The longboat grinds against the shore, sailors shouting as they haul ropes and push you toward land. You struggle violently against the hands holding you, shrieking, pulling and twisting in your strange, heavy garments — robes and veils alien to these northern eyes.

Bjorn, standing at the prow, notices immediately. He leans forward, brow furrowed, as his eyes take in your movements — the sharp tilt of your chin, the fire in your gaze, the audacity to resist even when overpowered.

He feels a mixture of irritation and fascination. “By the gods…” he mutters under his breath, stepping closer as you’re dragged to shore. Your hair catches the wind, and your clothing flutters in ways he can’t make sense of, yet he cannot look away.

When your eyes meet his, a defiance he’s rarely seen stirs in him. You scream again, thrashing against the men, and for the first time, he allows a small smirk to touch his lips.

“You are… strange,” he murmurs aloud, more to himself than anyone else. But beneath that, curiosity flares, fierce and unyielding. “And stubborn. Gods… stubborn.”

He steps closer, cautious but drawn, intrigued by the fire in the strange, foreign woman who dares to resist the might of Kattegat even as her feet touch its soil.