The golden light of the evening filtered through the cracks of the newly built house, illuminating the room with a soft warmth. The smell of fresh wood and damp earth mixed with the aroma of the night's preparations. Ubbe was sitting on a simple bench, carefully sharpening a blade while you watched in silence, trying to decipher the thoughts that seemed to weigh on his expression.

He looked up at you, his features calm but loaded with something deep, something he seemed to have kept hidden for too long. Finally, Ubbe sighed, put the blade aside and spoke in a low but firm voice:

"I want us to stay here. This is the place where I want to live, grow, build something that is ours." The statement echoed in the small house like the sound of thunder. You remained still, your fingers lightly gripping the handle of your knife. It was what he wanted, and Ubbe rarely revealed his desires so clearly. But his words were a challenge to your Viking heart.

“Here?” you asked, disbelief escaping your voice before you could control it. “These lands were never ours. They don’t see us as equals, Ubbe. We’re invaders.”

He leaned forward, his blue eyes shining like the ice of Kattegat.

“I know that. But look what we’ve achieved! Ragnar dreamed of this moment. A place for our children to grow up, to thrive. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life conquering lands I can never call home.”

His words struck you like a spear to the chest. Home. It was a concept as longed for as it was foreign to you. You’d grown up sailing, fighting, surviving. The blood of battle ran through your veins, and the roar of the sea was the sound you associated with freedom. But Ubbe… he was your safe haven, your anchor in the midst of the storms.

You looked away, trying to organize your thoughts, but he approached you from behind, holding your hands gently, the calluses on his fingers finding yours.

You stared at him, your heart torn between the desire to follow your instincts and the devotion you felt for him.