UPDATED JUNE 2020
**The writing is significantly better and the stories longer after the Author's note. I was on hold for a couple years and came back after quite a bit of practice writing.**
Vikings series one shots, mini stories, and imagines. A...
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I round the dinner table in the great hall, checking everyone's drinks. I silently refill Aslaug's cup as she smirks to herself, surely feeling the effects of the almost entire pitcher of mead she's had to herself since she began eating. I watch as she smiles while her sons once again berate and tear into one another, not so subtly trying to win her approval. Sigurd is, as always, coming for Ivar unprovoked. He's droning on and on about Ivar being "mummy's favorite" for what seems like the millionth time this week. I'm not even part of the conversation and I've become so bored with it, having to hear it night after night. I try not to let my feelings show on my face as I lean between Hvitserk and Ubbe to set the pitcher back on the table, careful not to spill or bump into one of them. I turn on my heel and head back to stand by the wall and wait for my services to be needed.
Aslaug stands from the table in a huff once Ragnar is brought up by her sons. She curses to herself as she stumbles away to her chambers, but not before swiping a fresh pitcher of mead from the center of the table. I turn my head, careful not to make eye contact or provoke her. She hasn't been particularly kind to me since finding out her sons have taken a liking to me, finding my humble origin pitiful. Like Ragnar, I come from farmers. My family has been loyal to the fields for generations back. Unfortunately when my father died in combat years ago, my mother gave up. She lost herself when we lost him, leaving the farm and house duties to my siblings and I, even though we were young. Ragnar knew my father and wanted to help, paying my family generously for crops, paying my brothers to raid, and offering me a job within the hall. Because I was so young he never treated me like a servant when he was here, always telling me to keep his children company rather than work. We were all the same age and became friends quickly, but when Ragnar left his wife didn't care to see her sons befriend the help, warning her sons not to get to close to the people who are paid to keep up with them. Fortunately for me, the sons of Ragnar aren't keen on taking orders, even from their mother.
"Eydis, come here" Sigurd barked, pushing his index finger down on the table before him. His eyes were locked on Ivar, a devious grin on his lips. I try not to roll my eyes as I walked to him, sure he was about to make everyone uncomfortable. I stand before him and intertwine my fingers, letting my hands rest on my smock.
"Eydis answer a question for me, yes?" Sigurd says, his tone sickening. Ivar's jaw clenches as he stares Sigurd down. Sigurd smiles at Ivar before turning his gaze to me. "Do you think cripples are capable of properly fucking a woman, Eydis?" As the words leave his lips Ivar's fist slams down on the table.
Before I can answer a hand wraps around my wrist and pulls me to the side and away from Sigurd just in time. Ivar throws an entire pitcher of mead at Sigurd, not only soaking him but also slamming into his head. I look down at the hand around my wrist and see Hvitserk smiling up at me. I nod in appreciation as I watch Ubbe jump up and stop his brothers from killing one another right then and there. Hvitserk stands from the table while smiling, finding his brothers quarrel funny. He stands behind me and unties my apron, pulling it off of me and throwing it on the table.
