Herleif Bjornson ran a soft cloth down the silver blade of his Ulfberht sword, polishing it to a sparkling shine.

The weight of the metal was familiar in his hand, like grasping an old friend in greeting. The black leather of the grip felt smooth under his fingers, and the amber stone set into the pommel gleamed like liquid fire in the light from the windows. Such a sword was beautiful when not stained with blood, and a terrible reminder of the price for glory when it was. Runes of protection and power had been etched along the bronze surface of the hilt, meant to invoke the power of the gods and bring him good fortune in war. It was an magnificent weapon, passed down through his line from father to son, until it had come to his hand.

That legacy scared Herleif now more than facing a wall of a thousand strong shields and deadly spears. With it came a weight of responsibility to his ancestors, to his people, one that grew heavier with each passing year.

Would his son hold this sword in his own hand someday? An heirloom to be cherished, maintained and treated with honor, just as Herleif was doing now. Or would fate leave it forgotten on some distant battlefield, or worse, taken as a prize from his own cold hand by some nameless enemy. Like so many things in life, that was something known only to the Norns.

Herleif could see his own reflection in the blade as he gave it one last pass with the cloth. The wrinkles under his eyes blending with the scars on his cheek as they disappeared into his dark brown beard. He was getting old, each passing season bringing closer the moment when he would leave this world and pass on this sword to his eldest son. It was a sobering thought, even in the quiet stillness of the morning.

Rising from his seat he placed the sword back into the wooden case that also held the black and silver scabbard. With a light touch and heavy reverence he set the blade down onto a fine blue cloth that lined the inside of the case, giving the weapon a respectful nod before closing the lid. A Warlord's sword was more then just a weapon for killing men. It was a symbol of his status and power, just like the shield that he would carry in his other hand.

His armor was arranged on a finely made wooden stand next to where the sword was displayed. Looking over the polished set, the empty eyes of the helmet stared back at him. Curved horns slid back against the domed top, and lining the center were the spines of a sea serpent who's bestial face was fixed in a primal snarl to stare down any foe that stood against him. His pauldrons were made from heavy studded leather over chainmail sleeves, and the cuirass was made up of tightly woven lamellar plates, complete with a broad belt around the middle. He'd had the set commissioned upon his ascension to becoming Jarl of his lands and leader of clan Tundra Tusk after his father.

It was on that day as well that he had become more then just a Warlord, more then just another shield in the wall. It was a title that many seasoned warriors of Valkenheim held, but only a few were considered true lords of men and sat in a high seat at the head of a great hall.

Herleif's eyes glanced up to his shield as it hung upon the wall over his sword, the image of the Vegvisir Compass clear upon its surface. The damage of the Raider's axe had been repaired, leaving behind no trace of his fierce battle with Sitvek Stone-Breaker, but he remembered.

He enjoyed spending time in his personal armory. It was quiet and peaceful, a place to reflect on the virtues of his people and the duty he carried as Jarl. They were a comfort to him, his weapons and armor, like old friends that he trusted just as much as any of his most loyal warriors.

It seemed that for now though his peace was not meant to last, as a húskarl dipped his head into the room with a look of urgency in his eyes. Herleif bid him to enter, and the guard approached with a respectful bow of his head.

"My Jarl, men have been spotted approaching from the mountains. They come bearing weapons and dressed in their war gear. Your brother has been seen leading them."

The initial dread that Herleif felt rise up in him at the guard's news of warriors approaching his gates came and went as quickly as waves crashed in a storm with that last bit of information.

"Is he now? And would it be Bilrost banners that these warriors are flying?" he asked, to which the housecarl quickly nodded in confirmation. Patting the húskarl on the shoulder, Herleif refrained from scolding the young man on his poor phrasing. "We should probably let them in then. Have the gate opened for their arrival. I will have a word with my wife to have the hall prepared. There will be a feast tonight to welcome my brother home, I am sure!" he exclaimed with a smile.

That seemed to put a smile on the húskarl's face, and hen gave another bow before he hurried off to carry out Herleif's orders.

The smile slipped from Herleif's face after the guard had gone. Giving a deep sigh, he wrapped a dark blue cloak with golden knotting around his shoulders and spared his war gear one last look before leaving the quiet and peaceful room.

It seemed that word of their visitors sudden appearance had made the rounds as quick as wild fire through a dry Ashfeld forest, and servants were busy making rooms ready and gathering food and drink before the warriors arrived. The morning sun was shining bright through the thin windows, adding to the light offered by the candles along the walls. It made the wooden hall feel warm and comfortable, something that Herleif contributed more to the efforts of his wife then any of his own.

The great hall of Brosmegard might be from where he ruled his ancestral hold of Bilrost, but as a home it belonged to Audhilda.

He came upon her at the hall's entry way, speaking to a few of her handmaidens and gesturing this way and that as she gave instruction to be carried out. No doubt she had already thrown herself headlong into the preparations for tonight's impromptu feast, showing no sign of concern or stress as she spoke. Like a seasoned commander Audhilda effectively saw that all of her plans were carried out to the letter and without any mistakes. No doubt his brother would scarcely realize just how much effort went into showing him the appropriate hospitality he was due on his return from wandering Valkenheim, but Herleif would be sure to point it out to him once he arrived.

He smiled as he looked upon his wife, forever amazed that he had been worthy enough to win her hand in marriage all those years ago. Since then she had given him two sons and a daughter, and a life spent in happiness at each other's side, which to him was everything a man could ever ask of his wife.

Audhilda's head was wrapped by a fine blue and yellow embroidered cloth, but what strands of hair that could be seen falling down her back shone like gold under the sunlight that shone in through the hall's open door. Her ring of keys hung from her waist upon a ornate belt, a symbol of her power and status as caretaker of the hall. He waited to approach until Audhilda had given her instructions and sent her handmaidens on their tasks, opening his arms and bringing her into his embrace.

"Next time there is cause for battle, I should just send you in my place to command the warriors while I stay behind myself to tend to the hall and the children." Herleif said with a smile.

Audhilda chuckled as she wrapped her own arms around him and rested her head against his chest. "And drink all of our mead too, I am sure," she smiled.

Herleif laughed and nodded, knowing that she was wise to his tricks, and Audhilda lifted her chin and looked up at him with a pleading expression worrying her face. "Would it be too much to ask that your brother at least send word before he comes to visit? He has sent the entire village into a frenzy with this sudden arrival, as if all of Ashfeld was marching on our gates."

Herleif slid his hands along Audhilda's arms and gave a sympathetic sigh. "Gunnar enjoys catching people by surprise. He thinks it makes him clever and gives credit to his path as a wandering Raider. Also, he is an ass."

That got a brighter laugh from Audhilda, which only made Herleif feel all the better knowing that he had her by his side. His brother Gunnar would not have come back from his travels without a reason, especially since he was bringing a host of Bilrost warriors with him. Tradition dictated that only a Jarl could call their men and women to arms from the wilds and villages of his hold. That Gunnar would gather them together on his own and bring them to Brosmegard already prepared for battle only meant that he believed he was doing Herleif a favor and saving time. What Gunnar thought he was saving time for though was yet to be seen.

As if reading his thoughts, Audhilda slipped back and gazed out the entryway of the hall to the courtyard beyond. "What do you think he is up to, gathering so many warriors without your word?" She frowned as she pondered upon the possible answer, eyes squinting out into the morning light.

Herleif shook his head, having no good answer to give. "Where are our children? They should be here to greet to their uncle," he said, looking around them.

There was a commotion growing outside the hall now, meaning that Gunnar and the host of warriors had probably made it through the gates and were making their way up the hill through the heart of the village.

Seemingly summoned up from thin air, Herleif and Audhilda's daughter Astrid and their youngest son Erling came running to them down the stairs from the hall's upper floor. At the same time Bjorn, their first born son and named after Herleif's father, came running in through the open front door from the yard.

"Father!" Bjorn called excitedly as he rushed to Herleif's side, "Uncle Gunnar has come down from the mountains! He's brought warriors with him too, and they fly banners from all over the hold!"

Herleif gave a smile as he slapped his hands down on Bjorn's shoulders, holding him close so that they looked together out towards the village and saw the first glint of spears and waving banners above the rooftops and between the houses. "Yes boy, I can hear them. You all know that that means, yes?"

"That we get to have a feast?" Astrid asked softly as she slipped her little hand into Audhilda's.

"Right you are, my darling. We will feast all night long, you can bet on that. And I am sure your uncle will have a tale or two for you as well, eh?" Herleif grinned, feeling the excitement radiating from his children. Audhilda gave him a bit of a look at the prospect of letting their children stay up all night to attend a party of rowdy, drunken warriors, but Herleif just smiled and shrugged as the sound of marching footsteps grew louder.

By now a crowd of húskarl and servants had gathered inside the hall, and excited villagers lined the road leading up to the courtyard opened before them. Everyone was eager to welcome their kinsmen to Brosmegard from the surrounding villages of the hold. Many hadn't seen each other since before winter had set in, when last they had all gathered to defend their lands against invading raiders.

As the warriors finally came into view and began to march into the courtyard a great and joyous cheer rose up from the surrounding villagers, waving and clapping armor clad men and women on their backs as they passed by.

Of all the many warriors making their way up the path, there was one who stood taller then the rest. None other than Herleif's younger brother, Gunnar the Bear; fierce Raider of Valkenheim and proud warrior of clan Tundra Tusk. He walked proudly at the head of the column, great axe slung over one shoulder as he greeted a few familiar faces along the way. Like all Raiders, he wore no armor or protection other then the heavy fur lined pauldrons over his shoulders and the broad studded belt across his waist. His bare chest was tattooed with the symbol of Thor's hammer, and he wore a small medal medallion of the same symbol around his neck.

"Hail, brother!" Gunnar roared, hefting his axe into the air and laughing merrily as he saw Herleif and his family standing in the hall's entrance. Looking behind him, Gunnar gestured at the group of warriors that followed in his footsteps. "Look what I have brought you! Look upon your fierce warriors! The fiercest in all of Valkenheim I say! Every one of them true drengir!" he cried.

That earned him a loud cheer from the warriors who marched behind, and they raised their spears or knocked them against their and shields in celebration.

Stepping out from behind his son, Herleif welcomed Gunnar home with open arms. "Gunnar! How is my little brother?" he smiled as he embraced his brother and smacked him on the back, to which Gunnar surprised him by lifting him right off the ground with a hearty laugh.

"I'm ready for a feast!" Gunnar roared, then set his Herleif back down and greeted the rest of his family. His hug for Audhilda was much more gentle and respectful, but each of the children enjoyed being picked up and tossed into the air by their uncle, who was a mighty giant in their eyes.

"You are doing well then?" Audhilda asked politely, welcoming her brother by law into her home, "I imagine that you have traveled far. I must admit we are surprised by your visit. Herleif and I had thought that perhaps you would go with the Warborn this spring and raid east against the Samurai?"

Gunnar shook his head as he grinned and ruffled Bjorn's hair. "No. The Warborn still try to honor the old peace Jarl Stigandr had with the Daimyo and Lord-Warden from years ago. They are hardly the clan they once were, growing old and fat in their halls instead of raiding. I have my sights set on loftier goals. Ones much closer to home now."

That revelation caused Herleif to share a look with Audhilda, but they each kept their lips tight as Gunnar laughed with the children.

Astrid and Erling jumped up together at Gunnar's sides, grabbing for his hands to pull him into the hall. "Tell us Uncle, tell us! Did you fight any jötunn in the mountains?" Astrid asked excitedly.

"Or a dragon, guarding an ancient treasure hoard?" Erling added, his eyes wide with wonder.

Gunnar walked with them, laughing heartily all the way. "Aye, that I did children, that I did. And I shall tell you about it all too, just after your father offers me a much needed drink," he grinned, winking over at Herleif.

Bjorn pipped up quickly at that, his interest clearly peaked. "I would have a drink too father! I would like to test myself against Uncle in a drinking contest!" he beamed, his eagerness giving way to youthful overconfidence.

Herleif smiled at his son, but a rather stern look from Audhilda had it slipping away in favor of a more conscious expression. "Perhaps later, son. Closer to nightfall when we can just scoop you up off the floor and slip you into bed. We at least want to make sure you make it through supper tonight."

With their greetings made, Herleif led his brother further into the hall that they had grown up in together when their father was Jarl. Horns and a pitcher of ale were brought, and Audhilda took the children so that the brothers could discuss matters privately, much to young Bjorn's dismay. Outside in the yard they could still hear the clatter of the men and women as they made to settle into the village.

"I will see to it that the warriors you arrived with are cared for and found room." Audhilda said, and then left Herleif and Gunnar to themselves in the feasting hall.

Gunnar removed his helmet and set it on the long table that he and Herleif sat at together in the main hall, settling himself down on the bench. His long dark brown hair was braided down his back, with his beard similarly fashioned off his chin. Herleif sat opposite him, pouring a horn full of ale for his brother and then one for himself.

"Skål," he smiled, knocking their horns together before taking a long drink.

"Skål!" Gunnar echoed, then finished off his own horn in a few loud gulps. He gave a satisfied sigh and smack of his lips, reaching for the pitcher to refill his horn and Herleif's. For a moment they each seemed content enough to just sit and drink, but there were too many questions brewing in Herleif's mind for him to let it last.

"So..." he began, looking at his brother over the rim of his drinking horn.

"Hmm?" Gunnar's brows furrowed, ale and foam dripping from his long braided beard as he belched and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Can a man not have a drink first before things must give way to talk? Leading men through the mountains is thirsty work, brother," he chuckled.

Herleif drained his horn and set it down on the table before him. "I would have us talk now. I am eager to learn the reason as to why you have gathered together the warriors of my hold and marched them to my front door," he said firmly, a single dark brow raised as he stared across the table at his brother.

Gunnar stared back, his horn held up in the air near his parted lips. He nodded and tipped back his head, taking another drink before leaving his horn empty on the table with his brother's.

Herleif eyed Gunnar for another moment, letting the weight of his words hang in the air between them. He was glad to see his brother again, truly he was, but the manner in which Gunnar had returned home was beginning to sour inside his mind.

"Four months ago my lands were attacked by a group of Ivar's savage dogs. It was no small raid made by hungry farmers either, but a quarantined attack. I think Ivar was trying to get a foothold over the boarder to prepare for a larger assault come spring. Seeking more coastal land no doubt. Thankfully though we managed pushed them back in the end. But men died, Gunnar. Where were you to lead them then?"

Gunnar frowned and stared down at his empty horn. "Brother, we've talked about this. We agreed that as second born I would-"

"That you would be free to wander, to come and go as you pleased. To fight for any Jarl in any battle so long as it did not put you across the field from any Bilrost warriors," Herleif interjected. "So why now do you return and raise my army without my permission given? What claim do you have to try and command my men in the affairs of battle?"

Gunnar frowned across the table. "Herleif, I-"

"My men!" His fist slammed down on the table, cutting off Gunnar again and sending their horns rattling.

The silence that bloomed between them lasted for a long moment, until Gunnar finally looked up at Herleif with grim eyes and lips pressed tight. "This past winter I stayed in the hall of Erik Golden-Shield. We spoke of many things together while I ate at his table. He has plans, Herleif. Plans to raise a fleet of ships and go raiding into Ashfeld now that the weather is growing warm. He has extended us... extended you an invitation to join."

Herleif pressed his hands flat on the table and stood up from the bench. "So you just thought to accept this invitation on my behalf? To gather my warriors without even consulting me first? Remind me brother, who exactly is the Jarl of Bilrost again?"

Now it was Gunnar's turn to stand, his knuckles pressed tight against the wooden table.

"How else is a Jarl to act when the raiding season comes? Are you saying that you would refuse an invitation such as this? Erik is the most powerful Jarl west of Gronstad, not to mention the richest. His hall at Tua Peak overflows with wealth, Herleif. I have seen it! He takes such plunder on his raids for all the men who follow him, but he also taxes any ship that wishes to pass through his hold along the channel through Valkenheim." Then he leaned in a bit closer over the table, lowering his voice until it was little more then a whisper even though there was no one else around to hear. "There are some who say that he has become rich and powerful enough to make of himself a king, and he asked for you by name. You would have to be a fool to let this chance slip through your fingers."

Stepping away from his bench, Herleif waved a hand in the air dismissively as he turned his back on Gunnar. "I would be a fool to just jump into bed with a Jarl who's holdings and army nearly triples my own. It is not the invitation that troubles me, but that I have not been able to discuss terms before sailing off. How do you expect that I should get a fair share of the spoils, or that my warriors will not be forced to bear more then their fair share of the fighting once we cleave our way into enemy territory? Do I have time to consider this invitation, or have you already promised Erik every able bodied man and woman in my hold to his service?"

"It is the honor of every Viking to die in battle before Odin, Thor and Tyr. What more is there to consider when given the chance to spill the blood of cowards that worship a weak god?" Gunnar growled credulously.

Herleif laughed darkly at his brother's foolish resolve.

"Oh, I'm sure Jarl Erik considers his options well when choosing where and how to send men to die for his benefit. I'm sure too that he showed you many fine and shiny things while you were enjoying the hospitality of his hall, along with wonderful tales of how he took it so easily from weak towns on Ashfeld's shores. Think, Gunnar!" he seethed, tapping a finger to his temple.

"How do you suppose he came to sit upon such wealth? By standing shoulder to shoulder with his men in the shield wall where the fighting is the thickest? Ha! Erik's only idea of honor is returning to his hall with a ship full of gold and less men to share it with. No doubt though you've already filled the heads of my warriors with the same promise of riches and glory on your way here. All the better that they do not think things through and simply jump into the boat to pick up an ore. And what do you suppose I should do if I take my men raiding and return only to find that Ivar has again invaded my lands, only this time with the full strength of his own army? Do you think that my men will be consoled by what little gold and silver they return with when they find their families slain and their homes burned to ash?"

Gunnar flinched, his confident demeanor fading the more Herleif pushed his point. At mention of the Jarl Ivar though, Gunnar's stubbornness seemed to falter completely.

"Your lands won't be invaded by Ivar," Gunnar said grimly, his face breaking into a grimace, "He won't be here to do so. Erik has also invited him on the raid."

Herleif felt like he had just been punched in the gut, his eyes wide with disbelief as he stared at his brother across the table.

"You want me to raid alongside a man who has openly attacked my hold?" he asked quietly, "You expect my men to raise shields and go into battle with dogs who have spilled the blood of their kin?"

Gunnar sighed and raised a hand to try and put his brother at ease. "Erik knows of Ivar's slight against you. He has seen to it that Ivar will pay you in silver for the lives lost. There will be peace so long as we all agree to raid together."

"A slight? Erik calls it a fucking slight!?" Herleif roared.

The memory of Sitvek Stone-Breaker laying in a field of snow and blood flashed in his mind, and suddenly everything in his vision went red. Without warning he grabbed a nearby stool and hurled it across the room. It slammed against a wall and broke into pieces that clattered to the floor.

"Aah, I... I need more ale..." he gasped, blinking quickly and curling his hands into fists as he tried to make them stop shaking.

"Agreed," muttered Gunnar, quickly sitting back down and grabbing the pitcher and refilling his horn. Herleif did the same, holding out his horn for his brother to fill it to the brim. "Skål."

Their horns clattered together, ale splashing over their hands and then coating their beards with foam as they drank vigorously. They carried on in silence together, drinking and refilling, drinking and refilling, until any tension and anger between them was drowned in ale and belched away. Before they knew it the sunlight had shifted outside the windows, changing from a crisp morning white to a warm golden afternoon.

"All I'm saying is...you'll miss out..." Gunnar groaned, looking into the pitcher and frowning to find it empty, "You shouldn't let this slip through your fingers, Herleif..."

Herleif rubbed his face in his hands, blinking as if he had just woken up from a long nap. "Miss out on what? Gold and glory?" He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Brother, sometimes a man finds his gold and glory in things that aren't really gold or glory."

Gunnar let the pitcher fall to the floor and let out a dry laugh. "What in Hel's cold loins is that supposed to mean?"

"It means you need to get married and have children, you dumb fuck," Herleif chided, "You're too old to be wandering around like a wild animal anymore. Time you took on some respn... repsons... you need to come home and get your shit together."

Gunnar stared at him dumbly for a quiet moment, until the two brother's broke out into deep laughter.

"Enough of your family man shit! I'll have no more talk of that..." Gunnar wheezed, "Listen... Now listen, and I'll talk sense to you. Erik and Ivar are going raiding either with or without you. What are you going to do when they come back more richer and more powerful then you could ever hope to become on your own?"

"Can't happen if they get themselves killed. Then I'll be having a few more gold pieces to my name than either of them," Herleif winked.

Gunnar waved a dismissive hand in his brother's smug face, "Bah! You'll be sorry when Ivar has more power to his name and Erik has gold enough to declare himself king. Listen! Don't let this pass you by! You have everything to gain by going, and you'll only end up losing if you stay."

Herleif stared out into nothing as he leaned over the table, his head nodding gently as if things had somehow become so much more clear to him now with a few horns of ale filling his belly.

"Everything to gain, until the moment of our fate comes upon us," he muttered quietly.

What was his fate to be exactly? Should he go and see if glory and gold would be his as Gunnar suggested, or would it be better to sit and wait, just hoping that all his problems would simply slip away into Ashfeld and never trouble him again. Closing his eyes, he took in a deep breath and held it before letting it slip out between his lips.

"We will go and see Helge. She will help me decide if this is a fools errand or not."

"Ah, no! Not fucking Helge!" Gunnar groaned, slapping a hand against his face and dragging it down into his beard. "Herleif, I'm telling you right now to go! Would I really steer you wrong? I'm your brother!"

Nodding his head again, Herleif slapped his hand on the table and stood up off his bench. "Aye. Come on, get your soggy ass up and moving. Sooner we see her the sooner we get this whole matter over with." He stretched his arms back with a groan, feeling more and more the old man every time he drank this much.

Gunnar scowled. "You want to go now? But what about the feast?"

Herleif shrugged. "Never said that there was going to be any feast. You think just because you show your ugly face around here that I need to throw you a feast?"

"There's always a feast when I come back to father's hall!" Gunnar exclaimed, but stopped as Herleif turned and stared him down. "I mean... your hall."

Herleif gave his younger brother a reassuring nod and headed out of the hall.

Gunnar watched him go, then let his head fall back on his shoulders and sighed. Making his way up onto his feet, he burped, and grabbed his horned helmet before slapping it on his head. The tall Raider stumbled, everything going dizzy as his head rang inside his helmet, but he managed to keep his footing and follow his brother out of the hall.

"Getting married and having children... bah. Ridiculous," he muttered under his breath as he walked out after Herleif.

He wished that they'd had a second pitcher of ale before they left. No doubt that a bit more liquid courage in their bellies would have been welcomed before going to meet the wild Shaman of Bilrost.