The first true portrait of a Viking has emerged from a museum drawer after 200 years, and it’s absolutely not what you expect. A curator at the National Museum of Denmark has rediscovered a tiny, 10th-century ivory figurine, a stunningly detailed carving of a man with an ornate hairstyle, a braided goatee, and a shrewd expression. This intriguing gentleman had his portrait fashioned into the “king” of a chess-like board game popular with Vikings.

Curator Peter Pentz made the finding, which is now hailed as a landmark discovery that counters the brutish stereotype and offers a rare, intimate glimpse into a world of sophisticated and meticulously groomed Norse elites.

Viking Portraits are Usually Generic and Symbolic

Vikings are one of the most fascinating civilizations in history. They emerged from the icy fjords and rugged coastlines of Scandinavia, bursting onto the world stage at the end of the 8th century. With unprecedented navigation skills, fierce warriors, and a striking worldview, they changed the course of history. For nearly three centuries, their longships carried them across the seas and oceans, from North America to the Middle East, where they both traded and fought with various cultures.

But Vikings were more than savage raiders in horned helmets (which are a myth). They had their own sense of fashion and a fine taste for exquisite goods. Yet, we don’t really know what they looked like.

The reason is that unlike other cultures, well, Vikings didn’t really tell us what they looked like. The art of the Viking Age, for all its power and beauty, is notoriously impersonal. It features hordes of stylized animals, intricate knotwork, and abstract patterns. Viking artists depicted forces of nature and mythology and seemed to care little for portraits.

When Vikings did depict people, the results were usually generic. The crude faces stamped onto coins were symbols of power, not likenesses. And figures on carved stones were often stick-like, devoid of individual features. They were archetypes — the warrior, the god, the woman — not portraits of Ole, son of Bjorn, from down the fjord.

But this man is different.

For starters, his features are very specific and his expression is intricately carved in the precious ivory of a walrus task. So, unlike most Viking depictions, this figure seems to have a distinct personality.

Vikings Seemed to Care Deeply About Their Appearance.

This man was, apparently, someone important. For starters, he had his portrait made in extremely expensive walrus ivory. Then, his expression is a complex cocktail of intelligence, shrewdness, and maybe a hint of mischief, as if he’d just told a good joke.

And then there’s the hair.

For the first time, we have a complete, 360-degree view of an elite Viking hairstyle and boy, was this man groomed. His hair is parted neatly down the middle. On the sides, it’s cut short in soft waves, revealing his ears, with a delicate curl marked just above one of them. The back is cropped short. His facial hair also features intricate styling. Proud sideburns flow into a grand imperial mustache, while a long, thick goatee dangles from his chin, carefully braided.

In summary, it’s the opposite of what most people would imagine a Viking chief to look like.

Not Our Stereotype

This portrait shows a man who prided himself on sophistication and cared about his appearance. And this fits with other recent findings.

The image of the blood-soaked Viking raider is a popular one, but archaeological evidence has been chipping away at it for decades. Excavations of Viking graves consistently turn up grooming kits. Combs, carved from bone or antler, are among the most common finds. Archaeologists have also unearthed tweezers, ear spoons, and even razors. They were clearly a people who valued cleanliness and presentation.

Written accounts from their contemporaries confirm this. The English cleric John of Wallingford, writing in the 13th century, complained that the Danish Vikings were too popular with English women precisely because they were so fastidious. He griped that they combed their hair daily, bathed every Saturday, and changed their clothes often, all in an effort to “seduce” the local ladies. An Arab diplomat, Ibrahim al-Turtushi, visiting the Danish trading hub of Hedeby in the 10th century, noted that both men and women wore eye makeup.

The King’s Table

The story gets richer when you consider the object’s life before it was buried. This wasn’t just a sculpture to be admired. Experts are confident it was a gaming piece, specifically the king from a popular Norse board game called Hnefatafl (pronounced roughly nef-ah-tah-full).

Hnefatafl, or “King’s Table,” was a game of strategy, a sort of Viking chess. It was played on a gridded board with two unequal sides. One player controlled a king, positioned in the center of the board and surrounded by a small band of defenders. The other player commanded a much larger force of attackers, arranged along the edges. The goal for the king’s player was to get the king to safety at one of the board’s corners. For the attacker, the goal was simple: surround and capture the king.

The game was a microcosm of Viking Age warfare and politics. It was about defending a high-value target against overwhelming odds, about finding an escape route through a closing trap. Viking chieftains probably took playing Hnefatafl as more than just a pastime; it was a strategic practice and competition.

To own a Hnefatafl set was one thing. To own a set where the king piece was a breathtakingly carved portrait, sculpted from the most expensive material available, was a declaration of ultimate status.

A Story Told in Ivory

The walrus ivory itself tells a story. In the 10th century, this was the “white gold” of the North. The primary source was Greenland, a perilous journey across the storm-tossed North Atlantic away. Walrus hunts were dangerous, and the journey to bring the tusks back to the markets of Scandinavia, Britain, and continental Europe was long and fraught with risk. This made the material incredibly rare and valuable, prized by kings and bishops alike. Whoever owned this game piece was not just a successful warrior; he was a player in the grand game of international trade and a man of immense wealth.

And we know he was also a warrior. Researchers discovered the piece in an equestrian burial at Viken, near the Oslofjord in Norway. This was no simple grave. To be buried with your horse was a sign of immense prestige, an honor reserved for the highest echelons of the warrior aristocracy. This man was laid to rest with the symbols of his power: his horse for mobility and warfare, and perhaps this game, a symbol of his strategic mind and vast resources. The little king piece, buried with him, was possibly his most prized possession, a representation of his own identity as a leader and a ruler in the game of life.

So, Who Was He?

We should be careful with generalization from a single, tangible data point, even though it’s much better than the zero data points we had before. But we don’t know if this guy was representative at all in society, or if he was a noble or even a king.

Given the unparalleled detail and the sheer quality of the craftsmanship, it seems almost certain that he was someone important. A generic king piece wouldn’t require such individuality. This was meant to be someone.

So far, Pentz has floated the most compelling theory: the face could belong to the most famous Viking king of that era, Harald Bluetooth. Yes, the guy your Bluetooth is named after. King of Denmark from around 958 to 985 C.E., Harald was a monumental figure. He was the man who united the fractious Danish tribes into a single kingdom. He brutally conquered Norway, and formally brought Christianity to his people, forever changing the course of Scandinavian history. His public works, including massive ringforts and bridges, were legendary.

And the timing fits perfectly. The figurine is dated to the late 10th century, the height of Harald’s reign. The regal, confident, and perhaps even cunning expression seems fitting for a king who navigated a treacherous political landscape through both force and guile. Of course, there is no way to prove it. We have no other confirmed likeness of Harald Bluetooth. So, he could just as well be some other unknown chieftain.

But whoever he was, judging by his looks, this man wasn’t just a raider. He was a politician and a strategist. A man who combed his hair, braided his beard, and perhaps enjoyed a joke.

He stares out at us, a wry smile on his face, reminding us that history always has another secret to reveal, sometimes in the most unexpected of places.