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 ahead.
"FOR RAGNAR!" Bjorn roared, springing the entire army into action. We charged forward, Alle's Army looking less than pitiful in comparison. The huge sea of Vikings ran with a ferocious force that sent thunder through the ground.
I stormed onward, my sword in hand as I ran along the front lines. My three hundred warriors ran behind me. My army. Was there any greater feeling?
Helga had never wanted me to be a shieldmaiden but that didn't stop me from sneaking off into the woods to train with Bjorn. I used to tell her that I fell down whenever I came home with fresh bruises and cuts. She always cursed at how clumsy I was. Though, she likely would've killed the fearsome warrior had she known that Bjorn Ironside had been training me to fight.
I rammed my sword through one of the Saxon soldiers, feeling their internal organs tear around the sharp weight of my blade. I howled at the sight animalisticly before harshly dragging the sword from the young warriors chest. His blood sprayed out from the wound, drenching me in it. I ran on. My blade soon cut through another soldier. They swung a large sword at me and, although they were strong, I was much faster. I brought up my sword and, in one swift motion, their arm dropped to ground. It was no longer attached to his body.
Another man charged at me and I ducked, allowing his sword to end the suffering of the man id previously attacked. I stood up, the metal of our swords clashing against eachother made me stumble back. He was strong. But I was cunning. I kicked his leg out from under him, sending him falling to the ground. I soon impaled him on the sharp edge of my blade, I loud laugh escaping my lips as the rush of the battle surged through my veins. I was nocked out of my thoughts when I was kicked to the ground, my sword flying out of my hand as I fell onto the dirt. I looked up at the man who attacked me, his eyes widening as he saw me. I was unsure why for a moment until I remembered that Saxon women were rarely warriors. He looked at me conflicted, unsure whether or not he should bring the heavy sword down onto me. I nodded at him, urging him to do it. I was ready to fight, I did not need a man to take pity on me. Would he have done the same to anyone else on this battlefield? No. So why should I be treated differently? If he was prepared to kill my friends, he was welcome to try and kill me. He shook away his thoughts and brought the sword down. I rolled out of the way, the metal blade hitting the dirt where I had once lay. I quickly grabbed the two knives that rested on my thighs and jabbed them into his legs. He toppled over in pain, blood tarnishing the brown dirt and mixing with it to turn it into a tainted maroon. I grinned, pulling the knives out before slashing at his throat.
I jumped up just as another man was about to attack. I kicked him back and ran for my sword to defend myself. I rammed the blade through the man's ribcage, his bones crunching through the pressure of the sword. I slid it inside him slowly, a devilish smirk spreading across my lips as his eyes filled with agony. I kept pushing, sadistically pleased by his torment. He begged me to spare him and began weeping to his Christ God. I couldn't help but scoff before dragging the sword out of his chest. Just as he fell to the ground, his eyes now lifeless and cold, I heard cheers coming from further up the battlefield.
They had captured the King.
I walked alongside Floki, the brothers just ahead of us Alle led us to Ragnar's final resting place. I couldn't help but think fondly of the man, my memories of him all those years ago flooding back to me. I just wish I'd been there when he returned. Been there to tell him how much he meant to every last one of us. We all loved him. Bjorn was right, he was never a God. He was never a legend. He was a man, he was imperfect, and that's what made him great.
I fidgeted with my knife as the brothers opened up a pit. A few serpents slithered around the pit, but there was no sign of King Ragnar for us to give him a proper and respectful send off. Though, we all knew that he was already feasting in Valhalla with the Gods.
Floki looked dismayed and I sent him a comforting smile. I didn't even dare look at the Lothbroks. I knew their reaction would be no better. I knew it pained them. But then the oldest son spoke. His words bringing me out of my own head. We were going to blood eagle the king.
Vengeance for Ragnar. Vengeance for our great king.
I sat on a tree stump, watching as Bjorn cut into the man's back. It was said that if you died by being blood eagled, the only way to get into Valhalla was to die without screaming. Of course, this was nearly impossible as your lungs were literally being torn from your body and the skin of your back turned into wings as you could not breath and blood oozed out of you, your spine being exposed to nature. Few Vikings reached Valhalla this way, how could this Saxon ever achieve such a thing? Bjorn slowly tore the man's panting lungs from his back, gripping them as they budged in and out. They heaved, bloodcurdling screams escaping Alle's lips all throughout the process before he finally fell still. The fear was still prominent in his eyes, even as he lay there dead. The brothers then hung him up over the trees by the flaps of skin that now created his wings. He was a warning to all our enemies. We were coming. The great heathen army was here.
