The Empress and Braggi (Reupload, Fem Dom, Romance)
Originally Uploaded Fall 2018
You know, they tell us to honor our foes. It’s just the respectable thing to do. Even if they’re screaming profanities at you about your mother, you try your best. You great them with a smile even as your steel meets their flesh. You tell them they fought valiantly between the chokes and sobs. And as they meet the ground, you nod. You reach down, and shut their eyes.
You try to be nice, because you’re going to see them again. Maybe. Nobody really knows, but it’s what we’ve always done. It’s better to ere on the good of orlog than the wrong. Nobody, and I mean nobody, deserves a humiliating death. But here by the fire, with the lot of you?
Those Roman dogs have never heard of orlog. Much less honor. The shackles certainly didn’t help their case, no sir. Not even one little bit. I hadn’t even done anything wrong-I mean, to me at least. They were the ones who jumped our camps, screaming about “the glory of god”. They’d spat at us, called us heathens-which wasn’t exactly wrong. We did leave in heaths, but it was the way they said it. So forceful, like we should be embarrassed. So we did what we had too.
We met them with a smile.
I counted a score of them for our half dozen. I guess they’d sent for a messenger though. I’d given a cry to Wode-only to turn, and see their calvary blot out the sun. They descended into the camp like rolling thunder, the hooves of their horses crushing the dead. Between the blood, bone and screams, I was hit over the head. I woke later when they tossed water right at my face. I suppose it took a few buckets-I was soaking when I finally shook me loose. They shouted something, but it was in that damned garbled tongue. I shrugged my shoulders, but lept to my feet as they drew their blades.
Then came the shackles, the torches, and these fuck-ugly columns. I mean, I understand they were going for an aesthetic. But if they’d spent half as much time decorating as they spent training they-
One of the guards shoved me forward. Lost in thought, I hadn’t noticed just why all the columns were here. I looked around. A vaulted cieling, painted. More damned columns. A few statues, all of them naked. Against the far wall was a massive throne-decked in gold and silk. With the torches, I could barely make out a shape seated there. Oh boy. That had to be their jarl, I’m guessing. I tried to smile, but the guards grabbed me by the hair. They pressed a foot against my knee, and took me to the ground.
“Hey, watch it, ya’ damned son of a-”
“That’ll be more than enough out of you,” came a voice from the chair. Sing song, like the cries of Wode’s dames. I tried to tilt my head up, but the guard cursed and tightened his grip. I had half a mind to try and bite him. But, uh. Well.
You ever get so damned awestruck by something you just pause? Not just what you’re doing, but everything? Like breathing, thinking? Yeah. A pale foot entered my sightline-followed by a bare leg. I followed them up, right to the slope of hips. Supple, full. Round, but as she walked, rippling with tendons. We’d heard tale of ones like her, but I’d never seen a lass in all the hills that fit. So watching those legs-those bare legs-work?
Well, it cuffed my tongue tight. Like my hands, my feet. Realizing she was nude as a newborne didn’t help matters. This roman she devil? I’d be akin to that traitor in green if I said I didn’t fancy her. I did! I’ll say it before all the kin if I have to. She however, made it right clear she didn’t fancy me. She shouted in that dog-tongue at the guards. They eased off, the pomfers, and left the room. I’d not heard the doors as I was dragged, but judging by the echo they were massive. I kept my eyes lowed, and prayed to whatever kin was keen I’d die with my boots on.
“You. What name do you hail by?” came that voice again. One, I realized, came from her. I rose to my knees, and tried my damndest to meet her eyes. T’was a fair sight harder than it should’ve been. Harder all the more by my-
“You can speak, can you? Don’t tell me there’s truth to the teuton tongue-cutting,” she said. She tilted her head, her dark curls smacking heavy against her shoulders. I smirked, and shook my head.
“Your tongue’s kin, but I speak not with strangers. Tell me yours, I’ll tell you mine,” I said. A damned stupid thing, that. But I’d said worse to far more cursed. The dame raised her brow, her olive eyes intense as the focused upon me.
“I am Queen Helena, current ruler of the Roman empire. The conquerers of your camp-” she said, pausing as I snorted.
“Aye, queen of the dead and gutted then? That it, innit? Well blow me down, you’ve quite a bit of rot to ru-” I said, only to find myself cut short.
Those damned legs, they were for more than just walking. The wench kicked me solid in the skull, and sent me to the ground. I saw every star in the wyrd before her heel met my temple. I tried to snarl-but she just pressed that heel all the more. Truth to kin, I don’t fear death. Death as a warrior, not sniveling beneath a foot, regardless of how creamy it might be. I eyed up, all the way up those legs, those thighs. Right into Freya’s blessings, and past.
The dame, she t’wasn’t happy.
“Name,” she said, spitting the word like a curse. She pressed the heel harder, and I grunted it out.
“Oy, Braggi! Braggi, damn it!”
I felt the heel ease then, but just by degrees. Enough for me to feel the blood in my skull again. She finally pulled the foot away in full. Just about the time I thought I had culpable thought again, she parted those lips once more.
“Braggi? The poet, Braggi? I was told you were a bottle-bound wastrel. Not a killer,” she said. She eased her arms across her chest, heaving them up over her forearms.
Be it the throbbing in my skull or twixt my legs, I took a breathe to respond.
“Aye, wouldn’t say that’s untrue. But I can lift an axe well as any man. I can just craft more flowery insults is all, y’majesty,” I said. I met her eyes-and felt my bowels roll as the dame smiled upon me. Truth to kin, I’d dare the winds of Nifelheim ‘fore I see that smile again. It wasn’t mirthful or joyous. Cruel as a wolf at supper it was. For the second time that evening, I found my tongue mute. S’only happened twice in my life-both on that night.
“Well, isn’t that fortunate?” said the dame. “You know, I always valued a pet that could sing. You can sing, can’t you?”
“Give me enough drink, and I’ll punch a Jotun on one leg so hard it’ll piss itself,” I replied.
Now, you’ve got to believe me when I say this. I’ve heard songs from dying men so sweet and mournful, Tyr would shed tears. I’ve given voice to the trumpets of battle. I even crafted tales, lies and words that could move any to triumph or failure. But nothing-and I mean NOTHING-in all the realms or wyrd haunts me like the laughter of that dame. I’ll land on my spear ‘fore I dare hear it again. Laugh she did, in such a way that made every inch of her bounce.
“Oh, we’ll give you enough to make you dance to any tune. Anything at all we tell you,” she said. Laughing even as she turned, the shadows wrapping her in their embrace.
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I’ve heard tale-piss poor ones-that I tried to escape. Others say I chose to stay with the dame. Seduce her with my wry good looks, and words. But truth to kin, I was afraid of her. Oh, don’t give me that look. I’m man enough to admit I was, give me that. I was afraid of her-not of the dame herself. But what she could do. In all the wyrd, in all the realms, I’ve yet to meet a mortal woman that could instill that fear. A single word, a laugh. That’s all the farther I ever was from the blade.
I think now that’s why she and I kin so well. Why I was so willing to play along, if just for a time. The lot of you laugh, but that power of words-it’s what kept me here. Got me back.
At first, I was just a plaything to her. Little more than a mutt to kick, to feed. She’d tell me to bring her clothes, and I did. Massage her feet, and I did. Feed her, groom her. For all the bluster she made of my skills, the first few months were that. Menial, humiliating, mudane. But she kept the drink coming.
Not just that piss-sour swill they call wine, either. Mead. By the gods, as much of it as I could take. I didn’t question where it came from-I knew, all too well. I didn’t ask how many of our kin had to die for it. Every sip went down sweet, but with an oath of vengeance. This I can promise the lot of you. That mead, it’s all that kept me sane. It grew to be my reason to meet my miss with that time-tested smile. You know the one, don’t you?
It got to where I smiled so damned much she got comfortable with me. Asking me to help her right out of the bath. Leaving her robe parted, a wight’s temptation bare for the realms to see. She’d laugh, but not in that cackle she so enjoyed. My miss-pardon, the dame-she started to touch me. On the shoulder at first. A squeeze here, and there. Like the grip of a lover, it was. Nothing more though-even with all the bareness of her form.
Then came the night she asked me to sing. If your winters be fewer than your fingers, pike off.
It was warm that eve. Far warmer than it is here, even by the fire. I’d drawn the dame her bath, and stood off to the side. The dame approached, with her hand maids. Chicken headed old clucks they were. They never cared for me much, but I was so far in my cups I rarely cared. Tonight was no different. She waved them away, and they scuttled away with a scowl. I waved and blew them a kiss all the same. I watched as they departed, the big doors of the bath echoing as they went. Hel-bound Roman bastards like big everything, truth to kin. That bath didn’t have the charm of the fjords here. But-if I’m being honest-t’was nice all the same. I knew well why she favored it.
I turned to help her out of her wrap-but found her already naked. Her cream colored skin flickered well in the light. Her cheeks were flush and red, and I paused then. I wasn’t sure what to do-see, I always undressed her. But here she was, bare to her skivvies. She giggled, and tilted her curls towards the massive pool.
“Come. You’re to join me,” she said.
Now, it’s not as though I hadn’t bathed in all that time. I had-I eschewed the roman dress though. They cleaned my furs, my leatheres. I washed in a basin in my cell. But this? It didn’t take the dame’s threats to bring me forward. To loose my belt, my pelts. I climbed in after my miss, feeling all the more grimey in her wake. We settled into the waters and for once, my bones felt at ease. The dame pressed her head against the side, and closed her eyes.
“Braggi?” she said.
“Yes, your m’jesty?” I replied.
“Would you sing for me tonight? Something from your own people?”
Now, if you keen that this was a trap-I’d not say you were wrong. I felt that prickle in my spine, the likes ye’ only feel deep in the trees. But I shifted in the waters, and tried to contain myself. Something easier to do in the cold here than the warmth of that bath. With my clan-maker smacking against my thighs, I nodded.
“Aye, if it’s what my miss wishes. Do you-ah, have a preference?”
“Something about love, if you will,” she said with a slight grin. Her eyes still closed, she shifted in the water. She drew a hair closer, and my mind scrambled on the old skalds. I settled on the one of Fro Ing-remember? The kin with the sword? Gave it up for his woman, he did. I cleared my throat as she met my side. As her head fell upon my shoulder, and her hand met my chest.
I parted my lips, and began.
“Oh, beyond the sea and vale
I’ve heard great tale
Of a man so filled with might
He’d bare-knuckle fight
all for the love of thee-”
I hadn’t sang in months. But the words rung true enough from my throat. True enough that the dame-sorry, my heart trembles at the thought. The dame, she lifted her lips to mine.
She kissed me, and I’d give all the barrels of mead and honey to taste her again. She didn’t stop at the one, either. I paused over my lyrics, and she lifted a finger.
“Don’t stop singing, no matter what,” she said in a coo.
So I sang. I lifted my voice to that vaulted ceiling, and gave cry to Fro Ing’s greatness. Even as she kissed my chest, my hips. She might have been a roman dog…
But I’ll be damned if those roman’s can’t hold their breath. Even sucking down the might of Wode’s children, at that. The dame rose from the waters as I finished. Flustered, shaking like I’d seen Hel herself. The dame just laughed, and wrapped a leg around me. As she embraced me-every bit of me-she asked me to sing once more.
Well, they say the first part of a raid is learning the territory. That night, I learned every bit of the dame. When in Rome, as they say. We left the bath, and went to her bed chamber. It was softer than the ropes we keep here, maybe softer than those in Asgard itself. I loved the dame, and she I till the moon ran from the wolf.
I slipped away, and chased Sunna across the horizon. I didn’t stop till I saw these Fjords again, ’til I smelled the yew. Only then did I look back. A part of me panged at the sight-the encampment, so far beyond the mist and mountains. But it paled in comparison to the joy of home and kin.
So as we sit here, readying our blades-I ask but one favor. Well, a few.
Pour one out for me for Wode, for it’s by the all-father’s grace we’ll win.
Pour one for Fro Ing, our god of the spring and crops.
And lastly, pour one out for the dame. For if the wyrd wills it-and Wode, and Fro-perhaps she and I will meet. Perhaps instead of a blade, I’ll have a song for her again. She’ll have some mead, maybe a swollen belly. Through the spears and the clatter and the cries, it could happen.
I miss my miss, truth to kin.