Winter broke with blood on the wind.
Ivar the Boneless had sent his heralds south and east — not to parley, but to warn. Villages from Lindsey to the Fens burned in his name. His ships, black-sailed and silent, slipped through the mists like carrion birds seeking the scent of weakness.
Eadric's spies brought grim tidings to Thetford:
"The warlord marches. He calls his banners the Uniting — Norse and Dane, Saxon traitors, and outlaws alike."
The hall buzzed with unease. Thanes muttered prayers, others curses.
Eadric stood at the map table, his hand resting over the coastline of East Anglia — red wax markers crowding the shores like drops of blood.
"He builds an empire of ashes," Eadric said. "And Rollo fans the flame."
✠ Rollo's Game
Across the sea in Rouen, Rollo's ambitions took quieter form.
He sent two envoys — one to Ivar, one to Eadric — their messages written in the same hand, sealed with the same crest.
To Ivar, he promised patience:
"Strike hard, but not too soon. Let them tear each other apart, and when they tire, the crown will fall to us."
To Eadric, he offered flattery and counsel:
"My brother means to bind England under his sword. Yet should he fall, you may be the one to raise it again — as friend to Francia, and heir to the Saxon blood."
Eadric read it in silence, his jaw tightening.
He knew Rollo's craft — the smile that hid the knife.
"He sends words like fishermen cast nets," Eadric muttered. "Whichever king swims nearest, he means to catch."
Æthelswith frowned.
"Then break the net," she said.
Eadric smiled faintly. "Aye. But not before I see what else swims within it."
✠ The Raids Begin
By spring's thaw, Ivar's coastal campaign had begun.
Dunwich burned first — its harbor choked with wreckage, its watchtower felled.
Then Orford, then Ipswich.
The Norse struck fast and vanished faster, taking cattle, gold, and souls in equal measure.
Eadric's men rode to meet them where they could — but they were too few.
For each ship they burned, two more appeared beyond the mist.
When Edward heard of the raids, his council urged caution.
"Let the sea kings take their vengeance on East Anglia," said one ealdorman.
"Their fury will burn out before it reaches Wessex."
But Edward's pride would not let him stay idle.
He sent messengers north to Eadric with an offer that was not an offer at all:
"Wessex shall lend aid — if East Anglia swears its banners beneath my crown."
Eadric tore the seal in half.
"England's unity will not be bought with chains," he said. "Tell Edward that East Anglia stands, even if alone."
✠ The Frankish Aid
It was not long before sails appeared on the horizon — white and gold, bearing the lilies of Francia.
The King of Francia had honored his word.
But where Eadric hoped for armies, only a handful of ships came — enough for a gesture, not salvation.
"Too few," murmured Eadric's captain, Oswin.
"Aye," Eadric said. "But perhaps enough to remind the world that East Anglia is not yet alone."
He met the Frankish commander — a grizzled knight who knelt with surprising warmth.
"My king sends his love, and his sword if you'll have it," the knight said.
"Tell him," Eadric replied, "that his son fights still, and will make him proud."
✠ The Gathering Storm
By midsummer, the coast was lost.
Ivar had taken Dunwich as his seat, fortifying it with the timbers of burned ships and the bones of Saxons.
He called it New Jorvik, and from its walls his banners of black and red fluttered against the sea wind.
Across the narrow sea, Rollo watched — silent, patient, waiting to see which king would rise and which would drown.
And in Winchester, Edward gathered his council.
"If East Anglia falls," he said, "the wolves will come for Wessex next.
We will meet them on their own ground — not as saviors, but as kings."
✠ The Ending Shadow
The final tidings came one gray dawn.
From the tower of Orford, a messenger rode through rain and ash, his horse foaming, his face pale as wax.
He fell to his knees before Eadric's high seat.
"My lord — Rollo's fleet! It sails for the east! The banners— we could not tell— they are—"
He never finished.
Outside, the horns began to sound.
Eadric stepped from the hall and looked to the sea.
Through the storm haze, black sails and white crossed each other — Rollo's sigil blurred by smoke.
Friend or foe, no man could tell.
"So it begins," Eadric said softly.
"The war of oaths."