#princeubbe

“I do not think little of you Father, I just do not understand why you killed her.                Was she not your friend?”

Ragnar knew Ubbe and Hvitserk had watched what he did to Yidu, and they’d not discussed it, on the way home, or any of it. Things were hectic with the battle and Lagertha being hurt. But, once they were home, Ragnar’s mood continued to sour and finally, he had wondered out to the Great Hall and he’d muttered those words to Ubbe.  

                         “ You're my survival. ” It felt like an earth-shattering admission, to her, beyond even the pure fact that she felt like she could speak about what she felt without it being ignored, or dismissed. It hadn’t been a bolt from the blue sky, the way she thought love was supposed to strike, but instead had crept up on her in small glances, and lips lingering in kisses, and the way his hands at her sides could make her feel safer than the strongest shield, or thickest walls. It had crept in, slowly, in her stolen breath when his nose brushed against hers, in the way his heartbeat against his chest felt when she pressed her lips to the skin above, in the way he effortlessly knew what she needed to hear. She hadn’t expected it, hadn’t planned for it, had lived anticipating that mild disinterest was her fate, and then, there he was. And she couldn’t quite put words to what he was, for her. But she tried, nevertheless. “ You're my living proof, that my love is alive and not dead. ”

King Ecbert knew everything was in shambles. His family had gotten away, but everything else was in ruins. He should have known that Ragnar Lothbrok would betray him. But despite his betrayal, he had to say that was something that he would have done himself. Despite all of it and how things appeared, there was indeed a twist. He had freed Ragnar from King Aelle’s grasp, before his death. He’d created some fake treaty and he’d pulled him out of there. He’d had him at the Royal Villa ever since, well in theory.

He’d wound up basically holding him up in the tower, and the last he checked, he was still alive. So, he was technically alive. But no one had given him a chance to talk. He’d heard the son that could not walk talk about a blood eagle. He’d heard many different things, but the son that he assumed was one of Ragnar’s older sons, one that moved like his father had when they met, was currently guarding him.

Angrboda was thankful to the group of girls in the market just outside the longhouse. It was because of them she wasn’t thinking of what was to come; of speaking with Ubbe, once again, while their mothers spoke just out of ear shot and while at least one of his brothers hovered nearby. There had been a time when meeting with Ubbe hadn’t been so awkward. When they were both young enough to not know why Ubbe was before his brothers to say hello when Helga and Angrboda made a visit, why Aslaug begrudgingly sat Angrboda near Ubbe at lesser important feasts. There had been less worries, then.

                continued  from  here

helvitisbrokentoy

“You can speak of anger and doubts your fears and freak outs and I’ll hold it.”

“I could, and I trust you would say nothing. But, what good would it do?      There is very little I can do about the situation right now.”

@princeubbe

Ubbe smiled at the arrival of Angrboda, and he turned towards her.                “What would you like to play Boda?”