A Maiden Song

Fearing he will lose the woman he wishes to marry to another, a poor farmer's son sets off on a quest for love, traveling to the King's fortress seeking help from a famous poet, hoping she will write a love poem known as a Maiden-Song, to win the heart of the woman he loves.

This story is part of the themed writing challenge,

On The Job Challenge 2024

, and takes place in the room of a skaldic poet as she works on the Maiden-Song.

As with some of my other stories, there are erotic elements here, but the sex scenes are subdued. Please enjoy the telling of what I hope you will find to be a unique and interesting tale with clever wordplay. All characters, at all times, are over the age of 18.

In this story, you will meet the inspiration for my Nom de Plume - Jórunn Skáldmær. Known as the "poet-maiden", she was a Norwegian skald active in the first half of the 10th century.

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Chapter 1 - A Muddy Path Trodden

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At last! The ring fortress of King Harald Fairhair! Two weeks of sloppy travel by foot through Vestlandet, along rutted paths left by cartwheels. I prayed my quest would not be in vain.

As I drew nearer, I saw merchants, farmers, and soldiers passing in and out of the main gate, itself framed by stout earth and timber ramparts. I skirted the muddy center of the well-trodden trail entering the fortress, hoping to keep my boots dry. Two guards stood beneath the great gateway arch.

"Halt! You are unknown in these parts! State your business," shouted the younger guard of the pair.

"I have come to see the skaldic poet, Jórunn Skáldmær. Let me pass."

The younger guard took a step to block my path, his hand reaching for the hilt of his sword. "Mistress Jórunn is busy working for the King and cannot be disturbed."

I told the guards my name and how far I traveled, then added, "It is a matter of love! I must see her."

The taller, rough-looking older guard stepped forward. His broad intimidating presence towered over me. Strands of scraggly charcoal-and-ash hair leaked from beneath his helm, the thin greasy tendrils reaching to his shoulders. He held out a dingy hand and said in a voice as hard and raspy as a sword blade held against a grinding wheel, "Love, is it? Well, love has a price."

I anticipated such, and thus prepared, I reached into the leather pouch on my belt to hand over a small purse of silver. The guard opened the drawstring to confirm the contents and sneered while weighing it in his hand. It was my life savings.

Looking at me with disdain, "For this..." He spat onto the dirt, "For this, I will announce your presence at Mistress Skáldmær's door, but if she refuses you, I shall toss you out into the mud."

I had come too far to turn back and hoped that Jórunn Skáldmær would hear my plea. The guard led me into the fortress, past several smaller wooden buildings to a magnificent building, adorned with banners, grand decorations, and intricate carvings. We passed another guard, his only fare a simple nod of the head, and no words exchanged. I assumed this grand building to be the home of King Harald Fairhair himself, along with his court. Upon entry, the guard made an immediate left turn into a small, darkened hallway. We passed two closed wooden doors and stopped at a third. The guard knocked.

"Enter!" shouted a woman's voice from within.

"Remain here in the hallway," brusquely ordered the guard as he stepped inside the chamber.

"Pardon the interruption, Mistress Skáldmær. A young lad from a small village north of here requests an audience. He claims it is a matter of love. If you do not wish to be disturbed, I will throw him out onto the streets."

The woman replied, "Love, is it? I am intrigued. Allow him to enter and state his case."

The guard stepped into the hallway and motioned me forward. I went inside to a rather austere room. I saw a small bed, framed between four lightly carved wooden posts. A mix of linen sheets and furs covered the straw mattress. A soapstone basin, a pitcher of water, and a single silver cup stood adjacent. Near an open window, the only source of light, a wooden table stood with stools on either side. Upon the table lay a bottle of ink, some quills, two candles, and an oil lamp. Across from the table sat a common high-backed chair made from two angled planks. Two wooden chests were placed against one wall, and above them hung an old sword and a small tapestry.

I bowed, then stood facing the person, and my only hope, for what I sought. She was younger than I expected, perhaps just a few years older than me. Her blonde hair was put up and held in place by a comb carved from a reindeer antler. She had an attractive face with deep blue eyes, and I was happy to see her smiling. Adorned in a dress made of what looked to be extremely fine linen, she wore little jewelry beyond a simple silver necklace and two rings on her slender fingers.

"I have traveled for two weeks to see you, Mistress Skáldmær. I come for love."

She looked at me, and in an uncommonly graceful and lilting voice said, "I have never met you before, and have no need of a lover. How is your presence here a matter of love."

"There is a young woman in my village named Elin. I wish to marry her, but her father is negotiating with the family of another suitor. I fear I will lose her, and if such a thing happens, I shall be heartbroken."

She replied, "The heart is more unyielding than anything else. It is there to be broken, that is its purpose."

"I am madly in love with Elin, and will do anything to win her heart."

The woman of my hopes replied, "Love is truly a madness of the highest order. By law, it is a father's right to decide whom his daughter will marry. If you wish Elin's hand, it is with him you must negotiate. He will look to improve his family fortunes and you must convince him you are the best served to do so. Marriage is not something to be taken lightly, as it is not merely the joining of husband and wife, but a union between families, clans, and even kingdoms."

I pleaded, "My name is Bragi, and I am but a poor farmer's son. The other suitor is the son of our village chieftain, a jarl. I cannot compete with him on money or power. Your skill with words is widely known, and I seek a Maiden-Song to convince Elin to marry me instead. I love her against reason, against peace, against all hope, and against every discouragement that could be."

The guard shifted his weight and his feet scuffled against the stone floor. Mistress Skáldmær took notice and stared directly at me with a stern look on her face, "Do you not know Maiden-Songs are forbidden by law? They imply an intimacy that should not exist. How would a man know a woman in such a way without tasting the mead? Both men and women fear falling under their magical ensnarement due to the power of the verses. I could have this guard imprison you even for suggesting such a thing, and her family may do even worse to you."

"Mistress Skáldmær, I ask this not for me. I ask for Elin. She told me she does not love the other suitor and has placed a lock upon her heart to shield it from him. She is unwilling to challenge her father and will instead accept a life without love. I told Elin I love her, and though she has not yet said so in words, I can see the look in her eyes. I know there is love for me within. Please help me release Elin's true feelings, so her heart can find peace. Mistress Skáldmær, I love Elin, and I need a Maiden-Song so powerful that Elin will not be afraid to say these same words to me."

She nodded her head, "Eyes are indeed a pathway to the soul, broadcasting emotions that cannot be hidden. It is said that the eyes of a maid tell true, to whom her love she has given. I am intrigued by your quest and wish to learn more." She turned to the guard, "Leave us. I will question him further."

The cowering guard looked at me, then recovered and roughly grabbed my arm, "Step outside. I must instruct you how to leave the fortress when Mistress Skáldmær is finished with you."

I suspected this introduction turned out differently than the guard planned, and feared a possible thrashing as he led me into the hallway. The guard moved his face close to mine. His crooked smile revealed several missing teeth, and as he spoke in a hushed voice, his rotting breath washed over my face. "Like you, I once loved a woman. But I was a coward and did not fight hard enough to win her love. I lost her to another man. Here. Take back your silver. You will need it. It is a man's duty to pursue the woman he loves with all his heart and all his might. I grow old now, living a lonely soldier's life, with no family. The Fir-Tree on the hillside dies without its needles and bark."

The guard's eyes appeared to water, and a tear rolled down his cheek. "I am the man whom no one loves. Fight for the woman you love, rather than live without hope, as I do." He turned and shuffled away.

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Chapter 2 - Inn Mátki Munr - The Mighty Passion

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I re-entered Mistress Skáldmær's chambers, and she spoke to me. "I receive few visitors near my own age, such as yourself. Few are as handsome, and amongst them, even fewer ask for what you desire."

"If that is so, then it tells me how rare and precious a gift Elin is."

Her face lit up with a genuine smile. "Well spoken, Bragi. Before you embark on a quest for a woman's love, I have a warning you must heed. The love of a woman is like a sleeping dragon. It must be approached with great care. For once stirred, you awaken a Mighty Passion. Her love will consume you in unquenchable fire, and her claws ensnare you in an unbreakable grip. She will become yours, and you will become hers. But should your heart not be true, she will see this, and she will know. Her love will instead rise from its slumber, and spreading its wings will take flight, flying far, far away. Never to be seen again."

She continued, "I have studied for seven years to master the art of skaldic poetry. The poems and songs I write praise the victories of King Harald Fairhair, so his enemies will fear him. I tell of great adventures, fearsome dragons, Norse Gods and Goddesses, and heroic battles full of fire and death. Rarely am I offered a chance to write about love and romance. Love is a powerful force, capable of shaping Fates, and establishing bonds that last forever. Despite my respect for the law as it applies to arranged marriages, I value the idea of consent in a relationship. Both the man and the woman should be able to freely choose their partners. Please, call me Jórunn. I agree to write your Maiden-Song for Elin, but you must first tell me about her."

"Elin has blond hair and blue eyes, and she is beautiful."

Jórunn laughed, "You have just described half the women in Norway. I will need more than this, much more."

"Elin practices swordsmanship with her father nearly every day, and is quite skilled. Few men in our village dare challenge her, for fear she will outmatch them."

She laughed again. "That is uncommon, and it would be useful to know if I were writing a saga about a shield-maiden battling a giant, but if you wish me to write a love poem, you must tell me why you love her. When Elin hears the Maiden-Song, she must know it was written for her and her alone. And above all, the words must be truthful."

"Elin is very high-spirited, fun-loving, and adventurous. The way she walks. The way she moves is so graceful and smooth, as if her feet are not touching the ground. She runs as I imagine an Elf or a Huldra do as they prance through the forest. I think about Elin all the time. I cannot sleep at night because she is in my thoughts and dreams."

Jórunn removed the comb, allowing her hair to fall over her shoulders. She spread her fingers apart, fluffed out her hair, and then came to stand close to me.

"You are being difficult and have not yielded me a vision of Elin. What do you see when Elin appears to you in those dreams? Let us start with her hair."

"Her hair is like none other. It is the color of a field of ripened flax, touched gently by the first frost. More pure than cascading strands of spun gold. It shimmers as it reflects the light, and it glistens with the sheen of honey. The glow of an early morning sunrise is captured within. When she runs, her hair is wild and wispy and follows close to the movement of her head. Elin often braids her hair and adorns it with ribbons and flowers."

Jórunn took my hand, guided it toward her, and used my fingers to stroke her hair. "What does Elin's hair feel like?"

"Her hair is finer even than yours, with a soft curl at the ends. It is velvety and feathery, like a newborn lamb. And as soft as the down of an eider duck."

Jórunn stepped even closer. We stood less than a dagger's length apart as she looked directly into my eyes. "Tell me about Elin's eyes."

"They are blue, like yours. I lose myself within them, like the endless expanse of a clear sky early on a frosty winter morning. They are not a deep blue, but rather more like a robin's egg. Or, perhaps a moonstone, and they have the same soft luster. Her eyes are radiant, luminous, full of life, and sparkle like the stars. They beckon me in, and I cannot help but stare and look deep within them. They glow and shine, and it is impossible to look away. When our eyes meet, time itself freezes. It is as if Elin is looking into my soul, and I into hers."

Jórunn kept her intense eye contact and smiled. "Very nice. Now, tell me about her lips. What do they feel like."

"I am so nervous when I am with Elin, I cannot describe her lips. When I kiss Elin, I feel as if I am under an enchantment."

"Then kiss me. To help you remember." Jórunn reached up, placed a hand behind my head, and pulled my lips to hers. I closed my eyes and my mind filled with images of Elin. The pressing of our lips lingered, and as I breathed in, I lost myself in Jórunn's sweet floral scent. After a moment, Jórunn pulled back slightly, ran her tongue over my lips, and then pulled away.

"Describe Elin's lips as you have felt mine."

"They are moist, like the morning dew. Elin often parts them, ever so slightly, as you did. It is as if she is preparing to speak, but then she smiles, and words not needed. She draws my own lips to hers with a simple pass of her tongue over them, as if wanting me to quench an unquenchable thirst. When I kiss her, her lips are so delicate, silky, and warm. Even softer than rose petals. It feels like my very breath is being pulled from within my body."

Jórunn asked, "What does Elin's voice sound like?"

"It is lilting, like yours, as if the words themselves were music. Her voice is soft and gentle, like the soothing murmur of a small brook or the hushed pattering of a light rain. It reminds me of a gentle wind passing through a meadow, joined by the whistles and tweets of bird-song. Or the gentle movement of tides as they pass within a fjord."

Jórunn took my hand once more, turned it, and then used the back of my fingers to stroke her face. "How about Elin's skin?"

"It would be improper for me to be seen with Elin, and her father does not permit her to leave their longhouse after dark. We meet during the day, outside our village, in a secluded grove of fir trees. As we lay upon the soft needles, scant sunlight penetrates to reach us. I use my fingers to trace light and shadow as they fall over her linen dress, and I listen to her soft sighs. As she fights to draw breath, her breasts rise and fall, casting their own enchantment, drawing my hand to them. A feathery tease reveals the ache within as I caress her firm, supple curves."

I glanced down and noticed Jórunn's left hand resting over her right breast, her fingers moving in small circles. Upon discovery, she lowered her hand, but beneath her linen dress, erect nipples stood.

I continued. "Whenever I touch Elin's soft, silky skin, my heart flutters in my chest. Sometimes pounding like a smith's hammer."

Jórunn tried unsuccessfully to hold back a gasp, instead drawing in a quick breath.

I went on. "And when a beam of sunlight touches Elin's flawless face, I am gladdened to see the rich color of blush on her cheeks."

Jórunn slowly released a deep breath through rose-colored lips, resting beneath her blushing cheeks.

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Chapter 3 - The She-Wolf

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My eyes followed Jórunn's hand as it moved down her dress and came to rest between her legs, her fingers spreading out over her linen-covered mound. She began slowly rubbing herself. "Have you ever kissed Elin here?"

My gaze returned to Jórunn's eyes, and then I replied, "My friends taunt me about doing such a thing, and once, I started to lift the hem of Elin's dress to try. But she told me such a thing would defile a man's mouth. She pushed me away and would not permit it."

Jórunn offered, "People are told what to believe. Many visitors pass through the gates of the King's fortress, among them travelers to Francia. There, they learned otherwise. Women are not like a doe during a rut, waiting to be mounted by a buck. Women want to be kissed and to have their bodies gently touched. While doing this, you must say the same words you gave me today."

Jórunn took my hand once more and guided it between her legs. "Touch me here!" I did as she asked and drew a loud gasp from her. Jórunn's entire body shuddered, her legs almost collapsing. "Feel my wetness. It means I am ready for you to take me."

Jórunn held my hand in place and began rubbing it against her. She closed her eyes as if lost in a dream world. A moment later, she inhaled a deep breath, exhaled, then released my hand. I pulled my hand back and rubbed my fingers together, feeling her wetness, then brought it to my nose.

Jórunn said, "You are smelling the scent of female arousal. An uncommon odor, you will encounter nothing similar, save that of a she-wolf hoping to draw a mate or to mark what is hers."

My cock stood straight out beneath my tunic. Ready to mount Jórunn, I reached down to pull my tunic up.

"NO!" shouted Jórunn. "I will not allow you to enter me. It is an act of love to be saved for Elin and shared only with her! Today, you have helped me see Elin through your eyes, and I have seen you through hers. The words of the Maiden-Song dance within my mind, and are ready to flow from my quill. Quickly! I must write them down!"

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Chapter 4 - The Maiden-Song

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Jórunn moved over to her table, sat down, picked up a quill, and began writing. Meanwhile, I began nervously pacing.

She looked over to me, "Please sit down on the chair."

"If you don't mind, I would prefer to use the stool. I find plank chairs to be quite uncomfortable."

Jórunn laughed, "Not only uncomfortable, but the angle makes it impossible to write anything. You may sit opposite me on the other stool."

I did as she asked, and watched Jórunn as she wrote. She would look up at me every so often as if trying to read my mind or to remember my words. Finally, she said, "I have finished. There is space at the top for a title. What name would you like to give this poem?"

"I prefer something simple. Call it, 'For Elin'."

"That is what it shall be." Jórunn added the title, then handed me the Maiden-Song. "Glance up at me while you read the words, I want to see your face, and you must say them as if you are speaking to Elin."

For Elin

Beneath shimmering silver-blue light,

cast by the ship of the night,

I stir in restless sleep.

My mind flits between thought and dream,

seeking a vision of you.

A field of ripened flax,

touched gently by first frost,

cascading strands of spun gold,

shimmering tresses in pale honey hues,

the glow of the morning sun,

is captured in your hair.