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𝐶𝐻𝐴𝑃𝑇𝐸𝑅 𝑇𝐻𝐼𝑅𝑇𝑌 𝐹𝑂𝑈𝑅
ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴀɢɢᴇᴅ sʜᴏʀᴇs ᴏғ ᴘᴀʀɪs

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The dark waters tossed the boat back and forth, playing with the strong wind that whipped through the air. But the seafaring Vikings were too experienced to waver, their muscular bodies planted to the wooden floor like a tree with its roots. It was quiet, except the howl of the gale through the thick sail, beating the red material around the mast, and the sound of men's pants as the oars pushed against the current.

At the front of the very first boat, sat Ragnar, and in spite of the journey, he sat backwards, facing toward Floki, who stared back at him with equal strength. From beside Bjorn, Merida watched them carefully. There was nothing more temperamental than a grieving man, apart from perhaps the angry. But Ragnar had been stuck in his mournful state since Athelstan had been found murdered in his home, and Ragnar's grief was not shown as that of a normal man. He hid it well, with a piercing stare worthy of any intimidating leader and a shout as powerful as it could be.

It had never occurred to Merida that she should have been scared. Fear, after Athelstan's death, had not visited her. She was as much of a foreigner to the people of Kattegat as the English priest had been, no matter how much she often forgot the fact.

"Lord Ragnar."

As with the King, Merida's attention was pulled to the front of the boat, passed the prow, and to the great, tall city that lay close in the jagged horizon. It was here, as the towering walls drew closer, warning them away, that the bulk of the ships departed the fleet, angling their direction to the shallow shores where a camp would be made.

Ragnar stood at the prow, arm resting against the wooden serpent head, eyes cast upon the sight as if it was a toy. Rollo's ship came up beside him, skimming close to the wall. He too stood, glaring up upon the mottle tops, the squares of stone appearing to hide something. Metal heads emerged swiftly from behind, holding their bows sideways, moving to aim.

"Raise shields!"

Their strange, foreign bows were released, shooting forward with speed like lightning as if their arms were made of iron. The arrows disappeared into the choppy waves a metre out, and Merida realised that though their sidewards bows were forceful, they could not reach the distance that her own arrows could.

"Cover me," she said as she reached to pull the bow from where it was strapped to her back. Bjorn pulled her down by the shoulder before she could even make it above his shield.

"No. Get down," he said, pushing her head further toward the floor where she would be safer.

Merida placed her eye to the gap in the shield wall. "I can see their hearts from here. I could pierce three by the time we're turning."

"What good would that do if you're shot in return?"

She didn't argue. She hadn't argued with him in weeks. The thought of her prophecies delivered by the Seer's lips bothered her each day. As did the memory of Bjorn's lips against hers. They hadn't talked about it. But still, she would not argue.

Spelks of wood stabbed her hands as she leaned back against the floor, pushed against the warriors with shields who surrounded her at each side. The sound of the enemy's sharp arrows quietened, the splashes as they hit the water disappearing. She thought again of the strange bows- not even her father would have seen such a weapon.

The two boats docked, stopping with a thump only a few metres from where the camp was already beginning to show, the tents popping up against the trees around the clearing and fireplaces being made between them. One larger cover had been placed in the centre, similar to Kattegat's layout where the main hall was the heart. She wondered where Floki's far off camp had been made in relation- no doubt it was up in the trees, fantastical and obscure while being out of the way.

Lagertha led them toward the tent, her pale hair stark against the dulled backdrop. The muted greys and blues and greens of the Frankish landscape reminded Merida faintly of what little she knew of England. Dunbroch, in comparison, was more vibrant with miles covered in dense forests filled with every emerald shade of green one could imagine. At least Kattegat was different, sparse and cold, but with the beauty of harsh, fresh snow, more majestic than this blankness.

Though the landscape bore nothing that could impress, it was the manmade city that was fascinating. Even as Merida found her seat around the large meeting table, she could see the imposing walls from which the terrible arrows had rained down. On the boats, Merida had heard faintly of the plans they'd made and would now discuss. They would attack relentlessly as the Vikings knew how to do, scrounging up some inkling of coordination in their fronts. But Merida did not hold the burning sureness of victory that she usually did. The fortress of Paris felt invincible from her modest eyes.

"King Ragnar, we have reached Paris. Now... Now we all want to know-"

"Ah, ah. The King, my oldest friend, has asked me to take command," Floki interrupted, his eyes wide, wild and shining with a gloss given to a child who'd taken praise. He basked in Ragnar's attention and in return, the man watched him carefully as if he was a bear let out of its cage. "So how do we best attack the city?"

"Some of us have taken a closer look at the city from further up the bank. And we suggest a plan. To mount simultaneous attacks from both the water and from the land."

Lagertha nodded with an air of regality. "I will lead an assault on the tower and the gates of the city."

"We will attack the gates together."

"I said I would lead the assault," she snapped at Kalf, her eyes narrowing on him with a cold stare.

He seemed to compose himself before speaking. "We may need the tools Erlendur made."

"I will make that decision if and when we need to make it."

"I trust Earl Kalf to make it," Erlendur said, his chin raised in defiance.

"I don't think you were listening."

The men shared a brief look and remained silent. Merida did not like Ragnar's expression, and neither did Lagertha.

"At the same time as the attack at the gates, there will also be a river-borne attack. The ships will be filled with warriors and means of scaling we will beach beneath the walls. We will climb up and gain entry to the city that way as well," Bjorn explained quickly, leaving no room to be interrupted.

"In which case, Floki you will be responsible for constructing whatever it is we need to scale these walls."

"Oh, don't you worry about me, Rollo. I will make something truly astonishing. Just wait and see," Floki said as he grinned. "All those who agree with the plan, say aye."

Mumbled sounds of agreement tumbled around the room. There was a moment of pause before Lagertha stood abruptly, being the first to stride away from the tent, toward the water. Merida moved next, heading toward the trees, feeling Bjorn's presence behind her. He followed her all the way to the tree line and it was only then, as they passed through the field of low laying branches, that she turned.

"Why are you following me, Bjorn?"

He tried to suppress a cheeky grin. "Am I not allowed to want to see you?"

"You always want something else."

She rolled her eyes and chose to keep moving, twisting through the trees, picking up dry logs. Bjorn cut in front of her, aiming to make her stop, but Merida sidestepped him and kept going.

"That is not true," Bjorn said as he tossed something between his hands. "Like what?"

It was Merida's turn to smirk as she angled her head away. "Like a kiss."

"And you didn't want a kiss?"

"That's beside the point."

His arms were around her waist seconds later. She let out a laugh, hands flying to steady herself, gripping onto his wrists. Bjorn spun her around and kissed her. It was a familiar sort of kiss, the kind that told her he'd been waiting for it. Merida leaned into it, and then pulled away again, grinning teasingly. Did he think he had free reign on her now?

"I have something for you," he said eventually, holding out his fist.

"What is it?"

Merida unfurled his fingers gently and took the item from his hand. It was a small wooden statue, barely the size of her palm. She recognised it as she ran her fingers across the notches. A bear- just like the one on top of her bow and just like the one that reminded her of her father. Bjorn had done this for her.

"I carved it."

"I didn't know you could do this," she breathed, clutching it tightly in her hands.

Bjorn pulled out a string and looped it through a hole. "I thought you could wear it around your neck."

"Thank you, Bjorn," she said as he tied it. "Really. Thank you."

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