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"RETREAT!" Corrin yelled into the mass of warriors. "FALL BACK!"
"Are we afraid to die?" Ivar scolded him, a passion in his voice that was often found during battle. "Archers, loose!"
"Are you insane?" Corrin returned. "We can't win!"
The glimmer in Ivar's eyes told him all that he needed to know. Perhaps he was insane, but they were going to win, no matter the cost. He wasn't made to lose.
Boats sailed in onto the horizon, the water glittering gently as the large serpents disturbed it's peaceful slumber into mighty waves. Crowds gathered along the docks, catching the attention of a young black haired boy with vibrant blue eyes.
Quickly, the boy ran as fast as his legs could take him. It had been three years since they left. Three years of wars. Three years of fighting. Finally he was coming home. They'd see him again.
"Aslaug!" The little boy's voice rang out into the Great Hall. "Uncle Hvitserk!" Aslaug, Baldr, and Hvitserk all entered with concern on their features. The boy panted breathlessly, pointing outside. "They're here! Father is home!"
The excitement in the air was electrifying. Finally, Ivar was back to lead his people. The plunders from each raid had been bountiful, and much land had been conquered in Ireland and Scotland. The Saxons were becoming surrounded by Celtic/Viking forces.
Hvitserk was the first to the ship, pushing the crowds aside as the children followed. But as his blue eyes scanned each boat, he could see no sign of his little brother. None at all.
"Where is Ivar?" He spoke firmly, the children looking to eachother in fear. "Where is my brother?"
One of the men approached slowly, bowing his head. None of the others dared to approach, each with a solemn expression.
"Ivar, you're wounded." Corrin noted as the Viking crawled from his chariot.
"I'm fine." He growled, pushing the Celt away. His vision blurry, his muscles weak. In his ear, he could hear her.
"See," she smiled, her hand on his. "I told you you were nice."
"The King..." The young warrior declared. "Is dead." As gasps escaped the crowd, the man turned towards Aslaug. She had been promised Kattegat. She had been promised the crown. She was fifteen, an orphan, but she had he whole world in her hands. "Long live the Queen."
Slowly, the huge crowd knelt down. Their heads all bowed in respect towards the young girl.
In the years to come, Aslaug would follow her father well. She became the Queen of Kattegat, and many villages in Western Ireland. She ruled over armies, leading them against attackers and was always promised victory. Her people were rich and free, the town prosperous beyond anything before her time. She was more beloved than Lagertha, Aslaug, Ivar, Bjorn, even Ragnar.
She had the strength of her father, but the compassion of her mother. And she remembered all that she'd been taught.
Baldr became a beloved figure in the town. He often led raids with the people, his strategic ability akin to his father's. Though he was no King, he was still an honoured leader. He was loved and valued greatly.
And Floki? Floki became a healer, just like his mother.
