Legends Never Die: Ambitions (ch. 177) (Patreon)

Father had never told Magnus that he wasn't in line for the succession or anything of that nature. That had fallen to Mother. He would never quite forget the day, all the more so because it happened just before they left for Britannia. His mother brought him to the side one day, instructing him to follow her before leading him down into a dungeon. 

She had said nothing then, much to his fright, but that was nothing compared to what he saw in a cell. It was a man, though he could hardly be called as much. He was covered in filth, his eyes were empty, and his ears were seared shut with fire. When he did move, it was clear his legs had been crippled somehow because his feet didn't respond as they should. 

Magnus had braced himself on the long walk down a set of stairs, but not enough. The knowledge still struck him like a punch to the gut when Mother named him. 

King Horrik. His grandfather. 

Magnus nearly vomited from the revelation, and he could still feel his mother's hand on his shoulder, keeping him steady. All the while she spoke in a deadly calm voice, her gaze unwavering from the suffering… animal that had been her father. He recalled every word, even if he wished to forget them at times. 

“Your father loves me. He loves you. However, our blood cannot inherit the throne. Not for generations, if ever,” Mother uttered the words flatly. Completely devoid of emotion. “Your uncles and aunts wouldn't accept it, even if they love you too. They still carry hatred in their hearts for what my family did to theirs. It still lurks in your father's heart as well, or he would have allowed your grandfather to die already.” 

The words had put things into focus. Things Magnus noticed growing up, but never quite understood or had a word for. Certain glances he'd receive or whispers that follow him. How there seemed to be this unexplained gulf between him and his siblings at times. 

“You cannot overshadow your brother in Britannia. You cannot perform better than him. You cannot be perceived as challenging him to become your father's heir,” Mother had continued, her grip tightening on his shoulder. “You are to follow his lead and defer to him, even if you disagree.” 

When his mother escorted him out of his grandfather's prison, he had stumbled his way to bed. He thought about things he never gave much thought to before -- such as his cousins. He had many of them. The only one who had a bigger family than him on the mother's side was Ragnar. Horrik had many sons and daughters, all of whom he’d used to form alliances across the Baltic. They, in turn, had sons and daughters. 

Yet Magnus did not know them. The eldest of Horrik's children were executed, that he knew, but Father had spared the children. Those young enough to not be deemed complicit, at least. After that, they were granted an income before being banished from Denmark. Magnus didn't know what happened to any of them after that. 

He wept at the revelation. He grew angry. Resentful. Then that collapsed right back into weeping. The revelation caused a flux of emotions that tangled themselves into knots in his chest, and all these months later, he still wasn't any closer to unraveling it. Still, he did as he had been instructed in Britannia. He’d followed Ragnar's lead, even if… 

Even if he’d hated his brother for throwing away what could never be his. 

But the months that followed allowed him to reflect. While Magnus knew he could never be the Alvaldr, no matter how worthy he proved himself, Ragnar had given him an idea of sorts. If Ragnar could rule Alba… then when the time came to conquer the isles… 

Then could Magnus not rule Wessex? 

“Do you play often, Prince Pepin?” Magnus questioned, bringing his thoughts to the present. Pepin, of course, noticed the form of address. As had Harald, based on his tightening expression. Aífe also noticed, but she also couldn't care less, simply leaning on the back of his chair while resting her hands on his head like a glorified hand rest. 

“More, as of late,” Pepin admitted, the board set and he made the gesture for Magnus to move first. “Chess is a poor substitute for warfare, but the skills it teaches do transfer over -- thinking ahead and understanding your position. Of course, there are no battles ahead of me. I simply seek to examine those behind me to know where I went wrong.” 

Magnus pushed up a pawn. “Have you found an answer?” He questioned, seated across from one of Elbert's advisors. The man who had helped prepare the islands for their arrival. And who knew the king and how he would spend the time he had before their conquest. What resources he had available. How loyal the nobility were.

“Against a man such as your father? It would have been smarter not to play,” Pepin replied, his tone one of pure flattery. Understandable given his position, but he would have preferred something with a bit more substance. As Pepin gave his answer, he moved up his own pawn and the game began in earnest.  

“I think the stakes were too high for that,” Magnus replied, pressing the issue just a touch. Pepin barely blinked, but something in him changed. It was tempting to use his Blessing, but he knew better. “Father has spoken to me about the weaknesses of the campaign. I'm curious if you measure up to his estimation of you.” 

“The Alvaldr has an estimation of me? I'm flattered,” Pepin replied, moving a rook. “I'm afraid that I will disappoint. King Ecbert had no path to victory. The army was too large, under-equipped, and poorly disciplined. If I was your father, I wouldn't have bothered with a battle at all and simply bled us over the course of a few weeks. The army would have fallen apart, and then he would have been free to raid throughout Wessex.” 

Magnus nodded. Father had said as much. “He desired a single great victory to punctuate the success of the raid as a means to give the changes he's made to our culture legitimacy.” Pepin paused, watching Magnus make his move, before he nodded in acceptance. “Would you say that Ecbert is a man who learns from his mistakes?” 

There was a gleam of suspicion in Pepin's eyes, pushing up a knight. A piece had yet to be taken, but the stage was set. “I would say that he is one of the few who would,” Pepin replied. “One who would learn the hard won lessons well.” 

Magnus decided to take the first piece, a pawn taking a pawn. However, it was Aífe who spoke. “That's more or less what Father has said about him.” 

“The Alvaldr is a fine judge of character, then,” Pepin replied, giving himself a compliment with the same breath. 

Now Harald was interested in the direction of the conversation. “You think it would be an honest fight, Pepin? After how we trounced them last time?” He was doubtful. 

“The Alvaldr has placed King Ecbert in a position where he must make difficult decisions. Where he cannot accomplish one thing without sacrificing another,” Pepin replied, moving up another pawn. “He has the loyalty of the nobility, but the half of Mercia he inherited was ravaged. His coffers were overflowing, but half of the kingdom was left destitute. His grand army was useless, the majority of it slaughtered for good measure… The Alvaldr has left a lasting mark.” 

Magnus took another pawn. “My father tends to,” he replied. He meant the words, but he couldn't deny some… envy. Ragnar was content to remain in their father's shadow. Magnus never dreamed that they would ever escape it, but whereas Ragnar was content to be good, Magnus wanted to be great. He wanted to make his own mark, even if he would be forever overshadowed by his father. “What would you do, in his position?” 

Pepin laughed lightly, moving forth a bishop. “I am but a fool, Prince Magnus. I can hardly imagine the view of a king.” 

“Perhaps,” Magnus returned, allowing him the thin excuse. “But the greatest fools must have a grand imagination. From what my cousin has told me, you haven't disappointed.” As he spoke, he moved a knight, getting it into position to engage either the bishop or rook. 

“I'm honored,” Pepin replied, though it didn't reach his eyes. “As unthinkable as it might be, if I were in the King of Wessex's shoes and seated upon his throne… I would invade Wales.” He punctuated the sentence by committing his bishop. 

Magnus paused his next move, mulling over the idea as much as his next action. “It would expand his already discontented people,” Magnus argued, taking the offered bishop and watching as Pepin moved up another pawn in response. 

Pepin didn't deny it. “Oh, it will. The clans of Wales will curse his name for generations, but it is a poor and disunified province. However, it has the necessary resources to appease the larger, more populated half of Mercia. It will also serve as a proving ground for the professional army he will develop.” 

The logic was sound, Magnus reasoned, pushing up another pawn to open a path for his queen to move. He’d discounted the possibility because it was a short term benefit with long and short term consequences. To say nothing of the war going poorly, and it was likely to, on account that the Anglo-Saxons had never managed to conquer Wales. 

“I imagine King Ecbert has already begun, with word on its way now that winter has cleared,” Pepin continued. Something to keep an ear out for. However, if he was so confident about that fact, then it meant something rather tellingly. 

Pepin wasn't telling him anything he wasn't already reasonably certain Magnus would find out. That was a little irritating, but he supposed he understood, even if he didn't understand the underlying motivation. Lingering loyalty to King Ecbert? Resentment for his current circumstances? 

The hunchback made his next move and Magnus advanced his queen. “It would seem I asked the wrong question,” Magnus acknowledged, watching as Pepin pushed forward another knight. “Would five years of preparation be enough?” 

“To stop the force you arrived with last time? Almost certainly,” Pepin answered with absolute confidence. “King Ecbert is a rather vain man. He doesn't consider himself one, of course, but not everyone can be so aware of their faults. Nor are they so obvious.” 

Magnus moved his queen, claiming a rook but Pepin didn't react, simply moving forward another bishop. “My father has set a narrative. Your father played into it. But the people of Britannia have lived it. Ecbert is going to use that. He'll twist things, he will lie, and he will turn Wessex into a quagmire for your father until every Christian soul there would rather die than accept his rule.” 

He looked at the board before he tsk'd under his breath, realizing he had pushed his queen into a trap. Not one he couldn't escape, but it would mean sacrificing a knight. He did so gladly. However, Pepin's second rook didn't take it in favor of a pawn. 

“If I might ask a question of my own, Prince Magnus?” Pepin asked while Magnus frowned at the board. Aífe, above him, offered a small snort. She saw Pepin’s plan before he did. 

“It would only be fair,” Magnus replied, his gaze lingering on Pepin’s king. Then his own. His king was still safe, though it was exposed with the queen across the board and several of Pepin’s pieces crossing the board. 

“How would you deal with such a quagmire?” Pepin asked, bringing Magnus’ attention up from the board to the exiled prince. Their eyes met, and Magnus could feel the weight of the question. 

It made him feel exposed in a way he didn’t like. As if Pepin saw right through him and knew exactly why he was asking the questions he was -- not on behalf of his father, but for his own interest. It made him feel like any answer he gave would be a confirmation he didn’t want to give. Like it could be used against him in some way. 

All the same, he committed his queen. “Your father has proven rebellions are an opportunity,” Magnus answered, moving to take Pepin’s king. “And my father has proven the merits of rebuilding kingdoms from the ground up.”

“That is not what I meant,” Pepin pointed out, though he didn’t seem dissatisfied with the answer. He pushed forward a knight, making Magnus narrow his eyes ever so slightly. 

“I’m aware,” Magnus replied, his gaze lingering on the knight. “The people will rebel. That will always be true, no matter what anyone does. But what I can do is control the perception of the rebellion.” At that, Pepin tilted his head ever so slightly, inviting Magnus to elaborate, even as Magnus took his queen and put his king in check. 

“Roads will be built. Farming revolutions will be implemented to increase the harvest. Cisterns and aqueducts will provide clean water for drinking and bathhouses. Fair rule of law will be established. All of it will counteract the narrative you say has been established. Yet, people will still rebel -- because we are pagans, because we are conquerors, because we don’t speak the right language.” Magnus didn’t raise his voice, but it took a flat edge. 

“They will revolt, and they will die en masse. Hundreds, thousands, or perhaps even hundreds of thousands of them,” Magnus admitted. “In doing so, they will prove themselves to be an example, and the cruelties and indignities they warned of will not come to pass. Their friends and kinsmen that they couldn’t convince to join their folly would then realize that they died for nothing. That they were fools fearing a change they couldn’t understand just because they were more familiar with the other boot on their necks.”

Then he smiled thinly, even when Pepin placed a finger on his king and toppled it. A surrender. “After all, God is good. If God did not want our people to take the isles, then He would have conjured a storm, and we would have been lost at sea, or our ships would have shattered on the white cliffs. What could that be, but proof that my father is a Prophet for your religion?”

Peping chuckled darkly, an ugly smile on his face but it felt genuine. “The Alvaldr has clever sons,” he said, inclining his head to Magnus. “My thanks for the answers, Prince Magnus. And for the game. However, it would seem that it is time for us to return to the grand hall.”

Magnus wasn’t at all satisfied with the conversation, but he offered a terse nod. With that, they departed, with Aífe patting him on the back. 

“He let you win,” she needled, earning a scowl. 

“I know.”

…

The hall hadn’t truly noticed their absence, but it did notice their arrival. Things continued as normal, for the most part. Men and women once more flocked to their sides, seeking to curry favor or be noticed. Magnus did his duty, though he would admit his mind was elsewhere. 

He felt seen-through by Pepin. Revealed. He had never voiced his intentions -- not to anyone. Not to Father, or Mother, or any of his siblings. A kingdom wasn't something to be asked for as if it were some trinket. 

More than that… Magnus didn't want to become a king because he’d asked Father for a crown. He wanted to be chosen as the King of Wessex because Father thought he was the best candidate, even if there would be grumbling from the other kings about another one of his sons becoming one. 

But before he had a chance of that, Magnus would need to prove himself worthy of such a title. 

Which was how he found himself on the dance floor with his potential bride. Thusnelda met his gaze as they went through practiced motions, making no effort to speak the first word. That she left to Magnus and Ylva. So, he made an observation. “Ylva is a good friend,” Magnus noted, making Thusnelda tilt her head ever so slightly. 

“How so?” Thusnelda decided to speak, her voice soft. Just barely above a whisper. 

“She’s been acting as a wall everyone has to get through to get your attention,” Magnus noted. He still wasn’t entirely sure why Ylva had needled his cousin so during their brief tour. However, it was impossible not to notice how every question directed at Thusnelda ended up answered by Ylva. “Myself included. I thought she was going to take off my hand when I offered it to you.”

That earned a thin smile from Thusnelda. “She would never maim a prince.” Yet others were on the table, was it? Then her smile dimmed. “She is my best friend. We grew up together as sisters, and she is no mere servant to me.” There was something that lurked in her voice. A waver of sorts, which betrayed a lie. 

Either Ylva was just a servant to her… or she was more than just a friend. 

“My father has instructed me to entice you,” Thusnelda informed with such ease it earned an honest blink from Magnus. Which, in turn, earned a mild look from Thusnelda. “Don’t look so surprised, Magnus. You are not a fool. And neither am I.” 

Magnus inclined his head, accepting the reproach. “But,” he supplied for her, knowing one was coming. 

“I want something,” Thusnelda admitted, and Magnus fought the urge to raise an eyebrow. That was… greedy, for lack of a better word. He was a son of the Alvaldr, who ruled over all of Scandinavia. He was a prince. A young one, admittedly, but with the assumption that Ragnar would instead rule over Alba, the rest of the nobility would then assume that it would be he who became his father’s heir. 

In short, King Bretislav and Thusnelda were looking to marry the next Alvaldr from their perspective. And she wanted more? 

“My father believes that the university your father has built is no place for a woman,” Thusnelda continued, as if sensing his incredulous doubt. “And you don’t strike me as the type to suffer a fool for a wife.”

Ah. “And you are aware that I will be attending the university,” Ragnar ventured. It had been easy to convince his father to allow his admission. It would signify he trusted the institution enough to educate his own son. In doing so, other nobles would send their children in an attempt to curry favor. Likely with the hope they might learn a thing or three while they were there. 

“If I can make the argument that I need to be nearby, lest your eyes wander, I can get his permission,” Thusnelda continued. “Of course, I would see this favor repaid.” There was something that lurked in her tone Magnus wasn’t quite sure what to make of. Something he wasn’t familiar with. 

However, before he could reply one way or another, he felt the air in the room change. Almost like a wave, everyone’s attention went to the door and the man who stepped through it. At the sight of him, Magnus felt his own brow rise but Thusnelda leaned closer. 

“Who is that?” She questioned, following his gaze to the tall, well dressed man entering the hall as if he were a conquering king. 

“That,” Magnus answered in a low voice, “would be Godfrey. The former King of Denmark.”

If he was bold enough to show his face like this… 

Something clearly was afoot.