Vikings

THE VIKINGS. EPISODE 1: RITES OF PASSAGE

TEASER:

A young Viking, RAGNAR LOTHBROK is engaged in a fight to the

death with two LATVIAN WARRIORS, distinguishable by their

eastern-looking clothing. Ragnar has been fighting a long

time. His torso is smeared with blood, like his sword, and

the bodies of the dead lie scattered around.

The Latvians are bigger and heavier but we quickly appreciate

Ragnar’s weapon skills and speed of thought, blocking the

blows of the axes with sword and shield and weaving out of

range. We also see that one of the Latvian’s is already badly

wounded, with blood streaming from a wound in his head.

Ragnar concentrates on him for a moment, thrusting, turning

him, twisting away so the warrior wastes his diminishing

energy slicing thin air with his axe and bellowing angrily.

Finally he stumbles and Ragnar drives his sword into his

chest.

But at the same moment the second Latvian attacks from

behind, swinging down his axe for a mighty blow. Ragnar

pivots round, his shield taking the full force of the blow,

leaving the axe-head embedded in the wood.

Aghast, unable to free his weapon, the Latvian abandons it

and starts to run. Very calmly, Ragnar pulls a spear out of

the body of one of the dead and hurls it after the running

man. Speared clean through the back the warrior falls.

Ragnar, suddenly as weary as death, trudges a few yards up

the slope and surveys the rest of the battle field. In the

gathering gloom an eery silence has fallen. Scores of bodies,

hacked, mutilated and speared lie on the ground. And

everywhere flocks of crows and ravens flutter down and feast

upon the corpses. And there is not one living human thing

moving over that field of death - except a solitary figure. A

TALL MAN with a long cloak and a wide-brimmed hat, holding a

spear, he moves slowly between the bodies of the Viking dead,

seeming to note and inspect each one. He is a spectral

figure, strange, disturbing, powerful, with ravens sometimes

perching upon his shoulders...and Ragnar watches him like one

transfigured, like one who has come face to face with his

god.

The tall man pauses by one of the Viking dead and points him

out with his spear. At that moment the air around appears to

shimmer and two or three almost transluscent, almost naked

YOUNG FEMALE VALKYRIES appear and gather the slain warrior

into their arms. In great brightness the young women lift

into the liquid air...and vanish.

Ragnar watches this miracle in silent awe, then looks over

again at the tall man. For a brief moment the tall man lifts

his head, revealing his face beneath the wide-brimmed hat.

The face is indescribable - except for its single eye, which

stares back at Ragnar with a pitiless and terrible intensity.

And then he is gone, as if he had never been, leaving Ragnar

to survey the darkening, mysterious scene.

END OF TEASER:

These words appear on the screen:

NORWAY, LATE 8TH CENTURY.

The wooden and turf house is dark and almost window-less, the

rooms lit by tallow candles. From outside comes the dull

rumble of summer thunder.

Somewhere in the darkness a WOMAN is breathing heavily and

groaning. We hear the sound of other WOMEN’S VOICES, low and

sibilant, almost chanting.

A YOUNG MAN - RAGNAR - fretful and anxious, crosses the place

where the colored war shields are fixed to the wall like

eyes, and looks into the chamber where his wife, LAGERTHA,

the shield-maiden lies upon their bed giving birth,

surrounded by three or four OLDER WOMEN, one of them ancient.

ANCIENT WOMAN:

What do you want?

RAGNAR:

Isn’t it here yet?

The ancient woman doesn’t bother to respond, spits on the

floor and places her hands again on Lagertha’s swollen

stomach and resumes her low, strange chant.

One of the other MID-WIVES speaks more kindly.

MID-WIFE

Not yet, Ragnar. Go away and do

something useful.

Outside the storm breaks, the thunder louder and rain hissing

on the ground.

RAGNAR moves away, into another chamber, and crouches down

beside a small wooden statue set in a niche beside the fire,

very crudely carved from a piece of wood: a statue of a nude

female figure,wearing just a necklace, with large breasts.

2.

Ragnar picks it up.

RAGNAR:

Freya, make everything go well

today. Make sure Lagertha lives,

and is delivered of a healthy

child.

A beat. The thunder cracks again. Then Ragnar shrugs and puts

the figure down.

RAGNAR (CONT’D)

I know you can’t really change

anything.

ANCIENT WOMAN V.O.

It’s time.

Ragnar hurries back through.

His wife’s legs are spread wide open and something is

emerging between them: a head, with a halo of bright hair.

The ancient woman continues her sing-song chant and the

younger women help with the birth, one of them holding the

baby’s head as the rest of its body slithers out in an abrupt

rush of blood and afterbirth...and Ragnar gasps at the wonder

of it. Stares at the bloody bundle even as they cut the chord

and begin to wash it.

RAGNAR:

What is it?

LAGERTHA:

(with a laugh)

It’s a boy.

RAGNAR:

How do you know?

LAGERTHA:

What are you talking about? Didn’t

I promise you a son?

Ragnar looks at the ancient woman.

RAGNAR:

Is it a boy?

ANCIENT WOMAN:

Look for yourself, Ragnar Lothbrok.

Ragnar looks. Satisfies himself.

3.

LAGERTHA:

Give him here. I have enough milk

for a herd of boys.

The baby is lifted to her breast, where it suckles.

EXT. VIKING SETTLEMENT - DAY

Ragnar emerges from his house carrying the baby, wrapped in a

blanket. The storm has passed. The wood and turf building is

one of several in the small hamlet perched on the edge of a

deep fjord. It’s a vision of stillness and utter

tranquillity. The thickly wooded slopes of the fyord drop

down sheer to the water, and above them the bare rocks are

still capped with snow. The whole landscape has a strange,

magical luminosity - a heightened, almost unnatural beauty.

Ragnar takes his son to the water’s edge and holds him out in

his arms, like an offering.

RAGNAR:

Look Odin. Look, I have a son.

Thank you, lord. Thank you for my

son.

We move in CLOSE on the baby’s face - then the camera tilts

up towards the sky.

And suddenly the sky begins to darken...

EXT. THE HEAVENS

Darkness - and out of the darkness a noise like no other, of

horns and hooves and the shrill cry of birds and the roaring

of men and women. And over the dark fields, fringed with

fire, high in the darkling sky flies a tumultuous host:

thousands of Viking warriors and Valkyries packed together

and riding plunging horses, armed with spears and swords, and

half-naked shield-maidens with bows and shields, sweeping

across the heavens in a wild hunt amidst thick flocks of

wheeling ravens.

And in the midst of this vast ghostly army the huge figure of

Odin, the god of dead warriors, lord of Valhalla, riding his

eight-legged horse Sleipnir, carrying his spear, two ravens

perched on his shoulders, his cloak streaming out behind him,

his single-eye surveying this great, ecstatic, thundering

host of the risen dead.

4.

INT. HOUSE - NIGHT

Winter. The embers of the fire still glow in the centre of

the floor. We are close again on the baby’s face...as he

sleeps in the crook of Ragnar’s arm.

Ragnar is awake, staring up into the darkness and the play of

shadows across the rafters, a look of profound awe upon his

face.

EXT. HOUSE - DAY

Now everything is in the fierce grip of the deepest winter.

Icy winds blast across the fjord, heaping the water into

wild, foaming waves, and the mountains above are thick with

snow. Even at mid-day the sky is almost dark, like a

perpetual twilight.

But through this dark desolation a solitary FIGURE can be

seen, a black smudge against the snow, wrapped in furs

against the icy winds, struggling towards the hamlet.

INT. HOUSE - DAY

Lagertha plays with her two CHILDREN. Her son BJORN is about

ten and daughter GYDA about eight years old.

Ragnar appears, gestures to her.

RAGNAR:

Come.

Ragnar leads Lagertha into the main room.

RAGNAR (CONT’D)

Here is the man I told you of,

Lagertha.

He indicates the figure standing beside the fire: a tall MAN

of uncertain age, his craggy face heavily lined, his hair and

beard both long and matted, as if his journey has been long

and arduous.

LAGERTHA:

Welcome, stranger, to our house.

The strange man bows a little. Lagertha pours a drink of

sweet, strong mead and hands it to him. The stranger empties

the cup.

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