The look of recognization

Halfdan The Black

Scars are for the living

Harald had to lead his own kingdom, Rogaland. For that Halfdan stood on the docks looking how his brother sailed away to his own lands again. They weren’t that much apart often but it didn’t made them less weak when they did. That dark tug around the corner of his lips flared a little up when Harald putted his hand up in the last way of a greeting. Halfdan didn’t greet him back, his one hand rested on the extent of his sword while the thumb of his other hand hang around his belt. He stayed there for a moment, looking over the water, the boats that drifted in the harbor. His urge to raid again became stronger for it was a long time ago he did it again. A hard blow of the wind cause his blond hair to fly open, tearing him out of his thoughts, not all that bright thoughts. All Halfdan could think of was how it would feel to go into war again, to feel the blood stain on his face. The dark tug on his lips grow a little before he turned around and ignored everybody on the docks who was watching him. They may think Harald away was a good thing, but they didn’t knew they earl if they thought that.

Skagen was hardly a minor thing of his desires. He walked with two Vikings the long road back to the manor. His dark eyes, slide from one side of the street to the other. Nobody looked at him, nobody dared on looking at him. Everybody just stayed doing their own business. They all knew it, once he caught your eye you were doomed for an entirety. Halfdan loved on spreading that fear, just as he loved on dooming them. But it was his town, he needed the loyalty. Some approved of his methods, other he had to seduce to liking them.

When he walked by one of the trainings field he saw a group shield maidens fighting, all young and freshly for the killing. He stopped at the side of the field, eyes devouring each one of those women, some more promising than others. One got kicked down to the ground and he smiled slightly, seeing how she got bruised in the progress. A little further two others were fighting and his eyes kept hanging on the left one, a young woman who was fighting fiercely. Something in the way of her fighting made him recognize something, something in the features of her expressions did. Halfdan had his way of looking, and he was looking at her now, waiting until he would recognize her, or better waiting until she won or lost from her partner. He squeezed his eyes a little together, asking himself how long it would take before his gaze would make her uncomfortable.

For Hedvig  

Halfdan The Black

Scars are for the living

It was how he loved it the best, a field full of people training. He stopped, smiling every time somebody got kicked down. Because only the best warriors were made when they got kicked down or never got kicked down. And they were all female for today, his dark eyes scour over each one of them, tiling his head slightly for which his blond hair hang away from his face. Some of his men stood around, all watching from the one to the other until only one duo remained and everybody gathered around to see what looked like an epic battle between two good shield maiden, or at least, becoming good shieldmaidens.

One of is men made a comment about it and Halfdan chuckled, looking aside to a slave that passed by. He grabbed her at her shoulder so he could take an apple out of her baskets before he pushed her further without saying a word. He looked back to the one woman while pushing his teeth through the apple, chewing on it, its juice getting down over his beard. When she swung her sword up the other was just smarter and kicked her down her knees, taking victory in the moment. Everybody nodded but Halfdan just looked to her before she looked up, turning her head and looking him right in the eyes. Halfdan lifted his head a little, chewing his piece of apple before he swallowed it. He stroke his arm over his mouth, not even releasing her gaze. ‘You!’ He raised the hand with apple towards her, gesturing her to come. And all who knew Halfdan knew it wasn’t a gesture but a command. His other hand rested on his sword, taking a new bite from the apple while she got closer. ‘Who are you?’ He asked her straight away, nodding to the fight she just had. ‘Who is your father?’ He followed, with his mouth still half full of pieces apple. Halfdan didn’t knew any decency and he certainly never acted polite. So why would he start now. He swallowed the apple, looking down over her body in a short moment, knowing he owned her for living on his land. That she should know to.

For Hedvig  

Halfdan The Black

Scars are for the living

Him pointing a finger out was cause for everybody to be afraid in a way, knowing that whatever he had to say or do it wasn’t all that good. Halfdan didn’t interact much with the villages, not even after all that time. They grew used on him being in charge and everybody kept paying attention to his rule like he wanted it. He loved that they feared him, it drove him to more ambition, more power … he wanted so much more. Halfdan had always stand aside his brother, not in rule of kingdoms or lands but in the front line of an army. It never bothered him, why would he … he got everything, the woman, the fights, the gold and he didn’t had to sit on a throne for it. But tasting it, here, in this small reasonable village he knew how it felt to have power. And Halfdan was just the man that didn’t had enough with only one village, he wanted to conquer the world, just as his brother Harald wanted to become King of all Norway, Halfdan wanted to taste the blood of his many victories.

It didn’t took the young woman long to know him, know that he wasn’t a nice patient man, know that he wasn’t the person to look long into the eyes. But he kept looking at her, his primal dark eyes rutting in hers without even flinching. Her body shifted to a more proud pose and his one eyebrow cocked hardly noticeable up a little. Her name didn’t sound familiar but her fathers name raised his eyebrows slightly and she noticed. He brought the apple back to his mouth and took a new bite, nodding with his head towards the fight from earlier. ‘He learned you that?’ He asked, ignoring every questions she asked before. Yes, he knew her father, they fought together in Paris, the disaster before Halfdan got shot. It was a good man, a good fighter. ‘He was in Paris.’ He followed, chewing his apple before looking to her again. Halfdan tend to put more interest in faces that had a history with him, in her case her father. Of that was a good interest nobody could say, all depended on the right amount of words and attitude.

For Hedvig