#thralldom

They might though I doubt their valley can sustain the additional numbers.

There are a lot of ideas and concepts from Theodism that I fervently wish would disappear. Among them are Gods of Limited Access, a subject I covered at length here. I have recently come across another which has gained traction, and again, I have been alerted to this trend through TikTok. If you are looking for some background on Theodism I highly recommend these episodes, Episode 22 here and…

The Iron Islands have a population of around 1.5 million.

Finally it’s here, Anon. You get a Nordic mythology Viking AU because my Magical Girl-expert (Kyuko) said it was okay and I really wanted to write Viking AU

Warnings: Slavery/thralldom

Bingo-requests are still open!

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The forest was quiet, the only sound the rustling of the wind through the trees and his footsteps on the small path. The firs and pines blocked out all sunlight, surrounding him with darkness. A crow cawed. Sans twitched, glancing up to see it take flight. Sweeping his coat closed, he continued forward, deeper into the forest. In toward the best trees. Snow creaked beneath his feet with every step, and every breath laid like a cloud around him. The sound of a twig breaking came from inside the trees, and he quickly turned to see, his soul skipping a beat. Nothing. At least it didn’t look like it. It could’ve been an animal. And it could’ve been one of the Underwordly.

This was their part of the forest, far away from the settlements. Sans would’ve never ventured this far into it voluntarily, but the master had wanted the most beautiful Midwinter tree. Shivering in the cold, he continued forward, squeezing the axe swung over his shoulder hard.

Back home, a warm fire would wait. Hopefully he’d come home in time for supper, too. The warmth of the langhouse had rarely seemed so inviting, despite him no longer being able to see it. He flexed the fingers of his free hand in his pocket, breathing out. Vapor rose toward the pine crowns high above. More creaking. Freezing mid-step, Sans spied into the cluster of firs, swallowing. Yeah, that didn’t come from him. Still, nothing else came. Only silence.

Probably just a deer.

His soul pounded in his chest as he nodded to himself, forcing himself to continue forward. As tempted as he was to just turn around and leave for home, he couldn’t. Undoubtedly, someone would figure out he’d disobeyed orders, and that never ended well. Sure, they had to be careful, what with his low HP and all, but that didn’t mean it couldn’t be painful as all Hel. He’d rather take his chances with the Underwordly.

Sans sighed in relief as he finally reached the fir clung. These were the prettiest trees in the forest, and rarely did anyone dare cut them down. This was the forest roe’s territory, they said. Full of trolls, others said. Some even claimed the elves danced here, though Sans couldn’t see how that’d be possible. There wasn’t enough place for a ring dance, and anyway, the elves preferred misty meadows and glens.

It wasn’t strange they’d chosen to send a thrall instead of a free person, no matter which of the rumours were true, or even if none were. Glancing over the trees, he chose one of reasonable size. He would have to carry it back through the forest, after all, without making it any less pretty. It would’ve been easier if he hadn’t been alone, but everyone in the settlement was busy preparing for Midwinter. Taking a deep breath, he made his way over. He waded through the waist deep snow and began digging out the trunk of the fir. As he was brushing off the snow around him, a voice came from behind.

“You’re brave, venturing this far into the forest.”

For a moment, he stood frozen before twisting around. Cold sweat dripped down his neck. By Frey, who the fuck would be this far out in the forest? His eyes caught on another skeleton. He was standing in the path through the snow Sans had made, coming here. Dressed in a dark blue dress, a fur mantle, and adorned with pearls and bronze, he looked on par with the king in riches. His mouth dried up when a white tail stuck out beneath the skirt.

“My lord,” he croaked, bowing deeply. Forest roe. The roe chuckled, stepping forward. He grabbed his jaw, forcing Sans to meet his gaze. Purple eyelights burned brightly with obvious power. His bones were tinted green, and his teeth looked sharp enough to kill. Elegantly curved antlers protruded from his skull. Sans swallowed again, hunching his shoulders as he obediently held the other’s gaze. “Your skirt does not cover quite everything.”

Raising an eyebrow, the roe glanced down, and hummed. The tail swept in beneath the skirt, now hidden. “Thank you,” he said. “What are you doing so far away from your mortal settlements?”

He grinned, and Sans wasn’t sure which was more overwhelming; how intimidating or how beautiful it was. Around them, the forest seemed to grow thicker, darker. The little sunlight which had found its way through the pine crowns disappeared, until Sans felt like he couldn’t breathe.

“My master wanted me to get one of the pines for Midwinter, my lord,” he replied. Was it really a good idea to mention that? It was to ward away the Underwordly, after all. But lying seemed stupid. Suddenly, the light seemed to return to the grove.

The roe nodded. He pointed at one of the trees. “Take that one. It’ll stand the longest.”

Blinking, Sans straightened his back. The roe stared at him expectantly, and after a moment of hesitance, Sans grinned at them, even as he could feel his legs trembling. Dear Yggdrasil. “Thanks, my lord.”

Feeling the roe’s gaze on his back, he backed a few steps before approaching the fir tree. It was indeed a beautiful one, luscious and thick, and its needles the greenest green. Doing his best to ignore the way the roe’s eyes seemed to burn through his thick coat, Sans cleaned up the snow around the trunk. He hoisted the axe from his shoulder, and began chopping. The sound echoed through the forest. The pine fell with a crash. Sans hissed as the needles scratched his bones.

Loud steps from behind made him twist around, and his eyes widened as he found himself face to face with a moose. Its antlers were enormous, reaching toward the tree tops, and is snorted. Vapor stood in clouds around its muzzle. Gaping, Sans looked toward the roe who grinned at him.

“You’re polite. I appreciate that,” the roe said, waving their hand. The moose turned around, revealing that it was wearing a rope harness. “Tie up your tree, I’m helping you get it home. Hurry up, before I change my mind.”

Nodding quickly, Sans hurried to tie up the pine in the ropes. The roe watched him, he could feel it, but when he turned around to see he was gone. No longer standing where he had been just a minute before. A loud chuckle made him look up. Oh. The roe was sitting in side-saddle over the moose’s back. The roe held out his hand toward Sans. “Get up. Walking goes too slow in this snow.”

“Heh,” Sans replied, grinning nervously. He rubbed his neck. “I’d rather…. Not. If that’s alright.”

“It is not.” Suddenly, the moose folded its legs beneath it, lying down. “Up.”

Feeling his soul pound nervously, Sans slowly approached. There was not really anything to do but obey lest he wanted to get on the bad side of the roe. Which he really didn’t. He treasured his sanity. Taking the roe’s hand, he allowed himself to be pulled up in the moose’s back, yelping as it stood again. He instinctually clung onto the roe, who was sitting steadily, despite being in side-saddle. He, who was straddling the moose, felt like he was going to fall off.

“So, you may call me Razz,” the roe said as the moose began to walk, rocking beneath them. Sans held tightly onto its rough fur. Since he was a thrall, he’d never been on a horse, and a moose was a long step away from even a horse. Razz. Hardly the roe’s real name, giving that out would be stupid.

“C-Comic,” Sans stuttered out, giving the name his and Papyrus’ mother had told them to give, did they ever meet the Underwordly. His teeth had begun to chatter now when the adrenaline was leaving his body. Suddenly he appreciated the moose, the body warmth coming from it helped fight off the cold. “My lord.”

From the worldbook:

Thralldom was a common practice amongst the First Men during their long dominion over Westeros—further support for the ironborn having descended from the First Men.   

Further, thralldom should not be conflated with chattel slavery as it exists in certain of the Free Cities and lands farther east. 

When King Theon III Greyjoy sailed against them, he was defeated and slain by Lord Lymond Hightower, the Sea Lion, who revived the practice of thralldom in Oldtown just long enough to set the ironmen captured during the battle to hard labor strengthening the city’s walls.   

Modern Westerosi might view the practice as a barbaric throwback to an earlier, less-civilized time, but it is different from chattel slavery.

Thanks for the question, Anon.

No. Thralldom is a type of involuntary servitude, a state forced into after capture. The Iron Islands and the ironborn, at the start of the series, are in a feudal relationship with the Iron Throne. Feudalism is a land-for-service type relationship, where an overlord allots a certain portion of land in exchange for military service and other obligations as stipulated in a feudal contract. Typical terms usually involve an assessment of taxes along a certain fee structure and service of a certain number of troops for a portion of time, all outlined in the contract.

Thanks for the question, Anon.