brave in the heart. vikings

𝐶𝐻𝐴𝑃𝑇𝐸𝑅 26

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The vulturous sound of the war horn rang out as screams of war rippled through the line of boats. Merida's shield was held strongly in her hands, her bow and arrows strapped to her back in preparation.

"Concentrate the full attack on the right bank," Ragnar ordered. "Row!"

The army on the sand banks shuffled, and Ragnar watched with his precise eyes. "Shields!"

They held them up in unison, Bjorn's angled her way as they braved against the shower of arrows. They lodged weakly into the wooden barriers, hitting few targets. Nothing compared to her fearsome skills- she flattered herself.

"Are you ready?" Bjorn asked, staring down at her with a gaze that commanded her to look back intently.

She smiled, nodding. "As ready as ever."

The last of the arrows found their marks, slipping through the air, splashing to the waters at each end. Merida studied his face. Not a single hint of fear or nervousness. Nothing but excitement and eagerness. She memorised it, replicating it on her own face, eyebrows furrowing darkly and teeth barring.

"Attack!"

The shout was made and Bjorn leaped forward, stopping only as she held back, stepping lightly the other way.

"You go forward! I can cover those who jump first," she explained, leaving enough time for him to nod and follow through.

Merida jumped forward, feet bracing themselves either edge of the front of the boat, balancing on the thin beams that separated her from the shallow water below. With the height gained, she could see between the small stretch of where the northmen advanced and the spearmen in front. Whipping out her bow and her first arrow, she held it firmly, aiming forward to her first target.

The man with his spear raised to Bjorn.

She released it without a second thought or recalculation. Another arrow was in her hand before she could watch the first embed itself into the enemies neck, falling down at Bjorn's feet. He lunged forward, stepping atop the dead man's back as he cut through the opening she'd made.

Another arrow, then another, then another. All hit their mark, zipping through the air expertly and clearing a clear path to the very heart of the army. It wasn't until they had merged, a blur of dirty colours, making it to hard to discern faces or loyalties, did Merida brace her knees to jump, splashing toward the shore, sword in hand. She swung, crashing down against the back of a swordsman dressed in yellow.

Bjorn gasped in a deep breath, eyes shooting toward the boat, toward the space where she'd been only seconds later. He roared out a fearful shout, muscles burning as he thrashed his sword down at double the strength, cutting the enemies head clean from his hunched shoulders. Forward, was all he could think. Merida's red hair was no where in sight among the crowd as it should have been.

Where was she? Not setting fire to the enemies around her with the force of her sword as she should have been. Bjorn shouted out as he cleared the space of the men around him, cutting them like young trees to the ground.

Then he stopped.

There she was, bow in hand yet again, arrows flying to the last hoard of men that surrounded the Princess' uncle, Floki spaces in front of her as he advanced toward him. The speed of her wrists, her mind, her feet as she hurried forward, releasing shot after shot, never missing a beat, never missing her target.

"Bjorn!"

Her flung himself to the side, narrowly missing the tip of a sword that was aimed his way.  Ragnar bound forward, cutting him down before the attacker had a chance to rise again.

"Get your head together," Ragnar hissed, turning back to the battle with ease.

Floki was moving with a speed she'd never seen before. Almost too quick for her to keep up with the procession of arrows that cleared his way, keeping his need to use his sword to only one attacker at a time. Almost too quick.  He was nearing his target, his eyes filled with a rage mimicked in all of his brothers and sisters that fought along with him.

She heard the screech of his name just as her fingers fumbled on her last arrow. She turned, eyes flashing across the battlefield, connecting with the image of Bjorn diving from the path of an unseen sword. Ragnar had him finished within seconds.

Merida screeched out. A sharp pain scraped across her thigh, spreading a hot pain down her leg. A flash of a sword to her side and Merida leaped out of the way, watching as the man stumbled forward under the missed weight of the blow. She fumbled for her sword, but without enough time, she was left with a single arrow in her hand to fend against a large sword.

She gripped it in her hand, splinters etching through the rough skin on her palm. The man grinned, eyeing her as he prepared to make the same predictable move that he'd already use twice.

Merida zipped to the side, hand twisting as she danced around him, reaching to wrap around his throat. The man fell backward, landing in her side amongst the upturned mud. She rolled, kneeling against his stomach as he struggled. The splinters itched her skin, begging to be used.

The arrow swiped forward, as fast as if it had been thrown forward by its familiar bow, slicing through pale skin easily.

Her face was coated in red, hairline matted with the sticky substance. There was something about her that burned different to the usual flame that lit her face.

They'd won the first battle, the first half of the war.

Bjorn's eyes reached the hobble of her leg, thigh coated in a thick layer of blood. Her own blood, he realised. The source of her tired limp. The fact that Merida had been injured shocked him. The last time he'd seen her, she'd been firing at an arrow per second, looking more like an untouchable God than a human.

He stepped forward, only to be blocked by his father. Ragnar looked unimpressed, his face sprayed with red and burdened with fatigue.

"To the boat, Bjorn."

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