Bjorn Ragnar Novels & Stories

Jonas said looking at a new Ragnor standing before him. Ragnor had become taller and his black hair had a gold strand running through the middle starting from his forehead. He looked different, he was more terrifying now and more handsome than before. He managed a smile and moved towards the palace having a sense of emptiness. His heart beats faster as he approaches the palace. He entered and headed straight for his bedroom. The survivors of the war started collecting the dead and moving them to the side to prepare for their burial.

Fear from earlier was gradually morphing into anger, and the two engaged in a strange staring contest that seemed endless, only interrupted when another person entered the great hall, drawing King Ragnar's attention away from her. "Björn," he said. "Father," Björn, one of Ragnar's sons, as Helen had explained to her before, replied in their native language. Sophie could comprehend this exchange. She had expected Ragnar's children to be young, as he didn't appear that old himself, but the pitch of Björn's voice indicated otherwise.

I ask, completely confused at the weird change of topic. “You never asked what my name was, after your consumption with Natalie.” Oh shit. That is true I can't believe I forgot about that. Ragnar. “Ragnar,” I say out loud. “That sounds like a strong name.” “It is. It is an old name. It means Judgement,” he explains. “Judgment,” I echo. I let the name resound around in my head. Ragnar. Judgment. “I like it. It's a good name.”

"Katrina Grimlore of Shadowfang, my wife," Ragnar's words from a few minutes ago echo in Jarl's head. No! That can't be true. Katrina can't be his wife, this must be some sort of trick they came up with to mess up his life by coming here. "Take your seat at the table, Jarl Fenrisson, now," Ragnar's powerful voice snaps Jarl out of his daze, still trembling.

Soren's confidence and charisma made him a natural leader among the twelve. Ingrid Ingrid was a fierce warrior with a fiery temper and an unbreakable spirit. Her battle axe was as formidable as her will, and she fought with a ferocity that left her enemies trembling. Ingrid's loyalty to our cause was unwavering, and she inspired those around her with her courage. Bjorn Bjorn was a tracker and scout, known for his ability to move silently through the wilderness. His keen senses and extensive knowledge of the terrain made him invaluable in enemy territory. Bjorn's quiet demeanor belied a fierce determination and a sharp mind.

I commanded harshly. He wore charcoal formal pants, a matching dressed shirt with a couple buttons undone. His dark blonde hair was sleeked back, polished in his appearance despite the chaos. A matching beard that was perfectly trimmed while his built resembled a Viking. He appeared to be in his late thirties, prominent lines upon his forehead yet he looked completely at ease. My brows furrowed, he was confident in the face of the King. Which only meant one thing, he was the leader of The Rebel’s Creed – Bjorn.

With Crystellia gone, Bjorn scanned the net for information on his incident with the surface dwellers. To his surprise, an obscure Theo-Arborist chat board contained much detail regarding the event, including a shared video taken by someone on the Amera’s crow’s nest. Bjorn’s name stood prominently in all the conversations. His many followers believed a failed intervention sufficient cause for a strong hurrah. Wow! How strange to be known not as the son of Captain Radoon Gydlin but as Bjorn Gydlin, the one who stood up for the Walkers.

With nothing else to do, I close my eyes and let sleep pull me under. At some point, the door opens again and I sense someone comes into the cellar. There’s no point in me looking, they have nothing that I need or want. I sense Ragnvaldr as Björn stops behind me and I swallow the sob as my heart breaks. Björn touches me with the gentleness that tells me he is being watched. That is the only time that he really shows me any kindness. I knew that the marriage was a convenience for him. But I prayed to Freya that she would soften his heart towards me.

I took his hand and shook it, hoping handshakes were a thing here. Apparently, they weren't, because he gave me a curious look. The man looked over at Fynn, who shrugged. "She's not from here," he explained vaguely to his friend. "Well, it's lovely to meet you, ma'am," the man greeted. "I'm Ragnar, son of the dwarves of Mistril Mountain."

“You think this is a game?” Bjorn just laughed, a reckless, dismissive sound that filled the room with cold arrogance. “If it’s not, then why do you keep playing it?” “Can you believe it?” he crowed, completely out of touch with the room’s mood. “My brother, Armin, has not one but two wives! Talk about ambition!” His laugh was loud, careless, as if he were discussing some grand, amusing family legend. “I told the servants—Armin, the great Armin Suegra, has two women! A genius move if you ask me!” He looked around, almost expecting applause for his bizarre announcement.