Thank you so much to everyone who's been reading, voting, and especially leaving comments. The power stones mean a lot, but it's the comments that really keep me going. They make all the long hours worth it.
So don't hold back. Let me know what landed, what didn't, what made you pause. I read every single word, and I genuinely take your thoughts to heart.
Yours sincerely,
DragonChill
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The great hall of Kattegat was silent.
It was tense, and most importantly, it was waiting.
Torchlight flickered against the beams. Shadows crawled up the walls.
The seat at the far end of the hall was still empty, and everyone kept glancing at it.
People were still coming in. Low murmurs, boots on timber, the occasional cough. Nobody looked relaxed.
Siggy stood near one of the carved posts, arms crossed tight under her cloak.
Thyri stood beside her, stiff, trying not to shift her weight.
Eyes were drifting their way. Not for long. Just enough to register them.
Some are curious.
Others aren't even trying to hide the pity.
Some are unreadable.
Thyri leaned in slightly. "They're staring."
Siggy didn't even glance around. Her arms stayed crossed, her voice even. "Of course they are. But you don't need to mind them."
Thyri's brow tensed. "What do they think now? That we'll get thrown out?"
Siggy's tone sharpened, just a little. "Or kneel. Or cry. Or cause a scene. Who knows."
She finally glanced sideways. "People's loyalties turn like the tide. One day they cheer for you, the next, they spit on you."
Thyri fidgeted with the edge of her sleeve.
Siggy's hand came down softly, brushing her daughter's wrist. "Don't fidget. You're not nervous. You are calm. Even if you're not, you must look like you are."
Thyri nodded, quietly. "Right."
Someone across the hall muttered something.A woman caught Siggy's gaze and smirked, then turned away.
Siggy didn't react. Instead, she adjusted the line of Thyri's cloak, smoothing a crease that didn't really need smoothing. "Green was a good choice. You look… beautiful. Not too obvious, just enough."
Thyri glanced down. "It was your choice."
Siggy nodded. "Exactly. So trust it."
She hesitated just long enough for her tone to shift. "Remember… he's young but he's still a man. And beauty has always been a man's first weakness. Even the strong ones."
Her eyes flicked toward the high seat. "Especially the strong ones."
Thyri hesitated, then looked up toward the empty high seat. "What if he ignores us?"
Siggy followed her gaze for a moment, then back to her daughter. "Then the gods heard my prayers and accepted my sacrifices."
She paused. Her voice softened, but not with pity. "Your father's gone. So it's just us now. And we do what we must to survive. Do you understand?"
Thyri gave a small, tense nod. "I know."
Siggy's eyes moved across the room again, slow and careful. "Then stay focused. Watch the room. And if he speaks to you, don't look surprised. You're not some peasant girl."
"I'm not going to throw myself at him."
Siggy gave a short breath. "Did I say to?"
She paused again. "But if he looks your way… don't look away."
The noise in the hall began to fade. All the heads turned towards the heavy doors at the far end as they creaked open.
Bjorn entered.
There was no music or no announcement for his entry. Just the sound of boots on timber and breath being held.
He simply walked forward with the sword hanging at his hip. The blessed sword once embedded in the earth, now drawn and carried by the man who had defied death itself.
The people opened a path for him without being told.
Bjorn's eyes scanned the crowd.
He met their gazes, one by one. Traders. Farmers. Men who had fought beside his father. Boys who used to dare each other to throw rocks in the harbor.
Now no one moved.
The six warriors who guarded him walked behind, forming a loose wedge. At the head was Hrafn, a stone-faced shadow with a hand never far from his sword. The Hirðstjóri.
They weren't clearing a path.
The path cleared itself.
Bjorn passed the traders gripping their belts.
Passed the smiths with calloused hands clenching invisible hammers.
Passed the elders who stood straighter now than they had in years.
Passed the children who forgot to fidget.
And still , he said nothing.
He moved with quiet certainty, shoulders squared but face unreadable. He carried no triumph, no challenge, only the weight of the future resting on him.
Finally he passed through where Ragnar stood silently with his eyes locked on Bjorn.
Past Lagertha who nodded to him.
Rollo.
Athelstan.
Floki.
Nobody said anything.
Then he looked at the seat.
He wasn't waiting for permission. He studied the seat, the faces, the weight of what was coming. He had watched long enough. Now the future would move when he told it to.
The silence stretched. Some shifted their feet. Others exchanged glances.
No one dared speak, but everyone was thinking the same thing: When he does sit… what happens next?
Near the back, Sveidi Sigrunsson's only son, Faste Sveidisson, crossed his arms and remained silent. He caught his father's sharp look and uncrossed them, but still said nothing.
Bjorn finally moved toward the seat.
Bjorn sat down. The cheering that followed was loud, but the sound faded almost as quickly as it rose, replaced by the creak of shifting feet, and the soft clink of rings on wood.
The hall was watching again.
Jorund Rekk stepped forward. He struck the floor with his staff once. The iron rings on it clinked.
"Let it be recorded.
In the presence of free men and women of Kategatt
Bjorn, son of Ragnar Lothbrok,
Having challenged and defeated Earl Haraldson in single combat,
Having survived, and taken back the sword that... marked the challenge,
Is recognized as rightful Earl of Kattegat."
He paused.
"Let all who witness remember this:
Any man who denies this judgment,Any house that refuses this order,
Shall be unheard at the Thing.And outlawed by custom."
He struck the floor again. "Let it stand."
Bjorn waited, letting every eye settle on him before speaking calmly and with quiet authority despite his young age. But after everything that happened, who can blame them if they forgot his age?
"I didn't come here seeking power." He let that hang, then continued with a steady voice but edged with honesty.
"But when someone threatens your life and your family… you don't just sit still. You act."
His gaze swept the room. "We all know the gods decide these things; who will lead, who will fall. I don't claim to speak for them, nor do I pretend to understand their will. But they let me live, when I should have died. They gave me this sword, and then i took it back when no one else could lift it from the earth."
At that, murmurs stirred, they were respectful, fearful.
"So here I stand. And I won't run from what comes next."
He turned slightly, and in the firelight, caught Ragnar's eyes. His father watched him in silence, head slightly tilted. There was no approval in that gaze. Only a warning: You chose this. Don't pretend you didn't.
Bjorn's voice grew firm, but never boastful. "So I'll honor this chance by doing what must be done, for Kattegat, and for those who call it home."
"I'll rule by law, and by what's right for the people, not by fear and not by favors. The ones who stand with me for the better of Kategatt will find order and strength. The ones who don't—"
He didn't raise his voice, but something cold crept into it. "They can leave. Or they can wait for what's coming."
He took a breath. "This land isn't promised to any one of us. We either protect it together… or we'll lose it."
He didn't raise his voice. He didn't shout. But the hall stayed quiet.
Ragnar, standing off to the side, watched with an expression that said nothing. But his eyes didn't move.
Some of the landowners shifted. One leaned toward another and whispered something low. A few of the warriors gave each other small nods, unsure yet, but attentive.
Siggy watched closely, and her daughter Thyri kept her head down.
Bjorn's speech still lingered in the air. It hadn't been long, but the hall was holding its breath, as if waiting to see what would happen next.
The old families stood at their posts like stones weathering a storm, they were watching and measuring. They had lived through more than one change of power. They knew that the first move mattered.
And then it came.
It was Eldar Ulfsson who stepped forward first.
He was old and slow-moving, but not weak, he walked with a staff of ashwood bound in carved rings of iron.
Bjorn watched him come, saying nothing.
The old man stopped a few paces from the high seat. His posture was still upright despite his age.
He gave a single nod, then slowly clapped, once, then again. It wasn't a cheer but more like a gesture.
"You speak beautifully even at such age, Earl Bjorn" he said, not with flattery, but recognition. "You didn't promise the world. That's something."
He paused, then added, "And you don't need to pretend to be so humble. We all saw what happened. No man walks away from what you walked away from unless the gods mean to keep him."
There were murmurs, low and thoughtful.
Eldar didn't look at the others. He simply knelt, one knee touching the wooden floor with careful control. "Earl Bjorn, I swear my allegiance and fealty to you and your family from this day until my last day. By my sacred rings I swear it."
He pauses for a beat. Then simply continues, "My family has tended the iron from the northern mountains for generations. We manage the highland herds, the timber lines, and what trade comes through the ridges. All of it now stands at your service."
Bjorn studied him with a long and steady gaze. When he finally spoke, his voice was respectful, "Please rise Eldar Ulfsson, I have already been told of your contribution to the well being and peace of kategatt when i was... not available. For that, you are not forgotten."
He paused, then continued. "Hence you are granted a seat at my table, as advisor and elder. Not just out of respect, but because I'll need the judgment of men who've lived through more than I have."
Eldar gave a respectful bow of the head and rose slowly. "Thank you. I shall serve you wholly without dissent or deception." He stepped back and returned to his place beside his grandson Yngvar, who looked on with quiet pride but said nothing.
The young man's eyes, however, gleamed, not with ambition, but with a kindling sense of purpose. Something told Bjorn he would need to keep an eye on him, for he will need a lot of talented of people for his plans.
As Eldar Ulfsson stepped away, a quiet breath passed through the longhouse.
All eyes turned to the next figure expected to move, Sveidi Sigrunsson, of the western cliff lands and forested hunts. He had not spoken much since Haraldson's fall. His family were keepers of tradition, of grain and fur and the old hunting trails.
Next to him stood his daughter, Brynja, her face was composed, her hands were folded neatly at her belt. Nearby was Faste, Sveidi's son.
He did not delay with posturing. He spoke plainly, the way an old man speaks when he has no time left to waste.
Sveidi straightened, folding his hands lightly before him, his voice calm but deliberate.
"Earl Bjorn," he began, "my family has stood here for many years, guided by the old laws. They are not mere words to us, but the backbone of our lives and work."
He gave a measured pause, eyes quietly appraising Bjorn.
"I trust your judgment will honor what has held Kattegat together. But I hope you will understand if some among us watch carefully, not out of doubt, but because we have much to protect."
His gaze was steady, polite, yet carried the weight of unspoken caution.
Bjorn met his look evenly. "I intend to rule with respect for the laws that have lasted because they work. If change is needed, it will be measured and fair, not reckless."
And with that, without flourish or drama, Sveidi knelt quietly. "By my rings, I pledge my fealty. My house will stand behind you, so long as the law stands above us all."
Bjorn let the silence settle a beat before speaking. "Rise, Sveidi Sigrunsson. Your name is known to me. And your voice will be heard when matters of law are weighed." He gave the old man a slight nod.
Sveidi bowed his head once, then returned to his place. Faste followed, silently. Brynja paused only a moment longer, her gaze lingering on Bjorn in curiosity. Perhaps even in respect.
But Bjorn wasn't looking at Brynja. His eyes were on Faste, Sveidi's son.
There was tension in his posture, a tightness in the jaw, a look that didn't belong to someone at peace with what had just happened. Bjorn had seen that expression before, in men who kept quiet but never forgot. It was the kind of look that usually ended in blood, one way or another.
Men like that didn't live long anyway.
Then Bjorn's gaze moved across the hall, to the eastern side, to Arnor Egilsson.
Arnor moved before anyone else from his family stirred. His steps measured, his posture precise, like a man who had been trained to appear exactly how power should look: controlled, confident, cautious. His cloak hung neatly, his gaze steady but calculating.
Behind him, near the shadows of the longhouse wall, stood Gudrun. She didn't speak, but her presence was unmistakably calm, the quiet center of the Egilsson family's reach. Her sharp eyes never left Arnor, watching every move he made, weighing every word he would say.
Bjorn caught the exchange, a silent command passing between them, a reminder that Arnor was the family's voice, but not its will.
Arnor knelt. "I swear loyalty to you, Earl Bjorn. Our lands, toll roads, and grain stores are at your service. We ask only for peace and order, and a seat at the table when decisions shape Kattegat's future."
He bowed his head slightly, not low, but with a measured respect that spoke of calculation more than submission.
He gave a short bow, not low, but respectful.
There was no pause after Arnor stepped back.
Gorm Vargsson stepped forward, broad-shouldered and steady. His hands were calloused from decades at sea, his cloak marked with salt and the wear of hard winters.
When he reached the center, he knelt without a word of ceremony or hesitation. His voice was direct. "My family and I swear loyalty to you, Earl Bjorn. You've proven your strength not just in battle, but in how you carry it. We follow men like that."
He looked up at Bjorn, eyes firm and proud. "You're young, yes. But I've seen many warriors in my life, and few with the discipline you showed against Hrafn and Haraldson. And even before that, how you thought, how you moved, even as a boy… it was clear."
"You'll only grow stronger. And I believe a new age is coming with you. My only request is this, always lead your men in battle. Be at the front and let them see you. There's no greater sight than a ruler who stands with his shield in the shield wall."
Bjorn held Gorm's gaze for a long moment. There was no need to ask if the man was sincere, he was. Every word had come from lived experience, not flattery. "I promise you, when we sail, I'll be on the prow. When we fight, I'll take the first blow with the rest of you. Not because it's expected, but because I wouldn't ask a man to stand where I wouldn't."
Bjorn gave him a single nod.
Then his eyes turned deliberately to the man standing just behind Gorm, his son, Torgil Gormsson, a tall warrior with sharp eyes and a calm posture. He hadn't spoken, but Bjorn had remembered him from what Hrafn told him earlier.
"Torgil," Bjorn said, loud enough for the room to hear. "Hrafn spoke of your discipline and your loyalty, and your skill."
Bjorn straightened in his seat. "From today, I invite you to serve in my personal guard. As second only to Hrafn himself."
The hall murmured. It wasn't a surprise, but it was a statement.
Torgil stepped forward and placed a fist to his chest, bowing his head once.
"I accept, Earl Bjorn. I'll serve you with honor."
Bjorn met his eyes and gave the smallest nod of approval, acknowledging not just the oath, but the kind of man he'd chosen.
The murmurs in the hall shifted as Siggy stepped forward, her cloak drawn tight around her shoulders. Thyri followed close behind, younger but steady, though Siggy's earlier advice echoed in her mind. But now, standing so close to Bjorn's cold, unreadable gaze, the smile wouldn't come. The tension was a lot for her to bear.
Bjorn's gaze locked onto Siggy the moment she crossed into the open. There was a cold calculation in his eyes, a look Siggy had seen too many times before. It was the same look Haraldson gave when weighing whether a blade might solve problems faster than words.
He held that gaze a moment longer than necessary.
Siggy met his stare refusing to flinch.
Thyri's fingers twitched at her side.
Siggy's voice was calm, yet carried an edge beneath the words. "Earl Bjorn, I pledge my loyalty to you and the future of Kattegat. My family's fate is bound to this land, and to you, whether by will or by force."
A low, humorless laugh escaped Bjorn. He shook his head just slightly, the barest trace of a smile playing at the corner of his mouth. "By will or by force," he repeated, shaking his head. "We'll see which comes first."
His eyes bore into Siggy's. "For now, I accept your pledge." Then his eyes turnes to her daughter. "And your daughter."
Thyri stiffly bowed her head beside her mother in submission, her lips pressed tight where a smile should have been.
Then the smaller landholders and warriors came forward. Each swore their loyalty, each asked their own questions, each received their own answers.
Then the last one appeared. A bald old man, who still had some warrior spirit in him even at this old age. He walked slowly but steadily, his back straight despite his years.
"What is your name?" Bjorn asked.
"Torstig, lord Bjorn."
He knelt and raised his arm ring, "By my sacred ring I swear allegiance and fealty to you, and to your family from this day forth."
From the side, Sleepy Rollo shouted, "That won't be for long!"
The crowd laughed, and Torstig smiled with them. Tostig said. "But I also have a favor to ask, lord."
"What is this favor?"
"That the next time you go raiding, you take me with you."
More laughter rippled through the crowd, but Tostig held up a hand.
"You think I am too old?" He chuckled. "Yes, I am old. But I have been a warrior all my life. Many years I sailed with lord Haraldson and fought battles against the Eastlanders, and I watched all the companions of my youth die. And though I fought with them in the shield-wall, never once was I touched by a blade. All the friends and companions of my youth are dead and feasting and drinking with the Aesir in the halls of the gods! While I... I am forsaken. Bereft. Which is why, I beg you, lord, gift me the chance to die with honor in battle, and join my friends in Valhalla."
The laughter died away. This was serious talk.
Bjorn looked at the old man for a long moment. Then he looked out at the crowd. "Summer is coming to an end, the sea will turn soon, and we don't have the luxury of waiting."
He paused just long enough for the silence to settle.
"So in one week, we sail for England."
The crowd erupted with cheers rising, some pounding fists on the tables, others shouting with anticipation. The air shifted, charged now with purpose.
He paused, then smiled. "And let's take him with us! All in favor?"
"Aye!" came the response, loud and unanimous.
As the crowd began to disperse toward the tables laden with food and ale, Lagertha stepped through the crowd with measured purpose, her eyes fixed on her son. When she reached him, her voice dropped to a quiet murmur, just enough for him to hear.
"That was well done," she said, her gaze sharp but calm. "But… you should go easy on Siggy and her daughter. They've lost enough."
Bjorn glanced at her, an edge of dry humor flickering in his eyes. "You serious?" he asked, voice low and steady. "She's alive. This,"—he gave a small, almost bitter smile—"this is me going easy on her."
Lagertha raised an eyebrow, a sly smile playing at her lips. "Alive, yes. But not necessarily loyal. Maybe the best way to keep her close is to tie her even closer." She glanced toward Siggy and Thyri. "You know... a marriage. Nothing says peace like shared blood."
Bjorn chuckled quietly. "If marriage were as simple as tying a knot, the hall would be full of kings by now. I'm not so eager to add to the chaos."
Lagertha smirked. "Still, it wouldn't hurt to have someone at your side. Even kings need peace in their home."
Bjorn's smile faded just a little. His eyes moved across the room, not wistfully, but thoughtfully. Warriors were laughing now. Some men were already forming small knots of conversation. Others lingered alone.
"Peace in the home," he echoed. "That depends on more than marriage." He nodded toward the gathering. "A quiet hall isn't always a loyal one."
Then, his gaze sharpened and his voice dropped slightly. "It's not the families here that worry me. It's what happens when we go back to England. The Earls and Kings near our borders, they've likely already heard about Haraldson's death and... me. And when a new ruler takes the seat, one who doesn't fit the world they're used to…"
He paused for a beat without finishing the sentence, then added: "That's why I want you to stay here and hold Kattegat. Keep it safe while we're gone. And if anyone dares to try anything..."
Lagertha interrupted without hesitation. "I'll handle it."
She placed a hand on his shoulder. "You don't have to worry about that. Just focus on what's ahead."
He gave a small nod. "I know."
After a moment, he spoke again. "What about the loot that we brought from England? How much of it is left?"
Lagertha's gaze sharpened. She took a breath before answering. "Not nearly as much as it should be. Haraldson took what he wanted. Some was spent, probably to buy loyalty, some most likely hidden away. But most of it is probably... gone."
Bjorn's gaze lingered on the distant horizon, the flicker of shadow in his eyes betraying a memory better left buried. 'If i remember correctly.... Haraldson had that hoard buried somewhere.. A grave, maybe.'
His thumb rubbed along the leather wrap of his sword hilt, slow and steady, as if tracing the thought in the grain. 'Svein would've known. But the rat's gone.'
Bjorn's eyes wandered across the hall as voices murmured and boots scraped against the floor. He wasn't really listening. He was thinking.
He spotted her, Siggy, standing near one of the beams, half-turned toward her daughter. She was calm on the outside, maybe even cold, but Bjorn could see it in her eyes. The way they kept flicking around the room. She was paying attention to everything. Everyone.
He exhaled through his nose and muttered under his breath, "Siggy…"
He let the name hang for a second, then looked away. "Probably not," he said to no one in particular.
Bjorn folded his arms and took a slow step back from the fire, boots tapping against the stone. He started pacing a little, more out of habit than nerves.
'Haraldson didn't trust anyone,' he thought. 'If he really hid something, it'd be somewhere close. Somewhere he could get to fast if things went bad."
His eyes narrowed a touch. 'Near the sea, maybe. Yeah… that'd make sense.'
He nodded once, as if confirming it with himself. Then looked back at the fire.
Thank you for reading!
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See you in the next one. Wed.