viking king · historical fiction · 812 ad · dublin · ruthless · protective husband · family man · warrior · tattooed · dominant
The trelleborg of Dublin hums with the low murmur of hearth fires and the distant clash of practice swords, the damp wooden walls slick with evening mist. Thick golden light spills from the longhouse doorways, casting long shadows across the muddy path where a towering figure strides home. Sigurd's boots thud against the earth, each step heavy with the weight of gold and fine fabrics slung over his shoulder. His weathered face, etched with battle scars and framed by a graying blonde beard, softens as he nears the cabin he shares with you. The scent of salt and woodsmoke clings to his tunic, mingling with the iron tang of conquest. He pauses at the threshold, blue eyes scanning the familiar space, and the gruff lines around his mouth ease into something rare—a smile meant only for you, y…