AnN: This is a loosely based Vikings fic, dealing with original characters as well as setting. If this offends you, feel free to skip!

You are my son; blood of greatness and therefore born to lead our people to victory, with blood and fire.

Algar still remembered the words his father told him so long ago. Sometimes, they were the fuel he needed to carry onward. The weeks at sea had proved difficult, as if the gods themselves were testing him. He lost a few men already; some from disease and others from hunger. It was to be as expected, but Algar could not afford the casualties. Warhammer sailed to battle, and even the mightiest of waves and bitter wind could not alter her course. He stared at the darkening clouds in the distance and what appeared to be evidence of land, and quite possibly their salvation. The ship could not take another hit; the hull suffered a weak spot already. Calloused hands balled into fists as uncertainty reared its ugly head.

His father would have known the right course to take. He led their kin for many years, as Algar's grandfather had before him. The people of the north trusted him, as he had been brutal yet fair, and loyal to his own blood. When Algar was young, his father taught him skill with a blade, strategies of war and how to grow into an honest man. He had never asked for power, but the law of his valued bloodline above all else. His father was executed for treachery years ago, when his dwindling mental state made him dangerous and those who would call him brother could no longer place trust. The only person Algar fully trusted was Esmond, who served as council to his father and a second father in the time of his death. He even feared that his mentor doubted his abilities.

"The chill in the air is bitter cold. I fear a storm coming," a familiar voice boomed. The man that approached him wore garb of boiled leather and heavy furs. His dark beard was braided and peppered with speckles of gray. Algar did not need to turn to recognize the man, he knew his voice well. "You have not led us astray; Axos would be proud to look upon the man you have become," he finished.

"Would he, Esmond? Our people followed my father; they do not give me such loyalty. Our sacred laws are the only means to power I have," Algar asked, irritated. In truth, he resembled his father in height and strength. Days spent under the sun's harsh rays had bronzed his skin, and his sandy colored hair had grown several inches over the course of their journey. His ocean colored eyes however belonged to his late mother. Despite the resemblance, it would not cause his men to bend the knee; blood lineage had given him title and purpose, but being his father's son would not win his peoples' respect.

"Then you must show them your worth; put what your father taught you to good use. He was a fine leader, no one will deny that…but you carry a kindness that he never did. Compassion and fairness will win you the love of our people, not bloodshed," the man replied. Esmond was not one to bite his tongue, he spoke his mind truly and Algar was always grateful for it. Esmond focused his attention north, to the darkening clouds ahead, his expression somber.

"What would you have me do?" Algar asked him.

"You are our king, are you not?" Esmond asked with a hearty chuckle and raised brow, drawing in a heavy breath before he spoke words. "I know your concern; if we continue north, we could be sailing right into a storm."

"The ship cannot handle such damage."

"There may be a way, I know of a small patch of land to the east. It is rocky and the soil dry as ash, but it is rumored to outskirt a great forest, one that will give us direct passage to the mountain pass. We could surprise King Alec's forces and grasp a strong hold over his fortress."

Algar was open to the suggestion, as he did not want to endanger the lives of his kin without absolute cause. If they could avoid an incoming storm with an alternative route, it would be in their best interest to take it. Some of the men may not take kindly to his decision, but it was his duty as leader to make such calls.

"What say you, Algar?"

There was a long silence before either man said anything. Algar stared out into the vast ocean waves, his mind teetering on a decision. Esmond stood in silence, awaiting a word from his leader that he feared would never come. It was in that moment that Algar let out a heavy sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. He had to put his own desires aside and think of the best interest of his kin. Such a decision could set them back in their task, but it was better than risking their lives and gambling with Mother Nature.

"Take up the call; we sail east, until we are able to find safe harbor. From there, we will continue on foot. Any resources that we may find along the way will be ours for the taking. Anyone who does not comply with my wishes will answer to me. Inform whoever is steering this accursed vessel know that this is a direct order, not a suggestion."

It took many men struggling through the muck and icy water to anchor the ship to shore. Algar could tell from resentful glares that his men were not too pleased with him. Glancing at the heavy, dark cloud that formed in the distance, he knew he had made the right decision. Had they perished in a storm, his cause would be for nothing. The countless women, children and old left behind were depending on their safe return. He took his first step upon rocky soil, helping to tie one of the last ropes that he hoped would hold up for the time being.

At the sight of his men, Algar imagined he appeared as filthy, exhausted and hungry as the lot of them. The few months at sea had taken a toll on them; their resources were dwindling and some had already fallen victim to disease from poor living conditions. He could not afford to lose anyone; not if he hoped to defeat King Cyneric.

"Algar, look to the trees in the north! There is smoke!" one of the men called forth.

Gazing his direction forward, spouting forth from the canopy was a thin cloud of dark smoke. While this land appeared to be expired and perfect for wildfire, the smoke appeared to be small and contained…as if it was manmade. A crooked grin formed upon his lips as he glanced back at the blank faces, those whom looked to him for guidance. "We should begin our travels now while we still have daylight on our side; whatever is creating the smoke does not appear far, perhaps a few hours on foot. If there is any sign of a village, we will take what we need and continue onward."

"We have not had proper nourishment in days, and you wish for us to journey into unfamiliar territory? There is nothing for us here, only ocean water and ashen soil. Your poor judgment will lead us to our deaths," a cautious voice spoke. Algar looked to see Bard, the bastard son of Dallin, step forward. He and Dallin had followed his father loyally in the past, but Bard had trouble accepting new leadership. With his copper skin and dark waves of hair, the man looked as though he did not belong from birth. However, for whatever reason, Dallin had decided to claim him and raise him as his own. Despite their differences, Bard was one of his best hunters, and Algar knew better than to cause unnecessary quarrel.

"Then state your grievance, son of Dallin. If you claim to know better, what would you do in my place? We cannot stay here; whatever food we have left has rot. Had we sailed forward the storm could have left us stranded at sea, with no direction to take. I saw land, and opportunity, and therefore I took it. We need resources, and any able bodied men we can find for our cause. There may be some kind of a community north, and if we come upon nothing, I welcome you to place blame. Until I am proven wrong, hold your tongue." Algar's words were simple and his gaze sharp. His willingness to negotiate and ability to understand was often mistaken for fault. He was still learning, but had a will as strong as iron when it came to the best interests of his kin.

"Your father would have advised differently. How do you know that it is not Cyneric's forces that take refuge in these parts? We are weakened, and would not stand a chance. All I ask is that we consider staying here to rest and regain some strength." Bard's words seemed to resonate with the people, Algar could see it in their eyes; their thoughts were shifting. He did not have the time to settle a manic crowd fueled by fear and uncertainty.

Algar shook his head, "We do not have the time. Dusk will be upon us soon and without shelter, nightfall would only be more treacherous. If it is enemy forces, we will destroy all who stand in our way. Those who do not resist must be shown mercy, and may be taken as prisoners. We do not have the time to sit and bicker like women. Your elders, wives and children are waiting for our return. What would happen to them if we allow uncertainty and fear to divide us?"

After a few moments, the men seemed to calm. Each had taken to their swords and axe, disappearing into the greenery, hacking away at the brush. Bard glanced at Algar before following suit. Only a few began their trek, and then clusters of men started to spread out, taking different routes to cover as much land as possible. He only hoped that what or who they came across were peaceful beings.