If the people of Cinder Mill were at all thankful for their liberation from the Divine Pyre, or the food that they had been given back to sustain them in these trying times, Herleif did not bother to notice as he ordered his warriors to march forth from the small village and leave the Great Forge ruined and empty in their wake. Come evening the weather had cleared, marking the violent day with warm colors of fire and blood in the sky as the sun set over the horizon. Sat upon his horse at the outskirts of town, with Judith by his side upon her own steed and Skuld lingering nearby, Herleif watched with a sullen frown as his warriors marched by in formation, trampling the muddy ground beneath their feet as they headed north towards the distant mountains where the volcano stood tall against the vibrant sky.

He told himself that this was a victory, a battle that he might add to his saga and increase his fame once he had returned home, but in truth he felt no joy in his heart at this outcome. He had lost the one prize that he had come to claim, and now he would return to Erik and Ivar empty handed, to be humiliated by their jeers and judgment at his failure to capture a single Knight.

What was worse, his temper had gotten the better of him, and he had lashed out at his brother who had only done what any man could against an adversary in pitched combat. As much as he hated to admit it, Priscilla was right. There were no guarantees in war, and it was rare that any plan ever survived the first clash of swords with the enemy, no matter how important the plan was.

Watching the warriors go by, he caught sight of Gunnar walking among their ranks. His brother stood tall over the rest, eyes downcast and shoulders tense. Herleif noticed how Gunnar wouldn't look up at him as he went by, not even a glance as he walked on and passed out of sight. Herleif felt guilt rip at his heart, but clenched his jaw tighter and tried not to show it. They had often butted heads throughout their lives, but always they had come together again over horns of mead and laughed together as brothers. This time felt different though. He had never torn into his brother so openly in front of the rest of his warriors before, much less in front of people who had once been their enemy. He regretted it, down in the depths of his heart he did, but he just couldn't bring himself to forgive Gunnar for the part he had played in all this, not yet.

He remembered that look Gunnar had given him when he had asked about the armor. That strange look of unease, of guilt and fear. What was the truth behind that look, that brief moment where his brother had shown something more in his eyes, something he didn't want to share? That question did not sit well with Herleif, not at all, for he did not know his brother to be a man of secrets, not from him. Regardless of what might have been said in a moment of anger between them, something much deeper than Chaldeon's death was at work here, and he needed to know what.

The line of warriors moved on, bearing the blue and silver colors of his clan and carrying Vegvisir banners proudly above their heads. He saw the twins and Helge among their midst, leading a pack of wild Berserkers decorated with wolf tails and animal bones danging from their belts and armor. They were an integral part of his raiding party for quick and devastating attacks. Wild and vicious, they were a terror to anyone they met upon the battlefield. But they could be temperamental and hard to control as well, almost impossibly so once the blood began to flow and the fury of Odin coursed through their veins. Without a doubt Ragna was the strongest among them. Ragnar might disagree, but never within earshot of his sister. Herleif was glad to have them as some of his most prized and trusted warriors whenever he went raiding, but recently Ragna's criticism of his leadership had begun to weigh on his mind.

He was well aware of the doubts some people had in his leadership, and the whispers they shared when they thought he was not listening had not been missed. This was the first raid he had embarked on in five seasons, having instead looked to his hold and the mouth of the Strait of Andlàngr that gave passage to ships through the heart of Valkenheim. Holding such a position had made his clan powerful among the western territories of their homeland, and he had sought to grow that power by looking inward to cultivate what land was suited towards farming and collecting tributes from the ships that wished to use his ports for trading and passage through the straight. In addition to that was overseeing the defense of his borders, and repelling any raids from jealous Jarls, such as that dog Ivar the Red who wished to lay claim to his growing bounty.

So far his efforts to build upon what his father had left him had worked, and Bilrost had become a prominent territory in the west. Even more so than when his father had reigned, he dared imagine. But for some the fruits of his labor were not enough to satisfy their desires or ambitions, such as his warriors who remained bored and without purpose, their weapons tucked away and unused as another raiding season passed them by. Soon talk had begun to turn from the blessings and fortune the gods had bestowed upon the clan to the unfairness of living in past glories instead of creating new ones.

It had left him in a precarious position. He had strengthened his hold, putting his every effort into making the lives of his people better, but in the end he had left his rule vulnerable from from threats beyond his borders as well as within. Training and the occasional skirmish was all that kept his fighters occupied these past seasons, while other Jarls made rich heroes of their warriors through raiding and war. Even with all he had done to leave something worthwhile for his children to inherit after he was gone, he knew that in the end he had been sitting still in his hall for far too long.

He needed this. Despite his misgivings, this raid had could not have come at a better time. The call to war had been sounded like a blow from the Gjallarhorn, and he had once again taken up his sword and shield in answer. Not that he believed there was much of a choice to deny it. Gunnar had been right back when they had talked together over horns of mead in his hall, this was an opportunity that he could not let slip through his fingers. If he had, he might have never lived down the cowardly reputation his disgruntled warriors would most certainly have saddled him with. Or more concerning, had no chance of resisting Ivar and Erik once they had returned from these lands with gold and glory bolstering their strength, drawing every kind of warrior from all over Valkenheim and beyond to their halls for a chance of claiming the same as they turned their lust for power into a war of conquest. How long would he be able to resist them then? A few months? A year at most? All he would have worked for would be lost, his family ruined and cast out into the wilderness while a newly proclaimed King Erik Golden-Shield gave his hall to someone of his choosing.

No, there hadn't been a choice to refuse this offer from Erik. The time of looking inward was over, and this was a season to raid again. He had never forgotten the ways of the gods, the ways of battle. They had been engraved into his very being since the days of his youth, practicing with sword and shield against his father, against his brother's axe, fighting as a warrior in the shield wall shoulder to shoulder with his people, then leading them as a Warlord on raids into Ashfeld and the Myre to return with ships full of silver and gold. Now he was a Jarl, a title given to him after his father's passing, trusted by those he ruled and sworn to see his warriors given the chance at glory and a valiant death so that they might one day enter through Valhalla's gates.

He would not fall short of the mark in his duty any longer. He refused.

Now though he faced the whole new obstacle of bringing these Knights of the Lion Flame Legion into their ranks, fighting side by side with them as if they were all old friends. So far the Knights were seemingly tolerated by his warriors for the most part, welcomed by some or ignored by others, but there was still the ever present fear that this strange union would in the end only lead to bloodshed. It was important that he kept a sharp eye on things, made sure everyone stayed in line. He was here to fight, to win and to raid, and he would see any sword at his disposal put to the task of filling his ships to the brim with treasure and thralls. He was in command, and all who questioned him would be brought to their knees and see that he was Jarl.

The marching continued, blue shields and fur adorned armor giving way to red and white tabards and metal plates. Judith's Knights had tried to linger in the village after the battle, to stay and help the people back into their homes and settled into some semblance of normal life, but he wouldn't allow it. They had come to stop their enemy from gaining a position behind their line in the coming siege, not to save a village. These people would have to survive on their own now, to prosper or fall on their by the grace of their so-called merciful God. He would give them no more thought. In a years' time, maybe more, he might just return to Cinder Mill again, see what became of the Great Forge and raid these lands properly as his people had done for generations. Judith would simply have to live with that prospect, if it occurred to her at all. The quicker she followed his advice and stopped clinging to her Knightly code of honor, the smoother things would go for all of them.

Looking over the crowd before him, he found two figures readying their horses among the rest of the Lion Flame Knights. Lingering in the middle of the group not wishing to be seen, Priscilla Arentii and the Conqueror simply called Coal stood out to him like how Helge saw ill omens among her bones. Priscilla seemed to trying her best to lurk behind a towering Lawbringer, as if trying to hide in the armored man's shadow, but Herleif saw her. He leaned over to the side in his saddle and spit at the ground in disgust.

He had been wrong about this Peacekeeper, imagining that her blood feud with this Pyre Lawbringer back at the harbor to be a single incident, but again she had proven herself to be an unwelcome source of Loki mischief and become a growing concern on mind. On one hand he owed it to her that the gate was opened and he was able to lead his warriors to victory inside the Great Forge, and it had been on her word that his scouts had ranged out far enough to catch the Divine Pyre moving around them to take up position at Cinder Mill and the forge. It was an odd stroke of luck, too odd perhaps to just be simple luck at all. Furthermore, as much as he turned things over in his head he could not see why she would have involved herself in the fight with Vincent in the keep. He had trusted his brother with that task, trusted him completely, and yet here was this sneak thief of a woman turning all of their hard fought work to dust. Erik wanted to interrogate Chaldeon on the way into the Walled City's vault, and now his wrath would turn on him and his warriors all because of Priscilla's actions.

Back in Eitrivatnen he had looked upon her with disinterest and turned a blind eye as she seemed to act out on her own, but now he saw how that had been a mistake. He knew that he was taking the easy way out by throwing her to Erik like a hog dressed for the spit. No doubt it would earn him no kindness from Judith going forward, but if Erik did decide to pass the ultimate judgment on Priscilla then at least she would no longer prove to be a problem. Gunnar would be furious, he knew. It troubled him, truly it did, but this one woman was not worth the petty vengeance Erik would seek to bring against them for delivering news of a corpse rather than a prisoner.

He would have to have words with his brother on this matter, he knew. Gunnar had never been a man to linger on one woman for long, but he could see how this was different. His brother could try to hide it if he wished, but he knew. The way things were going the storm would only get worse between them unless they found calm waters together now.

His mood grew darker the longer he watched the Knights mount up and prepare to move, and he felt agitated with simply sitting there and doing nothing while the world seemed to be going crazy around him. "I have seen enough," he grumbled, breaking the heavy silence that had fallen over them. "See to it that your Knights do not outpace us. It is a kindness that I let you keep those horses at all," he said over his shoulder to Judith as he gave his horse a kick and turned it about.

Judith shifted uncomfortably in her saddle, metal clinking over the soft sound of creaking leather. "Herleif, let us stay. One day at least. Let us do right by these people before we move on," she asked him sadly.

Clenching his jaw, Herleif pulled his mount up short, tugging on the reins to move in closer to Judith. "If it means so much to you, then stay," he said as he leaned in towards her. "But I did not come here to wait on your people and their meager troubles. Stay as long as you would like, I give no shit, but we will not be waiting for you." He gave his horse another kick and turned it about, nodding at Skuld as they began to follow after his warriors together, calling back to her as his horse churned up the thick mud beneath it's hooves. "Remember that you have no friends in these lands, Commander. Come with us, or stay. Choose what you will, but as of now this village is no longer my concern."

He did not look back to see how she reacted, and he did not wait to listen for any reply. Digging his heels into the horse's flanks, he spurred the beast on, moving from a brisk canter to a gallop with Skuld just behind, riding on towards the volcano as they left the group of wayward Knights behind.

It was a three day march from Cinder Mill to the foot of Mount Ignis where the Walled City lay waiting to be conquered. After two days of slow riding as they kept pace with the Vikings on foot, Coal was sore and stiff in ways he had never thought possible before.

"God in Heaven," he groaned as he dropped from the saddle and onto solid ground for the first time in hours, reaching back to rub at his aching ass and not caring who was around to watch.

They had stopped to make camp in a large field for the night before finally regrouping with the other Jarls the next day, but there were few who made an effort to pitch tents or fully unload their packs. In these eastern lands, so close now to the jungles and swamps of the Myre, the days had become hot and the nights cool and pleasant, so there were many who saw no issue with simply sleeping under the stars before being roused in the early hours of dawn to march again. Coal knew from experience that any moment of leisure on the march was meant to be cherished, no matter how brief. They hadn't seen a soul for miles, not counting the poor bastards they had passed by still strung up along the road outside of Cinder Mill. Anyone living was keeping well and clear away from the Viking army marching north to the volcano, so Coal figured he could take the chance of leaving his flail and helmet with his horse for the time being. His shield though he kept with him, finding the familiar weight a comfort as he slung it over one shoulder whether he found himself in need of it or not.

Priscilla fell in beside him after getting down off of her own horse, hood down and hair loose about her face without her helmet. After the first day of marching he had wondered if it was a good idea for them to be seen together after all that had happened back at the forge, but it seemed that she no longer bothered with trying to appear as if they had nothing to do with each other now, and he told himself not to worry. Maybe they had just drawn too much notice from the Jarls and their Commander to bother with pretending anymore, or perhaps she just couldn't find a reason to care.

"Let's find some food," he said to her as they walked aimlessly through the crowd of horses and Knights around them.

Priscilla just nodded, somehow even less talkative than usual. He knew that she was the quiet sort to begin with, and he was too, but this was different. No doubt that what had happened at the Great Forge was still lingering on her mind, but if she didn't want to talk then he wasn't going to press her. No one paid them any mind as they walked on, and they were not in any great hurry, heading in no particular direction as they walked side by side. Silence existed between them, and for now at least that was perfectly fine.

They followed a few other Knights who seemed to know where they were going, eventually coming to a line where someone was doling out stew from a big pot. The mood around them was generally quiet, and it took Coal a moment to realize that it wasn't just Knights waiting in line, but Vikings as well. They all mingled together in relative silence, no one barking curses or threats at each other like they would if standing in opposition on a battlefield, but instead were just quiet and calm. Every so often he spied a Knight and a Northman speaking to each other in a seemingly polite tone, and even heard a laugh traded once or twice at a joke.

"Maybe things are looking up," he remarked to Priscilla as they slowly moved up the line.

"What things?" she asked him, her voice flat and uninterested.

He glanced down and frowned at her. Usually she was so observant of those around them, usually so sharp and alert. Whatever was on her mind really was getting her down. "Nothing. Quiet is all. Guess everyone is just tired of fighting for once." He glanced about again, locking eyes with a Berserker who was walking by with a bowl of stew. The wild man stopped and offered up a hateful glare that spoke of a side of fresh blood along with his meal, and Coal quickly looked away. "Well, almost everyone."

It didn't take long for the line to move, and soon it was coming up to be their turn, just after a Warden and Lawbringer that stood in front of them. There was a basket full of bread loaves, but there was no fresh scent in the air, so Coal knew that they were old, most likely brought on the march or taken from some village along the way. That suited him just fine, so long as he got to fill his belly with something halfway edible. The Warden and Lawbringer were each offered up a chunk from a loaf and a bowl of steaming hot stew, and they thanked the two Vikings giving out the food for sharing their bounty. The Vikings actually gave kind nods of welcome in return, and everyone parted as if they had all grown up in the same village without a single harsh word between them. Then it was their turn.

Coal stepped up and politely extended his hand for a piece of bread. The Viking standing with the basket ripped a chunk off of the loaf and tossed it at him. It hit him square in the chest and fell into the dirt at his feet. He glanced down at the stale white bread laying in the short grass and brown earth, then slowly back up at the Viking. The man's face was impassive, a fixed scowl beneath his long beard and dark bushy brows. Coal had a feeling that questioning the man would get him nowhere, so simply bent down to pick up the piece of bread before stepping over to the stew pot, already feeling a growing sense of dread at what might come next. Priscilla at least had the advantage of seeing what had occurred and silently snatched her piece of bread out of the air as the Viking tossed it at her.

When it came to the stew, Coal was decently surprised to see that the next Viking actually had a wooden bowl full and ready for him. He didn't immediately reach out for it for fear that he might end up wearing the hot food instead of eating it. But the Viking simply held the bowl out for him, though is gaze was just as hard and unflinching as the first man. Coal stared back, knowing that there had to be a catch and was just trying to see where it was. This sort of scenario was not unfamiliar to him, and the chance for violence was a very real possibility depending on how these next few moments played out. He could feel the tension in the air like a flame being held too close to the skin.

Knowing that nothing would happen unless he made the next move, he gave the Viking a small smile and reached out to take the bowl. The man drew it back before he could grab it, bringing it up to his face and hocking a glob of spit into the stew, then pressed the bowl into his waiting hand.

Coal stared down at the bowl, the spit still sitting at the top of the stew all bubbling and white. This is where the violence would come into play, if he wished it. His fingers gripped tightly around the bowl, tense with the urge to throw the hot stew back into the man's face as a start. From there he would lunge across the pot, knocking it over and spilling its contents as they fell down together, scalding themselves in all that hot wasted food as they wrestled for control in the dirt, punching, kicking, beating each other until someone finally began to lose. Eventually they would be pulled apart, probably by a few of the bastard's friends who would then take it upon themselves to beat him senseless as an act of revenge. He had his shield, and could no doubt break a few noses at least, but it would hardly do any good in the long run. Priscilla would get involved as well sooner or later, taking no chances and drawing a knife right from the start rather than using her fists like the rest of them, so there would most definitely be blood. Someone would die, probably, and the fight would expand, more Knights and Vikings coming at each other with weapons as the brawl became a battle, then a massacre. They were outnumbered after all, only a shadow of the legion's former strength, and Herleif would probably say that he had no choice when all was said and done. And really who would blame him? The damn Conqueror just went mad, and the rest was out of his hands. All of them dead over a little bit of spit in the stew, end of story.

He looked back up at the Viking, who stared back with a smug smile, clearly seeing the same outcome should a single drop of stew stain his shirt. Sometimes you just knew who the winner was even before the fight could begin. For a moment Coal pondered if the sacrifice would actually be worth seeing this piece of shit's face smashed in.

"Thank you friend," he pronounced happily, flashing a bright smile and lifting up the bowl in gratitude before turning to walk away.

"Fuck you, tin man," said the Viking after him, returning Coal's smile with one equally warm and kind. He ladled out another bowl of stew for Priscilla, spitting in it before handing it over to her as well. "And fuck you, little troll bitch. We look forward to watching Golden-Shield flay alive you for the humiliation you have brought upon our Jarl."

Priscilla took the bowl without a word, frowning down at the extra ingredient she had not asked for. Coal looked back just to make sure that she didn't try to gut the man after he had managed to look past this little insult. "Oh, we promise to make it quite the spectacle. Lots of shrill screaming and begging for God's mercy and the like. It will be a flaying to remember, I promise you that my friends!"

"Fuck you, piss-drinkers!" said the Viking again, still smiling as Priscilla walked off with her tainted stew.

"Aye. May you ride under your horses from here to the fire mountain!" said the other, waving as they parted.

Coal waved back with his hunk of hard bread. "God bless!" he smiled, then turned his back to the men and grumbled under his breath, "Whoreson swine."

Priscilla walked beside him, still frowning down at her bowl. "You should have hit him," she said.

"I wanted to," Coal sighed, feeling the tightness in his hands linger as he thought about slamming his knuckles into the Viking's stupidly grinning face.

"You hit that Raider in Eitrivatnen."

"I was drunk, and that started a much bigger fight. One you barely got me out of, as I recall. Something tells me that causing another scene like that is the last thing we need right now." He glanced towards her just in time to catch her giving him a questioning look. "Believe it or not, I do know how to keep my head down when necessary." Priscilla simply grunted in response and for once her indifference did nothing to improve his mood. "Unless that sort of thing is no longer a priority to you," he said with a curl of his lip.

Priscilla eyed him before glowering off in the direction they were walking. "And what would you say my priority should be?"

"With the way things are going, I'd say it better be getting us out of this mess alive," he said, "God willing."

"And what makes you think any of that is up to me?" she asked.

Coal stopped and put a hand to Priscilla's shoulder, sending bread crumbs tumbling down her front. "Because this was all your fucking idea," he said, staring at her hard, "You're the one who thought up this mad scheme with the Silent Blade, you're the one with the plan. I'm just the poor bastard that carried your messages and was ordered to follow you into Hell. Now that we're here I'd like to know that our chances of walking out again are as good as they can be." Priscilla met his stern gaze with one of his own, opening her mouth as if to say something before shutting it again and walking on to find a place to sit.

They crested a small hill of open grass just before a line of trees and away from the rest of Knights and Vikings, sitting down together and leaning back to back for support. Coal dropped his shield beside him once he was settled, making sure it was front side down so he could grab the straps in a pinch if needed. Just one of the few things he had learned to do moving from battle to battle over the years.

It was odd how familiar this all felt, given the strange beginnings of this particular war. Another meal sitting on the hard ground under the open sun, soldiers sat about enjoying a break from marching while they had a chance. Just another camp in another war.

The Vikings were spread out in small groups of three or five, no doubt warriors with close ties to one another through years of fighting or common ancestry, but even then the smaller groups were not spaced far from each other as the sun slowly lowered in the west. These people were all from the northern lands of Bilrost, he knew. Sworn to Herleif as brave and loyal warriors, and familiar with each other as if they were all kin. They laughed and joked together, sharing drink and food among themselves and between groups. The pleasant melody of harps, flutes and drums soon filled the air, and all around there was a calming sense of good humor and cheer, as if they were all back home under a northern sky rather then camping in a far away hostile land.

Coal loathed to admit it, but he felt a bit jealous to see it. Priscilla was a fine enough woman to be around, when she wasn't wielding her tongue as sharply as her dagger, but it was hardly as if he had chosen to have his fate tied to hers. Circumstance had made it so that he knew her best, while many of the other members of the Lion Flame were still nearly strangers to him. Even sitting among a large army he was on his own, just as he had been for years. Settling in, he leaned back against Priscilla and took a moment to enjoy the warm sun on his face, happy to not be sweating beneath his helmet in the midst of some hellish battle. Lifting his bowl, he took a bit of bread and used it to scoop out the spit still lingering in his stew and flicked it away, and happily dug in.

"Are you truly that hungry?" asked Priscilla, and he glanced back over his shoulder to see that her bowl was sitting neglected at her side.

He shrugged. "I've eaten worse," he said, scooping up more stew onto the rest of his bread and taking a bite. It was warm, and rather flavorful for food made on the march. His expectations had not been high to begin with, but it would fill his belly and for that he was grateful. "At least this time around I can just flick away the filth."

"You mean in prison?"

Coal gave a quick snort of laughter before taking another bite. "No, at the Lord-Warden's table. Terrible shit there, and such tiny portions."

Priscilla didn't bother to laugh at the little joke, and she was quiet for another moment before she spoke again. "The filth found at court is not so easy to ignore either."

"That so?" he said, though he didn't really care for an answer in return. She seemed to pick up on this and asked another question instead.

"Why were you sent here to help me, Coal?" she asked. He stopped with the last bite of bread hovering just before his lips, saying nothing, feeling how Priscilla shifted against his back. "You brought me my last orders from Beaufort before we sailed north, but there was no reason to send a Conqueror to do that. There is nothing about this mission that I am not trained to handle on my own, and it would be a poor lie if I said I was expecting any help."

"We've been at this for months," he said, stuffing the rest of the bread into his mouth and chewing as he spoke, "and now you ask?"

"I am asking."

Coal gave a little grunt and shook his head. "You seem to be under the delusion that there is some greater purpose to me being here." Lifting the bowl to his lips he drank down the rest of his stew, smacking his lips with a satisfied sigh. "I'm telling you, there is none. You might be the one with a grander purpose in all of this, but for me I just go where I'm told, when I'm told. There is no choice for me in this, just my orders."

"Surely there is more to it than that? No one chooses to be dubbed the title of Conqueror, just as you did not choose to join this legion. So why tie your fate to it?"

Grabbing his shield, Coal flipped it around front side up. It was a simple piece of weaponry, made of thick wood and metal-rimmed, with dark iron studs breaking up the image of a sword crossed with two flags painted in black. "You see this?" he asked, tapping his fingers on the symbol, "The Martial Flags of us good and loyal conscripted soldiers fighting for the glory of Ashfeld. The symbol of our duty, of our penance owed to our lords for our crimes. For my one single crime." He laughed then, staring at the shield he had carried with him for years now, so long that he couldn't imagine not having it at his side anymore. "It's not even really mine. It's just one out of a hundred like it, taken out of the armory. Something that won't be of any loss to anyone if left on the battlefield. Just like me."

"You are more than a shield, or a suit of armor issued by a quarter master," Priscilla said. "Your worth as a soldier is not determined by a painted symbol."

"Are you sure?" he smirked, flipping the shield back over. "At the very least, I think its a reminder that the leash is still very firmly fixed to my neck. Such is my fate, no matter what legion I find myself attached to at the moment."

Priscilla just sat there for a moment, then shifted awkwardly against his back. "Why not just run?"

"I suggested that, remember? You shot that idea down pretty quick," he said.

She slumped back a bit, her body sagging against him. "I made my last choice when I went to the Sisterhood and Beaufort with Judith's plan. Now my hands are tied, and I need to see this through to the end or die trying. Or die with the rest of the legion and be branded a traitor after the fact." Her head came back to rest between his shoulder blades. "But I see no reason why it needs to be that way for you. There is a lot of open ground between here and the volcano. Easy for one man to just disappear out here."

Coal glanced down into his empty bowl, then out at all the warriors around them. Men and women sat together in groups, as brothers and sisters in arms. Comrades, a fellowship born through war and faith. Everything he had gone without while in service to Ashfeld's valiant defense. "Still mulling that option over, I guess," he muttered, chewing on the corner of his lip. He felt the old scar across his face stretch, the lingering tightness of the skin. "But, wouldn't you know it, I already tried running to save my own skin once. It only led to being brought back in shackles."

Priscilla was quiet for a long moment, simply resting her head against his back. Coal felt her take in a breath just before she sighed, and he braced himself for whatever was coming next. "Coal, I-"

"Are you going to eat your stew?" he interrupted, deciding that he would rather this conversation end now rather than go on. Priscilla's head lifted off his back for a brief moment, but then rested against him again.

"No," she said softly, pushing the bowl over to him, "Enjoy."

"Don't mind if I do," Coal said, picking up her bowl and bread to scoop out the tainted bits and dumping it into the grass. He had a nice bit of meat and took a bite, pleased to find that it was still warm. Silence fell between them again and he was glad for it. Knowing where one stood in the world was all well and good, but sometimes it was nice just to sit quietly and enjoy a simple bowl of stew. Even one that had spit in it, depending on just where it was one stood in life.

Taking another bite, Coal chewed on a bit of meat and enjoyed the flavor, looking up to survey the field. Then he stopped chewing. "Uh-oh," he muttered, staring on as he scooped up some more and took another bite, "Here comes your beau."

Priscilla perked up a bit behind him. "What?" She leaned up to look over his shoulder, her voice dropping. "Oh..." then she dropped back slouching against him, "...fucking hell."

Gunnar strode across the field towards them, free of his helmet and holding his own steaming bowl of stew and hunk of bread in hand. He strolled on leisurely, as if having just found friends across a crowded tavern. He gave a small smile when he got closer, casting them both in the shadow of his hulking form before he turned and sat right down against the both of them. Coal balanced his bowl as he was jostled by Gunnar's shoulder, but the big man paid little mind to the glare he gave before settling back.

"Not hungry?" Gunnar asked, glancing at Priscilla as he dipped his bread into the stew.

"The special seasoning was not to my liking," she grumbled without looking at him.

Gunnar frowned at her, then took a bite of his food, brows rising up his head. "Tastes fine to me," he said. He took another bite then offered her his bowl. She declined by bringing her knees up to her chin and looking away. Gunnar's gaze lingered on her before his focus turned back to his food.

Coal looked at Gunnar, wondering if he could feel how tense Priscilla was against their backs or if he was just clueless. It was just his luck that he would finally slip free of one unpleasant moment only to find himself in another. Such was his life.

"What you doing here, big man?" he asked as he scooped up the last of his stew with his bread and popped it into his mouth.

"Sitting. Eating," Gunnar grunted in reply.

Priscilla's retort was as quick as a viper's strike. "He means what are you doing here with us?"

Gunnar slowly turned his head, one eyebrow cocked high. "Am I not able to sit where I wish? I am the son of a Jarl, I'll have you remember."

"Well I guess being high-born doesn't make your any less of a fool," Coal said wryly, wiping down his front of white bread crumbs and setting the empty bowl down into the first. "Don't you think it would be better if we spent a little time apart? Your brother doesn't seem to approve of our budding friendship anymore."

"He is not the only one," muttered Priscilla under her breath.

Gunnar looked between the both of them, giving a disgruntled grunt. "My brother may command me, but he does not rule me, if that makes sense. I know Herleif to be a good man, but he has always had a temper, and it can get the better of him when the weight of the world becomes such a burden on his shoulders. But let him blow and bluster his anger as he likes, it changes nothing." He glanced over at Priscilla, giving her a nudge with his elbow that sent her rocking. "We fought together, and you did what you had to do. We all did."

"And what of Erik Golden-Shield's temper? Will he see it that way?" Priscilla asked him, "If he will, then please by all means put my worried mind at ease, because as far as I am aware Erik cares little for excuses and only about getting what he wants. I have a feeling that in Vincent's absence he will gladly take our heads as recompense."

Gunnar's thoughtful concern turned into a dark scowl as he clutched tightly at the wooden bowl in his hand. "I give no shit for what Erik wants, not now. If he wishes to have your heads, then he will have to go through me to get them. There was a time when I wintered in his hall and gladly called him friend, but on this raid I have seen a side of him I do not like, and if he will not listen to reason then he will listen to the blade of my axe instead. Him, his champion, and his dog-brained son as well."

Coal shook his head at how ridiculous it all sounded. "You think challenging a man with an army behind him will solve all our problems? Or better yet, asking him nicely because you shared a few drinks together? I don't know what sort of dream world you live in Gunnar, but I think that its time you woke up. In my experience people in power lose no sleep over destroying the lives of those beneath them. So trust me when I say that the path ahead leads only through shit and piss."

"No," Gunnar said defiantly, his eyes snapping angrily back to Coal. "We have not come so far only to lose heart now. This is not a dream I will one day wake from, but life, uncertain and untamed. Now more than ever we must trust those who stand willingly at our sides, and right now from where I am sitting that is the two of you." As if to drive home his point, he leaned back into the both of them with his shoulders, stirring his bread in his stew but not taking a bite. When he spoke again it was with a quiet uncertainty and a sudden shame that was rather unfamiliar to his nature. "In another life, in another dream perhaps, we would have met upon the battlefield as enemies, and there would have been nothing between us but blood. But that is not where fate has led us. Our lives are all together something different, something strange from what I thought we were meant to be. For now in my heart I know, you two are indeed drengr."

Coal was quiet for a moment at that. In a way he felt like he had been following along with what Gunnar was getting at, but that last word stumped him. "We're what now?"

"Drengr," Gunnar repeated, giving a much more confident grin. "A word of honor among my people. It means you are a brave, reckless and tough sort of warrior. A true son of Valkenheim. Or daughter," he added with a glance towards Priscilla. She looked back at him through narrowed eyes, face grimacing as if the title Gunnar had bestowed upon them brought her nothing but grief rather than pride. Coal could only wonder how Gunnar's next words might have felt like a knife twisting between her ribs as he went on. "But most importantly, it means that I am glad to have you both fighting by my side, truly. As my brother would say, there is no one more important on the battlefield than the warrior standing next to you in the shield wall. And as drengr I swear I shall always be there to fight by yours. No matter what happens when we reach the Walled City, and whatever punishment my brother, or Erik or that hateful bastard Ivar have in store, we will all face it together. The three of us standing strong,Valkenheim and Ashfeld fighting together against the world and the gods. Ha! Now that..." and he smiled brightly now, looking out across the hills at the camp of Vikings and Knights spread out together before him, "...that is a saga worth being told."

Those words hung over them as they all sat quietly together. Coal didn't know what to say. He mulled the word over in his mind, the meaning of it, the weight it seemed to hold for this unlikely northern ally. "Drengr," he said softly, feeling the word out for himself. It seemed strange that a foreign word might mean anything to him at all, but when the title he wore now was as hollow to him as his ill begotten past, he could feel it growing on him. "Never been part of a saga before," he found himself saying a bit louder.

"It is a grand thing to have one," Gunnar nodded. "Whether a warrior dies by the sword or old in their bed, they will go on to whatever realm awaits them after this, but it is through their stories that we remember them by so that they continue to live on with us."

Coal pressed his lips into an awkward frown and swallowed hard. "Now that is a bit much to believe. Can't think of anyone who will remember me with any fondness once I'm gone. Sometimes things just don't meet with a grand end like you want them to. I made peace with that a long time ago." He sighed, wondering how he had let himself become so melancholy sitting on some unnamed hill, in another terrible war he had no stake in. "You know, its' talks like these that just make me wish I had just been left to die in prison."

Gunnar's head whipped around, his eyes bright and wide as he stared at Coal with complete seriousness. "I am glad that you were not," he said earnestly, holding Coal's gaze. "There is no sense in wondering what might have been. We might have been enemies once. We might not have killed Chaldeon and gone on to the fight at Mount Ignis without a care. I might not have lied to my brother about the vault." Gunnar's gaze wavered then along with his voice, and Coal felt Priscilla stiffen against his back. "But that is not what happened. Our deeds are behind us and we must now live with them until we finally meet our fates, whatever they may be. What is important is that we face that fate bravely, and that we face it together, as drengr." He gave a curt nod and elbowed Coal in the arm. "I am very glad to have met you, Coal. And you, Priscilla Arentii. Very glad indeed." Then he lifted his stew covered bread and began to eat.

Now Coal really did have nothing to say.

In all of the time since his imprisonment years ago, a mistake that had overturned and altered the course of his whole life, no one had treated him as anything more than another body to throw at the enemy. For so long now his worth had been determined by how many lives he could take before finally losing his own. Living a life like that, existing only to die for the benefit of others, he had become resentful of the idea that there was anything worthwhile in life at all. In the end they were all just sacks of meat, slaughtered by the butchers that were the rich and powerful who controlled everything around them. And so he had fought, and killed, and clung onto what sliver of worth he could put to his life, as pointless as it was.

It was a life. It was his life, alone. In all that time, it had never much occurred to him that he might be worth anything to the person fighting next to him. Not until now.

"You really are a fool," Priscilla said, breaking the heavy silence, and Coal couldn't miss that crack in her voice as she spoke. He felt her shifting behind him, and there was a wet sniff before she let out a sigh. It seemed that Gunnar's words dug at her in a no less personal way. "Truly you are, if you think that anything remarkable can come out of us meeting like this. You are in a dream, and when you wake up you will see there is no great story for the likes of us. The lives we have led are not the ones woven into great tales and legends. They get written over by people with a better voice for dictating what happened."

Gunnar frowned down into his bowl, the lines of his brow creased as the wind lightly stirred his beard and hair about his face. "I would not presume to argue with you on whether or not that is true," he said slowly. He took a breath, and reached over to gently take Priscilla's small hand in his, "but perhaps it is never too late to begin a new story. One with a better ending that what we thought fate had in store."

Priscilla said nothing. Silence fell over them again, and from what Coal could tell, neither her or Gunnar broke their small embrace.

The wind picked up and rustled through the nearby trees and grass. Coal gazed out over the field as the sun glinted over a sea of shining weapons and armor, and the low sound of men and women enjoying the fading day was all around them. Vikings and Knights all gathered in this one place. Not exactly friends, but not enemies either. It was almost sickening how idyllic this one quiet moment was right now.

Too sickening in fact for Coal to stomach.

"Well, shit," he began, blowing out his cheeks and running a hand through his dark hair, "If we're getting to make our own stories now, then I think I'll make myself the long lost heir to the throne of the Old Empire. And once I am crowned as Emperor and bring Ashfeld under my rightful rule, a hundred and one beautiful princesses and noble women will come from all across the land just for a chance of being my bride. But I'm going to turn all of them down. Every last one," he smiled, holding out his hands as if he could see the masses of beautiful ladies lining up before him. "Instead I'll go north and marry the biggest bitch in all of Valkenheim, just so I know she'll keep me nice and warm in bed on a cold winters night. Hows that for a new fucking story?"

"I think Ivar will take issue with you trying to steal away his wife," Gunnar said with a great white grin breaking out through his beard, giving an amused snort before losing himself to his laughter.

Coal could only answer with a snort of his own, until he was shaking right along side Gunnar with raucous laughter. Priscilla kept her composure enough not to succumb to their base sense of humor, but instead offered up a groan of mild amusement that one could only give in the company of likable but ultimately hopeless fools. Coal didn't mind. It just felt good to laugh really. It felt damn good.

There was less of a worry felt among them now, even though the threat of punishment still hung above their heads, and Coal leaned back to feel Priscilla pressing against him, and Gunnar shifted to better sit against them as well. As he did, Coal was somewhat surprised to feel Priscilla sliding up a bit closer to the big Raider.

"I will speak to my brother," Gunnar said gently, saying it more towards Priscilla from the way his voice carried, "I'll get him to understand what happened, and that we had no choice. There is still time before we reach Mount Ignis. Enough time to convince him not to bring you before Erik when we arrive."

"Is that so?" rang out a harsh voice that cut into their jovial reprieve. Coal quickly tensed in surprise and sat up straight, craning his neck around to see Herleif coming up the hill towards the three of them. Gunnar and Priscilla slid away from each other as if their touching shoulders had been hot as coals. Herleif held his horned and sea-demon-capped helmet under one arm as he approached, so Coal could see well and clear from the sour look on his face that closeness between his brother and Priscilla had not gone amiss. Behind him walked the Berserker twins, who wore scowls just as harsh and angry as their Jarl's beneath their gleaming face plates. Herleif held out his free hand in a questioning gesture towards Gunnar. "Is there no other place you could be right now other than here?"

Gunnar tried not to take that too personally, grinning back at his brother as Herleif came to cast them all beneath his great shadow. For his part, he took his brother's question with an easy grace that no doubt came from years of experience of being a younger sibling. "Seems as good a place as any," he said with a casual shrug of his great shoulders. "I like the view from up here. Get to see how well everyone is getting along after a well fought victory."

"A victory?" Herleif bit back, teeth showing beneath the bristles of his brown beard, "Is that what you think Erik will see it as once we return? He wanted Vincent Chaldeon alive, and now I must return to him empty handed because of this..." and he waved a lazy hand at Priscilla rather than finish with whatever insult had been on the tip of his tongue. He bit down on his bottom lip and surveyed the trees beyond the hill before looking down and giving Gunnar's foot a kick. "You wished to talk, then let us talk. Have your chance at convincing me to change my mind, though I doubt you can," and he stepped around Coal to head off towards the tree line, not bothering to look back to see whether or not his brother would follow.

Coal watched him go, squinting after him in the sunlight, then looked back as Gunnar gave an aggravated sigh before pushing himself up onto his feet. He left his unfinished bowl of stew on the matted down grass where he had been sitting, then took his time to wipe his hands together and give each of the Berserkers a not so convincing smile. Ragnar returned it along with an innocent shrug, while Ragna simply gave her usual scowl like she hated him no more or no less than anyone who wasn't her brother or that crazy little Shaman. Gunnar turned and looked down, offering Coal and Priscilla a wink before heading off after his brother. Coal couldn't help but notice how Gunnar's gaze had held on Priscilla a bit longer just before he left, and how hers lingered on him all the way until he disappeared into the trees.

When Gunnar was finally gone she slumped back down against his back, drawing her knees up against her chest and holding them tight as she fell into a deathly silence. Coal didn't mind. He could respect when a person didn't want to talk, and was happy to oblige her after what had already been said. He did reach down to pick up the bowl of stew Gunnar had left behind though, giving it a stir with what bread was left over. "Did you hear?" he asked the two Berserkers who remained standing next to them, evidently suffering from a lack of anything better to do while they waited for their Jarl to return. Coal popped the stew into his mouth and dipped the bread back into the bowl for more, smiling at the twins as he chewed. "We're drengr now. How about that?"

Ragna sneered in disgust down at them both before giving them her back, while Ragnar seemed to blink thoughtfully at this development, face turned upwards as he scratched at his chin with one of his sharpened axe blades. Coal simply chuckled to himself, enjoying the warmth of the sun on his face and the pleasure of a full belly. "Drengr," he said softly to himself, digging into the stew again, "Brave, tough, reckless kind of bastard. I like that. I like that very much."