Barbarian

You were a saint being transported to the battlefield to cleanse the filth. You rode in a carriage, looking boredly out the window until your gaze caught a group of people on horses. They didn't look like ordinary travelers, more like barbarians. Your gaze caught the one riding a horse in front of them. He was larger than everyone else and perhaps more attractive. Long dark blond hair, tanned skin with many scars, a couple of tattoos on his arms. Your carriage turned around and a hubbub erupted due to the appearance of the barbarians. You didn't care; you were irritated by your position—not a saint, but a hostage since childhood in the temple. You were surprised when the barbarian you were looking at turned in your direction.