The voyage from Kattegat west to England took was roughly three weeks by ship. That is how long it had taken the Great Heathen Army, led by Björn Ironside and his brothers, to travel from their home to kill King Aelle of Northumbria. Early spring had brought minimally choppy waters. The weather was warm enough during the day to require the Viking hoard to only require wool and leathers, and at night light furs.

The gods had blessed them with only two small storms during their entire voyage to the land of the Christians. Neither storm had been so severe that any member of their party took ill, or any of their supplies were damaged. Odin had shown the Northmen great favor as they set out to avenge their fallen King.

King Ragnar Lothbrok was the most famous Viking in all of Scandinavia. He had returned to Wessex the year before the Great Army set sail, with his youngest son, Ivar. Years ago, Ragnar had been granted land in Wessex by King Ecbert for his people to start a small settlement, only later to learn that his fellow Vikings had been killed by the Christians. It had always been his dream to be able to farm on lush and fertile grounds and the soil in England was meant to be farmed.

The damp weather in Wessex was conducive to farming. The earth was often damp and squishy. The wind carried a smell of freshly turned soil on every breeze. Wessex was the type of place that a farmer was destined to yield a good crop. It was were Ragnar knew that his kinfolk needed to relocate go in order to grow food that was necessary for their continued survival.

Farming in Denmark was getting harder. The soil was sandy and the weather was cold. Not much vegetation grew there – not enough to sustain their ever-growing population. The gods had blessed the Northmen with the ability to grow crops to feed their livestock, and the meat from those animals fed the villages. But Ragnar wondered how long would that last? The soil in Kattegat had been turned too many times. The gods gave him visions of moving his people to somewhere more fruitful, where they could farm and continue their way of life.

But, Ragnar's had moved far from being that simple farmer. He no longer had the small family he adored with his wife, Lagertha, and two children Björn and Gyda. His daughter, Gyda, was taken to Valhalla, way before her time; and his wife lost their unborn son in childbirth. Ragnar later had an affair with the völva, Aslaug, which led to the birth of a second son, Ubbe. Though he was promised many sons, the Seer never told him that his beloved Lagertha and Björn would leave him in the process.

Ragnar knew that the god of mischief, Loki, was behind the irony of his destiny. He eventually married Aslaug, though he never truly loved her. Together they brought forth three more sons - Hvitserk, Sigurd Snake in the Eye, and Ivar the Boneless. It took nearly 16 winters for Ragnar to forge a relationship with his youngest son, the boy that he had tried to leave in the woods to be killed by the elements or taken by wildlife. But on the trip to Wessex, Ragnar and Ivar finally bonded. It was during that trip, that Ragnar Lothbrok learned he was to be killed by King Aelle and told his son, Ivar, to avenge his death. That is exactly what the youngest of the sons of Ragnar had done.

Ivar and his brothers had put together the greatest Viking army the world had ever seen to travel across the great sea to personally deliver all of those who had a hand in killing their father, to the goddess Hel. But, it seemed that Loki had just as much in store for the younger Lothbroks as the elder. Before the brothers could leave the land of the Christians, Ivar killed his older brother, Sigurd.

Now, all but two of the brothers' Lothbrok found themselves on separate ships heading back to their home in Kattegat. Already at sea for more than three weeks, they seemed no closer to home then they had when he set sail 30 days ago.

"You are certain we are still on the path back to Kattegat?" Ivar Lothbrok sat perched on a treasure chest pushed up against the left side of the langskip. He had a thick rope used to raise and lower the sails wrapped around his arm to help keep him grounded to his spot. "We should all be enjoying a tall horn of ale by now!" Angry that he was unable to get up and walk around the vessel, Ivar rolled his cold blue eyes at the thought of spending another day on the ship. He would never tell any of his fellow Vikings that he was uncomfortable and the cramped conditions of sailing did not fare well with his disease.

The weather was miserable. There was a dense fog that seemed to surround each of the ships making it virtually impossible to see any other vessel. It had rained for the last five nights and four days. This was not just any rain, either. It was a freezing rain – like little blades of razor-sharp ice slicing through the air at your face, neck and hands during at night. The weather during the day wasn't much better with the ferocious thunderstorms that pushed half of the sea into their boat.

Running his hands through his dark brown hair, Ivar squeezed the water from his long ponytail that hung at his shoulders. Trying to ignore the rain and saltwater dripping into his eyes, he sighed and clasped his hand around the arm ring given to him by his father. "Ragnar, show us to land soon," he said quiet enough so no one else could hear him.

He flexed his fingers, which were pruned, in his black half gloves. He was soaked to the bone. The heavy fur coat he wore did little to keep him warm, it felt as though it was just washed in the ocean itself. He was tired of being wet. His coat was wet. His blankets were wet. His clothes were wet. His boots were wet - if he did not remove them soon, he risked getting foot rot. The food was wet. Even his stools were wet, courtesy of inadvertently drinking saltwater.

"When I kill Lagertha and become King of Kattegat, I will no longer go on raids. I will send others to raid on my behalf," he said matter-of-factly, to no one in particular. "I no longer enjoy sailing."

A soft chuckle came from behind him, "Ivar, you are the youngest brother. You have almost no claim to the throne," Ubbe said putting both hands on Ivar's shoulders. Leaning up to whisper in his brother's ear, he continued, "Besides, do you think you deserve the throne after what you did to Sigurd?" With a good-natured double pat, Ubbe stood up and balanced himself as he walked over to the edge of the ship, unzipped his pants and relieved himself over the side.

"You are aware that will blow back on all of us? Hmm, Ubbe?" Ivar said rolling his eyes. "All this wind," he circled his finger in the air to show his brother how strong the winds were blowing. His face held annoyance when Ubbe shrugged suggesting he didn't care if his brother got pissed on. Ivar rolled his eyes. "I have just as much claim to the throne as any of you. I am a son of Ragnar."

Looking at his brother, as he turned and smiled, Ivar admired how much Ubbe resembled their father. Their oldest brother Björn was the spitting image of Ragar, save the color of his golden blond hair. That hair color he inherited from his mother, Lagertha. But, Ubbe, looked he could have been Ragnar's twin. He had the same bright blue eyes, the same long dirty blond hair. Looking at Björn and Ubbe there was never any question that they deserved the name Ragnarsson.

His other brother Hvitserk looked like their mother, Aslaug, with his green eyes and blond hair. Even if he wasn't the spitting image of his father, resembling Queen Aslaug and her family, the family that was the hero Sigurd and the shield-maiden Brynhildr, was enough to make all of the young maids in Kattegat want to bed him.

Ivar never paid attention to his brother Sigurd to figure out if he resembled either of his parents. To him, Sigurd was a non-factor.

Then there was Ivar. He looked nothing like either of his parents or any of his siblings. While all of his brothers had been some shade of blond, Ivar had dark brown, almost black hair. His eyes were blue like their father's but a different shade. Ragnar's eyes were almost the clear blue of ice melting after a thaw, where Ivar's were the deep blue of the lakes of Denmark. But the thing that made Ivar stand out the most from his brothers was his inability to walk. Ivar learned to get around by crawling, dragging his legs which were bound together, behind him. He was also the angriest and cruelest of his brothers – he harbored a pain that not even he understood. All he knew was he felt better when he could unleash it on others and cause them to feel the pain that burned inside of him.

"The throne should go to the strongest, best suit to rule, Ivar." Ubbe reminded Ivar as he pulled up the waistband of his britches. "That is Björn or have you forgotten?"

"Björn does not want it. He just wants to sail around the world and search for warm places," Ivar spat out.

Shaking his head, Ubbe returned to his seat using his legs to wedge himself into the corner of the ship as it continued to rock from side to side. "It doesn't matter. If he refuses, then it comes to me. I am the next oldest. Then Hvitserk. Then you, Ivar. You have to wait your turn," Ubbe was careful not to mention his little brother Sigurd that Ivar had just killed weeks prior.

"Hvitserk! Hvitserk is more fit to rule over Kattegat then me?" His voice rose an octave at the obscurity of the suggestion. Why couldn't his brothers see him for the born leader that he was? Why didn't Ubbe of all of his brothers, the most sensible and reasonable one of all understand that he would make a better ruler than Hvitserk? "Or I could just kill you all now," Ivar said, taking his dagger out of its boot sheath so he could clean his fingernails.

"Might be easier when we get off these boats," Ubbe mocked. "That is if Odin doesn't take us all first."

"You don't want the throne, Ubbe. Neither does Hvitserk. He just wants to bed every girl from Northumbria to Kattegat." Ivar shook his head, frustrated with his brothers' lack of ambition. They should be more exited to get Lagertha off of the throne. She killed their mother, "Now that we have avenged Ragnar, I will get my vengeance for Mother. And when the throne is empty, it is up to one of us to take it. None of you want it. So, I will take it."

"If it is Odin's will," Ubbe said, before laying his head back and closing his eyes. There was nothing left to do but try to sleep. This would be another day left up to Odin for the crew to find their way back to Kattegat. Njord, god of the sea, was not finished toying with the Great Army. Until he was, there was nothing they could do to get their ships back on course.

Ivar narrowed his eyes at Ubbe. He loved his brother, but it infuriated him that Ubbe did not believe him. Ivar was going to be a King. He could feel it, and he didn't need a Seer to confirm what he already knew. The gods had favored him. He had been chosen, and when it happened, he would make everyone that doubted him pay.

A woman woke up from a dream with a start. Panting heavily, she wiped the sweat from her brow and sat upright in the bed. Pulling all of her long burgundy red hair to one shoulder, she closed her eyes for a moment to steady herself. She took a moment to touch the amulet on her chest and found herself relaxing slowly.

Placing her feet on the soft rug, she strolled over to the chair to collect her robes. The thick red robe was made from a blend of lamb's wool and cotton, with fur from the dire wolf to line the collar and cuffs. She put the robe onto her naked body and slowly fastened the clasps. Stepping into her red leather boots, he looked at herself in the glass that rested by the washing bowl on the table.

She looked as calm as she always did. But, inside she was shaken. The Lord of Light had given her the most peculiar vision. She wasn't exactly sure what it meant – that much had not been revealed to her. But she knew that there was a change about to happen in the Seven Kingdoms that did not bode well for her charge, Stannis Baratheon. Holding her head up high, she turned on her heel and exited her chamber.

"Ah, Melisandra, we were just making plans for our departure tomorrow," Leaning over a table with a sepia-colored map on top King Stannis Baratheon looked into the red eyes of the red woman standing in in the doorway. "Come, tell me your thoughts on us traveling this way south?"

Ser Davos Seaworth, a tall man with balding grey hair, shook his head and huffed. He hated this plan. He hated how much Stannis had changed. But, most of all, he hated this Red Witch. "My Lord, we should rethink staying at Castle Black. The winter's gonna get harsher. Your wife and your daughter…"

"I'm thinking about my wife and my daughter!" Stannis yelled, cutting Ser Davos off, furrowing his heavy brows in the process. "Winter is coming and they can't survive it here. Castle Black is no place for a child. The horses are dying. The men are freezing and hungry. We have to move south before we lose the entire army – that is if those things don't kill us first!"

Calming strolling over to Stannis and placing her hand on his arm, Melisandra lifted her red eyes to meet his. "My King, the Lord of Light has shown me a vision. It is not exactly clear to me the meaning or how exactly it means to play out, but I do believe Ser Davos is right. We should not leave this place." She moved slowly walking behind Stannis to stand on his left side. "Something or someone is coming from a land far away. Whatever this is, it threatens to change everything in the Seven Kingdoms."

"I have made up my mind," Stannis said slamming his hand on the table. "We leave at first light!" With that, he stormed out of the room, leaving Melisandra and Ser Davos alone.

Curling his lip slightly at her, Ser Davos dared to ask, "You know how I feel about your visions. But, if it is something that will hurt Lord Stannis, I need to know."

Melisandra shook her head, for she could not quite articulate what she saw in her dream. "I cannot answer that as of yet, Ser Davos." Her vision had not given her enough to formulate coherent sentences. All she knew was it had something to do with a towheaded girl, a man with fierce blue eyes on the ground like a serpent, and dragons. She walked around the table and headed toward the door. "Just know, that the night is dark and full of terrors."