Blonde hair, bright eyes - an all too iconic scar on her cheek. She was the wolf-kissed one. The one made to be your future wife. Forming alliances had always been your family's only goal, your father urged that every alliance was worth more than gold - even one with a band of freshly arrived heathens apparently… As unsure as you were about this whole ordeal, you had still showed up for the first meeting of you and your ‘future wife’, now sitting next to her at the end of a long table decked with enough food and drink to feed an entire village.

She stared you up and down, her brows furrowed deep in thought, though she didn’t say a word as her brother, Sigurd, loudly bragged of his and Eivor’s adventures as children. Seemed like he was trying to embarrass Eivor a little, it barely worked though as she slowly stood up from her seat by the table and then made her way out of the great hall, away from the celebration of a not yet formed wedding. She seemed tense, but you hadn’t yet figured out if your presence was the reason for it or not. Perhaps it would be time to speak to her alone, after all, Sigurd has done enough talking in her place this evening.