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the-girl-in-the-box · 3 years

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Not Today XXXII

A/N: It's wedding time, folks! Which, of course, means new drama, and toward the end here, new trauma. Why do I do this to these characters? Because the plot demands it, I'm afraid. But hey, hopefully it makes for good reading. So, with that said, I hope you enjoy! Skål!

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

Masterlist

The palace was buzzing with activity as the wedding of Prince Oleg and Princess Katia drew ever nearer, and Asta found herself glad that the Prince and Princess were both kept rather distracted and busy with the arrangements for the occasion. This meant that she and Ivar had almost entirely unrestricted time to theirselves, and also an abundance of free time with Igor. It was easy enough now to get time with him, so they could grow closer and closer to the boy, until they’d grown so close to him, that he almost felt like…

Well, Asta had grown to think of him like a son. Their son, truly, though she’d never referred to him as such with Ivar. It wasn’t that she couldn’t see such a bond forming between the two, it was more that she knew that could force a discussion between them about what exactly they were, what they meant to each other. They didn’t realize they were very much on the same page, the care for each other being quite strong in them both, that it was even the same kind of care. Of course, they both remembered the kiss they’d shared in Novgorod- or, the kisses, really- but they hadn’t kissed again since, for fear the other hadn’t really meant it.

But the wedding was coming, and on the day of, both Asta and Ivar seemed to have the startling revelation that they’d be expected to attend, as the guests of Prince Oleg. As his honored guests, what with almost the whole of Rus believing she was Ivar’s Queen. This had sent them both into a frenzy of getting ready as quickly as they could, even down to braiding each other’s hair so that they didn’t waste time on fumbling with each braid themselves.

Ivar found himself stunned into silence at the sight of Asta in such formal apparel as they were expected to wear for the wedding. He’d not seen her dressed like a Princess since before the Siege of Kattegat. Since then, she’d put her everything into being a Shieldmaiden, and appearing as such, so it was a shock to him to see her dressed this way, now. But, there was a difference now.

Now, she wore a dress more like those the women of Kattegat had worn- the Queens of Kattegat had worn. Her hair was done in many braids, giving her a look which still very much called back to a Shieldmaiden, and her eyes were lined black, only adding to the look. Truthfully, she looked exactly like he knew a Shieldmaiden Queen would look, sitting in the Great Hall to hold court. This brought about Ivar’s second startling revelation of the day.

He gave a small hum, which brought Asta’s attention to him with raised brows, expectant. She even prompted him with the question of, “Yes?” which she spoke with quite the same tone as if she were asking if she could help him. This only caused Ivar to chuckle softly.

“I was only thinking how you would look sitting on the throne of Kattegat,” he confessed, and her eyes widened a bit.

“The throne?” she questioned. “I’d have to be Queen to sit there, wouldn’t I?”

“Mm, you would,” he confirmed, nodding slowly. “But I think you would make an excellent Queen. Don’t you?”

Asta chuckled softly, shaking her head a bit and leaning against the wall. “If you think a Saxon woman would make an excellent Viking Queen, then perhaps,” she said. Her answer had been far less committal than he’d have liked, but he didn’t figure he could do very much about that. Not without pushing a bit for a more exact answer, of course, which he was not at all above doing.

“I would think so,” he said. “You are not just any Saxon woman, though, are you?” She gave him a pointed, yet amused look. “You were born to be Princess of Wessex. A role you have… given up, yes, but one you were still prepared for most of your life. You would have been taught the sorts of things which make a successful Queen, wouldn’t you?”

With a deep breath, she did nod. “I would have been, yes,” she conceded. “But you are the son of Ragnar Lothbrok. You’re the heir to his throne, not me. If we return to Kattegat, triumphant, then you will be King, and I would be your Prophet again.”

“Maybe so,” he said, “but either way, I would like to have a Queen, and you are the most fit I can think of.”

Asta chuckled softly. “That would require I be your wife, you realize?” she pointed out, and the way he smirked made her cheeks flush pink. She blinked a few times. Oh. Well, then that was his whole point, wasn’t it? He was telling her a very specific intention he had when they eventually returned to Kattegat, and the thought made her blush.

He wanted to marry her there.

That, or they were preparing to attend a wedding, and he was messing with her. Messing with her, or… trying to see how she felt on the idea? The lack of certainty as to his meaning by presenting this idea to her made her shift a bit in place, and eventually just answer, “We can’t be late. Oleg will serve our heads at the feast after,” before ducking out the door.

She could hear him laughing to himself at her response, and her cheeks burned a little hotter in her embarrassment. Probably, it was only the impending wedding putting thoughts in his head of what he might like when all of this was done. Maybe it was true, he wanted to marry again, and she was the only woman he felt close enough to that he felt comfortable considering it with her. But surely that would change, if they only met some Viking woman who was better suited for him to be Queen in Kattegat.

What Asta didn’t realize, was that Ivar didn’t think there was a woman better suited to the position, to the throne, than she was. She knew and loved the people there, had been close to the Queen who had served during her time there, and now was close to him. Not only that, but she could fight better than any shieldmaiden he had met on the battlefield, and had been trained in the art of ruling a Kingdom before she left Wessex. Add her loyalty to him, and the connection he was fairly certain they shared? No, he couldn’t think of a better woman to be his Queen than Asta the Prophet.

They ended up walking to the wedding together, of course, but neither of them could quite find it in themselves to speak. It was incredibly clear how strange this would feel, to watch a woman who so closely resembled Freydis to them, marry a man who wasn’t Ivar- and a man neither of them trusted so far as they could throw him, at that. No, it wasn’t a pleasant day at all.

But still, they were escorted to a place of honor when they arrived, close enough they would be able to see the wedding take place with no difficulty, and they shared an uncomfortable glance as the wedding got underway. It was torture to them both.

Nothing felt any better as they watched the rings be placed on Katia’s and Oleg’s fingers, as their hands were bound together by a pure white cloth, and as crowns were placed on both their heads. Each of them holding a candle in their free hands, they began to follow the priests around the altar in a circle, and as they came around, both Prince and Princess looked to those they believed to be rightful King and Queen, though Oleg looked away before Katia did. Asta wrapped her arm around Ivar’s, hoping to bring him some slight comfort as he watched the woman who looked so much like his late wife, who he still couldn’t be sure wasn’t her, marry another man.

After all, how much would Asta’s own heart ache if she had to watch Ivar do the same?

They ended up being brought to feast privately with the newly wedded couple once the wedding was over, and as they sat, Ivar decided to speak up, to make sure he and his wife were in a good place with them both still, as strange as things had seemed during the ceremony.

“May we be the first to congratulate the bride and the groom on this momentous day?” he said, and lifted his drink in a toast. “Skål.”

Asta, Oleg, and Katia all returned the toast, taking a sip of their drinks in turn, though Oleg spoke up to say, “And may Odin, Frey, and Freyja also bless our marriage.”

“Yes,” Katia agreed. “To Odin, the Allfather. And to Frey, and Freyja.”

Oleg dismissed the servants who were waiting on the group, and they all bowed, before slipping quietly from the room. Asta watched them go, always perceptive to everything happening in the room. The poisoning of Prince Askold had warned her to be ever on guard with Oleg.

“To Odin,” he toasted, once the servants had all gone. “And the gods. Skål.” Asta wasn’t sure why he seemed to be toasting what he just had, but she figured the difference must lie in a toast to the gods, as opposed to a toast in hopes that their marriage would be blessed by the gods. Still, it made very little sense to her, in all honesty. “Katia told me that she reminds you two of someone,” Oleg began, as Ivar and Asta set their cups down. They each lifted a brow, and then looked between themselves in slight concern. Though, it should be noted only they could read that expression, from so long of being in such close quarters. Neither of them could be a closed book to the other, not anymore.

They also glanced to Katia herself, before Ivar finally nodded, and confirmed, “Yes. My first wife.” They had to be careful when Freydis came up, not to accidentally give away that Asta was not his wife now.

“You had a child with your wife, no?” Oleg questioned then. Ivar shifted uncomfortably, and Asta’s eyes narrowed. She knew she needed more tolerance for Oleg and his games, but she found her patience with him often running quite thin.

Well, not when he played his games with her. She could tolerate someone messing with her. But when she cared for someone, she couldn’t bring herself to tolerate someone messing with them. And this conversation turning to Baldur, Ivar’s lost son… She was already gearing up to argue Oleg down from this topic if she must.

Ivar remained silent for quite a long while, thinking something over for a good bit of time. Asta, having not been involved in quite a few of Oleg’s conversations with her ‘husband’, wasn’t shocked to hear him ask about this. But Ivar was, and so when he spoke, it was to ask, “How did you know that?”

“I know a great many things about you…” Oleg replied vaguely. Asta’s guard went further up. “Ivar the Boneless.” He paused a moment, before asking, “Am I not a Prophet?”

“I have my doubts,” Asta answered honestly, and all eyes turned to her in complete shock. “Unless the gods reveal all things differently to each of those they choose to speak to, it appears you simply have excellent information, information I know you have ways of finding out besides hearing it from the gods.”

She referred to what he’d said about Princess Anna, how he’d known she would be marrying Prince Dir before they’d even been wed, and Oleg’s eyes narrowed as he realized this.

“You are questioning if I speak the truth when I say I am a Prophet, then?” he asked, tilting his head just slightly. It was meant to be a threat, but Ivar watched with curiosity- and truthfully, a touch of pride- as Asta didn’t back down, and only narrowed her own eyes. She was retaliating, beat for beat.

“I am,” she confessed. “All information I have ever been given by the gods has been far less… precise than this, as I know it was for the Seer in Kattegat, while he still lived. So unless they speak to you more directly, in less of a riddle than anything they have spoken to us, I would doubt your information truly does come from them. Not in the way you claim it does, anyhow.”

“You should be careful in your accusations, Queen Asta,” Oleg said, his voice low and threatening. “Questioning me is questioning what the gods have shown me, and who knows what the gods may show me about you?”

Ivar watched incredulously as she leaned forward, her arms crossed on the table now to hold herself up, and her lips stretched into an easy, almost dangerous smirk. “And who knows what they will continue to show me about you?” she replied.

It was brilliant, and Ivar almost grinned with pride. Oleg sat back, and the battle of wills was won by the woman he was convinced now was sent to him to be his Queen. Who else could have worded that so brilliantly as to make it seem her questioning came because the gods had revealed something already, not because of what she didn’t believe they had? Sometimes, he truly wondered if she were not aided by the silvertongued trickster himself. Then again, if Asta didn’t believe in Loki, he couldn’t be sure if he would help her or not. Maybe Loki was helping him, then, through Asta? He couldn’t say, though her mastery of words made him wonder.

The air in the room had become tense and uncomfortable, even if it was slightly diffused by the end of the contest, and Katia gave a strained smile, before standing and approaching her new husband. “Do you mind if I take off this dress?” she asked him. “It’s too hot in here.”

“Of course, my darling,” he replied, and the perfect revenge on Asta came to him. “I’m sure our friends won’t mind.”

“They can help,” Katia said, and turned to walk to their end of the table. Asta stood and stepped forward, as if to help. Ivar looked very much like a startled deer. Because she’d stepped up, Katia asked, “Can you… undo it, Asta?”

Ivar was clearly miserable as Asta nodded, and set to work undoing the back of Katia’s dress, pulling it down off her shoulders once it was done. But it wasn’t what Asta was doing that made him uncomfortable, no. It was the look on Oleg’s face as she did so. In fact, Ivar found himself standing as Katia thanked Asta, smiling at her and letting her hair fall around her shoulders once she took the comb out from it.

“We should go,” Ivar said to Asta, putting a hand on her shoulder to draw her attention to him. His eyes- readable still only to her- were silently begging her not to make a fuss, and to just agree with him. “My legs are…” He cracked an embarrassed smile, tilting his head side to side as if to say they weren’t feeling well.

“Aching?” she supplied, and nodded. “Of course, my love.” She lifted her hand to cup his cheek affectionately, then turned to Katia and Oleg, who seemed surprised at this.

“Oh, but you have to stay,” Oleg countered. “It would be good for you.”

“No,” Asta protested. “We really must be getting him to bed. He stood for quite some time at the ceremony earlier, he needs to rest his legs, now.”

Katia sighed, as if disappointed, and pressed a kiss to Asta’s cheek, then her other cheek. The Shieldmaiden knew that was a common form of greeting, in some places, and so didn’t question it, but did return the gesture. “We are happy to have had your company for the time we’ve had it, then,” she said graciously. “And we hope to have it again soon.”

“Of course, Princess,” Asta replied, and smiled to her, before simply nodding to Oleg, and taking Ivar’s arm so they could go.

Oleg glared at her retreating form, the moment she’d turned her back to him.

The rest of the day passed without very much of note, as Asta really had taken Ivar back to their chambers and convinced him to go to bed. He’d been frustrated, but as his legs had actually been aching, he’d finally conceded and laid down- especially once he realized she intended to lay down with him, curled into his side as always.

Their conversation turned naturally to the meal they’d shared with Oleg and Katia, and he commended her for the way she handled Oleg. It was another point to her being an excellent Queen one day, he’d said, and she’d simply given him a light smack on the chest before telling him to go on to sleep. Amused, he’d laid back and promised to do as she wished, even calling her ‘Your Majesty’, which had earned him a roll of her eyes.

But she was amused as well, he could tell, and so he’d fallen asleep with a smirk on his face, and the woman he intended to make his Queen in his arms. And, for most of the night, they slept in peace.

That peace ended in the early hours of the morning, when Asta sat up gasping for breath, her eyes filled with unshed tears as she panted, her chest heaving as if she had great difficulty breathing, and Ivar quickly sat up with her, his arm wrapping around her shoulders immediately.

“My love, what is it?” he asked her, a near panic laced in his voice which she might reflect on later, as well as the way he had addressed her. But for the time being, she felt as though she were choking on grief, on pain and on a devastation she seemed to feel calling out from the earth. It was all she could do to choke out her response.

“Lagertha.”

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#ivar the boneless #ivar #ivar ragnarsson #alex hogh andersen #ivar's heathen army #ivar x oc #ivar x ofc #ivar x original female character #ivar x christian!oc #vikings #vikings history channel #history channel vikings #not today #chapter thirty-two

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fangirlings-things · 4 years

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anon said: Would you mind doing song Wicked Game by Chris Isaak with Hvitserk? 😊😍

A/N: loved this request, inspiration hit me right in the face hahah. This one really made me want to keep it going towards a one shot (perhaps in the future!) let me know if you liked it, love 💕

Fandom: Vikings

Word count: 639

Warnings: none

gif credit: @honestsycrets

Summary: as he walks through the palace of Wessex looking for King Ecbert, Hvitserk ends up finding you instead

─━━━━━━⊱❉⊰━━━━━━─

When he had entered the palace of Wessex looking for King Ecbert, Hvitserk had felt his own blood boiling inside his body, getting out through the swings of his sword and as he kicked things to the ground and explored the palace, looking for the King or anybody at all, completely on his own.

He had burst through closed doors, breaking them down when he had to. He could smell smoke coming from other spots of the palace, he could bet it was of Floki's doing. He always loved to set things on fire.

Hvitserk came across another closed door after a while. Two guards guarded it, but it did not take him too much effort to kill both of them and find his path to the door free. For having guards there, they were for sure guarding something important. The idea of finding the King himself excited him. With only a powerful kick, it was opened and so he could see the interior of the room.

It was not the King. Instead he saw you, standing straight in one of the corners of the room as you stared through a large window. You stared back at him, in the eye. That intense gaze got him moving towards you rather fastly. He stopped only inches away. So close you could smell the blood on him.

"Who are you?" he asked, surprising you for knowing how to speak your language. "I am sure you are someome important, for having those guards out there dying for you"

"King Ecbert is my grandfather" you replied, knowing that there was no point in lying. His observation had been quite perceptive and you knew he would end up finding out, sooner or later. "I am Prince Aethelwulf and Princess Judith's first child"

"Oh, I see" he stepped even closer and smiled, proud of the precious prize he had just caught. "Why do I see you here but not the rest of your family?"

"You will not find them. I stayed here because I did not want to leave my grandfather alone. Not when the sons of Ragnar have probably something horrible planned for him" you said and the absence of fear in your voice actually made him frown as realization hit him.

"You stayed here to die with and for Ecbert?" he questioned. In other times he would have probably laughed but something in your eyes and features got to him. Perhaps the intensity of your gaze on his face did so. It was not a judgemental look, like the ones his folk recieved from Christians most of the time. No, it was a respectful look.

"Does that surprise you?" you asked and chuckled a bit for his expression. "Did you think that only your people have courage to do hard things in the name of love?"

Sounds of battle echoed through close walls. The smell of smoke seemed to get heavier on the lungs. Others were getting close as his mind runned silently as he thought about what to do. The thought of deliver you to his brothers surprisingly making him uncomfortable. They would kill you, for certain. Ivar would probably enjoy it the most and make a little display out of it.

Making a perhaps stupid decision, Hvitserk grabbed your forearm and began to drag you with him towards the door he had kicked open. "What are you doing?" you asked, not really fighting because you knew that would happen as he dragged you through the corridors. What you did not expect was for him to begin to take you away from the sounds of his companions.

The Viking you did not know sighted heavily before answering, his fingertips gripping at your skin. "I am taking you out of here"

Little did you know, he was a son of Ragnar himself.

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#imagine #x reader #fanfic #imagines #vikings #vikings imagine #history vikings #vikings fanfic #hvitserk #hvitserk imagine #vikings hvitserk #hvitserk x reader

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squirrelacorngliterfarts · 4 years

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Blood 2. 22.

Everything Taglist: @gold-dragon-slayer @your-internet-granny

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(y/n) is quietly sitting in her chair, the one she always used to sit in when she was a child growing up, listening to the people around her talk, as she had yet to voice her own words.

ubbe is by her side, torvi on the other, margarethe beside ubbe.

“enjoy your meal” the thrall says, bowing to ubbe and (y/n) before backing away to the kitchens.

(y/n) is far from hungry, especially when she hears loud, confident footsteps come from behind her, and that voice begins to speak.

“i am surprised to see you back in this hall ubbe, i-”.

as lagertha rounds the table, speaking to ubbe, her eyes catch sight of the girl who has her head hung low, her fingers digging into the chairs handles.

lagertha pauses, staring at the girl with her lips open in sheer shock, looking from her to ubbe.

ubbe she can understand coming back to her court, but to see (y/n), to know she had left ivar, the man she was so close to, who she had been close to her entire life..................

ubbe shakes his head, silently telling her not to speak to her just yet.

lagerthas brows cinch for a moment, but follows with his words nevertheless.

“you both are more than welcome back to our hearth”.

she comes closer, and eyes margarethe and the chair she sat in.

with a moment of hesitation, margarethe stands from the chair, moving away from lagertha and standing by a near wood beam, arms crossed over her chest.

as lagertha settles in her chair, she doesn’t miss (y/n) scooting herself farther and farther from her.

“we have all heard of the success of our great army, how you revenged ragnar’s death, overcame both alle and ecbert. i thank my own son, but also you, (y/n), and all the sons of ragnar for these immortal events” lagertha says, raising her mug of ale to both (y/n) and ubbe, before sipping from it.

“then you must have heard of sigurd’s death at the hands of ivar. and his challenge to bjorn that he was the leader of the great army”.

torvi and lagertha subtly glance at (y/n) when they hear her breath stutter, her eyes blinking closed for a moment.

lagertha couldn’t help but note how much she had changed since they had last seen each other.

her hair was shorter, her skin was littered with small cuts and scars and bruises, her lip split and her shoulder bandaged, she looked like a true shield maiden, but they could see the pain that lay behind her eyes.

“i want to tell you both.... bjorn ironside behaved himself throughout with great honor and courage. i love and admire him as a brother” ubbe says, and (y/n) couldn’t agree more, she nods at his words.

“thank you for your words about bjorn. he is a good man. i know that” torvi says, looking from ubbe and (y/n) with a kind soft smile.

but (y/n) can see below that smile, see that torvi is a bit sour from bjorn not returning to say goodbye to her and her children before he set for the mediterranean.

ubbe casts his eyes towards (y/n) for a moment, afraid how she might react if he speaks these words, but she chose his side, and he knew she’d never feel ill feelings towards him for what he’s about to say.

“but ivar is a different. he tore us apart. as far as i am concerned, i am now at war with ivar”.

a heavy silence falls over them, and (y/n) knew deep down in her heart ubbe felt that way.

but could she feel that way?, could she really go to war with her own family?, her and her brothers fighting to the death, trying to kill each other?.

it made (y/nI feel ill, her eyes casting down to her hands which were gripping each other so tightly her knuckles were white, starting to shake.

“our brother hvitserk, he has decided to stay with ivar. so he is now my enemy”.

at his admission, (y/n)’s worst fears have been realized, they were truly torn apart now, and even in this room surrounded by people she knew, she never felt so alone.

lagertha has a look in her eyes, almost smug, yet, cunning and in understanding for the lothbrok siblings’s pain at losing their family in a matter of weeks.

she leans back against her chair, speaking to ubbe without looking at him.

“let us make a pact. i will support you and (y/n) against ivar and hvitserk if you both agree to support me against king harald”.

(y/n) looks up finally, looking from ubbe to lagertha with hooded eyes, confusion filling her.

harald?, what did he have anything to do with lagertha?, and she felt that ubbe couldn’t say yes to her, anyone but her.

“you see, that would make us an ally of my mother’s killer”.

(y/n) couldn’t deny that she hated the way ubbe was speaking on her behalf, but then again, she chose to stay with ubbe, that made them one, together in all this chaos.

“Mmm. i know. your choices are all difficult, ubbe. but for the sake of the good folk of kattegat, can we not be allies?” she says, looking at him expectantly, holding her mug out to him.

(Y/n) hopes somewhat deep down that ubbe will decline, they could just live there in peace and not have to worry about anymore battles, no more war, just utter peace.

but she knows that can never happen.

her shoulders sag as ubbe taps his mug against lagerthas.

“skol” he says, looking at her whilst lagertha looks ahead, seemingly into her own powerful future.

“skol”.

she stares at lagertha openly, watches her hands, the same hands that murdered her mother, that locked her in that cell.....prevented her from saying goodbye to aslaug at her funeral...............

(y/n) stands, causing all eyes to fall on her.

“are you not going to finish your meal?” lagertha asks, taking a drink of her ale, looking at the young with slight concern, but was trying not to show it.

she pushes her plate away from her, towards lagertha.

“i am not hungry anymore”.

she moves from the table, mostly speaking to ubbe.

“i am tired, i am in pain”.

“let one of my healers tend to you”.

“no, i-”.

“i insist”.

“i do not want your help, lagertha” (y/n), her anger beginning to overflow.

lagertha simply blinks, silent after (y/n) words. nodding.

“alright, if you wish to rest i left your room the way you kept it, i didn’t touch it”.

(y/n) nods, wishing ubbe had gotten a place to stay outside of the hall.

she walks past them, not sparing anyone a single glance as her eyes burn with tears.

could she truly go to war with her own family?.

#ivar's heathen army #ivar the boneless #hvitserk #ubbe #lagertha #torvi #margarethe #vikings #vikings x lothbrok!reader #vikings x reader #vikings fanfiction #vikings imagines #angst #writing

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fank0ne · 4 years

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VIKINGS - 6.01 + 6.02

OMG. It's so weird to think I've seen the last first episode of this series that I've loved so dearly and is now one of my favorites. *Bittersweet symphony starts playing*

I've seen that Gustaf's name is not on the cast list of the opening anymore, so... is Floki dead? I honestly don't know what to think, especially with that Flatnose dude who is sketchy af. I wanna know what happened to him, ugh.

Lagertha. Bitch doesn't even have a single wrinkle, that's kind of embarrassing to be honest.

That flashback in which she sees Ragnar and Gyda (wow, somebody in the writer's room remembered about her, thank god) really broke my heart. Yo, everytime I see Ragnar I get emotional, don't judge. It's been a long way and so many things happened and it's just strange to think this will be the last season.

I absolutely loved the scene of Lagertha burying her sword and making the vow that she will no longer be a shieldmaiden. It was really well executed, kudos to Katheryne!

Is Lagertha going to keep her promise, though? It seems like she's going to be in a very dangerous situation soon, so... IDK, was the scene I mentioned before totally useless? I'm kinda confused about Lagertha's character, because it almost seems like the writers have noticed that most of the fandom doesn't like her as much anymore and they're somehow trying to redeem her by not letting her get involved with Ragnarssons business anymore... I'm not sure, though, we'll see which direction her character's gonna take.

Björn. Okay, Alexander is fine as fuck. That buzzcut is just *chef kiss*.

That said, y'all know I love my big bear and I know he means well, but he needs to get it together asap. He's a king, for fuck's sake! I wouldn't be surprised if he asked me an opinion about the whole Harald (woah, he's alive... kinda) situation. I honestly though he was gonna be a way better ruler, but the premises aren't that great. I'm sorry boo boo.

Gunnhild. I like her. She reminds me of both season1!Lagertha and Aslaug. I'm looking forward to knowing of her character. Also, I love her demeanor.

Ubbe and Torvi. Bruh. I love those two and their relationship. I admit I was very skeptical when they first got together (I though 'oh another weird kinda creepy in-familia Viking relationship, yikes'), but now I truly appreciate them. They're honestly very cute.

I love Ubbe, he's so kind-hearted and just adorable, a true cinnamon roll, but I think that his kindness is soon gonna be his biggest weakness, causing him trouble. In this sense, he reminds me a lot of Alfred and speaking of him... where the Saxons at? Is their storyline over..? I feel like we're not gonna hear of them any time soon/ever. This kinda sucks because I wanted my fair dose of Ulfred content, but it is what it is.

Torvi is preggo! Y'all, this whole time I thought she had a child with Björn and a child with Ubbe already. I'm stupid LOL I really like her character, she's grown on me so damn much.

Hvitserk. I had a lot of hope for him this season, thinking he would finally show what he's capable of, but hell nah, they really did my man dirty. It's sad because I kinda don't even feel sorry for him... at this point his presence mostly annoys me. However, he said an important thing during his delirium: "Only Ivar matters", he's so right guys. Björn is focusing on the wrong problem -- again, he needs to act smarter.

I've got a question: was Hvitserk eating the same herbs Yidu used to give Ragnar at some point?

Last but not least, Ivar and Prince Olag. The montage of Ivar looking at those animals with curious, wide eyes was really beautiful to see -- I hope they don't abuse the slow motion, though.

Oleg Is intriguing. He's totally crazy and for the first time ever, I've seen Ivar being both fascinated and scared of someone -- that's new!

The scene of the two of them flying together (I don't know how to explain it better, sorry..?) was so cute and guys, you know me... of course I ship them already! Who in their right mind wouldn't?!

Jokes aside, I really like the fact that Oleg opened up to Ivar and told him about his (romantic) past, basically giving us the answer to why they immediately clicked so well. They're very similar and they have so much in common. "I think you and I are going to have a very special relationship. I truly think so..." c'mon, just get married already!

Oleg poisoned the wine and watched his brother drink it... didn't it give you war flashbacks to when Kwenthrith did the same thing while Ragnar and King Ecbert poured the wine on the floor. Oh, the good ol' days... I'm so nostalgic, oh my god.

That dance Oleg made... that's me dancing whenever I'm drunk af.

The little moment between Ivar and Igor (every time they mention him I think of my man Tyler, the Creator LMFAO) was so damn cute. Alex is super young and basically doesn't have any facial hair, so I always forget Ivar is supposed to be a grown adult with kids -- all that and all I wanna say is that Ivar would be such a caring and loveable father, he truly enjoyed spending time with little Igor* (bruh, does he speak at all? LOL)

It was good to see my Viking folks; I feel like the enthusiasm I lost during season 5 (especially 5b) finally came back to mama: now I genuinely want to know what's going to happen next and I'm excited for this season. I don't have any type of particular expectations (except, @ Björn: do better!), which I think it's good..?

We'll see.

*he reminds me a lot of Cal from Manifest.

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therealcalicali · 5 years

Text

Very excellent critique and review of Vikings:

Excerpt:

"I think I’m tired of how cynical this show has become. More than its aimlessness, it’s the lack of humanity I find so depressing. Nobody cares about anybody else. Mothers kill their sons. Fathers abandon their children. Brothers are always at war with one another. When Bjorn finally comes out with his little love speech, all I can think about is how badly he’s treated all his previous wives, all the children he’s abandoned."

"I don’t buy it. None of this is really human nature. People back in those times didn’t just neglect and abandon their children willie nillie. People still loved their parents, their children, their family and friends. There wasn’t endless backstabbing and misery. Life was hard and the hardest folk survived, but Vikings has taken malaise to a whole new level. There is nothing hopeful about this show. There is no drunken joking between Ragnar and Ecbert. Nobody is carrying Aethelstan’s body up the mountain."

"Later he sends Hvitserk (who has also suddenly fallen in love with yet another woman whose name escapes me) on a diplomatic mission."

"Bjorn tells her he’s afraid to ask if she loves him. He professes his vulnerability. He’s lost, alone, his soul naked. I guess this show of weakness works on her. I’m a little confused. Did I miss the part where they fell in love? This show’s tendency to skip forward makes following the various narratives a bit like suffering from whiplash."

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sceawere · 7 years

Text

see the whole board | ivar ragnarsson

anon requested ivar and ecberts youngest daughter and i accidently wrote 4k of slow burn 'oh shit are we falling in love?’ that almost certainly will spawn a sequel sorry about that folks

anyway enjoy the sheer amount of chess imagery here?

You’d been stood at the end of the corridor, staring down to the door at the other end, for nearly an hour now probably. It never opened. The guards never moved, nor acknowledged you, and you them. You stood, arms crossed, staring.

You were curious. You’d been but a child the last time Ragnar had visited but you remembered him. Like a ghost he’d waded in and out of your childhood – whether through a physical presence or the stories your father told. Great warriors from the sea had made their way into your dreams, rising from the surf to visit you. And now your father had him in a cage.

He’d brought his son. A man now, about your age, so your father had said. And yet he was another ghost that had wandered in. Kept contained for now in the room at the end of the hall. With the unmoving guards who paid you no mind.

What did he look like? How did he speak? Was he like his father? Was he not? Was he terrifying?

“Sister”

You turned your head, meeting eyes with Aethelwulf as he approached. He looked down the corridor, nodding his head as he crossed his own arms and leant against the wall.

“Have you seen him?”

“No. I want to”

“Why?”

“Curiosity”

“It will the end of you one day, sister”

“Or the making”

“Hmm. Very wise”

You gave him a sarcastic look and he smiled at you.

“What’s he like?”

“Not what you expect”

He waited for a few moments.

“What’s stopping you?”

“I’m not allowed…am I?”

He scoffed, then laughed, re-adjusting his shoulder.

“Whenever I worry you’re too inquisitive for your own good, I remember you’re also far too good to let it get you into trouble”

You sighed, turning your head back to look at the door that was nearly burnt into your view by now.

“Go and see”

You flicked your eyes to him, waiting for the trap.

“Go and see”

You stuttered for a moment before stepping forward. The guards stepped aside as you approached, you assumed at a nod from your brother behind you. You felt him trail as you stepped into the room.

He was sat at a bench playing himself at chess, his eyes flicking up to meet yours. He straightened as you walked a little closer, stepping into the stream of light. His eyes flicked from you to your brother, then back again.

“Well, sister. What do you think?”

His eyes moved to follow the speech but by the look on his face, the slight opening of his lips, the subtle raise of his eyebrows, he had no idea what was being said.

“He’s not what I expected”

He gave a little smirk before every move of his and a smile after each of yours. You hadn’t spoken a word to each other – you couldn’t. But it felt like a whole conversation just the same.

You pulled your shawl back up around your elbows from where it had slipped from reaching out for the piece and looked over to the guard while he was considering his turn.

“Are we permitted a fire? Or is the hope that our guest may freeze to death before we have to decide what to do with him?”

He gave a look over to the man opposite you and then turned to nod at someone stood out in the walkway. Your brother had insisted there were eyes on you at all times, and the guards had to keep eyes on each other, and so the door was wide open. It was letting in a draft and with the bare nature of his cell there was nowhere for the warmth to hide.

You turned back to watch his move, scowling at the state of the board now. You cleared your throat and shifted in your seat. Another smirk. You bit your lip, squinting as you considered your options. You reached out a tentative hand, stuttering over a piece, before sliding over to move another. He lowered his eyes, his face falling.

He moved.

You moved.

He moved.

You moved.

He sighed and leant back. You let out a laugh, lifting his Queen and planting her dramatically on the bench in front of you before reaching your hand out to shake his. You fluttered it in the air when he stared at it, eyebrows raised expectantly. He rolled his eyes across, reaching to meet your grip in his. Your smirk fell at the warmth of his skin, the fire in his eyes. You fluttered your lids, taking in a cleansing breath.

You pulled back, lifting the Queen, and carrying it away from the bench.

He called after you, a chorus of words you didn’t understand. The sounds swam over you and circled in your mind. His voice. Not understanding what he was saying made you appreciate the tone, rather than the words. You stopped and turned, the guards coming behind you to light a fire in the place.

“You want it back, you’ll have to win it back. Don’t worry. I’ll return”

You gave him a mocking bow and left the room, your shawl trailing after you in the breeze.

You kept your head down at the meal that evening, twirling the piece in your lap under the table.

“Father said you were playing chess with Ivar. Did you win?”

It took you a moment to realise your nephew was directing his words to you and you brought your head up in sections, like pulling yourself slowly from a dream.

“Forgive me, Alfred. I was in a world of my own making for a moment there”

He smiled back at you and you tucked the piece into the fold of your skirt, under a band there.

“Did you win?”

“Of course I won. I’m shocked that you would doubt my abilities. Have you played against…Ivar?”

“I have”

You tilted your head.

“Did you win?”

“I did”

“Of course” you picked up your cup and took a swift drink “it seems our guest is perhaps not the best tactician”

Aethelwulf lifted his own cup.

“I would not underestimate him sister. You should not doubt his abilities. If he is anything like his father-”

“Ragnar is being kept in a cage, is he not? That seems a folly of wisdom”

“I’ve had far too many arguments with you to think you hold that to be true”

You placed your cup back down and nodded to the side.

“He had me working for my victory, I will give him that. No, I do not underestimate him. I’m sure were he to take after his father’s ambitions we would be sure to have a fight on our hands. Though I am confident of our victory, has not father always prevailed against them?”

You turned to him, sat at the head of the table, half away in his mind himself. It worried you, his progression. When you were born Aethelwulf was already old enough to be your father himself and you seemed to be increasingly aware of the divide between you and the men of your family.

He seemed to pull himself back, smiling at you, and patting at your hand.

“I savour your confidence in me. Though I think were it not for his affliction, Ivar would already have presented himself as a scourge to our coastline”

“Affliction?”

You ran your tongue over the side of your cheek, turning your head between your father and your brother with an expectant look.

“His name does not yet precede him, it seems”

“Affliction?”

This time more firm.

“He is ‘Ivar the Boneless’, sister. His legs are…”he lifted his cup, turning words over in his head before he settled on one “malformed? I assume the name is a description enough”

“They are broken? In battle?”

“Born like that for all my understanding. He has never walked”

You tried to pull the picture of him back in your mind but he’d always been sitting, legs hidden under a table. You weren’t exactly in the habit of inspecting people’s limbs at social occasions and so it had passed by you.

“The raiders prefers the sea, do they not? What use does a man have for legs when he has a fleet to travel for him?”

“At some point, you must land”

“Must you?”

Aethelwulf smiled over his cup.

“I feel another argument approaching”

You made haste down the corridor, turning swiftly. The lamps were lit along the way, braziers burning through the arches as you went. The guards did not step aside as you approached this time. You waited in front of them expectantly.

“I wish to enter”

“We have received no order”

“You are receiving them now”

“From your father, or your brother, princess. We were told to allow none other within”

You stepped forward another step, keeping your spine as straight as you could. You waited. You weren’t sure how long it took them to relent but eventually they did and you stepped in, triumphant.

You thought him asleep at first, turned back to you in the cot. You saw his arm twitch as though his hand were grabbing at something and you hovered in place.

“If you’re going to try to stab me, I’d like to warn you that it’s almost a mile to the front gate and there are many men between you and it”

You knew he couldn’t understand your words – although you were sure for a while he was putting it on as a ruse to gain information. You hoped your tone communicated enough. He rolled towards you slightly, his body as one movement. A sharpened crack of wood was placed in his palm as it lay on his chest now and you tilted your head.

“I already have your Queen, Ivar, your game is long over”

He tilted his own head at your use of his name, the only sound he understood as it fell from your mouth, and he lifted himself to sit in the cot. He shuffled on his arms, pulling his legs with him so he could lean against the wall. Your eyes trailed down, noticing the bindings that supported them now, and his eyes followed yours. He looked angry at first, then…sad? Something tinged in his expression. He threw some words at you, garbled tones that flew past you and out the door for all you understood. But his tone, that you understood.

“Are they hurting? I would think they would hurt you”

He kept staring at you, nostrils flaring. You’d pissed him off. You sighed, untucking the Queen from the loop of your belt and stepping forward just enough to keep it at an arm’s length from one another. Both you and he would have to reach to transfer its ownership but you felt it best. You lifted it a little when he did not move and it took him a moment of uncertainty, leather bound hands grasping around the pads of your fingertips as it passed over.

You turned and left.

He looked shocked to see you again the next morning, eyes tracing the contents of your arms as you emptied them onto the table. He looked confused as the servants came in and set both a fire and a pot going. He looked very confused at the monk who entered finally.

“Brother Eldred, could you please?”

You motioned towards Ivar and he nodded before setting off in speech to him. You set yourself in concentration of your work, perched on the bench as you measured out the right number of leaves and seeds and whatnot, wrapping them carefully in the cloth and binding them tight.

“He asks what you are doing”

“Making tea”

He relayed the message and you lifted your gaze at the extended silence. Ivar was looking at you, an expression of disbelief on his face. You shifted your eyes over.

“Did you tell him good morning?”

“I did, princess”

“What did he say?”

He hesitated for a moment.

“It is…probably best I do not repeat it, your grace”

“Ah”

You turned back to your work, lifting the bag and a cup and moving towards the bubbling water. You’d had it heated ready, to be transferred. A careful dip of the cup into the simmer brought back almost as much as you needed and you plopped the cloth into it, dipping and stirring it. The liquid began to tinge blue, then deepen into purple and you blew onto it slightly before handing it over to him. You dipped beside the bed this time, the guards poised in case he should try anything.

He flicked his eyes from you to the liquid, back and forth.

“If I wanted you dead, I’d drag you into the square and make a spectacle of it”

The monk repeated your words into his and Ivar lifted a brow, eyes meeting yours. He brought his hand up to take the cup from you, the pads of his fingers trailing over the back of your hand as he retreated. It was unnecessary but not unwanted.

He sipped at it for a few moments, probably waiting to keel over.

“It’ll help”

You waited for a break in the translation.

“My mother used to suffer with pain as well, I used to make this for her”

Your tone lowered and he watched you this time as the monk spoke. He took another drink before speaking.

“He asks if she is gone”

You nodded. He spoke again. You waited.

“He asks who you are”

“Does he want my name, my station, or my titles?”

The monk began to reel off all of the above, words skewed at points into what you assumed were corresponding rankings in their culture.

“You are a Princess?”

Your eyes flicked up to his as he spoke the words, your mouth parting slightly.

“Are you not Prince Ivar?”

He settled back against the wall, looking full of himself again. He handed the now empty cup over to you and you lifted yourself with it, stepping back through the room. You signalled to the servants to collect the contents of the table.

“Princess?”

You turned at his call to see him pulling something from behind the cot and for a second the thought of the makeshift blade came to mind. Surely he’s not that stupid?

He lifted the chess piece and threw it across the room to you, barely catching it. He motioned the monk over and smiled at his nervousness. They whispered between themselves for a few moments, Ivar lifting himself up a little on his wrists and the monk bowing to converse. He nodded him back before turning to you.

“If I wanted a Queen, I would win one”

You stood still at his words, struck by everything and nothing at once. You heard another meaning behind his words, the look in his eyes as he spoke. You turned the piece over, grasping it between fingers. A last look before you backed away from him again.

You hadn’t seen Ivar since that morning but you found yourself walking past the place you knew his cell was held and wondering about the room behind the wall. You sat on the banks, staring out onto the river, watching the water weave and dance through its path.

If I wanted a Queen, I’d win one.

It didn’t sound like a throwaway comment, he had meant something by it. To bother to speak it himself, it meant something. Not a threat. Perhaps a promise?

A driftwood boat jostled past you and you watched the children swimming after it, glistening in the high sun. A smile pulled to your face as you watched them and you imagined yourself in the water, diving after boats as they spanned out across the ocean. Your father had told you at breakfast that he’d arranged for Ivar to be shipped back to his home. Ragnar would be staying, transported to his fate in another place. It tore at you. The choice seemed fractured, your father had always instilled in you that if you were to make a choice it was to be a whole one. It was to pander to an enemy or eradicate them, there could be no half efforts. Not that you weren’t glad for the reprieve. The alternative shook cold down your spine, even in the warmth of the day.

Perhaps it was Ivar’s words that weighed on you but as you watched the scattering of lashed twigs and scrappy fleets surge past you, your heart leapt and you imagined yourself dashed against the rocks, boats spanning themselves around you.

“That is ridiculous”

“As are you”

Having a conversation through a nervous monk didn’t lend itself naturally to banter but you were both manging as best you could, battling with your words, even if the chess board before you remained in a similar position.

“My Gods are not ridiculous, they make sense. Having one man be in charge of everything is...”

He laughed as he finally made a move and you leaned even further against the surface, fist braced against your cheekbone.

“Yes, because when discussing men living in the sky we cannot see who do their bidding upon us, what boggles the mind is the workload they bear”

He smirked up at you as the monk relayed the gist of your message. You were carefully avoiding every topic you wanted to field and instead had focused on your differing religions, a notoriously calm and considered subject.

“We have women Gods, too. Should you not think that a better system?”

He rolled his bottom lip to catch between his teeth and set you with a look and you shrugged.

“We have women saints. I’m fine with what I already have, thank you very much”

You swapped his piece for yours, dropping it to the side of the board with a little venom to accent your point.

He swallowed a smile, focusing further on the board. The glint of the metal at the break in his shirt drew another question to your mind.

“Is he like…God? The most important one?”

You pointed towards it to emphasise and he looked down as the monk relayed. He brought his finger to loop it forward and you saw now it was like a hammer.

“Thor is the son of Odin”

“Like Jesus”

He seemed unimpressed by your interpretation and you were sure your expression and tone hadn’t helped. The break for translation allowed for a lot of gloating, teasing looks if it did nothing else to benefit the conversation.

“No, not like your god”

“Jesus isn’t a god. He’s the son of God. A manifestation of the holy as flesh. Would you like me to give you a lesson?”

He rolled his eyes and set his jaw and you licked at your lips in humour. His eyes fell to watch the action and it made you sit straight again in your seat, eyes falling to the board.

I remember you’re also far too good to let it get you into trouble. If only you knew brother.

He would be gone soon. You kept reminding yourself. This was to satisfy your curiosity, nothing else. Like studying the books the monks brought back from their pilgrimages. It was academic.

It didn’t feel academic. You reached up and fiddled with the cross hanging at your own neck, turning the worn icon over in your fingers. His hand reached out to trail over the chain, lifting the pendant to rock in the air. He seemed torn by something and you thought maybe he was considering the same thoughts you were. The raider prince and the Christian princess.

He would be gone soon. You must remind yourself.

You walked out with your nephew, guiding him to the cart. He handed over his chess piece, and the one you’d given him. If you’d done it yourself, you’d draw attention. There would be questions, there would be looks. By handing it to Alfred you’d avoid that. You were still playing chess, even now.

He turned the pieces over in his palm, noticing the scratched image in the foot of yours. As best as image of the hammer at his chest you could remember, with a cross overlaid in ink, so as to resemble both your icons.

He nodded to what seemed to any other to be himself, not looking at you either as you looked away, smiling to the ground. You watched their dismissal of each other through your periphery. Please God, if they are ever to meet again, let it not be across a field.

Your nephew moved his way off and you stepped to follow him when Ivar’s arm came out to grasp at yours. Every guard within pace surged forward and you held your hand up to stall them. Ivar spanned his eyes across the courtyard before rolling them back to you. He held the piece Alfred had given him between clenched teeth as he reached under his shirt and pulled out the leather cord from there. He lifted it over his head, dropping the piece to his lap and shuffling so he could lay the cord in your palm.

He made sure to bend your fingers over it, trapping it in your palm. You looked down at it, your breath deepening. This was exactly the kind of show you’d wanted to avoid. You turned, your hand still clenched between his and nodded over the monk.

“Ask him- won’t he need it? For the journey…to protect him?”

You waited for him to travel the words over and lowered your eyes when you felt him bring your knuckles to lay the briefest kiss to them. You made sure to shuffle over so that anyone else would only see your back and you thanked the brother in your head for doing his best to also obscure the view while keeping what you were sure his thoughts were to himself.

You thought he might not reply as he released his grip and the cart began to trundle away. You saw him lift the pieces from his lap and tuck it up into the wrist of his shirt. The garble of his words drifted over on the breeze to you and you turned to the monk in confusion.

“He said…I have my Queen for that”

#vikings #vikings imagine #vikings fic #ivar the boneless #|writing #hey my first vikings fic!

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goldentailedmermaids · 7 years

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Am I the only one who finds it absurd that apparently Björn and Rollo have not discussed Rollo's betrayal once during their trip? I always expected to see a scene of Björn asking Rollo why he did it and then Rollo trying to explain his reasons. According to Clive Standen he did it for love, for Gisla and finally founding his people.

I find it stupid too tbh, but i think that there are many things that needs to happen (like the Great Heathen Army), so Hirst hasn’t much time to develop this and he fast-forward. So he does not linger over what could have been a meaningful conversation between a man and his uncle about faith, destiny and love. That’s a shame, because we lose something that could have been an echo to Ragnar and Ecbert’s conversation abt religion and Floki’s doubts (to know more abt this, please read this ). Rollo could have told that another way was possible; that union and understanding was the way to the future and that it was a path he chose. He could have told Bjorn that he would welcome his people to settle in peace in Normandy under his protection. Because yeah, vikings and franks lived together. Of course, some converted, but Rollo and the next duke did not do anything to stop people to worship the old gods. Even under the conqueror’s rule, there still were some people who still believed in the gods.

The new preview shows Bjorn telling Rollo he can't come back to Kattegat because he'll have to kill him. So Rollo goes back to Normandy not because he wants to and misses his family but because Bjorn will not allow him to come back to Kattegat. Well, newsflash Björn: We in Normandy don't want him either, so just do us all a favor and just drop him in the ocean will ya? His storylone was a huge disappointment!

Preach it mate! Honestly, 4b Rollo is so OOC (except for some parts). I did not recognized Rollo at all. I did not even recognized s1!Rollo. That’s to say how bizarre it was for me to watch this stranger with Rollo’s body. It is not even historically accurate! Real Rollo never went to the Mediterranean! He stayed in normandy and fought the Britons, punished criminals so badly that at the time, Normandy’s crime rate was the lowest in Frankia and he had a complicated relationship with Charles the simple’s successor. If truly Hirst wanted to have Viking!Rollo back, he could have chosen to follow History and explored those possible storylines which had potential for an action-packed season.

But I guess I am stupid and that Hirst has a bigger and better plan. I just wish the form wasn’t that cringeworthy. That’s what he messed up this season: the form. He needs more writers and ideas.

What really repulsed me about Rollo in that harem room was the disgusting facial expressions he had before he raped that poor woman. The gif set from pricessgisla you posted a couple days before displays it perfectly. He was pretty much like "hey honey you ready for a rape?", "Aww yeah it's rape party time!". Yuck!. I sooo want Gisla to find out about this behavior & punish him for it. It would do no justice for her feminist character if she was ignorant of it or let it go!

Aint @princessgisla the best? She is so strong and brave and her gifsets are always a delight on my dash. I can’t wait to see the ideas she got in Normandy.

I agree with you. Gisla is fierce and proud, so I doubt she would welcome her husband like that. But, like someone noted to me on twitter, Christian folks did not really mind if their own raped and killed non Christian people. So she most likely not be as mad as we are regarding this. Nevertheless, she could be angry because of the political consequences of her husband’s actions. I mean, the dude’s a duke. He is one of the most eminent nobles in Frankia. Surely his actions would have consequences regarding Frankia and Al-Andalus’s relationship. This could mean war; something the kingdom cannot afford because it costs money and because they already have a lot to do with the vikings raids and the Eastern Frankish kingdoms which threatens them.

Imo, Gisla would be more angry at her husband’s foolishness and the way he betrayed her, than him raping a non Christian woman.

But with the writing this season, Gisla will probably be out of character and become bitchy because apparently all women are bitches in Vikings and because Hirst wants to please the fans who hated on Gisla the very second she appeared on screen. Honestly, this is so infuriating that Hirst villifies women on a show that did not do it before.

I just reviewed the cast list on IMDb website for episode 4x17. Morgane Polanski and the boy who plays William are listed to appear in the episode. Seeing this, I really hope Gisla doesn't full out forgive Rollo for leaving, especially after his despicable actions in the previous episode.

Neither do I. But I am sure Rollo will come back to two dead children. After all, their names were changed from History, weren’t they? It surely means they’ll die. So you’ll have Gisla crying over her children’s dead bodies and it would be a slap to Rollo from the gods. It would parallel what happened in season 3 when Harbard came and two boys were found drowned in the fjord. My guess is that Marcellus and Celsa will drown just as Siggy. But I might be wrong.

The mention of Rollo losing some duchy lands to the Bretons during his absence was an idea I thought of as well. Didn't the Bretons & the Franks have disputes on the Normandy/Brittany border? I hope Hirst will explore this with Rollo or adult William in future seasons. It would be nice to see the show's characters have contact with other cultural groups other than the Saxons & the Franks.

Yes indeed. Although it seems that Hirst does not really care for other groups than Vikings and Saxons (see the Frankish storyline which focused on Charles and power plays instead of the birth of Normandy; the first ‘stable’ settlment authorized by a Christian king under the supervision and rule of a Viking). Tbh I don’t think we’ll see Normandy again, even in season 5. Hirst doesn’t seem interested by this and it would feel strange if he suddenly cared and give Normandy’s storyline more than 2 minutes of screentime. Of course, he could go with William the Conqueror’s story, but there are so many plotholes and historical-holes that it could not be as good as it should be.

#vikings #i woke up with 5 asks this morning #i was like: whaaaaat???#vikings spoilers #?#Anonymous #ask

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