The opening. With Mount Hekla spewing ash as she becomes active, the heavy, resounding bass of war drums thunders a portent of doom and we get a voice-over narration from Ingvar Sigurdsson fit to challenge even the mighty Mako of Conan 82' fame.
"Hear me, Óðinn, All-Father of the gods. Summon the shadows of ages past when the thread-spinning Norns ruled the fates of men. Hear of a prince's vengeance quenched at the fiery gates of Hel! A prince destined for Valhöll! Hear me!"
Aurvandil's absolute unflinching confidence that his fatal wounding and imminent demise will be avenged. Ethan Hawke goes from horrified bewilderment and grief at Fjölnir's betrayal to the divine certitude that only those facing and overcoming the reality of death can muster.
King Aurvandil War-Raven: Strike, brother... Strike. But know that bearing a stolen ring makes no half-breed a king. Soaked in my blood — 'twill soon be sliding off your arm like a serpent. Your kingdom — will not last... (inhales the last of his waning strength) Let this misdeed haunt your living nights, till a flaming vengeance gorges on your death. Strike... Strike! TO VALHÖLL!
Young Amleth's escape. The boy's "a puppy," according to his mother, but this pup slices off his attacker's nose and escapes all his uncle's men pursuing him. Despite being so little and scrawny, he manages to take a boat out to sea and row what must be a really long distance all by himself, while repeatedly swearing revenge against his much-more-powerful uncle. What a Determinator!
The Berserker battle-trance ritual of the Úlfhéðnar. Poor Alexander Skarsgård blew his vocal chords to get the perfect (twentieth) take of his frankly insane set of continuous bellowing and roaring. It paid off, with him looking as ferocious and bestial as the wolf-pelt head he's crowned with.
Amleth catching an impressively thrown spear in midair and hurling it back with double the force, skewering the offending Rus soldier on the battlements. This is a loving reference to the Medieval Icelandic account of Njáls Saga, in which Audolf flings his spear at the Viking hero Gunnar, but Gunnar catches it, turns it about and casts it straight through said offender and his shield. What's the name of Amleth's little half-brother? Gunnar.
Used liberally in the trailers and for good reason, Amleth hefting his bearded axe before throwing himself off the ramparts and descending upon a horseman like Thor from the heavens, cleaving him out of the saddle, before tuck, drop and rolling as easy as you please.
At one point Amleth strikes the shield of a warrior, then kicks the bottom of the shield thus launching it into the man's face, killing him. This is a reference to Grettis' Saga, where the hero Grettis did the same thing to an enemy berserker.
"...he kicked the bottom of the shield up into his mouth so hard that his face ripped open and his jaws fell down to his chest."
The Nonchalant Dodge of an arrow, made even better as he was just rounding the corner of a hut and didn't even see it coming until it was already in flight.
In order to infiltrate the Atlantic convoy, Amleth brands himself with a slave mark, while in the same state of duress as you or I would be under when trimming our nails.
Amleth: Worry not. When I meet your owner, I will thank him for the warmth you gave me. (sizzle) -_-
Olga and Amleth's first interactions are rife with gems of lines such as these.
Olga of the Birch Forest: Your sheep's clothing does not disguise you, Northman. Amleth Aurvandilson: What say you, spell-speaker? Olga: You wish to be a slave, hide your cunning. Show the shepherd you are a sheep. Amleth: I'll show the shepherd his death.
The storm at sea oracular quest, rife with one of the most goosebumps-inducing tracks in the film and topped with the wide shot of Yggdrasill encompassing the entire horizon of the North Sea.
Only Willem Dafoe could deliver this fantastic voice-over soliloquy (since his character, Heimir the Fool, is now a pickled head) on the destined Infinity +1 Sword.
"Hear me. Forged by the deadliest war-smiths to ever crawl from under the great wyrm's belly. A sword of the most secretive rare iron. Bound with the bones of the Jǫtnar, weightless in its owner's hand, yet, like a dragon's fang, its bite can never be dulled, never broken, nor bent. Its blade could only be quenched in human blood. It is a battle flame like none other. Its name: Dreygurrr... The Undead. It is Fated."
The moonlit barrow Battle in the Centre of the Mind against the Vendel Haugbúi. Unarmed, Amleth has to defeat the giant undead chieftain with his own grave goods!
Amleth: Mark well the full moon’s light! (*shluck*)
Olga repulsing Fjölnir from his Attempted Rape by smearing her menstrual blood on his face.
Meanwhile Amleth is prepared to burst in and decapitate the scum at any second but when he sees that Olga has won all by her lonesome, he gets this great Shakespearean aside.
"Thank the Norns that the woman’s tide is the only blood that runs in your house tonight, coward. I am a fool. It was foretold that I would slay my father’s killer in a burning lake. Till that day comes, I will torment the man who made my life a hell. Now sleep well, Night Blade. Yes, we thirst for vengeance, but we cannot escape our fate."
The knattleikr game. The deranged ancestral union of rugby, hockey and cricket only you can take your bats to the opposing team. Amleth of course is the last man standing at the end. Able to not only match but eventually deliver a head-butt wielding No-Holds-Barred Beatdown on Thorfinnr, played by Hafþór Júlíus Björnsson. That's right, Amleth can defeat the Mountain That Rides with his bare hands - and skull.
The fact that the act of the movie when Amleth begins his reign of terror on the farm is called, "The Night Blade Feeds." The Night Blade Feeds! How metal is that?
"FJÖLNIR! LET HER ALONE! I offer you your son's heart in exchange for her life! I AM AMLETH, THE BEAR-WOLF! SON! OF KING AURVANDIL, WAR-RAVEN! AND I...!AM...!HIS...!VENGEAAAAAAANCE!"
Cue a 180-degree oner beatdown of a whole squad of retainers with nothing but a scabbard and his admittedly bear-sized fists.
Olga's Offscreen Moment of Awesome where she not only manages to steal her love away from the farm along with two horses but also seems to have nicked some of Gudrun and Fjölnir's nicer clothes for herself and Amleth!
Gudrun hacking off the head of his half-brother's favorite horse to send him off to the afterlife with a good mount. The lad is ten, if that and he does it in less than ten strokes of his sword.
Anya Taylor-Joy killing it with her last scene as Olga, invoking the gods of earth, sky and sea to hasten her to Orkney after the love of her life will sacrifice himself to protect their children.
"Ride with me, daughters of the North wind! Carry me and mine to the shores of my children’s forebears. There I’ll grow you a forest of birch, fathomless branches to dance your tempest with, raptured by your most righteous breath!"
Gudrun and Gunnar get their own moments, trying desperately to cut down and shank Amleth. Her prophecy of eventually being her first son's death ironically comes true, as she and her offspring weaken him enough to give her husband his last fighting chance to claim his own revenge.
"I will meet you at the Gates of Hel."
"At the Gates of Hel, you will find me."
"And there you will die by the hand that killed your father."
(Amleth finally draws Draugr from its sheath in the paling light of day, in the shadow of the fiery volcano and slams the flat against his center-grip round shield)*THUD!*"I avow this oath."*THUD!*"I will honour our blood."*THUD!*"I will cut the thread of fate."*THUD!*"I avow this oath."*THUD!*"I will honour our blood."*THUD!*"I will cut the thread of fate."*THUD!*"I avow this oath."*THUD!*"I will honour our blood."*THUD!*"I will cut the thread of fate."*THUD!*"MY BLOOD WILL LIVE ON! VALHÖLL AWAITS!"
No big speeches, no posturing; Fjölnir comes screaming out of the ash smog like a demon, swinging his blade for the hills at his nephew in maddened frenzy.
Even weakened from blood-loss, Amleth manages to corral most of the fight, his shield strike at one point buckling his treacherous uncle's guard so powerfully that it sends the older warrior staggering back.
Fjölnir slices both of Amleth's triceps to the bone. His nephew can't even abduct his arms up parallel anymore. Not to mention, severing those muscle groups would ruin the coordination of altering one's finger-grip. A vital component to even holding, let alone wielding a sword. He's won utterly and Amleth is at his soon to be non-existent mercy. Right? Wrong.
Amleth goes full Papa Wolf / Power Of Hate / Screaming Warrior and continues to strike and parry, physiology and the laws of physics be damned! Grinding his frothing arch-foe down until, with one last monumental effort, he backhand decapitates the bastard in the accumulation of his lifetime as a warrior.
Even if his dratted uncle is able to run him through the hearta millisecond after his head has left his shoulders!
