A/N: After re-reading previous chapters, I'm considering taking in a beta reader to help me out. Correct some grammar and fix parts where I forgotten to add words, discuss future ideas, etc. If anyone's interested send me a PM. Also, for those interested, I'm still accepting OCs.
The swaying of the floor and the dampened sounds of crashing waves soon brought him into self awareness. Aron clutched his head as he stood up, taking in his surroundings. Trapped, Aron had only seen the thick iron bars of prisons back in the Eye of Odin. There they were used to keep captured dragons in check until they could be used to teach younger Vikings. In this strange, shaking place, they kept him locked up.
"Looks who's finally awake," A raspy voice caught Aron's attention. Indeed, it looked like the bars not only covered the entrance, including an area with hinges signaling a locked door, but the wall to his side was covered by another set of bars. Behind them, an old man with scornful light gray eyes glared at him. Several other young men and women were stuck in the same cage and to Aron's surprise, more bars separated them from others and others and others. All shared pale complexions, strong builds and eyes with varying shades of grey. Aron soon recognized them, gray eyes and thick blonde hair, southerners. Enslaved southerners which meant...
"We're in Loki's Pride aren't we?" Aron asked, his mind raced. Why? Surely Beowulf knew kidnapping a chieftain's son meant war. At least, that's how it worked with most chieftains, his father... Aron shook his head, he admired the man, but he also knew exactly what he would tell him in such situation. You got kidnapped, now fight your way out and show the world how strong you are. Rolling his eyes as he settled on the corner near the bars, Aron could even hear his father saying it.
"God's Will, your kind has no right renaming a crusader vessel," The old man grumbled. However, many of the other slaves looked down, away, anywhere but at Aron or the old man. Aron had seen the look in their eyes before. The look of a maimed wolf surrounded by hunting dogs, the tired eyes of an outmatched wild dragon. The same look that flashed in the eyes of the moldruffle before a grapple grounder and a house crashed down upon him. The look of utter and absolute defeat, of someone who had given up. Each slave had their thumbs and wrists locked together by thin iron shackles.
"I thought it was called a galleon," Aron questioned. The old man laughed, for the first time a spark of amusement lit up in his nearly white eyes. His frail form moved as he got closer to the bars, the other slaves shuffled to get some distance.
"Yes, this type of ship is known as a galleon, far greater than anything your barbaric kind could ever build. However, this vessel doesn't belong to a wealthy merchant or even our damned King, no, it's property of the crusaders, the greatest heroes of Dumwram!" The old man rambled on, Aron raised a brow in the universal language of having no idea about what the man was talking about. Seeing his confusion, scorn returned to the old man's eyes.
"Does your kind really knows not of my homeland's name? Humph, all the better once the crusaders mobilize and..." The old man began but was stopped by another slave with stormy gray eyes. While the rags the slaves wore tended to diminish them, they seemed to have no effect on the young man. Even his eyes, while defeated, kept a fierce look. They didn't share words, but the old man calmed down and became silent.
"Anyways, I'm not with these guys, I'm a Sea Reaper, we don't raid, at least not in the last few decades," Aron offered. Right now those slaves were the closest thing he had to allies. However, the old man shared the same raised brow Aron had moments ago. If he didn't need their allegiance so badly, he would likely have smirked. Ignorance ran deep in both sides it seemed. Before they could continue, the young man with bloodshot eyes from before entered the corridor. Aron frowned and stood up, those sunken eyes were looking directly at him.
"So you're finally awake, good, last thing we needed was a comatose hostage," The lanky figure took out a set of keys before opening the lock. Aron tensed, his sword and harpoon were nowhere to be seen. What about his friends? Amidst all the southerners, he couldn't see Kelda's crooked nose, nor the frail figure of Erron. What he'd give to see that mixture of fat and muscles known as Ham. Yet it looked like he was only captive who was native to Blitz.
"Come on, chief said not to shackle you but if you want to go catatonic I will drag you," The lanky teen spoke with confidence, the two weapons on his belt could tear an unarmed foe apart easily. They were too short to be swords, but too long to be daggers, somewhere between them. Odd, Bearhides usually preferred the biggest and best made weapons, like Beowulf's broadsword. Yet in comparison to the ancient sword, the daggers looked... Simple. Seeing his captor's growing impatience, Aron stepped out of the cell. The old man lost interest, yet his eyes continued to burn with scorn, the other teen... Was he napping? Confidence like that was rare.
"Come on oh mighty chieftain to be," The lanky Bearhide pushed him, beckoning him to walk in front of him. Aron took note of the familiar weight in his boot. Good, he might not use the dagger with the same proficiency as a sword or as naturally as the harpoon, but it was better than a splinter. Walking slowly, making sure to remember where everything was located, he realize that by the corner of his cell were two sets of stairs. One led down while another led up. The Bearhide forced him up. By the time he got to the next floor, he saw another stair leading further up, but his captor stopped him. Second floor it was.
Aron blinked as the warm light nearly blinded him. The cells were dark, only thin threads of sunlight breaking through the planks. Yet just one floor over, fires burned within glass casings. Bearhides occupied bunks, some looked with admiration and fear towards him... Wait no, at the young man behind him. A few whispered hurriedly but Aron had no time to overhear, the brown haired young man gave him a light push.
"The door at the end, it's the captain's quarters," The Bearhide pointed over Aron's shoulder. The Sea Reaper realized this floor was just like the other. However instead of packed cells, large bunks and sleeping nets had been set up. Weapons of all sorts and strange yet small trophies were on the walls. At the end of the corridor was a dead end, with a single wooden door. Seeing the lack of initiative from the teen with bloodshot eyes, he knocked the door.
"Enter!" Beowulf's voice was unmistakable. The door creaked slightly as Aron twisted the knob and pushed the door. The captain's quarters, as the Bearhide had referred to them, were a mixture of a living room and a bedroom. To Aron's surprise, a large window was at the end. In front of it, sitting before a large table was Beowulf. Several maps and charts were strewn across the table. Two stools were set in the front. At the left corner was a large bed, made of strange fabric Aron had never seen before. On the right side was a large closet and a collection of strange weapons, from long spears, long swords kept in leather sheathes, long spears, irregular shields made entirely of metal and another stranger buckler, with a gauntlet attached at an end, a blade beneath it and a long thin spike erupting from it's center. Southern weapons? Vikar would sell his left hand to get a good look at them, and he was left handed.
"Rhys, wait outside, this is a meeting between leaders," Beowulf addressed the Bearhide with the sunken bloodshot eyes. Aron saw a glimmer of defiance on the boy's eyes, but it was gone a second later. Without a word, the young man named Rhys left the room, closing the door behind him.
"Sit," Beowulf told Aron, beckoning him to the two stools. The Sea Reaper heir took note that the prosthetic Beowulf was given back in the Islet of Frey was still attached. While he was trapped in the ship and by natural rule a captain should never be disobeyed, Aron decided that at this point, any more shows of weakness would bring shame to his tribe. So instead he set at the foot of the bed, ignoring the desire to rest on the overly comfortable mattress. Beowulf raised a brow at his choice, but didn't argue.
"What do you know of my tribe?" Beowulf's question was, to say the least, unexpected. The Bearhide chieftain kept a fully neutral expression, his stormy blue eyes set in stone. Aron wasn't sure what the bold man meant, but it didn't look like Beowulf wanted to explain the question. Aron's gears spun as he tried to figure out if there was a hidden meaning behind the question. Alas, a direct approach would clear things up faster.
"I know you call yourselves Bearhides because in ancient times you hunted bears as a coming of age ceremony. You guys buy and sell slaves and are one of the most frequent raiders amidst Vikings. You also bear a love for rare weapons," Aron knew more, but that pretty much summarized common knowledge about Beowulf's tribe. The chieftain stared at him a little longer, then sighed while adjusting his prosthetic.
"Our home island was once lush like Blitz, with deep forests ridden with grisly bears, Grisly Island's name sake," Beowulf began, he separated a map from the others. A large island of sand and rock formations. Aron squinted slightly to make out the map from the short, yet long distance between the bed and the desk.
"However my ancestors were... Greedy, taking down more trees than Frey could grow and selling them to other islands, eventually, our island began to lose more and more natural resources. Dragons became aggressive and my people had to fight and scramble for supplies, law became a foreign concept as men and women reverted into scared, hungry animals." Beowulf continued, despite his efforts to keep a neutral expression, a hint of anger burnt through the façade. His remaining hand clenched, slightly crumpling the edge of the map.
"I had two older brothers, one destined to become chieftain, so I was given free rein to leave the endless madness of my home and see the world, to see the south," Beowulf continued, pulling another map out of the mess. It was incomplete, detailing a large coast and a few markings representing villages. Most of it was blank, several small villages were crossed out by a rough coal.
"When I saw land that stretched as far as eye could see, rich with supplies and defenseless farmers, I found the solution for my tribe's suffering. So I spent a few weeks learning their language, passing as a curious traveler. Then, I returned home, to my tribe." Beowulf's voice was tinted by anger and nostalgia. Aron titled his head slightly, he had never heard that story. According to some villagers, Bearhides were always a fierce lot, originally he had thought that was because of their brutal methods in raids. Now? He wasn't so sure.
"Turns out my middle brother killed my oldest brother and father before claiming chieftainship. Yet he didn't bring order, no, he thrived in the chaos, surrounding himself with suck ups and muscle headed cowards. When I told him of a new land, full of supplies for all our needs... He didn't care, he preferred to rule over Svartaheim rather than thrive in Alfheim. I had no choice, thankfully the tribe hated him even more than I did." Beowulf continued, Aron wasn't sure if the chieftain realized it, but the original neutral tone was slowly crumbling down. A deep scowl had settled between his eyes, anger was revealing itself.
"So, I killed him and led my tribe in the first Bearhide raids. Amidst those battles, I earned the title of The Vicious. So for the last decades, the Bearhides have raided and thrived, our precious glory returning to us..." Beowulf continued, Aron nodded slowly. He wasn't sure what this story was leading up to, but maybe there could be a way to avert disaster. If his father rallied the islanders in Blitz, then many of their allies like the Triquetra would join. The Bearhides would never have a chance. But of course, it was far more likely for Aron to figure a way to solve things than his father raise a finger to interfere in 'his battle'.
"But no civilization allows itself to be mistreated for long, the southerners are rallying, raising their defenses, they learn from every defeat. What we haven't already claimed is being protected, what was once an easy way to thrive is growing into all out struggles. If I do nothing, the Bearhides will revert back to the original chaotic state I saved us from." Beowulf's anger was replaced by cold determination. Finally, he took his eyes out of the maps and meet Aron's inquisitive gaze.
"If we had cheaper access to supplies or more forces, we would be saved. So I turned to one of our oldest allies, the Sea Reapers and the Outlanders, your father and Gundrum." Beowulf looked more and more frustrated. Aron realized it, why the Bearhides left early in discontent. Why Gundrum looked so furious.
"You wanted our help to take down the southern defenses and to buy supplies from Blitz..." Aron spoke before Beowulf could finish. The chieftain nodded, Aron sighed and shook his head.
"With the constant raids from dragons, we don't have manpower to spare, besides, raiding is against our honor code. My father would never agree," Aron pointed out. Beowulf frowned and shook his head before standing up.
"We'll see about that, a father will do anything for his children, Rhys! Stop overhearing and escort Aron back to his cell, and tell Grim to prepare his wolfship to turn back and send a message to Skarf, we don't have time to spare." At the hulking chieftain's words, Rhys slipped in and gestured for Aron. Knowing that even with the advantage of surprise, just Beowulf's arm was enough to tear him apart, the teen adjusted his coat and followed. As soon as Rhys closed the door behind them, he led Aron back to the cell. This time, the change in lighting took some time before Aron made out the shady forms of the slaves in their cells. Rhys locked the door as soon as Aron entered the cell. Rhys then spoke softly, too softly for the slaves to hear but barely loud enough to be heard by Aron.
"Get ready Sea Reaper, next stop, Grisly Island,"
A/N: So, proud to say I'm looking forward to setting up villains with motives better than the stereotypical "I'm evil, hanaha," or "Gonna go to war for kicks, yay!". Proud to fully introduce another submitted OC, Rhys the Traitor from Kennyisdead. So, as you guys can see I fully intend to build an expanding words of dragons, Vikings and who knows, maybe other forces hinted in this chapter. I'll always eager to hear(read) your thoughts and considerations so don't forget to drop a review! See you guys next chapter!