—————————————————————–
Translated By Arcane Translations
Translator: Simzy
—————————————————————–
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
There is a sacred power in the mountains.
The high mountain peak to the north existed before I did, and it will continue to stand long after I am gone.
A giant, snow-capped mountain that always stands there, unchanging, looking down on humans.
Therefore, the people of Aros had, since some time ago, taken to placing their oaths in the care of that mountain.
Hoping that their oaths would be as unchanging as that mountain.
This is a superstition. But this is a good superstition.
Lovers always wish for the feeling of a hot and sweet moment to be eternal, and they seek some firm token of love. Usually, the main items are things that bind each other, like locks and rings.
But as is the case with many human affairs, the reason for exchanging such oaths and tokens is that, if not for these things, promises are, in fact, not well kept.
The act of throwing one’s oaths to that high and giant mountain, or the act of connecting each other’s fingers with rings like tying a lock, can, in the end, remain as a beautiful story or as a cautionary tale for others, depending on the will of the people.
The great feast of the first summer of 867.
Numerous people from across the North came to Aros.
The giant mountain, and the sky and sea beyond.
To watch the ritual of six men and women who were to vow eternal love and devotion to each other before the world of men and the world of the gods.
Jarl Bjorn, who had reunited with Jarl Hásteinn after a long time.
Jarl Ivarr, sitting next to them, who had practically put the wedding aside and was already starting a drinking party, laughing and talking with them.
Jarl Eric and Refil, and Ubba, two sons and one brother, who were looking at them with disapproval.
The lords of the frontier, Jarl Thorgnýr, Rurik, and Hastein as well.
In addition to these, a special envoy sent from distant Cherson arrived just in the nick of time and graced the occasion by offering high-quality wine. But what captured the attention of the distinguished guests and the people in the hall were just two people.
Their names were ‘the Black King (Svarti, the black one)’ Halfdan and Bagsecg of Jutland.
“It is a good day. A good city. Is it not so? Halfdan.”
A feeling as if the air in this area alone was different from the happy surroundings.
Jarl Harald’s expression, who had somehow ended up seated between Halfdan of Kaupang and Bagsecg of Ribe, was hardening by the moment.
But the man who paid absolutely no attention to the expression on his young heir’s face, the Black King who ruled the Skagerrak Strait, simply wrapped his jet-black leather clothes tighter and received Bagsecg’s words with a casual attitude.
“It is a perfect day for three young couples to promise their futures. I can only hope that Hela smiles upon them, Konungr Bagsecg.”
‘I heard that unusual words have been exchanged in the Thing of Kaupang lately?’ or, ‘Have you heard anything regarding Olaf of Dublin?’
Words that could provoke this man, with whom he had spent no small amount of time as a fellow Konungr, kept popping into his head, but Bagsecg had to suppress them.
For himself, who had no proper heir, if his one and only precious daughter, Bóthilda, could just be happy with Halfdan Ragnarsson, he could give the rights to the kingdom as her dowry to Halfdan, who was practically a son to him.
But for the Black King, who had an heir like Harald, whose sharpness flowed from his eyes even at a glance, the presence of Konungr Helgi, situated right next to Kaupang, must feel more and more suffocating by the moment.
‘Moreover, is not Konungr Helgi the son of that Ragnar.’
Ragnar’s father had been a great man, but ‘Ragnar Lodbrok’ was a man who possessed a mysterious power. A man who had a magic that drew people in.
They had fought together against the Franks at the Danevirke, and he had also defeated the Konungr Hrorekr who had tried to betray Jutland.
If he closed his eyes, those days were vivid, but now he was in the position of marrying off his late-born daughter to his son.
‘Before it is too late, I too shall prove that I was not inferior to Ragnar, that I too am worthy of entering Valhalla.’
On his way here, Bagsecg had seen the rock that Konungr Helgi had broken in Uppsala.
The first thought he had after seeing it was simply one of awe.
To think that he would once again feel, from a human hand, the emotion he had only felt when facing the great power of nature, like when landslides occasionally occurred on that high mountain, like when he saw the rain that poured down for ten days without rest, like when he crossed the ceaselessly rolling waves.
And then, Bagsecg knew.
His era was finally coming to an end.
“The ceremony will be held shortly, so if the distinguished guests in the hall would please refrain from drinking a little and lower the noise, I would be grateful! Now, now! Put down your cups there!”
“That man is…”
“Hrolf, Ragnar’s great warrior. It is a face I haven’t seen in a long time.”
The friendly face was wrinkled, but the once-famous warrior was still chiding everyone in the hall with a gruff voice.
In the midst of that, he spotted the Black King, Bagsecg, and Harald, who was pitifully squeezed between them. His eyes widened slightly as he bowed his head politely and then left to patrol the tables of the disobedient Northmen again.
‘Who would look at that and see the man who had defeated three high-ranking Frankish warriors at once? Good grief…’
Feeling a sad sentiment from Hrolf’s graying hair for no reason, Bagsecg moved his hand to the cup on the small table next to him and suddenly realized there was another hand reaching for the cup at the same time as his.
“…”
“… The wine tastes quite good.”
“… Indeed it does. Let us toast to the bride and grooms.”
“Let us do so.”
[Clink-]
The sweet scent of grape that went down the throat smoothly.
The sight of himself, having become an old man like this, setting the mood with his old rival, was incredibly funny, Bagsecg thought.
Like a runner with the finish line in sight.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
As time went on, my mind became clearer, but I felt a sensation as if everything else was receding from my reality.
Was it because this was my first marriage in both my past and present lives? No, it could also be because Inga was the first woman I had ever loved and who loved me back.
They say the first time is always the hardest.
But this was a feeling a little different from being hard.
It was a difficult-to-understand feeling, something fearful and at the same time, a corner of my heart was constantly filled with excitement.
Unlike what people saw, I, who thought of myself as having many flaws, had a mother who always embraced me with a benevolent smile and devoted love. But the only moment she had ever turned strict was during the past week.
Not only me, but our trio of new bridegrooms, including Halfdan and Sigurd, were not allowed to come anywhere near the new brides.
At her perfectly reasonable words, that a profane energy must not flow into the sacred oath, Halfdan, his lips pouting, gave me a look.
“Helgi, all the gods are dead, so is there any need for us to follow the old gods’ profanity and whatnot?”
“Halfdan, I’m only saying this now, but to be honest, I don’t really know if the gods are dead or alive. I don’t really care either…! I just didn’t want to see people being tied to trees anymore.”
“You fraud! … No, if you’re a man who can break rocks, it’s okay to commit that much fraud.”
In a flow roughly like this, I had made Halfdan firmly realize that I couldn’t say a peep to my mother.
Of course, while we two brothers were like this, Sigurd’s back was still not safe under the firm supervision of our stepmother Aslaug.
Knowing that they would grow even more distant once he started his own family, our stepmother’s efforts to make a man out of him while she had the chance were tear-jerking.
Anyway, thanks to those circumstances, we three brothers were destined to sleep alone.
But the longing was only for a moment. Unfortunately, a Konungr preparing for a wedding didn’t have the time to feel such emotions.
As Hrolf, who had seen and done (?) the most among my men, was appointed as the general manager of the wedding, he began to nag me about all sorts of things.
From the etiquette of greeting guests, the order of the wedding ceremony, the order of the food, how many clowns and minstrels would be needed, how to greet the citizens after the ceremony, to what to wear, and so on.
I had secretly been looking down on a 9th-century wedding, but reality was harsh.
Of course, I knew there would be a lot of work since almost all the lords of the country were gathering, but still, wasn’t this a bit too much?
There were so many things to look over and pay attention to that the question naturally arose.
In particular, the highlight was the question, ‘Now that you’ve killed all the gods, what are you going to do about the rites?’
When I said, ‘Let’s just not do that stuff!’, I had to receive Hrolf’s utterly weary gaze.
Hrolf’s argument was that the perspective of a king and the perspective of a peasant are different, so while he didn’t know what the future would hold, for now, the cumbersome rituals were absolutely necessary for the people’s hearts.
So I sought wisdom from my mother, the High Priestess of Hel, and my mother readily gave an answer.
That was not to prevent each person from offering prayers to the domain of the gods they wished.
‘The gods may be dead, but their domains have not disappeared, have they?’ were her extremely rational words.
Thanks to the wise High Priestess, Hrolf and I, who had quickly found an answer, soon faced another problem, and that was the seating arrangement of the distinguished guests.
It was surprising enough that Bjorn’s friend from distant Nantes, the barbarian who had left a very rude first impression on me—he really looked the part—Hásteinn, was coming. But Halfdan’s friend, Thorgnýr of Orkney, as well as the Jarls from the far east, had also expressed their intention to attend.
‘What are these people going to do if something happens while they’re away from their posts?’ The thought crossed my mind, but I reminded myself that my own plate was full, thinking they would surely take care of themselves.
This much was understandable.
After all, I had been acclaimed as the Konungr of all Northmen before my father’s tomb, so it was possible that Jarls with various interests or who wanted to buy my favor would attend.
The fact that even Jarls from nameless, remote regions had all expressed their intention to attend, bringing the number of Jarls gathered in Aros to over 100, was also somehow understandable.
But what I couldn’t understand was that two Konungrs had expressed their intention to attend.
Konungr Halfdan of Kaupang, located west of Aros.
Konungr Bagsecg of Ribe, located south of Aros, across from Roskilde.
Why on earth were these two coming?
Though they didn’t say it openly, weren’t they in fact in a somewhat tense relationship?
I, a brand-new Konungr, had been acclaimed as the Konungr of all Northmen, and those two were Konungrs who had competed with my father.
To put it bluntly, the time we had accumulated was vastly different.
To them, I must be a greenhorn with no particular acquaintance.
If I had to find a reason, I could probably attach anything.
The Black King Halfdan was close to me, for one.
He must be uncomfortable with me coming and going in his front yard, the Kattegat Strait, as if it were my own home. So he might be thinking of taking this opportunity to see what kind of person I am.
Konungr Bagsecg was my brother’s father-in-law, for one.
And that brother was also Bagsecg’s heir.
This one, when you really think about it, was no stranger.
As someone who would come into the family circle, he might also be curious about what kind of person the Konungr, under whom his heir would be, was.
But these were just reasons you could come up with if you thought about it for a little while.
Probably the biggest reason was that both of them wanted something from me.
It could be a proposal for a new expedition, a request for an alliance or the elimination of a hostile force, or it could be just for simple fellowship. But whatever it was, it was now a foregone conclusion that I would be meeting those people.
‘I wasn’t even expecting a honeymoon…’
Now I was in a situation where I had to get right to work immediately after the wedding, so I became a little discouraged.
Unaware of my inner turmoil, Halfdan, who was standing somewhat blankly in the groom’s waiting line next to me, was waving his hands here and there at his friend Thorgnýr, looking extremely excited.
‘Perhaps Halfdan is the true winner? I’m busy, Sigurd is being roasted alive, but he alone is leisurely enjoying himself. Halfdan…!’
As the bundle of resentment in a corner of my heart was slyly getting ready to be untied, I saw my stepmother approaching us with Sigurd tucked under one arm.
“Helgi, Halfdan. My beloved sons…! You look even more dashing today!”
My stepmother, who had recovered her complexion after spending a happy mother-son time with Sigurd, was more beautiful than ever.
Of course, Sigurd next to her was standing with an incredibly meek gaze, like a lamb next to a dragon.
“Mother, you are beautiful today as well.”
“Indeed, Jarl Oleg did not lie. The twin flowers of Gotland are still beautiful.”
At the incessant flattery from Halfdan and me, Aslaug seemed to be in a good mood, and she gently shook her head and pointed to one side.
“Thank you for the words, but the truly beautiful ones will be appearing soon.”
With those words, the proficient direction of Hrolf followed beyond the heads of the three brothers, which turned like lightning.
“All distinguished guests in attendance, please rise. Soon, the main characters of the day will be making their appearance!”
My brothers in their bright red cloaks, and I, draped in purple silk.
On the opposite side, women in pure white clothes followed behind my mother, Asta.
Inga, Bóthilda, and Aethelred.
Among the women who were walking carefully with shy smiles, my eyes were fixed on Inga and would not move.
The goddess of beauty was still alive, and her name was Inga Eiriksdottir.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
