An Angel Called Eternity

To Bet on Losing Dogs - Kætil VI: A Bittersweet Future

Kætil VI: A Bittersweet Future

The Twenty-Sixth Day of the Ninth Moon, 873 AD.
The Great Warcamp, The Isanford, Scelopyrea.

It wasn't bad, all things considered.

Oh sure, he'd been fucking livid at first, but he'd come around afterwards. He'd genuinely believed that the great showdown between father and the Eyvindottir was to be his moment, his chance to prove himself as a worthy successor to his father. When there had been no battle he was furious, yes, but his friends and companions had calmed him. They'd made him see sense, no matter how little he wished to see it at the time.

Yes, it was certainly annoying that the battle had never come to pass. Yes, it certainly did seem to be a betrayal of the decade of training he'd been put through for this moment. No, that did not mean it was all useless. His friends were alive and still by his side, and that was the most important thing to note. On top of that, it wasn't like this would be the only time war would be upon them all, not with the combined might of all Scelopyrea behind a pair of truly great warlords. No, war was a certainty in the near future, and promised to be greater than any internecine conflict amongst their own kind. The treacherous petty kings on the island of Hedinskye, the tribes of the other Brythonian Isles, even the mighty rulers of the south would all make viable targets in time. He just needed to wait a little longer, and the glory he craved would certainly be his.

The marriage of his father to Thjodhild Eyvindottir had been one of the grandest affairs in living memory, even if he did find himself having to bite his tongue all night due to being sat to father's right with the Valkyrie-Queen on the other high chair at the dais. That was one of the main stipulations of their union: they were equals. Father could not overrule her, and she could not overrule father. Kætil wasn't pleased with that, but then he wasn't overly pleased with any of this. He wasn't displeased enough to actually say anything to father about it though, for he wasn't stupid enough to think that this move was wrong. He was too proud to admit his distaste came from selfishness, but he wasn't so selfish as to try and rile up discontent. His father seemed pleased anyhow, and if nothing else he would stay quiet just to keep his old man happy. Father deserved that much.

He wasn't sure how much he'd drank that night, but he did know it was a strong fruit brandy. He wasn't in the mood that night for merriment, and though he did try to contain his bitterness for the sake of the man to his left that night he knew that his father had been a little worried about how he would take it.

He wasn't taking it well, to be honest. He now understood why uncles Rogar and Osvald had driven themselves so hard to try and be fathers equal. It had gotten them both killed in the end, which was a pleasant thought, but he understood their desire nonetheless. The fact of the matter was that a month ago he was set to be father's heir, but with this new marriage the heir would have to be whichever child first came about from the union of father and the Valkyrie-Queen. He was old news, and as such leadership of the Scelopyrene would never be his.

It was a bitter thought, but that didn't mean there were no other avenues open to him. Whoever his half-sibling was to be would surely benefit from having him around as a loyal huscarl, and if he wasn't wanted here then he'd just take his companions and go off on an adventure somewhere to the south. The southern kingdoms were always looking for mercenaries, weren't they? Maybe he'd be able to find passage across the Aenir and find his way through life amongst soldiers and brigands from around the entire world. It would be an interesting life, if a short one.

He didn't blame father for what he'd done. The man had made the smartest decision available to him, and with his new union Scelopyrea was on the way to finally becoming a true nation rather than the collection of squabbling clans and tribes it had been since time immemorial, and of course it made sense that there were to be some losers that came about as a result of this, but it just felt gut churning that it had to be Kætil himself that was the loser here.