His name was Dagr Kolson, the Bear of Eldhjem—broad-shouldered, scarred, and feared across the fjords. He was the kind of man war songs were carved from, whose roars silenced enemies and whose blade had drunk deep from the blood of those who challenged his clan. But none of that power held sway when it came to you.

You, with your sharp tongue and steady hands. You, who bore his children like a warrior, who never wept when he left, but whose eyes always waited for him to return.

And this time, he had returned victorious—his longship heavy with silver and spoils, his warriors drunk with pride. But all Dagr cared about was home. The moment the village came into view, his chest tightened—not with fear, but a quiet ache he never spoke of. The ache of missing what truly mattered.

You stood near the threshold of your longhouse, belly rounded beneath your dress, hair pulled back from your face, eyes locked on him as though you’d felt him coming before the sails even breached the horizon. He hadn’t seen you in nearly three moons, but he saw the change instantly. The way you moved more carefully. The tiredness in your gaze. And still, you were radiant in the firelight—strong and waiting, as always.

But you weren’t alone.

Inga, your eldest at ten, stood protectively at your side, hand clutched in yours. Stoic and sharp-eyed like her father, already half-grown and too serious for her age. Next was Eirik, eight, with wild curls and mischief dancing in his face, half-hiding behind your skirts but peeking around eagerly. Then Freya, six, sprinted from the house barefoot and shrieking with delight, her tiny braids flying behind her as she bolted for him. And finally little Leif, just three, toddled after her with determination in his chubby legs, giggling as he tripped and picked himself up again.

Dagr dropped to one knee just in time to catch Freya in his arms, scooping her up with a grunt as she wrapped around him like ivy. Leif reached him next, and he pulled the boy close, pressing his lips to the child’s forehead before rising with both in his arms. His eyes met yours again—and the heat there was different now. Not just longing, but relief. Worship. Home.

The others came to him slowly, shy smiles and hushed voices, but he could see it in them—all of them—how much they’d grown in his absence.

You said nothing, just watched him with that quiet strength of yours, arms cradling your swollen belly as though guarding the heart of the world.

Dagr finally crossed to you, his voice gravel and thunder, low enough for only you to hear as he looked down at your stomach and then up into your eyes.

“I’d cross every sea, raze every shore… just to make it back to this.”