Chapter Text
Askeladd stares down at the pile of gold, far more irritated than he is impressed. There’s enough there for every single member of the band to have a good handful, but he suspects that by the time everything is handed out, he’ll be lucky to get even a single shiny coin.
Sometimes being at the bottom of the barrel is just awful.
No matter how well he does, his big mouth has made absolutely sure that Geir isn’t ever going to recognize any of it.
Sometimes Askeladd hates being right.
He isn’t even surprised when his guess about the gold turns out to be right. Geir somehow manages to distribute it all, and when the time comes for Askeladd to get his share--even though he did the most dangerous work--he’s still the very last in line.
He gets one gold coin, and it isn’t even shiny.
Staring down at the coin, Askeladd decides then and there that he’s going to kill Geir. Not right then, of course. Killing Geir even in a properly sanctioned duel would only lead to bad places. If he’s lucky, the band will fall apart. If he’s not, the band will decide to lynch him, put Ivar in charge, and carry on their merry way.
No, he needs to take Geir apart. He needs to turn the band against him so that when it finally comes time to shove his sword down Geir’s wretched throat, no one will even bat an eye.
It’s harder than it looks though. The band is loyal to Geir by design, and the man is always quick to promote anyone who pays him any lip service. Most like Askeladd who don’t decide to leave the band at the first opportunity. Even so, he suspects there’s at least a few who aren’t terribly happy with their revered leader, and Askeladd spends his time trying to sniff them out.
No one sensible wants to be seen talking with him, so it’s slow going.
After a month, Askeladd decides to change tack. Working from within the band isn’t going to work, which means he needs to start from the outside. He needs to find someone strong who he can count on to have his back, and that person needs to have absolutely no allegiance to Geir for his plan to work.
Askeladd bides his time and waits. There are a lot of decent options, but Askeladd can’t settle on a decent option. Every battle they fight in only cements the fact that if his plan fails, he’ll be lucky to end up dead.
It’s not until almost three months after he first stood in front of that pile of gold that he finds the target.
Geir’s band has taken up position around a valley, and the main part of the band is currently cutting their way through the center of the enemy's forces. Askeladd himself is relegated to the sidelines as usual, holding a position on the east end of the valley where he’s least likely to see any action.
It’s the safest place he can be in, but if no one comes anywhere near him, he’s not going to get paid.
The position pays off though. As he watches the tide of battle wobble back and forth, his eyes pick out a single figure that’s literally cutting his way through the right flank of the band. Even at a distance Askeladd can tell that the man is very good.
It’s not until the man tips back his head and lets out a beastial roar that even Askeladd can hear that he realizes that the man is a berserker, mad with battle rage and showing no signs of stopping.
Askeladd has to fight the urge to skip as he ducks over to where Steinar stands nervously.
“You should be in position,” Steinar says, glancing around as if to be sure no one is watching them.
“No one’s coming up here,” Askeladd says casually. “Do you see that berserker?”
Steinar evidently did not, because he immediately cranes his neck, scanning the battlefield helplessly until Askeladd points the man out.
“I bet Geir has already got his sights on the man. He’d be a fool to pass someone that good up, and Geir is no fool,” Askeladd says, his voice downright reverential.
Steinar gives him a long look, as if shocked to hear Askeladd say anything kind about Geir at all, but finally he nods.
“He would be.”
Thirty minutes later, Askeladd’s nugget of wisdom has been passed around the line, every man taking credit for themselves. He does his best to look surprised when Eirik rides along the line calling for him, and he double times it over as directed.
“I have a job for you,” Geir says, and Askeladd tries his best to look sombre. Really he just wants to kick up his heels and laugh in joy, because the plan is going perfectly.
“There’s a berserk down there,” Geir says, and Askeladd turns his head, squinting as if searching for the man. “I want you to recruit him for the band.”
“Me?” Askeladd says, feigning confusion. “But I have no rank here. Wouldn’t it be better for someone like Eirik to recruit them?”
Eirik looks pleased with having been mentioned at all, settling back on his horse.
It’s completely ridiculous that he’s even on the horse, but Eirik is shorter than Askeladd by a foot and he suspects the horse is compensating for that.
“In another situation, yes,” Geir says with a nasty little smile. “But the man is in a battle rage, and if he’s going to stab someone, it’s better that it be someone disposable.”
Several of Geir’s cronies burst out laughing, and Askeladd feigns fear, biting his tongue to keep from pointing out the half million issues with Geir’s logic. The man is giving him a gift, even if he doesn’t know it. The first person to bring someone into a band matters a lot, and Geir isn’t thinking about that at all.
He’s expecting Askeladd to recruit the man and be done with him, but Askeladd has other plans.