#would die for candle light Ragnar!!!

[synintheraven]

Thank you Līga @whitedarkmoonflower my beloved for providing me with pics of my (second) husband 😏

[demon-of-the-ancient-world]

There is Thunder in Our Hearts

Summary: Due to an ill-fated decision of Ragnar's during a troubled time, Athelstan is almost killed. Which Ragnar blames himself for, of course. But accepting blame isn't something he's ever been skilled at. (Part 1)

Notes: Angst, mildly shippy, Athelstan POV for now, but I've got some really good ideas for a Ragnar perspective later so...we'll see. Set sometime after season 2 (or potentially within an alternate timeline of season 3??? I have no idea). Will be cross posted to AO3 (with Even More Notes!).

@levithestripper do you want this edit: forgot to also tag @procrastinatingsoicanreadfanfics I even AFTER I'd asked them if it was ok and proceeded to just. forget immediately. Now finally, the story.

***

The first thing Athelstan registers when he wakes up is that he is in pain, and a good deal of it.

After a long, fogged moment, he remembers why. And then panic hits him in a wave of cold sweat, his eyes snapping open so fast his head swims. Light stings his eyes, but not that of torches. Where are the earl of Guthbrand's men? Where are his own assigned fighters? He's too weak to sit up from where he's lying, let alone fight anymore...

He stifles a groan as his eyes fall shut again. His back rests against something soft, his skin seemingly bare...it's hard to think at all, let alone know where he is, or when, or how he got there. The worlds of past and present alike spin around in his head. Torchlight and taunts. Steel and the stench of burning flesh.

"Athelstan?" A voice cuts through the swirl of his thoughts. With a great deal of effort he opens his eyes again and sees the pale blur of a face hovering above him. It splits into two blurs, then melds back together into one again.

I am seeing things, he thinks. A vision. It's happened before.

"Ragnar?" he mutters, and his heart sinks. He's come back. He's heard about Athelstan's failure.

But he blinks hard, and it's a woman's face he sees. A frowning one, bathed in candlelight. "It's me," says Lagertha. "Don't talk - and don't move, are you mad?" she adds, as he tries to sit up and yelps in pain.

"I've been hurt," he says. She has to know, someone has to know soon or he'll surely die... "I - there's an arrow - "

"There was far more than that," says Lagertha, her frown deepening. "Lie still, will you? You'll start to bleed again."

Athelstan swallows hard, trying to calm himself. Now he can at least tell he isn't in the dark woods, slumped against tree roots and clinging to consciousness, and he isn't surrounded by the rival earl's men - that alone would be cause for celebration, if he had the strength for it. Instead he's inside, the wooden beams of the ceiling above him familiar now that he's awake enough to notice. The hall, of course. The bed he normally occupies when he spends nights there. A wax candle flickers and dances from somewhere near his bed. It must be night.

A straw mattress is beneath him, a heavy bundle of sheepskins and blankets drawn up over his bare chest and his right arm strapped firmly across it in a sling. If he tries to move it so much as an inch he quickly grows lightheaded with gnawing pain.

"Where is Ragnar?" he croaks out.

Something shifts in Lagertha's face, that he can't read. "Near. It was he who brought you back, after those fools of men left you abandoned."

Her words bring a sick swoop into his stomach. He closes his eyes, struggling not to let the memories overwhelm him.

I tried to make them listen, he thinks. I tried. I knew I couldn't, but I tried...

But he brought him back. Ragnar brought him back. He didn't deserve it.

Forgive me, he thinks, Oh God, forgive me.

He shifts again and a stab of pain slices through his shoulder. An arrow had taken Haakon too...he battles nausea as the image of it piercing his eye swims through his head. The old man had believed in him, if no one else had.

"Haakon is dead," he says quietly. "I - I saw him die. I was with him - "

Lagertha lays a hand gently on his uninjured shoulder. "Save your words. You need rest now; there is little more that can be done for you if you don't let yourself heal. Haakon was a wise man and a skilled warrior - the gods will care for him well."

The strangeness that it's her here with him and no one else finally sinks in. "Why are you here? I thought you were defending Hedeby."

Her lips tighten to a thin line. "We are little safer there than anywhere else. I have brought my people here, for a time, so together with Ragnar we can decide what to do next."

Athelstan frowns, trying to keep his head wrapped around what she's saying. "How bad has it been there?"

"We won't talk of that now. When you are better."

"I need to find Ragnar," Athelstan repeats, but when he tries to sit for the second time his vision goes black around the edges. Lagertha shoves him back down again, harder than before. "I told you to stay put, priest. Ragnar can wait."

Breathing hard, Athelstan closes his eyes again, too feeble to fight the sting rising behind them. How could he have been such a fool?

It's Ragnar who is the fool, not you, he thinks, somewhere in the darker corners of his mind. But he cannot say that aloud. He'll take the blame, it's far easier and neater than placing it on his best friend's head.

But he had asked Ragnar not to send him - came very close to begging him not to. That was a fact.

"Keep me here, where I can advise you," he'd told him. "You have sent away all your best fighters elsewhere - and I have never been one of them. Wait until the raiding party returns from the west, at least."

But his friend had given him a look that - long though he'd lived with the Norsemen and seen many that were fiercer - had unnerved him. Ragnar had been in a vicious and unpredictable mood of late - Thor-like, Athelstan had thought privately. And who could blame him with unrest on all sides of his kingdom?

"I will send who I like", he'd said gruffly. "Do you think I should not trust you? Have you given me reason not to trust you, priest?"

The way he approached Athelstan then, the glint in his eyes when he looked down at him, brought back all too strong memories of their first meeting. There was a breathless moment where he had to forcibly remind himself that he and Ragnar were no longer enemies. That this was only a mood, one of which his friend had often.

"You can trust me," he said quietly. "You can trust me as your advisor, but I doubt other men will trust me as their leader whatever you might think. In their eyes I am still a Christian - "

"They will listen to me," said Ragnar, infuriatingly confident. "I am their king. If I tell them you are to lead them into battle, they will follow you."

Athelstan may have been less of a fighter than his fellows, but in that moment he had to work very hard at not letting himself break something. "And if they don't? It would be far more beneficial to give this job to another." He paused. "You sent Torstein away - "

"After you had advised me not to. So how can you know I plan to take your advice at all, even if you do remain?"

Athelstan closed his eyes and breathed deeply. Once. Twice. "You will have sent everyone away who is close to you, save for your wife and sons, if you do this," he said. "Why, Ragnar?"

Ragnar didn't look at him, giving a twitchy half shrug. "We are besieged," he said. "The Gotlanders think us weak, and mean to humiliate me. And the earl of Guthbrand thinks he can get away with raiding our lands. My lands." There was a map on his table - carefully made with Athelstan's help - that he stared down at, so intently it was as if he wished to burn it to ash with his gaze alone.

Then he looked up at Athelstan, still as menacing as ever. "Do you know how hard it is? To be tied to this hall and that chair?" he nodded carelessly to the fur-covered bench he had taken as a throne. "I would like with all my heart to make corpses of Guthbrand and all his dogs, to take on the Gotlanders myself - but I am king of these people now. It is my duty to remain here, to protect Kattegat. That duty belongs not to you, not to my brother, not to any of my fiercest warriors. To me."

He came closer, eyes piercing into Athelstan's head. "Your duty is to remain loyal to your king. Would you disobey me?"

Athelstan held his gaze. "I would not."

"Then you are going to Guthbrand. And you are bringing me the leader of the rebels, alive."

That was days ago now. Athelstan does not know how many. "Lagertha," he says, turning his head as much as he can to look up at her, "how long has it been? How long since..."

She adjusts a wool blanket where it's fallen from his shoulder. "Ragnar brought you back two days ago. You were barely alive."

Two days, he thinks grimly. It took Christ three to rise from the dead.

He can't recall being brought back. All he remembers after the night in the woods is pain and darkness and voices he wasn't sure if he knew.

"What - how bad - "

"You took an arrow through your shoulder, and one in the leg, and many wounds besides that," she says. Athelstan can't help but notice her voice is far gentler than what he is used to, and his heart sinks. Has his state worried her so badly?

"And Ragnar - "

"Yes, he went looking for you - after the rest of his men came back laden with stolen goods, but without any sign of Guthbrand. He was not pleased."

It gives him the barest satisfaction to know that, at the very least, Ragnar was as frustrated as he had been with the company he'd taken north.

"Here - " Lagertha takes a cup in one hand, and helps him lift his head with the other. He's so weak even that is exhausting, but he gratefully accepts the water she holds to his lips.

One of her hands rests on his blankets. "You have lost much blood. You will need plenty of rest." She pauses, regarding him shrewdly. "Ragnar has worried. I have worried. I am relieved to see you recovering, as will he be when I tell him."

"Ragnar will hate me," he blurts out. It isn't until he says it that he feels how true the thought is and has been. The sting behind his eyes grows, paired with a lump in his throat. "I failed him."

Lagertha lets out a sharp breath through her nose. "Ragnar has been in an unreasonable temper, I have heard. He can be the most stubborn, impatient man in this world at the best of times - I know, I was married to him. You are not to be blamed for his foolish choices. If anything it should be you hating him, at least for a short time."

But Athelstan cannot summon the strength to blame Ragnar now. His shoulder throbs and his leg throbs and every bone aches, and all he can manage to think is that his pain can only be some sort of punishment.

"Priest," says Lagertha, not unkindly but with a hint of her old sternness, "I can read your face as easily as you read that holy book of yours. Do not blame yourself for what happened. You did all that was required of you - and it seems you are the only one who did."

"I tried to hold them off on my own," he says, unsure if he's trying to convince her or himself. He tries to swallow the lump in his throat. "When the others deserted...I didn't. I tried to fight."

When he'd taken his first arrow wound, when Haakon had fallen dead beside him, he had been certain he'd be next. And when the earl of Guthbrand's men had surrounded him where he staggered, he'd barely managed to whisper a final prayer to whichever god may be listening before he'd given a strangled yell and swung at them.

The fight hadn't been a long one. One of him and many of them...he'd managed to kill a few and injure more, but there was little to be done. At some point they must have believed him dead because they left him where he was to seek out the remainder of the men he'd brought with him. Even though most of them had scattered by then, having taken the loot they'd come for, not caring that Athelstan's - and Ragnar himself's - orders had been otherwise.

I tried to warn him, Athelstan thinks. One of those pointless tears leaks out of his eye. I warned him the others would not obey the plan. I warned him I was a weak leader. He ought to have known. I did try.

"Oh, Athelstan." The mattress creaks as Lagertha shifts closer to him. Her thumb brushes the place where the tear landed. "I am sure you fought well. You are no coward. Is that what you want to hear?"

I am a coward. But that is not what matters. "I thought I could - could keep them in line. I've never been a leader. I only wanted to do as he wanted and do it well, even if I knew it was foolish. But I failed. I failed."

He hears Lagertha sigh. "You have failed no one. But you are still weary and in pain, and I think once you have healed some more these thoughts will not trouble you so much."

What if he wants the thoughts to trouble him? He feels he more than deserves them.

Lagertha is trying to lift his head again. "The healer left this with you. It will ease your pain."

She spoons a bitter mixture of herbs into his mouth, and he tries not to wince. The relentless throb in his shoulder begins to dull almost immediately, but with it the fog in his head increases. He mutters a word of thanks and Lagertha shushes him.

It isn't hard to close his eyes again. His limbs feel weighted, iron-bound. Something has drained out of him, the last few days and hours leaving him more exhausted than he's ever been in his life. Everything feels like a horrible blur, one he wishes were a dream. A long, bitter rope twisted of things he'd rather forget.

Lagertha's hand rests against his forehead. "I can only stay a little longer, I must go soon. You just rest, someone will check on you."

Athelstan manages only a small sound in response. She might give his shoulder a final squeeze and then he thinks she's gone, but doesn't have the strength to open his eyes and check.

A strange combination of peacefulness and dread washes over him. He longs to speak to Ragnar, to apologize, to tell his friend everything and try to explain himself and apologize some more - but at the same time he never wants to have to face him again. The thoughts battle each other, in slowed and broken fragments.

Light plays outside his eyelids. The tear stings against his temple and more come, silently. In his mind he knows it's just the exhaustion and pain, and the medicine, but he can't help thinking bitterly that his tears are only another weakness.

Christ wept, he thinks.

It's a relief when sleep finally claims him again, spiraling him down into the dark.

[prepare4trouble]

Vikings fanfic - Apparition

Hvitserk rolled over onto his back and stared forward. Candlelight from the single candle that he had left burning on the nightstand illuminated the room in soft light. He lay still for a moment, uncertain what had woken him from his slumber.

The night was silent, save for the sound of the wind outside.

Puzzled, he allowed his eyes to close once again. If something had woken him, it had passed now, and his body was eager for sleep. He felt himself begin to drift away, sinking slowly beneath the waves of slumber that washed over him.

“A nice, comfortable room you have here, brother.”

With a sudden, sharp intake of breath, Hvitserk’s eyes sprung open again. The voice that cut through the silence of the Wessex night was one that he had never expected to hear again. Not in this life, at least.

He searched the bedchamber with his eyes, peering through the darkness. The long shadows cast by the candle, formed dark shapes that morphed and changed as they danced in time with the flame that flickered in the air currents of the room.

Hvitserk took a deep breath, and tried to still the pounding of his heart. When, finally, he trusted himself to speak again, his voice was a low, uncertain whisper.

“I...Ivar?”

No. It couldn’t be. It was impossible. Ivar was dead. Hvitserk had seen it happen. He had watched in horrified disbelief as the life had drained from his brother’s body; he had carried him from the battlefield himself, and finally, he had placed him in the ground, careful, so as not to cause further breaks to his fragile bones as he had lowered him into his final resting place.

And yet that voice had been unmistakable; not just the voice itself, but the tone, the subtle hint of a mocking smile he could hear concealed within the words.

He was answered by silence; a silence that felt much more complete now than it had a moment earlier. Hvitserk held his breath, hoping for a reply but terrified that he might get one.

Nothing happened. Carefully, he reached for the candle still burning by his bed, and with a trembling hand, tilted it to touch the flame to the wick of several other candles. Wax dripped onto the nightstand, and with each new flame, the shadows moved, intensifying as they shrunk away from the light, until they revealed a dark, impossible shape seated at the end of his bed.

Hvitserk blinked, giving his eyes time to adjust, and to make sense of what he was seeing, but the more he stared, the more he could see Ivar. He frowned. “You’re dead,” he said.

The shadows that had somehow come together to form his younger brother, turned to look at him. His face was completely familiar, right down to the scars. Ivar shrugged. “So what? Does that mean I’m not allowed to visit my brother? Or can I not be here because you’re a Christian now and it upsets your delicate new faith. Is that what you mean, Athelstan?”

Hvitserk felt himself flinch. Ivar had never been supposed to know. Not about the conversion, or the name that King Alfred had bestowed upon him. The idea that he did know, even though he was certain that this was not real, provoked a deep sense of shame. He was firm in his conviction that he had made the right choice, but he was equally certain that it was something he would never have done if Ivar had been there to tell him what he thought of the idea.

He shook his head. “Don’t call me that.”

“What, Athelstan? Why not? It’s your name now, isn’t it? You cast aside the name our mother and father gave you, renounced it along with Odin, and all of our other Gods. I’ve got to call you something, haven’t I?”

“My old name will do fine,” Hvitserk told him.

Ivar frowned, then shrugged as though it didn’t matter anyway. “If you say so.”

He was dressed in the same clothing he had worn the last time Hvitserk had seen him alive, and he wore his hair in the same braids. Everything about him looked exactly as it had that day on the battlefield. Everything but his eyes. The whites of his eyes appeared to have lost their blue tint, indicating that the danger of broken bones had now passed. Too late, of course.

“This isn’t real,” Hvitserk said to himself. His new faith did not allow for visitations from the other side. The dead remained where they were, in Heaven, or in Hell. “I’m imagining it,” he said. “Or dreaming.”

“If that’s what you want to believe, feel free,” Ivar told him. “But I assure you, I am very real.”

Hvitserk looked at him again. He certainly looked real. And sounded real. “Really?” He wanted it to be true, no matter how impossible it might be.

“Absolutely,” Ivar told him. “But of course, if I was a figment of your imagination, isn’t that exactly what I would say? I probably wouldn’t own up to it, would I?”

He had a point. Hvitserk kicked back the blanket that covered him, and swung his legs over the edge of the bed so that he and Ivar were sitting side by side. He reached across and touched him on the shoulder, half expecting his hand to pass right through him. Impossibly, he felt real, as though flesh and blood.

He tried again, reaching for his brother’s hand this time, and feeling the well-worn leather of the fingerless gloves he wore to protect his hands on the rough ground. Once again, it felt familiar, and completely real.

“How…?”

“The dead are often around us. You used to believe that too.”

“But not like this. Anyway, I…” Hvitserk hesitated. “I don’t believe it anymore. The dead are in Heaven, or in Hell. They don’t come back.”

“The Christian dead, maybe. But then, maybe not. I’ve met a few of them, they aren’t so different from us.” Ivar shrugged. “But if that’s what you choose to believe, I won’t try to stop you. That’s not why I’m here.”

Hvitserk nodded, relieved, because faced with something like this, he was certain that his new faith would crumble if Ivar chose to challenge it. “Then why are you here?”

“I just wanted to see that you were all right. After all, even though I am the younger brother, I know you always looked up to me -- not literally, of course, since I spent so much time crawling on the ground, but in a manner of speaking -- and now I’m gone, I thought you might be feeling… untethered.”

“I’m fine,” Hvitserk lied. “Anyway, this only proves you’re not real. The real Ivar wouldn’t care how I felt.” If he had, he wouldn’t have gone into battle that day, knowing how vulnerable to breaks his bones had been. Hvitserk had never seen his eyes more blue than they had been that day, and although they hadn’t known exactly how it would happen, both of them had known that Ivar wasn’t going to leave the battlefield alive.

Ivar feigned shock, gasped, and clutched at his chest as though shot by an arrow. “You wound me, brother,” he said. “Of course I care. But I see you’ve found yourself another new faith to keep you occupied.” He leaned forward on his crutch, then turned to stare searchingly at Hvitserk. “How does being a Christian suit you? It looks a little boring. What kind of a god doesn’t want a sacrifice now and then? And all that kneeling…” he smiled. “It would be no good for me. One advantage to being a cripple is that I cannot kneel. Not even to Odin himself, and certainly not to your god.”

He had a point. “Are you still a cripple, then?" Hvitserk asked him. “Even in Valhalla?” Somehow, he had expected that after the Valkyries carried his brother to Odin’s great hall, he would find himself free of pain, and able to walk and run, and to do all the things that had been denied him in life.

“Of course,” Ivar told him. “After all, this is who I am. I’m Ivar the Boneless. Take that away, give me a healthy body, and what would that make me?

“It would make you Ivar,” Hvitserk told him without hesitation. “Ivar Ragnarsson.”

“Exactly,” Ivar agreed. “And whoever heard of him?”

Hvitserk smiled. “I have,” he said. “He’s my brother, and I love him.”

Ivar smiled too. “I should go, Athelstan,” he said. “I imagine that after this, you have a long day of praying ahead of you.”

“Will I see you again?” Hvitserk asked.

“Maybe.” Ivar shrugged. “Certainly in the next life. For now, I’m going to check in on Prince Igor, and find out the name of my child. I’m going to drink with our father, and make sure that mother knows about everything I managed to achieve in life, because for all that she loved me, I honestly don’t think she ever believed I would do anything truly great. Maybe I’ll even get Sigurd to forgive me for cutting his time so short. And by the time I’ve done all that, maybe you will be ready to join us in Valhalla.”

Hvitserk rubbed at his eyes with a finger as though tired, trying to disguise the tears that threated to fall. He shook his head. “I’m a Christian now, Ivar,” he reminded him. “I don’t get to go to Valhalla.”

��Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that. There is room for all the sons of Ragnar at Odin’s table,” Ivar assured him. “But I’ll let you in on a secret that not even the Seer knew while he was in Midgard. Valhalla, your Christian Heaven, Hel, all the other places that people we never even got to meet believe they go when they die? They’re not so far apart. No matter where you go, we’ll see each other again. If that’s what you want, of course.”

It was. It was what he wanted more than anything. Hvitserk nodded.

Ivar leaned forward to rest his weight on his crutch, and levered himself to his feet as Hvitserk had seen him do many times before. “I suppose I’ll see you there, then,” he said, then took a step as though he intended to walk away.

“Wait!” Hvitserk reached out to grab his brother’s arm, half expecting his fingers to pass through him as though he was already gone, but he still felt impossibly real. “Wait,” he said again. “I don’t want you to leave. I’m all alone here.”

Ivar shook his head. “You’ll be fine,” he said. “Live a little; marry some Christian girl and have some children to keep you company. Raise them with our stories. Tell them about Odin and Thor, Frey and Freya. And tell them about your crazy, crippled brother who led two great armies to England, and traveled the silk road.” He smiled. “Tell them they have a cousin in Rus. The world is getting smaller every day, so who knows, maybe one day they’ll even get to meet him.”

Hvitserk nodded. This time he didn’t bother to hide his tears. “I miss you,” he said.

“Why?” Ivar asked him. “I’m not that far away.”

Without warning, a sudden gust of wind chilled the room and extinguished the candles that Hvitserk had lit, leaving only one remaining. He turned to look at them, only for a second, and when he turned back, Ivar was gone, replaced by the flickering shadows that had been there before.

He took a deep breath, smelling the unmistakable scent of extinguished candles as he did. “Ivar?” he said hesitantly. There was no reply. He reached out into the space where, seconds earlier, his brother had been standing. This time, his hand passed through nothing but the air. “Ivar?” he tried again, a little louder this time, but no longer expecting a response. The silence obliged.

Reaching to his side, he placed a hand on the bed, where moments earlier his brother had been sitting, and was not surprised to find the surface warm to the touch. He sighed. “Fine, be like that,” he said to the silence, then wiped his tears with the back of his hand, and smiled. “I suppose I’ll see you soon,” he added. “Not too soon though.” Ivar was right, he needed to live first.

And now, for reasons that he didn’t quite understand, the conversation that should have left him shaken and questioning his Christian faith, had instead lifted a weight from his shoulders that he hadn’t even realised he had been carrying.

With one final glance around the room, Hvitserk lay back down in his bed, pulled his blanket over him, and allowed sleep to drag him back down into its comforting embrace.

[lunarfuneral]

The feast does not die down until dawn is edging the horizon, but Thorfinn finds him long before that.

As far as Canute had been aware, Thorfinn was out sulking in the cold, trying to find a way to fight with his broken arm. Had he not been at the feast, he would have gone out in search of him, a habit that formed after Ragnar died.

With Askeladd occupied with what appeared to be a less than thrilling exchange with Gunnar, Thorfinn comes to Canute, rabbit in hand.

“What’s this?” Canute asks, gesturing with his horn.

Thorfinn shifts uncomfortably, glancing to make sure Askeladd had not caught sight. Canute suspects he would never hear the end of it if they’d seen. “A rabbit,” he mutters. When Canute says nothing, he levels him with a look that would prompt jailing from a crueler prince. “Your soup—I was wondering if you would make it again.”

Canute pauses. “There’s plenty of food here, Thorfinn. You’ve walked into the middle of a feast.”

“I know that. I just—nevermind.” He turns to go, tucking the rabbit back under his arm, but Canute stops him with a hand on his elbow.

“Don’t,” he says. While they were traveling, after Thorkell, Canute reached out first. Collected him. Changed his dressings and sat him in the carriage. It’s not lost on him that this time, Thorfinn is coming to him. “Come with me.”

They steal away together, slipping through the throng quietly, until they reach the bustling kitchen. The servants are too busy trying to keep up with the hungry horde in the main hall that they don’t notice Canute among them, gathering a few ingredients into his arms while he points to a pot for Thorfinn to nick.

He feels like a child, sneaking away and hurrying like thieves, although as the prince he knows the servants would part for him had they taken heed and the need for secrecy would be no more. The feeling reminds him of their time before York, when Thorfinn would tease him or shove him when no one else was looking, getting away with riling him up. Every crude remark that roused Canute from his silence had felt like they were taking back a childhood stolen. Little glances, little laughs—things that Canute thinks of, when he tries not to think of anything, and wonders what things would have been like if he and Thorfinn had met as boys. Maybe Thorfinn would have been his bodyguard from childhood, a confidante and trusted one by his side. But Canute does not entertain these thoughts for long. They only lead down a road he cannot walk.

When they make it to Canute’s quarters, Thorfinn shoulders open the door and makes his way in first, noisily setting down his things. With his arm in such a state, Thorfinn can’t help to light the candles or the hearth, so Canute takes to it all himself.

The time passes in silence. Canute skins the rabbit on a cloak spread over his desk while Thorfinn carefully cuts the vegetables he’d been able to take from the kitchen. They can hear the feast, still roaring down the hall, as the water comes to a boil and Canute slowly stirs. Under the cover of night, behind Canute’s closed door, Thorfinn removes the bandages from his arm and slides off his coat, a vulnerability Canute will not comment on. His words still carry weight.

Thorfinn sits reclined against the foot of Canute’s bed. There’s not much light besides the candles and the fire, and it paints Thorfinn in warm colors, his bruised skin like amber. The imprints from his heavy coat line his collarbones and shoulders, the place where the sling cut into his neck is red and swollen. There is only a little shame in the glances Canute steals; he’s stolen many since they’d met.

When the soup is done, Canute fills a bowl and places it where Thorfinn can reach with his good arm. It’s not his best, not like it had been when he’d first made it on the road with Ragnar’s help, but he likes it just fine. Thorfinn doesn’t say anything, but it brings warmth to his cheeks and he’s on his second bowl before Canute even finishes his first. He thinks of teasing him, of maybe coaxing out of him that he missed Canute’s cooking, enough that not even the feast sufficed, but instead he says:

“Did you love your father, Thorfinn?”

The question surprises Canute as much as it does Thorfinn. He stops with his spoon halfway to his mouth, looking at him, pinched and verging on angry. He always looks at Canute this way unless they’re alone, unless he’s teasing him in front of the others—a smile is rare, except for when he’s calling Canute something disrespectful. They don’t talk of these things—they rarely talk of anything at all.

“Of course I did,” Thorfinn says eventually, lowering the spoon back into the bowl. “He was a good father,” he continues before realizing he’s offered more than he’d been asked.

“A good father,” Canute muses. “Tell me, what is that like?” Maybe it’s the drink—he’d had more horns than he’s used to during the feast—or maybe it’s something else, something he doesn’t want to name just yet that makes him want more.

Thorfinn frowns, defensive now. “You should know! You had Ragnar for longer than I—” He stops himself, swallowing hard. Canute has yet to talk about Ragnar’s death, not really, and he wonders if even after all the years Thorfinn has yet to talk about his father's death, either.

“It must be different, Thorfinn. Ragnar loved me, took care of me, taught me almost all I know. But he was not my father—no matter how much I wished he was—a cold and unignorable fact that I felt every day of my life. For every sunny memory Ragnar gave me there is one my father darkened.” Tired of sitting cross on the floor, Canute crawls to sit beside Thorfinn against the bed. “Knowing your father would rather another man raise you, would rather you be dead …”

Thorfinn turned to face him, their faces close.

“I can’t remember my father,” Thorfinn admits. “Not as I used to. I would dream about him. And I remember the day he died, I remember his face, the smell of the water and the sound of the arrows hitting his body, the things he told me. But I can’t hear his voice anymore. Or his laughter.”

Canute remembers what Willibald told him that day in battle.

“Your father,” he says, haltingly. He wants to get it right. “He loves you, very much.” Canute reaches for Thorfinn, barely touching the back of his good hand. He startles like a wild animal, skittish, knocking the empty bowl of soup over between them. But Canute isn’t afraid.

On his cheek, he can feel Thorfinn’s heavy breaths as he slides his hand up his arm, wrapping his fingers around Thorfinn’s elbow.

“What the fuck are you doing, princess?”

“Hush,” he says. Thorfinn may be angry and sad and lonely—for years, that was all he knew. Canute knows, though, that every man wants kindness, in their heart of hearts. Someday, Thorfinn will find it. Once Askeladd dies, Thorfinn will be lost. There will be no anger or sadness or loneliness left anymore; all will fade. Even this, this small kindness Canute wants so desperately to show him, will be no longer. Despite this, Canute reaches for him anyway, hoping that this is a memory that will come back to Thorfinn once time has passed and he’s had a chance to heal again.

For a moment, Thorfinn just watches him. Canute feels as if he can see every thought through Thorfinn’s eyes. When the tension drains from Thorfinn’s body, all pretense to the wayside, Canute watches it in the softening of Thorfinn’s gaze upon him.

He leans forward in a slow show, shoulders dropping, broken arm cradled in his lap. Canute meets him easily, neck bared so Thorfinn may lay his head in the soft space there. They settle together as Canute wraps his arms around Thorfinn’s back, goosebumps spreading from where their bare skin touches. Canute spreads his palms wide over Thorfinn’s back, feeling every inhale.

Thorfinn’s lips brush over his collarbone. The fire is dying down in the hearth, yet the feast rages on. Here, they are quiet, and everything else is background noise. He listens to Thorfinn breathe, feels the beat of his heart under his hands. After a while, Canute rests his chin on Thorfinn’s head, gathering him closer against the growing cold in the room. They’ve tucked the warmth between them, safe in the secret of their embrace.

Neither one of them says a word. There would be no words for it, anyway.

Whatever it is, it cannot be love. Though, Canute thinks, it may be awfully close.

[lisinfleur]

Fyrir Ást

Author’s Notes | I can’t tell you how happy I am to see you reaching this mark! May the gods keep blessing you with this incredible talent and allowing us to bask in your stories! Congratulations one more time! Universe | Vikings Pairing | No pair Info | Viking Age AU, Fixing Plot AU, produced for @waiting4inspiration​’s 9k Multiple of 3 Challenge | Prompt nº 12 | “Fyrir ást” means “For Love” in Icelandic Words | 1266 ⁑ Warnings: ANGST, mentions of blood, wounds and pain. Some cursing.

The candles of your house were creating a middle light that enlightened the icy blue of his worried eyes over his feverish older brother on your bed. Two sons of Ragnar Loðbrók in your cabin - Thank the Gods you decided to keep yourself away from the center of the town or your place would certainly become a center of visitation for the next days. Thank the gods as well you had known Hvitserk at the time of their invasion to York, learned of their gods, and converted through your conversations with him at that time, when he was lost and sad by his older brother's departure, searching for his way he, sometimes, found into your arms. After he left, you thought you would never see Hvitserk Ragnarsson once again. But there he was, lying unconscious on your bed with his forehead covered in sweat and that infected wound on his chest, uncared by his own stupidity.

Or maybe by his unconditional love for his little brother so full of concern by his side now. Who would say Ivar the Boneless would grow into a man so fond of his brother like that? The same man that used to mock Hvitserk's dedication and loyalty was now there, suffering for what his brother had just done.

For him...

"How's your leg, Ivar?" you asked, probably breaking his line of thoughts since he looked at you surprised by your very existence by his side.

He was so out of himself...

"It's not important, woman. Hvitserk... When will he wake up?" he asked again.

The fiftieth time he was asking the same question.

"As I said the last forty-nine times, Ivar. He'll wake up when I manage to lower his temperature."

"Then do it!" he charged, causing you to sigh.

Still the same spoiled commander. But with way better reasons to be like that.

"Calm down, Ragnarsson. Your brother won't die," you granted, touching his shoulder.

"Why did he do this? Fuck, Hvitserk! Why did you do this, you idiot!" he cursed.

And you could bet he was holding back some tears behind those stupidly blue eyes.

Ivar's disease was way triggered. His eyes' whites were almost completely blue and you knew that broken leg wasn't unnatural in spite of the inhuman form it was twisted when they arrived.

If you had understood it right from what Ivar told you, they were in a battle against king Alfred closer to the Royal Villa when that happened. His body was weak, but Ivar insisted on advancing with the incursion because they had the advantage from the terrain. Hvitserk had warned him, but it wasn't enough for Ivar to listen and one of his legs couldn't handle his weight not even with the help of his braces. It broke into pieces throwing Ivar on the ground with a loud scream of terrible pain, leaving him at the mercy of the Saxons beside him, one of them ready to sink his sword through Ivar's chest and cease their major reason to fear the Norsemen's threats.

A strike that never came. Hvitserk came like a wild wolf, attacking the Saxons and protecting his fallen brother with fierceness Ivar said he'd never seen before. At the moment, in awe, Ivar said he wasn't able to see when his brother was wounded by a Saxon blade, but Hvitserk was quick in denying there was any kind of problem with him.

"I'm fine, he said. Hold on tight," Ivar narrated, telling you how his brother proceeded to carry him out of the battlefield on his own back, hiding in the woods to avoid being persecuted, walking away from the battle spot where his army was being defeated. "We fled like dogs," Ivar grunted, but as he said, at the end of the day, Hvitserk had a campfire placed, his leg tied to an improvised immobilizer his brother did out of his broken braces' pieces and two fat fishes Hvitserk had fished for them to eat.

"Hvitserk forced me to sleep," you remember him telling you. He prioritized his little brother over his own needs. And he carried Ivar all the way towards York. All the way towards your house where he knew you could care for his brother's wound.

"All the way through, always telling me nothing was wrong with his little grunts, nothing was wrong with his paleness. I'm tired, Ivar. You're heavy. Shut up, Ivar. Go to sleep. This bastard! Stupid moron! He was lying to me!"

Hvitserk knew he couldn't stop to care for his own wound. He didn't have the proper materials and the herbs he found were all for his brother's pain. Hvitserk knew if he had told Ivar he was wounded, his little brother wouldn't allow him to carry him through all the way, and without his crutch Ivar had lost at the battlefield, they would've never arrived at your home on time for Hvitserk's wound to still be treatable.

When they arrived at your door, Hvitserk was barely standing with his brother on his back and as soon as he had Ivar properly sat on a chair, safe from any damage, he fell on your ground, lying flat and feverish, unconscious but sure you would fulfill his last ask before fainting.

"Take care of Ivar... I know you know how."

You were a Saxon nurse before knowing his people. You had learned from his healers and became one yourself. Hvitserk had fought that whole way to bring his little brother into the safety of experienced hands that could help him with his condition. You knew why Hvitserk had done that.

You knew why he had lied more and more about his own wound, pretending nothing was wrong until his last strength.

You approached the laid prince, exchanging the cloth on his forehead for a new one with fresh water to lower his temperature, listening as Hvitserk grunted low, going back into his deep sleep. The wound - a cut in his chest - was now bandaged after you had scraped the dead flesh, got rid of the infected tissue, and covered it with an herbal paste that finished the smell of burned rotten flesh from the elder prince's body. Your fingers caressed the prince's loose hair, sighing.

Answering without looking at Ivar's face, maybe to give him space for the tears you knew he wasn't able to control and keep from falling.

"He did it out of love, Ivar," you said. "He did it because he loves you. Because he could stand all this pain, but he couldn't stand the idea of losing you or leaving you behind."

"He's stupid!" Ivar grunted.

The obvious knot in his throat hidden behind the hoarse voice.

"What would I do if he died, uh? What would I do without him?"

The angry voice of the younger prince became meeker. And you knew there wasn't any anger in those sentences at all.

"What would I do without you, brother?"

You held your smile into a slight curve. Hvitserk who had so long mourned his older brother's love on your shoulders, thinking he had abandoned the only one who had ever loved him; who would ever do it.

"What would I do without you?"

Hvitserk found love. And you were glad, somehow, to see he wasn't alone like he thought he would always be.

"You'll be fine, son of Ragnar," you got up, daring to caress Ivar's worried expression like once you dared to touch his older brother's crying face. "Both of you will."

You would care for them. And they would be alright.

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[ivarthebadbitch]

Strange things can happen

Chapter 15 summary: Ubbe attempts to turn on the charm for Aldreda, and Ivar has some unexpected visitors.

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

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

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

Pairings: Ivar x OC, Ivar vs. basically everyone

Warnings: None

Word count: 2466

Notes: Yes, I know I said no chapter this week, but lucky(?) for you, I actually got my shit together. No promises for next week though!

Tagged: @youbloodymadgenius @heavenly1927 @nukyster-blog @bae-roman @adhdnightmare @danisnotsosecret (let me know if you would like to be tagged)

CHAPTER 15: All we can do is...

Although Aldreda had by her own choice been sequestered in a spare room for much of the day after speaking to her grandfather, with no particular desire to see or talk to anybody, the news of the unexpected arrival of Ragnar Lothbrok and his son Ubbe around sundown had trickled in nevertheless. Not for the first time, she wanted to be a thousand miles away from this place. Getting herself smuggled out of the palace in a wine barrel increasingly sounded like a reasonable solution to all her problems. Maybe Ivar had been on to something after all.

But before she could start planning her escape in earnest, there was a knock on the door. She reluctantly got up to answer it. It turned out to be her father, with a vaguely familiar-looking Northman hovering behind him in the hallway. Her heart immediately sank. 

“Aldreda, may I present Ragnar Lothbrok’s other son, Ubbe,” he said with a strained smile, motioning for Ivar’s brother to step forward. She was extremely relieved in that moment that she was still dressed and did not have to meet Ivar’s brother while wearing her nightgown.

After glancing at Aethelwulf, Ubbe hesitated and dipped into what Aldreda supposed was some sort of bow. Then, to her surprise, he took her hand and kissed it. “Hello,” he said in English.

She let go of his hand and curtsied back awkwardly. “My lord Ubbe, it is a pleasure to meet you.”

He stared at her in confusion. Her father nudged her and murmured, “I don’t think he knows our language.”

“Oh,” she said. Embarrassingly enough, though Ivar’s English had improved to a remarkable degree in the past couple months, the same could not be said for her Norse. She frantically tried to recall her vocabulary. “Ah...how are you?”

He seemed relieved to hear her speak his language, however badly, and he smiled at her. “Our journey was long and difficult, but I am better now that I have met you.”

She had no idea what to say to that in either language. “Thank you,” she finally replied. Then she turned to her father. “I would like to speak to you,” she said in English.

He looked surprised. “Oh, of course. Right now?”

“Yes.” She tilted her head at Ubbe. “And alone.”

“Right.” Her father grasped Ubbe by the elbow and then escorted him back into the hallway with a polite smile before closing the door in his face.

“What is going on, Father?” she demanded once the door was closed.

He took a seat at the desk and ran his hands through his hair wearily. “Should the annulment proceed—and now it certainly will—Ragnar Lothbrok has proposed that you marry Ubbe. Your grandfather was receptive to the idea.”

She supposed she should have expected this: to be handed off immediately to the next available suitor with no say of her own, or even the faintest gesture that her feelings might have mattered in the least. Somehow, foolishly, she had thought that maybe this time would be different. But clearly she was mistaken. Judith had been right after all.

“And you?” she asked in a small voice. 

Her father sighed and looked away. “I did not like the idea of you marrying Ivar,” he said. “Neither of you even had time to get to know each other before you wed, though I admit I was too quick to judge him. You did your duty, of course, for the good of Wessex. But sometimes our hearts pull us in other directions, and that is no sin. Though your grandfather and Ragnar Lothbrok would like this matter resolved quickly, I have requested that you be allowed to decide whether the match is to proceed, and that Ubbe be baptized into our faith. They have agreed to these conditions.”

She threw herself into his arms without hesitation. “Thank you,” she whispered, hugging him tightly. Then she stepped back with a frown. “What will happen to Ivar?”

“The king has decided that the annulment can be formalized the day after tomorrow, once the final details have been worked out with Ragnar Lothbrok,” he said. “Afterwards, Ivar will return to Kattegat with his father. Ubbe will remain here and preparations will be made for the engagement. Tomorrow, you should spend at least a little time with him.”

She nodded, not quite trusting herself to speak. It is for the best, she told herself for the thousandth time. Ivar could hate her if that was what he needed. She hoped he wouldn’t.

Her father squeezed her shoulder. “All my life, I have tried to do the right thing for my country, and my father, and my god,” he said. “I believed that if doing the right thing came at the expense of my personal happiness, then the cost was worth it. But now I see that these two things may not always be in opposition to each other. Sometimes happiness can be the right thing, and I would very much wish for all my children to be happy. I am sure that your mother would have wanted the same.” 

“Yes, Father,” she whispered. She was a woman now; she knew she should maintain her composure and not weep in front of him. Once she started, she would not be able to stop.

It must have been obvious. “Oh, my dear,” her father said gently, pulling her close and touching his forehead to hers, and she lost herself entirely. She sobbed in his arms for what felt like an eternity as he patted her back and murmured soothing words. Finally, as her sobs began to subside, he poured her a cup of water from the pitcher on the desk and gave her his handkerchief to wipe her eyes.

“You always raised me to understand my duty towards others came first,” she said once she could speak again. She blew her nose and returned the handkerchief. “In a way, that made everything easier, because then I could say I didn’t have a choice. But what if I make the wrong choice now? What if I make a mistake and I don’t know how to fix it?”

He squeezed her hand. “We can’t always fix everything,” he said. “All we can do is the best that we can.”

With that, her father smiled and left her. Alone in her room, she undressed, blew out the candles, and climbed into bed. She didn’t think she would sleep at all that night, but somehow she had exhausted herself. Within minutes of closing her eyes, she was fast asleep.

                                                              **

When Ivar woke in the morning, the sun was already shining high in the sky and flooding the room with light. He hadn’t meant to sleep for so long. Usually, Aldreda would wake before him, and she would eventually nudge him to get up. But she hadn’t slept there last night, presumably having found herself another room for the time being. Of course, it hardly made sense for them to continue to share a bed if they were no longer going to be married.

His stomach growled and he suddenly realized he was ravenous. He might have elected to stay in bed all day otherwise, having nowhere else to go and nothing to do, but he finally forced himself up, washed his face, and slowly got dressed. Then he crawled over to the door, and finding it still locked from the outside, he banged on it until an annoyed guard opened it and glared down at him.

“Does King Ecbert mean for me to starve?” he snapped.

The guard closed the door in his face without a word, but within ten minutes, a servant came by with a plate of food and then hurried out before Ivar could make any additional demands. He wolfed his breakfast down in minutes. Once he was done, he picked up the plate and turned it around in his hands a few times. Even though he felt a little better after eating, he thought he would feel much better if he threw the plate at the locked door.

The moment it left his hands, the door opened without warning and his father stepped inside. The plate struck him squarely in the chest and bounced off. It clattered around noisily on the floor until Ragnar bent down with a groan to pick it up and set it on the table. 

“Father,” Ivar said in what he hoped was a steady voice, staring up at him.

“Ivar.” Ragnar sighed and sank down to the ground with his back to the door and legs splayed. “I am meeting again with King Ecbert today. Tomorrow morning, you’ll go to the priest and the marriage will be annulled. Then you and I will return right away to Kattegat while Ubbe remains here to be formally engaged to Aldreda. You will do this without making a scene and embarrassing your people, your family, and yourself. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Father,” he said dully.

“Hm.” Ragnar tilted his head back against the door. “Do you have anything to say to me, boy?” 

He had spent hours since yesterday working through various defenses and excuses for his behavior, but in that moment, his mind went blank. He picked at the fabric of his pants, overcome by emotion. “You left me,” he said at last, his voice suddenly breaking. “You left me again and you didn’t even bother to ask how I felt about it.”

Ragnar watched him in silence. As a child, Ivar had seen his father as a giant, unreachable and untouchable, but in this moment, sitting across from him—all he looked like was a tired old man, nothing like the great king and warrior he had always idolized. 

“I remember, you know,” Ivar continued. “Sigurd said I just dreamed it and I couldn’t possibly remember because I was only a baby back then, and maybe he’s right, but it doesn’t matter. I remember looking up at your face. I remember you leaving me somewhere cold. You said you did it because you thought my legs were a weakness and I would die anyway. But I don’t care anymore why you left me. I just want to know if you’re sorry that you did it.”

Without taking his eyes off him, Ragnar slowly got to his feet. “Do you think you’re the first child to be left by his father?” he asked harshly. “I survived. You survived. The gods willed it. It doesn’t matter whether I’m sorry or not.”

With that, he turned and left as abruptly as he had come, leaving Ivar sitting alone on the floor. He sat there in silence and watched the shadows creep along the walls and listened to the sounds of the servants walking by in the hall, laughing and arguing cheerfully. If the door had been unlocked, he would have been tempted to charge out of the room, snarling curses to make them turn and run, but Ragnar had of course been careful to lock the door behind him. Even if his father was not sorry, he was ashamed of what he had done, Ivar realized. It still hurt. But he remembered what Aethelwulf had told him in the carriage: that he didn’t have to make the same mistakes as his parents; that it was possible to be better. He hoped he was right.

With nothing else to do, Ivar finally hauled himself back onto the bed and stared at the ceiling as the sun gradually sank below the horizon. He tried without success to avoid thinking about Aldreda, who was probably off having dinner with Ubbe and blushing when he smiled at her. His brothers all knew how to charm women; a skill he had never bothered to try to pick up—what was the use? He’d never be like them. 

He unsuccessfully tried to wrench his thoughts away from Aldreda and Ubbe and plan for his future back in Kattegat, but he just couldn’t shake the image out of his mind. If Ubbe really could make her happy, though...if this was really what she wanted...well, maybe that was what mattered most. Maybe he just had to figure out how to let her go. 

At some point in the evening, the servants came in to light the candles and bring him another plate of food, even though he had no appetite. He lay back on the bed, shut his eyes, and firmly ignored them, which no doubt made them happy. He even let himself doze for a while. His dreams were fragmented and hazy: he was lying in a tent in Mercia with Aldreda curled up at his side; he was on the boat to England again, watching Jormungandr rising out of the dark water to strike; he was sitting on the throne of Kattegat before a room full of cheering skeletons; he was his own father, looking down at the helpless infant in his arms. No other way, my son. 

He woke to a hesitant knock at the door. “Fuck off,” he snapped sleepily in Norse. It was probably Ubbe dropping by with some long winded explanation about how this was all being done for Ivar’s own good. Ubbe was the last person on earth he wanted to see right now.

He sat up in surprise when Aldreda poked her head inside. She had a hesitant look on her face, as though she thought he would shout at her. “Sorry, I thought you were my brother,” he explained sheepishly, rubbing his eyes.

“Can I come in?” she asked. Before he could answer, she quickly added, “You can say no. That’s all right too. I just...I didn’t want to be alone tonight.”

Some part of him wanted to refuse out of spite; to say don’t worry, you’ll be rid of me soon enough and won’t have to look at me anymore, just like you wanted, same as everybody else. He could watch her expression turn from uncertainty to shock before slamming the door. Then she would go back to her own room and he would lie in bed awake all night, and he would only see her one last time in the morning to formally annul the marriage before getting sent home. That would be the end of it. 

She hovered in the doorway, hair loose over her shoulders and dark circles under her eyes for lack of sleep. In that moment, she didn’t look like a princess of Wessex or the granddaughter of a king: just a girl, not much older than himself, and no more certain about the future than he was. He sighed and shifted over on the bed to make room for her. After a few seconds, she stepped inside, shut the door, and joined him.

[doctorwhoandfairytaillover]

Part 6B - Vikings: Kissed by Fire

Summary: After a night of fun in celebration of (Y/N)’s nameday, Ragnar confronts her in regards to the relationship she has with Tristan

Pairings: Ragnar x reader (romantic), Tristan (OC) x reader (platonic?)

A/N: This took way longer than I was expecting, but now we finally have some backstory for Tristan and (Y/N). (Seriously recommend playing this song, when Tristan starts to sing

______________________________________________

Blearily (Y/N) leaned into Ragnar as they left the ongoing festivities of her name day, her steps wavering as they walked toward her room. A sense of tension settled between the two, mainly on Ragnar’s part as he helped her sit on her bed. She stretched tiredly and blinked with fatigue as she began to slip out of her garments into her nightclothes, looking over at Ragnar as he stared into the fire with a look of annoyance.

           “Now what has my husband’s brows so furrowed? Weren’t you just enjoying yourself moments ago in the hall with all the others?”

           “It doesn’t appear that you noticed, but I was not enjoying myself. Rather, I was nursing my ale as I watched my wife have the time of her life dancing and laughing with other men.”

           “Those men that you speak of were my brothers and friends, nothing more.”

           “Then what of ‘Tris?” he said mockingly. “And his brother that you spent so much time with.”

           “I have seen neither in many years, they were not even in attendance for either of our weddings. They left my life long before you came into it.”

           “But there is more to it, isn’t there?”

Her teeth were clenched in anger at his accusation, but calmed herself with a slow breath.

           “I courted Tristan in secret for two years” (Y/N) admitted.

Ragnar’s gaze dropped down to the anklet on (Y/N)’s ankle and looked up to meet her eyes.

           “I want you to tell me the whole story and leave nothing unsaid.”

------------

At the age of fifteen, it surprised (Y/N) that there had still been no mention of betrothals, possible marriage, suitors, or anything like it. Many of the other ladies around her were being married and some were already expecting their first children. To her, it was vexing to think that any mention of it was quickly cut off by her father and brothers.

She spoke of it often to her Nana, who said nothing in turn and would only order her to quit with her griping and either help or get out of the kitchen. To this, she turned to her closest and oldest friend Tristan who listened to her without question.

Until one day, he asked for her to accompany him that night toward the lake in the middle of the forest near their home and let no one follow after her. That very night nervously, she pulled the shawl even closer to hide the distinct fiery color of her hair as she walked amongst the halls in the darkness. It was unnecessary for her to light a candle, relying heavily on her sense of touch as she scurried out of her home and past a number of guards. Her steps were light as she flittered to the entrance of the forest.

Tristan waited for her there, just past the boundary of where the forest met the land near her home and she allowed for him to pull her along. They muffled their steps as they traveled along the forest into the clearing where the lake was.  

He strummed for a few moments, keeping (Y/N)’s attention as he hummed and sang softly, 

“When you sleep, do you dream of me?

And when you're awake, do you think of me?

I need to know, how do you feel?

Because when I sleep, I dream of you

And when I'm awake, that's all I do

Think about every detail you have

Do you notice when I get mad, I clench my jaw?

Do you notice when I get sad, I tend to fall?

Look at my words I say to you

Cause I notice when you get mad

You close your eyes

And I notice when you are sad

You let out sighs

I need to know are those sighs ever over me?”

(Y/N)’s heart fluttered as she inched even closer to him, as he looked up from his oud and smiled at her as he sang the last verse of his song. A flush dusting his cheeks and ears declaring to her in song his intentions.

“Do you know how in love with you

I am

Do you see how in love with you

I am

Everything that you do, it makes my heart stop

Oh, it stops

And when you sleep, do you dream of me?”

When his hands stilled and a silence settled between the two, (Y/N) looked up at him nervously as he placed a rough hand against her cheek. He smiled at her nervously and pulled her closer, where she could feel the warmth of his breath. His eyes were questioning as they flittered to her lips, gaining a small nod from (Y/N).

With no words, their lips were pressed tenderly against the other as their hearts near stopped from glee. The first of many  breaths stolen as they expressed their undeniable affection. The beginning of a two year courtship

----------

“Tristan and I were together in secret over the course of two years,” (Y/N) said. “No one in his family or mine apart from my Nana knew of the relationship. He was the only man that showed interest in me and I truly believed that he would ask for my hand in marriage.”

“But you were not together by the time that I met you?” Ragnar asked.

“No. Despite my own thoughts about the relationship, my Nana gave me a warning. She told me if he could not be man enough declare his love for me to my father, then whatever we had was doomed to die. That I would not be married to a weak-willed man, but a great one.”

-----

Now at seventeen, both Tristan and (Y/N) had grown significantly as individuals and were given much larger responsibilities. Making their moments much shorter, it was in this instance that (Y/N) sat on a stump as Tristan delicately put on an anklet that he brought with him onto her ankle.

           “Tris?” she called. “When will you ask my father for his blessing? Although he has never expressed it outright, I know that he has considered marrying me off soon.”

           “Your father is a busy man, (Y/N)” said Tristan. “I could never find a time to ask him something of such importance.”

           “Then why not ask him next week, when your family has their audience in regards to a new trade decision that will be made” she asked.

           “I-I’m not too sure about that” he stammered.

It was in that moment, that the advice  (Y/N)’s Nana had given her numerous times came to mind in her  frustration.

           “Tris, if you cannot ask my father on the day of the audience. Then consider this relationship done, I will not wait for something that will never happen.”

At her declaration, Tristan looked up in complete surprise as if he had never expected for her to be so serious in regards to their relationship. But he conceded with a small nod of his head.

Time passed quickly and the day of the audience arrived, with (Y/N) sitting alongside her brothers while Tristan stood beside his own. His gaze remained on the ground as his father and brothers spoke confidently, until with a start he looked up when his name was called.

Her father asked, “Is there anything that you would like to add Tristan? You have not had the chance to speak and I would like to know if there is anything that needs to be said.”

His eyes briefly met (Y/N)’s own and she saw just how quick his resolve crumbled.

           “I’m afraid not. I have nothing else to add” he muttered, as he shamefully looked away.

When his family was dismissed, Tristan took quick strides passed other nobles and never looked back. While (Y/N) sat heartbroken, the anklet against her skin felt frigid and her resolve was strengthened that if he had indeed loved her, that Tristan would have at least made an attempt. But it was just as her Nana had warned, he was too much a weak-willed man. 

----

           “If he had asked your father that day, would you have married him?” Ragnar asked.

           “Were you not listening at all Ragnar? I told you that he was too weak-willed of a man and our relationship wouldn’t have lasted” she said.

           “You may say that, but your actions tonight show that you still feel something for him.”

           “Of course I do. I hold a fondness for him because of the past, nothing more. It is to you that I remain faithful and you are the one that holds my heart.”

           “Well, I shall sleep somewhere else tonight. Maybe your fondness will keep you warm.”

With that, Ragnar stormed out of their room in a huff and (Y/N) sprawled herself onto the bed with an arm over her eyes.

           “Ugh. That’s another thing my Nana once told me, people hear what they want to hear.”

As she settled down for the night a figure slinked away from their position, having heard all that they needed to hear.        

------------------

Tag List (Open):

@heavenly1927​ 

@princesscornbread​

@ivarthebloodyking​

[tsukkinami]

TLK-tober Creative Prompt List

Hey y’all!! So, I made a personal randomizer list for Inktober themed around The Last Kingdom, so I figured I would post it. I made it for art, but it could also be used for video/image edits, or writing short drabbles or fics!

How it works: Use a die with the appropriate number of sides or a random number generator online to determine your 1. Character, 2. Creature they become, 3. The motif or theme of the drawing/writing, 4. The overall mood/vibe of the piece (Ex. I rolled a 9 for my Character, an 11 for my Creature, a 4 for my theme, and a 3 for my vibe, so I would draw/write for Aldhelm as a cute Harpy in a forest).

Hope you enjoy! You can also pick characters/creatures/themes/vibes as you like. This is NOT explicitly a 30 day challenge (especially given that it is already October), so no pressure. If you do decide to do anything for this prompt list, please tag it with #tlk-tober, #tlktober, or #tlk tober!

Character (d20)

1. Uhtred

2. Finan

3. Sihtric

4. Osferth

5. Alfred

6. Aelswith

7. Edward

8. Aethelflaed

9. Aldhelm

10. Beocca

11. Ragnar

12. Thyra

13. Eadith

14. Sigtryggr

15. Iseult

16. Hild

17. Leofric

18. Steapa

19. Stiorra

20. Gisela

Creature (d12)

1. Werewolf

2. Zombie

3. Vampire

4. Witch

5. Ghost

6. Angel

7. Demon

8. Fairy

9. Mermaid

10. Banshee

11. Harpy

12. Succubus/Incubus

Motif (d6)

1. Candles / Light

2. Spiders / Insects

3. Moon / Night

4. Forest / Wilderness

5. Ink / Sludge

6. Religion / Symbolism

Vibe (d4)

1. Malevolent

2. Alluring

3. Cute

4. Dramatic

@maggiescarborough @minimartian @lauwrite1225 @poguesmaybank @cocchamscrew @seaberrycloudberry @queerbroceliande @crubdraws @othermoony @bird-on-a-wire20 @sihtric @hislivinglegacy @finantheagile @bobbibirdofafeather @raincityruckus @for-bebbanburg and anyone else who i forgot to tag or who wants to participate!! If you could, even if you’re not planning on doing it, reblog to spread the word!

[mystic-shadows42]

Against the Odds {Part 11}

Warnings: Angst, Language, Mention of Violence, Mention of sexual assault

It had been a full week since you last saw Hvitserk. You had hoped it was for a good reason too.

The negative ideas in your mind plagued you at night whenever you tried sleeping. With the rumors still going around, it was hard to get it out of your head. Rumors were rumors, most weren’t even true. 

Katia was beautiful by appearance but inside she was dark and ugly. Would Hvitserk succumb to such a thing?

The thoughts lingered along with lots of tossing and turning. You prayed to the gods that Hvitserk was alright, that he finds whatever solace he may need.

The days were getting hard without him being around. You just wanted to see him. Even just a glimpse.

Katia was the only one you had seen. She had walked in a rush as a boat was being prepared for her. It was so quick and sudden that Hvitserk and Aslaug probably didn’t even know she had departed.

Just as soon as the rumor went around she had gone.

Her quick departure caused even more questions to linger. Why did she leave in such a rush? Did this mean their marriage is over since she left? 

There was still hope.

When the night came upon the hour, you wanted to walk the shoreline. It gave you a sense of peace and allowed you to think.

That was until a small flame from a candle caught your attention. Nobody else was outside at this time which peaked your curiosity.

When you went inside the little area, Hvitserk was there, to your amazement. You stopped upon seeing him. His eyes were downcast as he had a drink in one hand.

The smile on your face lit up so much that it was starting to hurt your cheeks.

“Hvitserk,” you said lowly, almost whispering it. 

You moved to be by him but the look he gave made you stop in your tracks. His eyes didn’t hold the light-hearted man that you knew. They looked lost, almost sad.

“You’ve been ignoring me. Can you tell me why?”

Hvitserk remained eerily quiet. Something was wrong. You could tell by the look on his face. 

He looked down at the chair in front of him, looking solemn. He motioned with his hands.

“Sit down.”

Without a second thought, you sat down. You waited in silence for him to continue.

“The day you went to see your mother, I went to the hall. I had a few drinks, but not enough to be out of it.”

He stopped. He fiddled with a figurine in his hands.

“Tell me, Hvitserk.”

You just needed to know. You seeked the truth of that night. The reason to why he had isolated himself from everyone else.

“Katia drugged me. She placed it in my drink.”

Your eyes widened in surprise. You didn’t think Katia would do something like that, especially to Hvitserk, he’d kill her.

That was why she left in a hurry.

You took a deep breath knowing that wasn’t the only thing she did. She wouldn’t just drug him to prove a point. She would go to extremes.

“What else did she do Hvitserk?”

“She used me.”

His hands were clenching together on top of the table.

“Used you? In what way?” 

You were confused. How did she use him?

“She drugged me.” He repeated then looked at his hands focusing his attention on them. “She used my body when I was unconscious.”

You heart dropped. It was clear now. He was hurting from this.

You tried reaching for his hand to comfort him but he retracted and slumped in his chair. 

It hurt to know he didn’t seek you when this happened, though, you understood. He needed time and space to take this all in.

“I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve that.”

“I don’t need you to feel sorry for me.”

“What do you need me to do?”

He looked up at you. He watched your concerned eyes looking back at him. It was as if he didn’t understand your concern.

“There’s nothing you can do to make me feel better. It happened. Her touch has latched itself onto me like some sort of plague.”

You didn’t know what to say. How do you comfort him after what Katia had done. She wanted to mess with his mind and she succeeded.

“What are you going to do about her?”

“I plan to kill her. I want to feel the life leave her body when I strangle her. I want her death to be slow and painful.”

His answer was quick. You could hear the intensity in his voice when he spoke. He truly wanted her to die at his hands. He wanted her to suffer. 

You watched him intently seeing his body tense. His jaw was clenched and his hands were in fists.

“As much as she deserves to die, it wouldn’t be wise. Her father has a vast army behind him.”

“I have my father’s name behind me. I am the son of Ragnar Lothbrok. They will heed to my cause.”

“But you are not Ragnar Lothbrok. You are Hvitserk. You have to give people a reason to fight for you. To respect you just as your father has. You must be fearless.”

“You think I’m not all of those things?”

“I think you’ve let too many people live your life for you. If you really want to kill Katia, you have to have a plan set in motion.”

“I will.”

You wanted Katia dead as much as him, but you wanted him to understand the dire consequences to those actions.

“You have to have a plan before you kill her.”

Hvitserk stood up from his chair causing it to scrap against the floor.

“I want her dead! To hell with the consequences.”

You stood up as well moving around the table to stand in front of him.

“I don’t want your anger to overcome your logic. I want you safe and alive.”

You hesitantly raised your hands wanting to touch him. When he didn’t give you a reason not to, you touched the side of his cheek.

At your touch, Hvitserk visibly relaxed. He touched the hand placed on his cheek. 

You rested your head against his chest. You were happy that he allowed you to touch him.

“I love you, Hvitserk. We’ll make that bitch pay.”

He chuckled. He stroked your hair back then placed his chin on top of your head.

“We will. For now, I just want to stay like this.”

“Whatever you want my love.”

You listened to his heart beat noticing that it was slowing down.

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“Being patient when I was gone and for calming me down. You have that effect on me.”

“You needed that time for yourself.”

He bent down to be eye level with you. He kissed your forehead, letting his lips linger just a while longer.

You were hoping for a kiss but this will have to do. You didn’t mind as long as he was here in this moment with you. 

This was all you needed.

Tagged: @lol-haha-joke​ @geekandbooknerd​ @alexa4040​ @fairyofvoid​ @soleil-dor​ @belovedcherry​ @lordsexmachine​

[xbellaxcarolinax]

Forging A Heart (Ivar the Boneless) 21- The Seer

Pairing: Ivar x Artemis (OFC)

Word Count:4640

Warnings: None

AN: This one’s kinda boring, but it moves everything along.

20- Always A Hero Comes Home

...

A new thrall bounces quietly about the room, lighting all the candles in the chambers now that darkness has descended over Kattegat.

Her name was Geirdis, a frightened little thing, possibly a few years younger than Artemis herself. She was dutiful, doing what was expected of her, except Artemis felt she was in no position to be giving the poor girl orders. Even now she felt a slight discomfort with her presence, knowing she could do all these simple tasks herself.

Artemis was once in her place, serving a haughty prince, but somehow, that all felt so long ago. As far as she was concerned, she was just Kattegat's blacksmith, second only to Arvid's father and his young apprentice. She preferred it that way as it resembled the simple life she once had. Her only privilege was that she slept beside the king, nothing out of the ordinary here in Kattegat, but something shameful where she was from.

There was a chill in the air that night, the signs of winter rearing its head. Clusters of ravens cawed into the night sky loud enough to spark her curiosity, pulling at the fur draped over the window for a glance. The dark creatures circled about the trees and were hard to make out in the darkness. The more intently she stared, the closer they seemed to be, until suddenly one appeared opposite the glass, its large wings flapping wildly as it cawed, its beady black eyes looking straight at her.

She lets out a yelp, stepping back while placing a hand to her chest in an attempt to calm her beating heart.

"My lady?" Geirdis calls out to her. She turns her attention away from the window in favor of looking at the young blonde girl, her chest slightly heaving. Geirdis eyes her for a moment, a look of confusion clouding her face.

Did she not hear the cawing of the raven?

"Please, there is no need to address me in such a way." Artemis finally says to her with a sigh, shaking her head to dispel the sudden shock that ran through her bones. Such titles were a nuisance, why should she be regarded in such a way? She was no lady.

Her eyes landed on Geirdis's hands, in which she held two luxurious garments, one a rich red, the other a soft blue. 

"You are the kings intended, my lady, I must," Geirdis says, walking over to place the dresses upon the bed, "The seamstress has made these for you upon the king's orders."

Both dresses were exceptional in design and beautifully crafted. Made of wool, they were meant to fight the chill that would soon take over Kattegat. Embroidered in a delicate way, with precious stones stitched within, they were fit for a woman of noble birth. Artemis gravitates towards the blue dress, admiring the small sea pearls and the delicate silver stitching that she could never have mastered herself. The wool was soft, much softer and prettier than anything she'd ever owned.

"When did he request these?"

"About a fortnight ago, my lady." Ivar seemed eager to plan the festivities. It made her smile.

"My lady!" Aria's familiar voice calls from behind the leather curtain. The redhead peaks her head in, waiting for permission to enter.

"Aria, it is far too late," Artemis rolls her eyes but motions for her to come in, "How did you manage to slip away under Erik's nose? And don't call me that!" Aria laughs, quickly glancing at Geirdis's nervous form before answering.

"He is asleep, quite exhausted from certain activities," The younger thrall blushes but says nothing while Artemis shakes her head,"And Dafi let me in, of course. I like him by the way, the king has given you a handsome guard." Artemis snorts at Aria's obvious promiscuity.

"I only wanted to let you know, the Jarl intends to go back to his lands after your wedding ceremony." Aria says with a sad smile. Artemis frowns, but nods in understanding. She hadn't had the luck of making many friends, and Aria was the best of them, besides Helga.

"But," Aria continues, "At least I will see you as a bride before I go. It feels like only yesterday that I was teaching you to mend, and now you are to be marrying a king." The green eyed girl laughs, quickly taking Artemis into a tight embrace.

"I wish there was something I could do for you." Artemis says sadly. The Jarl would never dare part with his favorite thrall. Geirdis's light eyes widened at their interaction before turning her head at the sounds of her mistress's dog barking in glee, followed by the familiar thumping of a crutch.

"My king!" Geirdis bows her head, with Aria immediately following suit. Ivar carefully walks in, pushing past the leather curtain. He looked massive standing at his full height. He wore his usual leather, but it was simplistic. Upon his shoulders was a small pelt of grey fur, giving him the appearance of a giant wolf. He purses his lip, surprised at the red head's presence before his eyes fall to Artemis.

"Why don't you just buy her from Erik?" He asks nonchalantly, making his way over bed and gently moving the dresses away, "Leave us." He says to both the thralls with a lazy hand gesture. They bow before him once again, making a quick exit.

"I don't think the Jarl would appreciate that very much," Artemis answers him with a smile, "She has her...duties."

"And yet, I always find her in your company." Ivar replies, yawning as he leans back against his elbows. He had risen early that morning, out scouting with Hvitserk and Heahmund on the whereabouts of his other two brothers. Still no luck.

"I happen to enjoy her company." She says, grabbing his crutch and kneeling before him to remove his metal cages. He hisses silently, the pain inevitable, but let's her finish the job.

"Wear the blue one." He grunts suddenly.

"Hmm?" She moves from the iron to focus on how the candlelight illuminated his features perfectly.

"For the wedding," He says quietly, "Wear the blue one."

“What of the red one?”

“Blue is more your color,” Ivar shrugs, “I just wanted to give you options.” Artemis grins, cocking her head at the timid little look he was trying to hide.

"If that is what you wish," She says to him teasingly, "Thank you for the lovely dresses." She smiles when he waves his hand with a light snort, a flush spreading over his cheeks. She places his braces and crutch aside for easy access in the morning before climbing atop the bed behind him, working the braids and twists out his hair. Her nails scratch lightly against his scalp, and he groans in delight, like a kitten purring in her arms.

"You will make a lovely queen." He says, eyes closed as he lowers his head to her lap, a sweet smile on his playing on his lips.

"You think so," She sighs, gently pulling at the small knots that had formed during the day, "But will I be the right queen?" She says this more to herself than to him, but Ivar cracks a blue eye open in response, his brow pulling together in that innocently confused fashion.

"You are worried," He states, perhaps knowing more than he let on. He knew that the prospect of marriage frightened her, her usual nervous antics in plain sight. It was not because she felt any less for Ivar, he knew that. He guarded her heart as she guarded his and it was absolute, a life line that the fates wouldn't dare to cut. A love had blossomed where no one thought a seed to grow.

"How is a foreigner to rule your people?" She asks him.

"They will become your people too, baby bird. Do not be so fearful."

"Why do you make it seem so simple, hmm?" Artemis scoffs but continues massaging his scalp, effectively releasing the sighs and groans of a hard day, "You have been a prince all your life, and now a king. Your people have always respected you."

It was Ivar's turn to scoff.

"You think my legs have given me any respect?" There was something in the way he said those words, almost like a twinge of anger, maybe even sadness. When they left his mouth she knew she'd said something wrong.

"The children always laughed at me, the people spoke ill of me, my own father left me on a hill to die," Ivar chuckles darkly, placing an arm over his face, as if the physical action would guard him against his memories. "I have been underestimated my entire life, and yet, I've earned the respect of the army, and I've earned the respect of the people. Now who do they follow? A cripple, but a true son of Ragnar." He removes his arm away from his face, his eyes searching hers. What he saw was uncertainty. He brings a hand to trace a finger down her soft cheek, causing her eyes to flutter gently.

"A true follower of the gods." He says softly, swiping the very tip of his finger over her lips. Closing her eyes, she removes her hands away from his silken dark strands, letting them fall over her lap.

"I’m sorry," She says weakly, "I did not mean-"

"You'd make an excellent queen." He cuts her off, grunting as he pushes forward to lean against his elbows again. Carefully, he turns his torso to face her. His loose hair in waves shape the sides of his face, a brightness in his large eyes. In that moment he did not appear to be Ivar The Boneless who so many have created fearsome stories of.

"What makes you say so?" She questions stubbornly, sliding off the bed and taking hold of the dresses to carefully store in her brown chest at the foot of the bed.

"You are not selfish, nor prideful," Ivar lists, "And you have worked along side the people of Kattegat. You know of their struggles and they know of yours. Your hands bare the mark of hardship. Who will understand their needs better than you and I, hmm? Come here." He extends his hand out for her to take, and when she does, he gently pulls her into an embrace.

"You have been blessed by the gods," He says against her hair, a repetitive of his. She closes her eyes at his warmth surrounding her, "You may not see it now, but you will in time. This is where you were meant to be. Right here."

Artemis cracks a smile, sitting beside him. Her hand follows a path that led from his leather covered chest, to his broad shoulders. She removes the fur, her hands finally settling on the nape of his neck, absentmindedly weaving her fingers in his hair. She burrows her face in the crook of his neck, inhaling his scent deeply.

"You mean in your arms?" She asks knowingly, and could feel the smile growing on his lips before he placed a kiss atop her head, and then shifting to bend lower, molding his lips with hers.

"Mhm. In my arms."

...

"That dog of yours is no hound." Heahmund comments in Greek, watching with lazy eyes as the once abandoned creature stomps about with large paws, his black wrinkly face covered in drool. The beast quickly sniffs at the dying grass before turning to Heahmund as if he heard and understood the comment.

Artemis smiles, watching as the bishop bends low, beckoning the large pup over with his hands. The dog wastes no time in stomping over, large tongue hanging out his mouth as he ran, almost taking down the bishop with his brute strength.

"Then what is he?" She asks, raising her bow and aiming her sharp arrow at the target hammered to the tree. Taking a deep breath, she lets go of the tight bow string, hurling the arrow into its destination with ease. The arrow head pierced the center of the wooden target, and she cheered. Her aim was nearly perfect, and the new arrow heads she had forged had done its job.

"He's a mastiff, a guard dog. The Lords in England use them to protect their castles."

"Hmm.” That explained why he guards the chamber entry with Dafi. She whistles, and the pup forgets Heahmund in favor of his mistress, who scratches behind both his floppy ears lovingly. In his excitement he barks in glee, tongue lapping out at her.

"What did you name him?"

"Heracles."

"A famous Greek." Heahmund hums in approval. Heracles was almost as large as Ivar's adult elkhounds, and far from the little abandoned pup she had found back in York. Left behind in Vestfold along with Ivar's hounds, King Harald's men had brought the beasts back once Ivar had established his rule in Kattegat.

He did not sniff the ground rigorously, nor fetch things as hounds would, but his massive size was extremely intimidating, and he had a fierce loyalty and sense of protection towards the woman that took him in, as well as the king, who had now grown a softness for the english creature.

Readying her bow, Artemis takes her stance once again, straightening her back in well practiced movements. Another arrow shot perfectly, but before she can prepare the next one, Heahmund clears his throat.

"Ivar has been speaking of plans for the wedding."

His tone was so nonchalant, that Artemis missed it at first, pulling the arrow from her quiver. She hesitated, turning to him to give her full attention. She knew it was a matter of time before he'd mention that he knew.

"Has he?"

"Is this what you want?" Heahmund countered back, his steady eyes on her, making her feel quite small. He always had that effect, and was one of the reasons why she had disliked him so much from the start.

"Why? Will you try and change my mind?" She challenges. Heracles immediately sensed her foul mood forming, bouncing over to sit by her feet.

"You are a Christian," The bishop  starts, "A union between a Christian and a heathen is unheard of."

"Ivar has told me his uncle married into Frankish nobility."

"For that to be finalized he had to be baptized as a Christian. And what will you have to do? Convert to their pagan ways?"

"I recall you speaking to me of destinies." Artemis forms her stance again. The next arrow flies but slightly misses its mark. She sucks her teeth, pulling out a another arrow. "And for once, you may have been right." Her eyes were so focused on the target that she had missed the skeptical look on the older man's face. She had not seen, but he raises a brow.

"What are you talking about?"

"A raven."

"A raven." Heahmund repeats, unimpressed.

"I am told they are a symbol of the god Odin."

"What of it?"

"The day of the battle I was visited by a raven..." She trails off, lowering the bow as she tried to figure out how to continue without sounding like a mad woman. Heahmund crosses his arms, still unimpressed.

"What happened?"

"I saw him." The bishop was quiet for a moment as if in thought, until he shook his head with a chuckle.

"Do you hear yourself?"

"I saw him." She insists, "He changed the outcome of the war."

"You speak blasphemy," He says. He wasn't wrong in saying such things, but it still annoyed her greatly. In response, Artemis prepares her bow and shoots the arrow at him without warning. The arrow struck the tree behind him, and he flinched when he heard it whizz by. If it were any closer, it would have grazed his cheek. He glares at her.

"You irritate me." She says with a shrug.

"You are already losing your way. You do not wear your cross." Her hand shoots up to her collarbone, fingers grazing her skin bare of any significant trinkets relating to her faith. She rolls her eyes in the way she learned so well from Ivar.

"Do you think it wise to give such opinions when the King had elevated you to a commander and an advisor. He could have killed you."

"I did what was necessary to survive."

"And look at you now," She let's out a sarcastic laugh that further infuriated Heahmund, "Alive and well, with much privilege. Do not try to sway my mind again, Heahmund. These decisions are mine to make."

"You act like these warrior women." The bishop shakes his head, resting his hand on the pommel of his sword. "Pray for deliverance." He says, brooding in his usual manner as he mockingly bows to her, walking away like a sulking child that didn't get their way.

Artemis huffs, sticking her tongue out at his retreating figure before pulling another arrow and aiming it towards the target.

...

Prayer had often been her source of comfort when she had nothing left to do but recite the Lord's Prayer over and over again in her mind as they taught her in church on Sunday mass.

She'd pray in the darkness when the howling winds of Kattegat would shake the foundations of the Ragnarsson's old cabin. She felt an emptiness that could not be filled, often muttering the familiar words to herself as she lay in her cot.

Usually no answers came, but it still made her feel even the smallest hints of warmth and safety, especially in her darkest times when she felt trapped and alone. So Artemis did exactly what Heahmund had suggested: She prayed.

She prayed with eyes tightly shut and hands clasped together, though she felt she didn't know exactly who she was praying to. Her mind focused on the familiar ways of worship, visualizing the paintings on the walls of the church that displayed the biblical stories one learned as a child.

But her focus wavered and her heart stung and ached. It told her what she had seen the day of the battle was real, and while the stinging and aching pulled her into the direction of something unfamiliar, the bishop tried to keep her grounded.

He had set up a makeshift crucifix made of old twigs, impaling it deep into the earth, located deep in the forest where no one but he and Artemis would know of. She visited the grounds that he consecrated less, and instead, found herself learning and exploring the ways and culture of the northern people, sinking in the knowledge of their beliefs that were as tightly rooted into the earth as an ancient tree.

Artemis knew what she'd seen. How could she deny the man with the bloody eye and his band of ravens? How could she deny the death of Lagertha's men and the death of Lagertha herself?

Sometimes she would envision the face of the dead queen, blue skin and empty eyes. At times it would keep her up into the late hours of night, when Ivar was fast asleep in a dream state. She wouldn't have done it, she wouldn't have had the courage, nor the strength to even think about ending a life, but it had come to her so easily in those moments, that it had to be divine intervention.

Weeks earlier Hvitserk had returned to her the golden cross and the silver hammer. They were placed neatly atop her wooden chest of clothes, shining like holy relics in the flickering candlelight.

Ivar would step into their shared chambers at night, finding Geirdis has long been dismissed. Artemis would sit at his desk, rubbing her thumb over the pendant of Mjölnir in an almost trance like state, while the golden cross lay abandon atop the old wood he had stabbed and carved with a knife one too many times in his youth.

"You ought to go visit the seer," He finally says to her one night, comfortably tucked in bed, "He may help you."

"Is he the man that reveals prophecies and futures?"

"Mhm."

"No." Artemis mutters into his side, her eyes fluttering close in her weariness.

"And why is that?" Ivar questions, placing a toned arm behind his head and settling into the furs, "Our marriage is in a week. I do not want you to run away because you are unsure of what you want."

She ponders his words for a moment. She'd never put into account that Ivar was worried as well. She had been so preoccupied in her own troubles of faith that she hadn't thought perhaps he was worried she'd leave him. When it was obvious she was distracted, Ivar brings his other hand to gently play with her hair, enjoying the little sighs that escaped her. After a few minutes, he brings a finger to playfully tap her temple.

"Your mind will be the death of you, baby bird."

"I'm not running away," She says suddenly, shifting her body to look at him. He had this look of uncertainty she'd never seen before.

"Go to the seer," He insists, "It may ease your mind, and mine." He mutters the last part.

"Very well." She huffs, placing the pendant in her hand beneath the mounds of pillows for another night of safe keeping.

"Good." Ivar murmurs tiredly. He gently pecks her cheek with drooping eyes, turning to blow out the flame of the candle beside him.

...

She stares at the hut before her, repulsed by its appearance. It was dirty, even from the outside. The wood was rotting away and the plants that weaved themselves between the planks of rotting wood were withering and dying.

It was not an inviting sight.

Heracles sniffed about her feet, curious of the smells surrounding them.

"I fear I will not like what he has to say." She says to herself, her beast staring up at her. Shen sighs in defeat, dropping her head with eyes closed.

The seer was well known around Kattegat, a most revered man, yet the most feared. He had a power beyond human understanding, blessed and cursed by his gods to a life servitude.

Artemis has heard of his kind before. In ancient Greece they were known as oracles, priestesses of Apollo with the divine power of prophecy and interpreting the future. Of course, in the Christian world, it was viewed as the devil's work, but pushing those thoughts aside, she takes a deep breath, wiping her clammy hands down her skirts.

"You stay here." She looks down at her large pup. He tilts his head, blinking at her. Leaving him with a pat, she enters into what she felt was like decending into hell.

She was met with a dark ambiance, the type of place any Christian would identify as a witches lair or perhaps the home of the devil himself. Seashells and dried herbs hung from the low ceiling and the smell of smoke and other things she could not identify invaded her nose. Candles were lit just enough to see the steps one took, and just enough for her to want to turn back. Before she could make that decision, a voice calls out to her.

"Why does the foreigner visit me?"

Artemis stops in her tracks. It was her first time she had heard his voice. It reminded her a bit of Heahmund, scratchy and breathy, almost painful for him to speak.

"Well?" The seer awaits her answer.

She slowly turns back, searching for the source of the voice. She finds him laying upon a bed of furs, his hands interlaced over his cloaked covered body.

She'd never forget such a face, void of emotion, sickly looking, with severe scars for eyes and soot colored lips. He was malformed, creature like, with spindly fingers and skin resembling the melting wax of the candles that surrounded him.

"I was told you have answers." Her voice sounded so small compared to his, eaten up by the small fire blazing under a cauldron bubbling with something that contributed to the unpleasant smell.

"I only see what the gods allow me to see, child." The seer moves, sitting up slowly. He extends a hand out with his palm open.

Artemis grimaces. This was the part she had not been looking forward to. Stepping over the scattered furs on the floor, she grasps his hand. She hesitated, lips hovering over the waxy skin before tentatively poking her tongue out to lick a stripe across his palm.

The seer takes his hand back, grunting in approval before speaking.

"What does the future queen wish to know?" She didn't know how to respond. It was strange to hear the title from someone else besides Ivar. She steps back slowly, plopping down upon the old fur rugs before answering.

"I wish to know of your gods," She starts hesitantly, "I was raised as a Christian-"

"I know of your twisting faith, child."

"-But I have seen your god." She continues.

"The All Father reveals himself to whom he wishes." Artemis frowns.

"But why?"

"It is not our right to question the will of the gods." Was all the seer said.

"I questioned everything since arriving to Kattegat," Artemis says, placing her hands on her knees and squeezing them in frustration, "What have I to do with them?"

"The gods work in mysterious ways, is that not what you Chrisitans believe about your God?"

"Yes, but-"

"The same principle applies here. The only problem is that you are afraid to accept what is real and what is not." She turns away from the ancient man, letting out an shuddering breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding in.

"But why me? I was just a slave-"

"You have the ability to see, yet you are blinded." He rasps out.

"Well then, what is it that you can tell me?" She bites out. The seer grunts out a bitter laugh at her impatience, his own wearing thin.

"A shadow looms over you, whether good or bad, I cannot see," Artemis swallows roughly, a lump lodging itself into the center of her throat. The seer let's out a tired and sickly breath before continuing.

"A child shall be born, the eye of the raven. Winter draws near and so will the enemy, lurking like a pack of wolves in the dark night. They wait for Sòl to set,"

The birth of a child? But Ivar is incapable-

Artemis remains quiet, interrupting her own thoughts. Her brows furrow and the deformed man immediately chuckles, as if reacting to her confusion.

"You will find hardship beside the crippled king, foreigner. Being his queen will not be easy."

"Then who am I to be his queen?" She responds quietly, her eyes reflecting the colors of the fire as she stares intensely into its flames.

"It has already been written," The seer replies, laying back down upon his scattered rugs, "The king has been touched by the gods despite what anyone thinks, and they have chosen you to be his partner. None of this is by chance. You have given him a heart, and for that, the All Father has given you his favor. Trust in the gods, and they will have trust in you."

"But what must I do?"

"Honor the gods, invoke the All Father, and you shall be blessed. Now, go and face your fate," The seer says to her, "Leave me to rest,"

Artemis's legs shook as she stood, glancing at the seer who heaved and coughed, his breathing hard and harsh. She gives him a nod of respect, knowing that despite his lack of vision, he would know.

"Foreigner," He rasps out to her before she could make it to the splintering door. She looks back at him, her eyes lingering on the black hood that hung over his deformed face. The corner of his dark lips lift up ever so slightly into an almost taunting smile before speaking.

"Lagertha may be dead, but her spirit lives on."

...

@heavenly1927 @didiintheblog @inforapound @a-mess-of-fandoms @ostra814 @leilabeaux @zumzum96​ @rastakami23

[inforapound]

Ease The Dawn Chapter 9

A/N - Just a reminder that this is the first fic I have ever written so please excuse my terrible grammar and clumsy writing. 

Pairing - Ivar and Aethelswith

Chapter - 9 of 18

Notes - some sexual content

The wood on the fire crackled while the smoke and flames surged up toward the night sky and the flickering light bounced off the faces of the gathered warriors making them look even more brutal. Nursing his cup of ale, Ivar was avoiding his return to the tent. He had turned away the King's scout for a second time, refusing to respond to Alfred's request for his terms.

Taking a small drink, he only partially listened to the battle stories being shared by his men. His body was stiff and his mind was entirely consumed with the outline of her pale lips. Closing his eyes, her radiant heart-shaped face was there, along with her sincere, soft blue eyes that seemed to twinkle whenever she told him a story of her childhood. Inhaling deeply, he let out a long sigh thinking about her flawless skin, wondering if it would taste how it looked, like smooth honey. Growling under his breath, he attracted the attention of the men, making him shift restlessly in his chair.

He wished, as he did on many occasions, that he could speak to his mother. Often just the look in her eyes used to tell him all he needed to know. She would have liked Aethelswith; her beauty, her curiosity, her quiet strength, her sense of duty and sacrifice. The two, without question, had similarities, he thought, and hadn't his mother endured a life of similar suffering?

"So, brother, to what do we owe the pleasure of your company?" Hvitserk asked, looking smug.

Ignoring him, Ivar looked into the flame as if he had not heard, making Hvitserk let out a chuckle.

"What is troubling you?" he prodded, sitting directly across the flames from Ivar. "Running out of reasons to reject the King's messenger?"

Ivar's expression tensed, but he did not bite.

"Lover's quarrel?" Hvitserk jabbed and Ivar let out a high-pitched laugh, his face turning harsh and his eyes narrowing at Hvitserk.

"What is worrying you brother?" Ivar crooned in a smooth, threatening tone. "Realizing you have no place here? Hmm? Understanding that, without father, you have no importance?"

Acquiescing, Hvitserk said nothing, taking a long pull from his cup and glancing at the surrounding men. The men started to rise, some simulating yawns and wandering away from the warmth of the fire, looking to retire anywhere but near the tension.

Fumbling for his crutch, Ivar pushed himself up and headed for the path. Trudging toward the tent, he noticed a small flicker of light through the canvas coming from the far corner. Nodding to Gussr, who sat on a stool outside the door, Ivar silently took back the charge of the Princess. Nodding in response, Gussr rose and walked away into the shifting night.

Lowering himself onto the stool, he removed his braces, tucking them inside the flap of the tent. Dropping his chin to his chest, he exhaled slowly, feeling the apprehension wash over him like a cold settling dew. How absurd, he thought, Ivar the Boneless, nervous following what exactly? Holding the Princess's hand? Cleaning the blood from her thumb with his mouth? Scoffing, he shook his head thinking how Hvitserk would likely have a shieldmaiden riding his face until dawn.

Staring out into the darkness, he reminded himself that he was a ruthless Viking and the favoured son of Ragnar. He had avenged his father after all and killed countless Saxons and was already a common name across all of Scandinavia. He was feared by those unfavored enough to face him in battle; feared even by those on his side of the battle...except her... Aethelswith.  She may have been afraid, taken hostage by an enemy of her kingdom, but she had never cowered from him.

Closing his eyes, he recalled his men's heckles and jeers the day she arrived and first stood before him. They leered and made crude gestures about her body, described what they would do if given the chance. In that instant, he knew after just one encounter, she could be under no one's charge but his own. The senior Gussr was the one exception, and Ivar was not blind to his sentiment toward her. No, she was far too captivating to risk to another. Too rare, too extraordinary and it made him wonder if there could not be one thing or one person in the merciless world unspoiled and unharmed, even cherished.

Opening his eyes, he took a deep breath, dropping from the stool and pushed through the flap. Looking over to her side, he saw that she was asleep, lying with her back towards the wall with locks of wild, warm golden hair spread in every direction.

Only a small candle burned on the log table beside his bed. Nearly burnt to the bottom, its light was fading quickly. Moving to his bed, he crawled in leaving his clothes on and pulled his legs over to lie on his side to face her. Within moments the glow of the candle faded to black, leaving them in darkness. His eyes started to adjust and he listened to her soft steady breathing, beginning to inhale and exhale in time with her.

---

Standing in front of the desk, her tiny hand was held in his and his lips were around her thumb, his tongue gliding back and forth over the opening of her cut. It tasted sweet to him, the perfect mixture of flesh and metallic with a hint of bitter coal. Looking at her, he savoured the feel of her skin between his lips and the soft, surrendered look on her face. Chin subtly lifted, peering up at him with her beautiful mouth slightly parted. His eyes zeroed in on that small part of her throat that dipped every time she swallowed.

Shifting on his feet, he felt an unfamiliar tug, a stirring sensation that sent heat coursing down his limbs. Bringing her hand to his chest, he pressed it hard against his body wanting, so badly, to say the words screaming through his head - take it, just take it. Take my heart.

Needing more, he leaned toward her, pausing to search her face for any sign of hesitation. With a racing heart, he tilted closer and pressed his lips to hers, exhaling shakily against her mouth. A sensation of arrival swept over him as their lips adjusted and she pressed back. Breathing in her warmth, he slowly slid his tongue out, sweeping it over her supple lower lip, sampling his welcome. Opening further to him, she allowed their tongues to meet and softly swirl.

Gods, if ever a person could die from a kiss, he thought as a surge of desire rushed through his core causing his manhood to twitch.

Reaching forward he pulled her by her lower back and hugged her to his front, breaking the kiss just so he could see her beautiful face again. Overwhelmed, his mind spun, her smell, her sweetness, her lips red from contact, everything about the woman was perfect. He felt intoxicated, enchanted, weak.

Straightening, he shuffled backward with his crutch under one arm and ungracefully fell to the bed.

"Will you sit with me?" he whispered, holding his hand up for her to take.

Clutching it, she lifted the front of her dress and lowered herself down, placing a knee on either side of his lap. His eyes shot wide, mesmerized by her boldness and he leaned back, grasping fistfuls of the furs to stop himself from grabbing. Gods...her body; her tiny, luscious, perfect body that she willingly pressed to his. He felt bewitched, under a spell.

"Can I kiss you again?" he asked, unable to hide the insecurity in his voice.

Their mouths quickly connected, moving faster and with deeper need. Small, breathless sounds slipped from each of them before she pulled back and looked into his eyes.

"You can touch me," she uttered.

Responding, he straightened and brought his hands to her knees, fumbling with the hem of her dress. Sliding below the fabric, he stopped at the feeling of her warm, smooth skin. A slight whimper escaped her as she spread her knees further apart. Continuing on, he pushed his hands up her thighs, finding her bare below her dress and grabbed her round hips in his large, worn hands. He wondered if he was doing this properly and if this is what she intended when offering her invitation.

Squeezing the flesh of her backside, he got his answer as she responded, encouraging him, by grinding down against his groin making him hiss through teeth. Needing more, he lifted his hands to her shoulders and traced his fingers along her collarbone, tilting forward to kiss her again, pulling her lower lip with his. Do it, he silently pushed himself, fearing the closeness may never come again.

Tucking his fingers into the neck of her dress, he pulled the loose fabric down her arms uncovering the skin of her elegant shoulders and part of her chest. Stilling, he kept his mouth on hers, waiting for resistance. Instead, she pulled away and pushed the straps of her dress further down her arms, exposing her full, pear-shaped breasts. His eyes dragged down her front, noticing that her nipples, hard from the cool air, were the same shade as her soft lips. Gods, his mind reeled, thinking how much he wanted those breasts to one day feed his children. Leaning forward, he took one of her nipples into his mouth and firmly cupped the other. Pushing into his sucking mouth, her head tipped back and she moaned, her breath starting to sound like a pant.

"Let me taste you again," he moved up, whispering against the skin of her throat.

Bringing her lips back to his, he swirled his tongue with hers, both hands exploring her chest as she rocked her hips harder, urging him on. Dropping his hands, he pushed the fabric of her dress back up her thighs and grabbed her round bottom. Lowering his mouth to her neck, he lapped and sucked her warm skin drawing out the scent of the rose oil. Rolling her hips even harder, she picked up the pace, causing him to groan against her collarbone and push his hard bulge up toward her.

Running his hands up her ribcage and down her back, she froze as his hands skimmed over the scarred, disfigured surface. Pulling her lips from his, she stopped and looked down.

"You are perfect, my sweet," he breathed, the corners of his eyes scrunching with emotion. "Every part of you, even these," he slid his hands up, touching the scars.

Look up, her brows lifted and she seemed to study his face, gasping softly when he slammed his lips back to hers. Not holding back, she ground down on his hard cock making him growl and become suddenly aware that he had never before experienced the, almost painful, straining in his pants.

Returning his hands to her bottom, he reached further into the join between her cheeks, following the warmth and connecting his fingers with the dripping slick of her folds.

Grunting loudly, almost a shout, he pressed his clothed cock up against her centre, her bare core grinding fast against his pants. A strained rhythm began, her breath fast and her hips gently bucking as his fingers slipped and swirled over the back of her wet entrance. His own breath became ragged and a growing tingle began deep in his loins; a rising pressure with a wave of heat building from the base of his manhood and spreading down his legs.

As if in a trance, he could not stop moving, his bucking growing frantic as he chased the unfamiliar itch. Her moans and cries became loud and he suddenly felt suspended, disconnected from his mind, followed by a strange, warm release. Breath held, he shuddered violently before dropping his forehead to her chest.

"What was that?" he heard himself say, unaware that he had spoken.

---

With a jolt, his eyes opened and he lifted his head from the awkward position of sleeping on his stomach.  Snapping his head over to look, he saw that Aethelswith lay asleep on her bed, her face looking away, toward the tent wall. Shifting, he glanced down at his bed, painfully aware that he had been rutting his crotch again his furs. Gods, he cringed to himself, wondering if he had woken her. Had he been pathetically humping his bed in front of her? Worse, had he called out her name?

Looking back over, he listened to her steady breathing, thinking that she was the type of person who would feign sleep just to spare him embarrassment.

The sun was rapidly rising and he could see the glow of first light shining through the canvas. Shutting his eyes, he dropped his face down into the pillow, dreading the day, but taking some relief that she did, in fact, appear to be asleep.

Pulling himself off the bed, he felt the stickiness in his breeches, and crawled fast across the grass floor and through the tent flaps, out into the morning. Aethelswith opened her eyes and lifted her head, watching as the tent flap swung closed behind.

.

@ill-skillsgard @allvikingsfanfic @youbloodymadgenius @lol-haha-joke @fangirl-nonsense @jacksonroth @dreamwritesimagines @ceridwenofwales @whenimaunicorn @justanothershelby @medievalfangirl @naaladareia @yanii-the-hippie @flowers-in-your-hayr @equalstrashflavoredtrash 

[axelsagewrites]

Magnus Bane*No Tea Tonight PT3

Magnus has had many past lovers. Some subcum to age, some to tradgedy, and some to fights. (Y/N) however was lost, literalley. After going missing on a shadowhunter mission their was no answers. Not till the case was reopened by the Lightwood siblings who were in over there heads.

Masterlist HERE

Wattpad HERE

Magnus Bane X Warlock!Reader

Part one  Part two

Magnus awoke already annoyed. He didn’t know what at but either way he was giving Chairman Meow the side-eye as he drank his coffee. “Must you meow so loud?” He snapped at one single meow from the cat. Chairman seemed to stare into his soul before he meows again, as loud as a cat possibly could. The warlock rolled his eyes and focused his attention on Brooklyn’s skyline. A nice, penthouse, flat that he didn’t even have to worry about the rent on. Antique furniture’s and artifacts dating back farther than the ones in the museums, and better qualities. A city, world even, of Downworlders who respected him and lusted after him. How could he complain? Magnus mulled these thoughts over in his head. On paper his life was perfect. He was even immortal. If anything, that was a curse. Once his immortality sunk into his mind he realized something awful; he would always outlive who he loved. His family and childhood friends aged and died around him. New friends were there for a blink of an eye. He hadn’t been able to stay anywhere long. They’d realize he hadn’t aged, or he’d be forced to watch them suffer that fate. The few immortals he met were the only ones he wouldn’t lose to age. Vampires and warlocks who hardened over time as they felt the pain of every generation. Every tragedy. Every death. It was hell. No one lives as long as him without a tragedy and after so many, it’s hard to smile. The immortal friends he did make were…quirky. Ragnar tested his patients at every moment, Cat was always busy and like a proper adult, and Tessa kept getting hung up on immortals. But they were friends, family even. Its why he clung so long to Camille. She didn’t age, she wouldn’t get stolen by time. He dealt with someone so toxic because at least she was there. Then there was (Y/N). when they met they never said what they were? Not all Downworlders are obvious, werewolves hide scars, vampires are seen in nightclubs, Seelie’s learn to talk mundane, and warlocks use glamours. (Y/N) could’ve been a mundane with a sight for all he knew. Even still, not knowing how long they would have, Magnus fell for (Y/N). they’d met through Ragnar but were nothing alike. It was a ball, drinks were flowing, music was playing, and peoples sins hide in the corner. (Y/N) wasn’t drinking Magnus noticed. Only wetting their lips with the wine. So, he called her out. “You learn so much more when they think you know so little.” Was all they said, smirking then walking out into the gardens. Magnus followed. “What do you want to learn?” he asked. “Nothing. Everything. Doesn’t matter,” they shrugged, not slowing their pace for the warlock, “It’s like a collection. Some are prized others are left dusty. Did you know the Duchess of Versailles was the mistress of Lady Manda?” Magnus raised an eyebrow, “On its own, it doesn’t matter. Unless you also know Lady Manda’s husband Lord Gordon was trying to create a trade with the prince of Austria who has a feud with the Duke over their son’s affair together.” “How do you know all that?” Magnus asked, stopping his walk as (Y/N) stopped to sniff the roses. “Simple, I’m nothing. My stations not high enough to care, not low enough to look down on. My money's not known to them and around here I’m known to have a drink. When I drink, they drink. When they drink, I listen.” (Y/N) plucked a rose, putting it Magnus’s top pocket, “If I was you, I’d start buying grain from the Duke. The prince has his favor,” “What about the king?” “You won’t have to ask that for long,” (Y/N) said, walking away. Magnus didn’t follow. The advised paid off. Few bought gains from the duke so when tables turned Magnus’s fortunes doubled but (Y/N) was gone. It wasn’t till Venice, a decade late, that he saw (Y/N) again. He’d asked around about (Y/N) but no one seemed to know. No one seemed to care. There was a portrait hung in a restaurant he was in. (Y/N) was in a gondola, rowing across the river. Relaxed, composed, young. It could’ve been painted 10 years ago or 10 days ago. The chances of (Y/N) still being in Venice was slim to none. But he saw them, for a moment. It was a moment enough to convince him to follow. Pushing through crowds,  Magnus looked for (Y/N) among the faces. Eventually, he ended up in an alley with no people. The beauty of Venice didn’t exist in this alley. Magnus sighed, about to leave, when “You look good for your age,” “Where are you?” Magnus turned back and saw nothing. He looked up though and saw (Y/N) sitting on the window sill of a building. It was run down and probably closed. “Why are you up there?” “How have you been?” (Y/N) smirked, ignoring the question. “Longs it been? 8 years?” “10. And it wasn’t really a meeting,” (Y/N) shrugged, “Well I wasn’t really sure. You were an uncertain choice. After that vampire’s choice words, I figured I’d let the wind settle before I tried to see where it would blow,” Vampire? Magnus thought, “Camille,” he sighed. “That’s the one. Fewer enemies fewer problems. How is the bitch?” Magnus laughed, “Not friends I see?” “Does that one have friends?” “Not anymore,” “Good for you,” (Y/N) said. They looked over their shoulder before grabbing something and tossing it out the window. A rope swung from the window, almost touching the ground, “Coming in?” It was dangerous. A rouge from what he knew. A run-down Venice building. He wasn’t stupid. But yet Magnus tested the strength of the rope. (Y/N) smirked and it spurred him on. Magnus took hold and began trying to scale the building. Trying because he hadn’t done this since an intense game of truth or dare in the 1700s when windows were lower to the ground. Still, he managed to climb in with catlike ease. “Glad you could join us,” the stranger said. The room was dark, only a couple of candles on a rickety table. (Y/N) handed one to the warlock. “Come on,” (Y/N) smiled a smile. Without a candle or light (Y/N) was able to lead the warlock. (Y/N) was faster though so grabbed his hand lightly to guide him faster. There wasn’t even a door in the doorframe to stop them. Down a wooden staircase with a missing banister, they arrived on a stage. Magnus squinted to see. There were other candles giving off a small light like a star at the start of a night. Looking closer Magnus saw the bodies by the flames. “You’re a warlock right?” (Y/N) asked. Magnus was hesitant to nod. “So’s Gino. Gino!” (Y/N) yelled. A light moved and as it approached Magnus saw the 14-year-old boy with scales covering part of his face, “Yes (Y/N)?” “Another warlock. Like you and Caleb. Magnus, Gino. Gino, Magnus,” “Nice to meet you, mister,” He held out his hand eagerly. Magnus shook it but was looking around the room confused. “What is this place?” “il santuario dal sole,” Gino said. “It was for vampires at first but (Y/N) took us all. il nostro custode” He grinned. Magnus raised an eyebrow, “What are you?” he asked. “What are any of us?” Gino scoffed, “You spend too much time with the fae. (Y/N)’s like us,” The three warlocks stood in silence. “Gino,” (Y/N) broke it. “It’s dinner times. Go get the wine,” Gino nodded, running off without the candle even flickering. Magic, Magnus realized, “You’re welcome to stay,” (Y/N) went to walk away but he caught her wrist. “What is this place? Really?” With a sigh (Y/N) looked over the room. There were at least 16 candles some with multiple people around them, “Home. For too many of us. Venice was a chance for us, but chances die hard. And we got trapped. Money got tight. And now we sleep in an abandoned theatre.” “You used to-“ “-Have status? Money?” (Y/N) cut him off. “Like I said. Chances die hard. I took the wrong one. The money I have goes to bribery and candles. The food is stolen. The wine is stolen. Their futures are stolen. So, we feast on others bread and wine,” This time (Y/N) did walk away. The next morning Magnus was gone and the Downworlders were awoken with the flood of light. The curtains had been opened. “They're here!” someone yelled. All the Downworlders began to run, panicking. The quickest exit was through the stage but there was a man on it. “This place could do with a bit of a clean,” Magnus said, looking over the theatre. “What are you doing here?” (Y/N) asked, walking onto the stage. “I bought this place,” “You’re evicting us,” (Y/N) crossed their arms. “Not quite,” Magnus pulled paper from his pocket. “The deed to this place. All paid for. The food will be delivered at noon. Though I might organize a decorator,” (Y/N) took the deed Magnus held out to them, “Your giving us this place? Why?” “Some chances pay off,” What he did was incredibly stupid. Completely idiotic. But Magnus had money and too much of it. upon reflection, he saw himself as a bit of a Gatsby. Everything to do with (Y/N) was a chance. Their meeting, the theatre, their first kiss when neither knew what the other thought. Everything. It was nearly always a good outcome and the bad ones were only so bad. But now Magnus felt what (Y/N) had in that run-down theatre. But worse. “Chances die hard,” Magnus murmured into his coffee cup.

When the shadowhunters got no call from Magnus they weren’t surprised. They had other cases, other missions, but Isabelle made it a point that they’d meet to discuss (Y/N). or as the clave saw it, the K7238 file. “We either look into people or location. Both too much of a stretch of clave resources. They’ll want to know why we're so invested and take over the case,” Isabelle said. She’d took the head on the case and sat at the top of the table. “But won't they have more resources?” Clary asked. The rest laughed. “The clave doesn’t exactly, how to say, care about Downworlders,” Jace said as gently as he could. Alec rolled his eyes. not only should she have realized this, but Jace also shouldn’t sugar coat it, “People would be better. theirs too many locations and witnesses won’t remember by now.” Isabelle nodded, “Okay so we’ve got ‘horns’,” as Jace put it suspects are more fun with nicknames, “And a bunch of Randoms. No ones come up in the system for purple skin and horns though,” “A demon?” Jace suggested. “Maybe,” Isabelle sighed, “It’s like we're missing something. Why would (Y/N) be with a demon?” “Kidnap?” “Spell?” “Secretly evil?” “Anyone got any other ideas?” Isabelle asked. The table was silent. “Maybe (Y/N) wanted a fresh start,” Clary suggested. “Without Magnus?” Alec rolled his eyes, ���Did you see how Magnus was?” “But what about how (Y/N) was?” She pressed, “Maybe they wanted out. Or maybe this guy convinced them. Like a friend. I know if Simon had to get away I’d be the first to follow,” “So maybe this guy's also a victim?” Jace asked. “Yeah. Maybe someone on the case ran them out. If shadowhunters do hate Downworlders,” “We don’t,” Alec butted in, “Not all of us,” Isabelle stood up and walked over to the makeshift board she’d made on her wall for the case. It was inspired by the ones in movies Simon watched and was surprisingly useful. “Okay, so we look at the shadowhunters on the case. We’ve got Jadehurst, Cadleact, and Wasper. None are too fond of Downworlders,” “In fairness, not many were back then,” Jace said. “True. But they're not exactly going to talk to us,” Isabelle said as she wrote their names under suspects. Clary went to speak but Alec glared. Jace glared at Alec, “Go ahead Clary,” “Couldn’t we just ask about the original case. Say paperwork got lost and we need to fill in some blanks,” They thought about it, “That would…work. Yeah, good one Clary,” Isabelle said. Alec sulked, “Okay so tomorrow Clary and Jace go talk to as many of them as you can. They're all currently in Idris so that’s not to bad. Alec, you’ll go to Magnus. Check on him and that but you need to find out more about (Y/N). friends, history, enemies. That sort of stuff,” All nodded at their tasks, “What about you?” Jace asked, “Day off?” Isabelle kissed her teeth and put her hands on her hips, “I will be going through the photos and back search all the people to see if they're on file,” “Did that search on Marvin’s books come back yet?” Jace asked. “Tomorrow. Probably by around noon. Everyone clear on tomorrow?” they nodded. “Great. Now get out. Simon loaned me his laptop and Netflix so don’t disturb me,”

Part four

[mimixis]

Towards the sun - Part 8: Guilty pleasure

Pairing: Ivar x OC

Word Count: 2256

Summary: Pia just wanted to go to work, but oh well, shit happens.

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5) (Part 6) (Part 7)

Her words caused a big stir.

Not only Sigurd reacted violently. His brothers and their men also shouted. Pia stood quietly holding Blaeja's wrist. She waited for them to calm down, ask her questions and stop insulting her. Blaeja seemed anxious and hid behind her. Pia was not surprised. A bunch of vicious Vikings could be terrifying. However, she didn't think that trusting her to defend them was a good idea.

“She is a Christian!” Ivar began.

“It's hardly your place to decide that,” Ubbe added.

"She's quite pretty," said Hvitserk who was hit in the back of his head by Ubbe.

“You saw it?” Bjorn asked sceptically.

“Why me?!” Sigurd growled.

Pia arranged the answers in their language in her mind first not wanting to make minor mistakes that could disturb their conversation. The silence between them lasted some time and Pia was hesitant to break it now. But she had no choice. You cannot say A without saying B.

“Yes, she is a Christian, but that doesn't mean you are better than her. So stop being an anti-Christian, Ivar. Ubbe, your brother made a lot of decisions for me, and you didn't utter a word, so do not behave so self-righteous. Yes, Hvitserk, she is pretty, but she's not for you. Bjorn, you don't have to believe me. I don't care," she turned away from them and spoke to Sigurd in a hushed voice. “Because you are the only one who will take care of her. Faced with the choice between you, Hvitserk and Ivar, it is quite obvious. She will give you sons thanks to whom your name, Sigurd Snake In The Eye, will remain. So please, listen to me.”

Pia heard someone strike their palms against one another. She glanced in the direction of the sound and saw Ivar. She stared at him in confusion, completely not understanding why he was clapping his hands.

"You've barely been able to say anything just a few minutes ago, and now you speak like this," he said in a mocking manner, leaning forward. "I wonder, what other talents you hide from us.”

Her heart throbbed. She didn't want to treat him terribly, but she didn't want to be treated poorly either. Part of her ached to apologize to him, she wanted to come back, but the other part remembered. Something drew her to him, something craved to be close to him. But Pia knew herself. She knew that in the long run, she required delicacy, not brutality, which Ivar emitted. Then why did she have tears in her eyes, when he looked at her like that?

She opened her mouth to say something unpleasant to hurt him, just as he hurt her, but the flutter of the wings interrupted her. A raven sat on her shoulder thrusting its claws into her shoulder, drawing blood. Pia hissed in pain, but she didn't chase away the bird. It gave her an idea. If they insisted on her association with Odin so much, she would give it to them.

“Am I not the Allfather's favourite? Perhaps, as a gift for such a long endurance with you all, he gave me the Allspeak?”

Ivar fell silent. He didn't have the correct answer, and Pia knew it. She looked at Sigurd again, thinking of communicating well with him.

“So what's your decision?”

Sigurd looked at her with astonishment and only nodded. Pia turned to Blaeja.

"You will become his wife." She pointed to Sigurd. “He'll take care of you.”

;:;

Pia sat with Blaeja all evening. In the end, she agreed to get married to Sigurd, though reluctantly. She was afraid of what was to come, but she kept her face still. From birth, she was prepared to become a wife of a nobleman. Sigurd was not civilized, but he was still a prince. Blaeja had no choice. Now, she would become his wife and she would take her revenge later.

The girl moved away from Pia. Where Pia goes, Blaeja goes. At the table, by the fire, next to Halfdan. Sigurd wanted to take her with him, but Blaeja cried, that it was not proper, that they could be together only on the wedding night. Pia looked at Halfdan, who sighed and whispered some pleas to his brother's ear. When he got the answer he wanted, he stood up and motioned to the girls, that they should follow him.

They came to the tent he shared with his brother. Halfdan said he would give up his bed to them and he would sleep with Harald. Pia thanked him and hid from the cold under the blankets. Blaeja joined her, and a moment later she was asleep, the adrenaline finally died down. Pia was looking at the girl's hair, the colour of ripe chestnuts, and pale skin. She was not attractive by conventional beauty standards, but she had innocence, that lured people to her. Blaeja was young, and Pia condemned her to live with a man she did not love. All this to survive.

Pia wanted to defend this purity because she had it for a short time. As long as she lives with Ragnar's sons, Blaeja will be safe. She'll take care of it. Pia closed her eyes, wanting to fall into Morpheus’ embrace, but no matter how much she tried to sleep, she could not. She slept all day, and it disturbed her biological rhythm. She was not even a bit sleepy. She was wide awake. As soon as she closed her eyes, she saw a man hanged on his lungs. She wanted to vomit, but she tried to swallow it somehow.

She turned to the side, and Blaeja immediately cuddled up into Pia when she felt the older woman moved away. Pia watched her for a moment, wondering how she could trust her so quickly. But Pia thought about her situation with Ivar and about Tanaruz, who also started to trust her immediately. Pia looked up, her eyes focused on the tent's rooftop. She could barely protect herself from life in here, and she wanted to shield two other girls. Tanaruz and Blaeja were similar. Both lost their parents, both were in an undesired situation. Tanaruz as the daughter of Helga, Blaeja as the future wife of Sigurd.

Yes, girls were similar, yet so different. Where Tanaruz was shutting down and weakening day by day, Blaeja appeared to be strong and tried to get everything she could from the circumstances Pia had set down. Pia wondered if Blaeja was so because of childishness and stubbornness, or maybe she defeated her inner demons. If she had any, of course. Pia didn't know what life Blaeja had before all of this so she could dismiss nothing, she shouldn't jump into conclusions. She did not want to see her as a princess who was protected from everything and everyone.

A few days ago, Pia was just a girl who lived her simple life. She attended university, went to work, and watched Netflix. She lived calmly, aware of wars and conflicts, aware of hunger and poverty. And although she knew about it, she lived on because it didn't concern her. She didn't witness the cruelty, she wasn't touched by war. She didn't stand in its epicentre, she didn't have to run away from it. She didn't watch others die, no one raped her, nobody forced her to kill someone.

Future had a lot of laws, but not everyone upholds it. Evil and death are everywhere and always, no matter what period it is. In her time, people are also tortured and murdered, but she cared about that only when she witnessed it. Only now did she appreciate her old life. Her mother who cared for her. Friends who had always been there for her. A job that allowed her to afford food. She had everything she needed, and she was unhappy. Here she had nothing, she was a stranger. She had no home, no family, no money. It was Ivar who took care of what was essential for her to live here.

“You cannot sleep?” she heard.

She turned her head towards Halfdan. He laid on his side, his eyes focused on her figure. Pia slowly, not wanting to disturb Blaeja's sleep, turned around so she could look at the man freely during the conversation. Candles have not been blown out yet, he was probably waiting for his brother to return. The orange light illuminated their faces so that both of them could see their faces accurately.

Pia could see every wrinkle on his face, she could see every line of his tattoo. His eyes were half-open, suggesting that he had either been asleep a moment ago or sleepy right now. He had his hair behind his ear. He looked so soft at that moment, that it cut her heart. If not for the distance separating them, Pia could imagine that they were lying in one bed, and like an old married couple, talking before sleep. But it was not like that, and she didn't want to let herself dream about a problem-free life because it will never be like that again.

Halfdan watched the woman lying in his bed as well. He would like to be there beside her instead of that Christian girl. He would like to embrace her, would like to kiss her, would like to touch her, would like to have her. His brother would laugh at him if he knew what he was thinking about. He would have laughed at him being trapped by a woman he barely knew when he mocked Harald's love. But his thoughts were safe so he could freely admire her freckles, her pink lips, her petite body. However, what he liked best about her were her eyes. Big, doe eyes with pupils of different shades of brown. The right pupil had the colour of the tree bark, and the left one was much brighter, its colour almost like gold.

She nodded.

"Too much has happened over the last twenty-four hours," she admitted. “And why are you still awake? You're probably tired after the battle.”

Halfdan blinked several times, trying not to fall asleep. He slid off the blanket so the cold would allow him to continue talking to Pia. He lifted himself up and leaned on his elbow. Pia threw off her fur and sat on the bed, her feet touching the cold ground. She should let him sleep, but she didn't want to be alone now when she knew he had not fallen asleep yet. Halfdan mimicked her position, then patted the empty spot next to him. He needed to have her close, to breathe her sweet aroma. When she raised her eyebrow up, he used the sleeping Blaeja as an excuse. He didn't want to wake her up, and the beds were on opposite sides of the tent.

Pia nodded and quickly swept from bed to bed. She sat cross-legged and wrapped one of the blankets around her. Halfdan looked at her with a smirk on his face, knowing he would remember to the end of his life how lovely she looked, running to him with her bare feet. Pia was studying him expecting an answer.

"That's true," he admitted. “Emotions after the battle, however, still didn't wear off.”

Pia stared at his face, reflecting on his words. She moved closer to him, feeling that maybe he also needed the closeness of another human being like she did.

“Do you... do you sometimes regret killing? Even if it's a battle, even if it's an enemy? Do you regret it?”

Halfdan knew much depended on his answer. He also knew what kind of answer Pia wanted, because he was aware of how much she was terrified of the sight of the bloody eagle. She was sensitive and delicate. She was a flower that he wanted to protect from strong winds and trampling. But lying was not an option. He wanted her to know what he was like.

"First battles are never easy," he began diplomatically. “You don't see them as humans anymore. You see them as targets, sacrifices. It becomes kill or be killed.”

Pia bit her lower lip. It didn't agree with her vision of the world, but she had to apply a cultural filter. That's how they were brought up, that's what their culture looked like. There was blood everywhere.

"I have never liked red," she whispered. Halfdan looked at her with puzzlement. She just waved her hand. “It doesn't matter. I will never be part of your society.”

“You will!” he shouted. Pia hushed him with an equally loud, shh, seeing Blaeja stir. After a moment, he repeated, his voice quiet. “You will. You only need time. You will learn to live among us.”

Pia sighed, then smiled genuinely. Halfdan, fascinated by how beautiful her face looked at that moment, put his hand to her cheek. Pia let him do it, aching to feel more warmth. She closed her eyes, enjoying his touch, and when she opened her eyes, Halfdan's lips were just centimetres away from hers. Pia did not know what to do. Would it be all right to get carried away or should she remain loyal to Ivar?

The decision was made for her.

“Pia! Pia!” shouted a familiar voice. Pia jumped from Halfdan to the proper distance. Hvitserk entered the tent. He was panting, his face was arranged into ugly fear. “You have to go with me... Ivar... he... he almost killed Sigurd.”

Fuck.

____________

@unicornbaby741 @caitsymichelle13 @mulders-xfile @jamierdr @ivarandersen

Let me know if you want to be tagged or untagged! :)

[ask-captain-jack-scarlett]

blackthorn singing songs atop his head

blackthorn:so you’ve decided to go to the dark elf i mean you could of gone with vahl but shes a high king and now will be with us anyway lets sing some songs i think we’ll see

There once was a hero named Ragnar the Red, Who came riding to Whiterun from ole Rorikstead!

And the braggart did swagger and brandish his blade, As he told of bold battles and gold he had made!

But then he went quiet, did Ragnar the Red, When he met the shieldmaiden Matilda who said...

"Oh, you talk and you lie and you drink all our mead! Now I think it's high time that you lie down and bleed!"

And so then came the clashing and slashing of steel, As the brave lass Matilda charged in full of zeal!

And the braggart named Ragnar was boastful no moooooree... When his ugly red head rolled around on the floor!

blackthorn:*cough* ok that was ragnar the red a classic in skyrim let me sing a song from my childhood  The Song of Grandfather Frost let me ajust my lute and there we go

He he! Ha ho! To the workshop we will go! The candy -- so sweet! A yummy winter treat! Sugar warmed by the pale hearth light Happiness spreads throughout the night! He he! Ha ho! To the workshop we will go! Grandfather Frost is coming near To spread his candy and his cheer! Better than trinkets, better than toys So say the little girls and boys! He he! Ha ho! To the workshop we will go! Candy, candy -- he makes so much! Using the Grandfather's magic touch! So it's back to the workshop in the snow! With lovely lanterns all aglow! He he! Ha ho! He he he ha ha ho!

blackthorn:and i just realized that song sounds really pedophilic   anyways um.......... the song of  hrormir........GOD THAT NAME SOUNDS REALLY F*beeping* CORNY

Hrormir Son of Hrorgar Summoned to the Court of Vjindak, Son of Vjinmore, King of Evensnow. "Mighty caster of magic, I charge thee to go to Aelfendor, For its hoary Warriors do threaten my Land And bring forth their cousin Demons To terrify my People."

Hrormir Son of Hrorgar Heard the Words of Vjindak Evensnow. "By Icestaff" Surely I would help thee But I have already a Quest to drink Twelve Flagons of Mead in one Hour, And then to bed four Wenches, Twice each. So I must with grace decline."

The King he did not smile At Hrormir and his jolly Spirit. "By thine Honor Must thou aidest my Cause For must thou takest up the Sword Of thy Companion Darfang Who took the Quest and failed."

Hrormir laughed. "Now I know thou jest. My boon Mate Darfang wouldst not fail. There be no finer Bladesman. If thou chargest him, he wouldst not fall."

"I did not say he fell. He joined the Dark Kings of Aelfendor And by doing so dishonored Himself and thee, his Friend." Hrormir could not believe the Words, And yet, he knew Eversnow Didst not lie.

So for twenty Days and three rodeth he To the Land of Night, the Kingdom of Fear, Where the Peasants ever carried Candles Knowing what Evil awaiteth them Should they stray beyond the Glow. The Sovereigncy of three Dark Kings: Aelfendor.

There, Torch in Hand, didst Hrormir Pass through haunted Countryside And frightened Villages, And through the black Gates Of the blacker Castle of Aelfendor. The three Dark Kings didst sneer At the sight of mighty Hrormir And summoned they their Champion Darfang the Blade.

"My boon Companion!" Hrormir called in the Hall of Night. "I dare not trust my Eyes, For then I wouldst believe That thou hast joined with Evil, And turned thy Way from Honor And Brotherhood!" "Hrormir!" Darfang the Blade didst cry. "If thou dost not go now, One of us must die, for I hate thee!"

But Hrormir was battle ready, And in the echoing Halls of Night The Blade of Darfang And the Staff of Hrormir Didst strike again and yet again. Mighty Warriors and Mages both, The boon Companions now Foes, Shook Mundus with their War. They might have fought for a Year If there were Sun in Aelfendor To mark Time, And either Hrormir or Darfang May verily have won. But Hrormir saweth through the Dark The Tears in the Eyes of his former Friend, And then he saweth the Shadow of Darfang Wert not his own. And so with Icestaff, he did strike Not Darfang, but his Shadow, which cried. "Hold, Mortal Man!" The Shadow becameth the Hag, Bent and twisted, in her Cloak and Hood. From her faceless Shadows, she hissed.

"Mortal Man called Hrormir The Soul of thy boon Companion Is my Plaything, But I will take thine in trade, For though ye both have strong Arms, Thou hast the more clever Mind Which my Sons the Dark Kings need For a Champion of Aelfendor."

Hrormir the brave didst not take a Breath Or pause before he boldly said. "Shadowy Hag, release Darfang, And thou mayst use me as thou will." The Hag didst laugh and freed Darfang. "To save thine Honor this thou hast done, But now thou must be without Honor Mortal Man, as the Champion Of the Dark Kings, my Heirs of Gray Maybe, Thou must help them divide Aelfendor, And love me, Thy Shadowy Hag and thy Mistress well." For his loss of Honor, And his dear Friend's Sacrifice, Noble Darfang prepared to take his Dagger And plunge it in his good Heart, But Hrormir stayed his Brother's Hand and whispered. "No, boon Companion, Wait for me at the Village Banquet Hall." And then did Darfang the Blade leave the Castle While Hrormir took the withered Claw Of the Hag, and pressed it to his Lips. "Shadowy Hag, to thee I pledge To only honor thy black Words To turn my back on Truth To aid thy Dark Kings' Ambition To divide their Inheritance fairly To love thee To think thee beautiful."

Then to the Chamber in the Heart of Night Hrormir and the Hag did retire Kissed he there her wrinkled Lips And her wrinkled, sagging Breasts, For ten Days and Nights and three did Hrormir And his Icestaff Battle thus. Then Sweet Kynareth blew honeyed Winds O'er the Hills and Forest Glens of Aelfendor, And the Caress of warm blooded Dibella Coaxed the Blossoms to wanton Display So that Aelfendor became a Garden Of all the Senses. The frightened Servants of the Dark Kings Woke to find there was naught to fear And through the once dark Streets of the Village Came the Cries of Celebration. In the Banquet Hall of the Village Hrormir and his boon Companion Darfang Embraced and drank of rich Mead. The Shadowy Hag too was smiling, Sleeping still in her soft Bed, Until the morning Sun touched her naked Face And she awoke, and saw All, And knew All saw her. And she cried out: "Mortal Man!"

Night fell fast upon the Land As the Hag flew into the Banquet Hall Casting blackest Darkness in her Wake But all the Celebrants still could see Her Anger In her monstrous Face And they shook with Fear. The Hag had said the Kingdom was To be divided among her Heirs. But Aelfendor had been kept whole While her Children divided, Drawn and quartered. Hrormir was mightily amused. He swallowed his Laughter In his Mead, For none should laugh outright At the Daedra Lord Nocturnal Without her gray cowl of shadowed Night, Her hideous Face forced the Moons To hide themselves. Hrormir the mighty did not quail. "Wherest be thine Hood, shadowy hag?" "Mortal Man hast taken it from me unaware. When I awoke, my Face unmasked, My Kingdom cast into the Light, My Dark King Heirs in Pieces cast, And here, my Champion smiles. Yet in truth, thou kept thy Promise truly, To never keep thy Promise true."

Hrormir Son of Hrorgar Bowed to the Hag, his Queen. "And evermore, 'Til thou releaseth me, will I serve thee so." "A clever Mind in a Champion Is a much overvalued Trait." The Hag released Hrormir's Soul And he released her Hood. And so in the Light of darkest Dark, She left Aelfendor evermore. And after drinking twelve Flagons of Mead, And bedding four Wenches Twice each, Did Darfang return to Eversnow With Hrormir

Son of Hrorgar

blackthorn:so that was his tale and the gray cowl....that mask that makes you forget yourself i wish i had that when i was working for the morag tong but thats in the past lets sing a song from something called a steam powered giraffe..............is this a song by a DWEMER anyways i will sing it

Space and time could come undone

and with a blast create a conundrum

Then particles of light could seethe

and burn rainbows across the galaxy

The moon could crumble before our eyes

then break apart and vaporize

The stars could explode and boil Earth’s seas

and rip the fabric of reality

Well I don’t care if all that happens

everything is fine as long as there’s a you and me

Even when the sky is falling

Back to you I'll travel and escape with

no matter how many times it should be

I'll keep you moving on

Like a soliton, a soliton, a soliton

I'll keep you moving like a soliton, a soliton, a soliton

Even when the moon shatters the tide

I will always follow you through the pain

You can always count on me through everything

And I'll keep you moving on

Like a soliton, a soliton, a soliton

I'll keep you moving like a soliton, a soliton, a soliton

La (x21)

La (x21)

Solitons keep on moving on, waves of

solitons pulsing out and on, from where they

started from. Yes they sustain their runs, as

solitons, by moving on

We don't have to worry anymore

You have torn a path for us to escape through

We can take our time finding our way in this world

Oh yes, and keep us moving on

and we'll break through the dark and find a dawn

yes we'll keep on moving on

yeah keep on moving on

like a

Like a soliton, a soliton, a soliton

We’ll keep us moving like a soliton, a soliton, a soliton

La (x21)

La (x21)

Soliton soliton soliton, I'll keep you moving

blackthorn:that was nice to sing wonder what a soliton is actually.....yet its sweet to sing like a love story with the stars of our land of mundus atleast its more pleasnt then going to namira’s land of FILTH now then lets sing another song about the dragonborn and my captain  the tale of the tongues *they ajust their lute* ok lets start

Alduin's wings, they did darken the sky, His roar fury's fire, and his scales sharpened scythes. Men ran and they cowered, and they fought and they died. They burned and they bled as they issued their cries. We need saviors to free us from Alduin's rage, Heroes on the field of this new war to wage. And if Alduin wins, man is gone from this world, Lost in the shadow of the black wings unfurled. But then came the Tongues on that terrible day. Steadfast as winter, they entered the fray. And all heard the music of Alduin's doom, The sweet song of Skyrim, sky-shattering Thu'um. And so the Tongues freed us from Alduin's rage, Gave the gift of the Voice, ushered in a new Age! And if Alduin's eternal, then eternity's done, For his story is over and the dragons are gone.

blackthorn:ok that would be 200 gold pieces from my singing im not CHEAP GIVE ME SOME CASH YA SCUTTLEHEADS!

[kristylovesvikings]

Ivar Imagine #16 “It’s really not that complicated.”

You couldn’t watch him with her. Ivar and you were close. No one really knew how close though. No one knew of the nights he would crawl to your home and into your bed just to lay awake and speak for hours. You and he would talk and laugh as you sat curled into each other’s bodies. You didn’t really know why he chose you but you wouldn’t trade it. That was until his mother and father arranged a meeting with another earl and his daughter. You knew why they were here. You knew he had yet to speak up to his father and mother about you. His brothers all married off. Sigurd was a newly married man. Ubbe and Hvitserk were both expecting a child with their respective wives. You knew that girl was here to steal your Ivar.

It was a beautiful dinner eaten by everyone with the ingredients the earl brought from his homeland. He wanted to show Ragnar and Aslaug how much it meant for him to be presenting his daughter for Ivar. The girl had amazing manners but she could feel your gaze. From time to time she would glance around the room only to stop on you. You knew it was burning holes into her skin but you couldn’t stop staring at her. She was beautiful and she came from a well off village. It was hard to watch her and Ivar. But it wasn’t her that made it hard it was him. He made no promises to you. He never said anything more than he needed to. But right now right across the room from you he was saying so much. He was smiling and laughing with this woman. He was with her. Holding her arm and hand and waist every chance he got. Something he seldom did with you. You were a secret after all.

You couldn’t watch this. Seeing Ubbe looking at you from his seat next to his father you raised an eyebrow and he did the same. Ubbe has known of Ivar and you and your late talks as he followed Ivar once. He stopped his questions a long time ago as they went unanswered by both you and Ivar. You heard someone clear their throat. Looking to your left you noticed a man stood at your side offering you a plate of food “Eat with me?” he asked.

You didn’t know his name but he did practice often with the shield maidens and other warriors. He was the blacksmiths son or something. Smiling you accepted the food “Thank you I will. Sit please. Sorry I don’t remember your name.” You had bread infront of you pushing it away as you made room for the new plate you were brought.

Looking to your lap you shifted a little uncomfortable. You couldn’t help but wish Ivar would pull you away to his table but you knew he had her now. He didn’t need you. And he certainly didn’t want you. “Athen. Your y/n right?”

“Yes. So Athen what brings you to my table tonight shouldn’t you be with your girl?” You were fishing. You needed to know. You were yet to marry and your father was always on you to find a fighter someone strong to protect you.

“No girl. I am surprised it took so long for us to talk. Not that it is easy to talk when im getting my face kicked in by all the shield maidens.” You laughed and so did he. You had seen him train and that was far from what actually happened he usually spent time with the younger boys and girls teaching them how to stand and push a shield at their enemy.

--Ivars Point Of View—

I could see her watching me and this woman. I had long forgotten her name. Y/n sat picking at the bread basket on her table she hadn’t even gotten a plate of food making it clear what she thought of this earl and his daughter. I wanted to go to her. My father had arranged this meeting and I was not about to disappoint him. I tried to like the new woman. It wasn’t working all she spoke of was her clothes and all the horses her father owned and her sewing. I overheard y/n laughing only to look to her and see another man making her smile. Feeling my rage boil over I stood leaning on my crutches. I felt Ubbe trying to pull my eyes from her and him by turning my head I didn’t need to see to know what I needed to do. Pulling my axe from my belt I heard the world quiet as my mother yelled out my name.

--Your Point Of View—

You heard commotion but before you could even look in Ivars direction to see what was going on your face was splattered with blood. Eyes widening you took in the man you were just speaking to and how he had fallen to the table dead with an axe in his head. You weren’t stupid you saw the handle. You knew who owned the axe you knew because you watched him carve the wood in the candle light of your room covered in your furs as he laid on the floor because of the one to many times you found wood shavings in your bed. You had watched him carve the wood making sure to get it just right so it would fit the blade he spent weeks working on.

You stood angry and bloodied. You knew how much trouble you could get in but you couldn’t help but scream at Ivar. “WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?!?!? DO YOU HAVE TO BE SO CRUEL?! WHY MUST YOU JUST THROW AN AXE YOU ENDED A LIFE. AND I KNOW IT MUST NOT MEAN ANYTHING FOR IVAR RAGNARSSON BUT IT MEANS SOMETHING TO ME. AND TO THE FATHER OF THE MAN YOU JUST KILLED.”

You suddenly realized what you were doing and you froze face falling in horror before turning and running. You couldn’t think straight. Not only had you yelled at Ivar. You did it in front of everyone. His father, his mother, his brothers, his soon to be intended and her father. You ran leaving everything behind. Lagertha was the one person you wanted so you went to her. You knew her village was only a few days from your home.

--TIME SKIP 1 MONTH LATER—

When you had run to Lagertha she had a room made up for you. She had always seen you as an honorary daughter seeing as her real daughter died of sickness many years ago. She was kind and she didn’t press but you knew she wanted to know about why you had abruptly showed up at her door with tearstained cheeks and bloodied feet. You decided tonight was the night you would share with her why. So you did over dinner you asked to eat with just her something she agreed to immediately. Once you ate and finished your explanation about you and Ivar and what you were before the story of what drove you here all those nights ago. You and Lagertha sat with your backs to the fire drinking ale.

“I loved Ragnar. I think a part of me will always love him. It broke me when Bjorn came home from that first raid at told me of a woman named Asluag. I wanted to believe my own son was a liar because I was scared of the truth. I knew he wasn’t lying. When she showed up at Kattegate belly round with Ubbe I felt like I would never breathe again.” Listening to Lagertha talk you couldn’t help but feel your heart break.

“When you left did you ever want to go back?” You didn’t know if she would answer but you were curious she had never talked about this with you or to anyone to your knowledge.

“I did. I knew one day it would be in my fate to come back I just didn’t know when. My fate is tied to Ragnar in more than one way.” She smiled but you knew it was out of pain.

“Why are you telling me of you and Ragnar?” She looked at you as you spoke.

“Sometimes love is painful. Sometimes it is so painful it feels like it would feel better to rip your heart from your chest. And sometimes it’s painful because of stupid boys.” The smile was teasing now but you couldn’t help but see the edges of her eyes tinged with pain.

“Well what do you do with stupid boys? How do you make them smarter?” You wanted an answer but you feared you could only ask the gods such a question.

“My sweet girl, you run from stupid boys in to the arms of smart ones.” Lagertha couldn’t help but laugh at her own answer alcohol clouding her brain.

The fire started to die and you and Lagertha decided that it was time to sleep you bid her goodbye and goodnight as you went to change into your nightdress.

--TIME SKIP MORNING—

You woke to arguing. You only could make out that it was Lagertha and a male. As you stood pulling on your cloak to cover your night dress you walked to the door to see what the commotion was all about you realized it was more than one male. Pushing your door as quiet as you could you walked down the hall to where her throne was placed.

“I want to see her. I know she is here! This is the only place she could have gone close enough she wouldn’t have starved or been taken. She has to be here. Let me see her!” Ivars loud voice carried as you got closer to the throne. His back was to you but Ubbe and Hvitserk already spotted you turning to nod their heads in greeting when you shushed them with a finger to your lips.

“She isn’t here Ivar. Go Home.” It seemed Lagertha had taken to lying to him. Something she no doubt had done several times in this conversation.

“Y/n doesn’t know what happened. She doesn’t know how complicated it was. She doesn’t know what position I was put in by my father, mother, and the earl and his daughter.”

“It’s really not that complicated.” It was almost funny how Ivar whipped around to where you were stood after he heard your voice.

“Y/n. I swear I will tell you the truth of what happened please talk to me.” His brothers looked at him stunned to see him apologies and beg. You were not stunned whenever Ivar did something he gave you some story as to why he was right and he always made you feel so guilty if you didn’t say he was right.

Sighing you spoke again “You have gotten to marry an earl’s daughter what a prize Ivar. Congratulations. Go home. I wish you and her well but please don’t torture me with the details you know how much I care for you.”

Ivar knew you had made a decision and it would be hard to get you to change that but he felt he had to try. “I am not marrying that girl. I want to marry you. If you feel different that is fine I will suffer the fate of that like I suffer the fate of my legs but I will not marry anyone else. I should have said no to the meeting. I shouldn’t have entertained her. I knew I wasn’t going to marry her. I should be better to you. I want you. Only you. Please... Let me make it up to you. I love you and I want to marry you.”

Ivar continued “I have told my mother and father of this. I left to find you with Ubbe and Hvitserk. Please. Please let me marry you. Let me prove I am worth your love. No more secrets. No more proposals from random people who want a king’s son. Just you and me. Please say yes and come back with me.”

You waited. You wanted to see if he would say more. If he would get angry that you hadn’t spoken yet. You waited to see if he felt like he wanted to embarrass you as you embarrassed him.

Lagertha spoke from her throne “It’s painful because of stupid boys.”

You turned almost to ask what she was speaking of but then you remember the fire at your back and the mead in your hand as she spoke those words the night before.

Again she spoke Ivars eyes never leaving yours. “Go on my sweet girl, run to your smart boy.” And that was all it took. You ran straight into his arms. He was as surprised as you were when you almost toppled down.

Smiling you looked to him. “Ivar did you really tell your mother and father?” He shook his head yes as he leaned to kiss you.

[pagan-raider]

Conquer You - Chapter 8

Here it is. Thanks everyone for being so patient with me. I hope this is worth the wait.

Warnings: I really think it is time for them to get to it. At least if Astrid doesn’t get in the way again. ;o)

@tomboy-till-death @ladyvampirelove @neverlands-little-lost-girl@itharley@samantha24015 @peculiarleah @skeletoresinthebasement@thenorns-themoirai @kirah31 @ruler-of-hel @onjacks-blog @nothingbuthappydays

If I forgot anyone or there’s anyone else who wants to be tagged just let me know.

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

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Thyra’s steps were surprisingly light as she made her way back to the great hall. There were no more secrets, no more sneaking around. She felt as if a heavy weight had been lifted off her shoulders. Still she was a little nervous about having to explain herself to Lagertha. The queen hadn’t seemed angry or disappointed when she had found out about her and Ivar but maybe she just hadn’t wanted to make a scene in front of everyone. And Thyra didn’t feel ready to discuss her feelings for Ivar with anyone yet, she still couldn’t fully understand herself why she was pulled to him with such irresistible force.

She wrapped Ivar’s cloak tighter around her body and inhaled deeply. His scent was giving her confidence, as if a part of him was here with her, helping her to get through this. She kept telling herself that once this was over she could go back to him and for the first time be with him without the nagging feeling of guilt that she had always felt before.

To her relief Thyra found the main room of the great hall deserted. She didn’t want to meet any of the shieldmaids as she was sure that after the events of this night the gossip about her and Ivar was already spreading.  

She knocked the door to the queen’s quarters.

“Come in.”

As Thyra entered the chamber Lagertha gestured towards one of the chairs.

“Have a seat.”

Thyra sat down and shifted uncomfortably, waiting for the queen to say something. But Lagertha took her time, lighting a few more candles before she sat down opposite of Thyra. For a torturous long moment the queen just looked at her, while Thyra couldn’t bring herself to meet her gaze. Instead she looked down on her hands, trying to hide her nervousness.

“So, you and Ivar?” Lagertha finally started.

Thyra didn’t know what to say and just nodded.

“I’ve been wondering for a while now who the lucky man might be.”

“You knew?” Thyra looked at the queen in surprise.

Lagertha smiled. “It was quite obvious. I know you, Thyra. You’ve been unconcentrated lately, daydreaming even. It is so unlike you that I knew there must be a reason. I just didn’t know who that reason might be.” She paused for a moment. “I’m happy for you two.”

Again Thyra was taken by surprise. “You’re not angry? He has threatened to kill you. And Astrid…”

“Astrid is still very young.” Lagertha interrupted her. “She doesn’t always understand my motives and she surely doesn’t speak for me. You are right, Ivar wants to kill me, but he has every reason to hate me. I killed his mother after all. It had to be done, but I don’t expect him to understand that. Just remember what you did to the men who were responsible for your mother’s death. It is normal that he feels this way. I hold no grudge against him.”

“So you don’t see it as a betrayal?” Thyra asked, still not quite believing that the queen would approve of her choice so easily.

Lagertha reached over and placed her hand on Thyra’s. “I see you as a daughter, you know that, right?”

Thyra nodded, feeling a lump built in her throat. She had felt as if she was failing Lagertha terribly and hadn’t expected to be forgiven immediately.

“All I want is to see you happy.” The queen continued. “If Ivar can make you happy, I’ll be the last person to take that away from you. You have to hold on to every bit of happiness you can get, for you never know how long it will last.” She said, her eyes turning distant.

Thyra wondered if she was thinking about her time with Ragnar. Lagertha never said it out loud, but by the way she talked about him, Thyra could tell that she still missed him.

She seemed to have been right, for the queen continued with a smile. “And what better match could I wish for you than a son of Ragnar Lothbrok.” She said with a wink, before turning serious again. “Ivar reminds me of his father in many ways, maybe most of all his brothers. He has Ragnar’s cunning mind and his strong will. Despite of his limitations I’m sure he will become a great man. I can understand why you are attracted to him.”

Thyra couldn’t help but smile. Lagertha not only accepting her choice, but approving of it gave her hope she had never thought was there. Maybe there was a small chance things would turn out well for all of them.

“He will not kill you. I won’t allow it.  I will make him listen. I will find a way.” Thyra said, even though she wasn’t sure if she’d be able to keep that promise.

“The gods decide our fate. If mine is to die by Ivar’s hands, there is nothing you can do against it. It’s not your fault, not even his. It’s just the way it is.” She smiled warmly at Thyra. “Now you should go. I’m sure he is waiting for you.”

 The way back to the cabin almost felt unreal. She would finally be with Ivar, the man she had thought would be her enemy – maybe he still was – but he was also the man she desired more than anyone else. She still couldn’t explain her feelings. Sure, he was ridiculously handsome, but there was more to it, something she couldn’t name. Maybe Ivar was right, maybe this was what the gods wanted for her.

The silvery moonlight illuminated her path through the sleeping town, making her feel even more as if she was in a dream. Thyra reached the cabin and thought about knocking the door, but Ivar knew that she was coming so she quietly opened it. To her surprise she almost ran into Ubbe and a very sleepy looking Sigurd. The older brother smiled as he recognized her but Sigurd looked at her as if a second head had just grown out of her shoulders.

After an awkward moment of silence Ubbe cleared his throat. “We’ll be in town for a couple of hours.” With that he disappeared into the dark, pulling a very displeased Sigurd behind him.

Thyra knew that he was just making excuses. It was still well before sunrise and everyone in town would be fast asleep. She wondered how Ivar had made them leave at this hour. But it didn’t matter much now anyways, all that mattered was that they were alone and would finally have the chance to actually talk things through and maybe get to something close to a conclusion.

She stepped into the cabin and closed the door behind her. It was almost dark inside and her eyes searched for Ivar. He was sitting in front of the fire place, watching her with eyes so blue that they almost seemed to glow in the dark. The fire had died down and the red glow of the coals danced across his skin, making him look even more alluring than usual.

Thyra felt her heart beat faster and her blood rush through her. Her brain seemed to have stopped working and all her logic was replaced by want. The longer she looked at him the more she abandoned her plans to talk to him. Here she was, alone with Ivar in the dark and all she could think about was how much she wanted to feel him. Tonight she would get what she wanted, everything else would have to wait. He had been denied her for too long.

She almost felt feverish as she slowly crossed the room.

“You came.” It sounded as if he had expected her not to.

Thyra just nodded and let herself sink to the floor next to him. Without hesitation she placed her hands on both sides of his face and softly pressed her lips to his. For a moment he seemed taken by surprise but then she could feel him smirk before he started to kiss her back eagerly.

Ivar surely didn’t need any second invitations as his hands slipped under her cloak and his tongue travelled along her bottom lip to demand access into her mouth. He started kneading her breasts through the thin fabric of her nightgown while he travelled kisses along her jawline and her neck.

Thyra arched into his touch, letting out soft moans. She started to tug on the hem of his shirt, desperate to reveal more of him. He raised his arms to allow her to pull it over his head. His tanned skin had a reddish shine in the glow of the coals and the play of light and shadow made his chest and arms look even more toned than usual. While Thyra still cherished the newly revealed view, Ivar started to fumble with the strings of her cloak and quickly abandoned it to the floor. He resumed kissing her and his hands sneaked under her nightgown, lightly caressing her thighs. He slid his hands higher and higher, over her hips and up her sides, never stopping to stroke and knead her flesh and lifting the thin fabric that was covering her in the process. Soon he slid it over her head and in the same motion gently bedded her on the floor.

Thyra felt a short moment of self-consciousness as she lay completely bare before him for the first time, while he towered over her, an admiring grin playing across his beautiful features. But before she had the time to blush, he bent down and covered her with his body. He caught her wrists and pinned them over her head as he began to kiss her mouth and neck before slowly moving down to her breasts. He alternated between sucking her nipple and letting his tongue swirl around it, causing her to moan and arch her back. She felt as if her skin was on fire and tried to squirm, but Ivar kept her down by resting more of his weight on top of her and refusing to release her hands. All she could do was sigh and moan, her breath coming fast and heavy.

Finally Ivar moved back up to kiss her lips again. He rolled his hips to make her open her legs so that he could comfortably settle between them. As soon as she obeyed he started to move his hips against hers and she could feel his erection rub against her exposed core, only covered by the soft leather of his pants. She sighed and arched her back to press herself against him as they moved against each other, feeling their bodies heat up even further.

Soon Ivar slipped one hand between them, but still managed to keep hers pinned down with the other. He rolled to his side and rested his weight on the arm that held her hands down to allow his other hand to sneak between her spread legs. He took his time caressing her inner thighs, every now and then letting his fingertips brush over her center, closely watching her reactions all the while. The sharp intake of breath as his index finger slipped between her wet folds made a smirk spread over his face. He started to move it up and down and every time he hit her clit Thyra let out pleasured mewls. Soon he had made it out as the right spot and started to draw little circles around it, giving it a light pinch every now and then.

Thyra could feel his eyes on her as she squirmed in pleasure. He watched her closely, studying her reaction and adjusting the movement of his hand immediately. He wasn’t clumsy at all, but he seemed so curious, so testing. Could it be that Ivar was inexperienced? He had always acted so cocky and self-assured that the thought had never occurred to her. And then there was his status and his good looks. She had assumed that the young women of Kattegat would stand in line to warm his bed.  

The next second all those thoughts disappeared as Ivar slowly dipped one finger inside of her. He pulled back quickly, but as Thyra lifted her hips to press into his hand he pushed it back inside and started pumping in and out.

“Ivar.” She moaned. “That feels so good. Don’t stop.”

He smirked and moved faster, soon inserting a second finger. His fingers were thick and calloused and Thyra could feel the heat starting to form a glowing ball inside of her that was readying to explode. Her moans turned into pleasured little screams as Ivar started to circle her clit with his thumb, while still pumping his fingers inside of her. She desperately pressed her hips into his hand as she felt her orgasm built up fast.

Ivar watched in awe as her whole body started to shake and tremble uncontrollably under his hands. Her moans grew louder and louder as she clenched around his fingers. He kept up his movements until she was coming down from her high and her body slowly stilled.

As Thyra opened her eyes, Ivar pulled his fingers out of her and brought them to his mouth to lick off her juices.

“You taste so sweet, my little shieldmaiden.” He whispered and as he bent down to kiss her she could taste herself on his lips.

Ivar finally released her hands and Thyra used the chance to let them travel over his stone hard chest, before pushing him over and rolling on top him. Her appetite for him was far from being sated.

She broke the kiss and sat up, moving down his body a little bit so that she could reach the strings of his pants. But as she started to untie them Ivar’s hand shot forward and closed around her wrist.

“Wait.”

She looked up in surprise and found him staring at her with almost panicked eyes.

“Ivar, what’s wrong?” She asked softly.

For a moment he seemed at a complete loss of words, then he bit his lip, looking as if he was considering something. Thyra could see him take a deep breath as he slowly released her wrist.

“Not like this.” He finally said, gesturing towards the bed.

Of course Thyra knew that there must be more behind his reaction, but she decided that it wasn’t the right time to ask about it. Instead she smiled at him. “If you wish.”

She stood up and watched as he pulled himself up on the bed, one more time admiring the grace he moved with and how easily he lifted up his body by only using the strength of his arms.

Ivar settled comfortably against the headboard and reached out his hand for her, pulling her into his lap. He captured her lips into another deep and hungry kiss, letting his hands roam her body. As he seemed to have relaxed again and started to trail kisses along her jawline, Thyra decided to give it another try. She reached down and began to untie his pants. Ivar leaned back and watched her, he still looked a bit skeptical but this time he didn’t stop her. Thyra could see his jaw clench as she slowly pulled his pants down. A hot shiver ran down her spine as his thick and perfect cock sprang free, hard and ready for her. She licked her lips and dragged his pants further down his legs.

Ivar just sat there, cautiously watching her, seemingly waiting for her reaction. She discarded the leather material to the floor and slowly crawled back up his body. She placed a soft kiss on his lips before whispering into his ear. “You’re perfect. I can’t wait to feel you.”

He gave her a smile that seemed a little forced. “I want you.” He said so quietly it was barely audible.

Thyra grinned at him before bending down to give the tip of his cock a long kitten lick. “I can see that.”

Ivar gave a long sigh as she started to lick him base to top. She looked up to him with a smirk before fully taking him into her mouth and slowly bobbing her head. She took him in as deep as possible, sucking and licking him all the while. Ivar’s eyes rolled back and an incomprehensible babble of shits and fucks fell from his lips. Soon he tangled one hand into her hair, trying to control her movements and make her take him even deeper. Thyra slapped his hand away and released his cock, knowing that if he indeed was lacking experience, he probably wouldn’t last very long. Instead she moved back up to position her entrance over his tip.

Her heated body told her to rush, to just sink down and let him fill her. But she forced herself to take her time. So many nights she had dreamed about being with Ivar that way and now she was determined to enjoy every single second of it.

She lowered herself just a tiny bit until her center ever so softly touched his tip and then moved back and forth, having him rub along her folds. Ivar sighed and bit his lip, looking as if she was torturing him. “Please.” He muttered, squeezing his eyes shut.

Thyra smirked at the sight of him so desperate and at her mercy. And as if he had read her thoughts Ivar’s eyes flew open and his hands grabbed her by the waist. Something in his face had changed, he looked determined now as he began to pull her down on him.

She gasped as his tip slid into her. “Ivar, gently. Please.”

He slowed a little but kept holding her tight, giving her no room to work against him. Now it was Thyra biting her lip as he slowly squeezed his way into her. She hadn’t slept with a lot of men before and he was thick. It was almost painful, but finally feeling him that way was everything she wanted and made even the pain appear pleasurable. They let out a simultaneous breath as their hips finally met, him filling her completely. Thyra experimentally rolled her hips against him and was rewarded with a low growl, while she gasped at the feeling of him slowly sliding in and out of her. She began to move more rhythmically and soon the pain fully turned into a feeling of heat and pleasure.  Ivar’s hands stayed locked around her waist, steadying her movements as he watched her move on top of him.

Soon Thyra’s movements got faster, her moans echoing through the cabin. She should have taken the smirk on Ivar’s face as a warning, for the next moment he pushed her over and rolled on top of her. He didn’t waste any time forcefully pushing back into her, making her let out a pleasured whimper. He quickly picked up his pace, his trusts becoming faster and harder. It felt heavenly and Thyra could feel the hated knot in her stomach starting to build the second time that night. She raised her hips to meet his trusts and it didn’t take long for them to find a rhythm together. Their bodies moved in perfect sync, a heated mess of sweaty skin and tangled limbs.

As Ivar’s trusts became more sloppy and his groans grew louder Thyra could tell that he was close. She took his hand and guided it down between them. He took the hint started to rub her clit while still slamming into her. The suddenly doubled sensation made her scream and tears cloud her vision. And as Ivar finally buried himself deep into her with one last forceful thrust, the feeling of his seed filling her was enough to drive her over the edge.

Both of their bodies were sweaty and shaking as Ivar collapsed on top of her. For a moment they just lay still, panting and unable to move. As their breathing began to slow, Ivar rolled off of her and pulled her to his chest.

“Oh my little shieldmaiden, I knew that you were made for me.” He whispered into her ear.

All she could manage was to hum in agreement, she was too relaxed and exhausted to speak. She found it odd how save she felt in Ivar’s arms, willing to forget all their troubles for one night. But her tired mind wasn’t able to follow the thought any further.

Her eyelids soon turned heavy and the last thing she heard before she drifted off to sleep was Ivar mumbling. “I knew it would be different with you.”