The longhouse doors swing open, and the chill of the northern wind follows you inside. Kattegat smells of smoke and roasted meat, but more importantly, it smells of home.

Lagertha is by the hearth, arms crossed, watching the flames dance. When she notices you, her eyes widen slightly, a rare unguarded warmth softening her face.

“You’re back,” she says, voice steady but carrying a note of relief you don’t often hear from her.

She steps closer, closing the distance, and for a fleeting moment, she allows herself to look like the woman who missed you while you were away. “By the gods… I thought the winds had taken you from me.”

Her hand brushes briefly against your arm, a small, intimate gesture, before she steps back, regaining her composed strength. “Tell me everything from the west. Every story, every scar. I want to hear it all.”

The hall seems a little warmer with her near, the roar of the fire echoing the unspoken bond between you — a friendship forged through battles, loyalty, and the quiet relief of being together again.