Distaste soured Bjorn's tongue. A grimace twisted his face. Memories of the eve before turned his gut. He'd lied with Amma in a weakened moment, and the whole sordid time all of his thoughts rested upon Bonnie. He couldn't even meet his end without imagining it was she who lay beneath him. How unfilling the emptying of his manstand had been. His gaze shifted to the woman who refused to leave the halls of his mind and heart. Bonnie stood amidst the bustle on the planks, ordering about the seaman in the loading of the ships. She was striking even in her battle leather. It nigh hobbled him she belonged to another. His former stepson of all warriors!

"Fare thee well, husband," Gunnhild said, coming to a halt before him, effectively severing his sight of Bonnie.

"Fare thee well, Gunnhild." He offered her a curt nod, and then attempted to move around her.

"Upon your return I'd like you to release me from our marital vows," his wife barreled on as she stepped in his path once more. "It is only the right of it, sighting that both of our affections lies with others beyond this union." She flicked a pointed glance over her shoulder at Bonnie before turning back to him. "You should liberate us from this trickster's web of a marriage so that our hearts may be one with those who verily have a claim upon them."

Struck more by her declaration than her boldness his mouth opened and closed several times before he could gather his words. "B-But her affections belong to another. Guthrum claims her-,"

"Are you not Bjorn Ironside?" Gunnhild demanded, glaring down her nose at him. "One of the most famous Vikings the world has ever known since his father before him. Soon as you remember this," his wife gestured her head in Bonnie's direction, "so shall she." Gunnhild stalked away leaving him with that thought.

With his mind full Bjorn moved to board the ship. Nighly attending to his deeds, he gave orders to the seamen and the warriors accompanying him. When his men moved to carry out his demands his stare swept back to Bonnie. She lingered nearby, faring Ubbe well. Gunnhild's words once again filled his head. Did she have the right of it? Had his actions of late rendered him pathetic? Worse had his constant distressing rendered him pathetic within Bonnie's sight?

Ubbe drew Bonnie closer to him. She placed a palm to the center of his chest as she gazed up at him. Grief shone like brushed jewels in her verdant stare. His glare narrowed as his scrutiny moved to scour her face. Under keener consideration his Mystical One did don the look of the tormented, while his younger brother appeared to be just as somber. After a moment longer of whispered words between the two, Bonnie liberated herself of Ubbe's hold and hurried across the planks to the ship. He moved to the boat's edge to assist her upon the vessel.

"You and Ubbe appeared...familiar," he uttered, while still watching his brother with a chary eye.

"Hmph," she inhaled the air between them before tucking her arms under her breasts, "and I find it strange you have the smell of the sea when we have yet to pull anchor."

Her words took him unawares, and then the full weight of their meaning settled upon his mind. He tossed his head back and laughed. She rolled her eyes, but he didn't miss the grin twitching at the corners of her mouth. Slipping an arm about her waist, he pulled her into his side.

"Pull anchor! Get those oars in the water!" He bellowed. A burst of movement whipped about the ship as the seaman and warriors carried out his orders. He cut an eye at Bonnie as they began to drift away from the harbor. "I've missed this."

"What?" She lifted a hand to shield her eyes from the rays of the sun. "Being for the seas?"

"No," he said as he purposefully turned them away from Kattegat to face the horizon. "I know this expedition is about Harald. Yet being here like this...with you, it places me in mind of our first voyage together to the Mediterranean."

A sad smile took possession of her lips. "Much has changed since then."

"I've changed since then," his arm fell from her waist as he thought of the many summers which had come and gone, "I'm...not who I once was...I've seen enough solstice cycles to rival that of Ragnar's."

Her glare darted about to regard him. For several slow grains through the hour glass her stare crept over his face. "And yet you still snatch my breath away whenever I cast my gaze upon you."

Her mystical verdant eyes lingered upon him for moments, before she blinked, and then tore her gaze away. Without another utterance, she crossed the ship to where they strung up the captives. After gathering himself, he followed her over to where she'd begun to question the prisoners.

"What means do Olaf intend to exploit to meet his end in this?" She asked, flicking her gaze between them both.

"We know not-," the shorter of the two began before the taller warrior gave him a hellified shoulder check.

The shorter warrior growled. Unmoved by his comrade's beastly rumbles, the taller man settled upon him a look meant to carve out innards. This inspired the shorter soldier to unsheathe a glower of his own. Afterwards a battle of glares ensued between the two. In which the taller of the two must've been proven the victor because he turned to them and began to speak, "King Olaf did not reveal his plans to us. He only instructed we lead you to the southern part of the kingdom."

He opened his mouth to question the men further, but Bonnie pulled him away. "We should send half of our warriors to the place King Olaf designated for us, while we linger a ways back unnoticed."

"Are you certain?" He demanded, not understanding the strategy behind such a request.

She dipped her head in a nod. "If my memory serves me well he plans to ambush your attempts to save Harald by surrounding your army. He means to force your hand." A smirk engaged her lips.

His stare narrowed upon her diverting mouth. "And you mean to thwart him?"

"Absolutely not." She offered him a guileful grin, and then said, "I mean to let him."

****

Guthrum stood upon the shores of Lagertha's homestead staring up into the cliffs. Through Morgana's eyes he spied on the skogamors who gathered in the surrounding forest. A majority of the men had once been personal warriors to Ivar. Now they wandered the forest as exiles. A judgement leveled upon them by King Bjorn when he ascended to the throne of Kattegat. Instead of putting them all to death as many believed he should've, his former stepfather sentenced the enemy warriors to an existence of men who walked as the dead. A sentence they refused to heed.

Since the summer of their exile the skogarmaors had rallied an army among others who also suffered the same fate. Numerous outcasts from different outposts and homesteads throughout the kingdom banded together to change their paths. With strength in numbers, they no longer waited to be embraced by the cold arms of Hel. They now chose to fight, bleed, and die attempting to reclaim their places within the halls of Valhalla.

"Ripe for the reaping I say," one of the younger exiles among Whitehair's army insisted.

Another sharpening the blade of his ax by the fire agreed. "The boy has the right of it. We minded the neighboring village down the way from Lagertha's for two risings."

"And all we've witnessed about, were women, children, and a few addled men too plentiful in summers to lift a blade," The boy said forcing himself back into the conversation. "As I said ripe for the reaping."

"Their stores are overflowing," the warrior sitting next to the fire added. "Not only can we send that murdering bitch Lagertha a message, but we can also prepare for the cold moons."

"This pleases me." Whitehair shoved a ladle of stew in his mouth. "You and Ronin go and take a few others with you to get it done." Bits of meat and dribbles of broth fell from his parted lips into his beard. He pointed the ladle at the two men. "And remember, the bloodier the better."

A soft palm to Guthrum's shoulder pulled him from Morgana's mind's eye and back to the shores. Lagertha stood next to him with her gaze fixed on the cliffs as well. "Is there news?"

"They're plotting their attack for this eve." Guthrum returned his regard to the mountains. "They mean to send you a message."

"Hmm," Displeasure deepened the creases in Lagertha's face as she continued to regard the cliffs. "But it shall be our message they won't soon forget. Is everything arranged on the women's part?"

"Yes, and the children is protected just as Bonnie requested," he assured.

"Then it seems I shall fight once more after all." She angled around in the direction of the north woods. "You must excuse me. I have some digging to do."

****

Hvitserk sat in a dark corner of his hovel guzzling ale and gorging on mushrooms. He hoped to discover a fleeting solace against the voices tearing at his head. Whether it be the All-Father's incessant berating or the more sinister affronts leveled upon him from the depths of his mind. It mattered not! They discovered him in the depths of his addled mindedness. Peace no longer dwelled within the comforts of his depravities. Just look at you! The mortal cycle within you reeks! She'll never turn to us again. He gripped the side of his head, while attempting to raise his chalice to his lips. Perhaps a mouthful more would serve him well. If only for but an eve.

As the bitter taste of ale nighly wet his tongue a banging at his door misplaced the chalice from his grasp. The wooden cup careened across the keep spewing the final bit of his yield over the filth strewn floor. Hvitserk stilled. He fixed his gaze upon the entrance of his keep. Had the pounding only subsisted in his head? Three more solid knocks slammed against his door.

"Hvitserk?" The sweetest voice he'd heard in an age penetrated the barrier of his keep.

His stare bulged. Thora? Without lingering a moment longer, he scrambled from the corner. He tripped over his mushroom bowl and empty tankard. Scrambling upright, he hurried across the room. With hope nigh bursting his chest wide, he snatched the door open. Amma's homely face thrust his Midgard to an end.

"Ugk! Leave me be!" He bellowed at her before slamming the door to emphasize his point.

As he turned away the barrier to his keep swung open once more, and Amma hurried inside. "Hvitserk, you must gather yourself."

"See to your leave!" He flapped a hand at her as he limped back to his corner.

She hurried after him, her steps biting at his heels. "Ubbe wants you to attend him in the great hall. Hvitserk!" she grabbed a hold of his arm in an attempts to halt him.

Exasperated by her badgering, he whirled on her and nigh soiled his trousers. Thora stood before him. Her bloody flesh seared to her stained bones. She appeared roasted better than a pheasant over roaring flames. Unable to face the consequences of his decisions, he shoved her from his path and attempted to flee. Yet obsidian unhinged its jaw and thwarted his escape...

Ambrose stared down at the tiny babe. The young prince had been birthed into the sacred sphere misshapen and broken. With every grain through the hour glass the child suffered immeasurable agony. A fate which would be his plight until the conclusion of his cycle. Were it not for the energy signature he possessed so identical to his brothers he would've liberated the babe's essence himself. Yet the direct voltage of his treasonous sibling's energy which flowed through the child was an unexpected sign he couldn't readily misplace.

Since his mystical crux split the skies Ambrose had sensed Oberon's presence. Yet the celestial slug always slithered just beyond his reach. So for many solar spans he'd bided his time until his opportunity to seek out Oberon presented itself. Eventually, the universe aided him in the form of a parasitic deviation. An anomaly so vile and avaricious it devoured anything of mystical means in its path. Had the keeper of his essence not heeded his urging, he too would've been consumed by the wailing hollow.

His keeper however remained faithful and fled with him across the seas to the land of ice. A land in which his brother's signature beaconed brightest. Oberon even went as far as to breed his essence within a mortal line. Those actions confounded. Why tarnish his seed by interbreeding? And how were inferior wombs able to carry the issue of a divine entity? To assuage his curiosities and to place himself closer to his brother he decided to insinuate himself into the line. He did so by merging his essence with that of the unborn babe Hvitserk. Since the boy's energy somehow bore an identical similarity to his own the amalgamation between their energies and essences proved seamless.

A piercing shriek from the babe's furs wrenched Ambrose from his thoughts. His gaze fell to find a red scrunched face Ivar glaring back up at him. Wetness coated the child's cheeks as fresh pools flooded his glowing blue stare.

"Ivar," he whispered to the wailing babe as he stroked his stomach. "Your cycle will not be one of ease. Suffering will always be a relentless companion of yours. So you must learn to thrive despite the defects with which you've been settled." He leaned in closer to the babe. "To be great even within the presence of weakness."

The babe's cries softened. Almost as if he attempted to heed his counsel.

Ubbe moved to stand next to them. "Hvitserk, what are you speaking to him?"

He opened his mouth to assuage Ubbe, and the hanging beads swung to the side. Aslaug entered followed by...Oberon?! The Queen's eyes flared when her gaze lit upon them.

"Ubbe...Hvitserk," she snapped her fingers at them, "come away from Ivar. This is Harbard. He's come to offer his assistance with your brother."

The so called Harbard's lips twisted in a sneering grin as his incandescent essence lit his stare. He crossed the room and stooped before him. "Hello, brother."

****

Guthrum marched the remaining skogarmaors to the center of the homestead. They were the surviving three of ten who'd attacked late the previous eve. One by one each of the exiles were attached to the makeshift pyre. Once they'd secured the final skogarmaor Lagertha strolled about the wooden pikes to regard each of the disgraced soldiers. She halted before the younger of the three. Without forewarning, she snatched her sword from its sheath and sliced the betrayer free of his bindings. The boy lurched forth but managed to remain standing. In a blundering effort he rubbed at his wrists as he watched her with a wary narrowed glare.

"Go...boy," Lagertha's glower moved over the young exile from tangled braids to battle boots, "and you tell Whitehair if he persists upon this path, then his walk shall be met with the same end," she said, and then stepped aside. The warrior hurtled passed her towards the mountains. After sparing a moment to watch him go, she moved to stand next to Guthrum and utter, "See them to the gates of Helheim."

Guthrum nodded to the elder man to the left of them, and the beyond seasoned warrior stepped forward, snatched a lit torch from the ground and set the pyre to flames. Fire raced up the two skogamors engulfing them in a blistering blaze. Both men bucked against their restraints, while wailing loud enough to bleed their gullets dry.

Lagertha lifted her chin, her glare fixed on the mountains. "Did he receive my message?"

"When next he comes, he'll do so with his entire force," he said, while continuing to watch the twitching pair.

She inclined her head. "Then my invitation was well received."

****

Bonnie and Bjorn stood upon the southern cliffs of Harald's kingdom. A half dozen of Kattegat's most seasoned warriors flanked them. While another two dozen soldiers floated in the sea below. Darkness cloaked the clearing as silence thrived among them all. If Bonnie didn't know any better she'd believed she had Olaf's strategy all wrong. Yet before she could commit the notion to a deeper reflection a shooting whistle zipped pass her ear. In a blinding show a ring of fire ignited on the surface of the water below. Fifty-eleven of King Olaf's fighters peppered the cliff not even a stone's toss away from where they stood.

"Ack!" Bjorn scoffed.

Her protector's disbelieving glare hurtled to meet her, what I tell you, stare. With a smirk, she lifted a hand. Soon after the ground shook as Kattegat's fighters surrounded the opposing warriors. King Olaf's soldiers not realizing the sling attached to their asses raised their weapons. Each man appeared ready to fight their way out of an ambush or into the gates of Valhalla.

"What is this? Who dares to interfere in what's been ordained as just?" King Olaf demanded from his perch upon what looked to be a portable throne. Bonnie and Bjorn waded through the horde of their soldiers to approach the plotting king. When his gaze lit upon them his mouth flopped open and closed. "Intercess—Supreme! I didn't believe you'd involve-,"

"You hold my brother-in-law captive, King Olaf. Why wouldn't I come?" she asked, coming to halt at the head of their army. Her gaze shifted from him to the archers near the edge of the cliff. All appeared on the verge of raining down a barrage of arrows on the men who still floated within the ring of fire in the sea below. "Now lower your defenses or watch me snatch them down for you."

King Olaf bobbed his head, while raising his hands and halfway coming off of his portable throne. "Lay down your weapons! We are among allies and friends, men!"

"Where is King Harald?" Bjorn demanded.

King Olaf's eyes bulged as he clasped his hands together. "King Harald is well." His stare darted from her to Bjorn. "He's been quite the host."

"Excellent, then take us to him," she said, sheathing her sword. "After I've seen Harald then we can discuss the matter that's really gathered us all here."

King Olaf's eyes did the impossible. They bucked even wider. Seriously, how the hell had those damn things not rolled out of that man's head by now? "Then you're aware of my true intent."

"Since the rising you carted Harald away from Kattegat," she said, turning toward the direction of Vestfold's long house. "Now have your men fish ours from the sea, King Olaf. Then come, I believe my brother's waited long enough."