sarka

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Title: Elíasar saga, or 'The Saga of Elijah'
Author:

sarka
Rating: This chapter G, later chapters will have higher ratings, for sex and violence.
Pairings: Nothing yet, but will develop into Orlijah.
Warning: None right now, but there will be a character death. This IS a saga, and as such would be impossible without some bloodshed. I do promise not to kill anybody you care about, though.
Disclaime: If they were mine, they'd wear eyeliner at all times.

Summary: A viking AU. Elijah is the Lord of a homestead in newly pioneered Iceland around 900 AD, when his uncle comes home from a voyage bringing treasure, spices and exotic slaves.
Notes: Authors notes are made as they are required, through very interactive footnotes that were a pain to code. A link will take you to the note elsewhere in the document, and a link there will return you to what you were reading.
AN #2: This was updated after a more extensive beta, with minimal changes. Update took place on the 3rd of January 2007.

The knorr^[1] was unusually long, much longer than Elijah had seen before on the shores of Iceland, and it sat low in the water, only a meter and half from the sea level up to the gunwale. It was frank madness to bring such a heavily loaded ship across the ocean, no matter how deep the draught of the keel, and Elijah didn’t really need the sigil painted on the foremost shields on the prow to recognize who captained it.

As if to confirm his musings, his uncle suddenly appeared on deck to welcome the approaching boat of the harbormaster, there to guide him through the maze of underwater obstacles into the inner part of the fjord. Langifjörður^[2] was a safe harbor, even in the most ferocious of storms, but the approach was narrow and treacherous, and only barely suitable for a ship of this size.

Elijah smiled at the madness of his father’s brother and urged his horse into a slow canter, wanting to be at the waterfront when his uncle landed. He hadn’t seen Sean for nigh on nine moons, and seeing as how there was an impressive new ship and a great load of cargo making its way through the shoals of the fjord, Sean would most certainly have a story to tell, and Elijah wanted to be the first one to hear it. Sean’s fearsomeness was legendary, and stories of his travels were told all over Iceland.

Nine moons was a long time, he reflected. Long enough for Elijah to forgive their bitter parting, long enough for Sean not to jibe at him for his desire to leave his home behind and try his hand at being a real Viking, not just the heir to a great estate that had been pioneered by his late grandfather^[3].

It wasn’t that he hadn’t expected his uncle’s reply; a man of only twenty three years, Elijah was still a child in the eyes of many, despite his wealth and the prosperity of his estates. For one thing he did not run the homestead of Skógar^[4] himself, preferring to learn the ropes from Sean Astin, the steward, and leave his mother’s husband in charge until he’d feel ready to assume the leading role he’d be expected to take as the biggest landowner in the fjord.

Sometimes, when feeling especially needled by the machinations of Viggo, his stepfather, he felt sure that he’d be ready tomorrow, but most of the time, he felt an insatiable curiosity to see other parts of the world, and didn’t want to tie himself down with the responsibility following a man of power.

Not that his uncle had any trouble with it; despite being absent every five moons out of six, he was one of the wealthiest men in Iceland, held authority over almost everyone who wanted to sail the north oceans and had established himself as a major player in the crucible that this newly pioneered island was turning out to be.

A part of his uncle’s authority, Elijah reflected as he watched the impressive figure of Sean Förungur^[5] Bean standing in the bow of the small rowboat carrying him the rest of the way to shore, came from his impeccable sense of magnificence. His uncle was wearing colored clothing from head to toe – and blue, of all the colors he could have chosen^[6].

Sean was looking towards shore with the eyes of a man long bereft of such a sight, and then he spotted Elijah among the few people lingering about, waiting for the arrival of the boat. When news had reached the fjord and the neighboring communities that there was a ship coming, everyone passing through the fjord had lingered the extra few days. There would be news and messages from loved ones still in the old countries^[7]. This was the first ship of spring, and the isolated communities in Iceland had been deprived of word from abroad for six moons.

Sean lifted a hand in greeting, and Elijah did the same, confirming his identity, although it could hardly be mistaken as he was the only one in the crowd who was ahorse, and with one to spare. Sean kept his eyes on him for the rest of the way up to shore, breaking eye contact only when the oarsmen of the small rowboat jumped out to drag it up on the sand. As soon as he left the boat, he was surrounded by people, curious for news or gossip from the court in Niðarós^[8]. Elijah heard Sean answer their questions easily, and judging from the reactions of the people, there was nothing especially noteworthy to tell, although he noticed that Sean quietly asked a few people to linger behind for personal messages.

Elijah was making his way past the crowd, down onto the soft sand of the beach to take a closer look at the rowboat when Sean called out for him.

“Elijah! You can leave your horse and go aboard if you wish. You can take a look at my cargo – ask old John to take you out.” Turning back towards the crowd, Sean then used the opportunity to tell them that his ship was carrying a load of spices, fine metalwork, fine fabrics and slaves, all the way from Mikligarður^[9], and that he was interested in trading with the entire eastern seaboard.

Elijah barely heard his uncle, despite his detailed descriptions of the exotic wares he carried. Go aboard! Yes, he’d wish that very much! Leaving his horse with the harbormaster’s steward, he went down to the rowboat which had been hastily unloaded of wares onto the sand, and was being eased into the water to go back for more. John Noble, his uncle’s first mate and one of the country’s finest shipwrights, greeted him cheerfully and helped him clamber over the side. They were well acquainted, as John was the man who had taught Elijah navigation, and knowing that his uncle would be far too busy to answer his questions any time soon, Elijah used the opportunity to learn that the old ship had floundered almost in the beginning of their voyage, on the shoals of Denmark in a terrible storm, but they’d bought the new one in the company of a Swedish viking. They’d raided mostly on the shores of France, but had made their way down to Spain, traded their treasure in Morocco and then made their way to Mikligarður, where half their company stayed behind, having been offered gold by the ounces to fight for the Emperor^[10]. Their trading in Mikligarður had been as legitimate as can be, and they’d stayed there almost for two moons, before returning to Norway on their way home, where they had, in fact, traded some of their exotic goods for the more practical and tradeable barrels of wheat, salt and rye.^[11]

Despite the grandeur of the ship and the apparel of his uncle and his companions, Elijah had not been prepared for the casual opulence which greeted him in the small tent that had been raised on the deck of the knorr to house its owner and his shipmates of high rank. There were swathes of soft fabric (‘Silk’, John informed him) covering both bedding and the pillows piled high in the corners, a glittering golden jug of mead on a table that was so finely carved the carving looked almost painted, even the brazier which was giving off a heady perfume was like a work of art in itself, and it all contributed to making Elijah feel like he was in the hall of a foreign king, not the most basic shelter from the elements that can be found on the deck of a knorr.

John showed him the maps that the sailors had drawn up on their travels to Mikligarður and the fine jewels that his uncle had paid dearly for and now intended to use to curry the favor of some of the Lords of great homesteads in Iceland – through their daughters. They made their way down to the hold where Elijah could inspect some of the finest carvings and metalwork he’d ever seen and touch great big bolts of fine silk, colored all the shades of the rainbow^[12], and feeling to the touch like spun cloud.

They had just returned to the deck when Sean returned, apparently happy with the success he’d had in securing an invitation to the home of the wealthiest man in Seyðisfjörður^[13], two fjords to the south. He waved to John to come into the tent, and after a slight hesitation, Elijah followed.

“So how do you like my cargo, young one?” He asked Elijah, once he was sitting on some of the soft pillows in the tent.

“It is certainly very fine,” Elijah answered after a moments thought.

“Ah, but you hesitated. That is not what you’re thinking. Tell me the truth, nephew!” Sean demanded, though he was smiling, which gave Elijah the confidence for his next words.

“Well, it is perhaps too fine. You might have some trouble trading it – it is not very practical, and we Icelanders aren’t very decorative, you know.”

Sean barked in laughter at that, replying to John instead of Elijah, “He’s not stupid, my nephew, not stupid at all.”

To Elijah, he then said, “There’s more to it than just trading it away – I intend to give a large part of the fine things away. They’re exceptional, and exceptional things make people feel like they’re special.”

It looked like he was going to say something else, but at that moment, the curtain before the tent opening moved and a young man came in with a pot of water and Elijah forgot himself and his surroundings.

In the last few hours, he’d seen many exquisite things, but this young man seemed to outshine them all. He was tall and long limbed, and bore himself with the grace of a great lord. His face was defined by high cheekbones, a straight nose and the most beautiful eyes Elijah had ever seen. His skin was golden and his hair was almost black, falling in curls around his face. The man knelt before the brazier with a pot of water and started poking the fire, getting the embers to flare and the heat to rise – although Elijah wasn’t too sure that had anything to do with the brazier.

“... A very traditional drink in Mikligarður called ‘tea’. It tastes strange at first but we all found it rather grows on you... look at him, John, he’s besotted!^[14]” Elijah tore his eyes slowly away from the sight before him and looked at his uncle’s amused face.

“Back to earth, now, are you?” Elijah nodded slowly, watching the figure of the young man out of the corner of his eye.

“That is one of the slaves we brought back from Mikligarður with us. We have no idea how, because we certainly didn’t talk to him and he only spoke gibberish when we bought him, but on the voyage he’s somehow managed to learn a bit of our tongue. You’ve got to watch what you say around him. It is rather a defect. He’s too intelligent to be a good slave; I’m not sure what to do with him.” Sean and John exchanged amused glances at Elijah’s slow “Uh-huh” reply and the eyes that were fixed to the far right and starting to glaze over.

“In fact, if you like him, he’s yours. Keep him. His name is Orlando.”

That caught Elijah’s attention – well, that and the faint blush high on Orlando’s cheekbones. “WHAT? You... I mean... what if he doesn’t want... “

Sean cut him short. “Elijah, one of these days you are going to have to learn that it doesn’t matter what a slave wants or doesn’t want. It is right, and kind, to try to keep your slaves happy, but in the end they’re your property, and they must abide your word, whether or not they want to. Do you think Orlando here wanted to be sold away from his master of seven years? Do you think he wanted to find himself on a ship bound for Iceland; a place he didn’t even know existed? Do you think he wanted to be traded or given away like the rest of the cargo on the ship? Of course not, but it doesn’t matter because he belonged to me, and belongs now to you. He can count himself lucky because he’s ending up with the kindest and gentlest slave owner on the east coast. He belongs to you – he’s a gift.” Sean stared at him, eyes full of warning, reminding Elijah that one did not refuse a gift from one’s elders.^[15]

So he simply replied with the formal, “Thank you very much, my lord. You are very gracious,” without looking towards Orlando who had grown steadily more discomfited under his uncle’s speech.

His uncle, however, would have none of it; he coughed and made a nod towards Orlando.

“You are dismissed.” Elijah said without turning his head. “Gather whatever belongings you may have on the ship – we leave soon.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Orlando bow a little before he left the tent. His face was like a storm cloud, and Elijah wondered what on earth his uncle had now gotten him into.

---

The second horse had been intended for his uncle, although when Elijah set out that morning, he hadn’t known if the ship at the mouth of the fjord carried his uncle or not. His uncle, however, had flat out refused the offer of his mother, Cate, to come and stay with them at Skógar, not with that amount of cargo on board. So Elijah was returning home alone and empty handed ... well.

That was entirely up for debate.

After all, Orlando was riding the second horse, sitting strangely in the saddle, watching his environment with something akin to detached fascination, his dark eyes unreadable and his handsome face a blank slate.

He didn’t seem impressed with what he saw.

The fjord was one of the most prosperous places to make a living in Iceland, easily supporting four farms, three of them unusually large. Elijah had heard the tales his uncle told, tales of walled settlements and houses ten times higher than the tallest man, tales of cities, and he could imagine that the young man next to him wouldn’t be impressed with the somewhat quaint settlement, although Skógar at the bottom of the fjord wasn’t just an impressive homestead on an Icelandic scale. With nearly seventy people living and working there, the only farms in Iceland that outsized it, were Borg in the West and Oddi in the South, and even in Norway finding such a big farm wasn’t common^[16].

Neither of them spoke a word well past Keldur, the smallest farm in the fjord, and it wasn’t until they were rounding Grásteinn^[17] that something happened to upset the uneasy silence between them; a blond woman came thundering over the small rise at the bottom of the fjord, hanging out of the saddle of the black stallion she was not so much riding as hanging onto for dear life. Orlando reacted quickly, turning his horse round and riding next to the stallion until he managed to catch the reins and calm the frightened horse. Elijah caught up to them a few seconds later, watching as Miranda, known to be more spirited by far than her horse, kicked a stone into the water in frustration, her back to the stallion and Orlando who was holding the reins and speaking to the horse in a soft undertone that seemed to have the horse actually listening to every word.

Miranda’s father, Oddur, was the owner of Bjarnastaðir^[18], a sizeable farm outer in the fjord, not far from the harbor. He was one of the original pioneers in Iceland and was well known for his good sense and kindness, and for his three beautiful daughters, two of whom had already been sensibly married away, leaving only the notoriously temperamental Miranda, heiress to Bjarnastaðir and a good catch for any man who’d have the guts to marry her. Elijah knew that Viggo wanted his own son, and Elijah's younger brother, Karl, to marry her, though Elijah was quite sure that his headstrong younger brother would be eternally at odds with the young woman who was kicking stones into the sea.

“Are you alright?” He asked, mostly perfunctorily, seeing as how she was obviously in a fine shape – maybe a little shaken, but fine.

Miranda smiled thinly at him, shaking her head. “I’m starting to think that horse can’t be tamed. I’ve been working with him for a moon after everybody else had given up on him and I was sure that he was ready, but he suddenly bolted for no good reason.”

Elijah looked towards the horse and Orlando, who was looking back defiantly. “Well, if you don’t want to ride him home, you can take my second to ride. My slave can walk, we’re not far away from home” he said to Miranda.

“Sir” Orlando said, surprising Elijah so much that he nearly fell out of his saddle “this horse good. He smart, he try to see if he can rule she, not she rule him. Smart is hard to tame, he sometimes know better than rider. I talk with him, he now do everything she say.” He patted the flank of the horse with his last words.

Elijah was speechless, and so was Miranda, although she recovered quicker.

“How do you know he’ll do everything I say?” she asked curiously.

“Because I tell him.” Orlando simply replied.

“Miranda, my offer still stands. Borrowing my spare would be the sensible thing to do, you can return it any time.” Elijah interjected, not quite comfortable with the way his slave was talking to Miranda as an equal. He didn’t mind it for himself, but Miranda might take offense, and others certainly would.

Miranda smiled impishly at him though.

“And when have you ever known me to be sensible, Elijah? Besides, I would hate to prove the others right by riding home on a borrowed horse. Thank you for the offer.” She took the reins from Orlando and jumped easily up into the saddle.

“Thank you, slave, for calming my horse, and for “talking” with him. Elijah, if I were you, I’d teach this one a lesson in manners before he learns it the hard way, from someone who is less used to being talked down to than I am. I’ll let it slide, since women and slaves share that curse.” She raised a hand in greeting and rode off.^[19]

The silence following her counsel lasted them all the way to the stables of Skógar, where Sean Astin was standing in the evening sun, waiting for them.

Go to chapter II

[1]A knorr is a longship, but with a deeper keel. The viking longships were handy because they could go fast, carry many men and sail practically into the shoreline due to their shallow keel (which is great for raping and pillaging). When you’re crossing an ocean, however, you need something more steady, ergo, the knorr.

[2]An entirely fictional fjord, which I’ve mysteriously added to the myriad of the Icelandic East fjords.

[3]For those interested in history, the pioneering of Iceland started in 874 with the settlement of Ingólfur Arnarson in Reykjavík, where our capital is now.

[4]Skógar is the Icelandic word for woods.

[5]Förungur is an old Icelandic word for traveller. Incidentally, it is also the name chosen to represent one Peregrin Took in the Icelandic translation of LotR.

[6]I’ve been asked about this: What’s so special about blue? Well, think about it. When you’re using natural dye, what would give off the colour blue? Not very many things, and certainly nothing you could find in Iceland. Red, sure. Yellow, easy. Green, piece of cake. Blue? Nope.

[7]Iceland was pioneered mostly by Norwegians and Danishmen, with lots of female Irish slaves. This carries down to our genealogy today – if you examine Icelandic genes, you’ll find that our men are Nordic and our women are Irish :)

[8]Niðarós is the Icelandic word for the Norwegian town of Trondheim.

[9]Mikligarður is the Icelandic word for Istanbul in Turkey. Yes, the Vikings went into the Mediterranean. Yes, they went to Istanbul. This part of the story is mostly fact.

[10]Also fact.

[11]We can’t grow wheat in Iceland. We can grow rye, in certain parts, but the Vikings hadn’t figured that out at the time.

[12]Some of the most potent subtext in Icelandic literature refers to coloured clothing. A man who could afford coloured clothing was a man of good standing, and if you wore coloured clothing anywhere, it meant that you meant business. Wearing coloured clothing was a status symbol of the highest sort, and if you read the Icelandic sagas you see it flaunted, used and envied.

[13]Seyðisfjörður is a factual place. The fact that I’ve said Seyðisfjörður is two fjords to the south means that I’ve placed Langifjörður at the very north of the East fjords. I did this simply because I’m more familiar with that area.

[14]The Tea thing is just for fun. It didn’t make it’s way towards Europe until much, much later, but I was toying with the idea of these Vikings at the court of the Emperor in Istanbul and drinking Tea was one of the things I came up with.

[15]This isn’t really relevant to the story, but it’s a fun thing to know: This is not just a gift from an uncle to a nephew, although that’d play into it. A fine, intelligent slave, especially one so exotic, is a gift from one Lord to another. Sean isn’t just giving his nephew something that he will enjoy, he is also acknowledging Elijah’s new social status, having presumably learned that he is starting to take over the running of his estates from the people at the shore. As an aside, Elijah is sadly remiss in thanking his uncle, and when his uncle reprimands him, that is a part of the reason he’s being so stern, and why he cuts him short, which is like a capital offense in Viking manners.

[16]Both Borg and Oddi are factual places.

[17]Means “gray stone”. Large stones were landmarks and named accordingly.

[18]Bjarnastaðir means “a place of bears” or “a home of bears”. It’s very common – even if we have no bears in Iceland.

[19]Orlando was being quite unspeakably rude. Slaves weren’t supposed to address their lords.

Go to chapter II