotten who decimated your army yesterday and bathes in the blood of your people."

 "Brother…." The bearded brother groaned. He tapped once on the table with his hand, giving his youngest brother a pointed look. 

 His upper lip raised in a snarl at his brother before turning to you again, "Speak! I grow weary of your presence."

 You could not help but flinch as he yelled, his voice echoing off the stone walls of the once pristine great hall. Swallowing thickly, you pushed onward. At this point you had nothing left to lose. "There is a monastery not far from here, it is hidden well for it holds many sacred treasures for my people."

 "So?"

 "I can show you where it is located."

 He openly scoffed, disdain leaching into his voice. "Why do I care? We have taken York. I can send my own men out scouting to find it. Why do I need you?"

 "You speak truth. Though I can show you the hidden passageways into the monastery."

 "Why would you tell us this?" The brother who winked at you asked, not in a condescending manner but what seemed to stem from curiosity.  

 This was it. For so long you had harbored this…. this secret revenge. You had spent many nights awake, plotting how you would fulfil your unspoken vow. When the heathens took York, instead of being terrified, you saw an opportunity. Especially when you glimpsed Ivar. Now admitting it out loud, it almost felt surreal. 

 You glanced over at the flaxen-haired brother for a moment but returned your gaze to Ivar. When you finally spoke, your voice was quiet but not from fear. No, it was from barely suppressed rage you finally allowed to escape from your chest where it had festered for too long. "My first favor is, if I tell you of this place, show you how to enter without being seen…. I want you to burn the monastery to the ground."

 Silence hung in the room for a long moment, all eyes from the three brothers and others scattered about were glued to you as they absorbed your sharp words and harsh tone. Without waiting, you continued to lay out your favors…. your demands. 

 "My second favor is that you swear to me on your gods and your arm ring that Bishop Cerdic will die a slow and painful death. I don't care how he does, just that he dies screaming for the mercy you will never give him."

 Ivar tilted his head to the side, staring as if seeing you for the first time. "That is not a very Christian thing to ask for."

 "I never said I was a good Christian." 

 "Mmm….and what would your God think of your favors?"

 "Truthfully, I don't care."

 Ivar moved closer; the pounding of his crutch echoed with each step until he hovered over you. You could feel his breath on your face as he pierced you with his eyes. It felt like being confronted by an apex predator, and you were chained with no means of escape. Heat radiated off his body, warming you in more than one way. Death danced in his eyes but instead causing you fear, it excited you. 

 "Why?"

 You blinked rapidly, surprised and brought out of your inner thoughts by his question. "I beg your pardon?"

 "Why do you want us to kill your bishop and destroy the monastery?"

 "You are Northmen, do you need an excuse?"

 He smirked, tracing a single finger along your cheek and down your neck. An involuntary shiver ran down your spine at the feeling of his unusually gentle touch. "I am intrigued. I accept your offer and favors. You will be my personal thrall, no other may touch you."

 "Thank you, my Prince."

 "Tomorrow you will show us where this monastery is." He stated as if speaking to you alone. His thumb hesitated over your pulse point for a second making your heartbeat accelerate. His lips twitched in a barely-suppressed smirk. Abruptly, he released you and took a step back. "Leave us now."

 After a proper curtsy upheld by your station, you started towards the exit, feigning ignorance to the many pairs of eyes on you. 

 "Thrall!"

 You paused at Ivar's call. Curious as to what he could want now, you turned around to meet his intense gaze, sending heat down your spine even from across the great hall. 

 "Do you wish to be there when we attack the monastery and kill your bishop?" He asked, sitting down and with his dagger out, spinning it casually in his hand. 

 "Nothing would bring me greater pleasure, my Prince."

 He easily matched your shark-like smile and in that moment, you knew you had made the right choice to seek him out. Your long-coveted revenge would finally be appeased. 

 *****

 You stood alone in the courtyard of what had once been a simple but beautiful monastery. Now flames greedily consumed everything except for the stone walls. Bodies of the helpless monks lay scattered about, their blood painting the dirt and stone beneath them. A few hung from rafters, their bodies still twitching as life drained from them and spilled on the ground below. 

 You wondered if this was what hell looked like- unrelenting fire, excruciating screams of the damned, the taste of iron and copper and ash drenched in the very air that now threatened to suffocate you. 

 Through the carnage you stood unwavering, even surprising yourself. Hate and revenge kept you strong in the face of so much destruction and annihilation, allowing you to witness the slow death of the man you swore to kill one day. To others, the bishop was a man of God, someone to admire and aspire to be like. To you, he caused the death of the one person you cared most about in this world. 

 Standing on the other side of the courtyard, you watched the bishop hang from a cross as some of the Northmen took turns shooting arrows at him, but always making sure it never hit anything vital. His screams and cries for mercy reverberated in your ears. 

 Behind you came the distinct sound of a slow walk, led by the pounding of a crutch hitting the ground. You knew who it was without turning around, there was only one man whose gait was so distinctive. As he slowly drew closer, the hairs on the back of your neck stood up. So far there had been no malice, no concern for your personal safety, but that does not keep the field mouse from fearing the elusive snake. His body heat radiated across your back as he stopped just behind you. Each breath he released made your hair flutter, he stood so close. 

 After several silent moments, you finally spoke, the weight of your revenge lifted. "Thank you, my Prince." 

 He made no sound to accept your thanks, not even a grunt of acknowledgement. To your astonishment, one of his leather-bound hands brushed your loose hair over your shoulder, exposing your neck to him. You held perfectly still, never removing your eyes from the bishop even though all your senses felt inflamed by his touch alone. The prince's fingers traced patterns over your exposed skin, creating goosebumps in the wake. 

 "Tell me…. why?"

 "Why what?" You knew what he was getting at. 

 Harshly, he wrapped a hand around your throat, pulling you against him until not even air could squeeze between your pressed bodies. "Do not play coy with me. You will answer my question."

 "My….my father is a powerful lord with great wealth, land and influence in England." You paused, the words, the truth, sticking to your throat, almost suffocating you even more than the Heathen's tight grip on your throat or the death-saturated air. "He is not a good man though. He uses his family, the women folk to…."

 The rough hand around your throat loosened to a faint touch as your words sputtered out. After a second, his thumb gently rubbed along the column of your throat as if to coax the words out. 

 "My father hates the fairer sex; I am not even sure he knows why." You continued, loathing and pain dripping from each word. "So, he used my mother to take his frustrations out on. On more than one occasion, she almost died from his abuse. But he was powerful so no one could stop him. Finally, my mother became desperate enough, she decided to leave. Under the cover of night, she brought myself and a couple servants to this very monastery to seek sanctuary. She begged the bishop to grant her a divorce for fear of her life and mine since he recently started to turn his rage onto me also. But he refused. The bishop said a wife was a servant to her husband in all things, for the Bible commands her to respect him as he is the head of the household. He said God would give her the strength to endure her trials."

 A single tear slipped down your cheek as you remembered everything. 

 "We were forced to return to my father. In his fury, he beheaded the servants who had come with us, declaring them traitors for helping my mother and I to leave him. He locked me in my room without food for three days and during that time…. he killed my mother, his wife."

 "How did you escape him?" Ivar whispered into your ear. His hand, no longer a cage holding you to him, but an enticement, still caressing the column of your throat with something akin to tenderness. 

 For the first time in years, if not your life, safety eased your mind. Which was so wrong, something you would certainly go to hell for if the priests spoke truth. Surrounded by fire and carnage, all due to you and now practically in the arms of a blue-eyed devil, you should be praying and repenting. Yet there was a lightness in your chest, a sense of freedom even though bound for life to a bloodthirsty heathen prince. You struggled to make sense of the conflicting thoughts. 

 "He, um, he betrothed me to another lord here in York…. so, I moved here several months ago."

 "Do…. did you care for your…. betrothed?"

 You chuckled, turning your head slightly to meet his fierce gaze, only to find your faces a hands-width away from each other. "No, he was an old, ugly man who snorted like a pig when he breathed."

 An arrogant smile curved his lips, making your heart flutter. "Ah, I think I remember him. My brother, Hvitserk, sliced his belly open. Does that please you?"

 You shrugged. You knew it should bother you, the mention of the gruesome death of your betrothed, but you felt nothing. Instead you were beguiled by the man who held your life in the palm of his hand. Who you sold your soul to for vengeance otherwise unattainable. Your faces so close, you could taste his breath on your tongue. You could not help but be in awe of his savage beauty, with the most expressive and vivid eyes you had ever seen before. 

 "What will become of me now?" The question slipped from your lips before you realized it. "You have fulfilled my favors, my life is forfeit."

 Slowly, as if to gage your response, he leaned closer to rub his nose along yours. Seeing that you did not pull away, he then slid his nose to nuzzle your temple. Your breath hitched at the feeling it invoked. Butterflies danced in your belly. Unconsciously, your hand reached out to grip his arm that now wrapped around your waist, either to keep you pinned to him or to steady you, it did not matter. The thought of him letting you go brought anguish to your yearning heart. 

 "You are mine. No one will lay a hand on you or harm you again. You will come with me." He growled against your temple, searing the words into your mind. "Does that please you?"

 "Why are you being so good to me?"

 He pressed his lips to your skin, letting the touch linger. Finally, he answered, his voice soft like he divulged a great secret for only you to hear. "I like your spirit, the fire that burns inside of you. It calls to me."

 You could not help as you tilted your neck to the side, allowing him access to more skin. If the rumble in his chest and the way his grip tightened slightly on you, he greatly approved of your actions. His lips trailed down from your temple to your neck, both to reassure and to claim you.

 "And then what?" You asked breathlessly, your thoughts hazy under his branding touch. 

 "Only the gods know." He whispered. After a sharp bite to your neck that made you squeak, he released you and moved to fully face you. "Come."

 You looked back over at the bishop once more. Now seeing his dead form, it was the lid on the coffin you needed. Years of hungering for revenge finally sated. You could move on. 

 Without a word, you turned away from the grisly sight and took the offered hand of the Heathen prince next to you. The two of you walked out of the courtyard and towards his chariot, hand in hand. 

 "How far away is your father's estate?"

 You glanced at him but his face remained expressionless. "Perhaps a three-day journey if the weather is pleasant."

 He hummed with a single nod of his head. Once the two of you reached the chariot, you took your spot by his side as he sat. He called out to Hvitserk that they would leave this place soon. His brother, covered in blood and grinning like a madman, raised his sword in acknowledgement before starting to give out orders. You stood there, watching the organized mayhem of the Northmen and the fires still engulfing the monastery.  

 "Your father has great wealth, you said." Ivar leaned forward on his seat to watch you with a smirk on his face. 

 "Yes."

 "Three days is not too far. Perhaps we shall pay him a visit, mmm?" With a devious wink, he clicked his tongue and gathered the reins. The chariot jolted forward as the horse began trotting away from the destruction. 

 Without a second thought, you leaned over and pressed a kiss to his cheek. His answering smile sent the butterflies in your stomach a flurry. He called out to his horse, picking up speed and moving faster through the dirt path in the surrounding forest. Silently, you stood next to the man whose name alone created panic and fear in all of England. But to you, all you could taste was freedom. 

[lordabovehelpme]

Could you write a fluffy fic ab din being in a relationship with a queen of a planet s/o and them trying to avoid being found out by the royal staff and silliness ensues 🥺👉🏽👈🏽

My Queen- Din Djarin x Reader

A/n: so I might have gotten carried away... whoops. Also I so in love with this idea!!!!

Edit: Part 2 can be found here :)

masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Good evening, Mandalorian.” You curtsey as he dips his head at you. “Alfred, will you get the mandalorians room ready, he is always welcome here.” One of your noble servants rush off, “Thank you!” You call to him.

Two little hands collide with the front of your dress. Looking down you see the green child who peers back at you with a toothy smile. “Hello to you too!” Picking him up you rub one of his ears.

“Your majesty, shall I guide the mandalorian to his quarters?” An older maid who has become more of a mother figure inquires.

“No, I shall do it myself, thank you Miltilda. Although, will you take the child?” The maid smiles before taking him from your arms.

“Of course.” The child is used to her now, cooing as she walks away with him in her arms.

“Follow me, Mandalorian.” You send him a glance before turning into a hallway.

He follows you as you lead him into the castle. Turning a corner you grab his hand pulling him behind a column. Rising to your tip-toes you wrap your arms around his neck and press your forehead to his helmet. His hands trail down your back to find purchase on your hips.

“I missed you, cyar’ika. You look as breathtaking as always.”

“You flatter me too much. But maker, I am so happy to see you here.”

“Nonsense, you can not be as happy as I am.”

Smiling, you place a kiss onto his helmet. “Come on, tin can. We need to get out of the open.”

He grumbles something under his breath before releasing you. Grabbing his hand you lead him to his designated room, which happened to be very close to your own quarters.

When he closes the door behind him, he latches onto you as fast as he can. Hands are trailing all over your body as an overexcited teenager would. You’re giggling as he nuzzles into your neck.

“Let me worship you my queen.” His hands start pulling the fabric of your dress up your legs. “It’s been too long.”

It pains you as you stop him, swatting away his hands. “I’m sorry love, but the fest is tonight and I can not miss it.”

“You’re the queen, you should be able to make some time.” You can hear the pout in his voice.

“There’s something I have to tell you about tonight.” His visor snaps to meet your gaze. “Well, tonight one of my advisors invited the King of one of our ally planets.” Your eyes scan his body, looking for clues to what he is thinking.

“Okay, so dinner is just more fancy than usual. That’s fine.”

Biting your lip you look anywhere but his face. “The King is one of my suiters.”

His body instantly grows ridged. You can see his thoughts processing as his mind works too fast. “Do you like-”

“NO. No, not at all.” Your hands fly to clutch his shoulders, pulling him close to you again. “You know I love you and only you. But, I need to pretend that I am interested so nobody grows suspicious.” You lean your head against his again. “Okay, baby?”

A loud sigh comes from him before he nods slightly. He cradles the back of your head, pushing you further into his keldabe kiss.

***

The table is filled with advisors, your commander, the King’s advisors, and your beloved mandalorian to your right.

“So, your majesty, I do love this planet. The landscape is amazing. I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many flowers before!”

You hate the King. He is loud and obnoxious; a true bachelor. Already on his third glass of wine, he beckons one of your servants to fetch him another glass.

“Yes, it is quite beautiful here. I have worked hard on finding peace for my people and providing them with a home they can be proud of.”

The mandalorian grimaces as the King hiccups. His hand finds hold of your thigh under the table. You quickly glance at him warningly.

“So you’re single.” The Mandalorian tenses and his hand grips your thigh tighter. “Why is someone so beautiful as yourself without a husband to watch over her?”

Practically fuming at his question, you take a deep breath and calm yourself. You can see your mandalorian sit more up in his seat, preparing for anything.

“Well, King Herold, I personally do not believe that women need husbands to watch over them. I have proved that I am not just some piece of eye candy who does not know the first thing to being a queen. I have ruled this kingdom for five years now and in these years the territory has flourished and expanded. This would not have been possible with the respect and help of my people. In fact, most of my advisors are very capable young women who I have found do the job better than some of my male subjects. This is why when you look around the room you find that the commander of my army is female and when you look around all my advisors are strong females. I trust my life with these women, something I could never say for you.”

The King stares at you in silence, mouth moving open and closed, trying to find words. Servants arrive with the meal and place it on the table.

“I do not appreciate you coming to my kingdom, drinking all my wine, and then insulting not only me, but also my people. I hope you learn to respect your peers as well as the one who you get all your resources from. Remember King Herold, I am the one who makes your planet worthwhile.” Looking around the room, everyone is speechless, no one even meets your glance. Clapping your hands together, you place your napkin on your lap. “Now, let’s eat.”

***

After wishing the dreadful King a smooth ride home, you wander to your mandalorians quarters.

When you see no one around, you slip into the doors of his room. Running into his arms you finally let the tears of frustration fall.

“What’s wrong, cyar’ika?” He rubs your back and plays with the ends of your hair. Laying down on the mattress, he places you on top of him.

“He is just so...ugh! I can’t even think of a word. It’s stupid! Why does everyone assume I need a husband to lead me? I just wish we could show everyone how much we love each other and that I am taken.”

“Cyare, you know what you are saying. Don’t tempt me.”

“I know, but would it be that bad? I wouldn’t have to keep pretending to be interested in sleazy men and you would always have a warm bed to come home too.”

He sighs, pulling you out of his chest so he can look at you. “Cyar’ika, you know all I’ve ever wanted is to marry you, but are you ready for the universe to know?”

Before you can respond the doors open. A loud coo comes from the green child in Miltilda’s arms. A gasp comes from her but shortly a knowing smile follows.

“Here is the little one. Be sure you two lock the doors next time. And Mandalorian, be careful with her.” She gives one more look before leaving and closing the doors.

The child runs over to you two with outstretched arms. Neither of you two have moved, but then you both break into laughter.

“See, tin can. We wouldn’t have to feel guilty about holding on another.”

Placing the child in the space between his chest and your arm, you hum. The child coos once more before closing his eyes and falling into a slumber.

“Cyar’ika, if you are being totally serious, then of course. But you need to understand that I will demand children and I still will have my helmet. After you become my riduur I can show you my face, but only you are our family.”

Nodding your head, you cry out a yes.

“Then you should know my name.”

Holding your breath you wait in excitement.

“Din Djarin.”

Repeating his name back to him, you smile. His breath hitches when you say your first name and then his last name. “I like how that sounds.”

“Mmm. I do too.”

***

The next day he flies you out to his covert. He needs to get a blessing from his armorer, or so he tells you.

Walking with him you smile at all the children who peer at you in curiosity. He leads you with your hand in his. You both had left the child with Miltilda at the castle.

When the armorer gives you her blessing, he brings you to one of the rooms adjacent to the main room of the covert.

He reaches out and brushes a strand of your hair behind your ear.

“You’re ethereal, cyar’ika. I love you so much. But to make this official we need to say the mandalorian vows.”

Placing your hands in his you nod your head. You can feel his smile even though you’ve never seen his face. He reaches onto a table and grabs a ring. You can tell it is beskar from how perfectly it matches his armor. It is a simple band with a diamond on the top.

He presses his head against your forehead, “Repeat after me. Mhi solus tome.”

“Mhi solus tome.”

“Mhi solus dar’tome.”

“Mhi solus dar’tome.”

“Mhi me’dinui an, mhi ba’juri verde.” His voice falters as emotion floods his mind.

“Mhi me’dinui an, mhi ba’juri verde.” He slides the ring onto your finger. Looking up to him you smile. “What does it mean?”

“We are one when together. We are one when parted. We share all, we will raise warriors.”

“How poetic.” You giggle.

He pulls you over to the bed. “Come see your riduur, cyar’ika.” Grabbing your hands, he leads them to the sides of his helmet. When he feels you hesitate he assures you, “It’s okay, cyare. I am yours as you are mine.”

Nodding you begin to push the helmet off. Closing your eyes, you decide that you want to take him in all at once. When the helmet is finally off, you place it down on the bed.

“Open your eyes, silly girl.”

Slowly opening them, you suck in a breath. His chocolate eyes watch you with such love you nearly melt. Reaching out you run your hand over his cheek, facial hair slightly tickling your palm. Your thumb brushes over his lips, gasping at how soft they are.

“You’re so handsome.” You feel like a schoolgirl with her first crush.

He grabs your hand before pressing a kiss to your hand. You can only watch as his lips trail over your skin. His head rises to meet yours and place a long overdue kiss to your lips.

“Are you ready, cyar’ika.”

“More than you’ll ever know.”

***

The sun gleams down on the two of you, as if the maker himself was giving you his blessing. The people of your kingdom fill the castle courtyard and gardens, each trying to catch a glimpse of their new king. They applaud and rejoice, accepting him into their hearts.

The armorer had used some beskar to wield him a crown, perfectly complimenting your own. It is now placed on top of his helmet proudly.

***

“Shhh. Alfred will hear us.” You’re giggling as your king nibbles at your neck. “He’ll be here any moment.”

As if on cue, a knock sounds at the door. “Your majesties, it is time to rise.”

“We’ll be out in a second.” You call back to him, but your sentence is cut short when your husband finds that sweet spot on your neck. You have to clamp a hand over your mouth, trying to muffle your sounds.

***

“Come on, no one will notice.” Dragging your husband into the kitchen you are on the mission to steal some pastries from the baker.

“You are going to get us in trouble, cyare.” He means to sound stern but you can hear the amusement in his voice.

You reach out and grab one pastry before footsteps flood down the stairs. “RUN!”

Flying past your husband, mouth filled with pastry, you nearly choke from laughing so hard. The mandalorian is right beside you in no time, before scooping you up in his arms.

Servants and maids watch with smiles as the two of you run through the castle halls. Never have they seen you so happy before.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Part 2: My King 

Okay so I am in total love with this ask.

However, I got carried away and wrote more emotion than fluffy scenes, so If you want I am toally open to writing a part two with more little scenes.

Anyway, I hope you liked it!

Love, Lordy.

[tired-college-student-writing]

#WaynesAngel

The Maribat AU by @ozmav and @maribat-archive is all I can think about atm, so enjoy more of this

Summary- After Grayson posts a video on the wrong twitter, Damian feels like he should lose his social media privileges, and possibly his hand.

Part 1

Part 4

Part 5 (HERE)

This was a impusle write as I was trapped in a car for over 50 hours in three days. Please do not ask for another chapter. 

_________________________________________

Wayne’s Angel @FashionInGotham

Why is it weird that I’ve never met a Bat before? It’s not like Damian or the Waynes have ever seen Ladybug or Chat Noir or the Miraculous Team in Paris, and they’ve been in Paris a lot more than I’ve been in Gotham #confusion #AMERICAEXPLAIN

Jason Todd Lives @BestTodd

@FashionInGotham Whomst the Fuck is Ladybug and Chat Noir?? Also, Miraculous Team Sounds like some magical girl anime Cass watches

Call me Cass @CainYouBelieve

@FashionInGotham @BestTodd 🖕🏼

Wayne’s Angel @FashionInGotham

@FashionInGotham @BestTodd @CainYouBelieve They’re the Paris superheroes, they showed up almost five years ago to fight the little bitch of a villain, Hawkmoth and his stupid peacock assistant, Mayra.

Dick Grayson @AFlyingGrayson

@FashionInGotham @BestTodd @CainYouBelieve @ FashionInGotham WHAT?! Paris has heroes??

Wayne’s Angel @FasionInGotham

@FashionInGotham @BestTodd @CainYouBelieve @ FashionInGotham @AFlyingGrayson Oh yeah, I forgot that the mayor was trying to keep it a secret from the rest of the world #MyB But yeah Ladybug and Chat Noir have been there the longest but there’s also Abeille, Viperion, Ryuko, Pegasus, King Monkey, Bunnyx, and Badulf

Chloe raised an eyebrow at her friend as she saw the tweet thread that was quickly going viral, “You realize my dad is going to flip about this.”

“He deserves it,” Adrian pipped up from where he was painstakingly painting Kagami’s nails a deep burgundy.

The other teen heroes hummed in agreement as Chloe huffed.

“Well Yeah, but I was hoping to do it with a little extra flair than a twitter thread.”

Alix snorted as she finished up Kim’s banana yellow toes, drawing a crude smiley face on his big toe with bright blue, “She’s dating the youngest kid of the most influential family in the world and has like 100 million followers. Plus she called Hawkmoth a little bitch and it already has 90k likes. I call that flair.”

It was a surprise when Nathanial had had his freak out during his second battle,  against a Crimson Peacock event no less, and had called her Lady Marinette in front of the other temporary heroes, but had lead to many nights like the one they were having now. Onesies of each other’s heroes’ identities donned as they lounged around Chloe’s room, simply enjoying each other’s company after a long patrol. Chloe and Adrian had demanded they have a spa night, which is why everyone was either giving or receiving mani-pedis while they waited for their face masks to finish. It was nice, to have so much support outside of the masks, especially as they entered their final year in Lychee.  

Marinette rolled her eyes, “It’s only 98 million, Alix, and plus I figured four months after I made this account was long enough to make the slip up seem genuine. We need to catch Hawkmoth soon, or else this entire mess will get a lot more complex.”

They all frowned as they realized the truth behind her words. They were all facing hard decisions if they couldn’t pin the man down, not like they hadn’t already sacrificed so much to continue the battle. Max had already turned down graduating early and a full ride to MIT, citing his desire to graduate with his friends before moving across the globe. Luka had been invited to tour with Jagged, only to politely decline, telling the pouting rockstar that he wanted to do some soul finding first. Kim had given up a summer training camp with the French Olympic team. Alix had given up going on an expedition with her dad and brother, missing out on the chance to explore the dunes of Egypt. Marinette had turned down three internships at this point, one from Audrey Bourgeois, One from Raven Baxter, and lastly and most devastatingly, one from Edna Mode.

They needed to end this, before the overwhelming feeling of their futures slipping right between their fingers got them akumatized.

Tim Drake Offical @TJDrake

Seeing the demon spawn panic when he realized @FasionInGotham isn’t any safer from maniacs in Paris then she is in Gotham is strangely endearing and vaguely terrifying #whyismyfamilylikethis

Duke of Hazard @DoneWithTheRich

@TJDrake Like you and Barb aren’t frantically searching for anything you can find on the Miraculous Team and these weird-ass butterfly dude.

Call me Cass @CainYouBelieve

@TJDrake @DoneWithTheRich Bugout.com, It’s in French but informative.

Tim Drake Offical @TJDrake

@TJDrake @DoneWithTheRich @CainYouBelieve How did you find this before Barbs and me????

Call me Cass @CainYouBelieve

@TJDrake @DoneWithTheRich @CainYouBelieve @TJDrake Alfred.

The news swept up the story in an instant and suddenly the whole world was demanding to know what the Parisian Mayor had been thinking and why the Justice League hadn’t been involved.

It wasn’t long until the entire Miraculous Team was seated in front of the Louvre. Countless new agencies from around the world were present, eager to hear the story of the sickeningly young-looking heroes, but the one video that received the most views was the shaky camera videos that were uploaded to Marinette’s Twitter, as they shortened the two-hour-long Press conference into manageable clips that highlighted the most important points.

Wayne’s Angel @FasionInGotham

Full Lineup, Damn. Haven’t seen that since the last time we had a Scarlet Moth incident. For those who need context, this is like seeing the entire founding Justice League together to us Parisians.

The clip attached showed A panning shot as they introduced all of the heroes. Ladybug and Chat Noir sat in the center of the long table flanked by Vipirion, plucking his lyre absentmindedly, Abeille, glaring down her nose at the reporters, a beaming King Monkey waving excitedly, and an eerie serious Bunnyx sitting as still as a statue to their right, on their left was fierce-looking Ryuko looking ready to slice anyone who got too close, the calculating Pegasus, mumbling under his breath, and lastly the timid Badulf, struggling to keep his red bangs out of his eyes.

Wayne’s Angel @FasionInGotham

LMAO RYUKO #DRAGONQUEENSLAY

Don’t question Paris’ Heroes like that, they’re feisty.

The clip showed a British reporter demanding to know why the heroes hadn’t contacted the Justice League previously to gain their assistance in taking down the dangerous threat that was Hawkmoth.

You could Ladybug’s eye twitch at the condescending question, but before she could answer Ryuko leaned forward to the mic situated in front of her with a glint in her eyes.

“I apologize for my English,” She started, “I am not as versed in the language as some of my teammates. To answer your question on why we haven’t had the League’s help is because Green Lantern is a fuck.”

Silence filled the gathering before Chat, King Money and Bunnyx burst into giggles, the rest of the heroes struggling to keep a straight face. The media was staring at them dumbfounded until Ladybug finally leaned forward.

“I’m sorry for the outburst,” She started, lips still trying to twitch upwards, “But as Ryuko said we did ask for help. About five months into our heroship Chat and I received an answer from the League after trying for three months to contact them. The ‘help’ came in the form of Green Lantern coming and assessing the situation. Unfortunately for us, Hawkmoth is smart and when the neon green monstrosity of a hero flew in he laid low instead of attacking when a Leaguer was present. Without an attack and no physical damage present as one of my powers allows me to restore all damage done to Paris or its citizens, He decided we were powered children that were trying to get in the spotlight.”

“Getting lectured on wasting the League’s time and resources before he flew off really put a damper on us asking again,” Chat added in, toxic green eyes narrowed and laser-focused on the reporter, “So we handled it ourselves, gaining our own allies as we needed them. But please continue telling us how the League could have helped sooner if only we had asked for help.”

Clip after clip, ten of them total were uploaded into the thread. Explaining the worst battle the heroes had ever faced, the strength of their enemy, what the villain and his assistance could and would do, the worst attacks, the easiest wins, the ways that Ladybug and Chat chose their allies, but the last two clips seemed to get the largest reaction out of the audience, both at the press conference and the internet.

Wayne’s Angel @FashionInGotham

Not gonna lie, seeing my tormentors get put on blast by all of the Heroes is very vindictive #IsthatMean? #MaybeSo

“You’ve seemed to have shifted your support away from one local blog, to another over any official news agency,” One of the nicer reporters at the events said, “Is there a particular reason? And why the sudden shift two years ago?”

Chat’s face was strangely pinched, “Oh you mean why we switched from giving exclusives to the LadyBlog to BugOut? It’s quite simple. We go to the news sources we trust to take the information we are willing to give without worrying about ratings as their top priority. We tried going to Nadja Chamack at first, the local news anchor that we all hold a great deal of respect for, but the producers threatened her to get a ‘highly-rated’ interview. It led to her asking questions Ladybug and I thought were counterproductive to the reason we were invited to the interview and was trying to turn us into celebrities instead of allowing us to do the jobs we needed to. It was a similar reason we stopped going to Alya Cesaire, the Ladyblog editor.”

Ladybug took over here, “Miss Cesaire has the ability to be a very good journalist, but as her blog grew in popularity, so did her need for highly viewed content, this caused her to not only start posting more rumors and speculation than anything we’ve ever said but also to stop fact-checking with us things she heard. Even after talking to her about removing the content that was blatantly untrue and was told no due to the high ratings it had received we realized that we simply couldn’t work with her anymore.”

Abeille piped up in a low regal voice that was dripping with venom, “It really didn’t help that when we started interviewing with Aurora Beaureal from BugOut, shortly after my introduction, Miss Cesaire began a smear campaign against her, claiming she was faking her sources and videos publicly on her blog. Luckily we were able to shut that down quickly enough but it didn’t stop Miss. Cesaire from running into battle to distract us, and frankly, harass us for answers even after we told her no. It’s lead to more than one incident where she, other civilians, and even ourselves have been hurt.”

“Either way,” Chat took over again, “We want to support local news sources but only when they are willing to listen to our boundaries and work with us instead of trying to push issues.”

“Does that mean that info we found on the Ladyblog is not to be believed?” Another reporter called out.

“I would take anything after the first post about Lila Rossi with a grain of salt,” Ladybug said, only for King Monkey to snort and lean towards the mic.

“Yeah and if Lila Rossi is mentioned at all in the post just assume everything in that post is fake. Miss. Rossi is a known liar and problem for us.”

“Can you give us an example?”

Ladybug sighed before explaining, “The first time I heard of Miss. Rossi was an interview on the Ladyblog of her claiming to be my best friend. Now I very much value the secrecy I and my team have created for ourselves because it protects our friends and families, but even a lie about knowing me in such a public setting is dangerous because Hawkmoth and Mayra have proven that they aren’t above underhanded tactics to try and get the upper hand in our fights. I went looking for the girl to explain why she can’t say such things for her own safety, only to find her telling a boy that she possessed the Fox Miraculous in a public park. I will admit I called her out in a way that wasn’t very nice but either claim was enough to put her in danger, but both were painting a target on her back and it scared me that someone would do something to impress a boy. After that, she was akumatized for the first time and since then it has gotten even worse despite me apologizing the second I cured the Akuma. Some of her lies are enough to count as Slander if any of the celebrities she lied about knowing saw the posts, but no amount of persuasion seems to get her to stop.”  

Wayne’s Angel @FasioninGotham

Watching their powers without the looming threat of an Akuma/Amok is a blessing. They look so cool! #Love #Miraculous

The clip started with the heroes standing in front of the table, grouped differently than before. Off to one side King Monkey, Viperion and Bunnyx stood, Viperion holding a microphone.

“While we would love to an demonstrate our powers as requested,” He explained, “Our powers are not really good for demonstrations. Mine is known as Second Chance.”

He raised his hand and pulled the slider across his bracelet as he named it, a flash of pale teal light admitting from it, “When activated like I just did, it allows me to return to the point of activation at any time before I detransform in fifteen minutes as many times as I wish with only myself remembering the previous changes I have made.”

Without even acknowledging the startled whispers from the crowd, he handed the microphone to King Monkey, who offered a cheeky smile.

“So my power is called Uproar. It allows me to create a toy-like object that when it comes into contact with someone causes all of their abilities to malfunction.”

He goes to pull his staff from where it was strapped to his back only for Vipirion to stop him. A silent exchange passed between the pair before the taller hero nodded and handed the microphone off to Bunnyx.

“Viperion and I have a similar reason for our powers being hard to show off, only his is a little more versatile,” She started in a voice devoid of any emotion, swinging her pocket watch slightly, “I have the power Burrow. It allows me, and anyone I chose to take with me, access to a pocket dimension where I can travel to any point in time or space that I chose, past, present, or future. While you might see me fight during any battle I can make it to, my power is a last-ditch effort, as I would have to travel back in time to change the past if I do this assume the future is unsavable.”

The hush that falls over the crowd was quickly broken by Ryuko tapping her group’s microphone to draw attention to the opposite side of the stage where she stood with Abeille, Badulf, Pegasus, Chat, and Ladybug.

“I believe it’s best to not dwell on any one of our powers,” She told them, “Our powers are scary and knowing that they can be taken from us at any time and used for nefarious purposes keep all of us up at night, but we ask you to trust us to use them only for good.”

She waited a moment for the crowd o calm down before giving her own explanation, “My ability is known as the Three Dragons, the Water Dragon, the Wind Dragon, and the Lightning Dragon.”

She handed off the microphone to Pegasus, before calling forth the Wind Dragon and bursting into a group of clouds that swiftly blew around the stage before traveling over to the Louvre Pyramid and watching as the heroine reformed at the top, offering a small wave before the call for Water Dragon could be heard and a large dome of water formed over the entire courtyard.

Before she could call for her last form the snake hero grabbed the microphone, “Lightning Dragon is a bad idea, Ryuko.”

The heroine didn’t even question him, instead, vaulting off of the pyramid, the crowed gasped only for her to effortlessly land next to Bunnyx in a crouch, brushing herself off as she rose and turned her gaze to the horse miraculous user, who quickly explained his power before calling forth Voyage.

His cry caused blue light to circle his arm and he sent it towards the top of the still-present water dome, with a controlled flick of his arm.

The heroes didn’t even blink as the crowd filled with cries as the Eiffel Tower fell through the portal, Ladybug’s yoyo whipping out to direct it’s decent, the entire courtyard shaking as the 10k ton structure landed.  

“I’m up next!” Chat called out with a large grin, while the reporters didn’t seem to know if they should pay attention to the moved monument or the hero. His explanation was short since they were many videos of him using it but that didn’t stop the international reporters from screaming as Cataclysm swirled around his hand eating away at the Eiffel Tower, leaving a pile of rust in the crater

“Is-Is this much property damage necessary?”

Abeille shrugged, “No, but once we get to Ladybug, it’ll make more sense. Either way my turn.”

An unpleasant chill went up the world’s spine as she demonstrated how she could freeze all voluntary movement of her target on Chat Noir, who was still as a statue the second her stinger touched him.

Ladybug quickly took the mic and began explaining her powers. The world watched in amazement at her pulling a red and black spotted camera from thin air before she launched it into the air with a cheer of “Miraculous Ladybug!”

Suddenly a glowing swarm of ladybugs formed and tore through the air, covering Chat Noir, releasing from Venom, before healing the crater and rust from nearby, dissolving the water dome in the same instance.

If there hadn’t been so many people present the world wouldn’t have believed that so much damage was just repaired in the span of ten seconds, but staring at the unimpressed Parisians around them the world finally seemed to grasp the reality of the situation.

These children were past what one would even expect from metas, from aliens and superhumans like they had seen around the world already. These were heroes that were harnessing the very forces that made up the universe and fighting them at the same time. Bunnyx wasn’t exaggerating when she mentioned that sometimes there would be apocalyptic endings to their fights.

Instead of letting the knowledge stew Badulf step forwarded, twisting the microphone as he explained his power of illusions for the reporters.

With a short tune on his flute suddenly the group of heroes was gone, All that remained was a Sign thanking them all for coming.  Even after the illusion faded the heroes were nowhere to be found, having used the final demonstration as the perfect cover to sneak away so that no one could follow them.  

Wayne’s Angel @FasionInGotham

I must say I was not expecting such an outpour of love for all of Our heroes but damn am I pleased by it. Ladybug is our big name but the others are honestly way underloved in Paris, especially Chat who’s been there since the beginning. #MiraculousTeam

Quick Poll Who’s your favorite, everyone? Mine’s Chat Noir

Ryuko (19%)

Abeille (12%)

Ladybug (14%)

Bunnyx (8%)

Viperion (12%)

Chat Noir (15%)

Pegasus (5%)

King Monkey (5%)

Badulf (10%)

Call me Cass @CainYouBelieve

@FashionInGotham I like Badulf, he’s the newest correct?

Wayne’s Angel @FashionInGotham

@FashionInGotham @CainYouBelieve Yup! He’s only been around for four months, but he’s a pretty great fox!

Tim Drake Official @TJDrake

Fun Fact: I just heard Alfred swear for the first time while watching the press conference and it was to call Hawkmoth and Mayra an arsehole FLOB and his fucking Slag.

Never been more terrified,

Based on the faces around me neither has any of the other Waynes #AlfredisTerrifying

Wayne’s Angel @FashionInGotham

Why am I the go to person for everything Mircualous Team? BugOut.com is a great source if you want more info.

Still Queen Bee @BuzzBuzz

@FashionInGotham Probably cause you're most famous Parsian? Or cause you were a miraculous user once?

Jason Todd Lives@BestTodd

@FashionInGotham @BuzzBuzz IM SORRY?? DID YOU JUST SAY MARIGOLD HAD ONE OF THOSE MAGIC FUCKING GEMS???

Wayne's Angel @FasionInGotham

@FashionInGotham @BuzzBuzz @BestTodd That didn't come up in the conference did it? A few of the old users of miraculous got outed as heros so LB doesn't call on them anymore, but keeps tabs on them since HM and Mayra will try and emotionally malipulate them into getting akumatized. A few of us bonded over it.

Still Queen Bee @BuzzBuzz

@FashionInGotham @BuzzBuzz @BestTodd @FashionInGotham Its common knowledge in Paris, Mari, me and our other friend @NotaModel all had miraculous at one point, but HawkBitch found out so we can't ever use a miraculous again sadly. I had the Bee, Mari had the Mouse and Ari had the Snake

Dick Grayson @AFlyingGrayson

Why is Damian staring at a wall and not responding? What broke him? #Help???

Dick Grayson @AFlyingGrayson

@AFlyingGrayson Nevermind #HecouldnthaveanormalGF? #HolyShitMari

Wayne's Angel @FasionInGotham

So I can no longer say I've never seen a Bat before, just saw Signal and Red Robin, I think???

Gonna be real tho, I was expecting to see them in Gotham, NOT PARIS #wtf #Whyaretheyhere????

Marinette had barely sent the tweet before her phone was ringing.

"Are you being serious?" Adrian asked, in lieu of a greeting, "At least two of the Batfam is here?"

"Yeah," She whispered a bit numbly, eyes still focused on the roof she had watched them disappear from mere moments ago. It was far enough away that if she had been a normal human she wouldn't have heard them, but she wasn't a normal human, "Hey Adrian, Don't tell the team what I'm about to say, okay?"

"Are you okay, bugaboo?"  

"Questionable," She didn't even bother rebuking the nickname, "I think I might be dating a Bat."

______________________________________

Taglist: @kceedraws @northernbluetongue @starry-bi-sky @mysteriouslyswimmingfan-blo-blog @lexysama @vincentvangoose @theatreandcomicfreak @vinerlover @calvin1394 @interobanginyourmom @imanerddealwith @aarushi-03 @rikku052 @fantasticfourintraining @clumsy-owl-4178 @two-faced-biatch @celestiacq @vgirl-10123 @peculiarlylostdreamer @tinybrie @treebrosha @sam-spectra @zalladane @teresarosiadeviluke2112 @7-sage-7 @blue-peach14 @nataladriana9 @worlds-tiniest-spook-pastry @xxmadamjinxx @unabashedlyswimmingtimemachine @i-identify-as-a-mango @chloe-bourgeois-is-big-gay @vixen-uchiha @face-of-lazyness @lunar-wolf-warrior @derpingrainbow @drama-queen-supreme @vivilakitty @mystery-5-5 @synnesstra @ijustwannabecanadian @sharksharkbb @lysslovsanime @zazzlejazzle @corabeth11 @ur-average-reader @virgil-is-a-cutie @paradoxal-occurance @dur55 @this-is-vander @cowardlygaydinosaur @phantomneow12 @numbuh-7-knd @slytherinhquinn @celerystick045 @silvergold-swirl @dzcile @lordsmeldingtonthethird @asabella1224 @miraculous-simmer7 @god-is-dead-and-so-am-i @kuhakuanon @st0rmy-w1th1n @littleredrobinhoodlum @todaylillypads @screechingflapbiscuitpeach @a-complete-fool @urbanpineapplefarmer @woodland-queer @miraculousl4dybug @teresarosiadeviluke2112 @imanerddealwith @seraphichana @literalfantrash @zebrabaker @captainmac6 

[heyitsani]

I Keep My Eyes Wide Open All the Time Chapter 8

Word Count: 9234

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Major character death, Mentions of past rape/non-con (past)

Pairing: Jason Todd/Dick Grayson, Damian Wayne/Jon Kent

Notes: I am completely dissatisfied with this chapter but it is what it is.  Big time jump at the last part, but the descriptions make it pretty evident.

Next chapter is back to present time.

If you have not read When You Move I Move, this one won’t really make much sense.  So you can read that here: WYMIM

You can also read this chapter on AO3 here

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Standing before the doors that would lead him and Jon to the room where he could hear his family members talking as they waited for dinner to be served, Damian glanced at the man at his side.  The man he was about to announce as one he intended to marry.  All of them probably knew it was coming, but he still found himself a bit nervous.  Would his grandfather approve?  Would his aunt give him that smile of understanding and acceptance?  He knew his father would have approved, he had been the one who had told him to do it without delay, but what of the others?

“We can wait,” Jon offered, his smile not faltering in the least.  “It can remain between the two of us for the time being.  Until you feel more settled, maybe?”

Damian shook his head and looked back to the door.  “No. We are to be married and I refuse to hide away that fact like I am ashamed to love you.”  He felt Jon’s hand squeeze his, and the feeling of the cool metal of the ring on his finger grounded him.  To the point where he pushed forward and allowed the doors to swing open so they could enter the dining hall.

“Grandson,” his grandfather greeted from where he stood with Selina at his side, Ser Roy standing with him. Damian knew they were probably discussing something related the knights, as Damian had asked the former king to be the one to oversee them since he was still adjusting.

“Grandfather, Selina,” Damian replied before looking to Ser Roy.  “Ser Roy, will you be joining us tonight?”  The Knight looked surprised at the question and Damian wondered why silently since the man had joined them plenty of times when his father had been king.

“I…”  The man looked over to his grandfather before he looked back to Damian.  “I would like that, Your Majesty,” he said, giving a bow.  There was a smile on his face that spoke more than the words he said and Damian gave him a nod before he glanced around for his aunt.  

When he didn’t see her anywhere, he looked back to his grandfather.  “Where is Aunt Cass?  I have something I wish to tell you all.”  As if she had heard him asking for her, his aunt came gliding into the room with her friend Stephanie right behind her.  The two women were smiling, laughing at something one of them had said, as they made their way over.

“Nephew!  Prince Jon,” his aunt greeted them before turning to greet her father, step-mother, and Ser Roy.  Damian watched Stephanie give him a bow before she relayed a greeting of her own.

“Please,” Damian waved a hand at Stephanie’s bow.  “Do not feel you need to do that.  You are family just as much as the others at this point.”  The blonde looked surprised but gave a nod of understanding.  “Now that we have all gathered, I would like to tell you all some good news.”  Glancing over at Jon’s who gave his hand another squeeze, Damian smiled.  “I have asked Prince Jon to marry me and he has agreed.”  He turned to look back at his family in various states of shock.

He was not surprised that Selina was the first to offer her congratulations.  He accepted the warm hug and thanked her when she spoke a soft congratulations into his ear.  His aunt and Stephanie followed closely, giving him and Jon each a hug before switching and hugging the other.  When Ser Roy also stepped forward to hug him, Damian was a little caught off guard.

“Jason would be so proud of you,” the knight murmured into his ear before releasing Damian and shaking Jon’s hand.  “Congratulations to you both.  Richard said he hoped this would be the end result of your friendship back when you were just boys.  He spent weeks talking about how to ask the Council to lift the marriage law so it might happen.”

Damian blinked at the man for a moment before looking over to find Jon grinning at the knight.  Damian had told Jon what his father had said on his deathbed, how he had wanted Damian to ask him sooner rather than later, so it shouldn’t have been a surprise that the man approved.  But perhaps the fact that he had approved long before Jon himself had figured out how he felt was the difference.

“Grandson,” his grandfather’s voice broke through his thoughts, drawing his green eyes away from his intended to the man who stood just a few inches taller than him.  The man placed both of his hands-on Damian’s shoulders and looked him right in the eye.  “It is no secret that I am a traditionalist.  But with everything that has happened due to that fact, I am quite pleased to hear this news.”  The man looked over to Jon and sent him a rare smile.  “Your father has been a dear friend of mine for many years and the opportunity to join our families is a welcome one.”

And just like that, the gnawing feeling in the pit of his stomach vanished.  He had been so concerned about the older man’s approval and now that he had it, relief was all he felt.  His father had given his approval and Ser Jason had made it clear he supported Damian in everything he did so he didn’t wonder how the Slayer would have reacted.  But his grandfather?  The former king who was known for being rigid in his beliefs and strict with his rules? He couldn’t have guessed it would be so easy to have the approval.

“Thank you, Your Highness,” Jon said formally, giving a small bow.  His grandfather huffed out a laugh before pulling both of them in for a brief hug.  

“You are to be family, please call me Bruce,” the man offered, and Damian smiled as Jon’s face brightened at the offer.  It was not an honor many were afforded, and the other prince was well aware of that fact. “I do believe we should make a toast. Alfred, the best wine in the cellar please?”  The personal manservant gave a nod and hurried off in the direction of where they kept the wine.  “We shall have to have the ceremony as soon as possible.  I will send word to King Kon and Timothy immediately.  We shall plan a wedding to rival all weddings.” He released the two men before turning to speak with Selina about what they would need to get things planned.

“All those nerves for no reason at all, hmm my love?”  Damian looked over at Jon and gave him a sheepish smile, shrugging.  “The fates would not have been so cruel to you. They have been heavy handed as it is. You have earned some happiness.  I just hope that is me.”

“Always, Beloved.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Adjusting the sleeve of his shirt, Damian made his way down the hallway toward his study with the intent of going over some of the most recent requests from the citizens.  He had held the Petitioning the day before and the requests he hadn’t been certain about had been recorded and the Council had come to decisions later that day.  He had just wanted to comb through them one last time before he sent the messengers.

“Nephew,” his uncle’s voice caught his attention, stopping him before he entered the study.  Turning to look at the man who was coming up behind him, Damian waited.  The man had arrived the day before with the King of Metropolis and the Jon’s father for the wedding festivities, but Damian had yet had a moment to really speak with the older man.  “I wondered if we might take a walk to the crypt together?”

That was not something he had expected the man to say, but it didn’t fill him with the dread he thought it would.  He had gone to see the statue of both of his fathers multiple times since their deaths and though it still caused his heart to ache, he found the peace in the crypt welcoming.  He had yet to go there with anyone else though.  Jon had told him that those moments were private in his country, so he didn’t feel right even when Damian made it clear he would be fine with it.

“I would like that, yes,” he agreed with a nod.  He knew he would have time later to look over the orders.  The urgent ones had been handled already anyway.  Continuing on the path toward the exit of the castle, Damian kept in step with his uncle.  He remained silent, nodding at staff members as they saw them and allowing his uncle to greet a few of them by name as they made their way out.  “Have you been back since your arrival yesterday?” The final statue had not been finished before his uncle had left after the Feast, so he was curious if he had gotten the opportunity to see the finished design.

“I have not, but Father mentioned how well it turned out in their likeness.”  Damian simply nodded in agreement.  It was an almost perfect replica of his memory of the two men. And since it was in the royal crypt, there did not need to be a lie in who they were to each other.  “How have you been adjusting, Damian?  There has been much change in such a short amount of time.  I was almost surprised to receive the letter about the wedding.”

Looking at his uncle, Damian stopped walking and tilted his head slightly in consideration.  “Surprised?  But you knew how I felt about Jon.  You encouraged it,” he reminded the man, who laughed and shook his head.  That only served to confuse Damian more.  “I am missing something, aren’t I?”

“Damian, my nephew, you are a great many things but spontaneous is rarely one of them.”  Frowning, Damian considered that.  “I am not meaning for you to take offense to it.  I am simply saying that rarely do you just do something because you want to do it.  There is usually much calculation in your actions.  Your mother’s influence, I believe.”

And yes, he supposed that made sense.  His father loved to just jump right into the thick of things and his mother wanted to know all the variables.  He had always felt he fell somewhere in the middle, but perhaps he was closer to his mother.  But on this particular decision, he knew exactly why he had acted much like his father would have.

“Father told me, the night he died, to ask Jon to marry me as soon as I could.”

His uncle looked unsurprised.  And Damian didn’t feel like it required more of an explanation than that.  So he turned and continued making his way to the crypt with his uncle beside him.  “And the ring?  I suppose Richard told you where he had kept it and what it meant.”

Damian nodded and gestured for the older man to enter the crypt before him.  “It is an honor to see that ring on Jon’s finger knowing it once rested on Ser Jason’s,” he admitted, not looking at his uncle when the man stopped and glanced his way.  Instead, he turned his eyes onto the statue they had come to see.  

The sculptor had turned a crude drawing of Damian’s into a masterpiece.  With his father standing, head bowed, crown on head.  The lines of his robes looked as though they would flutter in the wind, they were so delicately done.  And the soft smile on his face, eyes closed, was just as he would always remember it.  And the figure of Ser Jason with his armour on, head tilted as if whispering in his lover’s ear, spoke of strength and love at the same time.  The stone cut of the Slayer’s hair was just a wind tousled as it always was when he was on the fields training the soldiers.

“It is perfect,” his uncle whispered.  Swallowing against his now tight throat, Damian nodded.  They looked so alive and filled with so much love for each other, Damian could almost pretend they were real.  “Father said it was your design?”

“I drew them just how I remembered them.  The sculptor is the true artist here.”  Reaching out a hand, Damian touched his father’s hand that hung at his side.  He had taken to touching both of their hands before he sent his prayers off.  “They could not be together in life.  But their love can forever be remembered by those of us who remain and those who we leave behind.”  Shifting to touch Ser Jason’s hand, Damian bowed his head and said his silent prayers of peace for both their souls.  Even though he knew there was no peace to be had thanks to his mother.

He felt his uncle come up beside him as he recited the silent prayer but made no move to acknowledge him.  “Though you might not believe it, Nephew, there is very little of your mother in you,” the man said as Damian lifted his head and looked up at the two men captured in stone.  “I know there is a war inside of you.  I know you struggle with the possibility that your mother influenced you more than your father was willing to admit, but you should know this,” the man paused, and Damian looked over at him, “when faced with a decision you have yet to choose a path that she would have wanted you to.”

Dropping his uncle’s gaze, Damian looked back to the statue and considered the older man’s words.  He thought over every decision he had made since his mother had been put to death.  From when he was so scared the people of the kingdom thought he was just like her to when they accepted him as their king.  He thought about the decision to tell Jon he loved him, the decision to ask him to marry him.  His mother would have never approved of any of those choices.  Especially Jon.  She had fought so hard to separate the two of them.

Yet he was set to marry the man in a few days’ time, and he had no regrets.

“She will always be a shadow on my mind though,” Damian admitted, looking back to his uncle.  “It is a constant struggle to consciously not follow the path she spent thirteen years pushing me down.”

“Perhaps,” his uncle shrugged.  “But perhaps you’ll find one day she is no longer a whisper in the back of your mind. Perhaps one day you’ll only hear your own voice.”  He considered the thought before sighing and glancing back toward the exit of the crypt. “I know you have duties to attend to, Nephew.  I would like some time alone with my brother, so do not feel you need to remain on my account.”

Thinking of the papers waiting for him on his desk, he smiled at his uncle.  “Thank you for the discussion, Uncle.  I will see you at dinner.”  The man gave a nod before turning back to the statue and Damian turned to leave.  When he glanced back just before he exited the crypt, he saw the man with his head bowed, pressed to the stone hand of the former king, shoulders shaking.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Growing up, he remembered hearing so many say that they were nervous at their handfasting.  So many people told him stories of how they had barely known the one they were to marry and that the ceremony was so permanent that it caused nerves to strike.

Damian found himself waiting at the start of the walkway that would lead him and Jon through the woods to a small glade where their closest friends and family were waiting to bear witness to their pledge to one another.  But he as he stood there, he noticed the nerves everyone had spoken of were absent.  All he felt was impatient.  

Perhaps it was the years of knowing Jon.  Perhaps it was knowing he was absolutely the man he wanted to spend his life with.  

More than that, he just felt at peace.  Like the one thing his father had wanted of him, he was fulfilling.  

“Dami.”  He turned at the sound of his name, smiling at the sight of Jon walking toward him in the familiar colors of red and blue from his homeland.  And though they were not a combination that Damian himself would have picked, he enjoyed the way Jon’s pale skin almost glowed in contrast as the moonlight shone down on them.  His eyes fell on the jewel holding his cloaks together, where there should have been gold and black he found red and black.  And a glimmer of blue.

The same colors Damian had chosen to wear in honor of both of his fathers.

Reaching out to touch the jewel when Jon was within his reach, Damian looked up at the sparkling blue eyes of his soon to be husband.  The man simply smile the all too familiar, mischievous smile Damian knew all too well and offered no explanation.

“Everyone is waiting for us in the glade.”  Jon gave him a nod and took the offered hand from Damian, so they could walk to the ceremony together.  Neither man spoke, as was Gotham tradition for this type of ceremony, as they made the trek further into the woods.  And even though he could see the glade up ahead, he noticed that the forest remained quiet.  Almost as if it were watching with bated breath.

He could relate.

As they stepped into the glade with Jon at his side, Damian felt his spine straighten a bit more in response to being around the others.  And though he knew he didn’t need to impress these witnesses, he still felt he had to maintain his image.  So he remained focused on the Archbishop at the end of the walk, waiting for them.  

He gave a small nod to his uncle, who he had chosen to stand witness for him, which the man returned it with a bright smile.  A glance over at King Kon revealed him doing the same for his brother and Damian felt the expectations melt away as they came to a stop just past the two men, in front of the Archbishop who held his Law of Old.  Damian immediately noticed the chord he and Jon had braided together the night before in front of the fireplace in Damian’s room draped over the open book.  

There had been laughter and tears, hushed words of missing those who could not be there to witness this moment, as they weaved the pieces together.  It had been private and special, something he would never forget.

As the Archbishop began the traditional greeting, Damian glanced over at Jon and found the man smiling as he watched the man before them read his script.  And once again he found himself floored and so thankful that this was his future.  That though his mother had stolen so much from him, she could not manage to steal this.

“King Damian of Gotham and Prince Jonathan of Metropolis, please face one another and take the other’s right hand,” the Archbishop’s words pulled Damian away from his thoughts and he turned to follow the command.  Smiling at Jon, he held his right hand out with the palm facing up.  Without hesitation, Jon placed his own right hand into Damian’s, and they allowed their fingers to curl around the other’s wrist. “Your Majesty, please say the oath.”

Taking a deep breath, Damian looked into Jon’s eyes and tightened his grip.  “Jonathan of House Kent, I take you as you are, loving who you are now and who you are yet to become.  I promise from this day forward to be grateful for our love and our life.  To be generous with my time, my energy, and my affection.  To be patient with you and myself.  To fill our life with adventure and our home with laughter.  To encourage you to grow as an individual, and inspire you to do so. To love you completely,” he spoke confidently, taking in the smile growing wider on Jon’s lips as he recited the vow.  “These things I pledge before you.  And before our loved ones and those who no longer bless this land with their presence.”

Swallowing hard against the tears building in his eyes as he watched a tear slip from Jon’s, Damian returned Jon’s smile as the other man recited the same script.  He tried to ignore the swelling of his heart, the promise of their future in the words, because he knew he wouldn’t be able to focus otherwise.

“King Damian, do you take Prince Jonathan to be your husband?”

“I do,” he confirmed without looking away from Jon.

“And Prince Jonathan, do you take King Damian to be your husband?”

“I do,” the man whispered, causing Damian’s smile to grow even more than it already had.  Despite the ceremony not being finished, he felt as though he couldn’t be more content.  Could he die from happiness?  It almost felt as though he might.

“The honored have requested to have their witnesses to bind their hands while the blessing is said,” the Archbishop said, gesturing for his uncle and Jon’s brother to move to stand in front of them with the chord in hand.  Glancing over at them, Damian watched the men take one end each and move forward to wrap the chord around his and Jon’s joined hands.  “This is the hand of your best friend, young and strong and full of love for you, that is holding yours on your handfasting day.  As you promise to love each other today, tomorrow, and forever.  These are the hands that will work alongside yours, as together you build your future. These hands will passionately love you and cherish you through the years and with the slightest touch, comfort you like no other,” the man spoke, but Damian turned his attention back to his almost husband.

“These are the hands that will hold you when fear or grief fills your mind.  These are the hands that will, countless times, wipe the tears from your eyes; tears of sorrow and tears of joy.  These are the hands that will help you hold your family as one. These are the hands that will give you strength when you need it.”  He looked down as he felt the tightening of the knot, noticing the two men had joined the chord and were stepping back.  He looked from the knot to his uncle and noticed the man’s blue eyes were glimmering with unshed tears as he watched them.  “And lastly, these are the hands that, even when wrinkled and aged, will still be reaching for yours, still giving you the same unspoken tenderness with just a touch.”

The blessing was finished and quiet filled the glade as Damian looked away from his uncle, back to Jon. And he wasn’t surprised to find Jon watching him.  They both knew what was coming.  And though they had kissed plenty of times in the recent weeks, there was something delicate and precious about this moment.

“Your Majesties, under the gaze of the Powers That Be and the witnesses you have called here tonight, I pronounce you bound by love.  May you share your first of many kisses in this moment,” the older man said, encouraging the two men to seal the moment.  

And though Damian wanted to desperately kiss Jon, he called upon all his self-control to slowly lean in and press his mouth to Jon’s.  And though his husband’s lips were entirely too distracting, he could still hear the responding cheers and clapping from those watching the moment unfold.  He could also feel Jon’s laughter against his mouth.  Pulling away from Jon, Damian smiled at the man before looking out toward their family and closes friends.

And though he knew two especially important faces were missing, he could almost feel their presence there with them.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The various conversations of the people gathered in the Great Hall washed over him as he made his way through the room, not really pausing much outside of returning a greeting or two.  He knew there would be plenty of time to converse with the guests over the course of the evening, so he stayed true to the path that would take him to his husband’s side.

“Your Majesty,” King Kon greeted with a smirk and a nod of his head.  To which Damian rolled his eyes as he stopped to stand beside his husband, immediately allowing his hand to find Jon’s.

“We are family now, are we not?  No sense in such formalities in a setting like this.”

He watched the other man consider him closely before nodding, looking almost pleased with the response.  “The sentiment is returned then, Damian.”  And Damian simply raised his glass of wine to toast the older man before taking a sip and glancing at his husband.

“Have you eaten yet? I thought I might go see what the staff prepared under the scrutiny of Grandfather.”  Jon shook his head with a laugh and Damian smiled, ignoring the chuckle that came from Kon at the former king’s expense.  “Join me?”

“Yes, I am famished but everyone has been so distracting,” Jon admitted, walking beside Damian as they made their way around the various groups of people.  “Every time I went to grab a bite, someone else stepped into my path.”

“And you wouldn’t want to be rude by telling them that you would speak with them later.”

Jon looked at him with a bit of a gleam in his eye that Damian wasn’t sure how to describe.  “I would never,” the man teased.  “But no, I could not in this instance.  If I am to live among these faces for the remainder of our days, I should not want to offend them so early in the marriage.” Damian hummed and nodded to the head chef who stood near the table, taking stock of all the items laid out on the table.

“Your Majesties,” the chef greeted with a wide smile and a bow.  “I have prepared a few of the items you requested, My King.  I am not certain of how close to Metropolis quality they are, but I did have his former Majesty there to taste a few of the items.  He gave his approval.”

Damian nodded and gave her a warm thank you before turning to speak to Jon.  He found the man already looking at him, a bit of a surprised look on his face.  “Beloved?”

“You requested some food from home?”

“Well,” he shrugged, feeling a little awkward, “I wanted to be sure this was about you just as much as it was about me.  The party itself is for the citizens who wish to celebrate with their ruler, but why should it just be our cuisine they experience?  You are just as much their ruler now, even if we have yet to officially crown you.”

He shifted a bit when Jon continued to stare at him as he spoke.  He didn’t think what he had done was that big of a deal, but the way Jon was looking at him made it seem like it must be.  A good one, he hoped.  

“Some more wine, Your Majesties?”  A server asked, unaware of the moment between the two men.  He held a plate with a jug to refill glasses and Damian broke Jon’s gaze to glance down at his mostly empty glass.  

“Please,” he responded, holding his glass out for the server to fill.  “You do not have a glass, Beloved?”  He questioned, noticing Jon’s empty hands.

“I shall return immediately!”  The server hurried off before either could say anything, but Jon seemed to have barely noticed.

Placing his free hand on Jon’s cheek, Damian searched his eyes.  He wasn’t certain what it was he was looking for, but something.  Perhaps a hint at to what was going on in the other man’s mind at the moment.  The slightly stunned look still covered his features, but there was something else. Something more.  And though it looked familiar, he couldn’t quite place the emotion.

But the need to dissect it was eliminated when Jon pushed forward and pressed their mouths together, much to the delight of the people standing near them.  Damian could hear the cheering and laughing from the people surrounding them, but he ignored it in favor of enjoying his husband for a moment. He knew this was a change for the kingdom.  His mother and father had not been in love or even liked one another.  So seeing their King being affectionate was probably a bit of a surprise.  But a good one, from the sounds of it.

“Beloved?”  Damian questioned when Jon pulled back enough to allow them to breathe.  He blinked his eyes open and found Jon looking at him with that look.  The one that made his heart quicken and his stomach swoop.

“Thank you for being you,” Jon said quietly, as though he wanted that to remain between them.  It wouldn’t since there were far too many people within hearing distance, but Damian chose to ignore that.  “You never fail to surprise me with your thoughtfulness.” And Damian’s confusion must have shown on his face because Jon was laughing and pulling further away, gesturing at the table of food.  And Damian understood.  

He hadn’t thought much of it when he made the suggestion to the chef, but he was glad that it worked in his favor.  And he didn’t really think it was a very big gesture worthy of this kind of reaction, but he wasn’t going to fight Jon on it.  Especially when the man kissed him like that without giving the people around them a second thought.

“Here you are, Your Majesty,” the server came rushing over with a wine glass for Jon, giving a bow as Jon took the glass from the tray with a thank you.  “Can I do anything else for either of you?”

Damian chuckled at the man and shook his head.  “No, I do believe we are just fine.  Thank you.” The server bowed again and moved away, and Damian just smiled.  “Shall we eat?  There is something I wish to show you once we have made a few rounds in the room.”  Jon looked at him curiously, but nodded and turned toward the tables of food to direct a staff member which items he wanted on his plate.  Damian followed suite and led his husband over to their designated table where his grandfather and wife were currently sitting at one end and his Aunt Cass at the other.

They spent the following hours talking with the citizens who paused to pass along their congratulations, Damian making sure to make personal addresses to the ones he remembered from either private audiences or from previous gatherings.  He watched Jon question each person as if he would sear them all into his memory, wanting to know each and every person who lived within their borders.

It warmed Damian more than he wanted to admit.  And selfishly, he was thankful that Jon was to be a ruler in Gotham instead of Metropolis. They were two very different people, but Jon brought something to the kingdom that Damian had never been able to quite get the hang of.  He was humble.  And while Damian knew he was not prideful in the way his mother had been, he did still struggle with the idea that he was still better than certain others.  He would probably always struggle with that.

But Jon balanced that out with his humility and Damian was thankful.

Pushing to his feet once there was a break in the never-ending line of well-wishers, Damian held his hand out to Jon.  “Come with me, I have something I wish to do,” he told his husband with a small smile. He watched Jon take his hand and stand before glancing over at his grandfather and giving him a nod.  “We’ll go through the gardens,” he said as he guided them out of the Great Hall and into the cooling air of the summer night.

Gotham summers were hot, but thankfully their evenings cooled into something much more tolerable. Especially when he and Jon were required to be in their ceremonial robes for a celebration such as this.  

Silently, he led his husband through the gardens, weaving through the maze with practiced ease.  He was reminded of playing games with his father and Ser Jason when he was little, listening to his tutor as they walked the gardens between lessons, and spring days following Titus as he chased after birds and various flying bugs.

“Your Majesties,” a man with golden hair greeted with a bow as they reached one of the buildings near the stables.  Damian gave him a smiled as Jon said his hello.  “I have what you asked for in the back, if you’ll follow me.”

“Yes, thank you,” Damian said, moving to follow the man but pausing when Jon tugged on his hand. Looking over at his husband, Damian raised a brow.  “Beloved?”

“What is going on here, Dami?”

Damian smiled and shrugged. “You shall have to follow and find out.” Taking a few steps forward, Damian allowed their arms to stretch their limit with their hands still clasped.  “It is a surprise and one I think you shall like very much.  So just come.”

Jon frowned before Damian saw him sigh and nod, walking forward and allowing Damian to lead them into the building.  The inside wasn’t anything impressive and certainly didn’t give anything away, to which Damian was thankful.  

“Ah, there you are,” the man commented as Damian reached the only room that was lit by firelight. Peeking his head into the room, he noticed the present innocently laying on the floor and Damian smiled.  

“I had your father pick it out, but it was my idea for him to bring him from Metropolis,” Damian explained as he stepped into the room and Jon followed.  It took a few seconds before Jon noticed what it was Damian was talking about.

With a surprised gasp, Jon released Damian’s hand and rushed forward to look down at the small white dog that had yet to notice their presence.  But as soon as Jon knelt down next to it, the dog’s head lifted and his tiny tail began to wag.

“I thought Titus could use a playmate since my attention is now to be much more split than before,” Damian explained when Jon looked back to him as the dog jumped up and into his arms. When Jon’s laughter sounded as the dog began licking his face, Damian felt his heart squeeze.  

“Does it have a name?”

“No he does not.”

Jon looked down at the dog who was panting happily as Jon pet his head and seemed to examine the dog closely.  “Krypto,” he said, pulling a questioning sound out of Damian’s throat.  “A protective deity from back home.  He may not grow to the size of Titus, but I can tell he is going to be fierce.”

“I like that,” Damian nodded.  Pushing to his feet, Jon picked up the dog and walked over to where Damian still stood by the doorway.  “So you like him then?”

“I love him,” Jon confirmed. Damian wasn’t surprised when his husband leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his lips to show that very appreciation.  “I love you. Thank you for giving me so much from back home.”

“You are leaving much behind.  I am glad I can bring at least a bit of it to you in order to make the transition easier.” Jon’s smile softened at that and Damian looked away at the gentleness of it.  “I had the staff bring everything he would need to our rooms during the celebration. Shall we introduce him to his big brother?”  

Jon laughed and nodded, this time leading Damian out of the room and back out into the night air.  Watching his husband dote on the small dog seemed to be a glimpse into their future as fathers and while he knew neither of them were quite ready for that, it did a lot to quell any nerves he might have had at the thought.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“But we need to think about this logically,” one of the Council members said as another tried to explain why sending more grain to the outer limits was a good idea for the winter. Damian had been sitting at the head of the table, Jon sitting in the spot just to his left where Damian had always sat when his father was king, listening to them talk in circles for far too long and it was starting to grate on him.  The first three weeks of their marriage, Damian had appreciated Jon’s ability to keep Damian relaxed and calm when the meetings started getting out of order. But today, not even his husband’s unending calm could stop his annoyance from rising

“We have the reserves, do we not?”  Damian finally spoke up, rubbing at his temple.  He stood and waved a hand for one of them to pass the parchments to him. “Thank you,” he said to the servant who handed them over.  Looking down at the numbers, he did the quick math in his head and tried to see what the problem was.  “According to this we have more than enough.  What is the issue with sending more than the usual amount to those who need it?”

“They have not increased their contributions to the stockpile, Your Majesty.  It is not about us not needing it, it is about others getting the idea that they can get more without giving more.”  It was a fair point and Damian knew that.  His logical side knew what the man was getting at.

He knew that people could take advantage of their kindness.  But he also knew that his job was to care for those who were under his rule. He could not do that if they starved through the winter.

“If I may?”  Jon’s voice sounded, pulling the attention of everyone else at the table.  The question was sent to Damian, but the others all nodded, and Damian slipped over the papers as he took a seat.  Jon took them and glanced over the numbers before putting them down.  “I do not believe thinking the absolute worst is helpful in this situation.  Other villages are not going to see a way to get more for less.  They are going to see a kingdom who cares for them when they need it most.  Our people are kind.  And they are generous.  And that is because their rulers are kind and generous.  Not frugal.”

Damian looked over to the other members of the Council and waited to see what they would say or do. He could see a few of them looking pleased, but the man who had been against sending the extra was not.

“And if winter hits us here in Bristol harder than anticipated?  What are we to do then?”  The man asked, looking back to Damian.  But instead of answering, Damian looked over to Jon to see if he had a response. His husband looked unsure, but with a nod from Damian he seemed to gather his courage.

“Then we call upon our allies for aide.  Or we reach out to villages to see if there is excess they do not expect to use.”  

“Gotham does not call upon allies for resources at a whim, Your Majesty,” the man said, his voice souring with the condescending tone.  Damian felt his eyes narrow as he took in the man addressing his husband. “Perhaps that was common in Metropolis, but that is not the Gotham way.”

And while Damian knew Jon could easily defend himself in the moment, he still slowly stood to his feet to look at the Council member.  It was a move that was all due to his mother, an action she had taught him to perfect in order to command the attention in the room.  And he inwardly cringed at how well it worked and how easy it was for him to remember.

Leaning forward, he pressed his hands flat on the long table.  “Gotham also does not speak to their King in such a manner,” he spoke steadily, staring the man down.  He hated seeing the man cower back slightly, glancing around at the other members of the Council.  He made no move to acknowledge Jon’s hand when it came to rest on his forearm, though he knew his husband was trying to tell him that it was fine.  That he was fine.  “You would do well to remember that after my seat, my husband’s is the second most powerful in this room.  And perhaps my grandfather would not have called upon allies in such a situation, but my father certainly would have.  As will I.”

He saw various nods of agreement, some scribbling on parchment, out of the corners of his eyes but he kept his focus on the man.  “You are King, but you are not the sole decision maker in these situations, Your Majesty.”

“Is that what you really think, Councilmember?”

“Damian,” Jon whispered fiercely, squeezing his arm tightly.  But Damian continued to ignore him.

“You cannot abolish the Law of Old,” the man pointed out, but Damian took slight glee in the quiver in his voice.  “You wouldn’t dishonor your father in such a manner.”

Despite the smirk on Damian’s face, inwardly he knew the man was right.  Damian would never break the Law of Old just to spite the man for being disrespectful to his husband.  Finally turning to look at Jon, he was not surprised to see the wide-eyed look on his face.  Sighing, Damian sat back in his seat and noticed the Councilmember visibly sight.

“I do not need to abolish the law to put this into action,” Damian said, gesturing for Jon to sit back down.  “We will send the extra requested of the village and should we find ourselves suffering due to our kindness, then we shall call for aide from one of our many allies.” He looked to the scribe of the Council and she gave him a firm nod, writing everything down as quickly as she could.  “I believe we have accomplished all that we can for the day.  We shall touch on the rest tomorrow.”

He watched as the members stood and gathered their things, leaving Jon and Damian still seated at the table as they made their way out of the room, discussing things amongst themselves. It wasn’t until the door shut behind the very last member that Damian looked over at Jon, finding him frowning at him in return.

“Beloved?”

“That was not like you,” Jon said quietly, leaning back into his chair.  Damian made a questioning noise but said nothing.  “You might as well have pulled a sword on the man.”

“Absurd,” Damian rolled his eyes, waving a hand at Jon.  “I will not tolerate someone talking down to you in such a way.  He needed to understand his place in this situation. And it is not one that puts him above you.”

He watched Jon observe him for a moment, not saying anything more.  “I am serious, My Love.  I have never seen you speak to someone in that manner before.”  And it brought to mind just how much the action was like his mother.  How even the movements he made were something she would have approved of.  Sure, she would have told him to take the Council’s power all together, but she would have been pleased with him putting the man in his place.  It made his stomach drop.  

It made him feel rotten in his core.

And though he knew it was not Jon’s intention to compare him to his mother, that was how it felt in the moment.  “I did that for you,” he stated, his voice rising ever so slightly as he straightened in his chair.  “I stood up for you.  That was not about me or how I felt.  It was not about power or control.  You are my husband, and I will not just sit back and allow someone to treat you as though you have no right to be here.”

“I know that, Dami. That’s not what this is about.  I just want to understand what happened.”

“What happened is that I stood up for my husband.  And if that is an issue, then perhaps you should just not come to Council meetings anymore.”  He watched Jon’s jaw drop and immediately regretted saying that.  

“That makes you no better than him.”  And logically, Damian knew Jon had a point.  But his brain was shifting into irrational and that felt like an attack. “I can see you getting angry, My Love, please.  I am not wanting to fight.”

“Then you should have not compared me to him!”  Damian shouted as he stood to his feet.  “I am trying my best.  I am doing what I think is best!  This was not how my rule was supposed to start, but I can only do what I am able. And if the way I do that if not to your liking then I do not know what to tell you.”

He didn’t bother turning to respond when he heard Jon call his name as he stormed out of the hall. All he knew was that he needed to get out of that room before he said anything more.  Because he could hear his mother’s voice in his mind, and he didn’t like any of the things she was telling him to do.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The sun had already started setting when Jon finally found him in his father’s old study.  Damian knew he had missed dinner and that the others were probably concerned, but he had crawled too far into his head to really care. And he knew that if they had really wanted to find him, they would.  But Jon would know well enough that he just needed some time and space to clear out the muck from inside his head.  

His mother may have been executed over seven years ago, but Damian still found himself struggling with her influence.  She had molded him for thirteen years and he didn’t know how to brush that aside. Especially without his father around to balance it out.

“My Love?”  Jon’s voice called out from the doorway.  Damian didn’t bother getting out of the chair he was slumped in, but he did look over at his husband for a moment before returning his gaze to the large window he sat in front of.  This had been one of his favorite spots growing up.  He had spent hours sitting there, listening to his father work while he watched the soldiers being trained by Ser Jason in the fields below.

His father had admitted that the window position was the exact reason he had picked this study. The memory just made his heart ache more now that he was without both of them.

A tray was set down on the table sitting between the two plush chairs and Damian could smell that it was probably whatever the chef had prepared for dinner.  But the thought of food really just made his stomach churn at the moment, so he ignored it and looked to his husband instead.  He watched him round the other chair and sit down on it.

“I am sorry for shouting,” Damian said, sending an apologetic look to the other man.  He wasn’t surprised when Jon waved the apology off and Damian sighed.  Some of the weight of the day slipped off his shoulders at the gesture and he sent a thankful look instead.

They sat there in silence for a few moments before Jon shifted and Damian knew he was about to speak. “What happened today, Damian?  I do not understand what it is I said that upset you to that point.  I want to be sure I do not make the same mistake again.”

“It was not something you said,” Damian told him, sitting up straighter to look at the other man more directly.  “And I should not have taken that out on you.  I knew, even then, that you were only trying to help.  I know that, Jon.  I just…”  He trailed off, unsure of how to admit what the real issue was.  Leaning back in his chair, he looked back out the window. “Father taught me so much, he made sure I was ready to take his place, but he could not erase my mother from my mind completely.  And sometimes when I am faced with a difficult situation, I can still hear her in the back of my mind.”

He heard Jon moving but he didn’t pull his eyes away from the window as he spoke.  He didn’t dare look at his husband because he would not be able to stand seeing pity in his blue eyes.  He could not bear that.  But against his best wishes, Jon came into view when he knelt in front of Damian and the younger couldn’t help but and look at the other man.  

He let Jon take his hands into his own and just watched him, waiting to see what he was going to say or do. “You are not your mother,” Jon told him, and Damian did his best not to cringe at the words he had heard his father say to him so many times when he had been alive still.  “You are far better than she was, and I know you know that.”

He did know that, but he still doubted himself.  He still wondered if maybe his mother’s influence would prove to be stronger than his father’s one day.

“I am so afraid she will win.”

“She won’t,” Jon said with no hesitation.  And Damian knew the other man believed in him absolutely, but it was still a doubt that lingered.  Even when he himself didn’t actually believe it.  “You would never let her.  If she was going to, we would not be here.  I would not be here.  Her whispers of hate will not overcome your father’s love.”

Clenching his jaw, Damian swallowed past the lump forming in his throat.  “It has been seven years and still…”

“And yet here you are. If she really held any power over you still, do you honestly think you would have apologized to me?”  Shaking his head, Damian knew he wouldn’t have. His mother would balk at any show of weakness.  “And do you think you would have ended the meeting the way you had?”  No, he would have stripped the man of his position. “Do not doubt yourself, My Love. In here,” Jon tapped his chest over his heart, “you are a good man.  You are kind, generous, and exactly what Gotham needs.”

There was no lie in his words.  Damian could sense nothing but complete and utter devotion, not that he had been expecting anything less from Jon.  No, he never doubted anything when it came to Jon.  

“Thank you, Beloved. Thank you for reminding me of the truth when I cannot see it clearly.”

“I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else, My Love.  Nor will I ever be anywhere else so long as this earth shall have me.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Father?  What are we doing in the glade?  Certainly, a walk this long was not good for you,” Damian heard his daughter call to him as he walked to the place where he had stood and married Jon so many years before.  He knew, after laying his husband to rest a few days ago, that his time was limited and would follow soon.  He didn’t even need Madame Xanadu to tell him that much.

But he had one last task to accomplish before he spent his finals days with their children.  

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the ring that had rested on his husband’s finger for so many years.  The same ring that had encircled the finger of a man who was his father in all but blood until he had been lost.  

“Rachel, please give me the box I asked you to hold,” he glanced back at his daughter.  He smiled as she moved to stand beside him and gave him the hand-carved wooden box that he had asked Madame Xanadu to bless and protect.  “Will you dig the hole I mentioned here?”  He pointed to the spot between where he and Jon had stood for their handfasting.

His daughter sent him a strange look, but pulled the small handshovel out that he had asked her to bring and dropped to the ground.  Slowly, Damian followed her actions and landed on his knees in the cool moss covered ground.  As Rachel dug the hole, Damian opened the box and carefully placed the ring inside on the red velvet.  He knew the box would survive until it was needed again, he only worried it would be found before it was meant to be.

“Is this deep enough?” He looked down at the hole his daughter had managed and nodded.  Leaning forward, he placed the box inside of the hole that was as deep as the length of his arm up to his elbow.  Once he had removed his hand, Rachel began dropping the displaced dirt back into it to cover the box from anyone who might pass this way.  “Father?  Why are we doing this?  Do you not want to keep Father’s ring?”  

Looking at his daughter, with her caramel skin and tight black curls, Damian shook his head.  “No, this is what I need to do.  It is of great importance.  Someday, the right person will come and find this ring and it will go back to the person who should have worn it far longer than he was allowed to.”  And because he had never told the story of what his mother had done to his father and the man he loved, his daughter just looked at him confused.  “Come, help an old man to his feet and I will tell you the story of your shamed grandmother and the curse she has laid upon your grandfather.”

He watched Rachel frown, but still she stood and helped him to his feet.  He watched her pack the dirt more with her shoe before tucking the hand shovel into her bag and offering her arm to him.  Damian took it without much thought and allowed her to lead him back the way they had come.

“When your grandfather, Richard, was seven years old he was introduced to the future final Dragon Slayer of Gotham…”  He started, resisting the urge to check on the spot they had buried the box one last time. Instead he told his oldest the story of his fathers and trusted that Madame Xanadu had told him the truth when she said it would remain until he returned one day to reclaim it.

[watchtower-feed]

Steph’s Promposals TM

Disclaimer: This fic was inspired by Chapter 35 of Tamen De Gushi by Tan Jiu and Tim Drake’s vigilante life ruining his school life in Robin: Wanted. This was supposed to be last week’s fic but it’s wordy... Words: 2,587

     When Tim comes home from one of Wayne Industry’s covert labs, he finds his whole family in his room. They have rummaged through the suits in his closet which are now laid out for viewing on his king-sized mattress. Before he can ponder whether he should ask or just leave, Dick spots him.

     “Tim!” Dick holds up two suits, “All-black dinner suit or grey summer suit?”

     All eyes are on him now and Tim wonders if the family’s invited to the Gazette’s upcoming charity gala next month. But they never prepared for those things, asking for recommendations on suits or dressing each other. Unless it’s for a mission, they never prepare at all.

     “Wouldn’t a white-polo black jacket dinner suit be more appropriate for a gala?” Tim has moved toward his desk to empty the contents of his bag, while his family turned to each other with raised brows.

     Suddenly, Damian scoffs loudly and ceremoniously punches Jason in the arm.

     “Ow!”

     “I told you Drake didn’t know. Pay up.”

     “Tim,” Bruce says softly, “aren’t you going to your prom?”

     Tim’s hand slips from the table. He stays stunned in midair as he repeats Bruce’s question in his head. His last prom is the day after tomorrow but he’s never gone to a single one. So why are they concerned about it now?

     Tim slowly turns around and is almost insulted by the pitying looks his family is giving him. Dick looks like he’s about to cry and Cass smiles at him with sad eyes. Alfred is pressing down the non-existent creases of his jacket. The ends of Jason’s lips are pulled down. Damian’s smirking. And even though Bruce is trying to hold in his reaction, Tim can see the slightest furrow of his usually-apathetic brows. They’re staring at him like he’s dying but he doesn’t know it yet.

     “Why would you assume I’m going?” he asks warily.

     His question only made his family’s expressions graver. Finally, Bruce gives him the deepest sigh Tim has ever heard.

     “Father,” Damian steps forward with a grin on his face. “Allow me.” He takes out a small red automatic umbrella from behind him. “Grayson asked if he could borrow your umbrella this morning and you threw him this.” Damian tosses it to Tim.

     Tim holds it in his hands and vaguely remembers what happened before he left the manor this morning. He’s seen the umbrella before but never used it. He sort of remembers it being a gift from a good friend last year, who also started ignoring him out of the blue.

     “Open it.”

     Tim doesn’t want to take orders from Damian but no one else in his family is speaking up and at this point, Alfred has sat down to brace himself while peering at Tim through folded hands.

     “No. Open it as if it’s raining. At the ceiling. So we can see your reaction.”

     Damian is being especially specific and Jason’s frown has slowly been replaced by an eager smirk. There seem to be some theatrics planned and Tim hasn’t figured out where this is going so he decides to play along.

     He points the umbrella toward the ceiling and pushes the button. There, on the inside of the umbrella, written in black bold letters is the question: Will you go to prom with me?

     Tim’s jaw drops. His wide eyes are punctuating each letter as he reads the message over and over again. No matter how many times he repeats it in his head it’s not changing.

     A flash hits Tim in the face and he glares at Jason who’s laughing silently with his mouth open.

     “Todd, you were moving too much. I should’ve taken it.”

     “No, Dames-- haha-- I got it alright.”

     “Sons. Please.”

     Bruce’s voice drops as he closes his eyes while massaging his temples, unsure which boy he’s most disappointed in at the moment. At this point, Dick has made his way to Tim and clutches his shoulders, fingers pressing desperately, “At least say you remember who it’s from.”

✧ ✧ ✧ 

     It’s the day before prom and just like last year, you don’t have a date. It’s no big deal, really. You had fun with your friends last time. But it’s just that, this time of the year is bringing back awful memories. Maybe you shouldn’t go to school?

     You sigh. There’s still school the next day.

     You get up, get ready, and drag your feet all the way to the front of your school. Your friends greet you near the steps and suddenly thoughts of last year have been forgotten. It’s not like you talk to him anymore. You’ve done a good job of avoiding him and he never made a move to apologize or patch things up with you so… really. It’s no big deal.

     “Isn’t that--”

     “Tim Drake?”

     You didn’t want to look. You weren’t planning to. But you have been staring at him since you walked into the school because Timothy Drake is waiting by your locker. Holding the red umbrella.

     He sees you and it’s too late to turn back. Your friends all know about the failed umbrella and they’re already marching up to him.

     “The audacity.”

     “You’ve got some nerve, rich prick.”

     “Woah,” Tim quickly holds up his hands. Suddenly realizing he’s way over his head. He should’ve accepted Dick’s advice when he offered it last night instead of slamming his door shut on his family. He was embarrassed. But now, he would take Jason’s help with your friends, even if he’ll just end up being a soundboard for their insults.

     “I can explain.”

     Your friends scoff as you slowly walk behind them where you can only see glimpses of Tim’s face.

     “Explain then.”

     “I…” Tim stutters. Then he bows his head slightly and his free hand travels to the back of his neck as he sucks in through his teeth. He sneaks you a crooked smile while his eyebrows try to meet at the center. “I only opened it yesterday…”

     Silence. Incredulous eyes and held breaths. Then a collective groan and one of your friends slaps their forehead.

     Tim nervously chuckles to try lessen the tension, “Actually it was my brother--”

     “Okay. Stop right there,” You’re blushing furiously and you are furious. You rush forward and cover Tim’s mouth with both of your hands. “Please stop.”

     Tim peeks at you and your cheeks heat up at the sudden proximity. You quickly pull back your hand and nudge your head toward the end of the hall. Tim follows you, still clutching the red umbrella in his hand.

     You stop and quickly snatch it from him. When you reach the corner, you wring the umbrella with your hands and refuse to look at him.

     On his part, he doesn’t know what to say. He knows he should apologize but is that enough? It’s been a year. You’ve been mad at him this whole time and he was too clueless to even know why.

     “Clueless is an understatement,” you say.

     Tim gulps as he realizes he’s been speaking his mind. His tendency to mutter his thoughts has always been a nuisance to Jason and he always complains about it. But then again it’s Jason. He thought his brother was just making something up to annoy him about.

     “Is oblivious more accurate?” he teases.

     You turn to him then. Glaring.

     “Not the time. Sorry!” Yeah. Second greatest detective my ass! Tim swallows. Where’s Steph when you need her?

     You sigh. It sounds a lot like Bruce’s from last night. “Tim, we should get to class.”

     “Okay. Okay,” he says in a rush. “I really am sorry. I was an idiot-- am an idiot.” You tap your foot on the tiled floor, not really wanting an apology. All you wanted was his answer. A rejection would’ve been better than this. “So I was wondering if I can make it up to you by taking you to prom this year?” he asks sheepishly.

     The hair on the ends of your skin stand up. It’s not goosebumps or nerves. It’s pure rage. You stomp your foot at Tim, making him jump. “How dare yo-- NO.” You quickly turn and start to walk away but Tim grabs your hand.

     “Y/N, wait--”

     You snap at him, imitating his tone, “ ‘Make it up to you by taking you to prom’ God, Tim! I cannot believe you right now! You don’t ask a girl to prom like it’s some sort of favor!”

     “How…” Tim hesitates, eyes narrows below furrowed brows, “How do I ask a girl to prom?”

     You realize then that Tim isn’t just oblivious. He’s worse than a newborn calf. You slowly brush off his hand. The two of you stand awkwardly in the hallway.

     You sigh for a long time with your hands running down your patience. “Look, Tim,” you start, “I’m not mad.” You stop, puzzled that it’s not a lie. You sigh again, softer this time. “Really. I’m actually a little relieved now that I finally know why you never answered me--”

     “I--”

     You hold up your hand, “So many reasons I came up with on my own. All bad ones. And I was imagining how I would give you such a hard time when you finally apologize.”

     Tim tries to speak again but your gaze has softened and he suddenly doesn’t feel the need to explain. You understand. You’ve always understood him better than anyone. But he hurt your feelings, despite not knowing, and you deserve to be mad at him.

     The bell rings and you wait until the halls have cleared before you continue, “But you know, after a year of not talking, I realized something.” Tim gulps when you look him in the eye. A light blush coats your cheeks. “I miss my friend.”

     Tim stares at you before his lips slowly curl into a small smile.

     You chuckle away the sudden nerves, “I miss my dumb oblivious friend who doesn’t know anything but academics and video games.”

     His voice comes out low and breathless, “Yeah?”

     You finally return his smile. “Yeah.”

✧ ✧ ✧ 

     Steph’s laughter booms loudly over the gunshots on the rooftop. She’s wheezing and Tim is glaring into the distance, but not missing a beat when he sidesteps a thug and slams the barrel of his rifle against his nose.

     “You’re an idiot.”

     “Thank you, Dames. I didn’t just get that from Steph’s obnoxious snorting.”

     “So that’s a yes, right? You’re going to prom?” Dick asks through the comms.

     “Yeah, I guess so.”

     Steph stops abruptly. Cass looms on a gargoyle perched above Tim and Steph, checking for any more movement. When she finds that they’ve subdued every single one, she joins Steph in staring at Tim. There’s a sudden eerie silence throughout all comms, as if the boys have instinctively picked up on the tension. It’s Babs who breaks it. “Steph, do the honor--”

     “How in the holy hell do you figure she said yes to being your prom date? Come on, Timmy. Enlighten us. Please.”

     Tim gulps and suddenly he couldn’t even hear his brothers breathing through the comms. His voice is low when he answers. “She said she missed me--”

     “Because you haven’t hung out for a year!” Steph cuts him off then crosses her arms with a huff. She rapidly taps her feet, daring Tim to answer.     “... She was avoiding me--”

     “Because you didn’t even have the decency to use the umbrella she gave you! Ugh--!” Steph throws her hands up and kicks the ground. “Everyday this past year, I can’t believe my greatest promposal idea was soiled by your cluelessness.”

     Tim’s eyes widens and he shouts indignantly at Steph, “It was your idea? Then why didn’t you just tell me!?”

     “We had a bet going,” Babs interferes. “Nightwing party of three on your left. Robin en route to assist from overhead.”

     “He’s coming in from the ceiling?!”

     “Wait,” Tim cuts in, “Who else knew?” Cass raises her hand when Tim turns to her.

     “Might I remind everyone,” Bruce cuts in through all comms, “that we are on a high stakes mission tonight?”

     “Yes. Best postpone this discussion until tomorrow. Can someone please find out where Red Hood has been taken to?”

     Cass immediately leaps off of her vantage point and leaves Tim and Steph on the rooftop.

     Tim sighs under his breath, “... but prom is tomorrow.”

     Steph comes up behind him and drapes her arm over his shoulders. “You’re so lucky you have me.”

✧ ✧ ✧ 

     You make it through the school day just like any other. It’s even better now that you’re friends with Tim again. You took your shot and you crashed and burned. But at least now you can salvage your friendship.

     Except that prom is tonight. Despite the awful memories, you still want your last prom to be unforgettable. More than half the school already ditched during lunch period. Now you only have a few hours left to get ready.

     “Okay,” Steph whispers into her comms and Cass nods from beside her. “She’s leaving the classroom. Red, make it rain.”

     From the roof, Jason quickly releases the folded firehouse in his grasp and aims it at the sky. The water splits as it comes down and blankets the small entrance of the school with fake rain. Jason grins as he watches high school kids scramble about in search for quick cover.

     You’re watching from the top of the steps, looking down at the people running from the sudden rain. Strange, you think. It’s so bright out.

     “Red 1, did you take Y/N’s umbrella?”

     “Affirmative.”

     Steph watches you rummage through your bag. “Okay. Red 1, go.”

     Dick comes up from behind you, wearing an oversized coat to disguise himself, and opens his red umbrella halfway down the steps. You were going to ask if you could walk with him to the bus stop but the writing on his umbrella suddenly caught your eye. It has your name on it.

     While you watch him walk away, Steph speaks into her comms again. “Red 2, go.”

     Damian clicks his tongue at his codename. He only agreed to assist in this scheme because Steph let him write the next line.

     A child too young to be in high school is also wearing an oversized coat and holding a red umbrella. He opens it at the foot of the steps and stays there. Waiting for you to read what’s written in angry bold letters on his umbrella: I’m sorry I’m a clueless idiot.

     You blink at the words. Stunned. “What’s happening…” you mutter.

     Steph turns to Cass, “Ready, Red 3.” Cass nods and the two of them come up from behind you. Cass opens her red umbrella first: It’s our last prom but my first one...

     “Steph?” you call out.

     Steph gives you a wink before she opens her own red umbrella: … and I want to spend it with you.

     Steph and Cass count to two before they start walking away into the cover of the fake rain over your school.

     You’re about to run after them when Tim suddenly shows up next to you. You’re staring at him with wide eyes that immediately turn to the red umbrella he’s holding in front of you. He unclasps it and opens it over your heads.

     You look up. Inside it says: If you want to.

     Tim takes in a breath before he speaks, “Do you want me?” His voice is low and shaky. “As your date I mean.”

      ✧ Watchtower Masterlist ✧  

[the-girl-in-the-box]

Not Today VI

A/N:  This is another longer chapter, but one I've been really excited to share since I wrote it a couple days ago! Strangely enough, it's beginning to seem that writer's block leads to very long chapters... But! I’m also excited to have made my first Saturday night update. Until Wednesday then, I hope you enjoy! Skål!

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

Masterlist

--

A few days passed once the feast ended, and the Vikings had all gathered in one of the large rooms of the castle, one which was often held for war meetings. Aethelind and Alfred had met them there, and they all now sat around a large table. Alfred, as King, sat at the head, with Aethelind at his right. Beside her was Björn, then Lagertha to his left, Heahmund to her left, then Torvi, and finally Ubbe at Alfred’s left. In the middle of the table, was a map of Kattegat, provided by the Vikings theirselves.

“So,” Alfred said, officially beginning the meeting. “What… How much of a plan have we actually got?”

The group looked between theirselves, trying to decide who should speak first. Eventually, Aethelind began. “Ivar the Boneless has taken Kattegat,” she said, drawing all attention to herself. “We need to take it back. So… how do we do that?” She took a deep breath. "As you all likely know by now, I don’t wish to see brothers fight for a throne. We need a way to take Kattegat without causing a war, if it can be done. This is… where my plan comes in.

“It is my belief, after all I have heard about Ivar, that he can, in fact, be reasoned with. This is why I wish to go to Kattegat, and try to do so. I am aware he is very unpredictable, as has been told to me by… many of you.” She looked to the Vikings, and also Bishop Heahmund. “The predicted response was that Ivar would have me killed, whether on my arrival or later, or that he wouldn’t listen to a word I had to say on this topic. But, if he is as unpredictable as I’ve heard, then it stands to reason this is not the response Ivar will have. The only thing is, I can’t go and just… tell him to hand the throne to Björn, or Lagertha, or… really, anyone. I can’t tell him to give the throne up, and expect him to listen then. I have to gain his trust before I bring something of this nature up to him. So, we need a way to excuse my presence in Kattegat so I can work on this.”

“Which, I have come up with."

Aethelind lost the attention as Alfred picked up from the unintended cue, and her brows lifted a bit. “Have you?” she questioned. She hadn’t even though he would agree to send her, truthfully.

“I have,” he confirmed. “We are going to send you to Kattegat in order to establish a good relationship with King Ivar, and his people.” Aethelind looked at him with lifted brows, wondering if he had anything in addition to that. “I am sending you there to improve relations between our kingdoms, and to negotiate on his land for peace between our people. This will give you the ability to write to me without raising suspicion, and keep you meeting with him, if you can drag it out.”

“I can do that,” Aethelind said, nodding. “I’ll be sure negotiations don’t go quickly. Difficult enough that it’s not easy to come to a perfect agreement, but easy enough that he wants to keep trying, hm?”

Björn groaned.

“If this works, it will be a good plan,” he said. "If it does not, then it will be a bad plan." Aethelind narrowed her eyes at him, her brows creasing a bit as her mouth hung slightly open.

For a moment, it seemed she struggled to come up with what to say, her lips forming words, without giving voice to them. Alfred recognized this as confusion in his sister, though until she actually spoke, he would have no way of knowing what had confused her.

He didn't have to wait for long. “Any plan that works is a good plan, and... any plan that doesn't... is.. a bad plan?” she pointed out, and Ubbe chuckled.

“What my brother means to say, is he agrees,” he told her. “This will keep you close to Ivar, and if you can find a way to get closer to him, then he may even begin to take your advice on things. When that happens…”

“You will tell us, and we will come,” Torvi said. “When you believe he would be open to peace, most open, we will come, and prepare to fight for Kattegat. That is when you will put to him the suggestion to negotiate with us for peace. If you have gotten close enough… You may even be able to convince him based off the effect it would have on you, to see him go to war with his brothers.”

Aethelind nodded. So far, each addition to what she had planned was a good addition, one that would work well in her opinion. “Then we have a plan to bring him around,” she said. “How we negotiate him to peace, that will be up to you all. Once I am there, he will need to believe I’m firmly on his side, even once the peace talks begin. I will advocate for you as best I can, but if he for a moment suspects anything…”

This time, it was Lagertha who interrupted. “You stand chance of being attacked,” she said. “This is why, regardless of official reason to be sent to Kattegat, you must know how to defend yourself properly. Torvi and I, and Bishop Heahmund, have already agreed to train you. But I think-”

“I will also assist in her training,” Ubbe cut in, and Aethelind’s eyes widened as she turned to him. “You will need all the help you can get, to go from Princess to Shieldmaiden.”

"That is good, but she may be attacked at any given moment,” Björn pointed out. “I do not yet feel convinced this is a wise decision. If we send her, and something happens to her, how many of you will feel glad we did it, instead of going to war, when she is sacrificed and we go to war anyway? Hm?”

“Björn…” Aethelind said, turning to him. He looked down at her, determination clear in his eyes. “I will go. Everyone here is prepared to prepare me, so I have the best chance at success on this mission. And I want to go. With or without this help, I’m going to try. If your conscience will not be clean, should you agree to send me, then vote against this. But I believe you would feel better sending me, knowing you have assisted in my preparation, than taking no part in this, and simply hoping for the best results. And if I am sacrificed in the pursuit of peace, would you not rather know you did all you could to give me better odds of survival, than realizing you had decided to have no part in it, and with your assistance, it may have made enough of a difference that things would have gone another way?”

His eyes turned back to the table, unwilling to meet hers.

“You know I will go with or without your support of this. A unanimous decision is not required, and so neither is your permission.” She put her hand on his arm, and he looked back to her once more. “But I would like to have your support, and your assistance. Please, Björn. Let this victory be another in your legacy.”

Björn didn’t stop watching Aethelind, looking into her eyes that pleaded with him to agree, as he considered what she had asked of him. Everything she had said about his struggle, the decision he was having to make, was accurate. She was wise, far more wise than he would have expected upon their first meeting. Her mind would be an excellent asset, assuming all went according to plan, and her heart in this, her desperation for peace, was going to drive not to stop until she was satisfied she'd done all she could. There was no doubt in his mind that, were there no threat of physical harm to her, she would be able to do this. Her charisma and charm was natural, and she'd already had a connection with Ivar in the past. She would easily slide back into his good graces, and she would become his advisor, maybe even his wife, if the desire struck him and she agreed. Either way, if Ivar wasn’t married by the time she arrived- and who was to say? Björn certainly wouldn’t know if he had married- she would easily become the most powerful woman in Kattegat, perhaps the most powerful person in Kattegat.

After all, he knew well that being King was one thing, but it was truly the person who influenced the King, who was his most trusted council, who had the most power.

And Aethelind… Ivar was fond enough of her to speak of her when he returned from England, even in the wake of their father’s death, and of his mother’s. If Björn felt she would be safe, then he would have absolute confidence that the rest of the mission would be a success. So, the question remained:

Would he ensure her safety, or content himself with her going to Kattegat, unsure that she will be safe?

“I want another vote when it is time,” Björn said. “I will assist in your training as well, and when the time comes to send you, we must all agree that you are ready. That vote must be unanimous, or we will wait. I am a patient man, I will see that you are properly trained before you go to Kattegat.”

The way she lit up was almost worth the risk itself.

“Thank you, Björn!” she near exclaimed, and Alfred, watching this interaction, was stunned that she didn’t simply embrace the Viking there. Were this not such an important meeting, he thought she might have, so powerful was her joy at this outcome. “You will be glad you agreed, I promise you.”

“I hope I am, and I hope you prove yourself right, Princess,” he told her, and she chuckled.

“I have told you, you can call me Aethelind. The formalities are not necessary,” she protested. Now, it was his turn to chuckle.

“Who said it is a formality?”

Everyone’s eyes but his widened, though it was only her cheeks turned the slightest shade of pink, and then she smiled.

“Oh,” she managed, before letting out a slightly… stunned, really, as that was the only way it could be accurately described, laugh. “Your meaning is understood.”

Lagertha watched this with a knowing smile, her lips pressed tightly together, as her eyes met Alfred’s across the table. Ubbe and Torvi shared a knowing look, and the former leaned over to whisper to his wife, “I would not be surprised if a marriage was part of his terms to agree to send her, when the time comes.” The way Torvi lifted her brows and nodded toward Ubbe revealed she thought the same.

“Then are we all agreed?” Alfred said, clearing his throat a bit and hoping to bring the conversation back to the topic at hand. Lagertha chuckled a little at the awkwardness with which he did this.

“We are,” Björn said. “Unless there are any objections?” Silence filled the room, and so he nodded. “There are no objections, and so we are in agreement, King Alfred,” he said, and turned his head to look at the King.

“Excellent,” he said. “Then that’s the end of this matter. Aethelind, you may go and tend to anything you need or wish to, as you need not be involved in any other conversations here unless you wish to be.”

The Princess chuckled, and shook her head. “I have had enough of war meetings for the day,” she quipped. “So, if you’ll excuse me, I think I may go and ride. It’s my belief that I will have very limited time to do so in the near future, as well as in the distant future, so I’d like to enjoy it now, while I still have the time.”

Alfred chuckled, and nodded to acquiesce to this decision of hers. “Very well,” he said. “Then we shall all see you, if not sooner, for supper this evening.” She smiled and nodded.

“Indeed,” she said. “Until this evening, then.” She stood, looked around the room, and gave a small bow. “I wish you all wisdom and discernment in… whatever it is you must now discuss, and I hope for smooth discussions, and quick decisions to be made. Excuse me.”

Aethelind slipped out of the room, and started down the hall toward her own chambers to change into her riding habit. But, before an inconspicuous time had passed, Björn was up as well, and leaving the room. A silence took its remaining occupants, as they shared knowing looks with each other.

She heard the door open and shut once she was well beyond it, and turned to see who had followed her out. At the sight of Björn, she smiled, seemingly unsurprised.

“Something tells me you aren’t quite satisfied,” she commented, and he sighed, shaking his head as he approached her.

“In truth, I am not,” he confessed. He took her gently by the arm, and led her to a quieter part of the hall, where guards weren’t standing right over their shoulders. If he had had her attention in the meeting, he now had her curiosity.

“I worry about sending you, but you know this,” he said. The way her eyes darkened with concern, and her brows drew together, comforted him slightly. She wasn’t so headstrong- though she was still very much so- as not to listen to whatever he had to say. “I want you to know you can back out of this. Ivar is a dangerous man. You have not been prepared for this for your whole life, not in the way we have been, to deal with men like him. I know you and… all of those in that room believe you have figured him out, but I do not believe his unpredictability is only in the logic with which he approaches things.”

Before Björn had a chance to move on from that idea, Aethelind requested, “Would you elaborate on that?”

He nodded, and did so. “He reacts unpredictably. There is typically much logic in how he approaches strategy, much as you have, but… My brother is quick to anger, explosive rage. He killed our brother because of it. I do not doubt, if he believes he is betrayed by one he trusts, one he even cares for or loves, that he would kill that person regardless of how he has felt for them in the past. There is little room in Ivar’s mind for any grey area, for any mercies. Sigurd was a very talented fighter, but nothing prepared him for an axe being thrown into his chest, in the middle of a feast.”

The Princess winced, swallowing hard at the image put in her mind. She didn’t know anything about Sigurd Ragnarsson, but she pictured a boy who looked something like a younger Björn, mixed with Ivar as she remembered him, and a touch of Ubbe as well, a few of the features she vaguely recalled from Ragnar Lothbrok himself, with... an axe buried in his chest. The betrayal of a brother, the rage that must have been on Ivar’s face- though it was hard for her to conjure up that emotion on him, as calm and collected as he had seemed to her. The quiet shock in the crowd…

“Tell me about Sigurd,” she requested softly, and then began to walk on toward her chambers. She didn’t exactly ask if he would walk with her, but what she was learning of him, she knew he would. She was not wrong.

Björn kept pace with Aethelind, having sighed at her request, though clearly not intending to deny her. “He was a musician,” he commented. “At feasts, people would sit and listen to him play the oud. Sigurd wasn’t the… hardest man. Some become jaded and cynical when they consider war, seem to crave it in their blood, but…” He shook his head, frowning slightly and scrunching his nose the slightest bit. “Not Sigurd. He was as happy with a girl at his side and a horn of ale in his hand, sharing stories of the gods as any warrior would be on the battlefield.”

Aethelind smiled a little at the picture painted for her of the late Ragnarsson. “He seems like a good man,” she said. “He’d have fit in well here.”

Björn chuckled, and nodded a little. “I think he might have,” he agreed. “Ubbe wanted to settle here, in Wessex, on lands your grandfather granted us, and I think Sigurd might have stayed, if Ivar hadn’t killed him.”

“A musically inclined farmer, then, is that what he was?” she asked curiously.

“And a warrior, still,” Björn answered. “He fought with us in the Great Army that came to seek revenge for our father’s death.”

“The very one which killed my grandfathers, hm?” she questioned, looking up to Björn, and he nodded.

“Yes,” he confirmed. “They called him 'Sigurd Snake-in-the-Eye'.” This clearly earned Aethelind’s curiosity, her brows lifting as she heard that name. Björn expanded before he was asked to. “He was born with the image of Fafnir, killed by his mother’s father, who he was named for, in his eye.”

“And who was Fafnir? A snake?” Aethelind asked. He shook his head.

“A dragon.”

Her eyes widened once more, and she gaped. “I had no idea such things really existed,” she confessed. But, there was a smile on her face. The idea intrigued her.

“If you listen to the right stories, they do,” Björn said. “But… Sigurd was also jealous of Ivar. When Ivar was born, he got most of their mother’s attention, and Sigurd was only months older than him. Sigurd never really forgave either of them for it.”

Now, Aethelind frowned, and said, “How could that have been Ivar’s fault? He would have been a child, the same as Sigurd. I don’t mean to speak ill of the dead, but… it seems to me that should have been a complaint your brother took up with his mother, not with Ivar.”

Björn shrugged. “Perhaps so,” he agreed. “But he was still cruel to Ivar at times. Ivar did lash out in a rage when he killed Sigurd, but I cannot say it was something none of us saw coming.”

“Still,” Aethelind said. “Cruel or not, I couldn’t kill either of my brothers, I don’t believe.”

“I do not believe you could either,” Björn agreed. “You are saddened by the fighting between Ubbe and I, and Ivar and Hvitserk. You want to see this conflict resolved peacefully, and we are not even your brothers. If you do not want us to fight, how much less would you be willing to fight your own brothers?”

Aethelind was silent for a few moments as they walked, her lips pressed tightly together. “Quite unwilling, I suppose,” she confirmed softly, and Björn smiled a little.

“I think this is not a bad thing,” he confessed. “You are right, in that I do not wish to fight Ivar. He is my brother, and it hurts me to see him stand against me. But it is for my father, and my mother, and my people, that I will fight him. These are the decisions a King must make, and they are rarely easy.”

“And you know why I do not envy my brother, in his position,” Aethelind said. “I would not want the throne of Wessex, nor yet of England, for the fact that I doubt I have the constitution required to make such decisions.”

The pair soon came to Aethelind’s chambers, where she stopped, and turned to face Björn at the door. Realizing they had come to their destination- or at the least, to her destination, Björn also stopped. She took a breath, then let it out slowly. “I appreciate you making it clear, I can change my mind at any time,” she told him. “I don’t believe I will, but… if I wish to, I will do so.”

Björn nodded a bit. “I am glad to hear that,” he said. “Consider it carefully, perhaps during your ride. We will begin your training tomorrow, I am sure. Until then, enjoy yourself, and rest. You will not have much time for that as we prepare you.”

Aethelind nodded, and smiled. “I will, thank you,” she said. “And thank you for supporting this plan and agreeing to help, Björn. Your support means much to me, I know you’re not sure about all of this.”

“You are right,” he said. “But, you were also right in that I cannot let you go without knowing all that could be done to prepare you- including preparing you myself- had been done. Though, dealing with Ivar…”

“I must say, I believe I am more equipped to deal with men like him than you believe,” she countered. “I have learned to work a court to my benefit since I was a young girl. How much more difficult can one man be?”

Björn considered this, and sighed. “Stay on your guard,” he warned. “Do not get overly confident in your dealings with him, and you will have a better chance.”

“At convincing him?” she questioned with a smile, but his answer made her smile fall.

“At surviving.”

Aethelind swallowed, and chuckled nervously. “I hope it doesn’t come to that,” she said, and he nodded.

“As do I. But, until this evening, I am afraid I must leave you to return to that meeting.” His eyes widened, and he made a face as if to say, ‘Save me.’ This earned a small giggle from the Princess.

“You have my condolences,” she said. “I can’t stand the things. You’ll note I slipped out the moment I was no longer needed, and have chosen to go riding instead.”

“I envy you,” Björn said. “I would far rather go riding, instead of talking over plans in there.”

"Then I hope you have the time soon,” she told him with a small smile. “When you're not training me, of course.”

Björn chuckled at the words, and smiled a little. “We will prepare you well, Princess, and you will have victory in Kattegat.”

“For the third time now, Aethelind is perfectly appropriate,” she reminded him, smiling in an amusedly exasperated way, and he smirked in response.

"And I heard you each time, Princess,” he said. “I will see you this evening.”

Her eyes widened and heart stopped as the Viking leaned in to kiss her cheek, before pulling away, and walking back toward the meeting he’d left to accompany her on her walk. Once he rounded the corner, she felt her heart start to beat quickly, and she shut the door, turning to press her back against it as she grinned.

“Lord help me,” she whispered, and laid her head back against the door.

Taglist:  @youbloodymadgenius, @wilhelmyna, @katfett, @fangirl-nonsense, @zuzus-sun, @heavenly1927

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

[wickxdangels]

Uhtred Ragnarsson Imagine; Love Conquers All.

This was a little something I came up with yesterday at around 3 am while trying to sleep, I thought it was cute and quickly wrote it down on my phone so I could write about it. I hope all of you enjoy it like I did! Love you all xx

Pairing: Uhtred Ragnarsson x Reader

Warnings: None

P.S: This is set in an AU. 

It was a day of celebration in Wessex.

Today was the banquet in honor of yet another victory in battle led by Uhtred Ragnarsson. It was also an excuse for King Alfred to find a suitable husband for his daughter, Princess Y/n.

The palace was decorated beautifully, with flowers hanging all over the ceiling, a group of musicians playing joyful songs and people dancing around while the rest ate and drank with cheerful smiles on their faces. As usual, King Alfred sat in the middle of the main table followed by her wife on his side and the other side occupied by his children, the princess and the prince.

Alfred looked at everyone in the banquet, his eyes roaming all around the place as he saw the respectable men from the different countries across the land; all of them perfectly suitable for his daughter. He just had to choose wisely.

On the other side of the table, Y/n slowly slid away from her chair, giving a wink to her little brother as he nodded in a silent agreement. She then with careful steps, disappeared off to one of her favorite rooms in the castle.

Her hands softly undid the tight braids on her head that her mother had made her wear for the celebration. Her feet swiftly carried her towards the room, her hands left her already messy hair to open the door of the room, and with a careful look to each side of the corridor she slid inside.

Being inside of the room wasn’t forbidden, yet she knew that missing out of the banquet would surely earn her a nice long talk with her mother.

She smiled as she walked around, her hands touching the desks that sat there along with some old books before she quickly made her way towards another pair of doors which she slowly opened, revealing a balcony where she would often sit down to admire the stars and constellations on warm nights. Her mind wandered off, thinking how there were so many things about the universe yet to be discovered, how they must look so little if someone were to watch them from above the sky.

Yet her thoughts were interrupted when she heard the door being opened, she knew that it couldn’t be her parents cause neither of them used the room. Her worries went away when she saw the familiar figure of the brave warrior, Uhtred.

“I thought you would be enjoying the banquet..” his deep yet gentle voice said, a smile curving on the side of his lips as he closed the doors behind him.

“I could say the same thing to you.” she chuckled. “After all, it was meant as a celebration of your glorious victory.” she spoke.

Uhtred made his way closer to her, looking around at the room they were in as she went back to stare up at the stars with a sigh. “I heard from trustworthy sources that your father took this opportunity to find you a husband, is that true?” he asked, taking a seat next to her.

She giggled for a moment. “Is there any chance that those trustworthy sources names are Finan and Father Beocca?” she looked at him, he simply nodded with a smirk on his lips. “But, yes. Alas they were correct.” her giggles died as she sighed.

“You do not sound quite content with that.” he commented

“How could I be content with my father marrying me off to some stranger? Marriage should be the sacred union of two souls who love each other, not a strategic contract.” she spoke firmly. “I guess that’s one of the many perks of being a princess, huh?” she sarcastically said as she played with the hem of her dress.

“Maybe.. maybe with time, you’ll be able to fall in love with the one your father has chosen for you.”

“How could I do that when my heart already belongs to someone else?”

She confessed, her eyes directly staring at his blue ones as they looked down for a moment before regaining composure once again. She was still, her heart beating faster as they stayed quiet for a moment.

“Sometimes life is not fair..” he softly said, grabbing her hand as he ran his fingers against her palm. “Sometimes all we can do it’s to keep on going and try to forget what we’re leaving behind.”

“I cannot do that, Uhtred.” a tone of sadness overcoming her voice as she almost choked on her words. “I cannot ignore the way my heart aches everyday, I simply cannot ignore the fact that my heart, body and soul aches for you..”

Uhtred eyes quickly diverted from the floor to her eyes, who were glowing under the moonlight and due to the tears that were filling it. His heart starting to beat faster, as she felt her hands squeezing his. Her eyes screamed his name in silence.

Both of them wanted to keep their unspoken feelings hidden, knowing that their love was not only impossible, but forbidden. Her father and mother wouldn’t approve, he was a pagan and she was a Christian. She needed a husband who could give her country a strong alliance, and Uhtred was still in the process of taking back Bebbanburg.

“I could never love someone as much as I love you, Uhtred Ragnarsson.” she sincerely confessed, moving over to him as her lips embraced his, moving in a passionate yet slow synchrony as his harms snaked around her waist, holding her as if someone were to take her away.

“My heart will always be yours, Y/n. From now until my dying breath.” he said breaking away from the kiss, pressing their foreheads together as her cheeks were getting wet with her tears. His hands wiping them away and holding her body against his, wishing for her to stay in his arms forever.

“I should’ve seen this coming.”

A voice on the far end of the room spoke, making both of them turn around quickly as their eyes fell on the figure of King Alfred, who made his way inside when both of them were too busy confessing their love for each other.

“I should’ve known that you two were in love.” he said, his arms crossed against his chest as he maintained a stern look on his face. “Yet I think I may have decided to unwillingly look past it.”  

“Father, I—” she tried to speak as she stood up swiftly.

“Silence, now.” he said, holding his hand up to her as he looked at the man behind her. “I wish to speak with you, Uhtred.”

She looked back at Uhtred with a frightened look on her face, not knowing what her father would do to him with the information he had just acquired.

“Father, please..” she begged looking at him.

“At once, Uhtred. Please.” were the only words Alfred spoke as he walked outside of the room.

Uhtred stared at the woman in front of him, trying to give her a confident smile as he then walked towards the outside of the room. Once he was out, he closed the door after him, looking up to find the King standing in the middle of the corridor.

“I want to say that—”

“Do you truly love her, Uhtred?” were the first words that came out of the King’s mouth.

“What?” Uhtred spoke confused, that certainly was not what he thought the King would be asking him.

“Would you die for her, Uhtred?” he continued.

“I would do whatever it takes to make sure she is happy.” Uhtred replied without thinking. “I love your daughter with every fiber of my being and would die for her without a second thought.”

Alfred stared at him for what seemed like minutes, nodding softy as he intertwined his own hands and walked around for a bit before staring back at Uhtred.

“It’s decided then.”

Was the only thing he said, leaving Uhtred confused as Alfred opened the door and looked at her daughter who had tears in her eyes and a worried look on her face as she looked between Uhtred and her father.

“I have decided..” he started speaking to his daughter with a firm look on his face before it turned into a soft one. “That the man you shall marry with is Uhtred of Bebbanburg.”

Her mouth was agape as he stared at her father, she could not digest what he had just said as she looked at Uhtred, who also had a shocked look on his face because of what her father had just said.

“Nothing will ever be more important to me that seeing my daughter happy.” he told both of them. “And if my daughter’s happiness is being with you, then I would not have it otherwise.” he gave them a soft smile as he walked towards Y/n and caressed her cheek before kissing her forehead in a loving manner. “I would never forgive myself if you were to carry an unhappy life.. all that I ever wished for my children, is for them to live a blissful life, like the one I have with you, your mother and your brother.” he cleaned her tears as he gave her one of the sweetest smiles she has ever seen on her father’s face.

“Now, I will talk with your mother about this.” he explained as he looked between the two of them before staring at his daughter once again. “Have no fear my child, I know she’ll come to her senses once I talk to her.”

He then, with one last kiss to her daughter’s forehead, left the room.

Y/n was quick to jump into Uhtred’s arms, the man squeezing her so tight she was sure he would break her bones anytime. Joyful laughs came from his lips as she stared lovingly at him with happiness in her eyes. “I cannot believe what just happened.” she said between smiles.

He looked down at her, his blue eyes shinning with joy as he caressed her soft face. “I think it’s true to say that love conquers it all..” he gave her a warm smile.

“I love you, Uhtred of Bebbanburg.” she smiled brightly at him.

“And I love you, Y/n of Wessex.” he replied before closing the distance between them and kissing her lips passionately.