I had to write this because of the excellent fic that I can no longer find (1) and because of the braid that Floki wore in the promos (but which I don't remember seeing in the show). It's a long chapter but not long enough, and there was no natural break, for two. So get a cuppa and settle in.

Conversation 7

The scream reached him almost dreamily, floating across the water to where he was busy hauling in the first of the spring catch. The winter had been hard and there were still areas of snow, however the first melts had brought the spawn to the cove which their cottage overlooked and his nets were bulging.

His first thought was wolf and he started to pull in his nets quickly – the encounter half a moon ago had scared both of the women half to death and despite his efforts it was still out there. Helga could not be convinced that the animal was not Fenrir, summoned by her daughter's presence in the world and Angrbođa had been lucky to be let to the ground even within the safety of the cottage since. Having followed the blood trail, Floki was content that the animal was earth bound and perhaps even more dangerous because of that and insisted that both women must carry axes. The priestess had had to be taught how to use one – her lightning (2) style of wood cutting not meeting Helga's or his expectations in the case of another attack. He had become so inured to the clang of axe against the side of the stable that he almost hadn't registered the time it had become a thump as the blade had bit deeply into the wood.

The sight of a puff of dark black smoke above the morning mist which hugged the surface however chased away that thought. Wolves didn't set fire to things. He dropped his nets and threw himself down with the oars, sculling back deeply and almost launching the small boat across the water's surface. It could be an accident he thought as he rowed, looking over his shoulder to where the plume of smoke was getting larger and larger. Perhaps something had gone awry on the fire while they were cooking, or perhaps something had fallen into the fire and dislodged the flame.

Yet within himself he knew it wasn't just an accident.

He stopped rowing as he entered into the mist and made his way to the bow of the boat, trusting that his craftsmanship would keep the tiller straight if no demands to turn were made of it. The mist obscured his view of the shoreline, but there were noises coming through: men's voices. The words were indistinct, however the tone was rough; there was anger.

The shadow materialised in front of him and he reached out a hand, bracing it against the other boat – his other boat which listed awkwardly in the water, one side significantly below the other and the stern higher than the bow. It rocked back under the pressure, but the resistance was enough to divert his boat on an angle, showing him the full extent of the savagery someone had inflicted on the timber; a gaping, jagged hole in the side. He gritted his teeth and turned back towards the shore, seeing another shadow materialise in front of him and knowing what that would be. With a scrape of timber on timber his boat ground to a halt; he paused for a moment, listening, trying to see through the fog which was thick at ground level. He could hear something, someone moving near his workshed.

Carefully he lowered himself out of the boat, gritting his teeth at the cold of the water that reached his underarms and, fighting every impulse to run, he gingerly waded towards the shore within the whisper of the waves that lapped at the beach.

"There is nothing here of value," said a voice so close that he had to still his reflexes to jump. "The boats were the only thing worth the effort," it continued in disgust.

"Lord Erlendur wouldn't agree with that," remarked another voice, a little further away. "Besides he has coin enough to make it worth the effort, even without those boats."

Floki crept his way forward slowly, clutching his knife firmly in one hand, bent almost double as he moved, eyes focussed on the location the first voice had come from.

"Shame about the woman though," continued the first voice. "I wouldn't have minded taking some of my payment outta her."

The second man laughed just as Floki straightened up behind him, drawing the blade across his throat. The laugh changed to a gurgle as the blood rushed into his windpipe and he collapsed into Floki's arms.

"Destin?" said the second voice slightly uncertainly. There was the sound of a drawn sword and footsteps. "What are you doing Destin?"

"Dying," Floki grated in his ear as he placed the still wet knife to the second man's throat. "Tell me – where is Helga?"

The man threw back an elbow and despite himself Floki lowered his knife as the air rushed from his lungs. He spun out of the way as the man sliced down with his axe and caught up a staff that had been resting against the wall. He blocked the next blow of the axe and thrust forward, making his opponent sidestep into a shelf; there was a thump and then a cascade of various bits and pieces. Floki took advantage of his preoccupation and lunged forward with his own axe – it was deflected easily and he hurried backwards, putting a table in between he and his opponent.

He was at a disadvantage: he was a fisherman – a boat builder, not a warrior. He fought yes, he knew how to wield an axe, but it was mostly behind the shield wall, dispatching those that were trapped into penetrating it. This man – he was a warrior – he was a Ragnar, a Rollo. He held the axe with contemptuous ease, as if it was an extension to himself. He gave a smirk as he also recognised that fact and advanced.

One must trust to God he could hear the priestess saying it to have given one the strengths one needs. If He has not, then one was not meant to succeed – and that is somewhat comforting, is it not? (3)

Floki kicked at the table, tipping it and its contents at his opponent, making him duck. Floki reached up and, grasping firmly, pulled back the boat skeleton that was hanging from the rafters and propelled it forward on its ropes. Its partially built bowsprit split through the warrior's neck just as he straightened, its momentum lifting him off the ground and carrying him forward until the reach of the ropes. As the boat started to swing back the other way he slid off the point, landing with a thump. Floki walked over to him and looked down at him; the warrior looked helplessly back at him, his lifeblood seeping over the floor.

"Where is Helga?" he asked silkily as he squatted down. "Tell me and I will ease your pain quickly."

"She ran into the forest," the warrior stuttered. "Erlendur is chasing her."

Floki smiled and brought his knife to the warrior's chin. "You will go to Hel one-eyed," he promised and with a sudden movement stabbed through the man's left eye. The warrior jerked once, twice and then was still. Floki picked up the axe, testing its balance for several moments before straightening and striding up the hill towards his cottage.

Halfway up the hill another warrior ran at him – he didn't even attempt to block the blow, but instead dodged and spun, slapping one axe into the turning warrior. It wasn't an instant killing blow but he didn't bother to finish him off, knowing that the gaping wound through the man's side would incapacitate him and, eventually, claim his life.

The sparks of the fire rained down on him as he got closer to the cottage, he lifted an arm to his forehead as a shield from the heat and kicked out against the door, already leaning precariously on one corner. It bounced off its remaining attachment and Floki ducked the flame that roared out with the breath of fresh air. "Helga" he yelled and stepped forward, squinting in the heat haze and smoke. "Helga!" He took another step forward, searching the floor desperately and spotted a pile of clothes in the middle of the floor.

"Priestess!," he gasped and stepped forward, but was pushed back immediately by a surge of heat as one of the main supports collapsed in a burst of flame, the pile of dress disappearing underneath the barrage of burning timber and roof thatching. "Priestess!" he called again but there was nothing but the roar of the flames.

His head snapped around as a scream floated down from the hillside above the cottage. "Helga!" he yelled in response and started running up the hill. He paused where the track split off into two, listening hard. There was no more sound but he turned right, ducking and diving along a deer trail that he knew intersected the main trail further on, increasing his pace as he heard the unmistakable sounds of bodies ahead of him.

Floki burst out from the shrubbery just as the warrior tackled Helga to the ground, Angrbođa flying out of her grasp as she hit the ground with a solid thump. The warrior grabbed Helga's thick plait and reefed her head up, his axe glinting in the sunlight as he brought the blade towards her neck. He collapsed backwards abruptly, landing on one hip and looked in bemusement at the plait swinging in his hand; Helga crawled forward from under him, kicking at his hands as he tried to grasp her foot. He stood up and lifted his axe, plunging it towards her chest.

Floki's axe hit him in between the shoulder blades and he folded, his blow losing power, collapsing over the top of her once more.

"Helga!" Floki gasped and ran towards her, heaving the dying warrior off her and dropping to his knees next to her, pulling at her cloak to try and ascertain the damage done to her. His hands scrabbled on leather and he paused, looking to her face suddenly.

And saw brown eyes instead of blue. Short, dark, curly hair instead of long blond locks.

"Master," breathed Marion. "Thank the Lord that you're here."

Floki fell backwards onto his rear end and his mouth opened, but he wasn't able to put together a sentence as she sat up, grimacing and rubbing at her chest where the axe had landed, a long knife in her hand. He turned his head to where a braid of hair lay discarded and then to where the shell of a melon had rolled some distance away from a pile of rags.

"Helga," he managed finally, looking back to her. "My child?"

"Safe," she reassured him. "Or they will be soon – I drew them away but she won't have reached it yet."

"Where?" he demanded.

"My place," she told him simply.

For a moment he stared at her, trying to make sense of her words. Then it dawned on him. "Helga knows how to get there?" in another time he would have been angry, for he had often mentioned curiosity about where Marion took the goats to feed on the occasion the winter let them venture from the cottage. Helga had always forbidden him from following her to find out.

"No," Marion shook her head. "Rollo does though."

Once again he was struck speechless for a moment. "You entrusted my family to a goat?!" His voice rose with an indignation that greatly exceeded that which had arisen when he first heard the name she had given to the billy goat.

"I entrusted your family to Go…. the gods," the change was obvious but for once he let it slide. "The goat is just a guide."

He glared at her but noises coming from along the ridge caught their attention and he swallowed his words.

"That will be Erlendur and the rest of them" she explained. "I laid a false trail to get a bit of distance from them, but they will have heard my scream earlier."

Floki cast her a glance but again swallowed his words. If they lived there would be time to talk about what she had done, how she had made herself the decoy and so helped Helga and Angrbođa escape.

He stood, pulling her up with him and then steadying her as he lifted her off her feet momentarily. He yanked his axe from the half dead warrior and, still holding her hand, started to run further into the forest. He wasn't sure what his plan was – more evade than escape. Without boats there was no escape and while his boat was down at the dock, he wouldn't leave without Helga and Angrbođa. Marion had said that the attacker was Erlendur – that meant there would be pursuit – even if Ragnar was dead because Rollo (the real Rollo), Bjorn, Torstein, even the Priest would not let his death go unavenged. So he needed to keep ahead of them until they arrived. They would have noticed Erlendur's absence at dawn, maybe earlier, so surely they were on their way, surely they would have no doubt as to whom Erlendur would blame for his father's death – who he would want to avenge himself on.

"Is there another way up there?" he asked as quietly as he could, pausing for a moment.

Marion shook her head, taking in several breaths that made him wonder whether she was injured and he asked her. She shook her head again. "Not that I know," she replied to his first question. "We need to wrap around the back of them, get amongst the rocks so we do not leave a trail. We could hold it for days, the passage is so tight."

Floki nodded, decision made. He became aware that he was still holding her hand and released it – she made no reaction, but shifted her knife back into her right hand.

Together they ran, trying to minimise the sound of their passage through the forest but being hampered by winter's detritus; the fallen leaves which had partially degraded under snow, making the footing slippery, and the branches that had snapped under the weight of snow and were now settled at odd angles in a haphazard pattern amongst the trees. Their pursuers were also hampered by the obstacles, but they were gaining – Marion was slowing him down, but he gave not a thought to leaving her behind. He would never accept her God, he would always consider her faith an affront to the true gods, but he would leave her judgement to the gods when she arrived at their council: if she had indeed saved his wife and daughter today he would even argue for her should he reach them before she did.

"There!"

The inevitable discovery sounded to their left and Floki bent to the right marginally as he reached back for Marion's hand, almost dragging her faster through the trees. There was another yell, a flash in his peripheral vision and he skidded to a halt; Marion yelping as a spear skimmed past her and thunked into a tree. They turned abruptly, crashing through some shrubbery and hit open ground, however their advantage was short lived as the ground disappeared from the horizon. They spun around, but too late – the warriors had reached the clearing and while they slowed back to a walk they immediately began to fan out to prevent their escape.

She looked up at him, desperation on her face and in her tone. "I cannot go to them alive master. I cannot."

He nodded; lifting his axe and seeing her eyes close in acceptance even though she shivered at the touch of his blade. All he had to do was slice – to drag the blade across her throat and release her life blood. A sacrifice to the gods – prior to him joining her in death.

"Floki!" screamed Erlendur. "I will avenge my father you traitorous swine."

He couldn't do it – not to this woman who had saved his wife and his child. Floki lowered his blade and her eyes opened, fear and hurt brimming within the tears as she looked up at him.

"The gods will decide," he said and looked over to where the ground vanished.

She followed his gaze. Neither of them could see over the cliff – but they could hear the boiling ocean as it met the rocks at the base. She looked back at him.

"God will provide," she nodded, her eyes clear.

Floki turned and hurled his axe at Erlendur, staying long enough for the satisfaction of seeing him dive for cover and then, with Marion at his side, took a flying leap off the cliff.

The rush of air was loud in his ears, drowning out anything that Erlendur may have said and the horizon stretched out before them, tiny specks in the air that they were. Stretch out your hand Aegir, Floki prayed, soften the water so that we do not shatter out legs upon entry, bring us back to the surface for air, deliver us to the shore. Watch over Helga and Angrbođa sweet mother of all Freya; keep them safe in their hiding space until such time that I can come with them. And if death is our fate – may Thor give breath to Ragnar's sail to hasten his arrival so that he may avenge us and may Odin judge me not too harshly.

The water felt like a rock as he hit the surface, but Aegir was generous and it gave way, swallowing him in its embrace. Down, down he went, past the light where the waves stirred the surface into the dark where he could see no further than a sword's length in front of him. The pressure seized his chest, pushing it as if trying to squeeze the life from him. His foot hit something solid and he kicked off it, propelling towards the light. His hand tangled in some cloth and he closed over it, dragging Marion back to the surface with him.

They broke the surface with a gasp but there was no time to take a breath before the waves pushed them under again. Aegir was merciful again and lifted them back to the surface and he took a breath as soon as he hit the air. The waves pushed him under once more, almost tumbling him in a complete circle and entangling him in cloth. He pulled at it, looking through the salty water at Marion as she struggled to pull the cloak from her frame, the blade that she had somehow retained flashing in the bits of sunlight as it cut through the material. The last thread cut through and the remains of the robe sank into the depths with a kind of eerie grace and, kicking furiously and reaching out with desperate hands, they reached the surface once more, dragging in a breath of sweet air before once again the ocean pulled them under.

They were going to drown.

A lateral current had grabbed them and had moved them away from the rocks at the base of the cliff, which meant that they wouldn't be dashed to pieces but it was not taking them closer to shore. If anything they were headed out into deeper water where the waves might be calmer but the water was colder and deeper.

Odin had made his choice.

With the realisation came peace. There was regret: that he would never see Angrbođa grow into a woman perhaps to start a family of her own or perhaps to become a shieldmaiden; that he would not see the new lands Ragnar was seeking; that Helga would be left alone. He wondered whether she would find solace with someone else – Torstein perhaps. His friend would care for her, for his daughter – he would make sure that he wouldn't be forgotten.

The sudden pain in his knee jarred through his thoughts and he yelped, losing the rest of his air but coming back to a semblance of consciousness. He reached down and found the rock – sharp edged and jutting up from the ocean floor. He moved his arms and his feet, balancing them within some uneven crevices and pushing up. His head and shoulders broke the surface and he took a deep breath of air and then another.

Odin had chosen indeed.

He looked around and then dropped back under the water, finding the dark shape that was Marion floating out to the side and below him. He pushed out from the rock and reached for her, grabbing at her hand and dragging towards him even as he turned back to where the rock was. He reached out his hand and his nails scrabbled on the rock, the current pulling seductively at him. He resisted though, kicking his legs and his fingers found a hold. Tempered by years of work they were strong and they held while he dragged himself and Marion towards the rock. He burst back through the surface with a gasp, hoisting Marion up in his arms so that her face hit the air.

Nothing.

He slapped her and her eyes snapped open, then she was coughing and spluttering, water hitting him in the face. He held her while she hacked up whatever of the ocean that had made its way into her lungs until she was still, arms wrapped around his neck and head buried in his shoulder but breathing deeply.

"Can you touch?" he asked, knowing the answer but needing to be sure.

Marion released some of the death grip on his neck and he lowered her down but the water reached her eyes and she still hadn't found the rock and he pulled her back up, settling his arms around her waist with hers around his neck.

"Can you see them?" he asked. He had found his footing looking out into the ocean and was wary of trying to turn around – the current was a relentless push against his body and every muscle was strained keeping them balanced on the rock.

"No," she breathed, her voice raspy from the salt water soaking. "They aren't there." She paused for a moment. "Will they come for us?"

"If they see us," he answered, although given the distance they had been swept from the cliff and the small amount of them that was above water he doubted that they would. They weren't the biggest problem.

Odin had protected them but he wasn't sure for how long. Beyond the constant battle he was fighting against the current was the cold; a slyer opponent, seeping into his joints insidiously and taking his strength. Already he was shivering, as was Marion, but he knew it wouldn't be long before he started losing contact with his extremities. His hands would be protected for a little while being so close to Marion's core warmth but as soon as he lost contact with his feet he would lose control of his balance on the rock and they would be at the mercy of Aegrid once more.

There was a screech above him and he looked up, the gull staring down at them with beady eyes. He released one hand from the Priestess, her own grip around his neck tightened slightly, and flung up some water at the bird. It screeched again and its flight circle lifted up a bit further away from them – but still with them at the centre.

"They are waiting for us to die," said Marion with only a hint of a question.

"Yes," he lied, knowing that the gulls wouldn't be that picky.

"Thankyou Master."

"What for?" he blinked in confusion, restoring his hand around her waist and locking his hands together so that they wouldn't drift apart.

"For not letting me go to them," she replied, her voice cold on her skin. "For not letting me die alone."

He had nothing to say to that but knew he needed to say something. "Helga would have wanted me to."

"Mistress is a beautiful person," he could hear the smile in her voice. "Angrbođa will be safe with her."

"Freya will look after them," he nodded, secure in that belief. He knew, even without looking at her, that she wore that little smile she used when she thought about her own goddess Mary, whom he had heard her pray to so often.

"I suppose we'll find out soon," she said.

"Find out?" He could feel the chill setting deep into his bones. Another gull had joined the first in circling them, both screeching every now and again, but the soft conversation was enough to keep them away.

"Who is right," she elaborated. "Whether there is one God or whether there are many."

"You doubt your God?" he was surprised.

"No," she replied without defensiveness. "However I have seen so much since I left the convent. How could I not acknowledge the possibility that the God I was brought up to believe in is not the only God; that an entire race of people with an intricate belief system, customs and rights might have something to base those on."

Floki frowned: to him her thoughts sounded sacrilegious. Because for her to say that maybe her faith was flawed, as obvious as that was, implied that his faith was also flawed.

Two more gulls had joined the duo above them but Floki dared not try to move his hands lest he not be able to control them.

Marion was still talking, as much to herself as to him. "I have travelled an ocean to a land so beautiful it may be takes as Eden itself. I have met people whose culture is so rich that only the arrogant and obtuse could truly call it barbarian, I have….."

It was a couple of moments before he realised that she was no longer talking. "Priestess," he said. "Priestess!" he said again, a little louder with a squeeze. There was no answer – the cold had got to her.

He could let her go but he could still feel her heart beating against his chest and to loose her would change his balance and he would disappear under the waves with her. That scenario was inevitable of course, but having experienced drowning earlier he preferred to wait until he had lost his battle with consciousness first.

There was a splash and he lifted his head to look at the gull, its instinct telling it that an easy meal was about to disappear. It would go for his eyes first but he didn't turn away from it, using his will alone to keep it at bay. It swam a little closer to him – if his hands would work he could have grabbed it and squeezed the life out of it.

There was a whoosh, a squawk and a puff of feathers and the gull was gone. He looked to the side and saw the sail just over the top of the water. It grew in size and then he could see the bow of the boat and a blond figure standing and pointing.

Erlendur had found them.

"Floki!"

He should let Marion go to the deep – she was almost beyond his vengeance and spite but the water would be her ultimate protection. He could join her – Erlendur would not make his passing easy. All he had to do was step off the rock.

"Floki!"

The voice penetrated his thoughts this time and he frowned. The voice was not Erlendur, although it was familiar.

"Floki!"

He looked up this time – the boat was almost on top of them – and the anxious face cleared in front of him. "Bjorn?" he said almost incredulously.

"He's alive," Bjorn said over his should and Ragnar's face joined his son's.

"Ragnar?" murmured Floki.

"We are here Floki," replied Ragnar and there was a clatter as the sail dropped and the boat came to a bobbing halt next to them.

"Sister Marion is alive?" asked Bjorn, leaning over and taking her arms.

"Just," he nodded and felt her clasp on him loosen and a slight tug.

"You need to let go of her Floki, said Bjorn gently.

"What?" Floki blinked. "Oh," he willed his hands to loosen and Bjorn hoisted her, limp and streaming water, into the boat.

The movement unbalanced Floki and he fell backwards, Ragnar's swift grab at his shoulder being the only thing stopping him going under. Torstein was suddenly there and between them Floki was pulled from the ocean's grasp into the boat. As cold as it had been in the water, the breeze hitting his wet clothes and skin intensified it tenfold. He started to shiver violently and Torstein and Ragnar started to pull at his clothes, Rollo working the sail and the tiller alone.

"Priestess?" he stuttered around the shivers.

"Alive," reassured Bjorn from the other end of the boat, kneeling next to her prone figure. Floki saw that he was undressing her and tried to push himself to his feet. Ragnar's hand on his shoulder somewhat less than the weakness of his muscles stopped him and he collapsed back onto bench.

"She won't like that Master Bjorn," he said.

Bjorn paused, meeting his father's gaze for a moment before turning back to Floki. "She will die in these clothes Floki."

"She would not like to be naked in front of men," insisted Floki stubbornly.

Bjorn looked once more to his father and then nodded to Floki. He swung off his own cloak and put it over her, pulling at her clothes from under it until he had her sodden dress in a heap. He tucked his cloak around her securely and then took a canvas sheet and covered her with that as well.

"Helga?" Ragnar asked Floki as he sat naked under a blanket and canvas sipping at warm mead from a cup Torstein pressed to his lips. "Angrbođa?"

"Safe," Floki murmured. His voice sharpened, "I need to get to them."

There was a sudden coughing in the stern of the boat and he looked past Ragnar to see Marion spluttering on the mouthful of mead that Bjorn had been trying to guide into her mouth. Her eyes widened in panic for a moment as she realised her state of undress and felt Bjorn's body behind her but then her eyes found Floki and she relaxed, turning her gaze to Ragnar, Torstein, Rollo and finally around to Bjorn. He didn't hear it, but saw her prayer of thanks before she opened her mouth to the cup being guided to her lips.

"How many men did Erlendur have with him?" asked Ragnar.

"Five – now," replied Floki grimly.

The boat was close to his cottage now – or what was left of it anyway. The smoke was no longer black, it's white clouds signalling that the fire was out of fuel. The mist had been burnt off by the sun and they could see Floki's boat next to the wreck of his second near his workshed. Erlendur's boat was still moored at the dock – unattended – Erlendur was still looking for his wife and child, not satisfied with his 'death' and wanting to discontinue his line.

Rollo guided the boat to a stop next to the dock and Torstein stepped off, securing it with a line. Floki stood and pulled on his breeches and shirt, both mostly dried from the sidebar during the voyage. He cast one glance at the stern where the Priestess was using Bjorn's figure as a shield to also dress herself. She offered him his cloak back but he shook his head and she accepted it with a smile and wrapped it around herself. She took Floki's hand to step out of the boat and walked along the dock up the path behind him, Rollo and Torstein ahead of them with Ragnar and Bjorn bringing up the rear.

They made it past the now dead body, remnants of a cottage and to the top of the hill before they were ambushed.

The arrow whistled past Floki's nose and thunked vibrating into a tree and Marion screamed. Floki turned in the direction it had come from, holding an axe he had reclaimed from his workshed aloft. The second arrow came whistling at him and he jumped aside, this arrow thudding into Bjorn's shield as he stepped in front of Marion. Torstein yelled and dived into the trees but before anyone else could follow there was a yell behind them and they whirled to the five warriors.

Bjorn reefed Marion behind him; Ragnar and Rollo stepped forward to take the brunt of the attack. Swords and axes clashed against blade and shield and there was a raucous cacophony as the resident birds burst into flight. One warrior, seeing Marion and perhaps thinking Bjorn was an easy target dodged Ragnar and thrust at the young warrior. Bjorn parried easily, thrusting out his shield and following with a wide arc with his axe.

The second warrior battling Rollo suddenly went down and with a yell Rollo swung his axe and the warrior's head hit the ground; it rolled to a rest next to the body of the first. Rollo moved forward and the warrior battling Ragnar in combination with Erlendur broke off to defend his flank. The result was inevitable from then: Bjorn's axe thunked a killing blow in the chest of his opponent, Rollo sliced a furrow into the chest of his and Torstein returned bloody but smiling from the trees and Ragnar disarmed Erlendur, pushing him against a tree.

"I gave you life," said Ragnar in a low tone, holding his sword to Erlendur's chin.

"You murdered my family for the throne," hissed Erlendur savagely. "You're going to destroy everything about our people with your love for the Christians."

"Floki?" Ragnar held out his knife.

Rollo pulled Erlendur forward and kicked at his knees, grasping a handful of hair and reefing his head back to expose his throat. Erlendur's eyes burned with hatred as he glared back up at Floki as he took the knife and stepped forward.

"Master," said Marion and he paused, turning to her.

She advanced to the kneeling warrior and stood looking down at him. Floki offered her the knife and she glanced at it, then shook her head. She lifted her hand and traced it down and then across. "May the Almighty Lord have mercy on your soul Erlendur."

Erlendur spat at her, his face still contorted with rage as Floki slit his throat. He collapsed to the ground, his eyes wide but still with consciousness in them as Floki bent down to him. "Join your father in Hel little Prince." Erlendur tried to move his hand but his strength was spread out on the forest floor and he was still. Floki wiped the blade on the body and stood, passing it back to Ragnar.

The sun was high in the sky and they were puffing from the steep ascent when Marion pulled up and whistled. There was silence and then she whistled again. "Rollo," she called encouragingly and he turned around in surprise. There was a bleat from amongst the rocks and the billy goat rushed down to them. Floki had no time to appreciate the sudden darkening of the warrior's face, although he heard Torstein's guffaw as realisation hit him, as he started to scramble up the rocks.

"Helga!" he yelled.

"Floki?" came back a slightly uncertain voice.

"Helga!" he yelled back.

"Floki!" this time her voice broke and her blond head, no longer flowing locks but crudely shorn, emerged from the rocks, Angrbođa in one hand and a solid cudgel in the other. Her face lit up as she saw him and she dropped the cudgel, taking a firmer grasp on her daughter and running towards him as best she could through the rocks. He closed the space between them and enfolded her in his arms, kissing her frantically until they aligned themselves properly and then kissed her deeply. Angrbođa whimpered slightly and he released them, placing his hand on her head and kissing her cheek.

"Oh Floki – I was so scared," sighed Helga, settling under his arm and walking with him down the rock slide. "If Marion hadn't…." her voice broke off.

"I know," he nodded, looking to where the nun, the slave stood scratching the goat's head somewhat to the side of the group of warriors. "She saved us."

Helga stepped away from him and threw herself at Marion, the two women hugging and crying in relief, both demanding assurance of safety from each other.

Ragnar clapped his hand on Floki's shoulder and turned back down the hill, a still disgruntled Rollo and grinning Torstein going with him. Bjorn waited, but kept his face turned away so as to remain unobtrusive.

Floki looked down at his family and smiled: Odin had indeed blessed him even if he hadn't recognised it to start with. He stepped forward and enfolded all three of them in his arms, pulling Helga closer to him and kissing the top of her head. Marion looked up at him, slightly unsure, and he pressed a kiss to her forehead. Tears welled in her eyes and she smiled at him, leaning into his shoulder.

"Bjorn!"

The strident whisper broke through and he opened his eyes, looking at Floki's face within a hands breadth of his face. They had spent some time in the afternoon salvaging what they could from the cottage and undertaking some repairs on the boats to carry what they could. If not for Angrbođa Floki and Helga may have stayed, but even in spring the weather was cold and they had accepted Ragnar's invitation to await the arrival of summer at Kattegat.

"What is it Floki?" he asked in some puzzlement.

"Ssh," Floki held up a finger to his lips, looking around to where the others slumbered, Rollo the goat placidly cropping at some thatch recovered from the supplies. "Come, come," he gestured.

Reluctantly Bjorn pushed aside the sail that was his blanket for the night, following Floki down the hill towards the water. The moon was full and its light was almost as bright as the day. He stopped as the water lapped at his boots and looked again at his friend. "What is it Floki?" he asked again.

Floki looked over to him but it was several moments before he could explain what he wanted. Bjorn stared at him for several more moments in disbelief and then with a slight shake of his head, helped him push the boat out onto the water.

This is actually the end of the story. I have an epilogue which is partially written which I will get up as soon as I can. I would like to thank all of you who favourited and followed and especially those who reviewed - I cannot overstate the importance of those words of encouragement.

(1) The fic related to Erlendur attacking Floki's house in his absence and killing Helga – I had to present an alternative ending. I have looked through fanfic and A03 without finding it though – if someone can tell me its name I will amend the credit at the top of the chapter.

(2) My nickname with an axe was 'Lightning' because I never hit the same spot twice

(3) A misquote inspired by LOTR.