Patreon LogoYour support makes Blue Moon possible (Patreon)

An Honorable Union Gone Awry

Ugh, great. She would just have to continue to play along. "Y-yes," she said softly, stroking the back of his neck softly and nuzzled his jaw with her cheek. "Did you?" she cooed, wriggling more in hopes the he would think that she just wanted to be in another position than this, not that she wanted to be free of him.
 
She wriggles against him, and at least he does release her, rolling onto the mattress beside her. Unfortunately, he does not take it quite the way she intends. Instead, Canute rolls off with a little growl, "But you can't wait to get your husband off you, hm?" He smirks, casting her a cruel glance, "It's what I get for taking a barbarian Celt as a wife. It's all about lust for you savages, mm?"
 
A Barbarian Celt?! Her anger shot up at that, how dare he call her a barbarian! Vikings were barbarians, not Celts. Even still, she didn't retort. She didn't want him to kill her bretheren. She would endure this. She crawled over to him and laid down next to him, pressing her leg against his lightly, "We've been married two days. Love doesn't bloom that quickly...it grows over time," she said softly, hoping to dispell his anger with the thought of her eventually loving him...though she really wouldn't.
 
He seems to warm briefly, with the touch of that leg against his own. His own big hand falls to his side to slip over the smooth skin of that soft leg, squeezing it slightly with a cruel little snicker, his tone suddenly changing, "Do you think me stupid, wife? I killed your damn father. You think your love for me will grow?"

The hand upon her thigh rises and falls suddenly, smacking that soft skin just below her backside just hard enough to sting a little, "Perhaps your weak Celtic men require their wife's love. We do not. But you will obey me, and respect me."
 
Her eyes narrowed, she knew she would never love him. She would hate him eternally, every passing second made her hate him more. So what if she had enjoyed their last tussle? She didn't think about him during it was as if it wasn't even him that she was doing it with. She winced when he smacked her upper thigh, her skin stinging and growing red. She huffed and moved back, away from him. She rolled onto her back and looked up at the ceiling.

"Then you will not have my love," she muttered and grabbed a fur, pulling it up around her. It was large enough to cover them both, especially if she was snuggled up next to him, but she didn't want to be near him and she wasn't going to pretend right now.
 
His voice suddenly drops menacingly, a low rumble. He even lowers it, so Elsa must listen very intently to hear every word, "But... you will act as if you do." His lips pull back in a sneer, head cocking to one side to watch her, "Every waking moment, understand? Not just some show for my men. You'll adore me, or I'll be forced to punish you, yes?"
 
"I understand," she said quietly, her teeth grinding together as she held back the horrible anger she had for him. She wanted to get a knife and just stab him over and over and over, but somehow she thought that stabbing him wouldn't effect him. He was so menacing and huge that she felt like if she stabbed him, he would just laugh at her for her lame attempt.

She blinked several times, holding back the tears that she could feel rising. Celtic women didn't cry, she told herself adamantly. Especially not over their stupid viking husbands. She would just deal with it. It was for her people.
 
Indeed, with the maze of scars across his rough body, Elsa is very likely right - he would probably laugh off the knife, as he's laughed off countless arrows, cuts, and stabbings on the battlefield. His arms cross over his barrel chest as he watches her intently, eyes narrowing only slightly, "I command men on the field, Elsa, and they do as I say. I won't have my wife doing as she pleases."

Indeed, this is probably his biggest motivator. War leaders with mouthy wives tend not to last very long.
 
If Elsa had had a Celtic husband she would have be an equal in the family. She would have had just as much say as her husband, if not more. Celts always did famously in battle, partially because the women did some of the fighting too. Canute was obviously not going to allow this to happen. He'd probably barely let her out of the bedroom let alone fight. Besides, it seemed like the only people he wanted to fight now were her people, whom she would never raise a sword against.

"What do you want me to do then? Fawn all over you every day and night?" she sincerely hoped not. That would be a horribly boring and tedious existence.
 
He snickers, those big shoulders rising in a massive shrug, "I'd never have taken one of you snappy Celts as a wife if I'd expected that would ever happen." He eyes her lazilly, quiet for a moment before he grunts, "I expect you to be a good wife. Treat me as you would one of your little Celt princes."
 
"I would treat one of my Celt princes as an equal. We would share the responsibilities of the household, we would work together to bring up our children. You've made it clear to me that that's not how you want our marriage to be, so I cannot treat you like one of my Celt princes." she huffed at him, vaguely aware that he'd probably get angry at her for speaking so frankly.

She didn't care though, he could hit her if he wanted to. All the pretending in the world wouldn't make her love him.
 
Rather than slap her for insolence, his response is quite the opposite of what the young wife expects. Canute tilts his head back with a roar of laughter at her suggestion, that shaggy head shaking in amusement even after the laugh fades, "Equals? How would you ever be equal to your husband, woman? You cannot fight in wars, you do not hunt." He snickers, "Women raise babies and please men. Equals? Pah."
 
She sat up quickly and narrowed her eyes at him, drawing the fur comforter up around her. "I have seven brothers. I am the third oldest. I have fought in more battles than my eldest brother. Before you stole me away from society, I was the foremost archer in our military. I can shoot a target dead on from nearly three hundred yards. I am no fragile damsel." her face had grown red with anger.

"Celtic women raise warriors, both girls and boys. We please our men because they please us. We're not meant to serve those who in some instances are not as strong as we are." he disgusted her. She slid out of the bed and picked up her dress, stepping into it and beginning to lace it. She didn't want to deal with his crap anymore. He was going to have to drag her back to the bed if he wanted her there.
 
He lifts an eyebrow into a high arch, head tilting to one side curiously, "Three-hundred yards away?" His brow furrows as he considers this, grunting, "That's as good as my best. Maybe not as good as the Danes, but..."

He snickers, shaking his head, "I should like to see this... tonight. After the men have drank their fill and fallen asleep, you will show me what you can do with a bow, wife."
 
After all that she'd just said to him, he'd focussed on her shooting distance? She growled and laced the dress tightly, pulling the cloak that was on the floor tightly around her. She was using clothing to pull herself away from him. If he couldn't see the naked body that he seemed to love so much, maybe he wouldn't try to make her stay so close to him. She knew that wasn't true though. She shook her head, "Only if you let me shoot you."
 
He cocks his head to one side, lips curving upward in a little smirk, "You only just finished telling me of your battle prowess, wife. If you're as good as you say, well... I shouldn't be able to stop you, right?" He grins widely, "With all the battles you've fought, you ought to be able to put a knife in my belly while I'm unarmed."

He watches as she pulls her garb back on, clearly amused at her anger, "I ask you to shoot with me so you can show me how equal you are, Elsa. If you'd like me to keep treating you like any girl..." He shrugs.
 
She absolutely couldn't stand him. He always, always twisted her words around to benefit him. She huffed and clenched her teeth together, "Fine. I'll shoot with you." she mumbled, her hands clasping the cloak tightly around her. She had to get out of the room, she'd spent too much time with him today.

She started to walk away but stopped for a moment, a thought coming into her head. "I wouldn't stab you. It's too bloody." a tiny smile spread across her lips and she started walking towards the door again. "I'm going to leave now, unless you have some major objection to it."
 
He snickers at her statement about stabbing, shaking his head, "Too bloody? I thought you'd fought in battles, wife. That's why war is a man's lot in life." He simply waves her off with one big hand, "Very well. After tonight's supper, you'll show me your family's archery range, and we'll see what a fine marksman you are, yes?"
 
"I've been in battle, I shoot. Why should I stab? Shooting is more effective and less bloody. A lot faster too." she rolled her eyes at him and opened the door, "I think I'm going to dine alone. I don't like eating in the banquet hall when there's no banquet." she actually didn't like eating in the banquet hall at all any more. That place was full of death for her.
 
He offers another uncaring shrug, nodding that shaggy head, "Very well." He seems to sense her disgust in the banquet hall, and pauses a long moment, before adding, in a rare moment of what would seem to be sympathy: "I am having my men clean the banquet hall for you this afternoon. Do you wish for your father's tapestries to remain? Some of them have blood on them, but it can be cleaned..."
 
She's about to leave when he speaks again. Her face drains of color and she looks down at the floor for a moment, her hand grasping the doorknob tighter. She has to concentrate almost all of her energy not bursting out in tears. She wasn't allowed to properly mourn her father's death, she had had to bottle up all of those feelings inside. She lifted her head slowly but didn't look at Canute. "They do not have to stay. The days of my father's glory are past now," she says quietly, slipping out the door before he can say another word to her.

She goes and eats her dinner in the kitchen with the cook, mostly silent through the meal. She went and walked around the garden for about an hour afterwards, waiting until she absolutely had to go meet Canute on the battlements. She made her way there slowly, knowing that her bow and arrows were stored there.
 
Canute does indeed open his mouth to speak, but she has already left before he gets even a word out. He grunts, shoving himself out of the bed and yanking his furs about him snugly, making his way down the stairs to roust a few of his drunken men into cleaning the banquet hall.

And, as hoped for, Elsa remains undisturbed this afternoon. The few Vikings she does run into steer clear of the young princess, almost seeming to avoid her on purpose - certainly, they do not try to speak with her. She is first to the battlements, and has another half hour or so of quiet alone time before Canute arrives, a long, heavy bow slung over one shoulder. The thing's draw would probably tear Elsa's arm out of socket, but it looks just the right size for the big Norseman.
 
Elsa can hear Canute approaching, he'd never be a stealthy warrior. She could hear him coming a mile away. She turned and saw him lugging his gigantic bow. She giggled, shook her head, and went to a small trunk to retrieve her own bow. She pulled out a bow that was at least ten times smaller than Canute's but it was made of the best sinew and wood. She pulled out several arrows with bright silver heads. She stepped up to the edge of the battlement and looked down at the courtyard below.

"Would you like to go first, my lord?" she asked sarcastically.
 
He smirks, shaking that shaggy head slowly. He gives a glance around him before grunting quietly, "The bow is more for show. I'm not much of an archer, truth be told. My skill is with axe and sword." His lips curve into a grin, "It's your marksmanship I'm interested in, Elsa. I've never seen a woman draw a bow, let along hit something with the arrow."
 
She snorts in a very unladylike manner, "Then you obviously haven't spent much time in Britannia." she turns back towards the courtyard and looks down into it. She studies it for a moment, trying to pick the best target. Then she finds it. She crouches down low, draws her bow with an arrow, takes aim, focuses her eye on it, and shoots. The arrow sails through the air and hits the dead center of a Viking Guard's shield on the opposite side of the grande courtyard.

Elsa stands and turns her head to look at Canute, "Judgement?"
 
You must log in or register to reply here.
Back
Top Bottom