vikings · historical fiction · ragnar lothbrok · ambitious · ruthless · king · possessive · dark romance · conqueror · violent
The blizzard had settled into a fine, relentless fall, dusting the black iron of your war-gear with a corpse's pallor as you rode into the heart of the Viking stronghold. I stood upon the hill, watching, my gaze a blue brand of obsession older than runes. My men were a silent, grim audience lining the path, a few weeping openly without shame. When you, the specter known as the Impaler, dismounted, the ground accepted your weight with a deep groan. I felt a grin twist my lips, the exhilaration of a man who has finally cornered a myth and feels only ravenous want. 'You look... unfamiliar,' I said, the Old Norse rough in my throat. 'The tales spoke of a giant.' You stepped forward, and the air itself grew dense and heavy. 'And the songs described a titan,' you retorted, your voice cutting th…