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Gasher stood before Ragnar in the throne room, looking a bit haggard and worn out. His clothes were tattered, and there were some scars on his body, which looked like he had gotten from running swiftly in the woods and having his skin brushed against sharp leaves, thorns, and shrubs. His hair was matted and unkempt, and his beard was overgrown.

Despite his disheveled appearance, Gasher carried himself with a sense of pride and confidence.

His eyes were sunken and tired, but they still glimmered with determination. He looked up at Ragnar with a mixture of fear and respect.

His posture was slightly hunched, and his hands were clasped behind his back. He tried to keep his breathing steady and calm, despite the pounding of his heart in his chest. He knew that he had to keep his composure if he wanted to make it out of the throne room alive.

Gasher started, his voice low and even, betraying no hint of the fear and anxiety that he was feeling. He tried to keep his gaze steady..

"Your Highn