Oath Bound: Day 11

Word Count: 66,014

Summary of Events:

Friðljót and the brothers arrived at their house and they told her that she could stay on as a housekeeper for them if she liked, and she agreed, as she wasn't really sure what else she might do. Aðalbjörn, having arrived within the borders of Gammelhjem, reached a small settlement on the shores of a lake and discovered all the men had been ordered to prepare themselves and depart for battle, which left him wondering if it was as a result of the king of Uppodlingland needing their help already; once the gathering had dispersed a man approached Aðalbjörn . . .

Excerpt of the Day:

“Who are you, and what brings you here?” the man — who, up close, looked nigh unto Aðalbjörn’s age — asked.

“I am a traveller,” Aðalbjörn replied simply. “And it is the trails of men long dead which bring me here.”

The man, whom Aðalbjörn was beginning to suspect was the son of the chief, gazed at him in silence.

“My lord, do you bid us your goodwill?” he finally asked.

Although the enquiry caught him off-guard, Aðalbjörn did his best not to show it.

“Do you, my lord?” the man asked urgently.

“Why seek you my goodwill?” Aðalbjörn asked, feeling confused, but diligently keeping it out of his voice.

“You know, my lord,” the man replied. “We go to war against our ages-old enemy, the usurper and his realm of thralls. They have attacked our king without provocation, and there are many reports of slaughter and violence, even against our women and children. Let us have victory my lord.”

Aðalbjörn wasn’t entirely sure what he had to do with the matter, but a more important realisation came to him: the king of Uppodlingland had dragged them into war, but he had done so by attacking them, despite the report of Fastmund that Uppodlingland and Gammelhjem had made a treaty of peace together.

“Has not this enemy of yours made peace with you?” Aðalbjörn asked.

“It is said he did,” the man replied. “But I have not trusted it, and now I am vindicated for my distrust. I knew this would come of it. They would have not allies, but thralls, and I am sure that they pursue even now to make us thralls, and will kill all who resist to be thralls beneath them.”

“They bring wrath upon themselves,” Aðalbjörn said.

“Then we have victory, my lord?” the man asked.

“The victory goes to he who fights with the favour of the gods,” Aðalbjörn replied.

“My lord is generous,” the man said, seeming to tremble with delight. “How can I repay you?”

Repay him? What was this man going on about? He wasn’t figuring it out at all.

“I need no recompense, for I have done nothing,” Aðalbjörn replied.

“But you have come from your sacred halls to give my people hope,” the man said. “I must give you something. Please, tarry, I will be swift.”

Silently Aðalbjörn watched as the man hastened back to the hall, disappearing inside.

His sacred halls? There was no way this man thought he was who he was. He didn’t even think this man thought him the prince he was, or even was mistaking him for a king.

Was it possible that this man thought he was one of the gods?

Aðalbjörn wanted to slap himself for thinking such foolishness, but it was the only thing that made sense. Why else would this man seek his goodwill, or his assurance that victory would come? And if that was the case, then that meant this man thought him Alföðr, the chief and greatest of the gods.

Pronunciation:

Alföðr: ahlfuhthur