Things had fallen into a deathly silence since the battle had come to an end, all except for the roar of crackling fires that still ravaged the market places and winding streets of the Walled City.

Those who were not caught up in their lust for gold were quickly organizing to control and put out the fires where they could. Viking warriors of Bilrost and Thurshamrar worked together to bring buckets of water from the wells, or to break down already half-burned and crumbled buildings before the fires could spread. What Sea Eagle warriors that seemed to take notice of the danger simply set the remnants of the fire worshipers left in the city to work. They beat the cowering citizens into submission as prisoners of war until they had no choice but to face the inferno of destruction their old masters had wrought.

Erik Golden-Shield walked proudly through it all, surrounded by his boisterous warriors who shined like victory in the firelight. They beat their spears upon their shields and shouted Erik's name in exultation, heralding his approach to the vault where his eagle banners already hung from the parapets and towers.

The vault was his. The city was his, and any who occupied it were beholden to his good will and generous nature to continue on with their miserable lives.

Far behind the golden-crowned king, Herleif and Gunnar followed through the crowded streets. They did not walk with such fanfare or revelry. Their walk was made in grim silence, eyes fixed forward as the ruined city suffered in wounded agony around them. Shouldering his axe, Gunnar leaned in close and spoke softly to his brother, as if the threat of the Divine Pyre had now shifted to a whole new enemy after their defeat.

"How do we handle this? Erik will be counting every piece of hack silver and gold coin out of the vault. I don't know about you, but I would see us far away from this place with our cut of the treasure as soon as possible," Gunnar said.

Herleif did not look at his brother when he answered. "We will take what we are owed and be gone in good time, but I suspect we will be given no leave until our good King deems it so. Nothing will be done until Erik has Apollyon's armor, of that you can be sure."

Gunnar grew quiet again, and they walked on rounding one corner of the street then another, winding their way through the corpse of the Walled city as the evidence of their battle crowded their feet with broken rubble and mangled bodies.

"Herleif, you need to know...about the vault..."

"Silence," Herleif hissed, shoulders hunching as he pressed on. "If there is anyone who's council I have no more need for, it is you. According to you, this is the way of true Vikings, to follow as the lapdog of a king who gladly steps upon the backs of his warriors to achieve his glory. I should have never listened to you when you came offering up this mad man's invitation."

Gunnar set his jaw and dipped his head, his frustration mounting with each step. "It was not my decision alone to come. I am not the one who is Jarl of Bilrost, as you so often remind me."

"Because of you, I am barely even that anymore."

Gunnar stopped in his tracks as Herleif continued to walk on, unable to take another step for the guilt and rage building inside of him. The crowd continued to move around him, swallowing him up like a stone dropped into the ocean until he was nearly left behind. He stood frozen, preferring to stare at the ground rather than look into the faces of the comrades he had failed, the shield brothers and sisters he had led into this cursed conflict of kings and cultists. The heat of the fires was nothing compared to the burning shame he felt as the moments passed by in simmering anguish.

A hand landed on his shoulder, making him flinch. Reality came crashing back to him, most strikingly in the image of Coal now standing by his side and giving his shoulder a pat. Gunnar could see his dark eyes through the thin slits in his capped helmet, glinting with a knowing sense of pity that was strange coming from someone who had suffered so much in life himself.

"Doing alright, big man? You look overly concerned for someone who has survived a battle with all his guts and limbs still where they should be," Coal said.

Gunnar grinned. It was a funny feeling, but somehow he felt more at ease now in the company of a Knight than his own brother and kinsmen. Even with his face hidden within a helmet of cold metal, he felt no judgment coming from Coal, no disdain. They had fought together shoulder to shoulder, and that was all that mattered. He finally relaxed, shoulders sagging as he let out a long, slow breath.

"I will be fine. As you say, what reason should I have to be concerned over anything now? Me especially. I have my glory and soon my treasure. The Æsir will sing my name in Valhǫll this day, and I will be content," he said.

Coal nodded, then looked up the street of marching Vikings and Lion Flame Knights. "Can't argue with that. But...having a brother to stand at your side sounds pretty good too."

"Ha! And what would you know of having brothers? You told me your family was all dead."

"True, but I know about being a drengr...or so I'm told," shrugged Coal. "Same thing, right?"

Gunnar nodded and smiled, feeling all the better just for the few words exchanged in kindness between them. "A Knight drengr...that is truly a tale for the sagas. I would say you are right. I am sure you know all about having a brother by your side after all."

Coal clapped his shoulder again and squeezed, and they took a step forward together with their heads held high. That was when Gunnar noticed just who was missing from their side at that very moment. His laughter faded away as he looked about, perplexed at finding Coal alone when the city was still far from a safe place for the renegade Knights.

"Priscilla?" he asked, looking around again before turning on Coal. "Where..?"

They stopped their walk without even making it around the next corner, Coal just making it one more step before he slung his flail over his shoulder and sighed. "Yeah, about that...promise you won't tell?"

Herleif walked up the steps leading to the vault, gazing up at the bodies of the Pyre Knights who had already been strung up from the tower's entrance. To either side of him, Sea Eagle warriors lined the steps from bottom to top. A small army in and of itself had been left to guard the sealed treasure, rather than aid him or Ivar in securing the city keep and seeing the Pyre put to the sword once and for all.

It made Herleif's blood boil to see it, but he walked up the stairs and beneath the hanging bodies without a word all the same.

Torches lit the hall that turned to the left within the tower's base, and from there passed through an archway and into an open space with a vaulted ceiling. If he had thought that the outside of the tower had been well guarded, then Erik's forces appeared as if they were ready to make a last stand against the children of Loki for how cramped it was in the otherwise spacious room. Dozens of warriors from all three clans packed in from wall to wall, clamoring to get a glimpse at the vault door and the treasure horde inside once it was finally open.

Herleif had to push his way towards the far end of the room where he saw the gleam of Erik's crown glowing in the torchlight. Skuld followed after him, her silver spear rising above the crowd like a star to navigate by, until at last they made it to the solid metal door of the vault. Where Gunnar was he did not know or care, but he suspected it was with his new precious friends among the Lion Flame Legion. He frowned at the thought, but did not let himself dwell on it for long. There were bigger concerns to deal with at the moment than whether his brother's head was stuck so far his own ass to see the right path ahead of him. Herleif had his own road to walk, and it was shrouded enough as is without his brother's troubles complicating matters.

Approaching the door through the crowd Herleif looked up in awe, his woes of the battle replaced with his worry that anything so solid and immovable could ever be breached. Upon the door's broad surface was etched the images of two mounted Knights, their wide eyed steeds reared up in mock battle as their lances crisscrossed from one corner to the other. The look of their armor was old, and the plumes upon their helmets gaudy, but the detail etched into the metal surface was exquisite in its craft. Such beautiful imagery was hard to find in Heathmoor these days, when peace was as much a relic from the time before the Cataclysm as the Walled City itself. Too bad it had to stand in their way, but they had come here for greater rewards than the artwork of a lost age.

"They should have used this at the gate. Maybe it would have saved them and left us still stuck outside the walls," he said, unable to look away from the last obstacle standing between them and their prize.

"Lucky for us they did not," Erik said, fiddling with the key in his hand as he too looked over the vault door. "And luckily we have this."

A hushed silence fell over the room as the three clans collectively looked on in anticipation of what they had traveled so far to claim. All the blood, all the sacrifice was for this moment. Victory was theirs, along with all the glory that would put them into sagas for ages to come, but this vault was a prize that could not be dispelled. For many here, the gold that one could hold in their hands was far more valuable than any glorious song uttered in some drunken tavern up in the cold north.

Ivar shouldered his way through the crowd and took one look around at everyone just staring. "Yes, this ugly door is everything I imagined it would be...maybe if we stare at it long enough it will grow legs and walk away. Who the fuck is this?"

He nodded down at the body of a dead Knight that sat propped up against the vault door. They were big, almost as big as Kazamir had been, with roughly crafted armor and a bucket helm similar to a Conqueror and a bloodied longsword just out of reach from their still hand. A dozen arrows punctured their body, sticking from torso and limb like the spines of some giant porcupine.

Erik looked down and snorted a laugh. "A guardian, not that his protection was worth much. He fought like a cornered wolf though, and felled six of my own húskarl before he was finally killed."

"From a distance, it seems," grunted Ivar.

Old Wolf gave Ivar a dirty look on his master's behalf, frowning beneath his white beard. He began to prowl around the gathered Jarls, his imposing size moving anyone who stood before him out of the way, that is until he came to Skuld. The Valkyrie did not move an inch, causing Old Wolf to stop short. He glared down at her, fingers tight around the grip of his shouldered claymore, but Skuld gave no notice of his displeasure. She calmly turned her head to look at him, eyes impassive and unimpressed beneath her faceless helmet, until sheer awkwardness drove the Highlander to simply continue his brooding next to her with a low grumble of annoyance.

With the spell of the vault broken by Ivar's little commentary, Erik took a step closer to the door with the key. Magnus moved with him, earning a dark look from the king that made his son shrink back at first, but then he quickly took another step and slid a panel aside that was fixed into the door. Behind the panel was a keyhole, at which Magnus gestured with his hand and gave a polite bow of his head.

"The honor is yours, my King," Magnus said.

Erik still frowned at his son for another moment, then gave a benevolent smile and slid the key into the lock with satisfying certainty. He grinned openly now, fingers pressed tight around the dark iron of the key as he reveled in this last moment of anticipation before the wealth of half a kingdom was his. "Finally, the armor of Apollyon is mine..."

He twisted the key in the lock, and the surrounding crowd held their breath as a resounding 'clack' echoed in the chamber. A loud, dull 'clack', that to a room full of seafaring raiders who had all had their fair share of experience opening locked chests of plunder over a long history of treasure taking did not sound like the sure-fire 'click' of said lock being open. More than a few people watching scowled with uncertainty, which very quickly gave way to full on confusion as the door to the vault remained steadfastly shut before them.

Still smiling, as if there could be no other outcome than success, Erik turned the key again, finding only the same dull 'clack' of metal only slightly knocking against metal echoed in answer. His smile slipped away and he turned the key again, answered by another quick 'clack'. He turned the key once again, and heard another 'clack', then another, and another, and another. Over and over again, twist and clack, twist and clack, until Erik put his whole body into the simple motion only to achieve the same results. He let out a sharp yell of frustration, until finally he stepped away from the door in a huff, the key left sticking out of the lock in mock promise of its intended purpose to reveal his prize. His shoulders rose and fell with his panting fury, and there was no doubt to anyone who watched that if he could wield his sword to bring torment and death to the solid door for its defiance, the Golden King most certainly would not hesitate to do so.

Magnus looked at the key then up to the looming door, scratching his beard in thought with his lip curled. "Well...that's not good."

Erik spun and backhanded his son to the ground, letting out an even more furious yell than the last.

"What is the meaning of this!?" Erik snarled, looking up at the door with eyes full of unbridled fury. "This city is mine! The key is mine! This fucking vault is mine! I demand that it is opened, now!"

At once the surrounding Sea-Eagle warriors and húskarl all took a collective step back from the irate king. Even Old Wolf averted his gaze and seemed to shrink back in stark contrast to all of his earlier bravado, leaving Skuld to watch him go with a wide-eyed look that almost conjured a feeling of amusement.

Herleif frowned up at the door, and at the king, unsure if he should consider this new turn of bad luck part of what he was growing accustomed to as being part of Erik's retinue. He grumbled and sighed, then spotted something nestled within the intricate etching of one of the saddles the engraved Knights sat upon. He squinted in the flickering lights of the torches, moving in closer and giving Erik plenty of space. Stepping right over Magnus to the door, he actually had to stand up on his toes to reach what he was looking at. Unlike the other, this was not hidden behind a panel, but rather hidden among the artwork and meant to be overlooked by anyone who may not have a mind to search.

"Here," he said, reaching his hand up to the door, he touched at the slim hole in the metal surface. He was barely able to fit his the tip of his little finger inside before he took a step away, clapping his hands together to get rid of the dust that had built up on the door's surface in the gloom of the chamber. "Another lock. Looks like we are in need of a second key to open the door."

"A second key!?" roared Erik, shoving Herleif aside to take a closer look for himself. "Two fucking keys!? Damn the Knight's treachery! What is the point of two keys when one will do?"

"It is a big fucking door," Ivar muttered, dark eyes sliding over the great expanse of the metal door.

Herleif shook his head, tugging at his beard in frustration. "We should have expected this. No stronghold this old would be so easy to break. This is a mechanism from before the Cataclysm, to be sure. The Pyre did well to chose this city as their own."

Erik ground his teeth and beat his fists upon the door. "Blast expectation! The city is ours, and the key must be here somewhere!" Turning on his warriors, he went at them like a bull about to charge, leaving all who stood before him to cower behind their shields at his wrath. Gone was the kind and benevolent ruler happy to share in the spoils of his victory. Now there was only the greed and the desperation, the need to have everything of worth within his grasp at whatever cost. "Search the entire city! Question every cultist still breathing within these walls! Bleed them if you must, but find that fucking key and bring it to me before days end!"

"Half the city is still burning from the Pyre's weapons! There is no way we could conduct such a thorough search with this much chaos still going on." Herleif said, hoping in vain that Erik might see sense. "We need to regroup. Gather our dead and secure what followers of the volcano made it through the battle alive. It could be days before we find anything in a city this size. We need to prepare if we intend to stay."

"I would have you stick your head into the flames themselves if it meant searching every bit of this worthless city! That key will be found, and it will be found now, or all the power of the Æsir and Vanir will not save you from my wrath!"

Herleif scowled back at Erik, in yet another staring contest where one ill-mannered word could be the difference between life and death. At this point though, after all he had lost to Erik's greed, he felt that there was little left to be taken from him beyond his own measure of self worth and pride.

"I will do what I must, but I will do it in a way that best serves all of us as a whole. That is what I will do for you, my King," he said pointedly.

Erik took a step closer, his rage seething like the volcano itself about to burst. "I do not care if you must march all the way back to the keep and cut open Kazamir's belly yourself to search through his putrid guts. Find me that key!"

"The keep," said Ivar with a rasp just loud enough to steal Erik and Herleif's attention from each other. "The tower...the High Priest is sure to have the other key."

Erik's eyes went wide with realization and horror, and when he spoke his voice was a ghost of its former self to even give Ivar's gravelly tone a run for its coin. "The priest? Osric! We forgot about the fucking priest!"

He immediately whirled on Magnus again who was quietly nursing a bloody lip and began to beat at him harder than before. "You daft, useless boy! You forgot about the High Priest! Do you delight in making me look the fool!?" Magnus cowered before his father's assault, until finally Erik turned and glared hatefully at everyone gathered around him, his knuckles slick with fresh blood. "And here you all stand gawking...why!? Go! Back to the keep! Bring me Osric's accursed head, and tear apart that tower until the fucking key is found!"

All at once there was a great commotion of movement as everyone seemed to spill out of the chamber together. Shields knocked together, and more than once there was an angry shout as someone was pushed or kicked out of the way. Old Wolf was already barking orders and shouting threats of what would happen if the Erik's demands were not met, while Skuld quickly perched herself up in an alcove to take the place of a once present statue to oversee the stampede of shields and spears out the arched door. When they were all gone she gave Herleif a quick look then followed so that only the king's own húskarl were left guarding the vault.

Erik continued to seethe in anger, glaring up at the door in utter contempt of its existence just before he realized that Herleif and Ivar both remained. "Do you both think yourselves to be exempt of my order? Go and find me my key, or I will have you carving your way through this door with your fucking teeth!"

Herleif clenched his jaw tight, willing himself to say no more and stoke Erik's anger to greater heights than it already was. He shared a glance with Ivar, and then with a curt bow of his head they both turned and walked back out the way they had come in. It was just when they passed under the arched doorway that he caught a hint of Erik's low growling above the sound of Magnus' whimper where he still lay.

"It will be mine..." Erik muttered feverishly before the vault door. "The vault...the armor...it will all be mine."

Ivar said nothing as they made their way outside to the open air and hanging bodies over the tower's entrance, and that suited Herleif just fine. It was not until they got back down to the street and he found Skuld there waiting for him that he thought it best they move forward with some semblance of a plan rather than each going their separate ways. It was an uncanny thought, but this last battle had proved Ivar to be more of a friend instead of the foe he was used too, although the bastard still had a quick tongue for colorful insults on a whim.

"I am going to see to my dead while making my way to the keep," he said to Ivar. "If the key is in that tower then it is not going anywhere soon, and neither is that priest. Erik can blow and bluster all he likes, but there is a way to do things after a battle and leaving our warriors out for the ravens to go treasure hunting will only bring us ill fortune from the gods."

Ivar spit on the ground before looking back across the city, up to the high tower that loomed up towards the sky. "Do what you fucking like, I'll get that damned key. Then I'll get my share of the prize and be away from this golden prick before he has a mind to make me one of his pathetic thralls just like you." He grinned at Herleif, yellow teeth showing in his black beard. "While you lot were so eager to be away from the shame of your dead, I left some of my boys behind to start taking a look through the tower. If that key is hidden somewhere in there, they'll find it, along with anything else of worth. Or at the very least they'll have a nice little chat with our dear priest Osric Ead. One that involves whatever bits of sharp metal they have on hand."

For once, Herleif found that was a plan that suited him and Ivar both just fine. "So be it. Do not let me stop you. I will tend to my own business then."

Ivar gave a little laugh before striding down the street after his own warriors. "Stop me? Not even if you tried, you old goat-fucker."

Herleif rolled his eyes as Ivar left, only to find them on the seax hanging from Skuld's belt as she watched without a word. He glanced up at her, mouth open to speak, to voice his frustration over her lack of action when he had Kazamir in his grasp. Surely he had been a mighty enough warrior to earn his wife's father his place in Valhalla. The battle was over, and they had won. What more could be done now to save Ander's legacy if there was no one left to sacrifice in his name?

Skuld stared pointedly back at him, her head cocked to the side just ever so slightly in full recognition of his grievance. Her knuckles turned white as she gripped her spear, and at once Herleif shut his mouth and turned away, letting both the vault and the seax slip from his mind as he went to see where best he could help those that truly needed it.

They did not make it far before they came across the the Lion Flame gathered together in a square just next to the vault. By the look of them they were all battered and beaten, their armor scratched and weapons nicked from the fierce fighting. There seemed to be fewer of them now, and Herleif couldn't help but feel a swell of pity for what they had lost. It was strange to think that in another life, another time, they most certainly would have been his enemy if they were ever to meet on the battlefield, but now he had fought beside them all across Ashfeld in a quest to rid the land of a greater evil, one that they most certainly had achieved by standing together as true warriors should.

As he walked among them, he wondered what they must think to finally stand in the conquered city of an enemy who had once driven them from their homeland in a vicious grab for power and religious dominance. How did they feel now that they no longer had a place in the homeland they had fought and bled to save, choosing to stand with heathen invaders as traitors when those who would label them as such simply sat by and did nothing. It was a bittersweet outcome to a war they surely had wished to have no part of, but that was the reality of their world now, and there was no denying that they were a true rebel legion in all aspects of their existence; lost to their own Kingdom's history despite the valiant intentions of their treacherous deeds.

To his surprise though he saw that Marcelo was working along with Ragnar to bring help to the wounded, the two of them passing off water and bandages to the Viking warriors who lined the streets seeking aid. Ragna had seemed to take the grim task upon herself of cauterizing the stump of a legion soldier's leg with the flat of an axe heated in a fire, and Helge was chewing a herb from one of her pouches to then spit and stick into the open wound of another Knight who kept their eyes squeezed shut rather than watch the process.

Likewise, a number of Lion Flame Lawbringers and Wardens were helping the warriors of Valkenheim organize and search the surrounding buildings for any lurking Pyre forces or the citizens who still hid within. They commanded easily, neither pressuring any northerner to act or cursing them for any lack of understanding between languages, but doing the best they could to see the task at hand carried out with the least amount of trouble for anyone involved.

The air stank of blood and death, but still these two once-opposing forces had come together to pick up what was left of this shattered city. They were enemies no longer, the bonds of brotherhood had slowly formed between them over the past weeks sailing and marching together halfway around the world. Herleif would have said it was something that needed to be seen to be believed, but he saw it now, and it filled Herleif's heart with pride to be a part of it.

Making his way further across the square, he caught sight of Lady Judith standing away from the rest. She was looking out over a slanted street that led out of the square and down towards the main gate, facing the plain that stretched out beyond the walls where their camp lay nestled against the golden glow of the sky as the sun sank low. Her back was turned to him, the loose hairs of her braid fluttering in the wind as her helmet sat at her feet. Herleif bid Skuld to remain behind, then quietly approached to stand next to the commander and gaze out over the open expanse of city scrub land before them.

"Quite the view. Perhaps this arid country does have some beauty to it after all," he said after a moment's silence, to which Judith only grunted in reply without taking her eyes away from the scene. Herleif bit at his lip, wondering if he should stay or leave her be, but could not bring himself to go just yet. "You fought well today. I know you hold no faith in the Allfather, but I know he is pleased with the grand battle fame we have made for ourselves today, your Knights included."

"Do you think my God is proud as well? Proud of all the blood we have spilt in his holy name?" Judith asked, glancing up towards the sky.

Herleif looked at her and shrugged. "That is not for me to say."

Judith nodded silently, seeming neither pleased or upset with that answer. They fell into yet more stillness as they stood together, until finally she let out a sigh and rubbed a gloved hand over her tired face, stopping a moment with her eyes covered.

"It is over," she said at last, blinking away the wetness in her eyes as she looked up again. "It is all finally over, and I do not know how I am supposed to feel. The Divine Pyre is no more, and what is left of this land can begin to heal...to find some semblance of what it was. But what now? What of my Knights?" then more quietly, "What of me?"

Herleif thought on that a moment, not wanting to give Judith a quick and hollow answer. The more he dwelled on it though the more he could come up with only one thing to tell her. "No matter what has happened here, between you and Erik and myself, you and your Knights have a place on my ship when we return home. I do not know what kind of future I can offer you, but if it is a new life that you seek away from this place, away from all the pain, the betrayal...you will have a chance of finding it in Bilrost. Of that I promise you."

"Thank you," Judith said, but there was no kindness in her voice or the quick steel gaze she gave him before shaking her head. "I should have expected this. I should have known..."

"Known what?"

"Just what we would lose by winning. Everything has changed now, Herleif. Everything... and it is as if I am only now realizing that none of it has anything to do with us. We have fought so hard, to the point of sacrificing everything for a kingdom that seemed to care nothing for us to begin with, only to have no claim over this victory for ourselves now that the deed is done. This fight was never for us, and now we are left with nothing at the end of it. Nothing but bitter hollowness and the memories of how things were."

Herleif tilted his chin up and gave a slow nod, standing shoulder to shoulder with Judith as they stared out together towards the slowly setting sun. "Not every battle we fight is for ourselves. Sometimes our victories belong to the ones we love and care for the most, because they are why we fight in the first place."

Judith did not reply, not at first. She just hung her head and took in a slow breath before letting it out again. "Did you get into the vault and find your treasure at last? Is Apollyon's armor as foreboding and magnificent as you all hoped?"

"Turns out we need a second key to open it. The door remains sealed tight for now. The whole thing has put Erik in a bit of a foul mood."

"Oh," Judith said without feeling. "To be honest, I cannot say that I much care."

Herleif could nod at that. He waited a polite amount of time to remain at Judith's side, then gave her a friendly smile before turning and walking back towards the square. His heart felt somewhat more heavy now for their conversation, but he hoped that Judith would find the peace she needed when all was said and done. There was not much he could offer her in a land that was not her own, but if she no longer had a home here he would not leave her and her Knights to wander aimless into the veil of obscurity and shame.

He had just rejoined Skuld when Gunnar and Coal crossed his path, carrying a fallen warrior between them. They set the body in line with the rest of the fallen to be prepared for the inevitable pyre that would be built, and Gunnar did his best to look anywhere but at Herleif as he stood.

Herleif might have felt a small bit of guilt at that, regardless of how he felt about his brother in that moment. He offered up a half smile that Gunnar did not return. "The vault is still shut, locked with two keys. We will have to wait to claim our treasure a little while longer."

"Guess a locked vault is as good a place as any to keep it," Gunnar grumbled.

"Erik is not pleased, to say the least."

"Finally, some news to put me in a good mood," Gunnar said as he frowned. Across the body from him Coal stretched his back and gave a groan. Herleif looked between the two of them, eyes narrowing to find one part of their usual trio missing from the gathered crowd.

"Where is the Peacekeeper?" he asked.

"How should I know?" Gunnar scowled, giving Herleif a withering look before showing his back to walk off with Coal. "Do I look like her fucking keeper?"

Herleif watched him go, the small hairs prickling on the back of his neck. He shuddered, letting the moment pass, then set his jaw and set off to find the best way to start helping his warriors recoup before he let himself go mad with the frustration he felt in dealing with his brother and his new troublesome friends.