Disclaimer: Every recognisable character, setting, backstory and/or themes belong to their respective owners, Marvel Comics and Michael Hirst. I am in no way associated or representative of the estates of these fictions and any copyright infringement is unintended.

Pre-read/Author's Note: Hello lovely people. Thanks again to everyone following, favouriting and commenting on the chapters so far. Your words of encouragement give me courage and inspiration.

I really do apologise for such a long wait. I juggle a lot in my personal life and so writing has become an outlet for me. But I also spin myself in circles, editing and re-editing chapters, because I never feel satisfied with what I write and produce. Thank you again for your everlasting patience!

Without further ado…

Narration: storms

Thoughts: storms

Speech: "storms"

Chapter 4: Tropical Cyclone

TRAILING behind her human host, Storm's head was still spinning from earlier, when she sought to reconnect with her powers. Her injuries were screaming at her, making themselves known and protesting the exercise of her power. Ororo chastised herself, knowing that using excess energy without properly healing was a mistake.

But the Kenyan didn't regret it, the short exercise had given her peace and refocussed her mind.

Yrsa led them uphill and back through the forest to the cabin: as they entered the clearing, Storm glanced around but did not see Yrsa's brooding companion. Sven appeared to have left earlier whilst they were in town and had not returned. The only reminder of his presence was the skinned carcass of a deer, outside and smoking on top of the fire pit. Ororo moved around Yrsa, who started stripping parts of the meat off with a knife to eat and entered the hut.

Sitting on the edge of the pallet she had slept in; the weather witch pulled her shirt up and massaged ice-cold hands onto her back where the muscles stretched the worse. As the cool seeped into her nerves, Ororo relaxed whilst cataloguing her day. As much as I enjoyed learning about Kaddegat and this world I find myself in, Valdis' words are troublesome. The Kenyan was dismayed by the situation she found herself, her old insecurity from teenage years rearing its ugly head.

Without guidance or support, no family or friends to assist, and a new world and language to learn, adjusting would be difficult. But this would not be first time she had been in a situation like this, and the weather witch resolved to keep level-headed - remembering her teachings from Charles. Breathing in the faint mix of herbs in the hut grounded the mutant and she sipped on some of the tonic Valdis had given her for sleep. As evening pressed around her, the night sky she espied through the openings in the hut showed faint iridescent lights, shifting across its surface. Ororo fell asleep and her mind drifted.

Almost as swiftly, the white-haired mutant shot her eyes open to the feeling of her body drifting. She was floating on the surface of a vast sea, dark but still, the only disturbances across its surface were the ripples from Ororo's hands and feet. Glancing around, she found a vast hall, with dark grey walls, the impression of great pillars stretching for miles the only feature she could make out. There was very little light in this hall, apart from an ambience that radiated behind her.

Recovering and turning around, she could make out a being shrouded in the muted light. Wisps of smoke and tendrils of light caressed the form of a woman, tall and lithe but her face and colouring washed out and indistinct. Ororo could not breath at the power she felt radiating from the figure and so did not move.

In the silence that followed, the figure moved forward, as if gliding, until she was inches from the Kenyan woman. A voice shook the silence of the hall, layered by several voices like a chorus, "Well met. I come to you now as your spirit has called to me, young one."

Ororo dared not move as fingers stretched and moved strands of hair from her face. "I don't understand…," the mutant murmured. "Nor is it required of you, yet. Just know, Asgard watches you. My mistress has taken you to her bosom and under her protection, so her maidens shall see it done." The shrouded woman intoned. "Guide your chosen, and he shall rise." Echoing words Ororo had heard before, a prophesy ringing in her ears.

The weather witch, finding herself mute, raised her hand to grasp at the one holding her face. A surge of Power rocked the mutant's body, accompanied by a blinding light and heat. Her vision left her, her body turning cold.

The former goddess opened her eyes to the darkened ceiling of the hut, startled out of a dream that felt real; her body could not decipher the difference between her sleep and waking moments. As her senses adjusted to the cold of early morning, the snores of her companions filtered through the haze of Storm's mind. But blinking the vestiges of her vision away, she rose silently and slipped into the hide slippers laid out beside her pallet. The African woman rose to see Yrsa sprawled on her furs and snoring softly. Sven was prose on the floor beside the fire, his large frame blocking the light of the dying embers and, apart from his steady breathing, was still.

Finding herself alone for the first time in a while, Ororo smiled and shifted her hands to raise the air around the fireplace. Warm wind rose at her command, moving towards Yrsa and her brother, tucking around them to keep the chill of the winter morning away.

Storm dressed as quickly as her back allowed, new leggings tucked into her old boots, she made her way outside. Strolling towards the tree line, Ororo shot a lightening marker above the hut. She had developed this technique in the early days of her time with the X-Men – an easy way to find her way to her teammates whenever they were separated. Before Jean had joined the team and acted as the team's communication centre, this stopped the team from being separated. She resolved to use them more, hoping they would help her navigate the deep forests and vast mountains of the Northern continent.

As the mutant walked, she slowly extended her psionic energies, a repeat of the day before but cautiously, curious of the wildlife and life thrumming around her. As her senses swept over branch and leaf, creatures large and small, a smile graced her lips. The life and energy of the animals around brushed against her senses like fingers tickling her sides.

As the morning melted into a warmer afternoon, Ororo felt the sun beat against her back as she made her way uphill. It appeared that she had come across one of the low laying mountain ranges that crowned Kaddegat. Using her winds, the Kenyan woman lifted herself to hover a few inches off the ground and floated up along the side of the mountain. As she landed on the top, Ororo felt her breath leave her at the sight.

Spread out beneath her sprawled the entirety of the port town: from her height, Ororo could see the lazy push and pull of ships, in and out of the harbour and the low hanging clouds that shrouded parts of Kaddegat. Kaddegat had been busy and alive as she had walked it streets with Yrsa but, from where she stood, the town proper looked small and still.

Storm sat down, folding her long legs, the tall grass and melted snow providing a cushion for her back and injuries. Glancing towards the west, movement at the port drew her attention. Long, shallow ships were pulling into the harbour, colourful sails affixed to sturdy masts whipped sharply in the wind. As her cat eyes focused on the area, she espied many citizens stood around the pier, excitement and clamour heard from even where she was. She could assume these ships bought goods, maybe from all over the world: she could see many people had disembarked from the sides of these boats, adding to the clamour. Kaddegat appeared to be well connected, a point of convergence for many peoples and cultures.

Feeling more settled now, Ororo thought back to her strange dream. She did not recognise the woman who spoke to her, but she knew better than to disregard the message. Valdis had told her about these visions, about how the powers that be may try to communicate with her. Ororo understood the importance of dreams in general, hoping she could get some paper and ink to write them down so she could remember the details.

But for now, she would enjoy her sojourn into nature, reconnecting with the energies of the world around her. For the first time since coming here, the weather witch felt at peace…

Striding back into the hut's clearing, Storm glanced over at Sven's dark head, bent over what looked to be an old boot and he was running a blunt object over the heel. The hunter swivelled towards her as she approached, and nodded his head, perhaps in greeting. Storm smiled back down at him when he handed her a piece of what looked like dried meat, something he was chewing slowly himself.

The mutant squatted down beside him, asking "What do you call this?" as she pointed to the boot he was holding. Sven's thick eyebrows furrowed slightly, nonplussed, as she repeated her question. As she continued to point, Sven appeared to come to understand what was requesting.

"Stígvél" Sven mumbled, lifting them up to the light "Þetta eru gömul stígvél."

Ororo repeated the word and continued asking after some of his items. The words "Hnífur" "belti" and "hamar" were items obvious enough to her however his "armhringur", whilst simple looking enough, did not seem to have any real purpose. Maybe it was decorative, like an armlet from my world? Sven appeared to wear the handsome ring of silver along his bicep and seemed protective of it.

This continued for a time, which surprised Ororo. She at first thought the man was less than impressed with her presence in their home, but he appeared patient with her silent questioning and her observation. Whilst no smile graced his thin lips, his eyes held less wariness.

Again, she felt gratitude towards this pair: their acceptance and steady support, whilst knowing very little about her, was strange but welcome for now.

As he attempted to teach her how to make his arrows and attach feathers to their end, notching the arrow stems with strange runes and markings, Yrsa strode back through the forest, her warm voice chattering away. Her brown eyes sparkled, excited about something and the glee bled into her words and rhythm.

Sven got up and nodded in response, and they both walked in sync inside to the hut, deep in conversation. Ororo, dying to follow but aware she would not understand much, resolved to wait, continuing to try and fix Sven's arrows. Whilst she was focused on making sure the feathers on the arrows were straight, she kept an eye as her hosts exited their home, towards her.

Yrsa held her hand out to the wind rider, with a warm "Koma" as she flexed her fingers inwards. From both the sound of the word (she assumed the language they spoke may be close to English) and the beckoning gesture, Storm understood she was to follow. From the direction Sven stalked towards, the duo planned to take her back into town again. Ororo rose from her crouch and placed the arrows back on Sven's stool beside the well.

As the group made their way south and downhill, Yrsa babbled happily in her tongue and Ororo simply nodded and smiled in response. She could pick up words here and there, words that almost sounded familiar. In no time, the trio made their way through the city centre. Storm was captivated by the bustle around her but noted that most people were walking in the same direction.

Perhaps, there was an event being held? Ororo pulled out of her inner musings as they came out behind a large building and walked along wooden planks. They were at the pier, situated between the town and the cold sea that lay beyond Kaddegat.Crowds had formed around several of the ships pulled to dock, hearty cheers arising from the men and women gathered.

Ororo surveyed the people who were disembarking: tall, fierce looking men and women dressed in sturdy leathers, some wore thick furs and woollen cloaks. And all-around weapons: axes, spears, shields and swords. She could see maces and daggers as well. Bowmen carried short crossbows, hanging from belts, and some longer bows on their backs. Some of the warriors wore chainmail over tunics, and their faces smeared with dirt, bright paint and most of them were beaming from ear to ear, bringing the smell of the sea with them.

The people of Kaddegat pressed forward, family members rushing to embrace those returning from what seemed a long journey. Others appeared solemn or grieving, hands outstretched to receive wrapped up cloaks, or armbands similar to what Sven had shown her earlier. Returned from war then? The Kenyan woman glanced away from these displays.

And was immediately caught in the gaze of a man, stood still on the prow of the largest ship docked. Ororo felt like she had been electrocuted: from beneath a shadowed brow, the man stared straight at her, unwaveringly.

As the crowds moved around and about her, she felt trapped by him: a rabbit in the gaze of a wolf. Something about his eyes were strange. Her first thought was mutant, but she felt almost no psionic energy from him. Glancing at his face and clothes, he was dressed in what looked like a reinforced leather tunic, with interlocking chains across his chest and down his arms. A thick belt sat on his waist, and the tunic flowed underneath to his knees.

He shifted then, drawing her attention to his face, which had not turned from her direction. She watched, almost in a trance as the warrior made his way down to the ramp and strode onto the pier.

The cheers from around Ororo and her hosts rose rapidly, shaking her bones with the tremor, as the man made his way through throngs of people. Many of whom appeared to part for him as walked, slowly and steadily towards the windrider, flanked by two men. Ororo felt Yrsa grab her elbow and pull her back slightly, as this entourage made its way past them and up towards one of the large buildings of Kaddegat. As they passed, the leader of the group turned his head towards her and from this close she gasped at what she saw.

Eyes that glowed blue. An electric blue, aquamarine almost, surrounded by sclera that were so white they looked tinged with blue, reflecting the clear sky. His face was as if set in stone, pale skin and thin lips pressed tight. As she recovered from the slight shock of seeing such sharp eyes, he raised a thick, dark eyebrow, almost in question, but was then swept along with the crowd. Ororo saw his tall frame and broad shoulders disappear into the large building with people pushing in behind him.

Yrsa grabbed her face and laughed at her confusion, her warm breath washing over Ororo and talked in her ear, tugging her towards this hall.

Many of the houses and buildings that Ororo had passed in Kaddegat were done in the same style as Yrsa's and Sven's hut. That seemed to be the way that these Nordic peoples built their homes. However, this hall that they were entering stood out. Several stories high, the building was dominated by its large, domed roof made of thick clay and straw. The wall with the entrance had what appeared to be a fenced porch that stretched all around the hall, with columns that held the roof up.

As they walked through tall, double doors, the warmth of a large fire set in a stone brazier in the middle of the room greeted them. And it appeared to be one room, with ceilings as high as the building looked on the outside, and thick, oaken tables stretching along both sides of the hall. At the end of the hall, stood a large chair on a raised dais, and everywhere, the people of Kaddegat filled the room with their presence. Above the dais, there sat another level, only accessed through stairs ascending on either side of the hall.

Ororo's stomach growled as she saw the food that the tables were heaving under, the thick scent of grilled meat coming from the large pig, spit roasted over the central fire and turned diligently by a couple of men.

Beside her Yrsa yelled over the crowd "Þetta er hið mikla langhús leiðtoga okkar, Ívars beinlausa." She pointed towards the raised dais, where the warrior from earlier was holding court with some of his men. He was sat, slouched slightly in his throne, with his legs stretched out in front of him. Head canted to the side; he affected an air of attentiveness whilst listening to the warrior stood in front of him.

Ororo watched him through the corner of her eyes, but Yrsa pulled her attention away. It seemed her host had gone to grab some meat and two curved horns. As the Kenyan took one, she looked within to see an almost clear, amber liquid. Yrsa laughed at Ororo's expression and smashed their horns together. The weather witch took a slight sip and grimaced; the hoppy drink settling in her stomach.

Yrsa appeared to be happy babbling away, and she glanced around the hall before a loud knock from the back of the hall resounded; everyone's attention now fixated on the throne.

As the leader stood, slowly and steadily, Ororo then noted something else; his legs, well-muscled and long, were covered in sturdy leggings and boots. But wrapped around his knees, upper thighs and calves were numerous straps. Some looked like only leather, but the straps at the man's knees were strengthened with metal. Rather than decorative, they appeared structural, and this was confirmed for the mutant when she noticed the walking stick, propped up against his seat.

So, he has difficulty walking? Ororo sympathised; her own mentor turned father-figure was permanently unable to walk and she had seen first-hand the limitations that the Professor had faced. Access and mobility were constantly a challenge which had prompted the powerful telepath to configure his mansion so that every area was accessible.

But to have this disability in a time such as the one she found herself in, must have been immensely more unforgiving.

As the Kenyan woman watched, the man addressed his people. His blue gaze swept the crowd; making eye contact frequently, pausing for the cheers of everyone to die down before continuing and speaking with an almost sing-song quality to his timbre. Ororo did not understand his words but still felt almost swept away by his speech.

Shaking her head, she begged leave of Yrsa by pointing to the doors. The hall was now heaving with people, and she wanted some fresh air. The dark-haired huntress eyed her but nodded, taking Ororo's horn and finishing the alcohol within. The weather witch slipped through the doors and made her way back out to the beachfront.

Yrsa

The Ragnarssons were back in Kaddegat which was always an event for their people. Yrsa spoke to several shieldmaidens about their journey from Irland: a lush, green haven tucked away passed the Saxon Isles. King Ivar and his brothers often organised raids and hunts in the spring and summer months there, but Yrsa herself had never been on one before.

"The land is truly lovely in the spring, although the people are backwards," Yrsa listened as Svala regaled the group of women with tales. They all giggled about the discussion surrounding Irish warriors and whether they measured up to their own men, when Soma turned to Yrsa.

"Who was that with you? The African woman," she was curious and, by the looks they were giving her, so were the rest of the group.

"She is a guest of mine and Sven's," Yrsa tried not to give too much information. After all, her and her brother did not know much more of their guest, as welcoming as they had tried to be.

The woman waited for her to further explain but Yrsa smiled and sipped her drink, choosing to keep them in suspense. When they noticed she would speak no more, they moved the topic on begrudgingly. As the huntress chewed on some fried fish, she noted the large, dark-clad shape of their King move throw the revellers in the hall.

As he stalked through the crowd, accepting well-wishers and stopping here and there to speak, he made his measured way to the doors and then outside. Yrsa noted it as strange, but the mead had dulled her senses; shrugging it off, she turned back to good company and good drink flowing.

Ororo

I might be a…What did Jean call it? A lightweight? The Kenyan mused to herself as she felt the salty, sea air awakening and sharpening her senses, helping the mutant dispel the heaviness the beer had bought about.

The weather witch glanced around her and saw nothing but the pale, cream sands of the beach, the icy blue of the shore tugging incessantly against the boats moored at the piers. No soul was present, as it appeared they had all gathered around the large hall to celebrate. Turning to the sea, she inhaled and released a wave of psionic energy. This energy danced around her and outwards; lifting the sea and creating large, rhythmic waves that crashed out from Kaddegat.

Water had always been fun to play with and so she used her hand to create different patterns. Waves that looked like great whales crashed into the white foam to become flocks of birds that flitted and skimmed the surface. She felt her soul lighten: Ororo's elemental connection grounded her.

She turned back to town, elated by her brief sojourn, to come face to face with the man that had lead the warriors back home. The mutant startled, feeling her powers surge briefly to her eyes and hands in defence. The tall man noted this: his quick glance between her eyes, followed by a furrowing of his heavy brow.

Ororo was panicking - she had been careless and had not heard the man's approach. And with no Charles or Jean to erase his memories of what he might have seen! As static rang in her ears, she heard him rumble something, his voice low but smooth. He stepped forward: his tread heavy and deliberate, prompting her to step back.

Forgetting, that she could not speak their language, Ororo pleaded "I did not see you. I, I apologise… please do not tell anyone!"

His gaze never faltered but something shifted in his eyes: he stepped forward and said. "And why would I not tell anyone, hmm? That my people have been blessed with one who can command the seas…"

It took the mutant woman a second to register the English – spoken slowly, his cadence slightly rough.

"A gift, I see. One given by Thor and Njordr for our people's triumphs, perhaps?" he appeared to be talking more to himself than her.

"You…can speak English as well?" she queried. His heavy brows furrow again, and he drawled "I do not know what Ainglish is, but this is the Saxon tongue. How can you not know what you speak, woman?" Whilst his words were blunt, his tone remained even and unreadable.

Ignoring the slight dig, Ororo continued, "Please, I ask that you do not tell anyone what you saw. It is dangerous for humans to have knowledge of my kind" she finished, feeling desperate to convince this man to forget what he had saw.

"You have great confidence to command a king of anything, tungl kona," he smiled to punctuate the foreign words at the end of his sentence. As he talked, Ororo had noticed that he had ambled closer to her. Enough so that she could see the strange hue to his eyes.

"Show me again," he demanded. "Summon the waves as you did before" the mutant woman was shaking her head before he had finished his sentence. She would not give this man any more motivation to ask questions or covet her abilities.

But before she could open her mouth to respond, he swung an axe from his waistline and levelled it against her neck. The Kenyan gasped and pushed her hands, charged full of lightning to deflect the blow. He was fast, almost inhumanely so. But her training allowed her to intercept his attack, her eyes still reflexively closing in surprise.

Several seconds passed, time crawled and she exhaled. Still expecting the pain of the axe's edge, after a few moments, Storm pried her eyes open again to find the king of Kaddegat towering over her, his weapon sheathed, and his gaze focused on her hands.

Looking down, Ororo realized she had charged for an attack and almost immediately withdrew she couldn't believe she had almost blasted this human through his chest, unknowingly.

"I am sorry, so sorry. Please, Your Grace, if it helps, I can stay out of your town," Storm offered. The Viking man eyed her for a second, glancing between her eyes and mouth.

He smirked and muttered "You are alluring when you beg. How any man has resisted you is beyond me," the king then walked toward and then around her. "What will you offer me if I do not inform my people of this? Of you?"

Ororo was stumped for a second, afer which the earlier part of his statement filtered into her mind. Surely, he does not mean to suggest that I…

In horror, the African twirled to face the impertinent man "I would rather die than sell my body for your silence. King you may be, I do not need to bend for you or any human!" She could feel her static lift her hair, the skies above them darkening and rumbling.

But, in the face of her fury, he stopped circling and studied her. Whatever conclusion he had come to, he reached out and placed his hand in the centre of her chest. As strange an action as it was, Ororo jolted in surprise at the warmth of his large hand and almost felt her fury drain from her.

"Rest, tungl. Humping was the furthest from my mind. I have another proposal for you, to keep my silence." He stopped to see whether Ororo was paying attention and then elaborated. "My people's lifeblood is raiding, but we must sustain ourselves throughout the year. Freyr provides for us but still our lands do not yield much."

"Help my lands flourish, make them fertile and you shall not want for anything." The king ended his speech, his quiet timbre still echoing in the mutant woman's ears. Ororo, not for the first time, was stumped and, for once perhaps, she had nothing to say. The waves of her mind were turbulent as the man with the blue eyes stared on.

Translations:

"Stígvél" – "Boots"

"Þetta eru gömul stígvél" – "There are old boots".

Knifur" – "Knife"

"Belti" – "Belt"

"Hamar" – "Hammer"

"Armhringur" – "Arm ring"

"Koma"- "Come"

"Þetta er hið mikla langhús leiðtoga okkar, Ívars beinlausa" – "This is the great longhouse of our leader, Ivar the Boneless".

"Tungl kona" – "Moon woman"

"Tungl" – "Moon"

The Ragnarssons – The Ragnarssons is the collective name given, as you probably know or guess, to the famous Viking sons of Ragnar Lothbrok (Loðbrók). In real-life sources, his sons were numerous but a few of them were contested as to whether they were Ragnar's sons (Halfdan is also counted as one ad there is not much clarity around the figure of Hvitserk). However as per the show, Vikings, written by Michael Hirst, the Ragnarssons are classed as Bjorn, Ubbe, Hvitserk, Sigurd Snake-eye and Ivar the Boneless. Magnus' parentage is not settled fully. So, for the purposes of this story, I will follow Hirst's canon.

Thor – a primary god associated with many Germanic pagan religions. For the Norse, he was associated with strength, storms and lightning and was one of the most popular gods of the pantheon. For obvious reasons, Ivar has drawn a link to that god and Ororo.

Njodr – a Vanir god within Norse legends. He was the father or Freyr (see below) and Freyja and oversees the seas, fishing, wealth, and harvests.

Freyr – a god also commonly known amongst the Norse, like his father, was also known for fertility, harvest, and good weather.

So, firstly, I do realise I bought Ivar's appearance a chapter before. But I have been going over this story because I wasn't happy with a lot of it and edited out quite a lot of this chapter.

We will see what our two ill-fated characters have in store in the next chapter. See you soon, dears!