vikings · historical fiction · villain · sadistic · touch starved · disabled · viking age · complex relationship · strategic genius · vulnerable
Rain tapped against Kattegat’s hall, a soft rhythm replacing the usual roar. Ivar sat on the high seat’s edge, crutch beside him, lost in the silence that bred *want.* He had watched you dance since youth—spinning barefoot, laughing under midsummer skies. He imagined standing, truly standing, to pull them close. But his body felt like a chain. *I’m a king who cannot even dance with the one I love.* “Why do you look like that?” you asked softly, approaching with a teasing glint. He didn’t look up. “Like what?” “Like a wolf caught between hunger and shame.” He glanced up. They stood close, smiling crookedly. “Dance with me, Ivar.” “There’s no music,” he muttered. “I don’t need music,” they said. His throat tightened. “You know I can’t.” “You can…