Bonnie led Hvits farther into the forest. Biting winds whipped about them. She tugged the wool cloak she donned tighter around her body as powdery swirls of snow corrupted her field of vision. Hvitserk more than likely couldn't see a damn thing for the winter wonder nightmare blowing at a full blast around them. His eyesight, however, bore the least of her concerns. If she didn't get him out of those sopping clothes soon he'd give new meaning to the term hard white.

As they threaded their way through the forest her mind and heart raced. What had she done? What had she fucking done? Did she really wake up and curve sanity to embrace stupidity? In what world—hell, in what afterlife did they do that? Like a damn fool, she'd left behind everyone. Guthrum, Bjorn, Ubbe, Torvi, and the kids were all a casualty of said stupidity. So was her foremother and Ingrid! She'd chucked deuces to them all. And for what? For a bitterly broken man who proved countless times of his inability to do the same. The L she took that rising scrambled her essence. Such losses bred dissension in her sorcery.

Nooo! We must save him! Expression's shrill wail peeled layers from the walls of her mind, provoking her head to pound. Bonnie pressed her fingertips to each of her temples to staunch the ache. As the pain intensified questions swelled her head to bursting. Questions like, why'd she abandoned Kattegat when the citizens there needed her. They certainly needed her more than the failure of a man lagging at her back. Hvitserk had blown his world apart? So why was it on her to put him back together again. He wasn't Humpty Dumpty and she damn sure wasn't all the kings men.

When they penetrated the woods deep enough to not be seen by warriors posted on the city's southern torrents, she rounded on Hvits and slapped a stack of folded clothing to his chest.

"Take those off before Jack Frost finishes what Bjorn started," she said, gesturing her head towards the sopping attire that sagged from his thin stooped frame.

An emotion she couldn't discern cast shadows in his stare as he lifted his still bound wrists to her. Damn, in all of her Captain Save a Viking glory she forgot to unbind the damn man. With a wave of the hand the ropes wrapped tight about his wrist morphed into clouds of smoke. The wispy fumes drifted towards their feet, and then resolidified when they collided with the ground.

Hvits mouth opened. She turned away. Facts were, she'd rather snatch the ears from the sides of her head than hear one word fumbled from his stuttering tongue. Kicking rocks with him had fucked her entire world to the point of collapse. Must she listen to him too? The less words conversed between them offered him the favor of keeping her foot out of his ass. No she didn't want to see him stiff and ten toes up. Yet she also recalled how funny he moved way back when. The disregard he dealt her and Faith ravaged her guts and chest with a blistering throb she doubted she'd ever shake. Hvitserk would do better swallowing his damn tongue than instigating small talk. Particularly with her.

With a wall of silence slammed between them, Bonnie continued her trek into the forest. If she remembered right Ragnar's hunting cabin lingered a rising or perhaps two away. The structure posed as adequate sheltering to see them through the below zero wind chills and ice storms. They'd wait the winter out there. When the time came she'd place him on whatever path he chose. Firstly, however, the mushroom addicted booze soaked monkey clinging to his back had to go.

Once she'd assisted Hvits over the worst of his withdrawals, she'd then educate him on addiction. Simple enough right? Wrong! Hell, she wasn't a therapist or even a councilor. She didn't know the first thing about rehabbing an addict. Yet as George Bush once said, if you get on that horse then you'd better damn well ride it. Unholy foolery! Their beyond fuck situation had her quoting Kanye's least favorite republican.

"Why'd you follow me into banishment?" The low husky edge of Hvits voice clawed at the back of her and yoked her from her thoughts.

The question fileted her nerves. If not her then who? It's not like his addiction afforded him the unyielding affections of one and all. Did he believe her actions were those born of a merger between lucidity and rationality? Truth be bellowed, when she saved him she didn't do so with the mindset of trotting off after him into the sunset of his exile. Yet her conscience refused to leave him for Fate to get together. He'd never survive the Nordic months alone. Soon as his withdrawals snatched the wheel, he'd hit the wall.

Knowing the lethal edge of her tongue, Bonnie remained silent. She continued to maneuver over the roots and broken tree stumps as if he hadn't spoken a word. All while swatting at thorny overbrush and thin switch like branches that seemed to have a taste for the blood in her face and hands. Several minutes of moving through the densest part of the forest, she realized Hvitserk's stumbling footfalls ceased to smack the ground. Reluctant curiosity forced her narrowed gaze over her shoulder. The broke down mess which met her sight snatched her cross eyed. There almost a hundred paces back Hvitserk knelt in the snow, his shoulders slumped and head bowed. Like on the pyre, he appeared to have surrendered to whatever hereafter was minded to take him.

Pissed to the point of Christian Hell dehydration, she spun about, and then stomped back to him. When she towered over him, instead of looking up to regard her he maintained a defeated demeanor.

"Get the hell up," she growled through the clenched slits of her teeth.

The bastard refused to run her even a flinch of a reaction. From there her pissed resting state went—bitch has lost her mind— nuclear. She dropped to her knees in front of him. Grabbing him by the cheeks, she angled his face upwards until his blood drenched stare met hers. The aching emptiness which offered a preview to the inner workings of his essence offended her. Without a second thought to the first she reached back and attempted to slap the will to live back in him. The blow set fire to her palm, but she ignored the flames licking at the center of her hand.

Hvits blinked once, twice, and then, "Just leave me here and return...return to Kattegat. I'll not harry your existence any further."

"Are you fucking playing with me right now?!" Bonnie screeched. His mouth flapped open and closed. "You don't get to give up, Hvitserk!" She invaded more of his space until her nose grazed his. "Not after the way I blasted my world for you...not after I left..." Guthrum's name lingered on the tip of her tongue. Hvits pitched his gaze away as pain shredded his face. Her vision blurred as her eyes rolled away, "not after I left everyone I love behind to save your strung out ass!"

Heat melted away the defeatedness smeared all over his face. Something akin to the need to thrive smoldered in his Lothbrok blues. "I never asked you to intercede on my behalf!"

"Oh? I must've missed the part when you attempted to jump your pale ass back in those flames." The temptation to slap him again forced her to clasp her hands behind her back. Yet her tongue showed no such restraint. That slicker than butter muscle chose bloodshed. "Look, I managed to do for you what you refused to do for me or your daughter! So if you're searching for a reason to hate yourself then start there. For that sin alone I'd happily watch you freeze." Beyond done with his nonsense, she stood and kicked a pile of snow on him. "Now get the hell up, because I swear before the Goddess of All I'm gonna save your ass even if I have to fuck you all the way up to do it."

"Alright," he uttered, before struggling to stand. Once on his feet his head dipped in a series of bobs as he swayed a bit. "Please, forgive-,"

Bonnie waved off his apology, and then turned to resume her trek. For several, slower than a Pinto, turns of the hour glass they treaded the path. Yet they stopped every other ten steps for Hvitserk to projectile vomit or shit out his insides. Though when he did managed to place one foot in front of the other, he shook harder than a stripper twerking for a Magic City rainstorm. Without aide he staggered and stumbled along as if he'd drunk several bars into early retirement. After what seemed like the thirtieth stop, she rounded on him. Her wrist already open and dripping.

As he crouched over retching his way through another series of dry heaves she lifted the bloody extremity to his mouth. "Drink."

"No, I don't deserve even a drop of your blood," he rasped, while pushing her arm away and turning his head to double down on his denial. "It's only just I suffer."

"Agreed, but your suffering affects me," she growled before exhaling enough air to give life to an entire battlefield of the dead and gone. "You're going through withdrawals, Hvits." She shoved her wrist back in his face, this time squatting while doing so. "Please believe this is gonna get a lot harder before your symptoms ease," she paused to glimpse the sun's position, "and we have more ground to cover if we're to make it to our destination by eve. So either keep up or drink the hell up!"

"I'll keep up." His determined stare rose to ensnare hers as he once again gently pushed her wrist from his face. "I'll keep up." To add strength to his words he struggled to regain his footing.

When his swaying form discovered surer steps, she turned back to the path and continued forward. After a while of walking she spared him another over the shoulder peek. The glimpse of him appeared even more dire than the last. His Lothbrok pride clung to him like a size two—freak something—dress on a size sixteen frame. Such a rigged look exposed him. The slip in guise allowed her to peep the miserable truth behind the mask. Failures and addiction had reduced him to a pitiful man she barely recognized. There was no way they'd be able to scale a mountain in his weakened state. The entire experience would slap like a blood splattered scene from Final Destination. The Viking edition!

"Just a little further, Hvits. The base of the mountain should be in the next clearing." Bonnie slowed to offer him the opportunity to match her steps. "We can camp there for the eve, and then begin our climb to the cabin next rising."

His head dipped once, before his staggering resumed. Fucking fantastic. If he kept up that swift pace, they'd arrive at the clearing by next week. Just when she believed they literally had nowhere else to go but up, the temperature dropped another ten degrees. Soon after the skies split, and the universe pelted them with hail the size of Riddick Bowe's fists. She pinched the bridge of her nose, and then squeezed her eyes closed. So this is what Eddard Stark meant when he said winter was coming.

****

Bjorn stared at the now closed gates of Kattegat. Disbelief made a mockery of everything he'd once boasted to have known in regards to Bonnie Bennett of Mystic Falls. She'd abandoned him. She'd abandoned him when he needed her most. During a time when his failures gathered about him in great force to taunt him. He'd lost his mother, his crown, and now Bonnie too had misplaced herself from his side. A deep loathing bubbled his innards even as a hollowed ache throbbed a resounding pang throughout his chest.

One connecting blow from being broken, he wrenched about to glare at his personal guards. "Gather the citizens near the ritual dais. There's news I must share."

Bjorn turned to march back to the harbor. Gunnhild and her handmaiden hurried after him. Once he reached the dais, he climbed the ramparts to stand upon the raised area. His wife followed suit, all while peppering him with questions along the way.

"Is this about what transpired in Vestfold with King Harald?" She demanded as her searching stare lit upon the side of his face. "Did you and the Supreme fail to liberate him from King Olaf?"

He ignored his wife. She'd learn of his failures soon enough along with the rest of Kattegat. Once the horde overran the harbor he cleared his throat and began. "During my voyage to Vestfold all of the kings of Norway came together. Due to a foreign threat each of them agreed to surrender their crowns to one among us." The news birthed forth a thrum of muttering from the crowd below. Gunnhild and her handmaiden shared telling looks. He raised his hands to quiet the citizens, while in turn raising his voice. "King Harald of Vestfold was crowned king to all of Norway."

"What now?"

"Did he say King Harald?"

"Well what's that mean for us here in Kattegat?"

Bjorn continued on through there litany of questions. "Make no mistake on King Harald's intentions. He means to claim Kattegat. For he has always coveted her!" The horde grew silent as the hefty girth of his revelation weighed upon them. "If you wish it of me I'll relinquish my throne for the sake of peace. I'll offer Harald the Kingdom's sword." He paused to gauge the reaction of the people. "If this is what you all justly desire of me, then for you I'll name myself king no more."

The mass of bodies below held their tongues as they each glanced at the other. Not one among them lifted their voices to implore he remain their sovereign. Silence prevailed as if he had done nothing to bring about ease to all of their risings. The citizens should've pled for him to continue on as their king. For each of them had known naught but prosperity since he'd donned the crown. This verity alone should've dropped them to their knees before him. Bequests for him to remain the barrier between them and their enemies should've beleaguered his ears. Notably, after the terror of Ivar's reign. His youngest brother's delusions of godliness nigh slaughtered them all.

For several more dawdling grains through the hour glass silence prevailed until Gunnhild stepped beside him and lifted her voice to the citizens. "How can any of us wish for another king other than the Iron one the gods have so graciously bestowed upon us?" She paused to level the lot of them with a shaming glare. "Bjorn Ironside is a good man...a good king! For he's fought like a berserker for the people of Kattegat each time war has threatened our shores." Finally a thundering roar of agreement rippled throughout the horde. "He has slaughtered those who would've saw our families languishing in dishonorable graves or worse chains!" More bellows of agreement rumbled the ground. "He's brought fortune back to these lands. Why would we ever doubt him now?"

"King Bjorn Ironside!" A single voice that held the likeness of Ubbe's bellowed from the crowd.

Then another joined until all the citizens below chanted, "King Bjorn Ironside!"

Gunnhild cut an eye at him as she turned to leave and in a lowered tone she said, "I didn't speak false about your character. You are a good man, Bjorn Ironside. Yet do not believe yourself to be a man without mistakes. It was after all Whitehair, the skogarmaor you banished, who attacked you mother's settlement."

As he turned back to consider the crowd Gunnhild's words took root.

****

As Ivar limped into the dining hall his gaze swept the room. Katia and Oleg sat across from each other sipping from the minute chalices, Bonnie referred to as tea cups. Prince Oleg had sent for him. He knew not what to expect. The last time the prince summoned him in such a manner he'd served him the head of Dir's guards perched upon a platter. Ivar had since learned to practice caution when met with Oleg's senseless impulsiveness. He also took care to measure his words before they leapt from his tongue.

"Come, come," Oleg said, lifting a hand to wave him over when he noticed him lingering near the door. "There's much to discuss."

Ivar arched a brow as he limped over to sit upon one of the cushions at the table. "Is this about your campaign into Scandinavia?"

"Of course!" As Oleg took a sip from his tiny chalice merriment lit his stare.

"Would you favor a cup of tea, Ivar?" Katia asked, gesturing to a silver tankard placed upon a similar trough.

"No thank you, Princess Katia." He shook his head to emphasize his denial. He couldn't abide the foul brew Bonnie always threatened to spill. "I prefer coffee." A furrow marred the skin between The princess' brows. Yet he had no time for talks of foreign drinks. Without offering her an explanation he returned his scrutiny to Oleg. "So you've decided to attack?"

"At the beginning of Spring I mean to have Ganbaatar lead raids on several outposts positioned all about Scandinavia." He placed his chalice back on the table. "I wish to test their defenses."

"What is...cof—fee?" Katia queried.

"A foreign drink crafted from beans," he answered without sparing her a glance. For the whole of his attention remained hoisted upon Oleg. "I wish to be part of the strategizing, and the raids when your forces depart."

Oleg rested his finger at his chin as he regarded him through narrowed eyes. "This I must think on."

Ivar dipped his head in a distracted bow of sorts. Oleg's refusal to readily grant his requests somewhat concerned him.

"Did your Saxon wife introduce you to this foreign drink which somehow spring from beans?" Katia asked as bemusement scorned the perceived faultlessness of her beauty.

"No," He bit out, before allowing his gaze to drift back to Oleg. "Thank you for informing me of your plans." The prince lent him a closed lip smile and a dismissive wave of the hand. He inclined his head in another nod. "Now, I must seek out my leave. I gave Igor my word I'd watch him tread ice on those blades of his."

****

Bonnie had followed him into banishment. When he'd believed she justly no longer held a care for whether he thrived or died, she'd forsaken everything to follow him into banishment. Why? She'd once spoken of regarding him as if he'd never lived. And for an entire solstice cycle his presence went unseen within her sight. Then moments from his end there her face loomed over him, welcoming him back from Hel's gates. Affection and fear brimmed her eyes to nigh bursting. Such a vision addled him. How could she still be minded to care for him? After everything he'd spoken and done? Her grace came without fault. A thousand summers from then he'd still never fathom the whole of her heart.

A long while after their steps reclaimed their trek they came upon a clearing which bordered a vast mountain. Ice dusted the peak of the crag, while heaps of snow blanketed the field below. Though the open space lent no protection to them from the elements or skogarmaors, the stretch appeared as well of a place as any to bed down for the eve. Asides, the aches in his legs had nigh hobbled him. He'd soon be unable to even slither to where Bonnie was minded to go. Especially, when his innards insisted on shooting outwards by way of his mouth and arse.

Gods he'd ruin her! Just as he spoilt all others who placed themselves in his hold! Bonnie should've allowed him to greet his end. She never should've abandoned those she cared for to follow him into the depths of his judgement. The man she'd once loved was no more. In verity, he was no longer a man anyone could love.

Without forewarning the edges of his Midgard frayed. Shifting pigments bled together to form conflicting hues. A notion stabbed his brain as everything about him began to hurtle backwards. Unmaking all that had come to past...