The Saga of Friedrir Black-Hand

Fadagils' March

The stale morning air was thick around Friedrir when he awoke, and a chill shivered its way down his back. He rose from the pile of furs which he had slept in and looked around. There was a small fire pit in the centre of the room and three familiar wooden stools were arranged around it; a thick layer of dust upon them. The thick wooden door was closed, and a sliver of dawn's light crept into the dim room, giving Friedrir just enough light to make out the room. On either side of the door, nailed into the wall, were small metal hooks which lay empty and unused. Friedrir's heart sank as he saw them; they were undoubtedly the hooks from which his parent's shields once hung. He gazed upon them and thought whether his own shield should adorn the house now, but the idea departed his mind just as quickly as it had arrived.

A deep growl sounded from Friedrir's stomach and he suddenly noticed a wretched emptiness. He had not eaten since the night before, while he and Brasannerr talked in the Brondehal. Friedrir was unaware that it was in fact that next morning and he had slept through the rest of the previous day following his ceremony, so he was surprised to find himself so desperate to eat.

In search of something to eat he decided to head to the town hall and see what he could find there, so he stood up and walked towards the door. He reached out his hand to push the door open when he noticed it. His dyed black hand. He had completely forgotten about it and the sight of his arm took him by surprise. In the dim light of the doorway he studied his arm closely, looking at it any way he could. He ran the fingers of his other hand over this symbol of his devotion and yet he felt unchanged. There was no great piety in his heart, and he did not feel stronger or better after his ceremony. Friedrir felt exactly as he had done on the morning before, and he found that odd.

As Friedrir pushed open the door he quickly stepped out into the street and found it deserted, even the snow and the fog seemed to have left the land. He could hear the sounds of a city, cheers and shouting as well as the jangling of metal and the sound of many footsteps, but they seemed faint and far off. Puzzled, he swiftly walked towards the square where he found that place abandoned too. It was then that Friedrir looked up to the sun and saw it nestled just above the Western mountains and he realised what had happened. The town was empty because this was the morning of the army's departure.

In full sprint, Friedrir dashed back to his home and burst through the door. He darted to the chest which lay at the back of the room and threw back the lid, revealing the contents. He snatched up his sword and shield as fast as he could and swung the chest shut again with a crash. He was out of the door immediately, weapons in hand, and careened towards the front gate.

Ducking between the streets and alleyways, choosing the quickest path to the gate, Friedrir stumbled closer and closer to his goal. All the time the sounds of the nearby army became louder and louder until his ears were filled with a cacophony of noise. He turned the last corner around a squat timber-framed house and the gate was in his sights, but he did not stop running. The crowd was directly outside of the gates and were cheering and beating spears against shields as Friedrir finally joined the sea of people, in the shadow of the Eastern gate.

In his wild panic, Friedrir had not noticed Golbadir standing on the rampart of the long wall above the gate as he addressed his soldiers. Given the racket emanating from the army, Friedrir guessed that the speech was over. Golbadir had a smile of pride on his face as the army cheered. He had been wounded in battle and his age left him unable to lead the campaigns of the Norden, however, he was a fierce strategist and the folk which surrounded Friedrir would follow is lead without question.

After a minute or so, the noise began to die down and Golbadir gave one piece of oration:

"There is victory in battle, but we must remember our gods. There is also victory in death."