J. S. Kuiken

Despite my better judgement, I have been sucked into Vikings on History channel. I say “despite my better judgement”, because I usually avoid overly violent shows, and shows with too much rape or implied rape. (Hey man, there are some things I just don’t enjoy watching.)

But . . . I was also a Scandinavian Studies minor as an undergraduate, wherein I took courses on Vikings, Scandinavian folklore, and the Icelandic Sagas. So I was lured into the series for that reason, and find myself thoroughly entertained for the same reasons.

I don’t think Vikings is completely “accurate”, based on my limited experience and understanding. From what I do know though, is that they have the power dynamics of Old Norse societies down very strongly on some levels. I was freaking out about the trailer for next Sunday’s episode because it features the hero of the series, Ragnar, getting shot in the back with an arrow. 

DUDE. In context of Norse society, that is a huge diss, and rather cowardly. Ragnar’s enemies are not even going to face him like men, no, they are just going to shoot him in the back.

There are actual Old Norse words for men who shoot their enemies in the back, but I will not repeat them here.

Anyways. I am in love with this series, goddess and gods help me.

My friend M K Meredith, who writes romance novels, does a “Writing Wednesday” prompt on her Facebook every Wednesday. In her own words:

Writing Wednesday! I start, you finish…aren’t I nice?

I have been waiting to join in for some time. This week’s prompt, in conjunction with my recent love of Vikings, gave me an excuse to basically scribble some Vikings fanfiction.

And now I will share it with you internets. Because I am a nerd and I have no shame whatsoever.

MK’s original prompt is in italics. The ALL CAPS are all mine, readers. Oh yeah. FYI: this is the silly, rather than the smutty, kind of fanfiction. Sorry! If you want some of that I suggest you wander over to the Archive of Our Own and use the search functions. Believe me, if Vikings fanfic has has been written, then it is archived over there.

And not that I know based on personal experience or anything.

Hey, is that a Ragnar/Lagertha/Athelstan fic?

Remember: I own nothing nor make any profit off this, just for fun, etc etc etc.

He’d waited his whole life for this moment.

Years of focused yearning. Suffering a desire so strong he’d taken each and every step with the soul purpose of encapsulating this one, single, event.

His blood roared in his ears, heart slamming against his chest.

Mouth watering, his fingertips buzzing in anticipation, he extended a shaky hand.

Disbelief swamped his logical mind, and he shook his head to clear the graffiti of doubt.

Almost there.

Finally. Finally.

Adrenaline’s sweet nectar spurred him into action…

. . . and Ragnar cleaved his arch-nemesis’ skull in two.

“Bro, that was pretty badass,” his brother Rollo said, limping off the battlefield, covered in gore.

“Dammit, he was at least supposed to mortally wound me too,” Ragnar threw his ax down. “Now how do I get into Valhalla? I have slain all my enemies and all the men worth fighting.”

Rollo looked far too contemplative for a man who had spent a lifetime excelling at being an underachieving younger brother.

“What?” Ragnar said.

“Well . . .” Rollo said. “We have all the boats now and we can still go on raids to the west.”

“With WHOM?” Ragnar waved his hands around the battlefield. The slain and wounded men, lying in bloodied heaps.

“Well, you still have me,” Rollo said, with the same tone he had used when they where both still children and Ragnar would purposefully forget Rollo when he went hunting or wandered the woods, pretending to slay imaginary jötunn.

“Oh right, yeah. That’s great,” Ragnar said. “Because you are so useful. Where were you when I was killing HALF of Earl Haraldson’s men all on my own? Having a wank? Hung over from last night?”

“I killed the other half!” Rollo protested.

“Whatever,” Ragnar picked up his ax and sauntered off the battlefield.

“You never appreciate anything I do for you. You never have!” Rollo followed him off the battlefield. “Never appreciate the time I lied to get you off for murdering Haraldson’s brother, never appreciated the time I endured torture for you –”

“When we make it to Valhalla, I am going to ask for a brother who is less of a windbag,” Ragnar said.

“YOU CAN’T CHOOSE FAMILY,” Rollo yelled. He stopped, becoming ever the more sullen (if such a thing were possible; but with Rollo, it was). Ragnar finally turned around and glared at his brother.

“Are you coming?” he asked.

“FINE. I guess SO. Even though I have . . . somewhere . . . to be,” Rollo tromped after Ragnar, ever, as always, in tow.

Ragnar sighed and decided not to call Rollo a windbag. Not yet, at least.