brave in the heart. vikings

𝐶𝐻𝐴𝑃𝑇𝐸𝑅 28

𐂂

They marched forward in scattered unison. The mist had settled between the lower grounds and the high tops of the great mound of hill they would climb. A breeze was quick to wipe at their faces, a bitter type of warmth, the smell of sweat and blood stinging the the air.

Merida's face was slick with the paint of blood in stripes down her face. She could still feel the lingering touch of Bjorn's fingers as he cut down her face with the crimson liquid. His own face matched hers, blood dripping down past his eyes and to the grizzle that stubbled his chin.

The painted army marched up toward the hill in a broad line, ducking as they prowled, circular shields held in front. Floki was just ahead, pausing by a boulder, hands free of protection, his axe just barely hanging from his belt. Behind Torstein groaned as he stumbled to the ground, leaning against his remaining arm, Rollo just a step behind him.

Ragnar's head pointed forward, he nudged his son. Bjorn's face was harsh as he headed over the tip, knees bent as he lunged forward carefully. He glanced around, before returning with unmatched swiftness.

He shook his head. "I can't see anyone."

Ragnar gasped, holding his hand out for quiet. They listened, the sound of brushing winds and crunching grass spilling through the space. But then his head lifted. Out from the top of the hill broke the cry of a horse, their whinnying drifting downwards. Bjorn smirked. What a fickle type of luck they'd had.

"They're up there," Ragnar said, as he started forward again.

He was stopped by the call of his friend. "Wait," Torstein said as he crawled forward up the small mound, his axe spilling him up further. "I will go first."

Ragnar paused his movements. The pure look of determination on the man's face was enough to make him nod, move from the way and watch as Torstein staggered back to his feet, grabbing a shield from the ground.

He nodded, his shield taking the place of the weapon. "Thank you."

By the will of some god, he made his way up, jaw taunt and eyes narrowed aggressively. It was the anticipated promise of dining in the hall of the heroes that inevitably drove him forward, closer to his demise. But either way, whether it was bravery or stupidity that convinced him to be the first up the hill, Torstein didn't take the time to even glance back.

They waited with held breath as Torstein hobbled up, eventually disappearing behind the grass top from their poor vantage. There was a scuffle of low voices- foreign ones- and then a laugh. Torstein let out a raging battle cry, then all was silent.

"Do you hear that?" Merida whispered, drawing Bjorn's gaze away from the field above and toward her.

He shook his head. "No."

She breathed out. "Arrows."

She could recognise that sound from anywhere, not matter who's arm drew back the bow that shot it. The whizzing of metal cutting through the sharp air, the gutting sound as the airborne weapon made contact with soft, fragile flesh. It should have been like a familiar song to her ears- this one made her feel sick.

"We go now," Ragnar said, beginning to crawl forward.

Bjorn and Merida shared one last glance before they were to be parted on the field, and advanced.

A roared ripped through the crowd of Northmen as they charged up the hill, shields in a line and swords in the opposite hand. They weren't met straight away. Instead, the men that attacked Torstein fled to the comfort of their own crowded troops, the northmen in pursuit behind. As she entered the flat battle field, Merida's eyes were draw to the sight of Torstein, his body slashed by the arrows that still remainder embedded in his flesh. His eyes were own, misty, and staring up to the sky. She could have sworn there was a smirk on his cold face.