All Tied Together

My Mother Told Me

My mother told me, someday I will buy

Galleys with good ores, Sails to distant shores

Stand up on the prow, noble bark I steer

Steady course to the haven, Hew many foe-men

Hew many foe-men.

Hew many foe-men. Hew many foe-men. Over and over this song played in his head. Without end, unable to tune it out. As if it meant life or death for him to hear it. Many times he has tried to distract himself from hearing this. Many times he has tried to hear something else. Anything but this song. But alas, it was no use.

He looked around to see he was in the middle of the forest. But this was not the Forbidden Forest. On the contrary, this was not anywhere near Scottland. These forests, these lands, they looked to be somewhere in Norway. But what was he doing there? He turned around, only to see a small child, a boy, looking out at the waters. He looked up to see ships, but not just any ship, Viking ships. What were Vikings doing alive? They have not been alive for nine centuries. What was a whole fleet of them doing here? From what he could see, it looked like they were getting ready for battle. But with who?

Suddenly the scenery changed, only to show ships sailing towards a castle. It was not the Hogwarts Castle. It looked to be one from England. But that's impossible. It was burned down. He looked down to see he was on the ship himself. Standing next to someone. He looked at the said person closely. He was a tall, brute, man. His hair, long and dreaded, wrapped in leather straps that stop at the last two inches of his hair. It seemed to stop at the top of his shoulder blades. His head was shaved on both sides, making it only the top part of his head with hair. He had a beard that was all around his face. His eyes were blue of ice, and a look to kill. He knew who this man was from the books. This man was Ragnar Lothbrok. But he is supposed to be dead. All of these Vikings are supposed to be dead.

The scenery changed once again to show these Vikings in the middle of a battle. He walked around, tried to touch them. Only to pass right through them. He wasn't there. This had to be a dream. But how could he wake up? He tried to close his eyes and open them, only to see he was still there. What else could he do? He looked around once again, only to see an ax lying there untouched. He walked towards it, having multiple Vikings pass through his body, and tried to grab it. He could touch it. He could pick it up. The only question he had was; could he feel pain with it? There was only one way to find out. Aiming at his leg, he lifted the ax high and brought it down onto his left leg.

His leg came clean off with one swing. He felt an increasing amount of pain, from where his leg used to be. He fell to the ground from loss of balance, holding his leg in agony. He was confused, shouldn't he have woken up? Why wasn't he waking up? So many questions he had. But he could not think straight with the amount of blood he was losing. He could feel his heartbeat slowing, he was dying. The one thing he feard, was happening to him. He could do nothing. He did not have his wand with him, and he could not even speak. Lying on his back, he accepted his death. He could see the clouds covering where the sun should be. The cool breeze blowing against his sweating face. He had no idea how long he was laying there. But he did not care, his breathing was getting slower and shorter. He knew he had one last breath to take in. He took a deep breath and exhaled his last breath. Closing his eyes, he could see nothing but darkness. No light, just darkness. He knew he would not get into heaven, if it even existed, for all of the sins he has made. He knew he belonged in hell, but he did not know what hell would be like. Was this hell? It couldn't be. This couldn't be his torture for eternity. To see nothing but darkness, to be alone. He closed his eyes once again.

Only to open them again to see he was in his living quarters. In his bed, he sat up and looked around. He pinched himself to make sure he was awake. He was awake, but out of breath. He felt his face, he was sweating. A cold sweat. He lifted his blankets to look at his leg. It was still there, but upon closer inspection, he could see blood coming out of his left leg, where he had chopped it with the ax. Blood was dripping down onto the sheets, he had to clean this up. Reaching to his bedside table, trying not to move too much, he grabbed his wand and pointed it at his wound. "Vulnus Sanare" he muttered. He watched as the wound healed itself, bringing back all of the blood that has been lost. Looking at his wound again he could see it was healed as if there was never a wound in the first place.