Little drabble for my dearest @ofmanderley , from a little chat we had last night where Hvitserk offers to be less annoying in exchange for attention, but what else is new?
Set in the Frankia au, where Aethelred and Hvitserk meet while Rollo is count, after his little adventure in the Mediterranean.
Alternate Universe in which, instead of renouncing his birthright and being killed by his mother Queen Judith, Aethelred becomes King of Wessex and dedicates his life to his country, his religion, and his wars against the pagans invading his lands. During one fateful battle, the King is taken prisoner and made to heel by two Lothbrok brothers, Ivar and Hvitserk Ragnarsson, princes of Kattegat and scourges of England.
Birthday present for lovely @ofmanderley with whom I have discussed shared this idea, and who has become a simp of Ivared/Hvithelred because of my bad influence. Honey, thank you for your friendship and time and work for this pairing, I hope you enjoy <3!!!
summary : ABO AU. ivar cheats at plays hide and seek with his sons and finds his youngest, baldur, is incredibly bad at it.
pairing : ivar x aethelred ( with mentions of hvitserk x aethelred )
warnings : as stated, this takes place in an ABO au - if you don’t like it, don’t read it, basically. mentions of hvitserk’s daughter being pregnant at 17.
word count : approx. 1500
On sunny days like this one, when the wind only dares kiss the shore of Kattegat's great dock, Ivar has come to appreciate spending time with his sons. There are countless things they could be doing; training with the sword, hunting, or learning runes but today is a time for play. The game is hide and seek and Ivar has no intention of losing to any of his children - though he knows they should all feel the pride of success at least once in their lives.
Perhaps one day the battlefield will allow it.
"I am coming, little piggies." He says, voice rising and falling in his usual cadence as he stalks from one stall to the next in the market. Many of the settlement's residents watch in amusement at their king - gone is the once feared ruler and welcomed is one who knows what love is.
Thanks in no small part to his husband, omega, and father of his children. Prince Aethelred of Wessex.
In the beginning, their union was one of unease. Ivar's suspicions as to why the prince might choose him above his brothers having been the main cause of any such rifts that formed. Given Ivar's status as a beta, surely his brother Ubbe would have been a better choice but perhaps Aethelred had been taught a little too well. Perhaps he knew better even than Ivar how to survive this life. How to choose a strong and intimidating mate.
Of course, the daughter he bore with Hvitserk didn't help much either.
That little girl was first to arrive and she brought much light to both Aethelred and Hvitserk's lives. With her golden hair and her blue eyes; taking the best parts of each parent and becoming an elegant yet incredibly capable young woman, now, at seventeen. Long past are the days when she would sit on Hvitserk's shoulders and knock him on the head with her carved, wooden sword. Now, she stands by his side, shoulder to shoulder. Very tall for her age.
Needless to say, when Ivar comes up beside her, eyes narrowing as she pulls her cloak in closer to her, he can see she is hiding something.
"Uncle Ivar." She begins, turning her head to look at him, a genuine smile beaming. Her long, braided hair looking, for all to see, the exact same as Hvitserk's. "If you are here to buy furs, there is no need. My father said he would have more by the next full moon."
"I was actually looking for my sons. We are playing a game, you see, and I would hate to lose." Ivar treads the ground, steadying himself as he tilts his head. "What are you hiding, huh?" Blue eyes shift to her cloak and up again to her face, one hand slowly reaching out to part the material.
"If there is something I am hiding, it is not one of your sons." Allowing the two pieces of long, green fabric to fall aside, something is indeed revealed but it isn't so much a child. Yet. For her belly shows only the first signs of life growing inside.
"You are with child." Ivar's eyes widen but he allows her to pull the cloak tight again, concealing her secret. "I hope it was your choice or one of the alphas here will lose his cock today."
Looking down, she blushes. And that is everything Ivar needs to know. It was conceived in love.
"He says he wants to marry me but I don't know how to tell my father or Aethelred about this." Arms close in, tight and protective, around herself and Ivar takes a breath, having seen the gesture before when Aethelred was carrying his boys. The fingers that had so gently revealed the truth now catch beneath her chin just as softly and Ivar's gaze is filled with nothing but promise.
"We will tell them together, if that is what you want." He lets it sit for a moment before humming. "But for now, I must ask if you have seen my sons."
Nothing comes for free with him and his niece laughs, one hand coming out to grasp around the leather brace on his wrist. "I saw Baldur running towards the long house."
"Thank you." Giving her forehead a kiss, Ivar slips past her, stake on the bottom of his crutch picking up the soft dirt of the trodden path leading to the long house. Two guards move aside for him when he arrives and goes inside.
A child's laughter faintly rings out before Ivar allows himself to be heard, very obviously, coming in. Low fires burn, giving the room an orange glow but also keeping it warm against whatever chill might still hang in the air from winter. Hvitserk is to the right, sleeping off the mead from their feast the night before and, at the end, upon the throne to the left, sits Aethelred.
His robes are typically saxon; the way it has always been. It's one of the things Ivar has come to admire most about his omega, really. That sense of stubbornness that's even more brutal than his own. He approaches but Aethelred doesn't even look up from the small pile of papers upon his lap.
To the right side of the throne, a very definite shape is covered by Aethelred's cloak and a pair of feet stick out.
That will be Baldur.
"Husband," Ivar begins, coming to stop a few feet from the steps up to the thrones. "Have you seen our son?"
"Which one, Ivar? We have four." Aethelred's voice is nonchalant, as though anything in the world would be more interesting than answering such a silly question. But anyone with eyes could see he is amused.
"I think you know exactly which one, Saxon." No spite comes with the name and Ivar even sees Aethelred smile with his down-turned eyes. While waiting for the answer, though, Ivar takes his time to look around falsely, leaning to search behind this pillar and that before, after a short moment, Aethelred's cloak giggles.
Though he tries to shush the small boy, Aethelred can't stop himself from showing his husband just exactly where their son is.
"Huh. Strange. It sounds like my son Baldur is laughing at me. Did you hear it?" Carefully, Ivar approaches once again, taking the steps one at a time. Slowly, slowly. As he nears, Baldur lets out another giggle.
"No. Perhaps it is only your imagination, King Ivar." And with that, Aethelred lifts his head, using the full power of his heavy blue eyes to draw his mate in close. It works, of course, and they're very soon face to face, feeling one another's breaths.
"Well, then, as we are alone, I don't see anything wrong with a kiss."
Mere thought of a touch is halted, however, when Baldur throws the cloak aside to reveal himself. His perfect face is scrunched into a sneer that amuses not one but both of his parents as they part. The noise he makes is one of disgust but before he can run, Ivar snatches him up by the waist and lifts him with one arm, planting a solid kiss on the crown of his little boy's black hair. Wriggling, Baldur pushes at his father's chest, wanting to escape and, once he's let down, his legs carry him away as fast as the wind now gathering up outside.
"You're not hiding anything else from me, are you? Huh?" Though in the past such a question would have come from insecurity, now it only comes from Ivar's need to sit, for peace and his legs' sake.
"Not today, Ivar. No."
"Thank the gods." He sits, heavily, down on his father's throne and sighs. Being one step ahead of everyone has been exhilarating for as long as he can remember but, now, knowing about Hvitserk's daughter's child, it only feels like a burden.
One that Aethelred can all-too-readily see upon his face.
"Are you well, love?" Large, tender hand falls to Ivar's forearm and he feels the reassuring squeeze of Aethelred's silent promise to listen to whatever may be bothering him. But only if he wishes to share.
"Yes. I am well enough. It is only... I have spoken to your daughter and I think it would be wise for you to do the same. Without my brother. Knowing Hvitserk he will jump to conclusions." Ivar gestures, idly.
"Conclusions about what?" Aethelred sits forward, brows furrowing as he moves the parchments from his lap to the floor. "What has happened, Ivar?"
"You will have to speak to her. I swore I would say nothing in exchange for her telling me where the boys were. That is all."
For a long moment, Aethelred blinks and then he sits back, having decided in his mind to speak to his daughter before evening. "So you cheated?" Is the next question that comes out and Ivar laughs beside him.
"Of course I did. It was a game I was not prepared to lose."
don't know why but i can't stop thinking about hvitserk as a weather man in a news studio, wearing a big yellow raincoat and wellies while pointing to a green screen and telling us all about how moist and humid it's gonna be for the rest of the week......
based on the prompt ‘hvithelred + bloodstained kisses’ from THIS LIST sent in by anon
summary : takes place after the battle from THIS PIECE. basically alfred talks to hvitserk about their victory against the danes and then aethelred makes up a reason for alfred to leave them alone. they talk about a wound aethelred sustained and then, right at the end, they kiss. it’s very basic.
warnings : mentions of death. there’s some blood and injury description but nothing excessive.
pairing : hvitserk x aethelred.
words : 1,075
A/N : mentions of aethelred’s sons and wife as well ( thank you @issadoragreen for the idea of his two sons !! )
Tired legs carry Hvitserk's exhausted body back towards the safety of their camp after battle's end. They've been victorious, of course, over the latest band of Danish raiders but it's been hours since he's seen Aethelred, having parted from him in the dawn light. Being a prince of Wessex now as he is, Hvitserk has been named leader of part of an army he once fought hard to destroy. It's an odd feeling but one that leaves him with great comfort; to glance down the line and see the great beast Aethelred watching him, too.
They'd shared a smile before charging to war in defence of their home. And that had been the last he'd laid eyes upon the prince for a long while. Familiar sounds of the fight still ring in his ears as Hvitserk lodges his axe into a nearby tree stump and turns his face up, towards the overcast sky.
For a moment, he breathes. At peace.
"You wet the soil with much Danish blood today, Prince Athelstan." The voice is Alfred's, he knows, but Hvitserk still snarls. Much as he's become accustomed to the name - at least in public - it remains a sore point. "God will be thankful. As I am." Alfred crosses himself, bringing the golden crucifix of his father to his lips briefly, and Hvitserk's hand makes the sign as well out of duty.
"Some were only boys; younger than your brother was at York." The thought sickens Hvitserk - who would have given anything not to have taken their lives, given that the belief in Valhalla is nothing but a memory to him now. He turns his face down, green eyes darkened by a heavy brow. "Your god is strange to be thankful for their young lives."
Alfred avoids his gaze and clenches his jaw a moment, as if thinking, before laying a hand upon Hvitserk's fur clad shoulder. "He is thankful for your courage to take their lives in order the spare the lives of more of His people, brother." It's the best the king can do to sate him of whatever bloodlust remains. Though Hvitserk knows he will be haunted.
"Speaking of brothers-" Aethelred joins them. His face is almost as bloody as Hvitserk imagines his own to be - knowing the prince is just as ferocious when it comes to the fight. "There you are, Alfred. Lord Aelfrith instructed me to find you. He said it was a matter of urgency; not to delay." In his hands is a basin of water and a few torn strips of cloth.
After delivering the message, he disappears into the closest tent, making sure to let Hvitserk know - with his eyes, of course - to follow when he can.
"I must leave you then, Athelstan." Alfred glances toward the tent's entrance. "Be careful. If anyone were to suspect-"
"Do you think I would allow anyone to speak a word against you or your brother? Hm?" Hvitserk ruffles Alfred's hair and smiles, puffing out a short laugh before the king takes his leave and Hvitserk pushes into the tent to find Aethelred already undressing.
His back is an artwork of bruises and scrapes. Even with thick, black armour - much like the Rus design - blades still leave their mark. Sweat runs down the length of his spine. It's tinged red from a head wound, visible at the base of Aethelred's skull. Though his dark hair mostly conceals it, Hvitserk moves in, fingers as gentle as if he were touching the hair of Aethelred's youngest son.
"Alfred warned me to be careful a moment ago. By the look of this, I think he should have told you the same thing before the battle today." There is no reaction from Aethelred. Evidently, the wound goes further than surface deep.
"He did. I simply didn't listen." Large hands ring out one of the cloths and Aethelred passes it back, over his shoulder, to Hvitserk who waits there. Immediately, he presses it into the prince's sticky hair, watching the thin cascade of water run its course, seeping into the top of Aethelred's trousers. "I might have avoided being injured but my brother was struggling. I couldn't leave him to fight alone."
A sobering thought - given that Alfred has never been much of a fighter in the past.
"I would choose you over him if your god ever forced my hand." The words are almost absently spoken and Hvitserk doesn't see Aethelred turn to face him much before the act is done and blue eyes stare into his own green ones.
"God would punish us both if you did. Better I die and Alfred live than both of us be damned for abandoning him." No anger sits behind Aethelred's heavy eyes but his voice lets Hvitserk know, without shadow of a doubt, that he stepped out of line. That, and the way Aethelred's hand comes to grasp at his chin, holding the viking in place. "Do you understand?"
Silence.
"Do you, Hvitserk?"
"Yes. I understand." He isn't sure why he agrees, instead of putting forward an argument to the tune of the fact that Aethelred has a family as well. He has sons and a wife who love him. He has Hvitserk - whose heart and mind would break once again if he was the cause of such a tremendous amount of pain to those he considers his blood now. "I only hope your wife would understand having to marry me once you were gone."
The prince's eyes narrow but his lips pull up into an amused smile. He decides to play along. "She would. We have discussed it many times in the past four years. If something were to happen to me, you have to step into my place. Be a father to my sons and a husband to my wife."
He's only half kidding.
As he thinks on it, Hvitserk tilts his head up, as if to present his mouth, letting his tongue sweep the length of his plump bottom lip, preparing it. "I would be good to her." He says, stirring, as Aethelred's fingers move from his chin to his bloody cheek - a little possessive then. The prince's face bends to meet the offering, indulging as Hvitserk so often has before. Both taste the tang of copper but neither care as rain gives music to their kiss, falling from the sky in loud thumping drops with the beats of their aligning hearts.
Whumpee is known for massively overdoing it when it comes to alcohol, which is why the group doesn’t really believe them when they insist, slurring and swaying, that they’ve only had a couple and they think they’ve been drugged. Which friend is Caretaker, the only one who listens and backs them up?
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