Silas did not honor gods. And they in turn have brought nothing but hardship in his life.

However, on the night before the trial something northern woke up inside the boy and he raised the mug to Varge - and drained it at one gulp - and then to Yole, and to all of the rest of gods. The ale tasted bitter but it could be a blessing in disguise, as the hakarl was truly awful. Anyways, what did it matter? If Silas manages to defeat Jonna tomorrow, this time next week he will be feasting in the jarl's long house, full on smoked ribs and sweet mead.

He came to rest when the stars were long out in the dark sky above Kobbertrellan. But restless sleep he had that night, and woken up early in the morning felt as fresh as last week's porridge and as vivacious as the slug. Mother served him a bowl of said porridge, and Bragge, his late father's shield brother was already waiting at the table.

Silas and Igrid, what was his mother's name, were outcasts in these part of Oierhopf. Igrid, even now at the age of thirty-two, was slim and beautiful, and envious hags did not hesitate to slander about her. Had Skegge, his long gone father, not have died some nine months before Silas was born, there would've been no rumors regarding the boy's origins. It would not stop unkind people from talking about something else, he consoled himself.

Silas was Skegge's son. And never once he doubted that. Not even after what happened a few years ago, on The feast of the Wolves. Bragge got really wasted that evening and decided to talk to Silas, who wasn't yet allowed to sit next to other bonds. Staggering, Bragge strolled around the tables, until he came to the very last one, placed at some distance from others.

The man sank on to a bench next to his nephew and started talking about his adventures, the battles he and Skegge fought together and many other things. He went on and on about what a great man Skegge was, and ended: "Had he not fallen in that battle, he would have acknowledged you as his son. No matter what, I know he would have done that". Silas was deeply hurt, and tried to forget those words. To his luck, no matter what he still was of the kin of Bragge, and by tradition, jarl's warriors were bound to look after him. That was one of the reasons why Bragge, childless at age forty nine, for many years had treated Silas as his own son.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

And no one dared to mistreat the boy when his uncle was at home. But he was almost never at home, and, therefore, most of the time Silas was mercilessly bullied by his peers. They would call him names, including bastard, and the boldest of them would go as far as to pick up stones and throw them at Silas. He, however, never snitched on his perpetrators, and hoped one day to be accepte by them as equal.

And he believed he had all the chances. After all, he is pretty tall and strong for a fourteen year old boy, Silas encouraged himself. And Jonna is more of a showoff than actual fighter.

This last statement wasn't exactly true.

Mother kissed Silas goodbye, and Bragge gave a decent sword.

«This blade», he solemnly handed Silas freshly sharpened piece of steel. «Had previously served your father well. Now it's your time to wield it and to demonstrate that you are the true son of the North».

«Thank you, uncle», Silas said with a forced smile. He was grateful, of course. In fact, no words could describe how incredibly grateful he was for Bragge and everything the old man had done for him. And yet, Silas couldn't help feeling miserable when he thought of the challenge that laid ahead. It was northern tradition that each man, who would want to follow the glorious path of a warrior, must prove himself fit for that in a test fight. And if the candidate fails to spill the blood of his opponent, or flee, his name will forever be covered in shame. On the contrary, the one who has been a disgrace, had he proven himself to be worthy with actions, will recover his good name and be welcomed back into community.

Bragge watched Silas intently.

«It's natural to be nervous», he spoke with authority of the elder. And yet Silas heard a note of concern in uncle's husky voice. «Everyone is terrified the first time. It is understandable, for the outcome of the trial will determine your fate. But fear not, Silas, my boy. I trained you well and Jonna isn't as good as he claims to be".

But what if it's not Jonna who I will have to battle with, thought Silas. But a fate itself?

He clenched his jaws, rested left hand upon the hilt of a now sheathed sword. He will not let those thoughts shake his carefully built confidence. He will not fail, he cannot fail. With this in mind Silas placed one foot over the threshold.

He was leaving Kobbertrellan as some nameless bastard, to return as a sward, son of Skegge.

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