Disclaimer: Do not own Marvel or The 100
Warnings for normalized sexual assault, gang rape, literal slavery, pillaging, mass murder and mentions of whipping.
To please their master
It was eight years ago when Clarke of the Griffin house, was anointed as the ruler of this kingdom of the Vikings.
She knew that no one would question her rule. No one. Standing where she was, a crown of bone and antlers atop her brow, swords tied to her belt, a throne made oak at her back, and her sides all flanked by her closest servants who used to be her slaves, who would do anything for her-she knew she could be unstoppable.
And she had endless armies.
She essentially was the most powerful person in all of Nordic land. The young woman with long, pale, almost white hair and blue eyes, felt the eyes of those who truly held the most power here.
Her former slaves.
Clarke was of nearly thirty years. She would never take a husband. Those at her back, watching her, would make sure of that.
Should she have any progeny to inherit the throne, it would be a progeny that one of the men who had been her slaves, would impregnate her with.
And pleasure…well, her slaves had certainly seen to that.
All of those across the hall, bowed down to her, lowering their heads. Men. Women. children.
Clarke ignored that old fear she'd become so used to over the years, as she felt the eyes of her former slaves on her.
She feared them, not because she believed they would hurt her, but because of what they could make her do. She was their queen. Ruler of this land. And for years, they had control over her and she had never realized until it was too late.
She still remembered, knowing what she knew now, when this started-when this must have begun.
Twenty-three years ago:
Year of the ruler, king Josef of the Griffin house:
No one could ever pretend for a moment that Josef of the Griffin house, did not know a thing or two about longevity.
He was nearing his sixtieth birthday, and had more scars on him than any previous king had possessed before.
But he wasn't dead yet.
Many was certain he'd never die. And if he did, then he would take the highest place in Valhalla.
His son, Jakob, was of twenty-four years. His wife, whom he had married six years ago, when he and his wife were both of eighteen years, Abby, had a child together. A daughter, Clarke.
The child of five years had the run of all the houses in her grandfather's land. For her, it was not a land filled with those that pillaged and killed and yes, raped. It was a land where her beloved grandfather would protect her and where everything was hers.
She soon learned though, what that meant.
As she was seated at a table in the main hall, she heard commotion outside.
The doors to the hall opened and in arrived the top generals.
The generals with them, pulled along the prisoners from this land's warring country.
Men and women alike were dragged along.
Clarke looked at these captured people and tried to understand what she was seeing.
She had heard that many people were taken prisoner in wars. And prisoners from what Clarke's young mind had learned from her tutors, meant that they were taken after one army defeated another.
These prisoners were of an army that were defeated by her grandfather's army, nothing else.
The tutors came over and spoke to Clarke, leading her away, as the many prisoners were brought before their new king.
Clarke was brought to where her father, Jakob was. Jakob smiled at her and kneeled down, scooping her up in his arms and began to carry his daughter out of the room.
"Jakob," Abby, Clarke's mother spoke condescendingly, "Should she not stay and learn?"
"Learn what?" Jakob asked, his wife as he pushed past the door of bear skin that was a barrier between the next room, and he, still carrying Clarke, as he and Abby walked down the hall, "Learn that any person who is captured can be turned into property? That a person with a life is nothing more than a slave, depending on who wins a war? That isn't right."
Abby sighed in that way that meant that she couldn't understand her husband.
Jakob was notorious amongst his father's people, as he was very much against enslaving people after a war or pillaging. He was against rape, as well.
Enslaving people was a way of life. And Jakob was the son of a king that ordered such things to happen.
How would Jakob even rule if he went against his own father's wishes?
But Jakob always treated servants and other slaves kindly. And these were habits and mannerisms that Clarke observed and learned from.
She loved both her parents. But her father, she was closest to.
Because of this, she strived to emulate his beliefs.
This was what led to what happened two days after the new prisoners were brought in. Several of them had become permanent fixtures of this land-that was the plan, at least.
One of these new prisoners, soon to be a slave at the main hall, the intended slave's name being Bruce, and he had stumbled when one soldier had shoved him into a long, thin table, and Bruce had accidentally knocked over some wooden cups full of mead.
This had earned a slap across the face for Bruce, who winced.
Clarke had seen and heard this, and had jumped out of her seat and had run over.
The soldier who had shoved Bruce, a woman named Byrne, raised her club, and Clarke jumped right in front of Bruce, yelling, "No!"
Byrne had stumbled back, instantly staying her hand, knowing that to strike the granddaughter of the king and the daughter of the crown prince, was to invite death.
"Clarke," Byrne had begun, "Please, step out of the way. I am reprimanding this dog for not obeying."
Clarke just shifted closer to Bruce, using herself as a shield between the guard and Bruce.
Clarke had felt Bruce's eyes on her.
At the time, she hadn't understood what he must have felt. But he must have been confused as to why the granddaughter of his captor, was protecting him.
Something Byrne had seen in Clarke's eyes, must have caused the guard hesitation. Because she stepped back, lowering the club.
"Watch your step next time," Byrne growled at Bruce, then turned back to her food and started eating.
Clarke looked at Bruce to see if he was alright.
The man smiled at her and said, "Thank you, your highness."
Clarke was used to being called titles like that. She had not gained the throne or the crown, nor did she wish to, but she was used to being called things like that because of who her grandfather was and who her father was.
She did not know the man's age. At the time, for her, anyone being any older than ten, made a person as old as her grandfather, Josef.
But she learned later that Bruce at the time, was thirty-one years of age.
Another soon to be slave, a woman with orange hair and blue eyes, named Pepper, was pushed against a wall by a pair of Clarke's grandfather's soldiers, and she was screaming and pleading as her clothes were torn off.
Clarke had listened in on the sounds she heard and came upon the men doing…..well, Clarke wasn't sure what they were trying to do to Pepper, but she knew it couldn't be good.
Clarke was of five years, she had no idea what was done to many women when women were taken captive in war, she couldn't know. But she understood from the way the guards laughed and the way Pepper cried out, as she struggled, that nothing good was happening here.
Clarke appeared screamed at them to stop, jumping out of the spot she had stayed concealed and had ordered them never to touch Pepper or any of the prisoners like that again, unless they wanted her to ask her father to have them executed.
The fear that had covered the men's face, told her that she didn't have to tell them twice.
They stepped away from Pepper.
Pepper had stared at Clarke with a strange look on her face. A look that Clarke did not understand at the time.
Over the years, she had tried to protect the many prisoners and slaves, believing as her father had, that it was wrong for anyone to be made into a slave.
Her father, from the talks she heard him have together with her mother, were anything to go by, intended to end slavery here.
She had seen the horror on her mother's face when her father had told her this.
Abby had exclaimed, "Jakob, are you insane? Do you have any idea how many would want your head if you did that?!"
Clarke didn't understand the implications.
Not until years later.
Her grandfather died, of an infected would.
And her father was to ascend to the throne.
He was of thirty-four years when he sat on the throne and the crown was placed upon his head.
Clarke was of fifteen years.
Many of Josef's most loyal followers still enforced slavery. So, Jakob tried to end the slavery in his land as slowly as he could, if only to protect his land from civil war.
The prisoners who had been made into slaves, as a result, were given far better treatment than they had in years.
And each respective royal had their pick of slaves, yes, but even they were to treat these slaves well.
Two years later, Clarke at the age of seventeen, had obtained thirty of the new slaves. All of these slaves, she had known for years, and had protected from the soldiers of her land, in various ways.
She knew all of their names by heart; Bruce, Pepper, Tony, Clint, Laura, Barney, Simone, Yelena, Melina, Natasha, Rhodey, Steve, Maria, Thor, Hela, Sylvie, Loki, Sam, Peggy, Stephen, Christine, Wanda, Pietro, Brunnhilde, Carol, Jessica, Frank, Luke, Danny and Elektra.
Clarke would learn that she should have seen signs, as to how much danger she had put herself in when she had taken them on as her personal slaves.
When they had bowed before her, their mouths were set in lines, yet even then, she thought she had seen the corners of their mouths upturned and could have sworn even then that she had seen a glint in all their eyes.
She had dismissed it at the time. Not a wise thing of her to do, as it turned out.
They were in service to her for a year. And she realized years later that they were biding their time.
Customarily, it was normal for slaves to service their masters in sex. And Clarke had made it clear to all her slaves, that they were not to service her. That she expected no such thing.
Her father was against rape, and that included someone with power ordering their slave or servant to pleasure them in some way.
Clarke would not go down the same path as her grandfather had.
Again, there were signs she'd seen that she should have taken as warnings. For example? Many of her slaves' jaws tightening when she had told them not to pleasure her in any way, or how some of them would narrow their eyes, as if in displeasure.
Three years went by. And when Clarke was of twenty years, that was when things began to change.
There would be little things here and there. Little touches given to her by her slaves, hands lingering on her back or hand for too long, one of them would card their fingers through her hair softly, startling her.
As the years had gone on and Clarke had given her slaves more and more privileges, wishing to eliminate the power imbalance between her and them, she had allowed them extremely comfortable beds, weapons, and the right to be by her side during meetings.
But Clarke had noticed a troubling pattern. They would offer to pleasure her. To put their mouths on her between her legs, to put their fingers inside her, to please her in other ways.
And when Clarke would refuse, assuring them that she would never make them, they told her firmly and clearly meaning it, that they wanted to.
And Clarke had still refused.
And still? Clarke could see the displeasure in their eyes.
That was when it happened one night.
She was sleeping on her bed, her furs draped over her body, when she was forced awake at the feeling of something on her chest and feeling her breasts being…suckled at.
She gasped awake, finding Danny and Jessica above her, suckling at her breasts, having woken her up, and not stopping.
Clarke cried out, "Sto-both of you, stop!"
Neither man nor woman stopped.
Jessica and Danny both kept cupping her breasts, suckling.
Clarke moved her arms to push them both away. Jessica and Danny were older than her. Jessica was of thirty years of age and Danny of twenty-seven. And they had trained hard and had built up muscles.
But still, when Clarke reached up, she'd expected them to move away, as she was their master, after all.
But they did the unexpected and something that struck cold fear into her chest.
Jessica grabbed her left hand and pinned it to the bed and Danny grabbed her right and pinned it to the bed.
And to Clarke's growing horror, even as she felt pleasure slice through her as Jessica and Danny suckled at her, she felt her pants begin to be pulled down by someone by her legs. Then she felt her thighs being grabbed and her legs being spread.
"No-" Clarke gasped out, her gasp turning into a cry as she arched her back, when a mouth covered her clit and sucked.
The tongue belonging to the mouth on her clit, licked at the nub lovingly, swirling around it, and Clarke twisted and screamed, her eyes clenched shut as she squirmed on the bed like an animal.
Another mouth went to her opening and blew on her cunt, making Clarke tense up, then scream.
There was a chuckle at her ear, then she cried out as a tongue entered her cunt and lashed back and forth.
The voice that had chuckled by her ear, spoke then. It was Yelena.
Yelena asked, her voice holding that accent that Clarke didn't recognize but had come to be familiar with and enjoy listening to, "Do you enjoy this, master? Enjoy our devotion? We just wish to pleasure you."
Clarke tried to pull away, but Danny and Jessica held her arms fast and whoever was by her legs, held her thighs and waist fast.
Yelena must have known what Clarke was wondering, because she said, "My sister is filling your cunt up with her tongue. Do you enjoy that? And my mama is sucking at your clit. Do you enjoy that?"
There was Clarke's answer. Natasha was the one sticking her tongue in Clarke's cunt and Melina was the one sucking on her clit. Natasha and Yelena were sisters, just not by blood. And Melina had adopted the two of them, before their city was sacked by king Josef's men and shield maidens.
Knowing that didn't reassure Clarke. But at least she knew who was between her legs.
Clarke tried still to struggle, but could not.
She screamed, arching up, as Melina continued to suck on her clit and Natasha continued to thrash her tongue inside of Clarke's cunt and she felt the pleasure overtake her and ravage her.
When she lowered herself to the bed, already feeling drained, she felt those two mouths remove themselves from her cunt, only for two more mouths to take their place.
She learned from Yelena, that it was Frank and Bruce who were between her legs this time.
It continued on throughout the night. No one, Clarke knew, would dare come to her room, lest she called for help.
Screams of pleasure were in no way unheard of in the bedchambers of a royal. And yes, that was especially if the royal wasn't married.
Or if the royal in question was married? It was expected for servants and slaves to turn the other way, should a royal choose to have relations with others than their married partners.
Clarke was torn open by bout of pleasure after bout of pleasure. When at last, her slaves finally let her go, allowed her to sag against the bed, prone, sweat-soaked, shaking, shaking with both fear and pleasure, Clarke looked at where her slaves were, at the moment barely able to move her head to look at them.
All of her slaves did the unexpected again.
They all kneeled down on the floor before her and her bed, their heads bowed.
"Apologies, your highness," Natasha said, "We just wanted to make you happy."
Clarke hadn't been able to see them all that well in the dark, but even with the limited light coming in through the cracks of the door from the torches in the back rooms, Clarke was positive that she could make out the beginnings of a smirk on Natasha's face as she said this.
Pepper and Tony and Steve had quickly repaired things. They explained that they had indeed just wished to pleasure her. And that they didn't know what else to do.
Clarke had contemplated commanding her guards in her to take a whip to the people kneeling before her, but instantly stopped herself.
She had gone her whole life without ever harming a slave in that way. She would not start now, no matter how much fear settled into her belly at what these slaves had done to her tonight.
She panted as she nodded to them, telling herself that it was there was nothing for her to be angry about. That even if it was both something that made her blood run cold that they had forced themselves on her and any other royal most likely would have them killed for what they had done, that she could explain what they had done easily. They were doing what they thought they were supposed to do, and that was all.
They just had done what they believed they were duty and honor bound to do, nothing else.
And could she really begrudge them that?
They had been slaves here for years. Since she was only of five years. Sixteen years. Of course, they thought they were supposed to do that.
Because they were told that slaves were meant to pleasure their masters, in all things.
Clarke decided not to punish them. To let them walk away from this unpunished.
As long as they didn't do this again.
She told them this, and she told herself that they would not force themselves on her again. She was assured by them bowing more deeply to her and telling her with a loving tone in their voices how forgiving a master she was, and even if she was shaken by what they had done, she had told herself that they wouldn't do it again.
That had yet been another mistake she had committed, as she would soon learn