Hjordis' Cage

You are resting in bed the next morning, Kara having slipped away a couple of hours ago to attend to her duties, just trying to recuperate from your fun last night. Together, the two princesses were quite a handful. You were merely glad you hadn't spent the rest of the night in Madeleine's bed. While you'd happily sleep with the Red Princess, you weren't sure you trusted her to be near you while you were actually asleep.

A rapping on your door jars you from your train of thought. Limping out to the main chamber, you answer it, revealing Donald.

“How goes it, brother?” the other man asks, pulling you in for a bear hug.

“...Well.” you respond simply. “To... what do I owe the visit?” you ask the other king.

“It's Hjordis. I'm about tae go see her, an' I'd like you tae come along.” the Beathan tells you.

“Really?” you scoff. “From what everyone tells me of the giant's conduct on the battlefield, you'd do better to simply lock her away and forget her.”

“She's vicious, aye.” Donald admits. “But you heard Einar talk of her. There's no love lost between the two of them. We might just be able tae play that to our advantage.”

“Don't tell me, you intend to butter her up by fucking her, is that it?” you ask, a smile playing across your face.

“Edward, have a little more faith in me, man!” Donald says. “We'll ply her with meat and ale first.”

“You know, Kara tried to glean something of the Serpent King's plan from his protege.” you remind Donald. “We didn't exactly learn anything of note.”

“Siggi's a mere lad, Ed. Hjordis is a wileful woman, commanded one of the largest fleets outside Einar's own. She can give us information on our foe, of the sort that can really damage him!”

“She could also crush our skulls with her bare hands, I'd wager.” you respond.

“Naught's without risk, brother.” the Beathan responds. “Come.”

-

You trudge out of the castle with Donald, heading to the heavily guarded shop in which the giantess is being held.

Soldiers left and right salute the pair of you as you enter. Hjordis, for her part, remains impassive and still, resting on her cot, her back to you.

“Smells like weak king.” Hjordis smirks to herself.

“Must be an odour you're well acquainted with, Jarl Hjordis.” Donald responds. “I hear you've little love for Einar.”

“That may be true.” the colossal woman responds. “But I'd never call him weak. Man's a devil, the like the continent's not seen for a while, I'll give him that.”

“Tell us about him.” Donald asks. “If you do, your time here can be a lot more comfortable.”

At the king's word, two men come in, one carrying a wooden tray, a roast chicken, glistening and piping hot atop it, the other a small keg of ale.

“A rather transparent bribe.” the giantess scoffs. “Besides, I'm more for mead than ale.”

“I'm sure we could find you a drop.” Donald offers.

“Take more than a few choice morsels, a little drink to get my tongue wagging, boy.” Hjordis warns Donald, resting now on the edge of her cot.

“Still, eat, drink.” Donald says, as his men move forwards, opening the hatch on the impressive cell Madeleine had designed and sliding the food and drink towards her.

Hjordis patiently waits until the cell has been closed, then advances, tearing into the poultry with the zeal of a raider.

“That princess, the one who got in my face.” the Jarl says thoughtfully, between bites. “She regain consciousness yet?”

“She's fine. Designed your new home, in fact!” Donald says with an amused smile. “You're lucky you didn't kill her, throwin' your wee outburst. Her father's an important man. I woulda had little choice but tae hand you over to him.”

“Pierre may be important.” Hjordis says, ripping one of the chickens legs off, then nibbling on it thoughtfully. “But he's a creature of balance sheets, invoices. Not much of a man, you ask me.”

“That we just might agree on.” Donald smirks.

“The Morlandians, they must be a sorry lot.” the raider opines. “If Pierre can just hire you to hold them off. Should've hired Deanians. We'd have given him all of Morland by now.”

“Maybe, but Deanians are more likely to kill a king than fight for him, aren't they?”

“Just our way.” Hjordis says, taking a draught of ale. “Axe and spear are in our blood.”

“And staves now, eh?” Donald probes. “Now that half of Dean bows to a mage.”

“They bow to Einar because he's a conqueror, not because he's a mage. If he weren't so freakishly powerful... you know what we do to mages, in my homeland?”

“No.” Donald answers honestly.

“As soon as they manifest any of their little powers, lightning bolts, fireballs, we ship them off.” Hjordis relates. “There's a place called the Tower of Harigan.”

“Sort of like the Coven of Magi?” you ask.

“Do they train the Coven in mind and body, to hunt down demonkind and other malefic forces?” Hjordis asks. You have to simply shake your head.

“I wouldn't think that sort of thing would give Einar much chance to rule.” Donald thinks.

“Normally, it wouldn't.” Hjordis informs you. “Nobles sent to the Tower don't have to give up their inheritance like continental mages. Only thing is, the training, their work, it's so harsh that few survive long enough to come back and stake their claim.”

“Einar being the exception?” Donald asks. This time, Hjordis shakes her head.

“Not exactly.” the brunette says. “Some months after young Einar had been sent off, all contact was lost with the tower. When people from the nearest town went to investigate, they found the tower in ruins and every person there a corpse.”

“And Einar?” you ask, taking a step closer.

“These do not satisfy me!” Hjoris announces, tossing her half-finished meal and more than half-drained keg to the floor. “I'm a Deanian, food I didn't take by **** is like ashes in my mouth!”

“Maybe you need satisfyin' in some other way?” Donald asks, drawing closer, evidently having no fear of Hjrodis snatching at him through the bars.

“Not now, little king.” Hjordis smirks. “No, what I really want...”

The giantess taps a finger to her lips pensively, weighing her demands.

“Those honourless sell-swords took something from my camp. Something vitally important.” the bruntte begins.

“Your father's skull, right?” you interject, limping forward, bringing yourself level with Donald before the cell.

“Very astute, King Edward. For a man who'd never come within ten leagues of a battlefield, you're rather well-informed.” Hjordis needles you. “But I digress. My father's remains are not some petty bauble to be plundered. I thought you would at least respect our customs, Donald.”

The Beathan scoffs.

“The Oro Elide aren't under my control, not officially.” he informs Hjordis. “Besides, your people have done far worse, plundered far more of our sacred treasures. I trust I don't need to tell you about the night raid on the nearby temple?”

Hjordis turns her attention to Donald, interest glinitng in her pale blue eyes.

“I had heard something of it.” the giantess says, leaning close to her bars. “Though I doubt any of my raiders were involved.

“An investigation by one of our best would seem to say they were.” Donald counters.

“With all due respect little king, I know more of my people and their tactics than you do.” Hjordis reminds him. “Any halfway intelligent raiding party would not strike a temple full of warriors. We move fast, take easy prizes. Any men of mine who survived the Fens would be making for Einar's fleet or turning deserter.”

“What are you implying, Deanian?” Donald asks.

“Chaos of war, awfully good time to strike at your own side, enrich yourself, wouldn't you say?” Hjordis conjectures, knowing she's got the young king reeled in. “There were valuables in this temple?”

“Treasures of the Spirits, aye...” Donald says. “But surely you can't be sayin'... No, no one'd be that craven, surely?”

“You've gathered quite a host to your side, King Donald. Lords and warriors from many kingdoms. Those who trade their martial services for coin. Can you vouch for all of them, their character, their hidden intentions?” Hjordis asks.

“Spirits...” Donald says, mind reeling. He makes for the door, gesturing for you to come with him. “We'll see about getting' your da's skull, Hjordis.”

“See that you do. The peace it would provide me just might jog my memory, there are simply so many facts about our young mage king that elude me at this moment.” Hjordis smirks. “But that's not all I want.”

“Name it, giant.” Donald says.

“Princess Madeleine. I want an audience with her.” Hjordis says.

Donald scoffs at the very idea.

“Not bloody likely!” he says. “Right now, I doubt she'd even attend your execution.”

“Tell her I wish to offer my most sincere apologies. She's stoked my curiosity, I won't lie.” Hjordis admits. “If nothing else, she can certainly design a cage.” the raider finishes, playfully rattling the door of her cell.