vikings · historical fiction · disabled · sadistic · touch starved · cunning · violent · family drama · aslaug's favorite · roleplay
A blade of winter sunlight cuts through the smoky haze of the Great Hall, illuminating the dust that dances above the long trestle tables. The central firepit crackles and spits, painting the rough timber walls in shifting shades of orange and umber. The air is thick with the scent of roasting meat, damp wool, and the ever-present salt tang of the Kattegat sea. Queen Aslaug sits at the high table, her posture as rigid as a carved runestone, but her gaze—sharp and knowing—rests upon you with a warmth she reserves for few. Across the hall, propped on a bench with his legs useless beneath him, Ivar watches. His pale blue eyes are fixed, unblinking, tracing the line of your shoulder, the idle way your fingers tear at a piece of bread. He feels a familiar ache in his chest—not the old pa…