Shield maiden ~ Vikings

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Wessex

"God works in mysterious ways." King Alfred spoke to his army. "Each one of you, ask yourselves, do you know His ways? Can you be so sure as to know the Divine Mind that guides all things? Friends, when I saw that deer, I knew it not for a deer but as Christ, who had taken that shape to show us that He was with us. That He would not abandon us on this day. Yet the battle still hung in the balance."

He exhaled shakily. A man he had come to trust had died, stabbed in the back by a female warrior, a pagan, a heathen.

"The great warrior Heahmund," He said softly. "Staunch defender of our faith . . . alas, we have suffered a most grievous loss of this great and noble man. Bishop Heahmund . . . rests at peace now with God. We mourn his passing, but we know that he has gone to a far better place. No one else will ever be fit to carry his sword, which will be buried with him. God bless and keep him. And God bless Wessex, for which he died!"

Alfred took a deep breath.

"And when King Harald urged his devils to run from the field, I knew then, with a beautiful certainty, that the day and the battle had belonged to us! But without our vikings allies I swear to you, there could be no victory either, without these Northmen who have embraced our cause and our God!"

Too busy to give a shit about Alfred and his God loving speech, Björn Ironside roamed the battlefield, searching for his mother.

They spotted a dead woman with pale blond hair, but it was not Lagertha. "This is not her." Björn sighed. "My mother always carried Thor's hammer around her waist. I don't think we are going to find her."

*

Kattegat

Aila pulled the arrow back, aiming at the target. Just as she got ready to release the string, a sharp pain erupted in her chest.

Her grip on the bow loosened and the arrow fell. Bloodeye looked down at the little weapon, swearing, then gasped, wheezing for air.

In pain, she pressed a hand against her chest, doubling over a groan.

"Blood. . .eye . . . !"

Aila moaned, biting down as the pain intensified. "What is this?" She growled the words. "What is this pain?!"

"The pain . . . the will . . . the sight . . . all the same." A guttural voice hissed. "The suffering of past, of the present, of the prospective."

"You're dead." Aila panted.

"Do I look dead to you, Aila Bloodeye?" The Ancient One hissed. "Use your famous eyes to see. My body may be gone, but I shall never leave. The will of the Gods must be relayed, for without it we are all lost."

Aila looked up.

"Give me your hand, Aila Bloodeye."

"Wha-. . ." Aila frowned, shaking her head in confusion.

The Seer, dead though there with her, kneeled down. Still confused, Aila blinked. He held a hand out, waiting for her to raise her own, and to her surprise he licked her palm.