He knew the chances of being caught red handed with Ubbe were bad. His waterlogged boots squish wetly as he moves beside his older brothers Bjorn and Ubbe, pushing away the reeds that shelter his view of the camp.
"This way." Hvitserk murmurs. Ubbe slides to look behind behind himself as if anyone was looking. Bjorn reassures him with a stone faced look– as if nothing would go wrong because Bjorn Ironside was there.
"Her brother told you to do this?" Bjorn asks.
Hvitserk leans down as if in a crouch as they come up the shore. "Told, hint. It's all the same isn't it brother? He says their people do it all the time."
Bjorn says nothing in response. They wad through itchy, high dark grass. The tents are jovial with their bright colours and dark woods in the large full moon. The flame has been put out as of hours but the embers are still a bit popping red. Hvitserk glances over, braids a deep muddy brown with the dirty water that chills him. He's the first to lurch forward, shouldering past Ubbe to the camp in question. The younger Ragnarsson knows where he's going. There are dark figures under warm handmade blankets. He finds the one he wants, drawing back the blanket under a mess of her strewn hair.
"Is she here?" He says.
Underneath the sheets is a caramel toned boy with chocolate eyes that pop behind is his sloppy hair. His own puppy eyes glint mischievously.
"Other bed, Hvitserk."
Ubbe has his sincerest doubt about trusting this boy— one of her family. But Hvitserk was convinced as he peels back the covering to your bed. But what choice did he have? He tried to do things the honorable way.
"Hvitserk?"
"I want to marry (Y/N)."
Hvitserk had come to your camp in the best of tunics, his expensive furs warm on his shoulders. The girls were swooning and sighing but none as fondly as you— who spent your time late at night sneaking out of bed to go skinny dipping with him. Who was the only one that got those cheeky smiles and his playful tongue against the corner of his lip insinuating just what he wanted to eat that evening. But your father was stone faced on the other side of this gasy wall that was a fire where they talked.
"No." He said with a voice thickened by his accent.
Hvitserk kneeled on one knee. "I'll pay more than your bride price." Hvitserk's hand fondled a golden pouch of coins. Your bangle clad hands clasped together with maiden excitement for the prospect of being his bride. Not because he was a Ragnarsson– because he was your Hvitserk.
Your father silently stoked the fire.
"Then in livestock or thrall?" Hvitserk supplies alternatives, but it's the last of options that sets your father off. The way Hvitserk spoke in his people's tongue differs from the word you would have used for a slave.
"She won't marry you because you are a filthy foreigner." He snapped out. From the other side of the fire, your smile died a sad death on your lips. "We will leave soon. You can forget all about her and marry one of those skinny blondes your men are so fond of."
Hvitserk's sweet face dropped as much as yours.
"Hvitserk?"
Your eyes were large, glistening wetly under the heavy blanket. He tries not to make a noise with his wet armour. Ubbe guards inside while Bjorn stands on the other side of the tent like a great bear.
"Hi sweet thing." Hvitserk reaches a bare knuckle to rub your cheek, black kohl smearing down the apples of your cheeks. It's clear that you had been sobbing under the covers.
"Why are you here?" You move to sit up. Your creamy low cut wrapped top drapes low on your chest and you slide your legs under a skirt that was deep as the starry sky.
"I couldn't leave my beautiful girl here." Hvitserk cooes, and you find yourself laughing a little too.
"Well that doesn't answer me." You laugh heartily. Hvitserk leans out to slide his arms underneath your legs to lift you up from the bed. You grunt a little softly, earning a ssshhhh when your mother stirs beside you. Your brother, a lanky thing of little muscle, slides out from the side of Hvitserk to slip into your bed under the sheets.
"Stealing a bride." He jerks his head to Ubbe– squishing as he ran out. Bjorn falls behind his little brothers as the whispers within the tent become barking. Where is she? There's horses on the other side of the river! You know it won't be the last laugh you have to share with your soon to be husband. Unlike the coals of the fire, the heat of your laughs as you swam across the river wouldn't be snuffed out again.
