Brilliant shades of blue split the distance. The swelling shores of Vestfold rose from the sea. A harbor lined with fishermen boats claimed the horizon. Bonnie's shoulders sagged under the weight of what came next. Bjorn's and her honeymoon was officially over. First sight of Harald's small kingdom assured as much. The alternate universe which had become her safe zone no longer wanted anything to do with her. After almost two and a half years of living her own narrative, the cosmos had pressed cancel on her struggle penned fanfiction. Once more Hirst's script willed out. Snatching away another fire possibility, for a repeat strut of shame down canon lane. A place where the vile died ancient, while endings stalked the young and exceptional with the devoted focus of the Stanatical.
Bjorn wrapped his arms around her from behind. For the moment, she pushed her building concerns aside and allowed him to do what he did like no other. Be her protector. Calm settled over her. Heat seeped into her back. A grin grazed her lips. Visions of her husband spreading her wide and plunging deep into her crossed her eyes, desiccated her mouth, and flashed a flood in her thongs the likes in which Rihanna hadn't prepared.
Damn! Bonnie wanted nothing more than to return to their cabin. Her wants, however, held no meaning. Not when the dawn of the Viking Era's conclusion loomed before them. No, her wants took a knee to her duties. Especially, since once again war bore down on them. A war so ruthless, when the fight met its end, and the Valkyries ripped apart the skies to claim their fallen, Fate proclaimed Bjorn would be among them.
The faint squawks of crows collided with her ears. Her third eye bled. Sangaree goriness flooded her second sight. Death's stench polluted the air all around them. The notorious end threaded itself through soul ties and lifelines. A finality which finished all made a mockery of vows which promised forever. Enlightenment flamed her ass. Like a fact long since confirmed, within that moment she knew. Loss meant to make a believer of her once more. The revelation rocked her from shoulders to core.
"We should be back in Kattegat, shoring up the defenses there." Bjorn's hand caressed the flat of her stomach. "Harald's a fool to bid we come here."
A sigh rose and dropped her shoulders. Goddess not this again. "Fool or not, we offered Harald our vow." She craned her neck to look up at him as she stroked the back of his hand. "You should understand better than anyone what that means."
"Ack!" A scoff salted his tone. She released an exhale that would've collapsed the lungs of a whale. "You speak as if we offered him our word with ease."
Her eyes took another trip around their sockets, "Bjorn, it doesn't matter how-,"
"He fleeced it from us!" He bellow hissed.
Goddess, fix it! She pressed her fingers to her temples, and then attempted to speak again, "Okay, now you're being-,"
"He didn't send word to the vassal kings until we agreed to lend our blades to the defense of his kingdom," he swung his Hel bred glare back to the nearing harbor. "The plague sore fleeced it from us, and well you know!" He took a beat and a breath, before exhaling more pissed on fury. "And what of Kattegat?"
"Bjorn, just...stop." Unable to continue nodding and bobbing her way through another mountain sized Viking fit, she spun about in her husband's arms to stare up at him. "We're exactly where we're supposed to be."
"No, I don't believe this, Mystical One," his voice softened as he rested his forehead on hers, "For I care not the path Fate thinks to order us to trek. We abandoned the place we were meant to be when our seamen pulled anchor and we offered this ship to the tides."
Bonnie opened her mouth to contradict him, but then thought better. For he wasn't wrong. Fate and diverging paths imprisoned their future in a shit ton of maybe's. While an impending threat unhinged its jaw and deep throated their present. They were a fucking newlywed catastrophe. Midgard spun about them imperfect and broke down as hell. Instead of overdosing on honied moon bliss as their traditional right, they stood on the threshold of world decimating change. Each of them unsure of what awaited them beyond the destruction of once was.
"Perhaps, Ironside, but as long as there's a, we," Bonnie reached up to cradle the sides of his face in her hands. "Then our supposed to be place will always be at the sides of each other." She yanked on his beard. "Our vow demands it."
"To remain always at each other's side...indeed." A smirk twisted his lips into something filthy and irresistible. Unable to stand it any longer, she yanked his face to hers. After several savage moments of laying claim to his mouth, he pulled away, "Come, we've dropped anchor," his narrowed stare rose to sweep the harbor, and then a sneer crumpled his features. "And it would seem King Harald awaits us on the harbor."
As she allowed him to help her off the boat unto the dock she hissed under her breath, "Don't provoke him."
"Then perhaps we should climb back on the ship," he forced through the slits of his teeth, "sail while the tide is still ours to claim."
She whipped around, brows buckled, and finger pointed. "Harald's an al-,"
"You've returned to my shores, just as you vowed you would." Harald voiced in a rasp so dehydrated he sounded an utterance away from coughing up dust. Bands of wiry steel snatched her from Bjorn's arms into a concrete lined hug. Not long after, soft warm lips plundered both her cheeks. "If this is the war which ushers me to the gates of Valhalla, then it gladdens me to know I'll do so fighting at your side."
"Ack!" Bjorn scoffed.
"Valhalla's gates are gonna have to wait, Harald." She laughed as she returned her brother's hug. "We didn't come here to die, or to watch you do so either."
"What of the other vassal kings?" Bjorn demanded, while tugging her from Harald's hold. "Have you yet managed to garner their support?"
The muscle in Harald's jaw twitched. His arctic blues dropped thirty below nothing. For several slow as snail shit seconds, he and Bjorn visually annihilated the other. When both had their fill of serial ocular homicide, Harald's narrowed glare darted to consider the horde gathered around them. Fifty-eleven expressions ranging from blitzed to expectant gawked back. Each more than not waited for a whisper, mutter, or even an utter on what happened next.
After several seconds of deliberation, Harald's glare returned to Bjorn. "Come, we'll speak more on the matter once I've seen to our Supreme's comfort."
"Foreign raiders shall soon-," Bjorn began to bellow.
"Harald's right," she gazed up at her husband from the cut of her eye. "We've been at sea for half a fortnight and I-,"
"Very well," he bit out, while waving a hand about, "I shall see to my wife's comfort. Then we'll discuss what efforts you've taken as our king to secure Norway's victory against these Rus invaders."
Harald turned thirty-eight shades of red. Yet, he managed to keep his bluster locked in his gullet. Praise the great Goddess! The last damn thing she needed was for them to resort to pissing sports. She didn't come all the way to Vestfold to frolic about in golden showers. Not that rising or the next three hundred and sixty-five. Bjorn and Harald both needed to reshuffle their damn priorities. Two step the hell back out of the picture to peep the frame at a God's eye angle.
"Boy, testosterone is a hell of a 'roid," she snapped, snatching away from Bjorn to position herself in front of them both. "Enough of it through the system will turn the meek into tree lifting heavy weights in a mushroom peddling minute." Harald cast Bjorn a questioning glance, he in turn only shrugged. "You hate each other, I'm aware."
"We're all aware," she heard Ingrid gripe from somewhere behind her. A variety of voices from the horde added their agreement.
"You want to fight? Outstanding!" Bonnie waved at the ocean. "Pick a fucking enemy! You have a literal legion beating down the waves to choose from." She raised both her index fingers to jab in their faces. "However, what you won't do is, go ten to fifteen with each other. Because there is not enough Prozac or edibles in the 21st century for me to be wife, sister, Supreme, and referee." With that said, she placed herself between them and tucked each of her arms in theirs. "Now come along, because yes, I am tired, and I'd very much would like to make myself comfortable."
When they arrived at the longhouse Harald led them into a hall filled with festers. Skalds strummed lyres and sang sagas as they moved about the large room. Laughter shook the space from wall to wall. While joyful voices sored over the revelry, conversing as if their world didn't teeter on the brink of end. What the hell was wrong with them? It was like standing on the deck of the sinking Titanic and witnessing a Soul Train line. Did Harald fail to inform his people of the shit show debuting on their shores at any given moon?
Bonnie looked to Bjorn. He looked to be the HVIC in the land of IKYFL and she reigned supreme right there next to him. They'd been placed in a no-go position. And there was really no one to blame. Except for, well...EVERYONE! If she curved keeping it cute and kept it a buck, then she'd have to say, fuck Fate, fuck the Rus, and fuck Hirst along with his interfering keyboard!
The powers that be wanted her husband, big damn deal. So did every dry mouth shieldmaiden and for the seas groupie in Scandinavia. Yet if those holier-than-her hacks thought they'd come for Bjorn Ironside Lothbrok-Bennett, then they'd better think about something else or have a V8. For she hadn't had to smite anyone since she gained the ability, but if Fate continued fucking over what she loved, then the Mistress of Tapestries would become familiar with the Final Destination nuclear setting of her wrath real quick.
For the next couple turns of the hourglass Bonnie indulged Harald's feast in their honor. For umpteen hours while Bjorn sneered and grunted, she forced smiles, accepted offerings, and small talked with just about every person in the hall. By the time the third turn drew near, her patience had frayed to a taut strand.
"I'm sorry..." She paused and blinked as she attempted to remember the man's name standing before her.
"Alf, Supreme," the man readily supplied.
Bonnie forced another smile as she searched Alf's face for one recognizable feature. Yet she didn't know him from the drunk passed out at the other end of the great table. "Though I'm certain your offering was quite-," she cleared her throat and glanced to Bjorn for help, but he was too busy hurling visual battle axes across the hall at Harald to notice.
"T'was a bushel of fish," A toothless grin ripped Alf's face in half. "It gladdened you to receive it. Afterall, you said as much. In verity your favor discovered my keep straightaway..." The grin faded and a troubled expression darkened his features.
"Oh," she exhaled. Well good, one less thing she had to handle. "Then I'm-,"
"Alas," he forged on, his voice rising over hers, "I'm not worthy of such favor. For a beast-,"
"A beast?" Her brows rose to slap fire from her hairline.
"Ugh, yay, Most High," Alf averted his gaze. "Revna, bring forth the divine beast." He flapped a hand about, gesturing at someone concealed within the throng of waiting faithfuls.
He offered her another venerating smile. Several moments later a young girl tugged and pulled a wailing Billy goat into the hall on a rope.
'Maaaaa! Maaaaa! Maaaaa!'
"By the gods!" One fester cried.
"Why in Loki is that a hound wailing in such a way?!" Another bellowed.
"That is no hound it's a sheep," Harald rasped from the other side of the room, "Now remove it from my hall, before I remove the bleating bastard's head!"
'Maaaaa! Maaaaa! Maaaaa!'
"Many apologies, King Harald," Alf said, inclining his head in Harald's direction, "but the beast is divine. It bears the mark of the Most High's trusted."
"You marked that beast?" Bjorn accused, finally tearing his glare from Harald to check back into insanity express that had jumped the tracks more than a few turns back.
"Bjorn, please." She skewered him with a, be fucking for real, glare from the cut of her eye. "Don't you think I would've mentioned vandalizing a billy goat?"
"So, is that the name of the sacred creature, Most High, Billy Goat?" Revna asked.
'Maaaaa! Maaaaa! Maaaaa!'
Bjorn bounded to his feet. His chair hurtled backwards, while his bellow shook the walls of the hall, "Hound, sheep, or Billy Goat, I care not! Silence the beast!"
'Maaa-,' The goat stopped wailing mid-bleat, and then fell sideways. Legs stretched out in front of it straight and stiff.
The hell? Did the damn goat just...faint? She scrambled to her feat. "Is it alright?"
"The beast is well," Alf assured, "it swoons when frightened."
"And devours," Revna added.
Harald moved closer, "Devours what?"
Revna looked from Harald to her father who nodded once, before she answered, "Well, everything."
"Everything?" Ingrid questioned, while stooping to have a closer look at the goat.
"Fare, father's woodwork, gowns, trousers," Revna began to sound off, "he's even taken to chewing the toes from father's-,"
Alf raised a hand in front of his daughter's face, "You see, this is why I'm not worthy of such," his brows buckled as he glanced down at the goat, "favor. I've not the means to see to the sacred Billy Goat. I'm only but a fisherman after all. So, if you'll..." He angled his face towards the floor as he allowed his words to dwindle to naught. As if continuing to speak shamed him.
"Of course." She glanced to Ingrid who took the rope from Revna, and then waved forth a couple household warriors. "And I'm sorry-,"
"Come, you've had your fill of comfort," Bjorn said, slipping his arm around her waist and guiding her away from the throng of faithfuls, "Harald can no longer avoid this discussion."
Harald had managed to slip away to converse with a group of festers near his throne. As they approached, his stare flicked to them. An expression close to resignation locked his features. He looked as if he'd rather have his testicles peeled with a rusted blade than speak with them. Which provoked her to question the reason for his reluctance. Without pulling his gaze from them, he said something to his companions and a moment after the group dispersed. By the time they reached Harald he stood alone.
"Come, we'll speak in my personal quarters," Harald said, before turning away from them, "we can converse there without the fear of being overheard."
Bonnie and Bjorn followed Harald to his private chambers. When they entered, the king of Norway crossed the quarters to a small round wooden table in the far corner. He lifted a pitcher from the table's top and filled three cups to the rim. After replacing the decanter, he then lifted two of the three chalices. He offered her one, and the other to Bjorn. Bonnie accepted the ale. Bjorn slapped the extended cup from Harald's hand. Ale splashed their host's boots, and the planked floor, while the tumbler rolled under the table.
"Speak to me of why your hall is only half filled with faces which or foreign to these shores," Bjorn demanded.
She took another swig from her cup, content to let them figure their shit out.
"Do away with your gratitude, Ironside." Harold snatched the third chalice from the table and raised the cup to Bjorn before taking a gulp. "I may begin to misplace your graciousness for pander."
"Ack!" Bjorn scoffed, his hand flapping at the air between him and Harald. "I care not for your wasteful feasts and foolish revelry. Foreign raiders will meet these shores in a fortnight's time or perhaps sooner! Where is the army your rule vowed to begat?"
Harald's mouth flapped open and closed. His nostrils flared; chest swelled as his hand moved to grip the handle of his broad ax. "You're minded to question me?" Harald smacked his chest and growled, "I am your king!"
"You are a fool!" Disgust crumpled Bjorn's face as he flicked an unimpressed glare over Harald's form.
Her brother snatched his ax from his trousers, "And you're not long for Hel's gates."
"Hey!" What the hell had she just told these cave dwellers? Bonnie lifted a hand, and the handle of Harald's ax met her palms.
"Mystical-,"
"Bon-,"
With a shake of the head, she silence them, then took a moment to drain her chalice of the last of its content. Once she'd drain the tumbler of its contents, she slammed the cup and ax on the table and lifted her glare to visually rip them better ones.
"Yes, the Rus will come, Bjorn," she said. "And while we wait, we'll ready ourselves, our warriors and these shores. For when it's all razed and raided our Eastern and brethren will be devout believers...every. Single. One."
"You can send ships here, and...there," Ivar said as he shifted stones about on the parchment which held somewhat of a likeness to Vestfold's terrain, and the seas which bordered the island. "Yet they should only serve as a distraction, so we may enter by one of the weaker outposts near the hind side of the city."
Hvitserk watched Prince Oleg draw closer to the great table, his stare narrowed on the parchment. "Multiple points of attack to divert, hm." The Rus prince lifted his gaze to exchange glances with the captain of his army. "This may very well afford us a victory, if..." his calculating stare returned to Ivar, while he swept an extended hand over the map, "the land is as you claimed."
"From what I sighted throughout our scouting, the waters and lands surrounding Vestfold remains unchanged." Ivar's shoulders rose and fell as his head slanted, "Yet I cannot be certain." His stare drifted back to the parchment. "Harald may have altered the defenses about his kingdom and outposts in the solstice cycles since I last lodged there."
"Most assuredly," The Captain agreed as he tore his ice burdened stare from Ivar to regard Oleg. "For we no longer claim the element of surprise as a benefit. I'm certain the Supreme has already counseled the king of our presence in his land. Such revelations will soon lead them to our intentions."
Oleg pressed a finger to his mouth as his head bowed. "Ah, this is true, but you must admit, Ganbaatar, King Ivar's battle strategy is quite brilliant." The captain snorted and a hint of a smirk flickered upon Oleg's lips, before an heir of feigned contemplation locked the muscles in his face. "Though as brilliant as the strategy may be, will your line of attack be enough? For I fear Ganbaatar is without fault in his ponderings. We have misplaced the element of surprise."
"No battle is without its risks, Prince Oleg," Ivar said.
"Perhaps, but why engage them when they can be avoided," Oleg locked his hands behind his back. "I received word this morn which indeed troubles me." He moved to the head of the table to regard the parchment from a different angle. "It would seem Bjorn Ironside has entered into matrimony with your Supreme."
A searing ache slammed itself into the center of Hvitserk's chest. Ivar and he sensed when she'd tied herself to another. Yet still hearing as such nigh tore him asunder and relieved him of his innards. He'd always known she'd attempt to renounce their path for Bjorn's. Perhaps it's why he cleaved to her more than his brothers.
"Our Supreme shouldn't be a hinderance to your army," he said, abandoning his place in the corner to stand near Ivar at the great table.
"Explain," Oleg demanded, his squinted regard hurtling to him.
"You are Christians are you not?" Ivar said, drawing the prince's stare back to him.
Oleg bared his teeth in a forced smile. "But of course."
"Then such harries in regard to the Supreme are for naught," Ivar returned Oleg's feigned smile. "The Supreme won't raise a blade or her sorcery against those beyond her dominion."
Oleg pondered them both. "Let us conclude for now, I have much to consider."
Soon as Oleg and his Captain took leave of the strategizing chamber, he turned to his younger brother, "Ivar-,"
Ivar raised a hand as his glare darted about the quarters. "Not here, Hvitserk."
He pressed his lips together, and then followed Boneless out into the corridor. There, he noticed Katia lingered at the other end of the entryway. He also witnessed the pleasure which lit Ivar's face. Resentment flamed his chest.
"How can you stand to be near her?" Her provoking likeness enticed his palms to ache for the coarsened handle of his ax. "After all we've misplaced."
Ivar regarded him from the cut of his eye. "Katia isn't Freydis, Hvitserk."
"Yet you wouldn't know it to look at her," he growled, before leaving Ivar to revisit his madness.
Ingrid moved through the throng of people. The malodorous stench which thickened the air in the overfilled hall provoked her innards to churn. Since their arrival, she'd been unable to remove the stench of putrid fish from the depths of her nose. Which confounded her to no end. The fare upon the great table offered roasted pheasant. A meal in which she harbored no desire to partake. Not even if Freyja appeared before her and demanded she do so.
The throng before her shifted, and the pound behind her breast stalled. Thoughts of King Harald's unkempt keep faded. Gunnhild sat at a table tucked in the far corner of the hall. Several small babes surrounded her. Each of the children varied in sizes. Every tiny, upturned face regarded her All with kindling expressions. Joy blazed every bit of her Wildflower's face in a striking glow. Ingrid had never seen her Wildflower, look more handsome. Warmth overran her.
Well whatever need be done to maintain her All's joyfulness she'd...
Bolts of awareness nigh struck her down. Her steps stumbled to a halt as her chest struggled against a verity her head meant to convey. Gunnhild, her Midgard, longed for a feat she lacked the wherewithal to offer. Babes. Something within the pits of her withered. For how could she claim to care and still cling to her?
As if her wildflower sensed her distress, Gunnhild lifted her gaze. A smile tilted the corners of her mouth as she raised a hand and beckoned her forth. Unable to continue suffering the space between them, Ingrid crossed the distance and hurried to her side. Moments later she settled herself upon the bench across from her.
"Your smile is a blessing from the gods, Beloved." She reached across the table to stroke the back of Gunnhild's hand. "Perhaps if their kindness wills out, they'll offer me the means to keep it there."
"It's the babes. Not only do they bring joy, but they're also proof of our gods' favor." The corners of Gunnhild's mouth dipped as her stare moved over the children surrounding them. "Though it saddens me to know they're a joy you and I shall never share."
Ingrid's mouth opened to comfort her other, but someone just over Gunnhild's shoulder stilled her tongue. A stoned faced King Harald. The sight of the now king of Norway sparked an inkling of a notion within her mind. Where her most fitful thoughts resided.
Her brow quirked as the inkling of a notion begat an involved design, "Perhaps you shouldn't allow haste to have its way with your tongue, Beloved." She interlaced their fingers. "Goddess knows there's not a debauched act I wouldn't commit or a drop I wouldn't bleed to place at your feet all you desire."
"A verity you've more than shown when you chose to remain at my side instead of following your mother to the Icelandic settlement."
"Choosing anything other than remaining at your side would've been a fool's error," she uttered, "For just as I need fare to thrive, I need you to be."
"How can the man suffer it?" Ivar said as his gaze drifted over the likenesses of Oleg's relations who'd come and gone. "It's as if he's being judged by those who've already travelled beyond the veil." Each of the Prince's forefather's malice riddled stares glared down at them as they passed.
"Or as if he's being guided by those far wiser than he," Katia murmured as her gaze moved over each of the likenesses as well.
He opened his mouth. A litany of contradictions burdened his tongue, but the strong faced likeness which collided with his sight fastened his lips back together. Uncomeliness overran the maiden's countenance in the way faultlessness serenaded Bonnie's. Instead of a pair of brows adorning her face, one long thick travesty stretched across the woman's forehead from eye to eye. For a purpose unknown to him, her chin burrowed into her neck. While her thin lips rolled inwards to caress her teeth. Even as her girthy nose hooked over the upper part of her mouth, affording her the guise of a scavenging bird.
Katia placed a hand on his arm, drawing his mindedness. "This is Oleg's first wife."
He snatched his gaping stare from the horrendous likeness to cast a questioning regard upon the Princess, "Not the one he still mourns?"
With glittering eyes and twitching lips, her head bobbed.
"W-Well..." Words fled him. "How...unfortunate..."
"Unfortunate?" Katia's brows leapt high as the grin harrying her lips finally overtook her mouth. "I do believe hound like is what you mean, King Ivar. By the gods—I mean god-,"
"Why?" He turned away from the unspeakable sight before him to scrutinize her.
She blinked once...then again. "W-Why?"
"Why do you deny the gods for the favor of one?"
"I know not of what you speak," she answered without conviction, "there's only one true god of which I wish to seek favor."
"You'd have me believe you're Christian?" A scoff burst from his mouth. He shook his head even as hers dipped. "I've fought—I've killed Christians, you are not a Christian."
"My father's kingdom turned from the old gods solstice cycles ago," she insisted. "We now in verity walk the way of Christ our lord savior."
She tapped at her chest in the way he'd witnessed Christian priests do back in England right before he gutted them.
"It matters not what errors your father commits for political gains, that is between he and Odin." He stepped closer, backing her into the likeness of the horrendous woman. "The old religion still dwells within you," he pressed two fingers to the cradle of her breasts, "here."
"P-perhaps...it's a belief passed on to me from my mother." She placed a palm over his fingers. "M-my father spoke of her worshiping the old gods until her final breath. Her mother was in fact a famous shieldmaiden...I know not which."
A smile dallied with his mouth. "Some of the greatest warriors who followed me into battle were shieldmaidens." Visions of Bonnie engaging in combat on a Saxon battlefield laid claim to his mind's eye.
"I believe had I been fortunate enough to be born in your Midgard, I too would've been a shieldmaiden."
Katia's uttered longing tore his thoughts from what had been and provoked him to anticipate what or who came next. "Of that, Princess Katia, I've no doubt."
As Bjorn strolled through Vestfold, his scrutiny darted about the kingdom's defenses. He assessed the harbor, the cliffs, and the strength of the gates which surrounded them. Upon conclusion he deemed them all adequate. Ack! Adequate would not serve them well! The useless term would see their shores breached, lands claimed, and even more distressing, them all subjected to the vengeful whims of Ivar. Had Bonnie allowed him to bludgeon his addled brother to Hel's gates they'd all be the better. Harald would not be King of Norway and he'd still be snugly wrapped within his wife's thighs honoring their moon of honey.
Bjorn continued to tally Vestfold's weaknesses. When the numbers grew too plentiful to bear in mind, he lent his thoughts to plotting battle strategies. Such notions were not forthcoming either. For Ivar's plans of attack held the same level of cleverness as their father's. And if he professed verity to one and all, his brother probably knew Vestfold's defenses better than he. This was a fool's endeavor! Bonnie and he should've been back in Kattegat preparing their kingdom for attack. It was senseless to have come. Vow be damned.
"One path shall afford you Nirvana upon Midgard...for only a season. Then death and Odin shall come to demand their due."
The seer's words shook the walls of his mind. A scorching heat seared the flesh on his left arm. His glare dropped. The Horn of Odin collided with his sight. Visions of a swamp ridden Saxon prison, Odin, and a long since misremembered vow attacked his mind's eye. His jaw unhinged and his mouth hung wide. Disbelief and denial nigh laid him low. He wrenched his head about taking note of everything and everyone bustling about the marketplace. While his opposing hand palmed the brand.
"Do you do anything other than war, Ironside?" Odin's form shimmered into existence to the right of him.
"All-Father," Bjorn stumbled around to sight the whole of him, "have you come to-,"
"I've come to remind you of the debt you owe," Odin's slitted scrutiny flicked over him.
Though weak in the chest and even softer in the mind, he managed to give his head a slow shake, while offering a spoken assurance, "I've not misremembered."
Odin's gaze lowered to where he still grasped the blistering brand on his forearm. "Suppose you haven't." The All-Father's stare rose to reclaim his. "Yet you must admit, Ironside, you're not without distractions."
"Yes, but the battle matters not," he assured, while shaking his head to add girth to his words, "when the moment arrives, favorably solstice cycles from now." He forced a laugh. When Odin only dead-eyed him, he cleared his throat and continued, "I welcome the halls of Valhalla."
"Fucking phenomenal to hear, but the battle is not the distraction to which I refer," Odin clasped his hands behind his back as his gaze darted to consider the people who moved about the marketplace.
If not the battle, then what other distractions could he mean? A wealth of earth hued curls, swathed in golden-bronze skin, joined with an essence piercing verdant pigmented stare penetrated his mind's eye. The pounding within his chest increased.
He swallowed in attempts to relieve the dryness desiccating his gullet. "You mean my wife."
"Wife—You know what," A scoff tore open Odin's stoic expression and mock gushed from the gaping wound. "Fuck that! You owe me a debt, Ironside." Jabbing a finger in his face, the All-Father stepped closer. "Don't allow recent changes in your circumstances to delude your judgement."
The look upon Halfdan's face all those summers ago flared into his mind. It was the same expression he wore hours before he met his end upon the battlefield. Halfdan's countenance is how he too felt... 'I'm not prepared my wife, Bjorn...I thought mere moments would be enough to sustain me. Yet now I know the warmth of her regard, and the fire of her love...' Enlightening flares blazed away long-standing fogs of ignorance. Bitter unpliable certainty stared back at him. Midgard about them. All except the All-Father and he failed to exist.
"Why do you speak to me of this now?" He removed his palm from his arm to regard the brand.
"I gave my eye for wisdom, while you gave your heart for love and somehow, here we stand with you being the wiser one among us." Odin grasped his shoulder, and then peered into his eyes. "And yet only a foolish man believes he can thwart Fate and live forever." The All-
Father watched him for a moment longer, and then said, "Enjoy your battle, Ironside."
Odin turned and walked away, fading into the bustling crush of the horde. As Bjorn stared after him, he reflected upon the vow he swore. When he agreed to the All-Father's demand, he'd readily done so. What warrior didn't strive to fight in the courtyards of Valhalla and sup within its halls? Odin's favor and greatness is why they all raided, fought, and bled. Now, however, abandoning Bonnie's side for the gates of Valhalla filled him with unease.
"Are you okay?" A soft hand in his and a gentle tone soothed the thoughts which harried his mind.
"All is well, Mystical One," He uttered the falsehood with ease. "I only thought to become familiar with the kingdom, so I can plot a defense."
She pressed a palm to his cheek. "We'll have enough time to plot battle strategies in the coming risings." An expression crossed her face he couldn't discern. "There's something more important we need to discuss this eve...it can no longer wait."