"Pappa! Pappa! Tell me the stories of the north again!" A young Britta exclaimed, bouncing up and down on her bed of thick furs, her blonde curls whirling around her head and her hazel eyes bright with excitement.

Dirk Haraldsson chuckled at his youngest child's enthusiasm of the dark, barbarous whispers of the clan up north. For his child's protection, he wove the starting information into a fabrication of a scary tale. But in truth, the rumors were true. That Dirk knew of by the help of his trustful scouts. As Jarl of the Haraldsson clan, he worried about what the Dahlsten's next move would be. Or which clan they decided to raid next. Dirk knew the time would come when the Dahlsten's would arrive on his own bridge, but his people would be ready when they did.

"Please, Pappa? Just tell me once more and I promise I will go to sleep." Britta stuck her bottom lip out in a sad pout, making his thoughts turn away from the grim possible future and to his little prinsesse.

He crossed the threshold of her room and gingerly sat down on her bed of bear fur. Dirk patted the soft fur beside him and his child of nine summers bounced down next to him, curling herself into a small ball next to him, her eyes gazing up at him with innocent love.

He smiled as he wrapped his arms around her, swinging her up into his arms and tickling her soft belly. Britta's giggles pierced the air as his fingers danced across her ticklish stomach. He stopped as she begged for mercy. He pulled his fingers away, rising with her still in his arms and placed her underneath the cover of furs.

Her long dark blonde curls were splayed across her pillows and he marveled at his beautiful little blessing from Odin. Although Britta was young, she held an ageless beauty that made his breath catch every time he looked at her. The joy and happiness she radiated made everyone around her smile. He knew he would face many deficient suitors when Britta came of age, he thought darkly, as her beauty and charm were widely known throughout the southern part of Norway. She looked exactly like his younger sister did when she was just a few summers old, and his smile contorted at the thought of his dead sister. He closed his eyes, picturing young Sunniva in his mind.

"Pappa?" A soft voice whispered.

His eyes opened, the picture gone from his thoughts. "I am sorry, my little dukke. My mind is across the sea tonight. Now, where should I begin?" Dirk asked, thoughtfully tapping his chin with his finger and looking up at the ceiling of the room. He waited for her smart remark.

3...2...1.

"The beginning, of course, Pappa. Silly," Britta giggled. She had a quick wit, he knew she got it from her mother's side.

"Why did I not think of that?" He groaned, smacking his palm to his forehead in jest. Her giggles lightened his heart and crept into his weary soul.

"So, up in the northern part of our great country," he began, "Near the Oksskolten mountain range lives a fierce and ruthless clan...known as the Dahlsten Clan. They swept through the mountains and valleys raiding small villages and taking any loot they wanted, striking fear into the hearts of Scandinavians young and old. No one hears them as they are quiet as a mouse, creeping upon the villages at night. And no one sees them, they are invisible like a--" Dirk's words were cut off as the door burst open.

"Pappa! Clan Dahlsten's Jarl is here to speak with you," Kare, his eldest son, spoke in a low tone. Kare's body was tense as his fingers kept grazing his sword handle, the one movement that showed his nerves.

Dirk felt like he was looking back at himself 20 years ago. Kare was the exact image of himself when he was just nine and ten winters. Kare's gaze flickered to his little sister in bed, his eyes hard. Dirk grimaced as his previous thoughts became reality sooner than he realized.

Releasing a deep heavy sigh, irritation and unease filled his jaded bones. Brushing a kiss upon Britta's head, he rose and left the room with Kare close to his side. Dirk weaved through the hallways of the manor his family had lived in for generations. He strode towards the entrance with a few of his most trusted men now flanking his side. Before the large wooden door opened, he turned and glanced behind him, meeting the gazes of his men and eldest son.

"Be on your guard. The Dahlsten's are not to be trusted. Forstått?" He grunted. Several nods answered him.

Dirk nodded to the men waiting for his signal to open the door. The tall oak doors groaned as they were heaved open, revealing the cool brisk night air, and the group of men waiting at the end of the lowered bridge. Around ten warriors remained on their horses while a small handful stood almost proudly in front of them.

He advanced across the bridge with confidence, his head held high as he assessed the men in front of him as well as his surroundings. He could hear the lapping of the water of the moat against the walls of the manor beneath him. The birds in the forest facing him calling out in the night. Even the waves from the sea a mile away could be heard. To Dirk, it was odd to see the Dahlsten men standing there waiting like average people instead of fighting like barbarians as it was rumored they did on a normal basis.

Stopping before the group of men, he inclined his head ever so slightly in respect towards the powerful Jarl of the North. His eyes connected with the young boy standing beside the Jarl, who looked to be only a few years older than his Britta, perhaps three and ten summers. The resemblance between the Jarl and the boy were obvious, with their dark coloring and tan skin. The eyes were what screamed the difference between the two individuals. The cold, calculating blue eyes of the Jarl were a sharp contrast to the dark brown, almost black, eyes that held the slightest tell of the innocence of the boy standing next to him.

Keeping his face emotionless, Dirk asked respectfully, "Jarl Dahlsten, what brings you to the south by the sea? Are you in need of assistance?"

A smirk crossed the Jarl's lips at Dirk's words. An odd gleam in Larse's eyes made his gut clench with apprehension. Larse and his men seemed relaxed, their arms by their sides. A front, Dirk could tell. They were aware of their surroundings, patiently waiting for someone to grab their axe or sword to attack. He recognized this because his own people were taught the same thing.

That is where the similarities of the two clans ended. While the Dahlsten's were known for their aggressive behavior and constant raiding, the Haraldsson's peaceful nature was established at an early age of fighting youth until provoked or threatened. Then all bets were off.

Dirk raised a pale brow, waiting for an answer. Finally, the callous Jarl spoke.

"I want to combine our clans together," He said simply, shrugging his large shoulders. Startled, Dirk's eyes widened in surprise.

"Y-you wish to combine our people? And what are your reasons?" He asked sharply. Dirk knew immediately that something wasn't right, he could feel it in his bones.

"Yes. I recognize your strength here by the sea, and your fighting techniques are known to be clever yet deadly. Together I am certain we will be a deadly force, even the gods will praise us for our battle skills. We shall conquer the entire country if we so desire. Odin himself will ask us, Dirk, to stand by his side in the afterlife. That I am positive." Larse declared. The smug grin on his dirty face oozed greed and arrogance. Almost as if he was confident that Dirk would agree to his proposal.

Dirk's eyes narrowed in consideration, and he tilted his head to give the impression of pondering Larse's idea. As soon as the words fell off the Jarl's tongue Dirk knew he could never combine forces with Jarl Larse and his bloodthirsty people. It would end in bloodshed and numerous of his own people dead. That he was sure of.

"I thank you for your praises, but I am afraid I will have to say nei, my friend."

As soon as Dirk replied, the young boy stepped forward a few feet, his gaze focused on something behind Dirk and his men.

Dirk turned to see his family watching the exchange between the two clans by the entrance of the manor. His wife, Rona, stood by the door with Ran, his second eldest son standing protectively in front of her and his sisters. Astrid, his eldest daughter stood slightly off to the side of her mother, her copper hair covering most of her face. Britta, his youngest, stood on the other side of her mother holding her hand with her head tilted to the side in curiosity. She looked up at her mother then back towards the boy that was slowing walking towards her.

Dirk's breathing stopped when he realized the boy was staring fixated at Britta, his little prinsesse, making his way slowly towards her. It seems that word of his daughter's beauty spread farther than he imagined. He growled low at the boy, halting him from going any closer towards his family.

A low chuckle snapped his head back towards the Dahlsten men. Larse had a large sinister smile on his face as he watched his son stare fascinated at Dirk's youngest daughter.

"Perhaps, we can negotiate...come to an agreement of sorts. Perchance even an arranged marriage? I believe that would be an even better deal than before," The Jarl's big malicious grin had Dirk's men shift uneasily. Dirk snarled at the idea of his little girl becoming a Dahlsten.

"It is best if you take your boy and leave in peace, Larse. There will be no deals on this night," He vowed, barely containing his anger.

"Oh, my friend," the Jarl drawled out, "I believe you might change your mind about that. Come, Aderick, we are leaving."

With a quick turn of his heel, the Jarl and his son jumped onto their horses and trotted towards the tree line with their men following closely behind. Dirk watched with caution as the last of the Dahlsten men disappeared within the blanket of night that covered the forest.

Just before the boy's horse entered the woodland, the dark haunting eyes peered back at the manor. Dirk instinctively knew that the young Aderick was looking back for one last glance at his Britta.

Deep down, he knew that that was not the last he would see of the Dahlsten clan.

*.*.*

Watching from the shadows of the dark forest, Larse glowered at the Jarl of the southern clan and his family. His lip curled at the sight of the Haraldssons. He never actually wanted to combine the two clans together, no, he only wanted to join for power. He planned to eventually kill Dirk and any of his loyal clan members. Without the protection of their leader and warriors, the people of the powerful southern clan would surrender to his every whim and command. Then he would become finally, finally become the ruler of Norway. The southern clan would crumble and morph into his, making his own clan the strongest and most powerful the gods have ever seen. Inwardly, Larse smiled widely with malicious glee.

And his son gave him the perfect solution to conquering the south's most powerful clan.

Aderick's horse nickered as he entered the dark woodlands. "I want her as my bride, Pappa." He murmured. He turned his dark eyes towards his father.

Aderick's eyes strayed back to the beautiful girl at the manor. They seemed glued to her every move as the two individuals watched her jump into her father's arms. The rumors were true, Larse amused dryly. She was perfect for his new plan. The girl would be the key to her own people's downfall.

Larse glanced at his only son. "And so you shall, my son. So you shall..." He replied. He signaled to men to leave.

He had a kidnapping and an entire clan murder to plan.