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sigrun-valkyrie · 4 months ago

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I never blamed you for loving me the way you did.

Lestat De Lioncourt x reader

Summary; Lestat De Lioncourt had a wife once. And a beautiful life. Until he lost everything. Warnings; fail marriage, blood and injuries, vampire sex, character deaths, suicide, self-hatred, penis in vagina sex, creampie, sex as a coping mechanism, child loss, grief and mourning, ANGST, hurt no comfort, BISEXUAL Lestat de Lioncourt

Word count: 11,181

(Pre-canon)

Lestat had spent decades on this planet. He had known thousands of people, been to hundreds of cities, lain with both women and men. He had fallen in love, once upon a time. And he had known loneliness. He knew it even before he was turned into this vile creature. When he had to spend his days in his cold bed as a little human child. As his father and brothers torture toy, his mother’s suffocating burden, when had to spend days in Satan’s dungeon with the dead and the undead, waiting for his final day see his god for the first and last time. The nights he prayed to God to spare his life and how his prayers turned to pleadings for his death. He begged it to be quick and painless. He wanted his mother’s comfort that he never knew. He wanted to go back to church and attend the sunday service with the people of his small town. He wanted to hold cross one more time and feel the love of Christ in his bones.

He thought about God and Jesus and his mother when Magnus nearly ripped his neck open with his sharp fangs one night. He drank so much that Lestat thought he saw a bright light in the corner of his eye. He felt his soul slip away from his body and the lightness wash over him. It was a comfort that he never felt in his entire life before. Not when he used to lay beside that tree on the hill and exchange glances with the pretty looking shepherd boy as the warm breeze danced with his own blonde curls. Not when he fell asleep with that beautiful daughter of the baker by the river, naked, arms wrapped around one another, his head on her chest, listening to her heart beats.

He had tasted blood for the first time when Magnus pressed his bleeding wrist to his lips. Lestat started to drink. He had no idea why he was drinking. It was an instinctual command coming from his body, from his very existence. He felt life come back to him. But not his soul, it was gone. He felt his flesh harden like rocks and the colour drain away from his rosey cheeks of humanity. He felt Magnus’s blood flow trough his veins, fast and burning. He felt the warmth in his chest. His fingertips hurt with the sharp nails that grew in seconds. His eyes were sore and when he opened them again, the bright colours made him dizzy. He could hear everything and everyone. He could feel everything at once. He wanted to die. He wanted to beg Magnus to stop playing with him and let him die peacefully. And he was alone one more time when Magnus died in the flames, in front of his eyes. He smelled his burning rotten flesh. Dying like him disgusted Lestat.

Over time his yearning for God’s love turned into grudge. He wondered why God let him turn into this blood thirsty monster. Yes, that was what he was. A monster trough and trough. And no one would dare to love a monster like him. Even tho the monster would love anyone in the purest way possible if he was given chance.

And he did. Lestat loved Nicolas. As much as he could at least. Nicki was a troubled man since the first moment Lestat laid his eyes on him. He thought that being with him and having countless adventures could change him and plant seeds of happiness into soul. But it didn’t. He hesitated turning him into a vampire when Nicki was begging him to do so. He could sense the consequences of doing it. But spending centuries with the man he loved convinced Lestat. Nicki sinked into his dark thoughts more. His violin played with sadness and sorrow more than ever. Lestat felt his darkness in himself. He could not hear but see Nicki’s feelings in is empty looking eyes. He felt the guilt filling his heart as his first love was turning into someone he didn’t know. Armand’s presence wasn’t helping at all.

Lestat never thought about being loyal to his spouses when the world was full of fruits in different shapes and colours and tastes. There was so much to explore in his infinite life time. Armand was a capturing thing. With his eyes looking into his soul and reading him like an open book. Armand was offering so many things to Lestat that no one ever could. He yearned for the care and affection from Armand. He wanted to drink from him, lay with him and taught by him how to survive, live with the nature of a vampire. But being with Armand in front of the eyes of Nicki pushed the poor boy into madness more and more every passing day. Lestat was hungry but not for the destruction of the ones he loved.

He left Paris with his mother. He had left Nicki and Armand and the theatre. Only to receive the news of Nicki’s death. He fell onto his knees when they sent his violin to him. He touched the places where Nicki’s fingertips traced over. And he played it for the last time to feel his lover again. It didn’t matter if he was feeling Nicki’s love, rage or sadness. He only wanted a piece of him. His lips trembled when he played his favourite melody. The melody Nicki would play for Lestat after the moments they spent in each others arms, tasted one another and explore the corners of pleasure. He remembered that fearless little boy that he met with back in the day, when they were both humans. He remembered the shy glances of Nicki when he was looking at Lestat’s eyes, lips and every detail on his face. He remembered the moments they danced together and his mother would sing for them. He remembered their last happy moments. Tears of blood flowed down his cheeks and stained his white shirt.

He was alone again when his mother left him. He felt unlovable. Even his own mother couldn’t stand his presence. How could anyone in this world would love a man like him? By that time he had forgotten how it felt like being close to god and feel his love. He knew that God left him when he was turned into a seed of devil. He wanted to scream and shout and tell God that he never had a chance to choose. If he could he would choose God over everyone and everything without a second thought. Therefore Lestat knew believing in something higher and more powerful than you was a great comfort and happiness a man could ever have.

He traveled for years after his mother left him. He wondered around the countries, saw humans kill one another, cheat on one another, trick one another and destroy one another. He saw that it was not only him that was hungry for something he couldn’t name. Then his bright greyish blue eyes found the figure of a little human being in the crowd, dancing with a beautiful smile on her face. His eyes watched you for the whole dance. He heard your fast breaths, how they go trough your delicate nose and reach to your lungs that were still fresh and youthful compared to his rotten body. He saw the drops of sweat sliding trough your temple, your hair damp and the braid crown that was about to fall off. He heard your laugh, full of life and joy. He saw your skirts fly off as you tap your feet on the floor with your human strength. Your dance made him smile. His smile widened as you kept dancing and laughing. He felt like he never saw something or someone more alive. He felt a warmth in his chest. So different from the one felt when he first drank Magnus’s blood. It was type of warmth he felt when he was still human, when he had fears of a human and desires of a human.

He took you into his arms as you were still dancing. The dance floor was crowded as you felt his hands on you. You turned around and saw the most beautiful pair of eyes that you ever saw in your entire life. It felt natural to be in his arms, to be close to him and smiling at him. Lestat looked into your eyes as both of you danced trough the song. You didn’t want this song to ever finish. His body was pressed against yours and it felt like you were the only ones in the dance floor, in the world. He felt your gentle hands on his arms, going to his shoulders. It felt tingly and he realised how much he missed this human feeling. He laughed when you accidentally stepped on his feet and his laugh sounded more beautiful than thousand melodies that you ever heard. Which musician could ever write a song that sounded like his joy? Who could ever be the inspiration and make any musician to write it?

You watched his blonde long curls shine under the colourful lights. The thought of running your fingers trough his curls sent shivers down your spine. Lestat shook slightly when he heard your thoughts. You didn’t think about laying with him right away or take advantage of things that he might offer you. You only wanted to caress his hair. Something his mother never did. He closed his eyes and leaned down to your neck. The flavour of your blood filled his nostrils in seconds. He felt dizzy and wrapped his arms tighter around you. You felt his lips ghost over your skin and you had to hold onto him.

“Wait for me, ma cherie.” He whispered and you opened your eyes. Your arms were on the air, hugging no one. You felt coldness wash over your burning cheeks.

“Wait for me.” You heard his voice again. You turned around but he was no where to be seen. Your hands held your long skirts and put the strands of hair behind your ear. People around you kept dancing as you walked out of the dance floor with shaky legs.

Lestat watched you for the rest of the night from far afar. You didn’t dance again or laugh. You sat down, sipped on your drink, answered question when they were referring to you and looked for him with curious eyes. He felt sense of pride in his heart. Not because a mortal girl was mesmerised by him but because it was you that was mesmerised by him. You were not his prey of the night. He could fill that place with someone anytime, anyone could be his meal tonight. No, you were meant to be alive, and you were meant to be by his side.

For eight long weeks he watched your every step. He watched you wake up every morning, have breakfast with your family, attend your daily lessons, sew with your lady friends, read your books by your window and think about him. He could hear your sweet dreams about him, even when he was in his house. You were waking up everyday, hoping to see him somehow. You thought about telling your mother many times. Maybe she would’ve known about that otherworldly lord that attended the party in the gambling club. He watched you blush like a cherry in summer when one of your mother’s friends pointed out that you were zoning out and getting lost in your thoughts pretty often, just like a young lady in love would do. Your mother laughed it off as you kept your eyes on the floor and your thoughts on Lestat.

He watched you go home that day. Slip away from the heavy layers of your dress, undo your beautifully braided hair and lay on your back on the bed. Your room was lightened by the few candles on your desk and nighstand. He could hear your heart beating fast as you pictured his eyes again and again. Oh how beautiful he was. As if carved by God himself carefully within the image of an angel. You could feel that weird, tingly sensation in your stomach when you remembered his lips on your skin. Lestat smiled softly as you drifted into sleep thinking about him. And he was in your room. He walked to your desk first and looked over the poetry books you were reading, and the some poems you tried to write. A little poet i have hear, Lestat thought.

He walked to your bed. His hands traced over your neck to your chest and lastly to your stomach. His touch was so soft and light, he could feel you hardly. But he could feel your warmth so clearly. He could feel it even with just being in your room. He tried to remember the last time he felt the warmth of humanity in him. Nearly two centuries. He sat on your bed and looked at your sleeping figure. You looked so peaceful. Oh, what he wouldn’t give to sleep for night without all those memories haunting him? He listened to your heart beats for a moment and the way your eyes were moving slightly during your sleep. He leaned over you, to your neck. He inhaled deeply as his lips were close to your skin. For a moment he feared that his cold lips would wake you up but you didn’t open your yes. Your blood made his mouth watery. He was so hungry. For blood yes, but he was hungry for something more. Something that could make him feel alive after two centuries of being dead. Something that would make his heart beat faster with excitement again.

He wondered if God was looking down at two of you in that moment. If he was, would he let Lestat to defile one more of his human children? If yes, why? Wasn’t it both torture for Lestat and them? He had the blood of thousands on his hands. And there was no soap or water in this world that could wash it away from him. He was carrying all his victims within himself. They were in his veins, staining his fangs.

He laid his body on top of yours slowly, gently. His broad shoulders blocked your eyes and his legs trapped you between them. Your eyes opened wide with the pressure on your stomach. First you could only see darkness, then you felt a cold hand against your cheek.

“Don’t be afraid, mon cœur.” He whispered. Your fast breathing calmed in seconds. He looked down at your face and your gaze met with his own. You looked divine under the moonlight, under him. The way your eyes were still half open, in the grasp of sleep. And the way your cheeks were flushed with shyness and excitement. But not fear. His eyes found your lips lastly. Your lips that were slightly open, sucking in little breaths, looking all soft and warm. Lestat felt your hardened tetes peaking trough your nightgown, pressed against his tough chest.

You saw his bright blue eyes go darker with lust and his teeth grow into sharp fangs that only a wild animal would have. You felt his sharp nails digging into your skin and make you bleed. You both hissed as his fingertips got covered with your blood. He snarled just like an animal as the smell of fresh blood surrounded his very being. Your body trembled and you held onto his arms tightly

“Are you going to kill me?” You whispered. You did not feel horror, or rage or sorrow. You were only exited as he held you in his arms. Lestat smiled softly at your question. He pressed his nose against your cheek and inhaled your scent one more time. Your humanly, sweet smell made him dizzy. He felt an unfamiliar sensation down below his stomach.

“No, I will give you life. Better than the one you have.” He said and bite down your neck. First thing you felt was a sharp pain that made your neck go numb. You could not move, rather dare to move. It felt like if you moved, the pain would get worse. Lestat let his body go and laid on top of you fully, giving his whole weight. You opened your legs and welcomed his slender figure. And for the first time in decades, Lestat felt like he was home.

The wound that his fangs made on your neck started to burn when he licked and played with it with his tongue. The tears filled your eyes as Lestat laid his head on your neck. He kept drinking from you, slowly, taking little sips with the tip of his tongue, still breathing in your scent. His arms were wrapped around you and you could feel him all over you. He felt himself harden against your hips. He had to do it. He had to put an end to his loneliness.

He slashed his wrist with his nails, deep enough for him to bleed. Then he pressed his wrist against your lips. Your slowly closing eyes opened up at once as the strange taste of blood hit your tongue. Lestat shifted his position to open up the breaches of his trousers. He watched you drink him up hungrily as he lifted your skirt up to your waits. You felt his cold fingertips tracing over your bare stomach and thighs. His blood tasted sweet. Sweeter than the liquors you tasted in the balls, sweeter than the sherbets in the centre of the candies you ate, sweeter than the tropical fruits that your father bought very rarely.

You felt your whole body burn in need, in lust. You felt the buzzing sensation in your brain and your ears ringed. You pushed his hand away and pressed your lips against his own. You had to have him. It was a primal instinct that made you think so. Lestat held your back and positioned himself against your leaking entrance. Your warm walls welcomed him. You were sweet, warm and wet. In that moment it felt like it was all he ever needed. You tasted each other’s blood on your lips as his tongue explored your mouth. The he pushed you back and pressed his wrist back onto your lips. He wanted you to drink, cure your thirst and hunger with him.

He thrusted into you hard and deep as you kept drinking and drinking. He had to tend to you, he had to care for his fledgling. You were his. From head to toe, you belonged to him. Magnus had never claimed him as his own. His mother had no maternal instinct for him. He belonged to no one in this entire world. Nicki was in his own little world despite the love Lestat gave him. And Armand would never belong to anyone. Oh but you, you were perfect for him. Your walls tightened and it drove him over the edge. He ripped his arm away from you and held your face. You whined in need for his blood. His length went deeper and deeper into you as your shaky breaths hit his face.

He heard your heart sync with his own as he looked into your eyes. Your face was covered in blood as you moaned in pleasure. Lestat wanted to get lost in you. He wanted to be buried in you. He spent himself in you with one last thrust and felt your walls tighten more than before as you choked on your breaths and held him tight against you. He looked down at you and saw your thighs and his pubes sticky with blood. I had claimed her in every way possible, he thought.

He let you lay back down as he laid himself on top of you. You tried to catch your breath and he laid his head on your chest, between your breasts. Lestat kissed your skin, his lips left marks of blood on you. Then he felt your hands in his hair. Your fingers played with his lose curls that was ruined when he lost himself in pleasure. He felt your fingertips caressing his forehead and temple, gently, softly. You were still gentle with him even after what he did to you. His shoulders relaxed under your touch and he let out a shaky breath. What was he going to do now? He should’ve ask you before turning you and prisoning you into darkness. How he was different from Magnus when he just grabbed you like a piece of meet and drank your essence of life just to replace it with his rotten, blood of death?

“My family will think I coupled with the devil.” You whispered as you kept caressing his hair. Lestat’s breath hitched in his troath. He looked up to you under his lashes. He looked like a scared little boy in this light. A little boy that feared the monsters under his bed, scared of his father’s rage, scared of life and death. The tears of blood filled his eyes as he looked into your eyes. He saw the bright colour of your irises that matched your new nature. He nodded as he agreed with your statement.

“You have.” He said quietly as he avoided your eyes. He heard your small chuckle, felt his arm move as your chest rised up. You were still so calm. Maybe you were in shock after what he did to you. Poor girl, Lestat thought. I have driven one more innocent into madness.

“How come devil is so pretty then?” You asked as your fingertips trailed around his eyebrows. He stopped frowning with your touch. Then your touch continued to his eyes. Then to his nose. You caressed his straight bone. Finally your fingertips reached to his lips. Your hand brought grace to his well shaped lips. He planted a small kiss to your fingers.

“I never knew devil would look so perfect.” You whispered. As if even you couldn’t believe what you were saying. But Lestat heard you. He heard you so well that he received your compliment as a sharp pain into his heart. Growing up he had always heard that he was a pretty boy. Many of his lovers had said so even after his humanity was ravaged. But he couldn’t see anything but a monster when he looked at himself in the mirror. He had a attraction for violence. He couldn’t feel fulfilled if he didn’t kill. And he couldn’t satisfy himself if he didn’t hurt.

“You don’t know what I am. How can you say I am perfect after what I’ve done to you?” He asked his his tears started to spill from his eyes. You caught them before they could flow down his cheeks. Your small, soft smile remained on your lips. Lestat thought that he never seen someone so beautiful. He was surrounded by your smell, your beauty and compassion. He was covered in your blood and you were carrying his blood. He felt himself warm next to you. Centuries of coldness in his chest was replaced with your smile. He could feel your body calling for him, desperate for his touch and taste. There was a soreness in his troath. He wanted to scream it out.

“You have bewitched me.” You said, almost like a confession. His sharp gaze found your eyes immediately. Lestat’s tears kept spilling from his eyes as he laid his head on your chest again. He stayed in your arms who knows for how long. How could he let you go know? When you were calling him perfect, even after seeing his blood thirsty animalistic side, touching him with love and passion, carrying a piece of him in you, opening your arms for him without a question and accepting him as he is?

The next time Lestat knew loneliness was the hardest time.

You were a great companion, lover and a wife for him after the night he had you in your room, in your bed of youth and innocence. You were a brave little thing that was ready to face an army for him. He felt like the luckiest man alive when your laughs echoed trough the walls of your home. After decades he was finally living, sleeping in a house that he called home. He tried to taught you french but you were impatient and often ran away from his grasp to play his favourite melodies on the piano. He couldn’t get mad at you and watched you for hours as you played, looking at him for the whole time with a big grin on your face. He bought you the finest dresses in your favourite colours, had beautiful jewellery made for you. He loved making you happy more than everything in the whole world.

You were getting into an excited hurry every time you two decide to host a party in your home. People of your city were adoring both of you as a couple. You were so cheerful that there was no room people didn’t smile and the place didn’t lighten up as you entered. Men and women considered themselves lucky if you danced with them. But Lestat knew your first and last dance always belonged to him. Your heart and soul belonged to him. He didn’t know how many nights he pressed his forehead against yours, smiled like a teenage boy in the bliss of love and lifted you into air as your skirts flied behind you and your laughs filled ears of fortunate mortals. His heart was syncing with someone that loved him deeply. And he was so full of love, that he couldn’t remember the times he had lost himself in darkness.

He would have children with you if he could. If he was still a human. He would love to raise a boy that looked like you and a girl that looked like him. He had imagined the picture many nights as he closed his eyes in his coffin, his arms wrapped tight around you. He could see them running around the house, laughing beautifully like you. He could see them growing up and having their own lives as he grew old with you. I was so close to have a life, he thought after every single time he dreamt. The thought brought him sorrow. But he had you. It was more than enough for him.

Lestat met with your family when you two decided to get married. Your parents loved him. They called him a great gentleman with knowledge and culture. A husband fit for my daughter’s hand, your father said. But as the years went by and you still didnt have children or added wrinkle over there and there, your family sank nto silence. The letters became lesser and lesser. By the last letter, it was a dry piece of paper with few words written on it. No feelings, no longing or great love of your mother. You two attended the funeral of your father as he passed away after 15 years of your marriage to Lestat. Your mother’s eyes filled with tears and hatred as you watched your father getting buried. Lestat held you as you fought so hard to keep your tears back from spilling. You could see everyone’s eyes on you, examining you with fear planted in their heart, convinced that you are no longer the girl they knew. You tried to approach your mother and got blocked by cousins and other relatives.

“Tell that devil to leave my poor girl's body and find someone else to be the servant of satan.” You mother’s harsh voice made you step back. And Lestat could hear your heart shatter into pieces. He knew her words were referring to him. How many times I will hear the same thing, phrased differently? He thought. After the funeral you refused to leave your bed chambers for days. You didn’t eat even if Lestat hunted for you. You refused to sleep either. As the sun rose from the east and Lestat closed his coffin, he could hear your muffled cries in your own coffin. You couldn’t get yourself to sleep with him. You couldn’t get yourself to face to world. Your mind kept drifting back to the times you were with your family and how much they loved you. Lestat never wished something as much he wished to hear your thoughts and take your pain away. If he could, he would take all it of to himself. He was used to be in pain since he knew himself. But seeing his sunshine fade away was like tying his hands and feet and abandon him to starve to death.

After days, you left your coffin for the first time. Lestat’s bright eyes scanned your body head to toe. All he could see was a hungry vampire that was broken. Your under eyes were purple and your skin was paler than usual. The veins under your skin was showing trough. You could barely walk and talk as he held you in his arms and carried to the living room. Your hands fell to your thighs and he fell to his knees in front of you. His eyes were filled with concern and fear.

“Ma cherie, you need to eat something.” He said as he tried to make eye contact with you desperately. But your eyes were avoiding him by all cost. Your lips parted and some whispers left your mouth. Lestat leaned closer to hear you.

“It’s you.” He heard you say. He frowned and his mouth opened but nothing came out.

“I don’t understand.” He said quietly after a moment. You looked like a mess in front of him. And he wanted nothing more than pulling you back into his arms and never let you go.

��You never did.” You said as you finally made eye contact with him. “You are the reason of my current state.”

Lestat felt your words form into a dagger and stab him on his heart. His stomach dropped and he fought the urge to get away from you. He wanted to step away and take one more step away and one more… Your eyes were looking at him differently. There was a feeling he never felt from you before. Hate.

“You made me what I am and you ruined me.” Your voice sharp and your eyes full of bitterness. You collected all your strength to get up but it was not enough to keep you standing. Lestat held you gently before you could fall. Then he felt your sharp nails scratch him and rip his hands away from you.

“Don’t ever touch me.” You hissed and crawled away on the big sofa. Lestat’s eyes could not leave the empty space that you used to sit. He could hear your heart beating fast and he could almost taste the poison in your words you spoke out and you were going to speak out.

“You put me in a prison that I will never be able to leave. No matter what I do.” You said. Lestat looked over you and saw the tears of blood flow down your cheeks. Your fragile figure broke his heart repeatedly. He came in front of you on his knees and tried to hold your hand but you pulled away again. He sighed and did his best to hold his tears back.

“It will get better. In time everything will feel less weird and more normal. You will embrace what you are.” Your eyebrows lifted and a cold smirk appeared on your lips.

“And what is that? A murderer? A sinner? A cursed woman?” Your voice raised with each word and Lestat moved away. He turned around to avoid your eyes and words. His left hand found the corner of the window to lean down and his right hand covered his mouth. Muffled cries left his lungs as he shut his eyes tight.

“You will carry this feeling for the rest of your life.” You said and your presence left the house in seconds. Lestat did not move from his spot as he felt you going away from him. Your heart beats faded away in the night until he couldn’t hear you anymore. Me and you both, he wanted to say.

8 years.

He didn’t see you for 8 years after that night. He knew you were out of the city, far away from him. He called for you every night for a year at first. He screamed your name in darkness, hoping desperately that maybe you would hear and answer him. But you didn’t. Once his voice became hoarse, he wrote letters to your family. But got nothing back. Was it still possible for them to take you back after everything? Your mother couldn’t look at you and your siblings had nothing but fear and disgust in their eyes when they glanced at your direction. You were truly all alone in the entire world. You had no one but the person who trapped you into loneliness.

Lestat wandered around the city for days, searching for your scent, your gentle figure. You were no where to be found. He stopped going out after some time and trapped himself into his house. His coffin was full of pictures he could find of you. For nights he stared at your smiling face, frozen in those moments of happiness and joy. He missed your smile. He craved for you in every way possible. The house felt like a grave and his good old friend, the coldness was back. The memories of his youth started to haunt him one by one as he laid in his coffin during daytime. He could not find sleep when your side of the coffin was all empty.

He thought about his life before and after Magnus. He wondered if he would have a good life still if he wasn’t turned into a vampire. The thought of not meeting with you sent a gut-wrenching pain to his stomach. You’d be centuries apart, in different lives and countries. The picture of you marrying a decent man that your family found for you, wear a wedding dress for him, have his children, raise kids that looked like you and some man, have fights and love making nights with him, grow old with him and hold his hand while you greeted by the merciful arms of death made him tear up. He felt his heart pound painfully fast in his chest. A sob ripped from his throat and this time he didn’t cover his mouth. The guilt ate him from inside out. The honeymoon was over and now, he had the face the fact that he stole your whole life, your one chance of being alive, only for him to take your love for himself, selfishly and hungrily.

As the days turned into weeks and weeks urned into months, Lestat started to lose his hopes of seeing you again. Once again he was assured that no one could love a man like him. He didn’t want to stay in the house that use to be the home to two of you. Every corner was you and he couldn’t finish a day without thinking of the times you had spent together. But the small chance of you coming back made him stay. If you wanted to come back, you would love to see everything same and your husband waiting for you, Lestat told himself in the moments of doubt.

And one day you opened that door and came back. He was in the music room when he heard your heart beats. He felt like the time had frozen and his heart skipped a beat. His fingers on the piano stopped, his lips twitched with longing and tears formed in his eyes. When he saw you again, standing in front of him, beautiful as always, he wanted to get on his knees in front of you and beg you to forgive him for what he did to you. Then his eyes found the little body of the human boy in your arms. The child was maximum 4 and he was shaking uncontrollable. His blonde hair was dump on his forehead and weak breaths mixed with moans were leaving his mouth. Lestat didn’t need to be doctor to know that the boy was in great pain. And perhaps fear.

“He is going to die.” You said and hearing your voice after years made Lestat break down. He had to turn around at the doorway to hide his tears.

“Help me. Please.” Cracked noise from your sore throat was heard in the room. The boy was clinging to your dress, like a little lamb. You walked towards your husband as you held the little child tighter.

“Please save him. For me?” Lestat didn’t know if he was feeling grateful that you were back, guilty for his mistake or angry because you only showed up when you needed something from him. He looked at the boy. He was cute little thing with blue eyes like ocean and long blonde lashes that framed his doe eyes. He saw his clear tears run down his face as he coughed. An innocent, Lestat thought. An innocent dying in the arms of the woman I love.

“You can turn him. I don’t know how to. But you do. Please Lestat.” He saw your tears dripping down to the boy’s hands on your dress. The pain in your voice twisted his stomach. You sounded helpless and he whished nothing more than take this feeling away from you.

He shook his head no.

“I can’t.” He spoke. The dryness in his voice made more tears fall down your eyes. You held the boy closer to your heart. His head rested on your heart as you caressed his blonde curls. The curls that reminded you so much of Lestat.

“Yes, you can. Do it for me, please!” You were ready to beg if you needed to. There was nothing more you wanted than saving his little life. He had to live. He had to survive this filthy world and show everyone that he was strong. And maybe you would have a chance of being a mother.

“Children cannot be turned.” Lestat said as he reached out to hold you but you took a step back. You were shaking your head endlessly as tears kept flowing down your cheeks.

“Great laws forbid it. Otherwise a vampire child would live in misery.” He remembered Marius’s voice as he spoke these words to him before he sent him away. Someone under 17 cannot be given the dark gift.

“Laws? Are you serious? He will die if you don’t save him!” Your scream echoed through the walls and found his ears and heart. Your anger and sorrow shook him slightly. He knew he was walking on thin ice in this very moment. You could turn around and leave him again. And never come back this time. Who knows maybe you would find another vampire out there that could be your companion? Or turn this little boy for you to only make you happy? The thought hardened his blood and tightened his chest.

“My love, he won’t be saved if I turn him. He will live his life in desperation. For something more. Something he will never have.” He said gently as he wiped his tears away. He had to be strong. For both of you. His eyes found the boy again. He was so thin. Lestat wanted to put an end to his suffering. The boy’s eyes opened slightly and he looked at you. His fingers were shut tight over the fabric of your dress. Lestat could feel your love and care for him. You felt like you had to protect him. The boy’s big eyes found him. He looked at him with softness and hope. His eyes are full of life even when his life slips away from his body, just like hers were once upon a time, Lestat thought.

“We can be a family Lestat. He can be our son.” You said quietly. As if you feared that the world would take him away from you if they heard your words. “He looks just like you.”

Lestat didn’t look away from the boy. Yes, he did look like him. His blonde curls were just over his shoulders and his nose was small like Lestat’s nose when he was little. His mother loves him, unlike mine, he told himself.

“You and I and him. We can be happy together. We can try again.” The desperation in your voice broke his heart. You were willing to go back to him. To where you belong. Lestat wanted you back in the house, in his arms, in his coffin. He wanted you on his lips, on his skin. He wanted your fangs back in his neck and your heart on his. He wanted to be the one made you smile again and he wanted to be your dance partner in your extravagant parties. He wanted the boy to watch two of you as you danced and clap for his parents. He wanted to take him into his arms and feel a father’s strength in his bones. He wanted the pure and unconditional love of a son. The one he used to have for his father, way before he became his father’s unexplainable enemy. He wanted to see the boy become a man and be his pride.

“We are killers. A child has no place among the demons.” His words cut sharp as the boy started to cough again. The blood covered his lips as you tried to calm him down. Your own tears were spilling uncontrollably and sobs were coming between your lips. Lestat heard your irregular heartbeats.

“He cannot die.” You said between your sobs and cries as the boy kept coughing his blood out. You fell to your knees and kept his little head on your heart. His small, fragile hands were holding your hand tight. The fear in his eyes were piercing trough Lestat chest. He knelt beside you, held your back to his chest as you rocked back and forth. Both of you stopped breathing as the boy’s heartbeats started to slow down. His breaths calmed down and he closed his eyes. He clinged to your cold skin and did not let your hand go. With his last breath your head dropped back to Lestat’s shoulder. His arms were wrapped tight around both you and the boy. His long fingers intertwined with your and the boy’s hand. His decreasing temperature was slowly matching the coldness of both vampires.

“My son…” he hard your whisper. Your eyes were focused on the ceiling. Lestat buried his face in your neck when your cries filled the room. If only I could take all your pain away, he wanted to say but words did not leave his mouth. He could take your pain away, if only he made you a mother and gave you another family.

Lestat carried you to the coffin when you were exhausted from crying. He took the boy’s lifeless body and burnt it while you slept. He stayed until he was nothing but ash. He looked at the scene as the flames took him away and listened as his bones cracked and his flesh melted down. He didn’t let himself cry. It was his vilest murder. He had no right to feel guilt or shame.

He laid beside you in the coffin. You were whispering and crying still, even in your sleep. His fingers traced over your hands gently. He looked at your sleeping form and took a deep breath. Your scent filled his lungs once again after many years. His insides blossomed and he felt the life come back to his body. You were his home. It didn’t matter to him which form you were in or how you looked like. It didn’t matter if you were laughing or in sorrow. As long as you were beside him, he was happy to have you in any way. And you were back. Lestat knew he could not let you go again. Not after this night. Not when you needed him the most. He was the only one you had left with and he had no intention of leaving you alone. He was going to make you happy again. Just two of you were enough.

“You came into my life when I needed you the most. Now it is my turn to bring you joy.” He whispered to your ear and wrapped his arm around your waist. Your eyes opened as he closed his own. Your gaze traveled trough his beautiful features. He was beautiful as the first day you saw him. Years ago, in that party, where you were still innocent and human. Now I know that devil can be this pretty, you thought.

Lestat was in the corner of your mind for 8 years. You were carrying him in you wherever you traveled to. His face was carved onto your eyelids and you were too afraid to close your eyes. His voice kept echoing in your head when you killed, drank or spared a life. You played his favourite songs on the piano when you needed him by your side. But no matter how much you missed him, you couldn’t forgive him. You knew Lestat De Lioncourt loved you. You felt it in your bones, in your flesh. You carried his love in your veins. But you knew he cursed you forever. And you weren’t naive like you used to be to forgive and forget what he did to you. You were young and in love. How could you know it meant to lose your everything when you gave yourself to him that night?

You could not deny the fact that you were happy at first. Lestat gave you things no one ever did. He respected you, he loved you gently and made you feel like the only woman in the world. And you loved him. There was something in Lestat that pulled you to him. You were like opposite sides of a magnet. It felt right to touch and kiss him. Your heart craved for his heart just like your body craved for him. When he was deep in you, made you scream his name and planted soft kisses to your face, life was good. Until you started to see question marks on people’s faces. You were in peace with your fate and the things came with your new life. But everything seemed meaningless once it cost you your family. Lestat’s arms failed to comfort you when you were invited to your own father’s funeral at the last minute and saw that no one wanted you there. Not even your own mother.

You were motherless and fatherless. You were a demon who could only see the world under the dark sky. You could only stay alive if you killed humans. And seeing Lestat every single moment of your life vexed you. At the time you needed someone to blame other than yourself. You were already aware of your mistakes. And knowing that Lestat still turned you despite the fact that he knew what kind of a curse he was bringing on you, made his existence unbearable. You had to leave. You had to be alone with yourself after decades of marriage. Still, no matter where you went, Lestat was the only thing your heart ever wanted. You would always love him.

Then you found him. Leonardo. That was his name, you tried to remember. He was the son of a homeless woman that lived on the street of your small home. It was nighttime when you heard his cries. You saw his dead mother and him crying his eyes out over her body. You felt your heart shatter into pieces with the sight in front of you. He was so small and so scared. When his blue eyes found you and you could see his face clearly, you knew that you could not leave him to die. His arms reached out to you when you knelt beside him. He didn’t know why his mother wasn’t waking up and taking him into her arms. He was shaking and coughing between his sobs full of fear.

“Mummy.” He cried as you caressed his blonde curls to calm him down. He was cold and hungry and sick. I want to help you. I need to hold you, you thought as he snuggled to your chest. There was only one person who could help you. But could you go back to him? After everything that happened between you? Could you find that strength in yourself or would he take you back?

“Mummy!” Leonardo screeched in your lap in pain as his coughs got harder. His little hands were trying to hold your arms. You had to do it. Both for yourself and him. So that was now you found yourself in front of the door of your home.

You reached to hold his cheek. His breath quickened with your touch but his eyes kept shut. You were pressed against him. Your lips were nearly touching and you could feel his breaths all over your face. Your fingertips traced over his face to his neck and to his chest. His body shook. The soft touch made you both shiver when your hand slipped under his expensive shirt. It has been years since you last touched one another and you realised how much you missed him. You needed to touch him. When you pressed your lips against his, Lestat’s arms wrapped tighter around you. His kisses and biting continued to your neck and to your chest. The soft lips of your lover were sending you into oblivion. You had to be closer to him. Closer than being skin to skin, something more, something more painful, something full of love and the suffering that comes with it. Something that would destroy that pit in your stomach and be worth of all your sorrow.

“I love you. I live you. I-“ Lestat’s raggedy voice stopped as he kept kissing you hungrily. His words weren’t able to keep up with his desire. Your mind was foggy as he undressed himself first, then you. Tears were flowing down your cheeks and you were feeling his cold fingers spread the wetness between your legs. His fingertip caressed your leaking opening and moans left your mouth. You could barely see because of tears when you held his face and made him look at you. He was crying too. You kissed him. His tears and yours mixed up and found your pressed lips. The taste of blood was exquisite, vibrating, destructive.

The next thing you knew was you were on top of him, the lid of the coffin was wide opened, he was inside you, fully. You rode him to the bottom of the coffin, hard and deep as his impressive size stretched you out immensely. Your eyes rolled back when his hands groped your breasts. He was talking but you couldn’t hear him. Your ears were ringing and the pain was too great. Your moves became faster and harsher. Your sharp nails digged into his chest and scratched him all over.

“You’re crying.” Finally you heard him and opened your eyes again. It was a mess in his coffin. His chest, between your legs, his face, your body, you were both covered in blood. Yet Lestat managed to smile when he saw the unsettled look on your face. He held your waits tight and moved you back on forth gently on him. He kept caressing your body and say sweet nothings as he controlled your movements.

All the memories of your shared life passed before your eyes as you went closer to the edge. Your legs shook when Lestat’s thumb found your pearl and circled it skilfully. There was a soreness in your throat and your climax was building in your lower belly. The image of two of you filled your mind over and over again. The image of you happy. Would you be able to be like that again? You didn’t know. And learning the answer of this question scared you to death.

“I can’t.” You cried out when your orgasm hit you hard. Your body froze as Lestat kept his hands on you and reached to his climax. His dead seed spilled into you. Deep into your dead womb that was never going to be a home to a babe. Was Lestat enough for you to be fulfilled? Were you going to be enough for him when he got bored of searching for things that made him feel human, made him feel young again?

When you made eye contact again, you could see fear and doubt in his eyes. He was scared that you were going to leave him, just like everyone he ever loved. And he was not sure if it was still you in your body. He was looking for you in the eyes he saw for thousands of times and more. Yet nothing about your eyes felt familiar. Your body felt like you, your kisses felt like you, your heart felt like you. But it was almost like a death itself looking down at him in this moment. He left out a deep breath when you leaned down and laid on his chest.

His heartbeats were fast under your cheek. You turned a little and pressed a tender kiss to his chest. And another. And another. You kissed him until new tears stained your face. You hoped that you could find him again one day. You hoped that you were both humans when you meet again. You hoped that you had a life in another world, with the love of your life. You knew Lestat would find you no matter what. He would love you the same if not more. He would be yours in every lifetime until you had no more love to give.

“I’ll love you forever. Now and always. Until my last day and after.” You whispered but your quiet words reached to Lestat’s ears. He smiled sadly, his tears spilled down to his paper white pillow. He tried to speak but his voice shattered.

“And I you.” He could only say without sobbing. He shut his eyes tight when he heard you fall asleep on him. Tomorrow was going to be better. Everything was going to alright. He had you in his arms. And he needed nothing more.

—

When Lestat opened his eyes again, the first thing he felt was pain. His eyes were watering and he couldn’t even press his lips together to cover up his moans. He licked his dry, chapped lips with the last strength before he was breathless again. In the darkness of his coffin, his shiny eyes looked around desperately. He could feel the air hitting his burned body and make his wounds boil. He cried out your name. You were not in his arms. Where could you possibly be? Were you harmed too? What if you were harmed worse than him? You were younger and weaker than your maker. Lestat had to put himself together and find you, his dear fledgling. When he pushed opened his coffin lid, he saw the the wide open curtains that were usually closed. It was dark outside. The moon light was the only thing that was bright in the pitch black room.

It was only then he saw his burned body. Front of his arms, his whole chest, his thighs and his face were all covered in ashy wounds that were slowly healing. His blood red flesh was showing trough the burned skin pieces. They sizzled as the new skin was forming over them. But before he could think about his wounds, he had to find you. Why the curtains were open? They were always supposed to be shut. Just in case if any of you had to wake up when sun was still up during the day. He dragged his feet to the short, wide corridor of the second floor. All the doors and the windows were open, he frowned in confusion. His head was banging quiet like a bomb explosion. His body was aching and he was afraid. He was afraid just like the night Magnus took him from his room.

He walked fast as he could and entered the music room. You were no where to be seen. Lestat’s nose scrunched when he breathed in the strange smell in the room. He felt the smell stick onto his lungs and enter every bit of him. It was haunting and indescribable. It almost felt like he could taste it on his tongue. That strange, unpleasant, obnoxious flavour was so familiar on Lestat’s throat, yet he could find no name for it. He took few steps to his piano. His favourite tunes ringed in his ears. He could see your ghost of a fingers on the keyboard, playing all gracefully.

When he looked down, a pile of grey, powdery substance caught his attention. How could he possibly not see this when he entered the room? He got on his knees and the source of smell was undeniably found. As he touched the powder, he felt his whole body shake in horror. His eyes closed tight when the faded memory of you getting up from the coffin came back.

“I love you. I love you. I love…” the words were repeated over and over again. Not thousands but maybe hundreds and thousands of times. He could hear you. You were not in the coffin. He could hear your steps in the room. Then he could hear your steps in the corridor. You were going in and out of rooms. Lestat could hear you mumbling things under your breath. He could hear your heartbeats and your rushed moves.

He wanted to open the lid of his coffin and get out. It was probably near sunrise and you had to go back to sleeping. When he pushed the lid, something blocked his exit. He tried to kick it and punch it when he heard you play the piano and keep talking.

“I want to see the sun rise in the sky again.” You said. “I want to see the clouds on the blue ocean of time.”

He called for you but you were not listening to him. As you played the melody from start to end, the fear in Lestat’s heart grew stronger. And when your fingers stopped, he felt a sharp pain all over his body. It was something he had never felt before. The greatest pain he felt was when he was transformed. He could never forget what it felt like for the next thousand years. But this, this was different. It was coming from somewhere deep. He wanted to rip his stomach open and find the core of the pain. His coffin got filled with his dreadful scream and he heard you shout in agony. He felt the pain in every inch of his body. With one last hard kick, he opened the lid successfully. Only to be greeted by bright, warm sunlight that was glowing beautifully in your shared chambers.

His skin started to burn immediately, and it was then Lestat knew what was happening. His jaw clenched and his tears burned his wounds when he heard your screams from the other side of the house.

“What have you done?!” He shouted but you didn’t respond. The sunlight was nothing compared the pain he was in as you kept burning. He could feel his blood boil in veins as yours dried up under the daylight. You were leaving him.

‘I have loved you, with everything I had in me.’ Lestat didn’t know if you spoke aloud or he just imagined, rather wished you have said it. Maybe it wasn’t too late, Lestat tried to get up but his body was damaged enormously. He could feel the sunlight penetrate into his bones with every second he was spending in front of the open curtains. But he had to save you! He cried and tried to get up again. And again and again. Until he couldn’t hear your screams anymore.

The house fell into a dead silence in seconds. Only thing that could be heard was the silent sizzling of Lestat’s burns. He stoped breathing and he stoped trying to get up. His lifeless eyes fell onto his hands. He laid back in his coffin and pulled the lid back on with a stinging move.

It was a nightmare. An unbelievably bad nightmare. Maybe the worst one he had have been for decades. You were sleeping in your own coffin peacefully. Lestat was going to see you when sun came down and he was going to kiss your lips with a smile on his face. He was going to carry you around the house like a princess and read your favourite poems just for you. You were going to forgive. And maybe in time, you were going to forget. He was going to change and try to be someone better than who he was now. Both of you were going to be happy again, together. He smiled with excitement with the thoughts on his mind. The smell of burned flesh tickled his nose.

—

“You do not know this girl!” Lestat said aggressively as he watched Louis lay the little girl on the bed carefully. Louis’s bright green eyes were full of fear and guilt when he faced Lestat again.

“Make her like us!” He said with a bitter hope in his voice. Lestat pressed his lips together when he heard him utter those words. This cannot be happening, he assured himself hopelessly.

“Non c’est impossible. Elle est trop jeune!” Lestat said in frustration as Louis walked closer to him with hurry. Lestat's heart was pounding fast in his chest. The images of a distant memory was blurring his vision. The same eyes from decades ago were looking at him again. The same eyes that were full of guilt, sorrow and hope with an innocent child at the edge of death in the arms of the person he loved. His chest tightened when Louis kept talking, pleading to save the little girl’s life. What could Lestat do? Was he curse to live same life over and over again for the rest of the eternity?

He could never forget you. He didn’t know how long he mourned you. Days, months, years? Maybe he was still mourning you with the little box in his closet that was filled with your ashes. It took him years to find the courage to try again. And when he kissed Louis for the first time, he felt like finding light in his murky world. But guilt ate him inside out. He wondered if you would be wounded when you learned that he was capable of loving again. He tried to reassure himself that the thing he had with Louis was different than what he had with you. You would always be his wife. Your wedding ring on a necklace that was around his neck was the proof of it.

“Please I can’t have her die!” The pain in Louis’s voice broke his heart. He remembered this feeling so well that it almost hit him on the face. He remembered how it felt like to be helpless when his lover was begging him to change things, set things right and how he couldn’t do it.

“The gift cannot be given to children.” He said when his anger and fear filled him to his limit. The look on Louis’s face twisted something in his stomach.

“What do you mean? Yes it can.” Louis said breathlessly as he tried to find his strength back. All he needed was to save this girl’s precious life. She laid on the bed, unconscious, coughing out the flames silently and she was all he needed in that moment.

“The great laws forbid it!” Lestat spited out as if he had poison on his tongue. Anger appeared on Louis’s face and Lestat regretted what he just said.

“The great laws?” Louis said mockingly. He sounded bitter and every octave of his voice cut both men deeply. “She gonna die in front of us!”

The next thing Lestat knew was that Louis dragged the little girl on the flour, cried, begged, cried, fell on his knees in front of his companion and cried. Louis’s usually gentle hands found Lestat’s body, he held onto him like he was the last thing on the world.

“Please, please.” It was all Lestat could hear. And the little girl’s raggedy breaths that were becoming slower and slower.

“My beautiful little daughter.” Lestat could not swallow, could not hold his tears back or his heartbeats stable when he heard Louis’s voice shatter as he said the words. He hated how his story repeated itself. He hated how he was always the one who had to make this decision.

“Please I’ll be anything.” Louis begged and cried. Lestat wanted to curl into a ball and never wake up again. He looked down at this companion, his lover, the man who saved him, begging him to make him a father.

“Please, please, please…” It was all Louis was saying when Lestat remembered your screams after your little boy died. He remembered how yours eyes looked dead inside and even your smiles were full of grief. He remembered how you begged him and he didn’t listen to you. And then how he lost you. He was a fool to think that you were going to be alright after your son died. He was a fool to think you were going to forgive him and be happy again. And he was a fool to think that you were going to stay with him after what he did to you.

There was a no day passed after your death that he didn’t regret not turning that boy. Great laws forbid it! At what cost he had followed the laws when he was on the other side of the world, oceans away from the last vampire he had seen? He regretted his choice everyday of his last few years and he didn’t know if he would be able to mourn one more person.

He looked down at Louis and saw your crying eyes stare back at him. He looked up instantly.

“You will regret this for the rest of your life.” He said. Yet he didn’t know if he was talking to himself or Louis. Maybe both. He walked to the little girl on the floor and picked her body with ease. Poor thing was covered in burns and couldn’t open her eyes. His blue eyes found Louis’s relieved shoulders and his fangs found the girl’s small neck.

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sigrun-valkyrie · 7 months ago

Text

Arguments

Pairing: Ragnar Lothbrok x Fem!reader

Warnings: LONG story (around 4474 words!), not going according to series!, war, swearing, a little bit smutty..

not my gifs and pics!

Also, I thought @errruvande and @justfangirlthingies might wanna see this, but it isn’t your obligation to read this😊

I threw a vase at Ragnar. “You made me very angry!” I shouted, feeling my cheeks flutter with anger.

Keep reading

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sigrun-valkyrie · 7 months ago

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Okay, you have officially made me thirsty for King Harald. 😩🤦🏻‍♀️ So I went through your Prompt Lists and found a few things, especially those two: "What happened? I told you to stay by my side!" and "Are you sure? Once we start, i might not be able to stop." With a young virgin reader maybe? 👀 You absolutely don't have to do this, I'm kinda just dropping my thoughts and ideas. 🥰 Thank you for giving us all this great content! 😭

ask and ye shall receive, tho i cannot say no to Harald. fresh spicy fluff for our smol fierce king. Harald Finehair x fem!Reader

THE WOUNDS LEFT by his brother’s death are still fresh —still bleed if he thinks too long on what could have been had he stayed his blade in the heat of battle. They are wounds he does not think will ever heal —do not deserve to heal. The gods will not forgive him for slaying Halfdan and they punish him now for it, with yet another battle come quick as the last ended.

King Harald Finehair is awake when the war horn sounds outside the walls of his home and settlement. It is hard for him to find rest, and when he does it never lasts long —not even when his bed is warmed by his sweet princess. He sits up, running his hands over his face and through his beard. There’s a sinking feeling in his gut he cannot shake as he looks to his armor and sword lying on a table at the edge of his chambers.

You turn onto your side, having woken with the resounding horn, knowing what it means. Sitting up too, you rest a hand on the center of Harald’s back, thumb tracing a line of fading blue-black ink as you lean into him, pressing your cheek into his shoulder as though to ground him from the stormy thoughts and war waging inside him. “Harald.” His name is a rough, broken whisper.

He shifts, arm moving around your shoulders, fingers twisting into the thin linen of your shift like he needs to hold tight lest you leave him too. It is never easy for a man to admit weakness, less so for a king, but the weight of everything makes Harald’s heart feel heavy. “I cannot lose you,” he breathes. You know the look in his cold eyes —the determination and burgeoning scheme twisting the gears of his mind.

Parting from his grasp, you lean back, lifting a hand to his cheek, fingers combing through his beard. The slightest of smiles kinks his lips when he sighs, leaning into the touch. “But you cannot keep me locked away like a caged songbird either,” you tell him.

“No,” he agrees, gently pulling your hand from his face. He knows to keep you from his side, and the call of battle would only make you hate him —and he cannot, will not, lose you to his own folly. The gods presented him with a woman to love good and well, at last, and by the gods, he will love you as you deserve. Harald lifts his hand to your cheek, thumb dragging over your bottom lip. “Though I could clip your wings.” He means it in jest —the slight curve of his lips and the spark in his eyes tell you so. Smiling, you glance at the patchwork of wolf pelts. “Stay close to me today, elskede mitt,” he whispers. Harald does not think it is a tall task to ask of you.

You nod. “Of course.” If the gods are kind enough, they will not let Harald from your sight. You will stand at his side, shielding his back, and he yours. “I pledged my sword to you,” you remind him, fingertips following a fading scar on his neck and the dark lines of the tattoo just above it. Then you smile. It is not just your sword and shield you have promised Harald. “And my heart.”

Harald thought you naïve when you first came to his kingdom seeking an alliance —a young, beautiful princess with no suitors or family to challenge your title. The thought still makes him feel a fool; you were everything but naïve. It had not taken long for you to play him like a lyre —as most women did. But the longer you remained stranded in Tamdrup given the summer storms, the stronger the easy friendship between you and Harald grew, soon blossoming from a simple alliance to something else, equally as wonderful. He reaches for your hand, lips and greying whiskers brushing over your knuckles. “And I do not take those gifts lightly,” Harald answers, holding your hand against his chest.

Another cry of the horns echoes, and you both know this moment must end. He reaches for his tunic, shrugging the piece of burgundy wool overhead before rising from the bed. You follow after him, helping straighten his dark leather armor, tugging the buckles and straps taut, and tie the laces of his vambraces. Harald returns the favor, helping you into your leather and mail breast piece, and takes a moment of the time slipping away to braid your hair before offering your sword and shield. He reaches for your hand before you can leave the safety of his chambers. There’s a passing second where you study each other, as though you may not meet again in this life, but garbed in armor with sword, shield, and axe, you are both ready for war and whatever the gods may have in store.

“FORWARD!” HARALD SHOUTS, his voice rings clear across the narrow strip of grassland surrounded by thick forests. The first line of his army advances, a slow march to meet those who had come to take retribution for the murder of their previous jarl. You look to him, shield raised, and sword held aloft —feeling the anticipation of his next command rising in your blood and bones. He nods, and you unsheathe your sword, falling into stride with him as he shouts again, moving toward the heart of the bloody fray.

You both sink into the thickest of the fighting, cutting your way to the heart of the battle —among the few places in Midgard one could truly feel alive. The shield wall breaks into a hundred skirmishes. Stepping out of the arc of a two-handed axe, your back presses against Harald’s. He turns, lashing out as you lunge forward, thrusting your sword point into the warrior’s belly. You both share a nod, falling back into place once more.

It happens too quickly for either of you to do anything —both of you are swarmed by a second wave of the enemy pouring out of the forest, ripped apart from one another. “Harald!” You shout, hoping your voice will carry over the grunts of those locked in combat and the screams of the dying. Lifting your shield, you block an axe blow and slash your sword over the assailant’s throat.

The pain seizes you before you know what’s happening. A blade has cut deep into your thigh, cutting through your britches. The warm gush of blood sluicing down your leg sends you to one knee. You lift your sword, blocking the overhead death strike with both hands, pressing up with all your strength until you can spin, breaking the stalemate when you slice the man up the length of his back. But as he falls, you do too.

One of Harald’s vanguards sees you, struggling back to your feet —sword pressed into the ground as a crutch, shield lost. An easy target for those on the opposing side who know who you are. Skane makes his way to you, cutting down the man who raises his axe against you. You give a nod of thanks to him, searching the field for Harald, prepared to fight through the pain. But Skane hefts you up onto his shoulder, ignoring your protests, and turns from the battle to see the long cut on your leg tended. He cannot let Harald lose his future queen.

The battle ends. Harald’s forces are victorious, yet as his army celebrates, he searches the battlefield for you until he hears the news and quickly leaves for the forward camp. The healer ducks out of the tent when he arrives, thinking it best to leave Harald and his princess. You sit up, leaning back on a crate with a bedroll as a pillow. Thick bandages are wound around your thigh, blossoming red in some places. “I told you to stay by my side,” he grits out, pacing the small space in the tent, disguising his worry and anguish as anger. Then the anger ebbs, and he kneels at your side, hand resting on your shoulder. “What happened?”

You look at your hands, still stained with mud and blood, feeling your face grow hot. Hubris found a place in your thoughts as you cut down Harald’s enemies —it almost cut you down too. “I thought,” you start, shaking your head, feeling a fool, “I overestimated my capabilities is all,” you confess. Harald reaches for your hands and lifts both to his lips, kissing your knuckles and then the center of your palms, and allows himself to breathe a deep sigh of relief. The healer assures him you will live. This wound would heal given time, rest, and care. Harald will see you get all three and more.

TO SAY YOU do not enjoy his attention and affections would be a lie, but in the week since the battle, it has almost become an annoyance —how he frets over every little thing. Like now, he insists on carrying you from the mead hall to your shared chambers as if you are a delicate little spring blossom doomed to wilt if your feet dare touch the ground. Harald glances down, finding your exasperated expression amusing. You cross your arms, looking away, indignant. He laughs, the sound rumbling from deep within his belly reverberating through the both of you. “I am not crippled,” you remind him as he places you on the bed.

“No” —he smiles as he kneels before you, hands resting on your knees— “but you see, I wish for you to heal quick as you can.”

You lift a brow. “Why? Do you not enjoy doting on me anymore?”

Harald lifts his hand to your cheek as he rises, sitting next to you. The mirth in his grey-blue eyes fades, replaced by love and longing. “I would carry you to the ends of the world if you’d let me,” he says. Coming from him, it is not an exaggeration. Your breath catches under the weight of his gaze. “I wish to marry you on the summer solstice,” he says, a weight disappearing from his shoulders with the admission, “if you will have an old man like me.”

His proposal does not come as a surprise —you knew when your relationship began, he would seek to take you as his wife and queen. The lure of power is what first drew you to Tamdrup before you grew to know Harald Finehair. You smile for him, finding the gesture quickly returned —the fading blue-black tattoos on his cheeks and forehead wrinkling. “Old man?” You tease. You’ve seen him training, have fought next to him in battle, and seen the dense muscle in his arms and middle —he may not be young anymore, but he is certainly not old either.

“There is silver in my beard and hair now,” he says, laughing as he strokes the short-cropped whiskers on his chin.

“That makes you wiser,” you amend, leaning into him, “not an old man.” His smile doesn’t fade, not even as he awaits your answer. Your kiss is answer enough, sweet and loving. Harald holds your waist, drawing you closer, holding you tighter. And when you pull back, he chases your lips, settling for a quick kiss on the corner of your mouth, letting his beard tickle your cheek and jaw. “I will marry you” —you lay your hands on either side of his neck, thumbs running along his jaw, and kiss him again— “a thousand times.”

IT FEELS ODD to be a stranger sitting on the edge of a bed you have laid on a dozen times over, shared with the same man whom you loved, but tonight it is your marriage bed —and you know the duties expected of you by your husband and your people. Harald skirts around the room, lighting tallow candles and oil lanterns in place of the hearth. The summer night is warm, the air thick and made thicker by the growing tension and anticipation for this moment.

Harald sheds his wine-red tunic, draping it across the back of a chair. You’ve seen him like this before, know the scars on his arms and back as if they were on your own flesh —have memorized the curves and angles of his tattoos and the feel of his muscles beneath your fingertips. And yet, now, it is a sight that brings heat to your face. He studies the sheathed dagger lying on the table at the edge of the room and runs his hand down the length of his braid. He made a promise to himself, and now it was time to keep it.

Unsheathing the dagger, Harald goes to you and kneels —a king before his queen. Swallowing the knot in his throat, never believing this day would come. He peers up at you, eyes dark and kind. Unthinking, you lift your hand to his cheek, thumb stroking over his cheekbone and along a dark woad ink curve below, fingers slipping down to comb through his silver-tinged beard.

“I swore I would only let the woman of my dreams cut my hair when she married me” —Harald holds the dagger for you to take— “and she has.” You take the blade from him, fingers curling around its leather hilt, the dark lines of the metal ripple like water in the candlelight. “Cut my hair,” he breathes. It's a gentle command. “Please, elskede mitt.”

He bends forward, forehead pressed into your thigh. You run your fingers down the thick, dark brown braid, moving it to lay straight along his spine. Laying the sharp edge against his hair, you shore off his hair just below his shoulders. He feels the weight lift and straightens, smiling when he sees you clasping the severed braid. Harald rises, cupping your cheek —thumb stroking over your jaw, reverently. Then he leans down, pressing his lips to yours. Soft and slow and sweet with a burning heat you have not felt in his kisses before. When he draws back, Harald takes the dagger, placing it back in its leather sheath, and lays it on a low bench at the foot of the bed.

His attention returns to you. Harald has seen you wade into battle without fear, stand up to men of power without a second thought, but now you look like the young naïve princess he first believed you to be. His brows furrow —you have shared his bed for months, relished in his kisses, yet now as his wife, you quiver like an autumn leaf in a cool breeze. “Why do you tremble, wife?” He asks, fingers brushing along your neck.

“Harald, I–” you don’t have to say anything else. He understands your hesitance then; you are untouched, save for his kisses, having never lain with a man. “I” —he starts, jaw clenching. The lust in his stormy eyes gone in an instant. "I will not touch you if you do not want me to." Is all he says, voice deep, calm, and steady like the tides of an ocean. Harald has waited months and knows he is willing to wait many more for you.

You sink with the words, relieved, but the memory of what is expected of you, of the duties of a wife and queen, wash in with the next wave of emotion. You love Harald, yet fear still cuts you deeper than any sword could. Your face sours from your briefly agape expression at the thought. Bending your head, you draw in a long breath, eyes flicking to his. "No” —you shake your head, smiling, this is Harald, the man you loved, the man you now called husband— “I want you to,” you tell him, but the words break in your throat, and you grimace at how desperate you sound, as though trying to prove yourself a good and dutiful wife.

He looks at you, waiting for a more certain answer. It comes when you take his face into your hands, fingers sliding back into his hair, loosening the remnants of his braid, and kiss him with all the fierce desire kept bottled away. Harald rips himself away from your kiss with a low groan from deep in his throat. "You’re sure?” At that, you shatter. Your nod is small but firm. Harald is your husband, and you would know him as only a wife should. His hands curl around your waist. “Once we start,” he breathes in, eyes going dark again, “I might not be able to stop." Your smile tells him all he needs to know.

He begins with the slow drag of rough yet careful hands down the outsides of your thighs, over your hips, pushing your thin shift up around your waist. You can’t stop looking at his face, serious and handsome —only focused on you. Harald moves his hands to the soft insides of your thighs, squeezes them, then leans up on his knees and places a kiss below your navel —scraping the coarse whiskers on his chin and jaw over the soft skin. You jump at the tickle, and his low chuckle reverberates through you both, sending a wave of warmth washing over you, gathering low in your belly.

“Relax, wife,” Harald says, running his calloused hands over your thighs and across your pelvis, urging you to lay back. He can still tell you are tense even if your cunt is eager for his mouth and fingers. The deep rasp of his voice, the puffs of hot air across your slick folds as Harald tilts his head and breathes —warmth shoots through you as though you’ve been struck by one of Thor’s lightning bolts. He hums his contentment, turning his head to kiss your thighs, his coarse beard scraping over your skin before his tongue darts out, drawing quick patterns.

You lose conscious thought the minute he wraps his lips around your clit, hands holding you firmly in place as he laps and licks through your folds, methodical and slow with a long groan —letting you know this is just as torturous for him as it is you. Harald’s fingers brush through your folds, gathering the slick there, and he eases one finger into your cunt, curling, and stroking, then adds a second. He’s doing something devastating —the gentle pressure with each flick of his tongue— your breath coming in short gasps, chest heaving.

His mouth encircles your clit again, and he sucks gently as his fingers thrust deeper. Your moan is shaky, high, and loud, your hips curling upwards into Harald's face. He groans against your frazzled nerves, his free hand stroking over your thigh and stomach until it's crossing over the curve of your back. He sucks loudly, panting and groaning into your cunt, and you're nearly sobbing his name while digging your head back into your bed, body shaking as your pleasure crests.

He slowly withdraws his fingers, their wetness rubbing along your twitching folds as he kisses up your body. You suck in harsh breaths as you quiver, nails digging into Harald’s arms while he rises, hair a mess, mouth wet, and wide eyes wanting.

He slides his hands away from between your legs, pushing the rest of your shift up and off, leaving you bare and vulnerable before him. His hands slip below your hips, pushing you to the center of the mattress as he crawls over you —taking a moment to drink in the sight of you, a goddess lying in his bed, surrounded by soft pelts and linen blankets. Harald presses down over you, kissing you as though it is the only thing to keep him anchored in a raging storm. You sigh with him as he rocks into you, your legs winding around his hips to draw him closer.

The sweet and slow grind continues, and your sigh and plead for him in soft whispers and whimpers —music to Harald’s ears. His mouth showers your neck and chest with wet kisses, leaving your nipples standing hard and need swelling between your legs again already. A warm hand cups a breast up to his mouth, and your gasp as he sucks it deeply, tongue swirling over your nipple.

You twist a hand into his hair, arching back into the furs. Harald groans, hips rutting down into yours. His britches have sagged, and you feel the weight of his hard cock against your hip, his belly keeping it pressed into yours as he mouths across to your other breast.

With a pinched brow, you raise your head to press your forehead into Harald’s, mouth parted. His head had angled to watch your chest heave under his ministrations, but he turns back, nose brushing yours and heavy eyes meeting before he kisses you once more. “Harald,” you breathe. His name is a soft plea on your lips.

His torment has lasted too long. Shuffling back, he undoes the ties of his britches, pushing them down his thighs and off to the floor, quickly settling back between your thighs. Harald strokes his cock, thrice over as he kisses you and swallows the startled little whine you make when he slides the heavy, weeping head through your folds. He curses below his breath, beginning to press into you, slowly, watching your expression for any signs of discomfort —he finds nothing but bliss.

It is a pleasant ache, a dull burn as he presses his hips flush against yours, inch by inch, nudging you open, stealing the breath from your lungs, too full of him to think properly. You gasp, every nerve on fire as you clench your fists into the furs below, Harald’s cock still slowly sinking into your cunt —branching and crackling through your system like lightning. You whimper, pinned beneath him. Harald doesn’t move; instead, he presses soft kisses to your neck and then your lips, his breath shaking —the muscles in arms flexing over your as you draw in a deep breath.

And then he moves, and it’s so deep, and he’s so heavy and thick inside you that you can feel all of it, every ridge and vein, each pulse of blood in cock as he rocks his hips —his thighs already slick with you essence. Harald’s eyelids droop down, his mouth falling open. It’s so good it’s devastating. The pressure and pleasure make you want to cry, scream. You want more of him —harder, faster, deeper. He dips his head down, panting and grunting at your ear.

You see stars behind your eyelids. This must be what the poets sing of you think. For how could anything feel as good as the drag of his cock inside you. Slick and hot, you can feel every twitch of him as he slowly pulls his hips back, then presses back in just as slowly. It bows your back, your hips raising from the bed to meet his with a whine.

He shuffles closer on his knees, rocking his cock within you. He sits back on his haunches, a hand sliding under your bent knee, bicep flexing as he does. You groan when you sink upon him again, his cock pushing another wet sound from your needy body, fisting the sheets around you. You stare up at him, eyes wide, taking in his body and the way it looks between your spread thighs —the way the firelight flickers over the curve of his shoulders, around the muscles that hug his ribs and down over his hips.

Carefully rolling your hips in time with his, you moan, and he pumps inside a little deeper, a little quicker. You grip his arms, move your hands to his face, unsure what part of him you want to touch, which part to anchor yourself to. Harald leans down for a kiss, and you press your fingers to his cheek, kissing him with a burning intensity he’s not seen from you before. He groans against your mouth, and you pant as your bodies work together. It’s almost instinctual, the need to take him deeper, to meet, thighs hard against each other.

He presses your thighs further apart, leaning back to watch himself disappear inside you, the cling of you around him so tight it makes a cold shiver creep down his spine. Harald swipes his thumb across your clit, rubbing circles on the sensitive nub of flesh to watch you writhe and whimper for him. The way your breathing hitches and face twists in pleasure tells him you are riding the edge of a precarious ridge, ready to fall when he wills it. He leans back over you.

You drag your nails along his skin, and he shudders into his next thrust, an elbow giving out to press his body down into yours again. Then the other, curling near your head, his heat all-encompassing as is the rub of his skin into yours.

"Harald," you whimper, rolling your hips with his as he works his cock inside you. You feel lightheaded and breathless and full and– "Yes," he breathes, your name a prayer on his tongue as he kisses across your jaw and neck, back arching as his hips start to work up into an actual rhythm. By the gods, you love the way your teeth clench and your body shakes and how you can just barely take everything Harald has to give —every thrust, every moan, every kiss is yours.

His cheeks and chest are flushing even in the low light, and his hair sticks to his neck and forehead as his pace picks up, unable to withdraw completely from within you. Long, calloused fingers bury into your hair, angling you to look at him, his other slides down to where your bodies are joined, rubbing your clit, knowing by the way your walls flutter you are close, as is he. His forehead and nose press to yours, eyes locked —you’re staring into dark seas, happy to drown.

The budding pressure grows, setting you on a precipice ready to fall. It’s still a foreign sensation as your body begins shuddering against his, limbs limp but jerking, neck tilted back into the furs —shining with sweat and your skin so prettily flushed. Seeing you like this is enough to push him over too. Harald’s body tenses, his hip stuttering, cock twitching deep inside you with a spreading warmth. His groan is strangled, almost pained when he thrusts into you again, lazily —just to feel his seed begin to seep from your ruined cunt.

Harald holds himself above you, breath still coming in pants. He searches your hazy and tired expression, then dips down, taking another kiss —he does not think he will ever tire of kissing you. Sighing into his mouth, you run your hands up his sides and back, feeling the scars below your palms as you urge him to rest atop you. He does, head pillowed on your breast, listening to the beat of your heart, slowing with each passing moment. You brush aside his hair, tracing over the fading tattoo between his shoulder blades. “You have made me very happy,” he admits, looking up at you, “that happiest man in Midgard.”

You smile for him, brushing back his sweat-damp hair. “And I am grateful the gods led me to you.” The gods had woven your fate a millennia ago; they intended for the threads to twine with Harald’s of that you are certain. He turns his head, lips pressing to your breast. You both stay like that, with you tracing patterns on his shoulder, and he runes on your ribs.

On the verge of sleep, Harald rolls off you but is quick to draw you back into his arms. His lips brush against your forehead, and then in a rough whisper, you hear him breathe, “ek ann þér.”

Yes, you sigh, the gods had been good to you, and so had your husband, Harald.

[ Vikings taglist: @elizabethroestone @naaladareia @gossamarnie @n0sferatus @alicedopey @charming-merlin @ahotmesswithprivilege @certifiedlittleshit @pats-writing @gearhead66 @elluvians (for Harald) ] if you want to be added to my Vikings (Harald, Halfdan, and Ragnar) taglist, just let me know! if your name is italicized, tumblr would not let me tag you.

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sigrun-valkyrie · 7 months ago

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Fluke - Uhtred Of Bebbanburg x Reader

Summary: You’re sold to Uhtred on his way to Bebbanburg you’re described as a Seer with great power. Thus he tried not to, he ends up paying for your freedom.

Warnings: fluff, slight mentions of abuse, confused!Uhtred

Word Count: 1,409

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sigrun-valkyrie · 7 months ago

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“Father Again” - Bjorn Ironside x Reader

Summary: Imagine you’re married to Bjorn Ironside and pregnant with your first child. He worries about him being a father again after he has failed with his other children.

(pic’s not mine, credits to its owner)

Warnings: pregnant!reader, daddy bear!Bjorn, fluff

* Masterlist *

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sigrun-valkyrie · 7 months ago

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“Fated” - Harald Finehair x Reader

Summary: You made a promise to Harald Finehair that you would marry him if he becomes King of Norway when you were younger. Several years later, you bump into him in Kattegat. His love hasn’t faded a bit, and knowing you’re now a queen in a foreign country motivates him to achieve his goal.

Warnings: queen!reader, pure fluff

Requested: by my dear @fantasydevil2002 : “I think that there aren’t many stories with king Harald soo can I have one with him?”

Word Count: 1,680

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sigrun-valkyrie · 7 months ago

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I'd like to request my favorite men please ❤️

General #3 “I love you.” “You shouldn’t.”

With Halfdan

Fluff #3 “You’re everything I could’ve wanted and more.” with Harald

AN: Ohhh! I like, I Iike. I’ll have to do this in two parts, but here is the first one. I hope you enjoy it 💜💜💜

Pt 2 w/ Halfdan

When Dreams Come True

Soon to be Dad! King Harald x F reader (viking era)

Words: 396 | Credit: gif credit to owners

Warnings: minor angst in a self-reflective sense, then fluff baby

Part of my prompt request series, fluffy Harald for @gearhead66 | Completed request | More Harald

AN: I made him a dad cause he deserves all the happiness. ALL OF IT. I hope you don’t mind. :) And YES Halfdan is alive in this universe okay, he was off seeing the world as Harald went a little crazy for a bit.

Vestfold disappears into the background as you gather herbs from the garden. All Harald can see is you; vibrant, glowing, and more beautiful than ever. He sits on a nearby stump, not ready to let you out of his sights.

He didn’t think he would have this. He knew he didn’t deserve it after the things he’s done. He didn’t deserve you. But after finding himself and getting back on track, the gods put you in his path.

Aside from your beauty, it was your spirit that captured his heart. You were fiery, smart, observant, and witty. Though he was King of all Norway and held the crown, Harald knew he had to work to gain you, he had to prove he was worthy of you.

The King did just that. He won you. He gained your trust and your heart. He proved himself.

Now, he was a father. His child is growing inside of you. It was magical, watching your belly grow as the months pass by. Harald feels so moved his eyes tear up, his heart feels so full it could burst.

You shift the basket to your other arm and look back at him. The great emotion in his beautiful blue eyes draws you closer.

“Harald, what is it?” You touch his face and gaze softly into his eyes.

Harald takes your free hand and turns it palm up, he plants a soft kiss there, his beard tickles your skin. When his eyes meet yours again, you can see the hint of a tear in the corner of his eye.

Harald plants another kiss on your wrist, his raspy deep voice laced with emotion, “You’re everything I could’ve wanted and more.”

You smile as he guides you to his lap, you sit and he secures his hold around your body. Resting one hand against your belly, he lets out a deep calming breath.

“I don’t know what I did, but I’m glad the gods smiled down on me.”

You rub the tip of your nose against his, “I love you too my King.”

A hearty happy laugh leaves his lips as he rubs your stomach, “My Queen, and my Son. All my wishes have finally come true.”

You relax into him and close your eyes, savoring the nice breeze and the feeling of being held by the man you love.

💜 The Halfdan one will come soon. 💜

Vikings:

@gearhead66 @naaladareia @oldstuffnewstuff @alicedopey @charming-merlin @laketaj24 @tephi101@pomegranates-and-blood @fandomfic-galore@sagitariusrising @gearhead66 @punkrocknpearls King Harald Finehair: @alicedopey @gearhead66 @blk-glitter-girl

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sigrun-valkyrie · 7 months ago

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A True Queen

King Harald x F reader

About reader: Badass shield maiden, on and off lover of Harald but never declared her love for him because he was becoming greedy and egotistical.

Warnings: None | Words: 1,322 | Gif @honestsycrets

AN: I can’t stop thinking about this outfit. Apparently two things work during this break /writers block. Vikings & Ezra. 😂 plus, this outfit …my god. I HAD to. I don’t know if this Au counts as a 6B spoiler, so…just possible 6B spoiler alert.

Hiding in the shadows, you watch as Harald moves through the room. You weren’t ready to reveal yourself quite yet, so you wait for your moment.

Your heart was still racing from when you saw him earlier. The way he walked into town like he owned it, dressed impeccably with an air of confidence around him. All your old feelings for Harald rushed back, and you suddenly understood the nature of your recent dreams. This was fate. This was meant to be.

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sigrun-valkyrie · 7 months ago

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Free with you

Requested by none.

Author's note: Hey guys! I hope you enjoy my fanfics. I am sorry that I am late at posting. I am lacking in creativity lately. I write stuff and delete them later because I don't like them. So sorry for waiting.

Pairing: Harald x Reader.

Genre: Fluff, romance, angst, drama.

Summary: Harald wants you and he will make you his, at any cost. Even if the cost is his own life.

Warnings: Fighting (Only this I guess).

You didn't know what you were getting yourself into, when you saw for the first time your husband. Earl Calder. It wasn't like you loved each other or anything. You married due to an alliance between him and your father, anotger Earl. You were a devoted wife. Until you met him. King Harald Finehair.

This man was so beautiful and different from all those you had met before. You had heard the way people talked about him. He had travelled, but that wasn't what made him interesting in your eyes. Neither his title was. That look in his eyes could make you melt for him. Nobody had ever looked at you like that. Nobody had even asked how you feel, or cared about you. Only him, from the first moment you met him. But all this was a huge mistake that shouldn't continue happening. Actually, nothing had started. You wouldn't let anything like that happen. After all, you were married.

King Harald was a man who had fallen for all the wrong women in the past. He didn't want to relive all this fiasco again. You seemed different, in his blue eyes, as well. Brave and loyal. That last one was something he admired, but didn't really like. He wanted you and he was going to have you. After all, he was the king. He was your king and you would obey to his demands. He knew how to read a wife after all this failures and he knew that he wasn't the only one who felt something when you looked at each other.

He tried to talk with you in private and get to know you, but you didn't let him. This game was something that excited him, but soon it started to enrage him.

"I don't understand why you keep avoiding me." You listened his deep voice behind you, startling you. He was too close to you, dangerously close, so you stepped back. It was only you and him, nobody was around, not even some thrall. He knew exactly what he was doing. He came closer and you stepped back again.

"I don't know what you are talking about, my king." You managed to say, trying not to look at his eyes. He rolled his eyes and scoffed, forming a cocky grin on his face. Harald walked even closer to you and you stepped back, until your back touched the wall of a barn and you cursed. All this game seemed to enjoy and excite him.

"I think you know, (Y/N)." He said playfully like he always did. You were frowned and all you wanted was him to let you alone, or that was what you supposed to want. You couldn't deny or avoid, anymore, the feelings that you felt when he was close to you. But you wouldn't give in to them. You shouldn't. You were married and that couldn't change.

Harald came too close to you. So close that you were sure that he could hear your heart pounding inside your chest. You wanted him to kiss you, but he shouldn't, because you didn't know how you would react. You were afraid. You shouldn't think of him, neither should want him to kiss you, but there you were.

His hand placed on the wall, above your head and the other at your left. You were trapped, between the wall and his strong body. You liked it, because you could smell his scent, but you should free yourself from there and go back to your husband. For a moment when his hot breath fell on your neck, you forgot about Calder and anything or anyone else that wasn't Harald.

You tried to leave, but he didn't let you do so. His body pressed on yours even more and that made your breath harder. That bloody bastard knew exactly what you were through and tried to your for his own advantage. Harald knew that women fell for him and he chose the wrong ones, but you seemed right. You were the one for him and he would never let you go like this. He wanted you and he would take you, at any cost.

"I want to go back to my husband." You muttered and this time you avoided to look at him. You tried to leave, but he didn't let you do that again.

One of his hands left the wall and moved on your chin. He lifted it and your eyes landed on his. You tried to look somewhere else again, but his strong hand on your chin prevent you. You looked at him frowned, as his head came closer to yours. You stuck on the wall. Your heart was dancing inside your chest and you couldn't control it anymore.

"No you don't want that and you know it well." He whispered too close to your ear. His hot breath fell on your neck and you tried hard not to moan. His lips were almost touching yours and this was driving you crazy. You wanted him to kiss him so much and he would. He was ready to kiss you.

"No, no! You don't know anything. This shouldn't happen. I am a married woman." You rumbled and pushed him off of you. He hadn't understood what you were doing and that was the reason he didn't stop you from leaving.

He made it in the Great Hall of your house. Your eyes met him immediately and his met you. You were next to your husband. Harald stepped close to his brother, Halfdan. He was drinking ale with some other warriors. When his blond brother noticed him, he turned to him. Halfdan knew about Harald's feelings towards you.

Harald's eyes found yours. When that happened you turned your gaze back to the thrall that poured ale in your husband's horn and you gave it to him. Calder placed a kiss on your mouth and the king felt the blood that run on his veins boiling. He couldn't stand seeing that fucking coward, that abomination, kissing you, touching and other stuff that he didn't want to think about. He looked back at his brother.

"It's going to happen now. I can't stand him near her." Harald told to his brother and Halfdan nodded, taking his axe on his hands.

Harald moved closer to you and Calder. When you saw him, you tried to act normal, like your heart wasn't dancing inside your chest. That man made you feel strange things. Nobody had even done that before amd now it was kind of scary. Only if you has met him first, things would be much easier. But still, who knew. Your father was a strange man, who knew what his reaction would be if king Harald Finehair had asked for your hand.

"My king." You greeted him and his gaze stayed on you for some moments. It left you only when he noticed that your husband was about yo talk.

"Earl Calder, I challenge you in personal combat for the hand of your lovely wife!" Harald yelled in front of everyone inside the Hall. People stopped talking, all you could hear was some whispers. You looked at the king frowned and kind of angry. Your husband looked at you and then at Harald, who was looking at him. Calder stood up and stepped close to Harald. He was im front of him, but Harald wasn't bothered by that. This man had faced a lot of enemies stronger and braver than Calder, he had no reason to be afraid.

"Do you want her? Just say it and she's yours, but you have to pay first. She's a cold bitch, useless, but her value is up because she's my wife." Calder said and you looked at the floor. Harald was enraged and pissed by that arrogant's words, but quickly he placed a smirk on his face. Calder looked at him frowned.

"Money? Is that what you are asking? Nah, not interested. She is a woman not an object to exchange for maney. I would say you are a coward for ignoring the challenge and offering money instead. What are you say?" He said and turned to ask the people. They seemed to want to see this combat. He, then, turned to face your angry husband. Calder couldn't avoid or refuse Harald's challenge. If he did, he would be a coward in the eyes of his people and the Gods.

"Fine, I accept the challenge, but it will happen today." Calder said and Harald agreed. Your eyes found his. Now he was looking at you. You shook your head disappointed and left him there.

You made it to your chambers and sat down on the bed. Your hands covered your face. You needed to think clear. Harald wanted to free you from that awful person, you called your husband and he cared for you. If he didn't care, he wouldn't do all this just for your hand.

You were afraid to accept your feelings towards him, before, but, now, you were free to do it. Or you would be.

Before you could overthink about all this. You found yourself outside his door and you knocked. He opened it and seemed a little bit surprised when he saw you standing there.

"Thank you for what you did today, but I don't know if all this is necessary. I mean I don't want to be a trophy for a husband that would treat me like one of the things he possesses." You said harshly, as you entered his chambers and he sighed.

"You won't be nothing like that." He started saying and you lift your gaze to look at him. "You will be treated the way you deserve in Vestfold. You will be queen. My queen. The woman I have chosen to be my queen. But if you don't want to be my wife, if you want me, you are free to leave when and if I win this combat. Only the Gods know what will happen today." He continued and you could tell that he voice broke somewhere in the middle of his words.

You felt awful. Like you were the worst person in the whole world. This man cared for you and all you did was taking a dim view of his actions. You wanted to tell him tha you cared, that you wanted to be his wife, but something was holding you back. You were just looking to each other, without forming a single word. Finally, you forced a smile on your face and got ready about your last words.

"Thank you, my king." You said lastly and left his chambers.

The time for the time was almlst here and you found yourself worrying way too much for Harald, when you shouldn't. He was a great, even legendary warrior, but the fear was there.

"Don't thing that your king will defeat me. I will kill him and then you are going to pay for all this." Your husband whispered to you when you walked next to him to the combat. Harald was, already, there waiting for Calder. You turned your gaze at Calder. He looked at you and smirked. He was so sure that he was going to win, that you felt even more worried about Harald. You turned your eyes at the king that was looking back at you. "He is not so legendary as you thought, (Y/N), and when I kill him, I will be the king." He continued and you refused to look somewhere else except Harald.

"His brother won't let you." You gained all your courage and said. Calder turned his gaze to Halfdan and then to you. You were looking at him.

"Not if he's dead." He said and you frowned. You looked at Halfdan and then at Harald. Calder had planned something and you were afraid to know what was it.

The combat had started and you were troubled. Both of them refused to use one of the two shields that the were supposed to take. The first hits were light and both of them avoided them. Harald attacked Calder and made him drop his shield. He kicked him, but Calder balanced himself easily. He looked at you and them attacked Harald. That was the moment the kimg lost the control of this combat.

Calder attacked him non stop, Harald blocked him with his shield. One more hit of Calder's axe on Harald's shild and and broke it in the half. Calder and his men cheered for his achievement. Harald stood from the ground, he had fell because of the hit, and dropped the half shield he was holding on the ground.

Harald's brother, Halfdan the Black, was frowned and looked troubled, as yourself, but he did cheered for his brother.

After a moment that they just started at each other, Harald attacked him, but Calder avoided him easily and punched him hard on the his face, he fell on the ground and you felt like your heart was breaking in piecies. It hurt you seeing him like that because of you. His eye was almost closed and you vould notice the blood on his brow.

Harald stood up and headbutted Calder. The second, wasn't expecting that and he fell on the ground, but stood up, before Harald's blade cut his head out of his body. Harald kicked him, but he balanced himself. Then, he attacked Harald and his axe cut his flesh in his back. Harald hissed and you tried so heard not to let the tears fall from your eyes, that was burning because of the tears.

That injury didn't stop Harald though. He attacked Calder again and managed to him in his stomach. The injury wasn't fatal, because Calder was still alive and he had wounded again Harald. His axe had cut his arm. Because of that hit Harald's sword fell from his hands and Calder laughed. He had won, or that was about to happen.

Before anythimg else happen, Harald looked at his brother, he shook his head and Halfdan did the same. You couldn't see more of that. You couldn't see him dying. It was late. Too late for you. You were a stupid woman, everyone made sure to remind you and this time they were right. You should have let yourself free to care, to love that man who was about to die for your sake. You left from there without anyone notice, they were paying attention toHarald dying. As Calder had dropped his own weapon and dropped Harald on the ground hitting him violently.

You were crying and you couldn't stop yourself. You almost didn't breathe. Halfdan appeared behind you and startled you. You tried to cover your face and your tears, but it was too late, he had seen you.

"You have to follow me. We don't have much time left." He told you and grapped your hand and started walking fast through the way which were the ships.

"Why?" You asked him when you were finally there. He sighed and turned to face you.

"My brother's request. He told me to take you from there before this things ends." He said and you started crying again. "He wanted you to be free, so he ordered me to take you here, so even if he died, you would be free." Halfdan just said and motioned to his men to start. You looked at all of them and felt really confused.

"Wait!" You yelled to Halfdan and he turmed to face you again. "What about Har--" You didn't get the chance to finish. Calder and all the other men were on the docks, as the ships were leaving. Harald was standing with his warriors, behind Calder and his team.

"Don't let them run away!" Calder yelled. "Archers!!!" He yelled even louder and some men run to gather with bows and arrows.

"Shieldwall!" Halfdan yelled and the men held their shields up to protect the people inside the ship.

"Loose!" Calder yelled and the archers of his fired arrows in to your ship. The shield protected most of the men, but not all of them. Some of the warriors in that ship died because of that arrows.

Warriors attacked warriors. You couldn't see clear. You couldn't spot Harald. The archers wrre still shooting arrows to you, but they stopped when they died.

"Halfdan, will we go back for Harald?" You asked trying not to cry again. You wanted to be brave for Harald. He deserved a strong woman who could bear moments like that. If he survived, you would stay by his side. Not because you felt like you owed everything to him, your freedom. You did owed that one to him, but yoy wouldn't become his wife for that reason. You loved him. That person cared for you mare than anyone had even done in your whole life.

"If Harald survives, he will come for you, to hear your decision. What is your decision going to be?" He asked curiously and you left the see amd looked at him.

"I will accept him as my husband. Harald made me see what I want in my life. I want him. I want someone to care for him like real and he will care for me, the way I do. I was really wrong with him. He did all this, he might die and I didn't say what I felt. I am so stupid." You confessed and let the tears fall again. You weree all these things you hated. You were weak and stupid. Really stupid. Halfdan stayed silent, matching to the rest of the voyage to Vestfold.

You stayed inside the chambers some thrall led you the first day you arrived at there. Now was the fourth and Harald didn't come. You believed that he wouldn't come back. That he died. They killed him when he was fighting or he died because of his injuries of the combat. You cried unconditionally. You grieved for your late king. He went to Valhalla. You shouldn't cry, but there you were, all messed up. Your face was covered with tears and you refused to step out of this room. You even dismissed the thralls who came to take you food. You didn't want to eat anything. All you wanted was to grieve. Even Halfdan himself managed to come one time, but you just stayed inside there.

Someone entered your chambers, a thrall probably. You sighed heavy and cleaned your face. The steps sounded heavy. This steps belonged to some thrall or Halfdan. You didn't care who it was, all you cared about was your grief for Harald.

"I think I was clear when I said that I wanted to stay alone." You said exhausted from all this crying and turned around to yell at whoever was standing there.

Your eyes got widened at the sight in front of you and a smile formed on your face. You didn't expect to see him standing there, you thoight he was dead. But here he was. Alive. Standing in front of you, a smirk covering his face. Harald was about to say something cocky, but you didn't let him, because you run to him and wrapped your hands firmly around his torso. You closed your eyes tightly and pressed your head on his chest.

"Easy, woman, I am still injured." He said playfully, but you didn't let him go. Harald didn't let you go as well. His hands was still wrapped tightly around your body.

"You scared me to death." You muttered and, finally, opened your eyes. At first, you refused to do so, because you thought that this was a dream, but when you made sure it wasn't, you opened them and you lifted your gaze to look at him. He was already looking at you. "You shouldn't treat like that your soon-to-be wife." You continued and he seemed surprised when he heard your words.

"Do you mean that?" He asked and you nodded, as a wide smile had formed on both of your faces. "I thought that you wanted to be free." He said. Now, he was too close to you. His lips were barely touching yours.

"I want to be free with you." You said and he pressed his lips on yours, in a passionate, hungry kiss. The best kiss you had ever had in your life.

"Good, because I want to be free with you too." He said and you smiled widely at him.

"I--" You paused for a moment. At first, you hesitated to tell him how you really felt, but after everything you had been through the last days, you had to tell him. He did all this for you. You were sure that he felt the same. "I love you, Harald." You whispered shyly and he smirked. His hands cupped you cheeks and for once more your lips were inches away.

"I love you too, (Y/N)." Harald muttered and kissed you again.

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sigrun-valkyrie · 7 months ago

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Married to Vikings moodboard

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 // Part 5

you married to Ubbe without knowing about his wife, Torvi

Completed

the pictures are from pinterest

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sigrun-valkyrie · 7 months ago

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Love and Protect

Request: Could you do a cute Bjorn imagine?? Maybe where the reader is pregnant and he is really protective of her??

Being with Bjorn was difficult at first. You two were constantly at each others throats. It wasn’t because you hated each other, it was because you two were so alike. And it just brought you two together in the end. You two met when he came back to Kattegat and he noticed you were helping Aslaug with his younger brothers. He didn’t know what it was, but he felt drawn to you in a wonderful way that he couldn’t help but fall in love with you.

After two years of going back and forth, he married you and within a month you were pregnant. If you thought he was protective before, he was even more now. One thing that he always lived by was the protection of his family.

Before you were pregnant, you could remember multiple times that he would barely leave you alone. Especially around other men that he knew for a fact that found you attractive.

And you weren’t going to stop him from protecting you. You felt loved and safe when he did these things. There was a time, when a man thought it was a nice idea to touch you without consent. At first, you pushed him away and when he kept forcing himself on you was when Bjorn took matters into his own hands.

Quite literally.

The man left with his face black and blue with blood camouflaging his face. You couldn’t recognize him after that.

Now.

Now he wouldn’t let you left a finger. If you tried to stand up to get a drink, he would rush to get it for you and sit you back down. Or when you would try to clean around the cabin, he lay you down and put some plush fabric behind you to make you comfortable.

And you let him do this. Because you loved to be pampered.

It was in the middle of winter, and you two were making your way to the main hall to have the last meal of the day. He had a hand wrapped around your waist and would press a kiss to your hair every now and again as you walked from your home.

As you walked into the main hall, you were greeted by Ubbe and Hvitserk running up to you.

“Y/N!!” They yelled joyfully with their arms wide open.

Immediately, Bjorn reacted.

“Woah!” He got in front of you and grabbed both boys in his arms and lifted them up in the air. Their laughter was infectious and you smiled and laughed with them. Bjorn walked over to were his father and step-mother sat and put the boys down as you followed behind him with a hand on your stomach. “I believe these belong to you, father.” Bjorn grinned at his father who grinned right back.

He stood as he saw you and walked over to you.

“Y/N! You look beautiful.” He sat his hands on your arms and looked down at your round stomach before placing a hand there to feel the life inside you. “Healthy and active, I see.” He looked from you to Bjorn, who had already poured some ale for himself and you, back to you with wide smile on his face.

“Yes, the baby loves to move. Keeps their mother up all times of the day.” Bjorn jested. They both laughed as you made your way to Aslaug, who was holding baby Sigurd. She smiled at you as you sat down.

As you all talked, a plate was placed in front of you by Bjorn. It didn’t phase you, as you just dug in automatically.

Tags: @raekenimages @agonybcrn @holy-minseok

A/N: I am taking tags and if you want to be tagged in anything, let me know. Whether it be just specific ones or all of them.

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sigrun-valkyrie · 7 months ago

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Harald’s woman (Harald x Reader)

Harald’s woman Harald x Reader Warning: none

Short. Fluff. Bjorn doesn’t understand your relationship with Harald.

I want to write a little series where I pair up Vikings characters with opposite personalities.

The Great Hall is crowded, with celebrating people. There are torches near the walls to give some light in the night. The sun is long gone from the sky, but nobody cares about it while the Hall is warm and full of ale. Kattegat’s people celebrate the latest successful raid with delicious food and dancing. Warriors and shieldmaidens mingle from different armies before they go home and share their treasures with their families.

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sigrun-valkyrie · 7 months ago

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Son of King Harald (Harald x Reader)

Son of King Harald Harald x Reader Warnings: after giving birth

Summary: Harald takes care of you.

The conversation between the midwife and your husband barely reaches your ears. Their voices seem far away and muffled even though you are sure they are standing just a few meters away from you. You are too tired to turn your head to their way, opening your eyes would be a lost battle. All of your remaining strength is focused on your arms to keep the small bundle of joy against your chest. “They are both healthy, my King,” the midwife says with deep satisfaction in her voice. “Your son is strong, and your wife is a true warrior.” “Thank you for all of your help,” Harald replies. “You can go and rest now. I will take over from here.” “Are you sure?” The woman asks, you can feel her gaze on you. “Yes,” your husband says. “If I need help, I will call for you.” “As you wish, my King.”

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sigrun-valkyrie · 7 months ago

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she’ll have the world if she wants it

uhtred ragnarsson x fem!reader, 1.9k words tw: pregnancy, canon typical violence, blood, kidnapping, general worry and distress a/n: this was requested by @elbereth-bluebird! i started writing it as soon as you sent in the ask, so i apologize for it taking me forever to finish. i love uhtred.

The confession slipped through your lips before you had half the gall to stop yourself. Eadith stared at you with wide eyes, lips slightly parted as she glanced over your shoulder. The men continued on laughing over the fire, ignoring you for the time being. Osferth stoked the smoldering embers as Sihtric threw on a few more pieces of wood, bringing the fire to life once more.

Uhtred was all smiles, glancing your way—not that you saw. Your eyes were glued onto Eadith’s face as terror spread through your body.

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sigrun-valkyrie · 7 months ago

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I’ll be there for your - part 2

Pairing: Bjorn Ironside x reader

Warnings: none

Word count: 1.083

Part one | Part two

A/N: The baby here is already one month old.

++ I’m reposting this because the tags weren’t working before so I’d really appreciate your feedback. Also, thank you so much for all the feedback on the first part, loves!

Three months later

Eirik was sleeping on the bed, surrounded in by small mountains of sheets, while you move across the hunt, putting things back to theirs place doing as little sounds as possible, afraid to wake the baby. He cried the entire night, depriving your for any sleep you could get and you didn’t wish to hear his screaming so soon, your head still aching.

Raise a child was harder than you thought it would be, maybe because most of the time you had to take care of him by yourself. Björn kept his promise, visiting you as often as he could, but he had his own business and a wife to take care of.

A knock on your door took made your eyes open wide, awaking you. You were almost falling asleep standing up. Cursing under your breath you walked to the door, glancing at your bed to make sure his eyes were still closing. A relieved sigh left your lips and you opened the door.

Bjorn stormed out of his house, too annoyed to be around Torvi and her mania to think she was wiser than him, telling him who to trust and who not. The real problem tonight, was the way she spoke about you, as if you were a whore, but once the man throw the cups from the table she quit it. He went out for fresh air, his foot automatically carrying him to the front of your hunt.

Your face softened when you notice the wrinkles on his forehead, his brows furroed and the tension on his shoulders. Taking a few steps behind, you gave him enough room to enter, managing to keep most of the cold wind outside. You still hadn’t had time to cut more wood.. or step outside for more than half a hour since your son was born.

The man thought it wasn’t a long time since he had seen you, but you appearance made him think otherwise. You looked weak. Purple bags adorned the deep area under your eyes, your cheekbones were more proeminent but not as a pleasant feature and your skin was slightly pale.

“What? There’s something on my face?” You furrowed your brows, touching your features in search for something wrong. Then you remembered how you appearance should look like.

The promise you’ve made to yourself wasn’t being easy to keep. Forget Rollo. Forget whatever you once fell for him. Live for this child.. well, that part you were doing quite good, but not enough in your opinion.

“I’m a terrible mother” a sigh left your lips as you rubbed your face. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

You feared the future. What if you couldn’t provide enough for the both of you? What would you do when he starts to become a boy? There were certain things that you couldn’t teach him, like fighting. Would he wants to know about his father? Uncountable what ifs roamed your mind and there was no way to stop it.

For days you told yourself that the seer could take your doubts, ease your frights but you never dared yourself too see the old man.

Bjorn knew exactly how you felt. Abandoned with a child. You were doing a lot better than him, stronger. He neglected his own daughter, you were priorizing your son.

As if the child could sense you were speaking about him, his soft cries erupted. You moved on your seat to get up, but Bjorn placed a hand on your knee, going to where the baby was.

“So you are driving your mom crazy?” he took the baby on his arms carefully, remembering how it felt to hold Siggy. If regret could kill..

You smiled when the baby sobs stopped, being replaced by excited grunts.

“Think I’ll have to keep you around.. you’re the only one who keep this boy quiet” even the other Ragnarssons have tried, but they couldn’t keep him without crying for more than seconds.

He wished that your words wouldn’t have brought such a tight on his heart but it did and he wanted your words to mean a lot more than it actually did.

The man took a sit on your bed and you did the same, watching Eirik. The boy’s big green eyes stared at Björn as if he was some kind of God.

“You should get some sleep” he turned to you, seeing you shake your head.

“It’s alr…”

“I can take care of him for a few hours” his soft tone assured you. All he wanted to do was help. The tiredness was already getting the best of you and you thanked him. You curled on the empty side of the furniture, falling fast on sleep.

If Bjorn had any doubt about his love, it was far away gone now. He wanted to be man you’d come back to, the one who protect you against the world, the one who’d give you children. Eirik had already sleep when Bjorn stopped daydreaming about the life he wanted, unsure about how long had passed, probably a lot. He wouldn’t mind watching you for many more years.

It was hard to know if it was the peaceful feeling in the room or the tiredness from the day, maybe both, but soon Bjorn’s eyes closed. The baby’s small body laying in the middle of the both of you, safe enough from any fall.

A loud caterwaul coming from the window drifted you of off your sleep. The sunbeams were already creeping out inside the hunt, warning the place a little bit. Turning to your side, you found Bjorn asleep, slow snores leaving his throat while one of his arms holded Eirik close. The scene was beautiful and made your heart skip beats.

For a moment, it felt like you were a family. Your minds shooting thousands of thoughts about the man in front of you. You always knew he would be a good father, a great husband.

He looked so inoffensive like that. Before you could even notice, your fingers tips were almost touching the soft skin of cheek.

You blinked, pulling your hand back. This sensation was familiar to you. Stronger but familiar. Your heart couldn’t bare be broken again, not when it wasn’t even healed but the God’s always had differents plans for you.

“Have mercy on me, Freyja” you whispered, turning to stare at the ceiling. The only way to make it go away was to keep your distance. You weren’t stronge enough to fight your heart anymore.

Tag list: @gruffle1 @miss2001babe @arses21434 @thorins-queen-of-erebor

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sigrun-valkyrie · 7 months ago

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Okay yall, I’m a little late to the party, but Rollo Lothbrok🫣 I’m only on season 3 of Vikings and I’m officially in love with the beauty of this man. Be prepared for more Vikings fics🤤 Also, this is a LONG fic, but it’s worth it!🥹

Bridge Between Worlds

Rollo Lothbrok x Reader

In a marriage arranged for political alliance, you, a Christian princess, and the Viking warrior Rollo find yourselves unexpectedly drawn together, bridging the divide between your faiths, cultures, and hearts.

Warnings: smut, fluff, struggles with faith, religion, drinking, cursing

The grand hall fell silent as your father’s voice rang out, echoing through the stone walls. His words seemed to linger in the air, heavy with purpose, like a chain slipping over your wrists. “The Northmen have proposed an alliance, my daughter,” he said, his gaze steady as he looked at you. “King Ragnar has offered his brother, Rollo Lothbrok, to wed you. This marriage will bring peace to our lands and protection from their raids.”

The room seemed to close in, the walls pressing down as you struggled to breathe. Marry a Northman? The very thought filled you with dread. You’d heard tales of these people—warriors who worshipped strange gods, men who swept through villages like storms, leaving only ruin in their wake. And now, to bind yourself to one of them, to Rollo Lothbrok of all people… It was unthinkable.

“But, Father,” you protested, your voice wavering. “Surely, there must be another way to secure peace. A treaty, a negotiation—anything but marriage.”

Your father’s gaze softened, but his voice held the iron weight of duty. “This is the only way, my daughter. We need this alliance. You have always known that your marriage would serve a greater purpose, and now that purpose is upon us.”

You felt a lump rise in your throat. Your life had been a careful sequence of preparations for this role, every lesson, every sermon instilling in you the virtue of self-sacrifice. You’d known that one day your life would be bound to someone chosen for you, but you had always imagined it would be to a noble from a nearby kingdom, someone who shared your faith, your values. Not to a pagan warrior from a distant, brutal land. A beast more than a man.

And yet, you had no choice. The Northmen’s proposal had been clear, and your father had already accepted it. The fate you had so long been prepared for was now sealed.

***

The day of your wedding dawned, cloaked in an eerie stillness. The grand church where you were to wed Rollo was adorned with flowers and candles, symbols of a sacred union. You wore a gown of fine lace, your veil trailing behind you like a whisper of grace. You felt numb, as if moving through a dream—or a nightmare—waiting for the moment to be over, waiting for the reality of it to settle.

Rollo stood at the altar, a tall, imposing figure, his features set in a mask of silent defiance. He looked as out of place as you felt, his gaze hard and unyielding, his mouth a tight line. When he glanced your way, his eyes were unreadable, a mixture of resentment and resignation. It was clear that he, too, had little desire for this union.

The priest began the ceremony, his voice a steady drone of Latin prayers. You barely heard the words, your mind elsewhere, tangled in memories of home, family, the life you were leaving behind. Each phrase, each gesture, seemed hollow, an imitation of the wedding you’d once imagined as a child. This was supposed to be a moment of joy, of love. But there was no warmth here, only the cold formality of duty.

When the priest instructed Rollo to take your hand, he did so without meeting your gaze, his grip firm but impersonal. His hands were rough, scarred from battle, the hands of a man who had known violence more than tenderness. You felt the weight of his touch, solid and unyielding, a reminder that you were bound now to this stranger.

The priest continued, his voice a solemn echo as he blessed your union, but you could see the slight hesitation in his eyes. This marriage between a Christian princess and a heathen warrior defied every tradition, every vow that was meant to sanctify it. And yet, the ceremony proceeded, binding you together in the eyes of your God and your people.

When the vows were exchanged, Rollo spoke the words in a language foreign to him, his voice thick with an accent that turned each promise into something distant, almost detached. You struggled to keep your voice steady as you repeated your own vows, feeling as though you were surrendering more than your hand. You were giving up your life, your dreams, to a man who would never understand you, nor you him.

As the ceremony ended, the church fell silent, a strange, somber quiet lingering between you and Rollo. The people gathered offered their restrained applause, their faces a mixture of relief and curiosity. To them, this was a strategic victory, a bridge between two worlds, but to you and Rollo, it was a prison.

You stole a glance at him, trying to discern any hint of emotion in his eyes. But his face remained a stoic mask, unreadable and distant, as if he, too, were waiting for this day to be over.

That night, as the festivities continued, you and Rollo exchanged only the briefest of nods, acknowledging each other out of obligation more than anything else. You sat at opposite ends of the grand table, separated by language, by faith, by the vast chasm of your different worlds.

And so, as the night grew darker, you resigned yourself to this new life, feeling like a stranger in your own skin. Bound by vows spoken in words that felt foreign, you wondered if you would ever find warmth in the cold, unyielding presence of the man you now called your husband—or if this marriage would remain as empty and silent as the vows you had uttered in that grand, hollow church.

***

The sea air of Kattegat was colder than anything you’d known back home. The winds held a bite, reminding you each day that you were far from the familiar warmth of your homeland. It had been a month since you’d arrived, a month of silent days and sleepless nights in a place that felt like another world. Though married, you and Rollo had barely exchanged a glance since arriving, your only link to understanding his world was the quiet monk Athelstan, who patiently taught you Norse.

Days passed in strange routine. The Northmen spoke a language rough and wild, each word sounding like thunder to your ears. But Athelstan was a skilled teacher, and over time, the foreign words began to settle into your mind. Slowly, painstakingly, you came to understand snippets of conversation, whispers of words. And though you’d never spoken to him directly, you felt Rollo’s presence more keenly than anyone else’s.

Beyond learning their language. You learned of their gods.. gods that were not so different from the one you knew to be true. In the quiet moments of your days in Kattegat, when the biting northern winds were at rest and the village hummed with the peaceful rhythm of daily life, you found yourself questioning truths you had once accepted without hesitation. This land was raw, its people fierce, yet you had begun to notice an undeniable beauty here. And with it came questions—questions that took root deep within your heart, challenging the very foundations of your beliefs.

At first, the differences between you and these people had seemed insurmountable. Their rituals, their prayers to unseen gods of thunder, fertility, the sea, and the harvest—all of it seemed like blasphemy to your ears. Yet, as the days turned to weeks, you saw their reverence, how their lives were woven with purpose and respect for the land, for each other, and for forces they couldn’t see but trusted in deeply.

They worship their gods as we worship ours, you thought one day, watching as a woman carved runes into a wooden charm meant to protect her family. They seek strength, guidance, blessings. Are they so different from us?

The question unsettled you, and you struggled against it, recalling sermons from your homeland, the teachings that painted pagans as savages, their gods as dark spirits. But there was light in these people, too, wasn’t there? A unity, a sense of duty, and a love for family that you had always been taught were the virtues of your own faith.

Your gaze often drifted to Athelstan, your quiet teacher and guide in this foreign world, who had once been a Christian monk but had found himself torn between the faith of his past and the gods of the North. You wondered if he felt the same turmoil you did. Perhaps he, too, had wrestled with questions of what was true and what had been constructed by the hands and minds of men. After all, Athelstan had once told you that the Vikings’ gods had existed long before Christ had walked the earth.

This thought lodged in your mind, growing roots you couldn’t shake. Could it be possible, you wondered late one night, lying awake in the cold silence of your home, that the stories of my faith were born from theirs?

You thought of the tales you’d been told in church, stories of miracles, sacrifices, and holy men who could summon storms, heal the sick, or commune with higher beings. But here, you had seen similar stories told around the fires in the evenings—stories of gods who controlled the weather, who guided their people, who demanded sacrifices to keep balance in the world. You watched the children listen with wide eyes, just as you once had, their awe and reverence echoing your own memories of kneeling in a grand church, captivated by stories of your God.

And the symbols—they weren’t as different as you’d once thought. The hammer of Thor, which hung on a leather cord around the neck of nearly every warrior, wasn’t so unlike the cross worn by priests and devout nobles back home. Both symbols represented strength, protection, a hope that something greater watched over you.

What if, you wondered, heart thundering with the weight of the thought, these people had seen the same truths but woven them differently? What if, in some ancient past, we had all followed the same gods, the same ways, and only time had divided us?

It was a question you dared not voice, even to Athelstan. But the idea stirred something within you, something that frightened and intrigued you all at once. You felt the weight of the cross you still wore around your neck, a symbol of your devotion, yet here, it felt somehow…lonelier than before. Was it possible that your understanding of the divine had been limited by the walls of a church, by teachings passed down without question?

Each day you rose and went about your new duties, the questions circling in your mind like a hawk over the fields. Each time you watched Rollo go to the sacred woods or pour mead onto the earth in an offering, you felt a strange pull, a whisper in your heart that perhaps the world was larger and more mysterious than you had ever allowed yourself to believe.

One night, as you lay beneath the northern stars, you found yourself praying, not just to your God but to whatever forces might hear you. A strange peace settled over you then, as if your heart had found a rhythm that it had been seeking all along, something beyond names and symbols—a sense of connection to the world around you, to the mysteries and wonders that spanned both your people and his.

For the first time, you felt that perhaps there was more than one way to honor the divine, more than one truth, and that perhaps, in marrying Rollo, you had not been lost to a foreign faith but rather drawn closer to understanding the many ways humanity sought to make sense of this world and the next.

***

One evening, after a long day of lessons, you returned to your new home, hoping for the comfort of a bath to soothe your weary body and mind. You went to the small, private bathing room, where a tub of steaming water awaited. But as you reached to untie your dress, you found yourself struggling, your hands fumbling clumsily over the stubborn knots at your back. Frustration welled up, and you cursed softly under your breath, wishing for just one familiar comfort in this strange, foreign life.

Suddenly, a presence loomed behind you, close enough that you could feel his warmth. You froze as a large, rough hand gently touched your shoulder.

“Let me,” came the deep voice, and you knew instantly it was Rollo. His voice was as rough as the northern winds, yet softer than you’d ever heard it, as if afraid to shatter the silence that had always lain between you.

You held your breath as he deftly began to untie the laces, his hands surprisingly gentle as he worked through the knots with ease. Neither of you spoke for a long moment, his closeness overwhelming, every brush of his fingers against your back sending sparks down your spine.

Once he had loosened the dress, he lingered, his hands resting against the fabric at your shoulders. You felt your heartbeat quicken, and with a shaky breath, you finally turned to look at him. His intense blue eyes met yours, filled with an unreadable depth.

“Thank you,” you murmured in Norse, proud yet hesitant as you stumbled over the unfamiliar sounds.

His lips curved, just barely, in something close to a smile. “You’ve learned our language well,” he replied, his voice low. “I am…impressed.”

Your cheeks warmed, and you looked down. “I wanted to understand. To not feel like a stranger here.” There was a long moment of silence before you finally spoke the question you had been wondering since you arrived. “Will we have a pagan wedding?”

Rollo looked at you with confusion. “We already had a wedding.”

“Yes, but that was a Christian wedding. Our marriage is not recognized in the eyes of your gods, therefore… we are not truly married. Not in the eyes of you or your people.” You held up your, now falling, dress as it slumped around your shoulders.

“Is that what you want? For us to not truly be married?” You hadn’t realized how difficult the answer to that question would be. You would have assumed you would have immediately said yes, but now, in this moment… you’re not so sure.

“It’s what you want, isn’t it? You do not love me.” Rollo scoffed at your words.

“As you do not love me, Princess.”

“Yes, but I love no one. You do love someone, it’s just not me.” Rollo’s eyes widened at your words and he came so close to you, you could feel his breath on your cheeks.

“What do you know of who I love?” You swallowed a lump in your throat, realizing you had hit a sensitive spot.

“I know more than you think, husband. I’m not some stupid and scared girl. The whole month I’ve been here, I’ve been quiet and observant.” Rollo rolled his eyes, taking a few steps back.

“And what is it that you have observed?” You nodded, holding your chin high in retort to his evident doubt.

“I’ve noticed that you are angry. At both yourself and your brother. You’re jealous of him. You feel you are less than and this makes you infuriated. I know you’re in love with Lagertha, but she has never shared that feeling. Though I never knew Siggy, I see the way you act when people talk about her. You loved her, but not in the way you love Lagertha. For this you carry guilt and it fuels your self hate. Did I observe correctly?” Rollo’s expression was one of frustration and astonishment.

“You’ve been busy, Princess. Do you agree with your observations? Am I less than Ragnar?” His question took you by surprise, but didn’t at the same time. The idea that he cares for your opinion is shocking, but not that he needs the validation.

“The truth?” He nods in response. “I think you are a great man. I think you’re honorable and kind. You’ve never forced yourself on me when you could have. You treat me well when you do not have to. As much as you are jealous of your brother, I truly believe that you love him and would not hurt him. You are an honorable warrior, which from my understanding is one of the things you Northmen pride yourselves on. Why you do not see yourself as such, I dont understand. Even my people back home knew your name, Rollo. The Bear, they called you.” A smile spread on his face at the name, and you couldn’t help the one that found yours. “I am proud to be the wife of a man with such high honor.” Rollo was silent for what felt like eternity, just staring at you. You began to feel self conscious, pulling your falling dress as high as you could, and dipped your head to hide your face. “Why are you just staring at me?”

“I suppose I’m surprised. You do not talk to me the entirety of our marriage and the first time you open your mouth you have insulted me and spoken so highly of me in one sitting. I thought you hated this marriage,” he said, each word measured. “I thought you hated…me.”

You looked up, startled by the honesty in his gaze. This was the first real conversation you’d had, the first true exchange, and it struck you how different he seemed now than the man you’d first met. Gone was the stoic warrior, replaced by a man with insecurities, a man who, perhaps, felt as much a stranger to you as you did to him.

“It was never hate,” you whispered, choosing your words carefully. “Fear, maybe. But not hate.”

His hand lifted, his fingers brushing against a strand of your hair as if testing the boundaries of this new understanding between you. “You are braver than you think,” he murmured, his voice like a quiet promise. “More brave than I.”

You swallowed, your heart thundering in your chest. “No, Rollo. Not braver than you.” He smiled, his hand slipping from your cheek to your neck.

“You speak your opinion where I cannot. That’s much braver than facing battle.” The hairs on the back of your neck stood as his hand danced from your neck to your exposed shoulder.

“Maybe we are just brave in different ways. Maybe we can teach each other.” He stepped closer, his fingers curling around the loose neckline of your dress.

“You want to learn to fight?” You shrugged, a smile finding your lips.

“If I am to be a Northeman’s wife, I should learn their ways, no? You teach me the skills of battle and I shall teach you the skills of wit.” He began to pull the fabric of your dress down and you clutched it. He stopped, his eyes meeting yours. “Rollo, I’m…” you realized you did not know what the word was in their language. You searched your mind for it.

“You’re what?” You took a deep breath, embarrassed to have to explain.

“I’ve never been with a man. I don’t know the word in your language.” Rollo chuckled, grabbing your small hand that was holding your dress up.

“Ah, virgin,” he said, squeezing your hand, as if to ask if he could remove your clothes.

“Virgin,” you repeat and he nods.

“Yes, Princess. You are my wife. Should we not bed at least once during our marriage?” You felt your cheeks getting hotter as you finally succumbed to him. Your hand released and your dress fell, pooling at your feet. Your hands covered your breasts, feeling too exposed. His large, scarred, hands clasped your wrists lightly, pulling them down to your sides. “There is no need to hide from me, my wife.” His calloused fingers ran down your exposed chest, to your stomach, stopping at your hip. Goosebumps lit ablaze across your whole body. “It is as if you were carved by the gods.” You giggled as he pulled you close, your bare chest now flush with his.

“As were you, Rollo.” Your palms lay against his chest.

“My gods or yours,” he asked, cocking an eyebrow.

“I haven’t decided yet, but being here… I do question if my god is even real,” you say honestly.

“Are we turning you into a pagan,” you laugh, shrugging.

“I’m starting to think it wouldn’t be such a bad thing.” With that, his lips are against yours, hot and wanting. You moaned into his mouth, entranced by how warm he is, how his beard tickled your cheeks with each synchronized movement of your lips. His hands gripped your hips, picking you up with ease. You wrapped your legs around his waist, your lips never leaving one another. He walked you to the bed, gently laying you down.

He got off the bed, standing at the edge. You watched as he undid his pants. His eyes never leaving yours as he moved slowly to untie the laces. He is a man of beauty. Perfectly chiseled and large. His long hair flows down his chest and his tattoos perfectly caress his skin.

“After tonight, we will be officially married in the eyes of your god, no?” You peeled your eyes away from admiring his body to meet his gaze.

“Yes. We never… I don’t know the word. To make a marriage official, the man and wife must lie together.” He pulled his pants down, revealing himself to you fully, as you are to him. You sucked in a breath, an undeniable feeling of want and nervousness filling you.

“Do you want to lie with me? To truly be husband and wife?” He ran his finger along your collarbone, down to your nipple. He circled it lightly and you couldn’t help the moan that came with it. He smiled, licking his lips. You grabbed his wrist, using it to pull yourself to your knees. You are now face to face with him at the edge of the bed. You grabbed his other wrist, placing both palms on your breasts.

“I want you. Just- just be gentle, okay?” He kissed your cheek as his hands squeezed your chest.

“Northmen are not gentle. We do not fuck gently.” He kissed your neck.

“As much as I want you to fuck me like a Northman, I’ve been told your first time hurts.” You looked down at his already hard cock, feeling yourself getting more nervous. “And you are quite large.” This made Rollo laugh as he continued to trail kisses across your neck and chest.

“Don’t worry, Princess. Me and my large cock will be gentle.” You giggled and slapped his chest, making him laugh again. He laid you back down on the fur covered bed, climbing on top of you. You took in a deep breath as he spread your legs. “Don’t be nervous, my beautiful wife.” The words made butterflies erupt in your chest. He kissed your forehead, then both of your cheeks, easing the tightening in your stomach. He grabbed your hands, holding them above your head. He continued to leave gentle kisses as he slowly started to enter you. You squeezed his hands so hard you’re sure your knuckles were white as he pushed farther inside you. He is extremely large and you wince in pain from you being stretched open.

“Rollo,” you whined and he stopped, meeting your gaze. You gave yourself a minute to adjust, then nodded your head. He continued pushing in further until he was finally fully in you. He pulled out, then slowly thrusted back in. His movements were slow and gentle and eventually the pain turned into pleasure. Pleasure like you’ve never experienced. Your head tipped back and your mouth fell open, letting out a moan.

“Does it feel good, Princess?” His hot breath hit your neck as he whispered in your ear and it lit something wild in you.

“Go faster,” you moaned and wrapped your legs around his waist, giving him more access. You felt him push in deeper as he picked up his pace. He was hitting deeper and deeper inside you with each thrust and your eyes fluttered shut at the intense pleasure.

“You look so beautiful.” You opened your eyes to see he is staring at you, drinking in your appearance. Staring into his blue eyes makes all the sensations better. He rested his forehead against yours and you couldn’t help but fall in love with the way he is staring at you as he thrusts harder and deeper inside you. The room is filled with each other’s moans and gasps. You feel yourself reaching a point of release and you can tell he’s about to hit his too. He kissed you passionately as his thrusts become sloppier. You moaned into his mouth as a wave a euphoria rushed over you and your legs shake from utter pleasure. You feel him release inside you and he rides out his high with a few more thrusts.

He laid next to you on the bed and you rolled over to lay your head on his chest. His heart is beating fast and his breaths are short. You ran your fingers up and down his abdomen as you both fall into a comfortable silence. You’re not sure where you find your confidence, but the words that finally come out of your mouth surprise not only you, but Rollo.

“I do not love you, Rollo Lothbrok. But, I can see my falling in love with you.” You meet his shocked expression, but it eventually turns soft.

“Goodnight, my beautiful wife.”

***

The night air of Kattegat was alive with laughter and song, the flickering torchlight casting a warm glow over the village as the Vikings celebrated with wild abandon. Mead flowed like rivers, horns clashing in toasts to the gods, to family, to life itself. You felt the familiar warmth of the drink pulse through you, each sip lighting your blood with a fire you hadn’t known before coming to this land. Tonight, you danced without restraint, twirling with the crowd in the great hall, your feet moving with the beat of the drums, the earth beneath you thrumming with life.

You had grown accustomed to the spirit of Viking celebrations, their passion for life something you had come to appreciate. Though you were not of their faith, their customs, or their world, the sense of freedom here was intoxicating, a heady contrast to the strict life you had known. Tonight, you felt a part of it all. For the first time, you truly felt like you belonged.

The world around you was a blur of laughter, music, and flickering torchlight. You spun and swayed, your feet carrying you to the beat of the drums, your heart pounding with the thrill of freedom, of finally feeling as though you belonged here in Kattegat. The mead warmed your blood, filling you with a giddy lightness that melted away your reservations. This was a new side of you, one that you hadn’t known before—a part of you that had found joy in this wild land, surrounded by people who embraced life as fiercely as they embraced battle.

As you moved, you caught sight of Rollo, standing on the edge of the crowd, watching you. His intense gaze was steady, following your every movement. His face, usually hardened by shadows and silent restraint, now held something softer, almost tender. You felt his stare like a touch, tracing over you, lingering with an appreciation that made your pulse quicken. You and Rollo had not been able to go a few hours without being intimate since your first time.

Without thinking, you met his eyes and smiled, your feet carrying you closer. He didn’t move, his stare unwavering, as if transfixed. The other dancers melted away, leaving only him in your focus, your heart pounding louder than the drums. Before you could second-guess yourself, you held out your hand, a silent invitation, your eyes daring him to join you.

For a moment, Rollo hesitated, his usual guarded expression flickering with uncertainty. But then, slowly, he reached out, his large hand enveloping yours, and you pulled him into the crowd. He stumbled slightly, unused to this kind of playfulness, but his eyes remained locked on yours, an amused glint sparking there as he let you lead.

You laughed, feeling as though the walls between you and this man, the ones that both had been breaking down slowly, were finally crumbling completely. You pressed his hand to your waist, guiding him to follow your movements, his body close to yours as the drums echoed in the night. Though he towered over you, his presence solid and intense, you felt a softness in the way he held you, his grip firm but gentle.

“Are you sure you know how to dance, warrior?” you teased, your voice light and filled with the boldness that only mead could bring.

He huffed, a smirk breaking across his face. “Dancing is not the way of a Viking. At least not the way you dance, Princess,” he replied, his voice deep, but his eyes sparkled with unspoken laughter. “But for you… I will try.”

The two of you moved together, your laughter mingling as you guided him through each step, each sway. His movements were unpracticed, slightly stiff, yet he relaxed with every beat of the drum, letting himself be drawn into your rhythm. It was as if the crowd, the village, the night itself faded, leaving only the two of you bound in this moment, where titles and gods and duty did not matter.

You felt his hand tighten on your waist, pulling you closer, his other hand coming up to cradle the side of your face. The playful smiles faded, and in their place, a deeper warmth simmered between you, something vulnerable and unspoken.

“I’ve never seen you like this,” he murmured, his voice barely audible above the music, his gaze tracing your face as if memorizing every detail. “So Free. So Happy.”

You smiled softly, your fingers brushing over his hand. “I feel alive here, Rollo,” you whispered.

His thumb gently stroked your cheek, a tenderness in his touch that you’ve grown accustomed to since the night you first made love four months ago. “Then perhaps,” he said, his voice rough, “this land, this life, is more yours than you thought.”

You felt a swell of warmth in your chest, a feeling that chased away the last remnants of doubt. Here, with him, in this wild, untamed place, you had found a part of yourself you never knew was there—a part that yearned for freedom, for belonging, for love.

The drums beat on, but the world around you was still, your gaze locked with his, the silent understanding between you deepening. And as he lowered his forehead to rest against yours, his breath warm against your skin, you realized that the music had stopped. Everyone around you had gone quiet. You and Rollo broke contact to see the cause of it. Walking through the great hall doors was Athelstan. Bjorn had told you both that the monk had thrown his sacred arm ring into the fjord.

Rollo’s voice thundered through the crowd. “Athelstan,” he roared, his voice laced with anger.

The crowd quieted, all eyes turning to the monk-turned-Viking who had lived with one foot in both worlds. Rollo stormed toward him, his face twisted with rage, and gripped Athelstan’s wrist, holding it up for all to see. “Look at this man!” he bellowed, his voice echoing through the night. “Where is your sacred ring, Athelstan? I was told you threw your ring, the one our king, Ragnar, gave you into the fjord!”

You felt the blood drain from your face as you watched, horrified by Rollo’s fury. You had always known Athelstan was a man of two worlds, like yourself—caught between his old faith and the ways of the Northmen. A pang of sympathy tore through you, a deep understanding of the pain and doubt he must have felt to make such a decision.

Athelstan’s eyes darted toward the crowd. “You have betrayed the gods who welcomed you,” Rollo growled. “You stand here, pretending to honor both, but now we see who you truly are.”

Ragnar pushed through the crowd and wrapped an arm around Athelstan’s shoulder. He dragged him away from the crowd, into a back room, whispering something in his ear.

The celebration resumed, though it was subdued, the laughter tinged with unease. You lingered near the fire, lost in thought, watching as Rollo stalked away, his jaw tight with anger. Before you knew it, you followed him, the words you’d held back now bubbling to the surface.

When you both arrived at your shared home, you closed the door behind you, crossing your arms as you gathered the courage to speak. “Why are you so angry at Athelstan?” you demanded, your voice sharper than you intended. “You’ve always known he was torn between both faiths, just as I am. Why is it different now?”

Rollo turned, his face dark and unreadable in the dim light. “You don’t understand,” he replied coldly. “Athelstan has cast aside his ring. He has thrown it away, shown us he has no loyalty to anything but his Christian god. He cannot be trusted.”

“Cannot be trusted?” you echoed, frustration flaring in your chest. “Athelstan has always been loyal to you, to your brother, to your people. His struggle with faith does not make him any less trustworthy.”

Rollo’s gaze hardened. “He is weak. He cannot choose between one god or another, and now I see he tried to be something he’s not. He insulted the gods by pretending to be one of us.”

“But you do not see it, Rollo,” you pressed, your voice trembling with a blend of anger and desperation. “I see myself in him. I, too, am torn between worlds—between my God and your gods, between my homeland and yours. Am I a betrayer because I am still finding my way?”

Rollo’s eyes flashed, and for a moment, you thought he might lash out. But instead, he just clenched his fists, his voice low and fierce. “You must choose as well. You cannot love both. You cannot be a Christian and a Viking.”

You shook your head, feeling a pang of sadness as you looked into his eyes. “Athelstan was struggling, just as I am. Faith is not a simple choice, Rollo. It’s complicated, and sometimes it takes time to understand what it truly means. He was searching for where he belongs, and he has found it. This does not mean he cannot love your people… just as I love you.”

Rollo’s shoulders tensed, his eyes going wide. It’s the first time you had said it. Neither of you had ever spoken those words. You weren’t even sure if Rollo loved you. You felt embarrassment and anger at his lack of words.

“Is this why we have not had a Viking wedding? Because you feel I have not chosen your gods?” You felt tears pricking your eyes, but you fought to hold them back.

“If you do not choose our gods, we will never be in Valhalla together.” You scoffed, wiping a tear that slid down your cheek.

“Why does it matter if I end up in Valhalla or Heaven? You clearly do not love me back, so why do you care which afterlife I spend my days?” You began to turn away from him, but he grabbed you wrist, pulling you into his chest. His hand met your cheek, wiping away one of your tears.

“I do love you. But everyone I have ever loved either died or did not love me back.” You met his gaze and your heart hurt at the sight of tears in his eyes.

“Rollo, everyone dies. Just because the people around you die, does not mean you’re the cause of it. You cannot be afraid of death. You, more than anyone, know that. You Northmen do not fear death.”

“It is not death that I fear. What I fear is loving a woman who will not join me in Valhalla. It is not being able to spend eternity with you.” You stood on your toes to reach his lips. You gave him a soft kiss, then pulled away to meet his sadden gaze.

“I love you and I would do anything to spend eternity with you. We were fated to be together, Rollo. I can feel it. No matter what god willed it to be.” He looked down at you, his expression softening further, the anger that had once filled his gaze replaced by something warmer, deeper. In that moment, you felt that perhaps, just as Athelstan was searching, you and Rollo were finding something—a bridge between worlds, a space where faith, love, and understanding could coexist, no matter how different they seemed.

“We were fated to be together.” He pulled you as close as he could, kissing you. You wrapped your arms around his neck, standing taller to deepen the kiss. When you pulled away, you were both out of breath.

“Does this mean we will have a wedding?” He let out a deep chuckle, nodding.

“Yes, of course we will.” A smile spread across your face.

“Good, because I wouldn’t want our child to be born without married parents.” You grabbed his hand, resting it on your belly. His face lit with excitement and he let out a laugh.

“You’re… you’re with child?” You nodded, tears falling freely to see the joy that found his rough and beautiful face. He picked up you, twirling you around. You let out a laugh as he set you down, kissing you.

You nodded, unable to stop smiling. “Yes, Rollo. You’re going to be a father.”

He let out a shout of pure happiness, his arms wrapping around you again, holding you tight as if he were afraid you might disappear. His hand returned to your stomach, resting there reverently, his thumb brushing over the place where new life grew.

“I cannot believe it,” he murmured, his eyes shining. “You… you have given me more than I ever thought possible.”

The look in his eyes was raw, filled with joy, wonder, and a fierce love that made your heart swell. He leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, then your cheek, and finally, his lips met yours in a tender, lingering kiss, his hand still resting protectively over your stomach.

When he pulled back, he grinned down at you, his expression so soft, so full of love that it nearly took your breath away. “You have given me a family,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “I will protect you both. I will give you everything I am, everything I have. I swear it.”

The drums beat on around you, the celebration continuing in the background, but in that moment, the world felt like it held only the two of you, wrapped in a love you hadn’t dared dream of, a love that had grown against all odds.

And as you stood there, feeling the warmth of his hand on your stomach, you knew that whatever came next, you and Rollo would face it together—with joy, with strength, and with a love that was stronger than any doubt, any fear, any past that had once divided you.

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