The Pendant Ruin

A/N: Okay, so, I'm surprised there are still a lot of you who have this in your collections. I originally came up with this story in summer school going into my senior year of high school. I also created this story as a "practice" story. I only ever really planned out the beginning and ending... at first.

I got pulled into my own story and decided to TRY to make it as complex as I could. Character wise, that is. This is partly why I stopped posting, because I felt like for what I loved and was considering to be peak that my writing level wasn't worthy of something that good.

Anyway, it's been about a year now (I think) since I've posted a chapter for this. Firstly, I've come up with other stories, so if you want to check those out, then please do. Secondly, I've been practicing, which ironically was the whole point of this novel, but now this one is my favorite.

I realized I made a lot of promises I couldn't keep back then. Sorry about that. 

However, I've been writing the story for TPR for the entire year. I've got everything down. Not just the beginning and end planned, but also the middle(lmao).

Anyway, what you are about to read is a re written version. I still struggle with things like dialogue, such as sub text, so if you have any criticism whatsoever, then PLEASE let me know. So, to my small but impactful readers for this story, thank you, and here's a promise to no more promises!

Happy readings!

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Drawing near to the land, the ocean wailed, a poignant but unsuccessful bid to stave off the encroaching darkness.

"Toke! I see land!" One of many Vikings called out, all of them cheering.

"Finally!" Another cried out, hugging the closest man as laughter filled the entire fleet.

Amidst all the cheers, two men stood at the forefront of that fleet,"Aye, is this Norfolk, as they proclaim?" The man on the left said, a grin spread across his face.

"Bjorne, must you show your teeth everytime we see the Britanic isles?"

As Bjorne pivoted, the ambient glow highlighted a blonde, pregnant woman. "Toke," he murmured, his eyes tracing her gentle curves, "what shadow has stolen your smile?" A wistful pause followed. "Ah, we both share the unspoken understanding, don't we?'"

"Hush and fix your gaze on the path afore us," Toke's face remained hardened, his eyes remaining on the shore. "Recall, we're not here solely to dispatch the common English soul. 

With the ship's frame as his support, Bjorne indulged in the crunch of an apple. "Love has blinded you," he reflected, a sea breeze carrying his words. "Where is the formidable bear I once feared?"

Approaching him, Bjorne's gaze aligned with Toke's shoulders, even prodding them. 

"Hmm? Where does he lurk?" He inquired.

Toke, the fearsome man whose name echoed across the seas, a bear standing tall above all. In a mere blink of time, he cast a shadow of fear over every neighboring kingdom. Like the folks of his hometown, Toke shared the maroon-like shade adorning his mane and armor. Yet, it was his jet-black eyes that drew people in, whether ensnared by fear or some other compelling emotion.

Shifting his gaze from the sea's expanse, he rose and locked eyes with Bjorne, who now stood at his chest. "This be not the realms of France, and the roles I played afore are shed like an old cloak." He declared, purposefully navigating to the heart of the ship.

"Elena," Toke crouched down, placing his belly on the woman's stomach. "We'll soon arrive."

Pushing off the hull, Elena sat up. Although painful, she managed to lift her arm, cupping Toke's face, "how long shall we tarry afore setting course for Lunden, my love?"

Thought by all to be nearly impossible, Toke's face softened, "as swift as raven's wings, I shall make for Lunden, undeterred by the trials. I've traversed this path afore, and I shall tread it once more."

No longer having the strength, Elena dropped her arm, a groan following.

"How long do I have to wait?" Toke said, feeling the baby kick.

Toke's eyes gently closed, attuned to the symphony of the ocean—the rhythmic percussion of waves against the boat, the sail wrestling with the wind. Even in the womb, his child seemed to embark on a journey. It stirred memories of Toke's youth, sailing alongside his late father. The recollection turned somber as he remembered witnessing his father's demise in a gruesome battle. The arrow that struck his father marked the point at which the joy of sailing the seas ceased for Toke.

It felt as if a fragment of the boat had been shattered irreparably. His personal vessel began to sink, a sinking he couldn't simply swim away from.

**********

The Battle of Maldon

Year 991

Six years ago

At the time, he was a mere Danish cub. A fifteen-year-old boy. Growing up, he and his father traveled to many kingdoms, like France (bad idea), Norway, and even Croatia which was a one-year trip all around. 

But that was no more.

"DIE!"

Awaking into the surreal, Toke dodged a sword flying directly towards his face. "You damn Danes!" The armored soldier coughed, red slipping out from the opening in his helmet. "I'll kill you!"

"D-Damn it," Toke cursed, his legs on the verge of giving out. "Just who throws their son into a battle?"

"Lift up your sword, you fool." The soldier bellowed, pointing at the scabbard on Toke's waist. "Fine, damn it all… you'll be my first kill and i'll bring that head of yours back to my father"

Clutching the handle, Toke extracted the sword from the scabbard, revealing a luminous yellow pendant dangling at the hilt—a symbolic representation of Thor's equilibrium between life and death, embodied in his formidable Mjolnir.

As the two commenced circling, the soldier's face remained obscured, yet his guttural sounds mimicked those of a charging beast. He lunged at Toke with full force, who adeptly evaded and countered. The clash of their metals echoed loudly, Toke's heartbeat escalating into a frenzy. With a determined effort, he pushed the soldier's sword upward, creating a brief but vital gap between them.

Adjusting his stance, Toke anchored his left leg forward. With both hands, he positioned his sword behind him, the blade pointing downward at the muddy soil beneath. Looking into the abyss of the soldier's helmet, Toke's eyes hardened as he furthermore tightened his grip.

Releasing another beast-like roar, saturated with rage, the soldier once more lunged at Toke, swinging his sword with desperate force. Technique dissolved into primal urgency as his life hung by a thread. After numerous attempts, Toke successfully parried an attack, compelling the soldier to retreat with a cry of agony as his sword struck his hand. With his weapon dropped in pain, the soldier's anguished cry echoed, his right-hand contorting backwards even within its armor.

"Augh…." The soldier groaned as his body glued to the mud, "No…No!" He yelped. Toke's legs finally gave out, kneeling down with his sword as support. "You're not done, boy." A voice commanded from behind. 

"F… father?"

"You vowed to bring me his head, did you not?" The man stood tall, his shoulders like two separate mountains. "Now, fulfill that promise of yours and present me with his head, boy."

Bowing his head Toke begrudgingly stood up, "I understand. I must not make my promise an empty one." He sighed.

Approaching the wounded soldier, Toke's sword trailed through the mud as though it walked behind him, a tangible embodiment of the in-between. Seating himself upon the fallen warrior, he removed the helmet, revealing a countenance marred by sheer ugliness. The soldier's blonde hair hung disheveled, his nose crooked, and his eyes portrayed an irreparable despair, accompanied by the burden of heavy bags beneath them.

As if to honor him, Toke held eyes with the soldier whilst raising his hammer of justice, an execution awaiting, "please…ple-..." The soldier quietly pleaded, his own lungs beginning to collapse on him, blood gushing out of mouth. "It is now time for thee to discover which gods truly hold sway in this realm." 

With swift, merciless force, Toke drove his sword into the soldier's skull, promptly withdrawing it. Blood sprayed onto him, yet he held his sword horizontally above the fallen's neck. The only audible sound was the noise of his own breath.

One hand gripping the hilt and the other poised over the blade, Toke commenced sawing through the neck. Just before the last stroke, a chilling crunch resonated within Toke as he severed the fallen head from its lifeless body. Toke grabbed the head by the hair and proceeded to the man before him, his father, King Frode of Denmark. "I present you with the head of my first kill, father."

The blood continued to spray out from the severed head, yet the king did not mind, taking the head from Toke. "May this be a testament of your pledge to Valhalla, my son." The King solemnly said, abruptly turning around and handing the head to another Danish soldier, "encase it within a pouch and clasp it steadfastly in thy possession."

The man nodded and walked away from the scene. "Boy, the morrow beckons for thee to shed thy cub's guise and assume the mantle of a seafaring warrior. This skirmish carries weight, and you are well aware. I can no longer stand sentinel over you in this impending fray."

"Then… what am I to do?"

"You have mastered the art of taking life. 'Tis time to glean the wisdom of command, to lead as well as to kill."  Shifting ninety degrees, The King gestured at the men behind him, "These one-hundred soldiers will be yours for today. Try to keep them alive." The King comforted.

"Well then," The King mounted onto his horse, hundreds followed after. "Do not go to Valhalla before me, son." With a kick to the horse, The King and his men embarked on their journey through the woods.

Watching his father ride off, Toke solemnly gazed at his newfound force not being able to help himself from saying his thoughts out loud, "I shall not falter, father. I shall ascend to the throne and wear the crown."