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broomsick · 1 month ago

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Oath-making and heathen practice

Jólablót and the winter solstice are around the corner! You might have already planned your celebration, but I'm here to give you a last minute idea! I realized I'd never really tackled the topic of ritual oath-making in my posts before, despite it being part of my personal practice. In what circumstances would oaths be sworn, historically? Where does the arm-ring come in? What sorts of oaths would be made? Let's dive into this topic.

While the importance of oath-making was somewhat exaggerated by heroic literature, keeping one's word was most certainly regarded by the germanic peoples as a crucial element in the social order. The Cleasby & Vigfusson Old Norse dictionary refers to a such a practice as heitstrengingar (heit-strengja), meaning "to take a vow".

This ceremonial event would generally occur at larger gatherings, in communities with an already established religious order. In other words, in a setting where there was a religious leader to preside over the practice. Understandably, this element can be foregone in the context of modern practice. According to the sources that history has left us with, this practice of ritualized vow-taking would more often than not be performed on Yule, at weddings, at funerals or at banquets. But where does the arm ring come in?

It's stated in the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle that when peace was established between king Alfred the Great and the danish army which had invaded Wareham, the latter party swore on a "sacred bracelet" to respect the newfound peace. This so-called bracelet was later regarded as the very same ring, generally made of either copper, silver, or gold, and worn around the arm, which was bestowed by chieftains onto successful warriors as a symbol of their prowess.

It's also said that some temples were equipped with a ritual ring, which would be worn by the goði in between ceremonies.

"Therewithin was there a great frith-place. But off the inmost house was there another house, of that fashion whereof now is the choir of a church, and there stood a stall in the midst of the floor in the fashion of an altar, and thereon lay a ring without a join that weighed twenty ounces, and on that must men swear all oaths; and that ring must the chief have on his arm at all man-motes." Eyrbyggja Saga - The Saga of the Ere-Dwellers, chapter 4.

It's interesting to note that oath-making was often followed by ritual toasting. In this sense, a neo-pagan can choose to prepare a drink to go along with their oath! This is especially relevant if you're somebody who has chosen, as I have, to respect the three Jólablót toasts (one to Óðinn for success, one to Freyr and Njörðr for peace and prosperity, and one for your ancestors, in the name of memory). The order in which one carries out their Jól celebrations is theirs to decide, but I've always found it practical to let the oath be directly followed by the toasts!

So, it seems you might need an arm ring on which to swear your oath, right? Don't be so sure! There have been attestations of oaths being sworn on the ritual drink itself, which bears comparison with the wider practice called symbel.

In the texts where the practice appears, a bragarfull ("promise-cup") is used as a vessel for the toast. So what's the point of adding a drink to the mix? You can regard it as adding further spiritual meaning to the practice of oath-making. After all, it's believed that the symbel must have been greatly significant in early germanic religious practice. See the following passage from the Fagrskinna which describes the ceremony during which inheritance is bestowed.

"And when memorial feasts were held according to ancient custom, it was required to hold them in the year of the death of the man in whose memory the feast was being held. And he who had the feast prepared must not sit in the high seat of the man whose memory he was honoring before men had drunk the memorial toast. The first evening, when people came to the feast, many toasts had to be offered up in the same way as memorial toasts are now, and they dedicated those toasts to their most important kinsmen, or to Þórr, or to other of their gods, in heathen times, and finally they had to drink the bragafull, and then he who was holding the feast had to make a vow on the bragafull, as did all those attending the memorial feast, and then he had to mount into the seat of the man who was being honoured, and he then entered fully into possession of the inheritance and honour of the dead man, but not before." Fagrskinna, a catalogue of the Kings of Norway.

According to the Fagrskinna, the vow is to be made after having drunk from the bragarfull. Interestingly enough, drinking from the bragarfull also seems tied to the celebration of Jól. A passage from the Helgakviða Hjörvarðssonar reads:

“Hedin was coming home alone from the forest one Yule-eve, and found a troll-woman; she rode on a wolf, and had snakes in place of a bridle. She asked Hedin for his company. ‘Nay,’ said he. She said, ‘Thou shalt pay for this at the bragarfull.’ That evening the great vows were taken; the sacred boar was brought in, the men laid their hands thereon, and took their vows at the bragarfull.” Helgakviða Hjörvarðssonar, part 4.

It's also said that apart from ritual drink and arm rings, an oath could also be taken on a stone. If you're someone who enjoys crafts at all, a fun way to incorporate this practice into a Jól celebration would be to paint or decorate or stone, or to carve meaningful runes carrying your intent onto it, and to make your vows upon it on the longest night.

So what sort of oath should you be making? In the context of neo-paganism, and especially for those of us interested in reconstructing historical practice, oath-making doesn't need to have a spiritual dimension at all. Historically, it served a rather down-to-earth, even political purpose. See this exerpt from the Landnámabók:

“A ring weighing two ounces or more should lie on the stall in every chief Temple, and this ring should every chief or godi have upon his arm at all public law-motes [...]. Every man who was there to transact any business, as by law provided by the Court, should first take an oath upon that ring and name for the purpose two or more witnesses and repeat the following words : ‘I call to witness in evidence, he was to say, that I take oath upon the ring, a lawful one (lögeid) so help me Frey and Niord and the Almighty God, [...] that I will deal lawfully with all such matters in law as I have to deal with while I am at this Thing.’” Landnámabók - The Book of the Settlement of Iceland, part 4, chapter 7.

You'll note here another fascinating tidbit of information regarding ritual oath-making: the presence of one or more witnesses! This element of the ritual is also attested in other such sources. If you're comfortable involving a loved one or more into your Yule celebrations, it's possible for you to do so, as they will bear witness to your vow.

If you regard oaths as sacred at all, I would advise not throwing them around lightheartedly, especially if they involve a deity in any way. Personally, I prefer to make oaths that: 1, I know I'll be able to keep for sure; and 2, I know I'll have control over. For example, changing a certain habit, working on an aspect of myself that I want to improve... Even from a historical standpoint, these ritualized oaths didn't have much to do with the Gods, but were rather centered around the human experience. In a way, this is reminiscent of new year resolutions. Since the time or year coincides, a lone practitioner who must stay discreet with their pagan practice can still take an oath in the guise of making such a resolution.

As usual, I feel the need to specify that not much is known about this practice at all, especially not when looking at it through the lens of history. This is a practice that you can take or leave, depending on your preference. What matters most in my opinion, meaning from a reconstructionist perspective, is to treat oath-making with due respect, regardless of the ceremonial elements or lack-thereof that one chooses to surround it with.

#heathenry #norse paganism #spirituality #polytheism #deity work #paganism #norse gods #pagan #deities #norse polytheism

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whitedarkmoonflower · 9 months ago

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Yield to me

Pairing: Sihtric x reader (female)

Authors note: a request from lovely @wildchild2707 Thank you for trusting me to write you a story. I hope you'll like it. It fit perfectly with my mood as I'm giffing S3 now. @thenameswinter99 thank you so much for helping to overcome the sudden block in the middle of writing 💖

Warnings: SMUT 18+

Summary: you and Sihtric are sent to Bloodhair's camp to spy, and apparently there is more to discover than the secret plans of the Danes

Word Count: 5,9 K

You could almost feel it – that piercing, even furious look burning holes in the back of your neck, lips pressed tightly together in a thin line, spitting words with a taste of acid. Yet, you chose to ignore him.

Your fingers continued to toy with the knife, your eyes discreetly scanning the warriors gathered around the different bonfires, the play of light and shadow dancing across their faces, the fire's crackling annoyingly loud. Amidst the clamour, numerous voices speaking in various dialects and tongues wafted through the air, mingling with the smoke. You had no patience for Sihtric's trivialities; your head spun from the cacophony around you.

Distinct dialects of Gaelic, Norse, Gutnish, and Welsh were discernible in the midst of the crowd. This was likely how it had felt at the Tower of Babel, you mused to yourself. Bloodhair had succeeded in assembling Danes and other fortune-seeking scum from all corners of the islands and even beyond the seas.

"Careful now, don't cut yourself," a rough hand suddenly landed on your thigh, a thick, booming voice abruptly wrenching you from your thoughts. It was a reflex, beyond your control, your fingers wrapping around the unfamiliar palm, grabbing the thumb and wrenching it to the side. A short cry and a loud thud, the body crushing against the hard ground, were the only sounds as you found yourself sitting atop a bewildered man, your eyes wide, teeth bared, and with your knife at his throat.

"The only thing I'll cut is your throat," you hissed, eyes scanning your catch. He was not unattractive, you observed, and he smelled good, unlike the majority in this cursed camp. Surely an Earl, you had seen him before, at the main fire with Bloodhair, Cnut, and Haesten.

A valuable take, this is your chance, don't squander it, you cautioned yourself.

"Hey, easy! I didn't mean any harm," the Dane raised his hands, surrendering.

"Give me one good reason not to cut your balls off," you scoffed, studying the stranger carefully.

"I know a much better use for them," there was no anxiety in his voice, but neither was there anger, and you slowly relaxed your muscles, still scanning his face.

“I want to know everything, every smallest detail,” you had never seen Uhtred so agitated before. Your big brother, though not bound by blood, your anchor, your stronghold, your grounding force in every tempest. You had seen him everything but scared and yet his voice quivered, betraying the angst he tried to conceal, eating him from within like a worm gnawing at an apple.

“I can handle it without a babysitter,” you sneered at him, disdain evident in your voice.

It was not merely chance, but destiny that had brought you together - you, Uhtred and Brida. Three children abandoned by fate, bound by love and friendship forged in the crucible of shared pain and suffering. You all had lost everything in that fateful night when the Danes had set their foot on the lands of Bebbanburg, yet you had found each other – an unbreakable bond, a thread to navigate through life and beyond.

"I want you both to work together. Sihtric is not going there to look after you. Four eyes can see more than two. You speak all the tongues across the islands and beyond. He's considered my closest friend, my right hand, along with Finan. They'll be eager to welcome him and extract all my secrets. It's a perfect combination. I want you to trust him the way I trust him. Can you do that for me?" Uhtred's hands grasped yours, his scrutinising gaze searching for reassurance.

Could you? At the beginning you couldn’t bring yourself to trust him. He was Kjartan’s bastard, the blood and flesh of the man who had shattered your fragile lives for the second time, and he had attempted to kill Uhtred.

You could still recall his feverish gaze, darting from you to Uhtred, his bound hands slightly quivering as he held the blade at Halig’s throat. Just a boy on the brink of manhood, grappling for his chance to survive, yet so determined not to surrender.

You didn’t question Uhtred’s decision, but you couldn’t shake off the doubts that nagged at you. There was something about the quiet and reserved young warrior, something elusive, something you couldn’t quite grasp, simultaneously intriguing and unsettling you.

You had observed him in Dunholm, still half-expecting him to betray you all, to switch sides in the blink of an eye.

The clang of weapons thundered through your ears, nostrils flaring as you inhaled the sour air, thick with the stench of blood and angst. The shouts of the warriors mingled with Kjartan's piercing cry, Ragnar’s sword severing his wrist, denying him entrance to Valhalla. Wild howls echoed through the yard as the same sword swung in the air repeatedly—a cacophony of sounds and images melded into pure chaos, assaulting your senses like ocean waves threatening to engulf you. Yet, amidst the chaos, your gaze remained fixed on one face in the crowd: Sihtric’s.

His expression, contorted by anxiety and anticipation since the first clash of swords, transformed into gleeful triumph and contentment at Kjartan’s defeat, only to sour into disgust and revulsion the next moment. It was then and there that you realized the depth of the shallow and distant gaze with which he often stared into the fire, seemingly detached from the laughter and banter around him. It was as though you had been granted a glimpse into his soul, witnessing all the hidden pain, shame, and guilt reflected in his large, mismatched eyes, unable to look away.

Although Kjartan lay dead, the sword continued its relentless swing, chopping and slicing as if attempting to wrench life from his body anew with each stroke. The large, deep eyes of the boy turned warrior flinched in rhythm with the moving weapon, embracing the liberating truth, while scruple and doubt glistened within them as he struggled to believe, to comprehend that it was over. Finally over. For all of you.

"It should have been me," the words sliced through the silence of the night like a blade, as you found him sitting alone, far removed from the cheerful chatter around the bonfires. His back leaned against the mighty fortress wall, arms resting on his knees. The distant flicker of firelight danced in his large eyes, his gaze sweeping over the buildings with a feverish gleam, as if searching for something, as if seeing something beyond your perception.

“Sihtric, I…” Your attempt to comfort him with a gentle touch on his shoulder was met with a fury, as he shrugged off your hand. He jumped to his feet, feverishly rubbing his eyes with his sleeves. In a momentary blink, the gleam in his eyes revealed itself to be tears, before he stormed away, pushing you aside roughly.

Since that evening, a silent distance hung between the two of you, not by your choice. If anything had shifted on your end, it was the sense of him— the same unquenchable thirst for revenge tightening your heart in the dark of the long, cold nights. Even though you couldn’t see the ghosts of Dunholm’s lost souls, you knew he could. Your suspicion and mistrust had finally dissipated, morphing into something else, something warm and soothing that you couldn’t quite put a name to.

It was Sihtric who apparently didn’t want neither your company, nor your comfort, avoiding you as much as possible. And so, you remained silent, giving him the space he seemed to need.

So, could you trust him as Uhtred was asking? Yes, you could. You were just unsure if Sihtric could reciprocate that trust. But there was nothing you wouldn't do for your brother. The tender kiss Uhtred had placed on your wrists still burned in your memory.

“Nobody knows about it. Not even Finan, not Osferth. Nobody. You’ll leave like traitors. Both of you,” Uhtred's voice dropped to a silent whisper, and you nodded, accepting the weight of the task placed upon you. You would fulfil it at any cost. You would free your brother from the curse the witch had cast upon him.

You slowly withdrew your knife from the stranger’s throat and stepped back, extending your hand to help him to his feet, an offer he accepted.

“Are you alone? Where’s your clan?” the Dane inquired, studying you with a scrutinising gaze.

“I don’t have a clan. I came with him,” you nodded toward Sihtric, seated at another fire, and returned the knife to its scabbard on your back. Once more, you could feel the weight of Sihtric's angry gaze boring into your flesh from a distance. He still hadn't grasped it, hadn't accepted that you were here on your own mission, that you neither needed nor wanted his protection.

He had choked on his ale, coughing furiously, when Uhtred had informed him you would be accompanying him.

“Lord, it’s too dangerous,” was the first thing he had said. “You can’t send her there.”

You snorted in disdain, stepping forward with fury burning in your eyes. He had witnessed your prowess in battle, seen you take down men much larger than yourself, and yet he doubted you, considering you weak. You were a warrior, your small and fragile appearance deceiving, both a curse and a blessing, concealing the steel beneath the softness of your velvety skin.

“I need neither your approval nor permission,” you hissed through gritted teeth, fixing him with a steely gaze. “Whether you come with me or not, that's your decision.”

And, predictably, he came. He could not refuse his lord’s order. You both departed under cover of night after a heated dispute with Uhtred, freeing the imprisoned Danes beforehand, but the silence between you grew even heavier. You felt like a burden to him, and you didn’t need words to confirm it. The heavy sighs, the silent shakes of his head, his gaze lingering on you before turning away the moment you met it—they spoke volumes. But you didn’t care, or at least that’s what you kept telling yourself.

“Husband of yours?” the Dane inquired, slight disappointment evident in his voice.

“No, just a travel companion. We both served under the Dane Slayer, but the witch has stolen his mind, and now we are here,” you spat with disdain at the mention of her, your anger and scorn genuine and unfeigned.

Sihtric drew a deep breath, attempting to calm his racing heartbeat. It felt insane. What were you even doing here? What had Uhtred been thinking, sending you into such danger? How could he be so blind, so reckless with your life?

The anger with which he had hurled insults at Uhtred that night before departure had been genuine—the fury that Uhtred, in his bid to save his own skin, was willing to sacrifice everything, even you—his sister, his unwavering companion through all the tumultuous twists and turns of his unruly life, and in Sihtric’s eyes – certainly the most beautiful woman to ever walk the earth.

He couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment he had fallen in love with you; it seemed as if he had always felt this way, from the very first moment he laid eyes on you next to Uhtred. Your hand steady and poised on the hilt of your sword, your eyes—beautiful, deep, dark, and somewhat sorrowful—following his every move, every breath, while his own fingers quivered, his knuckles turning white from the force of gripping the hilt of Halig’s sword pressed against its owner’s throat.

As he finally dropped the sword, his fingers wrapping around Thor's hammer on his neck to swear his oath to his new lord, the resounding echo of his own words thundered in his ears and his gaze never left yours, pleading and promising.

He knew you harboured no fondness for him, no trust either, and he couldn’t blame you for it. Yet, he had hoped that with time, things would evolve, that he could earn your trust as he had Uhtred’s. Instead, he had only exposed his vulnerability, revealing himself as just a boy haunted by the ghosts of his past, far from the man or warrior he aspired to be for you.

Returning to Dunholm—the graveyard of his dreams and hopes—filled him with dread. Yet, the desire to prove himself to you, to demonstrate that he was more than a frightened boy bargaining for his life, coupled with the ambition to exhibit his courage, loyalty, and perhaps earn an approving smile from the most beautiful eyes on this side of the world, had been overpowering. Only to have those hopes shattered by your pitying gaze when you encountered him that evening after the battle. With nothing left but to retreat and await another opportunity.

The journey to Bloodhair’s camp had become a nightmare of its own. He struggled to conceal his emotions, hoping that the occasional sighs he couldn’t suppress or the furtive glances he stole in your direction—quickly averting his eyes when caught—wouldn’t betray him.

Now, you were trapped here, deep within enemy territory, each day fraught with the risk of discovery and capture. While Uhtred had kept his promise to keep Brida away from the camp, the fear of her sudden appearance loomed like a raised axe; she couldn’t be deceived. She knew you better than anyone, and consumed by grief over Ragnar's loss, she was unpredictable.

Sihtric adamantly refused to let you out of his sight. It was too perilous, and the thought of you disregarding the danger drove him to the edge of madness. He kept a vigilant watch over you, growing increasingly frustrated by the day as you dismissed his concerns. How could he protect you if you refused to acknowledge the peril, insisting instead on separating to gather more information?

You hadn’t expected it to be so easy. A satisfied smile threatened to curl on your lips as the Dane, whom you had nearly beheaded, invited you to join him at the larger fire. He settled beside you, and as the night progressed and the laughter grew louder, you didn’t push away his large palm as it found its way back to your thigh.

“I’ll be straight with you - I like you, wildcat,” he chuckled in your ear as the flames started to dwindle. “You're welcome at this fire anytime, and if you're interested, you're welcome in my tent too.”

You smiled, tilting your head to the side as you eyed the broad-shouldered man. You knew this game all too well. It was a hunt, and like every hunt, timing was everything. Let your arrow fly too soon, and you miss your prey; linger too long, and it'll slip away. It was too early for the perfect strike, but your prey was taking the bait, thinking himself the hunter. You stifled the laughter bubbling in your chest, turning it into a muffled chuckle.

“I’ll consider it,” you replied, not making any promises, just teasing, baiting. Your fingers traced a path from the Dane's shoulder over the fur cloak covering his broad chest, and you saw the trap you had laid out snap in his dark, smirking eyes. He was a worthy adversary, quite handsome even, and above all, you appreciated when men were straightforward.

If playing this game brought you closer to the talks and whispers you were so eager to hear, you were more than willing to participate.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" an angry hiss stung your ear just as you were about to slip into your tent, your hand instinctively reaching for the dagger behind your back.

“Damn,” you swore loudly, spotting the silhouette emerging from the shadows. “You're lucky you're still breathing.”

“I saw you with that brute. You need to be more careful. I’ve told you so many times…” If looks could kill, Sihtric would have dropped dead on the spot.

“You're not my father, you're not my brother, you're not my husband. You're nobody to me, and you have nothing to tell me,” you spat out your words at him, as if hurling daggers. Not that there was anyone in your life who could actually tell you what to do. You were your own master, and it was time for Sihtric to grasp that.

"We both have tasks here, so you'd better start with yours. Besides, I’m enjoying the company of that warrior," you hissed, throwing open the flaps of your tent, eager to vanish from Sihtric’s view as soon as possible. However, you were abruptly halted by an iron grip around your wrist.

“So, I'm a nobody,” a strange metallic tone tinged Sihtric’s voice, a quality you had never detected before, momentarily seizing your attention. You turned your head, and your surprised gaze was met by two deep pools of pure fury. “I get it. You're right, I am. I’ve been a nobody all my damn life. And who are you?”

You attempted to retrieve your hand, but Sihtric’s grip only tightened, and anger slowly churned in your stomach as your other hand stealthily slid behind your back to grasp the dagger.

"A smug and heedless badger digging deeper into its burrow, oblivious to everything happening outside. What have I done to deserve being treated like a dog? Ignored, dismissed at every turn, forced to watch you fawning over that filthy boar."

“A badger?” you snorted, your tone a mix of anger and amusement at Sihtric’s sudden outburst. Somewhere in the recesses of your mind, your common sense whispered for you to cease, recognizing you had clearly crossed a line and needlessly wounded him. However, retreat and admission of fault were not traits you readily embraced. You silenced your inner voice with a smug grin, a challenge glinting in your eyes as you met Sihtric’s gaze. “That filthy boar smelled better than you ever did,” you shot back.

Your fingers instinctively wrapped around the hilt of your dagger, swiftly drawing it forth, but your attempt lacked the element of surprise; Sihtric had anticipated your move. Through countless sparring sessions, he had grown familiar with your tricks.

Releasing your wrist, Sihtric deftly parried your armed hand, swiftly yanking it back and leveraging the motion to flip you over, simultaneously seizing the dagger from your grasp and positioning it threateningly against your throat, while pressing your back firmly against his chest.

With a furious stomp on his foot, you exploited the moment of distraction to drive your elbow into Sihtric’s abdomen. He grimaced in pain, doubling over and gasping for breath, giving you the opportunity to sidestep and confront him face-to-face. But before you could act further, Sihtric’s arms encircled your waist, using his weight to shove you backwards, sending both of you tumbling through the tent entrance.

You grunted as your back collided with the fur-laid ground. Before you could formulate your next move, Sihtric landed atop you, straddling your waist and pinning your arms above your head. A primal growl escaped you as you squirmed and struggled against his restraint.

“That’s enough. Cease this. Surrender. I don’t wish to harm you,” Sihtric attempted a conciliatory tone, but the smug smirk on his lips was impossible to conceal.

“Never,” you hissed through gritted teeth, persisting in your furious struggle against Sihtric’s grasp.

With your breath coming in panting gasps and your mind racing, seeking any possible escape route, you initially even failed to register what was happening. The sensation of Sihtric’s lips against yours was scorching, his hands still restraining you, refusing to release their hold. Your eyes widened in astonishment as you momentarily ceased your futile resistance, the anger pulsating within you fading like a dying ember in a gentle breeze.

Though your muscles relaxed and the frantic struggle abated, Sihtric gave no indication of noticing, his grip still firm, his weight pressing you down as his lips fervently explored yours, kissing you with rough, bruising intensity.

You could swear your heart leapt into your throat, its rapid thudding almost deafening, as you struggled to suppress the burgeoning excitement. Yet, your own body betrayed you, a fiery heat igniting in your belly, matching the rhythm of Sihtric’s lips moving against yours.

Your cheeks flushed with heat as a soft whine escaped you, but Sihtric suddenly pulled away, releasing your arms and sitting back on his heels. Out of the corner of your eye, you caught a glimpse of your dagger lying on the ground nearby, just out of reach.

“I’m sorry. I... I didn’t mean to…” Sihtric stammered, confusion evident on his handsome face as he scratched the back of his head. In that moment, you saw your opportunity. With a swift motion, you toppled him over toward the dagger, and in the blink of an eye, you were straddling him, the blade at his throat and a triumphant smirk on your lips.

"Gotcha," you laughed, intoxicated by the feeling of regaining control, not even pausing to consider that the victory might have been too easy.

Leaning in closer until your noses nearly touched, you watched him intently, breathing in his scent — leather, fire smoke, and ale mingled with the sweet aroma of his skin, both warming and exhilarating. A subdued chuckle escaped your lips as you noticed the mischievous sparks dancing in Sihtric’s large, expressive, two-toned eyes, a hint of suspicion creeping in that perhaps your agility alone wasn’t solely responsible for this small triumph.

Sihtric’s wide-eyed pupils tracked your every move, and in the sudden silence, you felt as if you could hear both your hearts beating frantically, breaths hitching in your chests. You pressed the dagger just a fraction tighter against his skin, enough to draw a few red drops trickling down the blade. Despite the slight pierce, not a single flinch touched Sihtric’s face as he slowly tilted his head backward, fully exposing his throat to you, his gaze still locked with yours.

The air crackled with anticipation, both your breaths quickening. Had you paused to consider, you might have chosen differently, but in that moment, your mind was suddenly empty. All that remained was the memory of the warm, thrilling sensation that had filled your core just a moment before. With a trembling exhale, you crushed your lips against Sihtric’s. The muted growl that tore through him sent shivers down your spine as you released the dagger and cupped his face, pulling him closer.

Sihtric’s strong arms enveloped your shoulders, and you gasped as you were flipped over effortlessly, like a feather. Once again beneath Sihtric’s towering frame, pressed against the fur with the weight of his body, you didn’t resist. Your fingers tangled in Sihtric’s hair as you dared not let go, your lips seeking his, parting with a hushed moan to welcome his greedy, heated tongue.

“Do you surrender?” A mischievous smile danced on Sihtric’s lips as he finally pulled away from your red, kiss-swollen lips.

“Never,” you smirked, reaching out to pull him into another passionate kiss.

With a soft whimper, you arched your back against the hard ground, covered only by a thin fur, as Sihtric’s hands began to roam over your clothes. He deftly tugged at the laces, liberating you from the leathers that concealed your skin from his touch.

Your hands were just as eager, but he was quicker. You had barely managed to pull off his leather jerkin, revealing his incredibly well built upper body to your bewildered gaze, as he freed you from the last piece of cloth, a sharp gasp leaving his chest as his ravenous gaze slid over your naked frame.

“We’ll see,” Sihtric chuckled while his lips trailed a hot path down your neck, making you gasp for air each time he sucked on your exposed skin, leaving teasing stings on his way to your chest. His skin against yours was warm and pleasantly soft and you found yourself unable to fight against the deep moan swaying through you, as his mouth closed around your hardening nipples.

“My beautiful unyielding warrior,” Sihtric’s lips continued their travel down your naked body, his low, husky voice sending shivers down your spine, “I’m going to make you feel so good as you have never felt before, I’ll show you the stars, and you will yield to me, willingly.”

“Oh gods,” was all you could murmur as his hands took hold of your hips, keeping you in place, and his tongue swept through your core. He knew exactly what he was doing, as his lips wrapped around your pearl, sucking gently, a satisfied hum leaving him as you choked on your own breath each time the lap of his hot tongue sent a new wave of shudders through your body, building up the pleasure, that slowly overtook all your senses.

Eyes rolling back into your head, you buried your teeth in your lower lip, in a futile attempt to keep quiet, but you couldn’t. Wild moans rolled over your lips as Sihtric was bringing you closer to the edge. Never in your wildest dreams could you have imagined the silent and hesitant young warrior being able to bring you to the brink of madness so masterly and so quickly.

Another deep moan swayed through you as he forced two fingers inside you.

Sihtric grinned in satisfaction, loving the lewd sounds, rolling over your parted lips, drinking in the sight of you - hair wild and dishevelled, eyes half lid and rolling back in your head, breath heavy and panting, hips moving up and down against his fingers - the most beautiful sight he could ever imagine. He had always dreamed of having you buried beneath him like this, yet he had never dared to believe it could actually come true.

You whined loudly as he suddenly pulled away.

“Sihtric, please, I need more,” you mewled in a desperate need to have him back.

“You need more of what?” he smirked, placing a tender kiss on your inner thigh. You shuddered, feeling his breath so close to where you wanted him.

“I need you,” you whimpered through panting breaths.

“So beautiful, so wild and unruly,” Sihtric hummed as his mouth travelled to your other thigh, “So fucking perfect for me.”

“Gods, Sihtric, please, I need you,” you whined, your voice cracking.

“Are you yielding, my fiercest warrior?” Sihtric asked, delving his tongue in your dripping heat, just to retrieve again.

“I am, fuck, I am,” you moaned breathlessly, forgetting everything – your pride, your ego, your anger – there was no room for any other emotion as the overwhelming yearning for Sihtric’s touch. With a satisfied hum, Sihtric thrusted his fingers back in your tight channel, starting to pump them in and out, and you were swept away by the new wave of pleasure.

You were already so close to the edge, feeling the warmth, cursing through your body pooling into one large flame. Your fingers dug in the fur beneath you in an attempt to hold on to something, to ground yourself, as your head snapped back, your body went taut and your walls started to clench around Sihtric’s fingers.

“Yes, that’s good. I can feel you, come for me, beautiful,” Sihtric murmured softly, his tongue starting to circle around and lap over your sensitive nub, and there was no way of holding it back any longer. You felt like a tightly drawn bow suddenly released, the tension snapping and transforming into pure energy, as you came on Sihtric’s fingers and tongue, your climax washing over you in waves of pure bliss, your body trembling and shuddering from the intensity of it.

Sihtric kept fucking you through your orgasm with his fingers, letting you savour the moment and the sinfull sensation, pulsing through your vanes like an inferno, sweeping away everything in it’s way. You were blank, like an empty parchment. Carried away in the current of pleasure you floated somewhere between this world and the other.

“You are mine now, my sweet wildflower,” Sihtric’s voice reached through your hazy mind, grounding you back to earth. “You yielded, and now you are mine.”

You wanted to protest, to reject his claim, but the words forming on your tongue dissolved in the tenderness of Sihtric’s kiss, his fingers delicately tracing your cheek.

“Say it again,” you whispered, locking eyes with his mismatched gaze.

“You are mine,” Sihtric affirmed, his voice low and soft yet resolute, causing your heart to quicken. Whom were you trying to fool here? Wasn’t this what you had secretly dreamed of since that night in Dunholm, though too afraid to acknowledge it fully?

Silence hung between you until you mustered the courage to break it. “I am yours, Sihtric,” you murmured, savouring the weight of your own words. They felt unfamiliar yet strangely satisfying, even liberating. The groan that escaped Sihtric made you grin, as his lips found yours again, stealing your breath away.

You yelped as Sihtric’s strong arms wrapped around you, lifting you off the ground in one swift motion, carrying you to the pile of furs serving as your bed and placing you carefully on top of it. You propped yourself up on your elbows and sat upright, watching Sihtric hastily getting rid of his breeches, a sharp exhale vibrating through your chest at the sight of his hard cock. He was big, and you were not a novice in that matter. The thought alone of him inside you, made your core pulse in pleasant anticipation.

“You are a big boy,” you mused, as he approached, wrapping your fingers around his shaft and giving it a teasing lick from tip to root, feeling it throb in your hand. You wrapped your lips around it and let your tongue slide over the sensitive tip. Sihtric moaned, shuddering at your touch.

“Do you think you can handle me?”

You just smirked at him in response, as Sihtric pushed you firmly back on the furs, crawling on top of you, crowding you like a wild beast. There was something wolfish in his demeanour, his tense, perfectly chiselled muscles rippling beneath his skin, his eyes darkening as if fixated on prey.

“I'm not gonna go easy on you,” his husky voice dripped into your ears like sweet poison, thrilling and intoxicating. It made every hair on your body stand on end and wetness pool between your legs, leaving you to wonder whether it was a warning or a promise. You had never seen him like this, and you would be lying if you said it didn’t excite you. There was evidently much more to discover beneath the reserved and bashful exterior of the young warrior, and you weren't just curious—you were burning with desire to explore.

“Sihtric, just fuck me,” you exclaimed, pulling him in for a heated kiss, and Sihtric groaned against your mouth, aligning himself with your cunt. He pushed into you, and you moaned loudly, digging your nails into his shoulders, savouring the delicious stretch as your walls took him in, pulsing around him.

There was nothing gentle in the way he fucked you, and now you understood why he had cared to place you on the big, soft keep of furs. His hips thrusted against you with a crushing power, showing you ever higher up the keep, skin snapping against skin, relentlessly pushing himself into you until the very end of his length.

His groans and hisses mingled with your moans and you were sure the half of the camp had by now definitely heard you, the fabric of the tent not an obstacle for the sounds, but you couldn’t care less. You enjoyed every single deep thrust, every single brush of his cock against that sweet swollen spot deep inside you, that made your back arch and your eyes roll back in your head, the familiar heat pooling into your belly and turning into hot, searing flame.

“Gods, how good you feel around me,” Sihtric hissed between panting breaths and you just mewled something incomprehensible in response too lost in your pleasure for any words or even coherent thoughts.

Having you here, writhing beneath him, taking his cock and moaning in pleasure, your nails leaving marks on his skin, exceeded Sihtric's wildest hopes. He had aimed to earn your trust, perhaps your friendship, but this was something else, something he didn’t dare to put a name to, not yet.

You had so unexpectedly gotten under his sway, and he desired nothing more than to please you, to immerse you in the most breathtaking sensations he could offer. For despite his longing for your surrender, there was something he craved even more.

“You are nobody to me,” you had spat in anger, and those words cut deeper than any blade ever could. He would have accepted anything from you—hate, anger—but not indifference, not from you.

Sihtric felt your walls start to clench around him, telling him that you were close to the edge.

“Common, my beautiful warrior, you can give me more,” he growled, fastening his pace, eyes getting glassy and breath rugged, as he was chasing his own release now.

“Fuck, Sihtric, I … I can’t anymore,” you hissed and after few more thrusts you were there, the pooling heat exploded within you, rolling over you, engulfing you and you let yourself fell into that blissful state where nothing else mattered apart from the indescribable, otherworldly pleasure washing over you in hot waves.

Sihtric kept fucking you through your orgasm, savouring the feeling of your walls shuddering and clenching around him, squeezing him, until he couldn’t hold back anymore and he came, spilling his seed deep inside you with a throbbing groan.

Sihtric collapsed beside you, pulling you into his embrace, his panting breath hot against your sweaty skin as he buried his nose in the crook of your neck. He wanted to prolong this moment, to stretch it into infinity, as somewhere deep inside him, he dreaded what would come after, unconsciously fearing that there actually might be no after.

Your head still hazy and spinning from the intensity of your climax, you turned slowly to face him. Your eyes roamed his handsome face, pausing at the scars on his forehead and right cheek. His embrace was firm, somewhat possessive, yet simultaneously tender, attuned to your every move, every breath. Like a young wolf resting after a good hunt—relaxed but alert—your wolf, your wild beast, ready to be tamed.

"You okay?" Sihtric asked, gently tucking your hair behind your ear, his thumb hovering over your cheek.

You simply nodded, unable to find your voice, enchanted by the soothing calmness radiating from Sihtric, having no idea about the tempest raging behind that shell. He smiled and leaned in, brushing his lips over yours.

"I might be nobody to you, but you are everything to me," Sihtric's gaze locked with yours, his heart racing in his chest with maddening speed. It was the moment of truth he had always dreaded. He surrendered his heart to you, knowing there were only two possibilities: acceptance or rejection.

"You are not nobody, you never have been. You are mine. I drew your blood, and I claimed you," you stated boldly, meeting his gaze with determination. "You are mine, Sihtric Kjartansson," you repeated firmly, "and I am yours."

A deep sigh of relief escaped Sihtric as he pulled you back into his embrace, his lips affirming your claim with a passionate kiss.

"A badger!" you suddenly laughed, recalling how it all began, leading to this moment of firm embrace you never wanted to end. "You called me a badger!" you snorted, playfully punching him in the stomach.

“My wild, ignorant, beautiful badger,” Sihtric chuckled in response, gently nuzzling your dishevelled hair.

Comment or write to me if you want to be added to the tag list.

Tags: @sihtricfedaraaahvicius @hb8301 @zillahvathek @alexagirlie @gemini-mama @verenahx @mysteriouslydeafeningwerewolf @willowbrookesblog @thenameswinter99 @ellabellabus07 @mcbuckyyyy @kirtseinw @siimonesvensson @sigtryggrswifey

#sihtric x reader #sihtric x you #sihtric #the last kingdom #sihtric fic #the last kingdom fic #sihtric smut

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themuseumofwitchcraftandpaganism · 20 days ago

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Did Christianity Steal From Paganism? Yes... No... It's Complicated. Part 2: Vikings

Tis the season so I figured I'd talk about the topic that's been the subject of debate for a long time, most recently with the 2024 Olympics. I will be discussing the visual aspect of these religions, not the theological aspects.

Short answer: Yes

Long answer: No

Let's get into it: The Viking era is from 800-1050 AD and can be divided into seven parts based off the style of visual art that was popular. The first style is called the Oseberg style (775-800 AD) and would be the basis of all the Viking styles of art after it. It was made of three forms that were derived from Pagan pre-Viking art: ribbon animals, gripping beasts, and ambiguous forms. You can see it on the bow of the ship below; the ship dates to the 9th century and was found in a burial mound in Tønsberg, Norway. Remember these forms because they're going to be important later.

The Vikings started coming into contact with Christian Anglo Saxon (modern day English) missionaries in the 700-800s, but they had little effect. The missionaries were well received by the kings but when their Pagan chieftains threatened to rescind their support, the missionaries were sent away. Another example of that is in 878 AD, the Christian king of the Anglo Saxons, Alfred the Great of Wessex, and the Pagan king of the Vikings, Guthrum the Old, were at war. King Alfred ended up winning and as part of the peace treaty, Guthrum had to get baptized into Christianity. He did so but maintained his Pagan worship and did not implement Christianity.

Besides the kings, common people had also started to slowly assimilate to Christianity. Christians had a rule that they couldn't trade with Pagans so Pagan Vikings began primsigning. Primsigning is an old Norse word meaning "to make the sign of the cross," the way to show you followed Christian beliefs before converting all the way through baptism. Even though they weren't being baptized and were still practicing Paganism, primsigning was enough for Christians to feel comfortable trading with them and brought the Vikings more into the world of Christianity.

An interesting example of this is in Kopparsvik, Sweden, where a large number of Viking individuals were buried in a prone position from 900-1050 AD. This is completely different from traditional Pagan Viking burials: there were no grave goods, no animal sacrifices, no mighty ships. Typically, a prone position is a sign of showing humility towards God and all the figures had notches carved into their teeth (below). Historians theorize that they used the notches to secretly signal to Christian merchants that they were also Christian to get discounts while not being alienated from their Pagan communities.

The coin below is from ~921 AD. It's a Viking coin from York, England and wonderfully shows the mixing of Pagan and Christian iconography. Coins like this typically had the name of the Viking king engraved on them but this one has "St. Peter." However, it also depicts the hammer of Thor on both the head (left) and reverse (right). It really demonstrates the visual mixing of religions.

Sometime between 940-1000 AD, the cross below was made. It was found in St Andrew's Church, Andreas, Isle of Man (between England and Ireland), and is another great example of the combination of Pagan and Christian art. On one side (left) it depicts Odin with one of his ravens fighting the wolf Fenrir at Ragnarök. The other side (right) depicts Christ triumphing over Satan. Both of these are stories of good vs evil and depict a god triumphing at the end of days. It would have drawn attention to the theological similarities between Christianity and Norse Paganism, making it easier for people to conflate the differing theologies.

Remember the Oseberg style from before? We're going to revisit it. By the 900s, Viking art was being done in the Mamman style; the ribbon animals and gripping beasts had combined into an icon called the Great Beast. The Great Beast was a symbol of power and strength, frequently put on longships and other Pagan items. In 986 AD, Viking King Bluetooth, a recent convert to Christianity, had the jelling stone below erected in honor of his deceased parents. On one side, he included a Great Beast; this was to show the strength and nobility of his parents and the nation they ruled. On the other side, he put an image of Christ Triumphant. This makes sense for a cenotaph as the promise of a resurrection is a comfort in the face of death. But the combination of a Pagan symbol of strength and an image of Christ is very interesting; it's doing more than pointing out the similarities between the two religions, it's uniting both Pagan and Christian subjects under his rule and proudly displaying the two different sources of the Viking's strength.

I can't end this without also talking about architecture. The last Viking art style is called the Urnes style and it's primarily because of the church below. It was built in 1132 AD in Urnes, Norway and is a stave church, meaning the whole thing was built without any nails!! The entire thing is self-supporting wood made using the post and lintel system. It's a Chrisitan church but has Pagan iconography on the sides: the last version of the Great Beast (right) and Pagan runes. It's fascinating how a Christian place of worship is decorated and protected by Pagan icons, once again showing the combination of visual cultures and methods of thought.

So, the answer everyone is looking for is NO.

The Christians didn't steal anything from the Pagans, they made an association. They produced art in the style that was popular and followed the artistic trends of the time. Christian and Pagan imagery was produced in the same medium and combined until Paganism was phased out over hundreds of years. They saw similar gods and iconography and combined them to make a message that was understandable to all audiences.

Happy Yule! Happy Winter Solstice!

Further reading:

Smarthistory – Art of the Viking Age

BBC - History - Ancient History in depth: Viking Religion

The Vikings and Christianity | History of Christian Vikings – Sons of Vikings

Treaty of Wedmore - Wikipedia

Manx runestones - Wikipedia

Prone Burials and Modified Teeth at the Viking Age Cemetery of Kopparsvik - Historische Beratung Dr. Matthias Toplak

Ancient Viking Art - Medievalists.net

Gamla Uppsala - Wikipedia

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scotianostra · 8 months ago

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May 17th is Norwegian Constitution Day or Syttende Mai as its known in Norway.

A wonderful spring holiday celebrated with red, white and blue ribbons, national costumes and waving of the Norwegian flag, the three colours are everywhere in Norway at this time of year.

It’s a day Norwegians all over the world take off to celebrate and marks the historic signing of the Constitution in 1814, the year Norway gained its independence from Sweden, which was fully realized in 1905.

In every city, town and village in Norway, children and adults alike express their cultural pride by marching to the bright music of school bands, celebrating the joy of springtime and honoring of those citizens who created Norway’s constitutional government, founding her independence.

Especially popular is the Children’s Procession that brings every child out in their best clothes or national costume.

In Edinburgh the Norwegian community celebrate Syttende Mai too.

Edinburgh’s celebrations include the Norwegian Scottish Society dinner, after a reception at the Norwegian Consulate’s residence.

Each year Norwegian students in Edinburgh hold a breakfast at Prestonfield House followed by a parade along Waterloo Place and onto Princes Street. At the boom of Edinburgh Castle’s One o’ clock gun, the pigeons fly and the parade begins!

Tonight expats and guests gather at The Royal Scots Club Abercromby Place for a celebration dinner held by the Norwegian Scottish Association. The association was founded in Edinburgh in 1966, and has enjoyed over 50 years of Norwegian-Scottish friendship.

Norwegian Scottish Association roots lie in a much older friendly society, one rooted in the shared experience of Norwegians and Scots during the Second World War. Founded in Dumfries in 1941, the Scottish Norwegian Society brought Scots and Norwegians together in difficult times. Having escaped the German occupation of their homeland in 1940, around a thousand Norwegians had come to be stationed at various times in Dumfries, and it was not long before the idea of a formal society was begun.

Of course our history with Norway goes back centuries, Northern Scotland, was, at one time, a Norse domain and the Northern Isles experienced the most long-lasting Norse influence. Almost half of the people on Shetland today have Viking ancestry, and around 30% of Orkney residents.

Many agree that there are many points of commonality between the Norse character and the Scottish one that leads to a sense of kinship between the two countries, even for those living much further south in Scotland, where Viking influence did not reach. Words like bairn and muckle made their way into Scot’s language via the Norwegians.

I touched upon the links during the second world war earlier and have posted before about the Shetland bus which provided a transport link between the Shetland Islands and occupied Norway. Many Norwegian refugees fled their occupied home with the help of Norwegian sailors who undertook daring, high-risk trips across the North Sea. The whole episode became emblematic of the friendship across the seas.

More recently Edinburgh’s Zoo also has a strong connection to Norway as it is home to a very special resident. Sir Nils Olav III is the mascot and colonel-in-chief of the Norwegian King’s Guard. The king penguin’s rank has been passed down through three generations since 1972. Knighted in 2008, he even received a military promotion in 2016 with the brigadier title bestowed upon him in a special ceremony at the zoo.

The Zoo’s link with Norway originated in 1913 when arctic explorer Roald Amundsen presented a penguin to them on their opening. Once a year the penguin inspects soldiers from Norway’s King’s Guard.

Edinburgh's Syttende mai parade – the 17th May or Norwegian Constitution Day parade traditionally takes place along the capital's main thoroughfare, Princes Street. At the boom of Edinburgh Castle's 'one o' clock gun', the pigeons fly and the parade begins!

Pics are from last ears parade.

#scotland #scottish #history #edinburgh #norway #my pics

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deathmetalunicorn1 · 3 days ago

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Hey there! Wow it's been a long time since I requested something from you!

So! I was thinking the Norse trio (Odin, Thor and Loki) having a human lover that they've kept secret for so long no one even knew about the relationship. The only way others have found out is when they had children with human reader. How others find out is your choice.

Love you! And take great care of yourself!

-It wasn’t that he was keeping you or your children a secret, it was more along the line of he was being private about his personal life.

-You were a human while he was a god, and many didn’t like the idea of a human and a god being together in such a way, but (Love) didn’t care- he loved you- human or not, and without your love together he wouldn’t have his adorable children.

-You knew why he kept quiet about you, and you respected his decision, as he was keeping you and your babies safe, but he always made sure to return to your arms each night, showering the three of you in love and kisses.

-He spent time with the three of you all the time, taking you on quiet day trips, picnics and things like that so your children could run around and have fun, and you got to spend the day basking in your husband’s arms, or with his head on your lap, letting him take a much-deserved break.

-It was a complete accident when Shiva found out about you and your children, after he came looking for (Love) and came across the four of you having a picnic together in the backyard of your home.

-Shiva was easily able to see that the children were a blend of both you and (Love) and while shocked at first, his stunned look quickly melted into a bright grin, one set of hands lifting behind his head while the other set went to his hips as he laughed loudly, “I knew you were up to something!”

-You were a bit nervous, scared if others were going to find out that you and (Love) were married and had children- you weren’t going to risk their safety.

-Shiva wasn’t bothered by the angry glare (Love) was giving him, reaching for his weapon, “Ahh you don’t need to do that- I won’t tell! I’m not going to risk the safety of children.”

-You were surprised as he beamed brightly at you, coming closer as he squatted down as your daughter cooed softly, reaching out to his hand, grabbing it before he teased her, wiggling another hand which she grabbed, only for him to keep doing it, keeping her entertained.

-(Love) looked calmer but you could tell that he was still on edge as he spoke to Shiva, “Why are you here Shiva?” the Hindu god pouted lightly, “Aww don’t you love me~~~? So~ mean!”

-You couldn’t help but giggle, seeing him teasing your husband which earned you a small, but harmless glare as Shiva joined the picnic, letting your children play with his many hands.

-Seeing that Shiva was alright with you made you calm down and in turn (Love) calmed down, but he was still on edge. Shiva was okay with it, but it didn’t mean others would be, and he had to make sure you were safe.

-At least now he had an ally in Shiva, just in case if something happened.

#record of ragnarok #ror x reader #ror loki #ror thor #ror odin #ror shiva

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ltwilliammowett · 2 years ago

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Ship terminology

I thought I'd take you on a little trip into the world of ship terminology but in summary form.

The word ship itself comes from the Anglo-Saxon scip or the Gothic skip, both meaning boat. But there is also a distinction, because when we say boat we mean a small vessel without decks that is or can be transported on a ship.

At the back is the stern and at the front is the bow with the head, the ship's toilet and the figurehead.

From Greek and Roman antiquity until long after the Grand Armada of 1588, warships carried soldiers accustomed to conducting sieges on land as an offensive force. The soldier on land felt secure in his castle, even though a castle is essentially for defence, and When one went to sea to fight battles, warships had to be equipped with castles. In fact, there were two self-contained castles in each ship, one forward and one aft, known as the forecastle and the aftercastle. From these castles, soldiers fired slingshots, longbows and crossbows. These castles almost disappeared with the advent of muzzle-loading cannons, as the weight was too great. This is almost recognizable in the galleons of the late 16th-early 17th century. Where the forecastle was only one deck high and the aftercastle still quite high. The name forecastle has survived over the years, albeit often in a shortened spelling and always abbreviated in pronunciation, the famous fo'c'sle.

(x)

In the course of the 17th century, the afercastle became the quarterdeck, the officers' quarter, on which the wheel was located from 1740. Before that, the whipstaff was located slightly below and not on the maindeck. If there was a cabin on the quarterdeck and a deck above it, it was called the poop deck.

Between the forecastle and the aftercastle was a large area called the waist, which was open until the early 19th century. century, exposing the gun deck below. This gave sailors quicker access to the guns and reduced the ship's weight. From 1805 onwards, it became more and more standard to close the deck and this became a whole upper deck or maindeck, with accesses and vents that were covered with gratings.

(x)

In between were the gundecks with the great cabin and the wardroom and the berth deck with the gunroom, the places where the guns and crew lived. Under this was the orlop deck, which was an ideal storage area and at the same time a recreation room for some of the ship's crew. Since the deck did not have to be cleared or converted during combat operations, cabins and rooms placed here were permanent and could even be locked. This was also the place where the surgeon could be found.

At the bottom is the hold, the area where the ballast was stored and the barrels with the supplies. On the side of the ship were large square recesses, the gunports, which have existed since the 1520s, from which the guns were fired.

(x)

The masts, often three (mizzenmast, mainmast and foremast) from the 16th century onwards, often carried a platform. These were known as tops, which were placed halfway up the masts to provide a point of attachment for various rigging and to serve as a fighting platform; the topmen, the hands that worked at the top, were the most nimble of sailors and were considered the crème de la crème of sailors.

Before the invention of the rudder in the 12th century, a ship was steered with a long oar or sweep fitted over the stern on the right or steer board side of the ship. The Norse were the first to use a single oar; Greek and Roman ships had two steering oars, often connected and controlled by a tiller. It is not known why the Vikings had chosen the starboard side; their choice, however, became universal.

In the course of time the term steerboard changed to starboard; it has no connection at all with stars. It was found awkward to put a ship alongside a jetty on the side this oar was shipped. By preference ships were put alongside starboard side outboard. A plank was put across from shore to ship, and over it stores were embarked. This plank or board was called the ladeboard or loadboard, later larboard. There was doubtless much confusion over the use of the terms larboard and starboard, but after 1580 there was a way out. The French with their high ships' sides devised a shortcut to handling cargo: they cut a loading door or ports its in the ship's side- known as port side. If you go near the direction towards the back it is aft and towards the front it is foreward.

#naval history #ship terminology #just a short overview #ancient seafaring #medieval seafaring #age of discovery #age of sail

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wholoveseggs · 9 months ago

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Crimson Frost {Part Two}

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

Part Two

After the raid on your village you are separated from your little sister and your betrothed Niklaus, not knowing if they are alive or dead. Holed up in a hut with Elijah during a raging snowstorm, you train and prepare to hunt down the Blackthornes. Meanwhile, Niklaus, Kol and Rebekah have found safe haven in a nearby village, the leader Ansel provides all he can.

♡♡ Sorry for the wait on this one! ♡♡

5.5k words - Warnings: Viking AU where the Mikaelsons are completely human (no magic, werewolves, vampires... etc) lots of death and violence, sprinkle of norse mythology... a little bit of smut in this part but I won't spoil who.

{Part One} {Part Three} {Part Four} {Part Five}

You woke to the sound of wind howling and the creaking of the roof beams, it was still dark and the fire had burned low, the chill was already creeping in.

You got up and went over to the window, looking out onto the white landscape, the snow was coming down fast, and you could barely see the tree line.

"Elijah," you nudged him awake, "the storm, it's bad."

He sat up, rubbing his eyes and stretching, "We won't be able to travel today." He said, moving to stoke the fire, "I'll go out and get more wood. We'll need it if we want to make it through the day."

He got dressed and grabbed his ax, "Stay here, I won't be long."

"I can help, we need food as well," you offered, grabbing your coat and boots.

"No, it's too dangerous, you could get lost, or worse," Elijah said.

"I'll be fine, I can handle myself," you argued, the memory of Einar's attack still fresh in your mind.

"It's not just about the danger, there's also the wolves, they'll be out hunting," Elijah explained, his tone serious.

"I am not a child anymore Elijah, you cannot boss me around, I can hunt and fight as well as any man," you huffed, crossing your arms.

"I know, I saw the way you fought off those raiders. You are a true warrior, worthy of the gods," Elijah smiled, his eyes shining with admiration.

"I'm also good at hunting rabbits," you said with a smile, picking up a old bow that was leaning against the wall.

Elijah sighed, you were stubborn like Niklaus, and he knew there was no point in arguing.

"Alright, but stay close, and keep an eye out for wolves, they're more cunning than you think," he warned.

"I can handle wolves," you smirked.

You bundled up and followed Elijah outside, the cold air nipping at your skin. You didn't go far before you found deer prints in the snow, they were fresh, and the tracks were deep.

"We're in luck, there's a herd nearby," Elijah whispered, "keep your bow ready, we'll try and take one down."

You nodded, following Elijah's lead. You stalked through the forest, your footsteps silent.

You saw a large stag ahead, his antlers standing tall and proud. He was beautiful and a part of you wished to leave it be, but you knew you had to feed the both of you.

Elijah made the signal and you let your arrow fly, it hit the stag in the neck, and he went down, the herd scattering.

The two of you spent the better part of the day tracking down and killing a couple of does and a few rabbits. It was hard work, but the thrill of the hunt and the success of a good kill made it worth it.

The snow was still falling, and you could see the storm was only getting worse. The game you hunted would last you a good while and you set to work preparing it, hanging the meat and skinning the hides.

Elijah worked beside you, helping you cut and dry the meat, his hands steady and sure. You were both silent, lost in your thoughts. You always wondered about Niklaus' mysterious older brother, the rest of the Mikaelson siblings you had grown up with, with the exception of Finn, who had always kept to himself. But Elijah was the enigma of the family. He was quiet and reserved, but there was a strength and determination in him, you could see it in his eyes.

You wondered why he had never married, why he was still alone. He was handsome and strong, any woman would be lucky to have him.

"Why haven't you taken a wife?" You blurted out, the words leaving your mouth before you could stop them.

Elijah looked up, a small smile on his face, "Is that a question you ask everyone, or is it just me?"

You felt your face heat up, and you ducked your head, embarrassed, "Forgive me, I did not mean to offend."

"It's quite alright," Elijah chuckled, "I never found the right person, I suppose."

"You are a good man, any woman would be lucky to have you," you smiled, turning back to the venison you were cutting.

"Thank you, but I fear I am too boring for most women," Elijah laughed, his tone light and playful.

"Oh, I don't know about that, you seem quite interesting to me," you teased, glancing at him from the corner of your eye.

"I am honored to have such a high opinion from you," Elijah smirked, his eyes shining with mischief.

You both finished the venison, and you hung the hides to dry, the sun was setting and the temperature was dropping.

"We should go inside, the storm is getting worse," Elijah said, his brow furrowed in concern. "I worry our lovely horse may be a bit difficult to dig out in the morning."

You laughed and shook your head, "I'm sure she'll be just fine. She's a tough one."

The two of you walked back to the cabin, the wind whipping around you, the snow stinging your skin, you were freezing.

You hurried inside and started the fire, the warmth slowly returning to the small space. The wind was really howling outside, the trees swaying wildly, the sound of almost deafening.

"Do you think the others made it? Where would they have gone," you asked, unable to stop your mind from wandering.

"They'll be alright, they're smart and strong," Elijah reassured you, "they've probably made it to the neighboring village, the leader there knows my mother," he added, his voice quiet.

You could hear the worry in his voice, the unspoken fears, his siblings, your sister, were they safe, were they alive?

The two of you settled in for the night, the storm showing no signs of slowing. You huddled close to the fire, the blankets wrapped tightly around you, trying to keep warm. The cold had seeped into your bones, and Elijah noticed the way you trembled.

"Come here," he said, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you close, his body pressed against yours.

You were stiff and hesitant, but the warmth of his body and the comfort of his embrace made you relax, the tension slowly melting away.

"It's not proper, us being this close," you whispered, your cheeks flushing.

"I'm not the one who has to worry about being proper," he joked, his breath tickling your ear, "besides, we're not doing anything wrong, just sharing our body heat,"

You giggled, his words easing your nerves, "I suppose you're right,"

The two of you sat like that for a while, the fire crackling and the wind howling, the sounds of the storm filling the room.

"When this storm breaks we should make for the coast," Elijah said, breaking the silence, his hand causally rubbing your arm, the heat of his touch causing strange sensations within you.

"Why not the village? Where the rest could be?" You asked, looking up at him, his face illuminated by the fire.

"The Blackthornes will take their thralls to the coast, to ship them off and sell them. They're brutal, but smart, they'll want to get rid of them as quickly as possible, before word gets out," Elijah explained, his voice grim.

"Gerda.. She's just a child," you whispered, tears welling in your eyes, the thought of your baby sister being sold like cattle making you sick.

"Henrik will protect her the best he can, he has a warriors heart," Elijah said, his voice cracking a bit at the thought of his baby brother. He was only ten summers and had barely learned to fight.

You nodded, the tears flowing freely now, "I- I can't lose them. I can't lose her,"

Elijah pulled you closer, his arms wrapping around you, his hands stroking your hair, "We'll find them, we'll save them. I swear it on the gods."

The two of you stayed like that, wrapped in each other's embrace, the warmth of the fire and the closeness of his body providing a small measure of comfort. You feared that maybe you were the only two left alive, that everyone else had perished in the raid.

"What if we don't find them, what if we're too late," you whispered, your voice shaking, the weight of the situation weighing heavily on you.

"Then we will avenge them," Elijah said, his tone solemn, "we will make those bastards pay for what they've done."

You nodded, staring into the flames, the drums of war beating in your mind. You would fight until the last drop of blood, for your people, for your family.

In the following weeks Elijah took it upon himself to train you to fight.

The two of you trained every day, honing your skills and pushing each other to the limits.

Elijah was a relentless and patient teacher, never letting up, always demanding more. And you were a willing student, eager to learn, and determined to become stronger, faster, better.

You spent countless hours sparring, practicing defense, you had an affinity for wielding two axes, the blades swift and deadly in your hands.

The two of you were well suited as a fighting duo, your strengths complimenting each other, your weaknesses covering for the other.

"Keep your arms up, higher, good," Elijah encouraged as the two of you went through a series of drills, "now, again,"

The two of you circled each other, your axes ready. You lunged, swinging the axe, the blade narrowly missing Elijah's chest. He smiled and brought his shield up, blocking the blow, the sound of metal on wood echoing through the clearing.

"Better," he said, "you're quick, and you have the element of surprise on your side, but you must remember, no matter how good you are, there will always be someone better."

"Like you?" you smirked.

"Maybe a little," Elijah chuckled, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

He stepped forward and swung his axe, the blade singing through the air, you ducked and rolled, coming up behind him to strike him. But he was faster, he flipped you on your back, the blade of his axe pressed against your throat, "Never underestimate your opponent,"

You looked up at him, his eyes locked on yours, his face flushed from the exercise, his breath hot against your skin, "I understand," you whispered, your pulse racing.

You thought about what his lips would feel like against yours, his body pressing you into the soft ground. You had to admit you had become more than attracted to him, he was strong, brave, and smart, he had a way of drawing you in, you had never quite experienced it before, not even with Niklaus.

You wondered if he felt the same, if he ever thought of you, of what it would be like to kiss you, to touch you.

"Do you?," he asked, his voice low and husky.

You swallowed hard, the blade still pressed against your neck, "Yes, I do,"

"Good," he said, his voice a whisper, his eyes full of desire.

He stood and held out his hand, helping you to your feet. You both stood there for a moment, your bodies dangerously close, the tension between you growing thick.

You wanted him, and you could tell he wanted you too. But it was wrong, you were supposed to be his sister-in-law, it was forbidden, taboo.

You were still a maiden, promised to Niklaus. But you knew deep down you did not love him, not like Elijah. You didn't know why the gods cursed you with such feelings, with such a longing for the brother of the man you were promised to.

"Elijah, I-" You started, your voice shaky, the words dying on your tongue.

"Let's go inside, the air is too cold," Elijah said, his voice gentle.

"Y-yes," you nodded, following him inside.

Your heart was racing, your mind a mess, you couldn't believe the things you were feeling, the desires you had. It went against everything you had been taught, it was sinful, it was wrong.

And yet, you could not deny it. You were drawn to him, you longed for his touch, his kiss, his body pressed against yours. You wanted to do things with him that husband and wife do, forbidden things.

But the gods were watching, and they did not take kindly to those who disobeyed their laws. You could not give in to your desires, you had to remain strong, pure, chaste.

Still, you wondered if the gods had a plan for the two of you, if maybe they had destined you to be together. Maybe the gods wanted you to be happy, to have true love in your life.

You watched Elijah stoke the fire, cooking a rabbit over the flames, the scent of it making your stomach growl. You sat on the floor, your knees pulled to your chest, the blanket wrapped tightly around you, a barrier between the two of you.

"How did you know about this place?" You asked, referring to the cabin.

"My brothers and I built it years ago," he said, "We came here to get away, to have some time to ourselves. We would camp and hunt, it was our escape from... the pressures of being a son of a jarl," he added, a wistful smile on his face.

"I heard that Mikael could be a difficult man," you said, knowing that was an understatement.

Elijah didn't say anything, just handed you a piece of the cooked rabbit, his hand brushing against yours. You ate in silence, the crackle of the fire the only sound.

"He could be... cruel," Elijah said, his voice barely above a whisper, his eyes distant, like he was lost in a memory, "there are secrets in my family, things that no one speaks of,"

"Secrets?" You asked, your curiosity piqued.

"Things I cannot talk about," he said, his jaw set, his gaze dark.

You didn't want to press the matter, whatever the secrets were, they were clearly painful for him, you didn't want to force him to relive them.

"I'm sorry," you whispered, reaching out and placing your hand on his.

He looked at you, his expression softening, a sad smile playing on his lips, "It's okay, it's in the past now. What matters is the future, what we do to honor the ones we lost, to protect those who are still with us."

You nodded, his words resonating deep within you, "You're right, we must not dwell on the past, we must focus on the future, on those we love,"

Elijah smiled, his hand squeezing yours, "Yes, the future is all that matters,"

The two of you finished your meal, the silence no longer tense, but comfortable. You helped him clean up and prepare the space for the night, the storm finally letting up.

You got ready for bed, washing yourself in the basin and slipping into a simple linen tunic.

Elijah did the same, and you could not help but admire his body, his lean muscles, his skin smooth and tanned from the sun. You usually looked away, to give him privacy like he did for you, but you were drawn to him, your eyes taking in every inch of him.

He caught you looking and you quickly turned away, your face burning. He laughed, a deep rumbling sound that made your heart flutter.

"Sorry, I was just-" you mumbled, embarrassed.

"Goodnight, y/n. Come dawn we will start tracking the Blackthornes," he said, the playfulness in his voice gone, replaced by the hardened resolve of a warrior.

"Goodnight, Elijah," you replied, curling up on the pallet, the warmth of the fire lulling you to sleep.

The smell of herbs and spices filled the air as Tatia mixed some in a bowl, the healer humming quietly to herself. The young woman was a skilled healer and well-respected in her village.

"There, this should help ease your pain," Tatia smiled at Rebekah, handing her the bowl, the liquid inside warm and soothing.

"Thank you," Rebekah smiled weakly, bringing the bowl to her lips. She winced as she drank, the scar on her face throbbing with pain.

"Careful now," Tatia said softly, "that elixir is strong. You'll want to go slow and make sure you're keeping it down,"

Rebekah nodded and drank slower, the warmth of the brew filling her body and dulling the pain.

Niklaus sat beside Kol, who was sleeping on a cot in the healer's hut, his body bruised and battered from the fight with the Blackthorne raiders. Tatia's eyes met Niklaus', he couldn't help but feel a tingle of warmth spread across his body as he watched the healer's eyes linger on his, there was something about the way she looked at him that made him feel seen, appreciated, as if she could see his pain and anger.

Tatia smiled gently and reached out to touch Niklaus' hand, the simple gesture making his breath catch in his throat, "you have the strength of Odin," she whispered, her voice like a song, "you saved them both from those brutes,"

Niklaus looked up at the woman, her face beautiful, her eyes kind and understanding.

"I-" Niklaus stammered, "I had to, they are my family." He had never felt so at a loss for words before, and he struggled to find the words to describe the pain he was feeling.

"Let me take a look at you," Tatia said gently, "you look like you could use a healing touch yourself,"

Niklaus hesitated, still overwhelmed by the woman's closeness and the connection he felt. Tatia sensed his unease and took his hand, her skin warm against his. "You must be at your full strength for the war to come." She smiled at him and he found himself smiling back, despite the ache in his body.

Tatia motioned for Niklaus to lay down, she pulled up his tunic, taking a look at the wound on his side, the flesh raw and bruised, "It's not too bad," she said softly, her hands gentle as they cleaned and bandaged the wound, "it will become just another scar for you to boast to your wife about," she teased. Niklaus couldn't help but chuckle at her words, a feeling of warmth spreading through him at her touch.

He felt a wave of guilt at the thought of you, his future wife. He wondered how you were doing, if you were safe, if he would ever see you again. Tatia must have sensed his worry, she looked up at him, her eyes soft. "She is strong and fierce, and I am certain she will come back to you,"

Niklaus swallowed hard, his throat thick with emotion. He prayed that Elijah had saved you, that the two of you were somewhere safe, weathering the storm together.

He sighed and nodded, "I know, but it doesn't stop the worry and pain from eating away at me."

"I understand," Tatia said, her fingers tracing along Niklaus' jaw, her touch sending a jolt of warmth through his body, "the bond of family is strong and often the most painful."

Tatia continued her work, cleaning and tending to Niklaus' wounds, the gentle touch of her hands making him feel safe and protected.

"You should speak to our leader, Ansel, when you're feeling better," Tatia said after she finished, "I know he will be interested in meeting you. He will want to hear your story and your plans."

Niklaus nodded, he couldn't help but notice how the young healer's eyes lingered on him as she spoke. "I will, thank you Tatia, you have been more than kind," he said.

"Of course," Tatia said, giving Niklaus one last smile, "you're a special guest here. I knew your mother quite well,"

Tatia's words took Niklaus by surprise, "You did?"

"Aye," Tatia nodded, suddenly avoiding Niklaus gaze, she stood and went to check on Rebekah who had fallen asleep in a chair, the pain of the healing draught helping her rest.

Niklaus stared at her for a moment, wanting to ask more, but deciding to let it go. The young healer was right, he was here on important business, he couldn't afford to let his emotions get in the way. He had to be focused and clear-headed if he was to get his revenge on the Blackthornes. He would need the support of Ansel and his men if he were to succeed.

Kol began to stir, he slowly opened his eyes, groaning with pain as he tried to sit up.

"Careful, Kol," Tatia said softly, placing her hand gently on Kol's arm, "you need to rest,"

"What happened?" Kol said, his voice raspy, he looked around the room, his gaze falling on Rebekah, who was asleep on the chair near the fire, "where Niklaus?"

"I'm here, little brother," Niklaus said, coming to sit by the edge of the bed, "how do you feel?"

"I've been better," Kol chuckled weakly, "I feel like a herd of wild boars trampled over me," he shifted in the bed and winced, Tatia moved quickly to help him get comfortable, the young man gritting his teeth through the pain.

"Try not to move too much, Kol," Tatia said softly, her gaze lingering on him, "your wounds are still fresh."

"Aye," Kol breathed out, the young man's face pale and covered in a sheen of sweat, his brow furrowed in pain, "how long have I been out?"

"Two days," Niklaus said, his voice low, he felt a wave of guilt wash over him as he thought of you, his future bride. He wondered where you were, if you were safe, if Elijah had found you.

"Where is y/n? Elijah?" Kol asked, his voice strained, his eyes filled with worry.

"I don't know," Niklaus said, his voice hoarse, his throat thick with emotion. He swallowed hard and rubbed his temples, the pain of his injuries and his worry for you, his brother, and sister, weighing heavy on him.

Tatia placed a cool cloth on Kol's head, her touch gentle, soothing, "have faith," she whispered, "the gods have not forsaken them."

"Aye," Niklaus said, his gaze fixed on the flames of the hearth, "I must go speak with Ansel,"

Tatia nodded and Niklaus stood, his body aching, his heart heavy. He walked out into the village, the storm having passed, the skies clear and blue.

The villagers were busy repairing their homes, patching roofs and fixing doors, the sounds of axes chopping wood and the shouts of men filling the air. He headed towards the longhouse, his heart racing, he felt a knot in his stomach as he thought of what he was about to do.

He took a deep breath and pushed open the heavy wooden door, the familiar smells of the hall greeting him, ale, meat, and smoke. But it wasn't the same, there was a heaviness to the air, a sadness that he couldn't shake.

Ansel sat at the table, he was sharpening his sword, his expression hard, the man's eyes dark with anger and grief. He looked up as Niklaus approached, his gaze fixed on him, a hint of surprise in his face, "Niklaus Mikaelson, the gods have truly blessed me today," he stood and gripped Niklaus' arm in a warrior's greeting, "I'm sorry for the loss of your loved ones, I knew your mother well. May she rest with the gods in Valhalla,"

"Thank you, Jarl Ansel, it is an honor to meet you," Niklaus said, returning the grip, the man's strength taking him by surprise, "and the gods are merciful. They brought me here, to your village."

Ansel smiled and gestured for him to sit, the older man poured two cups of ale and handed one to Niklaus, "To the gods," he said, raising his cup.

"To the gods," Niklaus repeated, his gaze fixed on the man before him.

"My scouts have informed me that the Blackthornes have been raiding across the land," Ansel said, his voice low, "rounding up our young to sell into slavery."

Niklaus gripped his cup tighter, his knuckles white, "Aye," he nodded, "they took my little brother Henrik and my near sister-in-law Gerda,"

"They are foul creatures," Ansel spat, "they have no honor, no respect for the old ways."

"That's why I've come to you," Niklaus said, his voice firm, "I've come to seek your help in finding them, in saving the people they have taken."

Ansel gave him a sympathetic look, "You have my sympathies, but I cannot take on the Blackthornes," he shook his head, his jaw set, "I need my men here to protect my people,"

Niklaus swallowed hard, he had expected this answer, he felt rage bubbling within him, "I will not stand idly by while those bastards take more people from their families,"

Ansel's expression hardened, "it is the will of the gods, we must accept it,"

"No," Niklaus shook his head, his anger rising, "I will not accept that." He stood, his fists clenched, his heart racing, "I will not accept the gods abandoning us. I will not accept that they have given up on us,"

"Niklaus," Ansel warned, "I am your elder, and the Jarl of this village. You will show me the respect I deserve,"

"Respect?" Niklaus spat, his face twisted with anger, "you're nothing but a coward. You're content to sit here, in your hall, surrounded by your men. But you won't go out and fight."

"It's more complicated than that son," Ansel said, his voice steady, his eyes cold.

"Don't call me son," Niklaus growled, "you're not my father, you're nothing to me."

Ansel chuckled and shook his head, "You remind me so much of your mother. She was just as stubborn and foolish,"

Niklaus took a deep breath, calming himself, he wanted to strike at Ansel. But he thought of Rebekah and Kol, they needed him, he couldn't afford to lose control, not now, not when he was so close to getting the help he needed.

"If you will not help me," Niklaus said, his voice low and dangerous, "then I will find the Blackthornes myself,"

Ansel sighed and rubbed his temples, his jaw set, his expression grim, "I will give you any supplies you may need, and you and your family are welcome to stay here, as long as you need."

Niklaus clenched his fists, he was torn between wanting to accept the man's offer and wanting to strike him down, to make him feel the pain of losing someone.

"I appreciate the offer," Niklaus said, his voice strained, "I wish you could do more for me, but I will take what I can get."

"The gods are not always clear in their will, Niklaus," Ansel said, his voice low and steady, "but I have my people to look out for. Perhaps you will be a Jarl one day, and then you will understand,"

"Perhaps," Niklaus said, the man's words ringing in his head, he turned and left the hall, the anger inside him simmering.

He needed to find you, to find Elijah, to save Henrik and Gerda. Every god there ever was could stand against him for all be cared, he would drag his broken body through the gates of the underworld to save those he loved.

Tatia insisted that Niklaus heal before setting out to find the Blackthornes. She cared for him and his family, ensuring that they had everything they needed.

She took a keen interest in him, her eyes following him, her gaze lingering on him, her touch sending jolts of warmth through his body.

The night before he set off, he sat in her hut, nursing a cup of ale, lost in his thoughts. Tatia hummed softly has she shaved the sides of his head, the young woman's hands deft and sure, the only sounds were the blade and the crackle of the fire.

"Where will you go in search for them?" Tatia asked, her voice low, as she ran the blade along his scalp.

"The coast, I've heard rumors that the Blackthornes are selling slaves in the fishing market there,"

Tatia nodded, "it's a dangerous place, and not a good fate for any young child,"

"I have to try," Niklaus said, his voice heavy with emotion, his throat tight, his chest aching, the pain of losing his parents and brother still raw, the grief weighing on him.

"Of course," Tatia whispered, her voice like a song, her hands gentle as she ran them over his head, checking for any missed patches of hair. She braided the long strip of hair that remained on top, her touch gentle, comforting, "the gods will guide you, Niklaus."

Niklaus nodded, her words echoing in his head. He had always been a devout man, believing in the will of the gods, but lately, he felt lost, adrift, as if the gods had abandoned him, his family, his village.

"Why did the gods allow the Blackthornes to destroy my village?" He whispered, his voice hoarse, the pain and rage within him threatening to overwhelm him, "why did they let my parents die?"

"The gods work in mysterious ways, Niklaus," Tatia said, her voice soft, understanding, "they are not always clear in their will, we must trust them, and have faith that they have a plan."

She finished braiding, her hands sliding over his shoulders, the touch making his heart race. He closed his eyes, leaning into her touch, his mind swirling, his emotions churning. The young healer had a calming effect on him, the tension leaving his body, the rage and pain subsiding, at least for a moment.

She kissed the side of his head, her lips soft, warm, her scent intoxicating, a mixture of herbs and spices. She sat beside him, her hand on his arm, her eyes filled with concern, "You should rest," she said softly, "you have a long journey ahead of you."

Niklaus looked into her dark eyes, she was a singular beauty, one that he could easily lose himself in. He had felt a connection with her since the first moment he saw her, his soul calling out to her, begging him to surrender, to lose himself in her. But he knew he couldn't, he had made a promise, he had a duty to fulfill, he was to marry you.

But you could be dead, his mind whispered. And even if you weren't, there were no guarantees that he would find you, or that you would survive the journey.

And he could die, tomorrow or the next day, on the road, at the hands of the Blackthornes. The world was a dangerous place, and death was always around the corner.

He swallowed hard, his throat dry, his heart hammering in his chest. He pressed his lips against hers, his hands cupping her face, the kiss deepening, the two of them melting into each other.

Niklaus felt a surge of lust, his body aching for her, the desire coursing through him, his mind spinning. He knew this was wrong, that he was betraying you, his future wife, but in this moment, he didn't care. All he wanted was her.

He broke the kiss, his breathing ragged, his eyes burning into hers. His hands went to her waist, lifting her onto his lap, his cock hardening, pressing against her. She wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing him, her lips warm and soft.

She rocked her hips against his, the friction sending waves of pleasure through him. He groaned, his fingers digging into her flesh, his need for her overwhelming him.

"Lay with me, before I ride off to Valhalla," he murmured, his voice low and husky.

She nodded, her cheeks flushed, her dark eyes filled with desire. Her hand trailing down his chest, his body tensing at her touch, his blood burning for her.

He picked her up and carried her to her bed, the two of them falling onto the soft furs. Their bodies entwined, the passion and heat between them consuming them.

The guilt and shame Niklaus had felt earlier disappeared as Tatia moaned beneath him, her skin slick with sweat, her body quivering as he brought her to climax.

He kissed her, his tongue dancing with hers, the taste of her, the feeling of her body, soft and yielding, thoughts of you long forgotten.

{Part One} {Part Three} {Part Four} {Part Five}

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misscoolisback123 · 5 months ago

Text

Things I Find Wrong With Lore Olympus

1. Minthe

I'm just gonna address the elephant in the room when it comes to the webtoon with this one, so don't come bitching at me. When I first started reading LO, I was puzzled that Hades and Minthe were dating in the beginning, but since this was a retelling of Hades and Persephone and Greek mythology all together, I didn't think much of it. When I researched stories and articles about Hades and Persephone, she's not that big of a deal. Yes, she seduced Hades and was turned into a mint plant by Persephone, but that's just it. She's a minor nymph in Greek mythology. Someone on the unpopularloreolympus subreddit said that Rachel Smythe got offended by the Hercules cartoon series in which Hades and Persephone are father and daughter. It's most likely that she got offended by Hades and his affair with Minthe, and so she created a punching bag of a character. Not only that, but her skin tone is red because red is evil to her, yet Hermes is red. I'm not saying she has to be any shade of green but make it make sense!

2. Leuce

Like Minthe, she was created to be a punching bag character for the fandom. Not only is she not canon to Greek mythology, but she didn't exist until the 1500s by an Italian poet. Rachel probably got offended by this as well and did the same thing with her.

3. Misuse of Allusions

What is an allusion? The simplest answer is that it's a figure of speech that makes a reference to literature, people, places, characters, etc. An example of this is from the ABC show Once Upon a Time. Zelena The Wicked Witch of West basically became Persephone she and Hades fell in love. A couple of other examples of allusions of mythology are Naruto and Attack on Titan. Naruto uses Japanese mythology for their power ups and other things. Attack on Titan uses Norse mythology to explain the founding Titan Ymir. Lore Olympus, however, does this very poorly. It might just be a minor detail, but the biggest offense of this is Hera.

I was shocked when I saw that Hades and Hera had once been a thing and were madly in love. Then Echo came along, and Narcissus was nowhere in sight. Basically, Hera replaced Leuce and Narcissus. Leuce replaced Minthe. Morpheus was depicted as a woman or a poor depiction of transgenderism. The founding titan Ymir Fritz was an allusion of Ymir from Norse mythology. Ymir from Norse mythology was the creation God. Ymir Fritz was a little girl who died as a woman. Her three daughters are based on Odin and his two brothers. Ymir from Norse mythology was male. Morpheus from Greek mythology was male. If you're going to make a comic on mythology, then you should get the details of gods and goddess right.

4. Erasure of Sexuality

Lore Olympus was first posted onto Webtoon in 2018. This was during a time when writers of movies, TV shows, series, cartoons, and anime were turning canonically straight and asexual characters gay and lesbian. There was also a very biphobic and transphobic edge to it as well. This was done in order for the creator to appear progressive. This was done to Athena, Hestia, Hera, Echo, and Morpheus. Athena and Hestia are both asexual in Greek mythology, and Hera is straight. Again, Morpheus was male. Echo is also straight as she was madly in love with a man who was madly in love with himself. Athena and Morpheus are both poor representations of transgenderism. Especially Morpheus. They're not trans but the fact that their genders were changed is saying something.

5. Gaslight, Gatekeep, Girlboss

Lore Olympus claims to be feminist but it's not. Others have explained this in great detail. Persephone before she was married to Hades was actually a much different person. She had her own goals and aspirations. She didn't want to be known as a nepo baby. She was trying to find her own identity. She even begged Hades not to gouge out Alex's eye, but Hades went through with it. But then she started dating Hades, and things went downhill for both of them. Yes, they are the healthiest couple in Greek mythology, but Lore Olympus doesn't depict it as such.

Hades basically became an abusive slave owner, and Persephone became an immature girlboss. When she ran into Alex at the mall and intimated him, she looked as if she would wait until his shift was over to stalk him, corner him, and beat him up. The same with Leuce.

6. Rooting for the wrong characters

From the beginning, readers are led to believe that Minthe is the antagonist. At least one of them. But then Persephone changed drastically for the worst, and soon, people found themselves rooting for her.

7. No other retellings of Greek mythology

Lore Olympus was advertised as being about Hades and Persephone. But the title alone sounded as if it was going to be about others' myths as well. The only retelling of mythology was Eros and Psyche. This is due to Hades and Persephone being a part of their myth. But both myths were dragged for far too long. Psyche revealing that she was turned into a nymph by Aphrodite didn't feel exciting. The same goes for Gaia telling Hades and Persephone that Persephone has to spend six months out of the year with her mother for spring and summer and with Hades during fall and winter. Both of these plots could've been easily wrapped up in season, and seasons 2 and 3 could have been about other myths.

#rant post #anti lo #lore olympus critical

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l-in-the-light · 11 days ago

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How do the Heart Pirates celebrate Christmas and the time around (if there's sth in the OP universe 😁)? 🎅🏻🎅🏻🎅🏻

I'm slightly late, but Merry Christmas! 🎄🎁🌟 Are you perhaps the same anon who asked about Law's birthday celebration? Even if not, I just wanted to mention it because both asks warmed my heart ❤

I will tackle your question in two, or actually, three ways. First, I will use my knowledge in the field of anthropology to try to break down Christmas-like traditions in the world of One Piece. Secondly, I will try to relate real-world customs to Flevance, basing it on (rather obscure) hints in the manga. You would be surprised what can be guessed about their culture just from a few facts we got. And lastly, I will try to sprinkle some ideas about how Hearts would choose to spend their Christmas ;) I hope you will enjoy the read!

Christmas in One Piece (seems it's actually Winter Solstice)

We don't get much information on that, not directly at least. Would they celebrate Christmas as the rebirth of the sun? That's the origin of old traditions (like Yule/Winter Solstice and Saturnalia); celebration of light and changing of seasons. It marks the end of the darkest days of winter, because days start to be longer so you see more sun around. Some folk traditions survived till today (like straw goats in the North or festivals of fire) or chosen elements got incorporated into Christian customs: wreaths, carolling, misletoe and gift-giving, among others. You could say in our world Christianity tried to get rid of "pagan cultures", but when it realized it can't unroot them, they started to incorporate religious imagery into their traditions. This way they didn't erase Winter Solstice, they instead stole it as their own custom, heh. Which is part of the reason why Christianity spread around the world so effectively. But this process wasn't peaceful everywhere.

But how does it relate to One Piece? I remember they mentioned a Winter Solstice in Elbaf: they eat semla, then are fasting till "sun gets reborn" (our advent used to be about fasting as well, btw. Nowadays that tradition died out). Winter Solstice is often tied to the Norse beliefs. There was also this legend about the two kings: Oak King (also sometimes called the Sun King) and Holly King, always fighting each other so one of them can rule the next season. Perhaps Giants, besides Semla, also cultivated the old Yule log tradition? I admit that would really fit right in. But I don't think every island in OP world has same traditions, because they're all so isolated from each other. So just because Giants have Winter Solstice doesn't mean it's celebrated everywhere and even if it's a widespread custom, it's likely it's not done in exactly same way.

Why are beliefs about sun god present among various people of the world (Shandorians, Giants from Elbaf, Bucaneers)? Is it the same like in our world, that in many cultures there's a concept of some kind of sun deity and sometimes it's even the most important one? We have traditions of various sun dances in native beliefs of North America (and a sun dance in one tribe can be drastically different from others, but a ritual called this way exists among most of Great Plains tribes). Ancient Mayan and Aztec beliefs also had their own sun deities, and even the most isolated tribes in Amazon Rainforest also had some. Egyptians and Japanese have their own sun deities etc.

We have no idea why everyone worshipped the sun, even though we can guess as to why they found sun important in general. And I think that mystery will probably stay unsolved in OP universe as well. We might find out that the origin of Nika comes from one, specific culture (be it Elbaf or something more ancient - my guess is on the latter), or we might find out there were always multiple sun deities beliefs in the world and the source of it's origin can only be speculated. But we still should keep one fact in mind: we saw Government use Mother Carmel before to spread religion around, which could be the analogy to Christianity swallowing up native customs, like it happened in our world as well. That could suggest the sun god church is a religion spread by the Government and would explain why they really wanted that Nika devil fruit so badly (but that would mean they want their own, acceptable version of a sun god, not Nika - that name is apparently forbidden). But at this point, it's just a speculation.

But back to the main topic: Law and Hearts are mostly from North Blue, so they might share similar traditions, not counting some of the crewmates they likely recruited on the Grand Line. I suspect traditions are somewhat similar in their respective Blues, but might wary drastically between, let's say, South Blue and West Blue, thanks to the impenetrable wall seperating them for centuries. North Blue seems to be based on wintery regions of our world, so their customs might be reminiscent of those as well (for example, focus on illuminations, lights and candles/lanterns).

Situation gets more tricky with the rest of the Blues actually, we know very little about South and West Blue. South has some regions looking rather exotic (Torino Kingdom or Baterilla) and some appear to be very dangerous places, suffering from high criminal and poverty rates, like the home country of Kid Pirates. We have also region clearly inspired by Russia and Brazil there. There's a lot of disproportions, but the mash-up of different cultures suggest that each of them probably has their own, unique traditions. In comparison, West Blue is home to many rich-looking kingdoms, as well as having some world-wide recognized heritage like Scholars of Ohara, Kano (with it's long standing traditions like China), mysterious european-looking Thriller Bark before it became an actual Thriller Bark, there's also a country based on Hollywood. It's not much to go by, but Christmas in rich countries tends to be more consumption-focused and multicultural (doesn't mean it erases the differences between cultures, but it makes them become less distinct). Even Bege, who comes from West Blue, is based on Italian mafioso who has taste in expensive things (I'm basing it solely on his clothes and hat choices, but also him being big on keeping appearances and high hygiene standards, lol).

We saw plenty of East Blue, and I would say they're the poorest, but also homogenous and peaceful region of the world (people living in small villages like Foosha or Coco Village, depending on harvest from groves or getting most income from "travellers" - mostly pirates and bandits - since Foosha is a really small place but has an actual bar and it's probably because it's also a port town. And port towns are usually richer than inland cities thanks to trade etc.), close local communities in small towns (Orange Town), and the only truly flourishing place is Shell's Town, because it has a Marine base, and Goa Kingdom (wouldn't really call it flourishing, more like parasiting). Most of their traditions would be probably centered around village life and agriculture. Seems it's also never snowing there, so Christmas celebrations are probably absent, but there are most likely feasts shared together as a community instead.

Heart Pirates would try a lot of different, traditional food and customs from all around the world while travelling the Grand Line, and that sea is for sure even more unique when it comes to cultures (it has Egypt and Spain and old Japan!). Maybe some countries don't really celebrate Christmas and instead focus on New Year (like in Japan, all they do for Christmas is eating christmas shortcakes, look at illuminations and go on dates. yes, dates. Often they also eat chicken from KFC, because it became trendy there in Christmas season. Of course, Christmas is an imported holiday there, they didn't have anything like that before). Maybe on some islands they have unique traditions akin to the Diwali, the Festival of Lights? Or perhaps they do Christmas picnics or barbeque outside (Franky would love the latter!) in summer-like weather, like in South Africa, accompanied by some mango and palm trees decorated with ornaments; after all each island has it's own distinct climate! It's also possible there are many different dates for Christmas on Grand Line, spanning the length of two months - which means a Christmas-focused tour would be possible, to experience all sorts of different traditions and food one after another :D

Does Santa Claus exist in One Piece world? (canonically - not yet!)

Santa is probably not widespread belief in One Piece world, judging from the Drum Island arc.

There's no guy with long beard dressed in red and white, riding sleigh, going down the chimneys and giving people presents; just some rumours of a doctor travelling with a pet reindeer curing people of illnesses and taking their money for it. If Santa Claus was a thing, it would be mentioned in this scene or in the arc, but it wasn't, not even once. Instead of being called a fake Santa abomination, Kureha earned herself a witch nickname. For me that's a proof Santa Claus never existed, not even as just a random story from some winter country.

But not all hope is lost yet! Now, that I think about it, Wapol made a fortune by making specifically toys for kids. Doesn't that ring any bells? And he comes from Drum Kingdom originally! If he ever gets back to his country and starts giving those toys for free, that would be the One Piece's own Santa's origin story, haha. All the pieces are fitting lol. And we would still get Kureha with the sleigh distributing the gifts! Like I know, Wapol is a terrible person and a coward, but he's also going through second biggest crisis in his life currently. If he ever gets brave enough to reveal the truth to the world about Imu, his hair might go white as the result of all the accumulated stress and anxiety, lol. Wapol becoming the future Santa Claus is not something I expected to foresee for the end of One Piece, but it sure is a delight to imagine, haha.

Short answer: YES, he would be grumpy, but he wouldn't try to destroy the fun for others!

Hearts Pirates celebrating Christmas-like traditions on their voyage around the Grand Line

I mentioned before that Law doesn't seem the type who celebrates his birthday, and considering his reasons for it I think it would be likely that he would avoid Christmas-like celebrations as well. They might remind him of his home and the family he lost, because those are family-centered holidays. But let's face it: even if he's the captain he wouldn't be able to ban his own crew from celebrating Christmas. But whenever Hearts do a celebration on the Polar Tang, Law will probably try to vanish quickly, to his cabin or to the deck (I assume they wouldn't celebrate while submerged, because then part of the crew would have to work on maintaining the submarine instead of celebrating, you know).

One of the possible compromises Law might agree to would be celebrating unique traditions on different islands, which means they stay somewhere on land to celebrate. This way his crew gets to enjoy stuff, Law is less grumpy, and they also experience some adventures. So, instead of doing the same thing every single year, they would make it a point to try out a different tradition each year! (a dream come true tbh) After they decide which island they visit, they start preparations, asking for local traditions, creating ornaments or baking cakes together to contribute. I mean, it's Law's crew, they're a bunch of planners, right? I bet he taught them well.

On the day of celebration they all go to the land and have fun together, dressing up Christmas trees (if the place has that tradition), taking part in the feast, participating in eating contests, getting souvenirs like a true tourists from Christmas markets etc. I bet you at least once they ran into Strawhats and maybe also Kid Pirates (or heck, half of the worst gen, because why not, lol). That ends in some idiotic competitions. For example, our traditional Christmas soup is borscht with dumplings, so they could be taking part in "who eats the most bowls of borscht wins". You would think it would become a close battle between Kid and Luffy, but surprisingly enough Law would stay in the run, probably thanks to cheating on the side (shambling his portions of borscht away as he pretends to gulp down bowls in one go, lol). Because he can be a brat as well and would use his skills to his advantage :D they would have to really blackmail him hard into agreeing to even take part in this contest in the first place though.

They would for sure convince him into secret santa gift exchange and he would dread it, because he has to get something for someone like Usopp or Urouge, and he doesn't know much about them. Thankfully he can get advice from Penguin and Shachi who became best buddies with Usopp in Wano and they end up choosing something together. Law himself receives a figurine made out of straw that oddly reminds him of someone and he is convinced Kid gave him that, to mock him about his hidden adoration of a certain pirate-king-to-be (the gift was actually from Killer, lol).

At the end of the day the Strawhats would make a family-style feast on the Sunny and invite everyone, and then in the middle of the night Luffy and Usopp would try to catch Santa putting gifts under the Christmas tree, but they end up falling asleep while waiting. After witnessing that, Law, who rarely gets a good night of sleep, would have mercy on them and ask Jean Bart to dress up as Santa Claus and leave some presents under the tree. Zoro caught him and teased him about it, thankfully Law had some alcohol he could bribe him with to keep it a secret. He decided to ask Jean Bart to do the same for the Heart Pirates, who are in tears the next morning as they shout excited to each other that there are mysterious presents under the tree. Some guess Law was behind it though, but some never find out (Bepo, for example, lol, who ends up believing in Santa ever since).

Mining customs of Flevance and celebration of the sun; advent was likely a big thing

Ever wondered how Flevance would celebrate Christmas? I sure did. Considering that Flevance had a church and the only religion we know of in OP is centered on the sun god, I would assume Christmas was slightly more Christian, with kids carolling, visiting the church at midnight to give thanks to the sun god, having a feast with families at home, traditionally without meat. They would have Christmas markets though, because German vibes. But since Flevance is also a mining country, I would assume mining traditions were important there. For example, miners parades (it used to happen as the grand finale at the Christmas markets, miners played some musical instruments as they walked around the town square, maybe even marching all the way from or to the mines). We saw that parades are part of celebrations in Flevance (and Law mentioned as a child that celebrations are common in his town in general), so this seems canon-accurate (and also close to our real world mining customs which often include parades of miners playing musical instruments!).

That figure of a winged lady on a fountain is probably a Patron of Miners, that's why she appears to be holding a torch of some kind. In our world that could be the Saint Barbara or some Lady of Flevance (as a possible analogy to Our Lady of Lebanon, because church is also important in Flevance). Or you know, a Sun Goddess, if sun god has a different image depending on the country you visit. Why would a Sun God be a patron of miners? Because miners worked deep beneath the ground and as the result really yearned for sun, especially in winter months, when both days and nights were dark. That's how the famous light illuminations traditions got born, so they can lead husbands to their homes after their work shift is done in the mines. Those illuminations back in the days were candles or lanterns. That's why Lady of Flevance holding a torch makes a lot of sense (and yes, I'm gonna call her that for now, I kinda like the ring of it, haha).

In the backstory on Flevance it's revealed that people there were really good in craftswork, and mining towns often have ties to that field as well, so It's possible Flevance also had things like this:

In some mining towns they often put a figurine of a miner and an angel as candle-holders. They put them on windowpanes, so the light of the candles illuminates the darkness on long winter days. Some traditions mention that the angel figurine was for the wife, while they could be multiple miner figurines, each symbolizing one kid in the family (which means Trafalgars would get two). Some other sources mentioned an angel was for the girl child and miner for the boy child in the family. Other possible popular figurines and motives could be old guys smoking a pipe and nutcrackers. And of course the Angel Lady Patron.

Or instead of that, they could place some decorative wooden arches in the windows, depicting wintery landscapes, everyday life or mining scenes, with candles displayed, like this: Schwibbögen.

The wooden decorations would be, of course, white, because forests in Flevance were also white, even the fir trees! Ignore that they're not white in the colored version of the manga, haha. Or perhaps the candle-holders would take the form of Christmas pyramids, considering how Law's nationality would be German? (those pyramids also originated from mining traditions btw) :D

I bet you anything though, that whatever they would display in their windows in Flevance, it would be made out of amber lead, so ouchie. Beautiful, pristine white and deadly :/ Flevance was known for skilled craftsmen so I'm sure their decorations were very beautiful and full of exquisite details.

In my country mining traditions were centered around the 4th of December, it was called Saint Barbara Day or Miner's Day, and focused mainly on appreciating the patron. Saint Barbara was the most popular/universal mining patron, but there were some special, field-specialized patrons as well (Saint Kinga for salt mines in particular). There were some minor customs accompanying it, like fortune-telling: picking up special branches (of cherry tree or forsythia) that indicated different wishes for the future (good fortune in coming year, easy marriage etc.). There was also a special gingerbread bread baked for this occassion (yes, bread made out of gingerbread :D this is most likely an even older tradition originally). In Flevance they could bake some traditional white pastry instead, maybe meringue which is often powdery and white, so it would fit really nicely with the fairytale wonderland image of Flevance. On the day of the patron they also held a ceremony for new miners joining who had to go through a special rite of passage, which included jumping over a piece of leather or a special miner apron. They also drank a lot, mostly beer, but I'm sure mulled wine was a popular drink in mining towns too.

Flevance probably also celebrated Candlemas - 40 days after Christmas they officially took down Christmas decorations, also in the town squares. Before Christmas they also celebrated last shift - basically finishing up work earlier and celebrating, singing and eating together. Mining celebrations used to be cheerful, included lots of singing/playing music and drinking, and also light illuminations and parades in towns. Since Flevance became a rich country, I would expect some Christmas markets emerging as well as the result. Let's not forget that Flevance was also religious, and that also checks out for mining towns. Miners would usually start their day by giving prayer to a Mining Patron figure (in this case the winged Lady of Flevance) or attending the mass before work, on special occassions performed even inside the mines.

Special torches/poled lanterns used for special occassions.

Mining was a hard job, exposing people to dangers like cave-ins and extreme temperatures, risks like standing close to explosions (and their possible miscalculated consequences), toxic air from excavation, and some long-term health effects. People working constantly underground, aware that if something happens they might never get out unless a miracle happens, often turned to religion. They prayed for safety and protection, that's why church also becomes important as the consequence. I bet Law as a child saw miners often in the hospital; serious injuries and accidents are one of the most common risks coming with this job. Of course miners dedication and commitment delivers irreplacable resources, not only for one town or whole country, but global economy in general. And yet even nowadays miners face many problems, also related to no good health care and no proper support from the government. We saw what Government did to help Flevance... oh right, they didn't help. They instead waited like vultures for the situation to get worse, so they can be excused for executing drastic measures.

Coincidentally, Jail Island in the game One Piece World Seeker, is also a mining town, and it holds many secrets and attracts extreme interest of the Government.

Geez, I wrote a lot. Anyone actually finished reading this post? 😅

#one piece #trafalgar law #heart pirates #christmas #one piece christmas #flevance #christmas at Flevance #traditions and customs of Flevance #anthropology of One Piece #expanding on One Piece's lore using real world traditions and adapting them to fit into the universe? totally up my alley!#Oda didn't provide us with much info #but I can work with that #cultures of One Piece universe #ask

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heathenarmyimagines · 8 months ago

Text

Title: The Alliance

Summary: Princess (Y/N)'s hunt has finally come, and Ivar has more than a country to explore.

Pairing: Ivar x Reader

A/N: I know I haven't been uploading and I'm sorry, I've been working and this story in particular requires a LOT of research (like literally so much). That said please enjoy this chapter, remember if its bold that means it is spoken in the foreign language. This chapter does include a hunting scene so trigger warning if it applies.

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Part Five

Taglist:

The celebration of Princess (Y/N)’s homecoming was indeed an event that would be talked about in Tunisia for months, and the Norse travelers would never forget it. The beach, the dancing, the music, the food that was served was all breathtaking and bordering comfortably on the edge of overwhelming.

It was only when the feast was entirely eaten and the performers were physically unable to continue that everyone agreed to retreat to their own homes to rest.

Ivar found himself on the back of his father, he couldn’t fathom hauling his weight on his crutches after he had exhausted all his energy during the festivities. However; it seemed Ragnar had reserved just enough energy to help his youngest son to the palace.

He even carried Ivar’s crutches in his arms as Ivar clung to his back, and Ivar saw how his father’s grip on them left his knuckles pale white.

‘You do not like my crutches.’ he said, breaking the comfortable silence between the two of them as they lagged behind the royal party on the way back to the castle.

‘I do not like them.’ Ragnar confessed casually.

‘Why?’

‘You do not need them, Ivar; you move slower with them. I can tell it exhausts you and you break more bones by standing upright.’

‘I haven’t bro-’

‘You have.’ Ragnar interrupted the lie, his voice suddenly stern.

‘I am not your mother, I don’t need to see and hear you crying to know when you have pushed your body too far for its limitations. Every time I tried to hold you for the first year of your life I broke a bone in my rough handling.’

At his father’s confession Ivar was left speechless; how many times had his mother drunkenly rambled that as a babe Ivar cried whenever Ragnar picked him up? Of course Ivar had not known why he did this, he was too young, all he knew was his mother was telling the truth about it. Aslaug’s drunken complaining made up a large amount of Ivar’s childhood and sometimes her drunkenness made her dramatize the events but this was one of the few that never changed; Ragnar never spoke of it in front of him.

Not once in all his life.

‘Even the night I left you in the woods, it was your right ankle, it cracked as I tried to swaddle you. I hadn’t intended to leave you that night, I was just trying to hold you and I couldn’t do even that without hurting you.’ Ragnar continued.

‘You must not be used to the palm wine these Tunisians serve, mead has never made you drunk enough to tell me this before.’ Ivar tried weakly to joke.

He hadn’t been prepared to hear this, he had long ago come to accept that he would die without ever having had this conversation with his father.

‘I must not be.’ his father let out a humorless breath of laughter.

‘How do you know when I break a bone? Is it the blue in my eyes?’ Ivar asked.

‘No, son; it is not your eyes, it’s your nose.’

‘My nose?’

‘It scrunches up in a wince whenever a bone breaks, even as a baby before the cries could fall from your lips your nose would give you away. I also know because whenever I see you break a bone I feel it.’ his father confessed.

‘I feel the same sickness rise up in my throat, the same guilt. My guiltiness led me to abandon you, my guilt kept me from loving you. Guilt over how you were born, guilt that my impatience and disregard to your mother’s warning cost you your health.’

Ivar did not need any elaborations on what his father was referencing.

“His mother said he would be a monster.”

“Not even ten and already a killer.”

“There is something not human in him, I just know it.”

“She wasn’t even pregnant yet and she knew he’d be vile and twisted.”

“He even slithers around like the great serpent, he will bring Ragnarok to us all!”

Phrases like these were whispered around him all his life; his mother’s prophecy that if Ragnar had her too soon she would birth him a monster.

‘I do not blame you, or mother, I am not angry with you father. I never have been… I never could be. I-’ Ivar felt like he was physically choking on the words he was trying to say.

It was the first time he’d ever said them out loud before.

‘I love you Father, even if you broke my bones holding me I never wanted you to put me down.’ he said pressing his face into his father’s shoulder, and let Ragnar feel the tears soak into the fabric of his tunic.

‘You do not have to blame me, I will even allow you to be foolish enough to forgive me, but son, I will never forgive myself for the way I treated you. You and your brothers are one of the very few things that keep me in Midgard, and I do not deserve the love and respect you all show me. I have wronged you all, in unforgivable ways.’

‘I have never heard you admit to being wrong.’ Ivar said around the lump that had formed in his throat as he at last got a hold of his emotions.

‘Do not get used to it, it will never happen again and I will deny it if you tell any other living thing.’ his father said, his voice once again becoming lighthearted.

Their emotional conversation had ended, and he knew that neither he nor his father would ever mention it again. Not to each other or to anyone else.

Not even the Princess would hear of this, he would keep this moment selfishly to himself for the rest of his life.

A comfortable silence fell over the two men and lasted until they were finally in the palace, where Ragnar placed his son down and placed the crutches down, sending them a distasteful glance.

Ivar looked over at the others and saw that they were still raving over the festivities and their eagerness for sleep and he looked back to his father.

‘I know I do not need them, father, but I do want them. I want to stand tall among other men, I'm tired of looking up at those I know are beneath me.’ he whispered as he pulled himself up on his crutches.

‘I will not use them forever, I will improve them…and myself.’ he promised.

Ragnar sighed and placed a sudden, unexpected kiss on Ivar’s temple and whispered into his ear in confidence.

‘You will be a man to be feared one day, Ivar the Boneless. Your broken body will never be able to contain your mind and violence.’

With those last words Ragnar went back to the group and he along with Aslaug retired to their chambers.

His brothers and the Tunisians all quickly followed suit, and gave quick and polite goodbyes before going their own ways as well.

‘Let us also retire. I am absolutely exhausted.’ (Y/N) said and indeed she looked like her will alone was keeping her upright.

‘Yes, I’m sure that kind of dancing used up all your energy.’ Ivar agreed and soon they began their journey to their newly shared chamber.

‘I enjoyed dancing to your heart beat. It beats in alignment with my own.’ she remarked as they entered.

Inside they were met with their respective servants who must have brought in their things before joining the feast, as all their things were now properly in place in the chamber.

To Ivar’s surprise and delight the princess sent them both away.

Occasionally on the journey the princess would feel very affectionate and would like to undress Ivar herself; it was another thing he came to rely on while they shared space on the ship.

He would always eagerly offer to undress her in return, she would graciously accept and they would lie in each other’s arms as they slept through the night.

Tonight, however, she was more slow in removing his tunic than she usually did and he could tell by the distanced look in her eye as her hands moved that her mind was not truly in this moment.

‘I will not be at your side when you wake my love.’ she said as she discarded the clothing.

‘How long will your hunt last?’

‘As long as it takes, after the hunt is complete I will be taken to the Skinner's hut to fashion the cloak alone. Every three days a hunting party will be sent after me, if I were to forfeit, they would escort me back safely. In which case I will have failed, and we would not have the blessing of the Great and Many.’

‘Then we would not marry.’ Ivar concluded.

A pregnant silence set in over the two of them as they undressed and remained even as they lay in each other's arms.

‘Can I make a request for my cloak?’ Ivar said at last.

‘Of course.’

‘Something warm. I will want to wear it often and the weather back home is not as nice as this.’ he said with a smile.

He hoped she understood what he was saying between his words; prayed she understood that he had confidence she would succeed and they would marry.

Ivar only needed to meet her watering eyes to know she did understand him, and more than anything else she needed his confidence in her.

‘I’ve trained since the day Sven left with his party, and I am even bold enough to call myself a warrior, but I have never hunted alone.’ she confessed.

‘I had never known true combat until our Matrimonial Fight.’ Ivar returned.

He was surprised that she looked so surprised.

‘Are you trying to console me?’ the princess accused.

‘I am being truthful. Sure on occasion my brothers include me in a bit of roughhousing, or I may even initiate a scuffle but they are never actually aiming to overtake me. Our fights are never true.’ Ivar replied.

‘I knew when I fought with you there would be no holding back on your part, you fought me as an equal and you hit where it hurt.’

The princess’s accusing eyes softened before she hid her face in his chest.

‘I did apologize. ‘ she yawned sleepily.

‘Nothing to forgive, I loved it. I loved fighting you, watching how skilled you are, seeing that look in your eyes as you look for a new place to aim. And if you hunt as well as you fight I imagine I won’t be waiting a full week.’ Ivar encouraged.

Ivar whispered soft assurances and praises until he heard her soft snores, and even still he kept silently praising her, hoping that his Gods would hear his love for her and give her protection.

As he himself finally fell into slumber he even hoped the Great and Many would watch over her as well.

When Ivar woke up he had known (Y/N) wouldn’t be there, but he was still disappointed by her absence.

A small pebble was suddenly thrown into the room, noisily hitting the floor.

‘I am awake, Trya.’ Ivar sighed as he sat up to see his thrall entering the princess’s chamber holding a Tunisian shield.

‘My Prince, did you not sleep well? Should I call for the healers?’ the woman asked, the concern for his legs showing on her face.

‘My legs are no worse than I can handle, and my sleep was sound.’ he assured her as she began to dress him.

‘You have gotten used to her being there.’ Trya realized, but immediately she went red with embarrassment at her impulsive speaking.

‘I’m sorry Prince Ivar.’ she said quickly.

‘No need to apologize when you are right, if anything I should apologize in advance for my bad mood while she is away.’

‘If I may say, I think she will return sooner than you think and with a noble animal fur just for you. In the meantime there is a beautiful village to explore and such wonderful people to meet.’ Trya offered.

Ivar knew the old woman was simply trying to cheer him up, and she was even right; but he found little comfort in her words as he left the room on his crutches.

Just as he began to wonder where he should go without (Y/N) to guide him through the unfamiliar palace, one of her servants, Kya, rounded a corner and approached him.

‘Meal before.’ she mumbled in broken Norse.

‘We are in your homeland, no need to speak a foreign language for my sake.’ he said in perfect Derja.

The girl let out a sigh of relief and began speaking in her mother language.

‘It is time for first meal, I will take you to the great hall .’ she said, her tone very confident and proper in her own dialect, before leading him through the labyrinth of halls.

Ivar was led into a large room where both royal families were sitting on the floor in a circle, all of them eating some type of bread and dipping it into something steaming hot from their bowls.

‘Ivar you must try this porridge, their spices are so flavorful.’ Hvitserk said as Ivar lowered himself down as gracefully as he could.

‘I must agree, we will definitely be trading a great deal of spices in the near future.’ Ragnar agreed, his own bowl nearly empty before Ivar had even received his portion.

The flavor of the porridge was very strong and delicious, and the bread was more grainy than the bread back home.

‘It is delicious.’ Ivar complimented as he ate with a bit more vigor.

After all, he had a long journey on the ship and had drank far too much at the feast.

‘I’m sure if my future daughter in law were here she would be flattered.’ Aslaug said, surprising everyone.

‘(Y/N) made this meal?’ Ivar asked, truly questioning how his mother knew this.

His mother sat aside her now empty bowl and looked at him in earnest, as she always had. As if she hadn’t ignored him from the moment he decided to sail here.

‘I was unable to sleep through your father’s snoring so I had a servant show me around the palace. The princess was in the kitchens, helping the cooks as they prepared her rations and first meal. We had a talk.’ the Norse Queen answered.

Ivar sent a look to his brothers, who looked equally as stunned, even his father had wide eyes.

Every word she just said went against everything they knew about their mother. Aslaug was often so drunk she could sleep through the harshest winter storm, she despised watching thralls work, and in all their lives they had never seen her set foot in any kitchen.

It hadn’t been a convenient coincidence, Ivar was certain his mother had snuck out of bed in the wee hours to speak to (Y/N) privately before her departure.

However, if anyone was waiting on Aslaug to explain her conversation with the princess, they were disappointed when she went back to her wine in silence.

‘Well then, what will you all like to do today?’ King Akashi asked the Norse royals.

‘We would like to walk through your markets. Your daughter tells us it was her most important duty as a child. The concept is both foreign and intriguing to all of us, plus we are eager to see in person the beautiful kingdom that raised our new princess.’ Ragnar replied.

‘Excellent, I shall give them a tour.’ Prince Ayo beamed as he stood excitedly.

‘Sit down.’ the queen said in a quiet but stern tone, the kind that came only from mothers and queens; and considering that she was both, her tone was truly powerful.

The child prince sighed in his defeat and sat back down on the floor.

‘You are not old enough yet my son, and you are not far enough along in your studies to walk the village and converse with the people. Until then you will spend your day with your tutors.’ the king said, seeing the upset on his son’s face.

‘I will send a servant to escort you through the markets, she will meet you at the castle gate.’

‘If I may.’ Ivar spoke up, politely asking to speak directly to the royal family, something (Y/N) had informed him was considered extremely polite.

The queen looked at him with a raised eyebrow before nodding her approval.

‘As my father has said, we are all eager to see your markets and kingdom today, but may I join the young prince with his tutors tomorrow?’

Now the queen was downright studying him, her gaze alone making the cripple straighten up his posture.

‘You wish to study here?’ she asked.

‘I have a great thirst for knowledge, like our All Father Odin, who traded his eye for it. It seems I already traded my legs at birth.’Ivar smiled charmingly, making a humorous face at the prince, who let out a small breath of laughter.

The queen smiled, seemingly against her better judgment.

‘Yes you may join the lessons tomorrow, I will have Bintu accompany you both to the library together tomorrow. She seems to want to get acquainted with you better.’ Queen Aza agreed.

‘Are you close with Bintu as well?’ Sigurd asked.

‘Of course, I personally chose Bintu to protect my daughter. She was my closest friend as a girl, had I ever chosen to propose a Matrimonial Fight she would be my instructor.’

‘I must say, while there are so many fascinating customs in your country, the one that fascinates me the most is your approach to your inferiors.’ Aslaug confessed.

‘No no no. I have no inferiors, my Queen Sister. I am Queen and I am the highest authority, but there isn’t one subject in all my kingdom that is inferior to me. Do you know how most commoners address queens in this country?’ the Tunisian Queen questioned.

When none of the Norse answered she smiled to herself.

‘Queen Mother; that is how I am addressed by every single one of my subjects. Queen to show me their respect, and Mother to show their love. Of course now the title is more than fitting.’ she explained, rubbing the roundness of her belly.

‘I may not know you well, Queen Sister, but I feel that the title was well earned. For I have never seen so many happy commoners, and I have certainly never met a young woman more amazing than your daughter. Truly you are Queen Mother, if I may, I’d like to accompany you today. I have been a Queen almost as long as I have been a Mother, but I am not blind to my shortcomings. I would like to learn from you, Queen Aza.’ Aslaug requested, her eyes never leaving the other woman’s.

At this Ragnar had to cover his mouth to silence his own gasp; Ivar was happy they were already sitting on the floor, had they been in chairs he is certain his brothers would have all fallen out of them in shock.

Years and years, all their lives, they all sat watching their mother drink away her affections and love for anyone other than Ivar. They had stopped expecting her love before they had even gotten their armrings. They never in their wildest dreams thought she cared enough to notice their disappointment in her as a mother.

Ivar looked over at his brothers and surely enough each of them had different expressions of shock.

Ubbe looked as if he simply couldn’t process what he’d heard, Hvitserk had dropped the grainy bread into his nearly empty bowl, Sigurd was wide eyed and his face was becoming red.

‘I would love your company, Queen Aslaug. In fact, I am quite done with first meal. I will await you in the throne room. I will send for Kya to accompany the rest of you through the markets.’ Aza said before holding out her hand to her husband.

King Akashi, who had been silently eating the last of his own meal while observing his guest, set aside his empty bowl and helped the queen rise to her feet.

The Tunisians bid their farewells, instructed a servant girl to give them a tour of the markets and departed.

As soon as the retreating footsteps could no longer be heard all eyes fell on Queen Aslaug, who had met their eyes confidently.

‘Do not look so stunned, have you not all wished for a better mother? A better woman to sit beside your great father on the throne? As I have no intention of losing my status, I must improve; at least that is the advice I was given.’ she said in Norse.

‘Why did you seek her out? You have been spiteful to all of us since the fight; you ignored us all nearly completely since she suggested sailing here.’ Ubbe asked, trying to keep his tone neutral.

The hint of accusation was still noticed by his mother.

‘I had no ill intention, my son, I only meant to see her before she left for her hunt. A servant led me to the kitchens and there she was gathering her rations, we spoke and she left.’

‘What did you say to her?’ Ivar asked, not bothering to hide his suspicion.

‘She spoke to me, and I saw what about her you love. She is intelligent, wise and almost annoyingly well spoken. Though she hasn’t seen one of your fits yet, Ivar, I’m sure she will be able to control even your rage.’

The princes all looked between each other, wondering if the others believed a word of this; even Ragnar had been studying his wife to see if there were any visible signs of deception.

‘Mother, she is going on a hunt, alone, I don’t even know what kind of animals they have here. I need you to tell me with conviction that you did not upset her before she left to do something so dangerous.’ he was pleading with his mother.

Aslaug stood from the floor and looked around at her family.

‘I do not know why I sought her out, I don’t know what I wanted to say to her. I know what she said to me. That she can see the weeds of hate growing in all of your eyes when you look my way. That your frowns deepen when I speak to you directly no matter what I say…and now I can see how right she was.’ Aslaug said with a truly hurt expression painting her face.

‘You think I would be so spiteful to try and sabotage her hunt Ivar? Even you? It seems I have been far worse a mother than I thought.’ she said, her voice beginning to shake as her eyes misted.

Before Ivar had a chance to let the guilt take hold of his heart fully his mother had turned and left the rest of them to their now unappealing bowls of porridge.

The room was quiet, everyone needed to digest more than the food; Aslaug’s words had left a bitter taste in their mouths.

‘Do you believe her?’ Hvitserk asked.

‘Of course not, she has been wretched since she birthed us, that doesn’t change after one talk.’ Sigurd dismissed with irritation.

‘She seemed upset, maybe she does regret the way she raised us.’ Ubbe said in her defense.

‘How could you think so, Ubbe? What raising did we get from her? It was while she was meant to be raising us that you and Hvitserk fell through ice and nearly died. In her “care” Bjorn lost his first daughter! The only time the truth comes out of her mouth is when she knows it will hurt.’ Sigurd spat angrily.

‘She is your mother, Sigurd. You owe her your life and respect.’ Ragnar said, a hint of a warning in his tone.

The circle was tense now, despite the fragility of their marriage Aslaug was still Ragnar’s wife and not many Viking men allow their wives to be insulted in their presence.

‘I had no say in who my mother was Father, did I? Even still you are right, I owe her respect…just as she owes us her love, but unfortunately for her I no longer want it.’ Sigurd replied just as stubborn as he had been as a child as he stood up.

‘I will wait at the gate for the escort.’ he said formally before leaving.

Ivar watched Sigurd in a mixture of annoyance and understanding, no one could deny that Sigurd had been the most hurt by Aslaug’s neglect growing up. He was always the one to interrupt their chess games to ask if they could have a walk all together, and he was always turned away.

‘I know your mother was…is a hard woman to understand and that it was hard growing up when I would sail away, but I know her. For better or worse I can read that woman’s heart like fresh carved runes, and I think she is being genuine. Now if you excuse me, I believe I need to have a private conversation with my son.’ Ragnar sighed tiredly before he followed Sigurd.

‘What do you think, Ivar?’ Ubbe asked his youngest brother.

‘I think…my betrothed did speak with her, and I think the conversation went more or less the same way she says it does. What I don’t know is if she is accepting that conversation as a friendly warning or a threat.’

‘You think she would sabotage (Y/N)’s hunt?’ Hvitserk asked in shock.

‘At first I will admit I did think her capable of it, but in my heart I know that isn’t like her. I know I should have no say in it seeing how she doted on me, but she has never gone out of her way to hurt any one of us. I don’t think she ever would.’ Ivar answered honestly.

‘He is right, Mother never cared enough to be cruel to us, sure she poured love onto Ivar, but Ivar is going to marry. Who will be there for her to pour on to? Ragnar?’ Ubbe said strategically, as if he were discussing a battle in a war room, not his own mother.

‘So she wants our love now that Ivar has his own woman.’ Hvitserk realized.

The room fell into one last long silence before Hvitserk noisily slurped down the very last of porridge in his bowl and stood up.

‘Well,I’m flattered to finally be worth her affections, however, what she does will have no true effect on me, but I will not discourage her efforts.’ The middle son declared before he too left.

‘What about you Ubbe? Do you still long for Mother’s love?’ Ivar asked.

‘You know, I remember the day we fell through the ice.’ Ubbe said, surprising Ivar.

Neither Ubbe or Hvitserk ever spoke about that terrible day, no matter how strategically he and Sigurd asked about it growing up; and they had asked quite often back then.

‘We had followed mother and Harbard, because why not, it was too cold for fishing obviously and we were too young to hunt back then. They went into a hut and we went to get a closer look but there was a noise…a calling so inviting and pleasant it carried us away.’

Ivar didn’t want to reply and pull his brother out of his sharing mood so he just listened and let Ubbe speak freely. He had never seen his eldest brother look so lost in his own mind while talking before, it seemed as if he was doing more than remembering. He was there all over again, a small boy out exploring with his brother on a winter's day.

‘It promised such fun and we were so excited we didn’t realize how far we had walked, but we did notice when the snowy grass became ice beneath our feet, but the call assured us and on we walked further out on the ice. Siggy, do you remember her?’ Ubbe asked.

‘Of course, Rollo’s wife.’ Ivar provided.

‘She was a kind woman to us, mother often left us in her care and she had seen us on the lake, she tried to call out for us but what was her small far away voice to a call only we could hear? A call that must have been from the Gods? She chased after us but it was too late, the ice cracked and the call stopped as soon as we fell into the freezing water.’

Ubbe seemed to not even see Ivar sitting across from him anymore, he was lost in the memory of coldness.

‘The water was so much colder than the ice had been, or at least that’s how it felt, cold all over my body, cold water in the lungs. In that cold do you know what I thought, Ivar?’

Ivar shook his head no, and waited eagerly for the answer.

‘I want my mother.’ Ubbe said softly, leaning in closer, as if this was his most precious secret.

‘I wanted to feel the warmth of her embrace and for her to whisper soothing words into my ear to assure me I would not be forced out of Midgard so soon. I even thought maybe she’d heard my silent cries and rescued us, but it was only Siggy pulling us out of the ice. Harbard was there, and she managed to give us to him before her own life was taken by that cold water. After Harbard had brought us to Mother she asked him to heal us and once he had she sent us off to bed for rest…without ever touching us.’

Ivar, who of course saw that his mother showed him more love than his brothers, was stunned by just how cold the woman had truly been to her other children.

As Ivar chewed over his rapid change in family dynamics his bride to be was walking vast dry hunting grounds.

She was brought some comfort in the fact she wasn’t in completely new territory. She had gone on at least a dozen hunts in this area. Of course those hunts had been with full hunting parties of at least ten.

Hunting in large groups was a common practice throughout the world because the simple fact was that there is power in numbers. More hunters mean more game can be caught, and the hunters had a stronger sense of security knowing that there would be more people able to watch their blind spots in case of predator attacks.

More than that, for (Y/N) at least, hunting in a group simply made the experience of hunting much more pleasant. She remembers talking with the others as they walked for hours to the waterhole where most game favored to drink and bathe.

Now she was alone and could not afford any such pleasantries. She had to keep her ears and eyes sharp, there was no one there to assist her in spotting anything that may be lying in wait.

Another benefit of hunting parties, she had come to understand quickly, was that it entailed more provisions. She had a large canteen of water that weighed heavily on her hip, but she knew it would be all she had until she reached the water hole.

And that was a half day’s journey and as heavy as it felt the canteen only had so much water inside. So she ignored the dryness of her mouth, resigned not to drink until the sun was fully in the sky.

Along with her water canteen she had a variety of tools and rope to make shelter, her father’s blade, an ax, twenty ready made arrows to go with the bow she carried by hand and a fortnight's worth of food in the pack she had on her back. One fortnight’s worth of food.

One fortnight worth of food.

One fortnight, that is two weeks.

Two weeks is fourteen days.

She repeated these things mentally every mile or so, she was determined to keep track of the time. If she allowed herself to lose her senses she could find herself out here alone with nothing to eat, no water and no choice but to wait for the rescue party.

No. Even if it did come to that she would refuse to return, and that would mean staying not only to hunt for a beast but also hunting to survive.

The thought of scavenging for berries in the dry lands was almost as discouraging as the thought of wasting arrows on smaller prey before finding her true target.

Whatever that target may be; she thought guiltily.

She had promised Ivar a grand cloak worthy of his Gods but she had no idea what that even meant yet alone what animal she would hunt. Luckily the water hole would be sure to have a variety of beasts to choose from.

After what she guessed had been four hours the sun was finally shining at its highest point in the sky. She took the canteen from her side and took a singular large swallow of cool water before closing it off again, but she held the container to her forehead to feel the coolness of the water inside.

It had to be at least noon now, that meant about six more hours until she was at the water hole, but that would mean arriving at by nightfall and that wasn’t wise. She would have to stop and make her shelter for the night.

A large cluster of boulders and a tiny cluster of palm oil trees in the distance told her she had in fact remembered the path from her previous hunts.

The rocks were where her hunting party usually sought shelter. The formation of the boulders created a sort of rocky valley and with wood and leaves from the trees a roof and walls can be fashioned.

(Y/N) took special care in looking around for any signs of a predator before she removed her pack and dug out some dried biltong and a piece of plantain bread.

She kept alert as she ate quickly, wanting to make sure she didn’t stay here long enough to be found by any thing, but she also wanted to savor the chewiness of the antelope meat, and the bread was so filling on her empty stomach it felt as warm as an embrace.

Once the last of the bread had been eaten (Y/N) picked up her pack again and continued on, still chewing the last bite of biltong, trying to extend the longevity of its flavor and the mere illusion of eating. After she had finally resigned to swallow the over chewed meat she again took a single drink from her canteen, this time only a sip as it was less about true thirst and more a desire to wash down her brief meal.

The further she walked the more she thought over her plans for when she reached the boulders.

First she would find the best spot in between the rocks that required the least amount of material to fortify. Then she would go and gather the wood and palm leaves to make the roofing and walls, after that she would go again to the trees for firewood to keep her warm once night fell.

She tried not to get too comfortable or confident but so far she was pleased with her progress. She had yet to come across so much as an antelope so far and if there were no prey animals near her that meant the chances of predators were much lower.

Of course that also meant if she did encounter a hungry meat eater it would probably be extremely eager to eat the first thing it found.

With that in mind she kept her grip firm on her bow as she pushed on.

It was when she was only about an hour away from her destination that she heard a rustling in the grass behind her that was too isolated and sudden to have been wind.

With an alarming quickness she pulled an arrow from her pack and raised her bow, aiming at the direction of the noise.

It was quiet again, but she was certain she’d heard something and she wasn’t going to turn around or move on until she found and killed whatever had made that sound.

She focused her gaze and scanned through the tall yellow grass for anything out of place. She kept a special look out for spots and stripes; this was big cat territory.

A final second of quiet passed before finally the grass rustled again, and this time she had seen exactly where the grass moved.

Without hesitation she released the arrow and several things seemed to happen all at once to her.

Of course things had happened one at a time, and they happened in this exact order.

First; the arrow flew like lightning into the tall grass, second; a loud pitiful roar cut through the air, and thirdly a lion had leapt out of its hiding place.

With no small amount of fear and an even larger amount of alarm the princess readied another arrow and began back stepping, she knew better than to turn her back to this beast.

Now that it was out of the tallest grass she could see it was a truly pathetic thing. Its mane was shaggy and matted, several scabby bald patches that had been licked raw from over grooming littered his back legs and it was so unsightly thin even in her panic she could see its protruding rib cage.

Her arrow stuck out of its left front leg in a vulgar way as it tried weakly to chase her down, but already her fear was subsiding.

Even as she backed away to put distance between her and the lion so that she could have a clear clean shot, (Y/N) could see that the arrow wasn’t the only thing slowing down her attacker.

Yes it limped on its injured front leg, but it made a huffing whimpering noise every time his right hind leg hit the ground. Clearly something had tussled with this frail thing before she had and it seemed that unknown creature had done her a great kindness.

Once she was confident in the distance between them she released the second arrow and watched it land true as it sunk into the lion's skull and the weak body fell into the dirt with a soft thud.

A final breath escaped its mouth and sent up a small cloud in the dry dirt it now laid lifelessly upon.

With the beast taken down she found herself breathing hard, her adrenaline still racing as she approached it.

Up close she could better inspect it to see if this had been it, if this could be THE beast.

However, no amount of optimism could allow her to overlook the matted shabby dark mane, the many bald patches she could see in the lion’s coat or the clearly visible bites they exposed.

No, this wouldn’t even be worth skinning, not for her husband's cloak, but still leaving it here was not an option, it would attract scavengers and most of those were pack animals. So she took out her ax and made quick work of dismembering the lion and then did her best to wrap the remains in the blanket she intended to sleep under.

It was too heavy to lift alone so she attached the sack to a rope and dragged it the rest of the way to the boulders. By the time she had reached her destination her legs and arms were more sore than they had ever been in all her years of training, but she didn't stop to rest.

Just as she had planned she found a small rectangular spot that was perfectly spaced between two boulders that stood twice as high as she did. There she sat the lion sack before she went to fetch the wood and palm leaves. The sun would be setting soon and she would not be out in the open with a fresh kill at her side when it happened.

She chopped and dragged long branches for one hour, then she fashioned two walls about one foot taller than herself using rope to tie the branches together, tying the leaves together to keep out the wind. She installed her walls by burying the branches in the dirt making sure they were firmly planted. The roof was easier to make since she had to leave a spot open for smoke to escape.

Finally, just as she had tied the last bit of rope securing the roof to the walls the sun was beginning to set. She made her final trip to the grove of trees for firewood and quickly returned to her newly built shelter.

Her fire was burning strong as the sun set, but she did not lay down, she sat beside the fire watching the flames as she thought one thing over and over.

What beast was worthy of Ivar the Boneless?

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