Fifteen Years Later


There were Frankish coming to visit. Scouts had found them hiking up the coast and they claimed they came on a peaceful mission. So now they were being brought to Kattegat. I knew they were more than likely coming to spread Christianity; we got a new group trying every year or two.

The world was getting smaller it seemed. Just last summer Ivar and Ubbe had spent four whole months sailing down rivers through mainland Europe. They think they made it past the land of the Romans, heading more towards the eastern chunk of the old Roman Empire. They only started heading back because they realized they wouldn't get home in time for winter if they stayed.

The second their longship was docked, Bjomolf had launched himself off the ship and pulled me into a bone crushing embrace, already beginning to tell me about everything he saw and did.

My eldest son was sitting at the tables now, telling some tale to a cluster of other young men and women. Bjomolf was fifteen years old, sixteen this winter. He was already as tall as Ivar standing straight up, and had a future of being a very good Viking. Ivar had been bringing him along on raids since the moment Bjomolf turned eleven. He had started off with small jobs, and then kept graduating to actually fighting.

Ubbe himself had taken on the job of training the young boys in the family how to fight. Bjomolf, Ragnvald, and Thorgest spent so many days sparring and trying hard to be "the best Viking there ever was." The three of them said that so many times it felt ingrained into my brain.

The Great Hall at the moment was crowded with people. Word about the Frankish had gotten out and everyone wanted to catch a glimpse of them. Close to where Bjomolf, Thorgest, and Ragnvald were holding their own court with the other children their own age, sat Ragnvald's younger sisters, Jorunn and Revna. The two girls were very close in age, with barely a single year separating them. All three of Margrethe's children had ended up with her pale blond hair, but only Ragnvald had inherited Ragnar Lothbrok's eyes.

From across the room, Thora sat with Berglijot and Thora's two year old daughter, Iona, sat on her lap and chewed on the thick wooden necklace around her neck. Thora and Hvitserk had only gotten married four years ago, after having two more children together and after Hvitserk adopted Thorgest as his own. Hali and Asa, the elder daughters, were nearby and braiding tiny wildflowers into the dark hair of my own daughter.

Thyri Ivarsdottir had been born just a few months after Margrethe had borne Jorunn. From the moment Thyri had been born, I had known that the gods had taken an interest in her. When she was a tiny baby, I had caught the spirit of Aslaug bending over Thyri's crib, and Thyri had been reacting to her dead grandmother.

But now, Thyri was fourteen and helping braid flowers into Asa's hair, trying to keep the hyperactive seven year old still.

I did a mental headcount from this old throne of mine. Ubbe and Margrethe's three children were all in the same corner. Hvitserk and Thora's joint family were spread out but the four children were all within sight. Ubbe, Hvitserk, and Ivar themselves were outside Kattegat to meet the Frankish, and Thora and Margrethe were here in the hall staying far away from each other.

As for my own children, Bjomolf was with his friends, Thyri was sitting with Hali and Asa. There was a sudden jolt as I realized that Iorek wasn't anywhere in the hall.

"Thyri," I called out. My daughter faced me with big black eyes, eyes just like mine. "Do you know where Iorek is?"

Thyri blinked. "Father mentioned taking him out with Ubbe and Hvitserk."

I imagined that Iorek wasn't really enjoying that. Ivar tried, Odin knew that Ivar tried. But Ivar was also easily frustrated and impatient. And Iorek had both of these traits and magnified. Hopefully the presence of both Ubbe and Hvitserk were able to keep both my husband and youngest son calm in front of these Frankish.

The doors suddenly opened with a bang and people both scrambled back and tried to get a good look at those entering. I remained sitting as Ivar limped forward towards the thrones. Beside him, walking faster to go in front of his father, Iorek hurried forward with a glance at Ivar. They both looked at each other before Ivar paused long enough to let Iorek go first.

If Bjomolf and Thyri looked like me, Iorek looked hauntingly like Ivar. He had the same shape of face and the same ice blue eyes. He had just turned eleven, and was at the age where he could start going on raids with his father and brother. But Ivar and I had absolutely no idea how he'd be able to do it.

But for now I smiled brightly down at Iorek and he flashed a toothy grin at me. Thyri stood up and waved a hand to the side of the thrones, getting her younger brother's attention. "C'mon, Iorek." Thyri said. "We can stand here together."

Iorek nodded at her and took the spot beside his sister. Hvitserk's two daughters instantly welcomed him into the group and Asa went as far as to hand him the leftover flowers.

Ivar finally climbed the steps to the throne and he came to me first. He grabbed my hand and quickly kissed my knuckles before dropping it and moving to his throne. Below the thrones, Ubbe and Hvitserk left the Frankish men. Hvitserk went immediately to where Thora was sitting with Iona and he kissed the top of both of their heads. Ubbe glanced around and, upon not finding Margrethe, ended up sitting with his sons, daughters, and Bjomolf.

There were five Frankish men looking around themselves. Their clothes were warm looking and rather nice seeming. They had to be high born. I frowned at the coat of arms sewn into their velvet doublets and recognized the noble house of Laurent. They were pretty low on the branch of Frankish nobility, I remembered. Odds are a younger son took up religion and wanted to spread the good word, I thought dryly.

The younger of the five men stepped forward and I mentally patted myself on the back for guessing correctly. "Greetings!" He called in a very rough Northern tongue. I bit the inside of my cheek and stole a glance at Ivar; he was barely holding his laughter back.

"I am Galleren of House Laurent." He announced, his voice breaking as he realized that some people in the crowd were laughing at his pronunciation of every word. "We have...we have…" He looked genuinely nervous and he was losing it.

I straightened and cleared my throat. It had been ages since I'd spoken Frankish, but this young man was floundering. "It's nice to meet you, Galleren of House Laurent. Forgive my Frankish; it's been some time since I've spoken it."

There was always a reaction whenever I spoke a different language. The crowd hushed with interest, for the so called witch of Kattegat was speaking tongues with foreigners. Meanwhile the Frankish men looked shocked, one of the ones in the back openly gaped at me.

Galleren looked to be barely older than Bjomolf, and right now he looked at me with wide eyes and he looked instantly relieved. "Your Frankish is still very good," He said, switching to Frankish. "Your Grace." He added quickly. "We visited East Anglia before coming here. King Athelstan and Queen Blaeja said you might be able to speak with us. Queen Blaeja also gave us a letter for you." He turned and nodded at one of his companions and the man pulled a thick folded parchment out of his bag.

"That would be lovely to look at." I said, quickly switching to Northern. I looked at Ivar. "They've already seen Sigurd and Blaeja. Apparently they wrote us a letter." Ivar directed someone to take the letter from the Frankish and I turned back to the young Galleren. "So why have you come to our lonely spot of the world, all the way up north?"

Galleren smiled brightly at me again. "We know about your paganism, your Grace. And trust me, we're not here to try and convert your people."

I frowned at that. "That's the first time a visitor hasn't tried that. A wise decision on your part. My people don't take too kindly to those trying to spread Christianity. Then why are you here?"

He cleared his throat, and I got the feeling that he had rehearsed this coming speech for a while. "For years, the people of the north have been a mystery to people like myself. I am a writer, your Grace. And I would like the privilege to see how you Northerners live, to write and shed light to the more sheltered part of my people."

I blinked and quickly translated everything to Ivar. My husband was frowning hard, like he didn't fully understand the idea of writing about how we lived here in Kattegat. I looked back to Galleren. "Why are you so interested in how we live? Surely there can't be that much of a demand for what we're really like?"

Galleren cleared his throat. "My father was young when the Viking known as Ragnar Lothbrok attacked Paris. My father tells the story quite often; I've grown up with stories of Vikings ringing in my ears. There are two sides to every story, your Grace. I am simply interested in the other side of the story."

I gave Ivar a look before straightening. "If you want to write about us Northmen, then you may. I'll have someone set up suitable quarters for you and your men. Is this all?" I nodded to the other four men.

"We have two more outside who we thought best to leave out there." Galleren explained. He bowed deeply. "You are most generous, your Grace. Whatever you provide, we will be very thankful."

When the Frankish men were led away to their quarters, Ivar leaned towards me and muttered. "I will have White Hair keep an eye on them. To make sure they're here for the reasons they say."

I glanced to where White Hair was sitting. The warrior was getting closer to his time in Valhalla. Standing up for too long caused him back pain and made his feet ache. His beard was snowy white and his hair was thinning on top, but he kept everything in braids and clean, and even in his elderly stage, he was still an imposing figure.

Now that the Frankish were gone, there were still some more matters to be done. Some men were arguing about their flocks of sheep being mixing together and now they couldn't tell which sheep belonged to who. One woman was begging for a divorce from her husband. When it was all over, people began to file out of the Great Hall and Ivar stood up from the throne, stretching as much as his legs would allow him to.

"I will go check on our Frankish guests." Ivar announced. He looked over to where Iorek was sitting. Iorek wasn't looking; he was looking at Thyri as his older sister talked with her hands. Ivar didn't bother trying to catch his son's eye and looked to me. "I'll bring Bjomolf and a few others. He needs to talk to people from far away. I will find you after." I got up and kissed him lightly on the jaw before he went down the steps and started recruiting a few people to go and check on Galleren and the rest.

I barely had a minute to myself before a woman crept up to me, a worried expression on her face. "Queen Runa, I hate to, but I must ask for your help."

"Of course, what do you need?" I asked.

She tucked a strand of blond hair behind her ear. "Well, my husband went off on a raid of the Saxon lands, early this summer. But there's been no word of his return. Is he-is he safe?"

She handed me a small figurine made of iron, and I gripped the token tightly in my fist as I closed my eyes. The feel of the figurine was rough and sharp from edges that were made maybe too hastily. As the iron bit into my flesh, I felt warmth from the sun and opened my eyes to see a field in what could've been the Saxon lands or some vacant part of Norway. The man perched at my feet must be the man this woman was looking for. He was sitting, nursing a broken arm. I glanced around the raiding party and saw less than a normal raiding party. They must have been hit extremely hard and had taken a big loss. I blinked hard again and opened my eyes to see the woman looking at me desperately.

"His raiding party has taken a hard hit," I explained. "But he's alive, and it looked like they were working on building another longship to come home."

The woman looked very worried but she nodded and clutched the iron figurine to her heart. "Thank you, Queen Runa." And she crept away, looking scared for her husband but hopeful that he'd come back soon. I walked away from the thrones before more people came to ask questions and I dipped behind the thrones to the more private family's quarters.

I wasn't alone back here. Iorek must've snuck away during the arrangements and I didn't blame him. It was a long process, those arrangements. Iorek was sharpening a knife; I recognized the dagger Hvitserk had gifted him for his tenth birthday.

"Are you alright, Iorek?" I asked without thinking. Iorek didn't respond and I stepped closer.

Iorek must've sensed the movement because he glanced around and he made eye contact with me. I smiled softly at my youngest, and realization dawned on his face that I had been talking. Iorek's ice blue eyes heated up with fire and he kicked at the floor beneath his feet.

In a very rough voice, wobbling from lack of use, Iorek angrily grumbled. "I hate being deaf."