Almost a hundred years have passed since Lindisfarena, when the heathens crossed the North Sea in their dragon boats, followed by storm and thunder. Since then, we haven't had peace, for the hosts of Danes, Nordmenn and Svear brought fire and steel to Ireland, Dal Riada, Pictland, Frankia and to our lands. Twenty years ago, a mighty army of heathens arrived, conquering the kingdoms carved by our ancestors centuries ago, destroying our lands and holy churches. Eoferwic (York) was taken, and Northumbria fell. When East Anglia was overrun, they said it was due to the mighty will of Thor. Snottengaham (Nottingham) is now a fortress of the heathens, and Mercia the property of the Danish Jarls. Only West Seaxa remained. But we resisted. My father, King Ælfrēd of West Seaxa, fought them, as did my uncle before him. By the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, we survived, we built burghs and mustered fyrds, and many times we defeated the followers of Odinn and Thor. We crafted ships to fight them in the sea, while the theigns and huscarls routed them from the battlefields. Two years ago, we captured Lundene, the ancient capital of the Romans, and now all the followers of the True God plead for my father to free them from the pagans. But my father is now old and frail. He trusts me to fulfill his dreams. Dreams of uniting all the Saxons and English peoples under one ruler, one King of Ænglaland. I never told him, but the truth is that i myself have an even more glorious dream, of one king to rule all of Britannia.
Ēadweard Ætheling, son of Bretwalda Ælfrēd.