Born to Breed: House of the Prophets (WARNING: May contain nuts and traces of ribaldry; a few scenes NSFW in puritanical societies)

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The Sverker Diaries, part twelve
Born to Breed: House of the Prophets

- Chapter the Sixteenth: The Sverker Diaries, part twelve -
the world of 930

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The Secret Diary of the Genius Jarl Sverker of Jutland, Aged 28 – my Wedding Day

Dear Diary,

The day had arrived.

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And what a day!

After breakfast, my little witch and I escorted Kráka to her father to officially return her to her family to mark the end of her time as my ward, and he thanked us for the good work and we exchanged gifts. Then we bid them farewell, and returned home to the longhouse that served my small household while at court, the grandly named chancellor's office, and that's when the fun began.

At the door we found one of the Handy Henchmen with a message from the king. I wondered briefly if it was his old shyness returning, but given that we had just left him in a genial mood in the royal hall, that seemed unlikely. It wasn't. He was having fun with me.

The Henchman told me that King Baldr had decided that the chancellor's office was too mean a home for one of his daughters. While in theory it was merely my ”home away from home”, in practice work kept me so busy that I hardly ever visited my Jarldom of Jutland and relied perhaps overmuch on my steward Thorfinn keeping affairs in order.

Be that as it may, since I lived at court most of the time when not raiding or fighting Baldr's wars, this was my home, and Kráka deserved better than living in an office. So uncle Baldr had ordered a huge longhouse raised nearby and declared it the chancellor's official residence, so in future I'd no longer be entertaining official business at home but next door. It seemed overly bureaucratic to me, but that's kings for you – or at least uncle Baldr.

I let him lead us to our new home. It measured an impressive 80 foot long and 30 foot wide and was built in the new style. Whatever could we possibly do with all that space, I asked my little witch, dumbfounded. It turned out she had some ideas about that. Which she had shared with uncle Baldr before construction, as it turned out.

Two-thirds of the house was devoted to bed-chambers. And not for visiting guests. One end was reserved for the family, and they were properly named stalls, not bed-chambers, she informed me triumphantly as she showed me to the largest bed-chamber. Above the door hang a sign showing a stallion and a mare side by side (and not just any mare, the boss mare, my little witch said), and that was ours. To the right, left, and across from it were were three stalls with signs showing a single mare, all looking eagerly in the direction of the stallion's room. Which ominously suggested that the Grand Plan was back in business and that I'd been lulled into a false sense of security by the Kráka-enforced delay. There were a number of stalls for children as well, though our oldest, Wincenty, is only 6. It pays to be prepared, she told me, and she had plans for communal rearing of children. In enclosed stalls/bed-chambers.

I do not understand modern education.

Our servants and thralls got to live in communal lodgings in the other end of the longhouse, she showed me, and the high seat and central fireplace was closest to the family wing. I already foresaw great difficulty keeping the longhouse heated during winter time.

But my little witch beamed at me proudly, so what could I say but that she'd done a great job? We discussed when we could move in, but the decision really made itself: Later in the week, after the wedding was over and the guests had left. Too much chaos otherwise. And in struck me that we were all alone in this big house and the evening was a long way off, so I suggested to my little witch that we take advantage of this... and she refused, telling me to save myself for Kráka!

So we returned to our old home in the chancellor's office and she agreed to sit in the bearchair while we finalized our strategy for the evening's political dimension, for with so many prominent members of the family present the hunt for support was on. A bit tasteless to do it right under uncle Baldr's nose, I guess, but not unusual in our family. Larger family gatherings are the best venue for talking shop and trading favours. Alas, my little witch viciously enforced a rule of no kissing or fondling during today's plotting, as she claimed she knew me too well to believe I'd stop there despite my assurances to the contrary.

Curses, foiled again.

Afterwards we dressed up for the wedding and walked to the king's hall where it was to take place. I wore my richest clothes and Viola swore I was the most handsome man at court, but she is biased.

It was a great family reunion.

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My mother was here, and Tryggvi had made the trip from Ireland to attend. My little sister Unnr was here with her husband, cousin Gormr, Baldr's son. Frogsis and her husband, cousin Thordr, of the Irish Munsö Sigurdr's, had come from Chalons. Njáll, Regelinda, and Dorota were prevented from coming for various reasions, and finally my youngest sister Hólmfridr had come with Mother and Tryggvi. Can't say I ever saw much of her as she was born after I went to court, but she's turned into a fine woman – even if she can't stop speaking about her bethrothed when he isn't present, and lustily eating him up with her eyes when he is.

She's 16, like my bride, and her betrothed is Egill, king Baldr's valiant son. They are set to marry next year when he reaches maturity and king Baldr grants him a Jarldom or two somewhere. They'll probably be good ones too, for Egill is a great lad. Brave, wrathful, and humble, and with looks even the Asa-gods might envy, he is likely to become one of the leading young contenders to succeed king Baldr despite being a bit stupid. He bears watching, that's for sure.

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Many other of Krákas numerous siblings were present as well. Baldr had spawned a score children, and they were out in force. All the younger ones born of the wives he took after becoming king, of course, but also several from his first two weddings. Baldr's firstborn, Gudfridr, came, far from his home in the Lower Lorraine. As talkative as ever, his genial personality in full display, he cut a splendid figure. Definitely my favourite cousin amongst Baldr's sons, but also the greatest threat to my ambitions. He's a political animal and has many strong supporters. Though not quite as many as he thinks. There are benefits to my office.

Also present was Emundr, ”the Butcher of Poland”, as vicious a sword-Dane as ever went raiding. Unflappable in the face of danger and proof positive of the dangers of over-education, he is a conceited man. He thinks himself a second Sigurdr, but mistakes unshakable conviction for vision and a high bodycount for accomplishment, and he never quits boasting about it. A throwback to the days of old, in other words, where enemies slain and buckets of blood spilled was the measure of a man. He has quite a following amongst the young and terminally dim, but of the two Gudfridr is the one to watch.

Looking around I saw that cousin Freyr, the “Fucker of Flanders”, son of my aunt Thora, had turned up like a bad coin, which meant that all the main contenders for the throne were in town. Probably in case uncle Baldr should expire from the feast. Such things have been known to happen.

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Of the survivors of the older generation, both uncle Bødvar and uncle Arnbjørn attended, though whether as a favour to me or to spend time with the family I could not discern. Probably the latter. At present they were both securely in my corner, but with Egill an incarnation of the older virtues celebrating brawn over brain, I could see uncle Bødvar switching his support in the future.

The wedding feast and ceremony went well. King Baldr may be a shadow of the man he used to be, as age and lack of appetite ravages his body, but for the occasion of the wedding of his favourite daughter he did his utmost and he can still dominate the room.

Kráka was radiant – I guess all brides are – and she wore something undoubtedly expensive that complemented her curves. I can't say I paid much attention as my mind was on politics, but my secondary brain did, and when we finally sat down to feast it demanded I pay attention to the morsel by my side. Strange thing; it never had before, and she didn't look that different from yesterday to me. From this morning, for that matter, but something had changed.

I found myself sneaking glances at her, trying to discover what it was, to IT's great pleasure. Soon it was hinting strongly that bending her over the table and stallionizing her right there and then would be a jolly good way to get over the boring part of the evening, and would enliven the toasts and drunken speeches as well.

This is why it is not in charge.


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Eventually the words were said, the gods invoked, and Fylkir Baldr ordered us to go complete our vows. I swept Kráka into my arms and she broke into a big grin – as did I when I noticed that my little witch was cheering Kráka on from the sidelines, giving her a thumbs up, and mimicking a kiss. Kráka gave me a tentative peck on the mouth, accidentally ramming me with her nose, and withdrew mortified, but I made up for it by giving her a kiss that must have curdled her toes, her first adult kiss, and bore her off to the cheers of our families.

The bridal chamber was... much like my last one, really. I guess when you've seen one, you've seen them all. Not that everything was the same. While Kráka was a callow youth, I was not.

So I set her on her feet and took stock. She looked eager with anticipation as well as nervous. Insecure. Trembling a bit, but trying to get a hold of herself. I considered ways of easing the situation like I had done with my little witch at our wedding in years past, but none readily came to mind. We'd been comfortable in each others presence and well acquainted with each other's touch, so relaxing with our old games had been a pleasant way to overcome anxiety, whereas Kráka?

She'd been underfoot and (technically) my ward for eight years, even if Viola had done all the work. Her bright personality and quick wits had always pleased me, when I noticed her at any rate, and my little witch said Kráka had been a good ward, eager to please and learn. I also knew she liked playing with her little sisters and... that was it? I realized that for all of that, I did not know her well enough to name her interests apart from horses (my little witch's indoctrination, no doubt), had no idea about her desires, did not know how to talk to her except by giving orders as the master of the household, and most definitely had no idea know how to calm her down as she stood trembling before me.

...and frankly, I did not care, either. If I had not cared about her the last eight years, it would be hypocritical to pretend I did now. I was overthinking it, and not for the first time. We both knew what we were here for, and I, for one, knew what I wanted. Why complicate matters?

I ordered her to strip, and ripped off my tunic and cast it aside, but she was slow, fumbling at her dress and getting nowhere, clearly enraptured by my manly chest. So I gave her a helping hand or two and if she instinctively flinched from my touch, her body's maidenly innocence overruling her mind's desire, it was no great inconvenience. I knew well from my travels how to handle that with shock and awe tactics, so with only minor tearing of the cloth we soon had her dress off and it joined my tunic on the floor, leaving her stripped down to her særk.

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I cheered her on, saying, ”Rejoice, wife, for the best is yet to come!”, and pulled down my trousers.

”I've been waiting half my life for this,” she gushed, and truer words were never spoken, but as she got her first sight of IT rising to tower before her, she shrank from me with a wild look in her eyes (not an uncommon reaction in my experience), and said desperately, ”but merciful Frigg protect me, surely it can wait a little longer. Let's settle down to a drink first. How can I face THAT sober? That's a giant throbbing maypole!”, before finishing in a more pensive tone of voice, “and now it has begun vibrating as well? Is it supposed to do that?”

A maypole? Silly goose. She wasn't supposed to dance around it, but that gave me an idea.

”It is heat-seeking, and the vibration means it has acquired a target,” I explained, ”but if you cannot face it sober, please give me a moment and I'll slip into something more comfortable.” And she'd just asked me whether I meant a særk, when I seized the moment and whipped hers clean off, right over her head, revealing her in all her glory.

“Nice rack,” I complimented her, and she blushed and gave a little squeak as her hands flew to cover it. An instinctive reaction, but a tactical mistake as it left them out of position, and I've never in my life seen anybody as surprised as Kráka when I lifted her up bodily and popped her on the maypole.

Then I marched around the room performing the stallion's dance, as my little witch has named it when our conjoined bodies move to its rhythm, while singing my riding song: ”This is the way the ladies ride, trit-trot, trit-trot, trit-trot”.

But Kráka was no Viola. For one, she was heavier. For another, inexperienced. Her arms clung in a death-grip around my neck but her legs didn't get the message and flailed every which way when I thrust, and if I hadn't had a firm grip of her buttocks and immense strength she'd have fallen off. She made no attempt to do her part in the dance at all and alternated blubbering, moaning with pleasure, and begging me to stop, swinging from one mood extreme to another as her mind was blasted with a host of new sensations by her body awakening to womanhood.

It was a real test of my strength to carry her weight mostly with my arms while sliding her up and down and walking around the room. But am I not built like a bear? I persevered through the fair maid's and farm girl's verses (with repetitions!) doing all the work, and finally her body tired of her mind's dithering and mild obstructionism and locked her athletic legs tight around my waist, fixing her firmly in position. What a difference that made!

As a result the emir's daughter's verse was much more pleasant for both of us, and I had just started on the ”oh-my-lord, oh-my-lord” of the nun's verse, when with a cry of ”Freyja wills it!” Kráka joined in earnest. She contributed to the stallion's dance with more enthusiasm than skill, and two verses later, to my great pleasure and her evident surprise, I erupted and she jerked violently in my arms at the unfamiliar experience.

And if she had not been rather more top-heavy than my usual rider and inexperienced at keeping her balance, I probably would not have tripped and left us sprawling on the floor, with me out of breath and Kráka lying pleasingly on top, laughing hysterically to herself, wide-eyed, desperate, and eager to please.

I recognized her mood as it is a common enough response to my shock and awe tactics in stage one of the breaking, though they have seldom worked so quickly before. That's probably because Kráka is of good blood, a Sigurdr, born to breed and raised in the true faith, and not some weak blooded Christian or Moorish filly, and that meant she was ready for stage two, seduction.

So I slid out and caressed her, telling her that I didn't blame her for the fall as accidents happened and it all added spice to life. I praised her boldness in joining the dance despite her inexperience, and said we'd have a lifetime to perfect it together. That we were meant to be.

That I had seen how good she was at handling the children, and how lovingly she did so, and wouldn't it be something if we made one of our very own, and just think of how proud her father would be when she presented him with her firstborn.

I told her that I had longed for this day for the longest time, and apologized for using her roughly rather than giving her the time she needed, for I had been overcome with lust at the sight of her naked body, desiring nothing more than to possess it forever, and that she had pleased me greatly. I begged her to forgive me, and I continued with such sweet nothings until she calmed down and her body began responding to my touch and she began tentatively exploring mine in turn.

And sooner rather than later she found what she'd been seeking, and asked me whether my rod of lordly might was only good for one shot as it seemed rather diminished. To which I responded that if it didn't scare her any longer, there was a sure-fire way to load it with her help, should she be interested in learning the men's verses of the riding song. Very much so, she assured me, and as IT had already started stirring at her touch, with her gentle ministration it soon revived.

So I rolled her on her back and mounted her, singing, ”This is the way the vikings ride, gallop-a-trot, gallop-a-trot”, and she quickly caught on to her duties this time. During the third verse she experienced her first arching, and it wasn't the only one that night, as I rode her until she fainted from an excess of bliss, and you can't do better by a woman than that.

While waiting for her to come to for another bout, I gave her the old once over, and I must admit that her long athletic legs, broad hips, perfect waist, flat stomach, firm breasts, slender but muscular arms (that death-grip had impressed me), and stunning face all belonged to the class of features that never went out of fashion. Encase it all in flawless skin, her body practically glistening with youth (and sweat), and crown it with long golden hair, throwing in pair of large green eyes for good measure - that was Kráka.

She didn't come close to measuring up to Viola's divine body, but then, what woman would? If I had to make do with a second-rate wife, I could do worse. Once I completed her training I might give her a tumble every few weeks for the sake of variety and to keep her happy, and having a spare mount when my little witch was ill or big with child would be something to look forwards to. Yes, this would work out very well indeed.

So I went to the table and downed a mug of good beer, and when Kráka came to I brought her one to strengthen her before we continued. For the night was young and she was ripe for stage three, loyalty reinforcement.



The Secret Diary of the Genius Jarl Sverker of Jutland, Aged 28 – my Wedding Day +1

Dear Diary,

I awoke alone in bed to the sound women talking and slid open one eye, and what did I behold but my wives, both fully clothed, alas, sitting at the table in the bridal chamber and having a chat. They both sounded agitated.

That was not how I had hoped for the day after to begin.

”Rise and shine, my stallion”, called my little witch, demonstrating that uncanny ability to detect changes in my sleep state I have come to take for granted, though I cannot fathom how she does it. She says she's just paying attention, but surely there's more to it than that.

She wore a most stern look, so I heeded her words with alacrity and let her chivvy me into dressing, while Kráka watched in silence.

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No sooner was I dressed, than Viola herded us off to our new home! What about proof of consummation? I asked, but apparently that was already taken care of. The residence was much as I had left it yesterday, except that now the Mare #1 stall boasted a sign saying Kráka.

My little witch sent Kráka to her stall and me to ours, and told me to occupy myself while she spoke to her. So I asked her why she couldn't tell me first, and she gave an exasperated sigh and slammed the door.

I inspected my new master bedchamber to while away the time, but as we hadn't moved our belongings it was rather bare. Uncle Baldr had helpfully provided a large bed, table, two chairs, and a writing desk – or more likely the Henchmen had done it on my little witch's orders – and I saw that the desk was already supplied with quill, ink, and parchment. My brilliant mind suggested that rather than worry about whatever had Viola agitated, this was the ideal time to update my diary with the tale of my glorious conquest, and I did so, and I was just about to put my finishing touches to it – my memory was rather hazy about the details after the third bout as it had become increasingly strenuous to keep up with Kráka and my body diverted vital essences to where they were needed the most, and my critical faculties were not amongst them - when Viola returned. Given the happy tale recently recollected, I was in a fine fettle and suggested that since the usual morning after was apparently cancelled, how about we test the sturdiness of our new bed? Better make sure of it before we moved in, right?

She gave me such a look as I've rarely seen! I think last time was when I gifted Wincenty a sword at his fourth birthday, and had to listen to the speech about age-appropriate toys. It scared me now as it did then, for Viola in her wrathful aspect is a terror to behold, and I realized that horizontal refreshment was off the table (so to speak).

It struck me that something very serious indeed must have happened. What had caused her to interfere in the morning after? Why had she wanted to talk to Kráka alone first? It could be no little thing. Had something happened to uncle Baldr? Was it to be a day of politics and, possibly, blood-letting? It was too soon! But if I had to make my move, would I be better off taking advantage of the situation with a pre-emptive strike or gathering my supporters close and trying to strike a peace between the family factions when somebody else struck first? With everybody of importance in town for the wedding, it was practically guaranteed that somebody would try to trim the family tree.

It was definitely the wrong day to stay in bed.

But I had misjudged the situation.

“Sverker, my stallion,” my little witch said, “I love you and I cannot live without you. How you have treated other women has hitherho not been a matter of concern to me since stallions have needs, and what's that to me so long as you don't bring trouble home? But Kráka is not just any woman. She's your wife and, more importantly, as your broodmare she is part of the Grand Plan. We need to talk.”

Whatever did she mean by that?
 
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Somehow Sverker, I think you will soon find out.
 
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Somehow Sverker, I think you will soon find out.
Any guesses as to what the wicked witch of Wessex's problem might be? :p
 
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This episode is straight from late night cable. Whatever the 'Wicked Witch of Wessex' has planned, it is best Sverker obey without any questions. For politics or marital, Viola knows more. Has anyone noticed how closely the words marital and martial resemble each other? Thank you for the update
 
This episode is straight from late night cable. Whatever the 'Wicked Witch of Wessex' has planned, it is best Sverker obey without any questions. For politics or marital, Viola knows more. Has anyone noticed how closely the words marital and martial resemble each other? Thank you for the update
Rather tame cable, seems to me. No wonder streaming is on the rise! :D

As for marital/martial? Definitely yes - and numerous jokes have been made on that account.

My favourite remains Terry Pratchett's from Lord and Ladies, where king Verence of Lancre, which is a very small kingdom indeed, has sent to the big city for a particular book to aid his marriage with queen Magrat Garlick.

Finally the book arrives. Dramatis personae: King Verence. Postman/guardsman/general handyman Shawn (it is a very small kingdom). Archchancellor Ridcully, the Librarian (an ape), and Ponder Stibbons (faculty member) of Unseen University (in said big foreign city), presently visiting the countryside. Shawn is currently in his postman role:

"Here's that book on etiquette you've been waiting for, sire, and the pig stockbook, and ... what's this one ... ?"

Verence made a grab for it. Shawn automatically tried to hang on to it. The wrapping split, and the large bulky book thumped on to the cobbles. Its fluttering pages played their woodcuts to the breeze. They looked down.

"Wow!" said Shawn.
"My word," said Ridcully.
"Um," said the king.
"Oook?"

Shawn picked up the book very, very carefully, and turned a few pages.

"Hey, look at this one! He's doing it with his feet! I didn't know you could do it with your feet!" He nudged Ponder Stibbons. "Look, sir!"

Ridcully peered at the king. "You all right, your majesty?" he said.

Verence squirmed. "Um ..."

"And, look, here's one where both chaps are doing it with sticks ..."

"What?" said Verence.

"Wow," said Shawn. "Thank you, sire. This is going to really come in handy, I can tell you. I mean, I've picked up bits and pieces here and there, but—" Verence snatched the book from Shawn's hands and looked at the title page.

"'Martial Arts"? Martial Arts. But I'm sure I wrote Marit—"

"Sire?"

There was one exquisite moment while Verence fought for mental balance, but he won. "Ah. Yes. Right. Uh. Well, yes. Uh. Of course. Yes. Well, you see, a well-trained army is ... is essential to the security of any kingdom. That's right. Yes. Fine. Magrat and me, we thought... yes. It's for you, Shawn."

"I'll start practicing right away, sire!"

"Um. Good."
 
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At this point, no one can convince me that Viola is not an evil mastermind and that every figure in this story is just one of her puppets.
I guess evil is in the eye of the beholder. What has she done to merit such an infamous reputation?
 
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I guess evil is in the eye of the beholder. What has she done to merit such an infamous reputation?
Well it all goes back to Chapter 9 when Sverker called Viola "horse-faced" to her face and paid for it dearly. I can only assume Sverker brought Viola's rise to power upon himself by angering her. Hey now, I never said my theory had to be logical or make... what did you call it? Sense.

Sverker's "Secret Evidence of Viola's Witchcraft" and the letter she wrote, detailing her grand plan also rang all of my "this person is going to conquer the world" warning bells. Seriously, she invoked Conan the Barbarian in her letter!

Crush your enemies! See them driven before you! Hear the lamentation of their women.

This woman means all kinds of business and Sverker has front-row tickets to the Viola Show.

Anyways, that's my half-baked fan theory. I'm quite sure that whatever twists you got planned next will be better than my "Viola is going to rule all" pipe dream. ;)
 
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This woman means all kinds of business and Sverker has front-row tickets to the Viola Show.

Anyways, that's my half-baked fan theory. I'm quite sure that whatever twists you got planned next will be better than my "Viola is going to rule all" pipe dream. ;)
Well, given the events of the next two chapters I'm currently writing, I doubt I'll be in the business of dissuading you of your theory anytime soon.
 
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The Sverker Diaries, part thirteen
Born to Breed: House of the Prophets

- Chapter the Seventeenth: The Sverker Diaries, part thirteen -
the world of 930

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The Secret Diary of the Genius Jarl Sverker of Jutland, Aged 28 – my Wedding Day +1

“We need to talk,” my little witch said.

Whatever did she mean by that?

First, my little witch said as she sat in her bearchair, she wanted my recollections of last night.

So I told her all about it, and how after Kráka's initial upset at my rapid assault breaching her gate, I had settled her worries by drawing on my experience and reading her mood, such that by the end of the night the seduction was complete and she was begging for more, utterly enthralled with me, until finally I exhausted her and she went to sleep utterly satiated. And if I was feeling mighty chuffed about it, who could blame me, for I had proven myself a man to her many times over and that is always a special feeling.

She asked me if that was all, and I affirmed that it was, the previous night clear in my mind after recently writing my diary, except possibly for a few irrelevant details.

”I learned it abroad. Catch them young, treat them rough, roger them hard, and then show compassion and a bit of tenderness once they cease struggling and join in the fun. As sure as sin, they fall for me and can't get enough. Sverker's three-step program for breaking hesitant fillies: 1) Shock and Awe, 2) Seduction, 3) Loyalty Reinforcement. It works every time.” I told her.

Viola looked at me hard, sighed, and then she said it: ”You know that dismissive thing you do whenever I do something that baffles you, my stallion? The long-suffering look followed by 'I don't understand women'? You are absolutely right.”

Of course I'm right. Even the best of women do baffling things and men don't understand why, because there is no good reason to their randomness. It is just how women are and we love them for it and learn to ignore it. We have to. It is either that or go crazy.

She continued: ”I know what you are thinking now, but pay attention and listen very carefully, I shall say this only once. You really don't understand women. Those hesitant fillies you break in on your business trips? Their desire is survival and they do whatever it takes. They don't desire you and they don't fall for you, though the more stupid of them may convince themselves otherwise, and the smarter ones will pretend it.

Your failure to understand your foreign conquests is perhaps understandable, and anyway it is all harmless fun except for the women involved, and who cares about them? A stallion has needs, fornicating foreigners keeps you happy and in trim, and your stories are moderately entertaining, so I have not made a point of it previously. I cannot, however, allow your failings to undermine the Grand Plan.”

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She wasn't making any sense at all! But she seemed to be working herself up to a good rant, and continued: ”You have completely failed to understand Kráka, and granted that your understanding isn't essential to fulfilling her role in Grand Plan as a bearer of your children, we will be a much happier family if the two of you have a healthy marriage not based on misunderstandings. In addition I'll be less frustrated, and that's no minor consideration.”

I felt that was rather harsh under the circumstances, and pointed out that my approach worked! This caused yet another despairing sigh, and my little witch changed track, probably realizing the weakness of her argument.

I should know better. Unlike other women, my little witch is smart.

She asked me if I recalled what Kráka's favourite activity during childhood had been, but of course I didn't. Waste of time.

”Games,” my little witch said, ”Kráka loves playing games. If she asked you once, she asked you a hundred times to play games with her. It is her favourite activity. And on the rare occasion when you agreed to participate in a game of chess or hnefatavl or playing ball, it was the highlight of the week for her. She will always play games, and yesterday night? She did.”

I was not following her.

”Could you truly believe that Kráka would be modest and fear your trouser titan after living with us for years, seeing you for the devoted husband you are, and being properly brought up to desire you and longing to join the stable?” she asked.

Well, yes. A bit of modesty in a woman was never amiss, and I knew well that few women seeing IT for the first time were unaffected by its majesty. Kráka's reaction was hardly unusual. Perfectly reasonable behaviour from an innocent maiden, I pointed out to Viola.

My little witch ignored me, having much too fun ranting irregardless of fact: ”Not that she needed much encouraging on my part, as you are clearly the best of men and her father's choice. As for innocence, I've been telling her your preferences for years, and if she hasn't spied upon us in congress whenever she could get away with it and taking notes, I'll be greatly surprised. She certainly managed to interrupt us 'by accident' more than a few times over the years. This was definitely not the first time she saw 'IT' in all its glory.”

I objected, as I did not remember any incidents and surely I would have, but my little witch interrupted me, ”of course you didn't notice; firstly, as a general rule you don't pay attention to women other than me, and secondly, my stallion, when you do pay proper attention to a woman, you are remarkably single-minded in your pursuit of pleasure and ignore anything non-essential to the act.”

That was more like it. I swelled up a bit at the compliment! Which made what came next easier to swallow. But not by a lot.

“So you see, my stallion, you would not have noticed and, as a matter of fact, you did not. Even if you had, would you have understood what you saw? Do I need to remind you of the incident Yule before last?”

How could I forget it? It still made me shudder to recall. If not for my quick wits, I could have lost everything.

Little Kráka had drunk too much of the good ale at the Yule-feast and mistakenly entered our room, and she was so tired she fell asleep while undressing. So when I left the feast briefly to fetch the large jewel I got in Córdoba to show off to some of uncle Baldr's children, and in the darkness of the room saw the outline of someone lying invitingly on the bed, dress pulled up over her head, I realized that my little witch had snuck from the feast to greet me with a quickie. She's considerate like that.

Well, I could surely oblige, and if I had gone for the main course rather than choosing to slip a hand up the dress to tease her breasts first, Kráka would have had a night to remember because once my secondary brain is in control I tend not to sweat the small stuff. And how king Baldr would have reacted to her violation... it didn't bear thinking of. But fortunately my beloved's breasts are well known to my hands, and these were not hers, so I stopped in shock and disaster was averted with Kráka none the wiser. I carried the sleeping child to her bed, and I never told anybody but my little witch about the incident.

So, ”YES!” I responded, I remembered the episode very well, and thanks to my knowing my wife well and a bit of luck, I didn't ruin Kráka's childhood and didn't lose my head, and I could lawfully and in good conscience ride her now till the cows came home, the sweet little thing, and I said as much.

”You just proved my point”, my little witch said. ”Not only don't you understand women, their desires, wishes, and actions being a mystery to you and your attempts to figure them out often being far off the mark, you don't pay attention to them either except as needed to mount them. That's a blind spot but nothing to be ashamed of, it is just how stallions are.”

If she wanted to confuse me, she was doing well.

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“But you need to know this, Sverker my love. Yule before last? She was neither drunk nor asleep. She knew exactly what she was doing, and she was disappointed by the outcome. She took the scolding I gave her next day like a champion, and I must admit that secretly I admired her pluck. Wish I had thought of it at her age, but well, times were different. As for last night? While you certainly took her by surprise and shocked her by the way you breached her gate, in one move lifting her up bodily and slamming her down on the maypole, impaling her so hard it tickled her tonsils from the inside (I suspect she exaggerates; also, I want to try that), you didn't 'overcome her resistance' with your 'rapid assault' and then 'seduce her', and she didn't 'faint with bliss' – she put up a show to manipulate your responses, she let you see what she wanted you to see, and you acted predictably on her cues as she had her fun with you while you 'conquered' her. Hah, if anybody was doing any conquering, it was she, taking full advantage of her education. You were played.”

That was a lot to take in.

“But she overplayed her hand and got rather more than she had aimed for with the lettuce incident, and that's why we are talking now. What were you thinking! If not for my intervention, it could have been a disaster!” my little witch demanded. What lettuce incident, I wondered? Had there been lettuce? I must have looked puzzled, for she continued, “Yes, lettuce. Have you already forgotten?”

Dimly I recalled that Kráka had at one point asked for some lettuce with her beer and that she had got it, but the details eluded me.

“She did, and you were happy to oblige her. I shall fill in the details. It was late last night and the wedding feast was slowly petering out. Many of the guests and most of the children had already left or been drunk under the table. Baldr, the old dear, was stabbing at his salad, possibly wondering whether he should go wild and indulge himself with an extra leaf, and I was having a slightly strained conversation with Queen Praxida, who felt sorry for her daughter, since you had been treating her as a slab of meat at the wedding and shown no interest in her as a lover. Coupled with your sedentary lifestyle as chancellor and already having a wife you clearly loved and no doubt honoured several times a day, she feared poor Kráka would have her expectations dashed as the ship of marriage came to rest in a single roll on/roll off docking. (Her origins as a merchant as ever betraying her speech when she was excited. And the worse for drink.)

I assured Praxida that if you didn't publicly show interest in Kráka, well, that was because of your private nature. As she probably remembered from years past when we were wards in their household, you had a hard time expressing love in public and would have to get used to Kráka's new position in the household before it would show, but you had secretly lusted after Kráka for years and the queen could rest assured that you'd do your best to honour her daughter. Neither office work nor tiredness wouldn't slow you down, and even if you did honour me several times a day, you'd have more than enough left to roger her daughter several score times this night and were undoubtedly so engaged at present unless you had already exhausted Kráka in your eagerness.” my little witch said, and if the part about my having lusted after Kráka was an outright fabrication, it was a well-chosen lie in the circumstances.

As for honouring Kráka several score times in a night? Commendable loyalty, but hardly likely – where would I find the time? And where was this strange tale going? I found out soon enough.

”And that's when the doors burst open and you entered! I must give you this, if nothing else, my stallion: Your timing was perfect. Naked as the day you were born and with Kráka firmly mounted in front, her legs and arms wrapped around you in ecstacy, you marched growling to the high seat while she sang 'This is how the ladies ride, trit-trot, trit-trot, trit-trot.'”

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I groaned. This was political poison. And it got worse.

For apparently cousin Freyr, showing more lust than sense, had reached for Kráka and I kicked him in the fruits so hard his eyes popped, which would normally have been a great hoot, but everybody were too aghast to do more than watch in stunned disbelief as I gently laid Kráka down before her parents and had her in the king's salad while she looked up at them, singing, 'This is how your daughter rides, in-your-greens, in-your-greens,” the singing slightly muffled by her munching on some of the king's lettuce she had opportunistically snatched.

My little witch said I could count myself lucky that drunk as Kráka was, she didn't choose 'in-your-face', which had apparently been her initial inspiration.

My mother was howling with laughter as were several others of the older generation, and after an initial bout of outrage the queen was cheering Kráka on, but the king was appalled and growing angrier by the stanza and several of Kráka's brothers were running for the entrance where the weapons were stored, and were it not for my little witch the night might have ended in tragedy.

For she sprang up on the table and shouted for everybody to freeze: Kráka had clearly driven me too far and let the bear within seize control, but it was in a good mood, and who wouldn't be in its place? So long as we all stayed calm and made no quick movements or loud noises, it would leave soon enough and no harm done, whereas if it was offered violence odds were that none but the fastest would survive, for it was hardened against iron! Kráka, happily munching on her greens but no less quick-witted, chimed in by saying that the rod was already hard as iron, and she clawed my back viciously, making me erupt in a roar that shook the rafters.

So the laughter diminished and Kráka's brothers froze in their tracks, and Kráka having gotten what she wanted, I left as soon as I came, and king Baldr addressed the guests saying that this never happened.

And that is why there was no need of proof of consummation this morning and why my little witch had seen fit to interrupt us so early and hustle us away.

”I understand from Kráka that she had wanted to experience your growling, of which I had talked many times, but got mischievous and lost control when you solved her request for a late night snack of lettuce in a straightforward manner she never could have anticipated. She just wanted to exert her dominance by making you order somebody to fetch it, but that was too complicated for your secondary brain. She's learned her lesson about the dangers of baiting the bear within too far, I think.” she said in contemplation.

“Now, I interrupted your bride's morning after, and remembering our own memorable morning after, that was a hard thing to do to her, but you had to be told due to the political repercussions. Well, you've been told now, and there's no harm done in playing games so long as you know what is going on and appreciate her for what she is – a smart confident woman who looks up to you, desires you, and even loves you in her own way, but will take advantage of you if you let her or show weakness. So go to her now and show her your appreciation, my stallion, and if she can still walk straight by nightfall I shall be greatly disappointed in you.” she ordered.

That's what my wife, my very own wife, said to me!

”What if I don't want to? What if I am in shock at all this 'doesn't understand women, never pays attention, was hoodwinked by a 14 year old, played for a fool by a 16 year old, and made the laughingstock of the family? You know my family. My carefully managed profile as the Iron Chancellor will be turned against me. It won't be depraved cousin Freyr, the Fucker of Flanders, who'll be the butt of family jokes now, I guarantee you. It'll be weirdo cousin Sverker, the Man with the Iron Rod!” I shouted.

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My little witch tried to shush me, but to no avail. “And after that, you want me to go roger her rigid. I don't think I can do it. I really don't think I am in the mood today!” I retorted pointedly and perhaps a bit peevishly, because I really don't like being made a fool of, and what better way to punish the little minx than to withhold what she had so recently acquired a taste for? Leave her deprived for a few days, wishing she'd treated me better. As for being in the mood, my little witch was all I needed to satisfy my desires. Perhaps require Kráka to watch to see what she was missing. Hah!

”I've never known you not to be in the mood, my stallion, and I saw how you looked at her this morning, so I doubt that. I seriously doubt that. If it is your pride that has been pricked and you dislike being played, well, two can play that game, and surely you are both more experienced and smarter than Kráka. Show her who's the master and make her dance to your tune. You'll both be the happier for it.” she replied.

My little witch had a point. Not about pride, of course, this had nothing to do with my pride. But however you looked at it, I needed Kráka happy and helping me project the image of a healthy loving family, to do damage control after last night. Moreover, regardless of how she had made a fool of me, in all justice I had not been entirely blameless in the affair. Finally, she had a certain right to my attentions on her bridal day and I didn't want her to go running to her father or complain to her mother or sisters, for who knew how far that might spread or what further damage it would cause? Or would she even think of doing that? Clearly, I needed to understand her better so I could anticipate her reactions, at least for as so long uncle Baldr lived, which meant talking to her.

Granted that talking to women is not my favourite activity, my little witch being the solitary exception, if I made Kráka play games my way, pleasuring myself screwing her brains out till she couldn't take more and begged me to stop, for surely she couldn't match my endurance, well, there'd be time enough to talk while the rod of lordly might recharged, and she could hardly run to her father and complain that I was serving her too much horizontal refreshment. This could work out very well indeed. The perfect revenge for her duplicity.

My little witch definitely had a point.

But I had something that needed saying too, and so I did: ”There is something to be said for that, little witch, and perhaps you are right that I neither understand nor pay attention to women. You were certainly right to bring the lettuce incident to my attention due to the political dangers. But in at least one respect you do not understand men. For while it is right and good that I be told how Kráka played me, since no imminent danger arose from my misunderstanding, you should have left me in ignorance about that for a few days rather than poisoning the memory of my wedding night so soon.”

My voice broke, and the more I spoke, the less control I had. ”Had you waited a few days, perhaps I would have realized her tricks on my own, or perhaps she would have told me, secure in our new intimacy, and we could have laughed it off, or perhaps I would have been left in ignorance and you would have to break the news days later when I was sated from enjoying her body and no longer enthralled by the riddle of my new wife, for as you've said more than once, I am a fickle stallion. In all cases I would be better off than I am now, as I whipsaw from one emotional high to another!”

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She twisted to hug me, and she apologized, and her tears mixed with mine, and since she was sitting in her bearchair, well, truth be told it is hard to feel sadness when things are looking up, and once she felt IT stirring beneath her, her tears dried up too and she jumped off just as things were getting interesting, but not to hitch up her dress, alas.

To tell me that I seemed to have recovered the mood, and Kráka was waiting.

But I'd be damned if I let her get the last word like that,

So I said to her, “I will shortly do as you say, and you know why? Because while I may not understand or pay attention to women in general, I understand and pay attention to you, and what else matters?”

”You do? Quickly now, my stallion”, she retorted teasingly, “What's my favourite colour? What's my favourite food? Who's my favourite rider?”

”Red, pork, and me!” I replied immediately. That was easy.

Perhaps not as easy as that, as she replied, ”You only got one out of three right, my stallion, and aren't you wondering now which of them it is, smart guy?”

But two can play that game, so I answered her earnestly: ”Not at all, little witch, for while I may not know every little detail about you, I know everything important, and I know that you are this stallion's boss mare, whose heart of gold is constant and true.”

I seldom get the last word with my little witch, but this time I did.

So I left her pleasantly contemplating my words with a smile on her lips, and went to the second stall to complete her directive – and get my revenge. Kráka was waiting, to all appearances demure and dejected, yet anxious to please her husband, but I was forewarned this time.

I smiled at her, ruffled her hair, and began speaking.

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“I guess you got a stern talking-to from my little witch, just like I did.” I said, and she nodded carefully. “Well, we deserved it. We really were naughty last night, weren't we? I hope you liked your lettuce, for there's more where it came from and I'll be happy to provide the dressing – though preferably in private.” I said, and she blushed. She actually blushed and wrung her hands, looking incredibly guilty and ashamed! Could my little witch be wrong? It hardly seemed possible. Time to show Kráka who the master game player was!

“I'm thinking of staying in all day rather than working, so as to avoid your father, and I suggest you do the same. How do you feel about playing games this fine morning? We could use the opportunity to talk a bit and get better acquainted, for I have sadly neglected you these many years.” I asked.

“I'd love to,” she replied, “will Viola be joining us?”

“I'm afraid not. She's otherwise occupied, so I have in mind we start out by playing a fun two-player game to help us get acquainted. Now, as a new player I'm afraid your only winning move is not to play, but even so, would you like to play a game?” I teased.

“There is always a winning move!” she scoffed, “Don't think you can scare me off that easily.”

”Great”, I said, ”let's play 'Raid and Capture'!”

“Oh, I know that one. Can I be the raider?” she asked innocently.

“Not today, Kráka,” I responded with an lascivious grin, “today I'll be the raider, and we will be playing with a rather stiffer penalty than you are used to.”

Innocence fled as her face broke into a wicked grin dwarfing mine, and she exclaimed excitedly, “Hurrah! I've practised running for years in anticipation of this, and I am much faster than Viola. You really are the best, Sverker! But are you fast enough?”

As I stood stupefied, she concluded, “We have this huge and nearly empty longhouse as our field of play, at least for today, and it would be a real shame not to take advantage of the situation; Catch me if you can!”, and started running.

We spent the day getting to know each other, and my little witch arranged a huge and hearty lunch and supper for us, and at the end of day not only couldn't Kráka walk straight, I couldn't either, and my little witch put us both to bed.

This is going to be a strange household.
 
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And with that, I can finally allow the AAR to speed up again. :D

Having Viola briefly channel Michelle from 'Allo 'Allo can probably be forgiven under the circumstances: She had good reason to be exasperated with Sverker's conduct.


EDIT: This is terrible. Now I'm thinking Sverker's lines in René's voice.
 
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Sverker is Darren and Viola is Samantha with Kráka as Serena. Sverker is a Lucky Man . . . IF he Survives! Thank you for the update
I had to look them up, but having found the reference and reading a bit about the characters on the show, I approve... I think.
 
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I had to look them up, but having found the reference and reading a bit about the characters on the show, I approve... I think.
Your calling Viola a little witch made me think of Bewitched. Darren was played by two different actors both named Dick. Elizabeth Montgomery was Samantha and Serena.
 
Now, as a new player I'm afraid your only winning move is not to play, but even so, would you like to play a game?” I teased.

This longtime player of Global Thermonuclear War is feeling teased. ;)
 
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This longtime player of Global Thermonuclear War is feeling teased. ;)
I just couldn't resist it. I normally try to make the literary and cinematic references I sprinkle my AARs with a bit less obvious, but that one was just too tempting.

---

After two exceedingly busy weeks the next chapter is coming up today and, as promised, events are speeding up even if the first entry takes place "one week later".
 
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The Sverker Diaries, part fourteen
Born to Breed: House of the Prophets

- Chapter the Eighteenth: The Sverker Diaries, part fourteen -
the world of 930-933

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The Secret Diary of the Genius Jarl Sverker of Jutland, Aged 28

Dear Diary,

After lunch I suggested to my little witch that we do something to relieve her of the strain of a week of enforced abstinence caused by the wedding as I gave Kráka everything I could, and to our mutual enjoyment, we did. So I suggested we had another go, but she said she had something to show me first. Now, just what could that be, I asked, befuddled.

Something new, as it turned out. On the wall next to the master bed-chamber hang a chunk of slate rock, broader than it was tall, and not all that thick. It was finely cut and almost smooth, and it had writing on it.

I asked her what it was for, and my little witch was proud to explain it. This, she told me, was not just a chunk of slate, it was the slate, and she wrote on it with a stylus. Handy and erasable with a bit of work, just like a clay tablet, only better. Admittedly one couldn't bake it to get a permanent record, but you can't have everything. It was her own invention, and it was the future of household accountancy. She called it the score-board.

So I took a closer look, and at the top of the slate, going left to right, it listed the days of the week for the next two weeks, and under each day was a rune, either a 'k' or a 'v'. They didn't alternate and had no discernable system, but a quick tally showed there were seven of each.

Beneath this the slate had a horizontal dividing line, and under that a 'v' to the leftmost, and beneath that, a 'k'.

While I enjoyed the view of my little witch feeling very pleased with herself, it didn't take a genius to see that this was a schedule dividing household tasks for my wives, and it isn't as if schedules are anything new, but that erasable slate – I guess that is new. I have certainly never seen anything like it before. So I showed willing and asked her what household tasks they were dividing and what the bottom of the slate was for.

“Guess, my stallion”, she said, and in retrospect, I really should have seen it coming. She used the stylus to make a single stroke next to the 'v' below the divider.

”That better not mean what I think it means, little witch”, I said.

She just grinned at me.

It was a simple system, she explained. The schedule at the top was the duty roster, showing who I was to honour on any given day of the week. She would maintain the schedule, taking into account illness, pregnancies, and so on and so forth. The number of times I successfully honoured a day's assignment would be scored below the wife's rune for the day – hence the slate's name.

”But I don't want Kráka! I've had her for six days straight! I want you!” I wailed manfully to her, after looking more closely at the board, which clearly stated that today was a k-day, ”and I will have you!”

”You already did. That's what the single stroke below the line is for.” she calmly replied. ”It would stifle you to remove all spontaneity from your marriages, and I can't have that as stifled stallions go silly, so the top is for stall-duty and the bottom is for free-range encounters with wives that are off duty. Whenever you have one of us on the other's day, you gain a spontaneous mark below the line in the general tally for that wife. So honour marks above the line in the schedule, spontaneous marks below in the tally. If either the number of spontaneous or honour marks for one wife exceeds the number of honour marks for the other over any sustained period of time, there will be consequences. It is only fair.” she said sternly.

It was then that I realized my little witch was quite mad.

”But...” I tried to interject, to no avail. She continued: ”Additionally, each wife is granted up to five headaches a month, and as for you, my stallion, requests for up to five 'feasting with the boys' days will not be unreasonable denied so long as you do not abuse the privilege. To take a hypothetical example that I am sure would never cross your mind, only feasting on Kráka's days.”

It was too much.

”Now, you listen to me, and you listen good! I am the man in the house and I am in charge!” I said, putting my foot down.

”Of course you are.” she replied meekly.

”As for pleasing my wives, I decide who, where, when, why, and how frequently!” I explained, calmly.

”Of course you do.” she replied meekly.

”My desires take precedence over your schedule. Is that CLEAR?” I roared.

”Of course it is.” she replied meekly.

”And you'll completely ignore my objections, despite stating your acceptance, because this is part of your Grand Plan?” I queried.

”Of course I will.” she replied, no longer meek at all.

”And you've made this schedule granting Kráka equal access, because you want her pregnant as fast as possible, and thought that the most you could push Kráka on me was by underhandedly appealing to my innate sense of even-handed justice, all for your Grand Plan?” I said, and grimaced.

”You got me there, my stallion”, she answered with a grin.

”In that case, hitch up your dress, little witch, for the two of us are going to be very busy this afternoon,” I replied with an even larger grin.

”But my system!” she cried, for once distressed.

”I am following your system! Willingly! Which means today is k-day and tomorrow a v-day... But just think of it – the more times I spontaneously do you now, the more I'll be, heh, honour-bound to honour Kráka tonight so as not to start falling behind and ultimately violating the system's rule about the spontaneous outnumbering the honours, and the more I honour her, the sooner she'll be pregnant. So it would arguably be a dereliction of duty on my part were the two of us to wait until tomorow.” I explained.

”I can't help feeling that you are being too cunning by half, my stallion. It seems to be a violation of the spirit of my system.” she replied.

”But not the word! I learned this term from Kráka, and I think it applies: I am gaming the system, not violating it,” I chuckled, ”and you aren't getting out of this one. I caught you free-range, after all.”

”At least you've been listening to her, so I'll count that half a victory,” she sighed theatrically, and embraced me, ”and it has indeed been a long week waiting while the two of you had fun, so just this once I yield to your questionable wisdom. Let's ride!”

”FOR THE GRAND PLAN!”

”I'll get you for that, my stallion.”



The Secret Diary of the Genius Jarl Sverker of Jutland, Aged 29

Dear Diary,

It is confirmed. Kráka is pregnant with our first child! It will come late winter or very early spring. The timing is unfortunate, as my little witch is due mid- or late- winter, so in a few months time they'll both be big with child and undoubtedly cranky. I wonder if I should go raiding this winter.



The Secret Diary of the Genius Jarl Sverker of Jutland, Aged 29

Dear Diary,

My Pomeranian manners are hurting my prospects as I attempt to rally people to my cause in the upcoming succession, but they are too much part of my public persona now for going native to be convincing, and in the long run... Honour your father, and all that.

We'll just have to work harder for the votes and see whether natural causes disqualifies any of the other candidats. Once Kráka bears my son (Freyr willing), she should be able to rally her closest siblings, and perhaps she will have her use in the greater schemes as well. Time will tell.



The Secret Diary of the Genius Jarl Sverker of Jutland, Aged 29

Dear Diary,

My fourth son is born, a winter child these three weeks after Yule! I shall name him Bezprzym because frankly, my little witch claimed the right to name her son in accordance with ancient tradition after bearing me four sons. What ancient tradition I asked? Mogyër, she answered, and looked so serious I couldn't tell if she was joking. She probably was, but for a decade she's been working so hard on the dozen sons she once dreamed of, and four is a respectable start, so it seemed a shame to gainsay her. Especially when they are shaping up so well according to her progress reports.

In a few years I'll be able to summon a son with a sneeze. Not everybody can say that.



The Secret Diary of the Genius Jarl Sverker of Jutland, Aged 29

Dear Diary,

My first daughter is born, a spring child, for spring came early. I shall name her Hanna. Kráka is delirious with pride in her work and for a first attempt, I guess it isn't bad. Not as useful politically as a son would have been, but at least she survived, which is the important thing, and I do care about her. I think. I would certainly miss her weirdness and those strange roleplaying games she invented. So on the whole, good work. And it'll make a welcome change from the boys. Troublemakers, one and all.

The king is overjoyed, but when even this news leaves him grazing on vegetables rather than eating and drinking like a man, he won't last much longer, so it is time we bring Kráka into the deeper planning for the succession. We've waited long enough, but better safe than sorry and surely she won't balk at her part now.

My one complaint, as I pointed out to my little witch, is that one would think Kráka hadn't helped out with all four of Viola's births and raising the children these past years, the way she carries on as if she invented childbirth and babies and goes on and on talking about her daughter. And hopefully she'll be more quiet next time. Her screams during birthing scared the little ones and curdled the milk.

My little witch acknowledged the point, but said I should let Kráka enjoy her moment of glory and humour her wishes for a few weeks, for this belonged to the ”doesn't understand women” category. My little witch promised to tell Kráka to give birth more quietly next time, pointing out that she'd do it more tactfully than I ever could.

She's probably right about that.



The Secret Diary of the Genius Jarl Sverker of Jutland, Aged 29

Dear Diary,

Turns out that having a child has made Kráka miss her sisters, and in particular her younger sister Sif. I'm not quite sure how she could miss her, given that we live practically next door to the royal hall and they see each other several times a month at the very least, but I decided to follow my little witch's advice and acceeded to Kráka's request to having Sif live here for a week or two, cooing over the baby and entertaining my wife.



The Secret Diary of the Genius Jarl Sverker of Jutland, Aged 29

Dear Diary,

Sif is an arrogant spoiled 15-year old, and I well understand why uncle Baldr's reaction to us taking her in for a short while was that we could have her as long as Kráka needed. She looks on me like scum, and I overheard her pitying Kráka for being married to a brute who repeatedly violated her and forced her to bear his child. Kráka tried to correct her, but 15 years old or 50, arrogant ears are deaf ears.

At least she shuts up in my presence rather than poison the air at dinner.

But what a joke. Forced? Violated? If she'd seen her sister at play, she'd know better! In one epic game of the Emir's Daughter and the Seven Veils, Kráka's adaption of my Cordoban adventure, she kept rolling doubles on the encounter table, and as I learned to my considerable surprise, there are few things more fearful than when after having spent yourself several times playing a sex game with your lovely wife and you really need to sleep or at least a pause to recover, because, frankly, you are beat and no longer have the stamina of youth, said cheerful young wife with an abundance of energy intones, “his most recent conquest left senseless with bliss on the floor, the Mighty Raider loots her veil and a loincloth of protection +1. Roaring with renewed vigour, he kicks down the door and encounters....”, followed by the sound of dice rolls, and then, “BONUS ENCOUNTER! Again? What are the odds. Let me cross-reference the target and method. Oooh, it is the Emir's Daughter's handmaiden this time! She has speed 3 so no autocapture. Lucky me! Ahem. The Mighty Raider licks his lips lasciviously and advances on his prey, a veiled nubile young handmaiden, who looks ready to bolt. 'I have you now, my pretty', he says lustily. To proceed you must beat the handmaiden in a game of Raid and Capture. Is that the 6th or 7th tonight? Oh dear. You don't have to finish with a half-Bødvar this time as your aim might be off. Rule 4A (substitution clause) says in such cases you can stallionize upon capture after roaring her into submission. Ready to start? I've practiced the voice for this one! Oh merciful Allah, the benevolent, the great, save me, for I am a poor virgin about to be ravished by this huge handsome hunk... Why are you just lying there, Sverker, my love? Stop hiding your head in the pillow. Up and at me! If you can catch me, you can have me! I'm a pooooor virgin about to be ravished – any time now, chop chop – by this huuuuge handsome hunk.”

By the time I finally reached the Emir's Daughter and the Cordoban Jewel, having ravished three of the daughter's handmaidens, two of her sisters, two actresses, her mother, her aunt, a flutist, and twin female contortionist kickboxer assassins overcome by my “rugged manly charm” who'd only let me pass if I conquered them (Kráka's roleplaying encounter tables can get passing strange, but at least the twins were autocaptures), I was done for, and when the Mighty Raider kicked down the final door, he collapsed and the Emir's Daughter had to ravish him to reach the end of the adventure so he could claim the by now thirteen veils. Which she did. I never found a use for all those loincloths of protection I collected either, not even the mother's +5 version, and they were gone in the next revision of the game.

That's the only time I've heard my little witch take Kráka to task for her games. When she saw my bedraggled state the next day, she said to Kráka what I would never have been able to do without losing my self-respect, that this was simply too much to ask of their stallion, and she demanded that Kráka amend the rules to either a) allow the raider to let some targets escape in his pursuit of the primary goal or b) automatically ignore BONUS ENCOUNTER rolls if they would lead to an encounter in excess of the seven veils of my original adventure. Kráka chose the former.

But I digress.

Come to think of it, that epic game took place about nine months back. I'll have to ask Kráka which of the veils gave birth. Was it, perhaps, one of the handmaidens? She'll appreciate the joke. I guess I shouldn't be so hard on little Sif. If nothing else, she reminded me of this epic adventure, which while rather exhausting at the time makes for a splendid memory.



The Secret Diary of the Genius Jarl Sverker of Jutland, Aged 30

Dear Diary,

The king is ailing but insists on personally leading the conquest of Bohemia as part of his “Greatest Conquest Ever” scheme to ensure he goes out fighting. Perforce, I had to find an excuse to go with him, and, no surprises, so did the other chief contenders. We all want to be there for the kill. Unfortunate choice of words, there.

My little witch says it can't be helped, but she'll assemble a shopping list to ensure the opportunity isn't wasted.



The Secret Diary of the Genius Jarl Sverker of Jutland, Aged 30

Dear Diary,

What a joy it is to be on campaign in Hradec! The weather is bad. The natives are stupid, the men stubborn and the women unappealing. And I'm cold and wet and want to be with my little witch.

Or failing that, a battle would not be amiss. This eternal siegecraft saps the soul.

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My little witch told me to remember to be ruthless and show no mercy in order to appeal to the Blood & Guts demographic of Danish Jarls. Under no circumstances were I to allow any of the other contenders for the succession to exceed me in gallons of blood or yards of intestines personally spilled in battle... but how can I do that when the natives refuse to fight?

As for Kráka, she told me to gather new material for her nightly roleplaying games, urging me to experiment with the women I came across, but I have experienced nothing interesting so far. Just commonplace conquests, nothing to make a story of.

Hopefully I'll get an opportunity to please both of my wives once this blasted siege concludes and we sack the town. I wonder if other men suffer from these kinds of problems, but who could I ask without appearing the fool?



The Secret Diary of the Genius Jarl Sverker of Jutland, Aged 31

Dear Diary,

King Baldr is starving himself now. Having somehow survived his ridiculous escapades of the recent wars, it looks like he is finally making good on his promises to end it all since a malnourished ancient who's always first into the fray surely cannot survive long on the battlefield. It is time to strike.



The Secret Diary of the Genius Jarl Sverker of Jutland, Aged 31

Dear Diary,

My sister Holmfridr is going to be so pissed at me. Either that or she'll come asking for favours. I wonder which it will be.

King Baldr is furious with his mighty son Egill, her husband. And why? Because of Egill's marriage to cousin Kenna two months back and the scandal that followed.

Egill arrived as summoned and today, before all of the court, king Baldr publicly reprimanded and disinherited Egill, and Egill, the chump, humbly accepted the verdict!

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Mingling with my cousins in the capital this afternoon, I discovered that there's a vicious rumour going around putting the blame on me. It says I set Egill up for his fall, that Kráka promoted the marriage, and that Viola ensured the king's attention was drawn to the problematic aspects. Naturally, I denied everything: It is an obvious smear.

And anyway, they got the details wrong; Kráka tricked her sister Sif into promoting the marriage. Egill doesn't suspect a thing.

Not that we have anything against Egill. He's a splendid chap. The perfect warrior. Intellectually suited to be a vassal. Not leadership material. But he was a bit too popular with the younger and wilder Jarls and now he is out of the running.

Now I am the youngest serious contestant, and with the wild set, my reputation as the Man with the Iron Rod isn't treated as a joke but as something that recommends me. Never would I have thought that the diplomatic disaster of my wedding night would turn into an asset, but strangely, it has. They truly are stupid, and were it not that I need all the support I can get I would shun them like the hounds they are.

Once I succeed to the throne, I'll probably honour my promise to Kráka and reinstate Egill. Give him gifts. If I promote him to the limit of his abilities and play my cards right, he'll be a firm supporter. Or perhaps I won't. Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.

The best thing is that Egill's fall broke the last of Baldr's resistance to my empire plan. His foolish insistance that he'd carry the entire burden of kingship to the grave like his father did is a thing of the past.

Not because he finally realized that it is patently absurd to compare his burden with his father's, as he is the king of 15 separate kingdoms spread from one end of Europe to the other, and who knows he might pick up another one or two at this rate depending on whether he lives another year or two – but because he realized that this might be a way to salvage his errant son. Perhaps make him a lesser king somewhere out of the way once it is time to forgive him.

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The Secret Diary of the Genius Jarl Sverker of Jutland, Aged 31

Dear Diary,

My second daughter is born to Kráka on the cusp of winter. I shall name her Markéta after my father's favourite aunt or possibly it was one of his favourite bitches. I forget. But at least it is a female name of Slavic orgin, and that's all that matters. Kráka was less noisy this time around, possibly the result of having her sister Sif to keep her company through the birth and wanting to appear tough to her.

Kráka is somewhat disappointed with the result as she wanted a boy, but I told her not to worry as not everybody got it right the first or second time. I consoled her that if she'd just concentrate on enjoying life and her children for now, the sooner she healed, the sooner we could play a friendly game of hide the sausage and get to work on number three. Kráka murmured a fond but exhausted acceptance, but Sif gave me an icy glare and proclaimed me a pig.

She's just envious because she's nearly 17 and still unmarried. She'll sing a different song when she's married to cousin Hugh of Normandy in late spring and has her first serving of Freyr's sauce. Possibly a painful song, as Hugh has issues, but will she or nil she, she'll do her duty in the end.

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Not that I care, really, but when I complained to my little witch today that Sif was an annoyance - it was bad enough when she merely looked down on me as scum violating her sister last year, now she speaks up as if she's got a right to insult me in my own house – my little witch told me Sif was merely high spirited. Viola said she had plans for marrying Sif's offspring into the main line as she and Hugh were bound to produce beautiful children, so she'd prefer I treat her courteously. She tried explaining to me the benefits of breeding a Hugh-Sif daughter to our son Wincenty or Udalrich, or a son of theirs to my daughter Hanna or how about newborn Marketá? It was never too early to start looking at opportunities.

She's always looking ahead, my little witch, but this... This was just too glorious a thought, as I imagined the spoiled princess' outraged face were she to be informed of my little witch's planning for her future offspring. She'd combust on the spot! I shared the thought with my wife and we both found it impossible to keep a straight face and broke down howling with laughter.

So I promised to be good and never tell Sif, but when the arrogant princess joined us for dinner tonight and informed us cool as you please that she was never going to have any children after seeing what her sister went through, it was hard to stifle a chuckle. My little witch thanked her gravely for the information while Kráka looked mortified and Sif self-righteous.



The Secret Diary of the Genius King Sverker of Denmark, Aged 31

Dear Diary,

Last night, I was too tired to do my duty. That's a first. So to celebrate the day's momentous achievement and my own elevation to the kingdom of Denmark, I decided on an experiment and damning the schedule, I proclaimed it a sleep-only vk-day and snuggled up with both my wives, drifting off to blessed sleep with a lovely on each arm.

Upside: A very comfortable way to go to sleep, engulfed by love and warmth on either side.

Downside: While I am used to my wives' snoring, and they to mine, it turned out their snoring caused constructive interference, amplifying the sound, and I was blasted awake long before morning. Also, my arms were killing me when I awoke, so I had to extricate them, which woke my wives. They appreciated being awakened no more than I did and we were all grumpy yet unable to sleep.

Upside to downside: Having had a few hours of sleep, I was no longer that tired, and set out to prove it. So a good time was had by all until the early hours of daylight forced us out of bed, rather the worse for wear.

Downside to upside to downside: This morning my little witch claimed it was hard to score on the score-board, and she was a bit cranky about my dictatorial deviation from schedule and her lack of sleep. Also, I was dead on my feet. Not the best shape for dealing with the diplomatic fallout from yesterday's announcements.

On the whole an interesting experience, but probably not one to repeat too frequently. I need my sleep. Thus do practicality defeat daydreams.

But I get ahead of myself.

Yesterday months of work of planning bore fruit with the creation of the High Kingdom of Denmark, ruled by the one and only High King Baldr I.

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For his first act as High King, I, as his preferred heir and the Jarl of Jutland, was granted the Kingdom of Denmark. There was some grumbling at that, but since the majority leaned towards cousin Gudfridr as primary heir to the new High Kingdom and the ancestral lands of kingdom of Denmark, though historically important, really didn't matter these days, not too much. My competitors probably saw it as a cheap way of buying me off.

His second act was to strip three non-Sigurdr dukes in central Europe of their lands, an unjust act but perhaps, in the circumstances, a necessary one – a final housecleaning, so to speak. Well, nobody would complain about that.

His third was to hand off spare land to his remaining heirs, such that nobody was left entirely unsatisfied. The confiscated land and the recent Bohemian conquests came in handy for that.

And in his infinite wisdom and arguable dotage, his fourth was to make me king of every single kingdom within the High Kingdom whose Jarls can't be counted on to support me over the opposition. I am now personally responsible for a third of the High Kingdom.

The howls of my competitors must have been heard even at the farthest reaches of Midgård.
 
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Hmm. Subtlety seems to have fallen by the wayside in this voting business...

Otherwise, great stuff. Lots of land and power for you, your heirs and the empire in the bag one day! Presumably, something very wrong is going to happen very soon.
 
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Hmm. Subtlety seems to have fallen by the wayside in this voting business...
They were mighty men, the men of old, but subtlety was not their trademark.

But thanks! You've just given me an idea for writing an election special. :D

Otherwise, great stuff. Lots of land and power for you, your heirs and the empire in the bag one day! Presumably, something very wrong is going to happen very soon.
No, nothing can possibly go wrong. Sverker's plans are foolproof!
 
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