Requested Fic 1/?
Title:Jus Primae Noctis
Author:beautiful_ori
Pairing: Viggo/Orlando [not in action] and Marton/Orlando
Warnings: Rapefic for sure. Non-con, violence, BDSM, wicked!Marton. [I mean it kids, if darkfic isn't your cup of tea don't bother] & Oh yeah...I have a thing for Orli and the Lash since POTC 2 came out so whips too. Ye Be Warned! [Orlando/Lash = OTP!]
Summary: Malicious Lord Marton claimes the Jus Primae Noctis of Newlyweds Viggo and Orlando, his serfs.
This fic was requested by and written for the talented and lovely autumnverse who specicfied the pairing and genre as well as five words: moon, wind, loss, beauty and daylight
jus primae noctis
In fact the jus primae noctis was, in the European late medieval context, a widespread popular belief in an ancient privilege of the lord of a manor to share the bed with his peasants' newlywed brides on their wedding nights. Symbolic gestures, reflecting this belief, were developed by the lords and used as humiliating signs of superiority over the dependent peasants in a time of disappearing status differences. Actual intercourse on behalf of the alleged right is difficult to prove….
Orlando had never been happier in his life. Viggo had finally saved up enough to ask for his hand in marriage, and he had accepted, with his Elder brother, Eric’s, approval. He and Viggo had long loved one another, but Viggo was far too honorable to dally with Orlando before they were rightfully wed, even though the younger boy made it crystal clear that he was completely all right with the notion. In fact, Viggo had insisted on building them a larger home first, which, in Orlando’s opinion, had taken far too long even with Eric’s help.
But now that the day had finally come, Orlando could feel nothing but love and pride at all his future husband had accomplished to benefit the two of them in their married life.
“I want so much to make you happy, sweetling.” Viggo was fond of saying.
Everyone in the village was almost as excited about the wedding as the soon-to-be married couple themselves. The town was so small that Orlando and his group of friends were its youngest members. They had grown up together, Orlando, Elijah, Jared, Liv, Kiera and Miranda, and Orlando was the first of the small group of youngsters to get married. The older villagers were excited for the town to be filled with children again.
Viggo had promised Orlando one evening when the dark-haired boy was trying to lure his fiance into indecency that he could have anything he wanted on his wedding day, and Orlando had held him to it. The entire village was going to be invited to the feast, and there was to be what Viggo considered to be an unhealthy amount of dancing.
“And no fighting or violence of any kind the entire day.” Orlando had decreed. “That goes for animals as well as people.”
“How will we have fresh meat for the feast, then?” Viggo had asked.
“We wont.” Orlando replied simply. At this most of the men grumbled loudly, but Orlando had amended that they would have lots and lots of sweets instead that he would agree to baking himself with the help of his friends, and that put everyone into a better mood.
Now that the day had come all of the preparations had been woth the trouble. The couple had exchanged their vow’s before the preist, a sweet old man in the service of the Lord who ruled over the land that the villagers inhabited and worked. Apparently, the Lord was new as his kind, elderly father had passed away. So far, no one had even seen the likes of him, but they all agreed it was generous of him to have the preist sent out. The cheering could be heard three provinces over as the preist pronounced Viggo and Orlando a true couple, and gave Viggo leave to kiss his mate.
After the traditional dance with his husband, Orlando danced with every single one of the villagers tirelessly.
“You’re going to collapse.” Jared warned him as Orlando pulled him out of his seat.
“Nope. I’m too happy, I could dance all night long!”
“Oh, but you wouldn’t want to do that and leave poor Viggo to go to your new bedroom all by his lonesome!” Jared quipped. They both looked over at him and laughed.
The celebration did not begin to die down until midnight when the full moon hung proudly directly above the tiring villagers. Orlando could barely focus on the conversation betwixt his friends, so anxious was he. Would he look wanton if he asked Viggo to retire first? Of course. He mustn’t do that. But how much longer would he have to wait? Viggo had made him burn with desire before. Orlando’s body had felt…in need of something and he was positive that Viggo knew exactly what it was. He looked nervously over at his husband to discover that Viggo had already been staring at him. The Sandy-haired man gave him a smile, which put the lad’s heart at ease, and stood.
Suddenly the sound of dozens of horse hooves drowned out the merry music. An armed guard appeared and came down from the hill where the castle was situated, the Lord himself at it’s center. Confused, Orlando looked to his brother. But from the look on his face, Eric clearly didn’t know what was going on. The mounted party stopped short only when they reached the long banquet table. The Lord spoke from atop his black stallion.
“There was a wedding here this day, was there not?” he asked curtly.
“Yes there was, my Lord.” Eric growled. Eric was a gentle and peaceable man who did not like to fight, but when he felt he had to nothing would stop him.
“As I thought. Where is the happy couple?” he demanded. Orlando placed his hand in Viggo’s and stepped forward.
“We are here, my Lord. But you are a bit late. Most of the food has been eaten.” The Lord ignored Orlando’s attempt at friendly conversation, but stared him down in obvious appraisal.
“I have come to claim the Jus Primae Noctis.” He said at length, dropping a piece of parchment on the ground near Viggo’s feet.
“The what?” asked Orlando.
“Hah! It was presumptuous of me to assume any of you filthy peasants could speak Latin-or read, for that matter. The Jus Primae Noctis-”
“The Just Primae Noctis.” Orlando read, cutting the nobleman off. “ It is hereby decreed that any noble presiding over a town of feifdom shall have the right to claim the Jus Primae Noctis upon the wedding day of any of his serfs or villagers if he so desires. Upon his affirmative decision, the Lord shall bless the union of his subjects by…” Orlando choked over the words he was reading. “…By deflowering the virgin bride and bestowing upon the marriage his noble seed. After the first night is passed, the bride shall be returned to the husband. Signed, His Supreme Majesty the King.”
There was a sharp silence.
“So you see, I will take this young beauty and bless him with my company in my bed, and return him to you at dawn.”
“Like hell you will!” Eric shouted, as Viggo appeared to be far too angry for words. Their swords were out instantaneously, and the clash of metal that Orlando so abhorred followed. Orlando looked up at the new Lord - his new Lord- and met his eyes. Impossible it was, in the soft and gentle light of the full moon, to tell their true color, but it seemed to Orlando as he gazed into them that they were the color of ice. As if on cue, a bitter gust of wind swept up upon the escalating scene and chilled Orlando to the bone. Almost as cold as those eyes, the wind had blown. And at that moment Orlando realized that there was no manner of mercy in this Lord. He did not care in the least how many he need slay or have slain so long as he had his prize. The wind came again down on the peaceful village valley. This time it gave a haunting moan, as if it were in terrible pain. Orlando shuddered with foreboding. Yes, there would be much pain on this moonlit night, this beautiful moonlit night which had been set aside for celebration and joy. But as the object of desire, he could determine just whose pain it would be. The Lord smirked down at him arrogantly, as if he knew what the young beauty was thinking.
Orlando stepped forward, between the Lord’s guard and the villagers. He placed his hand atop his lover’s blade and, consequently, those of his brother and two soldiers, pushing them downwards gently so they all faced the ground, no longer poised for battle. He turned to Viggo.
“No fighting, no violence.” He said “Remember?” Viggo looked horrified.
“Orlando, my heart…you know I can deny you nothing, you know it! But you cannot mean…you…do not ask this of me!”
“This Lord shall have his way, my love. I would sooner die, to be sure…but to see you killed…and Eric…and a dozen others no doubt, and still have to go to him without the hope of returning to you to give me strength? To go to him knowing that I could have put an end to such senseless murder? No. I cannot.” He turned to look at the Lord, who was stony as ever and growing impatient. Orlando turned back to Viggo. “I…you should know that if…if…afterwards you would rather not touch-”
Viggo dropped his blade, grabbed Orlando and broght their lips together in a kiss the likes of which they had never shared. It was the very embodiment of passion and desparation, sorrow and admiration, helplessness and love. Most of all love.
And after this kiss, the newlyweds found the strength to turn away from each other.
The Lord gestured curtly to his soldiers, who seized Orlando and pushed him into a cart they had brought along for his transportation. It was very much like a cage on wheels drawn by a mule, though it was fashioned with wood, not metal. Still…Orlando could not escape from it. He bit back tears as he was carted off. God only knew what Eric-who, like everyone but Viggo, was still watching-would do if he saw Orlando start to weep. The young man closed his eyes to still himself, and when he opened them he discovered that The Lord was riding along next to his cage.
“My name is Lord Marton Csokas,” The Lord said to him. His voice was as calm and cold as his eyes. “What’s yours?”
“O-Orlando.”
“Well, little Orlando. We are going to have quite the enjoyable evening together.” He cuckled. “By ‘we’, though, I suppose I mean ‘I’. You are quite pretty Orlando. I wish there was something I could say to put you at ease. I might tell you that I would not harm you, that this will be over quickly and that there is nothing for you to fear.” The Lord, Marton, leaned down from his horse so that his face was closer to Orlando’s “But then I am not given to lying.”
Author:beautiful_ori
Pairing: Viggo/Orlando [not in action] and Marton/Orlando
Warnings: Rapefic for sure. Non-con, violence, BDSM, wicked!Marton. [I mean it kids, if darkfic isn't your cup of tea don't bother] & Oh yeah...I have a thing for Orli and the Lash since POTC 2 came out so whips too. Ye Be Warned! [Orlando/Lash = OTP!]
Summary: Malicious Lord Marton claimes the Jus Primae Noctis of Newlyweds Viggo and Orlando, his serfs.
This fic was requested by and written for the talented and lovely autumnverse who specicfied the pairing and genre as well as five words: moon, wind, loss, beauty and daylight
jus primae noctis
In fact the jus primae noctis was, in the European late medieval context, a widespread popular belief in an ancient privilege of the lord of a manor to share the bed with his peasants' newlywed brides on their wedding nights. Symbolic gestures, reflecting this belief, were developed by the lords and used as humiliating signs of superiority over the dependent peasants in a time of disappearing status differences. Actual intercourse on behalf of the alleged right is difficult to prove….
Orlando had never been happier in his life. Viggo had finally saved up enough to ask for his hand in marriage, and he had accepted, with his Elder brother, Eric’s, approval. He and Viggo had long loved one another, but Viggo was far too honorable to dally with Orlando before they were rightfully wed, even though the younger boy made it crystal clear that he was completely all right with the notion. In fact, Viggo had insisted on building them a larger home first, which, in Orlando’s opinion, had taken far too long even with Eric’s help.
But now that the day had finally come, Orlando could feel nothing but love and pride at all his future husband had accomplished to benefit the two of them in their married life.
“I want so much to make you happy, sweetling.” Viggo was fond of saying.
Everyone in the village was almost as excited about the wedding as the soon-to-be married couple themselves. The town was so small that Orlando and his group of friends were its youngest members. They had grown up together, Orlando, Elijah, Jared, Liv, Kiera and Miranda, and Orlando was the first of the small group of youngsters to get married. The older villagers were excited for the town to be filled with children again.
Viggo had promised Orlando one evening when the dark-haired boy was trying to lure his fiance into indecency that he could have anything he wanted on his wedding day, and Orlando had held him to it. The entire village was going to be invited to the feast, and there was to be what Viggo considered to be an unhealthy amount of dancing.
“And no fighting or violence of any kind the entire day.” Orlando had decreed. “That goes for animals as well as people.”
“How will we have fresh meat for the feast, then?” Viggo had asked.
“We wont.” Orlando replied simply. At this most of the men grumbled loudly, but Orlando had amended that they would have lots and lots of sweets instead that he would agree to baking himself with the help of his friends, and that put everyone into a better mood.
Now that the day had come all of the preparations had been woth the trouble. The couple had exchanged their vow’s before the preist, a sweet old man in the service of the Lord who ruled over the land that the villagers inhabited and worked. Apparently, the Lord was new as his kind, elderly father had passed away. So far, no one had even seen the likes of him, but they all agreed it was generous of him to have the preist sent out. The cheering could be heard three provinces over as the preist pronounced Viggo and Orlando a true couple, and gave Viggo leave to kiss his mate.
After the traditional dance with his husband, Orlando danced with every single one of the villagers tirelessly.
“You’re going to collapse.” Jared warned him as Orlando pulled him out of his seat.
“Nope. I’m too happy, I could dance all night long!”
“Oh, but you wouldn’t want to do that and leave poor Viggo to go to your new bedroom all by his lonesome!” Jared quipped. They both looked over at him and laughed.
The celebration did not begin to die down until midnight when the full moon hung proudly directly above the tiring villagers. Orlando could barely focus on the conversation betwixt his friends, so anxious was he. Would he look wanton if he asked Viggo to retire first? Of course. He mustn’t do that. But how much longer would he have to wait? Viggo had made him burn with desire before. Orlando’s body had felt…in need of something and he was positive that Viggo knew exactly what it was. He looked nervously over at his husband to discover that Viggo had already been staring at him. The Sandy-haired man gave him a smile, which put the lad’s heart at ease, and stood.
Suddenly the sound of dozens of horse hooves drowned out the merry music. An armed guard appeared and came down from the hill where the castle was situated, the Lord himself at it’s center. Confused, Orlando looked to his brother. But from the look on his face, Eric clearly didn’t know what was going on. The mounted party stopped short only when they reached the long banquet table. The Lord spoke from atop his black stallion.
“There was a wedding here this day, was there not?” he asked curtly.
“Yes there was, my Lord.” Eric growled. Eric was a gentle and peaceable man who did not like to fight, but when he felt he had to nothing would stop him.
“As I thought. Where is the happy couple?” he demanded. Orlando placed his hand in Viggo’s and stepped forward.
“We are here, my Lord. But you are a bit late. Most of the food has been eaten.” The Lord ignored Orlando’s attempt at friendly conversation, but stared him down in obvious appraisal.
“I have come to claim the Jus Primae Noctis.” He said at length, dropping a piece of parchment on the ground near Viggo’s feet.
“The what?” asked Orlando.
“Hah! It was presumptuous of me to assume any of you filthy peasants could speak Latin-or read, for that matter. The Jus Primae Noctis-”
“The Just Primae Noctis.” Orlando read, cutting the nobleman off. “ It is hereby decreed that any noble presiding over a town of feifdom shall have the right to claim the Jus Primae Noctis upon the wedding day of any of his serfs or villagers if he so desires. Upon his affirmative decision, the Lord shall bless the union of his subjects by…” Orlando choked over the words he was reading. “…By deflowering the virgin bride and bestowing upon the marriage his noble seed. After the first night is passed, the bride shall be returned to the husband. Signed, His Supreme Majesty the King.”
There was a sharp silence.
“So you see, I will take this young beauty and bless him with my company in my bed, and return him to you at dawn.”
“Like hell you will!” Eric shouted, as Viggo appeared to be far too angry for words. Their swords were out instantaneously, and the clash of metal that Orlando so abhorred followed. Orlando looked up at the new Lord - his new Lord- and met his eyes. Impossible it was, in the soft and gentle light of the full moon, to tell their true color, but it seemed to Orlando as he gazed into them that they were the color of ice. As if on cue, a bitter gust of wind swept up upon the escalating scene and chilled Orlando to the bone. Almost as cold as those eyes, the wind had blown. And at that moment Orlando realized that there was no manner of mercy in this Lord. He did not care in the least how many he need slay or have slain so long as he had his prize. The wind came again down on the peaceful village valley. This time it gave a haunting moan, as if it were in terrible pain. Orlando shuddered with foreboding. Yes, there would be much pain on this moonlit night, this beautiful moonlit night which had been set aside for celebration and joy. But as the object of desire, he could determine just whose pain it would be. The Lord smirked down at him arrogantly, as if he knew what the young beauty was thinking.
Orlando stepped forward, between the Lord’s guard and the villagers. He placed his hand atop his lover’s blade and, consequently, those of his brother and two soldiers, pushing them downwards gently so they all faced the ground, no longer poised for battle. He turned to Viggo.
“No fighting, no violence.” He said “Remember?” Viggo looked horrified.
“Orlando, my heart…you know I can deny you nothing, you know it! But you cannot mean…you…do not ask this of me!”
“This Lord shall have his way, my love. I would sooner die, to be sure…but to see you killed…and Eric…and a dozen others no doubt, and still have to go to him without the hope of returning to you to give me strength? To go to him knowing that I could have put an end to such senseless murder? No. I cannot.” He turned to look at the Lord, who was stony as ever and growing impatient. Orlando turned back to Viggo. “I…you should know that if…if…afterwards you would rather not touch-”
Viggo dropped his blade, grabbed Orlando and broght their lips together in a kiss the likes of which they had never shared. It was the very embodiment of passion and desparation, sorrow and admiration, helplessness and love. Most of all love.
And after this kiss, the newlyweds found the strength to turn away from each other.
The Lord gestured curtly to his soldiers, who seized Orlando and pushed him into a cart they had brought along for his transportation. It was very much like a cage on wheels drawn by a mule, though it was fashioned with wood, not metal. Still…Orlando could not escape from it. He bit back tears as he was carted off. God only knew what Eric-who, like everyone but Viggo, was still watching-would do if he saw Orlando start to weep. The young man closed his eyes to still himself, and when he opened them he discovered that The Lord was riding along next to his cage.
“My name is Lord Marton Csokas,” The Lord said to him. His voice was as calm and cold as his eyes. “What’s yours?”
“O-Orlando.”
“Well, little Orlando. We are going to have quite the enjoyable evening together.” He cuckled. “By ‘we’, though, I suppose I mean ‘I’. You are quite pretty Orlando. I wish there was something I could say to put you at ease. I might tell you that I would not harm you, that this will be over quickly and that there is nothing for you to fear.” The Lord, Marton, leaned down from his horse so that his face was closer to Orlando’s “But then I am not given to lying.”