#sigfred

[illustratus]

The Viking Siege of Paris, 885

[redwarpaint]

Hot take, I wish the Siege of Paris dlc for Valhalla was longer, and I wish it had more scenes with Odo and Eivor on screen together. That conversation they had in the church right before fighting was fascinating to me, they could've done so much with the fact that they're technically foils of each other (both have a sense of honor that can be unrelenting and sometimes unreasonable).

Whenever they talked, I was sat, and I wish this dynamic of "enemies who respect each other" that turned into an unusual, even if somewhat fragile, alliance got more screentime and attention.

"This heathen knows more about honor than my king."

Was such a fire line, and it actually stuck with me. I wish they explored this weird little relationship more.

But then again, I also wish Sigurd could have been included in this dlc as well, even if just to have the Sigurd & Eivor vs Sigfred & Sinric reflection showed more clearly. Eivor could've easily turned into Sigfred after her parents died if not for the fact that she had some sort of support network in her brother and her clan, or if Fulke actually killed Sigurd instead of just maiming him, since we see how she acts when she knows Fulke took Sigurd's arm and is actively torturing him. It's fairly easy to deduce what she would do if he was killed instead, and it would likely be a wrath similar to Sigfred's.

But since she had that support, and assuming the good ending with Sigurd is the canonical one, she can instead speak from that experience. She knows that killing Kjotve didn't really do anything. It ended a war and reclaimed her family's honor, but for her personally, it had to be a lesson in letting go before she could heal, which is why her leaving Norway behind was a good thing, even if being homesick would probably always be a part of it.

Eivor has that line while talking to Basim where she says "Without Sigurd I would've..." and doesn't finish. Well, I believe this would've been the result; lost, angry and never done with the bloodshed until it finally broke her.

But that's a whole another topic I might have something more to say about some other time.

Anyway, that is all I had for this particular word salad, carry on 🫡

[caernua]

Assassin’s Creed: Unity | Assassin’s Creed: Valhalla The Siege of Paris

[folkstara]

Sigfred: “I will not rest, brother. We are almost there. Your honor will be redeemed― I swear it.”

[whitherliliesbloom]

and i will come home, home to where you are

lalapril day 30 - home

[thedrowningtsarevna]

WIP: Winter’s Daughter

A drop of blood misting in the water, a wine stain, spreading across white fabric, widening, yawning, a wet maw with no teeth. That was how Sigfred felt, and in the garden, he let himself fall, his head sinking into his hands. Down, down, and down, until all the pieces of himself collided and broke apart.

Once upon a time, there was a prince who believed himself worthy of a crown. Thought himself deserving of any admiration and respect he might call up from the masses. He had a mother who loved him, and a father by whom he was tolerated, perhaps, as he liked imagine, even secretly adored. Then his mother died, and the winter began where all the flowers faded. There was only his father left, rearing up before him, a silhouette that would never turn, a blackened face that would never be revealed. Yet there was a solace sleeping in his heart. A belief that his father was a paragon, that he did good where others wept wickedness.

Then, she came, and the pearly white structures fell, falling into the dust. The silhouette was stained with blood, and the blackened face became the coffin. The coffin, that held his mother’s body. In all the whispers passed through the court, in all the glances shared between the advisors, there was a terrible secret. The cold, sickening, gut-wrenching, knowing, of what his father had done.

His mother’s body was white and stiff as candle-wax when they lay her out on the black sheet. The flesh on her arms bloomed with purple, a royal color, the mark of the king. Yet it was not his blows that killed her, it was the poison swimming in her wine. Nightshade berries blackening her tongue, seeping over her lips. The latest fashion, they said. And after that, all the women at court began staining their mouths with crushed berries and ground charcoal.

Sigfred hadn’t known. No. No. No. A long litany of denials trailing down his sleeves and over his shaking fingers, pressed against his frozen mouth. No.

It was all done now. Done for and dead. And the only one who could’ve helped him pick up the pieces had fled into the sky like a falling star. He, who had been denied everything, could’ve had a god for his queen. Selfish Sigfred. Wanting only for that vast and unreachable immorality. He’d tasted it, like a child spinning in the snow, mouth open for that first taste of winter. Then it’d melted, and turned to blood in his mouth. He’d watched the snow fly backwards, and he was left with less than nothing. Selfish, selfish, Sigfred.

He’s just like his father.

She must’ve seen his father’s seed running through his veins, must’ve read the guilt in his eyes. The guilt. Because he knew. He knew so much more than he had ever said. Had he not escorted the cackling old man to his father’s tower? Surely mad, he thought. An amusement for the king. Oh, but the chain. Rippling in the man’s arms like caught water.

“A chain to restrain a beast,” the old man had said, laughing, his gums blackened and his teeth rotted. “I told the king a prophecy,” the man sang, “but there’s more verses to that rhyme than ye’ll ever know, my bonny boy.”

“Oh to catch the north wind’s daughter.

When all the mountains have fallen and the great wind has died.

When all the frost has unfrozen and all the blizzards sleep.

Will you remember, brother, how you forsake me?

Let us see how you bear the pain,

when your heart is ripped away.”

Sigfred could not understand the verses nor comprehend the rhyme. It meant nothing to him, and a fortnight later, he rode for Grindr to reunite with his cousins. Then he had returned, and she’d been standing there, taller than a fortress, her hands bent around one another like the broken wings of a captured bird. The denials writhed in his mouth then, throwing themselves against one another as he watched her in the garden, the snow laying against her wet skin, and her flesh, so cold, colder than nothing he’d ever felt.

“Oh to catch the north wind’s daughter.”

Now all the denials had died their last death, and there was only hatred left to glue his pieces together. The hatred he held for his father, for being what Sigfred had always known him to be. The hatred he held for his mother, for dying. The hatred he held for her, for leaving. The hatred he held for the world, for making him what he was, a finger broken off from a rotted hand, a footstep in the shadows.

It is known, that if you remain the son of your father, that is what you will be. You will be what your father begat, you will be the product of his union.

The son of a man will never be a man, he will always be a boy.

Sigfred didn’t want to be the son of his father anymore, he wanted to be the chaos inside himself, he wanted to break the world, and show himself as worse than their worst fears. All his life, he had stood on an empty stage, and the words in his mouth always formed the same sentence.

“Can you hear me?”

Now he wanted to say something else. Something new.

“Hear me, and be afraid.”

When the summons came, Sigfred went. There was a blade in his boot.

The king’s chambers had been moved, and the room he now sat in was dark. Canopied with heavy brocade and velvet lining. He claimed that the light hurt his sightless eyes, and his physician simply didn’t have the willpower to argue with him anymore. In the darkness of the room, Sigfred could just make out his father’s silhouette.

The irony, thought Sigfred wryly, slipping the knife from his boot.

“Father,” Sigfred said softly, dropping to one knee before Eadred. Above the neckline of the silk robe he wore, the king’s throat was bare, and Sigfred’s hand was coiled tighter than a snake. He didn’t see the blade until it was too late, and by then, he could feel it. The cold sting of his father’s sword, pressed up against his neck.

“You don’t live as long as I have, and not know how to predict a man’s intentions before he acts on them.” His father’s voice was calm, almost companionable. Sigfred felt the sword move, just slightly, back and forth, caressing his skin. “Now, now, Sigfred. I felt you hesitate. You are still a pup, and your snapping teeth are too slow, too fretful, to catch hold of my skin, let alone make a mark on it.”

With one swift movement, the king disarmed Sigfred, leaving him defenseless. Eadred sheathed his sword, and Sigfred fell backwards, clutching his neck. The skin was broken by a shallow cut, and blood seeped through his fingers.

“I want the old man found,” he said, drinking deeply from a jewel encrusted goblet. “He betrayed me. And I intend to make him pay for it. I am sending a company of men to search for him, you will lead them. Try not to make a complete fool of yourself.”

With a wave of the king’s hand, Sigfred was dismissed. Silently, he pulled himself up from the floor and retreated to the entrance. He did not bow.

“Tell me, Sigfred,” his father’s voice rose behind him, and Sigfred turned, waiting. “Will I ever have a son that is deserving of me?”

Sigfred said nothing, but turned, slowly, mechanically, back towards the door, and left the way he came in. His hands curled into fists, his face white and blank. There was crushed glass in his lungs, and every breath he took seemed to bring him a little closer to death.

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[whitherliliesbloom]

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[whitherliliesbloom]

“They were right. I am just an obligation.” Illya-chan no shitsuji [Comic 2 of ???]