Disclaimer: I don't own Vikings.

A/N: Be merciful on the Norwegian accents. To me, it sounds almost German, but they don't really seem to drop many letters, rather add some. So I did what I could. I hate when accents aren't written, so here goes nothing. In love with this show. In love with those men. In love with this plot. Starts at the beginning after Athelstan has become the slave of Ragnar. PS, doesn't that OC totally look like she could be Erik's daughter? Lol I saw it and I was like, holy crap, perfect.

Glory and Gore

I

"Iz that your priest?"

Bjorn looked over his shoulder and rolled his eyes, turning back to the girl who had a curiously raised eyebrow as the monk busied himself with gathering firewood a short distance away where the two young novice warriors readied themselves for their lesson with Lagertha. He was unaware of the conversation going on, having only arrived a few moons ago with his… master, Ragnar Lothbrok

"Yes, that iz him. Father brought him from the west. He iz our slave." The young blonde boy smirked then, knowing his friend would have fun with the next bit of information. "He iz also a Christian."

"A Christian?" the girl wondered, looking skeptical, as though the boy was teasing her. Though she was older by a few years, he had a knack for pulling the wool over her eyes on many frequent occasions, frustrating her, the hot headed thing she was, and generally making him pay for it when they met to spar.

"Go and azk him." The young man prompted, knowing that the monk would be intimidated by her, and feeling as though he was not quite ready to accept the slave into his father's household, though Ragnar did seem somewhat fascinated by him and his religion.

When Brita did nothing more than look in the newcomer's direction, Bjorn mocked her, aware her honor was something she took very seriously. "If you do not believe me, go! He speaks our language," the boy urged his friend. When she hesitated still; he teased her, believing she wouldn't allow her face to get any redder with suppressed cursing and possibly a few lashings with the flat side of her blade. Still, he continued. "Are you scared? Of a Christian priest? Odin is laughing at you right now."

"I am scared of no man, certainly not some stupid priest!" She must have said it louder than she'd meant, because the person in question looked their way, timidly, having understood the girl's outburst. He didn't know whom she was to the family he'd become a slave to, but something told the man she would be trouble for him.

The blue eyes of the monotheist watched cautiously as her footsteps patterned in his direction, her stride long and seemed to make her much more intimidating than she probably would look without that confidence. It was clear she was of a younger age, certainly older than Bjorn and Gyda, but not by much.

Dressed in obvious combative garb, it was hard to tell how big she actually was, the fur of her long vest disguising her body as broad and wide. Her legs seemed long, like the straight, golden tresses that fell all the way down to her waist in a sleek curtain. And though she looked as though she may be skinny, there was no doubt to him she was strong by the fierce stare in her stormy gray eyes, ones that seemed almost familiar.

Athelstan stood up straight as she stepped close to him, his back bending to keep a distance between them, one that made him feel at least a little safer. This apparent shieldmaiden seemed to be sizing him up for a reason unbeknownst to him.

"I am not scared of you Priest, or your Christian gods." She had her weapon at the ready, startling the poor man before her, who had never fought anyone in his life. Never before had a woman stricken fear into him this way, not even Lagertha, who seemed to be much like her, though not so aggressive.

"Brita, he iz no competition for you! Come here and fight a real fight." Spinning quickly, Brita saw the familiar smirk of Ragnar Lothbrok, wielding a battle-axe, doing some fancy handwork to make the maneuvering eye appealing. Unable to deny the honorable request and opportunity to fight with the man her father, and her whole family, including herself, pledged their allegiance to. One who was considered to be a best in the land, if not the sole holder of the title.

Again though, the monk found the steel eyes of the girl back on him before she pulled her hand from the hilt of her sword, doing as Ragnar had instructed and racing over to him, ready to spar with her superior. Not every woman was honored enough to be able to go on the summer raids, and fight alongside the warriors of her people, but she had been assured that once her father deemed her ready, she would be allowed to fight under the command of Ragnar, a soldier of her lands and servant of Lord Odin just like her father and brother.

Bjorn chuckled as Athelstan made his way over to him, looking quite stunned still. "Who is that?" he questioned, praying this wasn't a sister just returning from somewhere, and that he wouldn't have to see her continuously. Though he was unsure as to what he'd done to elicit such a predatory response from the female, but he was sure he hadn't done anything to her other than exist in her presence, and to him, that indicated this would likely be an ongoing interaction between them.

"Her name is Brita. She iz the daughter of Eric Marteinn. I am sure you could not forget him." The words triggered a memory of the day the ship had landed in these lands, the blonde-haired behemoth in question one of the more memorable members of the army that had invaded his home, being one of the first Athelstan had met, and also, because he was a monster of a man. He could picture the girl running into the arms of him as he stepped off the boat, then jumping on the back of her brother, Leif, one of the others, also a giant. It was clear where the girl had gotten her demeanor now. "Mother says she should be my wife one day." Bjorn kind of chuckled at his own joke, thinking the idea a little ridiculous at his age now. Though he felt like a man, and had even been acknowledged as one by his father, his hero, he was not ready for girls and the things they came with, the responsibilities of a family. The things having a woman meant in their society. He would be a warrior first, like his Uncle Rollo, ruthless and savage on the battlefield during the raids, bringing home mountains of treasures, and able bodied slaves. Then maybe he would take a wife. He would need to have sons eventually, after all. And he knew any children that came from he and Brita would be strong, a born warrior with a place in Valhalla already reserved for him though

"Well, she's quite an angry girl. Good luck with that," Athelstan said offhandedly, amazed to see her charging at his master with her blade, Ragnar hardly able to dodge the attacks half the time she was so quick, though he laughed as he evaded her, exuberated to see such a fierce young shieldmaiden his wife had maintained a large part in training while he had traveled west. He looked forward to the day her father stopped postponing her debut on an actual battlefield, intent on protecting his beautiful young girl as long as he could. Ragnar looked forward to the day she would fight alongside him, sure she would be a force to be reckoned with the same way Eric was, and her brother Leif as well. Having no sisters, and preferring to fight and hunt with the men of her household instead of stay home and do the cooking and fishing with her mother and grandmother, she had been catching up to the men her whole life, and it finally seemed she was almost ready.

Bjorn laughed, a little bit of a sneer almost on his face. "She smells your weakness Priest. You are like a fish in a barrel. All men fight here. And you, well…" Bjorn had not quite decided how much he liked this foreigner yet, so keeping him on his toes was amusing him. "You will have to learn to fight someday."

Athelstan watched as the boy pushed himself from the woodpile he'd been leaning on, watching the slave work as opposed to assisting, and trotted over to the duel, pulling his sword from the sheath and getting in on the action.

Though they were the words of a child, they had frightened him, the sickening feeling that sat in the pit of Athelstan's stomach telling him Bjorn was right, and if he were to be stuck here as a slave, perhaps the only way to survive in this world would be to fight eventually.

"My Lord, give me a sign," he prayed, quietly, closing his eyes for a brief moment and clutching his cross pendant.

There must be a reason he was here, enduring this. He just needed a sign.