In the burning ruins of an ancient city, Ragnar Lothbrok's eldest son with his second wife Aslaug, Ubbe, found one lone survivor. A young girl. A girl with deep and dark and red eyes, and hair black as night with a single streak of white.
"Aila." Ha...
Let me just make it clear that I am shit at writing battle scenes so eeh . . . this might not be the best.
But whatever, GUESS WHO'S BACK AND BETTAH THAN EVAH. AILA FUCKING BLOODEYE IS!
*
Christians were climbing up the walls of York.
Hidden, the vikings watched as the Saxons began to swarm the streets, swords drawn and shields up.
"That's him." Ivar said out of the blue. His brothers asked who he spoke of. "Aethelwulf," Ivar pointed at the new King. "King Ecbert's son." He smiled and laughed. "Oh, and he brought his own sons. Like lambs to the slaughter."
Ubbe inhaled sharply with a hand on his axe. "Hvitserk, let's go." He growled, ready to spill some Saxon blood.
Ivar turned his head ever so slightly. "Go." He said quietly, and Aila turned and followed Ubbe and Hvitserk. She was still a bit sore, but there was nothing he could do or say to keep her from fighting, and she was quite the archer.
Later, a thick fog had swept across the lands. It was hard to see one's own hand before themselves, and the Northmen used this to their advantage.
Aila pulled an arrow back, followed by dozens of vikings. "Hold." She whispered. Ubbe, standing next to her, raised a hand to tell their archers to wait. I can see them. Aila narrowed her eyes. She closed her left eye and held her breath . . . "Loose!"
The arrow went whistling through the air. Countless more followed.
At least a dozen Saxons died before the rest of the army found the mind to raise their shields for protection. King Aethelwulf raised his sword and shouted, "WITH ME!" and they charged through the tunnel.
"NOW!" Ubbe ordered.
The path was sealed, trapping the Saxons, and soon more arrows came raining down upon them.
"Get out! Get out!" Aethelwulf yelled. "Move! Move!"
"Like lambs to the slaughter." Aila remembered Ivar's words. Like lambs indeed, She thought.
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Everywhere the Christians went, every corner they turned, every street they ran down, more Northmen appeared to shower them with arrows, and the Saxons died like squirming pigs, piling up as more and more fell to the arrows of the vikings.
