CAPTURED BY VIKINGS: MEMOIRS OF A PRISONER (M/M) *CHAPTERS 1-16*

[Guardianbound]

No current wife eh? The assignment to the kitchens seems like training for domestic work when Balgruuf takes Jamis back after his next raid. Can't wait to see what comes next for Jamis in the kitchens. I'm expecting a stern head cook, man or woman.

[Stormee]

Well that escalated well I guess. At least he has a purpose for now and not left for dead. I got a bad feeling that working in the Jarl's place in the kitchen can lead to many complications. Hopefully Balgruuf comes back soon for him. Who knows what'll happen when he meets the Jarl and gets treated poorly.

[socjuc]

Like that Jamis has a 'home' or rather at least a placement...but it likely will be a tough job I am guessing. Looking forward to the next installments!

[Ropelover98]

Hehe he is definitely intressted in the boy, and the boy in him i cant wait to see what will happen with him

[ShadowHusky]

Gad damn, I love this story. I really hope Jamis learns the language more. I assume the "English" they are speaking is actually Jamis's interpretation of what they are saying based on his prior knowledge of their language, thus the less familiar words being unintelligible.

[TayDay95]

Definitely expecting Balgruuf to take Jamis on as his slave after he gets back from his raid. I'd say he's still gotten off pretty easily compared to his countrymen.

[Bradstick]

Quite the interesting chapter. The description of Balgruuf was incredible. The way you described him really showed how powerful he was compared to Jamis.

One thing I’ve learned from your last stories is that the doms, while not always emphatic are usually quite intelligent and I would Balgruuf is the same as well. Sending him to the Jarls longhouse as a cook is a good way for him to pick up more of the language till he returns from the raids.

Once he returns, he can figure out if this outsider is worth taking as his hūs-þræll or if the auctioneer was right and just to get rid of him. Overall super excited for the series.

[GoBucks]

Mighty Balgruff is definitely interested in milk-drinker! He will be back once he's been properly trained to serve

[Ossassin]

Time to learn those desirable house partner skills huh.

[gag1195]

I'm sure Jamis will eventually find some level of contentment when he becomes Balgruuf's thrall, but I suspect his time spent in the kitchens and other work he will have to endure will be near-torturous for our little scholar!

[bondagefreak]

THANKS A TON FOR THE AWESOME COMMENTS, GUYS!
HERE'S THE NEXT CHAPTER. ENJOY!

[mention]Bradstick[/mention] [mention]Guardianbound[/mention] [mention]Stormee[/mention] [mention]gag1195[/mention] [mention]ShadowHusky[/mention] [mention]GoBucks[/mention] [mention]Ossassin[/mention] [mention]KidnappedCowboy[/mention] [mention]DeeperThanRed[/mention] [mention]Socksbound[/mention] [mention]Subexplorer71[/mention] [mention]wataru14[/mention] [mention]socjuc[/mention] [mention]privateandrews[/mention] [mention]that1kid13[/mention] [mention]TayDay95[/mention] [mention]blackbound[/mention] [mention]TightropesEU[/mention] [mention]cstone5725@gmail.com[/mention] [mention]harveygasson[/mention] [mention]Ropelover98[/mention] [mention]chadmc90[/mention] [mention]Red86[/mention]

[bondagefreak]

DAY 5
Einmánuður 16th, A.D 841

CHAPTER 7 - FLÅGHAUGEN

When the potbellied slaver called one of the guards, gave him instructions and bid him to escort me up to someplace called Flåghaugen, I instantly grew very afraid, thinking I was going to be shipped to some other city in this land of heathens.

It's only when I was unshackled, made to put on an abysmally drab-looking attire made up of trousers, a tunic and uncomfortable brown shoes that I was led across town and made privy to the knowledge that Flåghaugen was the hill upon which sat the local ruler's imposing Longhouse.


My escort wasn't particularly patient nor interested in showing me any attention beyond that which was required. But even though his pace was quick and the harshness of his glare left little doubt as to what would happen should I choose not to follow, I still managed to observe my surroundings and couldn't stop myself from turning around and marvelling at the view as we climbed up the broad steps leading up to the Jarl's extensively decorated palace-like abode.

The Jarl's house was quite grandiose to look at, but the bird's-eye view afforded by its towering position on the hill that overlooked the rest of Björnstad is definitely what caught my attention.

I looked at the moderately populated streets below and took note not only of the many buildings but also of the tall mountains and hills that dotted the not-so-distant landscape. Even though the land still retained some of its wintry dullness and most of the trees had not begun to leaf out yet, it was obvious even to my foreign eyes that the surrounding area was normally quite green and lush. Definitely more so than the barren tundras I was expecting to be greeted by.

In his own defence, the mildly impatient guard forgave my momentary stalling and allowed me - if only for a brief moment - to eye up the impressive sight of his home city. He was obviously very proud of it, and so it came as little surprise that my look of open-mouthed wonder was somewhat flattering to his ego.

"Koma." the stern man finally ordered, motioning for me to follow him up the stairs leading to the Jarl's house, while at the same time inadvertently expanding my repertoire of known words in his harsh but fascinating language. 'Koma means come...or follow' I silently told myself, mentally repeating the word several times and finding some measure of solace in focusing on such things instead of allowing my mind to be bogged down by rapidly-mounting nervosity.



When finally we had made it up the final flight of steps, a very large wooden balcony sprawled before us. Two rows of large braziers mounted on distinctively nordic-looking pedestals lined the short distance that separated us from the majestic structure's tremendous front door.

The banquet hall that greeted our entry was less lavish than some of the monasteries I'd visited, but quite palatial and spectacular in size. Carefully crafted wooden support beams rose all the way up to the ornate room's high ceiling, further accentuating its already impressive height. At the centre of the room stood an enormous firepit; one which was framed on both sides by massive banquet tables that could undoubtedly host up to twenty occupants each.

A plethora of flaming braziers and banner flags hung down from some of the reinforcing columns that connected the room's tall support beams. The entire hall, though uniformly impressive, was arranged in a manner so as to accentuate the importance of the wooden steps that led up to a raised dais; the mounted platform which hosted the Jarl's high-backed chair...not to mention the many exotic animal hides and wolf pelts that lay haphazardly sprawled around it.





Much to my own relief, the chair was vacant when I entered the great banquet hall on that first day. As I'd come to learn later on, however, the Jarl and his trusted advisors would have remained blissfully unaware of my presence even had they been present in the hall on the morning of my arrival. Much like the Lords and Earls that ruled Caledonia and the lands south of it, the life of mere peasants - or in this case, thralls - was of no consequence to them.



The guard's hasty steps did not slow as he led me across the stately hall, down a flight of stairs and in through a far less welcoming corridor. It was there that I would spend most of my time, toiling away with the other servants in an effort to provide the Jarl's family and their many guests with the finest foods available. Or at least, so I thought.

As soon as we were in what appeared to be the main kitchen, the chainmail-clad sentry-man grabbed the first thrall he could get his hands on and ordered her to take charge of showing me around.

"You, servant-girl. This here new thrall. He start work today. Show him where sleep. Show him how to work." he gruffly commanded, speaking to an exhausted woman that looked to be only a bit older than I was.

The guard accepted the clearly submissive woman's respectful downward bow before finally abandoning me in her care and disappearing out of the kitchen. Luckily enough, the brown-haired maiden he'd randomly assigned as my tour guide spoke the same language I did. She herself hailed from a town a mere day's ride south of Freswick, only...she had lost track of the number of years it had been since she'd last seen our home country's green pastures and windy shores.

Ailidh and I spoke very briefly on that first day, but it was immediately apparent by how disinterested she was that the arrival of a new thrall did not excite her or give her cause for cheer. The souls here were weary and exhausted. And as I'd later come to learn, the difficult life they led was exacerbated by the fact that many of them did not speak the same language. Some hailed from lands far away, while others like Ailidh and myself hailed from just across the North Sea.


"This is where we sleep. We sleep six hours. The rest of the time we work." the freckle-faced woman curtly explained, sounding positively out of breath as she hurriedly led me down the ill-lit corridor and opened a heavy door leading to a dark room lined with hay and stuffed sackcloths. Nary a smile appeared on her baggy-eyed face as she went about showing me where we bathed, where the washing of dirty clothes took place, where spare tunics and trousers could be found and where to relieve ourselves when needed.

I was admittedly quite shocked by her blatant disinterest in my person, but her lack of receptiveness was a much-needed wake-up call, in the sense that it helped dispel some of my early naïveté. I was a foreigner in these strange lands and was no longer a free man. I was a thrall, just as she and most of the other cooks were. Ailidh's frigid reception and understandable weariness taught me one unmistakable truth; one that would prove crucial to my continued survival in this inhospitable place. From that day forward, I would have to look out for myself, and only myself.

My only hope and the one thing that kept me going was the promise of Balgruuf's return. It wasn't much, especially considering how little I knew the man, but there quite simply was nothing else for me to look forward to.

INTERESTED IN THIS STORY? WANT A FOLLOW-UP CHAPTER?
LET ME KNOW IN THE COMMENTS!

READER COMMENTS WILL BE USED TO GAUGE THE LEVEL OF AUDIENCE INTEREST IN THIS PROJECT.

[Stormee]

And so the new life of the young Jamis is to begin. Sent away to the tend to the Jarl's longhouse as a servant. Probably not anything different than tending the fields or a blacksmith. Who knows, it could be better. Just have to be patient. At least he has someone who came from the same land as he did to communicate with than the Vikings in their language. Otherwise, it would be difficult for them. Maybe could even be a translator for the Jarl. Nice work, [mention]bondagefreak[/mention]. You're just on a roll with this story.

[Guardianbound]

Looking forward to Balgruuf's return, seems like exactly what Balgruuf would want. Jamis is going to leapt into his saviour's arms the way this is going.

[gag1195]

It's nice that Jamis is already looking forward to seeing Balgruuf again, especially considering he has no idea what the warrior has in store for him once he returns! Great set up, as usual!

[Bradstick]

That is quite the wake up call for poor Jamis. Not being able to count the years she has been there as a thrall would be hard. Jamis is also quite interesting when it comes to Balgruuf. Had he killed Jamis on the spot he would not be a thrall and would have suffered a quick death. I know in his place I would dislike Balgruuf for taking me captor at least at first.

Is Jamis also the only male working in the kitchen or are there other male thralls; such as older men who can’t work the fields anymore, down there?

[ShadowHusky]

Jamis is a very smart individual. There's much to be said about adaptive and capable persons, more than just understanding their language, Balgruuf may have noticed a glint of resourcefulness and grit. I hope Jamis continues to learn and toil, he adapts and moves on; he understands his place here and he needs to provide to live.

[chadmc90]

It keeps getting more and more interesting. Wander how this Jarl will react to him. Something tells me that there will be some meeting. Also am interested in how Balgruff will treat Jamis.

[socjuc]

Liking the set up thus far. I wonder if Jamis will have to find his place within the thrall hierarchy? You know like a prison system...

[Red86]

While this place may be made up, it doesn't seem anything less real based upon the time in which the story is set!

I by no means consider myself a history buff (not even close) but I know some about this time period. It's sad to see how someone could brutally murder anyone who wasn't even a threat to them. Raid a town, take everything of value (including slaves) and dispose of the rest. Sad but that's just how things happened back then.

Our narrator is smart. While it was based on part of Balgruff actions, his being able to speak their tongue (even only if a little) may have saved his bacon. It seems this Balgruff has a liking for Jamis but the audience can only guess where this will go. Time will tell and I am of the curious nature so I'm looking forward to reading more of this!

[TayDay95]

I can't see Jamis exactly thriving in this longhouse. It stands to reason that if Ailidh and the other thralls have become depressed and hopeless, Jamis will eventually become the same unless he can find a way out, or try to win some kind of favour with the Jarl. Ideally he should only have to endure this place until Balgruuf returns since he seems to be the lesser of two evils, not that we can be certain of that though...

[bondagefreak]

[mention]ShadowHusky[/mention] brings up an interesting point about Jamis being a smart and adaptive person. I definitely agree, though in defence of his fellow captives, I must also point out that being orphaned from birth and having no family to speak of shields our narrator from a portion of the trauma and much of the emotional baggage carried by the other thralls, most of whom would've suffered more emotional losses. It's actually pretty grim to think about.

On a less in-story related note, I'm genuinely surprised so many of you guys are still on board even though we've barely had any bondage yet. Seems there's a continued appetite for stories focusing on pure "submission & domination" even on this site!

Maybe could even be a translator for the Jarl.

It's true that Balgruuf, Hrongar and the other frontiersmen had never met a free outlander who could speak their language. However (and this is a big however), rudimentary and even fluent understanding of the Norse tongue would've been more common among the indentured thralls, especially those caught from a young age or those whose tenure as servants spanned years and decades. At this period in time, the Jarls would've had little use for translators since their relationship with surrounding nations was very much one of pillager > pillaged.

[bondagefreak]

THIS NEXT CHAPTER COMES WITH A MATURE CONTENT ADVISORY
HERE'S THE NEXT CHAPTER, GUYS.

[mention]Bradstick[/mention] [mention]Guardianbound[/mention] [mention]Stormee[/mention] [mention]gag1195[/mention] [mention]ShadowHusky[/mention] [mention]GoBucks[/mention] [mention]Ossassin[/mention] [mention]KidnappedCowboy[/mention] [mention]DeeperThanRed[/mention] [mention]Socksbound[/mention] [mention]Subexplorer71[/mention] [mention]wataru14[/mention] [mention]socjuc[/mention] [mention]privateandrews[/mention] [mention]that1kid13[/mention] [mention]TayDay95[/mention] [mention]blackbound[/mention] [mention]TightropesEU[/mention] [mention]cstone5725@gmail.com[/mention] [mention]harveygasson[/mention] [mention]Ropelover98[/mention] [mention]chadmc90[/mention] [mention]Red86[/mention]

[bondagefreak]

DAY 19
Einmánuður 30th, A.D 841

CHAPTER 8 - THE LIFE OF A THRALL

The first two weeks of my tenure as a kitchen thrall proved gruelling at best. I initially thought my ability to comprehend and communicate basic ideas in the tongue of nordic heathens would help me stand out from the other slaves and servants. Much to my great disappointment though, it didn't. The ability to speak in this language was no doubt something of a rarity among the freemen living in other lands, but it wasn't such a rare occurrence among the indentured thralls, many of whom had been here for years, decades, or even born into servitude.

As was explained to me by one of my fellow captives, the stigma of thralldom did not wash away even when two thralls formed a union and birthed a child. Only four generations of indentured thralls could produce offspring born unto the world as something more than a mere servant. In other words, if you had children here, they would be thralls, and so would their children and grandchildren as well. Only the children birthed by your great-grandchildren would come unto this world as free men and women.



The kitchen work we engaged in was quite tiresome and demanding, but even more oppressive than the labour itself was the fatigue that followed our every waking moment and the low morale that festered amid our ranks. None of my fellow thralls had anything to look forward to. They worked, ate, and slept, only to wake up the next day and start the cycle anew. There was no end in sight for them, no respite from the neverending labour.

Ailidh was right when she said we only slept six hours. We were required to be up before sunrise but expected to cook, clean and keep up with other domestic duties well after sundown. We, of course, nibbled and munched on the stems and less digestible bits of the vegetables and herbs we chopped, but only after the Jarl's last meal of the day had been served were myself and the rest of the servants allowed to finally sit down and fill our own stomachs with food.

The meals we ate were nowhere anywhere near as tasty or as well-seasoned as what we served the Jarl's family and their guests. It usually consisted of hardened bread dipped in leftover soup, scraps of fatty beef or chicken, dried fish, stewed vegetables, cow's milk and the occasional raw egg.


Bathing was an unsavoury thing, to say the least, mostly because the room reserved for this purpose only contained two tubs; the same tubs that were also used for the laundering of dirty clothes. The lack of tubs meant that we usually had to bathe in the same water that our fellow slaves had just washed in. The only alternative was to empty the tub out, fill it back up with water from the river and then bathe in clean but icy cold water.

The three men that worked as servants in the kitchen didn't seem to care much about hygiene or grooming, most notably because it wasn't required of them and because such endeavours were usually ditched in favour of sleeping during the few hours we were permitted to do so.

Ailidh and some of the other women were staunchly adamant about keeping the Jarl's silver plates and utensils as polished and as radiant as possible. I initially thought their fascination with the silverware was motivated by a strange passion for clean dishes, but it quickly became apparent that they were using them as mirrors. The somewhat hazy reflection afforded by the spoons and plates was highly prized among these women, and I must admit to having used said reflections as well, dear friend. For although I was definitely a man, proper grooming and presentability had always been of importance to me.

We mostly used strips of rough linen to keep our teeth cleaned, and most of the thralls - myself included - regularly filled our mouths with a mixture of red wine and vinegar, liberally peppered with crushed cloves, chopped parsley and dried mint to keep our breaths smelling fresh. Norsemen apparently valued cleanliness, which struck us foreigners as quite odd considering the godless brutality of their seafaring warriors.



On a somewhat lighter note, it may amuse you to know, dear friend, that it was the head cook herself - a very large and sharp-tongued nordic woman - who gave me my first haircut.

Ilda was her name, and although she was neither a thrall nor a common servant, several of the women had come to see her almost as an adoptive mother of sorts. She would braid their hair in nordic fashions and help myself and some of the more receptive workers learn new words and enunciate them better.

Ilda was quite demanding and even fear-inspiring at times. She tolerated no lip from any of us but was fiercely protective of her kitchen staff. If a guard took issue with one of the kitchen thralls, he first had to get through Ilda. And my, let me tell you...getting through mistress Ilda when she had her clenched fists planted squarely atop her broad hips would've been just about as hard as breaching through the stone walls that surrounded the city. She was a formidable woman in her own right, one that probably took no lip even from the Jarl himself.

As attentive as she was to her crew though, Ilda didn't sleep with us nor was she privy to what went on at night when the guards weren't around. It didn't take very long for me to comprehend why Ailidh and the other women - which made up the bulk of our numbers - were so worn down and weary. The younger and physically more attractive members of the group not only had the guards to worry about but also the indentured men who worked as fellow thralls and kitchen workers.


It pains me to write these lines, dear friend, but rape was a common occurrence in the dusty hay-lined room we all shared and slept in. The nine women I worked with outnumbered the men three-to-one, but none of them dared getting involved when one of their own was forcibly taken during the night.

They mostly just cried, sobbed and huddled closer together in an attempt to find solace in numbers. The older women often sought to protect the younger ones, mostly by offering themselves in an attempt to dissuade the men from violating their younger peers.

Only one of the three men - a lanky dark-haired man, most likely hailing from across the distant Baltic sea - refused to engage in such unholy savagery. Though I thought of him as cowardly for not interfering, I too was paralysed by fear, dear friend. Each night I would lay huddled in the corner of the dark room, and each night I would curl up into a ball and press my hands against my ears in an effort not to hear the sobs and whimpers of the women who were being violated.


Often had I thought of telling Ilda about those happenings, but most of the women had discouraged it, fearing that it would only make the men more aggressive toward them and even turn them against me and the other sympathetic man in our group. I heeded their warnings, partly because I didn't think Ilda or the guards would do anything about it, but mostly because I was a coward.

Each morning, I got up, dreading another long day in the kitchen. And each night I went to bed, crying myself to sleep and thinking of better times and better places. Nary a night went by that the promise of Balgruuf's return did not enter my thoughts, and nary a night went by that I didn't dream of being gallantly rescued and heroically swept away.

INTERESTED IN THIS STORY? WANT A FOLLOW-UP CHAPTER?
LET ME KNOW IN THE COMMENTS!

READER COMMENTS WILL BE USED TO GAUGE THE LEVEL OF AUDIENCE INTEREST IN THIS PROJECT.

[ShadowHusky]

Firstly, while this is true, I wouyld encourage you to put a warning before the chapter as it contains a more detailed mention of these horrid truths. The sad issue is BF is giving a very lightened version of what would happen to many of the women thralls from the guards and the other male thralls.

Such a fascinating story this is.