Disclaimer: I do not own the show Vikings or many of the preexisting characters, including Hvitserk, Ubbe and Ivar. I own my OC, Lydia, as well as her family.
THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH for the follows, favorites, etc. I am so excited this story is getting so much attention! Special shout out to Rhapsody and Adhara Snow for their reviews! Rhapsody, thank you so much for this review! As I had previously mentioned, I kind of outlined this story before the fifth season aired, and hadn't taken into account yet the tremendous recent character development of Ivar. I definitely have to make some alterations to my plotline. He is so complex at this point in the story- am excited to begin writing him. And Adhara Snow, thank you! Pleasee keep reading and providing feedback. (:
Thank you all again, and enjoy!
Lydia could not believe her eyes. After all the anticipation, all of the wondering, and all of the preparation she underwent to look as proper, clean and unscathed as possible, she was face to face with a panel of dirty, bruised, disheveled heathens. The guests of Mercia were none other than the Northmen who King Aethelwulf was working tirelessly to eradicate from their region. Of course, her father would be seeking an alliance with them behind the King's back…
Lydia wore a formal gown that sparkled of silver and gold threading. Her long hair fell in soft waves over her shoulders, the top half pulled back with a variety of tastefully jeweled pins and clips. The men spoke for a long while, Lydia too shocked to truly engage in the conversation. Her father wanted the Northmen troops to support him in his quest to overthrow King Aethelwulf and rule England. In turn, he would offer them York and a large bit of unhabituated land to begin a farming colony. To sweeten the deal and seal their alliance, he would also offer one of the sons of Ragnar his sweet daughter's hand in marriage. At this statement, Lydia's jaw clenched. She had been gazing at the floor blankly, but now she stared daggers at the barbarian who seemed to be the leader of the bunch. Most of his head was shaved, with the brown hair on the top of his head forming one long braid down his back. He was tanned, and bearded, and like the rest of them, had the looks of a rugged warrior. His blue eyes pierced into hers, sending icy shivers down her spine. Lydia attempted to not acknowledge the handsomeness of the man, and was successfully unaffected by his apparent indifference towards her. He spoke to the translator, seeming somewhat amused at Lydia's disdain.
"The princess does not seem very happy about this exchange." The translator explained in their language.
"She will learn to be happy with it, don't you worry." King Aelfric retorted, a bit of harshness directed towards Lydia. "She is an excellent homemaker, and at a perfect age for bearing children." Lydia wanted to vomit. Next, it was not the leader who responded, but a thinner, younger man to his right. He also had long brown hair, but it was worn in a few loose braids. He was beautiful, as well, and he smiled softly at Lydia. She assumed that the two men before her were sons of Ragnar. She tried to remember their names from the stories, but she could only remember the name of the cripple, Ivar the Boneless, who was nowhere in sight.
"She is quite pretty, too." The translator spoke for the mischievous looking younger Northman, breaking Lydia's train of thought. His words caught her off guard, and made her wonder when the last time was that she had been called pretty. Suddenly then she remembered, and was overwhelmed with sadness- it felt like a lifetime ago. Her father nudged her sharply.
"Thank you." She whispered quickly, glancing at the younger man. He looked confused at her reaction. With this, King Aelfric continued to talk business, and Lydia went back to staring at her shoes under the table. What was in store for her? What would her life become once she was handed over to these men? She had heard stories of their ventures in York- they were cruel and ruthless, murdering and pillaging and raping. What would they do to her? Would they torture her for fun? Would they pass her around their troops after every victory? Or would they just kill her after she bore them a few heirs? Her mind wondered wildly, and she hoped that whatever happened, it was not as bad as what she was imagining in this moment. She sent God a prayer, though as of recently, her faith in God waivered. What kind of almighty being would allow her to suffer so?
Ultimately, the Northmen agreed that they would consider the offer that night, and come back in the morning with a response. Lydia exhaled, feeling that though it seemed that her fate was sealed, at least she had a night to pretend like she may be granted another chance. The warriors agreed to be shown around the grounds by the King while the hall was prepared for dinner, which they would attend, as well. Lydia knew the drill- King Aelfric would take them to the most scenic views of the surrounding land by taking them to the highest towers, showcasing the power and wealth of the kingdom to entice his potential allies. He would not take them to the town where people were sick and dying in small huts just outside of his castle walls.
The men had left the hall, leaving her alone with her two brothers. It did not take them long to realize that this was the most vulnerable Lydia had been in a long while- and they wished to take advantage of this opportunity to torment her.
"So what did you think of your suitors, sweet Lydia?" Brunwulf taunted. "Seem like the honorable, heroic men of God you'd always imagine you'd end up marrying?"
"Stop it…" Lydia said quietly, but sternly.
"I think that younger one liked you… Hvitserk was his name, I believe." Brunwulf smiled. "I bet he's already imagining what he'll do to you on your wedding night."
"You're disgusting."
"And what do you think they'll do to her when she misbehaves, Ulfberht?" Her brother ignored her.
"If they're any bit as merciless as I've heard, I think Lydia is in for a very rough life."
"I am tortured every day of my life having to be your sister." Lydia snapped. "I can't imagine they could do anything worse to me."
"See, that is where you're wrong, sister." Ulfberht kneeled down beside her chair, now face to face with her. "You thought you were miserable with us? They're barbarians." She blinked, feeling like she was losing her breath. "They killed a priest just a few towns over by pouring hot metal into his mouth while he was still alive. Did you know that?" Lydia felt in this moment like she may truly get sick.
"Did you know that your breath is so putrid that it could kill a horse?" She responded with what energy she had left.
"You bitch…" He pulled his hand back to smack her across the face, but his brother stopped him.
"Ulf, father will not be happy if she is bruised up before dinner." Ulfberht looked at Lydia, who remained stone-like and unaffected by his physical threats, but he reluctantly lowered his arm. A thought then seemed to occur to him.
"Well what if we punish her where her bruises cannot be seen?" The younger brother offered. Brunwulf smiled, and pretended to contemplate the idea for a moment.
"I think you may be onto something, brother." He gazed down at her. "As long as she is back to her room in time for the servants to freshen her up…"
Lydia was on the verge of snapping. In her mind, she felt she had nothing to live for. All hopes of being married off to a kinder gentleman who may provide her with the opportunity to have a loving family and adventurous life were nearly gone. She could not remember her reasons for not fighting back against these evil boys, other than that it seemed she could never win. She remembered somewhat how to defend herself from the lessons she'd been given long ago- a lifetime ago. Her mind worked quickly to resurface those skills before her brothers were on her.
...
Hvitserk only half listened to the King as he described his coming to power in Mercia, and the most valuable goods and trades of the kingdom. His mind wandered to the sad eyes of the beautiful girl he had met minutes ago- Princess Lydia. She was very beautiful, but he knew she would not be happy to be married to any of them. Even still, he hoped he would get the chance to show her that he could make her happy, if she would let him.
And then his mind wandered to Margarethe. What would become of their relationship if he were to be married? He cared deeply for her, but there was no future with her being married to his brother. She could never bear him children; how could he possibly know if it was his child, anyways? And now that the idea of having children of his own was dangled in front of him, he found it much more important than he had previously. It only makes sense that he should have sons and heirs, as powerful as he could feel himself and his brothers becoming. But again, now that he could potentially be married to a lovely woman, she may despise him for it. And she was a Christian. He did not feel that Ivar would take kindly to a Christian woman being married into their family. Though she did not seem like the somewhat weak-willed Christian women they had come upon before- there was fire in her. The thought of that first look that she had given Ubbe, so full of spite and reluctance, made Hvitserk unquestionably hot. She was even more beautiful when she seemed angry.
The group of men were making their way through the castle towards a courtyard when he heard a scuffling sound down a hallway to his right. To his surprise, he turned to see the princess, rushing down the hallway away from him. He seemed to be the only one who noticed her, and at first, he was rather amused. His smirk fell quickly when he saw her two brothers turn a corner, chasing after her malevolently. As he watched the scene unfold, unsure of what to do, his blood began to boil. She desperately tried to open a door that was apparently locked, and this gave her brothers enough time to catch up to her. She was thrown backwards against the door when she threw a quick, skilled punch at the older of the two brothers. He barely dodged it before he delivered a blow to her stomach. Hvitserk was in shock- what right does this man have to strike a princess? His own sister? As the girl fell to the ground, the other brother kicked her in the ribs and spat on her. While none of the other men surrounding Hvitserk had seen what was happening, and the young Viking wasn't sure of his place in this matter, he couldn't stand idle any longer.
...
Lydia clutched her ribs, proud of her efforts to fight the two men off, but disappointed that it was going to end this way. She had managed to land a number of solid hits to both men, and had also kneed Brunwulf painfully in the groin during their tussle in the dining hall, but now Ulfberht straddled her, clutching her throat just firmly enough so that she could hardly breath. He lowered his face so that it was inches away from hers.
"If you weren't being bartered off to those barbarians, you would be dead." He said coldly. Lydia's eyesight went blurry and tears formed in her eyes- she needed to breath. Her brother's anger was blinding him to the fact that he may actually be killing her. She started to see black, but he continued. "The only reason you're alive now is because we know that once they get their hands on you, you're going to-"
His words were cut short as he was heaved off of Lydia. She gasped for air, simultaneously clutching her ribs in pain and rolling over on her side. She closed her eyes, catching her breath, unaware of what was happening around her. She felt faint- she felt like she might pass out there, on the unwelcoming ground, in the middle of the castle from pure mental and physical exhaustion. She was pulled out of her haze by a voice- a strange, foreign voice.
"Princess." She strained her eyes to realize a figure hovered above her- a man. "Princess Lydia." The words sounded strange and improper coming from his mouth. As she attempted to sit up, she clutched her ribs and he held her arm, helping to position her without causing her too much strain. She began to see clearly again, looking curiously at the hand that offered her assistance, then taking in his face and body. He was the younger of the Northmen from the meeting- the one who had called her pretty. Hvitserk. He looked at her with concern, questioning if she was okay with his eyes. Lydia wasn't sure how to react- what was happening? She glanced around him, spotting both of her brothers groaning on the ground behind him. This man had defended her… He may have possibly just saved her life. "Princess?" He repeated.
Lydia smiled nervously. "Yes, I'm fine." Hvitserk nodded, relieved, seeming able to read her tone and body language, but it was apparent that he did not understand her language. He must have just remembered what her father had called her from their earlier gathering. Though admittedly, he butchered the pronunciation. He slowly helped her up to stand, and surprisingly, she felt much better than she thought she would. Something about seeing her brothers moaning in pain made her injuries hurt much less, that was for sure. She looked Hvitserk in the eyes- while she was used to being quite tall compared to most of her family and the servants, he towered over her. She clasped his hands in hers and whispered, "Thank you." He looked at her questioningly. Perhaps he couldn't read her tone this time, or perhaps he wasn't sure why she was so touched at the fact that someone had actually protested to her battery.
"How dare you." Brunwulf, finally able to steady himself enough to stand, was glaring at Hvitserk with hatred. "How dare you attack the sons of the King to defend this snarky, ungrateful little slut." Lydia rolled her eyes, but Hvitserk stood in front of her defensively, anyways. His weapons had been taken from him when he'd entered the castle, but he was still clearly the better of the fighters between the three men. He was obviously stronger, obviously more experienced. While Brunwulf and Ulfberht wanted to argue further, they seemed to know they couldn't do so physically without getting beaten again. "Wait until father hears about this…" The prince muttered.
"If you tell father, you only jeopardize his chances at sealing this alliance and overthrowing King Aethelwulf." Lydia blurted hurriedly. Her brothers exchanged looks, and then looked back to her, silent. Hvitserk eyed her curiously, wondering what she'd said to the boys to cause them such apparent conflict. "You know no other armies in England will fight with father to overthrow the King. These men are his only chance, therefore your only chance, at this rulership. He would lament you forever if you cost him this opportunity." After another few moments of quiet contemplation, her brothers hesitantly nodded to each other, then turned to leave.
"You tell him," Ulfberht pointed at Hvitserk angrily, "that if he attacks us again, we will kill him and all of his heathen Northmen friends. We will not so strongly respect this alliance in the future." Lydia nodded as the boys sauntered off, leaving her alone with Hvitserk. To her surprise, the Northman began to laugh when her brothers were out of sight. He seemed amused that they so quickly left the fight with their heads hung and tails between their legs. She wondered about this man… why had he helped her? He could have put himself and his fellow warriors in danger. He had only just met her, anyways. She took a moment to look at him closer than she had earlier that day. His eyes were a stunning blue, his facial features soft, his hair an attractive mess. He had a wonderful smile, and a kid-like quality to him that was balanced with a musky masculinity and apparent strength. Lydia wondered if this would be the man to whom she would be married soon.
He turned back to her, and she was suddenly nervous at the idea. Regardless of his looks, or his chivalry, she did not really know him or what he was capable of. These men were supposed to be terrifying and evil. How many Christians had this man killed, alone? And in a number of days, they could possibly be betrothed? Lydia's heart began to race, and she was unsure of her feelings. She had an overwhelming gratitude towards this man, but had to remind herself to be cautious.
"Hvitserk!" The two turned their heads toward who was shouting- the assumed older brother of Hvitserk.
"Ubbe." The younger of the two responded. They exchanged words briefly, Hvitserk smiled, and the turned to make his way back to his brother, and back to the King and his small tour group. Before he was out of Lydia's reach, he turned to her, took her hand gently, and brought it to his lips, smirking a bit playfully. He gave her one final bow before walking back towards his brother. Lydia took in his long strides, his abnormal height, his broad shoulders and muscular physique. Maybe there was a chance that this marriage arrangement would not be the death of her, after all.
But she tried not to allow herself hope. It seemed like the more hopeful she was, the greater the misery she was met with.
Thank you all for reading! Please leave a quick review if you can manage. (: Something I'm interested in knowing, what do you guys all think of Hvitserk? Personally, I feel he is so commonly underestimated and I just love him as a character in Vikings. Perhaps one of the most thoughtful, but seriously lethal, Vikings. Is it just me? If so, that's okay. (:
