The Ancient World Order

Chapter 3: Sven of the North

Sven moistened his throat by emptying his cup of mead in one swoop. The smoke of grilled boar had soared it, reeking across the long hall of Skagerat. Roars from drunken Norsemen echoed in the ancient mead hall. They roared louder for every drop of mead slinking down their thirsty throats. The chilly nights of the north cowered even the strongest of the notorious Norsemen. Just as the bears hide inside their caverns during the long winter, so did the Norsemen, drinking while awaiting the spring.

Sven scoured through the enormous feasting hall, large enough to seat over five hundred warriors. Laughter and roaring filled the mighty hall and everywhere people were singing. In the centre, hundreds were dancing around the massive white winter pole, decorated with winter flowers and branches of birch. At the Spring welcoming feast, they all feasted as if it were their last day. The Northerners always did. They were not known for thinking long term. If you lived through the day and made it to the night, there weren't any worries.

To the contrast, Sven the clanless, son of the traitor chieftain Torleif, worries were always on his mind. He was a troubled youthful man, to everyone's despise, always questioning the savage northerner's way of life.

"If you have a problem with it, why don't you go south to your hellspawn traitor father!" His uncle, chieftain Ivar, used to tell Sven when he spoke his mind. But he couldn't, Sven was a prisoner here, a hostage.

Sven looked just like any other northerners. He had a wide face, sharp grey eyes and long blonde hair reaching down to his chin. He was strong and tall and had a body made for savagery, which the northerners were notorious for.

Sven caught the eye of his thrall Caro, who once again looked impressed by the sheer amount of mead the northerners could pour down their large throats.

Sven smiled and raised his eyebrows to make a funny facial expression as he glanced at Caro. He reached for two cups of mead at the centre of the table, giving one to Caro and one to himself. As Caro raised his cup to drink, Sven hit it with his own, making Caro spill half of the glass over his belly.

"What are you doing!!?" Caro yelled at Sven, in a brief moment of fury.

Sven shouted at him cheerfully. "We cheer before we drink, have you learned nothing?" He burst into laughter as Caro, in full shock, was trying to prevent the mead from dripping down the table.

"That was so unnecessary, why did you even do that!?" Caro snapped at Sven.

A short black-haired, middle-aged man, sitting by Caro's right gave him an angry eye, while the rest of the table chuckled.

"You know what they do to thralls who mess up!" Caro barked at Sven "If Ivar was here, he would punch me to sleep!!"

Sven just shook his head. "Nobody would do anything as long as I am here. If they would have any complaints. I will just say that you have already been punished enough. That was why you dropped your mead!"

Caro had been at Sven's side for as long as he could remember. Having grown up together, Sven considered Caro as the brother he never had. Even though he is a matter of fact was his thrall. Their friendly relationship was not appreciated by the rest of the northerners. Some treated their thralls worse than animals.

Being from the south, Caro was at least half a head shorter than Sven and his skin tone was darker. His eyes were blue, and his short hair was black as the night. Sven always said that he had a kind and humble look on his face like he was constantly daydreaming. It might not be too peculiar, considering him being abducted as an infant, from the kingdom of Loria, before it was destroyed fifteen years ago.

"That is such a mead abuse!!" a distinct voice said behind Caro, followed by a hard pat on his back.

Caro got startled and quickly turned around in a minor panic. Sven started laughing when he realised it was the famous poet and their friend Runar Gold hair.