#oc: alethia stahl

[levithestripper]

“And suddenly, Athelstan understood. ‘God,’ he whispered. ‘Lord, how have I been so blind?’”

—Athelstan in HEORTE TIL HEORTE by @procrastinatingsoicanreadfanfics

[procrastinatingsoicanreadfanfics]

the chess edit for my and my lovely mutuals' ocs (+athelstan but he practically counts anyway)

alethia for me :)

valkyrie for @majesticwren

daereon waters for @levithestripper

athelstan for @demon-of-the-ancient-world

lillian for @grantairescurls

myrcella baratheon for @hightowhxre (angstigone on ao3!)

[levithestripper]

“I need you to be there, mother.”

—Edd Stark in HAND TURNS LOOM by @procrastinatingsoicanreadfanfics

[levithestripper]

“‘That is a rare thing in a man.’  ‘You are good, I think,’ Alethia replied. ‘I try,’ Athelstan said.”

—Athelstan and Alethia Stahl in HEORTE TIL HEORTE by @procrastinatingsoicanreadfanfics

[procrastinatingsoicanreadfanfics]

heorte til heorte

— pairing: athelstan x alethia stahl (oc)

— fandom: vikings (tv)

— summary: alethia wanted to go home, to return to her family. instead, she finds herself in ninth-century england. not speaking the language, and still processing the grief of her other life, she searches for an anchor - athelstan.

— warnings:  violence, age gaps, miscarriage, death, a lot of hurt and grief. no one starts out happy. aged down athelstan bc i thought he was like 20 when he got kidnapped. he’s around 26 in this opposed to his regular 32.

— notes: this is self-indulgent. this is also angsty, like, really angsty. it’s not even funny at this point. does it get better? maybe. but this is athelstan related, so it’s going to hurt. written for and because of @levithestripper :)

chapters will be posted every sunday, starting this week.

— quotes & excerpts:

Yes, this was England. She was home, on Earth.

She was pretty, in the same way Lagertha was - in the same way all shieldmaidens were heedlessly, dangerously beautiful. 

“The christening does not protect the body, but the soul.” Athelstan replied. He sounded as if he was repeating a sentence he knew by heart but did not mean. “And has yours been protected? Has God made sure that you feel whole?” Alethia laughed, her lip quivering. “I should think not. I see you, Athelstan.”

“Not for a stranger. I would go for Alethia Stahl, if I knew who she was.” Athelstan said.

“The ocean makes me afraid.” he said. “It is so… endless.” “Aren’t we all?” Alethia whispered.

A part of him wished that he could have stayed and soothed her scars.

[procrastinatingsoicanreadfanfics]

ch. 9 — behat (to promise)

notes: timeskip of a few months! also, guysss so ummm i really hate the last two chapters i wrote so i'll have to scratch them and start again... but im also in the middle of some pretty important stuff so yah. sorry about that.

summary: alethia meets thorunn. athelstan and ragnar talk about ragnar, promises are made.

warnings: mentions of depression, ppd and other mental health issues, ragnar is a bit of a dick tbh

tagged: @levithestripper @demon-of-the-ancient-world @grantairescurls

series masterlist | general masterlist

Alethia

It was getting colder in Kattegat. The temperatures had dropped in the past week, and Alethia could not help noticing that the days were shorter as well. But, there was a prolonged sense of gentleness within the cold days. Aslaug had given Alethia proper furs, Ragnar returned an old sword to her. She looked as if she was back in Winterfell, right after taking the castle back from the Boltons.

Sometimes, her heart tugged when Alethia thought of the North. Kattegat was similar to it, though the people were not. When Alethia woke up in Athelstan’s longhouse, she sometimes thought that she was back there, in Westeros. The thought seldom filled her with distress.

Still, Kattegat was a place that she thought she could call home. And as word spread that she was taken, that she really was Athelstan’s woman, Alethia had the sort of automatic respect she never did receive in England. 

That morning, she was the first free woman to push into the Great Hall. A few thralls were already working, setting the table and cleaning the floors. Alethia felt guilty each time she met the eyes of any of them. She was saving money to free them, but she knew it was a pointless endeavor.

But she and Athelstan agreed that they would never buy a thrall, or make someone a slave.

Hvitserk bounced up to Alethia before she could see him, crashing into her. Alethia stumbled backwards, landing on her back, and Hvitserk giggled, hugging Alethia tightly. While she was supposedly just a guard to Aslaug, Alethia had quickly become caretaker to Ubbe, Hvitserk and Sigurd. Aslaug was too preoccupied with Ivar, and Ragnar…

Alethia lost some respect for him each time she thought on the matter. His three middle sons exhausted her thoroughly every day. It was not her responsibility, and yet, Alethia reveled in taking care of them, just as she had with Clothilda, Godwin and John in England.

“Are we going to play today?” Hvitserk asked.

“Like always.” Alethia promised. Hvitserk took her by the hand, pulling her to the table. He was always hungry, always the first to eat. Alethia had given up on trying to teach him any tablemanners, not that the Northmen took those particularly seriously.

“What are we going to do?”

“I was thinking of taking you hunting. Your brother’s skills with a bow have improved considerably, and Sigurd loves climbing the trees in the woods.”

“But it’s cold!” Hvitserk complained.

“Your mother bought new furs from the merchant three days ago. I’ll bundle you up so you stay nice and warm. And if your brother shoots a rabbit, you could have stew for dinner. How does that sound?” 

Hvitserk’s eyes brightened at the thought of his favourite food, and Alethia smiled. While Ubbe was responsible, taking himself quite seriously for a boy of eight, and would no doubt make it his mission to provide for his brothers tonight. Hvitserk, however, was the sort of playful that reminded Alethia of Rickon and Arya sometimes.

He was a wolf-child. 

Alethia hoped life would be kind to him. She tried to make it as much as she could. 

And Sigurd… however little the small boy liked to admit it, he was the one that took after his mother most. Already, Sigurd was drawn to bouts of anger and frustration, the only thing seemingly able to soothe him being when his mother sung to him. But Aslaug did not do that often.

Alethia sighed, handing Hvitserk a bowl of porridge.

“Where are Siggy and Thorunn?” she asked.

Hvitserk took a bite, gulping down his food without eating, before he answered. “I don’t know. Thorunn was crying again yesterday. She’s always so sad.”

“Okay. Do you know where she is?”

“No.” Hvitserk said. “I don’t really like her. She looks scary.”

“That’s not very nice.”

“You also look like her, but you don’t scare me.” Hvitserk continued anyway. “You aren’t so gloomy all the time.”

“I’m about to be very fucking gloomy.”

Hvitserk giggled, smiling widely as he saw his brother trudge towards the table. Ubbe was wearing a frown, hands rubbing his eyes.

“What is it, Ubbe?” Alethia asked.

“Ivar was crying again. I couldn’t sleep.” Ubbe complained. He climbed the bench next to Alethia. It did not escape her that he leaned against her, his hand searching for hers. Her heart broke a little.

“I will try to find something to help your little brother. And we are going hunting today.” Alethia said. “Is it alright if Thorunn comes along? I cannot take care of all of you at the same time.” 

Hvitserk frowned. “She’ll ruin it. She’s like Sigurd when he’s angry.”

“Will she be crying?” Ubbe said.

“Maybe.”

“I want her to be happy. She is our sister-in-law.”

“That’s right.” Alethia smiled. “Good job, Ubbe.”

“Maybe we can just send her back if she is very sad.” Hvitserk suggested. “Then it won’t be so scary to take her along.

“I promise you, you will have a great day.” Alethia said. “You two finish dinner, and help Sigurd get dressed, alright? Make sure he eats too, and give him some pears for his porridge. Ask the thralls for more in case you finish all the fruit. It’s important he has some. Can you do that?”

“I can!” Ubbe said.

Alethia ruffled his hair, and the boy hugged her quickly, before he looked away. Hvitserk stared up at her from his spot at the bench, before a cheeky grin appeared on his face.

“I hope you’ve gotten better at archery since last time.” he said, sticking out his tongue. Alethia raised her brows.

“Careful little man, or I’ll have to eat all the rabbit stew in the world by myself.”

Hvitserk’s insulted gasp was the last thing she heard as she slipped out of the Great Hall again. In the center of Kattegat, around the Great Hall, merchants were setting up their stalls. Alethia took note of one merchant who displayed little trinkets. As she stepped closer, her heart skipped a beat. There, amidst mostly worthless playthings and souvenirs, was a small collection of coins with what had to be Chinese symbols.

Alethia bought one of them quickly. She slipped the coin into her pocket, turning it over in her hand as she walked. 

Perhaps she could hide it somewhere, with a message of some kind. Perhaps archeologists would find it in a century. Then, she would have been here.

No. It was too dangerous.

Alethia stepped up to Bjorn’s longhouse. She knew that Bjorn would be away. He had been sleeping at Rollo’s house for the past two weeks, taking Siggy with him. Thorunn was alone here.

She knocked. There was nothing, not a single sound from within the house, but still, Alethia waited.

She knocked again. And again, there was nothing. But then, Alethia caught a quiet sniffle.

“I’m coming in now.”

No response. Alethia opened the door slowly, but closed it behind her as fast as she could. Inside the longhouse, it was dark, but there was a rank smell that permeated the walls. Alethia lit a candle, walking towards Thorunn. The girl was a little younger than her, and so similar to Alethia in so many ways. Alethia thought that, maybe, she could understand her.

If anyone.

Thorunn was backed into a corner like an animal, and as Alethia raised the candle, she cowered away. Alethia sat down a few steps away from her, putting the candle onto the ground. Thorunn shielded the scarred side of her face, knees drawn up to her chest. All she was wearing was a shift, and that was crusted with dark red blood. It was around her abdomen, and so, Alethia guessed that it stemmed from some kind of complication with birth. She tried to ignore the smell, tried not to focus on the way that Thorunn’s hair had turned into a matted mess.

Had no one taken care of her, Alethia would have been the same.

“Hello, Thorunn.”

“Who are you?” Thorunn asked. “Are you real? Did the Gods send you to mock me?”

“I am real. I am Alethia.” she said quietly. “Athelstan’s woman.”

“The priest has a woman?”

“Now he does.” Alethia replied. “And you are Thorunn, right? Bjorn told me all about you.”

At the mention of his name, Thorunn looked away. “He does not love me anymore.”

“I think he does. I think he simply does not know how to handle… you.”

“I warned him about that when I was still a thrall. He didn’t get it.”

“Lothbrok men.”

Thorunn’s expression changed. It wasn’t a smile, not yet, but Alethia was getting there.

“Would you like to come hunting with me? I’m taking care of Ubbe, Hvitserk and Sigurd for today. I hear you’re good with a bow.”

Thorunn eyed Alethia suspiciously. “Bjorn set you up to this, didn’t he? He wants me to feel better about myself.”

“I don’t know Bjorn very well. All I know is that he’s an angry young man with a babe he does not know how to care for. You said it yourself, you thought the Gods sent me to mock you. I came because…  I had a feeling we were similar.”

“You’re not a monster.” Thorunn whispered.

“And what makes you one?”

“Have you seen my face?”

“Have you seen mine?” Alethia countered. “You have done nothing that would make you a monster.”

“I abandoned my daughter.”

“Not yet.”

“I don’t want to take care of her. I’m scared I’ll mess things up.”

“Every mother is.”

“Do you have a child?” Thorunn asked.

“I lost mine.” Alethia admitted. “I have no child that came from my own body, but I have been raising those of others, those that are lost for many years.”

“Can you raise my daughter?”

“You can do that yourself.”

“I cannot.”

“Yes, you can. Whatever I do for those children, it is never enough. I am never quite right. That is because I am not truly a mother, only a stand-in. And I don’t want that for Siggy.”

“I cannot do it. Look at me! She’ll grow up afraid.”

“Because of what? That scar?”

“Yes!” Thorunn cried out. “Do you not see what we are? How ugly and deformed we look?”

“Rude.” Alethia mumbled. “But I am loved. I know it. And not in spite of my scar, but because it is part of me. Bjorn will love you with or without it.”

“How do you know?”

“Just a feeling.” Alethia replied. 

“And what if I don’t deserve it? He’s the son of Lagertha! He could have anyone!”

“Your beauty does not make you any more deserving of love.” Alethia countered. She shuffled closer, and took Thorunn’s hand. “And even if we are monsters, are we not still women? We feel pain just as we feel love, and hate, and anger, and happiness. We are human, and therefore, we love. Let them point fingers. Dare them in your defiance of holding your head up high. Therein lies strength some will never understand. Do not let them take your spirit.”

“Them?”

“Those that would tear you down. You are a fortress, Thorunn. It is alright to feel weak, to want to hide away and never see the sun again. But the sun is beautiful, Thorunn. Outside is beautiful. Life is beautiful, just as it is terrible. You have a daughter, and you have the chance to raise her in a way that she shall always feel safe and loved.”

“It is so much.”

“I know it is. I am not asking you to feel alright. All I am asking is that you come hunt with me and the boys today. Let me help you. Let Aslaug, and Bjorn, and everyone else help you. I know asking for that help is hard, and so I will do it for you. All you must do is accept.”

Thorunn withdrew her hand, hiding her face in her palms, and for a moment, Alethia was afraid.

“Alright.” she said finally. “But I do not know where to start.”

“I do.”

Alethia stood, her joints aching as she did, and she thought that she was getting old. How silly, considering that she was only twenty. The thought of it excited her. Growing old! She never really thought she would, not even when she had still lived in her time. A life beyond twenty seemed unfathomable, and yet, here she was. Living. Breathing.

She took the bucket that stood in the corner of the longhouse and carried it outside, filling it with water. Returning to the longhouse, Alethia opened the shutters to let some light inside. It took time, but the wooden tub filled with cold water. When it was full, Alethia helped Thorunn up. She ignored the smell, the blood, the dirt.

Thorunn sat in the water, and Alethia threw the shift into a corner with dirty bedding and molding food. While Thorunn scraped the dirt off of her skin, Alethia took to work with her hair. Slowly, the mats disappeared. They weren’t as bad as Alethia thought they would be, and she thanked every higher power that Thorunn was a blonde, and not a brunette, where her hair would have been thicker, and likely impossibly tangled.

Alethia wanted to shriek as lice crawled onto her hands, and her scalp felt itchy while she flicked them off, crushing them under her boot. Using a comb, Alethia tried to rid Thorunn of the rest of them. Finally, she handed the other woman a towel, letting her dry herself while Alethia set out new clothes.

When Thorunn was dressed, the sun was considerably higher in the sky, and she looked like she was going to be okay. Hopefully.

“We’ll take care of the house later, but the boys are waiting for us. It’s almost noon already, and they’re likely fighting.” Alethia said.

“Thank you.” Thorunn replied. “I don’t know if I…”

“It’s nothing. I had help as well.”

“Can we be friends?” Thorunn blurted out. “I don’t really have… friends. I don’t think Bjorn counts – he’s more than that after all.”

Her eyes were so wide as she grabbed Alethia’s hands again, holding them in the space between the two of them. For the first time since they’d met, Alethia saw Thorunn smile. It suited her. As Alethia looked at her, she felt like a girl again. God, how she loved that. 

“Yes. I would like that.” Alethia replied.

Thorunn linked her arm in Alethia’s, strolling out into the street as if she was alright, and Alethia felt her heart beat in her throat out of happiness. She had a friend! How she’d missed that.

And Thorunn looked like she felt the same way.

Athelstan

Ragnar sat on the beach, watching as Athelstan drew up the walls of Paris. When he looked at Ragnar, Athelstan knew that his friend was somewhere else in his mind. Somewhere where there were no children, no wives, no kingdom, only Ragnar and the boat.

Then, Ragnar hissed through his teeth. “Tell me about Paris.”

Athelstan rolled his eyes. Paris, Paris, Paris. Since they’d returned from England, Paris was all that Ragnar wanted to talk about. “Again?”

“Please?”

Athelstan shook his head, smiling lightly. “I only went there once.”

“Continue.”

“I was visiting a monastery in Frankia, right outside of Paris, and one day, the monks there took me to see it.”

Ragnar had closed his eyes. He looked like he was sleeping, but Athelstan knew exactly what to say so that he would pay attention again. “But what I remember more, is the beautiful women.”

He had a feeling Alethia would not have liked those words. Alethia. Athelstan wanted to disappear into his mind, but then, Ragnar leaned forward with so much interest that Athelstan had to continue. “I almost… questioned my vows of celibacy.”

“You never told me that part before.” Ragnar said. And then, a wolfish grin appeared on his face. “Speaking of celibacy…”

Athelstan sighed. “Yes?”

“You and her… hmm?”

“I have no idea what you mean.” Athelstan lied.

“She lives in your house. You have to have done something . Or did you get a second bed, you sad, sad man.” Ragnar teased. Athelstan considered his choice of words for a moment.

“What do you think?” 

Ragnar squinted, blue eyes disappearing momentarily. “Two weeks ago.”

Athelstan could not help but laugh, and Ragnar’s eyes widened. “You did not tell me?”

“The night we returned to Kattegat.”

“AND YOU DID NOT TELL ME?” he shouted.

“I thought it unimportant.”

“Next you’ll tell me you plan to make her your wife.”

“I am, actually. Planning it, I mean.” Athelstan mumbled. Ragnar’s eyes widened slightly, before he huffed.

“Why? Why bind yourself in such a way?”

“Because I love her.”

“I love Lagertha. And yet, I never should have married her.”

“You and I, Ragnar, we are not the same.”

“I know.” Ragnar replied. “Then you have my blessing. Though Kattegat does not have a church, so I do not know how…”

“She would refuse to marry me in a church. The Christian way, it binds her too much.” Athelstan shrugged. “It would have to be a Norse marriage ceremony anyway.”

“Good. Good. And now you have to tell me, what did you do when… you know?”

“Well, we uh…” Athelstan began. He knew he was reddening. At the same time, there was the warm feeling of satisfaction at the base of his stomach when he thought back to that first night. And all the nights that followed. “We did it, and then we did it again.”

Ragnar rolled his eyes. “You are such a Christian sometimes.”

“What is it precisely that you wish to know?” 

His friend’s eyes gleamed, and Athelstan regretted ever saying anything. “Has she ever gotten on her knees for you?”

Athelstan’s mouth turned dry. “I’m not- I am not answering that.” He stuttered out, and Ragnar laughed.

“I knew it. She’s corrupting you! My Athelstan, corrupted by some godless girl from England!”

“She is not from England.”

“No? Where then?”

“It is… complicated.” Athelstan sighed. “I suppose the land is comparable to Eastern Frankia.”

“Perfect. Then she’ll know how to help us with Paris.”

“Ragnar, no.” Athelstan said firmly. Ragnar froze, before he turned to stare at Athelstan.

“What do you mean, no?”

“Do not involve her in your raiding plans. Don’t. Do not offer her to plan it, to come to Paris, or to fight. I will not be your friend if you do.”

“You’re afraid she’ll die.” Ragnar mused. An itch of annoyance spread through Athelstan. Ragnar was being too unserious about this.

“No. I know her body would survive. But… if she goes to Paris, she will not come back the same. She has fought enough, Ragnar. And I suppose, in that way, you and her are the same. I know you take no joy in it anymore.”

“I am a Northman, of course I take joy in it.” 

“You do not have to lie to me, Ragnar. And I know I do not understand, but she will. You can talk to her. Many soldiers have.”

“What does she do with them? Some magic ritual? Or maybe she is a witch, and sleeps with them to wipe their memory and make them her slaves?”

“You’re trying to rile me up. You don’t believe in any of that.”

“Well maybe I do.” Ragnar said, raising his hands in mock defeat.

“Stop it.”

“Alright, fine. What does she do with them? Why do they go to her if not for… her womanly charms?”

“I hear she listens to them. Not that you need that, Ragnar. You talk so much anyway.”

Ragnar snorted, but Athelstan could see the emptiness behind his eyes. He knew that Alethia would be talking to him tonight.

Then, his friend scratched the back of his head, quickly changing the topics again. “So, marriage. What comes next? Children?”

“I haven’t thought about that.”

“But you want it.” Ragnar noticed. His eyes bore into Athelstan’s, and it felt as if he could read his mind.

“I do.” Athelstan said. There was something in his heart that ached when he thought of it. His own family.

“Perhaps your sons will fihgt alongside mine one day.”

“I want daughters.” Athelstan blurted out. “I want them to be like her, like Lagertha, like Siggy when they grow up. Like Aslaug and Judith.”

“Why?”

“Because they are stronger than we are.”

Ragnar paused for a moment, before he looked down at the sand. HIs hands dug into the ochre, disappearing below the surface that rippled like the ocean.

“If I do have a daughter…” Athelstan began. “I want to name her Gyda.”

When Ragnar looked up again, there were tears in his eyes.

Alethia

Thorunn was smiling by the time that dinner was being served by the thralls. Alethia watched as she talked to Aslaug, Sigurd tugging at her hand. Alethia was glad that she had gotten to help her. The look of deference slowly disappeared from Thorunn the longer she spoke to Aslaug, and, when Bjorn entered the Great Hall, trailed by Lagertha, who had Siggy in her arms, Thorunn did not turn away.

Alethia sighed with relief, picking up Hvitserk, who was attempting to fight Ubbe over her shoulder.

“If you want to hit your brother, try not to hit my head as well.” She told Hvitserk. He had the audacity to pout, crossing his arms before his chest.

“And why are you two fighting anyway?

Hvitserk only shrugged, stomping his foot to emphasize his point. Alethia tried to bite down the laughter that bubbled up her throat.

“He’s your brother, Hvitserk. I know Ubbe can be overbearing, but he means well.”

“Fine. I won’t hit him I guess.” Hvitserk complained. “I’ll play with Bjorn instead.”

When Athelstan walked into the Great Hall together with Ragnar, Alethia could not help but smile at him. Athelstan turned her way almost immediately, as if he was a dog that could sniff her out.

Ragnar followed Athelstan as he made his way towards Alethia, and now, Alethia was a little concerned. Ragnar never bothered talking to her.

“Hi.” Alethia said, and Athelstan hugged her without another word. He was uncharacteristically quiet, even for him. 

“He’s planning a raid.” Athelstan whispered in the hug.

“It’s okay. Thank you.” Alethia replied. She let him go, smiling amiably at Ragnar.

“Your sons are admirable hunters.” She said.

“I’d hope so.” Ragnar replied. His tone was so dry, so flat, so uninterested, that Alethia felt reminded of her own father.

“It wouldn’t hurt to take some interest.” She hissed. “They notice that, you know.”

Ragnar raised a brow, looking over to Athelstan as if they were sharing some kind of inside joke. Alethia was glad that Athelstan did not try to reciprocate his all-knowing smirk.

The king of Kattegat stared at Alethia a moment longer, as if he was trying to read her soul, eat her heart. Alethia tried not to look away as best she could, but when Ubbe tugged at her hand to gain her attention, Alethia did not care enough to continue their little contest. 

Ubbe was holding out a bowl of stew, filled with the prizes of their hunt today.

“Thank you Ubbe.” Alethia said. “Would you like to eat with me and Athelstan today?”

Ubbe nodded shyly, and Alethia patted the free space next to her. Athelstan sat, taking a bowl of stew out of the hands of one of the thralls. Alethia ate quietly, waiting until Athelstan had finished his quick prayer. It was the kind of domesticity they could only begin to afford.

Alethia’s hands found purchase in Athelstan’s and as she looked to him, she had a moment of peace between lifetimes of war. Athelstan was quick to kiss her cheek, before anyone could catch them in their little display. Alethia’s hand stroked his jaw automatically, and Athelstan smiled at her with such adoration that she thought she might die.

So much, for her. God, had there ever been a sweeter joke?

She ate her stew, and Alethia knew that, months earlier, she would not have tasted it. But there it was, and it satisfied her. She wasn’t hungry anymore.

There was a thought in the back of her mind, one that Alethia had not thought explicitly, but one she thought she’d known about for a while. She smiled at Athelstan, who did not know.

Later, Alethia helped Aslaug settle Ubbe, Hvitserk and Sigurd down. The hunt had exhausted them, but they were brothers, and in such, always found a reason to fight. Aslaug had only a tired smile to spare Alethia as the three of them had finally fallen asleep. Ivar was still in Aslaug’s arms.

“Thank you.”

“I enjoy taking care of the boys.” Alethia assured.

“I meant Thorunn, and me. We did not want to ask for…” Aslaug began. “You have a place in my queendom.”

“And I shall defend it as if it were my own.” 

Aslaug smiled, nodding at Alethia as she made her way out of the Great Hall. It was starting to darken in Kattegat, and Alethia’s hand was never far from her belt. Athelstan’s longhouse was on the outskirts of town, where it became quiet. Alethia knew it was there not only because of the tranquility, but also because the forest reminded him of home.

Out of the corner of her eye, Alethia caught Ragnar, staring at her from afar. His eyes were unfocused, and Alethia knew he wanted something from her. Comfort, perhaps. 

In Wessex, Alethia would have opened her home to him. But Hagar had been nothing, had had nothing, and Alethia had used up all of her energy today already. She wanted to go home, to Athelstan. 

“Tomorrow.” Alethia called.

Ragnar jumped, as if he had not expected Alethia to speak to him. Then, he nodded through the fog that had to cloud his mind. Alethia closed her eyes, breathing out. Whatever Ragnar carried with him, Alethia knew it hurt. She had watched the king enough to know he felt about his crown the same way that Jon had. 

She did not feel guilty forgetting about that when she stepped into her and Athelstan’s house. 

And there he was, sitting at the desk, charcoal scratching over parchment.

“What are you drawing?” Alethia asked.

“You.” 

Alethia smiled, hugging Athelstan while leaning over him. She put her chin on his shoulder, her own face reflected on the parchment. It was her from a few days ago, hair still wet from swimming in the bay of Kattegat. Alethia knew that it would be the last swim she would take for a while. It was getting too cold for her to swim.

Winter was coming.

The thought of House Stark’s words no longer made her heart ache for Jon. There was the dull echo of a boy she’d loved as a girl, but no more. Not when Athelstan was right there with her.

Athelstan seemed to read her thoughts. “When it gets cold, we’ll be forced to spend more time inside.”

“The boys will be a lot.” Alethia sighed. 

“I was thinking… with all the time we’ll be spending inside,” Athelstan began. “Could you teach me? Your language, I mean.”

“Why?”

“I want to love you in your language.” Athelstan said. He seemed to hesitate for a moment, before he pushed his chair back and stood in front of Alethia. There was a trace of fear in his eyes as he looked at her. 

“What is wrong?” Alethia asked.

“Nothing.” Athelstan replied. “Nothing at all. But, the truth is, my reasons for learning your tongue are more selfish than not.”

“And why’s that?”

“Because I want to sing to my children in the language of their mother. If she’ll have me.”

Alethia’s mouth turned dry, and suddenly, her heart was beating in her chest. It was kissing Athelstan the first time all over again. “What are you saying?” she whispered. Athelstan’s hands grabbed hers a little more tightly, and he let out a shaky breath.

“Will you marry me?”

The sound Alethia let out was a half-laugh, half-sob, half-squeal. She threw herself around Athelstan’s neck, laughing. “Yes. Yes, I’ll marry you, and I’ll have you. Just as you are, speaking my language or not.”

Athelstan enveloped her, hands holding her tight, safe, warm. His lips brushed her cheekbone, dusting a kiss there where a scar split her face. Alethia felt loved.

[procrastinatingsoicanreadfanfics]

ch. 8 — frician (to desire)

notes: margaret by lana del rey was a big inspo for this one

summary: alethia arrives in kattegat

warnings: i dont want to give it away tbh. in a good way i promise!!!! jack we talked about this literally last night (its not to that extent but still hehe)

tagged: @demon-of-the-ancient-world @levithestripper @grantairescurls

general masterlist | series masterlist

Alethia

Lagertha was kind to her. She was glad that she did not end up alone, as she had feared, and yet, there was the perpetual feeling of only being wanted because she was linked to Athelstan.

They all stared.

She knew they whispered.

Still, Alethia boarded ship, successfully this time, making for Kattegat. Ecbert could not stop her, and she was not inclined to stay any longer than she had to. If only she could have felt as if this was where she was meant to be.

In truth, Alethia had no idea if this was the right thing to do. What if she was messing everything up, ruining things for Athelstan? This was his life, not hers, and it felt like she was intruding.

And still, Alethia followed Athelstan like John the Baptist, quiet like a shadow. In Kattegat, Athelstan helped her onto the docks. It was only when she touched those wooden planks that Alethia felt free.

She breathed in the salty air that was no different from the sea mere moments ago, and yet, entirely something else. This was to be her new home. Alethia would make it work, she had practiced enough for this moment for the entirety of her childhood.

The eyes glued to her back were there when Athelstan squeezed her shoulder, her hand, looked into her eyes with that gaze meant to comfort were not lost on Alethia. Rollo, Floki, Ragnar, Lagertha – they would not look away. Alethia wanted to turn around and hiss at them as she would have with King Ecbert, but instead, she ducked away and towards the Great Hall, disappearing in the feast that was being hosted for the return of the Vikings.

Athelstan kept his distance, as he had since they had met again. Alethia knew that there would be a gap between them, some sort of irrevocable change upon reunion, and yet, she ached for things to return as they had been.

They never had, not since she’d been a girl. And in that moment, Alethia felt ancient. 

The woman with the feline eyes approached her a few hours into the feast, when Athelstan was still being held close by Ragnar, and most of the crowd had surmised to get drunk instead of doing anything meaningful for the remainder of the night. Alethia backed herself into a corner, where a cat curled around her ankles and she could nurse a cup of mead in peace.

Alethia knew that she was a queen the moment Aslaug approached her. She held herself with the same inherent dignity as Catelyn Stark had, as Sansa had. Alethia straightened her back, pushing herself up. The cat jumped away, disturbed by her sudden movements.

“Queen Aslaug.” Alethia said, bowing her head.

“How do you know who I am?” Aslaug asked. She was holding a bundle in her arms, the babe whom Alethia presumed to be Ivar sleeping lightly.

“You hold yourself as I would expect of a Götland princess.”

Aslaug raised one of those well-manicured brows, but she gave Alethia a small smile. 

“Then you are the woman that plagues my dreams.”

“Sorry about that.” Alethia said.

“You have an accent.”

“Sorry about that as well.”

“It is all fair and well. I expect Athelstan has been teaching you to the best of his abilities.” Aslaug said. She took a seat next to where Alethia had been, patting the free space. The cat returned to Alethia’s lap.

“I dreamt of you. I am not… friends with Athelstan as my husband is, but I think in this, I understand him better than Ragnar does.”

Alethia looked down, scratching the cat between his ears.

“He loves you.” Aslaug whispered. Alethia paused, her heart beating wildly in her chest. When she looked over to Aslaug, the Queen of Kattegat was smiling.

Alethia did not know what to say, swallowing. She looked back down, clearing her throat, and a small laugh escaped Aslaug.

“Do you love him?” she asked. Alethia wanted to say yes, but the guilt of it strangled her, and she could not say a single thing. Aslaug sighed. 

“You are good for him. He is not someone I understand very well, but Athelstan is a man who has suffered greatly. Even if he is a Christian, I can see that.”

“Thank you.”

“It is nothing.”

“It is everything.” Alethia protested. Then, she leaned back against the wall behind her, resting her head. “I was afraid of you, you know?”

“Me? I am not someone invocative of fear.” Aslaug replied.

“Please. You are a Götland princess. A völva. You see things others do not. I am not afraid of warriors. They all try to kill me, but so far, none of them have succeeded. Those that see beyond the fog of reality, they are the ones that scare me. You, Queen Aslaug, are one of them. You have my respect, and my admiration, no matter what others say about that.”

Now it was Aslaug’s turn to be speechless, but Alethia could not stay silent. She had to continue. The words built on the back of her tongue, forcing themselves out of her mouth.

“You are brave, too. I heard of Ivar and his disability. From what I understand of your culture, Northmen despise what they perceive to be weakness. I knew a boy like Ivar once. His name was Bran, and he was one of the most powerful men alive. No one thought he would survive what happened to him, but he did. Your Ivar… you have a right to love your son. He needs you.”

“Thank you.” Aslaug said. “And I… I know what happened to you. Most of it, anyway. The correct way to address you should be Queen, and not simply your name.”

“Please, do not.” Alethia replied.

“I won’t.” Aslaug promised. “I do not know how much the Gods showed me of your life, but I hoped that what I did see was all of the pain you experienced. It is enough for ten lifetimes.”

Alethia’s heart caught in her throat. She tried to stop the tears that pricked her eyes, right until she looked at Aslaug. When the Queen smiled at her, cold facade from a few hours ago gone, Alethia let them fall. She gave herself three minutes of respite before she cleared her throat.

“Queen Aslaug, may I ask a favour of you?”

“Almost any.” Aslaug replied.

“May I protect you? I would be honored to serve you and your children as a shieldmaiden, for I know you left many of yours behind when you came here. I do not wish to go to war anymore, but protecting a family, to protect children – that I can do. It is the sort of fierce gentleness I wish to embody.”

“Give it three moons. Rest. Then, we shall speak of what you have asked.” Aslaug promised. “But now, go. Find your priest. Do well by him.”

“I will.” Alethia promised. She did not expect Aslaug to cup her jaw, to lean forward the way she did, as if she was reading something behind Alethia’s eyes. The moment passed, Alethia shuddered, and then, she left. Aslaug turned to her son.

Athelstan

Ragnar whistled as Alethia approached them. Neither he nor she turned to look at the King. Alethia only stared at him, eyes somewhat bewildered. She looked lost, as if she’d forgotten where she was. Athelstan was fully aware that all eyes were on him as he crossed the distance between them and touched Alethia’s shoulder.

She looked right at him, green eyes boring into his own. 

“Are you alright?”

Alethia looked down, and then back up at him again. She closed her eyes. “I need a break please.”

“Of course.” Athelstan said. “Go wait outside for me. I’ll be out in a moment.”

Alethia nodded, slinking towards the door. Athelstan turned to Ragnar, who had a shit-eating grin on his face. In that moment, Athelstan could not laugh at it. 

“Nothing smart, Ragnar. Not tonight.” he said. Then, Athelstan followed Alethia outside. She was picking at her nails when he found her, and Athelstan watched as she hissed under one particularly painful tear. Suddenly, he was reminded of his mother. When Lillian had bad dreams, she would do the same thing. She had destroyed herself in the process.

Athelstan knew he was his mother’s child.

It was why he put an arm around Alethia, guiding her through the empty streets of Kattegat. Everyone was still in the Great Hall, celebrating. Everyone but the two of them.

He did not know why he brought her to his longhouse, but Athelstan felt the palpable sort of relief when the door to his home shut them out of the world outside.

Alethia spotted the portraits immediately. Athelstan had forgotten they were there, not having packed them away before he left for the raid. She went to them immediately, staring with wide eyes.

Gently, Alethia picked up a portrait of Floki, staring right at the viewer. Athelstan tried to swallow down his fear, stepping towards Alethia to explain.

“Athelstan these are…”

“I know I shouldn’t have.” Athelstan replied.

“What do you mean? They are beautiful. This one right here, it is exactly how Floki stares at you when you say something he does not like. And this one-” Alethia grabbed another piece of parchment, this time of Ecbert looking down at the subject. “It is exactly how King Ecbert sits his throne. Are there more?”

Athelstan hesitated. Of course there were. There was an entire sketchbook dedicated to Alethia , but he was not sure if he wanted to tell her that.

His silence was enough for her. “May I see them? Please? Your art is so beautiful.”

Art? His portraits were art?

“It is blasphemy.” Athelstan replied, shame making it difficult to breathe.

“Blasphemy? Athelstan, there are many things in this world that are blasphemy. This is not one of them. Trust me, I know.”

“How?”

“Because I love art. I have seen much of it. Van Gogh, Monet, Kahlo, Rubens, Gentileshi, Rembrandt, Michelangelo – you name it, I know it. Your portraits have spirit. Do you know the most important thing about art, Athelstan?”

“Portraiture must be used to portray the life of Christ. To display our belief to the world.”

“No.” Alethia shook her head. “No, that is not art. That is illustration. Art is that which makes you feel something. These portraits are that.”

Athelstan did not notice the tears until they tracked down his cheeks. He could not move, did not stop Alethia when she grabbed a small journal from his table. She looked at him with raised brows, and Athelstan nodded softly. Alethia opened it, and froze immediately.

He prayed she would not turn away from him for this. Alethia sat on his chair, looking at the first page. It was a portrait of her the day she had arrived in Ecbert’s villa. Alethia’s hand ghosted over her own features, careful not to touch the charcoal and smudge it. After a moment, she flipped to the next page. It was her side profile, this time sketched right after a long lesson of English grammar. 

Her sitting on the edge of the roman bath followed, then Alethia balancing a sword, then only a collection of her features that Athelstan had practiced with, all disconnected. There was a sketch of her hand on her shoulder, tugging on an old scar. That was from the bath after Alethia had lost her child. Then, there was Alethia sharpening a dagger, Alethia talking to a serving girl, Alethia, Alethia, Alethia…

She paused on the page where Athelstan had sketched her right after the battle against the Northmen. Athelstan had struggled with it, because he had never drawn someone with nothing in their eyes. Portraying someone’s gaze to be empty was a thing of the almost-impossible. Alethia set down the journal, returning it to its rightful place, and Athelstan awaited judgement.

“Thank you.” Alethia whispered. “You have made me immortal in the only way I wish to be.”

Athelstan was a selfish man. “Which way?”

“That of love. I see your devotion, Athelstan. I see it in every line of each portrait. And then I have to look back up to you with empty hands in search of some way to thank you, and I have nothing. I am a beggar. I wish I had something to show for mine own character.”

“You need nothing.”

“I know. I know, but I wish to give you something, Athelstan.”

“Why did you trust me? Why did you tell me your secrets when you could tell me nothing else?” Athelstan asked.

Alethia smiled lightly. “When you know, you know.”

“What do you mean?”

Alethia stood, the chair scraping on the wood. She took Athelstan’s hands. Gentle. The gesture should have felt repetitive. It never would, not to Athelstan.

“I saw you , standing behind King Ecbert in that damned courtyard. I saw you, Athelstan, and I saw your pain, your gentleness, your willingness to try, to give me a chance. Out of all the people there, you were the only one that did not regard me like an animal. Perhaps I saw my own pain reflected in you, but I do not want that to be it. I wanted… I knew that you would be right .”

Athelstan closed his eyes, trying to take another breath. Each one was harder than the one before, and the tears that had been isolated exceptions at first now ran down his face, hot and salty. He was not sure what they meant.

And then, Alethia’s hands were on his face again. They caressed his cheeks without guilt, with the gentleness of a million lifetimes that they did not have. Athelstan could have fallen at her feet right then and there.

She touched her forehead against his, wiping his tears. Athelstan let himself sob, only once, for all the pain he had let pass through him to avoid what he was doing now. He was ruining a moment, he was-

“It’s alright.” Alethia said. “Don’t force yourself to stop.”

Alethia was the only one he trusted to catch him if he fell, and so, he did. She held him as his senses left him and his shoulders buckled under the weight of everything he thought he’d forgotten about. Athelstan buried his face in the crook of her neck, there where the world meant nothing.

Time was meaningless where they stood, and for the first time in his life, Athelstan was not holding up the sky all by himself. The weight on his shoulders had not been lifted away entirely, but he was not carrying it alone, then. 

Athelstan felt the storm brew in his stomach. It coiled itself, beginning to boil and bubble up into his throat, and then, his mouth was forced open. His arms turned against him and he left Alethia’s shoulder, looking at her. With violence, the words were taken out of his mouth and into the air, and Athelstan trembled with fear as he said them. But they were right.

“I love you.”

Alethia’s eyes widened, she froze, and for a moment, she looked scared. Then, her eyes softened, her mouth broke into a wide smile, and there seemed to be some of that violent love that had forced his vocal cords moving within her as well. 

“I love you too.”

“How do you say it?” Athelstan said. The words broke out of him too.

“What do you mean?”

“Those words, how do you say them in your tongue? Your mother tongue, not any of the others. Your language. I want to say that to you in your language. If anything.”

“They mean more in my language. The way that you want to say them, they are impossibly heavy. It is not the same.”

“Good. I want it to mean something.”

“Ich liebe dich.” Alethia whispered. She said the words as if she was directing them at him, not teaching them to him.

“Ich liebe dich.” Athelstan repeated. Alethia laughed, air leaving her lungs, her chest rising in a rapid exchange of air.

“Ich dich auch.” Alethia replied. Athelstan knew what she had said, without any doubt. This time, it was Athelstan who moved first. Finally, he had the courage to kiss her. He was not so afraid  that he had to ask, he simply did it.

His lips touched hers, and Alethia melted into him, pulling him closer. She was slow, languid, patient, nothing like that first time, where it was as if they had tried to cram everything into one kiss. Athelstan felt lost, unsure what to do, but as Alethia’s hands wandered to tangle in his hair, caress his jaw and neck, and her tongue dared to move further, he found some of that confidence that only Northmen and Ecbert seemed to possess.

And then, Alethia pulled him even closer. Athelstan was flush to her, his head began to spin, and he suddenly became overly aware of just how close they were. He knew what came next.

“We don’t have to.” Alethia whispered suddenly. “This is enough for me.”

“I trust you.” Athelstan replied. He felt no guilt, and he was not surprised at that. It was Alethia. How could the most sinful of things be bad with someone as beautiful as her?

No God could convince him that everything he was doing was wrong.

“Are you sure? I don’t want you to regret this.” Alethia said.

“I could not. Not with you.”

“But you… what about God?”

“Let God see that I love you, and if He condemns me then, I shall gladly accept the pain of it. It will have been worth it, for you.” Athelstan replied. Alethia’s eyes widened at his words, her hands digging into his tunic. 

“Athelstan…” she began, but he shook his head.

“No more, Alethia. I am sure.”

Alethia nodded, and she kissed him again, leading him towards the bed. Athelstan felt his heart beat in his chest. He had only ever done this once, and then it had been under the influence of whatever Floki had given him. He did not know…

But Alethia was gentle, slow. She lied down on his bed, and Athelstan allowed himself to lie atop her, kissing her slowly. Alethia’s hands wandered, undoing the laces of his tunic. He was somewhat relieved to see that her fingers trembled as well. She pulled it over his head, barely breaking the kiss, and Athelstan shuddered as her hands ghosted over his chest, before she reached back up, fingers combing through his hair.

Athelstan could not help the quiet groan that escaped him as she kissed his neck, leaving a small bit at the juncture of his neck and shoulder.

There was something within him that snapped, and Athelstan flipped her around so that Alethia sat atop him. He reached up, pulling her closer. His hands wandered, undoing her tunic now. Alethia leaned down, kissing him with a fervent urgency that left Athelstan dizzy. He slid the tunic down her shoulders, watching as the fabric fell. Athelstan could not take his eyes off of her, determined to commit every scar, every raised bump, everything he could see to memory.

“My eyes are up here.” Alethia joked. He laughed nervously, looking up, and that made Alethia laugh in turn.

“You can look.” she whispered. 

“I’ll do a bit more if that’s okay with you.” he joked back.

“Oh?”

Athelstan let himself touch her, sins forgotten, let his mouth kiss her neck, kiss her collarbones, her shoulders, lower and lower, down her body. He dared to move her as if she was not immovable, a mountain against him, a man.

His hands found their place at her hips. Alethia rolled them with a knowing smirk, and Athelstan tried to suppress another groan.

“What are you staying quiet for?” Alethia asked, her hands travelling down his chest, his stomach, until- 

She reached inside his pants with no shame, fingers wrapping around him deftly and sealing any sounds that could have left his mouth with a kiss of brazen challenge. Athelstan sighed into her mouth, already bucking up into her hand. 

Gently, he stopped her by the wrist.

“What is it?” Alethia asked. “Do you want to stop? We can-”

“I want more. I want you.” Athelstan replied. Alethia nodded, making to undo her own breeches, but Athelstan knew with a firm suddenness that he wanted to do that himself. 

“Lie down.” he said, his voice calm. He did not know where he was taking it from, the courage, only that he suddenly had it.

Alethia followed his words, lifting her hips as Athelstan removed the remainder of her clothes, until she was bare before him.

“That’s not fair.” she whispered. “I want to see you, too.”

“Be patient.” Athelstan reminded.

“Oh, patient, are we now?” Alethia teased. “I thought you wanted me so badly.”

She is in his blood, he thought. In his very bones, in the foundations of his body, his soul. And yes, God, he wanted her badly. But Athelstan was not going to rip the clothes off of her body and fuck her like an animal.

Maybe he could if she taught him.

For now, there was only the gentleness that he had promised her. She tugged at his pants again, impatient and Athelstan noted that Alethia was needy . The thought made him think of things he was better off keeping to himself.

Alethia undressed the rest of him, and now, there was truly nothing that Athelstan could hide. Her hand returned to him , and Athelstan thought that he could not wait any longer, which surprised him, considering that he thought he was patient. Apparently not when it came to her.

He gave her a half-question in the form of raised brows and she gave him a half-answer in the tiniest of nods.

Alethia guided his hips, looking up at him once more, and Athelstan gulped down the rest of his fear. He pushed inside her, and almost immediately, his eyes rolled into the back of his skull. This was not what he had been waiting for for over a year, but, God, wasn’t it a good reward anyway?

“More.” Alethia whispered. “I want all of it.”

He obliged, giving her the rest of what he had, until his hips were slotted against her pelvis. There was a thought in the back of his mind, one of the sort that he was finally holding her the way a husband was supposed to hold his wife, and it made his blood rush. He had not wanted to have her because of this, but it was a gift Alethia had given him. 

Afterward, Alethia curled into his arms, still naked. Athelstan traced the scars on her back, the massive one on her abdomen, the ones on her thighs. There was an automatic anger as he saw the many small cuts that inched up towards her womanhood. Athelstan was not sure he wanted to know what had been done to her.

The cuts that littered her stomach scared him more. How was she still alive? It didn’t matter, what did was that she was alive.

He kissed her forehead, her cheeks, her collarbones, and, finally her lips, as if Athelstan had not done that enough already. He knew there was a dark bruise at the base of his neck where she had bit him. It was little surprise to him that Alethia liked to scratch and tear, and more that he had enjoyed it.

“Do you feel sinful?” Alethia asked.

“No. But I…”

Athelstan trailed off. It was not the right time, nor the right place. He would keep the question for another time.

“Did you like it?” he said instead.

“I did. I hope you…”

“Yes. It was… I do not know how to…”

“Call it mindblowing.” Alethia winked. Her smile was sardonical, and Athelstan snorted. 

“Worldchanging.”

“Thank you. I always knew I had superpowered…  you know what, I’m not finishing that joke.”

“Thank you.”

“Rude.” Alethia teased. Athelstan turned onto his back, pulling the blanket over him and Alethia. She put her head on his chest, and he knew that she was listening to his heartbeat. Athelstan thought that it was Alethia’s way of making sure he was alright. 

“Why did you draw me?”

“Because you are the light that illuminates my life.”

“Adoringly poetic.”

“Hmm.” Athelstan hummed. “I loved you since I laid eyes on you, I think.”

“Really?” Alethia asked. 

“Truly. And there is something about you that makes drawing you an utter joy.” Athelstan admitted. “Your eyes…”

“The eyes are the window to the soul.” Alethia recited.

“I like that.”

“I knew you would.”

“You are impossible to ignore.” Athelstan whispered. “I love you for it, my lady. My lady, my love, my light.”

Alethia smiled. There was no pain in her features, and her muscles were not tense. It was everything Athelstan could have asked for.

[procrastinatingsoicanreadfanfics]

oc masterpost - a collection

spoilers for all oc fanfics under the cut!

folks from modern times:

woman of the watch / asoiaf ocs:

hand turns loom ocs:

heorte til heorte ocs:

[procrastinatingsoicanreadfanfics]

Vikings (TV) Masterlist

my requests for vikings are currently partially OPEN! please only request imagines, and not oneshots. for those waiting for a continuation of ‘searching home’ or ‘unexpected’ i am so sorry... finishing those two is going to take me a while :/

hmu/msg me to be added to a taglist!

main masterlist | request guidelines

heorte til heorte

(msg me to be added to the taglist!)

relationship: athelstan x alethia stahl (oc) | summary: alethia wanted to go home, to return to her family. instead, she finds herself in ninth-century england. not speaking the language, and still processing the grief of her other life, she searches for an anchor - athelstan. | tags: angst, fluff, timetravel

masterlist | preview | read on ao3

No romantic relationships // character x character

Queendom - relationship: Lagertha x Aslaug | summary: They’ve both loved and they’ve both lost. Perhaps it was time that their hearts warmed again. | tags: angst, fluff

The Lothbroks, aka, the European version of the Kardashians - relationships: none | summary: When Barbie Murray time travels, she finds out that pink isn’t available in Viking times. Luckily, her new besties all understand that boobs are the best and slay (literally?!) with her. | tags: crack, fluff, timetravel

I may be a bimbo, but I’m not stupid - relationships: slight oc/ oc | summary: Ivar kills Sigurd in a fit of rage, but Barbie isn't so quick to forgive cruelness. | tags: angst, crack, timetravel

1st gen Vikings

Strange Woman  relationship: Rollo x timetraveler!reader | summary: The woman that appeared out of nowhere could be oh so dangerous, but even a stupid man would know that she was fascinating. | tags: fluff, timetravel

Friend of Thor - relationship: rollo x timetraveler!asgardian!reader | summary: The reader, a fellow Asgardian and friend of Thor and the new King of Asgard, Brunnhilde, falls through worlds as the new guardian of the Bifrost tampers with the magic. | tags: crack, fluff, timetravel

And the Gods wished they were me - relationship: Judith x viking!gn!reader | summary: Judith knows she should not mourn Athelstan. Nor should she even look at Norse heathens. She does both anyway, because Judith was named after a woman that had only rage and death, and she cannot escape her fate. | tags: angst, fluff

Ubbe Ragnarsson

Another day / part 2 - relationship: Ubbe x reader | prompt: we live to fight another day. | tags: angst

Oldest - relationship: Ubbe x timetraveler!reader; platonic!Ivar x reader | summary:  It seems that few things change about being the oldest sibling, no matter which place – or time | tags: fluff, timetravel, slight angst

Yggdrasil relationship: Ubbe x reader; platonic!Ivar x reader; dad!Harald x reader | summary:  How can you tell your father what happened to you when he’d done it to so many others. | tags: angst, dark/gory

Hvitserk 'Whiteshirt' Ragnarsson

Hvitserksdottir - relationship: Hvitserk x reader | prompt: “I think we need to talk about the fact that I’m in love with you and also that I’m pregnant.” | tags: angst, fluff

Floki’s Cabin - relationship: Hvitserk x reader | prompt: “Just trust me. Please. | tags: angst

Searching Home / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 - relationships: Hvitserk x reader; Ivar x reader | summary: When you stumble upon the ancient Spanish city of Algeciras, it takes you some time to realize that you’ve traveled through time. While that is terrible luck, a merchant couple takes you in. But your peace only lasts so long. | tags: angst, fluff, dark/gory, timetravel

Neither - relationship: genderfluid!reader x Hvitserk | Summary: Hvitserk finds out about genderfluidity and accepts he might not be completely straight | tags: fluff, timetravel

Law of conservation - relationship: Hvitserk x reader | summary: You’ve been working as a tutor at your high school for about a year now. When your parents throw a barbecue party for your new neighbors, their mother Aslaug asks you to tutor her son Hvitserk, who is already a notorious flirt at his school. | tags: fluff

Sandcastles - relationship: platonic!hvitserk x timetraveler!reader | summary: reader builds sandcastles, Ivar doesn’t get it and Hvitserk loves the idea of it | tags: fluff, timetravel

When in Bali... -  relationships: hvitserk x reader, ivar x freydís, sigurd x oc | summary: You were supposed to go to Bali with your partner for your one-year anniversary. Instead, you’re there alone, heartbroken. Will reuniting with a friend you know from a summer vacation in elementary school be able to fix it? | tags: fluff

Ivar 'the Boneless' Ragnarsson

Unholy Matrimony - A Sham in Four Acts / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 - relationship: Ivar x reader | prompt: I’ve learnt to love you. | tags: angst, fluff smut

Insatiable Little Heathens  - relationship: ivar x reader | summary: drabble, for all of y’all who wanted more of Unholy Matrimony | tags: fluff

Resolve - relationship: ivar x reader | summary: Ivar’s legs hurt but he’s so fucking thickheaded | tags: fluff

My kind of witch - relationship: ivar x reader | summary: You wake up in an unfamiliar bed. The man with blazing blue eyes fascinates you as soon as you see him and as you realize the struggles he faces every day, your admiration for him grows into something more. | tags: fluff, timetravel

Red - relationship: ivar x reader | summary: Ivar finally meets his match. | tags: smut, dark/gory

Serve - relationship: sub!ivar x buff!reader | summary: Ivar keeps teasing you. You finally have enough and give him a taste of his own medicine | tags: smut

Searching home / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 -  relationships: Hvitserk x reader; Ivar x reader |  summary: When you stumble upon the ancient Spanish city of Algeciras, it takes you some time to realize that you’ve traveled through time. While that is terrible luck, a merchant couple takes you in. But your peace only lasts so long. | tags: angst, fluff, smut, dark/gory, timetravel

Totally artistic -  relationship: ivar x reader | summary: When inspiration hits, you can’t stop it | tags: fluff

Sandcastles - relationship: platonic!hvitserk, ivar x timetraveler!reader | summary: reader builds sandcastles, Ivar doesn’t get it and Hvitserk loves the idea of it | tags: fluff, timetravel

Brother - relationships: ivar x reader, hvitserk & reader, reader & oc | summary: You left your home and your brother behind for a reason. Now, a man is causing trouble at the borders of Kattegat, and as Ivar's queen, you take justice into your own hands. | tags: fluff

Unexpected / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 - relationship: ivar x thrall!reader | summary: Ivar finally decides to fuck the slave he’s been eyeing for so long, but when his angry side slips out, things take a turn for the wholly unexpected. | tags: smut

Tarot -  relationships: ivar x reader, hvitserk & reader | summary: Your day at the fair has been pretty slow – until a client like no other shows up. | tags: fluff

Imagines

How the Vikings would react to an accidental time traveler and a quiz to see if you’d survive: https://uquiz.com/dVXpgW

Ragnarssons (+Gyda): First Kiss

Social Media 

How the Vikings would react to guns and snapchat filters 

How the Vikings would react to modern dancing 

How the Vikings would react to modern music, and what they’d like

How the Vikings would react to modern concepts of astronomy and space 

How the Vikings react to modern haircare 

Vikings and Astrology

How Vikings would react to THEM timetraveling

Vikings + getting sick 

Vikings + Halloween 

Vikings + realizing you’re pregnant

Vikings characters + how they'd react to finding Accidental Time Traveler crying somewhere and not knowing why 

Vikings + you on your period  (+ more hcs about Ivar)

Vikings + Legos

Vikings + reader being much less stressed in their time

Vikings + single mother

Vikings + Gender Neutral Thor

Vikings + modern food

Vikings + touch avoidant cuddler

Vikings + Kids

Vikings + their history

Ragnarssons + being possesive

Vikings + Maleficent/Fae!reader

Vikings + curls and afros

Vikings + sleeping habits

Vikings + contortionist/super flexible reader

Vikings as modern!uni students

Vikings + affectionate drunk!reader

timetraveling!Vikings + modern tv/movies

Vikings + gen z slang

Vikings + curly haired kids

timetraveling!Vikings + Christmas

Vikings + eras other than their own

Vikings + ivar being remembered/famous

[procrastinatingsoicanreadfanfics]

House of the Dragon Masterlist

my requests for HotD are currently OPEN! i especially love writing for harwin and ser criston (controversial ik!) but i'm open to pretty much any character :)

hmu to be added to a taglist!

main masterlist | request guidelines

Aemond 'One-Eye' Targaryen

Of Traitors and Oathbreakers / Ending 1 / Ending 2 -  relationship: aemond x reader | summary: A Black in Greens territory is never a good thing, especially if that means falling into the hands of Prince Aemond | tags: angst, smut

Aemond Targaryen NSFW Alphabet - relationship: aemond x reader | tags: smut

Aegon ii Targaryen

Aegon Targaryen NSFW Alphabet - relationship: aegon x reader | tags: smut

Ser Criston Cole

Fashioned for love / Pt. 2: Our Great Glory - relationship: Ser Criston Cole x reader | summary: It’s never clear what he’s thinking – and you’re not sure if you want to know. | tags: angst, fluff, smut

Patience is the Virtue of a Lady - relationship: Ser Criston Cole x reader | summary: As Daemon's wife, you are left humiliated by your errant husband. As the product of an annulled marriage, you are seen as barren and tainted, left to befriend Queen Alicent, gaining the reputation of an unsalvageable woman over the years. But, the heart wants what it wants, and you have had your eyes on unattainable Ser Criston for years. | tags: angst, smut

Waters - relationship: Ser Criston Cole x reader | summary: Your existence is an insult to the woman you serve, Alicent Hightower. As Viserys Targaryen's bastard, you should not be serving his lawfully wedded wife - and Ser Criston knows this. Still, he can't seem to stay away... | tags: angst, smut

Criston Cole NSFW Alphabet - relationship: criston x reader | tags: smut

Corlys 'the Seasnake' Velaryon

Corlys Velaryon NSFW Alphabet - relationship: corlys x reader | tags: smut

Daemon 'the Rogue Prince' Targaryen

Daemon Targaryen NSFW Alphabet - relationship: daemon x reader | tags: smut

Harwin 'Breakbones' Strong

I am his, and he is mine / Mine to take / A child of our own / Everything and More-  relationship: harwin x reader | summary: You’re married off to Ser Harwin Strong by your lord father’s designs, and the prospect of a marriage consummation terrifies you. All of these can be read as standalones! | tags: fluff, smut

Harwin Strong NSFW Alphabet - relationship: harwin x reader | tags: smut

OC: Alethia 'the Immortal' Stahl

Hand turns Loom - relationships: harwin x oc, aemond x oc, rhaenyra x alicent | summary: Hand turns loom. Destiny fucks Alethia over once more. She’d changed the course of history, changed it for the better even. She’d helped defeat the Dead, and then she’d made a vow to never fight again.

Instead, she gets sent back in time, right to the prelude of the Dance of the Dragons. Haunted by memories, and having to deal with the sudden loss of Sansa and her son, she has to navigate a game far more dangerous than the Night’s Watch. | tags: fluff, smut, angst, timetravel

a/n: this fic is extremely important to me! i've created several ocs in the course of the 44 chapters i have written, and plan on completely re-writing the Dance. If modern person in ... interests you, check this out!

gifset by @levithestripper

the fashion of 'Hand turns Loom': women - relationships: none | tags: inspo

more fashion by the amazing, wonderful @15-lizards

oc masterpost - tags: inspo, contains spoilers

[procrastinatingsoicanreadfanfics]

Game of Thrones Masterlist

my requests for Game of Thrones are currently OPEN! i love this series so much, and would love to write fics/imagines/etc for pretty much any character!!

hmu to be added to any taglist!

main masterlist | request guidelines

OC: Alethia Stahl (Woman of the Watch AU)

Woman of the Watch -  relationships: jon snow x oc, sansa stark x oc | summary: When Alethia Stahl is thrown into the world of Game of Thrones, she's super excited to be part of the fictional world she adores so much. That is, until she realizes how shitty medieval times actually are. | tags: fluff, smut, timetravel, crack (started out as it), angst

An Unlikely Friendship - relationship: grenn & oc | summary: part of the WotW universe;  He cannot be sure who she is - but she reminds him of his sisters, so he feels like he must protect her. | tags: angst, fluff, timetravel

What if...? Woman of the Watch Edition - summary: Alethia fell into another world and made a bunch of choices - some better, some worse. But what if things had gone differently? What if Alethia had made other choices?

WotW Memes

oc masterpost - tags: inspo, contains spoilers

Sequel: Hand turns Loom - keeping the summary a surprise to avoid spoilers :) | can be read as a standalone!

Jon Snow

Sold to One Direction??? - relationships: none | summary: crackfic!! evil Mistress Catelyn sells Jon to 1D | tags: crack

[levithestripper]

You’ll Always Be My Prince: Chapter Four—The Flowers

go to the previous chapter || go to the next chapter || back to the series masterlist

chapter summary: it’s been two years since the incident on driftmark. two years since aemond lost his eye and claimed the she-dragon, vhagar. since then, rhaella and aemond have begun to grow up. aemond has made leaps and bounds in his swordsmanship, whereas rhaella finds herself facing a foe not even he can protect her from.

chapter warnings: rhaella waters’ pov, creator chose not to use archive warnings.

length: 4.3k || read on ao3 || join my taglist

a/n: huge apologies for taking nearly eight months to get another chapter out! i hope it won't be that way in the future, but we'll see. i've written and rewritten this chapter dozens of times, and i've finally found success with this version of it. i hope you like it as much as i do! please let me know what you think!

ik i usually provide chapter warnings, but i don't want the tags to spoil the chapter! it's worth it i promise!

and a huge thank you to @procrastinatingsoicanreadfanfics for letting me include her oc alethia stahl in this chapter! i highly recommend you go check out alethia's story in woman of the watch!

“Isn’t it beautiful?” Helaena asks, holding up an elegant white dress over her head. Adorned with lace and embroidered flowers, it’s a grand wedding dress suitable for any noblewoman. “Do you see the beading along the middle, Rhaella?” The princess lowers the dress, exposing her face, vibrant violet eyes shining in excitement. 

Rhaella nods, looking the dress up and down. She covers her boredom and discomfort with a smile, not wanting to rain on Helaena’s parade. “Yes, Princess. Do you like this more than the last one?” At this point, the pair—well, Helaena—have been trying on dresses for no less than an hour, trying to find the perfect dress for Princess Helaena’s upcoming wedding to her brother, Aegon.

Helaena thought for a moment before responding. “I don’t know. The last one fits funny.” Without saying another word, Helaena stands. Ridding herself of her loose-fitting dress, she pulled the wedding dress on over her head. She doesn’t put it on properly, holding the waist taunt. She spins in a circle in front of a full-body mirror. “I like this one!” Helaena turns to look at Rhaella, who returns her gaze with a smile.

“It looks beautiful on you,” Rhaella hums, pulling her knees to her chest. The skirt of her dress slid down her bare legs, bunching at her slim waist. Now one-and-two years old, Rhaella’s no longer permitted to wear the tunics and breeches she prefers outside the Keep. Wearing them made her feel sick, her skin crawling and her stomach churning with every step she took wearing one. She does her best to ignore it, however. It doesn’t work very often. Helaena switches back to her previous pink dress, laying her wedding gown on a table at the other end of the room. 

“We must find you a dress, too,” hums the Princess with a smile, sitting with her legs crossed on the floor across from her. “It will be fun, Rhaella!”

Rhaella forces a smile. “You don’t have to do that; it’s your wedding; focus on you.”

“No, no. You’re my friend; I’ve got to take care of you, too!”

Rhaella knows Helaena means well, but her stomach can’t help but churn at the thought. “Are you sure? You don’t have to.”

Helaena nods enthusiastically, grasping their hands within her own. “It’ll be fun! I want to hang out with you more. We’re cousins, but I hardly know anything about you.”

She stifles a chuckle. She had only started spending time with Helaena after Aemond expressed his worries over Rhaella being alone. Going into it, Rhaella thought she’d hate it but found the opposite. Assuming her cousin to be a quiet and rather uninteresting girl, Helaena proved a fascinating conversationalist if given a chance. “If…If you’re sure, then okay,” Rhaella sighs, squeezing her hands back. 

A knock sounded at the chamber door, and Helaena let them in. It was her mother, Queen Alicent. “Have you picked a dress, sweetheart?” she asks, hands folded in front of her. Helaena nods, standing. She picks the dress up to show her, smiling behind it. “It is a wonderful choice, my dear.”

“Thank you, Mother.” 

Alicent offers Rhaella a polite smile. It did not look forced but did not appear as she wished to converse with her. Rhaella returns the gesture. She turns back to her daughter. “It is nearly noon. Come for lunch when you have finished; your father wishes for a family meal.”

Helaena nods with a hum. Quietly, she slips the dress onto a hanger, handing it to one of her handmaidens. Another of her handmaidens helps Helaena into a fancier dress. It was still loose fitting, as the princess despised tight-fitting garments. The solid gold background has mini dark green diamonds dotted along it, her skirts reaching the floor. The previous handmaiden weaves two braids into Helaena’s hair. She threads both plaits into one, pulling them together to form a half-up, half-down look. “See you later,” Helaena says, waving goodbye to Rhaella as she leaves her chambers, handmaidens following.

Rhaella didn’t know whether to follow her or not. It’s clear The Queen did not view her as family, or else she would’ve spoken to them both. I am only a bastard, after all, Rhaella thinks. I would not be welcome there. Left alone with nothing but her thoughts, she left Helaena’s chambers, gently closing the door behind her. Knowing she doesn’t want to sit alone in her room feeling sorry for herself, Rhaella finds herself roaming the twisting pathways of the Keep’s garden.

The gardens of the Red Keep are vastly different from the singular garden within High Tide’s walls. High Tide’s garden has exotic plants, symbols of Corlys Velaryon’s many conquests. In contrast, the Red Keep’s many gardens were outfitted primarily with plants native to King’s Landing and the surrounding regions. The garden she found herself in—the royal one—was the fanciest of them all. Surrounded by flowering bushes and tall trees with multicolored leaves, she recalls a memory of her and Aemond here a few months prior.

“Do you like it here?” Aemond asked.

Rhaella looked up at him. Aemond had grown taller these past few months, shooting up like a weed where she had yet to grow an inch. They leisurely walked arm in arm, enjoying the peacefulness around them. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, do you like it here? Like, in King’s Landing?” Aemond’s tone implied there was more he wished to say but kept hidden within himself instead.

She looked up to the cloudless blue sky. “Most of the time. Why?”

Aemond sighed quietly. “It’s just…I’ve noticed that I’m your only company. I never see you spending time with anyone else.”

“I don’t really care for the others here. They’re either jerks or boring.” Rhaella doesn’t give an entirely honest answer. Even if she tried to branch out and make friends with others here, few are willing to speak with her, let alone become an acquaintance. 

Her words made Aemond chuckle, a smile spreading across his lips. It made Rhaella giggle as well. “You’re not wrong.” He knew there was more to the situation than what she said, but he had learned to pick his battles wisely.

“Why do you ask? At least, why now? It’s been this way for a while,” Rhaella countered, now looking him in the eyes again.

Aemond doesn’t keep her gaze. “I don’t want you to be unhappy.” Suddenly, he stopped in his tracks, startling Rhaella. He gazed at the tall, flowered hedges in front of them. The flowers crawled up the hedge on thin vines, their blooms a vibrant purple, just like Aemond’s remaining eye. He plucked it from the vine and turned to Rhaella, tucking it behind her ear. “I don’t have as much free time anymore,” he said softly, voice laden with a subtle sadness.

She took his free hand within both of hers, his other hand busy brushing the hair from Rhaella’s face. “You don’t need to worry about that, Ae.” She squeezed his hand reassuringly. “Besides, you’re a prince. It’d be strange if you did have free time.” 

Aemond nodded in agreement, chuckling softly.

“In a way, I have it better than you do,” she teased, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

“Oh yeah? How so?” He asked with a smirk as if daring Rhaella to prove it.

“Being a royal prince, such as yourself, you have all these duties and standards to uphold. Your life’s filled with noise, whereas I get to sleep past breakfast and stroll the halls in peace.” Her words scared away the looming sadness that had begun to form over Aemond as they both erupted in giggles.

Aemond placed his hand atop hers, squeezing it back. “I suppose you’re right, Rhae,” he said, a smile returning.

As they resumed their stroll, they soon found themselves at the end of the pathway. The path spat them out at the center of the garden. When faced with the heart of the garden, the winding pathways seem trivial, as if they belonged to some minor lord. The center expanded further than Rhaella could see, every inch flooded with rare vegetation and expensive plants, an obvious flaunt of House Targaryen’s wealth and decadence.

“Do you know the story of this place?” Aemond asked. Rhaella shook her head no. Aemond led them to a bench, sitting down as he began to tell the story. “After Aegon the Conqueror was crowned King, he returned to King’s Landing. At the time, the city was no more than a muddy army camp with a small town surrounding it. In his first years as king, Aegon built what would become this city. He couldn’t finish it, but his successors did. When Houses swore fidelity to King Aegon, many gifted him with extravagant plants and things like that. King Aegon’s successors planted many of them here, in the royal garden, to show those sworn to them that they cherished their gifts.” Aemond pointed to the flowerbed behind them, at an exotic-looking flower, the petals a rich blue. Rhaella twists around to see what he is pointing at. “See that?”

Rhaella smiled and nodded, “It’s beautiful.” She turned her head to look at him. “But what’s so special about that one?” she asked.

Aemond smiled back, unmistakably delighted she asked. “That was a gift to King Aegon from his Hand—Orys Baratheon—when he was named Lord of Storm’s End.”

“So?”

“So,” Aemond repeated, “It represents that the Baratheons and Targaryens have been friends since the beginning. Since before the beginning, even. Orys Baratheon came with King Aegon from Old Valyria to Westeros.”

“Yes, but what does that matter? Tons of Houses have their gifts planted here. What makes that flower special?” Rhaella asks, confused at the point Aemond was attempting to make. 

The pair sit correctly on the bench again, albeit facing one another. Aemond took Rhaella’s hands within his own this time. “It matters because you’re half Baratheon, Rhae. That flower,” Aemond gestured toward it with his chin, “symbolizes that you belong here just as much as everyone else.” He brought their faces close, his forehead pressed against hers. “I know it; you know it. Everyone else just has yet to see it. But they will. I promise they will.”

They sit together like that for a while, breathing the same air and existing in the same space. Rhaella eventually pulled him in for a hug, her arms wrapped around his shoulders, her face pressed into the crook of his neck. “Thank you,” she whispered in his ear.

Rhaella hears someone shout behind her, pulling her back to the present day. She found herself sitting at the same bench she sat on with Aemond, the flower behind her in full bloom. Birds chip from their perches in the trees, chatting with pretty songs. The sky was clear and bright, just like that day months ago. Looking over her shoulder, she sees Aemond waving at her from a balcony overlooking the garden. Seeing him, Rhaella races closer to the balcony so neither would have to yell at the other.

“Rhae!”

“Hey, Ae! What’re you doing? I thought you were having a family lunch!” she calls up, a hand shielding her eyes from the sun that beat down on them. 

Aemond leans against the railing, gazing down at his friend. His silver hair has grown longer in the past years, the ends brushing the middle of his chest. He was beginning to grow out of his childlike, boyish face and into that of a handsome young prince. Seeing her friend grow up before her eyes stirs something within her that Rhaella would rather ignore. Aemond grins at her as he speaks. “Father was called away for a small council meeting!” His arms were crossed across the railing, giving him an air of confidence. “You busy?” 

She shakes her head no.

“Well, me and Aegon have to train with Ser Criston in the courtyard, and I thought you might want to come watch. I’ve gotten better since last time!” A lock of hair falls from behind his ear, fanning out like a beautiful silver curtain. 

“Oh yeah?” Rhaella grins back, raising an eyebrow at him.

“Oh yeah,” Aemond returns her sarcasm with confidence. 

Rhaella crosses her arms over her chest. “Guess I’ll just have to come watch you then, huh?”

“Guess you gotta,” he hums, teasing her. “See you there, Rhae?”

She nods, humming back. “Can’t wait to see you fall on your ass, Ae!” Rhaella says with a giggle, disappearing underneath the balcony. 

Rhaella makes her way to the courtyard Aemond spoke of. It is the same yard Aemond trained in years ago with his nephews, Jacaerys and Lucerys, so Rhaella had little trouble getting there. Climbing the stairs to the balconies surrounding the courtyard, she sits at one of the many terraces bordering the yard. The area wasn’t crowded, surprising her, as many ladies of the court found watching the two Targaryen princes spar peak entertainment. Maybe I’m just early, she thought. It would be nice not to deal with swooning women, though.

Aegon appears in the courtyard first. He has cut his hair shorter in the past weeks, most likely in preparation for his upcoming wedding. He, too, had grown taller, now towering over Rhaella. She doesn’t interact with him often, but when she does, he isn’t as crude to her as he was in the past. Perhaps his newfound responsibilities have begun to force maturity onto the boy. Aemond enters right after, spinning his sword by his side. He wore a special eyepatch with two straps to keep it in place as he fought. He and his brother have since graduated from wooden swords to dulled metal sparring swords. 

Ser Criston came out last, wearing his arming doublet and thick breeches, arming himself with a sparring sword. He calls the boys names, gaining their attention. The brothers stand beside each other in front of the knight, Aegon showing far less enthusiasm than his brother. Aemond and Aegon are roughly the same height now, which means Aegon can’t look down on his little brother anymore. “Today, we will continue working on swordplay and evasiveness. You both have improved tremendously, so I will stand aside during sparring, assessing your progress silently. Notes will be afterward, as I want you both to evaluate the situation and correct your mistakes without my input molding your decisions. Understood?” Both boys nod. Criston backs away, his body parallel with the weapons racks scattered along the sidelines.

By now, the balconies and connecting walkways have flooded with people, predominantly noble ladies and their handmaidens. Down in the courtyard, a few lords watch from the sidelines. Rhaella can’t make out most of the lord’s faces, save but one. Ser Harwin Strong. He hasn’t been seen at the Keep for many a year for reasons unknown to Rhaella. Beside him stood a woman Rhaella had never seen before. Leaning over the railing for a better look, the woman wore her long, dirty blonde hair loose, letting it fan across her strong shoulders. She wore a simple—but undoubtedly elegant—blue dress. Rhaella can’t make out the details of it, but she can make out accents of green and red throughout the fabric. 

The colors of House Strong. Ser Harwin’s house, she thinks. Rhaella leans back in her seat. Are they married? Wouldn’t I have heard someone talk about the wedding of the son of a prominent House like theirs?

Footsteps sound behind her, and Rhaella turns to see Helaena walking up the stairs. She sits beside her with a smile, hands smoothing out her dress. The clanging of swords echoes off the walls, paired with the occasional pained grunting or a frustrated yell. Rhaella glances at the stranger next to Ser Harwin, then at Princess Helaena. 

She would probably know something of her. Rhaella shifts in her seat, facing her body toward Helaena. “Can I ask you a question?” she asks, fingers fidgeting with the hem of her skirt.

Helaena’s eyes glitter with intrigue. “Mhmm,” he hums with a nod. 

“You see Ser Harwin? Down there in the training yard?” The princess nods again. “Who is the woman next to him? I’ve never seen her before, and even from up here, I can tell she’s not from the South.”

Princess Helaena leans closer to the railing but maintains a respectful distance from the edge to prevent dizziness. When her eyes land on the woman in question, Helaena mumbles to herself. Rhaella caught parts, but what she manages to piece together doesn’t mean much to her.

She tries again with—what she thinks—is a simple question this time. “Is she Ser Harwin’s lady-wife?”

Helaena responds quietly, “I’ve heard whispers about her from my handmaidens. Rumors say she washed ashore one day, and Ser Harwin rescued her.”

Just as Rhaella moves to respond, a searing pain erupts within her, unlike anything she has experienced before. She imagines this is what battle must feel like. A white-hot blade piercing her tender abdomen, slicing the muscles up her thighs and across the tops of her slender hips. Her hands grasp at her belly, desperate to make the unending pain stop. A wave of nausea washes over her, adding another layer of misery.

Helaena looks at her with panic, then with a sympathetic understanding. She calls over her handmaidens, who were chatting quietly amongst themselves and the other ladies-in-waiting. Helaena speaks to them, but Rhaella could not hear her, as the pain blinded her to anything else. Two handmaids help Rhaella stand, her legs shaky as the jelly on her breakfast toast. Once Rhaella is safely down the stairs, the remaining ladies do their best to dab away the bloody splotch left behind on the expensive cushioning.

The handmaidens rush Rhaella to her chambers and into the washroom. They carefully help her disrobe. Her skirts are soiled with blood, the same with her inner thighs. Rhaella lets the women do as they please, allowing them to manipulate her like a marionette doll with its strings cut. The women speak to her, asking her questions and if what they’re doing is okay, but Rhaella doesn’t understand them. As if her head were underwater or as if they were speaking a language she didn’t know. She felt herself guided into a bathtub. The warm water feels good against her skin. One of the women asks permission to help her bathe, and Rhaella mechanically nods consent. Her voice sounds distant and far away as if this were only a bad dream Rhaella hopes to wake up from soon. 

The gentle touches of the handmaidens help to rouse Rhaella from the trance she had retreated into. Her heartbeat echoes in her ears as her chest heaves from the residuals of a hyperventilation fit she doesn’t remember falling into. She feels dried tear tracks on her cheekbones. The pain hasn’t ceased but has let up slightly, allowing her to rebuild the strings of self-sufficiency. Still shaking, she grips the sides of the tub. Her voice warbles when she finally manages to speak. “What—What’s happening? What’s wrong with me?” she asks, voice cracking with unshed tears. 

“My name is Joanna, m’lady,” says the handmaiden, giving her a higher-ranking title than she deserves. “You’re just fine, okay? Nothing’s wrong with you.”

Rhaella nods helplessly. “Then what—what’s happening?” 

Joanna kneels beside the tub, holding Rhaella’s trembling hand. She strokes her knuckles soothingly. “Has no one taught you of womanhood?” Rhaella shakes he head no. Joanna looks at her with a tenderness a mother would give her daughter. It fills Rhaella with a sense of safety, almost. “Well, when a girl gets to a certain age, our bodies change from that of a girl to a woman. What marks that change is the first appearance of their moonblood.” As she explains, she continues to comfort Rhaella, rubbing her arm. “Another mark of this change is beginning to grow breasts.”

The more Joanna speaks, the more Rhaella wishes to cry. Unable to hold back her emotions, tears roll down her cheeks again, running along the dried tracks already there. Joanna hushes her, guiding the young girl to her bosom and cradling Rhaella as she cries. “Shhhh, shhhh, it’s okay, you’re alright, honey. You’re alright,” she soothes, rocking back and forth ever so slightly. She continues this until her tears stop. Snagging a towel from the shelf behind her, Joanna helps Rhaella out of the bath, wrapping the fluffy towel around her. “Let’s get you nice and dry, yes? That sounds good.”

Rhaella feels a discomfort so great that she knows no words to describe it. It felt as if she was being destroyed from the inside out. Joanna reassures her that nothing is wrong, but deep down, Rhaella knows something is wrong. Yet, despite everything, Rhaella has never felt as safe as she does now. It does nothing to dull the flames of her discomfort, but it helps Rhaella stay present.

Dressing went by in what feels like a blur. Rhaella wears a simple chemise with the comfiest socks the handmaiden could find. Joanna teaches how to line her undergarments with a cloth to prevent bleeding through her clothing, and Rhaella thinks she understands the concept. The other handmaiden left at some point prior, but Rhaella had yet to notice. There is a knock at the door, but apparently, it is merely a courtesy knock as the door swings open without waiting for an answer. 

On the other side stands Queen Alicent.

Unlike this morning, the Queen looks at Rhaella with the same sympathy Princess Helaena and the handmaiden Joanna look at her with. As Alicent enters, Joanna stands and curtseys; the Queen acknowledges her, then dismisses her with a wave. The handmaiden pulls the door shut behind her, ensuring it doesn’t slam.

Rhaella watches Joanna leave, then turns her gaze to Alicent. She watches her sit beside her on the end of the bed. She feels small in comparison. “I apologize for my appearance, Your Grace,” Rhaella mumbles, staring down at her lap and sniffling, unable to hold her gaze. 

Cautiously, Alicent brings a hand to the small of Rhaella’s back, rubbing up and down her spine in an attempt to comfort the poor girl. “Oh, honey, there’s no need to apologize. I’m not here as your Queen; you need not fret. Speak plainly, child.”

She allowed herself to relax, leaning into her side as she’d seen Alicent’s real children do. Rhaella sniffles, nose still running from the recent crying session. “Thank—Thank you,” she stutters out.

“How are you faring, honey? Helaena’s handmaiden told me what happened.”

Rhaella shrugs. “I don’t…I don’t know. Everything hurts and feels wrong. Like this shouldn’t be happening.”

Alicent continues to rub her back. “The first one is always the worst. How much did the other handmaiden explain to you?”

“That it’s called a moonblood, and how to keep from bleeding through my clothing.” She looks up at Alicent from her place nestled in her side. “And that I should expect…” Rhaella doesn’t finish her sentence, simply gesturing towards her chest area and hoping she’d understand.

She nods. “And you know what this means?” Rhaella shakes her head no. “It means you’re becoming a woman. Your first moonblood symbolizes the Gods preparing you to have children one day.”

A shiver rushes over her. Being only two and ten years old, Rhaella had yet to consider having children. Her mind races at the thought. Bastards like me don’t get husbands from significant houses. I don’t even know if I want a husband! It seemed impossible to her. It is something only trueborn ladies with noble husbands do. “What if I never have children? What if I don’t want them?” she asks in a panicky voice, looking up at Alicent.

Alicent sighs before responding. “It is not up to us to decide if we have children. We must put faith in the Mother Above to bless us with the gift of life. Whether she does or not is up to her and the path she has set us on.”

“I pray she never blesses me with children, then,” Rhaella grumbles and rolls her eyes. 

Rhaella’s irreverence doesn’t faze Alicent; she has grown used to hearing it from Aegon. “Perhaps you are yet too young to understand.” Her words sound patronizing, but something tells Rhaella she doesn’t intend them to. “A piece of advice: fill a stocking with barley and warm it over the fireplace; it will help ease the pain.” With a final squeeze, Alicent makes her way to the door, bidding Rhaella farewell and good luck.

With the Queen gone, Rhaella is alone for the first time since her moonblood began. Her whole body ached. She can’t get comfortable since every time she shifts to try and get a semblance of comfort, thick clots of blood rush from her. Part of her wants to cry again, but no tears come to let her. Gingerly sliding off the bed, Rhaella waddles to the washroom, too terrified of leaking to walk normally. Replacing the linen lining to the best of her abilities, she discarded the soiled cloth in the tub to wash later. When she finally returns to bed, her legs feel as if she’s run to Highgarden and back. Crawling into the middle and curling in on herself, Rhaella found a bit of lasting solace in the coolness of the sheets. It doesn’t take away from the pain, but it helps her feel as if what the handmaiden Joanna said had some truth to it. It is barely mid-afternoon, but Rhaella feels the claws of slumber grasp hold of her. Despite the sun that filters in through the curtain-clad window, she falls asleep quickly, hugging a cold pillow to her chest.

taglist: @procrastinatingsoicanreadfanfics, @criminalskies, @hyojae99, @poisonedsultana, @schniiipsel, @moonlighttfoxx, @losstboi, and @eleniblue.

[procrastinatingsoicanreadfanfics]

the fashion of Hand turns Loom - Women

for my fanfic Hand turns Loom (contains some spoilers!)

@levithestripper i think you started reading this once so maybe you're interested?), @ilikeitbetterangsty (i'd love for you to read this fic, but also, this was so fun to make and maybe something for your ocs as well?)

Alethia Stahl

At the beginning of the story, Alethia has to start from scratch again. She's quite dependent on House Strong, and often wears Strong colors (especially blue) for that reason.

Also, she alters some of her clothes to look more like those from home, especially dagged sleeves are something that stay for a while. There's almost no embellishment, which is also for practicality. Her hair is very simple, and sometimes gets compared to men's styles.

As Alethia moves up the ranks of King's Landing and establishes herself, growing close with Helaena and Aemond, her clothes become more adjusted to court fashion. The dresses become cleaner, more well-tailored, and more embellished. Here and there, Alethia begins to throw in a piece of jewellery (apart from her earrings). In the yard, she keeps to the clothes she'd wear training in her old home. Her hairstyles start to become more sophisticated, and often are quite similar to those of Helaena.

The richness of her clothes and hair peak when Alethia marries Harwin. At this point, she's rich, influential and established, but dangers are starting to surround her and her family. Embellishments and gold galore, Strong colors all the way, Alethia becomes a sort of symbol of strength. Subconsciously, she takes a page out of Cersei's book and begins to incorporate armor-like elements into her dresses.

At this point, her hairstyles become stricter again, such as the ones she wore back home, and she wears her hair in braidcrowns.

Helaena Targaryen

At the beginning, Helaena is still very close to canon - the kind of forgotten, kind of ignored middle child. She's still dressed a lot by Alicent who (partly on purpose) dresses her in colors that don't compliment her a lot. The silhouettes are ill-fitted and don't follow many trends of the court.

In her early teens, when Helaena is forced to marry Aegon, she tries to rebel by wearing Targaryen colors. It's an attempt to show that she is a dragon, has a voice, belongs to the family. While she tries to mimic Rhaenyra to gain her freedom, she ends up wearing some of her mother's dresses from when Alicent was trying to fit into the family, which is an irony in itself. During this time, Helaena experiments a lot with silhouettes and hairstyles and grows partial to headdresses and dagged sleeves. Still, she always tries to cover herself and kind of hide in her clothes.

As Helaena kind of begins to find her freedom and herself, she starts to realise that she'll never be some hardened warrior, but she loves and accepts that part of herself. She embraces her softness, her kindness, and this is reflected in her clothing. The lines become softer, her waist drops, her sleeves become more dagged. A lot of it is for comfort, but a part of her still uses her clothes to hide. The colors do become much more suited to her though.

During this time, Helaena wears a lot of blue. It is her secret way of showing Aemond that there's people there for him. Also, she returns to her braid-crown, and starts incorporating more embellishments, some of which are an ode to Dreamfyre (with whom she loves to match).

***

(i haven't written as much on these characters, so there's less pictures, but that doesn't make them any less important!!)

Jena Selmy

When Jena comes to court with Jocelyn Dondarrion, she's only her friends lady-in-waiting and quite low in standing. She mostly wears simple styles, combining fashion from the Stormlands and the Crownlands.

Later, as she becomes lady-in-waiting to Helaena, Jena starts to wear more purple to honor her "best friend" (she's so gay lmao). Generally, her style remains very, very loose, with lots of flowy fabrics. Her sleeves are mostly in the split-sleeve style that is so popular at court.

The money she starts to silently earn in Braavos isn't that obvious in her clothes at first, however, Jena begins to invest in more expensive materials such as Myrish lace and fine silks. She also starts to wear her housecolors some more. Even though she constantly looks like a bride thanks to the white, gold, and beiges in her sigil, the court is well aware she refuses to marry, and it makes her happy to be a better represenation of her house than her father or brother.

Cassandra Strong

Now why is she always dripped the fuck out?? Even as a child, Cassandra loves riches, loves fashion and loves luxury. When Harwin refuses to spend even more money on his daughter, she turns to betting and gambling, and does this quite successfully. Still, in her childhood, Cassandra follows the trends of the court very closely.

Later, when Cassandra gains influence and standing, she begins to incorporate even more detail in her clothes. She loves complicated stitching and stones that are incorporated in her dress. Also, she begins to become a sort of trendsetter, and moves away from the fashion of the court. Nonetheless, 80% of the time, she'll wear blue. It's her color, and she knows she looks good.

As she matures, Cassandra realises that many men don't take her seriously due to her gender and some of the extravagance leaves her clothes. The lines become very strict and harsh, and she tends to cover up more, opting for long sleeves and never wearing wide or low necklines anymore. Cassandra also develops a signature hairstyle (see the pic in the middle) where the silhouette of her hair is always confined to the space around her head.

Morrigan Strong

Morrigan and Cassandra are meant to be polar opposites, and this is reflected in their clothes. Morrigan keeps to Riverland fashion, which Cassandra DESPISES. She dresses for practicality, and wears a lot of masculine styles, especially since she trains so much.

As a child, Morrigan has exactly one dress that's fancy that she likes to wear. She does not like the constricts a skirt brings with itself and prefers to wear things that could be from her father's wardrobe.

When she matures, Morrigan becomes more aware of the politics that are reflected in clothes, and wears dresses at court, and pants outside of it. Still, her clothes are always simple, and maybe even a little below what someone of her station would wear. As said, she dresses for practicality. Has the most comfortable boots in Westeros.

Dilah of Volantis

Growing up enslaved and very poor left a lasting effect on Dilah. She does not feel safe in court, preferring large cities or the wild. Dilah mostly wears "men's clothes", and styles from the Free Cities, especially Braavos. Overall, her clothes are very travel-friendly, and could be worn in many different regions of Planetos.

She refuses to wear anything that could be touched by Volantis.

During Winter, even in the South, Dilah is always cold. She does not cope well with lower temperatures, and that is reflected in her ridiculously warm clothing.

and that concludes my thoughts! i wanted to add baela and medea but there was no space for their pictures anymore. oh well...

[procrastinatingsoicanreadfanfics]

OC faceclaims (young adult version)

idk i made some faceclaims for my ocs on artbreeder and i wanted to share (@levithestripper you might find this cool/do it for your oc?)

from top left to bottom right: Alethia Stahl, Cassandra Strong, Morrigan Strong, Alaric Strong, Edd Stark, Dilah of Volantis; all at around 18 yrs old

[procrastinatingsoicanreadfanfics]

share ten different favorite characters from ten different pieces of media in no particular order, then send this to 10 people (anon or not, your choice) 🎥🎬📺

Doing more than ten bc i need to get these out (i love some of these characters so so much)

Vikings: Lagertha

CoD MW2: John 'Soap' MacTavish

Game of Thrones: Olenna Tyrell/the Hound/Grenn

House of the Dragon: Ser Harwin Strong/Helaena Targaryen

Shadowhunters: Isabelle Lightwood

The Hunger Games: Katniss Everdeen/Johanna Mason

The Witcher: Eskel

The MCU: Natasha Romanoff (i'm queer can u tell)

The Walking Dead: Carol Peletier/Carl Grimes

Barbarians: Thusnelda

The Boys: Kimiko

The Hobbit: Fíli

Brooklyn 99: Captain Raymond

my own OCs: Alethia Stahl (she's my firstborn child fr fr)/Cassandra Strong

Shadow and Bone: Genya Safin

Vikings: Valhalla: Emma of Normandy

[procrastinatingsoicanreadfanfics]

Woman of the Watch memes pt.1

Notes: this is for my fic which you can read here if you want