mrsimple

This will be the third and final chapter of the prologue's perspective.  After this one, we will be going into the protagonist's POV.

 

Hehe, sorry for the odd way this started out, but I had fun setting up the, well, this setting.  XD

Chapter 3: Short Period of Confusion

Traveler

So I really didn't possess a library full of books, but I could utilize one of my many daughters throughout time to investigate their own history records. And I had just the one to take a gander at the scribbles.

As I rested --

-- another variation of myself woke up in another human vessel. Just as I became familiar with her environment and life, I too searched for a quiet spot to get down to business.

Oddly enough, I hadn't a real reason to visit a public domain. This chick had a computer! With that in available, I cracked my knuckles, waggled my fingers, and typed away.

What I read was that four years after the siege of Vandfjord, the prince had fought off more incursions onto his people's lands. He had met one blow for another blow for yet more blows against both those of Dyflin and Ulster. The Norse and Irish.

In that time, it was just with the bulwark pocketing the port town of Vandfjord. Only once had Laurel left the safety of his town to meet the foe on a designated battlefield. And apparently he was not supported by Vandfjord in that event, but by another fiefdom of Ireland.

”That’s interesting." But it wasn't what I was after. "What happened next?”

The kid’s father, having seen the credit due to his son, had sent him a new wave of Danes to be filled in where the Dansk population had been found lacking in numbers. Despite their origins, this integration had caused an upset between the two cultures.

”Okay, don't care. Where is my Laurel at?”

Denmark was changing. A blood chilling storm of war had come from afar. Across the wide span of the Nordic nations, a new rule was upon all those who would call themselves Norse.

This was to quake the foundations of the Scandinavians.

”Ah, yeah, I was there for that.” I gave myself a thumbs up.

A man, Bjorn Ragnarson, had been titled Bjorn Ironside of the seat in Uppland. An Emperor.

”Oh yeah, heh, I met him at Kris’s wedding.” But the next chunk of information detailed the life of Bjorn and his many exploits before and after his inauguration.

In response, I started to click through the next couple of pages until I found something of interest.

For now, all those who called themselves Norse were to bow before the King of Kings.

Those who did not were Norse wishing to seek death.

”Ah, wha…? I don’t remember that happening.” I paused on this page to figure out what this was supposed to mean.

The King of Dyflin had bowed his head only once, and it had been in respect. He would not do so again.

”...FUCK!” I wasn’t a God, and certainly not all-knowing. Mistakes do happen. With a deflated sigh, I asked myself, ”What am I dealing with?”

Clicking on several hyperlinks, I tried to put together who was where and doing what. That way, I had an idea what in the Hell happened.

Gartan of Tir Chonaill, Ailech of Tir Eoghain, Carrickfergus of Ulster, and Dundalk of Oriel all had gathered to arms for the eradication of the servile kingdoms: those invaders who had labeled themselves as Imperial Norse. The Old Irish would seek to gain the friendship of those Norse that had chosen to spurn the King of Northern Kings.

”Figures… help one of me out, and all my past efforts go down the drain.” And with that, I faceplanted straight down into the keys. And decided to do a faceroll for short measure.

After my brief episode of madness, and closing the many windows I had accidentally opened, I resumed reading where I had left off.

It was still in the locals of Ireland to favor watching those seeking death murder the other Norse.

”No duh, really…?”

And, for the boy-prince, who had grown prouder of his practiced years at war, if not physically grown taller in his sixteenth year, fought on. He safeguarded his home.

No raid or plunder.

No murder without just cause.

A good prince to his people.

”...Boring.” Here I thought this little guy was given a kick in his derriere when I fiddled in that head of his.

When seeking to end a life, he had to decide first if there were any alternatives. He would come up with a solution before ever setting a foot in that morbid direction. With that in mind, he had become skilled with the longbow, favoring the Cymru's yew trees. He preferred to offer distance, avoiding direct combat if possible, and a space between him and his foe for time to reason --

”Yadda-yadda… come on, what happened to that kid?” I started skimming over the rest until I found some juicy references of Laurel’s accomplishments.

When the distances between the borders closed in around him, the walls of a much greater foundation were raised and thickened to repel the warriors. Just as Dyflin had walls of stone, so too did Vandfjord sought to match them.

From these walls, Laurel regularly gone to, stilled, and appreciated the green stretch of land in a peaceful light.

"...Okay, I'm leaving a comment on whoever wrote this garbage." And I did with a reference on this author's attempt to sound too flowery for a historic document. "Now then..."

The prince had mistaken the cause for the Irish having ceasing hostilities with the Norse Dyflin. He thought there was some unknown accord.

A wishful concept of peace.

"Lemme see what you were thinking here."

If those of Meath, within the walls of Dyflin, and those of the surrounding country could put down their arms, then the prince believed both of the Nordic settlements could discover reason and rest their sword arms.

Too young, the prince had become weary of seeing, hearing, and smelling an endless field of carrion and their past due meals. He wished this fantasy of peace were to become true. If even a hint of his imagination was real, he would do what it took to end this war -- at any cost.

He wished and prayed for that peaceful conclusion, and had set out to negotiate for peace. 
Prince Laurel had been slain crossing the border…

”...Oh for Fuck’s sake. Really? He died?!”

This was not amusing in the slightest. I felt as if I had wasted my time and even jeopardized my venture with Bjorn's Empire.

My blindingly white smile flashed, and as I would always have amusingly done so, but this was in my own fashion. Just as that male version had changed into someone unique, so had I. And I knew I had to fix this. I didn’t know where that male version of me was hiding, but until he got his butt into gear, it sounded like I had to take his place.

”So much for getting some rest and relaxation.” Before I departed, I had an epiphany. ”On second thought, I’ll make this kid do all the work. He’s got a ton of power bottled up inside of him… what the Hell is he anyways?”

Just as I was about to fade and travel back in time, I considered how poorly I attempted to be there for Kris…

”Okay, lesson number one: no more hiding, no more lies, and any questions will be... sorta answered.” I was determined to teach this prince a thing or two.

But I shouldn't be obvious about what I was. I had disguise myself.

”No more mistakes.” That I promised, and there would only be one way for me to discover if I kept it. "...But I don't have any daughters in Ireland."

With a hefty sigh, I felt around for someone who was close by that emerald isle. Somebody that would accept me as their new conscience.

And I was surprised to discover a familiar man welcoming me in...

mrsimple

Thank ya for bearing with me on this.  Next up, we go into the head of Laurel!  :D