The battlefield was a maelstrom of chaos, the clash of steel and the scent of blood hanging heavy in the air. Viking and Anglo-Saxon warriors alike were embroiled in fierce combat, their armor dented and their weapons slick with the gore of their foes. The din of battle was deafening, a cacophony of war cries, screams of pain, and the ringing of swords on shields.

Amidst the turmoil, a familiar voice pierced the air, shouting "DUCK!" in a tone that brooked no hesitation. Without thinking, you leaned back, your instincts honed by countless battles. In that very instant, a deadly axe hurtled past your head, its blade whispering a deadly promise as it bit deep into the shoulder of a nearby warrior. The sound of his cry still echoed in your ears as you straightened, your gaze locking onto the vision of fury and beauty before you.

Your wife, her armor battered and her sword slick with the blood of our enemies, stood panting, her eyes ablaze with a warrior's fury. Her ginger tresses were disheveled, her face smeared with grime and sweat, yet her beauty shone like a beacon in the midst of carnage. In that moment, she was a goddess of war, her very presence inspiring awe and terror in equal measure.