﻿Stark

by Pan



Published: 2015-10-31
Updated: 2015-11-14
Packaged: 2024-02-16 22:58:03
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,652
Publisher: mcstories.com
Story URL: https://mcstories.com/Stark/index.html
Author URL: https://mcstories.com/Authors/Pan.html
Summary: The Lady of Frost’s Keep angers a musician who plays the most entrancing songs.
Erotica Tags: mc, md, mf





TABLE OF CONTENTS


Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Epilogue



	Chapter 1

The music drifted through the halls of Frost’s Keep, bouncing off the stone walls. It somehow seeped through the huge wooden doors and into the dining room, where the lady of the fortress, Merrida Frost, was midway through slicing her youngest child’s boar meat.

“Mother,” her son said, his face mirroring the confusion of his mother’s. “What’s that?”

“I don’t know, Rin,” she murmured, and called over a servant to investigate the source of the strange, haunting music. She rose from the table, passing the hand-hewn knife to her son, who resumed the task of carving the boar where she had left off.

Despite the biting chill outside, the dining hall always had one stone window open. Her husband Mik insisted upon it—“We are the Frost,” he would say any time she suggested closing it. “If we can’t tolerate a little cold, we will be completely unprepared.”

The words of his house, the house that she’d taken on as her own hung in the air, unsaid but deeply felt by both parties.

Summer will always end.

Through the window, Merrida could barely see anything but white. Had she been a newcomer to the frozen south, she would have assumed the heavens had opened, but decades of experience told her that the blizzard was just fallen snow, whipped up by the wind.

Narrow though the opening was, she could hear the music through it. The tune was strangely entrancing—she could only hear every third note, but they stuck in her head, somehow reminding her of a song from her youth while simultaneously intriguing her with its freshness.

The door to the dining room opened, and the servant scurried in with news.

“It’s a bard, ma’am,” the stalwart attendant puffed. “He seeks a place to lay his head.”

A bard? In Frost’s Keep? Merrida paused as she processed the news. Frost’s Keep wasn’t the furthest south point of civilization, but the only people who travelled past it were either lost or headed for bandit land. The castle was not on any trade routes, and there was no reason for a bard to pass through.

The music seemed to get louder for a moment, and almost before she knew what she was saying, Merrida Frost made a decision.

“Send him in.”

* * *

Everyone at the table eyed the bard uneasily. Rin, Merrida’s only child, wanted to speak his objections, but he knew that to cross his mother would be folly. Instead, he diplomatically bit his tongue and sipped at his wine.

His father had been absent for only two days—urgent matters at the capital had called for his direct attention, and so he was to be gone for almost a moon’s turn. Instead of accompanying him, Rin had been left in charge of Frost’s Keep, a practice of sorts for when he would eventually be its Lord…although it was known by all parties that his mother would have final say if a matter of true urgency were to arise.

Not, of course, that giving lodging to a bard was such a matter. But there was something suspicious about his presence so far south, not to mention the unsavory way that he kept appraising the woman who had permitted him entry.

In turn, Merrida was keeping a close eye on the bard. She wasn’t sure why she’d so quickly agreed to giving him board for a few evenings, except that refusing him would almost certainly have spelled his death. Summer, as her husband was oh so fond of reminding her, would always end, and the southfolk weren’t known for their generous ways. If she’d rejected him, he almost certainly would not have found lodgings elsewhere, and just a single night of exposure to the cold winds would have spelled his finish.

Mike, of course, would have said it was deserved…but, of course, he wasn’t there, and so the decision had landed on her.

The bard looked young, especially for one so talented. He couldn’t have been any more than twenty, and was relatively handsome, she supposed…if one was into the young, soft look.

And he certainly seemed grateful. As he supped at the hot bowl of soup, his eyes regularly threw her a glance; what started as looks of gratitude soon became longer and longer, until Merrida found a rare blush at the tip of her nose at the long stares she was receiving from her young guest.

Just as she was beginning to regret her generosity, he put down his bowl, and announced that as thanks for the meal, he was going to play the family a song. Before anyone could respond, a flute appeared at his lips, and he resumed playing the haunting song that had filled every room of the castle just a few minutes earlier.

Merrida opened her mouth to object, but hearing the music up close and so loudly seemed to cloud her mind, and soon she was simply smiling, enjoying the beautiful tune, allowing herself to swim in the images that it conjured up.

She saw the forest she’d spent time in as a child, the flash of color as birds flitted from tree to tree. For the first time that she could remember, she felt warmth on her skin. Despite being in a dark room illuminated only by the struggling fire and the tiny flickers of candles, dotting the walls, Merrida could feel the sun gently warming her up, and could hear the soft rustle of leaves above her.

Eventually, after what felt like hours, the images faded, and Merrida was brought back to stark reality. Several of the children had dozed off to sleep, and only Rin looked as though he was fully conscious, staring at his mother with concern.

“Lovely,” she said simply, immediately before a huge yawn escaped her. “Your efforts have certainly earned your keep, at least for the night.

“Now, to bed with us.”

“Of course, ma’am,” the bard said with a sly smile, and for the second time that night Merrida felt blood rushing to her face. Her face burned red as she realized the bard’s cheeky interpretation.

If Mik had been present, he would have taken a sword to the stranger without hesitation, and Merrida could see Rin’s hands itching to do the same, but she shot her son a glance, forcing him to relax.

“Remember,” she said dryly, striving to remain calm, “the soup was offered freely, but it was not accompanied by a drink—hot _or_ cold.”

“Of course, ma’am,” the bard repeated, this time in a far humbler tone of voice. He avoided her stern stare, and Merrida allowed herself a slight smile, sure that her point had been made.

“Now,” she repeated, this time making sure that her intentions were crystal-clear. “To bed with us.”


	Chapter 2

No matter what her mood, no matter what the events of the day or the tensions in her relationship or even the health of her children, Lady Frost had always managed to find refuge in the thick sheets and blankets of her marital bed.

The first night she’d arrived at Frost’s Keep, the biting cold had taken her by surprise. She’d known it would be startling, and she’d tried to anticipate the severity of the conditions, but the cold managed to exceed even her wildest expectations. By the time she was ready for bed, Merrida had been almost totally exhausted and ready to cry.

But just as the south’s winter chill had shocked her, so too did the warmth of her four-poster bed, especially when her husband had joined her in it. The southfolk had grown proficient at creating warmth in the snowy conditions, and ever since that night, no matter how low she felt or how weary she was, the thick woolen blankets were enough to cheer her up.

Except tonight.

For reasons she didn’t understand, they no longer provided a familiar comfort. They felt heavy and restrictive—she wanted to throw them aside, cast them to the floor and feel free.

It unsettled and alarmed her, and so in response she pulled the blankets tighter, trying to force the feeling of comfort. It wasn’t long until she felt so stifled that it was all she could do not to scream.

And that was when the music started.

It wasn’t the tune that she’d heard earlier, although it contained colors from the same palette. This one was looser. Lighter. This one had inklings of freedom and bounciness. It had tones of liberty, dancing from room to room, peeking through the doors to see what was within.

This one made her feel alive.

At the same time though, it had been a long day, and Merrida knew that her children would be unable to sleep if the music continued. She needed to get up and stop it…

…but she was so tired.

For the next few minutes, the most powerful woman in the south continued to hesitate, torn between her duty and the sudden exhaustion that seemed to fill every bone in her body. Several times she talked herself into getting up and reprimanding the handsome young bard, but each time it was too easy to find an excuse to stay in bed, a reason to continue laying there and just enjoy the melody.

At the end of this section, she told herself, but the end never came, with each part of the song seamlessly merging into the next. In the next minute, she reasoned, but before she could count out the seconds, she was again lost in the tune, her mind dancing along even as her feet remained still.

Finally, she softly drifted into sleep, lulled into a trance by the beautiful tune. Still, her memory of what she _should_ do remained, what her maternal role insisted was her duty.

And so as she slept, she imagined leaving the bed. Her unconscious mind managed to perfectly emulate every sensation, every smell and touch and sound of the action. It was as though she was really setting the blankets to the side, swinging her long legs out of the bed, ignoring her thick fur slippers and standing barefoot on the smooth stone of the keep’s master bedroom.

She knew it was a dream, however. In reality, she would never have done what she did next, unlacing her nightgown, her hands deftly untying the knots and allowing the soft fabric to fall to the floor, revealing her nakedness underneath.

For a moment, as is so often the case in a reverie, she felt as though she was able to see herself from the outside. Not even thirty-five years of age, her body was still firm and appealing. Although she didn’t have a specific exercise regime, life at Frost’s Keep did not allow one to become out of shape and slovenly. Her breasts still stood firm on her chest, her brown nipples hardening rapidly at the cold. Five children had caused a slight sag, but she knew that her bosom’s size and firmness were enough to cause jealousy even in women a decade younger than herself.

Her legs were long and shapely, and her husband regularly assured her that even in his younger days, he’d never encountered an ass like hers—although their religious beliefs forbade it, there had been numerous times during their lovemaking when his hands had slipped around and explored her tight rosebud. While they’d never directly spoken about it, Merrida had silently begged for more, more, more.

But the moment that told her that her experience was certainly a dream was when she unlocked her bedroom door, and allowed it to slowly swing open.

She was Lady Merrida Frost, wife of Lord Mikkon Frost and Lady of Frost’s Keep. She was born Merrida Storm, daughter of Lord Whent Storm and Lady Tyfany Stone. She had given birth to the heir of Frost’s Keep. Her father fought in the War of Tenpenny Kings.

Her figure was one of gravitas and authority, and she was loved and respected throughout the lands. She certainly wouldn’t open the door bare, allowing any passing servant to see her naked form.

Not in real life.

In a dream, of course, she was under no such restrictions.

As the door opened, the music grew louder, almost as though the bard was playing it directly outside her room. She smiled at the sound—the music had grown faster, practically pulsating with rhythm, filling her bones with joy. She wanted to dance…no, more than that. All of her noble life, dancing had involved slowly swaying while being held by a borish fool (and then, later in life, her beloved husband. Mike had many strengths, but he would be the first to admit that dancing was not among them), and that wasn’t what the music was calling for her to do.

She wanted to do more than sway, more than move her feet to the pre-coordinated steps that the families of New Eastland had been following for generations. She wanted to _live_. She wanted to improvise a dance of her own accord, one that allowed her to move her body in such a way that it paid respect to the music.

Merrida Frost wanted to worship the song with her body. And, with a smile, she remembered that this was a dream—just a dream, and nothing more—and so she could.

Placing her hands above her head, she began slowly moving her hips back and forth. As the music grew louder and more intense, her entire body joined in; her shoulders moved from side to side, her hands began drifting around her body, occasionally touching her soft skin, or moving out in front of her, as though inviting someone to come join her.

Her long hair began rapidly whipping back and forth as she found herself getting more and more into the dance of her own concoction, and for the second time that evening, it was as though she stepped out of her own body, and was able to watch herself as she gyrated to the tune.

Soon, the music was almost overwhelming, as if the bard was playing the flute just a few feet away. A stray thought shocked Merrida, as she briefly wished that he _was_ , as she prayed that the stranger was directly outside the room and would perhaps peek in and watch her dance, peek in and enjoy the show that his music had inspired.

She imagined him peering around the side of the door frame, the flute to his lips and a mischievous look in his eyes. Although she was coated in sweat, she imagined his heart filling with lust at the sight of her body.

It was exciting to her, the idea of a strange man looking at her body. It was exciting to her, imagining that she was showing off—for the first time—to a man who wasn’t her husband.

Soon she was gasping and panting with the exertion of her dance. The music felt as though it was building to a climax, and Merrida’s hands moved behind her (as if of their own volition) and slapped her ass, hard.

With that, the music stopped, and Lady Frost fell backwards onto the bed, completely exhausted. She didn’t know what had come over her, but she knew that she’d liked it. No, _loved_ it. Her door slowly swung until it was closed, and as she lay on the bed, breathing deeply, she slowly drifted off, too tired to even wonder how she could be falling asleep within a dream.


	Chapter 3

As Merrida drifted awake, she thought that she could hear the bard’s music. Laying in bed, a smile slowly formed on her face at the idea. It was so beautiful…so compelling.

Soon, she’d confirmed that the music was a figment of her imagination. The smile was quickly wiped away by the discovery that—for reasons she couldn’t even imagine—she’d gone to sleep completely naked the previous night.

The thick woolen blankets meant that her nightgown wasn’t truly necessary, but if there was a problem with the children, or the castle, she would sometimes need to step out in a hurry, and so on nights that she was alone it was rare that she slept without it.

At her insistence (and through her husbands protestations) a thick wooden screen had been placed on the window of the master bedroom, and with some effort Merrida pushed it open. Sure enough, the weather outside was just as it had been the past few days. It certainly hadn’t been a songbird that had roused her from her slumber.

Was she hearing things? Perhaps she just missed Mikkon—typically his away journeys didn’t last more than a few days, but the journey to the capital wasn’t short, and she knew that Frost’s Keep would be missing him for some time to come.

It wasn’t until she had combed out her hair and dressed that she truly began to grow suspicious. When she turned the handle to her bedroom door, it wasn’t latched—sleeping without a nightgown was suspicious (though not impossible) but anyone of her significance made many enemies, and sleeping with the door unlocked was something she had never, ever done.

Her brow wrinkled with thought, and it wasn’t long before her sharp mind had reached a conclusion:

The bard.

Though she had no hard proof, she didn’t need any. She was the Lady of Frost’s Keep, and he was a simple traveler. If she felt uncomfortable with his presence for any reason, she just needed to give the word and he would be sent out into the cold.

Without hesitation, she marched to the servant’s quarters, where he had been given a bed, and stood over his sleeping form.

“You,” she said sternly. “Bard. Awaken.”

Merrida was accustomed to smallfolk obeying her commands without hesitation, and her anger grew as he slowly opened his eyes, blinking at her with a docile smile.

“Lady Frost,” he said sleepily. “You are a true vision to behold.”

“Get up,” she said, her tone hard as stone. “You are to leave my lands immediately. I recommend you head south, though if you are foolish enough to make your way south, be it on your watch.”

“I understand,” he said with a nod, and began to gather his things. She’d expected protestations, or at least for him to question her, but it was clear that he knew his place.

As he picked up his flute, a smile flashed across his face, and instead of packing it with the rest of his belongings, moved it to his lips. Merrida went to object, but before she could, he started playing.

The song had none of the rhythm or upbeat tempo of the tune that she had fallen asleep to last night—this one was mournful, drenched in sadness; it conveyed better than words ever could the bard’s feelings of hurt and rejection.

But Merrida didn’t become the most powerful woman in the south by allowing a simple tune to sway her feelings, and so she fought through the numbness his playing caused, and insisted that the bard stop playing and leave at once.

“Of course,” he whispered, and departed immediately.

Didn’t he?

Of course he did. Yes, he left straight away, and Merrida lay down in the bed that he’d just vacated, allowing herself to immediately drift into a deep, trance-like sleep.

The lady knew she was asleep, because she felt just as she had the previous night: free.

She was free, free to do whatever she liked. Free to be whoever she wanted to be. There was no need to be Merrida Frost, wife of Mikkon, daughter of Storm and Stone. No more did she have to follow so many rules, obey the standards of others instead of simply allowing herself to follow impulses, chase her unchecked desires.

Clothes. Those were a restriction that she’d never chosen, never wanted. Last night, when she’d been dreaming as she was now, she hadn’t needed clothes. No, while she was asleep, while she was dreaming, she could be totally free.

No matter how many fires were blazing, no matter how many windows were closed or how well-built the room was, Frost’s Keep was always cold, and so when Lady Frost had gotten dressed for the day, she’d put on so many layers. But she wasn’t Lady Frost, not any more—she was just Merrida, free to live in the moment, and so she got up and began removing those clothes, throwing them aside, enjoying the mischievous bite of the cold on her skin, knowing she would be warm enough soon. She didn’t know why, but she knew that she didn’t need to question it.

Her nipples hardened in the chill, and though the thick patch of hair between her legs kept her warm, she knew that she needed to move and be active if she didn’t want to freeze. A dream it may have been, but she could still feel the cold, and so she began to dance.

The music was too slow to repeat the dance she’d invented in her dream the previous night, and so she came up with a new one—slow, sensuous, but still engaging every part of her body. Her long legs slowly bent, her fingertips ran over every inch of her skin, and her hips repeatedly thrust forward, until soon her entire self was warmed by a healthy glow.

She was panting with exertion when a thought struck her. The warmth of her dance, combined with the sheer thrill of being naked in her servant’s quarters where anyone could walk in (if it hadn’t been a dream, that was) had excited her, and she was feeling moist between her legs and lustful in her heart.

What’s more, she was deep in slumber. It may have felt as though she was naked in the servant’s quarters, but she knew that in reality, she was dozing, asleep on the cot in the corner. Since she was asleep, everything was happening in her mind and she didn’t need to limit herself—Mikkon, though she had a deep and infinite love for him, didn’t need to be the subject of her fantasies. It could be anyone, anyone she’d ever encountered.

Why not the bard?

Yes, she thought, a slightly dazed look in her eyes. In her dream, there was no reason for the bard to ever be sent away. He could still be here, still be standing in the corner, playing his flute and watching her dance. Her dance was for him, a sensual stripping of her outer layers so he could see her naked form. She’d stripped for a stranger, a man she’d never met before—someone she didn’t even know the name of.

She’d displayed her body for him, in this dream, and now she wanted to do so much more.

Turning to the corner, she knelt before the bard, who was watching her with a pleased look in his eyes.

“Please,” she said humbly. “Please, sir, is there any way I can serve you?”

To her delight, he nodded, and the music changed in tone. No longer was it sombre, conveying heartbreak and rejection…no, it was suddenly alive, just as it had been the previous night. The tunes were very similar, but not identical; this was more involved, more personal.

More intimate.

The bard hadn’t told her what he wanted her to do, but this was her dream, and so Merrida knew she could follow her body’s demands, her every impulse.

Her long fingers trembled with excitement as she unbuttoned the front of his pants, and pulled out his member. Oral contact was another sin, forbidden by the old gods and the new, but again it was something that Merrida had long yearned for, and within the freedom of the dream, she was finally free to partake.


	Chapter 4

“Mother, what’s in your hair?”

Merrida froze, embarrassed. After removing the bard from the premises, she’d lain in one of the servant’s beds and had an extremely lewd dream. For reasons that her waking mind couldn’t explain, she’d imagined taking the bard in her mouth and bringing him to climax with her tongue, something she’d never previously allowed herself to even fantasize about, let alone do.

From there, the reverie had grown hazy. She remembered smiling, an action that had caused his seed to dribble down the side of her mouth. She recalled him telling her that he’d wait in her chambers that evening, and visit her dreams once more.

Then she’d redressed, lay back down on the small cot, and awoken just a few moments later, horrified by the images her subconscious mind had conjured up for her.

“Nothing, dearest,” she responded, moving her slender fingers up to her long hair as gracefully as she could. The Others knew what sort of substances were in those servant beds—she just hoped she hadn’t lain in something that would be too hard to wash out.

The rest of the day passed in a daze for Merrida Frost. Without her husband it was so hard to focus, and so she gave the horse’s load of her daily tasks to Rin, to aid in his attempts to master the running of Frost’s Keep.

Instead, she drifted from place to place, entering almost each room in the castle at least once, except for her bedroom.

If she went to her bedroom, Merrida knew she’d be too tempted to lay down and rest, and she was still processing the last few lurid dreams she’d had—adding another to the roster wasn’t something she welcomed.

But after dinner was eaten and the children were in bed, Merrida ceased trying to postpone the inevitable, and made her way to her living quarters. Hopefully tonight she would have a pleasant, dreamless slumber, without any of the bard’s insidious tunes making their way into her dreams.

As she approached her bedroom, she found herself humming another of his tunes. But was it? He’d only played a handful since arriving a few nights earlier, and this didn’t sound like any of these. It was more adventurous, more…important, somehow. It had gravitas and significance, and yet there was a fun, dangerous undertone.

The closer she got to her room, the more the new tune permeated her head, until it was all that she could think of. She opened the door and the music got louder; she paused at the entranceway, trying to take a minute to adjust, trying to understand what was happening in her head, but suddenly everything was swimming—the walls, the ceiling, the door. It all got muddled up, and she felt like she was going to faint.

A minute later, she was in bed, naked, her eyes tightly screwed shut. She wasn’t entirely sure how she’d gotten there, but she knew for a fact that she was in bed. The music had never stopped running through her mind—it almost sounded like it was coming from the corner of the room, but she knew that couldn’t be. The bard was gone; she’d seen to that personally that morning.

The bard was gone. She was alone in her room, a song she’d never heard running endlessly through her head, and she was naked. Naked in bed.

A smile slowly appeared on Merrida’s face. Bed. She was in bed. And that meant she could drift off to sleep, allow slumber to overtake her. She could return to the land of dreams, where there were no rules, no one to tell her what she could and couldn’t do. The door was locked, and she’d instructed the servants to take all inquiries to her son Rin—if he wanted to test his ability to run Frost’s Keep, she was more than happy for his sleep to be interrupted in place of hers.

And so Lady Frost closed her eyes, and Merrida opened hers.

She was in a dream. She knew this for certain, because when she’d gone to sleep, she’d been alone. Merrida was still naked, but she was no longer alone—in the corner of the room, the bard was back, playing his flute, staring at her with lust in his eyes.

And she was staring back at him with lust in hers.

The dream she’d allowed herself to have that morning, of taking his hardness in her mouth, of running her tongue up and down his shaft until he peaked in her mouth, letting her swallow as much of his seed as she could and then dribbling the rest out the side for him to see…

It had been the most erotic moment of her life.

While awake, Lady Frost had a life of pressure. Of chores and obligations and duties, a never-ending list of tasks to be completed. But in her dreams, she could be anyone she wanted to be. She could allow herself to give into pleasure, into submission. She could parade her body in front of men and allow them to touch her however they wanted. She could devote herself entirely to pleasing them, to getting them hard and bringing them to climax.

And now, here she was, naked in bed, with a man to please.

“Come,” she whimpered, and the bard put down his flute. The music stopped, but it never stopped running through Merrida’s head. Somehow, she knew that it would be running through her head for the rest of her life, bringing her pleasure, guiding her movement. The undercurrent of wickedness swelled, and came to the forefront, and she knew exactly what she wanted to do in this dream of hers.

She wanted to get fucked.

“Please,” she begged, and the bard was tripping over his clothes in his hurry to take them off. He was stripping as quickly as he could, but it was all too slow for Merrida. She needed to see his manhood again, she needed access to his flesh. She wanted to feel his flesh against hers; sucking his cock wouldn’t be enough, not now. She needed everything, she needed him to enter her, to make her whole.

“Oh gods…” she murmured as he finally removed the last of his clothing and stumbled onto the bed. There was no hesitation, no foreplay—he reached down to check her wetness, confirming that she was dripping onto the woolen sheets that Mik and her had shared so many times before, and then he was inside her, filling her up, making her gasp with his enthusiasm and vigor.

Lady Frost had made love with her husband hundreds, possibly even thousands of times. But now Merrida was in control, and she wasn’t interested in making love; she was interested in being fucked. She wrapped her legs around the bard’s lithe form, pulling him into her again and again. She squeezed her muscles, desperately trying to make her wet cunt as tight as it could be, delighting in the sensation of getting pounded, the roughness of it.

She didn’t want to be tenderly loved, like Mik was always careful to do. She wanted to be used, something that her Mikkon had approached, once or twice, when he was on the verge of climax. She wanted that experience from start to finish, and it seemed as though the bard wanted the same thing.

He didn’t murmured tender lovings in her ear, or ask her what she wanted. When he did speak, it was singular dirty words—“Slut”, “whore”, “cunt”. They had more impact than the sweetest nothings that Mik had ever whispered, and each time he swore, she redoubled her efforts to be the sluttiest little whore cunt she could be.

It wasn’t long before he was panting with pleasure, non-verbally warning her that he was going to cum. One can’t get pregnant from a dream, but even if that was a risk, Merrida knew that there was no chance of slowing down—she so desperately wanted to feel the bard cum inside her, no matter the consequences, and she ensured that her hips raised up to meet his every thrust.

“Gods,” he grunted, and as he filled her with his seed, Merrida could hear the music swelling, and the room faded to white as her own orgasm overtook her.


	Epilogue

The few months were a hazy erotic stupor for Merrida Frost. Each day, she would drift around, a happy smile on her face, gently humming. Every night, she had another of the bawdy, pleasurable dreams; they all revolved around that handsome young bard that she’d ousted from the castle, but in the dreams he wasn’t mad.

In the dreams, he was always happy to see her.

She knew that dreams had power, but she couldn’t see how they could possibly be harming anyone, and it wasn’t as if she had any control over them. Each night, she’d fall asleep almost before she even entered her quarters, and then she’d spend several hours dreaming of the bard taking her in every position imaginable.

It was just the frustration of missing her husband, she knew, but they felt so vivid, so realistic. She’d even started dreaming about acts she’d never partaken in; taking the bard’s thickness deep inside her ass, or sneaking a prostitute in from the winter town and sharing the bard with another woman.

He never seemed to tire of her, and she never tired of him. His cock seemed to bring endless pleasure, and her face lit up each and every time she saw it, felt it, tasted it…

She was midway through picturing its girth in her mouth, stretching out her cheeks, her tongue lazily running around the head, when her son approached.

“Mother, I bring news.”

“Mmm?” she said, struggling to bring herself back from the extremely pleasant daydream.

“The portal opened, just long enough to send a message. It said that Father will be back within the week.”

A strange mix of emotions entered Merrida’s heart as she processed the news. She should be elated, but a sense of dread and foreboding came across her instead.

“Mother?”

“Thank you, darling,” she said absently, and as Rin exited the room, he threw her a concerned glance.

That night, Merrida dreamed that she told the bard exactly what her son had told her. And in her dream, he reacted much the same way she had; a worried look crossed his face, and for the first time since he’d started appearing in her dreams, he didn’t seem interested in using her body for their mutual pleasure.

As he sat on the bed and looked thoughtful, Merrida dropped to her knees, taking his member in her mouth and gently sucking on it. For a moment she was worried that he’d bat her away, but he looked down at her gratefully.

Of course he did. It was her dream, after all.

Her mouth around his handsome cock seemed to be helping, and so she sucked earnestly as he thought. Just as he was about to cum, he pulled his hardness away and stood up.

“Come with me,” he said, and began getting dressed.

Merrida paused. Aside from the time she’d napped in the servant’s cot, her ertoic dreams had never taken place outside of the bedroom, and an unfamiliar feeling of reluctance was beginning to grow inside her.

She was considering waking up when the bard noticed her hesitation, and quickly brought his flute to his lips. A new song emerged: a commanding anthem, and before she could even question what was happening, Merrida had slipped on her nightgown and followed the bard into the empty hallway, not even pausing to fasten her buttons.

The song was loud and powerful, and Merrida was unsurprised to hear others in the castle waking up at the sound. The melody shifted slightly, and an element of fear entered the tune; as they passed through the many halls of Frost’s Keep, the bedroom doors remained closed, and they continued to be alone.

Merrida stood in the snow, barely clothed and shivering. The bard had gone to fetch a horse, which puzzled her. Why would she dream that he needed to fetch a horse; why wouldn’t she just dream a horse where it needed to be? Why was she so cold, and why had she dreamed that they stopped by the vaults and taken a hefty portion of her husband’s hidden silver?

Before she could formulate an answer to any of her questions, the bard returned, his hands above his head, a sword at his back.

“Rin!”

Merrida leapt forward. She didn’t understand why she’d dreamed her son with a sword, or why her subconscious felt that the bard deserved to have it pointed at him. She was cold and confused, and nothing seemed to be making sense.

“Mother!”

Rin turned at the sound of his mother’s voice, and then goggled at the sight of her nudity. She hadn’t tied the front of her nightgown, and so as she ran towards him her breasts, her skin, her thatch of hair were all on display.

This moment of distraction was all the bard needed, and he leapt forward, away from his captor. Before Rin could make chase, he started whistling—a new tune, soft and threatening.

“Put the sword down, Rin,” Merrida said firmly. She suddenly understood everything—the dream was a test. Her subconscious was testing to see if she could maintain control of her family, if Rin’s newfound independence would tear them apart, or whether she could use her words to keep them all together.

“But mother, the bard…”

“Now,” she snapped, stepping forward. Rin had started looking around for the bard, but he’d somehow disappeared into the flurry of snow. The soft whistling told her that he was still there, but she didn’t know where; nor did she care.

The dream was about her son. He was growing into a man, but he needed to understand that he still obeyed his mother.

“Mother, he’s done something to you.”

“I told you to put the sword down.”

She was standing directly in front of him now, and without breaking eye contact, she grabbed the hilt and moved the sword until its cold blade was against her naked flesh.

Rin paused, his eyes filled with fear and doubt. It soon became clear that she wasn’t going to back down, and so he gently let go of the sword, and allowed his mother to take the handle.

It was beginning to snow again, and Merrida had lost all feeling in her legs, but for several minutes she stood, pointing the sword towards her son, without even a flash of weakness crossing her face. It wasn’t until the bard returned, riding one of her husband’s finest thoroughbreds that she moved, taking a step backwards and letting him pull her up onto the horse.

Merrida dropped the sword and turned away from her son as the bard began urging the horse out of the castle gates. As he did, he began to whistle once more; a firm, loving tune. It filled her with warmth, and soon she was smiling, able to feel her toes once more, happy at the turn the dream had taken.

As they left Frost’s Keep and started heading south, the bard moved one hand down between her legs, and his mouth to her neck. Merrida moaned with joy.

She hoped she never awoke from this glorious dream.


End file.
