J A R L I N G S

[eirikvarsson-blog]

I am beyond sad about this place closing, I loved writing with you all and will miss you and your muses immensely. If anybody wants to continue 1x1 threads with any of my characters, please message me on @delanowrites and we can get something going!

[eirikvarsson-blog]

roscnburg:

“I don’t believe I’d do well in the cold,” she agreed. Snow might as well have been a myth according to her, never had her eyes seen anything of it, and her ears had only ever heard of second (or more accurately fourth or fifth) hand reports. It wasn’t something she was even capable of trying to imagine not really. “I’ve heard stories of rain, but it’s frozen – Snow, that’s what its called – and just listening is enough to make me shiver, that’s more than enough cold for me.” Never mind that a princess of Lothierburg would never be well received in any country in the North. Or that the only explicable reason for her stepping foot there would be as a prisoner of war. Horror stories told to a child by children older and crueller, tales of her own whispered in the dark, legendary feats acted out and made into a children’s game. Did you know that the Northmen eat people? Behave or the Northmen will get you. Southern children, even princesses, were reared on such. “Did you not know? They feed us Southern royals on a steady diet of honour and duty as children.” She raised her eyebrows questioningly, mouth curving into a smile as she made her jest. And then, with a degree more seriousness to her words, “I would blame myself for remaining. Staying behind wouldn’t have been something I’d have forgiven myself for.”

Eirik’s lips quirked at the sides at her words. As much as he did not wish to patronise, the fact she had never heard of snow was amusing to him. It fell in his realm in abundance, and he could scarcely imagine life without it. “Even in the summers of Liflatinn, water freezes. Most of my people will know only cold for all of their lives. We are used to it,” he admitted with a touch of pride for his homeland. He wondered what she thought of him and his people. It was known that the majority of the Southern men and women thought them brutish savages, but surely she would not remain in his company if she thought it true? Her joke drew a hearty chuckle from the jarl, and he flicked his dark curls from his face, the better to hold her gaze with. “I admit that is not what I expected from any of you, royalty or not, though it is a pleasant surprise to find it here,” he confessed, bestowing upon her a warm smile. He was finding within himself a growing admiration for the princess. Perhaps she would have done well in the North after all. “I can only hope the other Southern royalty hold the same views as you. Perhaps the war will end far quicker if that’s the case.” 

[eirikvarsson-blog]

alexandreroux:

“I do not hold swords. If I were to do that I assure you, you would be able to stop me.” Alexandre sighed, “A hammer? I could use that much better but there is no use for a sharp hammer, much better for blu… bludgeoning? I think is how you say.” the word twisted on his tongue and he was sure he hadn’t even said it right then. “I left before the ships arrived, no fear in me being a spy I can promise you that. Though you will not believe.”

“Bludgeoning,” Eirik confirmed, trying not to think of the prospect. Such thoughts were better saved for the battlefield, and assassination would be a most unglorified way to die. “It is a shame you do not hail from Lifflatinn. We hold our smiths in high esteem,” he said, tentatively. The jarl considered himself a fair man, and though he was trying to be cautious, he also did not wish to rebuff somebody who was seemingly attempting to be genuine. 

[eirikvarsson-blog]

haakonsson:

“There are always blades on my person, Jarl Varsson. Always. You of all men should know a bear is never without its claws” Uhtred spoke. Ten years was a long time to a man and for a long time he had been the captive of this man. He had learned much about their people, their skills and culture. “Pick up your own sword - test it on a real opponent this time and not one that will let you win”

“There’s little point having blades if you don’t know how to use them,” Eirik said, temper souring by the second. The man before him assumed too much, but the jarl could be stubborn. “Do not presume you are my equal. I would not fight a lesser man than I.” 

[eirikvarsson-blog]

alexandreroux:

Alexandre had watched the man for only a few minutes before their fight was over. Everyone was in arms with the invitation of his countrymen. Something he hadn’t expected or been too thrilled about himself. He came to get away from all of them, from any part of the kingdom. But trouble usually did follow him. “I could make it sharper for you no? Just encase?” 

The Southern accents all sounded the same to Eirik, but there was no mistaking the intonation of the man’s worlds being decidedly Western. The sound of it put Eirik’s senses on high alert. “Your offer is kind, though I fear you would sharpen it only to hold it to my back,” he admitted.

[eirikvarsson-blog]

brynhildorlydottir:

Leaning against the wall, a practice sword in her hand. she watched the Jarl toss his sword to the side. “I was just taking a break from practicing, but…” Brynhild shrugged as she got off the wall, swinging her sword for a while before she picked his up. She looked at it for a moment before sighing. “We should and also keep our eyes and ears open.”

His eyes met hers, still blazing in their fury, though the fire dimmed when he recognised her face. She was one of his own, a warrior of Liflatinn who would soon ride to battle at his side. “Your words are wise,” he admitted, the words remarkably gentle considering his temper not two minutes before. “It is my hope that your insight extends to the rest of our countrymen.”

[eirikvarsson-blog]

“I yield,” Eirik said, tossing his sword to one side. He had not been losing against the solider he sparred with, by any means, but he just couldn’t be bothered. The arrival of the Magnicourt envoys had cast a dark cloud on his usually jovial moods, and he could think of little else. Not even his favourite hobby could distract him. Turning away from his opponent, he caught the other’s eyes on him. “Feel free to pick up my sword if you wish. We should all have blades in our hands given the circumstances.” 

[eirikvarsson-blog]

dcrrikrosc:

     Derrik was, genuinely, endeared by the northern king’s invitation to meet. Well, one of the northern kings. In fact, the only one who cared to reach out to their supposed ally, no doubt to talk of the recent visitors to the Laewythian docks. He couldn’t say he wasn’t concerned. It wasn’t out of the ordinary for a group to arrive under the guise of a false peace, Derrik knew, for he’d done it himself. There was no better way to know underhanded than to be underhanded. 

     Thus, he dismissed his guards, going solo to their agreed meeting spot. That wasn’t typical, or safe, really, but Derrik wanted to go about this personally. As loathe as he was to admit it, he wasn’t just going to this meeting to learn more about this man and his people. Some sort of trust, no matter how small, needed to be had. The Magnicourt was a threat to both peoples, and if he was being realistic, the south lacked the resources and men [and women, he supposed] to do it on their own.

     Entering the open patio, flanked by privacy shrubs and, beyond that, stone walls, Derrik was faced with one of the northern kings, alone as well. So it was to be a truly private meeting. King to king, man to man.

     With a polite smile, Derrik extended a hand to him, intent on a formal shake, “Greetings. I was pleased to see your invitation upon my desk. You may call me Derrik–formalities aside. I feel it appropriate, given the situation, yes?”

Eirik was pleased to see that Derrik had arrived alone. Not that he would have minded a slight entourage- it was to be expected, after all- but the informality of a private meeting meant her could be open and honest, speak to the king as a true ally and not with politics in mind. 

He took the others hand, shaking it firmly, a half-smile of his own crossing his features. “It is good to meet you finally, Derrik. I am Eirik of Lifflatinn,” he added. He wasn’t sure to what extent Derrik would be familiar with his people, but thought it best to establish exactly which jarl he was before proceeding. 

“I confess that diplomacy is a little beyond me,” he admitted, shooting Derrik a sheepish grin. “My councilors fear you will talk circles around me. But,” his hands went to the jug of wine he had set out in front of him, and he poured two cupfuls, raising his own to his lips for a small sip. “You are my ally for the time being. That requires some degree of trust, doesn’t it?” 

[eirikvarsson-blog]

@dcrrikrosc

Eirik didn’t trust the Magnicourt. 

He had put aside his feelings about the South to come to the lands of what was once his enemies, because the good of Lifflatinn was at stake. Fighting alongside them was in everyone’s best interest, united against a common enemy the only way to be certain they would win the war. His personal feelings about them were irrelevant, and he found himself disliking them less and less a little every day. 

Eirik was, in general, an easygoing man. There was little that drew his ire, except on the battlefield. He loved easily, liked even quicker, and was often chastised by his advisors for his trusting nature. His mistrust of the Magnicourt embassies, however, surprised even him. 

The King of Laewyth was, as it turns out, an impossible man to arrange a meeting with, no matter how many letters, friendly, threatening, and everything in between, that Eirik had sent. There was, however, another option. The Lothierburgian ruler. Eirik had to know if his concerns were felt by the other kings. 

An invitation had been sent to a private meeting on neutral ground that afternoon. Eirik had arrived early, alone, the words of his Councillors ignored. To arrive under full pomp and ceremony did not seem necessary for a meeting with a man whose rank matched his own. He sat himself down, and waited. Whether Rosenburg would show up or not was yet to be seen. 

[kitsn0w]

#eyelashporn (requested by @kitappreciationsociety)

[casaharington]

Kit Harington as Doctor Faustus by Marc Brenner

[anneboleyns]

list of handsome period drama/fantasy men | Kit Harington as Jon Snow, Game of Thrones (2011-)

[kitharingtontalent-caliopesnow]

[eirikvarsson-blog]

dimwitgyda:

Cheeks shimmering with the color of drink, Gyda gave her brother-in-law a highly amused look. “Why, no one, my Jarl. No one yet. But here, in this new, fantastical place, a woman should be prepared.”

ϟ ☾ Eirik chuckled, the sound low in his throat. “You are a rare breed, Gyda,” he informed her, fondly. “Though I fear you will not find a lover worthy of a woman of the North amongst the Southern. They are hardly men at all.” 

[eirikvarsson-blog]

roscnburg:

“I may yet throw up once I’m alone,” she jested. The drink must have been stronger than she thought, for already she was relaxing. Relaxing as much as she ever did, that is. She smiled as she drank her toast, the wine a welcome relief to her palette. Another man, think of him as one of your nobles and not someone who would be an enemy now if circumstances were different.  “Not as different from it as your home must be.” I won’t spill the secrets of my home, no matter how drunk I grow.  If there were one thing that she knew, that every southerner must know, was that they could not trust any Northerner for anything more than the task currently at hand. To laugh, to lie through her teeth with a smile, to believe her lies as she spoke them and then remember the truth the moment she finished, that was easier around enemies she knew. But these Northerners, their ways were stranger, their motives unfamiliar. It was to her luck that the man before was not too different from the ones she knew. “The weather here is less hot, the palace not so big, and the people value excess more than they do their honour, but it not so different as to seem bizarre.  To come here, to be a guest, is interesting, but I don’t know if it can be called enjoyable when battle looms.”

ϟ ☾ He laughed again, the sound booming even in the surrounding din. “The wine will wash it down nicely- you will be fine,” he chuckled, raising a hand to run through his beard. They had settled into something that was almost pleasant, despite the oddness of the situation. “You’re right. Lifflatinn differs greatly to The South- though I suppose you pray that you will never see it,” he nodded towards her. She seemed to lack the hardening that many of the Northern women possessed, and he couldn’t imagine her with a background of ice and snow. He smiled again, warm and friendly. We are not the savages you think we are, he wanted to implore her, to make her see. “A damning statement,” he noted, idly. “But not observations I have not noted myself. I am glad to hear that honour is not so lost on the South that one of you can recognise the lack of it here.” Her comments on the battle gave him pause for thought, pondering the statement in  his mind. “I do not believe so, either. It is noble of you to come here whilst the threat of war looms. Nobody would blame you for remaining in your homeland.”

[dimwitgyda-blog]

Laewyth, evening.

“Do you know —,” Gyda hushed conspiratorially, “Where I can get a love potion?”

[eirikvarsson-blog]

ϟ ☾ “I- what?” Eirik questioned, unsure of whether or not he had heard her correctly. “And who, prey tell, is the object of your enchantments?”

[eirikvarsson-blog]

shieldofeyjalin:

A languid roll of her shoulder did no more than convey her thought on the matter—there was nothing else to do but wait. And since there nothing else Eirik gleaned from his meetings ( or nothing else he would disclose now ), Eyja did what she thought was most called for. “I’ll drink to that!” and with a tip of her glass, she knocked back the amber liquid. A moment passed before she broached a subject which had long been on her mind. “I wish they were here,” she said with a quiet sigh because even she knew it was futile to bring up the past. “It would make this heat seem far less cold.”

ϟ ☾ “Then let us drink, little sister,” he grinned, mimicking her gesture and putting away the liquid in his own cup. His merriment quickly ebbed from his expression at her words. Their brothers, the elder Varssons, were long lost to them. He should have grieved them more, and for longer, but how could he, when their deaths granted him his wife and son? “You think they would readily come to the lands where entered Valhalla?” he probed her- if only to soothe his own troubled mind.