Special
It's my Birthday! edition update.
RGB: Well, you don't think I wrote a childhood lesson for no reason, do you?
General_BT: No frankenstein jokes? Heretic. You shall be cleansed with fire.
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Chapter 31 - Fire, Faith and the Heart
2nd of May, 1075 Anno Domini
"We are all drawn into the trap of believing one thing or another. Belief, you see, is the most powerful thing that can spark a man's interest. All of life, its very existence, is a great unknown. To answer that unknown, to give it definition and reality, is the ultimate desire of all human beings.
"You see, you must understand the way that things work. We all must. The unknown, it is frightening on a very basic level. This is why religion is the powerful force it is, the dominant rulership. Ask yourself whether it is real or not. Ask yourself whether any of it is real. Is the man who preaches one faith right while the other is not?
"Understand, Asbjørn, that no living man shall ever know the answer, that faith is built around belief and not fact or science, nor does science or fact overcome belief. The two shall forever be interchangable, interdefined, and that no man can ever defy the way things truly work."
Asbjørn's eyes flittered open. "How do they work, then?"
The priest above him looked taken aback. "What?"
"It's all nonsense...believing in something out of fear and because they tell you to...one should believe what one believes, regardless of the pressure of your peers. You should make your own peace, and your own decisions." Asbjørn muttered.
Slowly, carefully, Asbjørn sat up. He heard sounds, metal upon metal, screams of the dying. There was war.
"What is going on?" He snapped at the priest.
The father looked taken aback and confused. "I...we are under attack, my son. Lithuanian rebels. They have struck our position here while the main army has gone."
Asbjørn smiled. "Then valhalla awaits. You were administering the last rites, were you not?"
The priest looked nervous and nodded. "I was, my child. What do you mean by-"
"It is time for me to give up believing in something I cannot. It is time I find my heritage again. I have little time for this world, but enough strength to do what I must. They say the entry to valhalla - to heaven - is reserved for those who die in battle. I think I understand what it means now. It is not literal battle, it is the battle of your spirit and your heart. For long years I have sought my death in battle, to drown the sorrows of my lost children and my lost wife."
"My child, I know you have grieved but you must lay down, you need rest."
"Silence!" Asbjørn rasped with frustration. "In seeking my death I only sought damnation. There was never to be any peace in my death, no valhalla, no reward, no glorious end. To die because one wants to die is the coward's way out. To die while your life has had meaning, to die for a cause, that is the true path. Giving up in my heart was giving up in my spirit. I would have died in that bed having never truly fought. I would have never seen valhalla.
"The battle is not literal, father. The battle is a metaphor - the battle is in your soul. You fight for what is right, you never give up on life and you never give up on hope. That is the point. I have seen it so clearly now."
The priest looked thoroughly confused. "You speak heretic's words, child. Noble or no, you cannot preach such false lies and expect me to simply sit idly by."
"Idly by? You have more important things to do than me, priest. There are wounded here, men who can still live. Get them out, find any volunteers and get them to safety." Asbjørn glared. "I will fight for the right cause this time. I will buy you time to save their lives. Now go."
Asbjørn stood, wobbled for a moment, then regained his balance and picked up his sword. "I have no time for armour, no time for games."
"Child, forsake your heretical thoughts! Ask God for forgiveness and he will save you!"
Asbjørn turned slightly as he limped towards the door. "Forgiveness? I shall not. I shall follow my own beliefs and find my own death. I believe in the old way, the old path. It simply holds better to me, and if I die, I die doing the right thing. You should too, now go."
Without another word, he left the infirmary and strode down the steps. Each fall of his foot sent pain through his chest, but he ignored it. A small group of Lithuanians were moving towards the infirmary, where they paused before the door. Clad only in his trousers, his chest bandaged by pale tan cloth, Asbjørn raised his sword. The man in the lead paused and paled as if he had seen a ghost.
"Darius, I see you found a way to escape death." Asbjørn called out to the resistance leader. "I shall have to fix that."
Lord Darius scowled and swore to himself in his native tongue. "Don't you damned vikings ever die...rush him!"
Four men charged one, but although Asbjørn's wounds were grave, his heart burned with all the fire of the gods he believed watched over him. With one swift motion he sliced open the abdomen of the first pagan, then turned and deflected a blow from another. A sharp pain ripped through his chest as the barely-sealed wounds re-opened, staining his bandages a dark red. Ignoring the pain, he roared in fury, a natural high overcoming all else as he burst forward and skewered the dark-haired prussian on his blade.
He turned and used the body as a shield to deflect two blows from Darius and the other man. Raising his sword he stepped forward and swung with both hands, nearly bowling Darius over from the force of the blow. Blood ran freely into his bandages and down his body, his life draining away with each step. His eyes glowed with innate fury as he struck against the other foe, their blades meeting three times before Asbjørn pierced his guard and drew a fatal blow across his chest.
Darius stood and dropped his sword. He turned and tried to flee but the strong hand of Asbjørn gripped his shoulder. Darius slashed out with a knife but only cut a shallow wound. Asbjørn didn't notice it as he grabbed the knife hand and slammed his own head into Darius', leaving the pagan stunned. He raised his sword and ruthlessly sliced off his opponent's head, leaving the lithuanian noble dead on the floor.
Asbjørn panted and collapsed to one knee, the pain starting to catch up. He shook his head and looked up, seeing more prussians moving towards the small hut.
"Enough people have died...I will not let them kill my men..." He thought to himself.
Raising himself up, Asbjørn leveled his sword. There were a dozen pagans, he was alone and probably fatally wounded if he was not tended to immediately. For the first time in years, he felt the sinking feeling that he didn't want to die. He had his revelation, he knew what he must do for his own happiness and the happiness of life. On the other hand, he was probably dead whether he stayed or left, and if he fought, at least he might save the lives of those men who fought by his side.
He looked up at the sky, and blinked. For a moment he thought he had seen a valkyrie looking down upon him, smiling, but it was gone as soon as he looked again.
"I see...then to die is my fate. I shall give my brethren their chance to live." He looked down at the charging lithuanians and laughed. "Let me show you the face of a true norseman!"
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6th of May, 1075 Anno Domini
Søren glowered at the sight before him, dozens of grown men whimpering like children. Ducal men, all of them, servants of the Hvide clan he had sworn his revenge against. One by one, his men delivered the axe to them, giving them their permanent sleep.
"This is an act of war, Rosenkrantz, do you think the Hertug will take it so lightly?"
"The
Hertug is too far away to think of his own people." Søren smirked. "What armies does he have? The people will not stand for the way that the Hvide ruins these lands. They will rise up."
Constable Sten gritted his teeth in anger, the ropes binding his hands were too tight to escape from. "You can't pretend that a few peasants you rallied are the whole island. This rebellion will get you nowhere."
"On the contrary, with Hvide away on Crusade, this will be a very easy task indeed. Do you think crusaders will suddenly go to the aid of an island they care nothing about? His own army will be depleted from the long war and we will take this island back by force. If they want to rule pagan lands so bad, they can go rule them, but he is no longer welcome here."
Søren raised the constable's chin with the point of his sword and laughed. "This is all too easy. Roskilde is now mine, Sjælland shall fall like leaves before the wind."
Aided by mercenaries and disgruntled peasant rabble, Søren had overcome the militia of Roskilde, stormed the walls and tore down the flag of the Hvide clan. The flag of the Rosenkrantz dynasty now flew freely over the parapets of Roskilde's stone wall, marking the city as no longer under the rule of Hvide.
Most of the city militia had been taken prisoner and, by Rosenkrantz's orders, executed. Their bodies would serve as a warning to the rest of the people of Sjælland - to defy the Jarl Rosenkrantz, who styled himself Greve of Sjælland, would only mean certain death.
"This time that Knýtling bitch won't interfere with my plans. Scottish mercenaries, pah, who needs them." Søren took a long drink of his mead, looked down into the nearly-empty cup, and glared. "Kill him. Kill the rest of them. Kill all of the Hertug's dogs. This is no time for mercy. Start preparing the men, getting weapons distributed, we must achieve victory at all costs."
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16th of January, 1076 Anno Domini
Harald looked over the parapets at the sight of smoke trailing into the sky. It was nearly evening and yet it trailed up so clearly for all to see. Although he was only young, Audensen understood the severity of the situation. A fire of that size was no mere accident or simple burning - something very big was being razed to the very ground, reduced to ashes. More smoke was rising into the sky, from the fields, clouding the horizon in black clouds.
He looked down. People were rushing en masse towards the gates of Søborg, where a large group of soldiers were surveying them suspiciously. These people had been dislodged from their homes. Something evil was in Sjælland, he could tell. No one would tell him what was going on, but his mother had no time for him, and the entire castle was buzzing with activity. Soldiers were all active and on duty, all well armed and ready for a fight.
"Græslund. The smoke is coming from the village of Græslund to the south."
Harald looked up at the small figure of Cecilie. She was frowning deeply and seemed quite concerned about the flames. "They are rebels, Harald. Led by the Jarl Søren of Rosenkrantz, they have risen up against us. They believe the Hvide clan is unfit to rule this land and have rallied up a mob of mercenaries and peasant rabble who conspire to bring us to an end. They are not great in number, but we do not have the army to fight them, not here in Sjælland."
The young boy thought about this. "Rebels...will they kill us, then?"
"Not easily." Cecilie smiled. "They have no proper siege equipment and Søborg is well provisioned and armed. They cannot storm this castle without losses that mere peasants and mercenaries will be unprepared to take. They will seek to starve us out and that will not happen soon."
Harald kicked at the floor a bit with his feet. "I wish I was old enough to fight. I'd send them running home like the cowardly rats they are."
"No matter how brave or strong you are, no man can fight an army on his own. Remember that, Harald, for your own sake." Cecilie ruffled his hair. "You should stay off the walls in the coming days. It will not be safe, the rebels may try to kill anyone they see on the walls."
Harald moved away from the wall and looked down into the courtyard, where dozens of commoners milled about. "They...lost their homes in the fire, didn't they?"
Cecilie nodded. "Probably most of them. The fire has not gone long enough for these, most probably fled before the army ever arrived, to come and seek shelter. It is our duty as their protectors to keep them safe from these raiding bandits. Rosenkrantz claims to be freeing this land but his men loot and plunder on their own whims to keep their army fed and marching."
Harald sighed and his shoulders visibly sagged. "I do not know why, but I feel sad for these people. I cannot imagine what it must be like, to lose one's home. I have always lived in Søborg and never lost anything. Part of me wishes I knew what their lives were like."
Cecilie raised an eyebrow. "Don't trouble yourself with such thoughts, they are commoners, they are less than you, it is your birthright to rule them, and it shall be your right to dominate them as you please."
"That's not what uncle Skjalm or my father would have said." Harald frowned. "I don't understand."
Cecilie sighed. "Nevermind, you are too young still, far too young. Come now, today is your birthday, you shouldn't linger upon these walls. Let us go find you something nice to eat, this should be a happy day."
Harald's face widened into a huge smile and he rushed off. "Hooray!"
Cecilie offered a slight smile as she followed, her mind introverted into itself.
"Harald, my boy, you are too old for this world. How at the age of 6 a boy can speak with such grace and maturity is beyond me. I fear one day you shall surpass all our expectations and all my work..."