Thankmar's Rebellion - An Iron Century Mini-AAR

[WJS]

Chapter 1: One King, One Germany

Aachen was abuzz with activity. Accommodations were prepared for the Dukes of the German tribes: Saxony, Lotharingia, Franconia, Swabia, Bavaria, Thuringia. And, leading the Saxon contingent, Otto, son of Heinrich the Fowler, the late King of East Francia.

It was, admittedly, hard to keep referring to the kingdom as "East Francia." It had been about 25 years since a Karling led the Germans. When Louis the Child died at the age of 18 without issue, the dukes decided they did not want the kingdom to be ruled by the most eligible Karling: Charles the Simple, King of West Francia. So, they agreed to elect one of their own, Conrad of Franconia, as the next king. Conrad had hoped to maintain control over the other tribes, but that proved impossible, and East Francia was a hotbed of rebellion until Conrad passed away in 918. He asked the other dukes, including Eberhard, his brother and the next Duke of Franconia, to rally behind the Duke of Saxony, Heinrich the Fowler, to lead East Francia. Henry did lead with a strong arm and clever politicking, pushing the Magyars back, and even convincing oft-wayward Lotharingia back into the German fold. Calling himself First Among Equals, he assuaged the other dukes with promises that he was not above them, and they remained loyal. And so, wielding such control, he convinced the other dukes to agree to allowing Otto, his first son, to become the new king, taking full control of his holdings.

The problem, of course, is that Otto was not Heinrich's first son.

After the coronation, Thankmar stayed in Aachen a few more days. He visited with Geberga, his half-sister, wife of Giselbert, Duke of Lotharingia.

"Did you see how he sat in Charlemagne's throne? Does he think he's some sort of emperor? He is no Karling," Giselbert fumed to his guests.

"He's not even Frankish, but you never would have guessed it from what he wore to that coronation," Eberhard interjected.

"He's Saxon. His father ruled us not forgetting that. Oh, but when I punish a minor lord for not swearing fealty to me for not being Saxon, Otto decrees that I'm the party at fault, and sentences my commanders to carrying dead dogs in public. But when it's time for the coronation, 'Oh, no, I'm Frankish, not Saxon, and you'll all bow to me anyway.' He has no right insulting our traditions that way!"

"The Pomeranian marches were supposed to be mine," Wichmann added, "but Otto gave them to my little brother, instead."

"Plenty has been going to the little brother," Thankmar concluded. "It's not our traditions, and Otto does not have the mandate. Saxons are Saxons, and Franconians are Fanconians, and the dukes are free to rule their people by the grace of God. We were bound under Charlemagne and banded together to support his rule and the rule of his family as ordained by God. We kept that rule together for Conrad, for Heinrich. But now, we have strayed from Karling rule. We are not East Francians. We have strayed from our free choice of ruler. For Saxony, for Lotharingia, for Franconia, we hold the mandate for ourselves. What say you?"

"I've already told Otto that Lotharingia will not be part of this farce. I've pledged my support to Louis of West Francia," Giselbert replied. "Lotharingia wishes you well, and will be happy to have you as an ally."

"Franconia agrees, this insult has gone on long enough. You have our support as first son of Heinrich the Fowler, and will support you in battle." Eberhard rapped on the table in emphasis.

"Anything to put that pie-eyed charlatan in his place," Wichmann spat. "I support you, Thankmar."

"In the months after my wedding, then. I am marrying Strezislava of Bohemia, and her brother Boleslav has promised to ally as well. My sister Hedwig is betrothed to Louis, so West Francia will do nothing against us."

"As winter falls, so shall we descend on Otto."

 

[WJS]

Chapter 2: Thankmar's Rebellion

On the 15th of November, 936, Thankmar, Eberhard of Franconia, and Wichmann of East Frisia declared war against the tyranny of Otto of Germany. Giselbert of Lotharingia and Boleslav of Bohemia honored their commitments to Thankmar, and joined his side.

As Thankmar summoned his levies and brought them together at his modest castle at Hildesheim, a single rider arrived from the east. "Thankmar, rightful king and heir of Heinrich the Fowler, I bring word from Gero, Margrave of the Eastern Marches of Germany. Gero finds your cause just, and declares his intent to join your side!"

Thankmar stared at the rider, taken aback. "We gladly accept Gero's willingness to join our campaign. Come, let us together demonstrate who the true king is!"

In the evening, Strezislava spoke with Thankmar. "You were so shocked to see someone else support you. Do you have such doubts about the sacred justness of the cause?"

Thankmar turned to his wife and caressed her cheek. "Not at all. But the one other reason I fight is because Gero's lands were supposed to be mine. If Otto had granted them to me, I might have been persuaded to not take my rightful place."

She leaned in, calm and warm. "Then we can be thankful God has seen fit to judge Otto's selfishness and flagrant disregard for family."

He growled. "Speaking of family..." With a nod he dismissed the attendants.

Thankmar left the next day with his troops, trying to gain advantage with speed against Otto's scattered forces. Some early victories against small bands of troops loyal to Otto were found on the roads and crushed. Eberhard, Gero, and Wichmann gathered their troops. Boleslav summoned his forces but was immediately called to interfere with their tributaries in Orava and Sacz, both fighting for dominance and being simultaneously invaded with Magyars.

Thankmar hunched over battle plans on a table in a tent in Nassau. Men from Wichmann and Eberhard had gathered, and Gero was close behind. Bohemian forces were remaining east, but the full fury of forces loyal to Otto was marching on Nassau. Thankmar looked over the troop readiness. He felt confident in the discipline of his men, but not in their numbers; the Lotharingian contingent was late. To the east, reports on the approaching Ottonian armies increased. To the west... the banner of Lotharingia came into view, but the total number of riders was one.

The emissary entered the tent, and the pretender blurted impatiently, "Where are Giselbert's men? We should be seeing them by now."

"Your majesty, I bring word from Count Reginar of Liège."

"The Count of Liège? Giselbert won't even send me an emissary himself?"

"I fear not, your majesty, on account of his untimely death."

"Giselbert's daughter Geberga is the new Duchess, and on account of her age, Reginar is regent of Lotharingia. He writes to inform you that Geberga will not support your endeavor, and it is the advice of the council that further talk of alliances should only commence after the war is won. The Duchess offers prayers to her uncle, confident that God goes with you."

Thankmar waved the rider out. He pulled out a dagger and started carving notches into the table. "What a delightful child," he muttered. "What a thoughtful, pious child, sending all of God to me."

An alarm was raised, and Thankmar paced out of the tent, dagger in hand. He looked east, seeing the banners or, an eagle sable among them. That blackguard of a brother had the temerity to borrow Charlemagne's symbols?

As the soldiers descended upon the camp, Thankmar cursed to himself, "Where is God now, and can He lead a flank for once?"

His men showed great discipline and prevented their numbers from being thinned too much, so as they broke and scattered, Thankmar knew his brother had not yet won the war. He set about gathering all his remaining allies. The Jews proved willing to loan him extra funds, and he hired the Swiss Band to fight with him. With numbers on his side, he returned his forces to meet the Ottonian army. They lay siege to Hildesheim, and there was no way he was going to let Strezislava fall into Otto's clutches.

This battle was won, but the war continued, and the rebel forces sieged down Magdeburg and prepared to meet the loyalists a second time. Wichmann turned and left the main body to head home. Danes were invading, from Skåne and Skagen, vying for Ostfriesland and Hadeln. The Polish arrived in Lausitz, trying to take land from Gero. Magyars invaded Bavaria, which, thankfully, remained with Otto, so they were welcome to take it.

The Ottonians returned to try to siege Hildesheim a second time, and for family, Thankmar once again repelled their forces. And just in time...

Thankmar burst into the family chapel. "Ekkehard, I hear my daughter is being recorded as Richara von Württemberg. Why von Württemberg? Isn't she a Ludolfinger, like me?"

His chaplain hemmed and hawed. "Thank.... er, your majesty, it is..."

"It's Otto, isn't it?"

"Your majesty, I am afraid that you are recorded in the German records as a bastard?"

"My father and mother were married under the watchful eyes of the Lord when I was born! Does that sound like a bastard to you?"

"According to the records, your mother was a nun, and the marriage was considered void."

"She was in the convent, but she had not yet taken the oath. So my father tossed her aside for Matilda, they had Otto, and God says this is all well and good, and Otto is king, and so much more spewing drivel?"

"W-well..."

"Fine, write what you wish, make the books whatever the Pope needs to see to be happy. But mark my words, I will not let my child grow up with such an insult to her name."

* * * * *

Over the course of the rebellion, chaos reigned. Pagans saw the battles and attrition throughout Germany as opportunity. They bickered among themselves; Skåne, Skagen, Westergautland, Greater Poland, all trying to take pieces out of Germany or the rebels, or both.

The forces loyal to either Thankmar and Otto dwindled. More troops were diverted to pagan incursions. The sieges and countersieges contributed to the attrition. But Thankmar held his soldiers as a cohesive force, and was able to track down Otto in Paderborn, at Eresburg, stationed out of the church of St. Peter. The rebel armies arrived and lay siege, routing the small number of loyalists and surrounded the church atop the hill.

Thankmar insisted on entering alone. He was told to take care, as a plot against his life led by Otto was discovered. He shrugged off the worry and approached.

He took off his sword and handed it to an attendant as he entered the church. Striding in, the sun at his back, he called out, "Otto, my brother, this adventure is at its end, wouldn't you agree?"

Otto rose from his kneeling position, finishing his prayer. "Do not approach, brother, for you are an enemy of the king."

Thankmar laughed. "Come, I mean you no harm. Why, this is holy ground. So holy that Charlemagne himself burned the pagan Irminsul of Saxony that existed on this very site. I would never dream of trying to murder you in a place like this. What, are you afraid of a spear suddenly bursting through the window, to impale you where you stand?"

Thankmar looked at the window, the illuminated form of St. Peter staring down at the two would-be kings. Otto, stunned, looked at St. Peter with urgency, then back to his brother. Thankmar grinned widely as the silence refused to exit. Slowly, quietly, he answered, "This is sanctuary. We are safe."

Otto shuddered, realizing how truly defeated he had become. "I... yes. We can end this."

Thankmar approached, put his arm around Otto, and assured him that he would not let any harm come to him. Outside, Otto saw Liutfried, his best spearsman, held down by Thankmar's soldiers. He winced as they separated Liutfried's head from his shoulders.

"Here are the terms of your surrender," Thankmar explained. "The marriage of our father Henry to Hatheburg of Merseburg, my mother, is agreed to be valid. This means that I am his legitimate first born son, and I am thereby the one fit to be the heir. I and my daughter, Richara, are heretofore agreed to be full members of House Ludolfinger. And you shall remain in my custody, for your rebellion against the duchies, your claim of Charlemagne, your belief in a new empire... all this ends here, today."

Eberhard wiped his brow and approached Thankmar. "Congratulations, with the defeat at St. Peters, you are the true King of the Germans, scion of Heinrich the Fowler, and true inheritor of the mandate of Charlemagne."

Thankmar snorted and looked straight into Eberhard's eyes. "I am more Widukind than Charlemagne in this victory today. Charlemagne is the man who bound us together, and he is the man Otto pretended to be. We are no longer East Francia. We are Saxons, Franconians, Swabians, Bavarians. Let us no longer pretend to be beholden to someone else."

 

[WJS]

Chapter 3: Stammesreichen

"Gentlemen, let us not let anyone say we must be beholden to one man ever again. No Karling, no pretender. We, the German tribes, are no longer East Francia, and no longer ruled by one king. We are responsible for our people, and only our people. We are truly free. The tribes may once again make their own destiny."

Announcements made, Thankmar, King of the Saxons, stormed back to his chaplain Ekkehard. He pulled out the family records, and went over them brusquely.

"So, it is done? The marriage to Hatheburg is now legitimate? And Richara?"

"Now a Ludolfinger, your majesty, as will all your future children born in wedlock shall be. You are no longer considered a bastard."

"Good! All is as it should always have been. I swear, if all it takes is some perspicacious pontiff in Rome to overthrow a marriage and declare someone a bastard after the fact, that says a lot for how holy matrimony really is, don't you think?"

Ekkehard swallowed. "Your majesty, I can fully comprehend why you would be upset with the path of life God put you upon, but surely, you can see its purpose now?"

"Hm? Yes, well, perhaps that was a bit rash of me to say. I've been busy touring Otto's holdings, ensuring everything is prepared for Saxons."

"And... you wish to keep a pagan symbol to represent the kingdom?"

"Saxony was pagan far longer than the other tribes, it's a valid representation of the kingdom. I am positive anyone taking one look at St. Peter's will know the faith of Saxon men."

"Ah. Um, yes, indeed. Please do forgive my inquisitiveness."

"Yes, yes, you're still a valuable part of the kingdom. Now I want you to go to the dungeons and attend to Otto. I am inclined to be merciful to my brother, but we cannot have him causing future trouble. So, I want you to administer the vows for him, and let him retire to the monastery."

Returning to the main hall, the Archbishops Adaldag and Adolf, of Bremen and Angria respectively, stood waiting.

"Your majesty, we are here to speak with you regarding the succession."

"I suppose it would be Richara, until such time I have a son?"

Adaldag and Adolf exchanged glances. "It would be most improper to let a baby girl take over."

"Well, I don't expect to die any time soon, but you two seem to be hatching a plan already."

"What? I would never--"

"About the succession, not against me, be serious."

The archbishops breathed a sigh of relief. "So, given that the dukes were responsible for choosing the successor in Germany, it is only right that such a custom continue in Saxony."

Thankmar was nonplussed. "Only right."

"Indeed."

"So, that's who, Gero? Hermann up north? Dirk in Frisia? I let Otakar of Kärnten go his own way. I thought he was Bavarian."

Adolf shook his head. "No, the margraves Gero and Hermann look after Slavic lands, not Saxons. And Dirk cares for the Dutch."

"Wichmann, then? Really? He lost most of his lands to Denmark and that monster Gorm."

Adaldag bowed slightly. "Your majesty, the people with enough power to choose your heir... are the two of us."

The king's eyes narrowed at the realization. "It can't be Otto. He's putting on his habit right now. Bruno is also destined for the church. That leaves Heinrich. Will you agree to Heinrich?"

"We will."

Thankmar watched the pair leave carefully, sure they would plan to take control if ever offered. "Meddlesome priests..."

As the change from count to king warranted it, Thankmar shuffled around his council. Gero was awarded the position of Marshal. Dirk was made Chancellor, and Hermann was made Advisor.

If it felt odd not to place Wichmann on the council following his support of the rebellion, his instincts were well assuaged within the year.

Thankmar toured his kingdom, visited the marches, and arrived in Zeeland, a far-flung province that had been held by Otto, and was now his. He watched peasants furtively arrive at various hidden altars, placing loaves and other donations upon them to a pagan goddess named Nehalennia. They don't have to worry about archbishops demanding yet another iota of power, he mused. He sat near the altar, letting the breeze from the North Sea wash over him. For the first time since he began his rebellion, since before Otto's coronation, in fact, he felt calm.

Out of the corner of his eye he noticed an old man approach the altar, placing the offered loaves in a basket. Something was... different?

Thankmar spoke up, "You know these were offered to pagan gods."

The old man looked up at his king and grinned. One of his eyes was milky, scarred over. "And what does your god care about that?"

"Well... I suppose He doesn't."

"He doesn't care about many things. Just as long as he gets his tithe."

"That. . . Still, should you be taking those?"

"Better they go to me than go to waste, wouldn't you agree?"

This man was infuriatingly sensible, Thankmar thought. "What if the others find out?"

"Oh, they know, my son. It's a bit early to talk, though. Good day, and be blessed."

The king watched incredulously as the elder tottered away, looked back out to sea for a moment, and lost track of him instantly.

The year droned on, and Thankmar bided his time. The coffers were drained after the war, and the Jews still expected repayment. The levies were severely undermanned, as the war of attrition ground all Saxons, no matter what their loyalties. He watched cautiously as Gorm the Old remained strong to his immediate north.

And, on top of that, the bishops were clamoring about coronation.

Yes, he needed to be crowned by God. His victories were not proof enough. But what was that, more letters, more supplication, more donations to this priest or that one?

By the grace of God and what meager coin that could be pilfered from the treasury, he thought.

Eberhard led the Franconians into war against Jylland, who was trying to take land from Norway. The bishops Adaldag and Adolf reminded Thankmar of the plight of Christians in pagan lands. But was this a ploy for sympathy? A way to simply take back lands they considered theirs, themselves?

There must be some way to break out from all these obligations, these little power plays, these methods of asking for money. If only there was something that could lead to a better way...

 

[WJS]

Chapter 4: The Blood of Widukind

With the new year came a revolt in the Billung March. One of the Slavic tribes in the area chafed under Catholic rule and started looting the churches.

The revolt was put down within a couple months. As Thankmar sentenced the tribe's chief to hanging for his insurrection, he couldn't help but feel sympathy for his cause. The rebuilding of the treasury and levies happened ever so slowly, but putting down the revolt did stir his passions and led to him considering his true feelings in more detail. On the way home from the north, he happened to see a large army marching across the plains.

"Danes," explained Hermann, local margrave and commander. "It's something you get used to out here. They march out of Denmark and pass this way before heading to whatever target they have in mind to raid or conquer."

"They took land from your brother Wichmann while we fought against Otto, but they've never attacked or raided Saxony proper, have they?"

"No. They recognize your strength. I've heard that Gorm holds you in begrudging respect. He'd run you through given half the chance, but the Danes respect strength and do not challenge it."

And yet the bishops expect you to bow your head no matter how strong you are, the king thought to himself.

He had scarcely come back home before the next problem raised its head: Count Amadeus of Berg was found murdered by his son and heir, Baldarich.

Did he really think murdering his father was a cunning little plan? Thankmar hadn't even killed Otto. He sent his men out to arrest the count for the act, but he immediately turned to rebellion.

Heinrich's betrothed came of age and they were married, securing a pact with Italy.

This still left Baldarich's rebellion. More concerned with maintaining forces, Thankmar focused on sieging down the castle and town, which was slow and droning. He had invited Garçes, a warrior from northern Spain and an expert in sieges, to oversee the encampments as he quit the command and wandered.

After a couple days travel, he arrived back in Zeeland, looking to refresh by the coastline. He had been told to avoid the villages, that smallpox had taken hold. The land seemed more desolate, as people fastidiously kept strangers at bay. Almost automatically, he found himself by the altar again. This time, there were greater sacrifices, a fresh line of strangled seabirds, a baby's swaddling stained with blood and pus. Yet no one was around, and the gentle breeze carried the scent of desolation.

"It's not safe here, my son."

Thankmar was startled to see the old man again, hobbling up the hill, basket swaying in the breeze.

"The pox holds these lands right now. See what's being offered? The people are praying for health, for succor."

The elder picked up the strangled birds, all knotted together in a single line. He gave them a sniff. "Ah, still fresh. That's how much they care. You can feed a family for a week with this. Or a king for couple days."

Thankmar could do little but simply watch. His companion picked up the swaddling. With a smile, he turned to his king and replied, "Oh, don't worry, I had the pox long ago, it won't take in me anymore. Bit late for this little boy, though, I'm afraid. Still, you see how devout they are by how they still want to share what little they have left with the gods."

Choking, Thankmar replied, "Can... can I make an offering, too?"

"You've got your own god to make an offering to. Why would you want to do it here?" A scoff. A taunting reply.

"It's all pomp and circumstance, gold used to showcase gold. I swear, the bishops never have enough, and it's as if everything in my land just flows to Rome. But this, there's something more personal about these devotions. Less about appeal to one authority."

The old man cracked a grin. Thankmar swore his milky, sightless eye was staring into his soul. "Your land? Well then... But you needn't concern yourself with old faiths like this. More personal, perhaps, but disorganized, more scattered. Those who follow Nehalennia, Freyr and Freya, Wotan, Thor, they do not meet a challenge as a unit. They sit scattered, the gods bickering amongst themselves, and the tide of Jesus Christ washes them away like the ocean on the sandy beach. You are German, right?"

"Saxon," came the proud reply.

"See, there's hope for you yet, my son. Germany? Well, that's the solid block, one people fit for one holy empire, for one god and one savior. But Saxony? That's a land where the men are free, wild, willful. They know they split with their brothers, bicker amongst themselves, but still see that there is a way forward. It is not an easy path, but Wotan is the god of the Saxons. Come, let's see what you have to offer."

Thankmar swallowed, realizing he had no idea what to bring, no idea what to offer. He dressed as simply as possible for this trip, not interested in being treated as a king while soaking up the sea breeze. He had one item on his person. A ring, a golden seal, proof that he is king, should it become necessary to show it. He stroked his beard anxiously, and pulled out the ring. "Here."

The old man's good eye grew wide to see the treasure. "This... Oh, no, I couldn't--the gods couldn't accept this. It's... It's got the sign of the Cross on it. This belongs to God, not to--"

Thankmar grimaced, slapped the ring down on the altar, picked up a stone, and smashed it down upon the ring, bending it out of shape, sapphires and rubies popping off and rolling around the altar surface.

The king's labored breathing could be heard above the surf.

"Well then, Wotan blesses you this day and welcomes you, my son."

Lotharingia launched an assault against the rebel provinces in an attempt to take them into the kingdom, and Baldarich agreed to swear unquestioned loyalty to Thankmar in return for his continued freedom. Reginar went back home empty-handed.

Back in Braunschweig, Thankmar considered his next move. He searched his court for sympathizers, but only his brother Heinrich proved receptive to his message. He dare not share it with the likes of Adaldag and Adolf, who still expected the regular tithe as usual.

However, his next move was taken from him by the pox. Saxony was beset upon by a number of plagues; slow fever, camp fever, and the dreaded smallpox that took hold throughout the middle part of the kingdom.

The next years were lean as Thankmar and his court remained huddled up in the castle, watched their food stores dwindle to nothing, and relying on nothing but faith that this challenge would be overcome.

Thankmar wondered why he kept his new faith, in truth the Old Faith, secret from his court and people. It was not serving anyone any good, and he likened the situation as being bottled up in the castle, safe from the world at large... but afraid. Stay here forever, and all that would happen is starvation. Thankmar could not afford to be afraid. He opened up the castle doors and looked at the world beyond. Gorm had passed on, leaving Denmark in the hands of a child.

The world would keep changing, and Thankmar had to change along with it. He publicly declared, once and for all, that he would follow the Old Religion, that he would worship Wotan and Freya and all the gods, the Saxon gods, in the traditional way. And for his first act as faithful, he declared a war of conquest for the holy site of Uppland, presently in the hands of the Rus.

The march north was surprisingly simple. The Danes let them through. The Smålanders welcomed Thankmar's soldiers without issue. Whereas a Christian force would find themselves mired in the snow, Thankmar's men marched with purpose, if at times confused. The siege on Uppland was simple, easily accomplished, the location little more than scattered fishing villages around a central temple. Once complete, the forces moved south to Sudermannia, to continue to press their advantage.

Snow fell. Reports of the approaching Rus surfaced. Scouts trudged ahead and reported on the size of the force: about 11,000 Slavic warriors were fast approaching, confident to take back their lands. Thankmar's forces were only 4,000. Furthermore, there was no chance to retreat through the snow. There would be a battle; huge, and outnumbered.

Thankmar rallied his men. They would stand their ground, force the Rus to cross the Mälaren, and pray for deliverance. Most of the troops prayed to God. Thankmar left the camp for the deep forest to pray to Wotan.

The Rus struck fast, taking advantage of the winter weather to cross where the lake had frozen. Thankmar charged out to meet them, relying on superior weaponry to push the Rus back onto the ice. The opponent commander appeared before him, and with a surge of energy, he pursued him to fight him personally and take him down.

Thankmar felt assured of victory. He had more steel, more experience fighting, more purpose, reveling in his newfound freedom from the Catholic system of claims and marriages. But with more steel came more weight, and the ice proved treacherous. His more lightly armed and armored opponent lashed out with a fur and tripped the king. The ice cracked beneath him and groaned. Thankmar's foe whipped out a sharp knife, and standing over him, plunged the dagger into his left eye. The ice beneath him buckled, and Thankmar fell into the water. The frigid depths closed in around him as he felt the world slip past.

He awoke on a straw bed in a small hut. A fire smelled of pine needles and birch bark. The whole side of his face burned like kindling, and he was nearly blind, only able to make out blurry shadows in his good eye.

A familiar voice wafted over him. "Ah, you're awake. I thought I'd lost you."

"Where... where are my men?"

"You'll know soon enough. Here, I'd better treat that wound. You'll lose more than your eye if I don't get this salve in it."

A shape in a dark cloak shuffled over to him and dabbed at his wound, an action both searing and soothing.

"Forgive my clumsy fingers. My daughter usually does these sorts of things, but I've needed to make sure you're all right, my son."

Thankmar jolted up quickly in realization. "Where... where am I? Is this Zeeland?"

The old man chuckled. "No, someplace much farther away... much closer. Not important, you'll be back at your men's side soon enough for victory. This had to happen, you see."

"How... Why..."

"You first needed to be able to see things my way. You're going to lead your men to victory, and lead the gods to theirs."

"I don't... I don't understand."

"You don't need to. Just know that I walk with you, my son."

The old man leaned in to kiss Thankmar on the forehead. His head, his body felt bathed in a wave of numbness.

Next thing Thankmar knew, he was being pulled out of a hole in the lake ice. His men expected him to be dead. But in a way that could only be considered a miracle, Thankmar rose quickly to his feet once back on solid ground, hugged Garçes, and returned to lead the troops. The Saxon forces were elated to see their king rise from the ice and take command, and routed the enemy forces. A contingent of Smålanders joined the fray on Thankmar's side, filling any gaps in the Saxon lines with Viking fury. The battle, and the war, was won.

The captured soldiers were put to death. He was particularly pleased to come across his attacker, the man who almost killed him, and watched him squeal while being gored to death by a wild boar. He celebrated that winter in Uppland, handing the tribe over to Heinrich to oversee. Heinrich had clearly adapted to heathen ways, and was happy to protect the holy temple.

And so, centuries later, Saxony had risen again from the ashes of Charlemagne's Holy Roman Empire.

 

[WJS]

Chapter 5: Born Again

Thankmar rode back into Braunschweig with a hero's welcome. Many of the peasants had heard of their king's conversion and took up the old faith themselves. In many ways, they still recognized it in their superstitions, old traditions, all the little quirks that they were taught growing up to never show the priests. The tale of his miraculous return from the frozen waters of the Mälaren had run ahead, mixing with tales of a natural rebirth, baptism by the wild. He reveled with his subjects and welcomed ambassadors from the lands to the north.

The revelry died down, and people filed out of the banquet halls, until only two remained. Two who were never there to celebrate.

"Adaldag, Adolf, good to see you. Have you come to pay your respects?"

The two archbishops looked at each other. Adaldag, as usual, spoke for them both. "Your majesty, we have come in the hope that you would pay your respects."

Thankmar narrowed his eyes. "Preposterous. You are my vassals. Why do you have a need that I pay respects to you?"

"It is not to us, your majesty, but to the King of Kings. Our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ."

Thankmar drummed his fingers on his armrest. He let the pause grow stale before responding, "Indeed?"

Adolf blurted out, "Don't you think all this devotion to false pagan gods has gone on long enough?" Adaldag reflexively grabbed at Adolf's vestments.

"False pagan gods?" Thankmar hung the words in the air like a fresh woodlands kill. He turned his head slightly to stare at them with his ruined, sightless eye. Even if he could not clearly make out their expressions, he could feel their souls squirm underneath his gaze. "No, I don't think it has gone on long enough."

Adaldag recovered. "Then I must inform your majesty that it is the opinion of the church that your choice of your brother, who has also turned to heathenry, is unfit to be king, and we have agreed to choose Gero, Margrave of the Eastern Marches, as the preferred candidate."

Thankmar inhaled deeply, slowly, and smiled in a rictus of bridled fury. "Well, I suppose if Jesus requires it, it must be so, after all. Thank you for your wise counsel, good sirs."

He saw them out, and sent word to Heinrich, in his role as spymaster, to see to their continued well being.

The Viking dignitaries brought a young woman, Gyrið, to serve the king as handmaid and concubine. They further stated that although their godis are interpreting the signs of Mälaren favorably, there was still too much arrayed against the Old Faith. The godis beseeched Thankmar for further signs that Odin was smiling upon them more strongly than before. That chance occurred quicker than he expected.

The Kingdom of Thuringia suffered a revolt it could not possibly contain. Soon afterward, the King of Swabia died. The Duchy of Hesse, originally Franconian, then inherited by the king, declared its independence as a collection of small counties. It was as if lambs were brought before the lion to feast. He gathered his troops to invade, satisfied that he no longer needed proof that the lands were his by right; his might was all the right he needed.

Furthermore, Strezislava gave him the gift he was needing all this time:

She suggested he be named Liutbrand; he said no, he will be Widukind.

The archbishops, still, could be occasionally convinced to keeping the kingship in the family, but not consistently. Still, the simple solution was to no longer require their opinion.

Yet until that time, Thankmar continued to demonstrate the greatness of Wotan, and insisted that the godis come to Zeeland to oversee the construction of a greater monument there, at the spot where Thankmar first met the All-Father.

It would take decades to complete, but it would endure.

As a show of further strength, he staged a Great Blot. His first. From all over Midgard people came to the Zeeland Altar. From all over Christendom, rulers sent their chaplains to the sacrifice.

Adaldag was aghast at the growing strength of Wotan. Adolf, on the other hand...

Throughout the construction, pausing only for the Blot, Saxons stormed the lands of Hesse and Thuringia, and one kingdom fell to the Saxons.

And this is all the godis needed to see to agree: as a Christian kingdom fell, so does Wotan's chosen kingdom rise.

In Franconia, they had lost Hesse and had minor rebellion, but Eberhard's son Ludwig held the kingdom well.

Hesse managed to secure a non-aggression pact with Saxony and were allowed to live, for now.

In Swabia, the kingdom held their boundaries, and remained stable.

Bavaria was held by the same king, but was wracked with rebellion and had already lost its east to settling Pecheneg and Magyar marauders.

Otakar's son, Eberhard, continued to lead Kärnten through challenges, but remained capable.

The godis agreed with the signs: Thankmar was the Son of Wotan on Midgard, here to lead his people in defense against infidel faiths.

His son Widukind, and his sons after that, would carry the mantle in future years.

Thankmar came to visit his brother Otto one final time, bringing fierce Saxon warriors with him.

And so, returning to Aachen, Thankmar showed Otto what true power means.

And thus ends this AAR. May you all find stories as varied as these throughout your exploration of The Iron Century.