Danish Skrimish

Having finished his morning workouts and dumping a pale of water over himself, he'd managed to change just in time for breakfast to begin.

"Come here, Ragnar. It's time for breakfast." Helga cooed as she laid out all the dishes before the men.

The family sat there, with Thorkell and their father play fighting so much like what children do as they waited for Ragnar.

Ragnar strode in to see his brother, Thorkell, eyes rolled back nearly unconscious in a headlock by his father.

Marshal Harald noticed Ragnar and let go of Thorkell in amusement.

"We were just having some fun, weren't we, lad" He chuckled as he slapped Thorkell on the back.

"Right, just having some fun." Thorkell coughed, gasping for air as he tried to cover up his embarrassment.

Ragnar smirked at his elder brother. "What a fucking pussy Thorkell, didn't think you'd be one for getting slapped up by father."

Harald laughed at the comment as the family began tucking it to the meal. Eating with certain savagery that you wouldn't expect from a noble household.

"So, father, have we managed to convince the Baron that his plans against the Duke are foolish at best and suicidal at worst?" Ragnar asked between tearing off a huge piece of meat from chicken legs.

Harald looked to his son, wondering how to broach this subject appropriately. It was a sensitive topic, and very few were confident in this undertaking.

He signed before putting down his piece of meat. "The Baron wants to continue with the plan, and we'll need to think about contingencies in case the Baron falls in battle. The fat fool won't be able to get out of the way of a sword to save his life. Yet, he wants to be on the front lines for this great battle."

Thorkell snorted at the thought of seeing the Baron perish in battle.

But Ragnar had bigger things in mind, "If the Baron falls during battle, we will need to find a way to escape. Father, I'd rather not get captured by William's army. We will need to get back to Le Havre and take control of this town.

If you can convince the Baron to stop this nonsense, that would be ideal. We can help William secure his reign over the Duchy and then head to England alongside him. He will have plans there that are getting delayed due to the current situation."

Harald grunted at his son in agreement, "You're talking about Edward the childless's promise to William? How you know of such details is beyond me, but yes, it is quite the gossip. Sadly, William's attention is diverted to his Duchy. Both Maine and the French King are scheming against the Duke and his allies. The count of Flanders isn't supporting him to the extent he'd like, causing him to lose more of his forces."

Ragnar pondered over the details presented. True, it was similar to the previous history, but the entire Duchy should have long been under William's control by now. The slight detail of us being Norse Pagans instead of Christians has created a huge issue.

Just as Ragnar was about to continue the discussion, a longhorn broke out across the entire town.

Recognition flitted across Marshal Harald as he stood up in rage and slammed his fist on the table. "Those damn Danes! GET UP, boys, to your horses. We need to ride out to the port where the Danes are attempting to dock."

Ragnar looked at Thorkell, who stared at him in return. They both smiled and nodded before sprinting off to wear battle gear.

Ragnar burst into his room and reached for the heavy chain-linked mail vest on the armor stand and a fur coat for warmth. He left his legs as is to allow for mobility. His focus was on agility and using his massive strength to his advantage. He didn't need more armor slowing him down.

As Ragnar buckled the chain mail to his chest, he realized that he still didn't have a sword that he could call his own. In a panic, he jogged up to Thorkell's room.

Ragnar knocked on the door and burst into the room. "Thorkell! My sword isn't finished yet; give me your second axe. I'll give it back once this invasion has been repelled."

Thorkell was busy adding padding to his, feet and a helmet before he slowly acknowledged Ragnar in the middle of his room, waiting with an annoyed expression.

Thorkell looked back at him, staring into his eyes with a look of contemplation. He then turned around and grabbed a massive axe, and threw it to Ragnar.

"Holy shit Thorkell, why'd you get an axe this large? You big oaf, one for each hand at that." Ragnar caught the axe handle before dropping the thing in its entirety.

Ragnar hefted the axe once more and took a second to admire the work done. His rough hands, tracing the shape of the wooden handle. Very similar to a 1475 Pikeman axe. It had a handle about two meters long and a curved steel blade with a pike attached to the tip and the rear.

Thorkell brushed past him and quietly seethed next to the door, "Come brother, let's head out to the stable and fetch our horses. We'll need to get there as soon as possible to beat those scum Danes."

Ragnar nodded before they out of the manor and to the stable.

They took large strides and noticed their father stroking a magnificent white steed as they walked into the dung-smelling stable.

"Go, get your horses, boys. It's time." Their father didn't even bother to glance over at them. Whispering some sort of mantra into the Horses ear. Preparing it for what was about to come.

Ragnar continued to walk down the aisle before stopping in front of a large beast.

"Ares", Ragnar whispered in recognition before walking up to the black stallion and running a hand through the beast's soft mane in awe.

The stallion was a large Shire whose ancestors dominated the battlefield all over medieval Europe. Though Henry VIII popularized them in the 1500s, these types of horses have origins back to the early medieval era.

Its large mane swished as the horse neighed in appreciation of its owner.

They were fortunate to have such an acclaimed warrior as a father. Their father truly was extravagant in all their belongings. The only gift he hadn't provided them with was a sword. As his father stated, a weapon was something dear to Vikings and had to either be earned in battle or commissioned by oneself.

Though he understood such thinking, Ragnar would have appreciated a sword to the massive battle-axe that he now held in his hand.

As he wondered whether his strength would be able to hold out for the entire duration of the battle, he looped his lead leg into the saddle and hoisted himself up onto Ares.

"Hyah", Ragnar kicked the beast in the ribs. Commanding it into a slow trot out to the front of the stable where his father and brother waited on their massive horses.

It was time for war!

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