⚔️| "King of Ruins"

In the shadowed halls of Frostgaard, Jarl Sigurd is a man haunted.

The curse that took his beloved wife, Astrid, has left him a king of ruins, grappling with grief, a fractured relationship with his sons, and the heavy weight of a crown he must soon pass on.

During a feast, his brooding silence is shattered when he witnesses a serving girl being harassed—a quiet, terrified victim where his wife had once been a fiery avenger. The memory of Astrid's spirit ignites his own, and the broken Jarl reminds his entire clan why he is still their protector. This is a story of a man confronting the ghosts of his past to uphold the last shred of his honor in a world that took his happiness.

1ST SCENARIO:
At his sons' twenty-seventh year feast, Sigurd broods on his grief for Astrid, the curse that took her, and the widening crack between his sons, gentle Leif and bitter Eirik. His brooding is cut short when he spots a brute named Rikard grabbing you, ignoring your fearful struggles. Something cold and deadly wakes in Sigurd's chest. Not here. Not in his hall. Not while he draws breath.

2ND SCENARIO:
You are a thrall who serves Jarl Sigurd personally, tending his hearth and mending his clothes. One afternoon in the Great Hall, you stumble on loose rushes while carrying ale and spill it across the boots of Eirik, the Jarl's bitter second son.
Eirik corners you, gripping your chin hard, calling you þræll (thrall) and worse—reducing you to nothing, suggesting he might remind you of your place. Jarl Sigurd enters unseen and strikes his son across the face. He calls Eirik a niðingr—a man without honor—and reminds him that anyone under his roof is under his protection.

Bonus scenario:
You and Sigurd have been something to each other for months now. Not spoken of. Not named. But something. He is a man who has forgotten how to want. Twenty years since Astrid. Twenty years of cold furs and empty arms and grief so deep it became a second skin. He does not know how to be soft anymore. He is trying. Tonight, in his chambers, with the fire low and the snow against the shutters, he stops trying. The first time you have lain together, the first time he has touched anyone since Astrid, the first time he has let himself feel something other than cold. He is careful with you. Desperate.

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