Disclaimer: I own and claim no rights to Touchstone Pictures' "The 13th Warrior." All non-original characters are beings of my own creation, and similarities to other fics are unintended. Enjoy...
Hassan clutched the railing in a death grip, his stomach rolling. The waves continued to pound against the sides of the longboat, a craft that had recently become a vessel of torture for the young man. His only saving of face was that the others in his party were under similar circumstances. Ahmed was weathering the storm well, but even he was feeling the effects of the sea. They had been sailing for many days, and the memory of land was beginning to fade from Hassan's mind. The only memory he seemed to recall now was the deep blue of the water, now inky black and threateningly violent. Waiting several seconds to ensure that his stomach would settle enough, he sank to the floor next to the heap that Talib had become. The poor young boy was huddled in a fetal position and his olive skin tone had paled to a dull gray.
"Are you alright?" Hassan asked quietly. The only response he received was an anguished moan. "I guess not."
"Don't worry boys," Ahmed called over the roar of the winds. "This will soon be over and we will be deep in the Northland."
Hassan nodded slowly, praying for land once again. The young man looked over his shoulder staring in amazement at the four men gathered at the rear of the longboat. Weath, the northman of Ahmed's acquaintance stood at the back, a piece of meat in one hand, and the rudder in the other. The red haired northman's laughter could be heard over the roaring of the wind and rain. Three other northmen stood around him, each telling a tale of their deeds and howling in laughter. Hassan shook his head. It amazed him how nonchalant these men were even in the face of peril. Even though they seemed at home at sea, the storm that raged was dangerous, but they still talked on, almost detached from their fear. Hassan had heard many tales at the docks of North ruthlessness and bloodlust. Yet for all their intimidating strength, the northmen had shown them no hatred or even tried to hurt them.
Even as such thoughts played through Hassan's mind, he watched a black haired northman move in his direction, two bowls in his hands. Curling into a ball, the young man stared back at the northman as he offered a bowl to him. Hassan shook his head quickly, but the northman motioned for him to take the bowl, impatience making his features turn harsh. Grudgingly, Hassan accepted the bowl, then yelped in pain as the bowl seemed to be on fire.
The northman's lips twisted into a small smile. "Hot," he warned, albeit too late.
"Thanks for the warning," Hassan mumbled angrily and put the bowl beside Talib's limp form and cradled his throbbing hands.
Without another word, the northman continued to Ahmed, and handed him the last bowl. Ahmed smiled his thanks, and took the bowl, using the ends of his robe to grasp it. As Edgtho took a seat beside him, Ahmed made quick work of his stew.
They sat in comfortable silence while Ahmed ate, and the Arab was grateful for the man's company. When he had discovered that Edgtho had sailed with Weath to await his return he had been pleased. Edgtho had been one of the men in his previous journey that he had connected with as a true friend. Though the man was quiet and could appear intimidating, Ahmed was comfortable around him.
"Interesting men you travel with," Edgtho commented stoically.
Ahmed glanced over at the two youths and smiled. "Yes, I agree."
"They remind me of when we first met," came the quick reply. "There is hope then."
Ahmed laughed. "Yes, there is."
Silently, Edgtho rose to his feet and nodded to his companion. Ahmed watched as he headed to the front of the longboat and joined several men. Edgtho never said a word, declining to join the conversation, just listened and smiling when he thought something was funny. Ahmed closed his eyes and listened to the roar of the winds and the laughter. It reminded him of a time so long ago, when he had joined a similar band of Northmen. Their faces drifted through his consciousness, faces of friends and several who had long since entered the gates to their Valhalla. An agonized whimper interrupted his thoughts, and he opened his eyes to see Hassan helping Talib lean over the side of the boat. The sound of the youth being sick only made Ahmed think back to sixteen years ago. The young man he was then seemed leagues away from the man he had become.
He shook his head. He would protect those two boys and help them to grow into men. If they were going to survive what was to come, they would have no choice.
Hassan moved to the front of the boat, and shivered. The chill in the air seemed to sink into his very bones but he did his best not to show it. The silence of the men around him gave him pause. Their was a stillness to the air, and every man's eyes were into the thick mist that had covered the water.
"ODIN!"
He jumped, and nearly let out a cry, but Ahmed put a hand out and motioned him to be silent. A flaming arrow flew through the air and was swallowed by the ghostly mist.
"ODIN!"
Talib staggered forward, his eyes squinting into the mist. "My lord?" he asked softly, as a dark form appeared in the haze. "What…?"
"LAND!" a deep voice boomed, causing the two youths to cringe in fear.
Ahmed turned the youths toward the midsection of the boat and bent to rummage through his pack. He removed two long objects from within and handed them to the boys. "Take these, and become familiar with them. They could save your life."
Hassan removed the sword from it's sheath and stared at it in stunned fascination. Talib could only brace it's weight in his hands and clutch it to his breast in shock.
Ahmed motioned to the swords, "Did you really think we came all this way to admire the scenery?"
The two younger men shared a glance. Hassan replaced the sword in it's home and proceeded to hook it to his belt, Talib following suit much slower and with obvious reluctance. Their leader nodded his head in approval.
"Gather our supplies and horses," Ahmed instructed. "Once we get the longboat ashore we must travel inland into the heart of Venden."
Talib scrambled forward and began collecting all their supplies, while Hassan went to gather the horses. When they were all ashore they mounted. Hassan clutched the handle of his sword and waited as Talib struggled to get onto his horse. Weath called for silence as Edgtho appeared from his scouting mission.
"We have been received by Held, herald to the King," he informed them.
"Good. That means that bastard hasn't cast the others out," Weath growled angrily.
"What do you mean?" Ahmed asked as Weath led the band of men inland.
"Wigliff became king ten years ago when King Hrothgar died. The bastard has tried to force those of us who stayed behind to rebuild to leave. He calls himself a true king of northmen."
"King, bah," a warrior named Helvaldr scoffed, disgusted. "He is a thief and a coward."
"King Hrothgar knew that if Wigliff became king he would destroy everything his fathers built, so he tried to place Prince Wolfgar above his older brother," Weath told Ahmed. "He convinced his warriors to champion the boy, but before the oaths could be taken, Prince Wolfgar died from a sudden illness, and King Hrothgar followed him not long after."
"Prince Wigliff," Ahmed murmured. A man he had no desire to reacquaint himself with. "Anything else I need to know?"
Weath stared intently at Ahmed and smiled. "Everything will be made known soon enough Ibn. Everyone's fate is fixed, even yours."
"How comforting," Ahmed murmured.
A/N: I feel like this chapter could have been better, but the chapter that I began was lost when my computer decided to delete things because it was crashing… So this is the chapter as best as I could remake it, and I had to cut it short. I plan to have the next chapter up soon. Tell me what you think, and I will hopefully have the next chapter up next week.
