Summary: Judith knows she should not mourn Athelstan. Nor should she even look at Norse heathens. She does both anyway, because Judith was named after a woman that had only rage and death, and she cannot escape her fate.
Notes: this took FOREVER but anyway, i humbly offer you some judith x gn!reader fluff. This is after she looses an ear bc i can’t just make everything happy. WOWW i haven't posted a fic in months???
this is just for you jack <33
Warnings: gn!reader, norse/viking!reader, judith is not okay (barely mentally sound), judith has a bunch of issues, also at the base of religion (yayy), medieval christianity and ya
taglist: @levithestripper @majesticwren @obsessiveformiyatwins @leithdragon @demon-of-the-ancient-world @alicedopey, @ivarlover (msg me to be added to any taglist)
based on this request | masterlist
It is not good that you practically fall head over heels on your first raid to England. It is even worse that it is the english queen you want to fall for. Judith, wife of Aethelwulf, whispered mistress of Ecbert is a beauty that radiates unattainability.
Were she Norse, perhaps you would have spoken to her. Flirted, invited her to have a drink, treated her to the best of your abilities. You would-
“You’re staring.”
You whip around, only to see your friend Ylva grin at you with a smug expression. Annoyed to have been caught, you put down your food.
“I am simply looking.” You inform her.
“Looking at the queen of England.” Ylva hiccups. You want to retort, but you know it’s no use. Ylva sees right through you every time you’re attracted to someone, and she’s made a profession out of teasing you about it.
“Yes. Would you object to my looking?” You retort, glancing into your cup of mead, pretending to look for something that Ylva knows isn’t there. She laughs, patting your back a little too harshly. It’s her way of telling you to leave this be. That this won’t work.
She has a point, and one that you refuse to acknowledge.
“You don’t speak their language.” Ylva says finally.
“Brilliant point. You’re forgetting about my unwavering charisma.”
This time, her laugh almost makes heads turn. “So unwavering I can barely keep you and Ragnar Lothbrok apart.” She snorts. She’s too drunk to realize that you’re actually serious about this.
“Come on, celebrate with me!” She slurs, pulling you closer. As you make to get up, she lets out an annoyed huff, but eventually, her short-lived attention span is taken up by another friend, and you take your chance to slip away. You feel the eyes of Judith, queen of England on your back, and cannot help but smile to yourself.
In the courtyard of Ecbert’s villa, the noise of the party inside is almost quieter. It’s the fresh air that truly makes a difference, and you finally notice the stench that must be emanating from your raiding party. Before you have too much time to ponder about that, you hear footsteps approaching.
Your hand slips to your axe, ready to pull it from your belt, but when you turn, it is only Judith standing in the courtyard. Alone.
You could swear that the moonlight is making her glow in the night. Gods, if Ylva knew of your thoughts, she would never let you hear the end of it.
“I saw you stare.” Judith says after a few moments, in Norse, to your surprise. Her accent warbles the words together, but they still sound sweeter than the painfully practiced speeches of King Ecbert. There are a few more beats of silence before she speaks again.
“It is rude, you know. Of you to stare so.” She lectures, her hands twisting in front of her.
“Is that why you followed me into the courtyard of your villa, all alone?” You ask her, and you swear you can see a slight blush begin to creep into her face. It’s cute, the way that it dusts her cheeks and the bridge of her nose. It makes you feel better about your pounding heart and most likely sweaty palms.
“You practically fled the party.” Judith responded. She seemed to know that it was no true answer. A rather obvious lie.
You take a step forward, before pausing. For some reason, you expected her to back away, like all the other Saxon women that seem to be afraid of Norsemen, no matter whether they are man, woman or something else, but Judith stands her ground and meets your gaze.
You smirk. “You are queen here.”
It is an acknowledgment and a compliment in one, and Judith recognizes both. Her mouth widens into a smile, white teeth gleaming in the night.
“It is cold out in my courtyard.” She says, and already as she begins her sentence, you know that this is an invitation. “My rooms are much warmer.”
She does not need to tell you to follow her, your legs carry you with or without your mind functioning.
It frightens you that she begins to work on her dress almost automatically as soon as the door to her room closes, and your hand finds hers to stop her.
“Is this not what you are here for?” Judith asks you.
You shake your head. “Do you wish to use me just for this?” There is a feverish look in her eyes, and she looks as if she wishes to rebel. To make her king and her husband angry, to disappoint once more.
But she shakes her head in response, does so so quickly that you almost sigh in relief. You don’t, because you don’t want to insult her.
“You are beautiful.” You blurt out. She smiles weakly, and you realize that this is not what she wants to hear. Judith knows she is beautiful, and you think that a part of that might sicken her. There is a static silence between the two of you, one that grows uncomfortable as neither knows a step forward, and knows that there is no step backwards.
Then, a small laugh bursts out of her, and the tension is unable to leave your body as tears gather in her eyes. You swipe them away before they can fall, as you have done for your friends after heartbreak, pain and injury, and they have done for you. The gesture is foreign to her.
You look around the room, unsure as to what to do with this woman who seems to be so fragile and so strong at the same time. The vanity catches your eye.
You guide her gently, as you would a lost cat, but she follows, sinking down in her chair, hands curling around armrests tightly. Her white, paling knuckles contrast your gentle hands as you slowly begin to pull pins from her hair.
Tightly wound braids fall from her head, coiling down her back. It is a wonder her head does not hurt. Slowly, you untangle them, watching as more and more curls fall down her back. She flinches when you come close to the wound where her ear used to be, and refuses to relax.
“What is it?” You ask, your question superficial. She shrugs, looking up at you from her seat.
“No one does my hair.” She replies. “I don’t let them.”
You nod, your hand levitating above the bun that covers her scar.
“This is only a remainder of a battle that was not yours to fight. An unjust pain inflicted on you, and yet you faced it more bravely than any man would have.” You tell her. She laughs at that, and you know that she does not believe you. A few moments pass before you speak again.
“May I?” You ask. She takes her time to respond, seeming to think through the options, before she nods. You move slow, so slowly that time thickens into nothing, but you are hellbent on doing this correctly.
And she begins to relax, even when you uncover her scar. There is no need for words as you begin to brush her hair. She seems to know that you are trying to comfort her, you, the warrior. When you are done, you feel stupid for a moment, again lost on what to do.
Yet, your hands move on their own. No thought is in your mind, only that what you are doing may make this woman, who became such an undeserving victim of violence, beautiful. And so, your hands weave and twist, and you notice that braiding Judith’s hair is not much different from braiding that of Ylva, or Thorbjorn, or any other of your friends, only that Judith made your heart beat too quickly and blood rise to your cheeks.
She observed you as you worked, her eyes never leaving your form, and you wanted to say something about it, but your mouth felt as dry as sand. Finally, when you were done, her hair looked like that of a shieldmaiden.
You had tried to soften the hairstyle, so that it would not pull on her scalp, and as you added the finishing touch, Judith gave a soft sight. You rested your head on her shoulder, looking into the mirror, meeting her eyes when she opened them again.
“You’re staring.” She noted, a smirk creeping onto her face.
“I am indeed. How rude of me.” You said, turning to look at her, her face incredibly close, closer than you had ever dared to imagine. And Gods, finally, her smile was soft.
“You should have been one of us. You would have made a brilliant warrior were you norse. I can see it in your eyes.”
“My name is that of a warrior.” Judith said. “Not in your sense or definition, but in mine.”
“And that is only right.” You replied. “Though I would be afraid to meet you on the battlefield.”
Judith raised a brow. “Would you?”
“Mhm. You can be so fierce. I was quite afraid of you in the beginning.” You replied, and it felt as if you were speaking to someone you had known for years. Judith blinked, surprised, before her hand found yours, still resting on her chair. It was soft, unlike yours, but you noticed her paint-stained fingertips.
Judith redirected your attention with a simple touch, and you felt yourself forgetting your surroundings. Had the Gods sent a warrior screaming bloody murder at you right now, you wouldn’t have noticed.
“I want to kiss you.” Judith said finally, and you could hear the hesitation, the fear in her voice.
You cleared your throat nervously. “I would- it would be an honor.” You managed, stumbling over your words, and Judith laughed softly, taking your face in your hands and pressing a kiss onto your lips with such gentleness you swore you were not made to be a warrior after all.
Freya Ironside, Gifted by the Gods on Wattpad by stefivare
in this fanfic you’ll find only badass women and an extraordinary main character, a fighter, Gifted by the Gods, a shieldmaiden, standing up for who she loves and what she believes in!
Fanfics, Fictional characters/worlds, edits, stories, new obsessions
going through fan reactions, smthg that surprises me is how many ppl hate Judith?? like i’ll admit that she originally wasn’t one of my favorite characters either, but after Ecbert died she quickly rose in the ranks for me. out of the remaining Wessex characters, she was really the only one who understood what it took to be king.
her killing Aethelred is one of, if not my favorite scene of hers. you can tell doing it broke smthg within her, but regardless she knew it had to be done. even Alfred subtly understood it had to be done. but when it comes to the fans, most of what i’ve seen is just hate basically for her being the new strength behind the crown.
