Great line. I like it.
Don't worry too much about it. It's standard that sometimes you don't have enough time or idea to keep updates fast and frequent. We'll keep reading as soon as any update will appear, have no fear.
Valour of the North Star - Chronicles of the Hvide Clan
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Chapter IV – A Lord's Wroth
18th of March, 1088 Anno Domini
Odins Skov, The Crown Lands of Odense Amt
This was a not a good day for Jens Haraldsen. The king's auburn mare wove a delicate path through the woodland trail, unperturbed by the evening light. His hunt had been unsuccessful and this alone would be disappointing, but the recent failures in Sjælland and the disturbing news out of Slesvig had left him only more short tempered. Behind and ahead of him came a retinue of his hirdmen, but they gave him as much berth as safe escort could allow. Only one man dared ride alongside him: his best friend Ernst Hvide. Life in Odense had become a strange place since the death of the King's former master of spies Olaf Paulsen, and Ernst was feeling the brunt of it.
King Jens was fond of hunting and falconry - there was hardly a month gone by where he did not saddle his horse and depart on a great hunt, despite the cost of the affairs. Many nobles worried that he was more interested in pleasure than ruling, and it had caused some discontent.
“Jens.” Ernst broke the uncomfortable silence.
The King shot a glare back at him. “You should refer to me as My King or Your Majesty, Ernst.”
Ernst swallowed and cleared his throat. “Of course, I'm sorry...it's just...”
“If you're going to ask me about the situation with my uncle, forget it. I'm not interested in talking about it.” Jens snorted. “Certainly not after the insult he left me.”
“No...no my King. I was going to ask you about my brothers...”
Ernst had not thought it possible for Jens' gaze to turn fouler, yet it did. He brought his horse to a halt suddenly and reached over to slap Ernst across the ear. “Do you not listen to a word I say, damn it. Listen Ernst, I don't want to talk about my uncle, I don't want to talk about Harald, I don't want to talk about Erik and I certainly don't want to talk about any of this. Tell me what it is you want and it had better be good, or you might find yourself walking back to the manor.”
The bastard winced. He had not had as easy a life as expected under Jens' wing, but he often consoled himself that whatever disciplines Jens might give, he was the King and it was mere tough love. Still, no one seemed to understand or love Ernst, and resentment for all grew in his heart daily; he had expected Jens would treat him better, but was left thoroughly disappointed.
“It's just...I know someone. He isn't cheap, but maybe he could...you know...end our problems. And I was thinking that if I could help you get rid of them, then...maybe...”
“Maybe...?” Jens leaned in. “Maybe I'd give Sjælland to you, is that it? Maybe I would invade in your name if they refused you?”
“W-well I...” started Ernst, but he was interrupted by another slap across the head.
“Think! The Hvidesting has the right to choose their successor and Auden had many children. You impressed little at Søborg and made an embarrassment of us. Besides, what good is a blade when you throw out such suggestions out here in the public? Even were it a secret, it would not get us any further in taking Sjælland back. Idiot.”
Ernst shrunk sheepishly, but he continued to speak. “No, not a blade, Jens. I mean, Majesty. Look, it's someone my mother knew. He said he could solve problems, lots of problems. We don't need a blade, we need-”
“Shut up.” Jens spurred his horse back into a fast trot. No more words passed between the two.
The room was stunned into silence. Harald's palm was still holding the wound in his side, but his pain was momentarily wiped away, replaced by confusion and fear of the sight before him. Bishop Vittorio Paterni lay sprawled across the marble floor of his chambers. There was no sign of any mark upon him, yet there was no doubt in the eyes of those present that the Italian was dead.
“Perhaps this is God's punishment for shedding blood in a church...” Jason Ebbesen looked like he was going to be sick. “Heavens forgive me...”
His Chief however was quite calm, in spite of the worries settling into the back of his mind; he let hand stroked thoughtfully at his beard to disguise it. “You're certain no physical harm has come to him? No man did this?”
With Bishop Paterni's death, Harald feared that the Pope would be angered - it was already well known that Urban II had no love of Auden's sons, despite the Hertug-Biskop's great deeds in the name of Christ.
Hans looked up at Harald in contempt. “I think I know one dead man from another. No, Harald, no one has touched this man. There's no sign of blade marks, nor beatings, nor even illness. It's as if life just escaped him all at once.”
“He was old...” Harald mused. “Jason, tell the men what happened. I want the watch notified and I want the church cleaned. Now all of you, leave me. I wish to look around.”
Hans and the huskarls stood to leave, but Harald raised his hands. “Not you, Hans. I need to speak with you.”
The German paused, and then nodded in silence. They waited for the rest of Harald's guard to leave, but Harald noticed Hans' black glove tighten visibly. There was a long silence between the two as Harald began to pace, eyes narrowed deeply.
“You should probably get that mended.” Hans pointed to Harald's side as he passed. Harald turned and swatted his hand away with one palm, the other shooting out to seize him by the neck. Hans choked and struggled a little, but Harald had an enormous size and strength advantage over him.
“God damn you Hans.” Harald seethed into his ear. “You were supposed to scare the Bishop, not fucking kill him.”
Hans choked more. “D-didn't...kill...can't...breathe...”
Harald squeezed a little tighter for a moment, before finally forcing himself to release the German, who spluttered for air. “What happened to him, Hans. Tell me the truth.”
“He was dead when I got here...clutching his heart...I think it just gave out on him...” Hans rubbed at his throat, wincing. “Damn boy...you got strong.”
Harald spat. “I needed him alive. Needed him, Hans. He was part of the plan.”
“Plans change, my lord.” Hans rubbed at his throat. “I should remind you however, Harald, that I am not sworn to you. I know you may not like me, but should you lay your hands on me again...I cannot promise that I will be here tomorrow...”
Harald's eyes glinted dangerously at the threat, but his hands remained at his sides. The two stared each other down, but in the end it was Harald who backed down, his shoulders sagging slightly. “I apologize.”
Hans smiled at him, but it was a smile that Harald hated. No matter what Hans' mouth did, his eyes never changed: they were forever cold. The assassin moved to the desk and glanced down at a stack of books, doubtlessly from the church's own personal store. “In truth, perhaps this was for the better. Vittorio was a dangerous man, cunning and I fear he was wise to us. With a natural death, no blame falls to us and now we can move on. You have the right to appoint his successor as Hertug, do you not?”
The Bishops of Rostock and Wismar both held good potential as replacements for the seat at Roskilde. Harald's father Auden had saved their lives in the Baltic Crusade and later appointed both men to their positions of power in Vendland and they owed the Hvide family a great debt that had yet to be repaid.
“I could, I could...” Harald leaned into the wall, feeling a little light-headed. “I shall have to find a suitable candidate...someone loyal to my father, not to the Pope.”
Hans did not fail to notice Harald's draining strength and moved to his employer's side, but as he moved to support the lord he was pushed away. “I don't need your help.” Harald glared.
“Dignity is one thing, but life is another. You're wounded.”
“Why do you care? You're a cold-blooded killer, aren't you?”
“Aye, I am.” Hans grinned. “And you're my purse, no good to me dead. Besides, think of your mother...”
Harald met Hans' eyes, but he did not smile for a moment. After a further pause, he instead pushed the German out of his way and left the room. Hans turned back towards the desk, his hand moving reflexively to a locked drawer. With a flick of his wrist, a tiny key appeared from his sleeve, firmly pressed between two fingertips. It slid into the lock with satisfying ease and the drawer came open with a single twist. Hans quickly began sifting through the contents. Piles of papers awaited him: they were written in both Italian and Latin and many were stamped with the seal of the Pope himself. With quick, deft movements, he pulled them together in a pair of strings that kept them from slipping and tucked them into a hidden fold of his robe. He noted also a purse, and he gave it a satisfying jingle next to his ear before tucking it away as well.
“No need to fret, my lord...” Hans thought with a smile as he left the room. ”All's well that ends well, after all.”
Chapter IV – A Lord's Wroth
18th of March, 1088 Anno Domini
Odins Skov, The Crown Lands of Odense Amt
This was a not a good day for Jens Haraldsen. The king's auburn mare wove a delicate path through the woodland trail, unperturbed by the evening light. His hunt had been unsuccessful and this alone would be disappointing, but the recent failures in Sjælland and the disturbing news out of Slesvig had left him only more short tempered. Behind and ahead of him came a retinue of his hirdmen, but they gave him as much berth as safe escort could allow. Only one man dared ride alongside him: his best friend Ernst Hvide. Life in Odense had become a strange place since the death of the King's former master of spies Olaf Paulsen, and Ernst was feeling the brunt of it.
King Jens was fond of hunting and falconry - there was hardly a month gone by where he did not saddle his horse and depart on a great hunt, despite the cost of the affairs. Many nobles worried that he was more interested in pleasure than ruling, and it had caused some discontent.
“Jens.” Ernst broke the uncomfortable silence.
The King shot a glare back at him. “You should refer to me as My King or Your Majesty, Ernst.”
Ernst swallowed and cleared his throat. “Of course, I'm sorry...it's just...”
“If you're going to ask me about the situation with my uncle, forget it. I'm not interested in talking about it.” Jens snorted. “Certainly not after the insult he left me.”
“No...no my King. I was going to ask you about my brothers...”
Ernst had not thought it possible for Jens' gaze to turn fouler, yet it did. He brought his horse to a halt suddenly and reached over to slap Ernst across the ear. “Do you not listen to a word I say, damn it. Listen Ernst, I don't want to talk about my uncle, I don't want to talk about Harald, I don't want to talk about Erik and I certainly don't want to talk about any of this. Tell me what it is you want and it had better be good, or you might find yourself walking back to the manor.”
The bastard winced. He had not had as easy a life as expected under Jens' wing, but he often consoled himself that whatever disciplines Jens might give, he was the King and it was mere tough love. Still, no one seemed to understand or love Ernst, and resentment for all grew in his heart daily; he had expected Jens would treat him better, but was left thoroughly disappointed.
“It's just...I know someone. He isn't cheap, but maybe he could...you know...end our problems. And I was thinking that if I could help you get rid of them, then...maybe...”
“Maybe...?” Jens leaned in. “Maybe I'd give Sjælland to you, is that it? Maybe I would invade in your name if they refused you?”
“W-well I...” started Ernst, but he was interrupted by another slap across the head.
“Think! The Hvidesting has the right to choose their successor and Auden had many children. You impressed little at Søborg and made an embarrassment of us. Besides, what good is a blade when you throw out such suggestions out here in the public? Even were it a secret, it would not get us any further in taking Sjælland back. Idiot.”
Ernst shrunk sheepishly, but he continued to speak. “No, not a blade, Jens. I mean, Majesty. Look, it's someone my mother knew. He said he could solve problems, lots of problems. We don't need a blade, we need-”
“Shut up.” Jens spurred his horse back into a fast trot. No more words passed between the two.
----- -=-=- ----- -=-=- -----
15th of March, 1088 Anno Domini
City of Roskilde, Hertugdømme of Sjælland
15th of March, 1088 Anno Domini
City of Roskilde, Hertugdømme of Sjælland
The room was stunned into silence. Harald's palm was still holding the wound in his side, but his pain was momentarily wiped away, replaced by confusion and fear of the sight before him. Bishop Vittorio Paterni lay sprawled across the marble floor of his chambers. There was no sign of any mark upon him, yet there was no doubt in the eyes of those present that the Italian was dead.
“Perhaps this is God's punishment for shedding blood in a church...” Jason Ebbesen looked like he was going to be sick. “Heavens forgive me...”
His Chief however was quite calm, in spite of the worries settling into the back of his mind; he let hand stroked thoughtfully at his beard to disguise it. “You're certain no physical harm has come to him? No man did this?”
With Bishop Paterni's death, Harald feared that the Pope would be angered - it was already well known that Urban II had no love of Auden's sons, despite the Hertug-Biskop's great deeds in the name of Christ.
Hans looked up at Harald in contempt. “I think I know one dead man from another. No, Harald, no one has touched this man. There's no sign of blade marks, nor beatings, nor even illness. It's as if life just escaped him all at once.”
“He was old...” Harald mused. “Jason, tell the men what happened. I want the watch notified and I want the church cleaned. Now all of you, leave me. I wish to look around.”
Hans and the huskarls stood to leave, but Harald raised his hands. “Not you, Hans. I need to speak with you.”
The German paused, and then nodded in silence. They waited for the rest of Harald's guard to leave, but Harald noticed Hans' black glove tighten visibly. There was a long silence between the two as Harald began to pace, eyes narrowed deeply.
“You should probably get that mended.” Hans pointed to Harald's side as he passed. Harald turned and swatted his hand away with one palm, the other shooting out to seize him by the neck. Hans choked and struggled a little, but Harald had an enormous size and strength advantage over him.
“God damn you Hans.” Harald seethed into his ear. “You were supposed to scare the Bishop, not fucking kill him.”
Hans choked more. “D-didn't...kill...can't...breathe...”
Harald squeezed a little tighter for a moment, before finally forcing himself to release the German, who spluttered for air. “What happened to him, Hans. Tell me the truth.”
“He was dead when I got here...clutching his heart...I think it just gave out on him...” Hans rubbed at his throat, wincing. “Damn boy...you got strong.”
Harald spat. “I needed him alive. Needed him, Hans. He was part of the plan.”
“Plans change, my lord.” Hans rubbed at his throat. “I should remind you however, Harald, that I am not sworn to you. I know you may not like me, but should you lay your hands on me again...I cannot promise that I will be here tomorrow...”
Harald's eyes glinted dangerously at the threat, but his hands remained at his sides. The two stared each other down, but in the end it was Harald who backed down, his shoulders sagging slightly. “I apologize.”
Hans smiled at him, but it was a smile that Harald hated. No matter what Hans' mouth did, his eyes never changed: they were forever cold. The assassin moved to the desk and glanced down at a stack of books, doubtlessly from the church's own personal store. “In truth, perhaps this was for the better. Vittorio was a dangerous man, cunning and I fear he was wise to us. With a natural death, no blame falls to us and now we can move on. You have the right to appoint his successor as Hertug, do you not?”
The Bishops of Rostock and Wismar both held good potential as replacements for the seat at Roskilde. Harald's father Auden had saved their lives in the Baltic Crusade and later appointed both men to their positions of power in Vendland and they owed the Hvide family a great debt that had yet to be repaid.
“I could, I could...” Harald leaned into the wall, feeling a little light-headed. “I shall have to find a suitable candidate...someone loyal to my father, not to the Pope.”
Hans did not fail to notice Harald's draining strength and moved to his employer's side, but as he moved to support the lord he was pushed away. “I don't need your help.” Harald glared.
“Dignity is one thing, but life is another. You're wounded.”
“Why do you care? You're a cold-blooded killer, aren't you?”
“Aye, I am.” Hans grinned. “And you're my purse, no good to me dead. Besides, think of your mother...”
Harald met Hans' eyes, but he did not smile for a moment. After a further pause, he instead pushed the German out of his way and left the room. Hans turned back towards the desk, his hand moving reflexively to a locked drawer. With a flick of his wrist, a tiny key appeared from his sleeve, firmly pressed between two fingertips. It slid into the lock with satisfying ease and the drawer came open with a single twist. Hans quickly began sifting through the contents. Piles of papers awaited him: they were written in both Italian and Latin and many were stamped with the seal of the Pope himself. With quick, deft movements, he pulled them together in a pair of strings that kept them from slipping and tucked them into a hidden fold of his robe. He noted also a purse, and he gave it a satisfying jingle next to his ear before tucking it away as well.
“No need to fret, my lord...” Hans thought with a smile as he left the room. ”All's well that ends well, after all.”
I have a feeling you're about to wade right into the investiture question.
And Hans is playing several games at once, as usual.
And Hans is playing several games at once, as usual.
is Hans also the one that Jens was scheming to hire? At least he's not adverse to a bit of petty theft among all his other schemes
I think it's Harald's mother who is pulling the strings. I think thise documents were important, part of the reason she's not in Denmark as well as setting out the Pope's plans for the Church in the north. Then there's Jens. He immediately assumed assassination was the proposal and instead of saying he'd never consider that, said instead it wassomething to be discussed in private. Jens getting caught in an assassination attempt on the Hvide would undermine his authority as King, especially if he hired Hans.
So King Jens and Ernst are plotting, together and separately. I get the feeling the king should be watching his back! Let's hope the bishop's untimely death doesn't cause Harald problems. It wouldn't be good to suspected or accused of arranging his death...
But no news of Erik?
But no news of Erik?
That may be...that may be...
Definitely possible. Ernst is familiar with Hans, since he was trained by him in his youth (as part of his mother's attempts to make him less useless). It's not like the Bishop's coin will be missed - can't fault a man for making money!
I feel there's not much I can say for the sake of not wanting to ruin the intrigue! You are correct, though, that Jens has proven to be not the kindest man in the world...but he's also not an idiot. His quickness to assume what Ernst meant could mean it was on his mind already.
No news of Erik just yet. His fate will be known before too long, I assure you!
At least the near future, yes...
I, like everyone else it seems, am very glad to see an update. I'm still catching up on reading from the beginning, so I'll refrain from diving into plot questions just yet. I find this AAR fascinating and I'm a bit humbled by the effort I see in every aspect of your work. It's not just the fine writing, the well-woven intricate plot, interesting characters breathed to life by your thoughtful dialogue, it's also the love and care I see right down to the perfectly parsed graphics.
If I'm not mistaken, you're custom making these artwork frames from interface elements withing CKII and then layering in your own images found elsewhere (not to mention the cool little custom typography). The biggest lesson I draw from how you craft your updates is how you stay true to the story book format and use the graphics to not overwhelm but support the prose. As expected, well worth the wait.
If I'm not mistaken, you're custom making these artwork frames from interface elements withing CKII and then layering in your own images found elsewhere (not to mention the cool little custom typography). The biggest lesson I draw from how you craft your updates is how you stay true to the story book format and use the graphics to not overwhelm but support the prose. As expected, well worth the wait.
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Well thanks! I think you give me a bit too much credit - by all appearances you've put far more (and better) work into your own works than I have. I'm a little humbled every time I see comments of such praise, but thank you nonetheless. I put the most care into the writing side of things, as narrative writing is really what makes me tick (not just on Paradox, but in general).
You're correct on the frames - they're based entirely on the CKII GUI and I've been scouring the internet for period-relevant imagery I can insert in to enhance the story. It's not always easy, but it is frequently satisfying to find good bits! I'll hope to get the next update out a fair bit sooner than this one came...
Chapter V – Marriage and Children
26th of March, 1088 Anno Domini
City of Oslo, Kingdom of Norway
“Back off, scum!”
What passed as a pathetic excuse for a beggar found himself thrown heavily into the wall of the tanner's shop. The silhouette of an enormous man now loomed over him, flanked by two smaller ones. A fourth one appeared nearby and began to slide his sword free from its scabbard.
“Wait, stop!” a high voice interrupted them. “Stop this instant!”
The man's blade froze in its scabbard, and the leader of the three looked back inquiringly. “He might have hurt you, your highness. He should be punished.”
Astrid shook her head fervently. “There will be no killing, nor beating, of this man. Am I clear?”
The huskarl gave her a grin full of yellow teeth. “As you wish, Princess. Back off him, lads.”
The other guards backed away but continued to watch him warily. Her retinue was not small and very visible. Eight of her father's best men, plus two handmaidens and herself made eleven in all. Oslo was now the capital of Norway and as loyal to her father as any city could be, yet her guards were still on edge to take nothing for granted. She was sure she had seen several patrols of her father's men shadowing them as well. As his only blood descendent, he had become immensely paranoid of any attempts on her life. She wasn't too worried herself – most of the clans would likely try to oust her through the landsting on her father's death, rather than risk the considerable wroth of Olaf Jernror if caught.
As the sole heir to King Olaf Jernror's bloodline, Astrid found herself constantly under heavy guard. Her father would spare no expense to ensure both her survival and her inheritance of the throne that in his mind was rightly deserved. She was shrewd, but still young and naïve to the world. This late medieval representation shows her and one of her many guards presumably in a church.
“Thank you Normund.” She looked down her nose slightly at the beggar, who was shaking and cowering against the wall. He had come to her looking for food or coin, taking her for a wealthy woman no doubt. She was wealthy, of course, and not without a heart. Reaching into the purse tied to a cord about her waist, she withdrew a couple small coins of silver and tossed them to him. “For your trouble. Now begone.”
He stared at the silvers in awe for a moment, and then scrabbled to collect them. Before Normund could so much as take a step in his direction, the dirty man fled back into the alleys of the city. He shook his head disapprovingly but moved once again to her side. “You shouldn't encourage the man. He'll most likely waste it on cheap mead and a whore.”
One of her handmaidens, Anneborg, looked disgusted. “How could you speak that way to the Princess!”
Astrid ignored her. “You're probably right...” she sighed. “But it costs me little, and the Bible teaches us to show charity and kindness to those less fortunate.”
“Ah yes, the bible...” Normund said in a strange sort of tone. Astrid knew that her King's Captain of the Guard was not Christian and it was a topic that always became uncomfortable around her. Her father, she was sure, gave only lip service to God while she was quite earnest in her belief. It was a difficult situation to live in, but she would be sure to raise her own children better.
At the thought of children, she remembered Harald and the butterflies returned to her stomach. It was not long now until they were to be wed. The nature of her visit to Oslo was nothing less than the procurement of her new dress, which her father had paid a royal sum to have sewn for her. The city was noisy, but her escort made sure the way was always clean and clear for her. Occasionally some peddler of goods caught sight of her and approached as if to speak to her, but a stern glare from the guards warded them off.
“At last, here we are your highness.” Gry, her other handmaiden, pointed to the entrance of the tailor's. It was quite sizeable and she suspected he got a lot of business from the locals, based on the excellent state of repair. “A dress for your wedding day, I'm sure you can't wait!”
“Yes...” she said quietly. “I can't wait...”
She knew she should have been more excited, and not nearly as nervous about the coming event. Even as they worked tirelessly to wash her and help her into the dress, her thoughts never left the impending marriage. She liked Harald, maybe even loved him. He was strong and brave, not afraid to get into trouble and quite handsome as well. She had taken him to bed two years ago – a memory she was quite fond of, to be sure – but in spite of all of that she wondered deep down if she would be happy with him.
“You look absolutely gorgeous! Your husband-to-be will be in awe, my lady!” Trygve the tailor grinned at her. “Are you pleased with the dress?”
She gazed into the bronze mirror. The expensive object was well-polished and offered her a perfect view of what it would look like upon her. She stared blankly into her own eyes, lost in an image of her future wedding. Her eyes became Harald's, and the room became for a moment the great hall of Søborg, where the bishop would bring them together in happy union. Or would it be?
After a moment's silence, Astrid realized that the room was staring at her in eager, worried anticipation. The gown was beautiful, yet she couldn't bring herself to find excitement at the sight of it. Nonetheless, she forced a wide smile onto her face and spread her arms. “I love it. We'll take it.” She said with false confidence. ”What have I gotten myself into...” she thought in despair.
----- -=-=- ----- -=-=- -----
26th of March, 1088 Anno Domini
St. Mary's Monastery and Nunnery, Amt of Riga
26th of March, 1088 Anno Domini
St. Mary's Monastery and Nunnery, Amt of Riga
The sound of the door was the first thing he acknowledged: little more than a faint creak, it still crept through into his awareness. The second thing he noticed was an intense throbbing ache in his head, followed promptly by a bout of nausea. He willed himself to move, but he soon succumbed back into the darkness of sleep. Time passed – how much he was not certain of – and eventually he felt his eyes flutter open as consciousness returned to him.
Erik sat up slowly; or at least he would have, had a strong hand not restrained him by pushing his shoulder back down onto the bed. “Rest my lord, you're in no condition to be moving.”
He recognized the voice as that of Harald Svendsen, but the surroundings were dimly lit and unfamiliar to him. The young lord felt that he had slept for a long time, but he was also weak and exhausted; his limbs held no energy and his stomach was empty and ached for nourishment. He offered no resistance to Svendsen's hand, but instead let his palm fall onto his own head. It was damp with sweat, but did not feel overly warm in spite of that.
“What happened?” Erik finally asked his huskarl. “In the forest, I mean...did we win?”
“Yes, although only the hand of the heavens saved us. Only seven of our men are left, and two are maimed to the point where I fear they will never be able to fight again should they live. There may be none of us left, were it not for the intervention of Lord Astrup's men.”
“Lord Astrup?” Erik strained to think for a moment before it hit him. “You mean the Greve of Selija? Truly he saved us?”
The same man Harald Audensen had labelled as 'unimportant' had now saved the life of his brother Erik. Stigandr would become a fairly well known figure amongst scholars studying the Baltic region for a number of reasons - the controversy of Harald's infamous claim was hardly the least amongst them.
“Not directly, although I heard tell he is interested in meeting you as soon as possible. This nunnery falls near the edge of his land and he was hunting the very same men that attacked us. They heard the sounds of the battle and came riding in from the south, smashing the damned pagans. When they realized who we were, they immediately brought us here for treatment.”
Erik nodded slowly. The huskarl brought a cup to his lips and his sipped dutifully, before coughing and spluttering a bit in surprise. “Ugh...what is that?
Svendsen sounded more surprised than his lord. “It's just water my lord, mixed with warm honey and leaves. The abbess said that so long as you were asleep, we should feed you that way. No one knew how long it would take you to wake.”
“I hate honey...shouldn't have bothered...” he grumbled, but then paused. “Thank you, anyway.” He winced and took another sip of the concoction, forcing it down.
Erik's eyes were getting used to the light now, and he finally noticed the large swath of bandages wrapped around his caretaker's head. It covered his eye, and there were still traces of blood. “Your...your eye is...”
Harald Svendsen's face was grim, but stern. “Worry not about that, my lord. It was unusable but by the grace of God, I will live. I only regret that I could not protect you better.”
The door slammed open suddenly. Erik turned his head to see who it was, and almost winced as he recognized the frame of his mother. It wasn't easy for a moment: her figure was obscured by heavy robes and her dark curls trapped in a hood to force modesty upon her. She had aged too since he last saw her, deep wrinkles framed her cheeks and caught the shadows oddly. It was her deep frown and eyes, though, that struck him the most. He could never forget her looks of disappointment.
“What's the matter, mother? You look disappointed.” He spat with a little bitterness.
Gro said nothing, but instead crossed the room to his bedside and knelt down, unwrapping a bandage to examine his head. He said nothing, but winced slightly as she touched at something tender in his hair. It felt like that blow had split his skull wide open. The room's silence continued until she finished her job and then looked to Harald Svendsen. “Leave us.” She said with the same curt, authoritative voice he had always remembered.
The huskarl looked reluctantly to Erik, but the lord nodded to him and so he departed as requested. Even after the door shut, Gro did not speak for a moment, but just gave a slow sigh. “It's good to see your face, Erik. More than you know. I feared you were dead...”
That wasn't quite the reception he had expected, and Erik immediately suspected a game of some kind. “I'm sure you did, mother. I'm sure you spent your every waking moment fretting over my well-being. Was this before or after you learnt that it was not Harald who came to meet you, but me?”
She looked slightly hurt for a moment – that surprised him too – but her face quickly returned to a well-guarded mask. “It might come to surprise you that I love my children.” Her hands tightened on the bed cloth. “I did not choose to be far from you all.”
“Far from Harald and Ernst, you mean. They were your prize jewels after all.” Erik scoffed. “And you may as well have made the choice when you adulterated yourself this way.”
Her eyes flashed dangerously at those words. “My first and sec-” she caught herself for a moment. “They were the heirs to Sjælland, Erik. They were groomed for rulership and command, whilst you were not expected to inherit much. I am sorry to have hurt you with that, and I was surprised the council preferred you to Ernst. I expected the split, but I did what I did for the good of all my family, not just you.”
They watched each other in caution, but try as he might Erik could discern little from her calm, measured gaze. It bothered him. “Well, now the third son rules over a great land. What do you think of that, mother? Are you disappointed that it was me and not Ernst?”
She stood and swept her hand in anger over the small table next to his cot. The candle fell to the floor and bounced wildly before rolling, leaving a trail of hot molten wax. Next to it the wooden cup of honey water had spilt its contents into a rapidly spreading pool beneath the both of them. Like an angel of fury she marched to the door, only to stop at the last moment and gaze back. “One day you will have children, Erik. Only then will you begin to understand a mother's love...even this damned Monastery cannot take that from me.”
St. Mary's Monastery included a sizeable Nunnery and was for a time in the 1100s the largest of its kind on the west Baltic coast. It became a popular destination for nobles to send unruly women into exile, following the trend of Hertug-Biskup Auden Tokesen's banishment of Gro.
He opened his mouth to retort, but couldn't find the words to say. She left before he could think of anything and he fell silent, his hands clenched into tight fists. He watched the flame of the candle sputter and struggle for life, its graceful dance reflected in the liquid beneath it. She had seemed genuinely hurt and he almost regretted what he had said to her. Almost.
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really liked the scenes with Astrid, and as for Erik and his mother ... a nice conventionally dysfunctional family (unfortunately one that is well armed and powerful)
Norwegians! Still, Paradox should be smacked around a little for making the county containing Oslo the default capital of Norway - historically, it would have been Trondheim until 1217, as that was where both the Archbishop and the King made their seat. Oslo became the capital only in 1299 - but then again, this isn't OTL. 
And so it continues...
Harald is still in trouble, but he'll make it work. Hans is not a character to take lightly, but I'm still convinced Gro has something to do with it. She has always been one of my favourite characters, and it doesn't come as a surprise she is showing affection towards her kids. I do suspect, as does Erik, that she is scheming. Gro is always scheming. What it is, though, only time will tell.
Astrid is a girl who has shown in the past that she knows what she wants, and I'm sure that her lapse of faith is only temporary. Even if her marriage will not necessarily be a happy one, it sure is the best she can get and she knows it. She'll come around, and she'll be a damned good wife for Harald, too.
Great updates again, Sai. Looking forward to see where this goes!
Harald is still in trouble, but he'll make it work. Hans is not a character to take lightly, but I'm still convinced Gro has something to do with it. She has always been one of my favourite characters, and it doesn't come as a surprise she is showing affection towards her kids. I do suspect, as does Erik, that she is scheming. Gro is always scheming. What it is, though, only time will tell.
Astrid is a girl who has shown in the past that she knows what she wants, and I'm sure that her lapse of faith is only temporary. Even if her marriage will not necessarily be a happy one, it sure is the best she can get and she knows it. She'll come around, and she'll be a damned good wife for Harald, too.
Great updates again, Sai. Looking forward to see where this goes!
They are all horribly blunt people, aren't they.
Also, I wonder who paid Erik's attackers. Because law of narrative says someone must have! :laugh:
Also, I wonder who paid Erik's attackers. Because law of narrative says someone must have! :laugh:
Astrid, Princess of Norway, would be an excellent match for Harald I'm thinking.
Erik is safe, at least, and not somebody's captive... or so it seems for now! I'm looking forward to finding out what Gro wants from him.
Erik is safe, at least, and not somebody's captive... or so it seems for now! I'm looking forward to finding out what Gro wants from him.
Glad you liked it, I felt like it was time to get a fresh perspective from outside of Denmark whilst still furthering the story a bit.
Norwegians! Still, Paradox should be smacked around a little for making the county containing Oslo the default capital of Norway - historically, it would have been Trondheim until 1217, as that was where both the Archbishop and the King made their seat. Oslo became the capital only in 1299 - but then again, this isn't OTL.
I thought Trondheim was the default capital for the 1066 scenario. Regardless, I know that by the time I converted my CK save to CK2, Trondheim was no longer the capital: Oslo was.
Gro is always scheming, it's only a question of what she's scheming rather than if...I'd imagine a lot of it starts with getting out of the damn monastery, though. Astrid's not stupid, she definitely knows the marriage is one of the best she could hope for, but that doesn't stop nerves from setting in as the day draws closer.
Well they are medieval Nords. I dunno what you expected.
The law of narrative would suggest that, wouldn't it?!
Sibling envy at its finest, indeed.
I see them as a good match, certainly politically if anything was to judge. They can reunite Denmark and Norway under one crown through their children, as it was always meant to be. Erik is free for now, but indeed a lot has yet to be settled there.
Thanks for the feedback, everyone!
Well the blunt thing is still fairly true actually. Speak as a Dane
Otherwise excellent AAR. Read it all in one go too
Otherwise excellent AAR. Read it all in one go too
Loving this AAR. Always great to see well-done narratives. I was about to nominate this for the AAR showcase when I realized you had already gotten the Character Writer award...and you still wound up with the WritAAR of the week.
Hope to see this continue for a long time.
Hope to see this continue for a long time.