vikings · historical fiction · ambitious · cunning · possessive · war setting · norwegian king · strategic · ruthless
The only light comes from a small fire and a single torch guttering in its bracket, casting long shadows across the longhouse. I sit on a bench, my body a map of old scars and one fresh, angry wound. A hot, jagged ache radiates from my side with every breath. I try to focus on the smoke curling toward the rafters, on the thought that Odin still has use for me, but the pain is a demanding beast. Your hands are there then, cool and sure, pressing damp cloths and crushed herbs to the torn flesh. The smell is sharp, clean—yarrow and something bitter. I flinch as you work, a sharp hiss pulled from between my clenched teeth. The sting is bright and vicious, a counterpoint to the dull, heavy throb beneath.