There was once, in medieval Scandinavia, a Viking warrior named Thrymur. He was the strongest amongst his people. Famous for his fighting ability, as he swung a giant sword that could cut through folk like wheat. Thrymur was by far the most capable warrior at Jarl Bjornsson’s disposal. The Jarl had sent him at the forefront of every single one of his raids across Norway.
For over fifteen years, the three-hundred-and-fifty-pound Thrymur had slashed through all of Bjornsson’s enemies, leaving behind a wake of blood—and the cries of weeping survivors. By his side was his friend Helgi, a shield-maiden as feared in combat as five men combined. Countless soldiers, farmers and villagers fell to their hand. Those left in their wake were consumed by grief and anger, as the soldiers following Thrymur and Helgi looted everything in their path. The civilians were unable to do anything against Jarl Bjornsson’s soldiers, least of all Thrymur or Helgi.
As years of war and pillaging went by, the once bloodthirsty Thrymur who loved fighting with a passion, suddenly grew restless, as his nights became plagued with nightmares. Every night, Thrymur would dream about his victims. Fathers, uncles, nephews, cousins, sons. And the screaming of their families. In Thrymur’s dreams, only his victims varied. Every night, he would see his sword slicing through a poor person’s body, with limbs flying in the air, guts spilled on the ground, and blood all over the floor. And the faces of the families, watching this in horror. Every time he woke up, Thrymur was horrified at what he had done. Not just in his dreams, but in real life.
One night, around a campfire, as the soldiers were on their way to raid another village, and everyone was drinking mead and sharing stories, Thrymur was sitting down, staring into the fire, while Helgi was eating next to him. A half-empty horn of mead in his hand, Thrymur was immobile, lost in his thoughts as everybody else around him was having a good time. All of a sudden, Thrymur threw his mead into the fire, which made it light up that much more, catching everyone off-guard, including Helgi. Then, Thrymur put his head down, and started crying quietly, his body shaking. Helgi noticed it, a look of shock followed by concern on her face. In fifteen years, she never saw her friend break down in such a manner. She turned towards him and put her hand on his shoulder. “What’s wrong?”
Jarl Bjornsson came looking for what happened , only to find his strongest warrior completely broken. “Thrymur? What’s wrong with you? Why the hell are you crying?” Thrymur replied, with tears streaming down his face: “I’m tired. I can’t. I can’t continue going on these raids. Killing all these people. I can’t continue. I keep seeing them. Every night I go to sleep. Every morning when I wake up. I just can’t. I’m done fighting. I’m done”. Shocked by what he just heard, and the scene of his greatest warrior crying in front of his soldiers, Jarl Bjornsson said:
“What the hell is this? You’re becoming soft? You don’t want to raid villages for me no more? Is that what you think you’re doing? I don’t give a shit about your feelings! Get your shit together, and get ready for tomorrow! You’re going to lead my army. I’m tired of Jarl Earnsson thinking he can attack my village and get away with it. Tomorrow morning you’re going to kill him and bring me his head. Do you understand?” Thrymur shook his head and said:
“Go fuck yourself.”
Disgruntled at his warrior disobeying and insulting him in front of his men, Jarl Bjornsson punched Thrymur in the face so hard the giant fell to his side. The Jarl drew his sword and aimed it at Thrymur’s head. He then screamed, both at Thrymur and his soldiers around him: “Who the fuck do you think you are? Try that again one more time, and I will cut your head off!”. As the Jarl turned around and walked back to his tent, Helgi went to sit by Thrymur’s side. “Well, that was embarrassing. Getting caught off-guard right in the jaw by someone you could snap in half without breaking a sweat. Go ahead, tell me. What the hell is going on?”
Thrymur replied: “I’m a monster. And I can’t continue. I tried holding it in. It’s been months. Every time I go to sleep, I keep seeing these villagers in my dreams. I hear their screams, and I feel their despair. It’s horrifying. I don’t know what to do to make it stop.”.
“You already did something”, said Helgi. “You stood up to Jarl Bjornsson. No one had ever done that before you tonight. The only reason he got the upper hand on you is because he struck while you were vulnerable. If that is how you feel inside, you were right to stand up for yourself.”
“I don’t know”, replied Thrymur. “He won’t allow me to stop fighting. I will be cast out from our village, and never be allowed to return, if I refuse to obey him again. There is nothing I can do. It just… It just feels stupid to complain about the things we can’t change.”.
As Thrymur put his head down, feeling defeated, Helgi put her hand on his shoulder, looked at him with a smile, and said: “Who says we can’t?”. Thrymur lifted his head and turned towards her, with a glimmer of hope in his eyes. “How?”
“Look at you!” she said, as she put both her hands on his shoulders. “You’re the strongest warrior all of us have ever seen. And it is clear that as long as Bjornsson is our Jarl, nothing is going to change. We are going to continue to fight wars for him, or be expelled from our community. The only thing you can do is take his place. If you get rid of him, not only do you get control over your destiny, but you would be able to lead our people. I already know you would be a better Jarl than him. Yes, we’re killers. We’ve killed countless villagers who were no soldiers. But if deep down inside, you really want to change, it means that there is still good in you. That you want to be better. And that is what we all need in our community. A leader. Who wants to make better decisions than Jarl Bjornsson. Unfortunately for you, that means that you’re going to have to use your sword. One last time.”.
After a few seconds, Thrymur nodded: “You’re right. Either I condemn myself to exile, or I take his place. There is no other way. I’m not going to continue to do his bidding. Enough!”
Thrymur got up, grabbed his long sword, and headed for Jarl Bjornsson’s tent, in the middle of the camp. As soon as the Jarl saw Thrymur’s menacing face coming towards him with his weapon drawn, he screamed “Thrymur, don’t!” right before Thrymur stabbed him in the gut, lifted him up in the air, and threw his body on the ground. The scream from Jarl Bjornsson was so loud than dozens of soldiers immediately entered the Jarl’s tent. They saw their agonizing leader on the ground, a giant wound in his belly. As Jarl Bjornsson drew his final breath, Thrymur sat on the Jarl’s chair and spoke to his people:
“It is done. Jarl Bjornsson’s reign is over. From now on, I will lead our people as the new Jarl. I will seek peace with the neighboring Jarls. We have focused on war and pillaging for too long. We have everything we need to function as a community. We must focus on our own. Our families. Our farmers. If any of you disagree with my decision, you are free to leave. You will always be welcome, should you change your mind. If you accept me as your Jarl, pack up your belongings. We head back home in the morning.”. A few seconds passed. “Hail Jarl Thrymur!”, cried one, followed by every other Viking in the tent.
Thrymur saw dozens of Vikings raising their horns of mead to his name. His eyes caught Helgi, who was holding two horns full of mead. She handed him one and, with tears of joy, pronounced him their leader.
Thrymur and Helgi drank their mead. “Thank you Helgi. I am glad to have you as a friend. I will do my best to be better than who I was, and take better care of our people.”
Thrymur put his hand on her shoulder. “Now, we must get some sleep. We have a long travel day tomorrow.”
Jarl Thrymur became a strong, wise and respected leader, and his story was passed down from generations, as a reminder that one is always in control of his destiny. Once a broken man, he rejected abject violence for strength and peace, and became better than who he was before, earning a chance at redemption in the eyes of others and more importantly, in his own.
OpenEdition suggests that you cite this post as follows:
robint1 (June 27, 2025). Thrymur the Wise. Mind the Master. Retrieved October 6, 2026 from https://doi.org/10.58079/1484f