The lone warrior trudged into the northern mountain town, battle-weary but victorious, the slain dragon’s blood still wet on his blade.

The folk of Morthal watched him with a mixture of fear and wonder. The braver few, the drunkards and the children, cheered to him, called out in thanks and congratulations for his slaying of the mountain wyrm that had tormented their peace for so long.

He was interrupted in his progress to the town’s tavern by one of the local guard, who planted herself in his path. As his stony gaze met hers, she bowed a little, humble in front of him. She bore the badge of the jarl’s personal bodyguard.

‘Her Highness Idgrod the Younger requests the honour of your audience,’ the guard spoke, and without awaiting an answer, turned to lead him to the jarl house.

****

He followed the guardswoman into the town’s seat of power, having to stoop a little through the timber frame of the door. The great fire in the centre of the main hall blazed, a welcome warmth that met him as he entered from the cold, but the jarl’s throne at the far end was empty.

‘The jarl herself is currently away on important business in Dawnstar,’ the guard explained. ‘Her daughter, Idgrod the Younger, holds court in her stead. She is in her private chamber. I will take you to her. Be on your best behaviour.’

The noble girl Idgrod was sitting at her little writing desk when they entered. The warrior bent down on one knee and bowed his head, as was tradition in these parts when encountering nobility. Idgrod turned and thanked the guardswoman, then dismissed her.

The guard hesitated. ‘But your highness, the jarl would be displeased to know that her daughter was left alone with such an… unsavoury…’

The jarl’s daughter cut the bodyguard off, her voice firm and unbending despite its youth. ‘I desire only a few moments to speak privately with this brave stranger who has saved our town. You may take your leave. Thank you guardswoman.’

And with that the guard, reluctantly, bowed to her mistress, fired a cautionary glance at the stranger, and left the chamber.

The door firmly closed, the noble girl rose from her writing desk and approached the warrior where he still knelt in front of her.

‘I watched you dispatch that beast from my window here, with great admiration,’ she said softly. ‘Such courage. Such…strength.’ She placed a slender hand on his shoulder and smiled at him. He looked up at her for a moment, taking in her dark and silken hair, her complexion pale and pure like the snow outside. She had full, soft lips and deep, mysterious eyes that shone down at him in the candlelight.

‘You may stand, warrior. I am not my mother. I care little for such formalities.’

As the tired warrior climbed to his feet, the candle behind them guttered, as if disturbed by some sudden and sharp wind, then steadied again. The young noblewoman gazed upon him now in his full height, and seemed suddenly wrong-footed by his stature. He was close against her and, standing now, towered over her. She was a slim and slender thing, dainty and pretty, barely more than a teenager, and with the coltish air of youth still about her.

‘You must be tired from the fight,’ she said, running her fingers softly from his shoulder, down his side, to the fastenings of his battle armor. ‘Allow me to ease your burden.’ She began to untie it, and with his help, his armor and his blade were soon let drop on to the woven rug beneath them.

Now the noble girl’s hand lingered on the warrior’s broad chest. For a moment she seemed struck dumb, her eyes shining with indecision. ‘You are very strong,’ was all she could muster after a few long moments silence between them.

The stranger said nothing, but reached forward and touched her hair with his battle-hardened hand. ‘And you are very young and beautiful.’ They were the first words she had heard him speak, and immediately she fell, as if taken suddenly by some witchcraft, to her knees before him.

‘You knelt before me, but for your deeds, it is I who should do you honour by kneeling before you.’ She spoke hurriedly, her courtly cool gone now. ‘You have saved our village. I ask that you allow me to pay you proper tribute,’ she whispered, fingering the strings of his linen breeches until they were loosened and he was free of them, standing to attention for the young noble woman kneeling in front of him.

She touched him gingerly at first, almost with reverence – as one might touch a precious thing, a crown or a legend blade of old – her youthful inexperience making her hesitant. Then she looked up at his face again, her breath heavy through parted lips, and took him quickly and hungrily in her mouth.

The fighter’s hard body groaned and stiffened as she swallowed him eagerly, her lips soft and welcoming, her tongue eager and busy; but he held himself back, like a wild animal held back by a cruel chain, still aware that this was a noble, and his superior, who knelt before him.

She seemed to sense his reluctance, and chided him softly. ‘I desire that you forget I am the jarl’s daughter. Treat me as you would one of your tavern girls. I am sure a great fighter like you has his pick of them. I wish to know you that way. I wish to be a vessel for your pleasure.’

And with those words from her, the warrior’s hands took hold of his new quarry by her fine and silken young hair, and thrust into her, filling her warm gullet with himself.

They both moaned with the sudden and violent pleasure and release of it, and she continued to gulp and draw eagerly at him, working him with lips, tongue and hands all, until he felt perilously ready for the climax. Again, she sensed him, and withdrew, gasping exultantly, like a diver for pearls re-emerging from the lake and into the sweet air, as he released himself from her.

She wiped her gasping mouth lustily on her sleeve, like a girl who had just gorged herself on sweet fruit, then rose quickly and backed away, unfastening the drawstrings of her noble dress and letting the entire robe fall heavily to the floor at once. For a few moments she simply stood, showing herself to him in only her fine slip, the modest but enticing curves of youthful breast and hip picked out under the thin silken fabric against the candlelight.

Then she spoke. ‘No one must know of this, do you understand?’ she said as she backed towards her bed. ‘If you were to tell another soul of this, I would say you forced yourself upon me, and my mother would have you executed like a common criminal.’

The fighter nodded and stepped towards her. ‘A secret between us only.’

With that, she smiled knowingly and sat down on her bed, lying back in the soft leather and linen coverings. He came close and stood over her, pushed her silken slip roughly up around her waist, revealing her supple and warm young flesh beneath. He looked down at soft and firm thighs, parted slightly now, revealing the soft and glistening flesh of her womanhood, ready and awaiting him.

‘Do I disappoint you?’ she asked softly as he hesitated, drinking in the sight. He shook his head and smiled, and now it was his turn to kneel again.

Clutching her by the hips at the edge of her bed, he pulled her forcefully to him and licked at her deeply and suddenly. She moaned tortuously, like a wildcat in heat, clawing her fingers through his hair and grinding wildly against him as he plundered her, savouring the heat and the hot saltiness of her; and then, as her passion rose to a crescendo, he ceased, leaving her panting and writhing.

He raised himself again, and they found themselves face to face. She kissed him hungrily and willingly, tasting the lingering tang of herself on his lips, and pulled him closer, encouraging the warrior in for the kill. He lowered himself against her, smothering her small frame with his heft and pushing her young, girlish thighs wide apart with his weight.

And then with a great thrust he sunk himself mercilessly into her, holding her down, as though in mortal battle with her. She cried out, overwhelmed, as he plunged himself into her again and again, until the death throes of their passion rushed noisily upon them both, he inside her to the hilt, she clinging, as if for her life, with legs and fingernails to him, and their rushing juices mingled in a hot pool between them, like two warriors on the battlefield, spent and emptied and exhausted.

‘Did I ease your burden as I said I would?’ she asked him, panting under his body.

‘You did, my lady. And did I make you feel like a tavern girl?’ he growled.

She only smiled.

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