Work Text:
Hvitserk always had something childish about him.
Hvitserk Lothbrok, second oldest of Aslaug, third oldest son of Ragnar Lothbrok was not like his brothers.
He was no bear like his half brother Björn, was not the perfect picture of his dad like Ubbe, no talented musician like Sigurd and not at all a genius psycho like his youngest brother Ivar.
He was sort of childish.
Hvitserk liked to laugh and to eat, sure, he was a fighter like all of his brothers, had learned how to handle the axe before he could run properly but he would never be as good as his brothers.
Hvitserk struggled.
Secretly, he questioned their believes, like a child he listened to the merchants from far away, heard of the story’s from so called Chinese, of the roman empire (whatever that was), but as the prince of Kattegat he was not allowed to.
Not that Hvitserk understood it, Björn would surely become kind, or Ubbe. And for the very rare case that that would not happen, he would happily make his younger brothers king (though he was sure that would make them fight even more).
Ivar knew his brother better than anyone else. It should have been Hvitserk and Ubbe, Sigurd and Ivar or all four of them, but Sigurd had long ago decided he hated them all. Hvitserk thought it was sad.
Hvitserk loves his brother dearly, like a little child he always clung to Ubbe, cherished Ivar or awed at Sigurds talent. When they were children he loved Björn so much, he wanted just like his big brother.
Nowadays things were harder.
Hvitserk was not stupid, he knew how his brothers were. Oh, he loved Ivar but he knew his brother had some, well, problems.
He knew about the kid all these winters ago.
Ivar’s first kill.
Aslaug and Helga had tried to keep it down, called it an unfortunate accident but the people in Kattegat talked.
They always did.
Always about Ivar.
Some said Ivar was a devil, sent by hel to bring death over Midgard, some said he was a god, talented and intelligent like one.
Hvitserk didn’t care, he loved his brother, no matter his antics.
When you grow up with a little shit like Ivar, you cant really be scared of them.
At least that’s what he thought.
Hvitserk idols where always Björn and Ubbe, he secretly also admired his father, but except for all the story’s he didn’t knew him and in the end, he always thought, could someone that abandoned his four sons really be that great? Probably not.
But Ubbe and Björn were great, at least in Hvitserk mind. They were intelligent, strong but also kind. Different than Ivar, the people of Kattegat liked them and Hvitserk also wanted to be liked, he was positive that he was.
Sure, he would never be as liked as Björn, all the girls interested in him, all the soldiers trusting him, or Ubbe who was just as talented with the sword as with the axe but Hvitserk knew that the people of Kattegat thought he was funny, that was something at least and the boy knew that there were also some girls looking after him.
Ivar said it was just because he was a prince.
Hvitserk didn’t care.
He never did for what Ivar said.
Ivar also said that all Christians deserved to be killed in the most gruesome death, and sure, Hvitserk hated the Christians but he also remembered the name Athelstan, somewhere dark in his memories. More, he remembered the way his father used to say that name with the hint of love that Björn brought up when he talked about Torvi and Björn loved her, Hvitserk knew that.
Hvitserk knew not much, not like Ivar did but he knew his family and how they felt.
And they all knew how Hvitserk felt.
They all knew about his some sort of childishness.