"You had this expression on your face like you weren't quite sure you were supposed to be on Earth."

chapter I, act I ✧ 𝒓𝒆𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒉𝒐𝒎𝒆

eyes widened.

The honey-green specks sparkling in... wonder?

Everyone moved out of his way, just as a parting sea.

She too suddenly lost grip on the knife she yearned to buy.

Her feet seemed to have a mind of their own as she ambled towards the very center of all confusion.

Her lips contorted into a wild grin, her canines shinning white at the edges of her smile. Her eyes scanned his face; he hadn't changed since she last saw him, hugging himself defeated at the edge of the escape boat.

Nero breathed out in relief; the weight of the world dropping off her shoulders.

Midgard's greatest king, Midgard's greatest warrior, stood right in front of her. For a second all her doubts were gone and she knew for a fact that he was truly Odinsson.

"King Ragnar!" without waiting any further, the girl jumped on him, lacing her arms around his neck; his unkempt beard scratching the sides of her face.

The king stood awkwardly in the embrace, but as soon as his mind caught on to her act, he began laughing, laughing, and laughing and thanking his newfound God for the opportunity to see the small warrior.

The people of Kattegat squirmed for the wolf. They spoke quietly amongst themselves: doesn't she know of his treason? Doesn't she know of all he has done? Naive girl! Naive girl!

Nero stood back, but her hands were still cautiously placed on her king's shoulders. She wasn't naive. She knew of all that had been done, naivety to her would be to not acknowledge all Ragnar had done for Kattegat. All Ragnar had given to Kattegat.

He gave her a lopsided smile; it was too easy to distinguish her from the women in town, "Hello, wolf."

Her own smile dropped, noticing the dullness in his eyes. Dullness that wasn't present before Paris, "Ragnar, my king, how are you holding up?"

Her hands crawled up to his sunburnt face, she sighed, holding his cheeks, "You seem.... out of yourself... out of your mind."

"Let us pass! Move!" his chance to reply was cut short when, from amidst the heavy crowd that encircled the duo, Ubbe came, his brothers following suit.

The five men stared at each other. Anger, sadness, disappointment, were all emotions that reflected equally in their beautiful faces. Ragnar's eyes looked like diamonds under the sun, only his sons were brave enough to hold his solemn gaze.

The crowd was silent. Nero could hear her own heart beating when she cautiously hid behind the king, partially leaving the scene.

No one would dare to interrupt the family reunion.

"Hello, Ivar... there is no mistaking you," his voice came out softer than he had intended, and the distorted pitch gave away the unmistakable edge of a crazed man. He stared down in amusement at his crawling son, "it seems my return... is not welcomed.

"You've obviously all made your minds up about me, cannot blame you for that. So well, boys, who is gonna do it then? Who is gonna kill me?"

Nero's fists clenched instinctively, all the words her father had said to her about the king ringed in her ears. Floki would certainly follow Ragnar into Valhalla, and she couldn't bear to lose Floki. Subconsciously, she flanked his side.

Her eyes darkened, growing cold and calculating; assuming the look she had only borne once, in war.

Her sudden change in demeanor made three of the four brothers freeze for a moment. One of the brothers, however, was much too intrigued by her blood-lustful expression.

"I don't mind. Go ahead. Please."

Nero snapped out of war-mode with his words, shaking her head fervently at the boys, her eyes clearly communicating: don't engage!

"What about you Hvitserk?" his nameless taunts were already aggravating enough. Now, the boys were growing beyond pissed. Nero knew Vit wouldn't do anything, regardless, her eyes snapped towards him. She gave him a comforting smile, one that ensured thought-through actions from his side, "You think you're a man now?"

Unfortunately for all of them, Ragnar was set on getting to the core of his sons, "I dare you. Put me out of my misery!"

The king approached his son and Nero followed his every step, her eyes widening at his rising voice. Hvitserk's gaze shifted from his father's screaming figure to the girl.

He clenched his eyes and breathed out: don't engage. He opened his eyes again, his king still right there, in front of him "Do it! Look at these people, they no longer support me. Look! Why would they?

The crowd grew sparse, scared of the raging man that stood, insulting all and swinging his sword. The only people who remained were those who didn't wish to seek the comfort of safety in their own houses.

"I am your leader and I just left, what kind of leader does that? What kind of father abandons his sons? So who wants to be king? You know how this works! If you want to be king, you must kill me!" a small, pitiful smile crossed Ragnar Lothbrok's features, "who... wants... to be... king?"

The second the king took to turn around and bury his sword on the sandy floor, was enough for Ubbe to reach out to Nero's arm and pull her behind the wall of Aslaug-sons. She respected her prince's choice to protect her, carefully, she peeked over his shoulder, to see what would be the next move of the apparent leader of the brothers.

Ragnar followed his movements, but instead, chose to face Sigurd, "What about you, Sigurd? Do you want to be king?"

"Ubbe, he is not alright—" Nero warned but he brought his hand behind his back, offering it to her as she took it. Neither of them knew if it was meant to soothe his nerves, or hers.

"You wanna be king, Ubbe? Kill me and you will be, King Ubbe!" he taunted, interrupting the girl's thought process, Ubbe's eyes gleamed with anger.

Ragnar raised his hand, slapping his son across the face. The boy tightened his grip around Nero's and she gave his hand a reassuring squeeze though a growl was trapped in her chest.

She couldn't watch Ragnar die, but she couldn't bear to see her family being mistreated either, "What are you waiting for?"

Just as he raised his hand to slap Aslaug's eldest son, Nero slipped her hand away from his grasp and grabbed the king's wrist.

The simple act fully proved her insanity. Who was she? To intervene in such matters? Nobody seemed phased. They expected no less, she was family after all.

Her fingers dug into his skin and she pushed Ubbe aside, taking his previous place in the middle of the circle.

As she pushed the man away from his children, he still raged with fire towards them.

He feared his sons were weak, even the tiny, orphan girl had been in battle before and they hadn't, he roared, "Are you afraid? Be a man!"

His eyes suddenly locked onto the figure that stood in front of him. Nero held his stare defiantly, she would not back down for him.

She respected him to no end, but both of their pride were at stake and she wouldn't allow him to hurt the reputation she took so long to earn.

"What about you, Gunnolf? More man than any of them ever will be!" he screamed, referring to her last name as his free arm shot up to point at the brothers behind her.

Her lips pulled up into a bitter smile, not liking one bit how he dared to talk about his sons.

She knew Ivar was hurting because of the words that left his father's mouth. She knew Ivar was hurting because Ragnar didn't even see him as an opponent, didn't even challenge him.

"Ragnar it seems you've been away for too long. You don't know how strong they have become," she whispered, looking up at him dangerously, the man could easily take her down, he was taller than her, stronger than her.

She knew he wouldn't dare to hurt her, just as she wouldn't dare to hurt him, but she couldn't stand quietly as he spoke such foul words about the people she loved. He could understand that.

"It seems you've gone soft," he taunted, throwing his hands up and out of her grasp, the insult took her by surprise, had she gone soft?

She stepped back, almost dizzy with the amount of sincerity enlaced in his voice.

Hvitserk noticed the girl's face, how behind the coldness in her eyes, there was a layer of sadness, suddenly angry he stepped forward to strike at his father, but Ubbe beat him to it.

Nero looked at the boy, she knew he wouldn't kill Ragnar. Ubbe was smart but emotional, she feared he didn't have the guts to do so. To kill his own family. His sword was hanging, and Ragnar turned around, a smile on his lips, opening his arms.

He walked slowly towards Ubbe, partially hoping his son would strike, partially hoping his son would drop his weapon.

The boy did the latter, the king embraced his kid for the first time in many years, the other brothers seemed shocked, yet Nero giggled, shaking her head, Ragnar was one messy bitch.

Gunnolf settled next to Hvitserk, looking down at Ivar with the ghost of a smile as the boy looked at her in annoyance, he sought for blood.

Just as two broke their gaze, the oldest Ragnarsson finally made an appearance, approaching from the middle of the crowd that still watched.

Björn crossed his arms over his chest, his expression as cold as Nero's moments before, "Why did you come back?"

Ragnar chose not to reply, instead, the brothers took him to the woods, Nero and Ivar chose to stay back for much-needed alcohol.

The duo would rather drink than deal with the mad king. They had too many issues, in all honesty, they needed not of another.

They settled on the nearest bar, one sitting across from each other as Nero's cup was filled with mead, and Ivar's cup was filled with ale. Both raised their glasses, yelling out 'sköl' before downing the liquids.

"Your father was wrong, Ivar," Nero mumbled, looking down into her soon empty cup, her tongue feasting on the subtle taste of honey, "I am not stronger than you than any of you."

"Of course you are, wolf," he smirked, her eyes rising to meet his gaze and she smiled at the wicked look on his face, "stronger than them, not me."

"Is that so, Ivar?" she taunted, downing her second cup of mead. The boy realized it could be a good idea to remain sober, especially when they would very likely go training later, "I was simply trying to spare your feelings."

"Father was right about one thing," he teased right back, he loved that he could curl his hand around her neck and she wouldn't flinch nor budge, she would smirk at him right back, even when he tightened it.

She trusted him with all she had and he knew she would give her life for any of the sons of Ragnar, much like they would give their life for her.

Her relationship with Ivar was intricate because of that. He was willing to die for the girl, of course, but, he was also willing to live for her, "You have gone soft."

"How dare you?!" she squealed, holding her hand up to her chest in fake surprise and hurt.

He dropped his eyes, she was a child, Hel, he was a child, they were both teenagers, yet they only acted like such around each other and no one else.

She was a good relief from the tough world, she was a good friend, "Well, Ivar the Boneless, I have gone soft, but only for you."

Both of them chuckled, shaking their heads, it had been a while since the last time they had time alone with each other.

They were too aggressive, too dangerous, too crazy, too... lethal. The brothers tried their best to not leave them in each other's company because blood was always bound to spill.

"I want to go to battle again..." she trailed off, her drinks beginning to affect her as her head became lighter, "I want to always feel the rush I felt that day, where all Vikings fought as one, as a family, as my family."

"Then I will declare war on the whole world, but you must promise to not get wounded," he mused, his eyes skimming the girl. Gods, how beautiful she was. Her messy dark braided hair, her eyes that were more honey than green, more lovely than anything.

"I promise to not die... I can... I can... cannot promise to not bear scars, they are what bind us together!" she shuffled his hair, extending her arm across the table. He knew she loved her scar, it made her belong, it made her part of something, something bigger than mere blood or bones.

He knew that the fact that she never had a family until Floki found her in the woods made her incredibly wary of those close to her, made her incredibly lonely, even in the company of others, and that having that mark, made her, even if unwillingly, part of something bigger.

"You should..."

She cut herself off, his blazing blue eyes shutting her immediately up. She had drunk too much.

The way that Nero was looking at Ivar made him almost feel as if they were competing. Competing over who felt more for the other, she sighed, his eyes were big, bright and menacing, the kind of eyes that drive wolves mad. The kind of eyes that drove her mad.

For a moment, with the corner of his lips turning up, he almost looked innocent, she gave him a soft grin. She almost looked, tamed... in that moment, the only thing that kept her wild, was the scar that crossed her features, how he loved that scar, "I should?"

"You should..." she smiled, leaning down and allowing her chin to touch the table, supporting her head as she looked up at him. The number of dirty thoughts that crossed his mind once her hazel eyes flickered up to him, pupils dilating, were uncountable, "let your hair grow so I can braid it."

"Do you want more ale, Ivar?" one of the servants of the bar questioned, her eyes not leaving Ivar, even though his cup was still half full.

Girls were always swooning over the sons of Ragnar, knowing they could give the poor slaves whatever they wished for. Ivar seemed unaware of it, thinking less of himself because of his legs.

He said nothing, just flickered his gaze to the woman, nodding his head and humming approvingly. She bit her lip and nodded, pouring the drink, bending more than she needed to, Ivar allowed his eyes to leave his companion's and travel to the servant's ass.

The wolf groaned loudly. With a roll of her eyes, she downed her mead and walked away. Leaving the two.