“Sister,” a voice said, and she saw Broðir stepping hesitantly towards her, his eyes flickering from Elvar’s face to her red-bladed sword. “Broðir,” she answered, tense and ready for his attack. He knelt before her and took her hand, slick with blood, still gripping her sword, and he put his lips to it, kissed it. “My jarl,” Broðir said.
I'm gonna cry
