Legends Never Die: Family Ties (ch. 47) (Patreon)

Armor Smithing -- Basic

Creation and manufacturing of third tier armor: chainmail, riveted chainmail, scale-mail.

Weapon Smithing -- Basic

Creation and manufacturing of basic weapons: swords, axes, daggers, war hammers, and spears.

That was a choice that I had faced more than two months ago. It came to me when I was making another attempt at the plate mail that I had seen the Paladins wearing, though my own attempts were shoddy and malformed in comparison. It was a poor choice, it had seemed at the time -- Blacksmithing gave me a rudimentary understanding of how to make chainmail and weapons already. Even if it didn't, it wasn't like I couldn't learn by watching others, or guessing how the metal was shaped by looking at a sword.

Armor Smithing had been my choice, simply because I had never heard of riveted mail before. That, and I had hoped the gods would enlighten me on how to make the tedious and time-consuming work of making armor for my men go faster. And, for the very first time, I think I sincerely regretted my choice of a gift to take from the gods.

"It's stronger," Lavon, a blacksmith that found himself under my employ, told me. He held up a hauberk of riveted mail, pulling at it. Chainmail was strong to protect from the bite of an axe, but it was a simple thing to take apart with your hands. All you needed to do was pull and the links would bend. The small opening that each ring had would widen until the rings interconnected with it could slip through. With riveted mail, that wasn't the case. As the name implied, each ring had a small rivet that secured them, making it far more difficult to take apart. "Lighter too."

"It's a month's labor," I said, a frown in my voice. The gods had answered my prayers for less work with a version of chainmail that was even more tedious and time-consuming to create, but it was undeniably worth it. Lavon grunted -- he was an older man that had been the blacksmith for the town for more than three decades. His dark beard had spots of gray in it, his face bearing wrinkles, but the man was solidly built with a barreled chest and thick arms.

"Aye," Lavon agreed, handing the riveted mail back to me. As he said, the armor was lighter. Half as light, and that alone was a massive advantage to regular chainmail. Because the rings were closed, the steel wire that was used to make them could be thinner. A full set of chainmail would weigh around fifty to sixty pounds -- the riveted mail in my hands felt half as light. Something that was hugely useful in battle because it wouldn't sap the strength of my warriors as quickly.

It was just better. In every way. The only downside was the labor that went into it.

The wire was made first, coiled around a stick that was twisted to create the bend, and when the spool of wire was done, the wire was cut to create the links. Those links were then pounded to create a flat bit of space where the two ends overlapped. A small hole would be hammered into that space before the links were interwoven -- four links in one, so each link would have four others within the gap of the link -- before each link was then closed by a bit of metal being put through the hole that was made, which was then crimpt. A lot of work but the issue was with scale.

That process had to be repeated thousands of times. Tens of thousands.

The one that rested in my hands? It contained fifty thousand links. I worked on it for eight hours a day for a month -- nothing but tedious boredom, and looking at it, I'm not entirely sure that it was worth it. I had prioritized protection so the links were smaller than normal chainmail, which would protect better against arrows or a dagger, but not so small as to impact mobility. The first month was spent playing around with the creation -- learning how to make it, how to work with it, and finding the easiest ways to create it. The second month was spent working on the hauberk.

The first week, I did nothing but make and cut the rings. For days on end, I hammered the links to make the rivet. For over a week, I wove the mail, and the rest of the time was spent crimping the rivets.

"It's worth it," Lavon said after a moment, looking at me. "That there is armor fit for a king. Keep putting it over a gambeson, and it'll turn away most blades. Might break a bone or leave some bruising, but that's better than dying. Easier to treat, too. I'd say that your idea for putting scales over the gaps is too much, though. Not worth the added weight for what protection it would offer," Lavon said, looking at the gambeson hanging off a rack. It was tailor-made for Thorkell -- like the riveted mail, it fell down past his thighs and from it, studded leather that fell just above his ankles.

It would be my warriors' armor. It had been Olek's idea -- a uniform, he called it. He claimed that it was the sign of a professional soldier rather than just rabble.

"If you were to sell it, how much would you try for?" I asked him, setting the mail over the gambeson.

"No regular warrior would be able to afford it. A jarl or king might balk at the cost too," Lavon stated. "Twenty times over what I'd sell chainmail of the same length for." As he said, it was prohibitively expensive. Chainmail alone was already too costly for most warriors to buy.

I grunted, unsurprised by the estimate. "And if you were going to outfit a thousand men? What would you need?" I asked him, and to that, Lavon stroked his beard in thought. We had the steel to make it -- my warriors had been busy and eager in Norway. It was just a question of how many hands we would need to work to get the job done.

"Ten smiths, and about… twenty unskilled hands," Lavon decided, nodding to himself. That was both more and less than what I expected. "It'd take us the better part of three or four months to get it done, even still. The unskilled hands will do the crimping and weaving while we'll make the wire, links, hammering, and oversee the weaving. Many hands make for light work."

Thirty people dedicated to making armor. "And to maintain it?" I asked, frowning at the project.

"Three smiths and ten apprentices," Lavon said, seemingly already knowing the answer. That was more manageable, but still a higher number than I would like.

In the four months I had been in Norway, something had been made increasingly clear to me -- an army of a thousand men was not like a warband of five hundred. They needed more. They needed smiths to maintain their arms and armor. They needed healers to treat their injuries. They needed people to organize what went where and manage how much food was eaten. All to ensure that my army could function properly. However, I found that what was needed was essentially a villages worth of people.

Thirty healers. Fifty thralls for manual labor and service. Ten tailors. Now thirty crafters. More than a hundred followers.

"We'll be sailing to Milklagard in two months," I told him, and suddenly six months didn't feel like enough time. "Make the rings first. The weaving and crimping can be done during the journey," I told him, earning a nod. We wouldn't need to do all thousand men at once, which was a saving grace, but the downside was the fact that we would be picking up a great many men in Saxony. At least five hundred along with fifty ships.

"Best get started then," Lavon said, leaving my camp to start barking orders at the men that he had assembled.

With that taken care of, I looked down at the project that I was currently working on -- the blade that I had received during my marriage. Which was still a weird thought, even two months after. The blade was a blackened steel that I hadn't managed to recreate in an attempt to bond the broken blade together. I couldn't fix the blade because I couldn't get the forge hot enough.

Which left me using lesser steel to fuse the two ends together, then sheathing the weakness. The result was workable, but unappealing -- the top half of the blade was blackened steel while the bottom half was regular steel. Still, it functioned. For now. It also made one thing apparent -- how much I had neglected the domains of the gods that weren't related to war.

My focus for now was Crafting, in the hopes I could get something that would let me reforge the sword properly. It was metal. Steel, I was fairly certain, but when steel was red hot, the sword barely had a dull glow to it.

"It could be seen as pretty rude reforging my family's sword like that," Astrid announced her presence while I was sharpening the steel sheath. I glanced over to see that she was in riding leathers, and the sight stirred something within me. She reached out, taking a lock of my hair that was falling in my face, and started to braid it. I had a half dozen of the smaller braids scattered about.

"I got permission," I told her, having got it from Jarl Hoffer. "He's glad to see the blade in one piece." There wasn't much evidence of it, but there was a decent chance that the feud between the Hoffer clan began over the sword. There was no way to be certain, though -- the beginning of the feud began more than ten generations ago.

As Astrid finished with the half-braid, I finished sharpening the sword. It felt right in my hand. The blade was a bit heavier than normal, even more so with the repairs, but that suited me just fine.

"Off to war again?" She asked me, taking a step back, a sly smirk on her face.

To that, I shook my head, "Best not. At least, not as I was," I admitted, sliding the sword into its sheath at my hip. "I don't think your father would be thankful for it." That wasn't to say my army was idle. I could hear the sounds of their training echoing out. Curious to see it, I started to walk away from the forge with Astrid next to me. My wife. Still an odd thought.

"You could conquer half of Norway in two months. You practically already have," she pointed out, and I knew she was asking because she wanted to go out in the field again.

"Only if I stayed," I refuted. "We broke the Jarls along the coast, and they now answer to your father. He has the ships and men to enforce his will upon them. But, when I leave, I'll be taking my men with me and they'll start to get ideas." A half dozen Jarls now answered to Jarl Hoffer and, together, they could have raised an army to match ours. However, Jarl Hoffer had the Jarls killed and their families either taken hostage or exiled, with men loyal to him taking up the jarlship. The people within the lands would have to contend with winter before they could even think of rebelling.

As we approached a ledge overlooking the sandy beach that my army fought itself on, I mused on how I had killed and recruited enough from the previous Jarls that their military broke. They couldn’t muster the men to rebel, at least, not without outside help. Over the course of four months, I had lost around a hundred men in battle or to wounds. But I recruited about six hundred, bringing my total army up to a thousand and five hundred.

"If you stayed," Astrid agreed, watching as two hundred men -- a hundred on each side -- clashed on the beach. They bashed their shields against one another, the commanders on each side baying for their warriors to break through. I saw the ones on the left were getting creative, letting their line bend backward to create a U shape while peeling men off of the line to wrap around and envelop the opposing side. It nearly worked, but the line was too thin, and the opposing side broke through.

Thorkell cheered while Olek started ripping into the commander that lost. It was an interesting disparity, I thought, looking down at my warriors. Thorkell was beloved by the men -- he laughed with them, drank with them, sang with them. They loved him. Olek, however, was feared as much as Thorkell was loved. Success was expected from him and failure was harshly punished. It worked, too, I had to admit. There was a reason that Olek rose up in the army -- he was a fine fighter, and he won.

As for me? I inspired. When men fought beside me, they thought that victory was inevitable and that by fighting with me, they shared in that glory. Between the three of us, I think we had a very solid command structure. It was still growing, of course, with men of talent being noted. Men that one day, I could very well grant a blessing to.

"This city. Miklagard. I wish to see it," Astrid announced.

I wasn't surprised. "I'll be gone for years," I said, thinking that I would gone for at least three. It depended on what I found. When I returned, I would be eighteen or nineteen -- a man. Not a young man, but a man in body and deed. Now, what did surprise me was Astrid laying a hand on my chest, bringing my attention to her to see that she was fluttering her eyelashes at me. "... Are you trying to seduce me?"

Her eyes narrowed, "Trying?" She questioned, sounding affronted.

"You should stay here," I told her and her eyes narrowed more until they were little more than slits. "It sounds like a fine adventure, I'll admit, but I don't know what I expect to find there. If I'm fighting, then I've likely done something wrong." The point of sailing to the greatest city in the world was to learn. Not to fight.

"You're taking Jill and Morrigan, but not your wife." It wasn't a question. It was a statement that told me a slap was in my immediate future depending on how I answered.

"Jill should stay with you," I replied with a small shrug. "She was dragged into the war in Saxony because we had nowhere to return to. Now, we do. This could be her home, if she wished it. As for Morrigan… I'd say that she should stay too, but I doubt that she would or that it would be safe for her." Witches were seen as a necessary evil by most -- useful, but other. Respected, yet shunned. Morrigan was respected when by my side, but if I left her, I had little doubt that she would be shunned to live outside of the village, even by the men I left behind to protect my family.

Astrid frowned, "I'm not a weak willed woman that you can leave behind to pray for your safe return. I'm going to Miklagard. Even if I have to swim," Astrid told me, her tone testy before she walked off before I could make a retort. That, I was coming to learn, was a common tactic with her. Morrigan would bludgeon with arguments, but Astrid would deliver a point and ignore every single counterargument that anyone could make by plugging her ears. I would be lying if I said it wasn't annoying.

Swallowing a sigh, I saw another two hundred men were barreling towards each other while the losers of the first battle were forced to exercise by running along the beach while carrying heavy stones. This time Olek won the battle by deliberately opening his line in certain locations so that the reserves could take out the men that trickled through. A dangerous tactic, but that was why we were testing them against ourselves rather than the enemy.

The army was coming together rather well, I decided. There was still a long road ahead, but already, they fought as a single force rather than a hundred individuals. When we weren't creating and testing new formations, we would practice the ones that we had previously approved of. Currently, we were using shouts from the commanders, but I knew that we would have to change that -- We would be picking up Germanic soldiers soon, after all. And it wouldn’t do to warn the enemy of what we were about to do.

Taking a seat on a stone, I took out a bit of wood and a whittling knife from a pouch. It wouldn't do to stand idly by, I decided, continuing to carve out a toy warrior for Arne. It was going much better than my previous attempts at whittling. Not to mention, the men would train harder underneath my watchful eye, hoping to impress me.

As I watched another round begin, I heard footsteps. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw it was Mother. “Siegfried, I thought I might find you here,” Mother greeted me warmly. “I saw Astrid marching by.” Ah. “Don’t fret, my son. Your father and I fought all the time. Arguments happen and nothing is broken so long as nothing is said that cannot be taken back. Talk to her tonight. After,” she tacked on, and my cheeks warmed at that. Astrid… well… she was as fond of fucking as she was of fighting, it would seem.

“Is there something that you needed of me?” I asked, hoping to change the subject and, to that, Mother's light smile started to fall and an intense expression replaced it.

"You'll be leaving soon," She stated and I paused before nodding. There was still time, but I had accomplished most of what I intended to during this stay.

"I'm leaving two hundred men behind," I reassured her as she approached, standing next to me. "Loyal men. Loyal enough that they're willing to miss the opportunity to sail to Miklagard." I wanted to leave more, but I couldn't -- two hundred men was a large influx for a town like this. Especially with winter around the corner. "They'll protect you."

Mother did seem reassured by that. "Under whose command?" She asked me, making my face pinch.

"Haldur is expecting to lead them," I muttered, shaving away pieces of the wood to give it shape. What Lays Within was a surprisingly useful gift when it came to projects like this. "Halfdan won't challenge him on it." I knew. I checked. Despite my misgivings, Haldur was the head of the family now, even if Halfdan was older than either of us. All because we didn't share a mother. What did it matter? Halfdan was a finer brother to me, he was older, and he would be a better leader.

Despite that, Halfdan didn't want to overstep.

"Halfdan will be getting married in a moon turn," Mother reminded, taking a seat next to me. "Because he is your brother, and a respected warrior, he will find men willing to fight for him. Haldur as well." I nodded, knowing that much already. There were a number of people that had approached wanting to join my army for glory or gold. When I left, I imagined they would turn to my brothers. "Split the hairs -- a hundred men under Haldur and a hundred under Halfdan."

That would anger Haldur, but it was a good compromise, I decided, nodding in agreement. Looking at Mother, I saw that something was weighing on her. She wasn't here to wish me farewell. I suppose that was fine -- I also had something I needed to do. "Mother, hold out your hand," I told her, making her blink before I reached out to hold it. Then I began to infuse a blessing upon her.

True Face

Intrigue -- A smile can hide a scowl no longer. When dealing with others, when they try to hide how they truly feel, a second face shall be revealed of their true feelings.

Mother blinked as the blessing took hold and I was surprised to see that it was an Intrigue one. I wouldn't have suspected that, but it did cause some relief. Spies and traitors would be much easier to spot with such a blessing. I had already decided that Mother would receive a blessing -- the remaining blessings, however, I was less than certain of. She looked down at her hand, feeling it too. I wasn't sure what expression that I expected, but it wasn't for her to frown. "I always knew you were special, Siegfried. Even when you were a baby -- I knew the gods spoke to you like they did no other."

She reached out and placed a hand on mine, "Haldur was jealous of you. He always has been. You were a gift from the gods, Siegfried -- after Haldur, I thought I could bear no more children." I hadn't known that, but I wasn't sure why she was telling me this. "You were special. Right from the very beginning. Your brother… well, he wasn't keen on having a younger brother in the first place. He felt like you replaced him."

"Mother-" I stated, but she shook her head, asking for no interruptions.

"He was always rough with you. Too rough. You all laughed it off, but I saw the bitterness that fueled those punches and kicks. It got worse when you started winning. And when you won that farm… it all came to a head. You weren't there when Haldur set out on his own. You didn't hear the things that he said. I did." She squeezed down on my hand, her intense gaze burning a hole through mine. "He wants to outshine you. To prove that he's better -- that he was chosen by the gods as well. But he wasn't… and he can't hope to match you. Your brother will live and die in your shadow, Siegfried."

My throat closed up. She was right. I knew that she was right… but what could I do about it?

"Halfdan can accept that. Haldur can't and he never will. He will always try to match you, my son, and he will grow more and more bitter with every failure," she continued in a soft voice, speaking of the future as if she could see the threads of fate. "He will abuse whatever power he has over you and he will hate you for any resistance you show."

"I can talk to Haldur," I whispered, my gut clenching. "I can make him understand. I… I could share the glory with him." I didn't want my brother to hate me. I knew that we didn't get along, but I would never claim to say that I hated him. We were the last of our family -- we couldn't hate each other.

"Siegfried. You aren't a boy any longer. Don't cling to dreams and face the truth," Mother rebuked with an edge of sorrow in her voice. I blanched at the words, finding no comfort when she squeezed my hand reassuringly. "I tell you this because I love you. I love Haldur as well -- he was born from me, just as you were. But we cannot afford to be blind. Our enemies are too great and too numerous."

"What would you have me do, then?" I snapped, going to pull my hand from her grapes, but she held on tightly.

"Kill him."

Every single thought in my head came to a screeching halt and I went still. I struggled to process the words, gaping at Mother, who held my gaze evenly as if she hadn't just said what she just said. "You-"

"It is the smart thing to do. You will take your place as head of our family. You already have the power, even if Haldur possesses the title -- something he resents you for already. Kill him and be done with it." I couldn't believe what I was hearing. As in I actually couldn't believe it. I looked at my mother in horror, barely recognizing who she was in that moment because she had no shame.

"No," I bit the word out. "I'm not going to murder my brother." I spat, ripping my hand away from her grip. I saw the action hurt her, her lips thinning.

"... I can't make you do it, so I won't try to, Siegfried," she replied in a low voice. "But know this -- he will betray you. It may not be now. It may be years or even decades from now, but he will betray you. It will be at a moment when your footing is most perilous and you have the most to lose -- he will betray you."

I clenched my jaw, "He's family."

Mother's eyes softened, giving me the saddest smile I had ever seen. "Oh, my child… you can't be betrayed by your enemies."

To that… to that, I had nothing I could say.