It had been two years since I said goodbye to you. Two years since I had last seen your face. I would say I had hoped that you would endure the recent winter. It was harsh, and you were alone, but I know you; I didn’t need to hope- I knew you would survive.
My son would be two years old now. I had been doing my last duty as the King’s hand, and guardian of Sweden. I had been in a state of peril for far too long. Danish troops had infiltrated our land, and have been working their way north. I can’t figure out what they’re searching for though. They seem precise, only killing people who have direct connection to certain people. I am not quite sure who that is though.
My name is Trinson Vargr, and I have been on their trail for the last year. I have tallied twenty seven soldiers in my book. I should not need to fight. I should return to the King, while I still can. I’ve been watching this group move, for some time, and after today, I will be able to go home, for I’m sure that the leader of the group will show up.
“Lennart, where do you want the black powder?”
Lennart? I pondered. It couldn’t be the little boy that I spared in the war, could it? Son of King Harold. “That bastard. I knew I should’ve killed him.” I needed to get a closer look, and a description of him. I scaled into the trees. I had already set-up small iron nails, to help me climb. They had been in place for weeks. My white cloak was now full of mud, and I looked more like a swamp-monster, than a white wolf.
I looked around me, and aside from the tall ash trees, that I balanced on, I observed the twenty or so men stacking weapons, shields, and repairing their armour. They were preparing for battle. I needed to leave, to report to the King, but also, I needed to see whether this was the same kid I let live.
“Lennart, the black powder is in place.” a soldier announced to someone standing behind the tent.
I looked to the tree next to me, it was close enough to jump to. I had to get eyes on him. I pressed my hand firmly against the bark of the tree. I weighed myself down, on the thicker branch, and leaped across. My hands reached the tree, but I slipped. I scuffed my boots on the bark, and grazed my hands. It was nothing. Luckily, I remained unnoticed. I waited for the man to get back up, he was bent over behind the tent, checking the containers. When he stood up, it could easily be seen. The square jaw of a man of stature. The well-combed thin blonde hair, and the same complexion as his father, King Harold. This was Prince Lennart. The younger brother over the present King of Denmark.
“He must be here as an act of espionage.” I muttered.
He had grown so much. He stood perhaps a whole foot higher than his father. “Perhaps, six foot seven. By Thor, he’s practically a giant.”
A soldier approached the tree I was clung to. I was well hidden, and thanks to the leaves, I remained so. I had the information I needed, now I needed to leave…