The Price of Honor

874 A.D. Repton, England

How does one dispose of a king?

It is a question that lives in the mind of every disgruntled peasant, on the lips of every angered rebel, and on the weapon of every battle-hardened insurgent. To dispose of a ruler, to replace him with your own, to change the future of your land and country through the removal of a single man… It is a great undertaking that is never easily accomplished. That is to say nothing of the difficult questions that follow it, such as who the new ruler will be, how to stabilize a now unstable land, or how to ensure that you are not disposed of in a similar manner, but all those questions mean nothing if one cannot answer the first one. How does one dispose of a king?

In years previous the Great Heathen Army had not needed to answer this question. Led by the sons of Ragnar Lodbrok himself, they had begun an invasion of England 9 years ago when they had put a puppet leader in Northumbria and captured the city of Nottingham. The king of Mercia, a weasely little man by the name of Burgred, had begged his brother-in-law King Æthelred of Wessex and Alfred of the Saxons for an army to help push back the Norse. They couldn’t, of course, and had settled on simply paying off the sons of Ragnar to leave them alone. Their invasions continued across England, but with the **** of King Æthelred and the enstating of King Alfred, things had turned sour for the Norse. They lost the battle of Ashdown with a leader of their army by the name of Bagsecg falling in that same battle. The army had been **** to return to Northumbria to restore peace, as the puppet leader they put in got thoughts of rebellion. Now that those thoughts had been quelled, and now they sat in Repton, a village in Derbyshire of England, with a single question still on their minds: How does one dispose of a king?

Everyone knew that an attack against Mercia was imminent. Last year, an attack had been made against one of Mercia’s forts with the result being a bribery from Burgred as well as the **** of the third son of Ragnar, Ivar the Boneless. Everyone remained tight-lipped about the **** of the Nordic commander, though it was a well-known rumor in the army that Ivar had been suffering from a strange curse ever since his birth. Many thought that this curse had finally caught up to him this past year, and that in response Ivar had attacked one of Mercia’s forts so that he may go to Vahalla rather than be subjugated to Hel’s halls. While those who served with him and under him were glad that Ivar got the **** he so richly deserved, no one could deny that this was a blow to both the army and to the remaining two sons of Ragnar; Halfdan and Ubba Ragnarsson. And still the question remained: How does one dispose of a king?

Enter Ceolwulf II. He had known the sons of Ragnar from when they first came to the Mercian King accepting his bribery to stay away, and from that day forward he knew the Bugred’s time on the throne was growing shorter by the day. The Norse clearly could take Mercia if they wanted to, and were only held back by greed and honor to uphold what they were paid for. So when the Great Heathen Army came to Repton, Ceolwulf II went to talk with them and arrange plans of deposing Bugred. Now, with the **** of Ivar, those plans were coming to a head, and the question had to be answered: How would they dispose of the king?

So there they were, the two sons of Ragnar Lothbrok, the Mercian noble turned against his king, and a smattering of experienced Norsemen from the Great Heathen Army to offer their thoughts and inputs on how they should depose the king. One such warrior was a man by the name of Sigmund Úlfsson. He was an older warrior, having spent decades of his life a-viking across the coasts in search of glory and plunder. Now he was a shield warrior in the Great Heathen Army, as well as a close friend and advisor to Halfdan. He took another swig of his mead, his patience growing thin from the constant back and forth that the warriors were having. Ubba was of the opinion that Ivar would have wanted a grand and glorious battle against his killers, one that would make the gods tremble in envy. Ceolwulf, however, reminded Ubba that these men were to be his subjects, and such a bloody conquest would be a bad start to his rulership and probably result in rebellions like how it was with Northumbria. Halfdan, meanwhile, had remained silent. He simply watched the back and forth of his brother and the soon-to-be king, drinking his mead and contemplating. Sigmund could tell that Halfdan, much like Sigmund himself, was growing weary though at the constant arguing.

“ENOUGH!” Halfdan shouted, standing up quickly, causing both Ubba and Ceolwulf to silence themselves and back away. “We have been debating our approach to this for far too long! The longer we wait, the larger the Mercian army gets and the more likely we are to have to defend ourselves from an attack!” He gave out a sigh before sinking back down into his chair and turning to the three warriors he had as advisors. “Jorundr, Vragi, Sigmund. Please, give us your thoughts. You have been fighting alongside us since we came to England, I want to know what you think we should do.”

Vragi spoke up first. He was an older viking, one who had fought alongside Ragnar Lothbrok himself. Despite one of his eyes having gone blind from an arrow, he was still as deadly on the battlefield as he was in his youth, and Sigmund respected him greatly for that. “Ceowulf brings up a very good point. We lost many good men and spent too much time in Northumbria putting down a rebellion we could have possibly avoided. If we are to take Mercia, we should do so in a way that gives Ceowulf the best chance of keeping a rebellion from happening.”

“Which is exactly why we must deal a decisive blow in a great battle!” Jorundr shouted from his seat. The younger viking was a good friend to Sigmund, as they had spent many years a-viking together. However, when Sigmund chose to stop so that he could raise a family with his wife, Jorundr would continue his life of raiding. But that was years ago, and since then Jorundr had gained much wealth and battle prowess from his raiding days while Sigmund had been **** to bury his wife shortly after the birth of their only child. Due to Sigmund having no major talents other than fighting, he was also **** to give up his child to another family to raise as he was unable to, a choice that had gnawed at him ever since he was **** to make it.

“Halfdan, Ceowulf. Ubba is correct,” Jorundr continued, breaking Sigmund out of his saddened thoughts. “While yes, the battle would be bloody and harsh, it is what Ivar would have wanted. Not one of us had the love for battle that he had, and we should honor his memory with a conquest that the gods themselves will sing of. Especially since such a fight would terrify Ceowulf’s subjects and make them too scared to rebel, lest the viking army that conquered them return.”

Halfdan looked to Jorundr and then to Vragi before locking his eyes with Sigmund, who just sat there sipping his mead. “Old friend, please, tell me your thoughts.”

Sigmund took another sip and sighed. “Jorundr has a point. Such a battle would terrify all those who dare to stand against us, and would certainly earn all those who die in the battle a place at Odin’s hall.” He took another sip as Jorundr smiled at him. “However… we should not forget our loss three years ago at Ashdown, the one that cost us Bagsecg. Now the man that defeated us on the field is King of Wessex, and will surely want to defeat us yet again. If we waste our resources here in Mercia, fighting a battle that we could avoid, we only weaken ourselves for when Alfred chooses to fight us yet again. Not to mention that while the warriors we have seen here in England have been tough, need I remind you all of the mages Alfred has shown to have at his command? Our own runic mages were barely able to go toe to toe with their… what were they called again, Ceowulf?”

“The Order of the Golden Rose, Sigmund.”

“Right, their Order mages. Frankly, I think it would be best for us to find a way to sneak through Mercia, take the king out quickly and quietly, and replace him with Ceowulf. Then Ceowulf works on winning the people over, and if Alfred attacks, we have the might of the Great Heathen Army and the might of Mercia to drive them back.”

Everyone was silent for a few moments before Ubba spoke up. “I don’t like it. It is not what Ivar would have wanted.”

“Ivar would want us to conquer all of England, brother,” Halfdan said. “And a sneaky attack today will lead to a grand battle tomorrow, one that will appease our brother and the gods.” Halfdan stood up and motioned for Sigmund to rise as well. “We will handle this with care and stealth. Now, does anyone have an idea of how we would accomplish this?”

“I do,” Vragi said before gesturing to the map of Mercia on the table. “I went out riding with Guthrum and Oscetel the other day to take a look at these old woods. If we are careful, and cautious, we can sneak our men right through these woods and be at the back gate of the Mercian throne before daybreak.”

“But there are scouting posts nearby these woods to prevent just that,” Ceowulf said, before placing a pair of figures on the map. “These posts are filled with trained warriors, and have signal fires that light by runes inscribed by Danish mercenaries. How do you propose we sneak an army by them?”

“Simple. We get together two teams with about half a dozen elite warriors. They will go to the scouting posts, take them over, and let our army sneak in unannounced,” Sigmund said. “As for the signal fires, if each team brings along a runic mage, they can disable the runes properly so that when the teams return to the main ****, the towers will be ineffective at alerting the Mercian guard.”

“We could just leave the teams there,” Jorundr said.

“No,” Sigmund replied. “If things get hairy, and we get retaliated against for deposing the king, we will need all the strength we can muster, and those teams will die if the Mercian army turns against us if we leave them at the scouting towers.”

After some further discussion and debate, it was eventually decided that Sigmund would lead one team to the southern scouting post while Jorundr would lead one to the northern post. After dealing with the posts, they would watch the army pass by, wait a while, and rejoin them as soon as they were sure the army was not being followed. That is how Sigmund found himself crouching in a woods slowly sneaking through the brush and trees alongside a young mage by the name of Hugaldr. Sigmund had met the mage on the field of battle in Ashdown when he stopped an Order warrior from cracking Sigmund’s head in with a hammer, and since then Sigmund had taken great care to aid the mage whenever he could. Hugaldr was rather young for a warrior, and had only gotten involved in the Great Heathen Army after his father, a viking by the name of Drómundr, had gotten too injured and was sent back to Denmark to care for his family.

“A-are you certain that they won’t see us coming?” Hugaldr asked quietly.

“They won’t see us, but they will hear us if you keep asking me that question,” Sigmund said, carefully parting some branches

“S-sorry!” the mage squeaked out before once again attempting to stay quiet. Sigmund rolled his eyes, but couldn’t stay mad at the mage. The boy was trying his best, but was still just a boy. He just needed time to learn. And maybe a few more inches to grow as well.

Just as Hugaldr took in a breath to ask another question, Sigmund quickly raised his hand to the air signaling Hugaldr and the other 4 warriors they brought along to stop. Sigmund pointed ahead and parted some foliage with his ax, revealing they were only a few strides away from the encampment.

He gave a nod to the other warriors, all of whom drew their weapons and shields and prepared for combat. With a quick hand signal, he sent two of them to flank the camp from the left, and the other two to go from the right. Hugaldr, however, he motioned to stay with him as they were in the closest spot to the signal fire tower. He once again signaled silently, but this time telling Hugaldr to prepare a spell and shoot the guard at the top of the tower before climbing the ladder and undoing the rune.

Hugaldr took a moment to understand the complex signs, but gave Sigmund a knowing nod. With that taken care of, Sigmund stood to his full height, pulled out his shield, readied his ax, and charged into battle.

His war cry signaled the other warriors to attack as well, and before the Mercian’s could even look up, five strong and terrifying warriors were bearing down on them with axes and swords, quickly killing off the scouting party. The lookout at the top of the tower yelled out a word of warning before he was silenced by a well placed firebolt to the head. Sigmund gave a grin before leaping into the air, his ax crashing down onto the chest of an unlucky Mercian. As the blood spurted from the man's now gaping chest, Sigmund was already moving to the next target, smashing his shield into a disoriented soldier’s face and sending him reeling long enough for Sigmund to embed his ax into the man’s neck.

“May your god have mercy on you,” Sigmund muttered as he pulled his ax free, the man falling to the ground dead. Sigmund looked around at his fellow warriors as they finished cleaning up the last of the Mercians, giving a short nod in approval. “Hugaldr,” he called out to the young mage as he walked back to the tower, “how’s the signal fire coming along?”

“Just dispelled the rune, sir,” Hugaldr said, poking his head out from one of the short walls. “Figured I could put a bit of a trap there as well, in case any of the Mercian’s came back to light a signal.”

“Good man,” Sigmund said with a nod before letting out a relieved sigh. Looked like this was all going to go according to-

“Sigmund!” one of his men yelled, running over towards the aging commander with a look of fear in his eyes. “We have a huge problem!”

Sigmund’s gaze hardened. There was still work to be done. “What is it?”

“Just over the ridge, sir, through the forest is the entire Mercian army!”

“What?!”

“Aye, sir, it’s just as I said!” The soldier pointed to where he had come from. “Einarr and I went deeper into the woods to see if any Mercians tried to escape and saw the rest of the army lying in wait! I think they know we’re attacking!”

Sigmund swore and spat onto the ground. “Someone sold us out. Betrayed us and told the Mercians everything. The moment our army with Ceowulf comes through the woods…”

“Then the army would be decimated,” the soldier finished. “What should we do?”

Sigmund looked around himself and sighed. “You four men get back to the main **** as fast as you can. See if you can warn them in time.”

“But sir, by the time we get there and warn them, the Mercians could close the distance and still-”

“Just get moving! The longer you stay, the more people die!”

“Y-yes, sir!” The warrior pounded his chest a couple of times in a salute before heading back to round up the other warriors and leave. However, Sigmund knew they would not get to the army in time to warn them with enough distance to avoid the trap.

But he did know what would warn the army.

He turned back to Hugaldr, who had been watching the conversation with rapt interest. “Boy, can you get the signal rune back up?”

“Th-the signal rune?” Hugaldr asked in disbelief. “B-but why?”

“Because if we light up that fire, then our army will know our plan went wrong and we need to retreat and regroup, and we just might have a chance to put Ceowulf on the throne another day.”

“B-b-but sir, the enemy will know we are-”

“The enemy already knows we’re here!” Sigmund yelled. “But the longer we sit on our thumbs, the longer the enemy has to prepare our deaths! Now, can you get the rune up or not?!”

“Y-yes, sir!” Hugaldr said before turning around and getting to work. Sigmund sighed softly before climbing the ladder, the weight of his command being quite heavy on his old shoulders. He knew what he had to do, what price would have to be paid to keep his men alive.

What price he would pay for an honorable ****.

He climbed his way into the tower just as Hugaldr finished the rune. He looked toward Sigmund with worry still etched into his features. “I-I got it written, but someone is gonna have to activate it if it’s gonna light. D-do you have a plan for that?”

“Yes, boy.”

“G-good!” Hugaldr exclaimed. “Then let’s get out of the camp, you get your plan ready and we can-”

“Boy, I’ll be staying to activate the rune,” he said with a soft voice. “And staying to defend it. We have to make sure the rune stays lit as long as possible to have the best chance for warning the army.”

“But you’ll-”

“I know,” Sigmund said. “I know. But someone has to do it. And if it means saving all of our fighters? Saving the king? I’ll give my life if it means protecting them.” Sigmund put a hand on Hugaldr’s shoulder. “I’ve had my time, I’ve lived my life. And now I am going to go with my brothers to Valhalla.” He gave Hudgaldr a smile before reaching to his neck and taking off an old necklace of his, given to him by his father. It was a pendant of Hugin and Munin, and his father had told him as long as he wore that pendant that he would always be able to see trouble and avoid it. He slipped it over Hudgaldr’s neck before kissing his forehead. “I look forward to seeing you there too, someday.”

Hugaldr looked towards the ladder, then to the pendant, and then to the man who had spent all of Hugaldr’s time in the army helping him and training him. The man who taught Hugaldr how not to just be a soldier, but to be a true Nordic warrior. Hugaldr felt his eyes grow wet with tears before giving his surrogate father one final hug then descending down the ladder. “M-may Odin bless you and call you to his table, S-Sigmund Úlfsson.”

“And may Odin bless your knowledge with a thousand secrets, Hugaldr Sigmundsson,” Sigmund said softly, uttering the name he had given the boy on the day of his birth. He then took a deep breath, waited a good minute for his men and his so- for Hugaldr to get away before reaching down and activating the rune.

____________________________________________________________________________

Sigmund gave a low cough, pain blossoming across his chest. It was probably from one of the three arrows that now adorned him like a pincushion, or it could be the gash in his side from that ax his shield has just barely missed.

Or maybe it was the smoke from the signal fire still burning brightly.

The Mercian who had managed to stab Sigmund’s leg growled at the dying viking. “You… idiot. You’ve thrown away your life and soul to heathen gods, and for what? A king you don’t even serve? A cause you won’t see the end of? A life you now won’t get to live?!”

Sigmund leaned his head back, his vision fading in and out as blood dripped from his open mouth. He… couldn’t see the stars anymore. Nor the trees that surrounded this outpost. Even now the face of the Mercian who killed him was starting to blur. And yet… he could still see her. A woman far above him in the clouds sitting atop a winged horse. He slowly reached his trembling hand out towards her, the other still clutching his ax, and as he did so the horse dove towards him and the woman stretched her hand out as well.

“I… I did it… for the honor… of my people.”

____________________________________________________________________________

When Sigmund awoke, he was no longer sitting in a scouting outpost in Mercia. He was no longer suffering from wounds that would kill the average man, and his vision was no longer fading away to nothing. No, instead he felt strong, stronger than he had ever felt before. He took in a deep breath, smelling the scent of warm mead, freshly baked bread, and a roast that smelled absolutely divine. He could hear the sounds of joyous laughter and cheering, plates and mugs clattering, and the occasional braying for more food or drink.

‘Vahalla,’ Sigmund thought to himself. ‘I made it.’

The weeks after his **** were some of the greatest that Sigmund could ever recall. Or was it months? Or years? Honestly, time really began to have less and less meaning the more of it he spent in the halls of the slain, as his body needed no rest nor could he even feel the days pass. Either way though, the time he spent was some of the greatest moments of his (former) life. He met legends of old as well as the gods themselves, and even spoke with Lord Odin himself once. He was able to be reunited with commanders and warriors he knew in his youth as well as friends and companions that passed in battle. He was able to train as often as he liked, and whenever he fell in battle, he would revive in his bed in Valhalla and learn how to do better for next time. It would become a common practice for him to challenge warriors who had been there for years just to become a bit better in his fighting ability.

He was also able to use some of his newly found free time to learn other things. He learned how to read, for one, and learned some of the other languages thanks to fallen Saxons who had followed the gods even in ****. He learned new drinking songs and of worlds far beyond the English and Nordic shores he had seen in his life. He even learned how to become a better lover after forming a relationship with a Valkyrie.

That does lead into the fact though that not everything in Valhalla was good. For one, his wife was not in Valhalla due to dying of illness. He could only hope that she was having a fair time in Helheim, and that the half-dead goddess was at least treating the love of his mortal life with grace and dignity. Additionally, he learned that his old friend, Jorundr, was the one who betrayed them and tried to sell them out. Apparently he had disapproved so greatly of the sneaky tactics that he wanted to turn the battle into a proper fight, so he told the Saxons about their plan. Thankfully Hugaldr’s rune-fire, his warriors' warning, and his own sacrifice was not in vain and the main **** was able to pull back in enough time to avoid a confrontation, and they were able to bring Ceowulf to the throne later.

He learned all this from Halfdan, and while it was wonderful to see his old friend and commander again, the son of Ragnar did bring with him terrible news.

After Ceowulf had been placed on the throne as king, Hugaldr went with Halfdan up north to go a-conquering against the Celts. The lad apparently performed brilliantly on the battlefield, and had brought Sigmund’s pendant with him on every battle. Apparently he had asked his runic teacher to inscribe it with a spell that would protect the mage while in battle, and thus would fight with the fury of a thousand berserkers especially against the Saxons. However, while in the land of the Celts, Hugaldr had met a young woman who caught the mage’s eye. When Halfdan went to return to the land of the Saxons, to bring war against King Alfred, Hugaldr chose to stay in the strange land of the Celts.

It was in these strange lands that Hugaldr would use his Nordic magics to keep the town safe and protected.

It was in these strange lands that the Christian monks heard of this heathen and his strange magics.

It was in these strange lands that Hugaldr protected the escape of his adoptive village while holding off the Christian warriors.

It was in these strange lands that Hugaldr was captured and executed with no weapon in hand as to deny his soul Valhalla.

It was in these strange lands that Hugaldr was denied the chance to ever see his father again, and in these strange lands that Sigmund was denied the chance to ever see his son again.

On the day that he learned of this news, Sigmund Úlfsson went to his bed in Valhalla and did not emerge for several weeks.

Time passed on as Sigmund slowly healed from his grief, although the experienced warrior was now much more jaded than he once was. He would smile less, fight with a muted ferocity, and on many days he could be found staring out into space, just… thinking.

It was not until centuries after this discovery that Sigmund would find hope again. He was told by his wife, the Valkyrie he had romanced so long ago, that the king of Asgard wished to talk to him about a personal mission, one that could decide the fate of the nine worlds. Sigmund, of course, was flabbergasted at the idea that such a mission could be granted to him. He would go to meet with the Odin, and upon returning told his wife everything. Apparently runic magic was returning after Odin had banned its teaching so long ago. A young mage by the name of Johnathan Benjamin Newman was reviving it, but was getting into hot water because of this. Not only did the boy already have conflicts with the skaven, the plague bringing rat men that all einherjar hated, but the elven council of Alfheim had issues with the boy as well and were poised to betray him and kill him if given the opportunity. Odin wanted to ensure that this mage would have protection from all who would bring harm upon him, especially while in Alfheim, so he asked Sigmund if he would go down and protect the boy while in the land of the light elves.

His wife reminded him that it would be dangerous, as if an einherjar died while outside of Valhalla, they would not come back. She agreed that she did not trust the council, and urged him to do what he could to piss off those elven bastards, but if he died his soul could be lost to the Ginnungagap, or worse, fed to some of the monstrous abominations that lurked in the chaos that the nine worlds emerged from. Sigmund told her that he would be fine, that he was a trained warrior and nothing could keep him from returning to her. Plus, he told her that he already failed Hugaldr and how much that ate away at his being.