Fighting Gods

First Boat

It took everything you had for your father to let you fight, the constant bickering between your parents was bothersome but when it stopped, it was all but tragic. Your mother, a well-respected shieldmaiden, had trained you for the first years of your life to her last. Her death in a fight between two town was the last straw for your father who said: "The gods might have taken my wife but never will they my child.". You knew where he came from, but his overprotectiveness was suffocating and caused you to act out more. You did the same thing you always used to, only now, you would be quieter about it.

Your friends, love them as you might do, were no fighters and those that were would not stand against your father's rule. So, you would hide and train by yourself, the trees, as the years went by, had become thinner, the slashes of the sword in the bark of the tree apparent now. You knew it wasn't enough, but the thrill of fighting was calling you. Tyr, the god of war, was chanting your name and, in your prayers, you were chanting his back.

"I'm going father."

The news of Ragnar's death had sparked a thirst for vengeance that would only be paid back by blood. Everyone was going, the sons and daughters, the soldiers and the fighter, the berserker and the lover. All would contribute to the demise of the leader of Wessex and you wanted to be part of it. You needed it.

"What are you talking about?" His limp had for long stopped him from fighting, the news of this legendary raid did not concern him, he believed it didn't matter to his daughter as well.

"The boats are leaving today, and I am going to Wessex to fight alongside the sons of Ragnar." Bjorn, Ubbe, Hvitserk, Sigurd, Ivar. The leaders of this fight, names you respected, faces you rarely saw. You felt bad for it, but they were pawns for this moment. Maybe if he believed your idea was coming from a sense of duty for the Scandinavian legacy, then he would not cause a scene. Unfortunately for your soul, you, and the gods you talked to at night knew that this was only a façade for a need for adventure.

"[Y/N]" he softly said. "You can't leave."

For a while, in secret, you'd work for the blacksmith. He was a fine man; an old friend of your mother and he'd find you one night as you were practicing with a wooden sword. Taking pity on you, he offered you to work for him and in exchange, as well as a pay, he would let your forge your own sword. What little money you'd gotten over the years all went to a place on the boat.

"I am." You repeated yourself.

Taking a deep breath, you grabbed the bag from outside the door. It was full of the necessities, done for weeks now. His eyes grew wide as he understood the seriousness of your statement.

"No! I don't allow it."

"I don't need you to. I am old enough to decide for myself, I have all I need."

You went to your bed and he followed closely, trying to bargain with you, saying how it was too dangerous, how you had no reasons to, how he needed you here at the house. You lifted the mattress to get out the sword. This was maybe the one thing you were the proudest of. The handle fitting perfectly in your hand, the blade so sharp and untouched, even after all this time. This one had never touched anything but the air, you promised yourself when you finished it that this one would not hit anything but flesh. It was too glamorous for the tree trunks.

"What is that?" he stepped back; mouth agape.

"Mine." You took a look at the blade, the metal mirroring your face, before pushing it back inside its leather sheath.

He tried to grab it from your hands, but you were quicker and hid it from him with your hip.

"I said I don't allow it."

"Everything is done father, I'm going." You felt the tears creeping up as his voice cracked.

"Your mother..."

"I am not my mother. I am not you. Maybe I'll die, maybe I won't." you tried to sound comforting, but you couldn't lie to him, couldn't promise something you had no control over. "This is the most important raid of our generations, if not of the entire world, I need to go or else I will never forgive myself."

"My sweet girl..." he sighed before taking you in his arm. Hugging you so close and tight you shed a tear. You'd spent so long antagonizing him for stopping you doing what you loved, his love was foreign. Yet you melted into it, hugging him back

"I love you father." You whispered.

Taking back your things, you exited the home you grew up in, unsure if you'll see it again. Your father looked from the doorframe, tears in his eyes. His stare made you regret before the sight of the boats costed in the bay pulled you back into it.

"Get away from him." A man pulled another by the shoulder and pushed him back.

You passed back, trying to figure out what was the reason for it, only to find yourself starring at Ivar the Boneless. By his side two of the brothers, Ubbe and Sigurd.

You knew better not lure at them for too long and quickly made way to the place you'd pay for. Greeting the people already inside with a smile, you were happy to find that you weren't the only one excited for the future. All inside were hugging close their swords or axe, even knowing that they would not be of use for a couple of days, the desire to take them out after all these years of passivity was exhilarating.

"Enough!" the loud cry of Bjorn made most inside the Drakkars turn to the scene.

The blond one, Sigurd walked away with a laugh, leaving his brothers.

The blacksmith you worked for, Arne was his name, had recently told you about an incident involving Sigurd and Ivar in his shop. How he had to stop Ivar from planting his sharpened axe into Sigurd's neck. He said it wasn't the first time he'd seen a thing of the sort unfold between them.

You knew very little of them, only that they were the sons of the most famous man in the world. One day they would rule over the country, Bjorn already on the track for it. For the person that you were, the people they were did not matter much, only their names and the respect that went with it. In the sea of raiders that were to come in this voyage.

"Don't look at him too long, he doesn't like it." You turned your attention to a man in the boat, his dark long hair flowing in the wind.

"Who?"

"Ivar."

"I wasn't."

The man scoffed and wiped his nose. "You're Fore daughter, right?"

"Herself." You observed the axe in front of him, the thing old and unsharpened. "My name is [Y/N], and you are...?"

"Torstein."

"Like Ragnar's friend? The one killed fighting against king Brithwulf army, right?" you were on the edge of your seat, the tales of Ragnar and his friends were legendary for you. Having your mother recount them to you at night was as important and fascinating than that of the god's. You knew of their tales, the forces imaginary and grandiose, more than anything.

"Yes but, as you can see, I'm not dead."

He was older than you, somewhere in his late thirties, the scars of the previous raid on his skin. His crooked nose and cut on the left side of his mouth telling of his journeys.

"Have you ever fought with him? Ragnar, I mean."

"Oh, yes. My first raid, in fact, was in Paris with him."

You smiled wide, in front of you was one of those legendary men you idealized for song long.

"As for you it is your first raid." It wasn't meant to be a question.

"Yes. I am impatient to be in battle!"

He tapped your shoulder while smiling "As you should!"

You gripped the handle of your sword excitedly. From behind you heard the bickering of two of the sons of Ragnar and you could not help yourself from looking, just for a moment.