The Final Words of Jarl Sverrir

Úlfr Sverrirson sat a wooden chair next to the bed where his father, Jarl Severrir, lay with a thick gray fur blanket lay over his body. Úlfr looked at his father with a combination of concern and admiration, and Jarl returned his son’s gaze with a look of grim determination. His daughter Ylva stood, leaning against the wall, beside his bed with her arms across her chest.   Jarl Severrir was dying. Everyone in the room knew that and could do nothing about it. The Jarl had lived a long time, but he thought he would have at least twenty more years to rule and potentially another shot to become king. But that was not to be. He had been betrayed and left to die by the man who was going to be crowned king any day now. The Jarl was going to make sure that he did everything he could to prepare his children for the world after his death and hope they would not make any mistakes that would get them killed. His son would become the Jarl of Suðurhöfn after his death, and his daughter, if he had anything to say about it, would become his sworn shield. They would be angry and seek revenge but that would be a fool’s errand as their opponent would be much too powerful. He taught them better than that. They would be patient and bide their time. The king would die as everyone does. Then his son could avenge his father by becoming the next king.   Úlfr looked at his father as he began to cough up blood into a wooden bowl. Úlfr was angry and wanted to seek out and kill Jarl Harek for his betrayal and cowardice. He took a deep breath and slowly exhaled in an attempt to calm himself. He looked over at this father once again and saw the pale, dying man staring at him with a penetrating look. His father knew what he was thinking, and the gaze was his attempt to calm him and get him to start thinking with his mind instead of the rage that boiled within. Úlfr slowly nodded his head knowing that it was not long before he would take the mantle of Jarl.   Ylva looked down at her dying father in disbelief with her crossed arms almost an attempt to guard against the truth. She was young and while not unfamiliar with death, she was not familiar or ready for the death of someone so close to her dying before their time. She shook her head and tightened her arms across her chest in a futile effort to delay the inevitable. No longer would he be able to train her how to fight and defend herself and her family. Her father couldn’t die. He had so much more to teach her.   Jarl Severrir fixed his gaze on his son. “Úlfr, you must stay your hand. I taught you and your sister to be patient and not reckless. Harek will be king and be beyond your reach.” At this point, the Jarl coughed up some blood which he spit into a bowl and then continued. “Harek is old and cowardly and will not have a successful rule, but his regal bearing and fair demeanor will make some think that he is better than he is. You must bide your time until it becomes clear that he’s dying. Then, you’ll make sure that you become king and that nobody from the House of Olaf comes even close. That is your destiny and the route you must take.”   Úlfr gazed at his father as his words penetrated him, took a deep breath, exhaled slowly once again, and finally nodded. “I understand father. The House of Thorvald will not forget.”   Jarl Severrir smiled. “Good. You’ll know the right time.” He then turned his towards his gaze towards his daughter and spoke to her. “You must continue your training. Ragnar will teach you. Odin revealed to me in a dream that your destiny was to become a shieldmaiden and wield Skærskjöld. If I have a dying wish, this is it. Protect your brother and aid him in quest for the crown.” Jarl Severrir’s next words were cut of by a fit of coughing. Once the coughing subsided, he continued. “Go and fetch your mother. I need her by my side.”