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While thoughts of the Seer's prophecies were hard to shake, the business of Kattegat helped to keep her mind from it all. The main hall was crowded as it usually was, filled with the gruff shouts and laughter of women. The children danced around the fire pits, dodging around wooden pillars and drunken men as they played chase.

Merida beamed as Bjorn's brothers ran up to where she sat next to him. Their hands were outstretched, pushing him backwards.

"Stop. I don't want to fight you!" Bjorn shouted playfully, casting his drink aside.

He grabbed Ubbe's hands, pushing them together so he could not fight. Behind him, Hvitzerk scurried, jumping up to hang around Merida's neck.

"I think little Ubbe could beat you any day, Bjorn," she said with a laugh, scooping his younger brother up and placing him down again.

"Is that right?"

Before either Bjorn or Ubbe could retaliate, Ragnar shouted out from atop his throne.

"Quiet. Quiet. I have made up my mind," he said, watching as the room eventually settled, creating a natural circle around him. "And this year, we shall attack Paris."

A murmur rippled through them.

"Paris?" Rollo stood, casting his arms out in questioning. "What is Paris?"

"That is a good question brother," Ragnar said, a smirk spreading on his face. "Paris is a city in the country of Frankia."

"Why haven't you told us all about this before?"

"Because I'm telling you now," he shouted. "I understand that this will not be easy. By all accounts, Paris is a huge, walled, well-protected city this is something that our people have never attempted before. But I have begun to think and dream of it. Athelstan. Come, come. Athelstan has been to Paris. And the wanderer who first told me about England, he too told me about this city."

Merida had heard the name of Paris uttered only once in her life, by the elder in the woods, an ageless woman who travelled down to the castle only once when Merida was a young girl. There had been majestic words or amazement shared, only a fleeting comment, mingled amongst prophecies of events that had already passed, one of which had been the loss of the Bear King's leg. She wondered if it could possibly be the same city, but if Paris truly was as incredible as what Ragnar believed, then surely the elder would have foretold?

"We must find him. For it is good to travel with hope and with courage. But it is still greater to travel with knowledge," Ragnar said as a quiet hum rippled through the crowd.

Even with two months left with much preparation still in need of being done, the people of Kattegat had struggled to contain their anticipation. The prospect of new kinds of riches and far off lands had been promised once before, met with speculation and doubt. But the great Ragnar Lothbrok had delivered once before, and they had faith in him to do it again.

If Ragnar was put off by their blind hope he, of course, didn't show it. If anything he was ecstatic by their involvement, calling in friends from villages with names Merida hadn't yet heard, nor could she pronounce. He held councils each week, huddled around a blazing fire, fuelled by horns of drink and plenty of shouting. Bjorn attended each, ears begging to hear his ideas, mouth moving to input ideas at each point.

They had no idea what to expect, and yet they carried on as if they were Gods themselves, able to conquer worlds and bathe in immense wealth. All except Floki, his heart was not in it.

"I am worried about Floki," Merida said as Bjorn stepped to her side, hiding behind a tree, away from where Ubbe and his brothers still searched for them. "He has been distant, fanatic. I do not think he trusts in the interests of us all."

"Floki will be Floki," Bjorn said, lowering his voice and tucking in closer as Ubbe's voice became louder and closer. His hand landed to the side of her head as he paused and glanced around. "He loves the Gods more than anyone. Athelstan's Christianity... bothers him."

"I think it more than bothers him. I'm still worried. Helga is too," Merida said.

"You speak to Helga often?"

"When I can. She is my friend," she said, a smile softening her face. "It is hard when she lives out of Kattegat."

Bjorn nodded. "I think Floki is returning back to her."

"Ahhhh!" Ubbe's scream interrupted them as he came crashing through the brush, a stick raised above his head like a battle axe.

Merida caught the tip of the stick in her hand, sliding out from below Bjorn, pushing back against Ubbe's strength.

"We win!" Sigurd shouted, stumbling out with Hvitzerk close behind.

"I'm bored! I want to do something else!" Ubbe demanded, but soon he was flushing, shrinking away at Merida's stern stare.

"You're acting like a baby, Ubbe," she said, knowing how much he hated when she called out the likeness of his actions. "I have an idea of what we can do. Follow me."

Bjorn raised a brow but followed at the end of the group, pushing his young brothers forward when they dropped behind. Merida showed them through the woods, stopping by the edge, where Bjorn had once found her carving wood.

"What are we doing?"

"I have a present for the children," Merida said.

She knelt, rolling over a hollow log and extended her hand inside, pulling out with her a ragged piece of cloth. Unfurling it, Merida withdrew two bows, one small, and one long and finely carved. She handed the smallest to Ubbe.

"This is for you boys to share," she said, watching proudly as their little faces brightened as they crowded around the weapon, kneeling beside her. "This bow is to be treated like another brother."

"You know," she began, not glancing to Bjorn. "In my family, a bow is believed to be sacred to the best of warriors, used only by those unmatched in battle. To have it and use it well, you must have good intentions. Be darkened by hate, and the bowstring will break as you take your winning shot. My father told me that. He gave me my first bow, carved by himself, just as I give this bow to you three."

"Is it true?" Hvitzerk asked, eyes wide as he drew them away from the bow.

"Very. My grandfather was killed that way. A sword in the heart because he could not take the shot."

She drew away, letting Ragnar's sons admire her work as she moved to her own, which was already held delicately in Bjorn's hands.

"It is incredible," he said.

Merida smiled, watching as he ran his hands across the smoothed wood, all the way to the detailed carving at the very top. It was a small depiction of a bear, to honour her father.

"I never did show you my tricks for being as good as I am," she said, moving the bow in his hand so he held it up, slipping in an arrow from her small bundle. "Now feels like a good time."

To her surprise, Bjorn let her move him. Her hands wrapped around his, fingers smoothing over the calloused, battle-worn ripples of his palms as guided him to pull the string back.

"To your anchor point. Yes, there," she instructed, skipping around him so she was firmly by her side, chest pressed against his arm. He was too tall for her to stand any further away. "Notice the dip in the land? The wind moves along this channel. It will all affect the shot. You want to aim further from the wind at an angle that will carry toward your target."

Bjorn moved his aim slightly.

"Further. Use the alignment of the fletching and the arrowhead together, not just the head." He moved it again. "There, that's it."

"You've been holding it for a while. Drop the stretch and then draw back again and shoot."

Bjorn did as she instructed, and drew back the bowstring, swiftly letting go, letting his shot fly toward the target.

"Not bad. You could use some work though."

Bjorn rose a brow. "Not bad?"

She smiled, feeling her stomach take an annoying dip. "Take it as a compliment."

His eyes were on hers, holding the look so long that for once Merida felt as if she had to look away. To the side, Bjorn's brothers were trying out their own bow, using a thin stick as an arrow. As Merida started forward, Hvitzerk turned, a devilish smile taking over his face. She stopped dead, already seeing his devious intentions despite the talk she had given them not too long before.

"Hvitzerk!"

She hurried backwards, almost tripping over her heels as she decided to play his game, running away, taking Bjorn with her by holding his hand. Her palm wrapped around his, dragging him with her despite his angry protests toward his brothers.

"Let them be children, Bjorn!" She shouted, laughing at his exasperated face.

They had somehow lost the boys, who now played hunters, stalking between the trees silently and slowly as if any sudden noise would make their elder prey bolt. Merida kept running, feeling the heavy wind whip against her face, scratching her skin like sand. It felt as if she was with Angus again, flying through the plains toward the glen or the firefalls. Crippling homesickness washed over her, and Merida's hand gripped tighter to Bjorn's

With a clip to her feet, her leg burning from the old wound, Merida went stumbling forward, hand ripping from Bjorn's anticipating al fall that wouldn't come. Bjorn threw the momentum of her fall sideways, pushing her against a tree so she could fall no further. Merida's eyes were clenched shut, her chest heaving, out of breath both from the fall and the running. She glanced up at him slowly, cathing back her breath as he watched her whole face, seeing the slight twitch of her nose, the relentless hunch of her light eyebrows.

"You saved me again," she said quietly, only just noticing her hands that rested against his broad chest.

"I think that makes us even," Bjorn said.

Before she could slide away, before she even knew what he was thinking, Bjorn leaned in and kissed her.

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