Conquering Vinland

[bertmacklinsbrother]

I appreciate the kind words of support!  I've been working on a few commissions on the side, which have taken up more time than I thought.  But I'm plucking away at the next few chapters and am excited to return to this story soon!

[ArkhamAsylum]

That's great to hear. Take your time I'm looking forward to the continuation of this story and your other stories.

[bertmacklinsbrother]

By the time Freydis reached Breidafjordur, the sun had already retreated beyond the horizon, the sky shifting from a vibrant orange to a dark purple.  Along the coast, as gulls squawked and drifted on the cold breeze, Freydis passed a field of thatched cottages and farms, where those who cultivated wheat and potatoes lived in a semblance of isolation.  The air stunk of the animals that roamed the pastures, but it was a smell to which Freydis became accustomed when they first settled Greenland.  When they weren’t training for combat, Leif and Freydis spent their younger years tending the fields and raising livestock.  For a time, even their famous father, Erik the Red, feared Viking warrior and conqueror, exchanged his battle axe for a plow.

The country homes weren’t nearly as isolated as Freydis’ mountainside cabin, but the large plots of land were still a sizable distance from the other residences.  As she drew closer to Breidafjordur’s township, the housing became more condensed and upscale, transitioning from small farm houses built of sticks and hay to sturdy family homes of oak and pine.  In the town proper, some of the larger buildings were intended as living spaces, but most of the shelters were dedicated to commerce and utilities.  A boat house that ran along the pier kept the smaller ships protected while docked and was wide enough to cover most of the coast beside the docks. 

The main square was lit by lines of torches around the marketplace area and a large central bonfire where some people were huddled, basking in the heat.  Sound erupted from the long house where the mead hall was located; the feasting had been going on for some time.  Men stumbled around the streets in a drunken stupor, some chasing after giggling serving girls, while others brawled with slow, sluggish fists.  Laughter roared from inside and a warm glow basked the entryway in an orange light that was welcoming despite the raucous sounds of boisterous yelling and clanging plates.

Freydis sighed and stepped up from the dirt of the main square onto the wooden floors of the long house and into the feast, the cold winter winds ceasing as she entered.  Men and women drank and cheered as drums beat to a quick, jubilant rhythm, setting a pace to the celebration.  The floorboards glistened with spilt ale, and the entire hall assaulted Freydis’s nose with the scents of alcohol, sweat, burning wood, and roasted meats.

Though Freydis was not in the mood for revelry, she couldn’t help but allow herself a brief smile at the sights and smells of a good Viking feast.  The warrior’s life was one of violence and danger, but also appreciation for that very life, as it could be snuffed out like a candle flame at the end of your enemy’s sword.  Through the years, Freydis had flowed with that routine without a thought; they would fight in a battle, gritting their teeth through all the blood and slaughter, and then they would feast, to both honor the fallen who died gloriously and rejoice at their own survival.  After a long time away at war, Freydis loved nothing more than to drink, brawl, and laugh the night away.

But leaving Vinland without a victory did not feel like cause for celebration.  There was no victory so this feast was nothing more than a testament to their cowardice.  Still, her grumbling stomach was willing to set aside her pride to get its fill.

“Freydis!!” a voice blurted out.

Leif stood up from one of the dining tables with arms raised towards her.  His face was cherry red and dotted with beads of sweat, and his silver crown sat crooked atop his braided red hair.  As he approached her, he opened his arms wider and swept Freydis into a powerful hug.  His cloak was soaked through and stank of mead.  Leif released her and gave her shoulders a firm clasp.

“My dear sister!” he chuckled, “I’m so glad you’ve come to join the festivities!”

“I’m famished,” Freydis said curtly, seating herself at the table and filling her plate with a large helping of roast chicken and a half loaf of bread.

Leif seemed to take the hint that she wasn’t in the mood to talk.  He gave a quick nod, then turned to stumble towards one of his captains, roaring out a cheer as they both raised horns.  Freydis also poured herself a horn of ale to help wash the food down.  Filling her belly properly for the first time in weeks did seem to calm her down a bit.  Within moments, she had consumed a whole plate of meat and bread, and soon after found herself sipping on a mug of hot stew.

All around her, the feast raged on.  A few men engaged in a drinking contest as a surveying crowd whooped and hollered.  Freydis found herself cracking a smirk as she watched her brethren gladly deface themselves.  She felt the presence of a figure behind her, who swung into the same bench she was sitting on. 

Sten was a handsome man, with a rugged, beardless face and eyes that seemed to glitter in the firelight.  Not to mention, the dangerous smile that he brandished whenever he wanted to get his way.  He had a tendency to stick out in a crowd of Vikings, given that he chose to keep his facial hair either short, or even shaved completely smooth, nor did he grow his hair out into a braid.  Instead he wore his brown hair styled on the sides with a bit of length on top.  He claimed it was the latest fashion in England, and also said the same about the outfit he wore, which was some kind of jerkin and tunic, though far more elegant and ostentatious than what you would see on the common norseman.

Sten was a merchant and traveler by trade, and frequently embarked on journeys to far-off lands, returning to Greenland with plentiful goods, strange delicacies, and even stranger stories.  The retelling of his wild experiences was often the centerpiece of any room he was in, as women fawned over his many adventures.

“I’m surprised to see you’re not joining them,” Sten said, nodding over to the men guzzling full horns of ale, “We both know you could probably beat the lot.”

His eyes twinkled as he grinned with rows of perfect teeth.  Freydis found herself growing hot in the cheeks.  She regained her composure, sniffed, and took another from her mug of stew.

“Maybe you’re just not in the mood for ale,” Sten said, pulling a small silver container from his breast pocket, “I traded for some wonderful liquor last time I was in Persia.  Incredibly strong, but also kind of sweet.  Not unlike my present company.”

He gave her a wink and Freydis felt her cheeks flush yet again.  She wanted to punch him right then and there!  How was it that Sten could drive her mad, and at the same time make her feel so… complicated?  It made no sense.  She shook her head at his offer.

“More for me, I suppose,” Sten continued, taking a swig from the container, “In Persia, they say it’s the mender of bad memories.”

“It’ll help me forget you, then?” Freydis murmured.

“So she does speak!” Sten laughed, “I feared you had severed your tongue in battle.”

“If only the gods would take your tongue,” Freydis said, “You use it far too often.”

“Oh, come now,” he quipped, “Based on your experience, I figured you think of my tongue more fondly than that.”

By the gods, she was getting flustered again!  Freydis nearly dumped the remaining contents of her stew cup onto his head and stormed out.  But as furious as Sten made her, she was far more upset about their loss at Vinland.  She continued to stare forward, which Sten seemed to notice.

“Hmm,” Sten muttered, “You really are being awfully quiet.  Even for you.”

“I’m not in the mood for games, Sten,” Freydis sighed, “Please leave me be.”

The confident grin that was usual plastered on his face weakened, and his composure took on a semblance of concern.  He leaned forward, leaning his chin into his folded hands and looked at her earnestly.  Flickering flames from the candles on the table danced within his irises.

“I heard about the defeat,” Sten nodded, “It must pain you.  You always hated losing.”

“What I hate is being led into battle by a coward,” Freydis said through gritted teeth, “And he has the audacity to throw a feast, like we have cause for celebration.”

“He’s our Jarl,” Sten said, glancing around to make sure their traitorous conversation wasn’t being overheard, “And your brother.  You swore an oath to him, as did I.”

“That doesn’t mean I have to agree with him,” Freydis seethed, “Or that I can’t think that our people would be better led by someone else.”

Sten didn’t respond.  How odd it was for him to be silent; he usually loved hearing himself speak.  But he simply looked down at the table for a moment before pulling out his liquor container and taking another drink.  A louder roar came from the rest of the room as the drinking contest seemed to reach peak excitement.

“You weren’t there,” Freydis said slowly, “If you had seen how our warriors were killed or left to bleed out on the shores, you wouldn’t be so supportive of our beloved Jarl.  These men who survived; the ones shouting and drinking?  The ones who were actually there?  They aren’t celebrating.  They’re trying to drown their shame.”

“We’re all drowning our shame in one way or another,” Sten shrugged, “Not everyone has been blessed by the gods to live a life of glory and honor.  Most of us are just trying to make our way through this world.  We breath, laugh, drink, and fuck.  All without getting a knife in the back or an axe to the head.  At the end of the day, I call that a good life.”

Freydis shook her head in disdain.  Of course Sten wouldn’t understand.  He lived for cheap thrills and never cared to see the greater good; what the Viking people could be if they dared to dream bigger.  Instead he loved the tangible and the material.

It wasn’t as though earning coin was frowned upon.  In their culture, raiding new lands and pillaging everything you could carry from the enemy was common, though less-so than it was during the days of her grandfather.  But the spoils of war were taken for the glory of Odin; every bit of the riches they stole was for the gods and to help build the halls of Valhalla.  Sten did not get into trade for the gods or even for Greenland; everything he earned, he did for himself.

The more she thought about it, the more she was shocked they were ever together for a time.  It was an odd pairing to be certain.  Sten wasn’t the typical Viking man; he wasn’t rough, loud, or violent.  He enjoyed a fashionable outfit and the finest food and drink.  And you would never catch Sten sharpening an axe or dirtying his hands.  He was a man who kept clean, prim, and proper.

He was the polar opposite of Freydis, who was trained from a young age to be a fighter.  While Sten smelled of honey, fruits, and foreign perfumes, Freydis embodied wilder scents; tanned leathers, burning firewood, and a natural odor of dried sweat.  Compounding all of that, was the fact that Sten was more beautiful than her.  That had always bothered her somewhat; he could have any woman he wanted, and yet he had chosen her.  Her only choice was to conclude that she was the victim of some kind of joke.

And yet, though their time together didn’t last long, she did remember it fondly.  Somehow, he still affected her to this day.  Sten was the one man in her life with which she could actually see building a future.  Perhaps that was what aggravated and terrified her most about him.

“Stay out of trouble, Sten,” Freydis said, rising from the wooden bench as her empty mug clattered onto the table.

He grabbed her by the arm, stopping her before she could turn to leave.  She stared at him for a moment, seeing the seriousness on his face.

“I was about to say the same thing to you,” Sten muttered so no one else could hear, “Those things you were saying about your brother… just be careful, alright?”

Freydis gave an affirmative grunt, then slid her arm from his grip.  She could feel his eyes on her back as she walked out of the longhouse and back into the cold night.  While she knew she should heed Sten’s advice, she couldn’t get Vinland out of her head.  Part of her wanted to free one of the boats from the dock and sail back herself.

As she walked home, head buzzing from the ale, she imagined visions of glory; her returning to Vinland with an army of Vikings behind her, leading the charge as they plowed through the Skraeling forces and took their golden lands for themselves.  She saw the battle; bloody, violent, glorious.  And once it ended, the people would cheer her name as she placed the first stones on the ground, the foundation for the new temple they’d build to worship Odin.  Her head adorned in a silver Jarl’s crown, Freydis would become a legend, and bring the Vikings into a new age.  And from there, she’d take on the next challenge, going anywhere her ambitions carried her.

She smiled to herself as she fantasized.  It was what she truly wanted.  If only she had the strength to see it through.

[Tikka1910]

Great. You set up the story slowly. I think the climax of your story will be an explosion of pleasure.  Freydis could fuck the little Sten after conquering Vinland on her own and a night of drinking. But I may be anticipating. Anyway you have a real talent to create heroine archetypes for fans of powerful women. Jennifer, Freydis ... Can't wait for the next part.

[ArkhamAsylum]

I agree with Tikka. Your heroines (and the rest of your stories) are always written very well.

[hairylover321]

Very good chapter! Keep up the great work my friend. K+

[Zolaire]

Bert! My man, your writing never ceases to impress. Keep it up! K+

[bertmacklinsbrother]

@Tikka:  Thanks Tikka!  I do enjoy a nice story set up with build-up.  In my opinion it always makes the characters more believable and the payoff more enjoyable.

@Arkham:  I do love to write heroines!  I really appreciate it!

@hairylover:  Thanks so much for always supporting my work It means a lot!!

@Zolaire:  Thanks so much for the compliment!  Your art is amazing as well!

[Tikka1910]

Hi. I hope this story that looks fabulous will deliver a new episode soon 😁.

[bertmacklinsbrother]

The full moon shone overhead, casting a pale light through the frosted trees as Freydis walked up the usual mountain path towards her cottage.  A light flurry flitted down and the snow had begun to build up around the fur on Freydis’ cloak, as well as her braided red hair.  The snowfall was gentle and the harsh winds from earlier had quieted, so the temperature was fortunately pleasant.  That, or the drinking had numbed her senses enough to stop caring. 


She let out a soft sigh.  The woodland path was always so beautiful.  Since their ship had docked, Freydis had been aching for a bit of companionship, but in moments such as this, she basked in the peace that came from isolation.  This back and forth was common for her; dancing between needing a man between her sheets and realizing that she preferred to be alone.  For now, at least, she was content in solitude.  Though she had to admit that Sten did appear in her thoughts a few times as she walked.


Other feelings from earlier continued to flash in her mind; her conversation with Sten, her hatred towards Leif, and a deep yearning for power that continued to well within.  Freydis feared that her hunger for the throne would be misunderstood by Sten, and that he would judge her as just another overzealous Viking trying to take and steal. 


But it was more than that.  She wanted to bring prosperity to her people and honor to her legacy.  And, she also thought of Vinland; refusing to accept the loss and setting sail for revenge under a new banner. The glory was certainly tempting, as was the opportunity to step out of the shadow cast by her father and brother.  The more she thought about it in her drunken haze, the less confident she felt that she wanted the throne for the right reasons.


“Could I ever really do this?”  Freydis hummed to herself, her boots continuing to crunch through the snow, “Take this power from my brother?”


Admittedly, being Jarl would be an unconventional fit for her.  She wasn’t the most outgoing and lacked the general charisma that flowed through her brother.  While Leif was a coward, he was a man of the people, and they loved him.  Could Freydis ever be that loved?  The men under her rule would have a hard time respecting her.  If she led them into battle, would they really follow?


Those questions continued to burn through her.


Before she even realized it, she found herself wandering off the usual trail until she was wading through snow as high as her knees.  Freydis wasn’t exactly sure where she wanted to end up, but she knew that being alone in her home with her thoughts wasn’t the best way to end the night.  She needed to think, and she needed to pray.


After nearly an hour of walking, Freydis came to a clearing, bathed in cool moonlight.  Máni, the moon itself, seemed to call out to her, leading her towards the center.  Kneeling down in the snow, surrounded by a ring of trees, Freydis found herself speaking to the gods.


“Is it so much to ask that I take hold of my own destiny?!  That I leave my father’s shadow?” Freydis cried, “I just want the strength to lead and to bring honor to my name.  If not this, then what is my purpose?”


Of course, no response came.  Some twigs snapped in the distance as some rabbits bounced through the woods, and an owl hooted from high in the trees. 


Freydis was devout, and said prayers often, but she had never really spoken with the gods.  The Seer was the only one who could truly communicate with the gods and interpret their will.  And unlike her brother, who seemed obsessed with his future, Freydis preferred not to visit the Seer and instead discover her future for herself.  Still, Freydis prayed, even though she knew she wouldn’t receive answers to her philosophical questions.  Rather, it helped her meditate and focus. 


Suddenly, footsteps crunched in the snow behind her.  Freydis eyes burst open and, heart racing with adrenaline, spun and unsheathed her sword in a single motion, sweeping it behind her.  She stopped with the blade stretched outward toward a stranger.  Expecting to find a thief or roadside vagabond, Freydis was shocked to see a beautiful woman at the tip of her sword.


“Please child,” the woman said, casually brushing the sword aside as if it were an annoying fly, “Being stabbed today would be an inconvenience.”


The woman had hair so blonde it almost appeared white in the light of the full moon.  She had a mature look about her, but was also radiantly beautiful in a way that made her age impossible to place.  Her eyes almost glowed with a cool blue, again a mix of perfect beauty and an unnatural experience of 100 winters.  Could someone look like an innocent, young maiden and a wizened matron at the same time? 


Her cloak was as vibrantly white as her hair, flowing loosely down to her feet, save for a dark cape made from raven feathers that hung across one shoulder.  Her head was adorned with a crown of holly and two tall antlers that gave her a regal authority.  Oddly enough, the woman strode barefoot through the snow, miles away from the nearest road.


“What are you doing out here?” Freydis gasped, “And dressed like that?  You’ll freeze!  Please, come with me back to my home and warm yourself.”


“Very kind of you,” the woman hummed, “Though as much as I appreciate your aid, I’m not in need.”


Freydis stopped in her tracks and gave the woman another confused glance.  The mysterious stranger’s eyes seemed to twinkle, and Freydis began to draw conclusions.  Her appearance and the state of her clothes was almost unnatural.  And showing up when Freydis had been praying?


“A-are you a god?” Freydis asked, her voice trembling.


Why was she so afraid?  She had faced down strong and terrifying opponents on the battlefield and braved the harsh seas countless times.  Freydis had climbed mountains and hunted dangerous predators.  And yet, this beautiful, radiant woman had her nearly shaking.


“I am,” the woman smiled, “And I have heard your prayer for the strength to lead your people.”


“I did not think my prayer would be answered,” Freydis said, struggling to find the words to say next, “Wh-who are you?”


The goddess simply smiled, her ancient eyes piercing through Freydis as she drank her in.  She reminded Freydis of her mother; so warm and welcoming, yet pulsing with authority and knowledge.  Oddly enough, Freydis’s question lingered and, innately, the answer seemed to beat within her heart.  This was Freya, goddess of love, fertility, women, and war.


“Freya,” Freydis found herself gasping, then kneeling back down to the snow, “I’m at a loss for words.”


The woman’s eyes wrinkled as she smiled, making her suddenly appear old and maternal.  She reached out and brushed Freydis’s cheek, then helped her back to her feet.


“I do not expect you to kneel,” the goddess said, “I’m not so in need of devotion as my husband or sons.”


Freydis would have felt like a fool, but something about Freya made her feel welcome, like a child under the watchful eye of a parent.


“My brother has claimed to see the gods before,” Freydis mumbled, “In visions or through his dreams.  Others have said similar things, especially the Seer, who communes with the Aesir often through his brewed concoctions.  But this isn’t anything like that.  This isn’t a vision.  You’re so… real.  I can touch you, hear your breathing, and see your footprints in the snow.  It’s like you’re really here.”


“Because I am, child,” Freya said with a laugh, “We walk through Midgard more often than you think.  The Seer back at your village is certainly spiritually perceptive, I’ll grant him that.  But he also eats far too many mushrooms.”


Another laugh chimed from the goddess and crescendoed through the clearing.  Normally, a sound so abrupt would have caused the woodland creatures in the area to scatter through the woods, but instead, an owl swept down and landed on Freya’s shoulder while a pair of rabbits appeared from the treeline and hopped through the snow toward the goddess.  It was all so surreal, as if her very presence called to them.


“Did you come here to answer my questions?” Freydis found herself blurting, “Please, I feel so conflicted.  I’ve no desire to know my fate, but I do need help understanding my destiny.”


Freydis found herself blushing after that ridiculous sentence.


“To a goddess,” Freydis sighed, “These must sound like such silly musings…”


“Not at all child,” Freya beamed, “You would be surprised by some of the offerings we get.  Such as the man who cut off his own foot and burned it on a pyre, hoping it to be a worthy sacrifice so he could win a woman’s love.  Humans are odd creatures.”


Another round of laughter; light like a summer breeze coursing over a lake.  Freydis never expected a god of Asgard to be so lackadaisical.  It certainly forced her to alter her perspective from the bedtime stories she was told as a young child.  Her father wasn’t much of a storyteller, but his trusted clansmen and leaders--who treated Freydis like their own daughter-- would tell her all sorts of tales of mighty Thor, watchful Odin, cunning Frigg, and dangerous Freya.  Seeing Freya in the flesh, being so cheery and carefree, was confirmation that she did not know the gods as she thought she did.


“Either way, I’m not here to tell you your destiny,” Freya said, stopping with a dramatic pause as she peered into Freydis’s eyes. 


“I’m here to help you write it.”


--


“You should know that Vanir magic comes at a cost,” Freya said as they walked through the woods, each footstep echoing loudly through the otherwise quiet night.  “I will give you the strength you desire, but I cannot guarantee that is all it will bring you.”


It seemed as though they had been traveling together for hours, though the moon and stars had not moved one bit, seemingly trapped in their position in the sky.  Freya and Freydis spoke at length about ambition and greatness.  When Freya revealed that her magic could help Freydis become strong enough to take the throne, she was beyond words.  But as Freya detailed the uncertainties of spells, it was clear that the solution would not be without its risks and challenges.


“Are you saying I shouldn’t accept your help?” Freydis asked.


“I’m only advising you to be certain,” Freya hummed, “The spells of Vanaheim are seldom simple.  Even a master of it cannot be sure how you’ll be affected.”


For a moment, Freydis hesitated.  But she knew this was not an opportunity that she could throw away.  Whatever obstacles in her path, she would have to face them head on.


“I want this,” Freydis confirmed with a nod and set her jaw, “I will be the leader my people need, and I will bring glory to the gods through conquest and tribute.”


“Then you will have to prove it,” Freya said, expression solemn as she placed a palm on Freydis’s chest.


Freya whispered in old Norse, and the wind began to pick up.  A cyclone of snow and leaves surrounded them, and Freydis felt Freya’s magic coursing through her.  It was a warmth that spread through her chest and down through her limbs.  Her skin began to run so hot, it felt as though she were basking in the summer sun. 


The ancient language of old norse had been lost to the people of Greenland, and the dialect that Freya spoke was so thick, Freydis could hardly pick out the words.  But the goddess’s chant seemed to repeat itself, and after a few passes, Freydis began to pick out a few words; or at least the closest words she could correlate to her own language.


“Conquest... Victory… Power.”


The rest was lost to her ears, no matter how many times the phrase was spoken.


The wind died down and the warmth in Freydis’s body subsided, her skin once again feeling the cold nip of winter.  She waited for a moment, expecting a surge of… something.  And yet, she felt no different than she had a minute ago.


“Did it work?”


“Of course it did,” Freya glared, offended that Freydis would even suggest such a thing, “But, as I mentioned, the magic won’t manifest until you prove that you can earn it’s gift.”


The goddess drew a long stick from the sleeve of her dress, and began to draw a shape in the snow.  Freya casually whipped the branch back and forth, like she was sweeping the ground, but the drawing that became etched in the snow was somehow full of little details.  After a moment, Freydis recognized it; she had seen that shape on the mapmaker’s table within Leif’s war room many times. 


“Greenland?” Freydis asked.


Freya simply nodded, humming a delightful little tune as she continued to carve the image into the snow; despite her tool being a simple stick, the drawing of their homeland was beautiful; each line elegant and deliberately placed, complete with topographical height differences which gave the impression of mountain peaks and rolling valleys.


Patterns began to form and Freya’s drawing quickened, filling out the sea and the isles that surrounded the icy continent.  Once the full map was complete in the snow, Freya pointed the stick towards one of the islands.


“There,” she stated, “That is where you must travel.  You will face trials, and triumph will reward you.”


Freydis looked up to respond, but found that Freya was no longer standing there.  Her bare footprints still sat imprinted in the snow, evidence that Freydis hadn’t imagined the whole interaction.  But otherwise, the goddess had completely vanished.


“A trial…” Freydis hummed.


She couldn’t help but let a hint of skepticism invade her thoughts.  There was a constant prodding in her mind, forcing her to confront a necessary question.


Why had the gods chosen to help her?


Realizing her heretical thoughts made her scoff; leave it to humans to see a literal god and still question their faith.  The truth was, in her time of need, Freya herself had come to her and showed her the way.  Now was not the time to be skeptical.  She was going to find that island and claim her power, then use her boon to take Greenland’s throne, unite the Vikings, and sail on to Vinland.  And finally, she would avenge the fallen and fulfill her destiny by taking the golden lands for her people and see that they prospered for generations.  She would ensure that the Viking way, and the ways of their gods, would not fade into history.


Though she would need a bit of help getting to that island.  And there was only one person she knew who owned a boat and wouldn’t tell anyone of her traitorous plans.

[JerusalemTulip]

Great to see another installment of this.  It makes me want to reinstall Crusader Kings 2, fire up the Old Gods start and reform Germanic paganism along matrilineal lines.  Love the epic pull of this story.

[hairylover321]

I love where this is going! K+

[bertmacklinsbrother]

Thanks so much for reading and for commenting!  More to come soon!

[Tikka1910]

Can't wait for Freydis to take over

[SabinicThigh]

it's great to see BMB back and I am even more excited to see you mix history with what  I am hoping are you usual themes. I am loving what I have read so far but I am hoping it gets a bit spicier soon, forgive my impatience. Love what is going on inside Freydis' head, well-written.