Supreme Viking System-Chapter 15: 5 years old

The longhouse felt different once the men finished talking.

Not quieter—there was still laughter, still the low thunder of voices and the scrape of benches—but settled, the way earth feels after a storm has passed through and moved on to somewhere else. The fire burned steady now, no longer snapping and popping as if it had something to prove.

Astrid stood near the back wall for a long moment, hands folded loosely in front of her, watching.

She had heard the laughter. Had heard Sten Brokenspear’s booming voice carry through the beams. She had seen Erik smile—really smile—for the first time since the spar.

And she knew what that meant.

"Marriage pact," she murmured to herself, half-amused, half-stunned.

She pressed her lips together, fighting a laugh that wanted to bubble up at the absurdity of it. Her son still smelled faintly of milk and pine smoke. Still slept curled like a question mark when he forgot to stretch out.

And the men were already talking about binding his future.

Her chest tightened.

Pride came first. It always did.

Then uncertainty followed close behind, sharp and protective.

Astrid turned and moved through the hall, weaving past benches and shoulders until she spotted Freydis near one of the support posts. The girl stood straight-backed, arms crossed, watching the room with bright, alert eyes. She looked smaller than she acted, but there was no mistaking the confidence in the way she carried herself.

Astrid stopped a few steps away.

"You must be Freydis," she said gently.

Freydis looked up, emerald eyes flicking over Astrid’s face. "Yes," she said. "You’re Anders’ mother."

Astrid smiled. "I am."

Freydis tilted her head slightly. "You don’t look angry."

Astrid laughed softly. "I don’t feel angry."

"Good," Freydis said, nodding as if this confirmed something important.

Astrid studied her more closely now. Raven-black hair, pale skin, the same sharp attention she’d seen in Sten—but without the weight of years to blunt it.

"May I sit with you?" Astrid asked.

Freydis shrugged. "You don’t need to ask."

Astrid took a seat on the bench beside her.

For a moment, neither spoke. The fire crackled. Someone shouted a joke near the far end of the hall.

Astrid broke the silence first.

"They spoke about your future tonight," she said carefully.

Freydis did not look surprised. "I know."

Astrid raised an eyebrow. "You do?"

Freydis nodded. "My father doesn’t whisper. He laughs instead."

Astrid smiled despite herself. "Fair enough."

She hesitated, then continued. "I wanted to ask you something. And you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to."

Freydis turned fully toward her. "Go on."

"What do you want?" Astrid asked. "Not what your father wants. Not what the men talk about. What you want."

Freydis frowned slightly, considering. "I want to be strong," she said after a moment. "I want to fight well. I want to choose where I stand."

Astrid nodded. "And Anders?"

Freydis shrugged again, but this time there was a flicker of something—curiosity, perhaps. "He’s... different," she said. "He listens. Most boys don’t."

Astrid laughed quietly. "That sounds like him."

"I don’t think of him as something I’m owed," Freydis added, her voice firm. "If that’s what you’re asking."

Astrid felt something loosen in her chest.

"That’s exactly what I was asking," she said softly.

They sat together a while longer, speaking of small things—training bruises, cold mornings, the way the sea smelled when the wind shifted. By the time Astrid stood, her steps felt lighter.

She moved away from the hall and into the quieter spaces between buildings, where the night pressed closer and voices softened. She paused near the edge of the training yard, watching the shadows move.

Marriage pact.

Promise.

Future.

She thought of her own wedding—how young she’d been, how certain she’d felt, and how much she hadn’t known yet. She loved Erik fiercely. Would choose him again.

But she also knew how easily promises could become cages if left unchecked.

This will not bind him, she decided. Not without his choosing.

As if summoned by the thought, she spotted Anders near the far side of the yard, practicing slow movements with his wooden sword. The moonlight caught the edges of his hair, his small frame taut with focus.

Astrid approached quietly.

"Anders," she said.

He stopped immediately, turning to face her. "Mother."

She smiled. "You don’t need to be so formal."

"I wasn’t being formal," he said. "I was being accurate."

She laughed, shaking her head. "Come sit."

He obeyed, perching on a low log beside her, sword resting across his knees.

She took a breath.

"The men talked tonight," she began. "About the future."

Anders nodded. "They often do."

"Yes," she said dryly. "This time, they talked about yours."

He looked at her calmly. "Did they decide something?"

"No," Astrid said quickly. "Nothing has been decided. That’s why I wanted to speak with you."

She met his eyes. "There was talk of a bond. Someday. Between families."

Anders considered this. "Freydis?"

Astrid blinked. "You already know her name?"

"She told me," Anders replied. "She doesn’t whisper either."

Astrid smiled. "What do you think?"

Anders looked down at his sword, fingers tracing the grain of the wood. "I think promises are heavy things," he said slowly. "They shouldn’t be made by people too small to carry them."

Astrid swallowed.

"That’s very wise," she said softly.

He shrugged. "I can grow into it. Or I might grow somewhere else."

Astrid reached out and pulled him into a brief, fierce hug. "You will choose," she said into his hair. "Always."

He nodded against her shoulder. 𝕗𝚛𝚎𝚎𝐰𝗲𝗯𝗻𝚘𝚟𝚎𝗹.𝕔𝐨𝕞

Time moved on.

Two winters passed like a tide.

The clans drew closer—not just in word, but in wood and stone. Houses were rebuilt nearer the shore. Docks were shared. Watchfires burned in pairs.

Anders grew from three to five, taller, stronger, quieter. Freydis grew from six to eight, faster, sharper, already respected among the trainees.

They did not speak often of the pact.

They did not need to.

On a morning before first light, Anders rose quietly. He checked his bow, slung his pack, and stepped out into the cold.

Astrid watched from the doorway as he disappeared into the dark.

Not sent.

Not commanded.

Simply choosing his path.

And the world, patient as ever, waited to see where it would lead.