Brynnan and the Sea Raiders

Reader discretion is adviced, this story contain graphic content depicting violence and rape which may not be suitable to all readers. This is a fictional story and do not portray real events or real persons.

Aegir’s Fire

Voices were calling in the fog that enshrouded the longship, Einheri. Men onboard made the sign of the hammer and asked their gods to guard them.

“What are they?” asked a seaman to Geir, the Helmsman.

“They are said to be the voices of the nine daughters of Rán, Aegir’s Queen. Few have heard them and survived.”

“You give me small comfort,” replied the man.

“It is not my place to comfort you,” said Geir, frowning. “Ask courage of your own heart, such as our captive has to, tied at the bow as he is, waiting for us to cast him into the sea.”

The fog persisted for a long time, but the wind held steady. Presently the mists thinned, then suddenly, the ship broke out into clear air. The Island of Hlér, the Forbidden Isle, loomed over the sea. It looked dark and brooding and mountainous. In one part, smoke rose into the sky.

‘It is a fire island!” Arvid cried out.

The winds changed, blowing off their starboard beam. A large wave rose up before the Einheri, and she rose to meet it. It passed, although the raiders clung to any support they could. But the men could see another large wave approaching, more prominent than the first.

“The nine sisters!” called out Falke, making his way forward. “Cast the captive into the sea.”

Two warriors climbed up the curved bow to where the captive, Hrafn, was secured. One took his belt knife and sawed through the ropes. Before they could lay hands on Hrafn, he dove into the swirling waters.

“Prepare to come about!” shouted the Helmsman.

Falke said to him, “More waves will follow. The ninth sister could overwhelm us!”

“Not so,” replied Geir. “Look, the seas are calming, although the wind still blows. Aegir hears us and accepts our sacrifice.”

“Then my cousin’s spirit can truly rest. I have fulfilled my word,” Falke said, emotion colouring his voice.

But Geir looked over the deck. “Arvid, come away from the rail. You will not see him. Hrafn has been taken.”

With the men working swiftly on the lines to reposition the great sail, the Einheri turned about and headed back into the brooding fog bank.

*    *    *

Although the ship had left Hrafn in the unknown seas of the Shadow-realm, he knew deep within himself that he would reencounter the raiders. He would bring the vengeance of the Hunter upon them.

There was a strong undertow. Hrafn, swimming underwater, let the current draw him away from the ship. He had no desire to be sighted and perhaps shot by an arrow. The green depths fell away below him. He heard high-pitched calls echoing in the water, the cries of some sea creatures. Looking down, he spotted forms swimming. Were they human? He could make out limbs and what appeared to be flowing hair. He swam upwards and surfaced, taking in deep breaths of fresh air.

Looking around, he saw the island rising in the distance and began to swim towards it. The sun had moved a quarter of the way across the sky before he paused to rest, floating on the spot. He ducked underwater again and looked down. Not far below him were the tips of giant kelp fronds, their length descending into the depths. He could see the seafloor below him in turquoise and pale green shades. The water was exceptionally clear. As he swam onwards, the kelp forest thickened, and the ends of the fronds rested on the surface, tossing back and forth with the waves. Rather than getting tangled at the surface, he dove down again and swam between the long stems, through beams of shadow and sunlight, occasionally surfacing for a breath before resuming his way.

Something grasped his ankle. Hrafn swung around in shocked surprise and saw a woman. She wore a tunic of a filmy dark red material, like dulse seaweed, and had long fair hair that appeared a light blue-green, swirling around her. Many necklaces of coral beads draped from her throat, and bracelets adorned her wrists.

She pointed upwards, and they surfaced together. She spoke in a tongue that, learned as he was, Hrafn did not recognize.

“I cannot understand your speech,” he said to her in the raider’s tongue.

“I will take you with me,” she replied with a pronounced but understandable accent. “I watched the men cut you loose from the ship. I have followed you. You are an offering to us.”

“I am offered to Aegir, if you are of his court. Do you know him?”

The woman smiled, revealing small, pointed white teeth. “I am named Rán, and Aegir is my consort. What do men call you?”

Hrafn breathed an inward sigh of relief. If she asked his name, he was not a mere object in her sight, and his chances of survival rated slightly higher. He contemplated whether to give her his true name—Brynnan—then decided he dare not risk it. He did not know if she was aware of his father, King Arawn. But in entering the mysterious fog, the Einheri had navigated a path through the Shadow-ways to another hidden realm. He decided to stay with the name Falke had given him for now.

“The people of the Long Ships called me ‘Hrafn,’ my Lady Rán,” he replied.

“Cigfran môr,” Rán said in Hrafn/Brynnan’s native tongue and laughed. “But ‘Hrafn’ I will call you. Now, come. Your strength is failing. I will take your hand.”

Did she suspect who he was? Hrafn was too surprised at her knowledge of his own language to object when she took his hand in an unbreakable grip. She began to swim with undulating movements of her body, and Hrafn was drawn along faster than he could have ever managed on his own. He wondered what her proper form was in this realm?

Presently a shoreline became visible, beset by rolling breakers. Rán pulled him out of the surf, and he had difficulty keeping his footing, exhausted and chilled as he was. He stumbled onto a black sand shore and sank to his knees as Aegir’s Queen released her grip. Raising his head, he found people around him. Young women attended to Rán, arranging a cloak of dark green silk around her shoulders. Men were there also, with the same pale, bluish skin. One tall man with pale blond hair and a beard approached Hrafn and unfastened his own cloak to wrap around their captive’s naked body.

“We go to the Hall of Fire,” said Rán, “but Eldir will take you directly to my Lord Aegir, where he will judge you,” she said to her captive. “If you pass his tests, you may join us there.”

The tall man, Eldir, clasped Hrafn to his breast, holding tightly, and the group of people faded.

*    *    *

In a stone room in the Sea King’s holding, Eldir bathed Hrafn thoroughly in fresh, cool water. The captive did not object to the man’s intimate handling: he prized cleanliness of body, which had been sorely lacking among the raiders. Arvid’s daily seawater ablutions had been an exception. Eldir combed his hair and gave him a simple long, green robe to wear when he was clean.

Then he addressed Hrafn solemnly. “Queen Rán has revealed to me that you were cast off a ship which managed to pierce the veil between our realm and the world of Men. Some agency aboard the ship allowed this to be so. Was there a seer or Fjölkunnigr among you who could open the way?”

Then Eldir looked closer at Hrafn. “Show me your breast,” he said.

Hrafn opened the robe wider. Eldir reached out to touch the marks branded there but drew his hand back before making contact with the flesh.

“The runes of Transformation and Journeying. I believe I have my answer. We will not delay but will go to King Aegir now.”

Once again, he was seized and, travelling through a mist, found himself in a large, opulent chamber. There was one occupant, and he inexorably drew Hrafn’s gaze.

The Sea King appeared as a very tall man with magnificent long red hair and a beard, with two braids adorning each side. His eyes blazed like green fire in his rugged but handsome face, and his body was chiselled muscle. A long golden chain hung over his bare chest, but his leggings were of dark blue silk, bound with bands of green. Gold armbands emphasized the muscles on his biceps and forearms. He sat on a wide couch and regarded his manservant.

“Who do you bring me, Eldir Fireheart?”

“Another blót, my Liege. Your noble Queen recovered this one at sea, cast off from a drakkar that pierced the veil.”

The King smiled. “I know, Eldir. I could feel the power in him. I allowed the ship to return unharmed by my daughters.”

“He calls himself ‘Hrafn.’ He bears marks, my Lord.” Eldir paused and pulled open the captive’s robe.

“Indeed, I see what they are. Leave us, Eldir. I will question him myself. Continue with preparing the ale for the feast. Do not let the cauldron get too warm.”

Eldir had parting words for the captive. “Submit to the King, Hrafn. Do not try to hide the truth. The King has ways of knowing a man’s heart.”

When Eldir had left, Aegir led Hrafn to a great bed. Without a word, he took the robe from his captive and gazed at his naked body, taking in its lean, muscular form and the marks and scars.

“You will keep little hidden from me after I fuck you, man from the sea. Now stand before me.”

Hrafn had little choice but to do as he was bid. Aegir stroked his body with his large hands, running his fingers over his subject’s erect nipples, and touching the brand marks.

“I know these. Runes of Eternity, Wind and Night. Who gave them to you? What is your real name?”

“I cannot speak of it, Lord. It is forbidden.”

“No matter. I like a good riddle game. Lie on the bed, facing me.”

As Hrafn obeyed, Aegir removed his cloak and leggings. Hrafn could not help but stare at the Sea God’s massive cock when he was naked.

“Is that how I am doomed to die?” he asked.

Aegir laughed. “I think not. Others have managed to bear it, but I thank you for your flattery. Now I think I will have you suck me.”

He stood beside the bed. Hrafn moved over until he could reach Aegir’s cock with his mouth. It tasted, not unpleasantly, of the ocean: of saltwater with a hint of seaweed. Hrafn licked the shaft, running his tongue up and down its length as it slowly stiffened. When it became hard, he could barely close his fingers around it. He massaged the long, thick shaft and sucked on the broad tip. Aegir placed a hand behind Hrafn’s head, guiding him. Hrafn could not take it all, but he did what he could and did not stint on service. It seemed to be pleasing to Aegir.

“Now lie down on your back, and I will taste you,” said the King.

Hrafn spread his thighs, fully exposing his cock and ball sack. The King bent over him, and Hrafn nearly ejaculated when Aegir began to suck his shaft. Waves of intense pleasure washed over him, making Hrafn suspect the King was using his own magic. The flowing red hair spread over Hrafn’s thighs and hips as Aegir took the hard cock down his throat, feeling like drifts of silk. He sucked in long pulling strokes, urging his hapless captive into surrender. A finger intruded into Hrafn’s ass, manipulating his prostate. Hrafn felt overwhelmed. The tidal power of the sea was in the King’s actions: it was irresistible.

“You are making me cum, my Lord.”

A low, rumbling laugh was the only response he received, and, helplessly, he ejaculated. Aegir held Hrafn’s pulsing cock in his large fist, watching as the cum spurted in jets, splashing the captive’s chest and stomach.

Before Hrafn could recover, Aegir turned him over. The King gripped his hips, exposing his ass. The captive shuddered to think of that massive member reaming him: he was sure he would be torn and perhaps bleed to death. So Hrafn was surprised to feel a lubricant poured over his rectum and two thick fingers inserted inside, working him open. A surge of excitement took him once more, and he tilted his hips to meet the cock he felt probing at the entrance, but nonetheless, he anticipated pain.

Pain there was as the mushroom head pushed inside his ass, but it was not as bad as he had feared. He felt absolutely filled by the long, thick cock: it stretched him to capacity, and he moaned, both in lust and pain.

“Relax, my sea-raven. It will not kill you. Give yourself over to me.”

Aegir began to push his cock ever deeper until it was fully hilted. Then he withdrew slightly and shoved once more. Soon he was pumping in long, steady strokes, and all Hrafn could do was submit and breathe through each hard shove. But then an intense sexual excitement began to overwhelm his emotions, and he found himself sobbing. He could not fight against the force that gripped him. His mind almost flashed to the Warlord, Samir, his lover, and his friend Geraint, both of whom fucked him most skillfully, but he managed to evade the thoughts lest Aegir became aware of them. The urge was on him to tell the Sea King anything he asked, but he knew that was also Aegir’s design through this intense and impossible fucking.

At last, Aegir ejaculated inside him. The force of his cumming was intense and seemed to go on for a long time. Hrafn felt himself also cumming once more in response to the hot flood of semen that filled him. His limbs trembling, he collapsed over Aegir’s arm encircling his hips. The King stretched alongside him.

“Tell me your name again,” Aegir whispered in his ear.

“The ship’s men called me Fjölkunnigr-Hrafn, but I am as you and your Queen have named me: Cigfran môr— the sea raven.”

“You will yet tell me all I want to know. But no matter: I have decided to accept you as you were offered. I will not take your mortal life.”

Hrafn breathed a sigh of relief.

*    *    *

Eldir was summoned again to care for the captive. Then Aegir's servant transported them to a great hall. Carved and ornamented pillars supported it, soaring into the high roof. Many opulent tapestries adorned the black stone walls, adding welcome splashes of jewel-toned colour to the space. The most striking feature dominated the hall’s centre, a huge stone bowl containing the largest orb Hrafn had ever seen. Its rich, gold depths threw off a blazing light. He stared at it.

“It is called ‘Aegir’s Fire.’ It is the object of many a mortal man’s desire who believes the legend that it is really a large mass of gold,” said Eldir, standing beside him. “Of course, most perish who are unlucky enough to find their way here.”

“And myself?”

“Aegir has granted you his grace. Treasure it. Few are so blessed. Not long ago, there was also one who . . . but it matters not just now.”

Hrafn felt frustrated. Eldir was evidently about to speak of another captive, perhaps Geraint?

A massive cauldron steamed over a bed of hot coals. Eldir took a dipper ladle, filled a polished black horn, and passed it to Hrafn.

“Drink this: it will serve as food and drink and restore you after your many trials.”

Hrafn did not question the brew’s wholesomeness but downed the entire hornful. It was a mulled ale of rich flavour. He found his weakened body flooded with new and welcome vitality. His thirst was quenched, and the hunger pangs were assuaged.

“It is a good and wholesome brew, subtly flavoured,” he complimented Eldir.

“It is my own brewing. I am responsible for the feasts served in this hall. You come at an opportune time: Aegir’s brothers will attend and his son if he can be persuaded away from his new obsession.” Elidur laughed.

Hrafn looked quizzically at him.

“Never mind. You will presently see for yourself.”

They were interrupted by the sound of a horn announcing the presence of King Aegir and Queen Rán, both dressed in rich and splendid robes. Energy flowed about them like the current of a tidal race, and Hrafn realized it was their real power: the power of the sea. Following them came nine young women, the daughters of Rán. They were fair, but Hrafn had no desire to engage with them, knowing them for what they really were: forces of nature incorporated in living flesh, the relentless waves that could drown ships.

Then two large and imposing men entered. One was a dark bearded man who surveyed the assembly with a scowling expression. The other had hair as blond as wheat and a cloak that billowed around his body in unseen airs.

Elidir commented to Hrafn in a low voice. “The King’s two brothers, Logi, who makes his holding near the underground fires on the mountain, and Kári, Keeper of the Sea-Wind. Mariners pray to him for fair weather, and he is also fond of sacrifices. But beware Logi. His temper is unpredictable.”

The royal party settled themselves at a high table. King Aegir looked around. Then he said to Rán, “Has no one seen our son? He gave his word to attend.”

“I suspect he is preoccupied since you gave him the last offering from the sea. I hear that he has taken to his new instructor,” said Kári. “My winds will bring him here.”

“Then summon him, my brother,” said Aegir, frowning.

“Be not too hard on him,” put in Rán. “Perhaps with his new skills, he can keep his wife’s attention.”

Kári turned to Rán, “I have sent word, sea-blessed Lady. He will be here momentarily.”

Elidir spoke to Hrafn. “Come, we will serve our turn as cupbearers to the King and his family.”

Hrafn followed Elidir’s lead, and the two men served horns of mulled ale. He attracted the attention of Rán’s fair and fearsome daughters. He responded with practised courtesy, having no desire to become of particular interest to any one of them. He felt Aegir’s shrewd eye on him often enough and felt sure that the King was planning a repeat of the painful sexual episode in his room.

The great doors to the feasting hall blew open, and a blast of cold air presaged the entrance of two men. The most imposing was a tall man of pale skin and flowing white hair, with ice-blue eyes set in a handsome and ageless face. He was dressed in leather and furs, seemingly at odds with the courtiers’ garb of silks and brocades. At his side stalked a white leopard.

But it was the man accompanying him which drew Hrafn’s gaze. An older man of human stock, with cropped grey-white hair and beard. Despite his age, he was well-muscled and looked fit. A scar pulled at one eye.

Hrafn struggled to hide his shock and resisted the urge to send a mind-call to the man, but relief and joy flooded him. It was his beloved friend, Geraint!

*    *    *

To be continued . . .