My colors presented themselves as a lethal threat to these lands, displayed on my ships. It wasn't every day you got Danes to board ships in January, but that's what was happening this morning. The docks at Yorvik were crowded as my army prepared for departure. There was no sun this morning. Instead, we had dark gray clouds and strong winds.

I held onto the hilt of Bishop Heahmund's sword that was strapped to my back as I waited for the last of my army to board their ships. I must've been lost in thought because I was unaware of Hvitserk's presence when he roughly shoved me. Nearly losing my footing, I had to thrust my crutch down to save myself from falling.

'Where is she!' shouted Hvitserk, his face only inches from mine.

'Where's who?'

'Don't play stupid you know damn well who, where's Freydís?'

'Ahh, she's fine here. Follow me I'll show you,' I said, guiding Hvitserk towards the ships docked in the center of my fleet. The boat I took him to had children, women, and my housecarls on board. Freydís sat in the back, holding onto her son fuming at me. These were my hostages to ensure I wouldn't be returning to another disaster.

Hvitserk grabbed his hair growling, and then pointed at the ship.

'What is this?'

I innocently looked at the ship and smirked, meeting Hvitserk's eyes.

'You see, brother, I have to leave Yorvik and fight a battle. But I also must keep you and some of the army behind to keep our stronghold safe. Let's be honest the last few times I've left. I've come back to destruction. This here,' I said, patting down on the ship's stern. 'Is my guarantee nothing will happen while I'm away.'

'Are you threatening me, Ivar?'

'Of course not, brother,' I said, scrunching up my face in disbelief. My expression quickly changed into a grin when my housecarls stood beside me. 'I'm only looking out for our best interest. Now a threat would be I'll sacrifice Freydís and burn her alive should I come back to another rebellion attack on this town. You see the difference?'

'I chose your side!' shouted Hvitserk shoving me in the chest. I fell backward, caught by my housecarls, who quickly got in front of me shields out. 'This is how you repay me!'

'No fate chose my side. You were nothing more than a pawn to the gods.'

'For better or worse, you're stuck with me, Ivar. The people here don't like you. Don't forget I, too, am a son of Ragnar Lothbrok. If any harm comes to Freydís, I swear I'll kill you.'

I unlatched my knife holding it tightly in my grip. I swung my arm forward, just about to release it when Sigurd appeared. He was standing with his arms crossed over his chest, frowning at me.

'You're going to kill him too, eh boneless?'

I quickly blinked, dropping my arm. Hvitserk was staring horrified at me. He knew I almost tried to kill him. Sigurd was no longer there.

'Get on the ships. We've wasted enough time,' I snapped at my housecarls. I turned my back on Hvitserk, boarding my ship. I didn't want to look at Hvitserk. Both my brothers stared at me as if I were a monster. Maybe I was one now.

The ship rocked from the rough current that pounded against her planks. I sat on the stern's platform, gripping onto the steering oar. The wind was causing my bounded hair to smack against my steel collar violently. My cross and Thor's hammer amulets were beating against my chest. We released our lines and set her loose into the mighty current sailing north, centering her in the channels. Horns began blowing, and soon enough, my fleet followed, rowing against the current.

We arrived just past Lindisfarne monastery. Pulling our ships ashore, we tied them down together and anchored. I had sent scouts to purchase an ox and wagon to haul our supplies. I left two hundred men to guard our ships and my hostages. Our barrels of food and ale were loaded onto the wagon. I also ensured the men staying back were good on supplies. Afterward, we headed north on foot.

By early evening we had traveled deep inside the woods that provided steep inclined hills. I stood high above on the hill with my scouts eying far out in the distance for any threats.

I need to find out where Scot's army had relocated.

'Will make camp here. Post sentries out along the tops of these hills,' I said, pointing where to post them.

It went against my better judgment by allowing my army to make small campfires. It was late into the evening, and most of my men were asleep, besides my sentries I had posted out. I sat in front of my fire, trying to bring warmth to my frozen body. Being in chain mail wasn't helping, but I had ordered my men to sleep in their armor. I had given up on trying to fall asleep. Sleep seemed nearly impossible when I could command a shield wall that morning.

'Lord Ivar!'

I snapped my head up, latching onto my crutch, bolting up looking up the hill where the shout came. More shouting followed. Trouble is approaching my campsite. I smacked my crutch against one of my earls, waking him up.

'Lord?'

I pointed up to the hill.

'Take fifty of your men up that hill and scout the area. Blow the horn if you come across trouble. Bring me the sentry posted up there.'

The earl quickly rose, waking his crewmen and grabbing their weapons. They crept up the hill as a stealth wolf pack. I held onto the hilt of Bishop Heahmund's sword behind my back, staying highly alert listening to any suspicious noise.

I didn't want to wake my army unless necessary, and I needed my men rested. Shouting started coming where I sent my earl, and soon five men went down the hill with a prisoner in their arms.

Good work.

'Lord Ivar, we caught this bastard.'

My men held a young man around my age dressed in fine armor and wearing gold. He's not a low-born warrior. He's valuable. I chuckled, shaking my head at what the gods had brought me. I walked up to the prisoner.

'Greetings, Scot. You know how this works, tell me, where is your army located at?' I said in the English tongue.

In response, he spat at my face. My men tightened their grip on the Scot, bringing him down to his knees. I brought my hand up, wiping the spit off.

'Where is your army at,' I asked again, nearly growling.

The man responded, but whatever his response was, I couldn't understand the words he spoke. It almost sounded like the Irish tongue. I rolled my eyes. Of course, the Scots would speak another language. I reached out and snatched off the gold chain from around his neck. That put the Scot in an uproar of unknown sounds coming from my captive's mouth.

I stared down at the fancy gems and then at his sword one of my warriors was holding.

'I'm willing to wager you're valuable, so I'll let you live, for now,' I said and then looked over to my men. 'Tie him to the tree next to my campfire.'

By early morning I awoke my captive up. We had his wrist bounded together, and two of my men held onto him as he led us to his camp. I took a small force of fifty men with me as we walked through the woods. My crutch kept getting stuck in the terrain, but I fought past it.

We needed to find his army so I can choose the battlefield to our advantage.

'Lord, are you sure we can trust him? What if he's leading us to an ambush?'

I smirked, grabbing the Scot by the nape of his hair.

'He'll take us to his army, or he'll be crucified.'

The Scot said something, probably cursing me. I ignored it until a raven flew past us, heading south. My stomach dropped. My gut told me to abandon this assault and take my army back to Yorvik. I shook my head, trying to clear my mind.

I didn't get to crucify the Scot because he did take us to his campsite. I struck my crutch into the ground and dropped to the snow. The Scot muffled something as I crawled up to a clearing of trees. I slid my legs over the snow and tree roots ignoring the stinging sensation striking my fingers. After finding a suitable location, I began counting the horses and tents while staying low and out of view from the enemy.

Good, their numbers haven't increased. The Scot's camp isn't too far from ours. There's a clearing in between our camps that I know they'll want to fight. There's also a huge hill there, so the first shield wall to claim it will have the advantage. But I don't like to fight as a predictable opponent. Adrenaline started pumping through my body as I crawled back to my men.

The Scot's knew precisely where my camp was located, and now, I knew where theirs was. Most likely, tomorrow, we'd be going into battle.

Returning to our camp, I had my earls gather around me as I began making a diagram over the snow.

'Our best strategy is to surprise the Scots by taking the high ground during darkness. When morning comes, the Scots will be presented with our shield wall already formed.'

There was an agreement with my men as I pointed at the direction they'd be coming from.

'But they could also be expecting us to do this,' I said. 'We're on the Scots land with that they have the advantage regardless if we take the high ground. But they've never fought Danes either. We know how to adapt. I've never let this army down yet. This battle will be a statement to let them know Northumbria belongs to the Northmen.'

I stared down at the diagram frowning. If we take the high ground, the Scot's will have to fight us climbing up a snow-covered hill as we fired arrows and spears down at them. It's not enough. I need something that will give us more of a tremendous advantage. Think Ivar think.

'Use your anger intelligently, and I promise you my son one day the whole world will know and fear, Ivar the Boneless,' said Ragnar distantly.

I stared over at my hostage tied to a tree and smirked. I glanced around at my surroundings, and as if I were playing a game of chess, the pieces started lining up.

'Wait,' I said, halting my earls from leaving. 'Disregard what I said. We're not going to attack in an open field. We're going to have our hostage bring the army to us here.'

I hastily began drawing over the snow with a branch a new diagram of our battlefield. I had ordered my men to begin chopping wood and digging trenches. I had the ropes we brought soaked in oil all day. I organized three small groups to do a quick raid into the villages near us. Our once equal battle plan now turned the tables, and my army was going to slaughter the Scots.

My army would be breaking up into four ranks. Each rank had a different billet, but no position was more important than the other. I rehearsed with every rank their job throughout the day and picked their heads.

I'd be with the first rank holding onto our hostage in a shield wall baiting the enemy to attack us at the clearing of the woods. My second rank would be hidden on the left flank, and the third rank would be hidden on the right flank. My fourth rank would be in the rear, acting as our shields. At this point, I just surrounded my enemy on all four sides and reversed my shield wall layout.

Surprisingly even with the freezing weather, my army was in a great mood. Men were singing and laughing as they dug out trenches or chopped wood. I'd like to imagine they were excited to go into battle under my command, expecting a glorious battle.

I laid near the fire, ignoring the Scot who was cursing me in his foreign tongue. I could pick up some words that sounded closely like the Irish tongue. None of it was anything good. Chuckling, my smile dissipated when a commotion arose from off to the distance of our camp. I sat up, grabbing my crutch just as my housecarl ran over to me.

'Lord, there is a priest here who wishes to speak with you.'

I nodded my head and waved for him to bring the priest. These damn lands are infested with these priests. Almost as if my heart missed a beat, I gasped at the sight of Father Judd. My drunken dwarven friend was walking towards me carrying a sack in his hands. I smiled, sitting up straight, but Father Judd never returned my greeting, which put me on alert.

Father Judd walked up to my campfire, setting the sack next to me. I furrowed my brows reaching down opening it to see two of my scouts' heads inside. I looked sharply at the priest.

'The Scots wanted to show you since you have one of theirs, they needed to return the favor. They promised more would come,' said Father Judd looking remorseful.

'Father Judd, what in Odin's name are you doing with the Scots?'

'You thought I'd go back to Wessex so the late king's wife Judith could kill me? No, thank you, I rather like being alive,' said Father Judd sitting next to me, warming his hands by the fire. 'I knew it was Ivar the Boneless coming to fight King Giric. You're the only one I could think clever enough to capture their prince.'

'Wait, so he's a prince?'

'Of course, lord, who else would he be. I'd wager when you free him. He'll gut your boneless ass immediately.'

I smirked at that comment. In truth, I had deeply missed the priest. I waved for my housecarl to come over, holding the bag to him.

'Bury what remains of our fallen warriors.'

My housecarl took the sack. Father Judd took my cup of ale, taking a long swing from it. I rolled my eyes at this damn priest.

'Ah, how I missed you Vikings and your ale. Both of your men died an honorable warrior's death.'

I nodded, still trying to wrap my head that Father Judd was aiding the Scots.

'So, you're working for the Scots now. No doubt your worthless existence told them all about my defenses in Yorvik.'

'Oh, but of course, my dear crippled pagan,' said Father Judd smiling at me as he made his cross sign over his chest. 'Why else would I be out here freezing my cock off. You see, they plan on getting the Northumbrians to ally themselves with them to overthrow you sinful heathens from their lands. They especially wanted to know about the devil himself, Ivar the Boneless. Seeing as I was your priest for a year, I had quite a bit to say. Heathens they are, so many beautiful women they have, so much ale and mead of great value. And the feast, oh how they have smoked meats of all flavors.'

I laughed at that. A genuine, joyful laugh, one I hadn't released in for so long. I missed this Christian greatly, and I missed Bishop Heahmund along with my housecarls.

Leif was right. A Lothbrok shouldn't be left alone. The more I distanced myself, the more I became a monster. When I was around the people I accidentally allowed into my heart, the more I felt human, both vulnerable and safe.

'I burnt down your Christian churches,' I said, although I don't know why I admitted that.

'And they'll be rebuilt. I assure you, my dear pagan, Christianity won't falter in the slightest.'

I smiled sadly, looking over towards the prince who was eyeing us.

'What does this King Giric want for his son?'

'The usual, that you don't harm him, and he'll promise you a quick death,' said Father Judd finishing my ale.

'I'm not going to kill him. He's my bait after all.'

Father Judd nodded his head, placing my empty cup next to me and standing up. He gently placed his hand on my shoulder, looking me in the eyes.

'Ivar, you look like shit. Whatever has happened to you, I'll keep you in my prayers that you find peace.'

I adverted my gaze to the flames because I didn't want him to see how broken I truly was. Father Judd began walking away, and it was almost heart-wrenching. I didn't want to be alone anymore.

'Wait,' I said, standing up. 'Bishop Wulfhere could still use some assistance with the council if you'd rather go back to Yorvik with us.'

Please.

Father Judd stopped and turned to face me, smiling. He was staring me in the eyes as if he could read my thoughts. He nodded his head slowly, and reassurance soon washed over me.

'I forget how young you truly are at times, Ivar Ragnarsson. But occasionally, you let your guard drop, and the young man in his early twenties comes out. After the battle, I'll release myself from my service with the Scots and head back to Yorvik with the devil himself.'

That night I had my men sleep in their assigned rank positions. It would be a cold night because tonight I forbid any campfires. I knew the Scots had scouts roving near our campsite. I couldn't give up any of the positions, and everything needed to be a surprise for this to work.

The raids I had sent were successful, and they came back with local women from the villages. We tied them to the trees using the drenched oiled ropes.

Morning finally arrived, and with it, cold crisp air stung against our faces. My breath became visible as I stood out in front of my first rank. My men were lined up in front of the clearing of woods. I held the prince close next to me with his sword against his throat.

Father Judd was true to his word. Just as the sun's rays started peeking through the valley, the Scot's army revealed themselves marching down the hill. My army held the advantage of being staged on the incline. The enemy would have to battle us going uphill on the slippery snow. Four horsemen rode out in front of their progressing shield wall towards us. I tightened my grip on the prince, smirking cockily at the four approaching men.

'Archers!' I shouted. The rustling sound from a distance told me my men complied and made ready their arrows.

Most likely King Giric himself, the leader dismounted with Father Judd walking towards me. They halted a safe distance away but still close enough to talk without shouting. The king exchanged some words in his foreign tongue with his son, who replied. King Giric nodded his head and then looked at me with amusement.

Hah. I'll show him how amusing I can be. I'm about to wreak havoc over his army.

'You are the man that the devil himself took in a human form. Ivar the Boneless,' said King Giric in an English tongue with a thick accent.

I smiled sinisterly at him, keeping silent.

'And here I thought you'd have horns. But I am surprised you're so young. All the tales we've heard I never expected the great Ivar the Boneless to be no more than a boy still wet behind the ears.'

Again, I kept silent, not dropping my facade. I knew the king was goading me. This was a common tactic to do before a battle. King Giric smiled at my silent resistance.

'I'm going to tell you how this is going to go, child. You can't beat me. We know this land. I have more men than you. Trained men, we're not the Saxons you've been fighting. We don't embrace defeat so easily. As the leader, it's time for you to become a man, Ivar. Look out for your men, hand over my son, and I'll give you my word I'll allow you to leave my land safely. Fight me, and you will lose. I'll personally hand your crippled body over to the Saxon King Æthelred of Wessex on a gold platter.'

I smiled at the king. I carefully took my hand off my crutch, raising it in the air. On signal, twelve of the captive women my raiding party captured were flung down from the outer trees above my shield wall. The rope was tied around their necks, and the women dangled above us, releasing gaggled noises. The king gave me a look of disgust.

'You are the devil!'

'Loose!' I shouted, smiling at the king as the flaming arrows struck the hanging women who engulfed in flames. I stepped back behind my men dragging the prince with me. 'Shields up!'

My men brought their shields up, interlocking them in between each other tightly. The king and Father Judd got back on their horses and rode behind his shield wall. The Scots began charging up at us, most likely enraged at what they just witnessed.

I grabbed the prince by the shoulder, lowering my voice as I leaned into his ear.

'Run to your father,' I said, handing him his sheathed sword.

The prince's hands were still bonded together. Once the prince held his sword, I was shoved to the ground. The prince managed to unsheath his sword, piercing it down at my throat. I rolled out of the way, unhooking my war pick and evading the attack. His sword only grazed my steel collar. I unsheathed my seax in my strong hand, striking his ankle tearing through flesh, and bringing the prince down.

The prince's bonds must've come loose because he freely held his sword as he struck me. I gritted down from the pain as the steel made contact on the side of my face around my right eye, the blade nearly hitting my skull. I used the short delay he had by slamming my war pick at the prince's sword knocking it loose. I plunged my seax through his chain mail and into his stomach with my strong hand. Gripping tightly over my seax, I yanked it down, tearing apart chain links.

I rolled away from the dying prince reaching for my crutch. I only had a vision in my left eye. My right side of my face was blinded by blood oozing from my eye to my neck. My first rank was holding off the enemy in a shield wall battle.

'Archers, loose!' I shouted, out of breath. My arrows were shot from high up, hidden in the trees, to the enemy's shield wall. I positioned myself in the center behind my first rank. Backing up in a shield wall while the enemy was striking your shields was a difficult task while keeping your shields interlocked. My army had spent countless hours perfecting this movement. 'We back up on my command. And back! Back! Back!'

My men stepped past the fallen prince where I could make out the enemy grabbing onto him. Most likely bringing him to their rear rank for a healer to treat. The enemy's cheers started growing loudly as they pursued us further into the woods.

I smirked, half-blinded, but I could still make out our marking point.

'Halt!' I shouted. 'Ropes, pull!' The ropes we had hidden were tugged down between the trees that had sailcloth wrapped around it. 'Archers, loose.'

The sailcloth dropped down, hanging from the trees separating the enemy's first rank from the rest of its army. My archers released their flaming arrows that struck the sailcloth igniting fire preventing their first rank from retreating.

'All ranks in position!' I shouted, grinning at the enemy. 'I am Ivar the Boneless! You know who I am. You know you can't defeat me. My name will live forever, the name Ivar the Boneless!'

My second and third ranks took up their shield walls on our right and left flank. My fourth rank became my second rank curving behind us with their shields held over our heads.

We had the Scot's single first rank surrounded. Screaming came from off to the distance, telling me the remaining Scot's army had fallen into my trap. They blindly rushed around the fire, trying to save their men only to fall into the trenches we had dugout. Trenches that I had my men fill with spikes.

'Archers, loose!' I shouted. Arrows struck at the surrounded army who had formed a shield wall into a circle. 'Spears, loose!'

Spears sprung at the enemy. More of the Scots were falling, and their circle was getting smaller. Their king's voice echoed far off to the distance shouting for his men to retreat.

'Halt!' I shouted. The enemy was begging in their foreign tongues as they dropped their weapons. 'Tie them up and strip them of their chain mail and weapons.'

Once the enemy was stripped, I allowed them to retreat to their army.

Breathing heavily, I reached up, wiping the blood from my vision on my right eye.

'Ivar!'

'Ivar!'

'Ivar!'

I was startled as my army began cheering my name, banging their weapons on shields as we watched the enemy retreat. Men and women were rushing towards me with grins patting me on the shoulder. Some of the shield-maidens even hugged me. I just gave them reputation and plunder two things that matter most to a Viking.

I set up sentries as we made camp for the day to treat our wounded. By first daylight, we'd be heading back to Yorvik victorious. One of my warriors handed me the fallen prince's sword. I admired the beauty of the blade that nearly blinded me. By nightfall, Father Judd arrived at our campsite in his travel robes.

'King Giric is swearing that he fought the devil himself,' said Father Judd taking a seat next to me.

I laughed only to wince from the sting of pain that shot from my wound. I had a bandage wrapped over my right eye. Thankfully my eye was fine, and I'd probably have a deep scar around it. Ironic that out of all my father's sons, I'd be the one to fight in the most battles.

Unfortunately, that would not be the last I seen King Giric. He'd evoke his revenge on me a year later. He'd give me punishment similar to what I did to King Edmund.