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Acres of golden fields, gently moving in the wind, fertile and green. Blue skies and a warm sun. Vinland…
Thorfinn stared out over it, felt the weight of Askeladd's hand on his shoulder and a low familiar voice.
"We made it."
They'd made it. But where was father? Mother and Ylva were supposed to be there too, waving at him, welcoming him back.
An amused chuckle from Askeladd.
Thorfinn blinked, feeling his body sway as he drifted over the land. Askeladd was never part of Vinland. It was Thors' dream.
Thorfinn's shoulder was cold. He couldn't feel Askeladd's hand anymore
"He's a quiet one, isn't he?"
That's right. Askeladd was dead.
"He has strength. There are many things he could assist with around the farm."
"Hmf. Show him the ropes today and send him to see me after dinner."
The scenery blurred into colours—gold to green to blue. He stared at it. Askeladd was dead. Vinland was just a dream. Nothing mattered anymore.
The movement came to a stop and Thorfinn felt a tug on his arm. He moved with it, until his feet were on the ground. A face peered at him, and a big hand pushed his hair back, cupped his jaw. Many people had looked at him and touched him. This man might have been one of them.
"Make him wash before he comes see me, Pater."
"Of course, sir."
The man Pater showed Thorfinn many things. Weapons were pushed into his hands but he was asked to hit the ground, trees and bushes instead of people. It was easy to obey. He worked until he was sweating and had to pant to take in enough air.
The man didn't talk much but Thorfinn gradually understood. His body wasn't his own anymore. He was a slave.
"All I have to do is promise a duel and you'll do whatever I want!"
Askeladd's voice echoed in Thorfinn's ears. He was standing waist deep in water now. A man was scrubbing his hair. In Thorfinn's hand was a scrap of soapy fabric that he was rubbing absent-mindedly under his arms. It was cold.
The man pushed him down until Thorfinn sat in the water, river sand scratching his buttocks. He was tilted back, water seeping into his ears, and he instinctively held his breath and shut his eyes as he was forced under.
The sound of his own heartbeat drowned out everything. Under his eyelids was a dark red. Cold. Peaceful. He waited to drown but he was pulled back up.
Water dripped down his face as he inhaled. Not dead. Not dead yet.
He let the world blur. Sensations—his body scrubbed more, a scratchy towel buffing his limbs and his back, a fire warming him as he sat, and a comb pulling though his hair.
He shut his eyes.
"Ah, there you are."
A hand brushed through his hair, catching on the strands and pulling at his scalp. He looked up.
A large man was standing in front of him, a beard and combed back blond hair. Firelight cast shadows on the wrinkles of his rugged face. Thorfinn didn't recognise him.
"Come on, boy."
He pulled Thorfinn up by the arm, leading him through a curtain dividing the house. The fabric brushed Thorfinn's shoulder as he followed into a smaller room, lit by a floor torch. He was guided to sit on an elaborately carved bed, with a mattress that felt like it was stuffed with something softer than straw.
Thorfinn stared at the ground and his bare feet. He wasn't wearing any trousers or braies, just a white untied tunic that finished above his knees.
A warm hand cupped his face, tipped him to look up at the man.
"You're very pretty."
Thorfinn didn't answer, and then the man was pressing his lips to Thorfinn's. The other mouth moved, swallowing him up, opening and closing, spit leaking into Thorfinn's mouth and wetting his lips. The man's face was very close, Thorfinn's eyes struggling to focus. He closed them and then big hands on his shoulders were pushing him back to lie down.
A heavy weight mounted Thorfinn, crawled over him and pushed his tunic up to his chest. Hands roamed his body. After a while the man forced his tongue into Thorfinn's mouth. Thorfinn held his mouth open as the unfamiliar tongue explored inside, poking at his teeth and dragged along the top of his mouth.
Was he meant to kiss back? When the men took women as their spoils they would sometimes force a kiss. The women would cry and fight back. It seemed like a lot of effort. It was easier just to lie here.
A hand groped him between his legs, squeezed his balls too hard and rolled them. Fat fingers circled his cock, pulled his foreskin down to poke at the sensitive head.
Ah. He was one of those women now. Weak prey for the hunter. Thorfinn had ignored them when they'd begged for help.
Something poked his arsehole, sticky and wet. It forced its way in, and Thorfinn recognised it as a finger. It burned, an unfamiliar pain inside him. It pulled out then pushed back in, rubbing inside with the slick substance.
The finger moved in and out, and the burn turned into a sting. It was not as bad as Thorfinn had imagined.
The finger retreated and Thorfinn was pushed onto his front, his head to the side, breathing in a sweet scent from the mattress. Behind him he heard slick sounds of something slapping together.
Then a body was lying down on him like a flesh blanket, pressing him down. A hand slithered under his chest, tickling his ribcage and hugging him closer. Heavy thighs pushed in between his legs, forcing them open. Something stiff and thick touched his arsehole and pushed in.
His insides opened up under the pressure as he was slowly and steadily impaled. A flabby chest heaved against his back, pants of air ruffling his hair. The cock pierced him, fat and thick, stretching him to the limits, making him break out in sweat from the pain.
His fingers twitched but he lay limp, waiting for it to burst through to his stomach and kill him.
Eventually the cock was buried to the root, flesh squished against his buttocks and thick pubic hair scratching his skin. An open mouth pressed against the back of Thorfinn's neck, and a tongue slithered out, warm and moist.
"Tight," groaned the man.
Hands crept down and grabbed him by his hips, holding him still. The cock pulled slowly out, rubbing against his insides, leaving muscles aching from the stretch, until just the fat head was inside. And then with one thrust it plunged back in, the man's full weight slamming into him.
Agony took Thorfinn's breath away. The man groaned deeply, gripped Thorfinn tighter and started to fuck into him. Again and again it stabbed into Thorfinn, pain lighting inside of him so vividly that he felt the full thickness and shape of the man's cock—its curve, its veins, its thick head.
The man's belly flopped over Thorfinn's arse, chest wobbling as he pressed against Thorfinn's back, flesh sticking together with sweat. He huffed and puffed like a pig as he used Thorfinn's body.
Thorfinn's body rocked against the bed with each thrust. Flesh slapped against his arse cheeks. A wet sloppy rhythm.
After a while the pain died down. After a while it was just an ache. Thorfinn's body submitted, relaxing to the sword stabbing him open.
He barely felt it when the man came—squeezing Thorfinn's arse to his groin, a warm liquid filling Thorfinn. The weight lifted and Thorfinn was moved onto his back. Liquid trickled from his arse like diarrhoea.
Someone was crying.
For a moment he thought it was him. But when his eyes opened they were dry. A naked body was clinging to him, wet tears against his chest.
Memories came back to him. A rough hand in his hair, pushing him away. A tender touch to his head as he clung to a strong body.
Thorfinn's hand moved, found a head of hair. Slowly he stroked it, staring up the ceiling. The loud cries softened and quietened, until all he could hear were the echoes of a child weeping.