Ayanna cast her gaze over the vast land. The soil's richness heralded to her upon the air. The sacred loam foretold of the many bountiful harvests it would come to yield. The shieldmaiden had done well to heed the counsel of the Spirits. For the ancient sorcery of the first line ran through the earth, nurturing every root, stalk, and grain. How regretful the woman's walk in life now approached an end. She'd not thrive long enough to bear witness to the plentiful fruits of her labor. This was the unchanging verity of birthing a legacy. To spend a living path planting seeds in a garden for blooms the Goddess of all so rarely allowed the planter a privilege to glimpse. (S/O: Lin Manuel Miranda...Hamilton!) Ayanna inhaled more of the restoring air. Yes the shieldmaiden had chosen well indeed.

Ayanna pulled her beast to a halt behind Gunnhild's and Ingrid's. A tiny keep stood but a few paces away. Lagertha emerged from the keep followed by Ironside's young daughter Asa, while Guthrum and his younger brother hurried from what appeared to be the storehouse. When Birdseye reached their modest traveling gathering, he helped her down from the wretched animal she'd suffered upon since the beginning of the rising. Ingrid and Gunnhild, however, managed to dismount their beasts without aid. Yet Hali floundered about the queen's steed intent upon assisting her. Which only served to enrage the swishing tailed beast whose feet shuffled in place as a forewarning that a sound kick wasn't long to follow.

Ingrid snapped her fingers at him. "Hali come away from there afore Nora sends you hurtling back to Kattegat. She's wicked, and men are her quarries of choice."

"Ayanna," Guthrum tore his gaze from his fool hearted brother to cast it over the small contingent of shieldmaidens who'd accompanied them. "Has something happened back at Kattegat?"

Lagertha's silver head bobbed as she moved to stand near Ingrid and Gunnhild. "Yes, what brings you all here? Not that I'm not pleased to sight you all."

"The spirits have spoken much of what has happened here," she said, before her pointed stare returned to Guthrum, "You've changed fate."

His head dipped in a nod as he huddled closer to her side. "I did."

"Fool!" She hissed, purposely giving her back to the others so she could lend Guthrum the full benefit of her ire. "What are you prepared to offer fate in return for such a slight?"

His gaze drifted to young Hali, who stood paces away clinging to every one of his stepmother's words. "Disrupting Hali's path was Bonnie's will."

"And yet she will never tie him to her," she shook her head and cast her gaze toward the mountains where she knew trouble bid its time. "She barely extended the favor to you." Guthrum's glare hurtled back to her, his mouth primed to spew more witless nonsense no doubt. She raised a hand to spare her ears. "There's no time for you to indulge your emotions. Your troubles are far from over. Fate means to have her due."

Distressed shrieks and cries sounded from around the clearing. People ran about the village as if the great Goddess had judged against them. Ayanna followed their terror stricken glances towards the forest. Her searching stare collided with Ansel and his warriors. As her regard crept over his strong and capable form a fluttering offended her chest. Moisture wrenched itself from her tongue. The thick dry flesh then pasted itself to the roof of her mouth. She snatched her gaze away. Longing for Ansel was futile! They could never be.

"Calm yourselves," Gunnhild's booming voice rose to reassure the screeching farm dwellers. "They've come with us to aid you in safeguarding the homestead."

Lagertha stare darted from the warriors entering the clearing from the woods to her. "Then Whitehair intends to return."

"Whitehair is a man adrift," she said, turning to look toward the figure chained to the post in the center of the clearing. "The Iron king has pilfered his yester morns of their worth, and he believes you mean to raid his impending risings of its inheritance."

The shieldmaiden's narrowed stare, moved from her to the shackled figure. "What are you saying?"

"A storm threatens these shores." Ayanna's gaze swept to the fat gray clouds rolling in from the eastern horizon. "We'd do well to prepare this land for floods."

****

"To my keep!" Hvitserk bellowed at one of the ten men who struggled under the weight of a slab of iron that may have very well rivaled Bjorn in height. "Without delay! Without delay!" He slapped one of the warriors on the back and nigh buckled the man.

Ubbe's glare further slitted. Clenching his back teeth, he continued to watch his younger brother order the team of men through the marketplace. Most citizens jumped out of the stumbling men's path, while others halted to gawk at the farcical sight Hvitserk presented. His hair fell about his face in greasy clumps. Dark smudges ringed his blood tinged stare and his stained pale skin lent him the look of a wraith. Moons of drinking and gorging mushrooms and little else had stooped his form. In verity his frame appeared so gaunt, the filthy tunic and trousers he wore hung from him the same as it would were it a pike which donned them. Oh what a pitiable sight Hvitserk was to behold.

"Did you speak with Bonnie of Hvitserk's oddities as of late?" Torvi asked from next to him.

He shook his head still unable to understand Bonnie's reasoning in regards to Hvitserk. "She thinks he suffers with an illness she named addic...tion." Torvi turned to scrutinize the side of his face. "Bonnie is certain he requires our aid and not our contempt."

"Our aid?" Her eyes stretched wide enough to devour the whole of her face. "He's beyond anyone's aid! Just look at Amma!"

He cast his gaze back to Hvitserk just as Amma attempted to speak reason to him. Hvitserk swatted her away without offering her a passing consideration. Ubbe threw up his hands. "The girl is useless," he muttered before marching over to his brother who stalked along side the men. "Hvitserk, what's your purpose for this?" He demanded, waving a hand at the slab of iron.

"My purpose?" Hvitserk slowed in his march but didn't altogether halt. He scratched the back of his head as he turned back to watch the men continue toward his dwelling. "Why I mean to place a barrier before my keep. How else will I stave off Thora and the All-Father?" he growled, pushing clumps of matted hair from his face.

"Thora?" Ubbe blinked, before the full recognition of the name snatched his head sideways. "You mean your dead wife?"

"She and my brother plots against me," Hvitserk raged, while regarding him with a blood stained glare.

Confusion and fear nigh crossed Ubbe's eyes as he snatched Hvitserk to him by the soiled scruff of his tunic. "Your words have the senseless babble of the addled, Hvitserk! Ivar is the one who burned your wife, is he not? If the gods were to allow such a meeting to occur, why would the two be minded to do anything together?"

Hvitserk wrenched himself free of Ubbe's hold, and then spat on the ground at his feet. "He plots against me and has done so since the beginning. Yet he'll not take me unawares this time." He glared up at the heavens, and then roared. "Did you hear me Oberon? You will not take me unawares again!"

The madness which spewed from Hvitserk's mouth dropped Ubbe's jaw. As his brother hurried to rejoin his band of the witless he could only gawk after him. For Torvi had the right of it. Hvitserk had drifted too far in his madness for anyone to be of assistance to him. Perhaps him placing an iron barrier before his keep wouldn't be such a damaging notion. Especially if the barricade would serve to keep him within his quarters.

****

Gunnhild paused in her building of the fortifications to watch Ayanna. The compelling woman moved without aim around the homestead. She turned and twisted her hands about, her mouth pacing in sync with the writhing appendages. Any other would've appeared foolish. Yet Ayanna could be considered anything but. The heady sorcery which swirled about her reminded Gunnhild of their Supreme. Like Bonnie, Ayanna's presence inspired trust, allegiance, and deference. This struck odd with her. For her father bred her to only depend on the gods and herself. Yet there she stood in Lagertha's homestead because Ingrid's mother assured them that's where they were needed.

A comforting hold slipped around Gunnhild's waist. A smile lifted the corners of her mouth even as an overabundance of affection burdened her chest. She dropped the strip of wood and mallet she held to slip her arms around Ingrid who beamed up at her in a way which always reminded her of the gods' favor. Being unable to resist, she leaned down and stole a kiss from the corner of her lips. Gunnhild's gaze then drifted back to Ayanna as she moved to the opposite side of the homestead.

"What is she doing?" She murmured aloud, but more to herself.

She felt Ingrid angle about in her arms to seek out what held her notice. "She's binding the land in wards and safeguards."

"So we do all of this for naught then?" She waved a hand over the town's people, shieldmaidens, and children who worked to transform the land into a fortress.

Ingrid tore her brilliant pigmented gaze from Ayanna to look upon her. "No, we do this so that they may know what it is to fight for their right to be. So when next an enemy approaches these shores they won't hesitate to strike down those who means to threaten their survival." Some of the severity seeped from her face as a bit of heat warmed her stare. "And as Bennetts, we also believe in leaving nothing for Fate to manipulate."

Keenness tilted Gunnhild's head. For she knew Ingrid thought of Ayanna as a mother, yet even an unseeing eye would be able to discern the difference between the two. "You never spoke to me of how you came to know Ayanna as your mother."

"No," Ingrid uttered, casting her gaze back towards the woman whom everyone had taken to watching with a shielded eye. "I haven't."

Gunnhild palmed her Wildflower's cheek. "You don't have the look of her, why you both could be eve and morn." Disdain cast the remnants of pain from Ingrid's faultless features. Shame came for Gunnhild's head. For she hadn't meant to offend. "It's fine if this is something you mean to keep to yourself. I only-,"

"Gunnhild, you must know," Ingrid tightened her hold upon her waist. Her disdaining look took a fierce turn. "There's nothing within my possession that isn't already yours." Her gaze then strayed back to the woman she'd come to know as mother. "Though Ayanna may not have birthed me from her body blood still bonds us as mother and daughter just the same."

"I don't understand."

Her Wildflower's stare shifted again. This time to regard the unseen. "My birth mother and father were killed during my tenth summer."

"Many apologies, Ingrid," she uttered.

"After the great army sailed for England to avenge Ragnar, bandits, thieves, and the likes took to attacking Kattegat and its outposts." Unsettled fury stiffened her lips and gritted her back teeth. "One morn while out in the forest gathering herbs and roots, skogarmaors set upon me and my family. They killed my father, then violated my mother...and me."

She'd not prepared for such a revelation. "Ingrid-,"

She shook her head even as the agony from a long ago yester rising flooded her glare. "Once they tired of my mother they killed her as well. Me," her shoulders rose and fell, "they believed I'd fetch a worthwhile coin." A sneer curled her lip as the words worthwhile coin slithered from the clench of her teeth. "So they decided to flee with me. While doing so they had the misfortune of stumbling into Ayanna's clearing."

Though no emotion compromised her features a wealth of sentiment burdened her tone. "She tore their man stands from their bodies and hung them from the trees by their innards."

"Sh-She-," First meal rose to greet the back of Gunnhild's throat. "I'm sorry what?"

"A feat she managed without ever sullying a finger by resting it upon their squalid forms!" A single tear trickled from the corner of Ingrid's eye. "Ayanna bred me to be strong like her...she bred me to be a Bennett." Something akin to wonderment set ablaze to Ingrid's face as her focus settled upon two young warriors a few paces ahead of them. "Well it would seem you've been replaced in young Hali's affections."

Gunnhild followed her Wildflower's gaze over to Hali doting upon the captive chained to the pike in the center of the homestead. He had the look of his father during the first throes of infatuation. Bewilderment turned her mind in upon itself. "But he thinks-," she jugged her fingers at the two. For the captive appeared to be enjoying Hali's attentions, "Do you think he thinks...or perhaps he knows."

"Or," Ingrid angled her face away from the two smitten warriors to take hold of her chin. Once she held the whole of her consideration she uttered, "Perhaps he has not a care."

Gunnhild opened her mouth to speak out against such unnaturalness, then the state of her own love affair rose to mock her foolish would be convictions. She pressed her lips together shamed by what she'd almost allowed to escape her witless tongue. Instead her head dipped in a nod, while giving her Wildflower leave to put the troublesome bit of flesh to better uses.

"Or perhaps he has not a care," Gunnhild managed to murmur between the insistent press of her Wildflower's lips.

****

Why didn't you return for me? You gave me your vow...your vow!

Hvitserk swept the tankard of ale and trough of mushrooms from the table, and then scurried from his seat to the darkest corner of his keep. There he pulled his legs to his chest. He rested his forehead on his knees and hummed a saga from his earlier summers. The boaster's tale always grated on him. Yet in that moment he only wished to drown out his former wife's voice. For her torment of him had known no end. Nothing offered relief from her constant rebuking. Not the ale...not the mushrooms! It all proved useless in barring her crispy brittle exterior from his sight and mind.

You allowed him to burn me!

"Please, Thora. Leave me be," he pleaded, while attempting to drive his knees deeper into his eyes.

"Not until you admit it!" She hissed.

A force snatched his head back by the roots of his hair. The charred form of his dead wife happened into Midgard before his sight. Vengeance and acrimony torched her stare. His heart tolled a death serenade against his chest. For Thora the testimony spoke plain within her glare. She meant to have him join her.

"Admit why you truly took leave of this place...why you never returned for me! ADMIT IT!!!!"

"" The roar tore from his chest, decimated his gullet, and nigh toppled the walls of his keep. The burdensome load of his unspoken verity lifted. Unadulterated relief pilfered the last bit of strength which still resided within his body. His voice softened as more truth poured from his mouth, "You may have brought me back to life, yet Bonnie has always been my life...my heart...hjarta. I could never survive where she doesn't thrive." His stare rose to meet her glare. "It shames me to have fled Kattegat as a coward rather than speaking of this to you as a man. And for this, Thora, I am truly sorry."

"My forgiveness is yours, Lord Hvitserk. It always was." A sorrowful smile lifted the corners of Thora's mouth as the charred blisters faded from her skin. "Now you must forgive yourself."

With that uttered Thora disappeared from his keep.

"You ask of me the impossible," he muttered as he wiped the dampness from his cheeks with the heels of his hands.

"He shouldn't be here whilst father is away!" Sigurd hissed at them from his bed furs from across their sleeping quarters. "All of the revelers, and the citizens whisper as such!"

"Greet your slumber, Sigurd," Ubbe grumbled back more than halfway into his cycle of regeneration. "Who has a care for what the revelers whispers? Mother is the queen of Kattegat, she rules whilst father raids. It's her duty to regale high priests in his absence."

Ambrose could taste the bitterness of Sigurd's unease upon the air. The boy's instincts for peril ascended beyond that of his brother's. "Sigurd has the right of it, Ubbe. This stranger's presence should not be suffered."

"Sigurd knows naught!" Ubbe argued as he rearranged his bed furs over him.

Sigurd shot upright in his bedding as his glare hurtled to impale the back of Ubbe's head. "I know mother lies with him as she does father, and she's not alone either. For he lies with many women from the hall, and the unattached women down by the docks as well."

"Sigurd!" Ubbe swung his head back around in their younger brother's direction. "Your slander against mother won't be toler-,"

A creak on the plank floor board in Aslaug's chambers pilfered Ubbe for the remainder of his words. Each of their stares collided before they all fell to their furs to feign slumber. From one proceeding moment to the next, the groans upon the planks increased until the creaks filled their quarters. The stench of Oberon's energy tainted the air of the small enclosure. Through half closed lids, Ambrose watched the universe's most treasonous move pass Ubbe to linger at his side.

"I know you're not sleeping," Oberon uttered as he stooped to speak at his ear. "So hear me and hear me well. I don't know how are why you're here hiding among my mystical line, and you wouldn't believe the negative number of fucks I have to give. But," a loud slapping noise assaulted his ears, "we both know how empathetic I can be so how about I give you a couple of options?" Oberon paused for a moment as if he expected him to answer.

Ambrose's eyes flared wide to match his brother glare for glare. "Ah, there you are. Now that you've deigned me worthy of your attention how about we get to the threats and ultimatums—oops I meant options," the solar weasel had the brash to offer him an apologetic smirk before continuing, "portion of this tete-a-tete shall we?" Ambrose tried with all his mental might to set his younger brother to flames. Oberon chortled at his efforts, continuing on his tone unaffected, "Either abandon my descended sons body or I'll slaughter them all, starting with the one who refuses to keep his fucking nose on his face."

Ambrose must've blinked, because when his focus sharpened Oberon stood over Sigurd with a dagger in hand, and the point of the blade hovering a mere scrape from his heart.

"Hubbard?" Aslaug's voice drifted to them from just beyond their hanging beads. "Are you still about?"

"Fuucck! Who the hell popped an energizer battery into her back?" Oberon growled as he shoved his dagger back into the waist of his trousers. He straightened his tunic, plastered a smile on his face, and then hurried across the room. Just before he slipped through the beads he muttered, "This isn't over. Tic-Tock, brother."

Once Oberon found his leave of the small quarters, Ambrose tossed his bed furs aside. "Ubbe, Sigurd, don your clothing. We must flee until I can think of a way to overcome my brother's plots."