A Viking's Prize (M+/M+) - Conclusion posted 8/6/20

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A Viking's Prize (M+/M+) - Conclusion posted 8/6/20

Post by wataru14 »

Put this in the wrong forum! Moved to the correct one.

Since my last story was so successful and well-received, I decided to try another. This time it's a period piece with more adult situations.
Enjoy! Feedback is always appreciated.

Chapter 1 – A Callow Youth

The fire crackled in the great hall of Castle Bamford as the servants rushed back and forth with their trays. Roderick grabbed a mutton chop from a platter brought by a comely wench and smiled at her. She averted her eyes, as is required of the serving class when interacting with nobles, and curtseyed. Roderick’s Lord Father smiled. It was about time his son had shown proper attention to the ladies.

The castle had seemed empty these last few months. Roderick’s two older brothers, stout men and true, had been off serving God’s will in the Crusades, and he had been left behind to care for the household in their absence. Roderick seethed internally at the indignity. He was no longer a child that needed coddling. He had been a man these past two years! As the third son, his prospects for glory were slim already and he chafed at being denied his chance to prove his valor in the Holy Land.

Still, his Lady Mother doted on the lad, and he spent his days idling in the countryside, riding his champion stallion and refining his swordplay and archery. While not as strong in the arm as his brothers, he was a mean swordsman on his own merit. The responsibilities of running a household were not his concern, those being the duty of his eldest brother when he returned from Jerusalem. His future involved being wedded to the daughter of Lord Somethingorother and retiring to a lush country estate for a life of leisure. Little was expected of him and even less was asked of him.

The prospect of being bonded to any maiden set Roderick ill at ease, as his predilections leaned in the other direction. From time to time he would have dalliances with the men who tended the fields, but had been found out by his Lord Father a year ago out in the stables in mid tryst with a stablehand. His father seethed with rage and wanted to have the poor man flogged for buggery, but he could not do so without implicating his own son. So he stayed his hand and send the lad packing, threatening grave retaliation if he ever spoke of it again. After that, Roderick needed to be more careful. He felt heavy remorse for what happened to the poor man and vowed to never let his carelessness hurt another similarly.

Thomas was the castle smith. At a mere 20 years, he was very young for the position. He was apprentice to the former smith in his youth and was promoted when the master died of plague three years ago. He was handsome of face and strong of arm, with mahogany hair and piercing green eyes. Roderick had first met him when he came to the smithy seeking a new set of shoes for his stallion one year anon. His mind drifted back as his parents ate in anxious silence.

Roderick strode into the stone building and was taken aback by the heat. He saw no one, but heard the distinctive clanging of metal on metal from the rear and went towards it. Thomas was hard at work and Roderick stood agape when he saw him. The young smith had removed his tunic from the intense heat of the forge and worked barechested. Sweat and soot covered his barrel chest and massive arms as he flattened a sword against the anvil. His hair was covered by a coarse rag, not unlike those worn by pirates on the high seas, and a sturdy leather apron partially obscured his torso, but enough flesh was exposed to attract Roderick’s attention.

Oblivious to his visitor, Thomas grabbed the sword with tongs and cooled it in a barrel of water, closing his eyes as steam rose and filled the air. He did not notice the young lord’s presence until he had placed the weapon on the rack. Thomas immediately bowed his head and knelt. The Noble Family rarely came to the shops themselves, preferring to have house servants relay their requests, and he was unsure of how to carry himself.

Roderick bid the man to rise and they conversed for a while. Rapport came quickly and turned into friendship. Friendship became more. Mindful of his past indiscretions, Roderick would often come to the forge at night for play in secret. The doors could be locked, unlike those in the stable, which guaranteed their privacy. And Thomas was as skilled in the bed as he was at the anvil. And possessed of a quite a keen mind for a commoner.

On one such night, Roderick decided to play a game. He said to the strapping smith, “Today I wish you to ravish me. We shall pretend you are a brigand on the road who has waylaid my carriage.”

Thomas smiled. “What fun, dear Roddy,” he said, covering his handsome stubbled face with a cloth in the manner of a bandit’s mask. He slipped behind Roderick and clamped a thick, calloused hand over the young lord’s mouth. He wrapped his other arm tighly around his victim, pinning his arms to his sides. Roderick writhed against the strong man’s embrace.

“Not a sound out of you, sweet thing,” Thomas said, feigning a gutter tone and accent, “lest my dagger seek it’s mark.” Roderick softly grunted and vainly struggled, but the arms of his captor were bands of iron. Soon he gave up and meekly nodded.

“I am going to release my hand from your mouth,” Thomas warned, “but if you cry out I will fell you where you stand.” Roderick nodded again and Thomas released his mouth. His free hand skillfully found its way to Roderick’s coin purse. “This is now mine,” he said, snatching the purse and tossing it onto the work table. “Now let us see what manner of prey I have ensnared”

He stepped back and turned Roderick around. The young lord stood defiant, but kept his arms at his side as Thomas explored his body with his thick hands. He opened Roderick’s coat and grabbed the collar of his tunic with both hands. Showing his titanic strength, Thomas tore the tunic into a worthless rag, revealing Roderick’s respectable chest, sprinkled with a light coating of dark hair.

“What a prize!” Thomas said. “I have done well this day!” He stripped the coat off of Roderick and deposited in on the worktable as well. Then he took the remnants of the torn tunic. “But I still do not trust ye to remain silent,” he said. “So I must gag that lovely mouth of yours.” He brought the cloth up to Roderick’s lips, which he obediently opened. Thomas gently placed it in and wound it around Roderick’s head three times before knotting it off in back. Roderick’s mouth was fully muzzled and he softly mppgghhed in vain through the gag.

Thomas began exploring Roderick’s lower regions, brushing his hand against the young lord’s codpiece. “And what further treasures lie beneath?” he said. “Woe for you, sweet thing, but I shall be taking you back with me to my lair as a trophy to use as I please. Struggle all you like, but you are not mighty enough to defeat me.”

Taking his cue, Roderick lunged at Thomas and the two playfully tussled, but in the end the bigger man won. Roderick was pinned down on his stomach, the strapping smith atop him. “A valiant effort, but, alas, not enough,” Thomas said. He grabbed a length of leather cord from the wall and used it to securely, but gently, bind Roderick’s wrists behind his back. “Now, young lord, you are completely trussed and at my mercy. Now, let us return to my bandit lair so I may examine my prize in privacy.”

Roderick was raised to his knees and placed facing his burly captor. Thomas unlaced the cord on his leather breeches as Roderick glared at him defiantly. “Now, my handsome prisoner,” Thomas said, “I have already taken your valuables, now let us see how much value you place on your life…” Afterwards, Thomas did not untie Roderick and cradled him in his arms as they slept.

Roderick’s mind drifted back to the present. On this night, there would be no rendezvous for the pair. Roderick’s parents seemed ill-at-ease. They spoke naught as they ate, only addressing their son when the meal was done and the table was cleared.

“Dear boy,” his Lord Father said as his Lady Mother dabbed tears from her eyes with her silken handkerchief, “I am afraid that I bring bad news to this table.”

Roderick looked up, full of trepidation. Had they received word that one of his brothers had fallen in battle?

“We have received a messenger from one of the coastal villages at the edge of our lands,” his father said. “There has been a plague of Norsemen raiding the coast and one of their ships has been spotted near our territory.”

Roderick frowned. Norsemen. Those barbarians from the icy wastes held no fear of God and no love of the law in their hearts. Foul knaves all, destined for the blackest pit of Hell.

“The peasants have beseeched us for help, and as their Lord I must dispatch men to protect them,” his father said. “Lest they fall victim to those heathens and become unable to pay their taxes. I am sending you as my representative to safeguard the peasants.”

His Lady Mother wailed as his father continued. “You will be given a small battalion of warriors to lead. Strong men and valorous. I expect you to do honor to the Bamford name and return to us safely when the danger has passed.”

“Oh, woe!” his Lady Mother cried. “Must I send all my sons into danger?”

“Fear not, mother,” Roderick said. “No barbarian axe can fell me. I am a Bamford and no Nordic beast can stand against my righteous blade!”

Roderick’s words calmed his mother somewhat, but she was still feeling faint and decided to retire early for the evening. Roderick’s Lord Father bade him to bed as well, as he would leave for the coast with the men at first light.

Coming Soon - Part 2 – The Norsemen Attack

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Last edited by wataru14 3 years ago, edited 9 times in total.
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Post by GoBucks »

Intriguing story! From the title, I'm guessing Roderick is going to end up as a prisoner to a big burly viking and that is something that will be fun to read! Sounds like he'd enjoy it from his experience with Thomas. Look forward to more :)
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Post by WyattW5 »

very good so far. a proud boisterous son of a Lord. going off to face Viking Raiders under the faux that his righteousness will protect him. i would hate to be in his predicament when he becomes the thrawl of some barbaric Norseman. lol keep it up. may i recommend a lot of back talk on Rodericks part. may require a good gag.
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Post by Volobond »

Very interesting! I'm excited to see where this goes! Fun and sweet roleplay between Thomas and Roderick!
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Post by DeeperThanRed »

Kudos for the unique premise. It's not often we see historical stories around here, especially one that is so authentic. The flashback scene between Thomas and Roderick was really hot, aside from establishing their backgrounds and relationship quite well. Can't wait to see where this goes.
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Post by bondagefreak »

[mention]wataru14[/mention]
Thanks so much for accepting the request I made last year, mate!
I had a nice surprise when I logged onto the forum and came across this earlier.

I'm really looking forward to seeing where you'll be taking us, and will be waiting for chapter two with baited breath 8-)

P.s- Don't forget to update your story listing!
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Post by wataru14 »

Wow, I didn't even see that! Glad to be of service!
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Post by KidnappedCowboy »

Nice story. Cannot wait to read what befalls Roderick! :D
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Post by wataru14 »

Part 2 – The Norsemen Attack

In the morning, Roderick dressed and met his father at the stables where his black stallion was prepared for the ride. When they reached the front gate of the manor house, Roderick saw the five men his father has assigned to his command. They were all clad in studded leather guard armor and carried spears. All were young and inexperienced - poor fighters all, by the looks of them. Except for one. Roderick suppressed a gasp as he noticed Thomas standing among the men. He was hard to miss, standing half a head above the others. His armor was ill-fitting and tight against his sturdy frame.

“Here are your men to command,” Roderick’s Lord Father explained. “They will serve you with honor, I trust you will return soon victorious.”

“The smith is among them,” Roderick said, barely keeping his composure. “Surely he is more needed here? I can take another in his place so that the manor may use his services in my absence.”

“No need,” the Earl said, dismissively waving his hand. “I have arranged for a temporary replacement to assume his duties. He will be arriving from Wexford later today. You will need the lad’s great strength to defeat the vile enemy.” The Earl sneered. He knew what had been going on between the two, Roderick realized, and he was sending Thomas out with the guards in hopes that he would fall in battle. Eliminate the problem and keep his own hands clean. Perhaps the others had been given orders in secret to assure that Thomas would not come home. Roderick steeled his jaw. Such a foul scheme! And wrought by his own blood! It would not succeed while he had anything to say about it.

“I accede to your wisdom, father,” Roderick said, calling for squires to help him mount his horse. “We will ALL return soon to share tales of our glory.” Roderick spurred his horse and assembled his men into formation. His Lord Father suppressed a small smile as he saw them off.

“We shall see…” he said to himself.

------------------------------------------------------------

The troop took two days to reach the village. They stopped for the night in roadside taverns and were given free lodging, as is expected for those accompanying the son of the Lord. Thomas and Roderick dared not risk meeting with so many eyes around, so Thomas slept in the barn with the other soldiers while Roderick was given the best room in the house. It seemed an especially cruel torment. “No doubt my father planned this, as well” Roderick thought sadly.

When Roderick and his company of men rode in to the coast town on the third day, the people ran out to greet him with cheers and praise. How godlike he must have looked to these small and simple people, he thought. And Roderick was the most splendid thing they had ever seen. Resplendent on a coal black stallion, Roderick was garbed in shining new platemail, a gift from his Lord Father when he came of age. It was polished to a brilliant lustre and emblazoned with a silk tabard, embroidered by his Lady Mother, bearing the blue and green banner of House Bamford.

He dismounted his horse and gave it to a squire to care for as he approached the village mayor. The man was servile enough, Roderick thought, but far too obsequious. And rather portly for the head of a village that had cried poverty and begged tax leniency these past few seasons. The mayor gave the men lodging in the guard barracks while Roderick would stay in the mayor’s mansion. Roderick, of course, said he would prefer to stay with his men, but the mayor insisted.

The ship came two days later. And the battle was surprisingly quick. The menfolk of the town put up a feeble resistance with their pitchforks, but were no match for the raiders from the sea. Most broke ranks and fled. Roderick and his men were out training in the fields when word came that the raiding ship had landed. He steeled his meager force and led them charging into the village. By the time they arrived, the defenders had been routed and Vikings freely roamed the streets, coming out of shops and homes carrying bales of plunder.

Roderick charged his stallion up the street towards the wharf, with his men at his side. He cursed the Norsemen as he charged. Surely they would be so terrified of his resplendent valor that they would scatter back to their ship and sail away with great haste. They had thus far only faced shabby peasant folk, not a mounted knight and his well-armed soldiers, after all.

A quartet of raiders stood in the square, surrounded by fire, smoke, and fleeing peasants. They were all large and swarthy, clad in furs and mismatched pieces of mail. All had arms the size of a normal man’s leg and unkempt beards. Armed with wooden shields and wicked-looking hand-axes, the raiders seemed pleased to see an armed force approach them. The sport offered from the farm folk had not been satisfying enough to satiate their lust for battle and they looked forward to a real challenge. Roderick pointed to them with his sword and bade his men to raise their pikes and charge.

His men squared off in a line formation, Thomas in the center. Roderick galloped forward, slightly behind the cordon of soldiers, focused on his target. He raised his sword as he rode, but it was knocked from his hand and skidded away into the street as a strong net, thrown by an unseen assailant from a nearby alleyway, overtook him. Bellowing in their obscene language, the Norsemen charged at his warriors as he was pulled from his horse and landed on his back with a loud clanking thud. The wind was knocked out of him and he barely retained consciousness as his men engaged the Viking barbarians in combat. Armored as he was, Roderick could not right himself, even without the net that was now tightly entangling his arms and legs.

The net had ensnared his head as well, and Roderick watched helplessly through the fibers as his men were cut down by the superior fighters. One, two, three fell to Viking blades. God be praised, Thomas was not among those unlucky souls. He, alone, fought with valor. Although he had no martial training, his great strength helped him hold his own against the onslaught. He thrust hard with his spear at a red-headed giant, but it was turned away by the Viking’s shield and flew from his hands. Now unarmed, Thomas narrowly avoided a blow from the Norseman’s axe and charged his foe barehanded. The two went down in a whirling mass of fists and kicks as the fourth guardsman was felled. Then three other Vikings joined the fray and descended on Thomas, howling with foul laughter and jibes.

Roderick loudly cursed them from his prone position on the cobbles, desperately trying to disentangle himself from the accursed net, but his cries were cut short when his assailant emerged from the shadows. Roderick’s eyes widened. This was the biggest man he had ever seen. Standing six-and-a-half feet and weighing as much as two normal men, the Viking was clothed in studded leather and furs. He wore no helmet, so Roderick could see that the man’s blonde hair was shaved and braided in an obscene barbarian style. What skin was exposed through the man’s armor was covered in war paint and tattooing, not unlike the savages in the eastern islands. The giant man pulled the tugline of the net snug as he approached.

Another Viking, one of those who had descended on Thomas, strode up to him, carrying Roderick’s sword. “Good catch, Bjorn,” he said, using the English tongue so Roderick could understand him. “But this is no herring. You’ve snagged their leader.” He handed Bjorn the sword. “Use his puny backscratcher to send him to the arms of his god. For he will not be welcomed in Valhalla. We’ve already disposed of his guards.”

A single tear dripped down Roderick’s cheek as he lamented Thomas’ cruel fate. Bjorn stood a moment in thought, then bent down and pulled Roderick into a sitting position. He untangled the net from Roderick’s head and shoulders and removed the young lord’s helmet. Roderick vainly thrashed against the braided cords of the net that held him fast, but all he did was entrap himself further. “Ah, Farl, let us not be hasty. This is no mere man-at-arms. Look at his beautiful face and the shiny silk drape he wears. This herring is a nobleman. Worth far more to us alive.”

Farl nodded, “So he is!” he exclaimed. “The gods smile on us this day. We shall take him.” Roderick fought furiously as two more raiders came over and joined Bjorn and Farl. He was forcefully disentangled from the net, but this came as no relief. Four pairs of giant calloused hands roughly tore the silk tabard from his breast and began to undo the straps of his armor. Piece after piece of his shiny new platemail was stripped from him and unceremoniously dumped into a nearby wheelbarrow. Every time Roderick tried to fight his attackers, rough hands shoved him back down as if he were a fussy child. He was no weakling, by any means, but even the smallest of these men made him look like a boy not yet grown.

When his greaves were finally taken, Roderick lay on his back in the street, clad only in the flimsy linen that covered his loins. The cobbles, foul with mud and soot, pressed cold against his back. He was surrounded by the four giants and knew his situation was hopeless. He thought of Thomas, so foully cut down not twenty feet from him, and he seethed with righteous fury.

“And what is your name, Young Lordling,” Bjorn scoffed.

“I am Roderick, third son of the Earl of Bamford,” Roderick spat, looking up at his captors. “My father will not let this indignity stand. He will send a legion of knights to this place and…”

Roderick’s diatribe was cut short by a swift blow to his face from the back of Bjorn’s hand. He rubbed his cheek in shock. No man had ever dared strike him! Let alone with such force.

“You had best still that tongue before you lose it,” Bjorn warned. “You are a valuable hostage, but as a third son your ransom will not be as great as we hoped. This raid was good, so we can make do with the plunder we have. If you become more trouble than you’re worth, it’s no skin off our backs. Although my whip may take some skin off yours.”

Farl whistled and the two other Vikings roughly grabbed Roderick and pulled him to his feet. They held his hands behind his back as Farl firmly bound them with leather cords. Their grip was like iron and the tight bindings cut into his wrists, causing him to grimace in discomfort. He chafed at the indignity, but did not resist. What point was there in fighting back when Thomas was gone? He tested his bonds once his captors had finished securing them, but the knots were strong and true. Roderick, third son of the Earl of Bamford, was now a prisoner of the barbarians. He winced as Bjorn looped a hempen rope around his neck and loosely tied it off, making a leash like noble ladies used on their dogs.

“Move, young lordling!” Bjorn taunted. Farl and his companions turned and headed to the harbor. Bjorn followed, tugging on Roderick’s leash. He had no choice but to follow along, red with shame and stumbling along as they lead him towards their waiting companions at the wharf.

Coming Soon - Part 3

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Post by Volobond »

I am very excited to see what treatment our young lordling will recieve at the hands of the Norse warrior... ;)
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Post by bondagefreak »

[mention]PiotrekTied[/mention] I think this one'll be right up your alley, mate!
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Post by cj2125 »

I'm liking where this is going, feel a little bit sorry for Thomas but let's see what awaits our lording in store!
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Post by george_bound »

Roderick... a royal... led away with a rope leash... by a bunch of blonde bulky brutes... this is gonna be fun ;)
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Post by DeeperThanRed »

Poor Thomas...

Really intense chapter. Roderick got himself caught badly and things are looking bleak for him. His capturers stripping him was for logistic reasons but it still made my imagination run wild.

[mention]Charmides[/mention], I know you're busy with real life but if you see this, this story might be up to your alley.
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Post by PiotrekTied »

bondagefreak wrote: 3 years ago @PiotrekTied I think this one'll be right up your alley, mate!
Bondagefreak is exactly what I needed, an interesting story with Vikings and BDMS :D
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Post by WyattW5 »

Poor Thomas I was looking forward to read more about him. sad, but I am glad to see Bjorn is going to put Roderick in line.
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Post by KidnappedCowboy »

Poor Roderick! But I love the way the Vikings netted him as their prize catch.

And Thomas? Well, dare we hope he survived the trio of Norsemen who fell upon him? Perhaps he too will be amongst their booty. Or perhaps it will be Thomas who rescues Roderick, and the two will return in triumph to the Earl!
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Post by dahanband »

every good
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Post by wataru14 »

Part 3 – The Accounting

Roderick’s wrists and neck chafed in the coarse Viking ropes. He trudged along behind Bjorn like a cow being led to market, his head down as grief and despair overcame him. This was partially due to the humiliation of his predicament, but mostly due to the loss of Thomas. The Vikings led him past the bodies of his fallen soldiers and yanked him along before he could even take a last look. Roderick whispered a small prayer for them as he plodded along.

At the end of the street was the harbor. Vikings had piled crates and sacks on the docks and an older man walked back and forth in front of them, surveying the plunder. This man seemed the age of his Lord Father and was shown a vast amount of respect by the other Norsemen. Roderick was shoved along and put down on his knees in front of him.

“And what is this?” the man asked in his language.

“This,” Bjorn replied “is a nobleman. He led a small squad of warriors in hopes of repelling us, but he is a poor general and I brought him down with my net. As his current state proves.” Bjorn let out a hearty laugh. “I was going to slay him, but I thought we could profit much by letting him live.”

“Hmmm,” the older man said, eyeing Roderick appraisingly and speaking in English. “You, lordling! What is your name?”

“Roderick of House Bamford,” the terrified captive said, mustering what bravado he could. “My father is lord of these lands.”

“Ah,” the man said. “A fine catch, Bjorn. He will earn us a pretty penny.” He turned his attention to Roderick again. “You are lucky today, boy. No thralldom for you. You fill fetch us a fine ransom.” The raiders cheered in response. “When we reach home you will be afforded the courtesy of your station, but for now, you will be kept with the other captives.”

“Other captives?” Roderick thought. Of course. These barbarians often took prisoners in their raids and carried them back to their villages in the icy wastes. None ever returned home. Stories said that women taken by the raiders were made second or third wives to their captors. The men, they told, were resigned to slavery. Forced to serve the barbarians in menial labor and toil until the end of their days. Roderick was ashamed at his relief that he would not suffer that dark fate.

The man waved Roderick away and Bjorn tugged on his leash. Roderick rose to his feet and followed, head held high. A small coffle of securely trussed unfortunates was grouped together on the docks and Bjorn herded Roderick over to them. In front Roderick saw three weeping young maidens, stricken with grief as they had realized what fate was to befall them. Behind them was a middle-aged plump woman whose eyes burned with fury. “That one will be dangerous,” Roderick thought. In the rear of the group were the captive men-folk. Two stout lads stood together, stripped to their privy clothes and with their hands bound behind them as Roderick’s were. They were trying unsuccessfully to hide their fear. And next to them, also bound and clad only in his linens, was Thomas.

Roderick’s heart raced. He had not been slain after all! In a dreamlike state Roderick felt Bjorn remove the leash. The burly raider walked away to help load the spoils into the ship as Roderick ran to his companion. Thomas’s handsome face was bruised and a cut on his forehead leaked across his brow. Thomas must have put up quite a fight. He was also bound much more severely than the other prisoners. In addition to the leather cords that pinned his hands behind him, Thomas’s upper arms and chest were encircled with coarse ropes. They rubbed his bare skin raw and left indentations in his flesh. His muscles bulged from the tightness. The strain must have been unbearable.

“Thomas!” he cried. “You live!”

Thomas looked up and his face brightened. “Roddy!” he cried. He rose from the barrel he sat upon and quickly went to Roderick. Unable to embrace due to their restraints, the two pressed their chests together and Roderick rested his head on Thomas’ broad shoulder. They basked in the joy of their reunion for a moment and then snapped back to reality.

“I am so glad,” Roderick said. “I thought I had lost you.”

“No heathen could fell me,” Thomas joked. “After my spear was lost I rushed the one called Farl and engaged him with my bare hands. Our struggle was titanic, but I have not the killer’s instinct he does and I was grappled to the ground. Landed a few good blows, too! He'll be feeling those for a while. When I was subdued, one of his wretched mates came to slay me but Farl stayed his hand. ‘This one has the strength of a kraken!’ he said to them. ‘If we could but tame his spirit he will be useful to us as a thrall.’ Farl left me to his companions and then went over to where you lay.

“My armor was taken and I was stripped to my underclothes. Weakened from the fighting I could not resist them as they rudely pulled aside my linens and appraised me like a steer. One or two times they put a hand upon my manhood. I tried to fight them, but was too weary. They laughed at my shame and bound me fast. One of them said, ‘This one could be dangerous. Better do him up extra securely.’ And they restrained me further, leaving me in the state you now see. I suppose I should be honored that none of the others were considered enough of a threat to deserve such special attention.”

Thomas smiled and Roderick could not help but return it in spite of himself. “They lifted me to my feet as your armor was being taken. I tried to call out to you but one of them cuffed me in the head and dragged me along before I could. They brought me before the old man, who I think is some sort of noble among their kind. And he bade them bring me over here.”

Roderick was amazed at Thomas’ story. “Then do not fret,” he said, “for we will soon be home and all of this will be behind us. They intend to ransom me. You are part of my entourage and we will return together.”

Thomas looked sad. “Oh, if such were to be, sweet thing,” he said. “Your father will pay your ransom but no one will pay one for me. An end such as this was not his intent for me, I imagine, but perpetual servitude under a barbarian lash suits his purposes just the same as my death. My fate is sealed, I’m afraid.”

“No!” Roderick exclaimed. “My father would not plot such a thing! I will demand that he…” His words trailed off. As much as it pained him to say it, he knew every word Thomas had spoken was true. His father would never pay for the release of a common smith. Especially one who was bringing his family such dishonor. “When I am released, I will assemble men and we will come for you. I have a keen mind and will remember where their home is. We will rescue you!”

Thomas again smiled. “I hope that comes to pass,” he said. “But for now our talk must wait.” Farl and Bjorn approached and the group fell silent.

One by one, the prisoners were placed in a line and bade walk to the ship. The maidens wailed and pleaded with their captors for release, promising them whatever they desired in exchange for their freedom. One of the maidens pressed her ample bosom against Bjorn and said “Please, ser, there must be something I can do to earn my release…”

Farl let out a bellowing laugh that was taken up by the others. “You’ll get nowhere with talk like that,” he said. “Bjorn will take no wife. If ye looked like that strapping bull in the rear of the group you might have stirred his… mercy, but he has none for those such as you!”

The crying maiden was pried away from Bjorn and led up the gangplank to the longship. The other women followed. When the older woman passed Bjorn and Farl she spat at them.

“This one will make a good wife for Arn!” Farl cackled. “He likes them spirited!” Bjorn laughed as the woman was shoved along up onto the deck. When the men walked past, he gave them each a thorough lookover, taking extra time in inspecting Thomas. His leering eyes scanned Thomas’ mighty chest and arms, now held helplessly in the cruel ropes. His gaze moved to Thomas’ nethers and remained there for a while, a hungry grin coming to his lips.

“Don’t you touch him!” Roderick yelled, stamping his foot in impotent rage. Bjorn gave a wry smile.

“As you wish, young lordling,” Bjorn said, giving an elaborate cortly bow.

Farl came up behind the two and prodded Roderick in the back with the hilt of his whip. “No more mouth from either of you,” he threatened. “We need to return you to your father alive, but I make no guarantees as to your condition. Cheek us again and you’ll feel my lash. Give that pretty flesh a few scars as a reminder of your place!”

Roderick gritted his teeth and remained silent.

“Now move!” Farl barked, giving Roderick a light kick in the rear. The raiders howled with laughter as the two captives were roughly shoved up the gangplank towards an uncertain fate.

Coming Soon – Part 4: The Village

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Last edited by wataru14 3 years ago, edited 1 time in total.
WyattW5
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Post by WyattW5 »

not bad I might recommend explaining how much Rod likes staring at Thomas. for a small hint. but I like it.
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Post by Volobond »

Oooh, I'm so happy Thomas lives! Now I can't wait to see how Roderick will fare, and how Thomas might "stir Bjorn's mercy..." ;)
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Post by DeeperThanRed »

Thomas and Roderick's reunion was really touching. You can see how much they care for each other.

I wonder how Roderick will make Vikings let go of his friend now that they have an eye on him.
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Post by george_bound »

Great progress [mention]wataru14[/mention] !
Well that's wonderful that Thomas is among the living but not so that he's a captive, likely for life. Hoping Thomas and Sir Roddy get to spend some quality bonding time together... like literally bound together ;)
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Post by wataru14 »

Part 4: The Village

Once onboard, the prisoners were herded into a wooden cage on the top deck. It was exposed to the elements and had room for all eight of them, but just barely. Once they were safely inside, they were paired off and made to sit on the soggy straw floor back-to-back. Roderick was filled with fear and apprehension, but the feel of Thomas’s warm flesh against his back was reassuring. A Viking, holding lengths of their accursed coarse hempen rope in his hands, came over to the pair and started encircling their torsos, pressing them close together.

The ropes cut agonizingly tightly into Roderick’s chest, but he didn’t mind so much as it allowed him to be close to Thomas. He thought of how much worse it must be for the smith, who already had a layer of rope tightly binding his chest and arms. When the pair was secured back-to-back, the Viking bound each man’s ankles. Now they could not get up off the floor.

“You lot just sit tight,” Farl called from the deck. “We should be home by tomorrow afternoon. If you behave we may feed you then.” He laughed cruelly as the other Vikings left the cage and closed the door behind them. A heavy iron lock was secured with an ominous clank. Roderick’s exploring fingers found Thomas’ bound hands near his and the two grasped each other tightly.

“Quite a predicament we find ourselves in, eh, Roddy?” Thomas joked.

“We will endure this together,” Roderick said.

“Always the optimist, I see,” Thomas said. “I will hold you to your promise, you know. To come and rescue me.”

“When my knights charge over the hill and cut down the last of these barbarians I will come to you and kiss you right there,” Roderick said. “And I don’t care who sees it.”

Thomas smiled. “I look forward to it, sweet thing,” he said.

The night was cold and wet with sea spray. The prisoners were forced to huddle together for warmth as they slept, which Roderick and Thomas quite enjoyed. The other prisoners scowled and whispered among themselves about their closeness and familiarity, looking at them with revulsion at times. The same could not be said of their captors, Roderick noticed. It was clear to all there was a special bond between the two men, and it did not seem to bother the Norsemen in the slightest. Roderick did notice, however, that they only addressed Thomas when speaking to the pair together. Like Roderick was not even there.

On the second day of the journey, land was spotted. But something wasn’t right. It was chilly enough, Roderick thought, but there had been no sign of icebergs or glaciers. Didn’t these barbarians live in vast snowfields? As the ship drew closer to land, the village came into view. The buildings were made of heavy logs and were arranged in coencentric rings around a large firepit. People scuttled about doing their daily chores. It looked… pleasant. Rustic, to be sure, but nothing like the icebound hovels he was expecting. The villagers crowded around the shore as the ship drew closer, cheering and waving.

Farl and Bjorn rattled the cage. “All right, you lot,” Farl said. “We’re here. Everyone up!” The cage was opened and raiders came in. The prisoners’ feet were unbound and the pairs were detached from each other. Vikings grabbed each captive by the shoulder and yanked them to their feet. They were assembled in a line and a rope was tied around their necks, connecting them to the prisoner in front in a long human chain. When Farl secured the rear end of the rope around Roderick’s neck, he stepped up to Thomas and punched him hard in the midsection. Thomas winced, but did not double over.

“I haven’t forgotten the blows you gave me during the raid,” Farl said. “I’ll make you pay for those in earnest soon enough.” Thomas said nothing as Bjorn tugged the front end of the line and the coffle walked down the gangplank onto the beach.

Roderick got a good look at the village and its people as he plodded down onto the rocky sand. Everyone was large and strong-looking, even the women. Obscene totems were carved into the wooden support poles of the houses – shrines to their heathen gods, Roderick supposed. Sprinkled throughout the crowd, Roderick could see a few men who stood with their heads bowed and their hands clasped in front of them. They wore simple threadbare breeches and tunics and heavy iron collars could be seen around their necks. Those must be the Norsemen’s slaves, Roderick thought. Each was heavily muscled, no doubt chosen to be spared from the raiders’ axes for that very reason, but wore no beard. It seems only the Vikings themselves were allowed such manly plumage. They were kept with the countenance of a boy to remind them of their lesser station among the males.

The crowd chattered and gossiped in their native tongue, pointing at the prisoners as they spoke. The older man from the raid took his place of honor at the front of the crowd and addressed them, but Roderick could not understand his words. He felt the rope around his neck being removed.

“That is our jarl,” Bjorn whispered into Roderick’s ear, stooping to be at the same plane as the nobleman. “You would call him our chief or lord, but he is not like the nobles in your country. The jarl does not sit on silks and grow fat and slovenly while others do the work for him. He leads the raids himself and the first to give his sweat in service to the village. He rules by example, not by edict.”

Roderick nodded gravely, ashamed in thinking of how his Lord Father would never act in such a way. Perhaps there was more to these people than he thought.

“He is assigning the prisoners,” Bjorn continued. “The women were claimed by a few of the men on the ship, so he must decide who gets them. The menfolk will be collared as thralls and assigned to those in need of laborers. But things look grim for the big one.”

Roderick looked at Bjorn. “What do you mean?”

“Farl has claimed him,” Bjorn said, “and will make him suffer every day. Farl has a fragile pride and does not take kindly to the beating he received from the lad during the raid. Several of the men jibed him about it and your… friend will pay a heavy price for that.”

Roderick looked down. The other prisoners had been divvied out and taken by their new masters and now the jarl approached Thomas. He looked him over carefully, then said something Roderick could not understand to Farl, who nodded in response. The old man said something else and walked away. Grinning evilly, Farl approached Tomas with a sturdy iron collar in his hands. The smith offered no resistance as the collar was snapped around his neck and locked shut. A rope towline was secured to a ring on the collar, the end of which was in Farl’s hand. Thomas gave a longing look at Roderick as Farl dragged him away.

Roderick’s heart fell but before he could react the jarl had appeared before him.

“And as for you,” the jarl said in English. “As a prisoner of high station you will not be made to work. You will be confined to Bjorn’s lodge for the duration of your time here. Any attempt to escape will be met with painful consequences.”

“I understand,” Roderick said.

The jarl nodded and the leather cords that held Roderick’s hands behind his back were undone. Bjorn walked Roderick to his lodge, which was on the square with a view of the harbor. It was next to the jarl’s lodge. Bjorn must have been a man of high station in this village. Roderick was handed a pair of breeches and a tunic to wear (but no shoes), and then Bjorn left the lodge, locking the door behind him. Roderick ran to the window and looked outside.

Thomas and the two other men from the village were being untied. When they were freed from their bonds, their new masters pointed to the ship where the other male slaves were already at work unpacking the plunder. They slowly started ambling towards the ship, picking up the pace when their masters brought sturdy sticks down across their backs to enforce compliance. While on deck, the slaves were given bales and crates to carry back to the village for storage. Roderick noticed that Thomas was bade to carry twice as much as the other men were.

When the plunder was finished being stored, the male slaves were weary and dripping with sweat. Their masters called them to heel and brought them to their lodges to rest for the night. A grand celebration was being readied for the triumphant raiders and they were not invited. Female slaves scurried back and forth preparing the food and decorations. Roderick watched helplessly as Farl shoved Thomas towards a cramped shed attached to the side of his lodge and locked the smith inside. It had no window and looked poorly insulated against the cold night air. Roderick could only hope there was a mat and blanket inside.

While the feast was still being prepared, Bjorn came into the lodge with a plate of food, which he dropped on the table. “Eat up,” he said. “There is a task for you when you’re done.” Not having eaten since the previous morning, Roderick devoured the meager meal. When he was finished, Bjorn put a parchment and quill in front of him. “Some of us can speak your language, but few can write it. You are to write the letter to your father begging your ransom. I will tell you what to write. And be warned. The jarl’s second wife is English and will be shown the letter before we send it. If you write anything other than what I tell you to the one you call Thomas will be whipped for it.”

Roderick said, “I understand” and took down the letter as Bjorn dictated. After it was inspected and cleared it was sealed with his signet ring, taken as plunder yesterday by the raiders. In the morning a messenger would depart to deliver the demand, but it would be more than a week before he returned. Roderick slept that night thinking of Thomas, alone and locked in that cold, cramped shed.

In the morning, an aging slave came in to do the housework. Roderick tried to help her, but she steadfastly refused. He left her to her duties and ran to the window. He saw the male thralls lined up in the courtyard being prepared for work after their morning feeding. New houses were going to be built at the edge of the village and the land needed to be cleared and flattened. Some of the men were given axes and shovels – the ones who had been sufficiently broken enough to be trusted with tools that could be used as weapons, Roderick thought – but the new arrivals were tasked with carting rocks and debris away. Except for Thomas, that is.

Farl was apparently foreman of this excavation and was taking the opportunity to oppress Thomas further. The smith was barechested and standing with his arms outstretched at his sides. A Viking held each wrist and a heavy wooden yoke was being fastened to him over his broad shoulders. “Let the ox pull the plow!” Farl taunted. When Thomas was fully secured, Farl grabbed him by the face.

“You will pull the stumps out when the others have finished felling the trees,” Farl sneered. “And then we will attach a tiller to your yoke and you will flatten the ground after the debris is cleared. Should be easy for a strong thing like you.” Farl took out his whip. “Now move before I put a few lines on that back of yours.” He cracked the whip and Thomas started to work.

Bjorn glanced over and saw Roderick’s face in the window. He frowned and returned to his lodge. “Why do you watch?” he asked when he came inside and shooed Roderick away from the window. “It will only bring both of you pain.”

“Please,” Roderick said. “Help him. You have to do something. I know you have the power to help.”

“Perhaps I do, but why should I?” Bjorn said. “Farl has a short temper but he and I are brothers in battle. We have killed and bled together. Why should I undercut him for a thrall’s benefit? The lad might mean a great deal to you, but he means nothing to me.”

Roderick stood in dumbfounded silence.

“And even if I was to intervene,” Bjorn continued. “What would it get me, besides Farl’s enmity? Your father will not pay a ransom for him. If you were to buy my favor, what coin would you use? You have no purse and your title means nothing here.”

“There must be something…” Roderick stammered.

Bjorn strutted over and placed his giant hand over Roderick’s nethers. “Perhaps there is,” he said. “I have tasted many men, but never a noble before. For a sample of that sweet nectar I might be inclined to help you.”

Roderick swallowed hard. He was no stranger to the company of men, but not like this. Thomas was always gentle and sweet, even when they were play-acting. Bjorn would not be. It would be ugly and brutal. Steeling his resolve, Roderick answered. “Yes. Whatever you wish. Just do it!”

Bjorn smiled. “I see we have a deal,” he said. “If I am to free the lad from servitude under Farl, he would need some other assignment that would utilize him better. Not an easy thing for one so strong. The jarl will not reassign him just because I ask. There must be a benefit to the village. What skills does he have?”

“He’s a smith,” Roderick blurted. “And a good one. Singlehandedly supplied my father’s castle since he was a boy. His work is top-class.”

“I see,” Bjorn said. “We are in need of a smith. Ours is aging and could use an ‘apprentice.’ One that doesn’t need training from the beginning would be quite a boon. Very well. I will speak to the jarl on his behalf. Tomorrow your companion will begin thralldom to the village smith. He will work hard, but he will be treated reasonably well. And he will be safe from Farl. He would not dare damage the property of a highly prominent man like our smith without a justifiable reason.”

“Thank you,” Roderick said, stammering.

“Do not blabber like one of your women folk,” Bjorn scoffed, “or ye shall ruin my interest in you and the deal shall be off. Prepare thyself well for tonight I will expect my payment.” Bjorn gave a lecherous smile and headed out the door.

Coming Soon – Part 5: The Hammer Falls

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Post by Volobond »

Oooh, poor Thomas. I hope Bjorn keeps his side of the bargain. I do wonder what he has in store for Roderick...
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