#pero tovar

[milla984]

Pedro Pascal as Pero Tovar The Great Wall (2016)

@babymetaldoll I seriously need a Pero Tovar spinoff!!!

»»»— read pinned post for taglist info —«««

»— Masterlists links in bio —«

[fluffypuffs69]

PERO TOVAR BOUQUET

Here are three flowers that would be perfect for a bouquet inspired by Pero Tovar:

While the thistle would traditionally be Pero's flower, its rugged nature makes it an uncommon bouquet choice (even when you can use it in Bouquets). Eryngium (Sea Holly) carries the same symbolism of resilience and strength while fitting beautifully into a floral arrangement.

Eryngium (Sea Holly) 💙 — A symbol of resilience, independence, and protection. With its striking, thistle-like form, eryngium reflects Pero's untamed spirit and instinct to survive. Like the thistle that best represents him, it thrives in harsh conditions, capturing a man shaped by hardship, quick thinking, and an unbreakable will to keep moving forward.

Orange Pincushion Protea 🧡 — Representing courage, transformation, and fearless individuality, the pincushion protea mirrors Pero's bold and unpredictable nature. Its dramatic shape reflects the way he disrupts every situation he enters, challenging those around him and forcing change in ways no one expects.

Celosia 🔥 — A symbol of boldness, resilience, and enduring spirit. With its flame-like blooms, celosia evokes the fire and black powder that follow Pero throughout his journey. It reflects both his rebellious nature and the unexpected bravery that emerges when he chooses to fight for something greater than himself.

[avastrasposts]

Fate Unbound - ch 17

Update in the summer heat! Enjoy!

Set in the 11th century, the plot centers around Pero Tovar as he's caputured and sold as a thrall to a Norse family. Bad fate finds him, and he struggles to free himself and escape. But he also meets new people who in time become friends and allies, and bad fate, can turn into good fortune for both him, and the most unlikely Norse woman.

Series Master List

Warnings for the whole series: graphic violence, slavery, abuse, sexual and otherwise, references to non-con sex, arranged marriages, time period typical stereotypes of both men and women and anyone "foreign".

No use of Y/N and the reader is kept as blank as possible, but, she's the daughter a Norse lord in 11th century Norway and will have features that correlate to that.

The port of Jorvik looked sullen and grey under the overcast sky as the ship approached. Eight days had passed since you left Ulvehi, a fast journey across the Western sea. You glared at the town as sails were pulled down and oars were put out to guide the longship up the mouth of the river Ouse. Ulvehi's, and your father's, banner were raised high and Asgeir wasn't challenged as the ship passed the chains that protected the port from attacks.

Instead a man was waiting at the dock, raising a hand in greeting as the oars gently brought the ship to a halt.

"Asgeir of Ulvehi, what are you doing here? They told me one of Agnar's ships had been spotted, but this is a surprise!"

The man spoke Norse with an accent you couldn't place, but Asgeir seemed to know him well. They embraced once he'd jumped off the railing and landed with a thud on the planks of the dock.

"Good to see you, Ulf," Asgeir smiled, "It's been a while hasn't it?"

"Many years I think, I didn't think we'd see you in Jorvik again. What made you brave the journey?"

"No bravery," he grimaced in return, "Don't we own the Western sea these days?"

Ulf chuckled as the gangway was laid out and Asgeir gestured up to you.

"Jarl Agnar's daughter is to marry Ealdorman Cuthbert of Ripon and I've been charged to bring her to him."

Ulf looked up at you and bowed his head, "You're in luck then, he's in town for a few more days. The king has just left Jorvik, there was a council on how to deal with King Malcolm of Scotland, he's causing trouble."

Asgeir frowned at Ulf, "How much trouble? Are the roads safe? The Jarl will not leave his daughter here if these lands will be Scottish."

"Agnar was always too cautious," Ulf scoffed, "The northern forces will deal with Malcolm, and the king is sending reinforcements from the south. But come, you and the Jarl's daughter can stay with me until the Ealdorman is ready to receive his new bride. Save you braving the new inn, my beds are softer on the backs of old men, Asgeir."

Ulf held out his hand, pointing away from the docks, and led the way. Asgeir shouted orders for a few of the men to follow, while the rest secured the ship.

You walked next to Asgeir, Ravn close on your heels, as you looked around the new city. The area closest to the port was much like Skiringssal, or Sigtuna, filled with a clutter of wooden houses, workshops, and shops, but the Anglo Saxon Christian presence was much stronger here. Most people seemed to have simple crosses around their necks, and small groups of monks crossed in front of you as you passed a large church.

"I didn't realise Jorvik was so Christian," you said to Ulf in Norse, and he glanced back at you.

"King Cnut is Christian, and so is York. Many of the remaining Norsemen have converted, or been born into Christianity now. The Danes are Christian too, but some still hold to the old gods."

"I remember coming here as a young man," Asgeir added, "Jorvik was a Norse city then, and the only Anglo Saxons we saw were traders from Wessex or Mercia.

"Cnut stabilised trade, and the Norse in Jorvik find it easier to accept a Danish king than one from Wessex, so the north is calmer now than back then. But the Danelaw is fading, strangely enough under a Danish king, we'll all be English soon."

"What do you know about Cuthbert of Ripon?" you asked, and Asgeir gave you a sharp look, the meaning clear.

"Not the most powerful man in these parts, but he's rich and has an extensive trade network with connections in Frankia. He only has daughters by his late wife though, so he'll be keen to have sons quickly enough."

"So his wife died then," you said, not bothering to keep the disdain out of your voice, "Last we heard she was still alive and he was just waiting for her to pass before finding a new brood mare."

Asgeir inhaled sharply, grabbing your arm as Ulf stopped and turned to you.

"My house is here," he replied in a low voice, pushing open a door in a low wooden wall, "and you should keep your opinions to yourself. Christian men expect their wives to be silent and meek. You'd do best to remember that, and forget your Norse customs."

"Silent and meek is not how I was brought up," you replied, shoving at Asgeir's arm as he ushered you inside.

"I know, that's why I'm warning you," Ulf said, "Do you not think I was raised by a Norse mother? She ruled our household, ruled the men, thralls, beasts, and my father too. But Cuthbert is not Norse, and you will not fare well in his household if you don't hold your tongue."

"You see what you're forcing me into?" you hissed at Asgeir as Ravn gave a low growl, sensing the tension.

"I serve your father," he replied, but his face was unhappy as Ulf led the two of you further into his front yard, leaving the men that had followed from the ship behind. You cursed them all under your breath, and the people in Ulf's household gave you odd looks as you stomped through the house.

Asgeir sent word back to the ship, and Ealdorman Cuthbert, and soon a messenger came back with an invitation for the very next day. It seemed the high ranking Anglo Saxon was keen to meet his new bride, and move forward with the wedding quickly. And you were equally keen to postpone the whole thing as much as possible, praying to Freya that Pero was safe, wherever he was.

But no amount of pleading with Asgeir helped the next day. He just shook his head and ordered you into the carriage that had been readied for the short journey across to the Ealdorman's home in York.

You already knew this lord had his main seat at Northmere Hall west of York, it was where he'd been preparing to travel too when word came of your arrival. But in York he resided at a large house near the church that dominated the centre of the town, and it was to this place Asgeir and the retinue of Norsemen that had come on the ship escorted you the next day.

Being led into the smokey hall felt like being led into a prison, many times worse than when you'd first met Grim. All your fears about Cuthbert of Ripon seemed to come true, as he pushed himself up from the high seat at the top of the great hall. The lank, grey hair was combed back in greasy strands, and the heavy wool cloak looked like it dwarfed the short man. As he stepped down, the sheath of his sword clanked against the high seat, making him stumble and curse. He was built like a man who had spent too many winters at the feasts, and not a single summer raiding.

But Asgeir bowed low and introduced you, and the old man let his gaze drift over your form. He seemed to take no notice of your face, or to the words Asgeir was saying. Instead he inspected your body as if he was appraising a cow, mumbling something to the man standing next to him.

You recognised him as the envoy who had been at Ulvehi last year, Edmund. He must've lied to your father to get him to agree to this marriage, and you wondered to yourself what Assar and Saga would say if they saw who their Jarl thought was a suitable groom for his daughter. But of course, your father had never met the Ealdorman, all he knew was that there was money, and a trade network to use.

The small carved dog Pero had given you pressed against your chest, hidden underneath your clothes, and the rounded shape of the bone against your skin made you feel less alone as you tried to ignore the eyes of the men and women studying you from around the edges of the hall, and the old man leering at his new bride.

Cuthbert had made his way down from the dais, and across the stone floor to where you were standing just in front of Asgeir.

"So, she looks healthy enough," Cuthbert remarked, "Wide hips, clear skin, and I've been told she has all of her own teeth even."

Looking over at Asgeir he nodded, "You can send word back to your master that I'll accept her as my new wife. She'll give us heirs that can continue to build what their fathers have founded."

You bit your tongue, forcing back the rage that filled you as the despicable man spoke of you as if you were a new thrall. What would Pero think if he could see you now? Reduced to the same status as he was, only disguised as a marriage? The old Pero probably would've thought it was fair; the Jarl's daughter getting a taste of what her own family's thralls suffered. But your Pero, he would take this man's head for even suggesting he could own you.

The thought almost made you smile as you imagined your strong mercenary cutting down the Ealdorman. And there would be no heir to this old man, no matter how hard he tried.

Behind you Asgeir nodded as the English words were translated into Norse.

"If it pleases the Ealdorman, we can begin preparations for the wedding as soon as possible," he replied, and the translator passed the message on to Cuthbert.

"No need," Cuthbert said, shaking his head, "All is already taken care of. We will do the betrothal ceremony now, and then we will have the wedding tomorrow. I have already alerted the monks at York Minster. The feast will be lacking, of course, but as my third wife, that is hardly the most important part."

"Now?" you said, "It's too soon, I-we are not ready."

Cuthbert looked at you with a frown, "Why isn't she ready?" he asked, turning to Asgeir, "She's been wed before, has she not? I was told she was a widow."

The translator quickly relayed the message, but before Asgeir could get the full message, you shook your head.

"I am not ready. We have just arrived to Jorvík, we need time to prepare for a wedding and-"

"Lady, I don't wish to be crude," the Ealdorman cut you off, "and I know you might not be familiar with our traditions, but I was told you were wedded to a Christian man and converted. And as a widow you are sure to be familiar with all the duties of a wife."

You opened your mouth to contradict him, but he held up his hand and snapped his fingers, "In my household, as in any Christian household, a wife holds her tongue when her husband speaks. As I said, I don't wish to be crude, but a son and hair must be produced, and God will only see that happen in the marital bed, and I have no wish to wait."

"But I do," you replied, finding your voice again as the translator furiously whispered to Asgeir. His hand shot out to close around your arm, as Cuthbert frowned, "I do not know you, you do not know me. I ask you for some days to at least become familiar an-"

"Silence!"

The order rang out across the hall and as one, everyone stilled. Asgeir's grip on your arm tightened and you heard him hiss behind you as the translator relayed what was being said.

"Do not anger him."

"No, lady, do not anger me!" Cuthbert spat, "Listen to your father's servant and hold your tongue."

He waved behind him, and a priest hurried down from where he'd been standing behind the high seat, followed by Edmund, the envoy.

"Ordgar, oversee the betrothal, and Edmund, go to the church, tell Bishop Godwine we are doing the wedding today."

Edmund bowed and passed you as he hurried through the hall, Cuthbert looking back at you.

"And tell him the bride might not be willing, but he knows my support," he called after him.

"Asgeir, please! I am not ready!" you said, turning to your father's envoy in this whole shamble with a desperate plea, but his face was drawn, and he shook his head.

"Your father's will stands, you're to marry the Ealdorman, and it's up to him to decide when."

"Nidingr," you spat at him, "Traitor, the Norns will curse you."

"You father…" he replied, but you shoved him away, making him lose his grip on you, there was no help coming from him.

Instead Cuthbert grabbed your arm, his grip strong despite his short stature, and pulled you around to face him.

"Speak the words, Ordgar. Asgeir will answer for her."

Ordgar, the priest, nodded and drew a deep breath and called loudly enough for all in the hall to hear.

"Give hand to hand and faith to faith. Who speaks for this woman?"

"No one!" you spat in reply, but Ordgar looked past you as the translator mumbled to Asgeir.

"Before witnesses I pledge her hand, her kin hears this pledge," he said, his voice low, but it seemed to be enough for the priest.

"My Lord Ealdorman?"

"I pledge before God and these witnesses that I will keep her lawfully as wife," Cuthbert replied.

"Does my voice not count at all?" you asked loudly, "I do not consent."

"In my household, you consent whether you want it or not," Cuthbert replied sharply, and the priest made the sign of the cross over your joined hands, "Now, the bishop will join us, and then you are mine, as your father wanted."

He let go of your hand and drew back, his men moving forward and preparing for the departure to the church, leaving you standing alone in the middle of the great hall.

Asgeir came up behind you, holding your cloak that had been left at the door, "Lady, he is powerful, do not anger him. Let him wed you and then you can have an easy life, just carry his children and he will be happy."

He spoke in a low voice, in Norse, as he helped the cloak over your shoulders.

"You carry his children then, I do not-"

"His first two wives did not die natural deaths," Asgeir mumbled, taking hold of your arm again, "I cannot protect you here."

"Then why did you bring me?"

Asgeir flinched at the hatred in your look, and you turned away before he could reply. The Ealdorman's men were approaching, and without words they ushered you and Asgeir to the waiting wagons.

The ride to the church was short and silent, and your wagon drove an extra lap around the town to give Cuthbert and his household time to arrive first and prepare the bishop. Asgeir sat next to you, but you turned your head away from him, and willed the tears clinging to your lashes to not fall.

"I am sorry," Asgeir mumbled, as the wagon circled the church, "If I could take you back to Norway, I would. But as it stands, both you and I, and the crew, would be dead before we cleared Jorvik harbour."

"Did you know?" you asked him, still staring through the lattice window of the wagon, "Did you know what kind of man he was?"

You felt Asgeir take your wrist, making you turn to look at him.

"No, and I swear it on the old gods, had I known, I would've sailed us both up to Upsala, for protection from these Christian traditions. I have known you since you were born, and I've served your father even longer. Never did I think I would bring you into this much danger."

"Then tell my father, when you go back. Tell him and make him come, or tell Assar and the Steinvikr men."

Asgeir nodded as the wagon pulled up in front of the church, "I will, I promise."

"And find Pero Tovar. If you want my forgiveness for this, find him and make sure he is safe."

"Your…your father will not allow a thrall to marry you…" Asgeir shook his head, looking pained as your nails dug into his hand.

"I don't care about marriage, or where I live or how. The only thing that matters is that Pero is safe, and with me. We can settle at the end of the eastern rivers for all I care, just help Pero find me. And then my father can pretend he never had a daughter for all I care."

The door of the carriage was pulled open, and Asgeir looked at the man who was reaching in to grab your arm, and then back at you.

"The love you have for him…it's clear. I'll try, I promise."

Someone tugged on your arm, and you glared at the guard as he pulled you from the carriage, making you stumble before you looked up at the scene outside the church. The dark stone building was the largest you'd ever seen in your life, and the imposing height of the tower drew your gaze upwards, towards the rain heavy clouds racing past just out of reach of the cross that topped the building.

The heavy wooden door stood open, and the armed men that formed a guard around the church yard urged you on, through the curious crowd that had gathered, pulling your gaze from the sky above and into the dark interior. Asgeir followed, his head bowed, as the rest of the men from Ulvehi formed up behind him.

Vaulted ceilings rose above you inside the church, hazy with smoke from the incense, a scent you recognised well from Sigtuna, together with cold stone and wet wool. Candles burned before the altar in wavering gold flames, their glow catching silver chalices and the dim red paint of ancient saints upon the walls. In the distance you heard monks chanting, Latin incantations hummed through the dark. The windows of the great church were small, letting in only a smidgen of daylight on this glum day, and the dim mood of the nave seemed to suit your own.

Reluctantly you walked down the aisle to the waiting bishop and your supposed husband to be. Asgeir followed behind, and two of Ulvehi's hirdmen, the rest remained outside. Cuthbert looked impatient, and the bishop looked bored, picking at his nails with a dull face as you approached.

"Godwin, read the words," Cuthbert said before you'd even reached the altar, and the bishop turned, facing the large altar piece where the fat, yellow wax candles waved in the draft.

It was as if you left your body, rising above the scene in the church. The foreign Latin words washed over the empty form without meaning as you looked down at the woman standing behind the priest, next to the man who was meant to soon be your husband.

This was not you. This was just your body being subjected to the will of these men. A shell that meant nothing. Your true self was floating in the rafters, searching for a way out so that you could look over the Western Sea and see if a scarred mercenary was coming for you.

Below, on the cold stone floor that made your back ache, words were spoken, promises made on your behalf that held no meaning. You searched the horizon for that ship as your voice answered the bishop's question far below, and when your hands were joined with Cuthbert's, he had to hold them tight, your limp grip slipping through his fingers. The words spoken were not a promise to anyone, they held no meaning to you. The man you called husband was somewhere else, and as you searched the horizon for him, meaningless figures moved on the church floor far below.

You sat through the meagre wedding feast in a daze, seeing it all as from above still. Your hands were cold, and you tucked them inside your dress. The small bone dog was warm where it was hidden against your skin, and you stroked it with your thumb, caressing the small scar across its eye. You were still searching for him, even as the evening turned to darkness. Spring evenings here in England weren't long and light as they were in your home, but as your body went through the motions of standing up and following the man they now called your husband, you still searched the darkening horizon for the ship that had to be coming.

But not even your mind could protect you from the wedding night as the heavy oak door of the bed chamber closed. The thump cut through your daze as Cuthbert unbuckled his sword belt. He leaned it against the wall by the fireplace and turned to you, setting aside his gloves with the same care he had shown his sword.

“If you are wise,” he said, “you will give me a son quickly.”

You said nothing, trying to return to where you could search the horizon, but your mind was frozen as you watched him hang the cloak over a chair and pull his tunic over his head.

Outside, somewhere far below the chamber windows, drunken voices still echoed through the hall. He crossed the room toward you as though approaching some long-awaited inheritance.

"On the bed now, wife."

The wind tugged at his clothes again as Pero stared down at Thorsten's broken gaze, and behind him Assar stepped closer and looked down at the corpse.

"I never liked him, good riddance," he said, "I would've killed him myself if you hadn't."

Bending down he snatched the money purse hanging at the belt and shoved it into Tovar's hand, and Pero looked up, pulled out of his daze.

"Thank you, I…"

"Take the silver, keep her safe," Assar said, "She loves you, so keep her safe. Now you'd better run, hide in the forest, head south."

"I have a ship to England waiting. Thank you, I owe you my life," he said, hastily sheathing his sword and giving Assar a short bow,

"You'd better run fast, Tovar, she'll sail any moment with this wind," Assar replied, waving him away, "Run! And tell her I'll see her in Valhalla!"

The wind chased Pero as he bolted through the back streets, back towards the dock. In the distance he could hear shouts going up as people caught sight of a dark haired man with a blood stained tunic and a great long sword in his hand. But he didn't have time to try to avoid them, or stay hidden. The wind was strong, and he knew the ship would be pushing out from the dock at any moment.

The air seemed to escape his lungs in short bursts, a burning pain with every breath he took as he ran, skidding across the muddy ground. The harbour came into view, and he pounded across the wet planks, making people jump out of the way at the sight of his face. At the end of the dock he saw Godric waving at him, shouting something. The ship was still there, and Godric standing on the railing as ropes were cast onto the ship.

"Run! Run!"

Tovar jumped over a crate, the great sword tight in his hand, and stumbled the last few steps. Throwing the sword over the edge of the railing, he leapt, grabbing hold of the slippery wood. Hands grabbed his arms, scraping his nose as he was tugged onto the ship, and with a groan he tumbled onto the deck, rolling onto his back as he gulped big lungfuls of air. Around him oars creaked as they were pushed out, Aelfric calling for the sails to be raised.

"Dammit, man, get out of the bloody way," he snapped at Tovar, kicking his sword out of the way, "'If I get hanged for whatever you did, I'll be haunting you in the next life."

Tovar scrambled to his feet, grabbing his sword and moving to the edge, slumping down next to Godric who was hunkered down against the hull.

"You had me worried there, Tovar," he said, clapping him on the shoulder, "Letting me risk all that, only for you to run off and get yourself killed over a sword."

"I'm sorry," Tovar panted, leaning back and drawing another deep breath as his racing heart began to slow down, "That man…if it had been any other man with my sword, I would've left it. But him…he's hated me since the first hour, and he was the one who betrayed me. I couldn't leave it with him."

"What happened? Did you…kill him?" Godric lowered his voice, making sure none of the other men on the ship could hear their conversation over the rush of the wind and creaking wood, "And how were you even able to call on the aid of someone like Saga of Steinvikr? She only told me she knew you and that you needed help escaping."

"She is the cousin of the daughter of the Jarl of Ulvehi, my wife."

Pero smiled at the word, wife, as Godric's mouth fell open. It felt good to say it out loud.

"You married the Jarl's daughter? How did he allow that?"

Pero almost laughed out loud, "He didn't, he doesn't even know it. When he found out his daughter had…"

He paused, he didn't even know how to say it. How could he explain what had happened in the past two years at Ulvehi? The anger he'd felt at first, he knew Godric would well understand that. But the rest? The slow growth of trust and friendship, and the early tender feelings he'd had. The growing need to first protect you, and then to be near you, to touch you. It had moved so slowly, and settled so deeply, that looking back he could hardly understand how he'd looked at you with hatred.

"Tovar?"

Godric looked at his friend, who had suddenly gone quiet, staring off into the distance past the ship's hull.

"She's my wife, because she said she's my wife. Not because a priest said it," Pero replied, "She carries my child, and she's been taken to England to marry against her will. I have to find her again, and keep her safe. Both of them."

Godric looked at Pero with wide eyes, "I think you need to start from the beginning, friend. We have at least a week's journey, and I'll need a good story to keep me entertained."

It wasn't an easy journey across the ocean back to England. A late spring storm rushed in from the north, and flurries of snow bit the faces of the men sailing the ship. Pero and Godric huddled down as best they could in the open hull, but shivered their way through the journey. Godric was less used to sea voyages than Pero, and when the storm hit he spent as much time hanging over the railing as he did hunkered down. Pero grabbed hold of the belt around his waist, hooking his arm through it to keep the man from falling overboard. They didn't sleep many hours as the storm raged.

As the ship finally made its way up the Ouse, both men stood by the railing, looking with relief out over the green lands they'd been taken from two years earlier.

"We're a lot further north, but I can make my way south along the coast once I've helped you find the Ealdorman," Godric said as they watched the green banks of the river flow past, "I've got family further inland, I don't think I'll be settling near any rivers or oceans again."

"Thank you, Godric," Pero replied, "I'll make sure you don't leave empty handed."

"I'm not doing it to get paid, Tovar," the other man protested, but Pero shook his head.

"I know, but you should have some of Thorsten's silver too an-"

He cut himself off as he saw Aelfric, the ship's captain, approach them where they stood at the bow of the ship.

"Jorvik is less than half a day's row up the river now, and I want no trouble there, so I'm letting you off here," he said, pointing to a small shallow beach just up ahead.

"I paid you to take us to York," Godric protested, but Aelfric shook his head.

"I know you caused some sort of trouble back in Skiringssal, and odds are I'm not able to go back there any time soon. Which is fine, I can trade in Hedeby or Ribe. But I don't want trouble in Jorvik, so you leave us here, or not at all."

Tovar nodded, and put his hand on Godric's arm, "Calm, friend, he's right. We shouldn't be seen in York, it's best if we leave them here."

Aelric looked relieved, eyeing the large sword that Tovar had hanging from his hip, "Thank you for understanding. I'll make sure no one knows you came across on my ship."

"Thank you," Tovar replied, and Aelric gave him a quick nod before retreating to the rudder of the ship.

It only took a few more moments before the ship pulled up alongside the low bank, and a simple plank was put out. Tovar and Godric made their way off the ship, and as soon as their feet touched the ground, Aelric shouted an order and the plank was pulled back in. It was only a moment's work, and then the oars came out and the ship was on its way again.

"England, at last!" Godric said, sinking down to his knees with his hands on the grassy bank, "I'd given up hope, never thought I'd see it again."

"We're not safe yet, amigo," Tovar replied, looking around them, "We need to find a village or a hamlet and buy supplies. Then I need to find out where I can find this Ealdorman. And I'll need your help. This," he pointed to the scar that cut across his eye, "is far too easy to recognise and remember."

Godric pushed himself up, nodding, "Agreed, and remember we're still in the Danelaw, plenty of Norsemen around here."

"Yes, and even if word of our escape hasn't made it here yet, the Jarl will send men after me, I'm sure. And I intend to be far away by the time they get here."

He pulled the cloak he'd bought from Aelric around his shoulders, pulling up the hood too, "Let's move, if we follow the river we should find a village."

The smokey air of the hall of Ealdorman Cuthbert's home in Jorvik stung your eyes as you bent over the bowl of stew that was your dinner. Around you the household bustled, the Ealdorman entertaining another set of important men from around Jorvik. He'd been sitting next to you, but now he'd moved down the table, drinking ale with some of the men. The men were raucous, and you knew too well how this evening would end, just like all the others had in the two endless weeks that had passed since your wedding.

You would try to take any opportunity you could find to slip away early, but Edmund, the man who had served as the Ealdorman's envoy to Ulvehi, would stop you before you could exit the hall, or catch up with you as you hurried away. Edmund was, you'd quickly learnt, much more intelligent than his master. He missed very little, and seemed to always be nearby, always listening and gathering information. Information he then passed onto Cuthbert, and you were sure he made all the servants share any, and all, of your secrets.

He was also cruel, and seemed to take dark satisfaction in seeing you humiliated. Once the wedding night was done, he made sure you had no privacy in the Ealdorman's house. It wasn't that you weren't used to the habit of sharing sleeping quarters with family, and sometimes thralls. You'd grown up hearing your parents' intimate moments as you slept in your bed in their room back at Ulvehi. It wasn't until your brother married and moved into a smaller longhouse with his wife that you had your own bedchamber, and even that you'd shared with Amina.

But here in Jorvik, the girl assigned as your maid slept on the floor in a corner, and Edmund had his bed in another. As the Ealdorman's closest advisor, he was given the honour of having his quarters in the same room as his master. And he treated the room as his own, walking in when he must know you would be undressing, the maid doing nothing but obeying him as he yanked open the door. Commenting on your body, he would urge you to become pregnant quickly, as you tried to pull your tunic up to cover yourself.

"Make sure his seed takes, or I'll have to find another broodmare," he grinned, "Wasn't that what you called yourself?"

"Get out!" you spat at him the first time it happened, as you tried to wrap the tunic around yourself, yanking it from the hands of the maid. She, the useless thing, was staring down at her feet as Edmund approached.

"No, I stay as close to my lord as he needs me, and make sure his wife does her duty as a good Christian woman."

Pressing your lips together you scowled at him, but held your tongue. The last thing you wanted was for Edmund to force you to convert, if he found out you hadn't confessed to their weak god. He smirked, tilting his head as he made a show of looking up and down your half naked body.

"Get her ready for the Ealdorman, he'll be here soon. And if you're not with child soon, maybe I'll fuck you too. Who would know if it was his son or my bastard that you whelped?"

He cackled, and retreated to his bed in the corner as you quickly pulled your sleeping clothes over your head, pressing back the tears that threatened to overflow.

You'd thought then, that first night after the wedding, that you could tell Cuthbert about Edmund's behaviour. Your father would never have allowed anyone in his household to speak to his family in that way, but you quickly learned that your new husband was indifferent to any of your discomfort. And worse even, Edmund had him under his thumb, in some way controlling him, but you'd yet to find out how. Cuthbert did what Edmund suggested, deferred any decision to him, and conferred on all issues. It was only outwardly that it looked as if the Ealdorman was the leader of the household. Behind closed doors, everyone knew who held the real power.

So as you sat at the table with your cold stew, you glanced over at Edmund, looking for a moment to slip away when he wouldn't notice. Cuthbert called for more ale, the feast growing more rowdy, but Edmund still had his eyes on you. It was a small comfort that tomorrow you would leave Jorvik and head to Northmere Hall with a Cuthbert and a retinue of his men. Edmund would remain in town and handle the trade. You presumed it was to begin setting up the lucrative trade network into Norway that your marriage had granted them, but you didn't know. You weren't told anything anymore, except where to be when Cuthbert needed you.

Eventually, after you'd stood up twice, only to be waved at by Edmund to sit down again, did Edmund come up to you at the end of the long evening.

"The Ealdorman wishes you to retire to the chambers, my lady," he said, always the same unpleasant tone to his voice even when he was addressing you in the correct manner, "He will join you shortly."

Standing up, you turned without a word and left the hall, and like a shadow, the maid followed. Perhaps you should try to win Edmund over, when all you wanted was to drive your knife into him. He was powerful, and it didn't serve you well to have him as your enemy. Right now he only treated you with the same disdain and malice he did everyone he considered beneath him, but if you weren't careful, you were sure he would turn truly vicious. No one had guessed your state yet, but you counted the weeks, and soon you would show. And then Cuthbert was sure to claim the child as his own, but you knew Edmund would count the weeks too and realise that it didn't add up. If he wished too, especially if the child turned out to be a girl, you had no doubt he would use that against you to his own benefit somehow.

Pulling the curtains around your bed tight, shutting out the world for just a little bit, you bit down hard on your tongue. Panic was digging into your chest as you faced another night with the Ealdorman. He would be here soon, and his sour breath and foul body would claim you again. It was hard enough to sustain the hope that Pero would find you during the days, but at night, after the man they'd forced you to marry was done with your body, it was as if the darkest pit opened up in your mind. There was no hope there, no light, and only one escape. You found yourself praying that Northmere had high towers, or a deep moat. If your mercenary didn't find you soon, there would be no other escape.

The damp was seeping through the thick wool of his cloak as Tovar peered out through the gathering dusk. It had rained a fine mist for two days as he'd waited for Godric outside the small hamlet they had reached after a day's walk. Jorvik was just over the next rise, and before the rain came, he'd seen the square tower of the church at the heart of town. Godric, ever the well of information, had said it was called a 'minster', not a church. Tovar didn't care, he just wanted to rush into town and tear every house apart until he found you, careless as that would be. But he'd tampered his urgency, and sent Godric ahead. If it wasn't for his scar, he would've risked entering York himself. There was very little risk that anyone from Skiringssal or Ulvehi had made it across to York before them, but someone could follow. And he didn't want anyone to remember seeing a brown skinned man with a vicious scar asking questions about the daughter of a Norse Jarl. So he'd stayed behind, seeking shelter in a small copse of trees a short way from the road. An ancient crumbling structure gave him some protection, but his two nights had been unpleasant and cold even though it was early summer. He shivered as he kept watch, staying out of sight.

Godric has set out two days ago, and had agreed to not return until he had information. He was going to ask around for you, claiming to be carrying a message from your father, an urgent message about his health if anyone asked. And now, just as the last light faded, Tovar spotted a cloaked figure hurrying down the paved Roman road that led east from York. But there was someone else, a second man, and Tovar quickly retreated behind one of the trees, his hand closing around the sword at his side.

In the dusk he saw the two men approach, stepping away from the road and walking towards the copse of trees. Both had their hoods up, and slowly Tovar unsheathed his sword, rolling his shoulders.

"Tovar!"

Godric hissed through the trees, a branch snapping under his foot as he tried to find the spot where he'd left Tovar, "Tovar! It's Godric, and I've brought someone who knows you."

Tovar lowered his sword and stepped out from behind the crumbling wall with a low whistle.

"Here, Godric," he said, "And who do I know in York?"

The man was two steps behind Godric as they approached, and he slowly pushed back his hood.

"Asgeir, of Ulvehi," he replied in Norse, and Tovar's sword flew up as he cursed loudly.

"Godric, you fool!"

"Hold, Tovar," Godric said, raising his hands as Tovar glared at Asgeir, "He's told me where your wife is, he knows where they're taking her."

"I can't trust him, he was the one who took her to York. He serves her father. I should kill you right now for what you've done to her," he spat, the last part in Norse at Asgeir, who raised his hands too, holding his palms out.

"I have no right to claim your trust, I know," he said, "But for her, I will tell you what I know, and help if you let me."

"Why?" Tovar asked, taking a step closer to Asgeir, the tip of his sword dangerously close to the other man's chest, "Why would you help a runaway thrall?"

Asgeir's hands dropped as he shook his head with a groan, the old man slumping before them.

"I've served her father since before she was born, I've lived my whole life at Ulvehi, and I owe everything I have to Jarl Agnar. I thought he knew it was the right choice to send her here, to marry this English lord. But now that I've seen the life that she must face...and that man…" Asgeir shook his head again and looked up at Tovar, "I watched her grow up, I remember the young girl she was, and I've seen her forced to marry once already. This life, as Christian wife, is not a life I would want for my own daughters if I had any. I should've left for Ulvehi weeks ago, after the wedding, but I…I couldn't leave her here. May the Gods forgive me for going against my Jarl, but I was trying to find a way to get her back."

Tovar stared at the man, his sword still pointed at the man's chest as he considered what he'd said.

"Where is she now?" he asked after a long pause, his sword arm dropping slightly.

"On her way to a place called Northmere Hall, north of here, and outside of a village called Ripon. They left yesterday."

"Yesterday?" The sword dropped to his side, "How do I find this place? How many guards does it have?"

Asgeir looked relieved as Tovar sheathed his sword and bent to gather his few possessions.

"I don't know exactly, but the old Roman road west goes through Ripon, and Northmere is just on the other side of the village. They can't make the journey in one day, so they must stop overnight, probably at his thegn's hall at Hartham. The man is called Uthred and he was at the wedding, but left to prepare for their arrival a few days ago.

"And guards?" Tovar asked impatiently as he adjusted his cloak and pulled up the hood, leaving the shelter of the trees and walking towards the road into York, Asgeir and Godric following.

"I don't know, but he left Edmund, the envoy, in York to oversee the trade and it seems like most of his men stayed behind. Probably to protect the goods and silver.

"Are we leaving now?" Godric asked, hurrying after Tovar and Asgeir, "We need horses, supplies."

"I can't wait," Tovar replied as he turned down the road at a brisk walk, "I need to catch up to them on the road. I will never be able to get her out of a lord's castle, and she might not be allowed to leave for a long time."

"Godric is right, we need horses," Asgeir said, "I can go into York and get two from the lord's stable, no one will question me if I'm to bring Godric's message from her father to her. I'll meet you at the Ouse crossing beyond the north gate in an hour. Godric can show you how to skirt the outside of town while I get the horses."

Tovar looked over at Asgeir as they picked up their pace, "If you betray me…" he said, but Asgeir held up his hand.

"I've seen your skill with an axe, Tovar. I have no doubt you are even more deadly with your own sword. And I won't ask how you got it back."

Tovar gave a short nod, whether he was satisfied or not was hard to tell. He didn't have much choice but to trust Asgeir. But if the man turned up with half the city guard, he would take down as many as possible, beginning with Asgeir.

The dusk had settled into night by the time Tovar and Godric reached the river crossing just north of York. The city gate was visible only thanks to the torches that glimmered on each side of it. Slipping past the city hadn't been difficult, as the darkness shrouded the small farms and hovels that clustered up against the city walls, the inhabitants had retreated indoors to get out of the drizzle.

Tovar shook out his cloak and stared at the gate, willing Asgeir to hurry up, the hour was almost up judging by the bell of the clock tower, and then glanced at Godric.

"We should say our goodbyes, amigo," he told the Anglo-Saxon, "You've been a good friend, but you are no fighter. If you leave now, you can take shelter without being seen with me, and then head south in the morning."

"Tovar…I want to see you reunited with your wife," Godric said, but he was also glancing out into the pitch black darkness of the road leading away from York with an anxious look.

"Don't try to convince yourself," Tovar said, chuckling despite himself, "A ride through the darkness, speeding to catch up with a lord and his armed guard? That is not something you want to experience."

Godric opened his mouth as if to protest, and then closed it, looking over his shoulder at the dark road again.

"I…"

"Here, take this silver, and go south," Tovar interrupted, "What's the name of your family's place?"

"Merewic, it's a three day ride south."

"Merewic, I will find you there if I can, or send a message."

He pushed part of the silver he'd taken from Thorsten into Godric's hand, grabbing his shoulder with the other, "Go, stay safe. And thank you for everything."'

Chapter 18

[cc-tinslebee]

Tovar put those big beautiful brown bottom eyes AWAY dude now is NOT the time

[604to647]

WIP Wednesday

Thank you @sawymredfox @tateypots @aurorawritestoescape @baronessvonglitter @kokoluwie for the tags these past few weeks! Now that Wildest Dreams is complete, I’m committed to buckling down and completing my unfinished trilogies: Yǒng Yuǎn (forever) [Pero Tovar x Chinese OC!Reader; reincarnated lovers] and The Detective and The Agent [Tim Rockford x fem!reader x Marcus Pike; threesome porn] 🙏🏻🙏🏻 Not sure which one will get finished first, so here are snippets from both ☺️

Pero's POV

“Don’t be sorry,” you chuckle, sitting and grabbing a cookie for yourself, “you’re saving me.”

Your words transport Pero temporarily to those final moments of your previous life together, when you saved him. And he couldn’t save you.  That last look of devotion on your face before your body fell limp in his arms, achingly beautiful and still so clear in his mind threatens the corners of Pero’s eyes with fresh tears.  He pretends to flip through his notebook, looking for the place he left off in an attempt to calm his fast-beating heart.

As for our threesome, thank you Kate and @time-for-my-weekly-spanking for your encouragement on this post. Here is the moodboard and some 18+ filth (MDNI pls) beneath the cut

Panting, cock drunk and delirious, you still have the wherewithal to remember that Marcus and Tim have yet to come; with what remaining strength you have left, you press your palms flat against the glass and push back into Tim’s increasingly sloppy thrusts, arching your body and presenting a canvas to the men for when inspiration should strike.

“I’m close, baby,” rasps Tim, “Marcus is, too.”

Looking over your shoulder, you take in the younger man furiously pumping his cock and coo into the camera that he’s still holding in his free hand, “Come on me, Detective.  Paint me like something you’d admire in a gallery, Agent.”

OK BYE DON'T LOOK AT ME but please share your WIPs if you're so inclined!! NPT: @kedsandtubesocks @milla-frenchy @inept-the-magnificent @peepawmiller @the-blind-assassin-12

[insomniamamma]

Penguin Classic Covers

thanks for the tag @oonajaeadira

here is a link to the template I used

Here are links to the fics:

Gravity (Ezra x f!reader)

Loser Diffuser: Not Like in the Movies (omegaverse Dieter Bravo)

Both Hands Pero Tovar x f!reader

Spinner: Joel MIller X F!reader

The Second Kind: Kermit (SNL) x f!reader

Scattered and Fractured: Din Djarin & Bo-Katan Kryze

I am quite late to this party because things have been rather crazy lately. If you see this consider yourself tagged.

[avastrasposts]

Fate Unbound - ch. 16

We left Pero just as Thorsten caugth him and the Jarl's daughter, and now we're about to find out what has happened to him, and what his punishment will be...

Set in the 11th century, the plot centers around Pero Tovar as he's caputured and sold as a thrall to a Norse family. Bad fate finds him, and he struggles to free himself and escape. But he also meets new people who in time become friends and allies, and bad fate, can turn into good fortune for both him, and the most unlikely Norse woman.

Series Master List

Warnings for the whole series: graphic violence, slavery, abuse, sexual and otherwise, references to non-con sex, arranged marriages, time period typical stereotypes of both men and women and anyone "foreign".

No use of Y/N and the reader is kept as blank as possible, but, she's the daughter a Norse lord in 11th century Norway and will have features that correlate to that.

Hours must've passed, and Pero's hands opened and closed as he tried to calm his breathing. The energy running through him made them tremble as he paced the small building he'd been thrown into. It was used for either sick thralls, or those who were being kept in isolation, and was never meant to be comfortable. But now it was colder than ever, and not just for the lack of a fire in the hearth. His head thumped, his ribs ached, but luckily not broken, and he could feel blood drying on his face as the cut on his cheek slowly stopped bleeding. No one came to check on him, but he hadn't expected it. He knew he'd made probably the worst mistake of his life, risked everything for both you and himself.

He sank down with his back against the wall, facing the door that he knew was barred from the outside. Closing his eyes, he tried to calm himself again, and think through his next steps, what he'd do in every scenario he could think of. If they came to execute him, he'd fight. If he was that close to death, he'd rather take his chances at fighting his way out of Ulvehi than to go meekly to slaughter. He'd take some of them with him before he succumbed.

If he was to be kept alive he'd be back in chains again, he was sure of it. Then he would have to find another escape once he knew what had happened to you. Or maybe he'd be sold, he couldn't imagine the Jarl keeping him at Ulvehi now. But most likely, he'd hang, or however the Norse men killed thralls. If he could, he'd fight his way out, but chances were slim, if it came to that, he knew he'd probably die here.

With a deep sigh he slumped down against the wall. He'd promised he'd find you, but in truth, he didn't know if he'd get out of this alive. He may never see you again, and the thought made him clench his fists again, forcing back the tremors as something caught in this throat.

I'm not dead yet. And they won't see me go quietly. But, please, let me see her again. Let me at least see her safe.

Nicholas hadn't been back since his hurried visit to this temporary prison. All he'd had time for was to scribble a few words on the parchment and tell Nicholas where the small statue was hidden under his bedding in the thrall's quarters. Hopefully he'd been able to get it to you, but Pero wasn't even sure of that. You might've been shipped off to England without another word from him or Nicholas. And for the first time in his life, Pero was afraid of dying. Things were unfinished, his life was unfinished. He'd had a brief spell of some sort of happiness, even here as a thrall, and he was afraid to lose it all too soon. And he had a promise to keep.

And a child…

You'd told him, and then everything had happened so fast, he'd barely had time to tell you what that meant to him. But there was a child growing inside you that shared his blood, something he thought he'd lost any hope of many years ago. But you said it, a part of him and a part of you, a small family. A small family for him again.

The thought made him squeeze his eyes shut, a sharp feeling rising in his chest as his nails dug into his palms.

Our child…There has to be a way, somehow, to keep them safe.

Sleep did not come easily, but he forced it upon himself the same way he had when he was a mercenary. His body and mind needed rest for the next few days, no matter what came. So he would take any sleep he could now even as his mind flitted back and forth, drifting back to your face whenever he drifted close to sleep.

The next morning it was the heavy steps approaching his prison that woke him from an uneasy slumber. He was on his feet in a heartbeat, rolling his stiff shoulders and flexing his hands. Whatever came next, if they meant to kill him, he would not go without a fight.

But there was no chance to fight, Thorsten stood in the doorway with a satisfied smirk on his face.

"Put his legs and arms in chains, beat him if he resists," he ordered the four men who'd come with him, "But don't break any bones, he won't sell if he's damaged. Although…" he added as two of the men roughly grabbed Pero's arms and forced them in front of his body, "A broken nose probably won't make much of a difference now. She'll never see you again, and I'll make sure you never see any other woman again. No women where you're going, thrall."

The last part he said with a grin and Pero bit his tongue, the sharp iron biting into his wrists as the lock clanked shut. If he was being sold he would wait for his chance, better opportunities for escape would come, he was sure of it. Thorsten was baiting him, hoping for a fight, but behind Pero's scowling face, he felt almost elated with relief. Being sold was the best outcome right now.

A ring of iron snapped shut around his neck too, and shackles were fastened around his ankles, a chain running from feet to neck and making his steps hobbled. One of the hirdmen tugged at the chain, and Pero shuffled forward, struggling to clear the high threshold out from the small building.

"Move, thrall," Thorsten spat, clearly not pleased with the lack of reaction from Pero at his needling, and gave him a sharp shove as Pero managed to step outside. The short chain pulled up short between his feet, and he fell, landing heavily on his arms, his face smacking down into the mud. Sharp pain stung his nose, and he felt the taste of warm blood in his mouth as someone grabbed his neck ring and yanked him up again, making him choke and cough as the force cut off his breath.

"Fall again and I'll drag you by that ring all the way to the dock, thrall," Thorsten snarled, as Pero took another stumbling step. Cold mud was sticking to his tunic and his skin, blood dripping from his lip, and maybe his nose, but he tried to keep his balance, focusing on the ships down by the fjord.

It took all his self control to not rage against the chains as he had when he first arrived, or to rage against Thorsten, at being called 'thrall' again like it was his name. One short step in front of the other, the way from Ulvehi lay on that ship, there was no escape just now. But soon…he kept that thought in his head as Thorsten yanked on the ring again, making the sharp metal cut into his neck.

Pero was roughly shoved onboard, pushed down in a corner of the deck and left to shiver in his wet and mud caked clothes. He watched Thorsten join the crew, and he wasn't sure if he was pleased about that or not, and for a moment he thought the Jarl would join them too, but he only jumped aboard and stepped up to Pero.

"I considered having Thorsten whip you until you bled out, like I should've that first time," he said, fixing Pero with his cold blue eyes, "But it would've been too easy. You'd die too fast, Hauknefr. For how you betrayed me, this family, I want you to die slowly and in pain. And I'm in luck, the foreman from the Falu copper mine comes to Skiringssal every spring to buy any strong thralls for sale," the Jarl said, pausing as he waited for Pero to react, leaning closer, "Do you know about the copper mines, Hauknefr? Did the other thralls ever tell you about them?"

Pero didn't reply, he just looked at the Jarl, fighting to keep his mind calm, but he could feel the scowl on his face, his tight eyebrows pulling at fresh cuts and bruises.

"The mines are where we send thralls to die," the Jarl told him when he realised Tovar wouldn't reply, "Forgotten by everyone, left to rot when their breaths give up from hot fumes and cold rocks. You won't die fast, you're too strong for that, but you'll die, and you'll never see my daughter again. Tell them this is what Jarl Agnar Björnsson does to thralls who dare to cross him."

"No moriré. Mi hijo crece en ella, mi sangre es ahora suya," Pero replied, spitting out the words he knew the Jarl wouldn't understand, but he still wanted to tell him; I will not die. My child grows within her, my blood is hers now.

The Jarl paused, as if trying to work out how he'd been insulted, and then pushed to his feet, sneering, "Your foreign insults won't do you any good, Hauknefr," he said, scowling as Pero forced himself to grin in defiance as the old man's knees protested, and the Jarl huffed.

"Thorsten! Get a good price for him, but not too good, won't do to let him be too valuable."

Thorsten nodded as the Jarl jumped off the ship and on to the dock again.

"I'll send the ship back with the money from the sale, Jarl, and then I'll ready Blodormr and set sail for Vinland."

"It'll be a great adventure for you and your crew, and I know you're worthy of this."

The Jarl paused and put his hand on the pommel of his sword, the great long sword he'd bought from the same man that had sold him Hauknefr. He'd told Hauknefr he'd kill him with his own sword if he tried to run, but this seemed more fitting. As Thorsten watched, he pulled the sword from its sheath and held out the pommel towards him.

"You're taking this treacherous thrall to his well earned fate, and then you're sailing on to your own. You should have the sword that was his, take it to Vinland and win us new land and wealth. He was not man enough to hold on to it, it's only fitting that you have it now."

"Jarl…" Thorsten said, bowing his head low, "This is a great gift. I will ask Thor to give strength to this blade and honour you on my journey."

The Jarl nodded, as Thorsten held the sword, looking at the sharp blade.

"The gods approve when we use the swords of our fallen enemies to win new victories, and this blade is thirsty, it hasn't seen blood in a long time."

Thorsten bowed again, and ran his hand over the steel, scraping his thumb over the cross on the pommel.

"I'm honoured, my Jarl, but I might need to scrape off this Christian symbol."

The Jarl chuckled, clapping Thorsten on the shoulder, "Do what you will with it, Thor will always give your sword arm strength enough to kill our enemies. Now, ready the men, they have many hours to row before their, and your, adventure really begins. Bring us home stories worthy of the sagas, Thorsten, Sigurd's son."

Thorsten grinned and stepped on to the ship's deck, Pero's sword at his waist, and he missed the look of rage that passed across the chained man's face at the sight of the sword, "I won't fail you, Jarl, we'll come back with stories and wealth."

Soon the ropes were cast, and Ulvehi began to shrink behind the ship as the men's oars dipped into the dark water and gave speed to the slim ship. Pero glanced back at the farm, craning his neck to see over the ship's edge. He'd hated the place since he first saw it, but at the same time, it was the place where he'd first met you, and, against all reason, fallen in love with the daughter of his captors. The kitchen garden looked fresh with the early spring green, the place where so many conversations between the two of you had taken place. He couldn't hate it anymore simply because of the memories it held with you, but still, he didn't want to return. You were no longer there, and more than ever he knew that he would need to find you again, to find some sort of peace. To see you disappear across the ocean and into the hands of some Anglo-Saxon lord was not how he intended to let this end.

He looked away, closing his eyes and leaning against the rough planks. This was not how he'd imagined his departure, but this was where fate had taken you both. Now he needed to remember, quickly, who he was before his thralldom, and call upon his years of experience to survive the next few weeks. His muscles would need to remember how to fight, and kill, without hesitation if he was to survive this, and reach England. And reach you.

The thump of the ship's side bumping against the dock at Skiringssal was what roused Pero from his uncomfortable slumber many hours later. It was late afternoon, and the sounds of the bustling trade port drifted up to him. The ship had been tied to the dock and soon rough hands pulled him to his feet. The long spring evening was turning into dark blue night, and after his chains were removed, he was shoved into a cage similar to the one he'd spent his first night in Skiringssal in. There were other men in it, and women in the next cage over.

As Pero tried to find a spot to rest in the cage, more men were brought in, shoving for space as it got crowded. A large dark haired man squeezed himself down onto to the wooden slats next to Pero, grunting as Pero scowled

"Tuck your elbows in, friend, we ain't gettin' more space than this," he said in English, "But don't worry, if you don't get sold tomorrow, they'll find an even more uncomfortable spot for you."

Pero shrugged, and pulled his thin cloak up over his arms, but the Englishman nudged his side, and nodded towards a couple of the men at the front of the cage. They were trying to get the attention of the guards, who were pointedly ignoring them.

"Must be their first time at the thrall market. As long as we don't freeze to death, those guards won't do anything," he said and then looked over at Pero, "Not your first time being sold I think?"

"No," Pero grimaced, "Second."

"I'm on my fourth I think", the Englishman replied, "Can't seem to find a good owner."

He said the last with a chuckle as if it was a big joke, and Pero glanced over at him, wondering if the man might be soft in the head. But the man caught his look and chuckled again.

"I'm not daft, friend. But either I laugh at it, or I wallow in despair and die."

"You have a point," Pero said, "Do they hold these markets often?" he asked and the man nodded.

"In the spring, almost every day. When the snow and ice gives up its grip they all sail to the big trading ports and trade for what's needed for the new seasons, including humans. You haven't seen the market before?"

"Only once, when I first got here two years ago. But I was too busy trying to find a way to escape than to notice the market."

"I see that the escaping bit didn't go too well," the Englishman commented, tugging at his own cloak as the noise at the front of the cage died down.

Pero shook his head, and rested his chin on his arms, "Not yet," he replied.

The next day Pero learnt exactly how far and wide the Norse men traded as he watched men and women arrive at the market, and merchants began to fill up their stalls, both permanent and temporary, with wares.

The cages with thralls were strategically located just next to the main market square, and as the day warmed up he watched how even here, on what was the edge of the world to him, goods from almost every corner of the world were put up for trade. Stacks of pelts and furs seemed to be of interest to the men who were dressed like the Franks he'd served many times as a mercenary. The Franks in turn traded finer silks with the local lords, amber and silver changing hands.

Nearby three dark skinned men were trading spices. He could smell the dried thyme and garlic, so familiar from his childhood, and even a trace of cinnamon. It reminded him of his journeys far to the east, Constantinople and beyond. He never would've guessed that the vikings commanded such far-reaching networks.

A Norse lord strolled down the market, and stopped by the stall, pointing to the bulbs of dried garlic. He was dressed in fine wool clothes, and looked wealthy, like he had money to spend on some luxury to brighten his day. The edge of his cloak was trimmed with a pattern that looked more Byzantine to Pero than anything Norse, and he thought Nicholas could probably tell him more about the man if he'd been there.

The three spice merchants recognised the wealth too, and were immediately bowing low to the lord, waving him closer, and lifting up delicately carved spoons to let him smell their ground herbs.

Pero watched the display, the merchants smiling and flattering the lord as he haggled for the price. He was too far away to hear what they were saying, but anywhere in the world you would recognise the body language of a deal being struck. The lord and the merchants finally seemed to agree on a price, and the lord waved behind him, calling over a servant to settle the accounts.

Pero straightened up and grabbed the bars of the cage. The servant, dressed nicely and with an important air, was Godric, his friend from England who'd been taken as a thrall at the same time as Pero. He was standing just by the lord, holding a tablet and a purse of silver while an armed guard waited nearby. The two or so years since Pero last saw him hadn’t made much of a difference to his old friend, and he must have fared far better than Pero when he was sold here at Skiringssal at the end of their journey across. He looked well fed and well dressed, a thick wool cloak over his shoulders.

He was too far away for Pero to call out to without everyone noticing, and no matter how much he willed Godric to look over, he didn't turn. Godric handed over the silver, scribbled something on his tablet, and took a number of small bags from the merchants. They in turn bowed low to the lord, and then Godric and the lord turned and walked away. Pero ground his teeth in frustration as his old friend disappeared into the throng of people, but at least now he knew Godric had survived, and survived well, it seemed. Maybe Godric would spot him when it came time for selling the thralls, but what good it would do Pero, he didn’t know.

Towards the middle of the day, when the bright spring sun was at its highest, the men’s cage was opened. One by one the male thralls were led out, chained together, and pushed towards a rough hewed dais. Pero clenched his jaw and pushed down his urge to fight against the chains again as it was his turn to be forced to the front, this was not the time.

The auctioneer prodded him with a cane, forced his head back to show off his neck, and rapped it across his leg as if to gauge the quality of the flesh. Pero felt his temper rising, and glowered at the man, his fists closing. But the man only glanced over his features, prodded his shoulder, and lifted the back of his tunic, exposing the scarred flesh.

“A strong male, but dangerous and disobedient, fit for hard work in chains,” he said in Norse, calling out to the crowd of prospective buyers. “Will the mines take him? He’s already been whipped once.”

“We’ll take him,” a man replied. “Put him with the rest.”

Pero's gaze snapped towards the voice, it was the wealthy lord he'd seen earlier, with Godric, but from where he stood, he couldn't make him out in the press of bodies.

“Anyone willing to outbid the Falu men?” the auctioneer asked, and when no one replied, Pero was pulled to the side, unchained from the rest of the men, and shoved into a new cage. He gripped the bars and craned his neck to see if Godric would be the one paying for him, but there was no trace of the Anglo-Saxon.

By the time the sun had begun to slope westward, more men had been thrown in with him. Some snarled and spat at the guards, straining uselessly against their irons. Others said nothing at all, their eyes wide and hollow. Pero marked them without thinking; the ones who might fight, the ones who would break. Some would not last a day in the mines. Some would not even survive the journey there.

He shifted his weight against the wooden bars. Solid. Thick. No give in them. But he needed a way out, just not now, not while the guards watched every movement, not while he was penned like an animal among dozens of others. Any attempt now would end with him cut down before he took three steps. Better to wait.

Once the journey back to the mines started, there would be more opportunity to break free, or at least he hoped so. He had no other plan apart from this, and there were many unknown parts to it, too many. He leaned against the sturdy poles of the cage at the very back, watching the rest of the auction while his mind worked through his options. He didn't have many, and the ones he had were filled with holes. For now his best choice seemed to be to simply wait, and hope for an opportunity soon.

The market wound down as the sun began to sink, casting long shadows over the stalls. But people still milled around, fires were lit, and food was sold. Some food was brought to the men in the cage, but it was certainly nothing like the fat pork ribs Pero could smell being grilled on the other side of the market. A bowl of thin gruel and rough bread was shoved into his hands, but his belly still felt empty when he was done with it. The Falu miners didn’t seem to feed their thralls very well.

Crouching on his haunches in the back corner, he tried to keep off the wet mud seeping through the slats. He tipped his head back, just for a breath of rest, and glimpsed a face he recognised.

It was one of your family from Steinvikr. The one you'd said you’d grown up with, spent long summers with as a child. Pero couldn’t remember her name, but he remembered her standing at your side during the funeral, and the stories you had told him with a grin, the things you used to get up to with the hirdmen at Steinvikr.

A memory rose inside him, a stolen moment in the tack room at Steinvikr as you teased him, crouching down on your knees, his cock swelling, and he forced the memory down. It was almost too painful to think of you like that now, now that you were gone…

Pero watched the woman as she wandered between the stalls, touching some of the wares. She seemed to be on her own, but there were plenty of guards around Skiringssal, and he presumed there was no danger for a woman to walk alone here in the light spring evening. And she reminded him of you. The cut of the dress, the way her hair was bound, it pulled something tight in his chest, and he couldn't look away. She was your blood. The closest thing to you he might ever see again.

As she drew near, it was as if she sensed his eyes on her, or perhaps she simply caught a glimpse of the way he was staring from the corner of the cage. Her head turned, and recognition flashed across her face. For a few moments she met his eyes, staring at him too. Pero thought she would come over, but then she turned and continued to walk between the stalls, not changing her pace.

Pero looked down at his hands, clasped between his legs, and closed his eyes. He needed rest. Another hard night was coming, and he would need whatever strength he could keep hold of.

Twilight settled over Skiringssal, and Pero fell into an uneasy sleep, but when a hand touched his shoulder lightly, he jolted awake and stumbled to his feet . The market was still filled with people, rowdier now, but night had properly fallen. The cage was dark, and most of the men were huddled together in sleep.

"Shh, quiet," a woman's voice whispered close to his ear, and he turned his head towards it.

"You're Pero Tovar," she said, "I'm Saga, I know you."

"You're…" Pero began, but Saga shook her head.

"I don't have much time. I saw Thorsten earlier, she's on her way to England. He told me he caught the two of you at Ulvehi."

"I was reckless," Pero muttered, "And I've been sold to the Falu mines. I need to escape and go after her."

"I agree, that's why I'm here, Pero Tovar," Saga said, glancing behind her, "I need to find a way to get you out of here. My brother Assar is also in Skiringssal, he knows about you, and he swore to her that he'd help if he could."

"He knows?" Pero asked in surprise, and Saga nodded, smiling for the first time, and he saw that her lips curled in the same way as as yours did.

"He saw how she looked at you," she said, "and how you looked at her. You two were not very good at hiding it."

Pero groaned and dragged his hands over his face, but Saga grabbed his arm.

"It is done, Pero Tovar. Now you need to save her from that English lord. Help me find a way to help you out of here."

Pero looked around the dark market and the thralls sleeping in the cage, "I saw an old friend earlier, a man called Godric. He was with a wealthy lord who was buying spices. He had a cloak with a foreign pattern on the trim, with gold thread. He's the one who bought me for the mines."

"Halfdan Austrfarar," Saga replied immediately, "he owns the mines."

"If Godric works for him, maybe he can help. Can you find him?"

Saga nodded, "I know where he is staying. But what are you thinking?"

"If Godric can unlock the cage so that all the thralls escape, I can disappear in the chaos and hide on a ship to England. With all this trade, there must be many heading west."

"I'll go now, I need to find an excuse to talk to Godric," Saga replied, "I'll send Godric here, but I can't be seen with you, so be safe, Pero Tovar, and keep my cousin safe. And make sure you are worth all that she is giving up for you."

The last she said with a firm voice, squeezing his arm as Pero met her hard look, "Don't make her regret leaving her home behind for you."

"If she does, I'll bring her back, and she can sell me as a slave again," he said, meaning every word.

Saga studied him for a long moment, then nodded once.

"The Norns have set your path," she said, "Now walk it."

With that she hurried off, and Pero could only watch her dark cloak disappear into the shadows and hope that she'd find Godric in time.

All that was left now was to wait, and watch the guards move across the market as it emptied out as the hour grew late. He was too tightly wound to sit and relax, even though he knew he should conserve his strength. The nerves creeping along his limbs were familiar, always the same tingle as a battle drew near, his body preparing to fight, or be killed. He hoped he'd be able to sneak away without a fight, but something told him it would not be that easy.

Suppressing a wide yawn, he shook his limbs, trying to shake some warmth into them as the night grew cold. The sudden yell startled him, one of the guards calling to the others and pointing. Against the dark night sky flames could be seen in the town, just a street or two away. Shouts went up, and the guards began to run towards the light just as the first hint of smoke in the air reached Pero.

He looked around outside the cage as the other men began to wake, stumbling to their feet and mumbling as they spotted the fire. Calls could be heard from around the town as word spread, fire in a town made of wood would be a disaster.

Suddenly Pero saw what he'd been waiting for. Across the now empty market a dark figure came hurrying towards the cages. It was a moment's work for the man to unlock the cages and release both the men and the women.

"Hurry, help with the fire, we need all the hands we can get to pass the water buckets," he called to the thralls as they streamed from their enclosure.

"Why would we?" a man called back to him as he took off at a run, away from the fire, clearly set on escaping rather than helping. And almost everyone else of thralls had the same idea, like birds set free they scattered.

Pero was the last out of the cage, and the man grabbed his arm and quickly dragged him around a corner, into the darkness of one of the market stalls.

"Tovar! I thought you were dead. I didn't know what to think when Saga from Steinvikr came to find me!"

"Likewise, friend," Pero grinned, grabbing hold of his old friend's arms and looking him up and down, "And you've done well for yourself it seems."

"Better than you at least," Godric replied, "You look rough."

"I would tell you all, but I need your help to hide on a ship heading to England."

Godric nodded, and pulled off his cloak, handing it to Pero, "I know, but you won't need to sneak. I've bought you passage on Aelfric's ship, he's a cloth merchant, and I know he's sailing at first light, he had bad news from York."

"Godric, you're a true friend," Pero replied, he couldn't believe his luck as he pulled up the hood of the cloak, hiding his face, "If I can, I will make it up to you."

"I hope so, because I'm coming with you. I can't exactly set free my master's thralls without consequences," Godric said, reaching into a simple cloth bag hanging from his shoulder, "I've got some gold, hopefully enough to bribe Aelfric and his men to not mention a dark faced man with a scar. Come, we better get going while the fire still burns."

Pero nodded, and followed Godric as they set off. He knew the streets of Skiringssal well by now it seemed, and he led them through back alleys and dark paths down to the docks. The many ships moored were quiet, but around a few of them men were moving back and forth, preparing to set sail as soon as the wind picked up. Godric led Pero to one of the largest, a broad hulled sailing ship with a ramp leading up. As they approached, Godric hailed a man standing on the deck overseeing the loading.

"Aelfric, are you ready for us to board?" he called, and the man waved at them, urging them to cross the ramp.

"As soon as the morning easterly wind picks up, we're off," Aelfric replied, "Get yourself tucked down, I don't want any trouble leaving."

Godric and Pero did as he ordered, hurrying across the gangway and dropping into the sunken hold. Most of the space was taken up by cargo, but there was some space carved out for provisions and sleeping space, and they sat down next to the hull, huddling down to not be seen from land. Pero pulled his hood down further over the scar that made him so damn recognisable, and silently urged the wind to pick up.

Soon, very soon, he'd be back on the ocean and finally sailing west, following you.

"Aelfric! Alefric!"

An all too familiar voice called up towards the ship, and Pero lifted his head as Godric looked over at him.

"Someone you know?" he asked in a low voice.

"Thorsten," Pero whispered, "He's the leader of the hirdmen at Ulvehi, the farm I was sold to."

"The tall blonde who was there that day? I remember him," Godric replied, "Keep your head down, we can't let him see you."

"But he has my sword," Pero growled, "I need it."

Down on the dock Thorsten was talking to Alefric about the thralls that had escaped, and the fire that was still burning.

"It's almost out, it only took two houses and a barn, the town was lucky. But now we must get men together to chase after the thralls who escaped."

"I'm setting sail to England as soon as the morning wind picks up, I don't have time to chase after some dumb thralls," Aelfric replied, "You should trade in cloth, Thorsten. Cloth bundles don't have legs, and they don't need feeding."

"I'll remember that the next time you need protection for your ships," Thorsten said, and even from up on the ship Pero could hear the annoyance in his voice.

Aelfric must've waved him off, because soon they heard the merchant call orders for more supplies and goods to be loaded as Thorsten stalked off.

"Your dagger," Pero said to Godric, holding out his hand, "Give it to me."

"Tovar, don't…" Godric replied, but Pero snatched the dagger from his belt and carefully stood up, glancing over the railing.

"I'll be back in no time, I just need to get my sword, and kill him if I can."

"Aelfric won't wait, you can get a new sword in England," Godric hissed, reaching out to grab his arm, but Pero shook it off.

"I'm not letting that bastard walk around with my sword," he replied, "I'll be back soon, just stall Aelfric if the wind changes."

"Tovar, he won't wait!" Godric protested, but it was too late. Pero jumped over the opposite edge of the hull and landed with a soft thump on the dock planks. In the distance he could see the dark shape of Thorsten disappear down one of the narrow pathways leading towards the edge of town.

This was rash, too rash, he knew it, but the sight of the sword, his sword, at Thorsten's side had filled him with rage. And now this bastard was within range, and Tovar was unchained and armed. This opportunity wouldn't come again. He could kill him, take the sword back, and leave with at least a small sense of revenge for the past two years.

His fingers flexed, finding a good grip on the dagger hiding under his cloak, and he felt his body changing, his mind finding its focus as he slipped back into his old self.

The mercenary followed Thorsten down the path, sticking to the shadows and keeping his steps light and soundless. He needed to choose a place to call out his challenge, a spot for a quick fight, and a swift retreat. The narrow road ran between the rocks at the water's edge, and a few sheds. Narrow enough to make fighting with a sword difficult, but perfect for a fight with daggers.

"Thorsten!" Tovar called, stepping out from the shadow of the shed as he shook off the cloak, the dagger held behind his back as if his arms were still tied.

The tall Norseman turned around, his surprised look turning to a grin when he saw Tovar standing behind him.

"Hauknefr, I knew you were behind this, but I thought you'd be hiding in the woods by now," he called back, taking a few steps towards Tovar and drawing his sword, "Or are you trying to get back to Ulvehi?"

"Where is she?" Tovar asked, his voice grim, taking a step back as Thorsten moved forward.

"Not at Ulvehi, dog," Thorsten snarled, his face turning dark at the mention of you, "You won't see her again, and you should've kept running."

He took another step, pointing the sword at Tovar's chest, "But now I can kill you, and keep the money for selling you."

Tovar let him move closer, the dagger behind his back tight in his hand, "She told me about you, that you wanted her and she spat in your face. It must sting, amigo, to see her choose me instead. The thrall, huh? The dirty, unwashed thrall with nothing but his cock to boast of."

Thorsten snarled and lunged at Tovar, who swiftly stepped to the side, bringing up the dagger and jamming it up into the other man's side with a satisfied grin. Thorsten grunted and stumbled as Tovar tried to push the dagger in. But it caught on the chain mail hidden under the tunic, and Thorsten shoved Tovar's arm away, swinging his sword. Only the close quarters stopped the sword from slicing Tovar open, it bounced off his hip as he yanked the dagger loose.

Now the element of surprise was lost, and Tovar stepped back as Thorsten lifted his sword, his other hand patting down his side where the dagger must've bruised him.

Tovar watched Thorsten's steps, circling around, aiming to get him too close to the slippery rocks by the sea shore. But Thorsten wasn't an inexperienced fighter, and he grinned as he realised that Tovar only had a dagger and no protection, taking a step closer. He kept him at range, forcing Tovar back, step by step.

"This is more poetic, thrall," Thorsten said, "Don't you think? The gods love a good fight!"

"I don't give a shit about any gods," Tovar snarled, "I just want to see you dead."

Thorsten attacked, fast and hard.

Tovar stumbled back, barely dodging the blow. He jumped over the slick rocks, scrambling back onto the path. He felt the air move as the sharp blade rushed past his ear, but it didn't hit.

He was slow, too slow. Two years away from the blade showed in every step, even now when the rush of the fight had his blood hot, he could feel the sluggishness in his limbs. Finding his balance again, he held the dagger up as a shield, ready to block or dodge when the big bastard Norseman attacked again.

Thorsten was still grinning, and he gave no pause. Attacking again, and again, he pushed Tovar backwards. Twice the long sword struck the dagger, making Tovar grunt as the hits made the bones in his arm tremble. But he was pulling Thorsten in towards the back wall of one of the sheds that lined the path. With a quick step to the side at the next attack, he managed to dodge the sword and in the opening, his dagger slid across Thorsten's cheek, splitting it open and drawing blood.

Thorsten roared and swung his sword wildly, but Tovar had already jumped back. Under his breath he was cursing. Thorsten was tall, and the dagger was difficult to get in where the chain mail didn't cover him.

With the sword up, Thorsten charged on Tovar, forcing him back across the path, towards the rocks and the ocean. He carved the air with brutal swings, any one of them would've sliced his arm clean off, and Tovar scrambled back, trying to find an opening. The ground under his feet turned slippery, sea weed wrapped around his ankle, dragging him off balance. He stumbled, going down on one knee, catching himself with one hand as he held up the dagger against the next wild swing. Behind him the ocean lapped at his feet, and he threw himself in as Thorsten stabbed towards his chest.

The sword caught him this time, but he kicked out, connecting with Thorsten’s leg as pain bloomed across his arm.The other man lost his balance and for a moment, he teetered on the edge of the slippery rocks, and Tovar jerked himself up, out of the water, scrambling clear of the blade.

Panting he found his footing again on the shore line as Thorsten turned to him. His face was triumphant now as Tovar suddenly realised; the dagger was gone.

"So much for the mercenary," Thorsten mocked him, "How would you like me to kill you? A cut to the front and watch your guts spill, or in the back, as you try to run?"

A trickle of fear ran up Tovar's back as the wind suddenly picked up, and Thorsten advanced on him. The way to the dock, it was behind Thorsten. Behind Tovar was only the edge of town, and then the endless forests.

He took a step back, and Thorsten's grin widened as he lifted the sword.

"Tovar," a voice suddenly called, heavy footsteps coming down the path as Thorsten frowned and looked behind Tovar at the newcomer.

Tovar risked a glance behind himself. Another Norseman was jogging down the path, his sword already drawn. He was tall, towering over both of them, and his wide shoulders seemed to fill the narrow path behind him.

"You know this dog, Assar?" Thorsten called in surprise, but the tall blonde man ignored him.

"You shouldn't be here, Pero Tovar," he said.

Tovar's brows rose high as he recognised the man. He'd only seen him at a distance at Steinvikr, but he knew who he was.

Your cousin.

And Saga's brother.

It dawned on him as Thorsten called out to Assar again.

"He's about to die, Assar. He's claimed our Jarl's daughter in secret, as if he were her equal."

"I know what he did, and what our Jarl did to my cousin. And if you try to stop Tovar from getting her back, it will be you who dies here, Thorsten," he replied coldly. His sword arm was up, and the sharp tip aimed at the man did not waver.

"What…"

Thorsten glanced at Tovar again, and Assar gave a small shake of his head.

"You were always a rash fighter, Thorsten."

That seemed to shift his focus, hesitation rather than rage as he looked back at Assar. He took a step back, but his heel found only wet stone beneath him. It gave way under his weight, and the moment his balance went, so did his control.

The wind rose along the shore, sharp now, pulling at their cloaks, and filling the narrow path with salt and noise.

Tovar moved before any thought could catch up, closing the short distance while Thorsten still tried to find his balance. It was the only moment he needed. His hand closed around the hilt of the sword, the other shoving Thorsten back, into the cold water and rocks.

His sword.

The weight of it in his grip was almost disorientating, like something long lost snapping back into place, and for a heartbeat he simply held it while Thorsten realised what had happened.

Thorsten’s expression stayed with Tovar; rage breaking into fear as the mercenary lifted the blade and drove it through his throat. Slipping in just where the chain mail left him exposed, dark blood gushed out as he gave a choked, broken cough. He collapsed onto the wet stones, his eyes emptied, turning blank.

For a moment, Tovar stood over him, breathing hard, sword still in hand, and then reality of everything beyond the fight returned.

Then the wind pulled at him again.

The ship would be leaving.

And there was no more time.

Chapter 17

Another cliffhanger! But at least now Pero is free, and Thorsten is dead. Some small revenge at least...

I really went back and forth over this chapter, writing and re-writing the final fight between Tovar and Thorsten, and I hope you enjoyed it and that it was as tense as I wanted it to be! Writing fight scenes is really fun, but it's also hard and I try to make the visuals clear so that you can see the fight in your head as you read it (I hope).

Next step, on to England maybe?

[avastrasposts]

Fate Unbound spoiler

Despite my laptops's keyboard literally coming undone beneath my fingers (I got the S back in, but T is very wobbly) Pero is fighting his way back to his woman. Want to see where he's at?

Spoiler below the cut!

Asgeir glanced at Tovar's arm as they retreated another step, blood was still dripping down his hand, mixing with the blood on the blade. "That's a deep cut, you're not much use in a fight now," he commented, and Tovar growled. "I can still fight." "But you're no use to her dead. Go, I'll hold them off." Tovar took his eyes off the advancing men for a moment, they were moving slower now, faced with the two men and the sharp sides of the gully. Asgeir saw Tovar's look, and gave a sharp jerk with his chin. "Go to your wife," he said as his eyes flicked toward the gully, "And your child."