#history channel vikings

[levithestripper]

5 times Ragnar and Athelstan looked at each other + 1 time they didn't

VIKINGS— Ragnar Lothbrok and Athelstan

[mrgabel]

day 3: favourite relationship/dynamic (did you expect anything else?)

For @vikingsevents Autumnal Equinox.

[majorxmaggiexboy]

King Ecbert rolling up to the crucifixion like

[draumstafir-blog]

1.04 | vikings rewrite

episode summary: the vikings return home and are finally allowed to reap the consequences of their disobedience. (cw: mature themes)

the echoes of metal clangs and ambient mooing filled the bright midmorning sky. the sporadic ringing of the cowbells contrasted perfectly with the rhythmic footsteps of horses approaching. and beyond the seemingly endless green flatlands stood a great mead hall, where a reception party was already waiting.

“erling!” a familiar voice called to jarl haraldson, who busied himself helping his wife and daughter dismount from horseback.

“it has been too long since you have set foot in svealand!”

jarl haraldson beckoned for his family members to curtsy to the white-bearded, grandfatherly figure standing before them all. his smile continued to widen as he opened his arms, in great contrast to the man he was welcoming.

“it is wonderful to see you once more, at a joyous occasion such as this.” the old man’s head seemed to nod as he spoke, although it may have been a more involuntary shaking.

“likewise,” the jarl started, disinterested as ever, “i’d like for you to meet my wife, sigrún.”

the old man took her hand, kissing it near where the armband rested.

“and this is my daughter, þyri.”

the old man seemed particularly enchanted by þyri, raising an eyebrow slightly as he repeated the same gesture. the young woman used her other hand to swipe curly brown locks from out of her face, her rosy lips pursing into a straight line as she tried to conceal her unease.

“well, i’m sure you are all very tired from the journey. my servants will show the women and their ladies in waiting to their quarters, where you may feel free to freshen up before this evening’s marvelous banquet.” the old man clasped his hands together, all the while grinning from ear to ear.

þyri couldn’t help but pull her father aside, “you’ve not said a word about who this man is.”

“your handmaidens will explain it to you,” he did not reciprocate her discreet volume, in an attempt to shirk off the conversation, “just understand that he is a very important man, and pleasing him is our top priority.”

sigrún stayed back, her brows furrowing in a similar level of concern, as her daughter was ushered out of sight in one swift moment.

“siggy, dear, please. us men are going to be discussing business.” jarl haraldson clearly did not appreciate his wife’s apprehension, though he did not do much to disabuse her of it.

her grey-blue eyes wore a thin line of kohl on the upper lid, although her husband could still see them trembling behind it, “my capable husband, i only wish to know the nature of our visit, to this land which is completely new to our daughter and i.”

“jarl bjarni is going to be taking good care of us. we will sup in his halls this evening, and if your heart wills it so, we may leave at any point after that.” jarl haraldson was resolute, trying to end the discussion there, but his wife knew him too well.

stopping him with a gentle grip on his arm, sigrún posited, “and what of þyri?”

the jarl murmured reluctantly, “she will not be at liberty to come with us.”

a chilling breeze swept through sigrún’s hair, as beads of sweat seemed to turn to icicles clinging to her back. her husband hurried off, his demeanor callous as he caught up with jarl bjarni, who appeared as jovial as a man his age could be. a horde of servant women suddenly crowded around sigrún, trying to escort her away delicately, though their touch on her arms felt more so menacing. she had to swat them off like flies around a fresh corpse, and trudging forward on her own, she hoped that she might be able to do something - anything - if she got to her daughter soon enough.

once sigrún finally approached the door to þyri’s chambers, the faint sound of her only child weeping formed a darkness too vast to think through in the lady’s chest.

-

björn was eager to set out that morning, running around the house collecting his wooden shield and wooden sword, he nearly stepped on a couple of the family’s pigs in his haste. crumbs of his breakfast were still stuck to his lips.

“björn,” his mother called out from a window, “wait just a moment. there is a matter i wish to discuss with you today.”

the boy’s shoulders visibly deflated as he exited the blaring sunlight and shuffled into the family kitchen, where lagertha was pacing in the comparatively dank room, surrounded by black cooking pots that had yet to be cleaned.

“what is it, mother?” he asked, his tone sounding concerned, but a bit more for himself than for his poor mother.

“one of the neighbor women invited me to an evening at her sister’s residence in kattegat,” lagertha kept taking absentminded steps back and forth, apparently unable to stop herself from fidgeting, “it’s going to be a supper gathering just for a few women, i take it, for their old friends to catch up after a long while.”

“it wasn’t haftýr’s mother, was it? her hair looks like bird nests.” the young björn bluntly protested.

“she is a good woman! and, you should be thankful that she continues to allow you to torment her son with those toys every day.” lagertha gestured sardonically at her son’s makeshift weaponry, the boy pouting in response.

“if father would only allow me to train with real steel, as he did gyda, then it would not seem to onlookers that haftýr and i were jabbing each other with playthings!”

“then, perhaps upon your next visit to kattegat, your mother shall buy you a real weapon.” lagertha finally settled down, her mind slowly easing into the idea as she spoke it.

“really? you would take me with you?” björn perked up.

“well, i was more so hoping you would take me with you. my son is now a man in his own right, and has made the trip before, having lived in the outskirts of kattegat for his whole life. whereas i hail from hedeby, and have only ever voyaged to kattegat when your father has been there to guide me.” lagertha adopted a playful tone, enjoying her son’s adorable attempts at adulthood.

“father did tell me once that a woman should always be accompanied by a man if venturing out past sunset,” lagertha watched as björn cocked his head to the side and scratched his scalp, probably only half-remembering his father’s words, “and he used to tell me to watch over you and gyda when he would go away. but i did not think he meant it seriously, did he?”

“i am sure he did,” lagertha allowed her thought to trail off, the realization that these likely were ragnar’s teachings slowly dawning on her, “so it is decided. if we depart for kattegat within the hour, we can arrive before sundown tomorrow.”

björn jumped in place, excitedly scurrying around outside once more, only this time to prepare the livestock for their absence. trips to kattegat increasingly meant big changes for his family - and björn was intent on having his manhood proven, being a permanent shift.

-

þyri’s once defined cheeks became puffy and damp; dripping with tears and mucus, red around the eyes and nose, both from crying and from screaming. a servant girl had tied her hair into a loose knot, but the pieces that fell framing her face were still subjected to being soaked in salt and snot.

handmaidens frantically altered her bridal dress, their hands buzzing over her entire body like bees trying to locate their queen.

“you can’t let father give me away like this, mother i beg of you!” the young maid wailed, though she had already learned not to squirm, as her sides now boasted almost as many prick marks as a pin cushion.

“believe me, sweet daughter, for i am not pleased with these circumstances either,” sigrún proclaimed, not meaning to yell but her volume perhaps grew with the tension in the room, “although i wish to end this demeaning betrothal and whisk you away from this wretched place, the dowry has already been secured, and i am told that your father has brokered a very favorable deal in exchange for your hand.”

a vein on the side of sigrún’s temple bulged out, the sight of so many sets of foreign hands grasping at her daughter became harder to stomach.

“be still, lady þyri, we urge you,” one of sigrún’s own ladies in waiting tried to reason with þyri, “there is only eye kohl left to be applied, and then you may don your bridal wreaths.”

“then please, allow me to do it!” sigrún suddenly erupted, more authoritative than any of her servants had ever heard before.

from one of the pockets of her cloak, she took out a small drawstring bag, inside of which was a pot of kohl and a fine horse hair brush. she held her daughter’s face in her hands, using her thumbs to wipe warm tears, as being eye level with þyri caused her own tears to bubble up.

“you will be a beautiful bride. just have patience from this moment, and i shall draw thick strokes of kohl around your exhausted eyes, so that your new husband and new subjects will not pester you.” sigrún cooed, giving þyri the opportunity to steady her breaths and compose herself.

“if melancholy should befall you again,” the lady continued, “at least save your sobs for the bridal chambers. you are not obligated to bed the jarl, nor are you expected to bear him sons, as his line of succession is beyond secure. your only duty is to placate him, and in doing so, you placate your father. he has had many troubles as of late.”

“i am not a bargaining chip for father to use as he pleases. i should have, at the very least, been given notice beforehand.” þyri seethed, her eyes almost welling up again out of anger.

“you are our only living child, and therefore, you are your father’s greatest asset. he was willing to sacrifice even you for an alliance with this ancient man, so does that not speak volumes as to his desperation?” sigrún reasoned.

finished with the black kohl, she stepped back and admired her handiwork from a distance, trying not to be bothered by her daughter’s dejected expression beneath it all. a handmaiden promptly swooped in and draped a wreath woven with summer blossoms over þyri’s shoulders, while a matching floral crown was set atop her head.

in one last attempt at reaching out for comfort, the young maid shakily grabbed at her mother’s hand, intent on walking into the mead hall side-by-side.

rows and rows of oaken dining tables were arranged, and the seats were subsequently filled with rowdy off-duty soldiers, that barked and cheered when the bride arrived. jarl bjarni was waiting at a raised platform in the middle of the room, its short sides decorated with flowers and lit candles that glowed warm yellow as the sun set outside. musicians playing drums of various sizes and opulent harps were stationed in a corner. servants poured mugs of fine ale and wine, with the particularly elegant ones assigned to the jarl’s new father-in-law.

by all measures, it seemed as though this was a ceremony that all of svealand was present for, and that none of its residents should soon forget.

þyri reluctantly let go of her mother, who then assumed a seat next to her husband. looking on with a particularly dull and apathetic gaze, jarl haraldson watched as his only surviving bloodline was wed to a makeshift alliance that would deteriorate in less than a decade. although, he sweetened the situation by keeping his cup full for the whole night.

the feast and accompanying festivities carried on as dancers danced to the bards’ nauseating rhythms, and the fragrance of roasted meat seemed to trap the great hall in its own greasy noxious cloud. at one point in the evening, some kind of sweet course was served. and although the puddings and pastries smelled appetizingly of cinnamon, the obtuse amounts of butter in every dish had þyri forcing down each bite and gulping at her drink.

a middle-aged man dressed in clean furs with a gilded dagger strapped to his waist, approached þyri, and she presumed him to be the jarl’s son. he slurred together something resembling a sentence, and the young bride could only bring herself to nod along politely.

“my fine jutish beauty,” the elderly jarl interjected, “pay my foolish son no mind, for he can hold his liquors no better than a linen sack can hold wellwater. come, let us slip away and enjoy the peace of our bridal bed.”

dreading this moment with all of her being, þyri thought back to her mother explaining how necessary it was to be in her new husband’s good graces. she smiled wearily, accepting the hand that he offered her and heading out unnoticed into the deep blue night.

the bridal chambers were only a short walk away, though upon opening its doors, the jarl huffed and puffed as if he had ran all the way there.

“tonight was very lively indeed,” he plopped down onto the side of the bed, “i do not have much tolerance for such commotion nowadays.”

as þyri cautiously approached the bed, she was hit with an intrusive stench when the jarl breathed with his mouth open. his breath seemed to reek of fermented fish, which þyri did not recall being served at supper. she turned away only for a short moment to process her shock, but as she looked back at the jarl, he had already rolled over and immediately fallen asleep. the bride’s instincts told her to feel insulted, though she was only glad her maidenhood would live to see another day.

-

lagertha pushed the hood of her cloak back from its position over her head, revealing her silky blonde hair, and braid that wrapped around her skull like a crown. she was in awe of the late afternoon sky, with its hues of orange and pink, as björn was apparently also quite impressed with the speediness of their journey.

“…with father’s route, we would’ve taken at least until sundown!” he was in the middle of exclaiming, childishly oblivious to the other villagers side-eyeing him for shouting.

“now, björn,” lagertha placed her hands firmly onto his shoulders, bending her back to maintain eye contact, “you have the choice of sleeping tonight in the home of your friend haftýr’s aunt - though the gathering will consist of only women, and you will have no friends to play with - or we may take up the vacant bed of your uncle rollo, whose longhouse is not too far from the center of town.”

“mother, i wish to stay by your side and protect you like a good man,” björn started, his chubby cheeks naturally forming a pout as he furrowed his eyebrows, eliciting a proud smile from his mother, “but i cannot bear to sit through an evening full of wenches trading child stories or discussing soup recipes.”

lagertha straightened herself out, the grin on her lips becoming a scowl, “you dare call your mother’s chums wenches. this must be what your father has taught you to think of women at child-rearing age, lest you forget that your own mother is still a famous shieldmaiden!”

“i could never forget such a thing, mother, seeing as you remind me every day!” björn retorted.

“as i will continue to do until my son truly understands what it means.” letting out an irritated sigh, lagertha reached into her pocket and pulled out two items.

“here,” she handed björn a silver shilling, “when i am through trading child stories and discussing soup recipes, i will fetch you. but in the meantime, take this to the blacksmith and buy whatever your heart desires.”

in lagertha’s other hand, she held the hilt of a small hunting dagger, the blade of which was covered by a worn leather sheath.

“if you are really a man, you will not allow yourself to become the mark of petty thieves.” she placed the dagger’s hilt side into björn’s hand, folding his fingers over the top. she was almost loathe to loosen her grip.

“from what i observed last time, kattegat is very safe,” björn tried to console his mother, although he was seemingly just as nervous for her to leave, “i can handle an evening on my own. worry not.”

lagertha sent her son off with the stroke of her thumb across his cheek, tender yet brief. watching his short stature disappear into a crowd of other townsfolk was a most humbling feeling, as even the fierce shieldmaiden quickly found herself powerless to the will of the gods. after so many years of marriage and motherhood, lagertha was now alone once more - and for the first time, she was lucky enough to find companionship outside of her family. she corrected her posture and marched with conviction towards the house that was described to her by the neighbor.

it was a modest single family cabin, similar in size to lagertha’s own dwelling, though it had little outside space and was packed in somewhat tightly with the surrounding structures. smoke emulated through the designated openings in each house’s roof, signifying that the families of kattegat were all cooking dinner or lounging by the hearth; a simple joy that lagertha would not have been able to take part in, had she gone raiding with her husband. which was objectively a good fate, she tried to convince herself.

approaching the door to the cabin in question, lagertha got close enough to overhear the recognizable voice of her neighbor.

“my haftýr is so desperate to become a viking like his father,” the neighbor, who went by hlín, seemed to be in the midst of telling a grandiose tale judging by her exaggerated tone, “he will eat anything to grow taller and stronger! the neighborhood children once goaded him into eating a concoction made of mud, twigs, and disgusting things that they found outside. haftýr finished the whole bowl, and claimed that the only ingredient to his distaste was coriander!”

child stories and soup recipes. the piercing noise of the other women in the room seemingly exploding with laughs, mocked lagertha’s ears. she stepped away from the door, which was open a crack, pressing her back against the exterior wall of the house. all she could do was stare into the cloudless sky, breathing shallow, anxious breaths. the only truth she had known in all her life was that she did not belong in the kitchen.

she did not belong with those women. she would not allow herself to.

lagertha tried peaking through the open door once more, doing well to keep herself out of the line of sight. as she turned to leave, deciding to mercifully dispatch this misadventure, the setting sun blinded her momentarily.

she bumped into the backside of a woman walking by. but this woman was unlike any other she’d encountered before. the top of her head towered over lagertha, though the woman’s back seemed to be hunched over with terrible posture. the woman’s hair was long and graying, woven into a braid that could not disguise the tangled nature of it. the woman was dressed in tattered rags, her brown skirt somehow too long for even her spindly legs, the bottom of it looking torn and stained with dried mud.

lagertha’s stomach admittedly dropped when the woman finally turned around, keenly aware that she’d just given her only weapon to her son. lagertha was not looking to fight this woman, though upon finally seeing her face, she was too flabbergasted to try diffusing the situation.

the first place that lagertha’s eyes were drawn to was the wispy beard that adorned the lower third of woman’s face. the spot where her left eye should’ve been, seemed to be lacking any eye socket at all, whereas the right eye was covered by an old bandage.

“care to pity a wretched being,” the woman spoke, her voice clearly a male voice, “you may unlock your future for merely the price of a hot meal.”

lagertha nodded - although in vain - as she processed the situation, “are you a seiðmaðr?”

“i am many things. as are you. a daughter, a wife, a mother, a shieldmaiden,” lagertha swallowed a lump, becoming unnerved by the cryptic speech of the seiðmaðr, “i am a fortune seer of sorts. i am mímir.”

as lagertha’s mind raced, arguing with itself over whether or not to trust this stranger, the seer’s tall frame turned and left without warning. lagertha stammered for a moment, unsure of how to regain his attention, although she ultimately decided to just follow him. surely any good fortune seer would notice somehow.

weaving through the narrow streets of kattegat, the seer led lagertha at a surprisingly fast pace back to his abode. it was something of a wooden shack, much smaller than the other houses in the area. but the inside exhibited no kitchen, hearth, or any other rooms at all. the door opened to reveal simply a box, in the center were two stones, big enough for sitting on. and to the side, there lay a row of sacks on the floor, placed into a line just long enough for the seer to sleep on. as small of a space as it was, it was made even denser by the decorum that hung from the ceiling. they seemed to be dangling fish skeletons, chiming hollowly as they knocked against one another.

lagertha had known zealous mystics before - her husband’s friend flóki being a prime example - but this fortune seer’s home felt like entering another world. a world where men were at the mercy of magic. it was intimidating for the mighty shieldmaiden to feel so small in comparison, but the seer simply sat on one of the stones and waited for lagertha to follow suit. he did not seem interested in anything other than reciting prophecy, though lagertha’s own mind had already decided that a future told in such a place couldn’t be anything but bleak.

“so,” lagertha sat with a grunt, her demeanor switched to being straightforward and authoritative, wanting to shift some of the power back to herself, “how does seið usually work?”

“ask not about the present time,” the seer croaked, “for my sight extends only into the mists of evermore.”

“then, what about evermore? where is my place in the future that you see?” she asked assertively, growing impatient.

“you concern yourself much with your place in life. but take comfort in knowing that there is no such place here for you. not on the battlefield, though you have not had your fill of blood. and not in the birthing bed, though the bridal bed beckons you still. no, you will not feast in valhöll, nor frolic in fólkvangr. you shall only feel the comforting cushion of soil beneath your back.”

lagertha leaned back from the fortune seer, coiling into herself as she blinked furiously, troubled by what she’d heard. the seer licked his thin, cracked lips that had a sort of permanently frost bitten look, as they were so dry they turned a grayish blue in the center.

“how am i meant to be comfortable with such venomous doctrine?” she growled quietly, fuming so hotly she could barely muster enough air to form the words.

“for an extra shilling you may receive a more thorough reading with the oracle lots.” the seer toyed with a small pouch in his calloused hand, its contents rattling with the sound of the carved sticks he spoke of.

“why should i concern myself with any more of this foolishness, after the putrid invention you’ve spouted thus far?” lagertha straightened out her skirt, almost ready to get up from her seat.

“i would tell you the tale of the little bear.”

lagertha stopped in her tracks, the seer once again successfully piquing her interest.

“you speak of my son,” she pursed her lips with subtle ire, “whose delivery went totally without incident, though the womb from which he came now suddenly and inexplicably lay barren. is that the kind of fantastical tale you would have me believe, you sodomite?”

“go on then,” the seer’s voice became an inhospitable grumble, “the boy shall have to draw his own lots if he wishes to hear their secrets. he is welcome to do so, once his mother gains appreciation for the true nature of seið.”

lagertha took this as her cue to leave, not wanting to entangle herself any further with such an unpleasant magician - and possibly scam artist. although, the seer sensed her hesitation as she let her hand linger upon the misshapen door of his hut.

“allfather óðinn lost his eye in order to acquire the knowledge of the nine worlds. he sacrificed it to my namesake and drank from the well of infinite wisdom. yes, shieldmaiden, we must all lose to gain.”

she breathed deeply one last time before pushing through to the outside world again, the fishbone garlands scoring her exit with a sort of percussive serenade. the evening sky, which was now completely dark, disoriented her as she made haste to find björn near town square.

the stars that speckled the indigo abyss illuminated the boy’s hay yellow hair. the top of his head poked out from under a thatched awning, where the local blacksmith displayed some of his more eye-catching crafts. whatever chilling atmosphere was present in the seer’s shack melted away, as lagertha felt a wave of warmth in her heart, seeing björn acting friendly with a few other men there. they were older, past prime raiding age, and it seemed that one of them had offered the boy a horn of ale. it was clear they’d been charmed by his earnestness, as most everyone who met him was. lagertha smiled with a contentment so sincere, yet almost melancholic - envious, even.

she headed over to join her son, finding out that the brawny blacksmith was recommending a short sword for björn to train with as a novice viking. but the boy kept gravitating towards the stack of shields that rested against the display table. they were nowhere near as glamorous as the other goods on display, but björn recalled distinctly how his father bought one similarly as gyda’s first piece of equipment. lagertha patted her son’s back encouragingly, proud to give her coin for this purpose.

“a great warrior knows that to guard himself is most important,” lagertha remarked, “you have truly proven yourself today, my son.”

the blacksmith fastened a strap to the shield so that björn could wear it over his shoulder, and with a playful tussle of the boy’s hair, he sent the two customers on their way. lagertha linked arms with björn, guiding the both of them toward where she remembered ragnar mentioned his brother’s longhouse was. björn also knew the way, and when they finally arrived, he found that he knew something else which his mother was never made aware of.

“can i help you?” a woman opened the door, perhaps not much older than lagertha, although her tired expression and shabby dress made her appear very crone-like.

lagertha was almost too puzzled to reply, so björn stepped in, “we’re kinsmen of rollo, the raider. he has allowed us to take refuge in his vacant quarters for the evening.”

“ah yes, rollo has kin out on the sandy skagens odde…” the woman muttered, seemingly to herself, as the door creaked all the way open. the kitchen area now exposed, lagertha raised an eyebrow at the sight of several small children eating at the table, with a gauntly thin man who was presumably their father.

“why does your uncle live with this family?” lagertha whispered as she and björn slinked over to the far side of the house.

“they are kinsmen of his friend arne. uncle, torstein, and arne share the other half of this longhouse together, so as to travel more quickly to the jarl’s assemblies. torstein told me that he used to serve as jarl haraldson’s personal guard.” the boy paused his excited anecdote as he happened upon what was obviously his uncle’s bed.

in the unlit corner of the house, there were three single beds, each in varying states of disarray and still smelling faintly of sweat. there was no divider between the bachelors’ quarters and the family’s, though the difference in cleanliness felt to lagertha like separation enough.

she got started lighting a candle, “i suppose once your uncle starts a family of his own, he will have to find a new residence. perhaps even a single family dwelling, akin to ours.”

“in size alone, perhaps,” björn exhaled as he flopped down onto one of the beds, “but uncle will never be a boring, meek farmer like us. it is a lifestyle suitable for no one. you of all people should understand, mother.”

“it is a lifestyle suitable for parents with children, that is why we endure it, sweet björn. your father had already proven himself an excellent raider - he could have pulled himself from poverty with sheer talent - but when i became pregnant with your sister, he devoted himself to caring for her. being a raider or a hired warrior is demanding; the jarl of kattegat is paranoid and tough on his men, and living in the village is cramped. your father knew that being present was the best thing for his children, above being wealthy or famous. and he thusly joins only the first annual raids.”

“so you also gave up your dream of being famous raider?”

“for me, that was not a dream. it was simply my reality. before my first raids, most danesmen had never even seen a shieldmaiden with their own eyes. but i dreamt not for fame or fortune. i only wished to live happily - which i’ve now done for many years.”

lagertha felt a smile forming as her son, the object of her happiness, fluttered his eyes open and shut - much like a baby falling asleep to a story. she puttered about, trying to the best of her abilities to tidy up the belongings of her brother-in-law, before ultimately giving in to her tiredness. she chose the bed that was the more pleasant smelling of the two options, although its pillow sported long strands of hair in multiple colors. lagertha resolved to be content in not wondering how many other women had spent the night in this bed, and simply made herself comfortable in it. almost about to blow out the candle, she felt the call of nature, and opted to relieve herself one last time before turning in.

lagertha tiptoed across the house, noticing that the other children - all four of them - were huddled together in the same bed, being sung to sleep by their mother. the surly woman’s voice was no more pleasant than her appearance, but lagertha was just relieved to know that the children wouldn’t be running around or making noise whilst she slept. a basin of stillwater was placed in between the family’s beds and their hearth, filled with cookware. the father of the family squatted behind it, damp rag in hand, though it didn’t seem that his arms were moving at all. his empty gaze was palpable on lagertha as she opened the front door cautiously, and stumbled through the darkness to find a suitable hedge.

lagertha found herself blinking uncontrollably, gripping to the side of the house as her eyes adjusted to the blackness. as she finally reached the back of the house, she crouched down over a secluded patch of grass, once she was sure she was alone.

“how decent can a woman be,” a growling voice from behind lagertha’s back sent icy shivers up her spine, “if she so easily leaves her husband’s side, and exposes herself to another man?”

lagertha was reluctant to turn around, knowing whose unsightly face to expect when she did. and, as she arose anxiously, she remembered that her hunting dagger was still residing amongst björn’s belongings.

“there was no need to follow me if you did not wish to see me exposed,” lagertha’s voice shook as she tried to maintain composure, “indeed, only the indecent man seeks to mask his true dispositions.”

she finally allowed herself to face the wretched man - arne’s brother - and his top lip twitched with boiling rage.

“you are no shieldmaiden. you conduct yourself like a common whore.” the man’s withered and blackened teeth showed themselves as his expression morphed into a sinister smile.

from lagertha’s position behind the house, she would have to run past the man and nimbly around some bushes, if she wanted to get to the main street. she lunged left and then right, buying herself a head start over the man. then, she darted towards the light that was emanating from another nearby house, praying that the people inside would hear the commotion.

once on the clearing of the dirt road, lagertha’s heart dropped, when she realized that not a single soul was in sight. no one was milling about on the wide streets, as townsfolk often did in the daylight. kattegat after nightfall was like a void, and lagertha now fell prey to the pull of its cavernous maw. but, as she turned to face her attacker once more, now outrunning him by a safe distance, she remembered just how valiantly she had been fighting to rid herself of this weakness.

lagertha got into a hand-to-hand combat stance; she was not merely a wife, nor a mother, nor daughter, nor whore, nor victim, and not simply a decent woman. she was a shieldmaiden in the truest sense and her ferocity became her armor.

her left foot planted firmly on the ground, lagertha extended her right leg and kicked the man squarely in his stomach. he grunted as if the life had been torn from his body. although he’d been pushed back a good few paces, he answered by allowing his gangly arms to flail around haphazardly, attempting to strike lagertha at her left side. expertly, she raised her battle-hardened forearm to block his fist, though he used his other leg to sweep along the dusty path and trip her. she fell upon her rear end.

lagertha’s dastardly gown and cloak prevented her from getting back up as swiftly as she’d liked. she could only look up at the man’s dreadful face, feeling lowly like a worm as she dragged herself backwards.

“now you submit like a good whore,” the man mumbled through heavy breaths, “only now that you are powerless to my will. you ought to have learned by now that a man’s affections are only as sweet as his intended.”

lagertha slowed her desperate crawling to a halt, her forehead steaming with sweat in the dead cold of night. she took one last breath as the man just about hovered above her. she dug her hands into the gravel behind her.

then, with stunning athleticism and flexibility, lagertha’s back arched. she flung her body into a horseshoe shape and lifted her dominant leg, kicking the gaunt man in his groin. the momentum of her blow knocked him backwards as he attempted to catch himself by his elbows. he soon curled up in pain, and lagertha took this as an opportunity to finish the deed with a message.

“how dare you!” she screamed, her voice scarce as the air in her lungs was going toward kicking the man while he hugged his knees to his chest.

“you will not take! what belongs to me!” she exclaimed breathlessly and hysterically in between kicks.

eventually, the man propped himself up with the least sore of his two arms, and hobbled off into the darkness. lagertha lost sight of him, for she didn’t care to see more of him anyways. finding a nearby tree to compose herself against, lagertha pressed her back against the bark and allowed her head to fall backwards. her breathing couldn’t slow, despite her best efforts, as tears erupted from her squeezed shut eyes - the water scalding and salty, like runoff from a sulphuric geyser.

quiet, helpless sobs continued to pour out of lagertha, to the point that she didn’t notice the steady footsteps along the dirt road. they veered off into the wild grass and got louder, yet slower. lagertha attempted to soothe herself by folding her arms and letting her fingers massage her own elbows. her sorrow momentarily on pause, the figure that arrived in front of lagertha gave her a great shock.

“it does not take a soothsayer to recognize the distress you are in,” uttered the familiarly hoarse voice of mímir, the seer, “collect the little bear. i shall await you both, shieldmaiden.”

still battling some leftover sniffles, lagertha watched, confounded, as the seer vanished into the night. his tall, bony silhouette resembled a needle falling into a murky pool. between ghastly lechers and buxom soon-to-be crones, lagertha only felt more isolated than ever, having reaffirmed her suspicions that kattegat truly held no place for her.

not all men were good men like ragnar, and even he, lagertha was beginning to reckon, would not understand her plight. although, the seer was not quite a man, was he?

presupposing the seer expected lagertha to wordlessly follow him to his hut as before, she dashed into the longhouse to awake björn. the boy, still more asleep than not, got to hitch a ride on his mother’s back and made it practically to the other side of town without questioning the disheveled state of her once regal hairstyle.

lagertha laid björn down on the coarse sacks that seemed to be seer’s bed. he grumbled a faint complaint under his breath before drifting back off as if his slumber had never been disturbed.

the boy’s mother looked on. lagertha’s brows had furrowed into a perpetual worry, made even more obvious by the fact that she’d normally break into an uncontrollable grin at the sight of her son so peaceful. the seer simply stood at her side, the stone stool before his feet. without contorting his face nor motioning with his hands, lagertha understood that he wanted her to sit.

“i thought i had yet seen all the evils of men,” lagertha started, “for what viking raid is conducted without the plundering of some local women’s bodies?”

mímir sat too, expressionless.

“being on the other end… i loathe to admit that it has frightened me away. but alas, where would i seek refuge? at the hearth? like a wench kneading rye into bread, while my husband is free to fight and fuck to his heart’s content? before i had a husband, i too was free!” lagertha’s lips quivered as she found herself leaning into the seer, her volumed capped at a frantic whisper, though she made sure her point was being received.

“my input contains no prophecy, shieldmaiden, so you may find it suitable to be expressed.”

the guttural drone of the seer’s voice forced lagertha to forget her frustrations - if only for a moment, to focus on the trepidation she still felt from his unsettling presence.

“all men are slaves to their own shortcomings,” he continued, “cowards cannot have their choice of women through legitimate means; they can only seek the freedom of pleasure through force. but the coward is bound to treachery, and is doomed to be defeated. a raider married to the freedom of the sea can be brought to his knees by the bindings of that temptress - the drink. but he still forges the chains.”

lagertha blinked and sighed with all the air in her chest, “i know that ragnar has his own troubles. he seems to let his worries stew within him all day, and never wants to burden me with his woes.”

“his woes and yours weigh the same, shieldmaiden.”

“o cryptic one, i must concede! please, tell me what you make of our future! i fear that both of our woes combined would weigh too heavily on our marriage.”

lagertha had to stop herself from leaping into the seer’s arms and shaking the answers out of him. he never once moved.

“in your future, i see a little bear, as i stated before. truthfully, there are many bears. and serpents. and a hound.”

“i used to live further inland, on a mountaintop. there, i had a great hound and a fierce bear guarding my abode. my husband, ragnar, slew them both to win my hand in marriage. then, he went on to slay a legendary serpent, and now there lives not a soul that hasn’t heard of the shaggy breeches he wore on that day.”

“that was the past, my fair shieldmaiden. in your future, i see that your husband will not be able to protect you from these beasts. the bears, i see, are a family. one with fur white as snow, another crossing the ocean blue, and the last married to a princess; her crown gold as barley corn. the serpents, i see, are twins; one may not be born without the other. the dog, i see, will demand your demise.”

lagertha shifted back in her seat, the seer’s words haunting the air around them. all she could do was let this sinking feeling wash over her. with a shaky exhale, lagertha turned her attention to the drawstring pouch that was secured to her leather waist belt, and took a shilling out of it. mímir was clearly privy to the sounds that these objects were making, though he did not accept the offering when lagertha extended her hand to him.

instead, the seer rose from his seat, snuffed out the one candle that just barely lit up the room, and stood outside the wooden shack - keeping watch over the shieldmaiden and her son - where it seemed that he remained all night.

-

the weather at the harbor of kattegat was grim, the sun shone through not a single cloud as whispers of rain began to drip from the heavens. flóki had intended for his snekke ship to be brought back to the river near his house, though ragnar anticipated that the jarl would be waiting for them.

indeed, jarl haraldson had a unit of ten armed men stationed by the ports, offering an unsurprisingly cold reception to the returning raiders.

as the boat steadily approached the docks, gyda shrunk into her father’s side, perhaps more afraid than she ever was of any saxon. no one - neither ragnar’s crew nor the jarl’s - spoke a word. the sound of æthelstan’s teeth chattering thus became even more obvious. occupying the seat on the other side of ragnar, he scratched his head anxiously, short hairs already growing into the bald spot he usually shaved.

ragnar’s eye twitched as he sized up the jarl’s men; each of them tall and broad, their hands menacingly gripping at the hilts of their swords.

ragnar simply leaned back and tried not to let it bother him, at least to set an example for the rest of the raiding party. for a few fleeting moments, he allowed himself to be still, until his ear twitched at the shivering monk next to him.

he grabbed the small holy book that æthelstan stowed away under his robes, and with one swift motion, ragnar tossed it overboard.

rollo, torstein, and arne busied themselves tying the ship to the port, meanwhile æthelstan pitifully scrambled to reach for his sinking bible. the two other saxon monks onboard urged him in their native tongue to calm down.

“silence!” ragnar boomed. his daughter had never seen him become so enraged so quickly.

helga and flóki looked on with unease and unbridled glee, respectively.

“you simpleminded saxons forget that óðinn was the father of your people! you will show him the respect he deserves, here in his domain, or i will personally send you into the depths along with the words of your wicked christ!” ragnar had thoroughly exhausted his vocal range yelling, to the point that a vein flashed across the side of his neck like a lightning bolt.

one of the monks, a timid old man, managed to lock eyes with ragnar. for a second, the man’s trembling pupils gleamed with intent, as if he too was going to stand up and start preaching. ragnar’s upper lip instinctively curled with disgust as a second wave of rage rushed throughout his body. the viking roared like an aggravated beast and punched, with his bare fist, one of the decorative trims off the stern of the ship.

flóki’s smile promptly disappeared.

“torstein,” one of the burly soldiers standing at the dock called out, “your presence was missed at the raid in pomerania. how is it you’ve neglected to inform us of this merry ball we could have attended instead?”

the jarl’s men all shared a laugh.

the atmosphere on the ship was tense, torstein retorted through a clenched jaw, “refer not to me. ragnar loðbrók is the fearless leader of this band.”

“so you admit then,” the same soldier responded, “ragnar loðbrók is either a renegade or a fool.”

once the boat was close enough to the dock, members of the raiding party started to climb out of it. several of them held sacks full of riches and flóki held the rope that tied the three captive monks in a line. ragnar, from his position at the last bench onboard, was the last to reach the pier.

the jarl’s soldier - who must have known torstein from his time in the jarl’s employ - tried to intimidate ragnar. the viking’s admittedly average sized frame never once flinched, though.

“why don’t we let jarl haraldson decide this matter?” the man’s red, sun-damaged face and even redder beard taunted ragnar, as the jarl’s soldiers all snickered again. the burly soldier confronting ragnar then grabbed both of the viking’s arms, as other men did the same to rollo, flóki, torstein, and arne.

gyda’s eyes darted around frantically, unsure of what to do or how to help, at one point her gaze even settled on æthelstan for some kind of cue. a hand soon landed on the girl’s shoulder, but it was only helga. the group of them were being so cordially escorted to the jarl’s assembly hall.

-

jarl haraldson was ushered out of his chambers and into the great hall, after picking at his midday meal and finishing the entire accompanying mug of ale. his wife, who would usually join him in judicial affairs, was for the past several days too heartbroken to even leave her bed.

the relatively lackluster building was already full to the brim with townsfolk murmuring amongst themselves, all too eager to be entertained by the latest drama. and right on schedule, the main players were brought in by jarl haraldson’s guard.

“well, well, well, if it isn’t the heroic ragnar loðbrók,” the jarl relished in a rare opportunity to be smug, although his face quickly fell as his men began emptying the raiders’ loot onto the floor, “how did you find the english isle?”

ragnar maintained his composure, “the weather was not very pleasant, honorable jarl.”

“i take it the saxons mounted an awesome defense,” the jarl casually sat upon his ornate cherry wood throne, “judging by the measly haul of slaves you seem to have brought back.”

some of the spectating villagers laughed.

“on the contrary, jarl haraldson, the saxons we encountered were feeble and the plunder was plentiful. my own daughter, a mere novice with the blade, was able to capture one of these slaves here.” ragnar explained.

the jarl shifted his focus from the booty for a split second, only to find himself aghast by the sight of the girl at ragnar’s side.

“your daughter…” he trailed off, his mouth hanging slightly open, “i pray she would be but a novice with the blade, for this girl is but a child!”

the crowd seemed to exhibit mixed reactions, as did the raiders themselves. rollo wrapped an arm around his niece’s waist, wanting to shelter her from the jarl’s wrath, since the girl’s father was preoccupied with trying to win in the court of public opinion.

ragnar took a calming breath and began to explain again, “her stature may be small, jarl haraldson, but my daughter is older than her brother, whose coming of age ceremony you recently presided over.”

“loðbrók, children are a treasure worth more than any piece of gold in all the nine worlds. thus, i beseech you to tread carefully… the next time you plan to bring your sweet daughter on a raid.” as soon as the last word left jarl haraldson’s lips, rollo and gyda exchanged excited glances.

helga gasped audibly as several of the other raiders rejoiced between themselves. ragnar, however, did not break his emotionless exterior. he was in no way interested in letting the jarl get what he wanted.

“yes, ragnar and crew,” the jarl went on, “i will mercifully waive all punishment for your disobedience in this endeavor. you will be permitted to return to england and raid with full legal recognition in my jurisdiction. but, as a tax for bringing pillaged goods into my domain, i shall decree that each raider will be allowed one item of plunder. the rest will go towards financing future raids.”

the jarl’s declaration elicited loud chatter from the townsfolk. it seemed that most of them were distracted by the last part about future raids, praise coming from the spectators and whining from the raiders.

torstein’s old friend, the red soldier, pushed him forward with a bracing slap to the back, “get on with it then! everyone choose their one item.”

ragnar’s raiding party took turns going to and fro the pile, all the while their leader never broke eye contact with the jarl.

“you know, loðbrók,” the jarl addressed ragnar directly, his volume just low enough that onlookers wouldn’t interrupt, “if so much as a hair on your girl’s head is harmed during the next raid, i’ll see to it your testicles are floating in a jar of saltwater brine. even in norway, they tell stories of vikings sailing too far south and encountering vicious saxon warriors that still fight like the saxons of the old country. so take great caution.”

ragnar desired so desperately to quip back with something witty, but the jarl’s warning was startlingly ominous. the wanderer who gave ragnar his trusted compass had specifically suggested to sail south along the english coast. surely the words of such a greedy man deserved to be heeded far less than those of an experienced traveler.

“brother,” the red soldier barked, and suddenly it dawned on ragnar that he was addressing the jarl, “only ragnar loðbrók is left to pick his plunder.”

ragnar looked to his side and noticed gyda holding a silver wine pitcher, rollo was admiring a golden necklace inlaid with red jewels, and flóki and helga had chosen a set of matching chalices.

ragnar approached the pile cautiously. deep in his heart, he knew he hadn’t the slightest idea what to even look for. then, he looked above the pile, and saw the three monks off in the corner of the room; their wrists bound together by the rope which was now being held by a member of the jarl’s guard. æthelstan stood by his lonesome on the far end, his jaw still visibly chattering as though he’d been frozen.

“i shall take the boy priest,” ragnar announced, pointing to æthelstan, “what better than a living memory of my daughter’s first success in raiding.”

jarl haraldson hardly reacted. instead, with one limp gesture of his wrist, he ordered, “very well. knut, fetch the esteemed ragnar his new saxon slave.”

the red soldier glowered at ragnar as he obeyed his brother’s command. æthelstan was cut from the other two monks, whom he appeared to fret greatly about leaving behind, and was led to ragnar by knut - much like a dog on a leash.

“yes, i am overjoyed that this issue has been solved in a timely manner,” the jarl started, apparently trying to get everyone out of his hall as soon as possible, “but, in regards to financing future raids, there is one last endeavor i wish to inquire about.”

the jarl’s guard swooped in and picked up ragnar and crew’s hard-earned riches, filling their own linen sacks with the loot and leading the thralls outside.

“i wish to purchase the vessel on which you have so bravely sailed westward. i understand it to be the handiwork of boatbuilder flóki. and with another ship in my collection, we will be able to bring home even more plunder from the next raid.” announced jarl haraldson.

the crowd cheered.

helga nervously squeezed the hand of her betrothed, but flóki remained unphased, answering, “it is with great remorse, honorable jarl, that i must respectfully decline. for you see, the ship is now in a state of disrepair, and i could not responsibly sell it to you without first attending to the damages.”

the jarl shot a quick glance towards knut.

“it is true, brother.” knut confirmed, the wind seemingly ripped from his sails.

“very well,” the jarl leaned back in his seat, perhaps so that he may view ragnar from an even higher position, “then, boatbuilder, i shall expect you to complete the repairs and return to sea with ragnar loðbrók’s band within the fortnight.”

as the townsfolk and raiders alike began to pour out of the great hall, knut stopped torstein with an unexpectedly gentle pat on the shoulder.

“let us keep in better touch,” the red soldier suddenly had a friendly glint to his eye, “i would hate for our only meetings to be filled with such tension, dear torstein.”

torstein pursed his lips into a half-smile, and simply nodded politely before hurrying away.

gyda beamed with elation at her father, making sure to also giggle at æthelstan’s prolonged state of panic, as the trio set off for home on their little peninsula.

-

björn was waiting outside the house just before supper. the sun had not yet fully set, due to the long daylight hours of nordic summer, though the crickets and fireflies had already started their song and dance.

the footpath from kattegat sprang over the horizon, and from the treeline emerged ragnar and gyda, with æthelstan in tow. björn sprinted over to meet his father halfway, after a few minutes finally colliding into him in a spirited embrace. as soon as the boy pulled away, his sister grabbed him by the neck and took her own turn hugging him, roughly yet affectionately scratching the top of his head.

lagertha emerged from the house, her shining smile dropping faster than the evening sun upon seeing the strange man her husband had brought home.

“come inside, my dear ragnar,” she mustered as the rest of her family creeped closer, “rest, my sweet gyda. there are rye loaves baked fresh for you. i am stewing kid with turnips, too.”

ragnar could sense his wife’s discomfort; he knew he had much to explain. but, he was also eager to tell her that the status quo of their lives was forever altered.

[the-girl-in-the-box]

Not Today XLII

A/N: And we're finally back with another update! I posted on my last update to Can You Imagine? That I was going to try and get on a system of posting an update weekly, rotating which fic I'm updating, which means this will probably be updated about every three weeks going forward. So that said, I hope you all enjoy being back to this story, and I hope you'll stick around for the coming updates- I told you this wasn't abandoned XD Skål!

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

Masterlist

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Asta felt like she was going to explode. Talking to Olaf had brought up all the grief she’d felt over the years, everything she felt she had locked away when she left Kattegat, and now it was threatening to burst out of her if one more thing happened to bring it out of her. That’s why she needed to talk to Ivar- if anyone would know how to stay sane in the face of everything they were facing… Well, it wasn’t him, but he could help her sort through things at the least. 

She let Hvitserk lead her back through the town quickly, indulging herself in the protective arm he’d wrapped around her shoulders. How would she be able to stand it if something were to happen to him, or to Ivar? She’d already lost so much… Truthfully, she wasn’t sure she would be able to handle it- and not like this, when she wasn’t sure she’d handled what had happened so far just yet. If she went through it in her mind- the father she hadn’t known, Heahmund, the father she had, Aethelred, her mother, Freydis, Lagertha, Bjorn… And those were only the deaths. What about Alfred, and Torvi and Ubbe who she hadn’t heard from in… who knew how long at this point? 

Her mind turned back to something her beloved Freydis had once said to her, after the death of the Bishop Heahmund. When she had confessed her heart had broken with news of his death, Freydis had told her that her heart would repair. But that had been before everything else she had lost. She wasn’t so sure anymore that was true. Very suddenly, she held out her hand and held it to Hvitserk’s chest. “Wait,” she said, and he looked down at her confusedly.

“Princess?” he questioned. “What is it?” 

“I think I need to be alone,” she confessed. “I need… I need to think. Please.”

“Of course,” Hvitserk replied. “Where will you be should we need you?” 

Asta swallowed, looking out over the mountains. “I’d say wandering, but that wouldn’t be of any help, would it?” she said with a quiet chuckle. “There’s a clearing not far from here, take the path out of Vestfold and follow it to the east. I’ll be there.”

Hvitserk nodded a little. “Be careful,” he warned her. “Keep your sword about you at all times, just in case.” 

“I will, thank you, Hvitserk,” she replied. “Will you let Ivar know?” She didn’t worry about clarifying, sure enough of him to believe that he would know what she was asking him to tell his brother. And happily, she saw she was right, as Hvitserk asked no questions. Instead, he kissed her on the head and wished her well before heading toward the palace. 

Now all alone, Asta started down the path she’d indicated to Hvitserk, keeping an eye out as he’d requested. Besides, as little as she trusted Oleg and his men, she didn’t want to take any risks.

In the days since Asta left Wessex, she had noticed something about the way she’d picked up Viking customs. She didn’t pray the way she once did, not anymore. She had grown up praying in church, on her knees in the pews, hands clasped together and head bowed. Now, she just… prayed. The rituals had all stayed behind in England, and in their wake was left comfort and familiarity, a relationship as opposed to religion. Freedom she hadn’t once known.

Unlike Kattegat, Kiev had been stifling. She had to hide so many things there, for fear of what Oleg may do if he learned, even having to resort to hiding away to say a prayer. It wasn’t because Oleg had something against Christians- on the contrary, the man claimed to be one himself- but rather because everything he believed about her would begin to unravel if he learned this one truth about her. Asta knew Oleg would never understand how a wanderer who came to Kattegat, and became the wife of Ivar the Boneless, had become a Christian in her time there in Kiev- and to not partake in the rituals of the Kievan Rus would simply make him question things even more. She knew if he continued to pull on that thread, it would inevitably lead him to the truth- that she was English, and nearly everything he knew about her was a lie. No, she couldn’t allow that.

Thus, she waited until she was well enough alone to pray, and even sought out a hidden place to do so. Somehow, she found that just stepping into that space released the restraints she felt she now lived her life in, and she let out a long breath as she felt the peace of it wash over her. “I don’t know what to do,” she confessed quietly, her voice nearly a whisper. “My life has changed… so much in the past years, Lord. My family are all but gone, my past buried so deeply inside me that I can hardly tell where the truth ends and this lie begins. Add to that how miserable I feel with each and every lie I tell, and I just… I’m so lost. Telling my story to King Olaf has brought it all back, every part of myself I’d silenced, and I know now that I cannot continue on this path I’ve set myself on. But what happens to Ivar and Hvitserk, if I reveal the truth? They’ve known me for years now, won’t Oleg know this? Know what they’ve done in helping me to conceal this? What will he do to them for covering the lie? I need You to show me what I am meant to do, to give me the strength to do it. I’m so afraid, Lord… of losing anything more than I already have.” She swallowed hard, letting out a shaky breath. “Help me overcome these fears. Bring me back to You. In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti.” 

The sound of footsteps approaching interrupted Asta, and she turned back to see Hvitserk running down the path. “Asta, you need to come now,” he said, urgency lacing his voice. “They are going to kill King Olaf.”

Asta’s eyes widened as she processed the words, and she blinked a few times. “What are we doing?” she questioned. “What does Ivar want us to do?” 

Hvitserk shook his head. “Nothing,” he answered. “He wants us to attend the execution, but we will not interfere. He wants to keep Oleg’s trust still.” 

As little as Asta liked the idea of just letting this happen, she nodded. “Alright,” she replied. “Then we should go.”

They nearly ran back to town, to the docks where the execution was to take place, so they wouldn’t miss any of it, and by the time they wormed their way up to the front Asta could see that Olaf had already been tied down to a chair. Ivar, Oleg, and Igor were there as well, standing up at the front to watch the execution. Hvitserk moved to lean against a post nearby, while Asta came to stand beside Ivar, watching as two men stepped forward and began to pour oil all over… the wood piled around the chair? Oh. It was then that Olaf began to speak, and Asta’s eyes widened.

“There is someone beside me,” he said.

Oleg frowned. “There is no one beside you,” he said. “You are all alone.”

“No, there is someone beside me,” Olaf reiterated. “Although I cannot see Him, I know He is here.”

“How do you know, you old fool?” Oleg demanded.

“Because He speaks to me,” Olaf said. “I hear His voice.”

Asta swallowed as she realised what he meant, and a chill ran down her spine. Anticipation began to build in her. Listen.

Hvitserk glanced over at Asta, noticing the suddenly attentive gaze she had pinned on King Olaf. He hadn’t confessed to this earlier, but he’d heard the tale end of her prayer. He knew now what the woman was struggling with, so he asked, “And what does He say?”

Olaf answered, “He says, ‘He who believes in Me, though he may die, he shall live. I am the resurrection and the life. I shall walk beside you. Always. Always.”

Asta was stunned. I shall walk beside you. She glanced over at Ivar, who she could tell understood the point of Olaf’s words, and had grown concerned. Why, she couldn’t say, but she knew what it meant to her. She had to do what was right, and the rest wasn’t up to her.

Still, she was distracted from trying to figure that out by Oleg’s interruption, as he instructed Igor, “Don’t listen to him, get on with it.” When he shoved the boy forward, a torch in hand, Asta felt anger boil up inside her. He was really going to make a child do this? He had the gall to order a man’s death, but not to go through with it on his own? To do it himself? She wasn’t sure her opinion of him could get any lower than this. Then, she noticed how anxious Igor clearly was, and her heart clenched.

“This isn’t right,” she murmured from beside Ivar. “He’s a child…”

“I know,” Ivar whispered in return. “But we cannot stop it. Not without raising suspicion.”

She swallowed again as she heard Olaf trying to comfort Igor, even as the young Prince was preparing to end his life. “Don’t be afraid,” he said, though in Asta’s experience that rarely actually helped.

“I can’t,” Igor replied.

“Think of me as already dead,” Olaf advised. “Nothing more can hurt me. Not the thunder, nor the deep swell of the waves, nor yet, the tongues of fire.” 

Igor turned back to Ivar, as if silently asking whether or not he should go through with this, and while Ivar nodded to encourage him, Asta glanced over at Oleg. He was clearly quite unnerved by this, seeing that Igor preferred Ivar’s encouragement to his own, and that, at least, brought a small smirk to Asta’s lips as she turned to watch the execution again. Let him stew on that. Children rarely sought strength from the person who pushed them too far, anyway.

The boy knelt down in front of Olaf, lowering the torch toward the pyre built at the King’s feet. “I’m sorry,” he said.

“Don’t be,” Olaf replied. “My lands are in order, and I am ripe for Heaven.”

He offered Igor a reassuring smile, and Igor finally lit the pyre, before standing and beginning to back up. Ivar reached out and wrapped his arm around him to pull him back, protecting him from the flames that grew quickly to ensnare Olaf within them. To the surprise of most there, however, the man lifted his hands as if in prayer, and gave nothing even close to a cry of pain as he was consumed. Oleg shook his head and stalked off.

For once, his behavior left Asta unbothered as she watched Olaf’s life fade before her eyes. She hadn’t known him for very long, but she had quickly realized how wise he was, the depth of his knowledge, and the fact he had asked the question that had been the catalyst to her awakening was something she couldn’t simply overlook. It hadn’t taken very long at all, but King Olaf had become quite an influential figure in her life. But the Lord worked in mysterious ways, she knew, and all paths crossed for a reason. She found herself thanking God for Olaf’s life, and for the chance she got to meet him, swallowing as she blinked to clear the wetness from her eyes. The crowd began to disburse, and Ivar asked her if she was coming along with him, Hvitserk, and Igor, but she answered that she wanted to be left alone for a while. 

She stayed until there was nothing left to stay for, a lone figure on the dock. 

Eventually, Asta returned to the Great Hall, and she quickly became aware of Ivar at her side. “My love,” he whispered, disguising it with a kiss to the side of her head. “Are you alright? Hmm?”

She nodded slightly and leaned her head over against his. “Just tired,” she answered. “I don’t think I’ll stay for the feast tonight. I need to get some rest, think about some things.” 

Ivar frowned, not convinced at all that Asta really was ‘just tired’ as she said. But, he wasn’t about to force the truth out of her in front of this crowd, so instead of trying he simply nodded and kissed her head again. “I’ll come and join you soon,” he promised. “And I’ll bring you food and drink. Go rest.”

Asta smiled up at him lovingly, reaching up to cup his cheek. “Thank you,” she said. “You don’t know how much of a comfort you are to me.” She leaned up to kiss him softly, and rested her forehead against his, taking a deep breath as if she could draw some sort of strength from him. Ivar returned her kiss before pressing one of his own to her forehead, and releasing her. 

She wandered off to head to their room, stopping to press a kiss to the top of Igor’s head and telling him she was proud of him, and when she got in there, the sounds of the feast now distant, she felt a weight come off her shoulders. Running a hand through her hair, she went and flopped down on the bed. It was then that her door opened, and she looked up to see who had come in.

If there was anyone she had expected to see, it wasn’t Igor. Still, she smiled a little when she saw him, sitting up to greet him. “Igor,” she said. “Can I help you with something?”

“You did not seem like you were well when you left the feast,” he told her. “I wanted to come and see what was wrong.” 

Asta let out a touched sort of sound and smiled at him, reaching out to invite him to come and sit with her. “Oh, sweet boy,” she said affectionately. He did as she offered and settled in beside her, so that she started to run her fingers through his hair. “I’m more worried about you than you need to be about me. How are you after today?”

Igor swallowed and shifted uncomfortably. “I didn’t want to kill him,” he said. “I’m not even sure what he did wrong.”

This brought forth a sigh from Asta, who ended up laying back with Igor and holding him close still. “Nothing,” she said. “Your uncle wanted him dead because he feared the loyalty King Olaf could inspire in the remaining Vikings. This sort of thing isn’t exactly uncommon in war, but…” She paused and gave a soft sigh. “It wasn’t right, especially not the way it was done. Your uncle made the decision, and he should have seen it through himself- not passed it off to his young nephew. I can’t tell you how sorry I am he did that, and how much I wish he hadn’t.”

Igor shrugged a little as if he wasn’t all that bothered. “He said he wanted to teach me how to be strong,” he said. “So I had to be the one to do it.”

“Killing a man doesn’t make you strong, darling,” Asta told him. “Although you are strong for enduring what your uncle made you do today. But killing in itself isn’t what defines strength. In fact, your uncle showed a lack of it when he didn’t kill King Olaf himself.”

“He did?” Igor asked, looking up at her with wide eyes.

She hummed as she nodded. “He did,” she confirmed. “Never forget this, Igor. If you ever decide to execute a man, you must always be willing to carry it out yourself. If you aren’t so convinced it’s the right thing to do that you have the strength to do it, then it isn’t right. Do you understand?”

He nodded at her. “I think I do,” he confirmed. 

It was just then that the door opened again, and Ivar was coming in with a plate full of food, a cup balanced carefully on it and leaned up against his arm. He blinked a few times when he saw his wife and Igor laying together. “Did I miss the invitation?” he deadpanned.

“Yes,” Asta teased him in response. “I was just telling Igor how he couldn’t trust you anymore, and he could only trust me.”

Ivar raised a brow and asked Igor, “Is that true?” 

“No,” he replied. “She was teaching me about strength.”

“Ah,” Ivar said. “This makes more sense. I did not think she would betray me that way.”

Asta chuckled softly. “Mm, but he could be lying, you’ll never know,” she joked. 

Ivar smirked and brought her food and drink to her. “Then I suppose I will just have to trust you,” he answered, and once the food was sat on the small table beside the bed, leaned down to kiss her softly.

That was when Igor gave a fake gag and got up. “I’m going to go now,” he announced, causing Asta to fall into a fit of giggles. “Enjoy… that.” He shuddered and then walked out of the room.

“Should we have stopped him?” Asta asked, looking up at Ivar and trying not to laugh, especially when he shrugged.

“I wanted to see if you were doing better anyway,” he said. Her laughter died down instantly. “Mm, you are not. Hvitserk told me you had left the village to pray. You only leave for that when something is bothering you. What is it?”

Asta swallowed and looked away from him, sitting up slowly as she took in a deep breath. This wasn’t a conversation she had expected to have this way, but… she had asked for a path, hadn’t she? The time had simply come to take it. She looked back up at him, and said, “I think we need to talk.”

Taglist: @youbloodymadgenius, @katfett, @crashbyers, @heavenly1927, @pomegranates-and-blood, @lotr-got, @dekusdante

If you want to be added to the taglist, feel free to reach out either by commenting, reblogging, DMing me, or sending an ask, and I’ll be more than happy to add you!

[fandom-postss]

Vikings OC Fanfic

[maidmerrymint]

The ultimate power couple. Olga x Ivar x Freydis

[woahhhgwendolyn]

Birthing Ivar's Child Would Include...

-Birthing his child would not be like anything else. He would make sure that you are comfortable and have the best doctors around to make sure that you are okay while birthing his child.

-He would honestly not know what to think the first time that he gets the news that you are going to birth the child that night.

-He would of course come straight away to the house where you are birthing and stay there with you through the whole process.

-He would kind of be worried for you in a sense because he has not seen a women birth before, so he does not know if any of what you are going through is normal.

-He has to be constantly reminded by the doctors that it is completely normal what you are going through right now. He is just nervous for you.

-He stays there with you the whole time that you are birthing. No matter what. He even tells his brothers that you are birthing and that he will be a while before seeing them again. Because he does not know how long it will take you to birth the child.

-After a long while of you trying and trying to birth the child you finally birth the child.

-Ivar could not have been happier. He was so happy he could not hold in his happiness and started to smile like a maniac. After a while after you birthed the baby Ivar's brothers came in and got to hold the baby and say hi to them.

[blakeswritingimagines]

Dating Hvitserk would include:

He is fiercely protective of his beloved. His love is like a raging fire, burning bright and hot. If anyone were to harm or threaten you, he would not hesitate to unleash a fierce attack. He would go to any lengths to protect you, even if it meant hurting himself. However, he also can have a very soft and gentle side when it comes to you. He would be very gentle and loving towards you, cherishing you with his every breath.

Well, if you consider the fact that he is a 10th-century Viking, a pretty strange experience most likely. He might take you on a boat trip to raid and pillage a village, as one of his way of showing affection.

Dating him is like having the best time of your life. He's great with making the person he's dating feel important and special in every way possible. He is also a good listener and can hold an engaging conversation about anything you want to talk about. He's also very loyal and would never cheat or lie to the person he's dating. Plus he knows how to have a good time and he's always up for trying new things. And he's not too shabby in the looks department either, if I do say so myself.

He's a very caring and loving man who is protective of his person and would never allow you to come to harm. He is also very loyal and faithful, always remaining faithful to you no matter what. He is very caring and will always be there for his partner when you need it, doing his best to support and comfort you. He is also a very passionate man, who shows his love to his partner in many different ways. He also becomes a very affectionate man.

He is very open and honest with you. He believes in communication and being able to talk openly and honestly about your feelings and thoughts. He is always there to listen to and to help you with any problems that you may have. He is also a very romantic man and will always come up with creative and special ways to show his love for his partner. He is not afraid to show his emotions or to express how much he cares for you.

Being in a relationship with him is like being protected by a fierce warrior who is soft and loving at the same time. His love is strong and sincere. He would do everything in his power for you and protect you with his life. He is very territorial especially when it comes to you and is not afraid of showing you or those around his possession. He can also be very possessive and would need reassurance every time you go out. He becomes very jealous because he is scared of losing you.

Well, he's a man who's very strong and can be very dominant, so you better know how to stay in your place. When he is not angry he's quite kind, and he also likes to play around with the people he likes, although that often involves teasing you and saying a few dirty things. But if you ever want to make him jealous you only have to flirt with other men or spend enough time away from him. But you better not try it too much.

When it comes to dating him, you can expect a lot of attention. He's quite possessive and obsessive, so he likes to keep his partner close by his side at all times. He can also be quite clingy and needy, but this is all because he's so deeply committed to your relationship. He wants you to feel safe, secure and loved.

Dating him can be both a blessing and a curse. While he is extremely loyal, loving, and supportive, he can also be a bit overprotective and jealous. His love for you is intense and all-encompassing, so much so that he wants you to be completely his. This can sometimes lead to arguments when his partner wants to spend time with other people. But ultimately, dating him is like having a constant source of love and warmth in your life.

Dating him can be exciting and fulfilling. He's a very loyal and loving partner who will go above and beyond for those he cares about. He's also very possessive and protective, and he's not afraid to show it. He's very protective of his partner's safety and well-being. He can also be quite obsessive and has a tendency to get wrapped up in the person he's with. He's very romantic and passionate, and he loves showing his affection both physically and emotionally.

If you manage to catch his attention, you're in for a treat. At first, he'll be distant but always polite. When he likes you, and if you're worthy of it, he'll be possessive, obsessive, loving, and protective. At times he might even become quite jealous. He'll make time for you. Take you on dates that mean something. Tell you everything you want and need to know. The only downside is he is a bit clingy and requires a fair amount of attention.

He might be intense at times, but it would never be boring. He would always keep you on your toes and keep you guessing what he would do next. He would shower you with love and affection, but he would also keep you on your toes with his protectiveness and possessiveness. You would find that he is thoughtful and romantic but also strict and possessive. Dating him would be a roller coaster of emotions, but one that you would never want to end.

As a partner, he would be constantly expressing his love for you in both words and gestures. He would shower you with gifts and compliments, and always be there to support you and cheer you on. He would also do his best to fulfill your needs and desires, both physically and emotionally. In return, you would find that he tries to be a patient, understanding, and forgiving individual. He would always work to resolve conflicts in a calm and mature manner and would value the bond that you share above all else.

He would show affection in many ways. He would provide support and comfort when you needed it. He would cook for you, write you letters and texts, and surprise you with thoughtful gifts. He would make sure to listen to you and be present in your life. When possible, he would also shower you with physical affection, hugs, and kisses. He would take time out of his day to make you feel loved and appreciated.

Some of his favorite kinks involve showing off his body and being admired by you. He enjoys feeling desired and sexy, and he gets a thrill from knowing that you find him attractive.

He likes to be dominant in the bedroom. He enjoys being the one in control and dictating the pace and intensity of the action. He likes to be the one who takes the lead and gives you orders. However, he also likes to be submissive at times and let you take control. He enjoys switching roles and experimenting with different dynamics, all to ensure the most enjoyable and pleasurable experience for both of you.

He enjoys exploring your body and finding new ways to please you. He likes to find your sensitive spots and use them to slowly and sensually build up the tension until you are begging for release. He also likes to use toys and other tools to enhance the experience for both of you. He wants to explore and try new and exciting things, and he gets a thrill from seeing his partner being swept up in the moment. He wants you both to achieve ultimate pleasure in all of your sensual encounters.

If you are into it, he is open to experimenting and trying new things. As far as sex positions go, he is open to trying different positions and finding he has no problem with hitting it from behind.

He enjoys using toys and other accessories to enhance your sexual experience. He finds it exhilarating to experiment with different toys and outfits, and he enjoys seeing your reaction when you try something new.

He also enjoys role-playing and pretending to be different characters, as it makes sex more fun and interesting. He wants your sexual relationship to be playful, creative, and entertaining as well as satisfying and physically stimulating.

He enjoys both romantic and wild, animalistic sex. In romantic sex, he loves to have a deep, emotional connection with you and to show his love through intimacy. In more animalistic sex, he likes to be wild and impulsive, letting go of his inhibitions and simply enjoying the pleasure of the moment.

He likes to explore different positions and fetishes with you, and he enjoys switching between being in control and being submissive. Most importantly, he wants to make sure that you are satisfied and have a pleasurable experience.

[leviathanhomecooking]

Vikings • S3 x E6

[aikaterini-drag]

Embrace of Two Hearts

Summary: Harald has been traveling, negotiating alliances but now that he is back, he can’t take his eyes off of his wife —as well as his hands off of her.

Pairing: King Harald Sigurdson x Queen Fem!reader

Warnings: fluff, kisses, implied smut, besotted Harald.

Kofi 🧡 AO3 🩷 ASK ME 🩵

It had been a long time since Harald Sigurdsson had left Norway to build alliances and trading negotiations with the surrounding kingdoms. The matter had required his attention and he had been forced to leave you behind so you could take care of the kingdom in his absence. You were his Queen, the person he trusted and loved the most.

After meeting with various wealthy yarls and merchants, Harald’s plans had been prosperous; he’d stricken deals to trade goods and boost the income of his kingdom.

After almost two months at traveling, he was finally back.

Harald hadn’t blown the horns to make his arrival known.

He wanted today to be a surprise.

He wanted to see your face light up and hear your happy laughter as you reached him.

So after a light meal and a much needed bath, he headed to one of the villages where he was told you had gone shopping.

With his hood pulled low over this face, he strolled along the bustling Viking village, and when he saw you, his eyes fixed on you. You hadn’t taken notice of his presence; you were engaged in conversation with some of the women selling silks and spices. Resting his great frame on one of the stalls, he took his time and watched you for a few seconds. When waiting became too much to handle, he slipped back his hood and approached you.

A loud gasp left your lips when you finally saw him. You blinked, as in disbelief and when he smiled invitingly, all dimples and sunshine, you rushed into his arms. Your husband was back! Oh, how you’ve missed him, craved him! You’ve been exchanging letters with him during his travels but nothing compared to him holding you, touching you. And there he was, tall and handsome, wearing his marvelous regal tunic and leather pants, his fur cloak, his handsome face forming a warm smile.

“Ah, there’s my beautiful queen!” he said when you practically jumped into his waiting arms.

"Oh, Harald!" You pressed your lips against his in a long kiss. “You didn’t tell me you were coming back.”

“Surprise,” he said, his lips stretched delightfully.

“Oh, how I missed you! Is everything alright? The negotiations?”

“Everything’s perfect. I’ll tell you about my feats later.” He cupped your face, his hungry eyes taking in your beauty. “Let me look at you, have my fill of you.”

“Did you miss me so much, my lord husband?”

“Only a little, my lady wife.”

"Only a little?" You raised a brow. “Then why are you here?”

“Because I lied. I missed you. Painfully. Deeply. Hard.”

You laughed. “You debauched Viking.”

He grinned. “I've hoped to distract you from your shopping. Is it working?”

You fluttered your eyelashes. “Only if you kiss me again.”

Smiling in that stunning mischievous smile of his, he lowered his lips to yours, his tongue dancing with yours wetly. The touch was too swift for your liking but since you were still in public—and everyone was staring… you drew back softly. Harald locked your hands together and led the way back to your longhouse. You walked through the hall, with him stealing kisses and whispering sweet words to you.

When he had you in the solitude of your room, he scooped you up and dropped you onto the bed. You giggled as you bounced stop the furs and pillows. He joined you, a thick knee climbing onto the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. And then he was all over you, his strong body draped over your slender frame. He watched you with eyes ablaze with the passion, his lips parted. He brought his hands to caress your cheek, his knuckles tracing your skin lovingly.

“What is it, King Harald? What has you so enthralled?” you teased, leaning into his touch.

“You,” he said simply. “My wife… my beautiful wife who outshines even the finest jewels.”

You kissed him lightly. “I’m not as charming as my strong and courageous husband.”

“I disagree. You are achingly beautiful and perfect. And I am not in the least charming.”

“Oh, you're charming. Impossibly charming.” You claimed his lips and he moaned. “Your charm is as sharp as your sword.”

Harald grinned. “My love, my sword only yields to you. Sharp and ready to service you.”

“You didn’t just say that!”

He kissed your forehead, however, his hands were skillfully dragging up your gown. “What are you thinking, my mischievous wife?”

“What are you thinking, my mischievous husband?”

“I’m thinking I missed the feel of you. And that I want you,” he said and rolled his hips gently, and even with the layers of clothes, his groin pressed hard against her center.

Whining softly, you slipped your hands under his tunic to feel his warm skin. “Me, too. It has been so long.”

“Hm… I have been denied your warmth but no more.”

“Make love to me?”

“All day and night, my love.”

He pulled you close and kissed you deeply and fervently, lips meeting, tongues brushing. The world around you seemed to fade away, leaving nothing but your love and passion. Clothes were tossed away, skin touched skin, sweat tricked like little diamonds and then came bliss.

[levithestripper]

“You are lucky.” “Why?” “Because you have never been married. I would not come back here, if it weren’t for my children.” VIKINGS— 03x05 “The Usurper”

AUTUMNAL EQUINOX WEEK— @vikingsevents ➳ DAY FIVE: FAVORITE SCENE— RAGNAR AND ATHELSTAN RETURNING HOME TO KATTEGAT.

[mrgabel]

day 2: favourite episode

For @vikingsevents Autumnal Equinox.

Couldn't really decide on a specific episode so I went for the most important scene that set everything in motion. When Ragnar and Athelstan locked eyes first time.

[majorxmaggiexboy]

Athelstan: I SAW GOD HE CAME TO ME IN THE FORM OF LIGHT HE DID NOT SPEAK AND YET I HEARD HIS VOICE AND I AM BORN AGAIN Ragnar: if you are experiencing a medical emergency please hang up and dial nine-one-one immediately

[editfandom]

Vikings

[the-girl-in-the-box]

Can You Imagine? XIX

A/N: FINALLY another update- I feel like most of my author's notes start out that way XD Still, I haven't abandoned this, an am consistently working still on it, Not Today, and One Swallow Can Make A Summer, so I'm hoping to get on a schedule of posting a chapter a week, rotating which fic gets updated each week! Next on the list will be an update for Not Today, and then we should be on a good schedule. So stay tuned for those updates if you're interested- otherwise, I hope you enjoy this (very late) update! Skål!

Summary: Freydis was dead. At least, when she’d lost consciousness, she’d been sure she was. But now she has woken up in a cold, sterile environment, one she is certain is not Valhalla, and the world as she once knew it has changed. People now have strange abilities, some of them, and people they call ‘scientists’ are trying to give them to her. The bigger issue, though, is the fact they have also woken the very man who killed her. Ivar the Boneless lives again as well, in the same way Freydis does, and if they want to survive... she may have to learn to trust him again.

Masterlist

--

Seize the Moment and Stay In It

Leaving Ivar behind hadn’t been in Freydís’s plans.  Björn, she hadn’t ever even intended to pick up, but this was another game entirely now. She was spiralling out of control, and she’d hurt Ivar simply for interrupting her. What kind of a wife did that? Hadn’t she been upset with Ivar for hurting her? For behaving toward her as no husband should? What kind of a hypocrite was she, to hurt him now?

You aren’t a hypocrite though, are you? Not really, a quiet voice whispered in her mind. The presence had returned, once again just behind her, but when Freydís now tried to look, she thought she saw some kind of dark shape quickly escape her peripherals, hiding behind her again as it laughed quietly. You cannot see me, it told her. Not like this. 

“Can I see you?” Freydís asked the voice, her eyes slipping shut as she tried to call the figure it came from into view. 

Not like this, it repeated. You know how.

It surprised her to find that she did know how. Her eyes glowed red as she began to levitate in the air, her body tilting back as if in a bed. She fell asleep.

When her eyes opened in that space from before, where the ground was cracked beneath her feet, with something glowing beneath. Now, Freydís was able to recognise it for what it was- that is, that it was magic, just the same as the magic she possessed. What exactly this place was, she still wasn’t sure, but she felt more connected to it now. It felt somehow more comfortable now.

The voice was no longer just that, as the same figure which had met her here before walked out from behind her, still just as mysterious, hooded and hiding her face. “See?” she said, seeming rather smug. “You did know how to see me.” Freydís rolled her eyes, unable to help herself.

“I did,” she replied. “But we’ve spoken like this before.”

The figure hummed and chuckled softly. “We have,” she confirmed. “But I think you have called me here for a purpose haven’t you? What is it you wanted with me?”

Freydís swallowed a bit. The truth was that she had wanted to ask something of this figure which was always with her, but how she had known that… It was baffling, at best. At worst? Outright concerning. “I don’t know where to go from here,” she confessed. “I mean, I do know, but I can’t do it.” 

“You must,” the figure advised. “If you won’t, everything is lost. Surely a few moments of their pain will be forgiven? Ivar has done far worse to you, and they have done far worse to each other. Why not take this chance for all of you? For those in the future who you will save from this fate you are already suffering?” 

“Then you are saying that this sacrifice is necessary for the greater good?” Freydís questioned for clarity’s sake. The figure nodded.

“I am afraid so,” it replied, and stepped forward, brushing a hand through Freydís ’s hair. “There is no other choice if you wish to put an end to the schemes of those who wish to play at weaving fate.”

Freydís nodded reluctantly, and took in a deep breath which she let out slowly. “Then I have work to do,” she almost whispered. The figure hummed, and then suddenly Freydís was waking, and she adjusted so she would land on her feet when she returned to the ground.

It was a dreadful thing, realizing what she had to do to her husband and his brother. But if she was going to find the information she needed from either Dr. Schmidt or Professor Andersen, she wasn’t sure she had much of a choice. So, she began the work of preparing her space, creating little fires all around herself in a circle by burning various sticks and leaves. Then, laying out her book in front of herself, she began to write the runes around herself which would allow her access to the right minds- even as wrong as it felt.

Her search began, seeking out the paths she needed to make it through to Ivar or  Björn- whichever she got to first. They both had that final connection, she was almost certain of it, and if  Björn didn’t for some reason then she was certain that Ivar would, and  Björn would have the connection to Ivar. They were the final pieces of the puzzle.

Being entirely alone meant that there was nothing to break her focus or her concentration, and that made the process all the quicker and more painless for those she had already been through. They would barely notice anything, aside from perhaps being reminded of what had happened the first time she passed through their minds. This being the first time she was connecting to either Ivar or  Björn, however, they would feel the full force of the spell, only to be relieved once she had finally reached her ultimate target. She just hoped they’d recover well enough.

When the spell finally reached Ivar, Freydís crawled her way into his mind just as she had with every other mind before his, and he cried out from shock at the sudden sight of her, and pain from the violence of the action. But that wasn’t the only shock- not by far. What shocked him beyond that was how grey her skin had become, the deep black around her glowing red eyes. Her teeth seemed almost like fangs as she cried out at the effort it must have taken to get into his mind. Not to mention how thin her fingers had become, looking more and more like ink dipped claws than anything else. What had happened to her? What had happened to his wife?

By the time she left, Ivar suddenly could see his surroundings again, and it was only then that he realised he had lost sight of anything but his own mind until then.  Björn was kneeling at his side, but it did little to soothe Ivar, who was shaking and suddenly very, very cold. 

“Was it Freydís ?”  Björn asked, and Ivar managed to look at him, his heart pounding wildly in his chest. But still, he managed a nod. “What did she do?”

“I don’t know exactly,” Ivar answered, trying now to sit up. “She came into my mind, and…” A chill ran through him. “She didn’t look like herself anymore.”

 Björn opened his mouth as if to answer Ivar, when suddenly he too cried out, and collapsed to the ground. His hands came to his head and he clutched at it, screaming from whatever pain he must have been in. If she was doing to him what she’d done to Ivar, then he knew the pain  Björn was in. Ivar grimaced a bit at the thought. 

Unfortunately, all he was able to do was wait for  Björn to come back. Or, rather, for Freydís to release him the spell she had captured his mind in. Whatever it was she wanted, she had needed them both to find it, and then apparently she had it as  Björn seemed to snap back into reality. He looked up at Ivar, eyes wide with horror. 

“You’ve seen her,” Ivar surmised, and  Björn nodded slowly.

“What has happened to her?” he questioned, barely getting the words out as he tried to shake off the pain.

Ivar swallowed, his eyes clouding with regret, along with many other things- one of which was grief. “That book,” he said. “I think she has gone too far into it, and it’s corrupting her beyond what we could have ever imagined.”

 Björn was quiet. Ivar could tell he was thinking hard, which he may once have teased him for, but now he couldn’t find the levity to do so. Eventually,  Björn asked him, “What do you think she was looking for?”

Well, Ivar certainly didn’t struggle to answer that. After everything they had been through, unless there was some sort of memory of Kattegat she sought, there was really only one thing that bound her and Ivar to  Björn. That facility which had raised them from the dead, where she and her husband had first met Doctor Schmidt and Professor Andersen; where they had first been reconciled with each other.

“The facility we were kept in,” he said to  Björn. “She wants a way in. My memories of jt aren’t quite enough, we have mostly the same memories, but yours… They trusted you more than they ever trusted us. My mind was just her link to you.”

“We should warn them,”  Björn said, staggering to his feet quickly as he now had a mission in mind, but Ivar shook his head.

“No, they deserve whatever she would do to them,” he decided. “I won’t save those who have caused us pain, not when they will cause that same pain to others.”

 Björn huffed in irritation. “Then what do you suggest we do?” he questioned sharply.

Ivar’s answer was simple, but first, he needed information from  Björn. “You do know the way in?” he asked.  Björn nodded. “Then we meet her there. Those people deserve whatever she would give them, but I cannot let her repeat my mistakes. I fear we would never get her back.”

He could tell  Björn was unsettled at the prospect- at all of it, really- but he could also see that  Björn was resigned to this. “We needed to get in anyway,” he figured. “May as well let her help us.”

May as well let her help us…

Ivar couldn’t help but wonder when his wife had become someone he and his brother, the legendary Ivar the Boneless and Björn Ironside, feared. What would they call her when history told their story? Their names were known already, but she had only once been Queen Freydís , defined by her marriage to him. The image of her eyes still burned in his mind, glowing red as she showed her power. No, she wouldn’t be Queen Freydís any longer. He thought something along the lines of Freydís the Scarlet was far more appropriate, now. He figured they’d see exactly why when they met her again.

Unfortunately, time would prove Ivar right. When Freydís arrived, she had the information she’d taken from  Björn’s mind floating around in her own. That meant it was easy enough for her to get in, but it could only get her so far. What she had was a map now, essentially, but she didn’t have anything near an already cleared path into the facility.

She made surprisingly quick work of detonating any firearms pointed at her, turning the blasts back on them once they’d been fired. It wasn’t long before witnesses stopped trying to fire on her, knowing what she would do, but she hadn’t gone to spare those working in that facility. Freydís had gone for blood. 

The hallways were flooded with red light as she fought through, alarms blaring in her ears to call out, ‘Invasion! Intruder! Danger!’ in their own high pitched, squealing ways, but Freydís didn’t stop. The warnings were about her, and were proven necessary when she wrapped magic around the throat of one of the guards, and used it to sever his head from his body with a single pop! The nearby guards gasped and cried out from shock as she then made his body turn on them, lifting his gun and firing a quick round. Their screams fell silent as she dropped him, and stepped over their corpses.

Her face now coated in a smattering of blood, Freydís stalked through the halls. The gunfire must have been significant enough a warning, because everything had gone still. No defenders rushed out to meet her, push her back and out. Anyone left had hidden, which meant she now had full access to the entire facility. Perfect.

Freydís stalked through the halls, searching each door for what she knew she needed. Any door that was locked to her, she simply decreed was not, and so every door was open to her. Eventually, she found what she had been looking for.

Doctor Schmidt was the first to face her. “Freydís,” she said. “Before you do anything rash…”

“Anything rash?” she repeated, laughing in the woman’s face. “Believe me, I am being perfectly reasonable.” Without waiting on an answer, Freydís reached out and took Doctor Schmidt by the throat, lifting her almost violently into the air.

She heard a familiar gasp of, “Freydís !” and turned to see Professor Andersen standing there, his eyes wide with fear as he looked at the two women before him. 

“Ah, hello,” she said with a cold chuckle. “I don’t suppose you can help me, can you? I’m looking for information, about those you have brought back from the dead like myself, like my husband, and  Björn Ironside. Do you have it?”

Professor Andersen opened his mouth to answer her, but Doctor Schmidt hissed out, “Give her nothing.”

Unfortunately for them, Freydís ’s mind worked quickly. She figured that Doctor Schmidt was willing to pay with her own life, if it meant keeping these secrets from her, but what about the life of another? Would she sacrifice Professor Andersen to the same end? She suddenly dropped Doctor Schmidt in favor of lifting Professor Andersen in the same fashion, deciding to find out.

“Do you still wish to give me nothing, Doctor?” Freydís asked, looking back to her. “Now Professor Andersen’s life is on the line, will you give him up to save your secrets?”

Doctor Schmidt swallowed, but her eyes hardened. “Kill him,” she said. “I won’t tell you anything.”

Freydís turned to look at Professor Andersen, whose wide eyes reflected the betrayal he felt at Doctor Schmidt’s words. “And would you give your life for her secrets?” she asked him. “Or do you want to give me the information I seek, and save yourself?”

Before he had the chance to answer, the most familiar voice yet yelled, “Freydís , put him down!” She turned to see Ivar and  Björn rushing in, horror written across their faces. Ah, so they had seen what she’d done to get this far. Oh well, she supposed that couldn’t be helped.

“Why should I?” she questioned. “You know what they did to us, to others like us. Why should I give them any mercy now?”

She watched Ivar swallow, noticed how  Björn kept an eye out, likely to be sure no one snuck up on them, and she tried to keep an eye out herself, as well. “Because you won’t ever come back from this,” Ivar told her. “I have always admired you for the path you never took. Don’t take it now.” Freydís turned back up to look at Professor Andersen, the fear he regarded her with, and even as a dark voice whispered in her ear to snap his neck, she remembered a night from over a thousand years before. She’d had this sort of fear when Ivar took her by the throat, when she had demanded to know what he’d done with Baldur.

Her magic weakened around him suddenly, and she let him drop to the ground. As soon as she did, she heard Doctor Schmidt scoff, “I knew you wouldn’t have it in you.”

“Did you?” Professor Andersen asked her, around each breath he managed to take through his choking. “Did you know? Or did you know there was a risk?”

“Of course I knew,” she said, but Freydís ’s eyes narrowed a bit. 

“You’re lying,” she accused. “You couldn’t have known. I did not know myself until I released him.”

Doctor Schmidt huffed, as if irritated with all this. “Alright,” she said. “I knew there was a risk. But it was a necessary risk.”

Professor Andersen shook his head a little. “I wouldn’t have taken that risk,” he confessed. “Even though you told me not to tell her anything, I still would have done it if it would have kept her from killing you.” He took a deep breath, then stood to his feet as he looked to  Björn, Ivar, and Freydís in turn. “But I won’t let my loyalty stay in the wrong place,” he told them. “I’ll give you everything you need.”

Freydís was stunned, but she wasn’t about to question his sudden change in heart. “You’ve made the right decision,” she said, and when he nodded, she saw no hesitation in his eyes. She felt no lie in his heart, when she looked, and she nodded in return.

They left Doctor Schmidt behind- Freydís ,  Björn, Ivar, and Professor Andersen- to go down the hall to what seemed to be an archive of sorts. There, Freydís watched as their guide went into a drawer to pull out a thumbdrive, which he then plugged into one of the computers. She kept an eye on everything he did to be sure all he downloaded to it was the information they needed, no trackers or anything of the sort. Fortunately, it seemed he did exactly as he was meant to, and was soon handing the thumbdrive over to her.

“It doesn’t have any sort of lock on it so you won’t end up without access,” he said, “but that does mean you need to be careful not to-”

“Not to lose it,” she finished for him, and nodded. “Thank you, Professor.”

Professor Andersen nodded in return as he released the thumbdrive, which Freydís pocketed and stepped back. “Good luck.”

“You too,” Freydís said. She didn’t imagine there was any version of this where Doctor Schmidt didn’t retaliate against him for what he’d done, and it was for that reason that she really appreciated his assistance. Doctor Schmidt had expected him to die for their research just as she had been prepared to, but he made a different call. He’d turned the tide in their favor in that moment.

With little else to say, Freydís turned back to  Björn and Ivar, and the two looked to her for their next step. Seeing they were ready to go, she turned and put out her hands, magic flowing out from them and pouring into a sort of cloud that hovered before them. She stepped through, expecting for them to follow. As soon as they were, she closed the portal to shut the facility behind them. They would soon reach the end of their efforts now, and it would only be a matter of time.

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