my roommate and i have continued watching vikings and..... athelstan....... my little meow meow..... pretty, damaged man....... innocent always, but horny for more.... more homoerotic connections to Men like cmon let urself be dicked down by [spoiler] so ragnar can come back and get you and then dick you down AGAIN and make you regret yet treasure the 1st dicking down hmmmmmmmmmmmmmm *curls myself into a rocking chair cradling a hot cup of tea in my hands*
It’s been a good while since I posted, so anyone still hanging around in my followers... hi!
Hope you enjoy this Vikings inspired drabble... it could turn into a series, who knows. I’ve decided to start university while also working full time so if I find the time to procrastinate some more, maybe!
Set in and around the second season of Vikings.
Characters: Rollo, Bjorn / an OC named Yrsa and her mother.
Warnings: Mention of blood and injury and death, nothing saucy
The battle was glorious, bloody and hard fought. Many were slain, most Christian! Returning home to Kattegat was a proper homecoming, a celebration of life that had been won. But Yrsa was recovering, her wounds severe and though the party was where her mind wanted to be, her body needed rest.
Clambering off the boat she let her mother coddle her, showering her in kisses and concern before bundling her off to the hut to rest and heal.
“Yrsa?” A low voice grumbled from the doorway. Her mother had long since joined the party, leaving Yrsa to drift in and out of painful sleep.
“Yrsa?” The low grumble sounded again.
“Mm?” She grunted back.
The man moved through the small hut, coming to kneel by her bed of furs and straw.
“Rollo?” She questioned, her good eye finding his face, the other swollen large and sealed shut.
“I wanted to make sure your mother hadn’t turned you soft.” He explained, poking at her arm and chuckling as she tried to swipe him away and groaned in pain.
“I’m not sure if the gods are on my side, maybe they’re laughing at me,” She said wearily, trying to pull herself up to sitting.
Rollo put a heavy hand on her shoulder and held her down.
“Laughing or not, they will always be on your side, Shield Maiden,” he said tenderly.
Yrsa smiled up at him, which didn’t last long as the cut on her lip opened as it cracked.
“Go back to the party, leave the invalid to her rest,” She said with a flippant wave of her hand as she turned her head away and closed her eye.
He stood, watching her, folding his arms over his chest.
“I haven’t ever seen an invalid that looked like a warrior before,”
She peeked her eye open.
“Well, maybe one that used to look like a warrior,” He said with a grin, pretending to squint at her as he looked her up and down.
“I said go!” She protested, squeezing her eye shut again.
He chuckled, “Rest now, little one, tomorrow will be a new day.” His hand patted at her shoulder before he left.
Listening to his heavy footfalls, they were soon swept away by the chanting, singing and music beyond. It was only then that she sighed and opened her eye, cursing how sickly she looked in the eyes of the big bear, Rollo, her secret love.
***
In the early hours of the morning, after Yrsa’s mother had stumbled home drunk and collapsed on the bed nearby, a rustling pricked Yrsa’s ears, her whole body rigid as she waited for the noise again. Upon another shuffle of leaves near the door she reached for her axe, stretching her fingertips and praying to the gods to give her strength.
The door creaked, the intruder testing it, Yrsa pushed herself to sitting, biting back a scream of pain and glancing at her mother, still dead to the world.
Pushing herself to standing she positioned herself in front of her mother, holding her axe in one hand and cradling, with the other, the nasty gash on her side that screamed hot and flashed white behind her eyes.
The door pressed quietly open, slowly, slowly revealing someone slipping in. Tilting her head so her open eye could see better in the dim of the firelight, she grit her teeth, bracing to swing.
The face of the intruder came past the shadow of the straw door and into the firelight, piercing blue eyes found hers, looking alarmed and amused.
“Are you going to cut me down little bear?” Björn asked, his hushed tone deep and mocking.
“Who are you calling a little bear?” She asked, tossing her axe to the table, safe in the knowledge her mother was passed out with wine.
“Yrsa, the little—” he began, lurching forward as she swayed, eye rolling back. He caught her and ushered her gently back to her bed.
She reached down and slumped back into the furs, hissing a breath through her gritted teeth as her side felt like it was tearing apart.
“Yrsa, the wild bear,” She corrected finally, looking up at him with a smile. Her lip cracking once again.
“You look like you passed through Niflheim and fought Hel herself!” He said, standing over her as she settled back into the bed.
“Really? I’ve never felt bett-ah!” She gurgled back a cry as her side flared.
“What is it?” Björn was fast to his knee, reaching for her side, eyes wide with terror for her.
“Nothing,” she grunted, “nothing, I just need—” she licked at the fresh blood on her lip and then looked at him, “What is it you’re here for?” She asked, looking over at him
Björn recoiled from the question, his face settling back to serious, shoulders squaring against it as if it were an affront. “I wanted to check on you.”
“Here I am, and here I’ll be a few days more I fear,” she stated, closing her eye to him and letting her head roll back to face the ceiling.
Björn sighed, shoulders relaxing as her stare was no longer holding him. He was silent a moment and looked down at his hand on the ridge of his axe.
“I am sorry, I did not protect you, I wasn’t there when you were—”
“Björn,” she breathed. And when he looked up from his hands she was watching him again.
“What?” He asked accusingly, eyes angry.
“Be thankful the gods spared me, I was not ready to feast with them,”
“But I wasn’t there to stop the Christians from—”
“Shhh,” she reached out a hand to cup his cheek, feeling the sparse hairs on his chin, she swiped her thumb over his cheek and the indent of his brow softened slightly. “I will grow stronger from this, I will fight again and I will learn from my defeat. The gods have given me a lesson.” She said wisely.
He held her gaze, steadfast and strong, letting her words sink in. Finally he spoke.
“You are not more than three years older than me,” He took her hand from his face and glanced at her palm before looking back at her, “And yet you sound like your older than the seer.”
He pressed his lips to the middle of her palm, maintaining eye contact, as if testing her, watching and learning, waiting to see what she’d do.
She merely watched him, silent, stunned.
“Rest, Wild Bear, I will be waiting to hear what you have learned.” He said calmly. Resting her hand back over her stomach, he stood and left the hut.
Yrsa stared at the spot where he’d been moments before, and not for the first time that night, cursed her sickly appearance in front of another man she had fallen for.
_____
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