#northmen

[mrkida-art]

Here's a new updated look for my skin-changer woman who is part of my homebrew faction; polar bear skin-changers from the eastern parts of the northern waste, and they are not exactly friendly.

[sorceress-of-stories]

Blood & Honor

Uhtred x (f)Reader [The Last Kingdom]

Chapter 1

SUMMARY: You were born the bastard child of King Alfred and banished from your homeland. Raised a Dane, you honored the call of the gods to heal the sick and wounded. Though you did your best to not draw attention to yourself and your parentage, the fates had another path in store for you. After all, destiny is all.

warnings: descriptions of gore/violence, sexual themes, strong language. viewer discretion advised

THE LAND OF WINCHESTER WAS SHROUDED IN GREY AS SNOW FELL FROM THE HEAVENS AND COVERED EVERYTHING IN FROST. A welcoming fire crackled in the nearby hearth as a joyful melody floated in the feasting hall, the lute player absorbed in his art nearly as much as Alfred was absorbed in his concentration on the foreign board-game atop the table. A goblet of wine sat beside him, and in his quest to figure his next move he took a sip, savoring the rich flavor. It was foreign wine, grapevines grown and harvested in a land he had only heard of in tales and song.

"Come now, Lord King, surely you can make your move by now." your mother's voice mock-scolded Alfred, her eyes alight with humor. She shifted in her seat, the silks and expensive fabrics of her clothing catching the candlelight. Her neck and wrists were heavy with golden jewelry, some inset with precious stones and jewels. The lilt of her accented English made Alfred's head swim in delight, and it almost always made him ask for lessons in her mother tongue. He much preferred learning her language than hearing his own, especially from one as beautiful as she.

"I am not the King just yet." he mused. He could not help the smile that etched itself onto his lips. His dark eyes narrowed on the game before him, the unfamiliar knobs and colored pieces seemingly taunting him. It was not the first time your mother invited him to play this game, and by God, he sure hoped it would not be the last.

"If the game grows too challenging, my Lord, perhaps we may switch our attentions elsewhere?"

Alfred's eyes left the board and sauntered on your mothers from. A lazy smile crossed her features.

"Leave us," Alfred's hand rose in a dismissive wave and the lute player and guards at the door promptly made themselves scarce. The only sound that could be heard was the roaring fire and faraway cry of howling wind.

It had been nearly ten months since your mother and the procession that followed her arrived in Winchester. She was the princess of a wealthy and powerful empire in the east, sent by her father to secure an amicable relationship to the growing power of Wessex. She was intelligent and headstrong, so unlike the Saxon women he had grown accustomed to. The moment he set eyes on her, he prayed to God for strength. She was one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen, powerful in her own right. The soldiers in her company admired and respected her, the ladies in waiting revered the ground she walked on. She treated Lady Aelswith with the utmost kindness and respect, bestowing upon the future queen lavish jewels and silks from her homeland. While Aelswith was not oblivious to the shift in her betrothed's demeanor, she welcomed your mother with open arms, as was the godly thing to do.

With each passing day it grew harder and harder for Alfred to deny the pull of your mother's energy. The shared looks at break-fast, the way you honored his relationship with God and accompanied him to daily prayer. The way her voice was a balm upon his soul when she sang the folksongs of her people, the way her body moved while she bestowed upon the future king and queen the gift of her peoples' traditional dance. Though your mother feigned ignorance of his attention, she was anything but.

He warred with himself, as God was his witness. He cared for Aelswith dearly and would do anything to uphold her honor as a woman of God, as his future bride. He spent his frustrations upon the serving girls, shuddering his release within them, desperately trying to rid your mother from his mind. He'd repent to God, cursing himself and his weakness, because God, was he weak. But your mother knew, without a shadow of a doubt, how weak men and their impulses could be tamed.

And so, his eyes lingered on your mother and she stood from her chair, jewelry jingling as she pushed the board-game aside with ease. The pieces fell to the floor with a clatter, and she took another sip of her wine.

"My Lord, I see the way you look at me," she peeled the first layer of garments from her body, "it fills me with great pleasure."

Alfred's cheeks went warm as he struggled to breathe. "I-"

"Do not be ashamed, my Lord." she giggled, stripping another layer off her full frame. The silky fabric fell to the floor, leaving her in nothing but a sheer slip. "I do not feel ashamed. I do not feel ashamed that I plan on giving myself to you, upon this table, knowing your future wife is dreaming of you in her chambers. You are going to be crowned King, my Lord. Do you not feel you deserve everything you desire?"

He could not breathe, could not think. "I am the future King, yes."

Your mother's lips pulled into a knowing smile. Carefully she sat atop the table, positioned in a way he would have to stand and walk to her, to seal his fate on his own. The candlelight illuminated her skin, the crystals and jewels of her necklaces and bracelets glittered. Alfred could feel his resolve dissolving into nothing as he took one last sip of wine. Slowly he stood, grazing your mother's thighs with light fingers when he got close. She looked at him with dark eyes before allowing her legs to part further.

"Grant me strength, Lord in heaven," the words fell from his lips as he studied her, the foreign and precious jewel upon his table.

"It is just us now, my Lord. Come to me."

And so he did.

~

"She is with child?" Odda the Elder sipped from his goblet of wine, watching his lord pace the expanse of the feast hall. Alfred had woken his trusted advisor in the dead of night, palms wet with nerves, face pale with dread.

"Yes." Alfred nodded once, his voice void of his roiling emotions.

"How do you wish to proceed, Lord? It would be detrimental to your cause if you were found out. It could jeopardize your standing with Merica, your betrothal to Lady Aelwsith."

"I do not need reminding of the obvious, Odda." Alfred seethed. "I came to you for advice, not so you could spew nonsense."

"It is unsafe for the princess to travel as winter has settled," Odda thought aloud.

"Yes," Alfred muttered, "I thought as much."

"Have you thought about other...solutions...my Lord?"

The future king reeled on the ealderman, a deep frown etched on his lips. "Surely you are not suggesting she purge the child from her womb?"

Odda nodded solemnly. "If you do not wish to claim the child, Lord, I do not see another way forward."

"There must be another way," Alfred rubbed his face, "a more godly way?"

"There may be," Odda considered, "allow her to stay in Winchester until the child is born, under lock and guard. We can claim the princess has fallen ill, permit only those you trust the most to look after her. Once the child is born, she will be able to return to her homeland."

"That is a Christly thing to do," Alfred nodded again, "and so it shall be done. Send for Father Beocca at once, have him make the necessary preparations. I want her away from prying eyes before her belly begins to swell."

"It will be done, my Lord."

~

You were born on a calm night in summer in the safety of the high walls of Winchester. There was no announcement of your arrival to the townsfolk, nor the residents of the grand estate. Your mother brushed the soft skin of your face as you nursed at her breast, a soft breeze cooling her damp skin from the window across her bed. Handmaids cleaned her bed of the bloodied sheets and blankets and quietly scuttled out of the room.

"Is she healthy?" Alfred's voice was soft as he entered, eyes landing on the small bundle in your mother's arms.

"Yes, quite healthy. Praise Him." she glanced up at the future king with a questioning look before nodding to the babe at her breast. "Would you like to hold her?"

"That would not be wise." he shook his head but slowly walked closer to you both, a gentle look on his face. His breath caught in his chest, "She is beautiful."

"It is a pity daughters are not treated as equally to sons," your mother spoke, eyes looking down at you again, "for they are just as precious."

Alfred said nothing as he stared downcast at the stone floor. "You cannot stay here, now that the babe has been born."

"Is that the will of you, Lord King, or your future Queen?"

"It is the best for my kingdom. I did my Christian duty by allowing you to stay until the child was born. You must leave once you have healed from your labors."

Your mother said something in her language, sharp and full of dissent.

"I am sorry." Alfred swallowed the lump in his throat. "I cannot have a bastard walking the same halls as my heirs. I cannot claim her as my own."

"That word is foul and should never be used to describe your child, Lord. I am no common whore, nor a slave. I am a princess! There is no shame in what we have done, no shame in what life we have created."

"You are not my wife-"

"That did not matter when your cock was inside me, no?"

Alfred said nothing.

"You Saxons and your judgmental ways! My father sent me on a quest to join our great houses together in a steady and strong friendship, and I have borne you both the most precious fruit of that labor. You claim you are a loving man of God, yet you are sending the mother of your only child away."

"I allowed my lust and desires to cloud my judgement that night. I should not have done so." he replied thickly, struggling to meet her gaze.

"Many kings in my homeland have multiple wives and children borne of them. What is so wrong with this?"

"We are not in your homeland."

The room went silent save for your suckling.

"I am sorry, my dear."

"You are a cowardly man."

He did not respond. In an instant Alfred turned away, never to look upon your mother again.

~

"The princess has died, Lord King." the messenger from your mother's homeland knelt solemnly, bearing a scroll with your family's seal.

Alfred's breath was stolen from him. "Explain yourself."

It had been ten years since he last laid eyes upon your mother and the babe she cradled to her chest. Three nights after your birth, your mother set sail for her homeland with you in her arms, never to look back. When she landed back on home soil with the news of her failure to secure a friendship with the future king of Wessex, her father banished her to the ends of his lands. He did not care for the half-Saxon at her breast and deigned you as a half-blood, the lowest title of your mother's people.

"Upon her return to the empire, my Lord, she and the child were stripped of their standing and banished. In the coming years war broke out amongst the other kingdoms. The princess was taken for ransom but was killed as a blood traitor."

"Killed?" Alfred's vision began to swim.

"Yes, Lord King."

"What of the child? Is the child alive?"

"Yes, my Lord. Her whereabouts are written in this scroll."

"Who else knows of this?"

"None, my Lord. I have been sworn to secrecy. The child was declared dead in our lands."

Alfred took a breath before grabbing the scroll with steady hands. The moment he opened the seal he recognized your mother's handwriting. She wrote only a few lines, but the contents within made his heart race.

My dear Lord King,

if you are receiving my word, it means I have passed into the next world. Our daughter is in danger here in our lands, and so, I am sending her with those I trust the most back to your kingdom. I know the risks are great, but her life would be forefeit if she stays. I am entrusting her fate to you, Lord King. My dying wish is that you protect her, to give her the chance to live, even if it is not by your side. She is due by the summer solstice. Please keep her safe.

"Send for Father Beocca at once," Alfred crumpled the parchment paper within his hands. "at once!"

~

Beocca's eyes strained against the light of the rising sun as sweat trickled down the back of his neck. His frock clung to his skin uncomfortably and he pulled at the collar in attempt to cool. The breeze wafting from the sea did nothing to aid and instead the hot and putrid smell of rotten fish wafted from the shore. The small shape of a ship could be seen, slowly making its way towards him.

Just as the sun reached its zenith, the ship landed on the shores of Wessex. Beocca eyed the strangely dressed warriors warily, his gaze softening as they gazed upon you. A woman brought you to shore, her hair veiled by blue silk.

"Are you a servant of King Alfred?" the women's voice was soft and sweet and she clung to your hand tightly.

"I am, my Lady. I am Father Beocca."

"A priest?"

"Yes, my Lady."

"Hmm," her eyes narrowed, "you must go with this man, halfling."

Your small frame attempted to hide within the women's skirts but to no avail. She quickly placed your hand into Beocca's and turned without another look in your direction.

"Surely you would like to join us and rest before you continue your travels?" Beocca's voice startled in confusion.

"No need."

They left without another word. You stared at Beocca wildly, tears brimming in your eyes. "I miss home. I want to go home."

The priest knelt to your level. He could see Alfred's likeness in the way you held your head, the glint in your eyes. You were only a child, and yet, fate had been cruel. No mother, a father who could not claim you. A land and kin who did not honor you.

"My name is Father Beocca," he began softly, "I am here to take you to your new home. You will be safe there. You have my word, little one."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[thewatcher0nthewall]

Who do you think send the winds, if not the gods?

Osha, Rickon and Shaggy

[polysucks]

I've seen a bunch of your indigenous headcanons for Starks and I love them so. Do you think of all First Men that way or particularly northern First Men/Starks? Also I'm going feral over your idea for a wild west AU!

HI I LOVE YOU.

I will talk forever about indigenous Starks and Northmen.

yeah. I’m that bitch. I am the #1 Indigenous Stark Truther* (unproven claim) and I will happily die on this hill.

I’m answering all of this on mobile like 15 mins before I have to be in class so I have none of my research in front of me and no sources, so yall feel free to jump in the comments and the reblogs to compound or (CONSTRUCTIVELY) Correct me :)

As we know, the First Men are all over the place. I mean it’s been, what, twelve thousand years since they came over from Essos on the Dornish Landbridge? (Sound familiar, fellow US Public Education System Victims?) and maybe six thousand years since the Andals migrated, with all the interbreeding and the thousands of years of generational melding, there’s bound to be traces First Men blood all over the planet by now. Just like all indigenous peoples irl! Imma have to write a whole thing about the Westerosi equivalent to the Columbian Exchange now is not the time—

So like personally, I see Native American coding in the Northmen. And all I know is of the American Indigenous perspective (and not even a whole lot bc I wasn’t raised in the tribe. I was removed from the tribe via my grandparents who are both Blackfoot-Salish out of the PNW and victims of modern colonization but that’s another story for another time. It’s just to preface that I am no expert in Native American culture, and only know what I personally know. I got some baller resources if you’re super interested tho)

In my personal humble onion. There would be a high concentration of First Men blood (god I really hate using the term ‘blood’ bc of blood quantum and lineage politics but for the sake of brevity imma just use it) in the Northmen. To me it’s giving PNW and Inuit who pressed north after the Columbian invasion because they had the means to survive in the harsh lands, where the whites. Simply didn’t. And knowing Peepaw is American, like, I see the parallels.

The First Men lived in close harmony with the land, practicing a nature-based religion—the worship of the Old Gods—centered around weirwood trees, sacred groves, and the guidance of “greenseers” and “skinchangers.” (We don’t use the W word around here but do you smell what I’m stepping in?) Their way of life was deeply tied to the land and vaguely resembles that of indigenous spiritual beliefs about animism and ancestral wisdom.

After however long years of battling with the Children of the Forest, the First Men reached the pact, agreeing to honor the children’s sacred forests and worship their gods. This mirrors real-world treaties between indigenous peoples and settlers, which were often later broken or disregarded (to put it nicely). the pact was chill for thousands of years (I think like I say I got no refs in front of me we die like Icarus), leading to the Age of Heroes, in which the First Men formed their own kingdoms, including the foundation of House Stark.

Bro that. Is so ancient American history coded. Same shit different font.

There’s a large population of indigenous peoples in reservation-adjacent areas cherry picked all over the US. I mean, we’re everywhere. Don’t ever let terminal narratives win. We out here babyyyyyy but to me it makes sense that the highest population of indigenous peoples of Westeros would be on the lands that are least likely to be gentrified (wrong word but imma stick w it) as in. The North. I can’t source any quotes rn specifically but how often is it mentioned that the north is the biggest and the “emptiest” in all their seven kingdoms?

So excellent question! Yeah I think all the Northmen are indigenous coded! You can’t convince me that Lyanna Mormont isn’t some badass fuckin thicc warrior goddess coded. And the Greatjon??? My mans leanin and rockin w a bear pelt. That man kills bears with his fists (just ask him) and I could go on forever about how The Boltons in all their violence and the rumors surrounding all that they’re capable of is so so so sooooo Comanche Ute and Sioux coded. They were so shat in by westward expansionists and rumored to be barbaric and cannibalistic and fuuuuuuucked up—simply bc they fought back against the people who were raping, pillaging, and stealing from them. But that’s pure speculation and personal hot take on my part, and wildly incorrect bc the boltons really do be flaying people. While the Ute, Comanche and Sioux did not. In fact. Flay anyone. (Unless they deserved it :) )

Tl;dr

Yeah man I think all the Northmen are native coded (w some Viking and Norse imagery thrown in there bc this is fantasy. It’s not that serious.) but the Starks heavily so due to the hard focus on the animism, their honor, connection to the land, spiritual beliefs, dedication to family, and the fockin’ wolves bro. Natives do be really into wolves. (Wolves are cool as fuck dude)

Also I got three chapters of my Wild West au already written and so much art I haven’t posted. when I unlearn shame and finally post it all it’s over for you bitches

[from-the-coffee-shop-in-edoras]

Today in “Tolkien’s Northmen Totally Rule Actually”…

You know what’s a cool and often overlooked part of the story of the Oath of Eorl/founding of Rohan?

When Cirion, the Steward of Gondor, was under desperate pressure from invading enemies and decided to make a last-ditch effort to ask the Éothéod (descendants of the Northmen who would go on to become the Rohirrim) for help, he sent out 6 riders to carry that ask. Only 1 of the 6 made it to the Éothéod and their lord, Eorl, alive — and just barely! His name was Borondir, and he rode back to Gondor alongside Eorl and his people to join the battle at the Field of Celebrant. Sadly, Borondir died in the fighting, but his death helped achieve the great victory that saved Gondor and led to the founding of Rohan.

The cool thing is that Borondir wasn’t just some swift and capable Gondorian errand rider. He was a descendant of one of the Northmen who had gone to live in Gondor over a thousand years before, when Eorl’s ancestors first allied themselves with the Gondorians. So he was an especially appropriate messenger for a request to honor the ancient friendship between the two peoples because he was a living embodiment of that alliance — as a Gondorian by nationality but a Northman by heritage, he had a foot in both camps. He was coming to Eorl to seek the help of an ally but also the seek the help of his own people/ancestors.

The books don’t say this explicitly, but I imagine that having the message come from Borondir rather than any of the other 5 riders might have helped push Eorl over the top into deciding to join the fight. Because Tolkien was pretty clear that Eorl could very easily have decided not to get involved. Gondor was *very* far away from where the Éothéod lived so they didn’t share the same threat; the Éothéod were at peace where they were, but to have their lord and whole army ride out would leave them exposed to danger; and Cirion “had no claim on the Éothéod” that would have compelled them to come to his aid. Instead, Eorl made the decision as a “free gift of friendship,” and perhaps that friendship was at the top of his mind because the messenger in front of him was one who evoked the old alliance by his mere existence.

And yes, it was clear to the Éothéod that they shared a kinship with Borondir — we can see this from the fact that it’s specifically noted that Borondir’s death was mourned by *both* the Gondorians and the Éothéod. Do we think Eorl and his people would be particularly invested in any random Gondorian soldier, or are they invested in one that they recognize as one of them? Seems obvious to me.

(Final random point of interest — Borondir is also recorded in songs of the time under the name Borondir Udalraph (‘the stirrupless’) in reference to his appearance at the Field of Celebrant at Eorl’s side, which suggests to me that Borondir and the Éothéod rode bareback! Into battle! Baller move.)

Anyway. Borondir. He’s neat.

[anaamaya]

Ed Skrein!💙

[cmweller]

Challenge #04897-M148: Epic Rap Battle For History

A trio of warrior lords quibble over who is to inherit a large swath of land, for the will was lost in the fire which killed the former ruler. To avoid a war, the three visit seeress, who leads them to a shine of Wothynn, with the foretelling that the one who is the best Poet shall be judged the rightful heir to the land -- Deathshead419

Things were done differently in the Northlands. Politics was often settled with the sword, when it couldn't be resolved via the marital bed. Might often made right. Attacking an enemy the day after they'd just had drinking games in their mead halls was a legitimate war tactic. The Northmen were tough, hardy, and fond of their booze. The North women were even more fearsome.

Thork Thorvigsson had been a mighty warrior with thralls all across the fjords. Until, after one night of drunken revelry, someone set his longhouse ablaze.

Nobody knew who did it, and there was a passing chance that one of the feasters had knocked a candle or lantern into the threshes anyway. What was certain was that Thork Thorvigsson left a lot of land ungoverned and an enormous power vacuum.

[Check the source for the rest of the story]

[thegoosiestgal]

I’ve recently finished the first law Trilogy and I decided I needed to draw my favorite character and world’s best father Crummock-i-Phail

I’m actually shocked there is almost no fan art of him because he has so many funny scenes.