1 Withermund
"Son makes sure to keep the flame in check this is important to the Lord" A tall burly man instructs a young handsome looking blonde teen to hold the tools to keep the steel blade smelt. After a while, both son and father walk out of the boiling hot room with only the source of light being the furnace in the room.
"Father I want to fight I am old enough" the boy stood in front of his father with his arms spread preventing him from walking toward him.
His father looks down at his son and places a hand on his shoulder and squeezes it hurting the boy.
"You are too confident in yourself you'll die before you swing your sword I will teach you how to use a sword my son now go to your mother for prayer she wishes to be with you" he orders his son who only sighs and walks off towards the chapel.
Reaching the chapel the boy walks in quietly not to interrupt his mother's prayer. He sits beside and begins a prayer for a little while.
Just as he was about to stand his mother grabs his hand and grips it roughly.
"Withermund do be safe while out with your father I shall pray to God to watch over you"
Withermund hugs his mother smiling.
"Oh, mother I will only be gone for the winter" Withermund said while his mother only still shows sadness. He walks out of the chapel closing the gates after him.
His father shows up with two stumper horses. Withermund climbs onto a horse as they both travel to Elthelwich, a city in Northumbria under the king Ælla.
1st person pov
Father wanted us to rest because the rain is heavy this night. We bought a room for a night for 1 silver.
I wasn't yet taught how to use a sword yet. I walked out of the room as I couldn't stand father snoring walking outside the pub and taking a seat.
SHING
I quickly turned around but it was too late as I felt pain quickly reach me.
"aaaaaa!!!"
3rd person pov
Withermund body cries in pain gripping the wound on his face. His father rushes out and kills the criminal. He grabs his body and looks at the wound, seeing there was no mortal wound or lost an eye he pulls him up.
"Stand boy here that'll help" he grabs ale and pours it over the wound causing his son to faint.
the next morning Withermund opens his eye looking around he thinks he still lives. remembering last night's incident he stands and grabs the sword his father made when he was young and walked outside. He made his way to the woods and waited for his father to finish his business with the king. He practice with his blade but it was fruitless and he knew it.
"That is not how you swing a blade Withermund always keeps two hands on it until you mastered not losing your grip in battle, and keep your stance" Edward was his father's name worked as the Palace guard for the king Ælla but retired due to age.
Days passed has Withermund trained in both skill of the sword and the will to not stop fighting. Two summers past has both father and son heading back home. they heard the news of a Dane army invading the north.
In the city of Elthelwich
"We must reach the village quickly and take your mother and we'll head to Wessex we cannot be here no more" Edward knew that king Ælla will lose this war.
"Father I wish to fight I wish to bloody my blade in battle" Withermund wanted to participate in the war though he knew he lose still he hasn't killed anyone and his scar reminds him every day.
"no you will not die you are 18 my boy, you are skilled and powerful now but you need peace you will be baptized when we reach Wessex" Withermund surprised only nods and follows after his father, hurrying out of the city of Eoforwich and heading home.
They reached open fields to rest the night but the sound of footsteps, heavy and the sound of metal. they draw their swords with their backs to each other.
"hahaha Saxons still I thought they were dead doesn't matter more to kill I guess AAAA" Dane yelled as he and his men charged the duo. Withermund step forward and chambered the first ax and thrust his sword forward into the Danes' neck. blood spilled from him but he was focused on the rest of the Danes.
"Die heathens!" Withermund drove his blade into the heart of the Viking soldiers. He quickly turns and faces more as his father receives more and more wounds as he falls to the ground.
"Father no bastards!" Withermund blade cut down the rest of the barbarians. Reaching his father he drops to his knees and tries to drag his body. tears have formed in his eyes feeling his father's cold skin.
"no, no father no wake up you must awaken mother waits for our return" he screams his father's name to the clear fields before him.
Days passed since the death of Withermund's father, he was buried and mourned for three days straight.
"I must return home mother has been waiting too long, revenge must wait" He finished his mourning and left. He climbed his horse and his father and made his way back south to Mercia. Passing the border of Northumbria and Mercia he faced many rogue Danes but managed to win and escape some. He passed burned and pillaged villages. He started to worry. Another village that's was not his burned body litter the place.
"ah!" Withermund traveled to the second village looking for any survivors. He searched every house and pen but found no one.
" is anyone alive" he walked into the chief home calling out to the silence. The smells of blood reach his nose.
crunch!
He turned quickly and drew his sword hearing the sound of wood moving. He hear the sound again but hears small groans.
He walks towards the sound as it gets louder and louder. The sound was under a pile of wood almost perfectly stacked upon each other.
"Anyone under there, I'm am no Dane I'm only here to give aid," he told but only silence pursued.
"Help me I'm stuck" the voice of a female could be heard. Withermund quickly reacted and removes the stack off away from the voice.
A hole appears and a girl around his age lays weak, bruised and cuts surround her body.
he picks her up like a princess and wraps his cloak around her to keep her warm.
"What is your name," he asked the peasant girl. she looks at him while he notices she possesses blue eyes and blonde hair. he was shocked by her beauty but stopped himself.
"Rowena milord"
