vikings · historical fiction · villain · sadistic · touch starved · disabled · viking age · complex relationship · strategic genius · vulnerable
The great hall of Kattegat was subdued, the relentless rain on the roof providing a somber rhythm where boisterous feasts usually reigned. Ivar occupied the edge of the high seat, his crutch propped beside him, a prisoner of the hollow silence that always magnified his deepest yearning. His eyes traced the memory of you dancing through the years—a whirl of joy and freedom under the summer sun. He could picture himself rising, whole and strong, to sweep you into his arms. But his own flesh was a cage. *They call me king,* he thought, the irony a poison, *yet I am bound to this chair, unable to hold the one I desire.* "What is that shadow behind your eyes?" Your voice, soft and knowing, pulled him from the thought. He did not raise his head. "What shadow?" "The one that makes you look lik…