Legends Never Die (Ahistorical/CKIII Gamer)

[Ideas-Guy]

"Pot licking, foul-assed, bitch," I cursed, getting Havi into a chokehold. He was my least eldest brother, though still three years older than me. We didn't share a mother, but no one really cared about that. In response, Tormond, one of my other older brothers at fifteen, got me in a chokehold of his own with a laugh. I should have never taught him how to do a proper one, because he put me in a good one. Havi flailed in my grip as I refused to let go, while our third brother, Halfdan, took advantage of the fact that I was otherwise occupied to squat over us and start slapping me in the face repeatedly, not wanting to be left out of the fun.

Having brothers sucked. It wasn't the first time I'd had that thought, and I suspect it wouldn't be the last.

"Give up!" I wheezed, taking the hits like an absolute champion. I had to get at least one of them. At least one. For my pride. For the rewards from the gods!

Havi, that absolute dullard, shouted, "Never!"

To punctuate his proclamation, he started to roll around, trying to break my grip. It wasn't pride that motivated him. It was self-interest, because if he gave up now, then our moron brothers would turn on him and he would become the new whipping boy. Which, arguably, was a fate worse than death. Couldn't blame him for struggling against his fate, but I could and did find it annoying.

"Watch your hands, Halfdan. He'll bite them off," Tormond said, as I also struggled to escape his chokehold while trying to do exactly that. Desperate times called for desperate measures. I felt a sharp sting in my cheeks as Halfdan continued to lightly slap them -- just hard enough to be humiliating rather than deal any actual damage. There was a great big smile on his face while he did it.

Entertainment was tough to find, leaving us boys to entertain ourselves by beating the ever-loving shit out of one another. Not sure what the girls did.

"Boys! What are you doing over here? You have chores to do!" I heard a familiar voice call out -- Ida, Father's concubine.

I looked over at her as I obediently let go of Havi. She was a woman in her late twenties to early thirties, her auburn hair cut short. The mark of a thrall, because all freemen wore theirs long. It was to make it easy to identify an escaped slave. There was a slight smile on her face as she looked at us fondly. She wasn't my real mother, but she practically was one to me at this point.

However, I wasn't happy to see her. As Tormond let go of me, I heard a familiar ping in my ears.

Quest Failed: Defeat one of your brothers.
Reward: 50 exp. 10 Martial exp.
Subquest: Last long enough that the fight ends
Reward: 25 exp. 5 Martial exp.

I failed the quest to defeat my brother and lost my chance to prove myself before the gods. I accomplished the lesser quest, but its rewards were lacking in comparison. I swallowed a sigh, wishing that I had a better way to earn the gods' favor than getting my ass kicked by my brothers, but that meant leaving the farmstead. The village of Ivarstead wasn't too far away, but it was still a few hours walk, and the rewards there were just as meager as they were on the farm. Such a small village was largely beneath the gods' notice.

Ever since I had been born, the gods had showed a special interest in me, speaking to me through little images and screens that no one else could see. I didn't understand what they were at first. I had asked the others about theirs, curious as to what they were, only to find out that I was the only one to have them. Then I got beaten up for making things up and telling stories. Still, Mother helped me when I asked her to teach me what the messages said. It had taken some time for me to learn the runes inscribed upon the strange missives, but I did all the same, and since no one believed me, I never talked about what they said. About the quests the gods gave me, or the favor I earned for completing them.

That favor came in the form of what the gods called 'stats' in what I was convinced were the gods' various domains. Martial, Diplomacy, Stewardship, Intrigue, and Learning. Each of which was divided into three lesser realms, which the missives taught me were called subcategories, that had their own tallies and strange bars that filled as I grew and developed my skills -- Martial had Prowess, Tactics, and Physical Condition. Diplomacy -- Charm, Intimidation, Negotiation. Steward -- Property Management, Economic Management, Asset Management. Intrigue -- Plotting, Seduction, Networking. Learning -- Natural Knowledge, Theoretical Knowledge, Creation.

In my ten years, some of those stats had seen a lot more progress than others. Martial was developing nicely with incremental bumps -- an odd daily ritual, and entertain the gods by pitting me against my older brothers, helped me along. Learning was a close second as I learned the words for things, and how to read the runes through which the gods spoke to me. Diplomacy, Stewardship, and Intrigue hadn't seen much use or improvement. There just weren't many opportunities.

Upon earning a certain amount of the gods favor, they bestowed upon me a boon, which they fittingly referred to as Perks. For Martial, I gained the gift of being ambidextrous and gained a special attack called Power Attack. For Learning, I received Polyglot, which let me learn other languages with greater ease. That one had kind of gone to waste though, as I hadn't actually used it yet since neither my mother nor anyone else in the family knew any words outside of our own language, but I was hoping it would be useful in the future. My other perk, Green Thumb, implanted knowledge from Thor in my head on how to make the farm more successful.

How to shift the soil, how to make sure the plants stayed healthy, how to spot blights early, crop rotation, and how to make something called a fertilizer. The results weren't great, but each harvest was consistent and we didn't have to worry about a bad harvest like we had before. Thor hadn't taught me how to make the land fertile and plentiful. Instead, he taught me how to ensure that the land produced consistently.

It was left to me to uncover which of these stats belonged to which god. Allfather Odin sought knowledge, so I was sure that his stat was Learning. Thor was the god of might, so he was clearly the Martial stat. And if he wasn't, then it was Tyr, the god of heroism and war. Diplomacy was likely the slain son of Odin, Baldur, since he had been so beloved by all the gods. Stewardship was probably his mother, Queen Frigg of the Aesir. Intrigue was obviously the domain of Loki, god of mischief.

So, I had to strive to succeed in all of them. I couldn't disappoint the gods.

"I already did mine," I protested, earning a shove from Havi. I shot him a dirty look -- don't blame me because you couldn't be bothered to do your chores. There was plenty of hard work to be found on the farm, and between everyone on the farmstead, there was a pretty even divide of who did what. I just did my work at the start of the day. It meant I could do what I wanted for the rest of it.

Ida gave me a knowing look, "Go check the traps, Siegfried. You're the one that insisted on placing them," she told me. That was… fair. I had been pretty insistent on making traps, but it was mostly to better my skill with crafts. At first I tried to weave with my sisters and mother, but that really angered Father when he found out that I wanted to do 'woman's work', so it wasn't worth it. Making traps was considered manly, however, because I was killing something and providing for the family.

"Alright," I agreed casting my brothers a look as I started to march. "Dickheads," I jeered, getting in one final jab at them

"Asslicker," was the retort they settled on. With that, we separated for now as I started down a well-walked path away from the house. One that was flanked by the fields of the farmstead. The plots were about a thousand steps long and about a fourth that wide. There were a number of them, each separated from the others with a small break to prevent the spread of disease and to mark out what was going where. In no time at all, I reached their end and made my way through the forest to check the various traps I had set.

I started making them a few years back, and it quickly became my responsibility to maintain and check them. I was happy to. Each catch was a meal for my family -- my parents, my brothers, and sisters that still lived, and even Ida, and I earned favor from the gods for my filial piety.

Ida was somewhere between a member of the family and a servant. She was a thrall. A slave. Even if at times it seemed as if she were my second mother. When I was younger, I had even boldly proclaimed that I would free her and make her a part of our family in truth.

Ida just laughed, kissed me on the head, and tucked me in while telling me that I didn't need to. That she didn't mind her place as our thrall and my father's concubine.

She had been taken from her home when she hadn't been much older than me, sold at a market, and bought by my father for a few coins. For twenty years, she had been our family's property, and she was… fine with it, as far as I could tell. She didn't seem to mind her life. She seemed happy, even. To me she was every bit a part of the family as my brothers and sisters were.

I spotted a rabbit in one of my snares, and it must have been a fresh catch since it was still thrashing about as it hung above the ground with a noose around one of its back feet. With the ease of long practice, I walked over, grabbed the rabbit by the scruff around the back of its head, and turned its head sharply to one side. There was a sharp crack as its neck snapped and I got two exp for killing the rabbit as painlessly as I could. Tying him to my belt by his ears, I reset the snare and began to move through the other traps.

Three of them were empty, but I snagged another rabbit in the fourth. And with my handy sling, which was just a strip of leather and some flax twine, I snagged a few squirrels too. Each gave a little exp to my overall 'Level' -- though I had no clue what it actually meant -- and a little to my Martial via Marksmanship. After walking down a gentle slope, I found myself standing near the rushing water of a vast river. There was another stretch of land on the other side that was covered in trees, but I had never been there. The river wasn't a white water rapid, but it was certainly chugging along.

A number of stones had been rolled out onto the beach, each with a rope tied around it. Rope that I made myself, and each one was a day's worth of effort. Pulling at one, I retrieved a heavy stick cage from the water that was filled with various fish. An invention of mine -- fish went in for food, but failed to get out when the opening proved too small for them to backtrack, trapping them inside. It was a decent haul, and walking along the beach, I found that the other two did well enough too.

Slapping the fish on the stones to kill them, I grabbed the sled I left near the river for this exact purpose and began piling up the fish. Then I rebaited the cages and threw them back out into the river.

It was a pretty decent pile of fish. They would be salted or smoked for preservation, and we would get a decent meal for the next couple of weeks.

"No one will go hungry," I said, making a silent promise to myself and the gods. The land we lived in was harsh and our family reflected that. We had already had members of the family die -- one from a sickness during the winter. Another of hunger before I had been born. Two more went off to go iviking, only to die fighting.

Before Thor gifted me the knowledge of how to make the farm more successful, we had a few lean years. I hadn't ever gone hungry, but I didn't fail to notice that during winter some of my brothers' or Father's bowls weren't as full as they usually were. So, every ounce of food was precious. From wild game, to fish, to nuts and berries -- all of it was vital. The more that was caught and foraged, the more grain we could store for the winter so we wouldn't go hungry.

The brother I lost to sickness had fallen ill because he had gone hungry. He ate less so the others could eat more. It made him weak. Then he fell ill. Then, on one winter morning, I realized that I hadn't heard his hacking cough all night and saw that he had died in his sleep.

That, I swore to myself, would not happen again.

I was so lost in my head that I nearly missed a glimpse of movement out of the corner of my eye. I nearly dismissed it, but there was a sound that accompanied it. Looking over, my jaw dropped when I saw it was a boat coming down the river. A longship. Various shields lined the flanks of the ship as the people inside milled about, letting the river guide them downstream.

Vikings. When the thaw happened as winter lost its grip on the land, our men and women would jump on ships to raid their neighbors. For honor and glory, but also for their families. If they lacked food, raiding would feed their wives and children, either by letting them purchase it by bartering the goods they stole, or by stealing their neighbor's harvest for themselves.

The ship was filled with about fifty men, all wearing various types of armor. Gambeson was the most common, with a helmet to protect the head, but the leader -- a tall man with broad shoulders and blonde hair, wore chainmail. He cut an impressive figure, and based on the smirk he wore as he and his ship sailed by, he knew it too.

"Four more years," I told myself, turning away as they sailed on by. Their destination was an obvious one -- Alabu, the closest city nearby. It was under the control of Jarl Horrik, but I didn't know anything about him. I just knew that we were underneath a guy called Jarl Horrik, and he was apparently friends with my Father. I had never been there despite it only being a half day's travel on foot.

Four more years, then I would be old enough to be called a man. I could go raiding. I could earn glory and honor and prove my valor to the gods that had seen fit to grant me their attention, regardless of what form it took.

Then, I could make sure my family never went hungry again.

…

"Boy, you're coming with me," Father announced out of the blue, making me pause in the middle of my push-ups as I looked at him. I hadn't heard him approach. Which was weird because the guy was practically a giant. Well, comparatively. He stood at around six feet tall, broad-shouldered with thick arms. He had a blood-red beard that dipped down to the center of his chest, while the rest of his hair was pulled into a single long braid. The sides of his head were shaved, with runes tattooed on the sides, and because of wash day, I knew they went down his neck and along his spine.

There were spots of white in his beard and hair, though, betraying his age. In his mid-forties, he was considered an old man. Not an elder, just old.

"Uhh?" was my intelligent response, tempted to do the last ten push-ups to finish off my daily quest. I didn't know the purpose behind the odd ritual that the gods wanted me to do every day, but it couldn't be denied that I saw the results physically. "Where are we going?" I asked, standing up as I wiped dirt off my pants. Father just grunted, not giving me an answer. Then I realized that he had a pack slung over his shoulder, which only intensified my confusion. "Is… it far?"

What was going on?

Father just started walking, heading to the forest. Everything was dark outside -- Everyone usually got up at the crack of dawn, so I woke up a little earlier to get my daily quests out of the way. No one questioned me about them anymore, but they didn't understand why I did it, so I did them early in the morning before everyone was awake. It was easier that way. I spared a glance at the house to see my mom was standing in the doorway, looking at me fondly. Mom was a smaller woman, about a decade younger than Father. She had blonde hair and blue eyes -- she was a beautiful woman who looked like she wasn't capable of pushing out six kids, nor that she had.

"Go with your father, Siegfried. You'll be back by tomorrow," she informed me, making me perk up. Was… I finally going to see the city?! I offered a smile and a wave, earning a wan one in return.

"Bye!" I waved, bidding her farewell, chasing after Father. I caught up to him just as he reached the end of the farmstead. Out of my family, I had probably ventured the furthest from home if you didn't count raiding, but rarely did I ever actually get to leave it. It was for the daily run -- one mile -- but beyond that…

It was like the farmstead existed in a void in a way. We got the occasional guest and saw the occasional ship going down the river, but that didn't break the feeling of isolation that the farmstead had. Even the small village of Ivarstead didn't help to break that feeling because I only visited it once a year for the celebration of Yule, and only recently.

I didn't know why I was suddenly getting pulled to go on a journey with my Father because he wasn't saying anything. He didn't respond to my questions. He didn't explain anything. He just marched on, forcing me to keep pace as we walked from the crack of dawn until the late afternoon. Eventually, I just gave up and drank in the sights. The forest eventually gave way to rolling hills that in turn gave way to a flatland.

Which in turn gave way to a completely separate forest, which my Father entered with me right behind him. That probably should have been my first hint that something strange was going on. This wasn't the way to Ivarstead. However, I only understood when we reached a rundown-looking hovel in the middle of the woods -- vines and moss having long since overtaken the old and dilapidated building. Hanging from the branches of trees around it were effigies of all sorts -- items of protection, and offerings to the gods.

I didn't know where I was, but I knew what it was. I was before the home of a witch.

Then, to make sure that I didn't flee, my father put his hand on my shoulder. I was pretty fit for my age, far fitter than most of my brothers even, but I still hadn't ever beaten my Father in a fight.

"Wise Woman, we seek your aid," Father spoke up, calling out to whoever might dwell within the old house. He unslung the burlap sack from over his shoulder, "We bring you gifts -- food and wealth."

He began to empty the sack, revealing some of the fish that I caught, then gold and silver. Where he got it, I had absolutely no clue. The how was obvious, but where less so. There was a silver cup, a handful of coins, but most notably of all was a gold necklace. A heavy one -- it was made of small and thin gold bars that were connected with a gold chain.

The necklace looked like something a king would be proud to wear.

"Erik Sigurdson," I heard a raspy voice come from within the house, speaking my father's name. "For what matter do you need my aid?"

What could he need the aid of a witch for-

"My son… he has either been blessed by the gods… or bewitched by some foul spirit," Father said, and that was something that I never once considered. Could it be a spirit that had… possessed me in some way? A force of Hel sent to beguile me? I looked back at him to see that he was giving me an even gaze, his lips thin. There was worry in his eyes. And fear. I wondered what he saw in mine. "I know not which. He never cried as a babe. He fights like a man grown. He knows things that no one else does… his hands are too clever."

All sounded like splendid things, but the god Loki often proved that not all blessings were as they seemed. Appearances were deceiving. Now I shared my father's worry. I began to suspect that maybe I had been wrong. That maybe the quests I received were part of some evil entity's schemes.

… but that didn't really make sense, did it? I was stronger and the farm was better. There could be no doubt that it was the gods that spoke to me and gave me their knowledge when they felt I deserved it. Could it be a foul and jealous spirit had taken hold of my father? It made more sense than me being wrong… but I also couldn't see my father ever being bewitched. He as too strong!

And, surely, the gods would have warned me if such a thing had happened.

There was a chuckle from the house, "All things that men pray to the gods for." she noted, sounding amused at my plight.

Father took in a breath, looking at me evenly. "Aye, they are. Since when do the gods answer our prayers so thoroughly?" he questioned, "I hope it's the gods doing. I hope that the norns have weaved a great fate for my boy. Yet, I fear that darker forces are at work."

"For when is a gift not a gift?" The woman remarked from her house. "Send the boy in. I shall look upon him and give you your answer, Erik." With that, Father shoved me forward, nearly making me trip over the small pile of gold. I spared him a look, every muscle taut, ready to make a break for it if it came down to it. Looking away, I gazed into the pitch-black shadows of the doorway and, slowly, I walked forward.

Fear weighed heavily on me because I didn't know what she would say. I didn't know the truth.

I stepped through the threshold to see that the interior of the house was just as dilapidated as the exterior. There was a heavy stench of blood and herbs inside that seemed to have soaked into the old wood. Dried herbs hung in groups from the ceiling -- some I recognized as garlic, and lavender, but I was clueless to most. My gaze was drawn to a woman in the main room, in a bed tucked in the corner that was heavy with furs of all kinds.

The woman sat upright in the bed, her legs covered with the pelt of a wolf, was probably the oldest-old person in existence. There was no other way to describe her. She looked old enough to have supped with Ymir, the first giant, and instead of dying when her time came, she just got older and older and older instead.

Her hair was rough like it was made of gray straw, her face covered in deep wrinkles, and her eyes were sunken into their sockets. Her lips were dried and cracked, and her skin had a leathery quality. She sat with her in her lap, and I noticed that one hand was missing a pinky finger, half of her ring finger and the top of her thumb.

She looked at me like she could see right through me and into my soul. I froze in place, really regretting not booking it as I looked back at her.

I was so distracted by the absolutely ancient oldness of the old lady, I completely missed the other person in the house. A girl around my age -- raven black hair, sunken in cheeks that spoke of hunger, and a simple dress that was filthy. Most notably, however, were her yellow eyes. Almost like a wolf. An unnatural color, which stood out more given the black smudges of soot or something like it that framed her eyes.

The old woman chuckled, while the girl looked at me like she was deciding which ribs to bury her blade in, a statement that I wish were a joke. She had a knife in her hand and she was crouched low to the ground, ready to spring into action at a moments notice. "Ah… you look just like your father in color, but you favor your mother in the face," the old woman remarked, "Come, sit down. My little cottage is a ways away from your home. I'm sure you must be weary."

I purposely gave the girl a wide berth, eyeing her like a coiled snake. And when I sat on the offered stool near the bed, I made sure not to turn my back to her. The woman found that funny.

"Don't worry about her. She's just one of my daughters -- a skittish little thing. She made it this long by being cautious of the unknown," she said, ignoring the girl's muttering of 'I'm not your daughter' under her breath. The old woman fixed me with a sharp stare, "What about you? Do you also fear the unknown?"

What was the correct answer there? "Yes?" I tried, the response coming out more like a question.

The woman gave me a mockery of a smile, "That was a lie." she said, her tone so gentle it could be mistaken for kind.

"The old witch always knows when someone is lying," the girl spoke up, her voice low. As if she were threatening me. I glanced at her, then at the woman. Right. Okay. That's fine. I could work with that.

"I'm not," I admitted with a small shrug of my shoulders, meeting the woman's gaze. She was eerie and ominous in nature, but that didn't necessarily make her dangerous. The biggest threat to me she represented was the fact that it was her verdict that decided whether I was blessed by the gods or beguiled by an evil spirit. Her age granted her wisdom, and as a seer, she would surely know the truth.

The woman gave a wan smile, "What do you believe I will say, hm? About your condition?"

What did I feel? How was I supposed to know? "I don't know? Whatever fate decides? You're a wise woman, so… you would know if I was cursed, right?"

The girl shifted at that, her eyes narrowing at me, but I only looked at the woman. "I see what your father means," she noted, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly. "But it is not I who decides, but the gods. They whisper their words to me, giving their verdict as they follow the will of the norns that weave the fate of all men and women."

I understood that, and I confirmed as much with a small nod. Fate was inescapable. From the moment you were born, the norns began to weave your fate, intertwining it with others, to form the tapestry of the world. And when your life came to an end, the three norns would sheer the fabric of your life. My entire life, and the lives of everyone I knew and loved, were simply a small part of that tapestry.

The day that we are born was decided by fate, as was the day that we died. There was no escaping it. Even the gods were subject to the whims of fate -- Odin's death was preordained. He was fated to die to Fenrir. Thor was destined to die by the venom of Jörmungandr, the world serpent. Then the end of all -- Ragnorok.

"But, you did not answer my question. If you do not fear the unknown, then what do you feel about it? What does it mean to you?" The old woman asked me, tilting her head as if she were hearing my thoughts and found them curious. With her magics, she just might.

I paused for a moment, almost uncertain of the answer. "I… want to know," I answered, clumsily putting my thoughts into words. A poet, I was not. "I want to learn the unknown."

"Oh, you wish to emulate Odin, who gave his left eye for knowledge?" she questioned, leaning forward as if she found something curious about me. I shifted where I sat, offering an uncertain shrug. "Speak up, boy. There is no shame in wanting to learn. There is shame in the reason why, though -- so speak your reason, and be judged."

I opened my mouth, then closed it for a moment, struggling to find the words. My learning stat was so low. So very low. I had no idea how high it could go but I understood that the number of the stat represented how little I actually knew. The same with Martial, or Diplomacy, or Stewardship. All the numbers were so low. What if they could go up to a hundred? Or a thousand? Or if they didn't have a limit and they could go up forever?

I didn't know what fate had in store for me. However, I knew what I wanted.

"I want to learn everything. I want to speak every language. I want to know absolutely everything about the world," I started, the truth pouring from my lips. "I want to prove myself in battle! I want to be a great warrior- no, I want to be the greatest warrior. And I want to travel. I want to meet all kinds of people -- from… outcasts to kings. Even the gods, if I can! I want for my family's farm to be successful… and I want for them to never go hungry. I want them to be fat, happy, and rich, and have exciting lives so they can impress the gods when we all feast in Valhalla. I want…" I trailed off, only now realizing just how many things I wanted.

There were more. So much more. So many things that I wanted to do, or see, or experience… I would need a thousand lifetimes to do it all.

"Ah, I see you now," she spoke with a delighted cackle. "Very well then… Erik! Your boy is either blessed by the gods or cursed by them. Only time shall reveal the truth." she spoke, looking directly at me. Then, in a softer voice, she continued. "Such a shame it is that I will die before I see what you become. I'm certain that it will be quite a sight."

I didn't respond, simply hoping off of my stool so fast you'd be forgiven for thinking that it had burned me. She didn't need to tell me twice for me to get out of here. I spared a glance at the girl again to see that she was still glaring at me. I took a step away, only to pause when an idea hit me. I hadn't thought of it before on account that I was worried about the potential hellish fate that awaited for me if this didn't go my way.

"Is there something that you desire, child?" The old woman spoke as if she could hear my thoughts as I turned around to look at her.

This place was full of herbs and stuff. Medicine and magic. Who knew what she could teach me?

Looking back at her for a moment, I asked, "Can I come back here? To learn from you?"

"You may not." Came the woman's swift reply. "Only my daughters may learn my ways. You have many gifts, Siegfried. Communion with the gods is not one of them."

Well, I tried.

I walked to the door to see my Father on his knees, the expression on his face could only be described as relief. Like a huge weight had been crushing him for all of my life, and now it had been lifted from his shoulders. He reached out to me, tears gathering in his eyes, "My boy!" he said, expecting me to rush over to him. I did.

He effortlessly lifted me up, his good cheer clear as he led us back down the path we had taken. I turned to look behind us, my eyes meeting the gaze of the girl in the house, peeking over the corner as she watched us go. Her eyes narrowed before her head quickly dipped back inside.

There was no reason for it, but I couldn't shake the feeling that I was going to see her again.


...

Welcome to the start of Legends Never Die! It's been an idea that's kicked around in my head for some time now, so it feels good to finally get it on paper, so to speak. LND will be updated on Wednesdays at 10:00 CDT, taking See No Evil's slot. An older story, Castoff (Berseker/Witcher 3), has also been updated for the first time in years as a commission, so you can check that out as well. Now, on to some quick points:

Some things to note -- the story will have some light Crusader Kings elements in it while being slightly ahistorical. For the CK elements, it would have some lowkey fantasy elements like ritual magic or demonic rituals actually working. Basically, what you could do in CK II and III. There are also going to be some stories that were inspired by my games, like the time the pope kidnapped and ate ten of my children for their godly genes before calling a crusade on me that everyone joined in on because he was suddenly beautiful, strong, and a genius.

For the ahistorical decisions, I'm just reserving the right to fiddle with the timeline to move up or delay certain events on the condition that they happened in the same century that the story takes place in. And so long as it actually makes sense -- for example, Alfred the Great can't really be a thing if vikings haven't rampaged through England. However, if something happened like twenty years in the past when Eivor arrives, and I think it would be good for the story if it happened when he arrived, I'll just tweak the timeline a bit.

Lastly, the story will be about vikings doing viking things. I figured it would be obvious, but thought I should mention it.

The next chapter is currently available on my Patreon and Subscribe Star, so if you want to read it a week early, all it takes is a single dollar in the tip jar. Or, for five dollars, you can read the chapter after that two weeks before its public release! I hope you enjoyed!

 

[Ideas-Guy]

Another two years passed without incident, making me twelve years old. Everything returned back to normal after my visit to the Wise Woman. Mother had just embraced me when I returned, and Father had told her what had been said. She had said that he wasn't telling her anything she didn't know. I got some teasing from my brothers for being cursed by the gods, but they got bored of it soon enough.

Nothing really changed in my little slice of the world. Brandr, my eldest brother… well, the eldest after our actual eldest brother died, got married to a woman called Asta at the ripe age of twenty. Their first child was on the way.

The marriage brought forth a small change in my world, though. The farm was Brandr's to inherit, and he was already starting his family. No one had said a word about it, but my other brothers and sisters felt a pressure on them now. For our entire lives, we had lived on the farm, but that couldn't last forever. My older brothers and sisters spoke more about leaving. To marry. To find a trade. For glory. And so on.

No one had left yet, but… next year, I'm guessing that Tormond and Halfdan would leave the farm. Helga and Solveig, my two sisters, had been promised to others. One to a neighboring farm, and another to the family of a renowned warrior. How renowned he could be when all I knew about him was that he was called Kjell was anyone's guess. Both seemed happy with their prospects and Mother and Ida were happy for them.

Things had not visibly changed yet, but they were changing. I felt it in my bones.

"Siegfried, you can't come. You aren't a man, yet," Brandr brushed me off, after I turned to him when pestering Father hadn't worked out. "Until there's hair on your chest and face, you're just a boy. It's too soon for you to even think about raiding with us."

I leaned against the doorway, a good head and shoulders shorter than Brandr. Like our father, he had blood-red hair and blue eyes, which were currently narrowed in a glare as he repeated the arguments that he heard Father give me. However, the argument wasn't dead in the water just yet. "I don't want to go raiding with you," I pointed out, even though I absolutely could. In two years, I had grown up and out. I was taller, my shoulders were broader, and at twelve years old, none on the farm could beat me in a fight.

None of my brothers. Not even when they joined up against me. And during the winter months, I had finally beaten Father in a one-on-one duel.

Physically, I was strong enough to fight. But, I didn't want to. Not yet. Partly because I understood there was a difference between sparring and actual battle. I didn't want to hurt my brothers and they didn't want to hurt me. Beyond some bruises, that is. And partly because he was right, I wasn't old enough. I wasn't a man yet. Two more years, and I would be stronger still. More capable. There was no need to rush things.

"I want to go to the Sigurblót. I can just walk back after we're done and you all go raiding," I clarified. The Sigurblót was a yearly event that happened every thaw. Everyone would go to the city of Alabu, where people would sell their wares in a huge flux, settle their disputes, and then the Jarl would decide where he would take his ships to raid for the spring and summer. I was only supposed to go when I would receive my armband -- a piece of metal fashioned into a ring that marked me as a man, which I would use to swear sacred oaths.

Asta spoke up from her place in the living room, working on a loom with my mother. "Siegfried, why do you want to go to the Sigurblót so badly? You risk the wrath of your father trying to go behind his back like this."

To that, my mother laughed lightly.

"Punishment has never bothered Siegfried so long as he gets what he wants," she remarked, giving me a knowing look. I gave her an unrepentant half-smile in response. She was absolutely correct there. My independence was a valued trait. Just not so much when I kept disobeying my father to do what I wanted.

"Because I want to go to the city to learn a trade," I spoke up. Blacksmithing, carpentry -- a trade of value. Not only for crafting experience, but because it made me valuable as a person. I could go anywhere and make a living. Everyone needed blacksmiths and carpenters, because everyone needed their tools made or repaired, and everyone had homes. There were other trades -- bone carving, or tannery if I was desperate, but blacksmithing and carpentry were the most valuable trades there were.

Asta gave me a look, "So soon? You are too young to be worried about how you will make a living in the future," she said, sounding a bit worried.

"I'll be a man soon enough, and I don't want to live on the farm forever. It will be Brandr's soon, and you will need the crops to feed your family," I said, nodding at her swollen belly. She placed a hand on it, a slight smile on her face.

"You're welcome to stay on the farm, Siegfried. I don't want to force you from your home," Asta said, giving me a warm look. I had been unsure about her at first, but I liked her fine enough after getting used to her. She was young. Only a handful of years older than me, but she had a natural motherly quality to her.

Brandr brought me into a one-shoulder hug, "As my wife says, little brother. You are always welcomed here." he said, reaching up and patting me on the cheek. It sounded like he meant it too. Which is why I smiled up at him.

"So, you would be fine if I stayed here until I'm old and gray?" I asked, and I saw the brief look of panic in his eyes. I laughed at that, and he put me in a headlock in retribution.

"As long as you like," Asta said as I started to pry myself out of the headlock.

"You're so nice, Asta. You're wasted on my brother," I remarked, slipping out of the headlock as he reached for me. There was a smile on his face as I ducked under a palm that would have slapped the shit right out of me. Open palms were allowed. Closed fists were reserved for actual fighting.

"I changed my mind, Siegfried -- you can leave the farm right now!" he barked, giving me a shove as I slipped by him even though he filled the doorframe. Mother shouted at us to take it outside, but Brandr didn't pursue. Fondly giving him a rude gesture, I stepped outside to see to the farm. The crops had been planted, and the animals had been fed.

There were things that needed doing, but the bulk of it was already done. Upon stepping out, I saw Father already packed and ready. Along with Tormond, Halfdan, Havi, Haldur, and Kirk -- the latter two also being my older brothers. All of the 'men' were leaving for the Sigurblót. And, I suspected that all of them would be leaving to raid. Meaning that for the next week or two, it would just be me and the girls.

Father gave me a knowing look but waved me over. "I know I don't need to tell you this, but you're the man of the house while we're gone. Meaning it's your job to protect and provide for the others," he said, before he dropped down to a knee in front of me. It said more about how tall he was rather than how short I still was when that put us at eye level. "You're a strong and clever lad. I know I leave our family in good hands."

I gave him a serious nod. I had heard him speak the same words to all of my brothers when one by one they became the eldest still at the farm. "They'll be safe with me," I told him, earning a smile from Father. I hadn't realized how rare they had been until the Old Witch, as she was called, reassured him I wasn't possessed by evil spirits.

The event had been enough to convince me that I should never tell anyone about the messages from the gods, nor the knowledge they gave me. People wouldn't understand. They would fear it, and me, more than they would celebrate me for receiving them. It would have to be a secret that I would take to my grave.

"I know," Father said, giving me a squeeze on the shoulder as Brandr approached, ready to go. The girls walked over -- my sisters, mother, Ida, and Asta. We all waved them farewell and wished them a safe journey. I watched them go down to the gate, then vanish into the woods. Then, they were gone, leaving us alone for a time.

After they left, things fell into a rhythm. With all the men gone, I had to pick up the slack. The girls helped out some, but I did the lion's share mostly because I had a surplus of quests to do for what would be their chores and tasks. The experience gains were minimal, but compared to my normal progress which felt glacial in speed, I was blazing forward at astounding speeds.

Level 5
Martial: 4
Diplomacy: 1
Stewardship:1
Intrigue: 1
Learning: 4

My stats were determined by the average of the three subcategories. Prowess and Physical Condition were rather high, but Tactics was still very low, so I didn't have a high Martial stat. The same applied for all of my stats. Increasing them had been slow going in the past two years. I was hopeful that the pace would pick up when I could leave the farm for the wider world when I became a man.

Though, I did learn that reaching a milestone in level gave me an additional perk point to spend on any perk I wanted. Not only that, the higher my level, the better the choices I would have when I reached another milestone. I hadn't spent my extra perk point yet. I was saving it while I considered my choices for perks.

It also gave me a choice of perks that were called Boons, which were different from normal perks. I had a selection of three Boons -- Gambler's Delight, Skinchanger, and Oakskin. Gambler's Delight would grant me the gods favor every time I gambled. I wouldn't win every hand, but I would win most of them. Skinchanger was a scary option -- it would let me enter an animal and act through them. I knew it was dangerous because I had heard tales of Berserkers that had done so.

Then they lost the ability to enter their human form again, letting the spirit of the bear or wolf inhabit their body permanently. They would fly into a rage, the animals confused as to what was happening, and they would be killed. Hopefully, before they killed anyone else. For that reason, I feared picking it.

Oakskin made my skin as difficult to cut as the bark of an oak. It felt like the safest option, so I picked it.

Now, I had finally gained a perk for Stewardship. And another in Learning. In the Asset Management and Crafting subcategories. My options were rather limited for Stewardship -- just two, between Fast Counter, which would let me instantly count how many of something there was with a glance, and Mental Scale, which told me the weight of something at a glance. Both were useful in their own way.

Gold and silver were the currency of choice in the world, but their value was in their weight. I could chop off bits of a silver candlestick for a pig, for example. How much I paid was decided by how much I shaved off. Eying the weight of the silver someone was giving me, or I was giving them, could cost or save me some money if we couldn't trade goods.

Learning gave me perks for the trades. Blacksmith, Carpenter, and Tanner. The latter was not an option however, as tanners were outcasts. Mostly because of the smell that lingered no matter how much you scrubbed away. Which is why I wanted to go with Blacksmith or Carpenter. I suppose I could just pick one or the other, but I had already gone to the Wise Woman once for being weird. Not only that, half of the reason for taking up a trade was the connections it gave you. If I walked up to a Thegn or Jarl and told them I was a Smith, they would ask who taught me.

Given I couldn't say the gods taught me, I would have to claim to be self taught. If I was lucky, they would give me a chance to prove myself by making something only a skilled blacksmith could make. If I wasn't, then I would never be given permission to ply my trade.

Regardless, the days went by as I made the most of the surge of experience I was getting. Even after a long day of work, since none of the menfolk could make fun of me for it, I helped out with the weaving too. I also learned there was a lot of gossiping going on between the girls. I learned some things about my brothers, that was certain. Things I would have been perfectly content not to know, even if it did give a small boost to my Intrigue.

Change was one of those things that crept up on you, leaving you unaware until it smacked you in the face hard enough that it rattled your teeth. The change that came to the farm while my father and brothers were away was no different.

"They're coming," I heard a soft whisper, making me look up from the goat I was milking in the pen house made for them. My head snapped up, recognizing the voice from somewhere, but it was unfamiliar to me. Like a magnet, my gaze was drawn to the source of the whisper, until I found myself meeting a pair of golden yellow eyes. I recognized them, and the face they belonged to.

In the past two years, that girl in the hovel had grown up about as much as I did, becoming a young woman. She was taller now, having filled out somewhat in both hip and chest. Her face still seemed a bit gaunt, as if it was a rare thing for her to have a full meal. Her long black hair was tied up, a sign that she either already had a husband or she wasn't looking for one. Soot shadowed her eyes, and beneath her thick clothing, I noticed that she wore the necklace that Father had given the Wise Woman.

I parted my lips, a question just about to leap from my tongue, only to swallow it down. Questions like why she was here, how she had gotten so close without my noticing, and so on could wait. "Who's coming?" I asked, standing up, grabbing a bucket half-filled with milk that would later be turned into cheese. The girl stood at the doorway, giving me a lingering look, her expression betraying nothing.

"The men that plan to kill you and take what you have," she answered, backing away before vanishing from sight. The words sank into my heart like a stone. The bucket fell from my fingers as I rushed to the doorway after her.

Stepping out into the evening sun, I didn't see the girl. It was as if she had vanished into thin air. However, that wasn't important. People were coming to kill us.

I had no real reason to believe that it was true. It could be a bad jape or something, but I felt the truth of it. Deep in my bones, I felt it.

I broke into a dead sprint to the house, away from the animal pen, and all but busted the door off the hinges as I barrelled my way inside. The girls inside suddenly went silent, looking at me with wide eyes. I met my Mother's gaze, "People are coming." I told her, and I saw a brief flicker of surprise before her expression hardened.

She dropped the comb for the loom, "Asta, Helga, Solveig, Siegfried -- I want you to hide," she said, an edge in her voice that offered no room to argue as she went into her room. I followed her in to find her grabbing an axe and one of my Father's shields. She looked at me, "Siegfried-"

"I'm not hiding," I told her as I grabbed the bearded axe. It weighed about as much as my practice one, only this one had been honed to a deadly edge. "I can fight. You should go with the others. In case they get through me," I said, my words serious. Mother opened her mouth to protest, only to close it a moment later before offering me a curt nod when she saw the resolution in my eyes.

"There will be no mercy, Siegfried. Do not hesitate," she told me, heading into the main room while I headed back outside. Mother had been a shieldmaiden before she met Father. I never saw that part of her until now. The girls weren't so lucky in that regard, but between me and Mother, they would be safe. I would protect them. It didn't matter what I had to do. It didn't matter who I had to kill.

Anyone that tried to touch my family would die.

I would kill them.

That's all there was to it.

Stepping outside, I looked out to the forest off in the distance. There were a thousand paces between me and the edge, and I always had great eyesight. Because of it, I saw the movement of people hiding in the trees. People that thought they were concealed by shadows, but the shaft of an axe or the rim of a shield peeking out among the foliage gave them away. They were scouting us out. Waiting to see if there was anyone else on the farm before attacking.

I grabbed my sling before calmly heading to my stash of stones. It was a collection that had been growing over the course of the years -- each one was smooth and perfectly sized for a sling. I slotted in a stone and began to spin it.

Most people preferred bows because of their range. A decent shot could hit a target hundreds of paces away. I was better than a decent shot with a bow, but I preferred the sling instead. People looked down on it, calling it an unskilled weapon, but I've found that nothing put animals down faster than a rock launched at them at high speeds. It shattered bone on impact, putting the animal down even if it wasn't an instant kill. Running was difficult with shattered ribs, after all.

A man peeked out from behind the trunk of a tree, looking directly at me. Our eyes met for a split second, before I flung the stone forward with all of my strength. The small stone shot out in a blur and it hit him like a fist. It slammed into the man's eye a split second later, striking him with enough force that it knocked his helmet off his head as he fell back into a heap.

I had just killed a man.

I didn't dwell on that revelation for long. I didn't have the time.

I was about to kill more.

A warcry came from the forest before the figures inside began to move forward. Ten of them in total, I think. Based on a quick glance as I loaded up my next stone into my sling, spun the sling over my head, and then whipped it down. Another man went down, his head snapping back as his forehead caved in, crushed from the impact.

"Shields up!" I heard a voice say as the men began to approach through our fields. I loaded up a third shot just as they did so, seeing a variety of painted shields in front of me. Nine left, I thought, before I slung another stone at them, this one aimed at one of the mens' exposed knees. It slammed into my target with bone-shattering force, his leg giving out from underneath him as he let out an antagonized scream of pain. "Charge the brat!" I heard the same man from before shout, but I couldn't tell which he was.

I stood my ground, calmly loading my sling, and fired it at the incoming raiding party. Another went down, his leg giving out from underneath him. Six left. Then five as I fired again. The distance between us continued to shrink at a rapid pace, letting me get off only one more shot that slammed into the ankle of a charging Viking, but he didn't fall like the others.

Dropping my sling, I picked up my shield and hefted my axe. My heart beat in a steady rhythm, blood surging in my veins as I took in a deep breath, filling my lungs. Then I promptly turned tail and ran towards the house. I heard the men shout and begin to give chase as I ran through the doorway before rolling my shield towards one of the rooms. The house was empty, at least that was how it appeared when I hid behind the doorway.

A few seconds later, I heard footsteps follow me inside. Through the small gap in the wood door, I saw a man step into my home. He wore chainmail, the links jingling with every step. He faced the interior of the house, not backed up by anyone at the moment. He was the scout. The rest would be waiting outside. I could hear them talking, cursing me under their breath. I had killed a few of their friends. And I was going to kill more.

To prove that point, I kicked the door closed, alerting the one in the room of my presence. He looked back at me, raising his axe as he turned to face me with his shield.

I dodged the swing, tossing my axe to my other hand as I went low. I let the shaft of the axe slide up between my fingers so that I was holding it at the very end, and used the extra length to hook the beard of the axe around his back foot and sweep his leg out from underneath him. He fell flat on his back, the impact knocking the air from his lungs.

The raider started to scrabble to get his shield up, but it was a second too late. The edge of my axe found his throat, where his chainmail didn't cover, splashing hot blood on my face as I ripped it out. I didn't waste a second in grabbing his shield as he bled out, and I rushed by him so that my back wasn't to the entrance of the house just as the closed door was kicked in, splintering the wood. And as soon as it was, I threw my axe, the weapon spinning in the air and catching the man responsible in the leg. He went down, screaming in pain as it lodged in his thigh. I scooped up the weapon the now dead man had dropped and buried it in his skull.

As he collapsed to the ground, leaving me alone standing in the doorway, I saw the remaining three men looking on in disbelief and anger. Lesser men would have run. Their raid had clearly failed with so many of them dead. However, these were Norsemen. Warriors that dreamed of entering Valhalla by proving themselves in battle. To run would shame themselves and deny them the afterlife that they sought.

"If you come in here," I spoke slowly, my youthful voice belying my murderous intent, stepping on the man in the doorway and ripping my purloined axe from his head. "I'm going to kill you."

"Or we will kill you, little man," one of them said. The same one that was shouting orders earlier. He almost sounded friendly. "Young you might be, but you've proven yourself to be a warrior. We won't underestimate you just because you don't have any hair on your balls." he said.

My eyes narrowed as the other two started to fan out. "How about this? You come out, and we shall duel. If you win, then the raid will be called off and we can go in peace. If you lose… then either you enter my service as a thrall, or we take everything of value in the house. Including your mother and sisters."

He was trying to get a rise out of me. I stared back at him -- I didn't know him. Black hair and a black beard, dark eyes with yellow teeth below a crooked nose. He looked like he needed a good bath to wash off over a year's worth of dirt. The others looked about the same. Yet they had chainmail.

Chainmail wasn't common. I don't think it was a rare thing in particular, but it wasn't common by any means. Between all the men in my family, only Father had chainmail, and it was a single sleeve of it. It was a tedious and time-consuming thing to make for blacksmiths, which was time they could use to make a dozen axes or a hundred horseshoes. The three men had chainmail shirts, and so did the two men that I had killed. Where did they get it? How did they get it?

"Okay," I agreed, my voice flat. "But, I want you to understand something. One or three, it makes no difference. All three of you are going to die." My voice was cold. So cold, it wiped the smile off the leader's face. I meant what I said, too.

These people were here to kill me and my family. They were here to raid us. To take our belongings, to rape my sisters and mother. If they had their way, Asta's baby would never grow. Brandr and the others would come back to desolation. I wouldn't let that happen. Either they or I would die on this day, and it wouldn't be me.

"I believe you," the leader said, raising his shield. The others did the same, their expressions ones of grim resolve. With that clear, I stepped out of the house and into an ambush, willing and expectant. The one on the left attacked first, slashing down at me with a yell.

Combat was one of those things that just made sense to me. It was almost like doing sums, in a way. Thoughtless addition. Part of that was instincts that had been ingrained into me for years, after daily spars with my Father or my brothers. Another part was just… experience. It was the same way that I learned to use a sling -- after a while, you just felt when to let go of the stone for it to go where you wanted.

Combat had that same feeling to me. When the man slashed down, it just made sense to sidestep the swipe, hook my axe around the rim of his shield, and yank it back, forcing the man to overextend himself. As he stumbled forward, his life was temporarily saved by the second man attacking me with his own axe. This one, I caught with my shield, letting the edge of his axe bite into the rim.

Jerking the shield to the side, I hacked out with my axe and I caught him at the elbow, just underneath where his chainmail sleeve ended. Blood drenched my face again as his arm fell, the severed limb thumping off my shield as it fell to the ground, his axe still lodged in my shield. He didn't even have time to scream as I shifted my grip and I moved to step past him, the sharp edge of my axe slashing across his throat. He fell to the ground, gurgling on his blood as he died.

The leader attacked me next, his axe coming down quick as lightning. The boards making up my shield splintered when I caught the blow with it, before he checked me with his shield. He was taller than me by a head, and had about fifty pounds on me. He expected to be able to knock me off my feet with the action. Instead, I lightly bounced back, my steps sure and nimble. Letting go of the shield, I grabbed the shaft of the axe still in it and ripped it free. Testing the two weapons with a quick spin in my hands, I readied myself.

An attack came on the left as the first of the three to attack me having recovered, slashing at me wildly. I dodged, the axe missing me by a hairsbreadth each time. I could hear the axehead whistling in the air each time it passed, but I gave ground readily. The leader moved around to flank me, intent on dealing a killing strike while the one in front of me stole my attention. It was a tactic that my brothers used all the time. At least until it stopped working.

I leaned out of the way of another strike from the man in front of me, only this time I struck out with an attack of my own. As his weapon came down, I spun the axe in my right hand in a reverse grip, catching his bearded axe with my own, and with a savage yank, I ripped it from his grip like I was pulling out nails, just as I kicked out his leg, my heel striking his knee. It didn't break it, but it was enough to throw off his balance, letting me dance around him as the leader was forced to abandon his attack.

Then I forced him on the defensive. I attacked the weaponless man with both of my axes, one catching the rim of his shield, ripping open his defenses for the other that followed and buried itself into his face. The leader struck out, trying to take advantage of the time it would take me to pull it free to score that killing blow, forcing me to abandon the axe as he attacked me and nearly took my arm.

I spun to face him. It was clear he was head and shoulders above the rest when it came to experience. He fought like my Father did. The gaps in his defenses were few. He reacted well to my feints too. He was light on his feet, calm-headed, and strong based on a blocked blow with the shaft of my axe.

Which is why when I struck out, I used a Skill for the first time on a living man. Divine strength surged in my veins as I lashed out with my axe, slamming it into his shield. The shield shattered as if it had been struck by Thor himself, reduced to splinters as it did nothing to slow down my attack. The edge of my axe ripped into his ribs, breaking through his chainmail and cutting through his flesh until it hit the bone on the other side. Ripping my axe free, I kicked him in the gut while he was stunned, sending him sprawling on his ass.

As he hit the ground, he tried to stem the bleeding from the chunk I had taken out of him, blood flecking his lips. "Some women and a boy. That's what they said. They didn't… mention that you were a damn drengr of an infant," he said, laughing lightly, and bloody spittle landed in his beard.

I stood over him as his blood soaked into the packed dirt, my expression blank. "Who sent you?" I asked him, earning a smile filled with bloody teeth.

"Someone… that wants… your farm," he spoke, visibly getting weaker with each word. My lips thinned -- I had no clue who that might be. I knew owning property was a blessing most didn't have, but 'someone that wants your farm' didn't narrow it down in the slightest. The land we farmed had been a gift from the Jarl to my father many years ago. It was a valuable thing. I understood that. It made sense someone would want to take it from us. Which is why his answer was entirely unhelpful.

"Who-" I started, only to realize that the man was already dead, staring ahead with glazed-over eyes. I gave him a quick kick to make sure that he really was, and not faking it. He didn't move.

Shit. I should have aimed somewhere nonvital. Because if someone had sent him, then that meant that they could send someone else. My gaze drifted to those that were in the fields with their broken knees. I marched to them, bloody axe in hand. I asked them the same question, only to receive the same answer. Not for a lack of trying, though. They had been kept in the dark. Only the leader knew who sent them after us.

All for the spoils of the women and a fat reward after the deed was done.

"Siegfried?" I heard Mother speak, walking into the fields. I looked over at her to see her looking at me with some reservation. Fair, given that I was covered in multiple mens' blood. It was all over my face, soaking into my shirt, all in my hair… It felt disgusting. "What should be done with them?" she asked me, and I think that it was some kind of test. Of what kind, I wasn't really sure.

I already knew the answer. "They don't know anything about who ordered the attack. Just that they all came from Alabu, and that they didn't know each other beforehand," I told her, seeing her eyes harden at that. "I don't see a point in keeping them around," I told her honestly.

He attacked my home. He deserved to die. All of them did.

Mother offered a clipped nod, "Good. Then kill him." she instructed, her voice even. I looked down at the man, who met my gaze evenly. His fate was sealed. Dying with dignity was his only remaining chance to impress the gods.

I hefted my axe and brought it down on his head, killing him. Ripping it free, I walked to the other I had crippled and did the same to him. As soon as I was done and his blood was soaking the earth, I felt a pair of arms wrap themselves around me, hugging me tightly.

"You did well, Siegfried," Mother told me softly. "You did as a man should -- you protected your family. You've become a man now, my son. Not in age, but in deed, which is something some far older than you haven't accomplished. Do not let this trouble your thoughts. You should be proud of what you've done," she continued, whispering gently in my ear. A reassurance that I had done the right thing.

I killed people. I was drenched in their blood. Out of absolutely nowhere, we had been attacked. My stomach threatened to rebel, but I swallowed it down as I looked out into the forest, my mother hugging me from behind. Killing a man was different from killing a squirrel or a fish. There was more to it. A give and a take, a threat of danger that they could have killed me if they were a bit better.

I protected my family. I earned the praise of the gods. Still, killing men was… different. Very different. I couldn't say that it was a good difference either.

My gaze darted around, searching for another enemy to come running out from the forest to attack. I hadn't realized it until now, but I was actually trembling as the surge of strength left me, leaving me feeling weakened and feeble.

Against all odds, I somehow met the gaze of the golden-eyed girl in the treeline. She peered at me from behind a tree, her expression blank as she regarded me some distance away. My lips moved, mouthing the words 'thank you' to her.

Her response was the barest hint of a smile tugging at her lips before she stepped behind a tree, vanishing from sight.

This time… I didn't need a feeling to tell me that we were going to meet again. I knew we would. I would make sure of it.


...

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[Ideas-Guy]

The pace of change was a fickle thing, I learned. It can crash over you like a tidal wave, sweeping you out to sea. Yet, other times, it was slow. Gradual. Glacial. Change was something that you couldn't run from. You couldn't hide from it either. Change was a fundamental aspect of the world -- something easy to achieve, yet so impossible to control.

Because, once things changed, 'normal' was forever lost. Forcing people to adapt to a new 'normal'.

It was two more weeks before my brothers and father returned, all of them having sailed east to raid for food and spoils. In that two weeks, things settled back down in a way that was almost the same. I did my daily ritual. I did my chores. I checked the traps and the fishing lines. I weaved with the girls, and I think I managed to talk my mom into letting me learn how to play the lute.

That was a small change, though. The change was that my eyes now constantly searched the treeline of the forest for intruders. My axe never left my side. My collection of stones for my sling increased. The dead warriors had been stripped and their bodies burnt, leaving me with their equipment. From the several sets of chainmail that I now had in my possession, I made sure to wear one at all times. I had stashes of weapons and armor across the farm now so I would be ready, no matter where I was, for the next attack to come.

Things had changed. For my entire life, the farm had felt so… isolated. Safe.

It no longer felt safe. And I doubted that it ever would again. I knew how fragile that peace was, now.

My brothers didn't take the news well that the farm had been attacked when they returned. After learning that I had killed eleven men alone, all of them were giving me weird looks. Father always said I was going to be a great warrior, but I doubted that they really believed it. Brandr was grateful to the point there were tears in his eyes when he thanked me. The others were happy that they had a home to return to.

Father, however, sat in front of the fireplace and nursed a cup of ale. "I know who did this," he said in a quiet voice after Mother and the others gave him the story. "A pissant named Kalf. He owns a major farm near Alabu. Bigger than ours. It started off smaller… but he's been playing the game with Jarl Horrik. He's favored. So, when land adjacent to his suddenly becomes vacant with no clear rightful holders, it just makes sense that it would go to him."

There was a deafening silence at his words, the entire family gathered up. Brandr spoke after a moment, "You are favored by the Jarl too. Would Kalf really risk his ire by attacking us?"

Father snorted, "Jarl Horrik and I are old men now, and I earned this farm by proving myself in battle. By attacking us, he sought to discredit me. For what good is a warrior that can no longer protect his own home?" Father asked, draining his cup as he breathed in deeply. He reached out, wrapping an arm around my shoulders and pulling me in close. "Kalf wouldn't need to do much, then. He would launch another raid or two, burning our harvests and killing our animals to cement my disgrace… then, I would die. And you, Brandr, would get an offer on the farm that was in danger of being taken away by the Jarl. It would not be a good offer, but it would be better than death."

He spoke dispassionately, before reaching up and tugging on one of my ears, "At least, that is how it would have gone if little Siegfried was not here." There was a round of skol at that, my family toasting to me as I got a few back pats from my various brothers. "A good thing too. The attack on the farm was more profitable than our raid."

Mother looked faintly surprised, "It was that poor?"

Havi spoke up, "There was a famine. Their harvest was poor last year, and the people were destitute. Half the slaves we took died on the way over." He sounded disappointed as he threw a stick in the fire. "There wasn't any glory to be found either. We were just putting them out of their misery, like a village full of sick dogs."

"There will be another raid," Father spoke, his voice calm. "Jarl Horrik spoke to me about it before we returned. He wants to go South, to raid the Saxons or Franks and take their wealth for ourselves."

"I will stay at the farm," Brandr decided with a shake of his head. Seems like he was done with raiding. For this year at least. Tormod and Halfdan quickly echoed the sentiment. So did the rest of my brothers, some with more reluctance than others.

Father nodded, "Aye, I figured as much… which is why only myself and Siegfried will go." he decided, making my attention snap to him. That got a laugh out of him as he read the confusion on my face. "You're a man now, son. Might as well get your arm ring and make it official. And it would be good for us to take this attack to Jarl Horrik's attention."

This… was sooner than I expected. And…

"It's our turn to look after the family, Siegfried," Brandr said, zeroing in on my concern with leaving -- what if the farm was attacked while I was gone? I looked at the others around the hearth, all of them supporting the decision. Meaning that it was pointless to argue.

I looked up at Father, "When do we leave?"

"In the morning. First light," he decided, which was rather soon given that he had just returned today. But no one protested the decision.

"Could we go visit the Wise Woman?" I requested, making Father's eyebrows shoot up at that. "Her daughter warned me about the attack. If she hadn't done that, then I wouldn't have known until it was too late. She gave us time to prepare and get the drop on them before they attacked."

Mother gave me a concerned look, "Her daughter? The Wise Woman has no daughters. You just said a girl warned you," she said, making me frown.

"I saw her when Father took me to her. She introduced her as one of her daughters," I explained, warranting a grunt from Father.

"A witch of the wilds," Father spoke, a sigh in his words. "The Wise Woman raises girls that find their way to her in her ways. She teaches them strange magics and hexes before sending them out into the world to do the will of the gods. And her own, I suspect. At least, that's what I heard. Never had reason to believe it until now." Then he pinned me with a look, "Why do you want to visit the Wise Woman?"

"To thank her," was my swift reply. And also to figure out how she had known about the attack. Was it fate? Had she communed with the gods and they sent her to warn me about the attack? Or had she been a part of the group already and betrayed them? I didn't know and the lack of clear answers was incredibly frustrating.

To that, Father chuckled. "There's no need for that, lad. If she is a witch, then I have no doubt that she already knows. Now, off to bed, all of you. It's going to be a long day tomorrow for all of us," he said, pushing me off of the log stool I used as a seat, my back hitting the dirt floor before I rolled to my feet. Father gave me a cheeky smile before I headed off to the room that I shared with Havi and Kirk.

But I stayed up. Long into the night, even after the house was filled with various snores. My ears picked up on the faintest of whispers shared between Father, Ida, and Mother.

"Kalf has no reason to attack us," Ida spoke lowly. "It doesn't make sense that it would be him. There are plenty of farms between us that he could pull this stunt with."

"Our farm has performed too well, Ida." Father answered, his tone flat. Even. As if he had suspected something like this would happen. "Ever since we started doing things Siegfried's way, our harvests have been bountiful. It hasn't gone unnoticed. Not by Jarl Horrik, nor by Kalf and his ilk."

Meaning that the attack on the farm had been prompted by me. It wasn't my fault. I knew that. It was the fault of the piece of shit that tried to kill my family.

"And the alliance with our neighbors threatens Kalf. Between the two of us, our farms will equal his and he will never earn the favor of the Jarl if we continue to produce more than him," Mother clarified. "So, he seeks to kill us before it comes to that."

I heard Father sigh, "Politics. I fucking hate politics."

"But we have to play, Erik. Willingly or not, we have to play."

…

The city of Alabu was… incredible, to say the least. It was unlike anything I had ever seen, so far beyond the small village of Ivarstead. It was nestled up against the water, the same river that the edge of our homestead butted against. There were no walls to speak of. The buildings had sloped roofs and were a single story, the roads were made of mud with a few planks tossed over the worst of it.

People walked by, some shoving wares in our face or offering themselves for their services. Animals walked the street like they were citizens too. Down the main road were the docks, which had a few ships moored at it. The tallest building of all was the longhouse -- it was a long building as its name implied, easily three times the size of the buildings that surrounded it. Wider too. The tall roof of it gave the building another two stories in height over a regular building, give or take. I hadn't known it was possible for men to make a building so mindbogglingly huge.

It was absolutely incredible and I was trying to take it all in all at once."How many people live here?" I asked Father as he led me to the longhouse, pushing through a crowd of people. There were so many. Even at the festivals to celebrate and thank the gods in Ivarstead, when everyone joined together, it couldn't compare to the number of people around me.

"No clue. A thousand at least. Maybe a bit more, but I wouldn't bet that there are more than two. Not even one and a half," Father answered, roughly shoving a man that bumped into him and continuing to walk. So, a thousand and five hundred people? I tried to picture that number of people before me in a large crowd and I couldn't imagine what it would even look like. "It's rather different than the farm, eh?"

I shared a smile with him as we stepped inside the longhouse. It was a wide building and the first thing I saw was a very long table running right up the middle of it. The ceiling was high, and I saw that there was a second floor that was only half built, a platform for the important people gathered here to use so that they could literally stand above those with less status. Thegns, merchants, and other nobility. All of it faced two large chairs that were covered in pelts, the thrones of the longhouse. There were plenty of people inside and I smelled roasting meat and smoke from cooking fires. The longhouse was filled with the general clamor of lots of people talking over each other as I drank it all in.

"Very different," I agreed. My eyes darted around, looking at bearded faces and smiling women. They talked, argued, joked, laughed. The hall was filled with good cheer-

"Erik! I thought you already set off home to that wife of yours," I heard a voice call out to us that I could only describe as thunderous. Everyone looked in the direction of the source -- There, I saw a tall man with a dark mane of hair, dark blue eyes, and a braided beard. He was solidly built with a bit of a gut, but with his thick arms and broad chest no one would mistake him as overweight.

"Jarl Horrik! I'm already back -- I couldn't risk you leaving without us," Father said, walking forward, and the two embraced with a laugh. When they broke apart, Father reached back and grabbed my shoulder, pulling me forward. "This is my youngest son, Siegfried. He is here for his armband."

Upon hearing that, Jarl Horrik gave me a surprised look, his eyes looking me up and down. I looked back at the man -- I had heard about him all of my life, but it was the first time I had ever met him. He was around my Father's age, possibly older. His hair remained dark, with no signs of greying, though his face was lined with wrinkles. He had smile lines, I noticed. He seemed like he was the kind of person that laughed a lot.

"So, you are Siegfried. Your father wouldn't shut up about you the entire trip. I just about tossed him in the river for some peace and quiet," Jarl Horrik eventually said with a chuckle, reaching out. He pinched my smooth cheeks, tugged at my ears, then tussled my hair. "Ha! He isn't as funny-looking as you were at his age," he remarked to my Father before giving him a pointed look, "But you yourself said that he wouldn't be receiving his arm ring until next year."

To Jarl Horrik's unspoken question, Father nodded, "I did. But, while we were away, my boy became a man." he spoke up, raising his voice, drawing the attention of the hall. "My home was attacked by raiders. Eleven men in total -- armed with axes, shields, and spears. They wore chainmail and the leader had a pouch full of coin," he said, reaching to his belt and offering the pouch to Jarl Horrik who no longer smiled.

There had been no pouch on the raiders. That was a lie.

"But Siegfried, my son, defended our home. He fought those men. Alone. All of them. And their corpses are feeding my pigs and my boy has proved himself to be a man," Father said and I felt myself become the center of attention of everyone in the hall. There was a low muttering that rippled out through the hall as the Jarl gave me a considering look.

"I have known your father for most of my life, Siegfried," Jarl Horrik spoke, silencing the halls. "I have never known him to lie to me. Even when I would prefer it that he would. So, I ask of you -- is that true? You killed eleven men on your own? With no help at all?" he asked me, resting his hands on my shoulders as he peered into my eyes as if he could perceive the truth in them.

I squared my shoulders and nodded, "I was warned by one of the witches of the wilds," I offered and I could feel the room shift at that. "She told me that we were going to be attacked, which gave me enough time to grab my sling and axe while they were still getting in position. I dropped the first before they realized that I knew they were there. The others I killed as they were charging across the field, or I got them in the knees. I lured two into the house by running inside, then killed them when they followed me in. The last three I killed in a duel -- well, it was meant to be one on one, but they dishonored themselves. Then they died."

The Jarl nodded, "Honest. Just like your father. I see what he means when he spoke of you. Every father speaks that way, but for you… I suspect there's more to it than loving bluster and hot air." he clapped me on the shoulder, "Come. It's time to make you a man."

He walked to the throne, making a gesture at the people. Father offered a small smile to me, dipping down as we followed in his wake. "You didn't have to mention the witch," he remarked quietly.

"Credit is given where it's due," I responded. I hadn't been able to go to her, yet. Her dwelling lay in the opposite direction of the city. And I had already thanked her, but that wasn't enough. Not for me. Without that warning, things could have gone down very differently. I might not have realized that they were there until they were in the house. Or until they snuck up on me. It was in no way an exaggeration to say that she had helped save my family.

Renown was important. For some, it was the only thing that mattered. They spent their entire lives trying to become famous to earn a saga that the skalds would tell until the end of time. I wasn't any different. I already had the gods' attention, but the idea that stories of my deeds being told for my great-great-great grandchildren as a saga was what every warrior wanted. To be equal to the Sagas of King Hrolf-Kraki, or Beowulf. For that same reason, I wouldn't cheat the woman that helped save my family out of the renown that she was due.

Father just let out a chuckle as a rather rushed ceremony began. The Jarl's wife, one of them at least, stepped out from the bedroom dressed in fine furs. She was young. As young as Asta, so in her late teens at her oldest. She was pretty. Very pretty. Blonde hair, blue eyes, and pale skin with high cheekbones -- her name was Oydis, I think. The Jarl's third wife. She smirked at me as she took a seat on the throne, her hands lightly clasped on her lap.

"Gather 'round, you lot of bastards! Gather around!" Jarl Horrik exclaimed, gesturing for everyone to crowd around me. Then for me to kneel down before the throne, so I did so. He took in a deep breath, seemingly satisfied with the crowd witnessing the event. There was a slight smile on his face as he looked around before his gaze settled back on me. "Siegfried, son of Erik," he began, taking a sword that was handed to him by a servant. Laying it flat across his palms, another sprinkled dirt and salt on the polished blade.

"Take this offering of earth and salt to remind you that you come from the earth and the sea," he spoke, sounding like he had rehearsed the speech and spoke it many times. I had heard about this part, so I knew what to do. Leaning forward, I licked the salt and dirt off the blade and leaned back. Jarl Horrik unceremoniously tossed the sword to a slave before he accepted a polished gold arm ring with the ends shaped as two snarling dragons. "This arm ring was meant for my own son that's on the verge of becoming a man. But, perhaps it was fate that you are here on the day of its completion."

He leaned forward, "This armband is a sacred thing to our people. All oaths taken upon it must be kept at all costs, or your place in Valhalla is forfeited. For breaking a sacred oath makes you a nithing -- a vile creature with no honor, that is cursed to forever wander this earth. It also symbolizes your fealty to me, your Jarl. What say you, Siegfried? I know I'm an old fat bear of a man, but I'm a good enough leader. Feel free to ignore everyone that says differently." There were chuckles around the hall at that.

I nodded, "I swear my fealty. Your enemies will be my enemies," I added and he seemed impressed based on the smile he wore.

"I feel safer already. Come on, put it on!" he urged, sounding as excited as I was, handing me the armband, and I rushed to do so. I slipped the band on, pushing it up to my elbow, and I admired the quality of it. The band was two serpent dragons bound together, coiling around one another. It must have cost a small fortune. I smiled to myself as I looked down upon it. Then I felt a hand reach out and touch my chin.

This part, I had also heard about from the others. Brandr had complained it was an old woman for him, until Father smacked him. Havi, however, said that it had been the most gorgeous woman in the world, which is how I knew her name even if I never wanted to hear it in his sleep again.

Oydis smiled as she cupped my cheeks, leaning in to kiss me on the lips. It was a quick kiss, but my first one -- her lips were soft, I noted, a little dazed. As she pulled back, the crowd cheered loudly. People stomped their feet and clapped. When she let go of my face, the Jarl rubbed my head as he looked at Father, who appeared incredibly proud.

"Seven sons of yours have reached manhood, Erik. The gods have truly blessed your family," he said, throwing an arm around my shoulders. "And I suspect your youngest shall join us in our next raid?"

Father smiled, "I'm afraid it is no longer my decision. He is a man. It is up to him and the gods to decide his fate," he said, earning another cheer from the crowd behind him. Everyone looked at me expectantly, already anticipating my answer.

As if I could refuse. For my entire life, I only saw the farm and Ivarstead. The city of Alabu was beyond anything I could have ever imagined. What other incredible things could lay beyond on distant shores? More than that, raiding was a way to provide for my family. Times of plenty didn't last. Raiding meant that if there was a bad harvest, or the next raiders did what Father said and burned the farm, our deaths wouldn't be certain.

There were a lot of reasons to go. For fame, glory, and to provide for my family.

"If you'll have me," I answered, speaking to the Jarl more than the crowd. To that, he clapped me on the shoulder with one of his large hands.

"Of course! I cannot wait to see your prowess in battle with my own two eyes," The Jarl said with a laugh. He wasn't being entirely truthful, I sensed. Part of it was for the crowd, and I'm guessing that part of it was that he didn't really believe that I had killed eleven men despite claiming so. I could understand, even if the doubt in my abilities stung at my pride. I only a little more than half my dad's size, and only freshly considered a man. "Our ships will fill once again as we sail south to richer lands. There, we will find glory and plunder as decided by the gods -- for it was that reason why Freyja struck the eastlanders down with famine. So that we would go South in three days time!"

Another cheer went up at that, this one the loudest of them all. I ignored it for now. Three days in the city? I was excited to see what it had to offer.

…

Being a man now didn't mean I was suddenly treated like one, I learned as I stood in the market square. "Two silver coins," I said, crossing my arms over my chest as a man stood in front of me, running his fingers over the links of the chainmail I had brought to the city. I didn't bring all of them or try to sell all those that I had, but with the extras, I was hoping to get them out of my hands.

Luckily, with it being raiding season, I had a list of potential buyers looking for a little extra protection.

"Half of a silver coin, little lad. It is not even worth that much! And I am favored by the gods, so I don't even need chainmail," he said, and if I had an ounce of silver for every time I heard something like that uttered in the past three days, then I could probably buy an entire fleet of ships.

Bartering wasn't a skill that I had any experience in. Honestly, I don't think I was particularly good at it either. But, it was something I had to learn and I think I was learning quickly. Diplomacy was going up just for my attempts at bartering, regardless of if I got the sale or not, though I got more if I did, so I knew that the gods at least thought I was getting better at it. And each successfully sold shirt of chainmail was accompanied by a few silver coins and some Stewardship experience.

"But the gods help those that help themselves," I quickly shot back. "If a man jumps off a cliff, the gods won't make wings sprout from his back! They'll just laugh as he falls. Why tempt fate into ending your story earlier than needed?" I argued, earning an expressive, contemplative expression. Our day of death was written in fate, but not every injury was so. In theory. I think. I would leave the specifics of fate to the gothi. "A coin and a half," I tacked on, earning a smile from the man.

"Deal!" he said, reaching out and clasping my forearm as the deal was struck. He reached into his pack to pull out a bit of silver that looked like it had once been a candlestick along with a hammer and a chisel. Using a piece of wood that I had been sitting on, he lined up the chisel before looking at me. "Fair?" he asked, earning a nod from me as it looked to be about the amount of a coin and a half of silver.

With that, he brought the hammer down, cutting off a chunk of silver for me. I handed over the chainmail as I tucked the silver into a bag that was growing heavier by the day. I had brought six extra sets of chainmail with me, and I sold all of them, netting me a heavy purse worth of silver. It wasn't an exorbitant amount, but it wasn't nothing either. Most of that sum would be going towards the family pot -- a nest egg in case we needed to buy food. Some would be kept for myself.

I had a plan for it, but so far, even without the raid, my family was good financially. What I brought in would just be extra security.

A horn blowing in the distance caught my attention, making my eyes snap in the direction of it. I grabbed my pack, my shield, and axe before I walked to the docks. A crowd was forming already, everyone drifting towards the docks to say their farewells. Normally, there would be a feast of some kind, but there already had been one for the previous raid and the men were eager to be off to make up for their losses. I pushed through the wall of bodies, making my way to the docks to see that the ships were being loaded up with supplies for the voyage.

My help wasn't requested or wanted, which left me with plenty of time to barter and explore the city before we officially set off. I spoke to the blacksmith and carpenters. Neither was looking for apprentices, meaning my chances of learning either trade were shot. But I had arranged to buy some blacksmith tools.

In the end, it was a trade that I could pretend to bullshit. Even if a lack of connection with a formal master would make it harder to find someone willing to give me a chance to prove my worth as a blacksmith, that didn't mean it was impossible. As for explaining how I had gotten so skilled in the first place, well, while there was finesse there and technique, it was also something that I could pretend to have learned by watching the blacksmith during my stay. Once I had the tools, I could look to starting a forge back at the farm. There, I could make things, gain experience, and move things along with my skill in the domain of Crafting.

"Out the way! Move it!" I shouted, pushing my way through -- another thing that I had learned during my stay in Alabu was that everyone needed a degree of force in the city to do anything. I reached the docks just in time to see the Jarl and my Father speaking at one of the ships. The raid would be conducted by those that had either stayed for the second one, or those that were layabouts and were passed over for the first.

The quality of warriors was diminished, as not all of the veteran raiders could stay away from their homes and families for so long. Which could bite us in the ass a bit, but… I was confident that me and Father would survive.

Both men fell silent as I approached, and I had a sneaking suspicion that they had been speaking about me. Father had been working with the Jarl about the raid on the property. There wasn't much that could be done, really. Father didn't even mention the most likely suspect because it would just be a he-said-she-said situation. We just didn't have enough proof to make any accusations.

All signs pointed to nothing being done. Simply because nothing could be done.

I said nothing about it as I loaded up, stepping on a ship for the first time in my life. Stashing my stuff away with Father's, I took a seat near the water as everyone boarded up. The docks were crowded and noisy, with the beat of a drum ringing out in the air, and people shouting their farewells.

In no time at all, we were pushing off the docks and sailing forward. Despite myself, I looked over the edge of the ship as we rowed with the oars, my arms working in unison with my Father's as he sat next to me. The crowd of people still hadn't dissipated yet, all of them waving or shouting, their words carried over the water.

And, against all odds, my gaze met the golden eyes of the witch of the wilds. She stood amongst the crowd, blending in seamlessly. She seemed to catch me looking at her, a faint smile tugging at her lips as she regarded me with a small nod. Then she stepped back, vanishing in the crowd so I could no longer see her.

I searched for a moment longer before I looked forward.

The excitement slowly gave way to nervousness as we sailed to a new shore. Had she been looking for me and missed me…?

Or what that an omen for what was to come?

...

As a heads up -- Eivor's name will be changing by next Wednesday. Eivor being a girls name was a feedback I got everywhere I posted this, and I really don't feel like getting reminded every time I post a chapter. That, and I think a name change would help clarify a plot point down the line.

The next chapter is currently available on my Patreon and Subscribe Star, so if you want to read it a week early, all it takes is a single dollar in the tip jar. Or, for five dollars, you can read the chapter after that two weeks before its public release! I hope you enjoyed!

 

[Ideas-Guy]

"Shit," I cursed, falling to the ground and landing on the soft grass and dirt, my legs giving out from underneath me. There were more than a few laughs at my expense, Father's loudest among them all. Using my axe and shield, I pushed myself up and used them to steady myself. Without them, I would have fallen over again immediately, because I began to list to the side, my body moving to account for waves that weren't there anymore.

"You'll get your land legs back soon enough, son. At least you gave me this -- all my boys got sick at sea, except you. I was looking forward to seeing you clinging to the side of the ship. It's the best part about watching young men sail." Father said, patting me on the back hard enough that I fell forward, landing in a prone position. "Sit for a time, until your body remembers what it's like to be on land." he said as he went to go unload the boats.

We had sailed for three days, stopping each night, and heading south the entire time. We stuck close to the shoreline, keeping it on our left until we saw it in front of us. We traveled for an additional day up the coast before Jarl Horrik spotted a raven amongst the trees and decided that it was a sign from Odin. He wasn't a seer, so it seemed odd that he was interpreting signs from Odin, but the gods sometimes communicated with us with clear signs. I knew that better than most.

We shored, bringing the ship up to the coast, where we got out. I had absolutely no idea if there were any people nearby or not, but I was equal parts hoping there were as I was that there weren't.

It had sunk in on the voyage here. I was here to murder people for their wealth and livelihood. People were going to die. Women were going to be raped. Children were going to see their families broken up either by death or enslavement if they weren't enslaved themselves. The few that made it through the raid would have a tough time recovering. It was entirely possible we would be killing them too when winter came and they had failed to sufficiently rebuild their food stores. It would just be delayed by a year.

And I could do nothing to stop it. I was just a warrior, one of many. It wasn't my place to say what we did, where we raided, or what we did to the defeated. Perhaps one day, if the gods were kind and I proved myself, I could become a thegn, and then I could make those decisions. However, for now, I had to accept that I was in the other role now. I was Viking.

While I was getting my balance back, scouts were sent out to bring back word on any settlements nearby. While we waited we were treating this as a temporary camp. A good thing too, because while we landed in the early afternoon, it was nearly nightfall when the scouts trickled back. They all found a road, one direction led nowhere that they found, but another path led to a village nestled at the mouth of a river that we hadn't traveled far enough to see.

With that, our course was set. The warriors offered prayers to the gods for protection in battle. I offered my prayers as well, but for the most part, I used the time to come to terms with what I was about to do. We left two guards for the boats while the rest of us followed the path that the scouts had found. We traveled for a solid hour on foot before we were told to crouch down and stay low. We were about a hundred men in total, probably a bit less than more, so our approach was everything but silent.

Yet, somehow, we managed to sneak up on the village. It was a rather large one, and as said, it was right on the riverbank with a long bridge separating the two sides. There were no walls to speak of. Just a few dozen wood houses with thatch roofs, dirt roads between them, and a few animal pens. After three days at sea, the moon had waned until only the barest sliver was visible, leaving the light shining on the village rather poor.

"We need to secure the bridge first," Jarl Horrik said, his voice low. "The river is wider than I thought it would be," he admitted, revealing why this hadn't been decided earlier. I guess he expected a ditch we could jump over. Instead, there was a sizable river that ran right through the village that had a long bridge crossing it, fashioned from a few thick tree trunks that had been roped together. I think this village might have started out as two separate villages that had been joined together by the bridge. The make and placement of the buildings were noticeably different on either side of the river. "Ten men should do the trick."

"Should we try to sneak into the village first?" I spoke up, earning a disapproving look from the various men around us. Just because I was a man didn't mean I was treated like one. My voice didn't carry as much weight, and there were some who clearly thought it shouldn't be heard at all. However, Jarl Horrik considered it.

"It will be a dangerous task, but a worthy one. We'll cut the village in half," Jarl Horrik decided. "Do you volunteer for it?" he asked me and I didn't have to think about it before I nodded. He smiled, giving me a firm nod of acknowledgment. He started choosing the others who would be going with me, and I started to take off my chainmail shirt, and once I had it off, I saw him giving me an amused look.

"Didn't you spend days selling those shirts to warriors in the market with words about not tempting fate?" he asked me, clearly amused as I now only wore my tunic. My sling was tucked into my belt, while I held my axe and a shield in my hands. A spear might be more useful, but I wasn't a man fully grown yet, and the smallest spear I had seen was seven feet long. The distance was a nice thing, but a spear needed leverage I couldn't provide.

"You shouldn't ever believe anything that comes out of a salesman's mouth," I advised, and he looked like he was visibly swallowing a laugh.

"Go on then and do your father proud, lad. Before you make me give away our position," he said, giving me a push forward. I walked through the underbrush, feeling much lighter without the chainmail weighing me down. I would have liked to keep it for the protection. If it wasn't for the constant noise it made, I would have. I saw others following suit, all of them heading in the direction of the bridge with me.

I reached one of the houses and I heard panting and groaning on the other side of the wood wall, telling me everything I needed to know about why our approach had been missed. Reaching the front side, I crouched low, looking at the village square of sorts -- there seemed to be a method to the madness of the layout of the village, but it left for plenty of nooks both to hide in and to miss someone else watching us. I scanned the darkness as I clung to the shadows, seeing no one but hearing them all around me.

Skulking forward, I continued to keep a look out. I heard a grunt off to my left, and I looked over just in time to see one of the warriors bury his axe into the head of a man that had been pissing on the side of his house. He caught the body, lowering it down quietly, before he continued on. I did the same, heading to the bridge before I spotted a man standing in front of a well, working at the winch to lower the bucket.

My grip tightened on my axe as I walked forward, knowing what I had to do. All that was left was to do it.

I heard the man cursing to himself in a language I didn't understand as he peered down into the well. I think he was worried that the bucket was caught on something. It happened, sometimes. He didn't notice me as I approached, my footfalls silent with each step. I gripped my axe tightly, bringing the head back…

Then I slammed the edge of it into the back of his head with a solid thunk. The axe handle offered leverage that I used to lower him to the ground, arranging it look like he had just passed out, as long as you ignored all the blood, before I ripped my axe free. I looked at the man -- unshaven cheeks, unwashed hair, and a stained tunic that was soaking through with blood.

"Sorry," I told him, but that was all I could give him as I headed for the bridge. The others were trickling in, some of them also having wet blades. When they were all with us, we headed to the other side of the bridge with me in the back. It was a decent bridge, large enough that three men could walk across it shoulder to shoulder. The warriors up front joined together to make a shield wall, layering their shields to provide a united front. Another two kept watch of our backs, while I and another readied long-range weapons. He preferred a bow, the fool. If only he knew the true power of a sling.

Once we were in position, a horn blew out and the tranquil village fell into utter chaos. The warriors swarmed into the village, kicking in doors and barging into homes. A handful of people managed to step out of some of the homes, hastily armed with whatever they had on hand. I spotted my Father rushing one, his dane axe lashing out and catching the man by the neck, severing his head from his body, and he moved on before the head had even hit the ground.

But my gaze didn't linger behind us. The other half of the village was roused from their sleep, men rushing out of their houses, and on that side there were no warriors to run interference for us. They rushed forward, carrying fish hooks or axes, even hoes or a scythe. My sling spun in my hand, loaded with a stone from my stockpile, before I flung it at a man with enough force that his head snapped back and he landed on his back dead.

The men slammed into the shield wall while I loaded up another stone. I killed another man, then crippled another before I heard the whizzing of an arrow. I saw it punch through one of the warriors at the front of the shield wall, emerging from the back of his neck. My gaze snapped into the direction of the source of the shot and I saw a teenager with a bow that was already knocking another arrow.

I flung a stone at him, catching him in the eye, and his body dropped. And so did the shield wall. A fishhook lashed out in the gap the dead man had made as he let go of his shield, catching the warrior that went to replace him in the eye. The men yelled as they started to force their way through, forcing me to drop my sling and pick up my axe. I rushed forward, catching the man with the fishhook in the chest with my axe and pushing him back.

A hoe battered at my shield as I joined the melee, determined for my courage to be witnessed by the gods. The air was filled with noise -- battle cries, screams of pain, shrieks of terror, the crying of children, and the clash of metal and wood. It reeked of copper as another of the warriors fell at my side, allowing the defenders to flank me. I learned that death smelled like shit.

I caught a swipe from a cleaver with my shield, returning the blow with a Power Strike to the wielder's knee, cleaving right through it. He fell to the ground as I shoulder-checked a man in front of me, pushing forward, swinging my axe as I did and catching him in the shoulder. The blade of the axe sunk into him, deep enough that it almost reached the shaft. Hitting him again with my shield, I ripped my weapon free with a spray of gore. No sooner than I did, I swung again at another villager, the one with the scythe that was swiping down at us from the back, trying to catch us in the head with the blade.

He managed it with another of the warriors, stabbing him in the shoulder, only to pay for it with his arm as I cut it off. He screamed, stumbling back as he clutched his missing arm. Another villager stepped up, only to catch an axe to the face, dropping him. Bodies began to pile up in front of me, my boots growing slick with blood and mud, the dirt darkening into a thick muck.

The villagers in the back seemed to realize that the tide was turning against them so they began to break off, turning tail and running. I was content to let them, dealing with those that stayed and fought, only to have the handful of men that survived the brief siege break off after them, either to give chase or to start looting. I frowned deeply, pressing forward and killing another villager, the last one that stayed and fought. I spared a glance at a good two dozen bodies piled up at the opening of the bridge.

My gaze met the villager that had wielded the scythe, still clutching his arm. He looked at me with wide eyes and a bloodless face before he said something to me. Polyglot made it easier to learn languages, but it didn't let me understand them instantly. I gestured to his arm, raising my axe to send a message. He swallowed thickly before he shook his head.

So, I used the axe to tear off a sleeve from a corpse. Walking over, I tied it around his arm to help with the bleeding. Then I shoved him to the ground, gesturing to the corpses. His wide eyes darted to them, then to me, then he offered a small nod before he pretended to be dead.

I don't think it would save him, but it was easier to kill a man in battle than it was to finish him off. Not when he hadn't done anything to me or mine.

"Siegfried!" I heard Father shout, making me turn back to look at him. He and a few other warriors were sprinting across the bridge towards us. "Find your wealth, lad! You've done well!" he shouted, and there was a fierce, unrestrained pride in his voice. I honestly don't think he had ever been prouder of me than he was at that moment, and that was including defending the farm because this time he was here to see it.

I nodded, looking out at the various houses. There was screaming coming within, and I saw a few had their doors open as the inhabitants fled. I ran to one of them with the hopes that it would be empty. The interior was similar to my own home -- a living area with a hearth, dirt floors, and a wall with two doors. However, I soon saw that the house wasn't empty.

There was a bed tucked in one corner and on it was an old man. He eyed me with hatred in his eyes, his covers pulled up. He had been left behind while the rest of his family fled, too old and frail to join them. I looked around the living room, noting that it seemed to be in poor condition. Even the small luxuries of common folk weren't found.

"Hm," I hummed, spotting a wood pitcher filled with water. I grabbed it as I kept an eye on the old man. Giving it a sniff, I found that it smelled like water should. Satisfied, I grabbed a cup before walking to the man's bedside. The hatred lessened into cautious curiosity when I poured him a cup of water, handing it to him. He watched me over the rim, drinking deeply. Setting the pitcher near him, I left his side to explore the rest of the house. I found a pantry that was rather light on foodstuffs. Then a bedroom with a single bed.

Looking through it, I saw that whoever had fled the building took their wealth with them, based on the small hole in the corner of the room that was recently dug up. So, there was no point in staying. Grabbing an apple, I gave the old man a nod, who tentatively gave one back, before leaving the house and heading for another. I skipped the next few houses, going to the ones in the back at the periphery of the village while the sounds of chaos rang out behind me.

The next door I tried was barred, I found. Nothing that couldn't be solved with a Power Attack, which reduced the door to splinters. Kicking the broken remains back, the door gave way to reveal a family that had decided to bar themselves inside. A man and two of his sons, based on the look of it. They had proper weapons, I noticed. The older man even had a scaled gambeson and a shield in hand, and all the men were wielding spears. They were guarding two women -- the mother, a daughter, and a baby.

They snarled the moment they saw me, their spears darting out to drive me away. The baby cried, disturbed by the violence of my entrance and the shouting of the men, while the girls screamed, making an awful chorus of noise. I eyed them, noting that they were also cleaner than the others I had seen. The house was larger too. A wealthy family that had carved out a plot of land after the village was already established?

The scene was almost familiar. I've never witnessed it with my own eyes, but I saw it in my dreams after the attack on the farm -- what could have been if I didn't get that fateful warning or if I hadn't been there. Only, the roles had reversed. I stood in the place of the raiders that would rape and murder my family. That, more than anything else, made my stomach clench uncomfortably.

I took a step back, gesturing to the doorway, saying nothing. Because there was no point. I couldn't understand them any better than they could understand me. The man in the gambeson's eyes narrowed into slits, glaring at me, but he seemed to briefly consider the offer. I was giving them an out. A chance to flee. To live. They might suspect it was a trap, but given how much blood I was covered in, they had to know that we had the best of the village by far.

Then one of the sons, a teenager, screamed at the top of his lungs as he ran forward, intent on skewering me. He was braves, but foolish. I reacted, battering away the tip of the spear with the shaft of my axe before I darted in, slamming the rim of my shield into his face. That made the decision for the rest of the family as the other son ran forward, followed by their father. I could spare a man in a one-on-one, but two on one when they were trying to kill me?

In the end, I valued my life too much. Too much to risk it trying to not kill them. I flung the apple I had taken at the second son's face, hitting him in the head and making him flinch back.

The spear was a great weapon at keeping people away, but it quickly became a hindrance in close quarters. I swung with a power attack, hitting him in the neck and beheading him with a single swipe. The man screamed in rage while the girls screamed in horror. The older man made to tackle me, knowing his spear was useless this close.

However, he underestimated how fast I was. No sooner than my axe cleared his son's neck, it was on its way back. Flipping it, I caught him in the side of the head with the backswing, my blade coming to a stop buried in the bridge of his nose. I ripped my axe free as he fell, the mother screaming with grief as she dove for him. Tears ran down her cheeks when she looked up at me, cursing and spitting. The son that started the fight was getting to his feet, horrified at the sight.

A sigh escaped me as I shook my head, going to him. Despite the fact that he was a few years older than me, I easily hauled him to his feet before I practically threw him out the door. "Get out, go. Run, you idiots," I snapped at them, gesturing for them to go while they could. The daughter seemed to get it because she sprinted out the door, carrying the still screaming baby. The son ran back inside, grabbing his mom, and tearing her away from the corpse of her husband. He glared at me as he dragged his mom out, earning a scoff from me.

"I tried," I told him, dismissing him with a wave. I looked to the two dead, another sigh escaping me. "I tried," I told them before I began to search the house. It was empty of any more inhabitants, and as I suspected, much richer than the previous house had been. The cups were made of metal, so were the plates. The bed was covered in soft furs and the pantry was fully stocked. I began gathering up a pile near the bodies -- a pitcher that had been filled with wine, finely woven baskets, some animal pelts, cups, plates, and a candlestick.

Heading into the bedroom, I flipped the bed over, spilling a sack filled with straw over to find what I thought I might. Given that I had already seen that one household had buried their wealth, and that under the bed was my own favorite hiding place, I thought they might have buried something underneath it. And I was right based on the looser earth beneath it compared to the rest of the room. Using my axe, I upturned the dirt to find that there was a chest buried inside. More of a strongbox.

Breaking the lock, I flipped it open to find a few burlap sacks. One was a coin purse that was heavy with coin. Noticeably so. Opening it up, I saw silver pennies. Dozens of them. In terms of weight, it was about half a pound. In the others, I saw jewels. A small sapphire that was uncut. Two pieces of amber and a few other shiny stones. However, a frown tugged at my lips when I saw a chunk of metal with them. Taking it out, I turned it over, I couldn't help but wonder what it was doing with gemstones.

My eyes narrowed as I brought the piece of metal near my axe and then I felt it. A tug.

"What… sort of magic are you made of?" I asked the odd piece of metal, tucking it into my boot. Why was it attracted to my axe? Why was it kept in the same space as precious jewels? It was clearly a mysterious artifact, so I decided to keep it with me. It was a small thing and it didn't seem noticeable on a quick inspection. Tossing the load into the strongbox, I walked out and added it to the pile. Going to the pantry, I loaded up on dried foods, grain, and salt.

It was a good haul. Father seemed to think so too when he stepped inside, his eyes widening a bit when he saw what was within. "A fine first haul. Find anything special?" he asked, kicking the corpses with a frown on his face. His eyebrows shot up to his hairline when he saw the jewels, making him drop down to check around. "Give Jarl Horrik the blue one. Keep the rest. They're yours by right."

I nodded, snapping the strongbox closed. Tossing it in a basket and loading everything else on top of it, I hauled it all out with some help from Father who made sure no one snuck up on me. The screaming had died down a fair bit, telling me that most of the village was probably dead. My stomach clenched when I saw a warrior grabbing people and dragging them to a house that was filled with the last of the village. All of it from women.

Closing my eyes for a moment, I grit my teeth as I took in a deep breath. I knew it was going to happen. I knew it going in. And I knew that there was absolutely nothing I could do about it.

Because the warrior that was dragging the screaming woman away was Jarl Horrik. He waved at us, a smile on his face, and he was drenched in as much blood as I was. "Erik! Siegfried! Come join us! Nothing can quench the fire in your blood quite like the softness of a woman!"

"We'll join you later, Jarl Horrik. While all of you are wetting your wicks, we'll be rich with plunder," Father said with a laugh, Jarl Horrik joining in as he walked off. If he noticed I didn't laugh with them, then he didn't say anything about it. When he kicked open the door with a triumphant shout, Father spoke in a low tone to me. "Get used to it, Siegfried," he told me as we continued to walk to the bridge. "These things happen on raids. Harden your heart to it."

My lips thinned, "They're acting like animals. The people that attacked the farm would have done that to Mom, or my sisters, or Asta if I hadn't been there."

Father rounded on me, his expression as serious as I had ever seen it. It brought me up short, but I didn't flinch from his look. "But you were there, Siegfried. And you protected your family. These men couldn't do that. They failed to be strong enough to stop us. The gods favored us over them, allowing this to happen to them. Jarl Horrik was right -- the failed raid was so this one would succeed."

"Would you say that if I hadn't been strong enough?" I asked him, uncaring of how his expression turned thunderous. The hypocrisy left a bitter taste on my tongue that I had trouble swallowing -- we were the raiders. This village was the farm. I had been praised for protecting the farm, and now I was being praised for killing the families in this village. It felt like I was the only one that saw how utterly hypocritical it was. "Winning a battle doesn't give you the-"

I could have avoided the blow, but I didn't. Father smacked me across the head, his nostrils flaring. "It does, Siegfried. Winning the battle gives you every right to decide the fate of the defeated. It's a gods given right, because they gave us the victory." he snapped at me, only to look like he regretted it a moment later. "You've always been a kind-hearted boy. I was worried about how you would handle actual battle, but you've proven yourself to be a warrior. But, if you want to be a warrior, then you have to accept this. This is the fate of the defeated… and there is no room for mercy."

We came to a stop in front of the bridge and I turned my gaze to the man I had spared. While I had been looting, someone split his head with an axe.

"Do you understand, lad?" he asked me, making my lips press together in a thin line. I thought I had understood, but seeing it in person was harder than I thought it would be. Killing… I could rationalize that just fine. In the end, I could accept it. Enslavement? Harder to accept, but again, I could accept it. There was a lot of hard labor to be done in the world and having a slave to do a job no one else wanted made sense.

Rape, on the other hand, didn't really have a justification that I could find. It was just forcing yourself on someone because you desired them and they couldn't fight you off. That was it. It served no purpose. It was just cruelty for the sake of cruelty.

I nodded slowly, my eyes dropping down to the slain man. Father reached out and rubbed the side of my head that he had slapped, and sighed. "I'll give Jarl Horrik a reason why you can't join the others," he told me. I nodded again, not voicing my gratitude. I looked up at him to see he was giving me a sad smile. He opened his mouth to say something, only to be cut off by the sound of a horn blowing.

Our heads snapped in the direction of it. It sounded too close to be from the boat, it was an hour's walk away. The horn sounded much closer. Much, much, much closer.

Father shoved me, "We're under attack! To arms! Get your asses out here!" Father shouted at the top of his lungs, making people scramble out of the house, some with their pants around their ankles and blood on their cocks. I paid them no mind as I dropped my hoard of treasure when I spotted the source.

Warriors poured out of the woods, some riding horses, others bare-chested and holding great axes. They screamed war cries, declaring vengeance in an unfamiliar language. One of our warriors rushed out of a house near their point of entry into the village, only to swiftly be cut down. A horseman rode forward, galloping across the bridge as he screamed, brandishing a mace. Gritting my teeth, I threw my axe, catching him in the chest hard enough that it looked like he had been kicked off the horse's back by a giant. He dropped to the ground dead but the horse continued on past us.

"Shield wall! Shield wall!" Jarl Horrik shouted, "Hold the bridge!" he screamed as I scrambled, picking up another axe from one of the fallen warriors. More enemies were rushing to follow the one that had fallen, stepping over his body as they sprinted towards us. The bridge acted as a choke point, directing them to one place, however, I saw an issue. Our ships were on the other side of the river. In the darkness, it was difficult to tell how many there were, but it seemed like a lot. With more on the way.

Regardless, we had to push through them. We were in their territory. They might know a way around the river and then we would be flanked. The moment they went on the defensive, we would run into the same issue that they would have attacking us -- a chokehold where our superior numbers wouldn't mean a thing.

I took in a deep breath, and for the first time tonight, I let out a warcry, matching theirs as I charged across the bridge. I heard Father cursing, calling for me to come back as the shield wall closed behind me, just as I met the first of the warriors.

I didn't mind. I preferred killing real warriors to helpless and unprepared villagers.

All that was left was to fight for my life.

...

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[Ideas-Guy]

There's a certain kind of indescribable terror that comes with watching a son charge the enemy with nothing even resembling fear. Siegfried charged alone, driven forward by only the gods knew what while the rest of the men formed a shield wall with him at the head of it. Archers stood behind them, taking aim as they were lifted up by men who were left over. It was a strong position. A defensive position. Yet, Siegfried charged forward towards the enemy as they rushed to them.

Like a wave crashing upon a stone, they broke upon his son.

Part of him was terrified that he was about to watch his favored son die. Another part of him was more proud than words could ever say. Because, in all of his life, he had never seen a man fight like his son did. With a single swing, Siegfried cut the head off of a spear that flickered out like a serpent's tongue, before pressing forward, the edge of his shield slamming into the Saxon warrior's throat, crushing it and moving on to shatter a shield with a single stroke of his axe that dug into another warriors chest.

His son brought death to the enemy. Each movement was either a killing stroke, or it set up the killing blow. It was almost beautiful. No, it was a thing of beauty -- with the moon and stars overhead, the little light they gave made the water and blood shine weakly, letting all witness his son's glory. They watched his son advance across the bridge, killing Saxons all the way.

A horseman surged forward, only to be caught in the head with Siegfried's axe. He dropped to the ground dead, forcing Siegfried to pick up a dane axe from one of his fallen foes.

He killed a warrior with it. A single swing caught the man in the collarbone, cutting through ribs like they were soft bread, before severing his spine and cleaving all the way through. Erik, in all of his years, had never seen anything like it. He had been a member of Horrik's hird since he had been a boy. He had fought in more battles than he could remember, yet he had never seen anything like his son.

"Gods be good," Horrik muttered as his boy continued to advance. It had been only seconds, yet a score of men had been slain. Erik looked to his old friend, and saw him consider the situation and their position. Then he came to the same conclusion Siegfried had at the start of the battle. "Charge! Charge! We must break through!" he shouted and Erik rushed forward to aid his son.

Siegfried had nearly reached the other side of the bridge and he showed no signs of slowing down. The enemy, with their remaining numbers, formed up together to create a wall of bodies. Not quite a shield wall, but it was enough. Erik's heart stilled in his chest as they swarmed his son, trying to overwhelm him. Erik had never moved as fast as he did when his son briefly disappeared, enveloped by Saxons.

He slammed into their number, a furious howl ripping from his throat as he buried his axe so deep in a Saxon they would have to bury him with it. Letting go of its shaft he lashed out with a fist, catching a man in the side of the head shortly before Siegfried reappeared and slammed an axe in his throat.

His boy was wounded, but it was impossible to tell how much blood was his and how much belonged to his enemies. His dane axe had been lost and he now wielded two bearded axes with deadly proficiency. Many Saxons laid dead at his feet, and while he had been encircled, they had failed to kill him. Erik screamed, letting his rage that they had dared to injure his boy flow through his veins as he fought. The rest of the warriors slammed into the remaining Saxons as the melee began in earnest. Siegfried insisted on being the tip of the spear, pushing into where the fighting was at its fiercest and killing whoever got in his way.

There had been a good forty Saxons that had come from the curtain of the night. Erik was sure that his son killed at least a third number single-handedly.

"Rahhh!" Siegfried roared, using one axe to divert the head of a spear before lashing out with the other, severing a Saxon's head. He suddenly jerked his body back, an arrow whizzing by him, and it slammed into the unprotected flank of one of their warriors. The man dropped to the ground as Erik killed a man, spilling his guts with his axe. Siegfried flung one of the axes in his hands, catching the archer in the head from over twenty favner away, before flinging his other axe to catch a horseman that had been prancing about, shouting orders in their foreign words.

The man fell with an axe in the shoulder, landing heavily. And, with the fall of their leader, the Saxons broke. Some fled, leaving their brothers in arms to die at their hands. In minutes, the battle was over, and Erik threw his head back to scream in triumph.

"Kill the wounded," Horrik ordered, clapping men on the shoulder as they took stock of their own injuries and losses. Of the fifty men that had sailed with them, they had lost ten in the attack on the village and the surprise attack after. Another three would not live to see morning, and five seemed to be sporting injuries of various degrees of severity. Meaning, in practice, they had thirty fighting men left.

"We will need slaves to help row," Erik remarked. Three ships that took a dozen rowers each. Horrik nodded.

"We will depart at once. Gather the slaves -- men and women, leave the children. They will only slow us down. Once we are safe, we shall make a sacrifice to the gods for this victory!" he shouted, earning a loud cheer from the men. It would also be a time to take care of their dead. In a lower voice, he spoke to Erik, "Your boy is blessed, Erik. Gods, I can't imagine what he will be like as a man grown. He killed near two scores of men alone."

Erik nodded, casting a look at his boy. He was tall for his age, but still shorter than a fully grown man. He would continue to grow up and out. All signs pointed to him being his equal in height. "I always feared that he would be too soft for battle," Erik admitted. It was as he said to Siegfried -- the boy was soft in some ways. When he had first killed a deer, he had cried like a little girl. Blubbering until he was exhausted and fell asleep.

Time had hardened him, but he was still soft. The look on his face when he saw his Jarl dragging a woman away had told him all that he needed to know. Erik has feared that his son would hesitate in battle. That he would flinch at the cost of blood for victory. He hadn't. Not even close.

"He'll be a terror on the battlefield," Horrik said, and Erik knew that Siegfried had found his favor. Perhaps as a member of his hird. It would be a good life for Siegfried -- to act as a bodyguard of a Jarl. "Gods, he already is one."

Erik looked at his son, who was inspecting his wounds to find that they were light. He would sport some scars from his first pitched battle, but nothing that would impede his prowess in battle. Given that he had been surrounded…

"He was never like that with his brothers. He's always been a fine fighter, but… I didn't know he was capable of such a feat," Erik admitted to himself as Siegfried began getting his axes. And the chainmail he hadn't bothered to wear.

"We will have much to celebrate when we return to Alabu," Horrik spoke. "As will we have much to discuss."

Erik fought off a smile as he nodded. The future of his family was secure.

…

I had leveled up during the battle, bringing me to level six. My Martial stat rose to five as well, increased by a huge leap in Tactics and Prowess. With the milestone in level, I was given an additional perk point that I could spend in the Martial tree. Given I still had the free one for reaching level five, I had two extra perk points -- one I could spend anywhere and the other I had to use on Martial.

For Prowess, I had a leftover choice of Steady Hands, which would make sure my aim would never waver. I also had two new choices of Shatter Defense or Unbreakable Guard -- the former would ensure that no one could block against my attacks. The latter made sure no one could touch me when I was actively blocking.

Given that I had a good dozen nicks and cuts across my body, I chose Unbreakable Guard. Power Attack more or less did the same thing, so stacking offense wasn't necessary.

For Tactics, I had reached my first milestone, giving me a choice between Inspiring Leader, Aggressive Attacker, or Stalwart Defender. Each increased morale when I fought, either as a leader at the head of the army, when I was attacking, or when I was defending. Given the customs of my people, the choice was obvious so I went with Inspiring Leader. The extra Martial point wasn't spent on anything for now in the hopes I could spend it on a better perk down the line.

The battle had also given me a bump in a feature I had used so little of that I almost forgot that it existed -- Prestige. It hovered at zero for so long that when it jumped to twenty, I almost couldn't believe my eyes. It didn't give me anything, though. I was still in the realm of the unknown, but it was better than nothing.

I also went ahead and picked Fast Counter for my Stewardship perk. It would have come in handy during the battle, and I knew it would in future battles.

"Ship," I said, speaking Germanic, repeating after the Saxon man that we had captured. The hull of the ship had been filled to the point of bursting -- plunder taken from the village, but mostly with food and animals… and people. Most of which rowed the ships tirelessly since we had a North-facing wind on our voyage back home.

The one I was speaking to was resting while I rowed in his place. Given that I was at sea, my daily quest had changed to rowing a certain number of miles. The Saxon man was all too willing to let me row for hours on end in exchange for learning his language.

"Yes, this… ship. Ship on sea," the man said, and I had underestimated just how powerful Polyglot was. It had been three days since I started learning, and already, we could communicate easily enough. We went through the basics -- who, what, when, where, why. Then common phrases like gods be with you. Now he was giving me words like sheep, chicken, person, warrior, ship, ocean, river, water, and so on. At the rate I was going, it would only take a week before I was fluent in Germanic. "Where do we sail to, my lord?"

"Not a lord," I told him, "We're sailing to Alabu," I told him, continuing to row. Annoyingly, I had to go the pace of the others, which felt sluggish. Though, I did get an idea of where I lived now. The northern part of Jylland, the river that flowed through the top of it, making the tip of Denmark an island. Alabu was seated on the eastern end of the river. My scope of the world had expanded considerably.

"What will be done there?" he asked me, staring straight ahead. "I - slave?"

I repeated the word, and he clarified that he said 'become'. In response to his question, I glanced at Jarl Horrik, who hadn't stopped being happy since we had left. I think he had remained drunk since we set sail, honestly. Looking back at the man, I nodded, "Probably," I told him, not mincing words.

He let out a sigh, "With luck, I will find a kind -." he said, and I'm guessing the word he said meant master. I'm also sure that he was dropping a hint for me to pick up that he hoped that I would buy him, but I didn't give him anything in response to make him get his hopes up. The money I had, I had plans for. And it wasn't to buy slaves. "It is not a bad life. A hard one, true, but not a bad one. Though, I would have - fallen at your blade in battle. It would have been an honor."

A sentiment that was being shared by others. Since the battle, I was getting a lot more respect from everyone else. Not that I had been disrespected before, but more… easily dismissed because of my age. Now, when I spoke, people listened. I was included in the various games to pass the time and treated as an equal. Something Father allowed, because he had stopped hovering. Though, that was probably because he was given command over one of the other ships.

I was respected now. Respected as a great warrior. Pride swelled in my chest because as much as the gods approval meant to me, the approval of my fellow warriors almost meant as much.

"It would have been an honor to face you," I returned, mostly to not make things awkward. Based on the slight smile the man wore, he suspected as much.

"Better you than the Franks," Wilfred, the man who was teaching me how to speak his language, remarked. "At least with you, I know the dead won't be cursed by their Christian god." he said, muttering bitterly under his breath. My ears perked up at that.

"Franks? Christians?" I questioned, making him nod with a scowl on his face.

"Aye. Their king has all but taken over Saxony. He would be king of it in truth if it wasn't for King Widukind fighting against him. He fights where he can, but… those Christians and their dead god won't rest until every 'heathen' is either baptized or dead. They seem to prefer dead," Wilfred answered, his tone dark.

Who would worship a dead god? That didn't make any sense -- a dead god couldn't do anything. They were dead. What power could they have then? Whatever power a god might have had in life was lost in death, just as a mighty warrior was just another corpse upon being slain.

Wilfred turned his gaze to Jarl Horrik, his eyes narrowing. "Your leader should have gone further west. The Franks are the true enemy to us and our ways. King Sigfred would do well to ally with King Widukind. It's the only hope that Saxony has to casting off our invaders… and when we fall, so shall your homeland." He said with a shake of his head, more disappointed by politics than he was at being enslaved.

King Sigfred. That was a name that I recognized, if only by the curses that my father would mutter about him every once in a while. He never really talked about it much, but I knew that Jarl Horrik and King Sigfred had a very longstanding blood feud that started when they were only boys. I had asked about it once -- why I would share the same name as the man that Jarl Horrik despised so much.

My father told me I was named after a hero that had slain a mighty dragon, not King Sigfred… but even back then, the words had felt like a lie.

However, his words did give me a rising concern -- I had no clue if what he said was true or not. Was my homeland in danger of being invaded? Should I fear the Christians and their god? Saxony sounded like a vast kingdom when I heard people speak of it, but it had fallen to the Franks. From the sounds of it, they suffered horribly.

A horn blowing caught my attention as I looked to Jarl Horrik. He smiled down at me, "We're home to be celebrated as heroes!" he said as we continued to row, a shoreline that seemed familiar appeared as we headed to the gulf of it, traveling up the river. I kept my eyes on the shoreline, and in no time at all, I saw a familiar coast from a different point of view. Though, sadly, I didn't see anyone as we passed our home. Father seemed to share my disappointment. We continued upstream and there, I saw the city of Alabu.

And celebrated as heroes we were. A crowd had gathered at the docks when they spotted our ships, people cheering loudly when they saw how full the ships were when we made landfall.

There were some devastated to hear that their loved ones had fallen. Including a heavily pregnant woman, but they soothed themselves with the thoughts that the fallen were feasting in Valhalla. In total, we had lost fifteen men. Ten in the battle, then another five had died of their wounds on the way back.

We were ushered into the longhouse as others unloaded the ship. The longhouse was absolutely packed, and a feast was starting with Jarl Horrik front and center. "The gods granted us great wealth. Odin himself gave us a sign of the village that we raided, then Thor gave us a challenge to prove that we deserved our loot! More than a hundred Saxons came pouring from the forest -- I know not if that was their home, or if they had the same idea as we did!" There was a cheer at that as he ridiculously inflated the number of Saxons by more than half. "We were all caught with our pants down, some more literally than others!" Another cheer intermixed with laughter.

"Siegfried, come up here," Jarl Horrik said as I sat at the long table, next to my Father. He told me to expect this. I was being honored, and he also told me what I had to do.

He called it a game. Politics. It didn't seem like the kind of game I enjoyed playing.

People patted me on the back as I walked towards the Jarl, one wife seated next to him in a throne while an older woman, though still on the young side, stood next to his vacant throne. He stood up, smiling wildly for all to see. "This here is Siegfried! Some of you might recognize him because of his bastard father!" he said good-naturedly, earning a laugh from Father. "He was here just a few days ago to become a man. Now, I will be honest with you -- when I heard little Siegfried here had killed a dozen men, I harbored doubts." he said, raising a tankard as he made a face.

"I thought to myself 'What boy could kill a dozen fully grown men?' I thought perhaps it was an exaggeration! Just like I told you all it was a hundred Saxons!" He revealed the fib, much to the crowd's enthusiasm. "Just as I will every time I tell the story! By the year is out, we will have faced three armies at once!" The crowd was eating it up as I approached, people slapping me on the back as I did.

He was good with people, I thought to himself. He knew exactly how to whip a crowd up. He could say anything on that stage, and they would be eating out of the palm of his hands. I saw why he was a longstanding Jarl for nearly thirty years -- an old man in a profession where most would have died years ago.

"But, let me tell you this, people of Alabu -- there are no false words when I say that Siegfried turned the tide of the battle single handily. Never in my life have I seen a warrior as fine as him. When the Saxons attacked us from behind, Siegfried alone broke their charge over the bridge. He killed them as easily as a farmer cuts grass, and they fell just as easily. So great of a warrior he is that the Saxons practically ignored fifty veteran warriors, seeing Siegfried as the greater threat!" he paused, allowing the crowd to cheer so loudly it felt as if they were going to shake the building apart.

The warriors began to stomp in a rhythm, prompting others to do so. Soon the entire hall was stomping in unison, shaking the earth as they cheered. My renown climbed higher by the second. All their eyes were on me and I became very aware that I didn't have a nice tunic on or anything, and my hair was a mess. And that I hadn't bathed in two days since I got all of the blood off.

"For this reason, Siegfried will be given a share and a half of the loot," Jarl Horrik decided, and the warriors I had fought with cheered in approval. "This is for his deeds in the battle. Yet, I suspect that this is just the start of his saga. And how could I not want to be a part of it?!" The crowd cheered until Jarl Horrik raised a hand to quiet them down.

"Erik! Stand up, you bastard!" he shouted, making Father stand up. "My friend, you have served me well. As a warrior, I have always been able to trust you with my life. As a friend, I have always trusted you to be honest. As a servant, you have always provided me with your dues, without fail." Father straightened up, squaring his shoulders. "You have many sons. I have many daughters. Most have been promised to others, but my youngest, Gunjill, has had her betrothal broken by the death of her promised. In sight of all of you, my people, I would like to bind our families at last -- my youngest daughter to your youngest son."

I was getting married? I blinked at the turn of events, caught flatfooted. Father too, by the looks of it.

A girl was brought out, and she seemed to be a few years older than me. Dark brown hair that was tied off into a long braid, a round face while her blue eyes had a greenish hue to them. She was dressed nicely, telling me that this had been planned. She offered me an uncertain smile, seeming to take me in as much as I was her. I smiled back, mostly because I wasn't sure what else to do.

"Nothing would please me more, my friend. Let our families be bound by marriage and blood," Father spoke, his voice echoing out as I was betrothed just like that.

That… happened fast. The girl, Gunjill, walked over to me and was placed by my side. We shared another look and I saw that we were around the same size -- me being tall for my age with her being a bit short.

"Her dowry shall be a farmstead -- fifty acres of land rich with game and soil," Jarl Horrik decided, looking at me with a smile. "The marriage will happen when she comes of age, giving you some time to give my daughter a worthy bride price. You will work the land, and all the wealth that it produces until the marriage takes place will go to her bride price." he told me, so I had about two years before we were wed. It also meant that I would own fifty acres -- some farmland, some forest by the sound of it. As far as a dowry went, it was a rich one. Farmland was incredibly valuable and I was gifted a farm greater than my family currently had.

I bowed my head, "Thank you, my lord. I will give her a price that she deserves. And I will prove worthy of the favor you've given me. I swear it," I said, reaching out and grasping my armband. That got a wider smile out of him and a curt nod.

"Good! Then let us celebrate our return and the betrothal of my daughter!" He shouted, causing the hall to cheer again. The celebrations resumed in full swing, with even more reasons to party harder. I ignored it all for a moment to look at Gunjill, who looked back at me with wide eyes.

She mustered up the will to speak first, "You can call me Jill," she told me offering a smile that looked like it was going to shatter with the slightest touch. She was uncertain. Not quite afraid, but I was getting the impression that this had been sprung on her as much as it had been on me. "Everyone else does. Father… likes to name his daughters with Gun in the name, so… it's easier to… tell us apart…" She trailed off, sounding like she wasn't sure if she should have volunteered the information.

"Jill, then," I said, offering her with a smile that I hoped would put her at ease. I knew I would be married one day. It was the responsibility of every man to marry and have babies, then teach their children and possibly grandchildren what it meant to be a man. However, that always seemed so very far away. I never expected to get married so soon. Much less to a daughter of a Jarl. I… had absolutely no clue what I should be doing with myself, and the fact that I didn't seemed to make her more and more uncertain. "I hope we get along? I… promise I won't ever mistreat you. I… would like it if you were happy?" I said, each word feeling like a mistake as I said it.

However, my clumsy attempts to reassure her seemed to work. Somehow. Jill offered a small, yet honest smile before she was urged away at the behest of a servant, "I would like us to be happy too, Siegfried," she told me as she was led away, while I was urged to the feasting table. I think that was a good start, but I didn't have time to dwell on it.

I was seated in a place of honor with my horned cup never dropping below half empty with mead. The celebration was in full force when I found Jarl Horrik speaking to me. I wasn't completely drunk, but I was drunker than I had ever been before. I only realized that he was speaking to me about halfway through a sentence, "-feast?" he asked, and my slow blink was an answer in itself.

He let out a bark of laughter, "I had forgotten your age, lad. But, it is a good thing to be drunk!" he said with a joyful laugh, clapping me on the shoulder hard enough I nearly fell out of my chair.

"Why…" I started, only realizing that I had spoken after the word left my lips. He looked to me and I forced my tongue to obey. "...did you give me fifty acres of land? That's… a lot…" I muttered, blinking away the haze that was making my vision glaze over. Jarl Horrik gave me a lingering look for a moment. A glint in his eye that almost appeared… calculating.

Farmland was valuable. Good farmland even moreso. Fifty acres of it was an incredible amount of land, especially for someone my age. All because of one battle. It didn't make sense. Something wasn't adding up. And I might be a little drunk, but that fact wasn't lost on me.

Jarl Horrik took in a deep breath before he gestured for a slave to fill my cup again, "Were you ever taught what a bride price is for?" he asked me, answering my question with a question of his own. I opened my mouth to answer, but he continued on, not giving me the time. "It's security for the wife. It's a means to provide for herself should the husband fall in battle or fall ill. So, it can be said that the bride price is a measure of a man. Because a man's worth is determined by how well he can provide for his family." Jarl Horrik spoke slowly and in a low voice, letting the sounds of a feast drown him out so only I could hear him.

"Your father has a large family," he spoke, and I gave him my full attention. "The gods favor him -- most of his children reached adulthood. That is a very rare thing. However, it means he is saddled with a large family to provide for. The farmstead cannot support such a large family. It's simply too small for me to receive my dues. Your wealth is supplemented by hunting game, fishing… and selling the excess barely, oats, turnips, and onions." Jarl Horrik offered me a smile and I very quickly began sobering up.

"You see the contradiction then? Good. I can't stand men who drink until their wits are addled," Jarl Horrik said, giving me his cup to drink from. It was not filled with mead or ale. It was filled with water. "Your farm struggled to meet the dues for many years. More than once, your father dipped into his hoard to cover the difference because your family, full of growing men, were in danger of going hungry. I know that because the people he bought the food from report to me. Which is why it was so surprising that your father in the past years has not only not purchased any foodstuffs… but had begun to sell his excess."

I swallowed thickly, and it was as if the entire room was fading away despite the noise the celebration made. I hadn't known that. As far as I knew, the farm was producing enough to feed us all and give our dues without any need to buy anything. Father had lied to us, in that regard. Or, at least to me. But I couldn't get angry. He prioritized feeding us over making sure he had enough to pay the taxes, then used the money he was hoarding for Valhalla so we wouldn't lose the farm.

There weren't many that would do the same.

"It's a test?" I questioned, earning a nod from Jarl Horrik.

"You've already proven that you're a mighty warrior despite your age. I meant what I said, Siegfried. In a few years' time, when you become a man in body, you are going to be a terror on the battlefield. What I want now is for you to show what your measure is as a man -- as a husband to my daughter, whom I love very much," he told me outright as he reached out and took his horn of water back. He brought it to his lips before having a servant fill it. "So, I want you to work the land and show me what kind of life you can provide for my daughter."

I had the sinking suspicion that he wasn't saying something, or leaving something out, but I couldn't figure out what it was for the life of me. Leaving me with nothing more than a disconcerting feeling…

And a thought that Jarl Horrik was a far more cunning man than anyone gave him credit for.

...

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[Ideas-Guy]

"What happened to the last owner of the farm?" Havi asked as we entered the border of my farmstead. It was a bit of a mixed bunch, I found. There was some flatland near the river that flowed east towards Alabu, my farmstead located further west than my parent's. There were also rolling hills that were covered in a dense forest along the border of the fifty acres I was allotted.

"Executed. Tax evasion," I answered with knowledge gained from when I had done a little asking around about the huge swath of land given to me. The story was that the last owner, an older man, began to neglect the farm and his dues to hoard his wealth for Valhalla. First, it started as cutting corners here and there to save some time and money, but the more money he saved, the more corners he cut until the farm deteriorated. He earned a few smacks for being unable to pay his taxes, and had to pay by giving over a few thralls instead, but it was otherwise no issue.

Last year, however, it came to a breaking point. Sensing his death, he fired all of the workers, sacrificed all the slaves for a bountiful harvest, then tried to work the land himself. Only to find that he was too old for the backbreaking labor. At that point, he buried his hoard somewhere, possibly on the land, but no one knew for sure. When tax collectors came around, he told them to lick his asshole, started a fight, then was beheaded. The farm was ransacked for everything it was worth, but it hadn't been much.

The land went back to Jarl Horrik, becoming part of his demise, but, according to my father, Jarl Horrik had used the land as bait to make his vassals try to earn his favor. Which meant that the farmland was both in disrepair and left to fallow for about a year as a result. It meant that I would have to start from scratch, but at the same time, it meant that the soil would have regained some of its health.

"Try not to follow suit, yeah?" Tormod said, flicking my ear as we traveled together. Him, Havi, and Kirk all came with me while the others stayed at the farmstead about a day's travel from my property. I was about a two days walk away from the city of Alabu, more of a day and a half really, but close enough. However, I was also practically neighbors to the Wise Woman. I noticed that on the way here, seeing the same landmarks that we had passed by when Father thought I was possessed. To the south of me, there was a farming community, a village that I didn't know the name of.

"Summer is already half over and the fields haven't even been touched. The first year is going to be a hard one. The second one should be better," I said, continuing to walk before I caught a glimpse of it. The treeline gave way to flatland, fields that were overgrown with weeds and grass. There were acres worth of farmland, proving that it was larger than my family's farm. Near the river, I saw a house.

It looked ransacked. When the tax collectors came, it seems that they had decided to tear through the house in search of the old man's hoard or anything of value so he could pay what he owed after death. The door was kicked in, the roof had caved in from last year's snow… In all, it didn't look good.

"That's why we're here, little brother," Kirk said, taking the sight in. "And them, too," he said, gesturing at those that followed us. I glanced over my shoulder to see a group of five men and women. All of them with their hair cut short. They traveled in silence, their heads hung low.

I had chosen them as my one and a half share of the loot. My brothers and I just weren't enough to break in a farm this size, especially not at the speed we needed, so I had picked out some skilled thralls. We needed many hands to make light work, and some of those hands were spoils of war.

Along with them was a small army of animals. Sheep, goats, pigs, and chickens. A wagon was full of supplies -- seeds, tools, and the like. It cost a small fortune, but some of it had been covered by the Jarl and some had been gifts from my family. The sum earned from the sales of the chainmail were gone in an instant. As were the minor spoils I gained on the raid for my personal wealth. I still had the gemstones, but using them was a double-edged sword on the account that selling them would reveal that I had them in the first place.

Jarl Horrik was a lot smarter than I had initially given him credit for. I suspected that he was as smart as he was gregarious. And I knew that he wouldn't leave an investment like this without someone keeping a watchful eye over it. Father had warned me that one of the slaves might be a spy. Who it might be, I had no clue. In any case, so long as the spy worked hard, he was welcome to report whatever they would like. Wasn't like I had anything to hide.

"Alright, let's get to work," I said, striding forward with the intent to tame the land. And that we did.

It was months of hard labor. The horse pulled the plow, acting as a workhorse, letting us till the soil at high speeds while ripping up the weeds and spreading the manure into the dirt. Seeds were planted by hand. I hoped that there was something that I could do to eventually speed up the process, but to do so meant I had to increase my learning skill, which was going up the more fluent I became in Germanic or created tools for the farm.

The slaves had been puzzled by the four-field rotation I had established. Barley, rye, clover, and turnips were planted. But, they did what they were told, which was nice. It took a bit of time, longer than I would have liked for the fields to be fully sowed. Of the fifty acres, the field only covered roughly fifteen of them, with the rest covered in woodland. Only then did we look to other matters.

The house was in a complete state of disrepair. Almost to the point that it would be better to tear it all down and start from scratch. However, just enough of the wood was still strong to convince me to restore the house. The roof was patched, the door was refitted, and the rooms were repaired. For the first time in my life, I had my own bedroom that I didn't have to share with several brothers and a few sheep. The wood came from felling trees, which I then shaped thanks to the skill point I had invested into Carpentry. With my extra point for my level, I put it into Blacksmithing, though I was limited by the available amount of iron.

I did my best to hide the oddness of the knowledge by pretending that I was learning from the thralls -- of the eight that I had picked out, one was a blacksmith apprentice, one was an old carpenter, while the rest were either laborers or had some unique skill that seemed worth the price given for them.

The house took days to finish, but when it was done it opened me up for other projects. Like a living quarters for the slaves that doubled as an animal pen, because living in a house with people I owned and enslaved… honestly didn't sound like a great idea, even if they seemed mostly fine with me, just like Ida had been with Father. Well, maybe not exactly how Ida had been with Father.

I think my age helped there. I was just a boy in shape even though I was a man. And I spoke to them in their language as I taught them ours.

I started making more fishing traps and snares. Then furniture to fill a rather empty home. I built a workshop that would eventually have a forge next to it, letting me work with both metal and wood. All of which was done between working the land -- it was impossible to utilize all of the farmland this year, we simply started too late, but the fields that we did have were of a good size and next year the farm would be much larger.

Months went by in the blink of an eye. Each day I would wake up before even the roosters did, do my daily ritual, begin working on the farm, catch whatever had been caught in my traps, and I would only go to bed when the moon was hanging overhead. There was simply so much to do and there never seemed to be enough hours in the day. Each day was exhausting and grueling, and not even the steady stream of exp could make the tasks any more enjoyable. I went to bed sore, woke up feeling like a giant pulled muscle, then worked all day until I could pass out from exhaustion again that night. It was a perpetual cycle with no deviation from the previous day.

Until, one day, it suddenly did.

I dragged my feet to the house, pushing open the door with a low groan from the hinges. I kept the rusty ones. They were loud enough that if someone tried to sneak in while I was asleep, them opening the door would wake me up. Entering the house, I froze when I saw that the hearth was occupied -- a woman stood in front of a flickering flame that sat below a black pot.

She was dressed in dark clothing, almost making her blend in seamlessly with the shadows of the house. Her shoulders were bare, and her black hair was twisted into a knot and pinned in place, revealing a slender neck. "Do not stand idle, fool. 'Tis your own home, after all," she spoke, warming her hands by the fire. It was fall already. The harvest would be upon us soon. Hopefully. We were cutting it close and a cold snap before winter could kill my crop.

Given that the temperature was cooling, I was worried that exactly that would happen.

I knew exactly who she was. Stepping inside, I watched her warily as I closed the door. "I do hope that you aren't warning of another attack. I haven't been able to lift my hands over my head in days," I admitted, circling around and leaning against the wall. The girl, the witch of the wilds, glanced over her shoulder at me, a golden eye peering at me.

"I am not an omen of death," she said in a chiding tone, and I'm not sure if I believed her there. "For you or others, despite what some are so keen to believe." With her point made, she looked to the fire once again, not offering why she was here.

"That's a relief. Would you care for some food? Ale?" I asked, making her glance at me again. This time, there was a slight smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

"I wonder what kind of man so easily welcomes a witch of the wilds into his home and hearth?" she questioned, turning around, her arms crossed.

"A polite one," Came my easy reply, and she let out a small breath of amusement at that. "Maybe I would have greater reservation if you hadn't saved me and my family, but you did. For that, I am grateful. Truly. A warm meal and ale is the least I can offer you," I told her, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly. Suspicious. I... didn't think she often received a warm welcome wherever she went.

Witches were something to be respected and feared in equal measure. People wanted the power of their magic, to use them as seers to interpret signs from the gods, to cure sickness… or to cause it. However, that same power made them outsiders. It made them different.

Being different got you killed as I so narrowly avoided learning the hard way.

"I wanted to thank you with more than words, but I had to go raiding. Thank you for seeing me off," I said, letting her know that I had seen her.

She pursed her lips, "You have been here for many a moon. My home 'tis but a stone's throw away, and no deed or gift has found itself offered to me." she pointed out, sounding downright haughty at that. She cocked an eyebrow, tilting her head ever so slightly. "Hm? Please don't tell me you are merely offering pretty words because you wish to be between my thighs. T'would be most disappointing."

"I've been a bit busy," I said, gesturing to all that was around us and tapping my foot on the wood floor. My brothers thought it was a waste of good timber. I didn't care. I was tired of dirt floors that turned into mud every spring. "I'm afraid I won't have time to so much as think until the winter months. Then perhaps my humble offerings of fish and bread would have greater value."

"Perhaps," she admitted with a small nod of her head, "I have watched how tirelessly you have toiled. One would think that you were the slave and those bound your masters," she remarked with a smirk. There was a beat of silence as we considered each other for a moment. The first time I saw her, it had been years ago in a derelict building. Then she suddenly appears again, warning of an attack, then disappears like the wind. Only to reappear weeks later to watch me leave from the docks… and now she was here again. Admitting that she had been watching me for possibly months.

She was shadowing me. Following me. For what reason, I couldn't even begin to guess.

"I never got your name," I pointed out before walking to a pitcher of water that came from the river. Grabbing two cups, I filled them both before passing one to her. The water was safe, I've found. No one took ill after drinking it thus far.

"'Tis because I never gave it," she said, accepting the cup, but only drank after I did. "But I know you. Siegfried Erikson, the greatest warrior of the age, so some fools say. One that has the love of the gods and a witch of the wilds, for what other reason would I save you in your time of need? Of course, it must be that I am in love with you." Sarcasm dripped from her words as she scoffed dismissively, narrowing her striking golden eyes into a glare as if daring me to believe it.

Right.

"Then why did you?" I asked her, meeting her gaze unflinchingly. "You came and went like the wind. How did you know? Why did you warn me?" I questioned, taking a seat in a chair I had fashioned. It was a pretty shitty one. I wasn't happy with it at all. But, it was good enough to lounge in by the fire. As I sat down, I watched her carefully, trying to read her body language, but all I got from her was an air of mystery and that her guard was up.

She tilted her head, taking a seat of her own. She frowned, pondering how to answer for a moment. "You are favored by the gods, and now the Jarl. Perhaps you will even find favor with King Sigfred. I watched you and saved you… so you would owe me. Your family would be dead without my intervention, if not you yourself. A great warrior you might be, but not all death happens on the battlefield." she said, speaking plainly.

She wasn't wrong there. Her delivery needed some work, but she wasn't wrong.

Debts were things that had tangible value. When you owed someone, you had to pay them back. A debt owed could be the difference between life and death for either the debtor or the one in debt. I owed her a debt and she was here to collect.

"Then I'm afraid you wasted a trip. I will repay you for what you did, regardless of if you wanted to collect or not. You could have stayed home and I could have gone to you," I pointed out, and she openly wore a pleased look.

"How very honorable. 'Tis a very convenient trait," she remarked, making the word sound like an insult. "But there would have been little point. You wish to repay me? I saved your home and hearth, which set into motion your accession to manhood by the Jarl, and that, in turn, is how you find yourself with this farm and a bride. What you shall give is what I am owed -- home and hearth." There was a challenge in her voice, a silent dare to argue.

Which I should.

"You want to live on the farmstead?" I questioned, wanting to know exactly what she wanted from me.

"Not in your home, nor in your bed. You shall build me my own home on your land. As shall you provide for me -- meat, drink, and warmth," she stated, her tone leaving me no argument. "Do this, and I shall consider the debt repaid."

She was asking for too much. Far too much. What she was asking for was to be another mouth to feed. I don't know if we would have enough for myself, my brothers, and the slaves as it was. The temperature was already starting to fall so the harvest was in danger of dying before it could be reaped. She was asking to be a freeloader, basically. Something I didn't expect. For the rest of my life, she would be provided for while not doing any work for the harvest.

Yet, at the same time, she wasn't wrong. If being honorable was such an easy thing to be, then it wouldn't be such an admired trait, regardless of what she thought of it.

"Why me?" I questioned, tilting my head as I looked at her. She was around fourteen or fifteen. Old enough to be considered a fully grown woman. If she wanted an easy life, then she could go up to any Jarl or Thegn and offer herself as a seer or witch. They would be delighted to have someone that could interpret the will of the gods in whatever manner she chose, so they would wait on her hand and foot. "I understand that I am favored, but I'm not established in any way. That favor can be taken back for any reason at any time. If your goal is to live a leisurely life, then there are better choices than me."

Her lips thinned, not happy that I was questioning her. "What does it matter?" she asked, her tone guarded. She was hiding something. What, I couldn't tell. But, the fact she wanted a house on my land when her mother's hovel was less than a day's walk away… that said something. What, I didn't know, but it said something. "You are honor-bound to oblige me, are you not?"

I offered a slow nod of my head, "I am, but I'm not inclined to let you take advantage of me. I'm not against letting you stay by any means, I would just like to know why. And what you want. If you're going to stay, then it only makes sense to know my new neighbor, hm?" I pointed out, and while she seemed thoroughly annoyed with me for making a good point, she didn't exactly seem displeased.

"'Tis obvious, is it not? You shall become important one day. Your worth as a warrior will have Jarls and Kings throwing wealth and favor upon you to sway you to their side to do their bidding. Or, perhaps underneath that veil of honor and humility is ambition?" she questioned before she smiled ever so slightly. "T'would not be a bad thing. Ambition simply means you understand your value. Should you become a Jarl, mayhaps even a King, then I shall benefit."

She scoffed, "My mother believes that I should remain in that hut, starving and shivering each winter. What I desire, my ambition, is to simply gain the things that I should have -- pretty baubles, delicious food, and a warm hearth. You are merely a means to get such things."

Huh. "That's rather blunt of you," I said, leaning into my chair. It was also a lot of words to use to say that I was right, she wanted to be a freeloader. Or, rather, to freeload off of an important person. And it wasn't like I didn't get it. If doing nothing and not only not dying, but thriving was an option, I'd be tempted to take it too.

"Is honesty not a virtue?" she asked, not sounding apologetic in the slightest for her desires or her ambition.

I thought it over for a moment before I nodded, "Alright. I can begin on your house in the morning," I told her and her eyes briefly widened, telling me that she expected more resistance. Maybe some bartering, some give and take. I probably should. But, regardless of her reasons for calling in the debt, it couldn't be denied that I owed her.

"So easily?" she questioned, eyeing me much like a coiled snake. Much like she had the first time we met.

"I do require one thing," I said, making her lips curl, but before she could spit any venom at me, I continued. "Your name. Unless you're fond of being called, 'hey, you' or 'witch.'" That took the wind from her sails, making her snarl fade as my request wasn't what she expected.

She considered me for a long moment. Long enough that I began to think that she was going to refuse. Then she offered a small nod, "I am Morrigan," Morrigan introduced herself, sounding almost… uncertain. As if she hadn't spoken her own name in some time. Either she hadn't, or it was a false name, but I couldn't see what she would have to gain by lying about what her name was.

I offered her a tired smile, "Nice to meet you, Morrigan. Feel free to take the bed if you wish to stay the night. And bar the door if that will make you feel safer," I added when her lips parted to say something. "I'll sleep out here. It won't be the first time."

Morrigan pursed her lips, looking at me as if she was trying to see right through me. She wasn't as good at it as her mother was. Whatever it was she was looking for, she either found it or found a lack of it because she nodded, "Very well. I suppose I should offer my thanks for your generosity. 'Tis not lost on me that you have more reason to refuse than not." she said, standing up as she headed to the bedroom, not actually offering her thanks. She gave me one last lingering look before she headed to the room, closing the door and barring the door from the inside in case I intended to come in after her.

I let out a small sigh as my eyelids began to grow heavy. That wasn't what I expected in the least. I hadn't known what I should expect, but it wasn't that. However, it would be worth it. In the months I had been on the farm, my Stewardship stat was climbing higher by the day. With Morrigan here, then there was a chance to learn what she knew -- knowledge was knowledge, and it would further help my Learning stat.

And I was going to need it if I wanted this farm to thrive.

…

It had been a close call. There had indeed been a cold snap, bringing winter to the land sooner than I had hoped. There had been one harvest of the barley, and the second harvest had just barely missed the cold snap before the first snows appeared. The turnips had a good turnout as well, though it had been a bit of a hit and miss with some of them. The clover had a number of harvests because it was so fast-growing, the same with the hay grass.

Once they were harvested, I immediately began planting a number of winter crops. Oats, winter rye, garlic, and cabbage. The seeds would grow during the winter, allowing me to have a crop as soon as spring started. That was my hope, at least.

I paid my taxes to Jarl Horrik in food, thankfully. There hadn't been enough to sell for silver, but I expected that. Next year would be different because I wouldn't be breaking in the land halfway into the growing season. I would have more time for more harvests, and that was not considering the raiding I would be doing.

Morrigan settled into the cottage I built for her towards the edge of my land, deep in the forest. My brothers gave her a wide berth and had remained tellingly silent about her. They weren't willing to even speak of her to talk ill, fearing that she would know and cast a curse on them in retaliation. And given Morrigan's temperament, I imagine she would be rather generous when it came to giving out curses or hexes. It was a decent place -- I had learned my lessons well from my growing experience as a carpenter.

Despite living on the land, I rarely saw her. Just once every other week when I walked up to deliver some food, as promised. She seemed to prefer it that way.

Winter was usually a time of relaxation. A time to play games, or work on things that you could do while staying indoors, like basket weaving or making clothing. I, however, chose to use winter to get more work done. Instead of sitting inside playing Hnefatafl for hours on end, I was pushing back the forest with the intent of clearing another acre of farmland. I was hoping to triple the size of the farm for next year.

That would show Jarl Horrik what kind of man I was and that I could provide a worthy life for his daughter.

It was harsh work. The trees needed to be felled, but the real difficult part was pulling up the stumps. The cold made the ground hard and difficult to work with, which made pulling up the entire root system a vastly more difficult task than it needed to be. It needed to be done, though. Having a forest was nice, but farmland was better. Plus, it wasn't like I would be deforesting everything, so it shouldn't impact the wildlife too much.

Which is how I found myself, a rope around my waist, the other end around a stump as I pulled with all of my strength. Veins bulged in my arms, my feet dug into the snow-covered dirt, all the while more snow fell from the dark sky above. My shirt was on a nearby branch, leaving me exposed to the bitter chill in the air. I was working up a sweat, and I didn't want to soak my shirt then have to wear it. I would get sick.

Gritting my teeth, I pulled at the rope, my calloused hands red and raw, feeling like the flesh was about to be stripped from them as I gripped down with white knuckles. The stump, ever so slowly, began to rise up. Barely more than an inch, but it was enough to get me started. Stopping for a bit, I went to the stump and began ripping up roots with my bare hands to lessen the grip of the tree, then I picked up the rope. Pulling even harder, I heard the cold dirt start to give way to me, the roots losing their grip on the land.

I was stronger now. At first, I had needed a workhorse to help me pull up the stumps. Now, in the middle of winter, I could pull them up myself. The daily exercises that I did remained the same, but the physical aspect of my Martial stat just kept going up the more I pushed myself. There was meant to be a limit for a man. A point where it just wasn't possible to improve any further, regardless of effort or desire.

That limit didn't apply to me. Or, at least, it was much further up than it would be for a normal man. Whenever I hit my limit, I would rest and let my body recover, then the next day I could go just a little further. Most of the time it wasn't even noticeable, and only revealed itself months later when I was doing the work of a workhorse because it was faster to do it myself. And I liked Agro. I'd much rather him stay nice and warm in the barn than be out in the cold with me.

"Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you…!" I cursed under my breath, taking a step back as the roots began to give way in full force. The main ones were trouble, but it was the branches on those roots that made it so tough to get out. Once you got the ball rolling, you just had to keep pulling until the entire stump came up. As if to prove that point, the stump seemed to finally let go of the ground, making me land on my ass as it ripped free. I gulped down air, my breath coming out as fog.

Pushing my hair out of my face, and brushing the snow off of my ass, I began pulling the stump to where I had put the others. There were dozens of them at this point, the trunks were laid out and stacked after being stripped of branches. Most of it, I would sell as timber, but I would keep some for my projects. The stumps would be hacked up and turned into firewood or whatever else I could use them for.

It was slow going, but it was going. I would spread the fertilizer into the ripped-up holes that the stumps left behind to enrich the earth in preparation for the first harvest in spring. Things were progressing well enough. We were on track to have a good year.

Heading back to the treeline that got further away by the day, I grabbed my axe and began slamming it into the side of the trunk of another tree. After so many months, I don't think I could sleep even if I wanted to unless I was utterly exhausted. One more tree and I would turn in. The air was filled with the sound of my axe hitting wood, the edge had dulled a bit, but with enough raw strength, it didn't matter much. Winter was always a quiet season as the animals hid in their lairs, waiting for spring to come.

Except for those that survived on the animals that hid themselves away.

A twig snapped in the underbrush, making me pause my swing a second before it hit the tree, my head turning in the direction of the sound. I was expecting to see one of my brothers, come by to tell me to turn in. Or maybe Morrigan, if she wanted something.

What I wasn't expecting to see was a massive wolf. Its eyes shone in the darkness, the rest of its body almost hidden in the dense shadows because of its pitch black fur, the light streaming through the bare branches of the trees above offered enough visibility to let me see its shape. And what I saw was the outline of a huge black wolf skulking forward, its body dense with muscle. There was a shine from other eyes in the distance, all of them a head lower than the lead wolf that I spotted.

Then it threw back its head and let out a loud howl and the forest came alive.

I was completely surrounded.

...

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[Ideas-Guy]

I realized my mistake too late. After defending my home, then the raid… the amount of praise I had gotten went straight to my head and I hadn't realized it. Everyone proclaimed me as a great warrior unlike any other, to the point I had been so distinguished that I got fifty acres worth of land. I had become so strong that I could mold the earth with my sheer, raw physical power…

My mistake was thinking that because I was a great killer of men, that meant I could kill anything. I had believed what people said about me -- that I was blessed and chosen by the gods. That I could not fall in battle. That I could kill any enemy before me, no matter how many. I had become overconfident.

The black wolf was a stark point with a pelt as black as Fenrir. I had no doubt that it was sent by the Allfather to remind me that I was not a god. I was just a man. A young one. And I could die like one.

The wolves howled and Fast Counter told me that there were at least ten other wolves around me. My keen hearing picked up the sound of the pack descending on my position through the snow and underbrush, coming from all directions. However, my focus was on the large one. It hung back, looking at me as it took a step forward, entering a ray of light cast from the moon above. Its coat was pitch black, so dark that it seemed to absorb the light cast on it. The wolf hung back, letting its pack do the leg work, watching me as if it could see into my soul.

I gripped my axe tightly, taking in a bracing cold breath and letting it out as a cloud of fog. I heard a snarl behind me, and the battle began. I pivoted, lashing out with my axe and catching the wolf in the neck, and as soon as it fell another three descended upon me. Two flanked out at my sides, nipping at my heels and harrying me while the third lunged for me. The moment I attacked it, the other two made their attacks. Unlike men, a pack of wolves worked together almost seamlessly. I felt fangs bite into my thigh while I killed the wolf that had gone for my throat, and another beside it with the same swing.

Snarling in pain, I slammed the butt of the axe into the top of its skull, shattering it with a Power Attack. Only to feel another wolf slam into me from the back, teeth biting into my shoulder while it shook its head, sharp fangs tearing deeper into me. Reaching up, I grabbed it by the scruff of its neck before ripping it off of me, slamming it into the ground before burying my axe into its exposed belly.

Seconds was all it took. A real life and death struggle was decided in a moment. Five wolves were dead, and my leg and shoulder were already injured. I felt hot blood flow over my skin, dripping down my chest and back. I took in another deep breath and let it out, shifting to take the weight from my injured leg. I turned my gaze to the largest wolf as the remaining half of its pack inched forward, snarling and biting at air to draw my attention, or lunging forward, only to retreat a half-second later.

The black wolf walked forward, striding towards me. It was then that I noticed that I could actually see its muscles ripple underneath his black coat. Its head was low, face twisted into a snarl as its eyes peered at me. I hunched low, readying myself for what was about to happen next. I took in a third breath, and it saved me, I realized a second later when the wolf lunged for me. I swung at it, and for the first time in years, I missed, the swing dodged. A gap formed in my guard and the wolf seized it, lunging for my throat as it tackled me.

We both hit the ground, but I only felt the intense pressure around my neck like a hot vice. I reacted on instinct, grabbing the wolf by the head, preventing it from throwing its head back and ripping my throat out while I reach back and swung blindly at the wolf's head with my axe.

I swung twice. The first was a bad swing, the axehead striking at a bad angle and scraping off the wolf's thick coat, but once I knew where it was I adjusted my grip, and as the giant beast drove me into the snow covered dirt, fighting my grip in its bid to tear out my throat, the second strike landed dead on. The edge buried itself into the wolf's head, making the wolf whimper before clamping down harder.

Hitting it again did the trick, and I felt the pressure around my throat lessen significantly as the wolf tried to flee. I let it, practically shoving my now free hand into its mouth to make sure that it couldn't change its mind and try to finish the job. It leaped off of me as if it had been burned, retreating back as I scrambled to my feet, a hand on my neck to stifle the blood seeping out of me. Given that I wasn't dead, it couldn't have punctured my carotid artery. But, it felt like my neck was bleeding a lot.

Blood dyed the snow red, both from me and the wolf. It looked at me, blood drenching its fur as I saw I had struck it right over one of its golden eyes. It snarled at me, and I snarled right back, shifting my weight for another attack. The other wolves snapped their jaws at me, making me swallow thickly…

Only for the black wolf to turn away. There was no other sign or cue, but the wolf simply turned tail and ran, prompting the others to chase after it. I leaned heavily on my axe, peering into the darkness while trying to hear where they were going to see if this was some kind of trick. However, after a few seconds, it became clear I didn't have the time to stand around. I felt blood dripping down my forearm and body, while my pants felt soaked.

Swallowing thickly, I made a snap decision. It was further away, but no one at the farmstead knew anything about medicine. A cut was seared closed, or filled with dirt to slow the bleeding. Given the shape I was in, that would be just as likely to kill me. Instead, I turned to Morrigan's cottage and began to walk. Pain flashed in my leg with each step, but I was used to pain. It was something you had to live with in this time. Just like I was used to pushing to my limits.

My trail was marked with footprints in the thickening snow that were dyed red. I couldn't tell how much blood I was losing, but I was starting to go light-headed. I ignored that and soldiered on, spotting a flickering flame that I hoped wasn't the light everyone said not to walk towards amidst the trees. I let out a long, ragged breath as I pressed on, my feet carrying me down a familiar path, one that I had made, until I saw the cottage I built. It was on the small side, with a sloped roof, and a fenced area for a small garden, but overall solidly built.

I stumbled a bit when I reached the cottage, my fist banging on the door. There was a quick reply on the other side, "Go away, fool-" I heard before the door was opened. Morrigan was dressed in warm furs, her face twisted into an expression of annoyance. When she got a look at me, it quickly changed to one of surprise, then of concern.

I managed a feeble smile, "Sorry for the inconvenience," I said, my legs starting to go out as my vision began to fade. The last thing I saw was the rapidly approaching floor, but if I hit it or if Morrigan caught me was anyone's guess.

…

Awareness returned to me slowly, ebbing and flowing like the tide. There were times when I heard people talking, but I could never quite make out the words. Then I would be pulled back into the realm of unconsciousness for a time until one time I simply opened my eyes.

I felt something wrapped around my throat and my skin felt sticky. My throat felt worse though, like my tongue was a sponge that had soaked up every trace of moisture in my mouth. I was laying on a bed and I heard the crackling of a fire. Looking over, I felt a flash of pain in the muscles in my neck, making me abort the action. Opening my eyes, I looked through the corner of my eyes to see the hearth.

Morrigan was standing before a black cauldron, tossing in a bundle of herbs. Off to the side, surprisingly, was Havi. His arms were crossed, and he was leaning against the wall, intently watching Morrigan as she worked. He glanced at me and-

"Siegfried! You're awake!" he exclaimed, rushing to my side. He looked me over, wide-eyed. "What happened?"

I gathered spit to speak but Morrigan brushed past Havi, "Move, you lackwit. He needs water," she said, offering me a cup. I eyed it for a moment, earning a smirk from her. "Melted snow," she offered, knowing my issue. I took a sip and felt immediate relief, like a fire inside me was being doused with water.

"Wolves," I answered, my voice more of a croak.

Havi nodded, "We found the bodies."

"Big one. Very big. Nearly got me," I said, testing my body. My shoulder felt stiff and so did my leg. "How long…?"

"You've been asleep for a day. In my bed," Morrigan replied, sounding thoroughly annoyed with me. But not so annoyed that she made me sleep on the floor. "You stumbled through my door half dead. You would be if not for me. That is twice I've saved your life."

I grunted, "Owe you."

Havi looked sheepish and Morrigan rounded on him, shooting him a scathing look, "See, you imbecile? I have done nothing to your brother except aid him. Accuse me of bewitching anyone again, and you'll find yourself cursed," she snapped at him, making his blood drain from his face.

I grunted again, "Morrigan wouldn't do anything like that," I said, forcing the words out, taking the heat off of Havi before he could flee for the hills. "Everyone okay?"

Havi nodded, "We were all fine, and so were the animals. The wolves were skinned and we gained a bit of meat for the winter. Tormond is working with the thralls to continue tearing up trees… how are you feeling Siegfried? I'm not used to seeing you cooped up in a bed."

To that, I looked to Morrigan to see that her lips had thinned. "You will bear some scars, but 'tis too soon to tell how much they will impact your ability to move. To heal, you have to want to heal. My herbs and prayers can only do so much."

"We'll sacrifice a goat to the gods to aid your recovery," Havi said, and I nodded. The loss of a goat would be painful -- the milk could be turned into cheese, which was perfect for winter, but a sacrifice must be given and I would not insult the gods by giving them a poor one.

"The wolf… it was sent by the gods. It had to be. It was twice the size of the others and black as Fenrir," I said, taking another sip of the water as I began to shift myself back until I was in a sitting position. "The gods wanted to remind me that I'm not invincible," I said, taking in a deep breath. "They did a good job of it too," I admitted. With humans, fighting was messy and uncoordinated. When you were in the thick of them, they stumbled over each other and that was half the battle. Simply because humans didn't want to die.

When you were in their face, screaming and covered in blood, for most, their reaction was try to get away rather than bring me down, or to lash out blindly. They fought to survive, not to kill the enemy. Wolves fought like a unit. All of them aided in taking me down by either acting as distractions or engaging in joint attacks. And that black wolf…

That wolf… something hadn't been right about it. Not at all. How it acted wasn't natural. What could it have been other than a sign from the gods? A test from Odin or Thor to prove myself to them, and to remind me that I was only a man? I was thankful for it. The scars would be a reminder of that fact that I would never forget, ensuring that I wouldn't die from making the same foolish mistake again.

"The gods didn't need to send a pack of wolves at you. They could have just watched any of the times we smacked the stuffing out of you," Havi said, his shoulders drooping with relief, a tension leaving him now that he saw that I was alright. Morrigan, however, was less so.

"Be off with you," she said, shooing him away. "He needs rest and he won't get it with you wringing your hands and hovering over him." Havi looked to me, and I offered a small nod, feeling a flash of pain in retribution. I did need rest and I had a question that I didn't want to ask in front of the others.

"I'll be back on my feet in no time. Tell the others not to worry," I told him, and Havi spared one last look at Morrigan before heading out. The door closed and I let out a sigh, my lips thinning from the pain. Morrigan looked at me, and I searched her eyes for a moment. "Sorry about them. They don't… get it." I offered, making a brief expression of surprise flicker across her face before she let out a dismissive scoff.

"As if I care about the words of empty-headed fools," she dismissed the idea entirely. "As for you, perhaps you should consider midnight as a good time to not be outdoors. Many animals go hungry during winter. You might as well baste yourself in honey and roast yourself over an open fire." she chided as she took a seat next to me, her hands roughly pinching my chin and tilting my head to check the bandages on my neck.

She made a sound of approval. "The bleeding has stopped, so no veins were torn or punctured. One could call it the favor of the gods, but I suspect it's something quite different. I've watched you unearth tree stumps on your own. The reason your injuries are so light is that your muscles are denser than normal," she spoke her theory, giving me an odd look.

She sounded suspicious. Oakskin was a boon I had used more than I thought I ever would. It had likely saved my life as much as Morrigan had. I didn't dare to confirm or deny anything -- the Wise Woman had known when I was lying, and I didn't know if Morrigan possessed that same magic. "How long until I'm back at it?" I asked her, making Morrigan frown in thought.

"For the flesh to mend? A week. Perhaps two- Shall I bind you to the bed?" She questioned, sounding unimpressed with my sour look when I heard that. "Do what everyone else with slaves does and leave the work to them, you fool." I frowned deeply at that as I sank into the bed.

"They'll catch their death out there," I muttered unhappily. Two weeks? That might as well be forever. I was on track to clearing the acre and setting things up for Spring… that damned wolf. I almost hoped that it was still in the area so I could kill it and wear its pelt like a fucking cloak for being such a pain in the ass.

Morrigan rolled her eyes so hard there was an honest risk of them rolling right out her head. "Then purchase more," she pointed out, as if it were obvious.

"Slaves don't stop being people just because they become slaves," I refuted, and the look I got from Morrigan told me that she didn't see the difference. Or, if she did, she didn't care. For a healer, she didn't seem to value life too much. Which drove home the fact that she probably would have left me bleed out if I hadn't been me. "I don't have any free money. It's all tied into the farm. We need a good year," I sighed, making Morrigan's lips thin when she heard that.

A sigh heaved out of her, and I could tell she was making a show of it. "In that case, I would not be averse to making sure your property doesn't die when they inevitably find creative ways to get themselves killed," she offered, not sounding happy about it.

"How generous of you," I remarked lightly, still not liking it. I didn't mind hard work myself. I was uniquely suited for it, not to mention the quest rewards. For the thralls, it would just be hard labor for the sake of hard labor. They wouldn't reap the benefits as the farm prospered.

Hard work should be rewarded.

"My generosity knows no bounds," Morrigan responded, pushing up the blanket to reveal my leg. She checked the bandage that she had put on, peeling it back to reveal… honey. The rent flesh was sewn together with thick twine, with honey slathered over it, but on the other side of the bandage was a fish skin. She saw me eyeing it and explained, "The honey is for infections and the fish skin is for its oils. It'll help with the scarring so the flesh doesn't become tight and brittle. However, as I said, actual recovery will rely on you. If you want full range of motion, you'll have to want full range." she stressed, reapplying the bandage.

The gods help those that help themselves. "You're a good healer," I remarked, earning a small scoff from Morrigan, though I did note that she appeared pleased with the compliment.

"'Tis because of my mother," Morrigan answered with a small shrug.

"How is she? Won't she be lonely without you?" I asked her as she did the same to my other wound, leaning over me as she inspected my shoulder. It was much cleaner in terms of the injuries being straight lines.

Morrigan made a tsking sound, "I doubt it. She will simply take in another daughter whenever one wanders by," she answered, her tone uncaring. There was no affection in her tone in the slightest. "That hovel would have been my home forever if she had her way. 'Tis our way, she said. I have no interest in some meager existence brewing love potions for empty-headed girls or telling men what they have to do to make the burning sensation when they piss go away."

Huh. "Or convincing parents that their son isn't possessed by a foul spirit," I said, earning a small breath of amusement.

"I'm not entirely certain that you aren't, but I care not," Morrigan admitted. "It makes no difference to me. Our fates are bound together. T'would only make sense to ensure you don't get yourself killed. To that end, your secrets are mine to keep and your interests my own." she informed me, standing up and towering over me. Her golden eyes regarded me with something akin to softness, but were still guarded. "At least until you prove yourself unworthy of my aid."

I settled into the bed, allowing myself to rest, "Then I won't ever prove unworthy."

…

It took a week for my wounds to close and my flesh to mend, but with the stitches I had, it was another three days before I could take off the bandages. I was up before then as the pain lessened significantly. I couldn't actually do anything though because I would pull my stitches. During that time, I amused myself with Morrigan, much to her chagrin. Boredom was a real mind-killer, so I had to do something.

First, it was a few hundred games of hnefatafl. Then we quickly moved on to riddles, which I did terribly at. After that, she started to show me herbs and mushrooms, labeling them and telling me what they did. She wasn't eager to share her knowledge, I'm guessing because she saw it as what gave her value to me, but I learned a decent bit.

My brothers continued the work that I had started, and over the course of a week and a half they cleared most of the acre of land. A few dozen trees had been felled, their branches stripped. I took up whittling to help boost my crafting exp. Morrigan often remarked that I wasn't happy unless I was doing something, and it had never been so clear to me until it had been pointed out.

For thirteen years, my life revolved around increasing my stats. To always be doing something that would grant me exp. From picking fights with my brothers, to making traps, to doing chores. I was always doing something. Everyone else treated winter as a time to relax, almost, but I wouldn't be satisfied until I filled every hour of every day with some productive task.

And once I was cleared, I returned to the daily grind with renewed vigor. The rest of the trees in the area were cut down, the stumps were pulled up, and the new farmland was prepped for spring. The sheer amount of shit I drove into the earth was of epic proportions. With that done, I turned my attention to the huge surplus of wood that I had. I couldn't turn it all into firewood, and even whittling didn't make a dent into the dozens of trees I had stacked up.

So, I set about upgrading my homestead. A larger pen for the animals. A high fence around my farmland to keep out the wolves -- the ones that attacked me hadn't returned, but I didn't want to make it easy for them if they did. A wood floor was added to Morrigan's cottage and a stone path laid out to it, much to her annoyance. The rest, I stripped of its bark and began to turn it into planks for easy selling in Alabu.

My body healed as the days turned into weeks. I had a nasty scar on my shoulder, but the worst one was on my neck. Havi and Tormond had taken to calling me Wolf-Kissed because of it. In no time at all, the weakness I had felt after not doing anything for a week and a half was replaced by new strength as I fully recovered. It was slow going at first, but I got there. Soon, I was proving that I was better than ever.

By the time the snow stopped falling and there was the first break of winter, I had reached new milestones in Stewardship, Learning, and Martial.

Blacksmithing hadn't seen much use on account that the equipment needed for it was expensive, but it had been a prerequisite. For Crafting, my options were Early Scandinavian Shipbuilding, Basic Farming, and Basic Construction. The first was self-explanatory, but the latter two were less so. Farming would allow me to create primitive machines to help with the farm -- the seed drill was the teaser of the description, which I hoped would aid in the speed of seeding the fields. Construction would teach me more advanced construction techniques, like insulation, or teach me how to make a stable second floor.

The depth of Odin's knowledge was beyond anything I could have imagined. Not only was longship construction a highly valued secret between masters and apprentices, but the word Early implied there were greater versions. From the future. If Basic Farming and Construction could completely change how the farm worked then what would advanced Farming and Construction look like? I couldn't even picture it in my head.

I settled on Farming. Shipbuilding seemed more exciting, but there really wasn't a need. In the end, Jarl Horrik had perfectly serviceable ships to use. If they got sunk or were damaged, that would change. For now, it would be a waste. Construction was a better pick, but given that I had a large farm and I wasn't a builder by trade, it made sense to pick Farming over it.

For the second time, I got a Natural Knowledge milestone. I had mastered Germanic, speaking it fluently as if I had been born learning it. Because of it, I had a choice between three perks -- Alchemist, which was a leftover, Navigation, and Emergency Aid. Alchemist would allow me to distill chemicals, allowing me to eventually make stuff like tonics. Emergency Aid was self-explanatory. Navigation would teach me methods of navigating land and sea to a high degree.

Given the attack, my choice had been Emergency Aid for obvious reasons. Some of the knowledge given was mysterious -- I didn't understand why boiling a knife before using it to cut out an arrowhead stuck inside someone would lower the chance of an infection… but who was I to question the wisdom of the gods? It might not just save my life, but the lives of others. However, with my extra Learning perk for reaching the stat five milestone, I chose Navigation. It would be incredibly important going forward.

Property Management in Stewardship reached its first milestone, giving me a choice between Earth Wealth or Ore Wealth. Both were a map of my property, all fifty acres, which would show me where the fertile ground was or where there would be some kind of mineral vein like iron or possibly something more valuable like silver or gold.

Mining was dangerous -- the dwarves that toiled below mountains guarded their wealth jealousy. If I found a good source of ore, whatever it might be, I would have to go to the Jarl and request that he negotiate with the dwarves on my behalf, as did everyone when precious metals or stones were found. Depending on the deal that Jarl Horrik struck with the dwarves, it might be in his best interest to seize the farm from me.

I didn't want to give him any reason to do that, so Earth Wealth was my pick, because I was a farmer first and foremost.

Lastly was Martial. I gained another Physical Condition perk. Keen Eyes was a holdover, while the two new perks were Fast Healer and Light Sleeper. The former would make it so I would only need half of the time to recover from a wound and the latter would make it so I only needed four hours of sleep a night. Light Sleeper was very tempting, if only because it would open up more hours for me to work. However, Fast Healer was my choice. It was more circumstantial and required me getting hurt in the first place, but I couldn't bring myself to pick anything else after being laid up in bed for a week and a half.

With my new perks, I continued my work into the last days of winter. I created the seed drill in preparations for spring. I made a crank with metal bristles to straighten wool gathered from the sheep. Among other things to help with the daily tasks.

Then, one day, I realized I had worked through the winter because the green of the land began to reveal itself. Spring had returned, and with it even more work.

Agro, my workhorse, helped till the fields at speeds that couldn't be accomplished by men. The seed drill also sped things up considerably since we didn't have to do things by hand. The animals were allowed out of their pen to graze the land since there was a larger fence up around the property. The first crop of barley was planted, as were turnips, onions, rye, and cabbage. The oats were still growing in the earth, having slumbered, but the winter rye was quickly harvested and planted. Even with the extra acre, we were done days ahead of schedule.

My wagon was filling up with various goods -- things I had carved, wood planks, foodstuffs, things that the thralls and my brothers made to pass the time, and various pelts of things we had hunted over winter. In all, it was a very good first haul for the farm as I prepared to head out to Alabu early for the Sigurblót. My first one. I was hoping to get to the markets early so I would have more time to sell my wares.

All that was left was one thing, "Do you want to be free?" I asked the thralls on the farm, speaking Germanic at them as my brothers continued to load up the wagon. My question seemed to catch them off guard because they froze, looking at me with wide eyes. "I took you all as my slaves because I needed help breaking in the farm. Now that it's broken in, there's no reason you need to remain slaves."

"Are you forcing us to leave?" The leader of the bunch asked, his name Ebba. There was a note of worry in his tone, and some tension eased out of him when I shook my head.

"No, you're all more than welcome to stay as free men and women. But, if you want to move on, I can give you a ride to Alabu. And perhaps some rations if you want to try to make it to your homeland." I said, taking a sack full of grain and putting it on a cart that was rapidly getting heavier. There wouldn't be enough room for the entire load. "I was just asking because I don't want to keep you as slaves now that I don't need to."

Ebba looked around the farm, at the fields that had seeds planted, at the farm animals wandering about, then at the others I had posed the question to. It was Luitgard, the only female thrall I had taken, who spoke up. "I can't speak for the others, but if it is our choice, then I would like to stay. With you speaking our tongue, it's not so different from home. I don't mind it." There were a few nods around, showing that they felt the same.

I looked to Ebba, who nodded. "I think we will stay. For now, at least," he amended, admitting that at some point, he at least would move on. Which he was free to do.

I offered a smile as I took a seat on the wagon, the old wood groaning under my weight. "Then, as your master, I grant you all freedom. Take care of the farm while I'm at the Sigurblót," I told them, speaking to them just as much as I was my older brother, Tormond, who would be staying behind to look after the farm.

"Take care of yourself, little brother. Farm life doesn't agree with me as much as it does you," he said, reaching out an arm, and I clasped his forearm.

"Dirt washes off easier than blood," I said, giving him a nod while I looked to Havi and Kirk, to see that they were ready. "Keep an eye on the treeline," I warned him, knowing that my farmstead could be attacked just as easily as my parent's farm was. I hadn't seen Kalf yet, but if he was the one that was behind the attack, then I couldn't imagine that he was enthused with the arrangement.

To prove the point, I looked to the treeline to see Morrigan watching us leave. I offered her a small nod of my head to see what I thought was a fleeting smile… but it didn't matter.

Because we were set off to Alabu. To trade. To make connections…

And to see where we would next raid.

...

This is going to be more or less Sieg's approach to slavery -- basically, he'll enslave you for a job and once it's done, you're free to go. So, think of it as a forced internship.

The next chapter is currently available on my Patreon and Subscribe Star, so if you want to read it a week early, all it takes is a single dollar in the tip jar. Or, for five dollars, you can read the chapter after that two weeks before its public release! I hope you enjoyed!

 

[Ideas-Guy]

Despite my hopes, I found Alabu in full swing as we entered the city. Not as much as it had been when I first visited, but it still felt like there were twice as many people in the city as it was meant to house. People eyed me with some interest, given that I towered over them thanks to the wagon and horse. My destination was the longhouse, to speak to the Jarl -- he was the one that would give me permission to set up a stall in the marketplace, and he was the one that could buy my excess foodstuff. If he didn't want it for whatever reason, then I could look to trading with merchants for it.

One downside was the fact that I wouldn't get to actually keep the money I made from the transactions. Every ounce of it would go to the Jarl towards my bride price for his daughter. As it would for another two or three years until she became a woman in the eyes of men. In hindsight, it was a pretty raw deal that I was getting. It forced me to rely on raiding to subsidize my income since the farm, technically speaking, wasn't actually giving me anything.

But, it was still worth doing. The hard work would pay for itself when I did start making money from the farm in a few years.

"Keep an eye out for father, yeah?" Kirk told me as I hopped off the wagon, my wolf pelt cloak falling around my shoulders, nearly dipping into the mud. Every thaw, it happened -- the melting snow turned all the dirt into thick and sticky mud. I didn't know how people could stand to have their cloaks brushing the ground -- sure, it looked a bit better, but it was in no way worth dealing with a pound of mud caking itself on the bottom.

"You too. Might take them a few days, though," I said, giving my brothers a nod before leaving them behind. Walking towards the longhouse, I saw that a crowd had already formed within. I reached the back of the crowd and started to push through, but I heard the familiar voice of Jarl Horrik booming out within the large longhouse before I got very far.

"I've heard enough -- both men were seen drinking together beforehand, and Birger was seen cheating. This was no murder," he said, much to the relief of the crowd, but I did hear some grumbling as I pushed forward. "That being said, you fled the scene of the crime instead of staying with the body and stating your intentions-"

"I feared for my life, Jarl Horrik!" A man protested, and I pushed through to the front of the crowd just in time to see Jarl Horrik frowning deeply at the man.

"As I was saying, this cannot stand. We have our ways for a reason. If you feared reprisal, I would understand, but we had to drag you here kicking and screaming like a little girl instead of coming to us to explain what happened like a man. For this reason, you will be beaten by the city of Alabu. All shall participate, without exception." he said, sounding thoroughly annoyed, and the cheer of approval didn't quite mask the man's sound of despair.

That might as well be a death sentence. The city was overfull. I hadn't ever seen the punishment take place, but the sentenced would be forced to wade his way through a tunnel of people, all of which were punching, kicking, and throwing rotten food and rocks at him every step of the way.

The man was led away and Jarl Horrik gestured for another person to come forward. A large man. "You have a message from King Sigfred. Is there a reason you chose to wait for the Sigurblót to state what the message is?" he asked, sounding thoroughly unhappy. To the point that it sounded like he would rather not let the man speak at all, but killing a messenger was enough to start wars.

"Aye, Jarl Horrik. I am here to speak of the Franks and their King, Charlemagne," the man spoke, and Jarl Horrik's frown deepened until it was an outright scowl. "To the South, King Widukind has returned to Saxony and the Saxon Earls have rebelled. King Sigfred has promised to send his armies to aid the Saxons in rebuffing the Franks and their god." His voice boomed out in the longhouse, speaking to us just as much as he was to Jarl Horrik.

He nodded at the man on the throne, "King Sigfred has long since respected your independence, Jarl Horrik. Which is why he asks that you join him. The Franks are rich with plunder! The women are soft and the Franks are weak-"

"If that were true, your king wouldn't be asking for my help. For that matter, the only reason he respects my independence is because he knows he can't take it from me. My warriors are stronger and braver! They more than make up the difference in numbers if it came to battle!" he said and the crowd cheered in response to the aggrandizing.

It seemed that his independence was a long-standing issue between Jarl Horrik and King Sigfred. Jarl Horrik controlled a large swath of land, and had enough men loyal to him that the King was hesitant to declare war for it. As for why Jarl Horrik wasn't King Horrik, it came down to the fact that he didn't have other Jarls sworn to him. King Sigfred did.

The diplomat didn't miss a beat, "That is why King Sigfred wants you to sail with us. To fight with us! Together, we can't lose!" he said, shouting the last sentence, and the crowd cheered just as fiercely as they did for Jarl Horrik. Something that didn't seem lost on him. "Our warriors will push back the Franks and their weak god. Honor, Glory, and Wealth will be ours!"

It was a battle of wills, in a way. And so far, the crowd was eating up the diplomat's words. Everyone liked being praised. They liked the idea of being the strongest, smartest, and fastest and, even more so, they enjoyed the idea that others thought the same thing.

But it wasn't a decision to make so lightly. I was ignorant of the history between Jarl Horrik and King Sigfred, so I couldn't say what was going on there. What I did know was that going to war was different than going to raid. In the thousand something population of Alabu, on the last raid, there had been fifty warriors in total that had gone. Barely a drop in the population.

Going to war meant a much larger mobilization. Hundreds of warriors. A fleet of ships. Food to feed them. And we would be gone for a much longer period of time -- weeks or months instead of a few days. I'm not sure what kind of armies the Franks could field, but I'm guessing the answer was bigger than ours since Saxony was said to be very large.

"You speak well, Thegn Ubbe. You have given me much to consider. Whatever my decision will be, take heart that it will be made with a great deal of deliberation," Jarl Horrik said, buying himself time to think. Thegn Ubbe offered a small nod, knowing that his opening had closed. He turned and started walking to the door, sparing me and others a glance as he continued on. Though, his eyes lingered on me a moment longer than the rest of the crowd when he saw my neck, but he said nothing and left the building.

"And for today, that will be all. I will decide where our course will take us after speaking to the gods. If you have any outstanding issues, then consult the Law-giver," Jarl Horrik said, making a dismissive gesture. I started to follow the leaving crowd, but Jarl Horrik stopped me with a gesture to approach him, having spotted me among them. He leaned forward in his throne, one of his wives next to him. "Looks like you had an eventful winter, Siegfried."

I offered a half-smile, "More than most. Got kissed by a few wolves," I said, showing off the scar on my neck.

"I've seen plenty of bite wounds, but I've never seen a wolf bite of that size," his wife Oydis noted, and I stopped exposing my neck.

"It wasn't a normal wolf. It was twice the size of the biggest one in its pack," I said with a gesture to the white and gray pelt I wore over my shoulders. "I took its eye but it got away."

Jarl Horrik made a sound amusement, "It must have been a fearsome beast then, Wolf-Kissed." I don't think he fully believed me. Or, at least, he thought I was exaggerating.

"It was. I searched for it during the winter, but there wasn't anything to find. But, if anyone ever comes to you about a large black wolf that's missing an eye, then let me know. I intend to return the kiss it gave me," I said, making the two crack a smile despite the tension lingering in the room. "Beyond that, winter was productive. I have twenty-five bushels of barley, fifty of turnips and onions, ten of garlic. I have timber to sell, whole planks, baskets, woodcarvings, and pelts too."

As I spoke, I saw the fleeting amusement vanish in Jarl Horrik's face, replaced with a deadly seriousness. "The last owner of the farm gave me half that when he still paid his dues. And you don't look like you've been starving yourself," he noted, eying me up and down.

"The next harvest should be larger. The hard part of breaking in the farm is over. It's a plentiful plot of land," I said, and that got a small laugh from Jarl Horrik.

"Apparently so. Do you have it all now?" he asked, standing up. "And where's the rest of the farmers? I doubt that Kalf would be so eager to let you represent the village of Leira," he said, and I felt like I was missing something.

I looked between him and his wife for a moment. "...I… was supposed to come with other people?" I questioned, and rather than being mad, the Jarl's wife laughed lightly at that.

"Aye, you were. Your farmstead is a part of the Leira village," Jarl Horrik stated.

"... It is?" I said, wondering when exactly this was supposed to be explained to me, because it wasn't. As far as I knew, I was on my own.

That got a snort of laughter, "Indeed, it is. Next time, go to the village. From there, all of the foodstuffs that you make will be gathered together, and the village will send a group to sell the excess. That way, the village is getting the same deal without accusations of being cheated because one found a better buyer than others. As for personal items, those can be sold freely." Then he gave me an even look, "You're young, but you are a man now. Such mistakes can happen only once. If it happens again, you would be an outcast in the city and your village."

I offered a nod, filing the information away for later. Being an outcast to the village really didn't mean much to me. I haven't seen it or met anyone from it. The city was another story, though. So, I had to play nice, "It won't happen again," I said. I hadn't thought of it like that. I hadn't really thought of myself as any part of a community.

Jarl Horrik leaned in, "It seems you have an enemy in Kalf. He's the one that should have informed you and welcomed you to the village," he said, tossing me a wink. And it was only now that I realized I had been set up to look like a fool. I wasn't angry. More… disappointed in myself for falling for it.

That was a lie. I was also really pissed off.

"I see," I responded tensely, idly wondering if I could challenge the man to a duel and cut his head off. The offense wasn't quite grievous enough to draw a square over, especially if it was an honest mistake. It wasn't, but I doubted that would stop Kalf from saying as much. While the gods would give their verdict by whoever left the square, that wouldn't stop mortal men from wagging their tongues about the duel.

Killing him was a completely valid response. I would just have to go through the proper ways, as stated by the Jarl and gods.

"Good. I'll take your word that you have all the bushels in full weight and purchase them from you at a fair price… but considering that timber just became a lot more valuable I'll give you a good price for the planks you have," Jarl Horrik said, not mentioning the amount of weight of my payment. There wasn't a point, really. He was paying himself, essentially. The fruits of my labor might as well be free.

"Thank you, Jarl Horrik," I said, accepting the price he gave with a nod. Father said that one of the most basic principles of negotiation was being able to tell the other side to kiss your ass. If you couldn't do that, then you were in no position to try to negotiate. And I certainly wasn't.

"The rest is up to you to sell," he said, catching my attention. "Find good prices for it. How much you keep of the profits and how much goes to my daughter's bride price, I will let you decide." he said, and I felt the test he was throwing my way. Was he trying to see how good of a deal I could make? Or see how much I was willing to pocket over paying towards the bride price?

"I suggest you make your bargains quickly, Siegfried. Time will be short in the coming days," he told me, leveling a serious look at me, the implications clear. I hesitated for a brief moment before I nodded, telling him that I understood.

…

In Alabu, the thaw was celebrated in a number of ways. As often as people were selling their wares, they were drinking and catching up with those they hadn't seen in months or years. Family greeted family, old friends caught up, and so on and so on. Given that the rest of my family wasn't in the city, and I didn't see anyone from Ivarstead, I turned my attention to the competitions.

Combat was the way to be honored by the gods, but the competitions were the way to earn honor in the eyes of men. Throughout the city were various games and competitions -- riddles, which I avoided as I did the poetry, but also far more physical tasks that I leaned towards. Games of tug of war, wrestling, stone throwing, and stone lifting. It was the latter that I found myself entering.

Before me were rounded stones of various sides and weights. Before the stones themselves were old rounded platforms that stood at various heights. The stones ranged from the size of a man's head to the size of a man's head, chest, and shoulders. There were a dozen stones that we would have to lift as fast as we could, setting them upon the wood platform, competing against another dozen men that were also trying to come first.

There was cheering going up as the barker announced the game. People took bets and I found myself wishing I put money on myself. I would have made a great deal of coin because I was a head and shoulders shorter than everyone else and by far the youngest in the line. "Competitors! On your mark… get set… go!" The barker shouted out, prompting all of us to sprint forward to the first platform.

No one struggled with it. It wasn't that heavy all things considered. The second was heavier by half, but it too went up on the wood pole in the ground with little difficulty. The third was heavier by half of the second, the same for the fourth, fifth, and sixth. At the halfway mark, some of the competitors began to struggle to lift the stone and set it on the pole.

Over the winter, my body adapted to the harsh labor. I was young in years, but I possessed the strength of a man. The biggest issue was my height. Still, while some began to struggle with the sixth stone, I quickly moved on to the seventh, then the eighth, and ninth, much to the surprise of the cheering crowd. The poles grew in height as the stones got heavier and I found the tenth to give me the most difficulty. I had to begin to lift the stones over my head to get them on the platform.

There was a pleasant burn in my arms, chest, and back as I moved on to the eleventh, finding that I had a good lead. One man toppled the ninth, his rock falling and he was disqualified from the race. The only other man working on the tenth was struggling to heft the stone and he was red in the face as he lifted it. I had to lift the eleventh stone overhead, and I just about toppled the pole, but it remained seated, letting me move on to the final stone.

The crowd erupted in cheering when I placed it on the platform and the gods rewarded me with Physical Powess and Prestige. I quickly found myself mobbed as people cheered for me, and I saw that Kirk was giving me a broad smile. "You made me rich, Siegfried!" He shouted, telling me that he hadn't forgotten to bet on me and I shared the smile as I felt hands pat me on the back and shoulders.

"Well done! Well done," I heard someone shout, and I looked over to see it was a man around Tormunds age, so he had seen his twentieth year. Even with a passing glance, it was impossible to not know who he was. If the fine clothing didn't give it away, then it was the very strong resemblance to Jarl Horrik that did. The son of the Jarl offered an arm for me to clasp, and his hand engulfed my forearm when we did. "I am Thorfinn Horrikson. And you are the man marrying my youngest sister. I see the tales about you haven't been exaggerated."

"It's an honor to meet you, Thorffin," I told him, caught by surprise so I defaulted into being polite. I wasn't sure what else I should do. I had fought together with Jarl Horrik and, however vaguely, I knew him. I didn't know his eldest son Thorfinn at all.

"Likewise, Siegfried," He spoke before he looked to another man. A tall, barrel chested man with a gut straining against a vibrant red tunic. His beard was bushy, matching the color of his brown hair. He looked down at me with eyes that were a little too sharp. "I would like to introduce you to a good friend of mine -- This is Kalf," Thorfinn introduced the man and any thought of challenging him to a Holmgang fled my mind the moment I realized this man had been introduced as Thorfinns friend.

"You have Erik's look about you," Kalf remarked, holding out an arm to clasp. I looked at it for a brief second before I did so, squeezing his forearm harder than needed, making his eyes widen a fraction. "You as well. Kirk, I believe?"

Kirk puffed out his chest, "Aye, you presume correctly." He did say it, but it was clear in his tone that he realized who this was. It seemed like I hadn't been the only one that stayed up when our parents discussed the attack on the farm.

"Kalf here is one of the largest freeholders in my father's Jarldom," Thorfinn began, seemingly picking up on the tension that budded between us. Kalf seemed unaffected nor surprised. Thorffin did, though. Did he not know that his friend had tried to kill our family? Should I tell him? It wasn't like I had proof though. I wished father was here. He would know what to do. "And, while my father won't say it, he is impressed with how you turned the farm around after only half a year. So, I thought you and Kalf should meet and discuss… whatever it is that farmers do."

There was an edge in his voice that told me that the request wasn't actually a request. Kalf wanted to know how our farms -- both mine and my fathers -- were producing so much. And after what he did, I'd sooner see him dead than give him that information.

"Ain't nothing too it really," Kirk spoke up, crossing his arms over his chest, narrowing his eyes at Kalf. "We worked the slaves good during the fall and through the winter, we cleared trees for more farmland."

It was evident that Kalf didn't buy that answer, but Thorffin smiled and clapped him on the back. "See? Just as I told you. You just need to buy more slaves," Thorfinn said, offering a small nod at me and Kirk.

"Aye, I suppose so," Kalf allowed, giving both Kirk and I a searching look. The tension between us swelled until we heard a horn blowing. An announcement for another game. "You should go. Compete in the games while you still can," he said and I heard the threat in his voice.

"While we still can?" I asked, my tone sharp, and Kalf did seem a bit flatfooted when I called him out on the ending remark.

"While you're young," Thorfinn said, answering for Kalf. "We you get to his age, its nothing but complaining about bad backs and sleeping funny. Gods be with you, Siegfried. You'll need it because I intend to best you in the tug of war." He said with a laugh, leading Kalf away from us and both me and Kirk watched them go.

We shared a glance and Kirk spoke what I was thinking. "We need to tell father."

…

I spent a few days in the marketplace selling like a mad man. My brothers helped as well. There was a number of wares to push, and some sold better than others. The pelts were sold almost as soon as I displayed them. Winter wasn't so far gone that people forgot the cold. The wood carvings also sold well. The furniture too. The baskets were less of a hit on the account that they were a common item to be found at the market.

With each sale, I gained Stewardship and Diplomacy exp. The large sale of the foodstuffs counted even if I didn't have any silver to show for it, giving me the most exp I had ever gotten at once. I almost gained another perk with it alone. But, two days later, I found my market spot much emptier and my pockets much heavier. Then, with one final sale, I got two perk points.

One for Diplomacy in the Negotiation sub-stat, my first one. I had a choice between Silver Tongue and Tell Spotter. Both were good, allowing me to either avoid putting my foot in my mouth, or spot when someone was lying. Given the circumstances, Tell Spotter was my pick.

And, for Stewardship in Economic Assets, I gained a choice of Assess Value or Distort Value. The former made me instinctively know what an item was worth upon inspection. The latter made objects I owned subject to opinion on their worth, letting me increase the price a bit. My choice was Assess Value -- a little extra money was nice, but so was not passing over an item, thinking it to be worthless when in truth it was worth a fortune.

More people funneled into the city, increasing my competition, but it also meant there was more money going around. By the second day, I had already sold through the wares I had gathered up over winter, netting me a nice profit. It was still less than what I had made for the various shirts of chainmail, but a nice profit nonetheless.

In that time, I was reunited with Father and Halfdan, who brought news from the farmstead. I had become an uncle during the winter. Brandr and Asta had their baby, and by all accounts, he was a healthy boy named Arne, after Father's father. The other said that they missed us and sent us their love. It was good to see them again after half a year of toiling away on the farm, regardless of how short of a distance there was between us. Just going to visit meant I lost a week of productivity.

Brandr had stayed behind to look after his family. And apparently, Haldur had moved to another homestead as a worker. Helga's marriage was upcoming in a few months, so I needed to prepare a gift…

It was an odd thing. I spent so many years on the farmstead, and in six months, it felt like I was completely out of the loop.

But, that was months away. And it was looking increasingly likely that I wouldn't be there for her marriage anyway. Word had spread about the invitation to go to war with the Franks. And given how profitable the raid down South had been last year, people believed that it was a rich land. Naturally, they weren't thinking much about the Franks that would be guarding that wealth.

Public opinion was really pushing towards going to war. Even before there had been an official decision, Jarl Horrik's intentions were known. Word was spread to his hird and thegns, the former including my father, to ready their arms. Sharpen their axes, make their shields, prepare their farmland for a lengthy absence and try to put one last son in their wives before they set out. In my case, I sent Kirk back to the farm to get my weapons while Father did the same for Halfdan.

When we stood in the longhouse, standing on one of the balconies above a crowd that was packed, it was just a formality. "Thegn Ubbe -- I've thought about your proposal. At first, I thought it might be yet another attempt at unseating me by your King. Oh, how he has longed for the city of Alabu for many years…" he said, the smile on his face not taking the sting out of his words. "I consulted the gods, speaking to the seers and looking for a sign. Indecision is unlike me, but I found myself stuck on which course to take."

His smile widened, "Then Odin himself gave me a sign. As I looked out over my city, I watched as a raven circle not once… not twice, but three times before it set its course South. The gods have made their decision clear, and their voice has been heard! We shall march with King Sigfred to aid the Saxons! The call to arms has been sent out! The world shall tremble and the Franks shall weep at the sight of our army!" he shouted, throwing up a cup of ale at his proclamation, prompting plenty of others to do the same as they filled the hall with cheers of approval.

Father bent down and spoke, practically screaming to be heard, but I just barely made out the words. "Take a good look, my son. That is how you lead," he told me before straightening out. I didn't respond.

Because Jarl Horrik had lied. It was a subtle thing. I wouldn't have noticed unless I was specifically looking for a tell that would give him away. It was a slight change in his speech combined with a gesture. Jarl Horrik didn't speak with his hands -- he kept them mostly still.

Except when he spoke about the sign from the gods. There had been no sign. No raven.

Us going to war was completely his decision.

…

Readying for war was a time-consuming thing. First, the call to arms had to make it to the various villages and homesteads, they had to make their preparations, then they had to set out to the rallying point. Everyone was encouraged to bring their own food. The logistics of how we were going to feed everyone was beyond me because I wasn't included in the discussions. All I knew was that every able-bodied man that was available and not needed at home, marched to Alabu for the war effort.

I spent my time training. I sparred with the warriors that were trickling into the city, proving myself to them. People that didn't know me just saw a beardless youth, but after they tasted my boot after I put it up their ass, I started to get a little more respect. My prestige was slowly going up, bit by bit. Father seemed proud.

The fleet of ships were gathering up at Alabu -- Jarl Horrik owned over twenty of them, but his thegns provided their ships and warriors, giving us a fleet of about seventy ships. Which was just enough to carry the thousand warriors that entered Alabu from across Jarl Horrik's territory. Of which, I would be sailing on the flagship with Jarl Horrik along with my Father. My brothers would be spread out across the others, but we would fight together.

Enough time passed for me to come to peace with the fact I was going to war. No, not even that, but… I was a little excited. It would be a good chance to prove myself -- not just to Jarl Horrik, but to the other thegns and Jarls and Kings. I could make a name for myself. The only thing hampering that was the fact there were at least three thousand warriors wanting the exact same thing.

"That girl is staring at you," Halfdan pointed out, laying on the dirt after I knocked him on his ass. He was gasping for breath as we fought outside of the city, since the interior was getting too crowded. I glanced over to see that he was right. A girl was staring at me. At first, I thought it might be Morrigan, but that wasn't the case. She was younger. A few years younger than me, light brown hair that was borderline blonde, wearing a simple dress. She carried a round shield in her hands.

I had absolutely no clue who she was. She didn't look that familiar, but I knew I had seen her before…

Upon realizing that I had spotted her, the girl approached us with a large burly warrior trailing behind her. A guard.

Oh.

That's my fiance.

She approached calmly, though I noticed that she got a bit nervous the closer she got based on her reddening cheeks. Coming to a stop just out of arms reach, she shoved the shield towards me -- the planks were painted red and white in an alternating pattern, the boss of the shield came to a point, while metal went around the rim. "This shield is for you. To protect you in the coming battles," Jill spoke, sounding as if she had practiced that line. Then a shadow of doubt crossed her face, "You will be fighting, won't you?"

I nodded, dropping my training axes and accepting the shield with both hands and a nod, "I will. Where the fighting will be at its thickest, so thank you for the added protection." I told her, making her blush as I tested the shield's weight. It was heavier than I was used to, but of far better make. I opened my mouth to continue, but then Jill straight-up turned around and ran away as if the spirits of Hel were nipping at her heels.

My jaw dropped as I slowly looked up to the man guarding her, who watched his charge flee for the hills. He met my gaze and, after a moment, he offered a small shrug. "She's a shy girl," he told me, as if that was an explanation for what just happened. Then he simply walked away, heading after her. I looked at her retreating back, then at the shield.

I hit Halfdan with it when he wouldn't stop laughing.

I didn't see Jill again until the day we were setting off. There were rituals to perform -- to sway the gods to look favorably on the army setting out. A large feast was held, which was almost secondary to the sacrifices held. I stood in the market square, standing around a nude woman whose modesty was only preserved by the bodypaint that she wore. She was painted red and black, the red marking out intricate designs and runes.

The northern lights shifted overhead, as did countless stars and a half-moon. Torches illuminated the city, the sounds of a drum beating and bones rattling seemed to fill an otherwise silent city. I saw the Jarl's family -- Jarl Horrik, his two wives, Jill, another girl I didn't know, then his eldest son, Thorfin. They were painted as well, though they still wore fine clothing.

In the middle of the circle made of people was Jarl Horrik's third and favorite wife, Oydis. She stood perfectly still, a trough made from the bark of a tree in front of her.

First, a chicken was brought to her. With practiced ease, she slit its throat and drained its blood into the bucket. Then a pig was brought out, and she did the same. The same with a goat. Then a bull. The other animals had died without much of a fight, but ten men were restraining the bull with thick ropes around its body as it kicked and tried to gore whoever came close with its horns.

"Siegfried Wolf-Kissed," Oydis suddenly said, her voice ringing out over the grunting of the bull while the beating of the drums suddenly went silent. "Step forward," she ordered me and it was as if everyone in the city looked directly at me. I took a step forward, looking at her warily. She didn't smile, but her gaze softened ever so slightly. "It is you that will strike down the bull." she decided, and out of the corner of my eye, I saw Jarl Horrik frown.

It seems that this wasn't planned. Good. Because I would have liked to know beforehand if it was.

A man dressed in a white garb walked forward, presenting me with a large axe. The beard came down a hand length and a half, making it a broadaxe. With a nudge, he sent me towards the raging bull that seemed to fight harder the closer I got. Keenly aware of all the eyes on me, I didn't miss a step.

I had watched the rituals of my people plenty of times. I partook in them plenty of times too. Sacrifices for a bountiful harvest, sacrifices for good luck when Father and the others were going on a raid. This was a little different. This was a sacrifice for the army. If I misstepped in any way, then that would be considered an ill omen. That the gods had not blessed this endeavor. Worse, that it went against their will.

So, I tried to look confident as I strode forward. The bull, sensing its impending death, lashed out with all of its might. It threw its body to the side, jerking its head back and forth, and bellowed loudly. The drumbeat picked up once again, but it didn't manage to drown out the noise the beast was making. Then, without any warning, one of the men that was restraining the creature's leg lost his grip. The rope slid out of his hands, and that was the opening the bull was looking for. It didn't let it go to waste.

The bull lunged, throwing another two men off their feet before it began to turn its horns on them. A man screamed in panic, the tip of the bull's horns going for his gut. He would have died, but I hefted the axe over my head and took the final step forward. Bringing it down in a Power Attack, I caught the bull right in the middle of its thick neck. The blade sliced through dense muscle, sinew, and the bull's spine with enough force that I buried the axe into dirt when at the end of the swing.

Instead of being gored to death, a heavy bull's head landed in the guy's lap. The bull remained standing a moment longer, not realizing that it was dead, but it was still following through with its momentum to gore the guy before its powerful body collapsed on itself, landing in a heap as blood poured out from the stump of its neck.

The men dressed in white quickly moved in, placing bowls against the wound to catch the blood. Oydis stepped forward, taking one of the bowls that was offered to her and dipping it into the tough of blood to fill it completely. She didn't say anything, but there was an intensity to her actions now that the bull was dead. The drumbeat increased in tempo as the men laid into the drums -- she handed the bowl of blood to a man dressed in white and accepted a bundle of dried wicker from another.

Dipping it in the trough, she wetted the wicker before she turned to me. "The gods favor you! The gods favor us!" Oydis shouted, flicking drops of blood across my face. The men in white began to do the same, dipping their bundles into the blood and flicking it over the Jarl's family, then mine as they moved through the army, blessing all those they came across with the blood of the sacrificed.

People were happy with the good omen -- a mighty beast beheaded with a single swing. They were calling it a sign of the battles to come.

I hoped that they were right.

...

The next chapter is currently available on my Patreon and Subscribe Star, so if you want to read it a week early, all it takes is a single dollar in the tip jar. Or, for five dollars, you can read the chapter after that two weeks before its public release! I hope you enjoyed!

 

[Ideas-Guy]

I had hoped that since I was traveling with Jarl Horrik's hird, though I wasn't a member myself, that I would have a slight clue of what was going on. But, I was absolutely clueless as the campaign began. Near a hundred ships sailed out of Alabu to the calls of good luck from about a thousand families, and we took a familiar trip down south towards Saxony. We maintained a good wind the entire way, until we eventually reached the opening of the river that the village had been sat upon.

It was a heavy feeling as we sailed by the village, and not a single soul came out to see us. I could only hope that meant that they were doing the smart thing and hiding, but I saw signs of the damage that we left. All signs that pointed to the village being abandoned. I said nothing, not even when Father offered a comforting hand on my shoulder. Last year, we had been here to raid the Saxons and now we were going to liberate them. Irony at its finest.

In the end, I was as clueless as everyone else when we were eventually given the order to disembark after sailing up the river for a time. The ships were left behind with a small guard of a hundred soldiers, while the rest of us began to march west. If there was a plan, then Jarl Horrik was keeping it close to his chest. I had volunteered to be a scout, only for the request to be denied by Jarl Horrik, so I was left completely in the dark.

All I could do was obediently follow orders -- march, set camp, sleep, break camp, then keep marching. Which was how I learned that armies moved incredibly slowly. We walked miles every day, yet it felt like we spent more time setting up and breaking down camp. Two days went by before a scout came back with an unfamiliar man, who was apparently from King Sigfred's camp which was a day's march away.

So, we marched some more. A day later, we arrived to see a number of tents put up -- it was almost difficult to see them with how dense the forest was. We were led into the camp, our two parties joining together. We got lingering looks from the Saxon and Dane forces, and when we arrived at the heart of the camp, it was then that I met two kings.

They stood in front of an open tent -- two men of average builds, but they stood in stark contrast to each other. One had dark black hair, a short beard that clung to his jawline, and was wearing an iron band instead of a crown. His nose was a bit long, and it had suffered a few breaks at some point. He wore a bear pelt over his shoulders, and a shirt of chainmail with a sword at his hip. It was the first one I had ever seen -- swords were a rare and valuable thing in Scandinavia. They were marks of status, belonging to important thegns or Jarls, or Kings.

The second man was older. He had a bushy brown beard, matching the chestnut color of his short hair. He had bright green eyes, and wore a golden crown on his head. He wore a red cloak around his chest with an oakleaf pin, with scale armor beneath that. He was also wearing fine hide boots and trousers, and like the man next to him he was also carrying a sword at his hip.

I couldn't tell who was who, but that was quickly cleared up for me when the dark-haired one stepped forward, offering a hand, and spoke in Norse. "Jarl Horrik. It's been a long time! I see you responded to our invitation with full force," King Sigfred said, clasping forearms with Jarl Horrik.

"Aye, I couldn't let an opportunity such as this slip by," he agreed, giving King Sigfred a nod before he looked to King Widukind and offered a nod. "I have brought a thousand warriors, all eager for Frankish blood. Your missives neglected to state the numbers you bring."

King Sigfred offered a slight smile, "I have brought two thousand warriors in total. King Widukind has five hundred," he said, so we had three thousand and five hundred warriors. Jarl Horrik didn't offer a visible reaction, but I spotted a tell. It was clear that he expected more. And, admittedly, so did I. How was it that the Saxons were fielding the fewest number of soldiers?

The Saxon rebel king offered a smile, "That number will grow," he said in rough Norse. "Saxon nobles are… cautious," he said, saying the word in Germanic, speaking to Sigfred.

"Cautious," I offered, speaking in Norse, earning a look of faint surprise from both kings and Jarl Horrik.

"You know the language of my people?" King Widukind asked me, speaking Germanic, and I offered a small nod. He looked pleased at that. "Then tell your Jarl, that my army shall swell in size when we have our first victory. The nobles have been cowed after enduring Frankish brutality, and after a previously failed rebellion, they are wary of this one also ending in failure." he ordered with the ease of someone that was used to being obeyed.

I looked to a surprised Jarl Horrik and relayed the message, making him frown deeply. "You speak of the Frankish garrison in Sigiburg," he said, and despite having absolutely no clue where that was, I relayed the message to King Widukind in his language. It seemed I had volunteered myself to be a translator between them. Jarl Horrik didn't seem to know a word of Germanic and King Widukind's Norse was rather bad. It was serviceable, but it was clear that he felt more comfortable speaking his own language.

King Widukind nodded, "It is. Charlemagne stationed a thousand soldiers there to pacify the region if needed. To advance, we must deal with that army, else we will find ourselves surrounded when he marshals his forces against us." he explained, gesturing to the tent as I translated. Jarl Horrik followed the two kings in and he reached out with an arm, pulling me along to attend.

As he walked, he spoke lowly to me, "After this, see what the Saxons are saying." he ordered me as we entered the tent. On the table set up inside were two models made of sticks and stones, both in the shape of two fortresses. They were unlike any building I had seen, especially if the models represented the truth -- tall stone walls that sat on top of a steep hill.

"Sigiburg and Eresburg are two fortifications that our ancestors built to secure our border and now Charlemagne uses them against us. For my kin and kind, they will not rebel when they feel the sting of the Frank's dagger at their necks. For the rebellion to gain any support, both must fall and they must fall quickly," King Widukind said, leaving it to me to rapidly translate what he was saying. "Both house seven hundred men and are well provisioned, so a siege will only work against us."

King Sigfred nodded, "Speed is our ally. Charlemagne's scouts are likely reporting back about our presence now. Saxony needs to be in open rebellion, the troops rallied, and prepared for war before the Franks march upon us."

Jarl Horrik frowned, "An assault will be costly. An assault, a forced march, then another assault is courting death and disaster."

I translated both King Sigfred and Jarl Horrik's words, earning a nod from King Widukind. "That is so. Which is why I suggest we divide our forces. With your combined armies, seize Sigiburg as quickly as possible while I march on Eresburg. I know the commander there -- a hot-headed young man eager to prove himself. My head will be a tempting prize for him. He will sally out, and I shall flee towards… here." As he spoke, he took out another model of a dense forest on top of rolling hills that had a river flowing through it.

"It's an hour's march from the fort. I shall flee to the ford, while one of your armies approaches from the behind and the other seizes the fort from whatever garrison he leaves behind," he said, positioning the various models to get a sense of scale.

"If the timing is off, then you will be crushed upon the river," Jarl Horrik said, spotting an immediate flaw with the plan. "And we have no guarantee that he will sally out."

King Widukind nodded, "Timing is crucial. As soon as the fort is taken, send me a messenger and I shall enact the plan. It will take you a half-day to reach the other fort, then to the field of battle. Any delay could mean the death of my men, so I do ask that you don't linger." he said, looking at King Sigfred and Jarl Horrik. "The distance works to our advantage because the scouts that spot your armies' movements won't have time to reach the other fort. Their warning of your march will come too late. Your thoughts?"

King Sigfred offered a shrug, "You are taking the greatest risk with this plan. If you are certain that it will work, then I see no reason to not believe you." I translated his words before we all looked to Jarl Horrik. Who offered a frown and a shrug of his own.

"If it works, then it is a good plan. If it doesn't, then it is a bad plan," he said, tacitly agreeing to the plan.

And with that, the strategy for our first move in the war was settled on and we began our march.

My ability to act as a translator made me far more valuable than I realized, I learned rather quickly. King Widukind pointedly didn't ask how I learned Germanic, knowing that I most likely learned from a slave that had been taken from his kingdom. I also did as Jarl Horrik ordered, listening in on the Saxon warriors that marched with us for a time. It was helping my Intrigue stat a bit, so I was happy to do it.

I learned that the Saxons were eager. Every single one of them was here out of a desire for vengeance rather than any true loyalty to the kingdom of Saxony, and they followed King Widukind because he wanted vengeance most of all. No one really had anything bad to say about him -- he was a good leader, and his men respected him. Jarl Horrik simply grunted when I gave him my findings, displeased, but not with me.

I think he was looking for an angle of some kind. He wasn't here for loot. He was here to protect his own interests. I suspected that he feared that if Saxony managed to rebuff the Franks… then Widukind would repay the favor to King Sigfred and march North to take the city of Alabu for King Sigfred's kingdom. At least, those were my thoughts.

In my position as translator, I didn't get to see my family much. I only saw Father on and off when I was relaying messages to Jarl Horrik. There was a lot of logistics work when it came to marching an army. Scouts went ahead to make sure we didn't run face-first into a Frankish army, forgers returned with berries, nuts, and whatever animals they had hunted. Food was a constant concern, especially when we couldn't raid and loot whatever villages we came across on because it would be counterproductive.

Admittedly, not that it stopped some. I had been there when the news had been delivered each time that one Danish army or another raided a village for extra supplies, or how a group broke off to sack a monastery. It made it clear that there was no real discipline in the army. No real unity either. There were plenty of rivalries and blood feuds in the Dane armies, both with each other and internally. The Saxons couldn't speak our language, for the most part, so they were standoffish at best to our people.

It just felt like we were a huge raiding party rather than an actual army.

At least until we arrived at the fortress of Sigiburg. It was based at the top of a tall and steep hill, with tall walls made of stacked stone. It looked like it had been whitewashed at some point, but it was in desperate need of a second coat. I saw two towers overlooking the main path up, with a gate between them. The fortress was a long rectangle, and I noted spots of disrepair. Some of the stonework had crumbled, revealing the men that walked on the walls -- showing that they walked on a wood platform instead of stone.

It didn't look large enough to house a thousand men. We saw signs of living around the fortress, so I'm guessing it was pretty packed in there.

I approached with Jarl Horrik and King Sigfred, while King Widukind was preparing for a continued march towards Eresburg. Then I relayed their message, "Surrender without a fight and you will be treated with dignity. Your fortress is lost. We shall take it, and we will extract vengeance upon those that survive the slaughter for the price we will pay in blood." I shouted up to the castle gates, spotting a man on the ramparts.

He looked better armed and better dressed than the soldiers with him. A dirty blonde beard that he kept neatly trimmed, and had on a green cloak that was clasped together with a gold pin. He wore a complete armor set of scale mail, vastly more protective than chainmail or a gambeson. He looked down at me with an expression of disdain. "I'm shocked that a dog can speak the civilized tongue," he said, speaking Germanic at me.

"What did he say?" Jarl Horrik asked, earning a sigh from me.

"He's talking shit about me," I admitted, earning an amused chuckle from King Sigfred. Then I spoke up in Germanic, "Will you surrender or not?"

"Twice, Saxony has been crushed underneath the might of the Frankish Empire. So it shall a third time," he spoke, earning a breath of frustration from me.

"Is that a yes or a no? Asshole," I muttered the insult in Norse under my breath, looking up at the commander of the garrison. His lips thinned at me and I wondered if he actually spoke Norse.

"Approach these walls and you shall find your death, you northern dogs! I shall hack off your hands and feet before slaying you, sending you to the depths of hell as a cripple! My men shall feast upon your women, our bodies slick with your blood, and they will bear the children of their husband's killers!" The man spat at me, missing me by a good fifty feet.

"I see why no one likes you Christians," I returned, unable to resist. Wilfred had been right -- they seemed to enjoy cruelty. Then again, we were attacking them, so perhaps I was expecting too warm of a welcome. I looked to the two, about to translate, only for King Sigfred to raise a hand.

He offered a small smirk that betrayed his amusement, "I can guess his answer. We will take the fortress with blood and iron. So be it," he said, sounding eager as he walked away and barked orders to begin preparations. Jarl Horrik looked to me, his lips pressed together in a thin line.

"Wolf-Kissed," he said, calling me by the nickname that was rapidly catching on. "We need to take the walls fast. The faster the better. I want you in the first wave," he told me. I didn't have a lot of experience with actual warfare, but Father had explained the basics to me. The first wave was reserved typically for the berserkers. I had never met one, but Mother had told me plenty of tales about the villainous berserkers -- how they would be possessed by spirits of animals like wolves and bears and attack everyone around them in a mindless rage.

However, their strength couldn't be denied. Which is why they fought in front of the army.

It was a position of acting as a hammer to an enemy's formation. They wore no armor. They pressed the attack and carved lines in an enemy's shield wall as shock troops, paving the way for the other warriors to pour in and shatter their formation. It was a position of honor. To not wear armor showed your bravery, to be placed at the front showed the army that your prowess was recognized and you were trusted to pave a path for the rest of the army.

It was a high honor he was giving me. And a tall task.

"Every man counts, Siegfried. I don't trust Sigfred. I suspect that he intends to use this campaign to weaken our forces, sapping our fighting strength," he said, looking at the fortress. "It's going to take a large toll to take that fortress and Sigfred intends to have my men take the brunt of those losses. Which is why I want you in the first wave. Secure us a foothold on the walls. Even better, find a way to open the gate. Do it, and you shall have my share of the spoils within. Should you fall in battle, know that I will give them to your family."

I thought about it for a moment, eying the walls with more apprehension now. I quickly came to a decision, "And the farm is given to one of my brothers." I added my own condition, earning a chuckle from Jarl Horrik as he patted me on the back.

"It is agreed. And I'm glad you found your voice. I never trust a man unless he haggles," he said, leaving me behind as I continued to stare up at the fortress, looking at the walls for a place to attack.

…

There were a number of preparations for the battle. Chief among them were the sacrifices that were being made. I stood still as I was painted in soot and blood and white lime. There were others, all of them much older than me. I was by far the youngest given the honor of fighting in the first wave. My face was painted red and black, my ears were traced with the lime while the artist drew swirling designs on my pecs and shoulders.

I only had my pants and boots on as my brothers watched on -- some with relief that they hadn't been picked, others with jealousy that they hadn't been given the honor, and the rest with worry that I wouldn't come back. As soon as the shaman was done, my brother Halfdan handed me my shield, the one that Jill gave me. With the harness I made, I immediately scuffed up the artwork painted on me by securing the shield to my back.

In my belt, I kept two bearded axes -- they were needed in the tight quarters on the walls. Anything with more range would just be a hindrance. With it secure, I rolled my shoulders and looked up at the sky, taking in a deep breath. Looking down, I saw my brothers gathered around, taking a moment with me.

"Show them the gates of Hel, Siegfried," Haldan said, offering a nod.

"I was with a slave girl last night, and I pulled something in my back. So, do the heavy lifting for me, little brother," Havi said, slugging me in the shoulder, a worried grin on his face. Kirk didn't say anything, just offering a nod to me. Behind all of them was Father, worry lines marring his forehead. Yet, when the horn blew, he nodded all the same.

"Go find your glory, my son," he told me, sending me off. I gave them all a lingering look before walking away, joining the others. Men were picking up ladders, but I wasn't going with them. Instead, I walked to the end of a long pole that was more of a narrow tree. I grabbed hold of one end, tucking it under my arm as I held my axes in my free hand. Other warriors grabbed the other end.

We would have to run uphill to the fortress, but there weren't really any good points of attack from the ground. The thick underbrush would slow us, as would the hill. However, with the disrepair, there were a few good targets. The ladders would run with us, with those with sticks targeting the crumbling fortifications to make sure the enemy didn't push them off.

We lined up and I saw the enemy on the fortifications, bows and arrows pointed at us. I became increasingly aware that I wasn't wearing any armor. They weren't firing yet, choosing to save their ammo, but that wouldn't last. I saw shields and short daggers, axes, and spears. A mixture of men holding the walls.

I took in another deep breath, bracing myself as I waited for the signal.

Then, in the form of a long horn blast, it was given.

I sprinted forward, the other ten warriors behind me doing the same, charging up the hill, and I saw the first volley of arrows launch from the bows aimed in our direction. Even with Fast Counter, I couldn't count them all as they slowly fell down towards us, and with faint thunks, they crashed down. I soon heard screams as men fell, arrows protruding from them. I nearly took one to the foot, while another narrowly missed me and ended up hitting the man directly behind me. He fell, dropping to the ground, but we couldn't stop.

Pressing forward, we surmounted the hill, weathering another volley just after the first landed, this one coming from on the other side of the wall. We lost another man, and I caught an arrow to the shield, but I was unharmed. My heart thundered in my chest, pounding at my ribs as I fought against the tide, pulling forward towards the wall. More men fell all around me. Not enough to stop the advance, though.

A third volley fell just before we reached the wall, the arrows landing directly on us. Again, I was untouched, only for another two to fall. A second later, we reached the wall and the remaining men lifted with their arms as I leaped up with all my strength, the momentum carrying me to the wall, and with our combined effort, with two short steps, I reached the top. I was greeted by a wall of men, weapons flashing out at me.

Unbreakable Guard saved my life. My axes, both clutched in a single hand, lashed out to divert the tips of the spears or the daggers lunging in my direction. The moment I was up, a foothold secured, I tossed my second axe into my other hand and I lashed out with short, shallow Power Attacks, hacking at the wall of bodies in front of me. Men fell where they were, their bodies pushed forward by the encroaching horde behind them as they pressed forward to fill the gap.

It was nothing like fighting in the battles before. I was hacking and slashing, blood splashing over me like a waterfall, but the tide just didn't seem to abate in the slightest. In a handful of seconds, I must have killed a dozen men, their bodies piling up at my feet or pushed behind me off the wall, yet I didn't make any progress. Until, all of a sudden, I did. The smallest of gaps appeared in the wall of bodies, all pressing to push me off the wall. The others were drawing some of the heat off of me, even if I was the only one on the wall as far as I could tell.

Throwing myself into the opening, I turned my back to one side of the wall of enemies and I felt their blows rain down on the shield over my back. I weathered the blows and pressed forward, finding a powerful combination for my abilities against the screaming wall of men. With one axe, I kept Unbreakable Guard up, allowing me to effortlessly and unconsciously catch and divert blows. With my second axe, I hacked and slashed, killing everything before me with Power Attacks. Which axe I used for offense and defense changed seamlessly as I fought, allowing me to rapidly press forward as I continued to drop corpses at my feet.

There was so much blood. It soaked my pants, filled my boots, and it covered every inch of me. It soaked into the wood ramparts, which were more wood emplacements set up to expand how many men could fight on the walls. All I heard was screaming all around me -- men screaming in pain, in fear, in rage, and in horror. The stench of shit from the dead and disemboweleddisembowled was so overpowering that I could taste it on my tongue.

Death was not something that I could avoid. It would come for me, no matter what I did. If fate decided that today was my day to die, then I would die. That's all there was to it. So, I didn't fight to live. I fought for glory. For wealth. The share of a Jarl was no small amount and this battle of so many men would be sure to catch the attention of the gods. If I did fall… then I would be sure to be welcomed in Valhalla.

A scream ripped from my throat, joining the chorus of others all around me as I found the pressure taken off of me when more men climbed up on the walls. I reached a barred doorway, hacking and slashing everyone in my way. With a kick reinforced with Power Attack, I killed the man guarding the door and broke through. As I entered the tower, the fact my shield didn't catch on the remains of the door told me exactly how shattered it was. I paid it no mind as I was attacked by those in the tower -- archers that had been firing from the slits in the windows and men that had fallen back inside of the tower for protection.

I killed them. I wasn't even sure how. Everything became a blur of combat, of mindless swinging at my enemies and having them just fall away. With so many power attacks, I was feeling my arms beginning to ache with the strain. The exhaustion I felt went bone deep, as if the bones in my arms were straining under the weight of my axes with each swing. The weapons seemed to weigh more with each blow I delivered, but I didn't slow down. I walked down the tower stairs, killing everyone I could, carving a path for the other warriors to follow.

Reaching the bottom floor, I kicked in a door and was greeted by more men standing in the courtyard. They were set up in a spear wall, the tips of the spears pointed in my direction. The fight was still ongoing on the other walls and I could see men being pushed off the scaffolding and how our warriors were being rebuffed. The only wall that had seen any progress was the one that I pushed through. They were going to try to hold us at the one safe way down the walls. A chokepoint, however a temporary one.

I rushed forward and slammed into the formation, my exhaustion shoved aside as I fought. And I killed. And killed. And slaughtered everything in my way.

As I fought, hacking and slashing, my exhaustion grew and grew with each swing until my guard lapsed. I felt a solid blow to the side of my head, making me stumble for a moment. When I stopped, it was as if my spirit left my body and allowed me to look upon my surroundings all at once. I had focused so much on what was immediately around me, I paid no attention to the actual battle.

I saw a man holding his intestine as they spilled out from his stomach, fruitlessly trying to stuff them back inside of him while he screamed on blood-soaked dirt. I saw a man throw down his weapons, screaming in Germanic that he surrendered, but the Norse warriors didn't understand a word he said. Blood spattered on my face when an axe was embedded in his skull.

I saw a shieldmaiden get stabbed a half dozen times in her stomach before the blade was buried to the hilt in her throat. I saw a warrior screaming for the valkyries -- not in glory and excitement, but in fear before he was silenced with a spear to the throat. I witnessed Norsemen and Franks screaming at each other at the top of their lungs, cursing the other to die as they traded blows, both of them so wounded there was no hope for them to live beyond the battle.

I saw it all. Courage, bravery, glory, and honor. As well as fear, confusion, anguish, horror, and death.

Then, without warning, I slammed back into my body with almost physical force. Baring my teeth, I killed the man that struck me and continued on my path.

Warriors followed in my wake as I broke through the formation, their spears proving their undoing with their line broken. It was a mess of a melee, and the only way I could really tell where I was going was because of the two towers that marked the front gate. I had no clue how many men were between it and me, only that with each swing of my axe, the distance shrunk by the width of a man.

Then, I was suddenly before them, having carved a line through the reserved soldiers. I spotted the commander of the garrison and rushed him. His guards rushed to meet me in a bid to protect him, but the warriors that followed me through took care of them. I had no clue who he was, or how valuable he might be as a hostage, so I spun my axe and caught him in the temple, dropping him. Screams echoed in my ears, as did the clashing of wood and metal. I pressed forward, trusting the men behind me to protect my back as I undid the wedges meant to support the door.

With a heave, I lifted the bar on the door and tossed it behind me before pulling open the door. I was nearly trampled by our warriors as they poured in.

The commander that I tried to spare was trampled underfoot as men streamed in through the doors, my efforts amounting to naught.

I didn't lament his probable death for long, however. I was quick to rejoin the melee, throwing myself into the thick of it. The resistance in the fortress was crumbling even though there were still plenty of warriors on their side.

I spotted a number of our warriors hacking at a wooden door on the interior of the fortress. Joining them, I lashed out with a foot and the planks splintered, not from a Power Attack, but simple raw strength. The others resumed hacking, and with another kick, the door gave way, falling off its hinges. The room was a large one and richly decorated. My eyes were nearly seared at the amount of colors painted on the walls -- from the floor to a high ceiling were murals depicting men and women.

There were over a dozen men praying at a stone alter with fearful devotion and my stomach clenched when the Norse warriors fell upon them, hacking and slashing at them, showing no mercy or remorse. Blood splattered over the painted interior of the church, the faithful screaming for mercy from God to spare them. It was a horrid sight. A man crawled away over a body, only to find an axe buried in his back. One clawed at a warrior's legs, begging to be spared, and was answered with a slashed throat. One picked up a candlestick and started swinging as he cursed, making our warriors laugh.

It was difficult to feel pity for them, I thought. I don't know who these men were, but they had been in here, praying to their God, instead of being outside fighting. Worse, they proved that they were cowards with their begging and fear. The only one that I had any respect for was the doddering old man that was determined to brain at least one Dane with a candlestick before he died. I didn't know if Christians believed in Valhalla, but I was certain that he would be welcomed.

Striding forward, I walked past the slaughter, heading towards the altar. There was an object on it -- a cross with a dead man on it. An odd thing, but on the blood-splattered pictures on the walls, I saw the same man carrying the cross that he died on. A curious thing. What really caught my attention was what the cross and the dead man was made of -- silver. More than that, there were gemstones embedded in the cross. Without a doubt, it was the single most valuable thing I had ever seen.

Grabbing it, I found it had weight to it. It was at least four or five pounds of silver and jewels. More money than I had ever made put together.

"They really do worship a dead god," I muttered, looking at the man wearing a crown of thorns. I didn't get it. It just didn't make sense. I thought that maybe Wilfred had made that up, but it was the truth. Not only did they worship a dead god, but their offerings were so rich. Pounds of silver, silver and gold candlesticks with rich-looking candles mounted in them. And this room was so rich with color…

What power could he hold as a corpse to justify such worship and offerings?

"No! Don't touch the cross!" I heard a man shout, leaping up from his hiding place behind the altar, which showed me I really should have cleared the room before looting. He threw himself at me, his hands lunging for the cross in my hand. I caught him in the throat with the shaft of my axe, knocking him off balance before knocking him to the ground with a whack from the cross.

His cheek bled, split open by my holy bludgeon, his hand going up to this face as he looked up at me with horror. I quickly took in his appearance -- the haircut, the robes, the scarf hanging off his shoulders… reaching down, I rubbed my bloody fingers over it to find that it was the softest material I had ever felt. My eyes narrowed, taking in the rest of him -- Dark hair, dark eyes, a slightly fat man with the beginnings of a second chin. His expression was one of pure terror, and it was clear why. I was absolutely drenched in blood. I could feel it drying on me by the second.

A warrior walked forward, raising an axe, but I stopped him by raising an arm. Surprisingly, he stopped, looking at me questioningly. I dropped down, pressing the edge of my blade to the priest's neck, "Are you Frankish?" I asked him, making him swallow thickly.

He offered a trembling nod. Good so far. "So, you speak Frankish?"

He opened his mouth, the words not coming for a moment, "I… I do… why?" he asked me, his voice trembling with fear. I gave him a smile that made him piss himself.

Looks like I found a new tutor.

...

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[Ideas-Guy]

"Hnngh…" I groaned, hearing the faint sound of screaming not too far off in the distance. As if someone was being muffled by a bite. My upper body felt incredibly sore, as if I had pulled every single muscle in my arms, shoulders, and back. I was used to the feeling of pushing myself a little too hard, but I had truly overdone it this time. I doubt I would be able to raise my arms above my head for a week. No- wait, I had Fast Healer. So, a few days.

Shifting my head made me open my eyes to find that they were completely covered in dried blood. I had to peel myself off of the bed I had fallen face-first into -- a bed that wasn't mine. I had just dove into the first one that I could find at the camp and passed out. Another groan escaped me when I pushed myself into a sitting position, my head hanging low so that clumps of hair fell into my face, proving that even my hair had soaked through with other people's blood.

I spared a glance down at my hands, idly noting that some paste had been applied to the nicks and cuts on them. My injuries had been treated while I was asleep. A few cuts, a few scrapes, and it was only now that I noticed I had taken a cut to the calf during the battle. All of which were treated and bandaged. In my sleep, since I didn't recall it happening.

How many people did I kill during that battle? How many people's blood was I absolutely drenched in? It felt like a lot. More than a dozen. Maybe… two or three. Maybe even four. I doubt it was a hundred, though. That seemed a bit much. Still, I killed a lot of people. And I had been rewarded for it.

Prowess had reached another milestone. Unsurprisingly given the battle. Killing men gave far more experience than sparring with my brothers, and I've killed a number of men at this point. I had the leftover of Shatter Defense, but there were two new choices: Projectile Prediction and Auto Action. Both choices were… interesting.

Projectile Prediction allowed me to see the exact destination and path of an object, meaning an arrow or javelin or whatever. Both my own, and even better, things that were flying my way. Auto Action, however, was interesting -- It was almost… inhuman in nature. It would save certain actions that I made and when the prompt for them to happen, they would be done without any conscious thought from me. If a slash happened at my neck, I could save a block that would catch the blow. More than that, I could go a step beyond and make it a counter and kill the man. And if he blocked, I could save another move to respond depending on what he did.

Fighting, in theory, would become… automatic… It wouldn't need me to think about it at all. It was a true gift from the gods and I could see how powerful it would make me. Yet, all the same, I didn't want to take it. How could I? What honor was there in a fight when the enemy could never hope to touch me? When there was no effort nor thought on my part, how could I earn my victories? That was not glory. Nor honor. That was… I don't even know what it was.

No. No, this was a test by the gods to see if I would mindlessly choose power over honoring them as I should. A test I would not fail.

So, I chose Projectile Prediction. It seemed like it would shore up my most glaring weakness to missile weapons, while making my aim better. Maybe I should look into getting a bow. I loved my sling, but as powerful as it was, I could only ever get a few shots off with it before I was forced into a melee. With the right bow, enough distance, I could kill a dozen men before they even came near me.

"You're awake," I heard a voice say, making me look over at an unfamiliar man looking at me with caution. I had no clue who he was.

"...Did I steal your bed? Sorry," I said, standing up with a low groan while the man let out a small disbelieving chuckle as he continued to look at me. "I was tired and it was either it or the mud," I said, looking at him. He eyed me with a sense of guarded awe. Perhaps awe was the wrong word for it, but that look he was given me was the same kind that was given to Jarl Horrik or King Sigfred. Respect.

"I bet, Wolf-Kissed," he remarked, clearly amused. "Your pet priest has been looked after. He was spared execution," he said, making me frown and the dried blood on my face cracked with the expression. He seemed to pick up on it because he explained, "Your Jarl decided that it was too soon to take thralls of the defeated, and keeping them prisoner would be too costly. Most of the defenders were executed."

There was a beat of silence as I processed that. I had largely checked out towards the tail end of the battle, but by the time I had helped break into that room, there had been surrenders. We had taken the walls too quickly, and with the opening of the gate, the defenders saw that they had no hope. They surrendered. Meaning hundreds of prisoners had been executed.

It seemed like a harsh measure, but I also didn't know what else could be done about the prisoners. As bad of a taste as it left in my mouth, I couldn't offer any solutions, so I had no right to criticize the decision. All I could do was hope that those that had been executed had died well to impress their God.

I nodded, "When do we march on Eresburg?" I asked him, earning a small nod.

"I was sent to wake you. We begin the march soon," he informed me. "Jarl Horrik and King Sigfred wished for you to join them," he added, starting to leave before he paused, as if realizing that I was completely covered in blood. "I can tell them that you will join them once you are clean?" He offered, earning a thankful nod.

"Thank you," I said and promptly marched off in the direction I knew the river would be in. The river was a slow moving one that moved inland, the water murky and flanked by banks. I chose the cleaner option and waded into the river and used my nails to start scratching off the dried blood. The only remotely clean parts of me was my back from the shield protecting me, and my pants. Even my feet had been covered in blood.

Dunking my head in the murky water, I furiously scratched at my scalp to clean myself off. I spent a good ten minutes bathing in the cold water, then another ten cleaning my fingernails. I was pruny when I finally exited the river to be greeted by my father, who had shown up at some point. He offered a new pair of clean clothes but said nothing until I was dressed.

"Secure a foothold on the walls, or open the gate," Father said once I was dressed, looking down at me with an unreadable expression. "You do know what or means, right? It means one or the other," he told me, his blue eyes searching my face.

"It just kinda happened?" I defended myself with a small shrug. "Once I was on the walls, I saw how many of them there were and they were pushing to close the foothold. Jarl Horrik said he wanted to minimize losses, so…" I trailed off when my Father sighed loudly.

"Siegfried, I love you. You make me so damn proud, but I want to wring your little neck sometimes," he admitted to me, bringing me into a hug. Giving me some pretty mixed messages there. "I don't know what drives you, son. You've always been doing your best to outdo yourself… but while our day to die is written by fate, you don't need to rush towards it with such reckless abandon."

I guess that's what it would look like to others. I stepped back, breaking the hug. "I don't intend to die anytime soon. I just did all that I could," I told him. Jarl Horrik was right about doing what we could to minimize losses. From what I heard, assaults on fortresses were bloody and long affairs. Me doing all that I could saved lives and time that we could use against the Franks.

Changing the entire tide of the war was beyond me. I could only do so much. Taking part in that battle broadened my perception in a way. As much as I had done, in the end, I had been a very small part of the battle. The number of men I killed was practically meaningless. My greatest act that had the most impact on the battle was opening the gates so that more of our men could fight. That had won us the battle.

Being a great warrior wasn't enough to win. Being in the right place at the right time to take the right action won battles. Being a great warrior just made being there at the right place and time easier. However, the right action could only reveal itself with time or strategy. I increased my Prowess, but it was my understanding of what tactics were that had changed the most.

Father searched my face a moment longer before offering a slow nod, "I heard you, son."

"Are the others okay?" I asked him as we began to walk back to camp. Through the trees, I saw people breaking down the camp. Though, from the looks of it, some were taking up residence in the fortress -- I guess to make sure no one else took it while we moved on.

"Aye, they're just sore that you've outshone them. Your name is all everyone's been talking about all night," Father said, earning a glance from me.

"Night?" I echoed, nearly tripping on a root. I was glad the others were okay, but that last bit was really surprising.

Father let out a small laugh, "You've been out for half a day and a night, lad." He informed me, dashing my initial assumption that it had only been a few hours. "We waited to give Widukind a head start, and for our messenger to catch up with him. We have a half days march to catch up. Either he'll be dead, his plan worked, or we have to assault another fortress." He said with a dismissive shrug, not caring one way or the other.

I had half a day to recuperate. I felt a bit better already once the muscles had loosened up a bit, though I was still incredibly sore. Though, I still straightened up when I saw Jarl Horrik and King Sigfred speaking to each other in low tones. I also spotted the man that I… had taken, kidnapped, and enslaved. Huh. I know people said you just did things when your blood was up, but I had kidnapped and enslaved someone. A priest of the Christian religion. On accident. Sorta.

The priest's eyes dropped to the ground, clutching the heavy silver and jeweled cross in his hands like it was a lifeline. His lips moved in a prayer that sounded foreign, even more so than Frankish. Did he know another language? If he did, then that was another reason to not free him yet. Not only would it mean his death, but it was two languages for the price of one.

"Wolf-Kissed! I thought we might have to carry you in battle," King Sigfred greeted me and I saw the briefest of sour looks pass over Jarl Horrik's face as he too turned to look at me. His son Thorfin rode next to him, looking at me with some interest but he said nothing.

I offered a slight smile, not really sure the proper protocol for dealing with a king. No one told me because no one thought I would ever actually meet one. So, I just kept doing what I had been doing, "I might have slept through it," I told him, earning warm chuckles.

"Your priest and spoils have been kept safe -- though what you need a pet priest for is beyond me," Jarl Horrik remarked, giving the priest that muttered a prayer a dirty look. "I've also given you a chest that contains your well-earned reward -- my share of the loot taken from the fortress." He told me, giving me a smile that I had a hard time deciphering. There was a tension in the air that seemed to materialize from nothing.

It had always been there between the two. I hadn't seen much of it and it was clear that the dislike between them extended beyond just politics. They didn't like each other, period. Or, at the very least, Jarl Horrik actively disliked the Dane king. However, now it was being extended to me as well. That much was proven when King Sigfred spoke up.

"Your prizes will be kept in the baggage train, but I learned you lack something. It is beneath such a fine warrior to walk on the ground with the rest of the men," he said, and with a gesture, a man that was leading a horse walked forward on cue. The horse was a hardy build, chestnut in coat with a light-colored mane. On his back were furs and pelts that acted as a cushion for long rides.

Ah. I think I see where the tension was coming from.

I nodded to King Sigfred, "Thank you for the fine gift. Does he have a name?" I asked while Jarl Horrik looked so impassive it was pretty easy to see he was incredibly pissed off. The king was giving me gifts. Horses were a declaration of wealth. Argo, my workhorse, marked me out as someone with money even when I didn't really have any. But there was a huge distance between an old workhorse and a warhorse. The latter was only ridden by Thegns, Jarls, and Kings. I was none of the above.

I petted the beast, getting him used to me as he looked at me with intelligent eyes. King Sigfred shook his head, "No. Consider it my gift. With your efforts, we took the fortress almost too quickly." He said as I hopped up on the horse. It was a bit awkward. The pelts were belted down, while the horse shifted his weight once I was on, but a second later I was seated and gazing down at everyone else. I met eyes with Father, who took the time to give me a very pointed look.

He didn't need to say anything. The look said it all.

To watch my mouth and make no promises.

Jarl Horrik nodded, "Aye. We expected to spend at least a week here. Never mind taking it on the first assault. The men said you fought like Thor himself," he remarked, an odd note in his words. He was clearly buttering me up, as if to remind me who I owed my gratitude to, but there was almost a quiet unease to him as we began to march forward with Jarl Horrik and King Sigfred leading the way. His son openly wore a sour look as if he had bitten into something bitter before wiping the expression off his face when he saw I noticed. I used the chance to look to the priest, who looked up at me with fear in his eyes, and gestured for him to follow.

"An exaggeration," I said, quickly getting used to riding. I loosely grabbed the horse's mane to steer, but for the most part I let… Epona lead himself. Father walked along with us, and behind us were the Hirds for both men, a grand total of about sixty men marching along a dirt road that was rapidly turning to mud.

"Humble," King Sigfred remarked. "But do not be so quick to dismiss praise. Especially when it comes from a king," he added, not looking back at me. "I'm told that it is not the first time you've proven yourself in battle. An attack on a farm repelled single handily, salvaging a near failed raid… and seizing the walls of a fortress for an army. That, Wolf-Kissed, is a pattern." And the king was looking into me.

I really didn't know what to do in the situation. I wish I had trained up Diplomacy more, or even Intrigue. Something to make me feel like I wasn't about to stick my entire foot in my mouth every time I spoke. I should have taken Silver Tongue when I had the chance.

"A pattern we hope continues," Jarl Horrik said, sparing me a glance. "The shield that my daughter gave you saw hard use. The planks have been replaced, and the buss restored. It will be ready for the next battle." And he was bringing that up now to remind us that I was engaged to his daughter. I said us, because that reminder was directed every bit as much at me as it was King Sigfred.

"Thank you, Jarl Horrik," I said, thanking him in the same tone as I did when I got the horse as I settled in for a very long and very awkward trip.

…

Eventually, as the hours ticked by, things settled into an uncomfortable silence. Giving me time to speak to the priest, who marched along side us with increasing difficulty. The march we were on wasn't a long one, but walking eight hours was a task for the overweight man. He never lost his death grip on the cross either, which certainly didn't help him. "What is your name?" I asked him in Germanic, making him look up at me.

"Otto, my lord," Otto introduced himself, a slight quiver in his voice.

"Not a lord," I quickly corrected, making him swallow thickly.

He looked away from me, "What shall become of me?" He asked, and it was a fair question. I would want to know that too.

"As of right now, you are my slave," I told him bluntly, not sparing his feelings. He clutched the cross tightly until his knuckles were white. "You will teach me Frankish. And I also heard you muttering something -- was that Frankish?" I asked him, earning a hesitant shake of his head.

He swallowed thickly, "It was a prayer, my lord. To God. It was, in, ah…, Latin, my lord," he explained, stumbling a bit when I frowned at him. He was a skittish thing, I noticed.

But he said something that caught my attention, "Your god is dead. How can he hear your prayers?" I asked him, gesturing to my cross he carried. Nails through his hands and feet might not kill him, but the wound between his ribs would have pierced his heart. That was a fatal wound.

Otto opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again, licked his lips nervously before he finally found his words after a lengthy pause. "This is Jesus Christ, the son of God and our savior. He died for our sins -- so we may be forgiven for our failures and misdeeds so long as we repent for them and praise his name." He explained slowly, cautiously even.

"Oh, that makes more sense," I admitted. There was a story there, but it made much more sense that they weren't worshiping a dead god. "So, he is not your god?"

"No, he is," Otto corrected, and things made a lot less sense. "He… ah… there is the father, the son, and the holy spirit -- all are God. Jesus was the son of God, yet he was God." He explained in a rather clumsy way, and I hoped that it was his fear that jumbled the explanation because I was growing more confused by the second. "It makes more sense if you accept God is all-powerful. He can be himself, and not himself."

I frowned, "No one is all-powerful. Even Odin must bend to the whims of fate," I argued. What a confusing religion. "If he was all-powerful, then we would have been repelled on your walls. You would have won the battle, and we would not have this baffling conversation."

Otto actually smiled at that, gaining some confidence, "God works in mysterious ways and all is in accordance with his plan. The defeat we suffered stings, this is true. And many were lost and suffered. But, I believe it is because your defeat was not meant to be on the walls. It is further inland -- at the hands of the Great King Charlemagne." He spoke, puffing out his chest.

Thorfin slowed down, "What is he saying?" He asked me, nodding to the priest.

"That Charlemagne will defeat us," I answered, earning a scoff from Thorfin. I shared his indignation, though I was less vocal about it. The priest spoke of things that he didn't understand. If we were to be defeated, then it was fate for us to be. That, and the will of the gods. Not his God. Then I nodded at Otto, "Why are you so certain that he will defeat us?"

"God wills it," was Otto's quick response.

"And if our gods will for us to succeed?" I questioned, "We have a mighty army of many thousands."

Otto appeared almost indignant, his fear quickly forgotten now that he found his pride. "As does King Charlemagne! He possesses many tens of thousands of soldiers, all ready to carry out God's will," he told me, and my lips thinned at that. Something that wasn't unnoticed by him, nor Thorfin. "Do you realize your folly now? Repent and find God in your heart, and I'm certain you will find mercy. If not, then you will be welcomed into Heaven."

I looked away from him, speaking to Thorfin, "He says that the Frankish King Charlemagne commands several tens of thousands of men." I said, making Throfin frown deeply.

"He speaks lies," Jarl Horrik dismissed without looking back at us. "The Frankish had no more than five thousand warriors when they conquered Saxony. That is the extent of their might. He is exaggerating to drip poisonous doubts into your ears. Don't listen to him." He sounded confident about that, which I could admit soothed the worst of my worries.

Thorfin nodded, looking happy, "And when we free Saxony, we'll be able to meet them in numbers. Even if the Saxons are soft as little girls," he remarked, earning a chuckle from Jarl Horrik. I didn't think it would be as simple as that, though.

Regardless, I was given something to think about. For now, though, I had more immediate concerns.

"Whether we lose or not, you will teach me Frankish and Latin," I told Otto. "Should your god prevail, then you will be freed and I will be dead. Should my gods prevail, then upon teaching me what you know of the languages… and your religion, you will be freed." I said, making Otto's eyebrows climb high when he heard that. I don't think he expected freedom to come from anything other than a chop of an axe.

"You wish to convert?" He asked me, hope clear in his tone.

"I just wish to learn," I added to a visibly disappointed Otto before he looked oddly determined. I could practically see it become his personal mission to show me the light of heaven, and I wouldn't stop him. It would make him eager to teach me. And I wanted to learn. My faith in the gods was certain -- I saw proof of it every day with my daily ritual at least. There would be no chance of me converting, and knowledge was knowledge. Even All-Father Odin learned from the Jotun, his enemies. "Tell me the fables, the stories, and the morals behind them."

I should have expected him to thrust out the cross before saying an unfamiliar word, "Jesus." He said, repeating the word in Frankish. He pointed to the cross, saying the word in Frankish, then Latin. I repeated them, Polyglot sorting the two out in my head.

Over the march, Otto would point at things and give them a name in Frankish and Latin, and slowly my understanding of the language expanded. Jesus, cross, clothes, horse, dirt, mud, grass, trees, and so on and so on. He taught basic sentences -- 'Jesus, our Lord and Savior, died for our sins,' and 'burn in hell heathen' to start with. The speed in which I was picking it up made him more enthusiastic. It helped the time pass by, at least.

However, it came to an abrupt end when the sun was at its highest. A scout came sprinting towards King Sigfred and Jarl Horrik, shouting, "The Franks have left their fortress! They march on the Saxons! The Saxons are pinned at the riverbank!"

"The plan worked!" King Sigfred shouted, urging his horse forward and nearly knocked over the scout that delivered the news. "Onward! To battle!" He shouted and Otto looked at me fearfully, not understanding what was going on. I didn't have time to explain to him because I found myself caught up in the surge of men that started to press forward.

The formation of the army rapidly changed as we continued to march forward with renewed enthusiasm. Before, we were a rough column with myself at the front, but despite the still dense forest we were surrounded by, we became a line. Otto fell back to the baggage train, along with the rest of the thralls, while I found myself marching at the head of the army. It took us some time to arrive, even with our increased pace. But, through the trees, I caught a glimpse of a clearing.

And men.

The Frankish army had their back towards us as they lined up. Fast Counter took a long few seconds to count them all up at six hundred men. Their line was primarily made of shields and spears, but I saw a thin line of archers standing before the spear wall as they rained arrows down on King Widukind's army, who weathered the arrows with the hopes that we would arrive soon.

"Stay with us, Siegfried," Jarl Horrik said as a horn blew to announce our arrival and for the army to step forward through the treeline. I saw the Frankish army shit itself the moment the horn rang out, the commander of the army whipping around and his expression one of absolute shock. "And watch. Battle is a very different thing when you aren't in the thick of it. So, sit and watch." 'And learn' went unsaid as our line formed up.

Unarmored men stood at the front of the frontline. They carried spears meant for throwing, shields and axes. Behind them, a solid wall of overlapped shields, almost preventing them from turning back and rejoining the safety of the shield wall. The archers at the back began to fire their shots at the Frankish army that started to shift to account for the new threat.

It was King Widukind that gave the order for the battle to start. The moment when the Frankish line was most disrupted, his force charged forward from their position. They sprinted across the clearing, slamming into the Frankish army and I saw the army of men bend in response. The line didn't just melt like I thought it would. The Saxons didn't carve a line either. They were like two objects slamming into each other and the Franks proved the softer of the two.

The Norse army surged forward, the troops at the front hit the half-formed spear wall to greater effect. I saw men being cut down, if not picked off by Frank archers. The rest of the army arrived a few seconds after, catching the Franks in the rear and they were completely enveloped.

Echoes of shouts and screams reached our ears as we watched the battle from afar. The lines of the battle shifted like sand -- the Franks would push out one way and were pushed back in another. I saw spears break, axes rise and fall. It was absolutely nothing like I thought it would be like. There were no individual battles. Not really. The clear lines of Franks, Norsemen and Saxons were never lost, they just shifted one way when pressed or another when they pressed.

I looked for signs of something that would end the battle early, like opening the gates had at the fortress. A maneuver of some kind that would make the enemy realize that the battle had been lost. It was a lot harder to find than when we were attacking a fortress, especially when I didn't really know what I was looking for. If I was in the battle, would it be enough to break through their line? If I killed their commander, who I saw barking orders once or twice, fighting with his men?

How did one decisively win a battle? The answer wasn't clear, no matter how much I watched.

It also lasted for a lot longer than I thought it would. I watched the battle closely, trying to pick out people like King Widukind, or my Father or brothers, but it was just a sea of people as far as I could tell. I thought that when the Franks saw that they were completely surrounded, they would break -- either surrender or make a push out at a focused point. Instead, I sat on the horse for a solid two hours before the commander of the Frank army tore off his cloak and began to wave it back and forth from atop of a horse, a gesture of surrender.

Horns were blown on the Saxon and Norse sides as the fighting just seemed to slowly stop over the course of a long minute. The Franks began tossing down their weapons, though plenty still kept them at the ready in case the fighting continued. And just like that, the battle was over.

"It's different," I agreed, breaking hours of silence. It was so very different. Battles lasted hours. There was a give and take to it. The solidness of the line was important. As was having several lines because I watched as the Franks shifted out their front line when their men began to tire. Our side didn't do that.

If the Franks hadn't surrendered, then the battle could have gone on for another two hours. If not longer.

King Sigfred nodded, "It is. What would you have done differently?" He asked me, his tone blunt as he looked at me. For a moment, I floundered, not really knowing. An actual pitched battle was so different than what I imagined that I'm not sure if my ideas had any merit. But, after that moment, I found my voice.

"Leave them with a way to escape?" I said, though it came out more as a question. "There's no creature in the world that will fight harder than a cornered rat. But, give it a way to escape, and it will always flee." I said, earning a thoughtful noise from Jarl Horrik.

"Then we would have let them regroup," he pointed out, but not if we pursued. I didn't respond to that -- my experience playing Hnefatafl had done nothing to prepare me for this. I might have a milestone in tactics, yet this battle proved just how little I actually knew. It had completely changed how I looked at actual warfare.

I was thankful for the opportunity.

However, that thankfulness slowly turned into regret when I watched the wounded being dragged away. Because of my Father's size and his hair, I was able to pick him out at last… and it was then that I noticed that he was carrying someone with an expression of despair on his face.

I knew right then that I had just lost another brother.

...

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