Just a few little imagines.
Add a little bit of oneshots.
May include a bit of Hvitserk, who knows.
Maybe throw in some of Heahmund.
I will be accepting requests.
It will always say completed, but I will still update on here now and then.
I'm not s...
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Words:745 A/N:Only two more requests to go until all are completed. I would love more requests, they are still open. I hope this is good enough and you enjoy!
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Conflict is a natural part of humanity. You agreed with that fact entirely. Until you had to watch the man you loved plough through your mother's fighters. Fear, guilt, pain, it was a tearful concoction that brewed amongst his blue orbs.
The ache was not faint, it forced you back a step. Your heart beat assaulted your ear drums, resounded through your body. It was anything but bearable. However, you managed to bite it back, digging your teeth deeply into your bottom lip.
Internally, you prayed for the world to cease. You daydreamed for him to just walk calmly through the distress and whisk you away. But, those dreams were just that, dreams. Ones of a teenage princess no less.
Despite the years between you, love was still present in every touch, kiss and word. You were drunk on Ubbe Ragnarsson and worst of all, your mother knew this. Lagertha was not blind to the boy's advances toward her daughter, or her reciprocating them.
She couldn't exactly blame the young girl. The older woman was once embraced by a Lothbrok. And it was not rare to hear of his success concerning war and women. Thus, when he caught the older Ragnarsson sneaking into her daughter's room, she couldn't deny the faint whispers, giggles and eventual moans of pleasure.
When you finally snuck out from the great hall, and away from the body guard your mother had appointed. A sigh of obvious relief escaped your lips.
As you ran through the narrow alley ways between huts, lined with mud and damp wood. A grey pall loomed over yourself when you were suddenly pulled aside. An immense pain shot through your spine once you were pushed against a hut. Strands of (H/C) hair fell into your vision as you strained to look up due to the tight grip around your throat. However, it didn't restrict your breathing entirely, allowing you to wheeze while you filled your desperate lungs with air.
Soon enough, through your locks of hair, you deciphered who had trapped you against their hard chest and the wall. Ubbe...
His eyes were frantic, mostly full of betrayal.
"I trusted you-" he seethed, growling in a seductive whisper. But, it wasn't meant in such a way.
His lips were barely ghosting over your earlobe as he spoke and his hot, rushed breaths fanned across your blushing cheeks. You were close, you desired such a thing after so long.
Your mother wanted you to be as graceful as you were strong. Therefore, she sent you to Aslaug much to her displeasure but to Ragnar's recommendation many years earlier.
"-What do you have to say?... Say something!" He exclaimed, making you flinch in his hold.
"I-I..... I don't know" you stumbled out.
His blue eyes grew wider, uncharacteristic as they contradict their soft disposition. His chest rose and fell with a ferocity. And you didn't know what to say. Therefore, you left his pain to burn out before he dropped his forehead to your shoulder. In time his fingers loosened around your neck, allowing you to capture a full breath before you (with caution), pulled his slumped form into your embrace.
"I'm sorry" that's all that was said in the unusual silence of Kattegat. Your voice was small and uncertain, so unlike you. Ubbe made you a different person. Really, your mother wanted you to be such as her. But, you could only see yourself as two things, a strong woman and Ubbe's wife.
Margrethe wasn't an obstacle once you came back, to your home. Hederby couldn't be such a thing. And when he saw you, beautiful in every manner. He dropped the thrall faster than Hvitserk could chug his cup of mead.
Perfect and willing was what you was, unlike the female slave. Everything he could have wanted. Until he came home, tricked by his ex-lover and deceived by you.
Yes, you knew of the invasion. With held the truth to no doubt. However, you didn't know of his mother's murder. Lagertha looked to be drunk of revenge, ambition or more like greed.
The man in your arms was once a prince, a might warrior and son of a legend. Now, he was broken as his shoulders trembled with choked sobs.
Again and again, the echo of apologies rose from your throats like bile. And from him, only did cries of betrayal threaten your heart. Slowly it broke... And your mother was to blame.
