#viking!harry

[its-julia-in-outer-space]

Early Mornings

Y/N woke to the feeling of a calloused hand running down her bare back, sliding from her neck to the dip of her hip. Lips pressed to her temple, the shape of a smile against her skin.

She shivered and stretched like a cat, the heavy fur covers shifting with her movements and uncovering more of her body. The hand on her hip took advantage, sliding lower and gliding to the globe of her ass.

“Good morning, my love,” Harry said, voice low. “The sun has just risen.”

Y/N hummed, eyes still closed. “So it has. Is that a reason to disturb my sleep?”

“The children are not up yet. Forgive me for wanting the full attention of my wife, if only for a few moments before the mayhem starts.”

Harry pressed his chest to her back, pushing her gently onto her stomach. Clever fingers delved deeper beneath the sheets, and it was an instinctive reflex to open her legs as they reached her core and pushed in.

“How wet you are,” he whispered in her ear. “What would your people say, Y/N? What would the royal court of Lothian think, should they know their princess lets a northern invader defile her all day long?”

“Damn them and their opinion,” Y/N breathed out shakily, a low moan climbing out of her throat as Harry curled his fingers inside of her.

He pressed open-mouthed kisses down her throat, sucking at the junction between her neck and shoulder. His other arm slid under her waist, hand settling on the pouch of her belly.

“Will you let me have you, little doe?” he asked, pushing his hips into her ass, the hard line of his cock nestling between her cheeks. “Give me another child to dote on?”

She breathed out a laugh, pushing back against him. “You must be out of your mind, husband. The four we have are already running us ragged.”

She turned in his arm, his fingers slipping out of her core wetly. In the pale morning light, the angular lines of his face seemed soft and tender. She pressed a kiss to his lips, one hand burying itself in his thick curls, the other sliding down his chest to his cock.

“Don’t look so disappointed,” Y/N said, her fist pumping slowly. Harry groaned, his hands gripping her ass to a nearly painful point. “You have more heirs than you know what to do with.”

“I will always want more, so long as I have them with you.”

He pulled her left thigh over his hip, sliding lower. As she guided him to her entrance, he pressed a hard kiss to her mouth and pushed in, swallowing her cry. He shushed her, smoothing down her hair with the tenderness only she knew he had in him.

“Look at you,” he whispered. “How perfect you are. You take me so well.”

“More,” she asked.

She did not need to beg. Harry started thrusting, slowly, steadily. On every thrust, he went deeper, until it felt like they were no longer two separate individuals but one entity. 

With a groan, he slid out of her and pushed her onto her stomach before she had time to complain. A fraction of a second later, he was back inside of her, one arm under her hips as he lifted her ass up. The pleasure came in relentless waves and Harry kept going faster, kept going stronger.

“Everything,” he said in her ear, each word strained. “I will give you everything.”

Y/N cried out at a particularly harsh thrust, the pleasure ramping up. She was no longer in control of anything, her body nor her mind. Harry’s name came out of her lips like a prayer, a plea to the only god she knew in this bed. The tsunami inside her veins was growing and growing, its collapse only seconds away.

As her walls clenched around his cock, Harry’s hand came to the front of her neck. It did not squeeze, never would. But he held her, bringing her head up.

“No,” he said. “Not yet. Hold on for me.”

“I- I can’t, Harry, please.”

“You can, and you will,” he replied, his tone like steel.

She could have cried from the frustration, the denied pleasure. He held himself still, long enough for the growing wave inside of her to settle down. As always, he was more aware of her limits than she was, and only when he knew she was no longer about to come did he start thrusting again.

He went at her with all the strength he had, the muscles he had spent decades carefully honing for war now used in her service. As fast as it had gone down, the wave of pleasure rose back up, aided by the fingers he pressed between her legs.

The rhythm he had set started to unravel. He bit down on the tender skin of her shoulder, burying his groans in her skin. The twinge of pain only added to the intensity of the pleasure in Y/N’s body, and the wave crested, then broke.

Every part of her body seized, as if she had been hit by lightning, and she went blind from it. Harry thrust once, twice, then buried himself inside her with a deep cry. They might have stayed that way for hours, for all she knew. Joined together, muscles weary, lungs settling.

“I love you,” Y/N said.

Harry cradled her in his arms, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Love of my life.”

With an exaggerated sigh, he then stretched an arm over her head to the bedside table and the contraceptive serum the midwife made her take daily.

As she swallowed the bitter liquid, Harry stood and slipped on his pants. He turned to her as he laced them up, treating her to the beautiful sight of his bare chest.

“One day,” he said. “One day, when our children are too old, you’ll plead for another.”

“Should that day come,” she smiled. “I will not need to beg.”

“True,” he leaned over, kissing her lips. “Odin be my witnes, you have made a slave of me.”

A sharp cry echoed then from the next room, impatient and angry.

“Well then, slave,” Y/N laughed. “Seems like your other master is calling.”

With a disappointed sigh that was betrayed by sudden joy in his eyes, Harry left the room. A moment later, he entered again, their daughter in his arms. Sigrid had been born only three moons ago, and she looked tiny and vulnerable still. Yet out of all their children, she was the one who resembled her father the most, from the green eyes to the thick brown curls on the top of her head.

“So fussy,” Harry said as he gazed at her frowning face. “As if she has been starved for weeks.”

“Hm, I wonder who she gets that from. Give her here.”

She settled the squirming baby against her chest, and Sigrid latched at once to Y/N’s breast. She did not look pleased, frowning at her mother as she fed. Harry settled at their side, sliding an arm behind Y/N’s back to support her.

“She will be a shieldmaiden, this one,” he said. “Her grip is stronger than the boys’ already.”

“Not strong enough yet for a sword, husband.”

“A dagger, then.”

Y/N did not argue. There were many cultural differences she had had to get used to, when she first came to Kaldagr. Their cult-like love for weaponry had been one of them.

She remembered the early days, how fearful she’d been, how angry. How much she had hated the man that had now given her the baby in her arms. 

“Funny how things change,” she said under her breath.

“What was that, my love?”

“Nothing,” she replied. “I’m just happy.”

She leaned her head against his shoulder, watched her daughter feed and hoped her sons would wake up soon. Happy, indeed.

Thanks for reading! Don't hesitate to let me know what you think!

MASTERLIST

[axelsagewrites]

Contains: GoT ♡ HotD ♡ HP ♡ Mauraders ♡ Ted Lasso ♡ Vikings Tv

Warnings/Guides

【P】Platonic【P】 🆇Smut 18+🆇

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[claymoresword]

Masterlist

Disclaimer: I write exclusively wlw content.

Published Works

Hermione Granger (HP)

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Margaery Tyrell (GOT)

Daenerys Targaryen (GOT)

Missandei (GOT)

Cersei Lannister (GOT)

Lagertha (Vikings 2013)

-

**Requests Closed. Not taking prompts rn**

HARRY POTTER

Hermione Granger

Hermione x Reader:

I Choose Her

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Epilogue

Stand-Alone Series:

Chapter 1 Chapter 2

Summary: You are the daughter of known death eaters from one of the richest and oldest wizarding family. Are you prepared to abandon everything you know for Hermione Granger?

HOUSE OF THE DRAGON

Alicent Hightower

Alicent x Reader:

The Queen And Her Knight

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8

Summary: Alicent Hightower against her better judgement, falls in love with her sworn protector. Can she bear to fight her feelings or will she finally just give in?

Rhaenyra Targaryen

Rhaenyra x Reader:

The Realm's Delight

Summary: The entire realm of suitors tripping over themselves to take Rhaenyra to wife and yet the only person she has eyes for is you.

Alicent Hightower x Rhaenyra Targaryen

The Same Hunger

Summary: After a long day the only thing Alicent longs for is some alone time with her dear wife.

We're Burned For Better

Summary: Rhaenyra finds out Aegon is actually her son.

GAME OF THRONES

Margaery Tyrell

Margaery Tyrell x Reader:

Wild Nights

Summary: Margaery Tyrell has a long term secret affair with the King's oldest sister.

Daenerys Targaryen

Daenerys x Missandei :

You Make A Mess Of Me

Summary: An alternate universe where Daenerys Targaryen is Queen of The Seven Kingdoms and Missandei of Naath is her Queen Consort.

Cersei Lannister

Cersei x Reader:

Playing With Fire

Summary: Cersei is married off to Robert Baratheon but her sworn protector/the King's younger sister, happens to be the person that truly holds her heart.

Where's My Love

Summary: [reader's promt]

We Bleed The Same

Chapter 1 Chapter 2

Summary: On the road from Winterfell to King's Landing, Cersei and y/n find themselves reconciling with both old and new feelings as fate seems determined to tear them apart.

Sequel to 'Where's My Love'.

Cersei x Catelyn Tully:

Come Out And Haunt Me

Summary: When her raven goes unanswered, queen Cersei Lannister decides to pay the Starks a visit herself.

VIKINGS

Lagertha Lothbrok

Lagertha x Reader:

Fatal Attraction

Fatal Attraction Pt.2

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

[fantasydreamland]

Welcome to my little dreamland 🏰

This blog is 18+ only !!!

Here to share the fantasy worlds I love & write a little smut. There’s simply not enough wlw fanfics. I’m bi so I love to share all my fictional crushes 🤍

Thank you everyone for the support so far!

My stories:

GAME OF THRONES

Lonely Nights - Khaleesi 🤍🔥⭐️

Queen in the North - Sansa Stark 🤍🔥

Handmaiden - Margaery Tyrell 🤍🔥⭐️

Gossip - Margaery Tyrell 🔥 (sequel)

Secret Admirer - Margaery Tyrell

My Saviour - Jon Snow 🤍🔥⭐️

HOUSE OF THE DRAGON

Unspoken Love - Rhaenyra x Alicent 🔥

Fun Wife - Aegon Targaryen 🤍🔥⭐️

Betrothed - Cregan Stark/Aemond Targaryen 🤍🔥⭐️

Mine - Aemond Targaryen 🔥 (sequel)

VIKINGS VALHALLA

New Friend - Leif Eriksson 🤍

LORD OF THE RINGS

Angel - Arwen Evenstar (COMING)

Sorceress - Legolas Greenleaf (COMING)

🤍 = personal fav 🔥 = extra smut ⭐️ = popular

they all have a little fluff & smut

(always open to requests - any shows/movies listed in the hashtags - I don’t write modern)

🇬🇧🏴󠁧󠁢󠁥󠁮󠁧󠁿🇨🇦🇮🇪🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿🇵🇱

[usuallythebadguy]

Seeking RP or collaborative fanficing!

Looking for RP partners/new pals, SFW/NSFW/Evolving, Short/Long term, play by post or chat form. These are my favourite worlds and characters to play AS or AGAINST. Of course, I'm open to many other characters also. I have no hard limits, can play dominantly or submissively as any oc and am adaptable to any ideas, concepts or pairings.

I have plenty of plot ideas, but I'm just as excited about catering to yours. Likewise, as much as I love canon pairings, I also love OCs and will happily romance or befriend your characters of any kind.

I love playing morally ambiguous bad guys and crazies but can be a perfect angel when needed. I'm nonbinary and in my thirties. While not necessary, would love to rp with people my age. Like mentioned, sfw and nsfw rps are fine! I have no hard limits, but am respectful of my rp partners! Also, potentially interested in doing fanfics with others, cuz that's cool too. I especially love slow burn long term rp <3

Arcane: Silco, Victor, Sevika, Singed, Vi, Jynx Deathnote: L, Light, Mastuda, Mikami, Mass Effect: Mordin, Jack, Wrex, Jaal Skyrim: Cicero, Derkeethus, Veezara, Lucian, Vicente Dragon Age: Cole, Varric, Sten, Josephine, Merrill Baldur’s Gate: Astarion, Abdirak, Kar'niss, Lae'zel, Karlach, Gale Steven Universe: Jasper Detroit Become Human: Connor, Hank, Inside Job: Rand, Reagan Hannibal TV Series: Will, Hannibal She Ra: Hordak, Entrapta, Scorpia Horizon Zero Dawn: Aloy, Erand, Kotallo, Nil Encanto: Bruno, Camilo Kipo: Jamack, Kipo, Hugo Simpsons: Flanders, Smithers, Bob, Skinner Rick & Morty: Rick, Morty, Jerry, Summer, Beth MLP: Discord, Queen Chrysalis Avatar: Zuco, Lin Beifong, Soka Harry Potter: Snape, Fallout: Cooper Howard, Norm, Lucy, Farcry: Joseph Seed, Supernatural: Castiel, Sam, Dean Snow Piercer: Melanie, Bess The Witcher: Geralt, Yennefer, Jaskier Vikings: Ragnar, Athelstan, Lagertha Stardew: Shane, Linus, Sebastian

[its-julia-in-outer-space]

Our Love Eternal - Part 1

Prompt: Harry is a Viking, and invades Y/N's land.

The Demon was taller than Y/N had expected him to be. Dressed in fighting leathers and a heavy fur coat, he stood alone before her father’s throne with both hands on the pommel of his greatsword. He had no beard, no visible ink staining his fair skin and his thick dark curls were free from any braid or decorative bead.

Had she not known any better, Y/N might have thought him an English mercenary, come to offer his services to the kingdom. But she did know better. The stories of the northern invaders had reached her ears long before they came knocking on Castle Branagh’s doors. 

A furious storm was raging that night, said the stories, when three ships emerged from the mist. Twenty men on each ship, rowing to the shore to the relentless sound of drums. One man did not row, people said. He stood still as stone, at the bow of the foremost ship, staring ahead. Jarl Harald, his countrymen were said to call him. Demon, did the people of Lothian.

The invaders did not know hunger, thirst or weariness. They marched on, day and night, taking all the riches and valuables they could get their hands on. An unstoppable wave, heading straight for the castle, the heart of the kingdom.

Neighbouring lands had faced the northern invaders before, and fallen before them. But this group seemed different. They took no lives, so long as people did not resist. Women were left unabused, homes unburnt. From the monasteries, they seized the gold, but left the monks alone. From the fields, they took what food they needed, and cared not to ruin the rest.

Men had been sent to stop them, of course. The strongest warriors in Lothian had been torn from their homes, lifted onto brave steeds and sent off to lay down their lives for the kingdom. And lay down their lives, they had, cut down like children by the northern beasts.

Y/N had seen them appear over the horizon one morning, a shifting mass darkening the path to Castle Branagh. Standing on the battlements, she had watched them approach as the castle erupted in pointless chaos. There was, after all, nowhere to run.

Nowhere to run, she thought again as she stood behind her father’s throne, the Demon before them.

“Ask him what he wants,” said the king to the translator. Her father wore his best finery, the Antler Crown placed proudly on his balding head. Slightly crooked, as always. Y/N could see beads of sweat running down his neck, and hoped that the invaders could not. For dignity’s sake.

The translator, a short and plump spice merchant who had apparently done frequent business in the invaders’ northern lands, spoke then in a strange, rhythmic, melodic prose. The Demon tilted his head to the side, bright green eyes on the Antler Crown, as he replied in that same strange language.

“He asks if you are the one called the Stag King,” the translator said.

“I am King Roderic of Lothian. Like my father before me, and his father before him, I am called the Stag King by the people of my lands.”

An old title, its meaning forgotten. Undeserved.

The translator translated. The Demon’s eyes narrowed, his gaze leaving the crown to travel the crowd of stoic soldiers and cowering nobles. He spoke then, his tone sharper.

“He asks if you have a child,” the merchant said. “No - a daughter.”

Y/N froze as, one by one, each member of the royal court looked at her. Following along, the Demon’s green eyes settled on her figure. She was covered from head to toe, gloves on her hands, cloak around her body, veil over her face. Yet she felt naked as he watched her, watched every tremor, every shiver that racked her.

The Demon spoke again, his chapped lips curving into a predatory smile. Spoke to her.

“He says hello,” the translator said. “He says not to be scared.”

“Scared!” her father scoffed. “The nerve! Has he come to mock us? Is this why he asked for an audience? To make fools out of this court before they slaughter us? We know his men stand ready! We know who waits in the darkness!”

The Demon’s eyes went cold, flickering to her father as he bit out two short sentences.

The translator hesitated. “He says - he says he was not speaking to you, Your Highness. He was speaking to Lady Y/N.”

Her father opened his mouth, fury reddening his skin. Before he could speak and possibly damn them all, Y/N took a step forward.

“Why?” she asked. She sounded frightened, and cursed her lack of control. It was impossible to ignore the smile that blossomed on the Demon’s face. “What does he want with me?”

Her heart pounded against her ribs as she listened to the translator’s wheezy voice, and the Demon’s deep one in return. Air turned scarce as she watched the merchant’s eyes widen, his shoulders tense as he turned to her.

“He’s offering a deal, my Lady. He says he and his men will depart Lothian at once, and not harm a single soul. He swears not to return in ill spirit, lest the deal is broken. He says he is ready to make a solemn oath to you, and to the gods of his faith.”

“What- what does he want in return?” Y/N asked.

Time seemed to stop, seconds stretching into centuries as she waited with bated breaths for the translator to speak. The Demon stood still, his green gaze boring into hers through her veil.

“He wants the Stag’s Daughter to come with him back to his land. To Kaldagr. My Lady, he wants you.”

-----

The northerners’ longships were called drakkars, Y/N learned.  Their word for sword was sverð, the one for shield, skjold. Come was koma, and skynda was hurry. To her, they said nei most often. She needed no translation for that one.

She was told the crossing would be dangerous. Depending on the winds, it would take them three to six days to reach their homeland. Three to six days of cold winds, harsh waves and unpredictable weather. 

They asked her if she could swim, and laughed when she said no. They opened her sole bag of belongings and threw away all three of her dresses, and ordered her maid to pack men’s pants instead. They never left her alone. Never.

As if she could have run from them. As if she wanted to. 

The Demon’s audience with the Stag King had ended ten days prior, with the signing of a treaty between the kingdom of Lothian and Kaldagr. The treaty was simple: there would be peace and friendship between both lands, so long as the Princess of Lothian remained in the great city of Kaldagr. It was not stated what she was expected to do, once in the north, and she did not dare to think about it for too long.

In the end, what did it matter? If it saved her people, she would endure.

“My Lady, you must drink.”

Robben, the merchant turned translator, was handing her his waterskin. They were sat pressed together from hip to shoulder, at the back of the longship. They had departed from the Lothian shores almost four days ago, and the open sea surrounded them on all horizons.

There had been rain, there had been wind, and waves so tall they seemed like mountains. Every now and then, weather permitting, the northerners would pack the oars and let down the sails. 

“Thank you,” Y/N said as she took the waterskin from Robben. She lifted the bottom of her veil and drank a few mouthfuls.

As ordered, she had put on men’s clothing, the pants an unfamiliar feeling on her legs. She had too large hunting boots on her feet, kept in place by leather laces around her calves, thick socks underneath. Two cloaks had been placed around her shoulders, and still the cold wind passed through.

If the courtiers of Castle Branagh saw her, they surely wouldn’t recognize their princess. She looked like a vagrant, and smelled like one too after days at sea.

But still, she kept her veil over her hair and face. Not out of modesty, or out of respect for her father’s orders. She’d never cared much about those, even if she’d obeyed them for her entire life. But keeping her features hidden felt safer, the veil almost a shield against the northerners’ eyes. It was the last thing she owned, the last thing that was truly hers. She already dreaded the time when she would have to remove it.

She was still surprised she hadn’t been asked to take it off yet. Thought she would have to, that day on the beach.

On the morning of their departure, her father’s men accompanied her to the shore where the drakkars waited, already prepped for the journey home. A single row boat waited on the sand, two men sat inside with oars ready.

The Demon stood before it, his boots lapped by the waves, the rising sun over his left shoulder. The soldiers who brought her to him stayed back at the end of the dirt road, standing in a line as she walked alone towards the monster who now owned her.

As she approached, she noticed first that his arms were bare. Dark ink covered his fair skin, swirls and strange symbols running from his shoulders to his wrists. His dark curls were braided back, silver beads holding the ends together. The greatsword he’d carried at the audience was now accompanied with twin axes at his hips, a dagger at his belt and a bow across his back.

Now, he truly looked like a demon. Y/N’s heart faltered, an age-old instinct to run rising in her bones. She was smart enough to recognize that if he was the predator, she was the prey.

But she was the Princess of Lothian. She may have been going to her death, but she would go with pride and dignity. So she kept walking, stopping three steps before him. Even though he could not see her eyes, hidden behind the veil, she refused to look down.

A small, secretive smile on his lips, he bowed his head in a show of respect that made her want to spit in his face.

“Y/N,” he said. Her name did not sound the same coming from his mouth, his accent distorting every syllable. Then, he gestured at his own chest and said in broken, exaggerated English, “I am Harald. Harry.”

“You know my language?” she asked. He frowned, confusion in his eyes, and she took it as a no.

He spoke then rapidly in his own dialect, his hand pointing to the longship behind, then to her. He repeated the same words a second time, while she looked at him blankly.

“Kaldr,” he said. “Cold.”

Y/N looked down at herself, and the coat that had been given to her. It must have belonged to a hunter, stained with old blood and dirt, but she had no clothes of her own for extreme temperatures.

“This is all I have,” she told the Demon - Harry.

He clicked his tongue, muttering under his breath. Then, to her horror, he pushed back his cloak. Truthfully, calling it a cloak was doing it a disservice. Made of white, immaculate fur, it must have belonged to a wolf, but one larger than Y/N thought existed. It looked wonderfully warm and soft.

“No,” she protested as he took a step closer to her, the cloak in his hands. “I don’t want it.”

“Cold,” he said again. “Death.”

“I’ll be fine!”

He snarled, teeth bared at her. Such an animalistic behaviour, a savage show of dominance. But her protests died in her throat, her muscles locking up in fright.

His gaze turned softer at her reaction, and he looked almost regretful. But he said nothing, and stepped into her space. As he draped the heavy garment around her shoulders, his arms on both sides of her head, she kept her gaze on his chest.

“No cold,” he said, stepping back. “Varmr.”

“Warm,” she guessed. “I suppose I’m no good to you if I die from the cold before we even get there.”

“Warm,” he repeated, struggling on the w. “Já.”

Then, his hand lifted towards her face. As the tip of his fingers brushed her veil, Y/N startled backwards.

“Don’t,” she hissed. “Nei.”

He inclined his head in surrender, and sighed.  Then, without stepping closer, he gestured towards the row boat. 

For a moment, Y/N debated staying put. Digging her feet in the sand, the soil of her homeland. Would Lothian hold her, she wondered? Would her kingdom grip her ankles, her thighs, her waist, keep her with it no matter how hard the northerners pulled at her?

She entertained the fantasy for a few seconds. Breathed in. And walked to the row boat.

“We will reach Kaldagr before nightfall, I believe,” said Robben, his wheezy voice startling Y/N out of her memories. “Only a few more hours to go.”

“And then what? Will I be locked up? Beaten and raped? Made a slave to my enemies?”

Robben sighed.

“I don’t know what will happen to you, my Lady. But I do not believe you will be harmed.”

“Why not? Isn’t that the Viking way?”

“If they wanted to hurt you, they would have done so in Lothian.”

Y/N scoffed.

“That’s assuming there’s any kind of logic to their actions. Do you know them so well, sir, that you can assure me of my safety?”

To his credit, Robben seemed to take no offence to her sharp tone and biting words.

“I am not so arrogant. But I have spent time with the northerners, and with Jarl Harald himself.”

“Harald,” she repeated. “Or Harry?”

“Harry is a nickname of sorts, one he uses with foreigners. Perhaps because it is more familiar to them, less…”

“Northern?”

“Less threatening. Many in the world believe the Vikings to be savages, conquerors, people with little thought who steal, and rape, and kill. We imagine they live depraved lives, uneducated and beastly.”

“Do they not? They certainly behave like animals.”

“No. They are warriors, certainly. But you will see in Kaldagr that there is tradition, art, laws, commerce, and all the same complexities that you have in Lothian. The culture is different, yes. Very much so. But I would say the same of Francia, of the Byzantine Empire or Flanders.”

“You are a well-travelled man.”

Robben nodded, looking at the horizon with a distant smile on his face.

“I thank you, my Lady, for what I believe is a compliment. But do not mistake me for a learned man. I am no wiser than a child.”

“Do you truly not know, then?” Y/N asked, fear slipping into her tone. “What he wants with me?”

“The Jarl? No. But he is a private man. I do not believe even those closest to him know why he took you from Lothian.”

“Well,” Y/N said, hugging the white fur coat closer to her body. “I suppose I’ll find out soon enough.”

-----

As Robben had said, land appeared on the horizon hours later. Cliffs that seemed to reach the clouds rose before Y/N’s eyes, grey rocks topped by emerald green grass. Forests of spruce stretched on and on, dark and imposing.

The longships sailed to a narrow opening in the cliffs, which Robben said was called a fjord. They followed the river for some time. The further they travelled, the more the northerners smiled. The men had been quiet, focused and sullen during the crossing, but now, they laughed and joked, sang songs. Ale was distributed, caskets passed from one ship to another.

Even Harry, who had not said a single word the entire journey, now sang with his men from his place at the bow of the ship. He looked younger somehow, his green eyes lit up with barely restrained glee. Happy to be home, Y/N supposed, while she felt she was getting closer to her grave with each passing minute.

As dark as her mood was, she could not hold back her gasp when Kaldagr came to view at last.

It was the largest city she had ever seen. It stretched from the end of the fjord to the top of the hills beyond, an army of timber houses with thatched roofs pressed close together. No walls surrounded the city, but the forest around was so dense that Y/N realised they did not need one.

All of the homesteads were low to the ground, made of one story. They looked barely discernible from one another, an extra window here, slightly wider walls there.

There was one building, however, that contrasted with the rest. It was built from the same timber and thatch, but its length and width far surpassed that of any other building. It was also much higher, towering above the city.

“That’s the longhouse,” said Robben. “It’s where the Jarl lives, and where the northerners hold their meetings and gatherings.”

“Like a castle?”

“Not exactly. Castles, like the one you grew up in, are meant for the nobility. Longhouses welcome everyone.”

“Are there no upper classes here?”

“No, there are. But the gentry is not so separated from the rest of the people, like you might see in Lothian.”

“How strange,” Y/N said, looking at the longhouse. Her father would have never allowed the lower class to step foot in Castle Branagh. When he spoke of the common people, it was always with disdain and mockery. As if the very bread he ate hadn’t been made from their hands.

But then, her father had always been a selfish, greedy man. The veil Y/N had borne her entire life was yet another example: how much he’d loved that only he knew what she looked like, how he’d basked in the curiosity of the other nobles, of the neighbouring royalty. She’d been yet another jewel in his coffers, to be kept hidden, under lock and key.

“Ah,” said Robben. “The welcoming party has arrived.”

Y/N looked to the docks. A crowd had gathered, men and women of all ages cheering and waving at the approaching ships. At the end of the longest dock, three women stood.

Two of them had dark hair, and wore long, thick dresses of the same burgundy colour. Golden jewellery adorned their necks and wrists, their hair pinned up. They could have been twins, had one not been considerably older than the other.

“The Jarl’s mother and sister,” Robben explained. “Hedda and Astrid.”

The resemblance to Harry was more evident the closer they got, from the shape of the mouth to the colour of the hair. But Y/N’s eyes were drawn to the woman in between them. She was as tall as a man, her figure toned. Blonde hair fell from her scalp in wild curls, the wind blowing them in front of her icy blue eyes. Freckles decorated her skin, like stars in the night sky.

She was not wearing a dress, but fighting leathers. A large axe hung from her waist, the woman’s hand resting on the handle as if she might draw it at any moment.

She was beautiful, stunning even, in the way that a snake is before it strikes.

“What about her?” Y/N asked.

“Ah,” answered Robben. “That would be the Lady Saga. Eldest daughter of Jarl Thorvald of Skolstrond, to the north of here.”

“The Lady Saga has quite the weapon.”

“Yes, she does, and she knows how to use it. Does that surprise you? A woman fighting?”

“No,” she said, and shrugged at Robben’s doubting look. “Why would a woman be incapable of fighting? We have arms, don’t we?”

“Do you not believe females are weaker?” asked Robben, throwing up his hands with a smile at the sudden tension in her body. “For the sake of argument only, my Lady.”

“No,” she replied. “Not when I look at the Lady Saga.”

At last, the longships reached the docks. Ropes were thrown to secure them and a human chain was formed to unload the many bags and crates, filled with the northerner’s plunder.

Y/N’s name was called, and she looked up to see Harry before her, his hand stretched out. There was a wild smile on his face, victorious. A man who’d gotten what he wanted, although she still wasn’t sure what exactly that was.

She looked at his outstretched hand, those long, calloused fingers. The hand of the enemy. The joy in Harry’s eyes faded, replaced by apprehension. He spoke softly.

“He says not to worry,” said Robben. “He only means to help you off the ship.”

Y/N took a shallow breath in and placed her hand in Harry’s. He gently closed it around hers, pulling her up to her feet and guiding her to the edge of the longship. Stepping off first, he grasped her elbow and supported her as she stepped onto the dock.

“Thank you,” she said, her words barely audible.

“Þökk,” Harry smiled. A translation, offered like a gift.

He did not let go of her hand as he accompanied her down the dock, as if she was an honoured guest and not a prisoner of war. As they reached the trio of women, his mother and sister kissed his cheeks and forehead, tears pearling at the corner of their eyes.

The sister, Astrid, couldn’t have been older than fifteen. She was bouncing on the heel of her feet, wide brown eyes flitting between Harry and Y/N. The mother, Hedda, had a bit more composure and only snuck glances here and there.

“Saga,” said Harry, drawing Y/N’s attention. The warrior had approached, bowing her head respectfully. Harry clasped her forearm, as one would a fellow warrior.

They exchanged a few words, before Saga’s cold blue eyes settled on Y/N.

“Y/N,” she said. “Welcome to Kaldagr.”

Her voice was melodic, surprisingly high. Most surprisingly was how seamless her English was, her accent nearly indiscernible. 

“Thank you,” Y/N said tentatively. Robben hadn’t said who Saga was to the northerners, and she was unsure of the level of deference that was expected. “I didn’t think many would know my language.”

“Most do not,” the warrior replied. “But I had a good teacher.”

Saga said nothing more, and Harry took this opportunity to softly pull at Y/N’s hand. He led her down the docks to the city itself, his mother and sister falling in step behind them. Robben had joined them, and as Harry gestured at some buildings here and there, he translated.

They passed the armoury, the butcher’s shop, the sick house, the forge. There was a school, training grounds and a tailor. They walked through two different markets, both overwhelming from sights, scents and sounds. 

Men and women hurried down the busy, narrow streets, many clasping Harry’s free hand with sincere joy in their eyes. He knew most of their names, and always introduced them to Y/N, though she understood very little of what was said.

At last, they reached the longhouse. While not as tall as the smallest tower of Castle Branagh, the longhouse was daunting in its sheer length and width. The large doors were thrown open, and through them, Y/N could see a large room filled with tables and benches. At the centre was a firepit, and against the room’s back wall were two thrones perched on a dais. The floor was covered with thick furs and carpets, the walls decorated with tapestries.

Harry walked straight through, pulling Y/N along. They passed the tables, the firepit, the dais, and walked through an opening to the side. She saw the kitchen to her right, many closed doors to the left. At last, they reached another door, more ornate than the rest. Harry opened it and guided Y/N through.

At once, she saw the bed. She whirled around as the door closed behind her, realising with dread that she was alone with Harry. His mother and sister, the Lady Saga, Robben, were all gone.

Instinct took over. Harry blocked the path to the door, so she bolted to the other side of the room. Her eyes passed quickly over the desk, the chests and wardrobes, the bed, and widened as she saw the weapon rack. She grabbed the handle of a sword and pulled. But she hadn’t realised how heavy it was, and her grip loosened as the sword fell with a great clatter to the floor.

She cursed under her breath, and strained, lifting the sword off the wooden planks. Her arms ached, muscles screaming in pain.

“Stay back!” she ordered, air coming out of her lungs in panicked wheezes.

Harry hadn’t moved from the door. He stared at her, eyebrows raised high, his mouth slightly open. 

“I will kill you if you touch me,” Y/N hissed. “I will cut your head off, I’ll split you open, I will - I will rip out your lungs!”

Gone were her promises to her people, the treaty, her father’s orders. If this demon put a hand on her, she would bite it off. Or, at the very least, she would try.

Harry laughed.

“What?” she asked, baring her teeth. “I will!”

With an amused smile, he shook his head. He spoke, but she understood none of the words he said.

“What is that supposed to mean?” she said, her tone rising. 

His brows furrowed in concentration.

“No hurt,” he said. He was looking at his hands, like a boy trying to remember his lessons. She realised then that this was exactly what was happening, as he continued in English. “You - are safe. No danger.”

“But - why,” she stammered. “Why did you bring me here?”

She gestured to the bed, and his eyes widened.

“Nei!” he said. He spoke in his language, and his face twisted in frustration as he struggled to find words. He pointed at her, twice, then at the floor.

“Are you…,” she began, looking around the room. “Are you saying this is my room? Just mine?”

He nodded, pointed to the closed door and the hallway beyond. “Mine,” he repeated.

His, over there. Hers, here. Separate bedrooms, because he was not going to touch her. Y/N deflated, the sword sliding a second time from her grip and falling to the floor. She ignored the wince on Harry’s face and leaned against the wall, her legs shaking.

“Safe,” he said again. “Safe.”

There was honesty in his eyes, his features devoid of any sign that he might be lying, trying to trick her. How stupid could she be, to want to trust him? He had taken her from her land, her people, her family. He had forcefully brought her to this city full of strangers, to his home, and she was supposed to believe he meant her no harm? What else could he want?

But there was something, in the bottomless green of his eyes. In the tilt of his full lips, in the shyness in his gestures.

“Okay,” she said. “Safe.”

With shaking limbs, she lifted her hands towards her veil. Part of her was screaming not to do this, not to let go of her last defence. But it felt like a show of trust, a step in his direction. She would see what he’d do with it.

She pulled at the clasp that held the veil in place, and felt it fall from her hair and face with a whisper. It pooled at her feet, the heavy lace stained from the days of travel.

Harry did not blink. His eyes pored over her face, the shape of her jaw, the tilt of her eyes, the colour of her hair. It seemed as if he looked at her for centuries. She dared not move, dared not breathe. She was afraid, but did not know of what. His judgement? 

“Þökk,” he said, his words soft as a morning breeze. Thank you.

Then, he bowed his head and stepped back to the door, leaving the room. As soon as the door was closed, Y/N’s legs faltered and she slid down the wall until she was sat on the floor, the fallen sword next to her feet.

She looked at the room properly, at the rich furniture, the open wardrobe in which many dresses were hung, the finely woven tapestries and the bed fit for an empress. She may have been a prisoner, but it seemed she would be a comfortable one. The luxuries she’d been awarded at Castle Branagh paled in comparison.

So many questions filled her head. But the fatigue of the past days caught up to her at last and she dragged herself to the bed, falling down on the furs without bothering to undress herself. 

The moment her head hit the feather pillow, the world turned dark.

-----

Thanks for reading the first part, let me know what you think!

Masterlist

[justanoasisimagines]

Masterlist

❀9-1-1 Masterlist ❀AEW Masterlist ❀Beauty and the Beast Masterlist ❀Black Sails Masterlist ❀Bones Masterlist ❀Bridgerton Masterlist ❀Bullet Train Masterlist ❀Call of Duty Masterlist ❀Chicago Fire Masterlist ❀Chicago PD Masterlist ❀Criminal Minds Masterlist ❀DC Masterlist ❀Fantastic Beasts and where to find them Masterlist ❀Fear the Walking Dead Masterlist ❀Game of Thrones Masterlist ❀Gotham Masterlist ❀Grey's Anatomy Masterlist ❀Harry Potter Masterlist ❀House Of The Dragon Masterlist ❀Joseph Quinn Characters ❀Marvel Masterlist ❀Mayans MC Masterlist ❀Once upon a time Masterlist ❀Pirates of the Carribbean ❀Saltburn Masterlist ❀Scream Masterlist ❀Shadow and Bone Masterlist ❀Shadowhunters Masterlist ❀Shameless Masterlist ❀Sons of Anachy Masterlist ❀Star Wars Masterlist ❀Station 19 Masterlist ❀Stranger Things Masterlist ❀SVU Masterlist ❀S.W.A.T Masterlist ❀The Batman 2022 Masterlist ❀The Musketeers Masterlist ❀The Originals Masterlist ❀The Umbrella Academy Masterlst ❀The Walking Dead Masterlist ❀The Witcher Masterlist ❀Top Gun Masterlist ❀Twilight Masterlist ❀Vikings Masterlist ❀WWE Masterlist

[surfingkaliyuga]

“The Return of the Vikings” John Harris Valda c.1915 Illustration from the Vol. 3 of Hutchinson's History of the Nations.

[wexpyke]

This time her eyes met Harry’s. She smiled just for him, and said a silent prayer to the Maiden. Please, he doesn’t need to love me, just make him like me, just a little, that would be enough for now. Alayne I, The Winds of Winter.

[welikeimagines-andfandoms]

If you want to be tagged in any future imagines of these characters, reply to this post and let me know which character

[imeanyourmomsprettyhot]

masterlist

House of the Dragon:

Secret Visits - Aemond Targaryen - Aemond visits his little sister in her chambers /18+

Silent Desires - Aemond Targaryen - Aemond has one of his servants as his dirty little secret /18+

Captivating - Aemond Targaryen - Aemond meets a beautiful girl and they make out

An Eternity Together [masterlist] - Aemond Targaryen story - Aemond tells us about his obsession with the girl he loves /slight nsfw

You Have No Right [masterlist] - Aemond Targaryen story - The young prince does anything he can to find the woman again he fantasized about since they met / some nsfw

A Song of Water and Fire [masterlist] COMING SOON - Aemond Targaryen story - Laena was the only true child of Laenor Velaryon and Rhaenyra Targaryen, questioning the legitimacy of Jacaerys' claim as heir to The Iron Throne.

Split - Aemond & Aegon Targaryen - Both Targaryen brothers desire the same girl /18+

Targaryen Hearts Entwined - Aemond & Aegon Targaryen - Both Targaryen brothers desire the same girl (again) /18+

Stranger Things:

I need you - Billy Hargrove - Billy meets his ex on a party, and forces himself on her /18+

I´m kinda into it - Billy Hargrove - Billy is controlled by the mindflayer and made a deal with his first victim /18+

Sorry I'm late, sweetheart - Eddie Munson - Eddie gets late from a drug deal, and apologizes to his lady (iykyk) /18+

I want you - Billy Hargrove - Billy is obsessed with one of the girls in High School, and he finally got what he wanted /18+

Vikings:

What Ivar loves and needs from his wife - Ivar the boneless - A drabble about some favorites of Ivar /nsfw and fluff

I'm Never Sharing My Meal - Hvitserk & Ivar - The brothers have to stay in a shack in the woods with their companion, but it ends in a competition /18+

The God's Pathways [masterlist] COMING SOON - Vikings story - /some nsfw

I Still Hate You - Hvitserk Ragnarsson - Hvitserk recently visits the wife of his brother, but he absolutely hates her /18+

Harry Potter:

Not a No-Maj [masterlist] COMING SOON - Draco Malfoy story - A sassy girl from America, meets an English wizard who no one ever told 'no'

Zephyr [masterlist] COMING SOON - one shot collection - A collection of one shots, in an alternative reality, where Slytherin and Gryffindor ain't enemies

[novella-writers]

Helllooo! 27 year old lady in the EST, looking for a fun, laidback, maybe spazztastic, at least adv-lit to novella roleplay partner (since I love to write 1k-4k responses, but will match my partner at any length!)

Please be 18+, or closer to my age is preferred . Don’t write with anyone below 18. (In addition, all characters portrayed are & must be 18+) Only searching for girlies, because I don’t feel comfortable writing with men! (Sorry fella’s!) I only also write females in FxM romances (it’s what I’m most comfortable with) but am down for many fun added little side characters to add to our plots!

I’ve been roleplaying since the Twilight franchise opened a website where I fell in love with writing and creating fun characters and drama filled stories! I then took to tumblr (theboylenqueenn here, if you know me plz say hi!) I took a hiatus for a long while and am looking to get back into this as a fun hobby! I RP mainly on discord with the same screen-name.

Dos&Donts:

Do- Spam with ideas, inspo music, pictures ect! I love to be giddy over our characters!

Do- Tell me if you’re not interested in the RP or if you’re late on replies. I’m super laid back, we all have lives and I understand interests change!

Don’t- Pester me. I have a full time job and am married, so I will always reply when I can. Also, this is an escape. Let’s just have fun with the plot and characters at hand!!

Fandoms that could turn into plots. (We can play canon or enter OC’s or base plots off of these!)

•Game of Thrones / House of the Dragon

•The Vampire Diaries

•Vikings

•The Walking Dead

•Harry Potter

•Outer Banks

I also have the deepest want for a mafia inspired plot with either a dark forbidden/enemies to lovers romance or something southern gothic. (Think Ethel Cain song vibes) Maybe even highschool sweethearts who find their way back to eachother?! A stripper and a struggling fighter make a seriously tragic and beautiful couple! I have loads of ideas, let’s brain storm together!!

Throw me a DM if you wanna connect! :)! Xo Happy Writing!

Message if interested!

[asoiafcanonjonsnow]

hello, sorry to bother you but, idk if this ask was asked before, may i ask you what/which faceclaim/fancast do you have for jon snow? i'm asking bc i saw many posts that have timothe and another one, i think he is from the last kingdom, idk, but they do look so good as jon, and idk if you may have other ones, i'm curious ^^

Sorry for the delay in getting back to you!

For specific footage:

Timothee Chalamet: You’ll find the best footage from Dune and The King.

Harry Gilby: Check out The Last Kingdom and the movie Seven Kings Must Die for his appearances.

Ferdia Walsh Peelo: His notable footage is in Vikings Season 5.

Harry Collett: Ideal for Targaryen Jon content, with all footage from House of the Dragon.

To simplify things for everyone, We’ll be tagging the actor’s name and the series or movie in the tags from now on.

[shion-ah]

LOOKING FOR NEW LONGTERM RP PARTNERS(:

Doubling Welcome!

Hello yo everyone who sees this! I am posting again and I know it's been awhile but I would love to find some new rp partners for the listed fandoms as well as doing fandomless stories (details can be found below). A little about me I am 25+ looking for 25+ partners, I can usually write a few paragraphs and be quite detailed however that is not a dealbreaker if your replies are shorter just no one liners or two sentences in response. I do have certain limits which can be discussed in DMs and I do primarily use Discord for rping as well. I am fine with rapid fire responses or some time to pass between them (life happens and I completely understand that not everyone can respond right away). I do write NSFW but it cannot be the main reason for the storyline and be balanced with what is going on.

FANDOMS

Peaky Blinders - My female OCxThomas Shelby

Bridgerton - My female OCxBenedict

Stranger Things - My female OCxSteve

Walking Dead - My female OCxRick

The Boys

911

Vikings

Harry Potter - My female OCxGeorge (will also do marauders era)

LOTR

Game of Thrones

House of the dragon

FANDOMLESS

I love high fantasy, mafia/crime, and everything in between. If you would like to go our own story I am good with coming up with plots and world building and we can great something together.

Please like this post or send me a message if you are interested!

[thepaperpanda]

💘FLUFFEMBER🐑 Masterlist

🐼Hiya! 🐼 We are pleased to present you with our Fluffember 2022 Masterlist ♡

Essential information:

♡ the following post will serve as the masterlist for this event and will be updated with the links upon posting

♡ all works are SFW

♡ following the cut, you'll find the full list of the fics written for Fluffember 2022

Picnic [Moon Knight]

Stargazing [Vikings]

Dinner Cooking [The Hobbit]

Bed Sharing [Genshin Impact]

A Helpful Ally [Peaky Blinders]

The Emotional Reunion [Harry Potter]

A Little Nervous [Moon Knight]

Bad Hair Day [Genshin Impact]

A Rainy Night [Don't Worry Darling]

[its-julia-in-outer-space]

Our Love Eternal - Part 2

Prompt: Harry is a Viking, and invades Y/N's land.

There is a man sleeping on a hill. 

A soldier, his mouth open, his hands joined over his chest. He is laid down on the grass, blue and white wildflowers surrounding him, under the shadow of an oak tree.

The man is familiar, yet Y/N does not know his name. She tries to approach, and sees then that she has no body. No feet to carry her forward, no mouth to call out. She has only her eyes to watch.

She sees three shadows darken the sky from the north. As they get closer, she recognizes them as crows, with eyes as red as rubies. The crows land on the sleeping man, one by his feet, one on his stomach, the other above his head.

A woman screams. It is not Y/N, though she wants to as the crows start picking at the sleeping soldier. They tear into his body, feasting on his flesh, and with each mouthful they grow larger. 

The man does not wake.

The man does not wake, because as his eyelids are torn off, maggots start crawling out of the rotten sockets.

The man does not wake, because he was dead all along.

-----

Y/N swallowed a scream as she jolted awake, eyes wide open in the fading darkness of her bedroom. She ran a hand over her face, expecting to feel maggots crawling over her skin.

She had arrived in Kaldagr over a month ago, and every night, she had the same dream. The three crows, the sleeping man who was not truly sleeping, the screaming woman. Always the same.

She sat up, shivering as the furs slid from her shoulders. From the gaps in the shutters of her window, she could see the sun was only just rising, the sky a pallid pink with golden hues. People were already up and about, faint echoes of conversations between friends and neighbours reaching her ears.

Y/N did not bother trying to fall back asleep, and got herself dressed. First, she put on a simple but thick linen underdress covering her from her wrist to her ankles. Over it, she slid on a red wool dress held up by straps over her shoulders. The straps were closed by two gold brooches of fine make, rubies embedded at the centre. She tied leather boots over her feet and carefully brushed her hair, tying it at the back of her head with a bone pin.

She’d gotten used to the clothing and jewellery quickly, marvelling each day at how more freeing they were than the stifling fashion of Lothian. Even sitting had been difficult in her old corsets.

Y/N left her bedroom and walked to the main hall. The fire was low, the doors to the city beyond still shut. They would open soon, welcoming the people of Kaldagr to the halls of their lord, and the warm stew that simmered above the firepit. 

Y/N helped herself to a bowl and sat down on one of the many benches, watching the servants come and go as they prepared for the day ahead.

She was halfway through the stew when a heavy weight dropped onto the bench next to her. She tensed, biting back a curse as she glanced to her right.

Harry was sitting next to her, hair still mussed from sleep, eyes bleary and unfocused. He wore simple linen pants, a tunic that was still untied at his neck and a pillow line on his right cheek. He looked like a peasant.

“Hello,” he said, elongating each syllable like they were individual words. His gaze darted from her face to the table, a gentle smile on his lips.

A few seconds of silence passed, before Y/N bit out her own greeting. “You’re awake early,” she continued, her tone sullen. “Snemma. Early.”

“Já,” he said, avoiding her eyes. “No sleep.”

She raised an eyebrow at the lie. She might have believed him, had he not joined her for breakfast every single day since she’d first arrived at Kaldagr. Uninvited.

She’d tried waking up late, tried waking up early. She’d tried to eat elsewhere even, but no matter the time and place, he always found her. Often, he looked dishevelled and she knew that he had just woken up. He must have ordered the servants to warn him as soon as she left her room.

“Good?” he said, pointing to her half-finished bowl.

“Yes,” she answered, gritting her teeth. “It’s excellent.”

He repeated her words under his breath, a frown between his brows as he struggled with the pronunciation.

“Not like that,” she said, cutting him off. “EX-cellent. X.”

“Excellent,” he tried and she nodded. He smiled, his green eyes shining with pride. He looked years younger then, like a boy who’d never known any struggles.

Those language lessons, if one could call them that, happened every breakfast as well. He was always the one who engaged with her first, asking about the weather, commenting on her clothing or telling her about his plans for the day. The conversations were stilted, partly due to Y/N’s own reluctance, partly due to the language barrier.

He seemed intent on tearing that last obstacle down. From the very first day, he’d asked for translations, butchering countless words until she lost patience and corrected him. And he was always so happy when he got it right.

“Do you,” Harry began, then hesitated. “Dream? Good?”

“That’s the word,” she replied. He asked often, whether she’d slept well, when she’d woken up. If she’d had good dreams.

She hadn’t told him about her nightmare. It was a weakness, one she wasn’t ready to show him. Not when she still did not know what her purpose was in Kaldagr.

She was not a good enough liar to pretend her dreams had been pleasant, so she swallowed the last mouthfuls of her stew and stood, stepping over the bench.

“Thank you for the meal,” she said and turned before he could reply. She felt the weight of his eyes on her back all the way to the doors, and breathed only when she had stepped through and she was out of his sight.

As she walked onto the street, the wind bit at her skin and she cursed her lack of foresight. Her cloak, or rather Harry’s, was neatly hung in her bedroom.

She would rather crawl on broken glass than go back to get it when he would inevitably see her, so she soldiered on and kept walking. She passed Erp Ketilbiornsson, the woodworker and his son Ulfar the Bold. She walked by Runa Ospakdottir, the seamstress, selling coats in front of her shop. Little Arnora Torfidottir ran by her, chased by her mother Hildirid.

She’d been introduced to them all in the past four weeks. Often by Harry, who seemed to take heart in making sure every single one of his subjects knew who she was. Sometimes, it was Robben who liked to take walks while he taught her the northerners’ language. Or Saga, who had turned out to be a better friend than she’d expected.

Y/N nodded at Erp and his son, smiled at Runa and Arnora and Hildirid. They nodded and smiled back. Then promptly turned their eyes away. She could hardly blame them for their lack of trust. She certainly didn’t trust any of them.

Y/N kept walking, until she reached the market at last. Every morning, fishermen holed out the night’s haul onto stalls until the smell of fish reached the farthest corner of the city. They were joined by farmers who’d travelled for days to sell their harvest, by foreign merchants with bags full of colourful spices and strange trinkets, by women who sold nothing but their bodies, by missionaries, musicians, artists!

Robben was teaching her the vikings’ language from books and lessons, but the market was where she learned the most.

It was perhaps the only place where she did not draw glances. The only place where she was just another body in the crowd, utterly unremarkable.

Except for those who knew to look for her.

“I should have guessed I’d find you here.”

Saga seemed to appear out of nowhere, which was a wonder considering she towered over everyone else. She wore her fighting leathers, as always, the handle of her axe peaking over her left shoulder.

Y/N smiled, pushing through the crowd until she stood in front of the warrior.

Befriending Saga had been a surprise. But from the very first day of Y/N’s new life at Kaldagr, Saga had made it a point to seek her out. Y/N had welcomed it: just to know someone who spoke her language was a gift of immeasurable measure. Robben was kind, helpful, but always maintained a distance. Saga did not. Saga sat with her at meals, took her out to the city, helped Y/N do her hair when the complicated viking braids proved too much for her. Despite what her appearance might suggest, Saga was kind. Gentle, even. And Y/N loved her for it.

“Good morning,” Y/N said. “I thought you would be at the training grounds today.”

“The men deserve a break after the beating I gave them yesterday.”

Y/N laughed, linking her arm through Saga’s. “If only we’d had warriors like you in Lothian! Harry would have run back to his ships with his tail between his legs.”

“Don’t go saying that to him,” warned Saga, her tone stern. “Men have fragile egos, and to insult a jarl’s skills in battle is a good way to get executed.”

“He wouldn’t,” Y/N shrugged. “He needs me alive, though I still don’t know what for.”

“He hasn’t told you?”

Y/N shook her head.

“I’ve tried to ask, but we can barely understand each other.”

Saga scoffed. “That’s an excuse if I’ve ever heard one. Your Norse is better than you believe.”

“It’s not! I’ve been here for four weeks. That’s hardly long enough to master any language, let alone the monstrous complexity that is yours.”

“Robben says you’re a natural. You’re picking it up faster than any scholar. It’s not skill you’re lacking, it’s confidence.”

Y/N’s cheeks burned as she avoided Saga’s cold blue eyes. “Perhaps,” she admitted.

Saga was kind enough to drop the subject. She guided them through the market, stopping at a stall here and there until they reached the blacksmith’s stand. Weapons were laid on the wooden table, swords, axes, spears and daggers. Torsten Øpirsson stood behind the stand, his arms crossed over his chest.

Saga switched to Norse as she began talking to him, something about her axe needing sharpening, and Y/N took a closer look at the blades until one caught her eye. It was small and thin, looking more like a letter opener than a dagger. The handle was wrapped in black leather, the brass pommel engraved with delicate runes. The blade itself had been carefully polished, and it shone in the light of the morning sun.

Y/N reached a hand out, her fingers brushing the metal.

“Nei!” shouted Torsten, his eyes darkening with rage.

Y/N startled, drawing her arm back as Saga instantly stepped in front of her and snapped at the blacksmith. They spoke too fast for Y/N to understand much beyond the words ‘foreigner’ and ‘shame’.

“What is it?” asked Y/N. “What did I do?”

“Nothing,” scowled Saga. “You’ve done no wrong. Torsten is just being a fool.”

Saga took her arm and pushed her away from the stall, through the crowd. Y/N glanced back, only to see the blacksmith look at her with pure hatred.

“I don’t understand.”

Saga sighed. “His brother died in Lothian.”

A weight sunk in Y/N’s stomach. She stopped, ignoring the complaints of the people who had to divert their paths.

“Northerners died in Lothian?”

“Three,” Saga answered. “Svala and Bera died in battle honourably. They are now in Valhalla, feasting with the gods. But Torsten’s brother Gunnar…”

“What?”

“Harry wouldn’t want you to know this, Y/N.”

“I don’t care what Harry wants. What happened to Gunnar?”

“He tried to rape a Saxxon woman. Harry killed him.”

The world shifted on its axis. The idea of Harry killing one of his own to save a woman he didn’t know, one from an enemy land, was hard to fathom.

“Gunnar should have known better,” Saga continued. “Harry has always made the rules clear. We do not kill unless threatened. We do not steal from the needy. We do not rape, we do not burn homes, we do no violence that is not necessary.”

“Why? Northerners have invaded other kingdoms before Lothian, and they had no such rules.”

“Kaldagr has always been different. Those rules were set in place long before Harry took the throne, but he enforces them because he believes in them.”

“And what about Skolstrond?” Y/N asked.

Saga’s features hardened. “My father has no such morals.”

Y/N did not pry for details. She looked back through the crowd, and shivered when she saw that Torsten’s wrathful gaze was still on her.

“I didn’t kill Gunnar,” she said. “Why is he so angry at me, and not Harry?”

Saga hesitated. “When Harry told the men they would go to Lothian, they all thought it was to raid. They were promised gold, lots of it.”

“They got it,” said Y/N. “I saw it on the ships.”

“No. What you saw is a fraction of what we usually take on raids. Do you know how many of your temples were plundered? Two. That’s nothing.”

“Say that to the monks.”

“You’re not listening to me,” Saga hissed, her grip tightening on Y/N’s arm. “Men fought, some lost their lives, because they believed it would make them rich. But when they got to Lothian, Harry held them back. He prevented them from fighting as much as he could, without telling them why and he has never done that before. The people of Kaldagr are so loyal to Harry because he has always been honest and fair to them, but in Lothian, he lied.”

Saga leaned towards Y/N, her ice blue eyes boring into her own.

“The only reason he came to Lothian was you. He did not raid your town and villages, for you. He took next to nothing of your gold, for you. His men died, for you.”

“Why?” Y/N cried. “He doesn’t know me!” She tried to draw her arm back, but Saga’s grip was unshakeable. For the very first time, she was afraid of the warrior. 

“I don’t know. None of us know. But the people are angry, Y/N. They hide it because Harry has made it clear you are to be respected and protected, but they don’t understand why you are here and it’s only a matter of time before they start looking for answers. Harry is their lord. But you are nothing to them.”

Saga exhaled, her shoulders dropping. Her grip loosened and Y/N pulled her arm to her side. Her wrist ached.

“Be wary of Torsten,” Saga said. “He is a prideful man, who has now lost both his brother and his promised gold, because Harry wanted you in Kaldagr. There is no telling what he’ll do if his emotions get the best of him.”

-----

Y/N spent the next five days in a daze.

She erred in the halls of the longhouse, watching every one that passed her as if they would run her through with a sword. Saga’s words were a song in her head that never ended.

You are nothing to them.

And wasn’t that the truth? She was something to Harry, his actions had made that clear. But to his people? What was she but a reminder of what they had lost?

Gunnar may have been a monster, but Svala and Bera had been loved. Saga had said so, had shown Y/N the house they shared. Used to share. She’d pointed out Svala’s mother in the crowd, and Bera’s brother, who’d been so young it had broken her heart. 

Y/N knew she was not to blame. The northerners had been the invaders, they had chosen to come to Lothian and they had expected resistance. But her heart ached. Harry had come for her. He had brought his warriors with him, for her. If she had not existed, Svala and Bera would still be alive.

She snapped on the fifth day, out of nowhere. She had gone to bed, feeling hollow and ashamed. She’d woken up angry.

She didn’t bother getting dressed. She threw on a shawl and marched out of her bedroom, the door slamming against the wall. A redheaded maid was in the hallway, and startled badly enough to drop the pile of sheets she’d been holding. Y/N did not stop to help her pick everything up.

She marched straight to Harry’s bedroom. In her head, a tiny part of her was begging her to reconsider, but the rage made her blind.

A man was standing guard by Harry’s door, but he made no move to stop her as she got near. She thought about knocking for half a second. Then threw open the door.

Harry was in bed still, his chest bare. Curls fell in front of his closed eyes, his mouth open slightly as he slept. He looked innocent. Vulnerable.

What a lie.

“Get up,” Y/N growled.

His eyes snapped open, settling on her figure at once. With a snarl, he jumped up and reached an arm under his pillow. He pulled out a dagger and held it in front of him, his teeth bared as if he would tear out her throat if she came any closer.

Then, he seemed to recognize her. The ruthlessness in his green eyes faded, replaced with worry. His curled up lips softened. The dagger fell from his slackened grip, and disappeared in the covers.

“Y/N?” he asked. God, she hated how gently he said her name.

“Tell me why I’m here,” she ordered. 

He froze.

“Why? Hví?” she repeated, her pronunciation hardly perfect but understandable, if the sudden panic in Harry’s eyes was any indication. “You brought me here, to Kaldagr. What for?”

Harry slowly slid his feet to the floor and stood, keeping his gaze on her always, like he expected her to attack. Like she was an animal, crazed and dangerous.

How right he was. She wanted to tear his lungs out.

“It’s been a month,” she hissed. “Einn mánaðr. One month, and no one has touched me, no one has locked me up, hurt me or demanded anything of me.”

“No hurt,” he said, cutting her off.

“I know!” she raged. “You’ve proved it! I don’t need reassurances from you, I need answers!”

He looked at her, his brows furrowed. Confused. He didn’t understand her. She could scream all she wanted, there was no point if he couldn’t grasp her words. 

To her horror, she felt the telltale pinpricks of incoming tears behind her eyes and her throat tightened. She ached for home, in a way she hadn’t before. She ached for her father, cold and cruel as he was. She missed the stone walls of her room, the too-tight corsets in her wardrobe. She missed the stags she would see on the edge of the forest from her window, the foxes in their burrows. She missed the sound of her language from strangers’ lips.

“I don’t understand,” she whispered, her tone defeated. A sob ripped out of her throat before she could stop it and her vision blurred from unshed tears.

She dropped her head, pressing her hands to her face. For a moment that felt like a century, she stood there as the rage seeped out of her and left behind a raw, empty void.

Then, a hand touched her shoulder tentatively. Another reached for her arm. She got pulled in, gently, into the agonising warmth of Harry’s embrace.

She wanted to push him away. She wanted to pull him closer. She hated him. She trusted him. He had not hurt her. He had hurt her more than everyone else in her life.

“Sorry,” he said roughly into her hair. “Sorry. I am sorry.”

She sobbed, dropping her head to his shoulder. His arms closed over her back, pulling her close enough that her sobs made his whole body shake. He spoke softly in her ear, words she did not understand but felt comforting all the same. His hand stroked slow circles over the thin material of her shawl.

“I want to go home,” she said.

She felt him shake his head, a hand going to the back of her head to push her closer.

“You are home,” he said. 

He sounded almost saddened by it.

-----

A truce of sorts settled between Y/N and Harry after that day.

She had not gotten any answers as to why he had brought her to Kaldagr, and it was unlikely he ever would. But Y/N reasoned that agonising over it would not help the situation.

The fact was, she was to remain in Kaldagr. It was her home. It didn’t feel like one, but she was the only one able to change that.

She threw herself into her language lessons with Robben, insisted on speaking to Saga in Norse as much as she could. She drove the breakfast conversations with Harry, to his delight.

When she walked the city, she now recognized the hidden hostility of the people around her. She kept her head high, smiled and forced herself to exchange pleasantries with those too polite to turn her away. When she passed by Torsten’s stall, she made it a point to greet him.

It took her six weeks to master the northerners’ language, enough to understand and hold her own in most conversations. But the northerners’ culture? That was a different beast entirely.

“How can a man have a horse for a son?” she asked Harry as they sat in the great hall, a book spread out before them. The Nordic language flowed from her mouth, her pronunciation still awkward, but she couldn’t find it in herself to care.

Harry leaned back against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest as he pointed his chin to the book with an amused smile.

“Read it,” he said.

“I have read it, thank you,” Y/N huffed. “But it doesn't make sense. Loki is a man-”

“A god.”

“A man-like god. Sleipnir is a horse. How does that happen?”

“How did your Mary have a child, if she is a virgin?”

“That’s different!”

He laughed, and she could not hold back a smile at the sound. They’d been sitting in the great hall since lunch, going through all the books Harry had found that spoke of their religion.

“It’s so complicated,” she said, gesturing at the dozens of volumes stacked on the table. “You have so many gods, so many stories. It’ll take me years to learn them all.”

“You don’t need to learn them all. Just this one,” he replied, riffling through the book until he found the chapter he wanted. “This is the story of Freyr. We will celebrate him tonight at the feast.”

“Why?”

“He is our god of harvest, among other things. We have had good weather this year, and the crops were plentiful. It is right to thank him.”

He leaned closer, his shoulder brushing against hers. She sucked in a breath, face heating up at the shivers that ran down from her neck to her toes. Thankfully, he seemed to take no notice of her reaction.

“Look here,” he said. He gently took her hand in his, guiding her fingers to a specific paragraph. Her skin burned. “This part tells the story of how Freyr fell in love with Gerðr. He saw her across a field and was starstruck at once by her beauty. So he sent his servant Skírnir to her home, to ask for her hand in marriage.”

“His servant? He didn’t go himself?”

“Perhaps Freyr was shy. Either way, Gerðr refused the proposal.”

Y/N scoffed. “Of course she did! I would have said no as well.”

Harry smiled, his green eyes bright with amusement as he looked at her. His hand was still on hers, warm and rough from calluses.

“You would have refused a god?”

“I would refuse any man who does not have the decency to propose himself.”

He hummed. “That’s good to know.”

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat as her harried mind considered the possible meaning of his words. Was that intent in his eyes? Or was it just her imagination? 

Lately, she’d been reading too much into each one of Harry’s words and gestures. His hand on her back, when he guided her through a door. The smile on his face when he saw her in the morning. How his voice softened when he spoke to her in the evening.

“What would you have done?” she asked. “If you were Freyr?”

He thought about it for a moment, his eyes never leaving her own. “I do not know. The only time I was ever in this situation, I handled it poorly. I’m afraid she’ll never see me the way I want her to.”

A weight dropped in Y/N’s stomach, and she cursed herself for being disappointed. Perhaps his attentions towards her had never meant anything, or he was flighty with his affections. Either way, she was happy to know before she made too much of a fool out of herself.

“So you see her still?” she asked. “This woman?”

“Every day,” he said with a sad smile.

Y/N frowned, quickly sifting through the options.

“Is it Saga?” she gasped.

Harry’s eyes widened, his mouth dropping open. Then, he reared his head back and laughed, holding a hand to his chest.

“No! What gave you that idea?”

“I don’t know! You’re never with any women except for her and your mother and sister!”

He laughed even harder, if that was even possible. Miffed, Y/N rose to her feet and stepped over the bench. “Mock me all you want,” she said. “I’m leaving.”

His laughter followed her all the way to the door.

-----

When Harry had told Y/N they would be honouring the god Freyr at the evening’s feast, she had imagined there would be good food, some prayers and maybe a bard, if she was lucky. A couple of animal sacrifices, maybe, a tradition she still found hard to get used to.

Her imagination, she now realised, was somewhat lacking.

The longhouse was filled to the brim, and it seemed as if every citizen of Kaldagr was under its roof. There was scarcely enough room to stand, let alone sit. 

They had sacrificed three pigs and a lamb, and the priests drew runes on their faces from the animals’ blood. All very barbaric and fascinating. Harry had then given a long speech, thanking Freyr for his generosity and thanking his people for their hard work. Hedda and Astrid had sang a haunting hymn, their hands on Harry’s shoulder as he’d closed his eyes in prayer. So far, the events of the night had followed what Y/N had expected. A solemn, reverent night.

And then, the chaos had started.

Drums had been carried into the longhouse, the tables had been pushed back against the walls and the casks of ale had been split open. Y/N had quickly hidden in a corner as the celebrations started.

She was still in that corner, watching the pandemonium in the great hall like one would a play. There was Astrid, whirling in the middle of the room with her mother, their skirts pulled up to their knees so they wouldn’t trip. Near the doors, Robben was engaged in a poetry contest with Runa Ospakdottir, and seemed to be losing if the way his face reddened was to be believed. Saga was juggling her axe by the firepit, watched with rapture by a group of young children.

“Not in the mood to dance?” asked Harry.

Y/N was so used to his presence that she did not even startle at his sudden appearance. She grinned, stepping closer so she could be heard over the ruckus.

“I wouldn’t want to be trampled.”

“Come,” he said. “I’ll keep you safe.”

She shook her head.

“Wouldn’t you rather be with your mystery woman? Dancing is a wonderful way to make amends.”

“I know!” he laughed, and pulled her through the crowd. She stumbled after him, clutching his hand like a lifeline as he took hold of her waist with the other.

There was no steps, no choreography. She followed the beat of the drums as best she could, apologising between peals of laughter as she bumped into the crowd. She stepped on Harry’s feet so many times she was sure he would have a hard time walking the next day, but he didn’t seem to mind.

Harry gave her a curved horn filled with ale, which she swallowed down with a grimace. She asked for a second three songs later, then a third when Harry begged for a break at last. She danced with Saga as he watched from a bench, the warrior twirling her around the room with so much vigour Y/N felt like she was flying. She was passed from arms to arms, Robben’s, Astrid’s, men she did not know, then Harry’s again.

It was pure joy. The kind she’d never felt before, not even as a child. She forgot about Lothian, forgot about Torsten, forgot about everything except how good she felt, how happy she was.

Hours later, the alcohol caught up to her and a wave of fatigue crashed onto her. She sat by Harry’s side, listening to him as he spoke and laughed with his men. They were close enough that their shoulders touched, and she was too drunk to care about propriety as she leaned against him.

“Go to bed,” he told her when most of the crowd had left the hall.

“I don’t want to,” she hummed, blinking slowly at him. His eyes seemed even more green than usual, like the most precious of emeralds.

He gently bumped her side with his arm, gesturing to the hallway with his chin. “Go, Y/N. You’ve had a lot to drink, and you’ll be suffering for it in the morning. Sleep will help.”

She groaned, her head dropping. He helped her stand, then passed her to a servant girl who accompanied her to her bedroom. By the time they reached her door, Y/N was barely awake enough to thank the girl.

She tiredly slipped on her nightgown and dragged her feet to the bed, falling face first onto the covers. Her entire body ached and she could not find the strength to slide underneath the furs. Her eyes closed, her breathing slowed. Sleep, blessed sleep, was only a few heartbeats away.

And then, she felt it.

Something cold and leathery touched her foot. It rose to her ankle, curled around her calf. From the haze of her mind, alarm rose. She forced her eyes open, blinked away the fatigue.

Her heart stopped.

There, around the vulnerable skin of her leg, was a viper.

-----

Here is the second part, I hope you liked it!

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