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ravensinwinter · 5 years ago

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The Raven in Winter- Chapter 2

Summary: On the eve of her wedding, a familiar face arrives in Fornburg alongside two strangers, bringing with them a chance at adventure. When Sigrid reluctantly follows her husband to England and learns of the sinister forces that hunt him, she is thrust into a dangerous plot to control England. Will she and Eivor be able to unravel the web of mystery that surrounds their new home? Or are they destined to choke under the rule of the Order of the Ancients?

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27665312/chapters/67980043#workskin

This tale will span the events of the game and beyond as Sigrid and Eivor's journey unfolds.

Pairing: Original Female Character x Male Eivor

Author’s note: Do I spend too much time making sure this is historically accurate? Yes, yes I do.

Have some wedding night drama and me trying to make Sigurd seem less awful and the relationship between him and Randvi feel more flushed out. Cause the writing in that aspect leaves a lot to be desired.

Also, promise we are getting to the game stuff soon, just needed one last section to set up some story.

It had been an odd moment, when a swaggering Sigurd approached his father, as though the world hung on the point of a sword. One tip and all would be lost, and when father and son embraced, it was as if time had once again begun to flow. Sigurd had brought with him tales of far off lands. Tales that loosened nerves and tongues alike and soon the longhouse had shed the odd tension that had hung in the air.

Beside me, Randvi had been so still I was unsure if she drew breath. “Go to him,” I whispered, gently squeezing her hand to draw her from her stupor.

She approached slowly, cautiously, and when the two finally embraced, a storm of emotions naked upon their faces, I wondered if I would have felt the same. Would I have been able to endure such a parting? Randvi had been stoic, firm, and when I often pressed her on the matter, she had remained silent or simply did not answer.

It was only when we lay tangled in my bed, on the eve of my wedding, with dawn fast approaching, that she admitted her dissatisfaction at her husband’s absence.

“I am expected to appear as a weepy maiden,” she whispered, cool fingers brushing my dark hair from my cheek. “But how can I act such a part when Sigurd and I have known each other for so little and I have grown so fond of my freedom.”

“You are permitted to spread your wings as you see fit, sister,” I replied, squeezing her fingers with my own. “And should my cousin never return, you will have a place at my table.

“Sigurd is too stubborn to perish in such a way,” she admitted with a giggle, her face pressed to my shoulder. “And to leave his glory so unclaimed? He would sooner sacrifice his own eye.”

“Rightly so.” I settled my cheek upon her head with a gentle sigh. “Then you shall have to embrace him as a good wife when he returns, and only you and I shall know the truth of your affections.”

“And Eivor,” Randvi teased with an unladylike snort. “For I know you whisper all my secrets to him when you are alone.”

Now, as the pair unsurely held each other, I could see the forced smile upon her face, the way her hands did not dare to linger on Sigurd’s jaw longer than necessary. I knew she had chosen duty over her own emotions. Their reunion continued for a moment longer, Sigurd and Randvi sharing a chaste kiss, cheers echoing around them, before parting.

Soon they were joined by my bear of a husband, his hands clapped on their shoulders in a warm embrace. When I finally joined them, I found myself as unsure as she, my touch light when I finally dared to settle my hand on Eivor’s forearm.

“Brother, may I introduce my wife, Sigrid Arnesdottir.” I was pushed forward towards Sigurd, and without laying eyes upon him, I knew my husband’s lips were split in a wide grin.

“Married?” Sigurd smiled charmingly, feigned surprised poorly concealed in his expression. I rolled my eyes in return. “Little Siggy? When I departed you were but a girl, and now I find you are married to this brute!” Travel had tempered Sigurd’s wild moods, that much was evident.

“Much has changed, cousin. As it seems, so have you.” I embraced Sigurd with a smile, part of me overjoyed to have our small family together again. “Come tell us of your travels. We have plenty of ale to share at our table.”

Sigurd lounged at our bridal table drinking heartily as he regaled us with a tale of a land covered in coarse dirt he called sand. Randvi sat beside him, her tense countenance bleeding away as quickly as she drained the ale before her. “An ocean of sand, smooth as snow, brother, as far as a man could see.”

If I closed my eyes, I could picture it, the coppery mounds baked and warmed in the sunlight. I could feel the warmth as hot as raging fire upon my skin, the warm wind that blew through my unbound hair. “I wish I could have seen it,” I sighed, dark eyes fluttering open to regard my cousin with a dreamy smile. Sigurd returned it with a bright smile of his own.

“I intended to bring your husband with me in late summer raids, perhaps you may join us, cos.” His laugh rang out through the hall when I cast a hopeful glance towards Eivor.

“And leave me so alone,” Randvi laughed over her flagon of ale.

“You could come with us,” I offered, reaching across the table to take her hand in my own. “We shall be the fiercest pair of shield maidens and strike terror into the hearts of our enemies.”

“That you shall, little wife,” my husband mused, warm lips pressing to my hair with a gentle smile. “You shall intimidate children all over the land with your mighty size.” My fingers slapped his chest with a dull thud, Eivor answering with a pained grunt.

“And leave your uncle alone with Hlif? I fear they should drive each other mad before we return. It is good you returned so soon, husband,” Randvi continued, a gentle smile upon her lips, “for I should be driven mad by this one as well.”

“Yes, wife, it is fortunate I returned in time to save you from the wedding feast.”

“Fortunate indeed,” Eivor answered in my stead, his arm shifting where it draped heavily across my shoulders. “And what of your companions?” I followed his gaze to Sigurd’s strange pair of companions who talked between themselves in the shadowy corner behind the ale casks. “They seem a curious pair.”

Sigurd leaned forward, his answer scarce a whisper. The sound of music swelled through the longhouse as dancing struck up around us, drowning out the words passed between them. “Go dance with your wife, brother. We shall speak more on this matter later.”

“Will you join us, cousin,” I asked, smiling brightly at Randvi who answered with a strained flash of teeth.

“Alas, cos, I must speak with my companions.” He rose from the table, and I did not fail to notice the tension bleed from Randvi’s shoulders. “Enjoy your dance. We shall speak later.”

“He seems in good spirits,” I murmured to my husband once we were out of earshot. “And it has done Randvi good that he has returned. I have not seen her so at ease in a long while.”

“Indeed,” Eivor agreed, his hand heavy in mine, though he did not steer us towards the slowly growing crowd of dancing couples. When I stilled, he urged me forward with a soft smile till we stood in the frigid air, the sound of the feast a dull roar at me back. In the distance, Sýnin’s calls echoed softly from the mountain tops.

“What of dancing, elskan mín,” I asked when his hands settled heavily upon my waist to draw my head to his chest. “And what will people think? Stealing your bride away like a thief, wolf-kissed?”

“Exactly as you say, ástin mín, that I am a selfish bridegroom eager to be alone with my new wife.” His lips chased after mine, stopped only when I pressed my hand against his chest.

“And what of my virtue,” I teased, slipping just out of reach with a sly grin. “I fear to be alone with a brute such as you, husband, my virtue shall not remain unscathed.”

“An honest point, ástin mín,” he murmured, his hands suddenly upon my hips to haul my body back against his. “The temptation is too great.” His lips traced the line of my jaw, coarse beard tickling my skin to pull a series of giggles from my lips. “And you shall find I am a weak man.”

“Eivor,” I warned sharply, hands pulling at his own once they had traveled to cup at my breasts through the fabric of my dress, and against my bottom, a clothed hardness pressed insistently. “We must wait.” My hands only pulled half heartedly, for my body pressed eagerly back towards his. A soft moan, quickly silenced by his warm hand clamped over my lips, spilled forth when his thumb and forefinger pinched at my clothed nipple.

“Ástin mín,” he groaned into the skin of my neck, hand trailing down past my belly to sink between my clothed thighs. “This will help, but you must keep quiet.”

I whined in response, a high pitched needy sound that had never before tumbled from my lips, my head falling back to thump against his chest. Eivor’s fingers worked quickly between my thighs, tight, rough circles round the apex til my body pulled tight as a bowstring and I cried his name into the skin of his palm.

“Where did you learn that elskan mín,” I murmured once my voice was no longer a series of sharp breaths and I could again think over the haze of pleasure that coursed through my veins. Eivor answered with a press of lips sweetly to the corner of my jaw.

“Ah well,” he was gone then ducking away to rub at the back of his neck, “Sigurd may have mentioned a few things about the marriage bed.” When I turned sharply to gape at him, I found his cheeks as flushed as my own, his gaze focused too intently on the moon above us.

“Eivor you didn’t…”

“We only talked a little,” he admitted, hand still rubbing his neck, the flush on his cheeks deepening. “He explained that the first time can be…unpleasant for a woman.”

“Please do not tell me you have discussed such things with my cousin,” I whined, my face buried behind my hands.

“And your uncle,” he continued. And I prayed that I would sink straight to into the ground. Or burst into flames, the warmth from the splotchy redness on my chest and cheeks would serve as kindling. “They were…ah, eager to provide their advice on how to please a woman in bed.”

“Advice? By the gods, I shall never be able to face them again.”

“You shall, ástin mín,” he answered, fingers gentle as they pried my own from my face. “Now come, we should return before they notice we are gone.” I allowed Eivor to link our hands as we walked back to the feast, and straight into raucous cheers.

And though I had thought it impossible, my cheeks were set further aflame with embarrassment. Mercifully Eivor appeared unaffected, receiving most of the jeers and claps on the back as we wound our way back to our bridal table.

“Come now, wife” he announced, arms wrapping about my waist to haul me close. “Finish your ale, for I grow tired of waiting.”

He was playing the part of the eager bridegroom and playing it well as he pressed my flagon to my lips and urged me to drink the small amount of ale left inside. And with a hearty roar, Eivor Wolf-Kissed finished his own in a single swallow, his hand still a heavy weight on my hip. And hidden out of sight, his thumb stroked softly up and down along the seam of my dress to still my nerves.

“Run along, ástin mín,” he whispered into my ear with a swat on my bottom. “I shall join you in our marriage bed soon.”

“You shall worry a hole through the floorboards with your fidgeting,” Hlif chided as she fastened the last tie on my camise with a disapproving cluck. Randvi and I met each others' gaze, a silent smile shared between us.

“There,” Randvi declared, her fingers deftly tying off my simple braid, “Eivor shall be unable to resist you.” Her fingers were cold where they brushed my hair from my shoulder.

I answered with a forced smile, my bare feet tapping nervously as I fought the urge to pace.

“Do not worry, Sigrid, you shall be fine,” she soothed, taking my hands in her own and settling us against the bed. “Hlif, please see what is keeping the bridegroom and my husband.” Before Randvi whisked me from the longhouse to my new home, I had caught one last glance of Eivor as he approached Sigurd and the pair of strangers. I wondered if that had been what was keeping him, though I was thankful it gave me a moment alone to collect my nerves.

“Randvi,” I breathed, fingers wrung into knots in my lap, “will it hurt?” I glanced up at the gothi who stood mercifully silent near the door before settling my hands back on my lap to pull at the thin fabric of my camise. “I should be excited to at last know Eivor in the way a wife knows her husband, but I find that instead of excitement, I am afraid.”

“It will,” she admitted, hands taking mine, “though I suspect Eivor will ensure you are comfortable before taking his own pleasure. And it is perfectly natural to be nervous, Siggy. I felt the same on my own wedding night.”

“He already has,” I breathed, my voice soft as I cast another wary glance toward the gothi, who if he heard my words did not acknowledge them. My cheeks were aflame again at the memory, the heat at least chasing away the chill.

“I could tell.” Randvi smiled her thumb a soft pressure on my wrist. “You had such a beautiful pink flush to your cheeks when you returned.”

“He said Sigurd taught him. Some trick with his fingers that…” my cheeks grew warm again, “ it felt like I had died and gone to Valhalla.”

“Ah, I know that trick well,” she murmured, “for it was I who showed it to Sigurd on our own wedding night.” Her thumb stroked again, and I found myself resting against her shoulder, the storm brewing in my chest slowing to a dull ache. “I am glad it served you well. I shall have to show you others when we have a moment alone.”

“I would like that.” I could hear the sound of loud voices approaching just outside the door, and the storm of nerves once again began to swirl inside me. “Gods grant me courage,” I murmured, reluctantly standing to greet the small party led by the proud figure of my uncle, Styrbjorn King.

“Hello, little one,” Styrbjorn greeted, his hands warm upon his shoulder as he embraced me. “You have grown into a fine woman. Your father would have been proud.” My heart clenched at his words, an unspoken thing that I had tried not to dwell upon. Instead of Randvi, it should have been my own mother who dressed me and braided my hair. And instead of my uncle, my father to give me away. “As would yours,” he told Eivor as he pressed our hands together.

The gothi read his blessing, smeared blood upon our brows, and begun his prayer to Freya, though I did not truly hear it. I found myself instead focusing upon clear blue eyes that met my own, on the soft curling hair peeked from beneath the neckline of his own tunic, the crooked smile that softened his harsh features. And when the gothi finally led us to our shared bed, I finally allowed myself to glance about the room.

My uncle at the foot of the bed, hands clasped in front of him as he conversed with the priest on the bride price. Sigurd and Randvi to my right, her, an encouraging smile, he, a crude wink and gesture to my new husband. And finally to Hlif and the bear like man Sigurd had called Dag, whom Eivor had chosen as his witness. I hadn’t failed to notice the crass remarks the man had made when they had entered. And when Eivor climbed above me, I shifted to hide myself from view.

I was pressed back to straw mattress, and I was certain every person in the too small room could hear the rapid beating of my heart. Eivor was above me then, his weight settling into my hips. “Breath, Sigrid,” he whispered, just soft enough that only I could hear. The furs were draped upon us, allowing for some small measure of privacy. The gothi called out one last blessing and motioned for us to continue with little concern, as though it was as little consequence to him.

“I can’t.” My eyes were fixed just over his shoulder on a thin rope that hung from the beams. I was going to vomit, the bile burning in my throat, my nerves knotting painfully in my gut.

Eivor’s hands shifted to rest on my hips and my breath came sharper, harsher than before, and I swore I would faint from the sensation of it all. Instead, I gazed at that rope, the way it swayed ever so gently. I was like the rope, my emotions, fear casting me about like a leaf in a stream, and I scrabbled for land, for purchase.

This was Eivor, my mind cried, kind and loving Eivor. I had dreamed of this moment for so long, yet the thought did nothing to calm my trembling. I knew if I met my husband’s gaze, what remained of my resolve would crack.

“Do it. Please, elskan mín,” I begged, hands fisted into the mattress to still my shaking fingers.

Eivor was hard and heavy against my thigh, and even through the fabric of our clothing, I could feel him drag against me with each shift of his hips. His hand was warm where it drifted between us to hike my camise to my waist with little ceremony. With one last shaking breath, my eyes fluttered shut, even the sight of the swaying rope too much to bear.

His fingers stroked gently along my hips, a warm path cut to the apex of my thighs where he resumed the same rough strokes. The tightening returned, sharp and sweet between my legs, and I found them parting against my will to splay about him, Eivor sinking further into the cradle between my thighs.

“Open your eyes, ástin mín,” he murmured against the skin of my jaw. “I want to see you.” He was above me, eyes meeting mine as they fluttered open, clear blue so open, so caring it tore a sob from my throat.

Elskan mín. I whispered the endearment upon his lips, and it became a prayer as my hips rocked against his hand. He was my rock, my land, and I was no longer adrift as I clung to him, fingers clutching desperately at his shoulders, as if to let go would me I would be lost.

Randvi had been right, it was only just he and I, only the weight of his body atop mine, only the rocking of his fingers against me, within me. I was winding tighter, the strange feeling coiling in my belly, sharp, new.

And then his fingers were gone drawing a high pitched whine from my lips. “Shh, ástin mín. I have you,” he murmured, hands shifting to part my thighs wider. “And I am sorry for this.”

The pain was sharp as he thrust forward, my maidenhead torn free, and I cried out, a wail that had my eyes screwed shut and my hands pushing weakly at his shoulders for reprieve. I didn’t want this, not like this. Not with a room of people watching as I lay prone beneath my husband, tears leaking from my eyes as he rut against me.

It was not over as quickly as Randvi had promised, though I prayed it would be so that I would escape the dull ache between my thighs. Instead, one slow thrust turned to ten, and then Eivor was gripping my hips with a grunt to tilt them higher, my legs wider, his pace quickening, and slowly, I found the pain ebbing way to the dull tightening in my belly.

“Let go,” he murmured, lips finding my own, his fingers back between my thighs. “I have you, ástin mín.” Eivor whispered it again, and again, each time punctuated with a gentle kiss upon my lips. And each time I followed, chasing his lips with my own as my hips began to move against his, with his. I was a bow, pulled taught, an arrow ready to be fired. I was loosed, punched from the precipice, a cry wrenching harshly from my throat to be swallowed by my husband’s lips as his hips stuttered against my own.

And just as I began to come back to myself, Eivor growled, a feral sound against my shoulder as he thrust one last time, and a warmth flooded through my belly. I dimly registered the gothi reciting a final blessing and the murmurs of congratulations as the onlookers shuffled out. I heard neither, entranced with the man above me who did not speak, but instead pressed soft kisses to my brow.

Much later, as we lay bare beneath the furs, our clothing long forgotten, Eivor spoke of the mysterious strangers, Basim and his acolyte Hytham, both from a far away land. His hand carded lazily through my unbound hair as he regaled the story. They had come with Sigurd to learn of Fornburg and its people, though Eivor himself doubted their intentions were true.

“I find myself drifting to Valka’s words, and I wonder if Sigurd understands what he is doing.”

“Valka?” I pillowed my chin on his chest, the coarse hair tickling my chin as my fingers traced over the blue black ink that marked his flesh. “You went to see the Seer?” Eivor grunted in agreement, the sound vibrating against my jaw. “I did not know you put stock in such things.

He nipped at my nose with a sharp smile and a soft growl, ever the wolf. “My father’s axe, it granted me a vision. And Valka helped me to understand,” he answered, blue eyes meeting mine, the intensity there stilling my squirming. “I saw Odin and he spoke to me.” His voice was distant as he recounted the dream. Eivor spoke of his vision, of Sigurd and Fenrir and Valka’s words that brought him no comfort.

“You would never betray your brother,” I soothed, brushing his sweat slicked, dark hair from his forehead. “And her words are just words.” I pressed a kiss to his chest. “If you recall, she told Svend he would gain riches by Yule, and he has instead lost much of his silver gambling.”

“You shall betray three, your brother, your love, and yourself,” Eivor recited his gaze distance.

“Well now we know her words were false, for you would never betray me, Eivor Wolfsmal,” I murmured, smoothing the worry from his brow with sweet kisses.

#assassin's creed valhalla #eivor wolfsmal #eivor x original character #eivor wolfkissed #eivor #m!eivor

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ravensinwinter · 5 years ago

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Ersfjorden, Norway. By - @vivian.ebeltoft.photography

#scenery #photography

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ravensinwinter · 5 years ago

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The Raven in Winter- Chapter One

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27665312/chapters/67698373

This tale will span the events of the game and beyond as Sigrid and Eivor's journey unfolds.

Pairing: Original Female Character x Male Eivor

Author’s note: Quick couple of things! ástin mín/elskan mín roughly translate as my dearest/my darling. Basically Viking pet names! The six witness tradition in a Viking wedding means that a minimum of six people from both families must witness the newlyweds in their marriage bed. (Yikes!) If any of my translations or phrases don’t make sense, please let me know. I’m using the Icelandic translations as that’s the closest you can get to original Norse.

Also, for this story, and in my game, Eivor has dark hair. (Give me unbound viking hair options, Ubisoft, you absolute coward!)

Longships! The cry startled me from my weaving, small fingers catching in the loom. I pulled them back with a sharp curse and a hiss of pain, shoving the digits into my mouth to soothe the ache blossoming there. Hlif answered with a disapproving glare and I quickly withdrew my fingers with an audible pop.

Beside me, Randvi gently set down her weaving with a sigh. I cast a cautious glance toward the other woman, failing to gauge her reaction to the news through her usual stoic mask. I often envied her ability to mask her emotions, though it was easy enough to spot the toll two years of separation had taken on her. I could see it now in the way her fingers gripped the cloth in her lap too tightly. “Do you think Sigurd has returned,” I asked sitting taller on the bench to stare through the window at the growing crowd near the docks.

“I would sooner think that it is Eivor slinking home at last,” Randvi answered, and I found myself nodding in agreement as I cast one last glance towards the window. Eivor had been gone nearly two months now, absconding in the night with a longship against our Uncle’s instruction.

I had awoken on the night he left to find him perched in the window of my small bedroom, the dying light of the fire casting him in a soft glow. He had looked much like Odin in that moment, straight from the stories Hlif had told to us as children.

“Siggy? Are you awake?” He had whispered so softly the sound was nearly lost of the soft crackling of burning logs.

“Eivor?” I blinked owlishly up at him, fingers pulling the thick furs to my chin to cover my thin shift. “What are you doing?” Eivor quietly slipped into my room, his thick boots surprisingly quiet as he crossed to sit beside me.

“Saying goodbye,” he answered, body warm as lay beside me. It was an act he had not done since we were children. I tensed at the feel of his thick arm heavy about my waist. “Your uncle means to remain in Fornburg until Sigurd returns. I am taking a longship to raid.” It was an old argument, one that had resulted in a shouting match that evening, the likes of which would have made the gods jealous at the thunder it produced.

“But, Uncle said…” Eivor silenced me with a soft jab of his elbow to my side. “You mean to go anyway?”

Eivor did not answer.

“Take me with you,” I blurted out, turning to face him. I could barely make out his features in the soft firelight, but by the way his brow furrowed at my words, I could tell he was not pleased.

“Do you remember when you came to Fornburg? A little girl who had lost both her parents?” His hand on my waist was gentle as he pressed me back onto my side, his body slotting against mine.

I hummed in agreement, settling back against him. Eivor pressed his nose to the exposed skin of my neck with a sharp exhale.

“Father had gone to Valhalla, and mother not long after,” I replied softly, eyes focused on the soft orange light the fire cast upon my walls.

“You were so small, so scared,” Eivor murmured, the softness of his voice lulling me back to sleep. “I swore to you that day I would keep you safe.”

I giggled at the memory of Eivor, then a gangly boy taking my hands in his after Sigurd had pulled my hair and declaring that he would be my protector. “From terribly cruel cousins. Do you mean to raid a settlement of bandits who pull on little girl’s braids?”

Eivor laughed, a deep rich sound that surrounded me with unbidden warmth. “Shall I bring you their leader’s head upon a pike, my lady?”

“If you wish, wolf kissed,” I answered, giggling at the soft nip of teeth upon the skin of my neck. “Though would prefer jewels as tribute. Or an offer of marriage from a handsome warrior. “ I answered, sleep beginning to at last overtake me, loosening my tongue. And before I could slap my hand over my lips, Eivor pulled me closer, his hand tight on my belly to silence my squirming.

“Go to sleep, little one” he murmured, mercifully unaffected by my words. Or if he had been, he made no sign of it. And so I did, the warmth of him against me pulling me gently down into a peaceful sleep, and when I awoke in the morning, he was gone.

Eivor Wolfsmal had not returned in two months, and the marketplace became fat with rumors that he had been captured and made to serve Kjotve the Cruel as a thrall. I had never been one for those rumors.

The sounds of the gathering crowd had finally reached the longhouse, thought as I strained to listen, I could not make the words they said. Hlif tutted, a sharp sound startling me back to the room around me and the two women gazing disapprovingly towards me.

“Perhaps it is Eivor returned after all,” I answered, trying hard to keep my voice even, uninterested. I was the ward of the king after all, I could imagine Hlif instructing me as though the words had been said aloud, and I must behave as such.

“I heard a rumor in the market that he means to ask your uncle for your hand in marriage,” Hlif answered, returning to her weaving. “I wonder what treasures he brings to pay your bride price for the wolf-kissed has no wealth of his own.”

I had heard the rumors as well, for they had followed me whenever I left the longhouse. Eivor Wolfsmal had indeed intend to ask for my hand, that much I knew. It had been a truth we had been dancing about since he had kissed me at the Yule celebration nigh a year ago under the shining green lights that shifted in the sky above us.

Our courtship had been secretive, stolen kisses, brief presses of fingers, gifts pressed into hands behind backs as we passed in the longhouse. I longed to embrace him each time he returned, fresh from battle. I had instead stood awkwardly beside Randvi as he greeted my uncle as was customary, biding my time at the feast til I could slip away to our meeting spot in the stables.

Each time I caught his gaze over a tankard of mead or found him staring at me over the crowd, I longed to do so without shame. And though I had pressed many times for him to ask my uncle for permission to marry, my brave warrior’s courage failed him.

“May I go to the docks?” I finally dared to cast a wistful glance towards Hlif who dropped her own weaving with an exasperated sigh.

“Go, you ill mannered beast,” Hlif answered with a pinched expression, her thin lips pulled tight in a grimace. Randvi paired her gentle smile with a wave of encouragement and a promise to join me later. I tore my apron free, tossing the brown fabric uncouthly to the floor.

With a bright smile and a quick stammer of thanks, I tore through the longhouse, pausing just long enough to greet my uncle and his guest with whom he conversed with a polite smile before continuing into the street. Fornburg was crowded, I thought, picking my way through the throngs of the busy market towards the docks. I ducked quickly into the small alley behind Svend’s shop, a short cut I had used countless times to reach the docks. The day before he had sailed, Eivor had pressed me sweetly between the hard form and the cool wood and kissed me til I could scarcely breathe. My fingers traced over my full lips at the memory as cries of Wolf-Kissed and Eivor echoed from the street ahead. Overhead, the squawking of a raven cut through the noise of the crowd.

“Sýnin!” I cried with a bright smile as with one last squawk, the raven crested the building and landed on my shoulder with a friendly chirp. “Hello, pretty bird, I’ve missed you so,” I cooed, fingers stroking the silky feathers beneath the raven’s chin. The comforting weight of the raven on my shoulder helped soothe my rabbit heart as I scanned the crowd. Sýnin cawed in answer, beak pulling at the loose hair of my braid impatiently. “What sort have wonders have you seen?”

“Wolves, as big as horses and trolls as big as wolves. Mountains so tall they blocked out all light. Maidens so fair they rival Freya herself,” came the reply, calloused fingers flicking a lock of dark hair from where it had fallen in front of my eyes. “I see you have charmed Sýnin, you minx.”

Eivor Wolfsmal clicked his tongue, chin motioning to his shoulder expectantly. Sýnin squawked once in disinterest before returning to pull at my hair. “Traitor,” he hissed before turning to smile brightly at me. My heart warmed at the sight, and I found myself answering with a smile of my own as I surveyed the man before me. He appeared to be whole, from the cocky grin that peeked from below his thick dark beard to the way he folded his arms over his broad chest as he stood ever so still. Poised, waiting.

“It appears your raven simply prefers my company to yours, wolf-kissed.” I scratched Sýnin’s chin one last time before she took to the sky. “And I don’t blame her for doing so. I am ever so charming.” I worried my bottom lip, stifling the girlish giggle that bubbled in my throat.

“Come here, little one,” Eivor commanded, his thick fingers crooked, beckoning me to him. And I answered, launching myself into his outstretched arms with a joyous laugh. “I’ve missed you.”

“And I you,” I breathed into the warm fabric at his chest, a height I just barely reached. He smelled still very much like Eivor, pine and soap and the sharp tang of the sea. Your Eivor, some dark part of my mind added as I reluctantly let him go. Though I wished he would press his lips to my own even if we were surrounded by the surge of onlookers. “I think my Uncle may be less pleased with your return.”

“Is he ever pleased with me?” Eivor’s arm was heavy as he draped it about my shoulder and steered us towards the longhouse. I found myself leaning into his embrace. “If I returned from battle surrounded by a host of valkyries, I’m afraid your uncle would still find some grievance with me. You shall just have to charm him as you have always done, Siggy.”

“You shall have to do better than that, Wolf-Kissed, if you mean to gain my Uncle’s favor.” I teased as the longhouse came into view. Eivor hesitated, pausing as he turned to me, expression suddenly serious. I faltered, pulling back at the heavy cloud that suddenly hung between us, as heavy as the weight of his hands upon my shoulders.

“Sigrid.” The sharp exhale of my name gave me pause. I knew what he meant to say next, though I found myself tensing at the words that spilled forth from between his thinned lips. “I intend to ask your uncle for permission to marry.” His words were hushed, soft, and I suspected it was to mask the sound from the crowd around us.

“That is good news, elskan mín,” I murmured, fingers lacing with his, hidden by light blue fabric of my skirts. I studied his clear blue eyes, the sincerity there. And the brief flash of unsettled nerves. Always so easy to read, my brave warrior.

Eivor squeezed my fingers, my eyes fluttering shut at the feel of his calloused skin rasping over my own. “I find myself longing for the moment I can embrace you without worrying about the prying eyes of others.”

“Wait for me, at the stables, just after sundown, ástin mín” he murmured, face ducking to rest his chin upon my shoulder. His broad chest pressed to my own, the heat of his body warming my own even through the thick layers of our clothing. His lips ghosted over my pulse hammering beneath my jaw, ever so softly before he straightened, pinning me with a crooked grin as he stalked off towards the longhouse.

We were married at Midsummer beneath the flowering tree that sat at the foot of the mountains. I had smiled so much on that day that Eivor had teased me for the weeks to follow. And each time he soothed me with sweet words of how I looked as beautiful as Freya herself in my crown of white flowers and my father’s sword upon my hip.

“Are you happy, ástin mín?” He asked when we had finally settled at our bridal table, both still breathless from the bridal race and sufficiently drunk on our shared ale. “You have a glow about you tonight. A man might think you have eaten Iðunn's apples, for you truly are a goddess, my love.”

I wrinkled my nose at the endearment, too sentimental, even for my warrior poet. “Unbearably so, elskan mín. I think I shall die and go to Valhalla from joy before the evening is through.” I choked as I forced another mouthful of ale past my lips. “Or the ale shall finish me first.” When I choked down another mouthful, my husband pulled my flagon from my fingers with a deep chuckle.

“Perhaps you should leave the ale for me, ástin mín, so that you may remember what is left of our wedding night.” Eivor finished the last of the flagon with a deep gulp before refilling it from the seemingly endless bowl of amber mead before us. Eivor had once compared my eyes to the amber color of mead, my hazy mind recalled. Yet the thought did not offer any comfort and I glared at the bowl before us as though I could will it to empty through my willpower alone.

“I do not think we shall ever see our wedding night, for you have drank three flagons already, and I do believe there is more ale here than when we started.” In truth, though I would never admit such a thing to the man who sat beside me, I was glad the feast would be a drawn out affair.

Randvi had explained what would occur upon my wedding night as she helped that morning to dress me in my ornate gown. Eivor and I would finally know each other as husband and wife, though I hadn’t the heart to tell her that our courtship had not been exactly chaste, often stopping just short of indecency.

And the act of lying with Eivor as husband and wife was not what scared me. In fact, I was very much eager to couple with him.

It was the fact that six must bear witness to that coupling for our marriage to be consider consummate. My uncle, Randvi, a priest, and three strangers would each have to watch as Eivor and I rut like beasts beneath the furs. The priest would declare our marriage official, and that would be the end of it. To ensure I was intact, Randvi had explained with a sympathetic smile when I wrinkled my nose at her words.

“With Eivor above you, you shan’t know we are even there,” Randvi soothed as she brushed out my tangled mane of dark hair. “And you’ll find it will be over far faster than you imagined.”

“Was it so when Sigurd and you married?” I drew my knees to my chest beneath my shift, my chin resting upon the scratchy fabric. I had not been witness to her wedding night, for I had been too young and unwed at the time.

“Our marriage is very different from yours,” Randvi answered with a heavy sigh, her fingers catching in my hair and drawing a pained hiss from my lips. “Our love did not come until much later.”

Warm lips that tasted faintly of ale pressed to mine, the rasp of dark beard against my skin drawing me sharply from my thoughts. I gaped at my husband, at the wicked glint in his blue eyes as he finally drew back, his breath warm pants upon the skin of my cheek.

“You are leagues away, ástin mín,” Eivor murmured, calloused thumb brushing over bottom lip. “What troubles you so?”

I did not answer, instead grabbing the flagon from his hands to set it before us. I fidgeted, words failing me, and I was unsure if it was from the nerves or shame that burned in my blood. “My thoughts linger upon our wedding night, elskan mín.”

Eivor answered with a sharp smirk, his fingers trailing down my neck to trace along the fluttering pulse that lay beneath my pale skin. “I find myself lingering there as well.” When I did not respond, his fingers slowed upon my skin, his dark brow knit in concern. “I will not hurt you, ástin mín. I promise that for as long as we both live, no harm will befall you by my hands.” My serious warrior and his pledge did little to calm my nerves.

“Its not that,” I murmured, “I am quite looking forward to that part.” My cheeks were aflame, burning hotter than the fire before us. “It is that we must do so in front of others, Randvi, my uncle. I shall die of shame, Eivor.” I turned away from him, my burning face hidden behind my hands.

“My sweet Sigrid,” Eivor soothed, large hands pulling mine to rest in his lap. “Everyone shall be too drunk to remember anything. Besides,” he pinned me with a wicked smile, “the only sight they shall be treated to is that of my bare arse.”

I giggled at the thought, the ale finally coursing through my blood enough to relax the nerves that twisted in my gut. “That would be quite the sight, husband.” I teased, suddenly brave enough to press a quick kiss to his lips. “Though you shall need to finish our bridal ale first.”

Eivor answered with a wink as he refilled our flagons, though I noted mine had only been half full.

“Ships on the horizon!” The cry came from somewhere near the entrance of the longhouse, and Eivor answered by rising quickly, his hand flying to Varrin’s axe belted at his waist.

“Stay in the longhouse, ástin mín,” Eivor ordered with a quick press of his lips to my forehead, “I shall return soon.” He was gone and in his place was Randvi, her hands cool in mine.

“Would Kjotve be so bold?” I asked her, my own hand gripping hers too tightly. “To attack on our wedding day?”

“Eivor will handle it,” Randvi answered, though I was unsure if it was to soothe my nerves or my own. “Do not worry, Sigrid. It is your wedding after all.”

No sound of battle followed Eivor’s departure, and after a short while, I found myself relaxing enough to sip at the mead Randvi offered. She distracted me with tales of her own wedding, of truths and knowledge on how to care for and please one’s husband, until my own finally returned.

He appeared hale as he crossed to press a sweet kiss to my lips. No wounds covered his skin, nor any gore marred his armor.

“I have a surprise for you, ástin mín,” he answered with a bright smile and another kiss. I followed his gaze to entrance of the longhouse.

And there stood Sigurd Jarl flanked by two strangers.

#assassin's creed valhalla #eivor wolfsmal #m!eivor #assassin's creed #eivor x original character #eivor wolfkissed

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ravensinwinter · 5 years ago

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#eivor #eivor wolfkissed #assassin's creed valhalla #assassin's creed

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ravensinwinter · 5 years ago

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Similarities ~ Ryan Dyar

#photography #scenery #landscape

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ravensinwinter · 5 years ago

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i love one (1) man

#eivor wolfsmal #assassin's creed valhalla

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ravensinwinter · 5 years ago

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Oh, the light. It’s so beautiful!

#male eivor #eivor #assassins creed valhalla #assassin's creed valhalla

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ravensinwinter · 5 years ago

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#assassins creed valhalla

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ravensinwinter · 5 years ago

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The Beauty of Assassins Creed Valhalla | Flurdeh

#assassin's creed valhalla #ac valhalla

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ravensinwinter · 5 years ago

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ASSASSIN’S CREED VALHALLA SCENERY 2/∞ >> Norwegian sunsets

#assassin's creed valhalla #ac valhalla scenery

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ravensinwinter · 5 years ago

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The amazing concept art of Even Amundsen, Jeff Simpson, Pierre Raveneau and Yelim Kim for Assassin’s Creed Valhalla

Artbook: The Art of Assassin’s Creed Valhalla

#assassin's creed valhalla #concept art #ubisoft #character

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ravensinwinter · 5 years ago

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ASSASSIN’S CREED: VALHALLA

#assassin's creed valhalla #eivor wolfsmal #eivor wolfkissed #assassin's creed

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ravensinwinter · 5 years ago

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He mad

#assassin's creed valhalla #eivor #eivor wolfkissed

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ravensinwinter · 5 years ago

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Raven in Winter: Prologue

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27665312/chapters/67698284

This tale will span the events of the game and beyond as Sigrid and Eivor's journey unfolds.

Pairing: Original Female Character x Male Eivor

Author’s note: This is my first ever fan fiction, so hopefully its good. Ubisoft really gave the world a gift with small, soft viking Eivor. Sigrid is my own creation, and I’m gonna apologize for the similar names, I just liked hers too much to change it. Also wanted to give Randvi a friend because she seems so lonely in the game! Hope you enjoy!

A gaggle of orphans stood before him, and Styrbjorn knew that somewhere in the halls of Valhalla, his Gyda was laughing at the thought. Orphans, gods above, he had turned soft in his old age. What had he become, a fierce warrior turned even fiercer king, now a deliver of punishments to sopping wet children. “I shall ask again,” he stated as gently as he could through an annoyed exhale of breath, “who possessed the foolish idea to go onto the lake?”

The pair cast a fearful gaze at each other, the sound of their chattering teeth the only noise echoing through the longhouse. The younger of the pair spoke first, her response choked around the violent shaking of her limbs beneath the sodden wool of her grey shift.

“I did,” she answered, brown eyes cast towards the worn planks of the floor, her small feet shifting restlessly. “There was a hare on the ice, Uncle.” The girl babbled on, hurriedly defending the silent boy beside her. “I had fallen through the ice and Eivor saved me.”

“And who told you to go to the lake, Sigrid?” The girl fidgeted again, eyes traveling for a moment to land upon the youth sitting to Styrbjorn’s right before casting them again back to the floor.

Ah, so his suspicions had been correct. Predictably, his son caught the gaze of the girl with a pinched expression before quickly masking it with one of boredom. He would need to learn to school such expressions should he wish to become king. “Sigurd.” Styrbjorn motioned his son forward. “Was it you who brought your cousins to the lake?”

Sigurd did not answer, instead folded his arms across his chest, his expression more strained than before. “No, father.”

“Did to!” Eivor cried, roused from his silence. For a moment, the challenge that flashed in his blue eyes reminded Styrbjorn of his brother. “Sigurd said that if we did not go to the lake with him, the he would send trolls to throw us into the ocean!” Beside him, Sigrid nodded rapidly in agreement.

“Did not!” The older boy challenged, surging forward to grasp his cousin by the front of his tunic and hauled him from the ground. “I should pummel you for lying, wolf-kissed.”

“Uncle! Sigurd made us go to the lake,” Sigrid stammered, dark eyes wide in panic. “He wanted to go hunting, but no thrall would join him so he made us go!”

His son released Eivor with a grunt as he rounded on his younger cousin. When Sigurd moved to speak, Styrbjorn silenced him with a sharp glare. “Continue, Sigrid.”

“It was my fault that we went on the ice. I head his cries and rushed to save him when the ice gave way! Eivor swam in to save me,” Sigrid stammered. “Please don’t punish them, Uncle.”

“Your penchant for mercy rivals that of Eir, little one. For that, I shall spare you any punishment.” Sigrid bowed, her fingers wringing nervously behind her back. “You are dismissed. Find Hlif and have her draw you a bath before you catch a chill.” Sigrid cast one last fearful glance towards her cousins before scurrying off.

Styrbjorn exhaled sharply, thick fingers pinching at the bridge of his nose. “Why is it, between the three of you, Sigrid is the only one to have developed a pair of stones?”

“Father…” Sigurd was again silenced with a sharp glare.

“As punishment, the pair of you will clean the stables, and you will not be welcome at the feast til it is done. I am sure Torfi will appreciate the reprieve.” Styrbjorn waved his hand to dismiss the boys.

“Father!” Sigurd exclaimed, blue eyes sharp and bright with barely harnessed rage. “I am the son of a king, I shall not do the work of a thrall! Have Eivor do it! He seems content to wallow in the muck!”

“Enough!’ Styrbjorn tore to standing, silencing his son. “I am your king and your father, and you shall do as I say.”

Sigurd tore from the hall with a half muttered curse, Eivor silently trailing after him, leaving Styrbjorn alone in the now silent hall. Now he was certain that Gyda would be laughing at him. Between his son’s fiery temper and the rambunctiousness of his wards, she would have scolded him so. You must have a heavy hand with such children, Gyda had chided when Sigurd had entered his eighth year and had ordained himself as a master horseman. Two broken arms later, Styrbjorn had been at a loss on curbing his son’s temperament. Gyda had been patient, always so patient, Styrbjorn thought with a sigh. Gods grant him to have such patience. For, now alone, he was certain he would not live to see the promised glory of old age.

At least Eivor would accept his punishment, and though he would complain, Sigurd would as well. And not long after, Sigrid would join them as she always did, dutifully suffering alongside her cousins. Perhaps he had done a good enough job raising at least one of his wards.

And as he had predicted, Sigrid snuck away from the feast to join her cousins in the stable. With a small smile she pressed sweet rolls into each of their hands. And once the trio finished their treats, Sigrid took her place in Sigurd’s stead with a murmur of wishes that he may enjoy the feast.

“Siggy?” Eivor called her name from between the stalls, his dark head of hair poking up just above the wooden slats. Sigrid appeared at the edge of the stall, small fingers gripping the handle of her broom. “Go to bed.”

“We aren’t finished sweeping,” she answered, voice soft, her brown eyes blinking owlishly at him in the dim light.

“Uncle punished Sigurd and I.”

“It was my fault we got caught.” She had resumed her sweeping, the quiet brush of the horse hair broom nearly lost over the sound of feasting beyond the stable doors. “And we’ll finish faster if there are two of us.”

When Styrbjorn awoke the next morning, head still clouded with honeyed mead and celebration, he found none of his wards to greet him at breakfast. “Must still be sleeping,” he groused, polishing off the last of his breakfast. He would take Sigurd hunting that morning, he thought, casting a glance at his son where he slumped against the table, softly snoring. And perhaps Eivor as well.

Sigurd roused easily enough, plied with the promise of hunting and watered down ale, and when father and son reached the stables, quite the sight greeted them.

As instructed, the stable had been swept, the horses fed, the stalls cleaned. But what brought a gentle smile to the old king’s face was the sight of his wards, wrapped about each other like kits, fast asleep in the straw.

#assassin's creed valhalla #assassin's creed #m!eivor #eivor wolfsmal #eivor x original character #ac valhalla

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