Chapter Text
Ivar stared intently at the slave that cowered in a corner of the ample room he had claimed for his own. The girl looked feral, eyes wide with panic, teeth bared in a sneer, hair tangled and matted with blood and grime. Her dress was torn and covered in dirt and the blood of her kin. He tried to smile reassuringly at her. He didn’t realize the smirk was more menacing than anything else, a gesture that, coupled to his intense blue eyes, gave him the look of a predator out of a nightmare, ready to strike. Ivar stopped a few steps away from the girl, and chuckled when the only response he got was a feral, desperate growl.
“That looks like a really scared rabbit Ivar, she is not even pretty” Hvitserk complained, crouching by the girl as to get a better look at her. He didn’t saw whatever had made her special. The face might be symmetrical, but it did not possess a beauty worth the fuss Ivar had made to keep her from harm. The one thing Hvitserk could see, and most important, smell, was the grime that clung to her. The stain in her dress from where she had pissed herself the moment she had faced the Viking horde. Turning from the girl to his brother, he saw how Ivar looked just as excited as the moment they had taken the city. His eyes sparkled as he looked down at his new thrall with unmeasurable pride.
Grimacing, Hvitserk tried to reach for her chin. He wanted to take a good look at her face. Maybe Ivar saw something that escaped him, but, What could it be?
As soon as his hand was within striking reach, the girl surged forward, clawing at his arm, biting his hand until he bled, hitting him square in the nose with a bony fist that did not have enough strength to break the bone, just to bruise. With a yelp of surprise, Hvitserk fell on his butt, the girl on top of him, still biting his hand, still beating and clawing at him as he tried to protect his face. Ivar’s laugh filled the room. He was standing right by them, manoeuvring with his crutches to clap, clearly amused.
Soon the surprise wore off and the warrior gave a terrible cry before striking the girl in the head, hard enough that she fell, dazed, to the ground. Once she hit the floor, he sat on top of her, and started to backhand her savagely, until her lips split, covering her teeth in red, and her nose was bleeding. Satisfied, Hvitserk closed his hand in a fist, but before he could touch her, a sharp, cold feeling in his neck stopped him. Ivar had unsheathed one of his daggers and held it dangerously closed to his artery. His little brother was not amused anymore.
“Hvitserk, get off her. Now” His brother raised his arms with an annoyed expression, but Ivar kept his knife where it was. It had only proved him right, that the sad wretch that had huddle with other two girls in a corner had turned into a ravenous beast the moment his warrior had cut through the elderly couple that had used their bodies to shield them. She had barrelled into one of the Vikings, but her feather weight had done nothing to the seasoned warrior.
He had been too busy tearing at her clothes to notice the girl unsheathing one of his daggers and plunging it in his neck. His friend had turned then ready to strike her down, but Ivar had taken one look at those fiery eyes and felt it would be a shame. He had stopped his warrior, who had been forced to dodge her clumsy attempts to stab him before knocking her around until she had been half unconscious. Ivar had made sure that, even though she had been put with the others, no one touched her. She had stayed there, in the mud and the blood, first hugging the other women, then all alone as the soldiers took them away one by one. She had cried and fought once again when they tried to separate her from a dark-haired young thing she had kept in her arms and protected with the fierceness of a she-bear. And in the end, when Ivar was settled and ready, he had called for her.
He was not about to let his brother hurt her further. He had plans for her. He all but kicked his brother from the room, and he could see the spark of intelligence in her eyes as she took notice of the door, and the guards outside. She would remember it. Or at least, that’s what Ivar hoped.
Gwyn was hurting. Her face, her body, her soul. She longed for the relief of prayer and the council of the priest, but he was no more. Neither would her parents embrace her and sooth her soul.
They were gone, cut down by the heathens. Something was broken and bleeding inside her chest, and she felt raw and numb at the same time. All teachings about the mercy of the lord had left her. Inside her, the only thing left was a ravenous need to hurt and kill. To give back to the world the pain she felt inside, letting it loose upon the earth until there was nothing left in her heart and she was empty. Maybe she would feel better then, when there was nothing else in her heart.
The heathens. They had violated the sanctity of the church. Raped the nuns, tortured their bishop. They had cut down her parents and took her sister away, no matter how hard she had clung to her hands. Gwyn had not been strong enough to keep her.
And now she was going to be raped by the crippled beast that had been slithering around the church, among the corpses, like the serpent of the garden of Eden. Like the demon he was. She bared her teeth, never minding the split lip and the pain in her face from the beating she had taken from the other man. At least he had gone away. At least, god had been merciful in this miserable way, of not letting her be raped by two of them.
He had cleaned the blood from his face and, dressed in fresh clothes, he looked almost human. His twisted limbs and chilling eyes gave him away though, as the spawn of Satan. He let go of the crutches, and the sound of the metal striking the stone made her jump from where she was lying of the floor. She tried to rise to her feet, but he was quick as lighting, he soon had dropped to the floor and was crawling towards her. She scurried backwards, terrified.
The demon was coming for her.
The demon was going to devour her.
She tried to kick him in the face when he extended his hand towards her but failed. His fingers closed like a vice around her ankle and dragged her towards him. He was incredibly strong. She tried to hold on to the stones that made the floor but to no avail. She could feel his hands as he grabbed at her clothes to get her closer to his body. Gwyn clenched her jaw, and a mulish expression settled in her thin face. She was not going to give up. She would die fighting, she would never, ever, stop. With a growl, she twisted herself so she could be facing him, and swung her closed fist straight at his head. Catching her in his arms and pushing her against the cold stone floor seemed to be effortless to him, and a very amusing game, for he laughed.
Ivar was extremely amused. To find such an interesting pet in this place! This Christian woman had the heart of a Valkyrie. He caught her and pinned her to the ground. She was crying, but the snarl on her face betrayed tears born out of anger, not fear. Good. He slowly backed away, leaving her laying there, trembling, and crawled all the way back to the bed, by which a slave had already prepared a bucket of warm water and a few rags. Ivar had sent them searching for something she could wear instead of her filthy clothes. He beckoned her closer with his hand, and, when she didn’t move, with a sharp word. She seemed to come alive to the sound of her language and she rose with a fierce scowl. She came closer once she caught sight of the water and the rags, but never within grasping distance. Clever, clever, Christian girl.
“This water is for you, the dress too” Ivar said, with a smile. He exegeted the gestures, like the girl was stupid. Oh, but he knew she wasn’t. He was amusing himself watching the different expressions of her face as she watched in distrust. Next, he took the clothes, taken from a well-off house, personally chosen by him. He waved them in front of the girl, waiting for his prey to take the bait. Ivar couldn’t help to giggle as she did lunge to take the dress, admiring the soft fabric and the rich embroidery. Ivar let the rag fell into the bucket and dragged himself up into the bed, with his back resting against the headboard.
“Please, do go on, you must be tired of being covered in grime” he smiled, smug. She growled at him.
Gwyn looked at the Viking with hate. The dress in her hands was the softest, most delicate thing she had ever laid hands on, and it made her wonder what noblewoman had been stripped naked for this monster’s amusement. The gesture of the bastard towards the bucket froze her where she stood. She longed for a good scrub, but he was staring.
She held the new clothes to her chest as she looked around. She saw the chamber was fully furnished, with the bed, and a few trunks here and there. Finally, a table had been placed in the room, surrounded by chairs. She walked there and placed the fine dress on it. Then she came back, always making sure he was always in sight, that he hadn’t moved from the bed. He just sat there, arms sprawled, proud and smiling like a madman. Gwyn grabbed the bucket, and quickly dragged it back to the table. And the she started arranging the chairs and the table to build a flimsy little wall between her and the man. She put the dress over the structure, using the fabric to cover most of the view. The laugher and the loud clapping only made her angrier. She took her dress off in furious jerks, tearing the already mistreated cloth at some points, and added it to the barrier. The Viking only whistled and said something in his barbaric language.
Ivar couldn’t be happier. He had expected the girl to either throw the clothes back to his face and go dirty, or being forced to forgo her modesty, maybe fumble around while trying to change and cover herself. He didn’t expect to watch her pile the chairs on top of the table and hang all the clothes to serve as barrier. He could see her legs under the table, if he twisted his body a bit. He could hear the sound of water as she dipped the rag in the bucket and scrubbed herself clean of grime.
“Oh, little Christian, what fun we shall have. You will serve me well, I know”