"Run, Hefna!" I whisper-yell and drive my heels into the sides of her stiff belly and grip the reins in my fists. Hefna sprints off from the horse stable drawing the attention of several archers. The quick inertia sends my hood from my head and the icy air whips my face, causing my eyes to thin and water.

The howl of the gjallarhorn (horn) livens Kivikstead, alerting them of my bloody deeds.

I kick my heels repeatedly into Hefna's sides driving her from a canter into a gallop and allow her the slack of the reins.

An archer at the top of the east tower turns to face inward and takes aim, so I yank the reins with hard force to use the scattered pine trees as a sort of cover to obstruct the archer's sight from above.

Hefna grunts at my rough pull, but doesn't slow. I crouch low to keep from getting smacked by the branches and needles and peer upwards seeing the archer still hasn't shot his arrow.

The zip and whisper of feathers zings by, the sound familiar to a sent arrow so I glance up again spotting through the branches the archer loading his bow.

A grin pulls at my chapped lips just as the North tower appears and a small group is surrounding the base while two guards are ascending the ladder. Their heads twist around hearing my charge.

Hefna is smart, she knows to follow the trail to the back gate, so I drop the reins and bring my bow forward and pluck an arrow from the quiver on my back.

The guards begin to yell at my movements, seeing I've armed myself, and scramble for their weapons.

Following the long rolls of Hefna's body, I line up and take aim, sending an arrow right into the chest of a guard. I load the arrow shelf again and send off a second arrow. It's a bad shot, but it still finds the target as another blow of the gjallarhorn sounds off.

I gather the ends of the reins at her withers with a hand and remain close to Hefna's neck as she takes me from Kivikstead. A quick glance over my shoulder, beyond my whipping black hair I watch the guards scatter and race back, heading for the stables.

I belt out a laugh and replace the bow over my shoulder and then scream so my voice bounces through the thick trees. My boisterous cry causes Hefna's ears to flick and twitch but I continue to let the overjoyed feeling fill my body.

I've regained my family's honor.

Tipping my head up I shout at the bright silver moon, "TOVE UBBEDOTTIR! TOVE HRAFN-BLOOD! TOVE OATHBRINGER!"

"TOVE!" Yestir's frantic voice calls for me. I'm unable to hold back a giggle as I roast under the thick wolf pelts on father's bed. "Tove, we do not have the time for this!" Yestir comes closer as she huffs and begins searching through father's room. This time I snort and cover my mouth, excited flutters dancing about in my belly. "Oh," She breathes a sigh of relief, "Come on, child. Out!" The pelts are thrown from me and Yestir gazes down at me with her hands fisted on her hips and a grey brow cocked.

"Your father and guests are expecting you, now stop these games!" She scolds me but the bite of her tone waivers as her thin wrinkled lips turn upwards.

Seeing her crack, I begin to laugh, then brace myself as a bout of her wiggly fingers find the spaces between my ribs and start their torturous assault, forcing screams and laughter from my lungs.

The old woman is relentless, even as I throw kicks into her she doesn't stop and begins to tickle up in my armpits. When I have no more breath for laughing or screaming she finally yields and I lay there on my father's bed completely out of breath. "You deserved that you little, skita (shit)." I hold my sore ribs and sit up, still trying to collect my breaths. "Now, let us get you ready."

I grumble loudly and lay back down on the soft bed and gaze up at the ceiling.

By the sounds of songs and cheers echoing in the great hall, I know the celebration has begun.

Yestir gather's the skirts of her dress in one fist and digs through the chest at the foot of father's bed grabbing a neatly folded fabric of ivory color, calming my need to be mischievous. "Why are you taking out mother's wrist cuff?"

The gold cuff is father's most sacred treasure. It was a wedding gift from my father to my mother and she wore it until the day she died, giving birth to me, ten winter's ago.

"Jarl Ubbe requested you to wear it, Tove. It is a special day."

Yestir sets the cuff and the white fabric before me gently then closes the chest. "Now. Undress, come on." She claps her hands in wicked succession and I give her my biggest eye roll but undress.

"The only thing special about tonight is the Orm (serpent) Clan will be leaving come sunrise and--."

"Oh you sweet, child. Come sunrise Orm and Hrafn will be bonded together." A sly smile sparkles in her deep blue eyes but the humor of her statement is unknown to me.

"As long as the slippery Orms slither back south, I don't care if we are bonded or not." My little body is thrown into a stupid garment that feels much too big for me, then I'm spun around on the bed as Yestir buttons the back together.

A chuckle comes from my old wet nurse behind me, but she doesn't divulge further as to why she finds my words so humorous.

"Come sunrise that Rævhål (asshole) will be gone and I can go back to my usual business," I speak, of course, about Leif, son of Jorgensen. The Jarl's son has been a thorn in my side since the first moment I met him last winter. And now that he boasts one single chin hair, it seems my life has been majorly inconvenienced.

"Tove," Yestir mutters under her breath, but my ears pick up the pleasure masked within her tone. "You mustn't speak of him that way."

"Pfft," I roll my eyes and climb from the large bed and look down at the ridiculous garment that skirts along the floor.

Yestir claps her hands together and caresses them under her chin, her eyes shining and her lips trembling, "Oh, my Child, you look beautiful. Now, the cuff." She takes the cuff and places it over the thick material of my forearm then stands back catching a tear with her finger, "Now, off you go. Your father wishes to speak with you." She hurries me out of the door and quickly closes it, but not before I hear a sniffle.

Yestir is a proud woman. I've never seen her cry before. My senses tell me she's not upset but more, happy for some reason.

Many of my people have been acting so strange lately. Smiling at me with fondness, thanking me when all I've done was cause trouble. The moment the Orm Clan arrived, my world has been so strange.

The hall adorned with antler chandeliers hanging from the high ceilings is bustling with music, singing, laughter, and chanting.

Our two clans mix together in harmony, rallied together in song and drink and both lift their cups of ale to me as I pass through the crowded hall making my way to my father at his throne. Father and Jarl Jorgensen speak closely, but both possess smiles as each of their respective banners hang behind them. Ours, blue with the symbol of a Hrafn (Raven), and the Orm clan, red with the serpent-like symbol.

"Tove, my hjarta (heart), come," Father beckons me with a wave of his hand. I start over then stop as Leif slides in front of me, looking down at me with a smile and spilling the ale from his cup.

"And where are you off to, Tove?" He asks me, his brown hair plaited into three cords all tied at the top of his head. Leif wears his Orm colors in his red tunic with a leather belt cinched at his waist.

"Speaking to my father, Rævhål (asshole)."

Leif wets his lips and drinks from his cup, then crosses his arms, "Have you heard the saying 'dead man walking'? Or in your case, 'dead girl walking'."

My face scrunches up and I can't help but glare. Leif always speaks in riddles I don't understand. All I know is he wishes to insult me, so I growl and ram my shoulder into his arm and continue my way, ignoring his chuckling behind me.

"Father," I greet him and bow my head, glancing at Jarl Jorgensen beside me who gives me a friendly smile and nods.

"Oh, my Tove, don't you look beautiful." His steel eyes shimmer, reflecting the chandeliers above, then he glances to Jorgensen, "It pleases me to see this again." Father lifts my wrist admiring my mother's cuff, "I wish to explain something to you, well, Jarl Jorgensen and I both do."

"Alright." My brows screw together. Father and I don't have secrets, he is my best friend and I am his so I'm wrought with jealousy the moment I see Jorgensen knows something I don't.

"You see, my hjarta (heart)," Father gathers my hands together, and suddenly I'm aware that he is preparing my hands to keep from striking, so I tense and continue to listen, "Hrafn (Raven) clan and Orm (serpent) clan have been looking to blend and pledge together for many winter's. With us bonded on the foundation of love and friendship we will be the strongest clan north of the sea." He glances to Jorgensen who inhales a breath through his straight nose, "You've reached the age, Tove, where we must begin to put into place a proposal and-"

Suddenly, a roar from outside the longhouse erupts and the sound of the war gjallarhorn (horn) alerts everyone's ears, silencing the jubilee within the great hall. A distant voice wails, "We're under attack!"

"Björn Clan." Jorgensen stands as the room bustles with our clans drawing their weapons.

Father gives me a wicked smile, then kisses the top of my head and speaks to Jorgensen, "Go, Jorgensen, we must fight."

My heart skips with excitement knowing how close some of us are to Valhalla.

Father notices my eagerness and shakes his head, "No, Tove. Not you."

"But-"

"No, find Yestir, stay in the hall." He orders as the war cries from outside become louder and my ears train on the sound of clanging steel.

"But-!" I argue and twist around as Father runs to join behind our people piling towards the open side doors.

The room almost empties, and I debate only for a moment to find Yestir, but decide against it. I run, smiling, watching the falling snow filter inside the great hall from the wide-open doors and my eyes widen to circles as I catch views of the fighting outside.

I gasp when a fire arrow burrows itself on the wooden door, then I step out amazed by what I am seeing.

The tales told by my father late at night next to the roaring fire were nothing compared to what I'm witnessing.

"Tove!" Someone yells, and I'm ripped to the side just as an axe cuts down from where I had stood. I'm hoisted to a shoulder and spun around just as the axe wielder swings it again and Leif uses the hilt of his axe to block it.

Leif throws me up from his shoulder into a cart of stacked dried hay, and I watch in complete amazement as he strikes down his enemy. Then, the heat of a thousand suns burns the side of my face and body as a fire arrow lands just beside me and the hay catches fire.

"Down!" Leif screams as I both jump and he rips me from the cart, then I'm whirled around unable to focus on any one thing, and thrown over a wooden fence. I land onto my hands with a grunt and I lift them seeing my palms covered in dirt, blood, and wet with the fresh falling snow. "UP! Tove!" I'm thrown to my feet by Leif again and when I look from my hands he pulls the reins of an unmanned horse trotting by, "Go! Ride!"

I mount the horse and kick my heels into his ribs, then scream as a burning arrow soars right into the horses chest. The horse collapses to the ground and I go flying, the air forced from my lungs leaving me wheezing sprawled on the cold wet ground.

"TOVE!" I hear my father's voice call for me, so I stand quickly and spin around trying to find his face within the madness of blood, fire, and snow.

"Father!" I yell back but my voice is lodged in my throat, I search for him and twist again trying to find his long black hair amongst the crowd.

Then a slice of steel cuts my face, and I fall to the ground screaming and holding the scorching wound. I roll to my back holding my face, then see through my fingers and pain a large man, dressed in the Björn (bear) clan's colors and his bloodied sword raised coming at me.

I scream and scurry back on my hands but crawl over an object of cold of wet steel, so I spin to see I've crawled over a sword. I stand and grab the sword. My muscles strain trying with all my might to lift it, but I can only manage to lift it hair from the ground. I force myself to watch the man, who will no doubt kill me, reach me and lift his sword.

But he jolts and his back ignites in fire, then he crumbles before my feet. I find Leif lowering a bow, yards away, then he runs towards me grabbing my hand and twists around, "We've got to get out of here!"

Flames are everywhere. On bodies lying in blood, bodies running, and on horses. We snake around quickly with men battling, then I'm thrown into the hut house as Leif begins to fight two warriors.

A burly man blows into the hut and I scurry to my feet running behind the wooden counter and grab a bowl and throw it at him, in an attempt to keep him at bay. He deflects the bowl and laughs a maniacal laugh, felt deep in my bones.

Fear sweeps through me as I grab whatever I can manage to grab and throw it at him. With each item thrown, the man whose face is dripping with someone else's blood only grins wider. I check the door and scream, "L-Leif!"

My plea only makes the man finally break into a chuckle.

"Father!" I scream and my back finds the shelf of spices as the man closes in. His large body blocks my only exit so I cower against the shelves behind me, as my tears burn the slice across my face.

I plaster myself against the shelves behind me, trying to get as far from the man lifting his axe as possible then screw my eyes shut. My hand finds a small pouch from the shelf so I peek at the contents and see the orange spice of cumin.

I dump the spice into my palms, messily, then raise it to my mouth and blow as hard as I can, sending the particles of spice into the warrior's eyes. He cries out and holds his face, then I fall to my hands and knees and crawl beneath the table and run as fast as I can for the door.

I fly through the archway then skid to a stop when the fighting has come to a halt and everyone is watching my Father and Ivan The Cruel, a man who must be larger than Thor himself, circle each other.

Fire and flames continue to rage around Kivickstead, with almost every building is engulfed, besides the longhouse. Our warriors, dressed in their blue colors cover the blood-soaked ground, dead. "Tove!" Yestir appears to my side and runs towards me her hands extended and blood covering her face.

But before she reaches me she falls to her knees with a thrown axe in her back. I elicite a blood-curdling scream, "NO!" I start to run to be with her then stop as my father's voice regains control of my attention.

"If I give you my life, promise me you'll spare my people," Father says, dropping his battle axe.

I turn and my body numbs.

"You have my oath as a Vikingr (Viking)." Ivan says, tilting his large head to grin down at my father.

I step forward and Father's eyes pin mine as he shakes his head subtly. His lips move, but no sound comes as he silently commands me to 'run' from the distance between us.

"Father, no," I beg, and step towards him as the others watch on, knowing he can't hear me from this far.

Father goes to his knees, keeping his grey eyes on me, and Ivan steps behind him, fisting my father's black hair to hold his head in place.

"N-no," I suck in a breath between my teeth and take a step forward, "NO!" Ivan's axe cuts across my father's throat as he rips his head from his body by his hair.

A horse gallops passed blocking my vision from my father's body, and I'm ripped from the ground and placed on the back of a racing horse. I squeeze the body in front of me and force my eyes closed, unable to see anything but the gore of my father's death replaying in my mind's eye.

Ivan The Cruel's thunderous voice echoes behind me, "Kill them! Kill them all!"

A sob escapes my lips and I hide my face into the back of the rider until I hear Leif say over his labored breathing, "Hold on!" He kicks the horse hard, as an arrow sails past us, so I squeeze him tighter, clenching my fists and teeth as we ride off into the woods.

End of Flashback

I understand I wrote a long prologue. But I wanted the readers to be attached to Tove before they read the flashback.

I hope I succeeded.

About the flashback, Tove is 10 years old here and Leif is 17. If you read between the lines their fathers were planning to merge the clans together with marrying Tove and Leif.

Google says vikings could get married as young as 14, gross, so I had to put a stop that lol.

And I suppose with Tove losing her clan, throne, dawry, and status she won't be in the running to be married off. Lol

Let me know your thoughts on this large beginning! I'd love to hear!