HIS NAME VIKINGS 1

12TH DECEMBER 1767.

"Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday to you!" Were the words I was so taught to hear on this fateful day. "Happy birthday, your grace! Make a wish." One of the maidens told me. With that, I blew out the fifteen candles in front of me, closed my eyes, and uttered nothing beneath my breath. For nothing I so much wished, I felt I had it all, and above all, this was a privilege. Afterward, I smiled, shared the cake with my two siblings, and left for my room, where I never wished to be disturbed. Maybe I haven’t gotten a chance to introduce myself. My name is Vikings. I so don’t understand many theories and stories about leadership and royalty, but I am set to start my studies. I don’t remember much of my childhood, with which I seek guidance in remembrance, for the words people use to call me here do not truly ascertain my roots. When I was eight, my father was crowned the Duke after his brother’s death, and since his wife had not borne him an heir, he so inherited both. As I stated, I don’t remember much of my childhood, but I sometimes visit the Lake of Tigris to greet and acknowledge some of my friends, with whom I had started forming a bond before leaving. I have been taught a lot and am still learning day by day. I have loved the poetic fragrance and so much hated the social class division. My father’s wife has always been kind and gracious to me. She always filled me with wisdom about everything with regard to virtues and values. I have a brother and a sister with whom I so very much love, despite them being some years younger than me." Father’s calling you." My brother states outside my door. "Coming right away, brother." I close the book I am reading and head downstairs to my father’s library. He was growing old; his beards were graying, and his voice was softer and slower, signs of old age. With respect, I slightly bow and then state, "You asked for me." He so looks at me with some eyes, as if studying me and analyzing everything about me. "Have a seat, son." With much respect, I sit to listen attentively and carefully, as I always did. "I have been busy with the work and the mail. I hear you have become an expert in hunting and archery. I hear you are doing so well in schoolwork and calculations." I just nodded to everything my father said. For all was true. When he cleared his throat and continued, "I have heard rumors, you have been fooling around with the Baron’s daughter." He paused, observing me, and continued, "Willock. Shame and fame Two words that lead families into either tarnish or respect; I blame myself for not teaching you this earlier, but I must tell you. This world is filled with beautiful scenarios, so well described by words, but none describe the obsession of a word named love and lust, especially when it comes to a teenage boy. I so wish one day to have you leave for London or The Lake or anywhere, but it would be shameful to be told my son is fooling around with someone after his departure." When father was mad at me, he always spoke wise deeds, sayings, and parables, and I knew he was quite mad, so I stated, "My apologies, father. I rise to the occasion that I will cut off all my acts and talks with the lady Catherine. I so do not wish for you to take blame for my acts, for I so well understand the values you have taught me and the consequences of the virtues, my mother being a perfect example. My apologies." "Your mama did nothing wrong. She was just conned and schemed by the trickery of the word, and she so much believed in words rather than actions. Your mama was a great woman, but she lays the burden and carries the consequences of her sins, with which I don’t wish you to reign." Father’s words always left me wondering, but there is one question he never seized to answer, and I so wished to ask him again, "Every day today, we celebrate my birthday and mourn my mama's death, but you never tell me one thing, father. Who is my real father, and who is that man who writes to me named Hirlvington? Is he to be my papa?" After asking that, he stood up, opened the doors of his library, looked outside, talked to the guards, and came back, holding some books. He started, "Your father, I am your father, Willock, and that so should stick. Hirlvington is a man who so loves... eh, I think you should go learn something outside. I don’t so wish to tell you some things right now." His gaze always lowered when he was talking about me or anything concerning my past. Even the maidens and the guards always escaped my queries and desires for answers about my roots. I knew I was not a duke, nor was I a Viking, for my younger brother Charles was set to be the next Duke of Vikings when father dies. All this I knew; of course, no one told me, but I was so used to eavesdropping on most conversations that his grace had with his wife, and I knew I was not set to be a duke. This was all pity. And I so asked, "Am I bearing off a sin?" He just looked at me and shook his head as if in disgust and disbelief, but I continued, "My mama never succeeded in finding herself a suitor at any ballroom, but she ended up with a baby. How does one get to have a baby without a marriage father?" He always hated my questions. That, I knew. He would nervously tap his desk, maybe call one of his guards, and request for a cup of water or milk. This I knew, but I needed answers. I have lived a life of darkness for no one wishes to fill any of my gaps. Even my teacher never talked much about my past or myself in examples as he did with other students from other royal families. In acquaintances and examples of ballrooms and dances, he would talk of the viscounts, the barons, and the princes, but never the duke. Everyone evaded these questions, to the extent that my ego seemed broken every day, for I so much wanted to carry my surname Vikings with pride, just as Richard, the son of the baron, always did: "am a baron, I will reign my father’s pride and marry off my sisters to the best noblemen in England or make alliances with princes’ from other nations." He always said and as my mind thought of all this, father continued, "A child is to be made during marriage, and that is how it should be." I was so confused, so I reprimanded him, "Is that why they call me a bastard? He who is bore outside marriage. I so should belong to the stables or be dead as dictated." Those words seemed to cut deep, and I watched my father look at me with tears, trying hard not to escape. "Who called you that?" "My schoolmates. They state that I was never bored with marriage and that you married Mama when I was old." He did not say a word. For the first time, he just said, "Oh boy!" And that’s when I knew all of it was true.

My life was two-faced, as I would love to state. In the compound of my father, I was treated and called by the honors of the words marquees of Vikings, or just Vikings, as some stated. However, outside, I faced people who wanted nothing more than to listen to stories about my past. Everyone watched me as if I were an alien. In school, some boys always refused to include me in their games and adjacently whispered and chanted to me names like sinful, cursed, or other derogatory terms. Since my arrival here in Bavdon, I have been taught one thing by my fellow students: ‘I don’t belong.' Words I told no one but myself. Every night I felt the pain and the drop, ache and condense of my heart in cases I would recall my daytime occurrences. When my brother joined me in school, he was treated differently. Respect reigned in his glory, and I observed how his words would make even the most aggressive bully bow in retrogression and humility. It hurt me as much, for he was so much younger than me, and I wished he would teach the boys that I was the head and older, but I had a label, with which, like a name graphitized on my forehead, my course was always dictated, no matter how much my father refused to tell me or acknowledge my real identity. Despite everyone’s repellent and rebellious nature toward me. However, Charles, my brother, never seized to ever disrespect me. In my presence, he always talked to me with much humility and patience, and no crude word of authority would he ever let his mouth alter, but all this I never cared about. I despised everything—the bowing, the reigns, and the social classes. I hated the fact that my sister was always left at home needling or attending to her needs while we were being generated and farcified to add to and enrich our knowledge. Of all the members in this home, I loved her the most. A young girl with whom knew nothing except, whose innocence and curiosity drew onto her quite young (six) face. However, what amused me after my speech with my uncle was that he started restricting my relations with my younger sister. He had stated that I should reach out to her with a soldier around, with whom who could hear all my intentions and words. Most times I was used to speaking to my sister alone. I wanted to teach her everything—about men, about life, about books, and about focusing more on her studies. I wanted her to be the best and the type of girl with whom I would so proudly observe and state, "She is truly my sister, whom I shaped." The reasons for my father’s actions are unknown, but I of course agreed and submitted to them.

The books were obnoxious and gladly satisfying. There is no language that I adore more than poetry. I was taught everything; years had flown by, birthdays were celebrated, and anniversaries were recalled. "Today is a presumptuous and beautiful day, indeed, by your grace. You seem set to leave." Three years flew by faster than expected. My father had promised me that on the third winter season, he would take a tour. By the third winter, I knew he meant on my eighteenth birthday, and so today was the day we were set to leave.

The carriages were set for our departure, with my clothes perfectly set for I was told that I was set to leave for the unknown land. My brother and sister watched me with the hope that I would take them with me, but I alone was wanted. Father, however, came outside with him and had my portrait paints with him, with which he made artists draw every different occasion, throughout my years in the place. From when I was a small boy, when my now thick brown hair was fiercely hiding my forehead, to now that my hair is quite short shaved. My blue ocean eyes never seized to shine their way out from the younger Vikings to the old, when the guard stated, "Your grace, you have grown so old." I just smiled, with nothing to say. According to my father’s looks, it seemed he was not willing or able to accompany me on the journey, for I noticed his luggage was not set and he still wore his robe in a statement that he was waiting for my departure and would then head straight to sleep. Noticing I was gazing at him, he just looked away, cleared his throat, and stated, "Vikings. I can’t come with you, boy. The journey is set for you and you alone. However, I have provided the guards, with whom will accompany you to the destined place. The place is far away from here, and it beholds hope, life, and answers. Whoever you find, give these arts to him, all thirteen of them, and he will understand. Behave well, my son." Father’s eyes had started watering, his hands were clenched, and his eyelids blinked so much to stop the tears, which desperately tried to escape. My sister had already started sobbing, and hurtfully, this felt more like a goodbye than a comeback later. My heart. It ached from the fact that I was leaving; I hugged my brother and sister goodbye and adamantly told Charles, "Take care of sister. I will come back." Following my words, I hugged my mother, who simply said, "Take care.” As she always told me, in cases I was leaving, even if it was to play with my friends. They all left for the house, leaving me alone with my father and the two guards who were supposed to accompany me. "It’s an unknown land." Father started and continued, "Not that unknown, but a little bit unknown. It carries a lot, about which I have no right to speak. My boy… I believe my money and my knowledge and wisdom have played a great part in your upbringing. I have taught you everything a young man should know before setting out for the world. I had promised, and I so don’t wish to break it. It was you who was desired and who has always been and is still being protected. I know I am not being direct, my son, but I wish you nothing but the best journey. Tell the man to whom you give the paints that milk became your least favorite and brewing beer became a part of your love, but you never took part in drinking. Tell him nothing but the truth." And with that, he forcefully held me in a tight hug and stated underneath his breath, "I’ll so miss you, my son. So much. Please write to us." And with that, I nodded and entered the carriage, with the guards’ stationed at the front to direct the horses, and the journey was set to begin, which it did.

The journey was full of darkness and obstacles, full of turns and drifts, rests and moves. A very lengthy journey indeed, "How long shall it take?" I asked as we had taken a break when the sun was above our heads after our two-day departure. "Almost a week, your grace." They spoke in unison. "What? Is it that far?" I asked. They just looked at each other and nodded in unison when one continued, "Most of the journeys take till the next moon. But this time his grace was clear, a week, and that’s why he gave the best of the carriages. We should so leave your grace." With that, I just nodded. The journey was lengthy. A real long one, that which I had never ever experienced. I took part in helping the guards in hunting, and with time, we started bonding with them. We cracked jokes, and knowing these people made the journey feel lighter. One of them told me he had always served the former duke, and so after his death, he had no option but to lay his gracious allegiance and loyalty at the feet of the next duke. However, the other seemed to have been the Duke’s right-hand man. He did not speak much of his past; he was busy watching the roads. They always seemed to bond so well with father, and their friendship would be evident from night to morning and afternoons. Days had passed; we were all so tired, and I could see the guards forcing themselves to work in exhaustion. Yes, we always made the horses rest. Somehow I understood the need for the horses and felt a little familiar with them, as if I once had a connection with them. We so entered a city, full of people and talk, larger than the Bavdon province. "Welcome to London, your grace." One of the guards stated who was strongly directing the horses to one of the roads, extending a gracefully built house, that ascertained and called for grace and respect. The people could be seen watching us, and some followed behind as if trying to carefully study the person who was inside. We arrived at the huge locked gates of the storey house when the guards left the carriage and went to talk to one of the guards outside. Taking advantage, one of the people, outsiders, I guess, through the window forcefully thrust their head to watch me when he was shocked and stated in a loud voice, "It’s a young man!" What was that? This place is very different from home. Home nosiness is disallowed and punishable. When my guards heard the crowds, they hastily came fast onto my protection from them, as the gates widely opened for our entry. And so the horses were set and walked inside, and the doors were hugely locked behind us. My guards set down, and one of them opened my door and stated, "We have arrived, my lord." With which I set down quietly and steadily, not affording to fall or do anything that would much ruin father’s name in the capital. I can say that there was a family in front of us. The man in front of me appeared to be elderly. He wore a flared frock coat, with high, upright collars and neckties tied around him. His trouser was black, high-waisted, and baggy, and he held a letter. The other was somewhat his wife, I guess, for she wore a rounded bell-shaped dress. Oh my God, I was already studying them. That was one attribute my father taught me never to do, and with that, I stopped and stood waiting for someone to receive us. Our luggage had already started being unpacked when the elderly man, whose moustache and sideburns were being observed, said with a welcoming smile, "I see you have arrived from the largest journey, your grace." He was talking to me, and for the first time I did not know what to say, for not many, especially strangers, had ever called me your grace'. But he continued, to my amusement, "Please come in and meet our family. I believe you’ve heard them, or so remember them. This is my lady (pointing to the wife I had started scanning and adamantly stopped.) These are our children; I don’t wish to introduce them, for you will get to know each other as you stay. I hope the journey wasn’t as tiresome." I opened my mouth to speak, searching for the most fruitful and gracious words, and I just altered it to "Am much glad we arrived". He just smiled and directed that our carriage be taken and our horses be taken care of. We were so welcomed in the house, especially one funny thing with his children. They both stared at me, with neither wishing to speak, as if I had done something wrong. I assume this is what Father called nervousness; he always told me not to show people when I was nervous, but I was in this new place. The table was well set when one of the maidens asked, "My lord, should his grace rest first or have his dinner?" And everyone set their eyes on me. In as much surprise as I felt, I never expected to be treated with this much respect, and I so stated, "Kind of you. I am free for anything. But I so much wish to freshen." Everyone nodded, and I was led to one of the rooms, where everything appeared to be arranged—my clothes, my bags, everything. New maidens came and requested if I wished to be showered, which I politely declined and hence freshened up as fast as I could and headed to the tables set down stairs. As I was heading to the table, I remembered that I had adamantly forgotten my father's request to give the man the thirteen paintings. And I so ended, to the room provided, and found them each set at a corner and carried them steadily like a lost boy selling paints. I went down the stairs when one maiden asked, "Where are you heading your grace?" I just nodded and slowly and confidently stated, "I was instructed to meet the Lord for some discussions after my arrival. I so wish to be escorted to him." And with no question, the lady sent me to one of the doors, spoke with some soldiers, and I was welcomed in. The man was seated, checking on some work, with his rounded glasses touching the tips of his nose. He raised his head, removed his glasses, set them aside, and observed me, saying, "Hello." He stated. His voice was steady and created a room of authority; I had no chance to observe the room so well. I never wished to tarnish my name, and so I replied, holding the paints, which seemed quite heavier than me, but I steadily stood, shoving that they weren’t, "Father told me to give you these on my arrival." After altering the name ‘father, I noticed his facial expression change from one of authority to one I did not understand. His expression changed as fast, and he stood and helped me with the paints. With each, I explained, "This is was drawn on our last day in the Lake. I was sad, hence the frown. This was taken on my first day, when my little brother was born. I was…" I explained everything, all of them to him, and to the last I stated, "This was taken on my birthday. I was average. No feelings, for I was set to leave." I watched the man, observing the pictures keenly, from my baby face to my now-grown face. I had not yet grown a beard, but now I was taller, stronger, and hotter for the ladies. I spoke good English and knew all the books of accounts. Father had given me some works in his office, which he stated I would one day inherit. And with this, with him so consumed by the pictures, I took the chance to observe the room. The room was quite old. Books were neatly arranged in one corner, and painted pictures beckoned and flourished the house. All sorts of pictures, one of which I presumed was his looks when young, were followed by other pictures I so much did not understand, but one caught my attention. The name was written in capital letters, thanks to my sharp eyes, which could read any word, even one as small as a needle's hole. ‘Isla Hirlvington.’ And with that, the blood rushed through my spine; hotness, ache, and nervousness flourished, and I took my eyes off the picture, for I did not want to look at it another time. Was this my father’s house? Was he the Hirlvington? The famous Viscount? "Quite flourishing. You’ve grown to be a handsome boy, my child. Vikings must be so proud." He stated, and I just nodded and stated, "He’s taught me everything. I love poetry so much now. I'm not a fan of milk anymore, but brewing beer has become one of my favorite hobbies, but he never let me try any. ‘Unhealthy, he always told me. I have become a professional hunter. In the wilderness, I helped the guards catch an antelope; they were so amazed with my acts.” I don’t know, but when I started talking with this man, I felt the need to tell him more and more. Hearing him say my father would be so proud made me yearn to tell him, for sure, he wasn’t wrong, because my father too never failed in his duties of raising me. My words made him laugh for the first time since our talk. He looked at me and, with great dismay, stated, "Any father would be proud to have a son like you." I was never used to emotional compliments, for my father always taught me emotions are the greatest downfall of any man, and so I just smiled for the words when one of the guards entered and stated, "My lord, the table is set." And with that, we left for our dinner. I was called upon to sit next to one of his children. He was a young man, about my age. His hair was long and slightly pipped at the center, covering the sides of his face. He was physically my size, but I presume I was quite thinner; we shared the same heights. "Do you love meat, your grace?" The lady of the house asked, observing me and my plate, which I had filled with some meat but no fish. And so I stated, "Eh, I prefer meat today. Please call me Willock; I so prefer it." And with that, everyone looked at each other, some with smiles and others with surprise. I had never seen them quiet like this even when they met us, so I decided to ask, "Is it wrong to be called by one’s first name? I'm fascinated by your quietness." And everyone stopped, and the lady stated, "We are so amused by your arrival. We so wish you enjoyed our welcome." And with a slight smile, I replied, "I love the place and the food so much. May the head chef be congratulated. The air is serene, and the atmosphere is quite appeasing but a little colder than back in Bravdon. Of course, I enjoy my stay." And with that, we ate the rest of the meal quietly, but I could observe that they were silently observing my habits, my feeding, and my looks. Maybe this is the reason father trained me on every piece of activity not as much as he focused on the teachings to my brother and sister. To me, he made sure I grew with respect; he taught me that every word I should utter should come off with knowledge and thought. Maybe that’s how the dukes were observed when they visited London, the city that so much embraced social class. After that, I saw everyone stand, leaving for their beds, when the viscount next to me stated, "Hey, brother. We missed you so much." I did not know what to say—why would he call me brother, and why—what? miss? I had only one brother. I was in darkness, but seeing the shine and brightness of his voice and words, I smiled back and stated, "I, ehh, I am not aware you knew of my arrival. But I appreciate your waits." And with that, we all left. His sister was also closely observing me. She was almost our age, maybe three or two years younger. She just did not say anything but left. All that was left were questions. Brother indeed. I just opened my door and entered the place. I was never used to sleeping early; I was maybe reading a book, helping my father do his accounts, helping Grace, our head chef, cook, or just doing something. Grace always stated that men were not supposed to indulge themselves with housework, but I just felt passion doing them. It somehow felt right and gracious. I just therefore tossed and turned when I felt the need and curiosity of observing the city. I knew the city was not safe, especially for a royal like me, but even being a Viking back home never stopped me from enjoying my stays with the other people on the other side of our province. I steadily walked outside through one of the windows, which easily opened, climbed down the thick brick roof, and jumped down the new place, with cold dewed grass embracing my feet. As I set out to reach down, one of the guards saw me and started to run towards me. I was good at playing hide and seek with the guards, but in a new place, I couldn’t. He just saw me and stated, "You never changed?" "What?" I asked, to which he repeated in a low tone, "You never changed, boy. The nosy you, who just wanted freedom," Wait what? Nosy me? And so I blurted, "You mean, me, the viscount’s son, or the new boy in town?" "Go to your room. Nights are not safe in London, Your grace." And with that, he escorted me inside the house and locked my windows so that I couldn’t leave. "Goodnight, your grace." I hated being treated like a kid. Your grace, you should behave like this, you should talk to noble people only, you should mind your statements, and you should be like this and that. Society is always society. And with that, I forced myself to drift off to sleep.