Chapter Eight #2
Suddenly, Hakon was fully seated within her bottom hole and moved back and forth.
The thrusts were different but pleasurable in an entirely, deliciously new way.
Gods! Why have I waited so long? I can’t believe I’ve been missing this!
Hakon thrust harder, and faster. Sif’s breathing sped up.
Hakon’s hands descended to grip her wrists firmly.
She couldn’t move even if she wanted do, and some perverse part of her wanted to test this; so Sif squirmed beneath her thrusting warrior, and he released his grip just long enough to give Sif a smack on her backside that made her cry out.
Even as she cried out, she pushed her hips upwards, and in that moment, Hakon’s cock seemed impossibly large, and then he was coming inside her, shooting masses of his cream into her ass, and Sif climaxed from the overwhelming crescendo of new sensations rippling through her body.
Sif and Hakon remained locked together, holding onto the moment as their breathing deepened and slowed. Hakon released his grip on her wrists and settled more of his body weight upon her.
“My Lord,” Sif purred, “any time you want to claim my ass, well…you just go right ahead. Even if you need to belt my backside first, I don’t care.”
Hakon’s chuckle was a deep rumble in his chest. He took the base of her neck in his teeth and gave her a playful nip. “I’ll make sure to take care of what’s mine,” he said, mock-growling.
“Oh gods and goddesses, hear him, and make sure he does,” laughed Sif.
***
Hakon carefully separated himself from his sleeping, well-satisfied woman and slid off the camp bed.
He unlaced the tent strings and slipped outside.
In more ordinary times, he would have had some sense of the hour of the day or evening, but the dark heavy skies had turned everything into a kind of dreary sameness.
As far as Hakon was aware, it was late afternoon, heading towards evening, but he was not certain of it.
It had been, by any measure, an incredibly long day.
They had been roused from sleep by a predawn raid, followed by the Skraeling attack on Visby, and finally their retreat from the town as it was finally taken.
Indeed, it would not be long before they were on the march once more, though only the gods knew where.
Would they risk a night’s sleep? Or would they try to steal a march on the Skraelings and slip out in the darkness?
These were important decisions but the very last thing on Hakon’s mind. All that he could think of was Sif, and what had just taken place between them.
“And you wonder why I just give them a good meal, a good fucking, and a goodbye,” came the chuckling voice to his left.
Hakon spun. “Gunnar, you spy-crow! How long have you been sitting there?” he demanded.
“Long enough. I thought my brother and my friend should have time to…resolve matters without any interference from busybody witches.” Gunnar kicked a camp stool in his brother’s general direction.
Hakon picked it up, righted it, and sat down. After an initial burst of indignation, his sense of humor was returning. “And did any busybody witches try to interfere?” he asked.
Gunnar shook his head. “Surprisingly, no,” he admitted.
“They seem more used to the sounds of discipline and pleasure than I would have given them credit for. Very worldly, these witches.” He took a pull from a leather canteen then tossed it to Hakon.
“So,” continued Gunnar, “may I conclude that matters are resolved between the pair of you?”
Hakon took a pull of the sweet refreshing mead. “You may.”
“Then why does the evening find you sitting there with a pensive look on your face rather than rattling your woman’s bones for an encore?”
Hakon eyed his brother, tossed him the canteen, and sighed. “Because suddenly, things don’t seem very simple,” he admitted.
“Go on.”
“Sif has offered me her complete submission. It’s different than before. When we talked back at the Jomsburg, she was making a bargain, her body for my sword. Tonight…well, tonight was total. She’s placed herself in my hands, Gunnar.”
Gunnar took another drink of mead. “Does it scare you?”
Hakon stared at him. “Yes, and I don’t know why. But it also excites me. I don’t understand, Brother. Why would I be scared by the only thing I’ve ever wanted?”
Gunnar laughed. “Because it’s finally real, you clod-pole!
Because this isn’t play anymore! The woman you love is the greatest sorceress of a generation.
You want her to be all that she can possibly be, but you also want to keep her safe.
You hope she can save the world, but your heart will die if you lose her.
Of all the people on this misbegotten earth, she trusts you to keep the balance in her life and has placed her destiny in your hands.
Sif is your responsibility, Brother, just like you’ve always wanted. ”
Hakon sat in silence, staring off towards the horizon. Finally, he said, “You’re right. Why does it feel so annoying that you’re right?”
Gunnar smacked him on the shoulder in a companionable way. “I’m your older brother, Hakon. We talk of destiny; it is my fate to be annoyingly correct.”
“Loki’s balls,” muttered Hakon, and Gunnar laughed once more.
Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of Gunhilde. The Elder witch was walking with the aid of a staff and looked tired. The brothers got to their feet. Gunhilde eyed Hakon appraisingly.
“You and Sif have sorted things out, then,” she said.
Hakon nodded. “Sif has entrusted her submission to me,” he said simply.
“Then you’d better prove yourself worthy of such a gift, young warrior,” replied Gunhilde. “I’ll be keeping an eye out to make sure that you do.”
Gunnar tried to disguise a snort of laughter as a cough, and Gunhilde turned her eye on him. “Something to say?” she snapped.
Gunnar shuffled his feet, and said, “No, Elder Sister.”
“Good.” The witch nodded. “Least said, soonest mended. Not that young men like you know anything about that. You have an hour to make ready; we’ll be on our way before nightfall.”
“Where do we march?” asked Hakon respectfully.
“Back to the Ironwood, of course! Where else can we go? Honestly, it’s astonishing how little learning this generation has…” Gunhilde’s words fell to a low murmur as she stalked away, spreading the word to others.
Gunnar and Hakon stood quietly for a moment then chuckled as the Elder witch passed out of earshot.
“Like the grandmother we never had,” observed Gunnar.
“Odin’s beard, there’s a thought,” muttered Hakon. “Come on, then. Let’s see how much gear we can trick your foster brothers into carrying.”
***
It was in fact shortly before nightfall that the gathering of witches and their companions broke camp and began their journey.
The refugees from Visby, under the command of their Jarl, had chosen to gain a night’s rest. A few of the townsfolk offered their thanks as the witches departed, but most simply stared sullenly as the witches walked by.
“You’d think they’d show at least a little gratitude,” said Gunnar, shaking his head.
“Gratitude, young man, is not appreciation for good things that have been done,” observed Sigrid ironically. “Rather, gratitude is the expectation of further favors to come. Do not look for gratitude here.”
“Frey’s cock, you lot must be a laugh around the dinner table,” muttered Gunnar, low enough that only Hakon and Sif could hear.
Sif was glad that she had been able to get a little bit of rest before the march.
Hakon had packed her things and seemed to be very serious about taking care of her.
She was glad, if she was being honest with herself.
It wasn’t that Sif felt tired or in need of a fuss, but since she had begun to deepen the use of her powers, she often felt like she was less and less connected to the world in general; as if she was being called away from the earth to play in the sky.
Sif needed help to keep herself rooted to the ground, and for that she needed Hakon more than ever.
Baedi was taking advantage of the boredom of the night’s march to keep up a steady communication with Sif, using their mental connection to show the young witch spell after spell, song after song.
Sif felt as though her head was actually getting physically larger as her knowledge of spellcraft grew by leaps and bounds.
She was starting to see the connections between one type of magic and another, and understanding how one aspect of a spell could be used in another context to achieve a different result.
The experience was intoxicating. Unfortunately, it did have a diminishing effect on her ability to notice the physical world around her.
“Right, that’s the third tree root that has almost put you on your face,” said Hakon, taking Sif’s elbow and steadying her. “Are you so tired that I need to carry you?”
“No, no,” Sif said, “it’s just that Baedi is sharing her learning with me, and it’s amazing, Hakon! There’s so much to learn, and it’s so exciting. I don’t think I could take it all in within a single lifetime.”
“That sounds amazing, my love, but it’s time to focus on the ground in front of you, before you do yourself an injury,” observed Hakon.
“I know you’re right, but—wait, what did you say?” demanded Sif.
“That you need to watch the ground,” replied Hakon, his eyes dancing with amusement.
“Not that part, you lummox!” cried Sif, punching the warrior in the shoulder.
“I called you ‘my love.’ I love you, Sif, from morning till night and every other hour the gods give us.” With a sweep of his arms, Hakon plucked her up by the waist and kept marching, looking deeply into her eyes.
“I love you, too, Hakon,” replied Sif warmly, “with my whole self. Now kiss me and put me down, before you trip over a root the way you’ve been warning me about.”
Hakon laughed, kissed her deeply, and set the young witch back on her feet.