Vinland Saga IF – The Tale of the Other Queen, Rím
Rím, the woman who served as King Canute's shadow and devoted everything to him, now gets her own tale, a story that never came to be in the original saga.
Just as he is about to unify England, Canute is poisoned and falls into a deep coma. In her despair, Rím holds onto one secret knowledge: the dream of Vinland, the ideal land that Canute secretly yearned for deep in his heart, a legacy of the man named Askeladd.
"I'll show him Vinland myself!"
With that wild declaration, Rím secretly organ
Vinland Saga IF – The Tale of the Other Queen, Rím - The Fireball Sister Dives into the Sea
The darkness cloaking the river port of the Ouse held its breath.
The pre-dawn air was sharp as a blade, the torchlight along the quay trembling faintly. But that was all. The sailors' bellows that should have echoed at this hour, the creak of ropes under strain—all of it lay still now, dead silent.
A calm.
The stillness before the storm, just as Thorkell had foretold.
On the deck of the *Fimbul*, Rimu gripped the cold railing, her gaze fixed unblinking into the blackness beyond. On her left arm she still wore Sverting's leather bracer—the one she had kept bound there since the night of the fire. Beneath it, the burn throbbed faintly with the tension.
Her heartbeat hammered, loud enough to drown thought.
(*It's finally time.*)
She turned and looked toward the stern, where the one-eyed old man stood. Thorkell Halfblind held up the sunstone that hung from his neck, his remaining right eye swiveling sharply. His mouth twisted into an eerie grin.
"The tide is turning. Now, lass—if we go, we go now."
"…What of Lord Hervor's guards?"
" Heh. Those whelps are shivering from cold and lack of sleep. My whistling kept them up all night, I'd wager."
Thorkell let out a soft, eerie whistle—*fweee*. Alone among them, this old man seemed to be relishing the hellish voyage about to begin.
Rimu looked toward the bow. There stood the giant Sverting Jarnkjaft, arms folded across his chest. His gray eyes reflected the quay's torchlight with a cold gleam. Even in the darkness, the scars covering his entire body stood out starkly.
"We're doing this. Just as planned."
"Please, Sverting."
He answered with a silent nod. His iron jaw clicked faintly.
And then—
Gudrun Halfdan stepped to the prow. Her silver hair was tied back in a single tail, the gold ring on her left hand catching the firelight. She drew an enormous breath, and from the very depths of her indomitable, motherly lungs, she loosed a thunderous roar.
"Move, you fools! Oars in the water! Push off from the quay!"
In that instant—
Fifty sailors who had been lurking in the darkness surged into motion all at once.
*Splash.* Oars plunged into the sea in perfect unison. Muscular arms churned the freezing water into spray as they wrenched the *Fimbul* away from the quay. The movement was impossibly quiet, impossibly fast.
"Wh—stop! Halt, you madmen!"
Lord Hervor's guards, who had been dozing on the quay, scrambled to their feet. Too late. Sverting vaulted down the gangplank in a single bound, his enormous frame landing on the stone.
"Out of my way."
One of the guards raised a spear with trembling hands.
Sverting caught it casually with his left hand.
*—CRACK.*
The shaft snapped like a dry twig. The guard's face twisted in terror.
"Wh-what the hell is he…?!"
"I'll kill you."
Sverting said nothing more. He simply swung his fist.
A dull *thud*. The first guard went flying, crashing into the second. The third collapsed on the spot, his legs giving out beneath him. Sverting's gray eyes gleamed like a bird of prey.
"Anyone. Come at me."
The guards scattered like startled spiders. Not one of them dared advance on the iron-jawed giant.
In that opening—
"Now! Raise the sail!"
On the deck, Rimu hauled on the ropes herself, spreading the sail. The burn on her arm screamed in protest, but she had no time to care. Gudrun seized the tiller, and the bow slowly swung toward the open sea.
The *Fimbul* pulled fully away from the quay.
For just a moment, Rimu looked down toward the ship's hold. There, lying on a suspended cot, was Canute. Her everything. The one person in this world worth staking her life on.
"…Let's go, my king."
A smile touched her lips for the first time. In place of tears, it was a faint smile—but an unmistakable one.
—But then.
"Fireball Sis! Ship shadows! Five warships in pursuit!"
A sailor shouted from the lookout post.
Deep in the harbor, the shadows of warships scrambling to set sail were visible. Lord Hervor's final contingency. With this wind, they wouldn't pose much of a chase. But even so—if five warships managed to surround them, the *Fimbul* wouldn't stand a chance.
"Thorkell! What's your read?!"
"…It's coming."
Thorkell raised his right hand to the sky. Only his blue right eye gleamed with an eerie light.
"The sea is calling me. …It's coming! Everyone, grab hold of something!"
In that instant—
*—Fweeeeeeeeeeeeeeee.*
Thorkell whistled.
It was the storm-calling whistle, forbidden among sailors. The mad sound that must never, under any circumstances, be blown aboard a ship.
The air itself trembled.
And then—
*CRACK-BOOM—!!!*
The sky split open.
Lightning bleached the sea of black clouds white in an instant. At the same moment, it struck one of the warships' masts directly, scattering sparks and setting the deck ablaze.
"G-gyaaaaaah!!"
"The rudder's useless! The squall's driving us back into the quay!"
All five warships slammed into the piers simultaneously. The roar of splintering timber. Masts snapping. Shouts of chaos and screams of terror echoed across the harbor. But the wind and thunder drowned it all out with overwhelming force.
"Gahahahaha! I didn't call it! The storm called me!"
Thorkell laughed aloud for the first time, there in the heart of the gale. The only time he ever laughed was when he stood at the prow in a storm, reading the waves. Rain soaked his clouded left eye; his braided white hair danced in the wind. He feared the sea, certainly—but he loved it even more.
The squall swallowed the port of Jorvik entirely.
The *Fimbul* caught the wind and rounded the headland. The warships were in no condition to pursue now.
Standing on the deck, breathing hard, Rimu gazed at the harbor of her homeland receding into the distance.
(*We did it… we really got away.*)
But—
—That was when it happened.
In the shadow of the stern's mainmast, a man grinned. Lean, with a smirk plastered across his face. The spy, Rorik.
"Heh heh… this ain't over yet."
The dagger in his hand glinted in the squall's faint firelight. His target: the sail's main rope. One slash, and the mast's sail would lose all control—turning the ship to sea-foam in the heart of the storm.
He crept swiftly toward the rope.
—But.
"That's far enough."
From behind, an arm like a boulder shot out and seized Rorik by the throat.
Sverting. He had been watching Rimu more closely than anyone. He had predicted the spy would make his move at this very last moment.
"Gah—!"
Sverting's expressionless face loomed over Rorik. His iron jaw gleamed coldly.
"Jump into the sea. Right now."
But even in his grip, Rorik laughed. A sickening, broken cackle.
"Heh heh, gahahahaha! Fine, I'll jump! But listen here, Iron Jaw—tell Fireball Sis this! There's still more of us on this ship! Our comrades will send you all to the bottom for sure! You'll never lay eyes on Vinland!"
"…What?"
Rimu's face went rigid.
"Farewell, Fireball Sis! I'll see you at the bottom of the sea!"
Rorik wrenched himself free of Sverting's arm and hurled himself into the raging black waters.
The small *splash* was swallowed by the thunder, unheard by anyone.
"…More of them, still aboard?"
Sverting muttered in a low growl. He picked up the dagger that had fallen to the deck and crushed it in his grip.
Rimu clutched her own arm with cold fingers.
(*A traitor… still on the ship?*)
They had finally escaped. Finally glimpsed hope. —And yet, the terror was not over. An unseen enemy still lurked somewhere on this sea. That fact sent cold sweat trailing down her spine.
But.
Her eyes were not dead yet.
—How much time had passed?
The squall passed on, and through a break in the clouds, the morning sun began to dye the *Fimbul*'s sail in gold.
Having weathered the storm, the ship now sat in the middle of the open North Sea. The sky was blue, the wind calm. A beautiful dawn, as if the previous night's hell had been a lie.
With Sverting and Gudrun's help, Rimu gathered the entire crew on the deck.
Fifty rough, hardened men. They had all been drawn by coin at first, then lost their nerve along the way—some had even fled. Yet those who remained here now were the ones who had followed Rimu's mad voyage to the end. They all stared at her with unease plain on their faces.
Rimu drew a deep breath.
"Everyone. Listen."
Her voice carried strangely well across the calm sea.
"Just now, one spy vanished from among us. He said there are still more of his comrades on this ship. That they're here to send us all to the bottom of the sea."
A murmur rippled through the crew. They began eyeing each other with suspicion.
"But none of that matters."
Rimu spoke with absolute finality.
"I choose to believe in all of you. Whoever the traitor may be, I will still believe you are my comrades. Because—"
She looked down toward the ship's hold.
"This is not a voyage to go and die. It's a voyage to show *him* Vinland. I will not let any of you die. I swear—every single one of us will return here. I promise you that."
Silence.
And then—
"…Sis!"
One young sailor shouted, tears in his eyes.
"Fireball Sis! Fireball Sis!"
All fifty rough men began stomping their feet in unison. A thunderous *BOOM-BOOM-BOOM* shook the entire deck. It was a cheer. A battle hymn of men who had sworn they would die for this woman.
Sverting's mouth twisted for the first time. It was a faint smile—but unmistakable.
"…Good grief. What a woman."
Gudrun let out a booming laugh.
"You crazy girl! You telling me you're gonna make me rich all over again?! Business aside—I gotta hand it to you!"
Rimu felt heat prickling at the corners of her eyes.
(*This is my ship. My crew.*)
Swallowing a sob, she lifted her face toward the morning sun, shining like the first star of evening.
—A short while later.
The cheering had died down, and the ship settled into steady sailing.
Gudrun descended the stairs to the hold alone. She had gone to check on Canute's quarters—a thoughtful gesture, meaning to see if Rimu needed anything.
But the sight through the gap in the door stopped her in her tracks.
Rimu was there.
She was gently clasping Canute's pale hand in both of hers as he lay on the suspended cot. Tears traced down her cheeks. The brave smile she had worn on deck just moments ago was gone now.
"…We did it, my king. We finally set sail. We outwitted that rotten eagle and made it to the open sea."
Her voice trembled. It was a woman's confession to the man she loved.
"I'm still terrified of so many things. I still don't know who's a friend and who's an enemy. …But I—I will absolutely take you to that place. To the Vinland he dreamed of. And then, I know you'll open your eyes. I believe that with all my heart."
Gudrun quietly withdrew.
"…Best not to interrupt."
As she climbed the stairs, she gazed at the gold ring on her left hand. A keepsake from her dead husband. She had lost both her husband and her son to the sea. On that winter storm day, they had simply gone out as merchants—for their family's sake.
"…You're the same, aren't you. Risking your life for the man you love. What a fool of a woman. But…"
She held back tears and smiled.
"I can't just leave a fool like that alone. It's in my nature."
—Meanwhile, at that very moment.
The port of Jorvik. The squall had passed, and the wreckage of the devastated warships lay sinking into the mud of the River Ouse.
On the quay, a single old nobleman stood surveying the ruin.
Hervor Thorsteinson. His gold hair, just beginning to whiten, was immaculately braided. His cold blue-gray eyes stared out beyond the horizon. Each time he spoke, the eagle-feather ornament on his pauldron quivered faintly.
On his hand perched a carrier pigeon. Tied to its leg was a small scrap of parchment, scrawled with Rorik's final report.
*Still have comrades aboard. Will sink them without fail.*
"…Go, then, Fireball Sis—or whatever you call yourself. But before you ever reach Vinland, you will be sunk. Canut
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