50 HouseGuard
Ragnar doused a bucket of water over himself, washing away all the sweat and blood from the cuts he'd received during the spar. Though their fights were close, his father never held back, not afraid to maim his son in an attempt to sharpen his mind.
Ragnar grimaced as he touched his shoulder, the surface level cut stinging as the water rushed over its position, clearing away the grime and sand that clung to the blood pooling against the wound.
With a pop, he snapped the lid off a sack of alcohol and poured it over the open wound to prevent infection. The burn of the reaction was a not so amusing reminder of the resounding defeat he'd faced against his father.
Though the vibrant old man was beginning to whither, he still had a hop in his step, enough to use all the experience from decades of fighting against Ragnar.
As such, Ragnar raised his shirt to inspect the large cut that had torn a hole into it. And tutted as he slung it over his shoulder walked over to the feast, still raging with laughter and dance.
His slow gait attracted the attention of those who had been side-eyeing their sparring session from afar. Moving aside, they made space for the enormous warrior to stride through the crowd as the maids assisting the entourage, single or married alike, gazed upon his chiseled body, built like an Ox with toned abs lining his frame to complete his look.
He walked up to the roast pot and gazed inside before questioning one of the maids, "What do we have cooking today?"
The young maid flushed under the attention of the half-nude warrior in front of her, "We have pig meat and vegetable stew, milord."
"Alright, I'll get me some of that warm stew if you'd so kindly offer," He said with a smile as the woman fumbled to get a wooden bowl and nearly dropped the spoon as she attempted to calm her trembling hands.
"Steady yourself," Ragnar's deep, authoritative voice soothed as he grabbed her hand to steady the spoon.
"Milord! My apologies." The woman blushed as she poured the stew under the guidance of Ragnar's coarse palm, desperately wishing for this embarrassing moment to end.
"Don't mention it." Ragnar thanked the maid as he turned on the balls of his feet and noticed a table where he recognized the people of his entourage.
Slamming his bowl of stew on the scarred wooden table, Ragnar took a seat beside Eve. The young lady immediately cosied up against the massive warrior before her face touched his ice-cold skin.
"Aren't you cold, Ragnar? It's freezing; let me get you a large coat from your room." She said, standing up as she walked off.
Finan gazed at Eve's disappearing figure before looking at Ragnar, "What did the battle feel like, Milord? I wish you'd just let me take part in the fighting."
Ragnar gazed at the woman's plump arse swaying back to his room, forcing his attention back at Finan, "It was a grimy, sweaty, and an often claustrophobic affair. One I wouldn't wish upon a young soul such as yourself."
Finan's face twisted into one of confusion, "Clos-- phobic?"
"Ah, never mind. There is a lack of space at times, and no bars are held. So, people will play as dirty as possible, trapping your elbows as they strike you in the back or team up against you if they notice that you are doing well. This dirty play is why formations are so important and why the Baron strives for us to retain the shield wall even though we have attempted to assimilate within Christianity. If you aren't tall enough, you leave gaps in the shield wall. And a shield wall is only as strong as the weakest link."
"It is not fun by any means. And your best chance of staying alive in your early fights is by sticking by someone willing to take on the trouble of guarding the both of you." Ragnar said with a smile.
Finan's eyes glazed over with hope as he looked to Ragnar in question.
Eve chose this moment to step in and break the silence as she draped a large fur coat over Ragnar's broad shoulders. Her fingernails traced the outline of his chest as she smiled and rested her face against him, "There, now you're warm and cozy."
"Thank you, Eve. Now, as for your question, Finan. I will train you in the sword as we promised unless that is not what you'd like to perform." The question hung in the air as if Ragnar all but expected its answer.
"Of course, I'd like to learn the sword from you, Ragnar. I prefer it over the spear and the axe. Plus, I know you better than the Frenchman and your brother. No offense Marquise." He shot an apologetic smile at the older man, who responded with a shrug.
"Bah! That's what I like to hear." Ragnar smiled as he pulled Eve closer and slammed his wooden spoon on the table.
"Now, Marquise, tell me how the training for our house guard is going. How many do we have that are practicing the spear?" His calm gaze turned to the quiet Frenchman sipping on the stew.
The grizzled veteran set down his spoon and raised his eyes to meet Ragnar's gaze. "I'd like to once again apologize for what happened this evening, Milord. I've rounded up ten men both from your father's army and our Viking entourage that were suitable for the spear. I've shown them the basics before dinner, and we will continue to practice daily. I'd estimate that they'll be able to hold their own within the month's end."
Ragnar nodded with a slight smile as Erika, who'd been quietly ignoring the lot of them, finally took this moment to speak, "What are your plans with me, Milord. I wish to be set free, and I'd rather not have to choose to escape." A slight glint of hatred arose in her silver eyes.
Eve twirled Ragnar's chest hair in relaxed satisfaction as she gazed upon the visage of Erika, "Are you not happy? You're being treated better than most slaves ever would. You're not in chains, your master doesn't beat or whip you, and you have the liberty to walk around unsupervised. You wouldn't have this much freedom even under your father's rule."
The hatred turned to rage as she screamed, "DO NOT SPEAK OF MY FATHER! None of you knows what he was like." She got up in a fury and stormed off into the darkness surrounding the camp.
Ragnar chuckled as their table gained the attention of over half their camp, "So, much for women and their selective hearing. I will go speak to her," as he stood up, much to the disappointment of Eve.
"Alright, come back soon then, Milord. Your bed will be warm and waiting for you." She said with a sultry wink.
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