It was not long before you realized you loved to fuck

You were raised to rule and fight and little else. Your father build you, physically and mentally, to be a viking in the true sense of the world. You are erudite and strong, a reckoning of muscle and wit alike. You were trained to fight in the viking sense. It is a style that is savage, brash, and forceful, dependent on overwhelming the enemy rather than outsmarting it. Only a man of your capable genetic line could master it to your degree at your age.

And this physical prowess is matched by mental faculties that are unparalleled in your realm. You may have been raised Norse, but it was hard passion for reading that made you learn Latin and a spot of Greek. You were driven to pick up parts of German, French, and Anglo-Saxon, at least as much as a Northman could so far away. In youth you long stayed up at night to read about the tales of great explorers and conquerers. The Norse heroes were great, yes, but even their mightiest realms paled in comparison to the continent's empires, you knew. You used to lie away and wonder how you might one day make an empire of your own.

Your home was no great palace. Even a king in Jutland has little wealth compared to the lavish lords of Europe. Your castle was something of a small set of buildings with a palisade around it, built atop the highest hill of the town of Arhus, a somewhat large fishing and trade nucleus for the region. There was a high tower, where the master bedroom and other rooms of the nobility lay, attached to a great hall. Additionally, there was a small barracks behind the palisade. You lived in a corner of the great hall, essentially getting half a floor to yourself. As such, you were allowed a great deal of freedom in your youth.

With great power and wealth and capability, you naturally figured out how to fuck in the meantime. You were strong as an ox when you caught a glance of one of the new maids - a nubile young redhead captured from Scotland. Her real name you forgot by now, but everyone called the **** girl Rua. It meant 'red' in the tongue of people, or so the rumor went, and was used to tease her - the only word she'd ever hear of her language again was mockery. One of your friends remarked that she had been captured from a monastery, a nun-in-training so to speak, while you watched her. You remember noting her petite tits, barely even noticeable yet still feminine. It lent her a delicate figure.

Happy fortune put Rua in your path again. Your old maid attempted to escape and was promptly punished in the traditional Northman style, reduction to the status of broodmare. She would be used as a portable womb for Norse seed, pumping out more sons of the North. In her absence, your castellan put Rua on duty in your wing of the great hall. It didn't take long for your paths to cross. As you recall...