Legends Never Die: Bad Blood (ch. 176) (Patreon)

Magnus felt exposed in a way he wasn't used to. Everyone always assumed that Ragnar would be the heir, so attention naturally drifted to him. Magnus was hardly ever ignored, but he wasn't ever the center of attention like he was at Harald's wedding. It wasn't a bad feeling, exactly, but it made him realize how much he had been in Ragnar's shadow. 

Noble scions from various families approached him in the same way they did Ragnar -- something he often grumbled about. Magnus couldn't say he enjoyed it any more than Ragnar did, but he didn't dislike it like his elder brother. It could be tedious. His words carried a weight that could shift a conversation, or they could be assigned an offense he didn't intend to commit. He was sure the novelty would wear off soon, but until it did… 

“Looks like the rest of the guests have arrived,” Finn, son of Rurik, King of Novgorod, remarked to Magnus as they gathered on the palace walls to oversee the harbor. 

“Looks to be Pomeranian and Lithuanian ships,” Arvid, a son of one of his uncle Haldur's nobles, added. Magnus could see the flags flapping in the low wind. There was a hum of anticipation in his blood, but he found himself growing tense. 

“My grandmother will be on the Lithuania ship,” he noted, but he couldn't spot her on the deck. His future bride would be on the Pomeranian ship. Thusnelda. A portrait of her was sent to the capital so Magnus could get an idea of what she looked like -- blonde hair and green eyes. His mother gave a few descriptions of her character. Smart but quiet. 

She coached him on how to best approach her. Thusnelda had a few friends she was comfortable with, and by joining that group with another, she could interact in a neutral setting where she felt at ease. Mother had all but hammered it into his head how important first impressions were. While the damage of a poor first impression could be undone, it would take time and effort. 

It was vastly easier to convince someone to like you if they had reason to like you. It was a massive hurdle to get someone who disliked you to like you.

“Your father and uncle will be well pleased about that,” Finn remarked. His gaze also lingered on the Pomeranian ship. Tellingly. It was enough for Magnus to narrow his eyes- 

Two Truths and a Lie

His father intends him to marry Thusnelda.

He is attracted to someone on the Pomeranian ship. 

He noticed your gaze lingering on the ship and is suspicious. 

He didn't know Finn well enough to make the lie obvious. When he did use the Blessing his father bestowed upon him, looking for specific answers always made the lie harder to spot to begin with. It could be… frustrating at times. Enough so that Magnus wished he had something more straightforward like Ragnar's battle precognition. 

But it was an undeniable tool Magnus knew he would get more use out of than Ragnar would his precognition. After all, if Ragnar was fighting, then something was very wrong. 

“They will be,” Magnus replied. Of the three, any one of them could be the lie. It was entirely possible King Rurik sought Thusnelda's hand. While Estonia and Lithuania divided the kingdoms, they still shared the southern Baltic coast. Novgorod was one of the larger kingdoms, but it was currently one of the weakest. The kingdom itself was built around the river, which served as a natural route to the Black Sea, but it lacked population compared to the other kingdoms on the southern coast. 

It was a match that made sense for Novgorod. It was also possible that Finn had met her, or one of Thusnelda's accompanying friends. It was also possible that Magnus had been caught staring. 

All of them could be true. Any one of them could be the lie. However, in such a case, it was simpler to use what was revealed as possibilities. Clues were revealed so he could watch intently, so the truth could be revealed in time. 

“We best return to greet them properly,” Magnus decided, turning away from the view. The others naturally followed him back to the palace of his uncle. They arrived through a servant passage to find that the main hall was still full. It was easy to spot his father- he stood a head and shoulders taller than most. He was joined by an assembly of kings.

King Rurik joined the high company of King Ihala and King Haldur. Finn’s father was a widely built man with a scarred face and a wild beard. A bear pelt hung over his shoulders, and the story was that he had killed it with his bare hands. He looked like he could. However, Magnus didn’t look to him. 

His gaze flickered to his uncle, who noticed their approach from the corner of his eye. For the briefest of moments, their gazes met and… 

There were times when Magnus could forget the blood of King Horrik flowed through his veins. His grandfather’s reign was short-lived. In the wake of his father’s conquest, it was all but forgotten. If anyone remembered King Horrik, it was only as the fool who made an enemy of Siegfried the Wolf-Kissed. Most didn’t care, so it was easy to forget. 

Now was not one of those times. Magnus quickly looked away from his uncle’s eyes. It wasn’t hostility, exactly, though it wasn’t far off. It was more… his uncle looked at him like one would a snake they found underfoot. Something dangerous, waiting to snap, and he was asking himself if it was worth the risk of crushing it under his heel. He slid into place near his father just as a servant informed them all of the arrival. 

Magnus took the moment to look over the floor to find his sisters. Scathach was with Harald’s bride-to-be, while Aife was… in a conversation with a boy. Judging from her facial expression, she was debating carving out his eyes with a spoon. 

So, he acted with haste. Her golden eyes flickered to him, her expression flat, but a gleam of murderous intent shone brightly in them. “Father wishes for us to stand together to greet grandmother,” Magnus lied. 

“Of course,” Aife accepted the excuse, walking away from the young man- Hermund Brodirsson of Estonia. Nobility, but not the kind who would be an acceptable match for Aife. Even if she didn’t gut him before their wedding night as a matter of principle. Hermund seemed a bit disappointed. Enough so that it was clear he had no idea how close Aife was to challenging him to a spar and brutally humiliating him as a form of social murder, since Father would frown on actually killing him. 

Scathach took that as her cue and made her way over, half dragging Harald's bride behind her with the expectation of being followed. It brought Harald over as well, so when the double doors opened, the family stood together when Grandmother entered. 

A genuine smile blossomed on her face as she approached, paying no mind to the courtiers or her attendants. “Oh, my boys. My grandchildren,” she greeted them, going to Father and Haldur first. She cupped their cheeks, but she looked to Father in particular. “Every time I see you, you look more like your father.” 

That brought a soft smile to his father's face, and Magnus felt something coil in his stomach when Grandmother looked to him. She cupped a cheek, looking into his eyes, but that gentle expression didn't fade. “And you look exactly like your father, Magnus.” 

“Thank you, grandmother,” Magnus replied instinctively, feeling that knot of tension unwinding. 

“All of the boys do. Harald and Erik look exactly like Haldur. Brandr and Sigurd look exactly like Halfdan,” she informed. At that, Magnus stood a bit straighter. 

“So, our new nephew is named Sigurd?” Aife questioned, something of a triumphant smirk appearing on her face. As if she won some competition. She might have based on how she aimed that smirk at Scathach. 

“He is, my granddaughters. A loud set of lungs, too. He's strong,” she assured them, approaching his sisters and bringing them into a fast hug. Scathach and Aife enjoyed hugs as much as a cat enjoyed being tossed in a lake, but none could deny Grandmother what she wanted. They returned the hug with earnestness that they rarely showed. 

As they did, Magnus turned his attention to the door to see the Pomeranians arrive. Grandmother’s arrival overshadowed their presence, but they arrived by the dozen. All of them were prominent nobles, who arrived with their heirs or kin. King Bretislav wasn't in attendance; however, Magnus saw Thusnelda. 

Her expression betrayed nothing as she walked alongside her older brother, the heir to Pomerania. Her gaze first went to his father- understandable, really. Father was rather noticeable. As a byproduct, her gaze then lowered to see him standing at his side. Their eyes met for a brief moment. 

She was someone he was likely going to marry. Ragnar felt what he was feeling right now before he got married to Maeve. The tension. Uncertainty. Other candidates existed, but Thusnelda was the best among them. He would do his duty regardless of what he felt, but there was this nagging feeling in the back of his mind. 

What if they didn't get along? What if they were completely incompatible in terms of personality, expectations, and morals? What if they hated each other? 

Then Aife smacked him on the back of the head. “Don't stare. It's rude,” she pointed out to him, earning an exasperated glare from him. 

But when he glanced back at Thusnelda, he saw a hint of a smile she hadn't quite managed to wipe away. 

“I don't want to hear that from you,” Magnus whispered back, earning a subtle kick to the shin as the Pomeranian nobles approached. Father and Uncle Haldur greeted them warmly, and the mass of Lithuanian and Pomeranian nobles blended seamlessly among the Swedes, Finns, and Rus. 

“The hall is getting a bit crowded, isn't it? How about I give a tour of the grounds?” Harald asked, speaking to no one in particular, but he threw an arm over Magnus’ shoulder. 

“That would be much appreciated,” one of Thusnelda’s attendants replied. “And most kind of you, Harald.” From the corner of his eye, Magnus saw Harald offer a thin smile that was entirely fake. It bothered him, Magnus knew, that he was not Prince Harald. Even here, in Sweden. He took a liking to it during their time in Alba. 

“Will you join us, Prince Magnus?” The attendant questioned, turning her gaze to him. Oh, she noticed. She had sharp eyes. He had to search his memory for her name. Mother and Aunt Morrigan had him memorize everyone in Thusnelda’s company. Her skin was dark, as was her hair, which made her dark green eyes stand out all the more. She wasn’t from this land, Magnus knew, but she did bear a Scandinavian name. 

Ylva for She-Wolf. It seemed rather fitting because she cut Harald to the bone with a sentence.

“It would be my honor,” Magnus replied. Harald forced a more genuine-looking smile onto his face, patting him on the back. Harald was helping him, Magnus knew. Likely at the urging of his father.

Two Truths and a Lie

Harald is seizing the initiative in an attempt to befriend Magnus on the assumption that since Ragnar is taking ownership of Alba, he is the next in line. 

Harald has been informed of the planned betrothal between Magnus and Thusnelda, and has been instructed to interfere. 

Harald is attempting to separate Ylva from Finn, to prevent them from speaking. 

Not what he expected. As they turned away, Magnus’ gaze went to Finn, who was beside his father in the middle of a conversation. Yet, his gaze was on their party as they walked away from the hall. His gaze lingered on Ylva in particular. Which, he supposed, confirmed the second option when he used his Blessing on Finn -- Finn was attracted to someone on the ship. And given how King Rurik didn’t give them so much as a second glance, it would seem the third option was also true. 

Meaning that the first option was a lie. To that end, it seemed the third option of his most recent use was true. Meaning either the first or second was a lie. Magnus would have to watch closely to see how Harald behaved himself on the tour. That was the thought, at least, but it seemed both of their plans went awry when Aife decided to join them. 

And it seemed Ylva had a plan of her own. 

“What is the palace like, if you do not mind my asking, Prince Magnus?” Ylva questioned, walking hand in hand with Thusnelda. The question came after Harald showed the courtyard, where various attendants milled about doing one task or another. “I’ve heard the gardens stretch on for miles~!”

“Miles is an exaggeration,” Magnus answered, seeing a muscle spasm in Harald’s jaw. “It’s more a couple hundred feet. It is stocked with flowers and herbs from all over.” And poisons. Aunt Morrigan collected poisons like most women collected baubles. 

That pattern emerged throughout the tour. Thusnelda never uttered a word. She smiled, nodded, and left Ylva to answer every question or ask them. Ylva, for her part, after seeing every room… she would ask about the palace. 

They saw the library? She asked how it compared to the Palace library. The armory? How much bigger was the palace armory? The rooms? Was it true that the palace had closets bigger than the rooms of Stockholm? It happened every time with deliberate, almost malicious intent. She was needling at Harald. It was tempting to learn why… 

If there wasn’t such a substantial delay in using his Blessing on the same person. There was a week-long delay until he could use it again, meaning if he used it on either Ylva or Thusnelda, it was better held in reserve until he got to know them a bit better so the lies and the truth would be more accurate. 

However, it didn’t feel as if she were trying to drive a wedge between him and Harald. More so, Ylva was just really trying to anger Harald for some reason. Trying to get a reaction from him. To what end, Magnus wasn’t sure. 

Harald, for his part, bore it as well as he could have. Each dig struck a mark, but he gritted his teeth and bore it. Even if he did open a door with a touch more force than necessary, “And this offers the best view of the city-” Harald started, leading them onto a balcony, only to suddenly fall silent. 

Magnus was a half step behind him so he saw what caught him off guard so. Glancing over, he saw an unexpected sight.

“Lord Harald. And Prince Magnus,” Pepin the Hunchback greeted them without any warmth. The banished son of Charlemagne looked very different from the last time Magnus had seen him. Then he had been a prisoner. His body twisted, abandoned by his father, but he still stood as tall as he could. 

Now he was dressed in a fool's motley, complete with curled shoes and a rather unflattering hat. It seemed completely at odds with the game of chess he was playing by himself. Interestingly, he sat in a chair that seemed to accommodate his affliction. That was a kindness Magnus wouldn’t have expected from his uncle. Particularly when he made Pepin a fool. 

“Is it time for my act already?” Pepin questioned, his gaze lingering on Magnus before it settled on Harald. “Ah. No. If it was, King Haldur would hardly send his prized heir to fetch me. Forgive me, sire, it seems I still think too much of myself.”

“Pepin,” Harald recovered after a beat. “I was giving them a tour.” he made a gesture to the rest of them. Pepin’s gaze lingered a bit on Aife, Ylva, and Thusnelda. The latter two more than Aife. “We did not intend to disturb you.”

Harald didn’t apologize outright, but it lurked in his tone. It surprised Magnus. When he learned Pepin was being made a fool to shame Charlemagne, he expected for Pepin to be mistreated. Humiliated. His twisted form to be put on display and to… well, make a fool of himself. Charlemagne had already proven he had no intention of ransoming his son. As far as the Romans knew, Pepin the Hunchback either didn’t exist or he wasn’t Charlemagne’s son in the first place. 

It would seem he had landed on his feet in Stockholm. Unexpectedly so. 

Pepin offered a thin smile. “It is your castle, my lord. You are free to come and go as you please. It is I who should apologize for intruding.” He offered a slight bow of his head. 

“You speak pretty good norse,” Aife announced the observation with a small tilt of her head. 

Pepin’s gaze flickered to her. “I’ve had reason to practice, Princess… Aife, is it?” That was either a very lucky guess, or he was far more informed than Magnus expected. Scathach and Aife were identical. Both in appearance and personality. They were brash, could outstubborn a dozen mules, and they absolutely hated the thought that anyone could be better than them at anything. Aife especially hated the thought that Scathach could be better at her at anything- from spearplay to flipping coins to singing and dancing. 

“So you have,” Aife acknowledged, silently pleased she hadn’t been mistaken for her twin. It happened often and the aftermath was never pretty. 

Now Magnus was curious. “Would you care for a game?” Magnus asked, gesturing to the chair across from Pepin. There was a flicker of surprise in Pepin’s eyes but he made a welcoming gesture. Perhaps it was poor form to accept a game of chess in the middle of the tour. He had no idea whether Thusnelda would find it remotely interesting or be bored to tears. 

But, in the moment, that was unimportant. 

“I’m surprised a son of Siegfried would deign to play with a fool. And a hunchback, no less,” Pepin remarked, setting the board. 

“My father considers Charlemagne to be his greatest rival and threat to Scandinavia. He also said that you were no fool,” Magnus said, but the words weren’t entirely true. It was…

Pepin was cast away because of his twisted spine. Because of it, it didn’t matter how smart or capable he was. He could never be a prince. He could never be king. He was sent off to Britannia in a silent exile, then abandoned once he was captured. All because of the circumstances of his birth. 

How different were they? How similar?

Magnus’ spine was straight… but accursed blood flowed in his veins. The blood of Horrik. Blood that could never sit upon the throne of Scandinavia. He could never be Alvaldr. 

No matter how much he might want to be.