850 a.D., south Denmark
As the late afternoon descended into dusk, a chilly breeze swept through the forest, carrying with it the promise of winter's approach. The sun, obscured by heavy clouds, cast a faint glow over the landscape, its feeble rays struggling to penetrate the thick veil overhead. Amidst the gloom, the flatland oaken landscape was bathed in mist, the frosty autumn leaves shimmering with a ghostly radiance.
With each gust of wind, the trees swayed and groaned, their bare branches reaching out like skeletal fingers against the darkening sky. The relentless wind, now tinged with the bite of impending cold, served as a harbinger of the harsher times to come. For the men of the north, accustomed to the rigors of their environment, it was a reminder of the resilience required to endure the long winter ahead.
Concealed behind the trunk of a towering oak, a figure lingered in the shadows. He appeared neither too old nor too young. There was a strength to his tall, toned frame, emphasized by the snug fit of his weathered brown tunic and sturdy trousers. Leg wraps encased his calves, while a pair of surprisingly well-crafted leather shoes adorned his feet.
Crimson locks cascaded around his face, their fiery hue seeming to flicker even in the dim light of the forest. A stubble beard, a little darker than his hair, complemented his sharp square-shaped jawline. Though many would deem him handsome, with his striking appearance drawing attention wherever he went, such trivialities held little significance to him now. For he was no longer a free man, but a deserter in enemy territory. His name was Eldar.
Behind those trees, he creeped into the view of apparently his gateway to survive, for he has been wandering for two days on this forest, with no food: a person, wearing a huge cloak, richly dyed in woad blue with fur on the hood, covering their face, carrying a small wagon with fur over it to protect whatever was inside: probably a merchant, a runaway, who knows.
Eldar crouched low behind the tree, his senses heightened as he observed the unfolding scene. His initial intent to seize the stranger's goods and extract information about a nearby village had been momentarily diverted by the unexpected appearance of the young man.
As the stranger removed his hood, Eldar couldn't help but be struck by the youth's beauty, a stark contrast to the harshness of their surroundings. Yet, he quickly pushed aside any distractions, focusing on the task at hand.
With bated breath, Eldar watched as the young man stopped and busied himself in the wagon, his movements deliberate and composed. Though Eldar couldn't see exactly what the stranger was doing, he sensed a certain confidence in his demeanor, a calmness that belied the danger of their encounter.
As the young man bit into an apple, Eldar's instincts told him that he had been detected. With a silent curse, he steadied himself, preparing to confront the stranger and extract the plan he sought, regardless of the risks involved.
Turns out the source of the noise were two other deserters.
"Stop right there!" The two deserters emerged from the oaks with their barbaric aura and dirty faces, shouting in unison.
The wind seemed to halt as the young man dropped the apple and spoke calmly, "Greetings, my fellow travelers. I'm but a humble merchant, seeking trade to the next village. Surely we can conduct our affairs with no trouble?"
"Village my arse! How are you going to find one when we've been wandering in this hellhole for 2 days straight!" scoffed one of the deserters.
Eldar felt the thrill in the air, reaching for his small battle axe on his belt, observing the situation more carefully.
"Enough! Let's see what this fancy pants got!" shouted the other deserter, a stout man with a bushy beard.
Rushing to the merchant's wagon, they marveled at the sight of its contents, filled with an array of foods, provisions and a small well-adorned jewelry box.
"We hit the jackpot!" one exclaimed, while the other, brandishing a hunting knife, demanded, "Now show us the silver, boy!"
The young man's eyes sparkled with confidence as he calmly replied, "It's in my bag, near my belt."
Reaching for the belt, the deserter with the hunting knife found the pocket loaded with silver. "Ha! I don't believe this is all you have!" he sneered.
Meanwhile, the other deserter seized the young man's detailed silver brooch, causing his cloak to fall, revealing his rich tunic adorned with intricate Oseberg patterns, a gold pendant resembling a serpent and his beautiful hair, gold-colored with a wavy texture, caught the fading light, adding to his mystique. He looked almost ethereal, like the goddess Freyja herself and the god Baldr himself, a mixture between them.
Approaching the young man, he held his face, pressing his dirty hands against his cheeks, and demanded, "Where is the godamn village you were talking about?"
"North." the young man replied calmly, his gaze calculating.
"How come someone with such rich goods be traveling alone in this forest?" the deserter spat.
"I had a group of other merchants traveling with me, with bodyguards too, however, we were assaulted last night, so I lost my companions. We were probably attacked by your folk, seeing that you guys are not so friendly," the young man explained, weaving his tale with subtle nuances.
As tensions rose, the other deserter threw the young man on the floor and demanded, "You gonna show us the way!"
With a sly grin, the young man replied, "I do not know exactly where they are, just that they went north."
"This ergi is going to be fun to mess with!" one of the deserters taunted.
"Ragnar, just leave him alone, it's not like he will survive in these woods anyways!" the other interjected.
"Right! But if we go to the next village and pretend to be merchants we can sell him as a thrall, I mean, look at his pretty face!" Ragnar suggested, his eyes gleaming with greed.
"Or it's better to kill him, we can't let anyone know we aren't real merchants! We already have plenty o'silver!" countered the other.
With a smirk playing on his lips, the young man proposed, opposing the previous things he affirmed: "They are not going to believe you guys are merchants. My companions are probably already in the nearby village. I can show you the way, if you promise not to kill me and give me 10 silver coins. Then we will never cross paths again."
"Ha! You are bold, boy!" Ragnar scoffed, though a hint of respect glimmered in his eyes.
"5 silver coins. No more," negotiated the other, his voice wavering slightly under the young man's cunning gaze.
"All right, but if you try anything funny, we will not only kill you." they warned, though the young man's grin only widened.
With the deal struck, one deserter tied the young man's legs to his arm and made him lead the way, heading towards the village, but the other deserter suggested to stop and feast the provisions for the awaiting path. So they feasted.
After a little while, after gulping almost all of the wagon's foods, the two men started throwing up, and soon collapsed on the floor.
It was poison. The young man had poisoned the food.
The deserters now lay dead with their eyes open.
He wasted no time, that scheming one, rushing to retrieve the deserter's hunting knife and struggling to untie himself from the bindings. As he stood there, seemingly waiting for something, he suddenly spoke, his voice carrying through the darkness.
"I know you are there."
Eldar froze in shock. How could he have known? With cautious steps, he emerged from the shadows, revealing himself in the dim light of the forest.
"Come forth, stranger," the young man continued, his tone surprisingly calm. "There's no need for hiding. If you seek trouble, you will find none here. But if it is trade you are after, then let's trade."
Eldar hesitated, his eyes darting between the young man and the lifeless bodies of the deserters. Despite his initial intentions, there was something about this encounter that piqued his curiosity. With a nod, he approached cautiously, ready to engage in whatever trade the mysterious merchant had in mind.
As Eldar drew closer, the young man studied him with a discerning gaze, as if assessing his character. Despite the tension lingering in the air, there was a mutual understanding between them – a recognition of shared circumstances in this dark, foreboding forest.
"I seek passage to the next village," Eldar finally spoke, his voice low but resolute. "But the road ahead is treacherous."
The young man nodded, his expression unreadable. "Indeed, these woods hold many dangers, as you have witnessed. But fear not, for I can guide you safely through them."
Eldar regarded him with a mixture of skepticism and curiosity. "And what do you ask in return?"
A faint smile tugged at the corners of the young man's lips as he regarded Eldar with a knowing glint in his eyes. "What do you have to offer?" he inquired, his voice carrying a hint of curiosity and intrigue.
Eldar paused, considering the question carefully. In the dim light of the forest, surrounded by the remnants of their encounter with the deserters, he felt a sense of urgency tinged with a newfound sense of possibility.
"I offer my strength and my skills," Eldar replied, his voice steady despite the uncertainty lingering in his heart. "Together, we can navigate these treacherous woods and emerge victorious on the other side."
The young man's smile widened, a spark of recognition dancing in his gaze. "A formidable offer," he remarked, his tone tinged with approval. "Very well, let us join forces and face whatever challenges lie ahead, side by side."
"I am Ulrik." the young man introduced himself, his voice carrying a hint of mystery.
"To warn you, I do not know even if that village exists, just that my folk went north." he added, a note of uncertainty creeping into his tone.
Eldar nodded in understanding. "I am Eldar," he said, "It is best to not start a fire, for other deserters may be lingering in this land." he cautioned, his gaze scanning the surrounding darkness for any sign of danger.
Ulrik met Eldar's eyes with agreement, his expression serious yet unreadable.
"How did you know I was following you?" Eldar inquired, a hint of curiosity coloring his voice.
"I did not. I simply guessed," Ulrik replied, his tone casual.
Eldar chuckled, a sense of camaraderie forming between them as they worked together to clean up the aftermath of the deserters' attack.
As evening fell and the cold began to bite, the two men sought shelter deeper into the woods, huddling close to conserve warmth. Ulrik lay on the ground, wrapped in his cloak, while Eldar settled nearby, their backs turned to each other as they drifted off to sleep.
"So, how come there are so many deserters?" Ulrik asked, breaking the silence that had settled between them.
"We were going to raid Hamburg. Things got ugly." Eldar explained, his voice tinged with regret.
"From the way you speak, surely you are not from here?" Ulrik observed, his curiosity piqued.
"You are right." Eldar admitted, a hint of nostalgia coloring his words.
"Norwegian?" Ulrik guessed, his intuition surprisingly accurate.
"Yeah." Eldar confirmed, a sense of memories washing over him as he shared his past with this stranger in the night.
In defiance of the uncertainty of their circumstances, Eldar couldn't help but find a strange sense of comfort in Ulrik's presence—a feeling he begrudgingly admitted, given his typically cynical outlook. As they settled in for the night, surrounded by the soothing rustle of oak leaves and the haunting melody of the nocturnal forest, he couldn't rid himself of the notion that their meeting held a deeper significance, lost amidst the mysteries of the woodland night.