They stood looking out at the sea. The ships in the distance grew smaller and smaller until they were swallowed by the horizon. In eighty years, Iceland had changed a lot. One lone man had been given a heavy decision, and from his choice all of Iceland was now Christian by law. The population increased and the low buildings of Reykjavik now sprawled for several miles in every direction away from the sea. From a distance, Hvitserk kept an eye on the descendants of his brother as they grew and went about their way in the world. He was now seeing the births of great-great-nephews and -nieces, which numbered in the twenties. The looks of Ragnar became diffused until it was barely recognizable, save the shocking blue eyes which inevitably seemed to appear in someone each generation. Today specifically Hvitserk and Danika stood in a crowd of many watching the ships of Leif Erikson sail away.
"The son of Erik the Red, discoverer of Greenland, off on his own adventure," Hvitserk contemplated, arms crossed against the strong winds.
"Leif will discover a whole new continent. Near the lands where I was born. Erik and Leif's fame will rival your father's."
"Well, only history will tell if that's true," Hvitserk pulled himself up taller, "But is that really where you were born? That is the far away place?"
"Close enough."
"What is that place like? The people?"
"You will see one day."
"Why don't you tell me?"
"It still makes me too sad."
"Yes, well I too grow sad. I have grown tired of sitting here in our small paradise, watching the children of my family. The goodbyes are long in the past. I think it is time to leave again."
"If it is what you want, we will leave," she affirmed, her gaze still locked on the horizon, though the ships were long gone from the sights of the people on shore, which were now beginning to disperse back into the toil of daily life.
"Is it not what you want?" he questioned.
"I think us leaving was supposed to be your decision this time. Not mine. I am always ready to leave. I have very little to lose."
"You have your friends, our neighbors."
"These things will come and go even if I stay. It just means I'll have to watch. The only thing I could really lose is you. But you have your family." She wound her arm through his as they began to walk back to their home.
"And my family has grown large and no longer remembers me. A long time ago you told me that home was where people were waiting for you. They wait for me no longer. My eyes are turned to the horizon once again, and I want adventure again."
AND SO THE FIRST AGE OF HVITSERK AND DANIKA CAME TO AN END. ONE HUNDRED AND THIRTY YEARS, MORE THAN THAT OF ANY HUMAN ON EARTH AND STILL BARELY HAVE THEY BEGUN THE JOURNEY THAT THEY MUST MAKE. WHAT LIES BEFORE THEM IS MEETINGS WITH SOME OF THE MOST INFLUENTIAL AND POWERFUL LEADERS, ENCOUNTERS WITH FIGURES OF LEGEND AND LORE, AND PARTICIPATION (DESPITE DANIKA'S STEADFAST DESIRE TO ONLY WATCH) IN CONFLICTS WHICH WOULD SHAPE THE MODERN WORLD. THE TIME OF GOODBYES IS OVER FOR THEM AND NOW THEY ENTER A TIME OF MORAL AMBIGUITY. AFTER ALL THEY ARE IMMORTAL AND THEY MUST DECIDE WHAT ROLE THEY WILL PLAY IN THE CENTURIES TO COME. BECAUSE OF COURSE IT WAS NEVER GOING TO BE SO SIMPLE AS WATCHING.
SONG! The End of an Era: Voluspa Skaldic Version by Wardruna
Sherwood in Nottingham, England 1191 AD
In the green shadows of the many knotted trees, Danika sat nestled in the branches overlooking a road. Like in the days long gone her dark hair was tied back and hidden under a hood. On the ground across the road, she could not see Hvitserk though she was certain his great stature was hidden behind the trunk of the oak in her line of sight. She heard a rustling below and to her left and she waved a hand at the young man in the red shirt, telling him to cut the noise or they'd be found out. He looked sheepishly back and tried to silence his nervous fidgeting. Her imperious gaze got him to stay still eventually. Her ears strained until she heard the sound she wanted: the creak and rumble of a caravan coming down the road. She let out a high whistle and waited to hear the whistle of the men on the other side in return. It came. They were ready.
The carriage contained the tax collector who had just come from making his rounds. Richard the Lionheart was a great warrior, and his cruelty and ruthlessness made him successful on the battlefield. As a king, Danika found him indifferent, which was only reinforced by the fact that he was not here. He was off fighting the 3rd Crusade, which Danika had many opinions about. She'd chewed Hvitserk's ear off many a time about it. In the meantime, Prince John was not doing much a better job. England was a political mess and the people were suffering greatly for it.
The carriage rolled into view and putting her fingers into her mouth, Danika let out a shrill whistle which sent the birds out of the trees. Like clockwork, men dressed in green and brown emerged from the woods, 12 of them in total. Hvitserk, taller than all the rest by far and with his customary sword and axe stormed in front of the horses and brought down his axe on the fixings which held the horses to the carriage. Having thrown himself into the middle of things with alarming speed, guards now swarmed him but the men behind were not going to leave him to fend for himself, though the battle would be more fun for me if they did, thought Hvitserk.
Danika jumped down from her tree, landing on the roof of the carriage. As it was made of mere fabric draped over a round frame, she really brought the roof down with her. Landing in the carriage she identified the squirming arms and legs under the fabric as the unfortunate tax collector. Taking out her knife she freed him and also freed him of the sack of tax money in his lap.
"That money is for the king in the Crusades!" the tax collector protested trying to wrest it free of her hands. This was not the first time his collection had been...interrupted...and those above him were breathing down his neck.
Hvitserk leaned in from the side and took the bag from Danika. Tossing it to Will Scarlet behind him, Hvitserk laughed enjoying the sport of the whole affair, "The King will win the Crusade with or without this money, have you no faith? But without this money, the people will surely starve."
"But-"
"Oh John," Danika crowed, "don't be so unkind. This poor man has men to report to who are surely meaner than he." The poor tax collector's spirits lifted, though in vain.
"And?" Hvitserk goaded her on.
"Aaaaand they really shouldn't blame him. After all he was outnumbered-" she continued.
"Terribly outnumbered-" Hvitserk repeated.
"And there was nothing he could have done-"
"Nothing at all, but Robin," Hvitserk stroked his chin, "they will hardly believe it was so easy."
Danika smiled and the tax collector's hopes went out the window, or out of the carriage. "You're right. We should help him make this believable so they don't blame him." She then delivered a sound right cross to the tax collector's jaw. She was sure it would bruise nicely. Leaving the unconscious tax collector in the carriage, she jumped out and joined the rest of the men in handling the guards.
Soldiers had gotten a lot more metallic in recent decades. The age of the full metal armor was in full swing and it made fighting them an interesting challenge. Thankfully these men just had mail and metal helmets and not the full get up. She thought they looked very funny. Taking the butt of her knife she swung and collided it with the side of the head of the nearest guard. This resulted in a very satisfying ringing noise and in the guard's moment of distraction, Danika drew her bow and launched an arrow into his chest. It was just a fowling blunt, but at this distance it would hurt like a punch from a freight train. The man doubled over and fell and turning around she immediately dodged to the side as a lance from another guard just barely missed her side. She raced into him rendering the long weapon useless and delivered a knuckle hit to his throat under his helmet. Then she flipped him backwards where Much, the son of a local miller, was waiting with a wooden club. Hvitserk had his hands full quite literally, with one assailant for each hand. Both had swords and the one on the left jumped first. Using his axe Hvitserk diverted him right so the man on his right had to move around his friend. With his sword hand, Hvitserk stabbed forward to pierce the knee of the first. With his axe hand he hooked the leg of the second and delivered a hard blow to the back with the head of the axe. The other men were neatly handling all the remaining guards and some were even beginning to traipse back into the trees with their haul.
When he reached the estate of the Sheriff of Nottingham, the tax collector would swear up and down that he was set upon by a band of thirty men or more. Among them was a giant wielding an axe as long as a quarterstaff and and their leader had descended upon him from above. The collector gestured to the swelling purple welt on his cheek repeatedly. The Sheriff, a dark and brooding man by the name of William de Wendenal had heard three accounts in the past two months of similar theatrics in the woods. Each more dramatic than the last. This Robin Hood was becoming an increasing nuisance, to his daily life if not to his income. Something would have to be done.
The tax collector refrained from mentioning the curiously feminine looks of the man, the legend, himself. Who would believe him? To be robbed was shame enough. But to be robbed by a woman? Unimaginable.
"And then I told him that everyone knew his bread was made of sawdust, for when he had cut open to sell it, it turned into powder in the wind and blew into the eyes of the girl in question! The man turned redder than Will's shirt and tried to deny it even though everyone had seen!"
The gathering of people around the fire erupted into laughter as Much finished his story. He had challenged another man to bake a loaf of bread better than his to win the heart of a village maid. Clearly, Much had won.
"I bet she was running into your arms after that, tears of joy streaming down her face," Alan of Dale ran over and threw his arms around the shoulders of stout Much, making what was supposed to be a joyfully tearful face.
"Or maybe she was crying from the sawdust in her eye!" Arthur of Blande responded, hitting Alan's back as he passed settling down in his place near the fire.
"Or maybe Much is lying." Hvitserk joined in the camaraderie, knowing Much's storytelling prowess.
"You dare impugn my honor, most little of Johns?!" Much rose with a wide smile, opening his arms wide in challenge, tossing Hvitserk a heavy wooden staff.
"Like you could beat me. I beat even our fair Robin with staves like these."
Danika raised her voice in exaggerated offense, "It was one time! And you only remember because I fell in the river."
"Still counts, love," Hvitserk winked, "and no one is denying that you are the best archer among us."
Alan jumped in, "only because she doesn't want to do any of the dirty work up close!"
Danika threw a pebble his way and he put up his hands in defense. "Okay Alan, if you wanna jump out of a tree into the carriage next time, let me know."
"You may be tall John, but I am like a boulder of the earth, immovable," Much swung the staff and all the men cleared space for the fight of the evening.
"We will see," Hvitserk said, taking his place across from Much the makeshift circle of people.
Danika stood between them, bow in hand. "Alright boys, you know the rules, by all means play dirty but if your opponent can't move tomorrow then you get to do his work until he recovers."
"Worried I'll damage your favorite's pretty face?" Much said, looking at Danika.
"It's not his face I'd worry myself with. There are other parts of him I like better," she pinched Much's cheek and then aimed for the sky and loosed the arrow straight up. The two men waited and with a soft whistling sound, the arrow returned to the ground between them and they launched themselves at each other.
"If England is supposed to be such a great nation, then why are all of the people starving? Even the poorest people in Scandinavia, the thralls even, ate better than this." Hvitserk remarked about the peasantry he saw as they moved south from Scotland into England. It was depressing. People lived on nothing. They were not clean, they were not fed, they were just there like walking skeletons. Danika mentally reviewed her history.
"European kings are rather occupied trying to win land far to the south in Israel."
"Not good kings apparently."
"There are very few good kings in history," Danika said. She agreed it was sad to see. It pulled at her heart, and writing about it only made the feeling worse as she felt complicit.
"Does no one do anything?"
"There was a legend about a man named Robin Hood who stole money from the rich to give to the poor."
"He sounds like a Viking."
"Vikings hate stealing."
"From other Vikings yes, but my father managed to steal an entire Earldom from his predecessor, so the rule can be bent. Why don't we go find this Robin Hood? He sounds fun."
"We can try. No has ever proven he was a real person, though."
"No one ever proved my father was a real person either, and yet without him you would be a lonely unmarried woman." With this statement spun her in close to his side where she squirmed to escape, though she did not start hitting so she was not trying to escape particularly hard.
"Fair point."
So search they did. All over Nottinghamshire and through the Sherwood forest. It wasn't until Hvitserk was apprehended for hunting for dinner in Sherwood that Danika decided that searching was not getting them anywhere. She shot the woodsman in the leg and hit him over the head with her axe. She pulled Hvitserk to his feet.
"You make a lovely Robin Hood. Perhaps that is why no one ever proved if Robin Hood was real."
"Don't get any ideas."
"Oh would it be that bad? All the stories you told me make Robin out to be a figure across centuries, with many stories told about him. Who else could he be but you?"
"And what about you?" she probed, narrowing her eyes as she considered what he was insinuating.
"Well," Hvitserk twirled his sword before lining it up on his head so he looked like a unicorn, "Robin was always accompanied by the tall and strong man named Little John."
"If you are so keen on being a hero, why don't you be Robin?" she inquired, poking his chest pushing him so he swayed back. He swayed back forward and leaned down the few inches to be her height.
"Because you örlög mín, are too short and too skinny to be Little John."
Much was much shorter than Hvitserk, but he was indeed built like stone and Hvitserk did not easily push him around. It became clear that he would be beaten in a test of sheer strength. He pushed Hvitserk right up the edge of the ring and people moved should he fall backwards. However, Hvitserk turned at the last second and delivered a whack to Much's rear. The staves clashed and at times Danika was expecting at least one or both staves to break. Arms crossed, she watched the spectacle with the rest of them, as the two kicked up dirt and leaves as they fought for the bragging rights. Danika saw that the battle was decided once Hvitserk moved to the edge of his own accord and resorted to teasing.
"So much for a boulder of the earth. Much the river stone is more like it."
"Save the lip for your woman."
"What? You don't want to come and kiss me?" Hvitserk puckered his lips mockingly.
At that, Much smiled wickedly, put his shoulder down and charged, staff openly prepared for a stabbing motion. "Kiss this." What was once the immovable object became the unstoppable object and all Hvitserk needed to do was step out of the way. For good measure he knelt down and put his staff right in the path of Much's ankles. Sprawled on the ground outside the ring, the assembled spectators raised a roar. They pulled Much to his feet and he and Hvitserk clasped arms at a well fought match.
"Next time I'll have you."
"Next time is not here yet." Hvitserk jested before pulling in Much for a brief hug.
"Now back to business, we need to redistribute today's fund to where they came from. Who has the list of villages from this fortnight's taxing?" Danika said settling back down by the fire.
As usual, if I put a historical name in there, I tried my best to do right by it. I was gonna call the sad people husks like from corn, but corn was not introduced to Europe until Christopher Columbus, so that was a no go. The one lone dude who decided Iceland should be Christian was Thorgeil Thorkelson. That was one decision I do not envy him, but private pagan worship was still permitted so I'm assuming that curbed any animosity towards Thorgeil.
Vikings were considered to be very tall compared to the people they raided, BUT everyone was shorter back then so a tall Viking may have really only been 5'9" or 175 cm, which today is positively average. However Marco Ilsø is 6 feet tall or 183 cm, so we will just ignore that and pretend that Vikings were tall even by today's standards. Likewise Danika is 5'7" or 172 cm which would make her remarkably tall for a woman of the era, so to avoid making her an Amazon we will just ignore how humans have gotten taller over time.
What did you all think of newest adventure for those two? I wasn't going to bore you with farming forever.
Also as usual, please comment your thoughts and questions in the reviews. I do love to read them.