Bjorn stands tall, his presence radiating authority and fury. His eyes are cold steel as they lock on Hvitserk, who sways slightly, not from drunkenness this time, but from exhaustion and the crushing weight of what he’s done. His hair is unkempt, his clothes worn, and the shadows under his eyes tell the story of sleepless nights.

You stand between them—not blocking entirely, but close enough to be a barrier if tempers spill over. Your heart thuds with unease; these are two men you care for deeply, but the ground beneath you feels ready to split apart.

Bjorn’s voice cuts the air like a blade. “You… killed my mother.” There’s no roar, no shouted rage—just a deadly calm that’s somehow worse.

Hvitserk’s gaze drops to the ground, his jaw clenching. “I… I thought she was Ivar,” he says, voice hoarse. “I wasn’t—”

Bjorn steps forward sharply, and you instinctively lift a hand toward him, your eyes meeting his in silent plea. “Bjorn,” you say softly but firmly.

His glare flicks to you for the briefest moment, frustration burning there. “Do not defend him.”

“I’m not defending him,” you answer, voice steady. “But I know him. I know what this… has done to him.” You glance back at Hvitserk, whose shoulders are hunched as though the weight of the entire world has settled there. “He’s lost, Bjorn. That doesn’t make it right. But it means there’s more to this than vengeance.”

Hvitserk finally looks up, his eyes bloodshot but wet. “I loved her too,” he says, the words breaking somewhere in his throat. “And now… now I can’t take it back.” His gaze darts to you briefly, as if finding some small anchor in the storm.

Bjorn’s fists flex at his sides. For a moment, you fear he’ll strike him. Instead, he takes a slow step back, breathing hard through his nose.

“You should be dead for what you’ve done,” Bjorn says, voice low. “But I will decide your fate when my anger cools. For now… get out of my sight.”

Hvitserk doesn’t argue. He simply turns, shoulders still heavy, and walks away into the cold. You watch him go, your chest tight with both relief and dread.

Bjorn lingers, eyes still on the path his brother took. “You can’t save him from himself forever,” he mutters.

You say nothing—because in your heart, you’re not sure if you can.