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Af Vinland



Foreword

Greenland was green, once. Home to thousands of Norse and Icelanders, Greenland was once home of the exiled Eirik the Red, and barley was farmed as far north as the 90th Parallel. It was from this host that several hundred would eventually travel to Newfoundland and Canada - tracing the top of the globe toward the habitable L'anse Aux Meadows, home to the only archaeological site of Norse colonization in America.

Though the site failed, according to the saga of Eirik the Red, due to the madness of a bull threatening the natives into repeated attacks on the settlement, this did not have to be the end. It wasn't - not really - there's evidence of continued contact from the time of L'anse (950 - 1050 CE, with it most likely being in the 1010-later range.) to as late as the 1300s for timber runs to Markland, OTL Newfoundland.

It's always been my idea for a TL involving Norse colonization, which I tried once in the Tamed Bull. I found myself losing scope a bit, getting too bogged down in people, places, things - and for that, I hope to regain focus in this new tale. Af Vinland. I fully admit, at start, that I am no expert in the Norse language. Nor Swedish. Nor Norwegian. I don't know as much about Norse culture as I'd like. Much of it comes from Crusader Kings, which is such a beautiful repository of historicity.

Still, I think this is worth writing. It may be a bit fanciful. It certainly won't be completely realistic, but what TL is? Reality isn't.

The story begins with this premise: with cold winds rising in the year ~1100, during a harsh winter, a large group of ~500 Norsemen and women set out on sixteen ships from western Greenland, organized by a local clansman - young, charismatic, named Arvid. His father was one of the few born at L'anse, and he grew up on stories of the butternuts and wild grapes.

He is Arvid Asmundsson Af Vinland.

This is his saga.

==

The Saga of Arvid Asmundsson

The snows had grown cold that year. Colder than they had ever before. Under the wood tree where the children played stickball, wearing coats with lightning bolts and feathers stitched to them. Long had they trialed one another, one prevailing, one not. All the while, their fathers knew the truth. The game had to end eventually.

In the land that was once green, there would be little food. The harvest was weak. Many had grown old. Come winter there'd be fewer grains and more mouths to feed with them. The time of the Greenland was coming to a close. Iceland was too far east, and full enough as it was. Return to Norway? A long sail, one fraught with danger, and no guarantee of food or good conduct. The King was not a charity. He had wars to win, women to woo, his wife to spurn as she grew fat from babe and bread. For those that lived on the western isle, the future looked darker than ever.

The good Bishop Hjalmar Ragnarsson had ruled de facto, if not de jure. Few called any man Jarl in Greenland, but all answered to god. Few followed the old faiths - though they were there. Butchered rabbits in the night weren't uncommon, and the priests dared not lose followers with admonishment. They knew dues would come in heaven. God understood.

For Hjalmar, though, he knew naught what to do. He could appeal to the Pope - to the Archbishops. None would help. He could not demand food. He could not advocate the murder of the old and infirm. It was against god's will. He prayed nightly for salvation, eating little for his frail figure. On long walks through the empty fields, he could find no respite. His nights had little rest.

Until he called at a small hamlet by the western sea - one of those furthest from them all. The home of Arvid Asmundsson, who was a gentle man. He kept to himself. Visited church once in three sundays, when he had time and energy to. A cross was nailed above his door - the thatch of his home hiding a family of five. His wife and four children - all daughters. The eldest walked like a man*, carried an axe at her side, and trod the fields with her father.

Hjalmar knew not what to make of that. He broke bread with Arvid under a tree planted in his yard - a great one, one that dropped tasty nuts that tasted like butter. He claimed it had been his father's - a last memory of an old home. One he'd barely seen.

For Hjalmar, it was inspiration. Moses had fled across water. Though he could not split the sea, god had given the people of Greenland something else - ships. With effort, he gathered many priests - told them to preach of the virtues of travel and escape. He needed to gather the flock, and first he called once more on Arvid - asking him to lead an expedition ahead of the rest. Arvid was no expert sailor, but Hjalmar had the ear of every great trader in western Greenland, and for that he was thankful to god.

Hjalmar gathered a longship's captain and crew, giving Arvid the command. Nominally. His daughter, Freya Arvidsdottir, came with him - leaving his wife and other daughters to tend to his lands. The Bishop promised to watch over them. With that, at the cusp of 1100 AD, he set off with thirty men aboard a ship - sailing south towards what was once known as Markland - where his forefather's home was once located. A calm journey for such a harsh fall, he arrived at the site to find it overrun by natives. Hostile bowfire waved them away - and they threaded a gap between two coastlines into a great bay. After some sailing, the bay gave way to a flowing river, where they anchored (OTL mouth of the Saguenay River).

The locals were less present here, though not absent. They were far less hostile - reacting only with curiosity and good friendliness once weapons were doffed. Though they respected the danger of steel, once they saw a sailor chop a tree down with several swings - trading began in earnest. Steel weapons for various valuables, plus a horridly communicated intent to return. They seemed vigorous in their want to have it happen.

As soon as they'd arrived, the Norse had left - making friends and allies among the tribe. Arvid and his daughter returned post haste - informing the Bishop of the new and irreligious masses beyond the sea. With haste, he began disseminating word, hoping many would be willing to travel the distance. In all, sixteen captains were willing to set their sails for Arvid's new destination. Over four hundred responded - many young and willing to give up their roots. The old and the stubborn stayed. Stayed to die. The Bishop packed up his church and valuables - taking the second ship into sea. Other churches left as well, leaving perhaps a dozen to govern those that remained.

Hjalmar would create another Bishop, as was with his authority, leaving those beyond to be ordained by Eirik af Island. He came from Iceland, and was strong in his faith. Stubborn, too - perfect for those that would not leave.

As such, the sixteen ships - split between seven hundred passengers - set off. They'd lose two in the transit, and a further third floundered on the rocks (with the crew survived) leaving thirteen ships to land at the site Arvid had selected. The natives were ecstatic as hundreds disgorged onto the beaches, finding empty woods to build a half-dozen villages in by the dark of winter. Much food had come with - but the first winter would be scarce. Bishop Hjalmar was struck with a terrible fever, and threw fits regularly that god had abandoned him while in his terrible dreams.

Many turned to Arvid in this darkness. Calm and collected, he followed his forefathers' legends, gathering treenuts that'd fallen, and trading for food with church valuables and other items of importance. Despite starvation, over five hundred survived the winter. Planting in the spring among various fields, along with continued construction, gave great purpose to those that remained.

Communication grew with the locals, calling themselves the Ituwak. Friendlier than most of their ilk, the Ituwak quickly became a part of the dozen settlements clustered around the central site - a hastily forged port called Styriborg. Named for the rudder of a ship, Styriborg, at the mouth of both the Quebec City river and Saguenay River, was a central site to start colonization.

Arvid and his family did not know it.

But all was not perfect. Many local tribes aside from the Ituwak* were hostile. Mass cutting of lumber and hunting of animals left a bad taste in their mouth - and the first hostilities began in the winter of 1102. Raids burned settlements on both sides, leaving stretches of forest in ash. Armed with steel and leather armor, the Norsemen were more skilled and equipped at arms. This did not make them winners. The natives knew their land, knew how to maneuver in it, and many died in those first years.

With blood in the snow, the Norse had fled Greenland.

==​

*1= There's some debate as to the prevalence of shieldmaidens and the state of women under the Norse. It's clear that some women did fight/bear male duties, especially widows, but not that it was common or indeed regular. For a small isolated society of Greenlander Norse, it would likely be more prevalent. Less society, less control.

*2= A fictional subtribe of the Innu peoples of Quebec. Many tribes and other groups went extinct in the great disease epidemics that predated most arrivals to the region. It's just a name, don't read too far into it.
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