FIC: Saga of Bläken the Bloodthirsty [gossip girl rpf, blake/leighton]
TITLE: Saga of Bläken the Bloodthirsty
AUTHOR: fivewhatfive
RATING: NC-17 (sexytimes; swords are pointy and kill people)
FANDOM: Gossip Girl RPF, Viking AU
PAIRING: Blake Lively/Leighton Meester
WORDS: 33,000
NOTES: Crack-melodrama in the style of the Icelandic sagas, as inspired by this. I really wanted to make the May 15th deadline, but I also wanted to make all my other deadlines two years ago, and look how well that went. Eternal thanks to bartzina13, jengrrrl, pirateygoodness and zep1980 for handholding, beta help and crack peddling. Some knowledge of Norse mythology recommended.
1
IT WAS A SMALL COTTAGE lurking behind scarce trees, so unlike the prominent longhouses strategically sitting atop the hill. Norsemen’s hearts lay in the sea, their eyes had only lingered in the woods long enough to search for possible enemy threat and establish points for hunting and wood-gathering. Bläken herself had only discovered this place while riding Penyrir along a path outside her father’s farm that led to a brook near the hillside.
Many winters later, when men would gather around the fire and tell stories, there would be no general consensus on what kept Bläken--known by then as Bläken the Bloodthirsty--on the path of the river. “Curiosity,” would say the lighthearted. “Seidr!” cried the more skeptical with many a battle under their belts. But whether the version was favorable or not to Bläken’s wit, it remained true that the small river ultimately guided her to the door of a mysterious wench by the name of Laetin.
Bläken’s father was the mighty warrior king Erlendr, who they called Erlendr the Lively, son of Olaf the Brown. He had once followed his heart out into the sea and found the Icelandic shore he would come to call home. Likewise, Bläken sought her own destiny along that brook’s course.
Seawater raided the land in waves, but fearfully retreated into ocean blue; brook water ventured into the land to never look back.
Bläken did not know that, then.
2
THE MYTHS SPOKE OF strange creatures dwelling beneath the green veil of tree leaves. Laetin was far too petite of frame to be of giant descent; she also didn’t have the chunky, muscular build of hardworking dwarves. Bläken greatly amused herself trying to place the other woman among folk that would do her oddities justice, for she had way too many to be entirely human.
Unaware of the eccentric nature of Bläken’s thoughts, Laetin busied herself by picking ripe bilberries from the shrubbery growing around the back of her home. Penyrir had tried to help, at some point, though the small mare’s version of berry picking mostly involved ingesting them. Laetin had eventually grown irritated and delegated Bläken the task of babysitting the horse.
“Do you always dance oddly and to no music?” asked Bläken, reflecting about the peculiarities she had witnessed since stumbling upon the other woman.
Laetin briefly tore her eyes away from the shrubs, arching an inquiring eyebrow. “You mean to tell me you do not?”
“When large amounts of mead have been consumed,” Bläken conceded, granting Laetin a grin that was both impish and endearing. She had also taken to consuming some of the berries Laetin had already put away in a basket, but did a far more cautious job at it than Penyrir.
“My people used to say I had merry feet,” said Laetin, smiling to herself as she carried on filling another basket with bilberries.
Bläken popped a dark berry into her mouth and watched Laetin expectantly; growing up in a circle of proud warriors had conditioned her to wait for any mention such as ‘my people’ to branch out into a lengthy tale of a forefather’s honorable feat. Bläken should’ve known, however, that an odd person like Laetin would have deemed the ‘merry feet’ tidbit satisfactory and fallen into a frustrating silence.
“Where are your people?”
“They don’t live here,” Laetin said in a simple tone that made Bläken’s aggravation grow twofold. They don’t live here! Bläken could’ve told as much, the cottage was too small for a large family and Bläken had yet to see any men sitting around doing hay-work. There wasn’t even a barn near Laetin’s home.
“Don’t your people find it strange for a young daughter to be living by herself in the woods?” Bläken pressed on. Normally, she knew better than to insist when people were being deliberately vague--it often led to rather non-verbal sparring--but part of Laetin’s strangeness was how unexpectedly alluring Bläken found her.
“Don’t your people find it strange that their young daughter is by herself in the woods?” Laetin fired back. “In a man’s suit, no less,” she added, nodding at Bläken’s pants.
“It is not unknown for a woman to earn the right to wear a warrior’s cloth,” Bläken replied, voice swollen with pride. She had not wrestled foaming oxen by their horns to be mocked by some foreign wench.
“And however did you earn that right?” Laetin’s eyes glimmered with mirth. “Growing a beard?”
“Prudent servants have lost their tongues for less,” Bläken warned, tossing a berry in Laetin’s direction. Despite frustration and mild annoyance at the insolence, Bläken couldn’t keep the corners of her lips from curving up. “I like you, my strange Laetin.”
“You must,” Laetin said. “It is the third time you’ve come to spy on me.” She had her eyes on the shrubbery, but a mysterious smile danced in her lips as she spoke. Bläken couldn’t decide if it was self-satisfied or genuinely flattered.
“You’re more interesting than listening to my mother and sisters gossip as they sew,” Bläken admitted. “My brothers are away and my father speaks only of my husband. I grow bored.”
“In that case,” Laetin said and picked up her basket, walking over to where Bläken sat. “Take these to your husband.” She held out the basket, sparing a glare for Penyrir before the horse got any ideas.
Bläken’s brow furrowed in confusion as she eyed the basket suspiciously. “What for?”
“It is my wish that those berries shall sweeten your husband's heart,” Laetin said, “and he’ll agree to join you and me for a meal tonight.”
“You and me, you say?” Bläken smirked. While the invite wasn't entirely unusual, it was amusing that this strange woman would assume she’d come. “How presumptuous,” she went on, nonetheless reaching for the basket. “Have you poisoned them while I was looking away, woods woman?”
Laetin did not let a moment go to waste before countering, “Have your eyes left me at all, Norsewoman?”
They hadn’t, Bläken suddenly noted, somewhat taken aback. She stood up in a less than gracious movement, stumbling as her left foot slipped on a branch lying on the ground.
Bläken felt her cheeks ablaze with embarrassment. “It seems the woods can be as tricky as the sea,” she offered sheepishly and proceeded to mount Penyrir.
“Perhaps,” said Laetin, her lips discreetly curved in yet another smile Bläken could not decipher. “I shall see you tonight, then.”
And because men grew tall on the back of their horses in more ways than one, Bläken risked a smile of her own. “Perhaps.”
3
“IT IS NOT ABOUT YOUR PANTS again, is it?” asked King Erlendr, glancing over his shoulder. Bläken trailed behind him in steps that felt less and less confident, while his stare grew proportionally more suspicious.
“No,” Bläken said. “I just seek your advice and permission,” she paused and cast a sideways look at a sharp-eared man walking alongside them, “in private, if my king would allow.”
“Fair enough.” Erlendr finished his stride across the hall, coming to a halt by his high seat. “Busy yourselves elsewhere!” he bellowed at the other occupants of the building, then finally took his seat.
“Thank you, O king,” said Bläken, managing genuine deference despite a hint of humor in her tone. She kept a respectful composure until the last person had scurried off outside. “Now, father-”
Erlendr groaned, resting his bearded chin on his fist in preparation for what was to come. “It is about these accursed pants, I knew it.”
“It is not!” Bläken exclaimed, coming short of stomping her foot. “Well, not in its entirety.”
“I see,” Erlendr said, sounding very much like he did not believe her, even as he gestured at the seat beside his. “Do tell, before I grow uninterested.”
“Was it not you who specifically demanded I come to you at once under particular circumstances?” Bläken told him, with a hint of relatively concealed mockery as she sat down beside him. “I simply follow orders, for you are my father, and my king.”
Erlendr's many wrinkles became pronounced as he smiled. “You take after your honorable great grandfather, Jón the Sharp-tongued.”
“I mean no disrespect.” Bläken offered him an amused smile and held out the basket of bilberries. “I even come bearing gifts.”
“Oh, bilberries!” Erlendr relieved her of the basket with enthusiasm, placing it on his own lap before stealing a handful of dark berries. “Carry on.”
“A very kind woman invited my husband and me to banquet.” Erlendr's eyes narrowed, but he gestured for her to continue. “I came to you, as asked, before ill-meaning whispers began.”
Erlendr held up a berry-stained finger. “Indeed, I did not find you a well-suited match such as Penn the Gaptoothed to have townsfolk saying you consort with women in your man pants.”
“Blame Löri's vile gossiping ways,” Bläken mumbled, allowing her gaze to wander away from her father and to the many tapestries and shields decorating their walls. She had gone through great lengths to keep details of an incident in the weaving room unknown to her father; it would not be the guilt in her own eyes to betray that secrecy.
“Frankly, my sisters ought to find better pastimes,” Bläken added and heard Erlendr chuckle in response. She turned to him again and straightened out her back, erasing a curious weight she had not noticed settle in. “As I said, my husband will be by my side. This is truly no great matter.”
Erlendr grew serious. “Is it not?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Your gaze is troubled,” Erlendr told her wisely, “like that of a sparrow in the rain.”
Bläken trapped her bottom lip between her teeth, literally biting back a smile; she really ought to tease her father less. “I did not know you were versed in poetry, my father.”
“I am not, yet many songs of praise I have composed,” said Erlendr the Lively, and his graying beard hid a smirk. “Perhaps if I had possessed your talent for changing the subject, my cause would have seen better fortune.”
“You are as rich in fortune as you are in land,” Bläken told him, placing her hand over his, “for you are father to many loyal children and ruler to plenty of hardworking folk.”
King Erlendr said nothing, but his fond smile spoke warmly on his behalf.
“The day you turn on me shall be my last, Bläken,” he then said. “You bend me to your will as a smith molds the hardest iron.”
Bläken scowled at the mere thought of it, but Erlendr did not let her speak, suddenly leaning back in his seat and soundly slapping his own thigh. “Why, go with my blessing.”
“Thank you, my father-”
“But speak to Penn.”
Bläken eyed him like she took offense in being reminded of the obvious, but did not dare challenge her father’s words. Nevertheless, Erlendr noticed the scorn in her eyes and spoke again.
“I see no reason to doubt this berry lady is more than a friendly worker, but I do not wish to slit the throat of another loose-tongued servant either,” he amended. “Winter is coming, I need my human resources.”
“Fear not, father, it will be an uneventful evening,” Bläken told him and rose quickly--too quickly--to her feet. Whether Erlendr noticed it or not, she did not know and had no desire to dwell and find out. Not when simply uttering such words she did not believe in had already made her gut twist as if seasick.
She fell into a hurried pace, instead, but did not have a chance to go far.
“Bläken!”
Bläken froze mid-stride. Perhaps her father could see through the deception, after all.
She took a moment to recompose before finally turning around. Erlendr still sat calmly on his high seat, one arm stretched out with the basket of bilberries dangling off two of his fingers.
“Don’t forget to take these to your husband.”
4
PENN THE GAPTOOTHED was the hardest working son of Farmann Bæglir. Where the heirs to Erlendr the Lively were known for their warrior blood, Farmann's children made a name as masterful traders. Their homes were a tribute to all sorts of imported goods and many costly things.
But as in every family it is born a black sheep, Penn was neither keen on sailing nor an excellent trader, but rather skillful in wood and iron. It was said that if something required manhandling, it was Penn’s job to do. In this, king Erlendr deemed him a perfect match to Bläken and their brawny kinsfolk.
So dedicated was Penn to his work that, truth be told, he often failed to notice everything else. Were it not for the characteristic gap between his front teeth, Bläken suspected he would have already earned the nickname of Penn the Clueless.
Bläken watched him help other men unload livestock and trading goods off one of her father’s favorite ships. She did not expect him to mind her presence by the shore while there was still work to be done, yet strongly did she wish the rest of the workers would do the same. Their glances ranged from disapproving to disrespectful as they walked by, mostly eyeing her pants.
Bläken let out an aggravated sigh and willed her fist away from the hilt of her sword, focusing on soothing memories. Heavy-lifting always reminded Bläken of youth, when Penyrir was still small enough to be lifted and carried around as if a pet dog.
She felt her lips curve fondly, only to succumb to renewed apprehension when she spied Penn coming off the ship and heading towards her, the basket of bilberries tucked under his arm.
“Have you made a decision, my husband?” Bläken asked and strangely wished for an outright denial. It was much more comforting to blame Penn than acknowledge this shameful cowardice before a mere woods woman.
Penn rubbed his temple with callused fingers, eyebrows drawn together. “Do refresh my memory.”
“The meal hosted by the lady who sent you those berries.”
“Ah, yes.” Penn nodded to himself and fell into a sudden silence, savoring black-blue bilberries as he thought it over. “Truthfully, I would rather sit by the blaze and warm my bones.”
“Oh-”
“But if you wish to go alone, it would not be your first transgression in this marriage,” he added, in a tone surprisingly lacking reprimand.
Bläken nearly did a double take. Fortunate as she had been to wed a man already acquainted with her unusual ways--his family had been forever loyal unto king Erlendr--she still did not expect such complacence.
“Ironic I should remind you of this,” Bläken began and took his hand into hers, “but you know what they say of me.”
“Foolish is the man who does not know the woman who sleeps by his side,” Penn told her and offered a kind smile. “I have no reason to believe naysayers.”
Bläken did not bother forcing a smile; she knew it wouldn’t reach her eyes.
5
NIGHT FELL and pulled its dark cloak over land and sea alike. Many a wayward sheep would and had gotten lost in similar situations. Bläken could only think it was the Gods’ will that she had arrived safely at the cottage. That she had even decided to go, despite what advised her better judgment.
As she dismounted Penyrir, Bläken glanced at a solitary lamp burning by the door of the house and saw Laetin standing beside it, already waiting. Bläken could’ve sworn by the All-Father’s name that she’d seen the phantom of a smile on Laetin’s lips, but as she began to approach, Bläken found her eyes to be deceitful. Laetin truthfully frowned, though it was an easy mistake to make, for she remained half-shrouded in darkness.
Bläken shook her head as if to dispel a sudden mist.
“Where is your husband?” Laetin asked and looked past Bläken’s shoulder, as if expecting a second horse to gallop into view bearing a man’s silhouette.
“He decided not to come.”
Bläken thought she saw Laetin’s lips begin to curve, but the flames suddenly cracked and cast a wild shadow on her face. Once the fire stilled, Bläken saw nothing but a look of concern on Laetin’s face.
“Won’t your people object to you being here alone at night?”
Bläken averted her eyes. “Yes.” She still couldn’t believe they had looked on silently and unaffected as she discreetly removed the iron bolts securing the door and prepared to leave, while everyone else was settling in to warm up and rest. It was doubtful she’d have the same luck when she came back.
Laetin watched the confusion playing across her features, this time with an evident smile. Bläken half-expected the smile to be gone when she tried to blink away her bewilderment, but it didn’t; it grew wider, instead, as Laetin tilted her head to the side inquiringly.
“Then why have you come?”
Bläken didn’t know.
They stood in silence, interrupted only by wild pops and hisses from the burning flame. In stark contrast with the restless light bathing her face, Laetin remained very still, unblinking. It was like staring at one of the figureheads Bläken had seen in the bow of foreign ships, as if someone had carved a permanent smile on an intriguing face, paired it off with round cheeks and framed the artwork with brown curls. Laetin was strange, indeed. Laetin was beautiful.
“You haven’t answered my question, Norsewoman.”
“I do not know the answer,” Bläken admitted.
“Allow me to assist you, then,” Laetin said and stepped closer, gently cupping Bläken’s face with both hands. Bläken inhaled sharply as the cool tips of Laetin’s fingers touched her cheeks, but the heat of her palms soon remedied it.
Laetin studied her face intently, as if it bore the solution to the puzzle. Finally, she smiled and spoke in a voice so low one would think she was truly telling a secret. “The answer is in your lips.”
Bläken couldn’t help but frown; she remembered that saying differently. “Isn’t it the tip of one’s tongue?”
“That comes later,” Laetin whispered, then rose to the tip of her toes. Somehow, the implications of that gesture did not register and Bläken watched passively, enraptured, as Laetin leaned in and pressed soft lips against her own.
Bläken remained still for the briefest moment, reason attempting to dim the pull of desire, but all restraint was lost as Laetin’s kiss lingered temptingly and awoke a longing so strongly repressed.
Bläken slid one arm around Laetin’s waist and drew her in with such enthusiasm that their teeth clicked together inelegantly. Rather than allowing embarrassment to bloom, she dipped her head and kissed Laetin feverishly, further bewitched by the other woman with every new touch of their lips, every breath stolen as their mouths briefly parted.
There should’ve been guilt in potentially breaking the promise to her father to keep this evening uneventful, but it was also Erlendr the Lively who had always justified his conquests with a deeply ingrained belief that beautiful things were just meant to be taken.
And Bläken was very much her father’s daughter.
“Inside,” Bläken mumbled once their lips had the mercy to part. Laetin’s response was but a gasp as Bläken’s hands grew bold and slid down her back, settling briefly on the backs of her thighs before Bläken hoisted her up decisively.
It didn’t occur to Bläken that bravado seldom led to clear-minded decisions until two clumsy steps later, when the extra weight threw her off balance and she drove Laetin straight into the wall.
Laetin let out a startled yelp, her voice tiny and terribly endearing. Bläken felt her cheeks redden instantly, but her attempt to apologize was quickly dissuaded when Laetin’s legs wrapped around her waist in a vice-like grip.
“Um.” Bläken looked down, then quickly back up, and between her pink cheeks and the reaction drawn by Laetin’s thighs around her waist, she was quite sure her blood did not know where to rush to first. “Are you all right?”
“Yes.” Laetin wound both arms tighter around Bläken’s broad shoulders. “If you wished to take me roughly,” she said, small teeth nibbling gently on Bläken’s bottom lip, “you ought to simply have asked.”
Bläken nearly dropped the petite brunette altogether.
She glanced at the door and sighed miserably; it was as if reaching the threshold had become this world’s greatest challenge. “Odin, help me,” Bläken mumbled in a pathetic tone and adjusted her grip on Laetin, stepping away from the wall and steering them towards the doorway.
Before she could carry them in, however, Laetin’s arm shot out and grabbed the doorframe, blocking the path.
“Wait,” she said breathlessly.
Bläken frowned. “Is something wrong?” she asked and swayed slightly as Laetin’s weight nearly threw her off balance again.
“No, but before you go in-” Laetin paused and her eyes darted elsewhere, “if you go in,” she amended, but soon trailed off again, appearing flustered. “You know not what you promise me, if you step inside.”
Bläken smirked and her voice took a sultrier tone. “That I do know,” she said and pressed a kiss to Laetin’s jaw.
Laetin sighed, tilting her head as Bläken’s mouth sought the column of her neck. It was as if her resolve crumbled with every touch of Bläken’s lips to her skin, but it fought one last battle when Laetin suddenly breathed in, gaining control of herself again.
“Then promise me you shall always remember it was you who took the first step.”
Bläken smiled, laying a kiss on rich chestnut curls. “You speak too much, my Laetin,” she muttered and pushed forward, feeling Laetin’s arm obediently give out and let her barge into the house, the door kicked shut behind them.
6
“IT WAS SOMETHING HE ATE,” concluded a woman of thick red mane, for this reason called Robyn the Red, one of the elder daughters of king Erlendr. She wedded a man named Bard and had many children by him. Children who now seemed determined to wrestle Bläken to the ground, though this went unnoticed by the group assembled near the bed where a young man slept.
“It is most fortunate to have a daughter so skilled in the use of herbs,” said Erlendr, gratefully. “I would have thought it was the fever.”
“No. By next sunrise he shall be working again,” Robyn assured her father, then finally looked over at where her offspring had formed a human avalanche atop her youngest sister. “Did you hear, Bläken? It is safe to sleep by your husband’s side.”
Bläken’s reply was buried below the delighted shrieks of three children. King Erlendr laughed louder than the trio combined, as he was nicknamed Lively for a good reason.
“Bläken is very dutiful and high-spirited,” he then said, fondly, though his eyes remained on his grandchildren. “Were it not for this sickness, she would have tended to her husband all night.”
“Would she?” challenged Robyn, eyebrows rising high into her forehead.
Erlendr waved his hand dismissively. “Oh, not you too, Robyn.”
Their conversation was interrupted by yet another shriek, this time as Bläken finally set herself free of human restraints.
“Your children are already strong, my sister,” she told Robyn and broke into a wide smile.
“As your children soon will be,” said Erlendr, reaching out and lightly patting Bläken’s stomach. “The sooner your husband heals, the quicker my grandchildren shall take over this new land.”
Bläken’s wide smile slimmed into an awkward grin, but she said nothing. Robyn took it upon herself to bring the conversation back to the man currently lying green-faced on his bed, before Erlendr lost himself in dreams of a future still distant.
“Was Penn already ill last night, Bläken?”
Bläken shrugged and glanced briefly at Penn, his face a mask of discomfort despite a restful slumber. “He seemed fine when I bade him goodbye.”
Robyn’s features suddenly showed the purest confusion. “Bade him goodbye?” She laid her hand over Bläken’s forehead and smiled at their father. “It is she who has the fever, my king.”
Erlendr did not entirely share her humor, frowning at Robyn’s insinuation. “Fever is not something to be laughed at.”
Bläken batted Robyn’s arm away and eyed them warily. “Why do you look at me as if I speak nonsense?” She paused, but there was no change in their stance other than Erlendr now sharing their confusion. “Did you not see me leave?” she then asked.
Both Erlendr and Robyn shook their heads, mumbling to themselves. Bläken nearly took a step back, such was her bewilderment.
“But you were complimenting Löri’s bilberry jam,” she pressed on, looking at her father, then her sister. “And you ate it as if childbearing.”
“I did not!” said Robyn, offended. “I just had a taste,” she mumbled, crossing both arms over her chest.
“Calm yourselves,” Erlendr spoke and raised his hands. “Perhaps we were short on our wits,” he began diplomatically, and ignored the indignant look Robyn sent his way, “but let us not fight our own kin over this.”
Little did his words do to satiate their suspicions, but the matter was laid to rest at once. Still, Bläken suspected the discussion would arise again once her father had left their presence. Many opponents would Bläken take on with her bare hands if needed, but she knew better than to let herself be cornered by Robyn the Red into a quarrel of words.
“Well,” Bläken said, “do pay attention now. I am off to gather more bilberries while it’s still light.” Wisely seizing the opportunity to retreat, Bläken nodded by way of goodbye and headed to the door with sure footsteps.
“Won’t you take anything to trade with the berry lady?” Erlendr called after her.
Bläken turned, slowing down as she risked a few blind steps backwards. “Oh.” She thought the answer over, chewing slightly on her bottom lip before allowing herself a sly smile. “We have negotiated fair payment.”
Erlendr watched her leave, skipping as if an excited child herself. "See?” he said, turning to Robyn with reprimand in his eyes. “While you and your other sister spread gossip, Bläken is hard at work."
7
LAETIN’S BED COVERS had a silvery gleam that was almost metallic, most definitely not the fur of any animal Bläken knew. They did, however, feel satisfyingly fuzzy as Laetin pushed Bläken down on the bed and promptly climbed on top of her.
“You must come from wealth, my Laetin,” Bläken said, watching as Laetin shed a silken dress, red as dried blood. Bläken intercepted Laetin’s delicate hands as they reached for the remaining garment--her undergown--and brought each hand to her lips, pressing light kisses to fingers adorned by many rings. “Will you ever tell me which honorable family’s blood you carry?"
Laetin curved up the corners of her mouth in an insolent smirk, lowering the upper half of her body tortuously slow, until not an inch of Bläken’s body was deprived of the feel of her own.
Bläken heard herself hopelessly exhale as the woolen fabric of Laetin’s undergown glided teasingly over her bare chest while Laetin slid up, her breath hot in Bläken’s ear when she finally whispered:
“No.”
Bläken couldn’t even bring herself to be disappointed by the answer. There was much about Laetin she did not know, yet by no means did that stand in the way of her desire to come back. In fact, Bläken suspected it had the exact opposite effect.
She spoke before fully realizing thoughts were spilling into words, “You have a pull I don’t understand.”
Laetin pressed a kiss to her collarbone and went still. Bläken could feel her breathing as she lingered there for a moment, thinking. She then shifted until their eyes met again, her expression unreadable as she stroked Bläken’s cheek affectionately.
“Do you worry, my Bläken?”
“That depends,” Bläken said and offered a playful smile. “Are there more promises you mean to ask of me?”
Laetin’s eyebrows rose in what Bläken understood was surprise, which quickly became great amusement as she replied, “None other than the ones you have already made.”
“Then the Gods are still on my side, thus I do not worry,” Bläken said with an honesty she herself wasn’t expecting. “You could have charmed promises out of me I might not have afforded to keep.”
Laetin rose so she was sitting astride Bläken’s hips once more. “You will keep them,” she said, and her hands returned to the hem of her gown.
She rolled up the fabric with such remarkable patience it bordered on punishing. Ivory skin like the priciest walrus’ tusk was revealed inch by inch, milky thighs ascending to shapely hips that called to Bläken’s possessive touch.
“You have no idea of the things you will do for me, Bläken,” Laetin then said and at last pulled the gown over her head.
Bläken felt her lips dry as if punished by harsh wind while watching Laetin finally disrobe. She saw locks of dark hair cascade over skin her lips had tasted greedily, saw supple breasts and rosy nipples, saw need like she had yet to experience.
“I know of the things I’ll do to you,” she spoke and her hands gripped Laetin’s hips with purpose, maneuvering their bodies with less elegance than haste until their positions were reversed.
Laetin landed on her back with a start. Bläken gave her little time to recover before crushing their lips together, swallowing a groan when her thigh slipped between Laetin’s and pressed against where she was warm the most.
“You brute,” Laetin laughed once they broke the kiss, then moaned as Bläken’s hungry touch sought her breasts.
“I am my father’s savage daughter,” Bläken murmured into the valley of Laetin’s breasts and pressed her lips there, savoring smooth skin. Laetin’s fingers lost themselves in her hair, urging her closer.
“I pillage,” Bläken said and tugged at a nipple with her teeth, hearing Laetin hiss and grip her hair to the point of pain. “I fight,” she went on, raking her nails over Laetin’s hipbone as she slid down. Laetin’s legs obediently parted to accommodate her and revealed glistening wetness. Bläken kissed the inside of her thigh, tasting sweat and desire, then finished, “and I conquer.”
8
SILENCE CLAIMED Laetin’s humble cabin.
Bläken had long since lain on her side, molding her body to Laetin’s smaller frame, and then her thoughts had flown farther than Odin’s ravens. No effort had she made ever since to disturb Laetin’s peace, but sleep would not come and silence grew unnerving.
Bläken craned her neck, glancing upwards in hope of finding warm brown eyes very much awake and gazing back at her. Alas, they remained closed.
Bläken sighed in resignation and rested her head back down on Laetin’s bare chest, blonde locks irradiating over its pale skin like sunrays. She almost jumped when Laetin’s fingers began combing softly through her wild mane.
“Did I frighten you?”
“I thought you had fallen asleep.”
“Not quite,” Laetin said, and it was as if Bläken could hear the smile in her voice. “Though you have made valiant attempts to exhaust me.”
Bläken ran the tips of her fingers over the slight swell of Laetin’s stomach, swirling around the dip of her navel before teasingly moving down to where her thighs parted. “Shall I perfect them?”
“I assure you they needn't perfecting.”
Bläken chuckled and drew her hand back up, letting it rest over Laetin’s midriff. Silence like she hardly experienced took over the cottage once more, the absence of voices leaving only sounds of nature to fill her ears.
“How do you cope with such maddening quiet?” Bläken asked, fighting the urge to shift restlessly, to disturb the calm somehow.
“I visit my father when you’re not here to keep me company.”
Bläken accepted the answer mutely, if only because Laetin’s touch grew soothing and persuaded her against further questions. Laetin stroked the skin just below her hairline with such gentleness Bläken could almost feel the approach of slumber.
Then her ears caught a familiar sound, surprise startling her back into awareness. Bläken lifted her head and tilted it toward the noise, listening attentively. “Is that the sea?”
“Yes,” Laetin said distractedly, wrapping blonde locks around her fingers as if spinning golden threads. “We’re not that far from the shore.”
“But so many nights have I spent here, how did I not hear it?”
Laetin's mischievous smile spoke through her voice as she said, “You were otherwise occupied.”
Bläken smiled herself, then closed her eyes and listened for the sound of crashing waves. She laid her head back down and cherished the silence anticipating the next wave, the low rumble of water recoiling in fear. It was as if timed with the rise and fall of Laetin's chest - high as water withdrew, low as it expanded into land.
Bittersweet feelings of familiarity also washed in, and Bläken found herself clinging tighter to Laetin's petite frame. “I didn't want us to set sail,” she said, sporadically. “When we left Norway,” she then added, for clarification. “But my father- I don’t understand him, sometimes.”
“You think of your father often,” Laetin observed.
Bläken propped herself up on one elbow, eyeing Laetin as if she had just spoken the unthinkable. “Why, of course. He is my king, blood of my blood.”
Laetin nodded, averting her eyes, and if she had further thoughts she did not say.
There was irony in picking such a hardly reciprocal confidant, but Bläken was taken by an inexplicable need to share. She watched Laetin for another moment, recognizing no sign of an answer.
“Do I bore you?”
“No,” Laetin said. “Though I am not sure you should be telling me this.”
Bläken reached for Laetin’s hand, rubbing her thumb over the delicate skin between Laetin’s knuckles. “It is only you I can tell.”
Laetin’s smile was weak, and Bläken found that perhaps she should be quiet, after all, but then Laetin gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “Then do,” she said.
Bläken gathered her thoughts before resuming the story, losing her gaze to the fire burning nearby. “I told my father we'd leave so much behind. Our land, our homes,” she said. “He said home was wherever the waves took him.”
“How can he love so deeply that which can bring him so much harm?” Bläken wondered aloud. When no response came, she sought Laetin’s eyes, but they had fled elsewhere once again. “Laetin?”
Laetin looked back down, her eyes clouded. “I wouldn’t know,” she said, simply, sounding drained. Bläken kept looking, nevertheless, until she added, “Most experienced seamen fear that all they’ll find by wandering aimlessly in the sea are their ships off course.”
“He has an oddly selective memory, my father,” Bläken said with a goofy smile, hoping to break the tension she’d inadvertently created. Her eyes were still on Laetin, taking in her serene expression, and Bläken felt her smile grow fonder.
“He would like you,” she spoke genuinely, almost quietly, and let silence slip between them for a brief moment. “I don't see how anyone wouldn't.”
Laetin’s lips stretched in a captivating smile. Bläken moved up and covered them with her own, kissing Laetin deeply. Bläken’s hand found Laetin’s hip, just as Laetin’s palm found Bläken’s cheek, and unlike the hurried kisses they had exchanged or the ones brought on by mindless lust, they took time savoring each other.
When they did part, Bläken found Laetin staring at her somewhat wide-eyed. Bläken took in the sight of lips swollen from kissing, ringlets of chestnut hair in disarray and cheeks stained pink. And what she felt then was at once so strong and filled her with such warmth it could only be troublesome.
part two
AUTHOR: fivewhatfive
RATING: NC-17 (sexytimes; swords are pointy and kill people)
FANDOM: Gossip Girl RPF, Viking AU
PAIRING: Blake Lively/Leighton Meester
WORDS: 33,000
NOTES: Crack-melodrama in the style of the Icelandic sagas, as inspired by this. I really wanted to make the May 15th deadline, but I also wanted to make all my other deadlines two years ago, and look how well that went. Eternal thanks to bartzina13, jengrrrl, pirateygoodness and zep1980 for handholding, beta help and crack peddling. Some knowledge of Norse mythology recommended.
1
IT WAS A SMALL COTTAGE lurking behind scarce trees, so unlike the prominent longhouses strategically sitting atop the hill. Norsemen’s hearts lay in the sea, their eyes had only lingered in the woods long enough to search for possible enemy threat and establish points for hunting and wood-gathering. Bläken herself had only discovered this place while riding Penyrir along a path outside her father’s farm that led to a brook near the hillside.
Many winters later, when men would gather around the fire and tell stories, there would be no general consensus on what kept Bläken--known by then as Bläken the Bloodthirsty--on the path of the river. “Curiosity,” would say the lighthearted. “Seidr!” cried the more skeptical with many a battle under their belts. But whether the version was favorable or not to Bläken’s wit, it remained true that the small river ultimately guided her to the door of a mysterious wench by the name of Laetin.
Bläken’s father was the mighty warrior king Erlendr, who they called Erlendr the Lively, son of Olaf the Brown. He had once followed his heart out into the sea and found the Icelandic shore he would come to call home. Likewise, Bläken sought her own destiny along that brook’s course.
Seawater raided the land in waves, but fearfully retreated into ocean blue; brook water ventured into the land to never look back.
Bläken did not know that, then.
2
THE MYTHS SPOKE OF strange creatures dwelling beneath the green veil of tree leaves. Laetin was far too petite of frame to be of giant descent; she also didn’t have the chunky, muscular build of hardworking dwarves. Bläken greatly amused herself trying to place the other woman among folk that would do her oddities justice, for she had way too many to be entirely human.
Unaware of the eccentric nature of Bläken’s thoughts, Laetin busied herself by picking ripe bilberries from the shrubbery growing around the back of her home. Penyrir had tried to help, at some point, though the small mare’s version of berry picking mostly involved ingesting them. Laetin had eventually grown irritated and delegated Bläken the task of babysitting the horse.
“Do you always dance oddly and to no music?” asked Bläken, reflecting about the peculiarities she had witnessed since stumbling upon the other woman.
Laetin briefly tore her eyes away from the shrubs, arching an inquiring eyebrow. “You mean to tell me you do not?”
“When large amounts of mead have been consumed,” Bläken conceded, granting Laetin a grin that was both impish and endearing. She had also taken to consuming some of the berries Laetin had already put away in a basket, but did a far more cautious job at it than Penyrir.
“My people used to say I had merry feet,” said Laetin, smiling to herself as she carried on filling another basket with bilberries.
Bläken popped a dark berry into her mouth and watched Laetin expectantly; growing up in a circle of proud warriors had conditioned her to wait for any mention such as ‘my people’ to branch out into a lengthy tale of a forefather’s honorable feat. Bläken should’ve known, however, that an odd person like Laetin would have deemed the ‘merry feet’ tidbit satisfactory and fallen into a frustrating silence.
“Where are your people?”
“They don’t live here,” Laetin said in a simple tone that made Bläken’s aggravation grow twofold. They don’t live here! Bläken could’ve told as much, the cottage was too small for a large family and Bläken had yet to see any men sitting around doing hay-work. There wasn’t even a barn near Laetin’s home.
“Don’t your people find it strange for a young daughter to be living by herself in the woods?” Bläken pressed on. Normally, she knew better than to insist when people were being deliberately vague--it often led to rather non-verbal sparring--but part of Laetin’s strangeness was how unexpectedly alluring Bläken found her.
“Don’t your people find it strange that their young daughter is by herself in the woods?” Laetin fired back. “In a man’s suit, no less,” she added, nodding at Bläken’s pants.
“It is not unknown for a woman to earn the right to wear a warrior’s cloth,” Bläken replied, voice swollen with pride. She had not wrestled foaming oxen by their horns to be mocked by some foreign wench.
“And however did you earn that right?” Laetin’s eyes glimmered with mirth. “Growing a beard?”
“Prudent servants have lost their tongues for less,” Bläken warned, tossing a berry in Laetin’s direction. Despite frustration and mild annoyance at the insolence, Bläken couldn’t keep the corners of her lips from curving up. “I like you, my strange Laetin.”
“You must,” Laetin said. “It is the third time you’ve come to spy on me.” She had her eyes on the shrubbery, but a mysterious smile danced in her lips as she spoke. Bläken couldn’t decide if it was self-satisfied or genuinely flattered.
“You’re more interesting than listening to my mother and sisters gossip as they sew,” Bläken admitted. “My brothers are away and my father speaks only of my husband. I grow bored.”
“In that case,” Laetin said and picked up her basket, walking over to where Bläken sat. “Take these to your husband.” She held out the basket, sparing a glare for Penyrir before the horse got any ideas.
Bläken’s brow furrowed in confusion as she eyed the basket suspiciously. “What for?”
“It is my wish that those berries shall sweeten your husband's heart,” Laetin said, “and he’ll agree to join you and me for a meal tonight.”
“You and me, you say?” Bläken smirked. While the invite wasn't entirely unusual, it was amusing that this strange woman would assume she’d come. “How presumptuous,” she went on, nonetheless reaching for the basket. “Have you poisoned them while I was looking away, woods woman?”
Laetin did not let a moment go to waste before countering, “Have your eyes left me at all, Norsewoman?”
They hadn’t, Bläken suddenly noted, somewhat taken aback. She stood up in a less than gracious movement, stumbling as her left foot slipped on a branch lying on the ground.
Bläken felt her cheeks ablaze with embarrassment. “It seems the woods can be as tricky as the sea,” she offered sheepishly and proceeded to mount Penyrir.
“Perhaps,” said Laetin, her lips discreetly curved in yet another smile Bläken could not decipher. “I shall see you tonight, then.”
And because men grew tall on the back of their horses in more ways than one, Bläken risked a smile of her own. “Perhaps.”
3
“IT IS NOT ABOUT YOUR PANTS again, is it?” asked King Erlendr, glancing over his shoulder. Bläken trailed behind him in steps that felt less and less confident, while his stare grew proportionally more suspicious.
“No,” Bläken said. “I just seek your advice and permission,” she paused and cast a sideways look at a sharp-eared man walking alongside them, “in private, if my king would allow.”
“Fair enough.” Erlendr finished his stride across the hall, coming to a halt by his high seat. “Busy yourselves elsewhere!” he bellowed at the other occupants of the building, then finally took his seat.
“Thank you, O king,” said Bläken, managing genuine deference despite a hint of humor in her tone. She kept a respectful composure until the last person had scurried off outside. “Now, father-”
Erlendr groaned, resting his bearded chin on his fist in preparation for what was to come. “It is about these accursed pants, I knew it.”
“It is not!” Bläken exclaimed, coming short of stomping her foot. “Well, not in its entirety.”
“I see,” Erlendr said, sounding very much like he did not believe her, even as he gestured at the seat beside his. “Do tell, before I grow uninterested.”
“Was it not you who specifically demanded I come to you at once under particular circumstances?” Bläken told him, with a hint of relatively concealed mockery as she sat down beside him. “I simply follow orders, for you are my father, and my king.”
Erlendr's many wrinkles became pronounced as he smiled. “You take after your honorable great grandfather, Jón the Sharp-tongued.”
“I mean no disrespect.” Bläken offered him an amused smile and held out the basket of bilberries. “I even come bearing gifts.”
“Oh, bilberries!” Erlendr relieved her of the basket with enthusiasm, placing it on his own lap before stealing a handful of dark berries. “Carry on.”
“A very kind woman invited my husband and me to banquet.” Erlendr's eyes narrowed, but he gestured for her to continue. “I came to you, as asked, before ill-meaning whispers began.”
Erlendr held up a berry-stained finger. “Indeed, I did not find you a well-suited match such as Penn the Gaptoothed to have townsfolk saying you consort with women in your man pants.”
“Blame Löri's vile gossiping ways,” Bläken mumbled, allowing her gaze to wander away from her father and to the many tapestries and shields decorating their walls. She had gone through great lengths to keep details of an incident in the weaving room unknown to her father; it would not be the guilt in her own eyes to betray that secrecy.
“Frankly, my sisters ought to find better pastimes,” Bläken added and heard Erlendr chuckle in response. She turned to him again and straightened out her back, erasing a curious weight she had not noticed settle in. “As I said, my husband will be by my side. This is truly no great matter.”
Erlendr grew serious. “Is it not?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Your gaze is troubled,” Erlendr told her wisely, “like that of a sparrow in the rain.”
Bläken trapped her bottom lip between her teeth, literally biting back a smile; she really ought to tease her father less. “I did not know you were versed in poetry, my father.”
“I am not, yet many songs of praise I have composed,” said Erlendr the Lively, and his graying beard hid a smirk. “Perhaps if I had possessed your talent for changing the subject, my cause would have seen better fortune.”
“You are as rich in fortune as you are in land,” Bläken told him, placing her hand over his, “for you are father to many loyal children and ruler to plenty of hardworking folk.”
King Erlendr said nothing, but his fond smile spoke warmly on his behalf.
“The day you turn on me shall be my last, Bläken,” he then said. “You bend me to your will as a smith molds the hardest iron.”
Bläken scowled at the mere thought of it, but Erlendr did not let her speak, suddenly leaning back in his seat and soundly slapping his own thigh. “Why, go with my blessing.”
“Thank you, my father-”
“But speak to Penn.”
Bläken eyed him like she took offense in being reminded of the obvious, but did not dare challenge her father’s words. Nevertheless, Erlendr noticed the scorn in her eyes and spoke again.
“I see no reason to doubt this berry lady is more than a friendly worker, but I do not wish to slit the throat of another loose-tongued servant either,” he amended. “Winter is coming, I need my human resources.”
“Fear not, father, it will be an uneventful evening,” Bläken told him and rose quickly--too quickly--to her feet. Whether Erlendr noticed it or not, she did not know and had no desire to dwell and find out. Not when simply uttering such words she did not believe in had already made her gut twist as if seasick.
She fell into a hurried pace, instead, but did not have a chance to go far.
“Bläken!”
Bläken froze mid-stride. Perhaps her father could see through the deception, after all.
She took a moment to recompose before finally turning around. Erlendr still sat calmly on his high seat, one arm stretched out with the basket of bilberries dangling off two of his fingers.
“Don’t forget to take these to your husband.”
4
PENN THE GAPTOOTHED was the hardest working son of Farmann Bæglir. Where the heirs to Erlendr the Lively were known for their warrior blood, Farmann's children made a name as masterful traders. Their homes were a tribute to all sorts of imported goods and many costly things.
But as in every family it is born a black sheep, Penn was neither keen on sailing nor an excellent trader, but rather skillful in wood and iron. It was said that if something required manhandling, it was Penn’s job to do. In this, king Erlendr deemed him a perfect match to Bläken and their brawny kinsfolk.
So dedicated was Penn to his work that, truth be told, he often failed to notice everything else. Were it not for the characteristic gap between his front teeth, Bläken suspected he would have already earned the nickname of Penn the Clueless.
Bläken watched him help other men unload livestock and trading goods off one of her father’s favorite ships. She did not expect him to mind her presence by the shore while there was still work to be done, yet strongly did she wish the rest of the workers would do the same. Their glances ranged from disapproving to disrespectful as they walked by, mostly eyeing her pants.
Bläken let out an aggravated sigh and willed her fist away from the hilt of her sword, focusing on soothing memories. Heavy-lifting always reminded Bläken of youth, when Penyrir was still small enough to be lifted and carried around as if a pet dog.
She felt her lips curve fondly, only to succumb to renewed apprehension when she spied Penn coming off the ship and heading towards her, the basket of bilberries tucked under his arm.
“Have you made a decision, my husband?” Bläken asked and strangely wished for an outright denial. It was much more comforting to blame Penn than acknowledge this shameful cowardice before a mere woods woman.
Penn rubbed his temple with callused fingers, eyebrows drawn together. “Do refresh my memory.”
“The meal hosted by the lady who sent you those berries.”
“Ah, yes.” Penn nodded to himself and fell into a sudden silence, savoring black-blue bilberries as he thought it over. “Truthfully, I would rather sit by the blaze and warm my bones.”
“Oh-”
“But if you wish to go alone, it would not be your first transgression in this marriage,” he added, in a tone surprisingly lacking reprimand.
Bläken nearly did a double take. Fortunate as she had been to wed a man already acquainted with her unusual ways--his family had been forever loyal unto king Erlendr--she still did not expect such complacence.
“Ironic I should remind you of this,” Bläken began and took his hand into hers, “but you know what they say of me.”
“Foolish is the man who does not know the woman who sleeps by his side,” Penn told her and offered a kind smile. “I have no reason to believe naysayers.”
Bläken did not bother forcing a smile; she knew it wouldn’t reach her eyes.
5
NIGHT FELL and pulled its dark cloak over land and sea alike. Many a wayward sheep would and had gotten lost in similar situations. Bläken could only think it was the Gods’ will that she had arrived safely at the cottage. That she had even decided to go, despite what advised her better judgment.
As she dismounted Penyrir, Bläken glanced at a solitary lamp burning by the door of the house and saw Laetin standing beside it, already waiting. Bläken could’ve sworn by the All-Father’s name that she’d seen the phantom of a smile on Laetin’s lips, but as she began to approach, Bläken found her eyes to be deceitful. Laetin truthfully frowned, though it was an easy mistake to make, for she remained half-shrouded in darkness.
Bläken shook her head as if to dispel a sudden mist.
“Where is your husband?” Laetin asked and looked past Bläken’s shoulder, as if expecting a second horse to gallop into view bearing a man’s silhouette.
“He decided not to come.”
Bläken thought she saw Laetin’s lips begin to curve, but the flames suddenly cracked and cast a wild shadow on her face. Once the fire stilled, Bläken saw nothing but a look of concern on Laetin’s face.
“Won’t your people object to you being here alone at night?”
Bläken averted her eyes. “Yes.” She still couldn’t believe they had looked on silently and unaffected as she discreetly removed the iron bolts securing the door and prepared to leave, while everyone else was settling in to warm up and rest. It was doubtful she’d have the same luck when she came back.
Laetin watched the confusion playing across her features, this time with an evident smile. Bläken half-expected the smile to be gone when she tried to blink away her bewilderment, but it didn’t; it grew wider, instead, as Laetin tilted her head to the side inquiringly.
“Then why have you come?”
Bläken didn’t know.
They stood in silence, interrupted only by wild pops and hisses from the burning flame. In stark contrast with the restless light bathing her face, Laetin remained very still, unblinking. It was like staring at one of the figureheads Bläken had seen in the bow of foreign ships, as if someone had carved a permanent smile on an intriguing face, paired it off with round cheeks and framed the artwork with brown curls. Laetin was strange, indeed. Laetin was beautiful.
“You haven’t answered my question, Norsewoman.”
“I do not know the answer,” Bläken admitted.
“Allow me to assist you, then,” Laetin said and stepped closer, gently cupping Bläken’s face with both hands. Bläken inhaled sharply as the cool tips of Laetin’s fingers touched her cheeks, but the heat of her palms soon remedied it.
Laetin studied her face intently, as if it bore the solution to the puzzle. Finally, she smiled and spoke in a voice so low one would think she was truly telling a secret. “The answer is in your lips.”
Bläken couldn’t help but frown; she remembered that saying differently. “Isn’t it the tip of one’s tongue?”
“That comes later,” Laetin whispered, then rose to the tip of her toes. Somehow, the implications of that gesture did not register and Bläken watched passively, enraptured, as Laetin leaned in and pressed soft lips against her own.
Bläken remained still for the briefest moment, reason attempting to dim the pull of desire, but all restraint was lost as Laetin’s kiss lingered temptingly and awoke a longing so strongly repressed.
Bläken slid one arm around Laetin’s waist and drew her in with such enthusiasm that their teeth clicked together inelegantly. Rather than allowing embarrassment to bloom, she dipped her head and kissed Laetin feverishly, further bewitched by the other woman with every new touch of their lips, every breath stolen as their mouths briefly parted.
There should’ve been guilt in potentially breaking the promise to her father to keep this evening uneventful, but it was also Erlendr the Lively who had always justified his conquests with a deeply ingrained belief that beautiful things were just meant to be taken.
And Bläken was very much her father’s daughter.
“Inside,” Bläken mumbled once their lips had the mercy to part. Laetin’s response was but a gasp as Bläken’s hands grew bold and slid down her back, settling briefly on the backs of her thighs before Bläken hoisted her up decisively.
It didn’t occur to Bläken that bravado seldom led to clear-minded decisions until two clumsy steps later, when the extra weight threw her off balance and she drove Laetin straight into the wall.
Laetin let out a startled yelp, her voice tiny and terribly endearing. Bläken felt her cheeks redden instantly, but her attempt to apologize was quickly dissuaded when Laetin’s legs wrapped around her waist in a vice-like grip.
“Um.” Bläken looked down, then quickly back up, and between her pink cheeks and the reaction drawn by Laetin’s thighs around her waist, she was quite sure her blood did not know where to rush to first. “Are you all right?”
“Yes.” Laetin wound both arms tighter around Bläken’s broad shoulders. “If you wished to take me roughly,” she said, small teeth nibbling gently on Bläken’s bottom lip, “you ought to simply have asked.”
Bläken nearly dropped the petite brunette altogether.
She glanced at the door and sighed miserably; it was as if reaching the threshold had become this world’s greatest challenge. “Odin, help me,” Bläken mumbled in a pathetic tone and adjusted her grip on Laetin, stepping away from the wall and steering them towards the doorway.
Before she could carry them in, however, Laetin’s arm shot out and grabbed the doorframe, blocking the path.
“Wait,” she said breathlessly.
Bläken frowned. “Is something wrong?” she asked and swayed slightly as Laetin’s weight nearly threw her off balance again.
“No, but before you go in-” Laetin paused and her eyes darted elsewhere, “if you go in,” she amended, but soon trailed off again, appearing flustered. “You know not what you promise me, if you step inside.”
Bläken smirked and her voice took a sultrier tone. “That I do know,” she said and pressed a kiss to Laetin’s jaw.
Laetin sighed, tilting her head as Bläken’s mouth sought the column of her neck. It was as if her resolve crumbled with every touch of Bläken’s lips to her skin, but it fought one last battle when Laetin suddenly breathed in, gaining control of herself again.
“Then promise me you shall always remember it was you who took the first step.”
Bläken smiled, laying a kiss on rich chestnut curls. “You speak too much, my Laetin,” she muttered and pushed forward, feeling Laetin’s arm obediently give out and let her barge into the house, the door kicked shut behind them.
6
“IT WAS SOMETHING HE ATE,” concluded a woman of thick red mane, for this reason called Robyn the Red, one of the elder daughters of king Erlendr. She wedded a man named Bard and had many children by him. Children who now seemed determined to wrestle Bläken to the ground, though this went unnoticed by the group assembled near the bed where a young man slept.
“It is most fortunate to have a daughter so skilled in the use of herbs,” said Erlendr, gratefully. “I would have thought it was the fever.”
“No. By next sunrise he shall be working again,” Robyn assured her father, then finally looked over at where her offspring had formed a human avalanche atop her youngest sister. “Did you hear, Bläken? It is safe to sleep by your husband’s side.”
Bläken’s reply was buried below the delighted shrieks of three children. King Erlendr laughed louder than the trio combined, as he was nicknamed Lively for a good reason.
“Bläken is very dutiful and high-spirited,” he then said, fondly, though his eyes remained on his grandchildren. “Were it not for this sickness, she would have tended to her husband all night.”
“Would she?” challenged Robyn, eyebrows rising high into her forehead.
Erlendr waved his hand dismissively. “Oh, not you too, Robyn.”
Their conversation was interrupted by yet another shriek, this time as Bläken finally set herself free of human restraints.
“Your children are already strong, my sister,” she told Robyn and broke into a wide smile.
“As your children soon will be,” said Erlendr, reaching out and lightly patting Bläken’s stomach. “The sooner your husband heals, the quicker my grandchildren shall take over this new land.”
Bläken’s wide smile slimmed into an awkward grin, but she said nothing. Robyn took it upon herself to bring the conversation back to the man currently lying green-faced on his bed, before Erlendr lost himself in dreams of a future still distant.
“Was Penn already ill last night, Bläken?”
Bläken shrugged and glanced briefly at Penn, his face a mask of discomfort despite a restful slumber. “He seemed fine when I bade him goodbye.”
Robyn’s features suddenly showed the purest confusion. “Bade him goodbye?” She laid her hand over Bläken’s forehead and smiled at their father. “It is she who has the fever, my king.”
Erlendr did not entirely share her humor, frowning at Robyn’s insinuation. “Fever is not something to be laughed at.”
Bläken batted Robyn’s arm away and eyed them warily. “Why do you look at me as if I speak nonsense?” She paused, but there was no change in their stance other than Erlendr now sharing their confusion. “Did you not see me leave?” she then asked.
Both Erlendr and Robyn shook their heads, mumbling to themselves. Bläken nearly took a step back, such was her bewilderment.
“But you were complimenting Löri’s bilberry jam,” she pressed on, looking at her father, then her sister. “And you ate it as if childbearing.”
“I did not!” said Robyn, offended. “I just had a taste,” she mumbled, crossing both arms over her chest.
“Calm yourselves,” Erlendr spoke and raised his hands. “Perhaps we were short on our wits,” he began diplomatically, and ignored the indignant look Robyn sent his way, “but let us not fight our own kin over this.”
Little did his words do to satiate their suspicions, but the matter was laid to rest at once. Still, Bläken suspected the discussion would arise again once her father had left their presence. Many opponents would Bläken take on with her bare hands if needed, but she knew better than to let herself be cornered by Robyn the Red into a quarrel of words.
“Well,” Bläken said, “do pay attention now. I am off to gather more bilberries while it’s still light.” Wisely seizing the opportunity to retreat, Bläken nodded by way of goodbye and headed to the door with sure footsteps.
“Won’t you take anything to trade with the berry lady?” Erlendr called after her.
Bläken turned, slowing down as she risked a few blind steps backwards. “Oh.” She thought the answer over, chewing slightly on her bottom lip before allowing herself a sly smile. “We have negotiated fair payment.”
Erlendr watched her leave, skipping as if an excited child herself. "See?” he said, turning to Robyn with reprimand in his eyes. “While you and your other sister spread gossip, Bläken is hard at work."
7
LAETIN’S BED COVERS had a silvery gleam that was almost metallic, most definitely not the fur of any animal Bläken knew. They did, however, feel satisfyingly fuzzy as Laetin pushed Bläken down on the bed and promptly climbed on top of her.
“You must come from wealth, my Laetin,” Bläken said, watching as Laetin shed a silken dress, red as dried blood. Bläken intercepted Laetin’s delicate hands as they reached for the remaining garment--her undergown--and brought each hand to her lips, pressing light kisses to fingers adorned by many rings. “Will you ever tell me which honorable family’s blood you carry?"
Laetin curved up the corners of her mouth in an insolent smirk, lowering the upper half of her body tortuously slow, until not an inch of Bläken’s body was deprived of the feel of her own.
Bläken heard herself hopelessly exhale as the woolen fabric of Laetin’s undergown glided teasingly over her bare chest while Laetin slid up, her breath hot in Bläken’s ear when she finally whispered:
“No.”
Bläken couldn’t even bring herself to be disappointed by the answer. There was much about Laetin she did not know, yet by no means did that stand in the way of her desire to come back. In fact, Bläken suspected it had the exact opposite effect.
She spoke before fully realizing thoughts were spilling into words, “You have a pull I don’t understand.”
Laetin pressed a kiss to her collarbone and went still. Bläken could feel her breathing as she lingered there for a moment, thinking. She then shifted until their eyes met again, her expression unreadable as she stroked Bläken’s cheek affectionately.
“Do you worry, my Bläken?”
“That depends,” Bläken said and offered a playful smile. “Are there more promises you mean to ask of me?”
Laetin’s eyebrows rose in what Bläken understood was surprise, which quickly became great amusement as she replied, “None other than the ones you have already made.”
“Then the Gods are still on my side, thus I do not worry,” Bläken said with an honesty she herself wasn’t expecting. “You could have charmed promises out of me I might not have afforded to keep.”
Laetin rose so she was sitting astride Bläken’s hips once more. “You will keep them,” she said, and her hands returned to the hem of her gown.
She rolled up the fabric with such remarkable patience it bordered on punishing. Ivory skin like the priciest walrus’ tusk was revealed inch by inch, milky thighs ascending to shapely hips that called to Bläken’s possessive touch.
“You have no idea of the things you will do for me, Bläken,” Laetin then said and at last pulled the gown over her head.
Bläken felt her lips dry as if punished by harsh wind while watching Laetin finally disrobe. She saw locks of dark hair cascade over skin her lips had tasted greedily, saw supple breasts and rosy nipples, saw need like she had yet to experience.
“I know of the things I’ll do to you,” she spoke and her hands gripped Laetin’s hips with purpose, maneuvering their bodies with less elegance than haste until their positions were reversed.
Laetin landed on her back with a start. Bläken gave her little time to recover before crushing their lips together, swallowing a groan when her thigh slipped between Laetin’s and pressed against where she was warm the most.
“You brute,” Laetin laughed once they broke the kiss, then moaned as Bläken’s hungry touch sought her breasts.
“I am my father’s savage daughter,” Bläken murmured into the valley of Laetin’s breasts and pressed her lips there, savoring smooth skin. Laetin’s fingers lost themselves in her hair, urging her closer.
“I pillage,” Bläken said and tugged at a nipple with her teeth, hearing Laetin hiss and grip her hair to the point of pain. “I fight,” she went on, raking her nails over Laetin’s hipbone as she slid down. Laetin’s legs obediently parted to accommodate her and revealed glistening wetness. Bläken kissed the inside of her thigh, tasting sweat and desire, then finished, “and I conquer.”
8
SILENCE CLAIMED Laetin’s humble cabin.
Bläken had long since lain on her side, molding her body to Laetin’s smaller frame, and then her thoughts had flown farther than Odin’s ravens. No effort had she made ever since to disturb Laetin’s peace, but sleep would not come and silence grew unnerving.
Bläken craned her neck, glancing upwards in hope of finding warm brown eyes very much awake and gazing back at her. Alas, they remained closed.
Bläken sighed in resignation and rested her head back down on Laetin’s bare chest, blonde locks irradiating over its pale skin like sunrays. She almost jumped when Laetin’s fingers began combing softly through her wild mane.
“Did I frighten you?”
“I thought you had fallen asleep.”
“Not quite,” Laetin said, and it was as if Bläken could hear the smile in her voice. “Though you have made valiant attempts to exhaust me.”
Bläken ran the tips of her fingers over the slight swell of Laetin’s stomach, swirling around the dip of her navel before teasingly moving down to where her thighs parted. “Shall I perfect them?”
“I assure you they needn't perfecting.”
Bläken chuckled and drew her hand back up, letting it rest over Laetin’s midriff. Silence like she hardly experienced took over the cottage once more, the absence of voices leaving only sounds of nature to fill her ears.
“How do you cope with such maddening quiet?” Bläken asked, fighting the urge to shift restlessly, to disturb the calm somehow.
“I visit my father when you’re not here to keep me company.”
Bläken accepted the answer mutely, if only because Laetin’s touch grew soothing and persuaded her against further questions. Laetin stroked the skin just below her hairline with such gentleness Bläken could almost feel the approach of slumber.
Then her ears caught a familiar sound, surprise startling her back into awareness. Bläken lifted her head and tilted it toward the noise, listening attentively. “Is that the sea?”
“Yes,” Laetin said distractedly, wrapping blonde locks around her fingers as if spinning golden threads. “We’re not that far from the shore.”
“But so many nights have I spent here, how did I not hear it?”
Laetin's mischievous smile spoke through her voice as she said, “You were otherwise occupied.”
Bläken smiled herself, then closed her eyes and listened for the sound of crashing waves. She laid her head back down and cherished the silence anticipating the next wave, the low rumble of water recoiling in fear. It was as if timed with the rise and fall of Laetin's chest - high as water withdrew, low as it expanded into land.
Bittersweet feelings of familiarity also washed in, and Bläken found herself clinging tighter to Laetin's petite frame. “I didn't want us to set sail,” she said, sporadically. “When we left Norway,” she then added, for clarification. “But my father- I don’t understand him, sometimes.”
“You think of your father often,” Laetin observed.
Bläken propped herself up on one elbow, eyeing Laetin as if she had just spoken the unthinkable. “Why, of course. He is my king, blood of my blood.”
Laetin nodded, averting her eyes, and if she had further thoughts she did not say.
There was irony in picking such a hardly reciprocal confidant, but Bläken was taken by an inexplicable need to share. She watched Laetin for another moment, recognizing no sign of an answer.
“Do I bore you?”
“No,” Laetin said. “Though I am not sure you should be telling me this.”
Bläken reached for Laetin’s hand, rubbing her thumb over the delicate skin between Laetin’s knuckles. “It is only you I can tell.”
Laetin’s smile was weak, and Bläken found that perhaps she should be quiet, after all, but then Laetin gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “Then do,” she said.
Bläken gathered her thoughts before resuming the story, losing her gaze to the fire burning nearby. “I told my father we'd leave so much behind. Our land, our homes,” she said. “He said home was wherever the waves took him.”
“How can he love so deeply that which can bring him so much harm?” Bläken wondered aloud. When no response came, she sought Laetin’s eyes, but they had fled elsewhere once again. “Laetin?”
Laetin looked back down, her eyes clouded. “I wouldn’t know,” she said, simply, sounding drained. Bläken kept looking, nevertheless, until she added, “Most experienced seamen fear that all they’ll find by wandering aimlessly in the sea are their ships off course.”
“He has an oddly selective memory, my father,” Bläken said with a goofy smile, hoping to break the tension she’d inadvertently created. Her eyes were still on Laetin, taking in her serene expression, and Bläken felt her smile grow fonder.
“He would like you,” she spoke genuinely, almost quietly, and let silence slip between them for a brief moment. “I don't see how anyone wouldn't.”
Laetin’s lips stretched in a captivating smile. Bläken moved up and covered them with her own, kissing Laetin deeply. Bläken’s hand found Laetin’s hip, just as Laetin’s palm found Bläken’s cheek, and unlike the hurried kisses they had exchanged or the ones brought on by mindless lust, they took time savoring each other.
When they did part, Bläken found Laetin staring at her somewhat wide-eyed. Bläken took in the sight of lips swollen from kissing, ringlets of chestnut hair in disarray and cheeks stained pink. And what she felt then was at once so strong and filled her with such warmth it could only be troublesome.
part two