Idunn's Apples

At some unknown time later the courtyard went briefly silent, or at least as silent as it could become, filled with men and beasts as it was. She was tempted to venture to her window and look down to see what was amiss. However, Olaf's bellow to open the gates broke the silence, and soon the sounds of men and beasts departing from the keep was echoing through her room.

Morag licked her lips. How had she lost him? Was he more mercenary than she had been willing to admit? Or was the need for a military ally too great? Of what use was love in this world, when men's ambitions and fears turned it into heartbreak.

There was a tentative knock upon her chamber door. Morag ignored it.

"Milady?" called out a woman's voice.

"What?" demanded Morag, although her throat was dry and sore. How many hours had passed since she last ate or drank?

"The Vikings have left, Lady Morag. The keep is yours again."

The keep was hers again. But, it had never really been hers before. Her father had commanded it, as had his forefathers in years gone by. When he had died she had simply held it in trust for the next man who would claim it, and the Limping King-damn him!-had given it away to the enemy of her people!

She could not think of Olaf as the enemy, though. Nor would the Vikings be murderous killers in her mind; they were people with the same wants and desires as her own people. But who were her people? Gaweena's story had hinted that her mother was a Viking woman. So, Morag was of both people. Olaf was one of her people as much as Argent was.

"Milady? Are you unwell?" came the woman's voice from behind the door.

Morag sat up. The keep was hers, at least until Argent came to claim her and her father's lands, or the Limping King came to steal her away and offer her up to some favoured knight.

"I am well!" she declared. "Have all the Vikings left?"

"Every one, Milady."

"I will be in the great hall presently. Have all the servants and guards ready there. I must inform you all of what has happened and what is going to happen."

"Yes, Lady Morag."

Hurried footsteps leading away from her bedchamber door told Morag that she would have a few minutes respite to think through what she would tell everyone. They deserved to know what was coming and to have the freedom to prepare themselves as they saw fit.

If Argent and Olaf were successful, then the new king would come for her and he would likely place a trusted agent in charge of the keep and the surrounding lands. Would these lands remain hers as part of her dowry? Morag thought not. Argent had always been covetous of the fertile fields of MacLint. On the other hand, if the Limping King held his title and power, then he might seek to strike down the 'nest of rebellion.' That could mean an army bent on firing every home and killing every tenant. She had much to tell everyone and the time remaining to act might be short.

Chapter 37: Two Riders

Eight days later, no-one in the keep had heard a word of the rebellion. Most of the servants had stayed with Morag, intent on serving and defending the lady of the keep. She was most gracious with each of them, though she made sure that each did their duty.

A guardsman hurried into her presence, wheezing as he came. He kneeled before her. Morag broke off her conversation with the new cook to urge the elderly man to stand.

"Thank you, my lady," he wheezed.

"You should not have run all the way from your post on the wall. Why did you not send a youth to pass on the message?" Morag motioned for the cook to bring the guard a chair.

"Two riders approach the keep!" he breathed out. "Too far yet to see who they are!"

"Rest yourself, and have some food and drink if you feel the need, faithful guard."

Then, Morag rushed out into the courtyard, hiked up her skirts, and ran to the stone steps that led up the side of the keep wall. She climbed them as fast as she could, then found two other guardsmen standing atop the wall leaning on their spears and pointing out the approaching strangers.

"Two riders, Lady Morag. There!"

She shaded her eyes and peered into the distance. Indeed, two mounted upon horses, and they were approaching the keep at a leisurely pace. This could only mean one thing, she knew.

"Lord Olaf's plan has been successful. Send out word to everyone in the keep that we will be welcoming an emissary of the newly crowned King Argent, or the man himself!"

The guards were agog, but quickly overcame their shock and descended the wall, calling out the news to all within hearing. Morag continued to stare at the riders. Her future was now set before her, despite the unpalatable nature of that fate. She cursed: "Oh, that any should be born a woman and have no say in their own destiny!"

Chapter 38: Olaf's Fate

Olaf stood atop a small embankment that suggested to his experienced eyes the high water mark after some great flood. Looking out over his men, he nodded his head and looked forward to the coming battle against Thrum's forces. These were good men, seasoned warriors now. They would follow him into Hela's land to search out Baldur if he demanded it of them. He turned his gaze skyward and noted how the sun hid behind the grey clouds for yet another day.

"King Argent has given us arms and boats! He has given us provisions!"

A mild cheer went up from the assembled Vikings. Some were looking behind Olaf, and he turned briefly. Three riders approached the beach. They were in no hurry. One had the look of a Viking about him, while the other two wore long cloaks with the cowls concealing their heads, yet Olaf could see by their figures and movements that they were women. He shrugged and turned back to his men.

"See there," he said, pointing to the sun, "Baldur hides his face behind the clouds, just as he will in the last days! Some here have found this to be a bad omen. Well, I say it is a bad omen! For King Thrum!"

A great cheer went up. Olaf waited for the men to calm themselves.

"Thrum is a trickster! Thrum is a coward! Thrum strikes when he thinks others are weak! Baldur hides his face in shame that Thrum has followers who willingly commit his crimes! I tell you all"-he pointed at the crowd of warriors-"that Baldur will show his face again, and soon! The noble Baldur will be pleased to see an army sailing back to battle Thrum and his people! Odin and Thor will grant us wind in our sails! The skies will thunder as we clash with Thrum! The Valkyrie will watch us eagerly, unsure whether they want to collect our souls or sit back and watch the great deeds we shall do! Tomorrow, we sail home! And we say: death to Thrum!"

The crowd cheered and a great chant of 'death to Thrum' spread amongst the men. Olaf drank it in, smiling, urging them to greater and greater volume. He glanced back at the three riders and noted that they had stopped a short distance away. He frowned when he recognized the man as Prince Sigurd, son of Gunderr.

"Break out the mead!" he called to one of his captains. "I'll be in my tent," he said to them in a quieter voice.

He descended the embankment, then walked through his men, accepting slaps on the back and promises of bravery from the Vikings as he passed amongst them. He nodded and spoke quiet words of encouragement, but kept a wary eye upon the three riders who still sat atop their horses.

At last he went into his tent and stretched out on his sleeping furs. He was glad the speech had gone so well, especially after he had overheard some of the warriors discussing evil portents. Now they would all be discussing the coming glorious battle and the part each of them intended to play in it. These men would follow him back to their homeland and into battle against the most feared general of their age. Thrum's berserkers had no idea what storm was coming for them.

The sound of horses stopping outside his tent roused him from his thoughts. He placed his battle-axe within easy reach.

"You cannot go into Olaf's tent!" argued one of the old Viking's trusted warriors. There was a gasp of surprise. Then: "Lady Ingrid! I did not know that it was you!"

"I wish to speak with my father," spoke a woman who sounded so much like Olaf's long-lost, beloved Brunhilde that it made his heart ache. The fact that his daughter had returned to him soothed him greatly, as did the hope that his new son-in-law intended to join him in the coming battle. Ingrid had done well to capture the heart of Gunderr's son.

"You may enter, along with Prince Sigurd," acquiesced the warrior.

"Helena, see that the horses are tended to," commanded Ingrid, "and if any man accosts you, then tell them that you are my maid. They respect my father too much to anger me."

"Yes, mistress," spoke another woman, one whose voice was timid and quiet.

The opening of the tent was pushed aside and Sigurd stepped into Olaf's tent, followed by Ingrid.

"Well?" demanded Olaf, staring up at the two and sensing their nervousness.

"Will you not let us sit, Father?"

"Courtesy demands I make the offer, daughter." Olaf waved at the furs scattered upon the floor of the tent. "Say what you have to say."

Ingrid grew suddenly timid.

Sigurd cleared his throat. "Lord Olaf, in accordance with ancient law I have laid claim to your daughter, Ingrid. I have stolen her from you. She is now my wife. However..." the Viking prince hesitated.

"Father, do you still love me?" blurted out Ingrid.

Olaf chewed his lip for a few seconds. He picked up his battle-axe, bringing surprised looks to the faces of both of his guests. Sigurd's hand went to his sword. "Ingrid, I have always loved you, but perhaps I have not loved you enough. Do you desire this prince as a husband?"

"I do, Father!"

Olaf turned a stern face toward Sigurd. "I am not overly fond of those who steal what is mine, son of Gunderr. I could take your crime to the Althing and demand a judgement."

"And I would abide by that judgement, Lord Olaf." Sigurd chanced a look at Ingrid. "If that is what it takes to make peace between us, then that is what shall be done."

Olaf rubbed his beard in thought for a few moments. "Ingrid, I welcome you back. You ease the ache in my heart-"

"Which would be better eased by the presence of another, I think, Father." Olaf was surprised by the sly smirk upon his daughter's face.

"Speak no more of that!"

"I would not be Ingrid if I did not speak my mind, Father. Sigurd has been most courteous and most considerate to me. You should welcome him as you welcome me." She waited for a reaction from her father, but none came. "And you left behind the one person who could truly ease the pain in your heart. There is still time to ride to her."

"Speak no more of her! I have welcomed you, Ingrid! Sigurd has stolen you from me and, though he has returned you, he still possesses my only daughter! I see it in your eyes!"

"We should go," offered Sigurd.

"Be brave..." hissed Ingrid.

"He is brave, Ingrid. But, he is wise, too. Give me space and let my heart soften toward him."

Ingrid and Sigurd rose, delayed their departure for a second, then left Olaf alone in his tent. He wanted to break something. He wanted to lash out at the world, strike down whatever didn't please his eye and then rampage on and crush all of his enemies with his bare hands. How dare Ingrid bring up...! He stalked about the tent for ten minutes, then at last collapsed upon his sleeping furs.

He ran his hands over his face, then over his hair. A skin full of mead beckoned and Olaf drank deeply from it, then cast it across the tent, spilling its contents upon the ground. He was going back home! He was going to hunt down Thrum and his army and send them to Hela's cold embrace! If he died too...

Shaking his head, Olaf rose to his feet again. He set aside his weapons and began to undress, preferring to sleep naked with only the furs to keep him warm. A sudden thought occurred and he went to the tent entrance and stepped out as he removed his wool shirt. The guard there suddenly stood at attention.

"No-one is to disturb me until I say otherwise," Olaf commanded.

He glanced around at the warriors nearby. They appeared to be settling down for the night, some under blankets and some by fire pits. Others, restless due to the coming journey and the promise of battle, wandered the camp. Olaf nodded and ducked back inside his tent, closing the opening behind him.

He removed his leggings, then stretched out upon some furs. They felt soft against his bare skin. Struggling to find a comfortable position to sleep in, he finally half curled on his side and closed his eyes.

He had not been asleep for very long when a disturbance at the entrance awoke him.

"Father?" called out Ingrid, in the darkness.

"Yes?"

"I wished to apologize for my insistence earlier. Morag cares for you deeply, and I know you care for her"-Olaf grunted and rolled over to face his daughter-"but I will not dwell on the subject."

Briefly, the tent flap opened and another slim figure was silhouetted against flames. The closing of the tent left him in darkness again. His eyes did not adjust as well as they had when he was in his youth.

"This is Helena, Father," continued Ingrid. "I acquired her during the time that Sigurd and I were travelling. I give her to you, Father, to warm your bed and to offer what feminine comforts she can."

"I don't need-"

"You're a man, Father. You have needs. And she is comely."

"I'm tired, Ingrid."

"And she will help you sleep. You may send her back to us in the morning." Ingrid lifted and opened the entrance, then paused. This Helena was completely hidden within a large cloak. "She is most eager, Father." Then Ingrid slipped away, leaving the interior of the tent in darkness once again.

Olaf sat up. "So, Ingrid thinks you can offer me some entertainments, girl?"

"I will do what I can, Lord Olaf." The girl spoke quietly, barely above a whisper.

"Then come over here and set yourself down beside me, Helena," he suggested.

To his surprise, there was the sound of her heavy cloak falling to the ground. Then, two boots were dropped to the floor. He could barely hear her make her way through the darkness, but she seemed to have no trouble seeing where he was. The furs around him shifted and he felt the warmth from her body beside him.

"Remove your clothes and crawl under the furs beside me, Helena."

"I wear no clothing, Lord Olaf," she whispered to him. Her hand barely touched his chest, then she placed her palm directly over his heart. "Your heart beats wildly, Lord Olaf."

"There are better places for you to put your hands, Helena."

"In time, Lord Olaf. I want you to know that I understand I am simply a surrogate, that you may imagine me to be another."

"My daughter talks too much!"

"Hush."

Her lips were upon his. Their first kiss was slow and tender. Olaf's mind drifted to a dream-like encounter in a forest. He grabbed Helena by the shoulders and tried to pull her close, but she resisted.

"I thought you were here to submit yourself," he accused.

"Tonight, my body is yours, Lord Olaf." She leaned forward and whispered into his ear. "But we will take this slow and enjoy ourselves."

He shifted his hands down from her shoulders and cupped her breasts, teasing her nipples with his thumbs. She leaned forward and they kissed again. This time they stretched the kiss out. Olaf could feel her nipples hardening.

Even though the kiss ended, he continued to gently squeeze and knead her breasts. She sighed slowly, as her hand slid down his chest, across his abdomen, then at last found his groin. He was already hardening as her fingers wrapped around him.

"You seem to be almost as eager as I am, Helena."

She chuckled. Her fingers squeezed, causing him to harden and lengthen even more quickly than before. "I must admit that I find myself excited already, Lord Olaf."

"How excited?" he asked, as he released one of her breasts and reached down between her legs. She lifted herself slightly and he was able to slip a finger between her folds. Her wetness covered his digit.

He played with her, and she sighed and gasped as his finger slipped in and out of her. Finally, she sat down hard upon his hand.

"It's time," he noted.

"Uh-huh," she breathed.

Olaf cast away the furs covering him, reached around her back, then pulled her bottom to him. "On all fours, Helena," he commanded.

She nodded and obeyed. He went up on his knees and leaned against her bottom, rubbing his length between her cheeks and onto the small of her back. Helena was breathing deeply now, and the way she pushed against his hips, then pulled a little away, was driving him wild with lust.

"Lord Olaf...!"

"Yes," he answered, grabbing her hips and positioning himself directly behind her. He reached down to her wetness, found the opening with his finger then guided the tip of his member in. Helena froze in place and gave several quick half-breaths. Leaning forward, he slid in halfway, easily. She was so wet, but so tight.

"Oh, that's so good!" she cooed.

He reached one hand around to her breast and squeezed it. Her hand covered his, encouraging him to close his fingers again. Then she arched her back and turned her head around, her mouth open and searching. He leaned forward, pushing a little further into her, but managing to put his face next to hers. She kissed his chin, his cheek, then finally found his lips and sucked.

They stayed in that position for a short while. Her heart hammered in her chest; he felt it through the handful of soft flesh that was her breast.

It was the contraction around his member that broke their kiss. Helena's head and arms dropped to the furs, leaving her rump up in the air with Olaf embedded within her. He released her breast and grabbed her hips, pushing in as he did so. He was rewarded with a great groan of pleasure from his lover.

"Oh, Olaf! That's so good!" she said in one great breath.

He pushed in as far as he could go and she squeezed around him, then released. He pulled out, almost completely and then slowly eased himself back in. Helena's back lifted slightly as he did so, as if his member were straightening her out. As their pace increased, so did their breathing until eventually it came in gasps.

"Olaf! Olaf!" Helena managed to cry out before her face was buried in the furs.

"Oh, Morag!" Olaf called out, immediately regretting it, but he was too close. And as Helena let out a loud groan, Olaf plunged into her one last time and emptied himself into her womb.

He half collapsed upon her back, but reached around her to the floor to support his weight. Slowly his heart pumped less quickly and his breathing eased to a more normal rate. Helena, too, was relaxing after her own climax. He knew he couldn't stay on his knees for too long, not with his legs trembling as they were.

Olaf grasped Helena about her waist, keeping her pinned to his groin, then leaned over and collapsed upon the furs. He held her in place so that she was curled up against his front, with his member still inside of her. They lay that way for several minutes.

When he was almost convinced that she'd fallen asleep, she lifted her head then reached around and pulled his arm over to use as a pillow. She settled herself back down with a sigh.

"I'm sorry..." Olaf struggled for the words. "I shouldn't have called out..."

"Think nothing of it, Olaf," she whispered. "Can we sleep as we are?"

"Yes," he answered.

Chapter 39 Morag's Fate

Morag was already awake by the time Olaf opened his eyes. The sun shone outside, brightening the interior of the tent, and men were engaged in breaking up camp from the sounds that could be heard.

"What are you doing here?" he asked smiling, as if still half asleep.

She sat up. The furs dropped away from her chest. "I was Helena."