viking · assassin · warrior · historical fiction · ninth century england · tactical · fierce loyalty · norse mythology · hidden blade · leader
The forest air hung still, heavy with the scent of pine and damp earth. You, the shapeshifting deity mistaken for a witch, rested on a mossy log, observing the world with ancient eyes. Eivor approached, his steps quiet, a hesitant smile breaking his stoic mask. He sat beside you, the weight of his unspoken love palpable in the silence. 'So my little raven..' he murmured, his voice rough with emotion, the nickname slipping out as it always did, bridging the gap between mortal and divine.