#the shieldmaiden saga

[avatarskywalker78]

It's Thirsty Thursday so here's links to my series (the ones with more than on part, anyway!)

flufftober 2021 (recently reshuffled into the correct order!)

flufftober 2022

flufftober 2023

Nicky Connors, Cobra Adjacent

bad boy (no more)

Cobra Kai Mini Rewrites

The Shieldmaiden Saga

Cobalt Blue and The Flash

emerald legacy (remember this one guys??)

the thompson archives

Old works (my FFN imports)

Tagging (let me know if you want to be added or removed): @shrinkthisviolet @dream-beyond-the-fantasy @vexic929 @negative-speedforce

#thirsty thursday #flufftober2021 #flufftober2022 #flufftober2023 #nicky connors cobra adjacent #bad boy (no more) #cobra kai mini rewrites #the shieldmaiden saga #cobalt blue and the flash #emerald legacy #the thompson archives #old works

[illustratus]

Hervör retrieves the sword from Angantýr by Christian Gottlieb Kratzenstein Stub

Hervör awakens her father Angantýr's ghost from his barrow on Samsø to demand the cursed magic sword Tyrfing

#hervor #angantyr #art #barrow #burial mound #christian gottlieb kratzenstein stub #hervarar saga #waking of angantyr #poetic edda #norse mythology #samsø #tyrfing #tyrfingr #magic sword #sword #shieldmaidens #shield maiden #heirloom #cursed #germanic heroic legend #sagas #scandinavia #europe #european #northern europe #haunted #enchanted #shieldmaiden #history #medieval

[maxelvingart]

The shield-maiden stands alone facing a terrible beast.

This painting is a remake of an older painting I did back in 2015 even if little remains but the core concept. Inspired by the norse sagas and the beautiful Norwegian mountains and fjords. Listened to a lot of Heilung and Wardruna while painting this one!

#shieldmaiden #troll #viking #vikings #norse #pagan #digital art #photoshop #norway #fjords #hero #sagas #saga #art #artists on tumblr #maxelvingart

[chaoticwomanlove]

Brunhild, the shieldmaiden or valkirye♡

#brunhilda #shieldmaiden #viking #the ring of the nibelung #nordic saga

[kneelingshadowsalome]

hi! love you and your writing ♡ correct me if I'm wrong, I read somewhere that you were a lady of the north! this might be super corny but i'll just ask: any thoughts on viking!König? 👉👈

I love corny things!! (like duh this man is the epitome of corny) 💕

His first crush was the local girl who made the most challenging tablet weavings in the whole village. Guy could’ve looked at her hands dance for hours (which he did, and made the poor woman very uncomfortable)

Went a bit berserk in his first battle – it’s basically inevitable with all that bottled up frustration

Earned all kinds of nicknames because of this, some of which are best left unsaid because he also fought his first battle naked (don’t ask why)

Wanted to be a stealthy archer but, well, we all know how that went… People used him to open thick wooden doors with the largest ax anyone had ever seen, and when he noticed he’s quite good at it, the bow dreams eventually wore off

The first time he saw a crucifix he mistook it for what we would call torture porn these days. Actually got excited about how this method could be used to get prisoners to talk but stopped rambling about it when no one cared to listen :/

First time a priest talked to him about baptism, he asked if it’s something he could eat

Was very interested in hearing stories about jötunns and secretly feared–or wished–that he was descended from giants

On the other hand didn't find the story about Thor getting dressed up as a bride funny at all :(

Got famous for his bad poetry, mainly related to his sad attempts to woo women. If he would’ve kept his mouth shut and settled for being big, broody and mysterious, women would’ve torn each other's hair off for him, but alas, he always opened his mouth in the wrong place and at the wrong time so no pussy for him

Some say he got hard once when a shieldmaiden slapped him, but that could simply be a nasty rumor

They say he retired happily to a farm somewhere with some slave girl he brought home from his adventures, and that he even married that poor woman. No one knows for sure; these are just sagas and tales because you only saw this self proclaimed king on raids when he was bored or unhappy. So everyone made the assumption that this big bear must be busy harassing his wife and getting cooed at, with a flock of unruly kids running in his feet everytime he tries to go and feed his goats.

#viking!könig #historical au #answered

[laurellerual]

For the fanart, could you do Val full shieldmaiden stlye, post-battle?

I am so proud of this! I love it, if I can say so myself.

I think that the equipment of the skjaldmær (shielmaiden) is quite historically accurate.

The swan feather cloak is not. I chose it because Val, shieldmaiden version, reminded me of  Hervör (also a shieldmaiden from the Hervarar saga ok Heiðrek). And  Hervör + Val reminded me of the homonymous valkyrie from the Vǫlundarkviða, also a swan-maiden.

I hope you like it :)

#val #asoiaf #freefolk #vikings #hervor #norse mithology #asoiaf fanart #art #mitology #poetic edda #valkyrie #medieval literature

[minlout3heathlegs3ruffthrokfan]

Ironmongers' Saga HTTYD Fanfic Poll || Minden's Disguise

Should Minden be in disguise as a male warrior in an AU where she doesn't want to become a Wingmaiden and have a Mulan-esque scenario, or should she be there as herself as a shieldmaiden sword-for-hire?

Thank you for voting! This helps with where to go with the story.

— Minlout3Heathlegs3RuffthrokFan

#minlout3heathlegs3ruffthrokfan #httyd #httyd fandom #tumblr polls #httyd fanfic poll #httyd poll #pol #httyd minlout #httyd minor pairings #minlout #dreamworks dragons #race to the edge #httyd minden #minden #httyd fanfics

[vexic929]

Hiya! First of all, I just want to say that I love your blog and your OCs, and I'd like to be added to the taglists for Lara An-Veks, Beth Allen, Alana Wells, Berrie Thawne, and your Earth-63 OCs, because I love them!! And to ask if you wanted to be tagged in any of my OC taglists or not.

Hi! omg yeah of course, I'll add you :) and I'd love to be added to taglists about your Shieldmaiden Saga OCs if you wouldn't mind <3333

#goldheartedchaoticdisaster #vexic answers #vexic lives

[saintreinettewrites]

Writeblr (Re)Introduction!

Hello! I'm Luke (30, he/him), and this is my writing blog (aka Writeblr). This is a sideblog, so I interact from @yamiunicorn. I am looking to interact with other writers, especially other poets and YA authors!

I've been known to say that I'm a poet by nature and an author by trade. My poetry is at times gruesome, usually visceral, and always straight from the heart.

My original fiction tends to jump around between a few different worlds (from what I lovingly refer to as the Luke Extended Universe). Most of my original fiction at least somewhat loosely falls into the category of high fantasy. Some of my WIPs include:

Valkyrie's Moon. Edvin's family and village were destroyed by the dragon Njalur when he was only twelve winters old. He was then adopted by the warrior Aksel, Thrudhall's former Lord Valkyrie. Once Thrudhall's greatest asset in their war against the dragons, Aksel was forced into retirement after sustaining injuries in his final clash with Njalur. Wanting revenge on Njalur, Edvin trains beneath Aksel in the hopes of becoming Thrudhall's next Lord Valkyrie. Little does he know, Aksel is hiding something from him, and, perhaps worse, Thrudhall's leadership is hiding something even bigger from its own citizens.

Vision of Wings. Dag, a disillusioned "shieldmaiden," has received prophetic visions from Loki since childhood. They then meet Baldric, a captured amnesiac who also shares a strange connection to the gods. Dag and Baldric embark on a journey from Midgard to Jotunheim in search of clues that could lead them back to Baldric's past, but the further they stray from home, the more ominous their tale becomes.

Riltan Steel Saga. A series of stories taking place on Rilta, a continent in a fictional world inhabited by mortals and magical entities alike. These stories are organized by era and currently fall into the following (chronological) order:

Stiletto. A tragic romance between Ruuntaka's Prince Rancor and his witch consort Mana. Their happily-ever-after is foiled by a jealous nobleman, who sets off a chain of events that leads to witchcraft being outlawed in Ruuntaka -- by punishment of death or exile to the frozen wastes of the northern territory known as Cibere.

Urumi. Takes place during the height of Ruuntaka's ban on witchcraft. A young witch named Han comes to serve as Princess Kelta's attendant, with the two of them concealing his magic until adulthood -- before their world falls apart when he accidentally commits murder in an act of self-defense.

Morningstar. Georg, a Kielan necromancer seeking a cure for his wife Rokiste's terminal illness, meets a phoenix named Ravenna who has taken a human form. Ravenna and her witch husband Miedo both grow attached to Georg, and their families end up blending together until they become indistinguishable from one another.

Saber. An untrained Ruuntakan witch named Tenken comes of age in a world that, despite progress in the right direction, still hates him for what he is. When the Ciberean necromancer Miedo threatens to tear even that world asunder, he and the friends he has finally made have to stand up to protect Ruuntaka from invasion -- and, presumably, destruction.

Labrys. Ruuntaka's Prince Kailus is the son of the nation's witch King Tenken and half-phoenix Queen Bianca, but his physical disability and chronic pain make it nearly impossible for him to use his magic, let alone transform. Enter his new tutor, Xel -- a woman from Kiel who is meant to train him in all things kingly so that he will be prepared to inherit the throne. Xel, however, is not who she claims to be, and Agony, the sister of the woman she killed, is prepared to do anything to seek her revenge.

Claymore. A demon doctor named Argos and his mortal husband Isrun work as bounty hunters, of a sort. Their main targets? Angels, who, as literal pieces of the goddess Asha, are more powerful than any human witch. Argos and Isrun adopt a half-angel girl named Airin, and she helps them find purpose beyond their shared hunt.

Pistol. Rewar, an angel who has killed countless phoenixes and unicorns, goes further than any of his siblings in their holy mother's name, siring thirteen half-human children whom he intends to use to conquer Kiel before moving on to the rest of the world. One of Rewar's sons, Jean, escapes his clutches and is instead raised by his human mother, Gwen, who hides him in a convent of the Order of the Lady of Cerberus -- an organization dedicated to protecting humankind from Asha and her angels.

Anyway! Thank you for stopping by, and, as always, have a safe journey.

#writeblr intro #poetry #original fiction #vision of wings #riltan steel saga #valkyrie's moon

[earlgraytay]

Thanks for the tag, @bakomglaset !

Get to know me

Share your wallpaper:

A pretty image of Beignon from Fire Emblem: Radiant Dawn.

The last song you listened to: SING by My Chemical Romance.

Currently Reading:  The Vor Game by Lois McMaster Bujold.

Last Movie: The Super Mario Bros Movie.

Craving: Chocolate. Specifically, Cosmic Brownies. :(

What are you wearing right now: Pink linen button-down, navy blue sweatpants.

How tall are you: Taller than Miles Vorkosigan.

Piercings: Used to have my ears pierced, but the holes closed up.

Tattoos: None.

Glasses? Contacts?: Yes, glasses.

Last drink: Coffee, three sugars.

Last show: Splitting my attention between Trigun (with my friend Lifa) and Oshi no Ko (with my partner).

Last thing you ate: Pizza with my bestie!

Favourite colour: Lavender.

Current obsession: Too many to count! Let's go with the kids's book I'm writing. Or the Vorkosigan Saga. or Bugsnax. Or Trigun.

Unrelated Obsession: The Sims (2 or 4)

Any pets: Do ball jointed dolls count?

Do you have a crush on anyone: Not sure how to answer this question, tbh!

Favourite fictional character: oh god there are so many

Miles Vorkosigan. Dairine Callahan. Vash the Stampede. Mina Murray-Harker. Jo March. Elizabeth Comstock.

The last place you traveled:  The last big vacation I took was to Montreal for CrossingsCon! It was really exciting.

I tag @yooniesim , @amairylle, @terrarkul , @fierceawakening, @ladyyatexel , @tabby-shieldmaiden , @tyrantisterror , @0koyote, and anyone else who wants to do this!

#ask meme #dash meme

[avatarskywalker78]

For the qocc oc challenge day six, The Ties That Bind Us - create something for the most important relationship(s) in your oc's life. This is for Steph Taylor and Eddie Thawne, best friends and platonic soulmates from my series The Shieldmaiden Saga, who I love and adore writing for.

#qocc oc challenge #Eddie Thawne #Steph & Eddie #The Shieldmaiden Saga #The Flash #oc: steph taylor

[tinygiantplasticmonsters]

Shieldmaidens for saga, casts from Bad squiddo games, paint jobs by me.

#Saga (tabletop game) #wargaming #miniature painting

[archesa]

have 1, 8, 24, and 27 for anwen, mayhaps? :D @kerra-and-company

Ooooooh thanks so much for these! 😁 Always super happy to talk about Anwen (especially since I'm trying to get back onto continuing the fic and I need to rekindle my obsession love for her to get back to writing !

1 / What’s the one thing they would save in a fire?

There's nothing she cares about enough that she'd risk her life going back into a fire to get...

But there are quite some things she'd be particularly sad about losing, and she'd absolutely grab on her way out, given that everyone is safe and sound, far from the fire.

The letters she and Trahearne exchanged — a lot of them dating from 1325 to 1328 unsent — over the years.

A few original editions from her library.

And a huge soft shawl Meryw knitted for her. 💙

8 / If they were an animal, which one would they be? Which one would they think they’d be?

It took me a while pondering this : I reviewed a few, called onto my teenage-'His Dark Materials'-fan-self and wondered what Anwen's daemon would be... and suddenly it hit me! Clever, loyal to a fault, ruthlessly protective, hyperactive...

A border collie!

Works quite well with her (shep)herding nature! 😁

I don't know how she'd see herself, though... As a fern-hound perhaps 😁🌱

24 / Do they have any phobias?

Her investigation and battle against Kellach left an indelible imprint on her, leaving her terrified of being corrupted and risen, to be used to harm the ones she loves. As such, risen, mordrem and forged stir something very uncomfortable in her...

(Guess a few forged and a certain god of war are gonna end on the recieving end of this infamous jump-kick... From a 12' tall Trahearne! Ouch!)

On a whole other level, @lilypixy and I joked a few times that she could absolutely not afford to develop a phobia to fire... Quite some luck then that the Judge took care to shroud a very specific memory of hers before Grenth sent her back... Not even a scar for her to remember Balthazar killing her.

27 / What’s their favorite genre of music?

From a very young age, she has loved ballads, love and adventure tales, simple celebrations of life and time passing by...

As the years have passed and she has written her own legend and bards now sing the tale of the Commander and the Marshal, the heroics of the knight and her shieldmaiden, the saga of the Dragon full of Light and her Champion, the courage, determination and friendship uniting this strange group of friends, this found family crystalized around the last Elder Dragon, she has turned from her once favoured genre to instrumental music... She is particularly keen on harps and cords, bells and glockenspiel... Sounds that remind her her daughter 💙

#archesa answers #anwen evergreen #anwen evergreen headcanon #trammander #aurene #my dragon daughter🐉 #(i saw that post circulating about caithe aurene and the commander and I have a few things to address in Anwen's storyverse) #(but her relationship with aurene is gonna be a lot closer than it is in canon!) #(if i calculated right we have a few months between Aurene's birth and the incident at Bitterfrost...) #(months that Anwen will spend constantly travelling between tarir and caer aval to see aurene and bond with her) #(so yes... Aurene might be Glint's scion but she's anwen's daughter!)

[gudvina]

Odin placing what will be Sigmund's sword, and later Sigurd's, in Barnstokk, the great tree built in the middle of Volsung's Hall, is probably the greatest symbolic foreshadowing of the Saga.

As Barnstokk represents the Volsung family, and the sword symbolically split the tree trunk, thus the sword further separates the family.

This theme first appears with Sigmund, who first loses Signy and his life, separating him from his second wife and unborn child. During Sigmund's fight against Odin the sword splits, and Sigmund's wife stores the shards to gift to her son, Sigurd.

Sigurd Sigmundsson forges a new sword with the shards from his father's, and his family unit is split between the shieldmaiden Brynhildr and his wife Guthrun.

#the saga of the volsungs #barnstokk #family trees

[pomegranates-and-blood]

Before the devouring (Daughters Anthology)

Daughters Masterlist

Pairing: Gen Fic, but as per canon, some Bjorn/Gunnhild and some minor Bjorn/Ingrid, and because it’s me, hints at Ingrid/Gunnhild.

Summary: Gunnhild starts her journey as Queen of Kattegat with the counsel and augury of the women who carried the title before her, finding in their sagas written her own. With Gunnhild as Metis (an Oceanid, daughter of Oceanus and Tethys. She is one of Zeus’ wives, the one that helped him defeat Kronos, but she was prophecized to give him children that would overpower him and thus she was killed -eaten- by Zeus. She was already pregnant though, and she stayed in Zeus’ head long enough to raise her daughter before dying/fading away. She is Athena’s mother, and she made armor and weapons for her daughter, the helm she is usually depicted in, and her spear and aegis).

Word Count: 4.8k

Warnings: Canon divergence for the outcome of Gunnhild’s pregnancy and her death (and tweaking to the timeline, as the baby is 1) born, and 2) born a few months before the battle for Kattegat). Some injury descriptions, themes of (somewhat graphic) death and allusions to/mentions of domestic violence. The usual Ragnar&co. bashing for this anthology, and my incredibly rusty writing. As always, this might be OOC, especially in this case. And finally, this is the least canon compliant part of this anthology of sorts, because season 6 is a fucking mess and I cannot for the life of me find a plotline that I would enjoy writing about, no matter how much I like the characters/dynamics of it.

A/N: Poem (italicized bits) is Metis, the Forgotten King Maker by Nikita Gill and Gunnhild gif credits to @underragingwaves​, from this set, the Margrethe one is also hers but I can’t find the link to the actual set, the Lagertha one I found on Pinterest and I couldn’t find a source, and the Freydis one is mine. There’s also a line from Nikita Gill’s The Metamorphoses of Zeus spoken by a character, specifically: He destroys. He devastates. He devours.

Is there a word for this?

The waiting before the devouring.

The knowing and unknowing

of what is soon to be the ruins of you.

There is something about Kattegat her husband doesn’t know, his brothers don’t know, and his father never knew.

Ever since they first retook the town, Gunnhild has had to get used to unusual sights plaguing the kingdom she is supposed to rule over.

She sees a shieldmaiden with the weight of years slowing her gait searching frantically for the daughters only she cannot see, and as the mother wails her loss Gunnhild is left looking at four girls still cowering in a corner of the longhouse, holding onto each other as if the Gods were kind enough to make girls able to withstand the aftershocks of a man’s ambition.

On some nights she catches a familiar face looking at them too.

Lagertha’s ghost never lingers next to those girls or any of the others, she turns her back soon enough, and each time she does her back curves further under some invisible weight, some unshakeable guilt.

On the nights Gunnhild spends alone, talking to her pregnant belly trying to offer her baby the certainty she herself lacks, into the room stumbles a ghost of dainty features and sad eyes, and each and every time Gunnhild is frozen when Kattegat’s last queen takes a step towards her, hands stretched as if to feel her swollen belly, before her expression crumbles and the bruises on her neck get darker, and remembering the lie, remembering the end, she instead folds her hands in front of her own empty stomach and bows a goodbye.

Freydis’ ghost never wanders far from the longhouse either, but it isn’t the painful tie to those girls that keeps her tethered there, Gunnhild realized that fairly early. No, she stays where there aren’t burn marks etched on the houses and the streets still, she stays where the grief of countless families isn’t so thick in the air, she stays where her guilt cannot reach her.

And Gunnhild wonders if she also stays there as to not see her. The one that was both always and yet never a slave, the one Gunnhild sees walking the streets of Kattegat fervently, rabidly, tearing at herself and clawing at the edges of the town searching for a way out.

And she wonders if Freydis is afraid of her, of her madness, of her pain.

After all, she has seen the woman that whispers still speak of as the one that single-handedly sealed Kattegat’s Fate, the woman that stood her ground before a tyrant and a murderer without flinching; cover her ears like a child and cower in some corner of the longhouse when Margrethe’s screams threaten to tear the very earth in two as she is once again forced to accept she won’t be able to leave Kattegat.

On some nights, when Gunnhild hears her cries she has to grit her teeth to keep at bay her own, and her ring finger bruises and bleeds as Freydis’ neck did, and Kattegat’s walls grow taller and taller as a reminder that she too is trapped here.

“I built them,” A revered woman tells her in one of those nights, a woman made legend. To Gunnhild, she looks as real and as brittle as the day she realized the thing she wanted most in this world was to see her son one last time. Lagertha doesn’t look at her, and Gunnhild isn’t sure if she even knows she is talking to her, “I built them because I thought…I thought they would keep me safe, keep us safe.”

“From whom?” She asks, forcing strength into her voice to keep it from trembling, lest someone hears her talking to a ghost and thinks her mad and weak. She realizes then, with that thought, with that compulsion, that she already has her answer.

“I thought I was…keeping us safe.” Lagertha’s shadow repeats, suddenly not looking at the walls anymore, but at the horizon behind it, at the sea that carried the boat of a once-queen many times over, at the sea across from which her heart died. “But Kattegat needs its monsters, shieldmaiden. It will make one out of you if you try to keep them out.

She turns to her then, clarity in her wide eyes as she meets her gaze, the unwavering strength of the shieldmaiden she admired, the pain and regret of the woman she came to love.

“It -we- made one out of him. Out of all of them, and…ourselves too.”

She notices her husband’s restlessness again that night, the way his thoughts seem to chase themselves in circles as what was supposed to be the mountaintop offers no change from the very bottom. It isn’t the first time she is a witness to it, she was privy to the way he is pulled between the search for glory and the dread of the chains that come with it, long before they made themselves king and queen.

But tonight it is the first night that it worries her, that she puts a hand over her pregnant belly and she fears.

Her husband reminds her of a caged beast, and Gunnhild has too many scars to think to approach him, instead keeping her distance, keeping her shield close and herself ready for the moment the beast strikes.

Because that is the thing, about an animal in a cage. Even a cage it let itself be lured into with promises of glory, even a cage it was prodded into with the weight of legacy. It will lash out, eventually.

It will kill, if it has to. Once it is backed into a wall, or a step away from freedom, it will strike against both friend and foe for a chance to survive, to win.

If given a chance to, it will sacrifice anything for a chance at glory, or at freedom. He has before.

He is a God-King after all.

And I just his consort.

So what if I was his king maker.

Better women than me

have made gentler kings

and still met their ends.

Her worries do not leave her, just as her husband’s restlessness does not leave him, not with another wife by his side, not with a kingdom at his back, not with a daughter in Gunnhild’s belly. She wonders if it is perhaps because of those things that his restlessness grows, that he seems hungrier with each passing day.

She wonders if it is perhaps the life she is growing inside of her that awakens in him this hunger for glory, this instinct to devour. She wonders if he knows, just as his father did, that it is a child’s burden and privilege to live to become greater than their father.

And so her worries grow, as does her belly.

After all, she has seen the Norns taking their children from mortals, ripping them from their mother’s arms be it in a sickness that overtakes their body or because of the bravery they blessed them with. And she has seen men call themselves Gods and do the same, ripping children from their mothers’ arms, men of the same blood as her husband.

She thought she wanted glory, for herself and for her children. She thought she would never want anything more than bringing to this world a child that could claim a demigod as their father, but war and strife loom in the horizon as Fate demands the blood of legends be spilled; and Kattegat’s throne is just a piece of wood and so are the walls around it, and she wants, more than anything, for her child to be safe.

Gunnhild knows she is not a gentle woman, nor has she ever had any intention to be. When she was more child than woman, and times after that as well, she has thought of it as a fault on her part, as a flaw to be fixed. That would be fixed, once she grew, except growing only showed her that the world has teeth and it will sink them into supple flesh and left her no choice but to harden herself, once she married, but she married twice over out of ambition and she knows soft things hunger for love not power, once she had children, but life grows inside of her and all she wants is to find a way to arm her daughter with shield and armor before she leaves her womb.

“Neither your love or your shield will keep her safe from everything,” A familiar figure now sitting beside her says, voice sweet but sad. When the woman lifts her head, she bares to Gunnhild’s eyes dried blood caked around deep bruises that circle her neck. At the sight, disgust wages war with anger, Gunnhild’s lips part and her stomach tightens as if a snake had curled around her middle; and without even realizing she has let her hand fall to her side, searching for the sword that no longer lies there. Freydis lowers her gaze for a moment, but her eyes are still clear, she still holds this inhuman serenity as she states, “You needn’t concern yourself with the likes of me.”

“I decide who I concern myself with.” She retorts without hesitation, a furrow between her brows, in her mind the bruises on her neck the same shade, the same curse, as her mother’s blackened eye. She takes a breath, and admits to a failure that has haunted her since she first saw the once-queen lifeless beside the bones of her child, “I’m sorry I couldn’t kill him.”

It seems to take her aback, her harshness, or maybe the softness hidden underneath it. Regardless, Freydis leans back, clear eyes a little wider, expression a little less controlled, considering Gunnhild for a moment before she offers yet another smile.

This one is dimmer, but it feels more honest.

“Death, by your hand no less, would be too merciful,” The admission is quiet, but she hears the iron underneath. “You needn’t worry, he has paid. And when he returns, he will pay again.”

It is then, meeting her clear gaze, that Gunnhild wonders if some remain because they want to, not because they are trapped here. She wonders still if, even though she keeps herself tied here with nothing but her anger, she will be able to let go and rest one day.

But then in her mind echoes Torvi’s wail, a keen more animal than human but still mother, echoing in the quiet of the village as she learned of her son’s death; in her mind Gunnhild feels herself again upon that bed curling in on herself to try desperately to keep the pain from her heart, to keep the dread from her bones as she heard just outside Torvi mourning. And she realizes now, with those memories aching in her chest and guiding her hand to caress where her daughter grows, that she needn’t know if Freydis will one day be able to rest, for she knows Freydis herself does not care as long as her son is avenged, as long as his murderer is forced to pay.

And because anger always pairs itself with regret when it comes to grief, Freydis’ strength wavers, dims, and her voice quietens as she speaks again,

“I thought…I thought not even a God’s hunger could stand a chance against a mother’s love,” Freydis admits, seemingly steeling herself against the pain her words remind her of, head held high, jaw set tight even though her lip trembles. “I was wrong, and it cost me…everything.”

“Are you trying to warn me?”

“He hungers, you know that. They all do.”

She can only swallow thickly at the truth the woman so bluntly offers, at the reality the wisdom of the dead forces her to see.

Gunnhild closes her eyes with a deep breath, and when she opens them, Freydis is gone. Behind where she sat, just in the direction Gunnhild was looking as she uselessly searched for a remnant of the ghost’s presence, Ingrid approaches, smile tentative but kind as she looks at her.

Her stomach churns when she realizes she seemed most likely a mad woman, talking to herself in the quiet of the longhouse, and just as she is to voice an excuse, Freydis speaks again, her dainty voice somewhere in the crackling of fire, in the cadence of Ingrid’s approaching steps,

“They get that from their father.”

Ingrid eyes the empty seat, big eyes returning to Gunnhild after a breath, and where she expects to find doubt, or mockery, instead she finds Ingrid offers warmth, and a secretive smile.

“Don’t worry, she will be back,” Gunnhild notices the way her fingers are intertwined nervously in front of her, a contrast to the warm disposition Ingrid tries portraying. After a moment, she adds in a mumble, “There aren’t many places for her to go, after all.”

But there’s light in her eyes as she says that, there’s fondness in her voice, there’s the ease of companionship in the curve of Ingrid’s smile.

Gunnhild is certain it isn’t only directed at her, that smile, and finds herself smiling back, cautiously, hopefully, at both the ghosts and the woman before her.

People think having the power of prophecy

and cunning means you can avoid your fate.

No, my loves,

you are simply driven mad

by the knowledge of what is coming

and that you cannot stop it.

She cannot help but wonder, as spring and war and death draw nearer and nearer with each passing day, what her husband is willing to sacrifice for victory, for glory.

It isn’t for them that he fights, it isn’t for the future of his children, but for the past of his father, after all. And what a man isn’t fighting to save is what a man is willing to sacrifice, this she has learned, both in the battlefield with a sword in one hand and a shield in the other, and in her once-home with both hands clasping tightly at the skirts of her mother’s dress.

At night, when sleep eludes her, Gunnhild takes to sitting in a small balcony in the back of the longhouse, letting her eyes focus on the night sky and hating how her mind reminds her of the passing of time, the dawn of war in the horizon, each night just by the changed positions of the stars and the moon.

Sometimes there is company by her side, the cold presence of a dainty woman of sad smiles or the warm hold of Ingrid’s hand in hers, but still her thoughts do not still, her dread does not leave her. Because Gunnhild knows, she knows like she knew Lagertha wouldn’t be allowed to be anything but what the world wanted her to, she knows like she knew her husband was too prideful to deny himself anything in favor of loyalty, she knows she is amongst that which he and the world around her will sacrifice for glory.

And more than ever she is now filled with the urge to find a way to don her daughter in armor before she is to leave her womb, to find a way to gift her a shield and sword of her own before she is to even open her eyes, to find a way to teach her the ways of the world and the ways of men and protect her from both.

She fears, more than anything perhaps, that she won’t be able to, that her child will be left alone in this world, that her husband’s hunger will consume her before she can raise her daughter. She fears her child will grow, unknowing that the one she must trust the least is her father even if she must strive to be his favorite, unaware of how to guard herself so what happened to her mother does not happen to her, having forgotten who her mother is and what her own name is.

“Are you-…you are afraid of being…devoured too, aren’t you?” A voice startles her, a slight trembling edge to the words. Gunnhild turns to meet Margrethe’s wide gaze, able only to stare back as the other woman nods her head to herself, as if confirming her own words, “You feel it, you felt it before, like…like hands around your neck. Or a ring on your finger. Only this time, this time you know you can’t fight back.”

She has gone mad, she was once told, we couldn’t take her with us to England.

So you left her behind, she wanted to argue back, because she is nothing if not someone willing and able to make others say what they mean to instead of letting them hide behind prettier words, but instead she merely asked, I wonder what became of her.

She asks herself now if then it was that she started down this path, when before the glory of legends she let her own hunger be ignored, and she wonders if she started letting pieces of herself feed them then, when she kept quiet instead of demanding to know what happened to the last woman that dared hunger more than one of them.

Regardless, silence answered her that day, and in her musings, she finds herself answering with the same to Margrethe’s words.

“Fear it all you want,” Margrethe spits with a shrug, evidently slighted by Gunnhild’s lack of response, with a childish cruelty that for some reason manages to tug at the shieldmaiden’s heart. “You can’t escape it. None of us can, not even them.”

“Them?”

“Them. The kings, the legends, the…the sons. Them,” She repeats again, as if Gunnhild had to have known what she meant from the beginning. Margrethe takes a breath, a shaky inhale that makes her stand taller but makes the tremble in her lip more noticeable, the pain in her wide gaze piercing. “He devoured them all, you know. He was hungry, and…and…”

“They were a threat to him.” Gunnhild states, not really sure why she is speaking as if any man was eaten alive. But still, a realization weighs on her chest with the weight of secrets her husband exchanged with her once, admissions of how he worried he could never be greater than his father, of how he feared he could.

Margrethe’s eyes focus on her with a glint she saw before, in the eyes of a once-slave too, a fierceness and an instinct to protect there that the world was never kind enough to deserve from her, from either of them.

“They were children,” She hisses, sorrow breaking her voice, perhaps forgetting she was a child once too, or perhaps remembering just that. Then again, perhaps she never was. Ingrid has told her, in secrecy, with the vacancy in her chest of no family to speak of past the one her ring gave her, of how no slave is allowed to be a child. Margrethe does not seem to mind her silence, or her prodding gaze, instead nodding to herself and whispering, “He ate the first two drowning her in the river, and another one when he forgot to come home.”

“I don’t…”

I don’t want to hear this, I don’t want to know.

“He ate the younger one across the sea. His own wrists were shackled, so he gave a shackle to him too, one made of gold, and ate him whole with two words,” She turns them to meet her faze again, suddenly steadier in her madness as she asks, “But the first one, th-the last one, him…him he never could keep down, could he?” The giggle leaving her lips is manic, terrified, and Gunnhild can do nothing but stare back, frozen. “Too alike, I think. Like eating your own heart. But they weren’t alike, once, so maybe it was like eating a…a stone. Unnatural.

She is musing aloud, and Gunnhild is left to wonder if it is her madness that made her so, or her loneliness. When the few ghosts of this town that are still more than remnants hide in the longhouse to keep their eyes from their mistakes, or as they did in life now in death offer to her pain the unwavering strength of a shield-wall, Gunnhild wonders if Margrethe has anyone but herself to hear her thoughts, her words.

“But it doesn’t matter why his father couldn’t devour him too. Still, he destroys, he devastates, and he…he devours instead.”

Gunnhild leans back, suddenly more guarded, suddenly angrier, at the mere idea that the man she has chosen to love, the man she has admired from afar and up close is unworthy of such devotion. At the mere idea that she has made a wrong choice, at the mere idea that this, the devouring, is inevitable.

“My husband is a good man, a good king.”

Margrethe’s answering laugh makes a shiver run down her spine. It is a cackle, mad and broken, that dies in pieces as she shakes her head and says,

“They all are, can’t you see? Because they are the ones to tell the stories. He…he never talks about his father’s absence, does he? Or his selfishness?” She nods to herself, not needing an answer, or perhaps aware she won’t get one from Gunnhild. “Neither did my husband. He didn’t talk about the bruises on his mother’s face either, but I saw them, they were there even after all those years. She had the…the mark, like teeth sunk into her flesh. We all do.”

“You aren’t making any sense.” Oh, but she is, she is, and Gunnhild is too proud to beg her to stop.

The blonde shakes her head again, reaching with a bony hand that impossibly grasps firmly and tightly to Gunnhild’s, that chases off the chill of the night with a warmth unnatural to one so far gone, so long gone.

“They…they get to devour until glory finds them, or they find it, or…or however it is that goes,” She dismisses her own words, her own confusion, with a gesture of her hand, and focuses manic eyes on Gunnhild, leaning closer as she says, voice a plea, “But we…we-…glory devours us, instead. If you just get close, you…you are eaten whole. It doesn’t matter who you are, or how much you want to devour instead,” Her eyes search Gunnhild’s, and after a breath she softens her expression, she offers a sad smile, an apology for the truth she cannot help but reveal. “I hungered, once. She did too.”

It is at her last words that her eyes finally stray from Gunnhild’s, and she follows her gaze only to find Kattegat’s last queen standing by the dim fires, quietly, with lowered eyes and bruises around her neck darker than she has ever seen them.

She hears approaching footsteps, and tonight Lagertha’s gait is marked by the limp of her final years, even though when Gunnhild catches sight of her face by the fire, she looks younger and more alive than she ever knew her.

“As do you. As will she,” She says, eyes on Gunnhild’s stomach and face strained with the nostalgia for a world that never was, for a past life she lost, for a future she will never meet. “She is your daughter, and my granddaughter, after all.”

“Lagertha…”

“I couldn’t win, I couldn’t escape. You can’t either, but she can,” Her eyes meet hers again, with the iron she lost once, after too many mistakes, under too much grief, and Gunnhild knows it is an order before she even tells her, “Raise her to devour.”

Until you learn the way I did,

how to alter a foretelling’s truth,

weaponize sadness and deconstruct it

into a life that works for you.

She awakens from the same dream she has had for so long now she cannot fathom it not being a memory instead, only this time she wakes to the soft coo of her baby’s cries, that the healer tending to her husband’s grave wounds tries shushing before Gunnhild tells her she will take care it.

She holds Signý close to her chest, feeling her little head rest lightly over her beating heart, and lifts her eyes to find Ingrid’s gaze. There is much they don’t say, Gunnhild holds it already as one of her greater regrets, but there is much that they needn’t say at all, not when with their eyes they share their fear, their grief, their pain.

The earth under their feet rumbles with the marching feet of the invading Rus, and when her husband calls for her to, Gunnhild grits her teeth and puts her baby back down in her crib to help him don his armor one last time.

And when the time comes, as he readies himself to fight for the legacy of his father to the last of his strength, she stands by his side, certain she will fight for the future of her daughter to the last of hers.

The world buries a legend they adored and admired that day, Ingrid and Gunnhild a husband they loved despite the pain, Signý a father she barely knew.

But even as they lay the last of the stones that seal the door to his tomb, Gunnhild still feels this dread, this gnawing fear, that even in death her husband’s hunger will reach her. Perhaps only in death it can, for she would fight him to the death were he to try and devour her alive.

The world has long ago decided she is to be the devoted wife of a great man, of a demigod, of a legend. The world has long ago decided her story starts and ends with him, no matter her hunger, her name.

The world has long ago decided there is no place for her, for her as the woman she wants to be, the woman she is, now that he is gone.

The woman they decided she was would endure her husband’s failings and disloyalty, and so she did, and found understanding and love in Ingrid’s soft smile; the woman they decided she was would fight alongside her husband, and so she did, to the very end, and kept on that fight months after his death to hold onto the power she was owed but robbed of; the woman they decided she was would honor his memory by raising his daughter to stories of his glory, and so she did, but told her in whispers of how there was a reason she was Signý before she was Bjornsdottir.

The woman they decided she was would refuse to live in a world that didn’t have her husband in it, this is what she has known and refused to accept, this is what his hunger demanded.

So Gunnhild has no choice but to arm herself one last time, grasp onto her shield and call her shieldmaidens to battle one last time. She strides into the battlefield with a war cry that she knows is a lie, fighting for a cause she has fought for half a year now and still knows is lost.

But that is what the woman they decided she was would do, she would fight with her husband’s name on her lips in the campaign he died for, and so she does, but with the certainty that it is willingly that she ventures into the beast’s stomach, that it is knowingly that she is devoured.

And when they strike the finishing blow, the distant feeling of the cold iron of her enemy’s sword running through her feels exactly like the opposite. It feels like an old knife broken free from a festering wound, it feels like relief, like freedom.

For she knows, as her shieldmaidens carry her to the ship and stall the blood flow with cloth a witch she once loved chose and wove a spell over, that she will live long enough to die in Kattegat. She had made sure of it, long before the Gods showed her so in her dreams.

Ingrid’s bitter and grief-stricken smile welcomes her home, but Gunnhild has no regrets about what keeps her here, and neither do the ghosts that guide her in this world in between worlds, now she understands this much.

Gunnhild had ordered long ago that they lay her sword not to rest by her body, but to be saved in a sheath by her daughter’s bed, for it will serve, before it serves Signý in battle, as the reminder to Gunnhild herself of what she ought to do now, of what she is to be for her daughter.

Her daughter, who cannot understand why they speak of how her mother is long gone when she sees her hand grasping Ingrid’s as the now-queen falters, who refuses to accept her mother sits in Valhalla besides her father when she knows each night she sits by her bed and softly sings her to sleep.

____ ____ ____

I originally didn’t mean to avoid saying the names of the men of Vikings, it just happened and I noticed halfway through and decided to go through with it to the end ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Anyhow, thank you for reading! I would love to know what you think!

Yep, again with me and ghosts in the Daughters anthology. There’s a lot of tragedy in Vikings, ok? Especially surrounding women, and the best way my writing manages to try to show that is through remnants of those people lingering by or returning, either because of the grief of the living (My daughter, my girl), the guilt of the living (I often wish), or in this case, the pain of the dead.

And in case you were wondering who the four girls and their mother from the beginning were, it was Queen Gunnhild, King Horik’s wife, and their daughters. Lagertha leaving the men to kill those children in 2x10 always stayed with me, and thus I headcanon that it also stayed with Lagertha, because no one can stop me lol. I love me some guilt for Lagertha, as you know if you’ve read the previous Daughters works.

Also also, the last-ish part of this was most definitely inspired by (again) Nikita Gill’s work, specifically Athena’s Tale, in the book I already mentioned a thousand times already, Great Goddesses. I just really like it man, idk.

Anyhow, idk if anyone reads these, but hey, thank you for making it this far! I promise I’ll come back with some shippy/reader-insert stuff soon, I’m just trying to get my writing motor going again so whatever romance stuff I finally write isn’t total garbage lol

#gunnhild #gunnhild vikings #Daughters Masterlist #I'm really sorry if this isn't good #my writing hasn't felt good in a while lol #im trying to get back to it #but it'll prob take time #im rusty as fuck #again #sorry lol

[slytherficrecs]

Books with female leads I read after the last kingdom

Note..I have very mixed to negative feelings about The Last Kingdom books (love the tv show)...BUT after watching the show I was in the mood for some Viking Age historical fiction with good female leads. So. Here are the three best books I read.

Qualifications: female lead if not not main character, historically accurate (YMMV) but without being another book written by an old guy as an excuse to write bad things about hot young women, has a plot instead of being “just” a romance.

In 3rd place: The Golden Wolf Saga by Linnea Hartsuyker. This one is probably the closest to the classic Vikings go exploring and on a quest style of book AKA the majority of Viking fiction out there. It has complex characters, nuanced relationships, and some good insight into the formation of Norway. It also has female characters being boss ship captains. The first and third books are a little slow paced, and there are so many characters that when two of the characters who are first cousins got married (slight spoiler) I had forgotten they were related...until another character called it out :P Trigger warnings for physical violence, a couple of gory moments not described in detail, child death, miscarriage, domestic violence, s** assault, and forced age gap marriage. Set in Iceland, Norway and the Faroe Islands.

In 2nd place: The Norse Family Saga by K.S. Barton. This series has a great insight into the everyday lives of people who lived during the Viking age as farmers, tradespeople, and homemakers, as well as the impact of the extreme violence that is so commonly described in sagas. It has a good look at how Vikings were exposed to and respected dozens of other cultures, including Non-Western ones. I think that makes it a pretty unique read for a Viking book. Multiple themes-romance, quests, coming to terms with your past-all run through the books. Trigger warnings: has a consensual enemies to lovers relationship between a sixteen year old and a twenty year old, physical violence, domestic violence, self unaliving, child death, miscarriage, gore, domestic violence, s** assault and a hard look at how Viking slaves were likely treated. Set in Sweden.

In 1st place: The Raven and the Dove by K.M. Butler. Look. All I need to tell you about this book is that it starts with an arranged (political) marriage between a Viking and a French Christian..EXCEPT..the Viking is a shieldmaiden who wants to use the marriage to become a chieftain and the French Christian is a super chill guy who wants to protect his people. It has a nuanced look at a more gender-neutral Norse society (what is open to someone is based on their actions..weak vs strong..instead of male vs female gender).  It has a lot of the same vibes re understanding and respecting different religions that the Last Kingdom does, and the only trigger warnings are for a single gory battle with references to r@pe, cheating and a kidnapping marriage that’s not described in detail-only as what was apparently common at the time. Set in Viking Normandy with some good insight into its’ formation.

#the last kingdom #vikings #historial fiction #book recs #the golden wolf saga #the raven and the dove #the norse family saga