This is my first Sigurd story, and even though I must admit that he is far from my favourite character; I thought I would give myself a challenge and try and love him.

"STOP IT!" (Y/n) exclaimed, banging her fist on the tabletop as she got to her feet. The four sons of Aslaug looking to her, as she glared at Sigurd.

As usual, a possibly pleasant meal had descended into, yet another verbal stoushes between Sigurd and Ivar. The pair sending out their usual insults at one another from across the table. But whereas the female friend of the brothers would normally be doing her best to keep the peace between the two younger Ragnarssons, just like Ubbe; after hearing some news, she was done. Done with listening to all this. Done with the childish arguing; but in particular, done with Sigurd.

"I have had enough of listening you berate Ivar. Enough of you saying that he is a pathetic cripple; that he is not a man, not a Viking. Because, Sigurd, from where I am standing, you are no more of a man than Ivar is, though you are certainly more pathetic. You really hate Ivar, because your mother loves him and you feel as though she forgot all about you, because of him. And you are so desperate to be like Ubbe and Hvitserk, that you will even fuck the same slave as them, thinking that somehow that would prove you were a man. Yet all it proves is that you are a pitiful little creature, a mere shadow of what a man should be, never mind of what your father was. You disgust me. Even looking at you makes me want to be sick. So, the next time you wish to call your brother names, perhaps you should look at yourself first, Sigurd." (Y/n) continued, with a disdainful growl. Giving Sigurd one more fiery glare before she stormed out of the room. The door slamming behind her.

Ubbe, Hvitserk and Ivar looked at one another, looked at a shocked Sigurd. (Y/n) had grown up with the boys, she had played with them, trained with them, fought with them. She, just like the sons of Ragnar, ready to prove herself on the battlefield, when she got the chance. Yet over the years, she had seemed to grow closer to Sigurd, and even though she had never liked how he had spoken to Ivar, she and their brother had always been the best of friends. But now........well, something seemed to have changed, because never had (Y/n) spoken to anyone in such a way, never mind, one of them; never mind Sigurd. Usually, she was calm; usually, she was in control of her emotions. Not one to have such an outburst. Yet obviously, Sigurd's actions had pushed her to this point. Ubbe shaking his head as he saw a grin finally make its way onto Ivar's lips. I smile that was undoubtedly going to bring with it another argument. Yet before Ivar could open his mouth, Sigurd got to his feet and followed (Y/n) out of the room.

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(Y/n) stormed out onto the streets of Kattegat. Angry was not strong enough a word to say how she felt; irate would not even cover it. She was so filled with rage that it felt as though the blood was boiling in her veins. Yet it was not just anger that she felt, no, it would be simple if it were just anger that she felt; this was anger mixed with hurt and betrayal. Something she thought she would never feel because of Sigurd.

All her life, she had known the sons of Ragnar. Known and loved them as if they were her own brothers. Yet, as she had grown, she had realised that there were other feelings that had developed, as far as Sigurd was concerned. Feelings that she had done her best to hide, for fear of ridicule; for fear of them not being reciprocated. Yet after hearing that he had also slept with Margrethe; that he had been with the same thrall as his older brothers, she had become physically sick. It not that there were not many other women in Kattegat that the brothers could be with; it not that they couldn't have their pick. It not that she didn't want to.............But no, they had wanted this Margrethe, instead. (Y/n) unable to stop herself from thinking about what may be wrong with her. What made Margrethe so much better..........

Margrethe........oh, the things that she would like to do to that......to that......(Y/n) wanting to hit something at the mere thought of the vile creature. A small smile pulling at her lips, as she thought about cutting Margrethe's throat, of the horror that would fill her blue eyes, as the blade of her dagger slipped effortlessly across that milky white skin. Of actually taking her pretty little head, from her pretty little shoulders, and watching as it rolled down the hill until it plopped into the fjord. Yet she had a feeling that if she did that, Ubbe and Hvitserk, would never forgive her. So, perhaps she should take out her frustrations on Sigurd himself. (Y/n) sure that his head would make the most pleasing of splashes, as she kicked it into the water, and waved it and the rest of his body goodbye, as they drifted away from Kattegat. But as marvellous as that notion was at that moment, she knew that she would never do anything to hurt Sigurd; that despite how much he had hurt her, by choosing that whore of a thrall, over her; how much he had broken her heart, the last thing that she would ever wish for was something to happen to Sigurd. So, perhaps the real pathetic one, was her. A girl that was unable to tell the boy that she loved that she wanted more than just his friendship; that she wanted everything that he had given to that detestable Margrethe, and more. (Y/n) angrily pushing away a tear that made its way down her cheek, as she made her way to the training area. The shieldmaiden determining to take out all her emotions, all her frustrations on the deer carcasses and other targets that were set up. And once she had, she would forget about Sigurd; she would forget about him and find a man that really deserved her love.