As Ragnar crossed the vast ocean waters, he had but two thoughts on his mind; his family's safety and the many ways he would exact retribution on Jarl Borg for their suffering. He did not dwell on Aslaug and the little ones for long, however, other than to pray to the gods for their safekeeping; doing so only brought an unbearable feeling of helplessness. Instead Ragnar focused on Jarl Borg, letting his burning hatred of the man fuel him as he relentlessly pushed his crew across the sea.

It was a simple task really. The Jarl had twice tried to take his family from him; first Rollo and now his wife and children. For that there was no forgiveness. Ragnar would not be satisfied until the man was dead; no amount of political maneuvering would sway him - particularly since it was King Horik's meddling that had caused this trouble.

Ragnar had no doubt Jarl Borg's actions were a result of Horik's decision to cut him from the raid at the last moment. In doing so, Horik had humiliated him and had gone back on his word. By making Ragnar his messenger, he had provided Jarl Borg a suitable target to vent his anger and embarrassment since he could not take revenge on the king himself.

It was a deliberate move on the king's part, of that Ragnar had no doubt. Like Jarl Borg, however, he could take no action against Horik.

He had no such limitations with Jarl Borg; for now, Ragnar would content himself with that.

But he would not forget, either.

Though thoughts of Jarl Borg still festered in his mind like a wound, Ragnar felt his suffering ease when he finally caught sight of Aslaug, Ubbe, and Hvitserk, hiding in a farmhouse high in the mountains above Kattegat. The pain all but vanished when he laid eyes on his newest son, Sigurd. It mattered not that his infant stare up at him with the image of snake in one eye, just as his wife had prophesied, or that his family was dirty and exhausted. They were unharmed, and that was all that mattered to Ragnar.

He was also heartened to see that they were not alone, that others from his hall had managed to escape, as few as they were - until he spied among them someone he did not know.

She stood next to Rollo, who spoke to her in low tones, appearing to explain who the returning warriors were.

Ragnar frowned. As a rule, he knew every face in Kattegat. He was even familiar with most of the slaves, though admittedly not all. Even so, this woman was no slave. This one did not take orders from anyone.

No, she may have been a bit of a thing, looking as delicate as an iris in bloom, but her eyes betrayed her as they swept the room. There was iron behind her gaze, iron that Ragnar had no doubt extended down to her backbone. It was similar to the look he had often seen in Lagertha's eye. The difference was that, in his former wife, he found it attractive. In this stranger, he found it troubling.

His discomfort only grew when she noticed his scrutiny, for instead of looking away, as most would, she returned his gaze, taking his measure just as he took hers.

Ragnar narrowed his eyes. It was time to welcome his guest. He stepped toward the pair, his intentions clear.

This caught Rollo's attention, and he immediately straightened, a look of warning in his eyes. He did no more than that, however, unwilling to challenge his brother so openly when their own relationship was not yet entirely healed.

Satisfied that his brother would not interfere, Ragnar turned his full attention to the girl.

"And who is this?"

Though he kept his tone mild, he made no effort to soften his gaze, both to gauge her reaction and let it be known that he was not pleased to have a stranger among them, not at a time when their lives hinged on the loyalty and trust of those around them.

The room fell silent, the joyful reunions coming to an abrupt end as everyone became aware of the situation. Only the girl was noticeably unaffected - the girl and Aslaug.

"Bótví. Her name is Bótví," his wife said, stepping forward so that she was next to Ragnar, firmly ignoring the look of triumph Bótví threw at Rollo. "Bótví came to us in need of assistance. She was the one who came to our aid, however, when she saved Ubbe from certain death at the hands of Jarl Borg's men. I can still see her now, cutting those animals down, just as clearly as I see Sigurd here in my arms."

Ragnar did not take his wife's words lightly; nor did he dismiss the meaningful glances she sent his way as she spoke. If he was not mistaken, his clever wife was telling him that she had had a vision of Bótví, much like she had in regards to their son. Even if that were not true, the stranger had saved his family and for that, he owed her much.

Relaxing ever so slightly, Ragnar inclined his head. "Welcome, Bótví. You have my gratitude for caring for my family. I am Ragnar, Earl of Kattegat."

She nodded politely. "Greetings, Ragnar."

It was not the way to greet someone in his position. Ragnar let it pass, however. He cared not for such formality; the respect and deference in her voice was enough. What he could not overlook was the way she spoke; slowly and highly accented, her tongue obviously unfamiliar with the most basic of words.

He had already guessed that she was not from Kattegat, but he had not considered the possibility that she would be entirely foreign to these lands, not when she had been so readily embraced by his wife and his brother.

Before he could begin to make sense of it, however, Rollo cleared his throat.

"Brother, if I may have a word?"

Ragnar fell silent as he considered the request, though in truth it was unnecessary. Between the look on Rollo's face and Aslaug's measured words, he knew that whatever his brother had to say, it was not for others to hear.

Upon his nod, the two men headed out of doors. As soon as they were a safe distance from the others, Ragnar looked to his brother.

"Who is she, Rollo, and where does she come from?"

Rollo sighed and paced a few steps before speaking. "I will tell you, though you may not believe it. If I had not witnessed it myself… She appeared on the shore, the morning you left as suddenly as a thunderclap. She was locked in battle with a monstrous beast, the likes of which I have never seen before. Its weapon could have been Mjolnir itself, for I could not move it in the slightest - yet she hefted it as if it were nothing," he said. A slight smile played around his mouth at the memory, but it lasted only a moment before he became serious once more. "Ragnar, she is flesh and blood like you and I, and she has a temper I would wish upon no man, but she fights as if she were touched by the gods."

"And is she the same in bed as she is on the battlefield?" Ragnar asked slyly, as though his desire to know how far his brother's obvious regard went no further than mere curiosity.

Rollo shrugged. "I would not know."

Though his brother acted as if it was of little consequence, Ragnar was not fooled. He could see the way Rollo's shoulders stiffened, the slight downturn to his mouth.

"Ah, well, it is for the best, yes?" he offered. "A woman like that can be difficult to please - at least out of the bed. Though perhaps it is different where she is from?"

His meaning was not lost on Rollo.

"She has not said, but it is plain to see that she comes from quite a distance. She is unfamiliar to our ways," his brother revealed. To his surprise, this made Rollo throw his arms up in frustration. "Truly, for all that she is skilled in battle, she refuses to strike the killing blow. The only exception was when your family was in danger, and it took her days afterward to make peace with her actions… and with me. Even now, when talk turns to reclaiming Kattegat, she does not take part, finding some excuse to look after the children."

This should have pleased Ragnar. Rollo had once joined Jarl Borg and betrayed him in an effort to step out of his shadow. Though Ragnar wanted to believe nothing could set him on that path again - nor would he ever forget that it was Rollo who defended Kattegat and kept his family when he could not - he also knew that a woman could twist a man's loyalties, especially if he believed her to be sent by the gods. Ragnar also should have been thankful that Bótví's ambition did not seem to match her supposed power. And yet he was still ill at ease, for he did not like secrets when they were not his own, and it was clear that this Bótví had many. He did not pursue the matter any further, though, knowing he would gain more from observing Bótví's actions than anything that could be said here - and watch her he would.

Because he did want to betray any of these thoughts to Rollo, Ragnar smiled, as an older brother should.

"If she is half the warrior you say, we need her by our side when we face Jarl Borg," he said, in a way that made it clear this was not a choice. To further emphasize this point, he changed the subject. "Where is this great weapon you spoke of?"

Rollo grimaced, both at Ragnar's command and his question. "It is in Siggy's home, well hidden. There was no time to retrieve it before the attack."

Though Ragnar was deeply disappointed, he did not show his displeasure. It would do nothing to change matters, and if none could truly wield the hammer except for Bótví, there was no danger in it being used against them.

Still, it was Ragnar's duty as brother and earl to issue a warning to Rollo.

"Tread carefully, brother. If any harm comes our people by Bótví's hand or by her intentions, I will hold you responsible."

Ragnar needed more warriors. He simply did not have the numbers to move against Jarl Borg. It was not for lack of effort, either. Rollo had done well in his absence, searching far and wide, seeking out every man and woman loyal to Ragnar, rallying them for a battle against Jarl Borg; there simply were not enough to be found.

A rasher man might have attacked despite the lack of men, thinking his overwhelming hatred and thirst for revenge could take the place of iron and muscle. Ragnar, however, knew better. He knew he must be patient and wait for his moment. And so he did.

That did not mean that the mere thought of Jarl Borg sitting in Ragnar's halls, amongst Ragnar's people, did not claw at him.

Ragnar closed his eyes and leaned back, using the coolness of the rock face behind him to tamp down his own anger. When he opened his eyes a few moments later, his mind was significantly calmer, allowing him to take in his surroundings with renewed clarity.

The small outcropping on which he sat had been well chosen, its sweeping landscapes offering a certain peace and tranquility Ragnar could not find on the ground. It also afforded him a perfect view of the farmhouse and the surrounding land; yet it was not so high that he could not be down on the ground fairly easily. Equally to his liking was the fact that he himself was hidden from view, a few large boulders obscuring him from the ground below.

He was also not the first one to find this spot.

Ordinarily, it would have been difficult to tell. The rock face had little to disturb, holding scant evidence of past visitors - unless they left a small pile of pebbles.

Ragnar ought to have been alarmed - the threat of discovery was constant. No spy would have left such evidence, however; obvious enough to draw notice, yet carelessly strewn with no discernable pattern. No, it appeared as if someone had sat in this very spot, idly tossing the small stones, and nothing more.

Though he wondered at the identity of the person, Ragnar let the matter go. Instead he rose to his feet, thinking to begin his descent back down to the ground. The sun was beginning to rise, which meant everyone would be waking soon. Though his first few days back had been spent learning what had transpired in his absence, today was a new day and there was much to do. Before he could take a step, however, a movement below caught his notice.

It was Siggy, dragging behind her a half-asleep Bótví away from the farmhouse into a small clearing where they would be alone.

Ragnar instinctively sought cover behind the boulders, wishing to observe this encounter unseen, his curiosity more than piqued.

He had heard of the way Siggy had taken the stranger in, of the bond they had formed, but he himself had observed little interaction between the two. If anything, they were purposefully avoiding one another. Ragnar had thought it was because of Rollo and his unabashed admiration of Bótví. As he watched the two women now, however, he realized he might have been mistaken.

Because of the way they stood, Ragnar could not see Bótví's face, only Siggy's; nor could he hear what was being said - but then, he did not need to. The tension on Siggý's face spoke for itself, as did the way her eyes nervously darted all around.

She was frightened; both of being discovered and of Bótví. Her fear became almost palpable a moment later when she pulled something out of her pocket and held it out toward the other woman.

Ragnar leaned forward, trying to catch a glimpse of the object. Unfortunately, from his vantage point, he could only see that it was a chain of sorts; a coil of beads and metal lying in the palm of her hand. Still, there was something about it that looked vaguely familiar to him. Before he could place it, however, Bótví took it and stowed it in her own pocket. Then she threw her arms around Siggy in an embrace.

It was not entirely well-received by the other woman, at least at first. After a moment, however, Siggy relented and briefly returned the gesture before turning back toward the farmhouse.

Bótví did not immediately follow. Instead she lingered in the clearing, standing as still as stone as she watched Siggy depart. Only when she was certain she was completely alone did she move - not to examine Siggy's gift more closely, as Ragnar had hoped, but to turn around and look straight up at him.

A small smile of amusement danced around her mouth as their gazes met. Then she was gone, swiftly heading back to the farmhouse herself.

Up until that moment, he had seen nothing extraordinary from the strange woman, despite the tales he had heard, and so her presence had largely faded into the background in the face of his conflict with Jarl Borg. Though he kept a watchful eye on her, he had already decided to deal with her in earnest after he had retaken Kattegat. Now, however, he could see that he had to rethink his earlier stance, for clearly she was not one to be underestimated or ignored.

With these thoughts whirling in his mind, Ragnar once again made to leave; and again, before he could take a step, he spotted movement on the horizon - there was a host of warriors on horseback approaching.

All thoughts of Bótví instantly fled Ragnar's mind, his focus solely on the intruders. His first thought was that it was Jarl Borg, an ever looming threat. There was no haste to their movements, however, no aggressiveness that would indicate an impending attack; nor were they trying to conceal themselves.

Then he spotted the rider in front, and Ragnar grinned, laughing to himself at the gods' sense of humor.

He would recognize his former wife anywhere. For though he had not seen her for four years, she looked the same; strong and beautiful, like Freyja herself. And behind her…

Ragnar felt his heart stop as he caught sight of him; the one Ragnar had prayed and pleaded with the gods to see once again, whose absence was mourned every day since he and Lagertha had left. His eldest son, Björn.

Ragnar felt as if he were finally whole once again.

Ragnar felt his body hum with anticipation. Tonight, he and a handful of his finest men would sneak into Kattegat in the dead of night and burn down the winter stores. If all went according to plan, they would carry out the bulk of the mission unseen, save for a trail of destruction they would leave in their wake, showing that the attack came from outside Kattegat and not within.

Ragnar knew this would draw Jarl Borg out of the village. The man was too proud not to make the culprits pay, particularly since there was little chance he had not heard whispers of Ragnar's return by now. What he would not expect, however, was Ragnar's and Lagertha's combined forces and would thus be ill-prepared for a battle of that size. Coupled with the threat of starvation, Jarl Borg would have no reason to stay.

To be sure, it was not the perfect plan, even if it did succeed. Leaving Kattegat without its winter supply of food would be difficult, but Ragnar knew his people would persevere and endure. He could see it as he walked among the men as they readied for battle.

All thoughts of battle temporarily fled Ragnar's mind as he came across his son was sparring with Torstein.

Björn had grown into a fine young man - strong and skilled in battle, like his parents. Lagertha had done well in raising him. She herself looked to be in fine fighting form, as if time had not touched her at all. That she had come to his aid after all that had happened between them, after Aslaug had unexpectedly arrived in Kattegat heavy with his child, and bringing Björn with her, no less, reunited in their desire to free Kattegat… Ragnar owed her a great debt, and perhaps more.

With a nod of acknowledgement and pride, Ragnar turned toward the rest of his men, though his eye was immediately drawn two figures standing at the outskirts of the clearing.

Rollo and Bótví.

From the looks of it, they were having a disagreement. It was brief but intense, ending with Bótví stomping away in a fit of anger, one she made no effort to hide; in fact, it was just the opposite. She went out of her way to send Ragnar a scathing look from across the field before disappearing into the treeline at the base of the mountain.

Equally amused as he was offended, Ragnar looked to his brother in askance. Rollo's mood matched that of Bótví's, however, and soon he too was storming away - in the opposite direction toward the farmhouse. Any poor soul who happened to be in his path did not linger there.

It was like watching a blade strike flint, Ragnar mused. Neither suffered for it, but if they were not careful, they could easily scorch the earth around them.

And yet Ragnar could not help but be pleased.

He knew what they had argued about. He himself had forced the issue with his brother, had he not? To be sure, Rollo had done his best to delay his request, but it could not wait any longer, not on the eve before battle, something Ragnar had reminded Rollo of that very morning.

It was also clear what Bótví's answer had been.

While having a sword such as hers would be helpful, in truth, this was the best possible outcome. His demand was more of a test to see how she responded, if what Rollo had said was true, nothing more. Ragnar did not expect her to fight, nor was he entirely sure he wanted her to.

Apparently, he was not the only one, either.

"I do not trust her, Ragnar. She should not be here. She is not one of us. There is something… strange about her," Floki murmured as he came to stand next to Ragnar, his gaze fixed upon the spot where Bótví had disappeared.

"Like Athelstan?" Ragnar coolly replied, for although he did not wholly disagree, Floki's words still rankled, for he had heard those words before.

Floki's lips curled into a sneer in response, though he said nothing.

It was no secret that Floki did not like Athelstan, unable to look beyond his Christian ways. It was the one sore spot between Ragnar and his childhood friend - and perhaps the one thing Floki and Rollo agreed upon. Neither could see what Ragnar saw; the insight Athelstan provided in understanding the enemy, the counsel he gave free of personal agendas and manipulations, the friendship he offered despite their differences - which is why it had wounded Ragnar so deeply when Athelstan had decided to stay with King Horik in Wessex rather than return to Kattegat to protect his family, their family. It was more devastating than the loss of Athelstan's sword, which was a blow in itself. Though he had initially been squeamish at the thought of battle, Athelstan was becoming a fine fighter. He was certainly a far cry from the timid monk Ragnar had captured on his very first raid in Northumbria.

A small smile flitted across Ragnar's face as he remembered that time. It quickly vanished, however; for suddenly he remembered where he had seen the necklace before.

Ignoring Floki's curious look, Ragnar set off after Bótví.

He did not know what he expected from this meeting, much less what he would do. Unlike the others, he did not find the mere presence of another Christian in their midst threatening; but then, she was no ordinary woman. Because of that, Ragnar had no choice but to turn his attention to this new twist. It could not wait.

Thankfully, he knew exactly where she had gone. What he did not know was how swiftly she would get there.

Because her lead was so slight, he had naturally assumed he would catch her before she reached the outcropping. She scaled the mountainous terrain as nimbly as Tanngrisnir and Tanngnjóstr themselves, however. Ragnar had only gotten halfway to his destination when he heard the faint sound of pebbles hitting a much larger rock.

She had already reached the outcropping. It was impressive.

Ragnar slowed his pace in response, deciding to favor stealth over speed, unable to resist the opportunity to further test her skills. He did not think he could catch her by surprise, not after all that he had observed; that was not the point of this little exercise. He wanted to see when she became aware of his presence - and what her reaction would be.

It was a dangerous game, he knew, one that could end in blood; for as heralded as her talents were, Bótví was no seer. She would not know it was him, only that someone was approaching in a less than open manner. Still, Ragnar pressed on. He wanted to get a better measure of who she was, and he could think of no better way to do so.

And so he crept up the mountain, quietly, steadily, until he finally caught sight of the ledge. There was no movement or sound on her part, save for the steady cadence of rock hitting rock, which never once faltered to indicate anything was amiss.

Ragnar was not fooled. Ever watchful, he slowly approached the place where he knew she would be. He had made it halfway there, easing himself through a space between two trees, when she finally made her move.

He heard it before he saw it; a faint whirring sound, followed by a quick thunk! thunk! As the area around him exploded in a shower of splinter and stone, a scowling Bótví stepped out from behind the boulders, her arm pulled back, poised to hurl a pebble at the intruder. When she saw that it was Ragnar before her, she lowered her arm; the small stone in her hand remained, however - as did the scowl.

It was a warning; a clear one, but nothing more.

Ragnar raised his eyebrow in amusement. It dimmed somewhat, however, as he inspected the trees on either side of him. Though she had only thrown pebbles no bigger than his thumb, they still managed to tear into the trees upon impact, embedding themselves deep within the trunk; in dead center no less.

When he looked back at Bótví, the scowl had changed into a smirk. It held fast as he slowly walked closer to her.

She was less adept at hiding the wariness in her eyes.

"Why are you here?" she asked, and again, he could see a flash of both suspicion and defiance in her gaze.

"I came to retrieve what is mine," he replied. Before she could fully sort through his words, he pointed to her pocket. "The necklace Siggy gave you does not belong to you. It is mine."

Her eyebrows shot up in shock and disbelief. "Yours?" she exclaimed.

Now it was Ragnar's turn to smirk. "Yes, in a manner of speaking. As friend, former master, and Earl, it is my right and my duty to safeguard Athlestan's possessions until his return."

She did not know all the words he spoke, but she understood enough.

"Your… friend is not here?" she asked, to which Ragnar shook his head.

She may have been unsurpassed as a warrior, but she was terrible at hiding her emotions. Though her stance and her voice were relaxed, as if she were only making idle conversation, her eyes once again revealed everything.

Ragnar wondered at her disappointment. He had already suspected that the necklace had great worth to her and that she would not easily part with it. To know that Athelstan was equally as important…

A thought came to Ragnar then; an insane idea that he dismissed almost as soon as it appeared in his head.

It was far too dangerous. If he made any misstep, disaster would rain upon them all. And yet, if it worked, he would get his revenge - and perhaps more. Still, it was not a decision to be made lightly, and Ragnar struggled with it. Just then, however, a raven alighted on a boulder behind Bótví. From Ragnar's vantage point, it almost seemed as if it were resting on her shoulder as it fixed its gaze on Ragnar.

It was an omen, one that could not be ignored.

His path clear, Ragnar did not waste time. "I suppose you could keep it until his return, or until we sail out to meet him," he said indifferently, as if it did not matter. "Unless, of course, we do not succeed tomorrow. Then I do not know when we will see Athelstan again."

With that, Ragnar turned to leave. It was not necessary to say more, for he spoke the truth. If Jarl Borg retained control over Kattegat, Ragnar would not be able to sail back to Wessex. Likewise, if King Horik were to return, he would either be repelled by Jarl Borg or, worse, turn his allegiances to the usurper. If the latter happened, Athelstan, as Ragnar's trusted friend and advisor, would most likely be killed as a sign of good faith between the two men. Hers was the burden to weigh the importance of the necklace and its owner against her desire to abstain from battle, as well as the risks and consequences of doing so. Ragnar would not demand anything from her she - or the gods - did not want to give.

He held firm to this even when he passed by the two trees pitted and maimed from her attack, her silence almost deafening.

He was rewarded for his resolve a moment later.

"Wait."

A slow smile spread across Ragnar's face at the sound of her voice. Behind him the raven cawed.

A/N: I will never write from Ragnar's POV again. The man is too crafty and complex, and I just can't keep up. This chapter almost killed me.