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When he was born, she had given him the name of Yakun—high son, a Slavicised version of the Norse name Hákonr. His father gave him the name of Vitoslav—to rule glory—and that was the one he used most. At least, until he was baptised, and chose his Christian name as Vitaly—of life.
He still looked full of life even after death.
It's more or less a peculiar thing, that he'd finally chosen to show up, the last amongst all his siblings. Though not the last to speak to her, as for all she knows, Beloozero and Izborsk both haven't yet chosen to do so. Novgorod, on the other hand, had specifically chosen to sit right next to her in silence.
She reckoned that this was the first time he got to this world once more, ever since his death. His kin seemed to have done that a lot, maybe he came here to entertain the idea of meeting his mother again. And so, he did. She'd heard from Pskov that this was his first time indeed. It was more an impression on her that he managed to find her so quickly.
And so, here she was, sitting in a public bench, with her first-born son by her side. Not first in general, but still. Sometimes people would ask her if they were unknowingly sitting on a ghost or not, the answer was, most likely no. Because the sensation of being walked-through by a ghost was distinct. So, people seemed to avoid the empty side by her bench.
"I see Maksenty was not lying when he said you got... exponentially taller."
How rude. Was that really his first words to his mother postmortem?
Hah, well, it wasn't like he was wrong either. She was shorter than him when he died, but now? It seemed to her that she was a bit over twelve centimetres (or five inches, if you were that kind of person) taller than him. He would've been the same height as the Empire, though.
"I get taller every time I resurrect."
"And how many times have you died?"
"Hm, eight."
He looked as if he just swallowed a barrel-full of hot tar. Maybe not that far off, but it still looked dumbfounded.
Perhaps he didn't expect that answer. Which was understandable, because the amount of times she died prior to his own was two. Six more was definitely a major increase. Of which it most definitely was, she died five times last century. And at least three of those were unnecessary. The first of that century was definitely a needed one, but the last one? Arguable. She technically dissolved herself.
You know, she was perfectly happy being 193 centimetres, at least until she decided to die eight times. Not the best thing in the world, her experience would've been better rated if she didn't get taller every time she went back to life. But she had no choice in that. Now, she has to face the reality of being taller than she already was, compared to most people.
It was almost always funny to her, to know that her father was the shortest amongst the Nordics. Which might seem crazy if you've seen him, but the others are taller than him, so it counts, even if Sweden was only three centimetres shorter than when she was in her first life.
It's hilarious, looking back, that Sverige was shorter than his own daughter, Garðaríki.
Hm, now that she thought about it, not a lot of people knew that Sverige wasn't Denmark's blood brother.
"Why?"
"Why not?"
"Did you even want to die that many times?"
"No, I don't love death that much. It would've been better if it stopped at five."
"Uh huh."
Well, he was always unsure with her own words. Which made sense, Volyn had a reason to call her that. But there's a way to differentiate, there always was. He likely sensed it then, that she probably wished something more permanent than all the ones she's experienced so far.
People, mostly those within the court of the former Holy Roman Imperial lands back then, seem to be surprised by her age. Which is understandable, for All of Russia was a part of the Old Generation, while the Russian Empire was one with the New Generation. It was also an entertaining thing that her first-born son was also part of the older ones.
Not as old as her old friend Greece, yes, but old in accordance to the Holy See's decree.
Though Novgorod was far from looking old, he died at the age of nineteen. It wasn't her choice for him to die older than she was at the time, but the way she ages has always been a mystery to her, and so here she was, only physically a year older than her dead son. Amazing that she only reached his age four-hundred and fourty six years after his death.
"Why?"
"Why what, mama?"
"Hm, you calling me that in the first place is strange."
"What, 'mama'? That is what you are, is it not? You gave birth to me, you nurtured me, you taught me many things. You have all the right for me to call you that."
"That you even call me that after saying that I was both your sister and your niece."
"Oh. Well. That was another thing entirely."
Most certainly. After her first death, her principalities had chosen not to refer to her as Rus Land, but instead to believe her as Rus Land's secret daughter—hence her eleventh child. Which was outrageous, most definitely, but everyone was in denial because she definitely died, and well, she did, she just came back to life. And then it happened again, and they called her Rus Land's secret granddaughter, because her secret daughter had a secret daughter of herself.
What is this, really. And of course everyone knew intuitively that she was Rus Land, it just sounded so outrageous to them, that like how Lazarus of Bethany did, she came back to life. Perhaps it wasn't Jesus who resuscitated her, but that comparison was good enough.
"Why what, though?"
"That you forgave me."
"When will you learn to forgive yourself?"
"You don't know what I did after you died, do you?"
"Hm, is it of any importance?"
Is it of any importance? Of course it was of importance. Then yes, he most certainly had no knowledge of it. And if he did, he was doing what she did best, ignore it. And only two people actually knew the full story on what happened that day. Even Novgorod's Lefthand was kept silent. It was her, Moscow, and Veliky Novgorod.
That was probably the only time those two had ever seen her cry, now that she thought about it.
She really hadn't the heart to even talk about it in front of Novgorod's face in the first place. It was Pskov first, and she remembered well how he reacted when he received the news of his death to Moscovia.
Something told her that he knew, though.
"I'm sure it is, actually."
"As long as it was not of your own choice, then it was not of your own choice."
Was it really? Was it really not her own choice that caused the death of Novgorod's daughter?
"Does she forgive you?"
Sfanda still smiled at her. And Sfanda Olga was there, smiling. And he knew that.
"Then I would."
Novgorod was kinder than she'd ever be, because she wouldn't.