Since that birth, four years passed by quietly as young Rurik grew rapidly. Right now, the boy sat in front of the small cottage he shared with his mother, and his little sister, Maria.
It was winter, and Rurik's fourth birthday had actually passed only a short time ago. A pale sun brought very little warmth to the cold seasons of central Norway, and a harsh wind was blowing through the royal compound that had been his home for the last four years.
Several hides were draped over him to keep him warm, as that was the only way his mother allowed him to sit outside and watch the warriors train. His interest in the art of combat was seen as a positive sign, and especially pleased his father, Harald.
It didn't take longer after he started watching them for rumours to spread about the boy's destiny to become a great warrior. The local Gothi even declared him to be blessed by Tyr upon birth, an action that brought the boy both respect and suspicion.
After all, Christianity had already started to spread in these lands.
Yet, the real reason little Rurik enjoyed watching the warriors train, was because it helped stimulate his memory.
'I— I fought a lot… I think?' he muttered inwardly, his tiny brows furrowed. 'But not usually like these warriors fight… I fought differently? Or did I? Are these actually my memories?'
Starting from his second year of life, Rurik began having flashes of another life, lived in a drastically different world. At first, he was scared and wanted to tell his parents about it—he simply didn't have the linguistic capacities to properly explain what was happening.
Later, when he did have the capacity to do so, he lost the desire to talk about it instead. Aside from strange sights and knowledge, these flashes of memory also endowed the young Rurik with a maturity that belied his age.
At this point, Rurik was already capable of forming complex thoughts, and even reason. Not only that, but he picked up the language faster than anyone, and was already speaking in full sentences not long after the memories started coming to him.
Thanks to his maturity, he realized that letting his parents know about it probably wasn't in his best interest.
Even now, rumours were already starting to spread about the genius child… but not all of them were positive. Some suspected he'd been blessed by Odin, rather than Tyr, while others were convinced Rurik was possessed by an evil spirit.
Fortunately, one did not simply spread negative rumours about Harald Hardrada's children more than once. After all, the second time would be made more difficult without a tongue…
Thus, Rurik remained largely untouched by these things. Instead, he focused inwardly, trying to discern reality from dream, fact from fiction, and memory from illusion.
Suddenly, a massive baby belly stepped outside of the cottage, before it was followed by his mother, Elisiv. His younger sister was clinging to their mother's clothes with one hand, waddling along beside her.
Maria was now two years old, and a far more regular child than Rurik was. As soon as she noticed her big brother, she took the thumb out of her mouth, and waved at him with a silly smile.
But Rurik's thoughts barely registered that fact. Instead, the small frown remained as his gaze focused on his mother's third pregnancy. 'It will be another girl… and her name will be Ingegerd. But why do I know that?'
"Lost in thoughts again, little Rurik?" Elisiv smiled gently at her only son. "Sometimes I can't but wonder if you'll be a skald, or a warrior."
Rurik blinked as he drove the distracting thoughts from his mind. His mother was kind, and his maturity did not stop him from loving her. She was one of the few things that could effectively pull him out of the trances that these strange memories often put him in.
"I'll be a leader of warriors, Mother," he grinned up at her with child-like confidence. "And then I'll write sagas about my own victories!"
"Hehehe, that's my boy!" Elisiv giggled, once again marvelling at her four-year-old's intelligence.
She extended his hand towards him. "Now come on, my mighty leader of warriors," she winked playfully, and full of love. "Let's see if we can convince your father to start your education a little early…"
* * *
Fortunately, his father didn't need much convincing. Normally, children only started their education at six years old, yet Harald Hardrada was a pragmatic man, and he naturally saw the potential of his son's apparent intelligence.
Which was not to say he was unemotional, or uncaring. He loved his children, but he wouldn't simply hand them anything they wanted. There had to be a practical use, and a good reason.
But an approach like that had its advantages to the children, especially someone like Rurik. While not quick to give in to emotion, Harald was susceptible to a good argument, even if that argument went against regular customs or traditions.
Thus, a new phase in Rurik's life began.
He wasn't given a single teacher, but rather a slew of them. One started introducing him to weapons and the art of combat, another guided his physical conditioning, and the final teacher taught him the basic skills, customs, and values of Viking culture.
But whatever he was taught, or whoever did the teaching, Rurik excelled at everything.
Even when they started wrestling, and he was pitted against boys two years older than him with the intention of teaching him humility, he usually emerged victorious through moves and techniques that baffled teacher and opponent alike.
Even Rurik wasn't entirely sure how it worked, yet whenever one of these boys came within striking range it was like instinct simply took over, and before he knew it his opponent was already on the ground, groaning in pain.
Fortunately, Viking culture didn't much care about how victory was gained, so long as the combat was honourable, and no one could find fault with Rurik's victories, even if they failed to imitate his movements. If anything, these fights earned him plenty of renown.
It went the same with physical conditioning. Whenever his teacher showed him a new exercise, Rurik mastered it within two or three tries and occasionally even improved upon it.
Even basic survival skills were things he appeared to know instinctively, to great shock by his skills teacher.
Yet, to everyone's relief, there were some things his teachers found the boy was lacking in. For one, however hard Rurik pondered, he never discovered any knowledge about fighting with sword, axe, or shield, apart from some basic swings.
And for two, his greatest gaps were about Viking culture and society. No matter how hard he wracked the chaotic mix of knowledge that was kicking around in his mind, Rurik only ever found the most basic of information, which he might as well have heard from his parents or their servants.
Rurik didn't mind these gaps, however. In fact, he was glad for them. His extraordinary results were already earning him for more attention than he was comfortable with. After all, the foreign knowledge and instincts rattling around in his brain, allowed him to quickly recognize the jealousy that was rising rapidly among his peers.
* * *
Just like that, another five years passed. Rurik proved he was even a capable grower as his nine-year-old height was already on par with some of his ten or even twelve-year-old peers.
Naturally, the entire court had their eyes squarely fixated on Rurik, but the boy himself barely paid it any attention. His mind remained a little withdrawn, as more and more memories and knowledge awakened with time.
Yet, he always felt like he was missing one last piece of the puzzle. One last thing that would pull it all together. One thing that would make him realize what this was all about, and who he really was.
Finally, in his ninth year of life, he found the answer in a dream.