Legends Never Die: Shifting Perspectives (ch. 43) (Patreon)

Jill was in awe of the sheer audacity of it, gazing up at the high table where Siegfried laughed. It was his laughter that prevented a fight from breaking out -- a number of his warriors had bristled at the blatant insult. However, it was difficult for them to take offense when the target of the offense didn't seem to mind any. And for that reason, the reaction from the Hoffer clan was seen. It was impossible to fake that kind of humiliation and fury.

"That girl is too headstrong for her own good," Siegfried's mother stated, a quiet displeasure in her voice. Jill knew that she should agree, but she didn't. How many times had she imagined doing something like that? Spitting in the face of her father and brother and their plans? Letting them know what she truly thought of them? And that she wasn't afraid of their wrath?

It was an insult. Not a grave one and not one that couldn't be laughed off, but it was an insult all the same. Yet, she was witnessing someone live out a dearly held dream of hers, and one that she had prayed to the gods for the strength to one day carry it out.

"You knew that when you made the marriage offer," Halfdan remarked, Jarl Hoffer seemingly making an apology while he was red in the face. Jill couldn't see Astrid's face, but she seemed to be holding her chin up defiantly.

"I arranged it for her name, not her attitude," his mother replied, her tone sharp. "A woman has other ways of making their displeasure known. She risked too much with this display."

"Siegfried doesn't mind any. Haldur does, though. Oh, I think he's turning purple," Siegfried's sister, Helga, observed with evident amusement. Jill plucked at her dress underneath the table, uncertain if she should speak or not. Siegfried's family was… his family. For the most part, their reception of her had been kinder than she had expected, but now that they were alone together, Jill struggled to find her voice.

Haldur was the worst of them -- that had been the reaction that she expected. Solvieg and Helga were both polite, but distant. Not out of a sense of dislike, but more they were as uncertain how to approach her as she was them. Halfdan had warmed up to her. As for Siegfried's mother… she was… strong, is probably the best way to say it. Overwhelming was another. "Did your mother ever teach you any of them?" She asked, making Jill's heart leap to her throat at suddenly being addressed.

Had she? Her mother was… distant. "I don't think so?" Jill tried, not entirely certain. It didn't feel like a conversation that she ever had.

"Then you will learn," Siegfried's mother decided. "Morrigan is a wild thing. Astrid is a stubborn thing. A household needs to be balanced and managed, else it'll collapse into ruin." His mother stated, and Jill saw Solvieg rolling her eyes to the ceiling. "You doubt me now, but when the first of your children are born and your husband finds a concubine and you have to live together with her and their children -- you will understand the worth of my words." Solvieg winced, realizing that she had been caught.

That did sound rather similar to what they would face, wouldn't it? Would Astrid feel insulted that she was the second wife? Would they get along? Would she hate her because of her history? What about Morrigan? How would she factor into this? Would she and Siegfried be married? That… Jill honestly tried to picture Morrigan attending her own wedding, and nearly laughed at the thought of it.

Well, maybe they wouldn't marry, but there was something there. Something that Jill initially hated because she hated Morrigan. Now…

"Thank you," Jill said, nodding her head in acceptance. Morrigan wouldn't do it. Honestly, Morrigan would be the one that she would have to manage the most. And though Jill didn't know Astrid at all, she seemed about as quarrelsome. If the household needed to be balanced, then Jill was determined to provide that balance. She wasn't a Witch, she wasn't a warrior, but she could do this. This would be how she contributed.

Siegfried's mother smiled in approval, and Jill felt herself sit a bit taller in response.

…

The rest of the feast passed by, the initial insult slowly forgotten as time went on and people got drunker. Still, the festivities never reached the heights that they did before the insult. Jill found herself leaving the feast towards the tail end of it, a plate of food and a horn of ale in her hands that she was taking to the one that stubbornly avoided people like a pox.

Morrigan didn't seem surprised to see her when she pushed past the tent flap, finding the Witch of the Wilds leisurely laying on a pile of soft silks that had been raided from Francia while she carried a heavy tome in her hands. "T'is the feast over, already? I expected a more joyous occasion. A wedding it shall be, shall it not?" Morrigan questioned, a slight smile tugging at her lips as she closed the tome with a heavy thunk.

"You missed a show," Jill informed, passing the plate of food for her. Morrigan… she was stubborn. To the point of self harm. Jill hadn't noticed it until they were in Frankfurt -- Morrigan was something of a vulture. She stole food to eat because she stubbornly refused to go to meals. But, when it became harder to steal when siege measures were taken to protect the food, Morrigan chose to go hungry rather than asking for help. Jill had absolutely loathed the girl back then, but not enough to see her starve.

So, she began to grab an extra plate or bowl when she went to eat. She hadn't realized it then, but it has been something of a peace offering because Morrigan's words carried far less of a bite to them afterward. Jill wasn't sure Siegfried had noticed -- he just assumed that Morrigan could take care of herself. And, perhaps in the wilds, that was true. But, in a city? Civilization? Far less so. Not that Morrigan would ever admit it. Or give thanks.

"Oh? Was she hideous?" Mortigan's eyes flashed with amusement, taking the bowl of stew and cut meats.

"No. She's quite pretty. She was just wearing a kransen to her engagement," Jill informed, earning a bark of laughter from Morrigan. "I don't think she wants to be married." Jill noted, kind of understanding where Astrid was coming from. There had been someone that she wanted to marry, but her brother had murdered him. Then when her betrothal was announced, she had been a bundle of nerves… and absolutely determined to hate Siegfried. Simply because he was someone she was told to marry. That ended rather quickly, of course, and now… well, she understood Astrid's reservations rather well.

"That's because I don't," an unfamiliar voice announced as the tent flap was pushed open, revealing Astrid. Her eyes were narrowed and her hair was pulled up in a rough braid -- it looked like she had fought off an army trying to put it up. A clear sign that she wasn't looking for a husband.

Jill genuinely didn't know what to say while Morrigan cackled in amusement. "What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be at the feast?" Jill asked, her jaw dropping ever so slightly when Astrid shrugged her shoulder.

"Probably. But, I'm already going to get yelled at, so what can they do? Yell more?" Astrid asked, entering Siegfried's tent and crossing her arms. Her gaze flickered around, her face pinching when she saw the signs of wealth. Her expressions were easy to read, Jill noticed. Often times she had to learn to read how people looked to avoid their wrath -- especially Thorfinn, who could hold such fury even as he smiled. What wasn't clear was why Astrid was so annoyed seeing the wealth -- the candlesticks made of silver and gold, the piles of silks, a bed made of feathers. Did she hope for a poor husband?

"One would imagine that a beating would come if yelling failed to work," Morrigan remarked, tilting her head at Astrid.

To that, Astrid scoffed, "Father wouldn't beat me. And even if he did for this, it was worth it," she decided, sounding certain of it. "I intend to be a warrior. Not a house-wife that pumps out babies for a man I can't stand." She declared, almost challenging them to argue with her.

Oh. Jill had been mistaken. Astrid wasn't like Morrigan at all. With Morrigan, she actively rebelled against social norms and said what she thought in the most insulting way possible. Morrigan was mean. Vicious. Even cruel, at times. Astrid… Astrid was simply blunt. She knew what she wanted and went after it. She was just willing to step on some toes to get it.

And with the declaration, she revealed why she was here. Why she followed her here. "Siegfried will not stop you from being a warrior," Jill said, gesturing for Astrid to take a seat. Astrid seemed uncertain for a moment, but she seemed to gather herself up and take the offered stool. "He's a great one himself."

To that, her expression pinched. "Everyone thinks of themselves as a great warrior." She doubted the tales. It was difficult to not take offense to that. Doubt was what everyone seemed to feel when they first met Siegfried. Astrid seemed to catch her annoyance and offered an awkward shrug. "I'm not trying to disparage his skill at arms. I don't… dislike him?" Even she sounded uncertain about that.

"He's got a fine enough face. And a sense of humor. His saga sounds like he paid someone to write it for him, though. Suppose I could do worse for a husband," Astrid admitted, however begrudgingly.

"Which brings you here," Morrigan remarked.

"Aye. You're his women, right? Figured you'd be the best place to start if I'm going to learn what kind of man I'm betrothed to," Astrid admitted bluntly. Morrigan seemed so offended by the assumption that she reminded Jill of a startled cat.

"I am not his woman. He owes me a debt of gratitude and I am collecting," Morrigan sniffed, her tone convincing no one. "I am not some meek girl that allows her kin to decide whom I will marry. Nor am I a woman that would let herself be wed in the first place." She spat the words out, making Astrid narrow her eyes in response.

"Don't mind her," Jill drew Astrid's attention back to her. "Wouldn't a better place to start be with Siegfried himself?"

"As if," Astrid scoffed, still shooting a glare at Morrigan. "Plenty of self important fools have come here, seeking my hand. Sure, plenty of them seem impressive -- strong, handsome, with a good name. They put on their best face and foot forward to impress my pa', so it isn't really them. Just who they want to be seen as. So, I do a little poking around to see what's said behind their back. Does he treat the thralls well? Does he treat his people well? Does he treat his woman and his leech well?" Astrid asked, her tone pointed.

Morrigan’s eyes narrowed into slits and there was a nasty smile on her face. "T'is such a surprise -- I never would have imagined you had a single wit in that head of yours that wasn't knocked clean out. I wonder who you got the idea from?" Morrigan asked, her tone scathing.

"My mother," Astrid snapped, and she really should have lied because Morrigan just laughed. "Are you laughing at my family?!"

"No. Merely you," Morrigan answered and, oddly enough, that seemed to settle her down.

"Then say what you like. A slight on my honor is nothing when the words come from a deadbeat," Astrid retorted. She certainly was doing a lot better than when Jill first met Morrigan. And she knew her… friend well enough to see that there was faint approval in her eyes. It just wasn't enough to save anyone from a tongue lashing.

"Siegfried treats us well," Jill shifted the conversation back to the topic at hand. Was this what Siegfried's mother meant? Was this balancing the household?

Jill already felt exhausted.

"He's loyal and he considers our words. He has never raised a hand to either of us nor has he been cruel with his words. He's a bit… driven, which makes him draw away from us at times, but it's unintentional," Jill began, tilting her head as she found herself searching for words. She never really had to think about it before. However, Astrid scowled at her words.

"You make it sound as if he's the perfect husband," she remarked, dissatisfied with her answers. As if she were trying to hide the truth from Astrid.

"... He's not," Jill admitted. "Since the murder of his family, Siegfried has been rather closed off with his emotions. He threw himself into the task of liberating the Saxons as much to vent his anger as he did to free the people there. He demands loyalty from us. As well as decisiveness. He won't begrudge you moments of doubt, but he will expect you to come to your own answer without any help from him." Jill admitted, and Astrid seemed puzzled by the rather specific example.

She wished that Siegfried had simply told her what he wanted from her. When she first saw her brother -- Grimar -- he had used her presence as a weapon against him, then told her that she was free to do as she liked. Perhaps it was a kindness that he gave her such a choice, but it was no less hurtful to hear that it made no difference to him if she stayed or left.

"I'm decisive," Astrid said, her tone defensive as if the words were directed at her.

Jill offered a patient smile, "I noticed." To that, Astrid smiled back, seemingly pleased that she had, in fact, noticed. Perhaps it was too early to tell, but Jill didn't see it difficult to get along with her. Though, that could very well be the fact that her relationship with Morrigan completely threw off her perception of a hard-to-deal-with person.

"Simpletons often are," Morrigan pitched in.

"Did you say something?" Astrid shot back, her tone pointedly oblivious. "I have eight sisters. Do better," she added a challenge that Jill knew Morrigan would rise to.

"My, my -- perhaps you aren't meek. Foolish, yes, but not meek. Congratulations." Came the scathing reply.

Astrid huffed before turning back to Jill, "So, he won't stop me from fighting?"

In truth? "I don't think so," Jill answered, uncertain if she could give a definitive answer. Siegfried allowed them a great deal of freedom. More than Jill had seen in her mother's marriage or she was told to expect. She had her right as a woman, especially as a high-born, but those rights came with extreme action and consequences. Divorce was not something lightly considered, because it could mean death and long-standing enemies. "Neither Morrigan nor I are warriors, but he didn't seem against the idea back in Frankfurt."

To that, Astrid's eyes flashed with excitement. "You fought in a battle?" She asked, and it was an incredible thing to see. Astrid had been polite, even friendly, but Jill could visibly see Astrid's respect for her rising.

"I didn't fight exactly. There was a siege in Francia -- the Saxon warriors tunneled out while letting the Franks in, but the tunnel collapsed. Siegfried and a thousand men were trapped within when the tunnel caved in, so I pointed some warriors to a secret entrance and they were able to escape that way. I didn't swing a sword or anything," Jill explained but Astrid was trembling with excitement.

"You diminish your accomplishments! Would he have died without your aid?" Astrid asked, leaning in. She had very blue eyes, Jill noticed.

Her first instinct was to say no. She had seen Siegfried fight.

A memory flashed in her mind -- of a grove with Grimar and Siegfried standing underneath the full moon, the wolf that would swallow the sun watching the battle. It ended quickly. Cleanly. A single swipe of the axe and her brother died. It had taken everything she had to not cry out and to sneak back to her room to weep for her brother one last time.

Siegfried denied the claims that he was a god, but there was a reason why so many people believed otherwise. Perhaps he wasn't a god in full, but surely Thor was a sire of his bloodline. It was one of the few things that made sense.

Then she recalled how weak he seemed as she carried him through the secret tunnel, forced to use her as a crutch. He was completely soaked from head to toe in blood, utterly spent, and the moment he sensed safety, he had allowed himself to pass out. It was the weakest she had ever seen him.

"Perhaps," Jill allowed after a moment of thought.

"A fine tale, then! I'm sure if I ever hear the story of Frankfurt, the men will leave out your contribution. They'll say that he slaughtered his way out, killing a hundred men with every swing of his blade. I'm glad to know the truth of it," Astrid said, offering her a nod. Jill sat a little straighter, feeling pride for a moment. She wasn't sure if they would be friends yet, but at the very least, Astrid was more pleasant than Morrigan.

"Satisfied with what you have learned? Then shoo -- be off. I was reading before your interruption," Morrigan interjected.

Astrid tilted her head as if thinking about it. "Wouldn't say I'm satisfied just yet. Any man that wishes to marry me has to earn the right, not buy it. But, I shall leave you be-" Astrid started, only to be interrupted by the tent flap opening and a tired-looking Siegfried entering his tent. Jill was struck once again by how much he had changed over the year and months. They had met when they were both thirteen, and he had so clearly been a boy then.

Now he was transitioning into being a man -- he must be fifteen now. His hair was longer, his face was less soft. He was taller, with broader shoulders. Already, he stood at a height most fully grown did.

Which made his look of bafflement all the more amusing when she watched his bright blue eyes flicker between her, Morrigan, and Astrid, who wore a mirrored expression. He paused, considering it, and… "I'll find somewhere else to sleep," he decided, letting the flap fall and walking away.

He must have heard them laughing.

…

The next day, early in the morning, Siegfried had called for everyone to gather up. As his betrothed and soon-to-be second wife, Jill felt duty-bound to attend. Even if there was nothing more that she would have preferred than staying in bed. She stood behind him, trying to look presentable as she gazed out at the warriors of his army. A thousand men seemed so many when they were gathered up in one place. It was a mercenary company as grand as the army her father had summoned for war with the Franks.

Something that took him the better part of thirty years. The city of Alabu wasn't important. It stood at no great trade route. Not until her father made it so.

"My warriors! I'm sure you spent too much time celebrating last night, so I'll keep this short. We will be raiding the Jarls of this land with Jarl Hoffer -- to stop you from getting fat and soft," Siegfried informed, making them men cheer at the prospect of greater riches. As if all of them weren't already rich with plunder and spoils. "But things shall be different during this raid. Some time ago, when I was working my farm, I was beset by a pack of wolves. One of which gave me this kiss on my neck." He leaned his head back to reveal the scar that should have killed him. It had faded some, but it was still prominent against his pale skin.

"What you haven't heard was the truth -- it wasn't the wolf that bit my neck that nearly killed me. It was the half dozen wolves that attacked me at once that nearly killed me," Siegfried explained. The thought of him almost dying was a strange one for many within the army, Jill saw. Even Thorkell seemed faintly surprised. "In Francia, we won glory and riches. However, we also found great enemies. Roland, Rinaldo, Astolfo -- all great warriors. King Charlemagne, a great king that commanded armies of many thousands. All of you are warriors who have chosen to follow me either out of contract or personal beliefs."

He spoke like her father, Jill realized, feeling her gut clench. She heard his speeches often. She recognized it. Jill was so surprised that she nearly missed what he said. "It is my intention to turn this army of mercenaries into a single unified army. I wish to fight like the wolfpack, because I know, no matter how great the warrior across the field, nor how numerous, we will win. Not just because of me. Because of you and how you fight.”

The men cheered at the mere thought of it, accepting the flattery. They were completely oblivious to what was happening, Jill knew. The men in her father’s court were just as oblivious despite the method being similar every single time -- good news, flattery, then something that they wouldn’t want to hear, followed by reassurance and more flattery. Cushioning the bad news, her father called it.

“Which is why today, I am announcing three things -- first, I will be appointing thegns and chieftains within this army. These positions will not be inherited. They shall be earned,” Siegfried continued, and the good cheer stopped for some of the men. The leaders of mercenaries that folded underneath his banner, but their men were cheering. “This promotion will be rewarded with a half pound of silver, and an increased share of any loot taken.” That got even louder cheering.

Siegfried had lost his understanding of money, Jill realized. It was only natural, she supposed. Over the course of nearly two years, he started with a sizable farm and ended it with half a ton of gold alone. But to anyone else, a half pound of silver was a life-changing amount of money. Enough for a regular man to retire on a good plot of land, purchase a number of strong slaves, and provide for his family. A dangerous thing, but Jill couldn’t deny that it gave the men a great deal of motivation.

“The second announcement is that you have six months to prove yourself worthy of these positions. We shall raid throughout Norway, seeking challenges and opportunities for glory. Each battle, you will have the chance to prove yourself worthy -- to be the man others look to, and display your skill at arms. We shall be watching. This is your chance! For in six months, our numbers shall swell again!” He called out, and there was more cheering. Some seemed to understand what was being said, but most were lost in the thought of glory.

“And my last announcement! A challenge to you directly -- in the battles to come, to prove your prowess, I am creating a competition. For every man that you slay on the field of battle, collect their arms and armor. When enough is collected, I shall pay for it to be smelted and turned into fine weapons and armor for you,” Siegfried exclaimed, making Jill’s eyes widen significantly. She had never heard of such a thing before.

Armor was expensive. At the very least, Siegfried should know that. He went around selling chainmail before his first raid. It was a costly and time-consuming endeavor. It was for that reason that most warriors only wore a gambeson if they wore any armor at all.

Jill looked out at the army, who was busy cheering so loudly that the island wouldn’t be needing any roosters, and she tried to picture it.

What would a thousand men clad in fine armor and weapons look like?