***Hello everyone! Welcome to another RusEng fic of mine! This fic won't be very long, a few chapters or so. The idea just came to me one day over my long winter break and I couldn't help but write it! I hope you all come to enjoy it! Special thanks to my beta for all her hard, fast work! Now please, read on and enjoy! Read and review! You can also read this fic on Archive of Our Own Penname: CreamPuffBunny
***Warnings: Minor violence, language, mild yaoi
***Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia. I am making no money off of this fic.
***Summary: Branded a bad omen due to his light coloring, Arthur is sent to live and study at a monastery to protect him from harm. But his whole life will change when the monastery is raided by a band of northern barbarians whose leader takes Arthur hostage. Bound to not be a slave or give in to the barbarian Ivan, Arthur must find a way to escape from the dark, sensual clutches of his captor who is more than what he seems. Will Arthur fight to be considered Ivan's equal? Or will he end up having to destroy the man who took him from his life to keep his pride? Can Ivan tame the fiery tongue and temper that is his new slave? Or will his charming little serpent prove to be his demise?
Is a snake's skin more threatening than its bite?
Snake Charmer
Chapter 1
It was just another boring day at the monastery.
Arthur sat at his bedroom window, staring out at the falling rain with the only sound being the droplets on the glass. The sky was a steady, solid gray without a peek or speck of blue to promise sunshine. At this rate, the rainstorm would last for the rest of the day, and probably long into the night. He noticed some other monks hurrying from the vegetable garden with baskets full of leafy greens. Arthur's green eyes crossed in disgust. 'Looks like cabbage soup again'. He mumbled to himself. It wasn't that he didn't like vegetables but this monastery only eats vegetables and no meat. None at all. It was boring. Very boring.
He didn't belong here, but he had no choice in the matter when his father sent him to this strict and boring place to be a monk. Arthur knew why his father did it, though, and had to respect the man's decision, for it was all in his good interest. Arthur had been born with rare coloring; golden blonde hair and green eyes, which were considered an evil omen amongst the normally dark hair and eye people of his race. Arthur always thought it foolish, and never once did he believe that he was 'evil'. There were some special things he could do that others couldn't, like hear specific sounds (voices) and see things that others can not. It frightened his mother the first time he mentioned it, asking her, as a little boy, why there was a man standing by the door and no one was there. His father had urged and begged him not to mention such things to anyone but them, so Arthur kept his sixth sense to himself.
Arthur thought he would be safe if he never told anyone of the things he heard and saw, but that turned out to not be the case when he grew older. His blonde hair and eyes attracted unwanted attention all the time from both men and women. It became such a problem that his father locked him inside the house, to keep him safe. There his father taught him everything from reading to writing to mathematics. He learned how to play his father's violin and his mother's harp. To pass the time while locked in the house he started to write short stories as well as sheet music. It was all he could do to keep himself from going insane. Yet all of that would change.
One night there was a terrible storm that swept the land, a powerful source of nature's wrath like that of which no one has ever seen. Such strong winds tore apart houses and roofs. Heavy rains flooded the ground, sank houses, and flooded bottom floors. Animals and children drowned in the water. Vegetation soaked into the ground. Fields were rendered useless with mudslides. All of these were blamed on Arthur Kirkland.
His father tried to reason with the people, saying that nature had a way of being unpredictable but no one would listen to him. The people wanted Arthur dead and commanded his head on a pike. Unable to soothe the angry mob, his parents made a harsh decision: he had to leave the village. They brought him to this monastery where the monks wrapped a black cloth around his head to hide the blonde hair. He was told to always keep his head lowered when strangers came to the monastery for fear of them noticing the green eyes. It was here where he would live out the rest of his days, and that had been six years ago. He never saw his parents again.
Remembering all of this left him with a bad taste in his mouth. Moving away from the window, he went to his desk where he packed up his candles, journals, quills, ink bottle and paper. His only means of escape was the catacombs beneath the ancient monastery, a place where he could be alone with this reading and writing. And magic. All the monks thought he was going down there to pray for the spirits of dead, and that's what he would have them believe. Not one ever came to check on him. Arthur found that studying amongst the dead was the best way to learn for no one was there to judge him. The dead don't talk.
An old stone coffin served as his desk. He lit the candles, piled up his journals, set out the paper, and readied the quill. With a sigh of relief he scratched at his hair now free of the black rag that concealed it. Now he can begin his reading and writings.
But something wasn't right about the catacombs this day. Arthur had been reading for no more than an hour when he began to feel a disturbance in the atmosphere around him. With his eyes, he thought he saw some of the skeletal bodies moving. His ears picked up the sound of many whispers. 'Something is wrong'. He thought to himself, slamming his book shut and running to the stone steps that led to the main floor. Above him he could hear the monks screaming. Behind him the old bones started to rattle and shake. Was this truly happening? Or was this just part of his unique powers?
In his mind's eye, a scene was conjured of the monks fleeing from a band of armed warriors. Arthur couldn't be sure if this was just a vision, or if it was really happening. To test his vision, he hurried to the far side of the catacombs where there was a bared window to see out into the main prayer hall. Climbing the old ladder to the window, he lifted the wooden cover and peered through the bars. His vision had not lied. The monastery was under attack by armed warriors, barbarians of the far north region. Arthur watched in silent shock as the bodies of his fellow monks were cut down like dried corn stalks. They were a peaceful order. They harbored no weapons and sought no violence, but these barbarians thought differently.
There was nothing he could do but hide here, wait for the massacre to be over, and then leave. While he felt sorrow and remorse for his fellow monks, his life was still more important. It was a selfish way to think for a monk, but he is the only one who will remain alive to tell of what happened. His fellow monks were not scholars like him but humble men of prayer, faith and hope. Arthur always saw their teachings as ignorant nonsense with no substance behind it. But now, he felt guilty for his thoughts and opinions because the main prayer hall was lined with dead bodies. These men would never pray or hope again.
A warrior came into his line of vision; a massive bulk of a man wielding a bloodied axe and black helmet. He wore little armor, a status symbol of a warrior who though himself untouchable. Arthur studied this race of northerners well. They were a force to be reckoned with for there was no reasoning with a primitive, barbaric tribe who spoke through violence and force rather than politics and science. 'Remain still, Arthur. Make no move. Make no sound.'
But the man caught sight of him in his hiding place. For a moment, their gazes met. Arthur gasped and slammed the window door shut, nearly falling off the ladder as he tried to hurry down it. The barbarian found him! The window door was kicked open with the force ripping it from its old, rusty hinges. Arthur happened to look up into the shadowed face of the barbarian again, and witnessed a large, wolfish grin. He ran.
'I must hide!' There was only one crypt stall that was void of a body, so Arthur chose to hide there. He took some skulls with him as he weaseled his way inside the narrow stone grotto where only a dead body should lie, not a live one. He had some time before the barbarian found the door, which was hidden behind holy tapestries. Arthur piled the skulls at the mouth of the grave grotto, hoping to shield himself. He laid in silence, his heart pounding.
A few moments later the barbarian found the door. Arthur heard it being kicked open. The whispers from the dead tripled, filling his head with a deafening sound that threatened to drive him made. The dead were frightened of an unholy being making his way into their final resting place. Arthur could only look through the open areas between the skulls as the barbarian found his desk. The man looked through the items, flipped through his books and journals. Arthur covered his mouth to keep his rapid breathing from being heard. He focused on the bladed ax, stained dark red with the blood of his fellow monks. Would his blood stain that ax as well?
The warrior began to look through the crypt, pulling the skeletal bodies out from their graves without a care. Arthur felt the sting of tears in the back of his eyes but he didn't cry. Soon this warrior would come to this grave and discover him. He wouldn't allow himself to die. In his robes he had a letter opener, he remembered, a treasured gift from the eldest monk who died more than a year ago. This would serve as his weapon of defense. Arthur slowly removed it, held it out in front, and waited for the barbarian to come to him.
Now it was his turn. He would get revenge for his fallen brothers!
The warrior pulled the skulls from the grave.
Arthur let out a battle cry and thrust the letter opener forward towards the warrior's heart.
The single layer of top chest armor blocked the tiny blade from piercing his heart.
Arthur froze.
The barbarian stared at him.
Neither one made a move.
Then, the warrior reached his large dirty and bloodied hand into the grave. Arthur did the only thing he could do, like a snake cornered, he struck with his teeth. He bit down hard on the hand, breaking the skin and tasting blood upon his lips. The man yanked his hand out with a hiss of pain. Arthur knew he was trapped, but he wouldn't go down without a fight. He was never one to go easily, ever. He longed to argue. He loved a challenge. Debating was a hobby of his. He would fight this barbarian with every fiber of his being.
But he lost.
The warrior reached in with both hands this time and Arthur could only bite one. This time, however, the man ignored the bite and pulled him out like a fur trapper dragging out an animal from its den. Arthur started to fight him the moment he was out of the grave. He struggled wildly, using his limbs and fists to attack the large warrior in any way he could. The man was strong and even laughed as if this was humorous to him. That infuriated Arthur further and his temper ignited into a frenzy of attacks. The warrior wouldn't have it.
Arthur never saw it coming but something hard struck the side of his head. His vision blurred while a terrible, numbing pain shot through his head, rendering him helpless. He felt himself land on the stone floor, the pain throbbing behind his eyes while the rest of his body went completely numb. He had never experienced such pain before. Right before his vision left him completely and his mind went blank, he saw the warrior looming above him.
/
He was bouncing. That's the first thing Arthur noticed when his mind started to wake up. His eyes remained closed while the rest of his body bounced and shook. What was going on? When he opened his eyes they immediately shut tight when the pain throbbing in his head like a terrible headache. He gasped at the intense pain, rolling around on the bouncing surface. Bouncing? He cautiously opened his eyes to thin slits, noticing the wooden walls in front of him with a bared window.
'A wagon. I'm in a wagon…and a prisoner's one at that.'
Ignoring the pain, he forced himself to stand, pleased to find that his captors haven't bound him. The door was before him. It was probably locked, but it was worth attempting. He threw himself into the door, rattling the whole wagon but it didn't budge. He slammed into it a second time, and then a third, then fourth until the wagon came to a screeching halt. The force of the stop toppled him backwards to land none-to-gently on the wagon floor. So he had caught the attention of his captors, did he? Arthur smirked and found himself chuckling darkly. They would open that the door, and the moment they did, he would lash out and make a run for it.
The door opened.
Arthur lunged, just as planned, but it didn't have the result he hoped for. He landed right in the arms of a warrior, a BIG warrior, who felt more like a wall than a man. Arthur felt large arms wrap around him in a bear hug, holding him tightly to the large man's armored chest. The pain flared behind his eyes and filled his head once again, but Arthur would not allow it to hinder his escape.
"Let go of me! Mongrel! Brute! Bastard!" He shouted, spat, kicked, and even snapped his jaws at the warrior's face. "Eat shit and die!"
"Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?" The brute spoke in his language.
Arthur paused in his struggles when the man spoke his tongue. His first thought was that this was no ordinary northern warrior but an intelligent one, most likely a noble for he spoke too well. Intelligent being or not, Arthur chose to spit in the man's face once again, nailing him right in the center of his big nose. "Unhand me! Now!"
"Or you'll do what, exactly?" The man smiled at him with an amused expression. "Spit on me some more?"
"Oh, I'll do more than spit!" Arthur threatened.
The man laughed. "I don't doubt you would, slave!"
Arthur stopped for a moment when he heard the word 'slave', and then continued with his struggling to get free of the tight hold. "I am not a slave! I am no one's slave! Now unhand me, bastard, or you'll face my wrath!" Now the other warriors with the brute started to laugh, which only angered him further. "I have dark powers! Be warned! All of you! For if I am not released now, it will not rain for weeks!"
To his shame and embarrassment it began to drizzle. He failed to notice, and remember, that it had been raining during the attack. This threw the men into another round of laughter. 'Bastards!'
"Is this your wrath that you promised, slave? No rain, you say?" The warrior mocked.
Arthur said nothing more but let his glare speak for him.
"Consider yourself very lucky that I am your new master, slave, for I enjoy seeing you fight like this. Any other man of my people would have cut out your tongue or had you whipped."
"Threats of a barbarian race!" Arthur hissed. "Speaking through useless violence and using fear to get what you want! Cowards! Spineless little field mice!" He spat at the man again.
The warrior gave a little nod, ignoring the spit that settled on his cheek. "Men, I do believe we caught ourselves a spiting cobra!" His man laughed with him. "And a pretty one at that!"
Arthur glared and grit his teeth. He hated when men called him 'pretty'. "Who are you, brute?" He asked the man. "Tell me so I have a name to write on your grave after I kill you!" The other men mocked him with a stream of 'ooo's'.
"My name is Ivan!" Ivan answered with a wolf grin. " 'Master' to you, slave!"
"I do not answer to 'slave'! My name is Arthur! Arthur Kirkland!"
"Well, Arthur Kirkland," Ivan spoke the name in a mocking tone. "Welcome to the world of northern barbarians! Snakes don't do well in cold climates, do they?" Arthur's answer came with a hiss. "I'll enjoy breaking you in, Arthur Kirkland. There is no slave I have yet to break."
"I'll break you first, swine!"
Ivan only chuckled and started to squeeze the smaller man in his hold. "We have a long ride up that mountain to my home, slave." Arthur was gasping for air. "The air gets colder the higher we climb." He kept squeezing. Arthur let out a cry. "Let's see how well your little monk robes bear the chill!" He threw the new slave back into the wagon and slammed the door, locking it. "Move out!" He commanded.
Arthur was frightened, as much as he hated to admit it to himself. He didn't doubt that these men were taking him to their homeland. A long, dark road awaited him with dangerous around ever turn. If he were going to make it out alive, he would have to endure their torture, strengthen his will, and wait for a chance to escape. Arthur was powerless, physically, against this group of primitive barbarians so he would have to rely on his wits to see him through this.
However, there was one issue that troubled him and that was the 'master', Ivan. He spoke remarkably well, almost too well to be a primitive warrior. The only conclusion Arthur could come to about the warrior is that he is of noble birth, but never, in all his books about the northerns, did the texts mention anything about noble bloodlines among them. If his books were true, and he knew them to be, then Ivan must be a noble from his world and not the barbarians. Perhaps Ivan was an outcast and sought acceptance in the mountain world. Maybe he wished for a different life and chose to live with warriors. There were many possibilities but the only way to get a straight answer was to ask Ivan himself. But Arthur would be damned if he struck up a conversation with the brute.
'Focus your strength on will and thought, Arthur.' He told himself. 'Do not let them break you. Do not let them see you suffer. Do not let them win.'
Easier said than done.
2 Days Later.
It had been snowing for hours.
Arthur lay in a huddled heap on the wagon floor, curled tightly into himself while trying to keep warm. His body was shivering violently, his teeth chattered loudly with each echo bouncing around in his head. His stomach, while empty of food, remained numb in a constant state of cold. He was given only small sips of water- no food and no blankets. It felt like everything on him was frozen; eyes, feet, fingers, toes, nose, every part of him. But he wouldn't give in. He couldn't give in. These barbarians wanted to break him.
'I won't break!' Arthur told himself.
In a bit the wagon stopped and he wondered if they had arrived at their destination. Pulling himself up to the barred window, he peered through the sheet of falling snow to watch the men build a fire. Arthur nearly let out a cry when he saw the yellow and orange blaze of the fire. All the men gathered around it, warming their hands and body while he chattered and froze in the wagon. Oh how he longed to be in front of that fire! He looked at his fingers, noticing they were turning blue and felt numb.
'Frostbite.' Arthur thought. 'At this rate, I'll lose my fingers!' He did not want to lose his ability to write so something had to be done and fast. It was against his vow to not give in, but he wouldn't be able to help himself if his hands lost their use! He was stubborn, but he wasn't stupid. "IVAN!" He called to the group. "IVAN!"
"I do not answer to slaves who call me by the wrong name!" Ivan shouted back.
Arthur sneered. He wanted him to shout 'master'. "Fine." He muttered and then shouted, "MASTER!" It hurt his gut to say that word.
"Coming!" Ivan came over to the window, dressed in furs, and smiled at his slave. "Yes, Arthur Kirkland?"
"I'm…I'm…I'm…" his chattering teeth made it hard to speak.
"Cold?" Ivan answered for him. "I know you must be cold in there! We are in the mountains, you know. Tomorrow morning we will arrive at my home. I think you can endure the cold for one more night."
"I can't!"
Ivan laughed. "You want a blanket then? Or maybe you wish to be by the fire with us?"
"Yes." He chattered. "I…I want…to!"
"Say 'please'." Ivan teased.
"NOW!"
Ivan's purple eyes widened in surprise but they were filled with only amusement, not anger. He found his new slave a delightful joy to have. "Since you put it that way." He wanted to tease the wild man further, so he unlocked the door and held it open. "Come on, then. Come out."
Arthur couldn't believe it. The door was open! Now was his chance! 'Wait. He'll be expecting me to run right now. I need to pretend I'm not, and then make a run for it!'
Slowly, on numbed feet, he walked to the open door. He took a second to notice his surroundings, finding nothing but snow on the ground and high trees. Plotting his every move, he jumped down into the ankle deep snow, feeling the cold on his sandaled intensify but bit his lip to keep quiet. To his right, he noticed, was a path. The path they took to get here. On a whim, he took off- slowly.
'Run, Arthur! Run! Wait, what are you doing?' He hobbled through the snow. 'Run…go back…run…go back…you'll die…die…you'll freeze…why are you running?' Arthur glanced behind him to see Ivan, with a smile, following behind him. 'He's mocking me! He knows I can't get far in this snow!' His feet were numb, his body chilled, and his willpower was draining.
With the last bit of his strength gone he stumbled into the snow, landing in the wet cold. Behind him he heard the loud crunching noise of snow beneath feet. Ivan's fur clad boots appeared before him. Trembling with both cold and fear, he let his green eyes look up at his captor, a monster in the snow. Arthur only now realized just how tall and strong Ivan was, a giant of a man. This warrior was toying with him for he knew, at any moment, Ivan could easily snap his neck or break every bone in his body without breaking a sweat. He was at the mercy of this bulking bastard who only smiled at him, as if he were nothing more than a toy for a child's amusement. Still, he narrowed his eyes at the snow giant.
"So, how do you feel now?" Ivan asked him but didn't expect an answer. "Probably a bit cold, yes?" He crossed his arms. "Just where were you planning to go in this snow, and in the dark no less? You'll die in this cold."
Arthur, in his shame, turned away from him.
"I think you need to learn a few things about your new life as my slave, Arthur Kirkland."
Suddenly, Arthur felt himself pulled up from the snow and dangling in the air, his feet inches from the ground. Ivan carried him into the cluster of trees outside the path, shoving his numb back against a trunk. Arthur let out a weak cry of protest as Ivan's body crushed his, pressing him hard against the cold trunk. But that wasn't the most shocking part. Ivan's lips were suddenly crushed against his in a deep kiss.
Too stunned to move, Arthur felt the warmth of Ivan's mouth on his own. The other's tongue forced its way deep inside, painfully tilting his head back as if to let it slide down his throat. Appalled, Arthur started to struggle weakly against his captor but his numb limbs were powerless to defend him. There was one thing he could do, though, and that was to bite down on Ivan's tongue. It had worked for his mouth was free of the barbarian's, but that didn't end the onslaught. Ivan was clearly enraged by the bite and Arthur found his throat suddenly constricted with a large gloved hand. Ivan's hand was massive for it wrapped so widely around his neck that he felt the gloved fingertips under his ears! At that moment, for the first time ever, Arthur realized just how small he was. This snow giant had more power in his one hand than Arthur had in his entire body. He thought the man would strike him, but no such punishment came.
He would have preferred the punch over the second kiss.
"I am to be your new life, slave. Accept your fate." Ivan whispered to him against those cold, chapped lips. "I'm not a violent man when it comes to my slaves so long as they behave. I know how special you are, with your blonde hair and emerald green eyes. You are mine now, and no one else will ever have you."
Arthur, ever defiant, spoke through the chokehold. "I…am…Arthur…Kirkland!" He challenged Ivan with his eyes, feeling the barbarian's hand loosen its hold around his neck. "I…am my…own master!"
"Not for long."
/
The fire was warm, and very welcomed. Ivan had carried Arthur to the camp, sat him in front of the fire on some furs, and had his men wrap rags around his hands and feet. It took Arthur a long while to get any type of feeling back in his limbs but when he did it was as if the heavens shined down upon him. His mind was able to think at a quicker pace so he chose this quiet time to observe his captor and the other men.
Arthur couldn't believe the size of all these men. He counted ten in total, each one seeming bigger than the last, as if all of their parents mated with giants. They were broad in shoulders with solid muscle, true warriors whose only upbringing was with a sword. Arthur was certain this group of men were all brawn and no brain, except for him.
Ivan. The 'master'. The leader, no doubt, of this murderous band that slaughtered his monk brothers like pitiful cattle. Arthur wondered, for a moment, just how many of his brothers fell prey to Ivan's ax? Did any of them escape? Or did Ivan's men kill them all? And for what purpose, besides the obvious one: gold. Arthur's monastery is, or was, one of the richest in the land. Many nobles and even the king contributed to the monastery on a weekly or monthly basis. Did Ivan's men hear of this and attack? Or was it for the sheer act of killing?
No, not just for killing. Ivan was an intelligent warrior, not some low born farm boy with no education. Ivan was aware of what he was doing and why he was doing it. But the biggest problem for Arthur was the issue of Ivan's kiss and the words the barbarian spoke. Ivan wasn't going to make him just a slave, but a 'pleasure' slave. Like most men, Ivan is attracted to the blonde hair and green eyes, a rarity even among these warriors. They were all staring at him with leers and smirks, desiring him. That thought made him shiver with disgust.
He never gave much thought to pleasure of either sex, or even to pleasure himself. He never had the urge to do so, choosing to focus more on his studies. One of the younger monks had told him that it was unnatural to not have the urge to want it indulge in sexual pleasures. Arthur assumed it was because of his constant fear of being near people due to his hidden upbringing. His parents kept him hidden away for most of his life knowing the trouble he would face in the real world because of his cursed hair and eyes. That had to be the reason why.
'Why am I even thinking about this?' He thought to himself. 'It's because of that kiss…with his thick tongue and foul breath.' Arthur shuddered. 'I could never sleep with that bastard! Never! He'll have to force me, and even then I won't give in without a fight.' He knew all about what went on between two people during sex. He read about it in a book, one he had to pay a fellow monk to sneak it in to the monastery for him. 'I'll take a whipping before I let Ivan anywhere near my body!'
/
Ivan kept looking at his new slave, admiring the sheer look of pure hatred and anger in those emerald eyes. It felt as if he caught an exotic snake, and a venomous one at that! 'This one is going to be fun to toy with.' He thought excitedly. Arthur is going to be a fighter, stubborn to the end, no matter what sort of treatment he gave him. He didn't plan on punishing Arthur in the way he would most slaves because of the strange spiritual pull he felt towards the young monk. The blonde hair and green eyes were a symbol of evil, except Ivan didn't believe that. He himself had strange coloring for eyes; soft purple. It was rare amongst his warriors and sometimes he was seen as an outcast, so he knew how Arthur felt. He could ease the venom in his precious little snake slave if he appealed to him on the same level of intelligence and sympathy. Arthur must think him a stupid barbarian that he can woo and kill when his back is turned.
'If anyone is going to kill me it would be him.' Ivan laughed to himself. 'He thinks he'll be able to pull one over on me, but he doesn't know me at all. I'll get him to yield to me in no time, and then I can toss him aside.'
"Master Ivan, the slave looks ready to kill." Said one of the men. "If his glare is bothering you, sir, I can beat him for you?"
"That won't be necessary. Let the others know that I don't want him touched on the fear of losing a hand. Do I make myself clear?"
"I will let them know, Master."
Ivan smirked. "None of you are capable of handling a snake like him. Leave him to me."
"Yes sir."
"Give the snake some food. He must be hungry after two days of no food."
Ivan watched as the warrior brought over a stick of dried meat for Arthur, holding it out to him. There is a good chance Arthur couldn't speak their language so he might not know what the warrior was saying to him. Arthur looked over at him, and then to the meat. With that stubborn streak, Arthur turned his nose in the air, refusing the meat. Ivan knew that's how he would react. The snake would give in eventually for the stomach can only combat the will for a short time. Hunger takes control quickly, which Arthur will soon come to know.
/
Arthur slept a little better in the wagon with a fur blanket to keep him warm. Only now he wished he had taken that dried meat for the pains in his stomach were growing harder to ignore. How he wished he had some of that cabbage soup right about now. He had taken the monastery food for granted now.
"Damn this wretched cold!" He sneezed into the blanket. "I'd rather freeze to death! I should just-" his eyes widened when they caught sight of a castle through the window. "A castle in the mountains? In all this snow?" He got up for a closer look, seeing a castle similar to the ones where he lived. 'I've never read about any castles this far in the mountains! These barbarians live in huts and tree houses! Not castles!' Could what he had read been wrong? Were there noble families living in the mountains? These mountains were vast and snowy, not fit for human life. But there was no mistaking that castle- it was real.
He gulped. "Is this to be my new home? I'll throw myself from the tower if so."
/
This was no dungeon they cast him in. If he had any clue about how this castle in the mountains was run he would guess this was the 'pleasure slave' district. His room was small with only a simple bed, a basin, and an area rug. They locked him inside as well. At least it was warm and the bed was very soft compared to the floor of a wagon. His stomach growled angrily, demanding nourishment. He was very, very hungry. Hungry and thirsty. But he tried to ignore the needs of hunger by laying on the bed, wiling himself to fall asleep. It was easy to do.
The next time he woke up was due to manhandling. He was pulled from the bed by a pair of large men, each one taking hold of his arms. They carried him out the room, ignoring his struggles and curses. Where were they taking him? His answer came with another warrior locking an leather collar around his neck like some dog or farm animal. Arthur protested, but the warriors ignored him or didn't understand his language. Another of the warriors tied his wrists together while the other did the same to his ankles. He did get one good swift kick in that angered the warrior but no punishment came.
Then they carried him to a wooden tub with a fire beneath it. Are they going to cook him? Arthur realized, when they dropped him in the scented water, naked, that it was actually a bath. He should have figured as much. The water felt wonderful on his travel-worn skin and he couldn't resist sinking into its depths with a sigh of relief. He was due a good long bath.
The warriors remained with him while a set of male slaves came in to tend to him. Arthur tried to speak to them, but they stared at him in confusion. It seemed Ivan was the only one who spoke his tongue. The slaves joined him in the bath, which he found odd and curious at the same time. Was this some sort of sexual thing? Instead, they washed him. Arthur felt that there was no reason to be hostile to these two slaves for they were the same as him. He let them wash his body and hair with scented oils and soap, a combination he never would have thought a clan of barbarians used.
'There must be an entire culture with these people that is unknown to my world.' Arthur thought to himself as his back was scrubbed. If things went well for him he would have to write about his experiences here. If he could learn about this culture then his writing would be in libraries and shared in universities! The idea brought a grin to his face, but it quickly diminished when he remembered that he was here as a 'slave'. 'How much experience can I obtain if I'm locked up?'
There was little time for thought after the bath for the slaves helped him to dress. Arthur thought the attire ridiculous for it was a sheer sleep shirt that reached his knees. So he was to prance around naked with only a sheer night dress to cover him? He could see every naked part of himself. He was fine being naked in front of the slaves but the idea of being so in front of Ivan brought a heated blush to his face. Ivan wanted him naked. Was he to walk around like this and perform his 'slave duties'? The slaves helping him wore only simple clothes around their waists to hide their groins and thighs. Why couldn't he have that?
To his surprise, one of the slaves brought over a long, heavy black robe lined with fur. Such an article of dress was very expensive, or it was stolen. Still, Arthur eagerly slipped it on, not just to cover his sheer naked body but wanted to indulge in the richness that was clean fur. Even through the sheer outfit he felt the soft fur snuggling him. This sort of treatment he could handle. He came from a fairly poor family and spent his early adult life in a humble monastery. Such luxuries were foreign to him.
After the dressing was finished the warriors brought (or rather dragged) him to a large chamber that could only be for Ivan. To the far wall of the chamber was a chain attached to the wall, which he was secured to and untied. They had him chained like a dog on a leash, but at least the room was warm. And then they left him alone in the room. Immediately, Arthur tried everything he could to break the chains or slip out of it. Nothing worked. To seek some answers, he focused his mind on contacting the spirits, if there were any, to hopefully help him think of a way to escape. Either he was too weak from hunger and the travel, or this frozen place was void of all spirits. When no answers from the spirits came he gave a huff of annoyance, he sat cross legged on the floor and took a look at the room.
Ivan was definitely a noble. Either this culture had a noble bloodline or Ivan was a stowaway. This castle appeared to have been here for many years, though, considering its solid structure. The fireplace was large and blazing with a healthy fire that illuminated the entire room. There was a desk, he saw, with papers on it. So Ivan knew how to read and write? That was only natural since he spoke so well. Along the walls were tapestries of strange scenes he'd never seen before in any book: probably mythology scenes of this culture. Ivan had to be a hunter as well for his kills were mounted on the wall, mostly stags, bears and some other large cat-like creatures. And then there was the bed. Four pillars, a canopy, some pillows and heavy fur blankets. Fur everywhere. The only nice fur is the one currently wrapped around him.
'If Ivan plans to see me naked on that bed tonight, he his sadly mistaken.'
From the door he heard men's voices and he was immediately on his guard. The door opened and Ivan stepped in followed by three slaves. One had a tray of food, the other a small table and the third with a drinking jug. Arthur watched carefully as the slaves silently set up the table in front of him, just a few inches out of his reach. The scent of cooked meat filled his nostrils, making his stomach ache with hunger and his mouth water. The slave with the jug poured a goblet of clear liquid that looked like water, and his throat was parched. He longed to feel that water and food filling his belly. Yet the meal was not for him but for Ivan. The man took his seat in front of the small feast and gave Arthur a smile that chilled him to his very core.
"I'm assuming you're warmer now?"
Arthur was staring at the food but answered, "I am."
"You look much better in that robe rather than monk ones." Ivan said as he cut a piece of the cook meat, holding it just in front of Arthur's view so the slave could see the juices dripping from it. "This suits you." He ate the piece of meat.
He was hungry, no, starving. It was hard to focus on Ivan's words. "I had no choice in what I wear."
Ivan took a drink. "Are you hungry?" He asked.
"A little." Came his cold reply.
"Well then, slave, have some." He cut off a piece of the meat and dropped it to the floor, right in Arthur's reach.
Arthur stared at the piece of meat. This was all part of a plan to break his will. "I will not eat off the floor like a dog."
"Pity." Ivan answered. "It's a nice piece of venison. Spiced with rosemary, a delicious herb. It'd be a shame for you to leave it."
He loved the smell and taste of rosemary. Arthur didn't doubt Ivan's words about the meat being cooked and seasoned. That meat, which was probably still warm, could be in his belly right now. But he couldn't give Ivan that satisfaction, no matter how much his body yearned and craved it.
"Allow me to eat on a plate and at a table, then I will accept your generosity."
"Three days without any food would be hard on anyone, peasant, monk or warrior. Don't deny yourself food just because you're stubborn, my little snake."
"Snake? How dare you call me something so vile! You will call me by my name!"
Ivan smirked. "I will call you by your name when you address me by my title."
Arthur sucked his teeth. Ivan got him on that one. "Very well then. If you wish to call me 'Snake' then do so. I guess it suits me." He said proudly, crossing his arms. "After all, I do have a very deadly bite, seeing as you have a nice little mark on your finger."
Ivan looked at his hand where Arthur had first bit him. "Indeed. Although, I've been known to bite much harder." He said with a wolf grin. "Now then, my delightful little snake, where do you come from?" He asked while eating another piece of meat. "I know you didn't grow up in that monastery. And what were you doing in the catacombs? Rather a dark place to read, yes?"
"If you must know, I was left there by my parents when I was about thirteen summers. The people in my village feared me because-"
"Of your hair and eyes?" Ivan finished for him, noting Arthur's mild look of surprise. "I know about your coloring. Blonde hair is so rare in this world. If you notice, my hair is a very, very silvery blonde but that's only because of where I was born. Even my eyes are a rarity. Did you notice mine are purple?"
Arthur noticed once Ivan pointed out. He had thought they were blue. "So what? Are you considered a bad omen and evil?"
Ivan shook his head and ate another piece of meat. "Every male in my bloodline has hair like mine. It's a sign of nobility here in my world. I'm guessing you are not of noble birth, then?"
"So what if I'm not? I know how to read and write. I can calculate numbers and formulas. I now how to play the harp and the violin. My parents were not nobles, but they were intelligent and protected me from harm. They taught me everything I know, and the rest, well, I self-taught in those catacombs. The monks wouldn't let me study the numerous 'heretical' content in the monastery so I did it secretly."
"I have lots of books here for you to read, if you wish it. When you're not serving me, that is." He drank some more water.
"I am not a slave. I take orders from no one." He took a glance at that piece of meat on the floor again. "As I said before, I am my own master."
Ivan looked at him, chewing his meat slowly as he pondered on Arthur's extreme stubbornness. He had never encountered one so strong-willed and sharp-tongued as this Arthur Kirkland. The meat on the floor went untouched, even though it was clear the man was hungry. The long journey in the cold did nothing to chill that heated gaze. Ivan had tamed wild stallions and conquered raging bulls, yet he has never tamed a snake. He suddenly pictured Arthur's body covered in green snake scale tattoos to match those emerald eyes.
There was an air of mystery surrounding Arthur Kirkland, and it could end up being a dangerous one. Ivan knows how a snake can petrify a bird or a small mammal with just a stare alone. A snake can have a bite so venomous it can paralyze or even kill a full grown man. Ivan knew now that he had to be a snake charmer if he were going to tame this green eyed snake. The idea of the challenge awakened a lustful stirring in his loins. He wanted to act on it, but such a bold move now would only make Arthur hate him even more. If he were to charm this snake, he had to match him wit for wit, appeal to his intelligence, and awaken desire within that untouched body. He had to make Arthur come to him, not force the slave to give up his virginity. There would be no victory or conquest in forcing Arthur's body to his pleasure. Seeing this stubborn snake uncoil beneath him with wanton lust and longing would be much more satisfying than just taking what he wanted.
But there was one thing he wanted. He needed to see Arthur's body. If just to tease himself. "Slave, stand up and remove your robe."
"I'll do no such thing."
Ivan gave him firm stare. "I gave you an order, slave."
"And I gave you an answer." Arthur challenged. "My body is not for your eyes. My body is my own!"
"Your body belongs to whomever I say it does!"
Arthur smirked. "Ha! Clearly you've been spoiled all your life! Maybe you're used to getting what you want, but I don't cater to noble brats." He boasted.
Ivan was not expecting such insult and it started to bring out his darker side. "Slave, I gave you an order." He restated firmly. "Stand up and undress."
"To satisfy your perverted lust? Go ahead and whip me if you must. Beat me if you will. I will never strip willing for you!" Ivan's wolf grin suddenly made him cringe. He wondered if he went too far.
"Then I will just have to strip you instead."
Arthur tried to outrun him, but where was he to go? The chain was short, making it easy for Ivan to catch him. He shouted 'no' at the top of his lungs and struggled violently in Ivan's hold. He held the robe closed tightly in front of him as Ivan's large hands pawed at the material. It would seem he had the upper hand in this, and Arthur found himself giving a dark chuckle. However, it was a victory short lived for he never expected Ivan to destroy such a rich garment.
Arthur cried out as the robe was ripped from behind, as if it were only a thin piece of paper. Ivan's strength tore through linen, velvet and fur! He felt the nip of the cold air through the sheer night shirt and he quickly covered his groin, which left the rest of him open to Ivan. The night shirt was torn from his body just as quickly as the robe. Now he was completely naked for the first time in front of someone who wanted to have his body. The flush of pure embarrassment enflamed his face and he hated himself for it. It was a sign of weakness. Ivan would know that he had gotten to him with this attack. Now he feared the large man would take him by force. On instinct, he turned to glare at Ivan and shouted,
"You so much as touch me I'll bite my tongue and kill myself!" He pushed his tongue between his teeth and proceeded to bite down.
Ivan admired Arthur's unblemished and flawless skin as he answered the man. "You are too stubborn and full of pride to kill yourself." He let his eyes wander up the long pale legs and chose to not order Arthur to remove his hands from his center. Ivan knew he had gone too far tonight against his better judgment. "I'm not going to force myself upon you. I am tired and wish to seek the comfort of my bed."
He went over to the fire and poured the rest of the water onto it, killing the flame. The room was dark now with only a few candles by the bed to light up the area. Ivan gathered up the torn clothes, putting them out of Arthur's reach along with the food. He went to his wardrobe and took out his warmest, thickest sleeping cloak, making sure Arthur was watching as he put it on.
"Goodnight, slave. Sleep well." Ivan waved at him and went to his bed, slipping underneath the heavy pile of furs.
Arthur immediately felt the chill in the room now that the fire was dead and his body was naked. The floor was hard and cold. The food was still warm with its rich aroma taunting him. The robe and shirt were tossed across the chair, just out of his reach. Ivan did all this on purpose. Arthur glared and grit his teeth at the man on the bed.
'I will not break, Ivan!' Arthur swore to himself. 'I will prove to you that I am by far much stronger than you! Keep your cruel tricks! Try to bend me to your will! Your life blood will stain my hands before all this over!'
End Chapter 1 TBC