^^ Hafnein ^^

I observed the ice, pressing a hand to the water gently. It cracked, and I grinned. "Perfect. Almost perfect to sail normally, but with the Thorburn... yes. Hansen?" I asked.

He grinned back scarily. "Time to hunt some christians, I say. I have a trade voyage planned after this, so I'll sell the slaves along the way, and bring back the best and the money's for the Jarl." He tightened a rope with a stubborn finality, and I smiled.

"Then off a-Viking we go, on the morrow. Tell your men." I stood, and jogged down the dock towards Andy's hall. I busted through the doors, and laughed. "Everyone! The ice is thawing! We leave tomorrow!" I proclaimed ecstatically.

They cheered as one, and I noticed Magna clutch her side, before assuring us she was fine, even though we saw the sweat upon her brow. Nadia took her into their bed to rest, and I sat with the men, smiling.

Andy sat in my lap, and smirked. "So. Last night on solid land, is that it?"

I gripped her hips. "That it is..."

"Then I'll be sleeping in my own skin, I think..." she smiled, and slowly strode up into the loft, before stripping and lazily dropping her pants on the thin stairs. I just laughed and left them there, striding up to the loft, then stripping quickly.

---

"Cast off, Hansen! Warm the Thorburn!" I shouted over the sound of cracking ice, and turned the tiller gently to compensate for the offset of the ice on the hull.

Hansen had helped me add thin strips of metal to the sides of the ship to prevent the wood from grinding against the ice as we cut through it, so at least that wasn't a problem.

We cast off, and I rechecked the lines for the sails, mentally running a checklist of all the things that were necessary.

Once that was done, I gave the command, and we unfurled the mains, letting the northwesterly wind pull us out of the cove expeditiously.

Andy suddenly seemed oddly still, staring at the mast with a blank look in her eyes, and I touched her shoulder. She jumped slightly, and looked at me, not relaxing for once. "What's wrong?" I asked.

She shook her head slowly. "Nothing."

I looked at her critically, and sighed. "You're afraid of the ocean." I said simply.

She blinked, incredulous. "The ocean? What? No. I was thinking about marriage." She seemed sincerely amused by my assumption.

"Marriage?" I asked, confused.

"Yes... I've never considered it... I mean, Nadia and Magna aren't married, but they've been together for almost 15 years now... It feels odd, you know? To change my life so suddenly." She hummed.

"You've had three months to adjust." I grinned.

She laughed. "True. Very true. And having a child that the gods plant inside me? Odd. The idea is... very odd." She shivered.

I smiled and kissed her nose. "Such it is. As it has always been, when the Gods decide to tamper with our lives."

"True." She nodded. Then she smiled. "I hope he looks like you. My mother and I are beautiful, but we are children of Tyr. We will always have fangs and claws and a hatred for enclosure... we are born hunters. Thor? Your kin are born craftsman, rulers. If our son is to rule, I'd like him to be a son of Thor."

I hummed. "I suppose that makes sense... but the Gods never said we'd only have one. Maybe they will bless your womb many times. Who knows?" I grinned.

Her cheeks turned green. "Oh... right... that's... hmm..."

"You don't like that idea?" I raised an eyebrow.

"Having children at all is petrifying... but multiple?!?" She shivered. "Terrifying."

I laughed loudly, along with several others. "Children aren't scary, my love. You'll see. Maybe I'll show you my little brothers, hmm? They are very young, and triplets. Now that's a nightmare." I shuddered.

She smiled. "I'm sure they're adorable."

I huffed. "You say that now... humph."

She smiled wider. "I'll say it still when I meet them, I know it."

---

I leaned against the Stern, watching the icy sea around us, and smiled. "You know what I feel like? Poetry. Lostway, speak some poetry, hmm? Something about the sea..."

He smiled and leaned his head back, eyes closed, before singing in his rhythmic voice. "CRASHING waves... SMASHING seas...
Bringing sailors to their knees.
As they struggle to save their lives,
Hoping and praying help arrives.

The stormy seas as dark as coal,
Preventing the sailors from reaching their goal.
Battered and bruised, but still they fight...
Staring ahead into the dead of night.
Rocking and rolling as they try to stand...
Hoping against hope that they soon reach land.

Bleary eyed from lack of sleep.
Down in their cabins, huddled like sheep.
As they're rocking and rolling down beneath,
Weary sailors above resist with gritted teeth.

Hours later, as the storm starts to dissipate,
It leaves a calm tranquil sea in it wake.
The veteran sailors know the battle is over and they have won...
As they contemplate other storms yet to come..."

I sighed. "Well done, Lostway.... hmmm. Poetry. Most Vikings think it useless, or only for Skalds, but I think differently. I think poetry is the pinnacle of War. If you can capture a battle in words, men can repeat them, and sing of your ascent to Valhalla for the rest of Time. But if your ascent isn't sung, what will you do? You cannot go back and do better, hope some lonely Skald starts singing of you. Bah. Better to speak or sing it before then." I said dismissively.

Andy smirked. "True... but I prefer to be unsung, while I live. I want my enemies to never know who I am. To underestimate me until I'm right in front of them, my sword in their bellies and my axe in their skulls. I want my enemies to only fear me for the deeds they witness, not what they hear."

I laughed. "Ooh? Well you're suddenly chatty. Try us a poem, then."

She hummed, and shrugged. "Alright... Here, then...

Leave the lovely words unsaid;
For another thought is fled
From my dream-entangled mind.
Bird of passion, unenshrined,
I can never phrase thee quite—
So I speed thee on thy flight,
Unembodied thus forever,
Floating in a mist that never
May be raised. Thou art one
Of the black-winged birds that run,
With uncomprehended night,
Unimpeded down the night."

(Rollo Britten, Bird of Passion)

I shivered. "Very very nice... I think more simply...

Up onto the overturned keel.
Clamber, with a heart of steel.
Cold is the ocean's spray...
and your death is on its way.
With maidens you have had your way...
Each must die some day."

(Rollo Lothbrok, Warcry)

She clapped politely, and I laughed again as the other sailors followed suit sarcastically. "I can't take credit. That is a poem by Ragnar Lothbrok's Brother. Rollo." I nodded.

They quieted, enraged at the thought of the Traitor. "He wrote good poetry, though." I shrugged.

---

I looked out over the sea, gently crashing into our prow.

"Lo! Death has reared himself a throne
In a strange city lying alone
Far down within the dim West,
Where the good and the bad and the worst and the best
Have gone to their eternal rest.
There shrines and palaces and towers
(Time-eaten towers that tremble not!)
Resemble nothing that is ours.
Around, by lifting winds forgot,
Resignedly beneath the sky
The melancholy waters he.

No rays from the holy heaven come down
On the long night-time of that town;
But light from out the lurid sea
Streams up the turrets silently-
Gleams up the pinnacles far and free-
Up domes- up spires- up kingly halls-
Up fanes- up Babylon-like walls-
Up shadowy long-forgotten bowers
Of sculptured ivy and stone flowers-
Up many and many a marvellous shrine
Whose wreathed friezes intertwine
The viol, the violet, and the vine.
Resignedly beneath the sky
The melancholy waters lie.
So blend the turrets and shadows there
That all seem pendulous in air,
While from a proud tower in the town
Death looks gigantically down.

There open fanes and gaping graves
Yawn level with the luminous waves;
But not the riches there that lie
In each idol's diamond eye-
Not the gaily-jewelled dead
Tempt the waters from their bed;
For no ripples curl, alas!
Along that wilderness of glass-
No swellings tell that winds may be
Upon some far-off happier sea-
No heavings hint that winds have been
On seas less hideously serene.

But lo, a stir is in the air!
The wave- there is a movement there!
As if the towers had thrust aside,
In slightly sinking, the dull tide-
As if their tops had feebly given
A void within the filmy Heaven.
The waves have now a redder glow-
The hours are breathing faint and low-
And when, amid no earthly moans,
Down, down that town shall settle hence,
Hell, rising from a thousand thrones,
Shall do it reverence."

((Edgar Allan Poe, The City In The Sea))

Andy kissed my neck. "Beautiful, but a bit melancholic for my tastes. Too brooding."

"It's about Paris. The City of Glass." I hummed. "The Poet was Saxon. English. But he captured it perfectly. For the Vikings, Death itself Sits, enshrined, in París."

She smiled and hugged me. "Stop brooding. Your squint is adorable, but you need to focus. We're rounding England now. Soon we'll come upon the Isle of Mann. Let us be focused when we make land. I have a plan to take the Monastery without wasting time on the walls and such. I can make them open the Gates."

I flinched and turned to her. "How?"

"The Priest and I approach, and I say I am a sailor, looking to bring a lost Priest Home, and they open the Gates. If they realize who I am, then I will simply say that there are sixty strong Viking warriors waiting, surrounding the Monastery. If they don't want bloodshed, they'll simply surrender, and we will sell them. Or, The Ghoul will sell them." She grinned.

I raised an eyebrow. "I suppose that could work. Or I could simply break the gate down. But surely, we need the element of surprise... we will take as many slaves as possible, but those that resist will die."

She sighed. "I know."

I smiled and kissed her sweetly. "You are kind, but we are Viking. Own the blood in your veins, woman. Own it, and we will take the biggest victory against Christianity since we desecrated the Temples of Paris!"

My sailors roared in approval, and I kissed my lovers nose. "Are you ready? You may stay on the ship, if the idea gives you no pleasure. I can bring Father Marcus to you."

She shook her head determinedly. "No. I will honor my Father."

"Ahh. Yes. I'm sure Tyr is with us." I nodded.

"No. Tyr is my Grandfather. My Father was Magnus Eisen-Blut." She hissed proudly.

I blinked in shock and stepped back. "Seriously? The Giant Slayer? No wonder you're so..." I lost the words, in awe.

She grinned. "Amazing?"

"Arrogant, more like." I said dryly.

She laughed. "Magnus will be proud of me this day. I cannot slay a Giant, as he's killed the last of the Mortal ones, but a heap of christians should satisfy him."

I laughed again. "I'm sure it will. Well, get ready, Boys. We make land shortly! Sharpen your axes and blades, eat your meals. This is what we've been waiting for all winter!!"

They cheered, and I grinned. "I've been waiting for this..." I muttered, drawing my axe and setting a whet stone against it, mindlessly sharpening it as Andy draped herself over me, placing feather-light kisses on my face and neck randomly.

I turned and caught her lips, surprising her, and chuckled. "You're adorable. Go sharpen your axe, lover mine."

She smirked. "I have a better idea."

She picked up a grappling hook, and twirled it expertly, launching it at Hansen's ship, successfully grappling a thick rail. Then she dove into the cold ocean, and I gasped, growling at her when she reappeared on the other side of the line, climbing into the ship.

"I don't know whether to be impressed or pissed off anymore." I growled.

Lostway nodded. "I decided a long time ago to simply be amused. Easier that way."