Chapter Text
Present Day
Styrkur Island
“Viggo?”
“Yes, mother?” he replied, looking up to find her standing in his doorway with a rather harried expression on her face. “What is it?” he inquired, rushing to her side. “Is something wrong?”
“It is your brother,” she disclosed, beginning to wring her hands.
“Ryker?” His brow furrowed in concern. For all that they had never been close, he still did not wish any harm to befall him. “Has he been injured?”
“No,” his mother answered, “though if you do not make haste, I cannot guarantee you will be capable of avoiding such danger yourself.”
“I do not understand,” he reluctantly said, only for his mother to push him aside and start digging through his clothes cupboard. “Mother, what is going on?”
“That is what I have been trying to tell you,” she exclaimed with just a hint of frustration as she threw a few items of clothing on his bed. “Ryker is far from pleased with the direction you have taken the tribe since your ascension to Chief.”
“I am well aware,” he responded drily.
“Yes, well, Anna overheard Lars-”
“Which one?” he interjected, as there were several in their tribe and not all were reliable, much less trustworthy.
“Her son, of course,” his mother declared, pausing for a moment to glare at him in exasperation before proceeding to fold the clothing she had selected and stuff them into a satchel. “He was speaking to another of the guards just outside their house. They were discussing a plot to overthrow you, the details being quite grisly. Not caring for the turn things seem to have taken, she hastened to warn me, hoping we might be able to preempt any attempt. I would rather not take any chances, though, particularly as it appears your brother has quite a large contingent on his side.”
That was news indeed. Not that Ryker disagreed with him, or even that others felt the same, but that they were planning on doing something about it. Viggo realized that the changes he had instituted could be deemed radical by some, but if there were better and safer ways to go about their profession, it behooved them to adopt such methods. After all, not every aspect of their life needed to be handled with brute force. He was clearly in the minority regarding his belief, though, and his mother’s warning made that abundantly clear.
“When was the proposed plan supposed to be enacted?” he queried, thinking that perhaps he could devise some sort of counter maneuver as his Aunt Anna had originally suggested.
“She did not know,” his mother revealed, grabbing a few of his personal care items and stuffing them into the satchel as well, “but the way it was discussed, it seemed that everything was in place.”
“So, soon then,” he surmised thoughtfully. It would be hard to counteract a plot with so few details, but it was clear his mother was set on a different course. Gently taking her hands in his and halting her frantic packing, he asked, “Would you not rather I stay and fight for what I believe in?”
“I would rather you remain alive, my dear boy,” she proclaimed, reaching up to caress his face. “I have already lost your father, and I do not wish to lose you as well.”
“Once my absence is noted, your assistance might be questioned,” he pointed out rationally, leaning in to her touch.
“It would be worth it,” she maintained, placing a motherly kiss on his cheek. “All I wish is for your safety.”
While Viggo could understand her stance, he felt the same when it came to her. Leaving his mother behind was an untenable choice, particularly as he could not trust his brother to let even the slightest glimmer of tender affection sway him from his cause…or from executing punishment toward one he might deem a traitor.
“You are coming with me,” he announced decisively, his words brooking no disagreement.
“But will it not be more obvious, making it harder to escape?”
“Not if we time our departure correctly,” he countered. “The guards are on a strict schedule, but it will not be impossible for us to reach the docks. From there, the risk is the same whether there is one person or two.”
“If you are sure?” she pressed, clearly not wanting to slow him down, though he knew she would do anything but.
“Positive,” he confirmed, giving her a slight nudge towards the door. “Pack a satchel for yourself, something that can easily be hidden under your clothes. Actually…put your travel clothes on underneath what you are wearing,” he requested, not wanting her to have to worry about tripping over her lengthy skirt while sailing. This way, they would appear as normal while still within the village, but she could easily remove her outer layers once they were at sea.
“And leaving?” she inquired, pausing in the doorway with one eyebrow quirked.
“It has been some time since we took an evening walk together,” he smirked. “I believe it is time we reinstitute that arrangement, sticking to a predetermined path, of course.”
His mother grinned in response, her anxious expression melting into something far more mischievous. “That sounds like a lovely idea, son. I am quite looking forward to it.”
With that, she swept from the room, and Viggo turned his attention to adding a few more items to the satchel his mother had started packing for him. He threw in a flask of water and a small packet of yak jerky, along with a sack of gold that had no ties to the tribe’s wealth and was solely his. After debating with himself for but a moment, he added the Dragon Eye as well. His brother had never cared to use it beyond memorizing the information he deemed useful. With the turn the tribe was taking, he did not feel comfortable leaving that source of knowledge behind, as there was no telling how it might be used.
After adding that last item, his satchel was absolutely bulging, but he was not too terribly concerned at its size as the slight nip in the weather required him to don his cloak. Wearing said garment over one shoulder was quite normal for him, and effectively disguised the bag secured to his belt. Using the shoulder strap might have been a more logical choice, but he did not care to risk the added movement or how easily it could be dislodged; thus, his current arrangement.
His sword was already in its scabbard on his back, and his daggers were in his boots. Tucking his journal into his armor, he double checked the patrol roster, even though he knew it by heart.
It took but a few seconds to calculate the safest route, sticking primarily to the sections being watched by guards that Viggo knew were loyal to him. There were still one or two spots where they might be required to be more secretive, but it would not be hard to create a diversion if absolutely necessary.
With their route firmly in his mind and little else he could do to prepare, Viggo made his way to his mother’s room, absentmindedly thinking that Ryker insisting on forming an establishment of his own a few years ago had been a fortunate turn of events. It was one less thing to worry about—getting caught skulking around his family’s house in order to avoid a coup arranged by his own brother.
Knocking on his mother’s door, he asked if she was ready.
“Just about,” she answered, appearing but a moment later with a shawl draped artfully over her shoulder.
It was a common sight—and one no one would question. Still, Viggo helped her adjust the folds of the fabric ever so slightly to better disguise the bulge created by the satchel hidden underneath her skirt, leaving them with nothing to do other than depart.
Exercising caution without appearing to do so, they stepped outside, and lacing his arm through his mother’s, they set out on their leisurely stroll that was anything but.