Season Of The Midnight Sun

Author's note: If you're looking for a Viking raid story full of rape and gore, this isn't it. It's a story of a young man's struggles after seeing the worst of humanity.

His shoulders ached, sore from rowing all morning, and still Thorrin, the young oarsman from the village of Klartvann, rowed in time with the other men of the seasoned crew. After five days at sea, their longship, the

Sea Knife

had reached the gentle waters just outside the fjord where floating mists moved like smoke against the craggy cliffs. He could smell the scent of northern pines and knew he was nearly home.

Thorrin looked over shoulder, beyond the boat's dragon head, hoping to catch a glimpse of their destination, but instead, he caught the eye of his uncle Roald rowing behind him. The burly man's face was barely recognizable under his bushy dark beard that had grown unchecked for weeks.

"Eyes on the sea, Weed," Roald said. "You'll be seeing Inga's tits soon enough. We all will."

His fellow Vikings burst out in laughter forcing Thorrin to quickly return his gaze to the sea. At eighteen, the youngest of the crew, he'd been the object of their jokes during their twenty day excursion. They all called him by the nickname Weed that his uncle gave him when he was a child. As Roald said in a drunken bluster the night before they left, "He's tough and tenacious and annoying as a weed." He didn't mind. It was all a part of the camaraderie he'd never experienced in his farming community. And though they were all now his brothers in arms, and his admiration of them was great, he'd seen more than he could ever imagine and just wanted to go home.

A watchman blew a horn blew from a watch house high on the cliffs of the fjord's southern point alerting the people of Sothavn of the approaching ship. And then Thorrin smelled the smoke from hearth fires. He could hear barking dogs and screeching sea gulls and the squeals from excited children curious about approaching ship. He turned once more and there it was, the bustling town of Sothavn; the seaside trading village and shipyard at the northern mouth of the fjord. They rowed towards an empty berth on a private dock permanently reserved for the ship's owner, the richest man in the region, Helvig Grimsrud. Bjorn leaned upon the hefty rudder to steer them into an empty berth before the helms man, Arne bellowed, "Oars in!"

In precise unison, Thorrin and his fellow oarsmen pulled in their oars to store them under the boat's crossbeams. The ship quietly glided against the dock to the delight of the smattering of townspeople applauding their return. Thorrin's heart swelled and a single tear that no one saw rolled down his face. No longer did he have to hoist heavy sails' riggings or endure soggy boots or fear the churning waves of a roiling sea. He was looking forward to being warm and dry and back in native land. And when the long boat was moored on the long wooden dock, Arne removed the dragon head from the ship's bow, letting the townspeople know that they bore no hostile intent. More importantly, they didn't want to scare away the town's good spirits with their war dragon's head.

Thorrin stood to open the sea chest which he had sat upon the whole voyage. He pulled out his rucksack from dry storage. He checked the long leather bag, in which he slept in at night, to see all his possessions and sleeping furs intact. He slung his wolf pelt over his leather armor before grabbing his axe which he placed in his waist's belt, and waited for orders to depart. He wanted off now. The whimpers and cries of slaves were wearing on his conscience. It was driving him to despair.

After what seemed like an eternity, they were given permission to disembark. Roald and Thorrin waited on the dock for the remaining oarsmen when all of the oarsmen were off, they walked together as a gang. As they made their way down the empty dock, Thorrin saw Inga walking towards them. His heart beat fast for the fair girl with silvery blonde hair and marvelous breasts that were forever pointed. But as she approached, he realized her gaze was not for him and she travelled past him and into Arne's embrace where he kissed her with such passion. Her face wrinkled and she pulled away saying, "You stink."

He laughed and said, "You love my stink."

He threw his arm around the dainty girl's shoulder and together they happily walked off. Roald clapped his hand over the dejected young man's shoulders and said, "Come on, Weed. Let's get to Tilda's before everyone else."

With their rucksacks over their shoulders, Roald and Thorrin travelled down the dock trailed by barking dogs. The men split up in search of food and family while Roald and Thorrin travelled through the town teaming with trade and conversations. It was nice to enter a town of his people. No chaos or bloodshed or screaming women. Just people going about their mundane lives.

They went to a money changer's table where Roald encouraged Thorrin to exchange one silver coin for pennies and a couple of other larger, foreign coins that came from a far south land of sand. Roald hovered over the exchange to ensure his nephew didn't get cheated. Thorrin was happy to have his uncle's guidance. His worldly uncle had taught him how to work wood and ride a horse. And now he was taught the value of different coins he'd never seen before. With the new coins tucked in their pouches, the two went on their way.

Summer meant plentitude in the market and they walked past crates of fresh apples, plums and pears which made Thorrin's mouth water. During the raid, Roald set rabbit snares in grasslands near the river where they had beached their ship. He, Roald, and a few other men would stand guard over the ship while the scouts looked for targets. Roald collected the pelts and made rabbit stew. Roald bartered with the pelts and traded two pelts for six pieces of fruit. Thorrin bit into a pear and smiled in gratitude for the change from his sea diet of porridge and salted fish.

They continued towards a house on the town's edge where Roald pulled open the heavy hide curtain. The steam streamed out as they entered the dark space lit by oil lamps. Thorrin's eyes adjusted to the din. He felt as though he'd been transported to another world. The establishment's owner, a busty woman with light brown braids, entered the main room.

Roald bellowed, "Tilda!"

"Roald, you salty beast!" she exclaimed before hugging him. She turned to the scruffy young man and squinted. "Weed?"

Thorrin nodded.

"You're no longer a weed. You're a wolf. Look at you."

Thorrin looked away and shuffled, somewhat embarrassed at his scraggly appearance.

The seasoned business woman turned to Roald and asked, "And what can I do for you today? A bath? Laundry?"

"Bath, laundry, lodgings and food."

"And how will you pay?"

"Rabbit pelts," he replied.

"I prefer coins," Tilda replied. "Four pennies."

Roald pulled out four pennies and handed them to the madam. Thorrin didn't want to part with any of his coins. He was determined to return home with all of his coins to share with his family and save up for a wife.

"Four pennies?" asked Thorrin. "That's a lot."

"Go ahead, boy," Roald said. "A pretty wench will bathe you and make you presentable to your mother."

Tilda sweetened the deal. "Four pennies gets you mutton, bread and a tankard of mead, your clothes washed and lodging for a night."

"Food and lodging for two nights," Roald said with a menacing glare.

She sighed. "Food and lodging for two nights."

He turned to his naïve nephew. "It's quite the deal. You won't find a better offer."

Thorrin reached beneath his tunic to untie a pouch containing his coins as his uncle warned him to keep his valuables close to his body. He retrieved four pennies and handed them to Tilda. She placed the coins in her pocket before leading the men to their baths. She pushed aside another heavy leather curtain to reveal a steamy room lit by well-placed oil lamps. Four wooden man-size tubs sat half full with cold water.

Tilda called out, "Frod! Orsola!"

A thin slave boy and taller girl with blotchy skin and red cheeks entered the room. The girl didn't dare look Tilda in the eyes.

"Fill the tubs for our customers."

The two padded their hands with thick cloths before hoisting one of the many kettles of water hanging over fire. They poured the boiling water into the tubs until they were three quarters full. Thorrin marveled at the tubs' drainage system of iron pipes that extended through the wall to empty the behind the house. He'd never seen plumbing before.

Roald began to strip off his clothes. Thorrin followed his uncle's lead and stripped off his tunic and trousers. Tilda leered at Thorrin's genitals before the young man stepped into a high backed tub of water and settled into its warmth. He let out a sigh of contentment. It felt incredibly good. He hadn't had a warm bath since he was a child. Roald slipped his naked body into the tub and groaned. "Tilda, you are a woman supreme."

With the tone of an impatient chieftain, Tilda said, "Orsola! Wash these clothes immediately and iron them dry. And find Aveline. Tell her we have customers."

The girl quickly collected the their stiff and blood stained clothes and left the room. Tilda barked orders Frod. "Refill the kettles."

Frod nodded before taking two empty pails attached to a shoulder yoke and left to fill the buckets with water from a nearby stream. A young woman with light brown haired braids entered the room. She had a lithe body and pale blue eyes that could pierce a man's soul.

"Aveline, fill the two soaking tubs with hot water and treat these men well. They've had a hard voyage. Bathe and shave them and do manage their hair."

Aveline, nodded. Tilda left the room leaving the two men in the young woman care. Aveline grabbed a rag and a rough block of soap that made from animal fat, ash and crushed meadow herbs with antiseptic qualities.

She went to Roald first but he said, "I want Tilda to wash me. Tilda! TILDA!!"

She parted the curtains and yelled, "What?!"

"Come bathe me, my sweet."

She rolled her eyes and sighed and retrieved a rag and soap. Aveline left Roald's tub for Thorrin and bent to wash him. He could smell her skin as one of her braids brushed his face and he eyed her breast that swelled from her bodice. She wet the rag and soaped it up before slopping the soapy rag over his shoulders where he melted under her touch. It was uncaring and methodical, but he appreciated it all the same. She reached between his legs to wash his genitals and beneath his back to clean his ass crack. He hadn't been bathed like this since he was an infant. And when Aveline finished cleaning his body, she rubbed astringent herbs into his scalp before rinsing them away. His head no longer itched. His scalp was clean and cooled from the soap's herbs. He looked towards Roald's tub to see a none too gentle Tilda scrubbing his uncle with gusto. But upon seeing his uncle's pleased face nuzzled against her jiggling breasts, Thorrin knew he was loving it.

Aveline took Thorrin face in her hand forcing him to face her. She told him to open his mouth where swished a bristled twig over his teeth leaving it fresh and clean. She set it down before picking up a knife to trim his beard. His eyes remained locked upon face upon the chance that she looked up. She did. He felt magic. It was then that he heard his uncle grunt. He looked over to see Tilda's arm fully in the tub, splashing water up in the air as she furiously stroked his uncle's cock.

"You can grip harder than that," Roald said. "That's it. There you go. Yeah! Uhhh!"

And with that, Roald climaxed in the warm water with Tilda still working her magic. He jerked and sputtered until he grabbed her arm to stop. She withdrew her arm and shook away the water as she rose to walk away.

Aveline began to rub a fine oil in his facial hair. She took a razor and scraped the edges of at his beard to shape it. When she finished, she tapped him on the shoulder to rise. He stood and stepped out for her to remove the cork from the drain pipe to release the dirty water. She pointed to the soaking tub. Thorrin's walked the short distance to the tub and settled into more warm water. Roald rose as well to join Thorrin in the adjacent tub. Thorrin relaxed back once more luxuriating in hot water while Aveline dried his long thatch of hair, twisting locks with a waxy balm into four loose rolls and locking the rowed braid close with a dollop of melted wax. Thorrin sighed with contentment This is how it must feel like to be a king.

Utterly relaxed for the first time in months, Roald said, "This is where I want to come when I die."

"I'm eager to head home."

"And I'll get you there. We'll collect our tribute tomorrow and I'll find a cart or boat heading towards Klartvann. Tilda! Get your ass over here."

Tilda returned. He stuck his head in her cleavage. It lingered there as his senses bathed in delights of a woman's scented skin. Then he withdrew his face from her bosom, slapped her ass and said, "Alright, away with you."

Tilda rolled her eyes before stomping out of the room. Time passed and the water had cooled when Tilda stuck her head through the curtain.

"Your bath is over. Come on now, get up."

Aveline rose from a low squat stool and handed fresh towels to Thorrin and Roald as they exited their tubs. She applied a soothing oil to their skin and bee's wax balm to their chapped lips. She gave Thorrin a quick lopsided grin as her finger stroked the balm over his lips before shifting her eyes away. She backed into a corner and kept her eyes down as the men dressed in other clothing from their bags. When they were dressed, they left the steamy room to see a man sitting in the din, waiting for his turn in the baths.

Thorrin and Roald followed Aveline from the bath house to their lodgings a short walk away. The six rooms were divided into stalls by wooden wattle screens and a hanging curtain. Roald slung his on the bed cushions on a wide bench. Thorrin tossed his bag onto the empty bed of neighboring stall before taking a seat at the table.

Aveline said, "I'll return shortly with your food and drink."

Roald joined Thorrin at the table, pouring himself a cup of water from a pitcher which he greedily drank.

In a low voice, Thorrin asked, "Don't you pity them sometimes? The slaves."

He poured Thorrin a cup of water and said, "They are sheep. We are wolves. Until sheep grow fangs and learn to defend themselves, the strong will always take from the weak. That is the nature of things."

Thorrin thought about his words but he held a soft spot for those in unfair servitude. A short time later, Aveline returned with a basket of food. She set it on an eating table and retrieved two wooden plates and set the food in front of them before backing away. Both men pulled out their own knives which they used to skewer chunks of roasted mutton. Thorrin gobbled his food out of habit but upon seeing his uncle enjoy his meal, he slowed down to appreciate the bread and fatty meat. After their meal, they sat outside of their lodgings, drinking mead and talking with other lodgers as the sun sank low in the sky. It was summer now; the season of the midnight sun. There would be no black night sky, just a long period of soft golden twilight before the sun rose for another day.

There were no windows in Tilda's earthen house. It's dark interior, lit by a hearth and a few oil lamps, was perfect for one to lie down and sleep. Tired and drunk, Thorrin retired to his sleeping bench and flopped upon the thin mattress amazed that his body still felt the rocking motion of the boat in waves. He drifted off to the calming sound of a distant man's laughter.

Thorrin awoke, disoriented and on guard until he recognized his uncle's snorting snore. He relaxed under his sleeping furs, waiting for his burly uncle's snoring to stop. He wondered what time it was, but the town was quiet so he reasoned that it had to be late at night. When silence returned to the half full house, Thorrin rolled over and was nearly asleep when he heard the sound of soft footsteps coming his way. His fingers wrapped around his knife's bone hilt. And when a rush of cold air wafted over his shoulder, he turned. In a flickering oil lamp light, he saw Aveline enter his space. She wore a long linen sleep gown. Her long hair, freed from their braids, framed around her fair face. Thorrin turned over onto his back to silently watch her pull back his sleeping fur to lie beside him. He'd heard about some women who pleasure men for money. He was not going to join their ranks.

He murmured, "I haven't any coins to give you."

"I don't want your coins," she whispered. She looked into her wanton eyes, enjoying her control. "If a customer says I've been nice to them, Tilda gives me extra food or more rest time. I'm usually not nice to customers but you're different from the others. You seem gentle, like a poet."

"And what do you know of poetry?"

"I've listened to poets in the market behind the great city walls where I once lived. Where I'm from, poets are highly valued."

Thorrin felt a tingle from the woman lying next to him. He'd never mated before. He had stroked himself many times; watching barnyard beasts or hearing his mother's soft moans when his father took her late at night.

She cuddled closer to him to rest her head on his chest. His arm went around her to hold her close. He asked, "Where are you from?"

"The man who stole me from my home told Tilda we were Frankish. I don't know where that is. I was brought here as a child with my mother. She passed away three winters ago."

Aveline sighed, content to lie in his warmth and whispered, "Say something romantic about me. Say something poetic."

They laid in silence.

Aveline, the girl with sparrow brown hair

And eyes as blue as mountain lakes

How kind and pretty she is to him

His flower in the weeds.

His eyes remained locked onto hers as she clambered atop to straddle him. She made the sign of the cross, touching her head then chest then shoulder to shoulder before kissing her finger tips. Thorrin was fascinated by Christians and their rituals though it baffled him. Surely one God couldn't hold dominion over all earthly tasks and the fates of every living thing. Besides, her god couldn't be that powerful. After all, she is now a slave.

She reached between her thighs to tug up his shirt. He accommodated, moving to help until it covered his face. He tugged it off, threw it aside and watched the thin girl reach down to lift up her gown where he glimpsed her mysterious womanhood covered by a sultry thatch of brown hair. She grasped his cock to rub it against her inner thigh tantalizing him with what he wanted most. And when she rose to let him enter, she placed the tip inside her and slowly eased down. He watched his staff slowly disappearing within her. The pleasure Thorrin experienced was beyond compare. He reveled in a woman's embracing folds and longed to impale her fully. His fingers dug into her hips, trying hard to pull her all the way down to be fully inside her. But she was skilled at not letting a man penetrate too deep, believing the deeper a man goes, the greater chance of falling pregnant. A wry grin of power lingered on her face as she pulled up her gown to expose her breast. Thorrin reached up to touch them. They were so pliant, her skin so soft, her nipples hardened under his rough calloused hands. She grinned at him and began to move, lifting herself as though she was riding a horse, which pleased Thorrin. He matched her rhythm, thrusting upwards and softly grunting as he tried hard not to cum so early in the ride but to no avail. Aveline lifted herself off him causing his cock to slap down upon his stomach where he came in great ropy spurts. He was still huffing and puffing when she kissed his cheek before scampering off, leaving him to sleep in his sticky mess. And thus was Thorrin's first sexual experience.