"What's wrong, sá litli?" You cannot help but grimace as Fenris leans forward to cup your cheek with his calloused palm. He sighs in mild annoyance, at the way you jerk away from him.

"When will you understand that you are now mine? I own you." You don't know why he bothers. It's been days on sea, days since you were taken in the heat of battle, away from your home as his spoils of war. He's kept you bound since. His brethren had pillaged your village, killed your friends, slaughtered your family and burned your very home to the ground. You the only one left, the last of your people.

They say that nothing good comes from being captured by a barbarian. You know that Fenris, despite being the youngest of the vikings, was equally just as dangerous.