Signy was an orphan raised by the renowned boat builder Floki and his wife Helga. Growing up, she was best friends with the sons of the great Ragnar Lothbrok. However, when her half sister is to be sent to get married and Signy steps in to swap plac...
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Warning: graphic violence
Memories are funny things. Some give you strength and hope in a time of disparity. Some give you agony in a time of loss. Sometimes, you reach a stage that I have come to, and this stage is nothing but pain. So much pain. It's hard to live in such a way, where every memory makes you hate who you are more and more. Sometimes, we find our hope in the present to deal with the past. I had found this, but that didn't stop the nightmares of what I'd done from haunting me in my sleep.
"There are people who disagree with your rule, your majesty. Even your husband had loyalists. You should keep that in mind before enforcing laws against their beliefs. They may rise up." My advisor, Frode, told me.
"And who are these people, Frode? Men who benefitted from my husband's cruelty? Men who helped him to defile me and abuse me? Men who got away with doing the same to their own wives and will continue to do so if we do not stop them?" I answered, eyes ablaze with fury.
"With all due respect, my Queen. Many respect you because you fought your way out of your situation. If these women cannot do the same then why should we send our soldiers to die for such weak people?" He asked.
I walked over slowly, my black cloak trailing behind me. Everyone in the room seemed to sense the dangerous tone I began to carry.
"Because they need our help. If we leave them to die, we are just as bad as the men abusing them. Now, either help me or run and pray that I never find you in my kingdom again." I replied.
We rode out in the dead of night to the best known loyalist stronghold. A small group of soldiers marched with me on horseback as I led them to a sight most detestable. When we finally made it, the moon was our only light.
It was a small village, thatched roofs and farmland. It seemed so peaceful and gentle. One would have never guessed that it was home to such abhorrent human beings. Their leader came outside, greeting my with suspicion in his eyes.
"Who are you and what do you want?" He asked, seemingly awaking the rest of his people.
"I am your Queen. I'm here because I've heard rumors that you are unhappy with my rule. I would like to mend that as best I can." I answered as civilly as I could. Though I hated them, it was not my job to be executioner. If the people disliked my rule, I had to listen. I refused to be a dictator like my husband before me.
"Do you really? Well, perhaps you should've thought of that before you murdered your own husband! You should be killed, bloodeagled! Not celebrated!" He roared, the others in his town cheering him on.
Men and women alike were all cheering for my death.
I smiled, dismounting my horse and walking slowly over to him. "And would you do that? Would you Blood eagle me?" I asked, my voice low but gentle.
"Gladly." He snarled. "You and everyone that's helped me. All those traitor friends of yours and those people you deemed more important that your own for the first months of your reign!"
This made something snap inside me. For so long, I'd been clinging on to such a desperate strand of control. All my life, Id been capable of keeping myself in check. But life breaks you. First there was my husband, who damaged me beyond repair. Then there was Helga, Sigurd, then Floki, then my leaving Ivar behind. All of it was proving so much to bare. I lost my temper at the brothers in Wessex, but I'd managed to hold onto that tiny shred of control. However, when these foul creatures brought my friends, my family, and most importantly, Ivar, into this threat of a most gruesome death, that was when I lost my composure.
In a moment, my dagger pierced the man's chest. Blood poured out onto my hand as my skin slowly reached inside the dying man. His eyes were wide with horror as I dropped him to the ground. Blood dripped from his quivering lips as he fell into his own death. My eyes moved slowly upwards, an unhinged look within them. Everyone watched in horror, too afraid to make a sound.
"Take the children." I growled inhumanly. "Burn the rest."
I watched with glee as chaos ensued around me. Children were torn from their homes as family, men and women burned alive along with their homes. Everything was on fire. Blood ran through the streets. Screams echoed for centuries in that single moment. Lives ripped away by my command.
Later, the children would be bought as slaves. I sold them all off to anyone wealthy enough. The village was swept away, no one even remembering that it existed. I made sure it all just disappeared. And the massacre was never heard of again. It was like none of it ever happened. But it did. The screams in the darkness of night as I sleep were enough to remind me the reality of what happened. The worst part wasn't any guilt that came with it. It wasn't an inability to sleep at night, me feeling like a monster. Because I never experienced any of those things. The worst part was the fact I felt no remorse. The fact that, in fact, I enjoyed it. And I knew that that was wrong.
"Signy, this isn't you, you're a good person." Bjorn tried one last time as he was about to leave.
I smiled, my eyes still cold and dead, "You're wrong." With that, I returned to the camp. It seemed I could hurt anyone for Ivar. I could kill anyone for him. I wasn't sure to be afraid of that thought, or excited.
