"We were both created in chaos, we were both born to destroy. You were like death, and I was like war."

chapter V, act I ✧ 𝒑𝒊𝒈𝒈𝒊𝒆𝒔 𝒈𝒓𝒖𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈

"," Nero whined slightly, feeling her pillow move from underneath her. Ivar simply looked at Ubbe and opened his hands, pointing at the sleeping girl that laid on him. His arms unwrapping themselves from around her waist to do so.

The youngest Ragnarsson looked just as reluctant to get off the bed as the girl did.

"Nero, it is my wedding day," Ubbe groaned, using the side of his foot to kick at the girl, who instantly jumped sitting, rubbing her eyes with her hands.

"What?"

"Ubbe and Margarethe are getting married today," Sigurd laughed, forcing his boots to his feet. Nero's eyes widened, oh, Ubbe's and Margarethe's wedding, how important, how worthy of her presence.

She turned to face Ivar, but the simple movement of her neck already made pain radiate from everywhere in her head, she groaned at the hangover, throwing herself back into the bed and pulling Ivar's shoulder so she could hide in his chest, protecting her from the sunlight that came in from the open door of the cabin.

"Get ready," Ubbe ordered, chuckling a little at the girl. How could one be so dangerous and ruthless, yet so cuddly and adorable?

"No."

"Please."

"No."

"PLEASE."

"Now it's just straight-up begging."

"Nero, I spent most of the night chasing after you while you go—"

"Fine! I'll go, but expect me to complain throughout the whole wedding."

Nero stood by Björn, who looked just as displeased as she did. For a whole different reason, though.

Surprisingly enough to the Ragnarssons, Hvitserk woke up in a good mood, and he even decided to give Margarethe away to Ubbe, making Gunnolf scoff.

"... and may they keep the wolf from the door," she roared with laughter as soon as those words left the mouth of the lady who was joining the couple. Björn quickly elbowed the girl and she instantly shut up, her cheeks burning at the stares she got. Ivar and Sigurd looked her, almost bursting out into laughter themselves.

"May they try" she threatened, her eyes burning into the skull of the bride.

Björn sighed, after seeing that Hvitserk was the one to give Margarethe away to Ubbe, he understood why she had such deep hatred for the girl. He thumped his stick on the ground and she crossed her arms over her chest when the people began clapping.

The two watched the bridal race, the same unamused look on both of their faces, if they weren't so physically different, one could've thought they were brothers.

Nero grabbed a hold of her hair bringing it next to her face and finding more entertainment in looking at it rather than watching the brothers race, it was a win-win situation for her, really, one of them would have to humiliate themselves at night, and even though she refused to be there, she still found amusement in thinking of it.

Time goes by slowly when you are annoyed. Both Nero and Björn could agree to that. But, time did go by, and soon enough, they were at the pre-war ceremony. To leave such an unpleasant scenario into a great one made the girl almost forget her dull headache.

Nero stood by Floki. Her hands thrown over Ivar's shoulders nonchalantly as they watched the sacrifice, her eyes gleaming with enthusiasm. Lagertha arrived and Ivar tensed up under her touch, she kneeled down next to him her mouth opening to calm him down but he interrupted, pulling the girl onto his lap.

Ivar not for once thought his actions through, his mind was spinning with hatred for the woman who murdered his mother. He released all his anger into her touch, as he did, a falling star ripped through the dark night sky.

Fools they were, to think Odin was celebrating their sacrifice. The sacrifice was merely part of it. He was celebrating the beginning, the union of souls that would reshape the Norse world.

The girl shifted on his lap, grinning at the sight before her, seeing no malice in his doing. He smiled, supporting his chin on her shoulder. Lagertha ran the sword up and down the man's chest and Nero was chewing on the insides of her cheeks with excitement and anticipation, then, finally, the queen stabbed his stomach.

The wolf's lips curled up at the image and she felt... attracted to the man at the fact that he brought his hands down from where they were placed and onto Lagertha's shoulders, pushing the sword further into his stomach.

He began falling to his knees, allowing the weapon to slice his insides further up, coming to a stop at his chest.

Ivar's insides were shaking with happiness. To have the sight of his girl, blood, and murder, seemed extremely pleasant to him. The queen laid the man's body down on the floor, and his life left him as she did.

The preparations for war went by quickly. No one spoke. All too firm on the idea that Ragnar was to be avenged. They were grieving and yet anger boiled inside each one of the Vikings that accompanied them.

Before the Saxons could even notice, the Great Heathen Army had arrived in Wessex.

Nero's hair was braided into a messy, intricate mohawk, one that brought her dark strands all the way down her mid-back, she looked dangerous, beautiful.

Her eyes gleamed under the sun, specks of green overcoming honey as the grass underneath her feet brought out their color. Her dark kohl, like her father's, made the girl's soft features become almost a piece of Asgard, she could kill anyone.

She looked so beautiful that one might have guessed she was a dark princess... or a goddess.

Her heart thundered, she felt the lives and the strength of all those who had died in those lands. She could feel Ragnar in her chest, urging her on.

She vibrated, walking by Björn as they lead their army, no shields. Her knives in hand, axe on her back. She looked at him, the sick smile he loved so much, splattered across her features, the same one she had in Paris.

Oh, how happy was he, that the girl fought by his side. Ubbe and Sigurd grew almost... scared, at how happy she was to bathe in the blood of her enemies.

They had never seen this side of the girl, the bloodthirsty, Ivar-like side.

No words could describe the thrill she felt and once again, she looked beautifully murderous like she had looked once they reached the Mediterranean. Hvitserk couldn't take his eyes off of her, neither could Ivar... even Ubbe and Björn felt drawn to her.

She seemed to have become celestial, and she partly was, Odin was grinning at the girl, he couldn't deny the wolf had a certain... soft spot in his godly heart.

Halfdan and Harald roared, diving into battle and inducing everyone to do so too, including Nero.

Ubbe and Sigurd partly feared for her, she had no shield and even though she had proven herself in all their training, she was still, in their minds, just a girl.

Hvitserk, Björn, and Ivar... feared for her enemies. Ragnar's name left her lips like a prayer. She growled, lunging towards the king's pathetic army.

Her knife latched onto men's necks almost as if they were dolls, effortlessly. They barely saw her moving, her body being faster than everyone else's as she didn't have a shield to wear her down.

When they were done, which was rather fast, she stood in the middle of a circle of dead bodies, for a second she thought she should count her kills, but decided against it. Ubbe looked at her in amusement while Sigurd looked at her in... fear.

"Wolf!" Harald screamed, laughing. He stepped over the corpses and pulled the girl up, spinning her around before he allowed her body to be let down and he ruffled her hair, smiling.

One of the bodies stirred, but they didn't care. They already had Aelle.

The Nordic King wanted the girl on his side. Needed the girl on his side once he tried to take over Kattegat... that is, if Egil failed, of course, "You are a goddess in war."

"I would end twice as many armies in the name of Ragnar," she snarled, her eyes latched onto the king the Ragnarsson's were tying down to Ivar's chariot.

Harald patted the girl's back and she smiled weakly before walking towards the brothers. The girl climbed onto the chariot tiredly, settling down on the floor at the front and using Ivar's legs to support her back.

Fighting wore everyone down.

"Why can she ride with you and we can't?" Sigurd questioned, his voice venomous, but his anger was directed at Ivar's unfairness, not at the girl.

She looked back at him, motioning to leave the chariot as she didn't wish to cause a fight, but the youngest brother placed a hand on her shoulder, bringing her down.

Björn punched Aelle one last time, blacking him out before wiping his hands and looking at Sigurd, "Well, brother, because she has killed more men today than you ever will."

Nero simply shrugged her shoulders, it could be true. The boy wasn't a bad fighter, but she was blessed in war. They all knew that.

Rain cursed the poor king as they rode towards the place of Ragnar's death. The wolf could swear her heart would explode with her anger, the man had begun crying and she bared her teeth at him, telling him to stop with his whining. Nothing could save him now.

Sigurd was the one to hold an axe on his neck, but it was clear who the king was most scared of, the cripple, the wolf, the oldest Ragnarsson, and the boatbuilder.

The boatbuilder and the wolf because of the sick smiles they had on their faces, which were accompanied by cold stares. The cripple and the oldest Ragnarsson because of how devoid of emotion and empathy they were.

The boys opened the pit on the ground, where Ragnar's death took place, the king opened his mouth to say something but the girl could have whiplashed at how fast she turned to stare him down, her gaze questioning almost urging him on, almost daring him to continue.

He gagged on his words.

"How the little piggies will grunt, when they hear how the old boar suffered," she snarled, throwing her axe dangerously close to the king's scalp. Björn looked at her in surprise, all the Ragnarssons did, finally realizing that their father had come to her as well.

Aelle began whining once again, tears streaming down his face. She looked at Sigurd in such anger that the boy instantly tightened his grip on the man's neck, making him stop his gulps. Weak man. How dare he think so low of Ragnar, to only gather an army that small?

Her father placed a hand on her shoulder, trying to calm her down as everyone around could feel her power radiating from her in waves. She nodded her head, falling to her knees next to where her king was killed, she leaned into Ivar, the boy just as murderous as the girl, "This is where our father was killed."

She could understand that the king was begging, desperation clear in his tone, she looked at Ivar, a dark smirk crossing her features.

They locked eyes, her bloodstained face and his bloodstained face. How godly they looked. She would think of Ragnar later, "Tell him to ask his spineless god for mercy, he won't get any from us."

Nero Gunnolf held Aelle's face as her father nailed the king's hands to the tree trunk. Her eyes so cold and menacing that in his language, the man began screaming.

An animalistic snarl escaped her lips, the king forgot completely about the pain in his hands and tried to slither away from the girl in fear. Ubbe and Sigurd felt shivers curse down their spines. Björn and Hvitserk were used to it, and by that point, they had grown fond of her sounds.

Now Ivar... Ivar was almost sure that she looked the prettiest he had ever seen, blood and kohl smeared across her face, growls leaving her lips in anger, "What is he saying?"

"He is calling you the Devil," the youngest Ragnarsson explained, having spent enough time in England to understand what such words mean.

"Who is the 'Devil'?" she questioned, her eyes leaving the king's and moving to Ivar, which for a second brought the king some peace.

"It is the king of all evil," he smirked, looking at the girl. Maybe the king was right, maybe she was the queen of all evil, and maybe... just maybe, Ivar was her king.

She hummed in appreciation, dropping the man's face and walking in between Sigurd and Hvitserk.

They had never seen a blood eagle and once Björn's knife torn apart Aelle's skin, Hvitserk slipped his hand into hers, her eyes widened, but she didn't say a thing. Too entranced in the performance to think about anything else.

Björn brought his axe down on the man's ribs and her body shivered with delight at his pained screams. Ragnar was being avenged, and there would be more. Blood splattered on her face and she quickly licked her lips, smiling at the feeling. Sigurd took two hesitant steps away from her in fear.

Sun rose. And the rite was done. As they watched Aelle's body be raised on top of where Ragnar laid, Björn pulled the girl in for a hug. Hot tears streamed down her cheeks and she barely noticed.

Aethelwulf ran a hand through his hair, prayers chanting in his head as he ordered the bishop to be put down, "Who did this to you?"

The poor bishop choked on his own blood, fear coursing through his already glazing eyes, "Th-the wolf."

"Was it the sons of Ragnar Lothbrok?" the prince tried clarifying, but to no avail, confusion stroke the features of all those around. Sighing, he continued, "Their army, how big is their army?"

"How many blades of grass are there in a field?"

"What does that mean?" the man roared, his patience being lost. Had the bishop gone mad? Wolf? Blades of grass? "Hundreds? Thousands?"

His poor soul left his body, no longer in suffering. The prince growled in frustration, standing up.

"Damn you!"