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istorkyou · 2 years ago

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A Thousand Battles (A Modern Ivar AU)

A modern!Ivar x F OC (Julietta Lothbrok)

Warnings - violence between male and female, guns, angst, mentions of death.

Tag List - Let me know if you want on or off :)@smears-and-spots @punkrocknpearls @youbloodymadgenius @momowhoo @zuxiezendler @not-another-viking-fanfic-blog @ivar-s-my-brat-tamer @pieces-by-me @heavenly1927 @berryonasummerevening @synnersaint @out-of-the-box-and-into-alchemy @petite-hime @serasvictoria @mimiiinspace @itsmysticalmystery @lonewolf471 @mylifeisactuallyamess @draculasbride-blog @love-all-things-writing @southernbe @redhead7799 @kaybee87 @ivarlover @ivarhoegh @idgafiamallthefandoms @darkphoenix5037 @profoundtyrantharmony @snarling-through-our-smiles @crazyunsexycool @xceafh @noway4u @batmandallyboy @complicatedbutrare @readsalot73 @meandmycherrytree

Masterlist

Chapter 13

The sun rises. It rises over the night of screaming, the violence, the tears and the blood and the bruises.

She has said all she can. Explained her old self as best she can to the man she loves. The man she spent a year betraying. The man who was nothing more than her mission in the beginning.

He’s worked out his disbelief, his anger, his despair and his sheer, unadulterated pain at her betrayal on her. She is battered and bloodied and still as sorry as she was when she learned her own truth.

Some part of him knows that she has allowed him to do this to her. That if she really wanted to she could have stopped him with one raised fist, an expertly directed kick, even one well placed word. But she has allowed him to take out everything she believes she deserves in her body. Between each blow telling him that she loves him and how sorry she is for the actions of the woman she was, the actions of a woman who didn’t know him yet. Who didn’t know his true nature and how he could be on the inside. The actions of a puppet used by the manipulative father she met in her deep grief.

He walks away from her, crumpled in a heap on the kitchen tiles, face swollen from his fists, cuts seeping her life blood.

She thinks about fleeing. She could. He’s been careful to not break any of her bones, she could walk to one of the cars now and leave the estate, make her way back to Lev. Her father. For what though? The only person on the whole planet she cares about is in a bathroom down the hall.

If she is to die here, so be it. She will die looking into the face of the man she betrayed.

The man she loves.

She hears his steps on the tiles and looks up to see him holding cotton wool and a bottle of antiseptic.

“Up you get, Liet. I will clean you up,” he says as he holds his hands out to her. She takes his hand in her own and allows him to guide her to the squishy sofas she’s always loved.

He cleans her face, the cuts he has left and places an ice pack on her lip.

“My love. What am I going to do with you?” he asks softly as he wipes the blood from her elbows.

She swallows thickly as her heavy eyelids allow her eyes to meet his face for just a second. She knows he is surveying her face, looking at the damage he has rightly inflicted on her. She lets her tongue to slide along her bottom lip, gathering the fresh follow of crimson and loosening the dried flakes caked on already

“Kill me I would imagine.” She doesn’t let her eyes meet his now, she just takes the clean up kit from his hands and starts to wipe his bloodied knuckles clean. She cleans up the scratch marks in his forearms left behind from her nails and sets the kit on the coffee table. Only then does she allow herself to look at him, the look of regret, of sadness, of pure inevitability is over his feature.

“Don't feel guilty. It is no more than the old me deserves my love. I have told you everything I gave them. My love, please, please believe me. I fell in love with you before I lost my memory. I told them I wasn’t doing it any more, that I was in love with you and that’s why Lev did it.” She sees his face, shocked. “It was Lev, Ivar. He was behind the wheel. Before, he would ask me to meet him at the gym and I would give him anything I had gleaned. Until I admitted to myself I was in love with you. I gave them nothing of merit after, I promise. Just enough to keep them off my back, nothing that would hurt you or the family. Nothing of any substance for a long time before the accident. The day I told him I was finished with them was the day of my accident. He drove his car into me as I left the gym.”

“Lev? The man you were with? The man who trained you? The man at the gala whose hands were over you in front of everyone? The man who you fucked behind my back?”

“Ivar. Please.”

“Was it that man?” he screams at her.

“For fucks sake, if you want to boil it down to the bare goddamn bones then yes, it was that man! But if you would listen to me and accept my explanation it would be better!” She has ripped a healing cut on the side of her mouth open with her shouting. He dabs at it with a cotton ball and it stings.

“I did what I was trained to do. I had a normal life before my parents died and I found out about Oleg. He used me, manipulated me when I was deep in grief, used my vulnerability to gaslight me into doing what he wanted. Lev manipulated me as well. I’m not totally blame free, I knew what I was doing was wrong, obviously I did, but I justified it to myself that I was doing it out of love, that I was protecting my new family. It wasn’t until I met you, got to know you that I realised what real love looked like. I hate myself for what I did to you and your family. I deserve nothing less than what you will do to me, Ivar.”

“Have you fucked him since we got married? Have you fucked him since the accident? Don’t you fucking lie to me!” He grabs her shoulder, pushing his thumb hard on a wound.

She cries out in pain. “No! I promise. Not since way before the wedding. I made excuses.”

She watches as he covers his face, digging his fingers into his forehead, dragging them down his face leaving red lines on his skin. He looks at her, first with sadness on his face but it very quickly turns into rage, unadulterated anger at her again and he shifts towards her, his hand around her throat, his other hand raised behind his head in a fist, knuckles white. He hesitates when she makes a frightened squeak, seeing tears slip from her eyes again.

She scrunches her eyes shut, waiting for the impact, waiting for more split skin, the bones of her nose to be broken by his fists, but it doesn’t come, neither does oxygen into her body as he squeezes her throat tighter. Her eyes open to find his brimmed with tears and she knows this is the end. She is looking into the eyes of her murderer, the person who will send her to hell, even with this realisation she can’t help but try and smile at him, try to let him know that she understands his actions, that she doesn’t blame him.

She chokes out as best she can with his hands restricting her. “Sorry.. love you.” Her vision darkens as the lack of oxygen starts to shut her down, her heart starts to slow, a fraction but she can feel it. She knows, mercifully, she will be unconscious before death takes her. She feels the pressure in her eyeballs, and with that pressure comes a change in Ivar’s face, a fear, a realisation that removes his hands from her throat and allows sweet, sweet breath back into her windpipe, inflating her lungs, allowing oxygen to flow into her bloodstream, travelling to her heart, her brain, causing her to cough and suck in as many breaths as she can. She falls forward when his hands leave her, only to feel them on her back, rubbing circles gently.

“Baby, why did you have to do this?! I love you so much and now I’m without a choice! Ragnar will never allow you to…. It's your fault some of our best men, our allies, are dead. Why so many of our deals went south. Oh god, Liet! The family will make you suffer! I can’t stop that.” The next noise that leaves him is so devastating that she sobs. He screams up at the ceiling, anger, frustration, all the betrayal and the inevitability of his own impending grief spill out of him, travelling throughout the house like a poisonous gas, sent to kill them both.

She crawls to him, leaving bloody marks all over their beautiful sofa, until she is close enough to pull his head to her chest, feeling his tear soak into her skin, his pain wash over her, pulling her under, the guilt of her own betrayal rising bile in her throat.

“I was a different person, not me. Not your Liet, I can’t explain it any better than I have. I stopped betraying you as soon as I admitted to myself how I felt about you. When I felt safe away from them.They threatened to kill you in front of me then torture me to death if I didn’t do it. You are the only man I’ve ever loved, I didn’t know the meaning of it until I met you. I’ve loved you with my whole heart and soul, before and after the accident. I know I won’t survive this, Ivar. I know that. You need to understand that I have come to terms with it. When I found out who I was, what I did when I was Etta, my absolute betrayal of you, my soul died anyway. I’ve been empty ever since, only surviving because of all that you give me, like a disgusting parasite.”

No sooner do the words leave her mouth then he claps his hands over it. “Never, ever speak about yourself in such a manner to me. You are no parasite, you are the my soulmate, my one and only. Forever. I need to speak to my Father.”

He lessens the grip on her mouth. “I have a book that you can give him. It has every detail I ever have over to my father. Dates, people. It’s in Russian but I have translated it. The phone I used will support the dates. They are hidden behind the black, studded Louboutins, the ones with the red soles. Show him everything.”

He leaves her on the couch, she slumps back onto the pillows allowing a moment's rest as he searches for her evidence. When he comes back with it in his hand he stares at her for a long time. “Liet, I am going to show my father this. Do I need to secure you to something? Handcuff you? Get someone to watch you? I am asking you if you will run.”

She sighs deeply and starts to cry. “I won’t run. I’ve nowhere to run. You are all that matters in my life. If I’m not with you I might as well be dead anyway.”

He rushes to her, he throws himself in her, forcing his arms behind her shoulder and neck and pulls her tight to him. She can feel him breathing her in, trying to commit her smell to memory, in case this will be the last time. He untangles himself as his tears drop onto her skin like summer rainfall, running down her skin, leaving their mark on her. He doesn’t meet her eyes as he turns from her to leave. She makes no fuss.

As the front door slams she rises from the sofa, pushes the exterior lights on and walks to the pool. It’s cold out, but the vapour rising off the pool, being blown into the atmosphere by the cool northwest wind invites her. She strips naked and walks into the pool by the sloping steps. She sits, submerged to her shoulders, watching the illuminated water turn pink from the blood seeping from her wounds, but she cares not. The warm water envelops her, soothing her like the baths her mother ran for her as a child. She shakes the memory of the times her and Lev spent in the tub at her fathers estate, him cleaning wounds he inflicted on her during her training. This is different. The wounds she has now are deserved and she should absolutely feel the sting of chlorine in each and everyone one of them.

Her legs float in front and lies flat, treading water, looking up at the clear, star strewn sky. Like a black canopy dotted with holes.

Her last night on this earth.

Julietta feels no fear at all, only a deep anguish at forcing her husband's hand into killing her. Forcing her wonderful Ivar to use his nature against her.

She knows it will be the death of him eventually and it is this that makes her scream into the black of the night, her voice scaring the birds from the trees, reaching out into the universe, an agony heard by whatever dwells above and beyond.

“Liet,” Ivar’s voice interrupts her. She’s been in the pool for a long time without realising, her hands and feet are crinkly and the whole pool has a pink hue from her wounds. “Come out, love.” As she does as he says he wraps her in a towel and takes her to bed.

“Father has the information. No decision will be made tonight. We can rest easy.” He dries her off and tucks her into their bed before taking off his clothes and joining her. “I will clean you up properly tomorrow. I’ve got strong painkillers should you need them. Sleep now.”

She is too exhausted to ask any questions, she simply moves into his body, tucking herself into him and falls asleep when his arms pull her closer.

——————————————

He wakes in the morning to her hands over him, all perfect in his head before the memories start and the dead heart that only beats for her drops into his stomach. He remembers his father's words.

“She is your responsibility, Ivar. She is yours to deal with. I don’t need to tell you what needs to be done. You are shrewd enough to have known the very moment she disclosed herself to you. How you choose to do it is yours and yours alone.”

Ivar doesn’t even try to reason. There is no reasoning, he knows the only outcome. He says nothing about how grateful he is his father is allowing it to be him and not going full tilt, sending in mercenaries to deal with it. As Ivar turns to leave, Ragnar's voice stops him.

“She loves you, Ivar, but she cannot be trusted. Unlimited time is not available to you. Get it done. Keep me informed. No one will bother you in the estate. Got it?” Ivar nods tightly and heads back to her

He sleeps surprisingly well, her scent breaking through the swimming pool smell on her skin, soothing him. When he wakes fully she is over him, straddling his lap. He runs his hands over her perfect body, a body covered in old scars and wounds yet to mature into scars. She will always be the most beautiful woman he has ever seen, even battered and bruised. He watches tears fall from her eyes so he grabs at her, pulling her down on top of him and wraps his arms around her back, rubbing soothingly, until her sobs subside.

“We are going to go on holiday, you and I. We will go away for a week and allow ourselves to pretend none of this happened. Just be us again, carefree like in Sardinia. One week.”

She sits up and a smile graces her face. “One week.”

His face turns very stern all of sudden. “Julietta, do not use this opportunity to try and run, promise me baby? If you love me like you say you do…”

“I promise, Ivar. I promise.”

—————————————————

He manages to get them both off the estate and to the airfield where the private jet he chartered is waiting before he calls his father.

“Ivar.” Ragnar's voice is full of irritation.

“Father. One week. I will be home in one week. Alone.”

“Son, there will be severe consequences if this is your veiled attempt at setting her free. If she manages to get away I will not be pleased and I will send a force out to get her. Do not let her play you again.”

“Father. She loves me, this whole time hasn’t been her playing me. She loves me. I need this time with her. Once she is gone I will never be the same again. She won’t try to escape. One week with my wife then I will come home alone.”

Ragnar sighs audibly. “Okay. Ivar? When this is all done I will help you get through it. Okay son?”

——————————

Six days spent in paradise together, like honeymooners. They talk for hours, she tells him every detail of herself, how she met Oleg, Lev, her training. She tells him how she started to fall for him in Sardinia and why she had to turn cold, it was to save them both from Lev.

They both do a stellar job of ignoring the impending seventh day, but it comes quickly regardless.

She hears the safety of the gun click behind her, close to her head. She closes her eyes, and tucks some hair behind her ears.

Here it is then.

The end.

She had come to terms with it until two days ago and now she can’t allow it to happen. She needs to disarm him quickly, minimal fuss.

“Liet. Turn around.”

The click of the gun was a fraction to her right so she knows that’s the way to go. She catches him off guard as she leans forward quickly, spins on her right foot towards him landing her elbow into his ribs and grabbing his outstretched arm with the gun in it with her left hand. The gun goes off and a bullet ricochets into the rafters before she manages to jut the heel of her hand up onto his nose, taking advantage of his loss of balance she manages to get the gun. She stands, legs apart with the gun pointed at his head now.

Through the pain in his nose, through the tears caused by her punch he registers what he is seeing.

“I’m sorry, Ivar. I hate to see you in pain, sorry about your nose love.”

Ivar let’s out a huff of laughter. “It’s okay baby, I get it. You are so quick, I didn’t have any idea you were going to do that. Very impressive.”

“Thanks, baby! I thought I was rusty but it went quite smoothly.” She flashes him a smile of pride.

“So, are you going to kill me, Julietta?” He tilts his head to the side taking in her facial expression and he sees the tears form in her eyes.

“I could never do that to you, my love.”

“Ok. So what’s the plan? You are going to knock me out, escape? Even though you swore to me you wouldn’t?”

She nods her head slowly and regretful, “That’s the plan, baby. I’m going to have to break one of your legs so you can’t alert anyone and I’m so sorry about that love. I will make it clean so it heals quickly and neatly. I will knock you out first though.” She watches his hand go for his pocket. “No point, love. I took your phone earlier.” She says sadly. “Go and sit in that chair.” She points to one of the kitchen chairs and as he moves slowly, the gun in her hand still trained on him, she reaches into the sofa cushions and pulls out a length of rope.

He looks at it then back to her, as he sits heavily. He nods his head in realisation, “So you were always planning on betraying me again.”

“Oh, Ivar,” her eyes full with tears, “I wasn’t going to. I was going to disarm you and shoot myself to save you from having to do it, but something changed and now I need to escape. I hate it, I hate having to do this and hurt you again, but this is bigger than us now, I am doing this for both of us. One day you will understand.” Her eyes are pleading with him and he crosses his arms behind the chair letting her tie him to it. She weaves it through his legs and does it in a complicated knot that tightens the more it’s pulled on. “Try not to struggle too much, the rope will tighten if you do.” He tests it and she’s right. “Thanks for letting me do that with no fuss, love.”

She walks around in front of him and settles on her knees, arms resting across his legs. “I hate this. I’m so fucking angry at the way we met! I wish we were just two normal people who fell in love and can live happily ever after but that just isn’t in the cards for us. Neither of our fathers would allow me to live, no matter how much we both want it. It’s just so fucking unfair.

Ivar tips his head down to survey her face. It’s Liet, not Etta. She is being honest with him and he softens immediately. “It is unfair. We would have grown old together, love. But it is what it is. Come up here and give me a kiss.” She knows she’s done the knots well, there is no way he can get loose, so she does what he asks, she rises up and kisses him like it’s the last time.

Because it is the last time.

When they break apart they are both crying, she wipes his tears and then her own.

“So,” Ivar shakes his head a little, back to work mode, “the plan is you are going to knock me out, break my leg, escape somehow and then what? Where will you go?” He gives her a cheeky smile when he sees her raised eyebrows and a small chuckle leaves him. “Worth a try, hey love! You know we won’t stop until we find you, you know that baby?”

“I know. Ivar, do me a favour when you get home. Kill Lev for me. Make it hurt.” Waiting for his answer she strokes his face. “Make him hurt like he hurt me.”

“Done.”

“Okay. I don’t think there’s anything we can say. This is it I suppose. I love you. I will always love you. I will always be sorry and I will love you until my dying breath. I will find you in the next life, I promise you..” her voice cracks and she stands up in front of him. “Always have been the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen in my life.” She smiles.

“I love you, Liet. Always have and I always will. Until we meet again.” A thought occurs to him. “What changed, you said something changed. What?”

She doesn’t realise it but her hand flies to her stomach and when she sees the realisation in his face she grabs the gun and smashes the butt if it into his temple and his world goes black. She can only hope he doesn’t remember her unconscious movement when he wakes up.

Chapter 14

#modern ivar #ivar lothbrok #ivar ragnarsson #ivar the boneless #modern vikings #ubbe #modern!ubbe #modern!hvitserk #ivar x oc #vikings #vikings fanfiction #vikings fandom #ivar vikings #ragnar #hvitserk ragnarsson #ubbe ragnarsson #vikings ivar #ivar imagine #ivar ragnarsson x ofc

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mads-weasley · 6 months ago

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Summary: The daughter of Torstein, the loyal friend and warrior of Ragnar Lothbrok, meets Hvitserk Ragnarsson and sets a course for both of their lives that neither would ever see coming. Will it lead to ruin or salvation?

You'll have to read and find out :)

A/N: The following is a the story of Eira and Hvitserk through seasons 5b-6b. At first, there will be chapters of the main story, but as time goes on, there will be oneshots/blurbs/ect. They will be arranged chronologically on this masterlist, but they will not always be posted chronologically.

Updates on Sundays at midnight, EST!

Season 5b:

Shadows of the Gods

Prove It

Bound to Madness

Brotherly Love

Hidden Connections

The Path We Walk

The Offer

A Gentle Warrior

Cracks of Doubt

Tug of War

Breaking Point

Through the Haze

Fevered Truths

Of Gods and Choices

Simple Curiosities

Thoughts and Memories

The Cloak

Little Fox

A Moonlit Moment

In Good Hands

What Comes After

The Warmth of a Touch

Wild Child

Fire and Ice

Can't or Won't?

Into Darkness

The Cost

No Going Back

Into the Woods

Another Life

Be Alright (coming 6/15)

The Space Between (coming 6/22)

Return to Reality (coming 6/29)

The Buddha (coming 7/6)

Most Terrible Thing (coming 7/13)

The Decision (coming 7/20)

A Broken Promise (coming 7/27)

Heart in Motion (coming 8/3)

Goodbye for Now (coming 8/10)

Ringerike (coming 8/17)

If I finish writing the story before these are set to publish, I'll publish one every few days!

More are on the way!

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mrsalwayswrite · 2 months ago

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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!

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32 notes · View notes

ealdormanink · 6 months ago

Note

Can you write one with Ivar? ❤️

Reader is daughter of King Harald and shes friends and in love with Ivar and she has to marry one of the Ragnarssons and they all want her and she ofc chooses Ivar and he cant believe it.

Written in the Stars

Ivar the boneless x female reader!

A/N: thank you for this request! I hope you like it!!

King Harald's fleet's sails cast long shadows over Kattegat's iron-grey waters. Y/N's fingers traced the wooden railing of her father's ship, her eyes fixed on the approaching shoreline. The familiar silhouettes of the great hall and the busy docks stirred memories that made her heart flutter against her ribs.

The salty breeze carried whispers of past winters spent poring over maps by candlelight, of shared laughter echoing through empty halls when everyone else had retired, of piercing blue eyes that saw her - truly saw her - for who she was.

"The winds have favored us." Harald's voice broke through the symphony of creaking wood and splashing waves. Y/N's fingers stilled on the railing, though she couldn't quite suppress the way her lips curved upward.

Through the morning mist, familiar figures emerged on the docks. There, among his brothers, sat Ivar in his chariot. Even from this distance, the intensity of his gaze sent a shiver down her spine. Their eyes met across the narrowing stretch of water, and five years of friendship hung in the space between them.

The ship's bow cut through the last few meters of fjord. As they docked, Ubbe's voice carried across the harbor, "Welcome to Kattegat, King Harald." His eyes lingered on Y/N, calculating and considering in a way that made her spine stiffen.

Hvitserk stepped forward, extending his hand to help her onto the dock. "Princess Y/N." His smile was warm, practiced. "The gods have blessed us with your return."

The wooden planks creaked under her boots as she accepted his assistance, but her attention was drawn to the subtle shift in Ivar's posture, the way his knuckles whitened around the edge of his chariot.

"The journey must have been tiring." Ivar's voice cut through the pleasantries like a blade through silk. His eyes hadn't left her face since she'd first appeared on deck. "Perhaps the princess would prefer to rest before tonight's festivities."

"Always so concerned, brother." Sigurd's words dripped with mockery. "Or perhaps you're simply eager to monopolize her time, as usual?"

Y/N's fingers unconsciously found the silver pendant at her throat - a gift from Ivar, carved with runes they'd deciphered together during one of their many late-night conversations. Those nights when they'd abandon the noise of the great hall, finding solace in ancient sagas and battle strategies that only they seemed to understand.

The great hall buzzed with activity as servants prepared for the evening's feast. Y/N's chambers overlooked the main square, where memories lingered in every corner. Her fingers traced the windowsill where, years ago, she'd first found Ivar alone, poring over his father's old maps.

"Your form is wrong." The echo of her younger self's voice played in her mind. She'd corrected his interpretation of the English coastline that day, earning not his usual sharp retort, but a look of genuine surprise. That was the first time he'd smiled at her - really smiled.

A knock at the door pulled her from the memory. Astrid, one of the servants, entered with fresh water.

"The sons of Ragnar are asking after you, Princess." Astrid's eyes sparkled with barely contained excitement. "All of them."

The weight of unspoken words hung in the air. Everyone knew why Harald had brought his daughter to Kattegat this time. Alliances needed to be strengthened, and marriage was the surest way.

Y/N's feet carried her to the courtyard, where she found Ubbe first. He stood tall, every inch the eldest brother, watching the training grounds with calculated interest.

"You've grown more beautiful since we last met." His voice was diplomatic, measured. He stepped closer, close enough for her to see the political ambition in his eyes. "A union between us would bring great strength to both our people."

Before she could respond, Hvitserk appeared, twirling a knife between his fingers. "Brother, you sound like you're negotiating a trade deal." His easy smile didn't quite mask the hunger in his gaze. "Our princess deserves poetry, not politics."

Y/N's eyes drifted past them both, landing on the familiar figure by the weapons rack. Ivar sat cleaning his axe - the same one she'd helped him choose three winters ago. His movements were precise, following the pattern she'd shown him: three strokes down, one across, just as her mother had taught her.

"Still pining after the cripple?" Sigurd's voice slithered from behind her. "You could have any of us, yet you waste your time with him."

The familiar surge of protective anger rose in her chest, but before she could speak, Ivar's axe embedded itself in the post beside Sigurd's head.

"Your aim is improving," Y/N said, the words falling naturally from her lips, an old joke between them. "Though you're still pulling slightly to the left."

"Perhaps I need another lesson." Ivar's eyes met hers, and for a moment, they were back in that first winter, when she'd spent hours helping him adjust his throwing technique, never once mentioning his legs, focusing only on his strength.

The feast hall glowed with firelight, casting dancing shadows across faces both familiar and strange. Y/N sat at the high table, her father's words still ringing in her ears: "You must choose one of Ragnar's sons before the next full moon."

Her eyes drifted across the hall, watching the brothers in turn. Ubbe stood among the warriors, every gesture calculated to display his leadership. Hvitserk charmed a group of shield-maidens, though his gaze kept finding its way back to her. Sigurd strummed his oud, his song carrying notes of barely concealed mockery.

And Ivar... Ivar sat in his usual corner, away from the crowds, his fingers tracing the rim of his cup. The same spot where they'd spent countless evenings discussing everything from battle tactics to the gods themselves.

"Do you remember," his voice caught her off guard as she approached his table, drawn to him as always, "the night you taught me about the stars?"

How could she forget? They'd stayed up until dawn, her finger pointing out constellations while he told her the stories behind each one. She'd never told him that she'd already known them all - she'd just wanted to hear his voice, to see the way his eyes lit up when he spoke of the gods.

"You were a terrible student," she teased, sliding onto the bench beside him. The familiar scent of leather and metal wrapped around her like an old blanket. "You kept making up new constellations."

"And you kept believing them." His smile, rare and genuine, made her heart stutter. "Until you realized I was describing shapes that looked like Sigurd falling off a horse."

A comfortable silence fell between them, filled with years of shared moments and unspoken words. Around them, the feast continued, but they existed in their own world, just as they always had.

"They're all watching you," Ivar said finally, his voice tight. "My brothers. They all want you."

"Let them watch." Her fingers found the edge of the table, inches from his. "They don't see me the way you do."

"And how do I see you?" His question came out barely above a whisper, vulnerable in a way only she was allowed to witness.

"Like I'm more than just Harald's daughter. Like I'm..." She paused, remembering all the times he'd challenged her mind, valued her opinions, trusted her judgment. "Like I'm me."

The firelight caught the silver of his arm ring - the one she'd helped him forge two summers ago, their fingers working the metal together as she'd steadied his hand.

The moment of choice arrived with the rising moon. The great hall fell silent as Y/N stood before the assembled crowd, her father's expectant gaze heavy upon her shoulders. Four brothers stood before her, four possible futures stretched out like paths in the darkness.

Ubbe stepped forward first, ever the diplomat. "Choose wisely, Princess. The future of our peoples rests upon this decision." His words echoed against the wooden walls, practiced and perfect.

Hvitserk offered her a playful wink. "Choose with your heart, not your head." His charm sparkled like sunlight on water, beautiful but fleeting.

Sigurd simply smirked, his fingers still wrapped around his oud. "Though some choices," his eyes flickered to Ivar, "might be less... conventional than others."

And Ivar... Ivar remained still, his eyes fixed on the ground. She could read the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers gripped his crutch - a gesture she'd learned meant he was preparing himself for disappointment.

Y/N's feet carried her forward, past Ubbe's calculated smile, past Hvitserk's outstretched hand, past Sigurd's mocking gaze. She stopped before Ivar, close enough to see the subtle tremor in his hands.

"I choose Ivar Ragnarsson," her voice rang clear through the hall. "I choose the man who saw me as an equal before he saw me as a princess."

Ivar's head snapped up, disbelief warring with hope in his ice-blue eyes. "You can't," he whispered, for her ears alone. "You deserve someone who can-"

"I deserve someone who challenges my mind," she cut him off, her hand finding his cheek. "Someone who values my thoughts as much as my title. Someone who taught me to read the stars, even while making up constellations to make me laugh."

The hall erupted in murmurs, but Y/N heard only the sharp intake of Ivar's breath. His free hand found hers, trembling slightly.

"You've always been my choice," she continued, soft enough that only he could hear. "Since that first day when you argued with me about the English coastline. Since every night we spent planning battles and reading sagas. Since every moment you saw me for who I am, not who I was born to be."

"But I'm-" he started.

"You're Ivar," she said simply. "My Ivar. The only one who's ever matched me, challenged me, understood me. The only one I could ever choose."

Slowly, like dawn breaking over the horizon, a smile spread across Ivar's face - not his usual smirk, but the real smile she'd come to treasure. His fingers tightened around hers, and in that moment, they were back in every shared laugh, every quiet conversation, every silent understanding that had led them here.

"The gods themselves couldn't have given me a greater gift," he whispered, and Y/N saw in his eyes the same truth she'd known all along - that some choices are made long before they're spoken aloud, written in the stars they'd watched together all those nights ago.

#ivar the boneless x reader #ivar the boneless #oneshot #ragnar lothbrok #vikings #vikings x reader #x reader #halfdan the black #the last kingdom #finan #romance

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istorkyou · 2 years ago

Text

A Thousand Battles (Modern Ivar AU)

A modern!Ivar x F OC (Julietta Lothbrok)

Warnings - Gun and knife violence, death, language, alcohol use.

Synopsis - Julietta wakes up with no memory of her life or her husband, Ivar. Will it ever return? Does she want it to?

Word Count-

Masterlist

Chapter 12

“Baby? Where are you?” Ivar bellows as he walks through the door. He has had an amazing day business wise. Legitimate deals made, lots of money, lots of real estate acquired, a great day for The Lothbroks and he is in the best mood he’s been in for a long while.

“I’m in the studio.”

He hurries to her. “Baby, get your fine ass ready, we are going out tonight!” He nudges her off her stool and smacks her ass lightly.

“Going out? Up to the main house?” The familiar flutter of dread in her stomach starts.

“Nope. I’m taking you out for a meal and then we are meeting the brothers and wives after to go dancing. Well, you will be dancing, I will be watching you like a perv on the sidelines. We had a very productive work day and we are all going out to celebrate.”

“You are joking.” But she can see from his face he isn’t joking at all. She squeals in delight at the prospect of a date, some time away from the house, just the two of them and then dancing after, she squeals again. “What shall I wear?”

“The sexiest thing you own. The more skin the better,” he grabs her face and kisses her roughly. “Hang on,” he checks his watch, “yep, we’ve got time. Get naked, I want to fuck you before we go out.”

————————

Two hours later they are sitting in a dimly lit Italian restaurant enjoying pasta, wine and the conversation, no security guards invading their privacy, Ivar instructed them to stay outside the restaurant.

Ivar can’t keep his hands off of her in her strappy, floaty, rose gold, silk dress that clings to her exactly where it should.

“I’ve got to stop eating, I’m going to pop!” she sits back giving her stomach a pat. “Any more food and I won’t be up for dancing later.”

“Oh you better dance for me, I want to see that dress on the dance floor.”

He carries on eating and she sits back watching her husband with pride. He really is beautiful to look at and she is so happy to be on his arm. The niggling thoughts threatening to drag her happiness down are pushed away quickly. Locked in the depths where they belong. Compartmentalised expertly.

She sees his eyes flit to the door and then do a double take, straightening his spine, hand disappearing under the table. As his face turns to stone her stomach drops. She doesn’t look round. She can hear a group of men, seven she thinks, enter the restaurant and sit down, demanding menus and drinks. In Russian.

Ivar observes them, getting his phone out and texting quickly.

She listens to the men, she doesn’t recognise any of the voices as anyone from her past, but she is loath to look around and check, just in case. Then their conversation changes

“Security for who? Fucking useless. Even more useless now!” The whole party erupts in laughter.

Her stomach drops to her shoes but she needs to keep herself in check.

“Are you ok, Ivar? Who did you text.”

“No one, love, nothing to worry about.” But as she watches the reply come up on his screen and she can see the absolute dissatisfaction with the words he read, his jaw ticking in annoyance.

Then she hears it.

“Look over there. Is that a Lothbrok? Is that the cripple one? Fuck, was it his security?” The first one says.

“Jesus, it is him!” The second voice offers.

The third one confirms it. “That is definitely him. Look. It is him. No mistake. Well, well…”

She breathes in deeply through her nose. They are in trouble. “Ivar. Who can get here faster? Brothers or security?

“What? Why?” He glances past her and sees them staring at him. “Hvitserk is the closest. Security isn't answering.”

“They won’t answer. Call your brother. Do it, Ivar.”

He wastes no time and Hvitserk says he is five minutes away.

“Julietta?” Ivar questions her, eyebrows drawn close. “What is it?”

She glances over her shoulder and weighs them up in less than four seconds before turning back to Ivar.

They all have weapons, three are a real threat judging by their size and visible scarring. Two are older and likely the easiest to take out and two are unknown entities. The scariest of the group, the ones to be taken down first. She couldn’t make out which of them is the leader. She knows they aren’t Olegs men. There was no hint of recognition in their faces when they looked at hers.

“Look at the whore he is with. What I would do to her body…” she hears another say. She rolls her shoulders back, loosening the muscles subtlety. The word whore always makes her blood boil. If it comes to it she will kill that one first.

“We need to get out of here, Ivar. Let’s leave, I have a bad feeling.” First thing in any situation like this one, try and leave with no confrontation.

He peers around her, weighing up the men and she reads his face like a book. Ego. Pure, unadulterated ego and surety he can take them, but as he looks back at her she sees his face change as it dawns on him the situation he is in. In his mind his vulnerable wife is with him, totally helpless. If only she could tell him that she could take out all these men and not even break a sweat. But that is not possible.

He stands up first, doing up his suit button, head tipped arrogantly watching the group, as if daring them to challenge him. When he holds his hand out she sees the faintest hint of a tremble in it and when she puts her hand in he realises it’s fear for her, because he doesn’t know her capabilities.

They only get a few feet from their table before two of the men walk to them and Ivar pulls her behind him.

“You are Ivar Lothbrok?” One asks in English and casually opens his jacket to reveal his gun.

Ivar’s eyes travel to it and back to the giant man in front of him, not changing his expression at all. He turns his face ever so slightly to the side, eyes remain on the men in front of him and he addresses her. “My love, go and sit back down at the table in the corner. This won’t take long.”

The struggle inside of her is real, a waging war of being Liet but knowing it’s Etta who is needed here, to fight at the side of her husband. Luckily, at that moment Hvitserk strides in and takes his place at his brother's side.

“Evening Brother, it seems I have impeccable timing.”

Ivar smirks before addressing Liet again. “Sit down over there, love.” She takes a step into him letting the two knives she discreetly picked up off the tables slip from behind her forearm and tucks them both into the waistband of the back of his trousers. His head swivels to her, questioning her.

She kisses his cheek before whispering into his ear. “Two knives, love. Smallest guy first. He’s the threat.”

He frowns at her but she just nods at him, confirming his understanding and walks slowly to sit down, as instructed.

His attention turns back to the group. “I am Ivar Lothbrok. You are?”

The man laughs. “I am the man responsible for your death.”

Ivar and Hvitserk look at each other and start laughing. “What are you a Bond villain? Responsible for my death,” Ivar mocks mercilessly. “You want to make a name for yourself? We all put our guns over there..” he points to the far corner of the room, “..and we settle this with fists. Two against seven. You all look like you eat your spinach, shouldn’t be too hard now should it? My wife is here, I do not want bullets flying around in the presence of my woman.”

He takes his gun out first, bends down slowly and slides it across the floor to the other side of the room. They all look at each other, rattled by Ivar’s actions. A silent agreement is arrived at and they all do the same.

She takes notes of all the guns. She knows which she will go for if needs be.

Hvitserk does the same.

“Excellent. Now we fight like men.”

Whilst they are distracted Hvitserk punches the main one, breaking his nose and Ivar does the same to the smaller man.

In the commotion she slips around the fight and picks up two of the guns, kicking the others further away.

She looks back in time to see Ivar throw Hvitserk one of the knives she stashed on him and they both drive the blades into the flesh of two of the men. One of them gets the drop on Hvitserk who is knocked unconscious. When Ivar sees Hvitserk he screams at them, blood dripping from his face. Not his own blood.

A part of her she usually keeps locked away is released as she watches her fearless husband in action. She’s never seen him fight, never seen him violent. Gods the look on his face makes her want to rip his clothes off and fuck him here and now. Her senses return as she sees five of them start to surround him, circling him like sharks sniffing out blood in the water.

As Julietta watches Ivar screaming at them to come at him she knows she has no choice. There is no outcome in this that will end in anything other than the death of her beloved.

She has to expose her secret now or Ivar dies right in front of her eyes. She knows that showing who she really is, was, is signing her own death warrant but it’s that or she watches the love of her life get beaten to death.

No contest.

“Stop!” She screams in Russian. “Enough!”

The use of Russian stops all their feet and all heads in the room fly to her.

She straightens up, shoulder back, head lifted in defiance.

“Do you know who I am?” she asks in English, chin raised haughtily and she glides across the floor to stand coming to stop between Ivar and the men.

This is Etta.

“Julietta? Get behind me. What the fuck are you doing?” Ivar tries to grab her arm but she pulls away gently, eyes still on the men. With her hand behind her back she points to her leg showing Ivar her hitched up dress, showing him the two guns tucked into two leather garter belts. As she shifts her other hand discreetly she shows him a sharp knife tucked behind her arm, the hilt sitting in her hand, all completely concealed from the men.

The air behind her moves as Ivar steps towards her, she keeps her eyes on the men.

“Liet, what is happening?” He whispers.

She ignores him and asks them again, this time in Russian. “I asked you if you know who I am? I am the daughter of Oleg and this is not a fight you want. You are not my fathers men, so who do you work for? I suggest you tell me so I know who to report your deaths to.”

They look back and forth between each other, faces painted with ridiculous confusion.

“Answer me. I asked you a simple question. Are you all to stupid to reply?” She walks slowly, side stepping along the line of men in front of her. Her gaze dragging up and down the men. “Do I need to ask you in English? You don’t understand the mother tongue?” She mocks them, walking slowly in front of them.

Their eyes follow her, mouths agape like the idiots they are.

Julietta stops in front of one of them. “You. Answer me immediately.”

The man fumbles for words. “You are not Olegs daughter. Lying bitch. And you are here with him,” gesturing to Ivar, “the son of Olegs' sworn enemy? Bullshit.”

“Ah so that is your purpose, you have decided to make a name for yourselves but trying to kill my husband and my brother in law because they are my fathers enemies?” She tuts at them, scolding them like children as she glances over at Hvitserk, his chest is moving. Alive.

One moves slightly and she quickly lets the knife slip into her hand and points it at the man. “Uh.” She says quickly. “Do not move to me. That is not a very smart move, not that I expect smart moves from people like you. You want to make names for yourself tonight? My father doesn’t want them dead, you morons,” she spits the words dismissively.

They all look at each other in confusion until one bravely pipes up. “I’m to believe you are Russian mafia royalty? That you are married to him?! You look like nothing more than a whore the disgusting cripple has to pay to be with him.”

She swings her head towards the man speaking, again calling her a whore. She wants nothing more than to press her thumbs into the man’s eyeballs and hear him scream but she gathers her patience and rolls her eyes tutting again. “Well that is not very polite is it? Now, me and my husband are going to walk out of here and you will sit your stupid asses down and be grateful you are getting out with your lives. I love to hurt men like you and will kill if needs be. Do not give me any reason to take it that far. Do not underestimate me.”

She is waiting for their new leader to step up so she knows who to take out first.

“Liet?” Ivar’s confused voice comes from behind her. “Russian?”

“Ivar, my love, I will explain everything. Just not right now.” She looks slowly at him over shoulder. “Be ready baby,” she whispers, eyes flitting down, letting him know to grab the guns stashed on her.

“You are not going anywhere,” one shouts at her in English.

He’s the new leader then.

She replies in English. “It is a shame you have chosen this path. I did not wish to get blood on my pretty gown this evening. And my husband didn’t even get to finish his meal. Terribly inconsiderate of you all,” she drawls sarcastically.

She throws the knife at his throat and it lands exactly where she means it to, straight through his larynx, at the same time she feels Ivar take both guns. She spins to the left and blocks a punch from one, landing a headbutt into his nose, breaking it. She can hear gunshots from behind her and the thud of two falling bodies.

She breaks the leg of the last man standing before her and as he drops to his knees she gets behind him, holding his neck in the crook of her elbow.

“STOP!!” She screams in Russian as she sees an enemy with his gun at the temple of Hvitserk, still unconscious on the floor. She knows Ivar is safe, only one other left and Ivar’s gun is trained on the enemy, whose hands are up in surrender.

Everyone halts.

She addresses the man with the gun on her Hvitserk. “Put it down or your brother gets his neck snapped right here, right now.” The familial genes are evident in their bone structure. She thinks she said it in Russian but Ivar’s eyes flicking from her to his brother know she spoke English by mistake. “Your English is good?” He nods once. “I play no games here. Your brother will die if my husbands brother does. Except your brother will know it, he will feel his heart slow and he will feel his neck snap. Take your gun away from my brother's head and yours will live.” Julietta threatens with absolute resolve.

He hesitates for long enough that she tightens her grip on the neck of the man on his knees, feeling the heat from the trapped blood in his face. His brother debates for less than five seconds before he holds both hands up, the gun rolling on his trigger finger.

She only has to look at her husband to exchange thoughts with no words. She grabs the side of her captives head and wrenches it around until the crunch of bone and sinew fills the air and as she drops the enemy’s lifeless body to the floor Ivar puts bullets in the remaining two enemy brains.

She looks up quickly to find Ivar’s gun pointing straight at her forehead.

“Don’t! Please don’t, Ivar. I can explain! I promise!” Her hands are raised in surrender.

“Who the fuck are you?” his eyes are wild with confusion.

Her face crumbles. “I’m your wife.”

“You are not my wife. Tell me who you are right now or I swear to god, Liet, I will shoot you between the eyes.”

“Please don’t, Ivar. I am your wife. I… I… My father is Oleg.”

Chapter 13

#modern ivar #ivar lothbrok #ivar ragnarsson #ivar the boneless #modern vikings #ubbe #modern!ubbe #modern!hvitserk #ivar x oc #ivar vikings #vikings #ivar ragnarsson x ofc #ragnar lothbrok #ivar fanfic #ivar imagine #vikings ivar

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mads-weasley · 3 months ago

Text

19. A Moonlit Moment

Hvitserk Ragnarsson x Eira Torsteinsdottir (OFC)

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Word Count: 2.5k

"Thank you for tonight," Eira smiled, the warmth of the ale easing her normally guarded expression. "Supper was wonderful."

Arne wrapped his arm around Randi in the doorway. "You're welcome any time. You know that."

With one final nod, Eira pulled her cloak around her shoulders and turned on her heel, venturing through the town. The sun had long disappeared from the sky, and the moonlight cast its bright glow on the snowy streets. She held her basket close against her hip as she walked to her house.

Eira's steps faltered for a moment as she remembered Arne's comments about Hvitserk.

“I don’t trust him.”

“Men like him…they’re restless. Always chasing battles, drink, or worse.”

Was he right? She didn't think so.

Every chance he had to show his so-called true colors, he'd only impressed her with his genuine care, earning her trust little by little. And the cloak sitting on her table only proved the point even more.

Eira couldn't deny the small twinge of disappointment that had rippled through her when he hadn't shown up before she left for Randi's house. Maybe he'd had enough of her and the cloak was a parting gift?

No. He wouldn't do that.

While her mind wrestled with these questions, her feet crunched beneath her and the calming sound of the fjord reached her ears. With a sigh, she glanced over toward the sound, toward the icy waters that the moon reflected so brilliantly off of. The rippling fjord eased her mind, but a silhouette sitting on the dock caught her attention. She'd seen it enough to recognize it by now, and she ignored the fluttering in her stomach at the sight.

Eira suppressed a smile and retrieved something from her house before making her way to the docks. As she neared them, she moved the soft cloak in her hands with a nervous energy she hadn't felt the last time she'd seen him.

Why was she nervous?

Eira blamed it on the ale, on the buzz in her veins, no matter how minuscule it was in actuality.

She stopped just before the wooden planks started, and she watched him for a moment. The glow of the water illuminated his face as he sat on the edge of the dock, staring out into the fjord, his brow creased slightly as he did so. He was deep in thought, it seemed. Far away from Kattegat.

Eira silently approached and sank beside him, letting her feet dangle above the low-tide water like his. He didn't move his gaze from the harbor, but the tightness in his shoulders loosened. Neither spoke for a few minutes as they sat in comfortable silence.

After a little while, Eira handed him the cloak. He finally turned to glance at her, his eyes blank as he took it from her hands. He exhaled softly, running his fingers along the soft fabric. "You didn't have to bring it back," he murmured.

"I wanted to," she admitted, watching as he smoothed his palm over the fur lining.

Hvitserk gave a small nod before his gaze drifted back over the water. She wasn't sure if he was going to say anything else until, after a beat, he asked, "Do you remember your father?"

His voice was quiet, softer than usual like the question had been sitting on his tongue for a while.

Eira hesitated for a moment, watching the way the moonlight played against the edges of his profile. His question lingered between them, quiet yet heavy.

“He wasn’t around much,” she finally admitted, shifting her hands in her lap. “But I remember some. Just small things.”

Hvitserk hummed, eyes still on the water. “Like what?”

"He used to tell stories to me and my siblings." The words left her mouth before she had time to think, and she immediately cursed herself for saying too much.

She hadn't meant to reveal that quite yet...but it was out in the open now and she couldn't take it back.

Hvitserk turned to look at her then, his brow furrowing slightly. “I didn’t know you had siblings.”

She inhaled deeply and her gaze moved to the fjord. "I don't," she confessed softly, barely above a whisper. "Not anymore."

Eira swallowed, the words tasting strange on her tongue even after all this time. Saying them aloud still felt like surrendering a piece of herself to the past, like acknowledging the loss made it more real somehow. The ache in her chest was familiar, though a little dulled by time...an old wound that no longer bled but never truly healed either.

Hvitserk nodded, a somber look on his face as his lower lip jutted out slightly. "I'm sorry."

The sincerity in his voice made her throat tighten. She glanced down, focusing on the gentle lapping of the water against the dock. A silence stretched between them, neither rushing to fill it.

Then, Hvitserk’s voice broke through, quieter this time. “Any other memories?”

A small smile tugged at her lips, though it was tinged with sadness. “Yes,” she said, her voice a little lighter. “He taught me how to use a bow.”

Hvitserk raised an eyebrow and a glimmer of amusement flickered in his eyes. "You've been holding out on me, Torsteinsdottir. Next, you're going to tell me you're a great shieldmaiden."

Eira nudged his shoulder with a groan. "Definitely not. I am no Lagertha."

She felt Hvitserk tense slightly beside her. His usual smirk faltered for a fraction of a second, replaced by something more distant...a flicker of discomfort masked by a forced half-smile.

“I’m sorry,” she sighed. “I wasn’t thinking.”

“It’s alright,” he said. “It’s no secret I didn’t have the best relationship with my mother, but she still was my mother. I do not hate Lagertha as Ivar does.”

Eira tilted her head slightly. “And why does he?”

Hvitserk let out a breath, his brows raising as he gave a small, humorless huff. “Ivar… he was always her favorite. Since he was born, everything was about Ivar. My brothers and I...we took care of him our whole lives,” he shook his head, his upper lip twitching in frustration. He glanced at her then, his voice quieter. “And look at us now. He killed Sigurd, and I let him divide me and Ubbe.”

Eira blinked as she took in Hvitserk's words, her lips parting slightly. Sigurd. She had heard of his death, of course, but she had never heard this. That his own brother was responsible for his death.

"I didn't know about Sigurd," she said softly, turning her body slightly toward him. "I'm sorry, Hvitserk."

He met her gaze for a moment, and she saw her own pain reflected in his hazel eyes. They were even more alike than she realized, and had been through similar things: losing their parents, siblings, and feeling alone despite being surrounded by people.

Eira forced herself to look away, the eye contact proving too much at the moment.

"There's no pain like losing a brother," she added after a beat, staring out at the fjord.

He nodded slowly, his jaw tightening. His gaze flickered over the dark water before shifting back to her. He studied her for a long moment before speaking again, his voice almost hesitant. "Vali," he murmured as if testing the name. "He was your brother?"

Eira's breath caught in her throat.

"How do you know that?" she asked, her voice tight.

Hvitserk glanced down at his wrist, absently rubbing the metal of his armband. "When you were sick," he started quietly. "You thought I was him...Asked if I was Vali." He gave a slight shrug, his eyes flicking back up to hers. "I just put it together."

"Oh."

A heavy silence stretched between them, the night air suddenly feeling colder against Eira's skin.

Hvitserk hesitated and watched her carefully. Then, his voice dipped lower. “What happened to him?”

For a moment, she considered looking away, but instead, she held his gaze. “He fought for Kattegat. With your brothers.” A beat of silence. “He…He didn’t make it back.”

Hvitserk inhaled sharply, his face tightening. Guilt flickered across his features, settling in the crease of his brow as his lip curled. He looked away, swallowing hard.

His stomach twisted at her words. He had known, deep down, that her pain had to come from somewhere, but to hear her say it...it finally made things real.

The battle for Kattegat had been a victory, Ivar had called it. A new reign, a new era. But now, looking at Eira, at the sorrow buried beneath her gaze, it was impossible to ignore the cost of it all.

Another name to add to the long list of people he'd helped bury.

And yet, she didn't hate him.

Hvitserk wasn't sure if that made it better or worse.

“I don’t blame you for hating us, Eira...For hating me.”

Eira frowned slightly, shaking her head. “I don’t hate you.” She exhaled, her voice softer now. “Not anymore.”

He finally looked at her again, and something shifted in his expression. It wasn’t relief exactly, but there was something there. Eira just couldn't put a finger on it.

Hvitserk’s gaze soon drifted back to the water, his jaw working slightly as he processed her words. The way his fingers curled around the cloak, the subtle movement of his tongue running over his lower lip...Eira could tell he wanted to say something but held himself back.

She let the silence stretch between them, the gentle lapping of the fjord filling the space instead.

"Tell me about him."

So she did.

She told Hvitserk about the way Vali would lift her up onto his shoulders when they were children, how he would always pretend not to see her when she tried to sneak up on him, just to let her think she’d succeeded. She told him how he used to make up ridiculous stories when she couldn’t sleep, how he would always take the blame when they got into trouble, how he had promised to keep her safe, even though he was only a few years older than her.

Her voice wavered when she spoke about his final days, about the last time she had seen him. The way he had pulled her into his arms before leaving to fight for Kattegat, the way he had smiled at her, so sure that he would return.

But he never did.

Eira exhaled slowly once she had finished. She hadn't spoken about Vali like that in a long time...hadn't allowed herself to remember him so vividly, so openly. It had always been easier to keep those memories locked away, to carry the grief in silence. But now, after saying everything aloud, she felt...lighter.

Not free of the sorrow, not entirely. But something in her chest had loosened, like a knot that had been pulling too tight for too long.

She glanced at Hvitserk beside her, noting the guilt-ridden expression he wore. Eira almost reached over to grasp his hand, to comfort him, but she stopped herself.

What was happening to her?

He hadn't tried to comfort her with empty words, hadn't told her that time would heal the pain, or that Vali was in Valhalla watching her. He had simply listened. And somehow, that was enough.

"He sounds like he was a good man," Hvitserk noted, his lips pressing together briefly before glancing at her.

Eira nodded, her throat tight.

He gave a small, almost wistful smile, his gaze returning to the rippling water. "Maybe we would have been friends in another life." Something about the way he said it sent a shiver down her spine. It wasn’t just the words...it was their tone, the quiet certainty of them, as if he truly believed in the idea. As if, in some other version of this world, he and Vali had stood side by side instead of on opposite ends of a war.

Eira shivered again, this time from the cold. The warmth of the ale had long since faded, leaving her more aware of the chill creeping into her bones. She hadn’t even realized how much the night air had settled in until a sudden gust of wind sent another tremor through her frame.

Hvitserk caught it.

Without a word, he shifted beside her, the wooden planks creaking under his weight. He slowly lifted the cloak and gathered the fabric in his hands before draping it over her shoulders and adjusting it properly.

Eira blinked as she was caught off guard by the action, but before she could thank him, she felt it...his hands lingering at her shoulders, his fingers just barely pressing against the curve of her collarbone. It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but she felt it all the same.

A beat passed. Then another.

His touch wasn’t hesitant, nor was it forceful. It simply was. It held a warmth that burned hotter than the cloak itself in a way she'd never expected.

For a moment, she wondered if he would pull away, if he even realized how long his hands had been there. But he didn’t move. Neither of them did.

Then, finally, his fingers slipped away, though the absence of them left an ache she didn’t quite understand...and frankly, didn't want to understand.

Eira inhaled and shifted slightly beneath the cloak, suddenly hyper-aware of the way it smelled like him. Like smoke and pine.

“Wouldn’t want you getting sick again,” he murmured, leaning back again as if the action had been nothing at all.

Swallowing, Eira forced a roll of her eyes to mask the warmth creeping into her cheeks. Still, she pulled the cloak tighter around her shoulders, letting the warmth settle in.

“How are you feeling, anyway?” Hvitserk asked. “You still look tired.”

Eira sighed, readjusting her position as she tested how her body felt. “I feel better. Not great, but better.”

"Better?" He teased, shooting her a lopsided smirk. "You sure? You don't look all that better."

Eira cut her eyes at him, narrowing them in playful annoyance. "Well, I didn't realize I was supposed to put on a show for you, Ragnarsson? Should I start running in circles now?"

"That might be more entertaining than you think," he chuckled, leaning back onto his hands with a grin. "But fine, no need to wear yourself out."

Eira crossed her arms. "Oh, I see. You just want me to sit here like some helpless damsel."

He shrugged, pretending to think it over. "Could be worse."

"How so?"

"You could be up and running away from me every time I try to talk to you...wait one second," he pondered aloud dramatically. "You already tried that."

She shook her head, a small smile tugging at her lips. "And clearly it didn't work because here you are, still bothering me."

"Who followed who this time, Torsteinsdottir?" Hvitserk asked with a raised eyebrow.

Scoffing, Eira removed his cloak from her shoulders and stood, her tailbone sore from the hard dock. She tossed the cloak into his lap and sent him a sly grin. "Goodnight, Hvitserk."

"Goodnight, Eira."

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#hvitserk #hvitserk ragnarsson #vikings #vikings tv #vikings fanfiction #hvitserk lothbrok #hvitserk x oc #hvitserk x ofc #hvitserk ragnarsson x ofc #hvitserk ragnarsson x oc #vikings history channel #ivar the boneless #bjorn ironside #vikings series #history vikings

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mads-weasley · 4 months ago

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17. The Cloak

Hvitserk Ragnarsson x Eira Torsteinsdottir (OFC)

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Word Count: 1.3k

Eira stirred as the soft light of dawn filtered through the small window of her house. The faint morning chill crept in, and she instinctively burrowed deeper into her furs. Her body ached less than it had the night before, but it was the warmth draped across her that stirred her fully.

The furs felt heavier than usual, warmer from where they covered her shoulders.

Her brows furrowed as she sat up slowly, the weight slipping down her arms. It wasn’t hers. Her fingers brushed over the thick fabric…dark blue, trimmed with wolf’s fur at the shoulders. It smelled faintly of woodsmoke, earth, and something uniquely him. Her chest tightened inexplicably.

Hvitserk. It was Hvitserk's cloak.

Her gaze moved to the nightstand, where a cup of water and a loaf of bread sat wrapped in cloth. The quiet gesture struck her harder than it should have, a sharp pang of something uninvited. Gratitude? Comfort?

Disappointment.

She pushed the thought aside as quickly as it surfaced, frowning at herself. Disappointment? Why would she care if he was gone? It wasn’t as if she wanted to wake up and see him sitting there, right?

Eira shook her head and forced herself to focus. He had left something for her. It wasn’t much, but it was kind, and thoughtful…both things he was beginning to show her often.

Her fingers lingered on the cloak again, the fur soft beneath her touch. She let out a sharp exhale before standing and draping the cloak over the back of a chair. She refused to think too deeply about the strange fluttering sensation in her chest or the fact that she didn’t know when he’d return.

Or why it mattered to her.

But she knew he was coming back, and the thought brought a small grin to her lips, for why else would he have left his cloak?

Soft raps against wood broke Eira from her thoughts, and she opened the door with a smirk. “You did–” she cut herself off, her eyes widening slightly. “Randi. Hi.”

“Morning,” Randi said, her tone breezy as her sharp green eyes swept over Eira. “You look… alive. Barely.”

Eira chuckled softly, leaning on the doorframe. “Good morning to you, too.”

“I brought things,” Randi announced, holding up the basket. “Nothing fancy, but you should probably eat something other than air. May I?”

Eira nodded and stepped aside.

Randi entered with a bounce in her step, her head turning this way and that as though cataloging every detail of the room. She placed the basket on the table and remained standing to unpack it, all the while chattering lightly. “So, I told Runa I’d check on you, and she’s convinced you’re off having adventures without her. She’s planning to scold you when you come over.”

Eira smiled faintly as she closed the door. “Sounds terrifying.”

“Oh, it will be. She’s only four, and yet has the wrath of a dozen gods when she’s upset,” Randi chirped, then paused, her hand freezing mid-reach. Her gaze had landed on the cloak draped over the chair.

She tilted her head, eyebrows arching in interest. “Now, that’s new. And…not yours.”

Eira’s smile faltered. “It’s not what you think.”

Randi turned fully to face her, crossing her arms with a dramatic flair that made her look more amused than suspicious. “Oh, really? Because I think it’s Hvitserk Ragnarsson’s. And I’m rarely wrong about these things. It’s also one of the finest cloaks I’ve ever seen.” She shrugged. “Hard to forget.”

Eira exhaled slowly and sat down in the chair Hvitserk’s cloak was draped over, resting her elbows on the table. Its scent…his scent, which was becoming more familiar with every day, eased the tension in her muscles that had arrived with Randi’s observation.

“He’s been…helping me. Stayed with me when I was sick.”

Randi’s smile faded slightly, her gaze softening for the briefest moment. “Helping you? Out of the kindness of his heart?”

Eira met her eyes. “He hasn’t done anything to harm me. If anything, he’s gone out of his way to make sure I’m alright.”

Randi didn’t reply immediately. Instead, she uncrossed her arms and leaned forward, bracing her hands against the back of the chair opposite Eira. “And how do you feel about that?”

“I don’t feel anything about it,” Eira said quickly.

Randi’s brows shot up. “Oh, you definitely feel something. I mean, he was who you were expecting at the door, right?”

Eira didn’t respond, her gaze flicking to the window.

“That’s what I thought.”

“I think you’re reading a little too much into this,” Eira said simply, resting her chin on her hands.

“It’s just a cloak, Randi.”

She snorted loudly. “Just a cloak.”

Randi decided that the young healer had much to learn about men.

“No, I’m just observant. But he seems to be lingering more and more from what I’ve heard.” Her voice dropped slightly, and she raised a brow. “Arne told me about the market.”

“That was nothing,” Eira defended, waving it off quickly. “He was just bothering me. Besides, Arne worries too much.”

Randi inspected her face, noting the lack of worry, fear, or even frustration in her expression.

“You trust him, don’t you?”

Here it was, the question she’d been wrestling with all morning. Eira knew her answer, knew she'd moved past his association with Ivar, and knew that he wasn’t to blame for the oppression happening around them.

Yes. She did trust him, or at least was starting to, but to say it aloud would make it true…and Eira wasn’t ready to face that. Not yet.

Eira hesitated before replying, her voice quieter than usual. “I don’t know.”

Randi tilted her head, the edges of her mouth curving into a small knowing smirk. She saw straight through her. “Hmm. Alright. Just don’t let that possible trust blind you. Men like him…they can be dangerous, even when they don’t mean to be.”

Eira nodded, her gaze dropping to the table. “I know.”

“Well, I promised Arne I would warn you to be careful, and now I’ve done it. You know how he can be,” Randi chuckled with an eye roll. “Always so headstrong. You know, I actually had to convince him not to rough Hvitserk up over this.”

“Unbelievable,” Eira muttered, but she couldn’t deny that it felt nice to have someone look out for her…like Vali used to.

Randi’s smirk grew into a full grin after a moment, her tone turning playful once more. “All that being said, I can see why you’d let Hvitserk stick around. He’s is rather handsome, isn’t he?”

“Randi!” Eira sputtered with wide eyes, ignoring the flush creeping up her neck.

“What?” Randi laughed, throwing her hands up. “I’m married, not blind.”

They both broke into fits of laughter, the effort sending aches through her weakened chest. It was nice to have someone like Randi…like Liv, who got her out of her head and made her truly live. She felt another name would soon join that list, but she couldn’t bring herself to face those small, nagging feelings in the back of her mind. Not yet.

Randi glanced at the cloak one last time. “Come to supper tonight. Runa’s been asking about you nonstop.”

Eira’s smile widened. “I’ll be there. Tell her I can’t wait to see her.”

“Good,” Randi said, grabbing her now empty basket, leaving some cheese and honey on the table. She paused at the door, her hand on the latch and a sly smirk on her face. “And if Hvitserk comes back for that cloak, make him work for it, alright?”

Eira laughed softly, shaking her head. “Goodbye, Randi.”

“See you tonight,” Randi replied with a wink before stepping out into the cold morning air.

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mads-weasley · 4 months ago

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15. Simple Curiosities

Hvitserk Ragnarsson x Eira Torsteinsdottir (OFC)

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Word Count: 1.3k

Quiet chatter filled the longhouse as Ivar's men went about their day, coming and going like nothing was wrong, like the townspeople weren't suffering...like Eira wasn't suffering.

They didn't know, of course. They didn't care.

Hvitserk sat at the table, leaning back in his chair and sipping his ale as he waited for the servants to bring his food. He could barely wait for the meal. Hunger churned in his stomach endlessly but he decided it was worth it.

She was worth it.

The last day and a half had been a blur of herbs, teas, and exhaustion. He’d barely left Eira’s side, unwilling to abandon her to her fever's grip. Everything edible in her house had long since been consumed…by him, mostly. He’d thankfully gotten her to eat a few bites of bread at times she was more lucid, knowing the importance of keeping her strength up. Hvitserk had watched her do the same for the sick in the houses they’d visited.

Now, though, her fever had broken. She’d woken earlier, tired but undeniably herself, reminding him with her teases and snarky jabs.

Relief had washed over him the second her first quip had left her paled lips.

Hvitserk shook his head, a faint smile tugging at his lips as he stared into his cup. She was something else…that was for sure. A woman unlike anyone he'd ever met, a woman not easily understood. And yet, he was undeniably drawn to her.

He couldn’t ignore the itch to return to her bedside, the feeling unsettling him more than anything.

He glanced up as Freydis approached, one hand lightly resting on her stomach and the other holding a plate of food. Though she hadn’t begun to show, there was a newfound softness in her demeanor that hadn’t been there before. She offered a faint smile, which he returned, then sat across from him, sliding the place across the table.

“You’re brooding,” she said lightly as she set the plate in front of Hvitserk.

“Thank you. I’m hungry,” Hvitserk replied, straightening slightly.

She tilted her head. “You look like you’ve been dragged through Hel and back.”

Hvitserk gave a small shrug and a faint smirk, but the truth of her words lingered. He was exhausted…physically, mentally, and, though he wouldn’t admit it, emotionally. “I’ve been busy.”

Freydis raised a brow as she sat across from him, her hands folding neatly over her lap. Her gaze was curious but not prying. “Busy, hm? In the village?”

He didn’t answer right away, just looked down at the plate she’d placed before him. It looked amazing, and smelled even better, its aroma making his stomach growl. “Something like that,” he said quietly.

Before she could respond, a voice broke through the chatter.

“Hello, brother.”

Hvitserk sighed inwardly as his brother approached, his crutch clicking against the floor. Ivar stopped beside the table, his eyes bright with mischief. Freydis shifted slightly, and her neutral expression softened as her gaze met her husband’s.

Ivar grinned behind the rim of his cup. “Did you enjoy your night?” Ivar’s voice was laced with amusement, and something else…skepticism, maybe? His gaze flicked briefly to Freydis before landing back on Hvitserk. “Well, judging by the tired look on your face, I assume the answer is yes?”

Hvitserk’s upper lip twitched as he tried to keep his face neutral, though he really didn’t know what his brother hinted at. “What?”

“You weren’t in your bed last night,” Ivar said, his grin widening. “Unless I’m mistaken.”

Ivar’s meaning suddenly dawned on him: he thought he spent the night with a woman. Although he technically did, it wasn’t in the way his brother thought. Luckily, it seemed Ivar had no idea where or who he was with.

Hvitserk added that to the list of things to thank the gods for…if they were even listening. But he hated the idea of his brother keeping tabs on him, subtly trying to control him, to manipulate him as always.

“And if I wasn’t?” he shot back, unable to keep the half-sneer off his face.

“Easy brother,” Ivar remarked in a rather high-pitched tone, raising his brow as mock surprise flashed across his face. “I was simply curious.”

This was him digging for a response, and he knew it. Ivar wanted something else to hold over his head, something to make Hvitserk do his bidding in the possibility he rebelled against him. It was no surprise he sensed the growing divide between them.

The silence between them was tense but brief, broken by Freydis’s calm voice. “You’ve been gone a lot lately, Hvitserk. Always finding ways to stay busy.”

Hvitserk looked at her and then at Ivar, who was watching him closely, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “I just needed a break,” he said, his tone deliberately neutral.

Ivar’s smirk grew. “From here? Or from me?”

“Why do-”

“Do not torment him, my love. Can’t you see he’s exhausted?” Freydis interrupted, placing a hand on Ivar’s arm to draw his attention.

“It is what brothers do.” Ivar rolled his eyes but straightened, glancing over at his wife. “But…if you say so, Freydis. I still think there’s a story here.”

“There isn’t,” Hvitserk muttered, focusing on the food before him.

Freydis’s gaze lingered on him for a moment, her blue eyes studying his face. She opened her mouth to speak, but Ivar interrupted her with a small laugh.

“Well,” Ivar said, a touch of mockery still in his tone, “at least you’re finally finding something, or someone, to occupy your time, Hvitserk. It’s about time you did something other than drink and mope around.”

About Margrethe. It went unsaid.

Hvitserk didn’t respond, but his jaw tightened, his lip curling in anger as he tried to control his breathing. The accusation that he had done nothing but wallow and drink after Margrethe's death felt like a slap to his face, especially after he was the one who had her killed.

The silence felt too thick, too suffocating. He could feel the tension building within him, his anger at Ivar's cruel remarks threatening to boil over.

Freydis must have sensed it too, because she quickly turned her attention to Ivar, the hand on his arm tightening. “Ivar, can we go lay down? I am tired.”

That was enough to break his questioning. He helped Freydis up, and they soon disappeared behind the curtain into the family quarters.

Hvitserk sat there in the silence that followed, a deep exhale escaping his lungs as he tried to calm himself. He was angry…furious, even…but more than that, he felt like he was constantly being poked and prodded by Ivar’s words, like a caged wild animal being baited to attack. His words were only meant to rile Hvitserk up, seemingly waiting for some excuse to get rid of him…at least that’s what it felt like.

It worked a lot of the time, but Hvitserk allowed it to push him to action. Not yet.

Although Hvitserk speculated Freydis was the one behind the ‘god’ belief Ivar had adopted, she had her moments of clarity. She wasn’t always the manipulative figure she sometimes seemed to be, though Hvitserk still wasn’t sure how much of her kindness was genuine.

With a final quiet huff, he finally turned his attention to his plate. It didn’t take long for him to devour it, and when he finished, he stood abruptly and made his way to one of the servants.

“Can you pack some food in a bag for me?” he asked quietly, ensuring no one overheard.

The servant nodded and disappeared into the kitchen. She returned with a bundle a moment later, which Hvitserk accepted with a brief nod of thanks. He exited the longhouse without another glance toward her, but she watched him go with a curious tilt of her head.

He had someone to get back to.

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mads-weasley · 1 month ago

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27. The Cost

Hvitserk Ragnarsson x Eira Torsteinsdottir (OFC)

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Word Count: 1.1k

The Seer's hut was far behind him, but his words followed Hvitserk like a shadow.

"A hand reaches for you in the dark...It knows you are afraid."

Hvitserk pulled his cloak tighter around his shoulders, though it did nothing to ward off the biting morning air...or the gnawing unease curling in his stomach.

The Seer had given him nothing. Just more riddles, more questions, more things he didn't want to think about.

"A choice between the path that was given to you... and the one you are afraid to take."

What did it mean?

And why, out of everything the Seer told him, was that the part that clung to him the most?

He exhaled sharply through his nose, trying to shake the thoughts loose. The streets of Kattegat were beginning to wake: the clatter of market stalls being set up, the low murmur of early traders, the bleating of goats, the distant clang of metal from the blacksmith's forge. Everything was normal.

But something felt wrong. It started with the way people moved.

As Hvitserk neared the square, he noticed the stall vendors, townsfolk, and shieldmaidens passing through. They weren't stopping, but they weren't acting exactly right, either. Some walked faster than usual, heads ducked, eyes flicking away from something up ahead. Others stood in small clusters, whispering.

Hvitserk slowed his steps, his brow furrowing as he followed their gazes.

And then, he saw them: bodies hanging in the square.

Hvitserk's feet stopped cold before them. Three men. Each dangled limply from the gallows, their faces covered in frost and blood. His gaze swept over the bodies quickly, only to flick back to the one in the middle.

His heart fell to his stomach as dread filled him.

Arne.

Hvitserk focused on his face. It was barely recognizable...swollen from a beating, smeared with dried blood, his skin stretched from the rope around his throat. But he knew. He knew by his figure, his dirty blonde hair, the wedding band around his finger.

He had been right.

"You know what will happen when they get caught."

His own words echoed in his mind. He had warned Eira, but she had believed they could change things.

And now, Arne was dead. A rebel's fate. The price for defying his brother.

Hvitserk clenched his jaw, grinding his teeth as frustration and guilt twisted in his chest. He had known this would happen, but knowing didn't make it easier to see a familiar face hanging lifeless from a rope. He swallowed hard, his throat painfully dry.

Where was Eira?

He turned abruptly, scanning the crowd, his eyes darting from face to face. She wasn't here. Her pain-filled eyes flashed in his mind along with their conversation about losing people they loved. And in the night, another name had been added to her list...but she didn't know that. Not yet.

He needed to find her. Now.

Hvitserk moved through the streets without thinking, his feet instinctively carrying him to the place they always did. He couldn't get his mind to calm its frantic and jumbled thoughts.

Eira had lost another person she loved.

His brother had taken another piece of her life.

The thought made his stomach twist.

Arne wasn't just a rebel to her. He had been a friend, someone she trusted and believed in enough to defend his actions even when Hvitserk warned her it would end like this.

Did she regret it now?

He knew loss, and so did she. They both knew the weight of it, how it could break something inside you that would never be whole again. She had already been carrying so much, already mourning Vali. And now, his brother had made sure she had one more grave to visit.

Would she blame him?

He wanted to believe she wouldn’t...wanted to believe she knew him better than that. But when she looked at him, would she see Ivar?

Would she wonder if he had told his brother? If he had stood by and done nothing while Arne was dragged to his death?

She knew where his loyalty had always been—even if he hated it, even if it sickened him, even if it pulled him apart at the seams.

He could already imagine her voice, could hear it: sharp, biting.

"Did you know, Hvitserk? Did you do nothing?"

Gods, he would deserve it.

He hadn't told Ivar about Arne, but he hadn't stopped this either. Hadn't done anything to prevent it. And wasn't that the same thing?

Hvitserk dragged a hand down his face, exhaling harshly. His pace quickened and his boots struck the ground harder.

Eira wouldn't cry.

He knew that much. Not in front of anyone. Not even him.

And when she finally did let herself feel it, it wouldn't be with tears. It would be with anger.

Would she turn it on him? Would she look at him the way people looked at his brother? Would this be the moment when she finally pushed him away?

The Seer's voice echoed in his skull—low, rasping.

"A choice between the path that was given to you...and the one you are afraid to take."

What if this was the gods telling him his time was up?

What if Eira was the last thing holding him to this place, and after today, he had nothing left?

Hvitserk forced himself forward, each step faster than the last.

He had to find her, but he wasn't quite ready for the look in her eyes.

Knock.

No answer.

Knock.

He huffed sharply as worry shot through him. That was it.

Hvitserk pushed the door open. "Eira?"

Nothing.

His eyes scanned the room and searched for any sign of her. But the bed was empty, her cloak gone, his plate and cup still sitting on the table from earlier. It was clear she hadn't been home since he'd left. But where was she?

A panicked thought ran through his mind: What if Ivar had her? What if they connected her to the rebellion?

No, no, no—

His panic tightened its grip around his throat, and he turned sharply, nearly stumbling as he returned to the door.

And then, he heard it.

A scream.

Not just any scream...a woman's scream. Piercing. Agonized. Heartwrenching. It came from the direction of the square.

Hvitserk froze, his blood running cold. For a heartbeat, he couldn't move. His mind spiraled into the worst possibilities. Then, instinct took over and he bolted towards the sound.

He had been right about Arne.

But Gods help him—he didn't want to be right about this too.

"No matter what you choose, the gods will take their due."

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mads-weasley · 4 months ago

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14. Of Gods and Choices

Hvitserk Ragnarsson x Eira Torsteinsdottir (OFC)

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Word Count: 1.7k

“Maybe I want to be…”

Eira studied his face as he fidgeted with his armband, his gaze firmly fixed downward. What did he mean by that? Why would he want to stay? To prove her wrong? To see if he could win her over? Her instincts screamed to distrust him, to remind herself who he was. But then, why did he look so…sincere? Why did his words make her chest tighten instead of her fists clench?

If not…why?

“What doesn that mean,” Eira asked softly, hesitantly. She didn’t want the moment to slip away, for she was starting to see behind his well-crafted mask of indifference. “Why would you want to be here, Hvitserk? You barely know me.”

His lips pressed into a thin line as he leaned back in the chair, running a hand over his mustache. For a long moment, he didn’t respond, and the silence stretched between them wide as the fjord on the horizon before Kattegat. Eira didn’t push him, didn’t press for an answer. She saw the battle raging inside him, the way his jaw clenched and unclenched, his brows furrowing deeper with every passing second.

He knew the truth: he cared for her. But he couldn’t reveal that…not yet, possibly not ever.

Finally, he let out a humorless chuckle, shaking his head. “You think I have all the answers?” he said quietly. “That I know why I do the things I do? Because I don’t. I never have.”

Eira’s stomach twisted at the rawness in his tone. She’d seen glimpses of his pain before when Liv mentioned his mother and when he’d spoken about his hunting cabin, but never this openly, never so unguarded. He looked at her then, hazel meeting blue, and the storm inside his eyes made it hard to look away.

“All I know is that I couldn’t leave you there in the street, or when I got you here. You–,” he took a deep breath and leaned onto his elbows. “You take care of the whole of Kattegat, Eira, but who looks after you, huh? You nearly work yourself to death, get sick, and expect no one to care for you? After all you do?”

Eira’s heart skipped a beat and she looked down at her hands, her fingers nervously tracing the edge of the fur blanket draped over her. The room felt smaller somehow, the walls closing in as her emotions threatened overwhelm her, her mind going haywire.

No one had ever said those words to her before…not like this, not without wanting something in return. Eira didn’t know what to say, how to respond. She had spent so long pretending she didn’t need anyone, so long convincing herself that independence was her only armor. And yet, here he was, sitting at her bedside, chipping away at her defenses with every soft word and quiet look.

“I’m not good at this,” Hvitserk admitted, breaking the silence. “Talking, explaining myself. Talking was always Ubbe’s thing. But I’m trying, Eira. You make me want to try.”

The honesty in his voice left Eira speechless. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected when she asked the question, but it definitely wasn’t this. If her head wasn’t spinning before, it was now, and Eira could almost hear her carefully constructed walls crumbing inside her mind.

You make me want to try.

His words hung in the air, heavier than the silence that followed. Eira realized she was gripping the edge of the blanket so tightly that her knuckles turned white. She forced herself to relax, to steady her breath, but her heart still betrayed her, thudding unevenly in her chest. Why did he have to make her feel this way? Why did he have to care?

Eira sighed, confusion mixing with the butterflies flitting about in her stomach. “I don’t understand you, Hvitserk.” Her eyes flicked to the door… the door where Ivar’s men broke in and tore her from her home. “How you are with him? You are not��cruel.”

That was one of the only absolutes she knew of him, and she secretly hoped that he proved every one of her preconceived notions wrong.

He didn’t need to ask who she meant. Hvitserk’s expression darkened at the mention of his brother, his jaw tightening as he looked away.

“My relationship with my brother has cost me much,” he said after a long pause. His voice was steady, but there was an edge to it, a quiet fury simmering just beneath the surface. “And yet, I have stayed. I followed him. I’ve done his bidding. Do you know why?”

Eira shook her head.

“Because I thought it was my fate,” he said bitterly. “I thought I was bound to him, that the gods wanted me to stand by his side no matter what. But now…” He trailed off, his gaze distant. “Now I don’t know what the gods want from me anymore. Maybe they don’t want anything. Maybe they never did.”

The despair in his voice sent a shiver down Eira’s spine. She’d seen that same hopelessness in herself, in the long, lonely nights when the weight of her losses felt unbearable. But hearing it from Hvitserk, seeing it in him, was something else entirely. It made her chest ache in a way she couldn’t explain.

“Maybe the gods aren’t the ones who decide,” she said quietly. Her words surprised even herself, but once they were out, she realized she believed them. “Maybe we decide our own fates.”

The silence of the gods suddenly made sense in her mind. Perhaps they had abandoned her…but didn’t that mean she could control her own fate? That there were no gods up above pulling the strings of her life?

Hvitserk looked at her then, really looked at her, and for a moment, she thought she saw a flicker of something in his eyes. Hope, maybe. Or at least the faintest spark of it.

“Do you believe that?” he asked, his voice barely audible.

Eira nodded. “I have to.”

Silence settled over them once more, but it was a different kind of silence this time. Not heavy or uncomfortable, but quiet and calm, like the stillness after a storm. Hvitserk leaned back in his chair, his shoulders relaxing for the first time that day. Eira watched him, her own body feeling lighter somehow, as if the weight she’d been carrying had shifted, just a little.

“Thank you,” he said suddenly, his voice breaking the silence

Eira blinked, startled. “For what?

He hesitated, then gave her a small, almost shy smile. “For giving me a chance.”

She was conflicted. Men like him always had an agenda, didn’t they? Vali had warned her once not to trust pretty words or soft smiles…they were a mask for something else. And yet, when she looked at Hvitserk, she didn’t see cruelty or deception. What she saw instead was...pain. And it scared her because it mirrored her own.

Her chest tightened, but she forced a faint grin in return. “You didn’t give me much of a choice.”

“I suppose not,” he sighed.

It was as if the invisible barrier between them was broken, and they were just two people…not a warrior and a healer, a prince and an orphan.

They soon fell into quiet small talk, their first true conversation in the past month that had any substance. He told her a few stories of his youth, of his trips to the Mediterranean and England. Eira didn’t divulge too much about herself, only telling him of how she was taught to heal by an old man in her village before Kattegat. She left out the part about leaving after the fire, about losing her mother and sister…and Vali. That was something Eira kept close to the vest, and even though she was starting to trust him, they weren’t there yet.

After a while, the conversation died down. The silence between them was comforting, almost natural, but Eira’s sharp healer’s gaze didn’t miss the way Hvitserk shifted in his chair. His stomach growled softly, breaking the quiet, and his lips pressed together as if willing it to stop.

Eira bit back a grin. “You’re hungry,” she observed lightly.

“I’m fine,” he said quickly, though his fidgeting betrayed him. He avoided her eyes and messed with the ties of his vest. “It’s nothing.

Her brow quirked up at his answer. “Hvitserk, go eat something. I’m not going anywhere.”

He shook his head, a stubbornness flashing in his eyes that Eira was beginning to recognize. “I’m staying.”

“I said I’ll be fine.” Eira folded her arms over her chest, ignoring the slight weakness in her limbs. “If you’re so decided on looking after me, you probably need to eat. Or do you want me to start worrying about you now?”

Hvitserk snorted at that, though a faint smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “You? Worry about me? That’ll be the day.”

“If you starve to death right here in this chair, who do you think will clean up the mess?”

Though he chuckled at her dry humor, he still hesitated. “What if you need something?”

Eira softened slightly. “Then I’ll call for someone else. Or I’ll wait until you’re back. I’m not helpless, Hvitserk.”

“I know,” he said quietly, his gaze flicking to hers as he thought it through. “But still…”

Suppressing a low moan from the movement, Eira leaned forward off the backboard closer to him. “Go. Eat. You won’t do us any good if you keel over from hunger.”

They stared at each other, willing the other to yield, but after a minute, Hvitserk sighed at last and ran a hand over his mouth. “You’re irritating, you know that?” he muttered, though his tone was more amused than annoyed.

“Someone has to be,” she shot back, hiding a grin.

He stood reluctantly, glancing at her one last time as if to make sure she wouldn’t disappear the moment he left the room. “I’ll be back soon.”

“And I’ll be here,” she chirped, settling back against the pillows. “And Hvitserk?”

He paused in the doorway, looking back at her. “What?”

“Don’t bring back any ale,” she groaned. “Just food.”

He laughed, the sound light and genuine. “I’ll see what I can do.”

With that, he stepped out into the corridor, and Eira let herself relax, the faint smile lingering on her lips. The air had shifted, and to her surprise, she didn’t think she minded.

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

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mads-weasley · 5 months ago

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12. Through the Haze

Hvitserk Ragnarsson x Eira Torsteinsdottir (OFC)

Series Masterlist

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Word Count: 1.6k

Everything was warm…too warm. But why was she shivering? And was she in bed? Eira tried to remember what had happened, but her mind was too hazy to think of more than that exact moment, her body aching too badly. She instead attempted to focus on what was going on around her. She felt the brush of the soft furs against her slick skin, and–

Her thoughts abruptly ended when a cool hand pressed against her forehead. It was so gentle…it had to be Liv.

But then she heard it: a low, rumbling sigh from beside her as the hand lingered for a moment.

Who was with her?

“Liv?” she weakly groaned.

The soft scrape of chair legs against the floor filled her ears as it slid closer. “Not Liv,” a familiar voice muttered.

Hvitserk.

He always had the knack for finding her in the most inopportune times, but the tightness in the muscles loosened just so slightly at his voice. Eira forced her eyes open and they fluttered for a moment, squinting against the dim light. She lazily gazed across at the wall across from her: shelves of herbs and jars…she was home.

How did she get home?

She tried to sit up, but her body felt too heavy, and she winced at the dull ache in her chest.

He sat up in his chair, moving closer as he leaned his elbows on his knees. “Easy.”

Eira’s gaze lingered on his face. “How did I get here?”

“You don’t remember?”

“Would I be asking if I did?” The retort left her before she could stop it. It brought a smile to Hvitserk’s face.

She was still Eira.

“No, I suppose not,” he grinned, dropping his gaze to the floor, the fire’s soft glow highlighting his face. A moment of silence filled the air between them, and Eira found herself inspecting him more closely, noting the small features she’d never noticed: the small scars on his forehead and upper cheek, the intricate braids trailing down his back, his trimmed mustache, his lips that always seemed pursed in thought, always looking so-

‘Stop it!’ Eira scolded her mind. ‘What are you doing?’

She was delirious…she had to be. Because there was no way she would ever feel that way about him, ever think that way.

‘It’s just the fever,’ she told herself, her head pounding from the effort. ‘Just the fever.’

Hvitserk sighed, meeting her gaze. “You were dead on your feet, almost fell over a few times. I carried you here.”

“Why didn’t you take me to Liv?” she rasped, her voice weak and hoarse, almost foreign to her own ears.

Hvitserk nodded to himself. “I knew you wouldn’t want to get her sick. I figured I could handle it.”

“And when exactly did you become a healer?”

“I’ve picked up a few things from someone I know,” he shrugged, a strained smile lighting his features. “I’m afraid she’s not a great patient, though.”

Eira tried to chuckle but winced as the motion sent a sharp pain through her chest. She cleared her throat. “Sounds like she’s a fool for trusting you.”

His grin softened. “She might be.”

The conversation lulled, and Eira allowed her eyes to flutter shut, but her thoughts remained restless. The fever pressed down on her, urging her to sleep, yet the quietness unsettled her. Something about the way he was watching her felt different.

Eira turned her head slightly, glancing at him through heavy lids. She wanted to force him to leave, but she lacked the energy to endure the arguing that would surely follow. "You should go, Hvitserk. There’s nothing you can do here.”

He shook his head and crossed his arms, tilting his head at her. “I have to watch my patient.”

"You're not even comfortable." She tried to joke. “That chair looks like it's digging into you.”

“It is,” he admitted, smirking faintly. “But I’ve had worse…now go back to sleep. You need it.”

Eira shut her eyes slowly, turning away from him. “Fine.”

A few minutes passed in silence, and Eira's weak voice calling his name broke his concentration on the flickering of the nearby hearth. “Hvitserk.”

He moved to lean over her with drawn brows. “Yes?”

Eira turned to him, a shadow of her usual sharpness glinting in her fevered eyes as she smiled faintly. “If you mess up my herbs, I’ll haunt you.”

Hvitserk couldn’t stop the laughter that bubbled within him, and he shook his head with a wide grin. “Go to sleep before I knock you out myself, Torsteinsdottir.”

He was worried. There was no hiding it. When he and Eira had gone around the village earlier in the week, he’d seen the true effects of the sickness. While the situation in Kattegat was improving overall, there were still a handful of people sick. And now Eira had it.

The hard chair beneath him had to be the most uncomfortable he’d ever sat in, its wooden frame not meant for a man of his stature, but he’d not moved from it.

He didn’t dare leave.

Hvitserk recalled when his father told him and Ubbe about their half-sister, Gyda, and how she’d been taken by a sickness that decimated Kattegat before he was born. Back then, everyone gathered in the longhouse to be cared after by Lagertha and anyone able. If only they had a ruler that cared for them in the slightest…maybe things wouldn’t have gotten so bad.

He didn’t know where he stood with the gods or exactly how much he believed in them anymore, but as the hours passed, he prayed to them, to any god that would listen. He prayed that Eira would be alright, that she wouldn’t suffer the same fate as his sister.

But as time ticked by, she got worse. It started with more shivers, then coughing, and panic soon gripped his heart. The moment the first dry cough left her lips, he sprang to his feet, muttering to himself as he tried to remember what exact herbs Eira had used to help the villagers. To his relief, he found everything he was looking for and got to work making tea. The space was chaos, jars and herbs scattered across the table, a sight she’d surely scold him for later. But he didn’t care.

He lifted her carefully, supporting her back with one arm as he guided the cup of tea to her lips with his other hand. “Eira, you need to drink this. It will help your fever.”

Her body trembled slightly and she looked so small in that moment, so vulnerable.

“Vali?” she mumbled.

The name stilled him. Who was Vali?

Hvitserk ran through the mental list of everyone he’d known growing up in Kattegat, everyone he knew lived there today…but he didn’t know of a Vali. In the back of his mind, a thought flashed bright, and he was unable to ignore it.

What if this Vali was her lover? The person she’d lost…

He shook his head quickly, clearing the thought before it could even finish. Why would it matter? It didn’t, right? But that didn’t stop it from gnawing at him. Hvitserk pushed it aside, focusing on her fevered face instead. Now was not the time to ask.

“It’s Hvitserk, remember?” he said softly. His lips quirked into a small, teasing smile, but the worry in his eyes betrayed his playful tone. “Your favorite Ragnarsson.”

Eira’s eyes cracked open then, struggling to focus on him through her feverish haze. Her blue eyes looked distant, unfocused. “Hvit…serk,” she slowly whispered.

A tight knot twisted in his chest. He nodded down at her, trying to keep his voice steady. “Yes. Drink this, alright?”

He lifted the cup again, gently guiding it to her lips. She was so still, so fragile in his arms. He couldn’t stop thinking how small she seemed, the woman who had always stood strong and independent was now curled up and trembling with this terrible sickness.

Her eyes drifted shut as she finally took a sip, the tea cooling her burning throat. She only drank a few sips before breaking into a coughing fit that tensed every muscle in Hvitserk’s body.

Once it passed, he gently lowered her back to the bed and covered her with furs once again. He brushed a stray blonde hair from her sweaty forehead. “Get better, little healer,” Hvitserk whispered. “I'm getting too comfortable without you keeping me on my toes.”

As Hvitserk watched over her sleeping figure, his mind reeled. Every memory with her, every moment, replayed, and with each one, the fluttering in his chest spread and warmed his entire body. Despite the pleasant feeling, his stomach churned as he came to a realization.

He knew this feeling. He hadn’t felt it in a long while, especially in its beginning stages, but he knew it like Thor knew his hammer.

He cared for her.

It wasn’t the first time that realization had crept into his mind. It had been there for weeks, hovering just beneath the surface, but he had refused to acknowledge it. He’d been afraid, terrified even, of what it meant. His heart had been broken before. The death of his mother, his complicated relationship with Ivar, and the loss of Margrethe…they had all left scars. Those scars made him wary of attachment, of letting someone close to him again. He couldn’t let that happen again. Not to himself. Not to her.

But Eira…she’d done it without even trying, wormed her way into his fractured heart. Her fire challenged him, forced him to be a better man, and made him see things from a different perspective.

Hvitserk sighed as the fire crackled in the hearth, casting a faint glow over her pale skin. He leaned forward, his hand instinctively brushing another stray lock of hair from her forehead.

“Stubborn Eira, what have I gotten myself into?” he murmured, his thumb tracing smoothing circles on her temple as if trying to smooth away not just her fever, but his own growing unease. And yet, for the first time in years, he felt like he was where he was supposed to be.

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

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mads-weasley · 2 months ago

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26. Into Darkness

Hvitserk Ragnarsson x Eira Torsteinsdottir (OFC)

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Word Count: 1.6k

Pounding. Incessant pounding.

It was the first thing Hvitserk noticed as he stirred, massaging his aching temples with a quiet groan. His skull felt like it had been split in two, the throbbing pain only worsened by the dry scratch in his throat.

Slowly, he blinked his eyes open. Bright sunlight streamed through the window, brightening the room as he became aware of the scent of firewood, faint herbs, and something distinctly her lingered in the air.

Eira.

His brows furrowed as fragmented memories of the night before trickled in.

Ivar. Drinking. The street. Her voice.

He squeezed his eyes shut and exhaled sharply through his nose. Gods, it was all so foggy. He could recall walking in the cold, and then...warmth, hands gripping his arms.

She'd caught him, held him upright despite her anger. His mouth twisted slightly. She had every reason to let him fall on his face, but she didn't.

Hvitserk's fingers brushed against the fur draped over him as more pieces fell into place. They had talked. Argued. About what, exactly, was still hazy. But flashes of her face surfaced, her brows drawn, a mix of disappointment and tiredness in her eyes.

"I want to do something," he had said. "But I can't."

He could still see the way she had straightened, could hear the quiet pain in her voice when she challenged, "Can't, or won't?"

Hvitserk groaned, rubbing a hand down his face before allowing his gaze to flicker downward.

The table beside him held a cup of water and a small plate of bread and dried meat.

For a moment, he just stared at it...She had left it for him.

He shouldn't have been surprised. She was always like that. She could be angry, exasperated, even furious with him, and still, she helped. Whether it was out of duty or something else, he wasn't sure, but he hoped she felt it too. Hvitserk thought she did, but then this happened and it left him second-guessing everything.

Did it matter?

Hvitserk reached for the cup and took slow sips, letting the water soothe the rawness of his throat. Then, he grabbed a piece of bread and broke it between his fingers before finally eating it.

Eira was gone. He didn't need to look around to know it. She had left early, surely off to make her usual rounds, tending to the sick, mending wounds, saving lives.

Doing something.

Hvitserk clenched his jaw. She was always moving, always acting, while he...what was he doing?

Nothing.

The thought twisted something deep inside his chest.

He had spent so long drifting, fighting, waiting...for what, he didn't know. For things to change? For Ivar to become someone he wasn't? For himself to wake up one day and suddenly know what the gods expected of him?

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees with his fingers laced together. Eira's words, the ones he remembered, repeated in his mind.

"Can't, or won't?"

He hadn't answered her then...had let the silence take the weight of it. But now, sitting alone in the morning light, her words ate at him.

"Does it matter?" he had asked.

"Yes."

He squeezed his eyes shut, swallowing back the frustration tightening his throat. She had said it so simply, so matter-of-fact...like it wasn't a question, but a truth he was too much of a coward to face.

If he couldn't, that meant something was stopping him.

If he wouldn't... then it was him stopping himself.

What was the difference, really? Either way, he was here, caught in the same cycle, drowning himself in ale and excuses.

"You don't understand, Eira."

"Then explain it to me."

He hadn't. Maybe he couldn't. Maybe he still didn't have the words. But the longer he sat there, the more restless he became, and eventually, his gaze flickered to the door.

"What should I do?" he murmured into the still room.

Then it hit him: the Seer.

He had only ever gone to him a handful of times, never seeking out the same certainty his father had. But now? Now, he needed answers.

Before he could second-guess himself, he shoved the fur off his shoulders and pushed himself to his feet. His head pounded at the sudden movement, but he ignored it, pressing a hand to his temple as he pushed through the door.

Hvitserk stood before the small hut, staring at the door, his mind turning over his choice again and again. He shouldn't be here.

He knew what happened when people came to the Seer. Once he stepped inside, once the words were spoken, he wouldn't be able to unhear them. Whatever was said...that was it.

He should walk away.

He moved closer and rested his hand against the door.

But he needed answers.

With a deep breath, he pushed it open and entered the dark hut. Dozens of small candles burned, lighting the room in a warm glow. The distinct scent of dirt and something almost rotten hung in the air. Hvitserk wordlessly sat on a stool.

"Son of Ragnar. Why have you sought me out?" the Seer rasped, clutching his chest as he shifted.

Hvitserk exhaled through his nose. "I need you to help me. You have seen the past, the present..." He tilted his head slightly. "And the future."

The only sounds lingering between them were the crackling of candle flames and the Seer's wheezing breaths. "What do you want to know that you do not know already?"

"I have rarely come to see you," Hvitserk said, leaning onto his elbows and clasping his fingers together. "I have tried all my life not to live by prophesy but through experience."

The Seer let out a low, dry chuckle. "Poor you. Seems to me that we learn so little from experience."

"Still you...you are wise."

The Seer turned on his side, grumbling, "No, I am an old man. And old men are not wise. They still wish that they were young. And they rage against their frailties and the fading memories."

"What am I here for?" Hvitserk asked as his hands clenched, his lip twitching.

"You will accomplish what others before you failed to accomplish. But the cost will be too high."

What did that mean?

What cost?

He inhaled sharply through his nose. "If I sailed away now, would it be different?"

"You can try," the Seer ground out.

Hvitserk's lips parted slightly before pressing into a thin line.

This wasn't helping.

His frustration started to boil over, his patience slipping like sand through his fingers. Hvitserk's words came quicker now, sharper. "What will I accomplish?"

"If you choose to sail away...perhaps nothing."

"You are not helping me," Hvitserk snarled, his lips pressing into a thin line before they began to twitch.

He couldn't stop it. Couldn't stop the frustration coursing through him.

What was he thinking? He should've known better than to expect straight answers. Had he ever gotten them before?

The Seer laughed, a broken sound that crackled in his chest. "What did you expect? Everything is becoming darker. We are all going into the dark..."

But then he paused, his blackened lips stilling. "But a hand reaches for you there...in the dark. "

Hvitserk blinked at the Seer's words.

A hand...

His brows furrowed, and for a heartbeat, he forgot his frustration. The room felt colder. Smaller.

"What?" he muttered, his voice lower and unsteady now.

"A hand reaches for you... in the dark," the Seer repeated.

Hvitserk's heart thudded hard against his ribs. His mind twisted, searching, but he found no answer. Only a flash...fingers gripping his arms, pulling him upright. A voice, sharp with frustration but never cruel. The warmth of a fire that wasn't just from the hearth.

No.

Hvitserk shook his head, his jaw locking as he forced himself to look away.

"That means nothing," Hvitserk replied, the heat rising back in his voice. He leaned forward and glared at the seer, his lip curling. "You're speaking in riddles again."

"Isn't that why you came?"

"I came for answers," he growled. "Not... this."

The Seer tilted his head. "But you already know the answer."

Hvitserk gritted his teeth and forced his hands open, pressing his palms against his thighs.

"There is a choice before you," the Seer murmured, almost uncharacteristically gentle. "There has always been."

"A choice? Between what? My life or my death?" He huffed a bitter, humorless chuckle, shaking his head. "Between following my brother or... or what? Wandering? Drinking myself into the ground?"

"A choice between the path that was given to you... and the one you are afraid to take."

Hvitserk inhaled slowly, and something cold curled in his chest. He looked away again.

"I'm not afraid."

"You are."

The Seer coughed "And the hand that reaches for you in the dark...it knows you are afraid."

Hvitserk's fingers curled against his knees, gripping the fabric of his pants. His breathing had gone quieter. He didn't like this.

"It will find you again."

"What will?" he whispered.

The Seer smiled. It was slow...unsettling.

"The fire."

Hvitserk stared at him. "What fire?"

"The fire that consumes... or the fire that forges."

A chill traced Hvitserk's spine.

"You will choose because you must," the Seer finished, his voice no more than a breath. "And the cost will be everything."

Hvitserk stilled, his lips parting slightly. His throat was dry.

He didn't like how final those words felt. How certain.

"Enough," he muttered, his voice sounding like he was trying to shake something off. "You never give straight answers."

"Would you believe them if I did?" the Seer grumbled, turning over and clutching his chest. "You have what you came for, son of Ragnar."

"I have nothing," Hvitserk mumbled.

His lips pressed into a thin line, and he glanced toward the door. He had come here seeking clarity, but he was leaving with more confusion than before.

The Seer's final words followed him as he stood slowly, moving toward the exit.

"No matter what you choose, the gods will take their due."

tag list: @purplerose291 @heyitsayjayy @severesharkkid

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

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mads-weasley · 5 months ago

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9. Cracks of Doubt

Hvitserk Ragnarsson x Eira Torsteinsdottir (OFC)

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Word Count: 1.4k

Hvitserk and Eira stayed with the family for a little over an hour and a half, and they were thanking the gods as they left, for Astrid’s fever had finally broken. The children offered them both hugs at the door and made them promise to return, and neither could stop the wide smiles painting their lips. The sun barely shone over the mountains surrounding Kattegat, and the temperature dropped drastically. With an involuntary shiver, Eira pulled her cloak tightly around her.

“Anymore stops tonight?” Hvitserk asked as they walked back through the village.

She shook her head absentmindedly. “No.”

Glancing over at her, Hvitserk studied her face not concealed by her hood. She chewed the inside of her cheek as they walked, and her eyes were downcast, looking only a few feet ahead of her. While they’d walked in silence before, he’d never seen her quite like this…quiet and contemplative. Hvitserk wondered what was going on in that mind of hers. Little did he know that he was the subject of her thoughts.

Walking side by side, the cold air stinging her cheeks, Eira couldn’t help but replay the day’s events. She’d expected Hvitserk to be aloof, indifferent to the family’s plight in the same way he’d been indifferent to all Ivar had done. But she was proven wrong in how he’d occupied the children, played with them…he seemed to genuinely care.

The thought both warmed and unsettled her. She knew he was trying to complete her challenge and prove he wasn’t like his brother, but before today, something had told her his efforts had some type of ulterior motive. Eira had seen him trying, but she had resisted acknowledging it. It was easier to hold onto her anger, to the belief that anyone who stood by Ivar’s side could not be trusted. But then there were moments like this evening where he fractured that narrative.

Why had he helped her in the market? Why had he gone out of his way to help Astrid’s family? Hvitserk didn’t owe her anything…not after how cold she had been toward him. Yet, he stayed, offering his help without asking for anything in return. Eira’s grip on her basket tightened. She didn’t want to admit that Hvitserk might be different. That perhaps, beneath layers of guilt and grief that he carried, there was a man who sought redemption in earnest.

Eira’s thoughts wavered, and her footsteps slowed slightly. If he truly cared, then why had he supported Ivar? Why hadn’t he done anything to oppose his brother’s rule in Kattegat?

A flicker of anger returned in a fragile shield against her growing doubts. But it wasn’t as strong as it once had been. Too many cracks had formed, and she wasn’t sure how much longer she could keep patching them.

“Eira?” Hvitserk’s voice pulled her from her thoughts. He had stopped walking, looking back at her with a curious tilt of his head. “You alright?”

She nodded quickly, forcing herself forward. “I’m fine.”

He didn’t press further, but his eyes lingered on her for a moment, searching for something she wasn’t ready to share. Then, with a faint smile, he turned and resumed walking.

Eira followed, her mind still churning. The weight of her animosity toward him felt different now…less like a shield and more like a chain she wasn’t ready to let go of. And for the first time, she wondered if it was keeping her safe...or holding her back.

The pair continued walking toward Eira’s house in silence. The closer they came to the center of town, the louder the laughter and yells echoing from the longhouse became. Hvitserk’s gaze lingered on the hall’s entrance and his stomach grumbled.

The sound quickly pushed away her serious thoughts, and Eira couldn’t stop the grin that tugged at her lips. She remembered Liv’s words about Hvitserk from a few weeks before: ‘Always eating, this one.’ “Go on,” she urged, gesturing toward the hall.

His lip twitched and he tilted his head as his eyes flicked from the hall to her face. “Trying to get rid of me, Torsteinsdóttir? I thought I was being helpful.”

“You are hungry,” Eira nodded, rolling her eyes. She pointed to his stomach and then to the hall. “Go eat, Ragnarsson.”

Hvitserk gave a short laugh, the corners of his mouth twitching upward. “I could go for food but sitting there…” he glanced at the hall and shrugged. “Not my favorite thing.

Eira followed his gaze. “But you stay with them,” she said evenly, though the question behind her words was clear.

He tilted his head. “I stay where I’m used to,” he said finally, almost nonchalantly. “For now anyway.”

“For now? What does that mean?”

Hvitserk let out a quiet sigh, rubbing the back of his neck as his gaze fell to the ground. “It means I don’t have a better place to go,” he admitted, no self-pity in his voice. “At least not yet.”

Eira frowned watching him shuffle around the snow and mud with his foot. “If you hate it so much, maybe you should stop waiting for ‘better’ and find it yourself.”

He looked up at her with a blank expression for a moment, but then he smiled faintly. “Maybe I will.”

She saw his eyes in the moonlight, unique for a Ragnarsson. The usual stark blue of his brothers was replaced with a striking mix of honey, icy grey, and an almost emerald color that ringed his iris.

Those eyes…and that smile…

Eira’s lips pressed together, and she turned and started walking away, his response unsettling her. “Well, you won’t get far if you skip meals,” she muttered.

Hvitserk chuckled, the sound warm and soft. “You sound concerned, Eira.”

“I’m not,” she replied quickly, though her voice faltered. “But if you collapse tomorrow because you’re starving, it’ll just make more work for me.”

“Ah,” he said, tilting his head with a grin, a mannerism he did often, “So you’re just being practical.”

“Exactly,” she said firmly, though she didn’t quite meet his gaze.

He nodded toward her. “Then it’s only fair I return the favor. Should I walk you home?”

“Goodnight, Hvitserk,” she chimed, ignoring his question and resuming her walk.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Eira didn’t stop, didn’t look over her shoulder, but she could hear the smile in his voice. She was also glad he couldn’t see her own. “Hopefully not,” she called back, her basket bouncing on her hip.

She heard a chuckle, the crunch of footsteps, and assumed he’d moved toward the building. After a few moments, she looked back just in time to see his billowing blue cloak disappear into the warmth of the hall.

“There is sickness in the town,” said Hvitserk as he looked up from his meal at his brother.

Ivar licked his fingers, his eyes remaining on his plate. “So?”

Irritation flared in Hvitserk’s veins, and his tongue instinctively went to his cheek. “What do you mean, “so?” Your people are sick, Ivar.”

Finally looking up, Ivar scoffed and tilted his head. “I am not sick. You are not sick.” His eyes flicked over to the throne. “Freydis is not sick. What does it matter?”

What does it matter?

Astrid’s pale face flashed in his mind…her precious children who could’ve lost a mother. Surely others already had lost parents to the sickness. And Eira…he saw her exhausted face, her fiery blue eyes dulled just slightly.

“It is deserved after their resistance to my reign,” he mumbled nonchalantly, popping another piece of chicken into his mouth. “It is not my fault they do not understand-”

Hvitserk couldn’t restrain himself any longer and slammed his fist onto the table, sending food and mead spilling onto the worn wooden surface as he stood. Most of the hall turned their attention to the brothers.

“Ivar! Listen to yourself!” Hvitserk growled.

Ivar’s brow creased in confusion. “And why do you suddenly care, brother?”

“We grew up with these people,” he replied, bracing his palms against the table as he leaned over it towards Ivar. “This is our home.”

“Many of them fought against us.”

Hvitserk scoffed and glanced away for a moment. “That doesn’t matter.”

“Of course, it matters,” Ivar defended, the grip on his fork tightening. “I will not soon forget their disloyalty. I am their king, and-.”

“You are no king, Ivar,” Hvitserk interrupted sharply, shaking his head and pushing off the table to straighten.

Ivar’s eyes narrowed and a spine-tingling smirk tugged at his lips as he spoke slowly. “You are right, my brother. I am a god.”

“You are no god!” Hvitserk yelled, his booming voice accentuating each word and bringing any remaining conversations in the hall to a halt. “And you will never be a true king, either.”

With that, he turned and stormed toward the exit, his chest heaving as anger burned in his stomach.

“Go, poor Hvitserk,” Ivar called after him. “But know I will only tolerate so much of your insolence, brother!”

He pushed open the doors with a loud bang, exiting into the snowy night. Hvitserk didn’t feel the biting chill of the air or the stinging of his hand where he’d hit the table…he only felt an all-consuming feeling of frustration. But there was something else there, too. Helplessness, perhaps?

What could he do?

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mads-weasley · 5 months ago

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8. A Gentle Warrior

Hvitserk Ragnarsson x Eira Torsteinsdottir (OFC)

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Word Count: 1.5k

Eira studied Hvitserk briefly, as if searching for any trace of insincerity. Did he really want to help her? Help this family? When she found none, she gave a curt nod and turned on her heel, heading down the narrow street. “Come on, then.”

The silence between them was heavy as they walked. The darkening streets of Kattegat were eerily empty, the dim glow of firelight flickering in windows casting long, wavering shadows. Hvitserk’s gaze flicked to Eira as she walked ahead of him.

“What do you know about this family?” he asked, breaking the silence and closing the distance to walk beside her.

Eira didn’t look up at him. “The mother, Astrid, is a widow. Her husband was killed in a raid last year. She has two children, both under the age of ten.“

Perhaps he’d fought with the husband in England or the Mediterranean. At least he hadn’t been killed in the civil war…Hvitserk knew he wouldn’t be able to face his children if he’d been on the side that killed their father.

“How long has Astrid been sick?”

She sighed. “Almost three days.”

“And how long does the sickness usually last?”

“Three days. But the second day is usually the worst. If the fever breaks, she’ll recover, but if it doesn’t…” Eira swallowed hard as the emotions within her crawled up her throat. She couldn’t handle more orphaned children in Kattegat…there were already too many.

Hvitserk nodded, more to himself than to her. This was a new side to her: one he’d only seen at a distance. Liv had said she felt deeply, “Much like you,” she’d said, and he was seeing it firsthand. Gone was the snarky, fiercely independent young woman. Beside him stood a caring, gentle, and talented healer who would go to any lengths to help the people around her.

They walked the rest of the way in silence until reaching a small house on the outskirts of town. It sat just outside the forest. Smoke curled from the chimney and its thatched roof sagged under the weight of the snow.

“I know this house,” he announced, his brow furrowing slightly in concentration as he scanned the surrounding terrain before pointing to a trail leading into the woods. “I have a hunting lodge up this way.”

He hadn’t been since he found Margarethe’s lifeless body in the doorway, the floor stained with her blood. Hvitserk shook away the memory as quickly as it came, and Eira seemed to notice the flicker of pain that flashed in his hazel eyes. He cleared his throat and looked down at her, his lip twitching habitually.

She didn’t comment on it and instead approached the entrance. Eira hesitated at the door, glancing back at him. “Are you sure about this?” she asked, her tone softer now. “It’s not easy to see people in such a state, and you could get sick.”

Hvitserk met her gaze. “I’m sure.”

She gave a small nod and pushed the door open. Hvitserk stepped in behind her, the warmth of the house enveloping him. The small space was cozy but cluttered. A fire crackled softly in the hearth and the scent of herbs mixed with the musty smell of illness. The two children, a boy and a girl, were darting around the room, giggling.

Eira’s eyes immediately shifted to the mother lying on a small bed in the corner, her face pale and drawn. Astrid breathed shallowly and her skin was clammy with fever. Eira quickly moved to her side, kneeling beside the bed, murmuring soft words to comfort her.

Hvitserk stood near the door unsure of what to do. He felt an odd sense of helplessness. The children, on the other hand, seemed to have no such reservations about his presence. The boy immediately ran over to him, pushing his dark hair from his face before tugging on Hvitserk’s cloak with wide eyes.

“Are you a warrior?” the boy asked, peering up at Hvitserk with an inquisitive gaze.

Hvitserk froze, looking down at the child. “I...I am,” he answered, his tone somewhat awkward, unsure how to respond.

The girl, a few years older than her brother, ran over as well. “Do you fight in battles?” she asked eagerly, her green eyes wide with curiosity.

Hvitserk’s lips twitched in a small smile. The innocent questions of the children pulled him out of his shell. “I have fought,” he said slowly, crouching down to their level. “As will you, someday. You will surely be a mighty warrior.” His gaze flicked to the little girl with a nod. “And you a powerful shieldmaiden.”

Eira’s voice drifted over from the bed. “Hvitserk,” she called. “Can you keep them occupied for a little while? Their mother needs my attention, but I can’t keep an eye on them and her at the same time.”

Hvitserk nodded, though there was a slight hesitation in his movements. “Okay,” he said, glancing at the children. They were already pulling at his sleeves, clearly excited to have his attention. “What should I do with them?” he asked, his voice still a little uncertain.

“Just...just talk to them, play with them,” Eira replied, her focus never leaving Astrid on the bed. “They need a distraction.”

He stood up straight and watched as Eira worked for a moment, her fingers working quickly to prepare some type of mixture for Astrid’s fever. Eira was right…he was no healer, no idea about anything she was doing to help the poor woman. He also didn’t know how to distract children. He was a warrior, not a caretaker. But as he looked down at the boy and girl, something in him softened.

The boy grabbed his hand, tugging insistently. “Play with us, warrior!” he demanded, a gleam of mischief in his eyes.

Hvitserk blinked in surprise but then looked at Eira, who was still busy with the mother, her back turned. She didn’t have time to watch him, and yet, she trusted him with the children. Something about that made him feel oddly content.

With a deep breath, he dropped to one knee, lowering himself to their height. “Alright, what do you want to play?” he asked, trying his best to sound less like a warrior and more like someone the children could feel comfortable around.

The boy started running in circles a second later, his giggles echoing in the room. “Catch me!” he shouted. “Catch me, warrior!”

Hvitserk quickly stood up and lunged toward the boy, his hands outstretched. The boy squealed as he darted away, his tiny feet slipping on the wooden floor. Hvitserk’s eyes softened as he chased after the child, deliberately letting him get away before grabbing him by the waist and lifting him up into the air with a laugh.

The girl clapped her hands excitedly. “Do me! Do me!” she demanded, jumping in place.

Hvitserk smiled, his cheeks hurting from the constant grin on his lips. “Alright, alright.” He placed the boy down carefully and picked up the girl, lifting her into the air just as he had done with her brother. She laughed, her squeals filling the room, and for a brief moment, Hvitserk felt a warmth spread through him…it was an emotion he hadn’t experienced in quite some time.

Eira glanced over her shoulder and couldn’t help but notice the smile on Hvitserk’s face as he played with the children. The sight warmed her heart, though she quickly turned back to Astrid. It was a small thing, but it was enough for her to see.

The way he handled the children, the care in his movements, the gentleness in his voice…none of this reflected the ruthless warrior she had heard of, nor did it resemble the cold, distant man who watched as Ivar destroyed his home. In that moment, he wasn’t Hvitserk the Viking, Hvitserk the son of Ragnar, or even Hvitserk the warrior. He was just a man playing with innocent children, his sharp edges softened by their innocent laughter.

Eira’s chest tightened in relief and something else…something she wasn’t ready to face yet. She had always seen Hvitserk through the lens of his brother, through the chaos of Ivar’s reign. But now, she saw him differently. There was kindness in him, a warmth she hadn’t expected.

“Careful,” she said softly from across the room, though her voice was gentle as she watched Hvitserk. “They’re small.”

“I know,” Hvitserk replied with a soft chuckle, gently lowering the girl back down to the ground. “I’m not going to drop them.”

The children ran off again, their giggles filling the air, but Hvitserk stood still for a moment, his eyes lingering on Eira as she continued her work.

Eira didn’t look at him again, but she could feel his presence, could feel the shift in the air around them. Hvitserk had always been more complicated than he appeared, but this…this side of him was one she hadn’t expected. And it added to her growing belief that perhaps there was more to him than his decisions in the past, more than the shadow of his brother.

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

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mads-weasley · 3 months ago

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23. Wild Child

Hvitserk Ragnarsson x Eira Torsteinsdottir (OFC)

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Word Count: 2.3k

One Month Later

Hvitserk hadn't planned on going to Liv's, but as the day stretched into the evening, he found himself walking in that direction anyway. His feet carried him through the winding streets of Kattegat, past traders closing their stalls and fishermen dragging in the last of their haul. A deep orange and violet streaked the sky as the sun dipped lower behind the mountains.

It had been some time since he last visited Liv. He had no real excuse for it—only that his thoughts had been occupied elsewhere. He told himself it wasn't because of her, but that was a lie.

He knocked on the wooden door and heard muffled footsteps inside. When it swung open, he was met with a surprising but welcomed sight. Eira stood in the doorway. A streak of white flour dusted her cheek and another smudged near her brow.

He smirked. "Nice war paint."

"What?" Eira frowned.

He gestured toward her face. "The flour."

She reached up, swiping at it with her sleeve, only to make it worse. Realizing her mistake, she sighed. "Oh-"

"You missed a spot," he teased.

She narrowed her eyes, a slight grin on her lips. "Are you here to mock me or for something else?"

"Maybe both."

Eira rolled her eyes but stepped aside to let him in. "Liv, we have a visitor."

"Who?"

Hvitserk stepped inside, the scent of fresh bread and something delicious hitting his nose. "Hi, Liv."

She turned from the hearth, stirring a pot as she raised an eyebrow at him.

"So you finally decided to pay me another visit?" Liv said, pointing the wooden spoon at him. "I was beginning to think the gods had swallowed you up."

"I've been busy."

She winked, cutting her eyes toward Eira, whose attention was on wiping the remnants of the flour from her face. "Busy with what, I wonder."

Hvitserk followed her gaze instantly. After a moment, she returned to chopping some vegetables on the counter, lips slightly parted in concentration. The warm firelight flickered across her face, softening the usual sharpness of her features.

He swallowed.

It wasn't the first time he'd looked at her like this—when she wasn't paying attention, when he could just watch—but something about this moment made a familiar sensation spread through his chest...one that had become more common as time passed.

Hvitserk shook off the thought before it could take root. He was here to see Liv—not to get lost in Eira.

"I would ask if you're hungry, but I already know the answer," Liv chuckled, patting his shoulder knowingly as he finally tore his eyes from Eira.

"You know me so well."

Eira stopped and dusted excess flour from the counter before carefully pulling a fresh loaf of bread from the oven. The golden crust crackled as she set it down, and the scent alone made Hvitserk's stomach tighten in hunger. She set the bread aside to cool before returning to the vegetables.

After one final stir of the pot, Liv joined Eira at the counter and began slicing the bread into thin slices.

Hvitserk followed her. "What are you making?" he asked.

"Stew," Liv replied simply, not looking up from her task. "You'll like it."

Eira added the last few ingredients to the pot, sending him a small smirk. "I'm pretty sure Hvitserk will eat anything., Liv"

He just shook his head at her, rolling his eyes. "You say that like it's a bad thing," he chuckled, but the playful glint in his eyes faded slightly when she shrugged over her shoulder at him. It was easy to get distracted by her these days. Too easy.

"He's already eyeing the bread. Keep an eye on him," Liv whispered to Eira as she leaned closer so only she could hear.

Hvitserk moved closer to the counter, looking down over the women's shoulders as they worked. His eyes narrowed at the steaming loaves of bread cooling nearby. He couldn't help it...he was starving. Before Liv could notice, he reached out, fingers brushing the crust of a freshly baked loaf trying to pinch off a piece.

Liv was too quick. She slapped his hand away with a loud smack. "I'm having flashbacks from your childhood. You're just as bad as you were back then."

Eira snorted. "You really thought you'd get away with that?"

"I was hoping so," he replied with a raised brow, rubbing at his hand.

Liv clicked her tongue. "You used to be smaller and faster. Now you're just slow and predictable."

Eira laughed as Hvitserk gave Liv an incredulous look. "That's not true."

"Then why do I still catch you?" Liv asked, arching an eyebrow.

He opened his mouth but then closed it. Eira turned to him, leaning against the counter, a mischievous glint in her eye. She crossed her arms over her chest. "Slow and predictable, " she teased. "Ouch."

Hvitserk raised an eyebrow, a devilish grin spreading across his face. "You think that?"

"Maybe," she shrugged.

Liv watched them with a fond grin. It was there in the bickering, in the banter, the longing looks...they just couldn't see it yet.

Without warning, he snatched a handful of flour from the bowl and flicked it at her. Eira gasped as a fine cloud of white puffed in her face. She quickly brushed it from her eyes, but it still covered her face.

Liv let out a bark of laughter. "Oh no."

Eira's lips parted slightly in disbelief before she narrowed her eyes, a spark of mischief glinting beneath her irritation. "Did you just—"

Hvitserk's lips quirked in a lopsided grin. "Still think I'm slow?"

Eira didn't answer. She turned, grabbed her own handful of flour, and threw it straight at his chest before he could dodge it. A small cloud of white exploded against the dark fabric of his tunic. He stilled and looked down at his now-coated chest.

Eira's lips twitched just the smallest bit, her chin lifting in quiet victory...but then he lunged. She gasped and stepped back to escape, but her foot caught the corner of the table leg, throwing her off balance. She stumbled, her arms flaring out in a desperate attempt to catch herself.

But she never hit the floor.

Hvitserk's hands shot out, catching her around the waist and pulling her up before she could fall. Her hands instinctively caught at his forearms for balance. For a breath, they were frozen like that—her body pressed lightly against his. She felt his gentle grip on her waist as the warmth of his palms burned through the material.

Hvitserk was also acutely aware of how close they were. He could hear the faint, uneven rhythm of her breath, could see the flour still dusting her face. A strand of golden hair slipped from its braid and ghosted against her jaw.

Snapping out of it, Eira pushed him off gently and straightened. He let go just as quickly. Stepping back, he rolled his shoulders like the moment had never happened. "See?" His smirk returned. "Not slow."

Eira exhaled sharply, wiping at her face again, but there was no real frustration there. "No. Just annoying."

Liv, who had watched the entire exchange with an amused raise of her brows, sighed dramatically. "If you two are done acting like fools in my kitchen, sit down and eat before I throw you both out."

Hvitserk wasted no time swiping a piece of bread from the table. This time, Liv didn't stop him.

"You're cleaning that up."

Hvitserk grinned, his mouth full. "What? You started it."

Eira narrowed her eyes, but there was something exasperatedly fond in the way she shook her head.

As they settled at the table, Liv brought the bowls of steaming stew and passed them around. The scent of the bread mixed with the aroma of the stew made it impossible not to dig in immediately.

Hvitserk wasted no time tearing a piece of bread in half and dipping it into his bowl. He leaned forward, elbows on the table, and took a large bite, chewing happily.

Eira smirked at the sight. "You really will eat anything," she teased before taking a bite of her own.

Hvitserk waved a hand dismissively, his mouth still full. "If it's food, I'll eat it," he said, his voice slightly muffled. Then he swallowed and gestured toward Liv. And she's a good cook."

Liv scoffed. "You'd say that even if I served you slop."

A slow grin pulled at his lips and he shrugged. "Depends. How much slop?"

Eira shook her head, unable to hide her amusement. She turned toward Liv and propped her elbow on the table. "What was he like as a child?" she asked with a teasing glint in her eyes. "Other than a thief and a nuisance."

Hvitserk groaned, already regretting where this was going. He leaned back in his chair and rested his arm over the back of it as he exhaled dramatically. "Do we have to do this?"

Eira glanced at Hvitserk, noting the way he shifted in his seat. She had to admit, she was curious. The man in front of her was quick-witted, reckless, but she wondered what he had been before the years had hardened him.

"Oh, where do I even begin?" Liv said, tapping a finger against her chin. "Hvitserk was the happiest little thing. Always laughing, always running around, always getting into trouble."

Eira raised a curious eyebrow. "Trouble?"

Liv smirked. "He was fearless. Would climb anything, run through the streets half-naked in the winter just because his brothers dared him to—"

"That was one time," Hvitserk interjected, pointing his spoon at her, his brows raised in defense.

Liv ignored him. "—and he could never sit still for more than a few moments. Even when he was supposed to be learning something, he'd find a way to turn it into a game. If you asked him to carry something from one side of the house to the other, he'd turn it into a race with himself."

Eira could almost see it in her mind.

"He and Ubbe drove his mother mad...and then when Sigurd came along, the trouble multiplied."

Hvitserk exhaled sharply through his nose, the ghost of a smile flickering at his lips, but a pang of guilt, of pain coursed through his chest. He'd lost them both.

"She wasn't actually mad," he muttered.

Liv hummed in agreement. "No, not at you. She never could be." Her expression softened slightly. "He had a way of looking at people with his big wide eyes...Made it impossible to stay angry at him for long."

Eira studied him and let the words settle in her mind. It was hard to picture him like that...not because she didn't believe it, but because something about him now felt heavier, like the weight of the years had settled over his shoulders. But there were moments when she caught glimpses of that boy Liv spoke of.

But she had also felt the impossibility of staying angry at him. She had tried, after all, but he'd shut that down quicker than she liked at the time.

Like the one earlier that ended in plumes of flour wafting in the air, with his hands on her waist...his warm—Eira blinked away the thought, returning her focus to Liv.

"But he wasn't just trouble," Liv continued, patting his arm gently. "He hated seeing people upset, always pestering them until they laughed. And if that didn't work, he just sat beside them, quiet. He always took care of his brothers."

Hvitserk's smirk faded, his fingers absently picking at the crust of his bread. What a great job he did of that, huh? Sigurd dead, Bjorn and Ubbe on the run, and Ivar...Ivar was something else entirely. He kept his gaze on the table, not looking at Liv. It had been so long since he'd taken that role, since he'd been that lighthearted child.

Liv let the moment sit before clearing her throat, smirking again. "He was also the messiest eater of all the boys," Liv continued. "I swear, that child could turn the simplest meal into a disaster. He'd get more on his face and clothes than in his mouth."

"That hasn't changed much," Eira laughed softly.

Hvitserk huffed and rolled his eyes. "Are you two just going to insult me all night?"

Liv waved him off. "Oh, hush. It's the truth. I had to chase you down just to get you to sit still long enough to eat."

Eira tilted her head slightly, imagining it—Hvitserk, smaller, wilder, all boundless energy and laughter. The way he carried himself now still had traces of that, like he was always ready to spring into motion, always restless.

"You must've been exhausting," she said, shaking her head.

Liv scoffed. "That's an understatement."

"I was entertaining," he defended with a shrug.

"That's one way to put it."

Eira smirked, once again resting her chin on her hand. "I don't know... I think I'd like to have seen you as a child."

Hvitserk raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Oh? Why?"

She shrugged, pretending to focus on her stew. "Just curious."

Liv took a sip of her drink, watching them both with that ever-present knowing look in her eye. "If you had, you'd have either found him endearing or been constantly exasperated with him."

Wasn't that what she felt for him now?

"I think both are possible," Eira replied, shooting Hvitserk a glance.

Liv chuckled. "Oh, I have no doubt."

The conversation drifted then, but when Liv finished her last bite of stew, she leaned back with a satisfied sigh. "You know, Eira, when he was little, his hair was almost as light as yours."

Her eyes widened as she turned to Hvitserk, her eyes flicking over his darker braids. "Really?"

"Is that so unbelievable?" Hvitserk asked with he chuckle, sending her a lopsided grin.

Eira looked between them. "You're lying."

Liv let out a hearty laugh. "Why would I lie about something as stupid as hair, child?"

Hvitserk rolled his eyes dramatically, leaning back in his chair. "Can we stop talking about my hair now?"

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