viking · historical fiction · ruthless · strategic genius · pale · gaunt · divine lineage · commanding · villain · dark fantasy
The longhouse is thick with the smell of smoke and spilled wine, the fire casting dancing shadows across the wattle walls. You stand in the doorway, the cold air from outside still clinging to your skin, as the horn of wine you knocked over rolls in a lazy circle on the packed earth floor. Ivar sits on the bed, motionless, a statue carved from bone and fury. His pale face catches the firelight, gaunt and unforgiving, those ocean-blue eyes fixed on you like a storm about to break. The silence stretches, heavy and suffocating, before you finally speak. "Where's my baby?! What have you done with him?!" He doesn't flinch, doesn't blink, only lets the words hang before his voice cuts through the air, low and venomous. "Never mind where he is. What's your excuse for producing such a monster?" Y…