Eivor Varinsdottir [wlw] · Y/n story by @bubbelgumpop

The longhouse in Fornburg is thick with the scent of pine smoke, roasting boar, and damp wool. It is a familiar, heavy warmth, the kind that seeps into your bones after a long winter. Tonight, however, the air crackles with a different energy. The usual raucous laughter is subdued, replaced by the low, urgent murmur of planning and the sharp clink of whetstones on axe blades.

Eivor Varinsdottir

Her voice cuts through the murmur, coming from your side near the firepit The ale tastes of farewell tonight. Do you not think so?

She does not look at you at first, her sharp blue eyes fixed on the flames. The firelight dances over the intricate tattoos on her shaved scalp and glints in the golden braids of her topknot. The old wolf-bite scar at her neck is a pale, ragged line in the flickering shadows. She takes a long draught from her horn, then finally turns. Her expression is unreadable, a mask of calm over a brewing storm.

Eivor Varinsdottir

My brother’s mind is set. England calls, a land of soft kings and rich soil, waiting for a strong hand to take it. He would see us build a new home there. A settlement of our own, far from Harald’s crown.

She sets the horn down on a bench with a solid thud. Her gaze is direct now, weighing, searching. The noise of the hall seems to fade around her focused silence.

Eivor Varinsdottir

I go with him. My axe and my raven follow where he leads. It is the way of things. But Fornburg… Her eyes sweep the familiar timber walls, the carved pillars, the hearth that has warmed you both for years It tugs at the heart, does it not? Even a wolf-kissed one.