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Legends Never Die: The Games We Play (ch. 138)
🕑 Added 2025-12-03 15:58:11 +0000 UTCRagnar lunged with his sword, going low while raising his shield high. I batted the blade away with my own shield, countering by swatting at his leg with my blade, but he’d learned his lessons well and withdrew the leg and tried to catch me as I overextended. Good instincts, but a poor idea given that I was twice his size and had a hundred pounds on him. It was an instinct born from sparing with boys his age, boys who he was already taller than.
He crashed into me, trying to knock me off my feet, or at least make me stumble. Instead, he half bounced off me and stunned himself. “Be mindful of the difference in size between you and your opponent, more so when you lack the advantage.” I said, grabbing his shield and rapping it against his head sharply when he raised it too high in an over correction. He grunted at the pain, lashing out with his blade and taking a half step back as he settled in a defensive stance.
I smiled as I saw it. “Good recovery,” I praised him in Arabic, earning a quick but tired smile. It was so strange to think that he was once a baby that I could hold in one of my hands. Ragnar was growing rapidly.. Like all my children, he was big for his age, so although he was only nine years old he looked much older. Many would mistake him for a teenager.
With my expanded vision, I saw his siblings all on the training field in their own spars. Scáthach and Aífe were fighting with spears -- the moment they'd been told the story they were named for, they gained a special love for the spear and starting practicing with them endlessly. Usually by beating each other black and blue. Magnus had his own opponent in a cousin, Harald, the first born son of Haldur. Magnus was getting the better of him, much to Harald's visible frustration.
Meanwhile Radahn, Bjorn, and Thors, Thorkell's son, were having a match of their own. The boys were only four years old, not old enough to really learn but old enough to want to be included, so their spar quickly dissolved into a wrestling match that they all seemed to be losing.
I was proud of all of them. All of them were clever and fast learners -- there was the natural averseness that all children had to what they found dull or boring, but with proper reward, they were motivated to learn.
“If we were the same size, that would have worked,” Ragnar replied, also in Arabic, with his words carrying a hint of an accent. There had been a part of me that thought I should have spent my Renown on the Learning Legacies, but thus far, my children had proved that they didn't need it. All of them had learned Arabic and Germanic, which they could speak with relative fluency. Soon, they would be learning Frankish, then Greek.
Alexios was a fine tutor, the aged scholar managed to make learning fun for them. Still, I tried to partake in their education as much as I could. Partly because I was their father, but also because of the Boon I had chosen as my reward for the conquest of Scandinavia.
Mentor
When in a teaching position, students gain 15% increase in experience.
There were choices that I could have taken that would make me more effective. Skinwalker, a Boon that I had passed up every time until now which would allow me to do what Morrigan did. Terrifying Presence or Shadow-Walker, which would allow me to frighten my enemies into submission, or to go entirely unseen despite my size. The latter had a special appeal to me as a king, all the more so because I imagined I could accomplish what Terrifying Presence purported by appearing behind someone seemingly from thin air.
However, I chose Mentor for much the same reasons why I chose the Breeding Legacies -- it was less about me, and more about the next generation. I was powerful in both physical ability and influence. I had built an empire from a scattered people who didn't even know what an empire was. So long as I maintained my course, I would be fine. So, I looked to those who would inherit what I built, to ensure that it would survive my death.
I did that by teaching them. Alexios was an excellent tutor, but with Mentor and Learning I, I was even better, and their own natural intelligence my children learned fast. Almost as quick as I could teach them, so I tried to teach them as much and as often as I could.
Such as this lesson, when I rapped Ragnar on the top of the head with my wooden blade, “Then you should wait until you're my size to try it.” He offered a rueful grin and a shrug, telling me that the lesson wasn't quite clear. But it was when I performed the same move that he tried, which ended with him flat on his arse. He sent me a scowl, but all the same he accepted the hand and I pulled him up. “There's more to a fight than just size, so don't rely on an advantage that you might not always have.”
He nodded and I ruffled his sweat soaked hair as we looked at the others. There was a boy around Ragnar's age that was glancing at us -- a son of a Jarl. So I nudged Ragnar in that direction, and he accepted it with ease. Leaving my own brothers to approach now that the bout was over.
Both Haldur and Halfdan wore their positions well.
“King Halfdan. King Haldur,” I greeted them with a small smile, earning a laugh from Halfdan.
“Still doesn't feel real,” Halfdan admitted, his hand absentmindingly going to a symbol emblazoned over his heart -- a symbol making him as King of Lithuania, one of the kingdoms I had established. Meanwhile, Haldur had taken charge of Sweden, serving as its king.
It was a decision that I received some pushback against, but one that I had been committed to due to how Renown functioned. Now, as kings, they each offered Renown to the total and with my own, I could select another Legacy within five years rather than the original fifteen. More than that, their loyalty was assured and they had my trust.
For the most part.
“Your sons are growing well,” Haldur remarked, watching as our boys were wrestling. It was a familiar sight -- I still recalled the thrashing I used to get from my older brothers. “As is Arne,” he added, his gaze drifting to our shared nephew.
Arne wasn't the small boy he had been when I set sail for the Mediterranean anymore. The son of Brandr, our eldest brother, had grown up, now twelve years old. The same age I had been when I went on my first raid. When I killed a man for the first time.
I hadn't realized how young I was for all that I had done until I looked at the boy Arne was and realized that I had already killed more men than I could count at that age.
Arne was sparring against two boys, holding his own but getting hammered. He was eager to prove himself. Something that was my fault, I think, because I wasn't the only one who realized that I had already fought in a war against the Franks at the same age. He had a good drive to improve, and so long as he tempered it and didn't let himself burn out of control, I was inclined to let him carry on.
“Should he expect a kingdom once he comes of age?” Halfdan remarked, casually leaning on a fence. It was meant as a jest, but I offered a shrug.
“If he earns one,” I replied, earning a bark of laughter from Halfdan and a sharp look from Haldur. “There are still empty thrones to be filled. I am more inclined to have them filled by family than strangers- most of whom would have earned their chance with arsekissing or betrayal.”
“I also imagine that it'd make it easy to earn these votes for the Thing,” Haldur observed, running a hand down his beard.
I nodded, conceding the point there.
The Roman Senate had been a point of inspiration, both in what it could be and what to avoid. At the best of times, it was a check of power on the Consul, preventing foolishness and madness from damning the kingdom because of one man's stupidity. And as much as I wished to think no one of my blood could be a fool, I knew better than to make that assumption. However, at its worst, the Senate was a quagmire of highly corrupt fools who only had their seat because of ill gotten wealth and sold their vote to whoever paid the most, making it next to impossible to get anything done.
I liked the idea of the Senate, but disliked how it functioned in Rome, leading me to create my own version. And that was the Council of Kings -- right now, it was eleven thrones that each had a vote on important matters, such as the Codex of Laws that I sought to implement across the Empire. It would give the Codex an air of legitimacy, as it wouldn't just be a compilation of laws I was forcing upon people.
Instead, the Codex was a collection of laws that were debated, voted upon, and then ratified. Thus their implementation was fair and not tyranny forced upon the people.
Few things mattered more in politics than appearances.
However, that also made the Council something dangerous. The kings that would make up the Council would know how much their word was worth, and sooner or later, the same corrupt practices that rotted the Roman Senate from the inside out would plague my empire's Council -- bribery, favors, petty slights, and willful disobedience.
The very worst part of it was the fact that there was little that I could realistically do. I could dedicate the remainder of my life to devising a system of governance that was incorruptable, and I would fail. Because, in the end, it wasn't governments that became corrupt. It was the people in the government, and there was very little I could do to change human nature. Any rule or guideline would eventually be side stepped in some way to allow the corruption to seep in.
So, I did the next best thing.
I created levers within the government to flush out the corruption -- namely, I made the position of King… unstable. It has always been our way to challenge our leaders so that the best man may rule. Not to the point of recklessness, I don't think. A random man couldn't challenge a Jarl to a duel and take his position. However, a popular man could. What I did was an expansion of that philosophy, making the titles just unsteady enough that problematic kings could be removed and replaced.
It wasn't perfect. Not even close. But it felt like a step in the right direction.
“You do know that eventually, it's just going to be the family on thrones, right?” Halfdan pointed out.
“I'm aware,” I admitted. Which wasn't necessarily a bad thing. Just something that felt dangerous. “But they'll have to earn their crowns, unlike you two. Might give them an appreciation for them.” A faint hope but possible.
Halfdan cracked a grin while Haldur rolled his eyes at me. But the conversation was cut short when Radahn released a victorious cry, throwing his hands in the air while his defeated brother and cousins were splayed out on the ground.
I snorted, feeling an old wound on my heart heal just a little bit at the sight. I had always loved my family, but it felt like it was such a rare thing that we were together like this. I almost wished that they would never grow up, just so they could stay this innocent and carefree forever.
It wasn't to last, however, as the Norns were quick to remind me. Because following Radahn's victorious cry came a shout of pain. My gaze snapped to Ragnar to see that he was on the ground, holding a bloodied nose while Haldur's son, Harald, was standing over him with an intense expression on his face. Telling me that the hit had been deliberate.
My first instinct was to walk over and separate the two, but I swallowed that instinct down as Ragnar began to rise up. He hefted his practice blade and his shield, paying no mind to the blood dripping down his chin and attacked Harald with similar intent.
All the boys fought hard during training. It was how they learned. And it was better now than on the battlefield -- a bruise would fade but a severed hand wouldn't grow back. However, the two were fighting with a determination that was either to win or to simply hurt the other as their attacks came fast and hard with all the strength that they could muster.
Their fighting got sloppier and more frenzied, their training being forgotten in a familiar tide of anger. Next to me, Haldur was deadly still, so much so that I wasn't sure if he was even breathing. Halfdan, however, had a quip to say. “Well, that's a familiar sight.”
It was, honestly. Not all of the fights I had with my brothers had been so light-hearted. Sometimes they did something that angered me, or I did something that would anger them, and we would fight until we were bloodied and bruised. I couldn’t even recall why most of the time, and by the next day, we were all playing games together. At least until the next thrashing started.
It was a sharp reminder that just because you were family didn't mean you got along.
The fight ended as abruptly as it began with Ragnar slamming a fist into Harald's mouth with enough strength to split his lip. Harald was stunned for a half second before Ragnar tackled him, raising a fist up to continue the pummeling, but I chose to take action then. With a few large steps, I strode over and grabbed him by the scruff of his shirt and yanked him off Harald. Haldur was right behind me, helping his son up.
“He started it!” Ragnar was quick to protest.
“And I have ended it,” I rebuked. “You both injured one another, and that is enough. Now, you will stand up, clasp hands, and you will put this behind you.” I uttered, keenly aware how the training yard watched the confrontation. The scolding. Only too late did I think that this was something that would be better handled behind closed doors. Ragnar wasn’t a normal boy. He was a prince, and that… that came with conditions and expectations.
Still, all the same, the two stood across from another. For a moment, they were defiant, but Ragnar offered a hand and Harald clasped it. The half hearted apology they exchanged was very familiar, as I think I exchanged hundreds of the same with my brothers over the years. It was enough. For now. “Now go get your injuries checked out,” I ushered them off the field and they obeyed with a bitter reluctance.
Haldur and I stood together, watching them go. “Thing's aren't what they were back then,” Haldur said, holding similar thoughts as I did.
“They aren't boys roughhousing on a farm,” I agreed.
And there were days that felt like such a shame.
…
I did have other duties that pulled me away from teaching my children, or preparing for the ‘debate.’ Among them was meeting with forgiven dignitaries, such as the Diplomat that Caliph Harun sent. Hashim al-Ibbian, an older man with gray at the temples and smiling lines that were revealed from a carefully groomed beard. He looked familiar to me, telling me I had likely seen him while dealing with Harun at some point, but it was our first time speaking.
I decided to meet him in the spinning room as the late evening sun would frame the meeting perfectly. As I sat on my throne, Jasmine leaned heavily into my side, resting her head on my shoulder. She was well pleased with the gift of a companion to Rajah, and likely, a litter of cubs descending from him. They would be no true replacement for him, I knew, but I hoped she would find comfort in them once Rajah passed. Hashim took note of the affection, I could tell, but he chose not to comment on it.
“I understand that you have crafted a Senate,” Hashim began, seated across from me while servants stood at attention with refreshments. “Shall their opinion be needed for this discussion?”
I offered a polite smile, “No. The senate is an extension of my power and a diplomatic tool. While I won't say that they don't have a voice to speak with, and they certainly will have opinions, I am not bound to their will.” That had been thoroughly established when I decided to form the Council of Kings. It was something I would continue to establish for the remainder of my life, as the easiest way for a law or rule to be proven worthless is when it was ignored without consequence. And that would allow for the Council to gain a trickle of power that I would see reserved for the hands of the Allvaldr.
“Caliph Harun al-Rashid has advised me that you prefer direct words over… traditional diplomatic courtesies,” He began, waiting for my nod before continuing. “My Caliph, and Queen Jasmine's beloved brother, sent me here with a number of tasks. Among them was the delivery of the tiger, another was the establishment of a link of trade from your kingdom to the Caliphate, be it through the Black Sea and the Dnieper River, or via the western sea.”
That was something I was looking forward to. My coffers were reaching the point of strain, if I was being completely honest. Nothing that I hadn't anticipated, and the contents of my coffers were actually stretching farther than I’d initially planned due to the fact that not only the thralls but many of the citizens worked for free when they labored on one of my great works. It was the same mentality that saw the Pyramids in Egypt get built -- there were many ways to earn glory in life, and one of them was to carve your name into the bedrock of a monument that would last for an age.
But, even with that unexpected windfall, the vast wealth I’d acquired in the Mediterranean was depleting. Jasmine, for her part, had made great strides in fostering trade across the Baltic Sea, but such networks would take time to foster and take root. What's more, there was little in the way of trade goods that one of my kingdoms produced that the others couldn't. There were the staples, of course: Textiles, alcohol, foodstuffs. But they would pale in comparison to the goods an established trade route to the Abbasids would offer.
“The other matter,” Hashim continued, “Is the Khazars."
‘Jill was right,’ I mused, unsurprised. “They have moved against the Abbasids?”
I had been certain that Charlemagne would have Irene send them in my direction. It was why we had taken the immediate stance of sowing disunity within the clans of the steppe, hoping to make them splinter, and to foster what Morrigan had taken to calling ‘meat shields’ around my borders. With Charlemagne and Irene tied up in Rome, the Khazars were a readily available tool to use against my fragile empire. Which would be an annoyance and an opportunity in equal measures, so I had been both relieved and disappointed when they showed no signs of setting their sights on us.
At least nothing beyond a daring raid that usually ended with the attackers defeated and mounted on spikes.
“They intend to,” Hashim confirmed with a nod. As he did, one of his own servants approached with a map and unfurled it upon the table between us. It was a high quality one, and I swiftly noted that it had already added my Scandinavian Empire to it. The proportions almost matched what my Map offered, telling me that the Abbasids either had fine map makers… or that they’d used the dimensions I used for my own maps. A little admission of subterfuge, I think.
He continued without pause, gesturing to a swath of land to the east that belonged to the Khazars. Visually, it was impressive -- in terms of landmass, my empire and the Khazars were equal. However, I knew that vast stretches of the Khazars lands were empty flatlands. Something that they preferred for the sake of their horses. It was those flatlands that made me entirely dismiss the thought of expanding eastward within my lifetime. It would be impossible to defend unless we reached certain distant terrain, and we couldn’t reach it without greatly overextending.
“They have begun to expand eastward, and to the south towards the Caucasus Mountains and around the Caspian Sea. They have absorbed various smaller steppe clans and chieftains, adding to their number. This expansion has been fueled by Roman coffers, while our spies within Francia report that Charlemagne is building a vast fleet that he intends to use to retake the Mediterranean and to seize control of the Black Sea.” He gestured to the map as he spoke, and I could visualize it quite well. “It is our belief that the Romans intend to attack us through the Khazars, while usurping control over the sea from our peoples.”
It was a clever plan. Anatolia was the natural conflict between the Romans and Abbasids, and thus both had spared no expense fortifying that border. The Abbasids would be exposed on their northern border along the Caucasus Mountains, and further to the east. If it was a prelude to war, it would be a fantastic opening gambit to get the Abbasid armies out of position before invading.
“What course of action does Caliph Harun al-Rashid ask of me?” I questioned, knowing that Harun wouldn't put forth a problem without a solution.
“He asks that you direct the young blood that have taken Kiev and a portion of Bulgaria, and send them here,” Hashim said, pointing to a ‘neutral’ territory framing the Caucasus Mountains and the Black Sea. “It is a petty kingdom under the nominal control of the Romans. We cannot seize it without triggering a war, but a group of disavowed Norsemen with the aid of a Bulgarian king? That is different."
“You take the territory and fortify it, whilst gaining a natural port to facilitate trade across the Black Sea,” I summarized. Harun was a crafty one. “And the fleet Charlemagne is building?"
“That task shall be entrusted to Hadi al-Ghaib,” Hashim replied, saying no more of it. It wouldn't be an outright attack on the shipping yards -- that would be too overt given that they were worried about starting a war by attacking a petty protectorate under the Romans. Sabotage and subterfuge seemed more likely. “We also ask that you direct King Hoffer to these three ports across Francia,” he added, gesturing to each port he wanted raided and razed.
I looked down at the map and let all the pieces come together in my mind. Each action was a move to set the stage for a conflict that was inevitable. Charlemagne would make a move, we would make a move, then we would both react to the other making a move, which would cause further reactions. All of it one day culminating in a war… a war that I could feel in my bones would be entirely different from anything I had seen before.
A war that would decide the fate of empires for centuries to come, if they survived it at all. And whoever among us emerged victorious… all of it would be decided by these ten thousand games of one-upmanship in the years, if not decades, leading up to it.
I looked down at the map and felt uncertainty pool in my gut, because I looked at the scope of Rome and its ancient power and compared it to my fledgling empire that was even younger than my children.
“Whatever Caliph Harun al-Rashid needs,” I found myself replying, thinking of a few moves I could make to help things along. “Whatever he needs, he shall receive.”
The future demanded nothing less.
Comments
ThePolarParadox
Hadi al-Ghaib! Long live the sufferers! :v
