A Shield of Strength - A Warlord's Saga

by Barbarian2020

Warlord and Jarl, Herleif Bjornson, receives an invitation to raid deep into Ashfeld, but the fires of war obscure the path before him with death and treachery. Upon the war-torn slopes of Mount Ignis, he will make his stand and fight for all that he believes in, and everyone he holds dear. A Warlord is the shield of his people, and he will not fall.

17. Companions

The tavern at the docks was crowded and boisterous even while it was still so early in the evening. With the sun barely beginning to set across the wide breadth of Lake Eitrivatnen, the tavern was filled with warriors of all three clans from the long wooden bar to the open entrance. Bilrost and Thurshmrar warriors mingled about in close knit groups either laughing together or cursing one another, with Sea Eagle warriors standing about in fewer numbers so far from the citadel. Gunnar pressed his way past all of them, grinning at warriors he knew and staring down the ones who were clearly sizing him up. With a mug of ale in one hand and a horn of mead in the other, he kept moving until he came to a small table near the open doors that looked out over the lake.

"Another round, my friend," he smiled as he set the froth crowned mug in front of Coal, then frowned at Priscilla as he took his seat across from them both. "Not thirsty?" Glancing down at her cup, he noted how she had yet to even finish half of it even though it was still her first.

"I know how to pace myself," she replied curtly, wrinkling her nose and she giving him a not so honest smile.

Gunnar rolled his eyes and held out his horn across the table to knock it against Coal's mug, the two nodding to one another before each of them took a long pull of their drinks. If they could fight together then they could drink together. It seemed a simple enough code to live by to his mind, even if both of them were a couple of uptight Knights. "At least he actually knows how to enjoy a drink," he said gesturing at Coal after wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. But Coal simply gave another little nod of his head and tip of his glass before drinking again, leaving the air between them heavy with silence as the true reveling went on around them.

"What is it with you two?" Gunnar groaned, looking between his two companions in annoyance. "Even a draugr stuck in the mud has more spirit then the both of you combined."

"This was your idea," Coal muttered, hunched over the table and his mug. "As far as I'm concerned I am once again being held against my will. The drink is better this time around though, I'll say that much."

Priscilla glanced around the crowded tavern and the warriors surrounding them. She didn't need a sharp eye to catch all the grim faces and dark looks cast back in their direction. "Perhaps we should retire to a more private and less hostile environment to enjoy our drinks?"

With the city well and secure under Viking occupation none of them had brought weapons. Looking at Priscilla though, Gunnar couldn't be too sure that she didn't have a knife or two tucked away out of sight from the way she sat so stiff and alert, keeping just as much an eye on the space over her shoulder as to her front. "Relax. As long as you are with me no one will say a word. They all know better then to pick a fight with the Bear," he grinned over his horn.

He watched her for a moment longer, lingering on how her expression seemed so calm. Thin lips set into a hard line. A delicate brow that betrayed no emotion. But it was her eyes that captivated him the most, seeing how they kept shifting around ever on the lookout for sudden danger. They were sharp and dangerous, those eyes, fierce like a animal keeping watch for predators skulking in the shadows. And they were warm, drawing them in with their dark golden brown color, which happened to be the same as her hair.

"There a tale to that name?" Coal asked, breaking Gunnar out of his trance. "Or do they just call you that because you're a big hairy bastard?"

With a rueful grin Gunnar gave a shake of his head and brought his horn up to his lips. "Oh, so now you wish to talk? Maybe there is a spark of life in you yet," he mused, taking a long drink before giving a satisfied gasp and lick of his lips. "Care to take a guess?"

"You did not fight a bear," Priscilla replied instantly, glowering at him now from across the table. "Whatever wild tales and legends your people like to tell, if you had tried to fight a bear you would not be alive to torment us now. Simple as that."

"Well, you are certainly quick to judge," Gunnar pouted, puffing out his chest and rolling his broad shoulders. "As if anyone could look at me and think that I couldn't wrestle a bear. Ridiculous." For a moment he held Priscilla's gaze, until at last hers rolled away in annoyance. "As it were though, I did not earn the name by fighting with any bear."

"I knew it," chuckled Coal, nudging a disgruntled looking Priscilla with his elbow. "He's just a big hairy bastard is all. Just like every other heathen bastard in his hell hole!" His gruff voice grew louder with each word towards the end, earning more then a few deathly glares from the warriors around them.

Priscilla fixed him with an angry glare of her own, bristling as she hissed menacingly in his ear. "Keep your voice down, you idiot. Are you trying to get us killed?" Coal simply chuckled, giving her a dismissive wave before guzzling down more of his ale.

Gunnar gave a deep sigh as the table fell back into silence again. Perhaps this was not such a good idea after all. Normally everything was better with a few drinks, but right now he felt almost as on edge sitting with these two as preparing for the start of a battle. A part of him had hoped to actually talk, to open up about the fights they had shared so far and perhaps build some actual trust between each other as warriors.

Trust. It weighed heavy on his mind ever since the battle ended and Erik whipped the Knights into line like thralls. A part of him wanted to just shrug it off, to remember that these people had once been his enemy and to hold onto the hate that he felt for them. But things were changing. As much as he didn't want to admit it to his brother, fighting alongside the Lion Flame Legion had altered his view of them, if only just a little. Their principles and their beliefs were still strange and foreign to him, more often then not acting against his own, but he could not deny the fact that these were warriors he had fought and bled with. In the heat of battle at least, for those wild and terrible moments, they had all been on the same side and fighting for the same cause. It felt strange to think that the camaraderie he felt then could not extend past all that bloodshed.

Earlier that day he had told Herleif that he would keep an eye on Coal and Priscilla because out of all the Knights, they were the only two that appeared to be acting on more then just a goal to see the Walled City fall. Whether or not that was actually true, or if it was to the detriment of the horde was yet to be seen, but he intended to find out if he could. So he would continue to watch them as promised, but if he was truthful about what he felt in his heart he hoped that this blood feud of Priscilla's was all that it appeared to be, and was indeed put to rest with her brother's death. For her sake he hoped it was true.

Coal tipped back his mug and drained it empty, letting out a rude belch before getting up from the table. "I'm getting another. Anyone else?" he asked, nearly stumbling backwards as his boot caught on the bench.

Priscilla's eyes flared with restrained anger, lips curling in to become a tightly thin line. "Have you not had enough already?"

"You know what I learned in all my years living in dark cells and being carted off from bloody battle to the next, Pris?" Coal droned, cheeks flushed and eyes a bit glassy beneath furrowed brows. "Get drunk, whenever you can. It makes a shitty situation surprisingly more bearable..." He waved at the Viking filled tavern around them then turned and walked away, leaving his one companion fuming and alone in a den of savages.

"Bastard," Priscilla hissed under her breath, flush with anger. Fidgeting on her bench, Gunnar watched as she visibly became unsettled for the first time. She even took a few sips of her drink that she had been nursing for ages, most likely to not to end up in the same drunken boat as Coal. Smart of her to not let her senses become dulled in such a place.

"Rough business, finding someone who can watch your back when you need it," Gunnar said softly. Priscilla glanced at him for just a moment, then went back to watching the room without a word. Whether that was as sign she didn't wish to talk at all he couldn't exactly tell, but if he could face down a charging Lawbringer with poleaxe lowered to spear him through, then he could brave this woman's silent treatment without fear. "Makes me feel lucky in a way, knowing I have my brother. We fight sometimes, as brothers do I guess, but I know if there was anyone in this realm I could trust it would be him."

"Must be nice," Priscilla muttered, hunching her shoulders as she crossed her arms over the table.

Gunnar nodded, looking down at his drinking horn and running a thumb along the rim. "It is impossible to imagine what it would be like to lose that bond. Killing men can be hard work, even if your heart is steeped in battle lust and frenzy. But killing a brother? Spilling your own family's blood? That is something I am not sure I would have the strength to do." When he looked up again he found that Priscilla was staring at him, holding him with those brilliant dark eyes. He felt completely frozen in that moment, torn apart to his core and having to re-summon his courage from the depths of his soul. "I guess what I am trying to say is... I am sorry. For whatever pain the deed might have caused you, I'm sorry."

Priscilla's face was completely still, void of any emotion or misgiving as she looked at him. "I thought you did not believe in my Loki's trick?" she said at last, her voice as hard as stone. "Is that not why you dragged me here? To a place full of drunks that would just as soon cut my throat than give a damn about what sort of hell I've been through."

The anger radiating off of her then could be felt across the table, even if she didn't show it. Gunnar had to think on his words for a moment before he dared to open his mouth again. "We are indeed sailing through strange and uncharted waters," he began, leaning over the table towards her. "You and I sitting here together is proof of that. We came across a burning lake upon the same ship, stormed the same dock and fought side by side, killing men all the way up to the citadel. But still, you are a Knight of Ashfeld, and I am a Viking. Our paths were never meant to cross except when spilling each other's blood. Yet here we sit, sharing a table like good, decent folk." Now he stared back at her without shame. Distrust had been what had started him on this path, keeping company with those he should have been fighting against. Now he was doing all he could to show her that he was willing to make the leap towards something better if she would meet him half way. "What trust can we expect there to be between us if we do not start building it now?"

If he had been expecting any sign of some sort of revelation from Priscilla, any change in her stalwart visage, she did not give it. The look she held on him vanished seemingly as quickly as it appeared, lost as she turned away from him altogether without so much as a shrug of indifference. She even took up her cup and began to drink again, surely just to hide any wayward emotion that might just happen to slip across her face.

Gunnar frowned, feeling the strange coldness of defeat and disappointment take hold. Leaning back he glanced out of the tavern and over the lake on which they had traveled through fire and death to get here. There seemed to be nothing for it. Priscilla would keep her secrets, and he would continue to hound her for them. Then when all of this was said and done, perhaps nothing would actually change after all. For now at least he would drown his worries in ale, and deal with the promised hangover tomorrow.

"So why do they call you the Bear?" came Priscilla's voice out of the silence that existed between them. Gunnar was so surprised that he simply looked at her stupidly rather then answer. When their eyes met again, the softness in her gaze was immediately noticeable from what had come before. "You said you that name did not come from fighting a bear. So where does it come from?"

It took Gunnar longer then he would have liked to find his voice again, and the first sound he made was a strained laugh. "It is not so much the glorious tale such a name would have you believe," he said a bit sheepishly, running his hand along his braided beard. "You see, when I was young I found a bear cub alone in the forest outside my village. I...well, I tried to bring it home and keep it as a pet."

"A pet?" Priscilla mused, her eyes shining with the barest glimmer of amusement. "Did you mistaken it for a dog?"

Gunnar chuckled again. "I can't really say. I was just a foolish child then, thought having my very own bear to ride into battle would make me some kind of hero. My mother was having none of it of course. I can still remember her scream of shock when I brought it into the hall. She had never been so furious with me before. Even the cub was terrified." They both laughed together at that, Gunnar with the very vivid memory of his frustrated mother, and Priscilla at the idea of a fiery tempered shield maiden raging against a cowering child and beast. "She made me give the bear up of course, but before I could the thing's mother appeared outside the walls, searching for it's cub. My father's men wanted to kill it, but my mother forbade any of them from hurting the sow. She said that a mother should not condemned for just wanting to protect it's child."

Priscilla smiled softly, looking at him for a long moment. "That was very loving of her. A nice sentiment."

"Aye. She was good like that. Saw to it that we returned the cub safe and sound. Even made sure I was not punished by my father when all was said and done."

"And that is why you are called Gunnar the Bear?" Priscilla asked.

Gunnar rocked his head side to side in embarrassed understanding. "Not very heroic, is it? Perhaps I am better off just saying I fought a bear for the title after all."

Priscilla pursed her lips, appearing to think over his words for a moment. "Maybe you should. Honestly, if that was the story you had chosen to stick with, I might have been a little impressed."

Gunnar raised his brows at that, rattling his brain for any witty remark that might make her smile more, or even make her laugh if he dared to hope. The look on her face made him think that she almost could, that there was just enough trust built now that some walls could be brought down. Just enough for another laugh.

"Watch where you're going, you clanking fuck!"

Gunnar whipped his head around in the direction of the shout. Priscilla did too, alertness and concern reappearing on her face in the blink of an eye. The commotion continued further in the tavern, shielded by the bodies of a few who had stood to take a look for themselves.

"Allow me to re-fill your cup, sir! Or just get down on your knees and I'll just piss down your throat!" came Coal's biting voice. There were a few hoots and hollers, some smiles of delight from the many onlookers and hateful scowls from others. Clearly a fight was brewing, and the whole tavern was gearing up to turn from spectators to instigators.

"Thor's balls," Gunnar cursed under his breath. Getting up from his seat, he threw down his horn and pushed his way through the crowd. Tall as he was, it didn't take him long to see Coal squaring off against the Headhunter Raider who he recognized from the battle at the citadel. Both of their fronts were wet with spilled ale, clearly the crux of the growing hostility between them. The skull-capped Raider was backed up by a Warlord with a red mustache and eye patch, and a growling Berserker that wore a face plate so ornate Gunnar wasn't sure how he could see out of it. "Alright! Break it up, you braying mules! What's a man to do when he comes for a drink but catches a fist instead?"

"See no reason why we can't have both," Coal growled, jutting his chin up at the looming red Raider who seemed to agree.

"Smash his face in, Njal," grinned the Berserker, urging his companion on. "Smash him to blood and pulp!" Njal, the affronted Headhunter Raider, cracked his knuckles and rolled his shoulders, clearly preparing for a fight.

Gunnar glanced between them, then at the scowling faces all around them that watched eagerly to see who would draw first blood. "Indeed," he grumbled, remembering that he was in a tavern crowded with hardened warriors that all had too much time on their hands, and punches thrown between a Knight and a Viking had the potential of becoming much more then another tavern brawl. "Might I then offer up an alternative to the rousing, glorious and shining tradition of smashing each other's faces in?"

"Weapons?" asked Njal hopefully.

"Close!" Gunnar grinned. "But not weapons of steel, my friends. Instead I say it is with words that we fight with vicious intent. I say that we settle this dispute with flyting!" Cries of agreement sprang up as his booming voice echoed through the room. Most seemed open to the idea, but the only one that mattered was Njal, who thankfully crossed his arms and gave an appreciative nod. Coal simply looked drunk and confused.

"Wait, are you saying we shall fly... to victory?" he asked dumbly, faced scrunched up as he tried to make sense of the term.

Gunnar clapped a hand on Coal's shoulder and pulled him a way from the Headhunter warriors. "No. Flyting is the godly pastime of hurling sharp insults at your opponent to a rhythm and in verse. It takes a sharp mind and keen wit to win, just as sharp as the instincts of any warrior on the battlefield. It can be made for simple entertainment and contest, or in this case used to settle a dispute that might otherwise see your head rolling across the floor."

Coal thought it over for a moment longer, then gave a Gunnar a stupid grin and a nod in understanding. "Nah. Think I'd just rather smash his stupid face in." He moved then to try and pull himself from Gunnar's grip, fists clenched tightly as he turned towards the skull Raider.

Gunnar caught him quickly, hooking his arm around Coal to trap him in a headlock. "It would seem that my companion here is unable to take part in this noble throwing of verse. I assure you though, it is his wish that I speak in his stead." From Coal's irate tone as he struggled against captivity, it seemed that he wished nothing of the sort.

Njal didn't seem to care. "Very well, Bear. We shall see if your tongue is as sharp as your axe. Come out the victor in this flyt and your little lion gets to leave here with all the limbs he came in with. You start."

Giving a thankful nod Gunnar let Coal go, but put a steadying hand to his chest to make sure he didn't do anything foolish. "Harken all, you who come seeking good drink and mirth!" he called out in a loud and clear voice for all to hear. "And listen well as I tell this fool just how little he is worth!" A quick applause and hoots of approval followed after his opening line, and grinning with pride, Gunnar looked at the mailed and skull crowned Raider for his rebuke.

Njal worked his head side to side, skull swaying in the air before he began, his voice low and calm as if just testing his opponents abilities at the start of a fight. "Your boasting is pathetic, your reputation is worse. That you were born at all is an insult, and your whore mother I curse."

Gunnar raised his brows at the jab, a bit surprised that his mother would be brought into play so quickly. He gave an appreciative nod, playing up the cheers of delight that came up around them. "How sad you are, how small. It makes me wonder how you are even a warrior at all. Give up now and save yourself the disgrace. The seed used to borne you was clearly just a waste." A few people gave him their praise. Perhaps he lost a bit of favor playing off of his opponents gibe too closely, but it was still enough to keep the contest going.

Njal took a step closer to him, the brewing fight of words growing more heated as they continued. "Is that the best you can do, you measly weak fuck? If you had a woman home awaiting you, she has surely made you a cuck." A few female warriors of the Headhunter clan that were sitting around let out sharp whistles, and Njal jabbed a finger in Gunnar's chest for his next biting remark. "With my words or my fists I'll rip you apart. I'll leave your corpse for the crows and send your coward brother your heart."

The tavern instantly got quieter as the threat of violence was brought back into play. Even Gunnar gave a scowl, not from the prospect of having his heart ripped out of his chest, but because this man had the gall to call Herleif a coward. He tightened his jaw and clenched his fists, determined to silence the Headhunter Raider with his next verse. Getting right up in Njal's face, he prepared to end him right there in front of everyone.

"You speak of victory as if you have won. How mistaken you are, for our battle is far from done. Fall down to your knees, and prepare to walk through Valhalla's gate. All your sorry days have led you here - it is time to meet your fate." The cheers started up again now, and he turned around and spread his arms out to the watching crowd, playing to their favor. "You dare thought to challenge me, and for that you will pay the price! Of your head and your blood, I will give to the gods this great sacrifice! But if they will take you, it is still too soon to tell. What pathetic dumb words you spew have surely earned you your place in Hel!" The crowd was getting louder now, more excited. The violent tension was dissipating, those who were so close to coming to blows now toasting each other as they laughed to the cunning rhymes. Finally Gunnar looked back at Njal, smiling at how the warrior bristled. "You saga ends here, cur. I have had enough of this little fight. My name is Gunnar the Bear, and I say that you are nothing before my-"

Coal's fist crashed against the Njal's jaw, sending the big warrior stumbling back into his companions and leaving the Conqueror seething in pain from striking male with his bare skin. Gunnar stared at him in stunned disbelief. "Dammit Coal," he groaned, hands held out at his side. "I was just about to end him rightly!"

The Headhunter Raider pushed himself up from the Warlord and Berserker with an angry growl, lunging at Coal with hands outstretched for his throat. "You're a dead man!"

Gunnar reacted quickly, throwing himself at his flyting opponent and stopping him short of grabbing Coal. "No! You and I are not done yet!" he grunted as he fought to keep the big man back.

"Let him go!" Coal yelled, ignoring the angry shouts from onlookers as he brought up both his fists, "I'll end the bastard rightly myself, and not with any fancy words to sing him to sleep!"

With a great roar Gunnar pushed Njal away and then rounded on Coal, gabbing a finger in the Conquerors face. "I said no! Flyting is a time-honored tradition, and we will treat its practice with the respect it deserves or the gods will curse us all for our shame!" He whirled back on Njal, giving him and his companions a bestial snarl. "All of us! Agreed?" The Headhunter warriors all gave him a hard, hateful stare in response, but eventually gave begrudging nods as they relented to his command. Even Coal lowered his fists, seemingly sensing that Gunnar would not allow a fight to break out no matter how much he wanted it. Once again the dark mood of the tavern began to fade, and everyone watching began to settle back down with their drinks as they watched on in silence.

"Right then," Gunnar huffed, turning about to make some space between Coal and Njal, "Now I am a fair man, so I will concede that you should have another go and may start- Oh, Baldur be damned..."

He hadn't seen Priscilla leap from the nearby table until it was too late, and as she descended through the air like an elegant dancer so too did his heart sink into his stomach as he watched her swing the wooden stool she held and slam it full force into the Warlord's face. The resounding crack of wood against flesh and bone echoed through the tavern like a thunderclap, as if Thor himself was giving his blessing for the brawl to finally begin. The Warlord's one eye turned up into his head, spit flying from his blubbering lips as the stool shattered against him, and before he even hit the ground the tavern exploded into brutal punches and thrown horns.

Njal threw himself at Coal, taking the unprepared Conqueror off his feet. Gunnar gave a cry and made to haul Njal off of the Conqueror, but the wild Berserker suddenly sprang onto his back and locked his brawny arms around his throat and squeezed tight. Suddenly no more air was reaching Gunnar's lungs, and his only thought was to stumble backwards until he could crash the Berserker into a wall or table to get him loose. Unfortunately nothing seemed to come, and he stumbled endlessly as he struggled to breathe, until at last someone crashed a mug onto the Berserker's head, causing the small man to tumble off of Gunnar in a splash of ale. He sucked in a deep breath, only to have it driven out of him again as a fist slammed into his stomach, but he fought through the pain and took some unknown warrior out with an uppercut to the jaw. Another came to take his place, arm cocked back and fist clenched as he screamed out his war-cry. Gunnar dodged to the side, letting the warrior's punch carry him past, and it only took a simple kick to the back of his leg to send him tumbling into another pair of flying fists.

Aiming to find Coal among all the chaos, Gunnar looked about only to spot Priscilla running at him at a full sprint. "Stay there!" she shouted, and he realized that she was being chased by an angry looking Sea Eagle woman with a bloody nose. He was so stunned he didn't know what to do, freezing on the spot as she dodged around him at the last second. Her arms wrapped around his middle, and she used her momentum to haul herself up into the air to spin around him, feet flying outward to kick the woman hard in the face as she came in too fast to stop. The woman gave a pained grunt as she was knocked off her feet, crashing into a table and not getting up again.

Priscilla let go and landed gracefully on her feet, spinning about and giving him an appreciative pat on the arm. "Thanks," she said rather happily, the happiest he had heard her speak all day.

"Bit rude, don't you think?" Gunnar shouted over the clamor, cheeks flushed in frustration and amazement by her impressive stunt. Priscilla only shrugged, and then stunned him even further as she had the nerve to skip her way back into the fight. She ducked under the swing of a broken plank that was swung at her, only to jab at her assailant's knees and bring them low.

Gunnar didn't have time to watch her further though, as another Headhunter warrior came at him screaming, and he quickly grabbed the man and hauled him up into the air to toss him across the room. A fist came out of nowhere and caught him across the cheek, leaving a burning sensation against his skin as he turned to glower at whoever threw it. What he found was a small and a rather young looking warrior who stared back up at him in growing fear. He barely had any hair growing on his face, with more then a bit of boyish softness still about him. Just another would be warrior out on his first raid, hoping to make a name for himself by taking on the biggest man in the room. A good way to get himself killed, and Gunnar knew that Herleif would be overcome with disappointment to see such a foolish thing happen. Looking at the way the boy cowered before him, he could only feel the same. Glaring down at the boy, he gave a simple nod of his head towards the door, telling him to be on his way, of which the lad nodded quickly and ran as fast as he could to make his escape.

"Alright then, you flea-ridden bunch of goat-fuckers," Gunnar seethed in a low voice, rolling his shoulders as he glanced about the room. "Now you will learn what happens when you raise hands against drinking companions of the Bear!" He threw himself into the fray without restraint, barreling over those smaller than him and throwing his fists at any who dared try to bring him down. Everything was lost to the battle craze, and with a gleeful snarl he hit and kicked with ursine fury as the brawl raged on around him.

In a chance parting of the crowd he spotted Coal being beaten by Njal near the bar. The big Raider had Coal by his collar, pummeling him repeatedly in the face with a blood stained fist. Gunnar gave a sharp shout of anger, and shoved his way through the crowd toward them. If he had been of a clearer mind perhaps he would have questioned how odd it was that he was rushing off to save a Knight, but in the heat of the moment his only thought was to save the man he had been drinking with, seeing him as any other companion he had fought alongside since he was young. He rammed into Njal with the full weight of his powerful body, tearing him away from Coal and slamming him into the nearby wall. Njal dropped with a groan, which Gunnar quickly silenced with the slam of his knee into the Raider's face.

Sure that Njal wasn't going to be getting up again anytime soon, Gunnar turned back to see if Coal was alright. His face fell when he saw the Conqueror scrambling to free himself from the clutches of three new Headhunter warriors. They had him about the wrists and neck, with one trying to get in a punch to Coal's stomach as he thrashed and kicked out with his feet. "Get off of him, you nithing troll wenches!" Gunnar shouted, rushing up and pulling one warrior away.

No sooner had he tossed the man then another set of hands were grabbing onto him, then another, until he felt himself being dragged towards the ground while fists already assailed him from all sides. With a mighty roar he fought to stay on his feet, grabbing someone by the back of their collar and throwing them into the bar. Another fist cracked across his jaw, but he fought through the pain and punched his own knuckles into a warrior's stomach. "You dare!?" he cried out as he got back to his feet, catching a warrior behind her neck and punching them square in the nose to make her drop. "You dare gang up on me!?" He blocked an incoming blow, kicked out someone's leg with his foot, then spotted a red clad Viking trying to run in the midst of all the confusion. He caught the running man by the shoulder, and shouted triumphantly as he lifted him up into the air over his head. "Odin!" he shouted, causing the man in his clutches to cry out in fear, thinking that he would be killed in the name of the Allfather in the midst of this tavern room brawl. All eyes turned to look at Gunnar then, staring up in amazement and fear as he roared with ferocious might.

"ENOUGH!"

The sudden shout that pierced the air was more fearsome and commanding than anything Gunnar himself could have mustered. Even he was struck dumb by the powerful ring that still echoed in his ears long after the call went silent. His eyes flicked across the tavern towards the entrance, where Herleif stood fuming with barely contained fury, Skuld standing stoically at his side and glaring at all the warriors with hard blue eyes. A wave of childlike foolishness suddenly overcame him as he locked eyes with his brother over the crowd, much like anytime Herleif had caught him doing something stupid or reckless when they were boys. Now even as grown men he still felt a tinge of shame grip at his heart, while his brother stood boldly with all the might and presence of a true Jarl prepared to bring all this chaos to order by his strength alone.

"In all of Figg's good grace, what is going on here?" Herleif spat. The sound sent a chill down Gunnar's spine, as it reminded him far too much of their father's harsh tone whenever he was angry at them for whatever trouble they had caused. Herleif gazed about the room, somehow managing to lock eyes with every single warrior who stood before him as if he held them personally responsible for this drunken bout. "Did we not come here to fight fanatics who worship a smoking mountain? Or did we only sail across half the world to spill our own blood like the mindless savages they think we are?" The tavern remained silent even as Herleif held his hands out for an explanation, no one having the courage to answer let alone look him in the eye. Gunnar couldn't answer either, too caught up in his own failing to keep the fight from breaking out and his delight at finally joining in. He realized then that he was still holding the Headhunter warrior up above his head, and gently set the man down, sharing an awkward look before he slipped away.

The silence dragged on for a long, tense moment, with Herleif looking from one warrior to another until finally someone spoke. "That's rich, coming from the likes of you, serpent tongue." Instantly the crowd parted around the man who spoke, the Berserker who had stood with Njal before the flyt. He was missing his ornate face plate now, and had one puffy bruised eye while the other glanced about frantically as he was offered up to Herleif like a lamb to the slaughter. He looked half as confident as his voice had sounded a moment ago, but standing on his own now he knew he had no choice but to double down or beg for forgiveness. "Everyone knows you Jarls don't trust each other. You and Jarl Ivar quarrel over long standing feuds, and Jarl Erik wants nothing but the treasure in the volcano's vault. There's no reason we should pretend that we're all committed to each other when we aren't."

Herleif scowled at the Berserker, then moved to get right up in the warrior's face, looking down on him with a unforgiving frown. "When we face our enemy, our true enemy, upon the slopes of Mount Ignis, and death's arrows rain down on us from those high walls; when the brothers and sisters fighting at your side begin to fall with their guts spilled out and their heads cleaved open, then you can ask me what I am committed to," he said in a firm and hushed tone that made the Berserker drop his gaze to the floor. "Make no mistake, our enemy is strong. Strong in their delusional belief that binds them together, and it will take all of us fighting together to besiege their fortress and defeat them!" His voice grew louder, rising to fill up the room, and he left the shame-faced Berserker where he stood to look around at the other warriors who watched. "Do not forget my friends, you may drink and make revels this night, but we are still deep in the heart of our enemy's homeland. We travel in the realm of wolves and crows, and we must remain vigilant if we are ever to sail home again! We must remain strong; we must remain mighty! We must hold fast, together, if we are to crush the Divine Pyre and claim their vast treasure horde for ourselves! For all of us!"

The silence that held the room broke like shattered glass as the tavern erupted into cheers and calls of agreement. Fists that had just moments ago been beating each other bloody were thrown into the air in solidarity with the Bilrost Jarl, even those of the other two clans. Looking about, Gunnar was truly impressed with how quickly his brother was able to turn the room around. Of the two of them, Gunnar had long thought it was within him to inspire and embolden when the moment called for it. But Herleif's fate had always been to be a true leader, a true Jarl.

"We must remain committed to the gods and to each other. Nothing else matters," Herleif said, looking at the Berserker again before he began to make his way through the crowd. Then he added in a much quieter voice, "Not until we get home."

Gunnar sucked in a breath as he saw his brother coming towards him. "Good speech," he said with a rather humble grin, "I did not expect to see you here though. What brings you down to the docks?"

"To get a damn drink, as advised by our wise and compassionate Valkyrie," Herleif said with a nod towards Skuld who walked with him. "Something to help calm my soul. Or at least it was supposed to. Now I wonder if I will get any peace in this accursed city."

Gunnar couldn't help but feel like he should be ashamed for not stopping the fight from breaking out, or rather bringing Coal and Priscilla here in the first place. He looked down at his boots for a moment, suddenly remembering what it was like to be a second born son, desperately seeking the approval of his older brother. "I tried to stop it, the fight. Things got out of a hand too quickly, and when words gave way to fists I thought there wasn't much else to do but add mine to the argument."

"What happened?" Herleif asked in a hard and demanding tone. Skuld ignored them both, walking behind the bar seemingly in search of a clean mug or horn to fill with ale.

"Challenged a fellow Raider to a flyt to settle a grievance. That one there," he gestured towards Njal who was being led out of the tavern with the Warlord and Berserker carrying him under each muscular arm, clearly having trouble bearing his weight. "It was a good bout, but ultimately had a less than favorable outcome."

Herleif looked to see the three Headhunters leaving, scowling as they slipped off to no doubt tell their bad tempered Jarl what had happened here. "One of Ivar's boys, eh? I imagine that your rhymes made his dull brain hurt too much and so he tried to return the favor with a cheap shot? Dishonorable Thurshmrar dogs."

Gunnar grimaced, knowing that the truth would earn him no favor. "Actually it was Coal who threw the first punch. Ivar's man honored the flyt and fought well with his verse, right up until everything went to shit."

"Coal?" Herleif balked, squinting at Gunnar in confusion. "That flail swinging Knight? What was he doing here?" He blinked, looking away for an instant as he tried to make sense of what had happened. "The man who is always with the Peacekeeper? Priscilla?"

Gunnar bit his lip and tentatively gave an affirming nod of his head, feeling all the more fool by the moment. "Aye. She was here too. We had just come to enjoy a drink is all."

"Here? You brought two Knights here and thought you could drink in peace?" Herleif asked, staring wide eyed at his brother. He was clearly in a state of disbelief, turning to brace his hands against the bar and hang his head. "Allfather give me strength. Of all the stupid things to-" At that instant Skuld set down two full mugs capped with white foam, pushing one towards each brother expectantly. Herleif said nothing, simply taking up his mug and beginning to drink. Gunnar gave a wary look between his brother and the calm Valkyrie before ultimately picking up his own mug and doing the same.

"We both agreed that I was to keep an eye on them," Gunnar said after taking a breath, sliding his fingers across his mustache to wipe away foam.

Herleif rolled his eyes and handed his mug back to Skuld for another. "Oh, is that what we said? I seem to remember telling you to let things be, and you pranced off like Svadilfari after Loki in disguise," he chuckled.

Gunnar frowned, leaning up against the bar next to Herleif as Skuld set down another mug for his brother. "At least I am doing something. I will admit, my intention here may have been driven a bit by personal indulgence, but I am still keeping them close. If those two are up to anything more than dealing with a simple blood feud, I promise you that I will find out."

Herleif glanced about the tavern, searching among the the warriors who had since gone back to their drinks and talk. "Oh yeah?" he asked, turning back to his ale. "Well, if you somehow manage to get answers from two people who are not even here then I will truly be impressed."

"What?" Gunnar muttered, looking about quickly for Coal and Priscilla. He took a step away from the bar, craning his neck to see if he could spot them across the room back at their table, but already he realized that he hadn't seen hide or hair of either Knight since Herleif arrived. "But, they were just..."

"Gone," said Skuld, ending his thought with resolute finality. "No one saw. Good skill, that Peacekeeper." Gunnar gave a deep sigh and eyed his brother, believing that they no doubt slipped away while everyone was listening to his speech.

Herleif gave an indifferent shrug. "It was not my job to watch them."

"Dammit," Gunnar groaned, slumping back against the bar. He ignored his ale, no longer feeling a desire for strong drink or good humor. He could feel Herleif's eyes on him, but couldn't meet his gaze. He felt shame enough for failing what he had set out to do, and didn't need his brother's harsh judgment adding to his woes.

"Ah, I would not worry about it too much. Not like they can go far," Herleif said after a moment. That caught Gunnar by surprise, and he glanced up to see his brother looking at him with a care free smile. "Perhaps our Ashfeld friends are more trustworthy then we give them credit for, and all this worry is for nothing." Taking another sip from his mug, the sound of marching feet out in the street caught his attention. Out beyond the door a troop of Sea-Eagle warriors going by, painted shields and spears in hand. Herleif glowered at them, hunching over the bar with a grim countenance. "Still, it is good to keep a certain amount of skepticism towards ones allies, no matter how good their intentions might be. Perhaps it is best to still keep an eye on them, whenever you do happen to spot them again."

Gunnar followed his brother's gaze, watching as the Sea-Eagle warriors began investigating some of the small ships tied at the docks, clearly in search of something. For some reason his mind went back to finding Priscilla and Coal huddled together in the storeroom of the spice market, fretting over burned pages he couldn't read. It troubled him, a heat rising up in his chest that made him feel like he was holding in a secret he shouldn't keep, but for some reason he convinced himself that it was nothing more then what Priscilla had told him. Just the last bit of a sorry tale brought to an end.

"Aye, I will watch them. Like Heimdall watches over the realms," he said. Giving Herleif a sideways glance, he tapped his fingers on his mug before asking, "I hope that you are not so skeptical of all your allies?"

Herleif looked surprised at that, and even glanced over to Skuld who was giving him an expectant look with her stormy blue eyes. "Well," he grinned as he looked between them, "who is a man to trust if not his own brother and a shield maiden of the gods?"

"How considerate of you," Gunnar laughed, slapping a hand down on Herleif's back, "Spoken like a wise and thoughtful Jarl!" He and Herleif laughed together, with Skuld leaning casually over the bar. The uneasy feeling that had plagued him was fading away, and for now at least he simply enjoying a drink with his brother. His spirits lifted, he couldn't help himself from climbing up onto the bar, Herleif and Skuld eyeing him warily as he swayed for a moment, and then lifted his cup and called out so that all eyes were on him once again. "Soon we will march on the Walled City, and the steel song will be made between us and the Divine Pyre until one of us sings no more! But I know that as long as we fight together, you all, my brother and me, there is no enemy we cannot defeat! The Allfather smiles down on us from his golden hall for the battle we shall bring. I say we make it a battle greater then even Ragnarok itself!"

A resounding chorus of cheers rang up in the tavern, from warriors of all three clans calling out together. Gunnar was pleased to see it, to feel their spirits rising together like dancing flames, burning for glorious victory and the hot blood of their foes. He let out a mighty yell, raising his mug high as he shouted with resounding glee. "Skål!"

Horns and mugs shot up into the air, splashing droplets of ale and mead like rain. Herleif raised his mug too, looking over the warriors with a proud glint in his eye while Skuld thumped the bar with her closed fist. And the cheerful chorus rang out again, rising high enough to echo out into the night sky.

"Skål! Skål! Skål!"

---

Priscilla grimaced as she heard Coal vomit around the corner. She stood with her arms crossed and foot tapping impatiently, their escape from the tavern brought to a stop by Coal's need to regurgitate all the alcohol he had consumed. They still had yet to make it back to the market district of the city where the legion was quartered, but thankfully the streets seemed quiet now that night had fallen. Except for the troops of Erik's men marching about like dogs on a hunt.

She slunk back into a doorway as another group of golden clad Vikings marched by, spear tips jutting up into the air. They passed by without incident, saving her the trouble of having to come up with some story of why two of their Jarl's new pets were out of their kennel. Watching as they marched on, she wondered why they were out with such force in a city well under their control.

"I cannot believe you actually got drunk around a bunch of Vikings," she hissed at Coal, still angry at how he had abandoned her before the fight. It had hurt her more then she wanted to admit, given how things had somewhat opened up between back in the spice market. How foolish of her to ever think that their partnership could be anything more then a mere necessity. "Did getting bashed about on the battlefield turn your brain to mush, or were you just born this dumb?"

The sound of spitting signaled the end to Coal's torment, and he stepped out from the alley he had ducked down wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Ugh... you ever throw up in your helmet before? Trust me, not fun." He leaned up in the door way with her, taking a few breaths and blinked slowly, still clearly drunk.

Priscilla just shook her head as she looked at him. "Lets go," she demanded, giving Coal a sharp tug and nearly sending him tumbling onto the street.

They made it away from the docks in blissful silence, but eventually Coal had to go and open his mouth again. "Can you believe that shit? Fighting with words," he grumbled in disgust, deeply offended by Gunnar's attempt to keep the fight from breaking out with silly theatrics. "Pathetic. Is that the kind of nonsense they get up to in their grand hall...ugh, what's it called? Val-lalala? Bah! What a bunch of milk drinkers."

The need to tell him to shut up was intense, but she ended up offering another opinion instead. "They have better insults than you, that much is clear," she muttered. A grin tugged at the corners of her lips as she thought back on the creative rhymes Gunnar and the other Raider had thrown at each other like wild drunken gods. "It was certainly entertaining."

Gunnar had surprised her at the tavern. Since they had met back at the Hallowed Bastion she had come to see him as the epitome of the barbaric heathen warrior she had believed all Vikings to be. Tonight though, he had shown a side of himself that was more than just a bloodthirsty brute. He had been understanding, thoughtful, and even concerned over a plight that she had created for the sole purpose of fooling him. It was clear that he was a man who did not shy away from showing his emotions, a trait greatly frowned upon by the men in her own society. It had been rather endearing, and had actually made her feel a slight tinge of guilt as he expressed his sorrow for a dead brother she did not have.

Whatever Gunnar did, whether it was fighting, boasting, reveling or bolstering the courage of his fellow warriors, he did it all with a passion unlike what most men possess. He gave his all in whatever he put his mind to, and held those who fought bravely at his side as close to him as kin. That was also good information to know, and to exploit if need be. She had kept him off the trail of the Wu Lin's fire alchemy so far, that much was clear, but she knew that this wouldn't be the last time that the big oaf would hound her and Coal's steps. Strange though that the small feeling of guilt she had felt before seemed to persist when it had never done so before.

"Y'know Prisc, I've been thinking," Coal said with an annoyingly happy tune in his voice.

"I think it would be best for both of us going forward if you stopped thinking and never called me Prisc ever again," she growled in response.

"This business of going to the Walled City is ludicrous," Coal continued. "We have what the legion council wants, lets just go an take it to them! I mean it's not as if you owe the rest of these Lion Flame louts anything? They all think that Erik favors you over the Commander now. Just let them get swept up in the battle with the Pyre and we can sort through the corpses later."

Priscilla came to an abrupt halt and drove her balled up fist into Coal's stomach as she rounded on him, causing the stocky man to double over with a loud grunt. "I will assume that your drunken stupor is the cause for your lapse in memory. We will not be going anywhere on our own. The Legion Council will meet me on my terms, and the Lion Flame will be spared." She grabbed Coal by his collar and hauled him up again, forcing him to look at her eye to eye. "I know you just might be a displaced conscript on the council's leash, but this is still my legion, and I will not see them condemned for the cowardly actions of inept lords and pathetic statesmen!"

Coal gave another groan, his hand coming up to grab tightly around her wrist. "Alright, alright. It was just a thought was all," he said, pulling her off of him.

She wanted to hit him again, to knock some sense through that thick skull of his and make him realize where they stood in all of this. Instead she turned on her heel and marched on down the street, not looking back to see if he was following. "Believe it or not Coal, I still know what it means to be loyal when all is said and done," she said after another moments silence.

"Do you?" The voice came out of the shadow of a side street, ringing loud and clear to make Priscilla's heart leap in her chest. "So why is it you have such trouble following my order to remain confined to the market quarter?"

Priscilla looked to see Judith stepping out of the darkness and into the silver moonlight, her eagle adorned helmet under one arm and longsword held at her side. The tall woman was a picture of stone faced anger and disappointment, and she looked between her and Coal like she had just caught a couple of rats in a grain cellar and was trying to decide which one to drown first. "I asked you a question, Peacekeeper. Why are you out in the city against orders?"

Snapping to attention, Priscilla thumped her fist to her chest and tried to come up with a lie that didn't have a chance in hell standing up against the scrutiny of a woman like Judith anyway. "Commander. A number of Sea-eagle patrols have been spotted roaming the city and the docks. We thought it prudent to find out what they were up to, lest the Vikings gain some advantage in the fight that we are unaware of."

"Yeah, what she said," Coal grumbled, shoulders slumped and swaying a bit where he stood.

Judith looked at him for a long, silent moment through narrowed eyes. "Is this man drunk?" she asked, looking at Priscilla.

"That would be horribly irresponsible, Commander," Priscilla answered quickly.

"Not drunk enough," Coal said before she could even finish.

Priscilla watched with increasing anxiety as Judith's face became flush with anger. She wondered briefly if all those scowling lines came from age or just because the woman frowned so much dealing with idiot recruits. Judith stalked forward, stepping right up into Coal's face like he was a petulant child to be scolded. "If we were not so short on soldiers as we are, I would see you flogged and put back behind bars for this conduct." She took the hilt of her longsword and caught his neck between the cross-guard and the grip, shoving him down the street like a shepherd's hook. "Get back to the market. Begin packing up equipment for departure, and do not stop until I relieve you. We have word that we are to move out on the morrow," she barked at him, taking a step after him as he faltered.

Coal shrank back, knowing better then to risk the Commander's wrath by sticking around. "Christ above, why is everyone in such a piss poor mood tonight..."

Judith seemed to ignore that last remark as she watched him go, and for a moment Priscilla thought that might be the end of things with Coal bearing the brunt of the Commander's wrath. "And as for you." No such luck it seemed, and she flinched to see Judith rounding on her now with no less scorn. The idea that Judith might have overheard more of their conversation, had discovered some insight to what was going on made her blood run cold in her veins. If she found out the truth about the deal that had been made, she would not put it past Judith to cut her down here and now given everything that they had been through. "Did it never occur to you to check with me first about what the Sea-Eagle clan might be up to? What they are searching for?"

Priscilla blinked, a cold sweat breaking out on her brow as she held onto the hope that Judith had actually believed her lie, or at perhaps knew something else to make her see some truth in it. "Commander?"

Sucking in a breath, all the militant fortitude Judith possessed seemed to swell within her before finally dissipating with the sigh she let out. Suddenly she was a tired, middle aged woman, seemingly weighed down by all the armor she wore and the responsibility she had taken onto her shoulders. "I have just spent the last hour at the citadel, being berated by our dear Golden Jarl. It seems the weapons used by the Pyre on their ships were marked with Wu Lin script, and used a strange chemical concoction never seen before that allowed the fire to burn on water. It is clear that this weapon was not created by the Pyre themselves, at least not at first, and Erik is rather keen on finding out how it is made after it destroyed so many ships out on the lake."

It should have been no surprise that Erik would come to learn about the foreign origins of the Divine Pyre's special weapon, but it was still a bit of a shock to think that one of the most powerful Jarls in all of Valkenheim wanted the notes that she had tucked away on her person right then. With Erik hunting for the formula, she would be at an even greater risk traveling with the horde to the Walled City to face the Pyre. Perhaps Coal was right. Maybe it was best to just leave now and leave Judith and the rest to their fate. "For the Vikings to come into possession of such a weapon, surely that would bode ill for us, and for Ashfeld, no matter the outcome of this war," she said softly, being very careful to show her surprise at this news.

Judith nodded her head, brows raised in contemplation. "You can imagine my relief then when I was able to truthfully tell the Jarl that I know nothing of this weapon and of how it might possibly be made."

"And did he believe you?"

"No," Judith said with a short laugh, "At least not at first. I imagine our meeting would have been over much more quickly if he had, and I would not be making my way through this heathen infested city in the dark. But then, if not for his natural distrust in all good Knights, then I would not have been here to catch you and your inebriated companion, would I?"

The full weight of Judith's hard gaze hit Priscilla like a rock, and her instincts quickly told her to take the path of humility rather then to argue. "No Commander," she said, looking down at her feet.

"What is going on with you, Priscilla?" Judith asked, a clear note of concern in her voice, "I know it is your way to keep to the shadows, to keep your ears and eyes open to all that goes on even when others are not paying attention. But we are on our own here. We, what is left of this legion, needs to stick together and support each other, now more then ever. Who am I to trust to guard our backs among all these barbarians if not you?"

Trust. It could only get you so far at a time like this before it became a weakness. Priscilla actually hated to hear Judith say it, along with the concern. She knew that she could use it, use it against Judith to get what she wanted and make sure that her plans would succeed. It hurt to know that she could take advantage of her Commander like that. It wasn't supposed to hurt.

Snapping to attention, she looked straight ahead and gave her answer in a clear and respectful tone. "I am fine, Commander. I disobeyed orders only to protect our position here in the city. I overstepped, and will accept any rightfully ordered consequences for my actions."

She could feel Judith's disappointment without even looking at her, the small sigh she gave more painful then a hundred stabs to the gut. "Now is not the time for consequences," Judith said sadly, then took her helmet and placed it over her head, securing the chin strap in place as her next words echoed with a metallic din. "Not yet at least. Fall into line, Peacekeeper. Do not give me cause to lose faith in you." With that she turned and stalked off in the direction of the market, not looking back over her shoulder as her heavy footsteps echoed off the buildings that loomed up around them.

Priscilla remained where she was for a moment longer, fighting to contain her anger towards the world. Her anger towards Judith and the legion for not seeing that the path they had chosen would only lead to their deaths if she did not save them. Her anger at the Vikings for offering no easy solutions in their moment of desperation. Her anger at the Legion Council and the Divine Pyre for taking such a retched world and making it worse. But most of all anger at herself, for ever thinking that she could save anyone when they would only damn her for the effort.

Lifting her fist up to her chest, she saluted Judith's back and spoke softly, saying the words that she had been taught years ago when she had been a young, hopeful, and terribly foolish soldier of Ashfeld. "By your order, Commander."