I am back.

It has been years. I know. I am sorry to all of you who texted me during the years.

To be honest with you all, I was angry, infuriated even, by the last seasons of Vikings. What I hated the most was Ragnar turning into an addict and a crazy person. I liked his death scene, but I did not like how he "wished he had never left the farm." That to me was very "non-Ragnar". Honestly.

Then, one night not long ago, Ragnar came to me in a dream, as if telling me to finish this story. And I tried going back to watch the show again, but there is so much that I want to change, it infuriates me, so I stopped again. And I realized. Maybe I just need to try again. Maybe I just need to do my thing. It is a fanfiction - but now I'm taking control. This is my story. Frida's story.

And I have no idea whether any of my old readers are still out there, or if anyone is even interested in vikings anymore. I don't even know how long it will take me to finish this. But I have to try, even if it is solely for myself.

I have read through all of my chapters, editing errors along the way and adding a few things here and there.

I hope that you enjoy.

Hugs 3


The years had gone by faster than Frida had ever imagined them to.

The village of Kattegat had grown before her eyes, just as her children. The place she once came to know as her Northern home was no longer a mere village of wooden cottages by the fjord, but it had evolved into an established center of life and trade, as it slowly ate away more and more of the purple heath that surrounded it.

The village people had transformed too.

Now it was not only Danes lighting small bonfires around the homes of Kattegat, making the city flutter with life at night, but many peoples from different kingdoms and earls had come to live here. Geats, Frisians, Goths and Finns all colored the cultural tapestry of the blossoming flower here in the North, bringing new life in all parts of the harbor city, from something as simple as the trend of clothes and jewelry to the language spoken by the many tongues.

Spices, songs, animals and tales. Life was ever changing in Kattegat.

The name of Ragnar Loðbrók too had spread across many lips over the world as time carried through, his fame now even more renowned than ever.

Over the great seas to the West, the ones who dared to speak of his name, told tales of horror about the men of the North led by this skillful warrior king and his mighty army of fearless men and women. Priests prayed to their god for his demise, and many Christian monks wrote legends infamous of the great Norse evil.

Across the seas to the East, even children had heard the stories of the great Viking that made childish eyes shine in awe around the fireplaces, and many mothers had to hush their babes come nightfall so they could rest their eyes without fear of waking to the sound of Viking horns blaring.

Ragnar's fame had even trailed all the way down to the South of the world, where they spoke fables of a great king of cold kingdoms far away, who had raped and raided over half of the world, and who sat on mountains of gold and treasure.

As her thoughts wandered, Frida smiled curtly as she let her gaze fall upon her legendary husband in his throne. The fruitious and mighty king Ragnar Loðbrók sat as handsome as ever on the exact same wooden throne he always had, as long as Frida had known him, while he humbly nibbled at the leg of a chicken with great joy, listening patiently to his son Ivar share what he had recently learned about archery. Knowledge that of course was not new to this warrior king.

But as Ivar eagerly explained to his father the many reasons for using different arrowheads such as broadheads, bodkin points and barbed heads, Ragnar dramatically sent the young boy surprised eyes of pride once in a while, as if the boy really lit up an entire new road in his mind.

Frida sighed happily from her seat near the fire in the longhall, as she gazed at Ivar. Her heart was full of joy as she watched the boy, this young man, also with a pinch of sorrow in the depth of her stomach when she realized how much he had grown.

He was now eleven years of age, and it would not be long before his voice would start to deepen and hairs on his face would start to trickle out. And even though Ivar was already one of the wisest children she knew, Frida was certain that his wits would expand even further with age.

She wondered how much knowledge one mind can hold before it starts to forget. Or turn crooked.

And she chuckled to herself lightly as the image of Odin passed behind her eyes, and she reminisced one of the first tales that she had heard of the All-father and his insatiable thirst for wisdom and understanding. How he in his pursuit had sacrificed his eye at Mímir's well to access immense awareness of the past, present and future.

Ivar possessed the same thirst for wisdom as was only understandable as he was the son of a descendant of Odin himself. You could see it in the magical light that shone from his blue eyes. As she looked at his limp leg, she wondered whether Ivar in some way had sacrificed that for his brilliant mind.

Frida turned her eyes to her beautiful twins, Halfdan and Ragnvald.

Oh, how time had passed. How all of her children had grown.

The twins sat near the fire with several other children, both of them carving each their wooden spear. Their hair was the color of Frida's, but their eyes were the same icy blue crystals as their father's.

Their sister Asa*, who was already a small toddler, sat with her hand in a small bowl of porridge in Helga's lap, her entire face almost covered by the stickiness. Frida could see Helga doing her best to hold control over the fast toddler fingers, but as most mothers know, there exists nothing quicker in the world but the hands of toddlers exploring the world for the first time.

Frida giggled.

She knew in her heart that her time of birthing children was over.

The scars on her stomach told her so.

The gods had told her so.

And with that knowledge she knew that time had come for her to depart on other adventures. Adventures to kingdoms far away, as the Seer once had told her.

"The wolf follows the raven. Always"

In her dreams she often traveled to distant shores by Ragnar's side. And even as she had already been on great adventures with him to the English shores, visions of green mountains and golden clover fields still colored her nightly journeys, leaving her full of life and anticipation of what experiences she still held in her future.

Frida once more let her eyes travel to Ragnar, who was still listening to Ivar's many words. When their eyes locked, she felt a deep warmth of trust spread in her heart, as she took in the sight of him. Ragnar rolled his eyes at her in direction of Ivar, and pretended to sigh heavily as if chained there to listen for all eternity. He laughed out when Ivar slapped him on the arm for not listening properly.

Frida laughed with them.

Ragnar had also grown older, as was apparent by the thin lines that had started to show near his eyes. They were most obvious when he smiled.

Frida's favorite smiles of the entire world.

His rich and colorful clothes told the story of a man that suffered no hardships in regard to his past adventures. He still wore his hair as he had always done, the thick and heavy twist of a braiding hanging down over his shoulder, and the sides of his head beautifully portraying the ink art of a raven on one side and a snake on the other, symbols of his power, his lineage and his bravery.

She admired him.

His deeds, his adventurous spirit, his bravery. But she also cherished him for his fears, his sorrows and longings and his big heart.

Frida felt as the luckiest woman alive as she sat there in the longhall, surrounded by family and loved ones, in warm and beautiful clothes and with a belly filled with food. She was happy.

All of a sudden, she felt a cold shiver crawl over her feet, and she looked over to the great doors of the southern wall of the longhall. In a swift movement, a servant walked hurriedly along the side of the longhall in quick and long strides toward Ragnar.

Frida furrowed her brows as she saw the servant throw a quick glance out over the people gathered around the fire in the center of the room, and she noticed an alarmed air around him, as if he did not want anyone to notice him.

Frida slowly rose on her feet, casually smiling at Thora and Leif next to her, before she carelessly strolled by the longtable, closer to Ragnar.

She watched the servant whisper hurried words into Ragnar's ears, and she saw how the expression on Ragnar's face changed from relaxed and into deep worry. A line carved his forehead, and he furrowed his brows in distress as he looked up at Frida that had now reached him.

She sat down on the floor beside him as Ivar was still on the throne besides Ragnar's and listened carefully, turning one ear to them while placing a calming hand on Ragnar's knee.

"... and she asked you to move as quickly as possible, sir. It is most urgent."

"Hm," Ragnar growled, his eyes hard, his knuckles tightened.

The servant took a quick bow before he took a few steps back, turned around and walked past Ragnar's throne, his movements rather panicky and flushed.

Frida took his hand and eyed him intently, asking him without words to enlighten her. She sensed that the people closest to them behind her had turned silent, as they had noticed the messenger too.

"We have to ride out tonight, father. We should ready the horses," Ivar breathed in rushed words.

Ragnar lifted his tightened hand to bite at his finger, eyes still and hard, as if he had drawn himself into his own world.

"Ragnar," Frida breathed in a soft voice, trying to remind him that he was not alone. He blinked his eyes a couple of times before coming back to the room, looking at her, his blue crystals shining with concern.

"It is Lagertha," Ragnar whispered. "She needs me."

Frida felt a sudden stone in her stomach at his words, and she sucked in a quick breath of air. She had not heard from Lagertha for many moons now, after her new title as jarl of Ribe, a busy harbor village in the Southern part of the country.

Ragnar continued in hushed words: "She needs us, our help. Guthrum's men are already on their way to attack. Hirdstrid.* We have to act now."

Frida felt her heart contract, a fear cooling her body in an instant, even if they all sat in the warmth of the longhall. She saw a flash of armored men with yellow shields before her eyes. She did not remember well details about jarl Guthrum.

"Do you want me to call for Floki?" she asked.

Ragnar shook his head in swift movements, his breath shallow in his chest, his face still furrowed with concern.

"Too slow," Ivar concurred quickly. "We need horses."

Frida closed her eyes in irritation.

She felt slow somehow, as if she was not in tune with him and Ragnar, and Ivar's quickness angered her a little. She wished that he was with the other children.

"We do not need anything, Ivar," Frida hissed. "Besides gather the men. We should think this through and…"

Ragnar snorted at her, and she quickly clasped her lips shut. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Ivar eyeing her down. She saw Ragnar bite down even harder on his finger, deep furrows on his forehead between his eyes.

"I am just saying that…" Ivar started, but he was soon interrupted by a growl from his father, who slammed his hand down hard on the armrest of his wooden throne, the noise earning a few whispers around the people gathered in the longhall. His mouth was scrunched into an angry line across his face, the knuckles on his clenched fist white.

"Would you two just shut up?! Let me think," he growled while rolling his eyes at them.

Ivar and Frida shared a quick look with each other, and they both let their shoulders fall down, a heavy and inept silence now thick between them.

Frida felt embarrassment wash up in her mouth, and she wished that she had not said anything. She could see Ivar fiddling with a loose thread in his trousers.

Long moments went by as Ragnar sat there deep in thought, before he looked at Frida, his eyes a bit softer now. He softened his tightened knuckle and lifted his hand to push a lock of her hair behind her ear.

"My dearest, find Rollo and tell him to meet me out back. Also tell Torstein that he needs to gather Leif, Hans and the others. We need our best archers."

Frida nodded her head a single time, readying herself to get to her feet. She looked over to the hallway door out back, lifting her hand to rest at her belt where her ax was usually placed. Her newest favorite weapon was in there, so she…

"No," Ragnar said in a stern voice. "You stay here. Ivar will join me."


* Asa: Ragnar had a daughter named Alof, but I don't like that name so I changed it slightly ;)

* Hirdstrid: Norse word for conflict regarding supremacy and control over territories