There is no Baekhyun in this chapter, so feel free to skip it.

Your father was a monster.

Hrolfr, the Night Wolf, the hunter in the dark.  The first time he went berserk, he was seven years old.  Cheated in some childish game, he went home, took down mormor’s axe, and returned to split the skull--to the teeth--of the boy who had cheated him.  At sixteen, armed only with a knife, he single handedly took down the wolf whose skin he would wear in battle for the rest of his life.  He once killed an enemy by biting through his neck. 

In his 25th year he led a raid on a new land to the east…”

Crisp air filled Hrolfr’s lungs, a brisk breeze pleasantly chilling his limbs as the dragon-headed knarr silently cut through the dense morning fog.  Fire crackled by his ear as Rethel set an arrow aflame and aimed out into the fog.  Skeld--newly initiated into the ulfhednar--popped up in front of the archer to peer into the fog.  With one hand, Rethel pushed the boy down onto the deck, murmuring, “Be silent, and don’t step in front of me,” before nocking his arrow and firing into the mist.  

A small hiss in the distance, and nothing more.

Another arrow nocked and fired.

Another hiss.

Another arrow.

This time, from beyond the grey veil of fog came the thunk of arrow hitting sand.  A soundless cheer went up from his fellow ulfhednar, as each man left off rowing to take up his weapon.  Hrolfr’s own hand wrapped joyously around the hilt of his axe, hefting in anticipation of its work.

Aside from the creaking of the mast ropes, the screeching of gulls, and the break of waves on shore, the morning was silent.  His warriors crouched, quiet, not even rowing now, allowing the momentum of the waves to finish carrying the knarr to shore.  The fog swirled and danced in the morning breeze, here thicker, there almost thinning enough to see--

Hrolfr tensed as Edgtho clasped his shoulder, whispering in his ear, “Rider… Well fed, and on a mount.”  The normally terse man took a moment to inhale before smirking, “Perfume.”

“It is a woman?” Hrolfr asked.  The lazy morning breeze finally picked up enough to blow the fog from their sight, revealing a strand largely surrounded by black rocky cliffs, and a dense forest.

A battery of black-robed warriors lined the shore, with archers limning the tops of the cliffs, arrows nocked and aimed at the drifting knarr.

Turning to spit into the water, Edgtho scoffed as a slight, slender woman sitting straight astride a copper horse nudged the beast out of the treeline, and down to shore.  “A herald.  A silk-swaddled, smoke-colored messenger girl.”

“Tell me your names!” she called.  The men on the ship started to hear their language coming from .  “Quickly!” she demanded, drawing the reins tightly as her horse began to nervously dance.  

Deciding to eschew more…energetic modes of first contact, Hrolfr pulled off his helmet, exposing the cleverly wrought blue tattoo that wended its way across his face, and exposing his white-blond hair--shaved on the sides, longer on top, and swept back from his forehead--smiling in satisfaction when he saw the woman blink.  She was as brown in hue as hazelnuts. 

He wondered if she was as sweet. 

Dropping his helmet to the deck, he strode toward the bow, planted his foot against the gunwale, and leaned forward, raising his forearm to rest against his thigh.  “I am son to Healfdene, called Hrolfr,” he called as winningly as possible, flashing his dimples as if he weren’t here to reave her village, and plunder its treasure.  

Her brightly coloured silks shimmered in the morning breeze as her horse pranced along the shore, and to Hrolfr’s gratification, she returned his smile.  “We have been expecting you, worthy lord.  My King will want to welcome you himself.”

“Is it a trap, do you think?” Rethel muttered as the knarr drifted closer to shore.

Hrolfr eyed the hundreds of men standing silently upon the shore, swords and arrowheads glinting in the morning light.  “Put away your weapons,” he ordered his men, turning to scowl at their grumbling faces.  “There is no honour in being slaughtered in an ambush.  If we go along, we may well live to die another day.”

To the men’s surprise, the phalanx of soldiers didn’t end in the treeline, but stretched along either side of the path wending through the forest.  Mounted guards led the way, and as the group walked, the soldiers behind them closed in, cutting off access to the shore, ensuring that the only way that they could move was forward.  Hrolfr strode alongside the herald’s horse, pretending to ignore the surreptitious glances sent his way from under her lashes.  “So,” he started, his glacial eyes constantly roving, taking the lay of the land, the measure of the men, as he walked, “you say that you have been expecting us?”

“Indeed,” she said, and now that she wasn’t yelling, he was able to appreciate the mellifluousness of her speaking voice.  

When she said no more, he glanced sideways up at her.  “How did you know?”

“It is His Majesty’s business to know.”

Figuring that was all the information that he would obtain from this little flower, Hrolfr lapsed into silence as they reached the outskirts of the great city.  Upon reaching the outer gates of the palace, there was a flurry of conversation between the palace guards and the man who seemed to be the leader of the soldiers and after several sharp gestures towards Hrolfr and his men, he asked the herald, “What’s the trouble?”

“The palace guards don’t want to allow you inside with your weapons.”  Meaningfully, she looked at the band of men, raising an eyebrow.

Rethel scoffed.  “You’ll have to kiss me first, petal.”

Hrolfr didn’t miss the quick glance she gave him before leaning over the neck of her horse and saying something sharp to the seeming leader of the palace guards.  Reaching into her robes, she pulled out a scroll, and handed it to the man who scowled upon seeing the contents.  Growling, he glared at the soldiers, at the herald, at Hrolfr and his men before slapping the scroll back into the woman’s palm, and calling to the men behind him.  

Turning, the guards grabbed hold of the great brass rings on the door and heaved.  It took a moment or two, but eventually the great doors began to open, slowly swinging outward to reveal what Hrolfr assumed to be this king’s longhouse, though it was certainly a lot more…complicated than the great halls back home.

The majority of the soldiers stayed outside of the walls, but the amount of guards inside the enclosure were enough to dissuade anyone from making any hasty decisions.  Hrolfr took note of how the herald quickly dismounted and strode ahead, leading his men and a band of palace guards toward the ostentatiously appointed low-slung longhouse.  

The herald said something to a smooth-faced perfumed man in green silk, who then called out to the people inside the hall.  After a few moments, a soft voice called back, and another pair of green-clad men slid open the pair of doors leading to a great hall flanked by rows of kneeling men who glared as the herald and newcomers strode through the room.  

The herald stopped before a weathered, iron-bearded man sitting on a throne, bringing the backs of her hands to her forehead before bowing gracefully to the ground.  She then stood halfway, her back parallel to the floor, her hands folded at the juncture of her hips as she spoke to the man on the throne in that quick, curious language of hers.  Before the seated man could speak, another perfumed man--this one standing by the throne--complained in an incongruously dulcet tone, obviously reprimanding the herald who stood unmoving, her eyes on the floor.

Hrolfr didn’t have to wait long to figure out what was happening as the man by the throne agitatedly gestured toward the newcomers and then he, like the herald, was speaking their language, though his tones were heavily accented.  

“How dare you bring these unwashed barbarians before your king?!  The very air that surrounds them reeks of…blood and fish.”  The man waved a hand, and a silk-robed youth scrambled forward to stand beside Hrolfr, bowing quickly at the warrior before fixing his eyes on the green garbed man beside the throne.  

The incensed man continued to yell in his own language, and Hrolfr started as the youth beside him began to rapidly translate.  It would seem that this…incredibly loud Eunuch Nammo was incensed on the king’s behalf by the herald’s lack of forethought, propriety, or respect regarding the ulfhednar’s unprepared attendance on the king.  The eunuch loudly droned on until Hrolfr began to grow irritated and bored and lifted his hatchet to scratch an itch under his beard.  

At that movement, the room fell silent, and Hrolfr looked around to see that every guard in attendance had their hand on their weapon and their gaze on him.  Smiling, he shrugged.  “Itched.”

Eunuch Nammo cleared his throat, and adjusted his sleeves, but finally subsided.

“Pyeha,” the herald started, her voice low, but steady, “Please accept this one’s humblest apologies for the lack of proper respect, and allow this one to remedy her grave mistake by taking these men to be properly prepared for your presence.”

The king adjusted his own sleeves as his eyes roved over the company.  “Very well,” he said simply, his deep, rough voice easily filling the room.  “Prepare them well, and bring them back here tomorrow.”

“Pyeha,” she intoned, bowing even deeper before slowly backing out of the great hall.  

As soon as they had once more emerged into the crisp sunlight, the herald stood straight, and levelled an inscrutable look at Hrolfr.  “Follow me,” she said shortly before striding away toward the gates.  

“I’m beginning to feel like a baby duck,” Rethel muttered to Hrolfr as they followed after the straight-backed, if diminutive woman.  

Just outside the gates was another rather abbreviated long-house, not nearly as decorated as the one inside the gates--and much less expansive--but similar in shape, and taller.  Well-dressed men wandered the property, and when the warriors ducked inside, it was like entering another world.  The herald caught the attention of a woman almost as pale as the ones back home, with lips like cherries, and black hair tied into an impossibly high, impossibly intricate, impossibly large knot.  

Eyeing the woman’s impossible hair, Hrolfr idly wondered how her head didn’t snap on her impossibly slender neck.  

The herald began to speak rapidly, and the woman looked over Hrolfr and his men, eyeing them with an appraising air before those red lips parted in a white-toothed smile that sent a not altogether unpleasant shiver down his spine.  When the herald returned to his side, her voice was soft.  “You’ll rest here for the night; bathe and be fed.  Madam Chuhyang will prepare you to attend the king on the morrow.”

As she moved to exit, Hrolfr wrapped a hand around her arm.  “You’re leaving?  You expect us to sleep here?  How do we know that this isn’t a trap?”

She looked down at where Hrolfr’s hand gripped her arm until he released it, and then said something over her shoulder to the madam, who clapped her hands and called out.  At the woman’s words, the men who had been lounging about, in rooms and at tables were unceremoniously ushered out, roughly driven by much smaller girls wearing silken robes in colours that he had never before seen.  That done, the herald fixed Hrolfr with a look.  “There.  Satisfied?  Unless you think that those here will smother you in your sleep?”

“Well,” he said thoughtfully.  “We’re in an unknown land of an unknown tongue.  If you leave, how are we to communicate?”

The herald slowly looked over he and his men before saying, “I think that you’ll find the language spoken here to be a universal one.  One I’m sure that you and your men know well.”

Hrolfr took another look around.  Finally looked past all of the colour, and the silks, and the foreignness of dress to see here and there, the tempting slivers of skin on display.  The women in various states of undress standing in doorways, gathered in groups of twos and threes, leaning against wooden posts, looking over his men with unwavering stares.  Understanding belatedly hit him, and as he looked at his men, and their bright eyes and varied expressions of joy, he realized that understanding had hit them, as well.

“This will do,” he said gruffly, stepping back to allow her to pass.  

“Well then,” she said, briefly bowing her head.

And then she was gone.

And the sharp-toothed women closed in.

***

Hrolfr groaned as his oaken shield, bound with iron, was lifted off of his back, letting the sunlight stream over his closed eyelids.  Nuzzling further into the softness of a warm bosom, he sighed as two sets of arms wrapped around him, and a plump thigh was thrown over his hip.  A soft scoff came from overhead and he grudgingly peeked open an eye to see the herald staring impassively down at him.

She nudged his buttock with her slipper.  “Am I to take you to the king in this state?  You were supposed to be scrubbed and ready.”

“We were scrubbed,” he yawned, lifting a hand to rest it on something plump, and gently squeezing.  “Quite thoroughly.”  They had, in fact, been scrubbed so vigorously, that he had begun to wonder if these soft, slight little women were actually shield maidens.  A third girl wrinkled her nose at the commotion, lifted his golden braids and draped them over her face, as if to shut out the noise and light.

“And then we were given…what did they call it,” Rethel asked sleepily, his head of golden curls popping out of his own nest of women.

“I think they called it makgeolli,” Skeld groaned, sitting up, and holding his head in his hands.

“Makgeolli!” Rethel crowed.  “I liked that!”

“Yes, you smell as if you liked it very much,” the herald said dryly.  “Especially seeing as you slept away most of the day.  The king’s feast is in a few hours.”  Looking around, she spotted Madam Chuhyang draped over a still-slumbering Edgtho, and scoffed again before striding over to wake the woman.  “See to it that they are bathed and ready by the time I return,” she ordered the drowsy woman, first in their language, and then translating for the benefit of the slowly wakening men.  “And this time, make sure everyone keeps their hands to themselves.”

Chuhyang shrugged and said something soft and insolent.

Hrolfr didn’t have to speak the language to know that she was informing the herald of just how convincing his men could be.

The herald’s gaze hardened.  “It would not do to keep the king waiting.”

Though her voice was soft, it had the effect of instantly awakening the madam, who stood, and held out her hand for her robe, which was given to her by one of the formerly sleepy-eyed duo that had been resting on Rethel.  She gave a flurry of orders, and then Hrolfr and his men found themselves pulled up by soft arms, and dragged by soft hands back to the hot springs to be bathed once more.

He had never been so grateful to be clean.

***

The scent of smoke wafted on the crisp twilight air as the herald led them once more through the courtyard to the king’s longhouse.  Hrolfr and his men were taken to a large room with low-slung tables already filled with a number of what he assumed to be nobles. He didn’t exactly relish sitting on the floor to eat, and gave a sideways look of envy toward where the king sat at the head table on an elevated pile of cushions.  The interpreter boy from the previous day was there, and did his best to keep the reavers informed of what their host was saying, while Eunuch Nammo translated Hrolfr’s responses for the steely-eyed king.  

If sitting on the floor to eat was bad, the food was even worse--all small portions of mild-flavoured meat, too many vegetables, no bread, and worst of all, everyone was somehow eating with long silver sticks.  Looking around, he did see spoons, and so gestured to his men to just use those, lest they starve.

The conversation was no better, as immediately upon their sitting at the table, Eunuch Nammo had started in on the herald once more, asking, “What is this?  Why have you brought these…guests before our gracious majesty improperly attired?  Do you think it acceptable for men to eat at the king's table dressed like barbarians?  You didn’t think to dress them in a manner befitting our esteemed monarch?  Must you be told how to do everything?  As simple a job as you have, and you can’t even do that?”

“Orabeoni,” she finally murmured quietly, which seemed to make the man subside.

Hrolfr was surprised to hear how the boy translated that, but he stayed silent as the table turned to talk of other matters.  

After quickly supping, the herald disappeared, and though he idly wondered where she had gone, he was soon distracted by the entertainment, as girls even lovelier than the ones with whom they had spent the night gracefully danced and sang.  In addition to the entertainment, the makgeolli flowed without ceasing--so much so that, after a while, he even began to enjoy the food.  He was reaching for another bowl of fluffy white grains--which he had initially side-eyed, but quite enjoyed after mixing with meat and some soup--when he looked up and noticed Eunuch Nammo taking a pair of silver sticks and delicately tasting a new dish before gesturing for the king to eat.  

As Hrolfr watched, he saw that the eunuch took the first bite from everything that the king ate, as well as the first sip from each new pouring of the cup.  The warrior’s curiosity must have shown on his face, because the translator boy leaned close and explained, “Eunuch Nammo is the king’s taste tester.”

“Taste…tester?” the man asked gruffly.

“Yes.  He tastes and drinks everything before the king to ensure that it’s not poisoned.”

Before Hrolfr could comment, a sudden hush fell over the room as an aged man sitting in the corner took up some sort of flute--a daegeum, according to the boy--and started to play.  Hrolfr looked up to see the herald enter and take the place of the last girl.  Though backlit by a torch, he could still see the shine of her eyes as she began to dance, and he couldn’t look away.  Her movements were graceful, yes, but far more assured than the previous dancers; decisive, crisp, and controlled.  Her hands moved like golden doves, and unlike the other women, she wore her hair down, and it rippled like a waterfall with every step.  

As she continued to dance, the king called for Hrolfr’s attention.  The ulfhedinn reluctantly took his eyes from the herald to concentrate on the king as the boy beside him translated the monarch’s words.  

“I hope that you are enjoying our hospitality,” the king stated.

“It has been surprising…but welcome,” Hrolfr agreed.

“I suppose you’ve been wondering why we’ve done all this, considering…”

“I have wondered.”

“Shall we say, the enemy of my enemy is my friend?”

Hrolfr paused at that.  Then, cautiously, he asked, “Who is our enemy?”

“The Norvegr.”

Hrolfr leaned back in thought.  It was true that, over the course of the years, since his grandfather’s time, the Norvegr had occasionally sent raiding parties to reave along Danish shores.  But the reavers were few and far between, in fact it was rare to hear of a Norvegr raiding party since he had come of age.  However, considering the fact that this land shared a border with the raiders, he supposed that they must be more susceptible to the Norvegr, as the marauders didn’t have to brave the North Sea to reach them.  Glancing at his men who looked back with disquiet, he cautiously asked, “What does friendship look like to you?”

“Nothing too difficult,” the king reasoned.  “You go back to your home, live your life in your own kingdom, but when the day comes…” he leaned forward, his eyes suddenly intense, “you heed the call.”

Hrolfr and Edgtho shared a sideways glance.  “And what…does friendship look like to me?” Hrolfr asked.  

Smiling as the eunuch handed him a cup, the king took a sip before announcing, “Even now, a fleet of our ships awaits alongside yours.  Ships full of gold, silver, and pine nuts.  Of copper, and iron.  After all, there is no need for plunder among friends…”  Hrolfr considered this, and when he didn’t immediately leap at the offer, the king continued.  “Is there something else that you want?  Name it.”

“A shipful of that makgeolli!” Rethel called out, causing the men to laugh.  

“Done,” said the king.  “Is there anything else, or have we made a deal?”

Hrolfr thought about it.  Thought about what had happened since his men had arrived on this country’s shores.  Thought about what they had seen.

“Still, you hesitate,” said the king.  “Is there…anything else that you want?”

The whole room seemed to hold its breath.  Hrolfr’s men began to look at him in question, wondering why he had yet to take such an obviously advantageous deal.  LIfting his cup, Hrolfr took a long swig of the sweet rice wine before setting it down uncharacteristically softly on the table, as if to make a point.  “I want the girl.  The herald.  Give her to me.”

The king smiled, and extended his hand in a graceful gesture of acceptance.  “Done.”

***

Hrolfr and his men spent the night in the palace courtyard, under the stars, and the next morning left to set sail.  Upon reaching the ships, he examined the cargo of each one of them, and found all to be in order, just as the king had said.

Just as he was coming out of the final ship’s hold, he saw the herald passing through the ranks of guards on the way to his knarr.  Eunuch Nammo was there--the last man standing before she climbed into the ship, and Hrolfr watched how her head turned as she passed him, the brief glance, the sudden burning of the eunuch’s eyes before his expression once more smoothed itself into the placid mask of civility.  As Hrolfr walked to his own ship, he met the man’s gaze, and noted the brief flash of open hostility before it grew distant and disinterested.  

Then he and his men were pushing the knarr through the waves, running it into deeper water before jumping inside, and taking up the oars.  The herald just stood in the stern, watching the land as it grew ever more distant, her face unreadable.  

“Skeld,” Hrolfr called.  

“I am here,” the youngest called from where he pulled at the oars.

Hrolfr eyed the thin fabric of the herald's robes.  “Give her something of yours to wear.”  

“No, thank you,” the herald said, finally turning to meet the eyes of the jarl.  

“The season turns, the air grows cool,” he said.  “Winter is coming, and once we reach home those…silks won’t do much to keep you from the blackening.”

She gave one of those scoffs that he remembered from the tavern.  “You think that winter doesn’t come to Silla?” she said archly.  “It’s fine.  Cold never bothered me.”

“Suit yourself,” he said evenly, sitting down to take up his own oar.  “I didn’t take you to freeze, but when it’s cold enough, you’ll change your mind.”

A small, knowing smile touched the corner of as she tilted her head.  “When I become cold, I’ll let you know.”

He grunted, turning away as he pulled the oar, considering the conversation over.  But then, something else occurred to him, and he once more looked up at her.  “By the way, I can’t call you girl.  What is your name?”

She turned away from him to fully face the approaching waves.  “Junjeong.  Hwang Junjeong.”  

***

Within hours of boarding the boat, Juneyong was violently ill.  Her skin had turned a sickly pale greenish hue, and although she kept her gorge, it was only through sheer willpower.  Hrolfr was silent as she clung to the side of the boat, only handing her a packet of dried mint wrapped in oiled sheepskin, when it looked as if she might lose the fight with her belly.  

She was quiet, eyes glazed, head leaning against the gunwale when Rethel lightly commented that sea-life wasn’t for everyone.  Junjeong didn’t respond, but her jaw tightened.  Within the hour, she was on her feet, her skin once more flushing with vitality, her expression set in determined lines.  

While their departure was heralded by dawn, their arrival--many days later--was greeted by twilight.  

Hrolfr and his men docked the knarr, and divided which men would stay to watch the new ships and which would come with him back to the village.  Junjeong followed him like a brightly coloured shadow as he led his men into the forest abutting the strand.  Though sunset was behind them, under the cover of trees it grew dark, and soon there was only the light of the full moon to guide them.  After walking for a few minutes, Hrolfr stopped, brought his fingers to his mouth, and gave a high, trilling whistle.  Junjeong looked around curiously, but the rest of the men were just as still, the hush of expectation seeming to dampen all sound.  Just as she began to wonder if they were going to stay there all night, she heard a soft nicker, and a shadow detached itself from the dark woods.  

It was a night black stallion, larger than any she had ever seen, and it slowly walked up to Hrolfr, who stood still as stones, allowing the horse to nibble at his shirt, sniff his shoulders, lip his hair.  After a few seconds of this, the horse whinnied, tossing his head, and gently bumping against the jarl, who patted him firmly on the neck, and scratched his mane, his flanks.  

Junjeong’s attention was caught by movement in the darkness, which resolved itself into the shape of more horses.  Greetings completed, Hrolfr swung himself onto the horse’s back, then reached down to easily pull Junjeong to sit behind him.  They meandered through the forest for a while, until the scents of smoke, and roasted meat began to waft on the night breeze, until flickers of firelight started to appear between the trees.  

Hrolfr held up a hand just before they came into the light, and dismounted.  His men followed, and they all crouched together, smiling as Hrolfr whispered something to them.  That done, the men melted into the forest, and Hrolfr swung back