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That is why the men in this situation are fools.
Cora Giantkiller, you are a horrible tease! It is unfair that you keep me in suspense.
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Very true. And since Marja is the first woman to do this in Suomi, it's entirely up to her to define the rules. What kind of ruler does she want to be? Like her father or like herself?
If conflict is inevitable it it always better to have the diplomatic high ground.
Of course partially true, but also a lot of exaggeration in here for Turo's ego. But Turo's desperate enough that he doesn't care if it's flattery or not.
A young, strong man like Thorfinn will be much harder to control, but he'll also be a better ruler due to competence. But Mielus probably just wants a puppet. What words will he say to Turo to make him hate his son?
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Marga better keep an eye on Emma. She can be Marga's weak spot if Turo and Mielus target her.
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Thank you for the new chapter. So the pieces are realigned on the chess board. Duke Mielus makes his play to bring the drunken puppet Turo to power. Young Thorfinn has benefited from his education in the streets, but his plans to escape are now a week short of success. It will be interesting to see where his loyalties end up as the inevitable conflict unfolds. He's a quick study.
All this intrigue swirling while the Swedes distract the Finns, it will also be interesting to see how Emma confronts the threats as spymaster. Also, agreeing with @Lord Durham : Emma will be a target soon if she isn't already.
All this intrigue swirling while the Swedes distract the Finns, it will also be interesting to see how Emma confronts the threats as spymaster. Also, agreeing with @Lord Durham : Emma will be a target soon if she isn't already.
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Ulvila, Suomi
June, 1192
June, 1192
Marja was off to war. Emma remembered her mother during the days when her elder brothers were off in the Holy Land, risking life and limb for the Cross. She had resented her mother the most during that time. It had seemed that with her brothers away, Mother had nobody to subject her viper’s tongue to, save for Emma. Now she could appreciate that Mother must have been going near mad with worry for her sons, and if that did not make her seem more sympathetic, it at least made her appear more human.
Marja was off to war. Surrounded by her kingdom’s armies, they said. As safe there as she was anywhere, they said. It all sounded like a pack of lies to her, the condescending nonsense that you fed to children and simpletons because they couldn’t accept the truth.
Marja was off to war, and Emma was alone. Whether courtiers considered her to be the queen regnant’s especial friend or the foul temptress who was undermining the cause of righteous rule in Suomi, they did not consider her as a woman who worried about the person she loved the most. The one exception to this, to her surprise, was Elzbieta.
The old duchess had surprised her one morning with a breakfast invitation. Emma had known her for more than a decade now, but they had rarely spoken socially. She could still remember how Elzbieta used to wrinkle her nose in disapproval when Marja had shown Emma the slightest bit of affection. So it was with some trepidation that Emma arrived at the duchess’ solar that morning.
The meal was surprisingly pleasant, however. The conversation revolved around fashion and trivial bits of court gossip, as they neatly danced around the griefs and sorrows they carried with them. By the end, Emma was at ease for the first time since her lover had left for Sweden. Only then did Elzbieta begin to speak of serious matters.
“During the crusade,” she said, “the king’s business had me running hither and thither all over the courts of Christendom. Otso was in the Sámi lands, fighting against a larger force of men, and it seemed to me that he was dancing on a knife’s edge every day. His father had died under circumstances much like that, of course, and I had not forgotten. And I was hundreds of leagues away, surrounded by enemies.”
Emma reached out and squeezed her hand. “That is a very lonely feeling,” she murmured.
“Somebody told me in those days that I was very brave, to be conducting state diplomacy with my husband at war.” Elzbieta laughed darkly. “In truth, I had forgotten that he was out with Otso.”
Emma shared her amusement. “People are so easily confused by the form of things, rather than the substance.”
At that, Elzbieta frowned, a small furrow appearing in her brow. “Speaking of lacking substance, what news of Turo?”
“We keep expecting him to come here and make trouble; but the most recent reports say that he’s worn out his welcome with the nobility and eking out a marginal existence in Nidaros. Even his own son seems to hate him. The boy goes around calling himself Thorfinn and pretending that he has nothing to do with any Suomi prince.”
“We can hardly begrudge the lad that,” Elzbieta mused. “Best keep a close eye on Turo, just in case. This war offers the perfect opportunity for mischief.”
Emma hardly needed to be told that. The threat from Turo was never far from her mind. Toomas had inspected every brick of the city walls for damage, just in case of siege; and the garrison had been kept at high alert. Still, she said nothing. Just beneath the surface, Elzbieta was sick with grief. She lingered here in Ulvila because she felt much closer to Otso here than anywhere else. Emma had no reason to trouble her any more than absolutely necessary.
“The Hadrada arrived at port just after dawn,” Emma said. “I’ll be seeing our mutual acquaintance today, and I’ll be sure to let you know what the latest is.”
Elzbieta nodded, and then she gave Emma a sympathetic look. “You will see her again, Emma. I have no doubt about that.”
*****
Guðrún had given Emma a cautioning look as she entered the hospice, and now the spymistress could see why. She had entered the tiny cell and found Oleg in a heap, smelling of cheap wine as ever and snoring loud enough to wake the gods. She had half a mind to kick the brute in the ribs, but then a more elegant solution occurred to her. Emma quietly adjourned to the hall and informed a serving woman that she was attending a patient in dire need of a bath.
Oleg woke up sputtering and swearing, water streaming down his matted hair. Instinctively, he reared up to take a swing at Emma; but before he could do so, she was holding a dirk to his throat. It had been some years since she had to defend herself in this manner, but her body still remembered how.
The drunk informant blinked in confusion. “Lady Strauwing…”
“I am no lady,” Emma told him sharply. She did not lower her weapon until his hands were finally at his sides once more.
“I have news,” he said, blearily. “Of… of his highness. You promised gold.”
“And you shall have it.” She narrowed her eyes. “What news?”
“His highness… he left. He, and his big brute son, and them little girls of his. And there was one with him, one who I’d seen before…” He blinked, trying to remember. Drink had not improved his wits, that was plain. “Mielus. That was the man. Smiley bastard, would know him anywhere.”
“You’re sure?” If this old drunk sends us chasing after a wild hare, I swear to the gods…
Oleg gave her an irritated look. “I was her grace’s man for some years, m’lady, I know Mielus and his highness.”
He’s making his move. Emma reached into her purse without looking and gave Oleg whatever her hand grasped. Before he could say anything further, she was running out of the hospice and up the street to the palace.
She burst into Elzbieta’s room sweaty and breathless, and even the unflappable duchess raised her eyebrows at the sight. “Turo,” she said between gasps. “He’s coming. With Mielus, probably Kauri. The revolt is happening now.”
Duchess Elzbieta nodded, and Emma could see her mind flit from thought to thought. “He’ll come here,” the duchess said after a moment. “He’ll want the treasury, to sit the throne–he’s a usurper until he holds Ulvila.”
Emma nodded, seeing the logic. “The walls are strong, the garrison is a thousand men strong. We should be able to hold against him for months if need be.”
“That’s so,” the duchess said, “but you shouldn’t be here. Somebody will need to tell Her Majesty. I’ll see to the defense of the city myself.”
Emma paused, and gave the older woman a cautious look. “Your grace, if this is charity…”
“Don’t be a fool,” Elzbieta said waspishly. “There are very few people that I can be sure of. It just so happens that you’re one of them.”
Elzbieta might well die in the defense of the city, Emma realized. Turo would not be kind to her, if she were under his power. And there were a hundred other ways that one might die during a siege.
Then she remembered something else. “Ulli. We can’t let Turo have him.”
The duchess bit her lip, thinking. “Take him with you, along with a servant and twenty guards. That won’t diminish our defenses by much, and it should keep him safe until you join up with Marja at Uppsala.”
“We can take the Hadrada. The captain’s reliable, and it’s in port now.” Emma had a slight moment of vertigo as she realized how fast events were proceeding now. “I’ll go get Ulli. We’ll leave tonight.”
There was a lull in the conversation, as they both stopped to think if there was anything they were missing. Finally, their eyes met, and it seemed like they both had the same thought at once. “Kill Turo,” Emma said quietly, “and the revolt ends at once.”
“And her majesty?”
“We’ll tell her it was my idea,” she said firmly. “Because it was.” Elzbieta flashed her a quick, mirthless grin, and then nodded.
Just then, it occurred to Emma that she might never see the duchess again. That gave her a queer pang. “Your grace, there could be no better person to man this barricade,” she said at last, feeling the insufficiency of her words. “I have great confidence in your strength. Her majesty does as well.”
Elzbieta’s face was grim. “Tell Marja I shall do my duty.”
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Some updates:
This is finals week for me, so I took a few days off writing to take care of exams and I'm just now getting back in part four. (We're coming up on 20k.)
There are five chapters and an epilogue left in Marja's story. My expectation is to post them every Wednesday until the epilogue drops on July 23. Then I'm going to take a break on July 30, and start posting part four on August 6.
Finally, if you have a chance, please go read the stories in the Guess the Author thread and give your critiques; it's a fun forum tradition and I enjoy the guessing game a lot.
Thanks. Getting Thorfinn's thinking right was tricky, but I'm glad that it's working for you.
For sure.
A lot depends on who Thorfinn trusts; and right now, he doesn't trust much of anybody.
You and I both know that suspense makes it better.
A good question; and I hope that next week's chapter will give some insight into that.
For sure. Emma and Ulli are both vulnerabilities at the moment.
He's the wildcard right now, that's for sure.
This is finals week for me, so I took a few days off writing to take care of exams and I'm just now getting back in part four. (We're coming up on 20k.)
There are five chapters and an epilogue left in Marja's story. My expectation is to post them every Wednesday until the epilogue drops on July 23. Then I'm going to take a break on July 30, and start posting part four on August 6.
Finally, if you have a chance, please go read the stories in the Guess the Author thread and give your critiques; it's a fun forum tradition and I enjoy the guessing game a lot.
Thanks. Getting Thorfinn's thinking right was tricky, but I'm glad that it's working for you.
For sure.
A lot depends on who Thorfinn trusts; and right now, he doesn't trust much of anybody.
You and I both know that suspense makes it better.
A good question; and I hope that next week's chapter will give some insight into that.
For sure. Emma and Ulli are both vulnerabilities at the moment.
He's the wildcard right now, that's for sure.
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Unless Mielus successfully sets up Thorfinn to be the face of it in his father's place...
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For a second I wonder if Elzbieta is on Turo's side...
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I enjoyed Emma’s uncertainty in this situation. It’s easy to forget that with all the posturing of those in power, nobody knows what will happen. Emma’s worry brings humanity to the story.
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Even if it doesn't forgive her mother's actions, it's nice that Emma has gained this perspective. People often have trouble expressing their emotions, mothers worrying about their sons are no exception.
It's too easy, even if this is how it works in-game.
And this is a lie Emma is willing to tell Marja. It may be a small lie, but it is still a lie. Deceit never works in a relationship.
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Possibly. If Thorfinn trusts Mielus. We'll have to see (and next week we will, at least a little bit).
*laughs mysteriously*
Thanks! I think sometimes that I write the story in two modes: zoomed out plot/theme/drama mode, where I'm planning the story in broad strokes trying to think what would be cool or interesting or unexpected; and then zoomed in character mode, when I'm actually writing the specific chapter and I have to think in granular detail, what is this character thinking at this moment.
In zoomed out mode, this was going to be much shorter; Emma realizes that Turo's making his move, goes to tell Elzbieta. But once I was trying to think from her point of view, I realized that she would be anxious about Marja and feeling some kind of way that her relationship with Marja is broadly invisible.
I agree, that would be awfully anti-climactic. Still, I figured that it would be less realistic if nobody tried it.
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took me some time, but finally up to date.
What a great story, can't wait for more.
What a great story, can't wait for more.
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Närpiö, Suomi
July, 1192
July, 1192
Thorfinn had never felt so out of place. The mail shirt weighed heavily on his shoulders, his thighs ached after hours of riding, and the sword that hung from his belt–what in the name of the gods was he going to do with that? He had been in the practice fields only a dozen times, and every time he found himself easily disarmed by squires half his size. He was no prince, and certainly no warrior.
He longed for the sights and sounds of Nidaros–although not the smells. Thousands of people packed so tightly together attained a truly rank odor. The salt air from the Baltic and the piney smell of the forest were admittedly appealing. Still, the forest that stood in front of Thorfinn was less bucolic than threatening. Somewhere across the narrow river, in that dark forest, was a hostile army. His aunt, the one they called Bloody Marja, was there, planning gods knew what terrible assault.
Thorfinn did not believe most of what his father said about Marja, but there was one undeniable fact that weighed heavily on his mind. Marja had schemed to steal his mother away from him and his sisters. She had banished Princess Irene to the furthest reaches of the world, forever separated from her children. That seemed reason enough to hate her. The Virtanen family is filled with rogues and tyrants, he thought bitterly. It would be best if we were wiped from the earth.
If there was one benefit to this damned war, it was this. After years of bemoaning how Marja had stolen their mother away, Father would at last be able to send for her again. It had been hard living without her to protect them from Father’s abuses, but all that was soon to change.
A twig snapped behind him, causing Thorfinn to swing around. There was Mielus, softly smiling as ever, astride his own horse. “Scouting ahead, your highness?” The duke spoke in an affable tone that Thorfinn instinctively mistrusted.
“Aye,” Thorfinn said begrudgingly.
“It’s not so hard, for a clever lad like yourself,” Mielus continued, ignoring the sullen tone. “You just need to learn how. None of us were born knowing how to make war, not even as fearsome a man as your grandfather.”
Thorfinn did not like having this conversation. However, ignorance would hardly serve him. Knowledge is the difference between a full purse and an empty one, Frithjof had been fond of saying. “Tell me,” he said at last.
Mielus smiled, and rested a hand on Thorfinn’s back in a paternal fashion. He ignored the urge to shake it off.
“Your highness,” the duke was saying, “do you see how the trees are swaying along this line? And yet over there, they are still?” He raised his other hand and gestured across this horizon, indicating where he meant.
A chill went down Thorfinn’s spine. “That’s where they’re marching.”
“Aye,” the duke said. “You can also see birds flying off, there and also there?”
Thorfinn nodded slowly. “What is that?”
“Metsänvartija. Skilled bowmen, who know these woods better than their own mothers. They’ll be setting up places to keep watch during the night.”
The prince was confused. “They’re going to attack now, surely? They’re right there, you said.”
Mielus considered this, and then shook his head. “No, I don’t think so. Your aunt Marja is a vile criminal, to be sure, but she is no fool. Her men will be tired from the march north, attempting a tricky river crossing–it would be a good way to get a lot of men drowned for no reason. I think she would rather we attack, and attempt the river crossing ourselves; but failing that, she’ll make her push in the morning, once her men are rested, and trust in her superior numbers to overwhelm us.”
“How many men does she have?” Thorfinn had almost forgotten his suspicions of the duke, so worried was he at the upcoming slaughter.
“Eight thousand, to our three.” Mielus’s voice was cool, as if he were indifferent to the prospect of their impending loss. That only alarmed Thorfinn further.
“Perkele, what are we doing here? We should be retreating, then. There’s no way, surely…”
“Calm yourself, highness. Things are not quite so dire as that.” Mielus chuckled lightly, but said no more.
“What are you hiding?” Thorfinn said, the question coming out like an accusation.
“Friends are a valuable thing to have. As valuable as gold, in some ways.” The duke had never seemed quite so smug.
Thorfinn snorted. “Onhan pirullakkiin ystäviä.” It was an old Suomi expression: the devil has friends too.
“The devil does, so why not us?” Mielus laughed good-naturedly, pretending not to see the insult. “You had a good friend in Nidaros, no? The baker’s boy, Frithjof?”
Thorfinn turned and grabbed the older man by the scruff of his neck. If he was a lummox, at least he had a lummox’s strength. “If you threaten him, you old fool, I will knock all the teeth out of your skull.”
That, at least, knocked the smug look off of Mielus’ face. “Your highness,” he sputtered, “you misunderstand… I only meant, you might wish to send for him.”
Thorfinn let go, and the duke sucked in a hasty breath. “What do you mean, send for him?” the prince asked.
“To invite him to join your household,” Mielus said quickly. “He is no doubt eager to get away from that father of his, and I thought you would appreciate having a friend at court. Somebody that you could trust, as evidently you do not trust me.” His laugh was shot through with self-consciousness.
Thorfinn narrowed his eyes. “Why would you do that?” Any favor from Mielus would have strings attached, no doubt.
“Because we are to be kin, you and I.” He paused, and in a moment had regained his earlier composure. “Your father is to marry my beloved daughter Tyyne, joining the Oulu and Ulvila Virtanens once more.”
“Marry? Father?” Thorfinn was stunned. He was about to ask about his mother, but suddenly that seemed like a child’s fancy. Of course Father was never going to send for her, he thought bitterly. She was too strong, loved us too dearly. Father could never tolerate anybody who could stand up to him.
“It’s all to be announced after our victory tomorrow,” Mielus said blithely. “Perhaps Frithjof could be at Ulvila in time for the wedding. Wouldn’t you like that?”
*****
Marja was lying in her camp bed, staring at the top of her tent, and wondering how in the name of the gods her father ever got through nights like this. There would be a battle tomorrow, that was for sure. Her scouts reported that Turo’s force showed no signs of wishing to retreat, which was surely madness. Was he so arrogant as to imagine that he could survive the disproportionate numerical advantage that she had? Did he imagine the river crossing would be the source of his salvation? Or was there something that she had overlooked? She had considered the problem again and again, and could see nothing.
When she stopped thinking about tomorrow’s battle, she found herself worrying about Emma and Ulli. She had dispatched Azur to escort the two of them back to Vasterbotten. The fortifications of the old trelleborg were not strong compared to newer castles, but it was far away from the Swedes and from Turo. If they could arrive there safely, they should be fine until this battle was over. But not knowing was driving Marja mad.
Eventually she realized that she would not get any sleep that night, and so she got up to take a walk and get a sense of the men’s morale. As she left the tent, the captain of her guard made as if to follow her. “I don’t fear assault among our own people, Giedrius,” she said testily. Giedrius said nothing, only folding his arms stubbornly.
Marja rolled her eyes. “Tyrant.” Giedrius favored her with a mordant chuckle.
She greeted men as she passed, those who were still awake. She tried her best to give each a word of encouragement, knowing that they would remember her words later even if she did not. As she walked, she began to hear the sounds of an argument from one campfire. What’s more, it seemed that the men were arguing about her.
“...with a bear, they say.”
“Rank foolishness, everybody knows that she…”
I should intervene. But how? Father would have overawed them with his presence, as he often did. She doubted that she could do the same. The people did not worship her as they had him, at least in his latter years. Perhaps they would in time, but not now.
She took a step forward, inwardly hoping that she was not making a mistake. With a kingly expression, she regarded them. They were predominantly Balts, by the look of them, but she could recognize a few veterans from the crown’s demesne as well. She realized with a start that she was old enough to be mother to most of them. They’re just boys.
They silenced as soon as they saw her, and most clamored to their knees to genuflect before her. She just held up her hand and said, “Relax. I am not offended by honest talk. But if you have questions about me, why not just ask?”
The men exchanged doubtful looks. They must have assumed that it was a trick. “You are here to fight on my behalf. You deserve to know who you’re fighting for.” When that didn’t sway anybody, she added, “I swear on the name of my father, on the life of my son, and by all the gods of the north–no man of you will come to harm for what he says to me tonight.”
An old spearman–meaning a man of an age with Marja herself–spoke up then. “This fool was saying that you were a sorceress. Demons at your command, he says.” The man he gestured towards started to sputter denials.
“Goodmen, I am forty-two years old. Do you honestly think I would be here on the march if I could just summon a few demons to fight on my behalf?” She laughed, and one or two men chuckled with her.
A man in the rear of the assembly cried out, “What about the bear?”
“Don’t talk filth to her majesty,” another spat back, but again Marja maintained her performance of unflappability.
“Now, goodmen, I know you are no fools. This land doesn’t permit folly, it’s too harsh for that. Suomi breeds practical men. So let’s discuss this practically.” Many of the men straightened up as she addressed them, looking proud to have been praised by their sovereign. “Who here has ever succeeded in getting a bear to do something, anything, other than precisely what he meant to do? Raise your hand, I’ll put you on my council tomorrow.” More men laughed at this line, as they started to become more comfortable.
“Sorcery,” called out a sour voice, thick with drink. The man who spoke wore the leathers of a metsänvartija. His eyes were dark, and his cheeks cratered with scars from some pox.
Marja grinned. If this man thought to be her interlocutor, she would take full advantage. “I knew a courtier once, back when I was a girl. He snuck off one night to go drinking and wenching, and stumbled back to the palace a full three days later, hungover and nude from the waist down. I was maybe eight, it was quite the education. And do you know what this man says to my father? The hiisi took my hose, your majesty, it was the hiisi.”
Now the laughter was loud enough that people were coming over from elsewhere to see what the fuss was about. Once it had passed, she turned her attention back to Pockmarks. “So are you saying that the hiisi moved my bear?”
The man was raging at being challenged by a woman, even one who served as his king. “I’m saying that you killed your brother Ulavi. And we all know it.”
All was silent then, save for the snap and pop of the campfire. Marja had an urge to hit the man full in the face, or have him clapped in irons. But she had given her word, and she would not go back on it. Instead she scanned the crowd, pondering how to reply to this accusation.
“Aapo,” she called out at last, “let the men know how you broke your nose.” Aapo was one of the men from the crownlands. He had grown up in the palace, and she had known him since she was born.
“You broke it, your majesty,” Aapo said with a laugh. “You were a little scrap of a thing, but you grabbed a spear and hit me with the blunt end. Old Fricis had to grab you, if I recall, and drop you kicking and screaming in your father’s lap.”
Marja laughed to remember it. “And why did I do that? Do you know?”
Aapo’s face flushed. It seemed that he still felt a little shame over the incident. “I, ah… I called his highness a worthless cripple. I was a damned fool, that’s the truth.”
“So you don’t believe this tale of his.” It was not a question.
Aapo shook his head. “No, majesty. Everybody said, say something about his highness and you’ll have her highness to answer to.”
“That’s so. I was a little terror, that’s for sure.” She turned her face back to Pockmarks. “So in regards to that vile accusation, no, I didn’t kill Ulavi. I loved him as much as a sister can love a brother.”
Pockmarks spit in disgust and left the circle. After this was over, she would have Giedrius identify the man, but for the moment the time had come to drive her point home. She opened up her arms, and addressed the crowd calmly. “You are no fools, goodmen. I’ve already said that, but it bears repeating. You are no fools–however, there are men out there who plainly think you are. They think that you can be tricked by talk of demons and the hiisi and sorcery run amuck. They think that you can’t see what’s truly happening. They’re wrong.
“Let me remind you of something. It was my father who stripped Turo of his rights and lands. It was the nobility of this fine kingdom who by and large rejected him, who still reject him. They agree, my brother was not fit for the throne. And why not? Aapo was there when Princess Irene came to plead after he beat her half to death. Ask him how my brother broke her arm, and her, a daughter of old Rome. Ask him about Gyla Ivarsdóttir, a common woman much like your sisters or daughters or wives.”
Then she drew her sword, and thank the gods, she drew it in a single fluid motion. “This is the sword of Virtanen, which has been passed down since Otso the Defender of Ukko first forged it. Do you know why I carry it?” As men shook their heads, she continued. “It reminds me, as your king, that I stand in defense of the realm. I stand in defense of you. Defense against the Swedes, the Danes, the Poles… and defense against a tyrant who just so happens to share my blood. I may have the body of a frail woman, but I know my duty and I will not tire in its pursuit. Will you stand with me?”
Aapo drew his sword then and held it aloft. “For Suomi! For the queen!” Men from the crownlands followed him, and then the Pruessi, the Liettua, the Poles and Viro and all the rest. The forest rang with their cries, so loud that it seemed the gods must hear them. FOR SUOMI! FOR THE QUEEN!
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I'm glad you're enjoying it! I hope the rest of the story lives up to your expectations.
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I'm glad this came out here rather than later. Better to remember the truth early than late.
Some aren't fools, true.
But some are, and will be tricked. The hope is to display truth so prominently that the number of tricked fools is small.
Unfortunately, I bet that Emma and the Prince have already been captured...I have a bad feeling.
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Even if he did send for her, I doubt she'd come back willingly.
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Oof! I bet that writing for Thorfinn is one of those times you mentioned in a comment on my AAR about being sad but needing to write it because it was true.
@TheExecuter said a lot of what I was going to say on this. Better to learn about Turo’s marriage now than later, but I also think there’s a lesson to be learned about his mother. Why did she leave them behind? I suppose it was the way divorce works in the game. The dad keeps the kids.
If it needs repeating, methinks these men might be fools.
Ah! This sounds more than a little like good queen Bess of England. This quote is just the thing to get sexist men to die for their queen. I’m glad Marja borrowed it for this occasion (or more likely originated it since she was alive first). I must admit that if I had been present for this speech, she might have tried to identify me, too. I would have definitely rolled my eyes at the “frail woman” part and that might have been misunderstood.
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Not yet.
But wars don't make one great. There are other things to being a good ruler.
And it would be easier for Mielus to blackmail Thorfinn if Frithjof is close by.
It's 8,000 to 3,000 in Marja's favor. But how much of her army has been infiltrated like this? Is this Mielus' plan?
And the enemy can hear them too, no doubt.
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Thorfinn seems to be the kind of character that could end the conflict, in more ways than one
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