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dreaming-medium · 5 months

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Animals Without Direction

Chapter Twenty Two - Of Course

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“Am I supposed to fit in that?” Your voice held a hint of humor in it as you stared at the elegant gown draped over a mannequin in the center of the room.

Jisung laughs from behind you and comes around your right to look at you. “It is going to fit. It has the same measurements as your armor.”

You bite your bottom lip and take a few more steps towards the gown.

Deep purples and blacks make up the colors of the dress. It sits off the shoulders with bell sleeves. Lace embellishments cover every inch of the fabric. The plunge neckline of the corset dips down a bit to reveal some more skin.

The waist is tight and then poofs out slightly in an expensive show of velvet and tulle. Tiny black and purple gemstones litter the fabric to draw the eye and reflect light.

But the part of the dress that grabs your attention is the slit that runs up the leg to the upper thigh. It’s classy enough that when you stand still, one would not be able to see the split in the fabric, but once you moved around, it would be apparent.

“Seungmin will wear a matching suit made from the same fabrics.” Chan speaks up from your left. “Do you not like it?”

“It is gorgeous…” you trail off and step closer to the dress. Both men watch you closely.

You circle the mannequin, the back of the dress is just as elegant as the front. Your fingers come up and gently run over the fabric. The velvet is soft under your touch.

“I have never worn anything as beautiful as this before,” you whisper softly, not taking your eyes off the dress.

A black masquerade mask sits on top of the mannequin. What look like black vines make up the structure. It has purple embellishments all over it.

Everything ties together perfectly.

When you finally look up, you see both Chan and Jisung staring at you with soft smiles on their faces. The Jarl has his hands clasped behind his back as he watches you with sparkling eyes.

They’re both in comfy tunics and pants, hair fluffy and curly.

After breakfast, the two of them had asked you to follow them to another room before going back to pickpocket training with Seungmin and Minho.

As soon as you walked into the room, your breath was taken away by the gown before you.

“The seamstress still has some final adjustments to make before you take it with you tomorrow,” Chan informs you.

“I do not believe I have ever been this jealous of Seungmin,” Jising teases and looks over at Chan.

The Jarl laughs along with him and walks closer to get a better look at the dress himself.

“I do agree, Jisung.” His tone is more wistful than the diplomat’s was. His expression conveys more sadness than jealousy.

Jisung steps right up to the mannequin and gives it a once over. “The split in the skirt sure is something. All of the other ladies are going to be envious of you.”

Chan laughs and cocks his head to the side. “Minho suggested it, actually. He mentioned something about being able to strap a dagger there.”

You raise an eyebrow and stare over at him with a baffled look on your face.

“Really?” you ask with a laugh under your breath.

“Aye, he quite insisted, actually.” Chan reaches forward and pulls the skirt a bit to the side. The slit is on the side of your good leg. “Protection is usually his top priority.”

“I do not believe anyone is complaining,” Jisung teases and bends his head to stare at the slit himself. “You are supposed to get the ambassador’s attention after all.”

The two of them look at the dress without any shame. Their eyes rake over the mannequin like lions looking at a steak.

Your face grows hotter by the second with a blush. “I did not think that I would get a man’s attention just by showing a small amount of skin.”

Comically, at the same time, both of their eyes flick up to your face and stare at you like you said the dumbest thing ever.

“That is, in fact, the quickest way to get a man’s attention, Y/N.” Jisung states simply.

You huff and cross your arms over your chest, looking to the side. Suddenly, the wall was the most interesting thing in the room.

“How old is this ambassador anyway? Am I showing off my legs to an eighty year old man?”

“I have only met with Inuin’s ambassador once,” Jisung tells you, his eyes doing one more once over on the dress before walking back to a desk in the room. “He is younger, but still older than any of us. Perhaps around thirty to forty years of age.”

“Married?” asks Chan.

“Nay, never. He has had several women in his life, though. Prefers younger ones on his arm at all times.”

“Easy target, then.”

“The easiest, I can see why Seungmin was pushing for this. We really will never get a better chance for a distraction; especially with how most of the guards will be down in the ballroom instead of by his office.”

Chan nods and moves his hands behind his back once more.

“Plus, if any are near the office, I am sure that Seungmin will have no issues taking care of them.”

“He never does.”

Everyone in the room falls silent. The gown is stationary in the center of the three of you.

In just a few short days, you were to squeeze inside that corset and seduce a man older than you just to steal something from his pocket.

“Jisung,” a voice says from the doorway. All three of you turn and look over at the guard standing there.

“Yes?” he responds and turns to face him.

“A letter from Daefall has arrived.”

“I will be there in a moment.” Jisung says.

The guard nods and leaves after bowing at the hip to Chan.

“I will see you all at lunch, then.” Jisung smiles and follows after Chan, closing the door behind him.

Chan and yourself stay silent for a few more moments, his eyes watch you fiddle with the dress a bit more.

You trace small patterns in the velvet top, the fabric getting darker when you swipe it one way, lighter when you go the other way.

Thank The Six this is happening during the colder months, the fabric is so heavy.

“How goes the dance and pickpocket lessons?” Chan asks, breaking the silence between the two of you.

You don’t look up at him, you keep your eyes on the dress. “In the beginning, it was easy; the dance was simple, Minho taught it well. Seungmin then began to teach tricks about pickpocketing by introducing small lessons, that is when it began to become a bit more difficult.”

“I heard last night did not go well.”

You scoff and roll your eyes. “How am I supposed to pickpocket someone when they are expecting it?” A pause. “Plus, the two of them can be rather ruthless.”

Gentle laughter comes from Chan. He’s still standing on the other side of the mannequin, but he’s not looking at the dress at all.

“I do know what you mean, having just one of them as a teacher would be a lot, but both of them…” he trails off.

“Growing up, I also never was great at admitting when I was not good at something. It is tirelessly frustrating to be bad at pickpocketing. And to have the added stress of all of this?”

You motion to the dress, Chan’s gaze finally drops from your solemn face to look down at the gown again.

“There is so much riding on this ability.” You shake your head and let your hand drop from the fabric. “I do not know what will happen if I cannot do this.”

A long few moments pass between the two of you. Thoughts run through your mind like wild animals. What happens if you can’t learn to pickpocket? You leave tomorrow morning with Seungmin, you need to be able to pull this off. The future of the war depends on this.

“You sound like Changbin.”

You look up and meet the Jarl’s eyes. His sad smile pulls on your heartstrings.

“I know you heard his ramblings for yourself, I cannot imagine how much worse they became before the first attack on Fort Mire.”

At the thought of the commander, your heart aches for a moment. You miss him so much; the same goes for Jeongin, and even Hyunjin. For as much trouble as the mage gave you, the two of you developed a special bond.

The nights spent in front of the fire were special to you. You both never talked, just sat in each other’s presence. Sometimes you just need to know there’s another person there with you to feel less lonely.

With Changbin, he brought you this sense of comfort and safety that you’ve never found in another person. Maybe it was the fact that he was a tower of bulging muscle, but really you knew it was beyond that.

It was who he was.

“Yes, but I knew he had the ability to lead us the way we needed, he did not need to learn a new skill in just a few days.” You swallow a lump in your throat.

“He had never led an army to war before.” Chan replies.

Your mouth opens and then quickly shuts. Any retort you had fell out of your mouth and through the floor.

“It is different,” you mutter. Your tone has lost its strength– you know Chan is right.

He just laughs. “I do not believe it is. But regardless, I have faith in you, the entire court does.”

Again, you scoff and smirk. “That does not help, what if I let you all down?”

He doesn’t answer you for a long moment, so you look up and make direct eye contact with the Jarl.

A genuine smile is on his face, his brown eyes shine with the fire light from the sconces on the wall. His dimple is on full display with his grin.

It makes your heart flutter.

He looks so soft right now. How is he the Jarl? If you saw him in a tavern, you would easily mistake him for a farmer or an adventurer if he had a sword on his hip.

“You could never let us down, Y/N.”

His voice is even softer than his appearance. His words wrap around your soul and squeeze, they make your cheeks feel hot and your throat constrict with so many different emotions.

Just a few months ago, you would’ve never gotten near Miroh, but here you were, talking with the Jarl as if he was a close friend, confiding your fears to him.

Again, you gulp down the knot in your throat. “So, if I was to come back to Miroh without having successfully pickpocketed the key off of Inuin’s ambassador–”

“We would be happy that you came back to us in one piece.” He finishes your sentence and then continues. “Y/N, your health and safety– both you and Seungmin’s– is my number one priority. I care not if the mission is a success or not as long as you both return to this keep unharmed.”

His eyes look back and forth at your own, never once breaking eye contact.

“My court is my family, you included. My only desire in life is for my family to be safe.”

Unable to hold his searing gaze, you look down at the floor.

Family. You were a part of his family .

“Family,” you repeat in a tiny whisper, but you know he heard it.

“Aye, you are my family, Y/N.”

Family.

You had a family? How long has it been since you had a family…? How many years since you were tied to another person?

After your parents, there was Allerick, but he was more of a mentor than anything. He skidded along the lines of a caretaker sometimes, but never anything more than that.

You bite the inside of your cheek to hold back the tears.

By The Six, you’ve been crying entirely too much lately. Can you just have one day where your feelings are stable?

Emotions swirl within you, you feel every single one floating around in your chest fighting its way to the surface. It sends your mind into orbit.

Unable to communicate any of them, you nod your head and force yourself to look up at the Jarl.

Words get caught in your throat. All of the muscles in your face twitch with each passing thought that cycles in your mind.

A family. You have a family. And a big one at that. Full of big personalities that rival one another.

Chan stands in front of you, watching every one of the emotions that cross your face closely. You can see him analyzing every move carefully.

The Jarl of Miroh, your Jarl, your employer, your boss. Your lord.

But he’s more than that, isn’t he? He’s more than just a title? Yes, he becomes the Jarl when he needs to, but beyond that, he’s just Chan.

Chan whose heart is bigger than his chest.

Chan who is a fellow half elf.

Chan saved you from a past life full of sorrow and grief.

Chan who would give you, or any one of your court members, the sun if you asked him to.

“Thank you…” you hesitate, the next word gets stuck in your throat.

Why can’t you just say it?

His eyebrows lift, he knows what you’re trying to say. He can see your lips forming the word, forming his name.

Chan’s lips part and his breathing seems to stop for a moment.

Your mouth opens again.

Someone knocks at the door.

“My lord.” It’s the same guard as before. Chan’s entire face falls, he has to physically tear his eyes away from your face with a heavy heart.

“What is it?” he asks rather harshly.

“Your presence is being requested in the throne room. A villager requesting aid.”

His shoulders sag forward. “I will be down in a moment.”

The guard nods and leaves.

Chan turns and looks back at you. Your mouth is shut firmly, lips pressed in a thin line. Heat rises to your cheeks and your ears turn red in embarrassment.

“Will you be at lunch later?”

“I know not, we will see how thief lessons go.”

He nods, his hands clench into fists and then unclench a moment after. “I will see you for dinner then.”

“Aye, my lord.”

His expression falls, you can practically hear his heart shatter. But you just do not possess the strength to call him something other than his title anymore. The confidence that came over you previously went out the door when the guard opened it and never returned.

The Jarl hesitates. “Chan,” he murmurs.

“Of course,” your voice strains out.

Chan stands there for another long moment before nodding once and making to leave. He pauses at the door.

“The key to pickpocket one of them is to do it when neither of them are paying attention, there are no rules. Who said you need to carry it out during the dance?”

He shuts the door behind him with a resounding click.

You stand there for a minute, weighing his words carefully.

Oh. Clever.

----------------------------------------------

You steel your nerves as you walk into the ballroom. After talking with Chan, you came up with some semblance of a plan. He certainly started the gears in your mind.

Before the dance even starts, you’re going to take the key from Minho’s pocket. He always winds the music contraption up before you begin.

That’s when you’ll do it.

Pushing open the doors, you notice that neither of the men are here yet.

Perfect.

Crossing the room, you walk right up to the music box, eyeing it closely.

Plan aside, you were rather curious as to how it works. Minho would wind the side lever for a bit and after releasing it, the top disk would spin and music would come out.

Carefully, you lift your hand up and run it over the black disk on top. Grooves ran through the entire thing.

An arm with a pin at the end sat beside the disk. Minho would place it on top of the disk after it spun and music would come from the large horn at the top.

Its design is mind boggling to you.

Your head cocks to the side and you stare at it.

Was it some sort of magic item?

“It is called a record player,” Minho’s voice comes from right behind you.

Your hand flies over your chest as you gasp in surprise. How did he sneak up on you so easily?

He has the same fancy outfit on as yesterday complete with a pocket watch and chain.

The advisor sure knows how to present himself, that’s for sure. He always has an air of confidence around him.

You look back down at the record player. “How does it work?”

Minho chuckles. “I know not exactly how it works, really. To my understanding, it is a lot like a music box.” He comes up and stands directly next to you. “The record on top has dips and grooves that when the pin goes over, sound is produced and amplified through the top here.”

“And it turns after the side is cranked?”

“Aye.”

You hum, weighing his words. After a moment, you step closer to him and reach for the lever, spinning it around. Small clicks sound from inside the box the more you spin it.

Minho makes no move to step away from you.

“How fares your leg?” He asks quietly, his voice close to your ear.

“Alright now,” you answer without looking at him. “Felix came to my room last night to stitch it back up.”

“Back up? It reopened?” His voice shakes for a syllable. You almost didn’t catch it.

“Aye, do not worry too much. I know not to push myself anymore.”

The lever clicks into place, you take that as your sign to release it. From behind you, Minho reaches over you and moves the arm to place the needle on the record.

Instead of retracting his arm, he grabs the edge of the record player, caging you against it from one side.

The hairs on the back of your neck stick up and a shiver tears down your spine.

You stand straight, looking down at the record spinning. The waltz music loudly comes through the horn.

Since it’s pointed a different way, it’s not as loud as it would be if you were directly in front of it.

Minho’s chest brushes against your back when he takes a particularly deep breath. Something hard pokes against your shoulder blade. Jackpot.

“Felix told me you came to him.” You don’t turn around to say that to Minho.

He sighs through his nose, the exhale hits your neck.

“Aye, I did.”

Slowly, you turn around to face him.

He looks down to meet your eyes, his face only a few centimeters away from you. His hand tightens on the record player and his jaw clenches.

“I was worried about your leg,” he murmurs. His dark eyes swirling with something unknown.

You hesitate for a second, keeping your eyes on his. He tenses up.

“Thank you, Minho.”

He looks shocked for a moment, as if he was expecting you to scold him for reaching out on your behalf. He looked like he was prepared to defend himself even more.

One of your hands lifts up and you run it lovingly down the lapel of his jacket. Once more, his jaw clenches.

“I had a talk with Felix,” you tell him lowly. “I have not been relying on you all as much as he wished I did.”

While your gaze goes down to where your hands trace, Minho’s stays strictly on your face.

“I know now you are just looking out for me. You would do the same for any of the court members, hm?”

He hesitates. “Aye.”

Again, you hum. Your other hand comes up to mirror the other, both palms planting on his chest as you look up into Minho’s eyes.

He’s watching you so closely. The look in his eye keeps flickering between something sharp and dark, and then to something soft and light. His eyebrows jump and twitch.

You can see his internal argument with his own emotions and how to feel about your proximity, about your words and touches. Even with the inner turmoil, he keeps his body in front of yours, caging you in his warmth.

Lips set in a firm line, Minho’s other arm comes up to properly pin you against the edge of the record player.

“I saw the dress,” you tell him suddenly.

He studies your face more for a telling reaction.

“I loved it.” A genuine smile crosses your face. He glances down at your lips and then back to your eyes. The corners of his mouth twitch. “I especially loved the slit in the skirt; it is smart.”

His ears immediately turn a deep scarlet color.

Slowly, while he’s distracted, you slip your hand closer to the inside of his pocket. It’s the closest you’ve ever been to victory.

“The Jarl said it was for a dagger,” you look away from his eyes for a moment. “But I am not so sure with you, Minho.”

You come back to look at his face. His eyes are still as sharp as ever, analyzing every muscle in your face. One of his eyebrows lifts.

“What do you mean by that?”

Inch by inch, you move inside his jacket pocket. The key is so close you can taste it.

“I believe you are just trying to get me to show some more skin.” Your body moves impossibly closer to him.

He smells so good.

Every hair on his head is perfectly kept. This man is the image of perfection.

Minho’s eyes narrow. “If I wanted you to show more skin, why would I include it in a dress that I will not even see you in.”

You huff, your hand inside his jacket, fingers brush against the brass key and curl around the warm metal.

“Because,” Your face inches closer and closer to his. “I think you thrive off the chase of it all. And I think that knowing that another man will be touching me and looking at me boils your blood in the most intoxicating of ways.”

Minho swallows thickly. He absentmindedly parts his lips the closer yours come to his.

His knuckles are turning white his grip on the record player is so tight. It’s taking every ounce of strength he has to contain himself, you can tell.

“Correct me if I am wrong, Lee Minho, but I believe you have been infatuated with me from the moment we met.”

The key is in your grasp, your movements so painstakingly slow to not alert him.

Minho stops breathing. All of his muscles tighten and grow taught.

Where did this sexual confidence come from? You’ve never had to seduce a man to get what you want before. You’re completely flying blind, the words seem to come naturally.

Your heart is racing out of your chest from his proximity.

Are you really putting on an act at this point, though?

The music swells in the air.

Minho lets out a strained, shaky exhale. But he doesn’t respond.

“Is that why you are so concerned with my affairs with other men? Because you want it to be you?”

The key is out of his pocket and in your hand. Carefully, you turn it and slide it into your shirt sleeve.

Your other hand slides up his body and cups his tightly clenched jaw softly. His teeth might shatter if he keeps this up.

“You said it yourself that jealousy can make a man crazy.”

You feel like prey under his piercing brown eyes. They’re swirling with danger.

Standing up on your top toes, you make for his lips, you hear his breath hitch in his throat.

“All you need to do is ask, Lee Minho.”

At the last moment, you turn your head and kiss the corner of his parted lips.

“But I will not do anything until you tell me how much you want it.”

From deep within his throat, it sounds like Minho growls .

But before he can do anything else, the door opens, revealing Seungmin in his fancy gala clothing..

“Are we quite prepared for lessons then?” he asks with a playful smirk.

Minho finally releases you and takes a few steps away.

“Aye,” you say sweetly, walking away from the record player and towards Seungmin. “Quite ready.”

Seungmin looks at you for a moment and then over at Minho. When his eyes leave you, you slip the key into your pocket.

It’s hard to contain your excitement at your victory, but you keep it together.

Both men take their places on the dance floor. Seungmin asks for your hand first with a bow.

“You will tell us if you are in pain.” He demands mid-bow.

“Aye, I will.” You answer, dropping into a curtsey.

The dance begins with the rogue.

You’re just as handsy as you have been with him. He has the key in his lower left pocket. When you’re dipped down, you feel it press into your hip.

Smirking, you let yourself be spun into Minho who holds you tighter than he ever has. His grip is possessive and controlling.

He leads you through the dance like a commander would lead an army.

You can’t deny that his bruising grasp does something to you. A fluttering feeling curly in your lower stomach.

His dip is sharp, a hot exhale fanning over your neck before you’re brought up and spun to Seungmin.

You let both of them dance you around for a bit. You don’t want it to be too obvious when you took the key.

Seungmin leads you through the waltz.

“When I get the key, what am I to do with it?”

“Ideally, you would slide it into my own pocket the next time I have you as a partner.”

You nod and continue with the dance. It feels nice to be able to dance around with them without feeling immense frustration from failure after failure.

At this point, you’re just getting in some dance practice.

Three more rotations until you successfully slide the key into Seungmin’s right pocket.

“How is your leg?” Seungmin asks after another rotation.

“It is alright, but we can stop now. “

Abruptly, he stops the dance and looks down at your leg, expecting something to be wrong.

“It does not hurt,” you chuckle.

Seungmin looks back up at you questioningly.

“Hmm,” you hum. “Check your left pocket, my lord.”

His eyebrows shoot up and he pats both of his pockets down.

Minho’s hand immediately flies up to the pocket that originally held the key.

At the same time, they shoot you shocked expressions. Seungmin’s expression brightens considerably with a proud smile. His eyes shine brightly in the dim light of the ballroom.

You smile and curtsy again. “All before lunch too. Must be our lucky day.”

#skz x reader #stray kids x reader #bang chan x reader #lee know x reader #changbin x reader #hyunjin x reader #han jisung x reader #felix x reader #seungmin x reader #jeongin x reader #lee minho x reader #i.n x reader #stray kids fantasy au #skz fantasy au #animals without direction

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bumblesimagines · 1 year

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Under The Moonlight

Part 2

Request: Yes or No

~~~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Did I put the scar on my back?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I can see that," Harald chuckled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Have you ever killed a man before?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I want nothin-"

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

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

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

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

"What?"

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

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

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

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

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

"I did not."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

➸ ➸ ➸ ➸ ➸ ➸

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

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

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

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

"Shut up, heathen." Birger groaned.

"What did you say to me?"

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

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

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

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

"Then where are the other boats?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#x reader #x you #x y/n #x male reader #vikings valhalla x you #vikings valhalla x male reader #vikings valhalla #vikings valhalla x y/n #vikings #harald sigurdsson x y/n #harald sigurdsson x you #harald sigurdsson x male reader #harald sigurdsson x reader #harald sigurdsson #leif eriksson #freydis eriksdotter

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froggyfics · 7 months

Text

For Your Pleasure - 1

The invaders arrive.

Y'all...this series is wild.

18+ only! I do not consent for this content to be viewed by minors. Please take heed of the warnings listed, though they are not entirely comprehensive. Do not continue reading if you are uncomfortable with the content. This story and its contents are 100% fictional, and are not affiliated with Marvel Comics.

Feedback is always appreciated. Feel free to message me privately or comment below to let me know what you think. Constructive criticism is always welcome!

Pairing: viking!dark! Bucky Barnes x fem!reader

Warnings: violence, bloodshed, nonconsensual touching

Word Count: 1,351

You never thought you could see so much blood. If it were not for the rain, it would have settled into your pores and stained you. However, you knew that whether it was raining or not, you would be changed. The blood could be washed out, but your mind was forever scarred.

Njal’s head remains in the water. The open wound on his neck still spills blood into the water, tainting it pink.

You want to look away from the horror of seeing his dead body, but at the same time you don’t want to. Looking away would be a disservice to Njal. You want to remember. Remembering meant that you were alive. And being alive meant that you could curse him and his band of murderers.

Your jaw clenches in anger when he steps directly on Njal’s head to cross the stream. The sound of his foot colliding with the back of Njal’s head reverberates in the air.

“Hush now, Frida.” You hug her sideways, and rub her arm comfortingly. She continues to shake violently due to the fright and cold. The heat generated by rubbing your hand against her arm is pointless, but you can’t stop. You must do something – anything – even if it’s meaningless to distract you from the chaos.

He stomps on the puddle directly in front of you and Frida. The mud splatters on the hem of your dress. Frida’s whimpers only increase in volume, but you hold her steady. As long as you look down, as long as you remain silent, perhaps he will spare you.

The fear overcomes Frida. She yanks herself out of your grasp and desperately attempts to run. Her feet lodge in the mud several times, which exasperates how pathetic she looks trying to escape.

“Frida, no!” you call out.

It’s already too late. You watch in horror as he reaches behind his back to grab an arrow from his quiver. He aligns the arrow on his arrow rest and the nocking point. He pulls the white string back and the arrow swooshes through the air.

You look away, defeated. You’re not as brave as you thought you were. Her scream pierces your eardrums.

You are the one now violently shaking. Except, no one is here to comfort, or at least try to comfort you. You’re not sure where your family is. You all split up the moment they landed on your shores. They may be dead or they be alive. Regardless, they aren’t coming to save you.

“They always run,” he sighs. “Pointless, truly.”

You say nothing. You’re not even sure if he’s speaking to you or to someone else.

He grabs your chin roughly to look at him. It hurts. You feel as though your jaw will break in his metal arm.

“Will you run?”

You shake your head immediately.

He smiles at you, but it frightens you even further. His white teeth are covered with blood. You’re not sure if it’s his own or…

You’ve heard of the Jarl of Brooklyn before. His violent reputation crossed continents and seas. But Brooklyn always seemed so far away. Even when a nearby village was pillaged by him a few months past, it never occurred to you that he would come here, to your humble settlement.

“I have grains,” you offer. “They’re – they’re stored on my property.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Oh, do you now?”

“Yes!” you breathe a sigh of relief. He sounds entranced by your offer. Maybe if you willingly appease him, he’ll let you live. He’ll let your family live. “I can take you to my home. Please.”

He looks you over and you almost are embarrassed by the way you look until you remind yourself of the circumstances.

“Alright, take me to your home.” He’s still smiling. You’re sure that you’ll have nightmare of his face for the rest of your days.

You trudge through the thick mud, slipping every so often, only to be held up by his hand around your neck. Though it may seem like you’re guiding him, he’s the one in control of the situation. His hand rests on the back of your neck, reminding you every step home that there is truly no escaping him.

You recognize the fallen villagers. Every single one that you pass. Njal was your neighbor, always helping your father during harvest season. Hilda made the most beautiful, beaded jewelry for you and your sister at a discount. Gertrud taught you to swim.

And Frida was…a child. A stupid, rambunctious, annoying one. You were always irritated at her presence – her high energy conflicted with yours. She always wanted to follow you around the village like a thorn in your side. Now more than ever, you want to hear her ramblings in your ear. You wish she was right next to you, bothering you, asking you question after question. If only you knew to be grateful that pesky Frida was the worst of your troubles.

As you approach your home with your warden right behind you, you encounter several more intruders. You can’t help but scowl as they pillage your neighbors’ homes and grope the women without shame. You pass by Helga and Leif’s home. Even though the door is closed, you can hear Helga’s screams. There’s nothing you can do.

You guide the strange man to your family’s home, opening the wooden door shakily.

“There,” you point at the barrels near the hearth, but the man is not listening to you.

You catch him observing every part of your house. Dread fills your body as it becomes clear that the man wants more than just grains.

“Please, just take the grains. We have nothing left to offer you.”

It’s a lie. You have several pounds of dried meat in the smokehouse, and barrels full of milk and skyr are hidden underneath the table benches. But offering the man your family’s grain supply will certainly lead to a hungry winter, so you do your best to keep up the rouse.

His frightening eyes meet yours, and his face stretches to a bloody smile.

“I’m sure you have more to offer than some grains.”

Were you that bad of a liar? You gulp as you wrack your brain to figure out a solution that won’t leave your family destitute for the winter.

“Berries. Fresh ones. We’ve just picked lingonberries and strawberries.” You walk to a barrel next the grains. “Right here.” You pat the barrel filled with berries.

“I’m sure you have more to offer than some berries.”

The blue-eyed man stands an arm’s length away, but inches towards you.

You step backwards to avoid his grasp. “Skyr!” you gasp when his arm nearly grabs your own. “We have skyr as well.”

“I’m sure you have more to offer than some skyr.”

Goodness, this man intends to starve your family!

“Please, this is all that we have!”

You continue walking backwards, circling the hearth while he follows you. Every two steps you take is equivalent to one of his. You pick up your pace and so does he.

As if you didn’t learn a lesson from Frida, you attempt to run yourself. Your feet jump and you change the direction of your body in midair towards the closed door. The moment you land on your feet he plants his foot in between your legs.

You land on the ground with a thud. The air is knocked out of your body, but there’s no time to catch your breath. He flips you onto your back and sits on your stomach. He unsheathes his knife from his waist. The blade is dark red, the blood upon it has already dried. He lowers the tip of it to your clavicle and sharply moves downward. The cold air nips your newly exposed chest.

His weight makes it difficult for you to take a deep breath in, so you can barely him through your gasping when he starts to speak.

“I’m sure you have more to offer,” he says, all while smiling with blood in teeth, mud in his hair, and sadism in his eyes.

#marvel comics #dark!bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x fem!reader #viking!bucky barnes #bucky barnes #dark!bucky x reader #dark!bucky x you

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ewanmitchelll · 1 year

Text

Imagine you are a Danish woman who falls in love with Osferth.

Warnings: smut/fluff.

Inspired by: Rosalía’s “LLYLM”; “Dark Paradise” by Lana del Rey.

***

You are a daughter of Jarl H/N who died fighting side by side to Ragnar Ragnarsson. Because he was already a widow by the time he went to those wars against Wessex, this meant you had only an elder brother. Hence why Ragnar thought prudent to honor his friend by adopting his children.

Now here you are, reaching maturity with your long y/c locks, y/c smooth skin and y/c eyes that are deep, keeper of unspoken dreams. You are not very inclined to sword fighting, though you are an excellent archer and always carry a dagger by your side—as taught by Ragnar, whom you started seeing him as a stepfather as well as Brida as a sort of the mother you’ve never had.

There is something good in you that your beauty seems to highlight—and even Uhtred Ragnarsson was not oblivious to it.

“Not Y/N, Uhtred. This one is like my daughter”, said Ragnar with a smile on his lips. “Go look somewhere else.”

“She is beautiful”, Uhtred groaned. “But out of respect for you, I will behave.”

You prefer to surround yourself in quiet contemplation, hence why you are found nearby a river, giving praise to your Gods when you occasionally spot a male...completely nude.

"Oh", you exclaim, surprised, though unable to look away.

“My lady!”, the other one shouts back, trying to cover himself. “Do close your eyes!”

He runs to grab his clothes and you find yourself reluctantly to look away. The said male is so captivating—and you are not even concentrating your thoughts solely on his manhood, but his muscles, his broad shoulders and the naivety in his eyes.

Yes. It’s about those eyes, so pretty and filled with an unique goodness you’ve never seen before in any other before—and it’s not as if you are very experienced in these matters, since you always amused yourself with flirtations but never going beyond that.

You are still watching by the time this tall man with short hair whose beautiful pair of eyes captured you comes in your direction to apologize for his misconduct.

“My lady, I had no intention to offend you. Please, accept my apologies”, he speaks softly.

And just like that you swoon.

Am I a fool? Oh Gods, you make me turn into one.

“Apologizes?”, you tilt your head, smiling rather shyly. “What for, sir? I was careless for letting myself find you.”

The man blushes and you almost beam at such a sight.

“I do not think so, my lady. I should have been careful”, he mumbles under his breath and all you wish is that he looks at you.

“You are dressed now, so it’s all amended”, you remark amused. “I am Y/N Y/LN. May I ask your name, good man?”

He finally raises his eyes and you like how he seems to fight away his shyness to speak to you, hands behind his back.

“I am Osferth, my lady. Despite the circumstances, I am pleased to make your acquaintance.”

“Would you care to join me in prayers, Osferth? I think the Gods have a plan for me since you are brought to me.” You smile wide at his blush upon your cheeky words.

“I fear to say… well, not fear, but I am a Christian. I do not think Gods have decided to such an occasion happen.” But as your face falls, Osferth comes to realize he’s making himself a fool. “I do not intend to disrespect you. Please forgive me. I… I suppose we can each pray to our own?”

As you nod, Osferth takes a seat by your side and, as much as he tries to concentrate, he cannot help himself. For when you close your eyes and start to meditate, you don’t seem to notice his long stare at you. Mesmerized by your beauty, Osferth admires the shade of y/c that paints your locks, your smooth y/c skin, the curves your gown seems to reinforce…

It’s not after a long moment in silence that when you open your eyes, you notice it.

“Is there something wrong, sir?”, you ask, between intrigued and embarrassed.

To be under his gaze makes you experiment different sensations, both physical and emotional. You are frightened to find them out, unable to escape the somewhat mystical bonding between you two. A perception that has not escaped Osferth’s attention either.

“Are you an angel, my lady?”

“I’m sorry?”, you repeat, confused.

“An angel”, he whispers. “Sent by the Lord. You are the prettiest of the women I’ve ever seen. Surely you are not part of this world, this...common, mundane and filth place where only a sword makes one victor above all else."

His voice is melodical, sweet, carried with a gentleness you rarely find in other men. Though you always read old icelandic tales about stories filled with love, mixed with adventures (and here you have in mind the story of Aslaug and Ragnar, for example, which according to an old tradition of your folk, occurred about a century earlier), the men you encountered with buried your hopes.

"I would not like to disappoint you, good Osferth", you whisper back. "But methinks I am more of a mundane creature than a divine one, even though I believe that my Gods and yours brought us here for a purpose".

The two of you share a smile, but this sacred union of souls alike ends when Brida searches for you. And when she finds you two, she heavily sighs.

"Really, Y/N? Of all men who pursuit your hand, you incline to flirt with a Christian?!"

You blush and part the gaze, ready to stand as Osferth offers his hand for you to take.

"He is a good man, mother. Please do not speak ill of him."

"How can you tell he is good if you two just met?"

"For a start, he treated me respectfully. You know well the men of our tribe would have kidnapped me if they had the chance."

And just like that you convinced Brida that Osferth could never do any wrong to you. It is how things start between you two.

***

You and Osferth begin to spend a lot of time together. He teaches you how to read and to write, activities that impress you. Soon, you and him decide to write down the stories you've been told as a child. Osferth is surprised by your good memory, and how much he learns from you.

On the other hand, you help him with archery and when there is music, Osferth actually dances with you.

The sight of how you smile to each other makes Ragnar sigh and Uhtred wonder how on earth you never looked at him in the first places

“A Christian”, Ragnar mutters under his breath. “Of all men around here, Y/N decides to fall in love with a Christian man.”

“Baby monk”, Uhtred grumbles. “Though he is a good guy, a warrior with surprisingly good skills for a fucking monk, he is…”.

It’s Brida who speaks what’s in most people’s thoughts, though:

“Methinks it’s the fact Y/N chose Osferth over you that is making you sigh dramatically, Uhtred.”

Amidst teasings, it becomes very obvious to all that whatever is going on between the two of you goes beyond physical attraction. But for some reason you and Osferth seem shy about getting the first steps.

Until one day he invites you to see the stars. Whilst the tribe is drowning itself in excessive drinking, you—on this day, dressed in silk red gown with details in blue, a fancy gift your adopted father gave you, which was actually sent from lady of the Mercians, Æthelflæd, when they met in one of these occasions—are content drinking mead. Unlike your family, you don’t like to exceed yourself much. Little wonder why you and Osferth get along so well. It’s when he comes for you.

“Lady Y/N, my greetings. I understand you are busy, occupied with such a feast, but I was wondering if you’d like to see the stars with me.”

He speaks softly and though he can be bold in battle—growing so after countless incursions by Uhtred’s side—, when it comes to women Osferth lacks the confidence. As much as he tries to follow his friend in such manners, he fears he cannot find a place in between heathen-like warrior behavior and proper Christian mindset.

But whatever the struggle that ignites within, Osferth finds peace with you. He can be himself, aware that you don’t judge him for being an atypical warrior monk. Even so, however, he still believes that you’d prefer him to be bold like the men of your tribe.

“Why, of course, sir”, you beam, extending your hand to him. “I was starting to think if you would ever take me out of this boring feast.”

Osferth smiles quietly, looking down as his hand intertwines with yours.

“I thought you’d like to stay. I saw you were dancing earlier.”

“How come you did not ask me to dance?”, you ask him, shooting him a hurtful glance.

As you two pass the noisy salon, you and Osferth ignore the eyebrows raised of Ragnar and the smirk on Uhtred’s lips. Or how the Irish keeps nudging the latter’s arm, laughing quietly, all the whilst Brida rolls her eyes. To think the two of you are leaving unnoticed…

“You were already busy”, Osferth defends himself. “I assumed your partner was a better one… You do know how terrible I look when it comes to music.”

You poke his sides playfully before you are led to a quiet spot Osferth’s been wishing to take you.

“And you know I couldn’t care less about it”, you smile at him.

Osferth blushes, refusing to meet your gaze, but he smiles quietly. His heart races at your words and there is so much he wishes to tell you.

“So here we are”, Osferth points to the grass where there is an old piece of blanket over it. “Please forgive my…”

You throw your hands around his neck, cutting his words.

“Your kindness is more than I deserve. Thank you for looking after me, Osferth.”

He smiles warmly, openly this time. When the two of you are settled, he asks you:

“Is this of your liking?”

“To be with you is of my liking”, you tell at long last.

Perhaps this is the effect of three meads, but you don’t seem to care. Your body may be warm, but your soul has been aching for him. Osferth feels it too.

“Whatever my soul is made of”, he whispers, pulling you closer to him, “I believe it’s made of yours.”

And saying so, he finally kisses you under the stars.

***

The kiss is sloppy at first. There are soft giggles in between, with neither knowing exactly how to go. But it does not take long before each togue pairs the other properly. You can tell that he’s been only shy, not inexperienced as part of you had hoped.

The way he grips around your waist is firm, and slowly his confidence shows it’s way when using his free hand to play with your hair, pulling it gently before cupping your face.

There is a moment where the kiss starts to lose control. You like how dominating he seems, how his tongue asserts control over yours, how breathless you both are. And every wall is knocked down easily. Just like that.

But Osferth’s conscience urges him to stop. When seeing a silent protest in your eyes, he does not look away, though, before saying:

“I want this to be perfect. I do not wish to deflower you right here, even if we have Christ as our witness in every inch of the nature He created.”

You tilt your head, rather unsure what to interpret from his words.

“I appreciate your respect, something I have rarely seen even amidst the folk I’ve been raised. But I must know… Did I do something wrong?”

“No, no. Please, do not think so”, he rushes to cup your face again. He rubs his nose against yours before resting his forehead against yours. “I want you to be my wife, Y/N. This is what I’ve meant. D-Do you take me as your husband?”

You beam delightedly. Your smile makes him smile in turn, his heart melting at the sight of your evident happiness at his disastrous proposal. But there you are, just the two of you in the wild, where the starts and the moon are the only witnesses of such a pure display of mutual love and devotion.

“I do. But you must know I will not leave the ways of my people behind”, you tell him, wishing not to sound so insecure.

“I care not. I take you as you are”, Osferth assures you.

You hold him close, eyes closed as you live this moment. All you see behind your mind is him, his smile, his gentleness… A thousand virtues to lead your way, one you’d gladly follow.

Your Valhalla.

His Heaven.

“I love you”, both of you say at the same time.

And you smile at each other because you know.

***

A few months later…

You come to find out that, as careful he might be with you, there is no shyness out of public’s eyes. You take delight at his hunger for your flesh, at his devotion to you. When he goes on his knees and wakes you up in the best of ways…

“Oh Osferth!”, you barely open your eyes when sensing his tongue working wonderfulness in between your legs.

You still have in mind the day he told you he’d wanted to try something with a woman…that his brothers in arm often talked about. But he didn’t want to waste it with any woman, no.

Your hand moves instantly to play with his hair all the whilst you grip the sheet with the other. You never hated as you hate now to wear your nightgown.

“You are waking the beast within me”, you moan, starting to feel your legs weight.

But all the response you get is a groan and when you look down, you meet his eyes and… dear Gods, there is mischief in them.

Just like them, he drinks every bit of you. And when raising up, you take delight in how undressed he is already.

“Husband!”, you kiss his lips fervently all the whilst pulling himself towards you. “You come here…”

He chuckles, specially when you are moved by this unbearable fire that he sparked in you.

“Yes, wife? What’s it with you?”

You start kissing his neck all the whilst locking your legs around his waist, your curious hands not taking too long before finding his erect manhood.

“You make me go insane, Osferth”, you whisper against his neck, getting wet at his moans, at how he throws his head back and enjoys your touch, ever so smooth.

“Oh, do I?”

“Yes”, you bite his earlobe, smirking at his shivering. “Yes, you do.”

You’d gladly go down on him had he not opened his eyes and swiftly turned you. So now he is on top of you and holding your wrists above your head, he begins to remove your nightgown.

“You are so beautiful”, he whispers against your lips, eyeing you with not the common lust of the men, but with so much more.

Which arouses you and tenders your heart all the same.

“I love you”, your words come out as whining which makes him chuckle.

It is only then he slowly, but very skillfully slides into you.

“I love you too, Y/N”.

And just like that you start making love. It would not take too long before a big family starts to raise. After all, you are always following your husband everywhere he goes—even if Osferth protests against it for your safety—and you never resist him. As he never resists you.

Uhtred would later remark that you two form a rather unique pair…

#ewan mitchell #osferth x y/n #osferth x female reader #Osferth smut #Osferth #baby monk #the last kingdom

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wellthebardsdead · 10 months

Text

Courier: *hands flynt a very fancy letter* Looks like that’s it got to go- *hurries off*

Taliesin: gods I wish I had that man’s energy. Do you want me to read it?

Flynt: *nods and holds the letter up to him*

Kaidan: it looks pretty fancy, maybe one of the Jarls need us again?

Lucien: they’ve never used an envelope like that before though usually it’s just some folded paper.

Taliesin: *blinks a couple times seeing the dominion seal on it before opening it up and nearly dropping it in shock* THALLERY?!

Flynt: wha?

Kaidan: what’s a thallery?

Lucien: the… leaders of the aldmeri dominion.

Inigo: *ears pinning back* what does a thallery want with our friend?…

Taliesin: to, meet in the tavern in solitude. It says they want to help us and need our help in turn. *looks down at flynt* Do you? Want to-

Flynt: *nods* mm.

Kaidan: You Whot?!

*a few days later*

Flynt: *walks up the stairs in the winking skeever with taliesins help* he here?…

Taliesin: *steps into the balcony floor to see a very handsome young high elf seated at a table looking away from them* …that is. The prince of the dominion.

Flynt: … *grips Taliesins hand tighter*

Taliesin: he hasn’t seen us yet, we can leave if you’re not-

Flynt: *let’s go of his hand and pulls the letter from his pocket, approaching the other high elfs direction via his scent* Hi… Cary, yeah?

Caryalind: *looks over to see the blind bosmer standing a few feet from him, letter extended* I? oh! You got my letter, I’ll be honest I wasn’t expecting you to accept it or for you to… be blind.

Flynt: … *looks back at Taliesin as the other elf approaches*

Taliesin: *recognising flynts expression enough to know what he wants him to say* He’s a veteran of the Great War your highness. The dominion captured him and subsequently blinded him after cutting his tongue. He’s effectively a mute.

Caryalind: *eyes wide as flynt looks back in his direction* y-you-

Flynt: *nods and hands cary the letter*

Taliesin: *clears his throat* He says he accepts your offer and wants to work with you.

Caryalind: *tearing up* wh-why? After what my family did to him I-

Flynt: *shakes his head* m-mnnot, your, faulllrt.

Taliesin: *ears twitching as he takes a moment to understand him* He doesn’t blame you for your fathers actions… you need not cry for him…

*a few hours later*

Kaidan: they’ve been up there for a while now…

Lucien: it takes a while for flynt to speak I’m sure it’s fine.

Inigo: yes my friend, you worry too much, I’m sure it’s not as bad as it seems.

Flynt: *walks over and sits with them* mew frem.

Lucien: new friend?

Taliesin: *walks over with Caryalind* Everyone this is Caryalind Thallery, the standing heir to the aldmeri dominion.

Caryalind: Hello!

Kaidan: Fock. Off.

#caryalind skyrim #skyrim taliesin #flynt dragonborn #bosmer dragonborn #Kaidan skyrim #inigo skyrim #Lucien skyrim #skyrim

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beautyfulskyrimdaily · 2 years

Text

The fact the companion tag is Ohio is absolutely sending me 💀😭

#i have never seen ohio as a trending topic on tumblr and its paired with skyrim #ohio #skyrim #jarl speaks #skyrim talks

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yanderemommabean · 1 year

Note

can you write something with Cicero??? he’s my absolute favorite goofy jester man and he’s been on my mind so much, he just kinda reminds me of like a feral ginger cat that goes out in the middle of the night and places a dead bird on your bed as an offering to you.

"Uh...Cicero, care if we have a talk?" You ask, tugging on the sleeves of your outfit nervously as the jester comes bounding up with a smile. An almost too wide smile. One that's eager and unhinged, hanging on your every word.

"Oh yes! Yes listener, anything for you! Need someone gutted? Need me to wash the blood from your clothes? Oh oh! Did you finally kill that annoying Jarl out for my head? "

"A...Jarl?"

"Oh don't fret! Tell Cicero what you need, tell him!"

You nod, wanting to put a pin in the fact he's been washing your clothes again when you strictly told him to cut it out. As well as the apparent bounty he has on him from on of the holds. "Well, we're having to disguise for this next mission, and I need to make a few things clear, because nothing can go wrong otherwise we, as well as a hundred people, will be dead"

Cicero nodded, hands behind his back as he listens to you explaining the rules and situation you both will be in. His eyes seemed to hold a dark, bored predator like look as he watched you speak, as if he was simply letting you believe you could control him rather than actually having a hold on him.

"I have to seduce this man. I have to take him to the chambers and then I am to poison him, or at the very least, make his death look like he died of natural causes. Once I'm done I'll run out and meet you-"

"Seduce?" the jester says with a sour expression, hands coming up from his back as he twirls the knife in his hand, tilting his head as his eyes darken. "You're to be touched by a disgusting worm...alone...while Cicero waits and wonders? Oh, poor sweet listener will be with a man who couldn't even please his five wives! Why waste your breath on this one? We could just poison his drink and leave! No dress up required~! "

You swallow, watching as he handles the blade and presses closer to you. "He needs to die in his bedroom. It has to be seen as a natural death in his sleep. Dying from poison in his drink during a party would alert everyone to what happened, and we'd be hunted"

"Aren't we hunted already?'

"Cicero-"

"Oh fine!" the jester sighs dramatically, before cackling bitterly, "Oh poor cicero will have to just wash your body from that filthy pigs touch when we're done! Every delicate inch will be lovingly cleaned, oh yes yes! Don't you worry!"

You just nod, not moving until the dagger was put back in it's holder. You don't think he'd try anything with you but you can't really be sure with his psychotic he can become over the most mundane of things.

You walk back to the carriage and begin to pack some more supplies, listening as the man mutters nonsense to himself, deciding it was best to ignore the asinine things falling from his lips.

((Hi! Hope this was entertaining! -Mommabean))

#Yandere skyrim #yandere cicero #yandere scenarios #yandere imagines #yandere male #mommabean

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author-morgan · 9 months

Note

i see your requests are open!! can you do something sweet with Harald? (and Halfdan if you’re comfortable with polyamory!)

Of courseeeee. Here is some Harald fluff (with a pinch of bittersweetness and angst). I was going to have this be polyamorous (bc those two come as a pair more often than naught in my fics lbr lol), but once I got started it just turned into something more Harald-centric. Hope you don't mind! (I went a little overboard for him again) Harald Finehair x fem!Reader

HALFDAN THE BLACK is the first to enter Tamdrup’s great hall upon returning from a successful raiding season. The doors swing open wide, and those gathered for the tribunal part, making way for the victorious. Rising from the seat of power, you go to him with open arms, smiling. “I see you brought my husband back,” you muse, watching Harald enter the hall at last, surrounded by a score of rowdy warriors and overjoyed denizens—rightfully so, they have returned with riches and have lost fewer than a dozen warriors during the raids.

“I fear what you would do if I didn’t,” Halfdan laughs, tossing down a heavy coin purse on the table before taking you into his arms.

“It is always good to see you again,” you smile, kissing your marriage-brother’s cheek. He is inclined to agree. After long days at sea and many weeks away, it is good to be greeted by a fair and familiar face such as yours. Halfdan clasps your shoulder as he steps around you, pouring himself a cup of mead—leaving you to his brother. “Harald,” you greet, and the hall falls silent as he approaches you.

His breath catches as he beholds you, standing before him regal as ever with a gifted silver circlet resting upon your brow. His wife. His queen. His heart. It is as though the rest of the world falls away when he stops before you, rough hands cradling your face with the gentlest of touches. “By all the gods” —he strokes his thumbs over your cheeks— “you’re even more beautiful than I remember.”

Harald’s kiss is slow and soft—save for the familiar scratch of his beard against your cheek and jaw—and speaks of the months of longing to return to your loving arms. You kiss him like you’ve done a thousand times before, falling into the rhythm as though you never parted. Your fingers comb through his beard as you part, foreheads resting together, but then your smile widens as you wrap your arms around him, holding him tight. “I’ve missed you,” you breathe. But now he’ll be yours again until the next raiding season comes.

THE WHEEL OF time does not slow, and the harvest season fades into winter and then to the first buds of spring. Nigh all the Vestfold gathered in Tamdrup tonight for the feast to celebrate sowing the first seeds of the new crop and seasoning the turned soil with sacred blood. But that is not the only reason the jarls and fighting men have come all this way. In the coming weeks, Harald, Halfdan, and anyone else willing to sail will make their way to Frankia to raid Paris with Ragnar Lothbrok. Festivities last long into the night, but Harald comes to you soon after you take leave.

He draws lines over the length of your spine as you lay with him, head pillowed on his chest, listening to the slow rhythmic beat of his heat, bare legs entwined, but then you twist in his arms and lean up to kiss him—featherlight and sweet as the mead still on his breath—fingertips following the blue-black scrollwork of his tattoos. Then he tilts his head back, letting you trace the curving lines on his neck and down to the ones on his chest—only your touch could ever make him tremble.

“Paris?” You repeat, following one of the silver scars on his ribs with your fingertips. He’s spoken of the city to the south and of Ragnar Lothbrok before, but with the night’s feast, it became official. Come the spring, he would prepare his ships and set sail to join the farmer-turned-king on his second venture to Frankia.

“Yes,” Harald says, his voice a low rasp. He sees it in your eyes, a flicker of hope that maybe this time you will sail with him and his brother—that you will be able to visit the distant lands so many speak of—but now is not the time for you to venture into the unknown. Your life is not something he can risk so easily and carelessly. Harald curls his hand around yours, then kisses the center of your palm and holds your hand close to his chest. “I need you here, my heart,” he tells you, but you already know that.

“I’ll plan a feast and a sacrifice before you and Halfdan depart,” you tell him—it is what any good queen and wife would do to see her husband and people return safe and with victory. And then he takes your lips and your breath, holding you close. You sigh into his mouth, letting his tongue brush yours, fingers slipping back into his unbound hair. His kiss is reverent, and you cannot help but miss the cracked softness of his lips against yours when he parts, but it is only so he can hold you in his arms.

TEN DAYS AFTER Harald Finehair first sets sail to Kattegat, his brother and the remainder of the fleet are ready to follow. The last of the barrels and crates are being rolled and loaded into the longships when you arrive on the docks to bid everyone farewell and good fortune on their journeys. Six hundred men and shieldmaidens from the Vestfold have gathered over the last two moons, all to leave on this day to join Ragnar Lothbrok in his endeavors—but Tamdrup will feel empty without their presence. Though, there is already a newfound hollowness in the wake of Harald’s departure.

You find Halfdan amongst the chaos, checking the yellow-red shields secured on the side of one of the ships. “Halfdan,” you call, and he turns on heel to face you with a half-bow—nigh teasing in nature, but you are, after all, his queen. Before he can stand upright, you reach out and rest your hands on his cheeks, and he bends a little farther, accepting the kiss you bestow upon his brow. “Be safe,” you tell him, hands moving to clasp his. “Look after your brother.”

Halfdan squeezes your hands. “You know I will,” he assures you. That is something you’ll never have to worry about—the bonds of blood and brotherhood run deep. You nod, and he steps back down into the longship. At your hest, they will set sail for glory and, if the gods deem it so, Valhalla.

One of your attendants hastens to the dock, stepping forward to present the gift commissioned from the blacksmith and jeweler—it's meant to be a surprise in celebration of another year of marriage, but alas, such care and detail took longer than expected. It’s a necklace of bronze and silver with a pendant shaped into the likeness of Mjölnir clasped in the mouths of two silver dragonheads on a chain of alternating links. “It was not finished before Harald left,” you explain, placing the necklace in Halfdan’s palm. “Give it to him, please.” Halfdan nods. “And all my love.”

RESOUNDING HORNS ANNOUNCE the return of Harald Finehair’s fleet in the dark hours of the evening. You rise from bed and make haste to the docks—handmaids following close behind with slippers and a cloak, but decorum is the least of your concerns. So few have returned, you think, counting the dwindling number of ships gathered compared to how many set off. The first wave departs one of the docked ships, and there is no air of triumph in those who press past you—eager to return to home and hearth and for solid ground beneath their feet. “Harald!” You call as he steps from the longship and onto the dock.

But he does not embrace you as he normally would after such a long voyage, and the spark in his stormy blue eyes is faded. It is only when you see who the men are carrying off the ship on a crude stretcher do you understand the cause of your husband’s sullen mood. “Halfdan,” you breathe, looking between him and Harald. You step to your marriage-brother and lift the pelt of fur covering his torso, grimacing—the wound at his shoulder is a festered, blackish mess, and the sweat on his brow in the first chill of winter speaks of the fever that’s set in during the return voyage.

You turn to one of your handmaids. “Call on Mjöll,” you instruct, “quickly.” The years have seen you clean and bind both Harald and Halfdan’s wounds, but this is far beyond your skill, and an herbalist will be needed to call Halfdan back from the cusp of the next life. The girl nods and sets off to the healer’s hut. Looking back at the stretcher-bearers, you point up the way to the great hall. “Take him to the great hall.” In such a state, Halfdan will need several pairs of watchful eyes.

Dark shadows cast from torchlight and iron braziers shroud Harald’s expression—he does not understand how it is you can stand with so much equanimity when faced with such loss. Harald steps to you, and his shoulders fall, then wordless, he slumps into your arms, resting his forehead on your shoulder—another weight you must bear—hands twisting into the fabric of your pale linen shift. You smooth your hand over his back, following the length of his braid-bound hair. “I thank the gods you have returned to me, my love,” you breathe, unwilling to let him part just yet.

Mjöll works to prepare a cataplasm of moss and herbs into the hours of the night, and you kneel at the prepared pallet of fur and pillows, placing a cool, damp rag upon Halfdan’s brow. There is little else you can do for your marriage brother besides trust the herbalist’s remedies, pray to the gods, and hope they are merciful. Mjöll nods for you to leave and tend to your husband. She and her apprentice will care for Halfdan.

He is pacing the length of the foot of the bed when you enter your shared chambers—hands flexing into fists at his side. You step into Harald’s path, hands going to the ties and buckles of his leathern armor. “If the High One truly sought Halfdan’s company,” you tell him, setting aside his vambraces before turning back, “he would already be feasting in the Halls of the Slain.”

To Harald, it is poor consolation but consolation all the same. And deep down, he knows you are right. Shrugging off his worn and stained tunic, he goes to the washbasin and splashes water on his face and chest, scrubbing away a mix of sweat and salt spray, and blood too. Harald returns to sit at your side on the bed—he stares ahead at the flickering flames of tallow candles. “What happened?” You finally dare ask.

“The magic of Ragnar Lothbrok failed,” he tells you. The lingering taste of defeat is bitter on his tongue—the gods had forsaken them on that river, had forsaken Ragnar. As it happened to be, he was just like any other man. “We were humiliated and pushed out of Frankia with nothing to show for it.” He does not remember the last time he returned to Tamdrup, to you, with nothing to show for his travels. It will take time for the Vestfold to recover from such a defeat.

You touch his cheek, fingers combing through his unkempt beard, drawing his gaze to you. “You live, as does your brother.” The rancor in his expression falters, his jaw unclenching, and he leans into you—his nose just barely bumping against yours. Yes, he and Halfdan escaped with their lives. That is more than can be said for many who embarked on the journey to Paris. Ragnar Lothbrok may have lost the favor of the gods, but they still smiled upon Harald and his brother. “That is enough for me,” you say, softly. He kisses you then, and you meld against him with a sigh and a slight smile that he can feel on your lips.

HE SITS ON his throne—slouched to the side and staring into the abyss, twisting his shark-tooth crown in his hands. Your king has returned, yet still, it is only you shouldering the weight of the kingdom. You stop at the dais and extend your hand toward him. “Walk with me.” It is not a request. Harald rises and follows.

The path through the forest is well-worn, both into the Earth and memory. It carves a winding route through the forest and up bare rock to a promontory overlooking Tamdrup and the mouth of the fjord—a place you frequent to look for sails on the horizon when the men are away, a place where Harald promised he would marry you one day what now feels like a lifetime ago.

But the morning fog has yet to lift from the land, just as the fog of bitterness in the aftermath of what happened in Paris has yet to lift from your husband and king. There has been no feast to honor the memory of those lost since his return several days ago and no promise or mention of what comes next for the Vestfold. It is as though he is lost in despair, mourning his brother already despite the day-by-day recovery—just yesterday, Halfdan’s fever broke.

You sit atop one of the boulders there on the promontory. There’s space enough for him to join you, but, for a moment, he lingers and stares. In the morning the light and mist, you seem like one of the winged women—ethereal. A sight that makes his heart twist and ache given the dark thoughts and mood which have taken hold of him since returning to Tamdrup.

Harald sits next to you and hangs his head, letting his hand rest on your thigh—a gentle weight and warmth. “I fear I have not been a good husband,” he confesses. It is never an easy thing for a prideful man to admit weakness and accept his faults, less so for a king. But the failed siege, his brother’s injury, and the long months spent away from you, from home, have been a heavy weight on his heart.

It does not feel right, leaving you time and time again, each longer than the last, to rule over his lands and care for his people—duties which are his. But you rule so fairly, and his people love you for it. “I have left you too often,” he breathes, a new softness and the tremble of guilt in his voice. “And I have left you to carry a burden meant to be shouldered by two backs” —his hand runs across your shoulders, down your spine— “not one.”

You never expected being wife to a king—being a queen—would be easy. Least of all, the wife of an ambitious man with dreams of uniting Norway under a single crown. Harald Finehair is vikingr. To deny him that would be to deny his true self, and even on the loneliest and coldest of nights, you could and would never ask him to be anything other than who he is—the man you love.

“I knew what was expected of me” —you card your fingers through his beard, the first tinges of silver beginning to appear, and he can find nothing but underserved doting affection in your soft gaze— “of you, when we married.” Harald covers your hand with his own, the rough pads of his fingers pressing into your palm as his hand curls around yours, a sigh on his lips. “And I happily said yes, remember?”

He remembers the day you married well—the crown of spring wildflowers you wore, the blood-tinged kiss after exchanging rings, the bridal race with Halfdan and your cousins tripping over one another to get to the mead hall first. It is still the happiest day of his life—tied with every other day the gods let him wake up beside you.

Shifting, you lean your forehead against his and gently slip your hand free from his. “You will always have my love and support, wherever you may be.” Harald closes his eyes and curls his hand around the back of your neck, thumb stroking the soft skin beneath your ear. And you press your hand against the center of his chest—feeling the outline of the Mjölnir necklace under your palm. “And I will be here or at your side,” you tell him, a soft whisper dancing over his lips, “wherever you need me to be.” And now he’s certain—you are too good to him.

[Harald-Halfdan taglist: @ahotmesswithprivilege / @alicedopey / @certifiedlittleshit / @charming-merlin / @elluvians / @erzsebetrosztoczy / @gearhead66 / @gossamarnie / @hc-geralt-23 / @hereforreadandwrite / @moonlightsspirit / @morganamayne / @mrsragnarlodbrok / @n0sferatus / @naaladareia / @queenyalo / @rigshak / @savagemickey03 / @xinyourdreamsx / @yalos-writing ] if your name is italicized, tumblr would not let me tag you. if you’d like to be added to my Murder Bro taglist, or any other taglist, just let me know with this Google Form! if I missed you, I am sorry! but make sure to mention it in the replies or fill out the linked Google Form!

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bjornswoman · 1 year

Text

Shieldmaiden's Secret

Requested by none.

Author's note: Hey people! I found this in my drafts, changed it a bit and finished it. Sorry for any mistake, I wrote quite fast and I will correct them. I promise. Anyway, I hope you will like this one and I have some more work ready for you. Stay tuned! Until next time, have fun and take care! Bye!

Pairing: Harald Finehair x Fem!Reader.

Genre: Angst, drama, fluff, romance.

Summary: King Harald and you have a secret relationship.

Warnings: Spoilers from season 5B, jealousy, strong language, drama.

Your hands were working on your long hair, braiding it tightly for the upcoming battle with the Christians as you were walking through the camp to catch up with the strictest person you knew – your mother.

Your mother was one of the mightiest shieldmaidens of the shieldwall. She had achieved that long ago by working really hard and alone.

Brunhild – your mother – was one of the best woman warriors, but she wasn't a good mother. Not even close to that to be honest.

She acted like a commander when you were a child, pointing out rules and what you must or mustn't do. She would usually point out the stuff your mustn't do.

You had no father and that worked its way for your mother to despise men. All you could remember was her talking about how better were woman at everything and how you should avoid men, or trick them for your own benefit.

All you knew about your biological father was that he was a rich man – a jarl or a king maybe – and that when she told him about you, he sent her away. She raised you all alone, not to be a woman, but a warrior. You had been training since you were able to walk and carry sword and shield.

Back to her rules, you mustn't talk to men without her being around. She said you were easy to trick and manipulate, so she didn't leave you alone around any man. You were sick of it, sick of her manipulating you. You wanted to leave your life as you wanted, even if that meant that you would get hurt.

When her eyes met you, she started walking your way. You couldn't spot the blue of her eyes because she had narrowed her eyes. You knew it was coming a fight with her, more likely an interrogation coming from her.

"Where have you been?" Her voice was cold as your gaze and her hand grabbed your arm tightly. Your eyes met hers. You weren't afraid of her, at least not anymore.

"What is that supposed to mean?" You asked her trying to free your hand from her tight grip. Your mother didn't let you and tightened the grip more than before.

"Answer me!" Her tone was even colder than before and you could sense her blood boiling inside her veins. It became worse any minute that were passing and you weren't giving her an answer.

"Calm down." You whispered at her and finally freed your hand from hers. "You should really stop this. It's sick you know and by the way I was getting ready for the battle." You spoke, hands gripping your sword.

Her eyes looked at you suspiciously, it wasn't like she believed at you, but she didn't get to continue the questioning, because someone was standing nearby, looking at you. Well, not just someone, king Harald Finehair himself.

"Brunhild." He spoke to your mother smiling and she forced a fake little smile on her face to greet him. You could spot the times she was lying or those she were faking her attitude around others.

After all, it wasn't a big of a secret that she hated powerful men and Harald was one of them. A king.

"King Harald." She responded.

Before she even speak to him, his blue eyes were on you and, of course, your own were studying him. You tried not to look over-excited or suspicious around your mother. She had the ability to caught you lying and pretending as well.

"And you are (Y/N)." He spoke to you this time, but fastly turned to face your mother. He was good to this game. Better than you. "Your daughter, right?" Harald asked like he wasn't sure about that himself, like he didn't know you by hard, all of you.

"Yes, my king." You were the one to answer and his eyes met your figure once more.

"Good." He said and was about to say something again, but a voice distracted him.

"My king!" One of his most loyal men run his way and Harald turned to look at him. They were speaking for a little amount of time and then Harald turned back to you.

"May the Gods bless us to win today." He spoke before both of the men disappeared in the camp.

"Stay away from him." She warned you. You didn't respond to her, or looked at her. Your mind were on the older man, speaking to you just moments before. "Look at me!" Your mother grabbed your face and made you looked at her in the eyes. "Stay away from him!" Her tone was firmer this time and you nodded annoyed by her.

According to her all men – especially those who had the power – were bad and wanted to seduce women and then leave her behind like they were a toy or garbage. She believed that all men were like your biological father who sent her away and even tried to kill her when she was pregnant and their relationship took a serious way.

Well, men could be like that. You knew that for yourself too. But Harald wasn't like that. You knew it. He had been hurt by women before. First, princess Ellisif and after his wife queen Astrid. He was unlucky when it came to women and love. He wanted to have someone by his side, he needed to be loved. Apart from the women, he had lost both his beloved brother and his unborn child. After those tragedies, you came in his way. A woman he cared about.

It was unexpected the way and the fact that you met. You didn't want to start any kind of a story with him, at first. You tried to avoid him, but as everybody knows he is very stubborn and wouldn't let you escape like that from him.

Back then, you were afraid of your mother's wrath when she would find out about your relationship with Harald. She would be furious. She would try to take you away from him even if that meant that she would have to kill him or he kill her. You didn't want that. You loved Harald and your mother, she had raised all alone and you couls understand her, but didn't want to live like that. You wanted your life to be your way, not hers.

And Harald. Harald would give you everything he owned, only if you let him. Your relationship was happening all in secret, because you had asked him to be this way. He wanted a real life with you, one he didn't have to chance to live with anybody else. He was a grown man and knew exactly what he wanted.

After your mother's warnings about the king, you didn't have any time for her lessons about men because you had been called from the other shieldmaidens to participate in the shieldwall, the battle with the Saxons was about to believe.

The battle didn't end up the way you wanted because Bjorn Ironside, Lagertha and Ubbe son of Ragnar were fighting for king Alfred and Wessex, that ended up with you retreating back to York.

"King Harald has joined forces with Bjorn Ironside to overthrown Ivar the Boneless from Kattegat. This means we go back to Norway to fight." Brida, a shieldmaiden, spoke to you and she placed her cup on her lips, sipping from the ale it contained.

"I heard he is fond of Gunnhild, the former wife of late Jarl Olavvsonn, but she is with Bjorn Ironside." Revna said laughing and felt your blood boiling inside your face and your hands starting to shake, but you had to remain calm because you were among many shieldmaidens and mostly because your mother was sitting next to you.

"I heard that too! Bard told me he noticed as well." Runa mentioned and all of them laughed and drank. On the other hand, you felt bitter. The wound you got from the battle earlier felt nothing opposed to the pain in your chest after those news you received.

Your eyes met the ones you didn't want to meet, not now, not after the news the girls delivered. When your eyes met, you looked at anything other than him.

You placed your cup on the wooden table, feeling sick being in the same place as him. You couldn't bear watching him after that.

"I will retrieve back to tend. My leg is quite hurting and as I've heard we are going back to Norway so I'll some rest." You said as you stood up from your seat. Your eyes were on your mother, asking for her permission to leave.

You left and walked back to your tend to be on your own for a while. All the lessons and words your mother spoke about men came inside your head replaying themselves over and over again.

Harald wasn't the man you thought he was at the end of the day. You tried to keep your tears from falling when you remembered all the words Harald whispered to you when he thought you were sleeping. The promises and everything.

"Stupid girl." You told yourself in an attempt to forget about him, about all nights in Tamdrum when you sneaked at nights to see him.

"I disagree with you." You heard a raspy voice coming from the shadows. If it was for another day, you would be all happy, but not this night. Not after what you found out about him.

After his statement, Harald came out of the shadows he was hiding and placed his hand on a spike, after he leaned his body on his hand and looked at you playfully.

"If you say so, my king." You spoke formally, like you had no other relationship with him, like he didn't know you and you didn't know him. But it wasn't like you knew him. If you had, you wouldn't have gotten involved with him. "Have a good night." You bowed and turned your back at him.

A move that Harald didn't like at all. He couldn't understand the reason you were acting like that. You were trying to avoid him it was too obvious. He moved away from the spike and came closer to you – who had started to walk away from him – his hand grabbed yours and forced you to stop and turn to look at him. You opened your mouth to protest, but he spoke faster than you.

"Why are you avoiding me? This morning you were alright but now you are not, what is it?" He was frowned and his tone was confused. His eyes were studying your face for any kind of response while you were trying to keep your tears once more. You to be brave and proud, that meant that you shouldn't let yourself be that weak in front of him.

"I am not avoiding you, my king. I am just really tired because I have this wound from the battle and word spread that we are going back with Bjorn Ironside and his company, so I think that I'll need some rest." Your words came faster than you wanted them to. They had to come out naturally, but they did not. You couldn't form proper words when you were that close to him, your heart was beating so fast and his eyes were watching at you like that.

"Don't lie to me." He growled, quite angry and pulled you closer by your arm he was holding.

"I would never dare to lie to you, my king. This Saxon came from behind me while I was fighting another Saxon and he stabbed me on my thigh. The healer said—" You were rambling nonsense, trying to defend yourself and not saying what you learned just like that on his face. But Harald stopped you.

"I know. I know exactly what happened to you and what the healer said. But what I don't know is the reason you are avoiding me and don't tell me it's about your wound because we've been together before when you were wounded and as I remember, I treated your wound myself that night. So tell me." His voice was firm and he knew you were lying, but you didn't want to say the truth. You didn't want him to see that you were that hurt because of him.

Harald was playing with you all this time. So you didn't want him to see that you believed all this could be serious and he meant that one day you would be his wife, that he would give the world.

"I don't want my mother to notice that we – you know." You spoke again and you noticed him getting even more angry.

"I don't get the reason you keep lying to me! I thought we were clear with each other!" He yelled and you feared that somebody heard. Your eyes run around and luckily your saw no one confessing this moment between the king and you.

"I am not lying. You know the problem with my mother. You've known about it since the beginning. Also, my leg is hurting very much. Truly. There is no lie in my words." You ensured him which was partially truth. Your leg wasn't hurting that much, but it hurt and you mother, everything you told about her was truth.

Harald closed his eyes for a while out of his anger and then opened them again. He could read you so easily, because he knew you very well.

His hand left yours and both of his hands touched your cheeks. It was the first time you confessed Harald being like that. He seemed so desperate, he broke your heart. You closed your eyes and then opened them again and they were wet. The tears were ready to fall from your eyes.

"I know those things, but they have never been a problem. It's something else I can see it inside your eyes. Tell me what it is. Tell me I can fix it." His voice was soft after the sight of your eyes. His fingers caressed your cheeks wiping the tears – that fell without you noticing them – away.

"You can't fix it." You broke and finally let the rears fall from your eyes without any care. Your didn't care that you were crying in front of him anymore. "You can't fix it because it's not something that can be fixed." You continued ready to tell him about the things you found out some time ago. You pulled him away from you and he walked to come back closer – confused by your actions – but you raised your hand to stop him. "I heard some very disturbing things about you that hurt me, Harald. I heard that you were very displeased when you heard about the new lover of Bjorn Ironside, a woman named Gunnhild. A great shieldmaiden, I hear. They say you desire her and it's very obvious. So, that means, king Harald Finehair, that you were playing with me all this time. That you didn't mean anything from the things you told me. So my mother was right for you and I did exactly what she told me not to." You confessed. Tears were streaming from your eyes like waterfall. Harald wanted to speak to defend himself, but it wouldn't mean anything. It didn't matter. You moved your hands on your cheeks and wiped the tears away. "That is my problem, do you think that you can fix it? Because I don't."

"That's not the truth! I don't know who spoke such lies to you but I ensure that there is no other in my heart! I love you! Everything I told you it was truth. I want you and only you. Gunnhild is a strong woman and good shieldmaiden, I admire her but not love her. Believe me. I only love you." He was yelling at first, but stopped his speech whispering his last words. The words he admitted his love for you.

You closed your eyes and shook your head. You couldn't believe him, not when everyone had noticed and had spoken about it. You took a deep breath and opened your eyes to look at him. He seemed hurt as well and this image broke your already broken heart.

"I don't believe you. You-you know you won't have Gunnhild, so you come back to the easy option the stupid little girl. I loved you with everything I had. I wanted to prove to my mother that you were different, I wanted to be with you even if that meant, I would go against her, and you proved her point about you." Harald tried to reach you but you stopped him again. He didn't listen at you this time, he grabbed both of your arms with his strong hands and forced you to face him.

"I love you! Why is that so difficult to understand because of some rumors about me? You don't trust me and that's even worse than anything! You just want to find something against me and prove your mother's points of me. That's it, nothing else. I have never made false promises to anyone, especially to you. I had promised Ellisif, the first woman I ever loved, I would be famous and great king for her and I kept my promise, she was the one who betrayed me. I promised you to give you everything I have, you were the one who wanted to keep our relationship secret. I am tired of this game. I won't beg anymore, (Y/N). I have treated the women I desired with love and loyalty, but no one have done the same for me, even you. I thought you were different." His voice was softer than ever before. You had hurt him deeply.

Both of you had hurt each other.

Harald let go of you and moved some inches away from you. You couldn't form a word. You were angry with yourself and with him. You didn't know what to think and what to believe. Harald seemed to say the truth. He seemed deeply hurt.

"I will find who spread those rumors and I will let you know just to prove you that I have never lied to you." Those had been the last words he had spoken to you before he disappeared in the dark of the night.

You stayed on your place for a couple of moments and cried to yourself under the night sky. When you calmed down, you retrieved to your tend trying to find some peace before your mother come in.

When she burst into the tend you were awake. You couldn't sleep at all, you mind was only on Harald.

The first thing she did was to come in front of and started to yell about you talking with Harald. She said someone had seen you talking and Harald being really close to you. You were trying to find a good excuse, but you were sure thag she wouldn't believe you. Although you didn't care anymore about it. After all, it was over.

"King Harald helped me. He was carrying me back here because my leg was hurting and bleeding. He made it stop. That's the reason we were close. He was the only one out there to bother himself with me." You spoke angrily, sick of her questioning and all. It wasn't fair to speak to her like that when she wasn't at fault, but you couldn't help it.

"It sounds too good to be true. King Harald helped you? He wouldn't help anyone without a cost. What did he ask for repayment?" She asked as she sat next to you on the ground.

"Nothing. He didn't ask me for anything. After all, I don't think he wants to lose any warrior. A battle is coming with Ivar the Boneless, one of the cleverest strategists, if not the cleverest one, and he needs us. He needs every blade he can master." You spoke and treated yourself your bleeding wound.

"That's a fair point." Was the only think she said before she laid on the ground to get some sleep. On the other hand, you couldn't find peace inside your mind, so you couldn't sleep.

It was after midnight when five men burst in out tend, you stood up and grabbed your mother's axe. Your mother grabbed the dagger she had hidden under her belt. She was fast and cut the arm of one of them, but the others took our weapons and they grabbed us.

"What the fuck is happening?" Your mother yelled at them, as she was kicking, trying to break free as you did.

"Shut up!" The one who was holding her told her and kicked her knee.

They took us out the tend and threw us on the ground on our knees, out hands were behind our backs. You didn't know the reason this all was happening, until Harald showed up.

"What is this supposed to mean?" You were the one to yell when the king was in front of you. "We did nothing wrong!" You yelled again.

"I am not sure about one of you." He told you when he were just inches away from you, his hand caressing your cheek. You tried to move away, but one of his men kicked you on your wound. Harald glared at him and moved closer to the man. You didn't get to hear what he told him, but considering his face he was angry. Then he turned back to your mother and you. "Brunhild, do you want to share something with us? With you daughter maybe?" Harald spoke to your mother and you turned your face at her frowned.

"My mother did nothing!"

"Brunhild, tell your daughter what you did." Harald placed his axe on your mother's throat and caressed with it softly her neck. It wasn't enough to hurt her, he did it just to threaten her. "Tell her." He tone was cold, he was getting enraged.

"I did what I had to do to take my daughter away from a man like you." She didn't sound a bit afraid. The quite opposite to be honest.

You were at her confused.

"Continue. I would to be the one to tell her what you did, but I prefer it to be you." Harald spoke again and you saw your mother greeting her teeth out of anger. "Tell her that you knew about us." Your mouth was wide open when you heard.

"What-what are you saying?" You couldn't understand what was happening.

"Did you think that I wouldn't know it? I had known it since the first time it happened. I knew it every time you sneaked out of the house to meet him. You did exactly what I was telling you your whole life not to do. I couldn't let you waste your life like I did." She didn't hesitate a moment.

"I was the waste of your life, right?" After this question of yours you started to understand what was happening in front of you, what she had done.

"That's not what I said, but I didn't want my life to end up this way and, of course, I didn't want your life to end up like that. So, I was the one who spread the rumour about that shieldmaiden and your lover. I needed – you needed him out of your life. I did what I had to do for your sake. I hope you are understanding me, (Y/N)."

"Shut up! I can't hear you anymore! You are the only person who is wasting and destroying my life. Your life isn't miserable because of me or the way you have been treated by my father, but because of you. You, your ambition, your hate towards males, that's what wasted your life all those years. But I won't let you manipulate and destroy me anymore." You were really angry with her and all her scheme. You stood from ground and nobody stopped you. "I must admit though that you are a good manipulator. You knew exactly the way I would react and you found the right time to start with your plan." You stopped in front of her and kneeled to be equal with her. "This is the beginning of my life, Brunhild." You whispered at her, before the men took her and she became Harald's prisoner.

After a while it was just the two of you standing in front of each other, but no one tried to start a conversation. You were just eyeing each other.

"Now what?" You were the one to start speaking first.

"I think you owe an apology for you've told me earlier." Harald came closer and his hand moved a strand of loosen hair behind your ear.

"About that, I think I owe you an apology for that and I am sorry that I didn't believe you, but I was really hurt and I owe you an apology for what my mother did. So I am really sorry for everything." You spoke truly. You didn't want this moment to end.

In your mind, this was the last moment you had with Harald. You couldn't be together again. You didn't believe him when he told you the truth. You broke his heart. And he. He did everything he promised. He said that he would find who was the one who spread the rumours and he did.

"One apology is enough." Harald said in a playful tone.

"I wish that night would never end." You whispered at him and smiled. He looked at you confused, but he smiled genuinely.

"What's so special about this specific night?"

"It's the last I see you. The last time you are that close to me." Each word you spoke, each tear threatened to fall from your eyes.

He frowned, but the smile was still on his lips. His hand made it on your cheek and he caressed your skin softly.

"The last time? Who said that?" He asked smiling and you were the one who was confused this time.

"I thought you didn't want me after what I told. After-after I didn't believe you." You confessed and he chuckled. Both his hands, now, caressing your flesh of your cheeks.

"I told you that I love you and this can't change. Also, I have told you in the past that I wanted you to be my queen and I intend to make it true. I really love you and I know that you love me too." Harald said and his lips touch yours.

It was the first real kiss between the two of you, the first that you weren't afraid to give. It was the most passionate one you had ever shared and Harald was a skilled lover.

Your hands wrapped around his neck, as your lips were on his. His teeth were biting your bottom lip here and there. When you moaned, his tongue moved inside your mouth and started dancing along with your own.

"So what do you say? Will you be my queen?" The man you loved the most asked you when you two stopped kissing and his muscular hands were wrapped around you tightly. When you heard his question you smilled.

"I thought you knew the answer." You answered when your eyes met his.

"I want to hear it."

A wide smile formed on your face.

"I would love to be your queen." You said and he kissed you again. His hands were holding your even tighter and you laughed.

#king harald #harald finehair #king harald finehair #harald x reader #harald finehair x reader #vikings x reader #vikings imagine #vikings fic #vikings fanfiction #vikings au

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sapphicsaints · 9 months

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RULE OF WOLVES SPOILERS.

“Speaking of secrets,” said Kaz, taking hold of the cable. “I’ve had word from the Kerch colonies. A certain monarch and his wife are no longer in exile.”

“By whose order?” Nikolai said, tension snapping through him.

“Jarl Brum and the Fjerdan government. This is the problem with letting your enemies live.”

“They’re my parents.”

“Your point?”

Rule of Wolves, Ch. 31

#kaz really tells Nikolai he should've committed patricide #they're two different shades of morally grey #nikolai lantsov #kaz brekker #shadow and bone #six of crows #rule of wolves #grishaverse #grishaverse quote #shadow and bone season 2 #shadow and bone quote #shadow and bone gif #grishaverse gif

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dreaming-medium · 5 months

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Animals Without Direction

Chapter Ten - By First Light

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Masterlist

It was well past midnight when you returned to the keep. There was a fresh gash in your side.

The job you were sent on was supposed to be simple. Just a wolf spotted near a farm owned by an elderly couple. They couldn’t afford to hire a mercenary themselves, so they came to the Jarl for assistance.

And who did he send out? You.

And what did you find? A pack of wolves. Easily seven of them. You took care of them, of course, but not before one got a nasty swipe at your side.

No, you have not been able to sleep yet. Your brain feels like it’s being squeezed by a giant’s hands. Your eyes feel sunken into your skull.

It certainly is not helping your general attitude, either.

With one hand pressing into the wound, you limped slightly into the keep and towards the throne room. You always reported to Chan first thing before going to wash up.

The gash wasn’t too deep at all, it was more annoying than anything. With your healing abilities, it will most likely be closed by the morning, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt like a bitch.

It looks much worse than it is. To anyone passing by, you look like you’re bleeding out.

Silence fills the hallways of the keep. Your boots drag along the stone with uneven steps.

“Fucking wolves,” you grumble under your breath, “Demons straight from The Void.”

There’s only been one instance of Chan being asleep when you’ve gone to report in from a mission. Tonight apparently makes two.

But the throne room is not empty, no, there’s one person standing at a table.

Minho’s back was towards you, he was sitting at a chair at the end closest to you. If there was a plate of food in front of him, you couldn’t tell.

You’re about to turn to leave but he speaks up.

“He’s asleep.” He says without turning to look at you.

“I pieced that together.” Your voice comes out much weaker than you intended.

‘Damn this wound.’ You think to yourself.

This makes Minho turn to look at you with an eyebrow cocked. His eyes quickly scan your figure, hovering on the hand that’s holding your side.

He tongues his cheek and turns back around.

“I did not think a simple wolf was too much for the all-mighty mercenary.” He chides.

You roll your eyes and sneer at the back of his head. “One is not. Once the number climbs to about six or seven it becomes a bit difficult.”

Minho nods his head and picks up the tankard in front of him, taking a long swig.

You shift your weight from foot to foot. “I will speak to him in the morning then.”

The way to your room is through the throne room. Meaning you have to walk past Minho.

A log crackles in the fire.

Taking a deep breath, you take painful steps towards the doorway across the room, each intake of breath feels like needles in your side.

“Should you not be going to see Felix?” Minho calls across the room.

You do not stop walking. “Do not pretend to care.” You roll your eyes, not that he sees it. “I will be fine by the morning.”

“You’re bleeding on the floor.”

“I am fine.” You grit. “Goodnight, Minho.”

Minho sighs.

“Some days I believe you to be intelligent, others you prove yourself to be witless.”

A shot of anger goes through your chest and you finally stop walking. You turn in place, hand still holding your wound tightly.

“Do not speak to me like that, Minho.” You growl. “Have we not had this talk before or are you the witless one who cannot remember a conversation that was had a month ago?”

You make sure to put extra venom into your words, teeth bared and eyebrows furrowed. The room grows warmer as your blood boils.

Minho stares at you from his seated position at the table. Even from a distance you can see the anger flashing in his eyes with a dangerous glint.

You were playing with fire here.

“Has it only been a month?” His voice low, “Did it only take a month for you to find your way into a second court member’s bed?”

Your jaw drops and your eye twitches, “What has possessed you?” You ask incredulously.

Minho sticks a grape in his mouth, one eyebrow raised in a cocky manner. “First the Squire, now the Rogue. Who is next? The Mage?”

The Rogue? Is he referring to you leaving dinner with Seungmin two days ago? What is he on?

Hotter and hotter your anger boils. Every time you think you’ve taken a step forward with Minho, he launches himself ten paces back.

You’re so shocked at his words that you can’t even form proper words. Where is this coming from?

“I— what are you saying?” You sputter.

Suddenly, you can’t even feel the wound in your side. Your attention is on the advisor and his wild accusations.

“I watched you leave dinner with that dopey smile on your face. Do not pretend to be ignorant.”

Is he serious?

“Seungmin wanted to tell me something pertaining to an assignment he completed but did not want any prying ears to hear it!” You bark at him, taking a step in his direction. “What is this all about?”

Minho rolls his eyes and looks at the wall to his left, away from you.

“You spend every moment of your spare time with another man, what is one supposed to think, Y/N? I am not stupid, no one in this court is.”

“Why do you see me as no more than a common whore? Have I not proved myself worthy of being among you? Or do I need to run my sword through your chest before you finally listen to me?”

Minho snaps his head over to you, a sneer on his face. “Is that a threat?”

“Typically when someone insults my honor, I do not sit there and take it.”

Minho rolls his eyes, “You do not sit there and take it? Pity, and here I thought the men gave lay to you for a reason.”

That was it.

In a blink, you marched over to where he sat at the table, with one blood soaked hand and one clean one, you grabbed the pristine collar of his shirt and yanked him from his chair.

Both of your noses were only about a centimeter apart. Your eyes were full of venom and hatred.

“I am not a whore. I am a mercenary who has fought tooth and nail to be the woman I am.”

Minho’s one hand plants on the tabletop and the other grabs your wrist in a vice grip. His eyes are glaring at you with an equal amount of anger and something else you couldn’t put your finger on.

“Why is it the moment I speak with a man you point your finger at me calling me a tramp? Every member on the Jarl’s court is a man. Am I supposed to keep to myself and never speak to a soul?” You tighten your grip on his collar and his does so as well on your wrist. “Why can you not treat me with the respect I deserve?”

The two of you stare so closely into the other’s eyes. Minho’s teeth are bared in a growl like state.

“You know,” you say with an evil smirk, “If I did not know any better, I may even say that you were jealous, Lee Minho.”

A wall of emotion flashes through his eyes, his pupils dilate and an actual growl tears from his throat.

Faster that you can blink, you’re turned around, an arm wrapped around your neck. He’s placed you in a sleeper hold from across the dining table.

Your back screams from the awkward angle. The wound in your side feels like it’s leaking even more.

“Jealous?” He gnarls in your ear. “Let us make one thing crystal clear. I am not jealous, I am angry that you believe you could simply seduce your way into my men’s beds when you had nothing nice to say about Miroh since your arrival.”

You struggle against his hold, his grip on your neck only tightens. “Do you not think that if I hated Miroh that I would have left a long while ago? What is holding me here? Nothing. Are you only seething because it is not your bed that I am trying to land in?”

His breath is hot against your ear, he exhales with each movement that you make against him in an attempt to keep you there. His hold may be like concrete, but you sure were giving him a rough time.

Minho squeezes your throat and a cry falls from your lips at the pressure. He’s one step away from cutting off your oxygen.

Thrashing against his arm, you pull and pull on his forearm but he doesn’t budge. “Do you truly not see the respect I have for this hold? Do you not see that I regret that way of thinking? But what else was I supposed to think when it was all I was fed my entire life!

“The Jarl is starting a war to free the Elves of Erbus. I am prepared to sacrifice my life in order to see that happen and you think that I am simply acting as a cock warmer for your court.”

With one last thrash, you finally yank yourself away from Minho. Your body turns and you stare daggers at him.

He’s looking at you differently, there’s still plenty of anger, but his eyes are moving all around your face. Both of your chests are heaving from exertion.

Minho opens his mouth to say something but a door slamming open takes both of your attention.

Your hand flies to your sword and Minho turns his entire body towards the door, hand at the dagger on his belt.

Your jaw dropped as soon as you saw what it was.

The messenger slumped against the door, his hair wet and greasy. His entire body was covered in dirt and soot, every article of clothing on his body was ruined.

But that’s not what made your heart sink.

Blood streamed down the sides of his head on both sides. He’s holding his stomach the same way that you came in doing, but both of his hands were completely stained red.

His hair draped in front of his face, but the skin you could see was beaten and bruised.

Blood is oozing through his fingers and leaving puddles on the floor.

The messenger lifted his head as much as he could. Both of his eyes were swollen and black. His lip was split and there were several gashes and chunks missing from his skin.

Bile rose in your throat.

You hadn’t seen someone this horrible looking since…

“He’s an Elf,” you choke out, “we sent an Elf to Erbus.”

“Get Chan.” Minho commanded, taking large steps towards the door where the messenger fell to his knees. “Now, Y/N!” He barked and your feet were moving.

“Guards!” You heard Minho scream as you sprinted out of the throne room, “Someone get Felix! NOW, GET HIM NOW.”

As fast as your feet allowed you, you sprinted through the keep. You had never been inside Chan’s room, you had only known where it was.

You were peeing around corners, the exhaustion you felt previously nowhere to be found.

An Elf. They sent an Elf.

His ears. They cut off his ears. Your throat tightened and you willed yourself to run faster.

As soon as his door was in sight, you screamed. “My lord!” You yelled, as soon as you got to the door, you started banging on the wood as hard as you could with your fists.

“My lord! Get up! My lord!” Over and over again you bang until the door is ripped open by an extremely startled Chan.

His hair is tossed and messy, eyes wide and alarmed with his mouth open in shock.

Chan’s eyes are wild as he looks your body up and down. He stops at the wound on your side, but you don’t give him enough time to say anything.

“The messenger, my lord.” You pant out desperately. “He was an Elf, my lord. He is back. He was an Elf,” you repeat and tears well up in your eyes even more. “My Lord, they— they—“

Chan doesn’t give you enough time to finish. His face shifts to a look of absolute horror, his face pales and he stumbles back a step.

You reach forward as quick as you can and grab his wrist. “Minho sent me to fetch you, please. My lord we have to go,” you beg him and pull his wrist.

Chan’s face hardens, but he makes no move to take his wrist from your hand. You pull him out of his room and down the hall.

Within a few seconds, he snaps out of his stupor and the two of you run through the halls together. After rounding the first corner, you drop his wrist.

“Where?” He barks.

“I know not if they brought him to the healing ward or if he’s still in the throne room.” You respond.

This time, it’s Chan’s turn to snatch your arm, he pulls you into a side hallway and both of you continue running at a decent clip.

It was now that you notice his lack of clothes.

He’s shirtless and only wearing a pair of soft cotton trousers. By the sound of his feet hitting the stone, he’s barefoot. The only thing covering him is a deep red silk robe around his shoulders, but it’s not tied in the front.

The robe billows behind him as the two of you run.

Within a minute, you’re bursting through the doors of the healing ward.

His choice in coming here was the correct one.

Minho and another guard are standing against the wall while a disheveled looking Felix does everything in his power to close the wounds on the messenger’s body.

Minho’s hands and clothes are covered in blood and his eyes are wild.

Both of Felix’s hands are emanating a yellow glow as he attempts to use restoration magic. His palms pressed to either side of the messengers head, cupping where his ears should be.

The messenger appears to have passed out. His body limp in the bed, not even his fingers twitching.

You and Chan walk into the room, you stay closer to the door and Chan marches over to the bed, looking down at the messenger.

A gasp tears from Chan’s throat and his hand flies over his mouth in pure shock.

“What happened to him?” Chan demands.

Sweat is dripping down Felix’s face mixing with his own tears. Violent sobs are wracking his chest.

“I know not!” He cries, “I have never seen anything like this before. This cruelty is beyond even what you would find in The Void.”

The light surrounding his hands keeps flickering.

“He is so young, Chan. I’m trying, I am but his wounds are beyond my skill.”

“Then get Hyunjin. You,” he points to the guard. “Go!” Chan commands to the guard who takes off out of the room.

“Hyunjin won’t be able to do anything, Chan. There’s nothing else we can-“

“Try, Felix.” His voice is so stern, yet it’s cracking. Chan reaches down and grabs one of the messenger’s arms gently yet tightly.

Your throat tightens and the tears that were sitting in your eyes finally fall.

They did this to him. They tortured this boy. He couldn’t have been older than twenty winters. This poor boy who was just doing his job.

They cut off his ears, beat his body until he couldn’t move.

“Chan I do not think-“ Felix cries but Chan cuts him off.

“Keep going.” He begs with a hard, even voice. “Keep trying.”

“Chan it is not working!” Felix cries back.

“Fucking— Keep going, Felix!“ Chan bellows, his voice catching at the end.

“It is not WORKING.” Felix screams.

Chan turns away from the bed with his face hidden in his elbow. The Jarl walks away and towards the wall opposite of where Minho stood.

“I cannot.” Felix cries, his eyes staying on the boy’s broken body. Tears are streaming down his face and onto the sheets. “Chan, he is-“

Felix is cut off again by Chan slamming his fist into the wall. A roar tears from his throat and his head falls against the stone next.

Silent sobs wrack your chest, you try to stay as silent as possible. The tears falling from your cheeks down to the stone floor.

“Chan.” Felix calls out with a shaky voice.

The Jarl makes no move, he keeps his head against the wall.

The soft light of magic that was coming from Felix’s hands flickers out. Hard, violent sobs come from his throat as he reaches over and grabs the messenger’s hand.

Almost every finger is broken and bent the wrong way. Felix holds it as if anything as gentle as a breath would break them more.

His knees buckle and he falls to the floor, still holding the messenger’s hand.

Minho is silent as he walks over to the bed. Carefully, he reaches over and parts the messengers tunic towards the top.

Sobs fill the room.

“What are you doing, Minho?” Felix asks through cries. He stands up shaking from the floor to watch his movements.

As soon as his sentence comes out, a startled gasp follows it. Both you and Chan look over.

Minho’s face is pulled into the angriest expression you’ve ever seen him muster. Those dirty looks he gave you in the throne room are nothing compared to this.

You and Chan both took careful steps towards the bed.

A gasp left your throat just like Felix’s when you saw it.

Chan’s declaration of war.

It was nailed into the messenger’s chest. Blood soaked each entrance wound.

You felt nauseous, the world was spinning. His cruelty knows no bounds. Your eyes squint shut to try and stop the tears from flowing even faster.

The floor seems to tilt and you have to sit down on the bed behind you to try and get your bearings.

Chan was eerily silent. But you just knew that he was positively seething.

“Minho. Please go wake up Changbin.” His voice is entirely too even, too calculated. He is past the point of anger.

You open your eyes and look over at the Jarl. His eyes are fixed on the letter still on the messenger’s chest.

“I want our soldiers ready to march by first light.” His voice strong and calm. “Sisk Killoran will know terror before the end.”

#skz x reader #stray kids x reader #bang chan x reader #lee know x reader #changbin x reader #hyunjin x reader #han jisung x reader #felix x reader #seungmin x reader #jeongin x reader #i.n x reader #stray kids fantasy au #skz fantasy au #animals without direction

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bagelvangr · 1 year

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Randivor AU where Eivor never leaves Heillboer after the attack and Styrbjorn never gained the influence that he did.

Bear with me, this one needs quite a bit of exposition, I think!

(omfg 6k words, I am SO sorry, I am putting it under a cut. I'M SORRY I posted this at 4:30am and I was definitely already more than half-asleep!!)

–

After the attack, Gunnar speaks up for the clan and is extremely disappointed at how little Styrbjorn’s forces were able to help in a small, nighttime raid. Sure, it was a surprise and they were in the middle of a feast; but it seemed like something a jarl of Styrbjorn’s supposed caliber could have easily fought back against. They are thankful for the help and remain allies, but the trust and the allegiance had been forever fractured.

Gunnar takes guardianship of Eivor and rallied what remained of the bear clan to rebuild their homes.

They gladly do so; healing together as a community. Bound together in helping the remaining heir of their jarl recover from her vicious wounds; swearing to become stronger and self-reliant and never being taken by surprise ever again.

Eivor grows up learning the harsh truth of the world around her; the realities that faced their clan and the turmoil that grew all around Norway. She never bid for the jarl’s seat, she never had ambition to play as a leader in a seat.

Unspoken, everyone in Heillboer had no doubt that the seat was all Eivor’s. They don’t contest her claim at any point, nor do they force her to be the central ruler. Neither Gunnar nor Svala or anyone else that survived that night ever tried to place that burden upon the Wolf-Kissed. They were far too busy taking care of each other and building up what was lost.

When she was old enough to understand all that a longhouse and a jarl and the lineage of her birth implied; Eivor made the final decision to keep Heillboer to be defined as the clan. The bears at the north of Rygjafylke; rebuilt and strengthened by the trials put upon them in a treacherous world.

The scar of the wolves remain, but the call of the Allfather never truly awakens within her. The need for vengeance ran deep, and in her darkest moments, she faltered and thought of how to grant justice for all the wrongs done at the hands of others. She often found solace at the peak of Fannaraki Summit, a place she visited often to look upon their small settlement and to the seas just beyond their docks. She loved to climb and meditate for hours. To look all around and see the craggy fjords and how the snow remained undisturbed inland.

She knew that just eastward were where wolves had started to settle. She knew that Kjotve had built up a fortress right where their lands and Egdafylke bordered. She knew that the wolves were weakening with each season and harsh winter that went by, and if she so wished; she could end the lineage of an entire clan with a single night of battle by herself.

Eivor knew all of this and thought of it often when she sat at the top of the world. But with plenty of sighs and hours of stacking cairns in the memory of her parents – with the patience of her mother and the strength of her father; she always found herself climbing down and making her way back to Heillboer more resolute to never shed blood when there was home to go back to.

Patience and strength were what her parents imparted upon her.

Gunnar raised her to be dutiful, loyal, to build her own merit in the world. Svala had raised her to be tactful, wise, and kind.

A selfish need for vengeance endangered all of the core values that she built for herself and would have brought nothing but misery to the clan she sought to protect, and one that cared for and cultivated her unique strengths in return.

She had given up the longhouse for the whole of the clan, having settled in a small dwelling for herself close to the cave where she used to explore and play with her father and train with her mother.

Her efforts were focused on securing the safety of her people as Rygjafylke and Hordafylke grew more and more unstable; avoiding conflict in an increasingly bloodthirsty world and keeping a low profile as to not draw the attention of those seeking glory in or out of Norway. Their position at the border meant that she was able to intercept trade routes and secure exotic goods in trade for their artisan wares and rare cures, courtesy of Gunnar’s forge and the unmatched, sagacious knowledge of their young seer; inherited from the all-knowing Svala.

Slowly, more and more settlements and travelers learned of Heillboer. More and more sought a formal alliance with the clan of bears; once unable to do so for the lack of offering to secure such an alliance, many started to realize that there was no such fealty or lavish offering needed in return.

The bears had found wealth in forging their bonds amongst their clan and power in truly sharing what gave them strength: a community at the heart of Norway, driven by impressive frith and unburdened with ambition.

Eivor was their center, their beacon, their strength; but she was not the sole pillar they relied on. She strengthened them in every way, and they strengthened her in a way not easily emulated by others in a fundamentally different mindset.

Randvi had never really liked politics either.

Being the daughter of a jarl, however, it was something she could not easily avoid. Her father would plead with her and make her sit and study the long sessions he held with his advisors in the war room of their grand longhouse.

The reindeers were not a clan that could boast strength; but cunning and strategy led them to accumulate riches that afforded them more stability and power that a small clan could dream of.

Randvi, at any point in these political discussions would have gladly rather been practicing with her bow, fishing, hunting, sparring with her sister, her brother, the many vikingr training and preparing for their expeditions.

They enjoyed their fairly quiet life at Tromøya, taking advantage of their position between the Danes and Geats to diversify their economy despite their small seat in the larger picture of Egdafylke.

At one point; Randvi’s father had been more concerned about seeking alliances. In the great era of Ragnar’s travels, it became apparent that the divide in Norway meant that there were two paths to the survival of a clan: Those who wielded brute strength and sought glory turned vikingr to follow in Ragnar’s path; seeking other lands across the sea to settle as their own. Those that remained saw the opportunity in a fractured Norway, taking up the void in power to absorb clans and lands into their own. To survive was to find and secure strong alliances.

When Randvi was just about to be of age to be involved in these talks was when she started rebelling against her father’s wishes. She was the youngest and the most cherished out of her siblings, and her father had a particular weakness to her wishes. Whenever she happened to have been requested to accompany her father in so-called innocent travels to meet other jarls, Randvi would conveniently end up in a multi-day hunt or a week-long fishing trip on her boat. Her siblings would join and her mother encouraged her – though she did it to escape having to sit through politics and hearing men who barely cared to understand her or her family barter her future and potential away, she always came back with plenty of spoils. Whether it was hunted game, an abundance of fish, securing new trade routes or finding new cultures to send over to their island, Randvi still made sure her actions benefitted her family and her clan.

It was a habit that persisted into her adulthood. The conflicts in Rygjafylke had calmed and the vikingr came about less often, but her father still kept on meeting with those in the seats around them to better their relations. It shouldn’t have surprised her to hear that in one of these travels, her father had actually come quite close to securing an alliance with a jarl in Rygjafylke; the ravens of Fornburg were quite receptive to her father’s proposals. In particular, the jarl’s son had shown a hefty interest in the diversity of the travelers her father had told them frequented their harbours. The ravens did not have as much strength as they did before; the turmoil of the previous years getting to them too; in particular, they had trouble with the wolves and lost the alliance of most of the northern part of their border. But they were still a potential ally that held strong ties to the seat in Stavanger.

Randvi disappeared for almost two moons after learning the news.

She had taken to travel inland, seeking isolation from the circumstances of her birth, seeking connection with others in the smaller settlements leading up to the mountains. At one point, she saw a grand peak and took it upon herself to climb up there; not really caring for the harshness of the winter causing the snow to pile up and ignoring the constant burning in her limbs as she made her way up the steep, jagged rocks.

At the peak, she found serenity and silence. An impressive array of cairns were balanced right at the perfect flat surface; facing a small village at the end of the endless valley below.

She was not the only one to find this place and take a refreshing breath away from the turmoil of everything else.

It was almost nighttime when she decided to finally descend. The sky had been lit by a fantastic river of greens and blues, specked by the occasional purples and reds. The gods would light her way down.

She had told no one but Kiarr where she was going; which meant that if anyone else knew of her whereabouts, it would be Thora, who would encourage her to find her own way instead of be bound to the wills of their father.

So when Randvi returned to Tromøya, it was with great surprise she could not suppress when she heard that Thora had agreed to an alliance that her father had secured.

And not to the ravens, but to the wolves close to the region she had just spent her time sulking away at the prospect of being tied to a man – to politics, to strategize, advise, to build and protect and not be thanked.

Thora only smiled at her and reassured her that it was completely her choice; that she had wanted to bring stability and power to their seat too, and that perhaps this was what would stabilize and give respect to the reindeer once and for all.

So in the following years when Kiarr had ended up leaving Tromøya; when Thora had suddenly reappeared in their longhouse again; when their father spent nights apologizing to his children and their mother giving comfort and promising them they would never need to fulfill any duties to their clan ever again; Randvi steeled herself and swore that she would not play the game of politics.

The fragile jarls of Norway could have their power grabs and petty wars; the reindeers and her family would find stability in ventures not involving strife and blood.

She doubled her efforts in listening more to what happened around the harbour; to the tales being regaled in the taverns, to the fleeting conversations of key movements of armies and traders all around the Nordic world.

Thankfully, it seemed that their only threat would be if the Danes decided to launch an attack onto them; but it seemed as if they were more preoccupied with exploring new lands beyond the seas to think of invading and attacking their neighbours.

Slowly, they grew more stable, but she was also aware of the growing influence of Harald in the north and how he was making his intent to rule all of Norway by allying or absorbing each clan he came across.

The reindeer found themselves in a strange position of safety; her father being a cousin of Harald’s own father, thereby related to a degree. There was a small sense of comfort that the Yngling’s first target would not necessarily be the reindeers.

They weren’t fools though, and Randvi had grown to be quite the tactician with all of the information she was able to gather. Her rebellious streak and desire to partake in activities that other nobles cared little for made her popular with the other clan members and she carried an easy, charismatic relationship with almost all of the merchants that frequented their island with trade.

She knew that even if they didn’t seek any official alliances and even if they were willing to let Harald take official rule of their land; they had no guarantees under the new rule and far too much ambiguity about resolving disputes between clans to not at least attempt to bolster their connections with the borders they held.

To the east was already Harald’s territory, and to the west was Rygjafylke; so to the west it was.

The wolves were no longer an option, having quite a history with her siblings. There were the ravens which never officially denied or absolved the possibility of an alliance; but from what she heard, Fornburg had less influence over their region now, especially with the son of the jarl perpetually away in other lands. It was more likely that the ravens would be enthusiastically absorbed into Harald’s plan than be interested in allying with another smaller clan in a unified Norway.

That left really one clan within their borders, and it was definitely one that intrigued her.

Just beyond the summit she remembered so clearly in her mind was the settlement of the bear clan.

Randvi had heard frequent tales of the bears and of Heillboer. They came off more as fantastical sagas; myths that could not possibly be. The bear clan held stability and influence and were able to fend off attempts of absorption by far more powerful clans without a jarl to lead them through it all.

But Randvi knew. She listened. She observed and made the connections. She knew of the Wolf-kissed. She knew about the tragedy that befell and nearly wiped the small settlement. She knew that although the bears claimed no jarl, that they would follow the Wolf-kissed to the ends of the earth, but that they would never be asked to carry such a burden.

The Wolf-kissed held a soft power that was far more impressive than any amount of bannermen could ever rally.

It was an unbreakable claim of frith; a community that truly held each other together.

If there was to be stability within the reindeers in the change to come in Norway, they had to approach it with as little visibility and as much subtlety as possible. They didn’t need a show of strength or to hold a large region. No, they needed alliance and true connections with a clan that understood and fundamentally operated in much the same as their own.

Randvi would approach her father and suggest they seek an alliance, much to the jarl’s (and the rest of her family’s) surprise. They were all left stunned when she further explained that she sought to approach the bear clan without a show of force.

The jarl would consider Randvi's suggestion. He was skeptical of the benefits and the truth of the myths. Surely a clan so well known as being without a leader would have been overtaken by another and forcibly absorbed into their own. He would be careful.

Four fine warriors and two of their most knowledgeable ledgers would make journey into the mountainous path. They would bring rare metals found in the exotic trades made between Rus and the Celts. They would bring fine herbs and crops only found in climates far warmer than their own. Surely the winters had been harsh on them as well.

He expected them to come back with new information, but he was not prepared for them to return in jovial spirits, regaling the longhouse with tales of a lone warrior that hunted and fended for their clan. The same warrior was mentioned again and again as the ones to assess the new party and introduce them to the variety of trade that existed there.

The same warrior that caught the favour of Ran and Njord, the abundance of fish they caught despite the frigid waters almost mythical in the way they told it.

It was not said explicitly, but the jarl already knew that this warrior was the one who took the seat of leader with the bears. Why they never took the title of jarl was a mystery he wanted to find out.

Randvi, ever the observant one, caught and analyzed every word. She was pleased to have her suspicions confirmed.

The crew that were sent to Heillboer were a fine bunch, but she had also heard of small raids and attacks in the villages in-between; the wolves in turmoil with their own and with others that passed through. Many were desperate and a decorated yet minimal crew from a clan known for their rich trade should not have passed so effortlessly.... would not have passed so effortlessly. She had heard of a lone warrior patrolling the mountains and the borders, allowing for the safe passage of those on the trade routes without their knowledge.

Putting it together, she concluded that it must be the same person. The one that refused the official title of jarl ensured the prolonged safety of their people, and assured the safe passage of the members of her clan.

For the next stage of her plan, she surprised her father yet again by offering to go by herself.

She did not surprise Thora or her mother when they learned that she had not even waited for the permission of the jarl; having immediately set out the night before with the help of someone that looked suspiciously like Kiarr.

It started off slow.

Randvi allowed herself to be selfish in her lone trek. The weather had been fair, and while there had been storms in the moons before, the sun was more forgiving on her way to Heillboer.

She had indulged herself and made her way up beyond a lake and onto the same peak she had been at years before. She knew that the trek down into the settlement in the distance would not take her more than half a day, but she felt strangely empty handed as she finally saw the longhouse in her line of sight.

When she made her way down from the summit, she prepared her bow as she approached the tree line, keeping an eye on any game that might be small enough for her to carry alone and present as a gift. Actual reindeer had been abundant in the area, grazing on the new green exposed by a small patch of sunlight melting the snow away.

She gauged that the settlement had to be fairly close; she was nearly level with the sea where she was at. Feeling like she had quite a bit of energy still, she set her ambition a little higher and tracked a juvenile reindeer – one that she would likely have a little trouble carrying by herself, but not so much that it would encumber her and prevent her from presenting the kill as a gift as she arrived into the town.

Carefully moving through the rocks and avoiding making too much noise in the crunching snow, Randvi took aim and shot an arrow straight into the neck of her prey. Unfortunate timing meant that the animal had turned its head slightly before the arrow pierced, so it was not a clean kill. Randvi would quickly fire off another arrow, but as good of a shot as she was, she couldn’t predict the movements of a thrashing, panicked animal.

The second arrow dug itself into the back of the reindeer and it ran off into the crag away from her view.

Having scared off all the others, Randvi knew she had to track it and at the very least not prolong its suffering. It seemed to have gone uphill, but at least it went in the general direction of Heillboer instead of away. Perhaps she had a chance still of arriving with a gift.

Eivor had found it all quite amusing. She had been sat at the hill close to Valka's when she noticed someone she had never seen before passing through the eastern crag. They had their bow held the ready, eyes scanning the grazing herds. She assumed she was looking for a target that would be easy to carry. She didn't see a horse or any companions with the woman.

When she had crouched low by the rocks, Eivor was skeptical that her shot would land. The reindeer she had set her eyes on were quite far and slightly uphill from where this hunter was.

It surprised her that when she fired an arrow, it not only connected solidly into the animal's neck, but the hunter was also able to quickly adjust her aim when the reindeer started to move.

Even though it was not a swift one shot kill, she would have expected any other hunter to have completely miss when the reindeer started to move.

She kept watching, the skill displayed fully catching her attention. She witnessed a second shot swiftly sent off as the reindeer rounded the rocks; and though she expected yet another miss here, she raised an impressed eyebrow when the second arrow pierced the back of the prey.

The animal had escaped the hunter's line of sight, but she had shown great skill already. Whoever this was had years of experience with a bow and was not someone to be underestimated.

From her vantage, she tracked the staggering animal as it made its way around the rough hills, all the while tracking and observing the hunter getting closer and closer to Heillboer.

It was hard to fully assess her from the distance, but Eivor could note fine, thick furs, an embroidered caplet and a subdued but tastefully decorated overtunic that did not bother to hide status to those who knew.

The spark of fire in her hair made it easy for Eivor to spot her in the backdrop of the white snow and black rocks; and as she made her way to the injured animal, she made a mental note to get to know the hunter a bit more if their paths crossed.

If they were half a good of a tracker as they were an archer, then Eivor was convinced they'd cross paths.

And so they did.

When Eivor first turned around, she had been in the middle of digging out the arrowhead in the reindeer's spine.

She expected to have to explain herself and say that she had no intent on stealing the hunter's kill, but she was surprised to observe that the hunter had no malice or wariness in their voice or demeanour.

The hunter stood relaxed, watching Eivor as she spoke. The hunter's clothes definitely did tell her that this was someone born into wealth, not necessarily someone she'd expect to have such prowess with a bow.

Curious of all, the way she spoke almost made it seem like she had planned for Eivor to have seen her to begin with.

Of course, to Randvi, that would have been the ideal situation. She made no attempts at concealing herself on her path to Heillboer. She made no attempts at hiding her status or her skills. She had expected to arrive into the settlement without any fanfare, but her ideal situation was actually close to unfolding right in front of her.

Randvi wanted Eivor to see her. She wanted Eivor be able to have enough time to be aware of her and gauge her skills as she hunted. She wanted to make the Wolf-kissed curious about her, and if she was being honest, there was a part of her that wishes she had found herself in danger with either bandits or with predators in the area just so she could see how the Wolf-kissed would react. Would she be left to her own devices? Would she be assessed in her ability to fend off danger? Would the Wolf-kissed jump in and help her without context on who she was? She knew she would be safe, but she wanted to experience the tales of the Wolf-kissed first hand.

How much would Eivor actually be able to tell about her just from these observations alone?

Eivor, to her credit, was able to tell quite a bit. She confirmed the details she noticed from afar.

Thick, clean furs. A fine capelet and finer embroidery on her over tunic. A small hatchet on her side, holstered in artisan leatherwork. The hunter's hands were exposed to the air, a handful of cloudberries in her palm. Braided red hair framed her face; the warm sun and the glow of the mostly undisturbed snow around them giving Eivor a brilliant chance to get captured in blue-green eyes that showed confidence and relaxed amusement. This woman was not threatened by their interaction, but clearly did not underestimate Eivor's capabilities.The hand that remained at her side playing at another holstered weapon Eivor had not yet had a chance to identify.

When their gaze met, Eivor found an equally analytic warrior looking straight at her with no attempt to hide what she had been doing.

There was a sense of knowing and familiarity there.

To both of them, they didn't feel like strangers meeting for the first time. It didn't feel like they needed to guard or hide themselves to each other or feel like they had to leverage status or make small talk about politics a d trade.

Eivor launched immediately into asking why Randvi had been travelling alone when their clan's party had just departed the settlement not a fortnight past. Randvi asked how Eivor knew she was in the same clan as them and Eivor could only respond with a genuine smile and the reply of, "They spoke rather highly of you".

Randvi smiled at that and replied right back, "I'm sure it's nothing compared to what I hear of you".

Randvi's expedition was well received in Heillboer. She would find all of her doubts about the myth surrounding the settlement and the bear clan to be cleared away. They thrived without a show of force because they made no claims to what was not theirs and because they relied on each other in times of hardship.

Eivor had ended up carrying the reindeer back into the settlement upon her own insistence and the clan members at the longhouse happily received it.

Randvi noted the lack of throne and grand chambers and let herself truly understand the implication of a self-ruling community.

She would spend the rest of winter in Heillboer, at first happily staying in the longhouse to observe all of the comings and goings of the clan and how they resolved their issues amongst their peers.

She would go on hunts and fishing trips with Eivor, who frequently invited her along for any and all activity.

It should have alarmed her how easily she felt she slotted into their community and into the companionship of Eivor, but she realized that this was exactly how a clan without a jarl would be able to survive so long.

The genuine connection had multiplied into magnitudes she did not even realize until she found herself hiking with Eivor one day to Fannaraki Summit.

She had learned that Eivor, much like herself, found no value in ambitious glory and making alliances with clans that would be as eager to drive a blade into your gut as they are to forge so-called bonds in a single night.

Randvi had understood all of a sudden as she sat next to Eivor carefully stacking stones and talking about what she remembered of her mother that she truly had no need to propose an alliance to Eivor or the bear clan. She realized that Eivor and the rest of Heillboer had been measuring her merit as a person from the moment they met her.

As she handed a rock over to Eivor to slowly and carefully balance on the stack, Randvi truly understood that she had been accepted before she even knew many in the clan. She knew that Eivor had assessed her from a distance and decided to befriend her before taking her to the rest of the bears. Randvi realized that perhaps she wanted to come alone because she wanted to know how she would be perceived if she presented herself as genuinely as possible instead of someone that had something beneficial to obviously offer the clan.

She knew that Eivor had accepted her. Knew that if they ran into trouble, she would protect her. Knew that she met everyone that she did because Eivor's company calmed any anxiety around a stranger walking in their community. She knew that they would all treat her with the same respect they did now no matter if Eivor was around or not, but it certainly was in her favour that Eivor took a liking to her so early. Randvi knew that an alliance would not need to be made official here.

Still, as Randvi listened to Eivor's retelling of her memories, of her parents, of a Heillboer from before, the more Randvi wanted to hear even more of the Wolf-kissed's history. At some point in her stay, she became less concerned about joining their clans together and what that could imply and found herself wanting to hear Eivor talk about anything and everything.

Randvi wanted to share herself too; to let Eivor know of her past and her family and her way of viewing the world around them. She hoped Eivor mirrored her want to know of each other and craved to listen as she did; even to spend time quietly alone together as she did.

Later on, when Randvi asks if she could stay anywhere else in Heillboer that wasn't the longhouse, Eivor would not hesitate to invite her to her home and Randvi was eager to accept.

When Thora arrived at the dock a moon later, she felt no surprise to see Randvi and Eivor approach together.

What did surprise her and what she pressed her sister on was the fact that they came out of Eivor's single room dwelling together. That they retired for the day at the same time as each other and went back at the same dwelling. That when one or the other went out to sail or fish or even go for a small walk, it was nearly always with each other.

It seems that relations between their clans had successfully been secured and her baby sister was enjoying the time in freedom of doing what she wanted with the security of not having to sneak around or feel as is she was being improper or endangering her family and the clan.

Thora was perceptive in her own right and while she was relieved she didn't have to protect her baby sister; she saw clear as day how subtly protective Eivor was of Randvi. She did feel slightly neglected when it was clear that Randvi preferred to spend her time with Eivor instead of her. She understood, of course, and the implications filled her heart with warmth and joy, she couldn't help but call out and tease Randvi about her new found passion.

To both of the reindeer women's surprise, Eivor did not shy away or get flustered by the topic; confirming without a doubt how she felt and what she wished for their clans and for her own personal relationship with a certain hunter that caught her attention so many months before.

Though she had yet to meet the rest of their clan and they had yet to come up with a plan on how to take on the dangers that faced them in the future of their country and beyond, Eivor made it very clear that her intent was for both of their clans to be intertwined and prosper, grow and expand together in more ways than one and on levels from personal to the dreaded political.

They would face the hardships of relentless winter storms, of social turmoil with their neighbours, with attempted raids on their lands keeping their physical prowess sharp and ready. They would face decisions they couldn't been to anticipate at where they stood then, but it was very clear.

The reindeer of Tromøya had found unity, solidarity, and an unbelievable match in values with the bears of Heillboer.

The future of Norway remained uncertain, but their two clans would find stability, peace, and safety in the years to come.

#randivor #eivor x randvi #randvi x eivor #eivor varinsdottir #randvi #ahhh my heart #I love them #it's been so long #I had to stop myself from working on this more #otherwise it would no longer be a speedpaint lol #randivor in norway au #honestly just another version of the randivor historic winter au #but make it 9th century #I got a little bit carried away with the au summary too #I had to stop myself from writing out a draft of the whole story #how different would their lives have been #what would fate make of them to bring them together yet again #and of course #for the 819038901283096th time these two hoes do be falling in-love AGAIN #anyways this somehow didn't end up having as much Randivor as I wanted?????#even though it's so long #sorry for any typos #I literally wrote all this on my phone #and I am extremely tired #sorry if there is a random word or sentence that didn't make sense lol #ac valhalla #ac: valhalla #assassins creed valhalla #assassin's creed valhalla #eivor wolfkissed

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