Hakon, Hakon...
Author: Desdemona Eurimedon - Date: Oct 15, 2004 - 10:00

Where is that boy when you need him?

"Hakon?"

"Yes mother?"

"There you are!
Help me take this drinks out to the men they need ale
Then come back in here and eat your supper."

I poured the ale for the men as I watch my visitors close, there seemed to be new faces around here.


The mead-wife and her son
Author: Wulder Yngling - Date: Oct 15, 2004 - 15:46

"Hakon, mind your mother - you and I will hunt another day," I laugh, fondly giving the lad's flaxen hair a tousle. The boy dashes off to join his mother in the scullery. They each return into the hall with four great pitchers of ale for myself and my retinue. Our horns are filled promptly, and we begin a series of elaborate waes haeils to one another.


A new customer
Author: Thidrek Amaligg - Date: Oct 15, 2004 - 16:03

As I come in, I almost stumble on the boy carrying the mugs and I am about to upbraid him. Then he looks up at me and I suddenly can't say a word. It's like looking into a magical mirror that shows the past. I smile at him and let him weasel his way among the customers.

With a small frown, I throw back my cloak and stride inside the tavern with my helmet under my arm and my hair tied down my back. The place is full of people drinking and carousing. I notice a lady with an apron, serving at the table. "Greetings," I say, knowing that my accent will raise some stares in that place - wherever it is. "I would like something to eat and drink, my lady, and my horse needs attending too."

Some people do turn and stare. You never know how a Goth might be received in certain quarters... I might as well let myself be known. "My name is Thidrek of Bern, son of Thetmar."


"Thidrek of Bern, son of Thetmar?"
Author: Desdemona Eurimedon - Date: Oct 16, 2004 - 11:46

"I am Olga and I run this tavern.
I have a stew brewing, would you like some ale as well?" I asked the stranger

"Yes and of course my horse will need tending too"

"Don't worry about it, I'll see to it soon enough"

I walked off to bring food and drink for the stranger and then made my way to the barn to make sure the horses were being tended too.
Hopefully soon I would get to have supper myself but thirsty men were hard to please.


"Thank you, Olga."
Author: Thidrek Amaligg - Date: Oct 17, 2004 - 04:54

I bow my head to the tavern owner and go find a seat on a bench. I push under the bench my helmet and shield, but I keep the Eckisax by my side, though it is a bit uncomfortable. I look into the faces of the men around me. They are doing a remarkable job of keeping their thoughts to themselves.

"Greetings, gentlemen," I say pleasantly, as a tall mug of mead appears in front of me. "What are the news around here?"

Maybe incidentally I will discover *where* I am. I never thought my ride from the palace of Bern would lead me on such strange paths. It is almost as though the world and time itself had shifted slightly out of joint overnight...


"Welcome, my lord!"
Author: Wulder Yngling - Date: Oct 19, 2004 - 17:12

Have I taken leave of my senses? I am Eorl here, and I cannot deny this strange youth the hospitality of the Wolfdales. I step away from my fellow thegns and bring the newcomer another mug to follow his first.

"Forgive my hesitation, Thidrek son of Thetmar, but it is not every day that we receive so benevolent a visitor from as far away as the Rhinelands. You will find welcome here..." I stop, suddenly lowering my voice with skepticism, "...though it may come slowly from some of my men. We are a people battling fear, for the Aesir have little regard for us. Tellers of tales have brought word that the End nears, though it's been the will of the Wyrd, for whatever reason, that things remain quiet here. Perhaps we Waetlings are blessed after all!" I make the last statement with a raised voice, promptly receiving a cry from my devoted fyrd in reply.

"So tell me, Thidrek," I return to a confidential tone, "What news from the war with Atli and the Burgundians?"


"A peaceful place indeed"
Author: Thidrek Amaligg - Date: Oct 20, 2004 - 03:05

"I thank you, kind sir," I reply, relaxing a little. I get up and raise the mug to him and his thegns. "To the Waetlings, that they continue to be blessed!"

I take a sip and we both sit. "Atli is restless, as usual," I say in reply to his question. "He is a force to be reckoned with - he could come useful to me, sooner or later." I drink a little more, thoughtfully. "The Burgundians are courting danger. I have friends among them, but they play a daring game, obsessed with gold as they are." I shake my head.

I size up at a glance the man sitting in front of me. He seems sincere enough, content of ruling his people with fairness and keeping good relations with his neighbours. There is no reason for me to challenge him. I smile a little at my foolishness.

"I am here on a quest," I confess. "But which quest, I still do not know. Is there some way I could be useful to you, my lord? I am looking for a way to gain honour and renown."


Friendly Foe
Author: Wulder Yngling - Date: Oct 22, 2004 - 01:08

In my youth, it was common practice for children of great thegns to be put into fostering with their enemies as an act of peace. The foster parent and ward would grow to love one another and would have a sense of kinship for the enemy that was of the same blood as the ward. Often a successful practice.

Today I meet a young man, certainly too young to become my ward but perhaps still impressionable enough to mould to the cause of the Waetlings. The challenge is how I might do this without him learning of Witege's presence here. Surely young Þidrek-Hartung does not realize that he now drinks his ale in the home of his enemy, or he would not have made his identity so publicly known.

"A quest, is it?" I ask, narrowing my eyes and stroking my whiskers. "I may have a service for you, my lord Thidrek. Tell me...have you led an army?"


A short temper
Author: Thidrek Amaligg - Date: Oct 22, 2004 - 19:51

I lean forward on the table, frowning. "Of course I have led an army," I answer sharply. "I am not so callow as I look. My father made me captain of his guard when I was just a boy. And then I led the forces of Bern in battle, and..."

I catch myself. I must not forget my manners - I am talking to my host, a man who deserves respect. I must not assume any disparagement on his part, just for his question. I relax again. "Forgive me," I manage to say. "It was just... bad memories. I have not had such a thing as an army or even a kingdom for a long time. And I have lost too many of my relatives and friends."

I drink a sip and I look at my host. "I am waiting for an occasion to recover what is mine by right," I say grimly. "But meanwhile, I will not let anybody think that I have given up. I cannot remain idle and hear people say that I am a coward!"


A Taste for Gold
Author: Wulder Yngling - Date: Nov 16, 2004 - 01:43

"I cannot remain idle and hear people say that I am a coward!" shouts the young thegn, with a vehement passion in his eyes. Ah, how he reminds me of my brother, Amleth. A man with no use for patience, he finds the fullness of life through sword and wanderlust alone.

I hang a bit of bait upon my reply: "It is easy enough for a man to say he is not a coward. They that do so are most often the worst of cowards." Thidrek's face reddens. I continue, pretending not to notice, "And there is no room for cowardice in the weakest of hearts in my fyrd. Even my standard bearers' manservants are of the most courageous stock. The man I need to lead this quest must command the attention and loyalty of seventy foot soldiers and thirty horsemen. He must listen to them but not give in to them. He must promise them each fortune, fame and adventure, worthy of a scop's telling every Yuletide, and deliver them as promised. My Cempa must give orders over the din of battle and keep vigil every night. He must outdo his men in action and deed, becoming as a god to them. They must swear oaths upon their weapons to their Cempa, not to Woden.

"Such a man must be Cempa of my fyrd if he will win Sigurd's Rhinegold!"

Now to see if the fish will bite.


Trial by fire
Author: Thidrek Amaligg - Date: Nov 20, 2004 - 17:13

My eyes narrow in disbelief, then in pleasure. "The Rhinegold?" I laugh aloud. "This is much to my taste!"

I shake my head, self-deprecatingly. "Do not mistake my words. It is not lust for gold that drives me. By all the gods - I was *born* in gold! Though now my people and I have to scrounge from day to day. Even a fraction of that gold could help us. But..."

I lean my elbows on the table, looking at Wulder. "Let us not pretend. You know who I am. I have no personal quarrel with you, sir. But I came here, in the very jaws of my enemies, hoping to find your brother... or to prove my worth otherwise. To be sent on such a dangerous mission by the brother of my enemy: not only my courage is at stake here, but my honour too. And I shall prove that Thidrek's honour is worth more than all the gold in Midgard. I came here asking for a test, and I shall accept it."

I put my right hand on the table, palm down. "But before I accept, pray tell me: where is your brother Amleth, that he cannot undertake this enterprise himself?"

I keep my voice carefully under control. If Wulder told me that my father's killer is nearby, would I give up revenge for a heap of gold?... But he knows it, and will never tell me where Amleth is...


The Treasure of the Nibelungs
Author: Wulder Yngling - Date: Nov 23, 2004 - 01:31

My fist slams down upon the table. "What do you take me for?" A roar of drunken laughter from swordsmen nearby covers my raised voice, and I am thankful for it. Returning to a softer tone - with no less edge to it - I continue:

"You expect me to turn my own brother over to you, Amelung? Would you have me reopen the wounds of the Sons of Wate? Earendil and Thetmar lie in their graves, and I will not let you make the sword of their brother Weland come between their houses again!" I take a deep draught of ale to smite the fire in my throat; I am always calmer when the horn is empty. "I do not believe that you have come to take back Ydalir for the Scyldings, Thidrek," I speak gently, and with a clearer head. "And...I know only too well what it means to travel bootless across inhospitable, unspeakably violent lands with a company of quarrelsome soldiers, on the brink of sedition. And that is why it is in the best interest of peace that an Amelung lead the Waetling fyrd. You see...

"The Rhinegold is a great treasure of our fathers' making. Your father Thetmar was a ward of Wate and raised as a brother to my father Earendil and his brother Weland. All three men were fine smiths, though Weland was the greatest of them. Earendil was better known for his archery and Thetmar for his swordsmanship. On one cursed evening, Old One-Eye had Wate murdered for his possession of brew called Kvasir's Blood, an exquisite Mead of Enlightenment, and the Scyldings appropriated Ydalir. In the following years, the three brothers took refuge from the wrath of Woden and the Scyldings in the Wolfdales, a place of solace in Nibelheim. The Sons of Wate then plotted their revenge. It was during this time they began crafting the most wondrous of armour, weapons and ornaments, in gold and silver. The hoard included a ring called Andvarinaut, a cloak of invisibility called Tarnkappe and a magical sword called Balmung.

"The brothers were all to return as kings and take Ydalir back from the Scyldings. But the three brothers were distracted and soon fell in love with three beautiful Waelcyrge - swan-maidens - servants of Woden. Thetmar's bride "The White Swan" revealed to him his true parentage, that his father was the progenitor of the Scylding house, the new thegns of Ydalir. Thetmar could certainly not be expected to challenge his own kin, so he and Svanhvit fled the Wolfdales. The Skanian king Nidoth captured Weland, and the treacherous Volsung thegn called Fafnir stole the great Waetling treasure.

"Earendil escaped danger, however, returning to Ydalir and taking back his throne with the help of the Gram-wielder, Sigurd, son of Sigmund the Volsung. To return the favor, Earendil gave Sigurd an army against his uncle Fafnir, lately transformed into a dragon. What Earendil did not realize was that Fafnir had been in possession of the Waetling treasure, which was now being called the Treasure of the Nibelungs. When Fafnir was slain, Sigurd took the great hoard, including Balmung, the Tarnkappe and Andvarinaut. Moreover, the lad had drunk of his uncle's dragon blood, blessing him with a tongue that birds and animals may understand and ears to understand them. He also became immune to the weapons of Man, as though he were armoured in dragon scales.

"Somehow, a vassal of a thegn called Gunnar had a quarrel with Sigurd and was believed to have slain him...though there was never evidence of Sigurd's death. But this vassal, one Hagen by name, managed to take the Nibelung Hoard from Sigurd and hide it somewhere in the depths of the Rhine. ...That is, of course, according to legend." I cannot tell from Thidrek's expression if this is a tale he has ever heard before.

"Thidrek," I offer my hand, "As Cempa of the Waetling fyrd, you will be clothed in the finest of mail, armour and ermine. Every town you pass will give you and your men the most luxurious of treatment, for your purse will be well satisfied ere you depart. You are Amelung and Scylding, yes, but you are also Waetling and Nibelung, by virtue of kinship with your father's guardian. What you seek will heal the rift between our families. The fyrd must not know your true identity until you return in glory. At that time, you will be regarded as a brother and called Drihten over whatever land you set your sight upon.

"You have come for revenge, continuing to be blinded by Woden's ruse. I offer you peace and glory." My hand remains extended to Thidrek. "How will it be, then, cousin?"


Treading on thin ice
Author: Thidrek Amaligg - Date: Dec 3, 2004 - 12:18

I smile at Wulder, not out of spite or defiance, just sincere, amused surprise. "Do you really believe I need treason to get to Amleth? And do you have such a low opinion of your brother to think that, wherever he is, he is not constantly on his guard against whatever I might plan against him?" I shake my head. "No. Both Amleth and I are better than this."

These are not words to be uttered with a smile. I look at Wulder with a more somber face. "No, sir, as I said my quarrel is not with you or your family, and as for Amleth, he can be safe wherever he is - for now. I first need to take care of my people. I will say it clearly to you, and come what may; I am no politician. I need alliances, and I want Ydalir on my side. And if this quest gains me more friends, so much for the better. I will be glad to find the Gold for you and to lead the fyrd as a foreign warlord looking for fame. Let them call me just Thidrek - it is a common name, one that most Gothic chieftains give to their firstborn, hoping it will come true: it means 'lord of the people'. For me... it means a promise to keep."

More than ever, with his tale, with the memory of what my mother and all my relatives did for me, I feel the duty to give back to my people a land and a legitimate lord. Meaning me... hopefully.

I look at Wulder's hand. Mine still lies on the table. I turn it palm up, but still I do not take his. I look into his eyes. "But this does not erase the oath I have taken to avenge my father. After this is over, when Amleth and I do meet, we will fight fairly. And to the death. Only this will be my revenge, one I am bound to attempt, no matter what my wish can be. You might be taking the hand that will kill your brother. Are you still intentioned to take me as Cempa?"

I might also die at Amleth's hand. I know his skill all too well. In that case, I hope that Hildibrands will be a good leader and adopt a good man as his successor... Curse my destiny that forbade me the joys of family and a son to carry on the Amelungs' name. Yet.


(This story continues at The Fortress of Ydalir)