"Our dead drink the sea."

prologue ✧ 𝒘𝒂𝒓

had grown... accustomed, to say the least, to the small girl's presence.

She was his youngest brother's age, and yet there she was, ready to face an army that Ironstone himself had only faced once.

The duo was minutes away from war. The prince stared at the wolf in uttermost amusement.

She quietly toyed with her weapons, spinning them around her tiny fingers, praying to her gods.

Much like her father, she bore no shield on her back, instead, she carried an axe. On her hands, her trusty knives.

Her hazel eyes shone milky green as the sunlight washed over them; gods, she would grow beautifully. No sign of worry reflected upon her face.

It was her first war.

Of course it was.

It was nowhere near normal for such young kids to fight, but everyone knew both she and her father were out of their minds.

Nero was surprisingly calm, and her calmness even seemed to settle some of Ragnar's nerves. If such a tiny, tiny girl had faith in the gods, then so would he, so should he.

She kept on her prayer, her serenity becoming excitement, becoming strength. Her insides burned with the flame of revenge for those who did her king wrong. For those who did her gods wrong.

Snapping out of it, she readied herself to side with Björn, knowing he would protect her even at times she did not want him to.

For some reason unbeknownst to him, he felt extremely protective of the girl. Almost as if she was his own.

Enemy boats anchored on theirs and war crawled onto its feet.

"Stay back!" he roared at her, and though she wished to take part, she could not disobey her prince. She did exactly as told.

She couldn't help but watch the Vikings slaughter the first wave of Christians.

It seemed to not have last seconds. The sheer brutality took over everyone's construct of time, "You alright?"

She nodded her head eagerly and her loyalty asked her to search for her king, only to find him supporting himself on his knees.

Both she and the Ragnarsson walked towards the broken man. The men engaged in a conversation, one that she didn't care about as her duty was fulfilled; the king was fine for the time being.

She spaced out while the two spoke, looking at the enemy boats with menace. Her stare was cold and calculating.

"Attack," her head shot up at Ragnar's words.

She grinned, her eyes lighting up with madness. She knew that in another boat her father's eyes were doing the exact same.

Ragnar, Nero, Floki, were ready, and they were insane, bloodthirsty, and revengeful. In any other scenario, they could have been unstoppable, they could have been immortal.

"Good," Ironside replied curtly with a smile, cleaning his blood-stained hands on Nero's hair. She squealed, running away and cursing him for having ruined her braid.

Almost as if she hadn't just watched a massacre.

Despite the interactions, the king remained straight-faced. His hands still on his knees in order to try and keep a posture of sorts.

Lagertha sighed in worry at the sight, "Do the gods favor us?"

"Of course the gods favor us," Björn replied, coming to a stop after playfully chasing the tiny girl around the ship.

She looked up at him, then at the king, then at the beautiful shield-maiden. Her eyes shining; they were her heroes, she had no doubt Odin would have all of them in Valhalla.

With that thought in mind, Nero spoke quite quietly, "The gods favor us, it's victory or Valhalla."

The king, with his head down, grinned at the wolf's whisper.

"I just need to hear it from Ragnar's mouth," the now annoyed queen was quick to respond. Lothbrok wouldn't give Lagertha the comforting pleasure of certainty. Not when he wasn't certain himself.

The four exchanged looks as silence settled. The need for revenge was almost blinding, they held each other's gaze.

The silence didn't seem to last long.

War cries were heard. The sounds of destruction seemed to resonate through every corner of the world, "Onward!"

And so it began, the small girl flanked Björn.

Though she wasn't nearly as experienced, nor nearly as built or tall, she was still just as mad and just as animalistic. She was still a Viking.

With one last look at her king and one last prayer to her gods, she threw herself into the midst of battle.

The blue almost made the sea a peaceful promise. The torn wood of the boats floating around, stained with blood. Bodies sunk, armor pieces rested among the waves.

Nero Gunnolf breathed in. Seconds seemed to last minutes.

She owed this to Ragnar, she owed this to Floki and she owed this to Odin and Tyr. Without them, she would be nothing more but a corpse in the woods, with no one to mourn.

Adrenaline kicked in, her crazed look was just as frightening as of any other soldier in her boat.

Her pupils contracted at the sight of an enemy climbing onboard and approaching her prince. Much like a predator, she watched his movements. Once he turned his back on her, she climbed onto the gunwale of the boat, using it to jump on the charging man's back.

She quickly unsheathed one of her knives, exactly how she was taught. Having studied the armor before, she dug the weapon on the Christian's jugular.

Her precision was terrifying. Nero knew just where his helmet ended and where the metal sleeves began.

The body fell on the floor, and for a brief moment, she allowed herself to access their losses, breathing in once again.

There were no longer was kids or adults, there were only warriors.

Though things weren't that chaotic in her boat, she could notice the many injuries in her father's.

Her chest grew heavy with worry.

From where she was, it was hard to look for the one crazy soul that had raised her.

Little did she know that Floki was bleeding. His wound deadly but he simply refused to die.

He wouldn't die when Rollo was still standing.

He couldn't allow the traitor to get away after betraying them and their gods.

"Odin, where are you?" upon hearing this, the girl snapped from what seemed to be a trance. She roared at the name of the All-father.

Nero felt brand new strength flow into her, she was energetic. Her dark, braided hair an absolute mess with her movements. The black of the kohl that matched her father's smudging over her cheeks with crimson blood.

She looked all around, for someone, anyone, who she could help. The girl was wise enough to know that she couldn't take an opponent all on her own.

Just as her head whipped to search for her king, she heard a strangled growl. The sound seemed to drown out all others.

Following her gut, she ran towards the source of the noise.

Her mind automatically assessed the image before her. Her head vibrated with the sounds of metal against metal, waves crashing against wood and pained screams.

Lagertha had a sword piercing through her right shoulder.

Without allowing herself to rethink, Nero pounced on the enemy like an animal. Both of her knives in her hands as she dug them deep into his chest.

He cursed the heavens, not half understanding why such a young child was the one to take his life. The Christian retrieved his sword from the wounded woman, allowing her body to fall and hit the ground, limp.

His morals clashed with his survival urges as he sustained the brunette's weight. He used his free hand to jab at her, in hopes of relieving her grip.

Unfortunately for him, the girl was bound on his death.

She pulled back one of her knives and, again, pushed against his chest. The three open wounds were enough to send his mind into overdrive.

In one last effort to spare his own life, he raised his sword. The blade pressing her left cheekbone and crossing her eyebrow up to her forehead.

He breathed out shakily once. Twice. And his knees gave out, hitting the hard wooden floor. The sword slipped from his grasp, slicing the young wolf's face.

And they dared to question Odin. Her eye was spared. The blade should by all logical means have ended her left sight, but it didn't.

Life drained from the enemy's eyes as she proceeded to repeatedly stab him. Her blood dripped to mix in with his.

She snarled, not feeling the wound as angry tears glistened in her now dark eyes, "Only cowards hide their faces in war!"

Björn was quick to throw the girl over his shoulder. She kept relentlessly trying to reach for the corpse with her knives.

In the midst of all the mixed crimson on her face, the Ragnarsson didn't even notice the bleeding gap.

Despite her adrenaline dying down and the pain which had begun to crawl up her entire face, she still thrashed against him. Determination clear over her features. She would kill every last Christian, including Rollo.

He held onto her firmly, only unwrapping his arms from around her once he settled on the scape boat.

She stumbled to get to her feet but failed.

Under the bloody blur that covered her vision, she caught a glimpse of her king. The sight, for some reason, instigated her most primal instincts, she crawled over to Ragnar.

He basked in sunlight, pain, failure, and sea salt. She sat next to him, basking in the same.

The weakened girl, and the defeated man, side by side. Their silence was soothing.

She decided to spare one look at him, to access if he was injured, he thought the same and looked at her.

A laugh slipped out of his mouth in the shape of a breath once his eyes fixated on her wound. She was a better fighter than any of his sons with Aslaug.

She giggled breathlessly, the way only she and Floki could. He let another shaky breath escape his parted lips. Her heart ached for him, she had never seen someone so broken. For a split second, she believed that their gods had truly abandoned him.

Her forehead creased in thought and only then the pain truly made itself known.

Her chest rumbled with the growl that left her lips, the salty tears that left her eyes trailed a stinging path down her cheeks.

She doubled over, her fingers trying to dig into the wood of the boat, digging until they were raw. Her ears rung but she made no noise.

The small girl propelled herself on the gunwale of the boat. She looked at her distorted reflection and the blue called to her.

She wished to dip her head underwater, believing that the cold would ease the searing, burning wound.

Instead, she allowed the wind to whisk away her stray hairs.

The pain only grew stronger, she doubled over once again, throwing up outside the boat in the process. It became unbearable to the point at which her body shivered and her guts wrenched.

She fell back down, seated next to her king who only watched in amusement. He wished he could stay to see what would be of the small warrior. To see if she would survive.

Her chin fell to her chest, she was drained, the pain of the wound was becoming a dull ache. Almost a sort of numbness.

She faintly heard her name being called over the ringing in her ears. Recognizing the voice to belong to the Ragnarsson, her head shot up lazily, lolling to the sides, "Yes, my prince?"

Ragnar almost laughed.

His voice, that was simply worried about her seasickness, became laced with desperation once he noticed the wound that crossed her features.

She waved her hand in dismissal as she noticed his wide eyes, "What happened to you?!"

"I'm quite tired, prince," she breathed out, trying to get whatever he wanted out the way so she could sleep and rid herself of the pain.

Not wishing to disturb her king's peace, she used the boat for support so she could stumble towards the speaking man.

"What happened to you?" he kneeled down, so the two could be at eye level with each other.

His hands moved shyly to grab her shoulders, his eyes were watering at the whole image.

He pictured one of his brothers in her place, blood seeping out of the gaping wound, head hanging loosely, eyes missing their usual spark, entire face covered in blood.

"Nothing," she smiled tiredly, her eyes dropping as her legs shook with the effort of keeping her standing. By then, Björn was the one sustaining her weight.

"Your eye."

"I can still see, bear," the man had to take a sharp breath upon hearing his nickname coming from the girl so lifeless.

Her smile was still holding up, she looked and sounded drunk on her sleepiness.

"All-father wouldn't let a Christian blind me, it is just... bleeding a bit."

He sighed before laughing at her comment, a bit? Her entire shirt was soaked in blood, her neck, her body. Even the part of the deck that she stood on pooled with the crimson liquid.

"It's a lot isn't it?" she sighed playfully, looking down, and he nodded, a smile on his face.

He ripped the sleeve of his shirt, tying it around his hand before giving it to her.

Nero began applying pressure to the wound, wincing at the touch, "I will... I will... rest a bit..."