I
"Skarland oversees many jarldoms, but none are as powerful as that of Darð, ruled by the young but cunning Jarl Magnus Andorsson."
Dagný's father explained this all to her as if she were a child still. Though to him, she supposed she would always be a child, forever remembered in his mind as the small thing that once tottered around and babbled until she was stuck onto a breast or lifted high into the air, laughter gliding from her drooling mouth. To a parent such as Dagmar the Bellowing, such sentimental times were often on his mind, the title both rooted in his humor and his battle fame. The petty and greater jarls of the kingdom would arrive soon for the Winter Feast of Yule, a time where the hearth was kept roaring and Dagmar's belly was kept full of mead and mulled wine, lightening his spirits to such a state as Dagný had found him in now.
But hers was heavy with anticipation. This Yule was different. It was a feast and her future all in one. In several days' time, it would be decided by Dagmar who his chosen heir would be.
In the tradition of Dagný's land, and in the practices of her ancestors, the male child would be favored in all cases, even when the death of the sovereign came when that male child was still a babe. There were some women petty jarls, some women chiefs, and many women warriors, but to be a sovereign was something else entirely. Yet Dagný's father was never one to follow tradition blindly. He was aware that such action would only further solidify the dogmatic ways his kingdom was so used to living by, those which scorned things that appeared different than what they thought the gods or their own ancestors allowed. He knew that he alone could not change everything, and so he had settled for this: raising a princess like she was worth more than her womb alone. However, this decision alone did not cause him the dilemma he faced now.
Twins always caused trouble in inheritance dealings, but no trouble arises quite like when twins are born to a king.
Dagmar's heir had been the subject of his attention for the entirety of Dagný's life. From the beginning, he had made it clear that his decision would come when the twins were older, once they had each had time to prove themselves worthy, to him and the people. She could not remember a time when she was not vying against her brother Ingmar for their father’s approval.
Twins are either best friends or sworn enemies it seems, but she would have at least liked to of been given a chance at being friends with Ingmar, the person who she had shared a womb with, who she was more alike than anyone else.
But duty never afforded her such a luxury.
Dagný was born first, a fact which Ingmar had hated her for from the moment he had first learned it. Since they could hold swords, they had been at each other’s throats, constant competition their only common ground. The need to be better than the other guiding their paths.
It was for tradition's sake that Dagný found herself being schooled in the domestic realm of life, taught to run the household and care for children, embroider, sew, and weave. And it was for her own that she was taught to fight, to ride a horse and stand among other warriors in a shield wall. Her mother had been afraid she would be hurt, not for her lack of ability, but for the cruel ways of the world and of men.
“It is a life made for men to live, Dagný,” she had said to her when she was young and aspiring, “Women are oft’ punished in crueler ways than death.”
But her mother had died soon after, a fever taking her in the cold months of early spring, and the edge of her words had faded as Dagný had grown older and more desperate to prove her strength. By the time she was fifteen, Dagný had killed over twenty men and fought in countless battles over territory alongside her father. Despite her show of promise, it was her brother who Dagmar had named hersir and given rank over Oskurað’s band of warriors. Dagný had realized it then: that daughters are slow to grow up to their fathers, and that even their sons as boys are looked upon as men.
Dagmar spoke to her like that now—like she would always be small in bed, with him sat beside her, telling her tales of gods and great warriors. It was not condescending, merely as he had always spoken—with a softness overtaking his usually creased brow.
She knew that by this meeting something had changed.
The summons came late into the evening, long after supper had been served in the Great Mead Hall. Warriors would still be down below, drinking their wine and finding women to take to their beds. No doubt Ingmar was among them. Dagný was not fond of such displays of looseness and tomfoolery, though when great feasts occurred and songs and tales were sung, or challenges and games were played late into the night, she often stayed. But tonight was ordinary, and so she had retired early to her chambers. Sterna had knocked on the door not long after Dagný had sent her away, coming with word from the king. She had dressed Dagný quickly and led her to the meeting hall.
His casual demeanor had made it seem like he wished to simply inquire about her preparations for the Yule feast—ever since her mother died, those tasks had fallen to her. But he did not brooch the subject once, which at first filled Dagný with confidence because she felt it meant he trusted her completely with such a responsibility, but then she realized something else clearly weighed on his mind.
“And the lands to the south are ruled by the good Jarl Agnar, old as he may be. I do believe the winter will take him soon, so his son Magnar comes in his place, who is one of his eldest sons. Instability may arise there with a challenge from one of Agnar's brood, the man has so many mistresses it is astounding. But then there is the eastern most jarl of the lands in my control—Jarl Nørk…” Dagmar continued to explain his worries with the Jarl Nørk, at which point Dagný had not even said a word to him after greeting him upon entering the room.
Muscles twitched under her eye as she held back her question: Why have you called me here?
She thought she already knew, but, unlike her brother, she would not assume. Involuntarily and without even realizing it, she let out a long-held breath that sounded like the rudest sigh anyone in Skarland had ever emitted.
Dagmar stopped speaking and turned his body away from the window he had been standing before. Dagný folded her arms and sat straighter in her chair as his gaze fell upon her. A stern look adorned his face.
Laughter filled the air.
He clapped his hands and walked to her, sitting in the empty space beside her on the chair. His whole body moved in waves up and down as he bellowed into the night, his fat gut jutting out with each breath. Dagný began to laugh too, the urge unstoppable once her father started, like a chain of joy was wrapping around her neck and forcing the air from her body. His fit soon ended, and as he wiped small tears from his eyes he turned his gaze fully onto her for the first time since she entered the room. He dawned a serious expression over his mirth.
"I have been rambling, haven't I, daughter? I cannot seem to help myself when that wine hits my stomach. It is best that I get all of the judging thoughts out now, here in private, before my jarls get here and are subjected to bursts of my true thoughts that escape under the pressure of spirits," he said while starting to chortle again.
"Pressure, father? The only pressure that forces them out is the weight of the food you place on top of them," Dagný said, the edge of another laugh in her voice.
Dagmar burst into another fit, this time patting his gut in agreeance with her words. He had grown fat in the years after his battle days had ended, his reign secured by the knee-bending and oath-swearing of all jarls that bordered him.
He suddenly grew serious again though, his eyes fogging as if years in the past. "I have made up my mind, Dagný," he declared with a finality. Air ceased to exist in the room, Dagný’s lungs suddenly empty. She twitched forward in her seat, grounding her feet on the floor, the only solid thing around her.
"I will have you as my successor, as the next ruler of my kingdom.”
