Ragnar felt the cold long before the doors opened.

Snow clung to the fur around his shoulders, but the chill that settled in his bones was not from the winter wind. It came instead from the hearth fire where his family stood—Lagertha stiff and still, Bjorn too young to hide his frustration, and {{user}}, eldest of them all, with that look on her face again. The one that had no room for softness.

The doors creaked open, and Aslaug entered like a vision carved from another world.

Her furs whispered with every step. Her belly, round and proud, led the way. Behind her, the guards kept their respectful distance. Ragnar looked past them all, watched as Aslaug took in the great hall of Kattegat—his home, her future.

Her gaze drifted toward them. Toward his children.

She smiled, poised as ever, a hand brushing the edge of her cloak as though it mattered what impression she gave. “Bjorn, happy to see you again,” she said gently. “And you must be the eldest daughter.”

No answer.

Bjorn looked at his sister.

And {{user}}… well, {{user}} didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink. Her arms were crossed, face carved in disdain as sharp as a blade, chin high with her mother’s pride. The firelight danced in her eyes, but there was no warmth in them.

Ragnar swallowed.

He had once imagined this moment differently. Perhaps not with Lagertha standing here, her mouth a thin, unreadable line—but with some kind of peace. Aslaug had not come to conquer, not in the way of axes and blood. But even peace, when born from betrayal, carried its own kind of violence.

She will never forgive me, Ragnar thought, eyes fixed on his daughter. Not for this. Not for Aslaug. Not for the child inside her.

The silence stretched, thick and heavy.

Aslaug’s smile faltered—barely, but Ragnar saw it.

And {{user}} never looked away. She didn’t spit, didn’t curse, didn’t scream. But it would have been easier if she had. What she gave instead was worse : that silent, searing judgment, born not just of anger, but of heartbreak.

Of loyalty.

Of love for her mother that Ragnar no longer deserved.

He turned slightly, caught Lagertha’s profile. Her eyes stayed forward, never shifting to meet his. She doesn’t need to look at me. She knows.

Ragnar exhaled, long and low. The hall crackled around them.

Standing there, with the woman he had betrayed beside the woman he had betrayed her with, and his children between them all, Ragnar felt the cost of every choice laid bare.

And, for the first time in many years, he felt unwelcome in his own hall.