The tavern down by the docks was crowded and boisterous even while it was still so early in the evening. With the sun barely beginning to set across the wide breadth of Lake Eitrivatnen, the harbor-side tavern was filled with warriors from all three clans from the long wooden bar with barrels of Ashfeld ale, wine, and mead to the open warehouse-style doors that let in the sights and sounds of the conquered harbor. Bilrost and Thurshmrar warriors mingled in close-knit groups, either laughing together or cursing one another over who had fought more valiantly during the attack, while Sea Eagle warriors stood about in fewer numbers so far from the citadel high up on the hill.
Gunnar pressed his way past all of them, grinning at warriors he knew and staring down the ones who were clearly sizing him up. With a mug of ale in each hand, he kept moving until he came to a small table near the open doors that looked out over the lake choked full of Valkenheim longships.
"Another round, my friend," he smiled and set one of the froth-crowned mugs down in front of Coal, then frowned at Priscilla as he took his seat across from them both. "Not thirsty?" Glancing down at her cup, he noted how she had yet to even finish half of her drink, even though it was still her first.
"I know how to pace myself," she replied curtly, wrinkling her nose and giving him a not-so-honest smile.
Gunnar rolled his eyes, then held out his mug across the table to knock it against Coal's, nodding to one another before they each took a long pull of their drinks. If they could fight together, then they could drink together. It seemed a simple enough code to live by to his mind, even if Coal and Priscilla were a couple of uptight Knights.
"At least he actually knows how to enjoy a drink," Gunnar said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before gesturing at Coal. But Coal simply gave another little nod of his head and a tip of his mug before drinking again, leaving the air between them heavy with silence as the true reveling went on around them.
"What is it with you two?" Gunnar asked, looking between his two companions in annoyance. "Even a draugr stuck in the mud has more spirit than the both of you combined."
"This was your idea," Coal muttered, sitting hunched over the table and his mug, "As far as I'm concerned, I'm once again being held against my will. The drink is better this time around, though, I'll say that much."
Priscilla was busy glancing around the crowded tavern and the warriors surrounding them, seemingly unable to enjoy her drink in a place full of Northmen or was simply unwilling to. One didn't need a sharp eye to catch all the grim faces and dark looks cast back in their direction.
"Perhaps we should retire to a less hostile environment to enjoy our drinks?" she asked.
With the city well and secure under Viking occupation, none of them had brought their weapons to the tavern. Looking at Priscilla, though, Gunnar couldn't be too sure that she didn't have a knife or two tucked away out of sight from the way she sat so stiff and alert, keeping just as much an eye on the space over her shoulder as to her front.
"Relax. As long as you are with me, no one will give a goat's turd that you're here. They all know better than to pick a fight with the Bear," Gunnar grinned over his mug.
He watched her for a moment longer, lingering on how she seemed so tense and yet so controlled at the same time. Thin lips set into a hard line. A delicate brow that betrayed no emotion. But it was her eyes that captivated him the most, seeing how they kept shifting around this way and that, ever on the lookout for sudden danger. They were sharp and dangerous, those eyes fierce like an animal keeping watch for predators skulking in the shadows. And they were warm, drawing him in with their dark golden brown color, which he couldn't help but notice was the same as her hair.
"There a tale to that name?" Coal asked, breaking Gunnar from his trance, "Or do they just call you that because you're a big hairy bastard?"
With a rueful grin, Gunnar shook his head and brought his mug to his lips. "Oh, so now you wish to talk? Maybe there is a spark of life in you yet," he mused, taking a long drink before giving a satisfied gasp and lick of his lips, "Care to take a guess?"
"You did not fight a bear," Priscilla replied quickly, glowering at him now from across the table, "Whatever wild tales and legends your people like to tell, the truth is that if you had tried to fight a bear, you would not be alive to torment us now. Simple as that."
"Well, you are certainly quick to judge," Gunnar frowned, puffing out his chest and rolling his broad shoulders to try to hide how on target her stinging remark had landed. "As if anyone could look at me and think that I couldn't challenge any mighty beast to a hólmganga and win. Ridiculous." For a moment, he held Priscilla's gaze until, at last, hers slid away in annoyance. "As it were, though, I did not earn the name by fighting with any bear."
"I knew it," chuckled Coal, nudging a disgruntled-looking Priscilla with his elbow. "He's just a big hairy bastard, is all. Just like every other heathen bastard in this hell hole!" His gruff voice had grown louder with each word toward the end until it had become a boastful shout, earning more than a few deathly glares from the warriors around them.
"Keep your voice down, you idiot. Are you trying to get us killed?" Priscilla hissed angrily, fixing him with her own glare. Coal simply chuckled, his cheeks flushed rosy pink from the drink, giving her a dismissive wave before guzzling down more of his ale.
Gunnar sighed as the table fell into silence again, the tension between them as heavy as an avalanche rumbling down from a mountain peak. Perhaps bringing them out to a tavern was not such a good idea after all. Normally, everything was better with a few drinks to fill the belly, but right now, he felt almost as on edge sitting with these two as he did preparing for the start of a battle. In truth, he had hoped to actually talk, to open up about what had happened at the storehouse with the fire, and perhaps build some actual trust between each other as warriors.
Trust. It weighed heavy on his mind ever since the battle ended, and Erik had whipped the Knights into line as if they were thralls.
A part of him wanted to just shrug it off, to remember that these people had once been his enemy, and hold onto the hate he would normally feel for them. But things were changing. As much as he didn't want to admit it to his brother, or even himself perhaps, fighting alongside the Knights of the Lion Flame had altered his view of them, if only just a little. Their principles and beliefs were still strange and foreign to him, more often than not acting against his own, but he could not deny that these were warriors he had fought and bled with. In the heat of battle, at least for those wild and terrible moments, they had all been on the same side and fighting for the same cause. It felt strange to think that his camaraderie with them should not continue past all that bloodshed.
Earlier that day, he had told Herleif that he would keep an eye on Coal and Priscilla because out of all the Knights, they were the only two who seemed to be working toward a goal other than sacking the Waller City and reclaiming their homeland. Whether or not that was true, or if it was a detriment to the success of their raid, was yet to be seen. But he intended to find out the truth of the matter if he could. So he would continue to watch them as promised, but if he was honest about what he felt in his heart, he hoped that this blood feud of Priscilla's was all it appeared to be and was indeed put to rest with her brother's death. For her sake, he hoped it was true.
Coal tipped back his mug and drained it empty, letting out a rude belch before getting up from the table. "I'm getting another. Anyone else?" he asked, nearly stumbling backward as his boot caught on the bench.
Priscilla's eyes flared with barely restrained anger, lips curling into a tightly thin line. "Have you not had enough already?"
"You know what I learned in all my years of living in dark cells and being carted off from one bloody battle to the next, Pris?" Coal droned, cheeks flushed and eyes a bit glassy beneath furrowed brows, "Get drunk whenever you can. It makes any shitty situation surprisingly more bearable..." He waved his empty mug at the Viking-filled tavern around them, then turned and walked away, leaving his one Knightly companion alone and fuming in a den of northern savages.
"Bastard," Priscilla hissed under her breath, her face flushed with anger rather than drink.
Fidgeting on her bench, Gunnar watched as she visibly became unsettled for the first time. She even took a few sips of the drink she had been nursing for ages, although not to end up in the same drunken state as Coal. Smart of her, really, to not let her senses become dulled in such a place.
"Rough business, finding someone who can watch your back when you need it," Gunnar said softly.
Priscilla glanced at him for just a moment, then went back to watching the room without a word. He couldn't exactly tell whether or not that was a sign she didn't wish to talk at all, he couldn't exactly tell, but if he could face down a charging Lawbringer with their poleaxe lowered to spear him through, he could brave this woman's silent treatment without fear.
"Makes me feel lucky in a way, knowing I have my brother. We fight sometimes, as brothers do, I guess, but I know if there was anyone in this realm I could trust, it would be him."
"Must be nice," Priscilla muttered, hunching her shoulders as she crossed her arms over the table.
Gunnar nodded, looking down at his half-empty mug and running a thumb along the rim. "It is impossible to imagine what it would be like to lose that bond. Killing men can be hard work, even if your heart is steeped in battle lust and frenzy. But killing a brother? Spilling your own family's blood? That is something I'm not sure I would have the strength to do."
When he looked up again, he found Priscilla staring at him, holding him with those brilliant dark eyes. He felt utterly frozen in that moment, torn apart to his core and having to re-summon his courage from the depths of his soul. "I guess what I am trying to say is... I am sorry. For whatever pain the deed might have caused you, I'm sorry."
Priscilla's face was entirely still, void of any emotion or misgiving, as she seemed to search his face for any sign of deceit.
"I thought you did not believe in my Loki's trick?" she said at last, her voice as hard as stone, "Is that not why you dragged me here? To a place full of drunks that would just as soon cut my throat than give a damn about what sort of hell I've been through. To keep me in line and where I cannot get up to any more mischief?" The anger radiating off her then could be felt across the table, even if she didn't show it.
Gunnar had to think on his words for a moment before he dared to open his mouth again. "We are indeed sailing through strange and uncharted waters," he began, leaning over the table towards her, "You and I sitting here together is proof of that. We came across a burning lake upon the same ship, stormed the same dock, and fought side by side, killing men all the way up to the citadel. But still, you are a Knight of Ashfeld, and I am a Viking. Our paths were never meant to cross except when spilling each other's blood in a glorious war. Yet here we sit, sharing a table like good, decent folk."
Now, he stared back at her without shame. Distrust had started him on this path, leading him to keep company with those he should have been fighting against. Now, he was doing all he could to show her that he was willing to make the leap toward something better if she would meet him halfway.
"What trust can we expect between us if we do not start building it now?"
If he had been expecting any sign of understanding from Priscilla, any change in her cold gaze, she did not give it. The look of distrust she held on him vanished as quickly as it appeared, lost as she turned away from him altogether without so much as a shrug of indifference. She even took up her cup and began to drink again, surely just to hide any wayward emotion that might happen to slip across her face.
Gunnar frowned, feeling the strange coldness of defeat and disappointment grip tight in the pit of his stomach. Leaning back, he glanced out of the tavern and over the lake on which they had traveled through fire and death to get this far. There seemed to be nothing for it. Priscilla would keep her secrets, and he would continue to hound her for them in vain, like Skǫll and Hati chasing the sun and moon across the sky. Then, when all of this was said and done, perhaps nothing would actually change after all. For now, at least, he would drown his worries in ale and deal with the promised hangover tomorrow.
"So why do they call you the Bear?" came Priscilla's voice out of the silence between them. Gunnar was so surprised that he looked at her stupidly rather than answer. When she turned back to him and their eyes met again, the softness in her gaze was immediately noticeable from what had come before. "You said that name did not come from fighting a bear. So where does it come from?"
It took him longer than he would have liked to find his voice again, and the first sound he made was a strained laugh. "It is not so much the glorious tale such the name would have you believe," he said a bit sheepishly, running his hand along his braided beard, "You see, when I was young, I found a bear cub alone in the forest outside my village. I...well, I tried to bring it home and keep it as a pet."
"A pet?" Priscilla mused, her eyes shining with the barest glimmer of amusement. "Had you mistaken it for a dog?"
Gunnar shrugged and chuckled again. "I can't really say. I was just a foolish child then. Thought having my very own bear to ride into battle would make me some kind of legend. My mother would have none of it, of course. I can still remember her scream of shock when I brought it into the hall. She had never been so furious with me before. Even the cub was terrified." They both laughed together at that, Gunnar with the very vivid memory of his frustrated mother and Priscilla at the idea of a fiery-tempered shield-maiden raging against a cowering child and cub. "She made me give the bear up, of course, but before I could, the thing's mother appeared outside the walls, searching for its cub. My father's men wanted to kill it, but my mother forbade any of them from hurting the sow. She said that a mother should not be condemned for just wanting to protect its child."
Priscilla smiled softly, looking at him for a long moment. "That was very loving of her. A nice sentiment."
"Aye. She was good like that. Saw to it that we returned the cub safe and sound. Even made sure I was not punished by my father when all was said and done."
"And that is why you are called Gunnar the Bear?" Priscilla asked.
Gunnar rocked his head side to side in embarrassed admission. "Not very heroic, is it? My father found it amusing after the fact, and it stuck. Perhaps I am better off just saying I fought a bear for the title after all..."
Priscilla pursed her lips, appearing to think over his words for a moment. "Maybe you should. Honestly, if that was the story you had chosen to stick with, I might have been a little bit impressed."
He raised his brows at that, rattling his brain for any witty remark that might make her smile just a little more or even make her laugh if he dared to hope. The look on her face made him think that she almost could, that there was just enough trust built between them now that some walls could be brought down. Just enough for another laugh.
"Watch where you're going, you clanking troll!"
Gunnar whipped his head around in the direction of the shout. Priscilla did, too, alertness and concern reappearing on her face in the blink of an eye. The commotion continued further in the tavern, shielded by the bodies of a few who stood to take a look for themselves.
"Allow me to re-fill your cup, sir! Or get down on your knees, and I'll just piss down your throat!" came Coal's biting remark. There were a few hoots and hollers, some smiles of delight from the many onlookers, and hateful scowls from others. Clearly, a fight was brewing, and the whole tavern was gearing up to turn from spectators to instigators.
"Thor's balls," Gunnar cursed under his breath.
Getting up from his seat, he threw down his mug and pushed his way through the crowd. Tall as he was, it didn't take him long to see Coal squaring off against the Headhunter Raider, who he recognized from the battle at the citadel. Their fronts were wet with spilled ale, clearly the crux of the growing hostility between them. The skull-capped Raider was backed up by a Warlord with a red mustache, an eye patch, and a growling Berserker that wore a face plate so ornate that Gunnar wasn't sure how he could see out of it. "Alright! Break it up, you braying mules! What's a man to do when he comes for a drink but catches a fist instead?"
"See no reason why we can't have both," Coal growled, jutting his chin up at the looming red Raider, who seemed to agree.
"Smash his face in, Njáll," grinned the Berserker, urging his companion on, "Smash him to blood and pulp!" Njáll, the affronted Headhunter Raider, cracked his knuckles and rolled his shoulders, clearly preparing to indulge his rat-faced companion's request.
Gunnar glanced between them, then at the scowling faces around them that watched eagerly to see who would draw blood first.
"Indeed," he grumbled, remembering with some dread that he was in a tavern crowded with hardened warriors who all had too much time on their hands and too much ale in their bellies. A punch thrown between a Knight and a Viking had the potential of becoming much more than just another tavern brawl. "Might I then offer an alternative solution to the rousing, glorious, and shining tradition of smashing each other's faces in with our fists?"
"Weapons?" asked Njáll hopefully.
"Close!" Gunnar grinned, "But not weapons of steel, my friends. Instead, I say it is with words that we fight with no less vicious intent. I say that we settle this dispute with flyting!" Cries of agreement sprang up as his booming voice echoed through the room. Most present seemed open to the idea, but the only one that mattered was Njáll, who thankfully crossed his arms and gave an appreciative nod. Coal continued to simply look drunk and confused.
"Wait, are you saying we shall fly... to victory?" Coal asked dumbly, face scrunched up as he tried to make sense of the term.
Gunnar clapped a hand on Coal's shoulder and pulled him away from the Headhunter warriors. "No. Flyting is the godly pastime of hurling sharp insults at your opponent to a rhythm and in verse. It takes a sharp mind and keen wit to win, just as sharp as the instincts of any warrior on the battlefield. It can be made for simple entertainment and contest, or in this case, used to settle a dispute that might otherwise see your head rolling across the floor."
Coal thought it over for a moment longer. "Nah. Think I'd just rather smash his stupid face in," he grinned, then moved to try and pull himself free, fists clenched tightly as he turned back toward the skull Raider.
Gunnar quickly caught him, hooking his arm around Coal's neck to trap him in a headlock. "It would seem that my companion here is unable to take part in this noble throwing of verse. I assure you, though, it is his wish that I speak in his stead." From Coal's irate string of curses, as he struggled against captivity, it seemed that he wished nothing of the sort.
Njáll didn't seem to care either way. "Very well, Bear. We shall see if your tongue is as sharp as your axe. Come out the victor in this flyt and your little lion gets to leave here with all the limbs he came in with. You start."
Giving a thankful nod, Gunnar let Coal go but put a steadying hand on his chest to make sure he didn't do anything foolish.
"Harken all who come seeking Óðinn's gift and mirth!" he called out in a loud and clear voice for all to hear, "See here this troll wife, who stands unburdened of worth. By wave-steed, he has crossed bright Heimdallr's domain to brew us from Eldhrímnir a feast of great shame."
Quick applause and hoots of approval followed after his opening line, and grinning with pride, Gunnar looked at the skull-crowned Raider for his rebuke.
Njáll worked his head side to side, skull swaying in the air before he began, his voice low and calm as if testing his opponent's abilities at the start of a fight. "Your skald-craft is pathetic, your reputation is worse. You were born from a witch's loins, of ill omens, and seiðr curse."
Gunnar raised his brows at the jab, surprised that his mother would be brought into play so quickly. He gave an appreciative nod but felt that his wordplay had been better and welcomed the cheers of delight around them as he spoke again.
"In jǫtnar shadows, you now walk. Of greater men and their deeds do the Æsir gods talk. Give not a false boast, unless with Loki's tongue you would speak. Tell not of ill-won battle fame, there is no glory in slaying the weak." A few people gave him their praise. Perhaps he lost a bit of favor for not playing into his opponent's gibe well enough, but it was still sufficient to keep the contest going.
Njáll took a step closer to him, their war of words growing more heated as they continued. "Of greater men, you have surely known, and from your back, you have been taught. Many bed-fellows you have taken, but of the goddesses, I speak not." A few women of the Headhunter clan let out sharp whistles of amusement, and Njáll jabbed a finger at Gunnar's chest for his next biting remark. "Your word hoard is as barren as the fields of women, seedless you have sown, for it is not in battle that piercing wounds you have known. Here among warriors, you now begin to wilt. To each man, you are a wet bed-thrall to be owned."
The tavern instantly grew quiet as things took a lascivious turn. Gunnar gave a dark scowl to have his manhood called into question in front of everyone there, but he tightened his jaw and clenched his fists, determined to silence the Headhunter Raider with his next verse. Getting in Njáll's face, he set his jaw and refused to back down.
"Norns of Urð weave you a wicked fate to cowardly men they bestow. Not for shining Valhǫll are you bound, but to Naglfari and dead men's nails shall you row. Vidar's victory conjures your fears, for you are of the Serpent, the Wolf, and Einheri will name you a bastard foe." The cheers started up again, and he turned around and spread his arms out to the watching crowd, urging their favor.
"In this battle of wits, the Valkyries watch you with Hǫðr sight, and you will give a corpse-gull's wail to suffer cold Helheim blight. Over Stumble-block and in Sick-bed go and lay your head. Suckle at Hel's corpse-flesh, Hermóðr shunned, a whelp nursed among the dead." The crowd was getting louder now, more excited as the insults flew. The violent tension dissipated as those who were about to come to blows were now toasting each other as they laughed at the cunning rhymes. Finally, Gunnar looked back at Njáll, smiling at how the warrior bristled. "Good people, give your ear to this saga of a man battle-crowned by draugr fate. In shadow-haunted misery, he walks, for the falling of my swift axe he-"
Coal's fist crashed against the Njáll's jaw, sending the big warrior stumbling back into his companions and leaving the Conqueror seething in pain from striking chain mail with his bare hand.
Gunnar stared at him in stunned disbelief. "Curse you! I was just about to end him rightly!"
Njáll pushed himself up from the Warlord and Berserker with an angry growl, lunging at Coal with hands outstretched for his throat. "You're a dead man!"
Gunnar reacted quickly, throwing himself at his flyting opponent and stopping him short of grabbing Coal. "No! You and I are not done yet!" he grunted as he fought to keep Njáll at bay.
"Let him go!" Coal yelled, ignoring the angry shouts from onlookers as he went at Njáll again over Gunnar's shoulder, "I'll end the bastard rightly myself, and not with any fancy words to sing him to sleep!"
With a great roar, Gunnar pushed Njáll away and then shoved at Coal. "I said no! Flyting is a time-honored tradition, and we will treat its practice with the respect it deserves, or the gods will curse us all for our shame!" He whirled back on Njáll, giving him and his companions a bestial snarl. "All of us! Agreed?"
The Headhunter warriors gave him a hard, hateful stare, but they eventually gave begrudging nods as they relented to his command. The oral tradition of flyting was not to be mocked, and even Coal lowered his fists, sensing that Gunnar would not allow a fight to break out no matter how much he wanted it. Once again, the dark mood of the tavern began to fade, and everyone watching began to settle back down with their drinks.
"Right then," Gunnar huffed, turning about to make some space between Coal and Njáll, "Now I'm a fair man, so I will concede that you should have another go and may start- Oh, Baldur be damned..."
While settling the scuffle, he had not seen Priscilla leap from a nearby table with a stool in hand until it was too late, and as she descended through the air like an elegant dancer, so too did his heart sink into his stomach as she slammed it full force over the Warlord's head. The resounding crack of wood against flesh and bone echoed through the tavern like a thunderclap, as if Thor himself had given his blessing for the brawl to finally begin. The Warlord's one eye turned up into his head, spit flying from his blubbering lips as the stool shattered over him, and before he even hit the ground, the tavern exploded into brutal punches and thrown horns.
Njáll threw himself at Coal, taking him off his feet. Gunnar gave a cry and made to haul Njáll off of the Conqueror, but the wild Berserker suddenly sprang onto his back, locked his brawny arms around his throat, and squeezed tight. Suddenly, no more air was reaching Gunnar's lungs, and his only thought was to stumble backward until he could crash the Berserker into a wall or table to get him loose. Unfortunately, nothing seemed to come, and he went endlessly through the brawl as he struggled to breathe until, at last, someone crashed a mug onto the Berserker's head, causing the small man to tumble away with a splash of ale.
Gunnar sucked in a deep breath, only to have it driven out of him again as a fist slammed into his stomach, but he fought through the pain and took some unknown warrior out with an uppercut to the jaw. Another came to take their place, arm cocked back, and fist clenched as he screamed his war cry. Gunnar dodged to the side, letting the warrior's punch carry him past, and it only took a simple kick to the back of his leg to send him tumbling into another pair of flying fists.
Aiming to find Coal among all the chaos, Gunnar looked about only to spot Priscilla running toward him at a full sprint.
"Stay right there!" she shouted, and he realized she was being chased by an angry-looking Sea Eagle woman with a bloody nose.
Freezing on the spot, he watched in amazement as she ran at him, only to dodge at the last second. Her arms wrapped around his middle, and using her momentum to haul herself into the air, she spun around him with her legs outstretched to kick the Sea Eagle woman hard in the face as she came in too fast to stop. The woman gave a pained grunt as she was knocked off her feet, crashing back into a table and not getting up again.
Priscilla landed gracefully on her feet, spinning about and giving him an appreciative pat on the arm. "My thanks," she said rather sweetly, the happiest he had heard her speak all day.
"Bit rude, don't you think?" Gunnar shouted over the clamor, his cheeks flushed in frustration and amazement by her acrobatic stunt. Priscilla only shrugged and then stunned him even further as she had the audacity to skip her way back into the fight. She ducked under the swing of a mug, only to jab at her assailant's knees and bring them low before striking them again.
Gunnar didn't have time to watch her any further, though, as another Headhunter warrior came at him screaming, and he quickly grabbed the man to haul him up and toss him across the room. Another fist came out of nowhere and caught him across the cheek, leaving a burning sensation against his skin as he turned to glower at whoever threw it. What he found was a small and rather young-looking warrior who stared back up at him in growing fear. He barely had any hair growing on his chin, with more than a bit of boyish softness still about him. He was just another would-be warrior out on his first raid, hoping to make a name for himself by taking on the biggest man in the room. A good way to get himself killed, and Gunnar knew that Herleif would be disappointed to witness such foolishness. Looking at the way the boy cowered before him, he could only feel the same. Glaring down at the boy, he gave a simple nod towards the door, telling him to be on his way, to which the lad nodded quickly and ran as fast as he could toward the open doors.
"Alright then, you flea-ridden goats," Gunnar seethed in a low voice, rolling his shoulders as he glanced about the room, "Now you will learn what happens when you raise hands against the drinking companions of the Bear!"
He threw himself into the fray without restraint, barreling over those smaller than him and throwing his fists at anyone who dared to bring him down. Everything was lost to the battle craze, and with a gleeful snarl, he punched and kicked with ursine fury as the brawl raged on around him.
In a chance parting of the crowd, he spotted Coal being beaten by Njáll near the bar. The big Raider had Coal by his collar, pummeling him repeatedly in the face with a blood-stained fist. Gunnar shouted angrily and shoved his way through the crowd toward them. If he had been of a clearer mind, perhaps he would have questioned how odd it was that he was rushing off to save a Knight from getting his skull smashed to pieces by a fellow Viking, but in the heat of the moment, his only thought was to save the man he had been drinking with, seeing him as any other companion he had fought alongside since he was young.
He rammed into Njáll with the total weight of his powerful body, tearing him away from Coal and slamming him into the nearby wall. Njáll dropped with a groan, which Gunnar quickly silenced with the slam of his knee into the other Raider's face, snapping his head back against the wall.
Sure that Njáll wouldn't get up again anytime soon, Gunnar turned back to see if Coal was alright. His face fell when he saw the Conqueror scrambling to free himself from the clutches of three other Headhunter warriors holding him about the wrists and neck, with one trying to land their fist in Coal's stomach as he thrashed and kicked out with his feet.
"Get off him, you níðing troll wenches!" Gunnar shouted, rushing up and pulling one of the warriors away.
No sooner had he tossed the man away than another set of hands were grabbing at him, then another, until he felt himself dragged toward the ground while punching fists and kicking boots assailed him from all sides. With a mighty roar, he fought to stay on his feet, grabbing someone by the back of their neck and throwing them into the bar with a loud thud. Another fist cracked across his jaw, but he fought through the pain and drove his fist into a warrior's stomach.
"You dare!?" he cried out as he got back to his feet, catching a warrior behind her neck and dropping them with a punch square to the nose, "You dare gang up on me!?"
He blocked an incoming blow, kicked out someone's leg with his foot, and then spotted a red-clad Viking trying to run amid all the confusion. He charged after them without thought, catching the running man by the shoulder and shouting triumphantly as he lifted him up into the air over his head.
"Óðinn!" he shouted in blind rage, causing the man in his clutches to cry out in fear, thinking that he was about to be made a sacrifice to the Allfather in the midst of this tavern room brawl. All eyes turned to look at Gunnar, staring up in amazement and fear as he roared with ferocious might.
"Enough!"
The shout that cut through the air was more fearsome and commanding than anything Gunnar could have mustered. Even he was struck dumb by the powerful ring that echoed in his ears long after the call went silent. His eyes flicked across the tavern to see Herleif fuming with barely contained fury, Skuld standing stoically at his side and glaring at all the warriors with accusing blue eyes.
A wave of childlike foolishness suddenly overcame him as he locked eyes with his brother over the crowd, much like any time Herleif had caught him doing something stupid or reckless when they were boys. Now, even as a grown man, he still felt a tinge of shame grip his heart while his brother stood boldly with all the presence of a mighty Jarl, prepared to bring this unexcused chaos to order.
"In all of Freyja's good grace, what is going on here?" Herleif spat, glaring over the crowd.
The sound sent a chill down Gunnar's spine, reminding him far too much of their father's harsh tone whenever they had made trouble in his hall as children. Herleif gazed about the room, somehow managing to lock eyes with every warrior who stood before him as if he held them personally responsible for the drunken bout.
"Did we come here to fight fanatics who worship a smoking mountain, or did we only sail across half the world to spill our own blood like the mindless savages they think we are?" Herleif demanded.
The tavern remained silent even as Herleif held his hands out for an explanation, but no one had the courage to answer, let alone look him in the eye. Gunnar couldn't answer either, knowing that he had delighted in joining the fight in the end rather than stop it. He realized then that he was still holding the Headhunter warrior above his head and gently set the man down, sharing an awkward look before he slipped away like a rat disappearing beneath the floorboards.
The silence dragged on for a long, tense moment, with Herleif looking from one warrior to another until, finally, someone spoke. "That's rich, coming from the likes of you, serpent tongue."
Instantly, the crowd parted around the man who had spoken, the Berserker who had stood with Njáll before the flyt. He was missing his ornate faceplate now and had one puffy bruised eye closed shut while the other glanced about frantically as he was offered up to Herleif like a lamb for the slaughter. He looked half as confident as his voice had sounded a moment ago, but standing on his own now, he knew there was no choice but to double down or beg for forgiveness.
"E-everyone knows you Jarls don't trust each other. You and Ivar quarrel over long-standing feuds, and Jarl Erik wants nothing but the treasure in the volcano's vault. There's no reason we should pretend that we're all committed to each other like we're kin."
Herleif scowled at the Berserker, then crossed the room with a purposeful stride until he towered above the smaller warrior, looking down on him with an unforgiving frown.
"When we face our enemy, our true enemy, upon the slopes of Mount Ignis, and death's arrows rain down on us from those high walls, then you may ask me what I am committed to. When the shield brothers and sisters fighting at your side begin to fall with their guts spilled out and their heads cleaved open, you know that I stand next to you as kin," he said in a firm and hushed tone that made the Berserker drop his gaze to the floor, "Make no mistake, our enemy is strong. Strong in their delusional belief that binds them together, and it will take all of us fighting together to defeat them!" His voice grew louder, rising to fill up the room, and he left the shame-faced Berserker, where he stood to look around at the other warriors who watched. "Do not forget, my friends, you may drink and make revels this night, but we are still deep in the heart of our enemy's homeland. We travel in the realm of wolves and crows, and we must remain vigilant if we are ever to sail home again! We must remain strong! We must remain mighty! We must hold fast together to crush the Divine Pyre and claim their treasure horde for ourselves! For all of us!"
The silence that held the room broke like shattered ice as the tavern erupted into cheers and calls of agreement. Fists that had moments ago been beating each other bloody were thrown into the air in solidarity with the Bilrost Jarl, even from those who might have once drawn lines in the sand between their clans. Looking about, Gunnar was truly impressed with how quickly his brother could turn the room around. Of the two of them, Gunnar had long thought it was within him to inspire and embolden when the moment called for it, but Herleif's fate had always been to be a true leader. A true Jarl.
"We must remain vigilant! Committed to the gods and to each other. Nothing else matters," Herleif said, looking at the Berserker again before he began to make his way through the crowd. Then he added in a much quieter voice, "Not until we return home."
Gunnar sucked in a breath as he saw his brother coming toward him, some of the elation he felt at such hope giving words deflating in him under Herleif's gaze. "Good speech," he said with a rather humble grin, "I didn't expect to see you here, though. What brings you down to the docks?"
"To get a god's given drink, as advised by our wise and compassionate Valkyrie here," Herleif said, stepping up to the bar with a nod towards Skuld, who walked with him, "Something to help calm my soul. Or at least it was supposed to. Now that I have arrived, I wonder if there is any peace to be had in this accursed city."
Gunnar couldn't help but feel like he should be ashamed for not stopping the fight from breaking out or, rather, bringing Coal and Priscilla to the tavern in the first place. He looked down at his boots for a moment, suddenly remembering what it was like to be a second-born son, desperately seeking the approval of his older brother.
"I tried to stop it, the fight. Things got out of hand too quickly, and when words gave way to fists, I thought there wasn't much else to do but add mine to the argument."
"What happened?" Herleif asked in a stern tone. Skuld ignored them both, walking behind the bar, seemingly searching for a clean mug or horn to fill with ale.
"Challenged a fellow Raider to a flyt to settle a grievance. That one there." Gunnar gestured towards Njáll, who was being led out of the tavern with the Warlord and Berserker carrying him under each arm, clearly having trouble bearing his weight. "It was a good bout, but ultimately had a less than favorable outcome."
Herleif looked to see the three Headhunters leaving, scowling as they slipped off to no doubt tell their bad-tempered Jarl what had happened. "One of Ivar's boys, eh? I imagine that your skaldic rhymes made his dull brain hurt too much, so he tried to return the favor with a cheap shot? Dishonorable Thurshmrar dogs..."
Gunnar grimaced, knowing that the truth would earn him no favor. "Actually, it was Coal who threw the first punch. Ivar's man honored the flyt and fought well with his verse right up until everything went to shit."
"Coal?" Herleif balked, squinting at Gunnar in confusion. "That flail-swinging Knight? The man who is always with the Peacekeeper, yes? What was he doing here?"
Gunnar bit his lip and tentatively gave an affirming nod of his head, feeling all the more foolish by the moment. "Aye, she was here too. We had just come to enjoy a drink, that's all."
"Here? You brought two Knights here and thought you could drink in peace?" Herleif asked in disbelief. He turned to brace his hands against the bar and hung his head. "Allfather, give me strength. Of all the stupid things to-"
At that instant, Skuld set down two full mugs capped with white foam, pushing one toward each brother. Herleif said nothing, simply taking up his mug and beginning to drink. Gunnar gave a wary look between his brother and the ever-calm Valkyrie before ultimately picking up his mug and doing the same.
"We both agreed that I was to keep an eye on them," Gunnar said after taking a breath, sliding his fingers across his mustache to wipe away foam.
Herleif rolled his eyes and handed his mug back to Skuld for another, having emptied it in one go. "Oh, is that what we said? I seem to remember telling you to let things be, only for you to prance off like Svadilfari after Loki in disguise," he chuckled.
Gunnar frowned, leaning against the bar beside Herleif as Skuld set down another mug for his brother. "At least I'm doing something. I will admit, my intention here may have been driven by personal indulgence, but I'm still keeping them close. If those two are up to anything more than dealing with a simple blood feud, I promise you that I will find out."
Herleif glanced about the tavern, searching among the warriors who had since returned to their drinks and talk. "Is that so?" he asked, turning back to his ale, "Well, if you somehow manage to get answers from two people who are not even here, then I will truly be impressed."
"What?" Gunnar muttered, quickly looking around for Coal and Priscilla. He stepped away from the bar, craning his neck to see if he could spot them across the room back at their table, but already he realized that he hadn't seen hide nor hair of either Knight since Herleif arrived. "But, they were just..."
"Gone," said Skuld with resolute finality.
Gunnar gave a deep sigh and eyed his brother, believing that they no doubt slipped away while everyone was listening to his speech. Herleif only gave an indifferent shrug. "It was not my job to watch them."
"Troll shit," Gunnar groaned, slumping back against the bar. He ignored his ale, no longer feeling a desire for a strong drink or good humor. He could feel Herleif's eyes on him but couldn't meet his gaze. He felt ashamed enough for failing at what he had set out to do and didn't need his brother's harsh judgment adding to his woes.
"Ah, I would not worry about it too much. They cannot have gone far," Herleif said after another moment. That caught Gunnar by surprise, and he glanced up to see his brother looking at him with a carefree smile. "Perhaps our Ashfeld friends are more trustworthy than we give them credit for, and all this worry is for nothing. Honestly, they should be Erik's problem rather than ours."
Taking another sip of his ale, the sound of marching feet out in the street caught his attention. Outside the tavern, a troop of Sea Eagle warriors marched past with painted shields and spears in hand. Herleif glowered at them, hunching over the bar with a grim countenance.
"Still, it is good to hold a certain amount of caution toward one's allies, no matter how good their intentions might be. Perhaps it is best to keep an eye on these Knights whenever you do happen to spot them again."
Gunnar followed his brother's gaze, watching as the Sea Eagle warriors began investigating some of the small ships tied at the docks, clearly in search of something. For some reason, his mind returned to finding Priscilla and Coal huddled together in the storeroom of the spice market, fretting over burned pages he couldn't read. It troubled him, heat rising up in his chest that made him feel like he was holding a secret he shouldn't keep, but for some reason, he convinced himself that it was nothing more than what Priscilla had told him. Just the last bit of a sorry tale brought with a sad ending.
"Aye, I will watch them. Like Heimdallr watches over the nine realms," he said. Giving Herleif a sideways glance, he tapped his fingers on his mug before asking, "I hope that you are not so cautious of all your allies?"
Herleif's brows rose in surprise, and he even glanced over to Skuld, who gave him an expectant look with her stormy blue eyes. "Well," he grinned as he looked between them, "who is a man to trust if not his own brother and a shield-maiden of the gods?"
"How considerate of you," Gunnar laughed, slapping a hand down on Herleif's back, "Spoken like a wise and thoughtful Jarl!"
He and Herleif laughed together, and even Skuld's eyes seemed to sparkle with a playful glint as she leaned over the bar before them. The uneasiness that had plagued him was fading away, and for now, at least, he was simply enjoying a drink with his brother. With his spirits lifted, he couldn't help himself from pounding his fists on the bar until all eyes were on them again. Then he looked at his brother and grinned.
"Give us another speech. One that'll leave us feeling like proud warriors rather than naughty children this time," he said. Herleif glanced about at the crowded tavern, then took one more drink of his ale and winked.
"Soon, we will march on the Walled City, and the steel song will rage between us and the Divine Pyre until one of us sings no more! But I know that as long as we fight together, you all, my brother, and me, there is no enemy we cannot defeat!" Herleif exclaimed, "The Allfather smiles down on us from his golden hall for the battle we shall bring him. I say we make it a battle greater than even Ragnarǫk itself!"
A resounding chorus of cheers rang up in the tavern from warriors of all three clans calling out in joyful agreement. Gunnar was pleased to see it, to feel their spirits rising like dancing flames burning for glorious victory and the hot blood of their foes. He let out a mighty yell, raising his mug high as he shouted with resounding glee. "Skál, warriors of Valkenheim!"
Horns and mugs shot into the air, splashing droplets of ale and mead like rain. Herleif raised his mug, looking over the warriors with a proud glint in his eye, while Skuld thumped the bar with her closed fist. And the cheerful chorus rang out again, rising high enough to echo into the night sky.
"Skál! Skál! Skál!"
Priscilla grimaced as she heard Coal vomit around the corner. She stood with her arms crossed and foot tapping impatiently, their escape from the tavern brought to an ill-timed stop by Coal's need to regurgitate all the alcohol he had consumed. They still had yet to return to the city's market district where their legion was quartered, but thankfully, the streets seemed quiet now that night had fallen. All except for the groups of Erik's men marching about like dogs on a hunt.
She slunk back into a doorway as another group of golden-clad Vikings marched by, spear tips jutting up into the air. They passed without incident, saving her the trouble of having to come up with some story of why two of their Jarl's new pets were out of their kennel. Watching as they went on their way, she wondered why they were out with such force if the city was well under their control.
"I cannot believe you actually got drunk in a tavern full of Vikings," she hissed at Coal, still angry that he had abandoned her before the fight. It had hurt more than she wanted to admit, given how things had somewhat opened up between them in the spice market. How foolish of her to ever think their partnership could be anything more than a mere necessity. "Did getting bashed about on the battlefield turn your brain to mush, or were you simply born this dumb?"
The sound of spitting signaled the end to Coal's torment, and he stepped out from the alley he had ducked into, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Ugh... you ever thrown up in your helmet before? Trust me, not fun." He leaned up in the doorway with her, taking a few breaths, and blinked slowly, still clearly drunk. Priscilla just shook her head as she looked at him.
"Time to go," she demanded, giving Coal a sharp tug and nearly sending him tumbling onto the street. They made their way from the docks in blissful silence, but eventually, Coal had to go and open his mouth again.
"Can you believe that shit? Fighting with words," he grumbled in disgust, deeply offended by Gunnar's attempt to keep the fight from breaking out with silly theatrics. "Pathetic... Is that the kind of nonsense they get up to in their grand hall… ugh, what's it called? Val-lalala? Bah! What a bunch of milk drinkers."
"They have better insults than you, that much is clear," she muttered. A grin tugged at the corners of her lips as she thought back on the creative rhymes Gunnar and the other Raider had thrown at each other like wild, drunken gods. "I thought it was entertaining."
Gunnar had surprised her at the tavern. Since they had met at the Hallowed Bastion, she had viewed him as the epitome of heathen savagery she had believed all Vikings to be. He was brash, arrogant, and short-sighted when it came to anything that went against his way of thinking. A typical barbaric villain that mothers used to keep their children in line.
Tonight, though, he had shown a side of himself that was more than just a bloodthirsty brute. He had been understanding, thoughtful, and even concerned over something that she had created for the sole purpose of deceiving him. It was clear that he was a man who did not shy away from showing his emotions, a trait greatly frowned upon by the men in her own culture. It had been rather endearing and made her feel a slight tinge of guilt as he expressed his sorrow for a dead brother that had never existed in the first place.
Whatever Gunnar did, whether it was fighting, boasting, reveling, or bolstering the courage of his fellow warriors, he did it with a passion that most men she knew could never possess. He gave himself completely to whatever he put his mind to and held those who fought bravely beside him as close as kin. That was good information to know and to exploit if need be. She had kept him off the trail of the Wu Lin's fire alchemy so far, that much was clear, but she knew this wouldn't be the last time the big oaf would hound her and Coal's steps. Strangely, though, the small feeling of guilt at her deception that she typically shrugged away with little effort seemed to persist, gnawing at her gut when it had never done so before.
"Y'know, Prisc, I've been thinking," Coal said, disturbing her thoughts with an annoyingly happy tune to his voice.
"I think it would be best for both of us going forward if you left the thinking to me," she growled in response.
"This business of going to the Walled City is ludicrous," Coal continued, "We have what the Council wants. Let's just go an take it to them! I mean, it's not as if you owe the rest of these Lion Flame louts anything. They all think that Erik favors you over the Commander now, anyway. Just let them get swept up in the battle with the Pyre, and we can sort through the corpses later."
Priscilla came to an abrupt halt and drove her balled-up fist into Coal's stomach as she rounded on him, causing the stocky man to double over with a loud grunt.
"I will assume that your drunken stupor is the cause for your lapse in memory. We will not be going anywhere on our own. The Legion Council will meet on my terms, and the Lion Flame will be spared." She grabbed Coal by his collar and hauled him up again, forcing him to look at her eye-to-eye. "I know you just might be a displaced conscript on the Council's leash, but this is still my legion, and I will not see them condemned for the cowardly actions of inept lords and pathetic statesmen!"
Coal gave another groan, his hand coming up to grab tightly around her wrist. "Alright, alright... It was just a thought, was all," he said, pulling her off of him.
She wanted to hit him again, to knock some sense through his thick skull and make him realize where they stood in this mad scheme. Instead, she turned on her heel and marched down the street, not looking back to see if he was following.
"Believe it or not, Coal, I still know what it means to be loyal when all is said and done," she said after another moment's silence.
"Do you?" came a voice out of the shadow of a side street, ringing loud and clear to make Priscilla's heart leap into her chest, "So why is it that you have such trouble following orders to remain confined to the market quarter?"
Priscilla looked to see Judith stepping out of the darkness and into the silver moonlight, her eagle-adorned helmet under one arm and longsword held at her side. The taller woman was a picture of stone-faced anger and disappointment, and she looked between her and Coal like she had just caught a couple of rats in a grain cellar and was trying to decide which one to drown first.
"I asked you a question, Peacekeeper. Why are you out in the city against orders?"
Snapping to attention, Priscilla thumped her fist to her chest and tried to come up with a lie that surely didn't have a chance in hell of standing up against Judith's scrutiny. "Commander, a number of Sea Eagle patrols have been spotted roaming the city and the docks. We thought it prudent to find out what they were up to, lest the Vikings gain some advantage in the fight that we are unaware of."
"Yeah, what she said," Coal grumbled, shoulders slumped and swaying a bit where he stood.
Judith stared at him for a long, silent moment through narrowed eyes. "Is this man drunk?" she asked, looking at Priscilla.
"That would be horribly irresponsible, Commander," Priscilla answered quickly.
"Not drunk enough," Coal said before she could even finish.
Priscilla watched with increasing anxiety as Judith's face became flush with anger. She wondered briefly if all those scowling lines came from age or because the woman frowned so much dealing with idiot recruits. Judith stalked forward, stepping right up into Coal's face like he was a petulant child to be scolded.
"If we were not so short on soldiers, I would see you flogged and put back behind bars for this conduct." She took the hilt of her longsword and caught the back of his neck with the cross-guard, using it to shove him down the street like a shepherd's hook. "Get back to the market. Begin packing equipment for our departure, and do not stop until I relieve you. We have word that we are to move out on the morrow, and we will be prepared," she barked at him, taking a step after him as he faltered.
Coal shrank back, knowing better than to risk the Commander's wrath by sticking around. "Christ above, why is everyone in such a piss poor mood tonight..?"
Judith ignored that last remark with a twitching brow as she watched him go, and for a moment, Priscilla thought that might be the end of things with Coal bearing the brunt of the Commander's wrath.
"And as for you…"
No such luck, it seemed, and she flinched to see Judith rounding on her now with no less scorn. The idea that Judith might have overheard their conversation or had some insight into what was happening made her blood run cold in her veins. If Judith found out the truth about the deal she made with the Legion Council, she would not put it past the Commander to cut her down here and now, given everything they had been through. She silently braced herself for the worst of all possible outcomes.
"Did it never occur to you to check with me first about what the Sea Eagle clan might be up to?"
Priscilla blinked, a cold sweat on her brow as she held onto the hope that Judith had actually believed her lie or perhaps knew something else to make her see some truth in it.
"Commander?"
Sucking in a breath, all the militant fortitude Judith possessed seemed to swell within her before finally dissipating with a deep sigh. Suddenly, she was a tired, middle-aged woman, seemingly weighed down by all the armor she wore. "I have just spent the last hour at the citadel being berated by our dear Golden Jarl. It seems the weapons used by the Pyre on their ships were marked with Wu Lin script and used a strange chemical mixture never seen before that allowed the fire to burn on water. Clearly, this weapon was not created by the Pyre themselves, or not invented by them, at least, and Erik is rather keen on finding out how it is made after it destroyed so many ships out on the lake."
It should have been no surprise that Erik would come to learn about the foreign origins of the Divine Pyre's special weapon, but it still shocked Priscilla to think that one of the most powerful Jarls in all of Valkenheim was after the notes that she now had tucked away on her person right then. With Erik hunting for the formula, she would be at an even greater risk traveling with the horde to the Walled City.
Perhaps Coal was right. Maybe it was best to run now and leave Judith and the rest to their fate.
"For the Vikings to come into possession of such a weapon, surely that would bode ill for us and for all of Ashfeld, no matter the outcome of this war," she said softly, being very careful to show her surprise at this news.
Judith nodded her head, brows raised in contemplation. "You can imagine my relief when I was able to truthfully tell the Jarl that I know nothing of this weapon and of how it might possibly be made."
"And did he believe you?"
"No," Judith said with a short laugh, "At least not at first. If I had not convinced him, I imagine our meeting would have ended much differently, and I would not be making my way through this heathen-infested city in the dark. I think in the end, he believed I would have fought harder to avoid questioning if I did know something. But, if not for his natural distrust in all good Knights, I would not have been here to catch you and your inebriated companion, would I?"
Judith's gaze hit Priscilla like a rock, and her instincts quickly told her to take the path of humility rather than to argue.
"No, Commander," she said, looking down at her feet.
"Whatever is the matter with you, Priscilla?" Judith asked with a clear note of concern, "I know it is your way to keep to the shadows, to keep your ears and eyes open to all that goes on, but we are on our own here. There is not much left to this legion, and we who remain need to stick together and support each other, now more than ever. Who am I to trust to guard our backs among these barbarians if not you?"
Trust. It could only get you so far at a time like this before it became a weakness. Priscilla actually hated to hear Judith say it. She knew that it could be used against Judith to make sure that her plans would succeed in the end. It hurt to know that she could take advantage of her Commander like that. The mission was supposed to be above such concerns, but she simply hated how much it hurt.
Snapping to attention, she looked straight ahead and answered clearly and respectfully. "All is well, Commander. I disobeyed orders only to protect our position here in the city. I overstepped and will rightfully accept any punishment for my actions."
She could feel Judith's disappointment without even looking at her, the small sigh she gave more painful than a hundred stabs to the gut.
"Now is not the time for punishment," Judith said sadly, then took her helmet and placed it over her head, securing the chin strap in place as her next words echoed with a metallic din, "Not yet at least. Fall in line, Peacekeeper. Do not give me cause to lose faith in you." With that, she turned and stalked off toward the market, not looking back over her shoulder as her heavy footsteps echoed off the buildings that loomed around them.
Priscilla remained there for a moment longer, fighting to contain her anger at the world. Her anger toward Judith and the legion for not seeing that the path they had chosen would only lead to their deaths if she did not save them all. Her anger at the Vikings for offering no easy solutions in their moment of desperation. Anger at the Legion Council and the Divine Pyre for taking such a wretched world and making it worse. But most of all, anger at herself for ever thinking that she could save anyone and hope to receive thanks when they would only damn her for the effort.
Lifting her fist up to her chest, she saluted Judith's back and spoke softly, saying the words she had been taught years ago when she had been a young, hopeful, and terribly foolish soldier of Ashfeld.
"By your order, Commander."