Work Text:
It wasn’t until after their return from Norway – after Eivor’s absolute refusal to become jarl in Sigurd’s stead, something they had argued all the way back to England – that Sigurd realised that Eivor had an awful taste in men.
He didn’t know how he had never noticed this before. Maybe because he couldn’t remember there being any men in Eivor’s life beforehand. When they had grown up, Eivor had told him that he preferred men while Sigurd did not favour one over the other and that had been that.
No man in Fornberg would’ve dared to come close to his little brother, Sigurd had made certain of that. England was not Fornberg though and he hadn’t been his best self since…since returning from abroad if he was being honest.
Perhaps Eivor’s taste in men had always been this terrible and he had just managed to keep it hidden from Sigurd. Now that he was dragging his brother all the way across England since there were rumours Alfred was summoning another army, Sigurd got a front seat to the kind of men Eivor took to his bed.
/
Stigr was tall, blonde and handsome, but he was also a skald. While his judgement of Holmgeir had been harsh, Sigurd did have a low opinion of skalds generally and of Stigr in particular. The man was spewing sentimental love poetry mixed with innuendo that Freya herself would be embarrassed.
And for some reason his rhymes made Eivor smile! His little brother was watching the skald as if he was some sort of cake, he’d like to get his teeth in. If this hadn’t been a feast in Halfdan’s honour, Sigurd would’ve liked to show the skald what he thought of his awful attempts to woe his brother. With his axe.
How could Eivor even stand listening to this? It was not only terrible, but it was also generic. It could’ve applied to anyone. If someone wanted to get Eivor into bed with poetry the least they could do is tailor it to him. Mention his bravery, his cleverness, his loyalty, the smile on his face when challenged, the fire in his eyes when battle lust took him, the colour of his hair like sunlight had been caught in the strands, and his eyes like the sea.
Sigurd groaned when Stigr started another ballad while keeping his eyes fixed to Eivor as if he was the northern star. “How can anyone stand this drivel?”
“Poetry is the food love feasts on”, Eivor replied with a completely straight face. Then he cracked a grin, “Besides, it shows that he has an agile tongue that is good for more than poetry.”
Sigurd groaned exasperatedly and buried his face in his hand, but his mind did conjure the image of a blond head between his legs, beard scraping against his thighs…it had been too long if he was thinking about sleeping with a skald.
“Please tell me that this isn’t how you’ve forged our alliances”, Sigurd said behind his hand.
“…Not all of them”, Eivor replied with a mischievous grin, nudging his shoulder into Sigurd’s side.
“Gods above”, Sigurd muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Do I need to leave our bedroom the next time Ceolwulf comes to visit? Or Ubba perhaps?”
Ever since his divorce from Randvi, Sigurd had been sleeping in Eivor’s room. Given everything she had done for Ravensthorpe, it had felt wrong to kick her out. Besides, he and Eivor had shared a bed since they were children.
“Now you’re just giving me ideas”, Eivor replied.
“Well you’ll have to go to them. I’m your jarl, I’m not leaving the bed”, Sigurd declared.
“You could join us. I bet Ubba would be up for it.”
Sigurd pretended to shudder. Ubba. Who wanted to sleep with Ubba? Sure he was handsome but also tall as a tree and built like a bear.
“…eyes like jewels in the sky…” Stigr sang as he passed their table, fingers brushing over Eivor’s jaw. Sigurd felt the urge to slap his hand away. Who did he think he was that he dared to touch Eivor like this?
Except that Eivor was coyly smiling up at him from under his lashes and biting his lip.
“Couldn’t he find something that rhymes with ‘stars’?” Sigurd asked loudly to regain Eivor’s attention.
“Oh, shush, you wouldn’t recognise a good poem if it bit you in the arse.”
“I should bite you so that you reconsider taking that to your bed”, he nodded at Stigr’s back.
“You just told me not to forge our alliances in my bed, so he’s really the only choice I have”, Eivor replied.
“Or you could drink with me until we both pass out.”
“Maybe I need a break from you snoring in my ear”, Eivor said and stood up.
“I don’t snore”, Sigurd called after him. “Eivor! Take that back! Eivor!”
But Eivor ignored him, instead grabbing a tankard and handing it to Stigr who was taking a break. He leaned down to whisper something into Eivor’s ear that made his brother smile, even more than he had before.
Sigurd felt his mood blacken but for the sake of diplomacy he stayed where he was, taking a deep gulp from his met.
It didn’t taste as good without Eivor’s company.
/
“A Christian?” Sigurd couldn’t keep his disbelief out of his voice. They had gone from Halfdan’s court down to Glowecestre to speak to the ealdorman there. Eivor had assured him that Tewdwr had taken up weapons against Alfred before and would do so again, but Sigurd wasn’t so sure.
It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Eivor’s word, and Eivor spoke of Tewdwr in glowing terms, but rather he didn’t trust any Christians right now. Or whatever Basim had been.
“He’s a good man”, Eivor replied with a shrug as if that was what Sigurd had meant. “Besides, he’s not our only Christian ally.”
Just the only one Eivor was sleeping with, or so Sigurd hoped. He wasn’t much to look at either. For all his many faults, Stigr had been handsome, but Tewdwr’s hair was short as was his beard, and neither bore braids or beads or any sort of grooming. And while he was taller than Eivor, which many men were, his statue did not impress either.
“Not much to look at”, Sigurd tried to tease Eivor, “At least compared to your amorous skald.”
“Tewdwr’s interesting, he’s devoted to his land and his people but he’s not narrow-minded.”
Something about Eivor’s words made Sigurd’s stomach churn. They were too serious for a mere dalliance, more suited for a serious courtship and Eivor couldn’t marry the ealdorman of another place. He’d have to leave Ravensthorpe and that was…that was…wrong.
Ravensthorpe needed Eivor.
“He’s also an excellent swordsman”, Eivor continued, throwing Sigurd a filthy grin.
“I should lock you into one of these monasteries”, Sigurd grimaced. He had not needed to know this about Tewdwr.
“And locking me up with a bunch of men would be a punishment how?”
“There are women monasteries”, Sigurd threatened good-naturedly. “So behave.”
“I’m not doing anything he doesn’t want me to do.”
“I thought Christians were not allowed to have these kind of relations”, Sigurd asked. He had never much cared for their religion but perhaps he should start to. Some people in Ravensthorpe were Christians too.
Eivor snorted. “They’re not better at following their rules than we are at following ours.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about”, Sigurd said when he knew exactly what Eivor was referring to.
“Upsala…sacrificial wine that had been very expensive…drinking…” Eivor looked at him expectantly.
“No idea”, Sigurd replied, trying to keep a straight face.
“Or the night of your marriage, when you ended up in the wrong bed.”
“You mean the right bed”, Sigurd corrected him. “I had slept in that bed for years, besides I was drunk. It was a miracle I ended up in any bed!”
Eivor laughed and shook his head. “I got called your wife for weeks.”
Stumbling dead drunk into his old bed that he had shared with Eivor instead of his wedding bed with Randvi had not been an auspicious start of his marriage. But this talk of marriage let his eyes drift over to Tewdwr. Could this unimpressive, Christian man really be what Eivor wanted? Would he be the one to lure Eivor away from Sigurd’s side?
Eivor deserved to be happy but couldn’t he be happy staying by Sigurd’s side?
“Eivor –“, he said, interrupting Eivor’s rambling about Sigurd snoring in his ear again. “If you ever get married – “
“- I will end up in the correct bed, promise”, Eivor finished for him. The smile on his face was warm and it felt like a secret just between the two of them.
“I know you will”, Sigurd replied. The ale must have been getting to him because all of a sudden, he felt unreasonably warm.
“You wouldn’t allow me to marry him anyway, he likes poetry”, Eivor joked, breaking the moment.
Sigurd wasn’t quite sure what the moment had been but he missed it already.
“You sure know how to pick them, don’t you?” He asked instead, shaking his head at his little brother’s taste.
“Food for love”, Eivor reminded him.
“What’s wrong with a Norse warrior? Be a little traditional, for my sake.”
“No promises”, Eivor said and left him with a wink.
/
To be fair, Vili was a Norse warrior who, as far as Sigurd knew, did not have any skaldic inclinations, but that didn’t change that Sigurd hated him with a passion.
This…boy dared to stand there and proclaim that he and Eivor were like brothers as if Sigurd wasn’t sitting at the same table with them. Had he saved Eivor from Kjotve? Had he held Eivor’s small body in his arms, blood pouring over his hands after chasing off the wolf? Had he taught Eivor how to fight, to drink, to get into trouble and out of it?
Brothers? Sigurd could’ve laughed in Vili’s face every time he made that claim. And that was before he had seen how they acted around each other. Vili didn’t want to be Eivor’s brother, he was just another in a long line of men who wanted to get his little brother into their bed.
And Eivor…Eivor liked the attention, certainly, but Sigurd could tell that this was more than that. This wasn’t just a dalliance like with that skald, or something doomed from the start like with that Christian.
No, Vili was a serious contender for Eivor’s affections and more than that. His ridiculous claims of brotherhood aside, he was Eivor’s childhood friend, he was a jarl, an ally, someone with proven battle prowess…If he wanted, Vili could take Eivor away from Sigurd.
The thought passed through him like ice water.
“What do you think?” Eivor’s voice was a welcome distraction from his own mind, even if it meant dealing with Vili as well who had his arm draped over the back of Eivor’s chair.
“About what?” Sigurd asked while imagining chopping that arm off with his axe.
“Vili joining us on some raids this summer. There’s a monastery or two that we haven’t plundered yet”, Eivor said, looking all excited.
“Don’t you have a kingdom to govern?” Sigurd asked, glaring at Vili.
“The kingdom runs itself most of the day”, Vili replied with a shrug. “Besides, my people need to see me bring in some riches every now and then. This far north we’re usually fighting Picts and they don’t have monasteries.”
“I guess your people did come here for your father and not you. You still need to earn their trust.”
“Sigurd!” Eivor hissed as if he had said something untrue.
“No, you’re right”, Vili said but his gaze had hardened. “I do need to earn their trust. Do you?”
“My people followed me across the sea”, Sigurd replied, holding Vili’s eyes. “What better proof do I need?”
“Trust can be lost.”
“Could you two cut it out?” Eivor interrupted, but he was glaring at Sigurd as if this was his fault.
“To answer your question, I don’t think Vili should come with us. He needs to prove himself first.”
“Oh yeah? When was the last time you went raiding? If Eivor wants me in his crew, I’ll follow his call.”
“You’ve barely got hair on your chin and think you’re good enough for Eivor?”
“That’s Eivor’s call, isn’t it?” Vili’s lowered his voce. “You’re not the only one who’s like a brother to Eivor.”
Sigurd was about to hit him the face, when Eivor stood up abruptly. “Screw both of you!”
“Eivor wait!” Vili said but Eivor brushed him off before disappearing into the crowd. A true brother would’ve known not to follow him, Sigurd though triumphantly, Eivor always needed time to cool off.
Time he used to drink more than what was perhaps prudent. If Vili had shown his face around him, Sigurd would’ve probably fought with him. Eivor would lecture him on how he treated their allies in the morning anyway. As if Snotinghamshire was of that much importance for Ravensthorpe anyway.
It wasn’t until Sigurd went outside for a piss, that he spotted Eivor again. He called out to him when he saw Eivor coming back to the longhouse.
Eivor stopped and waited for him to catch up, tapping his foot. “What do you want?”
“I told you not to make our alliances in your bed.”
“Are you really trying to tell me how to behave?”
Sigurd almost laughed but he was too angry. “Maybe I should.”
“You’re one to talk after tonight”, Eivor tilted his head up and stared him in the eyes. “What’s the matter with you?”
“You’re asking me this? Heard Vili saying you’re like brothers. You’re fucking your brothers now, Eivor?”
“Maybe I’d like to.”
Eivor slipped away before Sigurd could ask him what the fuck he had meant.
/
They didn’t talk about it on their way to East Anglia, nor did they talk much about anything. It reminded Sigurd a little too much of the days when his head had been fille with Basim’s and Fulke’s words, but he also didn’t know how to break the silence between them.
Eivor couldn’t have meant what Sigurd thought he had meant could he?
They were brothers, and if Eivor felt like this about him why hadn’t he said anything? Year after year after year he had spent by Sigurd’s side without ever letting something slip. Or was this feeling new? But Eivor’s behaviour towards him hadn’t changed. Eivor had always been loyal, had always been by his side where he belonged. Even in Sigurd’s worst moments he had stood by him unflinchingly.
The king and queen of East Anglia greeted Eivor like an old friend, but the queen’s brother greeted him like more than that.
After what Eivor had told him in Snotinghamshire, seeing Broder was like a slap to the face. And while Sigurd couldn’t keep his eyes off Eivor, he did keep his mouth shut.
Eivor was watching him too, even as Broder whispered in his ear, even when Eivor grabbed his arm to lead him away from the banquet table.
Sigurd followed them after a moment, ignoring Oswald’s attempts at pleasantries. They hadn’t gone far, the shadowy corner not secluded enough to hide that they were kissing passionately. Blonde hair mingled with red, large hands roaming over Eivor’s body…
Everything felt unreal, like in the visions Fulke had shown him. Sigurd saw them but he also saw himself, his hands on Eivor’s body, his mouth on Eivor’s lips.
He moaned when Broder pushed them around and up against the side of the mead hall, not caring that they were no longer hidden by the shadows. And why should he? They wouldn’t be the only couple soon enough.
Eivor’s legs were wrapped around Broder’s waist, craning his neck where Broder was feasting on his throat like the wolf had. Sigurd wanted to chase him away just the same, but then Eivor opened his eyes and he felt rooted to the spot by his gaze.
Like this he couldn’t see Broder’s face, only Eivor’s, and that made it so much easier to pretend that it wasn’t him, that it was instead Sigurd himself, that he was looking at his future.
The spell was broken when Broder captured Eivor’s lips in another kiss and Sigurd felt bile rising up his throat. Eivor belonged to him, and only to him. None of these men understood that they were touching what was his.
And Eivor? Had Eivor still not understood that Sigurd would give him anything he wanted as long as it made him happy? He had brought Eivor with him to Valhalla for a reason. If he wanted this from Sigurd, he had only had to ask.
But that was the problem, wasn’t it? Eivor never asked for something just for himself. Sigurd had wanted to give him the rulership of their people but Eivor had declined.
Perhaps when they returned to Ravensthorpe, he could finally give Eivor what he deserved.
/
Their return to Ravensthorpe was a sombre affair, befitting the heavy losses they had taken. Alfred was not a man to be underestimated, Sigurd could give him that. There would be not feast celebrating their victory, although they would drink to the honour of their fallen.
It was the height of summer when they returned after the battle at Ethandon, and Ravensthorpe, untouched by the war, was bustling with life. Tradesmen, hunters, farmers from the surrounding lands, everyone seemed to be there.
Randvi listened to their report with some concern but they all agreed that Alfred was too clever to press for more. The armistice would hold for now.
“Let’s hope you’re right or we might all end up as Christians like Guthrum”, Sigurd said with a levity he was not feeling.
“He spoke of it before”, Eivor said, “I don’t think Alfred forced his hand as much as many may think.”
“Still, between Guthrum becoming a Christian and Halfdan unwell, things do not bode well for us”, Randvi cautioned.
“We stand well enough on our own”, Sigurd replied. “Our allies are steadfast, even the Christians. Halfdan and Guthrum had their time of glory, now it will be up to us.”
“Sigurd is right”, Eivor said, giving him an encouraging look. “Our allies have always come when we called. We can rely on them and we have beaten Alfred before.”
Randvi didn’t look reassured but she let it pass without argument. “I’m glad to have the two of you back.”
“And we are glad to be back”, Sigurd replied. It had been months of travels and so many things had changed in between, Alfred proving a credible threat being the last of it.
Outside, Eivor was greeted enthusiastically by his wolf, nearly getting toppled over by him. Sigurd laughed, feeling glad that his brother was happy and for a moment he was distracted from the issue at hand.
Returning to Eivor’s bedroom felt heavier than returning to Ravensthorpe with the burden of defeat. Last winter, they had shared this bed, curled up close as foxes in their burrow. It felt as if it had been more than a few months that had passed since.
“Feels like it’s been forever”, Eivor said behind him.
Sigurd turned towards him. They hadn’t been alone, not truly alone, since that moment in Snotinghamshire.
“I can find somewhere else to sleep.”
“Do you have to?”
Eivor gave him a rueful smile. “I don’t think we can go back to pretending nothing has changed. I know I can’t.”
“What if you don’t have to?”
“Don’t do this”, there was a pleading note in Eivor’s voice that Sigurd hated, and he averted his gaze. “You don’t feel this way about me and I don’t want you to pretend just to make me happy.”
“Do you think I was pretending when I was hideously jealous of all of your conquests? I hated every single one of them, and the more worthy they were of you, the more I hated them.” Sigurd closed the distance between them and put his hand under Eivor’s chin, tilting his head up. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
“We’re brothers.”
“didn’t stop you and Vili.”
Eivor scoffed lightly.
“I wanted to share the eternity of Valhalla with you”, Sigurd said, holding Eivor’s gaze. “You are my brother because you are everything to me.”
It was Eivor who closed the distance between them, kissing him fiercely. Sigurd wrapped his arm around Eivor’s neck and pulled him closer.
Nothing and no one would ever come between them, he swore it to the Gods.