Legends Never Die: Grasping Ambitions (ch. 123)

“Five generations! Five generations! Those lands belonged to my family since the time of my great-great-great-grandfather, and I won't let some jumped up farmer take what is mine by right!” Came a loud voice with thunderous wrath through the door of their makeshift home on the outskirts of Miklagard. 

Greta picked at the hem of her dress, idly wondering why her parents sent her outside if they were just going to shout loud enough that she could hear them anyway. 

“Rights? You're going to speak to me about rights?” Her mother roared right back with the ferocity of a dragon. “It'd be in my rights to divorce you for this thick headed nonsense- the boy is king! Whatever he was doesn't matter a lick. He has wealth, he has an army, and he has the gods!” 

Greta gazed out at the city that was being built around her. Housing on the outskirts was cheaper as the city was still being built -- even in the chill of approaching winter, Greta could see the laborers carrying loads of shaped stone and stacking them to create more housing. The city was unlike anything she had seen in the sleepy village that her father had once ruled over as a Thegn. People moved through the streets like a river and came and went like the tide -- there was the noise of hundreds of people talking and shouting, and the clamoring of hooves from horses and oxen as hundreds more people flocked to the city to bear witness to the Yule celebration. 

The gods looked favorably upon King Siegfried’s ascension to the throne, as everyone kept saying. The winter was a mild one -- it snowed heavily in bursts, the air had a constant chill that could cut down to the bone, but winter was usually much harsher by now. People would normally be snowed into their homes, or be buried up to their waists. Instead, as she watched the labor happen, the layer of snow gave the city a wonderful appearance. 

“What do you want me to do, woman?!” Her father roared back, loud enough that some on the street below could hear them. “We can't go anywhere he won't follow us -- he's going to conquer the whole damned world! He took everything from our family- do you understand?! Everything! I’ll not run off like a coward with my tail tucked between my legs like a beaten dog! I will have what is mine!” 

“You damned fool! We don't have anything!” Her mother shouted back. “You held onto the village and the King pried it from your fingers! If you listened to me, we wouldn't be in this mess! But, no -- you're damned pride wouldn't accept the price he offered-” 

“It wasn't a fair price-” Her father interrupted with a roar and what sounded like a fist hitting a table.

Her mother returned the favor, “Of course it wasn't! He didn't have to give a damn about fairness with an army at his back! But it would have been something, you thick headed fool! Our family wouldn't gave to get by with scraps if you just accepted the offer. Instead, everything falls to our children making whores of themselves-” 

“My daughter is no whore-” 

“She will be! We can dress it up all we like, but it doesn't change a damned thing!” Her mother’s voice was thick with emotion, a sob lodged in her throat. “If we have a hope of survival, then she’ll… if she doesn't catch the eye of a husband…!” 

Suddenly, Greta found that she had no interest in overhearing the fight anymore. A weight sat in her stomach and while she had been instructed to just wait outside, Greta found herself standing up and walking away. She let herself join the flow of moving bodies, no true destination in mind -- only that she wanted to be far away from the cramped room that she was forced to call home. 

Her mind drifted to happier times as she walked, times that weren't that long ago. King Siegfried was called a herald of change, but change could be good for someone and awful for another. The people rejoiced, Greta knew. She had heard and seen the great works that were being built all across the Kingdom- she stood in the evidence of those great changes, walking through wide streets and gazing up at tall buildings covered in a layer of snow. But those changes had been the death of her family. 

Her father had been a Thegn for King Godfrey, and then King Horrik afterward. He fought at the Battle of the Crowns on behalf of King Horrik, and was there when the former king was soundly defeated. Her father bent the knee in surrender, expecting that to mean that he would keep the village that her family had ruled over for generations, and was outraged to learn that King Siegfried was wiping away the old nobility with a wave of his hand. 

Her father resisted. He rebuffed any offer to leave their ancestral lands. Then a ‘small’ army of a hundred men came to their village and evicted them from their home. 

That's when it became real to her parents, Greta realized only in hindsight. That the King was so powerful that he could simply take what was theirs and suffer no consequence. They had been cast out into the kingdom, like so many others, and they were grasping for ways to survive. They had some wealth, taken from their ancestors’ hoard, but it wouldn't last them forever. Not when things had become so… competitive. 

Greta walked by the docks, seeing ships aplenty across the vast harbor. She walked through the Craftsman District, hearing the bangs of metal on metal and the barking of orders. She smelled the rich scents of the market square as merchants from all across Denmark and beyond set up stalls and hawked their wares to any who passed by. 

It was a magical sight. When she first saw Miklagard, it felt like she had stepped foot into an entirely new realm raised up by the King's word. Yet, even as she drank in the sights, her mother's words echoed in her ears and the weight in her stomach felt like it got heavier by the second. 

Parasite. That was what her family used to call those who intended to do exactly what they intended for her to do. It wasn't an uncommon practice. Not really. It was understandable, even. Their land was a harsh one, so it only made sense to grasp at any chance to ensure your survival and the survival of your family. So, it was common. Expected. Normal. 

Parents sent their unwed daughters to the sons of Jarls, Thegns, or even wealthy landowners in the hopes that they would take a liking to them. Marriage would be ideal, but even being taken as a concubine was considered a great success. A child being sired upon the daughter was acceptable if the father paid something to support them. 

It was natural. Just as it was natural for the nobility and wealthy to look down upon those who so shamelessly whored out their daughters in the hopes of becoming kin to those with wealth. It was something that Greta herself had turned up her nose at, seeing the creatures that tried to crawl into her brothers’ beds, even before they were old enough to sire a child. And now… now it was something she was being compelled to do in the name of survival. 

Only it was vastly more difficult than Greta would have assumed. Show a bit of ankle, flutter her eyelashes, laugh at bad jests… and she thought that the menfolk would be eating out of her palm like a bunch of lustful beasts. Yet, she learned that wasn't the case -- oh, they were lustful beasts, but they were ones spoiled for choice. Just as her own family had been cast out, so had many others, most of whom had the same plan that her family did -- to marry their daughters to the new land holders, Thegns, and Jarls that were elevated by King Siegfried. 

Most already had taken wives and more concubines. More than what would be called wise given that most of the men were warriors who made their wealth in a few short years and spent it freely. The smarter ones were those that acted with more restraint, and thus were vastly more difficult to- 

Greta felt a pair of hands grab her waist, starting to lift her in the air until she pivoted. She lashed out with a hand, and she had enough time to see the face of her would be assailant. She continued with the slap anyway, though with a much lighter hand than he deserved. 

“Ivar! You know I hate it when you lift me!” She scolded her younger brother, though only by a year. The fifteen year old boy laughed unabashed by his reddening cheek, his green eyes bright with mischief. 

“Sorry sister, but you seemed like in such a rut. Wanted to surprise you from it. Mother and Father going at it again?” He asked, an easy smile tugging at his lips. Her expression must have given her away, as he grabbed her hand and started tugging her along -- Ivar only knew his own pace, and if you couldn't keep up with him, then you were left behind. “Come, sister -- it's a time of celebration. It won't kill you to smile a little.” 

“Do I have something to smile about?” Greta wondered, the question more bitter than she intended. 

Her brother's smile dimmed, but didn't retreat. “Well, you could be happy for me, I suppose.” He said, still pulling her along and her eyes widened a fraction. 

“You got in?” She wondered, shock filling her. 

That earned her a playful scowl, “You could at least pretend that you had a little faith in me, you know?” 

“You were recruited?” Greta pressed, unable to pretend that she had any faith in him. “You're one of the King's Rangers?” She never doubted his skill with a bow, not for a second. Ivar could be deaf, blind, and drunk and he'd still struggle to not hit a bullseye. Her little brother had one single redeeming feature, and it was his skill with a bow. 

It was the King that she doubted. She had been certain that Ivar would be barred from joining the Rangers because of who his family was. That the King wouldn't trust him enough to allow him to serve in his army because he would fear that her brother would betray him for what he'd done to their family. 

“Aye,” Ivar said, his tone growing somber when he heard the urgency in her voice. “I was recruited by Athrun Strongbow himself.” The leader of the King’s Rangers. His scouts. They were a recent creation, made just months ago, and while their duties remained uncertain, they were an order of some prestige already as they were created with a singular goal -- to guide the conquest that everyone knew was coming. 

Three hundred in number, each of them the best archers that the kingdom had to offer, and woodsmen one and all. They would be the advance force for the invasion that would come after the winter. What role they would play, Greta was uncertain, only that it would be dangerous and that the rewards equaled the risk. Athrun Strongbow himself was a figure that was well known to Greta -- He was one of the handful called the King’s Chosen, the leader of his archers, and it was said that he used a bow that three normal men would struggle to. 

To prove his words, Ivar lifted a silver chain, and at the center of it was a bronze leaf. “We all start out as bronze, but as we prove ourselves, we’ll earn a silver leaf. And, when we retire, we’ll earn a gold one. Or when we are killed. Hopefully, neither will happen any time soon. During the meantime… It can be a good life.”

“A short one,” Greta hissed at him, the shock wearing off, and it was replaced with dread. She hadn’t thought that he would get in. She’d thought that door had been barred for him, and all the families that had resisted the King’s rule. “Do you even know what you’ll be doing?”

“Scouting, mostly,” Ivar answered easily. “I’ll be finding battlefields, armies, and the like before the invasion. During the invasion itself, I’ll be sabotaging supply lines and playing spy. And once the King has had his fill of conquest… less certain about that, but as far as I can tell, I’ll be something of a roaming Thegn. Responsible for investigating bandits, poachers, and general mischief.”

Dangerous. Very dangerous. Worry clawed at her heart -- it was a good thing, she had to remind herself. Her brother had found a way to make a living. One that brought him close to the King, and while she held a great many opinions about King Siegfried, no one would ever dare accuse him of failing to support his warriors. With her brother’s position secured, her dowry, which was in doubt, could become something worthy of consideration when she presented herself to the man her family had chosen as a potential groom. 

But…

“You could die,” Greta blurted, her hands clutching at her skirts as she found that her feet were rooted to the spot. 

“I will die,” Ivar corrected with infuriating smugness. “Not even the gods live forever, Greta. I am, however, very difficult to kill -- as you’ve undoubtedly noticed, given all your attempts on my life.” He said with a teasing smile, utterly confident. He deserved to be, Greta knew. Ivar was more at home in the woods than he was at a hearth. When he was a boy, he nearly killed them all with fright because he’d sneak out of the house to sleep up in a tree. 

“I’d hardly call a slap upside your thick head an attempt on your life,” Greta muttered, forcing herself to breathe deeply. “Nor were they undeserved.” Ivar was utterly unapologetic and unashamed, offering a simple shrug. The flow of people moved around them, and Greta realized she had no idea where they were. Surely, their parents would be done fighting by now. They should return and prepare for the festivities. Yet…

“Can you tell me what he’s like?” Greta found herself asking as her gaze drifted to the stalls that lined the market. The man that her parents were convinced that she would marry. A man who she had never once met before, knew nothing about beyond rumor, and… 

“He’s quiet,” Ivar answered her. “Thoughtful. He doesn’t much care for being the center of attention, by my estimation, and he’s glad to fade into the background. When he does speak, he doesn’t mince his words -- blunt as a hammer, sharp as a knife. However, he’s not entirely without humor. He does possess a keen eye for detail, which is why…” Ivar said, stopping before a stall and grabbing something that was one display. Before the merchant could say a word, Ivar flipped him a coin. 

Evidently, it was more than enough, as the merchant didn’t even try to barter. Ivar held out his hand and dropped what he bought into her palm- a necklace, Greta saw. A delicate chain, and upon it were beads of amber. It was a surprisingly tasteful choice of jewelry. “I can’t-”

“We’ll get through this, sister,” Ivar reassured her, moving on and not hearing a word of argument. “Mother and Father… I’m not too sure about them, honestly. Too set in their ways. But we will. I promise you that,” Ivar continued, and with the faintest of smiles, Greta found herself following along with his unconquerable pace. 

…

King Siegfried had changed the players of power, but he hadn't changed the nature of the game. All it took was a bribe in the right hands to secure an invitation for herself and her family to the celebration reserved for the nobility. She sat next to her brother, finding comfort in his presence as she tried to adopt a regal bearing. Her dress was of the finest make, her jewelry simple but tasteful with the necklace that Ivar bought around her neck. Her dark hair was pulled into an elegant braid while her eyelids were smudged with a red hue. 

The city of Miklagard was something that barely felt real -- and the royal palace felt beyond imagination. So much so that Greta, among others, were convinced that the King had commissioned the dwarves themselves to build his hall. The palace was both wide and tall, made out of marble with strange adornments -- it was no longhouse, though it seemed similar in nature. The roof had the same general shape of one, though they were smaller and not contained to one great slope. 

Leading up to a large set of double doors were a number of columns with the door underneath a large sweeping arch. Standing in the four corners of the building, however, were four pillars that were capped with a pointed dome, matching the one that seemed to reside in the center of the building. It was an awe inspiring sight, but all the more so because of one glaring fact. 

“It's not done?” Greta observed, aware of how there were great swaths of land still being cleared out for this portion of the city. What was being built there, she could only imagine, but as they arrived at the palace, she saw that expansions were being marked for the palace itself. How utterly absurd that the grandest longhouse that she had ever seen still didn't meet the King's standards. 

“They won't be done for years,” Ivar replied from the corner of his mouth. “At least five, from what I've heard.” 

“You've heard?” She asked quietly and Ivar confirmed with a noise in the back of his throat. 

“Something about phases. The roads and the first of the city are phase one. Not sure what the others are, only that one of the big plots of land is getting something called a colosseum built on it.” Ivar answered before their mother silenced him with a sharp look. They fell silent and in step behind their parents, heading towards the open double doors. Their invitations were checked and accepted but Greta barely noticed because her attention was stolen away by what she saw beyond the door. 

Greeting them was a carved statue of a tree so lifelike that she nearly mistook it for a real one. It stood tall, its bark made of a stark white stone inlaid with silver that ran from the roots up the trunk, and then to the delicate branches that fanned out as if to offer shade. There were no leaves, but adorning the branches were carved ravens that were so lifelike that she wasn't entirely certain that they were fake until she drew closer. They were carved from a glossy black stone, perched upon the branches and gazing down at those that entered the hall. 

“They say the King carved it with his own hands,” Ivar whispered to her. He had apparently already seen the sculpture and hadn't seen fit to inform her about it. She had to close her jaw as they moved past it, and down a long hall that had a few branching paths. The wonders hardly stopped as her attention was drawn to what covered the walls -- a tapestry of some sort. Only instead of being woven in fabric… 

Some sort of plaster covered the walls starting at the waist up. It was shaped to tell a story, then dyed with pigments like a tapestry would be. There, she saw a visualization of the King's Saga thus far -- of glory won as a boy, of a betrayal by King Horrik, of adventures across the world, and his return and success in claiming the throne of Denmark. 

It didn't escape her that there was room left for further additions. Nor did she miss how the Saga ended.

A shiver raced down her spine as she saw a depiction of the King's vengeance. The Blood Eagle had been a brutal thing, but what chilled her blood was what had been done to the former king and his eldest son. There were rumors that after their mutilation… that they still lived. Forced to by the King's will, who prayed to the gods for his enemies to live so that they could live in torment. They said that they dwelled beneath the palace, and if you listened closely… you could hear their pleas for death.

Greta swallowed a lump that formed in her throat, her expression betraying nothing as a second pair of doors opened and they were welcomed in the great hall. Directly before her, Greta’s gaze landed on the elevated throne that for the moment sat empty. She noted the precious stones woven into place with silver and gold, just as she noticed that the throne itself was unusually large. If her father would sit upon it, he'd look like a boy.

The hall itself was large and expansive, with the ceiling itself risen high above and Greta realized that they stood beneath the great dome in the center of the palace. The floors were made of stone, as were the walls, and great tapestries hung from them. She hadn't been prepared for the sheer wealth on display. It felt like the grandness of it was being beaten into her with a club, and she felt woefully inadequate. Which, Greta noted as her gaze fell to the crowd within the great hall, was the point. Her reaction was the same as many others, all of whom seemed to try to float over the floor as if they feared to tread upon it. 

It gave her an opportunity, one that she didn't waste. Her family had always been unimportant in the grander scheme of things, stewards of a single village near Ribe. However, she had been trained in etiquette in the hopes that she would catch the eye of a Jarl and her family's standing would be increased. 

It was the bitterest of ironies, Greta thought to herself, as she integrated with a group of married and unmarried while the menfolk drank, argued, and blustered. Her parents had always intended to make her a whore. It was only the price that had changed in their eyes. 

But she played the part well, Greta knew. She laughed at the right times, gasped as if she were shocked when she heard gossip, and scowled in disapproval at all the right things. All the while, she sifted through the others -- noting those who were competition, those that weren't, and those that it would be advantageous to ally herself with. The celebrations would last long into the night, but it was an hour into them before Greta felt his presence. 

It was impossible to not notice his entrance, as it had the effect of a stone being tossed into a lake. The ripples of muted awe and silence swept over the room and she looked over to see him. Her target. The man her parents wanted her to climb into bed with. 

King Siegfried himself. 

He was impossibly tall, standing a full head and shoulders over the second tallest man in the room. His dark red hair was pulled back, but fell loose down his neck while his beard was cut close. All to display the savage but fading scar across his neck. He was dressed in fine clothing of a make and appearance that she had never seen before -- a dark purple folded cloth covered him down to somewhere between his knee and ankles, the cloth richly embroidered. The folds of the coat were kept in place with a bright red sash that wrapped around his waist, and over them was a leather belt that carried his sword- Gram. His boots were dark, while his trousers were the same color as cream. 

However, all of that paled in comparison to the cloak that was draped over his shoulders. The Pelt of Fenrir. 

She thought it an empty boast. Surely, he had slayed a wolf -- of that, Greta had no doubt. But it wasn't until she saw the monstrous head that adorned his shoulder like a pauldron that she started to believe that it was the beast of legend. The pelt fell down to the ankles of the absurdly tall man, its coat black as night, while the folds of the cloak were held in place with gold pins. All eyes watched the King, who strode to the throne and was unbothered by the stares that followed him. 

He sat in the throne and it framed him perfectly. His eyes were a intense blue, sweeping over the crowd before them, and his gaze lingered on no one in particular. Which was both a blessing and cause for concern. 

“Welcome to my hall,” King Siegfried began, his voice low but it carried. “Forgive my absence in not receiving you.” Greta was impressed that he made the request sound like it was anything but. “But we have more reason to celebrate. Allow me to introduce my sons!” 

There was warmth in his voice that Greta hadn't expected. The King carried himself with an unyielding intensity, as if he was constantly on the cusp of battle… the obvious pride that shone in his eyes caught her off guard as two swaddled bundles were presented to the King.

“Greet Bjorn Siegfriedson, my second son to Queen Astrid,” Siegfried commanded and she saw the babe had pale skin with a tuft of red hair atop his brow. “And Radahn, my first son with Queen Jasmine.” Radahn's skin tone was a darker hue, but like his half-brother, he too had the same tuft of red hair. 

His succession was secure, Greta thought to herself with some discomfort. Four sons -- Prince Ragnar, Prince Magnus, and now Prince Bjorn and Prince Radahn. Additionally, he had two daughters sired by a witch, Princess Scáthach and Princess Aífe. 

The crowd cheered appropriately, welcoming the new princes loudly enough that the babies began to fuss. With surprising tenderness, he gave his children to their caretakers. 

“Whats more, I stand before you with another announcement,” King Siegfried continued, his voice loud and cutting through the clamor. “King Hoffer, King of Norway, has agreed to bend the knee to me and become my lawful vassal. I stand before you as King of Kings, ruler of both Denmark and Norway.” He informed, and Greta's jaw slowly dropped, alongside many others. 

She didn't know what was the most shocking part of the news. That the King somehow thought the birth of his sons was more important than the news that he had vassalized all of Norway, or that he had subjugated a kingdom without spilling a drop of blood. An alliance with Norway, Greta had expected, but vassalage? That was… 

That was too much. Too much to believe. 

“The oaths have been made, and the rites observed. Norway shall commit its warriors to my cause. Come next spring, they shall march with us as part of a greater whole,” King Siegfried continued. And she supposed that's how he managed such an incredible feat. King Hoffer saw the writing on the wall and decided to bend the knee on his own terms rather than being forced to bend. “Let us celebrate this union and the birth of my sons. Let us take this moment to reflect upon the progress that we have made. And let us dream of the progress that we have yet to make!”

The crowd cheered louder than before, and Greta stared up at the King. 

And she began to plot.