Tattered

Chapter 12

I don't think I'd ever been so happy to see a lousy piece of land in my life. The rocky shores of Denmark slowly revealed themselves through the heavy mist that hovered over the water. It was a jagged beach without any formal dock, but it would suit our needs well enough. I lifted my gaze towards the hills that rose up from the sea and into the mainland. The clouds above them were a dull and somber gray, promising a heavy rain later in the night. Not the best of omens, but I'd take what I could get.

We drove the ship onto the stony shore and prepared to disembark. I could hear Dag shouting orders to the men on deck, making sure they properly moored the ship. My small cabin suddenly seemed claustrophobic, the walls thin and flimsy. I took a deep breath of the salty air, then strapped on my best armor and slid Spoon into its sheath.

Hrothgar's first impression of me had to be perfect. From what I'd heard, the man was generous and amiable with his friends- and anything but with those who were not. I had to make sure that I was in the former category. My chance of finding Ingrid depended upon it.

I finished adjusting the straps of my armor, and turned to find myself staring into the cabin's one dirty mirror. I cringed. My appearance could only make Hrothgar angry or disgusted; neither would help my case with him. I had to hope that my strengths would be enough to convince him. My own strength, and the strength of the man I represented; Volsung's name should still have some weight in Denmark, even if he and Hrothgar had not spoken for some time.

But there was no way to know if that would truly work... How could I take such a risk when Ingrid's life was on the line?

I took the few steps across the cabin to my desk and picked up the final piece of my battle gear. I held the gilded helmet in my hands, debating myself. I could wear it and hide my face from Hrothgar for as long as possible. Everyone had heard the rumors of my appearance, of course, but seeing such hideousness was a different experience entirely. If I could get Hrothgar to agree to my demands before having to offend him in such a way, then all the better. Resolute in my decision, I placed the helmet over my head and went to see to the men.

They were already moving about on the shore, getting everything ready for Heorot. Erik carried a white flag with the triangular valknut symbol emblazoned upon it in dark blue, a sign that we were a peaceful delegation from Geatland. Several of the other men hoisted chests containing various gifts and treasures that father had sent along to honor King Hrothgar. I thought it all a bit excessive, but the ways of kings and their petty politics had always mystified me.

Soon everything we needed had been moved off the ship, and we were ready to depart. Dag gave me a small nod.

"We march on to Heorot," I announced, raising my voice to be heard over the waves lapping at the shore. The men all listened attentively and, except for Thorgil and a few of his mates, all had an aura of loyalty that had not been there at the outset of this journey. My stomach swooped with anxiousness while my heart filled up with pride. It was one of the strangest feelings I'd ever experienced, yet I didn't exactly dislike it. "Lord Hrothgar is an honorable man. He will hear of our troubles and grant us the men and weapons we need. And then," I paused to take a breath. "On to rescue the princess Ingrid!"

An enthusiastic cheer rang out across the empty beach, and then we were on our way.

We made our way towards the hills in the distance. Heorot was a scant few miles from the shore, and we would have no trouble reaching it by midday. No sooner had we crested the first hill, when a figure became visible on the next. He was wearing armor, that I could tell, and carried a spear. A Danish sentry, by the looks of it.

"Hello there!" I called across the hills. My voice echoed out hauntingly. Before I'd even spoken the man had started to run our way, and in a few short minutes he was upon us. He was indeed a Danish warrior. His shield proudly displayed the Gungnir, a set of crisscrossing lines meant to represent Odin's spear, and Hrothgar's sigil. His expression was anything but welcoming. Panicking, I reached up to my face, but the helmet was indeed still there.