Spoils of War Ch. 03

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Part III: Bloodshed. Sven tries to adapt to his new life.
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Part 3 of the 4 part series

Updated 10/31/2022
Created 07/17/2012
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HammerGod
HammerGod
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[Author's Note: At last! Part III has come. In response to the comments from Part II, I cannot write male-dom. It's not because of a conflict on a moral level or anything, it's a practical issue. I know nothing of male-dom and can't write it effectively. Sorry if that disappoints anyone. I hope you enjoy this story nonetheless. Feedback is, as always, greatly appreciated.]

*

"You really came at a good time." Roland remarks as he and I return toward Keira's home.

Luke has gone off to check on Magnus and make sure that the moody man isn't getting himself into any more trouble. Roland, having already returned his water barrel to his mistress and thus been given a bit of free time, follows me on my way back to my own dwelling.

"Good?" I ask of him. "Please, explain."

"The Freedom Night is coming in just a few days." he elaborates.

This doesn't really clarify anything for me, and that quickly becomes apparent to my companion.

"It's a night, once each moon-cycle, when a festival is held for us men-folk and our service, as a reward." he tells me excitedly. "Many Elvaran prepare food, drink, and music, and it is just a wonderful time."

I must admit, that does sound appealing. I always did love festivals. Playing songs, singing, and drinking with my friends by the flickering light of a great fire. I remember how my friend Bjorn would always drink too much ale and sing too loud, and how he one time caught his beard on fire and had to be doused in water once we could get him to stop running about in a panic.

"Is something wrong?" enquires Roland. "You don't like festivals?"

I realize now that I've stopped in the middle of the path, my hands shaking slightly, my eyes not focused on anything in particular as I recall the memories of my home. The day of the raid, Bjorn squared off with two Elvaran warriors. He broke through the guard of one assailant, only to have the other slide her thin-bladed sword between his ribs and puncture his lungs. He suffocated on the ground, blood bubbling between his lips while the skirmishing continued around and over him.

"It's a good festival," Roland insists, "it's great fun!"

There are tears in my eyes and my heart feels a bitter hollowness, a cold, heavy sensation that is entirely horrible.

"I'm sorry," I quietly murmur, "I'm sure it's wonderful. I'm just thinking of my home."

"Right, the raided village." Roland acknowledges, serious in tone for once. "I take it you lost many loved ones?"

I nod silently and he pats my shoulder in a weak effort to comfort me.

"Let's get this task done," he says, "then we'll find Luke and you can talk to us both about it, eh?"

"That would be nice." I reply, genuinely meaning it.

I need friends now more than ever. Keira is nice, quite sweet in fact, but she is not like me. Our statuses will likely keep us from relating as I can with fellow men in the keep of the Elvaran. I can relate to Luke and Roland, we share the same lot in life, just as Keira can relate to her sisters. These are our roles, I suppose, and we must do our best within them.

When Roland and I enter Keira's home, she smiles at us, rising to greet us. Roland kneels before her but she bids him rise, much to his visible displeasure.

"You've made a friend, Sven?" she asks, her voice full of joy.

"Two friends... and Magnus." Roland answers for me.

Keira laughs at that and pats my head proudly.

"I knew you would fit in well," she says, "and here you have two friends already."

"I told him about Freedom Night." Roland adds.

This seems to make Keira even happier.

"Are you excited, Sven?" she asks, leaning down to meet my gaze.

"i am." I respond with as much emotion as I can.

To her credit, Keira can immediately tell something is on my mind.

"Roland, leave us for a while." she bids him.

"Yes, ma'am."

Roland hurries away, leaving me alone with Keira. My beautiful, powerful mistress sits in a chair and effortlessly pulls me into her lap. I must say the position is quite comfortable and I relax in her arms.

"What plagues your mind?" she politely inquires. "Will you tell me?"

"I... I miss my home." I manage to say weakly.

Keira strokes my hair lightly, comfortingly cradling me like a child against her body. She smells sweet, like a beautiful flower, alluring and appealing. Given that she's not yet had a chance to bathe after the raid, I marvel at this fact.

"I know you miss your home." she replies, meeting my eyes with an expression of kindness. "Trust me when I say I wish we'd not so thoroughly decimated your town."

I must confess I am surprised. Not at her kindness, but at the notion of an Elvaran regretting warfare.

"We need to expand," she continues, "to spread our people and our way of life. But I don't think sparing a harmless village would have hindered our progress."

I nod in agreement.

"But it was Alma's will." she tells me. "She wanted the village reduced to ash, and so it was done. Our mark has been made, our power made clear for any who would oppose us."

"That it is." I confirm unhappily.

"I am sorry for your losses." she softly states. "Why don't you go out and find your friends? Have some fun with them."

"I'd like that."

Before I go, Keira insists once again on checking on my wounded personal region to see how I am recovering. The area is still swollen and sensitive, but the damage is clearly not permanent, much to both of our relief. And with that taken care of, I set off through the village to find Luke or Roland.

By now the village has come to life with activity. Elvaran hunting parties are setting out to procure more food for the village's collective storage. Men busy themselves hauling firewood into homes or cleaning clothing outside between the houses. They talk amongst each other jovially, not at all in the dismal state that I'd expected when I'd first heard of the Elvaran way of life. I walk past young Elvaran sparring with wooden swords, groups of full-grown Elvaran talking or engaging in some sparring of their own, and the occasional patrolling guard. None give me a second glance. All is well.

I find Luke and Roland standing to the side of a small clearing by the settlement's wall, while a group of very young Elvaran run about at play. The young girls run around, playfully fighting, shouting, and laughing. Luke and Roland diligently supervise this play as parents might with their young. Come to think of it, it's possible these Elvaran are the offspring of Luke, Roland, and their respective mistresses.

"Are they yours?" I ask, coming to join the two men.

"No," Luke replies, "they're just some young ones we've been told to keep an eye on."

"They seem to be having fun." I observe.

"Children of all sorts find ways to have fun." Roland says.

Luke appears troubled, his expression is distant, as if his thoughts are entirely elsewhere. Roland tries to make conversation with him, but Luke seems too distant for even Roland's upbeat nature.

"Luke," I finally ask, "what's on your mind? I assumed you would be excited about the upcoming festival."

Luke sighs heavily and goes to sit on a log which lies beside this cleared space. Roland and I join him, hoping to get some insight into his mood. He looks over to make sure the children are still contentedly at play before addressing us.

"I worry about Magnus." he murmurs.

"The world worries about Magnus." Roland smirks.

I laugh, but quiet myself quickly to hear what more Luke has to say.

"He was greatly troubled already," Luke explains, "taken as a prize from a large conflict. His recent stay in the House of Penance has further soured his temperament toward the Elvaran."

"And?" Roland asks. "A bad mood won't bring down our mistresses."

I must admit I agree. Even if one is dissatisfied here, what could be done about it?

"He's asked me to help orchestrate a revolt." Luke whispers furtively.

Roland and I are silent, stunned. A revolt? We are all here because we were beaten by Elvaran warriors, how could we possibly revolt?

"A subtle revolt," Luke says, "one of intrigue, poison, and knives in the dark."

"No!" Roland snaps, serious for once. "I love it here, I'll have no part in this madness."

Roland makes to rise but Luke puts a hand on his shoulder, settling him.

"At ease, brother." he says firmly. "I want no part in his madness either, but I worry for others that he might draw to his cause."

Luke looks to me very pointedly at that statement. I fidget awkwardly, not knowing why this remark is directed my way.

"Understand that I don't distrust you," he clarifies, "you seem to be a good man. But I can see trouble in your eyes and sense it in your demeanor."

"I've only just been taken from the ruins of my slaughtered village." I snap. "How would you prefer I present myself?"

Luke's expression changes to one of sympathy.

"I am sorry," he states, "I meant no disrespect, Sven. I meant only that you are clearly still shaken at the loss of your folk. Those who are unsteady may be easily manipulated. Roland and I both have content lives here, I think Magnus will realize that. Be wary of him."

I think this over for a moment and nod in agreement. He's right, after all. I'm not used to this life, and a way out could be tempting, much as I do like Keira, Luke, and Roland.

"You're right, I'm sorry I spoke in anger." I apologize.

"Think nothing of it," Luke assures me, "you've been through a lot. I can only imagine your pain."

Suddenly a sharp exclamation startles us out of our dialog. One of the young Elvaran seems to have stumbled and fallen during play, and now lies upon the ground, whimpering in dismay. Driven by some sudden compulsion, I rise and hurry to her, my gait slowed a bit by my injury from the previous day. The little Elvaran looks up at me, her eyes filled with tears. I sit down beside her and very gently pull her closer to me, hoping to console her.

I carefully look her over for injuries. She has no scrapes or bruises. It seems it was only the fall that upset the poor girl.

"It's okay little one," I say quietly, lightly petting her head, "you're not hurt. You are strong, a brave little warrior."

I playfully tickle her sides and the little one's whimpering turns to giggling and squirming. I gently wipe the tears from her eyes and set her on her feet again.

"Run along now, little one." I encourage. "Play carefully."

"Okay!" she giggles, hugging me before hurrying away.

I rise and make to return to Roland and Luke when a firm hand falls on my shoulder. I turn around and freeze, my eyes going wide, my body suddenly cold with fear. Alma the Sword-Cleaver stands before me, her expression unreadable.

"That girl is my niece." she plainly states.

I take a step back, barely able to stand, fear building in me like a tempest. I want to run as best I can away from her, but that same terror roots me in place.

"I did not know that." I stammer. "She was upset, I had to comfort her."

"Why?"

I'm confused at this question. Do Elvaran not comfort their young?

"How could I not?" I respond. "She was upset, she needed comfort and kindness to feel better."

Alma stares hard at me for a while, reading my face for any trace of dishonesty. At last her lips curve into a faint smile.

"You're learning well already." she praises. "That is good. And... thank you, for comforting her."

"You are very welcome." I say proudly.

Alma turns and resumes her journey elsewhere, leaving me in shock. Alma, of all people, has praised me. I feel pride in this, and great confusion as well. Did not she hate me for my escape attempt? Has her dealing of my punishment made us square, no longer at odds? Perhaps that is the case.

"Well done." Luke praises, when I return. "You did exactly what should have been done."

"Thank you." I reply. "It seemed the right thing to do."

We sit and talk a while longer. Both men are excited for the upcoming festivities, and their excitement is contagious. I now look forward to this night, to enjoy singing and drinking like I did at my home. It will be nice, or so I hope.

Later in the day I return to Keira and she directs me in the preparation of a simple meal of meat and potatoes. We eat together at the table and Keira asks me about my day. I tell her of everything, save for the discussion of Magnus, and she is pleased with me.

"I knew you would fit in well." she says with a smile. "Such a wonderful male."

By nightfall, Keira and I lay in our shared bed. She holds me in her powerful arms and gently kisses my neck, which makes me shiver excitedly. Her lips travel up my neck to my ear, and she whispers quietly to me, "You are mine. My little prize."

Her breath, her words, the brush of her soft lips on my ear, it all excites me tremendously. I squirm in her arms, pressing against her beautiful body.

"No no, little one." she chides me. "You and I may not make love until you are fully healed."

"Then why are you doing this?" I moan as she lightly nibbles at my throat.

"I like teasing you." she purrs seductively. "Like a cat and a mouse. Or perhaps a spider with its helpless little prey."

I shudder in her grasp as I realize this teasing will go on for a long while, with no hope of it coming to any fruition. But I am helpless, and thus I lay still and let Keira play with me until she is content and drifts off to sleep. I lay still in her embrace, my head resting on her soft breasts, and I too fall into slumber.

By the day of the Freedom Night festival my injury has healed and I am again comfortable. I've settled comfortably into my routine of gathering water when needed and carrying out other household chores for Keira, before joining Luke and Roland to watch over the little ones at play. I haven't seen Magnus for quite a while, but I'm quite alright with that. Neither Luke nor Roland makes any mention of him. Our thoughts are too centered on the festival tonight. The Elvaran are preparing food, drink, and festivities for us all, and as soon as the sun goes down the night will be ours.

"I think I'll go see if Keira needs anything." I tell the others.

"Alright," Luke responds, "see you tonight, Sven."

I walk home past many Elvaran who are helping to set up provisions for the festival. Keira is at home sharpening her sword. I enter the house and kneel before her, pressing my lips against her feet. Keira smiles and ruffles my hair.

"Glad you've taken well to that aspect of our culture." she says.

"It's not so bad." I admit. "You're very pretty."

Keira beams, sets aside her sword and whetstone, and pulls me up into her lap. I sit comfortably, leaning against her shoulder and inhaling the sweet fragrance of her flesh. Keira lets her hands roam freely over my body, caressing and fondling me while I quiver with excitement.

"Tonight," she purrs, "after the festival... you're all mine."

"Oh my," I chuckle, "will I survive the night?"

Keira growls like a feral cat before kissing me fiercely and crushing my body against her.

"Oh I'll make sure you do," she whispers, "so I can have you every day for the rest of my life, little Sven."

"You're so kind to me." I happily murmur.

"I love my little treasure." she replies, kissing my forehead.

It seems, odd as our relationship may be, she really does love me. She is gentle and kind with me. I think I could grow to love her, despite my status as a mere servant and my longing for my home. Keira and I spend the rest of the day at home, talking of our lives. She tells me of her childhood, her training as a warrior, and her first battle. She has seen much in her life and I can't help but be amazed.

When night falls, I hear the sound of drums beating and music playing. Keira beams with excitement and hurries me away, insisting that she'll meet me later. Outside I can feel the thrill of exuberance in the air, and I follow the sound of voices to the town square. The place has thoroughly transformed. Torches on tall posts adorn the perimeter of the square, casting a great light that is matched by the bonfire at the center of the square. Many Elvaran are playing instruments, singing songs, or casually conversing with men-folk. Great vessels of mead are passed around, and large pieces of meat are roasted on the fire.

"Sven!" Roland calls, running toward me and thrusting a drinking horn into my hand. "Come, join us, friend!"

He turns and darts into the gathering of people and I follow him with haste, jostling my way through the boisterous throng. The sounds of laughter, joyous conversation, and singing are all around me. It feels so much like home, even amongst the rather imposing Elvaran. The gathered celebrators move about so quickly, some already in drunken staggers, bumping into each other and paying no heed to that fact. It is for that reason that I find myself blind-sided by a roaring drunkard plowing his way toward the bonfire. I fall forward and spill my horn of mead directly onto an Elvaran, who is seated on a log near the edge of the firelight.

"I'm sorry!" I exclaim, panic seizing me as I straighten myself up. "Please forgive me, it was an accident!"

The Elvaran whom I've just doused in alcohol turns to look at me and I immediately recognize her face... and the feathers and beads adorning her garments. The Elvaran chieftain, or queen, or whatever these folk call their leader. My mind is too numb with fear to think clearly. The chieftain fixes me with an unreadable stare, and then starts to chuckle.

"A clumsy little one, aren't you?" she playfully scoffs. "Keira must have her work cut out for her keeping up with you."

I try my utmost to compose myself, but I can't quite manage it.

"I uh... yes ma'am... Your Highness." I babble. "I mean no, I'm not normally clumsy. A man knocked me over, I am sorry."

The chieftain extends a fair hand and presses a finger to my lips, silencing my rambling.

"All is well tonight." she assures me. "Calm your nerves. Come, sit with me."

"Yes ma'am." I shyly respond.

"Call me Alania." she insists.

I nod and take my seat beside the Elvaran leader. She is tall, commanding in her presence, and beautiful, like some war goddess descended from the heavens. She notices me staring at her and gives me a playful smirk.

"You're a pretty one," she observes, "Keira must have a lot of fun with you."

"I do." Keira chimes in, making her way through the crowd to join us.

My mistress sits next to me and offers me a fresh horn of mead. I gratefully take the horn and gulp down a large amount of the beverage.

"What trouble have you gotten yourself into?" Keira playfully demands.

"He doused me in mead." Alania informs her.

Keira barely manages to contain a laugh at that.

"Such a naughty one," she purrs seductively, "I'll have to punish you later, Sven."

I gulp nervously, not sure how to react to her words when coupled with that tone.

"I'm only teasing." Keira soothes me, petting my head gently.

I relax and lean against Keira while enjoying my drink. It is then, as my eyes wander around the bonfire, that I notice a discarded lute lying on the ground, in danger of being trampled by the gathered folk. Being a bit of a bard myself, I spring up and retrieve the instrument, returning it with me to the log, where I may guard it.

"You play?" Alania asks, excitement in her voice.

"And sing," Keira tells her, "he has a beautiful voice."

I blush from the praise and try my best to say nothing, my shyness getting the better of me, but the two women will have nothing of it.

"A song!" Alania bids me. "Play us a song."

"Oh, I can't, I--"

"A song!" insists the drunk man who knocked me over, as he sits dangerously close to the fire.

At last I relent to their insistence and pluck a few strings. The tuning is decent enough for me to play. And thus I begin an old folk song, one of my favorites from my home; a moving ballad I learned from my father.

HammerGod
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