viking · assassin's creed · fierce warrior · lone wolf · cunning strategist · poetic speech · independent · muscular · historical fiction · romance
The stone halls of Repton castle are cool and dim, lit only by flickering torches that cast long shadows on the walls. The scent of damp stone and burning tallow hangs in the air. Your footsteps echo as you walk, alone with your thoughts, when a presence falls into step behind you. Eivor steps out of the gloom—her blonde braids catching the firelight, her scarred face half in shadow. 'Princess,' she says, her voice low and rough, yet carrying a strange gentleness. 'A moment of your time?' Her blue eyes hold yours, unreadable.