Mist & Moonlight

Chapter 32 | The Weight of a Crown

The wind howled beyond the stone walls of the longhouse, rattling the wooden beams as though the gods themselves were restless. Leif sat on a low stool beside the bed, elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped tightly together. Across from him, Meryna knelt by Rorik's side, dipping a cloth into cool water and pressing it against his fevered brow. The hearth's glow flickered over Rorik's face, once full of life and strength, now pale and drawn from fever and infection.

Rorik, the mighty King of Norway, stirred restlessly, his face twisted with discomfort. Days of fever had ravaged his body, and though the infection had not yet claimed him, it clung to him stubbornly, weakening him with each passing hour.

"Leif," Meryna whispered without looking up, "we need to keep the fever down. He can't fight this alone."

Leif nodded, his jaw tight, helplessness gnawing at him as he watched his father, a warrior brought low by an enemy no sword could strike. It felt unnatural to see him this way—Rorik, who had fought men and storms alike without faltering, now confined to his bed, struggling for every breath.

Rorik's eyes fluttered open, glassy but still sharp beneath the weight of sickness. He shifted slightly, and a low groan escaped him as he tried to sit up.

"Easy, Rorik," Meryna said, gently pressing him back against the pillows.

But Rorik shook his head, a stubborn gleam flickering through the fever's haze. "Leif," he rasped, his voice hoarse, but laced with the authority of a king. "Come closer, son."

Leif leaned forward, clasping his father's hand. It was cold, and that frightened him more than he cared to admit. "I'm here, Father."

Rorik's hand tightened slightly in his son's grasp, though the effort cost him. "Listen to me—we don't have much time."

"You need to rest," Leif urged. "You'll be back on your feet soon enough"

Rorik gave a tired chuckle that quickly turned into a rough cough. "Rest? Rest is a luxury we can't afford." He exhaled slowly, gathering what strength he had left. "Kattegat is vulnerable, Leif. The people need to see strength—our enemies need to see it, too."

Meryna opened her mouth to protest, but Rorik held up a hand to silence her. "You know I'm right," he whispered, though his voice wavered with fatigue.

Leif felt the weight of his father's words settle on his shoulders. "What do you need me to do?"

Rorik's fevered gaze bore into him. "You must rally the forces. Restore Kattegat's strength. We cannot afford hesitation, not now."

Leif's heart pounded in his chest. "But you're still here, Father. We can do this together."

Rorik's grip tightened again, and though he was weak, the fire in his eyes remained unquenched. "I'll fight to get better. But the crown is not just mine to carry anymore, Leif." He paused, his voice softening. "It's time you learn what it takes to wear it."

Leif swallowed hard, the enormity of the task settling into him. "What if I'm not ready?"

"You are," Rorik said firmly, though a flicker of sympathy passed over his features. "Readiness isn't something you wait for. It's something you forge in the moment. The storms don't wait for you to be ready—they come, whether you are or not."

Meryna glanced at Leif, her eyes filled with unspoken worry and encouragement. "You're more ready than you think," she whispered.

Rorik shifted on the bed with a wince, his breathing shallow but steady. "Your sister, the twins, your mother—they're counting on you. The men will follow you because you have my blood. But you must give them a reason to keep on fighting."

Leif clenched his jaw, the flicker of self-doubt still burning low in his chest. "And if I fail?"

Rorik smiled, weak but unwavering. "Then you get back up. That's what it means to be king."

The room fell silent, save for the crackling of the fire and the distant howling of the wind. Leif knew that once he walked out of this room, everything would change. He could no longer be just a son or a warrior—he had to be more. He had to be what Kattegat needed.

"I'll rally the men," Leif said quietly but with growing resolve. "I'll claim back our home from those Eastern Vultures."

Rorik gave a faint nod, his expression one of tired pride. "Good," he whispered. "I'll hold on long enough to see it done."

Leif rose to his feet, squaring his shoulders as the weight of responsibility settled on him. "Rest, Father. I'll take care of this."

Rorik's lips curled into the barest hint of a smile. "You've always had fire in you, Leif. It's time to let others see it."

With one last glance at his father, Leif turned toward the door, the chill of the night air waiting beyond it.

Meryna touched his arm gently before he left. "He'll fight, Leif," she whispered. "But now it's your turn to fight, too."

Leif nodded, the flicker of uncertainty replaced with steady determination. Kattegat needed him. His family needed him. And he would not fail them.

With that, he stepped into the cold night, ready to face the storm that awaited.