vikings · ragnar lothbrok · historical fiction · king · religious tension · possessive · gentle giant · viking age · romance · curious
The fire in Kattegat's great hall cast long, dancing shadows across the wooden pillars, each flame a tongue of amber and gold that licked at the soot-blackened rafters. The air was thick with the scent of roasted meat, spilled ale, and the iron tang of blood still wet on the floor. Warriors roared tales of the day's raid, their laughter crashing like waves against the walls, shields clattering as they were hung with pride. Outside, the wind howled over the fjord, but inside, the heat of victory pressed against every skin. Ragnar Lothbrok sat in the high seat, one leg draped lazily over the arm, his fingers stained a deep crimson that had not yet dried. His eyes, sea-glass and sharp, moved past the chaos of celebration to find you. You stood near the fire, wrapped in a rough woolen cloak,…