#bjorn

and so, thorfinn sat now outside your tent, knife glinting faintly in the moonlight, his profile sharp and cold. he didn’t move. he didn’t speak.

thorfinn’s presence was impossible to ignore, even in the quiet of the night. the pale light of the moon traced the hard angles of his face, highlighting the sharpness of his jawline and the tense set of his lips. his skin, slightly weathered from years of battles and harsh winds, held a faint sheen of sweat, a reminder of the relentless intensity that defined him. dark locks of hair, unruly and thick, hung in front of his eyes, occasionally brushing against the curve of his cheek like restless shadows. despite the stillness, you could almost see the storm inside him—an ocean of rage, grief, and something far more fragile that he refused to reveal.

his hands, calloused and strong, rested lightly on the hilt of his dagger—a weapon as familiar to him as his own breath. the blade caught the moonlight now and then, a quiet shimmer that betrayed the cold precision with which he wielded it. fingers twitching subtly, he never fully relaxed; every muscle seemed ready to spring into motion at a moment’s notice. the way he held himself spoke of a warrior born for battle, yet there was an unmistakable tension

he just watched.

and waited.

you lay awake, voice low but mischievous as you finally broke the silence.

“you hate this, don’t you?”

no answer.

you smirked to yourself, shifting beneath the blanket.

“don’t worry, i’m not that scary. though, you do look like you’re about to kill someone.”

still nothing.

“hey, do you even know what a smile is? or is that forbidden on guard duty?”

you heard a quiet sigh, but no words.

“you know, you could at least say ‘goodnight’ or something. it’s polite.”

no response.

“fine, be that way. i’ll just assume you’re practicing your brooding face. very intimidating.”

after a pause, his voice came, dry and low:

“i don’t have time for jokes.”

you laughed softly.

“sure you don’t. but hey, you’re stuck here with me all night, so you might as well try.”

silence.

another pause.

“are you always this moody, or am i just special?”

you heard a faint shuffle as he shifted, but he said nothing.

“maybe if you talked more, you’d scare off the bad guys better. silent types are overrated.”

no reply.

“or are you waiting for me to fall asleep so you can sneak away?” you teased.

a deep breath, then his voice, rough but low:

“not a chance.”

you laughed softly

“see? you care a little.”

“don’t get used to it.”

“too late,” you said with a grin. “i’m already planning our next adventure — or at least figuring out how to annoy you more.”

he didn’t answer, but you thought you caught the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth.

“you know,” you said, “guarding me can’t be that bad. you get to stare at me all night.”

“i’d rather stare at the moon.”

“sure you would,” you teased. “but i’m more interesting, right?”

his voice, almost a growl this time:

“don’t push it.”

you smiled, warmth spreading despite the cold night.

silence again, but something unspoken hung in the air between you.

“so, still planning to run off in the middle of the night, or have you finally decided i’m not worth the trouble?”

he didn’t answer, but the slight twitch of his mouth told you he heard you.

“you know, for a guy who looks like he’s about to stab someone at any moment, you’re surprisingly good company.”

a low grunt was his only response.

“that’s it? no clever comeback?” you teased. “i thought you were supposed to be the quick one.”

he shifted, boots scraping the dirt. “words are wasted on you.”

“ouch,” you said with mock offense. “you’re cruel.”

“i’m honest,” he muttered.

you laughed softly. “same thing, really.”

another pause, then you ventured, “you ever get tired of being so serious all the time?”

“never,” he said flatly.

“hm, sure,” you said, smirking. “that’s what i thought.”

he gave a soft snort, almost a laugh, but caught himself. “don’t make me regret this.”

“too late,” you whispered, but it wasn’t harsh. more like a challenge.

the night wrapped around you like a secret, filled with quiet words and stolen smiles. for all the darkness, it was the first time you felt the cold guard soften, if only just.

“so,” you said, nudging the tent flap open a crack, “what’s your next brilliant plan? stare at me all night until i fall asleep?”

“maybe,” he said, voice low but not unkind.

“well, you’re doing a terrible job,” you teased.

the night was deep and still, the only sounds the faint rustle of leaves and thorfinn’s steady breathing. 

“hey,” you whispered, poking your head out of the tent flap. “you know, this guard duty doesn’t have to be so boring.”

he glanced at you, eyes narrowed but curious.

“what if we went and got some food? together,” you suggested, voice low and teasing.

thorfinn’s lips twitched like he was trying not to smile. “you want me to break orders?”

“maybe,” you grinned. “but think about it. it’s late, everyone’s asleep. no one would even notice.”

he shook his head, but there was a flicker of amusement in his eyes. “you’re reckless.”

“and you’re a little boring. perfect balance,” you said.

he sighed but took a step closer. “fine. but if we get caught, you’re explaining it.”

“deal.”

you didn’t move right away. you watched him, how the moonlight hit his face sharp and cold, like stone that didn’t know how to soften. and yet… here he was. agreeing to sneak off with you for something as simple as food.

“you know…” you let the words hang there as you walked beside him, voice low but teasing. “you agreed to getting food pretty quick. i think you like spending time with me. you just don’t know how to say it.”

his shoulders stiffened. for a second, he didn’t even glance your way.

“no,” he said finally, flat and blunt as always. “i just don’t want to listen to you complain all night.”

you smiled anyway, leaning forward slightly as if your grin alone could chip away at his walls. “sure, thorfinn. whatever helps you sleep at night.”

he said nothing, but you saw the twitch of his jaw, the barest flicker of something behind his eyes.

you fell into step beside him as he led the way through the quiet camp. the fires had burned down to low embers now, the silhouettes of sleeping men scattered in the dark. only your footsteps and the faint rustle of grass marked your path.

“you’re not denying it though,” you said softly after a moment.

this time, he did look at you. just once. his gaze was steady but unreadable. “i don’t need to.”

that stopped you.

the air between you shifted. heavier. warmer. like silence suddenly meant something.

for a heartbeat, you forgot what teasing even felt like.

then, as if remembering himself, he turned away again, cold and unreadable. “you talk too much.”

you blinked, trying to steady your voice as you caught up beside him again. “and you listen too much.”

his jaw tightened.

you smiled wider, choosing playfulness over nerves. “see? we make a good pair.”

he didn’t argue.

which, in thorfinn’s world, felt dangerously close to agreement.

you followed him down the small hill where askeladd’s men kept spare supplies. your footsteps were quiet, but your thoughts were loud—too loud. you shouldn’t have said half of what you’d said. shouldn’t have felt half of what you were feeling. he was only here because your father forced him to be.

yet… he stayed.

you let the silence linger, choosing to let him think you’d let the conversation die. but inside, you couldn’t stop watching him.

he moved like a blade—silent, sharp, efficient. every step was controlled, every glance a calculation. he didn’t waste words. didn’t waste anything.

except, apparently, time on you.

“where’s the food?” you whispered, scanning the small storage crates.

“there,” he answered simply, crouching near one of the crates and pulling out a wrapped bundle of dried meat and flatbread.

you knelt beside him, close enough to feel the faint warmth radiating off his skin. he smelled faintly like smoke and earth.

“you’re good at this,” you murmured.

he frowned slightly. “good at what?”

“taking care of things you don’t want to.”

his fingers stilled on the bread. you wondered if that was too much. too close to the truth he didn’t want to hear.

before he could answer, you leaned back, trying to soften the moment. “well, lucky for me, i’m charming enough to make it tolerable.”

“hm.”

“that was almost a laugh.”

“no, it wasn’t.”

“i think it was.”

“stop talking.”

you laughed softly, but your voice lowered, almost fond now. “make me.”

his hands froze on the food.

the silence came back—different this time. thicker.

you swallowed, glancing down. “sorry.”

he shifted, not meeting your gaze. “you’re… not like them.”

you frowned slightly. “who?”

“your father’s men.”

you watched him carefully. “is that a good thing?”

he hesitated. then said, quieter, “maybe.”

you didn’t realize how long you stared at him until he stood abruptly, bundle of food in hand.

“come on,” he said, voice low. “before someone wakes up.”

you followed, heart racing for reasons you couldn’t name.

back up the hill, you found a quiet spot behind a low tree where the camp couldn’t see you. you sat together, not quite close, not quite distant, sharing stolen bread under the stars.

you chewed in silence for a while, glancing at him now and then. thorfinn ate like he fought—quiet, focused, quick.

but something about the night, about sitting beside him with no one else around, made everything feel… different. like neither of you had to pretend.

“this feels like trouble,” you whispered softly.

he glanced at you. “it is.”

you smiled faintly. “good.”

he shook his head like you were impossible but didn’t move away.

the night stretched on, and for once, you didn’t mind the silence.

because even without words, you knew he was listening.

and for now, that was enough.

Rollo

A loud protester

He insists he can take care of it himself, flinching away when you lift his shirt and gasp at the wound, telling him off

You leave him be, not wanting to push him, but only wander over when he's muttering and hesitating when putting the disinfectant on

"Just let me... please, Rollo. I can help."

He huffs and hands you the pouch

His hands fly to your waist to grip you when you tend to a gash on his shoulder, his head tucked to your chest as he hisses in pain

He eventually relaxes in your touch, feeling his eyes droop in exhaustion until you tap his head to get his attention

He mutters a thanks as he parts from you, but you notice he does not wander far from you that night

Floki

He is all for letting you tend to him

He actually thinks it's worth getting hurt to get the attention from you

Every sting comes with dramatics: a heavy groan or a small curse to the gods

You soothe him with a soft hand in his hair or a comforting whisper, telling him you're nearly done

His hand rests on yours while you're working, squeezing slightly when it begins to hurt, but immediately apologising each time

He trusts you completely, and knows that he can always come to you when injured and knows that he will get treated right

Once you're done, he curls up to your side, smothering you in affection for the rest of the night as a way of saying 'thank you'

Smitten he is

Lagertha

Her pride is quite high, and so she is hard to convince to let you tend to her

She swats your hand away at first, insisting that she will be okay and knows how to handle it herself

But when the bruises begin to throb too much, she crawls back to you sheepishly, asking if you'd check on them for her

She lets you press poultice to her wounds and massage her sore shoulders, never exactly saying thank you but leaning into your touch and not turning away

She does enjoy having your attention in the bath, though, and having you run your hands through her blonde hair to remove the blood seeping through

Later, she does not flinch when you return to check on her wounds, but only gives a half smile and a gentle rub on your arm to assure you that she's okay

Athelstan

He is quiet and cooperative during it

He lets you tend to every scratch and scrape, always trusting you to know what you're doing

And he simply does not have the skill to take care of them himself, so he appreciates the help

He winces from your touches but never complains

His hand finds your wrist at times when it hurts particularly bad, but you kiss his forehead and apologise as he nods in acknowledgement

When finished, he leans back and thanks you greatly

But his blush remains, especially when you pull him to bed to get him to rest beside you

Bjorn

You sit beside him, cleaning along the cuts on his forearms, which hold a heavy stench of metallic blood

You try your best to be careful over the worst wounds, but he does not flinch as you wipe over them

He gives you attitude at times, especially when you lecture him about returning so battered

"I fought, didn't I? If I had come back unhurt, then it wouldn't have been worth it."

He likes to be difficult sometimes, telling you it doesn't hurt at all, even though he's biting his lip as you pour disinfectant on

But you only smirk and pretend not to notice, worried that if you call it out, he would not let you tend to him like this

Ubbe

His ribs are bruised and ache from a heavy blow

You have to remind him to keep still as you hold a cloth to the wound; he likes to flinch away

He tries to distract himself from the pain by teasing you, but that facade quickly fades when you only press harder, shutting him up

You ask him to lie down and insist he rests his head in your lap while you apply treatments to the scratch

He stares up at you with a stupid grin on his face, making you smack him slightly on the head

"Ubbe, I'm trying to concentrate." "Please... don't mind me."

His hands find you mid-task, running along your neck and face, fingers twirling your hair

Once he's all cleaned, he remains in your lap, laughing at how reliant he becomes around you

Hvitserk

Bro cannot sit still at ALL

He is still twitching from adrenaline, muttering to himself, trying to ignore the stabbing pain in his leg

You have to physically grab him and force him to sit and relax as you roll up his trouser leg to see his bloody wound

You whisper nonsense to him as you work, trying to distract his mind and calm him

He flinches occasionally, but eventually lies back, allowing you to finish your work without much complaint

When you stand, having been finished, he pulls you on top of him quickly

And you protest, telling him to be careful of his leg, but he only ignores you and presses his face into your neck, muttering thank yous

Sigurd

Stubborn as ever

He hides his worst injuries from you at first, insisting that he is fine and did not get injured too badly

But once he undresses later and you see the carnage, you only sigh, trying not to make a big scene and instead walk over slowly with some treatments

He mutters under his breath as you start, but does not pull away, accepting that he does need the help after all

He gradually closes his eyes and relaxes into your touch, letting sleep take him over slightly from your soft touches

When you're done, you find that he's been lulled to sleep, leaning against you

Ivar

Of course, he insists he's fine

But each flinch as you press the cloth to the cuts on his arms only proves him wrong

You ignore his grumbling and avoid his glaring gaze when you press particularly hard on a scratch

"I'm doing this to help you, Ivar. Quit being a brat."

You swore you could hear a hint of gratitude in his heavy sighs, but even that might have been a stretch

When you press a cold, wet towel to his forehead, you catch him leaning into the touch

An acknowledgement of trust that he'll never voice

Afterwards, he sits silently, but each time you move, he glances over, asking where you are going