And all good things come to those that wait.......

[Ragnvalder Jorghansson]

Dawn. The gale behind them now, it had left them sodden and yet not so weary, they were masters of the North Sea, after all, well used to it's hard demands. It had been a easy start, as men and ships gathered into the fleet, the long slow sail south punctuated by a handful of raids, none so richly successful to fully appease the raiders, nor stimy their yearning, either. A bunch of attempts, that had netted them ale, some ham, a little silver, a lot of slaves, none of those slaves, which he thought worth keeping. He toed one now, awake, snarling to get his sorry self to oars. Enough resting!

Most of them he'd sell, and not worry twice over. Farm folk, they rowed like prissy nuns, no better than ballast. Cold dark eyes swept over the fleet. Finally coalescing again after a few days harrying the coast south of Alba, they were fully under sail, and on their way south, into the frosty Cornish waters, in search of fatter plunder. The last few raids had been a series of proving a well known point. Nothing but bare butts, and bare hills in Alba, nomads and sheep tenders, the occasional paltry farm. It had shaken the rust off of the men of Orvik and Keir though. And if people had wanted raw rock and scrabbled clumps of heather as their be all, end all, farmstead, well, they deserved to be put out of their misery, ja?

Only one hostage on this boat was worth anything, personally, or professionally speaking. She rowed with the others, when it was her turn. She ate with him, the same ale skin and flat bread and bacon, she scouted the shoreline with him when he ran ahead, seeking a new village or homestead to harass. She shared his furs at night. She did not complain. She was small, and muscled and dark and like all of them, slightly damp from salt sea spray. Her hair hung wild and ringlet springy soft and dark, and misbehaving, it had a mind of it's own. Tiny black feathers on leather cords, adorned her dark motley locks, adding to the sheen she had about her. She seemed a woman with much freedom. No petticoats, no cooking fire to tend.

Only her collar said otherwise.

This woman was owned. Solveig the Alban witch, taken as prize of conquest. He dared own a witch, and it earned him respect, and long hard looks. She threw the bones, knew the runes, could read the skies. It was no small thing, her magic. It was said she could make a man's bowels run, and his blood boil, and his skin flay off.

If that was true, Ragnvalder must be immune, for he had never felt healthier, nor more eager for war, all in the name of misbehavior, and glory, and coin. He'd barter, trade, and take, this trip, along with his kinsmen.

The one thing he'd not sell was the witch. She was his charm. His good luck token. His hand found her dark hair, and fisted it, dragging back, to force her to look up, see her master. She was dainty, and fiendish, and all poured into eyes that saw far to much; eyes that most avoided, he stared into. His thumb traced down her throat, the delicate skin over her fragile windpipe caressed. She had no leverage. He gave her none.

"We're close. Cornwall. You stay near me, Solvy. No wandering."

It was not a request.

He looked from her, as her hands gripped the warm, warn oar, and her back bowed, arched, leaned, worked. He never smiled, a sober man, sly and hawkish and fierce, he was. He kept close rein, and guard up, and sought his brother, three ships over, tall and braw and sandy brown hair....there was cousin Trygg, a few ships ahead, dark wayward curls almost as unruly as Solveig's were. A whistle pieced the foggy air as the last of the rains moved south, and the faintest outline of land rose on the horizon.

Cornwall.

He felt his attention to it grow.

Ripe for the plucking, she was, a fair land, and some of her bounty? Needed 'liberating'. Eyes twinkling, with a galling sort of intensity, he let Tryggr guide the fleet in, in the creak of wood, the flight of oars, the luff of sails, the beauty of boats made for speed, to a deserted windswept natural port, their banners hidden, their ships formidable, and their men, numbering enough to scare the sane.

[solveig]

This was her test run. Her first time out with Ragnvalder as his witch. Not just a thrall at his side, that was running, and lifting rocks for his amusement. What ever it was he was training her for....this was the next step before Marcia.

So far, she thought she was doing a fair job. She cast the stones, read runes and clouds. Their pluckings had been ripe. She had run along side him, watching his back.. had helped in all manner of ways she could without actually wielding a weapon herself.

And still she sat on the benches, and she put her back into it just as the others. She could row, just as good, if not better than half of their newly acquired thralls. He'd seen to that, making her strong enough to handle the hardships of rowing for hours on end. Leather gloves, was the only mark that she was special when she sat with them, that and the collar that marked her as personally owned.

The other thralls watched her...as much as they dared. She may row with them, but she wasn't one of them. Unlike the others, she didn't cower when someone came near, she didn't scan the horizon in hope of escape. She was always near the dark haired viking, few were brave enough to look at either for long. She knew her place, and made sure the others knew it as well. Her place kept her warm, and fed...it was hard work, but it was more than she could would get on her own. And the chance of getting a better owner....highly unlikely. Besides. She loved him, crazy as it might be.

The one time, one of the other thralls dared forget she wasn't exactly like the rest of them. She had just finished her turn rowing, her back and shoulders were aching, her hands gone nearly numb, and the man..new thrall....thought to try and comfort her, grabbed her hand and pulled her toward him, making some sort of remark about letting him message her tired muscles. He'd ended up with a split lip, losing a tooth, and three broken fingers...and that was just what she did to him..........

It was just after that incident that he'd come to her, hand fisted in her hair, his thumb stroking her throat and commanded her to stay near to him. She lowered her eyes, swallowed as best she could with her neck craned as it was..-

Of course Sir. Always. This one knows her place.

-She had rowed until they were nearly where but a mile out, she was to be with Ragnvalder at all times once the ships anchored. She needed time to prepare... to see....... She pulled him aside, her fingers finding his.... subtly.. her thumb stroking his skin.-

Ive seen something.........A woman. She's important. They'll pay heavily and handsomely for her......

........and a gift...

-She wasn't supposed to keep anything. In fact, she wondered if she would get in trouble. But.....Well, she hoped not. She had been helping strip the new thralls, loading the boards. She had come across a dagger, that caught her attention. She had to have it. It was simple perhaps most standards, but it called to her. A white bone handle, but burned into it was the mark of a raven... it came in a leather sheath, meant to be work on his belt or in his boot.-

I just felt, it was meant for you...

[Ragnvalder Jorghansson]

She did not take kindly to being touched. He and the other free men had nearly split a stitch laughing as she met out her brand of justice, one foisted and forced upon her by none other than the sloe eyed man that owned her. If someone hurts you, or compromises you, you seek retribution in a way that means you never have to fear reprisal.

Simple as that.

It was not 'evil' to their way of thinking.

There was the strong, the mighty, and then their were the victims. And while he protected what was his, and always would, he was not built to cower, he was also not of a mind to tolerate a wimpy hearted thrall. He'd been proud to see her attack, to make the man cave. To remind them all that her collar was a mark of her thralldom to him, not to everything that was male in Midgard.

Once he'd done smiling at her in sly approval, he'd pulled her by her collar on a leash of leather to the far end of the boat. It was there, the gift was offered. 'Gift'.

A dark brow rose. You are giving to me, that which is rightfully mine? You pilfered it, just for this express purpose?

There might have been violence in his eyes, as one hand rose to cup and handle her throat. So appropriately feminine, so strong, and yet slim, so wonderfully, sweetly made, she was. So epicene, her throat was in the way it was constructed. one squeeze, and her life would be crushed in his grasp, her essence, gone. One brief flexion of his strong and calloused hand. That's all it'd take, and they both knew it.

He spared her.

I like it. You please me, thiefling. Kiss me.

And looked the dagger over, glanced from it's cool white handle, to her pale, heart shaped face.

Kneel.

And she had better do it, too.

He reached behind him, and from under the gunwale procured a leather bag, and a small box was pulled from it.

Shut your eyes, gift giver.

Do not flinch.

I won't hurt.

More than he had to say. Kneel would have sufficed, had that been his whim. He was surprisingly gentle with her though, fingers mapping over her face, like a thousand light kisses, as he studied her. There was the sound of a jar unstoppered, and a cork pulled. The feeling on her face of something damp, silky, his fingers stripping her bare of places to hide, even as they applied...something, to her skin. It took some time.......eyelids and cheeks, the fan of her dark black lashes, the swell and promise of her lips. Her ears. Her neck.

He worked, soothing touch, and yet stranger perhaps, feeling.

He ran his hands in her hair.

Around them, others paused, and watched, silent as the ship rocked on a green and glassy sea.

An hour to finish the work, and he bid her stand, and open her eyes, and look into a bucket of water, to see what he had done.

Peach flesh was bone white, from ground chalk and cream. Woad had made blue paint lines, over one eye and cheek, and on the jawline. Her lips burned pinker, her eyes ringed in kohl black ash. A face of a hedge walker.

The face of she 'that stepped beyond the known', and instilled fear, and wisdom, at a price.

He'd made his slave, a menace.

He'd made a pretty girl, into something beautiful, and untamed, and recklessly wild.

He'd made her Solveig.

And it was daunting to gaze upon.

Now, he said, you look like you. You look your part, Alban wild witch. Now when they see you, they will remember Ragnvalder, and the warriors of Orvik and Keir, and know that the wildness of our bloodline, tames witches and pillages the mainlanders.

[solveig]

-Only after her slightly violent reaction to being man handled did she worry. The last time she had defended herself she had ended up a thrall. She worried that there would be another sort of retribution to this. Swallowed hard, as he hooked a leash onto her collar....a wave of both shame and pride at it. Always and ever conflicting emotions he brought out in her. All except fear. That was the one thing perhaps she should feel around him, but didn't.

He kept her safe......... but his patiece...and his tolerance for certain things were at times tricky things. She toed a line that she knew few could. She wasn't born into being a thrall as some, and she hadn't been raised around thralls either. She knew next to nothing when it came to what was proper. Her only training was his, and his guidance.

He had laughed when it had happened. She took that as a good sign. Only she wounded then why he was taking her to the far end of the boat. Was he going to punish her after all? She thought to offer a gift. Only.... His words made her flinch. Just a little. Bit her slightly wide bottom lip for a moment as she stammered a response.-

I ..no..Its just I saw it........ I felt it was meant for you... I didn't mean no offense..

-She didn't move as his hands wrapped around her throat. She meet his eyes, not at all proper of a thrall, but she couldn't look away either, his eyes captivated her like the rest of him-

I'm sorry, of course its yours, I just......You may not of seen it. I wanted to be sure you had it.

-His hand tightened just a little, and her eyes grew just a little wider. Her heart hammering hard against her ribs. She had troubling swallowing her mouth had gone try. And then he was praising her, a smile, tentative smile spread. And without thought or delay she was up on her toes and kissing him quickly. Softly, a brush of of lips...lingered...and then kissed him a slower, more thoroughly.

She didn't question the command to kneel as she once would have. No hesitation at all, just a folding of legs, knees barely feeling the hard wood only grateful to be at rest for the time being. A slight hesitation to close her eyes, and then they slide closed. The temptation to open them a hundred times had her lids fluttering, and the curiosity she felt had her hands fisted in her lips at to what he could be possibly doing to her. Nervous had her hands sweaty, as all sorts of insane thoughts ran through her head. Was he marking her horribly as some kind of punishment?

When it was done, she was a little afraid to look. But she did, no choice, no cowards would be tolerated. He mouth feel open. She looked............

.........scary....and frightening........and

Powerful. A smile touched those lips now, her eyes meeting his once more.-

Thank you Sir, I promise I will not let you down.

[Ragnvalder Jorghansson]

Not a punishment, no. After the times he had punished her, he had always made sure she KNEW when she had displeased. He did not cajole, nor play coy. He had been swift, brutal, certain, strong, in his reactions to her missteps, and then when it was over, it was over. He'd never hurt her.

He'd certainly made her taste regret though.

Being tied to a rafter in a crowded longhouse, where everyone saw your shame, and smiled at you during it, had not been something she'd liked, not by a long shot.

She'd learned. They'd moved on. Life carried on. He'd trained her more.

And now, a slave of worth, she knelt when told, worked feverishly hard all day, as she ought, was quick to obey, quick to try and please him. She wasn't going above and beyond. She was doing what was expected, no less, no more. He was continually raising the bar, too.

Today was a reward of sorts, the face painting marking her as something more than mere property. Oh, it had it's purposes, multiple ones, in fact. Warm hands ran up her back, and sides, to cup her slim but strong shoulders, and massage them lightly. It pleasured her, no doubt, but he was doing it more to assess her muscle tone, how she was changing, hardening her physical form, building power in long underutilized musculature.

The petting of her also served to bond her to him. To teach her that just as punishment was from and by his bidding, so was food, warmth, a bed, pleasure within it....the complexities of normal life were ripped from her, when she was thralled. Now it was all so very simple. Change. And stasis.

If she did what she should, it was change for the good. If she screwed up? It was change for the bad.

Pure. Filtered to it's simplest forms.

Life made very defined.

He kissed the back of her neck, and behind her ear, tender points, that she had lost ownership of.

Good. See that you do well.

I want you to scry more on the woman you mentioned before. Is she fat as a plug pony, or skinny as an old Banty Rooster? Pretty? Young? Anything like that. Or is it too distant?

She couldn't generate names, or faces, or anything some might deem 'magic'. She felt hunches. She got little...ideas. All vague. He knew that. He did not expect more. But he did not allow her to slack, either.

You smell as bad as I do. He grinned, and bit her neck, a gesture to get her riled some, and maybe earn him a hop, or a squeal. Those were amusing to get. He purred, baiting her with play. He was a hard man, a cold one, but he allowed her her playtime with him, to better know each other, and enjoyment of her was good. Besides, she was his. If he found pleasure in making her walk backwards and sing, she'd do it. As it was, chasing her down was good. On a crowded ship? Tricky. Stinky little thrall of mine, I ought plunk you in the sea and wring you out, ja? I think so.....think you can escape me? Try!

[Tryggr Daimhsson]

He had wanted to spend more time at home after having been away for nearly a year now, but with all that was going on, he was itching to get back out there again. The news that had befallen him upon arriving home had not been good. Then we he found out the goings on between his beloved sister Synne and her evil twin Adhamh, the now current Jarl of Keir, this had given him more than enough reason to gut his eldest sibling, but it was Synne that stepped in to save the wretched bastard. No brotherly love lost there between Adhamh and Tryggr. They’ve not gotten along since day one.

It wasn’t bad enough Synne kept him from killing his brother, but then he had found out his oldest crush had been.. well.. fornicating (nicer word than what his trashy mouth would have said) with one of the newest arrivals to Keir. Sure, his father had forbidden their love long ago, but that does not mean he had not kept her close to his heart all these years. Perhaps it was what made him the way he was today. His use of women was simply for pleasure. Easier that way. No heartbreak involved. A good release then he toss them aside with no more thought. On to the next and so on and so forth. It was no wonder he and his cousin Ragnvalder had always been referred to as mischief and mayhem, for they had certainly stirred up enough trouble over the years. Ragnvalder truly was more like a brother to him than his very own. And now here they were sailing together again. Did it get any better? His itch to get away again had been great. Synne not so happy about it, but it was out on the sea and going viking that helped Tryggr Daimhsson clear his head.

The funny twist to the situation of Finna fornicating with one Axel Eiriksson is that Tryggr had invited the man to have he and his own group join them on this journey. He had heard thru Synne that the man had been itching to do something. He was bored out of his mind waiting for his older brother to recover so they could set sail again. Get out of Keir. Well.. that presented the perfect scenario to get him away from Finna. Would she kick his ass later for it if she figures out his plan? Perhaps, but for the time being it kept her out from underneath the blonde bastard and that was good enough reason for Tryg.

It was the sighting of yet more land that had grabbed Tryg’s attention from thoughts of the fiery red head back home. The cold drenching rain hadn’t been enough to remove his thoughts from her, but the excitement of his men that stirred had him shooshing them and simply sending a whistle thru the air to alert the other ships that land had once more been spotted. They weren’t going to go barging in all gung ho and crazed. This wasn’t how Tryggr Daimhsson worked. No, with Tryggr in command of this renegade bunch, he was going to do something much differently this time. It was all about being sly, cunning and sneaky. And so word would be passed back from ship to ship (20 in total) to keep voices down and slaves mouths shut or cut their throats ensuring a quiet approach. Sure, 20 ships would hardly be unnoticed, but it was the way you went about arriving. And what they’d found so far with the few raids they’d heard about along the way, was that these other raiding parties had been blowing in more aggressively then blowing back out quickly. The thing is, they had missed a lot for not taking the time to be more patient with searching out the good stuff that tended to be hidden better. So the slow, quiet sneaky approach is what the Gall clan was all about this time around. Oh yes, cousin’s mischief and mayhem are on the prowl.

[Dream Loxley]

She slipped the bridle from Biscuit's head and patted his neck in both friendship and appreciation. The old black stallion had never let her down in all these years and now, as she watched him bend down to taste the fresh new grass that surrounded her little cabin, she smiled, genuinely smiled and was content.

Her children were safely tucked up in their beds within their chambers at Windstorm, and for a few days at least she was free of her commitments to the Castle, just to simply be.....to rest, to breathe in the sea air and to find peace once again as she always did here at the beach. Mary would care for Ellissia and Thomas, much as she had done since they were both born, a goodly lass who had shown loyalty and consistent friendship throughout her time with the Loxley family. Dream often wondered just how she would have coped without her.

Ranger Owen, as she expected was making camp near the cabin, they would eat together after she had settled in and unpacked the few baskets she had fetched with her. There was baked ham and fresh bread, water, a few bottles of wine , if they were in luck then fish would be on the menu tomorrow, even caught by her good self if the line was kind! She found herself chuckling as she laid a quilt down over the small bed her Robin had built so long ago now. Her fingers traced the wooden frame, lovingly remembering him carving it, his bare torso glistening in the heat of that long Summer. Most of their furniture he had created from driftwood and planks of wood gifted to them from the woodsmen who had been such a great help. Her eyes searched the room, as if looking for him, but she knew he was not there, he would not be there....perhaps never again. She swallowed and took in a deep breath before exhaling slowly, no, not now, keep your thoughts where they belong.....there is work to be done.

Owen called from outside, he had a good fire going and water was near to boiling in the pot. She waved from the doorway and told him she would be right there with the food. He was a good man, a loyal man to her Husband, and he had never left her side since Robin had left her.....left her...well.....not intentionally she knew that, and yet left her he had, for so long.

"Oh 'tis a goodly fire Owen, ye have done us proud.....here, sit yerself down, take a rest now, ye have earned such. "

Dream smiled warmly and placed the basket down beside the fire, sitting down herself on one of the old logs purposefully placed as seating. They were wearing away, the bark almost gone now, yet still they stayed where they had been put, waiting for some weary traveler to take his rest and admire the view. And such a view it was too.

"I nae ever tire of this place Owen....nae ever.....can ye here how peaceful it be...just the waves and the long grasses rustling....oh I do so love it here. "She brightly stated yet again* " My Robin did choose the perfect place aye, and King Agustin gifting me the land 'tis Even more perfect now."

Already her hair had escaped from it confinements and was blowing freely in the gentle breeze, it was tangled as always, thick and full, in need of a good brush. Her skirts had been lifted and tucked into her belt, always the first thing done when she got here, and of course leather slippers were long discarded, in favour of bare feet to walk upon the golden sands. She looked no more a titled Noble than any other woman in the village, had she a care....no....not ever, for she was born to commoners and with nothing in truth, only having taken the name of her beloved Husband and with such the title of Lady. The little money coming from her Mother's farm in the North was always given to the poor and needy, something she had always done with Robin each winter time.

She handed Owen a large slice of ham wrapped in a chunk of bread while he in turn offered a goblet of wine with a grin. He was not one for many words but seemed as content as she was to be there. It was almost dark now and the moon was but a crescent in the sky, how beautiful it looked, magnificent and regal, watching over them, keeping them all safe. Sipping the wine and enjoying the the ham, she felt the warmth of the fire and relaxed. Later, after they had eaten she would tease Owen into telling a tale or two, how she loved to loose herself in his stories, for always they were about Robin, his men and their adventures.....perhaps in some small way they kept him alive to her, somewhere nearby, only ever a whisper away.......

[solveig]

-How long had he stared at herself she didn't know. Knelt down hands on either side of the pail looking staring at he water. The reasons behind this she wasn't sure she fully knew or understood them all. But she wasn't stupid, she got the gist of it. She was set apart.

If people were wary of her before, they certainly would think twice now before approaching her. She barely recognized herself. They way her eyes were rimmed in black, made her eyes pop, the white that had paled her face, and smeared into her hair framed her face making her look frightening and cold.

Not a punishment no. She knew the difference, he made sure she did. This wasn't a reward either, not really. This was was him raising his expectations. And she embraced it.

Life previous to was just a hazy sort of dream. A time she barely remembered, anything but her training. Times of walking free, moving from village to village were just a distant memory. With no family to speak of, no where to go, no money to her name...this was about as good as she was going to get. And all things considered, it wasn't have bad.

There were those that were afraid of him. That feared him. And he could at times be a hard and cold man. But she also knew him to be kind. He had rescued her once from death. And was reminded on a daily basis that he still did so. Without him she would be lost. She owed him her life.

Warm strong hands running over her back and shoulders pulled her thoughts back to present. Eyes slid close, a little moan of pleasure as his fingers felt up and down muscles. Whether it was meant to or not, it felt really good...she had been rowing for days..her body while had grown stronger under his tutelage, wasn't used to the motions, the slightest touch now was making her quiver in pain and pleasure.

Nodding hearing him about scrying... it took her twice to actually form words-

Yes...of course...... I'll do it riIIIIIGHT....ACK..........

-Her body jolted as he bit her. It wasn't hard, but it was unexpected....and ticklish. The shiver went right down her spine, it had her spinning on her knees, to look at him, knocking the pail of water and it sloshed over her feet, eyes wide and staring at him.

He had to be joking....didn't he? He didn't look like he was joking? He had that look......those dark sloe eyes of his were slits, a half cocked smug smile on his lip that she knew meant he was going to enjoy something. She almost...........almost questioned him. She had learned that lesson before, and it wasn't one she wanted to repeat.

Scrambling back on hands and knees just so she could kept her eyes on him, one, two feet, and then she turned half crawled, half stumbled up and ran down the length of the boat. She was small, and she was quick, and had VERY sharp little elbows.

This wasn't a game she could win. She knew that. This wasn't about winning, this was about doing as he said. Try and avoid him. So she would. At all costs. A look behind her, a sharp intake of breath, and she ducked down, at the rowers feet and crawled on her belly trying to stay hidden.-

[Ragnvalder Jorghansson]

He'd grinned with the feral aptitude she'd so readily offered up, shaking his head at her fighting her way under the rowing benches. It was a darn good thing he had her dressed in plain, cheap cloth, and not something costly. Bottom of a boat, even a fine one such as his, was not *clean*. Not with this many dozens upon dozens of men inhabiting it.

Ahead, Tryggr was beginning to move ships in. As one of those furthest out to sea, they luffed and waited, road the creamy lulling waves and waited their turn. He hushed the men, as Trygg set to the painstaking task of getting a lot of men onto a nice little spit of land, at the mouth of an estuary basin, silty and loamy and low and sheltered.

He walked his boat, Raven's Claw at his hip, the axe a work of art, but patted with ash and water and let to dry, so it did not shine, nor gleam, and thus would not in stealth on land, give him away. It made him smell faintly of a fire pit, but better the acrid tang of ashes, then the bitter pall of death, met out on him by being ambushed.

He searched her out, as his ship waited to ride in.

He paused, and grinned as one of the men chuckled. A quick motion and Ragnvalder was reaching under a bench, and swatting round, warm thrall bottom.

Found you, witch.

Come out, there is going to be a need for you.

He hauled her out 'helping' her gently, and as their ship was turned and brought into berth, left afloat in a few scant feet of water, he secured Death Bringer, the sword, on his back, slid his arm into the round and heavy shield with it's center boss of spiked metal, and it's razored metal style edging. A weapon in itself, it had been used more than once to bash in an enemy skull, or break an elbow with a neat, efficient downward swing.

Ragnvalder slid from boat, into water that cold, and clean, lapped muscled thighs. His hand helped Solvy down, and together, along with the vanguard, sloshed ashore to Tyrggr, where their brave and young leader stood, plotting his next move. Ragnvalder let the man breathe, and together with the witch, and ten others, they entered the ferns and low lying scrub and trees, setting a perimeter, and vanishing in the shadows of the trees, like ghosts with dark desire on their minds.

Death was come to Cornwall, and she was a visitor most hungry.

[Axel Eiriksson]

By the blood of Thor’s hammer aye he’d been bored. With the immediate threat of everything blowing up in their faces gone, or more to the point Dagr’s men and even Dagr himself gone, there was not a lot to do. At least nothing to worry about other than the ranting insane rule of a mad Jarl. And his brother Randver seemed to have all well in hand with what they had come to Kier in the first place for and it was only because of his grave wound that prevented them all from sailing back to their homeland. He and the rest of the men had bided their time with ale and wrenching but of those pleasures they had taken their fill and had they had grown restless.

And then there was that red haired witch Finna. The healer…seeress…wise woman. She was…..he wasn’t sure the word. Although it was far more than pleasant enough the first several times, he never bedded a wench more than once…well maybe twice if she was lucky. It unsettled him…along with the fact that he began to feel as if she was trying to suck the very life from him. Aye….he was feeling more than a tad ill at ease with the wench and needed to escape her insatiable clutches.

So when a plan to go raiding reached his ears he looked to find a way to talk himself and the men into accompanying them. It seemed easy enough although he hadn’t been aware of any ulterior motives on anyone else’s part and in the end he hadn’t needed to do any fancy talking …he’d been invited. Tryggr had seemed likable enough; they seemed to share the same love of the “better” aspects of life. And besides one more ship to add to the fleet would always be a welcome one. Of course the rest of the men were more than willing to leave Keir, had sent up a cheering roar for the opportunity and began to gather their things immediately. They’d accompany the fleet in their own ship, following along with the others. Axel was not bothered in the least with following another’s orders, he was just happy and relieved to be out of Kier and excited to be doing something and if that be raiding all the better.

He recalled the look on Randver’s face after he’d convinced him to allow them to go…and again as they sailed off with the rest of the fleet. The poor man looked as if he wanted to either kill them all or cry. But maybe in the time their were gone his brother would figure out what to do with Tryggr’s sister…other than allow the wench to be in his bed not only clothed, but sleeping as well. No grievous wound would ever have him allowing a wench to be in either state in his bed. Aye...it would be good for him to stay for a while….give him time to figure it allllll out.

And then there had been Finna, ranting on the shore as their ships parted the docks, her flaming red hair all in disarray about her head. Uh oh. When she had pulled out a dagger and slung it back over a well shaped shoulder it had been his instinct to duck…hit the decks…thinking it was intended for him. See this is why he never bedded a woman more than once…well twice if they were lucky. But as he had peered over the side of his shield he saw the dagger sailing in another direction. Brows had furrowed in question as he wasn’t quite sure why she would fling a dagger at Tryggr but he watched as it had embedded itself in the side of the man’s ship. It was unclear if the man had even noticed....

[solveig]

-She really hadn't a chance in hell of evading him for long. There was no place to go. It was a boat. She could hide, and even that...was just shy of joke considering the mens whose feet she was hiding under kept looking down at her. She kicked on in the shin for laughing. A fist bashed another foot.. as she tried to worm her way further back.

It was dirty going. Mud, feet, and dirty water coated her skin. She had figured she needed a bath anyways...may has well give it her all at evading him.

It didn't last long. She gasped, and gave a little cry in outrage had having been outed so easily. Her back side stung, but not nearly as bad as her pride. She had wanted a slightly better showing, considering the filth she had just crawled through.

Lesson learned... bottom of a boat, equals really gross, and not a good hiding place unless said boat is maybe empty. She remembered a time when they had once hiding on a boat before, had watched as ten thralls had been sacrificed by Ubba, and Ivar the Boneless and their men. It still gave her chills to remember that day.

She was hauled up, and into her feet. The time for games over as land it was their turn to slide into the in let. Her focus changed immediately as did his. She watched as he strapped on his gear. She whispered a blessing on him, and turned her eyes up to the sky.

Luck will be with us today. I can feel it.

A little smug smile on her lips as she swung her legs over the edge of the boat, and into the water, and his arms. It no longer bothered her, that punch of cold that tried to rob her of breath. She felt it, but she it didn't paralyze her as it had in the beginning.

She remembered his warning very clearly, she was to stay close. Her slim body sloshed along just behind him, her hands scooping water as she went to rub the worst of the filth of the boat from her arms..She didn't worry about her appearance over much, she was likely to be a lot worse before this was all said and done.

Head held high, she glances only briefly at those they were raiding with. He'd given her a little bit of information on his cousins... she wondered which was was the woo'er... Grinning, she melted into the shadows with the rest.

Her intuition prickled the back of her neck. They where heading straight for north...to get a look and lay of the land, the villages..but she had a feeling they needed to east. She caught up with him, and as quietly as possible, she told him of her feeling.-

[Ragnvalder Jorghansson]

She had not spoken till they were off, a few dozen yards and pacing out, from their nearest cohorts. it was somewhat odd, to drag a woman to war. As in, thralls frequently came to service their master(s). And some were often 'picked up' along the way to do the same, local women whose only alternative was a beating, or death, usually humbled right on down, and got to their duties.

And so as they took their position, on the inner eastern curve of the estuary....he'd listened, to her hint to go east!.......and they hunkered down in the brambles and blackberries and salt marsh grass. He talked to her. Softly, a bare rumble of words, inaudible to any save her, as he murmured them in her ear.

Just another of his stories. He told her of women and war. And their place was usually cleaning, warming the furs of warriors, cooking.

But it was not frequent to see Skjoldmø. And they were different.

He explained.

These women were not some fanciful fluff and thwack at Valkyrie wanna be's. No, but rather the were keenly trained in the art of tracking, and fighting, honed as useful members of a war band. They were, like Ragnvalder was, seen as professional warriors, and thus, given rights, and full status of their own.

It was not common.

They usually trained from their first bleeding, or there abouts, as Skjoldmø, which meant a vast change in life path, the girls all leaving typical life of a female, the tasks of a woman cast off.

They were brought up, instead, to learn to sail, and to track, and hunt, and to fight. Law was acknowledged, and made to the women warrior the rights to hold a hall and house of her own, and the right to take a husband, even. To own property. To sail. To command and take on warriors. To be wed and be a wife.

Well, as long as she was able to supply women servants or thralls, and pay their wage and upkeep, to do the cooking and cleaning, as she was not allowed to do those tasks.

As a warrior, the woman that took this life path, she was above such.

He wove the story for her, letting their eyes scan the estuary, on guard as Tryggr laid out his plans.

Tonight, or tomorrow, they'd strike someplace near. Blood and screams would sound. For now, it was getting men and supplies moving, food in cold, cramped bellies, the perimeter staked out. And as much as he spoke, he was in eye sight of his fellow scouts, picketed along in a human palisade. Outside it, wrens swooped and starlings sang, and the world went round in the mayfly buzz of lazy spring on the ride to summer.

The world went round, and he pried the lid a little off of the proverbial box, he'd been hiding from her all this time. The one labeled 'the plan'.

Water shone in the light, and far away, there were thin, faint lines of smoke, marching skyward. He counted them.

Ten.

A small village then.

Promising.

Any less than four and it was likely some poor farmstead with nothing but some geese, a few ugly daughters, and a wheel of cheese. No thanks. He wanted something worth risking himself for. Not that peasants were really a risk. Farmer and wooden rake versus trained and skilled warrior in protective garb, and with shield and blade? Not really a contest.

He, like many of his kind had a nose for tactics. Ninety percent of the world was less proficient in slam and slash and grab warfare than the viking marauder. You didn't therefore, go mess with the ten percent that might be able to defeat you. Plennnnty of soft targets to enjoy yourself upon. Plenty. Frankia. Eire, Alba, the isles, Mercia, Wessex, Northumbria, East Anglia, on and on...all they needed here was some villages in need of some population and resource reallocation.

[Axel Eiriksson]

((ya know a farmer's pitchfork in the arse while you're trying to have a round with his daughter ain't nothing to sneeze at....just sayin'...))

[solveig]

-She crouched next to him, one knee in the dirt the other up and her elbow resting on, her eyes, as he'd taught her never rested for long in one spot, they were always on the move and he listened to her tell him about her feelings they needed to head east.

For waited for his response, unsure if now was the time she should have brought it to him. Always in the past he wanted to know immediately when she got one of her 'feelings'. He was quiet, his eyes regarding her quietly for a few minutes. When he finally spoke it wasn't at all what she expected ot hear.

Another of his stories. She liked his stories she did. They were always entertaining, often engaging....physically...he would want to act out this, or show her that... She has always known there was a purpose behind it, but she, not being understanding their customs and ways, hadn't ever full grasped what he was trying to do.

Her eyes widened now. He didn't mean......... For her...................

Holy....................
................Shit............

She struggled with the concept a little. These were usually woman that had been trained early on in life. Chosen. Who was she? A no one, a thrall...was it even possible for her to accomplish this.....and even if she could.....would she want to?

Could she see herself in that role. A man's role typically. Hunting, raiding.......killing. How would others look at her if she was one of these.. Skjoldmø.. forget others, how would he look at her? Is that what he wanted for her?

The little wheels in her head were turning. Could she do that? She had never held any things more dangerous than a cheese knife since her captivity. But there was violence in her. She knew that. She knew she could kill. After what the priests did to her...that had been satisfaction, and then she remembered the beating she had given screech, that had just been fun, even considering what it cost her.

But could she kill a man, take what was his, and make her her own.......

A slow smile spread. Hell yes, given the opportunity and chance. She loved Ragnvalder. She did, being his thrall wasn't easy. Not always, but it was good. Better than some others she'd seen. He was firm with her, but he cared, she knew that. He'd told her so, and she belived him.

But a chance to be more than a thrall...she wouldn't lie. She wanted more. She wanted the right to call him hers.

She shifted her position just a little, her legs burning holding the crouch for so long, her eyes scanning the guards that moved like shadows through the trees. It wouldn't be long now, there was a growing tension and excitement, she could feel it humming in her veins, and with this knew knowledge, a little bit of hope. Her freedom price had been named...and it had been ridiculous... bring down an entire kingdom...gift it to him..She couldn't do that. But to become a Skjoldmø. It had possibilities. He'd planted a seed. What she needed was more knowledge, they had a little time, very little privacy, she might not get a chance to ask again for some time.-

Do you know any of these Skjoldmø, have you ever met one?

[Lady Edfeil]

((good heavens! You guys post quicker than rabbits. If rabbits could post that is. *L* Great reading though.))