Trondelag. September, A.D. 934
On the fifteenth evening of their journey northward, the thin, gray coastline of the Northern kingdom finally appeared.
As Hakon gazed upon it in the twilight, he was not sure whether to feel relief at having survived the harrowing voyage, or apprehension for the new life into which he now sailed. He relished the thought of climbing from the cold, wet, rolling deck that had been his home for more than half a moon. The thought of a dry bed, a warm fire, and something other than soggy food was almost too wonderful to bear. As was the notion that soon he would not have to face the frightening sea any longer.
But on a deeper level, he feared the very idea of arrival, for as soon as he arrived, he would be expected to act like the king he was to become—to make
