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The night came and went quickly. Soon dawn rose and the birds chirped distantly. Alfild was prepared. She knew that no one could stop her, not even herself. Her black warpaint was painted on, emerald eyes gleaming through it like orbs of fire. As she stood, armour clad, no one could question the power that she radiated.
Imagine a storm. The worst storm that you could possibly think of. It rips up homes and comes tearing through the streets. It cares not for your life. It cares for nothing. A storm does as it pleases. And this storm ravishes all in its path, destroying homes and lives.
Now imagine that you have been given a choice. You can run from the storm, try to weather it. Be a human trapped in its path. Or you can become the storm. And when this storm attacks, you can tear it down with a ferocity that makes it bow before you.
This was a decision that Alfild had made many years before. She was sick and tired of weathering the storm of life. And so, she became death.
Her braided hair blew in the wind, sword firmly within her grip. Beside her stood Hvitserk and Ivar. In front, there was Arvid and his men.
Ivar said nothing. All he had wished to say had been said the previous evening. And, as she slept beside him, all he could think of was the image of her dying. It was an image that he detested with every fiber of his being. And yet, he could see it vividly.
"Don't die." Hvitserk smiled towards the girl.
She grinned back, that same spark of fire in her eyes, "I'll try not to."
And soon, the fight had begun.
Alfild and Arvid circled eachother. Their eyes scanned their opponent, both with very different expressions. Alfild appeared calm and collected. Meanwhile, Arvid's nerves began to play upon him.
First to strike was the king. His sword swung over his head, crashing down towards Alfild. Rapidly and precisely, she moved her sword up to block. They both remained in this position as Arvid pushed his sword against Alfild's. He was stronger than her and, for a moment, she feared he would win. But, then he pushed her back and she stumbled away from him.
"I hear that only months ago you were dying." He taunted. "Do you really think you can beat me now?"
Flames poured into Alfild's eyes, scorching the world. Her face was stern, her sword lifting up to attack. "I could kill you even if the Gods had damned me and brought me here half alive." She roared before charging. Instead of swinging, she moved her sword with a precise jab towards his stomach, sending him stumbling back this time. But, as he dodged, Arvid quickly regained himself and sent the hilt of his sword crashing down to hit her. Alfild wasn't fast enough to dodge this time and the sword bashed against her face sending her backwards once more. She fell upon the ground with an almighty thud, and yet still managed to roll backwards and regain her footing. But her sword was gone.
Arvid charged at her with both swords. She did not run. As he approached, she grasped the blades of both sword and kneed him in the balls as to send him stumbling back. All of their audience winced. Her fist then connected with his face but, as she moved it back, Arvid grabbed her arm and threw her to the ground. The impact looked unimaginable. Once more, the air left her lungs. She looked up towards the sky, dazed and confused.
Beneath her breath she whispered, "Freyja, Tyr, Odin, Mimir. Give me strength. Give me wisdom. Do not forsake me now."
Soon the world grew clear and Alfild could hear the King approaching her with a sword. His supporters cheered and screamed, hers yelled for her to stand. Alfild remained on the floor patiently. She watched and waited. He was the prey now. And it was time for her to kill.
Arvid stood over her, holding the sword above his head with a triumphant grin. In a fast movement, he sent it hurtling down towards her. But it wasn't her that it hit.
Alfild moved, kicking her legs around to sweep Arvid off his feet. The sword hit the ground with a thud. Arvid toppled over, his back now hitting the ground, and Alfild stood. She sat over him, not giving him a chance to recover as he had given her. Rapidly, her fists connected with his face in a flurry of punches. Blood began to spurt from the man's features and onto the girl as she screamed with that old familiar rage.
"I AM ALFILD THE MERCILESS!" She yelled, still pinching the man. "AND I AM YOUR QUEEN."
He was dead. She'd beaten him to death. It was slow and painful. And yet, even after he was dead, she continued to hit him.
But more so, all of the man's supporters at the fight were rounded up. Soon they would face a similar fate.
Alfild looked up towards Ivar with bloody features, her emerald eyes ablaze with the fury of a thousand Valkyries. And in response, he simply smiled at her.
Now she was Queen again, and they could fight their war. And when Lagertha was dead and Kattegat was theirs, everyone in Scandinavia would know and fear the King and Queen of Kattegat.
I just want to say a huge thank you to everyone who has read and supported this book. I've adored writing it and loved the amazing people who have come to read it. I've decided that this book has gotten VERY long and that I will, after all, be splitting it in two. Do not fear, the next book will be out ASAP.
Alvar will be returning with more war, romance, and egotistic bickering VERY SOON. Once again, I love you all and tysm. ❤❤❤
