Kætil VI: A Bittersweet Future

The Twenty-Sixth Day of the Ninth Moon, 873 AD.

The Great Warcamp, The Isanford, Scelopyrea.

It wasn't bad, all things considered.

Oh sure, he'd been fucking livid at first, but he'd come around afterwards. He'd genuinely believed that the great showdown between father and the Eyvindottir was to be his moment, his chance to prove himself as a worthy successor to his father. When there had been no battle he was furious, yes, but his friends and companions had calmed him. They'd made him see sense, no matter how little he wished to see it at the time.

Yes, it was certainly annoying that the battle had never come to pass. Yes, it certainly did seem to be a betrayal of the decade of training he'd been put through for this moment. No, that did not mean it was all useless. His friends were alive and still by his side, and that was the most important thing to note. On top of that, it wasn't like this would be the only time war would be upon them all, not with the combined might of all Scelopyrea behind a pair of truly great warlords. No, war was a certainty in the near future, and promised to be greater than any internecine conflict amongst their own kind. The treacherous petty kings on the island of Hedinskye, the tribes of the other Brythonian Isles, even the mighty rulers of the south would all make viable targets in time. He just needed to wait a little longer, and the glory he craved would certainly be his.

The marriage of his father to Thjodhild Eyvindottir had been one of the grandest affairs in living memory, even if he did find himself having to bite his tongue all night due to being sat to father's right with the Valkyrie-Queen on the other high chair at the dais. That was one of the main stipulations of their union: they were equals. Father could not overrule her, and she could not overrule father. Kætil wasn't pleased with that, but then he wasn't overly pleased with any of this. He wasn't displeased enough to actually say anything to father about it though, for he wasn't stupid enough to think that this move was wrong. He was too proud to admit his distaste came from selfishness, but he wasn't so selfish as to try and rile up discontent. His father seemed pleased anyhow, and if nothing else he would stay quiet just to keep his old man happy. Father deserved that much.

He wasn't sure how much he'd drank that night, but he did know it was a strong fruit brandy. He wasn't in the mood that night for merriment, and though he did try to contain his bitterness for the sake of the man to his left that night he knew that his father had been a little worried about how he would take it.

He wasn't taking it well, to be honest. He now understood why uncles Rogar and Osvald had driven themselves so hard to try and be fathers equal. It had gotten them both killed in the end, which was a pleasant thought, but he understood their desire nonetheless. The fact of the matter was that a month ago he was set to be father's heir, but with this new marriage the heir would have to be whichever child first came about from the union of father and the Valkyrie-Queen. He was old news, and as such leadership of the Scelopyrene would never be his.

It was a bitter thought, but that didn't mean there were no other avenues open to him. Whoever his half-sibling was to be would surely benefit from having him around as a loyal huscarl, and if he wasn't wanted here then he'd just take his companions and go off on an adventure somewhere to the south. The southern kingdoms were always looking for mercenaries, weren't they? Maybe he'd be able to find passage across the Aenir and find his way through life amongst soldiers and brigands from around the entire world. It would be an interesting life, if a short one.

He didn't blame father for what he'd done. The man had made the smartest decision available to him, and with his new union Scelopyrea was on the way to finally becoming a true nation rather than the collection of squabbling clans and tribes it had been since time immemorial, and of course it made sense that there were to be some losers that came about as a result of this, but it just felt gut churning that it had to be Kætil himself that was the loser here.

Okay, maybe it was a little bad, but he was doing fine, honest!

"Son."

He looked up to see the towering figure of his father enter the room, a strange sheepishness across his features, or was that... guilt? Yes, that was certainly guilt. He looked up at his father with tired eyes and nodded his respect.

"Great Jaerl."

The use of his title instead of his name when in private looked like it might have stung, but Kætil was too lost in his own head to think about that at the moment. He didn't want his father to feel bad, of course not, he loved the man dearly, but this all... this all still hurt. More than he was probably willing to admit to anyone else.

Still, he just about managed to force himself to keep talking, to stop his father from thinking that everything was irrecoverable between them. Father had made a choice which would deeply impact the rest of his life, yes, but he was still his father and had done what he thought was right for the people he ruled over.

Who was Kætil to come between father and his people?

"I don't blame you, father. You made the right choice."

His father sat down next to him and laid a large hand on his shoulder. The movement was gentle, slow, but warm. Nice.

"You don't sound happy with that."

Kætil turned to face his father, a smile on his face that didn't feel entirely fake, but didn't exactly reach his eyes either.

"Would it be selfish of me to say I was hoping you'd make the wrong decision?"

Dyfed smiled a little at him and squeezed his shoulder gently.

"It would be human of you, my son. I am sorry that the future you were promised will no longer be yours. I hope in time I can at least begin to make up for taking this from you."

"It's fine, dad." He said almost on impulse. "I'll live with it. Besides, your next child can be raised by the both of you from birth to rule over Scelopyrea. They'll do a much better job than I could of."

His father looked down at him, frowning a little.

"You'd have done a fine job, my son, and I have little doubt that you will have the greatness you crave in the future. There's too much of your grandfather in you for anything else to be true. There are further wars on the horizon, that much you know already, and men as skilled as you with both blade and command will be in great demand soon enough. The men of Scelopyrea will know your name soon enough, and the men of the south will tremble at your approach. There are many years ahead of you yet before anything is to change in your life, and in time you may become the greatest commander amongst the armies of your unborn sibling. You will be known far and wide, Kætil, just not as a head of state. There are many who wear a crown and yet are powerless, just as their are many who appear weak and feeble and yet control much. You will be able to live along that middle line, taking the best of both worlds as they go past. You will control much as a friend and confidant of your younger sibling, being a trusted hand for them to rely on and ensuring the rise and fall of many within their court."

"I know, father. I know. In time I will... in time I will learn to be happy with that, I think. I hope. If I stay."

Father's hand remained steady, but there was a slight pause to his words that suggested he was very surprised, and not in a nice way.

"You... wish to leave?"

"I don't know yet, father. I don't know what I want at the moment. I didn't pick the future in front of me, you did. I was raised with one purpose in mind, and that purpose was to succeed you. Whether I had to bolster my position in battle or in the more boring matters of meeting people I was happy to do it, because that was what my future was going to be. But now that future is gone, and I don't know what I want anymore. I've never had to think about what I was going to be, because that knowledge was always right in front of me. I don't really know what I'm supposed to want anymore."

Dyfed sighed, seeming genuinely sorry about all of this, which made Kætil feel a little guilty for unloading all of this onto his father. The man has only done what was right, Kætil reminded himself for what must have been the twentieth time that day, and moping won't change anything.

Still, it was hard to just accept everything. He'd been in disbelief at first, then angry at everyone involved with all of this, but now he just felt tired. Spent. His entire life had been building up to one goal, and now it was gone. He opened his mouth to continue talking, at this point barely even registering what he was going to say before the words left his mouth.

"I know this is harsh of me to say father, and I don't want to say it to hurt you, but I was... I was thinking earlier, and I had a thought."

Father remained quiet, but slowly motioned for him to continue.

"I thought about my uncles. I thought about Rogar and Osvald. I thought about how... how in the shadows they felt when stood next to you. And I think now I understand it as well. You've been one of the best men Scelopyrea has ever seen, and you've done so much, but... but there's never been much left for anyone else to do. And I think that's why they both had to leave on the tides."

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His father closed his eyes for a moment and let out a deep sigh.

"I see. I am sorry, my son. I want you to know that I am proud of you, immensely so, but I understand what you say as well. Will you be wishing to leave on the tides as well?"

Kætil shrugged, looking down a little as he absentmindedly kicked at the floor. He probably looked like a petulant child at the moment, but he didn't care. He was still bitter about all of this.

"I don't know. Part of me wants to stay and help, to try and help train the child or act as a trusted commander for you, but I know your new wife likely wants me out of the way. Besides, there's nothing I would be able to teach the child that you and her couldn't cover between you. That led me to thinking about heading south and becoming a mercenary. I don't know, yet. I think at the end of the day I'll just... I'll just do what you tell me."

And that was the truth of it. He still loved his father, and there was still a part of him that didn't want to leave despite all of this. His friends would likely have tried to convince him to stay anyway, so leaving was feeling like more and more of a lost cause as he thought about it. He supposed he'd just have to... well, to stay here and try to make a life for himself in the shadow of this as-of-yet unborn child. There's something that'll be remembered in the sagas of our people, he thought to himself bitterly.

"I know this hurts," his father said in a gentle voice, "and I cannot overstate just how much I regret having upended your life in this way. But it needed to be done. You've already said you understand that, and I trust you to decide for yourself whether you think it was the right decision in time. In any other circumstances I would wish for nothing more than to call you my heir, but these things are difficult to decide. History will not remember our suffering, only our accomplishments."

He let out a bitter scoff once again.

"If that's the case I don't think history will remember me at all."

"Kætil, you killed two Jotun. You led our forces along the river Isanar. You've been blessed by Krakevasil more than any other warrior I know, and have taken a Druid for a lover. How can you think that history will not remember you?"

"I will be 'the son of the Great Jaerl by his first wife', that's all. You and the new kid, those are the ones people will remember. Thjodhild too, for that matter. I'm to be Osvald and Rogar, clinging to the edges."

"My brothers were great people in their own right, son."

He nodded.

"I know, dad. But no-one beyond our family sees them as anything more than 'the brothers of Dyfed'."

Dyfed huffed out a long breath, seeming to mull over his words before speaking.

"There is, admittedly, some truth to what you say. I will not hold you here if you do not wish to be here, my son, but I would miss you deeply if you left. My new wife, though she is wary of you for your enduring dislike of her, does wish to speak with you and get to know you better. I've told her that you'd never seek to harm any child we had, because I know that isn't you, and she's more than happy for you to continue to stand by my side. More than anything I want you to take some time to cool off and carefully consider your options. I don't want you to be miserable, my son. More than anything I want you to be happy. And to that end, I think I have a proposition for you."

Kætil perked up a little looking over at his father with a small twinge of hope in his chest.

"A... a proposition?"

Dyfed nodded.

"Of course. We will be striking south in the coming years, as you already know, and there is no one man who can rule such vast territories without delegation. There will be a mighty fiefdom carved out by your forces amongst the weak-willed southerners, and that will be yours to rule in your sibling's name. You will swear yourself to them as you have to me, but you will be just as free as you are under my command as well. You will yet be great, my son."

Kætil smiled up at his father. For the first time in this conversation it didn't feel fake.

"I think... I think I need some time to think."

"Of course, son." His father replied, rising from where he sat. "Maybe consider speaking to my new wife; she would like to get to know you better."

"Alright. I'll do it. Tomorrow, though. I feel tired."

Dyfed nodded.

"I understand. Goodnight, my son. I am proud of you."

----------------------------------------

"Kætil Dyfedson. I am pleased to meet you at last."

The woman before him was tall, about as tall as father in fact, but he didn't need to crane his neck from the angle he was at. Her gaze was shrewd but not unkind, much like father's was as well. Yes, he could see why those two would make for a good pair, even if the thought of his late mother being replaced made his gut churn.

"Queen Eyvindottir. I am..."

He trailed off a little, unable to bring himself to repeat the pleasantry. He wasn't pleased to meet her, but he was here nonetheless, wasn't he?

"Thank you for granting me your audience." He eventually settled on. "There are one or two things to be discussed, but less than you might think. Father has explained much to me already."

"So I have gathered. The matter of succession is settled then, with your support?"

He grit his teeth as she motioned for him to sit down at a small table next to a long couch in the style of one of the southern peoples, he didn't know which. He took the offered seat and drummed a hand on the table as the other one came to his mouth. He had to say the words, he had to say yes and just get this over with, but at that moment he just couldn't manage it. His mouth opened and closed a few times, but no matter how much he tried he couldn't force the words out.

"Perhaps we'll discuss that another time, then? There were other things that we were to discuss, weren't there?"

"Just the one." Kætil said. "One more thing and then I'll leave. You are a good match for my father, that I'll not deny. You make him happy, which is important to me, and so I'll not stand in your way. But that doesn't mean I like you. This time last month we were enemies on the field of battle, and I watched good men cut down by your own supporters. We did the same to them in return. It was war, plain and simple, but now we sit here in the same room, with you taking the place at my father's side where mother once stood, and I'm pushed to the side-lines. I'm not going to pretend I'm happy with any of this."

"But?" She pressed, sensing that he wasn't done.

"But I'm not stupid. I know this is for the best. So I'll... I'll stand aside for your child, whatever they end up being. I'll not try anything stupid. Just... just don't try to force anything on my father."

"I won't," she replied with what at least sounded like sincerity, "there's too much at stake for any of that. He still loves you, you know."

"I know," Kætil replied, for it was the plain and simple truth, "and it is returned in kind. That doesn't make this sting any less."

"I... I understand that this is a great change in your life, Warchief Kætil, but you will need to forgive your father sooner rather than later."

He attempted to shoot her a scathing look, but he was too tired and his mind was too far away for such a look to be managed.

"You know," he settled on saying instead, "I was supposed to inherit father's mantle. I was supposed to spend my adulthood at the head of a unified Scelopyrea, following on from wherever it is that my father left off. Then he married you."

Though he could see and hear what was going on in the room it felt as though he wasn't there. It felt as if he were just watching his life, not living it. He just about registered Thjodhild move to sit next to him at the table as he stared off, unblinking, into the distance.

"I was going to be a king, you know. I was supposed to be a king. That's what I was raised for. I was raised by father so that I could do what it is that he does. But that isn't what I can do anymore. Father has put forwards a compromise of sorts, which he has no doubt cleared with you first and does admittedly help with coming to terms with this, but... but I was supposed to be a king. And now I'm not."

The woman next to him nodded, likely not understanding just how much this had effected him but still maintaining a large dose of empathy as she spoke.

"I won't apologise for that. It's for the good of everyone, and just as your father's supporters would not support an heir solely born of my loins so to would my supporters not support you. The heir of myself and your father needs to be born from our union. Even so, what I can do is recognise the strain this is likely to put on you. The strain that, from the looks of things, it already has put on you. I may not be your mother, but so long as I am wed to your father I will treat you with the care and respect that you deserve. You are a good commander and a great warrior, and tales of how you slew a pair of jotun have even made it to my own ears before now. People like you will be sorely needed in the years to come, Kætil, and your father is right to say that it would be good to keep you as one of our commanders. Tell me, are you familiar with how the southerners organise their councils?"

He shook his head, trying to focus on what she was saying but finding it a little hard to tear his gaze from the spot on the wall it had fallen upon when first he sank into the chair.

"The southerners appoint people to a variety of positions where each man, or woman, controls one thing in totality. One man controls the military, one the traders, another still the spies. All answer to their king, but remain proficient in their roles. I think that, in time, you could make a rather good Warchief of the huscarls. I don't mean of a small band like you command now, I mean all huscarls. You'd be responsible for their recruitment, for their training, their equipment, their facilities, all of it. You'd not be a king, no, but you'd still wield a lot of power. A lot of people will answer to you and you alone, and in all matters of war it will be you that your younger sibling comes to for advice and a right-hand man. Does that sound like something that interests you?"

It was... surprising, to have a woman who by all means should have despised him and seen him as a threat to her as of yet unborn child, to be this kind and offer him this much power. Moving still felt like a chore, but he just about managed to nod and force out a few words, even if the movement of his mouth felt foreign and disconnected from his mind.

"Yeah," he said slowly, "I still don't like you, but that sounds alright. I dislike you a little less than I did before, I think. Thank you for your time, your... what's the right term for a queen?"

"Leave honorifics for the southerners," she replied with a smile, "And as for you still disliking me, that's fine. I don't expect you to change your opinion in one conversation. Just call me by my name. It will take some time for the notion to sit well with you, and I completely understand why, but we're family now. You can rest here for a little while until you feel fit to move again. Don't worry, you aren't the first person I've met to find that their bodies won't obey their commands. Rest for a few moments, then leave when you're ready. We've got plenty of time, after all."

He nodded again, feeling a little more lucid now. He wanted to hate this woman, to shout at her and rant about how she was the reason he was like this at the moment, but that would have just been petty. She was making an active effort to try and show him that she was fine not only with them building a good relationship with each other but also that she was amenable to him holding a great deal of power when the time came. She was trying, and so he would need to match that or else admit that he was worse than she was.

He stayed sat there for quite some time that night before returning to his tent and, finding that Svaltha was already asleep, lay down beside her. He didn't feel as bad as he had before, no, but it still took him quite some time to get asleep that night.

In fact when the dimming sun came up he wasn't even sure he'd actually slept at all.