Six winters past and entered forth winds of frost again touching land. Snow masked soil and blue skies pale white reigned over, children ran playfully wearing thick fur while men worked. The cold did not stop Norsemen, they had lived through it and tamed it.

Only when the weather became furious with snowstorms, did the Norse people retreat into homes. Seeking refuge from blistering colds that stole warmth indiscriminately from man or woman.

With each falling winter Agneli gained more freedom as a thrall, he’d grown taller and stronger collecting whatever Halle desired within town despite the freezing cold.

Halle had changed as well, his heavy eyebags gone and sometimes at night Agneli could smell the same smoke he breathed in the shaman’s house once. He also secured tattoos onto one arm reaching shoulder to forearm, a marking of a Norse fighter as well as shaman-warriors. Gorm persuaded him to get the magical runes stating it was to earn a warrior's respect and to protect against curses.

Agneli questioned though what curses would Halle need to be wary of? Time would tell.

Seconds did little to change a man.

Minutes steered way for a possibility of change.

Hours guided for change to be hinted at.

A lone year could make a man become a monster or a hero with curses or not.

Time did many things, ushering new seasons and allowing people to grow into their roles. With eyes seeing six more winters, Agneli blossomed into something more akin to a servant knowing the ins and out of the town full of lively people. Though, the snow fell heavier and fewer people were outside now.

“It looks like there’ll be a snowstorm soon,” someone said.

People nodded in agreement and began collecting whatever they required today before marching through the snowfields. Agneli, no different, rushed to bargain for a chessboard his master desired for.

Chess pieces carved from wood in hand, it became harder to run against the snowstorm that approached. A man across from him further away in the distance appeared unable to march through the snow. Too deep were his legs into the clutches of winter.

Hesitating not knowing whether he could help the man before the snowstorm would hit the Hati clan with its full force. Agneli knew an abandoned house nearby, thinking quickly he decided to assist the man or else he may die in the plains of white. They would seek refuge together in the abandoned home.

“I’ll help you!” Agneli coarsely yelled across the winter’s howling scream which roared louder every passing minute. His vocal cords froze colder each time he opened his mouth to breathe.

He pulled at the man’s legs and carried him onto his back. Agneli noticed the man’s breathing grew fainter. “Don’t die on me, I’ll take you somewhere warm.”

Into the seclusion of wooden walls halting the winds that could bring death with its cold breath. Agneli burned scraps of wood roaming the house, including the chess pieces that he’d just bought for Halle. He placed the shivering man near the fire, and slowly the stranger realised he was safe from snow.

“Thank you for saving me.” The man’s teeth chattered from the cold.

Agneli nodded. Something felt wrong though, in the depths of his stomach twisting with suspicion, he couldn't help and feel he recognised the voice to be familiar.

“You don’t sound as if you are from here,” Agneli said.

The voice may be familiar but it did not carry the accent of the Hati people, deeper and brasher.

“I came in passing, trading with this town for swords. I hope this bloody snowstorm ends soon so l can leave.”

“I see.” Agneli asked, “May I see them? I might want to purchase one.”

The trader pulled out a blade from the pile he hid wrapped in cloth. “Be my guest.”

“As you can see it’s a fine sword, sharpened and its taper is thin enough in comparison to other swords so that you can pierce through padded leather garments.”

The stranger advertised his work. Pointing at the blade’s details not noticing Agneli’s watchful eyes that scorched burning holes.

“For you who saved my life, l can offer a discount.”

“No need. Here, a gold coin for all the swords.” Agneli flipped a coin towards him, the same one Halle offered him many years ago.

The trader leapt in joy coveting his reward. “You won’t regret buying these swords, they are refined by my crafty hands.”

“May I ask if you are a father?” Agneli inquired with faster breaths exhaling frosty air. His eyes glazed with coldness, chilling to the point where the room's temperature lowered.

Halting in rubbing his grubby hands over the lustrous coin of pure gold. The trader replied in a more hushed tone, “I had a son, not anymore.”

He began to smile. ”That doesn’t matter, since with this gold coin l can thrive another few winters on this alone.”

“It matters to me.” Agneli spat onto the wooden floor.

He wielded the sword pointing it towards the trader, it’s blade reflecting flames of Agneli’s madness. “I recognise the hands who made these swords, I never forgot his passion to forge. It’s nice to see you...father.”

Agneli’s father paled, expression aghast. He fell to the floor unable to stand with legs losing all strength seeing his abandoned son take one step forward.

“No it can’t be, how...why aren’t you dead?”

“Oh, l did bear your punishment. Fortunately enough the jarl did not kill me and took me as a thrall instead. I should thank him for keeping me alive.”

“Son, you can’t do this. You can’t murder your father in cold blood, by hammer’s Thor you’re my own son goddamit.”

“I never considered you as a father when I realised you abandoned me.”

Agneli held the sword high aiming with a stoic face, colder than winter.

The boy left behind to grow too early as a man spoke one final word, “Die.”

Blood splattered across the wall. Agneli collected a gold coin from his father’s dead body stealing silver coins as well pocketed in the man’s pouch. Sat beside a corpse stolen of warmth, cold air hoarded the room touching every inch of two bodies. One alive and the other dead.

Agneli watched flames jerk upwards as he fed more wood into it. Neither happy nor sad, he waited for the snowstorm to pass.

The cries of winter were not as loud after waiting for a day. Opening the door with no hunger, Agneli trudged out with bloody steps staining white. People gasped in horror seeing him. They alerted the jarl of the crime, Ageneli stood alone with crimson covering his clothes. The cold innocent drops of snow felt painful on his skin, but he did not cry.

“Goodbye, father.” It was the first time Agneli said ‘father’ in a long time and it would be his last. Never glancing back to where a dead body laid.

Dragged away to meet the jarl by the townspeople’s hands, an assembly was called for Agneli’s crimes. The ‘thing’, men, women and children stood in the hall with the heat of fire keeping them warm.

Witnesses called out what they saw to Erik Tokesson, who sat with his son, Halle beside him. People heard the different views and answered with their own, “He's a murderer!”

“Put him to death!”

“How dare a thrall kill a trader!”

The mob full of shouts quieted down with the jarl’s raised fist.

“Why did you kill this foreign trader?” Erik questioned.

“He was the man that raised me.” Agneli smiled.

“Evil! He smiles when saying he killed his father. Put this thrall to death!” The crowd shouted.

“Quiet!” Erik shouted. He asked Agneli with curiosity, “Is this true?”

Agneli met the jarl’s eyes, not pulling his gaze away like when he was young.

Erik scarred him long ago when he was a child. It may not have been him who tortured him, but he’d been the catalyst for Agneli to meet the world’s cruelty too soon.

“Yes, you will recognise him when you see his corpse, l made sure not to strike his face.”

Agneli had planned ahead, making sure his father would not drag him down even in death.

Erik commanded his right-hand man Trygve, “Bring the head of the slain.”

“Yes, jarl.” Quickly Trygve collected the head and showed it to Erik, careful to not dirty his clothes.

Erik nodded recognising the snake who tricked him. “It is him, the fool thought he would not be recognised. Arrogance cost him his life.”

The jarl announced for all to hear, ”Agneli killed someone worthy of death. His murder will not be considered a crime.”

Agneli stumbled out of the assembly when it finished with his father’s blood still on him. Haunting his every step. People moved out of his way, while he travelled to a small lake nearly frozen.

They whispered, “The thrall should just die.”

“The slave reeks of blood, disgusting.”

“He killed his own father, unfilial thrall.”

“Lucky slave should’ve been put to death, or at least sacrificed to Odin.”

Their curses never finished and to Agneli, it made him sure he did not live in a dream. But a nightmare of slavery still hovering over him no matter how kind Halle was to him.

With the thing’s judgement over, Erik’s eyes searched for his son and he found the seat meant for him empty.

Halle accompanied Agneli without words, they understood each other’s silence. Marching to a place special to both of them, a lake where tears and smiles were shared on a dark night. Agneli stood over the lake now frozen in winter. His skin shivering at snow falling down onto their heads.

Smash

Agneli slammed his boot into the thick layer of ice covering the body of water.

Smash

Grunts and groans as Agneli’s ankle must’ve become swollen from all the stomps on ice.

Smash

A different sound was heard from Agneli’s boot.

Crack

Lines danced in the ice for a fracture to appear answering Agneli’s rage. He did not stop until it split further and a hole of water was opened.

His boiling temper quenched, dousing it in a chilled calmness after the many stomps.

Clothes cleaned in the freezing lake, Agneli washed what remained of his father's blood. Half naked, he met the cold head-on as he twisted his garments. Squeezing out crimson drops tainting water.

Two boys, now young men twenty winters old sat in the middle of day watching snow fall.

Agneli wore the wet clothes numbing his body as biting winds swept across them. His teeth ground together to not chatter, as he spoke.

“I don’t want to be a thrall any longer.”

Halle nodded.

“I want to be a freedman, free from being ever called a slave again.”

Halle nodded again at Agneli’s words.

“I want to build my own wealth.”

Halle nodded for the third time.

“Here, these coins are worth my freedom.” Agneli offered coins he’d found on his father’s body. Lastly, he handed over the gold coin Halle gave him winters ago.

Thralls could purchase their freedom, a common practise for slaves to become a freedman. A status between thrall and karl. All Halle had to do was accept the coins as he was Agneli’s master.

Halle shook his head refusing the money.

“You do not need to pay for your freedom. I never considered you as my thrall when we became friends.”

“Even so take it, please l do not want my father’s coins.”

Halle reluctantly took them but pushed the gold coin back. “Use it, you’ll be a freedman and you’ll have to pay for a home and food.”

Agneli could not argue as Halle continued to refuse the gold coin. He accepted his defeat against the stone wall unwilling to accept money.

Shaking off the snow that’d fallen onto his shoulders. Agneli cheeks raised as he shouted at the small lake hidden away from the town, “I’m free!”

Smiling, while he cried. Agneli screamed louder, “I’M FREE!”

His words echoed against the falling snow tainting lands stretching hundreds of miles. Burdens gone, free of revenge. Agneli could move forwards without being chained down by his father’s crime, it’d taken six winters long but he was free now.

“Thank you.” It was Agneli’s time to give his gratitude to Halle. Reminiscent, as he recalled how Halle thanked him winters ago here at this lake.

“What will you work as?” Halle asked after Agneli’s tears froze cold.

“I want to be a blacksmith.”

Halle twisted his neck swiftly to Agneli. “The same work as your father?”

“He smiled each day when he forged his swords. I hate him but I can’t hate the craftsmanship of blades. I learnt since young and I’ll succeed more than he ever could have.”

“Just don’t forget me when you become famous.”

“Of course, I’ll become the best blacksmith of all of Noreg and make you the finest blade.” Agneli punched at Halle’s broad shoulders.

Halle puffed his chest out. “Then I’ll become an Ulfhednar, champion of warriors. Using the blade you forged. We will be famous across England to Francia.”

“Will your father let you become an Ulfhednar? You're the son of a jarl.” Agneli raised an eyebrow at his friend’s statement.

“I always keep my promises.”

Flashing a smile blending well with the background of white. Agneli said, “Then I’ll become the greatest blacksmith and you the greatest warrior.”

“It’s a promise.” Halle grinned clasping lower arms together with his comrade—an oath made on a snowy day.

Halle stared at the white fields and then the hills near the frozen lake. So many memories were shared here.

“We should build a house here,” he said.

Agneli pulled at his pants. “What? My pockets are empty and you want to build a house?”

“You have the gold coin.”

“Screw you it’s mine.” Agneli hid it from Halle’s sight.

Halle breathed in a cold breath, thinking back to the past and present. “This area is too special to us without anything being built to remember here—”

He paused trying to figure out what to call this region until it hit him.

Halle stretched his arms out trying to encapture the entire lake and hills beside it. “A place of truths.”

“Indeed but not at the cost of my gold coin,” Agneli agreed.

“You stingy cat, you were so willing to give it before.” Halle tried grabbing for it.

Agneli fought back. “Like you said l need to pay for food and a house. Not here in this forsaken place, how will l get customers.”

The two fought on the smaller promise. A land where sentiments were shared without restraint.

The title of being a freedman, a prior thrall still followed him like a leech in the present day. He would not be able to outlive it, only when he left to Francia or Normandy would the past disappear in memory.

He'd said most of his miseries, Agneli didn’t think much of it now. It’d been years since he first became a thrall. Glancing to the side he saw Jehanne crying, Agneli became flustered at the sight of a beautiful woman tearing up.

“What’s wrong?”

“Your story, it was so sad. The soul that sinneth, it shall die. The son shall not bear the sins of the father. That is what my God teaches, you shouldn’t have—” Jehanne started bawling her eyes out.

She’d thought her dealings with Gro and Tove were bad. Learning of his father abandoning him made her also cry rivers of sympathy. Jehanne couldn’t imagine a past without her father in her childhood.

“What’s gotten this lady here crying,” said Ulfberht.

Jehanne looked to Ulfberht. “He told me...he told me.”

She began crying again and hid her tears on Agneli’s shoulder. He felt guilty enjoying the embrace of someone he’d fallen head over heels for but was holding onto him because she felt sad. He smiled slightly and mumbled, “It’s all in the past, it’s ok since I’m making silver coins apart from whenever Halle steals a sword from me.”

Ulfberht shook his head staring at Agneli. “She probably cried looking at your ugly face tsk tsk.”

Agneli did not know what the old blacksmith was saying, but he knew it wasn’t anything good. He gestured for the geezer to leave whilst Jehanne was still in his arms.

Hiccupping and sniffing, she wailed. After being calmed down by Agneli she said, “No wonder you're so close with Halle.”

“Halle is like an older brother to me even though we’re both the same age.”

Jehanne almost looked comical with her dried tears. She asked, “Since you told me about the Ulfhednars, does that mean they’ve revealed themselves already? I haven’t met one since coming here.”

“The moment Halle went on his vikings, they joined and followed the jarl’s commands of raiding places. They don’t fight alongside Halle, but there is mutual respect between Hati’s people and them.”

Agneli frowned remembering both had not achieved their vows yet at the mention of Halle.

“If only his father allowed him to bear the markings of an Ulfhednar, then one of our promises would’ve been completed already.”

Jehanne stared outside the open door wanting to learn more about Halle, her forbidden love if only in fantasy.

“What does Halle do when he’s alone when none of us are by his side?”

“The things a son of a jarl would do. Probably listen to his father about future plans and old rules passed down mouth to ear,” Agneli sighed.

He too stared outside hoping Halle wasn’t being berated by his father too much.

Maps laid across a table, hiding every inch of wood seen. Paper alone covered Erik Tokesson’s desk as he planned for war.

Hearing his son’s footsteps.

He answered, “Ah you're here. Come son, I’ve much to tell you.”

Erik guided Halle to another table clean of filth where a board of chess laid, the Norse version called ‘Hnefatafl’.

“It’s been too long since I’ve played someone well-versed at Hnefatafl. l did not have time to challenge other jarls when they came here. The time where you were meant to be here with me.” Erik emphasised the last few words.

Hnefatafl was played with carved stones representing warriors. One person played as a king whose goal is to reach the board’s corners. The other played as an attacker mobilising armies to halt him. Trapping the king on all four sides would be considered a win for the attacker.

Halle ignored his father’s words, choosing to be the attacker and moving a stone forward.

Erik reacted quickly to his son’s movement, taking a stone off the board he’d managed to capture.

While the game continued, many of Halle’s pieces were stolen by his father.

“Son you’ll have to do much better,” Erik laughed.

His chuckles halted when Halle moved a single stone to the side of Erik’s king forming a barrier of three stones. One more to cover all sides to win, Halle secretly did so silently underneath his father’s nose with a cunning strategy.

“I concede.” Erik smiled to his son, understanding he’d been too confident.

His king would be trapped no matter where it ran as another stone lay in waiting to capture it. The game Hnefatafl was meant to be played twice at least so each player had a turn as a king or attacker. Erik stopped though too tired with age.

Halle asked, “Has this helped to relieve you of some stress?”

“It has, but it is time for us to speak of duties. Particularly war, it shall arrive soon.”

“With who?”

“At first it was Danmǫrk.”

Halle’s eyebrows furrowed, he had not learnt of this. “Danmǫrk? Are we not in an alliance with them?”

“The hard ruler has broken his trust with king Sweyn, his greed desires for Danmǫrk.”

The hard ruler could only refer to king Harald Sigurdsson of Noreg.

Halle frowned deeply, he did not wish to possibly encounter Arne, a Dane in war. He cherished their friendship but if it came to it and he was forced, Halle would raise his sword to battle.

“Luckily the king did not ask of us to attack Danmǫrk instead the Berserkir,” Erik announced seeing his son’s serious face.

“The rivals to our Ulfhednars? Did they win?”

“All of Noreg would celebrate if Berserkir managed to conquer Danmǫrk. If you were more focused on learning to become a jarl rather than trying to earn marks of an Ulfhednar. You would know this.” Erik's face was overflowing with disappointment.

Halle’s father continued with a tone of confusion, “For whatever reason, they deserted the battle and claimed they would join sides with Danes.”

“Traitors!” Halle slammed at the table with fists.

“We still have a chance to reign over an area where no man of Noreg ever held.”

“Where?”

“England.” Erik devilishly grinned. “King Harald’s greed is further than mine, unmatched.”

“When your mother and l tried to capture a border of the land she’d died while l fought on the other corner. I will avenge my mistake and earn a part of England with King Harald Sigurdsson,” Erik seethed with rage. His veins popped out as he firmly gripped the Hnefatafl board.

“Father calm down,” Halle stated.

“How could l not be angry, why aren’t—”

Erik saw his son digging his nails into the back of his palms, blood dripped to the floor. Halle managed to concentrate all the anger boiling within him into his fierce hands clenching till they turned white.

“It seems both of us need to calm ourselves down,” Erik said.

Falling back down to his seat, he felt light-headed. Time was not so kind to him compared to the youths who grew stronger, whereas he stepped closer to death with each passing winter.

“With the betrayal of Berserkir, we with the Ulfhednars will fight. It still confuses me as to why they came here and stayed, they’ve proven to us an ally after fighting alongside us. They made our clan famous after you went on your first viking, yet for what reason?”

Erik shook his head bitterly wanting to know, he’d questioned the shaman’s motives. Not able to deduce why they’d stayed here of all places and listened to his commands. After speaking with their shaman many times, all Erik knew is that the man bore no ill-will towards the Hati clan.

Halle did not know why either, instead he did not question Ulfhednars. They followed their shaman leader who saw spirits and the flowing nature of fate. Halle heard his father continue in speech not contemplating on questions which boggled both their minds.

“Other clans of Noreg such as Sverke will invade England as well. It would’ve been much better if the Danes could have aided us, but there can only be one ruler Harald Sigurdsson.” Erik stated his last words not believing but considering it as already true.

“That reminds me, the Sverke tribe who is closest to us will visit during the Hestavíg. Their jarl and his daughter will come, neither of his other descendants can arrive in time,” Erik said.

Hestavíg festivals were an event of entertainment, where stallions raised by jarls fought each other and karls would egg them on to fight. A competition of pride being on the line deciding the stronger clan.

Wrestling and toga hönk (tug-of-war) were all enjoyed by men afterwards as wives watched their husbands flaunt strength or be beaten to the ground. Important to Norse people, used to strengthen friendships or treat issues among rivals.

“I hear Solveig is quite the beauty at eighteen winters old. You are old son. Too old and yet bear no children for me to witness grow.”

Solveig was the daughter of Odell, chieftain of Sverke’s tribe. Their age difference between Halle and her was ten years but in terms of the Scandinavian seas, such things were common in the 11th century and the gap became larger with status at times.

“Father—” Erik interrupted his son's response.

“I will not hear any of your arguments. We will welcome the Sverke tribe and l shall let you meet with their daughter.”

Halle sighed knowing full well his father would continue refuting him if he tried to reject the offer.

“l will prolong your punishment if you try to escape your burdens as the next in line to be jarl after me. Will you anger me again?” Erik scowled.

“No father.”

“Good,” Erik was relieved. “The Hestavíg will happen in summer. Two more winters and we will meet with Harald Sigurdsson to invade England. We will avenge your mother’s death.”

Erik Tokesson’s eyes sternly looked at Halle.

“Promise me you won’t die at battle son. I cannot grieve for another soul after your mother's death.”

“I cannot know if Odin wishes for me to enter Valhalla early father, but l shall come home to the new lands of Noreg for mother’s last dying wish.”

Erik nodded. “She wanted to feed people and give more land to karls, always too kind your mother was. Conquering England would have accomplished her wish.”

Halle noticed his father’s expression became solemn, saddened remembering the woman he’d love with all his heart.

“I am not as kind as her nor do l show generosity to people, but do know I care for you son.”

“I know father, It is why you don’t let me gain the marks of an Ulfhednar. In fear, I may die an early death as a warrior.”

Erik’s past anger for his son’s decisions reignited, “If you know—”

Halle cut his father's beginning lecture with sharp words.

“I wish to become an Ulfhednar to show people who said my mother wasn’t worthy of battle many years ago were wrong. She was stronger than anyone, able to raise a son who will become a champion of Noreg—An Ulfhednar.”

Halle’s father didn’t speak, he held his tongue wanting to lash out. But hearing it was for his mother, even still Erik Tokesson could not allow Halle to do as he pleased.

The troubles of a father, proud of him and yet he feared for his son’s safety. Too common was death among war, no matter the price though he would try to keep his son safe, it was what his mother wished for. But Halle was not the boy who’d cried after killing his first person. A man meeting the glances of death now, who waited for his father’s response.

“We will announce to the town during the ‘thing’ tomorrow of the attack on England and take any man that wishes to go. You may leave.” Erik returned to the table of maps and revised plans and strategies.

Not answering Halle’s wishes to become an Ulfhednar.

Left alone by himself, his son stepped outside the manor. Erik spoke in the lonely quarters of his room, “Have I done wrong to deny him of his wish or would you think l was correct Gertrud.”

He spoke his deceased lover's name in whispers reminding him of the women claiming his heart for hers alone to steal, whilst staring at the spear she often wielded. It hung on his wall beside relics such as a sword broken with age collected by his father and grandfather to Halle.

“Gertrud you should have not left me to raise our son.” Erik did not cry, his tears had dried years ago. Vengeance remained in his blood as he focused on maps sprawled over his table studying them once more.

It was 1064 AD now. In two winters during the year of 1066 AD, England will have learnt the meaning of fear from Norsemen.

Outside Halle’s bloody palms dried after he’d washed his hands in a bowl offered by servant Gro. He roamed the town seeing karls avoid him staring to the floor. Some had seen of his merciless murder as a child and different people heard from other sources. Few greeted him.

It was unspoken but known to all, Halle did not care though. He strolled back to meet Jehanne, who lulled his heart of grief and boredom, Halle did not believe he loved her. He couldn’t, yet why did his heart waver hearing his father’s words on meeting the Sverke’s tribe daughter.

Why? Why did Jehanne make him softer and feel so at ease in her presence so naturally? Was it love that captured his heart as Agneli said? Halle couldn’t doubt his friend’s words any further.

When he entered the blacksmith home, he saw Jehanne rush to him with dried tears.

“Did you cry?” Halle questioned with worry.

“It’s nothing,” Jehanne replied.

“If it was nothing you would tell me why you cried.”

“I listened to some old stories.”

“Stories that made you cry?” Halle could not help and raise an eyebrow.

“When I first met you I was scared Halle,” Jehanne spoke remembering scenes of where she’d been beaten purple by the servants before meeting him.

Halle did not know why she spoke of the past, but he listened.

“Getting to know you more,” Jehanne paused. “You may be right that the Norse people are honourable and not scary. I know for sure you aren’t a monster if you can feel remorse.”

Jehanne ran leaving Halle stunned.

His hands tainted of bloodshed, not from wounds he’d caused himself when he spoke with his father. But from dozens of people he’d killed each viking, his fingers were cleansed yet never not dirtied by sins.

Inner thoughts struggling within Halle, what changed Jehanne’s mind? What stories did she hear?

He did not know, hearing he was not a monstrosity though made his heart waver even more. At one point he felt remorse, no more did he contemplate such emotions. He felt guilty for not having the sentiments he once bore.

Why did this woman have to make his heart tremble at her every word?

Jehanne waited in the distance waving for him to hurry up. Wiping at tears, they were small and Halle was glad his eyes were not dried empty.

Not like his father. Halle never witnessed his old man cry again after he returned home from England without a corpse to bury. It meant Halle's words he often told himself in hopes he did not speak lies were true, he wasn’t the monster everyone claimed him to be for he cried similar to any other human. Proof laid in the smiling woman in the distance. She believed him when sometimes even he did not believe at all.

Clutching at his treasured amulet carved with a rune, Halle damned his beating heart and damned the woman who made him fall in love—Jehanne.

He asked the Ginfaxi rune on his mother’s amulet for courage, not in battle but in love lest fear hold him down.