Halland's Fangs

[Mehmed2]

'A tale is but half told when only one person tells it.'

Ulfr-Sveinn(Prologue)

In the cold north, far beyond Saxony and the nestled towns and castles of Germany lay the land of the Northmen. These norse huddled together against the cold in sparse villages that dotted the landscape few and far in-between. The south knew kings, and Emperors, sprawling realms of countless souls while the north fell under the rule of Thanes and Jarls. Men who ruled by might and whose worldly power more often than not vanished upon their death. Such men knew no fear and war was a part of life to appease the Gods they kept. Gods which, if they could only remember through the fog of time were far older than the south’s Christ and not nearly as forgiving. One such Jarl, Oddr had ruled for a few short years in Vestergautland just to the north of Skåne and his family had a sad tale.

While Oddr ruled from the tribe of Vestergautland not far from the temple of Skara his domain was a fair bit larger. On the coast, Halland was emptier but more temperate than the forests of his home. It was here that Oddr would lose his eldest son. Hrafn was a young and eager boy of nine when he and his father toured their holding in Halland. Yet upon the last night of their stay screams came from the edge of the village. By the time Oddr and his men emerged into the cold, a boy, mangled and bloody dashed upon freshly fallen snow towards the heart of the village, collapsing at Oddr’s feet. Claws marks and fang wounds dotted the boy’s flesh. He couldn’t have been more than a year or two older than Oddr’s other son Tjudmund, meaning he had only seen five or six winters. Looking out at the tree line it was clear what manner of beast was to blame. Glowing eyes ringed the village, the largest pack of wolves Oddr had ever witnessed and they were slowly encircling the village. For the moment they did nothing but simply snap and howl until one by one they fell silent. Emerging from deeper in the forest was the largest wolf he had ever seen. It towered above its brothers seeming more bear than a wolf. Unconcerned it trudged forward to the very edge of the village fire just where the farthest shadows danced. Some of the braver of Oddr’s warriors slowly crept up to the beast only to be frightened back when the ruby eyes of the wolf even briefly swayed in their direction. Each time the wolf’s eyes strayed they returned to match Oddr. When it began to claw the ground, looking at the boy Oddr realized what it wanted and what it threatened, as its fellows merely waited for a command. Looking down at the boy, who was barely breathing Oddr had half a mind to let wolves have him. However, when the boy reached out and pulled at Oddr’s furs, his decision was made. He stepped over the boy, ax in hand and put himself between the beast and the boy.

The beast growled and the pack descended upon the village in a litany of blood and savagery. Men and wolf danced in a tirade of violence that melted the snow and stained the earth. For Oddr he stood alone before the beast and did the best he could to fend off its powerful jaw. When it finally lunged at him, Oddr was pinned to the ground the haft of his ax was all that stopped his throat from being ripped out. With a prayer to Odin on his lips Oddr held back the beast with one hand, the other reached to his belt and stabbed true with the knife he had kept at his side unused for years. At first, it seemed he would not even pierce the beast’s flesh until he was showered in its warm blood. With that, the wolf howled and leaped forward blindly crashing into the dwelling Oddr had taken for himself. His moment of victory soured with the screams of his son. Bounding after the wolf the last he saw his son alive was Hrafn hanging from the wolf’s jaw. Once the great beast had departed so too did its pack. For Oddr’s men and the village, there were dead to be buried but Oddr himself rushed into the forest alone following a trail of blood. Whether it was wolf blood or Hrafn’s he didn’t dare to think. He finally came upon Hrafn’s body a league into the forest and there was nothing to be done. His eyes were gray and lifeless. Oddr wept, letting his ax fall ignoring the eyes around him. When the tears would no longer come he finally lifted his son’s corpse and returned to the village. Each step was followed and watched but Oddr did not care. He only wondered why.

Back in the village, his men were silent at the sight of Hrafn but one brave soul whispered that the other boy yet lived. Oddr barely processed the words and it wasn’t until morning that he finally saw the boy. His wounds had been dressed and he was cleaned off the blood. Much of it strangely was not his own, and gods willing he would make a full recovery. Yet no matter what they could get the boy to speak, he confessed no name. In time the villagers would call him Ulfr-Sveinn or wolf boy. Oddr however, would simply call him Ulfr. Remembering each time the great beast that took away his son for this child that no one knew. Any attempts to find his parents or his village failed and he came to call Halland his home. Years later as a man grown Halland would become a Chief to Jarl Oddr, gifted stewardship of Halland. It would have been Hrafn’s inheritance or even Tjudmund but Oddr never stepped into the land of Halland again. Neither would any of his brood if he could manage it. In the end, Oddr was content to leave those cursed lands to a boy that knew no father, that knew no tribe and for some reason had drawn the ire of Fenrir himself, or so the peasants whispered. God or not, Oddr had made a choice, a life for a life, and it was Ulfr who lived. Oddr would never hate Ulfr, but his eyes would merely grow sad each time he saw Ulfr a little older. A man grown, like Hrafn would never be.

 

[Mehmed2]

Chief Ulfr of Halland (~753-791)

Ulfr knew the story of his childhood well, even though he does not remember it. Time and time again the village elders would regale it for the other children. Other villagers would speak of it only when Ulfr was just out of earshot bemoaning the supposed curses that he brought to the land. Only Jarl Oddr ever told the story in a plain manner. When Ulfr was granted the chiefdom of Halland and command of the village a short ten years after Oddr saved his life he was ill fit to the task. He was no hunter, warrior or even farmer. The only people that would willingly associate with Ulfr were the few priests that called Halland home, and with no formal shrine, even that was a simple task. Now with the responsibility of ruling the leading men of the village gathered before Ulfr just barely stomaching Oddr’s choice of Chief. While Ulfr continued to busy himself with priests and the distant gods, they would rule.

This state of affairs suited the village well, even more so when Ulfr was bid to Vestergautland to join Oddr’s council. As the only chief in service to Jarl Oddr, he was a necessary addition the Jarl’s hall. While a weak pick to be anyone’s envoy Ulfr would do. The day Ulfr set out with a small retinue from Halland the villager’s breathed a collective sigh of relief. It was almost as if the skies lightened somewhat.

Not long after Ulfr’s arrival in the capital dire news arrived from the south. The grand Jarl of Sjælland Haraldr Wartooth was marching on Vestergautland. War was unknown to Ulfr and he simply followed suit when he was asked by Oddr to bring forth the men of Halland to fight the invaders. 359 men answered their absentee chief and made way to the capital. Only 250 of those men were to make it to the capital alive after being caught unaware by Jarl Haraldr’s army. Oddr’s own force was smashed a few weeks later. What remained of Oddr and Ulfr’s army rejoined forces far to the north and marched south, eager to do something if only to slow their seeming inevitable subjugation. Invaders pillaged the tribe of Vestergautland in September and when Halland was pillaged in November Oddr had no choice but to bend the knee before Wartooth. At first, Ulfr was unwilling to pledge loyalty to a distant Jarl but with Oddr’s assurances, they both bent the knee in the embers of Halland.

With the war ended Ulfr turned to the task of rebuilding, no summons came from this new lord and so Ulfr remained the chief of the village. Not many were eager to see his return save one soul, the village priestess Gredr. She was an older woman who remembered a time before even Jarl Oddr. More so she remembered a young boy coming to the village from the dark forest. She served as Ulfr’s guide and friend in unknown times. She advised Ulfr to send an envoy to Haraldr lest Halland incur the wrath of this new lord. Sigtrygg grumbling with every breath set off for the isle of Sjælland muttering curses about salt water.

When Sigtrygg arrived he immediately had to send word that Wartooth had gone to Valhalla. Leaving his sons Hrörekr and prándr to divide their father’s land. Jylland and Vestergautland passed to prándr while Sjælland and Skåne passed to Ulfr’s new lord Hrörekr. With this inheritance, Oddr and Ulfr were divided once more, as Oddr, now like a simple possession was passed to prándr.

As time past it became clear Chief Ulfr was not going anywhere and when Ulfr could be dragged away from the altar Gerdr lectured him on the need for sons who would carry on when he was gone. Yet as the young do they think they will live forever. When all too often they are struck down before their time. Though one day as he was walking about the village a comely young woman passed him by. Gerdr’s words echoed in his mind and he pursued her and made not an offer of marriage, but concubinage, as was his right as chief. Yrsa the very next day joined Ulfr in his hall, her father remained conflicted between the honor of it and the fact it was coming from Ulfr of people.

In the summer months of 772, some three years after Oddr made Ulfr a chief Ulfr sent out a call for storytellers and priests from the surrounding regions to come to Halland. There together men and women of faith would revel in the greatest tales of the gods. While at first reluctant to do so, Gerdr pressed Ulfr to share his own tale and his encounter with the wolves as a child. While Ulfr left out any mention of Fenrir more than a few exclaimed that it must have been the dread wolf himself. This gained the attention of a curious young woman by the name of Ylva. She shared Ulfr’s fondness for the gods and was enraptured by his tale. When it came time for her to depart, Ulfr at her whispering took her as his concubine as well removing her from her traveling band. While it caused a minor ruckus it warmed Ulfr’s bed.

As the nights grew to their darkest it became quite clear that Ylva was with child, Ulfr’s first. Courtly whispers could only say that as the days became shorter and shorter all the young chief could do was spend time in bed. It was only a matter of course. Weight to this line of thinking was added when Yrsa as well became pregnant in the weeks following.

Word from Sjælland in July of 773 arrived with news of a most curious development. Should the Jarl be unable to rule and no heir was available Ulfr was to rule until such a time as he was no longer needed. Ulfr was more than confused at this news. He couldn’t fathom that like Oddr before this that anyone would trust him with authority. He could only pray that it would never come to pass.

Later that same month Ylva gave birth to Ulfr’s first child, Svanhildr, a healthy mewling girl. It was a relatively easy birth and when Ulfr first held her in his arm’s he could only wonder if his own parent’s held him in a similar manner. Feeling that same sense of joy. It was a bittersweet time.

When September came Yrsa gave birth to a son and when faced with the choice of naming the boy there was little choice. There was a debt to be paid for the person that gave his life for Ulfr’s. So when the boy was named Hrafn, Yrsa did not object.

Halland was attacked in the spring of 774. Jarl Hrörekr II had seen fit to attack the neighboring Jarl Sigurd Ring. While the forces of Sjælland marched along the coast into enemy lands Sigurd’s forces descended upon Skåne and neighboring lands with a fury. Over the next year, fighting raged in the south and Hrörekr II was decimated. Piece by piece Sigurd Ring occupied Skåne, marching ever closer to Sjælland. All Ulfr could hope for was that Halland was left in peace from his Jarl’s warmongering. While the armies skirmished in the south Ulfr gave orders for a small fort to be built atop a hill in town, there he hoped should the worst come to pass the people would be offered some protection. When the invaders finally came to Halland to finish what they had started originally both Sjælland and Halland found itself under siege. As the people of Halland huddled behind thin palisades in vain hope for rescue the question became how long would Jarl Hrörekr II’s pride hold out. When Hrörekr II finally capitulated in September of 775 the people of Halland welcomed it.

Before news of the war’s end would reach Halland the bellies of Halland grumbled. The village had gathered in the small fort with Sigurd Ring’s host simply camped outside awaiting their eventual surrender. Ulfr had long past on his rations to others hoping to extend the siege that much longer. He sustained himself by faith. Before the altar of the gods he prayed for deliverance and like his own lord had to finally accept defeat when faced with the desperate faces of his people. One by one the souls of Halland were paraded before the invading lord much to his pleasure and without recourse Ulfr bent the knee before the Jarl of Jarl’s. Halland would not be harmed Ulfr was assured by Sigurd Ring if he only agreed to his simple demand. Without thinking Ulfr agreed and his concubines and daughter were ushered off into captivity. Halland was delivered but it seems Ulfr had lost everything save his infant son, it seemed even Sigurd Ring would not be so cruel. Yet Ulfr could not shake the Jarl’s smile at the thought of his women warming the Jarl’s bed. Something deep in Ulfr curdled at the thought of it, poison in the soul.

For Ulfr the war was far from over, with both of his concubines and his daughter in foreign hands he was faced with a decision to make. Before the army left seemingly forever he had a chance to save one of them for he only had the funds to return one of his beloveds. The question was which one would it be? Over many hard nights the decision was made. A daughter is but a daughter and a boy needs his mother. Something Ulfr had never had and was not keen on repeating. Sigurd Ring was paid his gold and Yrsa was freed. Ulfr had to look his daughter and Ylva in the eyes when he paid the ransom and the guilt was great. He promised as soon as he had the gold they would be freed as well. He only hoped it wasn’t too late.

Only a few months later with about half the ransom ready Ylva perished in the dungeons of Sigurd Ring. He received no body to bury but a simple notice. The only thing that prevented rage or grief to consume him was the fact that Ylva’s daughter still lived. His daughter still lived.

With Ylva’s death, the world seemed to unravel. War consumed the land as once loyal chiefs rose up in rebellion against Hrörekr eager to undo the chains forged by his father. Worse still was the kin war that soon raged after this rebellion spread. Jarl prándr now marched against his own brother seeking his own glories and conquests. Halland once more prayed for a peace that seemed never to come. Halland and the lands of Jarl Hrörekr burned and it became a matter of debate of who would win first, the rebels or the Jarl’s brother? Perhaps even the simple folk that took up arms in the north saying good riddance to both. Ulfr found such sentiments not unwarranted. Even Hrörekr could not escape the endless war when he lost his life to battle. Ulfr prayed that he would not find his way to Valhalla. In his place came the sons Porolfr and Haraldr, with the former only a few short years younger than Ulfr himself and Haraldr, a child. Halland expected their reigns to be brief and bloody. When a messenger came from the new Jarl bidding Halland and Ulfr’s aid on some matter it went unanswered. Ulfr wanted nothing to do with Sjælland. A rebel victory in the spring of 777 saw to the restoration of two northern realms, Agder and Alfheimr. Jarl prándr still carried on his campaigns with impunity.

Refugees and warriors from broken hosts eventually came to Halland which was on the edge of most of the fighting. There Ulfr saw to some of these former warriors training what men remained in Halland for the fighting that was sure to come in the future. Hrafn, Ulfr’s son was growing fast and had now seen five winters. The same age roughly when Ulfr himself was found that dark night. Unlike Ulfr Hrafn did not draw the ire of the villagers and would not be left to his own devices. Hrafn was given into the care of those same warriors that now trained the village men. Ulfr was no warrior, but perhaps Hrafn would be.

Fall of 778 saw Jarl Porolfr bend the knee to his uncle and thus were their kin lands reunited. Alas, the war had weakened them both and Jarl Sigurd Ring, this time, invaded Sjælland rather than defending against it. What forces Jarl prándr could muster were swept away at the battle of Lund. There was little resistance after that. While the great lords busied themselves with war Ulfr one day in that spring was out patrolling the paths that led to Halland. Along the road came an elder man in a simple traveler’s cloak and a wide-brimmed hat covered almost half the man’s face.

He addressed Ulfr by name, ‘Ulfr! It has been quite some time. Almost twenty years by my count.’

Ulfr stopped with his men on the road, ‘Do I know you, sir? I don’t believe we’ve met.’

‘We did, a lifetime ago. You once did me a great favor, if you can call it that. You saved my life, and for that, I will always be grateful.’

Ulfr at this point was simply nodding along with the man. ‘Is there anything I can do for you? We have lodging and mead to spare in the village.’

‘Ah that sounds mighty fine, but alas I must carry on. I have a long journey ahead of me. However, since I’ve stumbled upon you I shall repay my debt. At least in part. If you follow the road and veer off into the forest following the deer path you will find a well with forgotten gold. It would pay for your daughter’s ransom and then some.’

‘I…thank you.’ Ulfr could not begin to fathom how this man knew of Svanhildr.

‘You are welcome Ulfr.’

The man wandered further down the road and Ulfr and his men carried on. When Ulfr and his retinue came to the deer path Ulfr hesitated for a second before walking down it. Sure enough, the man’s words rang true. While Ulfr didn’t speak it aloud it wasn’t long before the men were whispering of the Great God Odin who in his words had met Ulfr some twenty years before, the very night the great wolf attacked him and the village. Had he met the God that night? Ulfr racked his mind but no
answers would come and settled for building a proper shrine to the god. If he would truly have the favor of the gods Ulfr would not turn a blind eye to it.

In one fell swoop, Jarl Sigurd Ring conquered all Sjælland ruling from the far north to the south. In the fall of 780, he was the greatest lord in the north. With a dozen chiefs on bended knee and war camps eager for further conquest. All Ulfr cared was that Sigurd Ring took his blood gold and returned Svanhildr to him in one piece. Ulfr remembered the cold day when he was forced to give the village up after the food stores had run dry. His daughter had been thin then, however now she was a skeleton. Her skin was white as the snow around them while her pupils were wide. She barely recognized her own father. It would be a long time Ulfr thought before they would be a family again. So while the great Jarls warred and built their realms Ulfr retreated to his small slice of the world where he planned to tend to his family till the end of his days.

Svanhildr took quite some time to get used to freedom again after spending so long in the dungeons. This freedom though in some people’s opinion went too far at times. Ulfr however, when he found her rifling through his missives was bemused. Many were yet unopened and he simply smiled rather than chastise her. He merely sat her down and gave her some of the ones he had read himself for her to enjoy. Welcoming the litany of questions she threw at him. Curiosity was something to relish, not stamp out.

As Ulfr retreated into himself he concentrated on pursuits that would seem strange to many of his fellows. Always more priest than a warrior. Yet while Ulfr still always turned towards the heavens and the gods he began to become more worldly, and fancied himself a skald or so the kitchen women snickered. At first, it was but simple rhymes but when Yrsa confided in him that she was pregnant once again true inspiration came forth. There was at least joy in Halland again.

The late summer of 782 brought with it further joys when the despicable Sigurd Ring went to Valhalla or wherever the gods took him. In his wake came a 16-year-old boy, the only son of the old Jarl. His name was Ragnarr. While it seemed the realm was teetering on the edge of something Ulfr knew not what but presumed as it often was, that it would be bad for Halland. Despite these tidings, Ulfr ordered the creation of a village market in Halland where traders could rest and ply their craft as they went north in summer and south in the winter with temperate and coastal Halland nestled in the middle.

Yrsa gave birth to a second son named Haraldr in the dark days of 782 just before the close of the year. Jarl Ragnarr already busied himself with war just as his vile father had done, yet for Ulfr all was well with the world. Nothing compared to the feeling of the hearth on a cold winter’s day or cries of a newborn child.

While Svanhildr spent more and more time with Ulfr and his Envoy learning the ways that Halland deals and exists with other lords young Haraldr spent most of his time with the priests. When not in the village shrine he would be soothed to sleep by Ulfr with tales and stories of the divines. Hrafn, Ulfr hoped would become his opposite while Haraldr it seemed was the subject of his father’s more personal hopes.

A new woman came into Ulfr’s life the long days of 787. Alfhildr was beautiful and capable when she came with traveling merchants to Halland’s market from the north. There she saw the now middling aged lord overseeing his town with tender care. He had no wife and was open for the taking. It was not long before Yrsa found herself just one of Ulfr’s concubines again. This time to a woman half her age. More concerning for Yrsa, however, was the fact the woman somehow fell pregnant within days of taking up residency in Halland. While the long-standing concubine of the court was concerned Ulfr couldn’t have been more delighted.

It was hard to believe that so much time had passed since Hrafn was born and he was nearly a man grown. Ulfr a low chief in a bigger world had never married, something he would not have for his son and heir. With a careful eye, he gazed to the other lords beneath Jarl Ragnarr. Blood is important both in the war to measure victory and to ensure peace between families. While the sons of Sjælland would never wed a former servant of their the great chief Högne of Värend was more than happy to betroth his only daughter to Hrafn. Second in numbers only to Jarl Ragnarr, Högne would be key to an alliance that would see the would be norse king Ragnarr from going as far as his father.

Alfhildr gave birth to Ulfr’s third son in the following spring. Unlike his brothers though Botulfr never cried. He was weak and the birth on both mother and son was difficult. Ulfr prayed to Odin he would not lose both. Ulfr could not fathom what he had done to warrant such punishment?

Far to the north another power was rising that seemed to threaten Ragnarr’s lordship of all the norse. Chief Ormr of Hålogaland had unified all of the western coasts from the ice ridden sea to Agder. At the very least he was just as ambitious as Jarl Ragnarr. The war between the two over the norse could very well take place if either showed even a moment of weakness. Ulfr always worried about the threat of war gave order for weaponsmiths to be brought to Halland. Right in the heart of the village not far from the market forges were set up that would arm those warriors that had come years ago and the young sons they had helped raise. Halland was not the least of the norse tribes and Ulfr had seen to that.

The cooling months of 789 brought before Ulfr his two eldest children on bended knee. Svanhildr had become like the fox and excelled in the ways of the court and realm. Hrafn though, on the other hand, was honest to a fault preferring to brandish his battle ax that he always kept on his person. Both had become more than Ulfr could ever have hoped for. Ulfr had for the longest time been alone and it was clear now that he would never be alone again as long as he had a family. Svanhildr would ultimately be sent north, promised to the eldest son of Chief Högne. Hrafn would remain, watching and waiting for his time to reign just as his father had.

News that Yrsa was again with a child was dampened by the fact the priests and priestesses still crowded around young Botulfr. While his mother had long ago recovered the boy even at the slightest chill was possessed by sickness unyieldingly. He was sequestered to Hall’s great Hearth where invocations to the gods were unceasing. Yrsa had to choke back a sob when Ulfr gave her a hollow smile at the news. All Ulfr could think was that it might be another son for the one he seemed destined to lose. Maybe that is how the gods would answer his prayers.

How the gods would, in fact, answer Ulfr’s prayers were a wholly different nature. Hrafn entered the great hall one night in the winter of 791 to see his father about some matter or another. Alas Ulfr who had taken up the watch of Botulfr before the hearth could not be roused. After nearly forty winters Ulfr had passed from this world and had gone to see the gods he had always loved. Halland and its villagers had never loved Ulfr. His ascension to chief had been filled with fear and anger. That somehow he would destroy all they loved. Alas war, pain, and hunger did come to Halland but Ulfr stood with his people. He suffered as they suffered. With each war and blight he did his best to see them through and in the end Halland was made to be more than it was because of Ulfr. Rather than rejoice the people mourned, and like a hero one by one the pyre was built as an offering from every soul in Ulfr’s charge. Like a fire, the norse had never seen they commended Ulfr to the gods. Valhalla would not call to Ulfr for he was no warrior but as some would attest that night he would have a fate just as grand. Hrafn himself would say that as the smoke rose into the sky a man and a great hound appeared at the edge of the forest. The way the light danced they were obscured, perhaps simple passerby paying their respects. Yet seemingly as if out of nowhere a third figure appeared as if from a wisp of smoke walking away from the pyre. He was embraced and laughter bellowed so greatly from the two the fires were drowned out. Without a word, they entered the forest and out of sight. Ulfr was gone and it was his son's place in the world to guide Halland in changing times.

 

[Mehmed2]

Chief Hrafn of Halland(773-792)

In the days following Ulfr’s cremation his family and the village elders gathered in Halland’s hall. There the seat of the chief stood empty, flanked by Ulfr’s heirs. Closest to the throne stood Hrafn himself, a man grown but yet still little more than a boy at 17 years of age. With him was Svanhildr, Ulfr’s only daughter. Opposite them was the young Haraldr and the yet younger Botulfr. Yrsa and Alfhildr stood with them as well, albeit a world apart for in the end they were just concubines. With Ulfr’s death their place in the world was far more uncertain. Yet of all of them, Yrsa suffered the most. Within her womb was a child yet unknown who would be born with no father, to a woman of no standing. Its place in the world would be entirely in the hands of Hrafn himself. No one could begin to guess what Ulfr’s eldest had in mind, for since the night of the cremation Hrafn had not been himself, it was as if the light in his eyes had been snuffed out. Much like the flames of Ulfr’s pyre. Ulfr’s family and the village elders would go back and forth for hours but for Hrafn it was little more than noise. He couldn’t bring himself to care about them, or anything for that matter. Only when Svanhildr shook him by the arm did the world become real again and only then did Hrafn realize all the eyes in the room were upon him. Even Gerdr, his father’s dear friend spoke to him but he had not heard a word. With immense concentration her words finally became clear.

Her words were biting, ‘HRAFN! DO YOU HEAR ME?’

Almost like a child Hrafn’s eyes darted to the ground before he met her gaze again finding his nerve. ‘You know I do old woman. What would you have of me?’

Shock, ‘What I would have of you? You mean what we all would have of you? Have you not been listening at all?’ Your father left behind 3 true born sons, possibly four.’ She quickly gestured to Yrsa. ‘Alas you are the only one grown, and the one Ulfr himself named as his heir. Will you be his heir Hrafn?’ Hrafn mumbled some words, bidding Gerdr’s wrath. ‘WILL YOU BE YOUR FATHER’S HEIR?’

Finally some light smoldered in Hrafn’s eyes, ‘Yes.’ With that some tension broke in the room.

Smiling, ‘Then take your place bo…chief.’ It was a slight, but a minor one. Hrafn turned from his father’s confidant and to the throne that had held his father since before he was born. He was slow at first but slowly he edged his way down. Feeling the grooves in the wood, trying his hardest to remember how his father had sat before him. When Hrafn finally stopped fidgeting and met the gaze of the elders the hall fell on bended knee. A new day had begun.

It was not long before happenings in Halland returned to a semblance of normalcy. However the new chief was vastly different than the last. More and more warriors found themselves in Halland under Hrafn who many saw as a more worthy chief than many. Word reached all the way to Jarl Ragnarr himself who bid Hrafn to join him in his conquests and his battles as an honored commander. Without hesitation the village was left to the elders and with axe in hand Hrafn left for war.

In the spring following Ulfr’s death war brought Hrafn to the north, all while Yrsa gave birth to Ulfr’s final child. Despite her loss the gods blessed Yrsa with a final son. She would name him after his father and with Hrafn so far away he couldn’t raise any objections even if he had any. Svanhildr and Gerdr simply looked on.

As two armies clashed in Bergheim Hrafn handled himself with distinction. The enemy had been swept from the field and all that remained were the few cowards that had fled into the forest. They threw down their arms rather then die honorable deaths. Hrafn as was his way followed alone, some praised him for it, others considered him rash. When he finally fell upon his prey they were already dead. In a small clearing nine men lay dead around one. This one was an older man, with hair like a gray mane that hid parts of his face. He sat on a stump in the middle of the clearing simply cleaning his blade.

Axe in hand Hrafn declared, ‘Who goes there?’

Almost cackling, ‘Put away that axe Ulfrsson.’

This made Hrafn pause, ‘How do you know me?’

‘Because I know your father fool.’

Before Hrafn spoke that slight laugh brought up memories Hrafn would rather not have. Ash and burnt flesh filled his mind and through it all was laughter. ‘You were there the night my father burned?’

‘I was. What of it?’

‘Who left with you that night?’

That brought a great smile to the man’s face, ‘Who do you think was with me that night?’

Slowly fury was building at that incessant smile, ‘NAME YOURSELF!’

‘I am whoever you name me to be boy.’

Hrafn almost charged the man but instead contained himself. Somewhere a voice in his mind told him the folly of such an action. Meeting the man’s smile once again, ‘I think I know.’

‘Good!’ With that the man hopped up and threw a parcel at Hrafn. ‘That will help in times to come. I procured it from these fine gentlemen who were not nearly as wise as yourself. Take care of yourself Ulfrsson.’ Hrafn turned his attention from the man just long enough to catch the parcel and when he looked back the man was gone. Not even footprints in the snow remained. He had never known what to make of his father’s incessant prayers and obsession with the gods, but maybe, just maybe his father was wiser than he ever gave him credit for.

With the war won, Hrafn returned home and it seemed the fog that had weighed on him since his father’s death had passed. He embraced his brothers and spent more time at the shrine of Odin than even Gerdr thought was necessary. With a fervor he took up his dais and reigned for the first time. It had taken over a year but the boy had become a man.

With the gold Hrafn brought back from the war his Father’s small hilltop fort was expanded. It became something a bit more defensible and now it would allow for even the fighting men to holdout and not just the villagers. Many in the village approved and Hrafn’s fame grew. The number of swords pledged to him swelled to more than 900. He had become by far the youngest of Ragnarr’s great chiefs.

That summer when war was called again in the east Hrafn marched once more. This time however Hrafn would regret his choice a fair bit more. Gerdr passed away in his absence having succumbed to an illness. Rather than wallow in grief he reveled in the battle to come.

Ragnarr had given the call for all chiefs to rally to him and Hrafn was with the vanguard. The Jarl’s own forces crossed the sea of Äland while his loyal followers mustered behind. It was known that their enemy the High Chief Ihala would meet them in battle the moment they came ashore but they had numbers on their side. Hrafn himself led the landing party and together him and his men pushed forward and forward until it became painfully clear that they were surrounded. More would be coming the men told themselves as the encirclement grew tighter and tighter until at last only Hrafn remained. Rather than surrender he died axe in hand. His last moments can only be guessed at but it must have been fierce. Some ten foreign soldiers were found alongside his mangled body, all piled on top of him. Hrafn was taken to Valhalla on the shores of a distant land that cold fall day. Only his bones would return to Halland by the time he was found among the dead. Yet in the end, by some small measure of Hrafn’s the battle was won. For his young brothers and the land of Halland such a cruel fate must have been the curse the villagers whispered. It would have them all, Ulfr and all his brood.

 

[RhaegarTelcontarTargaryen]

Hm, this seems interesting. I only read the first part, so I will continue tomorrow.

 

[Mehmed2]

Chief Haraldr of Halland(782-801)

When news of Hrafn’s passing finally reached Halland the village didn’t know what to do at first. Haraldr second son of Ulfr merely clutched at his mother’s skirts while the village elders spoke amongst themselves. Only when the shouting died down did young Haraldr finally dare to look. His eyes met the kind gaze of his sister Svanhildr who now sat where both Father and Brother had sat. She gestured Haraldr forward and only with Yrsa’s prodding did Haraldr move forward. Reaching the throne Svanhildr hoisted Haraldr up into her lap and whispered into his ear. ‘You are chief now. Like Father, and Hrafn. Do you think you can do that?’ Haraldr gave only a worried look in return. Svanhildr held him close and assured him nothing would harm him. He had nothing to fear. She would protect him for as long as she could. While the elders grumbled about a child as chief their fears were assuaged by Ulfr’s eldest and her steady hand guiding the village.

Ragnarr’s wars in the east across the sea brought with it an untold unified norse. For even Ormr the great chief of the western shore now brought to the battlefield his great host. Marriage between Ormr’s daughter to Ragnarr saw that for the first time the two great norse rulers were bonded in blood. It was fortuitous, to say the least. While the war across the eastern sea raged those norse not embroiled at war started to look west to further shores. Peace amongst the norse did not mean the gods were not owed their due, something the priests made sure they never forgot.

While Svanhildr ruled, Haraldr carried on as many normal children would. Though as the world taught him he had to be wary and this brought him close to his brother Botulfr. Though half Haraldr’s age the two were always together. Fast friends in a dark world.

After nearly two years of relative quiet, and most of the Jarl’s fighting happening in distant lands the coast of Halland was finally put to use. Trees as old as the mountains were hewn and brought down plank by plank until at last six ships stood ready to make the journey. Between their holds over 500 men would travel, to raid and loot all they could. To lead them Svanhildr brought to Halland a veteran warrior named Hrodgar. Gold bought his loyalty and if he was successful it would continue to ensure it. When they finally set sail Svanhildr and Haraldr bid them a safe journey.

While the men of Halland looted in the west, Ragnarr returned from the east. With chests filled with the spoils of war, women for bedwarmers and men for thralls the norse had never been stronger. A fact that was not lost of Ragnarr. He had always wanted to be more than just a Jarl, another in the endless litany that filled norse stories and in the spring of 795 he did just that. Before all those that could gather at his war camp Ragnarr proclaimed himself King and bid any that would deny him to challenge him now. None answered. At last the norse had a king.

Svanhildr would not see the expedition’s return sadly as she left for the further north the same spring of Ragnarr’s proclamation. Where she wed the eldest son of chief Ormr. In her place, Yrsa took charge of Halland. Rising far from her simple beginnings, protecting her son from any that would seek to do him harm. It would be Yrsa that welcomed Hrodgar when he returned and commanded him to leave once more. He had brought with him hulls filled to the bursting. More wealth than Halland had seen in years, wealth that would go far. While this happened Haraldr played indoors and when he finally saw the loot Haraldr barely even batted an eye at the gold. Something many thought strange but didn't think much of at the time.

While gold didn’t interest the young lord the gods did. Both Ulfr and eventually Hrafn’s faith had been more than a little disconcerting to Yrsa but it only truly became a problem when the village shrine became a second home for the young chief. The gods had not done much for her husband and eldest son and she feared the same would happen again. Yet despite constant squabbles, she eventually relented when for once Haraldr actually cared about Hrodgar’s expeditions to Anglia. Not because of the gold mind you, but how many of the Christian God’s men were cut down in the attempt. Perhaps

Regardless the wealth that was taken from Anglia saw to increased prosperity for Halland. More traders came with each passing season to peddle their goods and even more eventually came by sea as more and more norse were making the trek westward to distant shores. As Haraldr the young chief watched as his village grew his mother noted it had been the longest Halland had gone without bloodshed. It seemed the norse finally found something to trouble themselves with besides each other.

Some of Yrsa’s fruitless endeavors did come to fruition in the heart of winter 798, for Haraldr was finally a man grown. Thus ended her role as leader of the village as her son assumed full responsibilities. She had tried to pry him from the shrine to put a sword in his hand and had some success. The boy would not be a seasoned campaigner but was a soldier nevertheless. Much would happen quickly once Haraldr came of age, first he would wed the youngest daughter of Oddr Gautske. A girl a few years older than Haraldr named Vigdis. At first, reluctant Oddr gave away his daughter to a son of the late Ulfr wishing Halland good fortune for even Oddr in his age could not shake the coincidence that Ulfr’s Hrafn also perished an untimely death. Also, Haraldr departed with the next expedition, eager to spill the blood of heathens.

Haraldr’s first battle would come that same winter upon the Isle of Insee Orc just off the coast of Pictland. While Christian they were ultimately few there. The Chief of those lands gathered his men and met Haraldr at the coast where the norse stormed the beach. Cutting right through the center the Christians eventually fled to the mainland, some even trying to swim rather see their women ravaged by invaders. Isle by Isle Haraldr busied himself with burning Christian villages, offering them up as sacrifices to the gods.

While Haraldr was away the Chiefs and Jarls pledged to King Raganarr marshaled the greatest force the norse had ever seen and marched south against the great Christian King Karl. The same king that had crashed the Saxon Lords and burned their holy places. Raganarr pledged vengeance, but he also promised conquest. It would in the ruins of Old Saxony that Ragnarr would finally be humbled as mailed warriors beat back the norse tide. It would take many years for Ragnarr to accept defeat but when he did he had finally shown weakness.

Oddr Gautske the old Jarl of Vestergautland passed away in the winter of 799. Vigdis would go to see her father’s funeral even without her husband. When she returned and patiently awaited her lords return she would be struck once more by misfortune. On a cool fall day, less than half of the men that set sail returned and Haraldr was not among them. At first the men were reluctant to tell the widow what befell the old chief but sure enough, she wrests the truth from them. While Haraldr and his men busied themselves with the plunder of Insee Orc they had failed to see the Pictish Army crossing the narrow sea between the two lands. Before the norse knew what was happening they were surrounded by an army six times their size. Haraldr refused to retreat, and he was never seen again. Lost forever in the tide of foreign warriors. Vigdis gave no orders for a funeral for her husband was taken to Valhalla already, given a true norse death. Whispers of a curse continued to spread as once again the land of Halland past to a son of Ulfr. The young Botulfr though was no warrior, and may well be spared his brothers’ fate.