"Sometimes it's the suffering that makes us stronger."

  The two clans ate, each side talking to each other with no reserve. Ragnar and Torhyl sat beside each other, and spoke of plans for the raid in the morning. She listened to the tales of his life in the North. He spoke of her father and the mischievous activities they used to commit. She was amazed by the lives that these two men had lived. He spoke of his sons, Bjorn, Ubbe, Hvitserk, Sigurd, and his youngest...Ivar.

She listened to the story of how Ivar was sat out to die, as all weak babies were and how his wife, Aslaug could not bear to watch her son suffer.

"In Greece, the Spartans would often do the same," Torhyl explaines, "Babies with small frames, deformities or blemishes of any kind were discarded of...brutally."

"I never wanted to see my son die, but I did not want to see him suffer every day as he grew." Ragnar expresses matter-of-factly.

Torhyl listened with an open heart, the only legacy that was left with her by her father sat beside her telling her of his life.

"Sometimes it's the suffering that makes us stronger." Torhyl says quietly as she takes a swig of her ale.

Ragnar let the words sink in as she shot him one last smile. She stood and left, discarding her finished plates and walking away. His mind is at an unrest. His eyes forbid him to sleep although his body aches for a night of rest. Torhyl was everything like her father, the one he thought so highly of so long ago. She grew up just like he imagined any of Arnthorr's children would. Strong, fearless and yet, humble and controlled.

"To where does your leader go?" Floki asks Brunhild, his mouth full with freshly caught meat, his spit spraying with each word.

Brunhild follows his eyes and catches sight of Torhyl walking along the shoreline. She stares down at the ground and out over the majestic water. Toryhl continues to walk until she is out of sight. It is then and only then does she fall to her knees and scream. She screams until her lungs burn. She feels the coarse energy pulsing through her veins, the blood thick and cold spreading across her chest. Her eyes sear with the threat of tears that she has never shed. A weakness is never one to be displayed. So she hid her pain beneath a layer of thick skin and a veil of indifference.

Brunhild watches her Commander walk off into the darkness, her eyes eyeing her every step until she is completely enveloped by the night. Brunhild turns to Floki then towards the fire in front of her.

"She's haunted by many demons," Brunhild speaks softly. "Not all can be faced with a sword or shield. Some just take joy in destroying the mind. She likes to walk...To clear her mind, to free herself of the thoughts that plague her."

Ragnar turns around and stares at the empty shoreline. Her body appears at the very end of the beach, each step bringing her closer to the group. Soon enough Torhyl stands in front of her men, her face lifeless and her body rigid.

"Rotate watch and rest, we rise at daybreak and then..." Torhyl stares over the trees. "We fight."

_____________________________________________________________________________

 Torhyl's cape whips behind her, the wind catching the fabric and throwing it around at its will. She stands in front of her men once again, her face stone cold and firm with determination. Ragnar's men stand amongst Torhyl's, each one awaiting orders.

Torhyl kneels down and takes the sand beneath her in her hand and lets it slip through her fingers. She stands to her feet once more and looks at the faces of her men.

"You all stand on the soil that holds the riches we have been searching for all our lives," Torhyl begins, her voice raspy, yet clear. "Now we stand here, united by a common objective. I urge you to fight as one. We may not know what lies ahead of us, but we know who stands on either side of us and that is all we must understand. We are a force to be reckoned with. We are one with the earth, sea and sky. The heavens are watching and they are filled with pride at what they see. Fight for your families. Fight for prosperity. Fight for your legacy. Fear Nothing.  Survive. Conquer."

The crowd roars with life, each soul lifted and fuelled with the fire to fight with all they have. Torhyl turns to Ragnar and gives him a nod of approval. They were ready to fight. They were ready to conquer.

____________________________________________________________________________

"SHIELD WALL!" Ragnar commands his men. Every man comes together in a synchronised effort for preservation. The wall is made with almost no effort at all, each man covering the other's back.

Arrows rain down on the army of Ragnar's men. This is what they were expecting all along. Torhyl leads her army around the barricade while the English men were distracted with Ragnar's men. Torhyl unsheathes an arrow and calls her one of her men with a torch to ignite the tar-soaked tip and proceeds to line up her shot. She lets loose the arrow and watches as it hits its target. The hatch roof of a house ignites into flame causing a distracting chaos inside the English compound.

"ATTACK!" Torhyl yells at her men and those of Ragnar's.

They break down the door to the compound and charge through the gates. Torhyl hands her bow to Brunhild and exchanges it for a spear. Torhyl twirls the spear skilfully around her hand, gaining the leverage to cause detrimental impact. She takes down English soldiers with ease, each man dropping with minimal effort. She alerts her men to the direction she is going and proceeds to run towards the Bell Tower that is placed in the middle of the camp.

Torhyl enters the Tower only to be greeted by a small legion of English soldiers. They are stunned at her sudden entrance which gives her the upper hand. Torhyl twirls her spear and impales the first soldier to step towards her. Another soldier dares to step forwards with his weapon raised to which she easily takes down with a slash to the stomach. She twirls her spear once more at the soldiers standing around in fear.

Torhyl cocks her head in amusement at their fear. "Boo." She says, with a smirk.

The men begin to run up the stairs in a rush of mangled limbs and screams.

"So we're playing tag now, are we? Ok then..." Torhyl calmly climbs the staircase after the men, knowing that there is only one way to escape her wrath and that is down.

She reaches the top stair and is greeted by the other young men, frantically trying to decide whether to face the jump or face Torhyl's spear. Torhyl grabs her spear with both hands and holds it against the first soldier, pushing him closer and closer towards the edge of the tower. The soldier's screams echo through the tower and her desperately grabs at the spear, holding him onto the tower. Torhyl looks at him one last time, her face full of disgust.

"Bid your last farewell," Torhyl says, "For it may be your last chance."

The soldier curses at her and attempts to grab her frame to pull her with him, but she avoids his desperate grasps. With one firm pull, she managed to pull her spear out of his reach, leaving him unstable on the edge of the tower. She then raises her knee and kicks him hard in the chest. His scream echoes through the camp as he falls to his imminent death.

Torhyl turns to the remaining two soldiers with an unimpressed stare. She walks towards them and they charge towards her with a burst of hopeful anger.

Torhyl blocks their sword attempts with ease, each swing blocked and directed away from her. She bends down and swings her leg under one soldier's legs, knocking him off his feet and onto the ground.

The other soldier let's out a battle cry before charging her from behind. She spins around swiftly and jabbing her spear forwards. The soldier stands completely still, his face shocked and his body stiff. His hands lock around the spear that is lodged in his abdomen, a last nerve response, before he falls forwards, his final breath passing though his lips as he collapses.

Torhyl retrieves her spear from the corpse of the man, her eyes scanning over his still frame. She becomes aware of the man behind her but it is far too late. The last soldier is on his feet and armed. He takes his sword and takes a miscalculated stab. His sword tears through her clothing and slashes the skin clinging tight around her ribcage. She lets out a hoarse grunt, but she pushes her pain aside and replaces it with anger.

She spins around and lands a direct hit to his stomach. He stumbles backwards away from her, breathless and uncoordinated. She is relentless in her furious pursuit. She slams his body against a pillar and punches his wrist that holds the sword. A loud crunch erupts on impact, the sound of breaking bones colliding with brick make a sickening harmony. The soldier screams out in pain as he drops his only weapon.

Torhyl wraps her hand around his throat, her strength overpowering the young man. She tightens her grip with each passing second. The soldier's hands claw at her, his breaths become jagged and rapid. She watches as the life slowly drains out of his face, each passing second closely calculated. Just as she sees his last breath, she loosens her grip and lets him drop to the floor.

"May the shame of being the last man be your eternal burden, for living without dignity is far worse than death." Torhyl spits venomously, as she casts a spiteful glance down at the convulsing soldier.

Coughs rake his body and he struggles to breathe, each breath harsh and exaggerated. Torhyl retrieves her spear before descending the staircase. Once she reaches the bottom, she is greeted with more soldiers, to which she easily defeats. Each man drops with the swing of her spear.

Soon enough, the only men surrounding her were her own, and those of Ragnar. She walks through the crowd, her body still surrounded by an aura of strength and power despite the tiring fights she has just endured. She strides to beside Ragnar and glances at him.

"To where do you wish to search first?" She asks, pointing at vast number of buildings that lay in front of them.

"Send a third of your men and mine to the Cathedral, then separate the rest between buildings." Ragnar responds as he begins walking towards the first house.

Torhyl hands out the orders between groups and sends them to complete the jobs issued. Once she is satisfied with their directions, she herself walks on her own through the small town. She envisions each gravel stone being walked over by small children or young soldiers. She sees the life that once inhabited this small village before the English pillaged it and made it their own.

She reads the writing above each doorpost, each one reading the name of a past family that lived under its roof. She reads everyone, imagining the happiness that was existed beneath each roof. She walks by each door until she finds the name she remembers from her elder's teachings. Xanders.

Torhyl enters the cottage and is surrounded by walls of stone and cobble. She takes in the harsh environment. Torn sheets and little space. She can smell the age and dust that floats around in the small space.

Torhyl steps over the various strewn items and broken pottery in search of anything that traced back to her history. She searched the building high and low, searching for anything. She had almost given up completely until a small wooden box caught her eye.

Torhyl walked towards the fireplace and picked up the small box that sit neatly atop it. The box was made of a deep-coloured timber, its shape was one of extravagant beauty. Each shape was carved with precision, each symbol one of the ancient Viking clans. The Norse tree of life, the Yggdrasil, adorns the centre piece of the box, its limbs stretching around the box as the protector of its contents.

Torhyl carefully removes the lid and views the contents. Inside lay a pendant connected by a chain. She beholds it and examines the symbol. The forgery of a piece of rare metals combine into the shape of a raven, its eyes fierce and dark. She turns the ancient piece of forgery in her hands and watches carefully as the figure changes from a raven into another.

The raven is steadily morphing into the head of a wolf. Torhyl smiles down at the small treasure in her hands. She had found it. Her item of immeasurable worth. Nobody would know the worth of this small item, and nobody would ever.

She places the pendant back inside the wooden box and slides it inconspicuously into her coat. She steps back out into the streets and meets up with her army.

A pile of treasure has been piled up in the town square. She eyes the large pile of goods, her eyebrows raised in surprise.

"It is a very successful raid," Ragnar comments, pointing to the pile. "How did you know about this place...our priest was not aware that this place had such value."

Toryl eyes meet Ragnar's for only a second before dropping back down to the treasure. "I followed a feeling."

Ragnar gave her a suspicious glance.

"A very strong feeling." Torhyl confirms as she steps towards the treasure. "We split it, then."

Ragnar nods. "You may take half and we will take the other half."

"Sounds fair," Torhyl agrees, "Men! Carry what you can, we start back to the ships as soon as you are loaded up. Brunhild."

Torhyl summons Brunhil to her. "Brunhild, accompany the men to the ship and reignite the fire."

Brunhild follows her orders and starts towards the ships right away.

Ragnar's men begin to load themselves up with gold and silver, various pieces of jewellery and pendants. Her men grabbed what they could and started back to the ships instantly.

Torhyl's side aches, her head is light and her skin pale. She presses her hand against the wound and winces at the sharp pain she encounters in doing so. She retrieves her hand only to find it to be a shade of crimson. Blood stains the skin of her hands as a reminder to her wound.

Floki notices her pale skin and observes her closely. His eyes follow her gaze down to her blood-stained hand.

"You have been hurt," Floki speaks loudly, "Let me see."

"I'm fine," Torhyl argues, applying pressure once again to the open wound. "Just a scratch. Nothing to be concerned about."

"Blood does not flow so fast out of a scratch." Floki rebuts.

"I appreciate your concern, Floki, but it is unnecessarily placed," Torhyl gives him a weary smile. "Focus on your victorious venture and revel in your riches, do not worry about me."

Floki opens his mouth to protest but just as soon, turns to leave not uttering another word. Torhyl face drops instantly once his presence is gone. Her adrenalin has worn off and the pain is setting in. Shooting pain runs up her sides like electric shocks with each breath.

"To where do you sail now?" Ragnar asks Torhyl, his eyes raking over her pale figure.

Torhyl clears her throat. Despite her weary figure her demeanour remains collected.

"We sail home, to the East." Torhyl points towards Greece, her home land.

"I bid you to sail with us," Ragnar beckons. "It is appropriate that you should walk your father's hometown. I should think that a warrior such as yourself would enjoy venturing into uncharted lands."

"I appreciate your kind offer, Ragnar Lothbrok," Torhyl says genuinely, "But I'm sure the Northmen would have something to say about foreigners observing their land."

"What would they say?" Ragnar challenges, a smirk playing on his lips.

"I know where you sleep." Torhyl shoots him a straight look.

Ragnar's lips upturn into a humoured smile. "Well, it would not be a problem if you stayed near my family."

"I can protect myself, do not worry about that. I would just prefer to avoid unwanted conflict."

"I insist, you will be well-received...as my guest."

Torhyl stands up a little straighter at his suggestion. "Am I right to assume that there is nothing I can do to change your mind?"

"You are correct." Ragnar smirks.

She sends him a half-hearted glare and begins to walk to the ships and motions for him to the same. She snatches up a small stick on the walk.

"Then I suppose I will have to accept."