The Story Of Storm

A Talk Through The Gods

Floki, curiosity burning within him, turned to Ragnar and posed a question as he handed Storm a cup of ale. "Who taught her to speak?" he inquired. Ragnar shook his head in response, his face mirroring his bewilderment. Storm, her eyelids heavy with weariness, struggled to keep her head upright. She teetered on the brink of falling until Ragnar gently lifted her chin, his gaze filled with concern.

Taking in her sleepy eyes and frail body, he realized the toll the recent events had exacted upon her. "Let us grant her the rest she deserves," Ragnar declared, his voice filled with determination. "She has endured enough."

However, before they could find solace in much-needed respite, King Horik's booming voice shattered the moment of tranquility. Ragnar and Floki made their way toward the water, accompanied by their loyal companions. 

A boat had docked, bearing a man named Thorvad. Horik embraced him warmly, their interaction suffused with an air of urgency. Ragnar, stepping forward, locked eyes with Thorvad, a sense of foreboding creeping into his heart.

Thorvad's words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of betrayal. Jarl Borg had seized Ragnar's lands, his family forced to flee in search of safety. The once-great hall now housed the usurper, leaving Ragnar's legacy in shambles. 

Without hesitation, Ragnar threw his bags into the waiting boat, Floki following suit. Athelstan, torn between loyalty to Ragnar and his newfound role, stood by his side. "It is not too late to change your mind," Ragnar implored, his voice tinged with desperation. 

Athelstan, his gaze filled with determination, replied, "They need me here, Ragnar. My place is by their side." Ragnar's heart sank, unable to meet Athelstan's eyes. 

With a heavy heart, he stepped onto the boat and knelt before Storm. "We are embarking on a journey back home, little one," he murmured, his voice filled with a mix of reassurance and determination. "You need not fear any longer."

As they set sail for Norway, the sea unleashed its fury upon them, waves rising higher than mountains, and the booming thunder echoing like Thor's hammer striking the heavens. In the midst of the tumultuous storm, Storm whispered a single word. Ragnar turned to her, his curiosity piqued. "What did you say?" he asked, eager to unravel her cryptic utterance. 

With a smile, Storm repeated her words, her voice carried by the wind. "Ham som slår sin hammer, lyset er glitrende fra dyret hans. Han er ikke sint. Han feirer!" 

The meaning resonated deep within Ragnar's being. "She said—" he began, but Storm interrupted, her eyes shining with understanding. "I know what I said... Thor is not angry, he is celebrating!"

The revelation filled Ragnar's heart with a newfound sense of hope. It was as if Storm, with her unique perspective and extraordinary insight, had offered a glimpse into the workings of the divine. In the midst of his loss and turmoil, he found solace in the knowledge that Thor, the thunderous deity, celebrated the trials that lay before them. Ragnar held Storm close, her small form providing a tether to a world filled with resilience and determination.

As they braved the treacherous seas and the storm's symphony continued to rage around them, Ragnar found strength in Storm's words. He knew that their journey home would be fraught with challenges, but Thor's celebration reassured him that victory was within their grasp. With Storm's presence as a guiding light, he resolved to reclaim what was rightfully his and restore his family's honor.

Aslaug gazed at Storm with a mixture of concern and curiosity, her motherly instincts urging her to understand the depths of the little girl's plight. She reached out, her finger tenderly brushing through Storm's hair, hoping to forge a connection with the silent soul nestled against Ragnar's neck.