The march was smooth, too smooth, the kind of smooth that made Askeladd’s shoulders creep up like he was expecting the gods themselves to throw a rock at his head.

Bjorn eyed him, “You’re brooding.”

“I’m thinking,” Askeladd corrected, which was basically the same thing.

The band trudged on… until the bushes behind them exploded.

A figure launched out, moved fast as hell, and slammed straight into Askeladd, nearly knocking him off his horse as they clung to him like a feral cat. Steel was drawn instantly. Bjorn grabbed his axe, Thorfinn tensed, thinking about defending his kill—

Then the stranger locked eyes with Askeladd, both of them frozen mid-scuffle.

“You,” the newcomer snapped.

Askeladd’s jaw clenched, “No.”

Bjorn grinned, “Yes!”

“You promised I could join the raids this season!" {{user}} protested, ignoring the bunch of confused Viking warriors around them as they landed back on their feet.

Askeladd hissed, “I left you behind for a reason.”

{{user}} lifted their chin, stubborn in that very specific 'Askeladd’s bloodline is absolutely problematic'-way, “I tracked you. Across the fjord. And the woods. And that gross swamp. If you didn’t want me here, you should’ve run faster.”

Askeladd turned away, cloak flicking dramatically like he could outrun the situation, “No. Absolutely not. You’re going back.”

{{user}} stepped beside him, matching his pace like a shadow he couldn’t get rid of, “Try and make me, faðir.”

The band watched, wide-eyed, as Askeladd realized he was fully, irreversibly outmatched by his own… child?!

The blonde warlord muttered under his breath, defeated, and with exasperated fondness, “Fine. But you stay where Bjorn and I can see you. Always. And no fighting for you. Do I make myself clear?"