Thoughts on a Geas
Rating: None. It's mostly introspective reflections.
Genre: Um. Not sure? It's not really angst, or romance...Drama? With romantic and angsty spicing?
Characters: Mitra Serricksdotter
Type: Original Oneshot
Wordcount: 1,950
Disclaimer: All characters and ideas are mine, being original creations. So, copyright! Do not use these characters without my express permission, and it'd be nice if you left the plot alone, too. I spent a long time working on all of them, characters and plot, and it would be nice not to have my hard work stolen.
...Er, except for Aeric. He belongs to Jettrick, so you really can't steal him.
Preview: Raven-haired Valkyries are invincible - even if they're only half. So why does the heart not always follow those dictates?
The rising sun painted the sky in a glorious palette of colors, pastel blues and pinks and purples, the sun itself a growing point of burning orange-gold, tinting the sky in its immediate vicinity with the faintest hint of crimson. The earth beneath this fiery glory was colored in her own beautiful way, with the trees edged in gold, the grass shining, sparkling from the night’s dew that shone like small, scattered diamonds in the infant day. The fields of wheat glowed like stretches of muted sunlight, and a high, whistling song of praise rose from a solitary bird only to soon be joined by its fellows. But all this wonder was lost upon the woman watching it come into being.
Some people might have called it vanity that she did not appear to take any notice of the bounty around her, but they would be small-minded persons who only saw her appearance. And in that manner, they might have some logic, for she was indeed a beautiful creature in her own right. And with the dawn’s light gilding her, she appeared as if she had been born from those golden beams for her browned skin reflected the sun’s glory with a deep, internal glow. Her hair was equally as sun-kissed, though its color - that deep, deep red, near as to be indigo - must have come from the burning intensity of both the rising and setting suns, such was its shining fire. And on this dawning it hung loose, rippling down her back and spreading on the dewy green as a flame. This chained fire framed a face that owed nothing to classical, conventional beauty; it was too...too alive for that kind of tame description. Her face had a triangular shape to it, coming down from the slope of her crown to the round of her chin, but this only served to heighten the impact of full, red lips curved like a well-formed bow, of high cheekbones carved flowingly in a high relief, of gracefully arched brows over bright tawny, amber eyes cast with an exotic upwards tilt at their corners, like some wild cat. Or perhaps yet another wild animal...But there was no one else there that morning to make these observations, no one to see her.
Which was just as well to her mind. She had no desire for another’s company, man or woman, mortal or god. For her mind was...troubled, for lack of a better word, and it was not only her mind in this unfamiliar turmoil. And unfamiliar this was in nearly all ways. Golden eyes slid toward the gleaming length of silvered steel beside her in the grass, toward her sword, then skittered away, a sigh fluttering from those red lips that changed into a muted moan of agonized thought as she dropped her head to rest upon her bent knees, arms coming up to place deceivingly slender hands upon her fiery tresses. Mitra Serricksdotter was in a world of trouble.
Woman trouble.
That drew a ragged laugh, more like a despairingly amused snort, from Mitra’s throat. It was ironic, really, that she, a creature quite obviously female, should have trouble of a female sort.
The Gods must truly be laughing at her.
But then, wasn’t this partly from their interventions and machinations, their games with mortals and their lives? Was it not Odin who placed this enchantment upon her as a punishment for her father’s extraordinary ‘luck’ in capturing two of the All Father’s warrior priestesses, the Valkyries? And not only upon Mitra herself, but upon her younger sisters as well! Mitra had no quarrel with bearing the geas herself, but it tortured her that her younger sisters must bear that heavy burden as well. Her shoulders were strong enough to carry its weight, her back straight enough to shelter her sisters behind it. But the gods would not let her do so, for at every turn they had a new test to torture her with!
Was it not enough that they had lost their mothers to Odin’s long-reaching, greedy grasp, and their father to Hel and her underworld when all the Serricksdotters had been but children, and cursed ones at that? Was it not enough that Mitra fought the God’s battles for them, that she sacrificed her body and blood for them, that she hardened her warrior’s heart at the expense of her woman’s heart, until that heart lay buried deep within her, warming only for her sisters? Was it not enough that Mitra was Odin’s She-Wolf, the one upon whom the All Father could depend to undertake His most important battles, and win? Was it not enough that she took on the stigma of Fenris herself through that same title? Moaning once more, the halfling Valkyr woman buried her head ever more closely upon her bent knees, her fingers digging into her hair to press against her scalp as if in an attempt to soothe its whirling thoughts.
Was it not enough that one sister was lost unto the Runes, at the mercy and whim of the visions and power within them! Was it not enough that one sister had been lost entirely, gone and over to a darkness even Mitra could not fight back, an enemy even her sword could not pierce! Was it not enough! Mitra’s fingers dug sharply into her scalp, a frustrated and angered scream muffled against her knees and by the fiery locks that created a curtain about her head and face.
Was it not enough! Once again, Mitra had no quarrel being the butt of the God’s interference and jokes, their tests and trials. But to see her sisters suffer through them as well tore at what remained of her woman’s heart, and this latest development, the newest test, did not help things in the slightest!
Aeric Thelwynsson. Just his name alone awoke a seething mass of emotions within her mind and breast, strong and confusing enough to leave the beautiful warrior woman with a fine trembling coursing through her. Both her warrior’s heart and her fledgling woman’s heart failed to tell her how to proceed, how to deal with this infuriating, overbearing, pompous, frustrating, arrogant...honorable, gentle, caring, intelligent, and disconcertingly handsome mortal man. He was such a bundle of contradictions, and when coupled with the inherent traditions, preconceptions and actions of the Norse peoples...
“Agh!” Mitra gave a guttural cry, lifting her face from the protective shelter of her legs to let the cry take wing even as slender fingers wound themselves into fiery tresses and tugged with a strength born of feminine frustration. She was a warrior, not some untried, insipid, giggling village maiden whose only knowledge of men came from the shared family baths with her father and what brothers she had! Even as this thought burned angrily through her, a small voice whispered in the back of her head that Mitra’s ‘greater’ knowledge came only from fighting, time and time again, with these mortal men, and that when it came to a woman’s knowledge of a man, Mitra probably knew less than those giggling girls.
But she didn’t care! Mitra wailed to herself. She was a fighter, not some mortal woman in need of a man, be it father, brother, or husband to provide for and protect her! She could do all those things for herself, as well as for her sisters. She had done so for years before coming to this village, up in the mountain fields below the Rainbow Bridge where she and her sisters had lived. She didn’t care to have a man over her, to hold her back. She didn’t care, no matter how odd that seemed in the incredibly open, highly sexual culture of the Norse. She didn’t care! Or at least, Mitra told herself she didn’t.
And therein lay the root of her problem. With yet another groan, Mitra dropped backwards, letting the wild grass on the hilltop cushion her back and head as she spread out upon the earth, both hands coming up to press the heels of her palms over her eyes, a grimace twisting her mouth briefly into something near a snarl. This was such a mess. She didn’t like Aeric. She didn’t. And yet, whenever he came near, her blood began to heat and her heart to thrum, and her mind...Oh, useless thing. But...that was because she didn’t like him, right? Her blood would heat and her heart would thrum because they always ended up fighting and she was just preparing herself. And her mind would narrow its focus to him because of that, because she always gave a fight her attention. Yes, that was why.
So why did the reasoning sound hollow to her ears?
And it was only worse now! The blasted man had actually defeated her. Her! No matter that he had done it in a rather dishonorable manner, had attacked her when she was wounded instead of challenging her as he had the very first time they had met (and with such a first impression as that, not to mention his loss, what other outcome but sparks between them could one expect?). But he had still defeated her, and by himself, with a blade, and that had been enough for the enchantment to slam its final chains around her neck, binding her to him irrevocably. Even now, the silver torque that was the symbol of her bond to him hung about his neck.
She should hate him now, shouldn’t she? He had defeated her, bound her to him, stripped her of her freedom more completely than if he had bound her in actual chains, and in defeating her had nearly killed her; certainly he had crippled her for a while! That thought brought a twinge through her newly healed shoulder, a ragged line of healthy pink and the lingering ache of repair the only reminders of the horrible wound that had nearly taken her head off, but instead had savaged her shoulder. It had also only just missed piercing her heart, and Mitra had to wonder - but only occasionally! - if Aeric had truly been trying to kill her. Had he only missed? Or had he retained enough presence of mind, even in his rage, to aim only in a manner that would maim her, but leave her with her life? She doubted she would ever truly know, and that added only more fuel to the whirling storm inside her. She did not understand this man at all!
The sun was now well above the horizon, and the birds had been joined by other sounds of life, though not yet the noises of the waking village. There was perhaps another hour or so before that happened, and having exhausted herself through practicing with her sword and the unarmed combat forms the entire night and now with this session of introspection, Mitra was happy enough to just lie on the warming earth, amber eyes closed, full lips relaxed as the morning sun washed over her. A few hours of sleep wouldn’t hurt...And with the village currently at peace, there was little for a warrior to do yet. But she would help with the hunting, and, if Auna asked, the harvest. In a few hours, though. After she’d had some rest...
And so Mitra drifted easily into well-earned sleep there on the sun-bathed hillside, hair a fiery nimbus around her, her long, lean body relaxed in the rest of deserving and sword gleaming brightly beside her. She could continue trying to unravel herself later. Now, she would rest and take the day as it came. And if that involved confronting Aeric in some manner…So be it.
Comments? Criticisms?
Genre: Um. Not sure? It's not really angst, or romance...Drama? With romantic and angsty spicing?
Characters: Mitra Serricksdotter
Type: Original Oneshot
Wordcount: 1,950
Disclaimer: All characters and ideas are mine, being original creations. So, copyright! Do not use these characters without my express permission, and it'd be nice if you left the plot alone, too. I spent a long time working on all of them, characters and plot, and it would be nice not to have my hard work stolen.
...Er, except for Aeric. He belongs to Jettrick, so you really can't steal him.
Preview: Raven-haired Valkyries are invincible - even if they're only half. So why does the heart not always follow those dictates?
The rising sun painted the sky in a glorious palette of colors, pastel blues and pinks and purples, the sun itself a growing point of burning orange-gold, tinting the sky in its immediate vicinity with the faintest hint of crimson. The earth beneath this fiery glory was colored in her own beautiful way, with the trees edged in gold, the grass shining, sparkling from the night’s dew that shone like small, scattered diamonds in the infant day. The fields of wheat glowed like stretches of muted sunlight, and a high, whistling song of praise rose from a solitary bird only to soon be joined by its fellows. But all this wonder was lost upon the woman watching it come into being.
Some people might have called it vanity that she did not appear to take any notice of the bounty around her, but they would be small-minded persons who only saw her appearance. And in that manner, they might have some logic, for she was indeed a beautiful creature in her own right. And with the dawn’s light gilding her, she appeared as if she had been born from those golden beams for her browned skin reflected the sun’s glory with a deep, internal glow. Her hair was equally as sun-kissed, though its color - that deep, deep red, near as to be indigo - must have come from the burning intensity of both the rising and setting suns, such was its shining fire. And on this dawning it hung loose, rippling down her back and spreading on the dewy green as a flame. This chained fire framed a face that owed nothing to classical, conventional beauty; it was too...too alive for that kind of tame description. Her face had a triangular shape to it, coming down from the slope of her crown to the round of her chin, but this only served to heighten the impact of full, red lips curved like a well-formed bow, of high cheekbones carved flowingly in a high relief, of gracefully arched brows over bright tawny, amber eyes cast with an exotic upwards tilt at their corners, like some wild cat. Or perhaps yet another wild animal...But there was no one else there that morning to make these observations, no one to see her.
Which was just as well to her mind. She had no desire for another’s company, man or woman, mortal or god. For her mind was...troubled, for lack of a better word, and it was not only her mind in this unfamiliar turmoil. And unfamiliar this was in nearly all ways. Golden eyes slid toward the gleaming length of silvered steel beside her in the grass, toward her sword, then skittered away, a sigh fluttering from those red lips that changed into a muted moan of agonized thought as she dropped her head to rest upon her bent knees, arms coming up to place deceivingly slender hands upon her fiery tresses. Mitra Serricksdotter was in a world of trouble.
Woman trouble.
That drew a ragged laugh, more like a despairingly amused snort, from Mitra’s throat. It was ironic, really, that she, a creature quite obviously female, should have trouble of a female sort.
The Gods must truly be laughing at her.
But then, wasn’t this partly from their interventions and machinations, their games with mortals and their lives? Was it not Odin who placed this enchantment upon her as a punishment for her father’s extraordinary ‘luck’ in capturing two of the All Father’s warrior priestesses, the Valkyries? And not only upon Mitra herself, but upon her younger sisters as well! Mitra had no quarrel with bearing the geas herself, but it tortured her that her younger sisters must bear that heavy burden as well. Her shoulders were strong enough to carry its weight, her back straight enough to shelter her sisters behind it. But the gods would not let her do so, for at every turn they had a new test to torture her with!
Was it not enough that they had lost their mothers to Odin’s long-reaching, greedy grasp, and their father to Hel and her underworld when all the Serricksdotters had been but children, and cursed ones at that? Was it not enough that Mitra fought the God’s battles for them, that she sacrificed her body and blood for them, that she hardened her warrior’s heart at the expense of her woman’s heart, until that heart lay buried deep within her, warming only for her sisters? Was it not enough that Mitra was Odin’s She-Wolf, the one upon whom the All Father could depend to undertake His most important battles, and win? Was it not enough that she took on the stigma of Fenris herself through that same title? Moaning once more, the halfling Valkyr woman buried her head ever more closely upon her bent knees, her fingers digging into her hair to press against her scalp as if in an attempt to soothe its whirling thoughts.
Was it not enough that one sister was lost unto the Runes, at the mercy and whim of the visions and power within them! Was it not enough that one sister had been lost entirely, gone and over to a darkness even Mitra could not fight back, an enemy even her sword could not pierce! Was it not enough! Mitra’s fingers dug sharply into her scalp, a frustrated and angered scream muffled against her knees and by the fiery locks that created a curtain about her head and face.
Was it not enough! Once again, Mitra had no quarrel being the butt of the God’s interference and jokes, their tests and trials. But to see her sisters suffer through them as well tore at what remained of her woman’s heart, and this latest development, the newest test, did not help things in the slightest!
Aeric Thelwynsson. Just his name alone awoke a seething mass of emotions within her mind and breast, strong and confusing enough to leave the beautiful warrior woman with a fine trembling coursing through her. Both her warrior’s heart and her fledgling woman’s heart failed to tell her how to proceed, how to deal with this infuriating, overbearing, pompous, frustrating, arrogant...honorable, gentle, caring, intelligent, and disconcertingly handsome mortal man. He was such a bundle of contradictions, and when coupled with the inherent traditions, preconceptions and actions of the Norse peoples...
“Agh!” Mitra gave a guttural cry, lifting her face from the protective shelter of her legs to let the cry take wing even as slender fingers wound themselves into fiery tresses and tugged with a strength born of feminine frustration. She was a warrior, not some untried, insipid, giggling village maiden whose only knowledge of men came from the shared family baths with her father and what brothers she had! Even as this thought burned angrily through her, a small voice whispered in the back of her head that Mitra’s ‘greater’ knowledge came only from fighting, time and time again, with these mortal men, and that when it came to a woman’s knowledge of a man, Mitra probably knew less than those giggling girls.
But she didn’t care! Mitra wailed to herself. She was a fighter, not some mortal woman in need of a man, be it father, brother, or husband to provide for and protect her! She could do all those things for herself, as well as for her sisters. She had done so for years before coming to this village, up in the mountain fields below the Rainbow Bridge where she and her sisters had lived. She didn’t care to have a man over her, to hold her back. She didn’t care, no matter how odd that seemed in the incredibly open, highly sexual culture of the Norse. She didn’t care! Or at least, Mitra told herself she didn’t.
And therein lay the root of her problem. With yet another groan, Mitra dropped backwards, letting the wild grass on the hilltop cushion her back and head as she spread out upon the earth, both hands coming up to press the heels of her palms over her eyes, a grimace twisting her mouth briefly into something near a snarl. This was such a mess. She didn’t like Aeric. She didn’t. And yet, whenever he came near, her blood began to heat and her heart to thrum, and her mind...Oh, useless thing. But...that was because she didn’t like him, right? Her blood would heat and her heart would thrum because they always ended up fighting and she was just preparing herself. And her mind would narrow its focus to him because of that, because she always gave a fight her attention. Yes, that was why.
So why did the reasoning sound hollow to her ears?
And it was only worse now! The blasted man had actually defeated her. Her! No matter that he had done it in a rather dishonorable manner, had attacked her when she was wounded instead of challenging her as he had the very first time they had met (and with such a first impression as that, not to mention his loss, what other outcome but sparks between them could one expect?). But he had still defeated her, and by himself, with a blade, and that had been enough for the enchantment to slam its final chains around her neck, binding her to him irrevocably. Even now, the silver torque that was the symbol of her bond to him hung about his neck.
She should hate him now, shouldn’t she? He had defeated her, bound her to him, stripped her of her freedom more completely than if he had bound her in actual chains, and in defeating her had nearly killed her; certainly he had crippled her for a while! That thought brought a twinge through her newly healed shoulder, a ragged line of healthy pink and the lingering ache of repair the only reminders of the horrible wound that had nearly taken her head off, but instead had savaged her shoulder. It had also only just missed piercing her heart, and Mitra had to wonder - but only occasionally! - if Aeric had truly been trying to kill her. Had he only missed? Or had he retained enough presence of mind, even in his rage, to aim only in a manner that would maim her, but leave her with her life? She doubted she would ever truly know, and that added only more fuel to the whirling storm inside her. She did not understand this man at all!
The sun was now well above the horizon, and the birds had been joined by other sounds of life, though not yet the noises of the waking village. There was perhaps another hour or so before that happened, and having exhausted herself through practicing with her sword and the unarmed combat forms the entire night and now with this session of introspection, Mitra was happy enough to just lie on the warming earth, amber eyes closed, full lips relaxed as the morning sun washed over her. A few hours of sleep wouldn’t hurt...And with the village currently at peace, there was little for a warrior to do yet. But she would help with the hunting, and, if Auna asked, the harvest. In a few hours, though. After she’d had some rest...
And so Mitra drifted easily into well-earned sleep there on the sun-bathed hillside, hair a fiery nimbus around her, her long, lean body relaxed in the rest of deserving and sword gleaming brightly beside her. She could continue trying to unravel herself later. Now, she would rest and take the day as it came. And if that involved confronting Aeric in some manner…So be it.
Comments? Criticisms?