Jewel from the Sea
Written by: Evee
Outlined by: Sierra
Disclaimer: Sierra and I own the characters made from our own minds. All else that, rightfully, belongs to JK Rowling, belongs to her.
Important Note:
This fic actually contained explicit material. Since we do not wish to post such things, they have been edited accordingly. There may be one scene where we will include one. I desperately do not want to rate this story NC-17, so it will be forewarned before the scene. If you personally do not think you could handle reading a situation involving sexual activity, then DO NOT READ IT. You have been warned. Some scenes may include nudity, sexual suggestions, and slurs that do not reflect the authors themselves; just on the many hours we spent reading on history. Please enjoy the story!A/N: Please note there is things in here that may offend those who do not enjoy the brashness of the past. Or how we see the past. If you even remotely have a hinting that you would be offended, I suggest you hit the back button now. Thank you. Also, not all in this story is as they are in their books. Perhaps they are a bit different, but still, we tried to get their personalities to fit, maybe not perfectly, but still. It's close
Prologue
Molly, the midwife, carried the infant away from the curtained chamber and the covered body of her dead mother to where Severus, Lord of Inverness, sat brooding upon his high carved chair.
Her heart was thudding with apprehension in her plump bosom as she approached him, for his foul expression boded ill. Of a sudden, she was aware that all eyes were upon her, that all conversation had abruptly ceased in the crowded long house, the only sounds now the measured tread of her feet upon the rushes as she plodded steadily toward the central hearth with her unwelcome burden. It was as if all present were holding their breath and waiting, waiting for the storm that hung in the air to break- as well they might, Molly thought grimly, for no doubt that fur would fly when she made her announcement! After the custom of their people, she gently laid the newborn babe upon the rush-strewn floor at her lord's feet.
"Your daughter, if it please you, sir," she murmured, touching the small talisman of blessed Frey that hung about her neck as she did so, and praying against all odds to the contrary that Severus would accept his child and sprinkle her with water after their pagan rites.
As if she understood, the infant squirmed in her swaddling upon the rushes, flung out both chubby fists, and began to bawl lustily, her fair pink-and-white complexion turning a furious crimson as she did so.
"Please me? Nay, it does not please me, wench!" Severus thundered, turning a bloodshot, malevolent eye upon the quaking midwife and not so much as glancing at the infant squirming on the ground at his feet. "'Twas a son I wanted, as well you know-a fine, brave lad to follow me in battle and become lord of this hall in his turn- not this puling, puny girl-brat!" he sneered. "Take it away!"
"But my lord, the child needs to be suckled," Molly protested bravely. "If not put to the breast she will soon die! What shall I do? Look! The poor little mite is hungry, sir!"
Severus's bloodshot eyes gleamed cruelly. The jarl took a long draught from the silver-banded drinking horn in his hand, wiped his mouth on his hairy knuckles, and glowered at her, not deigning to cast so much as a glance at his daughter before answering.
"Do? I told thee once, woman- I care not what happens to it!" he said harshly. "Throw it in the fjord! Or leave it our for the weather or the wolves to deal with like any thrall's brat, and be gone with you! You dice with death when you eye me thus!" He brought his fist down upon the trestle table before him with such a crash that the wine flagon placed there jumped, and so did the midwife.
"Aye, my lord," Molly whispered, her lips frostily pursed, disapproval in her eyes despite her lord's threat. Hel the Hag take him! She should have known she waster her breath in appealing to the jarl's kinder instincts. The evil old brute had none! Cooing to the infant, she snatched her up and carried her away toward the curtained kitchens at the rear of the hall muttering, "Spiteful old goat!" under her breath as she did so.
"Wine! Meats! Women! I must drown my sorrows in drink, and forget this dark day!" Severus bellowed after her, and the house thralls-easily recognized by their white kirtles-began to fly hither and thither to do his bidding, tripping over each other in terror of their master's black mood.
In minutes the hall was abuzz with the news that their lord had not only rejected his newborn daughter, but seemed not a whit grief-stricken by the death of his lady, Kathryn. Furthermore, the humming said, he had demanded a feast, to drown his bitter sorrow at the child being born female. Severus's men joined him about the central hearth with their own drinking horns to commiserate with their lord in his disappointment, while in the kitchens the women's tongues clacked their disapproval like nervous hens, interspersed with oohs and aahs over the pretty newborn.
"Ah, your sire's a cruel one, he is. Let you die, indeed!" Molly muttered indignantly to the infant when they had all left off admiring her to busy themselves preparing the feast. She jiggled the babe in the manner of one well accustomed to babes-ja, and why shouldn't she be accustomed to them? Seven of her own she'd borne and raised, not to mention countless others brought safe into the world at her hands. "Ah, and 'tis a cruel, cruel world for an unwanted girl-babe such as yourself, my lovie," she crooned sadly, looking down at the tiny, puckered face.
What a good, wee babe she was, Molly thought, aye, and a beauty too! She'd stopped crying and was now endeavoring to nurse upon a little clenched fist thrust into her rosebud mouth. Seconds later she drifted off to sleep in Molly's capable arms, the surprisingly dark lashes trembling against plump, rosy cheeks. Men! Why, it was sin to not want a child as healthy and beautiful as this perfect little scrap in her arms, simply because she had been born female! Babes were too often born dead or in some way imperfect for Molly to condone the rejection of this whole, vigorous infant. She hoped Severus lived to rue the day he'd cast her off, aye, that she did!
Severus was deep in his cups, his lightly bearded chin buried in the fur of his jerkin, his body lolling drunkenly in his chair, when Remus the Wise strode into the hall sometime later, snowflakes clinging to his woolen mantle, his fair cheeks ruddy with cold.
All about the jarl his rough-and-ready company of men sang bawdy songs or roared with raucous merriment at coarse jests and greedily slopped drink from horns overflowing with mead and ale. Between times they gorged themselves on great slabs of roasted beef or morsels of duck, gnawed on joints of savory venison and delicious smoked salmon, on salted herring and gulls' eggs, on barley bread and oatcakes and more. Others, grown lusty with strong drink, tumbled terrified female thralls to the rushes, flung their kirtles up over their heads, and energetically mounted them then and there before all like mating dogs, with no thought of privacy. Remus picked his way through the rabble to his lord's side. As he approached, Severus jerked awake and opened one bleary eye.
"Ah, 'tis our good Remus, is it!" the jarl jeered drunkenly, lurching forward with his elbows propped upon the trestle table. "Have you come to gloat, eh?"
"Why would I wish to gloat, sir?"
Severus snorted. "You knew full well my Kathryn would die, did you not? You knew the child would be female?"
"Aye, sir, I did," Remus admitted.
"And yet you said nothing?" Severus roared, lumbering to his feet and swaying drunkenly there.
Remus flushed. "Nay, my lord. Knowing could change nothing. The threads of our destinies are woven on the looms of Fate even before the moment of our birth, are they not?
"Bah!" Severus snarled. "Destiny! Be gone from my sight, before I forget myself and have your throat cut, you cursed milksop! A woman!" he roared. "By Thor's Beard, bring me a woman! The dark slut with the tumbling black hair!" he waggled a finger at Remus. "Mayhap I'll breed a fine son upon another wench this day, think you not, my friend?" He grinned wolfishly and slumped to his chair, taking up the flagon at his elbow and pouring the mead straight from it into his eager, open mouth.
"All things are possible, my lord," Remus murmured. He bowed and left, undisturbed by his lord's threat.
It was not that Remus was possessed of greater courage than other men. Nay! Merely that he had known Severus would do nothing, despite his anger, even as he had known Kathryn would die in delivering her infant daughter. How had he known? He had seen this day years before, when the were newly returned from Britain, by virtue of the eerie power of the "sight" that had come down to him through his mother's bloodline. Over the years he had gradually come to accept the gift-or curse-the gods had given him.
For as far back as he could remember, even as a lad, he had been different from the others. While the lads of his uncle's hall had chased the wenches and played at battle, he had been of a quieter nature, much preferring knowledge to warfare. To this end he sought out the company of one of his uncle's thralls, an enslaved and learned monk brought from the misty green isle of Eire named Brother Timothy.
He'd listened enchanted to Timothy's tales of the Christian White Christ, Jesus, who had been filled with love and a radiant light that showered blessings on all about Him. Brother Timothy's stories had excited the young Remus beyond their adventurous content. With his keen intelligence, he had realized that this Jesus resembled his own Norse god, Balder the Beautiful, son of Odin. And with this realization had come a stunning insight. If the gods worshipped by the enemies of the Danes were so similar in attributes to their own gods, could then the people themselves be so very different? This insight was to change him forever for he could not stomach the thought of waging bloodshed and rapine on the people so like himself and his own.
This reluctance to spill blood might have proved disastrous were it not for his strange gift, for the men of his uncle's hall had neither patience nor pity for a quiet shy lad such as he, and baited and cuffed him mercilessly. Then one night as he lay upon his mantle, drifting in the moments between wakefulness and slumber, a vision had flashed before his eyes, like reflections seen clearly in a rectangle of polished tin.
He had seen his uncle's hall overrun by the neighboring clan of Severus, with whom they had had a blood feud for many decades, and witnessed with wide, horror-filled eyes the bloody destruction of his kin; he had seen himself snatched up and carried off to become a slave to the mighty Lord of Inverness, who, upon hearing of his strange gift, had elevated him above the status of a lowly house thrall, to become Severus's personal seer and advisor. Not many days hence, it had all happened as he had foreseen. His skill with the harp and lur horn and his facility for storytelling had also proved valuable beyond Remus' humble expectations, and his position in Inverness over the years had become something betwixt that of an advisor, a minstrel, a composer of sagas, and a prophet.
Since that fateful day, his visions had been many. Not once had they failed him! Though the "sight" gave him no inkling when the things he saw might come to pass, as surely as day followed night, in due course they would occur just as he had envisioned. In this manner he had seen the birth of Severus's daughter, and also the death of his wife, Kathryn, in childbed. He saw other things too-strange things he did not as yet understand. The memories tumbled through his brain like unleashed pups as he made his way to the kitchens.
He found the infant girl wrapped snugly in a lamb's fleece and covering of rabbit's fur, her cradle only a willow basket set beside the bread-baking stones of the cooking fire, where it was warm. Molly nodded at him from across the spit, hope flaring in her heart. All knew Remus the skald for a gentle, kindhearted man. If anyone could do aught for the poor wee girl, he could, Molly knew.
"A fine, healthy babe, sir," she told him eagerly. "Look!" Her eyes dared him to deny it.
And look he did. The infant was tiny, to Remus' bachelor eyes, yet perfect in every way. Waves of dark auburn hair molded to her well-shaped head. Tawny lashes-dark for such a fresh complexion-trembled on the rosy curves of her little cheeks. The rosebud mouth held a slightly downward droop, as if pouting, and the lips quivered as she suckled in her dreams.
Remus, a stranger to babes and, if the truth were known, a little afraid of them, was fascinated. He tentatively reached out to where a small fist lay, having escaped the swaddling. The tiny fingers with their delicate nails reminded him of rose petals clasped tight in a bud. He reached out rough-textured finger and hesitantly stroked the soft, soft skin. At once the little hand unfurled, then fastened tightly about his finger, and Remus was lost.
Remus was suddenly filled with anger at the thought of Severus rejecting such a healthy, lovely child. Sons were indeed a man's pride, but surely his daughters were his joy?
Clumsily he lifted the babe into his arms, nodded to Molly, who had tears of relief streaming down her seamed cheeks, and wrapped his mantle warmly about the child before carrying her outside the hall and to his horse. Not a league's distant, he knew of a young slave woman taken from Britain the year before-Nissa by name-who had recently birthed a stillborn babe, much to her fisherman master's disappointment and her own grief. She had ample milk-and love-for the unwanted little girl, Remus knew, and with her kind and generous heart and skill with herbs would prove a good nurse and mother to the child. He sprinkled the babe with drops of icy water from the Limsfjord after the Viking manner of a father accepting a child and named her Virginia, for to him her infant prettiness, purity, and promised greater beauty yet to come would fit her right.
And so it began.
Nissa and Remus between them raised the child, becoming both her mother and father she never knew. When at the age of eighteen months she was weaned, Nissa was brought by Remus to the hall of Inverness as little Virginia's nurse, for Remus believed firmly that the child should be raised to the position she had been born to.
The babe grew from crawling infant to pretty, toddling child, and her merry smile and infectious baby chuckles captured many a heart- though never her father's heart. When she learned to walk, his arms were never there to catch her when she fell. When she progressed from walking to running, he never once delighted in her swiftness and grace. When the baby chatter was replaced by a little girl's lively prattle and revealed a quick and clever mind to match her prettiness, not once did he bask in fatherly pride. Indeed, it was doubtful whether Severus remarked his daughter's existence at all, for his attention was completely taken now by a demanding wench named Daona, a sulky black-haired beauty stolen in a blood feud, won whose lusty body he swore he's sire a son.
As little Virginia grew, so did her awareness that all was not as it should be. She knew that Severus was her sire and wondered why, unlike the other fathers, he showed no awareness that she was his daughter; no pride in her looks or feminine accomplishments, as did they with their young daughters. That she was different was strongly brought home by the other children of the hall, who began to tease her cruelly and pick on her with vicious pinches and slaps until someone-perhaps Nissa or Remus or a tenderhearted thrall-would pull them off her.
"Girl-brat! Girl-brat! Your father doesn't want you!" came the cruel, singsong taunts. "Good-for-nothing girl-brat!"
Virginia flung about, red gold curls flying, to see Harry Potter standing before her, fists on his hips, his dark green eyes mocking her as he grinned broadly. It was the final straw in a week of hurtful, relentless teasing.
"I'm not! He does!" she cried furiously, tears of rage brimming her dark blue eyes. She flew at him like a cornered she-lynx, small fists pummeling at his head, his chest, his arms, everywhere.
For all that he was four years older and over two heads taller than she, the unexpectedness of her attack knocked him off balance. Harry sprawled backward to the rushes, with the little wildcat flailing furiously atop him. Blood was streaming from his nose when he begged for mercy.
"Quarter! Quarter!" he gasped.
"Nay! Nay" she cried furiously, "Take it back! Take back what you said, Harry Potter, or you'll be sorry!"
He had a black eye, a split lip, and hank or two of hair missing, clutched in Virginia's furious fist, when Severus's steward at last pulled them apart, cuffing their ears soundly and bidding them cease their scrapping.
For all his throbbing face, there was a glimmer of admiration in young Harry's eyes when he struggled to his feet and faced the red cheeked little girl. By Loki, she was little more than a babe, less than half his size, he realized belatedly, thoroughly ashamed of himself. For all that, she was no coward! Her tears were of anger, not hurt, he sensed. "I'm sorry," he mumbled eyes downcast. "I-I take it back."
Fists on hips, Virginia glowered at him. "Ja, you big bully, and so you should!" she retorted hotly, fjord-blue eyes tempestuous.
"Friends, then?" Harry suggested casually, extending his hand to clasp hers in offer of friendship.
"Never!" Virginia hotly refused, and flew away, auburn curls bouncing, skirts flying, leaving Harry gaping after her and feeling surprisingly crushed by her refusal.
Nevertheless, her fierce defense of herself had, unknown to her, engendered a grudging but sincere admiration in Harry for the brave little maid. As the months went by, he managed-though with only the greatest difficulty- to become not only her friend but her defender, self-appointed protector, and partner in mischief too. The days henceforth were happier ones; Virginia exploring the fields, picking various grasses and wildflowers with Harry dogging her heels like a faithful russet hound. Or the two of them haunting the kitchens and stealing treats from the cook, Fat Hilda, or the stables, the smokehouse or the sauna, the bath house, in search of adventure and pranks. Harry was always willing to take part in her naughty schemes, despite the whippings that inevitably resulted for him, for all presumed that as the older of the pair and the male, he was the ringleader- though Harry knew better!
But despite her outward happiness, inside Virginia was confused puzzled by her father's coldness. Though she tried and tried, she could remember no naughty deed, however distant and buried in the past, that might have caused him to ignore her so utterly. So, after much heartache, she went to her Uncle Remus, who never lied to her!
"It is simply because you are a girl, Ginny, and not a boy," Remus told her with great gentleness, using her nickname that had grown on many for her past years. "Your lord father dearly wanted a son when you were born, and he is bitter that he has none."
"Are boys better than girls, then, Uncle Remus?" she had demanded with childlike innocence and trust in her jewel-blue eyes.
"Better, no," Remus answered her solemnly, wondering how to soften the new hurt and the bitterness that the truth must instill in her. "But different-yes, they are different." He drew her to his knees and tousled her auburn hair. "A boy child grows up to be a warrior, like his father. He can become a jarl when his father goes to Valhalla, and lead his men on raids."
"Then what worth have girl-children?"
"Why, a girl-child marries, and that is very worthy thing to do, for she may bring her father allies by the joining of two enemy households and thus put an end to the bloodshed and feuding of many years. She must also bear children for her lord husband-and remember, Ginny, it is the woman who bears those new lives, not the man; she who nurtures the child in her body and brings it forth into the world. That is the great gift a woman-and only a woman-can give. The gift of Life!"
Ginny wrinkled her little nose in distaste. "Pah! Cows give life to little cows, and bitches to their whelps, do they not? It does not seem so very special to me, Uncle Remus, if even the animals can do it! Is that all girls were intended for-to drop babes, one after the other?" she asked, obviously disgusted.
Remus laughed. "Nay, not all. But for most women-your mother, for one-it is ample."
Ginny snorted and tossed her head. "Perhaps it is enough for most girls, but never for me! Why I can fight as well as any boy! Harry says so. He and I fought Seamus yester even, and he is older by three winters than Harry- but 'twas us who won, not he!"
He laughed at the stubborn indignant light in her eyes. "You are more like you lord father than he would ever believe," he said softly, for her expression was Severus's. "But little fierce one, you must learn to accept your lot in life, if you are ever to be happy."
"Accept?" she shook her head stubbornly. "No, uncle, I will not. You taught me that the path to knowledge of any worthy prize is paved with questions and striving, not blind acceptance. I am as brave as any lad in this hall- or any hall, anywhere! You tell me that my lord father wanted a son? Well, I, Virginia, shall be that son! Just watch me, Remus! I'll learn to hunt and to fight with the broadsword and the battleaxe, you'll see! In a few winters Severus will have quite forgotten that the Lady Kathryn bore him a lowly daughter, and take pride in me, his little Ginny! I'll make it so!"
Her jewel eyes shone with such fierce determination, Remus' heart ached. How could he find the words to tell her that it would never succeed? How could he break her tender little heart in two by saying that no warrior's skills on her part could ever soften Severus's cold heart? But instead he sidestepped. "We'll talk more on this anon," he promised vaguely. "For now, my pretty, Nissa awaits you at your loom." his eyes twinkled. "Concentrate on your tablet-braiding for now, Lady Ginny, and put aside all thoughts of swordplay."
She wrinkled her nose in distaste. "Tablet-braiding, Uncle Remus? Nej! If I must do something, I suppose I'll practice my scrivening. The script with its pretty pictures is much more fun that such women's work!" she said with obvious scorn.
She dropped a kiss upon his cheek and skipped from the room, curls flying, her shift and overpinnigns hitched up about her slim, bare legs.
It was the last time he was to see her in skirts for many, many years.
A/N: Bit different, nej? I hope you liked it, I had just gotten the script like thing and have just finished writing it. I believe the beginning is very lovely! A bit of a twist, Severus being Ginny's father, Molly being her midwife, Remus being her 'uncle', Harry being her friend. I loved the part where she beat the living snot out of him, I do say he deserved it! So where will the rest fit? Since it's a romance, who will it be? Some unknown man, yet to be introduced, her good playmate and friend-in-crime Harry, perhaps even Seamus, the older boy she and Harry beat at a game of swordplay? We shall see, but the key to the knowledge is to review…I suggest, strongly, you should do so!