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Swan's Neck Ch. 06: The King and I

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As the King dies, a fierce love is born.
1.9k words
4.83
6.7k
7

Part 6 of the 10 part series

Updated 06/09/2023
Created 08/02/2019
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'The King is dying.' That was what the messenger said.

Well it was expected. The old man had passed the age of sixty some time ago, and had been feeble for a while. A week before the Christ Mass he had lost consciousness, but now we were told he had revived. Ealdgyth refused to go where Harold had summoned her, so I went in her stead.

I had never been at a death bed. I had no idea what to expect. The first thing that struck me was the awful smell, one of rotting flesh. The dying King had, I knew, not been able to walk for a while, and I was told that one of his feet was rotting; the incense in the Chamber failed to mask the stench. I felt ill.

William, the Norman Bishop of London was there with his monks. From them came another stench - that of the arrogance and corruption of power. The Jesus I had come to know was a gentle, loving God, not at all concerned with earthly power; these Normans were neither gentle nor loving, and they cared only for power and wealth. Jesus would have driven them from the Temple. I wished them in Hell, and hoped that they would not send my country there first. Men of God? Fathers? What father would feed his children stones and tell them it was necessary? They were mere creatures of William the Bastard.

Morcar and Edwin were there - the Mercians in force. Queen Emma, Harold's sister, Edward's wife, was also there. By her side was Harold, tall, powerful and strong. The contrast was great between him and young Edward the Aethling, the grandson of Ironside, and the man in the room with the best claim to succeed Edward as King. He was sucking on his thumb, as fourteen year olds might; but he was not the man to rule the Kingdom; that was Harold.

'My Lord,' William spoke softly to the King, 'it is time to name Duke William as your heir.'

If looks could have killed, William would have died on the spot; but they can't, and he didn't.

The King's breathing was ragged.

'My Lord,' William pleaded, 'I have read the last rites over you, you must now set your affairs in order.'

Edward showed no great sign he would do so. He had had years, now he had moments, why change the habit of a lifetime and make a hard decision?

We waited.

Finally, the dying King spoke.

'It is the wish of God that the Realm should go to ...'

And with that, the death rattle started.

There's the truth of it. I was there. Liars say he offered it to Duke William, but he did not. The old fool could never make his mind up, like his father, the useless Ethelred.

'Well,' said the Bishop, 'it is clear, Harold, you swore an oath to the Duke.'

'God's teeth, that's a lie. I swore only to recognise him where he ruled.'

Harold was angry.

'He rules by God's right here.'

'I think you will find,' said the Archbishop, Stigand, intervening for the first time, 'that in England rule is by consent of the people, expressed by the Witan.'

'Such rot was never heard! It is God who decides.'

'And who died and made you God, your Grace?'

Oh, I had said it as well as thought it.

He looked astonished down at me.

'You English need to keep your women under control.'

He was furious.

Harold spoke.

'Bishop, you are a guest in this Realm, and if you do not like its ways, you are free to depart to more barbarous climes where women and peasants are treated like slaves. You derive your living from the monies given to you by English folk, if you want to live off Peter's Pence you'd lose a good deal of weight. Either keep a civil tongue in your Norman head, or fuck off!'

Everyone was startled.

The Bishop's face reddened.

'I am God's anointed ...'

'You are a simoniac Norman cunt. We both know you bought the See with Duke William's gold, so unless you are claiming that the money was from God, although as he alone knows where the Bastard got it, you may be right, then don't come the high moral ground with me!'

There was a spontaneous outbreak of applause; Bishop William was not popular.

'I will not stay here to be insulted,' he exclaimed.

'Why, where are you going to be insulted then?' I asked pointedly.

'You, you little bitch, watch your tongue!'

'As my father was one of your renegade monks and sits high in Duke William's favour, I suggest, my Lord Bishop, that you do the same.'

That had him foxed.

Speechless, he looked daggers at us all.

'Well, ' said Morcar, 'this is all very edifying, but theology must give way to politics. The Kingdom needs a King. I suggest we call the Witan to order after lunch, which gives time for the King to be taken to his resting place.'

There seemed general agreement that that was a good idea, not least as it would give time for tempers to cool.

'Ha, little one, you gave that fat toad a beating he will not forgive,' laughed Harold.

'It is true, my Lord, my father is in the counsels of the Bastard, so he better watch out.'

Harold gave me a quizzical look.

I had something to eat with Ealdgyth, who laughed at my account.

'So the old fool could not decide, even when dying, typical. Well, if Harold is to be King, I can see why he needs the Mercians, and I am told young Edith is a delight to behold; would you fuck her, Danegyth?'

I looked at her, hurt that even in jest she should suggest such a thing.

'My lady, in life and death I am yours. Where you go, I shall go, and your fate shall be my fate, and naught but death will part us, and even then, I hope by the Grace of God, we shall be together. Though all should desert you, should all fall away, your Danegyth will be with you."

Ealdgyth embraced me. We stood a while together - just being one.

Afterward I went to the Witan, the gathering of the earls, but since Harold and the Mercians formed the largest component of the Lords there, I thought if a foregone conclusion and was surprised when Harold himself recommended Edward the Aethling. But I saw his wisdom. The assembled earls said he was too young and that they needed a man full grown and strong, and by common acclaim, they chose Harold. Thus did my Lord become Harold II, king of the English. He accepted with grace and good humour, and when I left, there was a great celebration going on; it went on long into the night.

I told my Lady, who was pleased.

'At least he got what he wanted out of the match with the Mercian, not that he won't get a nice fresh cunt and more children with her.'

I was determined to cut this line of talk off, and even as she began to rant, I sank to my knees and raised her skirts. Parting her legs, I applied my mouth to her cunt. I loved her honey taste, and as she began to gasp, redoubled my efforts. Her bud was stiff, and as my tongue worked it from side to side, she moaned my name; that pleased me. Then, broadening my tongue once it was between her lips, I licked her inner lips, tugging each lip with my gums; that pleased her.

For me there is no greater joy than ministering to my Mistress. She is my adored one. Yes, others see her strength, her character and her bravery, but to me alone does she reveal her vulnerabilities, and my job is to take them, cherish them, and to feed her what she needs, which is unconditional love. It matters not to me what she does or how she is, what matters is she is my darling, my woman, and I am her girl, and I love her so fiercely that I would kill anyone who harmed her; and I did. And I would do it again. And if God sends me to hell for it, then so be it. No one harms my Mistress and escapes, not while I am here, not ever, no one.

It was with that same determination and love that I drove my tongue deep into her cunt, tasting the stronger flavour the deeper I got. I loved the thickening of her juices, they fed me as nectar does a bee. My fingers worked on her bud, tracing delicate patterns on it. My other hand rose to grip her nipples, one by one. As she shed her clothing, the easier became my access, until my face was buried between her thighs and I was lost in her. Her smell, her taste, that was my world, and how content I was there too. I felt my own juices flow, but cared not, my Lady needed me.

Of a sudden, I picked up the small spindle she had been using, and lubricating it with her juices, I slowly inserted it into her cunt, which gripped it; she gave a great moan.

'Fuck, fuck, Danegyth, have you acquired a cock? Yes, yes, fuck me, harder harder.'

Encouraged, I did just that, realising that its ribbed form was having an effect as I slid it in and out of her. My thumb strummed her bud. I could taste her juices as they flowed, and licked them from her thighs, as I fucked her with the spindle. She was gasping, thrusting herself like a wanton on the fake cock, gripping it, and moaning as it fucked her.

Of a sudden the roles were reversed. She melted for me as she did for Harold. As I thrust into her, making her gasp, I suddenly realised this was how she was with him, and there was a thrill in sharing that deepest secret. She had been my mother, my Lady, my Mistress, and now she was my wanton slut. I would be ALL she wanted, any time she wanted me.

Thrusting it deep and letting it stay, I leaned in and nibbled her bud. She climaxed, great waves passing through her, she shuddered, she moaned my name, she swore, and her cunt gripped the spindle tightly. This, she explained to me later, was how she made Harold cum, gripping his cock when she wanted his seed.

I kept it, and myself, down there as she rode her orgasm.

She looked down at me. She was red-faced and breathless.

'My kitten, you are the most loving girl anyone could have. What did I do to deserve you?'

Tears rose, I cried.

'Oh kitten, kitten, there there, I love you so.'

She kissed me.

'I taste nice, don't I, kitten?'

I smiled, wiping away a tear.

'Mistress, it is the nectar of the gods.'

Taking me by the hand, she guided me to her couch.

There, as the men celebrated long into the night the accession of King Harold, my Queen reigned in my heart, as she always has done and will until I breathe my last. We slept in each other's arms, long, peacefully and lovingly. But I knew the morrow would be the first day of a reign that would decide all our fates, and so when I woke in the early dawning to poke the fire, I sat there and pondered. But the only certainty was that I loved Ealdgyth.

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11 Comments
PixiehoffPixiehoffover 4 years agoAuthor
Germanchocolate

Glad that you are enjoying this so much 😊

germanchocolate4ugermanchocolate4uover 4 years ago

My my. Who knew that a spindle may have been the impetus for a dildo. Lol The plot thickens. Now if you will excuse me, the next installment awaits me.

PixiehoffPixiehoffover 4 years agoAuthor
Thank you so much Rebecca

Thank you, and I hope that you will enjoy the new series to come.

RebeccaERebeccaEover 4 years ago
Excellent again

Another excellent chapter. Enjoying this so much as you write so clearly and so well

PixiehoffPixiehoffover 4 years agoAuthor
thank you

Maonaigh - thank you so much - I have tried to keep the language appropriate, and hate cod-medieval

Lorelei - thank you so much for your continuing support, it means a lot.

Lorelei907Lorelei907over 4 years ago

Lovely story, Pixie! Keep ‘em coming :-)

PixiehoffPixiehoffover 4 years agoAuthor
Thank you all

G - thank you so much, you know how much your support means to me.

TS - I am loving your comments

Anonymous - thank you so much. There is more to come 😊

MaonaighMaonaighover 4 years ago
Double comment

For various reasons I missed yesterday's chapter so take this as a double comment. One of things I've admired about this story is the way in which the style of language used seems appropriate to the age and yet does not make the mistake of lapsing into cod mediaeval English (an error which has ruined many an historical novel). Keep up the splendid work, Pixie.

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