On the Island of Bruray, there resided a boy with aspirations that stretched far beyond his humble beginnings. Perched atop a cliff, he gazed longingly at the endless expanse of the sea. "Are you looking at the ocean again, Leif?" called a voice, pulling him from his reverie. He turned to see Runa, a blonde girl with strikingly light blue eyes, her orange dress dusted with traces of dirt from her labors.
"Yes, Runa," he replied wistfully. "One day, I will traverse this ocean aboard my own ship, wielding my axe and vanquishing any foe that dares to cross my path." Runa laughed lightly, a melodic sound that danced in the breeze. "Your father would never allow that," she teased, her eyes sparkling with mischief.
Leif's expression hardened with determination. "Well, I'm sixteen now, so he has to say yes," he declared, a hint of rebellion in his voice. "I'll ask him right now." Without another word, Leif sprinted toward the Great Hall of his village.
The Great Hall was an imposing structure, featuring a long wooden main house flanked by two smaller wings. Leif barged through the tall, intricately carved doors, emblazoned with ancient Viking symbols. Atop a grand throne sat a man whose blond hair was partially tied back, while the rest cascaded loosely around his shoulders, with several thick strands falling intricately across his forehead.
As Leif approached, an unsettling aura radiated from his father seated on the throne. The man's eyes, as dark as the night sky, met Leif's gaze, his pale complexion lending him an intimidating presence. "What is it, my boy?" he inquired, the oppressive force lifting slightly as Leif gathered his courage.
"Father, you know I'm sixteen now, and my ambitions remain unchanged," Leif started, determination evident in his posture.
"No," the man interrupted, his voice like thunder. "Leif, for thirteen years you've expressed this desire, and each time I have told you the same thing."
"But father, it's not as though you're doing anything! Mother is gone!" Leif's words tumbled out, desperation creeping into his tone.
A sudden thud echoed through the hall as his father slammed his fist down on the armrest, a display of raw fury. "DON'T YOU DARE!" he shouted, indignation etched across his features. After a moment, he exhaled slowly, tension visible in every line of his face. "Leif, my boy, do you even comprehend what it means to be a king?"
"Ha! Of course I do! A king is the strongest, most powerful, and formidable figure there is!" Leif proclaimed confidently, flexing his muscles. "In five, maybe ten years, that will be me!"
"Wrong," his father retorted sharply.
"Leif, my son," he began again, annoyance seeping into his voice. "Here's the deal: If you can articulate what it truly means to be a king, I will step down from my role as Earl and allow you to lead this village."
"Okay, Father," Leif replied, energized by the challenge. Just as he was about to rush out the door, his father's voice resounded once more.
"Leif, wait!" The echo of his voice filled the Great Hall, instilling a momentary terror within Leif, who stood frozen in place.
"I will give you a chance to lead these people. However, in the end, it will be up to them to decide who they wish to follow," his father stated solemnly.
The scene shifted to Runa, now shown tending to a garden in the nearby fields. She paused, wiping her brow, as a handsome young man with blonde hair approached. "Why does such a beautiful woman as yourself engage in such dirty work?" he inquired playfully.
Runa stood up and turned to face him, momentarily taken aback by his undeniable charm. Just then, the familiar voice of Leif echoed nearby. "RUNA!" he called, sprinting toward her
"He Said Yes!" Leif exclaimed with unrestrained enthusiasm. Runa interjected, a hint of foreboding in her tone. " I sense trouble brewing." The handsome boy beside her laughed derisively, his voice dripping with disdain. "You are the dullest fool I know; there is no chance you will become king!" Anger flared in Leif's chest as he turned away, his thoughts spiraling in defiance: I shall become king, and when I do, Runa will eat her words!
The scene shifted, revealing Leif seated before an elderly warrior, clad in a sleeveless Viking tunic, an ancient battle axe resting beside him. The old man's eyes remained shut, embodying a patience Leif was rapidly losing. "How long must we endure this?" Leif demanded, his voice tinged with impatience. "What do you mean?" came the quiet response from the old man. "We've sat here for three hours, and you still haven't imparted what it truly means to be a king! You are the wisest man in our village!"
With a slow sigh, the old warrior produced three tomes, each adorned with a raven wearing a crown and numbered one, two, and three. Without a moment's hesitation, Leif seized the books, sprinting away in a flash, oblivious to the old man's bemusement. "The tomes are lacking in substance and will reveal little," the elder murmured, opening his eyes in confusion. "That boy will never understand."
In a sudden shift, the narrative depicted a shield maiden stalking a bear with fierce determination, before cutting abruptly to Leif as he bounded into his modest bedroom. The room was practical—a fire pit simmering with soup, shelves adorned with battle horns and helmets, and a jug poised for pouring water or mead. Sword and armor lay strewn about, and amidst this humble decor, Leif settled onto his bed, opening the first book.
As his eyes traversed the pages, the scene transformed to his father, gazing pensively out a window, arms folded behind his back. "So, Leif sought your wisdom?" he mused. "Are you truly considering handing over your earldom to him if he manages to grasp the essence of kingship?" He chuckled softly. "Indeed, I have served as Earl for twenty-five years; it is time I lay down my mantle. Yet, I fear I may have set a task too daunting. Should he ascend, he might venture into Norway—a land fraught with peril and ill fate for the unwise."
The wise old man interjected with a knowing smile, "You trained the boy yourself; I taught him all he knows. I believe he will find his path." The vision then shifted to Leif, deep in slumber, the Book of Kings still clutched tightly in his hands.
A resonant voice echoed through the room, rousing him abruptly. Leif shot upright, eyes widening as he beheld the wrinkled visage of an ancient man suspended above him. "By the gods themselves! Who are you?" he demanded, instinctively preparing for confrontation.
"I am Mimir, the God of All Knowledge," the figure proclaimed, his presence commanding and ethereal. Awe enveloped Leif as he realized he was in the presence of a deity. "I shall bestow upon you the knowledge of this world and the next—only if you vow to conquer in my name."
Elated, Leif jumped in delight, exclaiming, "Yes, yes, a thousand times yes!" The floating head of Mimir then began to speak in ancient tongues:
"Eg kasta minni visku á þik til að breiða nafn alls vits Goda. En fyrir svíkja er refsingin dauði."
A tempestuous gust swept through the room as Leif stood awestruck. The scene transitioned once more, showing him waking in his bed, the book still gripped tightly in his hands. "Was that a mere dream?" he wondered, uncertainty gnawing at his mind