A Dance of Frost and Flame

Chapter 7. Northman's Prey

Chapter warnings:
Mentions rape
Mentions removal of limbs
Vomit
Gore

It was the hour of the owl. Visenya could see the moon through the small glass window. Still, after all this time, she could not find sleep. Her body felt weighted down on the bed, and her eyes fluttered closed until any slight sound of footsteps on the other side of the door forced them open again.

After a few moments of lolling into an unwelcomed drowsy state, she involuntarily jerked awake at the noise of men talking directly outside her room.

She stood immediately, legs still wobbly. Her heart began beating faster than she cared to admit, so much so that she could feel it in each of her ears. She felt cowardly then, jittering with fear as a child would.

The doorknob shook aggressively, and the men on the other side grunted in disappointment to find it locked. That would not stop them, she thought. If they truly believed her to be Visenya Velaryon, nothing short of death would prevent them from getting to her.

She felt dizzy with terror, to say the least. Even against one man, the odds were not in her favor. She could not fight in close combat; even if she could, she was petite and lacked strength.

None of this mattered in any case because there had to be at least more than two men trying to make their way into the room. She repeated in her head, don't enter... don't enter, but to no avail.

One loud bang came; they had opted to kick it down. Dust shifted off the door. She flinched then rapidly reached for her bow, snatching an arrow and locking it in, aiming toward them.

Another bang. The doorknob rattled. Her hands trembled as she held the bowstring and arrow in place. She kept a white-knuckled grip on it, despite the shaking that she had failed to push aside.

She kept her arrowhead in her sleeve on the chance she was ever separated from her bow.

The next bang was the men working in unison, and they had succeeded in breaking it open; it flung to the side.

Five large northmen rushed in; they stunk of rum, sweat, and sheep dung. She loosened an arrow to the hairy man in front, and it lodged into his shoulder.

He shouted in pain, "Grab the little bitch!"

She hurriedly tried to grab another arrow, fingers fumbling nervously, but the men broke the distance between them and forcefully shoved her against the wall. The breath was taken from her, and she wheezed heavily. She had dropped the bow.

Visenya was being held against the wooden planks of the wall. She screamed and tried to grab hold of the man with her nails, teeth, and anything she could. It was no use. He was muscular and tall, armored head to toe with leather and thick animal fur.

"Give the man his pay, Theo." The man who seemed to be in charge ordered his friend.

She caught sight of one of them handing over a small bag of what she assumed to be silver. The same merchant she had seen earlier that night accepted it; he gave her an almost pitiful look. She glared in return.

"Go on, now!" They demanded for the much skinnier man to get away. He bowed his head and scurried off, clearly satisfied. She silently wished an agonizing death upon the stranger.

He then turned to her, breaking the wooden stick off the arrow she had hit him with. He reached for a pitcher of water on her table and stomped over.

Visenya felt her heart beating so fast she was sure the man holding her down could feel it.

The hairy man poured the water over her head; she had to blink away the droplets from her eyes. Her hair, now soaking wet, revealed her silver locks.

"Visenya Velaryon." He mocked.