He could hear the angels calling his name, it was a whisper beneath the chaos that surrounded him. Lifting a small child, perhaps four years of age with brilliant blue eyes full of fear and tears as he ran through the village. Holding the boy close to his chest as he leaped over flaming timbers of a fallen home, his shield was across his back and a bloodied blade in his free hand.

The boy was Odd and his parents, Jokull and Hilde had lost track of him as they rushed about, the world crashing in around them. His face was covered in dust and smeared by tears but he had tried to understand what was going on. The bells, he heard the bells and then there was a world shattering thunder. There was fire and timbers falling, his mother was wrapping up his baby sister in a blanket as his father hastily pulled on armor.

There were words passed between his parents, he didn't hear. They rushed out of the burning building, his mother was telling him to stay close. Loki, their dog, was barking and he sounded trapped inside and Odd had turned to try and return into the building. He couldn't get the door open, something inside had fallen and blocked the way, when he turned back around he could not see him mom anymore.

That was when he was swept up into the arms of Alaric. Everyone knew Alaric the Just, and despite his fear, Odd felt safe.

Gruffly he called out as he approached the door to the keep. "Open the doors, its Alaric." It took what felt like forever before the great wooden door opened just enough to allow him to press the boy through. "Close it up again. Get him to the others. Don't open them again."

He didn't stay to see if the woman that grabbed the child listened, he knew that she would. The alarm bells still tolled and could be heard over the crackling of flames and the crashing of buildings falling under the weight of debris and bodies.

The sun was dying, the fires now providing more light than the sky itself as he raced back toward the battle. He could hear his men singing mightily as they fought and a fierce pride gripped him. It was the enemy, and the enemy was hungry tonight....he would feed them cold, hard steel even as he was called to sacrifice. It was a sacrifice he willingly gave for he was winter born.

There is a moment in battle where everything becomes clear, the details formulate the full picture and a leader can see the ending if all things remain the same. He had made the front, his men were fighting with hearts upon their sleeves for it had become quickly apparent that the enemy fought this time for keeps.

There was something in the brutality that signaled a final clash of wills and wishes and his men were desperately attempting to save that which they held dear. It was not so far to the walls of the Keep and the women and children within. His wife and child were in there and he could feel a part of his soul bleeding with a wound....he knew they could not win.

Then things cleared before him and in his mind he could see a chance, a slim one but a chance none-the-less to save his people. It would mean his death for a certainty. Perhaps that why his father, despite having passed down the method of it, never spoke of it as a viable option. Alaric doubted his father had ever believed that the enemy would come to wipe them out for good.

Alaric drew upon the well of magic within, he filled himself with the source of it until he could feel it burning his flesh and dimming his sight. His men cried out in shock, perhaps awe, seeing him embody the essence of their Gods. He shouted a command that his men would not be able to disobey, it was augmented by power and a deep abiding trust in his leadership.

A light now flooded from his pores, washing over the enemy and causing them to momentarily retreat, this was all he needed to allow his men to move back a hill and out of harms way. He waited as long as he could manage before he released the power he held. If any of his men did not make it he would never know for the moment the power flowed out of him it stole his consciousness with it. There was an image of the enemy howling in frustration as his lands and people were forced onto a slightly different plane of existence, out of reach, out of harms way.

A song of his ancestors sang in his heart and though his lips would not form the words he could feel them thrum through his being as his soul departed from his body. So bury fear, for fate draws near And hide the signs of pain With noble acts, the bravest souls Endure the heart's remains Discard regret, that in this debt A better world is made That children of a newer day might remember And avoid our fate. *

He found peace. It was not until later that he would discover that peace had not yet found him.

((Authors Note: Lyrics from Winterborn - by Cruxshadows))

The breeze was bitter, it bite into any flesh it found with a ferocity rarely found outside of nature. The men were pulling hard at the oars and they were making good time despite the waves that worked against them with ever stroke.

Alaric had just come off a shift at the oars and was warming himself up with some ale with some of the other men; they were too few for him not to pull his weight. The other four boats were in view and he felt in high spirits. The hunt had been very successful and what they were bringing home would sustain the village for at least a month.

He shook out his limbs, absently noting that icicles had formed on his coat and were falling to the deck. One seemed to take a long time falling, as if it had forgotten that gravity was its master and when it did strike the treated wood it shattered into a thousand shards all of which gave out a thunderous protest.

The expressions on the men around him did not change, they were all still smiling and laughing, relaxing after hard hours on the oars. Something was not right, he could feel it but not pinpoint the source.

He grabbed ahold of Einarrs arm and spoke in a hushed tone, "Do you feel that in the wind, brother?"

Einarr did not turn to face him, nor did he reply but rather continued to speak to Hagard who was next to him. It was then that Alaric realized he could no longer understand the speech of his ancestors and a panic gripped his heart. Fear was natural, it was the bodys response to danger, he was no stranger to fear. The sensation of loss hit him harder than any wave and threatened to drown him, paralyzed by an irrational terror growing in his chest.

"Einarr, speak sense to me brother. I am in need of your strength." He heard a pleading quality in his tone that he did not recognize as his own.

This time Einarr did turn toward him and fixed ice blue eyes upon him. "No brother of mine. No longer. The valkyrja have taken you to a place that we can not find. Be at peace brother, but not here." With that Einarr put both hands on Alarics chest and heaved, the unexpected attack sent Alaric overboard and into the arms of the unforgiving sea.

When he opened his mouth to protest the midnight waters rushed in and filled his lungs before he could react. He flailed and kicked and attempted to scream but his lungs burned with salted waters and nothing but coughing came out.

"Woah there Erik, calm down. You are not in danger!"

Abruptly he realized that he was in a darkened room and there was another person there with him, holding his arms as they wildly swung at the air and straddling his waist. He was in a bed, it took him a moment to reorient himself and come to the realization that it was Gwen that was desperately attempting to keep him calm.

"You are safe! Safe I say!" There was a force that beat against him with her words that seeped into his flesh and stole some of the panic, enough to allow the rest to recede back to the depths of his nightmare.

Gwen sung a short burst of words he did not comprehend and suddenly there was a ball of light in the space above them. She had a nasty looking bruise forming on her cheek and her lip was split. Her grip on his arms was impressive and he forced himself to relax his muscles and go limp.

"Did I...?" Horror returned as he realized that it was probably a blow from his hand that left those marks on her pale flesh.

"It was my own fault. I've seen people in such nightmares before and I didn't take the proper precautions. You sounded like you were drowning though and I won't have a guest die in their sleep under my roof. You hear me, Erik?" Those last words were punctuated by sharp pokes of a finger to his chest. "No dying under my roof."

The day was warm as he wandered through the streets of the city. It was bigger and more crowded than he was used to and it seemed to him that few of the people actually interacted with any one else. He passed by a sign that he could only make out one of the words, "Orphanage."

There were a gaggle of children out front and they were playing with a range of toys that looked to be third or fourth hand-me-downs. There was a frazzled looking woman arguing with a man in front of the building. He found himself moving toward the couple until he could hear what was being said.

"But you said that you would do it for only one gold an hour and that the work would only take a day. We can't afford ten gold an hour and a week!" The woman sounded as though she was at her wits end.

"It's the going rate, I can't be giving my labor out for free." The man retorted without a hint of remorse.

"The roof is leaking and the kids are getting wet, can't you work with us on the price" Surely you can write off a portion as charity." The woman was wringing her hands in the apron she wore.

"I'm not a non-profit, lady. Why not have a bake sale or something, you seem to be able to get enough gold out of the suckers around here."

"Excuse me." Alaric moved forward to make his presence known. "Might I ask what services this man was offering to complete?" He addressed the woman, dismissing the man obviously by placing himself in between them as he spoke.

"The roof. It's taken damage from the attacks this past winter and well the winter itself. We got the materials as a donation but I....I don't know how to do the work." She really was sounding desperate.

"I've done such work before. I'll do it for free."

"Hey now! We had a deal, lady!" The man attempted to interject but Alaric put a hand on the man's shoulder and began to walk him toward the gate.

"You will go home and not bother us again." Alaric spoke softly but in a tone that would brook no argument.

From there Alaric spent the day preparing to get the work done. The lady, her name Alaric found out was Ms. D"Marco, did not possess any type of tools and so he borrowed them from the Manor with Gwens? permission.

The next few days he spent at the orphanage finishing he necessary repairs on the roof. He occasionally found himself covered in small children, the younger ones in particular seemed to find a great amount of joy in using him as a jungle gym.

It was fulfilling and when the roof was done he found himself taking on some of the other projects around the orphanage. It was the first time since he'd arrived that he felt more like himself.