The even breathing of the man sleeping beside her drowned out the ragged gasp that escaped her lips upon waking. The back of her hand wiped the beaded sweat on her brow, heart heavy with the sorrowful dream that had woken her. Her lapiz eyes were immediately drawn to the cradle that lay empty in the corner of their room, and she clenched them shut, focusing on the distant sound of the waves crashing against their shores to calm her. Her father had built that simple cradle the moment she had been born, with hopes that one day she'd fill it many times over and tell her children tales of their legendary grandmother, her mother, who had been twice as beautiful as she had been brutal. It pained her, that her father's hopes had thus far been in vain.

The dreams came often, a mirror of reality where the cradle remained empty, the hearth cold and full of ash, her body grown old and broken from a life of empty victories. She saw the life of a shunned witch in these dreams, weak, crooked, and alone. Her ancestors would have no reason to celebrate or praise her, because there was no pride in such a life. Growing old, leaving no one to see her into Valhalla's great halls in this life, or the next. No one to tell the tales of her family's great legacy.

Milena was still young, still full of strength and promise, a celebrated Shield Maiden despite her shortcomings of the home. As a daughter of Freyja, blessed by the Goddess of love and wealth, fertility and good fortune, she followed in her mother's footsteps being well known for her beauty and power. Yet she found herself not graced with the promise of any great legacy, no children to honor her house or her name, the name of her ancestors, Elska. Tears welled in her eyes, heart still pounding as Milena shifted to her side to run her fingers along the fine carvings of their marriage bed that Asger, her husband, was so proud of. He built it himself as a wedding gift with the promise that he would fill their home with the laughter of children.

While the bed was beautiful, her home remained quiet, and void of that promise made by Asger, as well as his parents when they negotiated their marriage contract with her father. His parents expressed that they had land, were notable members of their clan, and their son was lit from within with Balder's beauty. That last bit was perhaps the only truth as he was striking to look at, a decent farmer with a bit of land in his name, and he was even charming when he wanted to be. To a doltish girl who had only just picked up a shield to fight, the first of her friends to be married, it had felt like a promise of perfect love.

Even so, six years passed and where she grew in notoriety for her skill with a shield and blade, it seemed that marriage she felt so blessed in once was as false as his family's promises. They tried, the Gods knew they tried, and what was once done as a pleasurable act of love, had grown cold as nothing more than a laborious duty. Even then, as she lay by his side, body soiled and sweat still chilling on her skin from their fevered efforts that very night, there was an empty feeling inside of her. One telling that those efforts had once more been completely fruitless.

Carefully, Milena slipped from under the warmth of the furs that still warmed their bed in the early days of Spring. She pulled a fine robe of orange weave over her shoulders, bending to scratch a very furry white mountain cat between his ears, prompting him to follow her with loud purrs as she padded through their timber home to seek solace by moonlight.

The settlement was silent by this hour, save the few dying embers of fires left from farmers who had treated themselves to ale after a hard day of plowing in the fields, long since retired to their wives and children. The sea was silver when she reached the shore, sand cool beneath her feet, the backdrop of mountains and forests a perfect picture of calm beneath a bright white moon. Milena allowed exactly one solitary tear to slip down her cheek before she wiped away the other with hard conviction and lifted her eyes to the stars so vivid in the night sky.

"Oh Freyja, do I anger the Gods so?" She took a deep breath to keep her resolve. Normally, she would pray to Sif and Frigg for the blessings of children that had yet to come, but it seemed as though her pleas fell upon an undestined desire. She'd tried so hard to be a good wife, to become round with child and warm their hearth with a well kept household.

In preparation for Motherhood, she'd perfected the loom to clothe her children, learned to farm, fish, and hunt to feed them and keep them warm. Lastly, she could fight with the toughest of men with no fear to hold her, if only to offer protection to a family that would not grow. So tonight Milena prayed to the Goddess who had blessed her, so maybe she could carry out her legacy and pass on all of her skills and knowledge.

"Alone inside myself, I ask for your blessings. I seek your comfort inside of a lonely marriage, and ask for children. Should our union be blessed no longer I seek your hand to guide me as you always have. Send me a sign of the path you intended for me and I will follow. I fear I have been misguided into his arms by those under our Gods who do not understand your intentions for me..." She sniffled, wiping under her eye with the back of her hand, as another unbidden tear escaped after all. "I want to love him, Freyja..."

She dropped to her knees in the damp sand, petting her cat Arti as he purred and rubbed against her with a comforting sound while she so distractedly glanced with longing at her ship bobbing in solitude at their docks. It was a fine Longship elegantly carved and inlaid with gold from her most successful raid somewhere a bit North but to the West where it was a touch warmer. Settlements of stone houses riddled with gold and treasures stored in vast structures of worship under a singular God. She used her share of the gold to adorn the helm of her ship, a gorgeous carved tribute to Freyja herself guiding them through the stormy seas toward blessed victory. The Idol was battered now, worn from the triumph she'd seen, and it was here that Milena felt a call for freedom she only ever found in that ship out on the open seas. She found her gaze fixed just passed it, to the North, if she read the brightest star correctly.

Milena was born in the house beside her Chieftain Sefa, better known as Jarl Sefi. Standing side by side they could have been sisters, and she loved her as such. Sefi's house beamed with favor from Odin's wife Frigga, a lineage of powerful women who ruled their lands were born of her house, tasked to protect the secrets of their Gods from spilling into Midgard's realm. What passed through the lips of men in stories and legends were real in the lands around their prosperous settlement, and while Sefi's powers were a mystery to even her, Milena swore her life to protect her. It was a burden the young Jarl took on with serene grace, and quiet brutality, charming even the Moon God Mani into favoring them with powerful tides. As a woman well past the age of marrying, Sefi even maintained her maidenhood in a display of power until she found a man deemed worthy of calling her husband, an equal to fulfill her duty to her lineage by giving her a daughter.

Unheard of in their culture, their clan consisted of mostly women, but they were more powerful than King Erland's balmy South, or the brutal King Killer of the North. Sefi's family had always taken measures to keep outsiders knowledge of their settlement limited to legend, passed on from the mouths of men, spreading fear and disbelief. Stories of the strange creatures lurking in their waters, entire fleets simply disappearing, and news from the West of Siren-like women who raided and pillaged whole cities, desecrating houses of their God. With great vanity, those were Milena's favorite stories because they were stories of her greatest victories and on some of her trade routes the versions shifted, saying she and her Maidens were more likened to Valkyries.

Those stories were the beginnings of her reputation, as legendary as a Shield Maiden as she was in her beauty. Her gift was her voice, a weapon of enchantment and seduction, something all too fitting for someone as blessed as she was, powerful in her gifts as she was within the community. She was one of Sefi's few trusted women so wrought with power tasked to see to the security of their home and her lineage. A happy burden, as it was a path Milena followed very closely behind her long departed mother.

Even Asger's family had been received with caution, just a family of farmers from a town further inland on one of their main trade routes. Normally, the joined families would reside together, but by request of an ancient and dangerous guardian, Sefi had to add a clause into their marriage contract that his family would not be allowed to relocate there. Asger visited with them often, making him one of their key producers in trade, and simultaneously keeping Milena wholly responsible for him. It was precisely the reason that as she sank further down into the sand in prayer, she felt so fooled.

Gathering Arti to her chest, she buried her face in his thick fur and clenched her eyes. They'd been in love once, nearly six years ago when they first exchanged swords and spoken their vows. Milena remembered sneaking off while the arrangements of their marriage were still being made to explore the forests, and steal the boat of the old man who lived in the house just across from hers for joyous and sometimes heated adventures along the shoreline. Asger was beautiful, and charming and could work a plow to feed a family. He had always been enough for her until as a warrior she began venturing to other lands, learned the thrill of battle, and felt the honor of the Goddess that smiled upon her. Until she bore no children and Asger became poisoned with bitterness, and jealousy of her love for the sea as well as the few men that sailed with her in her fleet.

A withering, and now very tired sigh deflated her. Turning with a lingering glance at Freyja's carved profile at the helm of her ship, Milena returned to her bed before her husband would notice her absence. A prayer still on her lips. She would perhaps sleep a bit more before Asger woke her with amorous demand to fill her once more before he took to the fields for the morning. Before his loving lips and arms turned sour with the first indication that she would bear him no children, their fruitless efforts only proving to be poison to an already troubled house. Perhaps he began to notice her eyes drifting North over dangerous waters, and that Milena had already begun to ready her ship.

It was late enough that the moon was making its slow descent toward the horizon, far later than Jarl Kjaran the King Killer cared to be awake. Seemingly forgotten by the Jarl, his younger companion observed with weary green eyes as the hulking silver-haired man paced up and down along the opposite side of the lengthy table in his great hall, sipping ale from a horn and sulking listlessly back and forth in front of him with the restlessness of a discontented wolf. Zephyr yawned, breaking the silence and continued to study the rather advanced map sprawled on the table between them, jarring Kjaran from his thoughts as though he finally remembered the other man was even present.

"We should strike now. They would least expect it now." Kjaran muttered, tapping a restless finger against the lip of his cup. He hadn't slept well in weeks, often resulting in one of his trusted companions keeping him company well into the late hours. Mostly Zephyr volunteered to stay behind, as he was still learning the ways of these strange seafaring men who'd become so kindred to him, and for that, Kjaran was grateful.

"Firstly, we've just barely planted the crop. Secondly, the seas will still be riddled with potential ice able to sink even larger vessels than our own along the way. Lastly, there's no telling what else might linger in those waters, or what we'll find if we do manage to make it there. I've heard the stories, it's too great of a risk." Zephyr leaned forward, his fingers rubbing at his eyes sleepily before offering his Jarl an incredulous look. "Besides you aren't just talking about raiding them, you're talking about overthrowing a settlement no one has ever seen. Another Jarl who is said to be powerful enough to sway the tides with her blessings from the very Moon itself. Besides, it's too soon, and again...we've only just planted the first crop. Oh, and you're drunk."

"Jǫðurr says it will be a weak harvest. If this keeps up, people will starve, and the Gods know me well enough by now to know that I won't allow that." Kjaran frowned, plopping heavily in a throne draped in thick fur, meeting Zephyr's green eyes with a sigh. "And I can hold my ale just fine, thank you."

"So emphasize the trade, travel inland and take more land, or sail to the south. Perhaps we could try England in the Summer again, seek King Erland's aid, surely he can-"

"England is too powerful for our hordes right now, even if we borrow power they'll be expecting us. We've tried, and all it did was divorce me from my wife for some English Noble who's likely had her burned at the stake, and gifted me with a drunken sailor jailed for defying the Church." A smirk tugged at his lips at that when Zephyr chuckled at the blatant jab.

"As I recall, it also got you a rather large English vessel and the very BEST sailor to swear his fealty to you and all of your Gods for saving his life."

That had been two years ago, though the English ship was far beyond Kjaran's comprehension and seemingly too bulky, it was the crown jewel of his trade missions as it was spacious and overly ostentatious. Perfect for transporting large amounts of goods, including livestock. It had been their escape vessel from their raids of England, commandeered by he and his men while the rest of his people fled in warships. A perfect distraction for their retreat. At first, Kjaran thought he might live in it and sail the world, but the only person in their settlement that could navigate the thing was Zephyr himself, so the vessel remained his.

Despite the fortune gained during that venture, the raids that year hadn't been kind to the Jarl. Kjaran hadn't expected the sudden divorce, performed improperly without the sanctuary of their home, though the English prisoner that was once known as Zane Harlington, now merely Zephyr, bore witness it wasn't enough. It angered the Gods enough that in his absence, an illness also embraced his only Son, and carried him away to Valhalla. A broken bond between the boy and his mother who had abandoned them both. The price of broken favor.

No one ever spoke to Kjaran about those raids. It was why for the past two years he remained so restless for some sort of purpose, so reckless in some of his decisions. He'd never been a warm or welcoming man, but fatherhood had given him meaning, his wife had given him a purpose once, and he blamed her for his loss most of all. Shaking off the memory, Kjaran stood once more, taking the few strides to prop himself on his hands, hovering over the map sprawled on the table in front of Zephyr. His piercing blue eyes bore into an uncharted piece of the map with hardened determination before he spoke with a hushed urgency.

"If we wait until Summer to raid, they will be more expecting of it. The battle in the West is ongoing and further North is barren. The East will recover in time but for now, it's picked clean. There is promise to the South in that alcove between us and our King, I can feel it." The converted Englishman shifted, peering up into the conviction of his face. Kjaran wasn't a rash man, never one to simply do anything without a purpose. It was clear something called to him, a sweet siren's song that sang of deliverance of some kind. He was one of the richest Jarls in the settlements dotting the Scandinavian coastline, the strongest, and perhaps the most feared and fearless of them all. His pointed finger seemed to jar Zephyr some, redirecting his attention to a very specific point on the map. "Here is where their settlement is said to be, can you plot a course?"

"Yes, but even if we do win their land, we know only rumors about the terrain. Stories of creatures only our Gods have ever witnessed, and a tribe of women who have yet to be defeated by any force of the Nine Realms. Which is ridiculous, by the way." Ridiculous or not, Zephyr was clearly already mapping the course, vivid green eyes trailing slowly from their settlement downward and far off course from their usual journey to raid, or act on King Erland's summons. A journey Kjaran knew would be riddled with trepidatious waters of the unknown, heavy with the mythos of their Gods, and potentially women that were more than just human. Or they would find nothing at all.

"Their lands are fertile for crops more valuable than oat, the waters full of fish, and mountains marbled with iron for trade. If their fleet is as they say, it would double our numbers and our power. There is potential for time to regroup before the Summer raids even though that might be well worth missing to work their lands and gather wares for trade." The Jarl scoffed at the look gained from Zephyr's disbelieving skepticism and stood to pace once more. "The North is cold, the land dry, and frankly if we become more populated we'll be ill fit to feed our people."

"The North has been kind to us. Are you sure the merit is worth the risk? Erland would be made legendary by your accomplishments but I think he'd rather you return his boats and his crew in one piece. And what of the legends? Those waters are dangerous, and the terrain rocky, said to be riddled with Sirens and who knows what else beyond the mists."

"They are women. Legend has made people fear them but at the end of the day, our tribes will outnumber them. As you said they may very well not exist. Either way, there will be an abundance of land to claim and explore. I fail to see how it could end badly."

"What of this Serpent of Midgard, Sirens, threats of the sea known only to the Gods in tandem to those known to mortal men? Do you think their magics and tricks won't be dangerous? Their tribe is said to be blessed by the Moon itself, Gods who control the tides. Shield Maidens who are more likened to Valkyries and some that can bend those sea demons to their will, beautiful enough to make anyone fall in love with them-"

"That is the most foolish thing you've ever said in my presence. If they exist, and their Clan and lands are so blessed by the Gods then it is all the more reason to prove our worth. You may have forsaken your Christian God for Odin's Legion and sworn fealty to Erland-"

"I swore my fealty to you Kjaran. I'm only saying that if any of these legends are true, their lands hidden by the mists could spell trouble. "

"Jǫðurr is preparing a fleet, using some of your English upgrades to our sails and building sturdier boats. Nefir forges much stronger weapons and shields for us, and we will bring the masses. I'm waiting to hear word on further aid from neighboring tribes. But we set sail, just after we finish planting the harvest with plans to return in time to reap our crops. I will worry about Erland's blessing, and I leave it to you to path our way."

Sea salt carried on the wind, adding a pleasant flavor to full lips quenched with a thirsty tongue. The air held an Earthy fragrance of soil from the nearby farms, men and women busy with planting their no doubt bountiful harvest. Her blue eyes hardened, squinting out over the horizon. North again.

She crossed her leather clad arms, and the wooden landing groaned under her feet at the shift of her weight, a reminder that repairs were due to be made with the now budding Spring. Yet her brows furrowed, as another deep breath held the frigid scent of snow. The obscenely large Mountain Cat beside her lifted his face as well, the wind ruffling his long white fur as his nose wiggled. His green eyes shifted to her in an almost knowing fashion as though he caught the scent as well.

A sign, or perhaps an opportunity. It was always North for her lately, ice still slow to thaw and dangerous to sail, yet perhaps some answer to her prayers pulled her in that direction be it duty, curiosity, or destiny. Their clan had never raided in the North before, always avoiding territories that held other clans in self-preservation. The simple fact that they were a tribe dominated by women would put targets on their backs, and Milena wasn't one to cause war amongst their people. It was safest to hold the peace their ancestors created with gifts from other realms and maintain the mystery that shielded them. Other countries were their targets, still seen as a non-threat because of their gender which made the raid so much easier. Trade ships were her favorite, feeding into their legacy as the Sirens she commanded, or the Valkyries they were rumored to be.

Those rumors always kept Milena on her guard, in wait for the day another clan grew too curious, or the Western world to brazen as to venture into threat ridden waters. True, their lands were occupied and blessed, their alcove of sea nestled in valleys between mountains and forests were a gateway to other realms of Midgard. Blessed with powers beyond their own comprehension and creatures the world outside their mists had never faced. It was her duty to protect their secrets, or risk the threat of having Ragnarok unleashed upon them all.

Something about this draw North didn't feel right. Not the usual call to action she felt in the face of such threats but more of a turbulent feeling of something big coming. Milena remembered her prayers, her hopes for change, and knew to stay wary, for the Gods often placed obstacles to overcome before any path became clear. An obstacle from the North.

''Wife." Asger called to her from the landing, leaning on one of the posts to watch her with crossed arms. He was filthy of course, breaking from the farm for a meal no doubt she had been expected to prepare instead of gazing into the distance over steady waves of the sea. Handsome as he was, the sight of him brought her little joy. Milena turned to greet her husband dutifully, the large white mountain cat as always close to her side with a quick saunter over the wooden dock.

"Husband." She chided back sidling toward him in mock flirtation. The quirk of his lip, a somewhat amused gleam of his peridot eyes seemed so genuine in comparison to the smile she offered him.

"Spring has only just graced us with soil fertile enough to farm, and you're already plotting how quickly you can board your ship and sail away from me." The bite to his voice negated the affection of the arm he laced around her shoulder, the bittersweet kiss to her temple. "You never were the patient one, but the Summer raids will be here before you know it."

"Are you not eager for me to leave again? I'm sure it's been a very long, very cold winter without the beds of your lovers." Milena raised her brow at him, giving him a side-eye that removed his arm from her shoulders.

"We should take the year for children if you worry about my fidelity so. Magnhildr can certainly manage the raids without you." Green eyes hardened in their path to meet hers. "It's your very restlessness that bears us no children. How are you going to keep a home when you're scarcely in it? Give us a year."

"Something's on the wind. I need to pray on it, seek Ragna's wisdom." She gazed up at her Husband, dirtied from labor. Loving in his own way, possessive in many others. He'd married a powerful woman, favorited by Freyja and their Chieftain. Her beauty unsurpassable by beings of any realm with curiosity to match. Asger's breath was defeating, knowing he'd never win that battle, she'd taken two years in their six year marriage in attempts to bear children with no result. Milena came up on her toes to kiss his dirt smudged cheek, his cropped hair wild from early morning chores. "We will try again tonight, until dawn if you'd like."

"Such promises to be broken by your reckless notions. Pray as you need to, Wife, we will try again tonight if you're so sure last night was not sufficient." She knew it hadn't been. Milena was certain his bitterness had a great more to do with their failures, his jealousy that she loved the sea more than his arms.

"At least have the courtesy to use my name if you'll be so accusatory. It is your bitterness that poisons this marriage, Asger. If you tended to your wife as you tend our farm, maybe your seed would grow more than just your own resentment."

Without waiting for his no doubt infuriated response, a poison dart to shoot back at her in attempts to make her feel inadequate, Milena hurried her step toward Jarl Sefi's longhouse. A sanctuary that was far more welcoming than her own.

"Hi Luna," Milena greeted upon entry to the house warmed by a large fire just in front of Sefi's throne. The large black mountain cat lifted her head, padding toward them to greet her own furry white companion. They butted heads in greeting, slinking off together to nap by the hearth. She'd raised them both from kittens, leaving one to Sefi in Freyja's protection during her absences. The large black beast had taken to her right away, named Luna by Sefi for the blessings on their clan, and for safe tides to ensure Milena's return from whatever voyage she'd set sail on.

Sefi smiled, dismissing her Thralls with a gracious nod so she could stand and embrace her friend. Milena knew she appeared troubled. Between her intuitions of what was to come and her errant Husband, she was ready to sail away. The Chieftain wore white robes and silver, white fur of rabbits that complimented her imposingly long, Goddess-like pale blonde hair. Her straight backed authoritative demeanor melted into a maiden's enthusiasm at the sight of Melina, all gold with hair that rivaled Sif's, and eyes of the seas she sailed.

"What is it, Millie?" Sefi always dropped her utterly powerful exterior for her in private, especially when it was so apparent how desperately she needed a sister more than a Jarl. "If Asger is being insufferable again there is always a bed for you here."

"Asger is always being insufferable." She pulled back to acknowledge Sefi's all too blue eyes and rolled her own at the thought of her husband. "A foolish girl's yearning for pretty things grants the woman exactly what she deserves. He is the least of my troubles for now. Would you come with me to visit Ragna? I assume she is here."

"Of course... has something else happened?" Worry furrowed her brow as Sefi guided her through the house toward one of the back chambers where the Seer spent her days in refusal to leave the Jarl's side.

"Just a feeling... I smelled snow on the breeze-" A loud caw interrupted her thought, one of two huge black ravens announcing their entrance to Ragna's room.

"Huginn and Muginn have brought news less fortunate than frost to ruin our crop." Ragna stood by the birds, her finger deftly stroking the feathers of one of her messengers. They were named for Odin's own children, two ravens that brought the news of men to their AllFather. Milena wasn't convinced they weren't Odin's very own, for they always brought them news only Ragna could hear, and it was never wrong.

"I've felt something coming... from the North." Milena stepped toward the perching birds earning another caw. Ragna shifted toward them, hair to match the ravens, braided back and piled away from her face. She often wore heavy robes and sat gazing into a fire no matter the season, and her skin pale from hardly leaving Sefi's house. Ragna was a dark beauty, ethereal and mysterious. No one knew her origin, only that she'd always been there gifting them with wisdom and information. Premonition flashed behind her eyes, shifting from Sefi to her, she nodded exactly once.

"Brave Tyr seeks us from the North. He brings hordes and plans for great upset of our people."

"Tyr? The brave God of War surely doesn't mean to seek us out to harm us. He is a just God, is he not?" Milena raised a brow, eyes searching the room for a map so a location could be pinpointed. Her fears of their settlement becoming discovered seemingly very real.

"The King Killer will not pass through the rocky passage, he will go around the islands, braving far more deadly beasts than he's prepared for. You can cut him off there, before his people even get close." Milena met the Seer's eyes, there was a warning in them as if to say she'd better not let them down. She needed to protect the balance, their people, Sefi' lineage, and the impending threat of Ragnarok.

They'd never raided the North before, ruled by an ambitious Jarl said to be as cold as the lands he came from. A wealthy settlement based only by his brazen gambles, and raids of lands too advanced for many tribes to handle. Many threw their fealty to the Jarl, and those who betrayed him never survived. Their King, residing South of even her settlement favored this Northern Jarl above all others for the riches and protection he offered. That alone made her curious of the treasures he might possess, what wealth could be gained from storming their shores.

It had only been a few years now since he raided a major city in England to the West. Undecided if he was victorious since the English were still thirsty for what they referred to as "Pagan" blood. Milena knew he killed their previous King in Erland's name, unsure why he didn't just take the throne for himself. Perhaps rumors of his silver hair marked him too old for the task, his bold actions those of an old man, desperately seeking his passage to Valhalla.

It was late when Milena finally made her way home, Ragna's words leaving her unsettled and more restless than before. She left Sefi's house to bide the day with her strongest warrior Magnhildr, training and making preparations to set sail within the week. She found Asger bitterly sharpening his knife by the fire aside a cup of mead, one of many if she had to guess. He paused, shifting his eyes before he continued with more vigor at running the blade along the grindstone.

"I hear you're preparing a fleet. This early you'll be sunk by a rogue berg of ice before you even make it to open water."

"Asger... please do not think I don't want to stay, to warm your bed and make our family whole." She leaned tiredly against the doorframe, allowing Arti through to seek the warmth of the fire.

"Then stay." He pleaded, lips tensed into a frown that almost looked sad instead of bitter. He loved her, she knew he did in some way, a thing that ran colder than the waters she was about to set sail on. He'd said too many hurtful words, spurned her for women he thought she was ignorant to, and still with all his passion for her, he somehow managed to make her feel like she was less than. There were still moments like this that Asger gave her hope, but she knew there wasn't time for their marital issues. Someone was coming to cause them harm, and he should have known that she couldn't allow it.

"You know I cannot. Ragna has seen a great threat coming, something even I felt, and I must see to the safety of our people. If I allow it to pass it could ruin us all." With this, he threw aside the stone he'd used to sharpen his blade and part of her expected him to try and turn the blade on her in some poor attempt to save his pride. Milena could snap him like a twig if she wanted, with any item in the house including the flimsy blade he'd presented her at their wedding. It had been endearing once as a young naive maiden, insulting as a warrior meant to give that blade to her Sons. The knife, however, was tossed onto the table they rarely dined on and Milena found herself pressed against the door, drowning in his desperate kisses.

"At what point did you stop being mine? Our enemies seem to have a greater claim on you than I." Asger mumbled against her neck, hands fumbling to remove the light armor and leather she wore. She'd play along, of course, only quickening the dawn with empty pleasures that would leave her with a somehow emptier cradle, so she tore at his clothes in an effort to get it over with.

"Likely the moment you started speaking like I was a sacrificial goat. Which you WILL stop if this is going to go any further." Milena breathed, attempting to hide the utter disdain in her sigh for pleasure.

"If you say so, Wife." His lips caressed her neck in ways that once thrilled her until he began to use those lips for such demeaning, possessive purposes. After all, within the week after her departure, there were at least two other beds she knew he'd be entertaining in her absence.

Asger threw her with passion to their marriage bed, plunging himself into her with little patience for anything outside the ceremony of the act. She prayed as pleasure overcame her torment by the grace of his beauty alone, seeking her favors from Freyja instead of those who offered their blessings over fertility and wedlock. It seemed they did not smile on her, maybe they never did. Asger offered her his own whispered words, sweet with promising devotion because contrary to his behavior she believed he did care for her, possessive and selfish as he was.

She wanted to weep, not from the beauty of the act as he shuttered his first release into her, one of many that night she was certain by the bruising grip he kept on her, but in realization. Words of prayer raced through her mind, words that would haunt Milena in the days to come as her Maidens were gathered with resources for the coming journey. Such hope was slipping between her fingers that her husband's love was for more than her beauty, the power she promised, and protection her status offered. All things he owned like their house and farm were under their wedding contract. Things she realized made her far more ready to sail out into treacherously dangerous waters to face an unknown threat, to seek Valhalla than to spend another night in their bed.

The day they set sail was worse than any before it. Their marital issues long becoming popular gossip amongst the Thralls and merchants, a public affair that brought her shame that Asger fittingly remained shameless about. The whole settlement gathered to bring Milena gifts of fur, food, and good tidings. Families of Shield Maidens embraced and rejoiced their hopes for victory and fortune, but mostly protection.

"Should I count on your return for the Harvest?" Asger asked blandly, making no move to embrace her or wish her well.

"Maybe before, if you pray for a swift and bountiful journey, I'll grace your arms for a time before the raids." His lips tightened as she gazed into his handsome face in search of any source of love or longing.

"I will pray that Magnhildr returns you to me safely, and round with our child. You're a fool to go. You shame us both for this, for walking away when you might be with child." Milena frowned, knowing Mag would watch carefully while she secured sails and helped to load their supplies. Her strongest Shield Maiden would have no kind words to say. In fact, she half expected the broader woman to threaten Asger for his cruel words. She'd nearly killed him twice now, drunk or sober, there was never a friendly word between them.

"You shame us both for your infidelity and empty seed, Farmer. Maybe this, the fight that protects my people and you is the only redemption I have from the shame you bring me. The only glory that washes away the shame of their rumors." Her glare turned deadly, as did his at her acid words bit between clenched teeth. Jarl Sefi had joined the crowd with Ragna and Atla at her side, ready to step in if needed, discouraged by Mag herself when she went to greet them with a subtle shake of her auburn head.

"Farmer? Am I no longer at least your Husband?" They stared a moment in tense silence, Milena tempted to spat words of a decision she'd made those nights ago and resolved to hold her tongue. "Fine, seek Valhalla if you must, you'll get no celebration from me. Excuse me while I go and shame us further." He hadn't noticed the tense grip Milena held on the knife at her side, only releasing it's grip with Magnhildr's fingers gently wrapping around her wrist.

"Save your rage for this Northerner that threatens us." Mag spoke low, her emerald eyes like poison to Asger's retreating back as he pushed his way through the crowd back toward the village. Milena sighed, meeting her dearest friend's concerned stare. "Or it's not too late, I can string him up on the bow to frighten our foes."

"No... I will deal with him when more important matters are settled. Are we in full preparation for whatever lies ahead of us Mag?" The much taller girl nodded, looking fierce, always ready for the fight before it even reached her sights.

"Shouldn't you tell him about the divorce?" Milena snapped her attention to Magnhildr, knowing she should know better than to hide her intentions from a woman blessed by Odin's wrath and favored by his wife Sif.

"When we return, I will end it." She spoke softly, uncaring that Sefi, Ragna, and Atla would hear in their approach to wish them safe travels. Milena shifted her eyes among them, each knowing in their own way. Divorce was never her intention, never a belief she placed much stock in as a Sovereign of the Heart. "Should Valhalla claim me this journey, I would rather him celebrate my departure than mourn a broken heart."

"You're sure." Atla interjected with a gentle hand. A hand that kept their settlement veiled in thick fog and heavy mists at a great perimeter. She could bend the ice and water in both deadly and healing ways, held sway over an ancient protector of their sacred seas. "I will delay clearing the veils of mist and fog for your travels until you've declared your divorce final. There is a little time, and Eir always lends me her merciful touch."

"I thank you Atla," She thought a moment, her path feeling so clear to her as it often did before the thrill of danger. "but lower the mists in a few days time, clear my path to victory. The Gods have long forsaken my marriage to a fool. When I return to you all with a fleet of ships and either the Northern Jarl as my hostage, or his head, I will see to my personal errands. I'll break it off when I return."

"You're a fool." Erland followed Kjaran along the banks of their settlement, frost still sparkled on their grounds in the early morning while his men loaded supplies into fleets of ships both his own, and borrowed.

"Says the King who offered half his fleet for the errand." Kjaran remained distracted, pale eyes shifting along docks to ensure they'd have all they needed. An uncanny ability of his to overplan, and overcompensate.

"I agreed to watch the North in your absence in case you need to send a Raven for help. I did NOT agree for you to drag our best blacksmith, boatsmith, and sailor on this either dangerous or pointless trip." Kjaran stopped, eyeing his King a few inches shorter than himself. Powerful in his own right, Erland met his icy stare with equal conviction in his cobalt eyes. "At least leave Zephyr. Nefir can navigate the stars."

"No. I need Zephyr, he plotted the course he'll need to guide us."

"And if I need to come to your aid?" Erland stopped at the dock, arms folded under a thick cape of black fur, glaring in defiance. There were exactly four men who ever dared speak to the King so casually and often insubordinately. Coincidentally, all of them were closest in the Northern Jarl's council.

Kjaran, only because he actually killed a man to secure Erland's throne and remained loyal beyond expectation for reasons no one knew or understood. Nefir, because he was the most skilled of blacksmiths and the fiercest warrior he'd ever met. Jǫðurr, because his ships were the very best. Able to sail dangerous waters, faster than any others, and because he was a beautiful orphan of no origin and swore fealty without doubt or question to Kjaran. Zephyr was an outsider of course, but his mind sharper than Nefir's blades, he was tactfully reckless and a brilliant sailor. He'd forsaken his own God for their many, willing to follow Kjaran anywhere on a life debt.

"You'll be fine. Zephyr left you a map." He nodded toward Nefir, boarding the largest boat ready to set sail. The air was alive with anticipation, large ax-wielding men ready to meet whatever destiny sprawled over the open waters. Finally, he resigned to his dark haired King, meeting deep blue eyes that merely said 'don't make me tell you I told you so.'

"Well...may the Gods be kind and grant you safe passage, or open their halls to Valhalla for your grand entrance with Valkyries of golden hair. Just don't lose my ships." A boyish, dimpled smile spread to his handsome features, hand clapping on Kjaran's shoulder.

"I will return them personally King Erland. We wouldn't want to cause you to worry for our well being now, would we." The tall, silver haired Jarl shared a brief laugh, anxious himself to sail toward new lands and greet the strange creatures and beings of the Gods, or perhaps he would find nothing at all. Either way he sought better for his people and prayed with a kiss to the rune of Tyr on his sword that his foolish bravery grant them a better place.

"Send a raven at the first sign of trouble and I will come. While I don't believe we should abandon the North completely, I do ask Odin to deliver fertile lands and maybe a more powerful fleet." Erland crossed an arm over his chest in a salute that Kjaran mimicked as Jǫðurr called out from their boat.

"My people, our people, deserve better and I plan to deliver it. I'm not passed shedding blood to do so." He spoke, ignoring his crew who grew rowdy with their restlessness to hit water.

"So I'm aware." Erland replied trying to maintain regality while their crew, and closest friends, made kissy faces among other gestures at the duo still lingering on the dock. "I think the promise of adventure and potential riches has them more worked up than usual."

"Just kiss already! Summer will be here before we set sail at this rate!" Jǫðurr and Nefir were often partners in crime that rivaled the mischief of Loki, one never far from the other. Nefir impatiently watched from the helm while Jǫðurr draped himself over the ornate dragon head of the Jarl's ship, both continuing their antics. Kjaran rolled his eyes at this, shooting a glare behind him that might have iced over the entirety of the port harboring their massive fleet.

"I'll find our King a Queen myself if it means I don't have to watch you two kiss!" Nefir responded with a loud, barking laugh.

"Speaking of spilling blood, I'll do my best to only sacrifice one of the goats if needed, unless you think the Gods would rather have Jǫðurr's pretty blonde head?" They shared an easy laugh, a knowing look before Kjaran's expression resumed its grave stoicism. "I hope to bring Odin pride, my King. By Tyr's fearlessness, I will hope to encounter many wonders, and bring our people better harvest, more land, and safety."

"And despite their idiocy, bring my crew back in one piece?"

"And your ships of course." Kjaran replied, the two partaking in a brotherly embrace before the Northern Jarl jumped to his boat from the dock. It was rare to see elation, excitement in his icy blue eyes or on his otherwise troubled lips. And from shore, their King uttered a prayer to Odin for the Gods to favor his brothers and deliver them a safe return.

May the Gods of Asgard guide your steps toward their gates.

In your journey, may it be safe, and filled with light.

May you find strength from Thor in your darkest hours.

May you find bravery from Tyr in times of trepidation.

May you find wisdom from Odin in times of confusion.

May you find beauty and lasting bonds from Freyja and Freyr.

May your web be spun tightly with that which makes you stronger, happy and wise.

And may the Gods always look upon you with good grace.