CWDP: Arne's weregild
Nov. 2nd, 2016 12:35 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
my_brothers_shadow Rollo found the celebration a wonderful thing, revealing in the harvest and honoring the dead. A worthy holiday in his mind, made more so by the free flowing drink and the evocative music. But as the night wore on, he found himself mindful of those that were dead by his hand, and his past treachery.
More and more he found his heart growing heavy.
More and more he found himself drifting farther and farther from the party.
Now he wandered amongst the trees of the forest, mindful of the rabbits but not much else. That is until he heard a twig snap and a leaf crunch.
Freezing, he peered into the night, weaving back and forth to try and see between the trees.
"A silly dance you do, oath-breaker." A dry voice called out.
Shielding his eyes from the fires of the party, Rollo could just make out a shadowed form approaching, aided by the strange witchlight glow about it. As it drew nearer, Rollo recognized it. A cold wash of dread rushed down his back and his guts clenched in fear as Arne stepped into the weak light from the fires behind Rollo.
"How can this be?" Rollo asked, a quaver in his voice as he made a warding sign. Arne was dead by his hand; pierced through and lifted to the sky by the very spear that drained his life. Rollo still remembered the mad haze of battle lust and berserker brew that ruled his mind that day.
"Fear not, Rollo Gut-piercer, I am no draugr. I am a messenger from Valhalla and the gods."
"I paid weregild to your family!" Rollo pleaded.
"Aye, and you have earned their favor, as well as your brothers'. But you have not paid my weregild. Nor the gods."
"How is that fair?"
"'How is that fair?' You sound like a mewling babe not a warrior. How is it fair I paid the price for your treachery? I, who was your friend? I, who was faithful to you and to Ragnar? I, who never did you harm or gave you cause for grief? 'Fair'...you ask me of fair?"
Pride stung, Rollo took in a breath and pulled himself to his full height. "What would you have of me then?"
"Three simple things, no more. A sheaf of wheat, a child's song, and three broken shields."
That was actually five things, Rollo knew, but wasn't about to complain. "And weregild is paid if I bring you these things?"
"In full. In the gods' eyes, your honor will be restored; as well as in my own."
"Very well. How do I bring you these things?"
Arne gave a wicked grin in response. "So quick to leap without looking. The wheat must be from a goddess and must be earned, as well as given freely. The song must be taught to you and the child from another world, and learned in their world. The shields must all be from those who would harm the house of Ragnar and broken by your hand alone. Next year, on this day, this Halloween, this Samhain, I will come again. Seek me and bring me these things and all is paid. Fail, and you shall never know the glory of Valhalla."
More and more he found his heart growing heavy.
More and more he found himself drifting farther and farther from the party.
Now he wandered amongst the trees of the forest, mindful of the rabbits but not much else. That is until he heard a twig snap and a leaf crunch.
Freezing, he peered into the night, weaving back and forth to try and see between the trees.
"A silly dance you do, oath-breaker." A dry voice called out.
Shielding his eyes from the fires of the party, Rollo could just make out a shadowed form approaching, aided by the strange witchlight glow about it. As it drew nearer, Rollo recognized it. A cold wash of dread rushed down his back and his guts clenched in fear as Arne stepped into the weak light from the fires behind Rollo.
"How can this be?" Rollo asked, a quaver in his voice as he made a warding sign. Arne was dead by his hand; pierced through and lifted to the sky by the very spear that drained his life. Rollo still remembered the mad haze of battle lust and berserker brew that ruled his mind that day.
"Fear not, Rollo Gut-piercer, I am no draugr. I am a messenger from Valhalla and the gods."
"I paid weregild to your family!" Rollo pleaded.
"Aye, and you have earned their favor, as well as your brothers'. But you have not paid my weregild. Nor the gods."
"How is that fair?"
"'How is that fair?' You sound like a mewling babe not a warrior. How is it fair I paid the price for your treachery? I, who was your friend? I, who was faithful to you and to Ragnar? I, who never did you harm or gave you cause for grief? 'Fair'...you ask me of fair?"
Pride stung, Rollo took in a breath and pulled himself to his full height. "What would you have of me then?"
"Three simple things, no more. A sheaf of wheat, a child's song, and three broken shields."
That was actually five things, Rollo knew, but wasn't about to complain. "And weregild is paid if I bring you these things?"
"In full. In the gods' eyes, your honor will be restored; as well as in my own."
"Very well. How do I bring you these things?"
Arne gave a wicked grin in response. "So quick to leap without looking. The wheat must be from a goddess and must be earned, as well as given freely. The song must be taught to you and the child from another world, and learned in their world. The shields must all be from those who would harm the house of Ragnar and broken by your hand alone. Next year, on this day, this Halloween, this Samhain, I will come again. Seek me and bring me these things and all is paid. Fail, and you shall never know the glory of Valhalla."
