#vikings history channel
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Vikings
#headers#vikings#vikings headers#headers vikings#tv shows#tv shows headers#lagertha#lagertha headers#bjorn ironside#gyda#ragnar lothbrok#vikings series#vikings history channel#katheryn winnick#travis fimmel#twitter headers#laz#vikings headers with psd#alex høgh andersen#marco ilsø#hvitserk#hvitserk ragnarsson#ivar the boneless#ivar x hvitserk#icons twitter#headers twitter#vikings icons#bjorn ironside headers#bjorn ironside icons#ivar the boneless icons
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Gatekeeper
Pairing: Ubbe x OFC
Warnings: NSFW, explicit
Word count: 4k
Setting: season 6ish, Kattegat
Summary: Ubbe is forced to punish his Sami consort when she mistakenly reveals the secret entrance into Kattegat to the enemy.
Also known as sex-on-a-throne cause I can.
Notes: I had to let this live somewhere other than Ao3, enjoy. This was all the fault of the follow gif, my mind went straight to the gutter.
He did not want to do it like this. To pass judgment on her in front of so many people. Now he was being forced to address the situation immediately when he would have preferred to do it in the privacy of their room.
Hvitserk was mostly to blame for it.
His brother should have known better than to bring her before him so publicly, but Hvitserk had never known patience. Especially not when the drums of battle were so close at hand.
There were few people in the great hall. Warriors made their reports while thralls and maids scurried back and forth from the kitchen as they tried to keep bellies full and fires stoked. Laughter rippled through the hall when a thrall tripped a clay cup clattering to the floor. In a corner, where a group of men lounged, an arm wrestling match was in the works. Anything to distract from the crusade that waited outside the gates. They were searching for someone bold enough to test their beefy-armed contender. Goading a man into joining as he walked passed.
Ubbe sat on top of the throne, listening, watching, waiting until the time for action came. Leaning back, he mulled over the different outcomes of the battle as he shifted on the throne’s hard seat, having already lost and won a thousand battles by the time the sun had set. Soon it would be time to retire for the night. He longed to ease against the feather pillows that littered his bed, in the hopes it would relieve his aching back, though he did not imagine sleep would come easy for him.
As they came through the doors he caught sight of her hair first. A glowing white that cast an aura around her wherever she went. Even on the darkest winter days he could find her. He sat up a little straighter. Grimaced at her disheveled state.
They had bound her hands, which Ubbe deemed an unnecessary gesture. She was no shieldmaiden, as she could hardly hold a fishing spear without maiming herself or others. Yet, the purple bruise forming on the corner of Hvitserk’s lip and the angry red scratches across his cheek showed she had not gone without a fight.
Her defiance had seemingly sparked a deep-seated habit out of Hvitserk that Ubbe typically witnessed on the battlefield. Berserkr. That wild glint in his eye and the bemused smile on his lips all signaled Hvitserk’s insensible state as he dragged her before Ubbe.
A heavy sigh pushed out of Ubbe’s nose when she ripped her arm out of Hvitserk’s grip and turned on her heel to snarl at him. Laughter bubbled out of his brother’s throat while he reached for her again. Fingers digging into her arms he spun her to face Ubbe effortlessly. Amusement tickled Hvitserk’s mouth when she struggled against his excessive force.
He didn’t know whose name to call out. Both wore the matching look of a petulant child.
“Ver.”
Her name was thick on his tongue. The nickname was reserved for the quiet moments hidden away under the covers of the bed. She sneered at him, and turned her ire to Hvitserk instead.
“Let go of me,” hissed Verdandi over her shoulder, “you oaf!”
She shook as she all but growled. Attempting to thrash her weight back against him, hoping to throw him off balance. All to his brother’s amusement. Cracking laughter shot out of Hvitserk’s throat. He was enjoying her struggle a little too much. Quick as a viper he pulled her in closer, just to annoy her that much more. His arm wrapped around her chest holding her flush against him. A grin curled on Hvitserk’s mouth as their cheeks touched.
“Hvitserk,” Ubbe called out his name in a low warning.
He did not need this situation any more heightened than it already was. Bright green eyes briefly met him. No longer were they irritated by the incursion of drugs and alcohol. These days, Hvitserk wore the blessing of the gods that often moved him into a different kind of altered state. Ubbe had yet to understand the change.
“Release her,” he commanded, running a hand along his face.
He would never hear the end of this.
A smile tickled the corner of Hvitserk’s mouth. Of course he was laughing silently at him. Ubbe would have his hands full with her. With a brief bow of his head, he snapped the ties with a swipe of his knife. He stepped back in a hurry as if he was trying to get away from the wildling before she attacked.
Deliberately she assessed the red welts where the ties had rubbed her skin raw. Rubbing her wrists tenderly before lifting her gaze to Ubbe. “I did nothing wrong,” she said evenly as if there was nothing more to be discussed.
Teeth clenched, he shook his head. He was well in his right to be upset with her. He had warned her not to go the night before. Telling her that if she did not listen he would not be held responsible for the results of her behavior.
“You disobeyed me, Verdandi.”
“He is my brother.”
It was a plea to reason, especially when her eyes darted to Hvitserk. What would you do for this brother, she silently demanded.
He licked his lips. Anything. For Hvitserk. Bjorn. Even Sigurd, long passed. Ivar, however, was a different matter.
“What did he say?”
A shake of her head, so small he might not have seen it if he had not known her every mannerism by heart. Her eyes were cast to the ground. It seemed her older brother had not changed.
“Torfinn will not see reason.”
His mouth twitched in agitation. Negotiations had long since passed. Torfinn craved violence. As volatile as Ivar, he would not listen to his sniveling younger sister when she begged him to go home.
“He said he will burn down the hall.” She scowled at the thought of her brother. “With you in it.”
“Yes,” he sneered.
No doubt Torfinn believed such claims. He, however, believed in his own preparations. He trusted the walls Lagertha had raised and Ivar had strengthened. Most of all, he relied on his warriors and shieldmaidens whose love for Kattegat ran as deep as his family’s roots.
“He followed her.” Torvi announced, half hidden by a pillar. She had slipped through the doors quietly enough that he hadn’t noticed her presence until she spoke. “He followed her right to The Tree.”
The willow tree that marked the hidden entrance through the city’s walls.
He licked his lips to keep himself from lashing out. She had put them all in danger with her secret sleuthing. It had not truly mattered that she hadn’t listened to him when he had warned her not to go to her brother. He had forbidden her to go because he did not want to witness her pain afterward when she realized her attempt at discourse was a fool’s errand. In hindsight, he should have let her go to Torfinn with armed guards or an escort.
He could not worry about what he should have done. He had to focus on the now. How to fix the problem at hand. And how to properly deal with her folly. This was no longer just about him. It involved all of Kattegat, and he would have to act accordingly.
He found Hvitserk’s gaze for confirmation. A slight nod of his brother’s head was all he needed. He gritted his teeth as he considered his next action.
Torvi was quick to the draw. She whipped across the room and shoved at Verdandi’s back, causing her to stumble. A childish gesture. His gritted teeth pulled into a snarl, fingers curling around the armrest.
A few of the onlookers gasped, but the other half appeared pleased. They had not collectively accepted her presence, especially now that her brother threatened their livelihoods.
“On your knees.” He could barely hear Torvi above the rising murmuring of the crowd. She had pushed Verdandi off-center to the ground, but Verdandi did not fight her. She lowered her head at Torvi’s next words instead. “Don’t you know where your place is?”
An onlooker spit, his cud barely missing Verdandi’s feet. “Sami scum,” the man cursed.
Ubbe blew out the heat of his anger through his nose. It was growing more difficult with each moment that passed to stay impartial.
“Torvi.”
He said her name once, low, the only warning she would get. She was his sister by marriage, queen when his brother sat the throne. He would not let her have her say now, not today. He would not allow her to treat the people he had promised to protect so cruelly. Verdandi had lived in Kattegat with the Sami longer than she had and was deserving of a proper trial.
“Take men to secure the area.” Ubbe nodded to Hvitserk, ignoring the insolent townsman who sneered at Verdandi.
“Leave,” he added, looking at Torvi who seemed to be contemplating further provocation. Annoyance passed over her features, but she said nothing as she left the hall. The heels of her shoes against the wooden floorboards formed the only sound in the sudden silence. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Everyone.”
The silence deepened further.
He sat back in his seat. The corners of his nose twitched when no one moved. He raised his chin to assess the crowd. If anyone had anything to say against his order, let them say it now.
A slight shifting stirred the crowd when no one protested and slowly they removed themselves from the hall. Even the guards and thralls had left.
They were alone.
“Ubbe,” she breathed in a sigh of relief, shifting back on her heels to stand.
“No.” He pointed to the ground, back to her position. “You will stay.”
He was bitter. She had disobeyed him. Openly. For all to see.
He had asked her not to go. And then there had been that damn glint in her eyes, that same one that sparked in his brothers any time he tried to lead their hand. After they had supper, he had told her not to go.
No, he had commanded it. As king.
Pseudo king, she had shrugged her shoulders in indifference. Bjorn had been gone for over a year, sailing across oceans only the gods knew the names to. There was no promise he would return.
He would have chained her to the bedpost had he not been certain she would howl like a banshee the entire night.
“I had no choice.”
He grimaced, shaking his head. Every free man and woman had a choice. He sat on this throne for his brother, not because he had to but because he had chosen to. He could be sailing to this Iceland Floki spoke of, or to grander places yet uncovered, but he had chosen to put Kattegat’s needs above his own. He would suffer the results of his decision.
She had chosen to disobey him.
Nodding at her, he asked, “what will your punishment be?” He rolled his eyes as her mouth snapped open, attempting to talk back and say something coy that would only further annoy him. Now was not her moment to speak. “You put the lives of others at risk with your choices. They are my responsibility.” Pointing at her, he finished a little more sternly. “You won’t leave this hall until we agree on a suitable punishment.”
A scowl furrowed her brows while her lips pouted in obvious protest. It stirred him, just slightly so that he was forced to adjust his seat.
Her brow raised in his direction, looking at him the same way she had a hundred nights before. The same look with which she had pleaded for his forgiveness the time they had escaped the drudges of Kattegat for the hunting cabin, high up on the mountains. She had scared away every animal he had attempted to hunt with her incessant singing. Songs that reminded him of his childhood and made him think of his future had alerted any deer or turkey in the surrounding area of their presence. That night they ate a sad collection of wild vegetables he had found on the long walk back to the cabin and by luck a small hare, whose den he had accidentally stumbled across. She had come to him, eyes soft and pleading, begging for forgiveness. Naked and wet and willing to do anything to gain his absolution. She had whispered praise in his ear while the hearthfire crackled beyond her and the wind howled with an oncoming storm. Even now, as he thought back to it, he could still feel the heat on his thighs as she lowered herself down on him. His nostrils still filled with the smell of rain as it seeped into the earth and through the cracks in the walls of the old cabin.
The look on her face was smug. She always got what she wanted. A smile curled onto his lips at the thought. They could come to an agreement, one made between lovers, but not until she suffered first.
She moved to stand.
He grunted, flicking his chin. Crawl, he mouthed, pointing to the space before him.
She frowned but sank back to the ground, crawling to him until she was snug between his legs. Eyes searching, she waited for his next command.
He might have left her there, situated perfectly between his legs, begging for him to make the next move.
Fingers strumming across the armrest, he settled at the sight before him. He had never possessed restraint when it came to his desire for her. Stretching out, he rolled his hips towards her. Lashes fluttering, she took in his growing bulge before her eyes traveled up to meet his gaze. He almost came undone then. His mouth twitched as he tried to control his baser instincts, fighting against the urge to grab the back of her neck and bury her face in his crotch.
Timidly she reached out and let her hands run along his thighs. She kept her gaze trained on his, waiting for him to stop her. To call it all off. Undoubtedly she thought that the people of Kattegat could demand entrance back into the great hall to see how their king punished a Sami traitor.
He knew the townspeople had all gone home. Home to protect their families and the houses they had built from the ground up, kept now for generations. Home to ready their defenses against a possible attack. Now was the time to kiss their loved ones. Tomorrow, if they survived, would be a moment to question what had happened to the traitor.
For a moment he would let fear move her toward him, until she too knew what it meant to make sacrifices that were beyond basic wants.
He said nothing, watching as her fingers fumbled over the laces of his pants. Tugging the strings loose, his cock sprung free.
She gripped him around the base in a practiced motion, sliding along the length. He groaned, letting his head roll back slightly.
Warm lips replaced her grasp on him. She swallowed him whole, lips soft around the root. Hot breath through her nose stirred the pubic hairs at his base. Patiently she tried to find her threshold until she gagged. He smoothed a hand down the crown of her head. Slowly she moved back to the tip, licking and slurping all the way up.
His fingers curled tight in her hair as she lowered herself again, this time going a little deeper. Her gaze caught on him. She smiled around his cock when she added a hand, lightly tugging on his balls.
“You’re going to be,” his teeth clenched as he worked his jaw, “the death of me,” he murmured as he pressed her head back down.
Verdandi hummed happily, thrumming a vibration that tightened his core. He let her stay between his legs for a moment longer, catching his breath as he grew used to the sensation and set her pace for her.
“You’d like that?” Threading his thumb around her ear down to her chin, he tilted her head back. She smiled lazily, lips swollen and red, and nodded. His eyes fluttered closed briefly and then he tugged on her elbow, pulling her up decisively. “Not until I make you scream.”
Lifting up her skirts, she straddled his lap. Her nipples were hard beneath her bodice. Ubbe wanted to see her, feel her fully. He found the laces at the back of her dress, ripping at them until he was able to pull the fabric down her shoulders.
Wiggling out the sleeves of her dress, she wrapped her arms around his neck. Her hips rolled on top of his, letting him brush against her dripping folds. His fingers dug into her fleshy sides while he urged her to settle on top of him. Rolling his eyes, he let out a huff of breath as she ground deeper against him and let her weight tease him instead.
His hands slipped between her thighs, coaxing her forward with a passing swipe. She faltered at the sensation and he took the moment to grab the base of his cock, aligning himself to her entrance.
She eased herself down slowly, taking her time. He grunted in frustration. The only punishment occuring was the slow wait to fully engorge. He pushed away the bulk of her skirts, wanting to witness Ver as she stretched across him. Kneading the inside of her thigh, he encouraged her down further.
Her breathing hitched and she leaned forward. Resting against her head against his, she adjusted. He growled, no longer able to wait. He gripped her hips tight and rolled his pelvis upward, watching as she gasped and then bit down on her lip to stop her shuddering breath.
He reached out as she gradually took up the pace, brushing against the lines of her collarbone and then across her sternum. The weight of her breast in his hand was comforting enough to make Ubbe forget his duty, lost in the depth of her body, focusing on nothing other than the way she rode him and swayed into his touch. His fingers brushed across the surface of her nipple. He relished how her lips parted in a soft sigh. He pinched and tugged, watching each twitch and tremor of her mouth as he played with her.
Ver had found her rhythm despite his distracting touch. Slow and steady she rocked her hips against his. Gritting his teeth, he buried his head in her shoulder.
She pushed away her skirts so that she was able to find her clit. Ubbe grunted, replacing her hand with his own. He would be the one who dished out her pleasure.
She tightened around him as he brushed the swollen nub with his thumb. She moaned, a pathetic mewling sound. The first sign of her impending release, but he would hold it all in the palm of his hand. He would give and take as he saw fit. The same way she had seen fit to disobey his orders. Ubbe would watch her tremble under his touch. Her orgasm would be his own. He would make sure of that.
Gasping, she buried her head in the crook of his shoulder, breathing out the heat of her pleasure.
His free hand smoothed across the expanse of her thigh and curved around her ass. He brought her in closer. His arm wrapped around her waist, needing to feel her body flush against his. Her pace was faltering with each ruthless slide across her clit, but he held her steady. Flicking up his hips, taking control, he would have her whimpering by the time he was done with her.
She clawed at his shirt, mewling softly in his ear. “Please,” she begged him.
He grunted. He shouldn’t let her beg and take away the one thing he could control. Yet she pressed closer against his chest. Ubbe grimaced at the way her folds hugged him and claimed him deeper inside her. He had no control when it came to her.
He teased her a bit more, easing his touch until it was light as a feather.
“Ubbe,” she sobbed, breath hot against his ear. “Please.”
It was mostly silent in the throne room, aside from the sound of the crackling hearth fires and the occasional clatter from the kitchen far off. The heat of their bodies poured out into each other. They huffed hot breaths against the other’s skin, careful not to draw any extra attention from the thralls that were certainly standing with their ears to the door or a stray resident curious to see how their king punished the Sami stranger.
His finger curled up her neck, carding through her hair. He tugged until her neck stretched and he could look her in the eyes, locking her there as he drank her in. She was tantalizing. A sheen of sweat radiated the roundness of her cheeks, while the fires in the sconces cast a glow around her head that was otherworldly. The well-built defensive she often kept hard in her eyes slipped to a look so salacious he could not look away. She was meant to sit on a throne, next to him.
He would have fucked her on that seat every day until he was sure she was satiated.
He dug his fingers deeper into her fleshy bottom, bringing her closer, deeper than before.
“Please.” She nipped at his lips and drew him back to the room. “My king.”
He laughed under his breath, head rolling back against the headboard of the throne. His mouth quirked into a smile. Flicking his hips into her, he keenly touched her clit until she was gasping and clutching onto his shirt. A fierce blush crept up her chest and neck. Shamelessly he watched each shuttering breath out of her parted lips, enjoying her undoing by his hand.
Her folds tightened around him. A fluttering pulse. His fingers wrapped around her neck. Her skin was hot and clammy under his touch. Her long thick hair curled wildly around his hold. He kept her tight in her place as he held off, waiting until he saw that peak glimmer across her features. One last thrust. He pulled on her hair, wanting to see her face as she rode the waves of her orgasm. A shuttering jolt of his hips answered her. He locked her flush against him as his hot seed spurted into her womb.
Panting, he caught his breath then found her mouth, kissing her hard. He relished the taste of her and how she nuzzled her cheek against his. Untangling his hand from her hair, he ran it across the back of her head. He pulled her in until she was nestled into the corner of his neck, as if she had always belonged here, safely tucked away in this warm spot. Her lips pressed a smiling kiss against his neck and then to his cheek. She stole another quick kiss against his lips before rolling off his softening length.
He adjusted himself back into his trousers, watching languidly as she pulled the sleeves of her dress over her shoulders. He stood and helped her tighten the ties of her dress along her back. It was a slow process, as his earlier urgency had pulled some loose from their fastenings. Pressing his lips against the curve of her neck, he murmured that he would see her some time later that night.
“Where are you going?” She demanded.
“To see what damage you have done,” he said over his shoulder as he stepped down the dais. He turned to drink her in, a vision standing amongst the matching thrones. He smiled, adding on, “to see if your punishment was sufficient.”
Ubbe laughed under his breath at her scoff. “We will find out in the morning if I have to bend you over my knee next time.”
****
masterlist to see almost everything I have written
#vikings fanfiction#ubbe x oc#ubbe fanfiction#vikings history channel#vikings#vikings fandom#ubbe smut#vikings smut
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You're dripping like a saturated sunrise
You're spilling like an overflowing sink
You're ripped at every edge but you're a masterpiece
And now you're tearing through the pages and the ink
(Colors by Halsey)
#hvitserk ragnarsson#hvitserk#vikings#vikings history channel#vikings moodboard#ragnarssons#nanahachikyuu#moodboard
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Since we’re talking about Vikings, I’m obsessed with with dynamic of the the Ragnarsons. I love the way they each call on a part of the legacy of their father, and how the tension between them is his internal struggle laid bare.
Ivar is his brilliance, his ability to understand the whole of the picture before most people can even seen it. It’s also his strive for recognition and fame. but it’s also about how that brilliance and that desire for legacy drove him to a place of madness, and eventually led him away from his homeland.
Bjorn is the deeply Viking part of Ragnar. The strong, almost invincible soldier, a descendant of the gods. The leader, the warrior. He represents Norway, and Ragnar’s duty to her, in a way. He also represents how that duty stifled Ragnar, in that Bjorn never truly achieved everything he desired.
Hvitserk is the lost part of Ragnar. The addiction is the most obvious part, but it’s also the way he is searching endlessly for his purpose. The man who was uncertain of his place in the world, the man who is battling his faith in his own gods with his growing knowledge that there is other paths out there.
Ubbe is the part of Ragnar who always longed to go back to that farm with Lagartha. the part of him that ached to be just a man again, after becoming a legend. The way Ubbe ends up living with Floki in a new land , unknown and ready for a quiet life, shows how Ragnar wished he could have been, in some parts of himself.
the clashes between them are so beautifully mirroring Ragnars own clashes. the way Bjorn and Ivar never see eye to eye but together are unstoppable. The way Ivars brilliance and lust for legacy shapes slowly into madness, and none but Hvitserk remain with him, and in turn Hvitserk can find Ivar, because Ragnar wandering soul always found solace in the ability to understand the new worlds he was seeking. the way Bjorn and Ubbe clash least, two different forms of a typical viking man, but yet they never seem to connect deeply, because the farmer and the viking legend cannot be one man.
One man, and his four sons. A beautiful picture of the difference facets of humanity, in a single story and then splintered into four.
#vikings history channel#vikings#ivar the boneless#bjorn ironside#ubbe ragnarsson#hvitserk ragnarsson
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here’s a hotness chart of men of vikings i made SORRY
#please feel free to burn me alive in the tags if u disagree#but i said what i said 😤#instead of studying i objectified men today#feminism#vikings#vikings history channel#aethelstan#ragnar#ragnar lothbrok#ubbe#ubbe ragnarsson#bjorn ironside#ivar the boneless#ivar lothbrok#ivar ragnarsson#alfred the great#vikings valhalla#rollo lothbrok#hvitserk lothbrok#floki the boat builder#vikings floki#vikings fandom#vikings edit
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#lagertha#vikings edit#vikings history channel#perioddramaedit#lagertha x ragnar#running up that hill#kate bush#Kate Bush x Vikings#kathryn winnick#vikingsevents
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Out of the Fire
Rating: E
Pairing: Rollo x female character (written in second person, no use of y/n)
Warnings: Eventual smut, implied childhood sexual abuse, past sexual abuse, canon-typical violence, angst, forced marriage
Word count: 11,790 (8 chapters)
Summary: When life as you know it literally burns around you you assume you are free. That is until you're captured by a Viking intent on making you his. Will you succumb to him or finally find the freedom you so desperately seek?
Written for the Spring 2022 @vikingsbigbang
Moodboard by @supervalcsi
Read the full fic on AO3
#vikingsbigbang#vbb#vikings fanfiction#vikings history#vikings#rollo#rollo lothbrok#rollo x reader#rollo fanfiction#vikings rollo#rollo x you#vikings fic#vikings history channel#vikings fandom
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Ivar: I'm beginning to think... maybe... I did something wrong.
Hvitserk: ...
Ivar: probably not.. but maybe
#ivar the boneless#hvitserk ragnarsson#berserker hvitserk#vikings#vikings history channel#ivar ragnarsson#ivar#from that one vampire show idk
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1.04 | vikings rewrite
episode summary: the vikings return home and are finally allowed to reap the consequences of their disobedience. (cw: mature themes)
the echoes of metal clangs and ambient mooing filled the bright midmorning sky. the sporadic ringing of the cowbells contrasted perfectly with the rhythmic footsteps of horses approaching. and beyond the seemingly endless green flatlands stood a great mead hall, where a reception party was already waiting.
“erling!” a familiar voice called to jarl haraldson, who busied himself helping his wife and daughter dismount from horseback.
“it has been too long since you have set foot in svealand!”
jarl haraldson beckoned for his family members to curtsy to the white-bearded, grandfatherly figure standing before them all. his smile continued to widen as he opened his arms, in great contrast to the man he was welcoming.
“it is wonderful to see you once more, at a joyous occasion such as this.” the old man’s head seemed to nod as he spoke, although it may have been a more involuntary shaking.
“likewise,” the jarl started, disinterested as ever, “i’d like for you to meet my wife, sigrún.”
the old man took her hand, kissing it near where the armband rested.
“and this is my daughter, þyri.”
the old man seemed particularly enchanted by þyri, raising an eyebrow slightly as he repeated the same gesture. the young woman used her other hand to swipe curly brown locks from out of her face, her rosy lips pursing into a straight line as she tried to conceal her unease.
“well, i’m sure you are all very tired from the journey. my servants will show the women and their ladies in waiting to their quarters, where you may feel free to freshen up before this evening’s marvelous banquet.” the old man clasped his hands together, all the while grinning from ear to ear.
þyri couldn’t help but pull her father aside, “you’ve not said a word about who this man is.”
“your handmaidens will explain it to you,” he did not reciprocate her discreet volume, in an attempt to shirk off the conversation, “just understand that he is a very important man, and pleasing him is our top priority.”
sigrún stayed back, her brows furrowing in a similar level of concern, as her daughter was ushered out of sight in one swift moment.
“siggy, dear, please. us men are going to be discussing business.” jarl haraldson clearly did not appreciate his wife’s apprehension, though he did not do much to disabuse her of it.
her grey-blue eyes wore a thin line of kohl on the upper lid, although her husband could still see them trembling behind it, “my capable husband, i only wish to know the nature of our visit, to this land which is completely new to our daughter and i.”
“jarl bjarni is going to be taking good care of us. we will sup in his halls this evening, and if your heart wills it so, we may leave at any point after that.” jarl haraldson was resolute, trying to end the discussion there, but his wife knew him too well.
stopping him with a gentle grip on his arm, sigrún posited, “and what of þyri?”
the jarl murmured reluctantly, “she will not be at liberty to come with us.”
a chilling breeze swept through sigrún’s hair, as beads of sweat seemed to turn to icicles clinging to her back. her husband hurried off, his demeanor callous as he caught up with jarl bjarni, who appeared as jovial as a man his age could be. a horde of servant women suddenly crowded around sigrún, trying to escort her away delicately, though their touch on her arms felt more so menacing. she had to swat them off like flies around a fresh corpse, and trudging forward on her own, she hoped that she might be able to do something - anything - if she got to her daughter soon enough.
once sigrún finally approached the door to þyri’s chambers, the faint sound of her only child weeping formed a darkness too vast to think through in the lady’s chest.
-
björn was eager to set out that morning, running around the house collecting his wooden shield and wooden sword, he nearly stepped on a couple of the family’s pigs in his haste. crumbs of his breakfast were still stuck to his lips.
“björn,” his mother called out from a window, “wait just a moment. there is a matter i wish to discuss with you today.”
the boy’s shoulders visibly deflated as he exited the blaring sunlight and shuffled into the family kitchen, where lagertha was pacing in the comparatively dank room, surrounded by black cooking pots that had yet to be cleaned.
“what is it, mother?” he asked, his tone sounding concerned, but a bit more for himself than for his poor mother.
“one of the neighbor women invited me to an evening at her sister’s residence in kattegat,” lagertha kept taking absentminded steps back and forth, apparently unable to stop herself from fidgeting, “it’s going to be a supper gathering just for a few women, i take it, for their old friends to catch up after a long while.”
“it wasn’t haftýr’s mother, was it? her hair looks like bird nests.” the young björn bluntly protested.
“she is a good woman! and, you should be thankful that she continues to allow you to torment her son with those toys every day.” lagertha gestured sardonically at her son’s makeshift weaponry, the boy pouting in response.
“if father would only allow me to train with real steel, as he did gyda, then it would not seem to onlookers that haftýr and i were jabbing each other with playthings!”
“then, perhaps upon your next visit to kattegat, your mother shall buy you a real weapon.” lagertha finally settled down, her mind slowly easing into the idea as she spoke it.
“really? you would take me with you?” björn perked up.
“well, i was more so hoping you would take me with you. my son is now a man in his own right, and has made the trip before, having lived in the outskirts of kattegat for his whole life. whereas i hail from hedeby, and have only ever voyaged to kattegat when your father has been there to guide me.” lagertha adopted a playful tone, enjoying her son’s adorable attempts at adulthood.
“father did tell me once that a woman should always be accompanied by a man if venturing out past sunset,” lagertha watched as björn cocked his head to the side and scratched his scalp, probably only half-remembering his father’s words, “and he used to tell me to watch over you and gyda when he would go away. but i did not think he meant it seriously, did he?”
“i am sure he did,” lagertha allowed her thought to trail off, the realization that these likely were ragnar’s teachings slowly dawning on her, “so it is decided. if we depart for kattegat within the hour, we can arrive before sundown tomorrow.”
björn jumped in place, excitedly scurrying around outside once more, only this time to prepare the livestock for their absence. trips to kattegat increasingly meant big changes for his family - and björn was intent on having his manhood proven, being a permanent shift.
-
þyri’s once defined cheeks became puffy and damp; dripping with tears and mucus, red around the eyes and nose, both from crying and from screaming. a servant girl had tied her hair into a loose knot, but the pieces that fell framing her face were still subjected to being soaked in salt and snot.
handmaidens frantically altered her bridal dress, their hands buzzing over her entire body like bees trying to locate their queen.
“you can’t let father give me away like this, mother i beg of you!” the young maid wailed, though she had already learned not to squirm, as her sides now boasted almost as many prick marks as a pin cushion.
“believe me, sweet daughter, for i am not pleased with these circumstances either,” sigrún proclaimed, not meaning to yell but her volume perhaps grew with the tension in the room, “although i wish to end this demeaning betrothal and whisk you away from this wretched place, the dowry has already been secured, and i am told that your father has brokered a very favorable deal in exchange for your hand.”
a vein on the side of sigrún’s temple bulged out, the sight of so many sets of foreign hands grasping at her daughter became harder to stomach.
“be still, lady þyri, we urge you,” one of sigrún’s own ladies in waiting tried to reason with þyri, “there is only eye kohl left to be applied, and then you may don your bridal wreaths.”
“then please, allow me to do it!” sigrún suddenly erupted, more authoritative than any of her servants had ever heard before.
from one of the pockets of her cloak, she took out a small drawstring bag, inside of which was a pot of kohl and a fine horse hair brush. she held her daughter’s face in her hands, using her thumbs to wipe warm tears, as being eye level with þyri caused her own tears to bubble up.
“you will be a beautiful bride. just have patience from this moment, and i shall draw thick strokes of kohl around your exhausted eyes, so that your new husband and new subjects will not pester you.” sigrún cooed, giving þyri the opportunity to steady her breaths and compose herself.
“if melancholy should befall you again,” the lady continued, “at least save your sobs for the bridal chambers. you are not obligated to bed the jarl, nor are you expected to bear him sons, as his line of succession is beyond secure. your only duty is to placate him, and in doing so, you placate your father. he has had many troubles as of late.”
“i am not a bargaining chip for father to use as he pleases. i should have, at the very least, been given notice beforehand.” þyri seethed, her eyes almost welling up again out of anger.
“you are our only living child, and therefore, you are your father’s greatest asset. he was willing to sacrifice even you for an alliance with this ancient man, so does that not speak volumes as to his desperation?” sigrún reasoned.
finished with the black kohl, she stepped back and admired her handiwork from a distance, trying not to be bothered by her daughter’s dejected expression beneath it all. a handmaiden promptly swooped in and draped a wreath woven with summer blossoms over þyri’s shoulders, while a matching floral crown was set atop her head.
in one last attempt at reaching out for comfort, the young maid shakily grabbed at her mother’s hand, intent on walking into the mead hall side-by-side.
rows and rows of oaken dining tables were arranged, and the seats were subsequently filled with rowdy off-duty soldiers, that barked and cheered when the bride arrived. jarl bjarni was waiting at a raised platform in the middle of the room, its short sides decorated with flowers and lit candles that glowed warm yellow as the sun set outside. musicians playing drums of various sizes and opulent harps were stationed in a corner. servants poured mugs of fine ale and wine, with the particularly elegant ones assigned to the jarl’s new father-in-law.
by all measures, it seemed as though this was a ceremony that all of svealand was present for, and that none of its residents should soon forget.
þyri reluctantly let go of her mother, who then assumed a seat next to her husband. looking on with a particularly dull and apathetic gaze, jarl haraldson watched as his only surviving bloodline was wed to a makeshift alliance that would deteriorate in less than a decade. although, he sweetened the situation by keeping his cup full for the whole night.
the feast and accompanying festivities carried on as dancers danced to the bards’ nauseating rhythms, and the fragrance of roasted meat seemed to trap the great hall in its own greasy noxious cloud. at one point in the evening, some kind of sweet course was served. and although the puddings and pastries smelled appetizingly of cinnamon, the obtuse amounts of butter in every dish had þyri forcing down each bite and gulping at her drink.
a middle-aged man dressed in clean furs with a gilded dagger strapped to his waist, approached þyri, and she presumed him to be the jarl’s son. he slurred together something resembling a sentence, and the young bride could only bring herself to nod along politely.
“my fine jutish beauty,” the elderly jarl interjected, “pay my foolish son no mind, for he can hold his liquors no better than a linen sack can hold wellwater. come, let us slip away and enjoy the peace of our bridal bed.”
dreading this moment with all of her being, þyri thought back to her mother explaining how necessary it was to be in her new husband’s good graces. she smiled wearily, accepting the hand that he offered her and heading out unnoticed into the deep blue night.
the bridal chambers were only a short walk away, though upon opening its doors, the jarl huffed and puffed as if he had ran all the way there.
“tonight was very lively indeed,” he plopped down onto the side of the bed, “i do not have much tolerance for such commotion nowadays.”
as þyri cautiously approached the bed, she was hit with an intrusive stench when the jarl breathed with his mouth open. his breath seemed to reek of fermented fish, which þyri did not recall being served at supper. she turned away only for a short moment to process her shock, but as she looked back at the jarl, he had already rolled over and immediately fallen asleep. the bride’s instincts told her to feel insulted, though she was only glad her maidenhood would live to see another day.
-
lagertha pushed the hood of her cloak back from its position over her head, revealing her silky blonde hair, and braid that wrapped around her skull like a crown. she was in awe of the late afternoon sky, with its hues of orange and pink, as björn was apparently also quite impressed with the speediness of their journey.
“…with father’s route, we would’ve taken at least until sundown!” he was in the middle of exclaiming, childishly oblivious to the other villagers side-eyeing him for shouting.
“now, björn,” lagertha placed her hands firmly onto his shoulders, bending her back to maintain eye contact, “you have the choice of sleeping tonight in the home of your friend haftýr’s aunt - though the gathering will consist of only women, and you will have no friends to play with - or we may take up the vacant bed of your uncle rollo, whose longhouse is not too far from the center of town.”
“mother, i wish to stay by your side and protect you like a good man,” björn started, his chubby cheeks naturally forming a pout as he furrowed his eyebrows, eliciting a proud smile from his mother, “but i cannot bear to sit through an evening full of wenches trading child stories or discussing soup recipes.”
lagertha straightened herself out, the grin on her lips becoming a scowl, “you dare call your mother’s chums wenches. this must be what your father has taught you to think of women at child-rearing age, lest you forget that your own mother is still a famous shieldmaiden!”
“i could never forget such a thing, mother, seeing as you remind me every day!” björn retorted.
“as i will continue to do until my son truly understands what it means.” letting out an irritated sigh, lagertha reached into her pocket and pulled out two items.
“here,” she handed björn a silver shilling, “when i am through trading child stories and discussing soup recipes, i will fetch you. but in the meantime, take this to the blacksmith and buy whatever your heart desires.”
in lagertha’s other hand, she held the hilt of a small hunting dagger, the blade of which was covered by a worn leather sheath.
“if you are really a man, you will not allow yourself to become the mark of petty thieves.” she placed the dagger’s hilt side into björn’s hand, folding his fingers over the top. she was almost loathe to loosen her grip.
“from what i observed last time, kattegat is very safe,” björn tried to console his mother, although he was seemingly just as nervous for her to leave, “i can handle an evening on my own. worry not.”
lagertha sent her son off with the stroke of her thumb across his cheek, tender yet brief. watching his short stature disappear into a crowd of other townsfolk was a most humbling feeling, as even the fierce shieldmaiden quickly found herself powerless to the will of the gods. after so many years of marriage and motherhood, lagertha was now alone once more - and for the first time, she was lucky enough to find companionship outside of her family. she corrected her posture and marched with conviction towards the house that was described to her by the neighbor.
it was a modest single family cabin, similar in size to lagertha’s own dwelling, though it had little outside space and was packed in somewhat tightly with the surrounding structures. smoke emulated through the designated openings in each house’s roof, signifying that the families of kattegat were all cooking dinner or lounging by the hearth; a simple joy that lagertha would not have been able to take part in, had she gone raiding with her husband. which was objectively a good fate, she tried to convince herself.
approaching the door to the cabin in question, lagertha got close enough to overhear the recognizable voice of her neighbor.
“my haftýr is so desperate to become a viking like his father,” the neighbor, who went by hlín, seemed to be in the midst of telling a grandiose tale judging by her exaggerated tone, “he will eat anything to grow taller and stronger! the neighborhood children once goaded him into eating a concoction made of mud, twigs, and disgusting things that they found outside. haftýr finished the whole bowl, and claimed that the only ingredient to his distaste was coriander!”
child stories and soup recipes. the piercing noise of the other women in the room seemingly exploding with laughs, mocked lagertha’s ears. she stepped away from the door, which was open a crack, pressing her back against the exterior wall of the house. all she could do was stare into the cloudless sky, breathing shallow, anxious breaths. the only truth she had known in all her life was that she did not belong in the kitchen.
she did not belong with those women. she would not allow herself to.
lagertha tried peaking through the open door once more, doing well to keep herself out of the line of sight. as she turned to leave, deciding to mercifully dispatch this misadventure, the setting sun blinded her momentarily.
she bumped into the backside of a woman walking by. but this woman was unlike any other she’d encountered before. the top of her head towered over lagertha, though the woman’s back seemed to be hunched over with terrible posture. the woman’s hair was long and graying, woven into a braid that could not disguise the tangled nature of it. the woman was dressed in tattered rags, her brown skirt somehow too long for even her spindly legs, the bottom of it looking torn and stained with dried mud.
lagertha’s stomach admittedly dropped when the woman finally turned around, keenly aware that she’d just given her only weapon to her son. lagertha was not looking to fight this woman, though upon finally seeing her face, she was too flabbergasted to try diffusing the situation.
the first place that lagertha’s eyes were drawn to was the wispy beard that adorned the lower third of woman’s face. the spot where her left eye should’ve been, seemed to be lacking any eye socket at all, whereas the right eye was covered by an old bandage.
“care to pity a wretched being,” the woman spoke, her voice clearly a male voice, “you may unlock your future for merely the price of a hot meal.”
lagertha nodded - although in vain - as she processed the situation, “are you a seiðmaðr?”
“i am many things. as are you. a daughter, a wife, a mother, a shieldmaiden,” lagertha swallowed a lump, becoming unnerved by the cryptic speech of the seiðmaðr, “i am a fortune seer of sorts. i am mímir.”
as lagertha’s mind raced, arguing with itself over whether or not to trust this stranger, the seer’s tall frame turned and left without warning. lagertha stammered for a moment, unsure of how to regain his attention, although she ultimately decided to just follow him. surely any good fortune seer would notice somehow.
weaving through the narrow streets of kattegat, the seer led lagertha at a surprisingly fast pace back to his abode. it was something of a wooden shack, much smaller than the other houses in the area. but the inside exhibited no kitchen, hearth, or any other rooms at all. the door opened to reveal simply a box, in the center were two stones, big enough for sitting on. and to the side, there lay a row of sacks on the floor, placed into a line just long enough for the seer to sleep on. as small of a space as it was, it was made even denser by the decorum that hung from the ceiling. they seemed to be dangling fish skeletons, chiming hollowly as they knocked against one another.
lagertha had known zealous mystics before - her husband’s friend flóki being a prime example - but this fortune seer’s home felt like entering another world. a world where men were at the mercy of magic. it was intimidating for the mighty shieldmaiden to feel so small in comparison, but the seer simply sat on one of the stones and waited for lagertha to follow suit. he did not seem interested in anything other than reciting prophecy, though lagertha’s own mind had already decided that a future told in such a place couldn’t be anything but bleak.
“so,” lagertha sat with a grunt, her demeanor switched to being straightforward and authoritative, wanting to shift some of the power back to herself, “how does seið usually work?”
“ask not about the present time,” the seer croaked, “for my sight extends only into the mists of evermore.”
“then, what about evermore? where is my place in the future that you see?” she asked assertively, growing impatient.
“you concern yourself much with your place in life. but take comfort in knowing that there is no such place here for you. not on the battlefield, though you have not had your fill of blood. and not in the birthing bed, though the bridal bed beckons you still. no, you will not feast in valhöll, nor frolic in fólkvangr. you shall only feel the comforting cushion of soil beneath your back.”
lagertha leaned back from the fortune seer, coiling into herself as she blinked furiously, troubled by what she’d heard. the seer licked his thin, cracked lips that had a sort of permanently frost bitten look, as they were so dry they turned a grayish blue in the center.
“how am i meant to be comfortable with such venomous doctrine?” she growled quietly, fuming so hotly she could barely muster enough air to form the words.
“for an extra shilling you may receive a more thorough reading with the oracle lots.” the seer toyed with a small pouch in his calloused hand, its contents rattling with the sound of the carved sticks he spoke of.
“why should i concern myself with any more of this foolishness, after the putrid invention you’ve spouted thus far?” lagertha straightened out her skirt, almost ready to get up from her seat.
“i would tell you the tale of the little bear.”
lagertha stopped in her tracks, the seer once again successfully piquing her interest.
“you speak of my son,” she pursed her lips with subtle ire, “whose delivery went totally without incident, though the womb from which he came now suddenly and inexplicably lay barren. is that the kind of fantastical tale you would have me believe, you sodomite?”
“go on then,” the seer’s voice became an inhospitable grumble, “the boy shall have to draw his own lots if he wishes to hear their secrets. he is welcome to do so, once his mother gains appreciation for the true nature of seið.”
lagertha took this as her cue to leave, not wanting to entangle herself any further with such an unpleasant magician - and possibly scam artist. although, the seer sensed her hesitation as she let her hand linger upon the misshapen door of his hut.
“allfather óðinn lost his eye in order to acquire the knowledge of the nine worlds. he sacrificed it to my namesake and drank from the well of infinite wisdom. yes, shieldmaiden, we must all lose to gain.”
she breathed deeply one last time before pushing through to the outside world again, the fishbone garlands scoring her exit with a sort of percussive serenade. the evening sky, which was now completely dark, disoriented her as she made haste to find björn near town square.
the stars that speckled the indigo abyss illuminated the boy’s hay yellow hair. the top of his head poked out from under a thatched awning, where the local blacksmith displayed some of his more eye-catching crafts. whatever chilling atmosphere was present in the seer’s shack melted away, as lagertha felt a wave of warmth in her heart, seeing björn acting friendly with a few other men there. they were older, past prime raiding age, and it seemed that one of them had offered the boy a horn of ale. it was clear they’d been charmed by his earnestness, as most everyone who met him was. lagertha smiled with a contentment so sincere, yet almost melancholic - envious, even.
she headed over to join her son, finding out that the brawny blacksmith was recommending a short sword for björn to train with as a novice viking. but the boy kept gravitating towards the stack of shields that rested against the display table. they were nowhere near as glamorous as the other goods on display, but björn recalled distinctly how his father bought one similarly as gyda’s first piece of equipment. lagertha patted her son’s back encouragingly, proud to give her coin for this purpose.
“a great warrior knows that to guard himself is most important,” lagertha remarked, “you have truly proven yourself today, my son.”
the blacksmith fastened a strap to the shield so that björn could wear it over his shoulder, and with a playful tussle of the boy’s hair, he sent the two customers on their way. lagertha linked arms with björn, guiding the both of them toward where she remembered ragnar mentioned his brother’s longhouse was. björn also knew the way, and when they finally arrived, he found that he knew something else which his mother was never made aware of.
“can i help you?” a woman opened the door, perhaps not much older than lagertha, although her tired expression and shabby dress made her appear very crone-like.
lagertha was almost too puzzled to reply, so björn stepped in, “we’re kinsmen of rollo, the raider. he has allowed us to take refuge in his vacant quarters for the evening.”
“ah yes, rollo has kin out on the sandy skagens odde…” the woman muttered, seemingly to herself, as the door creaked all the way open. the kitchen area now exposed, lagertha raised an eyebrow at the sight of several small children eating at the table, with a gauntly thin man who was presumably their father.
“why does your uncle live with this family?” lagertha whispered as she and björn slinked over to the far side of the house.
“they are kinsmen of his friend arne. uncle, torstein, and arne share the other half of this longhouse together, so as to travel more quickly to the jarl’s assemblies. torstein told me that he used to serve as jarl haraldson’s personal guard.” the boy paused his excited anecdote as he happened upon what was obviously his uncle’s bed.
in the unlit corner of the house, there were three single beds, each in varying states of disarray and still smelling faintly of sweat. there was no divider between the bachelors’ quarters and the family’s, though the difference in cleanliness felt to lagertha like separation enough.
she got started lighting a candle, “i suppose once your uncle starts a family of his own, he will have to find a new residence. perhaps even a single family dwelling, akin to ours.”
“in size alone, perhaps,” björn exhaled as he flopped down onto one of the beds, “but uncle will never be a boring, meek farmer like us. it is a lifestyle suitable for no one. you of all people should understand, mother.”
“it is a lifestyle suitable for parents with children, that is why we endure it, sweet björn. your father had already proven himself an excellent raider - he could have pulled himself from poverty with sheer talent - but when i became pregnant with your sister, he devoted himself to caring for her. being a raider or a hired warrior is demanding; the jarl of kattegat is paranoid and tough on his men, and living in the village is cramped. your father knew that being present was the best thing for his children, above being wealthy or famous. and he thusly joins only the first annual raids.”
“so you also gave up your dream of being famous raider?”
“for me, that was not a dream. it was simply my reality. before my first raids, most danesmen had never even seen a shieldmaiden with their own eyes. but i dreamt not for fame or fortune. i only wished to live happily - which i’ve now done for many years.”
lagertha felt a smile forming as her son, the object of her happiness, fluttered his eyes open and shut - much like a baby falling asleep to a story. she puttered about, trying to the best of her abilities to tidy up the belongings of her brother-in-law, before ultimately giving in to her tiredness. she chose the bed that was the more pleasant smelling of the two options, although its pillow sported long strands of hair in multiple colors. lagertha resolved to be content in not wondering how many other women had spent the night in this bed, and simply made herself comfortable in it. almost about to blow out the candle, she felt the call of nature, and opted to relieve herself one last time before turning in.
lagertha tiptoed across the house, noticing that the other children - all four of them - were huddled together in the same bed, being sung to sleep by their mother. the surly woman’s voice was no more pleasant than her appearance, but lagertha was just relieved to know that the children wouldn’t be running around or making noise whilst she slept. a basin of stillwater was placed in between the family’s beds and their hearth, filled with cookware. the father of the family squatted behind it, damp rag in hand, though it didn’t seem that his arms were moving at all. his empty gaze was palpable on lagertha as she opened the front door cautiously, and stumbled through the darkness to find a suitable hedge.
lagertha found herself blinking uncontrollably, gripping to the side of the house as her eyes adjusted to the blackness. as she finally reached the back of the house, she crouched down over a secluded patch of grass, once she was sure she was alone.
“how decent can a woman be,” a growling voice from behind lagertha’s back sent icy shivers up her spine, “if she so easily leaves her husband’s side, and exposes herself to another man?”
lagertha was reluctant to turn around, knowing whose unsightly face to expect when she did. and, as she arose anxiously, she remembered that her hunting dagger was still residing amongst björn’s belongings.
“there was no need to follow me if you did not wish to see me exposed,” lagertha’s voice shook as she tried to maintain composure, “indeed, only the indecent man seeks to mask his true dispositions.”
she finally allowed herself to face the wretched man - arne’s brother - and his top lip twitched with boiling rage.
“you are no shieldmaiden. you conduct yourself like a common whore.” the man’s withered and blackened teeth showed themselves as his expression morphed into a sinister smile.
from lagertha’s position behind the house, she would have to run past the man and nimbly around some bushes, if she wanted to get to the main street. she lunged left and then right, buying herself a head start over the man. then, she darted towards the light that was emanating from another nearby house, praying that the people inside would hear the commotion.
once on the clearing of the dirt road, lagertha’s heart dropped, when she realized that not a single soul was in sight. no one was milling about on the wide streets, as townsfolk often did in the daylight. kattegat after nightfall was like a void, and lagertha now fell prey to the pull of its cavernous maw. but, as she turned to face her attacker once more, now outrunning him by a safe distance, she remembered just how valiantly she had been fighting to rid herself of this weakness.
lagertha got into a hand-to-hand combat stance; she was not merely a wife, nor a mother, nor daughter, nor whore, nor victim, and not simply a decent woman. she was a shieldmaiden in the truest sense and her ferocity became her armor.
her left foot planted firmly on the ground, lagertha extended her right leg and kicked the man squarely in his stomach. he grunted as if the life had been torn from his body. although he’d been pushed back a good few paces, he answered by allowing his gangly arms to flail around haphazardly, attempting to strike lagertha at her left side. expertly, she raised her battle-hardened forearm to block his fist, though he used his other leg to sweep along the dusty path and trip her. she fell upon her rear end.
lagertha’s dastardly gown and cloak prevented her from getting back up as swiftly as she’d liked. she could only look up at the man’s dreadful face, feeling lowly like a worm as she dragged herself backwards.
“now you submit like a good whore,” the man mumbled through heavy breaths, “only now that you are powerless to my will. you ought to have learned by now that a man’s affections are only as sweet as his intended.”
lagertha slowed her desperate crawling to a halt, her forehead steaming with sweat in the dead cold of night. she took one last breath as the man just about hovered above her. she dug her hands into the gravel behind her.
then, with stunning athleticism and flexibility, lagertha’s back arched. she flung her body into a horseshoe shape and lifted her dominant leg, kicking the gaunt man in his groin. the momentum of her blow knocked him backwards as he attempted to catch himself by his elbows. he soon curled up in pain, and lagertha took this as an opportunity to finish the deed with a message.
“how dare you!” she screamed, her voice scarce as the air in her lungs was going toward kicking the man while he hugged his knees to his chest.
“you will not take! what belongs to me!” she exclaimed breathlessly and hysterically in between kicks.
eventually, the man propped himself up with the least sore of his two arms, and hobbled off into the darkness. lagertha lost sight of him, for she didn’t care to see more of him anyways. finding a nearby tree to compose herself against, lagertha pressed her back against the bark and allowed her head to fall backwards. her breathing couldn’t slow, despite her best efforts, as tears erupted from her squeezed shut eyes - the water scalding and salty, like runoff from a sulphuric geyser.
quiet, helpless sobs continued to pour out of lagertha, to the point that she didn’t notice the steady footsteps along the dirt road. they veered off into the wild grass and got louder, yet slower. lagertha attempted to soothe herself by folding her arms and letting her fingers massage her own elbows. her sorrow momentarily on pause, the figure that arrived in front of lagertha gave her a great shock.
“it does not take a soothsayer to recognize the distress you are in,” uttered the familiarly hoarse voice of mímir, the seer, “collect the little bear. i shall await you both, shieldmaiden.”
still battling some leftover sniffles, lagertha watched, confounded, as the seer vanished into the night. his tall, bony silhouette resembled a needle falling into a murky pool. between ghastly lechers and buxom soon-to-be crones, lagertha only felt more isolated than ever, having reaffirmed her suspicions that kattegat truly held no place for her.
not all men were good men like ragnar, and even he, lagertha was beginning to reckon, would not understand her plight. although, the seer was not quite a man, was he?
presupposing the seer expected lagertha to wordlessly follow him to his hut as before, she dashed into the longhouse to awake björn. the boy, still more asleep than not, got to hitch a ride on his mother’s back and made it practically to the other side of town without questioning the disheveled state of her once regal hairstyle.
lagertha laid björn down on the coarse sacks that seemed to be seer’s bed. he grumbled a faint complaint under his breath before drifting back off as if his slumber had never been disturbed.
the boy’s mother looked on. lagertha’s brows had furrowed into a perpetual worry, made even more obvious by the fact that she’d normally break into an uncontrollable grin at the sight of her son so peaceful. the seer simply stood at her side, the stone stool before his feet. without contorting his face nor motioning with his hands, lagertha understood that he wanted her to sit.
“i thought i had yet seen all the evils of men,” lagertha started, “for what viking raid is conducted without the plundering of some local women’s bodies?”
mímir sat too, expressionless.
“being on the other end… i loathe to admit that it has frightened me away. but alas, where would i seek refuge? at the hearth? like a wench kneading rye into bread, while my husband is free to fight and fuck to his heart’s content? before i had a husband, i too was free!” lagertha’s lips quivered as she found herself leaning into the seer, her volumed capped at a frantic whisper, though she made sure her point was being received.
“my input contains no prophecy, shieldmaiden, so you may find it suitable to be expressed.”
the guttural drone of the seer’s voice forced lagertha to forget her frustrations - if only for a moment, to focus on the trepidation she still felt from his unsettling presence.
“all men are slaves to their own shortcomings,” he continued, “cowards cannot have their choice of women through legitimate means; they can only seek the freedom of pleasure through force. but the coward is bound to treachery, and is doomed to be defeated. a raider married to the freedom of the sea can be brought to his knees by the bindings of that temptress - the drink. but he still forges the chains.”
lagertha blinked and sighed with all the air in her chest, “i know that ragnar has his own troubles. he seems to let his worries stew within him all day, and never wants to burden me with his woes.”
“his woes and yours weigh the same, shieldmaiden.”
“o cryptic one, i must concede! please, tell me what you make of our future! i fear that both of our woes combined would weigh too heavily on our marriage.”
lagertha had to stop herself from leaping into the seer’s arms and shaking the answers out of him. he never once moved.
“in your future, i see a little bear, as i stated before. truthfully, there are many bears. and serpents. and a hound.”
“i used to live further inland, on a mountaintop. there, i had a great hound and a fierce bear guarding my abode. my husband, ragnar, slew them both to win my hand in marriage. then, he went on to slay a legendary serpent, and now there lives not a soul that hasn’t heard of the shaggy breeches he wore on that day.”
“that was the past, my fair shieldmaiden. in your future, i see that your husband will not be able to protect you from these beasts. the bears, i see, are a family. one with fur white as snow, another crossing the ocean blue, and the last married to a princess; her crown gold as barley corn. the serpents, i see, are twins; one may not be born without the other. the dog, i see, will demand your demise.”
lagertha shifted back in her seat, the seer’s words haunting the air around them. all she could do was let this sinking feeling wash over her. with a shaky exhale, lagertha turned her attention to the drawstring pouch that was secured to her leather waist belt, and took a shilling out of it. mímir was clearly privy to the sounds that these objects were making, though he did not accept the offering when lagertha extended her hand to him.
instead, the seer rose from his seat, snuffed out the one candle that just barely lit up the room, and stood outside the wooden shack - keeping watch over the shieldmaiden and her son - where it seemed that he remained all night.
-
the weather at the harbor of kattegat was grim, the sun shone through not a single cloud as whispers of rain began to drip from the heavens. flóki had intended for his snekke ship to be brought back to the river near his house, though ragnar anticipated that the jarl would be waiting for them.
indeed, jarl haraldson had a unit of ten armed men stationed by the ports, offering an unsurprisingly cold reception to the returning raiders.
as the boat steadily approached the docks, gyda shrunk into her father’s side, perhaps more afraid than she ever was of any saxon. no one - neither ragnar’s crew nor the jarl’s - spoke a word. the sound of æthelstan’s teeth chattering thus became even more obvious. occupying the seat on the other side of ragnar, he scratched his head anxiously, short hairs already growing into the bald spot he usually shaved.
ragnar’s eye twitched as he sized up the jarl’s men; each of them tall and broad, their hands menacingly gripping at the hilts of their swords.
ragnar simply leaned back and tried not to let it bother him, at least to set an example for the rest of the raiding party. for a few fleeting moments, he allowed himself to be still, until his ear twitched at the shivering monk next to him.
he grabbed the small holy book that æthelstan stowed away under his robes, and with one swift motion, ragnar tossed it overboard.
rollo, torstein, and arne busied themselves tying the ship to the port, meanwhile æthelstan pitifully scrambled to reach for his sinking bible. the two other saxon monks onboard urged him in their native tongue to calm down.
“silence!” ragnar boomed. his daughter had never seen him become so enraged so quickly.
helga and flóki looked on with unease and unbridled glee, respectively.
“you simpleminded saxons forget that óðinn was the father of your people! you will show him the respect he deserves, here in his domain, or i will personally send you into the depths along with the words of your wicked christ!” ragnar had thoroughly exhausted his vocal range yelling, to the point that a vein flashed across the side of his neck like a lightning bolt.
one of the monks, a timid old man, managed to lock eyes with ragnar. for a second, the man’s trembling pupils gleamed with intent, as if he too was going to stand up and start preaching. ragnar’s upper lip instinctively curled with disgust as a second wave of rage rushed throughout his body. the viking roared like an aggravated beast and punched, with his bare fist, one of the decorative trims off the stern of the ship.
flóki’s smile promptly disappeared.
“torstein,” one of the burly soldiers standing at the dock called out, “your presence was missed at the raid in pomerania. how is it you’ve neglected to inform us of this merry ball we could have attended instead?”
the jarl’s men all shared a laugh.
the atmosphere on the ship was tense, torstein retorted through a clenched jaw, “refer not to me. ragnar loðbrók is the fearless leader of this band.”
“so you admit then,” the same soldier responded, “ragnar loðbrók is either a renegade or a fool.”
once the boat was close enough to the dock, members of the raiding party started to climb out of it. several of them held sacks full of riches and flóki held the rope that tied the three captive monks in a line. ragnar, from his position at the last bench onboard, was the last to reach the pier.
the jarl’s soldier - who must have known torstein from his time in the jarl’s employ - tried to intimidate ragnar. the viking’s admittedly average sized frame never once flinched, though.
“why don’t we let jarl haraldson decide this matter?” the man’s red, sun-damaged face and even redder beard taunted ragnar, as the jarl’s soldiers all snickered again. the burly soldier confronting ragnar then grabbed both of the viking’s arms, as other men did the same to rollo, flóki, torstein, and arne.
gyda’s eyes darted around frantically, unsure of what to do or how to help, at one point her gaze even settled on æthelstan for some kind of cue. a hand soon landed on the girl’s shoulder, but it was only helga. the group of them were being so cordially escorted to the jarl’s assembly hall.
-
jarl haraldson was ushered out of his chambers and into the great hall, after picking at his midday meal and finishing the entire accompanying mug of ale. his wife, who would usually join him in judicial affairs, was for the past several days too heartbroken to even leave her bed.
the relatively lackluster building was already full to the brim with townsfolk murmuring amongst themselves, all too eager to be entertained by the latest drama. and right on schedule, the main players were brought in by jarl haraldson’s guard.
“well, well, well, if it isn’t the heroic ragnar loðbrók,” the jarl relished in a rare opportunity to be smug, although his face quickly fell as his men began emptying the raiders’ loot onto the floor, “how did you find the english isle?”
ragnar maintained his composure, “the weather was not very pleasant, honorable jarl.”
“i take it the saxons mounted an awesome defense,” the jarl casually sat upon his ornate cherry wood throne, “judging by the measly haul of slaves you seem to have brought back.”
some of the spectating villagers laughed.
“on the contrary, jarl haraldson, the saxons we encountered were feeble and the plunder was plentiful. my own daughter, a mere novice with the blade, was able to capture one of these slaves here.” ragnar explained.
the jarl shifted his focus from the booty for a split second, only to find himself aghast by the sight of the girl at ragnar’s side.
“your daughter…” he trailed off, his mouth hanging slightly open, “i pray she would be but a novice with the blade, for this girl is but a child!”
the crowd seemed to exhibit mixed reactions, as did the raiders themselves. rollo wrapped an arm around his niece’s waist, wanting to shelter her from the jarl’s wrath, since the girl’s father was preoccupied with trying to win in the court of public opinion.
ragnar took a calming breath and began to explain again, “her stature may be small, jarl haraldson, but my daughter is older than her brother, whose coming of age ceremony you recently presided over.”
“loðbrók, children are a treasure worth more than any piece of gold in all the nine worlds. thus, i beseech you to tread carefully… the next time you plan to bring your sweet daughter on a raid.” as soon as the last word left jarl haraldson’s lips, rollo and gyda exchanged excited glances.
helga gasped audibly as several of the other raiders rejoiced between themselves. ragnar, however, did not break his emotionless exterior. he was in no way interested in letting the jarl get what he wanted.
“yes, ragnar and crew,” the jarl went on, “i will mercifully waive all punishment for your disobedience in this endeavor. you will be permitted to return to england and raid with full legal recognition in my jurisdiction. but, as a tax for bringing pillaged goods into my domain, i shall decree that each raider will be allowed one item of plunder. the rest will go towards financing future raids.”
the jarl’s declaration elicited loud chatter from the townsfolk. it seemed that most of them were distracted by the last part about future raids, praise coming from the spectators and whining from the raiders.
torstein’s old friend, the red soldier, pushed him forward with a bracing slap to the back, “get on with it then! everyone choose their one item.”
ragnar’s raiding party took turns going to and fro the pile, all the while their leader never broke eye contact with the jarl.
“you know, loðbrók,” the jarl addressed ragnar directly, his volume just low enough that onlookers wouldn’t interrupt, “if so much as a hair on your girl’s head is harmed during the next raid, i’ll see to it your testicles are floating in a jar of saltwater brine. even in norway, they tell stories of vikings sailing too far south and encountering vicious saxon warriors that still fight like the saxons of the old country. so take great caution.”
ragnar desired so desperately to quip back with something witty, but the jarl’s warning was startlingly ominous. the wanderer who gave ragnar his trusted compass had specifically suggested to sail south along the english coast. surely the words of such a greedy man deserved to be heeded far less than those of an experienced traveler.
“brother,” the red soldier barked, and suddenly it dawned on ragnar that he was addressing the jarl, “only ragnar loðbrók is left to pick his plunder.”
ragnar looked to his side and noticed gyda holding a silver wine pitcher, rollo was admiring a golden necklace inlaid with red jewels, and flóki and helga had chosen a set of matching chalices.
ragnar approached the pile cautiously. deep in his heart, he knew he hadn’t the slightest idea what to even look for. then, he looked above the pile, and saw the three monks off in the corner of the room; their wrists bound together by the rope which was now being held by a member of the jarl’s guard. æthelstan stood by his lonesome on the far end, his jaw still visibly chattering as though he’d been frozen.
“i shall take the boy priest,” ragnar announced, pointing to æthelstan, “what better than a living memory of my daughter’s first success in raiding.”
jarl haraldson hardly reacted. instead, with one limp gesture of his wrist, he ordered, “very well. knut, fetch the esteemed ragnar his new saxon slave.”
the red soldier glowered at ragnar as he obeyed his brother’s command. æthelstan was cut from the other two monks, whom he appeared to fret greatly about leaving behind, and was led to ragnar by knut - much like a dog on a leash.
“yes, i am overjoyed that this issue has been solved in a timely manner,” the jarl started, apparently trying to get everyone out of his hall as soon as possible, “but, in regards to financing future raids, there is one last endeavor i wish to inquire about.”
the jarl’s guard swooped in and picked up ragnar and crew’s hard-earned riches, filling their own linen sacks with the loot and leading the thralls outside.
“i wish to purchase the vessel on which you have so bravely sailed westward. i understand it to be the handiwork of boatbuilder flóki. and with another ship in my collection, we will be able to bring home even more plunder from the next raid.” announced jarl haraldson.
the crowd cheered.
helga nervously squeezed the hand of her betrothed, but flóki remained unphased, answering, “it is with great remorse, honorable jarl, that i must respectfully decline. for you see, the ship is now in a state of disrepair, and i could not responsibly sell it to you without first attending to the damages.”
the jarl shot a quick glance towards knut.
“it is true, brother.” knut confirmed, the wind seemingly ripped from his sails.
“very well,” the jarl leaned back in his seat, perhaps so that he may view ragnar from an even higher position, “then, boatbuilder, i shall expect you to complete the repairs and return to sea with ragnar loðbrók’s band within the fortnight.”
as the townsfolk and raiders alike began to pour out of the great hall, knut stopped torstein with an unexpectedly gentle pat on the shoulder.
“let us keep in better touch,” the red soldier suddenly had a friendly glint to his eye, “i would hate for our only meetings to be filled with such tension, dear torstein.”
torstein pursed his lips into a half-smile, and simply nodded politely before hurrying away.
gyda beamed with elation at her father, making sure to also giggle at æthelstan’s prolonged state of panic, as the trio set off for home on their little peninsula.
-
björn was waiting outside the house just before supper. the sun had not yet fully set, due to the long daylight hours of nordic summer, though the crickets and fireflies had already started their song and dance.
the footpath from kattegat sprang over the horizon, and from the treeline emerged ragnar and gyda, with æthelstan in tow. björn sprinted over to meet his father halfway, after a few minutes finally colliding into him in a spirited embrace. as soon as the boy pulled away, his sister grabbed him by the neck and took her own turn hugging him, roughly yet affectionately scratching the top of his head.
lagertha emerged from the house, her shining smile dropping faster than the evening sun upon seeing the strange man her husband had brought home.
“come inside, my dear ragnar,” she mustered as the rest of her family creeped closer, “rest, my sweet gyda. there are rye loaves baked fresh for you. i am stewing kid with turnips, too.”
ragnar could sense his wife’s discomfort; he knew he had much to explain. but, he was also eager to tell her that the status quo of their lives was forever altered.
#vrp tag#vikings#vikings fanfic#vikings headcanons#vikings imagine#vikings history channel#history channel vikings
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@naaladareia I found a smiling photo of our King!
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Sleepy Mornings by @ritual-unions, in collaboration with @mrgabel & @underragingwaves
Warnings: None, general, mentions of sex (full fic will be explicit/mature)
Pairing: Ubbe x Saxon OFC (Winnifred)
Banner by the lovely @underragingwaves
Snippet:
“If your physician is not too busy I would like to speak with him,” Winnifred began, looking at her shoes as she talked.
“Of course.” The dowager queen smiled though her gaze never wavered from the bustling market that pulsed around them.
“Is everything all right, dear?” Lady Judith asked with a soft squeeze of Winnifred’s hand.
“Yes,” Winnie answered hurriedly. She pressed her lips together as they passed by a merchant selling an assortment of spices. “I mostly had a few questions.”
Lady Judith’s gaze was cool on Winnifred’s cheek as she peered at her. “Questions?” Her brow raised as Winnie glanced her way.
“Regarding my husband,” Winnie answered reluctantly with a bow of her head. It was a vain attempt at modesty. The dowager queen had always been more perceptive than most women Winnie regularly associated with. There were few topics Lady Judith was not educated on.
“It seems my husband has a case of somnambulism.”
Lady Judith was smiling at a woman selling flowers but frowned at Winnie’s words. “He is walking in his sleep?”
“No.” Winnie shook her head. “Not exactly, it is just that-” she chewed on her lip, searching for the correct phrase to explain her dilemma. Lowering her voice Winnie whispered, “in the morning he is afflicted with a hardness - ”
She squeezed her hand, ceasing Winnie’s babbling. A smile played on Lady Judith’s red lips, similar to the one Ubbe sent her way when Winnie said something he found particularly amusing.
Full fic coming to @vikingsbigbang in November '22
#vikingsbigbangwinter22#vbbw22#vikings fanfiction#vikings history#vikings#ubbe#ubbe ragnarsson#ubbe x ofc#ubbe fanfiction#ubbe's wolfpack#vikings ubbe#ubbe x oc#vikings fic#vikings history channel#vikings fandom
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I found medieval Rex
It's just a clip from 'Vikings', but it's 100% Captain Rex and I won't hear anything else.
Vikings 01x06 - Old Warrior Speech - YouTube
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god Travis Fimmel adds such a uniqueness to Ragnar that makes him so memorable. the lilt to his voice, the way he quirks his face and rolls his eyes, the way he flails his body around, its just so excellent.
#his body acting and his face acting is so excellent#he MAKES ragnar who he is no one else could have possibly ever done ragnar as well as he does#travis fimmel#vikings history channel#vikings#ragnar lothbrok
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#running up that hill#vikings history channel#vikings edit#Vikings x kate bush#kate bush#Vikings s1#Vikings favorites#vikingsevents
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Pale on Pale
Pairing: Kwenthrith x Judith
Warnings: Blood & gore, violence, character death, cannibalism, demonic possession, horror, smut, angst, lesbian sex.
Word count: ~6k
Author's note: It's here! My entry of the 2023 edition of the @vikingsbigbang - really excited to share this with you as it's an exploration of lots of firsts for me - my first time properly writing wlw and either of these characters, and my first ever try at writing horror/gore content. This was a lot of fun. Huge thank you to Yume and Killy for organising this wonderful event once again - it's always a pleasure to take part. Thank you to @underragingwaves for beta'ing this and offering kind words of support. Lastly, but by no means least, a massive thank you and endless praise to my effortlessly talented artist @therealvikingstrash - you captured the mood of the story perfectly - all gifs and dividers for this story were created by Yume and I am forever grateful to her.
Read the full story on AO3.
#queen kwenthrith#judith of northumbria#judith#kwenthrith#kwenthrith x judith#judith x kwenthrith#vikings#vikings big bang#vbb23#vikings fan fiction#vikings fanfiction#vikings fanfic#viking fan fic#vikings history channel
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Csn you do one with bjorn where he meets a Christian women and the feel in love with smut and fighting like she hates him at first please
Thank you very much for requesting one! I am so so touched. This is my first ever request tbh. I really really hope this will be something you'll love to read!
MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. THIS IS NOT FOR YOU, NOR YOUR EYES. THANK YOU
Bjorn and Halfdan got back from the mediterranian before Ivar and Hvitserk from the Saxons. Ivar was drunk on their victory, blood-thirsty still. The people of Kattegat looked over the ships in horror. Some were packed to the brim with people they took back to be slaves. The women were crying, the children too, the some men they brought just sat with emotionless faces. Bjorn walked and looked at all of them one by one. A single woman stood out of all of them. She wasn't wearing fancy clothes, she probably wasn't anyone important. Ivar would've killed those anyway. Yet this woman was trying to calm the women and children with a straight face. She told them that everything will be allright. One of the saxon men hit her when she tried to console his wife. Spitting on her when she was on the ground, saying that she cannot know that it will be allright, they'll all be sacrificed or just killed for something they had no control over, something that they could not fight.
The vikings standing around enjoyed this show. Bjorn walked closer to watch too. One of the vikings threw a dagger next to the brave woman on the ground with a smirk. She looked at it, then looked at the wife of the saxon man, with their child in her hands. She took the dagger, and held it to the neck of the man.
-You better get yourself together for your family's sake. You are in a land you don't know, surrounded by people you don't know. They depend on you for survival wether you are all slaves or not. I only spare you because i do not wish for your family to know how to make ends meet without anyone to protect them. To make it alone... - the woman said before giving back the dagger to the viking, who laughed and grabbed her ass, yanking her close to his body. The woman did not care for herself, she punched the man in the eye, who fell on his backside, before she spat on him, and walked away, making the rest of the men laugh. She knew mercy, she was wise and strong, yet she was brave enough to humiliate someone who were way above a mere slave. She must have noone to look after, and to care for her.
Bjorn's jaw clenched, but he just walked away, and into the great hall where his brothers an Lagertha were.
-Bjorn.. you arrive at last. - Ivar snarled. - How was your destiny? DId you find it as pleasing as you imagined?
Bjorn just sighed. Ivar was getting way ahead of himself.
-It was satisfactory brother. What are you planning to do with the saxons you brought here?
-Straight to business i see. A lot of Kattegat's good people died when King Harald paid some bastard to attack. I plan to provide slaves for the men so that Kattegat could flourish again.. - he said with a sick smile - for that when i'll be king, i can make it ever greater..
His claim to be king was reasonable, Lagertha knew that sooner or later one of Ragnar's sons will try to take over the power. The seer told her that one of them would kill her someday.
-i want to buy one to help Torvi with my kids. I have seen one that was good with kids.
-Take whichever you want brother. Take it as a gift..
That was how you ended up as a slave in Bjorn's household.
At first he wasn't around much, and when he was, he just watched you from afar as you played with, and took care of his children. Noticing that Torvi wasn't around much, but they never cared for eachother's presence anyways. There was some kind of love, but definetely not the kind you should have for someone that gave you kids. You then stopped, then scolded yourself for even thinking of this kind of thing. You were a slave, far far away from any place you ever knew. The only priority should be to survive. Nothing else. Hopes, dreams and family were out of the picture. The first time in your life you were thankful for being an orphan and having nobody because this way you only really had to worry about yourself.
That winter Bjorn was studying his map in peace, Torvi was in the village with Lagertha while you played with the kids. You urged them not to go on the ice, knowing it was still weak, but they laughed and told you you were just a slave, you had no right to command them. You started to loudly plead for them to get off of the ice. The you hear it break. By the time Bjorn walked out to the front of the house, cuase of his daughter screaming, you put the two boys back on the ice where it was safe, telling them to back inside and change their clothes. You climbet out slowly, looking at your soaked dress, before walking inside to change yourself.
When you walked beside Bjorn, he got a hold of your upper arm, making you flinch as you were already freezing, your lips blue. He wanted to say something, but he changed his mind and he only said Thank you before letting you go to change before you catch a cold.
That night Torvi did not come home, so you cooked soup for the kids and Bjorn. After you put them to bed, you silently placed yourself in the small nook you had as a room, lit a candle and started to patch your dress cause the ice slashed it in places.
Bjorn appeared in the doorway, watching you silently. When you looked up, you pricked your finger and it started to bleed. You hissed and in 2 strides he was kneeling before you taking a hold of your bleeding finger. You tried to take it from his hold, not to bleed on him, but he gave you a stern look, so you stopped moving. He was gently when he swiped off the blood and tied a cloth around it for you. But he made no move to leave, he just looked into your eyes.
-Why did you save them? You could've died.
-They are your children. I am just a slave. Their life is way more important then mine. I have noone to come home to, never had. - you said not looking at him. He curled a finger under your chin to make you look at him.
-We are your family now, this is your home. - he said and you couldn't help but laugh.
-I am your slave, that is entirely different. - you scoffed.
-Then you are not my slave anymore. You are free to stay, or free to go. - he said and you looked at him not understanding. He sighed, and started to explain. - I am setting you free. I want you to think of us as your family, not as someone who own you. We do not own you.
-Big false words.. I will never be free. The Holy God has other plans for me. But it is alright, i know that in the end, my choices will be the ones that matter. - you said, before taking a hold of the wooden cross in your neck. You were so angry you could've cried. But you weren't going to let him.
You were orphaned at a young age, a nunnery took you in. You never knew kindness. Your body was littered with scars from the procedures you had to endure in process to become a nun. They said you were sent by god himself, and that is why you had to endure all this pain, to repell for the sins humans had committed. It was the only life you knew. You were told that if you ever in danger, you have to kill yourself in order to prevent them to corrupt you. You had to stay pure so god would lift to himself to live happily in Heaven. But before you could od it, they captured and unarmed you.
In the middle of the night you were out, kneeling in the snow, dagger before you, silently praying, when Bjorn had found you. He decided not to disturb you, just watch you from afar. He had feelings for you that he cannot understand. You were christian. Sure he hated Athelstan when he was a kid, then he learned to love him. But you were a different case. He felt a pull to you.
-Forgive me father for i have sinned. I have sinned in thought. I.. i had dreams which i cannot understand, aches that i never felt before. I had been practicing repentance but they do not go away. Please lord, guide my soul back to you. - you whispered when you heard steps in the snow. You turned around, pointing the dagger to whoever it was.
Bjorn held up his hands so you knew he wasn't here to hurt you. But you did not lower the dagger.
-Why do you keep watching, following me? - you asked.
-You are a part of our family, i am ought to keep you safe too. There are wolves and bears out here you know. - he said with a smile.
-Good, i should've been dead months ago. - you snarled. His eyes widened.
-What thoughts you asked guidance from your god for? - he asked curiously, as he started to circle you.
-That is between me and my god. - you said arrogantly.
He knocked the dagger out of your hands, and grabbed your hands, holding you close with your back to his chest as he leaned down to whisper in your ear.
-Perhaps thoughts of me are plaguaging you ? - he whispered with a low voice, when the aches returned. When you did not answer he knew he was right. -Ain't nothing bad with those love..
-I am a woman of god, i should've kill myself when your people attacked. - you said not resisting his hold anymore.
-But you didn't, you had a job to do still, your god had other plans for you. - he said, and then shoved your head back, hitting him right in the nose, making him let you go. You grabbed the dagger again, holding it to his neck now. He was not afraid though, his hands held your hips as he yanked you closer, leaning down, nose touching yours.
-You will not hurt me we both know that. Perhaps your god is telling you to live a different live as you did. - he said before softly kissing you sofly. You gasped but did not lower the dagger. You broke his kiss, looking him in the eye.
-Tell me one good reason not to cut your throat. - you snarled at him with hate in your voice.
-You do not want to. You may try to deny it, but we both feel it. I never thought i could want a christian, after my friend was killed, but here i am. And i know you feel the pull too, you must have felt it.
-And what if my god is testing me. The devil is tempting me into sin..
You cannot finish because he grabbed the blade and threw it away, before kissing you passionately. You cannot find in yourself to stop it. You had dreamt of this before, this was why you were praying tonight too. For your god to forgive these dreams and thoughts. And now here you were kissing Bjorn under the moonlight. He gently picked you up, not breaking the kiss before bringing you back to your small room, as he put you in your bed, hovering over you.
-Will your wife kill me tomorrow? -you asked as he caressed your cheek.
-She won't, she is also not my wife. We do not love eachother.
-But you have kids together.
-That doesn't mean we want eachother as companion for life. I freed you because i hope you'd want to be mine cause of your own will, not cause you are a slave and have no other choice. - he whispered before kissing you again.
-You would resent me for my god. - you said holding his collar.
-I don't care what god or gods you pray for. I care that you're by my side. - he said before he kissed your neck. You gasped and pushed him away.
-Did you never...? - he asked and you shook your head. - I will take care of you, i can be gentle. - he smiled at you. Somehow he felt that being your first was something big. He wanted it to be good for you. He slowly undone your dress, making you lay bare under him as he caressed the scars he found. He did not ask about them, he can do that tomorrow, for now he wanted to show you love. His lips followed his caressing fingers as he showered your body with kisses until he settled between your legs. He kissed you womanhood just as he kissed your lips before, yet unfamiliar warmth spread across you as a whimper escaped your lips. You felt him smirk as he started to put a finger inside you between licks, pumping in and out gently. You felt something building inside of you, something wanting to snap. It was unfamiliar, most possibly sinful, yet something you wanted to never stop. When the coil inside you snapped, he climbed up to kiss you and sweep some hair out of your face. He caressed your body all over again before laying down on your bed, making you straddle him. YOu did not know when he got naked, but he had a body that screamed sin and holiness at the same time. You looked at him questioningly when he smiled at you, caressing your face again, then grabbing your chin to bring you down for a kiss.
-This way you'll be in control. I do not want to hurt you (Y/n). You can do it in your pace. - he said as he grabbed your hips and started to move you over his shaft. Not entering, just sliding along it, creating a delicious friction that had you moaning again. He stopped when he felt his tip aligning with your etrance perfectly, and he waited for you to sink down on him, letting him impale you in your own pace. You slowly lowered yourself, welcoming the pain of him stretching you out. When you sank down on him, letting him into you fully, you stopped, waiting for yourself to adjust. You looked at him. His eyes were closed, his hands caressed you.
He suddenly opened his gorgeous eyes, and sat up with you still impaled on his lap as he kissed you passionately.
-You were made for me. - he whispered before he started to thrust in and out of you. The feeling was unfamiliar but not unwelcomed. You felt that sweet feeling build up inside you again. You started to meet his thrusts harder and faster, chasing your release. When your moans became louder, your breathing uneven he took over and pistoed into you mercilessly. You reached your climax in no time, your abused cunt squeezing him so much, he thought it won't ever let go of him again, nor that he wanted to ever leave the warm place that was made for him there. He thought of you carrying his child someday as he came in you, as you small battered body, collapsed on his chest. He put his arms around you, holding you close, drawing small circles on your back.
-Sleep now love. I'll keep you warm. - he whispered before kissing the top of your head. And that is what he did. When you woke up the next morning, you felt sore, but you felt something warm under you. You unconsciously snuggled closer to the source, only to hear a faint rumbling and a little laugh. When you opened your eyes, you were met with Bjorn's blue ones, filled with all the love you ever saw. He was looking at you as if you were something holy. You didn't find the words so you just stared at him.
-Does it hurt anywhere? - he asked. You shook your head and looked down, suddenly shy. He pulled you close again.
-You are so perfect... - he said.
#request#requests are open#one shot#smut#vikings history channel#bjorn x reader#bjorn x you#bjorn ironside#bjorn ragnarsson#bjorn fluff#bjorn smut
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