#vikings rollo ship | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

procrastinatingsoicanreadfanfics · 11 months

Text

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.

#heorte til heorte #alestan #alethia x athelstan #alethia stahl #athelstan #history channels vikings #lagertha #ragnar lothbrok #history vikings #vikings #athelstan x oc

7 notes · View notes

mermaidsirennikita · 2 years

Note

I'm only halfway through s2 of vikings: valhalla but I'm so glad they separated harald and freydis because these 2 didn't have any chemistry, anytime they were together on screen it was always boring land to me. And I could say the same for leif and his dead girlfriend from season 1 that they tried to convince me he was super in love with when she was so forgettable I couldn't even remember her name

Lol her name was Liv and I liked her just fine but she definitely didn’t do anything especially exceptional. I think that you could make an argument for her representing like…. Leif feeling like he’s a flop pagan Viking, which he kind of is, but yeah she was not this grand love.

The thing that has always been an issue with this franchise is building love stories over time. Even when they have pairings with a compelling hook and chemistry between the actors, they don't allocate a lot of story time to them, and the actors have to fill in the gaps--which means that when the writers take sudden turns, it's even more jarring. Take Rollo and Gisla, a ship I think was fairly popular, that actually did have a multi-episode "falling in love" arc that most of the show's ships didn't get, with actors that had chemistry. She basically hated him until suddenly she didn't and they fucked like bunnies, and it was fine because a lot of people, myself included, liked them--but then a time jump happened and they had huge issues and it was like "oh, this is sudden".

Now, Michael Hirst (who I think...... is prone to this kind of relationship writing or lack thereof) is not as directly involved in the new show. I think he's largely involved in a capacity wherein he came up with the concept, but it's not really something he guides; at least, that was the case last I checked. But I think you see his fingertips in the relationship writing. When you've got a good hook and chemistry, you can make it work--Leif and Mariam, I found really charming because of chemistry, and because I liked Leif, who seems to be very torn about his place in the world and his relationships with people who have big ambitions and opposing religious stances (Freydis as a pagan and Harald as a Christian), forming this romance with this learned woman who helped him grow. Even if it's like, oh wow, Leif, who is mourning a woman, is now falling in love with a woman who's dying from the outset lol. It's Vikings. Women Big Dying.

And I think this approach also works pretty well with Emma and Canute, who really don't have a lot of screentime together... But the actors have chemistry and their entire bond is really compelling. They're both plotters and schemers and politicians, and he's super into her big brain while having a different approach to governing.

I actuallllly really like the romantic alternative they set up for Harald in season 2, even though there was way less screentime devoted to development than I'd like. I loved where it ended in the season (what a hook) and it made way more sense for him, imo, than Harald and Freydis.

Like, I have no idea why Harald is into Freydis. She really doesn't seem to align with his vision (and at the end of the day, Harald is all self-centered ambition and we love that for him) and she has like... zero respect for his religion. And don't get me wrong, I am not saying "Christians good", but the show's huge "pagans good, Christians bad" thing is.... boring lol. Like, Freydis really hates Christians, Harald is a Christian, and like. She's right in the premiere. They should just stop.

I don't get Freydis as a character at all. The performance doesn't do it for me, to be honest, and she's basically incredibly disconnected from EVERYONE in the main cast. Like, yeah, the England arc is disconnected from the BIG ARC (which is Harald and Leif) but.... There's way less time devoted to it than there is to Freydis, and there are several established mains involved--Emma, Godwin, and to a lesser extent Canute. Whereas Freydis was mostly on her own last season, with characters who really didn't end up carrying over to this one with her, and this season they basically had to make people up to interact with her. And the only one I cared about was Bradley James, who SOLD EVERY DAMN LINE LOL.

And the show did such a NOTICEABLE 180 in s2 (which I definitely enjoyed) versus the end of s1. You end s2 with Leif and Harald split and Harald with Freydis. Suddenly, by the end of the s2 finale, Harald and Freydis are big broken up, and Leif and Harald are back together and have an entire BRO ROAD TRIP the whole season, during which Harald is set up with another woman who I suspect will be pretty important to his ambitions. Yes, Freydis has Harald's baby, but I'm 90% sure that this was largely because the show super wants a kid with Harald and Leif's DNA in it.

Like, clearly Freydis was written to be a Lagertha 2.0, and as much as I hated Lagertha by the end of the original series, she was a very popular character and basically the face of the show for much of its time post-Travis Fimmel. I feeeel like they basically have to have that locked in so that they can promote their "ooh woman roar shield maiden rah rah" bullshit that got them viewers with the first show... But they know Freydis individually didn't play as well for viewers in the first season as Harald and Leif, lol. They know the thing that's most fun about this show is watching This Hot Guy Who Thinks He's Kinda A Big Deal and His Zen Friend Who Somehow Is Going Along With This have zany adventure with wacky hijinks. Like, Leif and Harald will never kiss, because Vikings, but the show is investing more time and development into that relationship than any canonical romantic relationship. Much like... some other... homoerotic relationships... on the original show... pick one of 500.

(Sidebar: I like Emma and Canute together a lot, but I also think that Emma and Godwin have a similar deal going on where they don't canonically have a romantic thing happening, but because they are not romantic the show actually devotes more time to their, in this case contentious relationship, so you wanna see them kiss. And Godwin has fabulous chemistry with Emma AND Canute, and Emma and Canute have chemistry, so it's like whenever they're all together I wait for Canute to be like "you guys fight so much, you know how we can resolve this?" before pushing their faces together. Canute seems like the type of guy who'd initiate a threesome that way.)

Anyway, I really enjoyed s2 but that was something I noticed a lot. Freydis basically having an arc you could totally fast-forward through without missing anything related to the main plot (again)... While Leif and Harald have the meat of the story. She's supposed to be as important as them, but I don't think the writers have their hearts in it with her. So she's basically a total cypher. She's the Keeper of the Faith, and it's like? Cool? Harald is like, going to be an actual king and Leif is gonna discover America, but they need a Strong Viking Woman because they can't let Emma be the Strong Woman rep because she's not a viking and also wears dresses a lot, which means she is not actually strong.

Also, everyone who is against Freydis needs to be a super legit bad person because she gets to be Cool and Good, whereas Emma must be Cool and Treacherous. Because she does not fight with a sword (straightforward and masculine), she fights with politics and her brain, which are bad (subversive and feminine). Though I really had fun with Emma's arc this season and I don't think they were like... trying to make us hate her the way they used to try to make us hate Aslaug, it was kinda funny to watch the contrast.

Anyway. Bring on season 3 and for the love of God, continue to lean in to with Leif and Harald shenanigans versus Freydis like. Midsommar singing.

#vikings: valhalla #lol my eternal complex feelings about the vikings franchise continue #but overall i think this show has been much more consistent than the original #it's early days yet tho #i mean s3 is set but i can't imagine netflix allowing it to go on far beyond that if at all beyond that #being netflix #BUT LOL............................ THAT MAY BE FOR THE BEST #the original show actually had a p solid first couple seasons and the cracks.... really got big in s3

16 notes · View notes

reiverreturns · 2 years

Note

hiii eivor x vili for the ship meme 😁😁

YOU KNOW I SHIP IT SO HARD.

What made you ship it?

it has literally all of my favourite tropes rolled into one:

friends to lovers

idiots in love

battle couple

girlboss and malewife (because for all his viking nonsense vili absolutely wants to be malewifed up)

parental trauma (not a shipping trope but i go feral for characters with complex relationships with their parents and this is like the jackpot on all sides)

you couldn't write a pairing that was more up my alley than these knuckleheads.

What are your favorite things about the ship?

Oh, so many things (mostly of my own making.) i could write reams about what i love about their dynamic but for brevity i'll sum it up like this - i think, at their core, eivor and vili are both deeply driven by a need for familial connection and a sense of belonging. in vili this manifests in the tension with his father and disconnect he feels with a throne he sees as disrupting or weakening his relationship with hemming. in eivor you see it in the dogged way she works for sigurd - almost everything she does is (arguably) for him and his approval, even though he doesn't always give it.

and i think when they're together you see the commonality of their experience and how they fill that need for each other. they grow up and change as people, but they never change who they are to one another. eivor doesn't really laugh and joke in the game they way she does with vili, and in my head he's also probably similarly serious away from her (there's enough context clues - the thegns not liking him has always suggested to me that vili doesn't suffer fools and can be quite rigid in his views once he makes them.) they're each other's true north, their honest home, and i truly believe that.

Is there an unpopular opinion you have on your ship?

that as far as satisfying canon narratives go, eivor and vili shouldn't end up together. as much as it hurts my little shipper heart, i'm drawn to the poetry of two people in love living parallel lives but not together. becoming jarls when they're both reluctant to take the seat but growing because of it, always better for being in each other's company but knowing other people need them more than they need to be together, loving each other from afar nonetheless. maybe vili can die alone in the fuckin' middle of nowhere too just for dramatic effect. he visits rollo in francia and ends up somewhere in a field in normandy idk. i've given it as much thought as darby did to eivor's last chapter so it's canon now i guess

thank you for the ask!!

Send me a ship and I’ll answer three questions based on if I ship it or not.

#it's been 86 years and i will still word vomit all my feelings about this pair at the drop of a hat #and be salty about the last chapter #they are my blorbos and i will hold them softly in my hands until the end of time #eivor x vili #ask games

9 notes · View notes

draumstafir-blog · 1 year

Text

1.03 | vikings rewrite

episode summary: ragnar embarks on his first venture into leadership, though he might not trust himself as much as others do.

on a foggy, dreary morning at sea, gyda awoke to muffled groans and murmurs of low morale amongst her raiding party. her father, who was usually right by her side, was nowhere to be found. although, because of the quaint size of the ship, she soon spotted him at the head, leaning against the serpent carving.

ragnar’s eyes were scanning at lightspeed. he could barely see anything through the grey fog that engulfed the ship, but he was looking for answers and he needed them now.

“brother!” ragnar nearly jumped out of his skin when rollo placed a hand on his shoulder, seeming to be the only person onboard in good spirits. “what troubles you?”

ragnar let out an annoyed sigh, “i released the ravens yesterday. they did not return within the day, but i fear that they might do so soon.”

“wow, ragnar loðbrók fears something. this might be serious.” rollo half-joked. no one wanted to admit it, but sailing to a new location was nerve-wracking, and tensions were running high as crew members became antsy.

ragnar was running out of reassuring things to say, as he simply turned his head away from his brother instead of attempting to carry on with this conversation.

suddenly, a caw was heard in the distance. ragnar perked up, unsure of whether to be excited or terrified.

“that was no raven.” rollo offered, his brows furrowing.

a few moments of utter silence passed, as everyone became focused on listening for more bird sounds. soon enough, another caw was heard, this time seemingly closer to the ship. then another. then two more in succession, until finally a seagull flew overhead.

“hark,” helga excitedly but gently shook gyda, as the young girl was still barely awake, “we are near land!”

everyone aboard was smiling and cheering, though this was only the first victory among a long list of logistical obstacles in ragnar’s mind.

“tell me your plan, brother,” rollo whispered lowly to ragnar as flóki joined them in a huddle, “and what did that wanderer tell you of the place we are headed?”

“when the norwegians started our tradition of raiding, they happened upon an island in the northeast of the region, and they slowly discovered that despite having many holy sites near the sea, the saxons lack any naval prowess.” ragnar explained.

“so we shall beach upon the seashore and search for a holy site?” asked flóki.

“the christian saxons keep many treasures in their temples, as a tribute to their so-called ‘god’.” ragnar rolled his eyes exaggeratedly, eliciting a giggle from flóki.

with a grin lingering on his face, rollo chimed in, “and you mentioned that this wanderer instructed you to sail south of where the norwegians used to go. why?”

“to be truthful, i am not sure,” ragnar let out a deep breath, “but the nornir goddesses have woven our fate. and when we find what we are looking for, we will strike.”

“yes,” flóki grumbled, staring menacingly yet blankly into the grey mist, “we must strike without hesitation, but we must remain cautious. i have heard my mother, who hails from vestfold, speak of loathsome and treacherous kings in the region. some of them and their vile deeds are well-known even in norway.”

“are all christians not loathsome and treacherous?” rollo chuckled through a smirk.

ragnar turned his attention back to the murky waters ahead. he almost wished that the waves would ripple large enough to fracture his reflection; finding it hard to look at himself with the knowledge that - win or fail - the fate of the whole crew would be woven by him.

lagertha exhaled, her sigh perhaps lengthened by the excruciating tension of the muscles in her lower back. this was the first of many hours in the day she’d spend hunched over a boiling cauldron, stirring around onion peels and cloth. what started as an innocent idea to surprise her husband and daughter with freshly dyed garments upon their return, soon became a tedious project. and the next batch, she thought, would look marvelous with the addition of fresh laurel leaves.

lagertha stared unblinkingly into the dark, bubbling waters, a disgusted scowl manifesting on her lips. she immediately cursed herself for allowing her mind to become so thoroughly consumed by these lowly housewife duties. but then again, perhaps it was a habit she’d picked up from ragnar, who was always simply thinking. it was a mystery to most what he even thought about, or to what conclusions he arrived. although, lagertha had no doubt that her husband was a brilliant mind, and through his raids would prove himself so. but if lagertha was going to brood similarly, she couldn’t help but contemplate what kind of man would marry a shieldmaiden, only to replace her armors with aprons.

the sounds of children laughing came from outside the covered windows. björn was sparring with a few of the neighborhood boys, most of which he was bigger and stronger than, even at his young age. while being a víking was a common occupation, it was not as much so to see young people training for the job. it was more or less a last resort for most men, when their lives in trades or agriculture inevitably proved exhausting and unrewarding.

björn was determined to be different. he knew he was a warrior by birth and by lineage, and soon he would have the prowess to prove it.

gyda clutched her axe with both hands, the shield her father had bought for her was slung over her shoulder. she couldn’t even tell herself trembling until the vibrations from the wood against her back caused a dull pain in her head.

“are you alright, my dear?” the comforting lilt of helga’s voice came from beside her on the rowing bench.

the shoreline was close. they would be beached within a matter of minutes.

“what do you think they will say to us?” gyda murmured, her eyes especially wide and glued to the pebble beach.

“who, my dear?” as helga’s brows furrowed, the lack of kohl around her eyes made her look a bit more kind, if gyda would face her. she reached a hand out and gently placed it upon the girl’s shoulder.

“the christian priests,” gyda’s lips trembled slightly, “father and the others say they are from saxony, so won’t they understand us? won’t they speak in tongues so close to ours, yet so corrupted by blasphemy? what if that is all i can hear before i...”

she stopped herself. ragnar had his own troubles, still stood in the center of a group of men, deeply engrossed in a discussion of strategy. gyda tried to compose herself so as not to bother him, lowering her volume even further.

helga began rubbing patterns across gyda’s upper back, “you are afraid to die. perhaps it is wise to carry a healthy fear with you, as even valhöll can be quite lonely without a familiar face.”

helga tapped at gyda’s shield, prompting her to lift it off over her head, and subsequently beckoned the girl’s head onto her lap. helga’s fingernails were a bit long, but very hygienic. she lightly scratched soothing circles into gyda’s hairline.

“would it console you to tell you a story of life,” helga whispered melodically, “people can be so interesting - their turmoils and triumphs. the saxons of saxony were once attacked by karl, the barbaric king of franks. he killed their old gods. he forced them to worship the christ god. and now there are many saxons who live on this isle, on which we are about to land. they worship the christ god here. they devote temples to him, and fill them with gold and jewels.”

as helga felt gyda’s body loosen up, she continued absentmindedly massaging her scalp, “but they are foolish to do so. and now the duty rests upon us, to take those treasures from their feeble hands, and instill into them the true glory of óðinn. i will not allow you to perish until that is done.”

the small waves began to splash more loudly as the ship drew closer to the shore. flóki was gathering a team of the strongest men to help push the vessel once it was beached, but his ear twitched, and he found himself looking over his shoulder at helga. although her back was turned to him, he feasted so decadently on what tidbits of her speech he could pick out, suddenly more in love than ever.

with the sun almost about to set in the unfamiliar sky, the raiders made camp in a nearby forest, the ship attended by two men though left at a secluded part of the beach. flóki, rollo, and some of the other men made haste digging a ditch around the camp, which would later be disguised with twigs and foliage. helga, gyda, and the one other woman in the raiding party all busied themselves preparing dinner; a lackluster stew of crushed hardtack, rehydrated fish jerky, and some chopped up acorns, if anyone had foraged enough. ragnar sat on a tree stump beside his daughter, sharpening his sword for seemingly no reason, as it had not seen battle since last year’s raids.

“now gyda,” helga said, her tone becoming almost a coo, “i’m certain this will not taste as nice as your mother’s cooking, but it will surely ease your hunger more than having the individual ingredients cold.”

“worry not, helga. my mother is not much of a cook. if she is in the kitchen, she can most often be found gazing out the window, for she reminisces about her shieldmaiden days quite longingly.” gyda giggled.

“a decent shieldmaiden is few and far between. but so is a good mother.” ragnar interjected, prompting both gyda and helga to look back at him. gyda was smiling, perhaps finally feeling comfortable with the presence of another woman to confide in. and helga embraced this role enthusiastically.

“when you have children, helga, are you going to give up raiding? father says i will have to do so.” gyda huffed, pouting her lips exaggeratedly as she began doling out portions of the soup.

“i suppose, in contrast to your mother, raiding is not much for me to give up. i have only decided to embark this one time, for the experience of combat, and for a memory to share with my beloved.” helga grinned, her smile becoming a thin line across her cheeks as she handed ragnar his supper. he placed his sword and whetstone across his lap, nodding subtly to her in thanks.

“why is it that you’ve not yet married boatbuilder flóki?” gyda inquired innocently, now tending to the cauldron as helga found a seat next to ragnar.

“gyda,” he reprimanded her nonchalantly, “that is not a very polite thing to ask.”

“it’s no trouble, ragnar,” helga gently placed a hand on his forearm in protest, “the inconvenient truth is merely that my family had arranged for our betrothal, but before any ceremony could be performed, my parents and elder brother all succumbed to illness. my surviving brother is not much older than gyda and has barely started a blacksmith apprenticeship. i only wish to send him whatever gold i may find on this raid, so that he may find a bride of his own, with whom to live on our family property. after this burden is lifted, flóki and i shall wed, so that i may officially depart from my maiden’s dwelling with confidence.”

“these are very unfortunate circumstances. thus, i can only suggest you return to this land with us, and raid again another day.” ragnar suggested.

gyda erupted into a smile, “yes, father, what a great idea! helga should come raiding with us each time we do so!”

helga looked to ragnar for confirmation, though his expression was distant as ever, if not amplified by his inhalation of soup.

“i am beyond honored by the invitation, but i am amateurish, possibly even oafish with the sword.” helga shrunk into herself a bit.

“your betrothed sings your praises, helga, rest assured.” ragnar felt the two girls’ eyes land on him. he drew out the silence as he finished his meal, perhaps relishing in the authority he so scarcely held.

“if you should prove yourself on this trip, you are more than welcome to return with us, if you so choose.” ragnar wiped his hands on his tunic, his head held high as he looked to helga, who sat on the ground. her blue eyes became wide with adoration, almost looking like gyda’s, or perhaps lagertha’s. although, lagertha had never let the balance of power in the marriage tilt toward her husband. she was decidedly more ruthless - a trait which helga and gyda may need to acquire quickly.

“heiðvör, the miller’s wife is looking a bit... underprepared.” rollo remarked to flóki, the two dusting dirt off of their hands and wiping sweat from their brows.

“you don’t mean álfkell, the miller, do you? then it’s no shock the woman can nary afford a chainmail strong enough to cover her colossal bosom!” they both burst into laughter at flóki’s retort.

“the bakers of kattegat all claim the man has insufficient funds for even a mug of seawater with supper!” rollo added.

“ah, but, the couple do have a young daughter,” flóki leaned in, his eyebrows raising as his volume lowered, “if she should inherit her mother’s figure, she will undoubtedly secure a great dowry. perhaps from you too, if by that time you can finally entertain the idea of taking a wife of your own.”

“flóki, my dear friend, i have yet to live thirty summers on midgard. once my brother reached that age, he had already been living most of his life for his children. when i think of fatherhood, i simply cannot imagine giving my children a name which means nothing. sigurðarson means nothing to me, for i possess not one memory of his face; no stories to tell, no reputation amongst the townsfolk. my brother, perhaps foolishly, believes that he is actually descended from óðinn. and i will not deny him that possibility - if that is what allows him to justify raising his children in anonymous poverty. for me, i cannot subject my lineage to that fate. my children will know their father to be a famous man; a great man. it may be that my brother and i shall both achieve that on this trip.”

“rollo, be calm yet and ponder not this plight, for many others and myself will know you and ragnar always as triumphant vikings.”

rollo placed a hand gently on flóki’s shoulder, “that eases my mind. though, at ease, it cannot remain. for my brother may be content to live and die as a farmer, but i intend to live for glory, or die in shame.”

the summer’s evening air seemed to hang low and thick, almost like a stone block, pummeling the faces of all who dared disturb it. jarl haraldson wiped beads of sweat as they dripped from his temples. though this was a trip he could not bear to reschedule. stopping before a magnificent pine tree, the jarl gently dropped to his knees, careful not to apply all of his weight to one joint or the other.

once comfortable in his position though, any sense of mindfulness was flooded with salty tears.

“my sweet erik, my lovely agnar, have you slept well tonight?” the jarl asked through fleeting breaths, tempered by runny sniffles.

the thought crossed his mind, that perhaps he should look around and make certain he was alone. but the chance that he should accidentally make eye contact with his bodyguard - who was stood a few hundred paces away - was too great and too humiliating.

“i have received word that a raiding party has left for the english isle. that slippery peasant ragnar loðbrók has defied my word and gone straight into the viper’s nest of those saxon kings. but rest easy, my beloved sons, i will not let our enemies prevail.”

jarl haraldson patted the earth beneath him, almost as tenderly as one would pat the chest of a slumbering child. and with one final swipe of his mucus-laiden nostrils, the jarl backed up and vanished into the night, his cloak disguising the sorrow on his face just as the humid darkness concealed him.

the orange twilight somehow managed to turn the previous night’s midnight heat into frigid mist. although the summer season was settling in, it was still almost frosty so far up north, as the morning dew clung to men’s boots with a vengeance.

even boys’ boots, too, felt its cold wrath, as a freckly young servant boy was sent into the nearby forest on the king’s orders.

with one careless step in the wrong place, the boy quickly discovered that the ground beneath him began sounding hollow. and mustering all of his might, he lifted some kind of metal trap door, half-revealing something close to a nightmare. but, half was all he needed to see in order to get the job done. picking up the sack he’d brought with him, the boy fulfilled his orders by emptying the thing of its contents: live rats. and the wretched creatures in the pit below dined lavishly, hissing with grotesque contentment.

the doe-eyed boy then began his trek back to the king’s castle.

“see, brother, the walk is not very far. i’m a lot of things, but i’m not the sort of man who’d see his own nephew hurt.” king ælle of northumbria pointed out one of the large grated windows in his dining hall, where a messy head of strawberry blond hair could be seen emerging from the treeline.

a comically long dining table separated him and his brother as they ate completely different morning meals.

“for heaven’s sake, osburt,” ælle paused in the middle of chewing his blood sausages and rye loaf, “there’s no point in your silent seething. the boy eats well, dresses well, and when he’s of age, he’ll be my squire. quite a noble upbringing if ever there was one.”

osburt stirred his spoon around in his porridge, which seemed to contain oats, barley grains, and chunks of something brown. “he was meant to be a prince, not a mere noble.”

“well, as i’m sure you’ve noticed by now, there’s no controlling the will of the wisemen council,” ælle pointed across the table with his meat knife, “and the both of you are, frankly, quite lucky that said will has allowed you to remain in my court.”

“but, while we remain here, i take it you’d have no problem finding any other common servant to perform animal maintenance for you. why is it that my son was so delicately hand-selected to deal with those monstrous serpents, whose use in your employ seem to be riding the line of savagery?” osburt spat as if he were reciting a tongue twister, all without lifting his gaze once to meet his brother’s.

ælle’s grip around the knife tightened.

he clutched a chalice of cider in his other hand, opting to look into the distance instead of at his poor excuse for a brother, “you remember what our father was like, perhaps more so than i, as the elder son. the only way to defeat your enemies for all time, is to earn their respect. that is what he so arduously believed, and mostly about the northmen, who still have yet to revel in the genius of his philosophy. and merely a generation before his time, we, the enlightened men of the godly kingdom of northumbria, were no better than those pagans. father knew their tactics, and he was keen on serving them right back. men would whisper stories of him capturing northmen even as they retreated, and punishing their cowardice by pulling gray brain bits out from their nose holes.”

osburt pushed his porridge away.

“the snake pit was only another facet of his plan, brother,” osburt’s posture betrayed the stoic front he tried to maintain, as even looking into his brother’s eyes felt sickeningly foreign in this moment, “a plan which you were not competent enough to complete. but in my reign, i will see to it that the scourge be eliminated from our pastures forever.”

“no one actually believed those distorted rumors.” osburt quipped.

“no one has to believe anything,” ælle returned, the usual boisterous quality back in his voice as it boomed through the hall, “when facing decent, christian opponents, of course there is an unspoken code to be followed. but northmen have no codes, they know no rules nor limits to their cruelty. so, who’s to say they can’t be responded to accordingly? father believed it’s simply the price that comes with choosing not to believe in the lord almighty, jesus christ.”

ælle finished his rhapsodizing by leaning smugly back in his seat, the fur cushions behind him like clouds on his back. osburt simply grabbed at his bowl, his stomach finally ready to pick at that gruel once more.

suddenly, a frantic knock on the large wooden doors cut through the atmosphere.

“not now, wigstan, your father and i are speaking.” ælle roared.

the doors opened regardless, as the two armed guards stationed in front of them had let in whoever was outside.

“your grace,” an out-of-breath soldier came bustling into the room, removing his helmet and bowing to the king, “i come bearing news from my scouting duties in bamburgh.”

“what is it then?” ælle seemed quite unbothered, for a man just rambling about his hatred of northmen.

“a peculiar vessel has been sited on the seashore. it looks to be the mark of the northmen, but it is beached in a location quite far from any monasteries.” the scout reported.

“ha! looks like we’re dealing with a particularly dim group of them. how long might it take you to lead a battalion of men up to handle the matter?” ælle chuckled out.

“departing from your grace’s court, it will take about half of one day to arrive in bamburgh.”

“excellent. then, be on your way, and if the barbarians can be dispatched in a timely manner, you’ll be home in time for a hot sunday supper.”

with a dismissive wave of the king’s hand, the scout bowed again and was ushered out of the dining hall. ælle leaned into his plush furs once more, as if to pat himself on the back, the next sip of cider tasting even sweeter somehow.

the sunday church bells rang incessantly, but served almost as a beacon, drawing ragnar and his band to their source. a small village not far from where the raiding party made camp, was particularly empty. men’s voices singing alien songs were heard echoing throughout the dirt streets. and upon finding the epicenter of all these noises, arne tapped ragnar on the shoulder.

“loðbrók,” he whispered sharply, “this building must be their temple, and look what they have left outside of it.”

he gestured to the front doors of a modest yet decorated structure, leaning upon which were at least 20 swords.

“you will pack up our campsite and return everything to the ship.” ragnar doled out an order to his friend, naturally garnering the attention of everyone else. and to them, he merely placed a finger before his lips.

torstein, rollo, and flóki all cleared the swords from the doorway as quietly as possible. the church bells rang out once more, prompting ragnar to roll his eyes and ready his sword.

a loud thud interrupted the church service as people gasped, fainted, and screamed. the faces of the intruding vikings were barely visible as the sun shone brightly behind them in the narrow opening. raiders ran inside, killing, mutilating, fighting any of the defenseless townsfolk they saw fit, while others busied themselves clearing anything valuable off of the tables and altars. rollo ran straight for the man at the center of the room. he wore such fanciful attire, his robes woven with red and white fabrics, while beads and crosses adorned his neck. the man was older and trembled as he pleaded for his life, though rollo simply responded by allowing him to gently remove his beaded necklace, before the neck was sliced through with a dagger.

ragnar sent a breakaway group to roam the rest of the village in search of gold elsewhere, as the people inside the church who offered no opposition were lined up and patted down. at times, some of the saxon men would work up enough courage to tussle with their captors, but to no avail.

in all the confusion, gyda had been off to the sidelines, preferring to watch instead of fight, though she was certain she could take on an unarmed saxon. but something compelled her to turn around and look behind her, and as she did, she heard movement coming from behind a tall covered table.

moving the table slightly away from the wall, she found three boys huddled together, each wearing similar robes to the main priest, but perhaps less of an eyesore. the one closest to her was definitely older than björn, but arguably not much older than her. he had big blue eyes that begged for mercy, with long eyelashes, and similarly dark brown beard stubble that almost made him look like a man. the other two boys hid behind his back, far younger and scared into oblivion. gyda was perhaps equally as startled, her eyes widening in their signature fashion, though she held out her axe in front of her in an attempt to look menacing.

“please!” the oldest boy cried out in a desperate whisper. and gyda could understand him perfectly.

it was her worst fears being realized; so much so that she nearly forgot to take note of the bizarreness of his haircut, which left a complete bald patch in the middle of his head.

“i beg of you, spare these two boys! do with me whatever you please!” the boy with the strange haircut was growing frenzied, the sides of his nose crinkling as he pleaded. gyda studied him, finding it handsome in a way she couldn’t have fathomed mere minutes earlier. although she was still unnerved by the fact that the saxon tongue was indeed so similar to her own.

“i have been to norway, i speak your tongue!”

now gyda was utterly baffled. her eyebrows furrowed in shock, as she tried her best not to stammer, though her lips couldn’t round up enough words to choke out a reply.

“we have barrels of ale in the cellar! i would give you all of them to let my brothers go!”

“brothers…” gyda found herself repeating the boy absentmindedly. though, feeling as if she’d shown too much leniency already, she grabbed the boy by the collar of his robe and pressed her axe against his throat.

“take me to the ale!” she demanded loudly, so that all of her fellow pillagers heard.

but with her free hand, she quietly pushed the table back up against the wall, and beckoned the two younger boys underneath the table cloth.

“good ferocity, girl!” her uncle rollo cheered. he was a bit preoccupied examining a group of about four saxon women, each sobbing silently before him. gyda looked away, pretending not to know what his intentions were.

she focused herself on seeming threatening to the boy in front of her, pushing him around with her axe still raised until he led her behind a closed door and down a short flight of steps.

“she is a real shieldmaiden in the making.” helga looked on proudly, carrying a sack full of golden candlesticks that once stood on the stone church altars.

“she appears to be a shieldmaiden yet.” ragnar muttered in return, not mirroring helga’s expression of adoration, as his face exposed his concern. eventually his raider’s - or perhaps father’s - intuition urged him to follow gyda.

the young shieldmaiden found herself in a cool, dry room lined with barrels. closing the door behind her and her hostage, gyda finally lowered her axe.

“i will make certain that no harm befall your brothers.” she spoke lowly, but with authority, causing the priest boy to nod timidly.

“and what of me?” he croaked.

“are you trying to torment me?” gyda barked, though the remorse behind her eyes was palpable.

the boy only shuffled backwards, his hands trying to grip the wall, perhaps for comfort.

“father said anyone captured alive should be taken into slavery,” her eyes drifted to the ground, “but what kind of northman would want a slave like you? who can understand our every word, and reply back with praises of the christ god? i know what christians like you are meant to do, when the men in expensive dresses send you off to places like my home.”

“if you should spare my life, i would do nothing of the sort.”

“this is a heavy burden to place upon me, right after saving your brothers too.” gyda pouted, still incapable of looking him in the eye.

“well, those are not my blood brothers. that is just what men of the clergy call each other.” the boy’s tone became more calm and soft, probably sensing that there was a way to reason his captor.

but, gyda’s expression contorted, “so you lied to me?”

the boy’s eyes darted to her axe, which was now hanging facing the ground, and with a mixture of cockiness and desperation, he lunged for it. gyda caught his initial movement in her peripheral view, swinging the axe behind her body and using one of her feet to sweep his shins. falling backwards onto the hard stone floor, the boy put his forearms up to block his face, one of which gyda skillfully grabbed and pressed behind his back. hearing screams of pain, she picked up the boy’s body weight and nudged him forward until his front side was flush against a wall, his other arm helplessly flailing about.

once gyda had done this full rotation of the room, she was met with her father’s figure where the closed door had once been.

“any broken bones will make him far less valuable.” ragnar snapped jokingly, sending his daughter a quick smirk of approval before returning to the others.

gyda leaned into him, applying her full weight to increase his discomfort, “what is your name, priest?”

“æthelstan!” he cried, between uncontrollable gasping breaths.

“well then, aðalsteinn, as that is what your new owners will be calling you,” feeling a newfound confidence, gyda used the wooden end of her axe to brush the stray hairs out of her face, “make your good arm useful and fetch me a mug of ale.”

she released him forcefully, elbowing his kidney area one last time for good measure. peering through the now open door into the other room, gyda scurried over to the tall table and discreetly checked to see that the two boys were still safely hidden under it.

by the end of their time at the church, ragnar’s raiding party had taken away at least 10 sacks of gold and jewels, three slaves, and countless skins full of dark ale. the three captives walked in a single-file line, their wrists all tied with one rope. ragnar carried on not far behind them, trailing close enough to even touch the shaved circle on æthelstan’s head.

“you and i have much to discuss, aðalsteinn.” æthelstan could feel the beams coming off ragnar’s unforgiving, icy glare, even from behind him. the boy silently gulped as he was shepherded away from his home.

the late afternoon sun shone blistering yellow beams, distorting the image of the ocean from the cliffs just behind the beach. ælle’s men had only arrived in time to witness their marks departing triumphantly, their shrinking silhouettes seemingly raising their arms, as if toasting one another.

the scout’s brow trembled at the thought of having to report this to his short-tempered liege.

“helga,” ragnar reached over to poke the woman in question, who was no longer sitting with gyda and was instead being cradled by her betrothed, her face a poignant red from the ale, “when we arrive in kattegat, make haste and tell your brother that i shall fund his first project.”

he pulled two ornate rosaries out from his pocket, dusting off the crosses before giving them to her. helga and flóki giggled at the sight of them, the inebriation causing her to bury her face into his chest, with the chainmail still on.

gyda sat alone near the front of the ship, where the three captives were huddled on the floor. æthelstan sat with his legs folded against his chest, along with two other saxon men that ragnar deemed strong enough for farm work.

“do not sit there sulking so loudly,” gyda remarked, herself holding a half-empty mug of ale, “your hot, disdainful breaths are getting on me.”

æthelstan let out an annoyed sigh, “you northmen are going to desecrate the sanctity of so many holy items. you condemn yourself to an eternity of flaming torture, yet display such apathy toward it.”

ragnar suddenly appeared, looming over gyda, his own face displaying what could be perceived as apathy. although, the expressions of a man whose mind ponders so many emotions at once would be rather difficult to interpret; at least for those around him, it was.

“tell me then, what do these things mean to you?” the pirate asked so calmly, æthelstan found it chilling in a whole new way.

“they represent penitence and forgiveness…” æthelstan fumbled his way through his own words, “such were the teachings of our lord, jesus christ.”

“so, your god is not a god? he was simply a man who taught his own beliefs.” ragnar sat on the bench next to his daughter, his tone of voice perhaps denoting that he was stern in his beliefs, though he hoped to egg the priest on to keep talking.

“he was, at one point, a man like you and i, yes. but he was born as the son of god, and would later rejoin his holy father in the kingdom of heaven.”

ragnar put his forearms on his knees and twiddled his thumbs, “but, what if some have said i was the son of a god?”

“mother has said something similar.” gyda’s lips formed a shy smile, perhaps simply relieved to be in her father’s company and done with the fighting.

“why would anyone say that?” æthelstan asked, too intimated to let on just how aggravated that notion made him.

“some said it after i slew the serpent. for which, i wore a pair of shaggy breeches, thus i am called ragnar loðbrók. to win the hand of my wife, i slew a bear and a great hound which both guarded her abode. and now… some may say it after we return from this voyage: that i have truly proven myself the son of allfather óðinn.”

“then, to prove you are a god, your allfather will have to choose you to return from death and join him in heaven.”

“heaven is not something i have heard of before,” ragnar rubbed his temples, giving the impression that this conversation bored him, “but if it is anything like valhöll, then it is not a fate to be dreaded. i could go on for hours about it.”

gyda snickered to herself, as even with her slight disorientation, she knew her father well enough to understand what a rare occurrence it was when he enjoyed speaking to someone. the remnants of a smile remaining on her face, gyda accidentally locked eyes with æthelstan, whose expression softened. she turned away before her father noticed, but she couldn’t stop the pink blush that made her drunken cheeks even warmer.

if ragnar was so certain things would never be the same, perhaps he would be the first domino to fall.

#vrp tag #vikings #vikings fanfic #vikings headcanons #vikings imagine

4 notes · View notes

crowsandmurder · 2 years

Text

Ragnar Lothbrok Tags

Ragnar ✖ (Aesthetics)

Ragnar ✖ (Thoughts)

Ragnar ✖ (Character Development)

Ragnar ✖ (Crack)

Ragnar ✖ (Headcanons)

Ragnar ✖ (Photos)

Ragnar ✖ (Starter Call)

Verses:

C L E V E R B E G I N N I N G S

Ragnar Sigurdsson was a clever boy who learn the Vikings way young, continuing to apply them through this teenage years. This can anything from childhood to him becoming an adult at the age of eighteen.

P L A N T T H O S E S E E D S

As Ragnar Lothbrok moves into adulthood and his marriage to Lagertha, he embraces life on the farm, the Viking adventures and raids, and becoming a father to his daughter and son. This can be anywhere were early adulthood until the Show Beginning.

F I G H T A N D T A K E C A R E O F Y O U R F A M I L Y

Ragnar Lothbrok has grown over the years, but still has some of the same priorities: family, the Viking ways, raids. But things are beginning to change, as his eldest son is able to get his arm band, and new hostilities from various enemies rise up. Eventually, he becomes to Earl of Kattegat

K I N G O F T H E D A N E S

After discovering the plot that King Horik had to kill him and his sons, Ragnar killed King Horik and became the King of Denmark. This includes any time that Ragnar is King of Denmark, and the adventures that occur during this time.

W H O W A N T S T O B E K I N G?

After being defeated by Rollo, Ragnar disappeared for ten years. Ten years later, he returns much older, and some even think that he seems crazy. This is anything that occurs after his return, right before the second half of Season Four.

D O W N B U T N O T O U T

After the attempt to take on Paris again, Ragnar felt emotionally defeated after his loss to Rollo. He knows that his brother is lost to them all, having chose the Franks above his own. But, Ragnar has grown battle weary, and wants to focus on more important things. Although he is discouraged and feels defeated, he has returned to Kattegat with the others, to remain King of the Danes. This can take place any time after they return after fighting Rollo and the French in 4x10.

K I N G I S G O N E B U T N O T F O R G O T T E N

After being defeated by Rollo and the French, Ragnar could not bear to stay in Kattegat, any longer. He was tired of being a warrior to the people, tired of being King. So, after telling his sons that he had to leave, he headed off, not knowing where he was going or if he wanted to leave. Several months later, he shows up in Hedeby, seeking out the person who he trusts more than a lot of people: Lagertha. Spending the next several years there, he entrusts her with that knowledge, knowing that she would keep his secret, unless it was dangerous to him. This takes place during his time away from Kattegat. This verse can include plotting with more than just Lagertha.

I W A S N O L O N G E R I N T E R E S T E D I N R U L I N G

After the events in The Last Ship, Ragnar, feeling like a failure and tired of ruling leaves Kattegat and is not seen again, for close to a decade. This verse is what happens during his time away from Kattegat.

B L O O D I S T H I C K E R T H A N W A T E R

Ragnar Lothbrok had every intention of heading back to Wessex, after coming back to Kattegat. But, he wanted his sons to go with him. When only Ivar agreed to go, he realized that he had missed out on his sons’ lives, and that he was needed in Kattegat. Despite being away for many years, he is determined to take his throne back from his wife, and to help mold his sons into even better warriors, than they already are. This can take place anytime after the end of the 4x10 - The Last Ship and it is open ended, how much canon comes to play, any time afterwards.

M Y D E A T H C O M E S W I T H O U T A P O L O G Y

Ragnar’s time has come to an end on Midgard. Executed by King Aelle, death found him, and Odin told his sons of his death, his sons seeking the revenge Ragnar knew they would. Despite Ragnar’s doubts and indifference to the Gods he fought in the name of for so many years, he found himself in Odin’s hall: Valhalla.

T H I S I S N O T T H E E N D

Ragnar Lothbrok thought that he had the best plan. He was going to turn himself over to Ecbert, and then Ecbert was to turn him over to King Aielle, knowing what his fate would be. What he did not count on was that Ecbert had a plot of his own, that included using his power to reclaim Ragnar from King Aelle, before he could be executed. After being rescued, he is in debt to King Ecbert, and unsure if he will be returning to Scandinavia, or if he is happy at all, by the turn of events. This takes place after King Ecbert reclaims Ragnar from King Aelle. Ecbert had more than just giving land to the Northman up his sleeve. Though he made his family think that he had no idea that they’d be betrayed and that Ragnar’s sons would come for him, he had Ragnar held in the tower of the Royal Villa. But, what he did not know was that Ragnar, despite his injuries and ailing statius, had escaped. There’s a variety of places that he could turn up. He could turn up in York, in England at various spots where people are, possibly even found a way back to Scandinavia. In Season 6, he officially is in back to Kattegat and reveals himself to more and more people but has 0 desire to become King, once more.

H A U N T M E

This one is exactly what it sounds like. It doesn’t have to be a bad haunting. Ragnar appears to various people in ghost form. Ghost may not be the proper term, but given he’s ascended to Valhalla already, draugr may not be the correct term, either. This is not something that the terminology is going to be overthought about, but there is going to be various times when he can appear to people.

T I M E K E E P S G O I N G

During the course of Vikings, there has been many gaps in time, whether it be between seasons or the sometimes large time jumps that occur. This can be anytime during any of those time jumps, whether it be a short amount of time, the four years during Season Two or the ten years of time, during the middle of Season Four.

I N T O T H E P R E S E N T

This is my blanket tag for Modern AU’s. These can range from College AU’s, to a modern AU, some Modern Crime, and various AU’s. This will be expanded over time, but his main modern AU is he’s a man who wound up having to get rid of a corrupt King, became King, but eventually got tired of it, and lives more of a common life, although time dependent, he is trying to get more focused on it. But, he does prefer a simpler life. In the modern crime AU, he took over a corporation from a corrupt boss, while running an illegal business on the side. These are all adaptation dependent.

BIOGRAPHY:

Born in 763 a.C. to Sigurd Hring and Alfhild Gandolfsdatter, Ragnar thought for many years that he was an only child. His mother doted on him, while his father taught him the ways of being a Viking, something that Ragnar embraced. He was interested in the gods, specifically Odin from a young age. From a young age, he believed that he was a descendant Odin and in many ways, it helped shape who he became from a young boy to the eventual King of the Danes.

Early in Ragnar’s adolescence, he was introduced to his brother Rollo, who came to live with them. Ragnar knew that his mother did not favor Rollo in any way, likely due to the fact that his father had brought home another woman’s child. During his adolescence, Ragnar grew to do well on all the things on the farm and in the Viking Ways. He always strove to be the best at everything that he does, paying attention to how he processed things, while rarely losing his temper.

As a young adult, Ragnar became quite taken with shield maiden Lagertha. Her skill and the fact that it was clear she was already an excellent shield maiden for her age, appealed to him even more. Plus, there was the fact that she was beautiful. He spent a good while, doing what he could to impress her. His father pointed out that she would make a good wife, and Ragnar agreed.

Going to her home to try to profess his love for her, he killed both a bear and a large hound, then declared to her father that he had earned her hand in marriage. During his marriage to Lagertha, he loved her deeply and still loves her even now. Neither of them were under false pretenses of what the other was capable of and on the farm, they raised their son Bjorn and daughter Gyda. Life on the farm is something that’s extremely important to Ragnar. His family is as important to him, as being the best warrior, he possibly can be.

1 note · View note

crowsandmurderbackup · 1 year

Text

Ragnar Lothbrok Tags

Ragnar ✖ (Aesthetics)

Ragnar ✖ (Thoughts)

Ragnar ✖ (Character Development)

Ragnar ✖ (Crack)

Ragnar ✖ (Headcanons)

Ragnar ✖ (Photos)

Ragnar ✖ (Starter Call)

Verses:

C L E V E R B E G I N N I N G S

P L A N T T H O S E S E E D S

FIGHT AND TAKE CARE OF YOUR FAMILY

K I N G O F T H E D A N E S

W H O W A N T S T O B E K I N G?

D O W N B U T N O T O U T

K I N G I S G O N E B U T N O T F O R G O T T E N

I WAS NO LONGER INTERESTED IN RULING

B L O O D I S T H I C K E R T H A N W A T E R

MY DEATH COMES WITHOUT APOLOGY

THIS IS NOT THE END

H A U N T M E

T I M E K E E P S G O I N G

BIOGRAPHY:

Early in RaVto live with them. Ragnar knew that his mother did not favor Rollo in any way, likely due to the fact that his father had brought home another woman’s child. During his adolescence, Ragnar grew to do well on all the things on the farm and in the Viking Ways. He always strove to be the best at everything that he does, paying attention to how he processed things, while rarely losing his temper.

0 notes