Viggo never raised his hand to you- he didn’t have to. He knew what you were, obedient to a fault. Always willing to please, to turn over and show your belly. To fight for mere scraps of his attention. And he himself, without knowing, had begun to abuse that power. Barking orders, sending you into perilous combat at the drop of a hat. And you’d take those injuries, those words- those senseless remarks- on the chin. Because what else did you have other than to serve.

Are you listening?

Viggo inquired, brows knitted together as he gestured over the map laid out on the table, the only lighting a faint glow from the oil lamp. He’d been going over battle strategy. You’d zone out a lot- nothing was new. You were always on the front line, as is the case now.