Fate Rebellion

1048 — Nidaros, Norway

Winter had arrived for the ancient Norwegian capital. Frost covered everything outside the royal compound of Norway's king. Sheets of snow drifted past the main hall's windows.

A long, troth-like hearth glowed softly in the main hall, providing warmth and light to the surroundings. Outside, a wooden wall separated Harald Hardrada's compound from the rest of Nidaros.

Several smaller cottages littered the the compound, flanking the main hall. These were intended for guests and family. The hall itself provided little room for privacy, and only contained the king's bedchamber. Usually, his official wife, Elisiv, would sleep with him there, but recently, circumstances changed—Elisiv became pregnant.

Now, she took up residence in her own cottage—first for privacy, later so that she could take care of her new-born. A time that was fast approaching…

A tremor of anticipation filled the air. Outside his wife's cottage, Harald paced back and forth, his hands clasped behind his back. Echoes of panting and groaning drifted over from inside.

Two axes rattled on his hip as he walked, hinting at the restless energy he held within. Though Harald had spent decades facing armies and battling the seas, what lay behind the door was entirely different—a battle he could not charge into.

He paused at the door as if to step in, then stopped. The sound of his wife's voice calling out—a sudden, deep groan—made him wince. He inhaled sharply, staring at the polished wooden surface, feeling the helplessness that had seldom touched him in his many years.

Harald's blue eyes tried to bore holes through the wood, but he knew he had to be patient, to let the midwives and the gods see her through. Quietly, he offered a prayer to Frigg, the goddess of motherhood.

"She will be well, my king," came the soft voice of Tora, standing a few steps behind him. Tora Torbergsdottir, Harald's concubine, watched him, her eyes steady, but with a strange glint.

Harald turned to her, his expression masked, and nodded. Tora had seen the same vulnerability when she herself had brought Magnus into the world. And her son was exactly who she was thinking off now…

Suddenly, a new sound broke through—the first wailing cry of a new-born.

Harald froze, and his heart leapt to his throat. He turned to the door and gulped slightly… Then, she stepped inside.

Elisiv leaned back against the fur-covered cushions, her eyes heavy but her face softened with relief. Golden locks fell down her shoulders.In her arms, a tiny bundle squirmed, wrapped in linen, a tiny head of dark hair just visible beneath the swaddling cloth. One of the midwives leaned over her, speaking softly, while another busied herself with cleaning away the tools of labour.

Elisiv turned her head as Harald entered, her tired eyes meeting his. "It is a boy, Harald," Elisiv whispered, her voice breaking as she spoke, her lips curving into a full smile. She pulled back the linen to reveal the boy's face—round and flushed, eyes squeezed shut, the tiny mouth still crying in protest at this new, cold world.

"A boy," Harald repeated, a smile tugging at his lips. He reached out, brushing gently over the infant's head. The child's cries quieted, and Harald marvelled at the softness beneath his touch.

"We shall name him Rurik," Harald said softly, the name a tribute to the old kings of the Rus, a nod to Elisiv's heritage as well as a name that bore strength. But more than that, he somehow knew this was the child's true name.

It was a name he hoped would carry power, that would someday be spoken in halls far and wide, by voices filled with both fear and respect. Elisiv nodded, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.

"Rurik," she whispered, her gaze shifting to her child with fond love. She kissed the child's forehead softly, her lips lingering against his warmth.

Harald rose to his feet, his eyes not leaving his wife and child, and called to the midwife. "Wine," he said, his voice carrying a tone of celebration now. "For the queen, and for all those who helped her today. And send word to the men. Let them know that a new son is born in this hall. Let them light torches for Rurik."

Elisiv smiled as Harald kissed her forehead—a rare gesture of tenderness. The midwife quickly poured the wine, and the air in the room seemed to relax, a new warmth filling the space that the fire alone could not provide.

Elisiv felt her eyes grow heavy, her arms cradling Rurik close as she let the weight of the moment settle into her weary bones. The long night had given way to something precious—her first son, and she couldn't be happier.

Outside the wooden palisade, the news travelled swiftly, carried by excited voices, the flames of newly lit torches flickering against the deep winter darkness.

Yet, one person was not as excited as everyone else. Slowly, Tora walked back to her own chamber, brows furrowed in a complicated expression. She had, of course, congratulated the new parents, but inwardly, she became worried about the future.

When she opened the door to her chamber, there she found her own son, Magnus, being cared for by Tora's personal servant. By now, Magnus was two years old, and growing like a weed. As soon as his mother entered, he looked up and smiled at her.

"Hello, little Magnus" she smiled back while crouching down next to him and caressing his soft hair. "It turns out you might have to work a little harder to earn your rightful place by your father's side… but don't worry, your mother will help you."