Author's note: This one-shot was written for Klaroline AU Week 2019. Day Five: Different Time Period. Enjoy!
Quick history lesson: Cartimandua was a lesser-known Celtic warrior queen of the Brigantes whose rule spans approximately 43 to 69AD. She was a shrewd ruler who forged an alliance with the biggest bully in the ancient world at the time — the Romans. Because of her quick thinking and clever negotiations, she saved her people and they became the largest and one of the wealthiest tribes in Britain. Threatened by her power, the Roman senator and historian, Tacitus, called her "treacherous and self-indulgent" in his well-known work, Annals and the Histories.
Treacherous and Self-Indulgent
Beware the enemy who crosses your threshold with a smile rather than a sword. She eyed the Roman emissaries suspiciously, noting with distaste that their table manners were even worse than that of the Iceni people. Her spies learned of the Romans' breach of their tribe's lands, swiftly sending word to their queen, and as the moon had progressed across the sky, almost completing its cycle, Caroline was confident that she had saved her people. Caroline, she inwardly scoffed, was how the foolish emissaries had butchered her name with their clumsy tongues. She was Cartimandua, Queen of the Brigantes, whose sovereignty had been destined from birth and further secured when she formed strong blood alliances with the warring tribes on the outskirts of her people's lands. She would be Caroline to the Romans and allow them their ignorance — for now.
She had great experience in managing foolish men, she inwardly sighed, scowling as she took note of her dim-witted husband as he drooled into his clay goblet. She'd known her arranged marriage to Alaric had been necessary to strengthen ties to the Saltzman Mountain people, but she'd assumed that his advanced years would provide him with some semblance of discipline. Unfortunately, he was under the thrall of spirits, his overindulgence over the years written in every harsh line and sagging jowl of his ruddy complexion.
She'd bided her time, carefully watching for the moment when she'd no longer require his presence to maintain control of his clan's territory. And her moment was drawing near. She toyed with her bracelet, running a finger along the thick strands of twisted silver, as her skin prickled with a giddy certainty that she was being watched. The bracelet had been a gift from Niklaus Mikaelson, a legatus for the Romans. He'd given it to her while they'd been concealed among the shadows of her private river stronghold, seductive lips curving as he told her he'd commissioned it to match the circular neckband she wore as a symbol of her royal status. "My warrior queen," he'd whispered, trailing blistering kisses from her ear to her collarbone, his touch making her tremble and ache.
She traded fiery gazes with Niklaus across the carved wooden table. His pale skin shone underneath the blanket of stars, his Great Northern tribal heritage apparent. The son of a powerful chieftain, this celebrated warrior of a distant land across icy seas had shrewdly formed a lasting alliance with Rome, preserving his clan's legacy and bringing wealth and prestige to his people.
Upon their first meeting, he'd foolishly assumed that Caroline didn't speak the many tongues of the warring Great Northern tribes, and had traded cutting insults about her people with a sharp-eyed general she'd later learn was an elder brother.
"They'd eat naught but worms and earth without our generosity," they'd joked.
Having recognized the dialect by its harsh, sharp sounds, she'd carefully dropped whispers in their ears, having no interest in alerting the other emissaries of her linguistic abilities. "And your garrison would perish of sweating sickness and festering wounds if not for our hot springs in which we've generously allowed you to bathe."
They'd been taken aback by her words and quickly hung their heads in shame. As their contrition seemed genuine, she'd abandoned her quarrel, eager to begin negotiations afresh to ensure her people's place in the changing, turbulent world around them. Later, (and yet far sooner than most would deem appropriate), Niklaus would confess to her that it was in that moment he became as taken with her cleverness as he had with her beauty.
Loud guffawing interrupted her reckless thoughts, and she realized that Alaric was attempting to demonstrate his prowess with games of chance, offering one of the generals a token of polished deer bone and eagerly explaining the rules. She only was mildly concerned, having successfully negotiated larger stakes in the spoils of the upcoming war her new allies would wage against the tribes to the south. Let the fool indulge his pitiful vices.
After all, Alaric's eyelids had become heavy, much like the rest of the emissaries, as Caroline quietly had instructed her priestess to increase the potency of the rare mushroom powder that had been a part of their wine since they'd first supped among Caroline's people. The taciturn, often condescending Romans were much more pliant once they'd imbibed the strong wine laced with that special concoction. Of course, one had to take care in its harvesting and preparation, as death could come swiftly, she reflected, eyeing Alaric's flushed skin and sweat-stained tunic.
The wooden platters heaped with berries and honey were passed around, and she nibbled delicately at the tart sweetness, the fruit bursting delightfully against her tongue as she noted how Niklaus' gray eyes darkened lustfully. Fortunately, everyone else was lost to the spirits, abandoning measured reason to joyful drunkenness as her people brought forth instruments and incited much revelry. Murmuring her excuses, she gracefully stood from the table, bidding her guests farewell as she retired for the night. She carefully held Niklaus' eye as she left the meetinghouse, knowing that he would slip through the shadows and be at her side without raising suspicion.
The foul, piggish historian Tacitus had marked her as a threat, gleefully spinning hateful tales of Caroline to the Romans, calling her 'treacherous and self-indulgent'. There was nothing traitorous in saving her people and she vowed one day to quench a blade with the odious simpleton's blood. But self-indulgent? Perhaps. Especially when she caught a glimpse of Niklaus' golden curls among the trees right before she ducked inside her well-guarded stronghold across the river.
She'd barely hung her heavy woolen cloak by its silver clasp when she felt his strong hands span her waist, drawing her firmly against his body.
"My warrior queen," he seductively growled, lightly biting her neck.
Her breath hitched — curse that man for knowing her body's every need. She wound her hand into his curls, tugging on them aggressively until she could fuse her lips to his. She loved this give and take of theirs — trading dominance as equals as they sought pleasure. "Your kinsman dither and ramble, whiling away precious hours — are they unaware of more gratifying pursuits with their tongues?"
"Every moment spent at that table was a blessing and a curse," Niklaus groaned, spinning her in his arms so she could see the hunger apparent in his gaze. "Your words are as sharp as a broadsword, yet as cunning as any statesman. These men will beg you to rule them before they're aware of what they've abandoned." His words grew sharp as he possessively cupped her cheek, hissing, "The thought of that loathsome sloth still laying claim to you makes my blood rage. My blade will soon make his acquaintance, I promise you."
Caroline bristled a bit at the implication that he thought her too weak to manage her own affairs. Silly man. "There's been no laying of claims for ages. Alaric's sword is as soft as the meadow clover." Blue eyes darkened, her lilting tone carrying with it the hint of violence so often simmering just below her surface. "In secret places, a rare mushroom grows that brings either pleasant lethargy or swift death."
She enjoyed the intrigue and wonderment she found in Niklaus' gaze as she told him confidently, "How unfortunate that Alaric will unexpectedly pass on to the spirit world later this evening after he imbibes his customary goblet of wine before bed."
