Conquering Vinland

[bertmacklinsbrother]

Hello all.  It has been a while since I posted any writing here.  This was an idea for a story that I've been toying with.  I wanted to do piece that was rooted in history with elements of mythology and fantasy.  If you're interested in seeing it continue, drop me a comment and let me know!

--

Freydis Eiriksdottir scowled at her brother Leif, watching as he rowed the massive wooden oar.  He did not return her gaze, too ashamed to make eye contact after his act of cowardice.  Freydis sat on the stern of the ship, letting salty mist splash against her face as they sailed against the waves.  The black war paint that had lined her eyes now ran down her cheeks and her long red hair, knotted in its series of braids, was soaked through and dripping with ocean water.  Her fiery locks hung down the right side of her head, slapping against the leather padding of her breastplate with each bounce of the ship.

After staring in every direction but hers, Leif finally looked at Freydis, gritting his teeth as he pulled the oar once again, helping the crew propel the ship through the sea.  She noted the emotions in her brother’s eyes; relief, exhaustion, and regret.  Good.  He should regret abandoning their conquest only days after landing on the shores of Vinland.  It was an action unbefitting of any Viking, let alone the Jarl of their people.

She counted 16 on their ship, including herself; an unfortunate loss compared to the 25 that had packed the deck of the longboat when leaving Greenland.  The other ships in the fleet had suffered similar losses after the unexpected clash.  Arrows, harpoons, and massive rocks had rained from the cliffs above the shore just as their boats landed.  None of them had suspected such resistance from the locals.  These Skraeling, as the survivors had dubbed them, were natives to the lands.  They bore weapons made of wood and bone, and were adorned in thick animal pelts.  Not a single weapon made of steel, and yet the fierce defense of their shores quickly repelled Leif’s men.

Upon Leif’s call to retreat, many bodies had to be left behind, littered with arrows and fishing harpoons, or left crushed by the large stones hurled from cliffside catapults.  They did salvage the remains of a few of their best warriors.  The corpses were wrapped in linen and oil, then stored down below in the cargo compartment with the barrels of food stores.  The fallen would be given a proper funeral pyre upon their return to Greenland, so their spirits may dine in the halls of Valhalla.

Freydis could feel the frown plastered across her lips as she met her brother’s troubled eyes.  She thought of the dead, and how they dishonored them by running away.  An urge for battle swelled inside her chest; she wanted nothing more than to scream into the open air, leap from the boat and swim back to Vinland herself so she could strike down the foes that had ambushed them.  Gods, if only she had the strength to do so, she would.

“Do not hate me, Freydis,” Leif said with a grunt as he pulled the oar in another long rowing motion, “I made this decision for the good of our people.”

“We should have stayed and fought,” Freydis stated plainly.

“A lot of men died already,” Leif sighed.

“And by fleeing,” Freydis yelled, “We ensure they died for nothing!”

Leif did not answer, and instead decided to focus on rowing.  A few others who manned the oars exchanged glances.  She could tell they were just as conflicted by the decision to leave a battle, though none would speak up against their Jarl.  Only Freydis, the Jarl’s sister, would dare do such a thing.

As Vikings, they were supposed to be conquerors.  It was their purpose to discover new lands and expand the reach of their beloved Greenland and to continue building prosperity and riches for their people.  And most importantly, they were to win glory for the Aesir gods; for Odin, Thor, Frig, and Baldur.  But after the unexpected ambush and a handful of deaths, Leif commanded everyone to board their ships and return home, like wolf pups with their tails between their legs.  There was no glory to be had, and Freydis could feel the gods bowing their heads in disapproval.

Impatient, Freydis set her massive round shield on the deck with a thud, then removed her sword from its scabbard.  Others on the ship gave her curious stares as she pulled a whetstone from her leather side pouch and began to run it down the length of the blade.  A satisfying scraping of rock on steel rang in her ears.  As soft as the sound was, it seemed to dominate the other noise.  Waves crashing against the bow of the ship, birds squawking overhead, men grunting as oars slapped against the water’s surface; all faded into the background as her senses focused on her sword.

She knew the others were staring.  It was probably an odd sight.  Here she was, the lone shieldmaiden of the crew, preparing her weapon as if they were approaching a battle, not fleeing from it.  No doubt they thought she had lost her mind.  In fact, they’d probably use this moment as yet another excuse to belittle her; scoffing and whispering under their breath that war was no place for a woman.  Freydis would ignore the comments, strengthened by the fact that she alone had urged them to stay and fight while the others had simply fled.

What had happened to them?  Had they forgotten what their ancestors had fought for?  Or of her father, Erik the Red?  Perhaps after founding Greenland a few decades ago, her people had grown complacent.  They were more focused on farming and raising children; content to live unexciting, comfortable lives.  There was no more sense of wonder or adventure.

Leif had always teased Freydis on that account, saying that the homestead lifestyle offended her so much because she would never find a man to marry.  True, she had always been more gruff than the other women, even among shieldmaiden.  Freydis bore stark features that some might call masculine; a hard jawline, a nose that had been broken before, lips that bore a scar and were always drawn into a scowl.  Not to mention her size.  She was as strong as the average man and damn near as tall.  Many men had sought to put her in her place by challenging her; and she had planted each of them into the ground of the sparring ring.  Raised by her father to be a warrior, Freydis displayed an imposing figure and had little time to think about cooking or bearing children.

If only the others shared her spirit.  Sure, many were still proud to call themselves Vikings; put an axe in their hand and they were one of the most dangerous beings on Midgard.  But their lust for battle had been dampened over the years.  And now, more than ever, Freydis was eager to find a way to spark that in her people once again.

--

After several weeks on the open sea, finally they witnessed Greenland on the horizon, a spot of rocky land a mere half day away. 

Home. 

While Freydis still seethed at the thought of leaving Vinland behind, she couldn’t deny the welcome sight of those crested, icy mountains behind a line of forest trees.  Smoke rose in the distance; the port city of Breidafjordur rife with activity.  Erik the Red, Freydis and Leif’s father, had landed in that very spot when he founded Greenland decades ago.  They were just children at the time, but since that day, Freydis had known she wanted to be a proper Viking like her father; an explorer, a discoverer, and a conqueror.

Her brother Leif sidled up next to her at the bow of the ship, watching as their home grew nearer with each crashing wave.  As if knowing exactly what she had just been thinking, Leif spoke up with a sigh.

“You and I are so different,” he said, eyes focused forward, “We were both born of great expectations, to a father who wanted us to carry on his legacy.  You’ve always embraced that destiny, whereas I never wanted it.”

Turning to face her, Leif’s expression was sour; regretful.

“I did not want to abandon our quest to take Vinland,” Leif said honestly, “But as our men fell around us, pierced with Skraeling spears and arrows, I got a feeling in my gut.  It told me that it was all pointless.  I watched our people die by the dozens; painful, horrible deaths.  And all for what?  All so we could be like father; Killing, taking, plundering, and settling lands we don’t even need.  It makes no sense to me.  Especially when we already have a beautiful home to call our own.”

He nodded towards the land in the distance.

“Greenland is our father’s legacy,” Freydis said solemnly, “A constant reminder of his achievements that propelled Vikings into the annals of history and gave us a new home.  He will forever be loved and respected for that.”

Freydis noted the shocked look on her brother’s face as she felt her own expression darken.

“But I also hate him for that,” Freydis hissed, “Our people see me as nothing more than Erik the Red’s dutiful daughter.  Even as I sail to battle to carve out my own path, people say that I’m merely living up to my father’s great expectations.  By the gods, you said so as much mere moments ago.”

She set her jaw and grabbed Leif by the shoulders, staring into his blue eyes.  Given their similarities, it was clear that her and Leif were siblings.  Leif was only a few fingers taller than Freydis and they shared the same strong nose, jawline, stern expression, and a braided knot of long fiery hair; all inherited from their father, no doubt. 

Though Freydis was more masculine looking than most women, she still had smooth features and a look that had been described to her as statuesque.  She hardly considered herself beautiful in the supple ways that ladies were often regarded, but past lovers had confessed there was something alluring about her strong features.  Leif, on the other hand, bore a far rougher face; skin almost looking leathery and even wrinkled around the eyes.  Ruling Greenland had aged him considerably over the past few years.  His eyebrows were also thicker and he proudly wore a full beard of brown and red.  Though upon looking closely, she noted a few strands of grey flecked into his facial hair.

Despite their differences, she had trouble not seeing herself in her brother.  At the same time though, when had he gotten so… old?  They were both hardly into their 28th year.  He looked tired; like the raging flame in his eyes had dulled into warm embers.

“What I do, I do for myself,” Freydis continued,  “Father’s legacy be damned.  I will make my own name, and it starts with Vinland.  I don’t know when it happened, but you’ve become weak, brother.  Too weak to lead our people.  As Jarl, you have failed them by letting so many die while fleeing like a coward.  But I will not fail.”

Freydis turned away.  She knew that the things she had just said to her brother, to the Jarl of Greenland, could be taken as a challenge, and at the very least, traitorous.  Memories of her fallen Vikings, bloodied and drowning in their own viscera in the shallow waters of the coast invaded her thoughts.  The emotions were still raw and perhaps that had caused her to overstep.  Gratefully, their conversation wasn’t overheard by anyone, so Leif simply drew his lips to a line and turned from Freydis, ignoring her comments.

A sigh escaped her as she closed her eyes, almost in prayer, aching for the ability to lead her people.  She didn’t want to challenge Leif.  Or did she?  Could she even win?  Yes, she was a great warrior, but Leif had earned his title as Jarl and was one of the finest fighters in history.  And he was also her brother.  As angry as she was, the thought of striking him down and taking the throne twisted her stomach in knots.  Beside, even if she had the right to rule, there was no guarantee the people would actually follow her.  Never in Viking history had a woman taken that kind of power.

She let the fantasy wash from her mind.  For now, all she wanted to do was return to her home, nurse her wounds, and consider her next move.

[GLKnight]

I take it you recently watched Vinland Saga?

[bertmacklinsbrother]

I haven't yet!  I'd like to though.  I've just always been fascinated with viking history and culture.

[phil123]

What will be her next move? Great start

[hairylover321]

Excellent premise! Would love to see this continue my friend.

[ArkhamAsylum]

This is a very interesting start. I'm looking forward to the next part(s). If it's only half as good as "My Wife Jennifer", it's going to be a fantastic story still.

[Tikka1910]

Glad to see you writing again. There is potential in this story. I imagine that women will gradually impose themselves as the warrior element in Viking society and men will take care of the home! I can't wait to read more. I must admit that I would love a sequel to Jennifer wife too.

[bertmacklinsbrother]

Thanks all for the comments!  Since you all know me from my previous work, you probably remember that I prefer long, slow-burn stories.  This one will be no different   I really appreciate those who enjoy the journey!  And don't worry, there will be lots of muscle growth.

--

They did not receive a hero’s welcome upon reaching the docks.  Most of the denizens of Breidafjordur seemed to already understand the terrible news.  Why else would they be returning from their voyage this early, and with nearly half the people?

Solemn faces met them as they roped off the ship and began towing their supplies up from the galley.  Families and lovers embraced, while others waited demurely for loved ones who would never return.  As Freydis carried a sack of grain onto the dock, she gave a look towards the people who wept openly, mourning the loss of husbands, brothers, and sons.  Freydis felt their pain, though she was also strangely grateful at a time like this.  As sorrowful as it sounded, if she didn’t have any family at least there was no one to leave heartbroken if she died in battle.  Though, not having anyone to greet her and be grateful of her survival also left an unwelcome hollowness.

The people cheered, wept, and prayed as the remainder of the fleet sailed to the port.  Each warrior that stepped down from their ship bore a similar expression; exhaustion and defeat.  It was not easy facing so many with their failure.  More women and children openly wept on the shore, realizing that the last of the boats returning meant their fathers and husbands were indeed gone. 

Jarl Leif, stood atop a pile of crates at the end of the pier and addressed the downtrodden crowd.

“My friends,” Leif hollered, his voice hoarse from the journey, “It pains me to say that we lost a great number of our brothers.  We were met with a fierce opponent for whom we were not prepared.”

Murmurs and whispering hissed around them until Leif silenced his people with a raised hand. 

“I mourn the loss of our beloved, same as you,” Leif stated with a bowed head, “But I am also filled with joy, because tonight, they feast with the gods in the golden halls of Valhalla!  For they died with steel in hand and bravery in their hearts!”

While the devout citizens all nodded and hummed agreement through teary eyes, Freydis eyed the surviving men who shuffled about anxiously.  They knew the truth.  There was no bravery in their defeat, despite how Leif would spin the tale.  And they were helpless but to go along with it and accept their Jarl’s words.

“So,” Leif said with raised arms, “Let us prepare to feast ourselves!  Our fallen will be drinking ale around a warm fire in the presence of Odin himself.  I think we should do the same, should we not?  We will celebrate our dead so loudly that even the valkyries will speak of our revels as they court our brothers to the next life!”

A few cheers whooped out from the crowd, and Leif let out a boisterous laugh.  The other men, crestfallen as they were, put on a smile and let the promises of dining and drinking lift their spirits.  Those who had lost family also remained dour, but managed to scream out praises for the gods.

Freydis simply scoffed, turned towards the trees further up the coast, and began walking.

Freydis retreated from the scene to her home, a small cottage further inland and into the wilderness.  She deliberately avoided people along the way until she was past the outer walls of the city.   Once she reached the main road and cut off towards the mountain path, she began carving her way through the brush and thickets that had become fairly unruly over the years.  The path to her home wasn’t trodden often as evidenced by the unbroken layer of snow that had accumulated since she had left for Vinland.  It was exactly why she chose to live there; the peace and quiet of solitude.

After a fairly long trek into the wilderness, she came to a clearing where her cottage was nestled next to a mountain spring.  While the freshwater river was frozen, she could still hear the rushing waters flowing beneath it and the cracking of branches as a few deer that had stopped to drink fled into the trees.  She swung open the wooden door, which creaked and let in a gust of snowy wind through the dark room.  Quickly, she set down her pack and weapons, then lit candles and a fire to create some light and much needed heat.  Freydis undid the clasps of her armor; padded leather with steel plating and a braided skirt that hung over a pair of trousers.  Her garments fell to the ground in a heap.  Peeling off her undertunic, which was rank with the stink of battle, sweat, and seawater, she noted the soreness across her entire body. 

Freydis had a talent for staving off exhaustion until she was away from the men.  For weeks, she had put on her proudest face as they sailed, landed, fought, retreated, and sailed again.  Throughout all the strife, Freydis stayed strong, determined to never give the others a chance to belittle her.  For she knew the moment she showed how tired she truly was, the others would laugh and elbow one another, saying things like, “This is why the women shouldn’t fight alongside the men.”

But now, in her isolation, for the first time in countless days, she could finally relax.  Once the fire in the hearth had built to a roar, Freydis lit a torch and transferred the flame to the coals beneath the bath.  A sheet of ice had settled atop the bathwater, which had laid vacant for some time now, but it would quickly melt as the coals grew hotter.

As she waited for the water, Freydis removed the last of her underclothes.  She stood shivering, the cool mountain air still permeating her home while the fire attempted to catch up.  Still, it felt nice to get out of those clothes.  Now free of her confines and completely naked, Freydis focused on her reflection in the large mirror next to her bed. 

It was strange to look at herself sometimes; she was far from the typical maiden who spent hours perfecting her appearance, and never really cared to groom her hair or adorn a beautiful dress.  As a result, sometimes months would go by without her truly getting a good look at her own reflection.

But now, with her mind haunted by questions of who she wanted to be and what she wanted to achieve, she took a hard look at the woman she had become in the last few years.  Like her brother, she showed an age beyond her years; a toll that only a warrior could understand.  Though she was still shy of 30, battle had hardened her in both mind and physicality.  While most women, even those who had learned the sword, had a youth to their eyes and a cheery disposition, Freydis had all her naivety snuffed out early on through training and war.  Her face was stern with unflinching disposition and a strong jawline she inherited from her father. 

A scar intersected her lips from a shield bash she had taken to the mouth years ago.  And while it was mostly faded these days, it still stood out enough to be seen.  In fact, most of her body was littered with scars; her left shoulder, her right arm, both her thighs, her upper back, and her collarbone were crossed with a series of white marks left behind from swords, axes, and spears.  At least those were kept hidden by her clothes, save for the one on her collarbone which crawled halfway up her neck.  These brands of battle, including her nose which was large and slightly crooked from being broken in a fight, were all reminders of her trials.  They filled her with comfort; a constant reassurance that she was a fighter and a survivor.

Much like her face, her body was also a monument to her nature; strong, relentless, and unapologetic.  She was taller than most women and had the muscles of someone who spent nearly every day of their life swinging an axe and grappling opponents to the ground.  Her legs were long and sturdy from the years of running, and her arms were equally conditioned, with a bulk that even rivaled some of the men.  Freydis also displayed a set of wide shoulders and a lean torso. 

Unintentionally, her body heaved with each breath and her strong posture gave her a masculine aura.  While she knew her robust build was a result of her training, nothing for which to feel shame, it was still easy to look in the mirror and understand why men weren’t exactly lining up to claim her as their wife.  True, her face was rough, but there was also a radiant quality to it; at least that’s what she had always heard.  Others said she was stoic and serious, but still an alluring woman.  The rest of her body, however, was brutish; breasts that were unflattering and juxtaposed by a strong chest, stubbly red brown body hair nestled on her pubic region and under her arms that she didn’t have the temperament to maintain.  And, of course, muscles that intimidated men who preferred their women softer and curvier.

She hated doubting herself.  Freydis was usually so stalwart, these moments of self doubt were out of place.  She had accepted long ago that she wasn’t like other ladies, and in fact, she had such grand plans that striving to be like other women would be counterproductive to her goals.  Still though, a lingering and haunting feeling tended to creep in when she least expected it.

While Freydis did not wish to live a life of marital servitude or raise crying babies, she certainly didn’t want to be alone for the rest of her days.  When she was fighting or sailing on the open sea, there was no question to her convictions; she was strong and assured, the journey being all she needed to fulfill her.  However, every time she returned home, that empty feeling returned and consumed her.  For the first time in months, she found herself thinking of past lovers, wishing she could enjoy someone’s touch, just for the night.

Maybe if she got desperate enough she could go down to the feast hall where the entire village was getting bloated on drink and food.  Sten would probably be there.  Though she didn’t know if she had the strength to face him.  Strange how she could imagine fighting off dozens of enemies in battle without blinking, but the idea of encountering a former mate gave her a knotted feeling in her stomach.  Unlike the other men in her life, Sten seemed like he actually cared for her.  And that terrified her.

Freydis discarded thoughts of the past as she noted the fog beginning to form on the mirror.  She looked over to see the bath water giving off steady wisps of steam.  Eagerly, she strode over to the tub and quickly climbed in, submerging her naked body into the water.  It was still on the cool side, but was heating up quickly.  She let herself relax, sinking all the way down to her neck.  The instant relief to her sore body was incredible and she let a long sigh escape her lips.   

After cleaning up, Freydis recognized how famished the trip had made her.  With the long hike back to her home, she was eager for something besides the jerked rations and stale bread they were forced to subside on while sailing.  Now, she had her mind set on some salted meat from the storage chest in the back room; a half leg from the wild hog she had hunted in the fall and preserved for the winter would do nicely.  She couldn’t wait to have it crackling over the hearth.

To her dismay, her storage chest was empty.  Had she really finished off the rest of her food before the trip?  She had been so focused on the adventure to Vinland, she must have let that slip her mind.  And now, it was far too late for a hunt.

As much as she loathed traveling back to the village proper and partaking in the feast, her grumbling stomach dominated her decision process.  Freydis changed into a dark green tunic and a grey wolf pelt that draped over her shoulders, clasping across the front in silver chains.  She took a moment to tighten her hair braid, which she had soaked in oils after her bath.

The front door to Freydis home creaked as she stepped out into the frozen alcove and set out, traveling back down the mountain and to the mainroad.

[Tikka1910]

Absolutely great! You have a thousand times more potential to develop this story than "my wife Jennifer". Freydis seems to have resisted the great cold, to have a very hard life, between the logs of wood to split and hunting. And then the war and the navigation. I would like to be her little husband at home waiting for her return from the war. Freydis already seems to be muscular. I wonder how she will grow?  I'm looking forward to the next part. 

[Tikka1910]

In my opinion, I find the scars of Freydis very sexy. I hope you will introduce more anecdotes about her hair, her strong sexy jaw and her powerful sweat smell. I guess you already have the story well in mind but I can see Freydis protecting her Viking people from the decadence of men by a total role reversal after taking over the clan. The only way to save the Viking people: let the women do what the men can't do anymore. 

[bertmacklinsbrother]

Hi Tikka1910,

Thanks so much for the encouraging comments!  I'm glad you're taking an interest in Freydis as a character.  Fun fact:  Freydis Eiriksdottir is an actual character out of history, depicted in the Vinland Saga.  This historical person and that Viking era in general have always fascinated me, so I really wanted to have some fun with the famous people and create my own story out of it.  And of course add a lot of muscle growth and alt history, having some real fun with the results! 

I appreciate you reading and for keeping the thread alive with comments while I write the next chapter!

[hairylover321]

Great addition and continuing to love this story so far!

[Tikka1910]

Hi bertmacklinsbrother. I didn't know that Freydis really existed.  I haven't found much information about her, except that she was a fierce warrior apparently. So I'm really looking forward to reading the next part and finding out what Freydis will do. I look forward to a new publication from you every day. But I know how much work writing requires. I had wanted to write a story too, inspired a lot by Jennifer and Feminox. But I don't have your talent and I'm not fluent in English.   I am waiting for your next chapter. And I'll be sure to comment. 

[ArkhamAsylum]

A great second chapter. I'm curious to see what causes Freydis' growth. I agree with Tikka. It would be very interesting to see that  Freydis' transformation inspires/affects the other women as well, causing a role reversal in their whole society. I'm looking forward to see where the story goes next.

[SabinicThigh]

Great to see content from you Bert. Normally I don't read this kind of fantasy mythical content but I have faith in you. Character is always done really well in your work and I am already enjoying the tension between Freydis and Leif. Love his complacency and her innate ambition. I reallywant to see this continue so please post soon.  Looking forward to her growing power. K+