**Most of my fics use a feminine-presenting POV, but I try my best to make them neutral. I’ll try to keep them more neutral in the future, unless specified otherwise in a request!**
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Vikings (2013 show)
Love’s Labors (Ivar x Fem!Reader)
part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7 (end)
The Perils of Mead (Ivar x Gen. Neutral Reader)
Star Wars (Original Episodes)
Perception (Luke Skywalker x Fem!Reader)
Star Wars (The Mandalorian)
Just a Touch (Din x Fem!Reader)
part 1, part 2
Parenting Blues (Din x Gen. Neutral Reader)
Twilight (Motion Picture)
Paul Lahote Request (fluff/some angst, Fem!Reader)
Chapters: 1
Pairings: Viktor x bombshell!reader, Viktor x fem!reader
Summary: Viktor is a professor working overtime grading his students' latest work and forgets he was supposed to meet his wife for lunch.
i.e - a short, fluffy drabble about Viktor being in love with his cute wife.
The college campus is louder than you remember.
Students stream past in clusters—laughing, arguing, tapping away at their phones—and for a moment, you just… stand there. The buildings all look vaguely academic, their identical red brick exteriors doing nothing to help your situation. The map on your phone might as well be written in another language.
You turn in a slow circle, heels clicking against the pavement, brows knit together.
“Looking for something?”
You glance over your shoulder and find a man about your age leaning against a nearby railing, coffee in hand, curiosity written plainly across his face. He’s wearing a lanyard with the university’s logo and a badge that reads: Quill Chauhan — Applied Physics.
“Oh—yes, actually,” you say, relieved. “I think I’m lost.”
He grins, already enjoying himself. “Happens to the best of us. You looking for a class? The library? Existential meaning?”
You huff a small laugh. “I’m looking for my husband.”
That gives him pause.
“Your… husband,” he repeats slowly, eyes flicking over you as though expecting a different response to materialize somewhere on your person.
“Yes, my husband,” you confirm with a small smile. “He was supposed to meet me for lunch at the cafe, but now I can’t find his building. He’s a professor here, in the—” You pause. You know Viktor teaches quantum mechanics, but you’re actually not sure which building that would be in. Does it have its own hall?
Quill seems to notice your hesitation. “What does he teach?”
“Quantum mechanics.”
He lets out a low whistle. “Oof. Tough subject. Your husband’s braver than I am.” He tips his coffee cup slightly before adding, “Unfortunately, the Natural Sciences Building is under construction, so faculty are kind of… everywhere right now. Usually, when professors get shuffled around, they stick close to their departments. So he’s probably in the Math or Physics building.”
He offers an apologetic smile, and when your shoulders deflate, he’s quick to recover.
“Tell you what,” he says, pushing off the railing. “I’m heading toward the Com anyway. I can walk you over—at the very least, make sure you don’t end up in the business school by accident.”
“The Com?” you ask.
“Sorry—Science Complex. Or the Research Quad,” he explains. “It’s a bunch of connected STEM buildings on the south side of campus.”
You glance once more at the confusing map on your phone before slipping it back into your bag. “Alright,” you say, offering a polite smile. “I appreciate it.”
“Happy to help,” he replies easily. “Can’t have somebody’s poor spouse wandering the campus forever.”
He falls into step beside you, matching your pace a little too naturally.
Once you’re walking, he seems to take it as an invitation for conversation.
“So,” he starts, nodding toward you, “favorite color? I’m guessing red,” he adds with a grin, gesturing toward your lips and nails.
You hum noncommittally, offering vague, polite answers as he continues—asking about your hobbies, your commute, even what kind of car you drive.
***
“Seriously, man, you should have seen this lady. The hair and lipstick, she looked like one of those chicks from the ‘40s.”
Viktor hums in response, not really paying attention. His eyes are focused on the papers in front of him.
“Quill, have you ever considered that calling women ‘chicks’ is the reason you’re single?” Jayce calls from the other side of the lab.
“Shut up,” the younger man mutters.
Quill looks over to Viktor, who is still engrossed in grading essays.
“Nothing to say, Vik?”
Viktor’s eyes don’t stray from the essay he’s currently reading as he replies, “I did not see her; therefore, I have no comment.”
Quill snorts. “Even if you had been there, you wouldn’t have noticed her.”
The younger man walks over to one of the desks and sits down. “You know, one of these days, Jayce and I could be in serious relationships. Where would that leave you?”
“Enjoying the silence.”
Viktor scratches out a sentence from one student’s paper with his red gel pen and writes a revision in his messy script.
“She was really pretty, though. Said she was meeting her husband at the campus cafe, but she was also looking for his building. Wonder if he stood her up,” Quill adds after a minute.
Viktor’s hand slows to a stop. Husband? Cafe?
He looks over at the clock hanging on the wall to his left and lets out a string of curses in Czech.
Jayce looks over, brows knit together in concern. “Viktor? Are you alright?”
Viktor rushes to shove the essays into his backpack. Maybe if he hurried, he could catch you before you left. If you were still there.
Before he can make his way to the door, a timid knock echoes through the empty classroom.
You pop your head into the room.
“Hello?”
Ah.
Viktor looks at you, and the tiniest smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. You look absolutely stunning.
Quill perks up when he sees you and stands quickly. He all but sprints over to the doorway and greets you with a large grin. “Hey! Long time no see,” he jokes.
You give him a polite smile in return. “Yes, hello. I’m still trying to find my husband,” you admit with a short laugh.
Viktor would never admit it to anyone, but hearing the word ‘husband’ leave your lips felt downright sinful. He’s so taken with you, he doesn’t notice Quill is speaking.
“Still looking? He didn’t show up for your lunch, did he?” Quill asks with a faux pout.
“He’s a very busy man,” you say sweetly.
“Sounds like you got stood up,” Quill says. “If you want, I could—”
“That,” Viktor interjects, “will not be necessary.”
Quill is about to throw a nasty look over his shoulder when suddenly you push past him and into the classroom, heels clicking against the tile floor.
“Viktor! I was worried I was in the wrong building,” you say.
He sets his backpack down and allows you to pull him in for a hug. He wraps his long arms around you and gives a gentle squeeze. “Hello, má drahá,” he greets softly.
“You didn’t come to lunch,” you scold lightly. Truthfully, you’re not mad, and Viktor knows you’re not. The plans you had made were very last-minute, and you know how he gets sucked into his work.
“I’m sorry, lásko,” he says quietly. “I wanted to finish the essays before I met you, so we would have more time together. I did not realize it was already so late.”
You hum quietly and reach your hands up to smooth the disheveled collar of his shirt. “I suppose I could forgive you,” you drawl. Careful not to crease the collar, you tug gently and lead him down to your height. “It does help that you’re cute,” you add, placing a swift peck on his lips.
Meanwhile, two pairs of eyes are fixed on the display of affection. Quill and Jayce watch, slack-jawed, as Viktor not only smiles at a woman but kisses her.
Jayce is the first to break the silence, stepping forward and offering you a lopsided smile. “It's, uh, nice to meet you, ma'am. My name is Jayce Tallis; I work in experimental physics. I usually handle the things that explode,” he jokes.
“You are the reason they explode,” Viktor corrects coolly.
You chuckle and step forward to shake Jayce's outstretched hand. “It's nice to finally meet you, Jayce.” Your eyes trail over to Quill, who hasn’t quite recovered from the shock. “And Mr. Chauhan, I believe? Nice to see you again.”
Quill's head snaps toward you. “Sorry, I’m just—” He rubs the back of his neck, glancing between the two of you. “I didn’t even know Viktor was married. He never—” He winces. “No offense. He never mentioned you.”
Viktor doesn’t look at him. His attention remains fixed on you, eyes following your figure as you ease back beside him.
“You never asked,” he says simply.
Jayce lets out a low laugh, shaking his head. “That tracks.”
Quill squints at Viktor. “So you’re telling me you’ve been married this whole time, and you just… didn’t think to bring it up?”
Viktor finally looks over, brows creased. “It has never been relevant to my work.”
“He talks about his research the way other people talk about the weather,” you laugh.
Viktor hums, unapologetic. “It is important.”
Quill exhales sharply, hands raised in surrender. “Okay. Right. I think I need to go rethink several assumptions I’ve made about my life.”
Jayce nods, already backing toward the door. “Same. I’ll, uh—give you two some space.”
They file out of the classroom, Quill casting one last incredulous glance over his shoulder before the door clicks shut behind them.
The room falls quiet.
You turn back to Viktor, eyes warm. “You really never told them?”
He shrugs, a little sheepish now that you’re alone. “My colleagues know I am private. They respect this.”
“And what about me?” you ask lightly.
His expression softens instantly. He reaches up, brushing his thumb along your jaw. “You are not something I keep private,” he says in a low tone. “You are something I keep close.”
Your heart stutters.
“Well,” you step closer, fingers toying with the hem of his waistcoat, “you did leave me wandering campus on my own for nearly an hour.”
“I know,” he says, regret threading his voice. “I will make it up to you.”
“Oh?”
He leans down, forehead resting against yours. “Lunch. Somewhere quiet. No work, no interruptions.”
You smile and tilt your chin up, catching him in a slow, affectionate kiss.
“Deal,” you murmur.
Viktor’s eyes never leave yours as he takes your hand, lacing your fingers together and pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles. He leads you out of the classroom with a gentle smile, every step carrying the quiet pride and warmth of someone utterly and completely in love.
For those asking me about continuing fics/asking for updates, I actually just gave birth! Sorry for the delay, things are a bit crazy and I’m in hospital. Will try to work on writing soon xx
I just finished reading the perils of mead and one of my favirite songs came (vampire heart by him) on while i was reading it and it may just be that i like both of them immensely but i think it fit that story so well. I thinm thw story is amazing great work
I'm so happy you liked it! Also, I have to have a quick fangirl moment because I used to listen to HIM so often ( specifically killing loneliness)
Fic Summary: You and Ivar had never formally crossed paths before, until one night when you drank more than you should have and accidentally take the prince's virginity. Now he follows you everywhere you go, insisting you marry him.
This was a request at one point, but I lost the message or it was deleted and now I can't find the username. But if you see this, I hope you like it! This will also be posted on my Ao3 account, aspiringtrash! I tried to keep the reader gender neutral, but if you have any suggestions for me to make it more accessible for my non-binary babes, I’m all ears! <3
The first thing that greets you when you open your eyes is a dull throbbing in your head. Your mouth is dry, your jaw tight and aching. You lay in bed and close your eyes once more in an attempt to give yourself a moment to shed the remnants of sleep. Your eyes are puffed and feel sore to the touch.
You open your eyes to stare at the ceiling, still feeling very disoriented. As your gaze trails across the large log beams that support the roof above you, a cold realization blooms in your stomach.
This is not your room.
You jolt up, hissing as the throbbing in your head re-announces itself. You feel nauseous from the sudden movement and grip the furs beneath you to center yourself once more. As your hand glides across the soft pelt, your fingers brush against something warm-- something human. It is then that you come to your second realization of the morning.
Whoever's room this is, they are still in it. And you are in bed with them.
You look down in horror at the sleeping Ragnarsson lying next to you. Surely, the Gods are testing you at this moment. Not only have you somehow bedded a stranger, but you've also managed to end up in the room of Ragnar's more infamous son; Ivar.
You can hear your heartbeat pounding away in your ears as you weigh your options. You could try to make a run for it. Perhaps Ivar also did not remember the events that took place last night. Judging by the stinging in your head and sick stomach, you had far more mead than you should have the night prior. Surely, Ivar had done the same?
A sudden rush of bravery washes over you and encourages you to try and ease yourself up off the bed without disturbing the man beside you. Your heart leaps into your throat as Ivar stirs, muttering a string of incoherent words as he shifts his position. You freeze in hopes that you can wait it out until he goes back to sleep.
He struggles for a moment to flip onto his side and you feel a small pang of guilt as you watch. You'd never truly met Ivar and had only ever seen him in passing. However, you couldn't recall even laying eyes on him the night prior. You remembered Hvitserk betting you that you could not out-drink him (and judging by your state of being you guessed that you had, in fact, won this bet), but after that your memory becomes a blur. You watch with bated breath as Ivar settles gently into his new position. Soft snores soon fill the room and you release a shaking sigh.
You take this chance to look around the room in hopes of finding your clothes from the night prior.
How embarrassing this will be, you think. Having to sneak out of a Prince's room in the early morning.
Once you're certain Ivar is asleep you resume your attempt at escape. You fling a leg haphazardly off the bed and try to slide your body off with it. You're so nearly close to your goal when suddenly a calloused hand grabs your wrist and pulls you back down.
You let out a strangled sort of noise as you fall back onto the bed and into a pair of vaguely familiar arms. "Where do you think you are going?" Ivar's voice is low and graveled as he mutters in your ear. You fight the blush that threatens to rise to your cheeks while you try to find your voice.
"I think I am going to my room."
Ivar lets out a snort, his arms not relenting in their hold. "Why? There is a bed here."
"Yes, and there is someone occupying it," you respond. You're wary of Ivar's impressive temper and try to pick your words carefully. Though you could admit to yourself the Prince was handsome, he had a reputation for being a ruthless man who was quick to draw his ax at any inconvenience. You didn't want to entertain the idea of being at the receiving end of Ivar's weapon.
As Ivar hums and holds you closer you are suddenly very aware of how naked the two of you are. His arms are hot against your stomach as he cradles you to his chest. He presses his nose to the crook of your neck and inhales softly. If this were any other situation, you would probably find this intimate act endearing. But for now, you wrack your brain for ideas of how to get out of here.
You try to steel your nerves and think about this rationally. This will just be an incident between two adults for him. He is a Ragnarsson after all, they are not exactly known for having one partner and calling it quits. Hvitserk and Bjorn are particularly discussed as womanizers. You feel a bit relieved at this thought and consider negotiating with Ivar to let you leave before the servants begin to enter the chambers. You shift your position to look at the man beside you with the intent to begin your speech, but Ivar is quick to cut through your thoughts. "Are you wondering if this will be the only time I bed you?"
You feel a small glimmer of hope and for a moment you think the two of you are on the same page.
Ivar reaches over and cups your face in his large hand, his gaze holding yours for a moment. You can feel your cheeks grow warm at the sudden contact. Although you imagine he had seen much more of you the previous night, being this close to a man still made you blush.
"If you try to say goodbye casually and leave, I will crush this small head of yours."
Your stomach drops and you feel a cold wave of fear wash over you. What did he just say?
Suddenly his arms release their hold and your stomach feels strange at the loss of his warmth. You turn and watch as he pushes himself upright and grabs the crutch leaning against the wall. He uses it to haul himself off of the bed and pauses for a moment to regain balance. He stands before you in all his naked glory, looking like the cat that caught the canary.
"After all, you should take responsibility for having my first night," Ivar says before turning his back to you.
As he walks away, you're left there to process his words. It takes you a moment before everything clicks.
"First?"
---
Your head is swimming with thoughts of that morning as you try to eat something in the great hall. You poke wordlessly at the leg of meat before you as your mind replays Ivar's words over and over. You let out a soft groan and bury your face in your hands in the hopes that the world would open and swallow you whole. What am I supposed to do now?
A loud laugh from behind you startles you upright as a calloused hand claps you on the shoulder.
"Gods, you look like shit."
You turn around to shoot a nasty glare at the culprit. "Shut your mouth, Hvitserk," you hiss. You're in no mood for him, especially after the previous night. You're nearly positive he had something to do with you ending up in Ivar's bed.
Hvitserk laughs and seats himself to your left, nudging you with his elbow. "You should be proud, little one. Not many can hold their own in a drinking contest with a Ragnarsson." Your stomach churns when you look at the mead in Hvitserk's goblet, so you turn your attention to the others coming in through the longhouse's door. Your eyes scan the crowd lightly for a certain someone.
"Speaking of last night," you begin awkwardly, unsure of how to word your thoughts without facing ridicule from the blond.
Hvitserk turns to look down at you with a brow raised and you feel your stomach twist self-consciously. How did you expect to ask this? 'Speaking of last night, what happened? Because one moment I was here drinking mead and the next I was bedding your hot and scary brother,' didn't exactly roll off the tongue.
"Never mind," you mutter.
Hvitserk frowns but thankfully doesn't press the subject. He turns his focus back to his plate of food and hungrily devours a side of meat. For once you're glad to be friends with a warrior whose interests don't stray far from war and food. You know you won't be so lucky if you run into Margrethe. She had a knack for knowing things about you without your having to tell her.
You're about to try to finish your own plate when you hear the methodical 'thump' of a cane hitting the floor. You freeze, your eyes trained on the wood grain of the table. You don't need to turn to know who is approaching.
You silently pray that perhaps he is only coming over to speak with his brother. Or even better, maybe he will pass your table entirely.
The sound stops not far off from where you sit and a defeated sigh leaves your lips. Hesitantly, you lift your head and lock eyes with Ivar. He stands at the end of the wood table and gives you a wolfish grin. Hvitserk looks up as well as he chews his food. "What are you doing here so early? I thought you were meeting Ubbe," the blond asks.
Ivar's eyes don't leave yours as he responds, "I came to collect something of mine."
Your heartbeat is loud in your ears and your face suddenly feels quite warm. He didn't just say that out loud, right?
Hvitserk looks between the two of you as if trying to find some sort of correlation. "Am I missing something?"
Ivar hums lightly as he stares at you with a gleam in his eyes. Though the noise itself holds no malice, you know better. It's a warning; he's not asking you to go with him, he's telling you.
You clear your throat and stand from the wood bench before looking over to Hvitserk warily. "I'll see you later," you mutter.
Ivar seems happy with your response and turns to lead you out of the great hall, leaving a very confused Hvitserk behind.
---
You follow Ivar out of the longhouse and trail behind a bit so you can observe him as you walk. There wasn't much that you knew of the Ragnarsson outside of rumors. Although he was a revered tyrant, he mostly kept to himself. Truthfully if you hadn't ended up in your predicament you likely would have never spoken to Ivar. You were personally closer with Hvitserk and Bjorn over the other sons. Outside of the Ragnarssons, you had a small circle of people you considered friends. You adored Floki and would spend most of your afternoons talking to him about anything and everything. Margrethe was more of an acquaintance than a friend. You liked her well enough, but you wouldn't say the two of you were close. All things considered, you were not the most well-known across Kattegat. So how was it that you came to find yourself in this position?
You’re snapped out of your thoughts when you see Ivar stop beneath a tree with white blossoms. You look around and realize you’re unfamiliar with the area. Had you blindly followed him here?
"While I have a moment of peace, I figured I should ask you this," Ivar begins.
Your head whips over to look at the man as he continues.
"What are your thoughts on a wedding?"
You blink for a moment, your brain processing his words. "A wedding? For who?"
Ivar gives you a blank stare and you swear his eye twitches. You tilt your head in confusion. Who was getting married?
Ivar lifts a hand and gestures slowly between the two of you. Another long pause passes by before it clicks.
"Us?!" You cry out.
Ivar sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose as if the answer should have been obvious. "Of course us," he states dryly. "Who else would I be talking about?"
Your brain fumbles as you try to form a coherent sentence. "But you... I... we're not..."
"Marriage is..."
Ivar waits patiently, his brow raised in anticipation of your next words.
"Marriage comes after hardships. A couple should struggle together, find common interests, and love one another. We are strangers," you say finally. You're still recovering from your prior shock. You never would have imagined that Ivar Ragnarsson would be standing before you, proposing marriage. Not only that, but he only wants to marry you because you stole his first night? That was hardly a good reason to marry among Vikings.
Ivar seems insulted at your response and you nearly back down as a familiar cold feeling blooms in your stomach. You don't want to push your luck with him but you're firm in your answer.
"You seduced me to your bed and now you must take responsibility for your actions," Ivar says in a condescending tone. Your fear melts into anger and you growl at the prince before you. "I did not seduce you, and it was your bed!"
Ivar snorts and shakes his head. "Whoever's bed it was, it did happen," he reminds you.
You're frozen to your spot as you stare at him in disbelief. There was no way this was truly happening. You wrack your brain for an answer but find none. "I-I need time to think!" You shout suddenly before turning and running as fast as you could away from him.
Surely, this was not how your story would end? Becoming the pitied spouse of the most revered son of Ragnar?
---
Over the next few days you found yourself avoiding Ivar to the best of your ability. Though you never had trouble skirting around the man before your incident, you were finding it increasingly hard to evade him recently. It felt as though everywhere you went he was not far behind. Even when you went to visit Floki, he would show up not an hour later. You were beginning to run out of excuses for not giving him an answer, and he was growing visibly impatient. Peeking out from your hiding spot in one of the longhouses, you bite your lip and decided to go to the only room you knew Ivar would not enter.
---
"Thank you for hiding me, Margrethe," you say with a small sigh as the blonde woman shuts the door behind you.
"It's no trouble," she says earnestly. "But I do want to ask you why you're here. I've heard some rumors about you recently, you know," she adds. You sit in one of the chairs by the small fireplace and say a soft 'thank you' as she hands you a goblet of water. "Good rumors?" You ask with an impish grin.
Margrethe gives you a pointed look and you shrink back into the chair. "I know," you begin. "That's one of the reasons I'm here. For advice, I suppose."
"Advice?" She echoes.
You hum quietly and look around the room. "Well, advice and inquiry. I was hoping you could, perhaps, fill me in on what happened the night that Hvitserk and I drank together? I know it sounds awful, but I don't remember anything after the contest," you admit.
Margrethe makes a small 'o' with her mouth and nods. "That would explain some things. Well, where to start?"
You lean forward in your chair and wait for her to continue.
"You and Hvitserk drank excessively-- almost twelve tankards each. Then Ivar came into the great hall to speak with Ubbe about something. You said," here, she pauses. You scoot forward to the edge of your seat and look at her expectantly. "I said what?" You encourage. Margrethe looks at the floor as though she's embarrassed to continue. "You said, 'by the gods of piss and shit they build 'em good in Kattegat' only for Ivar to take it as a compliment, and after that, the two of you disappeared."
You sit there for a moment, unsure of how to react. On one hand, you wanted to laugh at how ridiculous you sounded. On the other, you felt irritated that Ivar had been right and you had tried to seduce him to your bed. "Is that all I did?"
Margrethe thought for a moment before shaking her head. "You said something else to Ivar. But it was quiet, I didn't hear it. It was strange, though."
"Strange? How so?"
Margrethe looked down at her lap with an unreadable expression. "Ivar's face when you spoke. He looked so enamored by you. As if you spoke him into a trance," she says softly.
Your eyes fall to the floor as the all-too-familiar feeling of guilt settles in. Whatever you said to Ivar clearly had an effect on him if he was smitten enough to marry you. And yet here you were, having no memory of that night. You couldn't even recall what it was you said to him.
"Thank you, Margrethe," you say as you stand up to excuse yourself. You had to find Ivar.
---
You walked through the halls and sigh quietly. With the number of times the two of you had narrowly avoided one another, you thought stumbling across the prince would have been an easier task. Yet it had been a few hours and still no sign of Ivar. Where could he have gone?
You walk out into the camp and look around at the busy paths. There was a dull murmur of passers-by as they talked with each other, walking around the different shops. You consider walking to Floki's house for a moment. Ivar could have gone there; after all, Floki seemed close with the prince. As you make your way through town, you notice a few white petals drifting lazily in the breeze. You turn your head and scan the forest for the source. You might have a clue where he is after all.
You make your way through the sparse trees, eyes searching for the familiar white blossoms. Though it was just a hunch, you hoped you might find the prince under the tree as before.
You duck under low-hanging branches and maneuver around the brush as you come upon a small clearing that seemed familiar. As you break through the tree line, you see the tall tree with white blossoms before you. There are carved wooden crutches leaned against the trunk and you can just barely see the tip of a boot poking out from behind the roots. Ivar was probably sitting against the tree on the opposite side.
You approach quietly and peer around the trunk with caution in case he was mad. You didn't want to set him off more. To your surprise, however, Ivar was sleeping soundly where he sat. His chest rose and fell slowly and you could just barely hear shallow breaths as he slept. It was a foreign thing, seeing him so peaceful. It would surely be a sin against the gods to wake him from such a state.
You kneel down beside him and peer up at his face. His eyelashes were long and brushed against the tops of his cheeks. You reach out, hesitating for a moment before cradling his face gently in your palm. You rub your thumb lightly over his jaw, reveling in the surprisingly smooth texture of his skin. You didn't feel any fear being around him like this. It was as though the world had fallen away and left behind only the two of you in this moment.
You decide to leave him to his rest and move to stand up. As you push yourself up off your knees, however, a calloused hand juts out to grab your wrist.
"How many times do you intend to leave me as I sleep?"
Your face feels warm as Ivar opens an eye to glare at you. For once, you don't try to run. "Only a few more times, I suppose," you start quietly. "Have to keep you on your toes you know."
Ivar's gaze softens and he closes his eyes once more. He relaxes against the tree, but his grip on your wrist stays firm. "Is that what you've been doing all week? Keeping me on my toes?"
You sigh and shift your position so you're sitting next to him. "I was scared," you say earnestly. Ivar opens his eyes and stares at you with mild shock. He was probably not expecting you to be so honest with him.
Swallowing your pride, you continue. "It all seemed to happen out of nowhere. After all, we've never formally met." Ivar seems to consider this for a moment and nods slowly. "It was very fast," he agrees. "But it had to be you."
Your head shoots up and you stare at him in confusion. "What do you mean?"
Ivar falls silent as he stares at the trees ahead of you. You feel nervous as you wait for an answer. His eyes flicker back and forth, fixating on the horizon. After a long pause, he finally speaks. "You were always so bright, so loved. I hated it at first. You annoyed me," he says in a sharp tone. Your eye twitches and you look away with a small huff. "Good way to start this off," you mutter.
One look from Ivar shuts you up and he continues.
"I thought someone like you would end up with Bjorn or Ubbe. Or even one of the warriors. I am a cripple," he says this bitterly, "I do not get nice things."
He pauses for a moment and spares a glance at you.
"But then you said something to me the night you drank with my brother."
Your face grows hot and you look away in embarrassment. "Ah, that," you say awkwardly. "We can just forget that comment, right?"
Ivar shakes his head, his expression firm. "I will never forget it."
You look at him with your brows furrowed. "But it was so embarrassing, wasn't it?" After all, you'd loudly shouted a crude thing at a prince of Kattegat in front of his brothers. You were lucky to be alive.
Ivar's lips curled into an uncharacteristically soft smile, causing your heart to skip a beat. "I will not forget. You pulled me away from the table and told me that my hardships and misfortunes were not my fault. Everyone in that hall would most likely rejoice if I were to die here today. They see me as a disgusting thing that does not deserve the throne. But you looked at me with such love, that I almost believe I was worth something- if only for a moment." As Ivar speaks, you feel something stir in your chest. An inexplicable feeling that you could not quite put your finger on.
"It was the first time anyone said that to me," he adds quietly.
Your body moves almost as if on instinct, and your hands come up to cradle his face as though it were the most precious thing you'd ever held. "Ivar," you say softly. Your voice is barely above a whisper. He stares at you so endearingly that it's impossible to look away. "Did you mean it?" He asks. "Yes. I meant every word," you say honestly.
Ivar sits up a bit and leans into your touch, closing his eyes and reveling in the softness of your hands. "Even if you do not remember, even if you do not love me, I cannot let you go. I want to cherish you and keep you close. It is not something I'm familiar with, but if you'll have me," Ivar trails off, waiting for an answer.
At that moment, you make the decision for yourself.
You lean up slowly, cautiously, as if coaxing a nervous animal. Ivar watches you with bated breath as he waits on your next move. "I will have you, Ivar," you say softly.
The smile Ivar gives you is so uncharacteristically gentle that it gives you butterflies. He leans closer and plants a chaste kiss on your lips before pulling away just enough that his forehead rests on yours.
"Thank you."
His words are so soft that you almost miss them.
You close your eyes and lean closer into the prince. He moves slightly to place a lazy kiss on the bridge of your nose.
You realize then, at that moment, that it wouldn't be so bad to be stuck with Ivar Ragnarsson.
This is the final part to my Ivar x Reader series! Thank you all for being so patient with me. This series was meant to be a drabble requested by someone on Ao3 from last year, but I never got around to it because I was honestly very unmotivated. But thank you to xashex on Archive, I loved writing this! I only hope I did you justice xx
Putting on a display as though you were being dragged off against your will was, surprisingly, not difficult. Your body shook with anxious excitement and you had to fight from smiling as your people watched the King of Kattegat claim the Princess of Northumbria as a war prize. No one dared to stop Ivar's men as they carried you across the docks and lifted you onto an awaiting longboat, settling you down as gently as they could manage without giving away the ruse.
The moment the boat pushes away from the rotting wood, the moment you see Northumbria getting smaller and smaller in the distance, a desperate, hysterical laugh rips from your throat. Although you're relieved, there is a small bubble of anxiety in your throat. You are free-- free from your father, from Alfred, from everything. But you also know there is no going back. You turn to look at Ivar who is staring at the waters ahead and barking orders. You have tethered your life to the King of Kattegat; trusting him wholly and completely.
Ivar turns finally and catches you staring, much to his amusement. There is a repetitive 'thump' of a crutch on wood as he maneuvers over to you.
"Smiling won't sell the story, Princess," he teases.
You can't help but smile wider as you look at him in adoration. "You kept your promise," you begin. "Why should I not smile?"
"Of course I did. I would not break it," his voice is softer now; not so proud.
It amazes you how many sides there are to this man. He is fascinating-- bold, intelligent, reluctantly vulnerable and so indescribably him. From the moment you met him in your adolescence, you knew there was no one like Ivar.
Ivar's eyes search yours as you stare at him and his brow furrows. "What?"
"Nothing, my King. I was just admiring your beauty." He snorts and shakes his head while you laugh. "You are strange," he mutters. Though he tries to hide it, you can see the faintest blush adorning his cheeks. He turns away from you and resumes his position commanding the ship while you turn your attention to the land fading over the horizon.
You truly were free.
____
Integrating yourself into a new lifestyle did not come easily at first. But as the seasons changed, so had you.
Ivar hadn't been a big help in smoothing over your rocky start, so you'd taken it upon yourself to befriend most of the people in his court. After their King had rather unceremoniously dropped you into their laps by saying, "here is your Queen," and not much else, it had taken them some time to grow adjusted to your presence.
When you'd first arrived in Kattegat, Ivar had been very protective of you. For perhaps a fortnight you were only allowed to roam around the room you shared with Ivar and the main longhouse where he held meetings with his brothers. But once the people became more comfortable with your presence, you were allowed more freedom. Though Ivar said nothing about it, you knew he was also worried that should any passing traveler spot you, they may notify Alfred of your location. So you willingly stayed put until the King gave you his permission to explore.
Ivar had begun teaching you the language of the Norsemen in his spare time. You were nowhere near fluent, but he took great pride in hearing you speak his mother tongue. In turn, you taught more of your own vocabulary and even stories about the religion your father followed. Ivar hadn't seemed too interested but he listened patiently nonetheless.
Out of all Ivar’s siblings, you had found a friend in Hvitserk, and spent a majority of your time watching him and his brothers spar.
Much to Ivar's chagrin, Hvitserk had offered to teach you to fight in the event it was necessary. After all, their women joined them in battle.
"You won't need to fight if you stay here," Ivar said in a huff. You rubbed soothing circles on his bicep in an attempt to calm his nerves. "And I shouldn't need to know unless in the event of an emergency," you say smoothly. "It is merely a precaution, love."
Ivar seems to mull this over, his hand finding yours and lifting it to place a soft kiss on your fingers. "You may train with them," he begins slowly. You grin in your small victory and squeeze his hand. "Thank you, Ivar," you say softly. Ivar hums and you realize he has more to say. "I wish to be there when you train," he adds. You smile and lean forward to press a gentle kiss to his lips. "Of course, my King."
____
Although Ivar had not been too pleased when you'd first begun your lessons, he could not deny that you had become very proficient over the past few months. You still lost most of the sparring matches, but you were able to hold your own against Hvitserk for the majority of the fight. Not many of their own men could say the same. Ivar watched as you threw your weight towards the blonde man, your sword letting out a loud 'clang' as it made contact with his. He was far too stubborn to say it to your face, but he felt a small bubble of pride in his chest watching you fight.
Hvitserk laughs as you stumble back and fall to the dirt, pouting. "Though you are improving, Princess, you should not start fights you cannot win." You grit your teeth and stand up, brushing the dust from the trousers Ivar had given you. "A Lady does not start fights, but she can finish them," you hiss. Hvitserk lets out a roaring laugh and reaches out to help you steady yourself. "You should be proud, brother. Your Princess fights well for a Saxon." You turn your head to Ivar with a wide grin, hoping to receive similar praise.
Ivar looks at your enthusiastic face and can't help but smile. The way you bounced up and down waiting for his approval, it would be cruel not to give in. "Very good," he says plainly. It was a lackluster response, but it meant the world for you to hear it from him.
You walk towards the awaiting King with a spring in your step and clasp your hands behind your back. "Is that all I get, my King? How cruel," you say with a faux pout. Ivar's eyes dart up to his brother, who takes the hint and begins to walk off. His eyes find yours once more and he looks at you with such a soft gaze that it it melts something inside you.
"You are truly infuriating, Saxon," he says. He goes to say more but stops himself. Just like the night before he stole you away, you can see the uncertainty clouding his features. You can only imagine the war waging behind his eyes, fighting doggedly between opening up or staying silent. But even if he can never say it out loud, you've been around the pensive King long enough to know how he feels.
"Ivar," you say gently. You lift your hands to hold his, coaxing him towards you like an injured animal. "I love you."
Ivar's expression changes and you can feel his muscles relax as though a large weight has lifted from his shoulders. He is no longer guarded, no longer wary of your presence.
He dips his head down and hesitates, his eyes searching yours for silent permission. You give a small nod and release a sigh as he claims a kiss from your lips.
It is a gentle kiss, something that up until now, you wouldn't think suited the King. Your arms wrap around his neck loosely and his hand finds the small of your back, holding you close. The world around you slips away until only the two of you remain. This is his way of trying to return your gesture. He might not say it outright, but you can feel it.
haha i thought i queued this post and now all i feel is p a i n
part six to my Ivar Ragnarson x Reader series, Part 7 will be the end!
Link to part seven here!
You stand in the corner of a large tent, feeling awkwardly out of place as you watch the Vikings before you converse with one another. As more men and women file in through the entrance of the tent, you realize with heavy anxiety how unprotected you feel without Ivar by your side.
A large blonde man with a tattoo on the right side of his face catches your gaze, and you feel a slight panic wash over you when he walks over. "I must admit, princess," the man begins, "It is quite bold for a child of Aelle to show their face here." Your stomach drops like a rock as you try to think of what to say. "Being his child does not mean I agree with his actions," you start. "Besides, I believe your king has ensured my father will cause you no further problems." The man lets out a boisterous laugh and claps you on the shoulder, causing you to jump. "So cold-hearted. Not at all how I remember you," he says. You eye him cautiously and watch as he takes a swig from the horn he holds in his left hand. "You know me?"
The man nods as his eyes survey the surrounding people. "I met you once before, in Wessex. I failed to realize you were actually Aelle's child then." You give a dry laugh in response and look away. "I preferred Wessex. Would I be correct in assuming you are Prince Ubbe?" A pleased smile graces his features and he nods in response. "You will meet Hvitserk and Sigurd as well if Ivar is willing to share you long enough."
The all too familiar sound of a crutch methodically hitting the ground interrupts whatever you were going to say, and you look to the entrance of the tent. Ivar walks in, talking to the very blonde who kidnapped you. As if sensing your gaze, Ivar looks up and makes eye contact with you. You feel a shiver wrack your spine as you hold his stare. Ivar's eyes shift from you to Ubbe, and you see something unrecognizable flash in his eyes. For a moment you think he'll walk over and snatch you from his brother, but he instead continues forward to sit at the large table in the center of the tent. Once Ivar sits, the company follows. You tag along behind Ubbe before parting ways as he sits next to the other blonde man and you find a place by Ivar's side.
Ivar turns to you and offers a small smile, undetected by the others at the table. You feel butterflies in your stomach and you smile in return. It brought forward some sort of satisfaction that you were able to see a side of Ivar that others did not.
Thralls approach the table with food and drink, and a low murmur falls over the table as the people eat and chat. Ivar slides a goblet towards you and you look up at him with a furrowed brow. "It's mead. You will like it," he says in a low voice. You take the cup and try a tentative sip and are pleasantly surprised at the warmth the liquid brings you. Ivar seems pleased and turns his attention back to his brothers.
You look up only to find the blonde man from earlier staring at you with a knowing smirk. "So, we finally get to meet Ivar's princess," he starts loudly. You lean forward with an amused smile dancing over your lips. "Oh? Did he talk about me?" You can feel Ivar glaring at you but you ignore it. The opportunity to tease him is too good to pass up. "Constantly," the blonde continued. "We could not get him to shut up about his perfect princess waiting to be rescued." You laugh and spare a glance at Ivar, who looks as though he wanted nothing more than to throw something at the blonde. "It sounds to me like you didn't think I existed," you reply. This time, Ivar interrupts. "Of course they did not believe me. You gave me nothing to remember you by." You give him a sly look and grin. "Is that so? Because I seem to recall giving you something rather memorable."
The blonde man makes a gagging noise only to be shushed by Ubbe. "Hvitserk," he scolds lightly. The third brother, who you assume to be Sigurd, finally speaks up. "Should we wait to discuss commerce until she leaves?"
A hush falls over the brothers as they spare glances at the King to gauge his reaction. Ivar merely shrugs as he lifts his cup of mead to drink. "I plan to have her as my Queen. She is allowed to be involved in our affairs," he answers. You nearly choke on your own drink and stare at Ivar in shock. You knew the brothers most likely had an inkling as to why you were there with them but was this really how he intended to tell them? You look around and see the brothers staring at one another, debating what to say next. "The people are still... adjusting to having you on the throne," Ubbe begins carefully. "Do you think it wise to introduce a Christian as your Queen?" This time it is your turn to grow irritated. "You may call me anything you wish, my Prince, but not a Christian."
There is a long pause, and for a moment you fear you've made a mistake. Then, Hvitserk busts out laughing. "Now I see what my brother sees," he muses. Ubbe concedes with a small shrug, huffing lightly as he reaches for his drink. Sigurd still does not seem convinced. "You will make an enemy of the people your Queen. They will resent you for it. And she is engaged, we would be waging war over a woman." Ivar listens much more calmly than you would have expected. "We have started battles for less, brother. And the people will see this as a political arrangement to merge kingdoms." You look over at Ivar, who speaks with such certainty that even you are convinced. It makes something inside you grow soft and mushy, spilling a warmth throughout your body. He would go to such lengths just to see the two of you married?
Sigurd seems to be sated for now, but you know that it is merely to keep up surface appearances. This conversation is far from over, but neither brother is willing to fully battle it out at the moment.
As the din from the table grows louder, you slip away into your own thoughts. You look to your side and notice the thralls standing to the side of the tent are looking at you and whispering. You clench your fists in your lap and look away. This familiar pit forming in your stomach, it was the same way you always felt sitting at your father's table. With Judith out of the castle and your siblings more often gone, it left you alone to face the ridicule that was tossed your way. Between the maids gossiping over your behavior and your father's sharp tongue, you had always felt so small at home.
You looked at Ivar as he fell into a discussion with Ubbe. If there's something you've learned about the King, it's that he is relentless. Some may even go as far as to call him ruthless, a crazed killer. But you had yet to see that side of him. You wondered, momentarily, if Ivar saw you as his equal. Or was he like the rest? Would he make you feel small?
As the meal comes to an end and the people are dismissed, Ivar stops you from leaving the table. You look up at him quietly and offer a meek smile, but he sees through it. "What is the matter?"
You try to dodge the question and look away, instead wondering, "Isn't it late? Should we..."
Ivar shakes his head and 'tsk's you lightly. "Do not avoid me, princess. You should know by now I will not take no as an answer."
"Ivar, do you," you begin, unsure how to phrase your question. Ivar waits patiently, something that looks out of character on him. "Do you love me?"
When he doesn't respond, you add in a panic, "Or, at the very least, why do you want to marry me?"
Ivar stares down at the wood grain of the table as though lost in thought. You pick your nails anxiously as you wait for a response and for a moment begin to panic that you've ruined his mood.
"I would not know," Ivar finally speaks up. You wait for him to elaborate, but he falls silent. "What do you feel?" You ask carefully. Ivar turns to look at you, and a reluctant fondness settles in his gaze. He looks exactly how you remember him when you were younger when he's like this. The same proud smile and quiet laugh when he looks at you, earning the same feeling in your heart that he has always been able to stir. "I feel at peace when you are around. It is not something I am used to, princess," he says softly. You think for a moment and smile. "I believe I feel the same. I find I can act like myself around you," you say honestly. Ivar grips the table and pushes himself up, grabbing his crutch for support. He turns and offers you a hand, guiding you from your chair.
"Let us retire, my Queen."
As you stand, Ivar looks over his shoulder with a wide grin. "After all, you have a big day ahead of you tomorrow. How is your acting, dýrr?"
Part five to my Ivar Ragnarson x reader series! Part six here!
This was it. You were going to die here, you just knew it. You were sitting in a tent after being dragged to some strange camp on the shore. The blonde man who brought you here was sitting guard just outside, preventing you from making a run for it. Your blood pounded in your ears as the sounds of war and the scent of flesh wafted through the tent opening. How would you make it through this? Would you make it through this? Thinking about the possibility of death made you more anxious than you would like to admit.
You hear footsteps just outside and turn to see a figure approaching your tent. The blonde stands up from his spot and greets the figure in a language you do not know. He gestures to the tent, and you see the figure's head tilt a bit. Were they talking about you?
The figure heads toward the tent opening, followed by the blonde man. You feel your chest grow tight and you turn away just before they step inside. Your stomach churns and you feel like you're going to be sick.
"You are King Alfred's wife?" A booming voice breaks the silence of the tent, sending a shiver down your spine. You make no move to answer, and you hear a scoff. "Answer me, Saxon."
You feel a rush of adrenaline and turn to glare over your shoulder at the man behind you. Standing beside the blonde is a man wearing a dark burlap cloak, the hood hiding his eyes and most of his face. Was this their leader? Were they mercenaries?
"I am no one of importance. I'm afraid your little companion attacked the wrong carriage," you lie smoothly.
The hooded man tilts his head to the side, as though your answer amused him. "Is that so? Who am I speaking to then?" Though his accent is thick, he speaks your language flawlessly.
"I am Queen Judith's chambermaid. I was sent away from the castle to draw your attention away from the princess," you reply. The man in the cloak seems to process this information, and for a split second, you think he believes you. But much to your dismay he replies, "Very well. I will keep you around for some light entertainment while I take Northumbria."
You spin around to face him fully, your face betraying your emotions. "You mean to keep me as a whore?" You snarl, earning what sounded like a laugh from the hidden man.
"You are not a whore, Saxon."
"A prisoner of war then. How civil," you growl.
"Do not try your bravery with me. I am not well known for being merciful," the man says with a sneer.
You hold your chin up high as if daring him to meet your gaze. You steel your nerves as your eyes dart between the two men. "Why would you keep me here, then?"
"Should I have a reason?"
"You have uprooted me from my life and quite possibly killed my family in doing so, Heathen. I think the least you could do is tell me what you plan to do with me," you bite back, momentarily forgetting your ruse.
The man before you seems to mull over your request, his head turned slightly to exchange looks with the man beside him. The blonde seems to understand and turns away to leave the two of you alone in the tent. Once he is outside, the man in the cloak turns back to you. "I have brought you here for my own selfish gain," he says with a sickening grin. Your stomach lurches as your jaw falls open. "What could you possibly want me for?"
"A wife."
You're frozen in place, your eyes trained on the man standing before you. Had you heard him right? Does he mean to make you his wife?
"You are not serious," you say cautiously, saying each word slowly as though trying to convince the both of you. The man does not move but instead repeats himself. "I want to make you my wife."
You don't answer, and he continues. "In our lives, the Gods punish us. They mark us with pain and misery and suffering beyond belief. But, they do this to test who is worthy. And I have been. I have given my gods more than I have to give, I have provided them with wars to win, warriors to claim, sacrifices to have." At this point in his speech, you feel a sense of dread wash over you. But he continued on, " The Gods sent you to me long ago, as a reward for my endurance. They made you for me."
You can only stand and gape at the man before you as he finishes his delusional speech. "You... You think the Gods gave me to you?" You ask, your voice hoarse. "Why would they give me to you? What kind of cruel joke would that be? Giving me to a man who means to kidnap me and steal me from the only man I've ever loved!"
The man steps forward angrily and his teeth grit together in a nasty snarl. "Alfred is nothing but a coward! He turned tail and ran once he saw our boats in your waters," He growls. You ball your fists and curl your lip in disgust. "Alfred would never do that. He may not be a warrior, but he will make a good King." The man scoffs and shakes his head in mock pity. "How noble. Truly, a fitting image for a maiden's first love."
"Alfred is not my first love," you hiss. "But he is a dear friend. And I will not hear you mock him."
"And who would your first love be, then? Perhaps some other whelp Saxon prince who can barely lift a sword?"
You glare at the man before you and take a step forward. "The man I love is much stronger than you could ever dream of being. He is cunning and strong and could lay waste to your army with one arm tied to his back."
The hooded man seems to almost laugh at your boast. "Is that so? He sounds like the most interesting Saxon yet."
You cross your arms and look away from the man, growing annoyed at his comments. "He is not a Saxon. He is a Viking; a prince."
"A King," the man corrects.
Your head snaps over to look at the man in confusion. "Excuse me?" The cloaked man takes a hesitant step forward, and you hear something thump against the ground. "He is a King now."
Your eyes trail down and you gasp when you see what looks like a wooden crutch peeking out from the bottom of the cloak. You look up at the man, your eyes trained on his face. "You are..." you trail off, unable to find the words.
The man shakes off the hood, revealing dark braided hair and weathered blue eyes that had no doubt seen many battles. Though his cloak hid most of him from your view you could see the thick, corded muscle of his neck and arms. The cloak shifts slightly and reveals wooden braces on both legs that held him upright. Though he was older, and his features more angular, there was no denying it.
"Ivar?"
A slow smile drifts languidly across his lips as the recognition dawns on you. "Took you long enough, Saxon."
You launch yourself forward and topple the poor man to the ground rather unceremoniously. You straddle his legs, peppering light kisses all over his face and anywhere you saw exposed skin. Ivar laughs breathlessly and reaches for your hips to steady the both of you into an upright position.
You sit in Ivar's lap and bring his hands to your lips and kiss his palms affectionately. "You're horrible, you know. Letting me believe I had been kidnapped," you begin.
Ivar hums, clearly not remorseful in the slightest. "I had to make it convincing. Let the King of Wessex believe his princess was taken by the Northmen."
"And not contacting me for years? Was that part of your plan too?"
Ivar seems to consider this for a minute as his hand absentmindedly rubs small circles on your thigh. "I did not want them to suspect me. Receiving letters from the King of Kattegat would not be subtle," he says with a shrug. You sigh and lean into his larger frame, your body rejoicing in the familiar warmth. "I suppose you are forgiven."
For a moment there is a comfortable silence that falls over the two of you as you bask in the other's presence. But you find yourself itching to ask him about something he'd said earlier. "Did you mean what you said before, Ivar?" He looks down at you with a raised brow. "What?"
You sit up a bit so the two of you were at eye level. "When you said your Gods made me for you."
You feel his hand pause it’s ministrations as he stares at you. His face holds an unreadable expression, and for a moment you're afraid you've hit a nerve of some sort. But it isn't long before Ivar responds, "It is what I believe." You sit in his lap and stare at him with such innocent curiosity that Ivar can't help the chuckle that escapes him. "The Gods have taken many things from me, princess. They have given me a difficult path to follow. But I know that there is victory at the end of my road, and it is a path to Valhalla. And you are on it as well."
Your heart flutters at this and you feel your face grow warm. "You mean it?" Your voice is small, unsure.
Ivar nods and lifts your hand to his lips, kissing your fingers gently. "You are mine, princess. Whether you agree or not, I will have you." It is not a proposal but instead a statement. He will not take no for an answer, and you would be lying if you said this didn't stir something in your chest. "Oh, Ivar," you coo softly. You lean forward to press feather-light kisses on his forehead and nose. "I have always been yours."
Ivar seems satisfied with your response and makes a motion to stand. You push yourself up from your knees and offer a hand to the prince, which he takes begrudgingly. You can tell it hurts his pride to accept your help but he does it nonetheless. He grabs his crutch and jerks his head towards the opening of the tent, gesturing for you to follow.
"Come. You will meet my brothers," Ivar says as he leads you out into the night.
Part four to my Ivar Ragnarson x reader series! Thank you for being so patient with me! (Tags have been moved to the bottom of the page, please DM me if you want to be added to the tags!)
Part five here!
The next few years of your life had flown by in a dull drone, as you spent most of your months preparing to be a queen and attending public gatherings by Alfred's side. The two of you held no romantic love for one another from being raised side by side since you were children. You supposed you were more like brother and sister; which made the idea of marriage churn the contents of your stomach. That, and your heart still longed to see the Northman that stole it when you were younger. Alfred did not know how you felt about Ivar and you doubted you would ever be able to tell him. Although you were sure Alfred did not love you the way a husband would love his wife you knew he was determined to see the marriage through and be a good partner. Knowing this, you felt guilty for thinking of another man.
Your relationship with your father was becoming more and more strained with each passing day. After he'd had Ragnar executed, you stopped speaking with him entirely. You were always finding new excuses to postpone your marriage to Alfred. The reasons were getting increasingly sloppy as you were running out of ideas. But now, you did not know why you stalled. Ivar clearly was not coming for you. It was a promise made between two teenagers, surely he did not mean to see it through. You knew the next time you saw him it would no doubt be on a battlefield as he came to claim vengeance against your cowardly father.
It felt as though nowadays, the only person on your side was Judith. She would help you make excuses to your father even if she did not approve of your relationship with Ivar. But even though you fought it the best you could, your father had gotten his way. Your wedding ceremony would take place in three days and after that, you would be Queen of Wessex by Alfred's side.
You stare out of the window of your chamber and release a deep sigh. Although you tried to convince yourself this was what would have happened had you never met the Viking prince in the first place, you couldn't help the pit of nausea that formed in your stomach. You never imagined yourself married so soon. You stand up from your perch on the windowsill and begin to head for your bed. You might as well get some sleep tonight. You were sure your father had many things planned for you in the morning.
As you pulled back the many blankets and prepared yourself to sleep, you hear loud crashing coming from the halls. Your head snaps up as you look over to see your bedroom door open. One of the Captains stands there, breathless. "Your highness, you must come with me," he says urgently. Your heartbeat pounds in your ears as you grab a robe to cover your nightgown. "What is it? What's wrong?"
The Captain says nothing as he ushers you from the room and into the arms of your chambermaid. "Will someone please explain to me what's happening," you ask breathlessly as she runs beside you to one of the hidden passages that lead to the back of the castle. "Intruders were spotted on the shores, my lady," she answers quickly. Your heartbeat spikes as you begin to worry about Judith and your other siblings. "Intruders?" You repeat, your voice laced with concern. "Yes, my lady. Your father suspects they are here because of your wedding to prince Alfred," she pauses and looks down the hall before ushering you forward. "He's already sent your siblings to a safe house past the mountains." You snort and look away. Of course, you're the last to be lead to safety.
The two of you come upon a small wooden door and she signals for you to pause. Slowly, she opens the door and peers out into the night. You can hear the sounds of steel clashing and your heartbeat picks up. After a moment's pause, she turns to lead you out the door and towards a small carriage. "This will bring you to the safehold where your sister and betrothed wait. Please be careful, my lady."
You thank her quietly before turning and hauling yourself up onto the carriage. Your driver nods to you, before snapping the horses' reigns.
As you take off down the dirt path leading out of Northumbria, you turn back just in time to see a sea of torches swarming the castle. The sounds of battle cries wafted through the air, sending a shiver down your spine. You turn away and grip the edge of the carriage as it bounces over the uneven road.
The castle isn't even out of view yet when suddenly, the driver yanks the reigns and the carriage stops so abruptly that you're thrown from your seat. A cold dread sets in as you peer over the edge and spot a young blonde man standing in the middle of the road. "What kind of madman stands in a road?" You hear your driver mutter. "Hey! Move boy!"
The man looks at your driver in an almost amused manner and your eyes widen. This was no boy. "Sir, please, do not antagonize him," you hiss quietly. He does not listen to you however and stands up from his seat. "Leave this road, we are on official business of the church and require passage." As if to emphasize his point, he pulls out a scroll with the king's official seal on the outside.
The man in the road ignores him and stares straight at you. You feel your stomach drop and you reach a shaking hand out to grip the driver's coat. "Sir I beg you, stop talking!"
But it is too late.
The blonde man unsheaths a large sword from his hip and charges at the carriage. Before you can react, he slices across the driver's chest and you watch in horror as he crumples to the ground as though he were made of paper. You fall backward and scramble to find something- anything- useful that you could use to defend yourself. The blond man steps over the driver's body and makes a move to grab you but you're quick to kick your legs out and hit him square in the chest. He lets out a quiet 'oof' and stumbles back, giving you the perfect opportunity to bolt from the carriage. You nearly trip over the skirt of your dress as you run towards the forest. You couldn't outrun him, you knew that much. But perhaps you could gain some time by climbing a tree or hiding somewhere.
Your plans are cut short as a calloused hand grabs you by your upper arm and drags you backward. You writhe in his grip, fighting with all your might. The man seems to grow annoyed at this and sweeps your legs out from under you. You fall down with a painful 'thud' and groan.
The blonde bends down to grab you once again and tosses you over his shoulder, before standing up and walking off into the night with you in tow.
The library of King Ecbert's castle was, unsurprisingly, empty. Most of the inhabitants were either being trained for battle or standing guard around the Kings as they met. So, you found it to be the perfect hiding place when you felt the need to escape your tutor for the day. The chamber was in a calm and almost reflective state as if you were the first one to grace its halls in months. You gathered a small pile of books and scrolls that seemed the most interesting and made yourself a small nest on the ledge of a tall window. You'd purposefully tucked yourself away in the back of the library in the case that someone came looking for you. Though not many had caught onto your tricks, you knew Judith was smart and would most likely search for you here if she discovered you went missing.
You sift through your pile, settling for a written book on medicinal plants. At least this one was illustrated.
You settle into your spot as comfortably as you can and immerse yourself in reading. Though you were much more content to wander around the castle and cause mischief, you knew your father was especially on edge today. You'd overheard the maids gossiping about King Aelle's mistrust of Ragnar and knew if he caught you in your usual antics, you would be banished from seeing Judith and Alfred for the next month.
The warm breeze coming from the window coupled with the book in your hands was enough to lull you to sleep, and you surely would have, were it not for the figure leaning against the dimly lit bookshelf across from you. You sit upright, blinking to let your eyes adjust. "Ivar?" You ask quietly. "What are you doing here?"
Ivar shuffles forward with the help of his crutches, into the sunlight where you could see him better. "Same as you, I suppose. Hiding," he says with an amused tone. You laugh, closing your book and scooting forward. "How did you know I was here?" Ivar shrugs, plopping down at a small wooden table across from you. "Lucky guess."
You rest your chin on your palm and observe the prince as he sets a book of his own on the wooden table. "I'm not sure why I am surprised to find you can read," you mock gently, biting your lip in anticipation of his response. Would he have a temper with you, as the rumors say?
Though Ivar's jaw sets and he throws a glare in your direction, he says nothing. You wonder for a moment if you've ruined the mood, and you press again. "I didn't mean anything by it. People talk, you know," you add. "People may talk, but it is up to you to listen," Ivar replies. You let out a small chuckle and look away. "Oh, dear. I'm afraid I haven't a response to that," you say quietly.
Ivar looks back to you with a brow raised. "You, not having a remark? I think I'm surprised." A loud laugh rips from your throat before you can stop it, and you lean back against the stone window frame behind you. "It does not happen often, so I cannot advise you to get used to it, Viking." Ivar's face betrays his amusement as he turns back to the book before him. "I imagine, Saxon, there are many things about you I will not get used to," he says quietly. You bite your lip in an attempt to stop yourself from smiling, but to no avail. The Viking prince does something to you that you have never experienced before, and it was thrilling.
You shuffle back into your spot, picking up your forgotten book. You flip through the pages absentmindedly and steal little glances here and there at the boy beside you. You allow your mind to wander and imagine what it would feel like to be courted by someone so fierce. Ivar was a mystery to you, so much like his father. When you'd heard of their arrival, you had expected two beastly men who did not speak a lick of English nor have any common decency. Admittedly, you were almost disappointed at how pleasantly normal they were. Perhaps your dad's stories of the Northmen were just that-- stories. Figures, you shouldn't have listened to the paranoid old man.
You glance over once more only to catch Ivar staring at you. You offer him a smile and lift your head. "Yes?" You ask, smug that you caught him looking. If Ivar notices the tone in your voice, he doesn't comment on it. Instead, he asks, "You and Alfred. Are you really betrothed?" Your face falls at the topic, and you turn your attention out the window and to the courtyard below. "We are," you start slowly. "It is more so in name. My father wants me out and tamed as soon as possible, and King Ecbert was looking for a queen for his Alfred. It was a supposed perfect match," you mutter. Ivar listens carefully, his eyes scanning over the words before him. "When would you marry?" He wondered. You sigh and slump down further against the wall. "Most likely when Alfred is crowned King. If my father had his way, I'm sure it would be far sooner." Ivar seems to consider your words for a moment. You lull your head to the side, eyeing the young man. "Why do you ask?"
He shrugs, his eyes not leaving the page. "Curious about Saxon affairs," he offers lamely. You sit upright and frown. "Is that all?" You wonder quietly. This time, it's Ivar who turns to you with a smug face. "Is that all you want it to be?"
A heavy silence blankets the library as the two of you stare at one another. Was there another reason? What were you hoping for? For Ivar to live up to the Viking rumors and kidnap you, hauling you off to some unknown land?
You're the first to break eye contact as you lean back into the wall. "I suppose so," you say softly.
You hear the creaking of wood and a shuffling sound, followed by the repeating tapping of Ivar's crutches meeting the stone floor. You turn your head in time to see Ivar towering over you, looking down to meet your gaze. "For someone who causes such trouble," Ivar begins, reaching out to grab a stray piece of your hair. "You are a terrible liar, princess." Your face feels hot and you splutter incoherently while Ivar chuckles. "I am not lying!" Your voice betrays you, rising above your normal pitch. Ivar gives you a knowing grin and you snap your mouth shut. His eyes flit back and forth from your own as if searching for something. "I am leaving tomorrow. Will you really not tell me the truth before I go?" Ivar asks finally. Your breath catches in your throat as you stare up at him. Does he leave tomorrow? But what about Ragnar? Your face must have betrayed your sorrow because Ivar's gaze softens as he looks at you. "What if I ask nicely?" He adds.
You can't help laughing at this and shake your head. "It wouldn't suit you, Ivar."
He stares at you and it brings back that strange feeling in the pit of your stomach that only he seems to cause. He reaches a hand out and grips your jaw experimentally as if examining you. He does not hold your chin as a lover would, but more like a farmer observing livestock. It sends a strange thrill up your spine, to be so fiercely scrutinized by someone like him. Something dark and mischievous flashes in his eyes as he looks at you. "Give me permission, princess," Ivar says in a low voice. It's so quiet that you almost don't register that he spoke. You swallow as your eyes search his. "For what?" Your response is barely above a whisper, you know your voice would betray you if you spoke up. You don't need his response. You're not so oblivious to what he wants, but the tumultuous side of you wanted him to say it out loud. To hear him say he desired you, in the same way you did him.
But Ivar is wise to your tricks and doesn't speak. His grip on your face lightens, and for a moment you're disappointed in thinking he's walking away. Suddenly, his thumb hooks your chin and drags you towards him, earning a small squeal of surprise from you. His mouth is hot over yours as he kisses you and it sends small tingles throughout your body. Your hands come up to grab fistfuls of his shirt, trying to pull him flush against you. One of his hands tangles in your hair, gripping and pushing you closer. You feel his free hand slide under your dress and grab your thigh, hooking your knee and dragging you forward so he's nestled between your thighs.
Your head spins as Ivar kisses you with such a passion as if this was the first and last time you would see each other. The thought bothered you, and you found yourself whining into the kiss. This seems to spur him on as Ivar lets out a low growl, nipping your bottom lip with his sharp teeth. Then he breaks away, ending the kiss just as quickly as it began. You lean after him lamely, mourning the sudden loss of his warmth. Ivar steps back and looks at you with such a savage look of pride on his face that you feel something curl in your stomach. "Until next time, princess."
His fingers trail across the frame of your face one last time before he drops his hand and starts to leave. "You would leave me here like this?" Your voice trembles as your eyes sting. He can't just leave you here like this, right? Ivar spares one last glance over his shoulder and rakes his eyes up and down your figure. "When I come back, you will not have to worry anymore."
And just like that, he leaves you sitting in the library alone as the sun sets behind you.
"I cannot believe you would snoop like that," Judith scolds lightly, pacing around her chamber. You lift your head from your spot on her bed and scoff. "I was not snooping Judith, I was gathering useful information," You retort. "In fact, I saw the Northman's son."
Judith's head snaps up at this, betraying her interest. "You saw Ivar?" Ivar. So that's his name. You didn't know much about their language, but you were sure his name fit him well. "Yes," you say as a knowing smirk graces your lips. Judith sent you a glare as she sat down at the small wooden vanity in the corner of the room. "I know that look. You know better," Judith warns quietly. Out of all the siblings, you were by far the most likely to stir trouble. It was the main reason your father preferred to parade Judith around and not you. He was ashamed to have such a troublesome girl. "Know better than to do what?" Your voice feigns innocence as you sit upright. Judith gives you an exasperated look as you scoot to the end of the bed. "You know exactly what I mean. You're plotting, and it always leads to trouble. Why can't you simply leave things be?"
You flash your most dazzling smile at her before standing up and stretching your arms rather unceremoniously above your head. "Where would the fun be in that?" You lean over to kiss your sister affectionately on the cheek, before skipping from the room and heading to Alfred's study. You were determined to badger the poor boy into coughing up whatever information he'd learned about the Northmen yesterday and why they were here.
You stop suddenly when you see guards perched outside Alfred's study and quickly duck behind the corner. Why were there two guards today? Usually, it was Ecbert and Judith being so heavily protected- unless...
You peer around the stone wall and watch as the guards begin their march away to switch positions. You wait until they're further down the hall before making a mad dive for the door, throwing it open and scrambling inside before the other set of guards show up to assume their stances. You shut the door behind you and let out a small sigh of relief. You turn around to see Alfred and a very confused Ivar sitting at a table, seemingly in the middle of a chess match. You quickly collect yourself and straighten your posture, smiling at them. "What are you doing in here?" Alfred asks, a frown marring his features. You feign confusion and point to yourself as if to say, 'who, me?'
"I merely wanted to see my dearest darling Alfred during his studies," you muse. Walking towards them, you can see Ivar raise a brow at you in amusement. You wonder, momentarily, if Ivar speaks Saxon like his father. Surely these two weren't just sitting here in silence? Alfred scoffs and looks back to the chessboard with a strong focus. "I know better than to believe anything that comes from your mouth," he mumbles. You raise a hand to your chest and gasp, stalking toward the table. "I'm wounded, Alfred, that you think I'd lie to you," you say with a defensive lilt. You glance down at the table and smirk. Alfred is losing.
Ivar steals a glance at you from the corner of his eye, judging your mannerisms. You weren't like any of the Saxons he'd met thus far. You had a wild, almost chaotic way about you that intrigued him. You turn to meet his gaze and smile. "Hello," you greet warmly. Ivar merely stares at you with a blank face.
Alfred looks between the two of you awkwardly and clears his throat, earning your attention. "I don't think he- you know- speaks..." Alfred trails off, unsure of how to phrase it. "Saxon?" You ask, looking back to Ivar. "It's terribly rude not to greet your guest, Alfred. No matter his language." Your eyes scan Ivar's face, looking for any hint of recognition. There was no way Ragnar was the only one who learned your language. Ivar looked far too intelligent to enter a kingdom he did not know the language of.
Alfred's eyes dart between the two of you as if waiting for a break in the stalemate. You hold Ivar's gaze, unwavering. The room falls still as the two of you stare, each daring the other to back down first. Finally, Ivar scoffs and looks away. You give an unladylike bark of laughter and practically crow as you say, "I knew it!"
Ivar looks back at you with a roll of his eyes. "So what if I do?" He seems almost annoyed that he'd been discovered, but you're quick to brush this off. "It means I'm right, which is very important," you coo gently. Ivar's eyes darken as he raises a brow. "Oh? Is that so?" You feel the hairs on your arm stand as a calloused hand brushes over your own. Your cheeks grow warm as he lifts your hand to his lips, placing a lazy kiss on the back of your hand. "I will keep this in mind," Ivar muses as he allows your hand to drop back to your side. You're frozen for a moment as if processing what just happened. You're quick to snap back and offer an innocent smile to the Viking. Alfred on the other hand looks between the two of you with a frown. "Well, now that we all speak the same language, I might inform you that we are betrothed," he grumbles. You feel something bubble in your chest as you glare at the brunette. Why did he have to spoil your fun?
Ivar seems to mull this over as he turns his attention back to their chess game. "Are you not the queen's sister?" He inquires. "One of them," you reply, moving around the table and planting yourself on the arm of Ivar's chair. He steals a glance at you and grins as if finding a new amusement in flirting with a betrothed princess. "You are here often?" He wonders as he steals one of Alfred's rooks. You sigh and lean slightly into his shoulder. "Unfortunately so. We spend most of our summer here so our father can pretend he has a keen knowledge of foreign militia."
Ivar lets out a genuine laugh at this and you smile in return. Something about his laugh stirs your stomach and you love the feeling.
"A Saxon will know nothing of war," Ivar says in a hushed tone, as though only speaking to you. "Really? I think we know a great deal about starting them," you muse. You feel triumphant as another smile ghosts over the Viking's lips. "I guess I will agree with you," Ivar replies before capturing another of Alfred's pieces. You look up at Alfred who is now deathly focused on the game before him. Though he was fighting a losing battle, you will give him credit for determination. He holds a knight in his hand as he stares down Ivar's pieces. You doubt he's listening to your conversation.
It's not long before the boys fall into an attentive silence, both sizing up the game and plotting their next move. You turn to look out the window and see that the sun is just beginning to set. You know the guards will be changing again soon, and if you didn't leave now you'd be explaining to your father why you were alone in a chamber with two boys instead of attending your studies with Judith.
You stand from the chair, earning a look from both boys. "Are you leaving?" Alfred wonders, his brow furrowed. "I should leave before our fathers realize I've been shirking my duties," you say with an impish smile. Alfred rolls his eyes at your antics. "I can't cover for you forever, you know," he scolds. "Of course, cousin dearest, I would never take advantage of such kindness," you say with a dramatic flourish. "Until next time," you add, sparing a glance at Ivar. His eyes flicker up to meet yours, and you can't help the sneaking smile that finds its way onto your face.
You turn your back to them and head for the door, trying your best to ignore your erratic heartbeat.
