Bruises || Harry Potter x Ivar The Boneless - Viking / Harry Potter Crossover

Fimm

A frigid torrent of ice-cold water splashed down on Ragnar, jolting him awake with a violent gasp. "Wake up!" Hel hissed, her voice slicing through the fog of sleep.

He sputtered, expelling the icy liquid from his mouth, his teeth chattering uncontrollably as he took in deep, shuddering breaths. With an effort, he blinked several times, trying to clear the haze from his vision. As his surroundings slowly came into focus, he directed his gaze upward toward the girl looming above him.

Gone was her unruly braid; now her hair cascaded wildly around her like a dark halo of shadow and mist, a chaotic dance of strands that seemed almost alive in the dim light. Her eyes, those disturbingly bright green slits, pierced through the gloom—too luminous, too otherworldly, holding a wild intensity that sent shivers down his spine.

Her skin glowed with an unsettling pallor, as pale as freshly fallen snow, each freckle on her aristocratic nose and the sharp angles of her cheekbones adding to an ethereal beauty that felt both alluring and dangerous. In that moment, she appeared as if she had stepped out of a nightmare, both captivating and fearsome all at once.

Ragnar thought the girl to be very attractive with her red pouty lips and kohl-lined eyes. She would definitely make every Lord, Lady, Earl - you name it - jealous with envious greed of her beauty. She was a little porcelain doll, like those that came from countries like Rus. Much like the dolls he saw many years ago from the East. He had got one for Gyda, she had loved her doll above anything else. Carried it with her everywhere for as long as he could remember.

He immediately noticed that he was not in any pain other than the aches of old age in his joints. Hesitant fingers came to his forehead, prodding the area to find a slender raised line. His wound was fully healed.

How long had he been out?

The girl tilted her head slightly, he immediately zeroed in on what he did not previously see, it drew his attention to the scar that snaked across the left side of her face, previously hidden beneath a shroud of dark hair. It resembled the jagged mark left by a lightning strike, tracing a vivid path from her temple down to her chin. The scar fanned out frost-like, its icy tendrils stretching behind her ear and curling toward the corner of her lips, giving her an air of both fragility and resilience.

Her lip curled up at him, and she bared her teeth (they were oddly sharp looking) as if she was about to strike him, sink her fangs into his throat, and rip it out. He promptly remembered how she could - if she wanted to. She was a wolf in human skin. And one who could speak the tongue of serpents.

"I'll take your fucking eyes!" She snarled at him.

Ragnar immediately looked away from her. A strange lump formed in his throat. She made him uneasy. He was not used to being uneasy. Especially by a child. Perhaps she was not a child at all. Perhaps she was a goddess. Her name was Hel. Maybe Hel had come from him. Maybe he was not meant for Valhalla after all.

"Nice Wolfie," A blonde hair girl danced towards them. Her feet were bare despite the coldness. They were dirty and looked to have dry blood on them. Both girls were barefooted he immediately noted - he was not sure if he wanted to meet this girl's gaze as he did the other but she gave him no choice when she grabbed his face between her palms and forced him to look into her very wide clear blue eyes.

"Ragnar Lothbrok," She greeted, letting him go and stepping back. "You are a very troubled man, are you not?"

"Who are you?" He did not mean for the question to sound as hostile as it did. He swallowed thickly when the Haunting beauty there immediately had her dagger to his throat and pressed into his skin hard enough to bring the stinging pain of laceration. He could feel his blood sliding down his skin, the cool air making it burn; the blade threatened to go deeper.