Here is scene 2 of my script expansion. See my earlier post for the opening scene, and in that one there’s also a link to the original image prompt which inspired it. Comments and feedback are appreciated.
EXT. – VILLAGE DOCKS – MORNING
Aethlan is awake as he is pushed forward from the gangway of the ship. He glances around as he follows after Orsir.
ORSIR: (Quietly, to Aethlan) Head down.
Aethlan’s eyes immediately dart down.
He and Orsir make their way into the village – Ravenhollow.
INT. – RAVENHOLLOW – SAME TIME
The village is large, and full of small wooden cottages. It is situated between the shadow of two large peaks. True to its name, ravens perch on many of the homes, and some even walk the plain, dirt streets in search of food.
ORSIR: This is Ravenhollow, in your tongue, boy.
Aethlan pauses to look at a raven pecking for food on the ground.
ORSIR: Harm the ravens here, and either they or we will harm you.
The raven turns its head to one side at Aethlan, who moves on along with Orsir.
Atop a small hill is a larger, wider dwelling.
ORSIR: That is the Mead Hall. Do not enter without my permission.
They continue on.
To the right of the Mead Hall is a house slightly larger than all the rest.
ORSIR: That is the home of Vamni – Chief of this village.
Aethlan looks at the mark on Orsir’s neck more closely; in the daylight it is clear – the mark is a branding of some kind. The symbol is of a Norse rune.
Orsir leads Aethlan to the left of the Mead Hall, to a house almost the size of Vamni’s dwelling – but not quite.
EXT. – ORSIR’S HOME – MORNING
Aethlan stops short when Orsir does, just outside the door of the home.
Orsir turns round and looks at Aethlan.
ORSIR: This is my home. It is yours now, too.
Orsir leads Aethlan inside…
INT. – ORSIR’S HOME – SAME TIME
Aethlan looks around at his new surroundings; the home is a single-storey, with the main room being an open space. There is a table with a few chairs around it. Oil lamps are placed on smaller tables, or set upon a windowsill.
Behind and to the left of the main room is another room with a curtain drawn over it as a door. There is another such room behind and to the right of the main room.
AETHLAN: Where will I sleep, sir?
Orsir points to the open space in one corner of the main room. There is a pile of furs and quilts on the floor.
ORSIR: There. For food you will eat when we eat.
AETHLAN: When do you eat?
Just then, SIGRUN, Orsir’s twelve-year-old daughter, enters from her room. She pulls back the curtain from the room to the right of the main room.
Sigrun looks at her father, then considers Aethlan for a moment.
SIGRUN (IN OLD NORSE) : Is he from the raid, Father?
ORSIR (IN OLD NORSE) : He is.
Aethlan watches them and tries to parse out what they are saying.
Sigrun notices this; she points at him and laughs.
Aethlan glares at her.
AETHLAN: I don’t need to know Norse-talk to understand that!
Orsir WHIRLS round at him.
ORSIR: Speak to my daughter that way again, and you’ll wish I had thrown you to the sea!
Aethlan shuts his mouth.
Sigrun’s jeering stops just as quickly; she offers him an apologetic glance, but Aethlan keeps his eyes pointed downward.
AETHLAN: Yes, sir.
ORSIR: This is Sigrun. Treat her well.
Aethlan nods.
Sigrun asks her father something in Old Norse.
ORSIR: Speak your name to her, boy.
A small surge of courage wells up within Aethlan.
AETHLAN: I will not.
Orsir glares at him and steps forward, looming over him.
ORSIR: Speak your name!
Aethlan looks directly at Orsir.
AETHLAN: I WILL NOT!
Orsir STRIKES Aethlan. The boy falls to the ground, and Orsir pulls his head up by his hair to look him in the eye.
ORSIR: You will learn to obey my orders, boy – or else the Chief will decide your fate.
Tears streak Aethlan’s face, but his eyes remain defiant.
Orsir lets go of him and heads for the door. He looks at Sigrun.
ORSIR: I will go and see to the rest of the cargo – keep the boy here…
He glances at Aethlan.
ORSIR (IN OLD NORSE) : Make him talk, if you can.
Sigrun nods, but it is clear she is unsure of what exactly to think. She looks at Aethlan.
Orsir walks out the door.
As soon as he has gone, Sigrun kneels down beside Aethlan. She tries to touch his hair, but he flinches and backs away.
AETHLAN: Don’t touch me!
Sigrun looks at him carefully. She visibly struggles to think of the words in his language…
SIGRUN (Pointing to herself) : I…
She pauses.
She puts her hands together in a mimic of a handshake.
SIGRUN (IN OLD NORSE) : Friend.
She offers her hand to Aethlan.
Aethlan looks at her. His eyes dart to her hand. Slowly he reaches out his own…
AETHLAN: You… want to shake my hand? I’ve not seen a Norseman do that…
Their hands finally touch, and Sigrun shakes Aethlan’s a little bit.
AETHLAN: Your father knows my language. Did he teach you some?
Sigrun turns her head to one side.
AETHLAN (Pointing to his throat) : Speech… uh…
(Pointing to his chest) Mine?
Sigrun bursts out laughing at him, but nods.
SIGRUN: Yes, yes, a little.
For the first time, Aethlan looks relieved.
AETHLAN: You do? Thank God… someone to talk to that won’t hit me or try to throw me into the ocean!
Sigrun points to her ears.
SIGRUN: Know.
(Pointing to her throat)
Little speak.
Aethlan nods, and understands.
AETHLAN: You understand… more or less, what I’m saying. But you don’t speak it very well?
Sigrun nods.
AETHLAN: Can you write?
SIGRUN: Rune, yes. Raid-lands? No.
AETHLAN: Raid-lands? You mean my home?
Sigrun’s jovial demeanor shrinks somewhat; she appears not to have considered it to be Aethlan’s home.
Aethlan notices this. He looks around.
AETHLAN (Mimicking writing on his own hand) : Do you have… a quill? Something to write with?
Sigrun thinks for a moment, then nods. Her cheerful demeanor returns just as quick as it faded, and she jumps up and bounds off to find a writing implement.
Aethlan has time to look around the house for a few moments before Sigrun returns with a piece of parchment, a quill made from a raven’s feather, and a small container of black ink.
Aethlan takes the quill and dips it into the inkwell. He begins to write in large, slow letters…
AETHLAN: B… R… I… T… A… I… N. Britain. My home.
Sigrun looks at the letters.
SIGRUN: Bri-tain?
AETHLAN: That’s right.
He looks at her for a moment, then offers her the quill.
AETHLAN: Write yours. In Norse-runes. Orsir told me the name in my own tongue – this will be a good way to learn.
Sigrun gives him a confused look.
SIGRUN: Learn?
AETHLAN: Why shouldn’t I?
SIGRUN: Should, yes – but… to learn… is fun?
She shakes her head, but takes the quill all the same.
SIGRUN (While writing) : To learn runes, not fun…
Slowly she writes out the word “Ravenhollow” in Old Norse runes. When she finishes, she smiles a little at her work.
Aethlan looks over the runes carefully.
AETHLAN: Thank you, Sigrun –
Sigrun’s ears perk up as she recognizes her name.
AETHLAN: If I’m to survive here, I ought to know how to read at least.
SIGRUN: What… are you called?
AETHLAN: Why do you want to know?
SIGRUN: Just name… why not speak?
AETHLAN: It’s not just a name… it’s… it’s everything I am now. All I have of my home –
He points to the word “Britain.”
AETHLAN: Do you understand? It’s all I have left of Britain now.
Sigrun nods slowly.
AETHLAN: Your father wanted to know my name too…
A thought pops into his head. His eyes light up suddenly.
AETHLAN: That mark on his neck! Tell me how he got it, and I’ll tell you my name.
Sigrun gives him a wary look.
SIGRUN: To speak of it… not good. No per-mission.
Aethlan chuckles to himself.
AETHLAN (Muttering to self) : He taught you “permission” before “friend?”
He pushes this thought away.
AETHLAN: Please, Sigrun, tell me and I’ll tell you my name – I promise.
SIGRUN: Why?
AETHLAN: I want to know. People don’t get branded like that for no reason; and no one else on that ship that I could see had a mark like that.
Sigrun hesitates, then nods.
SIGRUN: Before me, my father and whole village… traveled far…
FLASHBACK SEQUENCE – ORSIR’S BRANDING
A young-adult Orsir travels at the head of the traveling party, alongside his younger brother Vamni, and their father.
SIGRUN (V.O.) : Grandfather lead them – he is Chief then.
Suddenly their father motions for them to stop. All seems quiet, but the older man sniffs the air for danger.
Then, out of nowhere, a massive BEAR bursts onto the path ahead. It charges right for the traveling villagers.
Orsir and Vamni’s father gives orders in Old Norse indistinctly.
SIGRUN (V.O.) : Grandfather tells them, “fight! defend the village!”
Orsir cowers in fear of the bear, and stays back to shelter the other villagers. His father shouts at him, but Orsir refuses to fight.
Finally Orsir’s father and Vamni charge ahead to fight the bear.
SIGRUN (V.O.) : My father… afraid. Not fight. Grandfather and Uncle Vamni fight the bear…
The bear ROARS and charges at Vamni. Vamni stabs the bear, but his spear is embedded in the beast. Vamni’s father moves to attack, but the bear knocks him back with a swipe of a paw.
The bear again sets his sights on Vamni, now unarmed. Vamni braces himself and YELLS, ready to face a glorious death in battle –
Only for his father to LUNGE forward with his spear and stab the bear right in the heart.
Vamni watches in shock as the bear falls to the ground, dead…
And so too does his own father collapse.
Orsir and Vamni gather round their father as he breathes his last…
The body is burned in a field along the path…
SERIES OF SHOTS – ORSIR IS BRANDED
They arrive at the site of what is now Ravenhollow village…
Vamni and Orsir argue indistinctly…
SIGRUN (V.O.) : Vamni angry… says my father… worth nothing.
Vamni appears to give Orsir an ultimatum, and Orsir submits.
SIGRUN (V.O.) : My father, Chief-to-be… but now…
A branding iron is pressed onto Orsir’s neck. He grits his teeth and bares the intense pain as Vamni watches.
INT. – ORSIR’S HOME – MORNING
Sigrun picks up the quill and writes the rune that is on Orsir’s neck. It is in fact two runes written together to form its meaning:
SIGRUN: My father… marked… as coward.
She points to the marking she has drawn.
Aethlan nods slowly. He looks at Sigrun; the fear is gone from his gaze.
AETHLAN: My name is Aethlan, apprentice to Grien the scribe. Teach me to speak your language, and I will teach you mine.
Sigrun grins. She nods and holds out her hand.
SIGRUN: Deal, Aethlan.
Aethlan reaches out to shake her hand, but instead Sigrun grasps his forearm. He grasps hers as well, and Sigrun nods again.
AETHLAN: Thank you, Sigrun. You are the first kind face I’ve seen here.
To be continued…
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