Hey guys. I'm sorry for the delay in posting and really in writing at all. I've had some personal stuff going on and honestly I'm not even sure its resolved yet. So, there's a chance that if things go badly I might be slow posting for a while. I'm going to finish the stories I've started though, I hate when authors leave things unfinished.

There's a direction I'm going with this and it's not... well, just whatever you think is? Please bear in mind that I'm not CS Lewising you, there's no hidden imagery or any subliminal messages. Just I have a plan with it and I hope it all makes sense by the end.

Content Warning: Violence, foreshadowing, plot, Viking mythology.


As the last of the direct sunlight bled from the sky Caleb Stonebrow completed pouring the wide salt circle around the village and stared out at the mountainous horizon. He was the village chief, he was descended from the two most powerful Viking heroes in living memory. And somewhere beneath all that he was still a scared little boy crawling into his mother's bed for a hug when the thunder woke him in the night. There was no point trying to hide the shaking in his shoulders or the evidence of tears on his cheeks when he heard footsteps approaching from behind him and besides, he didn't want to. It would be an insult to his mother's memory.

"I thought very highly of your mother, you know."

Caleb turned, although he already knew it was Queen Bubblegum who'd come to comfort him.

"I know. And she thought very highly of you. You're not as sweet and innocent as you seem, but Mom looked past that. She admired your strength and cunning. And your excellent taste in women."

He'd been hoping to raise a small smile but the pink woman simply hummed thoughtfully.

"She approved of my marriage?" she asked eventually, looking up to meet Caleb's lavender eyes again.

"Very much, your highness. She saw how much Marceline meant to you, how much you meant to each other. She knew that beneath all the rumours and misdirection you were both good women and fine rulers. Everyone benefits from having two such excellent queens leading us."

Caleb chose his words as carefully as he knew how, but it was evident that something he'd said was causing the woman discomfort. If he'd been a gambling man the big Viking might even have hedged that she was carefully concealing some terrible emotional pain beneath the calm exterior she projected. But he'd lost his mother not an hour earlier and Caleb couldn't bring himself to dwell on anything else for more than a couple of seconds. His hands felt strange, he realised. Warm, almost numb, so huge and strong and still unable to shape the world to how he wanted, a world where his mother still lived. How could her things still be in his parents' long house? Her clothes still held her shape and smell, the worn flesh of her body was still lying peacefully in her bed. But the spark that made her her, that was gone. Grief overwhelmed him like a sudden wave and he was pulled under, falling to his knees with the sobs that wracked his body as slim, pink arms wrapped him into a hug.

"I sh-shouldn't cry." he stuttered around his tears. "Mom went to the next life, she was a true warrior and she feasts with Odin Allfather in the eternal halls. B-but there's so much I wish I could have told her. She was my hero, she was my whole world when I was a child. How can someone just stop existing when they're loved so deeply? How can things just change in the blink of an eye like that?"

"How indeed." Bubblegum murmured, though it was mostly to herself. Her eyes were on the long house further into the village where a stranger she was married to comforted Olgar and prepared Eagle's body for her funeral pyre.

The salt circle was important, Bonnie knew. Night was falling and they would need to be in the town square to tend to the funeral pyre. A blaze that big on the mountainside would attract attention from miles away and they wanted no gate crashers. Salt, sure, it sounded simple enough and it was a barrier more usually used against demons. But it would work in a different way for the village, make the whole area within the huge salt circle a single dwelling place for those inside for the night. And that meant no vampires could enter without permission. Bonnie was trying to ignore the nagging thought in the back of her mind that told her it would also trap her there all night with Marceline. There was just no avoiding the grey woman, as much as she'd have liked to. Bonnie didn't enjoy causing anyone pain and the agony was obvious in the other woman's green eyes whenever they had to be close. But as she'd always been aware, responsibility demanded sacrifice and this time her responsibility to the mountain Vikings and t Olgar meant sacrificing her own persona; comfort. A vivid flashback to that awful night when Matilda had found her cradling her own severed hand on the forest floor burst across her mind; no, not Matilda, she knew that really it had been Marceline-

Bonnie fell to her knees with a muted cry as the conflict of memories seared through her brain like a lightning strike. Caleb was scrambling to his feet and for a stomach churning moment her vision turned white with agony until she regained some internal equilibrium and shook her head to his hurried inquiry.

"No, I'm fine, just a headache. I get them a lot, since my injury." she explained hurriedly. "I'm fine now, really. We'd better get back to the village square."

As they approached it was obvious that Phoebe, Astrid and Marceline had finished preparing Eagle's body for cremation; the dead woman lay pale and peaceful atop a pyre of fir logs and kindling large enough to half fill the square. The heat from the blaze would be vicious when it reached its peak and nobody but Olgar would stand in its glow for long. That was his right as Elder and bereaved husband.

Caleb took his place next to his father and sister as the rest of the villagers ringed them in silent respect, heads bowed and bare. Bonnie felt Jake's paw slither into her hand and she gave him a gentle squeeze in thanks for the comfort as Olgar began to speak in a loud, carrying voice.

"Odin Allfather, hear my prayer. At this time a great warrior lies slain in righteous battle. I have shed the hot blood of foes with this woman and felt the strength of her arm and sword. She has taken many mortal wounds and survived by means of magic alone; her place in Valhalla has been bought and paid for many times over. Odin, take this daughter of the sea into the sacred halls of Valhalla that she may feast for time eternal with the heroes of old. Odin, let your Valkyries descend and claim her undying soul, let her rest in the halls of our fathers. I shed my blood to you in sacrifice, Odin Allfather. I am Olgar, son of Harald the Hero, devoted husband of Eagle Mask The Fearsome. Accept my blood and take this soul. A worthier warrior has never given herself to battle. So I pray, Allfather."

He pulled the same old carved hunting knife from its place at the side of his boot and ran the blade across his palm, squeezing a few drop of his own blood onto Eagle's still, peaceful face and using his fingertip to carefully draw the three interlocking triangles of the valknut onto her cold cheek just as he had for Marceline years earlier. As he had so many times in his long life, for his father and mother, his brothers and more kinsmen and comrades than he could count. The valknut would allow her soul into Valhalla whenever she chose to come; he knew there was still more of his wife's journey for her to walk in another world. But he also had faith he would see her again in the halls of the Allfather. Eagle was steadfast, as steadfast in love as she had been in all things. Truly she had been the most honourable of the Honour Guard.

Olgar took the flaming torch that his son handed him and held it to the kindling until the pyre caught then stood back as the sacred flames grew around his wife's body. He knew just as much as anyone else that they would attract unwanted attention with the smoke and light but just for one night he had no strength to fight. Olgar stood facing the blaze as it grew fiercer and let the heat from the fire scour the steady trickle of tears that streamed down his face. He would not leave her side until the ashes were cold, or until undead hands tore him away if their defenses failed. And he would welcome a glorious death in battle as all true Vikings did if that was what the Norns, the ancient Viking goddesses of fate, had woven into the fabric of his future. For tonight though Olgar knew what his destiny was; he would be a grieving widower. As the fire grew and night fell he stood facing the flames. He didn't even turn hours later when the sounds of battle thickened the air around him.

...

"A salt circle to keep us out. Clever."

"Not clever enough. Come on out and fight like a real vampire. What you so afraid of, huh? Afraid we'll kick your ass?"

Marceline didn't bother to reply; the Zeta Psi vamps couldn't do more than taunt her as they had for hours. Everyone else had retreated to the very centre of the village and she only approached them under cover of invisibility just in case they had some unknown Talent that could compel her to cross the salt circle. They didn't even know for sure she was there, they were just shouting insults at the air in hopes she could hear them. And she was mad, mad enough to consider going out there and killing them despite all her instincts telling her to stay safe and not take unnecessary risks. But it was worth waiting when after three hours of the two Zeta Psi scouts yelling insults they finally turned to one another, defeated.

"So... what now? We're supposed to just waste a night's hunting?" the shorter scout asked his companion.

"Guess so. Garrett said to stay put, you can't seriously be thinking about going against his orders, right? Besides we have plenty of cattle to eat back at base, should've filed up before we headed out if you were hungry." the other scout shrugged.

"And miss out on the opportunity for a genuine hunt? You've got no imagination, Frank. There's a whole village of big, feral semi-humans just past this barrier. How long has it been since we tasted wild blood? If there's one village of them then there's bound to be more. I say we ditch this place and go find somewhere less defended. Take them by surprise. The queen isn't going anywhere tonight, she's holed up here with her dumb kids. Go out, hunt for a while, drink our fill and be back here in a couple of hours. Then report back by daylight that there was no movement. Garrett won't ever need to know."

"Garrett always knows, you idiot! And what if you lose track of time again? What if someone hears about our little detour? Stop thinking with your fangs, man. You're gonna get us both killed or-"

He didn't finish the sentence because next second his head had spun away from his body in a spray of cold blood and even as he slumped to the floor in a pile of ashes Marceline was sliding back into visibility and hauling her axe back up into position to deal with the second scout.

"Should have listened to him, Frank." she growled with a satisfied grin for finally having the opportunity to take her many frustrations out on someone.

"SHE'S PAST THE CIRCLE! QUICK, GET-"

Frank's head came loose too and before it hit the ground she was back within the safety of the salt ring and invisible again. They wanted to make themselves easy targets? That was fine by Marceline. She stiffened in surprise at the next noise that floated through the night though. Frank's yell must have alert someone on the other side of the circle. It sounded like howling. And then she remembered that the rebels had werewolves and werewolves weren't undead in the same way, they could cross any line they wanted and dammit she was so fucking stupid for not thinking of that-

Heavily armed Viking warriors were already pouring out of their long houses when she turned in horror back to the main square. The crackle of Eagle's funeral pyre was lost among the yelling and snarling, howling, the clash of metal on bone and fangs on flesh. And no, the kids were there and Bonnie was leading a charge forward armed with a short Viking style sword, the last thing Marceline had ever wanted was her family to be in the thick of the fighting. She rushed forward with a scream and split open the skull of the first wolf to leap with bared fangs at her wife's throat.

"GET BACK INSIDE!" Marceline yelled between wild swings of her axe.

"NOT A CHANCE! WE'RE UNDER ATTACK, WE ALL NEED TO FIGHT!" Bonnie yelled back furiously. Next second she'd darted in front of Phoebe's exposed side and caught a lunging wolf in the jaw with the sword. It fell back with a whimper and Phoebe whirled on the fallen wolf in horror.

"Mama, no! They don't want to attack us, they're being forced!"

"If you won't fight then get back in the long house!"

"Mama-"

"I'm not asking you, Phoebe! I'm ordering! Inside, now! Take your little brother!"

It looked like the fire woman wanted to argue but Nia swept out of the darkness and in a single instant locked eyes with her queen, nodded and then flung an arm each around Finn and Phoebe and carried them back to safety inside the main village hall. There was no more time to argue because another wave of snarling wolves had sprung from the darkness and without a second thought Bonnie caught one through its exposed underside when it lunged at Marceline's back.

Just like old times, the ghost of a memory in the back of her brain whispered. Except, no, because Matilda was her wife not-

She fell to the ground screaming against the instantaneous agony tearing through her brain and it was only Marcy's quick dive and spiral up until they were far above the village rooftops that prevented her meeting the waiting wolf fangs.

"You have to stop thinking about her, it's fucking your brain up every time." Marceline told her hurriedly, keeping her eyes averted. Logically Bonnie knew the other woman was right and the rational part of herself agreed. But how could she just avoid thinking at a time like this, when she'd been a moment away from losing her wife- no, a stranger- but-

"Bon! Seriously, focus on the werewolves!"

Bonnie became aware that someone was yelling at her and shaking her by the shoulders. She must have blacked out with pain.

"...Need my sword." she muttered.

"In a moment. What you need is to recover, there are plenty of people holding off the attack. No vampires can get in and there's only a few wolves. It's not full moon, this is a voluntary transformation. They're still in their own minds. And maybe Phoebe was right, they don't seem to have the same bloodlust I'd have expected from a pack of werewolves."

"So then if they're being forced to attack us why would the vampires send in a group of unwilling slaves? Alone and unsupervised to the people most likely to give them shelter? Unless..." Bonnie broke off, staring out into the night.

"Unless...?" Marceline prompted.

"They're a distraction. Send in some wolves to keep us busy while th vampires find a way to get past the salt circle. The werewolves are fighting out of fear because they know any minute now their vampire masters are going to break through. Oh fuck- CALEB! THE CIRCLE IS BREAKING!"

The warning came too late; a moment later twenty or more Zeta Psi vampires hurtled out of the darkness to reinforce the wolves. Marceline didn't stop to find out how they'd gotten past the circle. She needed to get back to the fighting. Later she'd remember it in weirdly specific detail; the roughness of the leather grip when she tightened her fist around the neck of her axe, the frenzied pump of Bonnie's heart against her vampire awareness as adrenaline surged through the other woman, the fierce heat of the fire at her back mingling with the cold mountain breeze that stung the corners of her eyes blowing from the north. Then everything blurred together like time had sped up and she was back on the ground with the familiar clouds of fresh vampire ashes covering her face and hands when rebel after rebel lost their head or heart to her axe. Bonnie was somewhere in the fighting too, she'd reclaimed her sword and pushed back into the fray. Marceline tripped on a fallen body; she didn't stop to see if it was werewolf or Viking. Not vampire, she knew that because it hadn't turned to ash, but someone was dead and they would need to build more funeral pyres come morning.

And then the night turned an unnatural dark and a voice she hadn't heard thicken with bloodlust in centuries was in her ear, telling her to get her wife inside, get the holy woman and the water witch. For a second it made no sense until she realised it was Johnson who'd spoken as he changed his shape in front of her. An involuntary shiver went down her spine as the call to retreat was raised. The Plague Lord was finally restored to the height of his power and not a single ally could be left behind in his path. Marceline looked around through the panic until she saw a flash of pink, grabbed her wife as hurriedly as she could and hacked a corridor through the press of rebel bodies to the central long house.

...

"What's he doing?" Finn breathed, staring out of the window beneath Nia's arm. She shivered at the question. It brought back a thousand memories more horrific than she'd ever wanted to relive.

"Safe-Deliverance Johnson is a man with a tragic past, little prince. We are all people who have lived through things." she replied, never taking her eyes off the tall, gaunt figure now surrounded by swirling clouds of darkness. "He was the sole survivor of a devastating plague as a child and wherever he went sickness and death soon followed. By the time he was bitten Johnson believed himself cursed. And when his Talent manifested... Did you know that ancient humans used to fear vampires as the bringers of epidemic diseases? And that was because of Johnson. Keep watching, boy, he will demonstrate for you."

Finn barely even registered that the door of the long house had opened and his parents had tumbled inside along with his older brother and most of the Vikings. Marceline was barking orders and shouting for Canyon and Olgar's daughter Astrid of all people; it made no sense but Finn didn't have time to wonder what his Mom was up to because Johnson had turned in the firelight and the young prince caught his breath when he saw the man's face.

"The Plague Lord." Nia murmured reverently.

"What happened to him?" Phoebe gasped.

"Johnson was damaged as a human by what he lived through. We all were, all us vampires. Maybe it's just dumb luck but each and everyone of us has been through darkness on our journey to undeath. Everywhere he went afterward his family died sickness and death followed until by the time he was bitten he believed himself cursed. His Talent is his disease, all diseases. Did you not wonder why only he, Lady Bysshe and myself had come to your mother's aid so far? It is because of all her subjects we were most faithful. The fated ones. We saw her for what she was and know ourselves for what we are. Johnson has memorized every word of the ancient books of prophecy, he knows who he is and what his fate will be. Elliot also knows though she denies it to her last from fear. She was the one who brought us the red-drinking and caused the great famine that began this war too many years ago. And for myself... They cut me as a child. Did you know that?"

Finn shook his head, he was confused but he couldn't tear his eyes away from the grotesque figure in the firelight that had once been his undead bodyguard. Johnson's skin hung in loose grey folds from his bones and where the shadow caught the lines of his face huge open welts could be seen leaking pus and poison. His fingers had elongated into twisted claws and a miasma of swirling blackness around his was melting the flesh of the few unlucky Zeta Psi rebels who hadn't turned tail and ran at the sight of him. When the flesh had gone their bones began to slowly liquefy and Finn swallowed down vomit but he still couldn't look away.

"I was six years old. My mother took me to the medicine woman and they did unspeakable things to me. I was told it was tradition and I did not question it, not until I held my own daughter in my arms just ten years later and swore I would hunt down and kill ever butcher who ever laid a blade against the skin of a child. It caused a war in my village and soon the whole country was in turmoil. And I was bitten and became a vampire. It took a long time to develop the Talent of knowing the past and future of a blade just from touching it and I used that to track down the descendants of the ones who'd hurt me. Thanks to Johnson's countrymen's insatiable hunger for slave grown sugar it took me another hundred years to find them. I drank the blood of every shaman and child butcher in the slave town before gorging myself on their masters. So began a series of bloody revolts. After I'd had my fill I came to the mainland from the sugar islands just in time to see an eruption of violence over whether my race should be kept as possessions by his race. War follows me just as disease follows Johnson and hunger follows Lady Bysshe. And we all follow your mother. Do you understand?" Nia finished, turning to fix him with her fathomless, bewitching stare.

"No." Finn replied honestly.

"But you will. When the time is right. Your mother herself doesn't believe, not yet, not until the end. But Johnson and I, we have seen it from the start. And that is why we knew this war was coming. And you... I have been trying to figure out where you fit into this, Prince Finn. And I have a theory. You are as innocent as a lamb, pure in blood and intent. And-"

"Finn! Are you hurt? Oh Grod, I was so worried. Come away, don't look. Johnson's Talent is disgusting, he'll destroy them in the worst possible ways. The battle's over, where's your brother?"

It was Marceline, flinging her arms around his neck in relief and hugging him close before pulling Phoebe into the same embrace. Jake stepped forward out of the crowd of confused Vikings who'd also flooded the hall with his left paw in a makeshift sling but still walking under his own power.

"Here. Its not as bad as it looks, I caught the edge of a boot when I was stretched and I think I sprained my paw. Where's Mama?"

"She's over there, she's pissed I pulled her out of the fight when her pain came on suddenly." Marcy replied, indicating the other side of the room where her estranged wife was standing next to Billy with her back to them all talking in an urgent whisper to Astrid and Canyon. Astrid pulled out a blade similar to her father's and slashed across her palm with deft efficiency. Every vampire in the room tensed visibly and turned away from the fresh blood that she squeezed into the villge's huge water tank at the end of the room.

"Rán, mother of oceans. By your blessing let the unclean be cleansed and accept the gift of the dead into your cold embrace. By my blood let these waters act as a conduit for your eternal power, in the name of the Vikingfolk and Odin Allfather. I am Astrid Warhawk, daughter of Eagle Mask the Fearsome. Accept my offering and bless these waters with your power." Astrid announced in a ringing voice.

"Of course. Holy water." Marceline murmured to herself. It was almost like a ghost of her old smile flickered across her face for a moment before she turned back to her children. "Now you'll get to see what simple unthinking belief will do to people who allow it to have power over them. The vampires believe water carrying the blessing of a deity can harm them and so it will. Watch. Johnson will be gettint too tired to keep going soon, he can't maintain his Talent alone without consuming blood and he won't break his vow. This should hold off the rest of them until sunrise."

As she'd been explaining Astrid and Canyon were struggling outside carrying the huge vat of holy water between them, keeping well back from the swirling black mass of poison that indicated Johnson had fallen to his knees from the strain. And with her arms stretched out to the sky Canyon closed her eyes in concentration. The water rose from its wooden tub in a lazy wave and hung in the air for a moment.

"By the power of Rán, the ancient Groddess of the oceans, this water carries the blessing of the divine! Let the waters of Rán wash away the unclean!" Astrid announced as loudly as possible. There was a pause, and then Canyon opened her eyes and the water flew in every direction around them and only just over the top of Johnson's bowed head, away into the gloom even as the sky in the east brightened with the approaching daybreak. There was simply no more time for the rebels to attack, the few who hadn't already slunk back to their Sire were either burned by the holy water or the growing sunlight. The first light of day brought the first real victory in the war but when Marceline remembered the way Bonnie had shrunk back from her the moment her feet retouched the ground it felt more like a defeat.