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PROLOGUE. 'The Fall of Linnasburgh'

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The Celtic village of Linnasburgh scorched beneath the starlight, Norse warriors lighting fire to every home of hardened clay and straw, dressing the night sky in soot thick as a boar's winter coat. Women were forced to lie in the road and face their rapers wrath, those who were able to grasp it withheld the broach of their goddess of protection Brigit, wishing no destruction on their bodies that would follow them into Albios, the Otherworld of white glory and eternal pristine. Other women, those with more bitter hearts, withheld the broach of Balor; the God of Death. They sought Him to strike the Norsemen where they stood, desiring their cocks to shrivel and minds to shatter. Wanting them to suffer as they all did combined. Whereas the women of Linnasburgh proved necessary as trinkets of victory, the sons and husbands of Linnasburgh weren't so lucky. They were either dead already, or fighting to their deaths; Freydis, the middle-daughter of Ealdorman Cìan, fought alongside the few remaining Irishmen. She swung an axe that had been stolen off of a fallen corpse, loud squelches confirming the accuracy of her hits as she fought through the thick blinding smoke of Dubnos fire. Quick and without shame, the young shield-maiden was taken by the backside, feeling the outline of a man's cock through her wool breeches. Her movement was unpredictably fast as she swung the axe again, first chopping off the man's lustful mechanism and next taking off his head.

Freydis wasn't raised as a warrior, nor was she trained to bear anything heavier than a sæx, but her ability to fight like a Norseman was staggering. Many of the Norse went as far as to mistaken her as one of their own. It wasn't long into the Battle of Linnasburgh when her biceps began to weep, and wearisome was it to raise the axe above her jaw. Alas, the Norse didn't care for her, or her companions exhaustion—they were blessed by their Gods. Untrue Odin and his son Thor may be, the Norsemen didn't know that, and so their morale was unbroken. The Celts otherwise appeared to have been abandoned by Morrígu, the warrior-goddess of war, wrath, and death in Her foreseen annihilation of Linnasburgh.

Freydis stuck her axe into the spine of a heathen who beat the wits out of a young Irish boy. "Irish whore!" His companion shouted, swinging a longsword toward Freydis' neck. The Linnasburgh heir ducked as the blade grew close enough to shave the stray hairs of her braid, and swung the axe she wielded unto his unarmored belly. Blood spilled through his wool to, and Freydis struggled to pull the axe from the rib it embedded itself in. The Norse, still living, moved his sword-arm and Freydis was forced to abandon her weapon if she saw fit to maintain her livelihood.

The ealdorman's daughter ran lethargically through the bloodied  upturned roads of Linnasburgh, she ignored the pops of battered brains beneath her boots, and the cushioning she felt whenever she stepped on a detached limb. She had one target on her mind; to the hall, to her home. The doors were wide open, and ealdorman guards fought the heathens who dared to enter. One of the guards, recognizing Freydis, allowed her to swiftly pass without any rejection, preserving the girl's life another moment to find her family. "Athair?" She shouted, searching desperately for her father. "AAthair, cá bhfuil tú?" Father, where are you? There weren't many rooms in the capital to hide in as Linnasburgh was recognized as one of the safest townships in Airgíalla. Never before had it been breached, not until Skjord Arinbjornsson and his tribe of heathens sailed into Irland a fortnight prior.

Freydis long presumed her mother to be dead; she had left Linnasburgh with her three eldest daughters to pray at Medb's burial at Knocknarea in Sligo only hours before the Norsemen infiltrated Linnasburgh's walls. As for Freydis' brothers, she had witnessed two lose their lives to Viking, so that left only one breathing if he were even still alive. Poor boy was probably dead already, only six-years-old and in the care of a young untrained care-nurse. "Darragh?" Freydis attempted, "Come out of hiding, Darragh, it is Freydis!" The boy had yet to learn Gaelic, it was growing ever-extinct within the Irish kingdoms since the introduction of Christianity.

Freydis checked the throne room, and found it empty of the ealdorman and his guards. She then entered the kitchens, finding boiling stew left in its cauldron without one slave to care for it. Next she checked the dining hall, there she found two hounds licking off the uncleaned plates from dinner. The woman, yet pious to her faith, ignored the statues of Danu, Lugh, Morrígu, and Cernunnos and entered her fathers quarters. Upon first glance, it was empty. As she turned to leave, the shaky breaths of an injured man entered her ears. "Freydis?" He inquired, panting.

Quizzical, the heir checked beside the ealdorman's bed, low and behold; she found her father lying on the ground with a sæx protruding from his belly. "Cad a tharla duit, aathair?" What has happened to you, father? Freydis lifted her hand to remove the weapon, and was met with the swat of her fathers hand.

The ealdorman licked his blood-soaked lips, "I believed you dead, Freydis. I believed you all dead."

Freydis returned to her mother tongue, "Yet I'm here, father. What's happened? Are there Norsemen in the hall?" She hadn't seen any on the way in.

The womans fathers eyes fell shut in a long blink, and he coughed as if to awaken himself to the living world, "I believed us all dead, mo uan. I wasn't going to let them take me alive. Where is your mother? Where are your siblings?" my lamb.

"I'm afraid mother is dead, Cara, Roison, and Clodagh too." Freydis frowned, but she felt no tears swell into her eyes. "Padraig lies fallen in the courtyard, and Senan hangs at Archers Row."

"My youngest boy, where is he?"

The girl sighed, "I've yet to find Darragh, and I have no hope I ever will. I'm afraid he has joined Danu in Albios, father."

"Then you are my last heir,'' stated the ealdorman clinically, "do not let them take you, Freydis, you shan't. They will defile you beyond Brigit's reach."

Freydis enclosed her hands around her fathers bloodied palm, "Then what must I do, father? The Norsemen are everywhere, they shall find me wherever I hide."

The ealdorman ignored his daughter's plea for direction, and used his free hand to enclose the grip of the sæx embedded in his belly. "They must not take you alive, my love." He said, pulling the weapon out and allowing blood to drizzle free. "Plunge this into your belly," he freed his other hand, and softly placed the bloodied sæx into her hand. "Then you shall meet your mother and I in Albios."

"N-No, I can't!" Freydis grabbed a wool blanket from her fathers bed, and pressed it into his weeping wound. "We will live, father. We must! I'm here now, I'll bring us to safety. Just tell me where, I will carry you there!"

Her father chuckled, falling half-heartedly into a wheeze, "You are but a woman, Freydis. Carry me you will not. If I knew you were alive, daughter, I would not have wounded myself so gravely. Alas, I am to meet the Gods soon, and you're to be left alone in a town of rapers and pillagers. If you wish to meet us my dear, you must do as I say. Or else you may meet a fate in Dubnos under the heresy of savages and their false Gods."

"I do not want to do it, father," Freydis pleaded, feeling tears swell up in her eyes in face of the torment. "I will not do it."

Cìan reached for his daughter's ashen, bloodied cheek. His palm reached her nose to the back of her ear, and he swept his thumb over the tear that dared to fall down Freydis' cheek. "You were always my most stubborn daughter," he said, gripping the sæx she refused to carry in his opposite hand, "too proud for a husband, too independent for a child. May Danu forgive me, but you were always my favorite kin."

Freydis laughed through her swiftly falling tears, "And you have always been my favorite father."

Unbeknownst to her, Cìan gripped the sæx tighter in his palm, and angled it toward her armorless belly. "Is breá liom an oiread sin duit, a iníon. Logh dom." I love you so much, daughter. Forgive me. As she drove his hand forward, the sæx slicing as far as the trim of her tunic, Freydis witnessed as an arrow pierce through the man's eye: killing him instantly. Freydis quickly turned her head to find three massive Norsemen wrapped in wool and leather standing at the foot of her fathers quarters. One carried a bow, whilst the other two held identical battle axe's coated in blood. The young woman quickly grabbed the sæx out of her fathers lifeless hand and stood onto her feet with the weapon raised.

"We have just saved your life, princess." Said the middle savage, he was the tallest and bore the longest braid; he most likely led this bloodthirsty trio. "And you point a weapon at us?"

Freydis ignored the attempt he made to gibe her, "I am no princess, you Norse scum."

The middle one smiled, his teeth remarkably hygienic despite Dane's being known to never wash in anything but the blood of their victims. "Ubbein, chain the princess." Ubbein, being the man on the left without a bow, grinned cynically with a thick chain in one hand and a battle axe in the other. He approached the woman, and she swung the sæx at his extended arm. She managed to knick him just above the leather bracer, and he hissed in pain as his companions laughed. "Try not to kill yourself in the midsts, Ubbein, your mother would weep to hear a princess ended the life of her eldest son."

"I am no princess!" Freydis swung again, but her arm was caught by the enormous fool. He twisted her wrist, and when it would bend no more, she dropped the sæx onto the ground as he spun her into his chest so his hard breeches rubbed against her arse. "Let me go!" She yelled, "The Gods will smite you for what you have done!"

Ubbein ignored her, and began to chain her arms behind her back. "I do not know what smite means."

The bowman chimed, "It is a more 'Godly' way to premeditate a murder, Ubbein."

Ubbein let out a hearty laugh as he tightened the chain, and pushed Freydis into his leader. "The Gods would not kill me, I am far too loved."

"She is not speaking of our Gods, Ubbein, but the false Celtic Gods." Said the leader, pulling her out of the room. "I will bring the princess to Skjord, you two search for any more of the ealdorman's children."

"Get it through your thick skull, cunt!" Freydis yelled, struggling against his hold as clutched onto her shoulder. "I am no princess!"

"I do not care for Irish politics," he stated, dropping her shoulder to carry the end of the chain. "What is your name?"

Freydis spat in his face, "It is none of your concern."

The man tugged her chains, and Freydis nearly yelped at how tightly they cut into the skin of her forearms. "I am Freydis, now losen these chains."

Happily, the viking did so, "I am Vikar, but you shall call me 'master' for I am to claim you."

"'Claim me?"' She repeated peevishly, "I will cut off your cock!"

Vikar laughed, but did not speak another word. Freydis' heart beat rapidly as she was pulled down the long corridors of Linnasburgh's Great Hall, and the woman wondered if she were to ever witness it in its glory again. Whether she'd be killed upon meeting Skjord, or taken to Norway as a slave. They passed the throne room, and Freydis felt her legs go weak at the sight of her two brothers' heads detached from their bodies and plunged into golden pillars of the Celtic throne. And where her father normally sat was an unrecognizable Norseman who Freydis assumed to be Skjord. "We found one," Vikar stated, "the ealdorman is dead, I sent Ubbein and Mord in search of any more children."

Skjord rose from the throne with a self-assured grin, receiving many cheers from his brethren. "Which one is this?"

"Freydis, my king." Vikar answered, "and with your kindness, I would wish to take this one for myself." He placed either hand on Freydis' shoulders, and she shook them off angrily.

Skjord placed a sword on her shoulder so that its blade touched the side of her jugular, "She does not seem to be the kind to plough."

"I do not want to plough her, my king." Vikar stated, "Whilst originally I had, I am indifferent to her ability with a blade. I wish, rather, to take her as a slave."

"What do you need a slave for, Vikar?" asked one of Skjord's men, "grooming your cock?"

Skjord lifted his finger to silence the man, and he looked down at the chained woman, "You may take her, Vikar. But no one will have her, not until I get my share of the princess."

"No," Freydis shouted, speaking for the first time ahead of the king of the savages. "No you will not! I will have your cock before Balor has your head!"

"I do not believe in Balor, therefore he will have nothing but your false devotion." Skjord stated, he now looked past the ealdormans daughter and toward the tiresome Norsemen that began to pile around the Great Hall subsequent to the morning to come. "Linnasburgh is ours!" He shouted, receiving many growlish cheers. "We will rest here for the fortnight to come, ploughing in its women and bathing in its silver. And then we will sail back to Wales and meet my cousin Bloodhair in Northumbria!" The men began to grunt in a synchronised chant, pounding their chests with their fists in steed of their king. Skjord stepped closer toward Vikar, and held out his hand, "I will have her tonight, Vikar. She will be returned to you by morning."

Despite every interaction between herself and Vikar, Freydis felt the slightest hope that Vikar would deny handing her over. To her disappointment, Vikar smirked and planted the chain in the open palm of Skjord. The thumping of the Norsemen's chests silenced into a light hum as Skjord drug the fitful Celt toward the sleeping quarters farthest from the throne room where her father's body lied slain.

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I'm trying to branch out of Harry Potter fan fictions, so I decided to start with a gory and violent historical drama series! I hope whoever reads this enjoys, I'm actually quite proud of this chapter.

Posted: 12:15:2021
Words: 2,551