First off, thank you to u/4zra3l u/Glitzeregenbogen for all of your wonderful ideas, input and editing. This was a collaborative story, can dm me feedback or can send to u/4zra3l. Enjoy. ?
—
Najima awoke with a shiver. Winter still seemed to have a firm grip on the early spring nights this close to the North Sea. A chilly breeze whistled through the klappläden, she felt they let more air in than they kept out. It was times like this the young Persian woman missed home. Persian winters never had lasted as long as Saxon ones and were much milder. It was also next to impossible to get your hands on peaches, coffee beans or any decent makeup, but the ever-present damp sea air got to her the most.
Wrapping herself tightly into a woolen blanket, she got up from her bed. She was lucky enough to have her own small room in keep Stedgeford. With a sigh on her lips Najima went over to the small window, opening the shutter, taking a look outside. The crisp wind helped clearing her mind, from the haze of sleep. She couldn’t see the eastern horizon, but the night sky seemed to lighten up in that general direction. She guessed there was maybe an hour left before daybreak. Maybe she should go to the bathing rooms while no one else had stirred, yet.
As she turned around to dig up some bathing utensils from the chest she kept most of her possessions in, her eyes fell upon the low-slung table that occupied the centre of her chamber. Two hassocks were placed on each side and the remains of burnt incense were visible in a pair of ceramic bowls. The incense served as much as a tool to widen her perception and finding tranquility; which was necessary to hear Manāt’s whispering, as it did to keep the rather unpleasant, musty keep-smell out of her room.
What really caught her eye though, were the cards.Those 5 turned and 73 unturned crystal-wafers. The tarot deck. Her most prized possession, they had made her what she was today. Without them she’d have never become the strategos of a Saxon lord, she’d more probably be dead. Slain, like the rest of the travelling caravan she and her parents had accompanied on its way from Arak to Hama.
It should have been a simple pilgrimage and it had been until they had been caught in the path of a crusade. The 14 year old had survived, if by sheer luck or because she combined her father’s political knowledge with her mother’s gift for divination, she wasn’t sure but was thankful. She only knew, that her life had taken a drastic turn, that fateful day six winters ago.
Ever since then, she had been kept around by the Christians. At first, as a novelty or curiosity; slowly and surely becoming an advisor and seer for those with more liberal views on The Crusades and its religious underpinnings. She served in houses prior, always for those lacking fanatical zeal, and fate had brought her to consult and presage in Lord and Lady Stedgeford’s service. The cards and Manāt’s musings her only true companionship in the keep.
Having arrived in the bathing chambers after a short walk, she readied her bath as she was accustom, mostly frigid water topped off with a cauldron of water from the upper keep’s hearthfire. She savored her alone morning time, there were three things that knocked the frigid air from her bones and two of them happened amidst the steam of a freshly drawn bath.
When the temperature was right she returned the cauldron, glanced around, grabbed her bathing linen and approached the tub filled with liquid escape. Escape from the damp cold, amongst other matters. Her waist long jet-black hair already revealed, it was braided backwards on the left side of her head, making the majority of her hair fall over the right shoulder, while her long bangs fell over the right one of her deep brown eyes. Her beautiful face was not stained by a single flaw. As the silken pajamas slid down her delicate form, they revealed more of the beauty underneath. Her skin tone had lightened up over the years, leaving only the faintest trace of a light brown hue on her soft skin. The silken fabric of her sleeping attire caressed her body on its way to the ground, where it formed a small puddle. A pair of gravity defying C-cups the size of ripe melons, her toned midriff, perfectly proportioned hips, luscious behind and her long slender legs. Now fully nude she stepped gingerly into the steaming tub.
She settled in and leaned back a moment and just enjoyed. Savoring these sweet moments and her one guilty pleasure. She conjured up images of a powerful king in a far away kingdom, handsome and wise. In her fantasy, he had a full harem of women to choose from, yet he chose Najima, every time for his pleasure. Not only to receive, but to give. Her imagination, fueled by desire, taking her far away; unhindered and unfettered by the goingons of the castle.
Massaging her beautifully shaped breasts with the small perky nipples a moment and feeling passion’s warmth vacate the chill inside her, a hand slowly sneaked down thinking about the magnanimous king instructing her in her duties. She rubbed her clit gently in concentric circles before moving it along the full spectrum of her womanhood. Up to the button down to her wet warm lips, slipping one finger inside, then back up. The king bestowed a crown so skilled was she, this thrusted her into higher gear. Instead of just a relaxing stroll, now a sprint and she saw the finish line. Applying a steady pressure with her thumb on her button, she can now fit her middle and ring finger inside. Both sensations at the same time and the king’s lips locked powerfully on hers. She squeezes her nipple softly with the other hand, twisting it ever so gently.
Her repressed desires erupting as she arches her back out of the tub, eyes rolling back. She bit the washing sponge to keep from moaning. Her head swimming in the residual lust, this was nothing like the few brief and passionless encounters with men she had before, to quell her most basic needs. Most Christians were happy to take Persians as servants, as most thought them unclean and unkempt, keeping her reputation intact as they would never openly admit to having relations with a heathen.
Najima felt more at ease as her mind settled some, coming down from the high it had just experienced. She arose from the bath and headed back towards her quarters. Donning one of her favorite dresses, sporting a dark blue color and a form fitting cut. It had a hood, that reached far into her face, shrouding her eyes in shadows, giving her a mysterious look. Only emphasized by a sheer lace veil that could be fastened to the sides of the hood, making it possible for her to cover the tip of her nose, mouth and jaw and thusly obscuring most of her face. The Persian seer’s mind wandered back to yesterday’s reading of the cards. It had been most mysterious and enigmatic. Was there something she had missed? A sudden knock on her door and a squire exclaiming brought her back to the present: “Danes attack, the keep’s under siege!” He darts out heading to the next quarters.
The five turned cards still showed the reading she had done yesterday for her liege, concerning his options about trade with the Franks. Divination was not an exact science, a task further complicated by the nature of her lord’s questions. The tarot only ever showed possible paths of the future, as the future was never set in stone. It was constantly shaped by all actors and their actions. Considering the sheer amount of people involved in politic relations, it was like searching a needle in a haystack.
Manāt had been awfully mystic in the answers to her prayers. Only this much seemed clear, the lord had to sacrifice something he held dear in order to bring this ordeal to an acceptable solution. Yet, all of this was no real help, no specific answers. Maybe the lord had to trust in his knowledge and instincts for once. Najima shook her head, trying to focus. What if the cards had tried to warn them about the raiders?
The first card. The Tower. Disruption. Conflict.
Yesterday it had seemed clear that it meant the occasional border skirmish between Franks and Saxons. That a treaty could not be had, because of a lingering problem. Could it have had a more figurative meaning? The siege?
Second card. Death. End, loss, destruction.
A signifier to the first card, a hopeless situation? Were they doomed?
The third card. The Lovers, but inverse. A loved one. Conflicting choices. The second signifier to the first card. The three of them painting a dire picture. Someone close to the lord was in danger. But whom? Or was someone close to lord the solution to the conflict?
The fourth card. The Hanged Man. Gaining from sacrifice, martyrdom, discontinuity.
A possible solution? Giving something up to preserve the rest?
The final card. The Wheel of Fortune. Destiny, Good Luck, Change. A hint towards the 4th card. A good solution to the problem.
This became increasingly difficult, especially considering the current circumstances. The keep was under siege by some bloodthirsty band of raiders and all kind of folk from the surrounding lands had fled within the keep’s protective walls; seeking shelter from the pillaging horde. It was bursting at the seams and food would become an issue sooner rather than later. That was if the wildlings did not break down the gate or scale the walls. Najima prefered to not think about, what would happen if they managed to get inside.
The situation was dire, no matter how she looked at it. Having so many people inside the keep’s walls gave them a surplus of defenders, even if they were untrained. To feed all these extra mouths was going to be problematic though. The female strategos would have prefered not having so many civilians around, but to protect them was Lord Stedgeford’s duty, and kind of the keep’s whole purpose.
—
It was now mid day by the sun’s position in the Saxon sky. The raiding party had stealthily crept in like viking commandos under the cover of night. Svjorn’s scouts noted three pikeman that patrolled the perimeter of the keep and they were dealt with, without issue or clamor.
Svnorn looked around and his instincts told him the strength of his group would easily overpower whatever pathetic defenses these Saxons could devise. Removed, somewhat, from his berzerker heritage but retaining much of the ferocity tucked away in the event it was needed – he longed for action.
Svjorn stood a stone’s throw away from the main gate and shouted; “Lord of this keep, make yourself known!! Else we introduce you to Nordic ways of entry.” Svjorn always preferred the civilized answer when given the option. Having to batter the doors down was not his favorite things to do list. A tedious and time consuming task…
The red hint to the tips of Svjorns beard shined with the sun and his chest was filled with a confidence only a conqueror would know. His men all shuffled around looking at the ramparts waiting for a reply… then a whizzing sound right by his ear, out of nowhere an arrow tore through his tunic at the shoulder and grazed him. He never saw the bowman but saw him fall as one of his archers placed an arrow through his forehead. In the tundra, only the accurate hunters ate and his three hunters turned marksmen could hit an apple at a thousand paces… in a storm. Ranged combat was far from his favorite but it served its purpose, especially during sieges.
This will not stand!! Svjorn was infuriated and thankful to the old gods the Saxon hadn’t been more accurate. “Prepare the ram!!!” The ram, as it were, was always just a hefty log cut down nearby where a siege would be undertaken… maked it easier and nothing to lug around, plus the sawed off branches made for excellent impromptu handles. So a 25 foot fir tree had been dropped and prepped. By now Svjorn was seething mad. The insolence, how could they have the audacity?
Ten men, five on each side took their place with sap on their hands to improve grip on the makeshift battering ram. The trunk end first, it was axed down to a broad point to help decimate the door. With everyone in place and the archers keeping watch on the ramparts Svjorn proclaimed; “Heave!!!!” In unison they all thrust the mighty timber into the door, shaking the ground and sending small splinters flying in every direction. “Hooo!!”” The Nordic team putting their strong backs into the effort. Another shower of splinters ensued, this time also destroying a large rattle with caked on rust flying from the weathered hardware.
After the third round of ramming, the gateway showed discernable signs of delamination and possible failure. Two of the hardware fasteners were completely broken off and sliver of light could be seen through the massive door. Svjorn’s spirit rose with the sight. As dusk was setting in, even with changing men out between efforts, the ram crew was fatigued. Svjorn had the scouts move out before breaking away from the main door… “Men, we’ve done enough for today, time for mead!”
They brought from their main camp a barrel of mead and enough provisions for three day’s siege. Anything past that would require either a strategic retreat back to camp or using fighters to hunt and gather food. Svjorn’s biggest concern was running out of mead though, afterall a warlord had to have his priorities straight. Because the amount of mead a soldier had to drink was directly proportional to his complaining about incoming arrows.
They rested back in the glen, the one they had come through earlier, under the stars and a half moon. Svjorn ensured the scouts stayed sober and alert. The small viking horde slept well after the marching and siege efforts. Svjorn said a small prayer to Odin, thanking him for not claiming his soul for to Valhalla this day via a coward’s arrow. That would have been a most embarrassing end. He had hoped for more progress,but knew where there was strength, there was usually a way. A fucking stalemate wasn’t what he came here for. He went to his bedrole, closing his eyes, not having realized how exhausted he was earlier. The day’s adrenaline slowly fading from his Danish veins. The occasional solitary hoot of an owl and the muffled whispers of two warriors on guard duty, talking about dragons and winged creatures of the sea, acting like a lullaby.
“Save your tales for another day, for on the morrow we will breach that bastard!” The warlord brought the two in line with his gravelly voice.” Remember: Pillage, then burn!”
Part of the reason Svjorn had reached the rank of Jarl, was that the spoils of war were a secondary motivator, extrinsic. His intrinsic motivation was for adventure and action, better than all the loot in Saxony.
—
As night set in, Lord Stedgeford stirred restlessly. Each attack on the outer gate, had shook every corner of the keep and had rattled more than simply its hardware. The siege had disturbed the otherwise peaceful purlieus of the Stedgeford stronghold and normal day to day operations were now in upheaval. Lord Stedgeford had consulted with his various advisors several times during the day to plan for contingencies. Calling for reinforcements was not a real option. The closest ally was two days ride on horse and almost five on foot. He sorely needed peace of mind; more than the chaplain or the captain of the guard could provide. Their answers were wait and hope for the best. Barely a defense strategy. Wondering what light his seer might shed on the situation; he summoned Najima to the throne room.
As Najima arrived in the throne room, it was in a state of slight chaos. The lord’s scholarly political advisors, his most trusted guard captain, even his lady all had a disheveled look on their face. The only one not overly taxed with the impending attack was the Lord’s brother, Henry Stedgeford, who had the habit to ease his nerves with as much wine as necessary. Attacks upon the keep were not common and there had never been a full scale siege since the Stedgeford name had graced these lands.
The family coat of arms was on bold display behind the throne. The heraldry consisting of two bears facing each other, on hind legs with a white and grey checkerboard background. Najima had never found it to be very inspiring but was told the two bears represented the Stedgeford and the Allizen families joining together in matrimony, several generations past and thereby bringing two feuding families together and the district under one rule.
There was a large chandelier crafted from wrought iron hanging from the ceiling. The floor covering may have been from her home in Persia, but Najima had never felt the need to ask about it.
The mild hysteria of the group faded slightly as they saw her approach the throne: “You wished to see me m’lord?” Najima’s hooded dress only added to the mysterious nature of her duties. Her enchanting brown eyes hidden for the most part in the shadows of her elegant cowl.
Clearly not in the moment, a million miles away; Lord Stedgeford’s light blue tunic and clean shaven face made him look completely unready to face the threat on the other side of the castle walls. “Najima!” He finally snapped back to reality. “Have you received any useful signs as to the best way for me to defend the keep and our lands?” His question almost a plea.
She bowed courtly as a greeting, looking down and delivering her news; “Your highness may remember the reading we did yesterday, concerning the trade routes. Maybe it is to be interpreted differently.” Despite her time in the castle, she had never fully revealed the full meaning and workings of the cards to the lord in an effort to keep some of the mystique behind the divination process. This also allowed her to point him in the right direction, giving advice and not dictate decisions, that was his job after all.
“Enlighten me?” The lord had grown accustomed to consulting with the beautiful Persian for more complex issues, not fully understanding tarot but having seen merit in her musings. Often times, since he had understood that the future is not set in stone, there might be possibilities he hadn’t considered and it might prove helpful to get information from another perspective. A possible, farfetched solution was better than none.
“Of course.” Her accent still obvious but pleasing to the ear. “I saw several distinct possibilities m’lord. The most poignant solutions to this dilemma will require sacrifice and relinquishing something. I have no signs or indication why or what. If this is not done, Manāt’s message was clear: Destruction.”
“At best, we can hold out two more full days and that is only if by some miracle the gates hold fast. Thank you kindly Najima, you have given me much to think about. If you receive any further signs please let me know.” Lady Stedgeford never changed her facial expression and was very difficult for Najima to read.
The Persian soothsayer gave a lissome bow and turned to exit the throne room. Her stride, confident and self-assured not showing signs of her inner anxiety. One of the sayings she was taught long ago when first undertaking presaging, she was now reminded of: Uncertain times makes for certain business in the soothsaying trade. There was almost a humorous tone to it but nevertheless true. She returned to her quarters, happy to put this day behind her.
Before the sun made its appearance, there were dealings of another sort in the lord’s bedchamber. The stress was slowly getting to him and well, like anytime before, the primary way to relieve stress was by suckling on Lady Lynne Stedgeford’s breasts.
His proclivity for such things surely had to do with his childhood and growing up but he could not place where he grew so fond of the feel in his mouth. She would talk to him in soft and gentle tones and try and soothe his anxiety; his mouth placed on her nipple and sucking. Neither of them thought it odd, it felt natural and was an understood stress reliever for him. No strong arousal from either became of it but it soothed him. He is far away from the keep and the siege…
Then Lord Stedgeford was reminded of the vikings by an echoing “THUUD!!”, followed by the sound of splintered wood. Daybreak barely over the horizon, in shock he pulls from his wife. The vacation was over. Now time to be Lord Stedgeford again and deal with things like an adult. Invaders and all… back to reality.
Source: reddit.com/r/Erotica/comments/aphcea/in_the_cards_pt_1_oc_bdsm_viking_dominance