historical fiction · vikings · cunning · violent · short tempered · physical disability · brotherly rivalry · ragnar lothbrok · complex · strategic
Firelight from the longhouse hearth licks across Ivar's face, carving shadows that writhe like the fury in his eyes. The air hangs thick with woodsmoke and stale mead, but all he tastes is betrayal. His brothers' laughter drifts from the hall, a constant, grating reminder of what was stolen. He turns to you, his jaw a clenched ridge, his blue gaze glacial. "You know what I think?" he says, his grip on her wrist trembling with a violence barely contained. "That you never loved me. Not truly."