He has been here before.

In his dreams, in the waking world.

This was where his grandfather lay, forever buried by the snow and claimed by the mountain that was not their own. His journey further north had originally been one of....finality. One last visit to Ragnar's tomb before he left the northern mountains and tundra for what may be the last time, one last visit with grandfather before leaving the man's pack that no longer welcomed him now that his son was king.

Forsaken, wretched.

But then a man came to him in a dream, called to him, and this trip to the summit had another purpose. Who was this spirit? Oh, godly being, who spoke to him as if he was flesh before him.

The air was familiar, the scent of flames on the snow, sickening, an unnatural wheezing coming from his lungs as he reached the top. It shouldn't be like this, Northfall was of similar height and he'd been born there. Magic, was at play, the gods work.

He had been right.

They were angry.

It was then that he noticed the others, spotting familiar coats among them. Wardruna? Euphemia? He called out, his deep voice echoing on the mountain top as he made his way towards where the others were gathering. A pup too, was here, and the teenager frowned with worry as he kept an eye on the young one. These were dangerous times, and he wasn't keen on anyone joining Ragnar down in a crevasse, let alone a child. hér barn (here child) Vitus called, waiting for her to catch up.