Disclaimer: I don't own Zero no Tsukaima or the Norse pantheon.
Prologue: Skeggjoldr's Day
Skeggjoldr was one of the best warriors in his king's land. No one could match him in open combat when he was wielding shield or sword. He was greatly commended by the king of Denmark and received much gold and land in the last military campaign, where he led a counter-assault against those Christian warriors from the south. He was tall, with a toned body, and loved nothing more than fighting and serving his people. At the age of 27, he had already acquired a beautiful wife and was expecting a child in the next harvest. In the morning every day, he would train his body and made sure he was in top fighting condition in case of an invasion. While his wife disapproved and believed the Christian invasions were over, Skeggjoldr was an experienced fighter and left nothing to chance. Outside of battle, they tended to the farmstead they owned and Skeggjoldr would go to the nearby village to drink and trade when the day was calm.
In the wee hours of dawn one day, a man in full leather armor rode up to his farmstead. Looking quite out of breath, the man, who was a messenger, told Skeggjoldr the king sought him at the court within the week, and that war was imminent. Skeggjoldr was unfazed, being used to the horrors and effects of war through the 6 campaigns he fought since he was old enough to hold a sword. His wife, however, was less than pleased.
"You mustn't go!" she cried. "The king will be able to find another man to lead the army. We barely just settled down here and we will have children! How would you like your son to be born without a father?"
Skeggjoldr grunted and looked away with no expression on his face. He thought for a while and solemnly replied "He will have to learn the hardships of life, for life is measured by how you cope with hardship."
His wife stared at him, almost crying but told herself that that was the way of the warrior, and that he cannot tarnish his fighting honor from avoiding the battle. If he escaped this one, she thought, there would be more for the Christians were stubborn and kept invading. She sat, on the tree stump outside, weeping and hoped for the best.
Skeggjoldr, meanwhile, had stood up and walked over to his shed, where he kept his weaponry. His sword was made from the finest steel from the blacksmith's, and his shield was made by himself, and has stood the test of countless battles. He grabbed his sword and went to his anvil to carve the runes of victory on the blade, as that was what protects his life while fighting. The gods taught man how to live life and gave them such a prosperous land, and the people would listen to the gods' instructions. Skeggjoldr spent day and night working in his shed, meticulously carving rune after rune, each with the utmost precision and skill. Skeggjoldr appealed to the mighty Aesir Thor for luck and victory in battle, and headed back in his house. He needed to rest before the journey to the court tomorrow.
When Skeggjoldr walked in his bedroom, his wife was still awake and silently sobbing in bed. He sat down and tried to comfort her. "I have fought many battles. I have won all of them. Why will this one be any different?" he asked. His wife sniffled but calmed down a bit. The next morning, Skeggjoldr was gone.
Skeggjoldr rode off to the court the next morning on his trusty black steed Sleipnir, named after the eight-legged horse of Odin. He bred the horse himself, and raised it since his childhood. Sleipnir was not only fast, he was a stunning horse that all the villagers admired. The clinking of his sword and shield continued at a steady pace as he raced to the court of King Harald. The 30 kilometer journey was long and would have tired out an ordinary person, but Skeggjoldr rode on from dawn until evening, when he arrived at the court of King Harald. Entering the wooden gathering hall that served as a palace, all the warriors stopped eating and became silent. The man who had led their people to victory countless times was walking through, and was greatly honored and respected amongst the people. Skeggjoldr walked up to the king in a very formal manner and bowed deeply.
"What does my lord need of me now?" asked Skeggjoldr. "Have the people from the south come again?"
King Harald nodded solemnly. "Yes. They have returned, and have brought ten times the men last time. We must meet their offensive near the southern river within a week to halt their advances."
Skeggjoldr thought for a bit and looked around him. "Last time…" he began. "Last time, we had only six hundred fighters. We were overwhelmed but the flooding and weather held them back. Now we have even less and they come back with ten times more!?" Skeggjoldr seethed as he imagined the impossible situation. The other warriors in the room thought too, as they had never thought of the numbers before. Did this mean the end of their lifestyle? Their people? Their traditions and history would all be but lost to the world if the invaders could not be held back. History has shown the efficacy in their northern Germanic friends: the Christians invaded their land and converted them all by force, under threat of death.
King Harald had a saddened look on his face and after ten long minutes of silence, spoke again. "This is the only thing we can do. We either sit complacent and lose everything we hold dear or we fight and perish with honor. We shall hold a feast to the gods for luck and victory!"
The bleak speech and outlook still managed to liven up the warriors, who cheered the king. Skeggjoldr joined the celebration as well, but deep inside, he was distraught over the news. He could not let it show though; he was a strong leader who cannot show weakness. And so the next three days were grand feasts and offerings to the gods.
The day had come, and the Christian army marched forward, destined to capture and conquer the Scandinavian lands. The measly band of hundreds was set to meet the large Frankish army at the plains near the court. The one thing that King Harald and Skeggjoldr could hope for was a divine intervention, and otherwise, both armies knew the Vikings did not stand a chance, even if they were more battle-hardened. Skeggjoldr stared at the enemy commander, waiting for the other to make the first move. Without a warning, Skeggjoldr raised his sword into the air and let out his greatest battle cry. The six hundred Vikings charged forward, swords, spears, and shields in hand to meet the Franks. It would be one of the bloodiest invasions the Franks had ever attempted, it both sides would feel the total brunt of full out war.
Skeggjoldr rushed in the enemy lines, slashing and stabbing, blocking and parrying. In the first minute alone, he thought he must have felled a score of enemies at the least. The repetitive motions, slash, dodge, block, strike dragged on throughout the day. The Vikings were tiring, but it seemed as if an endless swarm of Frankish troops kept marching over the horizon to reinforce the enemy. The rhythm of combat slowed for Skeggjoldr and there were more and more near misses from enemy swords. The battle had dragged on from dawn to dusk, with no end in sight. A spear thrust from the side pierced Skeggjoldr's side and exhausted and injured, he collapsed on the ground. With the finishing blow coming from above, Skeggjoldr gripped his weapons tightly, powerless, and saw his eternal fate at Valhalla await him. The steel sword of the Frankish soldier swung down aiming to sever Skeggjoldr's head from body.
And all of a sudden, almost like the divine intervention they were hoping for, a gigantic explosion engulfed the field, rendering much of the troops unconscious. A concussive force a strong as Thor's hammer swept through the plains of Denmark, reaching miles away to the neighboring villagers, who felt a low rumble. Fear of divine wrath drove the remains of the Frankish army back, not to invade for another decade. The two hundred Vikings that still stood rejoiced at their impossible victory, but Skeggjoldr was no longer there.
Author's Note: Hello everyone. This is my first attempt at writing fiction of any kind. I will try to keep the chapters of medium length and try to update frequently. Anyways, while reading the LNs (which I am using for source), I noted that names were drawn from only two places: Norse mythology and Louis XIV's France, and I thought, why not put a proud Viking warrior as the familiar of Louise. I might subconsciously draw ideas from the other fics I read before, and feel free to point it out to me if there's anything glaringly obvious. I'm not sure how this will turn out, and I'm writing this pretty much on a whim, but hey, review and favorite if you like it.