Snippet #2432101

Ulfar & Tyra Leiknir

Dismounting from their horses Ulfar and Tyra began the climb up the steps to the ancient fortress that would house the council of clans in their deciding moment. “Today, daughter our battles are made worthy.” Ulfar said simply as the great wooden doors parted to allow them entry.

The Hersir, his daughter and the leaders of Wa and Mildorian were led through the great hall until they reached what was obviously to be the location of the council. In the middle of the room was a great table littered with runes, to those who understood them it was a patchwork of the names of kings, tales of their deeds and the many great things they did in the name of the gods.

The Leiknir were obviously the last to arrive as around the table the other nine Hersirs already sat in patiently awaiting what was most likely to be the next king of Fyrkat. Across the table sat an incredibly old man, who seemed as though it was magic alone that stopped him from keeling over there and then. With a thud of his chest Ulfar saluted his rivals, whom all echoed his greetings. “Under the gaze of Odin, we gather here today to decide the fate of our great nation.” The old man began raising his head to reveal his wrinkled face and more distinguishing his lack of one eye.

“May you all answer truthfully with Fyrkat’s interests at heart.” He added as he cast his eyes across the nine leaders. Everyone at that table knew what the conclusion would be, it was an impossibility for Ulfar to lose. With the Ulfheimr now admitting the Leiknir claim the Seidhr were likely to follow suit and it would incur the wrath of the gods to decide against them.

“Ulfheimr?” The old man’s raspy voice called across the room, his eye crossing the table. “None.” He continued. “Leiknir?” As one the nine Hersirs raised their hands all eyes on the great leader of the Seidhr for their two votes. “Eleven.”

Ulfar had been fighting his entire life for this moment. Countless warriors had been sent to Valhalla in search of reunification and now almost three hundred years since the last king died, Fyrkat was once again a Kingdom.

“I, Alvis Odinmunnr declare that by unanimous vote that Ulfar Leiknir is the new king of Fyrkat. Long live the King.” The old man declared, saluting the new king.

Tyra proudly saluted her father a smile that ran from ear to ear across her face. “Long live the King!” she echoed along with the other occupants of the room.

Shortly following the council, everyone was led towards the great throne room that was now to be finally filled. Ulfar stood in front of the throne, with the many whom had come to see the happenings stood in front of his throne, which was now a collection of Wa Samurai, Mildorian Mages and Fyrkat Warriors. Their respective leaders all stood at the front, the perfect view of the proceedings.

Alvis was stood beside the King, the crown of Fyrkat held in his frail hands. “Under the watchful eyes of the gods I present you with King Ulfar Leiknir!” his voice carried across the hall, as he lowered the crown atop Ulfar’s head. A sound like thunder echoed across the room as the entire collection of people saluted their king as one, the noise almost deafening as it reverberated across the building.

The evening was celebrated in the traditional Fyrkat way, endless amounts of food and ever flowing mead. By this point the night was in full swing as the King now sat at the head of a feasting hall, accompanied by his Hersirs and by the Men and Women whom had aided his rise to power. “King Ulfar Leiknir.” Tyra said again, this having been the fifth or sixth time she had repeated it to the group. “No, this still seems like a dream.” She smiled happily to Katsura, whom she had been talking with for a good portion of the evening. “Maybe if you pinch me?” she asked with a grin.

“So, Hatsumomo, Faramir. What do you think of the Fyrkat mages?” Ulfar asked curiously as he chewed absent mindedly on a slice of beef. “I suppose the magic’s that you all use must be very different to one another?”