She stood there, proudly. One of the Viking men was holding her arms behind her back while she was standing in the centre at the head of the great wooden hall. Her former fellow citizens of the fortified town were lined against the wall as prisoners, in chains, guarded by the viking men. Those that weren't among them, hadn't survived. They had been a stronghold and withstood the foreign attacks for years while the Vikings plundered the land around them, but now they had been defeated. And the Vikings would claim their booty.
Slowly, she heard the cries of battle outside fade and die out. She had lost. Captured, she stood there, as she saw the victors gather their silver and fondle the women at the sides of the hall. Then the gates of the great hall swung open.
He came in, with his last group of warriors. He looked every inch as dangerous as he was, while he stalked powerfully through the hall. A victorious Viking in full battle dress. He was broad and his hair was half tied back in braids, decorated with shining beads. His armor and his muscular arms were smeared with blood.
He slammed his dripping sword on the nearest table. To her surprise, he turned to a barrel of water at the side of the hall. He splashed water in his face. She saw the water trickle down his neck as he washed the blood off his face and hands. He didn't seem to pay heed to her or the prisoners aligned in the hall. He was the victor, Ragnar the Skullbreaker. He wasn't in a rush.
With a last big inhale and look of bliss, he lifted his face to the sky and slowly smoothed his hair back with his wet hands. Then he opened his eyes and looked at her.
'There she is'. He exclaimed, with a tone of irony, loud enough so that she and every body else could hear. 'This shithole is now mine!'. He made his way towards her. She knew what was going to happen to her. 'Who would have thought its dirty Saxon chief would be so pretty, eh?'
He grabbed her chin and forced her head still in front of his face. She looked into his eyes, coldly.
'I'm ready to suffer my fate', she replied, with a clear voice. 'But I hope you prove you are civilized through the treatment of my people'.
'We will show mercy to your subjects, but not to you', Ragnar replied, laconically. 'You are defeated, and I am here to claim my spoils of war.'
Slowly, he walked a circle around her, looking her up and down. 'And I have the feeling I will enjoy this prize more than silver', he added, grinning, as he leaned over and whispered in her ear. The sound of laughter broke out around them.
'Our civilization is that we breed our women thoroughly!' he exclaimed sardonically, more loudly again. And he slapped his arms around her and grabbed her buttock and squeezed it firmly. 'And you will be a good woman, I can see that'.
All the hair on her body stood straight up as she heard the laughter rise around her again, and saw him walking away and say 'I will have her. Put her on the table!'.
Two vikings took her by her arms and before she knew it she was on one the large table at the head of the hall. The two men held her arms firmly behind her back so that her chest was pushed forward painfully.
Slowly, Ragnar walked around the spectacle. Then, with a sudden burst of energy, he jumped on to the table.
'Undress her', he said.
With one rip, both vikings took her dress by the shoulders and ripped the long sleeved dress all the way down her body. In a reflex her hands shot to her breasts to cover herself. But she slowly let her arms fall to her sides.
It was silent for a second while she stood on the table, naked in full glory. Ragnar seemed starstruck by her beauty. Her frame was slender, with the light reflecting off the lines of her hips and collarbones accentuating her elegant build, while her breasts were large and full, with small pink pointed nipples. Her long, straight, brown hair flowed down to her flanks, where her narrow waist and flat stomach flaired out to wider hips. Her buttocks were beautifully shaped and topped long legs and set off her elegantly arched back.
'What did I tell you', Ragnar said, turning to his men. 'This Saxon wench is made for breeding!'.