Adult Blog

Jenna lived out the first years of her life in a small clan, her waking hours ruled by the needs of livestock and housekeeping, her sleeping hours filled with quiet, simple dreams. She lived in a most uncomplicated way, learning early on the joys of drinking, expecting a husband when she found one who suited her, planning to raise fat babies and live a good number of years. Her mother taught her how to cook and clean… her father taught her how to polish a sword. Her brothers taught her how to wield a dagger and how to find a swallow’s nest… her elder sister took her aside when she was 15 and taught her how to keep a husband once she’d found him. She learned this, and more… and considered herself well-educated. She’d even found a learned man to teach her a bit of writing and reading, and could scratch out her name in the dirt, and understand the gist of some of the scrolls and oddly-bound books she glanced at in traders’ packs. And then the men from the north came. Norsemen, they called themselves… and the fields rang with their shouts, and the village was ripe with the stench of burning… there were boats that landed, and from the boats poured such a stream of men… each one out to kill what he couldn’t keep, to destroy what he couldn’t devour… and one of the few who survived this was Jenna. One of the men who seemed to be in charge found her… she was out in the woods, taking shelter there… and when he walked under the trees to relieve himself, she jumped him with the tiny knife her brothers had given her. That didn’t sit well with him… not once the whole length of it, all two inches, was sunk in under a rib. He tied her hands with a length of her own hair, threw her over his shoulder, and carried her off to the ship. She spent a miserable month, locked in his room aboard ship… after the first day she wasn’t a virgin. After the first week she didn’t care… and after the first time she found another knife, he kept her hands tied behind her back. She was grateful for one thing, that at least he didn’t see fit to share her… he was important enough that he was able to keep her for himself, treating her roughly, but once she settled and stopped fighting as often, at least attempting to treat her fairly as well. She was fed… allowed to bathe… and was even given a new dress after the one she’d been wearing was ripped off during one particularly bad night.

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It took a long time, once he got her ashore… nearly a year, before she could speak the language well, before she had half-forgotten seeing her family dead, before she’d come to realize how much of a kindness his treatment of her had been. Another year before she noticed that unlike several of the other heads of raiding parties, he only had one prize he bothered to keep… her. And another year after that before she realized why. She was 19 then, by some miracle not with child, and now wise enough in the facts of life to realize that she was looking at a good thing. Once she noticed his attentions, she started noticing other little things… when he went to the meetings with his overlord, she brushed his coat and made sure he was presentable… when he didn’t return until late, she was worried… and when he brought her some small, cheap trinket, it meant more to her than something of twice the value might have meant from someone else’s hand. So it was love. Not the flowery, romanticized love you find in the storybooks, but love based on practicality and care… he did care for her, treasured her, and protected her from the scorn and abuse of his fellows… and she did care for him, her eyes following him when he was near, her mind turning often to him when he was away… it was the sort of love that lasts, something closer to friendship than affection and lust. Jenna was still becoming used to this odd land she found herself in... to the cold, to the roughness of the people, all their differences from the life she had been born to... but slowly she'd made friends, and some of these proved, at least at first, to be quite invaluable when it came to learning about this place. Now the Norse have their own Gods, their own stories and tales... they may not have the delicate harping and intricate rhymes of midaeval courts, but they have their tellers of tales as every culture does... weavers of dreams, the bards. It was to one of these that Jenna turned, when she finally decided she needed to know more about her husband's people.

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This bard was one of the few who had treated her with kindness from the start... given her little gifts, helped hide her from the ruffians among her husband's warrior friends... wenever she asked a question, he would answer her honestly, often in her own tongue, which he spoke rather fluently. Oddly enough, he didn't speak it around others... but shared that gift with her, knowing how much such a simple taste of home meant to her. She spent long hours, walking through the cold fields with him, learning the names of the plants and animals, discussing politics and religion... frequently with an understanding sister of her captor present. His youngest sister found the whole thing quite romantic, claiming it was better than any story the bard could produce, and followed the two of them around as chaperone to keep the tale 'fit for young ears', as she put it. Unfortunately, most good things have a flaw... and the flaw in this perfect picture was one that's ruined good men and women since time began... the lass's heart was slowly turning to the man she would marry, yet the bard's heart had already been won... his eyes now followed her, while hers watched only her Norse mate, his words of devotion were ignored, or worse, treated with politeness and answered with only regrets. They say that men are blind in matters of love, and so it was with her husband... he considered the bard one of his truest friends. And perhaps he was... he never took advantage of the time he spent with Jenna, never hurt her, was even more careful once he felt that affection and love to keep her reputation pure, knowing what even a bit of damage could do to it... her status as wife and free woman could be so easily revoked... One night, after several months of this painful love, of frustration for the Bard and confusion for Jenna, the entire assembled company awoke to the clash of swords and the bitter taste of betrayal... an enemy Overlord had snuck in, helped by a large band of escaped Kelt slaves... they had been promised their freedom and safety, and even return to their homeland, for their help in this fight. They fought valiently... Jenna's husband was at the head of one of the attacks, and he returned wounded, a deep gash along his right side. When the sun rose the land was littered with dead and dying... the Overlord who Jenna and her mate were bound to had won... but he had not managed to keep his own life. For a week, there were rumors and accusations, harsh words and violence, as each man tried to uncover the plots by himself, believing everyone else of wrongdoing… slowly, as each name was cleared, suspicion began to fall on the slaves, and also on Jenna. Her husband began to look at her oddly…

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…but perhaps it would have stopped there, if not for a word or three in the wrong ear. The words were spoken by the bard… and they were said to her husband. The bard accused her of betrayal, of treachery made more terrible by the innocent guise she wore… he claimed that she had betrayed the overlord in an effort to return to her people, and the husband, his wound paining him and the paranoia of the camp overtaking him, found himself believing every word. After all, why would his friend lie to him? He suspected the bard of carrying affection for Jenna… and saw no reason to believe then that he would lie about her in such a dangerous matter. Her husband never spoke a word of this, but she could feel the suspicion in his eyes… she tried to show him what a dutiful wife she was, serving him well and willingly, silently attempting to restore his faith in her… but for nothing. The next meeting of the new Overlord and his commanders saw her husband, standing in the center of a circle of angry, tired men… his words were bitter, laced with what he thought was broken trust, his love shattered… in front of everyone, he accused her of this treachery. What gave him the courage to stand up, and say such things? In a corner of the lodge, where the smoke and shadows half-hid him, sat the bard, nodding… he’d convinced the Norseman that the worst that would happen was a beating, then Jenna’s permanent return to slavery… that she would never again be free, subject always to the abuse of anyone who saw fit to do so… but that she would still be his, would survive despite her horrible betrayal. And now the telling blow fell… the third betrayal to round out this tale, for the bard had known exactly what he was doing… and it was no mercy, not to anyone but him, his jealousy and fear for his own life driving him to a lie. He knew, for he’d overheard the son promise this, that the person found to be responsible for his father’s death would die slow, burnt alive… and more, he knew without doubt that Jenna was not at fault, for it was the bard’s doing that the warriors and slaves had snuck in. He was part Kelt himself, although the lineage did not show, and it was revenge for his people that spurred him… yet fear for his own life now led him to send one of those people to the flames in his place.

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