#hvitserk lothbrok

[blakeswritingimagines]

Sitting Down on Their Lap

Ragnar: First he would be a bit cautious trying to work out why you chose that particular time to do that. He might get you to explain yourself and give you some playful jibes about it but would most likely play along and snuggle against you making sure to tickle you a few times, it's his duty after all.

Athelstan: His eyes widen in shock as you gracefully plop down onto his lap. He can feel his jaw drop at the unexpected weight and warmth, and his heart begins to skip beats. His whole body feels flushed and his palms begin to sweat. "Wh…what are you doing?" He'll question you but will let you stay.

Floki: He would be taken by surprise but ultimately amused by this unexpected development, as it is clear that you are just being playful. He responds by wrapping his arms around you, his fingers dancing up and down your sides as he pulls you tighter into his lap. He'll ask playfully, "Well, what have we here?"

Lagertha: She loves it when you randomly sit on her lap. It's unexpected and intimate and shows a level of comfort and trust between you both. It reminds her of how much you just want to be close to her, even if you have no idea how it affects her. It's a simple, but powerful gesture that shows your warmth, and your connection.

Aslaug: She'd be a bit surprised at first, but then she'd wrap her arms around you and give you a kiss, pulling you close to her so you're close as close could be.

Bjorn: Bjorn's heartbeat speeds up, and he glances down at you to see what you are doing. The sudden invasion of space is unexpected, but the contact sends a jolt through Bjorn as he feels your warmth. He puts his arms around you, pulling you closer, leaning his head down until his face is close to yours to kiss you.

Ubbe: He wraps his arms tight around you without a second thought, pressing you into the warmth of his chest. His hands find the curve of your hips as he pulls you even closer. Your weight is comforting and familiar like you belong there. He'll caress your soft hair, running his fingers up and down your neck.

Hvitserk: Well, he’d first laugh. Your sudden weight would catch him off guard, and the fact that you would be so silly as to plop down on his lap would be quite comical to him. He’d take that as a chance to squeeze you as tightly as he could, pulling you close and wrapping his arms around you.

Sigurd: Initially surprised, but then immediately pleased. He would wrap his arms around your hips and pull you closer to him. After a moment he would gently push you to your feet and stand up, then gesture for you to sit on the couch next to him. Sitting closely together, he would wrap an arm around you and squeeze your body against his.

Ivar: A slight smirk crosses Ivar’s lips as you plop down in his lap. He wraps his right arm around you, pulling you in a bit closer, while his other hand moves down to caress you. He leans forward, his lips close to your ear, and he whispers, “I don’t mind one bit.”

Halfdan: He'd be startled and maybe a little bit annoyed at first, but he'd also find it endearing. You would likely be seeking out an affectionate reaction from him, so he'd give you what you were looking for. He'd wrap his arms around you and kiss your head.

Harald: He would wrap his arms around your waist, resting his chin on the top of your head as you sit in his lap. He would smile down at you, amused by how unpredictable you can be sometimes. He would kiss your forehead and pull you closer to him, savoring the moment.

[ch3rrybbie]

Hi lovely, I want to request Ivar from Vikings! I hope that's okay, if not, that'll be totally fine! 🤗

I wanna request Ivar x saxon reader who came to Kattegat as a slave and who was sold to Lagertha. In her hometown she was forced to wear a blindfold made of black lace so no one could see her eyes because they were deemed as demonic from the church. Like her eyes are really crystalline and were unsettling for Christians, and she continues to wear it even in Kattegat. Perhaps the young Rangarsson finds himself to wonder about her and one day a jealous woman rips it from her face during a festive in the main hall when she was serving ivar...?

I know it's a lot but I've been thinking about this all week. 😭✨ Thank you so much!

Angel eyes

summary: Ivar thinks your eyes must be Gods-sent.

warnings: Margrethe being Margrethe, vikings scaring reader, Ivar being Ivar.

ch3rrybbie says: love the request bby, I changed it a lil hope you don’t mind🩷 sorry it took so long lol

———

It’s been three whole moons away from England. Away from the cruelty you knew, but that cruelty was yours. It was home.

Kattegat wasn’t too dissimilar to England but it wasn’t the same.

You trudged through the thick mud of the central market. People didn’t stare at you and you reveled in the anonymity. The thin cotton you always wore around your eyes shielding your oddities was nothing to the people of Kattegat and you had grown to love it during the few days you’d spent here.

Lagethera had brought you along wanting to show you the ways of her culture. After being sold to her she declared you free yet you refused,you would not settle to a life here. You wished to serve her in hopes you could make enough money to flee home.

Slave to handmaiden.

Handmaiden to home.

You refused to learn to fight, to speak her tongue comfortably, to like the viking life. The foolish hope of home held strong within you. And yet you knew you’d never return to England you’d seen what they’d done to the village of those who’d ostracised and belittled you. Luckily your family was away selling the spoils of their labour at market.

They would’ve come back to an empty village stinking of death. The thought makes your heart clench and your steps falter.

Lagertha had playfully commanded you go out and see Kattegat, to see her ex-husbands lands. And to bring her seawater, its purpose left you clueless but you obeyed.

The heathens were strange people after all.

And yet your own had forced you to learn to squint through your blindfold to see shapes and sounds.

To live life veiled.

———

Lagertha was repulsed by the idea. The Christian rigidity that had left you believing in the need to hide your eyes.

She watched you from afar, leant against the entrance of the great hall. You were a sweet girl yet you could be so much more.

And she would see to it.

Ragnar follows her gaze, “what is so special about this slave anyways?”

Lagertha’s head whips towards him, “she is no slave Ragnar, she is blessed by the Gods”

Ragnar’s laugh almost shakes the great hall itself, he walks off still chuckling.

———

Later as the moon begins its race to the crest of the sky you braid Lagertha’s hair. The bucket of seawater stuck out in the corner.

“Why did you ask for the seawater?” You break the gentle silence and she turns smiling at you softly.

“Bring it here” she gestures towards it a sly smirk emerging upon her face.

Standing in front of her seawater at hand she starts to command you.

“Smell it”

“Taste it”

“Feel it”

You end up giggling at the foolish tasks until she asks.

“What is the difference between this seawater and England’s?”

The smile drops from your face and you set the bucket down and return to your tasks bring her dress to ready her for the great feast.

“My sweet girl this is your fate do not run from it, you will come to love Kattegat as much as England as there isn’t much difference”.

“To you, there isn’t much difference to you, my lady” the words bite bitterly at her.

She sighs and you step back from her outstretched arms. You didn’t understand her fondness of you.

“We must go to the hall” you turn on your heel and march into the frosty air, she follows carefully.

———

You pause outside, the noise reminding you of the nights spent around a fire at home.

Perfumed with smoke and stories of old.

You shake the thought away and wait for Lagertha. She come to you a hand on your shoulder and squeezes gently.

“You ready?”, you nod and clench you fists at your sides as she pushes the door open.

Truth is you’d never be ready for a feasting hall full of vikings.

“Mother!” A thundering voice cuts through the rowdy masses.

Bjorn comes thumping over sweeping Lagertha into a crushing hug. Once their greetings are finished he turns to you inquisitively

“And who is this little birdy mother” you manage to grasp from your basic understanding of their tounge.

He reaches to peek under your eye covering and instinctively you slap his hand away. Your breath catches as you wait to be struck to the ground.

Instead a sharp laugh cuts at your action you turn to see someone with eyes almost as striking as yours. He regards you a cruel smile and glaringly sharp beauty confronts you. You hold back a gasp and turn from his gaze. Bjorn is also bellowing out a laugh.

“I am sorry bird, ignore Ivar” he plants a kiss on his mother’s cheek and is gone into the crowd of hedonism.

It was going to be a long night.

———

Refusing to sit by Lagertha’s side you stood ignoring the curious looks from Aslaug.

You couldn’t stop thinking about Ivar. It was so strange, he didn’t seem to mock you.

“Hello birdy” a gruff tease voice floats out behind you.

You whip round to see a man that looks exactly like an older Bjorn, Ragnar you conclude.

“Why do you stand here all alone, hmm? Lagertha tells me you are a free woman, here free woman can do as they please you should try it!” He chuckles and it takes you aback, he doesn’t know you yet he treats you like he has for years.

You don’t speak and turn to watch the crowds further, eyes searching for Ivar.

He’s looking right back at you, with a gasp you turn away.

“You know, I had a friend like you once” Ragnar whispers, voice taught with emotion. The pain in his voice pulls you from thoughts of Ivar.

At that you turn and take him in. Towering next to you he looks deep in grief. Eyes watery and gone to distant memories, you recognise it all too well.

“I’m sorry for your loss” you murmur, their language is crude and harsh on your tounge.

Your voice pulls him back, he grabs your shoulder and thanks you with a smile.

And once again you’re alone amongst heathens.

———

“Girl! Come serve me wine” a voice throws its self against you cutting through the bustle of the hall.

Ivar.

“Ivar do not command her like that!” Lagertha bites at him.

You frown at her remark and make your way over.

Aslaug is watching you as though you are a mirage, you ignore her stares and focus on the task at hand.

“She is no servant, please sit down” Lagertha implores you and you ignore her, Ragnar watches on curiously.

Fingers clasping over the mead jug you come closer towards Ivar ignoring the way he drinks you in.

“Surely she’s just a servant” a pretty blonde remarks from a group of boys, the rest of Ragnar’s sons you presume.

“You will watch your tongue upon my mother’s friend Margrethe” Bjorn booms at her, seemingly tired of her presence.

Lagertha frown and you lean to pour Ivar more mead.

“Thank you” he grins up at you, ignoring him you turn to be met by Margrethe.

“Why do you wear that silly cloth on your face?” She giggles and takes you in.

Everyone watches with bated breath.

Someone cuts out her name as another warning.

Attempting to step past her you don’t make it far.

“Here let me help you slave”

Her nails scrape against your skin, harsh in its endeavour.

The room brightens and grows in life as you see it more clearly.

An outraged roar emerges as Margrethe is chastised greatly. Everyone turns to look and the same whispers you’ve heard your whole life break out.

“Blessed Freya” sounded in a wave of murmurs.

The seer shuffles over parting the crowd and you retreat slowly. His interest peaked at such an odd display.

“My child you are kissed by the Gods, you shall see to their vision” his words curl through the fog of fear.

Embarrassed you flee the hall into the icy night and collapse in a heap by the fjord.

Finally you have peace.

They hadn’t cast curses or spat at your feet. They were almost reverent in their discovery of you. Perhaps they truly believe you were someone sent or blessed by their heathen Gods.

A repetitive click and shuffle sounds behind you and you whip around to see Ivar approaching. Embarrassed you turn back to look at the still waters, struggling to think upon his intentions. He groans as he lowers himself aside you.

“You know you didn’t have to run off so quick birdy” he chuckles cruelly

“You would do well not to mock me” you bite back and he simply laughs in your face.

“Maybe you really are sent by the Gods, no other woman in the whole of Kattegat would speak to me this way” he seems to grow serious and take you in.

Fixated on your eyes he stares into them, “They really are beautiful you should not cover them anymore, I command it so”.

“You command it so!” You can’t help exclaim incredulous. Dragged from home and commanded by the bratty son of a king.

“Yes I command it so!” He giggles and watches your perplexed face. You resort back to silence and the pair of you just sit there until he coaxes you to talk of England.

So you do.

You tell him of its fields and wildflowers. How the moon feels different and the sun is sweeter. How the grass will always be greener to you and the songs louder.

And for once he just listens and he knows you were meant for him. Every laugh and lilt makes his heart climb. Without telling you he makes a prayer to the Gods commanding you be by his side every day till death do you part. That you may tell him what you please and speak how no woman ever had to him.

And for the first time you’d found something wholly dissimilar to England and you wouldn’t compare it for all the homesickness in your heart. You could not have found Ivar in England. You would never have found the appreciation of your beauty there.

With the intermission of his laugh at your tales, you thank his Gods and yours for kissing your eyes.

———

Lagertha and Ragnar watch your silhouettes from the mouth of the great hall. They needn’t speak the thoughts they share but they know the nights they’d spent together talking till the sun kissed the fjord had seemingly come to life in front of them.

[mads-weasley]

Next Time

Hvitserk Ragnarsson x Reader

Masterlist

Summary: After being pushed by Ivar and the rest of his brothers, Hvitserk finally speaks to the girl he'd been admiring for months, but an unwelcome interruption breaks the conversation before he can get more than her name.

Word Count: 1.1k

The great hall was alive with chatter, but Hvitserk didn't may it any mind. His attention was stuck across the room...on her.

"You are staring again, brother," Ubbe commented gruffly, sipping his ale.

Hvitserk grinned, his eyes not leaving her figure. "She's beautiful, isn't she, Ubbe?"

With a grunt, Ubbe returned to his meal and ignored his younger brother. A few minutes later, Ivar and Sigurd joined them, and all it took was an annoyed glance from Ubbe to cue them in on the situation.

"I don't know about you, Hvitserk," Ivar said, following his gaze to the girl. "But I think I will go talk to her."

Hvitserk finally tore his eyes from her, his lip twitching as he glared at his brother. "You will not, Ivar."

"And who will stop me?" he shrugged. "If you do not wish to speak to her, why can't I?"

Sigurd chuckled at Hvitserk's pouting expression but quickly hid it behind his cup of ale when his older brother's scowl turned to him. He knew they were right, of course, but it was easier to stare from a distance and admire...he didn't even know her name.

He was going to learn it tonight, he told himself as he rose from the table with a grunt. Downing the rest of his almost full cup, Hvitserk wiped his mouth and set off across the room.

Noticing the commotion from her throne, Auslaug watched Hvitserk cross the hall before shooting her oldest son a raised brow. Ubbe did nothing but chuckle and shrug back at his mother. If he was being honest, he was just happy Hvitserk was doing something about his crush. It had been months since the girl first arrived in Kattegat. He'd grown tired of Hvitserk's longing expressions and endless comments about the poor girl he was clearly infatuated with. They ribbed him endlessly about talking to her, but he remained in his seat each time, choosing to look instead of speak.

Hvitserk wove through the crowded hall with more confidence than he felt, the warm buzz of ale bolstering his courage. He thanked the gods he wasn't doing this sober because he probably would still be sitting beside Ubbe, watching her from afar. He ignored the knowing glances from his brothers at the table, especially Ivar, who wore a smirk as wide as the fjord before Kattegat.

Her back was to him, her (y/h/c) hair falling over her shoulders as she laughed at something one of the women beside her had said. Hvitserk couldn’t help but smile to himself, feeling his nerves flicker in anticipation.

When Hvitserk reached the empty seat beside her, he hesitated briefly before pulling it out and plopping down in it with forced casualness.

“Mind if I sit here?” he asked, though it was clear he’d already decided to stay.

She glanced at him, her (y/e/c) eyes flickering with curiosity. “It would seem you’ve already made the decision, Hvitserk.”

Her voice was steady but amused, and the way she said his name...like it wasn’t the first time she’d noticed him...sent a spark of surprise through his chest. Hvitserk leaned back in his chair and quickly glanced over his shoulder at his brothers, trying to mask his excitement with a grin.

“Well, I thought it was about time we spoke,” he said, drumming his fingers lightly on the table. “You’ve been in Kattegat for a while now, yet we haven’t been properly introduced.”

She raised a brow, clearly skeptical. “And whose fault is that?”

Hvitserk chuckled nervously and scratched the back of his neck. "Fair enough. I guess I could've come over sooner, but...better late than never, yes?"

“You have an interesting way of making first impressions, Ragnarsson,” she replied with a playful glint in her eye. “But I’ll allow it. I’m (y/n).”

Hvitserk’s grin widened. “(Y/n),” he repeated, testing her name out, savoring the way it rolled off his tongue. “It suits you.”

“And what exactly have I done to capture the attention of one of the great Ragnar Lothbrok’s sons?” she asked, her head tilted slightly as she studied him.

"You haven't done anything," he said, leaning closer, his grin growing into a cocky smirk. "It's hard to ignore someone who could make even the gods stop and stare."

Heat rushed to (y/n)'s face, and she laughed softly, looking away from his gaze. She knew he was handsome from a distance, but up close...with those eyes and that smirk...she felt herself melting.

She opened her mouth to speak, but a loud voice from behind her beat her to it prompting her name. "Do not let him fool you..."

(Y/n) turned around in her chair to look at the man, but her eyes fell to the ground...or rather who crawled on the ground. "(Y/n)."

Hvitserk groaned audibly, though he didn't look at his brother. "Not now, Ivar."

“Oh, don’t mind me,” Ivar said, smirking as he shakily used Hvitserk's chair to push himself to his feet. He looked between the two of them with a mischievous grin. “Don’t let him fool you. He’s been staring at you like a lost pup for months.”

Leave it to Ivar to ruin a perfectly good conversation. Hvitserk could've strangled him right there.

“Ivar!” Hvitserk snapped, his face flushing as laughter erupted from the nearby tables.

(Y/n) forced herself to regain composure, tilting her head once again as she met his gaze. Her voice came out teasing, though the nervousness beneath was evident. “Is that true, Hvitserk?”

He sighed, leaning his elbows on the table. “I suppose I have been...admiring you. From a distance,” he admitted sheepishly, shooting a pointed glare at Ivar.

“Well, next time, don’t wait so long to speak to me,” she replied with a smile, unable to hide a hint of affection now.

Hvitserk blinked for a moment, stunned. “Next time?”

She didn't answer and instead rose to her feet, leaving him sitting there as she walked toward the doors. Before disappearing into the cold night, she sent him one last smile.

Ivar's laughter followed her departure, his grin as sharp as ever "You're hopeless, poor Hvitserk."

Hvitserk watched her go, a slow grin spreading across his face despite himself. “Maybe. But at least she wants there to be a next time.”

"She will see she made a mistake, brother...once she gets to know you."

His eyes cut over to Ivar, who stared back with raised brows. In one movement, Hvitserk slid his chair back and stood, making Ivar lose balance and flop onto the hard floor with a loud thud.

"Oh no," Hvitserk tutted, staring at his wheezing form with a smirk. he didn't even try to hide it. "You must be careful, little brother."

A/N: message or comment if you want to be added to the tag list! <3

[kaivenom]

How the Vikings men would bath with you

Masterlist

Ivar the Boneless

It takes a lot to him to trust you enough to see him naked.

Due to his body, he is very self concious so previously to entering the bath, you need to be sure he will let you in.

It is sure to say this is one of his most vulnerable moments, always expecting you to run away or something.

You position yourself behind him and tun your fingers up and down his back.

Giving him massages and hugging him, trying to reasure him that you are not afraid.

Once he gets used to this time of intimacy, having baths together starts to be a more usual activity.

Ubbe Ragnarson

He got to you side and started rubbing your legs and chest with slow almost sensual motions.

Never breaking eye contact from you, even when is hand dissapeared underwater.

With a nod you invited him to join you and what started with his attempt to seduce you is now a relaxing tradition.

Your back against his chest, connecting fingers and talking about nothing and everything.

Feeling his heartbeat against you is beautiful and calming, he also feels safe while doing this with you.

Dark ambience, small candles iluminating the room.

Hvitserk Ragnarson

The first time he entered by accident and you give him the option to join, obviously he didn't refuse.

Then started to be more often, he judt likes to have you in front of him.

After his travels to Algeciras and the Mediterranean sea, he discovers the roman baths, aromatized soaps, etc.

He is like a child, sometimes splashing you while laughing.

But dont get It wrong, he always treats you like a princess.

Now, when you raid together, he always wanders around the town, trying to know if there is some roman baths or saunas.

Sigurd Ragnarson

I somehow think that he doesn't like to bath so the only way for him to get in water is with you.

He tries to stay as much as posible in the water while you wash his blonde hair but he just makes sarcastic comments, makes weird faces and that.

He tries to splash you like a revenge and you end up having a water bottle.

The only place he likes to be in water is on the lake, but ussually is to cold to be there so... big no.

Not even mentioning that in some particular ocasion he threw you there, obviously you pushed him after.

It's the most fun and risky one to bath with.

Bjorn Ironside

He obviously starts bathing a couple of minutes before you do, that's why you always tell him when you are going to do It.

He has this hope that bathing and spending this time with you will make you reward him.

Bathing in such a small place with such a man, you feel a little overwhelmed.

He doesn't tent to do anything but always wants you to rub and wash him, he finds it relaxing

[milkb0nny]

Ivar, your sanctuary

Pairing: Ivar x infertile!reader

Summary: You have been with this man for some time and you loved him. Yet you found out you were not as blessed as other women through a horrible incident. Though, you weren’t sure how to confront Ivar, not only with the pain you had to endure, but also that he would never have a son with you.

Note: I thought this scenario might be very intruiging, yet sensitive. Please do not read this when you feel uncomfortable or anxious about the topics in this fix. With that, take great care of yourself.

Content: established relationship, s/a, r@p3, trauma, mental breakdown, good ending but at what cost, infertility

Your feet trembled violently, the chill reaching through your bones. Your hands felt like ice, numb, dead, while your eyes, swollen with unshed tears, refused you sight. Another ungodly night, another night full of panic and unheard pain. It was deep into the night when you woke, the echoes of screams and cries from your dream fading into the silence of the room.

The only sound grounding you was the soft, even breathing of the man lying beside you, Ivar. Your beloved husband, your anchor, your protector. You loved him deeply, admired him endlessly, yet gazing at him now in his slumber only deepened the aching pain in your heart. His calm body reminded you of the peace that had been stolen from you. Tonight, once again, the night dragged you back to that day. A day not merely painful, but one that shattered the core of your dignity, left your sense of hope in ruins, and carved a wound so deep it bled into every moment of your existence.

That day - that man - that pain.

Unable to bear it, you slipped from the bed, careful not to disturb him. The idea of walking, of moving, perhaps would set you somewhat lose and relieve your mind of that horrible hands. Yet you didn’t get far. You were haunted. Tainted.

The coldness of the wooden floor beneath your bare feet sent a jolt of memory surging through you, dragging you back to that place. That room. The terror, the helplessness, the violation; it all came rushing in, pulling you under. You broke down, leaning against the wall as your breath quickened. For weeks now - perhaps longer - you had been tortured by flashes of the past, haunted by touches that made your skin crawl.

Ivar had noticed. Of course, he had. His sharp eyes missed nothing. He had seen the way you flinched from his touch when you thought he wasn’t looking. He asked, gently at first, then with a rising concern, what burden you carried. Each time, you avoided him, brushed off his questions, acted in strength you didn’t have.

It wasn’t that you didn’t trust him. It wasn’t that you doubted his love. It was that you didn’t know how to put your experience into words. How could you explain something so unspeakably raw and vile? How could you bare the darkest, most broken parts of yourself to him, when you barely had the strength to face them yourself?

You slid to the floor, wrapping your arms around your knees as the tears finally spilled over, hot and unrelenting. You didn’t sob loudly, as you didn’t want to wake him. Instead, you shook silently, trembling under grief and shame.

„My love, why are you crying so terribly?“

The usual stern voice was now so soft, gentle and endearing. Ivar laid behind you, looking at your shaking statue from behind, careful not to touch you. In this moment, he feared he’d crush you.

“I-Ivar, I...” you stammered, your voice cracking as you tried to force the words out. Slowly, you turned to face him. His blue eyes met yours, and the weight of his gaze crushed you.. He looked at you as though you were a fragile vase on the verge of shattering. “I... I don’t know how to say it.”

„You went to the seer today, didn’t you? Hvitserk saw you.“ Ivar’s hand reached for you, his movements slow and deliberate. He brushed the damp strands of hair away from your tear-streaked cheeks. A total mess like you shouldn’t feel pressured by his eyes, so he avoided yours - he knew better than to push you into a little corner. As it seemed, you were already trapped in it.

You nodded slightly, the memory of the Seer’s whispers replaying in your mind. You had wanted the truth, desperate for answers, but the truth you received had been devastating - but expected.

“What did he tell you?” Ivar’s voice broke through your thoughts, steady but cautious.

You turned back around, locking your eyes with the dark wall in front of you. For all the pain you carried, there was one thing you knew for certain - Ivar deserved the truth. For the first time since it, you allowed yourself to consider the possibility of telling him. If there was anyone in the world who could understand, who could carry your pain with you instead of for you, it was him.

Forcing yourself to speak, you began hesitantly, your trembling fingers fidgeting with the loose thread of your nightgown. “Do… you remember when you met with your brothers about a month ago? You wanted to move us into a bigger house, i-incase we might… become mother a-and father...” Your voice faltered, the knot in your chest tightening. “I-I went for a walk… and then it...“

You started crying uncrontrollably, your breath shortening with every intake of air, your nails curling into the cold skin of your arms. No, not again - those memories, these hands, that disgusting smell of alcohol.

...

Ivar didn’t move. He remained still, watching you with a pain in his eyes that mirrored your own. He knew. He had pieced it together, yet he waited. He wouldn’t force the words out of you, wouldn’t touch you without your permission, wouldn’t risk deepening your wounds. He just felt so broken seeing you at your wits end.

So, Ivar waited for you to continue speaking, even though it could take hours. He was still there, he was still lying in your shared bed - and he had no intention of leaving you there.

„He…,“ you muttered, and it wasn’t enough for Ivar to understand the full picture. He wasn’t stupid, he knew the horrible sides of men, he was aware of the power play they loved, he just didn’t think it would’ve happened to you. Ivar’s jaw clenched, his anger boiling up and the desire to kill that man flashed up, burned up, screamed up. It was for the man who had hurt you, for the gods who had allowed such a thing to happen.

“There’s more,” you said shakily, your voice trembling. “The Seer told me… He said... It was too much. I can’t... I can’t bear children, Ivar.”

There it was. The truth.

You and Ivar have tried months for children, effort and sweat, tears and frustration which you had wasted for the sole wish of kids. Ivar thought he was simply unable to be a father due to his own loss. His body wasn’t meant to reproduce, not another cripple should have been born - so he thought. But now, he had realized you were a woman who had been cursed, just like he was cursed.

The words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, terrified of what you might see. Would it be disappointment? Resentment? Pity? The silence stretched on, and your heart sank further. He was going to leave, wasn’t he?

“I-… I‘m not a … worthy woman. I cannot conceive and then - this… terrible day,” you choked out, tears blurring your vision. “I know how much you want a family… a little baby, how much you want-”

“Stop.”

His voice was firm but not harsh. You froze, your breath catching as he moved closer. Carefully, he reached for your face, tilting your chin up so you had no choice but to meet his eyes. He leaned over your head, his warm chest meeting the back of your head, and his hair softly draping over your forehead, as he looked at you.

“Don’t you dare think I would leave you,” he said, his voice trembling with emotion. “You are my wife. I did not fall in love for children. I don’t care what that Seer said, and I don’t care what the gods think they’ve taken from us. You are still mine, and that is all I need.”

Tears welled in your eyes again, but this time, they weren’t of fear. Ivar pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly but tenderly, as though shielding you from the pain that threatened to consume you.

“We’ll make our own fate,” he whispered into your hair, his voice fierce. “We don’t need anyone else - not the gods, not children, no one. As long as I have you, I have everything. My sweet little flower, I apologize I wasn’t there earlier.”

For the first time in weeks, the heavy weight on your chest began to lift. Ivar’s embrace was a shield, his words a balm to your wounds. The pain didn’t disappear, but in his arms, you found a piece of hope.

And in that moment, you realized something: Ivar wasn’t just your husband. He was your sanctuary. And in that moment, Ivar knew to heal your wounds together. You were his ethereal woman.

[velvetvowsandvikingdreams]

˚₊‧꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚Two Wolves, One Lamb˚₊‧꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

Summary: They want you both, but who will you ever choose?

Warnings: mdni, smut!, love!triangle, emotional manipulation, toxic!relationship, obsession, longing, angst!, jealousy, possessive!behaviour, power imbalance, dark romance, guilt, cheating?

Pairing: ivar x reader, hvitserk x reader

Words: 1,8k

Note: Wanted to experiment with this one; enjoyᝰ.ᐟ <3

You were just a slave—nothing more, nothing less. But somehow, that made them want you even more.

Both brothers, drawn to you like wolves circling prey. Both desperate to claim what they shouldn’t have.

Being with Ivar was like drinking something forbidden—bitter, heady, and utterly intoxicating. He was obsessive and intense, his love hidden beneath sharp edges and cold silence. He didn’t know how to be soft with you, not really—afraid you’d see it as weakness. But you knew better. You felt the quiet tremble in his hands when he touched you. You have seen the flicker of fear in his eyes—fear that you'd leave.

Hvitserk, on the other hand, was all warmth. He burned bright, easy to fall into. He loved with open arms and an open heart—romantic to a fault, always whispering how much he needed you, how deeply he felt. He made you feel seen. Like you were more than what you were born into. You loved them both. Equally. Differently. Painfully.

︵‿୨♡୧‿︵

When you lay with Ivar, he would slip his hand into yours, pulling you closer beneath the furs, his bare body pressed to yours like he could mold himself into your skin. His voice would crack, soft and afraid, when he whispered, "Do you love me?" And in the silence that followed, you would feel the weight of his hunger, his fear.

Hvitserk was no better. He would catch you in his arms and carry you to his bed like you were something fragile and precious. He kissed your skin like it was sacred, trailing his mouth down your neck, your chest, your thighs. And then, with that same aching need, he would ask, "Does he kiss you the way I do?"

You never had answers. Not for either of them. Because if you could, you would have them both.

One night, Ivar broke the silence, the question lingering in the dark between you.

"You love my brother, don't you?"

Your breath caught. You turned to him slowly, the words thick on your tongue. "No, Ivar. I… I care for you. I care for both of you."

He flinched like you’d struck him. "But you can only love one."

Your words weren’t sharp, but they carved into him anyway.

"I care for both of you."

He stared at you—bare shoulders glowing in the firelight, the furs barely clinging to your hips—and felt something cold spread in his chest. Not anger. Not yet.

Something worse.

He turned his face slightly, jaw tight. Of course you cared for Hvitserk. Everyone did. He was golden, gentle, open. He smiled too easily and touched too much. He didn’t deserve you—but somehow, he still had a part of you. And that drove Ivar mad.

He looked back at you, eyes cold as ice. "You care for both of us?" he repeated, voice low. "So which one of us do you fuck because you want to, and which one out of pity?"

You opened your mouth, shocked—but he didn’t give you the chance to speak. He shifted, pushing himself up slightly on one arm, the furs falling from his chest. "He touches you like a poet," he hissed, "and you let him. You like it."

He leaned in then, so close his breath ghosted over your lips. His hand cupped your jaw—rough, full of desperation.

"I don’t love like him," he said. "I don’t know how. But I’d kill for you. Does that count for nothing?"

You didn’t pull away. That was the worst part. You just looked at him with those soft, guilty eyes that made his insides twist.

"Ivar…" You whispered, but he shook his head.

"No. Don’t say my name like that. Not if you say his the same way in the dark."

His grip tightened slightly, jaw clenched. He wanted to kiss you. Or leave. But he did none of those things.

Instead, his voice dropped to a tremble. "You can’t love both of us. And you don’t get to pretend you can."

You didn’t breathe at first.

The way he looked at you—it was more than anger. It was betrayal, heartbreak, need.

"Ivar," you whispered again, softer now, more like a plea. You didn’t even know what you were begging for—mercy, understanding, forgiveness?

He shook his head, and the firelight caught the tightness in his expression, the pain swimming in his eyes. It gutted you.

"I'm not trying to hurt you," you said.

"But you are." His hand fell from your face like it weighed too much to hold. "Every time you leave me, every time you smile at him, every time he looks at you like you’re the sun and I know I’ll never be that—you hurt me."

You felt it then—the shift. The silence wasn’t empty anymore. It was full of everything unspoken.

"Idon’t want to be a choice," he murmured, eyes locked on yours. "I want to be the only thing."

You swallowed hard, your voice shaking. "And if I can’t choose?"

He leaned in, his lips pressing yours.

"Then I’ll make you."

︵‿୨♡୧‿︵

You always felt safest in Hvitserk’s arms. That was the problem.

He made it too easy to forget that your heart was split in two. Too easy to believe, even for a moment, that you were allowed to be loved.

His hands were warm when they touched you, calloused from battle but reverent in the way they traced your skin. Like you were something rare.

You were in his bed now, tangled in furs, your breath still catching from his kiss. He hovered above you, lips brushing your collarbone, your jaw, your mouth—always returning like he couldn’t stay away for long.

"I hate the way he looks at you," he whispered against your skin, voice low and raw. "Like he already owns you."

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. Because part of you liked the way Ivar looked at you. Just like you loved the way Hvitserk touched you.

His fingers slid down your arm, laced gently with yours, grounding you. You looked up at him and saw the emotion in his eyes—thick, unguarded, like it hurt to keep it all inside.

"Do you love him?" he asked suddenly.

The words hit you like a cold wind. Not because they surprised you, but because you’d already heard them—whispered in Ivar’s voice, filled with pain.

Your silence was enough.

Hvitserk sighed, forehead dropping gently to yours. "Gods, I hate this," he muttered. "I try to be patient. I try to wait for you to choose me. But every time I see you with him, it feels like you’re slipping further away."

You cupped his cheek, thumb brushing the line of his jaw. "I never meant to fall for either of you."

His laugh was soft. Sad. "But you did. And now here we are. Sharing someone we both want to keep for ourselves."

He kissed you then—slow, deep, like he needed to memorize the shape of your mouth, like he thought this might be the last time. And when he pulled back, his voice cracked just enough to make your chest ache.

"Tell me, just once, that you feel more when you’re with me. Tell me he doesn’t make you feel like I do."

But you couldn’t. Not honestly.

Because he did. And he didn’t. They both did—each in their own way.

And it was tearing you apart.

︵‿୨♡୧‿︵

You should’ve walked away.

From Ivar’s bed. From Hvitserk’s touch. From the way both of them looked at you like you were something holy—or something the other wasn’t allowed to have.

But you didn’t.

You stayed.

You let Ivar’s jealousy crack open your chest and crawl inside. You let Hvitserk’s kisses calm your guilt just enough to crave more. You told yourself you’d end it. One of them. Both of them. Soon.

But the next night, Ivar asked for you.

And you went.

Without any hesitation.

He didn’t speak at first. Just pulled you in, eyes dark and unreadable, and kissed you like he wanted to silence the whole world. There was no gentleness. Just teeth, hands, heat—his desperation turning into fire between your legs. He made you moan his name, made you promise you were his.

And you did.

You promised.

Even if you didn’t mean to.

But two nights later, you were in Hvitserk’s arms again.

He kissed your shoulders like he was afraid they might disappear. He touched you like worship, slow and aching, whispering your name like a prayer. Afterward, his hand rested over your heart like he was trying to feel what belonged to him.

"I don’t care," he whispered into your neck. "Even if he has a part of you. I just want mine."

And you let him believe he still had it.

Maybe he did.

Maybe they both did.

︵‿୨♡୧‿︵

You closed your eyes. And it’s Ivar. Then it’s Hvitserk. Then Ivar again.

"I want to ruin you," Ivar breathes against your neck, fingers gripping your thighs like he’ll carve himself into you.

"You’re beautiful like this," Hvitserk whispers, lips brushing your breasts as he eases you down onto the furs.

Ivar bites, not hard enough to break skin, but enough to remind you who you’re with. Who you belong to.

Hvitserk worships, touches you like you’re soft and breakable, like he has all the time in the world to make you come undone.

"Say it," Ivar growls, his hips thrusting against your core. "Say you’re mine. Just mine."

"You feel everything with me, don’t you?" Hvitserk asks, holding your face in his hands, eyes full of something too tender to look at for long.

"Don’t think about him," Ivar hisses. "Not when I’m inside you."

"Does he make you tremble like this?" Hvitserk whispers, pressing his forehead to yours, his rhythm slow and deep.

You cry out, not sure whose name slips from your mouth. Maybe it’s both. Maybe it’s neither.

Ivar hears what he wants. Hvitserk hears what he fears.

"I would kill him," Ivar says, voice low, possessive. "If he ever touches you again."

"I’d let you go," Hvitserk says quietly, "if I thought he made you happier."

And for a moment, you don’t know which one you’re lying with.

Because they both touch you the same now, like they’re afraid to lose you.

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔

　　　.   　　˚　　 　　*　　 　　✦　　　.　　.　　　✦　˚ 　　　　 ˚　.˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　 　　 　　　　 　

Taglist (If you want to get added write/comment) 🥀

@ivarlover @tessakate @oddsnendsfanfics @deathsthighs @mighra

[aneurins-barnard]

MARCO ILSØ as HVITSERK VIKINGS 4.18 Revenge

[maldarine]

[444bluehour444]

[aethel1ng]

I enjoy this app too much.

[mrsalwayswrite]

To Call Forth Love- Chapter 21

Thank you to everyone still following this fic! A/N at end of update!

Words: 5400

Warnings: language, fluff, and moving the plot forward.

Series Masterlist

Morning tumbled into afternoon, highlighting Kari still in Ivar's bed with no inclination of changing position. Even if she felt enticed to move, the sleeping form of Ivar with his head in her lap, prevented her. Pride and Prejudice played quietly on Ivar's TV across the room from his bed. Initially, Ivar picked out a different movie but once he dozed off, Kari carefully snuck the remote and changed it to one of her favorites. 

Her hand carded through his hair gently, silently loving the way the silky strands of his hair felt between her fingers. Why he was born with such fantastic hair was unfair, so Kari greedily soaked in every moment she could touch it. She knew her own brunette locks most likely appeared mussed at best and like a cat attacked her at worst. Yet even disheveled and grimy, she had never felt so desired or adored. Every hour since she had woken up in the large, plush bed, Ivar spent worshipping her. His hands and mouth never strayed far from her, as if magnetized to her skin. Either peppering soft kisses along her exposed skin, ravaging her mouth with domineering kisses, tracing doodles on her hands or back with those calloused fingers, or making her cry out his name as he drank from her core like it was his favorite liquor. 

They spent hours in his bed, talking about anything and everything, watching movies, snacking on protein bars, fruit and other random things found in the kitchenette, although Ivar grumbled the whole time that the housekeeper had not properly stocked his room. 

Eventually, Kari did get her delightful cup of coffee, accidently moaning in bliss at the taste. It was delicious and warm and exactly what she needed at that moment, like a shot of pure sunshine and energy into her body. But when her eye fluttered back open, it was to be pierced with a dark, ravenous look in Ivar's blue eyes and she hastily put the cup down before he pounced on her. 

The delightful liquid had cooled off by the time she was able to return to it. 

As the day passed, Ivar's exhaustion showed through and the soreness permeating in her body made itself loudly known. She had taken some pain relievers and propped herself up against Ivar's headboard to watch the next movie. Ivar returned to his seemingly new favorite position of his head in her lap, and quickly fell asleep, even as he repeatedly told her he was fine. 

While the Pride and Prejudice played, Kari allowed her thoughts to drift and swirl like falling snowflakes caught in a gentle breeze. The past twenty-four hours were a turning point for her. It was as obvious as the blazing sun in the sky, but the future was as murky and cloudy as a foggy, chill morning. Logically, she knew she should still walk away, to protect herself and Ivar. It would be the smartest thing to do. And yet…she was tired of running. Tired of excuses. Ivar came for her at that hospital, even after she pushed him away. He still came and rescued her, saving her from her terror and pain. Maybe it was selfish but she decided to ignore logic and allow her heart to take the reins. Even as it scared her slightly because she knew…down to the core of her being…she knew she was falling in love with Ivar Lothbrok.

And undoubtedly, there would be repercussions for that simple fact. 

Abruptly, the bedroom door opened, slamming against the wall behind it and causing Kari to startle and jump in her seated position. 

“Kari! Oh my gods! You're okay!” Gyda exclaimed, standing in the doorway with eyes wide. Relief poured off of her in palpable waves. Without waiting for permission, she darted into the room, leaped on the bed and wrapped Kari in a suffocating hug. 

Smiling, Kari squeezed her back, ignoring the spiked tingles the hug shot through her sore muscles. 

“What the fuck?” Ivar grumbled, having lurched up at the loud impact of the door, a predatory alertness covering him until he recognized his half-sister. Currently, he rubbed his eyes and glared at her with all the fury of a wet cat. “Gyda? The fuck you doing here?”

The blonde ignored him, pulling back to look at her friend. “Ragnar called this morning and let me know about the accident. How are you feeling? Torvi is here too, we both wanted to make sure you're alright.”

Kari glanced towards the door but did not see Torvi. “I'm okay. Sore…but it could have been worse.”

“Gyda…go away.” Ivar flopped back down next to Kari and threw an arm over his eyes. 

“Ivar, shut the hell up.” Gyda snarked then softened her tone when talking to Kari. “Do you need anything? How can we help? Ragnar said you were pretty shaken up.” 

“I promise, I'm okay. I'm just taking it easy right now.”

“Good. Can you come out and see Torvi? She's in the kitchen waiting, she was pretty worried about you too. She thought if we both came in, it might overwhelm you.”

“Of course! Let me just–”

“No, she fucking won't!”

Kari glanced down at the cranky man next to her. “Ivar, it's fin–”

“I told you, we aren't leaving this bed today. Torvi can fuck off. And Gyda too. Now get the fuck out of my room!”

“Why are you such an asshole?” Gyda glared. 

Ivar sneered, still with an arm covering his eyes. “It's a gift.”

“Ivar,” Kari cooed, gently traced one of the lines tattooed on his chest, “just for a few minutes, okay? You did say earlier we needed something else to eat, maybe I can grab something and come back?”

“No.”

“Ivar, please?”

“Fuck! Fine.” Ivar grumbled childishly, still refusing to look at either of them. “Just a few minutes then you're coming right back or I'm coming to get you.”

“Thank you.” She leaned over and kissed the top of his head.

Gyda climbed off the bed first with Kari carefully following, her movements betraying her body's tender state. Once she stood up, she immediately remembered she was still only in Ivar's t-shirt, something with that not-so-subtle raise of her eyebrows, Gyda definitely noted. 

“Um…I should–”

Gyda waved her hand dismissively but the smirk on her face said otherwise. “It's fine. Ubbe and Torvi are the only others here.”

“Still, I probably–”

“Sweatpants are on the first shelf inside my closet.” Ivar mumbled from the bed. 

“Thanks.” Kari followed his instructions, only taking a brief moment to acknowledge the dark walk-in closet and the vast amount of clothes and shoes in there. She grabbed a thick pair of black sweatpants that felt more like sleep pants. She rolled the bottom cuff a couple times so she did not trip over them but they fit well enough otherwise, if baggy. 

Glancing at Ivar one more time, who had not seemed to move positions, she followed Gyda out of the bedroom and down the hallways. Following the statuesque blonde, dressed in yoga pants and a cute top, Kari wondered if Ivar's bedroom had been an addition to the house she had noticed in the past. That would make sense with the winding hallways to get there and everyone else's bedroom seemingly upstairs. 

Finally arriving in the kitchen, they were greeted with the sight of Torvi, Hvitserk and Ubbe speaking quietly before noticing the two's arrival. On seeing Kari, Torvi immediately rounded the large kitchen island and wrapped Kari in a tight hug. 

“How are you doing?” Torvi asked, arms still banded around her. 

“I'm okay.”

Torvi let go and shifted back to be able to see Kari. “If you need something you tell us, that's what friends do.”

A wave of emotion for this family that gradually chose to allow her into their inner circle crashed over her like a tsunami, making her eyes watery. All she could do was nod, heart tripping over itself within her chest. Torvi squeezed her hand before slipping to her side and encouraging her to move further into the expansive kitchen. 

“When did you get here, Hvits?” Gyda asked, breaking the hovering silence. 

The flaxen-haired brother shrugged. “Father said you would be coming to check on Kari. Figured I'd come too in case Ivar gets cranky.”

Gyda snorted. “Too late. He didn't like me stealing Kari from his bed.”

“Oh, really?” Hvitserk teased, coming around the island. His gaze zeroed in on her, scanning her head to toe, at odds with the light tone of his voice. 

Without a second thought, Kari drifted away from Gyda and Torvi and took those few steps to meet Hvitserk for a hug. Instead of tackling her like Gyda did, or firmly holding her like Torvi in a sisterly hug, Hvitserk seemed to hesitate, hands lightly touching her but not pulling her closer. It was not until Kari wrapped her arms around him, pressing her face to his chest that his concern fell away and he firmly held her close. 

“I know you said you're okay, but…” His voice drifted off above her ear, arms still around her. 

“I promise. Just sore.” She whispered back. “My head and neck hurt the worst but overall it's fine…and thank you. For being there yesterday. I couldn't have–”

Running a hand over the back of her head, he softly shushed her. “Don't worry about it. I'm glad I could help, even if it was just to drive. You'll tell me if you need anything, right?” 

“I promise.”

“Good.” He leaned back and eyed her clothes with a scrutinizing look. “Mmmm…those look big on you. I think you'd look much better in mine. Want me to grab something?”

She laughed, swatting him as he chuckled. “Stop it.”

He winked at her but finally released her from the hug, moving to stand by her side. 

“So what the hell happened? Whose car were you in?” Gyda asked, taking a seat on a stool, clearly not wanting to waste another minute without knowing the details. 

“Oh, someone ran a red light, I think? They hit the back of my neighbor's sedan. Spun us a few times.” She ideally traced a pattern on the countertop, trying to ignore the nerves tapping away at her mind in memory of what happened, forcefully ignoring the budding panic building in her gut that festered if she thought about it too long. 

“What neighbor? The one with the crush on you?”

Kari mentally sighed because of course, Gyda would remember that. “Um, yeah…he…he actually asked me on a date before we were hit.”

“Wow, bad timing.” Torvi murmured. 

“That goddamn motherfucker!” 

Kari startled, head whipping towards the open entrance that she and Gyda had entered through. “Ivar?”

He slowly walked into the kitchen, shirtless with a dark pair of sweatpants riding low on his hips and a menacing snarl on his lips. “I should've hit that fucker. Fucking trying to take what's mine!” 

“I mean, it wasn't like–”

He stomped over with the aura of an impending hurricane, completely ignoring everyone else as he yanked her against his body. He towered over her, but his voice dropped low in a commanding tone that made warmth unfurl in her belly. “You're mine. My girlfriend.”

“I told him ‘no’.” She softly said, cradling the side of his face, gazing into those devastating, blue eyes. “Even then…I couldn't think of anyone but you.”

At her gentle statement, that writhing anger visibly deflated from his body, soothed by the truth in her words. Tenderly, he pressed his forehead to hers, holding her there for the span of a heartbeat as if soaking in her presence, before planting a gentle kiss to her up-turned lips. He slowly stepped away, moving around the kitchen island like this was a normal occurrence, blatantly ignoring the questioning gazes bouncing between Ivar and Kari. 

In contrast, Kari fidgeted under the scrutiny, unsure what to say, lips tingling from the sensation of their observed kiss. 

“So…are you two…together?” Gyda was the brave one to ask, looking at the brunette for confirmation. 

“Uh, yeah…we are.” Kari blushed, tugging on her earlobe even as a small smile tilted her lips up. 

“Fucking finally!” 

She glanced up at the ceiling, silently begging for patience with her boyfriend, but still smiling. It felt good to admit it aloud. To acknowledge what had been steadily growing, harboring in her chest but unspoken due to fear and doubt. Now allowed to fly freely like a bird released from its cage. 

“Congrats, Kari. I'm happy for both of you.” Hvitserk said, giving her a quick hug.

“Thanks, Hvitty.”

Hvitserk walked around the counter and gripped his brother's shoulder with quiet words spoken, seemingly congratulating him. 

“You're happy, right?” Torvi murmured from close by, glancing over at Ivar. 

Kari took a second to reply, coating her answer in quiet honesty. “Yeah…yeah, I am.”

Torvi's answering smile was bright. “Good. Then we're happy for you too.”

“So why now? What changed?” Gyda asked. “Not that we aren't happy that Ivar will stop fucking moping around but ya know?”

She replied slowly, wondering how she could make anyone else truly understand what changed. “He–he came for me. Without hesitation. I gave the hospital his number as my emergency contact and…he came. I didn't think he would…after everything and how long it had been…but when I saw him there, it's silly but I knew I'd be okay. No matter how scared I was. With him there, I felt safe. That he would take care of him, and it'd be okay.”

“Wow, that's so sweet.” Torvi cooed, a hand lightly covering her mouth as if the words slipped between her fingers. 

“Oh my gods, Ivar is giving you the biggest heart eyes right now. Fuck, never thought I'd see him do that. What did you do to him?” Gyda teased, gaze cutting to the dark-haired Lothbrok. 

Ivar snarled, whatever softness dissolved instantly as he glared at her. “Shut the fuck up.”

“No, it's a good look on you. Makes you less scary.”

“Gyda, I swear to–”

Ubbe placed a firm hand on Ivar's shoulder and spoke over him. “You know we only tease because we're happy for you.”

Ivar glanced up at his elder brother then rolled his eyes, muttering something under his breath that made Hvitserk snort. Without another word, he turned and opened the fridge behind them. 

Thank the universe for Torvi. She asked Kari a question, dissecting the lingering tension with skillful care. “Are you taking some time off work to rest?”

“Yeah, Lydia gave me to the end of the week. I called the boutique and my boss said I could have today off.”

Torvi snorted. “That's generous of her. Did you tell her what happened?”

“Yeah…I said I could come in over the weekend.”

“I'm guessing she was not pleased.”

Kari shrugged. “I haven't worked there long enough to earn her good graces, I think.” She hesitantly eyed Gyda, who was staring at her with nothing short of a confident, smug look. “What?”

“Oh… I was just thinking about how I said that by the end of the year you'd be naked in Ivar's bed. It's nice to know I'm always right.”

“OH MY GOD!” Kari whisper-shouted, at the blonde who just winked back. Heat bloomed on her cheeks at the crass reminder, but then she simply wanted to melt into the floor when Gyda turned her gleefully, evil attention towards her half-brother. 

“Isn't that right, Ivar?” Gyda asked. 

“Gyda, no–”

“What?” Ivar set two water bottles on the counter, already turning back towards the fridge. 

“No! Please, Gyda!”

“Just reminding Kari that I always knew she'd end up in your bed.”

Turning back, Ivar narrowed his piercing eyes. “Where she would still happily be if you didn't come and drag her away.”

“Happily, huh?” Gyda goaded. 

Those piercing eyes shifted to Kari, a predatory smile crawling onto his face and heat flaring in his eyes making them shine as he practically purred his reply. “Mmm…very happily…and very satisfied. When I was done, she wouldn't be able to walk for days.”

“IVAR!” She gasped, her breath sticking to her throat, while those around laughed. Yet even as a deeper embarrassed flush colored her cheeks, butterflies swan-dived in her belly at the flooding memories of how satisfied Ivar had certainly made her. 

As if sensing the direction of her thoughts, Ivar moved to place both hands on the counter and lean against them, highlighting his biceps and broad, muscular chest, his gaze never leaving hers, as if daring her to say something, to be the first to look away. 

She had the sudden urge to trace those striking tattoos across his chest with her tongue. 

“Come on,” Torvi nudged her, making her sharply inhale as her mind snapped back to the present and how she and Ivar were not alone. “Let's go sit down.” 

“Ah, sure. Okay.” Kari squeaked, ignoring the heat dancing in her veins. With a brief peek at Ivar, she hastily followed Torvi towards the living room with Gyda following in their wake. She did not need to turn around to feel Ivar's gaze on her back. 

The three sat down on the massive sectional couch, close to one another with Torvi in the middle. 

As Gyda settled, Kari glared at her. 

“What?” The blonde had the audacity to ask. 

“You're a bad friend.” 

Gyda threw her head back with a loud laugh. “I'm sorry, you're just so easy to tease and…okay, it's nice to see you happy. I promise I am happy for you two. But I did call it! I told you!” 

“Still a bad friend.” Kari grumbled half-heartedly. 

Gyda smiled. “I'll make it up to you. Oh! I never told you about my latest date! I promise the tea is worth the tease.”

“It better be some pipping hot tea.”

Torvi nodded, a smile tilting up her own lips. “Oh, it is.”

Gyda launched into her story that quickly had Kari laughing and willing to forgive her friend for the embarrassment. The three continued to chat and gossip comfortably when the brothers eventually followed them, taking up their own spots around the sectional. 

“Here.” Ivar handed Kari a water bottle from where he stood next to her. 

“Oh, thank you.” She shared a grateful smile with him, a pleased vine tangling around her heart that he thought of her and found a way to take care of her. 

Shock splashed across her like a bucket of cold water as, without preamble, Ivar dropped onto the couch, but instead of sitting next to her, he laid down and put his head in her lap, with his face pressed against her stomach and arms wrapped around her hips. His body took up most of the empty space on the sectional couch. Blinking, she could only stare as he snuggled against her. Only a moment later for an undignified squeak to escape her when he rubbed his face between her legs teasingly. 

“Ivar!” She hissed. “Behave.”

“Mine.” He murmured back, but thankfully seemed to settle after reminding her of their status. 

Gyda smirked like the cat that caught the canary while Torvi only raised her eyebrows on Kari's other side, but they continued chatting uninterrupted. Ubbe and Hvitserk argued between each other on the opposite corner of the sectional about what video game to play. 

Since walking out into the kitchen, a lingering tension finally eased out of Kari's shoulders, allowing her to relax. These people she had only known for a few months, people that were becoming important to her, they approved. It should have been a simple concept but Kari found herself smiling at the feeling of friendship and acceptance flowing like a fine wine within the room. Even after everything that happened three weeks ago and since then, these people, Ivar's family, were genuinely happy for them. What a heady feeling that was for her. 

“Oh, hey!” Kari said, one hand holding her water bottle and the other lazily tracing the tattoos on Ivar's back. “You never told me how your trip to Istanbul went to visit your mom.”

“It was fun. We're already planning a trip to Morocco together.” Gyda shrugged, happiness faintly dimmed. “It kinda sucked because she seemed kind of distracted. I guess something went down between her and that asshole she was dating…Kalf, remember? Anyway, they broke up. Whatever it was, it must have been bad  because he doesn't even work for the company anymore.”

“Holy shit. What happened?” Torvi asked, shock and concern evident in her tone. 

“She won't say. All I can figure is that it must have been something really shitty. But fuck him! I didn't like him anyway!” 

“I hope your mom is okay.” Kari consoled, her heart sad for Lagertha, yet that notion was mentally shelved as she was surprised to feel a smile pressed against her stomach. She glanced down at Ivar with a furrowed brow. “What?”

“Hmmm?” He hummed without moving his face. 

“Why are you smiling?”

“What? I can't smile now?”

She rolled her eyes. “I never said that. You know what, never mind. I like it when you smile.”

“Yeah?” He tipped his head back to meet her gaze. “What else do you like about me?”

Her heart melted at the soft smile curving those delectable lips of his. His genuine smile, that unguarded part of him that he rarely allowed to escape its bonds, was her kryptonite. When he looked at her like that, like his world began and ended with her, she became puddy in his hands. 

Shoving those overwhelming feelings aside, she scoffed, even as she ran her fingers through his loose hair. “And inflate that ego of yours even more?”

“That's alright. I know you find me irresistable.” He winked, causing her to laugh. Then he reached back and grabbed her hand carding through his hair. He brought it to his lips and placed a gentle kiss on the center of her palm. “I can tell you all the things I like about you instead.”

Her heart swelled, bloated and ready to burst with adoration for this man. Heat trickled up her arm as Ivar lightly nipped at the inside of her wrist, gaze still locked on hers. What this man did to her…

“Awww…Ivar, I had no clue you had this romantic side to you.” Gyda cooed in a sickly, sweet tone. 

Kari startled, suddenly remembering that her and Ivar were not alone in his room… And if the way Ivar's eyes flash wide for a brief moment before narrowing, he had forgotten too. 

“Gyda, leave him alone.” Torvi chided. “It's sweet.”

“It's so damn weird. I want to squeeze their cheeks with how cute they are together.”

“Gyda…” Ivar breathed slowly through his nose. “Shut the fuck up.”

“And there's the Ivar we know and love!”

Kari tried and failed to suppress a smile at their bickering. Before Ivar could retort something scathing, she nudged his head and when he finally moved his face to press against her stomach, she began carding her fingers through his hair. With a resigned grumble, Ivar wrapped his arms around her once more. Only a few minutes later, Kari felt him go limp and his breathing even out. 

She continued to chat with Gyda and Torvi, talking about anything and everything. They made plans for a girls’ night at Gyda's again next week when Kari was feeling better. Hvitserk and Ubbe occasionally added their own thoughts to the conversation but mostly focused on the video game they started up. 

Eventually the two women left, Torvi confessing she needed to go back home to her family to give Asa a bath and Gyda having given her a ride over so they could check on Kari together. Ubbe paused the video game and offered to drive Torvi home if Gyda wanted to stay with Kari. The offer was declined and Kari squinted as she thought she caught a flash of disappointment cross Ubbe's face before he resumed the game.

After the women left, pizza was ordered at Hvitserk's insistence and Ivar finally decided to engage with his siblings. The three brothers continued to play the video game as Kari watched. Ivar refused to get up from her lap, only rolling over and propping a throw pillow under his head to be able to see the TV. Not that she particularly minded. With her head resting against the back of the couch, she continued to absent-mindedly play with Ivar's hair even as her mind drifted in and out, tuning out the brothers’ increasingly violent threats and taunts. 

So much had changed within the past twenty-four hours but instead of feeling overwhelmed or anxious, a contented peace infused her body and mind. As if fate had finally placed her right where she was supposed to be, creating the sense of something new, a new chapter in her life, a new turn of the wheel. Perhaps her and Ivar were inevitable, this was always where they were supposed to be. Like the three weeks apart only unfurled a hidden truth. They were better together. 

Distantly, the sound of a door opening registered in her mind but she ignored it in favor of her thoughts, musing what her future would entail now, how things would change for the better. Juggling two jobs would mean less time with Ivar, but from what she heard, he seemed busy himself, so maybe they would have to be content with more video calls and texting for a while? 

“Mom?” Ubbe said. “I thought you weren't coming until next week.”

That caught Kari's attention. 

She swiveled her head to where Ubbe was looking behind her, only for her next breath to catch in her throat. For there stood Aslaug Lothbrok looking like a queen. Grace and elegance dressed her as much as the dark green professional midi dress and white blazer jacket with gold accents. The woman was effortlessly stunning like the blazing sun, unable to withhold its shine. 

“Your father called. I wanted to check on my boys.” She said smoothly, her blue eyes meeting Kari's for a long moment before looking at Ubbe again. 

“Want some pizza? The order should be here soon.” Hvitserk said, breaking the heavy silence with the paused game.  

Aslaug smiled happily and it was pure radiance. “I'd love some.”

Gracefully in her golden heels, she maneuvered around the couch, pressing a kiss to the top of Ubbe and Hvitserk's heads, before taking a seat on Ivar's other side, who had finally sat up at hearing her voice. 

She cupped his face between her hands, staring intently at him as if able to assess injury from meeting his gaze alone. “How are you, my darling? Your father said you've been working yourself into the ground.”

“I'm fine. Shit needed to get done.” He growled but without any venom in his tone. 

“Okay,” she softly said, placing a kiss on his forehead before releasing him. “Don't let your father bully you into working extra hours.”

Ivar snorted, earning a glimmer of a smile from his mother. “Don't worry. Floki already threatened him and me. Said he'd get involved if I pulled that shit again.”

Her smile widened then. “Good. If anyone can keep your father straight, it's Floki.”

“Mad fucking bastard.” Ivar glanced at Kari before slipping his fingers through hers. Turning back to his mother, he leaned back fully against the couch. “Mom, I want you to meet Kari, my girlfriend.”

Perfectly sculpted eyebrows rose as sharp, blue eyes bounced between the Ivar and Kari. “Your girlfriend?”

“Fucking finally!”

“Ivar…” Kari hissed. 

“It's alright. It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Kari.” Aslaug extended a hand over her son, warmth infused in her voice. “I've heard so much about you.”

Kari opened her mouth to say something mature and confident as she took Aslaug's hand, instead her brain veered off road, still flabbergasted that this goddess of a woman knew about her, and sprouted the first thing to come to mind. 

“Holy crap, you're even more gorgeous in real life!”

Mortification immediately seized her in a vice-like grip.  Her face burst into embarrassed redness even as her eyes widened in horror. If there was ever a possibility to turn back time, she truly wished for that ability right about now. Or to vanish. Or crawl into a hole and die. 

To her relief, Aslaug tipped her head back and released a delicate laugh, drawing out the smile lines around her eyes. “Oh, aren't you a dear. Thank you, Kari. That's kind of you to say. Look at you though! Ivar always said you were gorgeous and I can see he is correct.”

“Oh…um…I– I wouldn't say that.” The reply stumbled out, tripping over her self-consciousness. At the moment, she wore Ivar's shirt and sweatpants, both baggy on her frame. Her hair was most likely a mess and she did not have a lick of make-up on to cover the bags under her eyes or other imperfections. Gorgeous was nowhere on the list of adjectives to describe her right now. 

Harshly, Ivar gripped her chin with his other hand, eyes blazing as he pierced her with his gaze. “I say you ARE.” He emphasized that last word, sending sparks throughout her body at the utter conviction in his words. “And we all know I'm never fucking wrong.”

She rolled her eyes, even as the corners of his lips tilted up. “Fine.”

“Good…my gorgeous girlfriend.” He leaned forward and pecked a kiss to her lips, as if sealing his words to her skin. He rubbed this thumb over her lower lip for a second before dropping his hand from her chin. 

As if sensing her gaze, Kari's eyes met Aslaug's again, concerned as to what she would think about her son kissing in front of her. Instead she was shocked to see unrestrained joy and relief in Aslaug's gaze, a gentle smile on her face as she watched the two of them.  

“It's, um… it's nice to meet you too.” Kari self-consciousnessly murmured. “I love the pictures of you in Ivar's room.”

“Oh, he showed you those? Isn't he quite talented?”

“He really is.”

“I always hoped he'd do something with that skill…maybe with you as a beautiful, new muse, he might reassess his own talent.”

“I don't know— I mean…” The brunette's voice awkwardly trailed off, barely able to meet the mother or son's eyes. 

“Hmm…” Aslaug hummed thoughtfully, eyeing Kari as if she was a piece of artwork she was debating where to hang. “We'll work on that confidence. We have plenty of time to talk while I'm here.”

Kari had no idea what to make of that statement. “Ohhh… okay, sure.”

“Hey, Mom! What kind of pizza do you want?” Hvitserk called out, coming around the corner from the front door carrying three boxes of freshly delivered pizza. 

With that, the matriarch's attention shifted and Kari felt like she could take a deep breath again. Not that Aslaug intimidated her per se… okay, Aslaug imitated her a little. It was more because she knew how important Aslaug was to Ivar and however selfish it was, she wanted Aslaug to like her. Even if she logically knew Ivar was way out of her league, she still hoped to gain Aslaug's approval. 

A slow squeeze of her hand brought her attention back to Ivar. She met his gaze, holding still as he stared at her, clearly searching for something. Whatever it was, she would never know, but he brought her hand up to his lips and kissed her knuckles like a chivalrous gentleman. She giggled at the action and the way her heart pounded in her chest under his affections. Without a second thought, she leaned against him, placing her head on his shoulder and entwining their fingers in her lap. 

Her boyfriend. 

Ivar was her boyfriend. 

That content peace from earlier steadily rose once again in her chest, drowning out her anxiety and lingering embarrassment. Silently, she prayed it would never leave. That whatever fate did to bring them together, would not abandon them. That these prior three weeks separated could remain behind them and only blue skies ahead. 

A/N: I need help! Now that Kari and Ivar are (finally) together, what do you think Kari's pet name for Ivar should be? Send me all the ideas!

Tag List:

@southernbe @tessakate @ivarlover @nothingtolosebutweight @beautifulweaselplaidsalad @noway4u @cdauni @istorkyou @ringpopdust @lotr-got @kaybee87 @ultralillylove @heyitsayjayy @saintsir4n @nov-04th 

(Let me know if you would like to be added or deleted from the tag list.)

[mads-weasley]

I'll Find You

Hvitserk Ragnarsson x Shieldmaiden!Reader

Masterlist

A/N: enjoy!

Summary: Hvitserk is caught between both sides in the Battle for Kattegat. Torn between the woman he loves and his brother, he must make a choice.

Word Count: 3.2k

The Battle for Kattegat, the Battle of the Ragnarssons, raged across the misty field. The metallic smell of blood and harsh sounds of battle hung in the air: the clashing of swords and axes, battle cries, and screams of the wounded.

Who knew it would come to this?

Brother turning against brother, neighbor against neighbor. (Y/n) was caught in the middle, her heart torn between both sides. At one time, she'd promised to never leave his side, but when he jumped ship, he chose to leave her...to leave the people who loved him.

She remembered how his lip twitched as he stared back toward the shore. Toward Ivar. She'd reached for his arm, already anticipating his decision, but she was too late. Her fingers barely brushed his sleeve as he moved out of her reach. That was the day everything changed.

Even now, as she fought through the crowd of warriors, she unconsciously scanned the battlefield for his figure. A cry came from her right, and she turned to see another shieldmaiden with her axe on the way down. (Y/n) managed to lift her shield just in time, and the axe hit it with a loud crack, the impact sending painful shockwaves through her arm. With a grunt, she blocked another swipe and kicked the woman in the stomach before bringing her axe down into the shieldmaiden's neck with a bloody squelch.

(Y/n) readjusted her grip on the shield, wincing. It only took a moment for her to gather herself and sprint farther into the fray. She lost herself in the battle, and each slice of her axe sent a warm spray of blood across her face, the stray strands from her braid sticking to the substance.

Amid the battle, she saw him. He was a little ways ahead of her in front of the small river that separated Ivar and the rest of their forces from the fight. He fought like he always had, without restraint. (Y/n) had always called him her berserker because he truly was, but he never would admit it liked the nickname. There seemed to be two different men inside Hvitserk: the man on the battlefield and the man he was off. The latter, a highly observant and caring man she'd come to love.

She remembered the quiet moments they'd shared in England while fighting with the Great Heathen Army to avenge his father.

"Is England what you'd thought it would be?"

His lips tilted into a small lopsided smile, and he glanced over from where he sat beside her. "Not really. You?"

"I didn't know what to think," (y/n) sighed, looking back at the small river before them. "But it is beautiful."

The steady flow of the water filled the silence, and (y/n) felt peace for the first time in months. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, basking in the gentle sunlight that cascaded from the heavens. In all their time in England, the sun was not out often.

Feeling eyes on her, she glanced over at Hvitserk. Their gazes met for a moment before he quickly turned away, his cheeks reddening.

"I am glad you came with us, (y/n)," he admitted softly, his upper lip twitching out of habit.

(Y/n) slid closer and leaned into his side, resting her head on his shoulder. "I couldn't imagine staying in Kattegat while you were here fighting. If something happened to you, I-"

She trailed off as her throat tightened. The mere thought of his death...it was more than she could handle. Tearing his gaze away from the river, he gently cupped her cheek and turned her face toward him.

"The gods are not done with me yet, my love."

Making her way to him, (y/n) watched Hvitserk fight with the ferocity she'd seen since he first picked up a sword. The berserker in him had taken over. He effortlessly blocked the slashes of swords and axes of his enemies like it was all one big dance, and he knew the choreography.

(Y/n)'s focus was shattered when something collided with her side, sending her sprawling to the ground. Coughing, she pushed herself to her feet and turned her attention to the warrior who shed his shield in favor of dually wielding two axes. He swung one of the axes toward her head, and (y/n) barely had time to duck, feeling the blade whiz past her ear. She rolled to her feet and sidestepped the other axe aimed for her ribs.

With a grunt, she twisted her body and lifted her shield just in time to block the incoming blow. Her axe followed, and the man howled as it caught him in the arm, blood splattering across his face.

He staggered back with a snarl, but (y/n) didn’t let up. She closed the distance between them in two quick strides, knocking his remaining axe from his hand with a powerful swing, then brought her blade down on his shoulder. The man grunted in pain and dropped to his knees, unable to fight back any longer.

As he fell, (Y/n) turned, scanning the battlefield once more. Her heart skipped.

Hvitserk.

Her breath hitched as she watched him take a blow from an axe handle, sending him reeling backward and falling hard to the ground. Without hesitation, she surged forward. The world seemed to slow as she fought her way through the sea of warriors. Every instinct screamed at her to get to him, and her mind finished the sentence she hadn't dared to in England.

"If something happened to you, I...I would gladly follow you to Valhalla."

When she reached him, her legs nearly gave way. There he was, sprawling out in the dirt, his eyes wide as he gasped for air.

"Hvitserk!" she shouted, her voice cracking as she dropped to her knees beside him. She quickly turned him over, her hands shaking as she tried to pull him into a sitting position.

He continued to wheeze as he struggled to catch his breath. Hvitserk's gaze was unfocused, blinking as if he couldn’t make sense of the blurry figure in front of him.

"Breathe, Serk! Breathe!" She yelled, rubbing his cheeks gently. "Breathe!"

Little did she know he couldn't hear her. His mind replayed the events of the past year: England, jumping ship, his last conversation with Ivar.

"What do you fear most, dear brother?" Ivar asked. "The loss of thought or memory?

"My thoughts and memories seem to be the same. Every time I think, I always remember the day I jumped out of Ubbe's ship."

When I left her...it went unsaid.

Ivar shrugged, making a pushing motion with his hands. "But you didn't jump. The gods pushed you."

"Don't take it away from me," Hvitserk snarked. "I wasn't pushed. I decided to do it."

"Ah. And I think you still regret it."

Hvitserk paused, his mind wandering. "My only regret is that I don't have any children...and"

"(Y/n)?" Ivar chuckled and tilted his head, his lips quirking into a smirk. "You regret leaving her."

He did. More than anything. But he had to live with the consequences of his actions. "Yes," he said quietly, his gaze falling to the dirt.

Ivar's smirk turned sinister. "She will be there today. Are you willing to do what it takes?"

Hvitserk glanced up at him, his lip twitching as he tried to contain his anger. "What?"

"You heard me," he shrugged. "She chose her side, and you chose yours, poor Hvitserk. Will she hesitate to kill you?"

He didn't know, but Hvitserk did know that he could never raise a hand against her. If she felt differently, he would gladly let her strike him down.

The memory dissipated suddenly, and he became aware of himself once again. Something was holding his face, but the blur of his vision made it impossible to see exactly who.

Then he heard her voice. It was muffled, but unmistakably hers.

After a moment, he finally got control of his breathing and pulled sweet oxygen into his burning lungs. He blinked as his vision and hearing returned to normal. Her eyes were the first thing he saw.

(Y/n) leaned over him, her brows creased in concern as her voice became clear. "You have to get up! You're okay! You're okay!"

She glanced behind her and quickly disappeared from his view. He heard the familiar sound of clashing swords and iron meeting flesh.

'What is happening?' he thought. Then it hit him. The battle.

Hvitserk rolled over and pushed himself up, still gasping, and grabbed his sword and shield. Staggering to his feet, he found (y/n) battling one of her own warriors, who looked confused as to why she was defending the traitorous Ragnarsson. She kicked him in the chest and sent him flying to the ground with a thud. He wouldn't be a bother for a little while. Finally turning, (y/n)'s eyes met Hvitserk's, and relief flooded her body.

He was okay.

She barely had time to catch her breath before a new enemy charged toward her, forcing her to raise her shield. She blocked the blow, gritting her teeth as the impact jarred her shoulder. Hvitserk, now steady on his feet, roared and stepped forward, deflecting the warrior’s second strike with his axe.

Their eyes met again, just for a moment. The battle roared on around them, but between the chaos, it felt like the world had paused. Blood smeared both their faces, and their chests heaved with exertion, yet they stood there, staring at each other.

She still loved him. He could see it in her eyes as they looked upon him with a familiar softness.

Before either of them could say a word, another figure rushed toward (y/n), axe raised high. Hvitserk’s instincts kicked in, and without thinking, he lunged forward and knocked the assailant aside with his shield, sending the man crashing into the mud. He didn’t pause to finish the enemy off, and his attention snapped back to (y/n).

As the battle raged on, Hvitserk fought with every ounce of his strength, cutting down those who came too close to them. He knew she didn’t need saving and was capable of handling herself, but he couldn’t stop the fear that gripped him every time she was too close to death’s reach...too close to Ivar's reach.

He shoved a warrior aside with his shield just as another came for (y/n). She didn’t see him coming, but Hvitserk did, and he swung his axe in a wide arc, catching the man’s shoulder and sending him crashing to the ground.

(Y/n) glanced over her shoulder, her lips curling into something like a half-smile of thanks, but it didn’t last. She turned her attention back to the fight, but the brief moment made Hvitserk’s chest tighten. There was so much he wanted to say, so much he needed her to understand.

He was sorry, he still loved her, he still wanted a future with her...

Then, the horn sounded.

A sharp, unmistakable note. The retreat. Bjorn's forces were losing.

Ivar was winning.

But that wasn’t what shook Hvitserk to his core. It was the realization of what that meant for (y/n). If she didn’t leave now, Ivar would hunt her down the very moment the battle was over, just like he would do to Lagertha, Ubbe, Bjorn, and all the other leaders.

She wouldn’t survive.

His heart raced in his chest as he turned to her. She was scanning the battlefield, looking for her next warrior to fight, unaware of the danger closing in around her. He reached for her and grabbed her arm, his grip tightening as the horn's echo lingered in the air.

“You need to go,” he said, his voice raw.

(Y/n) shook her head in defiance. “I’m not leaving you, Hvitserk,” she replied, pulling her arm free of his grasp.

His lips pressed into a tight line, and he shook his head. “You have to. Ivar won’t let you live. He’ll come for you, for all of you.”

Hvitserk’s chest tightened. Blood smeared across her face, but the fire in her eyes was unmistakable. He knew her. He knew how stubborn and fierce she was. But he also knew what Ivar would do.

"Ivar will hunt you down. He'll kill you without hesitation. He won't care that you're..." his voice faltered. "He won't care what you mean to me."

Her eyes softened at the admission, and for a moment, the noise of the battlefield around them faded away. She reached for his cheek, brushing away the dirt and blood. “And you’ll stay with him?”

Hvitserk closed his eyes for a moment, leaning into her touch. He wanted so badly to walk away with her, to take her far from this madness. But the pull of his brother, of the bond they shared...even with all the brokenness...he couldn't let it go.

“I don’t have a choice,” he admitted. “He’s my brother. If I don’t stand with him, I’ll lose more than I already have.”

(Y/n) swallowed hard, blinking away the sting of tears. “You’ll lose me, too,” she said gently.

His eyes opened, meeting hers with a conflicted gaze. “I lost you the day I jumped ship,” he murmured. “And it’s haunted me every moment since. But I have to see this through...I can’t leave him.”

A small, sad smile tugged at her lips as her hand fell from his face. She could see the pain etched into his features. “I know,” she whispered, her voice cracking slightly. "You're being torn apart. I can see it in your eyes."

Her words broke something in him. He dropped his forehead to hers, his breath shuddering. “My love,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

(Y/n) closed her eyes, savoring the closeness she'd longed for for months. She cupped his face again with her free hand, her thumb brushing against the roughness of his cheek. “I know,” she said softly. “I know you are.”

The horn sounded again, louder this time. A reminder that their moment was slipping away.

“Stay alive, my love,” he whispered, his lips brushing her skin lightly as the words left his mouth. “Stay alive. Please.”

(Y/n) couldn't speak as emotion washed over her.

“Now go,” he repeated, pulling back just enough to look at her. “Please.”

Her lips trembled, but she nodded. “Promise me that you’ll find your way back to me someday.”

Hvitserk's lip twitched...a ghost of the smile she remembered. “I’ll find you.”

With one last lingering look, (y/n) stepped back, her hand sliding from his face. “I’ll see you again,” she said, her voice steady despite the tears threatening to fall.

Hvitserk nodded, his eyes never leaving her. “Go,” he urged.

And then, with one last look, she turned and ran. Hvitserk watched until she disappeared into the chaos, and his heart broke a little more with every step she took away from him. Only then did he turn his focus back on the battle, gripping his axe tightly. With a loud roar, he charged the nearest enemy.

The berserker was back.

6 Months Later

The battle was over. Ivar had been defeated at last.

Hvitserk stood beside Bjorn and King Herald in the square as King Olaf stood before them, a blue flag in his hand.

"Here's to the new year of all our lives, Bjorn Ironside," he announced, handing the flag to the eldest Ragnarsson.

Hvitserk couldn't help the smile that tugged at the corner of his lips. It was finally over. After all the time he spent with Ivar, he could finally have peace, he finally got his home back. The people of Kattegat would no longer have a cruel dictator ruling over them.

A commotion rippled through the onlookers as figures emerged from the edges of the square, and Hvitserk’s heart skipped when he saw them...Ubbe, Torvi, and…her.

(Y/n).

For a moment, Hvitserk froze. His heart thudded against his chest, and he felt an overwhelming rush of relief. There she was...alive. After everything. His breath caught in his throat. He wasn’t sure what to do at first. So much had happened, and in the chaos of battle and their long separation, he hadn’t allowed himself to fully imagine this moment. He watched as she took a few tentative steps forward.

Then, as if something within him finally snapped, Hvitserk took a breath, his eyes locked onto hers, and he quickly walked toward her. When they were mere feet apart, Hvitserk’s resolve faltered. He didn’t wait any longer. His arms went around her instinctively, and he lifted her off her feet.

He felt the warmth of her against him, the familiar weight of her body, and everything else fell away. For that brief moment, there was nothing but her...alive, in his arms. His breath came in a rush, his chest tight with emotion as he held her there, not caring about the stares of those around him, not caring about anything but the overwhelming sense of relief that surged through him.

"I found you," Hvitserk whispered hoarsely, his voice cracking slightly as the words escaped him. It was the promise he'd made when they'd parted on the battlefield months before.

(Y/n)’s arms wrapped around his neck and she buried her face in the crook of his neck. Her touch was the thing he didn’t even realize he needed. After everything he had been through, the battles, the loss, the guilt, her touch was the only thing that made everything feel still...like he could breathe again.

Slowly, he lowered her back to the ground, his hands lingering on her arms, almost afraid to let go. But she wasn’t waiting for him to speak. Her warm hands came up to his face, her fingers brushing over his bloody jaw, and she smiled softly, the tears in her eyes making his heart beat impossibly faster.

"I think I'm the one that found you," she smirked, tearily gazing up at him.

A breathy laugh left his lips as he opened his mouth to speak, but the words failed him. What could he say? Everything felt too small to capture what he was feeling in this moment.

"I—" he started, his voice low and rough. But before he could finish, he closed the space between them. His lips brushed hers softly at first, gentle and lingering. The kiss was tentative as if they were both savoring the moment, tasting the reunion. Hvitserk’s fingers lightly cupped her face, gently tracing the curve of her jaw.

When they pulled away, he rested his forehead against hers. "I love you," he murmured. "I'm never leaving you again."

(Y/n) smiled through the tears, her fingers brushing the blood on his face as she leaned in again, this time with more confidence.

"Good," she whispered against his lips.

She then fully pressed her lips to his, and this time, Hvitserk didn’t hesitate. His hands slid down her back, pulling her closer and deepening the kiss. There was a heat to it now, the emotions spilling out in the press of their lips.

When they broke apart again, Hvitserk’s breath was a little uneven. His eyes locked on hers as he gently touched her cheek. "Marry me."

She nodded immediately, tugging him down towards her with a wide smile. "Yes."

message or comment if you want to be added to the tag list!! <3

[kaivenom]

How are the viking's men when you raid together...

Warnings: small hints of suggested themes

Masterlist

Ivar the Boneless

Absolutely in love.

He is the more excited of the brothers to get you into raids.

Of course he fears about your safety but if you are with Ivar it's clearly that you know how to handle things like this.

Seeing you all covered in blood of your enemies, with weapons on your hands and that exhausted look, made him think you are a valkirie.

He gives you trinkets, even when the city has been destroyed and all the treasures of the city belong now to the vikings, he still gives you things he sees on another woman.

Sometimes you don't like how he gets after fights, becuase sadism in battles is good but tortures after that, no.

You try to reproach him about it, at first he gets angry, then he tries to be less sadist after that.

At the end, raiding with Ivar is a big adventure.

Ubbe Ragnarson

Very protective.

Expect him to be your shadow, attached to your side every second.

He kisses you after battle, he says he doesn't want to be in Valhalla without feeling your lips one last time.

In battle you both are always together, fighting in complete synchrony.

One thing he does when the battle ends that drives you crazy is kissing you. You both covered in dust and blood, exhausted from battling and he just goes to you with feral eyes, drops the sword/axe and kisses you furiously.

He doesn't like to make you gifts from the raids but instead you are the one who grants him things, he smiles like a child everytime.

Hvitserk Ragnarson

He thinks it's the best thing you both could do.

Like a vacation for the two of you, seeing new places and trying new food.

All the things he gains during the raids are YOUR things too, he gifts you everything he can.

He ussually tents to follow some jokes from other vikings about taking woman from the raids.

After seeing your face full of disgust, he never does it again, he wouldn't support seeing your eyes look at him like that again.

He always finds the higher spot on the place to spent the evening after raiding, organizing a picnic above all the bloody chaos of the under.

Sigurd Ragnarson

He doesn't like you going, he doesn't like going either.

You both only go when it's necesary because of his family.

When you are there, you both prefer to watch out the camp rather than enter in battle.

In fact, probably you are better warrior that him, so you protect him during the battles.

Being on the camp he always plays instruments to calm himself, and because of that you lay next to him and relax yourself too.

After battle he goes straight to your side and hughs you tightly, other vikings mock him about his not-so-manly behaviour.

Bjorn Ironside

He doesn't really care.

He thinks you can handle yourself, but unlike the others, that makes him let you get lost around.

He just watches you from afar with a serious face, expecting the unexpected.

A small grin appears on his face every once in a while, thinking about how badass you look.

The sight of seeing you covered in blood makes you look so desirable, he has to restrain himself from taking you right there.

You have to endure his cheater behaviour with foreign woman and getting slves everywhere.

But after battle you are euphoric and decide to put him on place.

[myocsfanfictions]

Under the Devil’s Eye

MASTERLIST

Selethryth, a young lady with strange eyes and prophetic dreams, is both feared and revered in King Ecbert's court. Though he sees her as a powerful tool for his ambitions, it is Ivar, the brutal and unpredictable son of Ragnar, who is drawn to her. As their fates collide, Selethryth finds herself entangled in a dangerous game where her gifts may lead her into the arms of darkness.

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Chapter 2

Selethryth felt utterly exhausted, as if her body had been forged from lead. Ever since the night she dreamt of the raven, sleep had become her enemy. Every time she closed her eyes, the nightmare returned—always the same. The vision of the bird, flying alone in the darkened sky, tired and abandoned. Then the serpent, coiling around the raven and swallowing it whole, its death slow and inevitable. And after, the earth trembling beneath her, decaying and foul, while a dark figure appeared in the shadows, familiar blue eyes gleaming with an unsettling intensity. The sea—the sea that devoured men and castles alike. And always, always, she was powerless, a silent witness the doom around her.

Each dream left her heart heavy, suffocated, as if a dark force had wrapped around her chest and was ready to crush her at any moment.

The King had grown restless after hearing about the raven, and since then, he summoned her every morning to ask what she had dreamt the night before. It was the only topic of conversation between them these days.

"Why do you keep pushing her to speak of this curse?" Her mother's voice broke the silence one night, trembling and low, as if she feared being overheard.

"The king has asked," her father replied quietly but tensely. "Who am I to deny him?"

"That man is a sinner. A dangerous, mad man," Lady Oswyth retorted, bitterness heavy in her voice, but also fear.

"Don't speak like that!" Lord Godric's voice was sharp, almost a whisper, but there was an unmistakable fear in it. "If the king hears—"

"If the king hears, it makes no difference," her mother whispered back. "We're already lost." She paused, her tone breaking. "But he doesn't see what I see. He doesn't understand the sign in her eyes... what she is."

"And the king doesn't want us to intervene. There will be no exorcism for her," her father said, trying to end the conversation, though his frustration was clear.

Oswyth sighed, her voice cracking. "You are condemning your daughter's soul for your own ambitions, Godric."

"Her soul has been lost since the day she was born!" Her father's words were harsh, like an old wound reopened. The anger was raw. "We knew it! She nearly killed you when you gave birth to her! And after her, you couldn't give me another child. We've always known, Oswyth!" His voice trembled with bitterness. "I thought we were cursed because of her. But the king... the king sees something else. And we've risen, like my father never could. I won't let anything ruin that."

Selethryth remained silent, hidden behind the ajar wooden door, shrouded in the darkness of her chamber. Her eyes lowered, and her heart ached as the cruel words pierced her. She had always known the truth of her birth—that she was the reason her mother had been unable to bear more children. The moment they had seen her eyes, they had known it was her fault. And now, hearing her father speak of it so openly, the weight of her existence pressed down on her, heavier than ever.

She slid down onto the cold floor, drawing her knees close to her chest, struggling to keep the sobs trapped within her. She could not allow herself to be heard, not even a sigh, as silent tears welled in her eyes. She didn't understand what she had done to deserve this. What had she done wrong? How had she offended the Lord, for Him to bring so much pain and dishonor to her family?

Selethryth had always tried to be a good Christian—going to church, learning everything that a noble lady was supposed to know—but none of it mattered. To them, she would always be a sinner. Always to blame. And there was nothing she could do to change their minds. To everyone, she would forever be a witch.

This pained her heart gravely.

"You're so quiet, child." Judith's voice broke through the silence, making Selethryth look up from her book. The lady was painting with careful hands, recreating a scene from the sacred scriptures. It was something Judith loved to do, though it was considered inappropriate for a lady—an indulgence that, by her position as the King's mistress, she was free to pursue. Women of her standing had the freedom to do things that others could not, like drawing or reading.

"Forgive me for not being good company, my lady," Selethryth apologized, her voice barely above a whisper. But Judith turned to her with softness in her eyes—eyes that no one else ever showed her. She was the only one who ever looked at her like that.

Selethryth still remembered when Judith had first feared her, when she had been labeled a witch—an accusation that had followed her like a shadow. But it didn't take long for Judith to grow fond of her, to see beyond the rumors and the fear. For Selethryth's mother, this was fitting. Judith, after all, was a woman with many flaws, living openly in her sins. To Oswyth, it made sense that she would not have ill thoughts about her daughter.

"Nonsense, Selethryth. You're always good company," Judith said gently, her gaze soft as she observed the young lady, who, after a long pause, found the strength to smile. "Do you want to tell me what happened?" she asked again, her brush never faltering as she continued painting.

Selethryth hesitated. She wanted to confide in Judith; she felt that the woman was the only one who might truly understand her. Judith had been the one to push her to read and study, to learn things she was never supposed to. And whenever someone spoke ill of her, it was Judith who had defended her without hesitation. But Judith was too close to the King for Selethryth to be completely honest with her. She could never speak of what had been said in her family's chamber, nor could she risk the royal family thinking her ungrateful. So, with a quiet breath, she decided to change the subject.

"I was reading about the Vikings," Selethryth said, her gaze dropping to the book in her hands.

"Vikings?" Judith asked with a curious tilt of her head. "What made them so interesting to you?"

"Magnus says he's the son of Ragnar Lothbrok," Selethryth replied, her voice soft.

Magnus, the son of the late Queen Kwenthrith, had been fathered by Ragnar Lothbrok during the war for Mercia. The very fact of his parentage had been the only reason Ecbert had agreed to raise him as his own.

"You've met him, haven't you?" Selethryth asked, her curiosity piqued. She saw Judith's expression shift to one of quiet nostalgia, a faint smile playing on her lips.

"You know I have," Judith replied, her voice tinged with something unreadable, though her smile was warm.

Selethryth, worried she had overstepped, realized the question had likely seemed unnecessary, considering Alfred's father had been one of Ragnar's most trusted companions.

"Was he truly as impressive as the stories say?" Selethryth asked, her voice full of wonder. She had read so much about the Vikings—their fierceness, their legends—and yet it was hard to believe such men existed outside of myth.

Judith nodded slowly, her eyes distant for a moment. "All of it is true," she said, her voice low and reverent. "He was an impressive warrior... with an even more impressive mind."

Then something on the page caught Selethryth's attention. She leaned in closer, her fingers tracing the edge of an illustration—a man, with a raven on his chest. She frowned, the image feeling oddly familiar. She turned the page back, her fingers trembling slightly, and found the same drawing, the same raven.

"Why a raven?" she muttered under her breath, unable to tear her eyes away from the image.

Judith, having noticed Selethryth's intense focus, hummed in curiosity and leaned in to see the drawing.

"You're looking at Ragnar," Judith said softly, almost as if speaking of an old friend. "The raven was his sigil."

Selethryth's breath caught in her throat as her gaze moved from Judith back to the drawing.

A raven...

She kept repeating to herself, It's just a drawing. There was no reason to think of it as anything more than what it was. She had dreamt of a bird dying. Nothing more. But she couldn't shake that strange feeling—like the image made sense. As if she were meant to look at it. But why would that be true?

She had never cared about Ragnar Lothbrok, why did she feel such a strong connection to that figure now?

She had never believed Ecbert's words. She had never believed that she had been blessed with prophetic dreams. They were just dreams, read by others, their meaning always coming later. Like with the first dream she had told him.

She had dreamt of a woman with black hair and a crown on her head, but suddenly the crown turned to ashes and the ground beneath her crawled away, as if it wanted to escape from her. But then, the same earth formed a bridge that led to King Ecbert, wearing an even bigger crown than the one he already wore. Both the people around him and those on the other side of the bridge bowed to him.

It held no meaning to her. There was no way she could have ever truly believed that the King would interpret this dream as a sign of his kingdom growing. But he did. And it happened again, and again. Every dream she shared seemed to follow a chance for Ecbert to expand his lands. And now, he ruled over the largest kingdom in England.

She had never wanted to believe that she had prophetic dreams. And she didn't want to believe it now. If she did, then the Devil really was her lover, and she didn't have a soul.

That thought terrified her. Was her destiny to be a dark creature? An empty one, causing pain and despair? Did she really have no soul? What would become of her when death came? Was she condemned to Hell?

But I have done nothing, she kept repeating to herself. She always did what her family expected of her, what the Lord had taught them to learn. She had done nothing to be hated like this.

And yet, that raven... that raven had scared her. The feeling it left behind terrified her even more.

"Why are you looking so pensive?" Eadgifu's voice made her look up from her needlework. Her sister was having her new dress fixed by the hands of Hilda. It was a gown of pale pink that matched perfectly with her sister's skin. On Eadgifu's face there was an excited smile as she observed herself in the mirror. "Are you worried about the feast of tomorrow night?"

Selethryth found herself smiling bitterly. She really wished that her mind could fix on those things, pretty dresses and feasts to meet suitors, but her mind kept coming back to the raven. The sadness that she felt in her dream, and the fear she had felt during the entire day.

"There's no reason to," Selethryth answered, meeting her sister's gaze through the glass, "You, however, must be excited."

Eadgifu's smile grew larger, "Mother said I'm ready to wed." She said with a dreamy expression. Marriage had always been her sister's greatest dream as they grew up.

"I'm sure you'll find an honorable man," Selethryth's words were enough to make Hilda look at her with unspoken fear. But Eadgifu didn't notice, as she giggled again.

"And handsome as well, I hope," she said before turning to Selethryth. "You could meet someone as well," Eadgifu insisted, but Selethryth looked down at her needlework again, with a little shake of her head.

"Only the Lord knows what plans He has for me," she said, folding the needle between her fingers. "For now, I must wait until He speaks through Father's mouth."

Eadgifu regarded her with a sad look, "Father knows that you'll have to wed, it is a woman's duty." Selethryth would have liked to ask her if it was the Witch of Wessex's duty as well. But she decided against it. Smiling at her sister to keep on with her needlework.

She was in the right age to marry, to be looking for a husband at least. But it was never the time. Lord Godric loved his high position at King Ecbert's court, but his presence was required because Selethryth was there. If she was to marry and leave for her husband's lands, what would become of Lord Godric? He would have to return to his own dark castle, and the king's attentions would be long forgotten. That, of course, if she would ever find a man daring enough to not be scared of superstitions. But Selethryth wasn't sure of it.

That night, her sleep had a form again, vivid as if she were awake.

Selethryth found herself standing at the edge of a vast and frozen lake, its surface smooth as glass, reflecting a stormy sky above. The wind howled through the barren trees at the lake's edge, their branches reaching toward the sky like skeletal hands, clawing at the air. The whole landscape felt dead, as if the world itself were holding its breath. The cold bit deep into her skin, and she shivered, but there was no warmth, no shelter to be found.

In the distance, two figures appeared, walking toward her across the frozen expanse. One was tall, shrouded in shadow, his form hidden beneath a dark cloak, but a raven flew beside him—its wings cutting through the air with a steady, rhythmic beat. The raven's presence felt both ominous and powerful, like a harbinger of change. The figure walked with a slow, deliberate pace, as if burdened by the weight of years, yet still possessing a quiet strength. He was the older figure, the one who had lived through much, but was now nearing the end of his journey.

The second figure was on the ground, but he radiated intensity. He slithered on the floor fast and urgent, almost as though he were driven by an unseen force. He seemed to move with a fury that contrasted sharply with the calmness of the first figure. His eyes, burning like blue fire, glinted with a sharpness that cut through the dim light. There was something in his gaze that was both haunting and intense, as though he had been touched by something beyond this world. His path was not one of peace, but of revenge.

As the figures drew closer, the sky above began to darken. The raven circling the older figure let out a sharp cry, and in an instant, a bolt of lightning struck down from the heavens, splitting the sky in two. The older figure stumbled, his cloak billowing around him, and fell to the ground. A cloud of shadow seemed to rise from the earth, swirling around him, until he was lost within it. The raven disappeared into the night, and the storm that had raged above seemed to swallow him whole.

But then, the second figure—the one with the burning blue eyes—stood tall, his face drawn in a fierce expression of grief and anger. He lifted his arms to the sky, and a great thunderclap followed, shaking the earth beneath her feet. He called out, his voice full of pain and rage, but also a powerful resolve. The sky above him seemed to tremble, as though the very heavens themselves were answering his cry. The storm intensified, lightning flashing with increasing frequency, each strike illuminating his face, now set in a mask of vengeance.

The power of the storm—the grief in his eyes—struck something deep within her, even if she could not quite understand the reason. She wanted to reach out, but the storm raged too fiercely, and the dream began to fade, pulling her back into the dark void. Her eyes shot open, and she realized she had been crying.

******

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[undiscovered-horizon]

"She is not a bird" - Hvitserk x Reader

SUMMARY: In Eddas, every great warrior falls in love with a Valkyrie - a winged goddess equally beautiful and imposing. Hvitserk finds his after a battle as she's stitching wounds and bringing comfort to those who will not see another dawn.

WORDCOUNT: ~ 2k

In a colourful dress, she busses around, Time and time she turns her head, gives a smile, You could swear you saw her wings yesterday, How she hid them under the dress, But she’s not a bird, Can’t you see? She is not a bird.

Hvitserk has no interest in medicine or healing. Despite that, he has found himself watching one of the healers as she’s running back and forth between beds. She’s been at it for hours now and Hvitserk begins to wonder how come she’s not tired yet. Her feet and hands are equally quick as they had been when they arrived at the camp after the battle. The mesmerising glint in her eyes, something between curiosity and adoration, is still just as bright. Whenever one of the wounded warriors wants to talk to her, she sits at the edge of their bed. Her head nods gently before her lips curl into a reassuring smile and she says something in return. Maybe she’ll even chuckle at something. From where he’s standing, Hvitserk can’t make out her words but he can quite clearly see the faces of the people she’s talking to and it makes his curiosity consume him entirely to know what words turn agony into peace.

Lost in his own thoughts, the young Viking doesn’t notice jarl Friedgeir approaching him. 

“Enchanting, isn’t she?” he asks with a smirk. He’s seen this scenario one too many times to have any doubts about what Hvitserk is thinking about. Friedgeir himself has been in that very same position before.

Friedgeir Esrason is nimble for his age. White and silver hair circles his tired face like a halo. Sun-damaged skin makes him appear even older, although fuller of life. It’s a testimony of long days spent on adventures, seeing what the world has to offer. Despite nearing grandfather’s age, his torso is broad and his arms are about the size of a shieldmaiden’s thigh. Brass bracelets clink every time he moves his hands. The purple material of his tunic is clearly worn out, tearing in places of the most friction.

“She is,” Hvitserk admits.

Jarl puts his heavy hand on Hvitserk’s shoulder. For a moment, the young warrior wonders if Friedgeir could actually crush his bones should he squeeze his fingers a little tighter. 

“Can I entrust a secret to you, son of Ragnar?” Friedgeir asks in a low tone. His grey eyes look around the two of them as though expecting to find a prying set of ears. Everyone besides them appeared too preoccupied with their own duties and worries to care about the gossip shared between the Jarl and the famous Lothbrok boy.

Hvitserk looks at the older man with a frown.

“My brothers and I have risked our lives for your cause, Jarl Friedgeir,” he reminds the ruler. “I have no interest in breaking your trust. You know that already.”

“Good.” Friedgeir pats Hvitserk’s shoulder. He must be unaware of his strength as the gentle slaps are actually quite forceful, making Hvitserk answer his own question about crushing bones. Friedgeir can definitely turn someone’s skeleton into dust with a squeeze. “My wife mustn’t ever hear what I’m about to tell you. That girl…” he makes a pause and points his finger at the healer, “I think she might be a bird.”

Taken aback, Hvitserk looks up and down the Jarl.

“Did the Swedes hit you on the head?” he asks half-heartedly.

“I wish it was that. But no.” Friedgeir laughs bitterly and shakes his head. A shadow of melancholy flies past his sun-damaged face only to reside inside his silver eyes as a teary glint. “I always knew there was something strange about her but I came to understanding only after seeing the great viziers of the East and their pets locked in golden cages.”

Hvitserk glances towards the healer. His eyes follow her like hawk in hopes of some enlightenment that would make Friedgeir’s words clearer to him. Alas, she appears as she did before - enticing and human.

He shakes his head.

“I don’t understand.”

The Jarl lets out a sigh.

“Just look, dear Hvitserk. See the colourful dress like a parrot’s feathers.” Hvitserk has never heard of something called a parrot, so he is left to assume that they must look nothing like the birds in Norway. “And look at men’s faces when she talks to them. Pain and suffering change into hope and peace. The only time I’ve seen that was when one of the viziers asked his angry guests to listen to his oriole singing. After an hour, no one remembered what they were fighting about.”

Time as if slows down as Hvitserk is watching the healer sit on the edge of a cot belonging to a dying man. She holds his hand tightly and tirelessly wipes cold sweat from his forehead. The warrior is stuttering, fever and pain making his wants incomprehensible. The woman sitting beside him only nods her head, offering a warm smile and a short response. Soon, the man falls limp. His eyes turn blank as his head rolls lifelessly to the side. The healer squeezes the corpse’s hand and only then gets up to continue her work. A pair of healthy warriors wrap up the body in blankets only to carry it away, to the place where a great pyre will burn after nightfall.

Hvitserk is more intelligent than the jarl. More perceptive. He’s seen geese flying southwards when winter was coming, only to come back after snow thaws. But not her - she stayed until the warriors’ skin turned cold and grey. Let go of dead hands only after the heart stopped, never earlier.

“She’s not a bird,” the young Lothbrok speaks up. Friedgeir looks at him curiously. “Can’t you see?” he asks with a chuckle on his tongue. “She must be a Valkyrie, leading fallen warriors to the gates of Odin's hall.”

The Jarl only nods slowly, pondering Hvitserk’s words. 

“If she is, perhaps death isn’t a too high price to be by her side.”

But he’s too young to be this patient and Hvitserk has to find a reason to be beside her now.

You’re taken aback when someone suddenly takes the wooden crate from your hands. The unexpected helper reveals himself to be none other but Hvitserk with a playful grin on his face. Despite giving all he could in the battle, just hours prior, he appears to still be vigorous as though the fight was a mere warm-up.

The man puts the heavy crate on his shoulder, securing it with one arm. What has given you backpain and cold sweat, seems like no chore to him. The Ragnarsons really are a different strain.

“Where do you want this?” he asks casually.

“At the pyre.” You point in the vague direction of where the bodies will be burned. “Illness thrives within the old, used dressings.”

Hvitserk begins wandering to the place you have pointed out and, not sure why, you begin to follow him. His strides are long and sure, his breathing calm and steady. He hardly fits the image of a man who had to fight like a rabid dog to survive just earlier that day.

“Are you not tired afer the battle?” you ask him. Confusion slips past your words.

“I am.” Hvitserk glances at you. It’s a quick look but you manage to notice him staring you up and down. “But I thought you might need help. You’ve been tending to the wounded for hours.”

A melodic, light chuckle escapes your lips.

“You’ve been watching me?”

His playful half-grin turns into a genuine smile. Staring at the road ahead, he almost looks bashful.

“I have a habit of admiring enticing things,” Hvitserks admits.

You feel your cheeks burning at the nonchalant compliment but you don’t let him notice that. Neither do you let his sweet words distract you.

“Then you must lead a busy, beautiful life.”

The man’s voice seems faraway and absent as he answers, as though his mind is suddenly occupied with vivid daydreams:

“Not yet.”

The noise of the camp is inaudible now. Only pine trees and wild berries accompany Hvitserk and you. A murder of crows suddenly takes flight as you pass by. Their cawing echoes through the empty forest.

You can’t quite put a finger on this sensation but something about Hvitserk makes you feel warm and calm inside. It’s the same feeling one experiences when sitting in front of a warm hearth after spending long hours in the cold. When the blood begins flowing again and the relief of not freezing to death is forgotten, the warmth and safety make one sleepy and giddy. But how can a man make you feel the same as a fireplace on a cold night?

Hvitserk sets the crate down with a low thud. The sound shakes you awake from your thoughts. A strong, putrid smell of blood, fresh wood and animal fat fills your nostrils. Even after all those years, it never gets easier to prepare people for their final journey.

“Thank you,” you begin awkwardly. Some more anxious part of you is suddenly terrified that he will somehow learn of your thoughts about him. “I don’t know if I could have carried it by myself all the way here.”

His lips curve into a sly grin and you can tell he’s about to weave a string of charming words but something about him distracts you instantly. Hvitserk’s shirt, once greyish-beige, is now brown and crimson. Not thinking much, you suddenly grab his arm. He doesn’t even get a chance to protest when you roll up his sleeve to reveal a, re-opened wound.

“Your hand is bleeding,” you state.

Hvitserk is unsure whether your stern gaze scares him or excites.

“It’s nothing.”

He tries to roll his sleeve back down but you swat his arm away. Pushing down on his shoulder, you force him to sit down on the ground with you.

“Well, it’s definitely going to scar,” you say quietly as you inspect the deep cut in his skin. “But the good news is, some women like men with scars. I know I do.”

You take out a sewing needle made from animal bone. For practicality, you’re used to wearing it pinned somewhere in your clothing. After all, one can never know when they might need it like when a handsome, charming Viking suddenly needs his wound stitched. Gods work in mysterious ways, truly…

A drop of blood drips from the wound each time you push the needle through the pale skin. Hvitserk is impressively collected - he only grunts a few times and clenches his teeth. 

“All done,” you whisper more to yourself than him. In a quick, mechanical manner you wipe the skin of his arm again and roll down the sleeve of his shirt. 

You’re standing up when Hvitserk decides he’s not quite done being the apple of your eye:

“How hurt does a man have to be for you to stay around longer?”

As though he didn’t just get stabbed eigh times in his cut and bruised arm, he’s staring at you with than same insufferable mischieviousness that you’ve grown to love so much. Sometimes you wonder whether this is exactly the reason he’s never had trouble charming women.

“A broken rib would do it,” you say with a shrug. “Or you could just ask.”

Suddenly, Hvitserk jumps to his feet. A newfound fire is burning inside him - a flame known only to those, whose affections are returned.

“Please?”

Jokingly, you frown at him.

“I didn’t know the Lothbroks knew such words,” you say in a surprised tone.

You feel his fingers dragging up your arm until his palm gently brushes against your cheek. The skin of his hand is dry and calloused, standing in a stark opposition to its owner.

“We hold it for special occasions.” Hvitserk’s voice is low, almost raspy.

“And me standing here is somehow special?”

“You don’t even know,” he whispers. His breath is hot against your cheeks. But how can a man make you feel the same as a fireplace on a cold night?

“Then tell me.”

At that moment, he knows he will have his entire life to remind you just how special you are to him; he will have his whole saga to love a Valkyrie.

[aneurins-barnard]

MARCO ILSØ as HVITSERK VIKINGS 5.02 The Departed