Fighting, Honour and Valhalla || Vikings x The Originals x TVD

The Leviathan

Thorfinn stood at the bow of Skiðblaðnir, his eyes fixed on the large waves that rose and fell before him. Each swell lifted the ship high, only to plunge it down into the troughs, the water crashing against the hulls with deafening force. His face was set in a deep frown, trepidation tightening his chest as he sailed closer to his quarry. The new sword, given to him by Freyr, was strapped securely to his back. He had stored away his own sword, believing it was not up to the challenge of the Leviathan. As he sailed, Thorfinn noticed fish and other sea creatures fleeing in the opposite direction, their panic evident as they darted past the ship. The sea around him was alive with motion, but it wasn't the usual bustling of marine life. It was as if the ocean itself was trying to escape the presence of something monstrous.

In the distance, a massive storm churned, dark clouds roiling and lightning flashing across the sky. Thunder rumbled like the growl of a giant, and the wind whipped the sails violently. Thorfinn's heart pounded as he watched the storm, its sheer size and ferocity unlike anything he had ever seen, the last time he saw it he had been asleep, he had been unaware that he had sailed into such a monstrous storm. 

Suddenly, a sharp pain flared in Thorfinn's head, and he staggered, clutching his temple. A memory surged forward, though it was not his own. It was knowledge, a gift from Freyr. The storm was not Thor's punishment for him, but for the Leviathan. As the spawn of Jörmungandr, the Leviathan was an enemy of Thor. The god of thunder has cursed the creature to never know the sky; should it breach the surface, it would face Thor's wrath, the power of his anvil crashing down upon it.

Thorfinn stood firmly at the stern, his eyes scanning the night sky. He raised his hand, tracing the positions of the stars with his fingers. The knowledge gifted to him guided his movements as he adjusted the sail and the rudder. He tugged the ropes, the fabric of the sail catching the wind just right, propelling the ship forward even faster. He glanced at the horizon, noting the position of the moon. With a quick pull, he corrected the ship's course, ensuring it stayed true to his intended path. His hands moved swiftly over the ropes, tying and untying knots to manipulate the sail's angle. The ship responded to his commands, gliding smoothly over the water despite the rough conditions.

A deep, bellowing roar echoed through the air, vibrating the water around Thorfinn's ship. He felt the reverberations in his bones, the sound so powerful it seemed to shake the very sea. Thorfinn's heart pounded in his chest, adrenaline surging through his veins. He knew he was close.

The roar grew louder, the water beneath him churning as if the sea itself was alive. Overhead, the sky darkened as he entered the unnatural storm. Cold rain began to pelt down on him, soaking his clothes and chilling him to the bone. The water droplets hit with such force they felt like needles against his skin. The ship rocked violently as the waves grew larger, crashing against the sides with relentless fury.

Thorfinn's eyes narrowed against the stinging rain, his muscles tensing with every rumble and crash. He could sense the leviathan's presence, a massive shadow lurking beneath the surface, waiting. The bellowing continued, each roar growing louder, more menacing. Thorfinn's breath came in sharp, determined bursts as he steeled himself for the battle ahead. The hunt had begun, and he would not be the prey this time.

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Kattegat was alive with revelry, the flames of countless torches casting flickering shadows across the town. In a dark corner, Floki, Ragnar, and Lagertha stood watching the feast unfold. The sounds of laughter, clinking mugs, and crude jokes filled the air. It was a feast courtesy of Mikael, a celebration of Thorfinn, the Jotunsbani, the Giant Slayer. But the name was spoken with mockery, not respect. The feast was a cruel joke, mocking Thorfinn for being a fool and running off to his death.