Authors: Astrid Lee Donovan
The Viking Queen And Her Warriors
MFM Menage Romance
And so it has been told in the annals of Viking lore the story of the queen who harbored two kings, great and faithful Norse warriors who pledged their lives and their fidelity to one magnificent woman. Queen Astrid, Norse maiden of Sweden, claimed two hearts and dual bodies, both of which she held in equitable acclaim for all her days on earth. And so this is how their story commences….
Riding high on the crystalline waves of the sparkling North Sea, the gold-hued longship known as Astrid’s Dream gleamed in the glory of the afternoon sun; its tall scarlet sails and jewel-encased helm, one that took the form of an exquisite swan’s head with eyes that glittered diamonds, both glowing resplendent as the ship approached its native home base of Birka, Sweden.
Magnus the great warrior, the keeper and captain of this heralded Norse vessel, always basked in the vision of the ship that he helmed with his brother, Eirik, one that the two piloted on journeys that took them all around the world—trading and selling the goods crafted and produced in their home village, in their beloved clan of Sigrid.
“Our honorable Queen Astrid insisted on naming the clan in honor of Sigrid the Haughty, one of the bravest and proudest of Norse women,” Magnus reflected, keen gaze focused straight ahead of him as a vast expanse of crystal blue ocean gave way to the appearance of golden land. “Aye, but she would—our dear Astrid is herself a portrait of strength and nobility. I daresay I worship that woman as I would the greatest Norse goddess.”
“Are ya talking to yourself, my brother?” Magnus’ grin broadened as he heard the deep, robust voice of his younger brother Eirik, the man who now approached him at the helm of their ship. “Indeed, if you continue to display such insane behavior—insane, I daresay, even for a warrior—then I just may have to seize command of the ship.”
Erupting in laughter, the two brothers exploded in hearty, robust chortles as they clapped each other’s backs.
“Nah my brother,” Magnus shook his head, adding as he kept his gaze trained on the sparkling land mass before them, “I simply was taking a moment to reflect on our wondrous queen, Astrid the Good, one who constantly realizes her reputation as a kind, strong leader—just as she always embodies and demonstrates the literal meaning of her name, which as you know translates to ‘godlike beauty.’”
Eirik nodded.
“Well while I am not certain that I would deem our queen a beauty, at least in the traditional sense,” he offered in a low, reverent tone, “She is indeed an incredible woman. Who could have imagined that a peaceable queen, one that taught us to bargain for goods as opposed to stealing or pillaging them, who also reminds us to be kind to all, especially women, also could reign among the most powerful Cheiftans in all of Scandinavia?” He paused here, adding with a broad smile, “Astrid is a great lady, true to her name—it’s a shame, then, that she seems a bit lonesome at times.”
Magnus arched his eyebrows.
“The queen? Lonesome?” he asked, adding with lips pursed, “Eirik, Astrid has told us repeatedly that she desire no mate—that she is married to our clan. How could she be lonesome?”
Eirik sighed.
“Well perhaps lonesome is not the right word,” he amended, adding in a lowered tone, “I hesitate to mention this, my brother, but about a moon ago I happened to overhear a conversation that transpired in Astrid’s longhouse, between her and her sister Inga. She mentioned that, with all the time she expends ruling and caring for our clan and village, she has little time for, um, other pursuits.”
Magnus shook his head.
“Other pursuits?” he repeated, adding with a chuckle, “I daresay the gal guzzles just as much ale as we do, and she regularly bests us at foot races; a fact which rather troubles me, in all honesty….”
“I do believe the good queen was referring to carnal pursuits,” Eirik interrupted, adding in a tentative tone, “She told her sister that it has been ages since she enjoyed the company of a man—and that, as much as she reigns as a proud and powered queen, she is still a woman who has certain needs, so to speak.”
Magnus nodded.
“Say no more, my brother,” he declared, adding as he raised his sturdy hand high in the air, “As you well know, Eirik, that woman has bestowed upon us riches and tokens beyond our wildest imagination, as well as both the well-honed skills and the gallant longship that we need to carry out her missions—thus helping us to secure our position among the wealthiest Norsemen in all the lands. Most of all, she has given us heart—a commodity that comes all too rare to the beings of many a warrior.” He paused here, adding with a sharp, defined nod, “The least we can give in return, my brother, is the free use of our bodies and bed skills to in all ways satisfy and satiate her long neglected needs.”
Eirik jumped.
“OUR bodies and skills?” he echoed, adding in a disbelieving tone, “You mean both of us at once? The two of us in her bed, filling the wants of her body?”
Magnus shook his head.
“Not only the wants of her body, Eirik, but also the desires of her heart and mind,” he corrected his brother. “That fine woman deserves romantic gestures and tender overtures, those sweet accents that tend to elude the vast majority of warriors.”
Eirik nodded.
“Tis true,” he acknowledged, “The average berserker, with his skull helmet and typically blood soaked sword, is not the most romantic of figures—not precisely known for his tender love of sentimental, poetically composed ballads and daffodil bouquets in the fullest, richest of bloom. Yet thanks to the nurturance and guidance of our most benevolent queen, we are better, more loving men.”
Magnus snorted.
“We also happen to be unattached and seafaring gents who have yet to make an offer for a maiden bride,” he reminded his brother, adding with a wink, “What better men to love our fair queen, to satisfy her longings and make her feel—not only like a fearless queen—but like a full and free woman? A well-pleasured woman of passion, who leaves no fantasy unfulfilled.”
Eirik grinned.
“So then, my good brother,” he cocked his head sharp in Magnus’ direction, “We shall encourage and allow our queen to conquer us?”
“At least,” Magnus agreed with a wicked smile.
Walking tall and proud across the hard stone floor of her timber made longhouse, Queen Astrid of the Clan of Sigrid projected what she hoped was a portrait of sleek regality; one characterized by her flowing gown of rich scarlet red embroidered with rich, ebullient rosettes at the collar and cuffs, a silver necklace carved in the shape of a luminous crescent moon, and—of course—the shining golden helmet that sat atop her waist length mane of chestnut brown hair, that signified her status as the queen of her clan.
Far more valuable than any of these symbolic tokens, in her mind, was the kind, abiding smile that she bestowed on her people. The gentle expression that gave them leave to approach her, to break bread with her, to share with her their problems and concerns, and to relay their requests and suggestions in regards to the running of their clan, which reigned among the strongest and most elite in all of Scandinavia.
It was this tender beam, along with her wide eyes of cinnamon brown, that others noted as the only evidence of traditional feminine beauty to be found on the form of Astrid; a tall, sturdy woman possessing of lean, well developed muscles and hard, angular features.
Yet Astrid cared little for the traps and conventions of traditional beauty, the type that maidens used to lure potential husbands. As the proud and reigning queen of a Viking clan, she had no need for a king, particularly not when she had at her disposal an ever ready army of muscle-bound warriors ready to defend and protect her; to do her bidding in a world where she aimed to accrue wealth and power while spreading and promoting peace and civility in the lands that she and her warriors travelled.
Rather, she regarded her smile as the signature symbol of her kindness and beneficence. This was the very thing that drew and bound her clan of one hundred Swedes, the same good folk that she guarded and protected through the sheer force of her strength and intellect.
This beam broadened considerably now as she considered the impending arrival of her two most prominent and accomplished officers; outstanding young gentlemen who, in their little more than two decades of existence, already had accrued impressive experience as warriors, traders, adventurers, guards, and councilmen to the queen.
Although eight and five years her junior, respectively, the brothers Magnus and Eirik also ranked among her dearest, most beloved friends; men with whom she always felt free to talk, laugh, and play endless games.
“I always quite enjoy it when they allow me to best them at arm wrestling,” she mused, adding as she lifted her chin to proud effect, “And, for that matter, when I defeat them fair and square in foot races. Ha!”
It had been a full two moons, she figured, since she’d last seen Magnus and Eirik, the two having embarked on an extensive trade mission that took them to the farthest reaches of Europe, to give of and sell the precious goods crafted and created in the Clan of Sigrid.
In the wake of their absence the ever loyal brothers had blessed their queen with endless correspondence, pieces of ivory parchment inscribed with lengthy and very affectionate notes, that told her at length of their travels and successes in the world of fair trade.
As much as she’d enjoyed their missives, returning them with notes of glowing praise that commended their efforts and accomplishments, she missed the men who wrote them. And she rejoiced at the fact that, in little more than an hour, they would stand before her in the main room of her longhouse—honored guests at a grand feast that she had ordered prepared in their honor.
As she cast her gaze around the feasting hall that headed and distinguished her royal longhouse, she reveled in the grandiose beauty of this place, a common meeting room and hall of celebration for her and her people. Her eyes widened at the sight of the expansive silk woven tapestries that adorned each timber made wall: murals that depicted scenes from nature in the form of emerald leaved forests and gem blue seas—all captured in their most radiant beauty beneath the glow of a golden sun.
Her gaze then shifted to the sprawling fireplace that formed a full wall of the longhouse, a blazing feature encased in stone, and featuring a mantle lined with polished samples of glass and silver pottery--many of which has been crafted in her very own village. And she took in her breath as she angled her head forward to admire the height and expansiveness of the longhouse ceiling, a sheltering covering that she had hand painted with the likeness of a brilliant, ebullient rainbow.
Indeed, Astrid oft figured that—if she hadn’t seen it in her destiny to become a Viking queen—she would have become an artist instead. She strongly suspected, though, that being a queen was just a bit more lucrative in today’s competitive market. And in this way, she figured, she could afford to surround herself with objects of beauty that could at some point be captured in the frames of paintings and tapestries.
And as her gaze now shifted toward the center of her feast hall, she soon came to behold what she considered to be the most beautiful accents of her Clan; divine attributes that took the form of warriors and gentlemen.
With their towering, statuesque forms, Magnus and Eirik likened bronzed statues in their carved features, long, flowing hair and carved muscularity. And both shone resplendent in their full and shining battle armor, with golden helmets atop their heads and tight, glimmering chain mail shirts that both encased and adorned their bulging muscular chests. Both carried brilliant scarlet hued shields that bore images of lush, fine-feathered swans: the symbol and crest of the Clan of Sigrid. And both carried their long, sharp swords ever ready at their sides--always prepared to defend if needed the honor and dignity of their beloved clan and queen.
As Astrid approached the brothers, standing, as they were above the main feasting table that they were invited to share with their queen, she couldn’t help but note that the brothers’ differences shone just as beautiful and brilliant as their similarities.
Magnus, the captain of her guard, bore a silken mane of reddish gold hair that shone like pure fire in the incoming light afford through a nearby window. His wide, expressive eyes shone darkest ebony in this same ethereal light.
Much like the fairest morn compares to the endless, darkest of nights, his younger brother Eirik bore a fall of golden hair that seemed kissed by the sun itself; a long, silken mane that proved a stellar showcase for his sparkling emerald green eyes.
Both brothers answered her signature beam with dazzling white-toothed smiles, clasping her offered hands and bowing deep before her in a gesture of respect and greeting.
“Magnus! Eirik!” Astrid clutched their hands in his, adding as her voice lowered to a confidential tone, “I have missed you both, so very much. Welcome home, my gentlemen.”
Magnus nodded.
“We are so pleased to be here, my queen,” he told her, accenting his words with a second deep bow, “We have missed you, as well, and are so very glad to be home.”
“We did little but think of you during our trip,” Eirik agreed, accenting his words with the adorable pout of his full, moist lips.
Astrid shook her head.
“Pshaw, dear boys. Don’t be tellin’ me tales,” she admonished them in a playful tone, adding as she wagged a teasing finger in their direction, “While sailing the seas of Europe and Scandinavia and visiting their classic countries, seeing the greatest cities, the finest architecture, the most beautiful nature made vistas of the world, I doubt seriously that you gave a thought to the queen back home.” She paused here, adding as she leaned inward to fix the brothers with a curious, pensive look, “At the feast today you truly must tell me everything you saw during the course of your travels: the lands and the waters, the palaces and temples, the theaters and the feast halls. I wish to hear of the people that you met who most intrigued you, and all of the adventures that you had throughout your journey.”
Magnus chuckled.
“Rest assured, milady, we have many tales to tell you of the adventures we enjoyed throughout the course of our travels,” he assured her, adding as he swooped inward to erase all distance between them, “I daresay, though, that the most intriguing person we know stands right here before us. And we do believe that our greatest adventure, one that will bring us our greatest pleasure and most ultimate satisfaction, just so happens to involve that very same enchanting woman.”
Astrid arched her eyebrows.
“You wish to have an adventure with me?” she asked, adding with a shrug, “Does this mystery adventure take the form of a journey?”
Eirik nodded.
“Aye, of sorts,” he assented, tone low and mysterious. “A journey that you are able to enjoy right here in your homeland, one that is certain to introduce you to any number of rare exotic delights. Experiences that you are sure to savor and recall long after the journey’s end.”
“If, indeed, you do choose to end it,” Magnus interrupted his brother, adding in a lower, softer tone, “Once you see what we have to show you, once you enjoy this most exhilarating experience, you might find yourself desiring more. And as you know, my lady, it is always our duty first and foremost to please the queen.”
Astrid pursed her lips.
“Well although I do enjoy the recreational activities that the three of us commonly enjoy—archery, foot races, javelin tossing—I am not sure that any of them are quite so thrilling as this new adventure that you describe,” she mused, more to herself than to the watching brothers. “I am now most curious to know, my gentlemen, of what you speak. Perhaps you can inform me morn tomorrow, as I look over the tokens and tributes that you have brought me from faraway lands.”
Eirik clapped his hands before him.
“Aye, that would be the perfect time—and rest assured we have many beautiful and valued gifts to present our sacred queen,” he bowed his head, adding as he stared deep into her eyes, “First, though, we hasten to offer you a special token—one that is perhaps our most meaningful and personal.”
A shocked Astrid took in her breath as her golden-haired warrior swooped inward to erase all distance between them, pressing his full, moist lips tight against hers for a warm, affectionate kiss.
Immediately mirroring the actions of his brother, an emboldened Magnus himself surged forward and seared her gaping mouth with a second kiss; his a bit harder and hotter as the combined force of their affections served to steal her breath.
For a moment Queen Astrid stood frozen in her place, a wave of unbidden heat suffusing her being as she experienced the after effects of the heartfelt gesture that felt more like a sensual advance—making her heart and pulse race in one accord as she clutched her hands before her.
“Aye, if two simple kisses serve to ignite me to such a dramatic and alarming degree, then I really do need to get out of the longhouse more,” she mused in silence, adding aloud, “Ye have kissed the queen.”
Eirik frowned.
“We mean no disrespect,” he reassured her, he and his brother watching her face for some sign of a reaction.
They exhaled moments later, as their beloved Queen Astrid found cause to grace them with her warm signature beam.
“No disrespect taken, Gentlemen. In fact, I quite like it!” she praised them.
Lurching forward with a purposeful air worthy of her royal station, Astrid blessed both of her guardsmen with brisk but warm kisses; once again tasting their full, sumptuous lips as they murmured their encouragement—intermingled, she couldn’t help but notice, with a wee bit of complete and utter shock.
“Do feel free to kiss me again, anytime you like,” she urged them, adding as she squared her broad muscled shoulders and lifted her sturdy chin to most commanding effect, “I hereby decree, as a matter of fact, that you each grant me one kiss upon your return from every queen-appointed journey. For the remainder of your natural lives.”
The brothers guffawed outright.
“Oh my queen,” Magnus assured her, swinging her hand in his, “If you so choose, my brother and I have so much more to offer you than mere kisses.” He paused here, adding as he stared deep into our eyes, “Some gestures of tribute, my queen, are best performed in private—so that you can feel free to lose yourself in the feelings and sensations that they may produce.”
Astrid’s eyes flew wide as she considered this notion, trembling outright as her psyche flooded with unbidden images of some erotic art that the brothers had secured for her on their last journey to Paris. Suddenly she pondered the illicit images captured in vivid, illustrious watercolor on a brass framed canvas; visions of beautiful, passion struck couples entwined in various intriguing positions, on luxurious silk clad beds, sandy bronzed beaches, and in the expanse of dew-kissed meadows that shone bright emerald in the light of the sun.
It had been so long, she mused, since she’d known the type of exquisite ecstasy captured and conveyed in that forbidden artwork--since she’d even felt the touch of a man. It was an idea she often pondered, though, as she lay still and alone in her bed each night.
“It is an idea that I perhaps ponder too much. And one that I should not be considering while standing at the dead center of my royal feasting hall, in the presence of all my warriors and consorts—not to mention all of the grey-haired matrons that I see each week at temple,” she mused now, blinking hard as she asked of her warriors, “Gentlemen, could we please cease kissing for just one moment—and could you lend me the free use of my hands—as I call for the commencement of our royal feast?”