It was the third of October, 878. The 46-year-old Þórólfr had sailed long to the remote Faeroe Islands to meet with the reclusive Chief Sæmundr, another subject of Haraldr Fairhair's conquests who desired freedom. Present at this auspicious council as well was Viotto of Kemi, a Finnish chieftain and supposed sorcerer whose lands had come under the Norse petty king's heel. With a pact signed in blood, they arrayed their forces to break the Yngling's grasp on the North. 40 ships set sail at dawn.
The War of Independence was fast and brutal, culminating with the decisive Battle of Iveland on January 20, 879. Haraldr's main host was dealt a crushing blow by Þórólfr, leaving less than 400 Yngling men to retreat to safety, while some 1100 Norldlanders remained to take up the assault on Fairhair's hall at Akershus. Noting his cousin's weakness, Rögnvaldr Yngling raised his own banners in rebellion shortly after the battle to claim Ostlandet as his own. The freedom fighters were unsure whether to consider him friend or foe.
On March 16, 880, the town of Oslo, Haraldr's last bastion, fell to Þórólfr's personal warband. He had the Yngling brought before him and cast to the ground, holding a long, sharp blade to his throat. The victorious chieftain threatened to make him swallow one inch of steel for each of the 13 years that his treacherous oppression bound honorable Norsemen to his unwilling service, but ultimately left him in the mud, disgusted, insisting that death by the sword would be too good a death for such a snake.
At last, I have my independence, and soon (with a bit more gold) will be able to declare myself a Petty King. For now, the conflict with the Ynglings is still on my mind. Haraldr has squashed his cousin's rebellion, and will no doubt be racing me to subjugate the few, remaining independent chieftains in Norway. Only one of us can be the One, True King...