Shake The Family Tree and Some Nuts Are Sure to Fall Out

Mortals, the poor little mayflies, set great store by their ancestry, as if they could grasp a little immortality by knowing their forebears back to the nth generation. I mean, Jotuns and Asgardians–especially we royal ones– brag about their ancestors too, but we certainly do not sit around, poring over old ledgers, trying to prove we have a drop of noble blood.  If anyone challenges our claims, we just smash them into a sticky paste and have done.

The human female has recently done just that. The poring, I mean, not the smashing.  Her own accomplishments are so meagre, her physical person so unprepossessing, that she has been desperate to follow up on rumors that she is descended from one of Midgard’s great kings, some fellow named Charlemagne. (Or is it Charlemange? There is evidently some question as to whether the man was magnificent or afflicted with scabby skin problems caused by a mite infestation.)

Actually, they do say that pretty much everyone in some parts of Europe is probably related to this character.  He married multiply and fathered several litters of brats, who went on to have brats of their own. However, the human female has apparently proven that he is an ancestor–by four separate lines of descent. (This inbreeding right at the root of the family tree explains a LOT.)

Here’s part of the printout:

genealogy1

She really does have it traced down more than 1200 years.  There are kings and Holy Roman Emperors and dukes and warriors and a handful of actual saints.  Of course, there are also a fair number of usurpers, bastards, patricides, fratricides, and whatever “-cide” it is when you do in your uncle.*

She has been staring at this giant document, trying to figure out the point at which the money went out of the family.

Having traced the Frankish connection all the way down to her paternal grandfather, the human female started poking about amongst some of the ancestors that were the wives and husbands who contributed their genes and idiosyncrasies.

There is an awfu lot of begatting going on here…

She discovered a noblewoman from Kiev and a whole long string of DANISH kings who managed to marry one of their scions into the Frankish soap opera.  Some of them have really interesting names.  Some of them have multiple interesting names.

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Great Frigga’s corset!  Old Norse names!   I recognize the funny letters and everything.

Ehehehehehe!  Look at these jokers.

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“Bjorn Ironside.” “Snake-in-the-eye Ragnarson!”  “Ivar the Boneless!”  This is great!  And they died in such interesting ways.  Killed in battle.  Drowned at sea.  Thrown into a pit of serpents.

And it just keeps going–lots and lots of kings of Denmark…  Some of them are a little fictitious around the edges, their names and exploits recorded in the sagas and eddas, but there is a chain going back, back, back.  Look–this fellow lived over 1700 years ago.

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Good old Frodi!  I especially like the “Occupation: King of Denmark” bit.  That sounds like a cushy job, if you can get it.  Bet it paid pretty well.

And his dad was Fridleif I…

Back…

And his dad was Skjöld, King of Denmark, AKA:     “Skjöldur”, “Skjöldr”, “Skioldus”, “Skjold”, “Skiold”

And his dad was…

What the Hel?!!!

genealogy4

I knew there was a reason for my deep, visceral antipathy towards the human female.  This explains so, so much.

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*The term is avunculicide, which, to bring this neatly around in a circle, sounds like something you would apply to kill mange mites.

 

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