𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒌 𝒔𝒐𝒏𝒈 ✩ Ivar The Boneless

prologue ✩ war

"Our dead drink the sea."
prologue ✧ 𝒘𝒂𝒓

Björn had grown... accustomed, to say the least, to the small girl's presence.

She was his youngest brother's age, and yet there she was, ready to face an army that Ironstone himself had only faced once.

The duo was minutes away from war. The prince stared at the wolf in uttermost amusement.

She quietly toyed with her weapons, spinning them around her tiny fingers, praying to her gods.

Much like her father, she bore no shield on her back, instead, she carried an axe. On her hands, her trusty knives.

Her hazel eyes shone milky green as the sunlight washed over them; gods, she would grow beautifully. No sign of worry reflected upon her face.

It was her first war.

Of course it was.

It was nowhere near normal for such young kids to fight, but everyone knew both she and her father were out of their minds.

Nero was surprisingly calm, and her calmness even seemed to settle some of Ragnar's nerves. If such a tiny, tiny girl had faith in the gods, then so would he, so should he.

She kept on her prayer, her serenity becoming excitement, becoming strength. Her insides burned with the flame of revenge for those who did her king wrong. For those who did her gods wrong.

Snapping out of it, she readied herself to side with Björn, knowing he would protect her even at times she did not want him to.

For some reason unbeknownst to him, he felt extremely protective of the girl. Almost as if she was his own.

Enemy boats anchored on theirs and war crawled onto its feet.

"Stay back!" he roared at her, and though she wished to take part, she could not disobey her prince. She did exactly as told.

She couldn't help but watch the Vikings slaughter the first wave of Christians.

It seemed to not have last seconds. The sheer brutality took over everyone's construct of time, "You alright?"

She nodded her head eagerly and her loyalty asked her to search for her king, only to find him supporting himself on his knees.

Both she and the Ragnarsson walked towards the broken man. The men engaged in a conversation, one that she didn't care about as her duty was fulfilled; the king was fine for the time being.

She spaced out while the two spoke, looking at the enemy boats with menace. Her stare was cold and calculating.

"Attack," her head shot up at Ragnar's words.

She grinned, her eyes lighting up with madness. She knew that in another boat her father's eyes were doing the exact same.

Ragnar, Nero, Floki, were ready, and they were insane, bloodthirsty, and revengeful. In any other scenario, they could have been unstoppable, they could have been immortal.

"Good," Ironside replied curtly with a smile, cleaning his blood-stained hands on Nero's hair. She squealed, running away and cursing him for having ruined her braid.

Almost as if she hadn't just watched a massacre.

Despite the interactions, the king remained straight-faced. His hands still on his knees in order to try and keep a posture of sorts.