Stark

The music drifted through the halls of Frost's Keep, bouncing off the stone walls. It somehow seeped through the huge wooden doors and into the dining room, where the lady of the fortress, Merrida Frost, was midway through slicing her youngest child's boar meat.

"Mother," her son said, his face mirroring the confusion of his mother's. "What's that?"

"I don't know, Rin," she murmured, and called over a servant to investigate the source of the strange, haunting music. She rose from the table, passing the hand-hewn knife to her son, who resumed the task of carving the boar where she had left off.

Despite the biting chill outside, the dining hall always had one stone window open. Her husband Mik insisted upon it - "We are the Frost," he would say any time she suggested closing it. "If we can't tolerate a little cold, we will be completely unprepared."

The words of his house, the house that she'd taken on as her own hung in the air, unsaid but deeply felt by both parties.

Summer will always end.

Through the window, Merrida could barely see anything but white. Had she been a newcomer to the frozen south, she would have assumed the heavens had opened, but decades of experience told her that the blizzard was just fallen snow, whipped up by the wind.

Narrow though the opening was, she could hear the music through it. The tune was strangely entrancing - she could only hear every third note, but they stuck in her head, somehow reminding her of a song from her youth while simultaneously intriguing her with its freshness.

The door to the dining room opened, and the servant scurried in with news.

"It's a bard, ma'am," the stalwart attendant puffed. "He seeks a place to lay his head."

A bard? In Frost's Keep? Merrida paused as she processed the news. Frost's Keep wasn't the furthest south point of civilization, but the only people who travelled past it were either lost or headed for bandit land. The castle was not on any trade routes, and there was no reason for a bard to pass through.

The music seemed to get louder for a moment, and almost before she knew what she was saying, Merrida Frost made a decision.

"Send him in."

###

Everyone at the table eyed the bard uneasily. Rin, Merrida's only child, wanted to speak his objections, but he knew that to cross his mother would be folly. Instead, he diplomatically bit his tongue and sipped at his wine.

His father had been absent for only two days - urgent matters at the capital had called for his direct attention, and so he was to be gone for almost a moon's turn. Instead of accompanying him, Rin had been left in charge of Frost's Keep, a practice of sorts for when he would eventually be its Lord...although it was known by all parties that his mother would have final say if a matter of true urgency were to arise.

Not, of course, that giving lodging to a bard was such a matter. But there was something suspicious about his presence so far south, not to mention the unsavory way that he kept appraising the woman who had permitted him entry.

In turn, Merrida was keeping a close eye on the bard. She wasn't sure why she'd so quickly agreed to giving him board for a few evenings, except that refusing him would almost certainly have spelled his death. Summer, as her husband was oh so fond of reminding her, would always end, and the southfolk weren't known for their generous ways. If she'd rejected him, he almost certainly would not have found lodgings elsewhere, and just a single night of exposure to the cold winds would have spelled his finish.

Mike, of course, would have said it was deserved...but, of course, he wasn't there, and so the decision had landed on her.

The bard looked young, especially for one so talented. He couldn't have been any more than twenty, and was relatively handsome, she supposed...if one was into the young, soft look.

And he certainly seemed grateful. As he supped at the hot bowl of soup, his eyes regularly threw her a glance; what started as looks of gratitude soon became longer and longer, until Merrida found a rare blush at the tip of her nose at the long stares she was receiving from her young guest.

Just as she was beginning to regret her generosity, he put down his bowl, and announced that as thanks for the meal, he was going to play the family a song. Before anyone could respond, a flute appeared at his lips, and he resumed playing the haunting song that had filled every room of the castle just a few minutes earlier.

Merrida opened her mouth to object, but hearing the music up close and so loudly seemed to cloud her mind, and soon she was simply smiling, enjoying the beautiful tune, allowing herself to swim in the images that it conjured up.

She saw the forest she'd spent time in as a child, the flash of color as birds flitted from tree to tree. For the first time that she could remember, she felt warmth on her skin. Despite being in a dark room illuminated only by the struggling fire and the tiny flickers of candles, dotting the walls, Merrida could feel the sun gently warming her up, and could hear the soft rustle of leaves above her.

Eventually, after what felt like hours, the images faded, and Merrida was brought back to stark reality. Several of the children had dozed off to sleep, and only Rin looked as though he was fully conscious, staring at his mother with concern.

"Lovely," she said simply, immediately before a huge yawn escaped her. "Your efforts have certainly earned your keep, at least for the night.

"Now, to bed with us."

"Of course, ma'am," the bard said with a sly smile, and for the second time that night Merrida felt blood rushing to her face. Her face burned red as she realized the bard's cheeky interpretation.

If Mik had been present, he would have taken a sword to the stranger without hesitation, and Merrida could see Rin's hands itching to do the same, but she shot her son a glance, forcing him to relax.

"Remember," she said dryly, striving to remain calm, "the soup was offered freely, but it was not accompanied by a drink - hot or cold."

"Of course, ma'am," the bard repeated, this time in a far humbler tone of voice. He avoided her stern stare, and Merrida allowed herself a slight smile, sure that her point had been made.

"Now," she repeated, this time making sure that her intentions were crystal-clear. "To bed with us."

# # #

No matter what her mood, no matter what the events of the day or the tensions in her relationship or even the health of her children, Lady Frost had always managed to find refuge in the thick sheets and blankets of her marital bed.

The first night she'd arrived at Frost's Keep, the biting cold had taken her by surprise. She'd known it would be startling, and she'd tried to anticipate the severity of the conditions, but the cold managed to exceed even her wildest expectations. By the time she was ready for bed, Merrida had been almost totally exhausted and ready to cry.

But just as the south's winter chill had shocked her, so too did the warmth of her four-poster bed, especially when her husband had joined her in it. The southfolk had grown proficient at creating warmth in the snowy conditions, and ever since that night, no matter how low she felt or how weary she was, the thick woolen blankets were enough to cheer her up.

Except tonight.

For reasons she didn't understand, they no longer provided a familiar comfort. They felt heavy and restrictive - she wanted to throw them aside, cast them to the floor and feel free.

It unsettled and alarmed her, and so in response she pulled the blankets tighter, trying to force the feeling of comfort. It wasn't long until she felt so stifled that it was all she could do not to scream.

And that was when the music started.

It wasn't the tune that she'd heard earlier, although it contained colors from the same palette. This one was looser. Lighter. This one had inklings of freedom and bounciness. It had tones of liberty, dancing from room to room, peeking through the doors to see what was within.

This one made her feel alive.

At the same time though, it had been a long day, and Merrida knew that her children would be unable to sleep if the music continued. She needed to get up and stop it...

...but she was so tired.

For the next few minutes, the most powerful woman in the south continued to hesitate, torn between her duty and the sudden exhaustion that seemed to fill every bone in her body. Several times she talked herself into getting up and reprimanding the handsome young bard, but each time it was too easy to find an excuse to stay in bed, a reason to continue laying there and just enjoy the melody.

At the end of this section, she told herself, but the end never came, with each part of the song seamlessly merging into the next. In the next minute, she reasoned, but before she could count out the seconds, she was again lost in the tune, her mind dancing along even as her feet remained still.

Finally, she softly drifted into sleep, lulled into a trance by the beautiful tune. Still, her memory of what she should do remained, what her maternal role insisted was her duty.

And so as she slept, she imagined leaving the bed. Her unconscious mind managed to perfectly emulate every sensation, every smell and touch and sound of the action. It was as though she was really setting the blankets to the side, swinging her long legs out of the bed, ignoring her thick fur slippers and standing barefoot on the smooth stone of the keep's master bedroom.

She knew it was a dream, however. In reality, she would never have done what she did next, unlacing her nightgown, her hands deftly untying the knots and allowing the soft fabric to fall to the floor, revealing her nakedness underneath.

For a moment, as is so often the case in a reverie, she felt as though she was able to see herself from the outside. Not even thirty-five years of age, her body was still firm and appealing. Although she didn't have a specific exercise regime, life at Frost's Keep did not allow one to become out of shape and slovenly. Her breasts still stood firm on her chest, her brown nipples hardening rapidly at the cold. Five children had caused a slight sag, but she knew that her bosom's size and firmness were enough to cause jealousy even in women a decade younger than herself.

Her legs were long and shapely, and her husband regularly assured her that even in his younger days, he'd never encountered an ass like hers - although their religious beliefs forbade it, there had been numerous times during their lovemaking when his hands had slipped around and explored her tight rosebud. While they'd never directly spoken about it, Merrida had silently begged for more, more, more.

But the moment that told her that her experience was certainly a dream was when she unlocked her bedroom door, and allowed it to slowly swing open.

She was Lady Merrida Frost, wife of Lord Mikkon Frost and Lady of Frost's Keep. She was born Merrida Storm, daughter of Lord Whent Storm and Lady Tyfany Stone. She had given birth to the heir of Frost's Keep. Her father fought in the War of Tenpenny Kings.

Her figure was one of gravitas and authority, and she was loved and respected throughout the lands. She certainly wouldn't open the door bare, allowing any passing servant to see her naked form.

Not in real life.

In a dream, of course, she was under no such restrictions.

As the door opened, the music grew louder, almost as though the bard was playing it directly outside her room. She smiled at the sound - the music had grown faster, practically pulsating with rhythm, filling her bones with joy. She wanted to dance...no, more than that. All of her noble life, dancing had involved slowly swaying while being held by a borish fool (and then, later in life, her beloved husband. Mike had many strengths, but he would be the first to admit that dancing was not among them), and that wasn't what the music was calling for her to do.

She wanted to do more than sway, more than move her feet to the pre-coordinated steps that the families of New Eastland had been following for generations. She wanted to live. She wanted to improvise a dance of her own accord, one that allowed her to move her body in such a way that it paid respect to the music.

Merrida Frost wanted to worship the song with her body. And, with a smile, she remembered that this was a dream - just a dream, and nothing more - and so she could.

Placing her hands above her head, she began slowly moving her hips back and forth. As the music grew louder and more intense, her entire body joined in; her shoulders moved from side to side, her hands began drifting around her body, occasionally touching her soft skin, or moving out in front of her, as though inviting someone to come join her.

Her long hair began rapidly whipping back and forth as she found herself getting more and more into the dance of her own concoction, and for the second time that evening, it was as though she stepped out of her own body, and was able to watch herself as she gyrated to the tune.

Soon, the music was almost overwhelming, as if the bard was playing the flute just a few feet away. A stray thought shocked Merrida, as she briefly wished that he was, as she prayed that the stranger was directly outside the room and would perhaps peek in and watch her dance, peek in and enjoy the show that his music had inspired.

She imagined him peering around the side of the door frame, the flute to his lips and a mischievous look in his eyes. Although she was coated in sweat, she imagined his heart filling with lust at the sight of her body.

It was exciting to her, the idea of a strange man looking at her body. It was exciting to her, imagining that she was showing off - for the first time - to a man who wasn't her husband.

Soon she was gasping and panting with the exertion of her dance. The music felt as though it was building to a climax, and Merrida's hands moved behind her (as if of their own volition) and slapped her ass, hard.

With that, the music stopped, and Lady Frost fell backwards onto the bed, completely exhausted. She didn't know what had come over her, but she knew that she'd liked it. No, loved it. Her door slowly swung until it was closed, and as she lay on the bed, breathing deeply, she slowly drifted off, too tired to even wonder how she could be falling asleep within a dream.

# # #

As Merrida drifted awake, she thought that she could hear the bard's music. Laying in bed, a smile slowly formed on her face at the idea. It was so beautiful...so compelling.

Soon, she'd confirmed that the music was a figment of her imagination. The smile was quickly wiped away by the discovery that - for reasons she couldn't even imagine - she'd gone to sleep completely naked the previous night.

The thick woolen blankets meant that her nightgown wasn't truly necessary, but if there was a problem with the children, or the castle, she would sometimes need to step out in a hurry, and so on nights that she was alone it was rare that she slept without it.

At her insistence (and through her husbands protestations) a thick wooden screen had been placed on the window of the master bedroom, and with some effort Merrida pushed it open. Sure enough, the weather outside was just as it had been the past few days. It certainly hadn't been a songbird that had roused her from her slumber.

Was she hearing things? Perhaps she just missed Mikkon - typically his away journeys didn't last more than a few days, but the journey to the capital wasn't short, and she knew that Frost's Keep would be missing him for some time to come.

It wasn't until she had combed out her hair and dressed that she truly began to grow suspicious. When she turned the handle to her bedroom door, it wasn't latched - sleeping without a nightgown was suspicious (though not impossible) but anyone of her significance made many enemies, and sleeping with the door unlocked was something she had never, ever done.

Her brow wrinkled with thought, and it wasn't long before her sharp mind had reached a conclusion:

The bard.

Though she had no hard proof, she didn't need any. She was the Lady of Frost's Keep, and he was a simple traveler. If she felt uncomfortable with his presence for any reason, she just needed to give the word and he would be sent out into the cold.

Without hesitation, she marched to the servant's quarters, where he had been given a bed, and stood over his sleeping form.

"You," she said sternly. "Bard. Awaken."

Merrida was accustomed to smallfolk obeying her commands without hesitation, and her anger grew as he slowly opened his eyes, blinking at her with a docile smile.

"Lady Frost," he said sleepily. "You are a true vision to behold."

"Get up," she said, her tone hard as stone. "You are to leave my lands immediately. I recommend you head south, though if you are foolish enough to make your way south, be it on your watch."

"I understand," he said with a nod, and began to gather his things. She'd expected protestations, or at least for him to question her, but it was clear that he knew his place.

As he picked up his flute, a smile flashed across his face, and instead of packing it with the rest of his belongings, moved it to his lips. Merrida went to object, but before she could, he started playing.

The song had none of the rhythm or upbeat tempo of the tune that she had fallen asleep to last night - this one was mournful, drenched in sadness; it conveyed better than words ever could the bard's feelings of hurt and rejection.

But Merrida didn't become the most powerful woman in the south by allowing a simple tune to sway her feelings, and so she fought through the numbness his playing caused, and insisted that the bard stop playing and leave at once.

"Of course," he whispered, and departed immediately.

Didn't he?

Of course he did. Yes, he left straight away, and Merrida lay down in the bed that he'd just vacated, allowing herself to immediately drift into a deep, trance-like sleep.

The lady knew she was asleep, because she felt just as she had the previous night: free.

She was free, free to do whatever she liked. Free to be whoever she wanted to be. There was no need to be Merrida Frost, wife of Mikkon, daughter of Storm and Stone. No more did she have to follow so many rules, obey the standards of others instead of simply allowing herself to follow impulses, chase her unchecked desires.

Clothes. Those were a restriction that she'd never chosen, never wanted. Last night, when she'd been dreaming as she was now, she hadn't needed clothes. No, while she was asleep, while she was dreaming, she could be totally free.

No matter how many fires were blazing, no matter how many windows were closed or how well-built the room was, Frost's Keep was always cold, and so when Lady Frost had gotten dressed for the day, she'd put on so many layers. But she wasn't Lady Frost, not any more - she was just Merrida, free to live in the moment, and so she got up and began removing those clothes, throwing them aside, enjoying the mischievous bite of the cold on her skin, knowing she would be warm enough soon. She didn't know why, but she knew that she didn't need to question it.

Her nipples hardened in the chill, and though the thick patch of hair between her legs kept her warm, she knew that she needed to move and be active if she didn't want to freeze. A dream it may have been, but she could still feel the cold, and so she began to dance.

The music was too slow to repeat the dance she'd invented in her dream the previous night, and so she came up with a new one - slow, sensuous, but still engaging every part of her body. Her long legs slowly bent, her fingertips ran over every inch of her skin, and her hips repeatedly thrust forward, until soon her entire self was warmed by a healthy glow.