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bakerstreet2020-02-04 10:01 pm
ouranhostsock) wrote in bakerstreet2020-02-04 10:01 pm
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Wild and free
 Long ago, in a distant land... That's how a fairy tale would start, followed by velvet words and beautiful images on parchment, telling of the adventures of heroes. But you? You don't get a fairy tale - you certainly don't get the prerequisite knight in shining armor, whether you wanted one or not. Forget the knights. Bring on the barbarians, the raiders on behemoth ships, uncouth Northmen from the coldest reaches, and, if you're from a fantasy-setting, the orcs/dwarves/wild elves/other species. It's the right time, yet the wrong place and the wrong person, for sure. Maybe you're being protected, somehow; on the other hand, you could be getting kidnapped. At any rate, your companion is a rough-edged warrior, a commoner, a ruffian rogue, or even worse, a savage. Will you even survive this story unscathed? Because you certainly won't get a picture-book ending or, far be it, true love...right? Or, if you're just here for the smut: observe the "loin cloths or Pelts of the Barbarian, taut rippling muscles, oiled back, impressive weapons, the beard of a grizzly bear (or inexplicably clean-shaven at all times) and glorious manly manes."
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Lurine Hollister | Agent of Hel | OTA
Ivar "The Boneless" Ragnarsson | Vikings | OTA
Re: Ivar "The Boneless" Ragnarsson | Vikings | OTA
no subject
[Ivar had been raiding most of Europe and had made quite the name for himself. Going from the youngest son of the famous Northman Ragnar Lothbrok known only as being a cripple all the way to a vicious Viking warlord famous in his own right had been an intoxicating experience. He was thirsty to find evermore sources to fuel the power that he desired. Lately, he’d been traveling ever further, going all the way to the Mediterranean area that his brother had explored years before.
When his raiders had come across a small village, he told them to do as they would. There would always be a token resistance, but that was soon taken care of. As several houses burned and his warriors took their plunder, the rest of the villagers were rounded up to be distributed as slaves. One of the men came forward, a warrior seasoned with age and a white head of hair. He barked out a question in the Norse tongue that was soon translated by one of the more learned Vikings. He was asking if there was any healers in the village.
When the local wise-woman and Ardan were pointed out, he gruffly told them to rise, and come with him. The translator wouldn’t give any answers if asked where they were going. They were led to the most elaborate of the small village’s buildings. Ivar had taken this over for his own use.
Led inside, there before them was the warlord of the army, no more than seventeen or eighteen years old. His fierce ice-blue eyes stared them down. Next to him was a hand crutch and a servant was taking the leg braces he wore off, tightened against his bones to the point of being painful. He spoke in their tongue, albeit slowly and with much halting as he thought of the words to say.]
You are the healers that were sent for, yes?
Yay, this is awesome!
The rest of her mind, the part of her mind that cared for her village and loved her family and friends and was only a girl of 18, that part of her mind was numb with shock. While the sun had risen and the hawks had circled and the reeds had sighed in the wind, her entire life had been torn apart. Her village burned, her family and friends were huddled and crying with eyes as wide and empty as marsh pools, her father and four brothers were dead, and madmen with pale hair and eyes were running like wild beasts through the wreckage. Even Aunt Izun had been too frightened to speak when they had been herded out of her house at the village's edge and corralled in the remains of the town center. All around them were the cries of animals and people alike, barely distinguishable.
And then one of the pale-haired beasts had told them in their own tongue to stand up and follow. For a moment she'd been like a mouse facing down a snake, dumb and immobile, but Aunt Izun had had more sense and had risen to her feet, towing her behind with her rangy old woman's strength. They'd stumbled after the raider and found themselves in front of what had been her father's house a few hours before. She'd felt briefly nauseated, like she might faint at the sight of the home in which she had been born, violated and taken over by barbarians. But Aunt Izun had shaken her roughly and pulled her inside to see the leader of their enemies.
And here he was, sitting cocky and confident on the low seat that had been reserved for her father until this morning, staring at them. He was the merest boy, no older than she herself was and far too young to be leading more senior men - but there could be no doubt that he was the leader. Aunt Izun bowed low and responded to his question with "Yes, sir," and perhaps even more than the destruction of her village this assured Ardan that the world as she knew it had ended: Aunt Izun never called anyone under 50 "sir" and no arrogant lad under 30 was anything but "boy." No one except this lad.
It took Ardan several moments to realize that despite her obvious fright, Aunt Izun was still doing her duty. With a quick glance she could see Aunt Izun's narrowed eyes, the purse of lips that meant Aunt Izun had just spotted an inferior healer's work. A glance back at the leader of their enemies told her exactly what was causing Aunt Izun's reaction.
"Too tight," Aunt Izun said. "The metal may keep the bones in place, but it cuts the skin wherever it is fastened. Give us cloth for bandages."
Ardan did not speak, but she knew what would be required of her. In moments, she would have to wrap cloth bandages around the legs of the man who destroyed their village.]
no subject
You have my thanks for coming and attending to me. I am afraid my people are not one much for healing. Those of our warriors that escape battles with injuries tend to heal just enough to go right back into the next one.
[But it was clear whatever was wrong with Ivar hadn’t been caused in battle. From the lack of musculature in his legs and the badly-healed spots where he’d broken his bones, this was a condition he’d been born with. He watches the pair intently.
His eyes, strangely blue in color not only in the iris but the sclera as well, didn’t seem like those of a normal man. They were more like those of a wolf or hunting hawk’s, a savage beast ready to rip, tear, and fight at the slightest provocation. But much like the animals he resembled, he was also wary of the humans around him, not sure what to expect from them.
When Ardan approaches with the cloths, he flinches automatically as if trying to get away from the hands that are attempting to help him. This is a man used to pain. He stops and manages to settle himself, nodding at her to proceed with the treatment.]
What are your names?
So I started watching bits of Vikings and now I have to watch Ivar's whole arc - he's so cool!
Inasmuch as she was expecting anything of the man who had just ripped her life apart, his voice was not the sort of voice she expected. It was thoughtful, not slow but very deliberate, as if he was choosing carefully which words he wanted to say in order to articulate himself. It had a youthful timbre and it was slightly high-pitched, somewhere between that of a boy whose voice had only recently dropped and that of a full-grown man. It was quiet and calm - almost gentle. It made Ardan shiver; the wild barbarian who had invaded her town and killed or imprisoned all of her people should not be able to sound gentle. She was faintly relieved that as an apprentice, she was not expected to answer him: Aunt Izun would speak for both of them.
Within minutes a bowl of steaming water and several freshly-laundered strips of cloth were placed into her hands. She rose and stepped toward the barbarian leader's stolen seat Although her gaze was still fastened to the ground before her she caught the barbarian leader's full-body flinch as she approached. Frightened as she was, she startled at his sudden movement, staggering back and almost upsetting the bowl in her hands. Her heart pounded and her legs shook so badly that she feared she might collapse. She could not even begin to process why he had reacted as he had; she knew only that this invader could kill her for being clumsy. When she saw in the periphery of her vision that the man was nodding at her to come closer she was almost grateful to kneel down beside him.
Close up, it was clear at once that his legs were like nothing she had ever seen before. They looked shrunken compared to the obvious bulk of the rest of his body, like those of a lame old man whose muscles had atrophied from lack of use. But it was not just the leg muscles that were unusual; the bones themselves seemed to be bowed outward, bent so that his knees faced slightly inward and his feet pointed toward each other. There were deep bruises littering the pale skin up and down the sides of his legs where the braces had been tightened, dark red and purple bruises layered over older, yellowing bruises, punctuated at the knees and above the ankles by chafe marks and long, scabbed cuts. Even before she touched him she could tell that his leg bones would feel rough and irregular from many badly-healed fractures. It was impossible not to look at these legs as a healer and imagine the untold years of pain they must have caused their owner; for a moment even her terror was pushed to the back of her mind.
"I am called Aunt Izun," she heard Aunt Izun say behind her. "The girl is Ardan."
And then the fear was back. Aunt Izun was telling the barbarian leader their names because she had no other choice, not because he was a guest or a friend. If she hurt him while she worked, he might kill them both.
Taking a breath, she submerged a cloth in the hot water and wrung it out. Delicately, with barely trembling hands, she pressed the damp cloth lightly to one of the deeper cuts to begin cleaning the caked blood.]
OMG that's awesome! It's a great show, even if he doesn't properly show up till season 4 haha!
[There was a smaller flinch from Ivar and a low hiss of pain that he soon willed himself to cut off as Ardan gently cleaned the deep cut. He was used to pain, had lived with it pressed against him cheek and jowl since the time he was a very small child. He knew keeping the wounds clean was essential to prevent infection, but it didn't make the process hurt any less.
He watched Ardan. She was neat and careful in her ministrations, even if she was doing her utter best not to meet his eyes. Some of the scabbed portions of the cuts were still half-healed and so peeled off as she cleaned them, causing the blood to run anew. There was a sigh of relief as one of the warm bandages was wrapped around a larger bruised area. Heat had always helped the ache in his bone tremendously. As Ardan bent over once more, Ivar leaned forward a little. He was watching her now, that much was clear. Dark hair like her's was rare among Norse maidens and he watched as part of it fell in front of her face. He reached forward, his hand covered in fingerless gloves and arm braces further up to help him move about when his braces weren't on him, brushing a few locks of hair behind her ear.
The movement was slow, deliberate, and most puzzling for a man who had just slaughtered countless people, gentle. When she looked up, there was something warm in those pale eyes, though not necessarily friendly. His fingers traced a trail down from her hair to her neck and shoulders.
Ivar glanced at the guards and his white-haired second-in-command that were at the door and spoke to them in their own Norse language. 'This one is very pretty.' The men in the corner chuckled, and while their affirmations to their boss that she was might not have been directly understood, the leering glances they gave Ardan could give no mistake to their thoughts. Any untold thoughts were quickly quashed by Ivar, who glared at them, and gave a sharp bark of an order to knock it off that made even the old woman healer jump a little. They immediately complied, cowed by their leader. If anyone was going to cover the healer girl, it was he and he alone.]
I'm always excited about any media that treats disabled people as full characters!
When Ivar flinched at the touch of her cloth she froze momentarily, but she did not startle away again. She was well used to the reactions of her patients when she had to touch their wounds: as gentle as she could be, sometimes it was impossible not to cause a bit of pain. When he did not rebuke her she began to move again, working the damp cloth along the skin to wipe away the dried blood and expose the shape of the injury itself. Every so often she came upon debris trapped inside the scabs, specks of dirt or tiny pieces of fiber from his clothing; these she pressed with the cloth until they were removed from the cut and could be wiped away. When the cloth became red with blood or began to dry, she submerged it in the water again; soon the hot water in her bowl was rusty red. Once the wound was clean, she patted it dry and sealed it with a layer of honey, dabbed across the exposed cut and then covered in a heated cloth bandage.
She could hear him sigh above her as she pressed the bandages to one of his legs. At the same time she could feel the muscles in his legs relax, just a bit, as if he had been bracing himself for a long time and was finally letting himself rest. Her healer's instincts asserted themselves again: she would have liked to tell him how to flex his ankles and feet to keep the blood flowing, how to balance and suppress pain rather than just bearing it - but she knew better than to speak. This man was not a patient from the village, he was an invader and a murderer and he might yet decide to kill them.
Slowly, as she looped the end of the bandage around his heal and tied it off across his ankle, she became aware that his posture had changed. He was leaning forward now, his shadow in the flickering light from what had up to today been her mother's hearth bunched up and looming just above her like a nimbus. She could hear him breathing, calmly, smoothly - and then she saw his arm move. She froze again as his broad hand reached for her and took hold of a stray lock of her hair - was he going to pull her hair and force her head down? - and brushed it behind her ear.
She felt goosebumps rise up on her skin in a wave; a hot, dizzying feeling of dread welled up inside her, starting somewhere in her stomach and filling her chest and shoulders and brain. As if pulled against her will, she raised her head to look up into his face. It was young and completely human despite all he had done to her and her people, his eyes shining bright blue even in the dim indoor light. He was looking at her not with disgust or cold calculation, like she was just another body to cut or bludgeon until she stopped moving - but with something like interest. She stared back up at him, immobile, eyes as wide as those of some small creature facing the point of a hunter's knife. And he did not remove his hand: he caressed her, thoughtfully, down the side of her neck and across the exposed top of her collarbone. She did not dare draw breath.
It was only a moment later when he broke eye contact that she was able to wrench her gaze away. She heard him say something in his own harsh language, and the amused response of his men. It took no translation whatsoever for her to guess what he had said - such threats are common to every language. The dread inside of her was threatening to spill over into panic. Quickly she glanced over her shoulder at Aunt Izun.
"The girl is barren," Aunt Izun said, her gaze never resting on Ardan. "She would make you a poor wife, Sir."]
Amen to that!
Fortunately for myself, that is something I have no interest in, at least regarding her.
[Let them think of that what they will, whether they supposed he merely didn't want any bastards or already had enough children to satisfy himself. The truth was much sadder then that. At least they were a well-matched pair in that regards. Their shame was probably alike. Ivar wasn't sure he'd ever even be able to have children, given how hard it was for him to maintain an erection. Some of it tended to be his own performance anxiety, but as for the rest, who knew? It wasn't as if he had gone around and discussed the issue with his warriors or brothers. The humiliation he would have faced would've been far too great.
He examines her face, looking at it first from one angle, and then another, gently pressing his callused fingertips against the smooth angle of her jaw. Satisfied at what he sees, he lets her get back to work. He lets her minister to his legs until some of the ache has finally begun to dissipate from them. Truly, the healers of this village are far better than any he possesses among his own ranks.
When the administrations of the two women begin to finish up, Ivar looks the work over, examining the clean bandages that adorn his poor emaciated lower half. All the grime and dirt have been swept away and the scrapes each tended to with care. He listens intently as the old woman gives him instructions on how to keep from acquiring more cuts and bruises. He nods to both Izun and Ardan.]
You have done well, both of you. Now, you may return to your people. [He raises a hand as both begin to rise.] Not you. [He tells Ardan.] Just the old woman. [He fixes the girl with a steely glance. It's hard to tell what machinations are being worked forth in his brain, but at the very least, he doesn't seem to have malicious intent.] You will stay. I feel you and I have much to discuss.
no subject
When he finally lets go of her she immediately returns to her work on his legs, cleaning, sealing and bandaging too quickly to allow her shaking hands or hammering heart distract her. Her work is as fine as ever - much better than you'd expect to find in a remote village like this, really, because most healers' skills do not come close to what Aunt Izun can do. And she's learned well from Aunt Izun over the past five years, well enough to know how to treat even complex injuries without guidance. She always wants to do her best work because it's wrong to leave people in pain if you can help them - but she also wants to do her best work with this particular patient so that he's well enough to leave her village. And, perhaps if she pleases him well enough, he'll even leave her people in peace. For a time she's able to work without interruption, listening with one ear to Aunt Izun's instructions to Ivar and his retinue: how to keep his legs bandaged and how to test the flow of blood to his feet, how to wrap an extra layer of wool or fabric against the tops and bottoms of his legs to create a barrier between the chafing braces and his skin, and how to treat new injuries if they appear. She checks her work and tests the bandages for tightness. Eventually, both she and Aunt Izun are finished.
Her heart seems to leap as he tells both of them to rise - for a moment he seems to be content to allow both of them to return. But it sinks again like a bird shot from the sky when he holds her back. She doesn't panic, though, or cry out to Aunt Izun or beg the warrior to let her leave. She's aware that, under the surface of her thoughts, she hasn't really expected him to let her go since they first entered the remains of her father's house. She's been singled out from among the other young women of the village and she's shown him that she can be useful; of course he will want to hold onto her. Whether it's as a healer or a whore hardly matters beyond how much the rest of her life will hurt. She's going to be taken away from her village and she will probably die unless she can continue being useful to him.
She doesn't look back at Aunt Izun as the older woman is escorted out of the house. She doesn't want to see the expression on her mentor's face. Instead she kneels once again at Ivar the Boneless's feet.]
no subject
You know I could do what I want with the people of this village. I'm sure you have those you care for. The old woman, for one. A mother, a father perhaps? If you agree, I shall make things easy for them, and for you. But if you refuse, you should know that things will grow much worse for you all.
[The way he says all this makes it sound as if he's presenting it to her as a choice, but they both know this is far from the truth. Ivar is both childish enough to throw temper tantrums and sociopathic enough to make them deadly when he doesn't get his own way. But the undercurrent of menace melts away after a moment, leaving a young teenager faced with any pretty girl. He seems almost a little nervous behind all the bluster and trappings of power. There's something a bit charming about it, even if he doesn't realize he's doing anything at all.]
It shall not be so bad once you agree. You will never go hungry or without anything you desire. And...it will be nice to have someone to talk to. I don't really have anyone that I can seek the counsel of anymore.
[His brothers, the ones that had remained in the army, didn't count. Most of the time, they were hard-pressed just to rein in their younger brother's more violent tendencies, let alone try and figure out whatever was going on in his mind. Ivar could often feel very lonely and isolated, making him vulnerable when he found someone he thought he could confide in.]
no subject
She can't be sure what she's seeing. And she certainly can't act on it: she needs no hints to understand that questioning this man's absolute power over himself and everyone around him would be suicide.
So, how can she answer him? How can she respond to a request that is not a request? What does he want her to say, and more importantly, how much can she win from this conversation without dying right now? She takes a breath, tries to center herself and stop her mind from racing in all directions at once. At the same time the wise-woman part of her mind, that part of her that looks on from outside and comments on the things that she does out of emotion or necessity or supposed cunning, tells her that she is not capable of thinking logically at the moment. She has watched her father and brothers die and her village burn; she is almost certainly about to watch her mother and sisters and Aunt Izun and all of her friends and relatives be killed or kidnapped. And she is about to leave this place forever. She is not in a position to think clearly. She must simply do her best to act like she is thinking clearly.]
And once I agree, how can I be certain that you have made things easy for them? How can I trust that you will leave them in peace, with food and pure water and fertile land?
[Her voice is high the first time she speaks to him, but steady. This is an assurance that she will agree, she thinks. But not yet a promise. Perhaps she can convince him to barter her for the rest of the village, as he seemed to imply. Or - perhaps she has already gone too far.]
no subject
If she wants her people to be saved, she’ll need to play the game his way. So far, everything is going according to Ivar’s way. He doesn’t see any need to threaten her further. Increasing her fear by doing something like tying a bag of hot ashes to that old woman’s face might only make her freeze up rather than agree to do this of her own volition.
He takes her words seriously and gives them a lot of thought. If an assurance that her people will be spared is what is needed, then he shall do so. Finally, he answers.]
I don’t break my promises easily. If you are a prince and break them to your people, then your word isn’t worth shit, and no one will trust you. If you do not believe me, ask the other slaves if I am capable of keeping my word.
[Unlike the warriors, who might give a rose-tinted view in hopes of gaining favor with their leader, the slaves had no such reason to make things appear to be better than they were. If they said Ivar was capable of doing what he promised, then Ardan could rest assured that he would do what he was telling her.]
Hey, good timing for a tag - I was just watching Ivar become king of Kattegat!
She's feeling quite wrong-footed by this treatment. Of course, she did catch that he told her to ask the other slaves - she is now his slave too. But apparently, that doesn't mean that he has no respect for her.
She presses her lips together hard, aware that there is only one possible answer to him now but loath to give it nonetheless.]
Then - yes, I will agree to come with you.
[She speaks in a small voice, aware of her heart thumping in her chest and her blood pounding in her ears as she promises her life away. She is afraid, but she knows that this is the only way her village might survive the remainder of this day.
She swallows around a knot in her throat and then continues with difficulty.]
Before I go - may I bid farewell to my family?
no subject
His face actually lights up when she agrees to come with him. Now that she has agreed to do it of her own free will, he feels better about having given her the choice. Of course, she might still try to defy him, or run away, but the fact she has given her word makes it feel like there is more weight behind the decision.
Ivar nods when she makes her request to say goodbye to her family. It strikes him then that he knows virtually nothing about the girl besides her name.]
You may.
[He says this with the lazy, indulgent sort of tone one would expect a ruler to have. It is a small thing she asks, and he doesn’t need to grant it, but he will anyway simply because he can and to show he has power over her.]
no subject
She rushes to the noisy, chaotic remains of her village's central square, where the barbarian lieutenants are already shooing people back into their homes as if they were wayward chickens. They seem to be explaining in a strange mixture of her language and their own that the villagers are not to be taken away after all, but that everyone should make themselves scarce and not cause any trouble. Ardan has no time to speak to them; she weaves through the crowd to find her mother, her sisters, and Aunt Izun. Quickly she urges them to stop huddling in fear and to come with her, away from the wandering eyes of the barbarians.
Since her mother's house has been taken over by Ivar and his entourage, she leads them all back to Aunt Izun's tiny, unregarded house at the edge of the village, right at the foot of the marsh. She tells them what has happened and what she now must do, ignoring her mother's gasps of horror and her sisters' whimpering protests. She speaks in calm, soothing tones, kissing her mother and hugging each of her sisters. She tells them to be strong and not to grieve; she must set an example for all of them to follow. Whatever she may have become to the Northmen and their leader, she is still a wisewoman in this village. And wisewomen are always calm and practical and in control.
Afterwards, she goes with Aunt Izun around the back of the house, where her small vegetable patch still sits untouched by the events of the day. She explains, in more detail, what she has just promised to become for Ivar the Boneless. And then, only then, with all necessity for illusions gone, does she begin to cry.
She cries big, silent tears that make her body tense and shudder with their force, inarticulately expressing her fear and grief and despair. Aunt Izun’s response illustrates the gravity of the situation when she does not turn to her usual gruff, aloof way of showing sympathy but instead simply comforts her. For some minutes she hugs her and strokes her hair and speaks gentle words to her.
“What if he beats me?” Ardan sobs.
“You will endure,” Aunt Izun answers. “Pain visits us all in time, and in time we all heal. The boy himself is living proof of that."
"What if he rapes me?"
"Then you will endure that as well. And you will convince him to stop."
"How can I do that?"
"Think, girl. He is arrogant and proud because he has power. But remember that underneath the power he is just another boy, and he has the same needs and desires as any boy. He wants to control you, but he wants relief from his pain even more. Work hard, be clever, be useful to him, and he will understand that he cannot hurt you beyond repair.”
“What if I can’t stand it?” she asks quietly. “What if I want to die?”
“You must not die,” Aunt Izun answers sharply, and there is that steely glint in her eyes that reminds Ardan of the few times her mentor has struck her. "You were not meant to die because you are too afraid to endure."
By now her tears have dried up and her body is once again under her control. She relaxes her tense shoulders as if exhausted.
"Do you understand?" prompts Aunt Izun.
"Yes," Ardan answers in a whisper. Aunt Izun nods at her and hugs her once more, and while she is close Ardan can hear the pounding of the old woman's heart. Aunt Izun is afraid too - but she is a wisewoman, and she does not show fear. Hurriedly she wipes her eyes; she does not want to show the barbarians that she has been crying.
It's been almost half an hour by the time she returns to the house that had once been her father's and kneels again before Ivar.]
I'm prepared to leave, Sir.
Marcus Aquilla | The Eagle | M/M
Eligre Kaivodulin || D&D/Generic High Fantasy || ota
Natasha Romanoff | MCU
Princess Serenity / Sailor Moon / M/F
Winter Schnee | RWBY | F/M
the dragonborn | tes/skyrim | m/f
lifeline of work and setting, though she’s surprisingly deep once she gets intimate with someone. ]Juri | original | m/m
As the "civilized" one, being generously protected when he's gotten into lands he probably shouldn't have on his own is great, even better is getting kidnapped.
As the "barbarian", he could definitely be gifted a captured foreigner since he wouldn't take part in raids himself, and then there could be tables turned in private or Juri keeping control by just being nice
while still riding dick as he wishes.]