Amor Fabula Ep. 03

*** This story is set in the medieval Viking age, with elements of horror, and has MINIMAL erotic content. ***

The Story Of Mist

1. Shortcomings

(a tale of the Valkyrie Mist, set in Midgard)

Cattle die, and kinsmen die,

And so one dies one's self,

One thing now, that never dies,

The fame of a dead man's deeds.

(Bellow's translation)

Cattle die, kindred die,

We ourselves also die,

But I know one thing that never dies,

Judgment on each one dead.

(Thorpe's translation)

(Two very different interpretations of verse 77, from the Havamal, also known as The Words of Odin, the All-Father. As you shall see, both versions are relevant.)

Hallbjorn was great bear of a man, towering at nearly six feet in height, with broad, hulking shoulders, and usually wearing padded over-shirts and cloaks to make him look even more formidable. He sat there on a three-legged stool, hunched forward with his elbows on his thighs like some sort of resting beast. Even though there could not possibly have been a threat nearby, since he sat in the comfort of his own longhouse, he still exuded a wary countenance and a sense of impending violence. In his fingers he toyed with a length of straw he'd pulled out from an unruly corner of the crude mattress that was his bed.

His daughter, Mist, had noticed her father's cruel gaze resting on her more than usual that evening. Even now, as she sponged her back and sides clean and deliberately kept her breasts hidden from the man, she could feel his eyes boring into her flesh like chisels. She was a young girl of eighteen years, with confused hair of both blonde and brown hues, a heavy bosom and wide hips. While she sometimes pretended she could stand up to Hallbjorn, the truth was that she was as terrified of him as her mother.

She cast a quick glance in her mother's direction. The portly woman was kneeling before the round, suspended pot over the hearth, emptily stirring the broth she'd prepared earlier. By the look on the woman's face, it was obvious that she guarded her own secrets. Whatever her father and mother had been discussing before she'd come in, their conversation had halted as soon as Mist had slipped past the great, suspended bearskin that served as their door.

Concluding her makeshift bath, Mist quickly tossed the bundled rag she'd been using back into the wash bucket, and slipped on her soft under-shirt. Once she'd secured the shirt in place with brooches, she put on her outer-shirt, and finally, she felt secure enough to turn around and faced her parents.

Her father still sat there, in that same brooding position, and Mist hated him for it. He could sit that way for the entire night, uttering not a single syllable, making both her and her mother sick with worry about what he was thinking. Bad things tended to happen when Hallbjorn was in one of his foul moods.

Casually, the man lifted one arm, the flames from the hearth flashing briefly on his two prized wristbands, both smithed from white gold and inscribed with runes. Gently, he stroked a full and tidy beard that had once been raven black, but was now streaked with silver in several places. His forearm, as the rest of his upper body, was riddled with tattoos of dragons, protective runes, scenes of epic wars, and finally, a great rendering of Valhalla emblazoned and presently lay concealed on his thick chest. His face was a ruin of scars and hate.

Valhalla, Mist considered, was the one place her father yearned to be found worthy of. The mystical place was always a sword's breadth away from him in battle, and had so far been denied to him.

His voice struck out as if it were an axe. "You were with that boy again."

It wasn't a question, it was a statement, Mist knew, and yes, she'd been with Josurr again. The always lively and entertaining Josurr, who was as different from her father as the moon was from the sun. Always trying to woo Mist with his poetry. Always bringing a pretty flower to set into her hair. And always having to do so in secret, lest he fall into disfavor with her father, and risk disappearing from the face of the world.

Her stubborn eyes were enough to confirm the man's suspicions.

Without turning his gaze from Mist's defiant one, Hallbjorn said, "I'll be taking her to the Cauldrons tomorrow, as I stated earlier."

Her mother didn't even bother to nod. She knew, just as Mist, that there was no choice in the matter. What Hallbjorn dictated was what would take place and that was the end of it.

Mist entertained the thought of running away that night. In the end, she decided that whatever fate the Norns had chosen for her, she would have to succumb to. What else was there for her to do? Where could she possibly go to avoid her father's wrath?

The following morning, once she'd dressed, she stepped outside and found her father waiting. Without a word, he started off. After he'd taken a few strides, she began to follow.

They walked through a narrow, worn path for over an hour, before they were enveloped in a fog so thick they could hardly see farther than a few feet past their noses.

"When you were born, there was a fog such as this," Her father's gruff voice drifted back. "That is why I named you Mist."

They walked on. Perhaps a quarter of an hour later, her father again felt compelled to speak. "Have I ever told you how I came across my name?"

Such revelations were always reserved for other men, Mist knew. Warrior men. When they were boasting to each other in a tavern, or more likely, the waiting room in a brothel. Although she would have preferred to remain silent, her father required an answer. She gave a simple one. "No."

"Hallbjorn stands for Stone and Bear." Her father trudged on with his lengthy strides, lengthy even while they trudged over uneven ground. Mist was becoming hard-pressed not to be left behind in the distance. It would not be wise to anger her father into coming back, to prod her into moving faster, as he'd most assuredly be doing it with his fists.

"I was named Hefnir by my father, and I remained Hefnir until I was about your age. Then one season I went out with a few others to hunt grouse. We'd killed a few of them, as it had been a plentiful spring, but the smell of their blood attracted a brown bear. It was a monster, as tall as a man and a half, and the weight of five men put together. We heard its growl as it tried to scare us away from the grouse. It was quickly decided among the party that we would kill the animal. I only had a short sword then, as I wasn't yet strong enough to wield a man's broad axe. I plunged it into the animal's side when I had the chance to. The bear was wounded, but it still had plenty of fight left in it. The young men I was with laughed as the bear chased the lot of us through the trees. It was a glorious time."

They climbed over a cluster of large rocks, made slick by the fog, and resumed the path on the opposite side.

"I saw the bear falter when none of the others did." Hallbjorn continued. "And I knew if I could pounce on it then, I would have the honor of killing the animal. Since I'd lost my sword, I picked the handiest weapons I could find. These were two rocks that were bigger than my fists. I called out to one of my companions and asked him to distract the bear. He did, by yelling and startling it. The bear was distracted long enough for me to jump on its back. After I straddled the beast and clamped my legs around it, I bashed its skull in. I've been known as Hallbjorn ever since, the man who killed a bear with a stone."

Such a braggart, he was.

Mist recalled the anger her father had displayed, when the younger, more able Norsemen had gone off without him a few months earlier. Hallbjorn's reputation for killing was legend, but the man was now past forty winters and could no longer wield a weapon with the strength he once did.

His right arm gave him particular trouble when he raised it as high as his chest, but this made him no less fierce around town. She'd witnessed this with her own eyes not too long ago, when one reckless Viking challenged her father to a fight. Hallbjorn simply pinned the imbecile against the town gate with his right forearm, and thrashed him bloody with his left hand. To humble the unfortunate for the rest of his days, Hallbjorn even went as far as plucking one of the man's eyes out with the man's own dagger.

The matter was taken to council, of course, where the jury heard the testimony from several witnesses. Hallbjorn had warned the other man twice not to provoke him. He was cleared of wrongdoing.

After another hour's travel, they reached the Cauldrons. These were a series of rock crevices and hot springs from some volcanic vent far below the edge of the sea, which constantly bubbled up warm water. They were a favored place to bathe and frolic. Mist was no stranger to the area. She also knew, however, that since many of the Norsemen weren't back from their voyages yet, and since it was the beginning of the planting season, that very few people had the leisure time to go to the Cauldrons and enjoy their time there.

Hallbjorn selected a spot behind an outcrop of rock, a place mostly secluded and away from the sight of any other visitors, although Mist had seen no other souls save their own. Her father dropped the pack of provisions he'd brought along on a dry spot next to the bubbling hot spring. He checked to make sure that the tension of his bow hadn't suffered from the trek.

"Stay here." He said. "I won't be far. You may call out for me if you have the need to. You may eat a small portion of cheese and bread, until I get back."

With that, he went around the edge of the rock and was gone.

Mist waited over half an hour, before her hunger got the best of her. She ate what she considered to be a small portion and no more. While she was finishing, her father returned.

In his hand, he held a dead hare wrapped in cloth. As she watched, Hallbjorn unwrapped the bloody cloth from the animal and set the carcass to one side. He'd also brought back a selection of dried twigs, and with his flint rock he proceeded to start up a small fire. Having long ago become expert at improvising in the field, Hallbjorn pulled out a short knife and expertly started cutting around the hare's middle. Once he'd cut off all four legs, he pulled the fur away from the back end, cut off the animal's head and pulled the fur off from the front end.

As he worked, Hallbjorn began speaking again. "I've got a good plot of land now, thanks to my axe, and to the men that were willing to fall before it. I'm getting on in my years as well. I suppose that if I pressed the matter, I could have gone away with the other men this year. I would have done this, I assure you, to finally receive my just reward for honoring the gods all these years. I would have done this without a moment's hesitation. I would have gone to wherever the winds would have taken us, perhaps to some stronghold full of fat Saxon priests, and I would have stepped into the heart of the fray to ensure my death. I will go next year; I swear it. I will not return to these lands again, as long as I have fulfilled one final duty that I cannot leave undone."

The aged warrior finished taking the unwanted parts from the hare's innards. After he squeezed much of the blood out, he skewered several pieces of meat on the arrow that had felled it, briefly washed his hands in the spring, and started cooking the portions over the fire. From the way he'd prepared the hare, Mist doubted they would be eating it. After a minute or two, her father used his knife to push the bits from the arrow and directly into the fire, where they burned and let off a savory odor.

"I am a wealthy man compared to most." He continued. "With land and gold jewelry, and expensive armor and weapons. Everything a man should have in his life, everything a man should need, except for one very important matter; I do not yet have a son. Your mother has been a great disappointment to me in this respect. Her sole duties are to keep me fed and to give me an heir that will carry on my memory with his blood. Had I known beforehand that your mother would such be a frigid bitch, I would have never taken her for a wife."

Mist could feel the resentment building up inside her. Her mother was a good woman.

"Normally, I appeal to Thor for strength in battle." Hallbjorn admitted. "But on this day, I am asking Freyr for fertility. I will have a son as my successor to inherit my lands after I have passed on. My wealth will not belong to a man not of my blood, who has not earned it through the many years of war the way I have. And you, my daughter, are destined to carry my child."

Of all the things Mist had been expecting, this was the furthest from her mind. She'd been thinking of Josurr and how his name meant hare. For whatever reason, she imagined that her father hadn't been skinning a real animal, but her handsome admirer instead. Now she understood her mother's gravity of the night before, and her father's present intensity.

She opened her mouth to speak, but by then her father was on his feet, his back turned and holding his arms up imploringly toward the gray and cloudy sky. "Will you hear my plea, oh great god Freyr? I have prepared a small feast in your honor. The smell of which is very tempting to my nostrils and carrying up into Asgard, where I pray that it will tempt you as well. Will you reward my effort by blessing me with a man-child?"

As the gods were a fickle bunch, there was no response save that of the sense of passing time.

Hallbjorn turned back to face her. "Strip away your clothes, girl."

Mist had never been shy regarding her body; she couldn't be really. Their longhouse consisted of one single, large room, with a tiny partition where the smaller animals were kept during the winter. She'd dressed and undressed before her father before. He and her mother had done the same before her eyes, many, many times. But never, the girl considered, under the present circumstances.

She didn't dare disobey her father, however, as there was a very real possibility that she could be going home missing an eye or a hand, or whatever part of her Hallbjorn would cut off her body for disrespecting him. She kept her gaze steady on his, as she pulled her over-shirt over her head, carefully folded it and set it on the stone ground to one side. After she removed the brooches from her under-shirt, she removed this as well. Mist observed as her father's strong gaze faltered for a moment, as it slipped down to her breasts.

"You have a grown woman's breasts now." He commented, but from his stoic expression, Mist couldn't tell whether he was being appreciative or not. He gave another vague indication a moment later. "A woman without breasts is like a man without a cock. They might as well not have been born. Off with the rest of it."

Mist nodded her head, slightly, as she pulled off her manly trousers and the under-trousers beneath. She'd have much preferred to wear more feminine clothing, of course, but she'd outgrown her mother's smaller attire long ago. Since her father did his utmost to deter suitors, he'd taken to giving her some of his old clothing, which her mother hemmed and tailored to fit her properly. Never enough to reveal her womanly figure, but still, enough for her to be comfortable.

She went down on her butt to untie her leather shoes, and set them and the trousers next to her shirts. Afterward, Mist stood up, as tall and proud as she could. While she had no real choice in what was about to happen to her, she could still face it with dignity.

"Turn around, lass."

She did. He inspected from afar.

"You have good hips." Hallbjorn commented, at which point she turned to face him again. "You'd make a good wife for a warrior, one day, once you've left that milksop behind. Once you've given me a son to carry on my name. Now, into the drink with you."

Mist took a seat on the edge of the spring and slipped into the warm and bubbling water. As she observed, her father straightened up and began removing his clothes. His shirts he simply dropped aside and his shoes he kicked away. Once he'd shucked off his wool trousers, he stood up and again glanced into the sky. He was searching for whatever sign he hoped to see appear up there, that would confirm what he was about to do.

The broad shoulders and thick chest she'd already expected, and the lean, taut legs and calves she could have guessed at, but the cock, jutting out straight and defiant, she was wholly unprepared for. It looked as large as a club. Josurr had teasingly shown Mist his cock, a number of times before, in trying to seduce her while they were on their frequent rendezvous. Josurr's cock could not have had much more than half the girth of her father's.

Hallbjorn noticed the attention she was giving his extension, and fondly he reached down to caress its length. "They say a man's future can be foretold by the length of his cock. It is said that the larger the cock, the higher the man will reach. As you can see, I am not a small man."

Mist watched, while her father stroked his cock to harden it further.

"I was a berserker when I was younger." Hallbjorn admitted. "Do you know what that is, lass?"

"No."

"There are mighty warriors among the Viking today." The man contemplated. "But there are very few berserkers left. The bear I mentioned earlier, the one I killed. I skinned it and carried its hide to the battlefields with me. As the skirmishing was about to commence, I would strip naked and tie the hide around my back, with the bear's furry skin tied down my arms and its large head secured above mine like a helmet. I would pull on my cock, as would the other berserkers to my sides, until they were all as strong and hard as you now see mine. Then in unison, we would cry out to Thor and lead all of the Norsemen into battle."

What would their opposition think, Mist wondered, if they were to see a throng of frenzied berserkers rushing at them, with angry, screaming mouths, weapons raised overhead and their cocks erect and as hard as iron chisels. Fear, she thought. That's what would course their enemies' minds, just as that same dread was coursing through hers. The cock before her looked like a hammer.

Hallbjorn eased his large frame into the pool, clearly favoring his right shoulder. He found a good foothold to stand on and dunked his head into the water. When he surfaced, small streams trickled down from his hair, onto his face and through his beard.

"Your mother tells me that you've since torn your maidenhood." He said.

"Yes." Mist admitted. "A few years back, while I was trying to outswim the boys. I did not know what I had done until she explained it to me."

"And this is not because of this worthless whelp you insist on seeing?"

"No."

"Do not lie."

Mist sensed the distrust and glared back. "I am not lying."

"I can find this out for myself." He glided through the water toward her. "Spread your thighs."

Despite the warm water bubbling around her, Mist still shuddered as her father's thick finger invaded her most private possession.

"I very nearly wish you had coddled with that young cur." Hallbjorn admitted, and again, Mist could not tell whether he was being sincere or not. "As it would greatly lessen the pain that you will be feeling. I have learned a few tricks, lass, that may make you more agreeable to me."

Just as Mist began to ponder over exactly what these tricks were, her father's finger began swirling around inside her. It pushed itself in and out, giving her sudden spasms and sensations that she'd never before known. While her will was still stubborn and unforgiving, her body began to respond to the rude touch. She felt her cheeks redden and her breaths quicken.

Abruptly, there were two fingers inside of her. She felt a rush of heat growing within her body. Though she tried to defy it, she found the excitement overwhelming her and imploring her to reconsider. Her defenses crumbled away and she gasped, sexually and openly.