Sands of Time (Hellsing•AU)

The Keep (13)

~Time Skip 1466~

Vlad was accustomed to rising early. A good Prince was up, before dawn to be able to accomplish, all that was needed in the kingdom. Once dressed, which included a leather jerkin, Vlad went to the practice area for sparing. He would often pick a less experienced soldier and challenge that man.

How was a soldier to get better if not challenged and trained continually?

The knightly Prince saw a young man, not much past thirteen, with a big heart, and was being hit flat bladed to humiliation, by a couple of Vlad's talented fighters. The Prince walked up behind the two men and cleared his throat. The men whirled around and stopped grinning.

"Men, I have been observing your methods to train this young boy. I disapprove greatly. The boy will be no good to me at all, if he is bedridden from broken ribs. Perhaps I should take over?"

The two soldiers gulped and nodded their heads.

Their punishment was coming, courtesy of the Prince. Vlad walked to the willowy teenager and examined the sword. It was of poor quality but to own a sword, was costly and passed down, from generation to generation. He stood next to the teenager and showed him the proper stance. Vlad proceeded to show how to stand and stab.

Once the young soldier had mastered that, Vlad demonstrated a version of slashing across from collarbone to hip, crosswise. The final part, of the training was putting the slashing technique combined with the stab. There was a training dummy to practice on.

Vlad pointed and said "So show me your form."

The teenage boy took a breath in and shook the sword, with his arm, to loosen up the muscles. The boy then stepped forward and slashed as Impaler King taught him. The sword cut through the chain links and leather. He shifted his shoulders and ran the sword through the dummy where the armor was gone, from the slash.

The youngster lowered the sword, to hear clapping, from Vlad.

"You two, close your mouths and get this soldier a better weapon! You will personally train him and if I do not think he's processing well enough, then I will demonstrate techniques on you, instead of the training dummy..."

The Prince's eyes burned with rage, so he raised his head and gave a blink, to find something to direct his anger at and there it was! The mystery woman was looking out the window, of her room but with not a stitch, of clothing on!

Vlad could not take his eyes off her breasts. She didn't have a pale color like noble ladies but a light shade of tan, as if brushed with gold. Her nipples were pink like wild rose petals. The pink colored nipples matched her lip color.

The woman now scowled at him and whirled away out of view. The Prince lowered his eyes and stormed into the keep. She was awake and needed to answer some questions. Though he was pretty sure, from the woman's lack of modesty, she was a camp whore. If she was, it had not been for long. She was too healthy looking, to have been doing that job, for long.

Vlad's feet make quick tapping sounds, up the stone stairs and then turn sharply around a wood railing, with his left hand up to catch the door and force it open. The door swung open with a loud wooden bang. A young handmaiden was dressing the brazen woman or at least trying. The mystery woman was growling and slapping the maiden's hands away.

Camp girl for sure he thought.

The female servant jumped and turned round to kneel down low. If one didn't bow low enough, that could get you impaled. The 'camp girl' simply finished, tying the dress up, as it laced in the front. It was a simple cut, long and thick green shift that went, to the woman's knees and a work corset that staff women wore. There were no six foot women here, for the clothes to fit correctly. If she stayed, she would need custom clothes made for her.

As for the clothes now, they were good enough, to be executed in.

The maid rushed out quickly and closed the door behind her. Vlad faced the woman and said, "Good morning. I trust you slept well. Let me formally introduce myself, Vlad III Drǎculea and miss may I know your name as well?"

He figured she didn't speak Romanian. She looked to be German or from some area up in Northern Europe. The woman scowled, did a small curtsy and replied in broken Romanian mixed with German and English.

"I am Fraulein Ylva Viken and I come from the wilds of the Northern lands. I am a decendent of Jarl Viken and am titled Thane. '' Ylva knew most did not know how to speak in Norse.)

It was a dying language and no need to be learned for trade anymore.

Vlad couldn't help as an arrogant smile crossed his face. "Those People" that refused to convert, to Christianity, for the longest time. She could be an unconverted heathen. Jarl was probably, only a title for something like war chief.

Perhaps, she would make a fun play thing for a while?

He stepped briskly over to her and grabbed her right arm, as he figured the left was sore from landing hard on the ground yesterday. As he pulled the woman around, to drag out the room, she had only faint darkened skin. He fully expected for her to have "black eyes" of purple and a swollen face. He knew cruel men, more cruel than him, liked women didn't that bruise easily. They could be beaten and abused, as the marks were less noticeable.

When Vlad entered the courtyard, a well trained riding horse, was waiting. "Lift your foot up high!"

The woman did as she was ordered. She let out a low curse. "Merde!" and scrambled to land in the saddle.

The Prince was being an ass and not gentle in his lift. Anyone but an experienced rider, would have simply gone up and then right over the other side, to land in a heap. Besides being an asshole, Vlad was silently observing the woman. It had not been a fluke with her riding. Perhaps a soldier or mercenary taught the 'camp girl' to ride. That would mean she was a good fuck and would perform requested sexual acts, anywhere.

He climbed up behind her, so he was pressed tight against him. Another test this was: most ladies would scoot as far forward, to get away from the man. She didn't budge and was sitting partially, on his thighs.

As if she read his mind, the woman coldly stated, "Do not think my lack of space is due to any attraction, I simply don't feel like having the front of me being pinched and bruised by the cantel of your saddle."

The Prince let out a small snort and grinned. She was quite fierce, besides detailed knowledge, of horse saddles. Most didn't know, that cantel had anything to do with a saddle.

"May I be so bold to ask where you are taking me?" the blonde woman asked, with as little emotion she could muster.

She was quite mad about the whole lift and ride. It was with a man of scary reputation. She said a silent thank you to Leif, teaching her how to be a "Wolf-coat". Her nerves were more steady, then most, in a situation like this. She had not recently needed a reason, to enter a battle, as a berserker.

Though if anyone deserved being berserked on, it was the Impaler King. The question was, he showed he was a skilled swordsman and she was without her prized sword, would she still win?

It would probably end a draw, one dead and the other wounded badly. There are worse things than defending yourself to the death.

"Miss Viken, I believe I have some questions that need answered by witnesses at the Boar's Head Inn," the Prince flatly stated.

"So do you think these 'male' witnesses are scared enough, to tell the truth or lie to see me stripped then impaled outside, this fine establishment?" With that, she pursed her lips and chirped, to the horse, to increase its pase. After that, the horse ride was in silence.

"Bravery is half the victory"
-The Saga Of Harald Hardrade, c.103