Hálfdan wiped the sweat, blood and mud from his face. Yet another battle had been won. Yet another king had fallen to his brother. Harald getting closer and closer to his goal of being the king of all Norway. And this time, the success was in no small part due to his woman. (Y/n) having been one of the first to race into the fray. The sight of the bear warrior causing some to turn tail and run before the first swords had clashed. Those that had stayed, cut down by her blades, as she let out a blood curdling roar. Hálfdan sure that he had never seen another woman, or man, fight with sure ease, such grace. Never seen another look so at home in the chaos that was battle, that was war; in the blood and screaming of dying men and women. It as if she had been made to do this. As if she had been born to just this purpose. Never more at home, than when surrounded by death and the dying.

Their arrival at Tamdrup, after the defeat of Svein, had been some time ago now; Hálfdan and his bear warrior, growing inseparable, with the more time that they spent together. The pale haired warrior sure though, that there was something more to the woman that slept next to him in his bed every night, than met the eye. Her presence, and that of her ravens whom (Y/n) called Vísdómr, wisdom; and Kunnusta, knowledge, seeming to bring with them the fortunes of Odin. And even those that had been the loudest at protesting when the female berserker had been permitted to live, had been brought back to Tamdrup and allowed to live as a free woman; were now the loudest at singing her praises. Speaking of her as if she were an old friend; as if they had fought and grown with her, all their lives.

Furrowing his brow, Hálfdan cast his eyes over the wider scene. Watching as those that he knew and fought with, looked over the twisted bodies of the fallen, for those that they called friend, or family. All hoping that the valiant dead would be visited by the Valkyrie. That they would be chosen to feast with the gods in Valhalla. (Y/n) had been close to himself and his brother for most of the battle; yet as the cheer of victory had filled the air, she seemed to have vanished. Though to where..........then suddenly, there was a glint in the near distance. A bright flash that couldn't help but catch the youngest son of Hálfdan the Elder's eye. The feared warrior's heart beating at a pace; faster than it had when the battle raged all around him, and the blows from enemy swords and axes tried to end his life, as he realised that the flash had come from a brilliant metal helmet and shield. A helmet and shield that were being worn by the woman that he wanted to make his wife. Hálfdan dropping to his knees in the blood and guts, as he continued to watch the scene.

He knew it was her, there was no doubting it. Despite the fact that she looked different to how she had been when they had begun the fight; her simple leather armour and bear skin replaced by a golden helmet, bright armour and shimmering shield, he knew that body well enough by now; he knew by the way that she held herself, that it was his woman. The breath catching in his throat, as Hálfdan watched on in disbelief; (Y/n) holding out her hand to one that lay dead on a mound of the fallen. A ghostly, ethereal, smoke like hand reaching out of the dead body, placing its palm into that of the female berserkers, before a whole form was pulled from the group. Hálfdan unable to speak, as he watched her and the spirit be joined by others; many of whom he recognised as those he fought with. Others, whom he had even killed himself...............

"Brother............" A voice came from behind him. Hálfdan turning to see Harald looking at him, with some concern.

"Are you hurt...............?"

"Did.......did you not see it.............?" Hálfdan replied, as he turned to look back to where he had seen the strange scene unfold; not sure whether he should believe his own eyes. Not sure whether he was losing his mind.

"See what.............?"

"(Y/n) she was.............she is.............."

"She is here.............." Another voice came. Both brothers turning to see the smiling bear warrior making her way over to them. Hálfdan looking between where he was sure that he had seen her with the fallen, and to where she was now, stood over him, offering him her hand as he had seen her do only moments before to the corpse that had been atop the pile of the dead.

"But you were.............I saw you. The spirits.................."

"The fever of battle can make you see many things, Hálfdan. It can cloud your mind, and you will think that you have seen images that no living being, should see. Believe me, I have seen it myself. But what is real, is that the battle is over, and you are victorious. The men and women that follow you and your brother are waiting for you. All you have to do is take my hand and we can join them in celebration." The bear warrior interrupted, pushing her hand forward. Harald joining, as they waited for his brother to reach out. Hálfdan releasing his grip on his shield; the wooden guard dropping into the thick mud beneath his knees, with an unpleasant squelching sound. Still hesitating, he clenched his hand, wondering if he were to place his palm in that of his woman's, he might find himself no more of this world. Yet as she smiled at him, giving him a look that only his woman could give him; the look that told him that even if it meant his death, as long as she was with him, it would be worth it, Hálfdan reached out his hand and carefully took hers. (Y/n) helping him to his feet, before Harald embraced his brother; the two men making their way to join the others, with the female berserker close behind.