hiiiii!!! omg i’ve been looking for someone who writes for soma, i’m so in love with her😞 i saw that your requests were open and i was wondering if you could write some headcanons for soma with an affectionate s/o but she’s kinda shy, so she has a hard time expressing it? i really hope that makes sense aha, thank you so much for the consideration though!
She isn't the best at expressing affection as well so she totally gets it. She isn't big on PDA either so except for the fact that you had a very public marriage no one would know you two are together.
Expresses her affection through gifts and acts of service rather than physical touch. Gives you wine, honey, knives, and such gifts.
She loves the shy smiles you send her from across the room. She knows they are just meant for her which makes them really special.
Don't get mad if you get cuteness aggression and bite her. She would probably just laugh and pet your hair.
Likes the subtly of hand holding its the easiest way for her to express her love physically so there is a ton of hand-holding going on.
This is the sweetest gentlewoman to ever exist. She is the most attentive partner.
She always manages to know whatever emotion you are feeling no matter how hard you try to hide it.
The best little picnic dates. She doesn’t have too much time off but what she does have she loves to spend on dates with you
She loves when you wear her clothes she thinks it’s so cute.
Loves to braid your hair for you. She is pretty good and she gets very into it.
Best gift giver whether it is a rock that reminded her of you or the most precious gems she always manages to find the perfect thing to lift your mood.
She is very overprotective if anybody looks at you wrongs she is glaring them down until they leave.
Hates to see you cry. It hurts her soul to see her girl unhappy.
She loves to feed you. Having you sit on her lap and feed you from her plate just fills a hole inside of her.
Summary: Since coming to Norfolk to stay with your family, the conversations have all revolved around matrimony. Just when your aunt has found a match for you much to your chagrin, quite by accident you fall for the wealthy Duke of Cambridgeshire; Soma Guthrumsdóttir. Can circumstance truly keep you apart?
A/N: Another chapter from Soma's pov, here we get further insight into what the Duke herself was doing between chapters 2 thru 4. We return to reader pov in chapter 6 *blows kiss* Sorry for the long lapse in updates, I have been battling some health issues since last November, and coupled with the need to work I haven't had the time to update. In September after a short hospitalization, I was diagnosed with stage 2 lymphoma and I am now working on finishing this fic in between my cancer treatments.
Read it on Ao3
The masked ball had been Birna’s idea;
They had been sitting in the rear parlor, the last golden light of afternoon being disrupted by pallid clouds.
After Birna had found Soma amid her panic attack, laid out on the floor like a fool, they had agreed not to speak of it. It was neither the first, nor would it be the last, and that was known enough to the pair of them. Soma briefly explained the encounter in the field to an enraptured Birna who Soma pleaded with to remain silent about the full affair.
When Lif had returned from the grain market, tea was brought in and the three of them entered their usual companionable silence. Birna laid out on the sofa that was strictly her perch, the ugly red thing brought from their townhouse in London. Lif sat at the pianoforte where he would occasionally tink along the keys. Soma sat where she always sat, at the tea table, in her chair beside the window where she could look out at Cambridgeshire and ponder. This was their way, a simple afternoon routine.
Birna gave a big huff sliding down in her seat into a slumped position, “The country life is beginning to bore me to tears Soma. We should host a party, a ball, like the ones we had in the city. Think of it, we invite all the silly people of this silly county and we have a ball.”
Lif’s hands slipped discordantly on the ivory keys, “A ball? Whatever for. Surely not the public kind.”
Soma had spared a glance at her companions, the two of them would begin bickering soon if she didn’t speak. Yet her thoughts still romped the fields of Norfolk. She was both within and without. Her mind swirled about the woman, all sense left with her handkerchief, she should have offered the woman a ride home, wherever home may have been.
As Lif began to gripe about expenses, Birna tittered at him like a silly bird and rose to her feet stalking towards Soma’s chair in her great lumbering bear-like gait.
“Think of it Soma, music, dancing, the halls all lit with candles and filled with flowers, we decorate it like a great temple, we feast and drink like gods once again,” Birna crooned in Soma’s ear leaning over her shoulder like some wily serpent.
Soma waved her away with a hand, “I’m in no mood Birna.”
“Don’t push the issue Birna, we should wait to spend any excess expenses till after the tenant farms have all had their harvest,” Lif reasoned.
Birna swung around the front of Soma’s chair with a great dramatic sigh rising to her full height and striding to the windows, “I suppose you’re right, but both of you have no appetite for fun.”
”I have no need for fun Birna, yet if you are so restless, we can play a game of cards if you want fun,” Lif reasoned. “We can even take bets if you think you need them.”
Soma watched the tall dark-haired woman as she began to smirk and glanced at Soma out of the corner of her eye. She had taken on an almost evil glean, she was too clever and cunning.
“Think of this Soma, if we invite all the ladies of this county and the next, anyone titled and land holding, our friends and associates, surely your mystery woman is bound to show up,” Birna puzzled, her voice dripping with mirth.
“What mystery woman,” Lif questioned looking between the two ladies, his brow raised.
“Soma ran a woman over with her horse, and she has fallen in love,” Birna teased and Soma shushed her standing.
Soma could not deny that Birna had made a great plan, sometimes she was too clever. The chances of meeting the woman from the field again rose from near uncertainty to some feasible chance, if they were to offer an invitation to most of Cambridgeshire and Norfolk. She began to pace, yet despite all this there was still no way that she could foresee herself being able to find the woman amongst all the people of the shire that a public ball would bring to her doorstep.
“How will I know if she is here if I never learned her name,” Soma asked, looking towards her clever friend. “Introductions are almost always required at balls. And the number of people it will bring through my doors, you know how particular people can be.”
Birna knit her brows together sucking on her teeth, and almost as quickly as she had begun pondering she grinned wildly, “We make it a masquerade! Everyone will come dressed in finery masks upon their faces, and the fools will be scared away by the naked maidens in the fountain. All you have to do is look for ladies with injured wrists and, voila! Your mystery woman is found.”
Lif scoffed at her from his perch at the piano, Soma knew he thought Birna a fool. And a fool she may well be, but Birna always seemed to come up with the most harebrained plans.
“What of invitations, and when? the summer season ends soon and people will be returning to their homes, she could be gone if we hold off too long,” Soma reasoned, folding her arms across her chest.
“Word of mouth, tomorrow we ride out and invite our friends and their friends, we go to houses, make inquiries, spread the news. And while we do that our dear friend Lif here can hire caterers and servers. Surely a week's time shall be enough notice?”
“Surely not! Do you not understand how much time and money goes-” Lif was cut short by Soma who cleared her throat.
“Make it happen, Lif,” Soma commanded, her word final. “It needn't be grand, just nice enough for guests.”
Lif huffed and nodded rising from his seat, “Then I’ll inform the staff, I will see you two at supper.”
Birna slung her arm around Soma’s shoulder then, “We will find your mystery woman my friend don’t you fear.”
ꕥ
Despite her own reservations and Lif’s protestations, the party had come together just like they planned.
Food filled the tables, and waiters walked about with trays of drinks and ices. Birna had managed to find a quartet to play dances and had situated them in the main ballroom under the frescoes of valkyries that decorated the ceiling. Flowers purchased from a hot house decorated the halls, permeating the air with a dreamlike floral haze. Soma’s home glowed warm and inviting to her guests as they filtered through the doors despite the summer rains. People dressed in finery and frill, masked and shimmering filled her halls with laughter and all other exuberant sounds of life.
A few of her friends and acquaintances made pains to seek her out and inquire as to why she was hosting such an opulently decorated hastily planned soiree. Soma just smiled and brushed them away with excuses of making rounds about the party encouraging her guests to enjoy themselves.
After a leisurely pass through each open room to ensure her guests were more than enjoying themselves, Soma turned to a parlor room for a slight reprieve. It was just as she entered the room that a woman swished out the opposite door with haste, dropping a handheld mask in her wake.
Her curiosity piqued Soma approached the abandoned mask and watched as the woman darted out onto the terrace. She snatched up the shimmering mask examining the beaded wristlet at the end of the handle as she followed the woman’s path.
It was there in the darkness she found the woman, leaning against a column, the scant light from the sky illuminating her figure. As Soma approached and scanned her form she spoke; but the words failed her.
In the woman’s hands, she held a familiar square of worn fabric, and her wrist was wrapped as if it were injured. Soma paused, emotion washing over her. Was her search at its end? She beheld the woman before her, eyes almost misty, as if they threatened to fail her, all faculties abandoning her, Soma choked on the words; “Dove… is that you…?”
The pause was deafening, the air between the pair of them thick enough to be cut with a knife, yet Soma dared not move. It wasn’t until the woman spoke that she breathed as if all air had disappeared until then.
“If you happen to be SG… yes,” the woman was tentative with her movements, unfolding the handkerchief to reveal the embroidery Soma knew so well.
This doesn't even scratch the surface, and there's 2000 odd words under the cut. This entire AU was built around Soma. I am unwell. As a big supporter of women's wrongs, the fact that in the game's canon, she allegedly managed to piss off the entirety of Mercia within a couple of years of being in England appeals to me greatly. That's a nefarious feat. Her hands are bloody.
The whole Oathsworn premise post is linked here.
The King isn’t a tactful man, and managed to piss off a very powerful nation overseas just a year after his coronation. They’re cunning merchants, and equally as cunning on the battlefield. The Danes are governed by a war council, led by Guthrum Jarl, with formidable politicians and warriors seated beside him.
Guthrum does not like the acting King. But neither side would profit from an all-out war. Your kingdom has money and connections from trade that the Danes (creatively named) didn’t want to compromise. And in terms of prowess in battle, your army didn’t stand a chance. Tensions were high, with neither side willing to escalate things past sanctions, a few shot messengers, minor sieges of neutral territory, and a lot of threats.
Three years ago, the King – bored of current circumstances – acted against the advice of the court and ordered a disproportionately sized infantry unit to attack a very small encampment flying a Dane banner on neutral ground, breaching the peace. He smiled while the council were left to develop one hell of a contingency plan. Thirty men sent to kill three or four Danes, according to the scout.
One soldier returned, his right leg dragging limply behind him, utterly harrowed. He trembled, wide-eyed and halfway retching as he recounted how the one Dane who survived the ambush sprinted into the swamp with thirty men on her tail. With a single axe, murky water and the darkness of the night, she cut down the infantry. She sliced the sole survivor’s heel and forced him to watch her butchery of the twenty-ninth soldier. Then she escorted him back to her camp. Cleaned and dressed his wound, purely so he’d live to tell the tale.
The court froze with dread as he gave a description of the woman. Specifically at the scar, ragged and deep, cutting through her face from her ear to her nose. That woman was Soma: one of Guthrum’s most trusted councillors, and something of a nightmare to your kingdom’s soldiers.
Your court anticipated full retaliation. However, they were met with diplomacy. Despite the breach of unspoken contract, Guthrum had no intention of returning the gesture, still believing that the price of a war wouldn’t be worth its rewards. He arranged to visit the kingdom with his war council after sending a draft of a new peace treaty, full of mutually beneficial trade outlines, but pending one unfinalised condition.
Soma, looking like Soma does, caught your immediate attention upon the Danes’ arrival. She immediately recognised you as the crown princess without introduction, despite the King’s children also being present. She knew something, and that was unsettling, but she was courteous nonetheless. Her smile was warm, her eyes betraying her calculation. You weren’t completely in the dark yourself, though – the scar was unmistakable. This woman could likely take on all the Kingsguard in the room without the help of her colleagues. Whatever their game was, she was an integral player.
Guthrum said he was content to forgive the King for his misdeeds, and while the phrasing angered his Majesty, the animosity was silenced by the treaty’s very generous terms. The Danes saw profit in an alliance, but needed a reason to believe the King would honour it. After this, Guthrum nodded to you and bowed politely; word of your stride towards free public education had reached their shores, and he found it an admirable goal indeed. No wonder your kingdom spoke fondly of their heir, he remarked.
His caveat to the treaty was simple. Your court, by now, was familiar with the capabilities of Soma. Guthrum had heard of the Oathsworn tradition. Soma was prepared to abandon her port and her seat at his council in favour of swearing the Oath. This way, if the King was to lash out again, she would be within striking distance to take the life of the kingdom’s crown jewel – and your death wouldn’t be painless. The oath would be sworn with him and a noble of your choice present as witnesses, and it would be sworn.
Very few people in the court were aware of the King’s intention to eventually dethrone you, and he was in no position to refuse the treaty. The Danes did not come without reinforcements. He agreed to the terms, signed the papers, and you asked your queen mother to bear witness. She was sickened by the thought of the Oath being sworn under these circumstances, suspecting her husband’s intentions regarding his succession, knowing your life was doubly at risk here. But she agreed, because it wasn't up for negotiation.
That same evening, yourself, Soma, a priest and the two agreed-upon witnesses took to the chapel. She recited the sacred vow, never breaking your gaze. Her tone was steeled, but there was no mistaking her contentment to abandon the tenet, should it be asked of her.
The first attempt on your life occurred a mere month after the Oath ceremony. The assassin concealed the family crest of one of your kingdom’s nobles on a cufflink. He struck when you were checking in with the headmaster of a school you recently built, dealt with swiftly by Soma, who shadowed your public appearances. She was professional – positioning herself between you and the attacker in a suit of armour she had yet to adjust to, incapacitating him. The visit was cut short as she wrapped you in her cloak to mask your identity, leaving the other guards to formally arrest the assassin.
She had an authoritative, no-bullshit attitude about her as she used her newfound influence over the royal guard – a perk of the position given the politics – to organise an inquiry, presenting to the King the engraved cufflink found on the assassin. No doubt, she took pleasure in getting information out of him, but how she handled the inquiry made it clear that your life was paramount, and you took peculiar solace in this. The conspiring noblewoman who sent him was soon tried and punished accordingly. Soma insisted upon standing in as her executioner.
You cursed yourself as your defensive, wary demeanour around her cracked over time. There were other attempts on your life, and she took her role as your Oathsworn seriously, seemingly more so with every new perpetrator. Beyond duty, though, she showed you kindness. And as you learned about one another in your close proximity, you grew fond of each other. A profound respect was building, and it was mutual.
At one point, you both had problematic revelations. You had never felt safer around the woman tasked with taking your life, should the causal circumstance arise. And Soma realised she had no desire to act on that kill order. You made a promise to her: when you were queen, you would grant her deeds to the kingdom’s port, because she had once confessed to you how she mourned that part of her old life, and the gods knew she could bloody run it. She pondered the promise being empty, but dismissed the thought. You listened to her in a moment of vulnerability. This changed things.
A dalliance was inevitable, but this was neither fleeting nor inconsequential. Your affection for one another, your devotion in all its intensity, was a secret well-kept from all eyes, ears and quills.
And it was intense. Fast. Hasty, even. The threat of a sudden awful change loomed over you both, leaving no time for courtship. Butterflies were reserved for the newfound gesture in Soma’s hand on your back as she escorted you through crowds. Her solitary company was filled with dizzying kisses, passionate rendezvous under the moonlight and unbridled laughter.
At first, your mutual desire for physical intimacy was overwhelmed by a sudden anxiety in your closeness. There was the persistent fear that the kill order had been given, and that Soma was waiting for you to be at your most vulnerable before she ended your life. It choked you, frustrated you, but you were honest with her. The first time it happened, Soma assured you that she would sooner cut off her hand than lay a harmful finger on you. She thanked you for your candour, bidding you goodnight with a comforting smile and a chaste kiss to your knuckles. She would not lay with you until you felt safe enough to trust her with your body, and she wanted you to realise this safety on your own. With time, that safety came about. You made love, and confessed that love shortly after.
Your relationship introduced a new variable to the political equation. Until the present, you tried your best not to question any loyalties. Foolish as it were, you were content in the illusion of security.
With his reign coming to an end, though, the King is under pressure to secure the line of succession for himself and his children before he’ll be forced to abdicate. Never having had a penchant for patience, this urgency is beginning to seep into his actions in court. None of the assassination attempts were successful. His co-conspirators are dwindling in their numbers; those who haven’t been convicted of treason are succumbing to fear.
Truthfully, he never anticipated Soma would honour her vow, nevermind with such ferocity. He had hoped one of his carefully organised, bloody fates would befall upon you, and her subsequent execution would bury the evidence of his crime. But she complicated things terribly, and in his frustration, he begins to suggest processions that would put the treaty at risk. Gambling merchandise due to be exported form your kingdom to Guthrum. Proposing a mandatory armistice for all Danes in the kingdom. Inquisitions, the likes. All fortunately talked down by the court, but not without rapidly building concern.
You and Soma begin to see through the cracks. The King isn’t intelligent, but he also isn’t naive enough to accidentally compromise the kingdom’s safety. As your step-siblings begin to look at you through a different gaze, you're forced to navigate court with a pit in your stomach. Conversations with Soma following the string of conspiracies only reinforced the idea that foul play is at work.
Soma caught word some weeks ago that Guthrum’s war council had undergone a few changes of seats, and not all of the new councillors share his ambitions. They seek conquest. She suspects they’re in contact with your King, most likely manipulating him into pushing for political moves that would spiral the kingdom into a war you would certainly lose.
Her fears reside in whether Guthrum could have a change of heart, or if he would be willing to isolate you from the actions of the King with your coronation inbound. There is every possibility that the King could overrule the democracy of the court regarding one of his rash decisions, and the kill order would be given. There would be war, and if she refused to take your life, she’d be an enemy of her people – her family – as well as your own.
Yet when she confides in you, distressed, it’s abundantly clear that Soma doesn’t see a dilemma in all of this. She paces about your quarters and thinks aloud, knowing you’ll always lend your ear and comfort to her. If all negotiations failed, she would rather live as a pariah than betray you. The idea of taking your life is unfathomable.
Amidst a sea of uncertainties, you’re unable to avoid doubt. Those panicky feelings from the early days of your relationship are resurfacing, as much as you want them to stop. Your heart yearns to trust Soma. You hear the truth in her words, the humanity in her voice, but you can’t shake the fear that it’s an elaborate act. Your apprehension hurts her. It wounds you both.
A bitter few days pass by. You’re sick with worry, unable to sleep. Questions of if she’d do it bleed into how she’d do it. Your mind lingers on poison, to the extent where you employ somebody to taste your food and before you so much as touch the plate.
Soma knocks on your bedchamber door one night with a goblet in hand. She lets out a pained breath when you flinch away from it. It’s a sleeping aid, she tells you gently. It’s agonising to watch your health deteriorate under paranoia. You are her heart, after all. As difficult as it is to acknowledge your wavering trust in her, her love for you has not lessened.
You’re exhausted. And scared – not just for your life, but for the future of your kingdom. Apologies flood from your lips as you crumble before her. Soma can’t stop herself from holding you. Tears of her own escape as you sob at the sensation of her embrace, trembling in her arms as your sleep-deprived, anxiety-riddled mind tries desperately to refute that immediate feeling of safety.
It dawns that neither of you have the luxury of certainty in anything but each other.
Tenderly, after a small eternity in each other's arms, Soma asks if she can renew her vow, right here. She wants you to hear her Oath anew, her tenet solemn, devoted, and devoid of political motivation. Fuck the chapel, the priest, the gods. Witness be damned. The only blessing that matters is yours.
dededos
snowghoul
theartofmadeline
2087
germansingergirl
stormborns
blakekathryn
