Chapter Text
The longhouse was filled with a chorus of voices, which all mingled with the sounds of the crackling fire in the hearth and the dozens of tasks being performed. While most were seemingly relaxed, leaning against wooden pillars or sat on the furs spread on the earthy floor, there was still a purpose to everything in the large room. Anyone who knew what the gathered people were a part of, knew that there was no one that was idle. Everyone had their special task, their special place, and perhaps that was why the group worked so well.
Even the leader, who could have just been in a supervising role as he sipped his mead, was showing his participation where he sat among the men in a high-backed chair. For an untrained eye he might have been hard to spot, had he not been clad in fine furs with bronze rings on his fingers, but for anyone who knew what they were looking for would immediately notice the confidence and authority he radiated. It was clear that this man, despite that he didn't raise himself above the men around him, was the leader of the party, and he was not to be underestimated.
“So what you are saying is that these plans might not be realistic, and that we should abandon them – despite having come this far?” A red eyebrow was raised as Winters studied his advisors, light eyes showing all too well that he wasn't about to abandon anything. He had taken too many risks, made too many enemies and too many promises to turn back.
“I am not saying we should abandon the full plan, but for now it feels quite impossible to sail the distance you wish us to sail. While the ships are in good condition, there is still the problem with that we only have a handful of men that can actually sail them. Is that not correct, Nixon?” An almost pleading look was sent by the first advisor to the second, but not much more than a nod was given from the other, the man being too busy refilling his tankard with mead from a tall pitcher.
“If that is the only issue, then that can be easily rectified. We will just split the men into groups and train them – the same way we are currently training them in other things. It can't be hard.” Allowing a calming smile to rise on his lips, Winters reached out to place a hand on the first advisor's – Welsh's – shoulder, giving it a light squeeze. “It will be fine, Harry.”
“While it is a good idea, my lord, there is still the issue with that there is only a handful who knows how to sail. You currently have over 120 men in your service, and another 20 are coming in soon – where almost all are thralls in the need of weapons training – and the few we have will need weeks to train everyone. It's just not possible.”
“Then how about we hire some fishermen to train them? While they might not know how to sail a longship, they can still teach the men the basics. We do have the funds for that, do we not?” The leader's stubbornness was all too well shining through, and there was a deep sigh from Welsh as he tried his best to respond in a calm manner.
“We do, but that would mean dipping into the funds that has been set aside for supplies for the trip, and those are already starting to get tight. Especially if you are planning on reaching 200 men before we leave. That would mean that the supplies could run out before we even reach Ísland and Reykjarvík, and that is a thing I believe we would all wish to avoid.”
It was at this, the third in the company finally spoke, a hand rubbing over the thick beard covering his cheeks and chin, while the other clutched his tankard to his chest.
“I doubt the men would mind the lack of food if it's only for a while. As long as they have mead for their drinking horns and the rest they need to sober up, then it will be fine.” Stifling a yawn, the dark-haired man shot the other two a look. “At least that's true for me.”
His words had generated a reaction from men seated close by, and it was suddenly all too clear that they had been listening in on the conversation from the beginning as they decided to add their opinion to that of Nixon's.
“He's right, my lord. Mead and sleep, and we will be good as new. Ain't that right, boys?” Nudging the man next to him in the side, the speaker allowed a smile to rise on his lips. “We'll be fine, as long as none of us fall overboard and get eaten by Jǫrmungandr. Not that I think he'd like the taste of any of us with how filthy we all will be when we reach the high seas.” Laughter erupted at this as the men knocked their tankards together and took a swig each, allowing the leader and his advisors to return back to their own conversation as they quickly lost focus. While the great Miðgarðsormr was a creature every seafaring Viking feared, here in the security of the longhouse, it was something that could be joked about, and to the sound of roars, the leader set an end to the previous argument.
“There we have it, then. The plans will be fine the way they are, the men clearly believe so themselves, so we should not disappoint them by postponing the plans. After all, we only have another two months left before our window shuts for this year. If we don't leave within that time, we will have to wait until next year, and I doubt any of us would wish for that with the rising tensions.”
Not even Welsh could argue with that...
–
The road was muddy from the night's rain, and the men were slipping and sliding as they tried to make their way towards the waiting camp. Most had been walking for days, following a small group on horseback and the promise of freedom they had been given by these strangers. Some hadn't believed a word of that, all too used to lies and false promises after a life in serfdom, but others had taken all as truth and the excitement was all too clearly seen in their eyes as they trudged along.
Malarkey was one of the doubters, his brown eyes carefully surveying the people leading them on their way, just waiting for them to take out whips if anyone fell too far behind. That was what always had happened whenever anyone hadn't been doing their job well enough, and he didn't expect these people to be any different. No matter how kind they had been, especially the man and woman who had brought Malarkey and Skip along. The two had continuously been trying to lighten the mood, making jokes and singing songs as they group had travelled along, and while it had worked on most, Malarkey was not convinced.
“I don't like this.” A words were murmured under his breath as he studied the man and woman, the two having taken to sharing a horse after an older thrall had collapsed the day before, and shown he was not fit for walking. The two were looking two happy, laughter spilling from their lips as the blonde woman retold some story from the past for the group., and to Malarkey that was all cause for suspicion. Previously, happy people in fine clothes had been synonymous with chains and hard work, and he wasn't expecting for that to change.
“I wasn't expecting you to either, Malarkey, but I'm surprised to hear you say it.” Skip's words caused Malarkey's focus to shift, eyes falling from the people on horseback to his friend as he tried to find a response that wouldn't show the offence he had taken.
“This is all too suspicious though, you have to agree with that. This is all too good to be true. No one buys thralls the way these people do, nor treat them this way.”
“There is some sense in that, but don't you think that might show that this is also different? If they are not like other people, then perhaps being bought by them is a good thing.” Skip's never-ending optimism was all too clear at that moment as he spoke, a smile on his face as he skipped through the mud the same way he had been skipping everywhere as a child. There was a happiness in him that Malarkey hadn't seen properly in years, and it was almost painful to think that that happiness might be snuffed out the minute they reached their new home. For that was the last thing Malarkey wished to witness.
–
The first thing that struck them was the sheer size of the camp they entered, and some of the thralls stared in shock as they followed the riders along the main road. Their goal was obvious – a longhouse in the middle of the camp, where a crowd was already waiting for them to arrive. One of the riders had gone ahead earlier the same day, and he was now stood next to a tall red-head on a podium, a smile on his lips as he waved towards the new arrivals. He had been the obvious leader of the group during the journey, but next to the red-head, he looked more like the second or third in command, with how the red-head radiated authority.
“Welcome!” The greeting was called in the direction of the arriving thralls as they came to a halt in front of the podium, most of them looking like rabbits caught in a trap as the rest of the men of the camp gathered around them. Their way out had vanished, and some of those who had been happily looking forward to their arrival was now wondering if their freedom had only been a crazy dream.
However, the red-head on the podium knew otherwise.
“This camp that you are now in is a camp for free men, and you have all been freed to be given a safe haven with us here. From this day onwards, none shall look upon you and call you a thrall. Never again shall you wake up with a thrall collar around your neck, or have the threat of a whip following you.” Rings glittered in the pale sunlight as the jarl spread his arms, a warm smile on his lips as he allowed his eyes to travel over the new men. “It is up to you if you wish to stay with us here, but if you were to leave my lands, I could not guarantee that you will stay free. If you stay here, you will be taught how to fight and sail, and given the opportunity to travel with us to new lands where none will know your past. There, you will be truly free and able to claim grounds for yourself where you can do as you wish.” His words were followed by cheers from his men, as the thralls in the middle started to somewhat relax. “The only rule I have is that you are not allowed to take thralls for yourself. We freed you from that life, and we now expect you to help us free others, as well as keep others free. You know the suffering of a thrall, and you should not wish to put that suffering onto someone else. If you do, I can't promise that you will live long enough to see another sunrise.” Further cheers went up, and this time some of the new arrivals also joined in, their voices first unsure and weak, but soon growing in strength as they were given encouragement from others around them.
“Now, you must all be tired after your travels. Hot baths are waiting for you, as well as clean clothes and food. There are also men here who will help you remove any thrall collars or chains that may still bind you, and beds for you to sleep in when you feel it is time for that. You are free now – be free to do as you wish!” The smile on the leader's lips was wide now as he watched the happiness erupt among the freed thralls and the other men stepped in to show them the way to the facilities they had been promised. He could barely even imagine what they were feeling, well aware that many of them could have been someone else's property since birth, but he knew that whatever it was, it was worth any sum he had spent on freeing them...