(no subject)
of pagan blood. intro.
Ville/Bam. PG-13. The year was 810 A.D.: the height of the middle ages. The landscape and the climate of this place were fierce, almost as fierce as the people, gathered in their mead halls and their brothels. Sailing across distant oceans to conquer and raid and fill themselves with stolen liquor, their hands and their necks and their bodies adorned with the stolen wealth of nations. Beta'd by poisonxangel. This is an experimental piece for what I think is going to become a chaptered fic if you guys think it's worthy :D I've had to muck about with Ville and Bam's names and heritage for historical accuracy's sake, so bare with it. Also, please to be giving feedback at the end. For now, I'm just throwing it out there. Look for it sometime soon if enough people express interest :) If not...then it'll probably show up later on anyway because it keeps nagging me.
The year was 810 A.D.: the height of the middle ages. The landscape and the climate of this place were fierce, almost as fierce as the people, gathered in their mead halls and their brothels. Sailing across distant oceans to conquer and raid and fill themselves with stolen liquor, their hands and their necks and their bodies adorned with the stolen wealth of nations. It was in this place that stood one of the wealthiest Viking clans, the self-proclaimed ‘Skjölds of Denmark.’ Protected from the wind and the cold by the thick stone bulwarks of their mead hall, they sang and ate by the dull light of fire and candles, only illuminating their rowdy silhouettes. Among them, if not at the height of their merriment, sat their King, his eyes closed despite the raucous proceedings. Perhaps they were closed in intoxication or indifference, for he knew more of flesh and spirits than all of them combined, despite his youthful age. No other king was as distinguished in lore and cloaked in rumor. Tales were told of his conquests: it was said that he had subdued dragons and subjugated demons. His thanes feared and loved him the same, chanting his name in their drunken stutter and weaving great canticles in his honor.
One would believe each outlandish tale when they looked into his majestic emerald eyes. They held the most powerful enchantment, leaving their victims overcome with fascination for the Overlord of Thieves. As the fire began to dim, the doors of the hall were thrown open, the heavy wood smacking against the wall with a deafening thud. The sound drew the King from his drunken musings, his wicked hues finally opening to take in the fuss. His men, back from their travels, brought trunks and slaves with them. Shouts of victory and safe return filled the den, bringing a fiendish smile to taint King Vili's lips.
"My thanes have returned! And with the world in their grasp!" he proclaimed, standing gracefully from his carved throne. He had no issue holding his liquor, nor handling himself in the most lush of states, his feet bringing him to the edge of his kingly belvedere.
"Yes, my Lord, and what fine things they've brought for you to look at," came the voice of his advisor.
Slaves were lined up before him, thrown onto the hard stone floor at his feet as though they were nothing but scraps. Their age, creed, and nationality didn't matter. Whoever was in the way of their raids was fair game, the old and the young, the ugly and the beautiful. As he descended the steps, his ruby red robes flowing around his legs, Vili looked down at them, eager to collect a new specimen to serve him. He tired of his slaves so quickly, especially if they managed to survive more than a few fortnights of his tyranny.
The new crop of servants looked just as unpromising: old women who looked nearly crippled, children who looked as though they could barely carry a chalice. He stopped at each one with a look of disdain embellishing his features, somehow making him even more exquisite. He turned his back on the lineup, waving a hand dismissively. "None of these."
His words displeased his men, an upheaval of distressed cries following his rejection.
"Wait! My Lord! There's still this one." His advisor motioned to the men at the door, who brought in another lone slave. It was a man, his hands tied at his back as he tried to escape the clutches of his captors. He kicked and screamed in some foreign tongue, even as it brought no advantage. "He is...defiant. We thought it would offend you."
It took three men to hold down the unruly foreigner, calming his limbs so the King could look at him.
His long, dark curls fell around his shoulders as he bent at the knee, bringing himself eye-level with the scoundrel who still tried to evade his imprisonment, a look of absolute hatred burned on his boyish face. "In the name of Odin! What spirit this one possesses!"
The den echoed with the laughter of the King and his men, before he reached forward, grasping the slave by his disheveled auburn hair. The rough clench held him still and steady, though the blaze of anger didn't leave his eyes. And what beautiful eyes they were, a shade of blue that Vili had never encountered: neither dark nor light, the color refracting the fire in a most curious way.
"What is your name?"
He knew the man before him could not understand his words, but he demanded an answer anyway, yanking the tender strands of his hair so they tugged at his scalp. "Your name!"
More silence and that defiant stare.
The men looked frightened at what their King's reaction would be; they did not expect his hearty laughter, his fingers dislodging themselves as he stood. "Fine! If you won't name yourself, I'll have to think of one for you..." He came to his throne, slowly sitting down on the ornately decorated surface. He seemed to think on it for only a moment, "I know! You can be called Bramr! (1)" With that, the cries and howls of laughter grew until Vili spoke again, the King's deep voice bringing immediate silence and anticipation.
"Very well then. Take...Bramr to my room."
Wherever the young man was from, whomever he was in that place, was lost. He was now in the clutches of the Old Gods and their treacherous sons of pagan blood. In those clutches he was certainly no longer safe.
[possibly to be continued]
(1) translation : Unreasonable, unruly, outrageous.
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