This is something silly I wrote over the weekend on my phone for @goodqueenalys and my own jollies. She insisted I should share it. It’s a sort of followup to THIS beard-related phonefic. (Apparently, this is a thing I do now).
Jon has just dismounted his horse when the cry carries across the courtyard. He watches as Aemon barrels down the steps two at a time, sprinting toward him, before colliding bodily into his father.
“We missed you,” Aemon murmurs against the wool of his father’s doublet, where his face is pressed, skinny arms banded tight around Jon’s middle.
“I’ve missed you too.” Jon returns his son’s fierce embrace, one hand affectionately tousling the boy’s head of dark curls. Aemon’s grown taller again, Jon’s sure of it. The realization leaves an aching in Jon’s chest. He will tell Dany next time three moons is far too long to be away from home.
Skyte spurv med kanoner - shooting sparrows with cannons, an overkill. Dau som ei sild - dead as a herring, very dead. Å drite på draget - to shit on the drawbar (horse), having done something really stupid. Å sitte med skjegget i postkassen - to sit with one’s beard in the mailbox, having done something stupid and gotten yourself into an embarrassing situation because of it. Nesten skyter ikke presten av hesten - almost doesn’t shoot the priest off his horse, almost succeeding isn’t good enough. Å ha angst i trefoten - to have anxiety in one’s peg leg, being nervous about something, said for humoristic effect. (Å ane) ugler i mosen - owls in the moss, suspecting that something’s going on, or that someone is up to no good. Å vite hvor skapet skal stå/å si hvor skapet skal stå - to know/to tell someone where the wardrobe should stand - Showing someone who’s boss, intending to make your opinions crystal clear and succeeding. I grevens tid - In the count’s time, just in time or at the last minute. Å ta noe for god fisk - to take something for good fish, just assuming something you hear is true without making sure (e.g “man skal ikke ta alt for god fisk”. Å få så hatten passer - to get so the hat fits, being shouted at, beaten up, or put in your place. Å stikke under en stol - to shove under a chair, hide or deny something (e.g. “det er ikke til å stikke under en stol at…” “It is undeniable that…”) Ta beina på nakken - put one’s legs on one’s neck, to make a run for it (e.g “Jeg tror det er på tide å ta beina på nakken!”). Å legge seg i selen - to lay oneself in the harness, putting your back into it, working hard and making a big effort. Plankekjøring - plank driving, very easy (usually about work or tasks). Skippertak - Skipper’s haul, a task so big that even the captain has to assist, usually used as in “I’ve been putting this off for weeks and now I need a skippertak to get it done”(e.g å ta et skippertak i grevens tid).
Imagine you being the one to safe Ivar his horse (part 6)
Last part of the birthdaypresent for @sereniti9, enjoy it love! <3
Summary: You are on the run and in nothing less than hours you have nothing anymore. You lost your home, your parents, your horses and Sjolvir. There is only Ivar and his promise to avenge all of this. He raids, he fights, and he does it all for you. Note: Will put it on Ao3 tomorrow Warning: Violence, blood and some fluffyness Words: 5874
between the trees, Gyllir galloped over the path while you looked over your
shoulder to the two soldiers on their horses behind you. The smoke of a burning
village started to reach above the forest, would alarm other villages, maybe
more soldiers. But it was hardly something you thought about while pushing
Gyllir over the edge of his speed limit. In the back of your thought you could
only think of Sjolvir, that dog always kept your safe and now his protection
caused him to get stabbed. He probably would die, alone in that burning
village. The tears ran over your cheeks with the thought, the chaotic feeling
inside your stomach. You wanted to turn around, face those two soldiers hunting
you down but you actually never used a weapon before, so who were you kidding
you could face them. ‘Faster Gyllir.’ You whispered when the soldiers ran in on
the both of you. You zig zagged Gyllir between the trees, while he fastened his
steps, racing over a little path between the trees. You had no idea how far you
ran, if you even ran in the right direction towards Ivar his camp. Alsvinn just
disappeared, who knows you would never see that horse again, just like Sjolvir.
All of the sudden Gyllir lost his speed, stumbling, almost falling before he
corrected himself. Before you even had to change to check why he all of the
sudden stopped running you got pulled from out of the saddle. Your head kicked
against the ground, causing some dizziness before you turned around looking at
the other rider that approached. You crawled backwards over the ground and just
when you thought your life was over Cosam galloped right beside, pulling that
chariot in full strength behind him. Blood sunk down over the soldier when he
fell from his horse, an axe locked in his skull. You screamed a little, pushing
your body more away from where that body dropped down. You turned on your
stomach, eyes gazing around. ‘Gyllir?’ You pushed up, conflicted, in panic.
‘Gyllir!’ ‘Y/n!’ You jerked your head around to the chariot. ‘What is going
on?’ Ivar asked. You shook your head, looking around for Gyllir before you took
a hold on to the edge of the chariot. ‘We need to get back to the village.’ You
insisted, gazing into his blue eyes while the panic consumed your body. ‘I
think there is not much to go back to.’ Ivar pointed over the trees to the dick
cloud of smoke. ‘I need to get back. Sjolvir is stabbed, and I,’ ‘Just forget
the dog Y/n.’ ‘He saved my life Ivar. My parents are there, I just can’t,’ You
broke your sentence, kicking his chariot before resting your head against it,
crying like the stupid girl you were. How could you let it come so far? Why did
you run? That imagine, Sjolvir been stabbed, your mother yelling for you … and
now there was nothing. Alsvinn ran off, Gyllir did the same. You lost a dog and
two horses and the only one standing in between you and throwing yourself from
a rock was Ivar. ‘They will have a war on their hands,’ he began. ‘Y/n.’ He
stroke your hair and you pulled your head up, eyes filled with tears looking up
to the danger he showed in his sea blue eyes. ‘I will avenge this, but I need
my men, I need you to calm down.’ ‘We need to go back, please.’ You begged. ‘We
will,’ He promised. And something in his eyes really promised you that. You
recognized that anger in his eyes but it wasn’t for you, it was for whoever
hurted you. He nodded you to jump on his chariot before he clicked his tongue,
Cosam cantered away, leaving two soldiers dead on the ground, horses running
You sat on a
campfire, a heavy fog settled down over camp Ivar and his brother had out here.
You hardly could do anything else than gazing in the fire, asking yourself
where Gyllir would be, Alsvinn, your parents … would Solvir be dead. It was two
days ago … and none of them showed up. ‘Y/n.’ You swiped your eyes away from
the fire and looked up to Ubbe, he crouched down beside you. ‘We are leaving
over an hour, with the fog we are a little safer. Would you like to come?’ He
asked you carefully. You nodded, looking back to the flames from the fire. Looking
at them made you tired so you stood up, walking between the Vikings looking for
Ivar who sat on the edge of his chariot, pulling bracers over his hands. When
he saw you coming he looked up, something of concern flashing in his eyes
before he became his practical self again. ‘I don’t have a horse.’ You
whispered. He didn’t answer, not because he didn’t had the words but because he
know that it weren’t just any words. You had horses all your life and now they
just vanished in thin air. You sat down aside him on the chariot edge, resting
your head against it while you gazed into the fog. Ivar pulled something from
his belt, handing it over to you on his flat hand. You looked down to the
dagger, a small sharp knife, before you looked back at him. ‘I will do the
killing but in case,’ he didn’t finish his words and you took it over. It felt
unusual in your hands, a weapon you hardly used. You took a deep breath looking
back aside to Ivar. ‘Thank you for doing this.’ You thanked him. ‘I was
planning on raiding anyway, why not raging into war.’ He reacted, rather joyful
with the statement he just made. You nodded, not understanding where he got
that eager for. When you looked up the fog figured something else. You squeezed
your eyes together, leaning a little forward to make it a little easier, not
that it helped. ‘What is it?’ Ivar asked, already leaning a aside to grab his
axe. You gave him the dagger back while you slide from the chariot. Whatever
shady movements you saw in the fog, it was gone by the time you set a few
steps. ‘Y/n?’ Ivar asked again. You turned around, shaking your head.
‘Nothing.’ ‘Let’s go.’ He said, pulling himself up to his seat on the chariot.
You pulled yourself onto his chariot, looking towards Ubbe who gathered some
men. The night … the fog, it made it harder to find your way but those Vikings
seemed to know it very well. There wasn’t any hesitation in their steps, they
didn’t doubt while you only did that. And while the whole group walked over the
path you looked around into the fog, seeing something shading pass in a short
fast moment. ‘I think somebody is following us.’ You whispered. Ivar looked
away from Cosam towards the forest trees. ‘If they follow it is because they
haven’t men enough to attack.’ He smiled, reassuring you it was nothing to
worry about. You looked the whole way back to your village into the woods,
hardly seeing anything but the one thing that seemed to follow. All your
attention faded as soon as you arrived. You jumped from the chariot, looking to
the smoking houses from the fire two days ago. You swallowed, holding on to
your tears while you looked for some movement. ‘Mother? Father?’ You asked
loudly. But the only thing your voice did was echoing through the environment.
There was nothing. You walked to the house you once lived in but it was barley
a house. The Vikings started to spread around, looking for things they could
use for you knew there would be nothing here anymore. Your eyes went to the
place you saw Sjolvir for the last time but he wasn’t lying there. Your eyes
started to search around. ‘Sjolvir!’ You shouted, hoping to hear something, a
bark, something but there was nothing. You walked over to the place crouching
down aside the blood stained ground. He could have died on another place, there
wasn’t a track leading away from this place so where was he. Your eyes shifted
to the fog again, a shady figure standing just there. ‘Come on!’ You hissed,
angry about all the lose you had, the heart pain. ‘If you want to kill me so
badly just come here and do it.’ You followed, hardly looking up to Cosam who
stopped beside you. ‘Y/n.’ Ivar said. But you didn’t look away from the fog.
The figure, moved, approached hesitating and it was when it became more a body
than just a shade of fog that you recognized it. ‘Alsvinn.’ You whispered. Ivar
his horse snorted, not knowing his way through the fog with just one eye to
guide him with. Cosam greeted him and Alsvinn changed his course, walking over
to the horse for which he knew it was solid. ‘Did you follow us?’ You whispered,
walking slowly towards him, giving him your hand. He putted his nose against
you, standing close to Cosam who reassured him a little. ‘That’s one.’ Ivar
said. You looked over your shoulder to him, a short smile of relief spreading
over your face. ‘He lost his way in the fog, didn’t dare to approach.’ You
explained more for yourself than for Ivar. You stroke his body, looking if he
didn’t had any wounds. You looked towards the shed, looking over in the hope
you found some things you still could use underneath all the damage the fire
caused. ‘You think you can ride him?’ Ivar asked when you turned back with
nothing more than some rope to make a lead rope with for Alsvinn. ‘No, I never
learned him. He always trusted Gyllir, didn’t want to pressure him with that.’
‘And if I place him before the chariot?’ He asked. You looked up to Ivar. ‘I
don’t know, I don’t even know if I can leave him somewhere behind where he
doesn’t know it without somebody he knows.’ You explained, softly making a lead
rope around his head. Alsvinn walked stepped aside, stretching his neck towards
Ivar. Ivar smiled softly, stroking him over his white head. You turned to Ubbe
who walked over to the both of you, he smiled shortly to the horse before
laying his attention to the both of you. ‘We looked around, no people alive and
hardly something left to take with us.’ ‘Send scouts out.’ Ivar commanded
before he looked aside to you. ‘We go back, we make a plan, we attack and kill
ever one of them. Or at least, I do the killing, you can watch.’ ‘This isn’t
funny.’ You reacted. He chuckled, softly shaking his head. ‘No it isn’t but
trust a little Viking, I will avenge you.’ He promised. You stroke Alsvinn over
his neck and nodded, tired of the past two days. You hardly slept, eat, you
were exhausted. Alsvinn coming back lifted your spirit a little. Ivar kept on
his chariot with Cosam and Alsvinn while you walked around a little more,
looking in the paddock hoping to see Gyllir waiting there for you. It would be
logic if he came back but he didn’t, what meant he was hurt of captured, both
facts you didn’t want to consider. You saw some chickens running through the
fog, a goat, some hay, some blackness on the ground. You squeezed your eyes
together, walking into the paddock to the corner. If you wouldn’t know this
paddock so well you wouldn’t see it but you worked here, day after day. That
distant seemed to take ages, not seeing it move made your heart crack.
‘Sjolvir.’ You fell on your knees aside his body, placing your hand on body, he
was stone-cold. You pressed your ear against his chest, fingers fading in his
black coat. You squeezed your eyes together, concentrating on a heartbeat. And
when you heard it you pushed up, started running back the paddock out to the
burned down shed. ‘Y/n, what are you doing?’ Ivar hissed from on his chariot.
You ducked underneath a burned piece of wood, looking for the wooden chest. You
tried to pull the chest away from underneath the damage, opening it, grabbing
for the blankets you had in there, you even felt some bottles. You grabbed it
all, pushing yourself back out. ‘Are you crazy!’ He was mad. ‘Sjolvir is
alive.’ You nodded while running back to the paddock. ‘That dog just doesn’t
give up, does he.’ You heard Ivar hissing for his own. You ran back to Sjolvir,
pulling your top layer vest off to cover it around his chest where the wound
was, you tied it together, pulling the blankets over him before looking over
your shoulder to Ubbe who walked over. ‘He is alive?’ ‘Barely, can you bring
him to Ivar?’ Ubbe nodded, carefully pulling Sjolvir in his arms. The dog made
a sound and you hushed him while holding on to his head. Ivar turned on his
seat, looking how the dog hardly was breathing. ‘You should let him go Y/n,
Valhalla would greet a dog like that, if you let me,’ ‘No, I want to safe him.
Let me try.’ You interrupted him. Ivar looked back to the dog and nodded before
giving you the rope of Alsvinn. The whole company walked out of the village.
You looked over your shoulder one last time, knowing this would never be home
They called them lovebirds, because their actual name was mundane and clumsy. Better to rename a thing, give it a hint of mystique and romance instead of letting it go down in history as yet another subset of pigeon.
There was one in the tower keep, three in the otherwise empty aerie, all different pairs, their partners somewhere far away, across the shifting sands, beneath the second sun of the peninsula, north of the final river, before the ice seized the land. Use one to send a message and it would seek out its partner through ghost storms and typhoons, even if demons clawed its wings.
There was magic in a lovebird, a magic all their own, a quiet sort of magic. He didn’t have quiet magic. His magic was thunderstorms and sulphur. Even his sisters were horses on gravel and night skies–more quiet, but not silent.
It’s been more than a day and I’m still laughing at how the Squire pact in TOZ-X is now just a friendship bracelet while Mikleo and Sorey apparently have each other on telepathic emergency speed dial LOL.
I always kind of laugh when people get into the “Susan’s treatment is proof that C.S. Lewis was a misogynist” thing, because:
Polly and Digory. Peter and Susan. Edmund and Lucy. Eustace and Jill.
Out of the eight “Friends of Narnia” who enter from our world, the male-to-female character ratio is exactly 1/1. Not one of these female characters serves as a love interest at any time.
The Horse and His Boy, the only book set entirely in Narnia, maintains this ratio with Shasta and Aravis, who, we are told in a postscript, eventually marry. Yet even here, the story itself is concerned only with the friendship between them. Lewis focuses on Aravis’ value as a brave friend and a worthy ally rather than as a potential girlfriend–and ultimately, we realize that it’s these qualities that make her a good companion for Shasta. They are worthy of each other, equals.
In the 1950s, there was no particularly loud cry for female representation in children’s literature. As far as pure plot goes, there’s no pressing need for all these girls. A little boy could have opened the wardrobe (and in the fragmentary initial draft, did). Given that we already know Eustace well by The Silver Chair, it would not seem strictly necessary for a patently ordinary schoolgirl to follow him on his return trip to Narnia, yet follow she does–and her role in the story is pivotal. Why does the humble cab-driver whom Aslan crowns the first King of Narnia immediately ask for his equally humble wife, who is promptly spirited over, her hands full of washing, and crowned queen by his side? Well, because nothing could be more natural than to have her there.
None of these women are here to fill a quota. They’re here because Lewis wanted them there.
Show me the contemporary fantasy series with this level of equality. It doesn’t exist.
“I wrote this story for you, but when I began it I
had not realized that girls grow quicker than books. As a result you
are already too old for fairy tales, and by the time it is printed and
bound you will be older still. But some day you will be old enough to
start reading fairy tales again. You can then take it down from some
upper shelf, dust it, and tell me what you think of it. I shall probably
be too deaf to hear, and too old to understand a word you say, but I
shall still be. ― your affectionate Godfather, C. S. Lewis.”