"Tell my husband I'm tired and retiring for the night," Svea speaks into my ear and stands from the bench we're sharing. Her hand lingers, cupped to my elbow, "Be sure to take care of your face and use the medicine. I will question you in the morning." She warns me playfully squeezing my elbow before she steps away from the crowded table.

Turning, I return my heavy-lidded gaze up at Leif who stomps across the tabletop speaking loudly as he recounts every exaggerated detail of his raiding to us all.

But, of course, we soak it in.

He's a true born storyteller, even with the ale flowing heavily through my veins I can see the shores of Africa and Langbarðaland (Italy) just by the beautifully crafted words that surely could be written into a poem.

I've always loved his stories. After my father was killed and my clan slaughtered I'd spend my nights suffering from night terrors. But, out of kindness, Leif began filling my nights with his fantastical stories until I finally fell asleep in his arms and my terrors were vanquished by his colorful spoken tales.

The table is assaulted with pounding fists as Leif reaches the pinnacle of his story. Raiding a small island near Langbarðaland (Italy) . Before he reaches the end he snatches up a full cup of ale and gulps it down wiping the spilling liquid from his chin and then looks down at me with a prepossessing smile.

He squats before me, holding my captured gaze, and swipes my cup resting between my hands, then continues strutting down the table knocking cups and kicking plates. "We took and we raided. We burned and killed. For two winters I learned what it truly means to be a Vikingr (Viking)." By now he has everyone eating from the palm of his hand, including myself. "When I take my place on the throne we will live as voracious Vinkingr! Fighting and raiding and always voyaging for a new coast!" Everyone's eyes are on him as he turns and sweeps back down the table. "For when my clansmen reach the Corpse Halls* they will arrive as master warriors!" This time I join the cheering and the hall echoes with chorused chanting.

Leif climbs down and takes Svea's empty place and wraps a heavy arm around my shoulders taking a long gulp from my stolen cup. "I wasn't finished drinking that," I chide bubbling with laughter.

"You've had nearly double than I, I'm afraid I need to catch up." He smiles, licking his wet lips then sets the ale down. I make to take my cup back but he grips it tight, taunting me with a lifted brow.

"Two winters away," I say and shrug his arm from my shoulders, "I'm no longer a little bird as you and your father liked to call me. I can handle my ale."

Leif hides a scoff by taking another large haul from the hollowed wooden cup, "'Little Bird', I said it only to tease you. You got so angry." His tongue darts out, licking the remnants of the drink and my stomach churns unexpectedly.

"S-Svea returned to her -- your-- chambers." I falter and snatch my almost empty cup wanting to drink away the uncomfortable pit within my stomach.

Leif's eyes narrow and he nods once. The glint in his sea-blue eyes dulling, causing the pit to grow. "What is it, brother?" I ask recovering and also wanting to speak of anything else than this pit in my stomach.

For a moment he's silent and for the first time in forever, I can't read him.

"It is nothing, Tove." He concludes.

"Shall we speak somewhere in private?" We do not have secrets, Leif and I. It is obvious something is the matter. And if it involves Svea, it is imperative I need to know.

"No," Leif announces to the table and stands from the bench grabbing the large pitcher to fill my stolen cup and another that's been abandoned. "We shall drink more!"

Roars of the Ormsmen sound off, agreeing with their future Jarl.

I consider a moment to follow Svea to her chambers and voice my concern but I show reason. They are man and wife, I must allow them to solve their own marital issues. My brother and my best friend have been on separate paths for two winters and now they are being forced back together. I don't understand the underlayers of a husband and wife relationship so I must respect their space.

Leif doesn't avoid the truth with me, not ever. But as I watch him in silence, he continues to drink and address the clansmen around us. The pit in my stomach turns into a dull ache. I am uncertain which is worse, knowing that Leif is keeping something from me or that it may revolve around the woman we both love.

But I maintain my resolve and find myself watching Anders and Henrys speaking across from me. They've been a paired fixture since the moment my instincts told me I couldn't trust them when they stepped onto our docks.

Even now, Henrys shifty eyes flit all around the longhouse as Anders speaks to the clansmen sat around them. Stryj and Gunthar, brothers, hold their private conversations with Henrys and Anders.

My ears focus in, itching to hear their quiet conversation across from me, but the rowdiness of the table after Leif's tale has the hall rumbling.

The brothers and I have never seen eye-to-eye. My curiosity builds within as they remain a foursome, speaking only to each other.

Remaining in line and going without trouble is something I had intended to do. At least for the time being before the ceremony that has Leif throned. But, with these four uniting my instincts tell me something isn't right.

And I will not allow a rebellion so close to Leif's rise to the throne.

<><><>

Returning to my old hut located near the barracks I find the balm Svea had left on my bed waiting for me as well as the shield gifted by Leif. I light a fire within and smile at the low rumble of the nearby waves hitting the stones of the beach. The hollowed hearth catches fire and takes the delicate webs left by spiders as well as the static smell of undisturbed air.

I sit with a moan on the edge of the bed and kick off the fur-lined boots and toss them over to the door. My body, sore and stiff from the beating I took the previous night.

I remove my belt and lay it over the small chest near my bed and study the axe that had haunted my dreams half of my life and give it a home beneath my pillow. Then, place the Hravn etched shield to rest against the chest. My fingers pull at the ties of my pants then I discard them to the floor.

I crawl over and lay down staring at the ceiling of my small hut, allowing my mind to wander to Leif and Svea.

They've been separated by two winters. We all must allow for time to reacquaint them. I must allow them to reacquaint.

My worries lessen and I roll to my side kicking the stone bowl of balm left by Svea from my bed and then wrap myself under the woven blankets.

I drift off as my mind persuades itself that all will be well despite my suspicions...

"Déan deifir, anois."

My eyes snap open after hearing the foreign words. I shut them instantly as the creak of the door closes shut and the quiet shuffling of two pairs of footfalls enter my hut.

Suddenly, my skin is alive with chills, and my breathing hitches.

A different voice speaks, but it's the same strange language, "Deir Leif gur laoch í, caithfimid a bheith cúramach."

My heart threatens to pound out of my chest when I hear Leif's name, but I keep my breathing steady as I continue to listen. They creep in closer, while my back remains to the door.

It's clear the drink didn't bring them to my hut by accident.

The first voice chides a returned whisper, "Go maith. Tá sé níos taitneamhaí nuair a bhíonn siad ag troid."

My hand slithers beneath my pillow gripping the hilt of the Hrafn banamaðr. Then I wait.

The bed sinks near my ankles and the same voice speaks low and close, "Ba mhaith liom an chéad bhlas."

The man inches closer as I feel him hover over my legs. His fists press into the bed and he begins to straddle my ankles.

These men are the foreigners Leif brought back.

"Déanaimis é seo a dhéanamh-" I fling my axe from beneath my pillow and drive it into the apex of Henrys's neck and shoulder. Blood squirts from the side of his neck and covers the wall beside with a splash of crimson.

I yank the blade lodged from Henrys's neck, and he crumples dead onto the edge of my bed, then bounces to the floor. Raising to a knee I watch Anders look up from his companion's body lying bleeding on my floor.

Instead of running, as a coward would, he pounces and blocks my swung axe with his forearm against the hilt and throws a hard-knuckled punch into my weakened nose.

The pain sets off sparks in my vision and clouds it with immediate tears. This time I'm sure it has broken. I roll back to gain space and clarity, gripping the axe tightly to my chest, noting the warm liquid spilling from my nose and seeping into my mouth.

Relief flutters in my chest as my door opens, but the hope is extinguished as the two brothers, Stryj and Gunthar, step through the archway and shut it behind them. "You kill me and Leif kills you," I scoff a stressed chuckle and wipe my oozing nose, "You are all dead men."

"You should have stayed in Kivickstead, Hrafn (raven)-born." Gunthar speaks as he and Stryj draw their weapons. Even Anders withdraws a sword from the slung hilt around his thick waist.

Beside me, I fit the shield to my wrist and forearm, appreciating how light it is compared to the ones I'm used to. Stryj snickers, "It is because of your selfishness we are now going to war."

"War is life, Drittsekk (shit bag). Or it should be if you were a Vikingr (Viking)." I spit out the insult.

I could take the brothers. That I knew for sure, but with this large foreigner?

Judging by his expert hold on his sword, he isn't some farmer wielding a weapon for the first time. And knowing Leif, he wouldn't have brought someone unskilled in war across the seas.

"Will you allow me pants, at least?" I ask this time not hiding the chuckle. Across from my pants piled on the floor is the fireplace where I have a hidden knife, the more weapons I have on my person the better off I will be.

The three close in, readying their weapons while I play out a thousand scenarios in my head deciding what the best course of action should be.

Remaining in place, using the bed as a barricade to keep them from overtaking me. I wait for them to strike first and don't have to wait long when Stryd swings his axe. I easily use my own to deflect it and use the shield to block the next hit from Gunthar.

The sword used by the foreigner is massive, and when he takes his turn, I'm slammed back against the wall when I try to deflect his hard hit.

Using the firm wall behind me, I muster the strength in my leg and shove the bed as Stryj steps onto it. He slips as the bed slides with a jerk and I raise my axe spotting the perfect moment to end his life, but when my axe aims for the back of his neck Anders and his giant sword hits my greedy blade away.

I duck as the large blade sweeps back over, nearly taking my head, and slam my shield into Gunthar as he comes around to my side. He stumbles to his ass, then my body is flung into the wall by Stryj.

Through gritted teeth he bores down, "You've killed us all, Tove."

"Our fates are already pre-decided, Stryj." My spoken words cast the blood from my lips onto Stryj's bearded face.

"You've cursed our people-." I throw my head into his mouth, his lips working as a cushion from his teeth. Stryj stumbles back holding his bleeding mouth, and I throw a foot into the face of Gunthar as he climbs from his feet.

Again, Stryj is on me and this time catches my wrist wielding the axe and his brother takes hold of my shield from his knees.

The large foreigner approaches with the end of his sword directed at me. I pull ferociously at my arms to get free but the brothers hold tight.

Am I to die tonight? Not a full day from getting my honor back? Are the Gods really this ironic?

Anders raises his sword and I twist my arm from the straps of the shield and grab Gunthar's collar. Yanking him in front of me as Anders stabs hard, running Gunthar through the gut. A garbled gasp fills the room and Gunthar falls to the floor gripping his fatal wound.

I twist around slamming Strij into the wall I'd been held on and feel my heart race knowing my back is towards Anders, unprotected.

I throw a punch into Strij's stomach then fist his hair and twist it as I struggle with regaining my axe arm back and spinning the pair of us to use his body as another shield.

"KILL THE BIKKJA (bitch)!" Stryj bellows as I continue to swing him around and throw my knee into his face. I check Anders and find him hesitating.

His hesitation earns Stryj another knee to the face, and this time his body drops from the harsh impact and I rip my axe arm from his weakened hold. Following the inertia of tearing my arm from his hold, I swoop the axe around and upwards landing my blade just beneath Stryj's jaw.

Fisting his hair, I watch Stryj's moss green eyes quiver, filling with death.

I grin down at him, but before I'm rewarded with watching his soul leave his eyes I'm ripped away and thrown back onto my bed. My head falls over the side, and I gasp at the upside-down image of Anders raising his long sword above his head. I roll as the blade slices down cutting deep into the thick bed, then I jump from my hands and knees attempting to tackle him to the floor needing anything to separate him from his weapon.

We tumble to the floor and I scramble on my hands and knees to the fire reaching up inside the stone hearth and remove the small knife and turn to find Anders yanking the sword from the bed.

He turns, nostrils flared, and shoulders heaving. His eyes drop to the small knife in my hand so I lift it pointing it at him.

He laughs a labored breath, "You have spirit I give you that."

I snicker in agreement, "My brother surely told you."

Anders roars assembling a strong swing while I jump away and swipe my shield laying beside the dead Gunther. "Your brother spoke of you. From sunrise to sunset. If we didn't know any better we'd have thought you were one of your many ridiculous Gods."

Wiping the blood from my broken nose I smile, "Maybe I am. And yet, you still come into my home intending to kill me? Do you not know? Gods can't die."

"I'm aware." He says as I jump to grab my axe but I'm blocked with a swing of his sword. I leap back, tripping over the piled bodies on my floor but find my footing quickly.

If I wanted to survive I needed to be close. His long sword has such a far reach that the longer I'm playing the defensive game, the higher of a chance I will die. My best chance is to be close. I need to be aggressive and I need to be on the offensive.

My muscles burn and my heart pounds in my chest. I grip the shield tightly with both arms and hold it close, ducking my head behind it as I charge Anders and slam myself against his body.

We both yell, and go to the ground. I scramble to my knees as he shoots up from his back and throw the edging of the metal shield into his jaw, casting him back to the ground.

I lift the knife above my head and come down quickly, but Anders catches my wrist with one hand and my throat with the other. His fingers dig into the front of my throat, and my sudden momentum stops instantly.

His fist tightens on the front of my neck, squeezing it as if he wishes to rip it like bark from a tree.

Suddenly, in the midst of our commotion, my door swings open and Leif steps through his bloodshot sobering instantly to the carnage inside my hut.

"Tove!" He yells and bolts over ramming his boot into the side of Anders's head and knocking him out cold.

The death grip vanishes as I'm taken over by a violent round of coughing fits. Shuffling off Anders I push myself up and sit, couching and wheezing attempting to catch my labored breath. "Faen (fuck)," I say between my breaths. "Thank the Gods."

"What's happened?" Leif turns surveying my room.

"What does it look like fifl (fool)?!" I cough into my blood-splattered sleeve and then wipe my bleeding nose.

Leif's eyes are wild -- angry. I've never seen him so angry before. His eyes land on my pants at the floor near the foot of my bed and then they shoot over to my bare legs only covered by the thigh-length tunic, "Have they touched you?"

Gripping my knees I lean, still struggling to gain control of my breaths. 

The 'touching' he's referring to is not referencing the beating I just took for the second night in a row.

I shake my head and glance at Anders knocked out on the floor.

Leif's jaw flexes, then he stomps over, gripping the front of Anders's tunic and rips him from the ground, "I am going to feed your eyes to the ravens, traitor." 

Holy cow. I struggled with this fight scene.

I hope I don't ever have to come back to this chapter lol my goodness lol

Anyways. Thank you for reading!

PS the new headers were created by my lovely friend Bio_Organic_Weapon_ aren't they freaking cool! Go check out his work and give him love!

CC