Chapter 12: The War that Was and Will Be
Pandemonium
After pulling the soaking wet slip off of me, I hand it over to Abella without looking, staring at Britt incredulously. She did make it a mission to find me an outfit, but I had not thought she'd come back with a dress.
"I am not wearing that," I make my point plain and clear as I scrub to dry off.
Britt grins sheepishly, "Not my decision. Dorte commands it." Wait, what?
"Why?" Now I am worried that something really is up.
"I dunno," is all that Britt replies with, but I think she is being full of shit with a grin like that.
Dorit looks over at the dress and nods in approval. "Wear it, go hide in your room, and don't come out if are ashamed," turning to me, "Is that difficult?"
I bite my lower lip and shake my head lightly, "No. I suppose not."
"Good," Dorit bows her head to both me and the other two sisters, "Now, if you will excuse me, I have to find out how Gunhelle is doing."
My blonde brow raises and I must have a quizzical expression for Dorit to pause, "Is something the matter?" I know she left the room, feeling ill, but I had not expected it to be serious. Honestly, I thought she had experience too much strain from my ordeal.
Dorit smiles and shakes her head, "Nothing horrible," her hand places itself flatly on her own heart. "Having children of my own and watching Lykke pop out so many, I've become quite aware when someone is expecting."
I lean forward with a show of surprise. "I- I didn't know." I run my hand to the back of my head in attempting to recreate the same soothing petting that my sisters have done while looking away and down at the floor.
This gives me a mixed feeling of both joy and guilt. Too often, I've been thinking of just myself. Gunhelle's reaction, I'd thought it was me, but I had not thought of the fact that everyone else here has their own issues to deal with.
Without a word being brought back up, Dorit bows again and excuses herself, leaving with the door being closed shut behind her. In every way, except for being hunched over, Dorit reminds me of my own mother. Certainly, she has the same responses and motivation to be our overbearing mother-hen.
Letting out a dramatic sigh, I pick at the dress that is made available for me to wear. An intricate design, like that of Abella's, but in royal reds below the collar. The collar itself is black, the same for the ends of the sleeves, and embroidered with a deeper red through the rich black band around the bottom. At least it doesn't have a V-cut on the bust.
Then again, looking down at my own pair of breasts, it might not be much of a show. In my hands, they would fit in the palms easily as apples. I look over at both Britt and Abella, who being smaller than I am, both have nature's blessings being endowed upon them.
What the Hell am I even thinking!? I'm a man. There is no way I would be feeling envy over this petty flesh.
"Do you two want to show me how to put this thing on?" My dress is lifted up in front of me for a more thorough inspection. I have no clue if I'm supposed to pull this over my head like the slip or if there is some trick to it. I'm not even sure if I'll fit.
Britt smiles and Abella rolls her eyes, but they both come to my rescue.
"Lift this above your head- No, you do it," Abella pushes the dress back before I could hand it to her. I was just going to bend down a bit for them to slip it on me.
"She's right, you have to learn how to do this," Britt chips in with barely contained giggling.
"Now, over your head, slide it down to here," she gives the dimple of my stomach a firm poke, "and then lift up the top half to fit your arms through."
"How do I-," I shake my head and just do as I am told. The dress is pulled down to my waist, adjusting it to conform around me, and lifting up the sides to insert my arms through the sleeves.
Britt comes in from behind me and begins to tighten something back there. I had not looked at the back of the dress to realize it had drawstrings to tie up. Does that mean my back is going to be exposed?
Abella looks over me like a judge. This is something I really hate and I must have shown it, "Don't fret, you look more beautiful than you had in that man's get-up." Get-up? What is that?
"Get-up?"
Britt smirks and chips in again, "As in, 'Get up, get dressed, and head out.' Men don't really care what they wear as long it is comfortable."
My expression drops as I look back and forth at the two. "I am a man."
"Not anymore," I nearly jump when my aunt speaks through the door. It is opened gently, with Dorte coming in holding a piece of parchment and a thinner slip of paper beneath it. The look on her face has some amusement in it.
Britt drops her smile and backs away with a bow. Abella, on the other hand, lifts her chin and awaits for our aunt to say more. I can tell, though, that she making her breathing light.
My aunt looks over the note, then lifts her sky-blue eyes at me, and back down at the piece of written notes again before turning it over to the thinner paper. There is a silence in the bathing room. I think the three of us would like it very much to run out of here soon as we have the opportunity.
Finally, Dorte settles her filled hand down at her side and comes to me for her own inspection. A hand is waved at Britt first, then at Abella, my aunt dismissing the both of them. Britt runs by, giving me a wave, and Abella bows to my aunt and me before she too follows Britt out the door.
The portal shuts once more. I gaze silently down at my aunt in both fear and wonder of what this private meeting is about.
"Nod your head or shake it no," she states. Fuck, I'm being interrogated. "Did you steal an heirloom from a lord?" A what!? Quickly, I shake my head no. This causes Dorte to raise a blonde brow questioningly. "More precisely, a sword."
My icy-blue eyes widen. Not reacting fast enough, my head jerks away from my aunt as she streaks her hand across my cheek in the harshest slap I've ever received. I can taste the tang of blood in my mouth.
"We are on the brink of war and you FUCKING DARE to start another!?" Her hand raises up, crumpling the two papers, holding it out for me to see what she holds. "First, I receive a letter of ransom. Kris? KRIS!? WHO THE FUCK IS KRIS!?" Her hands nearly rip the papers in half as she pulls the other one from each other, "Then I am delivered another letter, saying you ATTACKED and STOLE from a lord!?"
Hyperventilating, I can't look down at her. This is not how I had intended to reveal my conversion to Christianity and I hadn't the vaguest idea that my escape would cause this much turmoil in my home. Is this why Vloros is here?
Dorte squares her shoulders, reaches out, and snatches my jaw so I am forced to look down at her. "I omitted somethings, but your father is aware of enough, and if you have anything else you'd like to reveal to me," her thumb digs into my cheek painfully with the nail imprinting sharply enough that I am certain to be cut, "I'd appreciate you telling me now. Speak!"
My face is shoved away. A smear of crimson appears on my palm as I wipe away my lip and cheek. There isn't much more for me to lose now. I've fairly well have fucked things up for my whole family and kingdom.
"I- I was baptized," I speak softly, but clearly, as I watch my aunt for any reaction. I continue when Dorte remains stone-cold. "They gave me the name, Kris. I am Kris Gyridson Akra."
"Gyriddottir," my aunt corrects me in a flat tone. "That is the only thing good coming from any of this." That confuses me a little bit. I watch my aunt turn away from me and walk towards the tub and kneel down.
In one motion, I witness Dorte grip the side of the filled tub and push. The whole thing skids an inch or two away before it topples over in a flood of steam and water across the floor. She slips forward, landing on her hands and knees, breathing heavily, and not saying a thing.
After a few moments pass in silence, I can hear her crying hiccups, and finally take note of her shaking shoulders. I don't know what to do. This actually scares me more than seeing her angry. Should I go over and comfort her or will it be better I let her be? Would she lash out at me again if I did? If I did not? What should I do?
"A Christian... A Christian heir?" Her face swerves around to look directly up at me. "My brother is at death's door and you come back to reveal we would be ruled by a CHRISTIAN!?"
It finally dawns on me what kind of chaos that would cause. Most of the jarls and subjects follow the Old Ways. Would they seriously support us in a time of war or simply let this kingdom fall apart to benefit a familiar benefactor? I had been blind by my own fears to not see how many dilemmas I would create for my family and home.
That is also when I realize a hard truth. I've been forfeit. My role as heir has been revoked out of survival. Is this why there are so many jarls and others here? This isn't a gathering. This is a moot. They are going to elect a new ruler of Skane.
Dizzy, my hyperventilating drying my mouth, sending chills and tingling waves down my face and bust, I reach out to the door, wanting to run. Run anywhere. I no longer want to be here. This isn't my home. No place is my home.
Throwing open the door, I stare out at the hall, to the right is the gathered guests feasting and being an uproar in the great hall's vastness. I shake my head, feeling the cool stream of my tears running down to mix with my bloodied face. These vultures are going to pick Skane apart just like my father and his allies did to Scania.
I stumble out, but do not stop, rushing forward quickly and without care. Some I knock into, no word of apology, but quite a few curses as I pass. I don't know where I am going. Someplace, any place, the room where the Trickster laid its snake, outside, to my father's side to beg forgiveness, to my sisters for comfort, or should I make for the ships and hide there. Should I leave?
My vision blurs with the tears welling beyond control. I try to wipe at them, but it shames me more when my hand comes away with the pink blend resulted of my aunt's fury. I can make out the great door that leads outside and I shove my way through.
I almost made it.
A strong hand clasps around my arm and I immediately struggle to pull away. I cry out. Many are watching me, staring at the scene I am making, but I just don't care. Then the strong grip pulls me away, off into another doorway, the power of that hold beyond my own sapped strength.
There are no lighted scones in here. In the dark, with only the light of the day to shine through from the great hall, I am taken, pushed with my back pressed against a wall. Two powerful hands grip both of my arms to keep me from leaving this spot. The great hall's dim light shines what it can on my face, but doesn't offer me the same courtesy on the person holding me back.
I didn't need to see his face.
Rage. A fury like my aunt's fills me. "VLOROS! THIS IS YOUR FAULT!" I suck in another gulp of air, "YOU FUCKING BASTARD!" I push, trying to force him back. I want to so badly beat the crap out of him. Smash him. Break and cripple him in so many ways.
The gleam of his copper eyes watches me. He is still, my struggling isn't even making him break a sweat. He slides his hands down to my wrists, gripping them tighter, and strains a little to raise them above my head. One hand trades to hold both of my wrists.
"LET GO OF ME!" My leg rushes to kick. This time, I hear a grunt as my knee makes contact. I try again, but he presses his broad figure against me, wedging his thick-muscled thighs between mine, and gives me the impressions of his masculine features intimately.
His free hand grabs at something about his hip. I hear the sound of ripping before he brings his fist up to my cheek. A wad is pressed onto the cut. He spreads his palm over the side of my face and presses it there. I feel his thumb stray over my cracked lip, causing me to wince, and take note of his copper eyes narrowing up at me.
Slowly, carefully, he lets go of one wrist while pulling the other down to have my own hand cover my bleeding cheek. He backs away from me. I can see him gazing at me for the longest time and I can't say that I wasn't doing the same. We both probably didn't know how to respond to one another.
At least, I thought that was the case. Vloros cursed vehemently and turns to stomp out into the great hall. I only catch him for a moment, shoving someone away, before he disappeared into the crowded gathering.
I slide down the wall and sit, pulling my arm around my knees and hugging them to my chest before resting my chin.
"Now you see how much you messed up?" Tiresias, I couldn't see it, but I certainly heard its voice. I didn't bother replying. My mind is even blank. I had everything yesterday, with the exception of being turned into a woman, and now today it is all gone. What more could I think about? My future is gone.
My eyes close. I simply want this to be yet another nightmare. If I can wake up, that would be great, and I can go on with life as I had normally. After awhile, I must have dozed off...
I'm looking at the door. The sounds of clashing steel and screaming men causes me to cover my ears. My small frame dives beneath the bed to hide as I hear the sound of the door being pounded violently.
How old am I? Nine, ten? Maybe going onto ten. They wouldn't harm a ten year old, would they?
The door pounds more violently, more voices hurriedly behind it, becoming more orderly, and the strikes against the only barrier between me and the Scanians splintering. Halfway, the door splits open, with a scattering of hands searching for the bolt before it is grasped. They unlock the broken door.
Four, five, six warriors storm inside of the room to pause and look about. "Find the little shit!" Almost immediately, the bed is thrown off of my back, and I cry out as they grip a hold of my arms and legs.
They haul me out of the door and into the great hall. There are clashes of warriors against warriors. Scanians against Danes. My father is someplace outside, leading the counter-attack on those storming the gates. He had not expected the southern walls to be breached as well.
I am being held between two men, one holding my arms, the other my legs, and lugging me around as a prized pig. "Show him his son and he will surrender," I hear them gossip. I am being used as a tool to win the war.
My father. He married all his daughters to unite the Danes into action against the Swedish rule of Scania. Halland, Bleike, and Skane among other lesser territories. He had won every battle and conquered the coast, but this single battle would lose him the war.
Dread fills me. It will be because of me that our family's sacrifices will become ashes in their mouths. My own, because I was born the only male, it makes my value to my father than much greater than anyone. A heir to his won throne.
My head whips to the side, as do the Scanians' holding me, as we both hear the screeching roar of a warrior. I am thrown to my side and immediately I crawl away. Making my way to a doorway, I watch from the inside of a darkened room the fight.
I choke on my own heart in my throat. My mother rushed the Scanians. She hacks at the first man she brought down repeatedly with an ax to the face. The other warrior gets up and tackles her to the ground.
The two roll for a moment before she opens her mouth wide. I had expected her to scream, but instead I watch her bite the man's nose. She shakes her head, the man screaming instead as a gushing hole appears in the center of his face. My mother easily shoves the flailing man off of her.
Blood covers my mother. Four of the warriors from before come rushing out of the portal we had come from. They surround her crouching form. I can hear her snarls louder than the clashing steel.
As one, the four rush her, and I feel my heart breaking at the sight. Knives, ax, and one man struggling to hold her from behind as she is being repeatedly stabbed or struck. Her life-blood seeps through the dress and colors it crimson until pooling black at the bottom.
Unexpectedly, she raises her feet up, braced and propped against the man behind her, and kicks off of the ones stabbing her. The two fall back. The axman rushes in to finish her. Rolling, the one holding her ends up being struck instead and lets go of my mother.
She wiggles out from under the man, still being grabbed at despite having an ax in his shoulder, but manages to free herself before the weapon could be freed. Those with the straight steel run around to meet her.
Another screeching roar rips out of her as she tackles one of them. Her thumbs find his eyes and squeezes, the screaming he creates causes the other knifer to back away in shock.
"HOW THE FUCK IS SHE STILL-," the man never finishes as she had snuck the fallen Scanian's knife into her own hand to fly up and shut the other up beneath his juggler. He gurgles, stepping back, gripping at the knife and removing it, and falls squirming on the ground coughing.
The axman kicks off the other man to free his weapon. The two stand themselves up, the injured one backs away to retrieve a spear from the wall, and returns with it gripped and held beneath his arm. He aims it to keep my mother at some distance.
Flashing, the ax somersaults in the air to be embedded in my mother's breast. Her eyes light up, looking directly at the axman, her lips curling in a snarl, and she runs straight at him. The spear-point impales her in the waist as a result.
Her hands grab the shaft, swinging the injured man with brutal strength into the axmen, causing the two to stumble. She lets out another battle-cry before wrenching the tip out of her. Both men look at each other for a brief moment.
"Berserk," and the two make a run for it to the gathered Scanians ending what little fight is left in the hall. They scream out to those comrades available.
For me, in slow motion, I watch as axes fly out to tear through the air between them and my mother. Most don't find their marks. Those that do causes her to stumble back under each powerful landing.
Even after all of that, she stands. Her bloodied face gradually turns to look over her shoulder. She spots me. Then her flashing blue eyes take in the stunned Scanians.
A blood-curling scream tears her throat to shreds in the end, becoming mute, but all the more fearsome with her red teeth glaring at the men. She rips out two of the axes in her and runs to them. I don't watch the outcome.
Something else caught my attention. The ground shook. Through the great hall's doorway, horsemen charge through, circling about, and the noble Danes searching for their targets. The crunch of wood, smacking of hooves, and the new ring of steel causes many of the Scanians to either run or drop their weapons in surrender.
If my father could spare these men, that meant the battle at the gates had been won. I do not leave my spot until I am picked up by someone. At first, I thought it was my mother coming to get me, based on the long blonde locks of hair matted with blood, but I was wrong.
Dorte holds me, her chin trembling as she holds me tightly, running away from the hall as she shooshes me. I don't know why she is taking me from the hall. I wanted to see my mother. I wanted to know she was okay. To thank her. Tell her that I loved her.
My father and uncle come into view and my aunt kneels down, still holding me, and bowing her head in respect to her siblings. Red rimmed sky-blue eyes raise up as I hear my aunt speak.
"We have saved your son," comes croaking out.
I hear my father, "Send him away." What? What does that mean?
"What?" I turn my head to look up at my father. In every way, he resembles the image I had pictured the great Thor to be. Long golden beard and mustache, bright blue eyes, hair that reaches past his shoulders, a incredible cord of muscle straining to break out of his tunic, and the majesty he holds up on top of his horse creates a wonder how he is not among the Gods. The only exception is that my father holds a sword and not a hammer.
"I will take him," I hear my uncle speak up. "There are some friends of mine that owe me a favor for letting them live." He chuckles a bit and then sobers when my father glares his way. "Sorry for your loss, but she went down fighting, I hear. I'm sure there is a place for her in the halls." What is he talking about?
"What?" I turn to my uncle now. I don't know what he meant by that at all. My face comes to meet my aunt. "What?"
Dorte still holds me, her face still in a great deal of pain, but her voice soberly tells me, "Gunhilde is dead." What are they talking about? I saw my mother not long ago, fighting, and there was nothing that the Scanians could do to bring her down. She was invincible. I saw them try. Nothing could bring her down.
"What..?" My voice breaks and I can't speak anymore. I feel my aunt pull the back of my head to bring my tear stricken face into her bosom. She holds me for awhile before I feel powerful hands take me up onto a horse.
My father gives both me and my uncle a nod. "Farewell. We will meet again when this is over." He turns the head of his horse around to ride back the way we came towards the great hall.
I am too stunned to say or do anything. The ride is quiet as my uncle orders a detachment to follow him out into the fields. Eventually, the next I take into stock of my surroundings, the spray of the sea is hitting me in the face, and we sail for the river mouth that will take us to Kiev...
Flinching away, I feel the cold brush of a wet rag on my face. My icy-blue eyes wander around the room, seeing either that I have landed myself back in the same room I slept in before or one just like it. Again, the cold rag smooths out my features.
I turn to the one holding it. My aunt, still holding a very pissed expression, lightly runs the clothe over my face. There is no way for me to halt the stare I give her turning into that of fear.
She stares at me, but doesn't stop washing my face. Turning, she dunks the rag into a bowl of water and returns its cool texture to meet my smooth skin again. I'm completely still, not wanting to stir any kind of emotion from her, and subject myself to the cleansing without protest.
"You remember my husband?" She asks me something that takes me by surprise. I do recall the man, the very Scanian ruler that my family fought to take land from, but I don't think I've ever met him.
I lightly shake my head no.
"Good. That man isn't worth remembering," she brings the rag over the bowl, stretching it out between her hands, and twisting it harshly to empty its remaining fluids into the rounded dish. "He did try to give me a child, but after the first, he stopped." Dorte had a child?
"I didn't know-," I watch my aunt shake her head at me.
"Stillborn," the bowl is placed off to the side as she gets up from the side of the bed to dry her hands. "Instead of being a husband to me, he divorced. Blamed me for the death and threatened to have me strangled for murdering his- Our child." After her hands are rubbed until raw, "Our father didn't take kindly to that."
I slide myself upwards to sit up. The dress I had been wearing is slightly shifted and I give it a few smooth brushes and twists to return it straight. I returned my attention to Dorte.
"We never heard from our father again..." Her hand lays up along one of the walls as she turns to look over her shoulder at me. "He was simply going to give a piece of his mind to my ex-husband." She smirks, "No... He probably was going to do more than that, knowing his temper."
That was someone I had a vague recollection of, my grandfather, but the image is always replaced with my father. They appeared almost identical. Hrem Ragnarson and Gyrid Hremson, the Greater and Younger Danes from Akra.
"When our father didn't come home, my brothers went out, but not without bringing some friends." She spins around to lay the back of her shoulders against the wall. "I later received a letter that I could move back into Helsingborg." My aunt lets out a little laugh, "I thought that was ridiculous. Why would I want to live with that man ever again?" A shake of her head instantly after, "No, instead, I learn that my brothers took it from him."
This is what started the war.
"I realize this is how the war started. It was because of me," her eyes lift to look into mine, "but more importantly, how I was treated." Rising up straight, she gives me a nod, and walks for the door. Before leaving, "You almost followed the same path as me. We gained, but we lost much in that war."
She leaves the room with me thinking over what she had confessed. There is much to think about, but nothing that I can do to correct it. Everything was already done. I've lost whatever I could have considered as my future.
Once more, I curl my legs up to hug those knees into my bosom and rest my chin. There comes a knock, not too shortly after me scrunching up like this, and the portal opens.
Gunhelle comes in with a weary smile. "Hey," she closes the door behind her, "I thought I'd let you know that I've decided to stay here for the year."
I raise my chin off of my knees and ask, "Is it because you're carrying a 'Hammer' in you?"
That brought her lips to curl in a pouted frown, "Who told you?"
"Dorit," I shrug, "She says that you did a horrible job hiding it." She didn't really say that. "Not really, but you couldn't hide it from her," I correct.
She rolls both her head and eyes at that, "Yeah, well, she is insisting that I do what she says. Apparently, her having children and taking care of Lykke's brood has made her the top authority of child-bearing."
That did bring in a curious thought. "Why isn't Lykke doing that?"
"Why do you think?" She asks this seriously, so I give it some thought, but shrug. "You do realize why Britt hates her, right?" I shake my head no. "Half of the children are not her husband's, if that gives you a clue."
I gap, "Bjearn's? What does Magnar think-," Gunhelle's hand waves at me.
"He doesn't know and probably best he did not. Trust me," she gives the doorway a thrust of her head to indicate something before clarifying, "There is a reason why Dorte is not happy around her. Could you imagine how that would upset our houses? The blame will fall on Lykke for not keeping her skirt down."
"I would have thought it be for Bjearn not keeping his pants up," I reply with another shrug. I don't know why, but I'm a shrugger for the time being. Maybe I don't really feel like I care so much about anything anymore.
"Not to men," she raises a finger up to stall anything I have to say. "Yes, Magnar and Bjaern would blame each other, but the rest of the realm would call Lykke unfaithful. Unfaithful has the same ring as untrustworthy. Not something we want associated with our family."
That does make a lot of sense. Although, I am sure that our family's reputation is ruined by me anyways. "So, why a full year?"
"Dorit says I would be too weak to travel and that taking the child across the sea could welcome danger." Hammerhus being on an island does make it a rough trip to get back onto.
"How does," I pause, "Does Alaf know? If he does, how does he feel about you staying here?"
"He knew and it isn't a problem. In fact, it wouldn't matter, since he will be gone on the campaign anyways." What campaign?
"Could you explain that?"
"Explain?"
"The campaign? I know we are at war, but what campaign? I thought this was-," I don't want to say a moot, it would just come out sorrowful, but that is what it is.
"You thought this was what?" Her head tilts to the side in wonder.
"Isn't this a... A moot?"
She smiles, laughs a little, and shakes her head. "No. That happened a few months ago."
"What?" Shit, not again. "A few months ago? Wait, why? None of you knew about me being like this."
"Actually, we received word about someone claiming to be a Gyriddottir," she points at me a few times. "Dorte sent someone out to investigate," she adds quickly, "secretly and said there was someone who really looked like they might be our father's bastard."
"That doesn't explain why I had been forfeit my right as the next jarl," the temper isn't getting better in me and I can hear it coming out of my voice.
"I, uh- I don't think I'm the one who should tell you." She half smiles, weary, but shakes her head in rejection.
"Fine. I'll find Dorte," I slide off the bed and stand. Gunhelle opens the door for me to walk out and for her to follow a short distance.
"I'll be going," she mentions behind me before disappearing. Likely, she doesn't want to be around when I do battle with my aunt.
I do what I can to avoid the press of people in the great hall. More so than ever, I keep my eyes out for Vloros, not wanting to encounter him again, but also watching for my aunt anywhere. Eventually, I do take in the sight of my aunt speaking with my half-aware father.
Approaching, I only catch a clipped conversation of my aunt speaking with her brother, "-as he will aid you- Yes?" She turns to me, as does my father with a lazy smile on his face before his head droops forward.
"A moot?" That causes my aunt to raise her head upright and she stands.
"Come with me. Not in front of-," she looks down at her brother for a second, kneels down to lay her hands on head and shoulder, and eases him down on the ornate couch. Standing back up, "Follow me."
I am fuming, but it can be controlled for the time being. It had been one thing to make a decision like this after discovering all that I had done. What would give them the right to do this to me without knowing anything was wrong?
Gradually, we make it to another room. The door is closed behind me and I stand to attention. "Why?" That is all I have to ask.
Dorte looks around the room and decides to take a seat on the unoccupied bed. She lifts her gaze to me and begins, "You were declared dead."
"WHAT!?" My arms are open and hands out far by my sides. "Who, how? What the Hell- When did this happen?"
"About half a year ago, we received word from Kiev that you had passed away from an illness." My arms are deflating back to my sides at that bit of information. "There was no denying what they had sent. No reason to lie about it."
"I didn't die. I'm right here, right now, alive."
"We see that now... Partially," she adds after a pause.
"What is that supposed to mean?"
"Hremod... We shall continue to declare him dead. You are him, but-," she shakes her head, "For us to suddenly revoke the succession for a woman claiming to be Hremod Gyridson returned from the dead, especially since they are also Christian, will cause a much worse calamity." A finger is pointed up at me, "That is why being a woman now plays well in our hands."
"How the FUCK is that a good thing?"
"It means we can declare you Gyrid's bastard daughter. No one would give you the second glance and question it."
"Except for Alaf," I make mention of him being the one to discover the Trickster.
"He can say what he wants. One jarl, isolated on an island, is not going to spread rumors."
I reach my hand up to my face and wipe it down in frustration while rolling my eyes into the back of my head. This is getting better and better. "What about me, then? Am I going to sit quietly and become a spinster while, whoever it is you all elected, runs the country and wages war?"
This time, I feel my blood run cold as my aunt smiles. "Oh no, Dear, we have already decided what to do with you." Why do I have a really bad feeling about this?
"Do I want to know?"
"No," she states flatly. That took me off guard. I made it sound like I didn't want to know and she plainly told me I didn't. Now, I'm not sure if I should press to find out or keep my mouth shut.
"Okay. Fine," I shake my head, defeated in this battle, and resign myself to finding out if I may leave. "May I leave?"
"Yes," she raises a hand up to stall me for a moment, "Don't leave the great hall, but you may mingle with the guests or find a room for yourself." My aunt decides to stand back up and follow after me.
I am slightly understanding why Gunhelle was so angry with me the first time seeing each other again. To be a stranger, a woman at that, and claiming to be her dead brother would have someone like me reaching for my ax. That might be why Lykke is still against believing who I am.
The only question I have now is why did the Kievan-Rus declare me dead? I head down the hall to find some room to retreat into. Someplace where I can think to myself.
A thought does come to my mind. Someone who could answer my question, "Tiresias?"
"Hm?" The dark image of Tiresias walks by my side, leaning over, to look up at my face while some people walk straight through it without notice. "You wondering why they thought you died?"
"Yes."
"Because I killed you," it states matter-of-factly.
My footsteps come to a slow pace before stopping. I turn to look down, then follow the Shade's straightening up posture, awaiting for some kind of explanation. "Why?"
"You were a man. I had to make changes to your body, major ones, and the only way I could do that safely was with a corpse. Otherwise, you would have had mental problems," it raises a finger, "Correction, more mental problems than you already have." It leans back a bit, like it was trying to stretch and crack its back. "That fatso, Calibri, made you a priority. He was going to take your straight home for a proper burial," it looks back at me.
If I could only get my hands on this damn demon, I would do unkind acts that would make death be a sweet welcome, but the creature is simply out of anyone's grasp. I begin walking again to head for a room to retire.
"Oh, is that it? No wondering what your aunt has planned for you?"
"No," I make it clear I didn't want to talk anymore.
"Okay. Well, I like watching people get surprised anyways." Tiresias gives me that blinding smile again before disappearing.
I go to a room, close the door, and jump face down in a bed. Right now, I simply want to make everything go away. My eyes close, wishing for it all to disappear, and eventually the darkness does come to grant me my desire...
