The door creaks open to reveal Erik's towering form silhouetted in the doorway, a bundle of fabric cradled in his massive arms. My breath catches as I drink in the finery - a dress of the richest sapphire blue, trimmed with delicate golden embroidery. Soft leather boots dyed a deep crimson, and a hooded cloak of plush emerald velvet to ward off the chill.

But it's the undergarments that make my jaw drop. Sheer silk stockings and lacy unmentionables I've only seen on the highest courtly ladies. How did this wandering Viking acquire such opulent riches?

"I would be honored to assist the little one in donning these garments," Erik rumbles, already crossing the chamber toward us. "Though I admit some...melancholy in presenting them."

He extends the bundle toward Aislin, who accepts it with trembling hands. "These were meant for my own child, had she survived to greet the world a living daughter rather than a stillborn wretch."

I suck in a sharp breath at his blunt words. That's...pretty fucking dark, my dude. Way to kill the mood with your tragic backstory.

Seeming to sense my discomfort, Erik offers a faint smile as he crouches before me. "But enough dwelling on old ghosts. Let's have you looking a proper lady for once, eh?"

With deft, gentle motions, he begins dressing me layer by layer. First the stockings, rolling the sheer silk up my skinny legs with surprising care. Then the lacy underthings, the delicate fabric caressing my skin in a wholly unfamiliar way.

I can't resist squirming at the strange sensations, but Erik simply chuckles. "Hold still now, little one. You'll get used to a lady's underpinnings soon enough."

The dress itself is next, a shimmering pool of blue that cascades over my body like a waterfall. Erik's strong hands deftly lace up the back, his calloused fingertips brushing my spine in fleeting caresses that raise goosebumps.

Finally, the boots and cloak, both so exquisitely soft I fear touching them overlong. When at last I'm fully garbed, I can scarcely recognize my own reflection in the bathing chamber's polished copper mirror.

A strange, fey creature stares back at me with wide golden eyes. Her pale skin seems to glow against the rich fabric swathing her slender frame. For a dizzying moment, I wonder if this is what the goddess Gullveig herself would look like given mortal form.

Overcome with gratitude toward the man who's gifted me this incredible transformation, I turn and fling my arms around Erik's thick neck as he crouches beside me. Pressing my cheek to his bearded jaw, I murmur, "Thank you...Papa. You're a good papa."

Erik's deep chuckle reverberates through me as one of his massive hands ruffles my shorn curls. "You're quite welcome, little one."

Aislin too is laughing, though her mirth sounds tinged with a strange melancholy. "Oh Lile, you look a proper little princess!" She dabs at her eyes with the cloth she used to dry me. "If only..."

Her voice trails off in a sigh. "Maybe if we'd met in another life, things could have been different. Happier."

Erik regards her solemnly, seeming to weigh his words carefully. "Perhaps," is all he offers at last. "Perhaps..."

Erik straightens up from crouching before me and says, "Father Brogan should arrive shortly to witness me providing Aislin the three silver coins. They must also be made aware that I shall take your hand in marriage once you've flowered into womanhood, little one."

I glance at Aislin, who gives a solemn nod of understanding. But then, to my surprise, she turns to Erik with a coy smile and asks, "Would you perhaps like to become...intimate for a brief moment, good sir? I could send Lile from the room so we may share a passionate embrace."

What? Is she really suggesting they have sex right here, right now? With me just outside? The very idea makes me squirm, heat flooding my cheeks.

But Erik simply shakes his head, his expression impassive. "Nay, I shall not defile you in such a manner, Aislin. That would be most unbecoming of me."

I can't help rolling my eyes. Seriously? He convinces this naive woman to let him breed her the moment her fertile tides return, yet balks at a simple tumble for pleasure's sake? Erik is being kind of...slow here, to put it politely.

Pushing those thoughts aside, I watch as Erik gestures for Aislin and I to follow him into the main chamber. The sweet, earthy scent of drying herbs hangs in the air as we enter. Erik points to a neatly stacked pile of leafy greens and roots on the heavy oak table.

"Take those and place them in a pot to boil until the water has reduced enough to fill a mug," he instructs Aislin gruffly. "You are to drink the resulting brew each day until I deem it unnecessary."

Aislin bobs her head obediently. "Yes, milord. But...might I ask what purpose this concoction serves?"

A faint smirk tugs at the corner of Erik's mouth. "It is a tonic to help heal and restore the health of your womb and feminine areas, woman. You are in sore need of such remedies after that bastard's mistreatment, I deem."

Huh, so the big brute does have at least some semblance of compassion after all. Aislin seems taken aback by his thoughtfulness, blinking rapidly as she nods again in gratitude.

Before she can respond, Erik scoops me up with surprising tenderness and deposits me on one of the chairs at the head of the table. I can't resist squirming a bit, reveling in the luxurious feel of the velvet and silk garments he's gifted me.

As Aislin takes her own seat, she lets out a contented sigh. "Oh Erik, that bathing chamber of yours was utter paradise! I've never experienced such blissful comforts in all my days."

The Viking chuckles, already moving to stoke the smoldering hearth fire. "Every person should have access to basic amenities like bathing and soap, regardless of status or wealth," he rumbles. "That the nobility and clergy deny such simple dignities to the peasantry is a great injustice that I--"

He cuts off abruptly, seeming to think better of whatever rant was brewing. But Aislin doesn't miss a beat, immediately picking up his thread.

"Aye, you speak true, milord. 'Tis Oisin who squanders what few coins we manage to earn on his own indulgences - whoring, drinking ale at the tavern, and gluttony." She shakes her head sadly. "He cares not that his wife and child want for even the most basic necessities while he gorges himself."

Erik's jaw tightens at her words, but he gives a curt nod of acknowledgment. "In my homeland, any man who so egregiously neglects his family's welfare would be swiftly divorced by his wife. Or worse - there are tales of Norwegian women slaying drunken louts who fail their husband duties so utterly."

I can't help but giggle at the mental image - big, burly Aislin grabbing a kitchen knife and chasing a terrified, blubbering Oisin around the hovel like a madwoman! The sound draws Erik's gaze, those piercing emerald eyes glittering with dark amusement.

"You find such justice humorous, little one?" he rumbles, arching one thick brow. "I assure you, I speak only truth. In the lands of my forebears, a woman is considered her husband's equal partner - not some soulless, abused thrall as you peasant curs treat your wives here."

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Aislin's eyes widen comically at that, one hand flying to clutch the silver crucifix adorning her throat. "Milord...surely you cannot mean that? For a wife to strike her husband, let alone commit such a grievous sin as murder? Why, 'twould be an affront to the Lord himself and every tenant of Holy Scripture!"

But Erik simply snorts derisively, already turning back to feed another log into the crackling flames. "Your Christian dogma is a chain binding you peasants to lives of misery and oppression, woman. But no matter - in the event of a divorce, the wife is entitled to claim half of all her husband's property and assets to start fresh."

I blink rapidly at that stunning proclamation, feeling oddly giddy. The idea of a woman having any rights or autonomy at all in this primitive backwater is utterly unheard of! No wonder Erik views the local peasantry with such contempt.

Glancing at Aislin, I can't resist another impish giggle at the dumbstruck look on her face. The poor thing is utterly gobsmacked by these blasphemous notions of gender equality that Erik speaks of so casually.

Well, at least it provides me a delightful bit of entertainment amidst the relentless drudgery of this wretched existence! I settle back in my chair with a contented sigh, reveling in the softness of my new finery as the flames crackle merrily in the hearth.

The silence stretches on as we wait for Father Brogan to arrive. Erik's brow furrows, his impatience growing visibly with each passing moment. Finally, he lets out an exasperated sigh.

"This blasted priest tries my patience," he grumbles, shaking his head. "Perhaps we should find a diversion to pass the time until he deigns to grace us with his presence."

My ears perk up at the word 'diversion'. "Game?" I ask hopefully, unable to contain my excitement. "Game?! Please, game!"

Aislin chuckles indulgently, reaching over to ruffle my shorn blonde curls with a calloused hand. The gentle gesture sends a strange pang through my chest - when was the last time she showed such tender affection?

Erik regards us with an amused quirk of his lips. "Aye, a game of sorts," he agrees. "Lord Eamonn gifted me a strategy board recently, that we might practice the noble art of warfare tactics."

He pauses, giving me an appraising look. "Though it requires two keen minds to play properly. I fear you may find it too advanced for your childish wits, little one."

The obvious challenge in his words ignites a spark of competitive fire in my belly. I sit up straighter, eyes widening with determination. "I can play! I'm smart, I swear it!"

A deep chuckle rumbles from Erik's broad chest as he turns and strides toward the sleeping chamber. "We shall see, ragamuffin. We shall see."

He disappears through the doorway, leaving Aislin and I alone for a brief moment. I can't resist bouncing eagerly in my chair, curiosity burning within.

"What manner of game do you suppose he means to play?" I wonder aloud. "Some Viking contest of brawn and bloodshed, no doubt!"

But when Erik returns, it's with a simple wooden board tucked under one muscular arm. He sets it down on the table with a solid thunk, and I can't stifle my gasp of surprise.

It's a chessboard! An actual chessboard, here in this primitive backwater? I never would have dreamed such an intellectual diversion existed in these lands.

"A fine contest of strategy this shall be," Erik declares, already opening the board to reveal rows of intricately carved playing pieces. "Though I propose we play as partners for this first match."

He gestures for Aislin and I to take the white pieces arrayed before us. "You shall move as a team against my blacks, little one. That way your mother can guide you while you learn the finer points."

Aislin frowns, shaking her head. "I'm afraid I know naught of how to play, good sir. You'd do better instructing the child yourself."

But Erik waves a dismissive hand. "Then I shall simply explain the rules as we begin."

He places the final black piece with a decisive thunk, then leans back to regard the board with a faint smile.

"Now pay strict attention, you two. This game requires the utmost strategy and foresight to master..."

And so he launches into an intricate explanation of each piece's capabilities and movements. I find myself leaning forward, utterly enraptured as I commit every word to memory.

"The king is the most vital piece, for if he falls, the game is over..." Erik begins, gently grasping the ornate black carving. "He can only move one space in any direction - vertically, horizontally, or diagonally..."

On and on he goes, patiently detailing the powers of the queen, rooks, bishops, knights, and humble pawns. I drink in the information greedily, my mind already whirring with potential gambits and tactics.

Before I know it, Erik has finished his lengthy lecture. Aislin looks rather glazed, clearly overwhelmed by the complex rules. But I can't wait to begin!

Scrambling down from my chair, I toddle over and tug insistently on Aislin's skirts. "Up, up!" I demand, raising my arms imploringly.

She blinks, then smiles in understanding. "Of course, poppet."

Aislin leans down to scoop me up, grunting slightly with the effort of settling me on her lap. I can't quite stifle my wince as the motion jars my still-tender backside, a hiss of pain escaping through clenched teeth.

Erik's brow furrows in concern at the sound. "That salve will need applying before you depart," he murmurs. "I'll not have those welts festering further."

But I quickly shake my head, determined not to let a little discomfort dissuade me now. "I want to play!" I insist eagerly. "Let's play, please!"

The Viking regards me with an indulgent chuckle, already taking his seat opposite us. "As you wish, little one. Let the contest of wits commence!"

As Erik finishes setting out the last few pieces, Aislin leans close to murmur in my ear. "You're such a clever girl, Lile. I'll let you command our forces this day."

I can't resist throwing her a mischievous grin over my shoulder. "Then best prepare for a rout, Mother! This game shall be easy as falling off a log."

Erik arches one thick brow at my boast, but doesn't comment further. His piercing emerald gaze meets mine across the board as we ready ourselves for the opening moves.

Yes, this primitive "chess" should prove a mere trifle compared to the strategic simulations I've mastered. I can already feel my mind calculating potential lines of attack and defense, the thrill of outwitting a capable opponent singing through my veins.

Let the games begin, Viking! I'll show you just how brilliant this "childish wit" can be.

I lean forward eagerly, my small fingers pointing at the chessboard as I whisper instructions into Aislin's ear piece by piece until the chessboard advances towards the midgame. "Move the knight there, to threaten his bishop!"

Aislin nods obediently, her calloused hand grasping the intricately carved piece and sliding it across the squares with a solid thunk. Across the table, Erik arches one thick brow, those piercing emerald eyes glittering with amusement as he studies the board intently.

A few moments pass as the Viking ponders his response, one finger idly stroking his neatly trimmed beard. Then, with a decisive nod, he reaches out and shifts his own piece - a rook sliding forward to counter my daring advance.

I can't resist a delighted giggle at his move, clapping my hands together gleefully. The sound makes Aislin start, her sunken eyes darting to me with a bemused expression.

"You find great mirth in this game, do you not, poppet?" she murmurs, the faintest of smiles tugging at her thin lips.

Before I can respond, she continues in that same soft tone. "Did you know, good sir, that our Lile here spoke her first words at the tender age of six moons? A most precocious babe from the very start!"

Erik's brow furrows at that, his intense stare swinging to fix upon me. For a long moment, an almost palpable tension stretches between us, thick as the summer air. Then, giving his head a slight shake, the Viking rumbles, "Most...curious, that is."

His powerful hand reaches out, thick fingers closing around one of the carved knights and sliding it forward in a daring gambit. "Though I'll admit, little one, your grasp of strategy seems well beyond even such an early advancement."

A sly grin curves my lips as I take in the new board position. Leaning close to Aislin once more, I murmur, "Now, castle your king over there to get it to safety. Then move that pawn up to threaten his knight!"

Aislin's brow furrows in confusion, but she follows my instructions without protest. As the pawn thumps into its new position, I can't resist another impish giggle at the daring move.

If I'm not careful, I may just back this Viking into an inescapable checkmate before the game is through! The thought fills me with a strange sense of giddy power over the imposing stranger.

Just then, the heavy oak door to the cottage swings open with a groan of ancient hinges. I whirl around at the sound, eyes widening as a stooped, wizened figure shuffles into the chamber.

The man is swathed in coarse black robes, his deeply lined face framed by a tonsured crown of wispy white hair. Clutched in one gnarled hand is an ornate wooden staff topped with an intricate silver crucifix.

"Good Father Brogan," Erik greets, rising smoothly to his feet in a show of respect. "You honor my humble cottage with your presence this day."

The old priest grunts, pale eyes narrowing as he takes in the chessboard and my strange attire. "So I find you idling away the daylight hours with games and frivolity, Viking? How...unbecoming of one who claims to walk the path of healing."

A muscle twitches in Erik's clenched jaw, but he simply inclines his head in a shallow bow. "My apologies, good Father. I merely sought to entertain the child while awaiting your arrival, nothing more."

Erik cleans up the chessboard, plucking each carved piece and placing them inside the wooden box before closing the lid with a decisive thunk. I frown, disappointed that our game was interrupted just as I was about to force the Viking into checkmate with my daring knight maneuver. Ah well, there will be other opportunities to outwit him, I'm sure.

Erik scoops up the chessboard and sets it on the floor near the hearth before turning to address the wizened priest still lingering in the doorway. "Come, good Father, have a seat," he rumbles, gesturing toward the rough-hewn bench across from Aislin and I. "There are matters of import we must discuss regarding my future nuptials."[...]