Bjorn Ironside/Alexander Ludwig

Drunken Kisses Never Last (Viking!Bjorn)

The Gods were not favourable this evening, the air was chilly and although the rains had finally come to an end, the streets of Kattegat were covered in mud and muck. Inside the hall was warm, as the fire in the center roared bringing a glow of life to its surroundings.

You sat at at the table, your mind wandering, as you listened to Ubbe tell an elaborate - no doubt somewhat false tale of the time he and Hvitserk took on an angry mother bear. Mead had a way of making men do such things, the more they drank, the sillier they got.

Shouts of disbelief whooped from the other men and some of the women sitting around, listening to the tale. You giggled when Ubbe rose to his feet, pretending to spar the imaginary bear.

Lost in the tall tale, you suddenly noticed a person approaching you. The deep, drunk giggles of Bjorn Ironside caused you no worry. Behind you, Bjorn crept closer, doing his best to remain stealthy. His drunken feet were not helping him. You'd always been fond of Bjorn, having arrived in Kattegat as a young woman, you had met the prince when your father and mother had came to show alliance to Earl Ragnar.

Never was the prince one to back down, nor was he one to waiver in the way of his people. You admired him greatly. His rugged looks and charming smile didn't hurt.

"Ahh!" He tried to shout, raising his hands, as the slurred words came out.

"Hello Bjorn." You turn to calmly address him.

"Helloooo" He slurred his greeting, his blue eyes glassy but still bright. "Did I scare you?"

"Oh yes, very much." You shake your head and roll your eyes.

"Good." He stoops to kiss your cheek, leaving a rush of heat flooding to the very spot. Leaning against the table, Bjorn points to Ubbe, who has now dragged a few others in to act out his story. "It wasn't a bear,"

"No, really?" As you couldn't have guessed.

"No, it was a mother goose. She attacked Hvitserk and then went after Ubbe. You should have seen the damages." Bjorn giggled like a child. "They ran home in absolute tears, Aslaug couldn't even comfort them, she was laughing so hard."

"Well then," You smile at the prince, "I do hope nobody ever finds the truth."

Glancing around, Bjorn sways a little. "Once Ivar comes along, I am sure he will set the truth straight." His youngest brother certainly held joy in ruining a good time.

"I'm sure he will." You nod and gesture to the seat beside you. "Would you like to sit? You are looking a little unsteady."

Waving his had to dismiss the accusation, Bjorn reached for his cup, tipping it back to his lips. "Non sense, I am fine. Come, dance with me?"

Bjorn lasted three or four steps at most. On his feet, he began to sway, not to the music that played, but in a rather drunk, unsteady manner. Taking his hand in an attempt to lead him, you squeaked when he took a few steps toward you, tripping over his own feet and smashing to the floor of the hall.

All eyes on the pair of you, the crowd watching had made you suddenly aware of how silly this whole thing looked. What would your father say, when he heard that you'd been part of such a disruption?

Bjorn Ironside making a public fool of himself was well and good, but you didn't need to be associated to such shenanigans. Your friendship with Bjorn was already the reason your mother claimed no man wanted you as a wife.

Kneeling at his side, you help Bjorn to his knees, giving him a moment before attempting to stand.

"Loose board." Bjorn's bright smile cut through your worry.

"Bjorn, I believe it is time to go." You pat his back. "Come, I will take you to your cabin."

In no position to argue Bjorn agrees. Swiftly you have the nearest person fetch your cloak and Bjorn's, wrapped in the warm furs, you direct him toward the door of the hall. Hvitserk stopping his brief make out session to see if you need assistance. Not his of course, but someone's.

Dismissing the useless prince, you guide Bjorn through the door and down the small wooden step. His body is leaning against yours as you are doing everything to keep upright. Taking careful steps, you curse the mud and the wet.

It is sucking your shoes with every step, Bjorn is doing his best to trudge next to you. His cabin isn't far, yet it seems to be taking ages with his drunk weight.

A few steps from his cabin, is where it all goes wrong. A deep patch of mud sucks Bjorn's feet in, trying with all of your might to keep him on his feet, you are helpless. Toppling over into the brown sticky goo, Bjorn grabs you in a last attempt to stay on his feet.

Yelping you can't avoid it, crashing down on top of Bjorn who is laying flat in the mud. Landing on top of him, your head hits his and you take a moment to gain your wits.

"If you wanted to be on top, you could have asked." Bjorn laughs, despite the situation. His fingers laced with yours, his lips inches away.

Aware of your body, the realization hits you. You're in the middle of the street, straddling the eldest son of Ragnar. Your dress hiked up over your backside in the fall, this would not look as innocent as it seems to anyone passing by.

"Oh no." You breathe, hurrying to push yourself off of him. Pushing on his chest, you are startled when he grabs your wrist, pulling himself closer. "Bjorn." You croak, but he doesn't seem to hear you as his lips meet yours.

This had been the subject of many dreams, never did you believe it would ever happen. He was the great Bjorn Ironside, a man with power and a position to hold. What would be want with you? Drunken kisses never lasted beyond one night.

"Bjorn." You feel the heat in your cheeks, again. "I am so very sorry, I..."

"Why should you be sorry? I am the one who needs to be sorry. I shouldn't have..."

"Bjorn." You speak again, your mouth dry and your lips aching to touch his again. "It is nothing to apologize for."

"But I should, I know that you like me. I see you when you think nobody is watching. I like you, why shouldn't we? Come, help me out of this mess." He smirked. "We can go inside and clean off, it is too cold, you can't go back outside in a wet dress."

The words of a drunk man, perhaps, or the fate of Gods? Never the less, you were in no position to argue with a prince of Kattegat.