CAPTURED BY VIKINGS: MEMOIRS OF A PRISONER (M/M) *CHAPTERS 1-16*

[KidnappedCowboy]

"Milk-Drinker" -- very nice, [mention]bondagefreak[/mention]

One critique...The Norsemen massacred most of the villagers and monks, taking 4 or 5 men and 7 women. Are further violent ends necessary? Could they have not cast a net over Paul and cast him to the same fate as the narrator?

[privateandrews]

As usual this is a very well written piece of story telling, not something i take to most of the time, but i am interested to see how it develops and look forward to further chapters. I have to say thank you for the time, effort and detail you put into your writing .

[bondagefreak]

One critique...The Norsemen massacred most of the villagers and monks, taking 4 or 5 men and 7 women. Are further violent ends necessary? Could they have not cast a net over Paul and cast him to the same fate as the narrator?

Hello, my friend. I'm honestly not too sure how to respond to this critique In retrospect, I should probably add a disclaimer at the top of the prologue; indicating that this story would aim for realism instead of fluff. I realise most readers are unfamiliar with the realities of 9th century northwestern Europe, so much of this content will no doubt be as shocking to you as it is to the narrator.

In my own defence, literally every "Viking" show of this past decade has been held hostage by Hollywood-style quotas and absurd/unfactual romanticisations of the era (ex: Viking women carrying arms and going on raids with their men). These shows and movies are rife with 21st-century ideals that did not even exist a century ago, much less in A.D 800.

In short, I know some of the content here will be quite crude and distasteful (at least to those of us who have a heart!) but I'm really going to be sticking to historically factual lore on this one. No fluff and no unrealistic softening of rough edges


As for the casting of a net over poor Paul, I'm afraid such "weapons" were not used by men of this region.
Weaponised nets were very much a Mediterranean (Greek & Roman) thing, and were mostly used in gladiatory settings; something which had already disappeared long before A.D 800 due to the rise of Christianity (which disapproved of such games...while at the same time condoning the worst/most barbaric tortures imaginable. Go figure ).

As far as weapons go, Norsemen of that time were found to use iron swords, spears, hatchets, war axes, shields, and to a lesser degree bows and hammers. Women didn't carry weapons and had to make do with whatever kitchen blade/farming tool they could get their hands on if it came down to defending the children. Slaves and thralls were strictly forbidden from bearing weapons.

Anyways, we'll get into all that later on.
Hopefully, the realistic aim of this project will not be too off-putting.
I'll be adding a cautionary disclaimer to the top of the prologue in a bit.

[that1kid13]

Couldn’t read this fast enough. Definitely way more up my alley. Thank you for appealing to this smaller group of readers . Please continue this

[KidnappedCowboy]

In short, I know some of the content here will be quite crude and distasteful (at least to those of us who have a heart!) but I'm really going to be sticking to historically factual lore on this one. No fluff and no unrealistic softening of rough edges

Thank you [mention]bondagefreak[/mention], for your reply.

I know the history very well, so I am familiar with the violence of past eras.

There's no need to put up warning stickers. I look forward to the story continuing.

[bondagefreak]

THANKS A TON FOR THE AWESOME COMMENTS, GUYS!

REALLY APPRECIATE THE FEEDBACK AND ENCOURAGEMENT.

HERE'S THE NEXT CHAPTER. ENJOY!

[mention]Bradstick[/mention] [mention]Guardianbound[/mention] [mention]Stormee[/mention] [mention]gag1195[/mention] [mention]ShadowHusky[/mention] [mention]GoBucks[/mention] [mention]Ossassin[/mention] [mention]KidnappedCowboy[/mention] [mention]DeeperThanRed[/mention] [mention]Socksbound[/mention] [mention]Subexplorer71[/mention] [mention]wataru14[/mention] [mention]socjuc[/mention] [mention]privateandrews[/mention] [mention]that1kid13[/mention] [mention]TayDay95[/mention] [mention]blackbound[/mention] [mention]TightropesEU[/mention] [mention]cstone5725@gmail.com[/mention]

[bondagefreak]

DAY 1
Einmánuður 12th, A.D 841

CHAPTER 2 - VOYAGE TO NOREGR

The trip to the land of heathens was both long and torturously gruelling. Not only did the constant motion of the boat make me sick to my stomach, but the sea salt-covered hemp ropes dug into my skin and created deep welts around my wrists and ankles. Even worse than the harsh bite of rough hemp and the nausea-inducing waves was the excruciating hogtie that threatened to break my body in half.

The practice of restraining male captives was somewhat understandable, but considering the fact that I didn't pose much more of a threat than the unrestrained women on the other two Drakkar ships, the severe hogtie I'd been forced in was hardly justifiable.

I took no pleasure in the suffering of others, but I did draw some measure of solace from the knowledge that my fate was, at the very least, not being suffered alone. From the sound of the many moans and groans echoing around me, it was made plainly obvious that the other captives were having just as much trouble as I was dealing with the painful restraints. Perhaps even more so due to their stronger builds and lesser flexibility.



With the wind in their sails and a powerful chorus of nordic battle songs to further spur on their efforts, the muscular behemoths made good time and rowed the oars of the ship with a sustained vigour that seemed out of this world.

It pains me to say this, dear friend, but my interest in the languages made the cohesive symphony of their unmistakably masculine battle chants strangely appealing. My very basic understanding of their tongue allowed me to grasp the recurring themes of their heartily-sung songs, most of which revolved around death, war, honour, glory, warriors of old, the afterlife, and strangely enough...love.

Unfortunately, my bound colleagues didn't share my strange fascination for the language of northern brutes. Instead of using the opportunity to learn about their captors or attempt to make out the many words that shared common roots with our own tongue, Allan, Duncan and Sheamus attempted to drown out what they considered as being unholy chants by reciting the Lord's prayer, over and over again.

"Our Father, which art in heaven, Hallowed be thy Name.
Thy Kingdom come. Thy will be done on earth, as it is in heaven.
Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive them that trespass against us.
And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.
For thine is the kingdom, the power, and the glory."

The heaving Norsemen said nothing at first, but as the overly monotonous recitations of my fellow Caledonians grew incessant and mildly grating - even to my own ears - several of the brutes became agitated and ordered my colleagues to be silent.

"Hljóðr!" barked one of the seated rowers. "Lúka aptr þinn muðr!" angrily snapped another.

Although I only understood the word "muðr" - which meant mouth - a rudimentary understanding of their language wasn't necessary to comprehend the message they wanted to get across. Much to their continued chagrin though, even when three of the muscular rowers abandoned their fixed oars and got up to physically threaten the bound men into silence, the lamentful recitations did not cease.

"Our Father, which art in heaven, Hallowed be thy Name.
Thy Kingdom come. Thy will be done on earth, as it is in heaven.
Forgive us our trespasses..."

Given the lack of restraint our captors had shown in burning our defenceless town to the ground and burying a cruel hatchet in poor Paul's upper back, I thought my colleagues were either very brave or very stupid. It didn't immediately enter my mind that they might have simply lost the will to live after watching their family members, wives and children perish.

Never had I thought it possible to gain any measure of comfort from this, but being the orphan that I was afforded me some measure of protection, in the sense that it shielded me from the indescribable pain that my comrades no doubt felt at that point. Do not think of me as stonehearted, dear friend. I most certainly felt the pangs of sadness after witnessing the monks - several of whom had been like mentors to me - being cut down. My pain, however, did not even come close to the unimaginable distress currently inhabiting my recently widowed companions.



"Lúka aptr þinn muðr!" one of the towering behemoths growled, eyeing me specifically before motioning his head towards my three bound comrades and then repeating his order again. I knew what he wanted me to do and was more than happy to acquiesce to his demands.

"Guys. Guys, stop...they're getting angry." I stammered, begging my fellow Celts to pipe it down and fall silent.

Instead of tucking tail and complying with our captors, however, Shaemus simply spat on the deck before throwing a hateful gaze up towards the menacing brute standing closest to him. As soon as the brave prisoner's act of defiance dawned, a series of harsh-sounding orders were angrily barked across the deck of the ship, these ones aimed at the nordic men themselves rather than at myself or my comrades.


I watched in understandable revulsion as the three ruthless barbarians pulled their own oversized boots off and proceeded to force-stuff their unashamedly pungent socks into the speech-capable cavities of the intransigent prisoners. One after the other, the monotonous sound of their holy recitations was replaced with panicked screams and muffled gurgling noises.

I too suffered a similar fate, dear friend. For even though I had deemed fit to remain silent the entire time, several of the brutes found the spectacle of my choking companions to be of great amusement and apparently had no qualms about imposing such a fate on my already compliant self.


"You, pretty milk-boy, are going to taste sock of Hrongar." said one particularly burly muscleman; a towering giant in his early 30s, with arms the size of thighs and legs as thick as tree trunks.

Of note was the fact that this Hrongar was the only brute to wield a hammer; one that no doubt weighed half as much as my own body. His hair was the colour of wheat, but was unusually short and shaved close to the head. The only hair adorning his lower face was that of the short chin beard that tapered down into a neat braid. The scarlet warpaint haphazardly spread across the bridge of his nose and the entirety of his brow gave the beastly man a truly feral look, while at the same time doing a poor job at concealing his prominent jawline and remarkably broad cheekbones. In other words, the epitome of masculinity.


The barbarian men laughed and chuckled as giant Hrongar slowly sat his tremendously hulking frame next to my visibly quivering form. I watched rather wide-eyed as the handsome brute pulled one of his stupendously oversized boots off and revealed the hole-ridden stocking that covered his impossibly large foot.

Even with the cold wind sweeping across the deck of the ship, the rotten cheese-like odour escaping from the yellowish fabric was enough to make me struggle against my bonds and start coughing. The colossal warrior was all smiles though. His expression was one of pride, but also of noticeable amusement.

The rowdy northerners cheered on as their outrageously brawny compatriot hooked a finger beneath the cuff of the stocking that reached all the way up to his hairy lower calf. The raunchy thing was turned inside out as it left the burly leviathan's unbelievably humongous foot. I, of course, whimpered in panic and tried to flee its inevitable approach, but the colossal-limbed beast-man cupped the back of my head with one hand and forced me to eye up the big ball of putrescent fabric he held in the other.


The order to open my mouth came, but instead of capitulating, I gave the blue-eyed goliath a pleading look and begged him to show me mercy.

"Miskunn, ríkr jǫru-fægir! Miskunn!" I whimpered, adding the words "mighty warrior" to my supplication in the hopes of further appealing to whatever sense of leniency dwelled within him.

Hrongar's expression changed a little, allowing me to take comfort in the knowledge that my butchered pronunciation was at the very least comprehensible. He puffed up his chest, furrowed his brow a bit and then huffed through his nostrils, almost as though not appreciating my verbal attempts at garnering sympathy.

The unmanliness of my pathetic grovelling was as foreign to him as the weak muscles that animated my scrawny limbs; no doubt even further convincing him and the other men that "milk-drinker" was an appropriate name for me.

The brute furrowed his brow disapprovingly and growled a string of words that I didn't understand. A momentary glimmer of indecision dawned upon him, during which he most likely debated what should be done with me. Terror must've been written all over my face when he finally repeated the order for me to open my mouth and brought his giant reeking sock ball up to the conquerable gates of my trembling orifice.


The roaring clamour of laughing barbarians echoed across the intrepid ship as the impossibly brawny leviathan forced the bulk of his toe cheese-infested wadding into my defeated cavity. I could only cough and gag as the burly warrior pulled his second filthy stocking off and used it to cleave gag my heavily overstuffed lips; effectively preventing me from being rid of the speech-impeeding fabric he'd no doubt been wearing on his feet for the past month or so.

"No more honeyed words, little man. Hrongar sock keep you quiet." the warrior sneered, ruffling the dome of my brown-haired head before putting his giant boots back on and regaining his position on the starboard side of the ship. Our speedy Drakkar continued on its way to the distant mainland. And this time...no monotonous recitations hindered the rhythmic booming of motivational war songs.

"Drøymde mik ein draum i nótt
um silki ok ærlig pell,
um hægindi svá djupt ok mjott,
um rosemd með engan skell.

Ok i drauminom ek leit
sem gegnom ein groman glugg
þá helo feigo mennsko sveit,
hver sjon ol sin eiginn ugg."

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[Bradstick]

Another absolutely incredible chapter. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I wouldn’t want to take that gag either. Wearing a sock now days is usually fine because we have shower and soap, the feet that are in the used sock are getting cleaned.

Those socks are from feet that I’m guessing haven’t been washed in a long time. I find Vikings very hot because they are big sweaty brutes but those socks would be very hard to take.

I was surprised that Hrongar actually stopped for a moment at his begging for mercy. It’s didn’t save him of course but it shows that his “honeyed words” are somewhat effective on these brutes.

This series has only been three chapters and I already love it. I love this darker theme as well as the historic accuracy. I’m super excited for this series and I really hope you continue it!

[Stormee]

You are on a roll with this. It's like you got three tabs open for three different stories you're working on. B&G, EP, and now this. It was a nice little journey note of what is happening to Milk-Drin- I mean Jamis so far. The mention of the sea sickness and the rope biting his wrists and ankles would bring any man to knees if they didn't have their sea legs. Then the dreaded socks being stuffed in the poor men's mouths. Should've stopped before things gotten hairy. Like they could've just thrown them overboard if they had enough of them.

The one thing I did also like was the mention of the Vikings singing as they rowed. It was something they would do, a nice sea shanty of Norsemen. The one I can think of is this common one.

My mother told me
Someday I will buy
Galleys with good oars
Sailed to distant shores.

Stand up on the prow
Noble baroque I steer
Steady course to the haven
Hew many foe men
Hew many foe men

Hehe sorry, I got carried away. Still a nice chapter and can't wait for more.

[Guardianbound]

Again the attention to detail is amazing. Nauseating socks and seasickness can't be a good combination for jamis. I wonder what was going through the head of the hammer wielding viking? Are jamis' pleas chipping away their brutality and harshness. Can't wait for more.

[ShadowHusky]

I'm loving this, this would be a far more brutal experience than most of your other written characters. Viking socks were often worn for long periods of time and only able to be washed with river water (And sometimes cow urine, due to the high amounts of ammonia. But I doubt they have a stock of that in their ship).Add this longevity of use to the fact they would wear woollen socks, which would absorb and capture so much heat, especially after a raid, they must have been positively hot to the touch for Jamis.

Obviously this is a work of fictions, but having socks with holes is something with contention. The style of clothing making for these types of items like hats and gloves was called Nálbinding. This is a longer process, but would produce a far sturdier product than knitting would. The choice of running through each row per stitch created a tight knit that wouldn't unravel. Though it would make sense that they wouldn't have spares or or be able to fix them. The men weren't the ones who Nálbinded their clothing.

[TayDay95]

As a lifetime lover of history and Vikings, I gotta say I absolutely love this story bondagefreak. As others have said the attention to detail, not just in your storytelling but also the historical accuracy is just astounding!

I love how you captured the true-to-life terror of a Viking coastal raid, not to mention the speed with which it was carried out (the advantage that Norsemen had over other raiders thanks to their fast longships). As for Jamis I've found him to be a most sympathetic character and I imagine he'll have to go through a lot of hell and torture before things get better!

Well done for making this story sir!

[gag1195]

Poor Jamis! Those socks would be positively putrid after months of raiding and rowing! The fact that he didn't immediately vomit says a lot about our scholar's constitution! Between the rotten pieces of fabric and the sea sickening rocking of the boat, I would have long ago emptied my stomach!

[that1kid13]

I am in agreement with others who have said it feels like reading part of a history book-which I love. History isn’t all fairy’s and rainbows though so I like that this ISN’T being written that way. To me it was humorous when they were saying the Lord’s Prayer out loud kinda a F U to the non Christian Vikings.

[socjuc]

Poor Jamis! Those socks would be positively putrid after months of raiding and rowing! The fact that he didn't immediately vomit says a lot about our scholar's constitution! Between the rotten pieces of fabric and the sea sickening rocking of the boat, I would have long ago emptied my stomach!

Exactly....the sea sickness alone yet the overpowering scent would have put me over the edge for sure.

[mention]bondagefreak[/mention] As mentioned, I would not say I am familiar with this era of history. But the descriptions and attention to detail is outstanding....Love it so far. The harshness towards the Caledonians, the camaraderie amongst the warriors, the detail to the language... well it brings me/the reader there...take me there dude

I have to say, reading all the comments even betters the story for me as it fills in holes in my knowledge. It improves my comprehension and appreciation for the story. Thanks to you all for that too!

Favourite descriptions in this chapter

"Of note was the fact that this Hrongar was the only brute to wield a hammer; one that no doubt weighed half as much as my own body. His hair was the colour of wheat, but was unusually short and shaved close to the head. The only hair adorning his lower face was that of the short chin beard that tapered down into a neat braid. The scarlet warpaint haphazardly spread across the bridge of his nose and the entirety of his brow gave the beastly man a truly feral look, while at the same time doing a poor job at concealing his prominent jawline and remarkably broad cheekbones. In other words, the epitome of masculinity."
...
"The rowdy northerners cheered on as their outrageously brawny compatriot hooked a finger beneath the cuff of the stocking that reached all the way up to his hairy lower calf. The raunchy thing was turned inside out as it left the burly leviathan's unbelievably humongous foot. I, of course, whimpered in panic and tried to flee its inevitable approach, but the colossal-limbed beast-man cupped the back of my head with one hand and forced me to eye up the big ball of putrescent fabric he held in the other."
....
"No more honeyed words, little man. Hrongar sock keep you quiet."

[DeeperThanRed]

While this chapter was really well-written by itself, I loved how some historical context adds even more dept to it.

From what I've read about Viking clothing, it seems likely that they wore wool socks made by needle-binding and as a result, they were extremely thick and tough. Our protagonist must have one hard gag to chew in his mouth.

Red is also a color indicating high social status, as it wasn't found native to the land and had to be imported. Whoever Hrongar is, I predict that he either has a lot of economic power or goes to raids often in order to buy such expensive face paint.

[blackbound]

I was holding off on commenting until we found out whether or not Vikings wore socks. But of course they did

[GoBucks]

With how bad Nick's feet are when he regularly showers, I can't begin to imagine how bad the feet of these Vikings who probably don't bathe too often are! And milk drinker has to taste all of that! Glad to see that from AD to the present, sock stuffing is still a main feature

[TightropesEU]

This is really interesting and fascinating. We of course know that the Vikings were barbaric and often killed instead of taking prisoners, but we also know they took slaves, so I am sure they tied up the slaves.

There is a really hot scene in one of the first Vikings series on Netflix, where a priest is tied to a tree and gagged with a rope through his mouth to keep him from warning others.

[bondagefreak]

[mention]Bradstick[/mention] [mention]Guardianbound[/mention] [mention]Stormee[/mention] [mention]gag1195[/mention] [mention]ShadowHusky[/mention] [mention]GoBucks[/mention] [mention]Ossassin[/mention] [mention]KidnappedCowboy[/mention] [mention]DeeperThanRed[/mention] [mention]Subexplorer71[/mention] [mention]wataru14[/mention] [mention]socjuc[/mention] [mention]Socksbound[/mention] [mention]privateandrews[/mention] [mention]that1kid13[/mention] [mention]TayDay95[/mention] [mention]blackbound[/mention] [mention]TightropesEU[/mention]

I'm so glad to see so many of you enjoying this!

Continuing my post from yesterday, I should also point out that while I'll strive to make this as historically accurate as possible, I'm also giving myself some leeway for artistic choices. The fact that the story is told from a foreigner's perspective allows me to skip past tedious descriptions and minute details he would not have been familiar with or privy to. Ex: the Nålebinding technique used to construct some woollen garments like thick socks.

The realism will be displayed mostly in the sociological and cultural aspects of the story and will contain little to no fluff. The narrator may become privy to some of the more minute details (such as culinary practices) if he survives the trip to the heathen lands.


As far as artistic choices go, I must admit that some of them won't be wholly accurate. I'm allowing myself some leeway in the field, mostly to make the story more accessible and less intimidating. Ex: Allan, Duncan and Shaemus reciting the Lord's Prayer in English is completely unfactual. English in this form wasn't even close to existing yet. The men would've either been speaking Pictish or Scottish Gaelic.

I'm also intentionally having the Norsemen dialogue in broken/crude English, with the occasional peppering of Old Norse. Again, an artistic choice to make the story less tedious and more digestible. Jamis' very rudimentary understanding of the language allows me to play with the dialogue language a bit.

On a more realistic note, Danes and Norsemen weren't foreigners to trading markets. The raiders (Vikings) would have been brutish and seemingly primitive, but their society back home was not. As such, the wealthier Kalrs, Jarls and members of society would've sported expensive garb that would've been inaccessible to the less wealthy. Ex: bright overtunics, woollen overcoats, calf-high boots, exotic coloured dyes (as pointed out by [mention]DeeperThanRed[/mention]). Other less common garb items would've been acquired during raids on what is known today as Great Britain, France and the Baltic states.



For added context (and because I've been asked by PM), the narrator's home in northeast Scotland (Caledonia) was separated from the land of Norsemen and the land of Danes by only about 500km and 600km respectively. A direct journey across that distance would've normally taken only a handful of days and possibly even as little as two or three depending on how favourable the conditions were (wind direction etc), how many oars the Drakkar was equipped with and how much cargo/men it carried.

There were a lot of interactions between the Scots and the peoples of northern Europe, but most of them would've been quite violent given the Norsemen/Danish lust for the many plunderable goods of Great Britain's wealthy monasteries.

Hope this helps place those of you less familiar with this era of Europe's history into context.

[Stormee]

I like how you're making this historically accurate while throwing in your own ways to make this story interesting. I know some handful of viking legends, mostly on the gods, but this is a cool way to know the story of the heathens that Jamis is doomed to deal with. The fact you wanted to make this as a story without getting into much detail like some power and stature. This is all on based your choice to write the story as you see fit. So keep up with the great work, [mention]bondagefreak[/mention].

[Bradstick]

I think at this point you have proved to any one who has read the story that you know a lot about that time period. Even your artistic choices are still easily believable and fit the story super well. You clearly have a idea where you want this story to go and have the knowledge to make the story both accurate and kinky at the same time. I’m so excited for this series and can’t wait to see what you do with it!

[bondagefreak]

THANKS A TON FOR ALL WONDERFUL SUPPORT, GUYS!

LOOKS LIKE OUR NARRATOR'S AUDIENCE IS STEADILY GROWING.

HERE'S THE NEXT CHAPTER. ENJOY!

[mention]Bradstick[/mention] [mention]Guardianbound[/mention] [mention]Stormee[/mention] [mention]gag1195[/mention] [mention]ShadowHusky[/mention] [mention]GoBucks[/mention] [mention]Ossassin[/mention] [mention]KidnappedCowboy[/mention] [mention]DeeperThanRed[/mention] [mention]Socksbound[/mention] [mention]Subexplorer71[/mention] [mention]wataru14[/mention] [mention]socjuc[/mention] [mention]privateandrews[/mention] [mention]that1kid13[/mention] [mention]TayDay95[/mention] [mention]blackbound[/mention] [mention]TightropesEU[/mention] [mention]OrdinaryWorld[/mention]

[bondagefreak]

DAY 3
Einmánuður 14th, A.D 841

CHAPTER 3 - LAND OF HEATHENS

The sun was already beginning its slow descent towards the western horizon by the time the numerous isles that dotted Noregr's uneven shoreline made their first appearance. The two and a half day-long journey felt unending to my own unaccustomed self, but it was evident from the cheering of the brutish frontiermen that we'd made exceptionally good time. As it turns out, most direct trips across the sea that separated our two lands took almost twice as long.


My colleagues and I spent the entirety of the voyage bound up. Our heavily-stuffed mouths were only freed of their foul-smelling gags during the brief instances we were given sustenance; something which came in the form of dried bread, water and bits of salted meat.

Allen, Duncan and Shaemus thirstily drank the water that was provided, but aside from dealing with the humiliation of having to scavenge scraps of food from directly off the ship's floor, they were mostly left to their own devices. My fate was different, but every bit as demeaning. For instead of gnashing my lips atop the sullied deck of the wooden Drakkar, I was personally handfed by the impossibly hulking behemoth whose puke-inducing sock I was being forced to suck on.


"Pretty milk-boy. Hrongar feed you now." the towering leviathan commandingly signalled.

Derisive chuckles filled the air as the colossal lout squatted down next to my hopelessly bound form and attentively saw to it that I fed on his uneaten scraps. I tried begging him to slow down, but the brutish man simply held the back of my head in one hand and forced large chunks of unsweetened bread past my lips.

"Milk-drinker taste Hrongar milk soon." he menacingly purred, feeding me more scraps and intentionally forcing me to suck and choke on the immense girth of his intrusive fingers.


Even as I busily sucked on the mountainous warrior's thick digits, the dissonant sound of unfettered burps and farts noisily grew more frequent as the feasting Norsemen became increasingly agitated.

"I have idea, Hrongar. Maybe you fight Ragnvald and take milk-drinker as beðr þræll." one of the laughing brutes shot, immediately causing all of the other men to break out into even more raucous howling.

I had no idea who Ragnvald was, but I correctly assumed he was the first of the brutes to have voiced a passing interest in me. The thought of being owned by either man was a terrifying concept to say the least, even more so now that their intent was made all the more clear by the outspoken uttering of two words I thought I recognised: "bed thrall".


"Gerda become so jealous if you take pretty man-boy as þræll. She probably kill him in sleep and give you no beðr gaman for whole year! Bwahaha!" another brute noisily clamoured.

Hrongar roared a burst of deep laughter and nodded his head in unquestionable acknowledgement, apparently confirming that this Gerda - whoever she was - would not approve of my becoming his "bed thrall". The burly-chested behemoth nevertheless pulled my head up by the hair and took my chin in his bear paw-sized hand. He spent a few moments scrutinising my frightened features, almost as if deciding whether or not claiming me as his concubine was worth suffering the anger of his wife - or at least, who I assumed was his wife.

No verdict was reached. Or at the very least, not a verbal one. The hulking beast-man simply licked his lips and let out a guttural growl before muttering what I imagined as being "I've not made my mind up, but I've got my eye on you." The name "milk-drinker" was the final word to leave his mouth, confirming that much of my suspicions were undoubtedly correct.




The east-bound voyage continued much in this manner on the next day as well. I was fed, this time not only by mighty Hrongar but also by the helmet-clad leviathan who'd originally spared my life back at the Freswick monastery.

The other three prisoners were urinated on, not once but multiple times. Their less boyish features, more solid builds and somewhat less compliant attitudes apparently made them acceptable targets for the most demeaning of humiliations. Much like the feeding of scraps, the treatment reserved to me was equally humiliating, albeit a little different. The fact that my meagre frame and delicate joints continued being a subject of disparagement and mockery left little doubt in my mind as to the low esteem these brutes had for young men of my ilk.

Even as I lay there, chewing on the indescribably putrid mass of rotting yarn strongman Hrongar had personally seen fit to fill my mouth with, I could only quiver in fear at the realisation that their designs for me had yet to be determined.

Though greatly inferior to the hulking Norsemen in both size and musculature, Shaemus and Allan were reasonably built and hardened from years of ploughing fields and tending crops. Duncan had apparently been working the forge the night our town had been overrun. His skills as an up-and-coming blacksmith made him an especially prized captive for these Viking Norsemen.

I, however, shared none of those skills and physical attributes. I was younger than they were, but my soft hands knew not the tools of farming and were more accustomed to ink and paper; an art known by few Caledonians, and one that was surely of even less value to these nordic savages.

Aside from my passing ability to understand and verbalise basic words in the tongue of these outlanders, I genuinely had no skills of use to offer them. Several of the brutes had even questioned my worth and made it amply clear that my pathetic mewlings back in the monastery's prayer room would not have saved me from the untimely fate bestowed upon the monks stationed there. Even Hrongar himself might not have spared me.



Under different circumstances, my fellow countrymen and I might have been relieved upon finally reaching the Nordic coastline. However, given the unknown fates that awaited us there, afraid for our lives is what we all were.

Our cruel hogties were undone and the cheese-ridden gags we'd spent the last two days being silenced with were finally removed. Our wrists remained bound behind our backs, but for the first time since we'd departed Caledonia's windswept shores, we were allowed to sit as we normally would have and silently marvel at the sight of the land that would soon lay claim to our physical bodies.

A sparse collection of fishing boats and wooden structures dotted the jagged coastline; the architecture of which was foreign enough to remind us of the fact that we were far from home.

The subdued singing of triumphant battle songs resumed as our ruthless hosts guided the speedy Drakkar across a vast archipelago and followed its two sister ships into the mouth of a slow-moving river. The effort required to propel the raiding boat against the water's steady flow was apparently aided by the strong eastward winds that kept blowing in our backs.

It didn't take long for the sight of a sizeable settlement to dawn upon our weary eyes, for just a few short miles into the river's narrowing mouth sat a city of at least a thousand souls; a city whose unexpected beauty left myself and my fellow Caledonians positively awestruck.

Perhaps the source of our astonishment wasn't so much the town itself as much as it was the newfound knowledge that these savages could build such beautiful structures.



"Home?" I tentatively stammered, turning toward the hulking behemoth who'd spared my life less than three sunsets ago.

The unmistakably handsome helmet-clad brute fixed me with an icy blue gaze and a stern frown before nodding his head and returning his eyes back to the city that was probably his birthplace. "Björnstad." he finally spoke, revealing to me the name of the stonewalled town our treasure-filled boat was steadily approaching.

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[Stormee]

As I said before and I'll say it again. You are on a roll. Three tabs have to be opened on your computer and the biggest tab is this this story. Like there's no stopping you. Sounds like someone is getting the lighter treatment versus everyone else and the sense of jealousy, or not, may come around for a viking woman. A nice chapter, and a new home for Milk-Drinker. Can't wait for more, [mention]bondagefreak[/mention].