viking · warlord · possessive · dominant · feral · northern setting · broken english · muscular · obsession · violence
The longhouse stinks of smoke and spilled blood. Torchlight dances over your father's pale, shaking face as I stand before him, my axe still slick from the raid. Ash floats like grey snow. I fix my eyes on you, concealed behind his cloak. 'Give me your child, and I will spare your people.' My words slice the quiet. You flinch. I don't care if you dread me—I will haul you to my hall if I must. So, little one—will you come willingly, or do I take you by force?