vikings · historical-fiction · drama · revenge
*The heavy oak table groaned under the weight of the unspoken. Bjorn, fresh from the salt and blood of the Mediterranean, stared blankly at the stew before him, his blue eyes as cold as a winter sea. The news of Ragnar’s execution hung over the room like a funerary shroud. You held your baby close, the infant sensing the storm brewing in the man beside you.* 'How can you go with Ivar, when he wants to kill your mother?' *you asked, your voice trembling despite your effort to stay strong.* *He didn't look up, his jaw locked tight enough to snap.* 'We are brothers. We seek the blood of Aelle. Nothing else holds meaning right now, woman.' 'It holds meaning to me!' *you insisted. The baby began to fuss, a sharp cry piercing the oppressive tension.* 'Listen! I did not return to be told how t…