Chapter 7: Introducing Ivar
When Sigfroþ's armies returned home, declaring that the whole of Strathclyde was now under Irland's rule, he turned to the task of introducing Ivar, heir apparent, to the realm.
This was going to be important, because with the death of Olafr, his three sons took his place as vassals in Irland, and they all wanted council spots.
With Þorsteinn as Chancellor, Öysteinn as Steward, and Karl as Advisor, he kept the Sons of Olafr content for the time being, but the threat of losing lands to Viken lingered.
Although the introduction went well, something was going awry. Godi Vagn of Crossraguel offered to tutor Ivar in ritual, which Sigfroþ agreed to. Within the week, the Godi stormed into Sigfroþ's chambers, claiming that teaching the child was horrendous. Ivar happened to sabotage and prank the holy man at every turn, using the knowledge of the Sagas against him. Ivar was always playful.
Many people at court started comparing little Ivar unfavorably to Ivar the Boneless, his grandfather. This would never do. Why focus on Ivar's grandfather, when his great-grandfather was who set the whole family on this path? Sigfroþ rejoindered court by proclaiming that it was Ragnarr Loðbrok's cruelty and guile that they should see in little Ivar.
And yet, Ivar's pranks, hidden jibes, and haphazard behavior continued during the introduction. Eventually, Sigfroþ saw signs of a darker, more chaotic side to Ivar's games. There was a risk that Ivar would be called a lunatic. He would have to learn the trapper's methods.
Sigfroþ asked his son to meet him in a private family longhouse. When he retired there, Ivar greeted him at the door.
"Welcome, father. I know you wanted to speak with me, and I couldn't dream of keeping you waiting. Please, come inside, get comfortable."
Sigfroþ smiled and entered. "Good of you to wait for me, son. I need to speak with you about your behavior. Your jokes. Your tricks."
Ivar grinned. "Nothing that an observant man couldn't avoid. It's all in good fun."
Sigfroþ looked the longhouse over. The table lay set with meats and mead, the fire burning in the hearth.
The boy really planned this out, he thought. With a nod, the king replied, "No doubt. But remember that Loki lies trapped in the center of the earth, bound in the entrails of his son, a serpent dripping poison into his eyes. You're going to be king someday. And then, nothing will be a game. Everything is a weapon."
Sigfroþ reached across the table for a leg of lamb. As he picked it up, the weight of the table shifted, knocking breads and drinks to the floor. Yet unsurprised, the Trapper King used this chance to kick a tumbling pitcher into his hand, and thankful that the multitude of constitutionals his hunting hobby gave him had improved his physique, snatched the pitcher out of the air and brought it down on his son's head. Ivar fell, shocked, his ears ringing.
"Remember when Linda snared you and left you dangling? She almost killed you. Remember how Ofeig took over Sjælland despite there being multiple heirs in the way? Funny how Sigurdr's family died all at once. Your japes and capers are a good story around the fire, but remember, son, this is no game."
Ivar scrambled to his knees. "I'm sorry, father. I won't do this again."
Sigfroþ laughed. "That's not what I want at all, son. You're free to keep up your tricks and ruses and ploys. Just make sure you always have your goal in mind. Know what people want, so that they can reach for your lure. People will die from your games. Make sure it's the right people." He picked up the pitcher and took a swig of the dregs remaining in its belly. "A toast, to the future king." He knocked Ivar's face into a muddy puddle of mead on the ground. "Drink when your king offers it."
* * *
The introduction did not go well, though. His vassals, satisfied that Ivar's antics were not the result of lunacy, could only conclude they belied a cruel heart. Electors started mentioning loudly that perhaps Ivar is unfit to rule, and that Barid's son Uathmarán should be next in line instead. Sigfroþ paid this no mind. The main difference, instead of Ivar's cruelty, was simply a matter of his age.
But still, with the festivities over, the next order of business was to arrange marriage. Brekšta, widow of Guðfrið, was available again, apparently, having become widowed of yet another high chief. No, not an option. People were calling her Poison-Tooth, these days. Let her curse another man.
While considering worthy wives, Sigfroþ learned that his sister Wieslawa had come of age and needed a husband. He learned of one oddly intriguing candidate: Rögnvaldr af Munsö, Petty King of Svijþod. Apparently, he was the last male af Munsö, meaning that Ofeig stood ready to inherit should something happen to him.
He offered Rögnvaldr the hand of Wieslawa. She was kind, full of life.
A perfect way to keep Rögnvaldr unsuspecting of his impending demise. Which... was quite simply accomplished.
Ivar was betrothed to a genius girl named Yelizaveta from Kiev, only two years his junior.
Votes started going back and forth, and suddenly the heir was Ivar again, then Sigfroþ's child brother Skuli, son of Ivar the Boneless and Witch-Queen Eufemia, back from after the Great Heathen Army. He was proving to be rowdy and a genius, so he might become the leader. So, that gave Sigfroþ the opportunity to grant Ivar the High Chiefdom of Galloway, and then immediately set about to see Ofeig dead. And then, Sjælland moved its heir to Sigfroþ's other son, Valdemar. Linda would be pleased, he scowled.
And so, Ivar came of age, and became once again Heir to Irland.