(Y/n) looked over at her sleeping mother. Lagertha had returned to the great hall as soon as she had been informed that her daughter was awake. The shieldmaiden escorting her child back to her room where they had sat and talked, holding one another until sleep had finally come to claim the older woman. (Y/n) making her way over to a chair that was sat next to the warm fire, not wanting to disturb her mother's rest.

It had been difficult for (Y/n) at first, not only because her mother had told her that she wanted to see her, to look upon her face. Lagertha reminding (Y/n) that she and Helga had already seen the worst of her scars when they had undressed and cleaned her. That they had seen the scar that had been cut from her hairline to the corner of her lip; but because she had become accustomed to this much attention, meaning that she was going to be made to suffer. It strange to be back in the arms, in the care of the woman that had born her and her twin. To not have to worry that at any moment, the sting of the lash might be felt across her back.

Slowly and quietly, she got to her feet. (Y/n) knew that there was no point in her trying to sleep. Over the years, she had become accustomed to surviving off as little sleep as possible. Never knowing when her captures would come for her next; never knowing when her drunk uncle would call for her; (Y/n) having quickly learnt that not being awake when the Duke of Normandy demanded, meant bones being broken. So, she had decided to go for as walk, as best she could, to the one place that she was sure would still be where it had been, when she had sailed from Kattegat, all those years before. (Y/n) reaching for her dark cloak and pulling it around her shoulders, securing the hood over her face, before quietly leaving the room and making her way to the outside.

                                                              >>--------------------------------<<

Kattegat was quiet. Barely a sound to be heard, as she made her way, as quickly as she could, to the place where the disfigured old man lived. She could recall her father bringing her and Björn to the seer years ago. Her brother complaining that he was tired as they made their way through the still bustling dark streets. Ragnar telling Björn that they were going to talk to the gods, and that it was what we do, as he had grabbed his son by the arm and pulled him along. Her father smiling down at her as she clung close to his side; not a complaint leaving her lips, as the notion of being able to speak to the allfather to Freyja, to Thor, excited her more than she could say. The pleasant memory of her father when he had been in his prime, when he had been so beautiful, making her smile; yet that smile quickly fell when she realised that she was stood before the seer's home. The strings of bones still hanging over the entrance.

"Come inside, daughter of Ragnar. I have been waiting for you." A voice called out. The breath catching in her throat, at the sound of the seer. (Y/n) pulling her cloak a little tighter around her, before she pushed her way through the bones, and took a seat in one of the chairs.

"The gods smile on you, (Y/n) Ragnarsdóttir.........."

"Smile on me? If I have been smiled on, I do not wish to think about what would have happened to me, if the gods hated me. Their good favour has made me almost as ugly as you are, old man........." (Y/n) growled, as she pulled the hood from her head. The light of the fire in the room, catching in the paleness of her unseeing eye.

"You are alive, are you not? The gods made you strong, filled you with an anger, with a passion that others could only ever dream to possess. You have a purpose Ragnarsdóttir..........."

"Purpose? What purpose? I had a purpose years ago, before I was held and tortured by my uncle and the Franks. To stand by my father's side, my brother's side and fight for our people, our way of life. To return to my little brothers and help turn them into great Vikings that my father, that the allfather could be proud of. Yet now, I am nothing. A shell of the woman that I was..........."

"You were always meant for more than just standing by Ragnar's side. You had to be torn down so that you could be recreated and recreated you have been. You are the vessel of Víðarr and Váli. You are vengeance, retribution. All those that have hurt you, who have hurt the ones you love, will fall under the gaze of your pale eye............You, the last thing that they will see......."

"And how am I supposed to do that? I can barely walk, never mind wield a sword or bow to fight.........."

"Throw the leaves onto the fire, child. Let the gods themselves show you......." The seer ordered, as he pointed towards the flames. (Y/n) slowly rising to her feet and taking the hand the old man held out. Her tongue slowly licking his palm before she made her way to the fire. The dried leaves, that had been waiting, thrown into the fire. Her heart beating faster, as the pale eyed raven flew into the room and took a seat on her shoulder. As image of the gods, of Víðarr and Váli coming to her; embracing her, filled her mind. Her doubt, her weakness leaving her, as she saw what she was to do. How she would have revenge, not just for herself, but for her father. (Y/n) reaching out a hand as the gods offered her a gift.

                                                             >>--------------------------------<<

Lagertha woke. The famed shieldmaiden quickly sitting up as she realised that her daughter was not with her on the bed. Her eyes widening in disbelief, as she saw (Y/n) sat on a chair, by the now dead fire; carefully stroking the feathers of a half blind raven.

"(Y/n)........?" Lagertha said quietly. A gasp leaving her lips, as her daughter turned to look at her. The marred side of her face now covered by a perfectly crafted silver mask; the only thing left revealed.........her unseeing eye.