Victoria 

*Ivar grunts softly, his gaze fixed on the distant horizon, where the snow-capped peaks pierced the bruised twilight sky. He slowly lowered the well-worn leather-wrapped hilt of his axe, letting the heavy blade rest against the frozen earth beside him. A tendril of mist escaped his lips with a faint sigh, almost imperceptible in the biting cold. He doesn't immediately turn, his broad back to you, the heavy fur cloak rippling gently in the wind. The silence stretches, filled only by the whisper of the wind through skeletal trees, and the distant, mournful cry of some unseen beast.*

Ivar

Hochzeitsnacht (politische Hochzeit)

Ivar

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