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bumblesimagines · 1 year

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Under The Moonlight

Part 2

Request: Yes or No

~~~

Their cell felt cold and dark. Hay sparsely covered the solid ground and the windows were covered, making the circle in the ceiling their only form of light apart from the single torch in the corner. Dust clung to the air and walls, telling (Y/N) the jail was very rarely used. Jarl Haakon appeared to run a tight ship.

But even with years of experience under her belt, she hadn't foreseen the attack Freydis had launched on the Christian. She'd been successful without Harald's keen eye trained on her. Using her knife, she had carved a cross into the man's chest just as he had done to her back years prior. The aftermath had been far from calm but Jarl Haakon had been convinced to provide them a proper trial rather than take their heads.

So, there they were... Sitting in a cold cell with a murky future ahead of them. (Y/N) could only stare at the flickering flame of the torch, his finger tracing over the thread of his necklace, feeling his skin brush against the canine teeth tied to it. None of them had gotten a wink of sleep with the threat of death looming over them and (Y/N) could feel the consequences of it knawing at the back of his eyes. His siblings sat silently with their knees up to their chests, gazes distant as they stared forward.

"Do you feel justice?" Leif broke the silence first with his words, lifting his head and looking at the exhausted Freydis.

"Yes, I do," Freydis answered softly and craned her neck to look at them over her shoulder. Even with the dim lighting, (Y/N) could still see the drops of blood splattered on her face. "I feel cleansed."

"Good." Leif breathed, nodding to himself before continuing. "Because now they intend to kill us."

"I don't believe that. Father said-"

"Father was wrong." Leif interrupted and Freydis frowned, looking away from them as her bottom lip began to quiver. "He's a stranger to this world, Freydis. He does not know how much has changed since he left."

"Then I believe in Jarl Haakon." Freydis asserted, eyes beginning to gloss over with fresh tears. Guilt and hope battled within her, (Y/N) saw it in her eyes. She'd gotten her justice but at what cost? Her life? Her brothers' lives?

"I believe in her too." (Y/N) muttered, voice barely above a whisper. "Her face changed when she heard what happened, Leif. She may not allow us to go unpunished, but she may allow us to live."

"Jarl Haakon may feel sympathy, but she is in a difficult position. If she releases us, she risks war. Christians will burn down Kattegat and many of her people will die. It is in her best interest to have us killed."

"Then we die together. We came here for Freydis. We knew the risks and dangers. I would rather die beside my family than surrounded by strangers on a battlefield." (Y/N) declared, turning his attention onto Freydis. Her lips pursed and she released a breathy, sad chuckle as she turned her head to gaze fondly at her brother. Tears had already begun to slip down her cheeks but his words put a warm smile on her face. Allowing his shoulders to slump, Leif inhaled deeply and nodded in agreement, reaching his arm out to wrap it around his brother's shoulder.

"We fought together and we'll die together," Leif muttered, resting his cheek against (Y/N) head.

Freydis's lips parted, almost as if to speak, but her words caught in her throat when the cell door slung open and three Vikings entered with chains and shackles in their hands. While the one with chains approached Freydis, the other two walked toward the brothers and roughly pulled them up onto their feet, placing the shackles on their wrists and shoving them forward toward the doors. They were escorted out of the cell and down an equally dimly lit hallway before being directed outside and toward the hall where Jarl Haakon and King Canute waited for them.

The hall had already been filled with Vikings, mainly Christians seeking justice for their fallen friend. They glared and sneered and jeered, gazing upon them as if they were mere filth. (Y/N) felt the hate and rage in their gazes. Even if they barely cared for the murdered Christian, following another god was a sin worthy of death for many of them. Their hatred could move mountains, but on most days, it burned down homes and slaughtered innocents.

"Freydis Eriksdotter, you are accused of murdering a man you claimed attacked you." Jarl Haakon took her seat on her throne, head lifting as she regarded Freydis. "Have you a way to prove this?"

"Did I put the scar on my back?"

"Any one of your lovers could have done that to you!" One of the Christians, Jarl Olaf Haraldsson, sneered from his spot in the crowd, glaring at them with the same fury and disgust.

Freydis scowled. "The Gods know the whole truth!"

"False Gods!" Jarl Olaf spat back, rousing the crowd with his words as Vikings called their agreements or disagreed with him. In an attempt to quiet the crowd, Jarl Haakon repeatedly hit the floor with her staff, frown deepening when it proved futile and tensions grew.

"There is only one false God! Your Christian God!" Jarl Gorm bellowed, his voice carrying above all others.

"Silence!" Jarl Haakon called, slamming her staff down one last time and watching the men finally settle down. With the attention back on the trial instead of religion, Jark Haakon sighed and nodded to Freydis.

"In the old ways, you would be well within your rights to take revenge. But we live in different times. There are those gathered among us who feel that your claims require further truth. Can you provide it?"

"A trial by combat." Freydis proposed, shifting her gaze onto Jarl Olaf, a man thrice her size. (Y/N) felt his breath catch in his throat, widened eyes meeting Leif's as the two exchanged a panicked glance. Freydis could hold her own, they knew that well, but Jarl Olaf was far more experienced in combat and strategy than any of them. "If I am lying, the Gods will not protect me."

"Combat? With me?" Jarl Olaf snickered and the rest of the hall howled with laughter.

Lips pulling into an amused smirk, Jarl Haakon eyed the cackling man. "You are her accuser. Are you afraid?" Her words caused Jarl Olaf's face to burn, glaring at those among him who laughed at him instead. Eager to shake the embarrassment and attention off, he stepped forward and addressed the quiet man beside Jarl Haakon.

"King Canute, this woman's actions have robbed you of a valuable part of your arsenal. Not having Gunnar puts the lives of everyone in this room, Christian and Pagan, at risk. Therefore, I implore you and the noble ruler of Kattegat to acknowledge that debt and make her pay for it with her life!" Turning, he shouted as he pointed at Freydis. With the crowd once again growing rowdy, Jarl Olaf smugly smirked and stepped back into line. The confidence on his face made (Y/N) grind his teeth.

"Jarl Haakon, may I speak?" Harald called out, stepping forward when the woman nodded. Motioning toward Jarl Olaf, he began. "Jarl Olaf makes an excellent argument. Gunnar was an important part of our strategy, and his loss will indeed cause hardship. But my brother may have also offered a better solution. Since this woman cost you a vital element to your mission, should she not be forced to render something of equal, if not greater value to our endeavor?"

"Such as?" King Canute prompted and leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees. With King Canute's interest piqued, the end of Harald's lips twitched upward and he turned his head to look at the siblings, gaze lingering on Freydis before he lifted his arm.

"Her brothers: Leif Eriksson and (Y/N) Eriksson." Harald answered. Freydis went rigid, eyes widening as her brothers were pushed forward for King Canute to look upon. "Sons of the Great Berserker, Erik the Red. Leif is one of, if not the best ship captains in this room. He piloted his ship across open ocean from Greenland through a storm that killed scores of others, with the help of his brother, (Y/N), who possesses incredible fighting skills I've witnessed myself. Should we doubt their motivation, they will be fighting for the life... of their sister."

Harald had offered a solution without bloodshed. A solution that saved their lives, if they didn't die in the war instead. (Y/N)'s throat felt dry but a sense of relief settled on his chest, eyes shifting to look at his sister. Freydis appeared near tears, nearly trembling as she stared at Jark Haakon and King Canute. They could easily dismiss it and proceed with killing them but as the two leaders looked at each other, it seemed like they were in agreement.

"Leif Eriksson, (Y/N) Eriksson, I ransom your sister to King Canute. To repay her debt, you both must pledge service to his cause. Do you accept these terms?" Jark Haakon asked. (Y/N) looked at his brother next, staring into Leif's blue eyes and searching for any ounce of doubt. But he found none. And Leif found none in (Y/N) either.

"I do." With their answer, Jarl Haakon nodded for her men to release the brothers. One man took Freydis by the arm and pulled her away, only letting the brothers stare after their sister as the shackles were removed from their wrists. And while they physically weren't shackled anymore, they were still in chains. Tied to King Canute until his war ended. But their sister would live and that was all that mattered to (Y/N).

"I believe this is yours," Harald said, pulling their attention onto him. Harald extended his arm toward him, offering back his precious dagger. (Y/N) felt a sense of relief and security wash over him, gently picking up the dagger and sliding it into his rightful place. Noticing the calm that wash over the younger man, Harald smiled. "Come, both of you. I must show you something."

"What is it?" Leif asked curiously, a hint of caution in his voice as the brothers followed Harald out of the hall but the Viking simply grinned at them. The other Greenlanders quickly joined them, quietly asking questions and glancing at each other nervously when Leif answered them. They weaved their way through the bustling town, reaching the dock where ships awaited them, many being prepared and packed for the trip to England. Harald led them toward one in particular.

"It was my father's ship." He revealed, stopping before it and watching the Greenlanders begin to board and explore it curiously. (Y/N) followed his brother on, looking over the woodwork of it. The ship was far larger than the boat they'd used to sail to Kattegat, sturdier and meant for many Vikings. A true warship. "And now it's yours," Harald added, drawing the brothers' attention. (Y/N) met Leif's gaze, shrugging his shoulders when the older man raised a brow.

"It's a nice boat." (Y/N) murmured, running a hand over the ledge of the boat before peering up at Harald and catching sight of his prideful smile.

"I'm glad you find it so," Harald replied, his gaze focused solely on the young Greenlander. His eyes studied (Y/N) closely, almost as if he were trying to commit every detail about him to memory. When Harald finally pried his eyes off him, he motioned toward the boat docked beside them. (Y/N) turned his head and easily spotted it. Perhaps twice as large as the boat they were on and suited for royalty. Shields had been fasted to the sides of it, proudly displaying the colors of Norway's flag. "But that is the ship I covet."

"King Harald of Norway, hm?" Leif spoke in a teasing tone, his grin only growing when he noticed the surprised look that passed over his brothers' features. (Y/N)'s eyes widened slightly and his head snapped in the direction of his brother. His skin flushed lightly and he avoided Harald's amused gaze.

"Someday." Harald smiled warmly before nodding to them and heading down the dock.

Leaning his hip against the wall of their new ship, (Y/N) watched the dark-haired prince, feeling his skin prickle with some embarrassment when Harald looked back toward him, coming to a slow stop and holding his gaze. Averting his eyes, (Y/N) cleared his throat and faced his brother, arms crossing over his chest. "You could've mentioned he was a prince."

"I enjoy it when you make a fool of yourself." Leif chuckled, helping Yrsa and Toke bring everyone's belongings on board. (Y/N) couldn't help the small smile that stretched across his face, rolling his eyes at his brother's words and stepping toward Yrsa to help as well. Leif questioned his friends, allowing them to choose whether they'd join him in battle or remain safe in Kattegat. With the boat ready to go, (Y/N) and Leif stepped back onto the dock and exchanged farewells with the friends who chose to remain in Kattegat.

Feeling Leif tug on his arm, he turned his head and spotted their sister making her way down the dock with Harald, a wide smile on her face. She embraced Leif first, giving him a tight hug and rubbing his arm. Gazing at (Y/N), she hugged him next and sighed softly, tightening her hold on him for a moment before stepping back. With quivering lips and watery eyes, she smiled. "I will make sacrifices to Odin for your safe return."

"We'll be fine. You take care of yourself." Leif smiled softly at her and she nodded, leaning in to kiss his cheek. She inhaled and looked at (Y/N), rolling her lips into her mouth and stepping forward for a second hug. (Y/N) chuckled softly, stroking the back of her head and holding her close.

"Protect each other." She whispered shakily, hand rubbing his back.

"We will." (Y/N) assured, pressing a tender kiss to her temple. Freydis leaned back, using the back of her back to wipe away the tears sliding down her cheeks. She smiled warmly at the rest of her friends, stepping forward to give them each an embrace. The familiar feeling of tears prickled the back of his eyes but he blinked them away and stepped onto the boat, inhaling shakily. With the goodbyes finished, Freydis smiled sadly and looked over each of them, taking slow steps along the dock until she reached Harald and uttered a soft thanks. She glanced one last time over her shoulder before heading down the dock and disappearing from sight.

A few more Vikings joined them, some Christian, others Pagan. Among them were Jarl Gorm, the outspoken Pagon with a large figure and long ginger hair, and his son Arne, a young man with a scruffy beard and short blonde hair. Then there was Johan, a Christian Viking with hair that swept over one eye, and Tomas, a younger man with short curly black hair and boyish features. Birger, a Christian Viking who appeared to be a close friend of Harald's, joined them as well.

(Y/N) watched the new faces join them and introduce themselves, and even with each friendly smile, he felt more and more uneasy. It'd taken nearly a year for (Y/N) to grow comfortable around the other Greenlanders, and it took another year for him to fully trust them. To have so many strangers on a boat with growing animosity between a few of them... (Y/N)'s stomach twisted.

Noticing his tense figure, Leif placed a gentle hand on his arm. "Easy, (Y/N). We're all working together." He murmured and (Y/N) nodded, turning to watch him step onto one of the seats and look over his new crew as Njal and Skarde brought a barrel to the center of the boat.

"Listen up! All knives and axes in the barrel. No one rows with a weapon on them."

"I don't give up my knife for anybody." Jarl Gorm voiced defiantly.

"There's only one reason to row with a weapon, and that is to kill someone else on this boat. Your enemy is not here." Leif responded, gaze shifting to his brother and giving a small shake of his head. (Y/N) rested his hand on the hilt of his dagger, satisfied he didn't have to toss it into the barrel.

"What if he is?" Arne piped up, eyeing Johan and Tomas when the two stepped by him.

"Then I'll deal with it," Leif answered cooly, face remaining stoic as he looked over the crew. For him to be taken seriously, he needed to act like a leader. Otherwise, those like Arne and Jarl Gorm would do as they pleased, even at the cost of others' lives.

Moving forward, Harald spoke and dropped his axe into the barrel. "I have no enemies here."

With Harald making the first move, the others soon followed, dropping their axes and knives into the barrel. The outspoken men hesitated, glancing at each other and staring at the barrel as weapons were dropped in. Arne cracked first, begrudgingly dropping his axe in. Jarl Gorm held Leif's gaze challengingly but ultimately stepped forward and tossed his weapons in. (Y/N) watched him, taking note of the way he readjusted his coat with his back turned to them. Humming softly, he looked back at Leif and quirked a brow, his brother giving a small nod of acknowledgment before beckoning him over.

"I want you beside me," Leif told him, sitting down on his seat and resting his arms upon the steering oar. (Y/N) eyed Harald when the prince sat down behind Leif, a small smile appearing on the prince's face. (Y/N) frowned at him in return and took a seat on the bulwark, feeling Harald's eyes burn into the back of his head. Propping his leg up, (Y/N) placed his arm on his knee as the boat began to move forward, following King Canute's ship. Vikings released shouts and cries of encouragement as they rowed out into open water.

"Interesting necklace," Harald mentioned, retrieving a discarded rope and beginning to toy with the ends of it, gazing at the threat holding the canine teeth together around the Greenlander's neck. (Y/N) turned his attention out onto the dark waters, watching the ripples and small waves in a blatant attempt at ignoring the prince.

Leif made a noise of amusement and shook his head, fingers drumming lightly against the steering oar. "My brother has never been much of a talker."

"I can see that," Harald chuckled.

Hours passed, the occasional silence filled with small talk between Leif and Harald. The two seemed to grow a quick tolerance for each other, even going as far as cracking a few jokes. And despite Harald's attempts at communicating with the younger Eriksson, his questions remained unanswered, though it only fueled his curiosity. Jarl Gorm eventually walked toward them, being mindful of holding onto things unless he wished to be tossed around by the rocking boat.

"So, is this your first Viking raid? Are you nervous?" Jarl Gorm questioned, resting his hand on the side of the boat and planting his feet firmly on the wood beneath them.

"Our father was a raider. He told us he was a Berserker." Leif said and shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly.

"That means he was a mighty warrior and killed many men." Jarl Gorm explained, stepping closer to Leif and moving his hand onto the oar. "Like Harald." Jarl Gorm motioned toward the prince and for the first time since the boat set sail, (Y/N) turned his head to look at him.

Unable to read his expression clearly, Harald cleared his throat. "So, why did he go to Greenland?"

"Because he killed men, even when he wasn't raiding," Leif answered grimly. The subject of their father never failed to make him upset. Even when Erik made attempts at being a decent father, his past and crimes always caught up to him. A past his children had to accept but Leif grew to resent.

"Have you ever killed a man before?"

Shaking his head, Leif frowned at Jarl Gorm. "No. I've never had a reason to."

"And you, boy?" Jarl Gorm turned toward (Y/N) next. The younger Greenlander held Harald's gaze for a moment longer before looking at the older man and nodding, lips pressed into a thin line.

"Almost." (Y/N) answered and Jarl Gorm raised his brows. "He insulted my family so I bashed his face in with a rock. He lost an eye." He still remembered the day. He'd only been nine when the thirteen-year-old boy had decided to bother Erik the Red's son. He found out just how thin (Y/N)'s patience ran at the cost of an eye. The memory of his screams and wails still brought a smirk to (Y/N)'s face.

Smirking widely, Jarl Gorm nodded his approval. "It appears we've got a Berserker in the making."

"We were children." Leif clarified hastily, a frown pulling at his lips.

"Still." Jarl Gorm insisted before he sighed heavily and looked between the two. Without their father there to guide them, it seemed as if Jarl Gorm wanted to take matters into his own hands. "The first time is sometimes difficult. A man is different. He fights back."

"So does a polar bear." Leif chided and Harald smirked, chuckling softly under his breath. Seemingly irritated with his dismissive response and Harald's amusement, Jarl Gorm's lip curled and he turned, heading back to his seat. (Y/N) watched him go, turning his head to meet his brother's eyes and frowning. Leif responded with a small nod.

Noticing the interaction between the brothers, Harald hummed. "You can speak freely before me, (Y/N)."

"Why should I?" (Y/N) frowned at him. "I do not trust you. Prince of Norway or not, you are... nothing to me."

"I saved your lives." Harald reminded softly, brows furrowing when (Y/N)'s eyes narrowed, almost reeling back at the irritation that appeared on his face. "How can you not trust me after that?"

"Because you had no reason to. People only help others when they wish for something in return and you've yet to reveal what you want from us."

"I want nothin-"

"I do not believe you." (Y/N) interrupted him. "We owe you, you know this. So what do you want? Our blessing to couple with our sister? If she wants you, we will not stop her."

Sighing heavily, Harald shook his head. "Freydis is an incredibly strong woman and I admire her greatly. But she does not desire me nor I her."

"Then why-" A holler for Harald came from King Canute's ship and the prince quickly rose to his feet, noticing the large ship had stopped and tilted slightly to allow for Harald to board it.

"This is not over," Harald told (Y/N) as he climbed onto the side of the ship, carefully making his way along the edge until he stepped onto the larger boat and approached King Canute beneath the pitched tent. (Y/N) clenched his jaw and shook his head, looking back at Leif. His older brother stared at him with a frown.

"What?"

"You don't need to be so harsh. I have no reason to believe he has ill intentions." Leif spoke softly, leaning into the steering oar and gazing at his brother. (Y/N) sighed, turning his head away from him. His lips parted to speak but the sight of dark clouds approaching broke his train of thought. Straightening up, (Y/N) felt the wind pick up considerably, and soon, a horn echoed as a warning of the incoming storm. Cold droplets fell onto his face and he looked back at his brother, groaning softly. Leif watched the storm, looking up at the clouds as thunder began to clap above them.

Turning to the man closest to him, he gave an order. "Lower the sail."

"Lower the sail!" Birger called as those standing quickly sat back down and prepared to hang on for dear life. The ginger made his way toward the mast but tripped over Aren's outstretched foot, causing him to take a quick tumble onto the wet floor.

"Watch out, Christian! Maybe you should pray to be more careful." Aren cackled loudly.

"You tripped him on purpose." Johan scoffed, droplets dripping down the side of his face as the rain pelted them.

"I did not."

"I saw you!" Johan barked and Aren's cocky smirk quickly slipped from his face.

"You callin' me a liar?" Arne questioned and stood, tapping his chest. "Come here and tell me that!" He challenged, causing Johan to rise from his spot and step toward him. But before the two men could meet in the middle, (Y/N) shoved himself between them, putting his hand on Arne's shoulder and forcing him back down to his seat.

"Resolve your issues when we reach land." (Y/N) ordered, turning his head toward Johan. He only had to give the taller man a hard look for the Christian to bow his head and lower himself back into his seat.

Leif moved to stand beside (Y/N), frowning down at Arne. "Do you have a problem with my order?"

"I'm fine." Arne raised his arms in surrender and (Y/N) removed his hand from his shoulder. Satisfied with his response, Leif nodded and patted his brother's back, turning away from the others as Jarl Gorm followed the two toward the steering oar.

"I thought you were both followers of the Old Gods, like your father." He spoke loudly, the rain beating down on his face and causing him to squint. Merely glancing at the older man, (Y/N) slipped some rope around his palm and gripped it as tight as possible, hoping it'd keep him from falling into the turbulent waves around them.

"We are," Leif nodded, getting behind the oar and placing his hands on it.

"Then why take the word of a Christian over my own son?"

"Because your son is a liar, Jarl Gorm." He answered bluntly before leaning back. "I suggest you hold on. It's about to get rough."

➸ ➸ ➸ ➸ ➸ ➸

Thick fog surrounded them on all sides and the wind howled softly while birds circled above them. (Y/N) couldn't hear or see another boat, meaning they were all alone for now. With no land or allies in sight. And yet, (Y/N) didn't have worries or fears. His brother knew what he was doing, that was for certain. As long as Leif didn't panic, (Y/N) had no reason to worry. But the others aboard didn't know his brother as well as he did, they didn't trust him either. It was apparent in the way some Christians prayed and others stared at them accusingly.

"We're lost, aren't we?" Jarl Gorm spoke up first, voicing the thought no doubt plaguing their minds. "You've never been to England, and you've lost us!"

"We're not lost." Leif objected tiredly and (Y/N) turned his head to look back at them, frowning at the way Jarl Gorm scowled at his brother.

"Liar! This is your fault and the fault of all the Christians and their false God. The Gods are laughing at us right now!"

"Shut up, heathen." Birger groaned.

"What did you say to me?"

"I said, shut up. You sound like a frightened child." The ginger gritted his teeth as he spoke, turning his head to look upon Jarl Gorm. The Viking slowly rose from his seat, sneering down at the man and stepping toward him. Tearing himself away from the pow, (Y/N) descended down the two steps and slammed his palm on the mast as a warning, successfully taking Jarl Gorm's attention off the man and onto him.

"Stop rowing!" Leif barked his order, walking forward toward Jarl Gorm. "What do you see that makes you believe we're lost?"

"What do I see?" Jarl Gorm repeated, turning his head from side to side before settling his gaze back on Leif and wildly motioning around them. "No land!"

"See, that is where you and I are different. The sky tells me we are headed west. Auks and gannets flying high tell me the weather is improving and we are nearing land." Leif explained, watching Jarl Gorm glance up at the birds flying above. He looked back down at Leif and swallowed.

"Then where are the other boats?"

"The other boats are not my responsibility. This boat-" Leif tapped the mast, raising his brows at Jarl Gorm. "-is my responsibility. For all you know, the other boats are lost, not ours. Now, we continue." With his words, the others resumed their rowing. Jarl Gorm accepted defeat and headed back to his spot.

"And Jarl Gorm, stop blaming the Christians for your fears, hm?" Leif turned away from the man and (Y/N) followed suit as Birger began laughing. But when his laughter abruptly stopped and turned into gurgling, (Y/N) turned around and spotted him leaning against the side of the boat with blood pouring down his neck. The small group of Christians were immediately held back and the other Greenlanders could only stare at the bleeding man. Liv tore herself from their side and hurried over to Birger but the damage had been done. She could only provide mild comfort as he slowly died.

"I'm taking over the boat!" Jarl Gorm declared. "Arne, get the weapons."

"Let them go!" Leif demanded, pushing his way through the crew as (Y/N) quickly stood in front of the barrel, blocking Arne from reaching it just in time.

"Or what, Greenlander? You're going to kill me? I am not a bear and you are not a Viking." Jarl Gorm called hauntingly. His son glared at (Y/N) but remained rooted in his spot, eyes nervously flickering to Njal as the taller man protectively stood behind (Y/N). "You don't have the stomach to kill me."

"A polar bear thinks the same thing before he dies," Leif replied and with a grunt, Jarl Gorm lunged forward. Leif dodged the swing from his axe, slipping past him and using the mast to block Jarl Gorm's swing before he sprung out, digging his knife into the belly of the man. Leif stared him in the eyes as Jarl Gorm gasped and whimpered, digging his knife deeper and deeper. Arne whipped his head around to look at his father, staggering slightly and swallowing thickly.

"When I pull this out, you will be dead. Before I do, tell your men what you see." Leif demanded, turning the man to look forward.

With one last dying gasp, Jarl Gorm spoke before collapsing on the ground, "England."

"Anyone else wishes to join Jarl Gorm?" (Y/N) questioned loudly, staring at Arne and raising a brow at him. When the blonde turned away from him and slumped back down in his seat, he looked over each Viking, watching them avert their eyes and shake their heads. (Y/N) turned his attention back onto Arne, gaze lingering on him before he hummed. "Good. Now, get to rowing."

Once everyone settled back down into their spots, (Y/N) and Leif dragged Birger to the middle of the boat beside Jarl Gorm. Despite their faults, (Y/N) was certain they'd find themselves feasting with whichever faith they chose to believe in, old or new. Leif returned to the steering oar and settled down, appearing unphased by what had occurred. (Y/N) placed his hand on his shoulder briefly before stepping up and leaning against the pow, watching the cliffs grow closer until a horn sounded off in the distance. Turning his head, he spotted ships appearing through the fog.

Jarl Olaf's ship neared them first, tilting so it could brush past their boat safely. Perplexed faces greeted them, confusion only intensifying upon seeing the two bodies. Following the ship, King Canute's sailed beside them and came to a slow stop, allowing Harald to step onto the ledge and board their ship. Harald paused, gazing down at Birger with a saddened frown. He climbed down, briefly stopping to rest his hand on the chest of his friend before approaching the brothers. (Y/N) crossed his arms as he watched Harald walk toward them, meeting his gaze briefly. Harald placed his hand on Leif's arm, features softening slightly.

With an approving nod, he looked at them. "Vikings."

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its-julia-in-outer-space · 11 months

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Our Love Eternal - Part 1

Prompt: Harry is a Viking, and invades Y/N's land.

The Demon was taller than Y/N had expected him to be. Dressed in fighting leathers and a heavy fur coat, he stood alone before her father’s throne with both hands on the pommel of his greatsword. He had no beard, no visible ink staining his fair skin and his thick dark curls were free from any braid or decorative bead.

Had she not known any better, Y/N might have thought him an English mercenary, come to offer his services to the kingdom. But she did know better. The stories of the northern invaders had reached her ears long before they came knocking on Castle Branagh’s doors.

A furious storm was raging that night, said the stories, when three ships emerged from the mist. Twenty men on each ship, rowing to the shore to the relentless sound of drums. One man did not row, people said. He stood still as stone, at the bow of the foremost ship, staring ahead. Jarl Harald, his countrymen were said to call him. Demon, did the people of Lothian.

The invaders did not know hunger, thirst or weariness. They marched on, day and night, taking all the riches and valuables they could get their hands on. An unstoppable wave, heading straight for the castle, the heart of the kingdom.

Neighbouring lands had faced the northern invaders before, and fallen before them. But this group seemed different. They took no lives, so long as people did not resist. Women were left unabused, homes unburnt. From the monasteries, they seized the gold, but left the monks alone. From the fields, they took what food they needed, and cared not to ruin the rest.

Men had been sent to stop them, of course. The strongest warriors in Lothian had been torn from their homes, lifted onto brave steeds and sent off to lay down their lives for the kingdom. And lay down their lives, they had, cut down like children by the northern beasts.

Y/N had seen them appear over the horizon one morning, a shifting mass darkening the path to Castle Branagh. Standing on the battlements, she had watched them approach as the castle erupted in pointless chaos. There was, after all, nowhere to run.

Nowhere to run, she thought again as she stood behind her father’s throne, the Demon before them.

“Ask him what he wants,” said the king to the translator. Her father wore his best finery, the Antler Crown placed proudly on his balding head. Slightly crooked, as always. Y/N could see beads of sweat running down his neck, and hoped that the invaders could not. For dignity’s sake.

The translator, a short and plump spice merchant who had apparently done frequent business in the invaders’ northern lands, spoke then in a strange, rhythmic, melodic prose. The Demon tilted his head to the side, bright green eyes on the Antler Crown, as he replied in that same strange language.

“He asks if you are the one called the Stag King,” the translator said.

“I am King Roderic of Lothian. Like my father before me, and his father before him, I am called the Stag King by the people of my lands.”

An old title, its meaning forgotten. Undeserved.

The translator translated. The Demon’s eyes narrowed, his gaze leaving the crown to travel the crowd of stoic soldiers and cowering nobles. He spoke then, his tone sharper.

“He asks if you have a child,” the merchant said. “No - a daughter.”

Y/N froze as, one by one, each member of the royal court looked at her. Following along, the Demon’s green eyes settled on her figure. She was covered from head to toe, gloves on her hands, cloak around her body, veil over her face. Yet she felt naked as he watched her, watched every tremor, every shiver that racked her.

The Demon spoke again, his chapped lips curving into a predatory smile. Spoke to her.

“He says hello,” the translator said. “He says not to be scared.”

“Scared!” her father scoffed. “The nerve! Has he come to mock us? Is this why he asked for an audience? To make fools out of this court before they slaughter us? We know his men stand ready! We know who waits in the darkness!”

The Demon’s eyes went cold, flickering to her father as he bit out two short sentences.

The translator hesitated. “He says - he says he was not speaking to you, Your Highness. He was speaking to Lady Y/N.”

Her father opened his mouth, fury reddening his skin. Before he could speak and possibly damn them all, Y/N took a step forward.

“Why?” she asked. She sounded frightened, and cursed her lack of control. It was impossible to ignore the smile that blossomed on the Demon’s face. “What does he want with me?”

Her heart pounded against her ribs as she listened to the translator’s wheezy voice, and the Demon’s deep one in return. Air turned scarce as she watched the merchant’s eyes widen, his shoulders tense as he turned to her.

“He’s offering a deal, my Lady. He says he and his men will depart Lothian at once, and not harm a single soul. He swears not to return in ill spirit, lest the deal is broken. He says he is ready to make a solemn oath to you, and to the gods of his faith.”

“What- what does he want in return?” Y/N asked.

Time seemed to stop, seconds stretching into centuries as she waited with bated breaths for the translator to speak. The Demon stood still, his green gaze boring into hers through her veil.

“He wants the Stag’s Daughter to come with him back to his land. To Kaldagr. My Lady, he wants you.”

-----

The northerners’ longships were called drakkars, Y/N learned. Their word for sword was sverð, the one for shield, skjold. Come was koma, and skynda was hurry. To her, they said nei most often. She needed no translation for that one.

She was told the crossing would be dangerous. Depending on the winds, it would take them three to six days to reach their homeland. Three to six days of cold winds, harsh waves and unpredictable weather.

They asked her if she could swim, and laughed when she said no. They opened her sole bag of belongings and threw away all three of her dresses, and ordered her maid to pack men’s pants instead. They never left her alone. Never.

As if she could have run from them. As if she wanted to.

The Demon’s audience with the Stag King had ended ten days prior, with the signing of a treaty between the kingdom of Lothian and Kaldagr. The treaty was simple: there would be peace and friendship between both lands, so long as the Princess of Lothian remained in the great city of Kaldagr. It was not stated what she was expected to do, once in the north, and she did not dare to think about it for too long.

In the end, what did it matter? If it saved her people, she would endure.

“My Lady, you must drink.”

Robben, the merchant turned translator, was handing her his waterskin. They were sat pressed together from hip to shoulder, at the back of the longship. They had departed from the Lothian shores almost four days ago, and the open sea surrounded them on all horizons.

There had been rain, there had been wind, and waves so tall they seemed like mountains. Every now and then, weather permitting, the northerners would pack the oars and let down the sails.

“Thank you,” Y/N said as she took the waterskin from Robben. She lifted the bottom of her veil and drank a few mouthfuls.

As ordered, she had put on men’s clothing, the pants an unfamiliar feeling on her legs. She had too large hunting boots on her feet, kept in place by leather laces around her calves, thick socks underneath. Two cloaks had been placed around her shoulders, and still the cold wind passed through.

If the courtiers of Castle Branagh saw her, they surely wouldn’t recognize their princess. She looked like a vagrant, and smelled like one too after days at sea.

But still, she kept her veil over her hair and face. Not out of modesty, or out of respect for her father’s orders. She’d never cared much about those, even if she’d obeyed them for her entire life. But keeping her features hidden felt safer, the veil almost a shield against the northerners’ eyes. It was the last thing she owned, the last thing that was truly hers. She already dreaded the time when she would have to remove it.

She was still surprised she hadn’t been asked to take it off yet. Thought she would have to, that day on the beach.

On the morning of their departure, her father’s men accompanied her to the shore where the drakkars waited, already prepped for the journey home. A single row boat waited on the sand, two men sat inside with oars ready.

The Demon stood before it, his boots lapped by the waves, the rising sun over his left shoulder. The soldiers who brought her to him stayed back at the end of the dirt road, standing in a line as she walked alone towards the monster who now owned her.

As she approached, she noticed first that his arms were bare. Dark ink covered his fair skin, swirls and strange symbols running from his shoulders to his wrists. His dark curls were braided back, silver beads holding the ends together. The greatsword he’d carried at the audience was now accompanied with twin axes at his hips, a dagger at his belt and a bow across his back.

Now, he truly looked like a demon. Y/N’s heart faltered, an age-old instinct to run rising in her bones. She was smart enough to recognize that if he was the predator, she was the prey.

But she was the Princess of Lothian. She may have been going to her death, but she would go with pride and dignity. So she kept walking, stopping three steps before him. Even though he could not see her eyes, hidden behind the veil, she refused to look down.

A small, secretive smile on his lips, he bowed his head in a show of respect that made her want to spit in his face.

“Y/N,” he said. Her name did not sound the same coming from his mouth, his accent distorting every syllable. Then, he gestured at his own chest and said in broken, exaggerated English, “I am Harald. Harry.”

“You know my language?” she asked. He frowned, confusion in his eyes, and she took it as a no.

He spoke then rapidly in his own dialect, his hand pointing to the longship behind, then to her. He repeated the same words a second time, while she looked at him blankly.

“Kaldr,” he said. “Cold.”

Y/N looked down at herself, and the coat that had been given to her. It must have belonged to a hunter, stained with old blood and dirt, but she had no clothes of her own for extreme temperatures.

“This is all I have,” she told the Demon - Harry.

He clicked his tongue, muttering under his breath. Then, to her horror, he pushed back his cloak. Truthfully, calling it a cloak was doing it a disservice. Made of white, immaculate fur, it must have belonged to a wolf, but one larger than Y/N thought existed. It looked wonderfully warm and soft.

“No,” she protested as he took a step closer to her, the cloak in his hands. “I don’t want it.”

“Cold,” he said again. “Death.”

“I’ll be fine!”

He snarled, teeth bared at her. Such an animalistic behaviour, a savage show of dominance. But her protests died in her throat, her muscles locking up in fright.

His gaze turned softer at her reaction, and he looked almost regretful. But he said nothing, and stepped into her space. As he draped the heavy garment around her shoulders, his arms on both sides of her head, she kept her gaze on his chest.

“No cold,” he said, stepping back. “Varmr.”

“Warm,” she guessed. “I suppose I’m no good to you if I die from the cold before we even get there.”

“Warm,” he repeated, struggling on the w. “Já.”

Then, his hand lifted towards her face. As the tip of his fingers brushed her veil, Y/N startled backwards.

“Don’t,” she hissed. “Nei.”

He inclined his head in surrender, and sighed. Then, without stepping closer, he gestured towards the row boat.

For a moment, Y/N debated staying put. Digging her feet in the sand, the soil of her homeland. Would Lothian hold her, she wondered? Would her kingdom grip her ankles, her thighs, her waist, keep her with it no matter how hard the northerners pulled at her?

She entertained the fantasy for a few seconds. Breathed in. And walked to the row boat.

“We will reach Kaldagr before nightfall, I believe,” said Robben, his wheezy voice startling Y/N out of her memories. “Only a few more hours to go.”

“And then what? Will I be locked up? Beaten and raped? Made a slave to my enemies?”

Robben sighed.

“I don’t know what will happen to you, my Lady. But I do not believe you will be harmed.”

“Why not? Isn’t that the Viking way?”

“If they wanted to hurt you, they would have done so in Lothian.”

Y/N scoffed.

“That’s assuming there’s any kind of logic to their actions. Do you know them so well, sir, that you can assure me of my safety?”

To his credit, Robben seemed to take no offence to her sharp tone and biting words.

“I am not so arrogant. But I have spent time with the northerners, and with Jarl Harald himself.”

“Harald,” she repeated. “Or Harry?”

“Harry is a nickname of sorts, one he uses with foreigners. Perhaps because it is more familiar to them, less…”

“Northern?”

“Less threatening. Many in the world believe the Vikings to be savages, conquerors, people with little thought who steal, and rape, and kill. We imagine they live depraved lives, uneducated and beastly.”

“Do they not? They certainly behave like animals.”

“No. They are warriors, certainly. But you will see in Kaldagr that there is tradition, art, laws, commerce, and all the same complexities that you have in Lothian. The culture is different, yes. Very much so. But I would say the same of Francia, of the Byzantine Empire or Flanders.”

“You are a well-travelled man.”

Robben nodded, looking at the horizon with a distant smile on his face.

“I thank you, my Lady, for what I believe is a compliment. But do not mistake me for a learned man. I am no wiser than a child.”

“Do you truly not know, then?” Y/N asked, fear slipping into her tone. “What he wants with me?”

“The Jarl? No. But he is a private man. I do not believe even those closest to him know why he took you from Lothian.”

“Well,” Y/N said, hugging the white fur coat closer to her body. “I suppose I’ll find out soon enough.”

-----

As Robben had said, land appeared on the horizon hours later. Cliffs that seemed to reach the clouds rose before Y/N’s eyes, grey rocks topped by emerald green grass. Forests of spruce stretched on and on, dark and imposing.

The longships sailed to a narrow opening in the cliffs, which Robben said was called a fjord. They followed the river for some time. The further they travelled, the more the northerners smiled. The men had been quiet, focused and sullen during the crossing, but now, they laughed and joked, sang songs. Ale was distributed, caskets passed from one ship to another.

Even Harry, who had not said a single word the entire journey, now sang with his men from his place at the bow of the ship. He looked younger somehow, his green eyes lit up with barely restrained glee. Happy to be home, Y/N supposed, while she felt she was getting closer to her grave with each passing minute.

As dark as her mood was, she could not hold back her gasp when Kaldagr came to view at last.

It was the largest city she had ever seen. It stretched from the end of the fjord to the top of the hills beyond, an army of timber houses with thatched roofs pressed close together. No walls surrounded the city, but the forest around was so dense that Y/N realised they did not need one.

All of the homesteads were low to the ground, made of one story. They looked barely discernible from one another, an extra window here, slightly wider walls there.

There was one building, however, that contrasted with the rest. It was built from the same timber and thatch, but its length and width far surpassed that of any other building. It was also much higher, towering above the city.

“That’s the longhouse,” said Robben. “It’s where the Jarl lives, and where the northerners hold their meetings and gatherings.”

“Like a castle?”

“Not exactly. Castles, like the one you grew up in, are meant for the nobility. Longhouses welcome everyone.”

“Are there no upper classes here?”

“No, there are. But the gentry is not so separated from the rest of the people, like you might see in Lothian.”

“How strange,” Y/N said, looking at the longhouse. Her father would have never allowed the lower class to step foot in Castle Branagh. When he spoke of the common people, it was always with disdain and mockery. As if the very bread he ate hadn’t been made from their hands.

But then, her father had always been a selfish, greedy man. The veil Y/N had borne her entire life was yet another example: how much he’d loved that only he knew what she looked like, how he’d basked in the curiosity of the other nobles, of the neighbouring royalty. She’d been yet another jewel in his coffers, to be kept hidden, under lock and key.

“Ah,” said Robben. “The welcoming party has arrived.”

Y/N looked to the docks. A crowd had gathered, men and women of all ages cheering and waving at the approaching ships. At the end of the longest dock, three women stood.

Two of them had dark hair, and wore long, thick dresses of the same burgundy colour. Golden jewellery adorned their necks and wrists, their hair pinned up. They could have been twins, had one not been considerably older than the other.

“The Jarl’s mother and sister,” Robben explained. “Hedda and Astrid.”

The resemblance to Harry was more evident the closer they got, from the shape of the mouth to the colour of the hair. But Y/N’s eyes were drawn to the woman in between them. She was as tall as a man, her figure toned. Blonde hair fell from her scalp in wild curls, the wind blowing them in front of her icy blue eyes. Freckles decorated her skin, like stars in the night sky.

She was not wearing a dress, but fighting leathers. A large axe hung from her waist, the woman’s hand resting on the handle as if she might draw it at any moment.

She was beautiful, stunning even, in the way that a snake is before it strikes.

“What about her?” Y/N asked.

“Ah,” answered Robben. “That would be the Lady Saga. Eldest daughter of Jarl Thorvald of Skolstrond, to the north of here.”

“The Lady Saga has quite the weapon.”

“Yes, she does, and she knows how to use it. Does that surprise you? A woman fighting?”

“No,” she said, and shrugged at Robben’s doubting look. “Why would a woman be incapable of fighting? We have arms, don’t we?”

“Do you not believe females are weaker?” asked Robben, throwing up his hands with a smile at the sudden tension in her body. “For the sake of argument only, my Lady.”

“No,” she replied. “Not when I look at the Lady Saga.”

At last, the longships reached the docks. Ropes were thrown to secure them and a human chain was formed to unload the many bags and crates, filled with the northerner’s plunder.

Y/N’s name was called, and she looked up to see Harry before her, his hand stretched out. There was a wild smile on his face, victorious. A man who’d gotten what he wanted, although she still wasn’t sure what exactly that was.

She looked at his outstretched hand, those long, calloused fingers. The hand of the enemy. The joy in Harry’s eyes faded, replaced by apprehension. He spoke softly.

“He says not to worry,” said Robben. “He only means to help you off the ship.”

Y/N took a shallow breath in and placed her hand in Harry’s. He gently closed it around hers, pulling her up to her feet and guiding her to the edge of the longship. Stepping off first, he grasped her elbow and supported her as she stepped onto the dock.

“Thank you,” she said, her words barely audible.

“Þökk,” Harry smiled. A translation, offered like a gift.

He did not let go of her hand as he accompanied her down the dock, as if she was an honoured guest and not a prisoner of war. As they reached the trio of women, his mother and sister kissed his cheeks and forehead, tears pearling at the corner of their eyes.

The sister, Astrid, couldn’t have been older than fifteen. She was bouncing on the heel of her feet, wide brown eyes flitting between Harry and Y/N. The mother, Hedda, had a bit more composure and only snuck glances here and there.

“Saga,” said Harry, drawing Y/N’s attention. The warrior had approached, bowing her head respectfully. Harry clasped her forearm, as one would a fellow warrior.

They exchanged a few words, before Saga’s cold blue eyes settled on Y/N.

“Y/N,” she said. “Welcome to Kaldagr.”

Her voice was melodic, surprisingly high. Most surprisingly was how seamless her English was, her accent nearly indiscernible.

“Thank you,” Y/N said tentatively. Robben hadn’t said who Saga was to the northerners, and she was unsure of the level of deference that was expected. “I didn’t think many would know my language.”

“Most do not,” the warrior replied. “But I had a good teacher.”

Saga said nothing more, and Harry took this opportunity to softly pull at Y/N’s hand. He led her down the docks to the city itself, his mother and sister falling in step behind them. Robben had joined them, and as Harry gestured at some buildings here and there, he translated.

They passed the armoury, the butcher’s shop, the sick house, the forge. There was a school, training grounds and a tailor. They walked through two different markets, both overwhelming from sights, scents and sounds.

Men and women hurried down the busy, narrow streets, many clasping Harry’s free hand with sincere joy in their eyes. He knew most of their names, and always introduced them to Y/N, though she understood very little of what was said.

At last, they reached the longhouse. While not as tall as the smallest tower of Castle Branagh, the longhouse was daunting in its sheer length and width. The large doors were thrown open, and through them, Y/N could see a large room filled with tables and benches. At the centre was a firepit, and against the room’s back wall were two thrones perched on a dais. The floor was covered with thick furs and carpets, the walls decorated with tapestries.

Harry walked straight through, pulling Y/N along. They passed the tables, the firepit, the dais, and walked through an opening to the side. She saw the kitchen to her right, many closed doors to the left. At last, they reached another door, more ornate than the rest. Harry opened it and guided Y/N through.

At once, she saw the bed. She whirled around as the door closed behind her, realising with dread that she was alone with Harry. His mother and sister, the Lady Saga, Robben, were all gone.

Instinct took over. Harry blocked the path to the door, so she bolted to the other side of the room. Her eyes passed quickly over the desk, the chests and wardrobes, the bed, and widened as she saw the weapon rack. She grabbed the handle of a sword and pulled. But she hadn’t realised how heavy it was, and her grip loosened as the sword fell with a great clatter to the floor.

She cursed under her breath, and strained, lifting the sword off the wooden planks. Her arms ached, muscles screaming in pain.

“Stay back!” she ordered, air coming out of her lungs in panicked wheezes.

Harry hadn’t moved from the door. He stared at her, eyebrows raised high, his mouth slightly open.

“I will kill you if you touch me,” Y/N hissed. “I will cut your head off, I’ll split you open, I will - I will rip out your lungs!”

Gone were her promises to her people, the treaty, her father’s orders. If this demon put a hand on her, she would bite it off. Or, at the very least, she would try.

Harry laughed.

“What?” she asked, baring her teeth. “I will!”

With an amused smile, he shook his head. He spoke, but she understood none of the words he said.

“What is that supposed to mean?” she said, her tone rising.

His brows furrowed in concentration.

“No hurt,” he said. He was looking at his hands, like a boy trying to remember his lessons. She realised then that this was exactly what was happening, as he continued in English. “You - are safe. No danger.”

“But - why,” she stammered. “Why did you bring me here?”

She gestured to the bed, and his eyes widened.

“Nei!” he said. He spoke in his language, and his face twisted in frustration as he struggled to find words. He pointed at her, twice, then at the floor.

“Are you…,” she began, looking around the room. “Are you saying this is my room? Just mine?”

He nodded, pointed to the closed door and the hallway beyond. “Mine,” he repeated.

His, over there. Hers, here. Separate bedrooms, because he was not going to touch her. Y/N deflated, the sword sliding a second time from her grip and falling to the floor. She ignored the wince on Harry’s face and leaned against the wall, her legs shaking.

“Safe,” he said again. “Safe.”

There was honesty in his eyes, his features devoid of any sign that he might be lying, trying to trick her. How stupid could she be, to want to trust him? He had taken her from her land, her people, her family. He had forcefully brought her to this city full of strangers, to his home, and she was supposed to believe he meant her no harm? What else could he want?

But there was something, in the bottomless green of his eyes. In the tilt of his full lips, in the shyness in his gestures.

“Okay,” she said. “Safe.”

With shaking limbs, she lifted her hands towards her veil. Part of her was screaming not to do this, not to let go of her last defence. But it felt like a show of trust, a step in his direction. She would see what he’d do with it.

She pulled at the clasp that held the veil in place, and felt it fall from her hair and face with a whisper. It pooled at her feet, the heavy lace stained from the days of travel.

Harry did not blink. His eyes pored over her face, the shape of her jaw, the tilt of her eyes, the colour of her hair. It seemed as if he looked at her for centuries. She dared not move, dared not breathe. She was afraid, but did not know of what. His judgement?

“Þökk,” he said, his words soft as a morning breeze. Thank you.

Then, he bowed his head and stepped back to the door, leaving the room. As soon as the door was closed, Y/N’s legs faltered and she slid down the wall until she was sat on the floor, the fallen sword next to her feet.

She looked at the room properly, at the rich furniture, the open wardrobe in which many dresses were hung, the finely woven tapestries and the bed fit for an empress. She may have been a prisoner, but it seemed she would be a comfortable one. The luxuries she’d been awarded at Castle Branagh paled in comparison.

So many questions filled her head. But the fatigue of the past days caught up to her at last and she dragged herself to the bed, falling down on the furs without bothering to undress herself.

The moment her head hit the feather pillow, the world turned dark.

-----

Thanks for reading the first part, let me know what you think!

Masterlist

#harry styles x you #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #viking!harry #its-julia-in-outer-space writings

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ltwilliammowett · 2 months

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The Draken Harald Hårfagre

#naval history #tall ship #viking longship #draken harald harfagre #medieval seafaring replica

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beverlycrushr · 2 months

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HARALD & LEIF 1.02 · viking

#vikings valhalla #harald sigurdsson #leif eriksson #leo suter #sam corlett #gifs #haraldleif #userarjay #vikingsedit #valhallacentral #perioddramaedit #tvedit #netflixedit #cinematv #harald acting like they are saying goodbye #boy u are going together just in a different ship its fine

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introverted-imagineer · 1 month

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The Emperors Solution (Part 21)

Warnings: Language, religious, and gendered themes (In keeping with historical beliefs and practices from the 10th century in which the show is set).

The Emperor had grown up in a world of privilege; the best education money and status could buy, a constant influx of goods that could fill every castle across the empire. A life where the word ‘no’ did not exist. His world on a golden platter that he didn’t have to share with anyone else; Entitled? Yes. Naive? Most probably. Trusting? Possibly. Inattentive? Absolutely not.

The Emperor stood at the stern of his ship, his chin held high as he seemingly gazed upon his empire. The loyal friend, the sleepy infant, and the bewildered mother sat at the ship's bow. The Emperor’s bride stood starboard side, her eyes like daggers as she gazed at the trio. It had not escaped the Emperor, the way that his bride’s attention went straight to the Viking warrior when she emerged in her sacred garments rather than her husband-to-be.

Instead of the joyous union the Emperor had hoped for, sailing into the ports of his empire with his bride’s hand in his, he stood there silently plotting.

•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•☾☼☽•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•

It had seemed like an age since I had seen a city. The noises of people talking, the sounds of blacksmiths banging their hammers against sizzling hot metal, the smells of spices, herbs, and fresh fish as the ports busied with fishermen disposing of their catches. This would have all seemed wonderful, but the only thing my mind could focus on was the sleeping bundle in my arms. The way her tiny body cradled against mine, her head nuzzled upon my breast, my heart beating fast. Was it relief? Nerves? Panic? The questions spinning in my head. Was I holding her correctly? Was she warm enough? Did she seem healthy? So many aspects of motherhood that seemed so natural, but now I questioned if I was capable of caring for her every need. Mathilda sat closely, my head resting on her shoulder. Her arm pointing, words emitting from her mouth. I could feel the vibration of her words as I rested against her body, but I couldn’t hear a word.

It had been only a fleeting minute that Harald had met the daughter he didn’t even know existed. Only moments before Mathilda eagerly led us to the ship they had travelled upon. As we descended down the hill to the boat, I glanced back to see Harald’s hand delicately nestled within Elena’s grasp, the pair whispering. As we boarded the Emperor’s ship, Harald, Leif and the rest of the group boarding Harald’s ship, I couldn’t help but feel slightly disappointed. How could his attention be so quickly dismissed from his own daughter to the new empress? A feeling of betrayal as he didn’t even try and insist on chaperoning his own flesh and blood to the place where our new lives would be taking us? Did he not care? Was he angry that I had kept her existence a secret? Was he too infatuated with Elena? But I quickly reprimanded myself. Harald Sigurdsson does not owe me anything, I do not owe Harald Sigurdsson anything.

I am free.

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‘Y/N’….’ Y/N…’ Like being awakened from a deep slumber, except I was already awake. My body jolted like I had been struck with a thunderbolt. The noises of the city pierced my ears, if it had not been for the sleeping bundle in my arms, I would have pressed my palms tightly against my ears to stop the noise. The sun shone so brightly, I would have shielded them if I could, as I looked up from that sweet innocent slumbering face to the thousands of people, the tall buildings and the vast colours that decorated the city of Constantinople. Mathilda stood, her hand outstretched. I looked around, the boat now populated by strange men boarding, tossing ropes across the boat. I gingerly stood up, letting Mathilda’s arm wrap around me as she guided us towards the wooden plank that led down to the dock. I took a deep breath, looking at my surroundings more closely. A feeling of overwhelming crisis taking over. How I had travelled so far, not of my own accord. If it weren’t for Twyla, I knew I would have been angry, destroyed, and possibly even violent. But even as much as I doubted my own ability to be a good mother, the overwhelming urge to protect her and not myself was stronger than those feelings of resentment.

I slowly shuffled down the plank of wood, the Emperor stood at the bottom of the plank, one hand outstretched to me, his other dutifully holding up the hand of his new bride. I nervously gripped onto his hand, welcoming his steady grip as I clutched Twyla tightly, careful not to disturb or drop her. My senses overwhelmed, barely noticing the sizeable number of people gathered around the port, excitedly watching as the ships and their newcomers disembarked. ‘It’s beautiful, is it not?’ The Emperor’s deep voice emitted, his gaze fixated on me as my face emitted more emotion than I could explain. I looked at him, his face smiling as he clearly enjoyed the moment of a new person seeing his dazzling empire. It was only the feeling of his thumb gently brushing over my fingers that my old instincts kicked in. I gently dropped into a deep curtsey, aghast at my actions as I realised my hand was tightly gripped to that of an Emperor. ‘Forgive me Your Highness for my brazenness.’ The Emperor gently squeezed my hand. ‘For you my dear, your enchantment on this occasion is understandable.’ As I rose from my curtsey, he lowered my hand, gently brushing his fingers against Twyla’s cheek. His face softened as he admired her. ‘Your daughter has and will continue to bring much joy to my Empire.’

‘Harald Sigurdsson’ Elena announced eloquently. I turned slightly to see Harald’s ship docked, looking unseemly behind the Emperors. The Emperor swiftly rounded me as he placed himself directly in front of the group. ‘Welcome to Constantinople’ his arms outstretched like a god, as the people behind him erupted into cheer. He turned around, addressing the crowd of people fixated upon his every move. ‘My people!’ He announced, bringing the cheers and clapping to a dutiful silence. ‘We welcome these newcomers to Constantinople. We celebrate and honour them, as they have returned one of Constantinople’s greatest treasures to its home.’ The crowds erupted into even louder cheers, some even brushing their weeping eyes. I gently pressed my hand against Twyla’s ear, attempting to deafen the overwhelming noise.

A man waded through the crowd, his hair long and dark, his clothing modest but grand in material and embroidery. The Emperor laughed, his arms outstretched as he gruffly embraced the man, their hands slamming against each other's backs. The man’s eyes gazed at Mathilda with a large smile. The Emperor was quick, however, to turn his attention to Elena, the man dutifully bowing, kissing her knuckles gently as the Emperor looked on proudly. They chatted momentarily as we watched, too nervous to move. Another man swiftly joined, a much larger-looking man in a gold and red uniform. His protruding height made the Emperor look slightly smaller as he craned his neck, whispering something to the Emperor as his eye flickered to the rest of us. The Emperor turned, addressing Harald, Leif, and the rest. ‘Please, follow me’. The group tenderly waited for Elena and the Emperor to lead the way, Harald leading the group, his eyes only casting a look at myself, Mathilda and Twyla momentarily before he trekked after the pair. I stood by Mathilda, confused as she stood, not moving to follow. My confusion however grew as the man who had so gleefully embraced the Emperor hastily walked toward Mathilda, wrapping his arms around her waist, picking her up and spinning in a circle of embrace causing her to joyfully laugh. As he set her on the ground, he passionately kissed her, Mathilda smiling into the kiss as she tightly locked her arms around his neck.

When they parted, he looked confusingly at Mathilda. ‘Where is?’ He began to ask before Mathilda quickly drew his attention. ‘Y/N, this is my betrothed, Consus’ she introduced stagnantly. ‘Conus, this is ‘Y/N, my dear friend, and Twyla’s mother’ she introduced. ‘Your betrothed?’ I asked confusingly, my eyes darting between the pair. She wrapped her arms around his waist. ‘Consus found Twyla and me after many days and nights after you and Kurya were taken, and brought us to safety in Constantinople’ she said, beaming up at him utterly lovestruck. He nodded ‘Hello Y/N, I know much about you’ he said with a tentative smile. ‘You…you bought my daughter and Mathilda here?’ I asked, shocked by the act of kindness that didn’t seem to phase him. ‘I was travelling here anyway, meeting Mathilda and your beautiful daughter was simply a happy coincidence.’ He explained, brushing the act off as if it were nothing. I walked forward, reluctantly parting from my daughter for the first time since our reunion. Mathilda, equally as confusingly, cradling Twyla to herself. I jumped, wrapping my arms around Consus’s neck as his arms caught my body surprised. ‘Thank you…thank you so much’ I cried into his shoulder. He placed me back down on the dock, as I unlaced one arm, wrapping Mathilda into the embrace. ‘Thank you both so much’ I repeated as I wept uncontrollably.

It wasn’t until my crying had stopped I released the pair from my tight grip. But the pair didn’t seem to mind, they simply smiled at one another, engulfed in a spell-binding love for one another. I lifted the sleeve of my grotty garments, wiping the tears from my face. As I cleared my eyes, the obvious questions only then started to gather in my mind. ‘Wait…the Emperor?’ I asked pointing to him confusingly. ‘Oh.. my goodness, I’m so sorry’ I muttered, plunging myself into another instinctive curtsey. But Consus was quick to stop me. ‘Please Y/N, there is no need. Emperor Romanos and I are distant cousins, but I am not of noble birth.’ I looked at Mathilda, confused. ‘If Consus is not with me, he is with the Emperor, like two children playing together all the time’ she laughed, making Consus chuckle and nod in agreement. ‘I am simply, like you, a guest of my cousin’ he explained. His kindness was overwhelming, his natural conscience of goodwill was unbelievable. It seemed too good to be true…but my understanding of good had been destroyed over the last few years. I smiled slightly, the genuine kindness too much to truly believe; but it was certainly welcome. ‘Please, follow me to the palace.’

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‘You look like a new man’ the Emperor beamed, a friendly ice-breaker as Harald entered the throne room. ‘I smell it too’ Harald beamed, uncertain of the Emperor’s sense of humour, but relieved when the Emperor laughed. The Emperor strode to his podium, taking his seat on his throne, looking down as Harald stood in the centre of the room.

‘My bride tells me that you, Harald Sigurdsson, are the reason that her venture here was successful. Would you say this to be true?’ He enquired curiously, slanting his head slightly as he watched Harald shift slightly uncomfortably. ‘I cannot truthfully say I knew what I was delivering, I can truthfully say that I am glad we have made it here…most of us anyway.’ The Emperor was not satisfied by this answer, however, unable to shake the feeling that Harald Sigurdsson’s rapport with his bride was as genuine as it seemed. He decided to delve deeper.

‘My bride is particularly beautiful, is she not?’ He asked, causing Harald to breathe deeply as he stood solemnly before him. ‘Only the best for such a ruler and empire of your calibre’ he responded confidently. Another answer that failed to satisfy the Emperor’s suspicions. ‘She praises you highly Harald Sigurdsson’ he further commented, a slightly sinister tone beneath his friendly manner. ‘The Empress is too kind, she will make you a very happy man I am sure.’ Saliva hitched in his throat as he finished his sentence. Internally berating himself for his oblique statement. The Emperor simply smiled, but the comment ran silently amok in his mind. ‘So Harald Sigurdsson, tell me, what is it that will make you a happy man?’ He questioned, regaining his composure. ‘Most of my happiness lies back in my homeland of Denmark.’ Harald looked at the Emperor, wary of the sudden interest sparked. The Emperor gestured for him to continue. ‘I am the great-great-grandson of Harald Finehair, the first ruler of all of Norway; I intend to build an army and return to Norway to take what is rightfully mine by birth.’ Harald felt awkward, proclaiming rule in another man’s kingdom somehow felt informal.

Little did he know, this was the most satisfactory answer he had given the Emperor. But something still pressed on his mind. ‘You said ‘most of your happiness’ what more could you want?’ He questioned, finally leaning forward as he placed his hand inquisitively under his chin. ‘My children are meant to be rulers of Norway, and I intend to fulfil that obligation too’.

This caused the Emperor to rise from his seat.

‘And do you have children Harald Sigurdsson?’ He questioned persistently, an emote of excitement in his voice. Harald nodded slightly. ‘I have a child, back with a woman from my homeland; I do not know however if she or the child are even alive.’ Harald said sorrowfully. ‘And a child with another.’ The Emperor walked down the steps of his podium, walking so he stood right in front of him. ‘Who is this other?’ He questioned. ‘The mother of my daughter is y/n.’ The Emperor tilted his head, putting his finger up in the air and he wiggled it in thought.

‘You are the father of Twyla?’ He stated a slight smile on his face.

‘Twyla’ Harald repeated solemnly.

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It felt like time had stopped. Like everything was too good, something bad was bound to happen. My daughter, my friend, and I were together again, alive. I felt like a little girl again, the way Mathilda sat behind the tub, her fingers gently massaging oils into my hair before scooping the warm water from the bath and pouring it over myself. I sat with my knees curled under my chin, desperately fighting my eyelids, too scared to take my eyes off Twyla for a second as she slept soundly in the basket on the floor.

‘Tell me about her’ I whispered to Mathilda. I could hear the deepness of her breath, the sudden tenseness. The sponge came into contact as she rubbed circles on my back. ‘She’s a very quiet wee thing…barely fusses if there is someone she knows or a stranger…’ I rested my cheek on my knees, slightly turning to look in her direction. ‘But she only settles or sleeps in the arms of those she’s comfortable with’ she reasoned. Whether that statement was true or not, believing it was easier than accepting it as a friendly lie. I just wanted to feel connected to her. ‘She’s not a big baby, she doesn’t eat as much as she did with you…we have tried a few wet nurses, but she only takes to their breast if she’s starving, but even then she is quick.’ I smiled to myself slightly, feeling selfish at the thought, the way she was still so very small. A wave of guilt sizzled in my stomach at the thought of her starving herself for the milk of her own mother. ‘She smiles sometimes, she likes birds’ she chuckled. ‘Birds?’ I questioned, peeling my eyes away from Twyla, turning myself in the tub to look at Mathilda. ‘She sort of does a smile, and begins to wiggle when she hears birds chirping. Maybe it’s something she remembers from when she was with all of us, Kurya too’ she theorised. I looked back to Twyla, curious that an infant could have the emotional intelligence to recognise and respond to something as simple as a bird.

*Phwwwwwhht Phwwwwwhht Phwwwwwhht* I whistled, like an experiment, sounding slightly rusty in the dryness of my throat.

A tiny coo sounded from the wicker basket. Mathilda and I chucked at the adorableness.

‘Thank you, truly.’ I whispered, knowing that words alone would never be able to express the depth of gratitude.

The door opened slightly, and a woman ushered herself in with a small pile of folded fabrics. She walked over, placing the fabrics next to the bath, swiftly grasping my tattered, likely mouldy garments and inspecting their worth. Her lips locked tightly together, poking her fingers through the holes and tears, before swiftly waltzing over to the stone fireplace and thrusting them into the flames. She slowly wandered over to Twyla’s basket, crouching down as she smiled, admiring the little girl. Mathilda coughed slightly, sensing my tenseness and wary as I gripped tightly to the side of the tub. ‘Y/N, this is Inaya, one of the wet nurses I was telling you about.’ I felt ashamed, almost angry at the thought of someone else other than me feeding my daughter. Anger at not being there, petty at the thought of women like Inaya having that precious bonding time with my daughter instead of me. But, then again, if it weren’t for women like Inaya, Twyla might not be here. I begrudgingly loosened my grip, wrapping my arms back around my legs. ‘Thank you’ I croaked solemnly. She nodded gently, reaching into the basket and rearranging the blanket on top of her.

‘The Emperor invites you to join him in dining with him tonight. The invite is extended to you and your daughter, it will be a small private gathering.’ She spoke, walking back to the pile of fabrics, unfolding a long, full-sleeved white linen dress, embroidered with tasteful small colourful floral embellishments. I looked to Inaya, beginning to protest. ‘Thi…this gown is much too grand…I can’t…’ ‘This dress was chosen for you by the Emperor himself, you must wear this.’ She lectured, holding a long linen sheet as she hastily ushered me out of the warm tub.

‘Let us properly dress and groom you for the occasion’ she said, wrapping the cloth around my shoulders, and ushering me to the fireplace to dry.

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Harald had attended many feasts, whether he was a guest, or they were thrown in his honour, he would usually feel at ease. However, whether it be the lack of food since Novgorod, or that feasts in Constantinople were just much grander than his homeland, the delicious display of food almost made him feel sick. The table, which had been referred to as ‘modest’ was filled with delicacies. Fruits, loaves of bread, grains, fish, meats, steam still wavering from the plates, emitting wonderful smells and heat that danced across his senses. Leif tentatively walked toward the table, stealing a grape or two. ‘I don’t understand, why does the Emperor want both of us?’ Leif questioned quietly. But Harald did not answer him, instead cautiously waiting for the Emperor to deliver that news himself before Harald could think too much about it.

The double doors to the grand dining hall flew open, a small group of straight-faced guards marching after the pair in front. The Emperor and Empress, dressed in even grander garments than their meeting that morning. Harald couldn’t peel his eyes away, how for the last month or so he had been acquainted with Elena, the humble and loyal daughter, the fearless combatant and quick thinker in the face of danger. But now, within hours, she was no longer that person. Harald couldn’t help but feel slightly disappointed, yet somewhat relieved that he could pursue his loyalties to another he yearned for. But, the thoughts of the two women still caused an internal battle inside his head, no matter how much he knew that he desired one more than the other, it was still a loss either way.

Behind the group of guards, another entered the room, her head lowered to the ground as she carefully watched her steps. Her dress was too big as it lightly slung over her frame. Her ‘Y/H/C hair was adorned with a silky white headband tied into a neat long bow at the back of her head. A piece of fabric tied to her frame, cradling a small child tightly to her. It took Leif and Harald a moment to recognise the person as the person they already knew so well.

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I didn’t need to look up. I could feel the stares from across the room, but vainly I couldn’t judge them, I was also perplexed by my reflection in the looking glass. The smell of flowery soap was almost sickening compared to the salty, sweaty odour I had become so used to.

When I finally peeled my eyes from the infant gently nestled against my chest, I was struck by the amount of food covering the table in the centre of the room. Even since our rescue this morning, I had not thought for one moment about the empty pit in my stomach. So many colours, so many textures, so many flavours and smells that had become so foreign, even though they were once the same things I served daily in my youth in the castle. A lot of food for a ‘small private gathering’ I thought…

‘My friends’ the Emperor announced, standing at the forefront of the room with Elena dutifully by his side. Her pale eyes piercing as I tried to look anywhere but her intense gaze that lay upon me. ‘Tonight, we are here, I hope for a very joyous occasion’ he announced, a smile beaming across his cheeks. Everyone in the room now watching the Emperor with an aura of confusion. ‘Harald Sigurdsson has confided in me, his ambition to return to Norway to take his rightful place as King, and he will do so with my full support.’ The only person to look away from the Emperor was the Empress herself, her gaze shifting to Harald, an expression of dejection in her eyes. ‘And every King must secure his succession’ he announced, taking a step forward as he gestured toward me at the back of the room. ‘Come, please, y/n’ he spoke.

My stare was blank like my feet were nailed to the floor. Not even the gentle grasping of Twyla’s fingers at my hair was enough to shift me from this moment of derealisation. ‘The Emperor has commanded you’ Elena hissed, taking a step forward. It was only the gentle whisper of my name that prompted my feet to move slowly forward. ‘Y/N’ Leif Eriksson had whispered. I stumbled forward, clutching at the skirt of my dress to not trip over the fabric, while closely clutching the makeshift baby sling closer to me as if I was stepping right into the lion’s den. The Emperor was patient until I stood before him. ‘What kind of life would you both like for your daughter?’ I looked at the Emperor curiously, unsure of his question. Both? ‘You and your husband?’ He questioned. I could feel my insides clenching, and my heart beating faster. The Christian iconography had not escaped me. The adornment of religious relics were scattered all over Constantinople. The large crucifix hanging from his neck. I could feel my arm tighten around Twyla, the way my mother had held me closely as a child when people berated me for my unorthodox parentage. Maybe I could lie? Say my husband was dead? The thoughts running through my head.

‘We are not married.’ Harald’s voice emitted, stepping toward me, standing stiffly by my side. I looked at him, my eyeballs bulging out of my head as I looked at him in a state of panic. The Emperor stared at us both, attempting to look surprised, but there was something about his gaze that emitted the truth. This information was no surprise to him. The Emperor stood there and continued his performance. ‘Harald Sigurdsson, I was made to believe that many Vikings had accepted Christ as their lord and saviour?’ He questioned. Harald reached into his tunic, pulling out his crucifix as a display of his faith. ‘But, you have sired this child out of wedlock’ he stated. I looked at Leif warily, Leif was also uncomfortable as his sister had also supposedly carried Harald’s child. Harald only replied with a curt nod. ‘How do you expect your people to accept this child as a future noblewoman…possibly even Queen of Norway if she is not of sacred birth?’

I wanted to scream. How dare these men assume my daughter’s future for her. How dare they assume that royalty was a safe life for her. How dare they assume that this was my desire for her too. How. Dare. He.

‘I don’t want her to be a Queen…I want her to be happy’ I said, confidently speaking for the first time. The Emperor’s act dropped slightly, the surprise on his face genuine. ‘You do not want this life for her? Education? Protection? Loyalty? Family? He questioned, gesturing to his palace around him, clearly retailing in his own life. ‘It is not that your highness, I want her to have those things, I just don’t necessarily believe that instructing and grooming my daughter for a life of nobility is the only way for her to have those things.’ The room fell even more tense, one might even hear the sound of a pin drop. The Emperor walked forward like time had slowed down. I could feel his every step vibrate across the ground, the sound of his shoe beating against the floor. The callouses of his fingers as he slipped them under my chin, and forced me to look at him. ‘Aren’t mothers supposed to want the best for their children?’ He questioned solemnly. I could feel my heart ripping apart. Every insecurity, every internal crisis I had felt about being a mother. Was this, was my personal feelings a recipe for destruction, was I endangering my daughter?

He stepped back, and his poised composure returned as he fell back into his performance. ‘Here is my offer. Harald, I cannot help you build a Christian army, a Christian empire if you do not practice such convictions in your own life. A King must have a legitimate heir, he must have a legitimate marriage sanctioned by the Church. I have the desire to help you build this but with the eyes of my people, my council, and my bride, you must understand that not even I hold the power to make such a miracle happen without the guidance and principles of our lord at its core.’ Harald shifted uncomfortably, his fists crunching into himself as he put them protectively behind his back. But Harald simply matched the Emperor’s performance. ‘May I have the opportunity to discuss this with y/n privately?’ He questioned in a way that submitted to the ego of the Emperor, making him feel strong in his position. The Emperor peeled a smile across his face. ‘Of course’ he said, gesturing to a small wooden door across the room.

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‘What have you done?’ I hissed quietly, clutching Twyla closely. Harald paced around the small room, his knuckles white as he clutched his fingers within his grip. ‘He promised…he promised he would help me’ he muttered angrily to himself. ‘I don’t give a damn about what he promised you, my baby will not be forced to be Queen of some nation that she’s never fucking been.’ ‘She is MY child too y/n’ he hissed, thumping his hand against his chest. ‘Only in the formal sense’ I hissed back passively. ‘Well you can hardly blame me for that…all that time we travelled across the seas, across countries, and you NEVER said a word about our daughter’s existence.’

‘Why did you leave?’

I finally asked. Never having had the courage to ask that question. He stopped his pacing, placing his hand gingerly against the wall, his eyes darting to the floor, his composure dropping entirely from the fierce Viking he normally was. ‘Why? Why did you leave that night? You left me in London’ my voice cracked slightly, the gasping of my breath desperate to hide my pain, the anger and betrayal, but mostly the sense of loss I had long felt since that night.

‘I had stolen so much from you Saxon…I reasoned with myself that if I left you where you had started…where I thought belonged, that life would be better to you than I had so cruelly been’ he whispered, his voice cracking and he spoke, his hand coming up and gripping his mouth to silence the sound.

A version of Harald that was so rare. A side of him he wouldn’t even let Leif see. And yet, he stood there, his eyes averted in shame, the truth finally spilling. ‘Had I known you were with child…I would have done things differently.’ He turned around, his back turned, hiding the shame he felt spilling his emotions. He let out a sigh, a gentle whistle emitting from his lips.

*phwoooooh*

Her legs began to gently kick, and a small coo at the sound. Harald turned his head slightly, the sound of his baby like a lightning strike to his body. Exactly how I had felt. As much as I wanted to sit here and argue, to curse him for leaving, to execrate him and the Vikings for all they had done to me. But an annoying part of me cared for him. For being Twyla’s father. I closed my eyes, my thoughts running wildly. Outside this small room, the Emperor waited. Inside this room, the fate of my family was still somewhat within my control. An opportunity that could change all our lives for the better, rather than continue to exist in this confusing state of limbo that had gone on long before we set foot in Constantinople.

‘Here is what we are going to do.’ Harald turned around, his eyes puffy, slightly red. ‘Twyla will not be Queen of Norway. She will not be a noblewoman. Our job, as her parents, will be this and only this.’ I stated, raising my finger and pointing it at Harald’s chest. ‘We will build a life for her for which she can be safe, happy, and will have choices.’ Harald finally looked at Twyla, their eyes meeting as she stared at him curiously. ‘You will get the Emperor to help you build your army, but while we are here, you will do some things for me.’ His eyes didn’t shift from Twyla, their eyes firmly locked on one another, but he nodded his head. ‘You will find us somewhere to live, somewhere that is not in this castle, somewhere normal where we can live in peace without the Emperor and the Empress controlling our every move. You will find a tutor, for when Twyla comes of age so she will have the opportunity to learn and have an education. But most importantly, you will let me live a normal life with her, not one dictated by your ambition to be King, but a normal, stable life where she can be happy. Those are my conditions.’ Harald finally looked at me, his face aghast. ‘You mean?’ He questioned. ‘Yes. I will agree to the marriage, but only so that the Emperor will help us, he doesn’t need to know the specifics.’ I raised my arm, holding my hand out. A gesture to seal the deal. I was sceptical if Harald Sigurdsson would be willing to not only lie to the Emperor but to relinquish so much control. But Harald looked at Twyla, his eyes softening, his breath easing. His arm locked against mine, with a firm shake.

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The trio emerged from the room, the Emperor watching carefully, his solution would either fail or succeed. Harald approached the Emperor, a dutiful bow as he did. ‘Your offer is most kind, and with your blessing and support, we would like to accept your generous offer to wed us.’

The Emperor smiled, a joyful laugh emitting as his plans fell into place. With Harald Sigurdsson married, with a wife and child, his own marriage would not be threatened by the Empresses’ obvious care for the Viking. A solution so clever, the Emperor so vainly joyful with his brilliance.

‘Well let us not waste such a glorious moment, let us call upon the clergy and have the beautiful couple wed tonight!’ He announced, his council already walking out of the room to gather the necessary people to unify Harald and y/n.

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The room began to bustle as the Emperor didn’t waste a moment. I scanned the room, only one pair of eyes fixated on me as she stood with the Emperor. I couldn’t tell who was paler. Elena, or me.

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