Kattegat, 793 AD
POV: Hrafn
Hundreds of people filled the arena. Their boots kicked up dirt and they smelled of ale, and they were making bets that included silver bracelets, a goat, and a rusted plow.
Svein stood on a worn tree stump with his bald head reflecting the light and his eyes were glaring.
"Silence!" he yelled and his voice cut through the noise of the crowd. "Bjorn, son of Ragnar, challenges Hrafn, son of Gorm, to a duel. They will use an axe and a shield and the fight ends with the first blood!"
Hrafn, a warrior in his late forties, stood in the dirt arena. He had a thick gray beard and his arms had many scars from battles. His leather armor was old and creaked but fit him well. He was one of the personal guards of Earl Haraldson, and people feared and respected him.
'I am Hrafn, son of Gorm, loyal to Earl Haraldson. My father died in a raid when I was seven. My mother died of hunger two winters later. I grew up finding food wherever I could, fighting other boys for a dry place to sleep. I learned to fight because no one else would protect me. I've guarded the earl for twenty years, faced every challenger, and never lost. It is true that fighting a child is indeed not worthy of glory, but sometimes you don't have a choice. I've survived this long by being careful, by being ready. If he wants to prove himself, he will have to earn it.'
He pulled the strap on his shield tighter.
The boy, Bjorn, stepped forward. He held an axe in one hand and a shield in the other and he showed no nervousness. He was calm. It was the kind of calmness you see in a predator before it attacks.
Hrafn wasn't playing it cautious. He had seen talented boys, they were strong but still fragile. They break under pressure because they are young. "You'll get one hit," Hrafn told him. "Make it count."
Hrafn straightened his shoulders, expecting an easy fight. They moved in a circle with their boots scraping in the dirt. Bjorn moved fast, too fast. His hits were hard and accurate, unusual for a boy his age. Hrafn blocked, but the boy's strength surprised him.
----------Cut Scene.----------
Hrafn lay on the ground, unconscious, with blood dripping from a cut lip. His axe was broken next to him. The arena was empty because the crowd had left. A man shook his shoulder roughly. "Get up, Hrafn," the man growled.
Hrafn moaned, slowly opening his eyes. His head hurt and his mouth tasted like blood. He touched his lip confused. "What happened?" he croaked while looking up.
Svein stood over him with his bald head catching the dim light. He was staring at Hrafn.
"You lost," Svein said with his voice low and sharp. "Ragnar's boy knocked you down. He's twelve, and he defeated you like a beginner. You looked like a fool."
Hrafn pushed himself up, wincing. His pride was hurt. "He's not normal," he mumbled. "No boy should hit that hard, and no boy should move that fast."
Svein didn't flinch. "Excuses don't suit you."
Hrafn looked at Svein without blinking and stepped forward, "If you think I've gone soft, Svein, you can pick up a blade and find out for yourself."
Svein held Hrafn's gaze, but his shoulders tensed and his step back came too quick. "Tell that to the earl," he muttered, then walked off before the silence could stretch.
Hrafn stood up with dust in his beard and let out a dry chuckle. "Hope you trip on that axe, kid." It was a joke to hide his amazement. But he knew that this boy is not meant for farms or fishing boats.
He wiped the blood from his lip and shook his head. "It seems the gods favor is shifting. They've turned their eyes toward that boy."
The Seer's Hut
Dusk settled over Kattegat as Ragnar and Bjorn walked from the yard. And the waves of the fjord made a low sound.
"Where are we going now?" Bjorn asked with his boots crunching on the gravel.
Ragnar's eyes gleamed in the fading light. "To talk to the gods. What else is there for a man to do after such a day?"
"The gods?" Bjorn repeated with a slight frown on his brow. "You mean the seer?"
Ragnar nodded slowly. "Yes, the seer. The gods speak through him. He's old, wise, and has seen much. Sometimes, a man needs to hear what the Fates have in store, directly from the source."
Bjorn pressed, "i mean we could've gone another day because it's already late, and i'm hungry". He thought for a moment then added, "Is it because of the fight?"
Ragnar stopped and turned to face his son. "It's about everything, Bjorn. About what just happened, and what's to come. A victory like yours, against a warrior like Hrafn, it means something. The gods take notice. Or maybe, they were already watching." Ragnar paused with his gaze fixed on Bjorn.
They reached the hut where its roof was covered in moss and smoke came out of a hole. The seer's low and rough voice came from inside. "Why don't you come in? I'm waiting."
Inside, shadows covered the seer. He had literally no eyes. And his body was thin and covered in old furs. "Sit," he said, pointing to a stool. Ragnar sat and Bjorn stood behind him, his eyes, which had silver flecks now for some reason, were cautious.
The old seer asked, "What do you want?"
Ragnar, known for his cleverness, leaned forward. "I want to know what the gods have in store."
The seer's grin was slow and unsettling, like a crack in a stone. "For you... or the boy?" he whispered. His non-existant eyes seemed to drift in Bjorn's direction, and for a terrifying second, Bjorn felt as though the seer could see right through him, to the man inside.
Ragnar thought for a moment, then looked back at Bjorn with a quick and unreadable glance. "I'm more interested in myself."
The seer hummed. His twisted fingers moved as if drawing invisible symbols. "The gods want you to have a great future. I see that."
Ragnar paused, then asked again, "To have this great future, must I go against the law?"
The old seer laughed in an eerie way. "A crown has already been made. Not made of gold. Not for a king. But it will find a head, whether you raise it or not."
"What does that mean?" Ragnar asked, curious.
The seer smiled slowly. "It means you don't need to do anything. The sword of Asgard has already been forged..."
Ragnar pressed him. "What is that supposed to mean? Answer me."
The seer said, "You already have your answer."
"No, I don't."
"Well, then go and ask the gods yourself."
"What are you afraid of?", Ragnar demanded. "You haven't helped me at all, ancient one."
"Perhaps you asked the wrong questions," the seer shrugged and seemed almost amused. He offered his rough hand, and Ragnar licked it as a Viking custom.
"Let's go," Ragnar said, standing.
Bjorn just stood there, staring at the seer as if in a trance. The seer's words, "A crown has already been made," resonated with a strange, unsettling familiarity. He felt a chill despite the warmth of the hut.
Ragnar called him again. "Bjorn!"
Bjorn blinked and the trance broke. "Right. Let's go." He followed Ragnar out, and the cold night air was a stark contrast to the stifling warmth of the seer's hut, and his mind was filled with a growing curiosity...