Fanfic summary: In an AU where Eivor was adopted by Randvi’s family instead, he ends up falling in love with the man his sister has been promised to despite the arranged marriage between their clans.
Point of view: third-person
Pairing: Sigurd Styrbjornson x Male Eivor
This story is also on AO3 | Previous chapter
THE NEXT MORNING
Eivor pried his eyes open to a slit, immediately squinting in the sunlight that hit his face.
His fingers twitched with movement as his body returned to a state of consciousness, and his dreams vacated the stage that once sat in his mind. A subtle itch tickled the surface of his skin due to the strands of hair that dangled in front of his nose, and out of the corner of his eye, Eivor could see lingering smoke trailing from the dead embers of a torch once set aflame.
It was a calm morning, despite the mournful nature of the clan. A light breeze traveled swiftly throughout the empty halls of the longhouse, and distant chatter could be heard from the villagers who had already risen. It was the start of an ordinary day, and yet, Eivor had no motivation to see it through.
He just couldn’t stop thinking about Thora and Ulfar.
Even though he managed to distract himself for a while with Sigurd’s company, the pain was inevitably sinking back in, and it felt as if a boulder had planted itself on top of his chest.
There was no way to fill the new absence stalking his every move; no way he could ever see Thora or Ulfar again. Both of them were gone, and he had been left behind. He was stuck in this realm with nothing but the memories of those he had lost, and the only thing that could help him was the hope of putting Kjotve down for good.
Thankfully, Eivor wasn’t completely alone just yet.
Resting gently over his hip, the young man felt the weight of Sigurd’s arm pressing down on him like a protective shield, holding him close in a world that was constantly trying to separate them. His breath kissed the back of Eivor’s neck at a steady pace, and a soothing warmth surrounded their bodies due to the blankets barricading them from the cold.
It was surprising to see that Sigurd hadn’t taken his leave, Eivor thought. Part of him had been expecting the prince to vanish like he did on the day of the wedding, and yet, he was here, keeping him company without any worry of judgement. His mind remained buried under dreams of war and mayhem, and his eyelids fluttered with the vivid images that flashed in his head.
He looked to be at peace, despite the turmoil brewing inside him. His expression was devoid of any usual disturbances, and Eivor’s comforting presence only helped to bring him more solace.
In addition to the relief Eivor felt upon seeing Sigurd however, the young man also couldn’t ignore the guilt he carried for taking the prince away from Randvi.
Gods only knew what that woman was going through right now. In a single day, she had lost both her blood-sister and father figure -- and unlike Eivor -- she had to deal with the pain alone.
She didn’t have anyone in her chambers to provide her with company or a shoulder to lean on, and Eivor began to wonder if he should’ve been ashamed of himself for robbing her of that.
Perhaps it was a mistake to stay with Sigurd for the night. Perhaps he should’ve simply gone to the temple like he planned, and left the prince to his own devices. Maybe then, Randvi wouldn’t be forced to endure all this grief alone. Eivor may have cherished every moment he spent with Sigurd, but he didn’t wish to do it at the expense of his sister’s well-being.
It was Randvi that Sigurd was supposed to be with, after all. And Eivor couldn’t help but question the morality of what he was doing.
“...Eivor...?” The older man suddenly murmured, causing the Wolf-Kissed to glance over his shoulder.
He came face-to-face with a pair of heavy-lidded eyes, and smiled faintly upon hearing the man’s words.
“Good morning, love.” Eivor said, rolling onto his side. “I hope I didn’t wake you up.”
Sigurd chuckled, though it came out more like a grunt due to the sleep that still fogged his mind.
“...You didn’t wake me up. Truth is, I barely slept. My dreams were plagued with nothing but nightmares. I hope you had a better night.”
“I’d be lying if I said I did. All I could think about was Thora and Ulfar. About how they died.”
“I know what you mean. I can’t stop thinking about Dag either. It’s been hours since he first went silent, and yet... his final words refuse to leave me. It’s like he’s still here, berating me for everything I’ve done. Every time I close my eyes, my dreams take me back to the Tears of Ymir. Part of me feels as if I never left.”
Eivor snuggled up in Sigurd’s embrace, bringing himself closer to the other man.
“...We will get through this, love.” He reassured. “I know it wasn’t easy, but you gave us a chance at victory when you slew the traitor. Now, Kjotve has no allies within our walls. He’s completely by himself. And we have his son as a prisoner. We still have hope of winning this war... and it’s thanks to you.”
Sigurd raised a hand to Eivor’s cheek, gently caressing it with the back of his knuckles.
“I hope you’re right. The last thing I want is for all our sacrifices to be in vain. We can’t accept defeat now. Not when we’re so close.” The prince sat up from the bed, causing his hair to slip from his shoulders. “But for now, let’s simply focus on honoring our dead. There are many farewells that need to be said before we take things further with Gorm, and I’d like to see Dag off on his journey to Hel. He may have been a traitor, but even he doesn’t deserve abandonment in death.”
Eivor’s mood soured at the mention of Dag’s name. In spite of his agreement to granting the man a place at the funeral, he couldn’t help but feel contempt for him after everything he and Gorm did to Thora.
“Do you think Dag would’ve done the same for you?” Eivor questioned.
Sigurd hesitated, not failing to notice the sharpness in his tone.
“I... I honestly don’t know. Did he even love me in the end? Or did he view me as an enemy? A foe that he needed to eliminate?” The prince combed a hand through his hair, letting out a sigh. “I’d like to believe that he would stand by my grave in death, but in reality, I suspect he would’ve been the one to send me there.”
Sigurd rose from the bed and reached for his shirt, shaking his head in sorrow. “Gods... how did things go so wrong...?”
He pulled the piece of clothing over his torso, preparing to take his leave.
“Anyway, I’ll let you get dressed. I imagine my father will be awake by now, and I’d like to have a few words with him before we depart. Meet me outside when you’re ready to go. We can walk to the funeral together.”
The younger man followed suit and threw his legs over the edge of the bed, dreading the near-future. He didn’t want to attend the ceremony alone, but he also worried that he wouldn’t be able to keep his composure in the presence of Thora and Ulfar.
“...Alright.” He said plainly. “I’ll find you when I’m ready, Sigurd.”
The prince leaned down and placed a kiss on Eivor’s forehead, bidding him farewell.
“Take care, Eivor. I’ll see you soon.”
ONE HOUR LATER
Walking along the edge of the ship, Ingrida’s boots quietly thudded against the wooden floor as she tended to the pyres, preparing them for their final departure. She scattered a mixture of herbs and petals at the base of the structures, whispering a series of prayers under her breath.
Her heart ached beyond words to see three of her beloved clan members sharing a ship to the gates of the afterlife. Thora, Ulfar, and Eirik all lay side-by-side in the center of the vessel, decorated with an abundance of gifts that the villagers had left for them. They had axes, shields, food, riches, armor -- every possible boon they could use in the next realm. Their bodies had also been adorned with a handful of sweet-scented flowers, and their hands had been arranged to hold the swords in their grip.
Meanwhile, Dag rested alone in a separate ship docked on the other end of the harbor. His boat had been left barren of any gifts or offerings, and the only attention he received was from scornful villagers who were irked to see his presence at the funeral. His pyre looked about as empty as the frozen sea before them, and it appeared just as cold.
Luckily, despite the animosity the clan held for Dag, Ingrida hadn’t yet forbade herself from saying a prayer for the man. Even though he was directly linked to the death of her son, she still saw it fitting to bless him with one last prayer, as well as the dignity of being sent on a proper vessel. She carried less than no love for the dishonorable traitor, but did not wish to defile his grave, lest she cause Sigurd even more pain.
“Wherever the bridge may guide you,” Ingrida whispered, walking up to Thora, “whatever obstacles you may face, know that your memory has been marked in our clan, sister. Your words, your thoughts, your actions -- they will all continue to live among us even though you have returned to the gods. Your spirit will become as natural as the trees around us, and your name will be shrouded in the honor that was robbed of you in death. May you find peace under Hel’s gaze, and may your axe never thirst for battle. You are free now.”
The woman brought her attention to Eirik, crumbling at the sight of her son.
“Oh, my son...” she murmured, “forgive me. I never thought it would end like this. I never thought it would be me who tended to your pyre. I wanted to watch you grow old. I wanted you to enjoy the life I had given you. I wanted better for--” Ingrida’s voice faltered, causing her to pause briefly, “--you deserved... better than this. You deserved happiness. I only pray that the gods will grant it to you someday, and that we will meet again when death takes us both.” She slid a hand down Eirik’s cheek. “Rest well, my son. Your struggles will not be everlasting.”
Turning to Ulfar, Ingrida cleared her throat and took a deep breath, regaining her composure for one final farewell.
“And my dear friend, Wulfgar,” she said. “I know you were fueled by hatred for many years before you came to us. I know you carried an abundance of regrets. But as the Valkyries guide you to the Hall of Valor, I hope you can find forgiveness for yourself. Even though you were not exempt of flaws, you were one of the best men I had ever the pleasure of meeting. You were a venerable husband to Linnea, and a loving father to many of the children here.”
She sighed, placing a delicate hand over the hilt of Ulfar’s sword. “I do not know whether you will meet the Christian god or be accepted into the Allfather’s arms, but either way, remember that redemption walks with you, drengr. Your faults have been amended, and your shackles have been broken. May your freedom guide you home.”
Stepping away from the pyres, Ingrida said the last of her prayers and decided to leave the bodies alone for now, admittedly somewhat overwhelmed by the grief that was starting to sink in. For days, she had been focusing on the preparations for this funeral, and yet, nothing could’ve fully braced her for the severity of their losses.
The old völva had overseen multiple burials in the past, but she had never attended one with so many familiar faces. Thora, Ulfar, Eirik -- they were all vital people in her life. She watched them grow, she watched them cry, she watched them change. A part of her soul was attached to the three of them, and now... she had to watch them leave.
It was the hardest farewell she ever had the burden of bidding, and she hoped it would be the last.
The seeress whirled around at the sudden greeting, not realizing that she had company.
“Oh, Eivor,” she said upon seeing her guest’s face. “I didn’t notice you were there.”
The young man approached her, keeping his hands linked in a respectful manner.
“I didn’t want to interrupt,” he explained. “I saw that you were saying a prayer for them.”
Ingrida glanced back at the fallen warriors’ bodies, nodding morosely.
“...Indeed. I just finished saying goodbye to Wulfgar.”
Eivor cocked a brow at that. “Wulfgar? You mean... Ulfar?”
Ironically, his question only seemed to garner more confusion from the old woman.
“He never told you?” She asked, clearly surprised.
“Told me what?”
A look of understanding spread across Ingrida’s face. “Forgive me, young cub. I assumed you knew of this already. The two of you were like father and son, so I simply thought...” she shook her head, returning to the topic. “Anyway. Tell me, did Ulfar ever reveal that he originally came from a Saxon family?”
“Yes,” Eivor recalled. “He mentioned that before.”
“Well, his name was Wulfgar before he was adopted by the Norse. He always asked me to refer to him as that in private. It may seem like an odd request, but I think it helped him preserve some semblance of who he once was.”
“I... I never knew that. Ulfar didn’t tell any of us.”
Ingrida gazed at the raider’s lifeless face, tilting her head out of empathy.
“I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. He had a dark history before he married Linnea and joined our clan. He probably didn’t want to frighten you.”
Eivor’s curiosity got the best of him. “Can you tell me what he did, exactly?”
The seeress fell silent due to hesitance. “I... don’t think I should, Eivor. I don’t believe it would be my place. If Ulfar felt the need to keep it hidden from you, then perhaps that’s because he meant to take the secret to his grave.”
A hint of disappointment sank into Eivor’s mood, but he respected the secrecy nonetheless.
Ingrida offered another possible answer. “If your curiosity is truly piqued though, I’d recommend asking your father. Arngeir is also aware of Ulfar’s past, and he was much closer to him than I. I think he would be more suited to tell the story -- if you are willing to hear it.”
“I am. I’ll ask him about it later. Thank you.”
The woman crossed her arms and took a moment to examine Eivor, suddenly switching the subject when she noticed that he was alone.
“But enough about that. Where is Sigurd?” Ingrida questioned. “I expected him to come here with you.”
The inquisitive spark in Eivor’s eyes dimmed at the observation, and he took a slow glance at the nearby longship.
“He’s paying his respects to Dag.” He said, gesturing to the traitor’s pyre. Ingrida followed his gaze, watching as Sigurd said his goodbyes.
The downhearted prince was currently kneeling in front of the wooden tomb with his head hanging low, and a hand over Dag’s wrist. His face was hidden from the world due to his crouched position, and at the moment, all Ingrida could see was a slight quiver shaking the stillness of his shoulders.
“...His eyes burned bright with the heat of Muspelheim itself...” Ingrida whispered in revelation. “Oh, that poor man. I now understand what my vision meant. I understand what it was trying to say.”
Eivor gave the woman a puzzled look, intrigued by her train of thought.
“What do you mean?”
Ingrida brought her focus back to the young man and closed the distance between them.
“The night before Sigurd arrived, the gods sent me a dream about him. Do you remember? It was just before Freya’s statue fell at the temple.”
Eivor nodded. “Yes, I remember.”
A hint of caution took hold of her tone. “...Dag’s death will only fuel the fire already raging in your prince, Wolf-Kissed. I know I advised you to stay away from Sigurd in the past, but now, I suspect you’ll be the only one capable of pulling him back from the edge. Do not allow him to get lost in the dark. He’ll be leading us into battle not too long from now. Please, do what you can to ensure that his mind stays whole.”
“Of course, Ingrida. I--” he stuttered for a second, hesitant to be completely open, “...you know how I feel about him. I’ll try my best to help him.”
That seemed to bring relief to the seeress. “Thank you, Eivor. We need both of you if we’re going to win this war. Take care of yourselves in the storm to come. We’re almost through the brunt of it.”
Bringing their conversation to an end, Ingrida placed a soft hand on Eivor’s arm and guided him away from the pyres, stepping back onto the docks as the clan gathered for the final farewell. A line of archers had already taken their position at the front of the shoreline and set their arrows aflame, preparing for the upcoming ceremony.
“Come, young cub. It’s time to say goodbye.”
Standing just beyond the tide’s reach, Eivor and Sigurd watched the funeral from afar as gusts of icy wind danced throughout the village, causing their capes to billow in the breeze. Specks of snow fluttered from the muted sky hanging above them, and in the distance, Eivor could see a number of dockhands pushing the ships away from the piers.
It almost would’ve been beautiful, if it weren’t for the morbidity of their gathering. The ships glided across the glassy surface like swans in a lake, and their hulls split the sheets of ice blocking their course. Ravens soared alongside the majestic sails as if Odin himself were guiding their departure from Midgard, and within moments, the archers had already prepared their first volley of arrows.
“Aim!” One of the warriors commanded, his voice thundering across the beach. A chain of flames immediately rose into the air, pointing directly towards the clouds.
The ships ventured a bit deeper into the ocean, causing waves of white foam to spurt around them.
Releasing their grip on the bows, the archers sent a storm of arrows flying into the sky as their fiery tips set the heavens aflame, painting the atmosphere with what looked like a thousand suns. Their reflections bolted across the sea like streaks of ember, and soon after, the ships were engulfed in a cloak of fire.
Little by little, the sparks spread throughout the vessels’ entire structure, igniting everything they could touch. They easily latched onto the fallen warriors who occupied the pyres, and consumed their hollow shells like webs of frost crawling across the ocean.
It was a display fit for the gods themselves. The ships wandered like a pair of beacons shattering the dark, and Eivor could only hope that the divines would accept their new arrivals with open arms. These souls had officially traveled beyond the mortal realm, and now, their threads in the tapestry of fate had been cut.
It was finally time for Eivor to let them go. The very same war that had taken these people in the first place still burned with an unbridled fury, and it wouldn’t be long before they had to confront it once and for all.
The only thing they had to do now was get Gorm to talk. His forked tongue hid behind a guise of feigned ignorance, but Eivor knew better than to believe his twisted claims.
That man knew where Kjotve was, and he knew how to lure him out of the shadows. His information was the key to winning this war, and neither the Wolf-Kissed nor the Raven Prince would back down until they got what they wanted.
It was their only chance of survival at this point, and the last obstacle blocking their way.
LATER THAT DAY
Shoving the barred door open with a firm push, Sigurd ducked under the low frame and slipped into the room, lighting the way with a torch as Eivor followed him from behind. The weathered hinges of the door squeaked sharply in the looming silence, and a soft rattle bounced off the walls as their prisoner struggled in his chains.
Gorm was completely alone down here. Not only had he been deprived of any human contact, but the tight bricks of the dungeon had also sealed out any intruding sunlight. His hands and feet had been tied down by harsh shackles, and a rough cloth had been wrapped securely around his eyes.
Despite Gorm’s recent arrival though, it looked like someone had already visited him. In the flickering glow that radiated from Sigurd’s torch, the prince spotted fresh cuts and bruises littering the prisoner’s skin. Tiny droplets of blood stained the collar of his shirt, and by now, a slick sheen of sweat had formed on the man’s bony chest.
It wouldn’t be difficult to interrogate this man, but that didn’t mean Sigurd would go easy on him.
“Heh,” he said with a chuckle, holding the torch closer to Gorm’s wounds, “looks like someone had a talk with you already. You been having company lately, Kjotvesson? Or were our men just a bit too rough when they dragged you off the longship?”
The prisoner groaned in irritation, recognizing his captor’s voice. “...Gods above. As if my first conversation wasn’t bad enough. Now you’re here too? I’m not going to talk, Sigurd. The jarl couldn’t beat it out of me, and you won’t either.”
“Ah, so it was Arngeir who did this. I should’ve guessed.” The prince paused briefly. “...You’re lucky, you know. Not many people in this world have the same level of patience as our jarl. If it was my daughter you had killed, I would have flayed you alive.”
Gorm scoffed, shifting in his seat. “You? Everyone knows you’re soft, Styrbjornson. You couldn’t even save the jarl’s daughter from being killed. What makes you think you can get me to talk? Just throw your punches and leave me alone. You won’t get anything from me.”
Sigurd knelt down, leaning towards to the man as he spoke. “...We are one step away from winning this fucking war against your father after decades of suffering because of it. This is the closest we’ve ever been to victory in years, and the only thing blocking our path right now... is you. If you think I’m going to walk away after everything we’ve sacrificed, you are sorely mistaken.”
The prince stood up from the floor. “You can either tell me Kjotve’s location, or I can make you scream it. Either way, we’re not leaving this room until you give us what we need.”
Gorm picked up on that. “We?”
Eivor stepped forward, joining Sigurd’s side. “I’m here too, Gorm.”
“Ah, the Raven Prince’s whore. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised to see you here. I know you follow Sigurd around like a lost pup, always pining for his attention. Word spreads quickly, you see--”
Sigurd threw a quick jab at Gorm’s cheek, silencing the man in an instant.
“Well you won’t hear anymore about us from now on. Your ally is dead, Gorm. We found him.”
That seemed to instill a sense of alarm in the prisoner. “...Ally?”
“Yes. Dag.” Sigurd clarified. “I know he was aiding you. I know he told you about the assault on your father’s fortress. But he’s dead now. You no longer have any friends here, Kjotvesson. There’s no one who can rescue you.”
The pace of Gorm’s breath quickened at the news, and his jaw clenched in fear.
“...So. What is it you want, exactly?”
“Have you not been listening to a word I’ve said? Tell me where Kjotve is, and all this comes to an end. It’s that simple.”
Sigurd reached down, ripping Gorm’s blindfold off with a harsh tug.
“We’re running out of time...! I’m giving you one last chance to tell us the information we need, but after that--” he yanked out his axe, “--I start hacking.”
Still, the prisoner resisted. “...Y-You wouldn’t. You don’t have the stones.”
The prince smirked. “Don’t I? Let me tell you something, Gorm.” Sigurd raised the axe to the other man’s face, positioning it right underneath his chin. “Just yesterday, this axe was buried in the heart of my brother. I put it there... after he confessed his treachery.”
It didn’t take long for Gorm to put the pieces together. “...Dag was your brother?”
Sigurd nodded slowly. “Not by blood, but that didn’t mean anything to us. We were still family. We still shared a bond. In the end though... he proved to be a danger to our clan, and so, I cut him down in one strike.” His eyes narrowed in rage. “...I was willing to execute a man I had known for all my life, purely for the sake of protecting this clan. He meant the world to me, and yet, I still killed him with my own two hands. What makes you think you stand a chance?”
Gorm scooted back in his seat, plastering himself against the back of the chair in an attempt to get away from the redheaded viking.
“You’re out of your mind, Sigurd.”
“All the more reason for you to give me what I want.”
The prisoner was quiet in response, leading Sigurd to shrug in a casual manner.
“Fine. If that’s how you wish to do things...”
The prince brought the torch’s flame to his axe, heating up the edge until it was red hot.
“W-w-wait!” Gorm exclaimed. “Wait!”
“Having second thoughts, Kjotvesson?”
“I-- look, I can’t tell you!”
Sigurd removed the axe from the fire and grinned, brandishing its scorching blade to the man.
“What’ll your father do? Kill you?”
Eivor laughed lightly, undeniably amused by Gorm’s squirming. “He’ll be lucky if he’s still alive by then.” His tone hardened. “Maybe we should string him up and leave him outside. Give him the same treatment he gave to my sister.”
Gorm shot him a glare. “Oh, you’ll join her soon enough, Wolf-Kissed. Don’t think this is over. Just because you’ve survived this long doesn’t mean--”
Sigurd pressed the axe down on his arm, causing the man to let out an anguished shout.
“Shit!” Gorm yelled, jolting violently in his restraints. The prince removed the blade after a moment and stepped back, leaving a prominent burn on the surface of his skin.
“If you’re done barking, I’d like to hear what we came for.”
“...You’ve lost your mind, Sigurd...!” The prisoner panted out, still dazed from the pain. “I’ll kill you for this. You and your whole clan!”
The redheaded man grabbed him by the collar, yanking him closer to his face.
“Tell me where Kjotve is! Now. Unless you want me to start slicing.”
Gorm turned away from Sigurd, doing his best to avoid eye contact with him.
“Well, you will. I don’t care what kind of threats your father has made. You will tell us what we need to know, one way or another.”
The prisoner hesitated. “But why should I? You’ll kill me anyway! I’m as good as dead no matter what I do. I may as well keep silent.”
“Because your fate has yet to be determined. Cooperate with us, and perhaps I can grant you a faster death. But if you resist, I’ll have no choice but to keep this going. So save us both the trouble, and just tell me where Kjotve is.”
Gorm trailed off into silence once again, reconsidering his approach. He still appeared reluctant to comply with Sigurd’s demands, but his eyes flicked around the room in a way that made it clear he was slowly changing his mind.
“You... you promise you’ll give me a swift death if I tell you how to find my father? Is that what you’re saying?”
Sigurd looked directly into Gorm’s gaze, taking on a more sincere tone.
“...You have my word.”
The prisoner took the answer to heart and cursed quietly under his breath, frustrated at the dilemma that had been presented to him. He knew he was dead regardless of how the future unfolded, but he wondered if there was a chance he could find mercy in the hands of a proper executioner.
“...Damn it all.” Gorm finally said. “Fine. I’ll... I’ll tell you what you want to know. But you must keep your word.”
Sigurd waited patiently for a response. “Well? Where is he?”
The other man’s head drooped in shame. “...My father is sailing west. To England.”
That took the prince by surprise. “England? What in Hel’s name is Kjotve doing all the way out there?”
“He has allies in that country,” Gorm explained. “And they’re more than just simple raiders. His allies in England are part of something far bigger than you could ever anticipate. They will destroy you if he manages to rally them in time.”
Eivor crossed his arms in thought, suddenly feeling less confident. “...Shit. He must be miles ahead of us by now.”
“Actually, he could still be within your reach. I don’t think my father has officially embarked just yet. He mentioned stopping by an island along the way; to gather food and supplies before making the journey. You could still catch him.”
Sigurd stepped away from Gorm. “Then we need to leave immediately. We can’t allow Kjotve to sail into Saxon waters. If he makes it there, we’ll have lost him for good. There’s no way we could hunt him down in English territory without sparking another war.”
Eivor brought up another subject, slowing the prince down before he could get too far ahead of himself.
“Wait, what do we do about him?” He asked, gesturing to Gorm with a jerk of the head.
Sigurd eyed the prisoner up and down, contemplating how to dispose of the man. When he first set foot in the dungeon, he had originally planned to finish Gorm off with an axe to the chest -- similar to the method he used for Dag -- but now, he was having second thoughts.
“...We’ll let my father decide.” He settled with.
Eivor had to admit, he wasn’t expecting that. “Your father?”
Sigurd took a calming breath, thinking back to his conversation with his lover earlier that day. “He’s right about me, Eivor. I’m too impulsive. If I’m going to inherit the crown someday, I must learn to wield more restraint. Gorm murdered someone from our kingdom, so my father will determine his fate in a trial. Seems only fitting, seeing as how he’s the king.”
The younger man was pleased to see that the prince had taken his advice so seriously.
“A wise choice. We should inform Styrbjorn right away, then. We have no time to lose.”
Gorm jumped back in. “Wait! What if the king doesn’t allow me a quick death like we agreed?”
“I’ll explain to him the deal we made,” Sigurd assured. “My father is a man of honor, despite some of the things he does. He will understand.” He brought his attention back to Eivor, continuing their conversation. “Anyway, could you speak to Arngeir while I find my father? If we’re going to catch Kjotve on time, we’ll need everyone to be prepared. Everyone.”
“Of course. I’ll let him know of the plan.”
“Thank you.” Sigurd walked past the Wolf-Kissed, halting in his tracks to whisper something in the man’s ear. “Meet me on the hill outside the longhouse when you’re finished. There’s something I want to show you.”
Eivor nodded, whispering back to him. “I’ll be there.”
“Then I’ll see you soon, my love. But for now, let’s just focus on preparing for the upcoming battle. This war isn’t going to get any easier in the next few days, but if we’re lucky, it’ll end soon. Kjotve is hiding just beyond the horizon. We can’t let him escape.”
Pairing: Eivor x Ubba Ragnarsson
Warning: mentions of nudity! Oh my! sexual vibes
“Where is Ubba?” Eivor rasped, looking around the camp. One of the warriors jerked his head over at the river.
“Gone to clean the grime of battle of himself.”
Eivor nodded at him and then set towards the river.
Eivor looked at the pile of clothes on the grassy riverbank. An axe lay beside them cleansed of battle. Weapons first then himself, she thought to herself. A man who knew how to take care of an axe was someone she admired. Picking it up, she felt the heft of it in her hand. Well balanced with a sharp edge.
Lost in thoughts about the axe, she jerked slightly when Ubba burst from the water, facing away from her.
Axe forgotten, she let her gaze roam over his back toned with muscles and healed scars. Eyes stopping for a moment on his ass then travelled to his thicc thighs.
Ubba turned around, naked, water running off of him. He stretched his arms up and pushed his hair away from his face.
Ubba noticed Eivor waiting at the river’s edge, holding his axe, staring at him unashamedly with a glint in her eye.
"It's dangerous to sneak up on an unarmed viking." Ubba said, walking out of the water, towards her.
Eivor's eyes followed the water's path dripping down his body.
"Wielding that, no one would say you were unarmed."
His lips twitched into a smile, his body language shifting slightly.
“Have you come to send me to Valhalla, Eivor Wolf Kissed?” Ubba walking right up to her.
“Seems your warriors are too far for to save you from my grasp.” Eivor looked around then back at him, standing her ground,
He cocked his head at her, “How would you have me?
Dropping his axe to the ground she placed her hand on his chest, fingers running down the wet skin and curls, a wicked grin growing on her face.
“On your knees.”
Lunden colours are magnificent :)
My relatively recent fascination with Valhalla women has now intersected with lifelong fascination with Characters with glasses. I did these each in an hourish, so I could get it off my mind. Perhaps one day I will explore the Idea in more depth.
I appreciate y'all keeping up the Randivor FFs. Here's really hoping Siege of Paris doesn't leave Randvi a silent bystander chained to the map table and some new content can inspire even more. I'm trying to be optimistic!
Kiss Day -Accepting!! @fynan
A shame Finan was still sleeping, Eivor was hoping he’d be awake by now. Sighing softly, they gently nudged the sleeping bear with their hand to attempt to awaken him. It worked, but not without cost. His hands are quick to pull them into the bed with him, and proceeded to lay on top of them. The wolf-kissed couldn’t help but laugh a little, and pressed a kiss to his cheek gently. Though it would seem he had fallen back asleep, his beard brushed up on their neck. ❝Mm... FInan... We need to get up.❞ They groan, but they do not actually mind this closeness. Their reason for waking him up? Forgotten.
I told you, she could be a supermodel.
smthing about... eivor calling someone drengr got me all 🥺
❝... They are acting suspicious.❞ Actually, Eivor just wants to bully them.
Basim + Jormungandr set
Keep me | Ubba x Eivor, a short.
“No!” He screams. “Not yet!”
“Wolf-Kissed, you have to let me go.”
There are tears flowing from his eyes, running down his cheeks. His hands fumble to keep pressure on the wounds—the blood is seeping through the cracks of his hands. “No, no I will not! Please, you can’t leave me! Not now!”
The man beneath Ravensthorpe’s Jarl winces, his teeth gnashing in pain but his lips pull to smile. “Eivor…” he tries again.
But to no avail.
Eivor keeps trying, ordering the surviving to fetch him anything—everything. Ubba is not dying today. Odin will not accept him today.
Ubba is dying today. Odin will accept him today.
Two spears tore through his body; through skin, flesh, and bone. From two life-threatening wounds, Ubba is losing blood too quickly. He starts to pale, his body is of Niflheim in Eivor’s Helheimr heat.
The world stops spinning.
“Listen to me, Ragnarsson.”
The trees stops dancing.
“You are finishing what your father started.”
Ubba slowly stops breathing.
“Eivor.” A smile holds Eivor still. He knows. “I shall reserve a throne for you.” A smile brings Eivor home. He knows. “Do not follow me… so soon.”
There are tears flowing from his eyes, running down his cheeks. His eyes are red and his smile is hesitant, small, and wet. “Please. Don’t go.”
Oh, Eivor. I have to.
The world keeps spinning.
“You… must conquer England… in my stead.”
The trees keep dancing.
“I trust… you.”
Ubba stops breathing.
“I love you…”
Unprompted Asks -Always Accepting!! @avaere
The invite for the warrior to steer the ship was something Eivor wasn’t expecting right away, and quite frankly they were a little bit nervous - not that they’d admit that aloud to Captain Beidou. Though it would seem they didn’t need to, because she had reached for their hands and placed them on the ship’s wheel before they could prompt themselves to do it first. They were taken aback, but gently gripped the wheel while she stepped back and to the side of them to watch. The ship is beyond beautiful, and Eivor almost wishes they could have one of their own. Traversing the land for greater shores... They wish to see more of the world. They take a deep breath - time to see more of it. Perhaps traveling with Beidou would be something they would seek in the future. Finally, they began to steer the wheel - going into the direction they were originally heading. They do have a keen ear, after all. Turning their head to look at the captain, they offer her a small smirk. ❝She is a rather sturdy ship, Captain. I must admit, I envy you. I would love to travel, but my people need me.❞ They admit, before looking ahead at the horizon. By the archons, it is beautiful. ❝It is an honor to steer the ship of the most powerful captain and her crew on the sea.❞
"A River To Raid" ⚔🎮 Assassins Creed Valhalla [https://youtu.be/_Gp08Qmp8TE]
Throwback to the first mission of "a river to raid" It was really nice that you can create your own crew and use also the weapons and armor from eivor. Did you know for this mission the animus show our ship? 🤔 Thats really amazing, by the way you should now im love to playing with the photomode. At one from my livestream i spend over 15 minutes into it to create a wallpaper 😅 Enjoy the clip, cheers ShepardChris ⚔️
hi i would like eivor to drop kick me the way they do with the saxons-