A/N: Hi all!

Thank you for taking the time to read this story about our beloved Viking! 😊

This piece was sparked by the way scents can trigger unexpected memories. Our sense of smell is known for bringing up sudden recollections, and this story is a result of that phenomenon. I hope you enjoy it! You have no idea how much it means to me that someone takes the time to read my stuff but I am so grateful!

DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the characters from this awesome show! Any other characters you don't recognize are mine. If you borrow them just let me know so I can read it!

Flames will always be used to light firewood and candles. 😊

The late spring sun bathed the village in warm, golden light, illuminating the fresh green leaves and blooming flowers. The air was sweet with the scent of blossoms and the hum of bees. Children's laughter filled the air as they played on the soft, lush grass. The village's wooden huts, with their thatched roofs, stood amidst paths lined with colorful blooms. Birds chirped merrily from the trees, adding to the vibrant atmosphere.

In contrast to the peaceful, lighthearted banter that surrounded the clearing, Thorfinn stood with his hands on his hips, scowling at the object held by his older sister.

It was a stupid wooden doll. A stupid wooden doll with little twigs for arms and legs. It even sported tiny flowers for colorful hair. And Thorfinn wasn't known for caring about stupid dolls. Unless his sibling was given something he was not.

"Stop! You'll smash it!"

The young boy huffed in annoyance. "Why do you always think I'll smash everything?"

Thorfinn impatiently slapped his sister's hand away from her doll. Yet Frida, like her brother, was not so easily deterred.

"Because you always do. Give it back now! I know you'll break it. Aunt Astrid made it for me."

"Thorfinn just wants to see," the boy implored, looking up at his older sister. "Thorfinn will be very careful."

"No," Frida snapped, wrenching the small wooden doll away. "She is very fragile."

Thorfinn scoffed. "If she is fragile, why do you handle her so?"

In a whirl of linen skirts, she was gone, leaving her brother to join the other young girls of their clan. From that moment on, Thorfinn vowed to prove to everyone that he could handle fragile things. He was not some dumb, careless boy.

"My son, you must show great care for this."

Wide-eyed, the young teen looked adoringly up at his father. Gunnar smiled down at his youngest child.

"This is very dear to me," the older man continued as he produced a knife. "May you slay many Danes."

"Thank you, Father," Thorfinn said, gingerly putting the engraved knife in his belt. "I will do as you say. I will train hard to be a good warrior, just like you."

Gunnar smiled. "I would not expect anything less. Danes are not a fragile enemy. You must be swift and agile."

"I will, Father."

"See that you do."

Gunnar clasped Thorfinn's shoulder firmly, a silent reassurance passing between them. The weight of expectation hung heavy in the air, mingling with the scent of leather and steel from Gunnar's war gear.

"Now, go," Gunnar urged, his voice low but resolute. "Prepare yourself for the challenges ahead. Remember, courage and skill are your greatest weapons."

Thorfinn nodded, his resolve unwavering as he turned to leave. As he walked away, the torchlight flickered, casting dancing shadows on the walls of their dwelling. Outside, the night was alive with the sound of the forest, a reminder of the dangers that lurked beyond their village walls. The chirping of crickets and the distant hoot of an owl filled the air, mingling with the rustle of leaves in the gentle breeze. The scent of pine and damp earth was strong, grounding Thorfinn in the present moment as he walked along the well-trodden path. The cool night air brushed against his face, a stark contrast to the warmth of the fire inside. He inhaled deeply, the crispness of the air filling his lungs and clearing his mind. The path he walked was familiar, leading him through the edge of the village and into the surrounding woods. He knew the upcoming instruction, trials and battles would not be so.

From that moment on, Thorfinn wanted nothing more than to prove to his father that he could do anything he set his mind to. He was not some dumb, careless teen.

Thorfinn's frustrated voice rang out in the cool night air. "Why is it taking so long?"

The Viking's heart pounded with anxious impatience as he paced back and forth outside the sturdy wooden longhouse. The rough-hewn walls seemed to enclose him in a world of anticipation, and he loathed the feeling of being shut in.

The air was thick with tension; every passing moment weighed heavily on Thorfinn's shoulders. His wife's agonized screams echoed through the village, mingling with the distant sounds of celebration and prayers for a healthy mother and child.

Frida stood beside him, her presence a balm to his frayed nerves. With one hand, she rocked her own daughter. He found it unexpectedly relaxing to watch the small girl's body go limp in her mother's arms.

"Patience, brother," she murmured, her voice a gentle reminder of the natural course of childbirth. "These things cannot be rushed. She has a good midwife with strong hands and spirit. She will be fine."

Yet Thorfinn could feel the minutes stretching into eternity, each one a silent torment of uncertainty. The distant songs of celebration threatened to mock his impatience, their cheerful melodies a stark contrast to the turmoil within.

Then, like a battle cry of victory cutting through the darkness, the piercing cry of a newborn shattered the tense atmosphere. Thorfinn's heart leapt with relief and joy, a surge of emotion threatening to overwhelm him.

"I must go to her," he declared, his voice trembling with urgency as he moved to push past Frida.

But she was quick to intercept him, her grip firm on his heavy cloak. "Not yet," she insisted, her voice a mixture of caution and concern. "Give them a moment of peace. There will be time enough to welcome the newest member of our clan."

Thorfinn hesitated, torn between his desire to hold his wife and child and the wisdom of his sister's words. With a heavy sigh, he conceded, the tension in his muscles slowly easing as he surrendered to wait.

As the newborn's cry faded into the night, a hushed sense of anticipation settled over the longhouse. He glanced toward the door, every fiber of his being yearning to rush inside, yet Frida's steady gaze held him rooted like a tree.

His impatience simmered just beneath the surface. He clasped his hands together, the knuckles white with tension, as he fought to reign in his emotions.

He was a mighty warrior, used to rushing into battle, used to assisting his friends in their time of need.

And yet, he could not go to his wife in hers. The minutes stretched on, each one feeling like an eternity, until finally, the door creaked open, revealing the weary but triumphant figure of the midwife.

"She has done it," the older woman announced, her voice carrying a note of pride. "A healthy babe, and a strong mother."

"I go in now," Thorfinn growled, his patience ending abruptly.

The warrior's heart swelled with relief and joy, a wave of emotion washing over him as he stepped forward, eager to catch a glimpse of his newborn child.

Inside, the longhouse was bathed in the warm glow of flickering firelight, casting dancing shadows across the faces of those gathered within. Olga lay nestled among furs and blankets, her exhaustion plain to see, yet her eyes sparkled with an indescribable joy as she cradled their baby against her breast.

Thorfinn's heart swelled with love at the sight, a lump forming in his throat as he beheld the precious gift before him. He stepped forward, his movements reverent as he knelt beside her. The room was filled with hushed whispers of awe and congratulations, but all Thorfinn could focus on was the tiny, wriggling bundle in his wife's arms.

"My love," he whispered, his voice barely more than a breath as he reached out to brush a gentle kiss against her forehead. "You have given us a beautiful child."

Tears welled in Olga's eyes as she looked up at him, her gaze filled with equal parts love and exhaustion. "And you," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, "you were with me every step of the way."

Thorfinn's hand trembled as he reached out to touch the soft, downy head of his son. The baby stirred, opening his eyes to gaze up at his father with a look of innocent curiosity. A soft coo escaped the infant's lips, a sound that struck Thorfinn to his very core. He marveled at the tiny fingers, so delicate and perfect, as they grasped weakly at the air.

Around them, the women who had helped with the birth began to tidy up, their movements practiced and efficient. The midwife from earlier approached Thorfinn and Olga with a kind smile.

"He is strong and healthy," she said, her voice filled with reassurance. "A fine addition to your family."

Thorfinn nodded, gratitude and pride swelling in his chest. "Thank you all."

As the midwife and the other women left to give the new family some privacy, Thorfinn turned his full attention back to his wife and son. He gently traced the outline of his tiny hand with his finger, feeling the soft skin beneath his touch.

"Welcome to the world, little one," he whispered, his voice choked with emotion. "We have waited so long for you."

Olga leaned into him, her head resting on his shoulder as they both gazed down at their newborn.

"He looks like you," she said softly, a smile tugging at her lips.

Thorfinn chuckled, a sound filled with warmth and tenderness. "Then he is truly a warrior in the making."

Olga smiled. "He is indeed."

Thorfinn smiled back, his heart full. "He has your eyes," he murmured, feeling a deep sense of peace and fulfillment.

The cool night air seemed to wrap around him, carrying the distant echoes of a time long past. Thor stood in the open field, the weight of centuries pressing heavily on his shoulders. The memories of his family, so vivid and yet so distant, haunted him.

One moment, he was on his way to find Sasappis. Then, a gust of wind swept through, carrying the cry of a baby mingled with the scent of damp earth, pine and smoke. Following closely, a girl sprinted past him, clutching her doll, while her little brother nearly collided with him in their rush towards the village.

He barely noticed as he staggered backwards. It was as if he was back in Norðr, breathing and watching Frida run off, followed by his strong father's deep voice resonating through his mind merely to see Olga cradling Bjorn in the safety of their longhouse.

It left him breathless, unable to move as the wind blew right through him. Brown eyes wide, he thought he could feel the smallest touch of Bjorn's tiny hand in his own. Unbidden, the vision switched as the people he had longed for and missed the most swam in his mind.

"Thor?"

Sasappis stared as he got no reaction from his friend. Usually, Thor was always talking or moving so for Sasappis to stumble onto him like this was startling.

He was usually the one to greet him first so to find him standing still and looking so lost in another world caused Sass to faulter in coming closer. His features were tense, etched with the weight of the centuries that had suddenly come crashing down. There was a raw, unguarded vulnerability in his eyes, a stark contrast to his usual robust demeanor.

"Thor? Are you all right?"

A sudden gasp brought the Viking back to the present, Sass flinching as Thor's wild gaze met his in the star light.

"Hey," Sass breathed as he slowly held out his hand, "Easy… It is only me. You look like as if you've just seen a…"

The native knew not to say the word ghost. After all, that's what they were. Yet there was no other way to describe his friend, so he allowed the words to hang in the air.

"Thor fine."

If his expression did not give it away, his flat tone would have.

Sasappis shook his head.

"No, you're not."

"Why you say that? Thor is fine."

Sasappis moved closer, placing a tentative hand on Thor's shoulder.

"You are not fine. I have known you for sixty-eight years and I have never seen you look like that."

"Look like what?"

Sasappis continued as if Thorfinn hadn't spoken at all. "Like you've seen something that isn't there, or something that you wish were here," he said softly. "It's like you're not here with me. You're back there, wherever that is for you."

Thorfinn's shoulders tensed under Sasappis's touch, his eyes darting away as if to avoid the truth in his friend's words.

Sasappis glanced around the quiet forest, the towering trees standing as silent witnesses to their exchange. He gave Thorfinn's shoulder a gentle squeeze.

"Come with me," he said, nodding towards a small, empty hut just visible through the trees. "Let's talk somewhere we can be alone."

Thor hesitated, his eyes flicking back to Sasappis, searching for something in his friend's gaze. Finally, he gave a small nod, allowing Sasappis to lead the way.

The hut was simple, Sasappis gestured for Thorfinn to sit on a low wooden bench, while he settled across from him on a woven mat.

For a moment, the silence was thick, broken only by the distant sounds of the forest. Sasappis watched his friend carefully, giving him space to gather his thoughts.

"You know," the native said finally, his voice low and calm, "I'm glad it isn't raining, or the forest would be on fire right now."

Thorfinn let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. "It's… it's just memories," he admitted, his voice rough. "From a long time ago. Seeing those children, it… it reminded me of my family. Of what I lost."

Sasappis nodded, understanding. "It's hard to let go of the past, especially when it's tied to the people we love. But holding it all in, pretending you're fine, it doesn't help. It just makes the storm inside grow stronger."

Thorfinn looked down, his hands clenching into fists. "I don't know how to… how to let it out. How to talk about it. Feelings are for babies and Danes, not warriors."

Sasappis leaned forward, his gaze steady and reassuring. Shifting to get more comfortable he met Thorfinn's eyes to be certain he was listening.

When next he spoke, his voice was soft but firm. "There is a saying among my people. The bravest warriors are not afraid to cry. It is said that tears are a way to cleanse the soul, to release the pain and make room for healing."

Thorfinn looked up, his eyes meeting Sasappis's with a mix of confusion and curiosity. "A warrior who cries?" he asked, the skepticism clear in his voice.

Sasappis nodded. "Yes. It is not a sign of weakness, but of strength. To face your pain, to allow yourself to feel it and let it out, that takes true courage. Holding it in, pretending it doesn't exist, only makes it grow stronger inside you."

Thorfinn's fists unclenched slightly, his eyes searching Sasappis's face for the truth he spoke of. "But… how do I do that? How do I let it out?"

Sasappis smiled gently. "Start with the small things."

"Small… Things?"

Thorfinn shook his head. "What do you mean small things?"

Again, Thorfinn searched his gaze, clenching and unclenching his fists.

"Well," Sass ran a hand through his hair, only to have it go back to how it would always be.

"You can start with what you were thinking about."

For a long moment, Thorfinn was silent, the only sound the quiet rustling of leaves outside. Then, haltingly at first, he began to speak.

As the words flowed, so did the tears, unbidden and unstoppable, but with them came a sense of release, of a weight being lifted. Even though the tears would disappear as soon as they fell Thorfinn still perceived the relief they gave.

Sasappis listened, offering quiet support, his presence a steady anchor in the emotional storm. When Thorfinn finally fell silent, his tears spent, he felt lighter, the raw edge of his grief dulled by the act of sharing it.

"Thank you," Thorfinn murmured, his voice hoarse but grateful.

Sasappis smiled, giving his friend's hand a reassuring squeeze. "That's what friends are for," he said simply. "To help carry the weight when it gets too heavy. And remember, you don't have to carry it alone."

As they sat together in the quiet of the hut, the bond between them strengthened by the shared moment, Thorfinn felt a flicker of hope. The storm inside him wasn't gone, but it was calmer, more manageable. And for the first time in a long while, he felt like he could face it, one step at a time, with his dearest friend by his side.

-…-End of, "Fragile Strength."-…-…-