Bjorn squinted through the river mist as the settlement gradually became clearer ahead of them. The wooden palisades rose from the muddy banks - nothing impressive, just the same vertical logs and rope bindings he had seen at dozens of other settlements throughout the Norse lands.
There were no chains stretched across the water to block their ships, which left the place vulnerable despite the wall around it.
He could break through those defenses without much trouble. A few well-placed catapults would tear the gates apart within minutes.
If this were a proper siege, with huskarls ready inside to fight, he wouldn't hesitate to spend three days building a catapult; then the battle in the open field would be far easier to manage with him leading it.
But that's not the case now.
It's better to ram straight through the main gate and be done with it quickly.
The deep sound of a war horn echoed across the water, pulling Bjorn back from his planning. They had been spotted, but it did not matter now. Most of Alfheim's huskarls were either dead or sitting chained in Tunsberg. Bjorn had made sure of that when he crushed their invasion force.
He turned to face his huskarls and the ones from Borre, his words were aimed more at the latter. "We are not here to steal silver or take slaves," he called out. "We came to end this blood feud between our people once and for all. We are not raiders. Not today."
His eyes found the coerced men among his force. "And to bring back your families and everyone else who was taken. Do you understand me?"
The men nodded, some more eagerly than others.
Eirik Bone-crusher stepped forward slightly. "That is all we want, Lord. Just to get our families back safe."
Bjorn studied Eirik's face for a long moment before nodding back at him.
Floki's fingers tightened on the haft of his axe. He stared toward the shore. "Blood feuds… they don't end easy, Bjorn. I doubt even the gods can end them."
Rollo snorted, leaning against the railing. "There's not much risk anyway, so why stop trying?"
"The gods may laugh at your ease, Rollo."
"We will end what we can, Floki". Bjorn nodded slowly ending their talk, it was neither the right place or the right time.
"Drop the sail," Bjorn then commanded.
The crew moved quickly to bring down the woolen sail, slowing their approach so the ships would not be damaged when they hit the shore.
-x-X-x-
The longships scraped against sand as they beached. Bjorn's huskarls jumped over the sides and formed up immediately - shields ready, spears aligned, moving together, showing their discipline, which clearly shows they have done this many times before.
The men from Borre scrambled out after them in loose groups, checking their weapons and talking among themselves.
The difference between the two groups was obvious to everyone watching. Bjorn's warriors had better weapons. They stood relaxed but ready, like hunting wolves waiting for the signal to attack.
The Borre men, their equipment was mismatched, some carrying weapons that weren't on their best form.
On the palisade walls, the defenders watched this display with growing fear. They could see which group posed the real threat, and it was not the eager but untrained volunteers.
Bjorn's huskarls exchanged knowing glances and allowed themselves small grins. They felt superior with their better weapons and shields, and the way they looked domineering compared to Borre's huskarls.
The men on the walls, most of them were already awake by now, and they gripped their weapons tighter and moved closer together. They might die here, but they would not run without a fight.
Bjorn began walking toward the settlement, his boots squelching in the marshy ground. His men fell into step behind him, each warrior carrying his shield ready to lock with his neighbors if arrows started flying.
-x-X-x-
When they reached arrow range, Bjorn raised his fist and his men immediately formed their shield wall. But this was not the standard formation where each man protected his own body. Instead, they created layers of overlapping shields - the front rank crouched low with shields angled up, the second rank held theirs at chest height, and the third rank raised theirs high to catch any arrows aimed at heads and shoulders.
Before ordering the advance, Bjorn stepped forward alone. He carried a blood-stained leather sack that he had kept close in a barrel during the voyage. The defenders on the walls watched nervously as he reached inside and pulled out something pale and round.
Prince Helsing's severed head flew through the air in a high arc, the blonde hair streaming behind it like a banner. It hit the ground inside the palisade with a wet sound and rolled several feet before stopping near a wooden post.
Silence hung over the settlement for several heartbeats. Then someone screamed. Other voices joined in - shouts of horror, recognition, and despair as the defenders realized what they were looking at.
Bjorn did not give them time to recover from the shock. "Forward!" he shouted, and his shield wall began its steady march toward the walls.
The few archers among the defenders shot their arrows, but there were too few of them. Most of their shafts bounced harmlessly off the locked shields or flew wide of their targets.
Meanwhile, Bjorn moved to the right side with his own bow and a group of veteran archers; veteran hunters now turned to huskarls. From this position, they had clear shots at the men on the walls. Bjorn drew his bowstring back to his ear and released. The arrow took an archer in the throat, dropping him immediately.
Around him, his archers did the same work, though with less precision. One by one, the defenders on the walls fell - an arrow through the chest here, one in the eye there. The survivors began looking around desperately, some glancing toward the gates as if thinking about running.
Bjorn saw the moment when their will broke. "Lay down your weapons!" he roared across the battlefield. "Prince Helsing is dead and all his forces are destroyed! Surrender now and I swear by the gods that no innocent will be harmed!"
One gray-bearded defender let his spear clatter to the wooden walkway. The sound seemed to release the others from a spell, and within moments the remaining men were throwing down their swords, axes, and bows.
-x-X-x-
Kungälv spread out before them as they marched through the gates. The settlement is prosperous as a trading hub like, as expected of a royal seat.
Bjorn could see well-built longhouses, workshops with good tools.
The people who remained watched from doorways as the armed column passed through their streets. Women pulled children behind them when the warriors looked their way. Old men stood in the shadows of buildings, their faces showing resignation rather than fear.
They had no huskarls to protect them, and their bravery, while admirable, did not mount to much.
The royal hall dominated the center of the settlement, its carved dragon heads glaring down from the peaked roof. No guards stood at the great oak doors, which hung open as if inviting them inside.
Bjorn strode through the entrance with his men close behind. The interior hit them with warmth - torches burned along the walls, the central fire pit still glowed with coals, and the smell of roasted meat hung in the smoky air. Tapestries depicting old victories covered the wooden walls, and the high seat at the far end was carved with intricate knotwork patterns.
But the warmth could not hide what lay near the king's chair.
An old man in simple brown robes lay face-down in a spreading pool of blood. His gray hair was matted with red, and his arms were sprawled at unnatural angles. The rushes around him were soaked crimson.
Beside the corpse sat a woman with blonde hair braided in the style of thralls. Her rough woolen dress was stained red to the elbows, and she held a bone-handled knife that still dripped blood onto the floor. She was singing something in a low voice - an old song that Bjorn did not recognize.
Tears ran down her dirt-streaked face, but her voice never wavered as she sang.
Rollo moved closer to examine the body, his hand resting on his sword hilt. "Is this King Gandalf?" he asked the woman.
She stopped singing and looked up at them. "Yes," she whispered.
Rollo knelt and pressed his fingers against the old man's neck, then put his ear close to the mouth. After a moment, he shook his head. "He is dead."
Bjorn studied the scene carefully. No signs of a struggle. No defensive wounds on the king's hands. The woman showed no injuries. This had been quick and personal, not a battle.
"Trygve," he called to one of the Borre men. "Go and bring five or six locals here. I need them to confirm who this man is."
Rollo frowned. "Is that really necessary? She has already told us it is the king."
But Trygve stepped forward anxiously. "Lord, what about the hostages? I do not see any of our people here." His voice cracked. "My mother and little brother, where are they being held?"
Bjorn's expression softened slightly. The young man had already lost his father in the battle against Helsing, and was desperate not to lose the rest of his family. "Bring the witnesses first," he said gently. "Then we will find out where the captives are."
Trygve nodded and hurried toward the door, nearly tripping on the rushes in his eagerness.
Bjorn and Rollo looked at each other meaningfully.
Bjorn hoped the hostages were not dead, otherwise it will just complicate things even further, blood feuds will soon become a thing, and unrest will follow in these two kingdoms.
Bjorn turned back to the blood-covered woman. "Why did you kill him? What was your reason?"
She lifted her head, and something in her gaze made him frown. There was madness there, but also a strange kind of clarity.
"Because I love him," she said simply.
Rollo looked at her as if she was stupid. "You what?"
Bjorn raised his eyebrows. "You are his thrall, are you not? What kind of love drives a slave to murder her master?"
The woman's laugh held no joy. "You would have given him a death far worse than this. Maybe you would have humiliated him in front of everyone. Would you have carved the blood eagle into his back while he still breathed?"
She gestured at the corpse with her bloody knife. "He was too old to die fighting with sword and shield. Too weak to earn his place in Valhalla through battle. If he had surrendered to you, the gods would have turned away from him in the afterlife."
Her voice grew stronger. "So I sent him to Valhalla myself. I gave him an honorable death instead of letting you shame him."
She leaned forward and carefully placed the seax in the dead king's right hand, wrapping his cold fingers around the handle. Then she went back to her mournful singing, ignoring Bjorn and his warriors completely.
The hall fell quiet except for her voice and the crackling of the torches. Even the warriors that accompanied Bjorn now, found themselves disturbed by this display of devotion twisted into murder.
Soon Trygve returned with several townspeople - merchants, craftsmen, and elders who had known their king for years. They confirmed what the thrall had told them: the dead man was indeed Gandalf, King of Alfheim.
-x-X-x-
Through careful questioning, Bjorn learned that the hostages from Kaupang, and Borre were being held somewhere close to a powerful chieftain the king had trusted, though not a Jarl.
The huskarls from Kaupang who had been forced to fight for Prince Helsing were all dead, killed either in the battlefield of Borre or during the failed invasion of Tunsberg.
But the civilians - wives, children, elderly parents - were still alive and mostly unharmed. They had been too valuable as bargaining pieces to waste on casual cruelty.
Bjorn assigned the rescue to Rollo, along with five of his own huskarls and all seventeen of Borre. Before they left, he pulled Rollo aside.
"If anyone have harmed the hostages, bring them to me alive," Bjorn said quietly. Bjorn was planning to put them on trial and kill them, they are loyal since they were tasked with protecting the hostages, and Bjorn was not in need of loyalists to a dead king.
While his men went to free the captives, Bjorn turned to the problem of establishing his rule properly. He was currently Earl of Kattegat, powerful yes, but still a foreign Jarl.
If he simply declared himself King of Alfheim by conquest alone, ambitious men would eventually rally behind some distant cousin of the royal family and challenge his authority.
Better to do this according to tradition and law.
He talked with the law speaker here, then sent messengers throughout Alfheim, summoning all karls, bondsmen, chieftains, and the only jarl in Alfheim to an emergency Thing at Kungälv. The message was clear: King Gandalf was dead, Prince Helsing was dead, and many more problems to solve.
Everyone will come with their own agendas of course. But Bjorn was sure he could outmaneuver them politically, it will be slow, and he knows that.
-x-X-x-
While waiting for the arrival of people to the thing, Bjorn began to move among those who had come early. He talked to farmers about their fields, the quality of the grain, and what if there was a way to improve the harvest. And if there was a way, would they use it immediately. He was trying to understand the thoughts of the people better.
He listened to fishers describe how the river had risen and fallen, which spots were good for nets, and which had been emptied by other villages.
Craftsmen spoke of the hours they spent shaping wood, repairing tools, or tanning leather, and Bjorn asked questions not out of curiosity alone, but to gauge their skill and reliability.
Some bondis had arrived ahead of the rest, and he noted their demeanor: who was calm, who became frustrated quickly, who had a quiet confidence, who was fidgety. These small observations built a picture of the people he would soon rely on.
Rollo arrived the next day, bringing the hostages.
Bjorn saw at once that some of the women were in terrible condition; their faces and bodies bore marks of abuse, and their eyes held fear and disbelief.
He felt a tight knot in his chest, a recognition that the path he had chosen came with consequences he could not ignore. He did not turn away, did not avert his gaze, because he wanted them to know he saw them, that their suffering mattered.
Deep down, he knew he had played a part in the chain of events that brought them here. That knowledge weighed on him, but it did not crush him.
Bjorn was realistic; he understood the world he lived in, the choices he had made, and the casualties that came with pursuing power.
Yet he also understood responsibility.
He carried it quietly, letting it guide his decisions, shaping how he treated those under his protection.
He did not dwell on regret. Instead, he focused on what he could do now; how he could act to prevent further harm, to give the survivors some measure of control over their own fate, and to see that justice, however harsh, was enacted fairly
Among the arrivals were Trygve and his younger brother. Trygve's face was drawn and grim.
In conversation, Bjorn learned that Trygve's mother had killed herself after being raped. His younger brother, barely ten, said almost nothing.
He did not cry, did not complain, but his eyes held an awareness beyong his age, they followed every movement around him.
Bjorn felt a deep pity for the boy, recognizing both the trauma he had endured and the intelligence that had been forced into him too early. He remembered the boy's eyes clearly, noting the weight they carried, and wondered how he could offer him some measure of safety and guidance.
The public procession began shortly after. People walked in order, chanting, singing, raising their voices in rhythm.
Bjorn stayed to the side, observing. Some moved with pride and focus; others glanced around nervously, uncertain of what was expected of them.
Behind the procession, preparations continued for the thrall who had killed the king. She was to be burned alongside him on the pyre, serving him in the afterlife.
The night before, she had lain with several men who told her, as they were with her, "Tell the king that we are doing this because of our love for him."
Bjorn did not believe it. He did not think they were speaking the truth, but he did not interfere. Their customs were their own, strange and hard for him to understand, but not his to stop.
In Earl Haraldson's funeral, there was no such thing as men laying with the women, but was it because the thrall of Haraldson was old and this one was young, Bjorn did know.
Over the next several days, the erfi continued. Ale was shared from large wooden vessels, toasts were sworn, and games were played.
Some were competitive, some simple, but in all of it, Bjorn saw the way tensions between his men and the locals eased, even just between neighbors.
Arguments cooled, minor disagreements were forgotten, and people laughed at small victories in games. On the final day of the erfi, the ritual ale-sip marked closure.
Men and women drank, repeated oaths, and celebrated together.
Bjorn noticed how the ritual bound them, creating a shared rhythm that prevented grudges from taking root.
On the fourth day, preparations for the funeral began. The king was washed carefully and dressed in fine linens. Grave goods were collected: weapons, silver obtained through trade with Kungalv, and a thrall who would accompany him.
The pyre was built near the river, and skalds began composing dirges.
Bjorn was present in every step of the funeral, making his presence known. They did look at him strangely of course the first time they saw him because of his silver hair and young face, and warily because of his huskarls, but soon the people have grown accustomed to his presence since he didn't raid or pillage or anything.
For the people with power it was a different matter entirely, they were playing games, testing the waters trying to get information form Bjorn, some trying to get on his good side with good words.
After the funeral, Bjorn focused on preparing his speeches for the thing. He considered what words would be effective, what topics could offend, and what conflicts might arise.
Above all, he worked to prepare himself for the unexpected; moments when someone might act out of anger or fear, when decisions would have to be made quickly, and when the stability of the assembly could be challenged.
At the same time, he prepared for the trial of the dozen men who had harmed the hostages. Honor dictated that he could not strike them down outright.
Through questioning, Bjorn learned that they had acted not from malice toward these particular women, but because they had believed the women "did not matter" compared to others who had living huskarls the last time news reached them.
******Author's note :
Some stories make conquest look easy: win a battle, and suddenly everyone bows to the new ruler.
As you know that's not how it worked.
In the next chapter, I'll show a Thing; a real assembly where disputes are settled and power is recognized according to law and tradition.
Bjorn has to navigate politics, ambitions, and local customs to secure his rule.
It's slower, more complicated, and far less glamorous than swinging a sword, but it's necessary.
This will be the only time I show something like this. After that, if Bjorn conquers a kingdom in Scandinavia, I'll simply summarize any problems he faced and how he solved them, before skipping forward to show the consolidation of his power.
Anyway After the assembly, we return to Northumbria. The MC will begin developing a relationship with a woman. I can't promise it will be good as this is new territory, but we'll see where it goes.
And if you have any thing you want to see in Northumbrie raid, leave a comment below.