Þórrmaðr’s Saga

Pt.1

Born the son of Hafþór and Cilla, Þórrmaðr was an unremarkable man, growing up on the rugged Westfjords of Iceland gave him a hardened body, but the moderate isolation led him to toil much in his mind. The barbaric winters huddled his family in their torfbæir where storytelling passed the time. Þórrmaðr would spin tales to his family, his sagas and heroic escapades lit a fire in their hearts, one that warmed their spirits while coals warmed their bodies. Hafþór rejoiced his son's stories, recalling war and bestowing on Þórrmaðr the idea of a warrior's death, an idea Þórrmaðr was not as infatuated with as his impassioned father seemed to be. 

In the summers, the 24-hour sun was a god's blessing to him, signaling Þórrmaðr to take to the seas on their Faering. These trips to him were for more than cod, herring, and haddock, they were his only wider world. Þórrmaðr wished for women and journey, but he supposed that was not preordained. 

Erik Thorvaldsson, living with his family in Norway, had a similar path. Yet his father brought the family under trial for killing a man and they eloped to Iceland. Building his life there from a lowly village Erik grew to be a harsh man, marrying Thjohild Jorundsdottir of a proud family; they started their own. Erik was known for his hot temper and remorselessness. Having killed a fellow Norseman after a debate, he was forced to leave his home; And after another such brazen incident he was exiled to an island, bringing his crew, his slaves, and family. Erik, being branded an outcast from Norway too brutal for Iceland, took to the seas setting his sights on a new land, an untapped wilderness, a green frozen land. 

Þórrmaðr’s small village was blazingly alive one night, with the days growing longer and warmer they knew summer was afoot, and they celebrated. Ale, mead, wine, and the last of their stored meats and fish were shared with reckless abandon, and Þórrmaðr -being young- had not yet learned the value of self-control. He drank himself into a stupor, collapsing asleep, clubbing his head on the bed board on the way down. All the while, Erik sailed closer, now with 500 men, planning one last Icelandic stop in those very Westfjords. 

At the sound of something crashing down Þórrmaðr shot up from his slumber, too quickly mayhap, for his concussed head spun with the night's drinks. He spewed sickness all down himself and the floor. A floor which, after focusing himself, he realized held the bloodied, lifeless, and now desecrated body of Hafþór. Lying adjacent was the family's own sword and shield, items that he had never seen anywhere except hanging above their mantle. Shock and confusion set in, Þórrmaðr quickly stripped off his ruined overclothes and grabbed the sword. Dazed and half-drunken he stumbled through the room, unknowingly throwing his shirt half into the fire, and bursting out the front door. The daylong bright sun which for so many seasons greeted him kindly now proved a shock to his senses. Crying out and shielding his eyes, in a vertiginous flail his sword splattered the blood of men, painting the side of his home red. Four bodies hit the floor, one of which being his own. As Þórrmaðr collected himself on the ground he first saw what he had done, followed second by greeting the cold stare of a mountainous red-haired man. 

Now restrained by men on either side Þórrmaðr was forced to his feet, eye to eye with that of Erik. ‘You, you defile my men in such a way to attack them from their backs, in your undergarments no less.’ spoke Erik, placing his axe on the neck of Þórrmaðr. It was now that Þórrmaðr realized he was the only man in the village engaged in discourse, all eyes had locked to him including that of his family, who looked in horror. ‘My father, he lies dead, what of that?’ he cried. ‘Your father clearly raised you’ Erik smiled, and his company laughed. ‘One fool playing hero I could forgive, but now,’ Erik turned to face the rest of the village, where women traded with the travelers, and a few young men suited up, wanting to join him on his voyage. ‘Well now I can’t trust any of you.’ He bellowed, his temper now coming out to play. Inside the house Þórrmaðr’s clothes began to burn. 

In one quick order his band went to work. The women were crowded into a mass; the men who fought back were killed; the rest were lined up behind Þórrmaðr. ‘Why your father challenged me I know not, something of Valhalla I believe, but the dullard ran inside from my first swing, that’s a cowards end.’ Þórrmaðr recalled the blood and vomit-soaked body of Hafþór. Þórrmaðr’s mind raced, realizing his blunder he began aligning a story. ‘You say playing hero, who are you to know. My father entered the house only to wake me, he waits inside now knowing his son alone is more than enough for you.’ The clothes inside began to spread the fire to the floor. For all of Erik’s qualities, the sharpness of his mind was not one commended. ‘My family comes from a line of warriors, my father Hafþór brought us here, fearing what I could do if I remained with the people of Reykjavik.’ ‘Quit your games!’ snarled Erik, ‘I have no time for the yaps of a puppy!’ hearing whispers of his fellow villagers behind about an odd heat Þórrmaðr remembered the clothes, conjuring up a hero from his stories Þórrmaðr saw his chance. ‘I am Þórrekkr! and you will know me!’ Þórrekkr roared. In tandem with his shout, the house burst into a massive flame. The scene shot many of the men back and ran a dreadful grin across Erik’s face. 

           Þórrekkr had pulled it off. Erik, so enthralled by the display, had even forgotten his lie about Hafþór waiting inside. Discussions took place. At the expense of Þórrekkr joining his expedition, the village would be spared. The village that spited Þórrekkr for what he had caused, and yet knowing the outcome otherwise, backed him up. In the ashes of the house only one item remained, Þórrekkr grabbed the heavy iron shield, hid his father's bones, and boarded the main ship of Erik the Red. 

-INTERMISSION-

Pt. 2

Due to time constraints, there is a time skip here, to carry you cleanly to my next excerpt from the saga here is a quick synopsis of what happens. 

Þórrmaðr, now Þórrekkr sets off with Erik and his crew. Along the voyage Þórrekkr shares his stories, the ones he had created in the past, and Erik begins to grow quite fond of him. Erik grants him nice clothing to finally look the part of a warrior. Having brought along a court skald, Erik assigns him to join Þórrekkr to create stories and poems of him and his travels in the new land. Because of his slight experience on the water, he helps on the ship, which further raises the crew's trust. Upon landing, Þórrekkr sets off alone to explore while the rest set up base. Seeing a narwhal, he is taken aback, thrusting his sword into the animal he decides to cut off its horn. Returning to the camp he claims to have found and slayed a unicorn, his first feat of wonder is secured. He gets the skald to write a poem about the unicorn slaying. After a couple more expeditions the skald begins to get suspicious about Þórrekkr, wishing to join him on a journey and see him in action. After a very boring travel the skald begins to fully doubt Þórrekkr was ever a great warrior as he repeatedly makes a fool of himself. However, with the tales and poems becoming popular and eagerly awaited by Erik and the crew he decides to place his blind trust in him. The next excerpt will begin with the poem of the unicorn slaying, which was engraved into Þórrekkr’s shield. Then it will follow Þórrekkr and the skald as they set off on another journey to find the jötnar that Þórrekkr claims to have seen in the mountains. 

 -Begin Pt.3-

Hoofed thunder he beholds

Horned beast be forewarned

lifeless now in lands foreign

Lays snow cloaked mythos

Lo! battle-bold carries home

Bring sir iron defender

Bring arbiter brewers nectar

Bother later with life’s brother

         Þórrekkr and the skald set out to the snow. Þórrekkr passed hills he knew from his trips, making sure to keep the skald busy with talk of what was to come. The truth being, he knew this was it, if he didn’t return with a discovery or an item of importance he was soon to fall out of favor. Sword and glorious shield in hand he began, once again, to devise a plan. Heading up the side of a mountain nightfall began to set in. With night came dark and a reduced visibility. Trees were a rare sight in this land, so when Þórrekkr, being far ahead from the slowed skald, saw a few in the distance he had an idea. He went back and joined the skald. ‘any longer and we’ll have to settle in for the night.’ He said ‘aye’ huffed the skald, too exhausted from carrying the groups supplies to muster any other words. ‘Hold, Do you see that?’ said Þórrekkr, the skald squinted, his eyes better suited for reading than surveying. Þórrekkr pointed the tip of his sword towards the tall dark silhouette of the trees, which were wavering in the wind. ‘You don’t mean to sa-‘ ‘I don’t say, I know those are the giants! and they’re getting ever closer.’ The skald began to panic, tricked, as he’d never seen a real day of combat in his life. Þórrekkr slashed the strap on the skalds shoulder, dropping their supplies to the ground. ‘we must get you hidden, you’ll be a detriment if we fight together.’ Now freed from the weight of the bags, Þórrekkr and the skald ran. They came to a cave, and telling the skald he would come back, Þórrekkr set out.

         ~100 meters from the cave Þórrekkr stopped, and knowing he was still in earshot, set into action. He placed his shield on his back, and sliced his left hand open, letting out a mighty cry. The skald in the cave huddled back, the battle had begun. Þórrekkr spread his blood down the way, creating a trail. Then, he took his sword, running and yelling wildly, he struck the blade repeatedly on rocks and his own shield creating the sounds of a fierce battle. The skald began to pray, if he made it out alive he’d never doubt Þórrekkr again. Þórrekkr tore his shirt, using cloth and packed snow to wrap his hand and create a battle-worn look to the garb. Finally yelling out ‘Useless! The lot of you!’ He returned to the skald out of breath, tattered, and proud. ‘come, come, its safe. They’re mighty, but oh, how they run from me.’ The Skald emerged, following Þórrekkr he saw the blood in the snow trailing out of the mountains. Now unburdened of their belongings the pair hustled to return to the expedition encampment before night. The next day returning to the main camp the skald had a new tale to tell, one met with much cheer and excitement.

Mountain walkers make haste

Manlike fear must not appear

Fireflies of the forge galore

Fires teeth fuels dreadful meets

Glory’s heir holds high a sword

Herald god’s then forgotten

Shout I am the star-born

Save fates response for bronze

         Hot on the tail of their journey, Erik himself became intrigued by the giants, wishing to slay it for its skull and engrave it with the heroic poem. The skull, he thought, could be toured around Iceland and Europe with the unicorn’s horn, bringing new settlers to his planned Kingdom of Greenland, a name which he also thought would attract people. A plan was put in motion, Erik and his three strongest warriors Stefán Karel Torfason, Kristján Jón Haraldsson, and Eythór Ingólfsson Melsted would join the skald and Þórrekkr back to the mountains. Þórrekkr tried every excuse he could pull off to abort the mission, proving unsuccessful in the starry eyes of Erik. They set out, now using a horse to pull their belongings, and carrying enough to last them 4 nights. Arriving at the expedition encampment they received a final triumphant sendoff. The first day spirits were high, they reached the spot of Þórrekkr’s battle, camping in the cave. The next morning, Þórrekkr pointed them towards the mountain he claimed the giants headed to, the band went onward. The three warriors Erik had brought proved to eat as much as they appeared to, quickly draining half the crew’s food on the first night.

         The second day went as the first, now reaching the base of the farther mountain, untapped territory for the crew. The skald knew this, he once again started to doubt Þórrekkr, and yet, with how deep they were, he knew his writings made him as guilty of a lie as Þórrekkr. So, he carried on and held his tongue. The second night the group camped at the mountains base, Þórrekkr insisted they must scale the peak to find the giants, Erik listened. One the third day the band began their ascent, their rations decimated throughout the night by the three warriors. No one would own up. They made it to the peak, there were no giants. The group looked for answers from Þórrekkr and he swore that waiting there, they would come. The group found shelter in a cave near the peak. It was that night they finished up their food, and the realization hit in the morning. On the fourth day they sent Stefán to hunt and gather food. On the fourth day he did not return. On the fifth day, growing evermore sullen and irritated, they sent Kristján and Eythór to look for him. On the Fifth day they did not return.

         Irritation turned to outrage. Arguments turned physical. ‘You imbecile, you halfwit, you bastard! What was it for, for making a fool of me?’ Erik was raving, barely finishing his words before moving to new ones. ‘You lied all along, you’re a rat, you’re worse than plague, at least the plague would just kill me. Kill me! Stand up!’ Erik forced Þórrekkr to his feet, murmuring and nearly foaming at the mouth he threw Þórrekkr’s sword and shield in front of him. ‘I won’t die like this, you’re Þórrekkr, you can do it, oh mighty Þórrekkr please, duel me now.’ Erik took his axe in hand. Þórrekkr, weakened by hunger went to grab his shield, he couldn’t. His hand was slashed from his trickery and couldn’t heal with no substance. He grabbed his sword, the sword he treated like a hammer on rocks. If he was half a warrior, he would know the sword had reached its end, cracks and chips rotted it. Erik cried out, putting his entire body behind a swing, Þórrekkr gave his all, moving to block, his blade shattered. With one swing Erik cut through his stomach. Þórrekkr fell, spitting up and collapsing. Erik stripped him of his clothes to layer himself, leaving Þórrmaðr once again in his undergarments. Þórrmaðr was dead, soaking in his own vomit and blood, like his father.

         ‘And you, poet man’ Erik stammered, stepping to the mouth of the cave ‘Your name is annulled. You’ll die here starving, or in the cold out there. You deserve much less.’ Erik’s silhouette disappeared into the snowfall. The skald had not had a thought in the past days. He had been slumped against a wall abiding his time until he died. Erik’s words woke his mind from repose, he went to Þórrmaðr. Grabbing a shard of his sword, the skald’s hand bled, and with his last strength he carved a poem into the shield.

Earth blots what all body births

Bare white turn warlord hairs

Cavernous chassis encaved

Casts our crew at half-mast

Witless upon my wisdom

What truths shadow forsooth

Warriors-end withdraws

Worthily I fall lorn forth