Livia Caesarius's Story

Queen Lagertha smiled again warmly, stopping before the second narrower gate by the wooden palisade to allow Ivar's chariot and the mule cart to enter first. Livia looked up from the map. The Praetorians stepped aside to allow the pack mule to overtake their formation, and pass through the narrower gate, before resuming their formation. Ivar rode ahead of everyone through the narrow gate, before whipping his reigns and taking off towards the second draw-bridge over another icey motte. His double horse-drawn war chariot was quite faster than the mule cart, and those who walked on foot behind it. As he rode uphill along the snow-ploughed dirt path past the third wall into the open bailey, Ivar caught up to Bjorn's troops and passed them up, going over the suspension bridge to the fourth and final wall on top of the raised scarf.

Just then, and without warning, Ivar the Boneless would suddenly see a flash of blinding white light which nobody else could see. It seemed like a flash of white lightning to Ivar, and suddenly he would see flashing images of the past, present and future. Sigurd's ghost would give Ivar the Boneless insight into things that only he could see, and only he would know. Prince Ivar suddenly stopped his chariot in front of the much taller, much thicker arched double-doors of his newly constructed mead hall. The Praetorians continued to march in step behind Livia, the great hall up ahead just through the narrow gate, according to her map anyway. The Legata was anticipating a hot meal, and an even hotter bath after today, something to warm her bones, only to find out that she still had one more small incline, an open bailey, a steep hill with a suspension bridge, and one more stone wall with a fortified metal spiked gate to go through before she even got to the mead hall. It seemed that Ivar had steepened the raised mound to form a scarp, and had added more walls to the Iskjerne Viking settlement in the Bay, giving it better defenses with 4 concentric ring walls instead of 3, with 2 drawbridges instead of 1, and 2 mottes instead of none.

Ivar the Boneless grabbed his crutch and swung himself around, sliding himself off of the chariot and on to his feet as his thralls led the horses away. He limped into the Great Hall, leaning on his crutch before taking a seat on the throne again. Before long, his older half-brother Bjorn Ironside would also enter the hall. "Why are you sitting in our grandfather's chair? Get up," Bjorn said as he walked over to the long thick wooden table, which had been fashionably hand-crafted from a single solid tree. "No, this is my chair" Ivar argued as he set his long walking crutch down next to him. "No if anything, it should be our father's chair" Bjorn argued back. "Father would have wanted me to have it," Ivar retorted calmly, slowly reaching under the table for his knife.

Meanwhile as Lagertha walked beside Livia, with both of their small companies following behind them through the bailey and over the suspension bridge up the scarp to the last stone wall, Lagertha chatted away to keep her entertained by giving Livia a semi-tour of the settlement, explaining some of Ivar's new construction plans with her, but never so much as to give away Iskjerne's newly planned secret defenses. "This is the marketplace we're at now. The keep and the great hall are just up ahead passed this bridge," she said happily, still smiling warmly. Lagertha didn't get to interact much with other women outside of her community. Usually the only other women she made arrangements with were her enemies. She was hoping that Livia was different, as she led the Argosians up to the spiked metal gate before stopping. "Well, here we are. Our great hall is just behind this wall here. We don't allow foreign animals past this point so the mule cart will have to stop here. The rest of you can come inside. Come," Lagertha smiled as she waved everyone else to join her through the spiked gate.

Lagertha's hornuglar and shield-maidens would stop at the foot of the bridge behind Livia's praetorians and legionaries and take up guarding positions, watching everything with sharp eyes as Lagertha commanded them to wait outside and defend the bridge, before she then escorted Livia and her guards to follow her through the gate and passed the berserkers into Iskjerne's Mead Hall.

As the troops continued to march through the gates, Lagertha's shield-maidens kept a sharp eye on Livia the Legata and her small band of Praetorians, stopping at the foot of the bridge as the Argosians made their way up the large suspended ramp to the innermost stone wall. Livia would look around, observing the positions of every man in the city, as the guards near the wooden palisade stared back at her silently, taking a mental note of Livia and her legionaries as well. The berserkers at the head of the suspension bridge would part ways and make a path for Lagertha and her guests as they started to make their way through the spiked metal gate.

"Who are they? And why does that one there keep looking over here?" one of the workers asked the guards beside him as he shoveled snow and dirt away from the place where Ivar's Keep was being built. "I have no idea who they are, friends of Queen Lagertha I assume," the guard answered. "She looks oftly interested in our defenses," another guard commented. "What should we do?" another one of the shirtless workers asked, his hands and face dirty from digging trenches all day. "I'll take care of it. Just keep your teeth together and go back to work," the guard said, before walking casually back to the Mead Hall.

"We'll start digging tomorrow at first light." Livia commented, as she moved into the great mead hall, her eyes on the Decanus behind her. Livia turned her attention to Lagertha, and offered a nod, before she turned to her Decanus. "Have the men unload the cart, stage the tools at the dig site, and bring in a sled to carry the body out. See to it the mule is kept warm at a stable or something, I don't want it to freeze to death out here in the cold." Livia's words did not fall on deaf ears. "I will have one of my maid-servants show you the way," Lagertha said, nodding to one of the young slave girls who was standing nearby. The Decanus nodded, and turned back to relay the orders to his men. The young girl would show them to the stables, pointing to a place inside where they could store their mule cart, before the Argosians began to unload the tools to bring them inside. The young girl just stood there quietly by the doorway, watching them with curiosity and a hint of fear or shyness. She couldn't be more than 12-years-old, with blue eyes, blonde hair and a dirty face.

As the legata and her crew stepped out of the freezing cold and into Iskjerne's large Mead Hall, the berserkers closed the spiked metal gate at the stone wall behind them, stopping all traffic to and from the suspension bridge. A small band of hornuglars would guard the foot of the bridge below the scarp, while the small band of berserkers would take up positions outside the Mead Hall, guarding the spiked metal gate. All the while, Queen Aslaug was still standing on the earth mound outside the ring fortress, gazing into the distance with a blank expression, never moving an inch as the kattrfylking sitting on the ground below her continued to spin their threads and weave spindles of yarn to be used in the future.

"Listen here little brother, you were chosen by runes to be the commander of this expedition, but I am still older than you. Don't forget that" Bjorn Ironside said calmly, looking down at Prince Ivar who was smiling patiently. "Is that why our father left you in Kattegat, and took me raiding with him instead?" Ivar the Boneless grinned, still gripping the knife he had concealed under the table. Bjorn Ironside leaned forward, suddenly slamming his fist down on the table, and was about to grab Prince Ivar by his neck when suddenly the Mead Hall doors opened up and Queen Lagertha stepped in, accompanied by Livia and her most personal guards. Bjorn stared sternly at Ivar for a brief moment before regaining his composure. Ivar smirked quietly, putting his knife away before anyone could see it. Bjorn would crink his neck and shoulders, relaxing his nerves and loosening up before turning around to greet his mother and their guests, all of whom oblivious to the tensions between the two legendary viking brothers. Ivar just kept smiling, his eyes trailing over to the legata as his very tall and very large brother breathed deeply and turned to greet everyone while being calm and maintaining his resolve.

"Well? Welcome to our mead hall" Bjorn said impatiently, raising his hands at his sides with his palms open before taking a seat next to Ivar. Lagertha smiled softly and walked over to to her son, placing her hand gently on his shoulder before taking her place on the queen's throne beside Prince Ivar, looking at her guests.

Once inside the mead hall, Livia smiled at the warmth, and she nodded to one of the legionaries that came inside with her. She held her arms out to her side, and the legionary began to undo the fasteners that secured her red cloak, revealing her lorica, which was worn over a red and white tunic, protected by armored strips of leather. Livia also had her sword, which was encased in a silver, gold imbued scabbard that bore ornate geometrical designs. There was another strange weapon holstered on her back. It was a flintlock pistol, with an engraved wooden handle with poured gold inlaid designs. There was a dagger sheathed in Livia's left boot, and a second weapon holstered in her right boot. This weapon was even stranger in appearance from the weapon holstered at her back. Sheathed in a black kydex holster, the Seburo BoBson Centennial edition semi-automatic pistol was secured snugly in her boot as she stepped forward. She dared not take a seat, or do anything else that might offend those before her. So she just inclined her head instead.

"Such a magnificent hall, and warm too. Thank you for your hospitality." Livia said. Ivar the Boneless just kept smiling quietly, glancing over to Bjorn Ironside, who kept his composure and his thoughts to himself. "Please, come on in, take a seat" Prince Ivar said, motioning for everyone to gather around the long heavy wooden table carved from a single tree. "If it's not too much trouble, is there somewhere I can have my legionaries draw me a warm bath? I'm not used to the cold, here." Livia added. Bjorn just gritted his teeth. "Why of course," Queen Lagertha assured her with a smile. "What? Do they not know what tomorrow is?" Bjorn Ironside asked his mother. Queen Lagertha scorned him silently with her eyes before smiling again to Livia and her guards. "It will be Bath Day very shortly. By the time we're done eating, your bath will be ready. In the meantime, sit down and warm yourself by the fire. Eat. Drink. Enjoy." the viking prince Ivar the Boneless insisted as his slaves suddenly started walking in with plates and dishes, food and mead horns already filled and ready to be served.

As the Legata narrowed her eyes at the food in front of her, Ivar the Boneless just smiled quietly. Lagertha patiently waited for the wine servants to finish pouring mead for everyone before picking up her own drinking horn and smiling to Livia, and her praetorians. Bjorn wasn't even paying any attention to any of them. Bjorn Ironside was hungry, as he leaned over everybody in the path between him and the potatoes. The other vikings at the table didn't seem to mind, however, or mind their own manners much either, but Bjorn stood out among them, perhaps because he was just bigger than most of the other people in the mead hall. He had a better reach, his large skull-crushing hands equal to his pig-eating appetite as he ambidextrously reached for the red apple in the pork's mouth and plucked it out with his other hand, biting into the apple with his own teeth. Ivar the Boneless just grinned.

As the vikings in the mead hall started loading their plates with food, never bothering to wait for their guests, Lagertha suddenly raised her drinking horn, and her voice so that everyone could hear her inside the hall. "I want to give a toast," she said loudly, causing a majority of the vikings to simmer down and raise their drinking vessels as well. But as they did, Livia would notice that all of the viking's many different dishes and silverwear were highly unusual and very stylistic, as if each plate and bowl had come from a different market rather than all from the same set. These were not primitive savages like the many smaller tribes and clans that had proceeded them. Ivar's Army was a highly culturalized, highly civilized force. Prince Ivar had brought actual expert Vikings on his voyage, men who were vikings by profession, not just by title or stereotype. These were people who made a living by raiding other people. Every silver spoon, cast iron pan, golden chalice, bronze plate, tin cup, and steel knife was very diverse in shape and design, some more expensive and valuable than others.

Nobody at the feast even noticed that Livia's decanus had handed a small scroll to one of the praetorians. They were all too focused on the mead and festivities, as Lagertha called for a toast. Prince Ivar tapped a metal spoon against his crystal goblet lightly a few times, helping Lagertha to get everyone's attention at the large wooden table that had been carved from a single giant tree, before picking up his own glass of wine. "To Frigg the All-Mother, may she bless this feast... And to our guests, may she bring us all much peace and prosperity while you are here." Lagertha smiled, raising her drinking horn into the air. "SKAL!!" Bjorn Ironside bellowed, quickly chugging his large metal tankard of ale with foam running down his beard. "Skal!" others soon echoed over one another as they took a swig of whatever was poured. "Skal," Lagertha said, calmly and more quietly as she smiled to Livia and her crew, raising her drinking horn again while nodding to Livia with respect.

Livia's praetorian messenger in the night blue robes would leave the mead hall discreetly and quietly. It wasn't even so much that the vikings at the table didn't notice him leave. They just didn't seem to care. They were all more lost in the moment, focusing on the red wine, the golden mead, the amber ale, the freshly cooked ham and cow steak with steaming hot carrots, onions and sliced potatoes. All except for Ivar the Boneless, he was still grinning silently, twirling his spoon on the table while looking at Livia, staring at her quietly from the king's throne. As the praetorian messenger left the mead hall and walked outside into the chilly snow, he would notice that the spiked gate attached to the stone wall was now locked and closed, and there were large bear-skinned berserkers blocking all traffic to and from the suspension bridge, for reasons unknown. These were tall, built warriors with painted faces and bodies, carrying large heavy weapons, full fledged bear-hides flung over their heads, backs and shoulders, keeping them nice and warm as they stared at the indigo robed messenger quietly, waiting to see if he would approach the wall.

Sigurd Hring was dead.

He had been dead for two generations, yet his legacy had lived on long after he was gone. Sigurd had become One with Gaia, and had transcended the physical realm. He was more than just a man. To the native inhabitants, he was now a Titan, and to his viking descendants in Iskjerne Bay, he was now a god. He was the founder and first patriarch of the greatest viking settlement in the universe, the seed from which all the rest had blossomed. All he ever wanted was to live in peace, to create a free society, and help to cultivate the land which loved him so dearly. He had fought tooth and nail to establish a sanctuary where people would be treated equally, where they would have the freedom of religion, the freedom to change their social status and role in society, where they would have the opportunity to make a difference, rather than being slaves.

Sigurd Hring had a dream, and he had spent his entire life fighting for it, all the way up to the time of his death. Sigurd's son had a similar dream, a similar goal in mind. Ragnar was captured, or rather, had willingly turned himself in, for reasons unknown. Ragnar was not spared from torture and torment. He had been bound and chained, humiliated, prodded with spears and whips, his flesh burned and marked, his face disfigured, his body disgarded into a chamber of serpents, so that Ragnar's own sons could hardly recognize him. Oh how the little piggies would squeel when they heard how the old boar had suffered. Never before in history would Vikings be so wrathful and eager for revenge. Ragnar Lothbrok was a legend, and he still is to this very day, just like his father and their fathers before them.

But even Ragnar was not as great as his predecessor King Sigurd, the Ringtaker, the man who married Ragnar's mother. Sigurd Hring, slayer of dragons, giants and dwarfs alike, successor to his own uncle Harald Wartooth, whom he had battled honorably and killed at King Harald's own request. King Sigurd was a legend from the very beginning, a legend which grew over time as he defeated one rival after another, facing monsters and demons, and gods greater than himself, never once surrendering or bowing a knee.

Who wants to be King?

Sigurd Hring was sick of fighting. He wanted only to retire peacefully, to create a marvel for all the worlds to see. He was not so much interested in fame, as he was in glory. Sigurd did not care about riches, wealth, or great expansion. He had no intentions of building an empire, or creating a magnificent army. Sigurd was more interested in the black earth, and fertile soil. He planted a farm, and built a fortified ring around his kingdom where Vikings and pagans could coexist together and find sanctuary. Iskjerne Bay was to be a remote safe haven, far away from all the wars, violence, torture, rape, death and crucifixions that Sigurd Hring and his family had experienced for centuries. His intentions were great, and his dreams were greater, but his timing was off and his fate was fixed. It was only a matter of time before this undefeated rebel met his inevitable doom.

Emperor Shimizu of the Taiyou Empire was not a friend of the Norse kings. Sigurd Hring had a run-in with the Taiyou, and what started as a peaceful encounter soon was wrought with confusion and misunderstanding which escalated into violent warfare between them. The Taiyou Empire, and their fear-driven galactic technology. The greatest civilization that ever lived, heh. Sigurd Hring would put their reputation to the test. Never before in the history of the cosmos had a rebellion been so adamant and strong willed. Never before would such a tiny primitive civilization make such a dramatic impact. Sigurd's army not only fought the Taiyou back, off of their own land, but had dared to attack the Taiyou on their own soil, with enough success that King Sigurd would warrant a visit from the Taiyou Emperor himself.

It wasn't enough. King Sigurd slaughtered the Emperor's army, killed one his advising mages, and sent the emperor crawling home with broken legs and injuries. It was a defeat the Taiyou Empire simply could not allow to go public. They amassed a great space army, and would be hell-bent on taking revenge. Sigurd's actions had endangered the entire planet of Gaia, and his fate was now fixed. It was only a matter of time before the Taiyou returned to make his life miserable.

Sigurd Hring looked around at the kingdom he had established. Women, children, vary a man between 15 and 50, good paganfolk who were not deserving of such ill-fated tyranny. His heart grieved with great sorrow, for he knew the future, and the horrible things that would happen to his people once their enemies had returned. He wept silently by himself, before re-gathering his composure and going out to face his kingdom. King Sigurd was a just and honest man. He told the Vikings what had happened, and what would happen as a result. But the people did not hate him for it. They praised him, erecting a magical permanent statue of King Sigurd from enchanted stone, and worshipping him as a living god. He promised them, that whoever came to him and called on his name, and followed him in death, would be with him in paradise.

The entire viking settlement had committed suicide, following Sigurd Hring in death, and sparing themselves from capture or torture in the hands of their enemies. Adding insult to injury, the Taiyou ships had wasted their journey. The Taiyou Empire was robbed of its chance at revenge, as King Sigurd and his loyal subjects took their own lives, leaving nothing but their memories. It was the ultimate act of defiance, an act of selflessness that would inspire rebels for generations to come.

Many years later, Ivar the Boneless, the son of King Ragnar and grandson of King Sigurd would arrive in Iskjerne Bay, influenced by Norse mythology and Taiyou propaganda, and driven by the spirits of his own ancestors. Sigurd Hring's ghost would come to Prince Ivar in his dreams, giving him spiritual advice and guidance, and instructions on how to rebuild the kingdom. But the young man was too bold and arrogant. He had inherited the same thick headedness as his father and grandfather. Ivar had not followed Sigurd's instructions, but had set his heart towards greed and selfishness. He had formed the Great Heathen Army and had plunged the Norse civilization into endless warfare, perverting everything that his grandfather King Sigurd had held sacred for decades.

That was a mistake...

Suddenly the ground in Iskjerne Bay would shake and tremble as bodies tossed and turned in their graves. Everyone in the great Hall, Viking and Argosian alike, would feel the earth tremble beneath their feet. At that moment, an invisible force seemed to unseat the crippled prince as he was suddenly thrown from the throne, with such force that if he did not catch himself, his bones would surely shatter. Meanwhile, the material wooden statue of Prince Ivar would be uprooted and split in half vertically, so that one half remained standing while the other half fell to the ground. Queen Aslaug would feel the mound below her start to tremble as well. The moment she had been waiting for had arrived.

Sigurd Hring had returned.

As the beaten, dirty and fatigued Ragnar "Lothbrok" Sigurdsson lay helpless on the dirt mound, lacking all wits, senses and energy, two Norsemen would walk up and grab him by his arms, dragging him down the grassy slope and over towards a mule wagon, where they lifted him up and tossed him into the back of it on a pile of matted hay. Thorvald Asvaldsson and his branded son, Erik the Red, glanced at each other quietly for a moment before climbing back into the wagon and driving away, heading towards the battered village and beyond it to the gated entrance of the Iskjerne Ring Fort, where they were hoping to find some food and rest, and maybe a little help for the stranger they had just picked up.

Thorvald Asvaldsson was but a poor old farmer and exile who had been sent on an errand from King Halfdan Svensson the Great, the sovereign of the distant Empyrean Norse Kingdom over the Weargtooth Mountains to the south, acting as an ambassador from the Empyrean High Seas, charged with gathering information for his king. The tropical Empyrean Sea Beach settlement was remarkably similar to the Norse colony at Iskjerne Bay, only much more advanced. Iskjerne Bay was also much colder, located on the main continent of Ellaria along the northernmost coastal mountain range, whereas Thorvald "Bloodyfist" Asvaldsson had come from a large warmer island in the sea. The journey to Iskjerne Bay was long and treacherous, about three and a half weeks long according to his calendar, having taken the much longer but safer route by land around the sandy, rocky coastline of Ellaria rather than daring the sea, or going up the central mainland over the mountains as most others would.

King Halfdan had provided the karvi, a small boat to get Thorvald Bloodyfist across the water, but he was required to bring a slow-moving mule cart and continue his own journey from there. It had also been a twofold mission for Asvaldsson, for he had also brought his son Erik with him. Erik the Red, following in his father's footsteps, was also an exile and convicted murderer. Only unlike his father Thorvald who had found sanctuary at the Empyrean Norse Kingdom and was allowed, as well as expected to return with news of the condition of the northern settlement, Erik the Red had been banished from the Empyrean Sea Beach and was forbidden to return to the southern settlement for three years, lest he face the harsher punishment of death at the hands of the Empyrean king.

Erik Thorvaldsson would just have to settle at Iskjerne Bay instead, the only other place in Ellaria that was still home to the Norsemen and their kinfolk. But he would soon realize that Iskjerne Bay was not nearly as comfortable or as easygoing as the Empyrean Sea Beach, for as their wagon came around the bend and over the hills looking out at the village, Erik would glance up at his father before looking ahead, to a ravaged and war-torn settlement with archaic-styled medieval structures and open sheep pens, to frost covered rooftops and icey walls that had spiking ice sickles growing off of them. Apart from the nobles, of which there were very few if any, most of the local villagers and Norse settlers appeared to be malnourished, cold, hungry and impoverished. A curse or plague had struck their land, and many of the farmers and villagers were left to fend for themselves.

Thorvald Bloodyfist would snap the reigns lightly, causing his mule cart to speed up as the wagon went around the serpentine dirt road through the open village, passing the gated entrance to the ring fortress. Erik gazed up at the two large statues that flanked the entrance to the outer wall, his eyes rather enlarged with both nervousness and awe. His father also glanced over at the statues, taking note of one of them which seemed to be standing tall and proud, made of solid stone, while the other statue was split in half vertically, made of hard wood which had partially fallen over with its face in the moat and had been left there to rot. Just as they were coming through the main gate, Thorvald and Erik noticed another smaller group of people who did not look like typical Norsemen exiting Iskjerne Bay at the same time as they were arriving, led by a single woman.

Thorvald Asvaldsson was surprised to see something quite familiar about Livia the Legata and her Praetorian guards as they marched passed them out of the second gates, heading in the opposite direction. He immediately recognized the insignia of the bull, and the style of their helmets, as well as the unique weapons they were carrying with them. They had been eirily similar to the helmet and firearm that Thorvald Bloodyfist had seen back at the other kingdom. Were these Praetorians some kind of elite Viking mercenaries hired to guard the Iskjerne Kingdom? Just then, something else caught Thorvald's attention as his son smacked his arm and pointed up in the air before him to the giant castle on the other side of the third stone wall, heading up the drawbridge to the raised mound at the center of the large ring fortress. It wasn't very elaborate or fancy, more like a thick stone cube, but still it was marvelous enough to merit Thorvald's attention.

Next they were greeted by a rabble of filthy guards with the likeness of berserkers. Thorvald and Erik had seen these types of men before, but never so many of them concentrated in one place. Berserker cults had long been outlawed in their Norwegian homeland, but here at Iskjerne Bay it seemed that the berserkers were still in active service to their Viking lords. But they did not say much, neither smiling nor even paying Thorvald and his son much attention as they passed through the final spiked gate and ascended towards the castle. Little did either of them know what all had happened in Iskjerne Bay over the past few years or so, nor were they even aware of the significant time change, or the injured passenger they were carrying with them in the back of their mule wagon who was also looking around.

Thorvald Asvaldsson and his son Erik Thorvaldsson were just about to enter the final spiked gate and approach the Iskjerne Castle in their slow moving mule wagon when suddenly they heard someone call out behind them.

"Hætta!" Livia commanded as she quickly started to approach the back of the stopping cart. Erik would discreetly move his hand towards his waistline to grab his small curved seax, but his father Thorvald would seize his arm and stop him, glancing at him quietly for a brief moment before turning around to look at Livia the Legata and her approaching guards. "Let me handle this," he whispered to his son. Thorvald Asvaldsson would remove his hat and nod quietly to the Praetorians, without making any sudden moves. Erik followed suit, easing up and and bowing his head quietly.

Erik watched distrustfully but curiously as one of the Praetorians walked up to Livia with a large white briefcase with a bright red cross on it, gazing at the wounded passenger in the back of the hay wagon before looking around. Soon another Praetorian approached the mule cart with a plastic water container. Thorvald and Erik glanced at one another silently before turning to look again at the Praetorian guards and their female leader. They understood Livia just fine, but they did not recognize her Latinized accent. Thorvald decided to try and speak to her and find out what she wanted as he looked down at the injured person in the back of his wagon before looking at her.

"Kveðja sómakona mín. Ég er Þorvaldur, sonur Asvalds víðs vegar um haf, og þetta er sonur minn Erik, sem er að ferðast mér við hlið. Þekkir þú þennan mann aftan í kerrunni? Við fundum hann á einni hæðinni, eins og hann er núna. Við vitum ekki hvernig hann komst á þennan hátt. En ég get fullvissað þig um að það vorum ekki við sem rændum hann. Við ætluðum bara að koma honum í musterið og skilja hann eftir. Við erum bara fátækir bændur, eins og þú sérð. Við höfum enga peninga en þér er velkomið að líta í kringum þig og taka það sem þú vilt. Vinsamlegast vinsamlegast ekki meiða okkur." the fifty-year-old man said, still holding his hat in his hands.

Thorvald's accent was just as bad as Livia's accent, it seemed, and although he had the appearance and makings of a true Norseman, and could speak fluently, it was apparent to the sharply tuned ears that Thorvald Bloodyfist was not a native to this northernmost part of the land. Nor was Erik, for they both had redder skin than the Iskjerne Vikings, as if they had been traveling for a very long time in the hot sun. Thorvald and Erik watched quietly with widened eyes, obviously very alert and aware of their surroundings, if not a little intimidated and confused by the well dressed Praetorians who outnumbered them considerably. What did they want with two poor farmers and a wounded man? Were they planning to highjack the wagon? Thorvald swallowed and lowered his head, making himself appear as humble as possible while hoping not to offend Livia and her guards as they examined the wagon.

Ragnar Sigurdsson suddenly jumped as Livia reached out to touch him. The wide icey blue gaze of his one good eye stared at her with a look of hatred and madness, not just at her but at the whole entire world in general. His other eye had been swollen shut. His forehead had an open gash in it, in the shape of a cross, and there was blood running down his face. His left side had been pierced with a sharp object, causing a trail of blood which soaked his tattered brown shirt and trousers. His right hand was swelled up from being bitten by a viper. He had bare feet with dirty toenails, and his left foot, also swollen, had two puncture wounds on it from snake's fangs. His neck was also bruised, as if he had been choked or strangled by a large python. The whole back of his shirt had been ripped open by being whipped constantly, and there were several lashings on his backside. Both of his wrists and ankles were scraped up and lacerated from being shackled, and from the holes in his hands and feet, it seemed that at some point in time, Ragnar had been crucified. He had been through hell and back, and had every right to be skittish and jumpy at the stranger before him.

But as she slowly lifted his sticky shirt up to examine the gash in his side, Ragnar stared at Livia quietly, his face void of expression as he tried to relax. Even in this horrible state, Ragnar still had the gaze of a very fierce and strong individual. There was hardly any fear in him at all, only a deep sense of hatred and contempt for those who had placed him in his current condition. It was amazing he was even still alive at all, but the badly injured Danish Viking showed no sign of remorse or weakness as he winced in pain, gritting his teeth as Livia examined his many wounds. She would also notice many scars and other former injuries which had healed over time. It appeared that Ragnar had not only been beaten, robbed and left for dead, but had been brutally tortured for many days, perhaps even weeks. Yet his resilience still held. Clearly he was no ordinary human being, as he stared fiercely at the Praetorians who were carrying out their orders from the Argosian commander.

"Claudius, revertetur per viam portae, non potest dicere Generalis Hama reversus cum hospite." She instructed in her native language. Thorvald Asvaldsson and his son didn't understand a single word of it, but Ragnar Lothbrok understood the gist of it, having learned some English and stylized Latin from a Christian priest he had once captured and made friends with long ago.

Ragnar laid there quietly with his head propped up against the back of the wagon seat as Livia climbed up into the mule cart next to him. He didn't say anything, only gritting in pain while hiding his agony and refusing to show fear as she spoke to Thorvald in a language all four of them could understand. "I'm Livia, the first Legate. I do not want your things, I want to help this man." She said, once again with her strangely delicate accent. Thorvald Asvaldsson just nodded quietly.

The Norsemen watched helplessly as the two Praetorian Guards tossed the white medical field kit into the back of the parked mule cart along with the jug of water that Livia had requested. "If we do not get him medical help, he will die." She said, as she began to examine Ragnar's injuries more closely, using her pugio to cut his shirt open and expose the festering dirt covered wounds. The young man Erik would grimace at the sight of so much blood and pain. He had never seen someone so badly injured before, and it surprised him that Ragnar wasn't crying or screaming for mercy.

Thorvald Bloodyfist and Erik the Red watched silently as Livia opened the white briefcase, exposing an array of shining tools and medical equipment. Ragnar just glanced for a second at the tool kit before looking into Livia's eyes again, as if gazing into her soul as she snapped on her latex gloves and proceeded to clean out his wounds. He winced in pain as the alcohol touched his skin, but he made no efforts to stop her. In fact, he seemed more curious and interested in what Livia was doing, as if he was almost taking mental notes in his mind and learning from it as she flushed his injuries with water and alcohol before stitching him up. Ragnar remained somewhat conscious throughout the entire process, but the viper's venom was still slowly taking effect as his vision started to go blurry from the snake bites.

"What happened to this man?" She asked, a bit alarmed it would seem that Ragnar was still breathing. She then repeated herself in their native language. Thorvald and Erik, just like Ragnar, had understood both East Anglish and Old Norse, so Thorvald decided to respond in the Empyrean English dialect instead to make it slightly easier for Livia, seeing as she appeared to be struggling with their more Nordic pronunciations.

"I don't know. Like I said, we just found him like this," the old man answered, speaking directly to the Legata now as his red-haired son continued to examine the shining tools and equipment inside the white briefcase. "Vipera berus," the injured patient suddenly chimed in Latin before closing his eyes and falling limp. He was still breathing slowly, but he was starting to lose consciousness. Thorvald and Erik looked at one another ackwardly, confused again by the strange words before turning to gaze at Livia and the Iskjerne Viking in the back of the wagon who was fading quickly.

Thorvald Asvaldsson took the small handful of silver denarius coins in the palm of his hand, looking down at them before looking back up at Livia for a moment. He then turned and handed the silver coins to his son Erik the Red, who picked up one of the coins and bit into it to see if it was real. Thorvald then rested his hand on Erik's shoulder.

"Thank you kindly Your Grace, but this old man has already sworn his allegiances to another. Besides, I will only slow your haste. These old bones have been traveling for many weeks, and I am in need of some rest. I will send my son with you instead, he can take you to the mountains." Thorvald said, squeezing his son's shoulder gently before patting him on the shoulder and climbing down out of the mule wagon.

The red-headed young man stared at his father quietly before nodding and placing the silver denarii into his belt pouch and grabbing the reigns. Thorvald nodded respectfully to Livia and her Praetorian guards before putting his hat back on and slapping the mule's ass with his open hand. "Go now my boy, and be quick." Thorvald said as the four-wheeled cart started moving.

Erik the Red nodded and whipped the reigns, shouting loudly. "Yah!!" He yelled as the wagon started to pull away, gaining speed with Livia and Ragnar in the back of it as he carried out the Legata's wishes, taking her north towards the mountains. Ragnar began fading in and out at that moment, talking nonsensically in a way that was incomprehensible to both Livia and Erik.

"Aethelstan... Aethelstan don't leave me." Ragnar said weakly as he squinted his one good eye open and reached out to Thorvald, but the old man was already beginning to walk back towards the castle. Ragnar would blink slightly, beginning to feel nauseated and dizzy from the polyvalent antivenin Livia had injected into his shoulder. He tried to squint and blink, turning his head to look up at Livia again. With his blurry vision, he thought for a moment that she was a valkyrie. The sun's rays cascading over her head and shoulders with brilliant rainbow colors appeared to him like a halo, winged helmet or like the wings of an angel as he smiled very slightly at Livia before laying his head back and closing his eyes again. "Eir, beloved Eir, don't let my wife find out that I'm dead or she'll kill me." Ragnar muttered softly before losing consciousness and passing out.

The first thing to return to Ragnar Lothbrok after being in a comatose state for six days was his hearing. He could hear the door chime open as tapping footsteps approached his bed rest. As he opened his eyes slowly, he squinted. His vision was still blurry, and the lighting in the room only added to the Swedo-Danish man's blindness. He could faintly hear two women's voices, speaking something in a language he didn't understand. It had sounded almost like the voices of the Chinese medicine woman he had once murdered, only the Taiyou dialect was also very different and less tingy, more bold and completely foreign to him.

As the sedatives wore off and his eyes adjusted to the light in the room, Ragnar slowly regained his eyesight, just in time to have a small Asiatic woman lift his eyelids open and shine a small pen flashlight into his eyes. His eyes were icey blue like the sky under the flashing light as his dark black pupils became small and dilated. He followed the pen light with his eyes before glancing down to see the Taiyou nurse checking his heartbeat with a strange metal instrument. His pulse and breathing had returned to normal.

The nurse then proceeded to check on his wounds and see how he was fairing. Ragnar was healing quickly, much faster than he would have possibly recovered back at Iskjerne Bay, though he had completely lost his sense of direction, where he was, and the time and date. His body was still numb and recovering from his loss of physical feeling. The surgeons had done a fine job of cleaning all the dirt and blood off of him and stitching his wounds. The scars left behind by his injuries would be very fine and thin, and would likely fade over time. Soon, he would be back to his normal self again.

At that moment, Livia would creep up behind the nurse and look down at him. Ragnar did not recognize her, even for a moment as she examined the stitchings on his forehead. What she would have noticed from him was a weariness and weakness that few Norsemen ever showed, yet there was also a fury, madness and crudeness in his bold blue eyes, the likeness of which Livia and her Taiyou nurses had never seen before. Was he a very angry individual, or was that just his natural facial expression? It was hard to tell with someone like Ragnar Lothbrok, and she must have wondered where he had come from, and how he came to be in the condition he was in now. Surely someone or something had meant to kill this man, but had failed thanks to her helping hands.

"Welcome back to the land of the living," Livia greeted him with a straight face, smiling slightly.

At that moment, Ragnar's feeling slowly started to come back to him. He tried to sit up, but something was stopping him. Ragnar could suddenly feel the leather restraints around his neck, wrists and ankles as he wiggled around for a moment before looking up at Livia from his hospital bed. He peered into her own eyes quietly before speaking.

"Where am I?" he asked softly, his deep mellow voice clearly not matching his expression. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Ragnar still thought he was dead. Was this the Christian heaven? Or their hell? He wondered quietly, taking a mental note of the bright red cross on the nurse's hat as he glanced over at the tablet and everything else in his view point.

"I found you in the back of a wagon clinging to life, some townspeople found you." Livia answered him, causing Ragnar to raise his eyebrows and widen his eyes at her while pouting his lip in astonishment for a moment, as if he was surprised to hear that. He took a mental note of her blue eyes and auburn hair color, as well as her Latinized English accent, all things that Ragnar Lothbrok would take into account as he continued to listen to the door chime, clicking, hissing and other sounds around him caused by the machines.

"Hospital?" He repeated with a strong Swedo-Danish English accent. He was familiar with the Latin term hospes, and the Anglo word hostel, but he did not imagine he would be waking up in one. His eyes continued to trail around the room as he listened to Livia's words over the feint beeping and other strange noises. There was a lot for him to process as he glanced at the lights on the ceiling and the medical table and life support machines against the wall beside his headrest. This was nothing at all like the hospitals Ragnar had seen.

"I am Livia," the casually dressed Legata would inform him, placing her hand over her chest. He took note of her white tank top and denim jacket, a clothing style which seemed very new and foreign to the former medieval chieftain, who was now wearing nothing at all apart from a teal blue hospital gown. Besides being thinner and more ruffly than what he was used to, the gown actually wasn't too much different from some of the long robes and tunicas he had seen back home.

As the door chimed again, Ragnar tried to glance over Livia to see who it was. When the orderly brought the cart around and moved the swiveling extendable tray in front of him, Ragnar would glance over at the containers with a bit of paranoia in his eyes. He could hear the squeeking small cart wheels rolling across the hard floor, and he didn't understand a lick of Taiyou as the orderly greeted Livia in the native tongue. But as the lids on the containers were removed, revealing a small entrée of strange and foreign foods, Ragnar became less tense and squinted a very light smile that seemed more apparent in his eyes than on his face.

"I'm going to undo your restraints, please don't do anything rash." The Legata pleaded as she began to unfasten the restraint binding Ragnar's right arm. Ragnar would rotate his wrist for a moment, regaining some of the feeling and blood flow back in his arm as he tried to sit up again, forgetting about the leather restraint around his neck. He could barely wait to be free again. He waited patiently for Livia to undo the strap around his neck, before reaching around her hands with his freehand and rubbing his throat with a grimacing sigh of relief.

There were knobs and buttons on the arm of his hospital bed which could be used to make the bed recline forward, helping him to sit up. Ragnar Lothbrok wasn't aware of this technology yet, however, so he just sat up on his own instead. At that moment, he got a slight head rush, but he would just squeeze his eyes closed for a moment and shake it off before opening his eyes again. For the first time since his arrival at Emperor Nobuo Takayama's Medical Center, he could look around and see everything clearly.

He glanced over beside himself to the wooden nightstand with opening drawers and the television set on top of it, the large rectangular clear glass window with open grey curtains flanking it, the solid white hard tile floor, the wooden furniture and baseboards, the white walls, wooden cabinets and wall decor. There were picture frames, and medical charts, medical machines with tubes, valves and buttons on them. He took notice of his grey framed medical recliner, and the teal blue gown that he was now wearing. He also noticed the door from where all the chiming sounds had kept coming from, and the denim jeans that Livia was wearing which matched her jacket. He then looked down at his food tray, to the steaming contents in front of him, some of which he was already familiar with, and some of which he didn't know what to make of.

"Can you eat? Are you hungry? Can you tell me what happened to you?" Livia asked curiously.

He picked up the glass of ramune soda and tried to peer down into its straw with one eye, not sure what to think. He listened to the fizzling liquid within, holding the glass up to his ear before taking a swig straight from the glass, ignoring the straw. He tried to swallow, but he couldn't. The soda would tickle his nose and fizz against his tongue. Ragnar would turn his head away from Livia and spit it out, spraying soda all over the wooden cabinet beside him. He turned and cringed, looking at Livia disgustedly before setting the glass of icey soda back down on the tray.

Next he looked at the entrée, a steaming hot dish with squid, rice and fried egg, with a bowl of strange looking soup, and natto served with soy sauce. The only thing that looked even remotely familiar to him was the squid. He cringed again for a moment, picking up a piece of fried tentacle before dropping it back on the plate again. He then picked up the bowl of miso soup and sniffed it, allowing the vapors to touch his nostrils. He glanced back up at Livia the Legata for a moment, before testing the soup with the tip of his tongue. He blinked and smiled at the taste of the soup before suddenly chugging down the whole entire thing with a few large gulps, spilling some of it down his dirty-blonde short bearded chin and on to the front of his gown, before setting the empty bowl down on the food tray and wiping his mouth with his arm sleeve, looking up at Livia.

"I am Regnerus, called Ragnar... Lothbrok..." he said softly, looking over her shoulder to his reflection in the mirror behind her, noticing the gauze bandage on his forehead.

"I was captured by King Aella of Northumbria on my way to Jorvik... yick," he cringed again while picking at his food, obviously not interested in eating whatever the heck it was that the Taiyou doctors had on their menu.

"The King wanted me to convert to his White Christ and repent for my sins... But I refused," he smiled unremorsefully, ripping the gauze bandage off of his forehead to reveal the cross-shaped stitches and scars underneath before picking up a tiny grain of rice with his fingertips and finally nibbling at it curiously, clicking his teeth against his tongue as he tasted it. This too he would spit on the floor beside him before pushing the swiveling food table away from himself, no longer interested in what they had to offer.

"I was whipped, chained, beaten with staffs and clubs, prodded with spears, hung from a tree in a cage, starved for several days and made to walk on hot stones, but still I would not squeel. So the king had me branded and crucified, but still I would not repent. So he let me hang again up in the tree for a few more days, allowing the ravens and crows to peck at my wounds. Then finally, he let me fall into a pit of vipers and other snakes before closing and sealing the door to my earthy grave. With my last bit of strength, I prayed to the gods and my ancestors and tried to claw my way out of the earth. I remember seeing my Christian friend, and for a moment I thought I was in heaven. But then I saw one of the valkyries, and I knew I must have been stuck somewhere in-between... That's all I really remember. Now I'm here," he said before flexing his other arm and snapping his other leather wrist restraint with remarkable ease, despite its thickness and his healing wrist wounds.

Ragnar tried to bend and stretch forward to remove his ankle straps as well, but he quickly winced in pain and laid back down on his hospital bed, having forgotten about the lacerations on his back and the spear wound on his side. He would breathe heavily for a moment, relaxing and regaining his composure before looking back up at Livia the Legata with a look of humour and a slightly perked smile, feeling an increase in his appetite.

"So... what's for dessert?" He asked.