The cold, bracing Northern wind swept up out of the water to dance through the small village of Kattegat. Up, up the wind flew, over and through the barren trees all around. Like the icy hand of someone long ago drowned, the wind reached up out of the sea far and wide, its fingers curling around the hills and snow covered mountains that surrounded the town on the other three sides.
The tallest of these mountains had a small plateau near its peak. One could stand on this plateau and look out over the whole village, the surrounding hills and the frozen sea itself. It was a magnificent sight. No wonder a well worn path wound its way from the plateau, down the mountainside to the valley below. Truly this was a seat of the gods. At the very least, it was a fine spot for a ruler to gain some perspective.
Walking stick firmly in hand, King Ragnar Lothbrok emerged onto the plateau, panting and with a slight grimace. He had of late made a weekly journey up here to sit, to think, to watch over his people and to plan for what was to come. This day he leaned just a bit harder on his staff than he had in the past.
"Thinking back only two years I don't recall this mountain being quite so steep. Or so tall. Father Odin, did you cause the mountain to grow taller so that the gods could have a good laugh at my expense? Again?"
The king smirked, glancing up to the sky for a moment, almost as if waiting for a jovial reply. Letting out a sigh, he lowered himself gently onto the large rock. That very same rock he where he sat, cradling the Sword of the King, after his coronation of blood. Gods, that seemed so long ago. Now, as then, he looked out over his lands, his people, his kingdom. With pride. With love. With the desire to see his people continue to grow and prosper, to continue to seek out new lands to explore. And not just for raiding, which is good, but also to find new and fertile lands to settle. To live. To farm. To build a better life for their children. Such dreams are good.
"But not without a heavy price, it seems." With a sneer he turned his eyes west towards the kingdom of Wessex. "No, King Ecbert, no I have not forgotten you. I had a small matter to attend in Paris, but make no mistake. You and I shall see each other again. Soon. Perhaps then I will show you exactly what kind of man I am."
"Vengeance is mine, sayeth the Lord."
"Pah! Your God doesn't want me to have any fun, Athelstan." His grip tightened around his walking staff, that famous devilish grin peeking from under his long Viking beard. "So I suppose that means He thinks that I should not have vengeance for you either, my friend." His grin widened, but twisted, through gritted teeth. "If Floki had only listen to me, then…" With a long, tired sigh, he cut his eyes towards the hills north of Kattegat. Deep in the forest there was a cave, not all that far from where Floki lived with Helga and the baby. "Floki the ship builder. Floki, true believer. Floki, my friend. Floki, the trickster. Floki, murderer."
His fingers had turned white and trembling, so tight did he clutch his staff. At last he relaxed his grip, and allowed the stick to rest against the rock. "Now, Athelstan, he is Floki the punished." Pointing to the northern forest, "There is Floki, alone in that cave there. I have left him chained there, for many days, alone with his thoughts, alone with the gods. I wonder what they say to him now. Do they give their blessings to him? Do they comfort him? Are they ashamed of him that he would betray his friends? Do they place the serpent above him, to venom on his head just like Loki?"
Ragnar shifted in his seat. "Or do they leave him alone and in silence, as I have done? That is what I hope. Abandoned and all alone, in the wilderness." He took the staff in hand again, drawing circles slowly in the mix of snow and dirt. "I know it's not what you would ask, not what you want. But I cannot help it. You are the best man I know, Athelstan. And I am me."
"To everything there is a season, and a time for every purpose under the heaven. A time to be born, and a time to die."
His grief and rage finally boiled to the surface. "But this was not your time to die! I told you that you could not go! But you did it anyway…" The Viking King clutched to his side again as that old, sharp pain returned once more. That fall from the walls of Paris was a gift that kept giving. "See what happens to me when you're not around, old friend." A smile and a quick but painful laugh. "Paris. How I would have loved for you to see it with me." He cocked his bald head to the side. "Perhaps you could ask your God to let you have a few days to yourself, and we can go together. Rollo is there still. Rollo..."
The blue eyes drifted back to the south, out over the sea. Rollo. He had not had word from Rollo since returning home. There had been rumors spoken by travelers, strangers passing through. But that was all they were for now. Rumors. If Father Odin would allow him to borrow the Hugin and Mugin for a short time, he could get to the truth much sooner. Oh well. He would know the truth soon enough. And, if he still had a bit of luck left, Father Odin might at least lend him a bit of his wisdom.
The gray sky soon would be turning black, and the king had a bit of a walk ahead of him before he would make it back to rest, horn of mead in hand, by the warm fires of his hall. With a mixture of a sigh and a grunt he took his staff in hand and stood himself up once more. "Athelstan, I fear that soon I may need your advice more than ever."
"To everything there is a season,.."
The great king shook his head, and laughed once more. "You've already said that, priest. You're beginning to repeat yourself." Walking to the edge of the cliff before beginning his journey home, Ragnar leaned out, looking down to the ground far below. A smirk. "How easy it would be for a king to fall..."