Vikings Drabbles

⤭ stolen sweets

on second thought, halfdan may just have to steal more of your honey cakes if it's to end like this. rated 18+ for smut.

HARALD FINEHAIR LEANS against one of the dock posts, his arms crossed, though a kindly smile graces his countenance upon hearing the good news. Soon Tamdrup would have another young child running about, causing trouble for the townsfolk —just as he and his brother had when they were younger and wilder. He can't help his eyes from darting to your middle. It is still too soon for the signs to show, but there is already something different —a new spark in your eyes, Freyja's soft glow surrounding you. "You'll have to tell him sooner or later," Harald muses, rubbing the dark whiskers on his chin.

"I know" —you look up from the knotted fishnet laid across your lap, smiling sheepishly— "I know, Harald." You'd been searching for the right moment for almost a fortnight now. If not for Harald catching you leaving the medicine woman's hut with a pouch of herbs for morning sickness, he wouldn't know either.

"He's going be happy," he assures you, recalling the warm spring evening you wed his brother —a crown of wildflowers upon your brow. That must have been some six years ago, in the weeks before sailing to join Ragnar Lothbrok in his raids on Frankia and Paris. Harald doesn't think he's ever seen Halfdan so happy as when he first called you his wife, but he suspects his brother will be just as ecstatic when you share the good news.

"We've waited years for this day to come," you almost whisper, still disbelieving at times. Over the years, you had begun to fear the worse —even before your marriage to Halfdan. All the times you lay together, there was never a child, never any signs life would take root, and it certainly was not for lack of trying. He swore it did not make a difference to him. Halfdan loved you, child or no —but as the years crept by, you could deny your desire for a family, especially seeing him play at swords with the children of Tamdrup. Alas, the gods finally heeded your prayers. Harald moves from the post to the small sandy shore, sitting next to you, helping unknot and repair the fishnet. You nudge his ribs with your elbow. "You're going to be an uncle." Harald smiles again.

THE WOOD PLANKS creak underfoot just outside your chambers, iron hinges creak and groan when the heavy door is pushed ajar, you lift your gaze from the heddles of the loom, glimpsing your husband's reflection in a cloudy silver looking glass as he nears you. His arms snake around your waist, pulling you away from your work and into him. He's been on a hunt the last three days —the scent of moss and fresh soil still linger in his clothes and beard. It's always a good feeling being held like this, but you cannot forget your resolve. You were supposed to be upset with him, and the soft kiss on your shoulder and neck won't be enough to get him out of this. "I'm not speaking to you, Halfdan," you remind him, wiggling from his embrace.

He lets you go, laughing under his breath. "You just did," he remarks, lips kinked into a playful smile, half-hidden beneath the golden whiskers on his upper lip and chin. Halfdan knows this bout will pass —quick as a summer storm— neither of you can stay angry at each other over trivial things. "Still mad?" It's a teasing question and one he already knows the answer to when you glare at him, arms crossed.

"Yes," you lament, "you ate the last honey cake." You saved the last little honey cake from supper, knowing how much you'd begun craving them of late, but when you woke the next morning, Halfdan was already off to help his brother, and the plate on the table tucked away in the corner of the room was empty save for crumbs.

Halfdan grips onto your arms, thumbs rubbing soothing circles on your biceps through the wool sleeves of your dress. You know when he's trying to be charming —his smiles are wider, he flicks the hair falling over his right hair to the side, and his eyes, dark and warm, take on a glint of mischief. "And I regret it, deeply," he confesses, embellishing his apology. His hands slide down your arms, fingers interlocking with yours. Halfdan lifts your hands —placing a quick yet lingering kiss on your knuckles, drawing you closer. "What can I do to make it up to you?" He asks.