The Princes

The two men sat close to the raiding camp, so few would even dare trespass let alone have the audacity to raid the tribe’s shores like this so it was of the utmost importance that the two sons of the chief come to investigate the raiding party. The oldest of the two, Goðþormr, bigger of the two as well bearing the almost platinum blonde hair of their father and the piercing blue eyes bore down on his younger brother, Beinviðr.

“What do you mean you saw pointed ears,” Goðþormr whispered in an outraged tone.

Beinviðr whispered back as his older brother placed his large hand on the middle of his back, shoving him down as two guards walked past, “Just as I said, I saw two men wandering around in strange garbs and pointed ears. They spoke in some foreign tongue I’d never heard.”

“Damn it all, their armor is something I’ve never seen before. They look well armored but it’s like they are imitating the armor of the Vikings we’ve seen of late.” Goðþormr uttered silently as he watched these strangers set up camp, “Why would they bring women and children with them? It makes no sense at all, the Hel is going on.”

“We need to report to the Chief. He will know what to do.” Beinviðr pleaded with his older brother, “These people give me a very strange feeling. Some of them look like us but the ears are too much like a knife for them to be human.”

Goðþormr looked to his brother, he had always been a smaller version of himself with the same blonde hair and blue eyes that almost glowed in the darkness around them, “Fine, we shall leave once the watch has ended that way we won’t get spotted. They look tired and worn so it shouldn’t take long.”

As the eldest said this two watchmen walked by with their torches and swords, speaking to one another in a very strange language the wolves had never heard before. The other chuckled at the first then proceeded to mention some man named Torta as the other punched him hard on the shoulder then spoke angrily to him. As the two watchmen walked away the eldest turned to the other, “They speak of some Torta, possibly their leader but doesn’t sound like he is taken seriously enough. Have you seen a banner yet?”

Beinviðr nodded and whispered, “A blood red wolf on a blue field, brother.”

Goðþormr surprise slipped through, “That’s not a banner of men or ulfheðnar.”

“Then who are they and where did they come from.”

The eldest turned to his brother and uttered, “We must leave now. Father must know of these folk, if not then the pact has been broken.”

As the men rushed from the camp, they were spotted by the watchmen but due to their lack of bows, they witnessed two black wolves run into the night and into the mighty forest. The wolves ran quickly and without stopping for food and water, it took them a day to get back to their father’s hall and to the rest of their tribe which sat on the coast. The two wolves ran to the edge of the greater gathering place of the tribe, they changed into men once more and bore their black wolf skin proudly as they strutted through the grounds to the hall where a great revelry was being made. The two brothers walked in to be greeted by their youngest brother, Jórulfr, who with a great, wide smile shouted, “Welcome home! What news do you bring of the battle to come!”

Goðþormr frowned and glared at his youngest brother, “Battle? We were told nothing of this!”

Jórulfr chuckled, “Father did not wish to spoil the surprise! We are to war against these little elflings in the morning! It came to him in a vision last night.”

Beinviðr smiled and shouted, “I knew it! The ears were pointed and they were strange.”

The eldest shook his head, “Where is Father, boar-boy.”

Jórulfr scowled, “Don’t call me that, pig-head.”

Goðþormr and Jórulfr took a step towards each other as Beinviðr stood between and quickly said, “Brothers! Not now! We must speak with Father. Afterwards, you pig brained idiots can have at each other all night.”

The eldest and youngest growled at each other but turned towards where Father was, “He is in his private room in the back of the hall, he wished to wait for you two before he made his rallying speech.”

As the three brothers walked to their Father’s room, they were greeted by many of the warriors and some of the women dancing around winked at Beinviðr as he walked by, he gave a nod to their advances but didn’t say anything. Goðþormr rolled his eyes at his younger brother, always known as the handsomest of the three but always avoided women and men alike though he could pick any. Jórulfr shrugged at his older brother as he didn’t care one way or the other, the women his brother rejected he got since he wasn’t as frightening as their oldest brother. As the brothers were closer to the door, a young woman with a nasty scar on his face jumped onto Goðþormr and yelled, “My love! Where have you been?”

Goðþormr shouted, “On a mission, love! I must report to my father but afterwards I promise to dance with you.”

The woman frowned and shouted as they kept walking, “Don’t leave me waiting!”

Jórulfr shook his head at his brother, “Gods why did you marry that hideous woman. That scar makes her look like she was ripped apart by wolves….wait a moment, she was!”

Beinviðr punched his younger brothers arm as they entered their father’s room, “Knock it off, Jórulfr. Who patched you up after our last war?”

The youngest got quiet and looked away in shame, “Salbjǫrg did.”

As the band of brothers entered the room, they saw their father sitting in his chair by a small fire pit he had made when they were just children. A good fire was going now which illuminated the room well and showed the years have not been kind to their father and chief though he seemed in good spirits all the same. He had his favorite stick for stoking fires in his hand as he seemed lost in thought, it felt as though he wasn’t alone in the quiet room with only the sound of the small fire crackling filling the air. The brothers walked up to their father with somber expressions as they waited for him to notice, a few moments passed and their father looked over slowly, “Hello, my sons. What have you found?”

Beinviðr stepped forward and began to explain, “A small tribe of what I believe to be elves have made camp at the edge of the land by the sea where they have begun to make camp. They bear similar armor and weaponry but it feels as though they are more imitations rather than their own craftsmanship so possible to exploit that. Finally we heard two watchmen speak of an elf named Torta who I think may be his leader though it does not seem as though all share in their respect for him, another weakness we can exploit.”

Goðþormr stepped forward as his younger brother stepped back, “We ran quickly away after discovering the banner of this tribe, a blood red wolf on a blue field. I have no knowledge of a band that goes by that banner and it seems as though they are not very competent warriors or fighters as they did not fire at us as we ran from the watchmen so they are not prepared for long range combat or at least not currently.”

Jórulfr steps forward at last as his eldest brother steps back, “The men are in good spirits and ready for battle, Father. They are making use of the mead we have stowed away after what you told them after my brothers left. There are many women and slaves around to satisfy them for the night, no trouble has been made yet which is a first. All they wait for is your speech before they begin truly celebrating but I do wonder Father, how did you know these elves were coming here?”

A giant of a man stepped out from the shadows of the room that bore a set of piercing gray eyes and long, dark hair with his even longer black beard, “That’s where I come in to explain something to all of you.”

The three brothers jumped in unison as they made a move towards the giant man only to be stopped at their Father’s shout, “Stand down! This is Geri!”

As the brothers heard this they stopped in their tracks and stood still as they realized their folly. Goðþormr stuttered as he apologized, “We are sorry, ancestor. We thought the stories were exaggerated.”

Geri glared at his offspring, “Next time you face time a true wolf, you best not pull that stunt again, Goðþormr. Also you two, respond faster before you also get taken down by a true wolf.”

The brothers in unison said, “Yes, ancestor.”

Geri nodded as he spoke once more, commanding the room to listen just by speaking, “I was informed of their arrival to this land and told your father of this. You are to meet them in battle and crush them, do not take any as slaves for sex. They are to be used for labor and that is all, do not breed with them and least of all do not have children with them. Am I clear?”

The brothers nodded in unison as the chief stood from his seat, “Also any who kills the leader shall obtain his daughter as his personal slave. It was explained that the leader shall bear a brightness in his eyes that rivals any man or wolf but we are to spare the darker of the leaders as there are two. An elf with bright eyes and dark hair we are to kill but an elf with light hair and darker eyes is to be left alive.”

The brothers nodded, “Yes, chief!”

As the group stood together, Geri uttered these final words, “I want you all to remind these elves why they should not mess with wolves. Make them your slaves and break them upon the wheel of reality. Go forth my sons!”

As the band moved to leave the room, Geri pulled Beinviðr back inside, “You. We need to have words before you join them.”

The younger brother nodded as he looked to his ancestor, “Yes? What is it?”

Geri looked down upon the young ulfheðinn and smiled, “You my son, I have this advice for you. From the beginning you were chosen for something and I am not sure how this will go but I ask of you this alone, do not forget from where you came from and do not allow yourself to fall prey to the wiles of a woman whether human or elf. You must stick to the tribe for a lone wolf shall always die alone and your children forsaken by all wolves.”

“I understand, ancestor. Thank you for the advice. I shall heed it.” Beinviðr nodded to his ancestor and turned to leave as Geri said one last thing, “Remember, son. Óðinn is always watching and planning.”

As the brother entered the great hall, he heard his father giving one of his pre-battle speeches to the tribe, “-and our ancestor demands of us to be the greatest wolves in Midgard! He demands of us to enslave our enemies and those who’d dare to not just trespass on our land but those who’d dare to try and raid us! We shall take them, we shall break them, and we shall make them see the errors of their ways for leaving their world and coming to ours as if it is theirs to claim! We were given good information and we shall hunt these bastards down, none shall escape tomorrow! We will go in the name of our ancestor Geri! He shall give us strength! And may Óðinn guide our blades and claws to the hearts of those elven raiders!”

The whole hall erupted in cheers and cries as the chief sat back upon his throne and thrust his mighty drinking horn to the crowd and yelled out, “To our victory!”

The crowd began the nights festivities and merriment as Beinviðr joined his brothers and his father at the head of the table where the feast began. He placed his hand on his father’s shoulder and gave him a nod as he went to join the festivities among his tribe as the growing feeling of doom hung around him in the pit of his stomach. His brothers seemed all the more excited and almost bloodthirsty at the thought of conquering these elven raiders but yet the one brother could not help the words his ancestor left him. His thoughts turned from that to his eldest brother dancing with his wife and the joy on their faces by being with each other, he turned to his younger brother and saw him flirting with women and drinking with the other men so to bolster their morale and show he did not fear the elven threat. Yet Beinviðr could only sit alone in the corner and drink his mead, he did not wish to ramble with the men just yet and none of the women truly interested him so until his brothers were ready, he would sit and wait for his time to come whether to fight or love.