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@DensleyBlair
Surely AARland has not reached a stage where excuses are needed for not reading.
@filcat
More sausages upcoming then. Errr. Subject to misinterpretation, that.
@slothinator
Alas, while Sverker may be wise beyond his years - at least in some respects - he commands neither the respect nor the finances needed to convince free men to elect him king. As for Viola? Now, that would be telling. Wait and see.
- Chapter the Eighth: The Sverker Diaries, part four - the world of 911-912
The Secret Diary of the Genius Prince Sverker, Aged 10 and Counting
Dear Diary,
Today we put Grandpa under stone. All his sons and grandsons – or at least all who made it here in time – helped. The women prepared the grave goods.
The thralls had excavated the burial chamber, digging a deep trench two men deep, 5 men across, and 20 men long. The sides were lined with slabs of stone.
We slew the thralls and threw them into the chamber. Then my uncles carried his favourite longship to the gravesite and we all helped lower it gently into the chamber. On its deck Grandpa Sigurd lay decked out in his armour and surrounded by the customary goods.
One of uncle Bødvar's men, who should have known better, asked the Grandmas whether they wanted to join Sigurd in death as a worthy sacrifice. Grandma Skuld said not on her life. Grandma Iacoba threw an uppercut that sent him flying and he ended up in the grave with a broken neck. And Grandma Gertruda nodded approvingly to Iacoba and said that was a more fitting sacrifice: Sigurd would have approved.
We all laughed at that, uncle Bødvar loudest of all, and then we got to shovelling, filling the grave, adding a layer of stone at the top of the chamber, and raising a mound over it. A lot of work, but with two generations of Grandpa Sigurd's descendants we had a lot of hands, and everybody wanted Grandpa safely under stone. He is with Odin now, of course, but just in case – nobody wants to see him return as a Draugr.
Then we all cheered uncle Excuse Me as king. He'll be doing the rounds in Denmark, Norway, England, Wales, and West Francia, but with the support of the most of the family opposition will be minimal and quickly silenced.
Most of the family. Uncle Bødvar thought he'd make a better king, but his five brothers disagreed emphatically. He's a great war-leader and a terror on the battlefield, but he lacks people skills, tends towards an uncomplicated worldview as befits the son of Iacoba, and only has one child despite his four wives, though the latter is something best left unsaid. But he's my favourite uncle. He listens to me and always brings me stories and presents from his voyages. He might not make a great king, but he's a great uncle.
I asked uncle Excuse Me about the possibility of my becoming his ward now that he was a great king. He looked me straight in the eye, told me that Grandpa had said I was one to watch, and he agreed. Preferably from a distance.
So that's a no.
The Secret Diary of the Genius Prince Sverker in Exile, Aged 10 and Counting
Dear Diary,
Day one of my exile. The voyage to Connacht is complete. All my brothers and sisters greeted me, even Frogsis, but I am no longer the small boy who went away to be groomed for leadership by Grandpa Sigurd.
I am now the wiser, older, boy, who recognize the family estate for the upgraded hovel it is, a far cry from the glorious longhouses in Denmark.
I am also a boy who understands geography and policy. In particular, I understand that Grandpa's “outer regions self-determination” policy, under which he granted one of his drinking buddies, aunt Álfhildr's husband Ögmundr of Munsö, independent rulership of Ireland last year, means that father no longer serves the Danish king, uncle Excuse Me, but the buffoon down in Munster.
Father said that since I was now living in Ireland again, and would live out my life here serving oldbro Tryggvi once he was gone, he would take my education in hand personally, get rid of the fanciful Danish notions, and turn me local. Irish? I asked. No, Father said, you have the makings of a proper Pomeranian. I asked him if it would hurt. He said yes.
Which means that apart from family visits, I have no ways of influencing – or gaining – power in Denmark.
I need a plan.
The Secret Diary of the Genius Prince Sverker in Exile, Aged 11 and Counting
Dear Diary,
Uncle Bødvar came to visit Mommy! Big news from Denmark. No sooner was Uncle Excuse Me hailed on the Things, than he divorced his deficient third wife and married a Russian merchant, Praxida, straight from the lands of the Rus, making her his primary wife. He also had some of the Handy Henchmen snatch Leontia, a young minor Greek noble, zealous in her misguided faith and paranoid to a fault, right out of the palace in Vienna where she was visiting, and will she or nill she, she ended up hitched to uncle Excuse Me too.
Uncle Bødvar said his mother Iacoba told him approvingly that it was just like old times, and their conversion through breeding and luxury a sure thing. After all, it worked on her. Even Bødvar admits that he'd never suspected that side of uncle Excuse Me, who has a hard enough time talking to people due to his shyness.
I am shocked too. This is the man who sent me a runestone saying “sorry I can't attend your birthday” three years in a row rather than having to engage in social pleasantries he could skip, and now he has a zealous Orthodox wife who'll speak her mind, loudly, and is frequently seen attending parties with his four wives?
Grandpa Sigurd was right. Kingship maketh the man!
But there's bigger news. This year uncle Bødvar led the Danish forces to victory in the great Lusatian war, and high chief Wizla was subjugated.
The Secret Diary of the Genius Prince Sverker in Exile, Aged 11 and Counting
Dear Diary,
King Ögmundr is dead, long live cousin Thordr, his son and heir. There is some suspicion that the king did not choke on a herring entirely without aid, but nobody is looking too closely.
King Ögmundr was not a well-liked man and Mommy says that though aunt Álfhildr was his path to power and bore him seven of his nine children, he did not treat her with the respect she was due, so good riddance to bad rubbish.
Mommy sent uncle Excuse Me a gift of five fine Thralls Father took on his last raid, and Father missed the point. It is probably best so. I shall sneak out for a ride on Slays-by-night while she distracts him.
The Secret Diary of the Genius Prince Sverker in Exile, Aged nearly 12 and Counting
Dear Diary,
It is nearly my birthday! If the suggestion I made to uncle Bødvar this winter bears fruit, uncle Smartypants will visit. And if I can convince him, then the sky is the limit, for uncle Excuse Me trusts him implicitly.
The Secret Diary of the Genius Prince Sverker in Exile, Aged 12
Dear Diary,
I scrawl this hastily in the morning. Full report will follow: UNCLE SMARTYPANTS CAME!
He did not come alone. He brought his son Eirikr, chief of Ruppin, uncle Excuse Me's son Gudfridr, Jarl of Skåne, and his successor as court chaplain, the Jarl of Wessex.
Whew. I sure don't advance time much in these last few entries, do I?
While I do have a great deal of fun writing these childhood entries to establish Sverker's character, I expect later Sverker chapters to cover much longer stretches of time or this will become an ardous affair.
Good, good. Our genius has taken the initial steps into the politics: Firstly watch the situation, secondly see its shortcomings, and always know there is a need for plan. Good!
Whew. I sure don't advance time much in these last few entries, do I?
While I do have a great deal of fun writing these childhood entries to establish Sverker's character, I expect later Sverker chapters to cover much longer stretches of time or this will become an ardous affair.
Certainly, the decision is up to you, and only you, the sole creator of the world of this dream, when it comes to drawing the horizon of its skies, shaping the waves of its seas, weaving the fabrics of its dreams. Know that it will be heard, seen, and read, no matter its length, however arduous its details are, whenever served it is.
Whew. I sure don't advance time much in these last few entries, do I?
While I do have a great deal of fun writing these childhood entries to establish Sverker's character, I expect later Sverker chapters to cover much longer stretches of time or this will become an ardous affair.
- Chapter the Ninth: The Sverker Diaries, part five - the world of 913
The Secret Diary of the Genius Prince Sverker, Aged 12
Dear Diary,
I greeted my birthday guests as they rode in, calling them by name and rank and offering compliments.
Upon Mommy's prompting, I greeted Viola especially diplomatically. I complimented her on her horse and praised her riding skill. She told me she loved horses. A lot. Which I already knew, but her limited intellect is not suited for either small talk or debate, so random noises of horse appreciation is about the best one can get out of her, as I found out while living in Salisbury.
She then dismounted, struck a pose, and told me to take a good look as she was now a big girl. Did I still find her ugly?
Well, she'd grown a lot since last year, but it had done nothing for her looks. Diplomacy to the rescue! Ugly? Perish the thought, I told her, and she beamed at me. I continued flattering her, and said that while most girls her age dreamed of growing up to be conventionally beautiful, I recognized that common beauty standards could not possibly do her unique looks justice. Now that I got a good look, I was sure she would grow up to be horse-faced, the perfect combination of her looks and her interests.
At which her face turned an impressive shade of red as she digested my words, and then she threw herself at me, screaming, clawing at my eyes, punching, and kicking. I desperately fended her off, trying not to hurt her, and the adults just laughed at the spectacle. Finally, after Viola managed to land a particular nasty kick to the nether regions, I tried a tactical withdrawal while begging her to stop with tears in my eyes, and only ended up falling on my arse, with Viola landing on top and still pummelling me.
At which point bigbro Tryggvi rolled his eyes, sighed, and said, “ah, young love”, and they all laughed again!
I have never been so humiliated! Or in so much pain and so close to losing my eyes. Finally the Jarl of Wessex pulled her off me.
It is almost impossible to understand. While I did hold back so as not to harm her, I am built like a bear, trained in fighting, and three years older than Viola, who is a small girl like sis and frogsis. Yet I was defeated by this nine year old weakling coming at me with murder in her eyes. The most obvious explanation is also the most disturbing one, and one that the timid and weak of mind would shrink from even considering: Seidr! I must have been bespelled. Viola is a witch.
I later asked Father whether I was still betrothed to Viola, and he said yes. I asked him why, and he said because he said so, which is not much of an argument. Prodded further, he said that he was a man of his word. And that even if he was not, it would not do to offend an important man like the Jarl of Wessex.
I explained to him that according to Grandpa's lectures, the purpose of bethrothal and marriage was political alliance, and that now that I was a Pomeranian living in a proudly independent Ireland, a marriage alliance with the ugly daughter of a Jarl in Denmark surely was not worth all that much to either party. Indeed, it could be argued that the current arrangement was detrimental to the Jarl, so it would be better for everybody involved if the betrothal was called off.
Father hemmed and hawed and said that this betrothal was not really his idea in the first place, and it was rightly for Mommy to say. So I asked her, and she said, wait and see.
So we celebrated with a feast.
The Secret Diary of the Genius Prince Sverker, Aged 12 and a day
Dear Diary,
After breakfast, Mommy took me aside for a chat with uncle Smartypants and Jarl of Wessex.
Jarl of Wessex called me a good boy with a strong sense of justice, but no matter how cynical about the matter and no matter how manipulative I might be, I was not getting out of the bethrothal. It was Mommy's idea, and once she had told Grandpa he made it fit Odin's plans, and he and the Jarl had worked hard for it with uncle Arnbjørn's support.
The Jarl was doing his part raising Viola right and Mommy was doing her part, and uncle Arnbjørn was laying the groundwork with uncle Baldr the King, who had not been too keen on Grandpa's plan. Even Viola was doing her part and not complaining.
So I would jolly well marry Viola and like it. Or else.
Else what? I asked.
Shut up, he said.
Uncle Smartypants said he was doing his part because Granpa's plan was good and Mommy was his favourite sister, but my antics were embarrassing to them all and counter-productive. He called me a cracked egg and told me to stop trying to manipulate Bødvar. He said I was not nearly as smart as I thought I was and almost painfully bad at intrigue. Did I really think everybody else was an idiot and nobody could see through my act? Did I truly not understand that under Sigurd's rule, and now Baldr's, competency was what mattered for advancement? Well, competency and a decent body count.
I made sure to look contrite, as I promised to do better. But would somebody please tell me what the plan was?
Mommy said no. The plan was adult business and I would be told when I reached my majority. But they had agreed to this meeting to tell me what I had to do the next few years, to stop my attempts at subverting it out of ignorance.
Become very good at diplomacy
Do nothing to piss off uncle Baldr the King
Marry Viola and have many children
Profit
I told her that the third part qualified as adult business, surely, so why not just let me hear the rest of the plan rather than waiting? Jarl of Wessex chuckled at that and told me Sigurd the King had said that in his family, they tried harder. And earlier.
So I said that I would do as they said and concentrate on becoming good at diplomacy and making Viola happy.
Which made them happy and ended the discussion. Grown ups are so predictable.
Little did they suspect that everything that had transpired had done so according to my design.
With a lighter heart I went forth to greet the day. Escaping family, guests, and responsibility, I rode Slays-by-night on a tour of the countryside, with Vassal by my side, and we hunted small game and enjoyed the spring.
Which made them happy and ended the discussion. Grown ups are so predictable.
Little did they suspect that everything that had transpired had done so according to my design.
...which of course does not help him to be anyone other than a typical dude. Our genius has still a lot to learn.
The most obvious explanation is also the most disturbing one, and one that the timid and weak of mind would shrink from even considering: Seidr! I must have been bespelled. Viola is a witch.
I just love how his character practically writes itself based on traits and stats. This boy may see himself as a genius mastermind, but reality is a cruel mistress.
I just love how his character practically writes itself based on traits and stats. This boy may see himself as a genius mastermind, but reality is a cruel mistress.
Moreover, this opens a very interesting discussion on this subject. Apologies in advance for disrupting the thread. Will not be repeated should the writAAR decide so.
It is a niche of a niche act to write AARs, as they are based on primarily the play-course of a game-run. It is therefore definitely enriching the stories written on the forums when appropriate images are provided. The images are provided by the creator of the AAR, and they can be regarded only as however the writAAR wishes, shaping the story according to the dream - fiction - arc - plot - text of the writAAR. In this regard, they can be considered as illuminated manuscripts, or illustrations in children's book (the latter is given as a highly regarded example as opposed to a diminutive one, because children's books are absolute joy to read, a joy that can be felt only by parents, or uncle and aunts, older brothers and sisters, etc. such that it can be incredibly tiresome but it does give infinite happiness, to read them to the younglings and to see their eyes opening wide with the words along with the illustrations), etc.
As such, in this niche of a niche medium, writing possesses the dilemma for the writAAR with respect to the provided images of the characters: Should the story be written according to the character given in the image (and therefore, the game), i.e. should the depiction of the character abide the personality in the given image of it?
Should is a very limiting question in this case. What possibilities are there is a better proposal to inquire in the case of images versus story of the writAAR. Personal preference is always with the imagination of its writAAR: It is the only and only creator of the story, so the final word of the decision lies in the dreams of its writAAR.
Of course, since the base material is a game, the story that is written is played according to that character with the given personalities, so a role-play it is. Based on the personal experience with games, it can be said this is a common practice, as observed and played in such a manner for example since homm's, even civ's, as well as tw's, and these games have mostly irrelevant attributes for the played characters. The rest of the dream depends on the limits of the imagination of the player. A single portrait with a set of numbers for the strength and the weaknesses are enough to play the role. It is naturally easier to construct (and infinitely more challenging and more fun) such character-plays when the game is tabe-top frp (personal experience almost exclusively d&d - or actually ad&d).
However, it is now twenty-first century, and the games are more advanced. With the concepts of ck, the characters are detailed in more advanced layers of personalities (but still not enough, and nothing compared to an imagination-creation power of a human being). The question of choices comes in this case as: What possibilities are there to depict this person that is played by the player in this run? Describe it as given, or go further deep to create another character? Further detailed or completely different? Give it a superficial life, or analyse it down to its atoms? And the further depth one dives in, what if it does not abide the personality played in the game, given in the image, that is provided as the supplement of the AAR?
Personal answer: So what? It is the story of the writAAR, and only writAAR can decide what a character can and cannot do in the story. However played and depicted in the game (and the image) is irrelevant; only the words of the writAAR are the actual elements of the story, not the information of personalities given in the images; not even the play-course of the run itself, but only the words of the story, the plot of the arc, the nature of the book are relevant. And go even deeper through the layers, add even another level of personality to the character when it is yet thought enough, reach the horizons that have never been seen.
If it coincides with the image and the game-run, that is cool. If it contradicts with the information shown in the image, that is even cooler. Now that triggers the moment to say: Hang on, hmm, interesting. Now there is a contradiction, or perhaps even a puzzle to solve for the readAAR, to find out what the writAAR is trying to achieve, what the story is with respect to this new addition, that is contrary to the given, why is this character personified as such (one of the few cases of question types in which why is actually useful), is it consistent within the story, so will it be repeated, how will it evolve through the end, what are the possibilities, etc.
Anyways, yep, it is -with absolute certainty- lovely that our boy sees himself as a genius, and reality is otherwise a solid definition of callous fact, smiling as the sun onto the ones defying its existence, saying with all its thermonuclear fusion: Hello, puny beings.
Cannot wait for the next chapters.
Once again apologies in advance for disrupting the thread. Will not be repeated again should the writAAR decide so.
@filcat - that is an interesting topic, and I do not mind it interrupting the AAR. I do feel that if you want to turn it into an actual discussion rather than merely bringing up some interesting points in the context of the AAR, such is better done in a thread dedicated to that topic in the general AARland forum.
As reward for your persistence - and because the next chapter was growing extremely long - I have chopped it in twain and will be publishing the first part today.
@Nikolai - good to hear that an expert on the human condition agrees with Sverker. Lord knows, he needs somebody that does.
- Chapter the Tenth: The Sverker Diaries, part six - the world of 913-914
The Secret Diary of the Genius Prince Sverker, Aged 12 and a week
Dear Diary,
I am speechless.
We bid goodbye to our guests today. As they left I told Mommy that I would miss Viola. Mommy looked at me fondly and said she was pleased to hear that I had had a change of heart, if perhaps a bit sceptical about my motivation. Had I finally noticed Viola's compassionate nature and loyal heart?
She is so predictable.
I told that it was a matter of practicality. Since I would wed her, I should get to know her better. There was no reason to hurry, as absence makes the heart grow fonder and the wedding was seven years away, but even so I would like to meet her two or three times before then if it could be arranged. Perhaps already for my next birthday?
...The better to find evidence to reveal her as a witch and cancel the bethrothal; I would have to plan carefully and act with the utmost caution lest Viola catch on to my knowledge of her secret or her intentions. But I did not tell Mommy that. Accusing somebody of practising Seidr maliciously is serious business and requires absolute proof when the daughter of a Jarl is involved.
Mommy said that she was glad to hear it. She thought it was a great idea for us to see each other more often and get to know each other better, and so did the Jarl of Wessex, but there was no reason to wait a year.
Indeed, they agreed yesterday after I left that until the wedding I and Viola would alternate visiting each other for a month at the turn of each season. I would visit Wessex the first month of summer and of winter, Viola would visit Connacht the first month of spring and of autumn.
And since today was April 23rd, I'd be leaving in about a month.
I am speechless.
Excerpt: The Man and the Myth: Baldr the Great
At 43 years of age Baldr was a man in his prime, or perhaps a few year past that, when he ascended to the kingships of Denmark, Norway, England, West Francia, Wales, and Pomerania. An ambitious man who had diligently served his famous father all his life, he nevertheless was mainly known to his contemporaries for his incredible shyness.
Kingship changed him, and for the better by the standards of the time. Letting his ambition burn bright, he took up the mantle of a warrior king and his 22 year long reign of conquest and terror transformed Europe forever.
Drawing upon surviving sources, we have attempted to reconstruct his Klamphugger-Jensen diagram in 913, two years into his reign.
The Secret Diary of the Genius Prince Sverker, Aged 12 and a half – and Counting
Dear Diary,
We made it through the snow and arrived at Wessex' castle. This hare-brained scheme of Mommy's makes no excuse for weather. I was greeted warmly and given the same quarters as this summer.
I spent some time with the Jarl this evening at supper, and asked him how he came to be part of this plan of Mommy's.
Good plan, except he was mugged while on his way down memory lane and ended up talking about all his wives and only incidentally answering my question. Still, I did learn vital information about Viola, so I guess it was worth it. I'll record all of it in case I missed any clues, for it was tedious.
He got a distant look in his eyes, and said that rightly it started when Sigurd the King, who always had an eye for talent, invited him up north from his home in Hungary to marry one of his lovely daughters, Sif, Mommy's long lost twin, and be put in charge of Wessex.
Being new to the North, he and Father hit it off, as their wives so obviously desired. Though where the Jarl had been recruited for his brains, Father had other qualities. They were men in their prime, newly married to younger and eager wives, and with a world to conquer. It was a time to live.
But his luck with women was bad.
Sif bore him two bright boys and then died in childbirth three months after my own birth in 901.
For his second wife he chose a sturdy farmgirl, Christina, who caught his eye with her sensuous and witchy ways. With her body, he thought she'd make an ideal broodmare. Alas, he had reckoned without religion. She was a militant Christian and chaste. Guarding her virtue, as she put it, undoubtedly in the hopes of converting him. She was amenable to persuasion, and when her defenses were lowered she had the old magic and put him through his paces, all right, but in twelve years of marriage she born him only three children, and all girls at that. Then, last year she too died in childbirth, attempting to the last to save their new son, bless her loyal heart, but they both passed away. It broke the hearts of his daughters, but she had brought them up well: they overcame their grief in time.
Long-winded, but he was deep in his ale, and I knew better than to interrupt.
As for his third wife, a concubine turned wife once Sigurd the King got religion, she was a good woman, but, alas, also chaste. And alas less amenable to persuasion. But she kept the children in line, even Viola, whose compassionate nature was only surpassed by her inquisitiveness into knowledge best left to the ancients. And his fourth, picked up in an alliance with house Hammer after Christina's death, was a delightful being, but he feared she might be barren.
His luck with women was definitely bad.
But notwithstanding the difficulties, he had eight living children to his name, and by the way, what were we talking about? I gently led him back to talking about the plan.
He explained that through the years of misery he kept up the connection with Mommy and Father, so once Mommy realized that both I and Viola showed signs of being uncommonly bright children and brought her plan to Sigurd the King, she and Sigurd had an easy time convincing him to join.
Viola uncommonly bright? Mommy must have been in her cups or, more likely, have been flattering him. I told him diplomatically that Viola definitely showed signs of wisdom, though she could do with anger management lessons. He brushed that off saying that she got that from her mother like so many of her skills, and it was a weak man who complained about a broodmare showing a bit of spirit.
I swear that family has a horse fixation.
The Secret Diary of the Genius Prince Sverker, Aged 13 – and Counting
Dear Diary,
Uncle Bødvar sent me a painting from this summer's campaign in Aquitaine. By the looks of it king Baldr will soon find himself in possession of yet another kingdom.
The Secret Ledger of Evidence of Viola's Witchcraft
Visit 1: Wessex, summer 913
June 2nd: I have arrived at Wessex castle. Rather than housing me in the main wing, the Jarl has opened a guest wing just for me, Viola, some cooks, and some miscellaneous servants. He says we won't be distracted by official business that way. I find this suspicious.
June 12th. When I took Vassal for a run in the wood, Viola warned me that it would rain. And it did. Granted, this is England, so rain is never out of the question, but possible use of the sight?
June 16th. Played chess with Viola. For an unintelligent girl, she is surprisingly good at the game. Idiot savant or something more sinister? Does she see more than three moves ahead?
Visit 2: Connacht, autumn 913
September 3rd. Viola arrived. Vassal loves her. Suspicious, that.
September 5th. I overheard Viola asking sis and frogsis questions about me. When I walked up to them, they stopped talking. When I left, they continued. What is going on?
September 6th. Sis says they were just discussing my size. A likely story.
September 8th. I played chess with Viola. Deliberately Lost. Congratulated her.
September 10th. I played chess with Viola. Deliberately Lost. Asked for a rematch and beat her handily. She congratulated me.
September 14th. Bigbro Tryggvi teased me over the time I've been spending with Viola. I brushed it off. Little does he suspect that it is all part of my plan of luring her into a false sense of security so she will lower her guard, and THEN... I'll find proof.
September 18th. I played with Viola again and, surprisingly, had a good time. For a stupid girl she is pretty good at playing games, and good company too, when I forget her wicked nature. Is she trying to lull me into a false sense of security too?
Visit 3: Wessex, winter 913
December 9th. My arrival was delayed by snow. Jarl said, it happens. I've opened your wing again. Go have fun. When I reached my room, Viola was waiting there with a mug of hot beer for me – just what I needed. Perfect timing. Too perfect. How did she know when I'd arrive, when I hadn't known it myself?
December 13th. We played Raid and Capture. She definitely has a homefield advantage, being almost impossible to capture when I play raider. Thrice I nearly captured her, just for her to disappear around a corner and reappear shortly afterwards behind me. When she played the raider, she found and captured me quickly, running me down with her short legs and trapping me in cul-de-sacs. How does she do this.
December 14th. I joined the castle's children in the mother of all snowball fights! Snowballs flying everywhere, snow fortresses blown apart by gravel-packed snowballs (my speciality), a wild melee with no fixed sides and no permanent alliances. Viola proved bad at throwing, but showed no fear of anybody, charging even those twice her size to topple them and bury them in snow. As she pranced triumphantly on top of her older brother Bragi, I proved by empirical application of a well-aimed snowball to her face that whatever other powers she has, immunity to thrown missiles is not one of them. It was completely worth the toppling I subsequently suffered. No hard feelings. We relaxed that night playing hnefatafl. I am reminded of Mother's proverb: cold hands, warm heart.
December 18th. I caught Viola feeding Slays-by-night. She claimed she was just doing her daily round of the stables, and he looked hungry. Plausible story. Is she, perhaps, trying to erode my control? Surely she's not poisoning him!
- Chapter the Eleventh: The Sverker Diaries, part seven - the world of 914-915
The Secret Ledger of Evidence of Viola's Witchcraft
Visit 4: Connacht, spring 914
March 6th.. Even a moronic face looks better when plastered with a smile, but why did she smile when I greeted her coming? I was just being diplomatic.
March 9th. We played Raid and Capture. My home, my advantage. She was too slow to catch me when playing raider and I swiftly caught her when I did. My running exercises have paid off!
March 19th. Viola has been exceptionally well behaved the entire visit. I now know why. She has been busy charming my sisters, turning them into her informants.
Visit 5: Wessex, summer 914
June 25th. This was a perfect summer. Exercise, weapons training, and play during the day. Chess and hnefatafl in the evening. No witchy observations at all. She is clearly playing the long game.
Visit 6: Connacht, autumn 914
September 9th. Went to see the new carp pond. Viola got too close and was attacked. She fought back bravely. Carp for dinner. Played a good game of hnefatafl afterwards.
September 10th. While eating lunch, Viola asked me if I would like to conquer the world. A strange question to be asked out of nowhere, but I of course answered in the affirmative. She looked pleased, as if she was checking a point on a mental checklist, and asked whether, in that case, I had prepared some famous last words? I said no, what a ridiculous suggestion. So she suggested “To the strongest!” and refused to explain why! She drives me mad sometimes. What is she up to?
September 11th. We played Raid and Capture. When I finally captured her, I held her fast and said that she must pay a forfeit to be released. She looked at me coyly and agreed, but grew sullen when the forfeit I demanded was that she explain those “last words”. Her moods ever changing, she perked up and told me that she was planning on having a dozen sons with me, probably some of them being twins, it being a more economical use of the time. Then, when I inevitably died young while conquering the world, I could tell the sons “To the strongest!” and she'd get to see the world burn as they fought for supremacy, the best of her brood defeating the rest. I released her and stalked away, her parting laughter loud in my ears.
September 14th. I asked Viola whether she really wanted me to die young, and she said no, not really, but dying young trying to conquer the world seemed a decent second best and not to be disdained. I did not inquire closer about the whole “watching the world burn” issue – Viola is flaky enough as it is without encouragement to pyromania. And perhaps she meant what she said. Even a witch should know better than leaguing with the Jotuns, and Surtur most of all, but she is clearly not mentally stable.
Visit 7: Wessex, winter 914
December 3rd. Viola greeted me upon arrival. She asked me if I noticed anything different about her, and I can't say I did. So I told her. She left in a huff. She was very cold at dinner. She refused a game of chess in the evening because she was tired. Such a moody girl.
December 4th. I fell ill today with a violent headache and my stomach on fire. The court physician said it must be something I had eaten and recommended amputation. Of the head. I think he was joking, but he had a dangerous gleam in his eye, so I told him I felt much better and made my escape.
December 5th. Viola came to find me, as I had not shown up for our daily game, and found me racked with pain. She prodded me here and there to find out where it hurt, then, like the court physician, she concluded it must be something I had eaten.
I asked her, only a bit sarcastically, if she had any medical training, and she told me seriously that since her father had the best stables in all of England, all of his children learned how do treat ill horses so she knew how to brew several medicines.
Later, she brought me a vile-smelling remedy made from a secret recipe of her mother's, and I was so delirious that I drank it without thought for my safety. Should I expire tonight, let all know that Viola is to blame!
December 6th. I am feeling better. I guess Viola did not poison me. Or – I hesitate to even put this into writing – perhaps it wasn't something I ate. Perhaps she did poison me and conveniently had the antidote ready. But why would she do that? Has she uncovered my witch hunt? And if so, why heal me?
December 10th. Viola has been nursing me back to health with a bit of help from the cooks. When she forgets being a brat, she is good company. Yet I cannot forget my suspicions... Is this outpouring of compassion her true nature or is she perhaps contrite, regretting attempted murder carried out in a state of wrath?
Visit 8: Connacht, spring 915
March 4th. As winter turns to spring, Viola is here. What a surprise. She brought a gift for Mother. That is either very considerate or very calculating or both.
March 7th. Viola has spent a suspicious amount of time closeted with Mother the last two days. What are they discussing?
March 11th. I casually asked bigbro Tryggvi and lilbro Njáll whether they had noticed if Viola was up to something. As expected Tryggvi had noticed nothing, for paying attention is not his strongest suit: He found it natural that she was spending time with Mother now that she was finally developing in the chest region (he exaggerates), so he expected they were talking about women's things, and what's strange about that? But Njáll, the little sneak, had noticed how she was always around watching me when I was training in the courtyard.
Which was hardly news to me, as her encouraging cries of “kick him in the unmentionables”, “hit him while he's down”, and “smite him like the hammer of Thor” could hardly be missed. Mostly addressed to me, but she was an even-opportunity encourager on the rare occasions when I was beaten.
The Secret Diary of the Genius Prince Sverker, Aged 13 – and Counting
Dear Diary,
After Viola left, bigbro Tryggvi took me aside. He told me that my infatuation with Viola was obvious, but I ought to be up front with her rather than sneak around spying on her every move. Frankly, it came across as creepy and possibly sinister, and she undoubtedly found it rather uncomfortable. Not that there was anything wrong with liking what I saw, he assured me, but he was sure she would appreciate my telling her so to her face.
He thinks he's so smart just because he is older and officially an adult now, but as so often he completely missed the point.
Sure, there were five years until our marriage, he said, as if I did not know of that looming deadline, but we would be better off learning how to get along. Find shared interests apart from chess, hnefatafl, and horses. Make life goals. Plan married life.
Take Huld, his bethrothed, he said. Some men might be put off by her looks, and others might fear being crushed in a tender moment out of sheer absentmindedness, but having known her since childhood he knew her for a generous soul and honest to a fault, with a beautiful mind, a strong right arm, and the wit to rule and maintain his household when he went viking.
A strong right arm, I grant him, but wits to run a household? Huld's idea of stewardship is to pay and pay until problems go away!
Tryggvi explained, that while at first they did not seem to have many interests in common, years of getting to know each other had shown they had more in common than not. As reasonable people they had laid their plans both for the short and the long term. There'd be no other woman for him once they married next spring and went on honeymoon, spelunking in virginal mountains.
And blah, blah, blah. His love for his Ivaring giantess has hardly been a secret to the family, though their shared interest in mountain climbing and cave exploration came as news to me. I asked if they were going down to Munster to try the tallest mountains in Ireland, but Tryggvi demurred and said they'd start closer to home.
I told him that while I was happy for them, and while I was built like a bear and could climb mountains just fine and would undoubtedly be great at spelunking, Viola was a tiny thing and unlikely to be interested in that.
He told me that I might be surprised. It is sad to see how love has clouded his critical faculties.
The Secret Ledger of Evidence of Viola's Witchcraft
Visit 9: Wessex, summer 915
June 9th: I left Viola busy with her needlework and rode Slays-by-night to the village. While I was looking for a ribbon to buy for frogsis, I saw Viola shopping for cabbage. Most peculiar. I quietly left without being noticed, and rode back to the castle. There I found Viola still doing needlework. Most peculiar indeed. But perhaps a case of mistaken identity? I did leave as soon as I saw her, and did not pause to ascertain that it was truly Viola. Perhaps it was just some girl that in the wrong light looked uglier than she deserved. And even if it was Viola, perhaps she had been gripped by a sudden hunger for cabbage, and had used superior knowledge of her home terrain to ride to the village and back faster than I did? Say that to her credit, she's a very good rider.
June 16th: I visited the village again this morning and, what should happen but that I saw Viola shopping for cabbage again? I walked up to her and greeted her by name, and she just ignored me. I called her out for being rude, and she turned to me and in that frustrating voice of hers said I had gotten the wrong person. I begged forgiveness for my mistake and left. I returned to the castle and, surprise, Viola was there already.
She claimed she had been studying new stitches for her needlework from the pretty pictures in a book all morning and had just returned it to her father. Apparently, as I discovered by furtive examination, she had been studying while having neither needles nor thread with her, but of this I said nothing. She thanked me for my interest in her studies and asked if I would like to play? Naturally, I agreed to divert attention from my investigation. There is definitely something going on.
June 17th. It rained all day so we stayed indoors and played games and quizzes. Through cunning inquiry I managed to discover that Viola does not like cabbage.
June 23rd. I gave Viola a bright red ribbon for her hair this morning, and she smiled all over her ugly little face as I carefully braided it into her hair. I regretfully told her that I could not play that morning as I was going riding in the forest, and wished her good luck with her needlework. Then I left for the forest and, once out of sight of the castle, I masked myself and rode quickly to the village, a veritable master of disguise.
Who would I see there but Viola, red ribbon in hair, purchasing a cabbage. I immediately left and rode hell for leather back to the castle, where, to my complete lack of surprise, I found Viola doing needlework, not a hair out of place, not a speck of dirt or dust on her dress. Could she, possibly, have ridden home even faster than I and changed her costume? It didn't seem possible, but if she had she would definitely still be affected from the ride, though hiding it. That gave me an idea.
I greeted her, saying that I had forgotten something urgent before leaving, and I sincerely apologized. She asked, what?
So I knelt before her, grabbed her by the wrist, and laid my head on her tiny chest. Her breath was even, her pulse was normal. She had definitely not been riding quickly.
But as I knelt there in repose, testing, her pulse sped up and her breath became irregular, and she asked me, slightly flustered, just what I thought I was doing.
I told her it was a medical examination, part of my studies, and left.
There was no way known to man that Viola could have made her way to the village and back again this morning without being out of breath or having a racing pulse. Given that it is hard to be in two places at the same time, especially if there is a great distance between them, I now had conclusive evidence of witchcraft.
But what is the cabbage for?
June 24th. Viola was unusually quiet during our evening chess game.
The Secret Diary of the Genius Prince Sverker, Aged 14 – and Counting
Dear Diary,
Father is dead. Hunting accident. He was brought in badly wounded and barely lived long enough to say goodbye. When I got my turn, I manly held in my tears and asked him if he had any last words for me, expecting a “be good to Mother”, “help Tryggvi see your sisters well married”, “serve Tryggvi loyally”, “live well”, or possibly “don't go boar hunting at 56, especially not after drinking in the morning”.
He just grimaced with pain, and through gritted teeth he spoke, “UNITE THE SLAVS!”
I gaped like a fish, and said, “What?” and he grinned, though it clearly hurt, and said that he was proud of me, his beloved brilliant cub. He felt sure that I would surpass him in deeds as much as I surpassed him in brains, but I had played enough jokes on him during my 14 years of life that surely I would not begrudge him having the last laugh. While I was trying to puzzle that out, he called for Njáll.
Mother is inconsolable.
This August 30, 915, I become a chief, as does bigbro Tryggvi and lilbro Njáll. Bigbro Tryggi is the new Jarl of Connacht holding the core lands. I get Leinster and Ailech. Lilbro Njáll get Atholone and Ennis. Just my luck, Leinster has recently been overrun, sacked, and occupied by uncle Arnbjørn's oldest sons on their way to topple cousin Thordr.
Thinking of the responsibility... I am not ready for this. My bear of a Father is gone. I already miss him.
But every cloud has a silver lining! We will obviously have to cancel the autumn visit to Wessex in favour of the funeral, and perhaps the future visits as well? If I have anything to say about it, I am regretfully going to be much too busy a man and have too many responsibilities to my holdings to follow that old schedule.
The Secret Diary of the Genius Prince Sverker, Aged 14 – and Counting
Dear Diary,
I am speechless.
Two weeks to the day after Father's funeral, one of king Baldr's Handy Henchmen showed up with a party of fifty and asked for lodging. He brought Mother condolences from uncle Baldr the King and uncle Arnbjørn, and orders for me to present myself in Salisbury as ward of king Baldr.
Nobody pointed out that I was in principle a chief in my own right owing allegiance only to bigbro Tryggvi, who owed allegiance to the king of Ireland, whomever that might be at the moment, cousin Thordr being about to lose his crown to one of uncle Arnbjørn's sons. This was a matter of blood, an internal Sigurdr matter, and uncle Baldr was the undisputed head of the dynasty. He also had the largest army.
As for me, I was overjoyed. A return to the seat of power? Had my luck finally changed after these years of misery? Had I escaped the deranged plans of dear departed Grandpa despite all Mother and the Jarl of Wessex could do? It seemed too good to be true.
And it was.
The Handy Henchman assured me I wouldn't feel lonely, for uncle Baldr the king had taken thought for my comfort and acted with his customary decisiveness.
These diary entries have been great! And the witch hunt is truly inspired.
Will Sverker manage to continue his investigations in Salisbury? Will Viola continue acting like an obvious witch? Will we find out more about cabbage??
There is much to be answered...
September 18th. I played with Viola again and, surprisingly, had a good time. For a stupid girl she is pretty good at playing games, and good company too, when I forget her wicked nature.Is she trying to lull me into a false sense of security too?
Her moods ever changing, she perked up and told me that she was planning on having a dozen sons with me, probably some of them being twins, it being a more economical use of the time. Then, when I inevitably died young while conquering the world, I could tell the sons “To the strongest!” and she'd get to see the world burn as they fought for supremacy, the best of her brood defeating the rest. I released her and stalked away, her parting laughter loud in my ears.
Thanks for the comments and sorry for the delay; I've been busy working on my Guess the Author comments (so much work!), attending a confirmation, and other things. I hope to have the next chapter up by end of day today (optimistically) or tomorrow (realistically).
It will take Sverker through the remaining years of education and into home rule.
- Chapter the Twelth: The Sverker Diaries, part eight - the world of 915-917
The Secret Diary of the Genius Prince Sverker, Aged 14 – and Counting
Dear Diary,
I am a genius! I will revolutionize writing forever... If I choose to let the world in on my secret innovation, the quotation mark. This single symbol allows ANY text to clearly distinguish between what is said and what is done.
I came up with the idea while considering how to write an observation from the journey. It was this: I saw my guard fuck the horse, he said.
This is subject to misinterpretation. Does this deal with a fillyfiddler or am I writing about my guard cursing his horse? I know what I saw, but how would the reader? With my new invention there can be no doubt:
I saw my guard “fuck the horse”, he said, makes it clear that the cursing is intended, it being a quotation.
I saw my guard fuck the horse, he said, makes it clear that unnatural congress with the filly was observed, due to the lack of quotation marks. Also, I have this idea for a symbol to denote end of sentences to increase clarity. Termination marks? Full stops? End-of-line? I need to develop this idea further.
The Secret Diary of the Genius Prince Sverker, Aged 14 – and Counting
Dear Diary,
I arrived at court! And nobody was here to greet me. They had all gone to uncle Baldr the king's artillery range, I was told, there to watch the newest innovation. As my escort had been bidden to bring me to the king, there perforce went I as well.
The new innovation turned out to be a sling connected to a stick, mounted on a wooden frame. It threw rocks. Rope was involved too, it was all very, very, technical, and everybody looked pleased with it, especially when on the third shot after I arrived the rock decapitated a cow, though looking at the men firing the sling I got the idea it was more by accident than design, and said so.
Sudden silence. The ranks of onlookers parted and who did I see but the king. I cursed myself for letting my mouth run, but fortunately he looked pleased.
Unfortunately, it was not for the reason I thought it was.
“Load the boy in the sling!” uncle Baldr said to my horror, “and you men, wind it tight! Let's see how far the little joker can fly!”
Straightforward my escort grabbed me and dragged me to the infernal device, muffling my cries, and it would have been a sad end to my life's story, splattered across the landscape due to an unfortunately timed comment, had not a small voice piped up, a voice I knew well:
“He is mine, oh mighty king, and if you hurt my stallion, I will smite you!”
It was Viola. For once I was happy to see her ugly face, as she ran up and tried to stare down the king, a man thrice her size.
The silence became deafening.
Uncle Baldr stepped around her to get a closer look at me, and said, “Why, so it is, little songbird. He's grown in stature if not in wisdom, but even so he looks more like a scared bear cub than a stallion to me.”
And then he laughed loudly at his own wit, and so did everybody else for they knew a cue when they heard one, and the good mood was restored. As I was to learn over the coming days, the coping mechanism uncle “Excuse Me” had found to deal with his incredible shyness was to fake a loud and boisterous nature, which was in many ways worse than the real thing affecting terminal bores.
The Secret Diary of the Genius Prince Sverker, Aged 14 – and Counting
Dear Diary,
This is intolerable. The king insists that there'll be no teaching at all unless both I and Viola attend together. And that we eat every meal together. And don't visit the town unless we go together.
Together, together, together! We are expected to do nearly everything together! But I am not going to complain. If I did, who knows what he'd think of next.
It would be bad enough if we were equally inconvenienced, but as I know very well such restrictions will not hold Viola back, as she can be attending lessons at court while visiting the town at the same time, should she so please. It is most unfair.
I tried explaining this to uncle Baldr in simple terms even he should be able to understand, but he got this strange look in his eyes and told me not to make a fuss.
The Secret Diary of the Genius Prince Sverker, Aged 14 – and Counting
Dear Diary,
Being at court is a bad influence on Viola. After having tried it out a few times in the past weeks, she now consistently calls me “her stallion”, refusing to call me by name. She claims it is a loving nickname, but I know better. Seeing my reaction to it has uncle Baldr in stitches, and she is clearly intent on charming him for her own nefarious purposes.
It is most vexing.
But today I found a way to have my revenge and shine a light on her unnatural habits in a way she cannot easily decry: I started calling her “my little witch”, claiming it was a loving nickname, and dared her to reject it!
She looked dismayed for a moment, but then put up a brave face and thanked me for it, undoubtedly gnashing her teeth in secret.
GOT HER!
The Secret Diary of the Genius Prince Sverker, Aged 14 – and Counting
Dear Diary,
Throughout the last week, Viola has been proving herself to be unexpectedly good at the diplomatic exercises that are part of uncle's teaching. I wonder if being able to be in two places at the same time makes her able to study twice as fast? Or perhaps she is communicating in secret somewhere else with some hidden diplomatic genius while she is attending lessons? Whatever is the case, I am having to work hard to keep her from getting the upper hand.
Many of the lessons end up with us squabbling, but uncle Baldr never stops us. He seems to derive amusement from seeing us argue. So it is good for something other than frustration, I guess.
Today was especially aggravating. The king was telling tales from his adventures, part of a lecture on modern diplomacy, or, how to tax people without an axe, and as I was dozing off halfway through, movement at the door caught my attention. Who should I spy at the opening but Viola, giving a wave to herself where she sat next to me? As I blinked my eyes, Viola waved back and Viola left! All right under uncle Baldr's nose.
I tried subtly bringing it to uncle Baldr's attention, asking him whether he'd seen what my little witch was doing (because I'll be damned if I call Viola by name in public so long as she calls me her stallion! I can keep this up at least as long as she does) but he would hear nothing of it.
He told me that an important part of non-axe diplomacy was the ability to focus on the important issues at hand rather than every little distracting thing, even if she was my little witch, and began telling a convoluted tale of extorting every last coin owed from the delinquent Jarl of Skåne using nothing but his wits, a black cat, a wheelbarrow, and a small group of Handy Henchmen carrying torches.
The Secret Diary of the Genius Prince Sverker, Aged 14 – and Counting
Dear Diary,
Uncle Bødvar sent a picture from the early spring raiding in Hispania. He had sent out the call for those interested in a good raiding season to assemble in the southern Danish outpost, Barcelona, from which he would harry the kingdoms of Hispania with fire and sword. I wish I was there.
The Secret Diary of the Genius Prince Sverker, Aged 15
Dear Diary,
April 16. My birthday! This was a great day. Not only is it only one year to my majority, and not only did I get several presents, the best present was the one I gave myself when I threw Viola into the pond.
It happened like this.
I had left Viola after lunch and was wandering the grounds with Vassal, when whom would I come across but Viola gazing into the pond, lost in rapt adoration of herself? I could not even bring myself to be surprised at seeing her so obviously in two places at once, it being such a common occurrence these days, but I could, and did, seize the opportunity that presented itself.
I told Vassal to lie low, and silent as Loki's shadow I sneaked up behind her.
Her witchy senses must have warned her, for when I was nearly upon her she started turning towards me, but too late! I rushed in and scooped her up in my arms. Her scared face softened as I gazed into her eyes, then turned to shocked surprise as I swung her around and with a mighty heave sent her flying through the air to land with a mighty splash in the pond.
Sputtering curses, she rose like a tiny sea-elf from its depths, her drenched clothes flattering her underdeveloped curves and tiny bosom in a way they never could dry. She was quite impressive at cursing, I must admit, and I could not hold back howls of laughter as she threatened to skin me alive for a new bag. Vassal found the scene as funny as I and ran up to bark at her, which did nothing to improve her mood.
I left her standing there and to her last cries of “you will suffer, Sverker!” I returned much invigorated to my quarters, determined not to show my face until dinner-time as, upon consideration, prudence seemed in order. Giving her some time to cool down would reduce the odds of her trying to claw my eyes out in a public setting.
It was with some trepidation that I attended dinner, which was to be a small family affair of eighty people or so hosted by the king. When I arrived I found Viola, sensibly clad in a new dress, talking to her father, the Jarl of Wessex, uncle Arnbjørn and uncle Baldr the king and I took thought to quietly taking my seat before I was noticed, but to no avail. The king saw me slinking past and cried out, “Ha! Your stallion arrives in glory, little songbird”, and everybody's eyes turned to me.
Viola was radiant, a pint-sized Chooser of the Slain visiting Midgård, and as she turned to me and started walking, a determined look in her eyes and her face radiating divine wrath, my certainty that she would not act inappropriately in public drained away.
I took control of the situation and said, “I can explain, little witch..” but got no further before she broke into a run and launched herself at me.
I steeled myself for impact and torn between guarding my eyes and nether regions, I had time for neither before she hit me full force, and evading my flailing arms with ease she embraced me and gave me a big hug.
Stunned by the impact, I could only stand in stupefaction as she rose on her toes, gave me a peck on the cheek, and said “thank you, my stallion”, which did nothing to alleviate the confusion, before letting go and returning giggling to her father.
There is something seriously wrong with her face. How can such a small face play host to such a big smile?
Throughout dinner I kept trying to bring up the pond incident to explain to Viola, but whenever I began she started giggling and I had to stop.
It was all very confusing.
When I returned to my room late at night, I found two cabbages with scary carved faces lying on my bed. I disposed of them forthwith.
I do not understand women.
The Secret Diary of the Genius Prince Sverker, Aged 15 – and Counting
Dear Diary,
Viola has been acting kind, considerate, and unfailingly polite to me ever since my birthday. Admittedly, that is how she normally behaves. I know this. It is normal behaviour. But how come I never truly noticed before?
I am seriously considering taking oldbro Tryggvi's advice and talking to her about our future. Perhaps there are worse fates.
I must be mad.
Or enchanted.
But would having a witch on my side, if I could trust or control her, really be that bad? Could it not be considered a strategic advantage?
When I close my eyes, I see her smile.
What has she done to me?
The Secret Diary of the Genius Prince Sverker, Aged 15 – and Counting
Dear Diary,
I love these long summer nights. Tonight I beat my little witch two games to one in Hnefatafl for the first time in weeks and we continued our discussion from yesterday. She really is much easier dealing with now that I have finally begun speaking to her about our future, and she leaped on my suggestion that we combine our daily evening game with frank discussion rather than playful sniping and joking.
So perhaps oldbro Tryggvi really did know what he was talking about.
Not that we can resist from sniping and joking, and if perhaps the games last longer to complete these nights or we continue talking after we finish playing, delaying our parting, I am not complaining. She is wise beyond her years.
I have not raised the witchcraft issue. Some things are better left unsaid.
Tonight after playing she claimed fatigue and asked if she could sit on her big bear of a chair, since her own chair was so hard. I saw through the transparent ploy, but she is such a tiny thing and truth to tell, I have found it curiously enjoyable to allow her small victories without a fight, so I gravely accepted and settled her in my lap and she snuggled up. It was comfortable.
She claimed to have loved me since the end of our first meeting when I gave her a doll. Given that she slammed me with it while crying her eyes out at the time, I found that unlikely but diplomatically did not contest the claim.
She next claimed to love my rumbling voice, my big hands, the way I looked at her when I thought she was not noticing, my sense of justice, the way I smote my enemies during training, my stamina, my quick wits, my jokes... and at that last I drew the line and asked her if she was not overdoing her flattery a bit, and she giggled into my chest and agreed.
For myself, I admitted to her, I could not say that I loved her, but I liked her company and found her fascinating and surely that was something we could build on? She readily agreed to that, saying that she expected nothing more from me, and strangely I felt a momentary pang of sadness at that.
For she, my little witch proclaimed, was a mare with a heart of gold, and I was a cynical stallion, and a fickle one at that. Building love, like trust, would take time. We would be the better served had we common cause as well as common interests. Games, jokes, manipulating people, and intelligent conversation would only take us so far.
To that I could only agree, and added that, time permitting, I would quite like to be chosen king of the Danes with her as queen, and asked if perhaps she thought that a worthy goal to work towards?
She answered that, time permitting, becoming queen of the Danes with me as her king seemed a worthy goal, if perhaps lacking in ambition. Surely it would be better to aim for becoming the first emperor and empress of the Danes, like Caesar Augustus and Livia in the days of old!
I had never heard of those people, but I was not about to proclaim my ignorance so I agreed that becoming emperor of Miklagård like Caesar Augustus was a worthy long term goal, though I did not think Danes would take well to the foreign title. Overking, perhaps. Great king. Or how about, I sniggered, bear king?
She thumped my chest and said I was silly, and she was right, but it was no sillier than her next suggestion, king of kings. Now, that's a real mouthful! Who could respect a ruler who styled himself like that?
The discussion degenerated into a tickling contest at that point.
The Secret Diary of the Genius Prince Sverker, Aged 15 – and Counting
Dear Diary,
News arrived from Aquitaine, that the peasants were revolting.
“So what else is new”, said uncle Baldr the king, and ordered his champions to arm themselves for a manhunt.
It is almost enough to make me feel sorry for the peasants. If these were good Danes they'd rise up against their overlords, defeat the king's forces, and dare him to do something about it, but spineless weaklings that they are they will be crushed without mercy.
Whenever somebody deep in his cups praises the feudal system as the future, I cannot help but think of its deep injustices and the hollow mockeries of men its class system makes of the freedmen, who, no longer free to speak their minds or lift weapons against those that oppress them, live a life scarcely better than that of thralls.
And yet almost half of king Baldr's realm is now affected by this malignancy, and as the western and southern conquests continue, it is ever spreading, good Danes taking up rulership at the top of the feudal realms and finding the servility to their liking.
King Baldr, to his credit, holds to the old ways. He is first amongst equals and his wealth and luck makes it clear he is beloved by the gods, but he treats everybody as his fellow man, whether he greets with extended hand or sword. Except for the women, obviously. That would be silly.
Will nobody speak for the man in the street with a sword before it is too late?
The Secret Diary of the Genius Prince Sverker, Aged 15 – and Counting
Dear Diary,
Mighty Odin show mercy, and Freyja too. On second thought, forget that. They probably approve.
13 years old.
My little witch is only 13, but her plans are ambitious. Her father was the greatest horse-breeder in Hungary until he was brought to the cold north, where he became the greatest horse-breeder, first in Danish Wessex, then throughout the Danish realm.
She would love to continue that tradition, which is scant surprise. But her dream, as she revealed to me tonight, goes far beyond that and I feature rather prominently in it.
I should have sensed the coming storm, but the night started calm and quiet. We had been playing a game of dice, for a change, and afterwards my little witch wanted to sit in her favourite bearchair, and I do not remember how the topic arose but somehow we ended up discussing my 12th birthday and how we ended up fighting in front of all the guests because I found her ugly and horse-faced. (She is never going to let me forget that comment, I fear.)
We were competing in boasting about the fight, and how we each had been on the verge of winning when her father stopped us fighting, when my little witch asked me exceedingly casually, in the way she does when the answer is really important to her and she does not want to show it, what I thought of her looks now.
I said that she looked beautiful to me, and if that was stretching the truth a bit, what of it? Her beaming smile made it all worthwhile.
And what of her size? Did I still think of her as a small child?
I told her as it is, that's she's just the right size for my little witch, and what sort of question was that? It was clear she was becoming a woman, said I, giving her bosom a light squeeze.
Which is when she dropped the hammer on me. Her father, she explained, had often told her that Sigurd the king had told him that in his family, they tried harder, and younger, and as she had had her first blood a year ago, why wait any longer? The earlier we got started, the more sons she could bear, and my lordship was only two months away.
I asked if she was still thinking of those dozen of sons fighting as I died young (it had made an impression on me, sure enough), but she said she was beyond such childish fancies.
She merely wanted to become known as the greatest human-breeder of all times, and she had a plan. With herself as boss mare, me as herd stallion, and a dozen other mares selected according to her criteria from the cream of young Sigurdr womanhood as a starting point, perhaps a few exceptional sturdy peasant girls for variety, she would crossbreed and inbreed and create a lineage to last a thousand years. It would be, she said, GLORIOUS!
I was briefly lost for words, thinking about her father, seldom a forgiving man. My uncle the king, prone to rash action when his pride was pricked. My life expectancy in certain hypothetical situations, were I to act on her invitation. In fact I did my best to think of anything other than the deranged little witch joyfully bouncing up and down in my lap, seriously threatening to get a rise out of me and most definitely upsetting my mental stability as my blood rushed downwards to my secondary brain to accomplish exactly that, when I hit upon an ingenious solution.
I lifted her and set her on her feet in front of me. Staring her straight in the eye, and stretching the truth to the bursting point, I told her that while I was in general built like a bear, in at least one respect she was right and stallion was the better description, since I was hung like a horse.
As she was not yet fully grown, her proposal, as delightful as it might otherwise be to fulfill, would include an unacceptably high risk of damage to the boss mare, and apart from the dangers this posed to her otherwise excellent plan, unnecessary risk-taking with the life of my little witch was something I would never, ever, countenance.
She deflated on the spot, but she is seldom lost to despair and tonight was no different. She thanked me for my concern, admitted she had not thought of that aspect, and suggested we play a kissing game instead before parting for the night. So we did.
The Secret Diary of the Genius Prince Sverker, Aged 16
Dear Diary,
Today I reached my majority and set off for exile in Leinster. His majesty the king having gone hunting, it was left to a flunky to bid me farewell on his behalf.
At least I was not told “good riddance”, though it must be said that the words the flunky brought me, “'till we meet in battle, boy”, was not cause for much optimism either.
The only person to bid me farewell was my little witch, who came up to me, unshed tears in her eyes, handed me a note, then ran away before I could say anything.
This is what it said:
Dear Stallion,
Happy birthday! I have no gift for you, but as your future wife I have advice. Get used to it.
Don't even think of taking another wife or a lover without my acceptance. Which you'll definitely not get until we are married and I rule the household with an iron fist! The omens indicate that you'll suffer terribly if you do, and that's nothing compared to what'll happen to the hypothetical doxy. So don't.
That said, as any horse-breeder knows, stallions have needs and get cranky when they are not met. Where your trouser titan goes when I am not around is not my problem.
To be precise, it had better not be. Poxed stallions are culled.
You really should learn Greek or Latin; Your lack of formal education is showing.
Get some experience raiding and pick up souvenirs for me; Every real Dane is a raider, even those who are Pomeranians.
While I love the figure you cut in a fight, you need to be more ruthless. Crush your enemies! See them driven before you! Hear the lamentation of their women. Regarding treatment of latter, keep in mind 1-3.
I will continue working on charming king Baldr on your behalf as I have the past year and a half. Please do not do anything to upset him.
It is 2 years, 8 months, and 3 days until my 16th birthday. I expect our wedding to take place at the latest a week after that. Please see to it.
Please do not get hurt too badly.
Remember me.
Your little Witch,
Viola
PS: Ad 2) Don't be shy. It would be helpful if at least one of us had practical experience on our wedding night, and as the mare I must be protected. So that means you. I asked my brothers for advice, and they recommend to you a regimen of healthy farm girls and Christian nuns, if you can catch them.
My little witch can write? She is a font of surprises.
It was with heavy heart I set off for a home I barely knew, leaving everything of value behind.
The Secret Diary of the Genius Prince Sverker, Aged 16 – and Counting
Dear Diary,
I knew uncle Baldr was unhappy about the matter of Britain, but how ever did it come to this!?
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Musings on the length of the Genius King Sverker I's life and the length of diary entries
These diary entries are so long, takes such a long time to write, and advance the game so slowly.
I have now played through Sverker's life, and even with an accelerated schedule after marriage I don't see a way to write Sverker's life as a diary in less than another 7-8 entries or so, and that might be generous as he lived a long life.
I'll have to find some way to shorten them or it'll take me two months to get to the end of his reign, which would put me seriously out of touch with the current game state upon his death.
So I hope anybody still reading is up for that, since changing writing style for Sverker at this point would feel wrong. I kept hoping Viola would die in childbirth, get herself murdered, drink herself to death, or otherwise done away with, as her death would be a good reason for Sverker to stop his diary and lose his will to live, but she just kept on living and affecting gameplay with her "grand plan".
EDIT: 23/01/2022 - this proved wildly optimistic. By the end of January Sverker is still in his early 30s. But what a ride it has been!
