Chapter Text
Will woke, pain in his back, arms and legs, to a gentle rocking. His head felt fuzzy and the light of the dawn hurt his eyes. He heard, all around him, the sound of water, the creaking of wood. His head was tilted up and his neck craned. The grey clouded sky engulfing his whole vision. He groaned and tried to lift his hands to his head, only to find them bound across his lap.
"Monk, you are awake," a rough, strangely accented voice said.
Will tried to lift his head and groaned again.
"Do not move, my friend," the voice said. "I can tell you are hurting. Here."
A cup was presented to his lips and cool water, gently poured into his dry mouth. A dark head appeared above him, features shadowed by the sun behind him. Will could not make out the man's features, but he was large, and his voice deep.
As he drank eagerly from the man's cup, Will closed his eyes. Flashes of light, angry, fearful red and orange--fire, he remembered--echoed across his vision, in his mind.
"No, oh no," he whispered, pushing the cup away. Will opened his eyes and saw the man who had taken him.
"Good morning, my friend," the man--the monster--said.
The northmen had come to his monastery in the night. Will had been sleeping on his pallet, woken by shouting in the distance and screams, pounding at the door. They were in the sanctuary, someone said. They were everywhere.
The door burst open, wood splinters flying. Will scrambled across his bed, pressing himself against the wall. A tall warrior, fierce and strong, and carrying an axe, ducked into the low room. He was shouldering a heavy bag--spoils from the sanctuary. There was blood on his hands and his weapon and across his chest.
He blinked at Will. Will stood frozen and stared into his eyes. They were an amber brown and they did not seem angry. As he looked, Will knew--as he had known the brutality of his father, the selfishness of his mother, the faithlessness of their priest, who had sent him away from his village to work and die in this place--that this giant northman would not kill him.
Will blinked and lifted his chin, then cried out, unable to believe that he was wrong, as the warrior surged forward and something heavy came down upon his head.
Will looked about himself now. They were on a small boat. The warrior had been rowing, but now they drifted. They were not far from the shore, heading north. The sack of treasures from the monastery was been tossed haphazardly at Will's feet, which were also bound. Will looked up, squinting from his aching head, and asked him. "Why?"
The northman smiled. "You were not afraid, little monk. I thought it was interesting. So, you will come with me."
The warrior's hair was long and braided, with waving strands flying away around his hairline. He was painted all over his bare skin, of which there was much. But the black paint had become wet from the sea spray and the blood and so the patterns had begun to drip, almost as though the circles and swirls were weeping. There was black around his eyes, which were streaked as well.
His face was like a flat plain, his cheekbones high and his eyes set deep. He looked thoughtful, for the most part, as he rowed them further north. He kept his eyes on the horizon, but he smiled when he looked over at Will and saw himself being studied.
"We will meet my Jarl and his men at the appointed place," he said. "So your king cannot follow." He tilted his head when Will gave no indication he'd heard or understood. He added, "I am Hannibal."
Will still did not speak, but nor did he look away from his captor.
"What do they call you, monk?"
Will turned away, gazing back over the land from which he'd soon be spirited. His head pained him still, so he leaned it on his elbow, which he propped up against the side of the boat. He felt Hannibal's eyes on him, but still, he fell asleep.
Will woke again to sounds of speaking, growling voices gradually increasing in volume. He didn't understand the language, but was now familiar with the tone and lilt of his captor's voice. He raised his head, from the bottom of the boat, where he'd slumped while drowsing, to see Hannibal scoop up the sack of treasure from the monastery and thrust it at a dark-skinned man with a shaved head. He was broad shouldered and tall, but not so tall as Hannibal. He looked angry and wary as he took the sack. He peered into it, then looked back at Hannibal, then over to Will.
He pointed at Will and said something short and clipped. A question, Will thought.
Hannibal answered in one word.
The other man raised his brows, but shrugged and walked away.
"I have given him all of my spoils from this raid, so that he will not claim you."
Will stared at him blankly.
Hannibal did not seem deterred, as he continued, "You should thank me, monk. Had you gone with the Jarl he would have let his warriors do as they please with you."
Will frowned. He peered at his captor, searching, trying to see him in the deep way he could often see others. Somehow, he could not. "You will not do as you please?"
"I will. But what I please is not rape."
Will shuddered. He did not thank Hannibal. Hannibal did not seem upset. He leaned forward and low into the rowboat, knife in hand, and cut the ropes free of Will's ankles.
"Come," Hannibal said. "We sail back to Danish lands on the high tide."
And sail they did. Hannibal led Will onto his Jarl's ship, tucking him into a corner among the treasure claimed by the Jarl and his men. Will pulled his knees to his chest, wrapping his bound hands around them, among the golden crosses and silver cups and reliquaries of his holy order.
He watched the warriors sail their ship, talk and laugh among themselves. And he saw one, a thin man with hunted, shifting eyes, watching him. Hannibal was somewhere helping to sail the ship, but this one, the one who watched Will, was a guard of some kind. He stood near the treasure, but he did not look out across the ship for anyone approaching. He only looked at Will.
Later in the day on their first day at sea, Hannibal brought Will some bread and a cup of water. The guard moved away from them, but still stared.
"He will not hurt you. If he tries, he will answer to me," Hannibal said, following the guard with his eyes. He had washed his face of the dark paint. He looked more a man than a monster now.
"He doesn't want to hurt me," Will replied as he chewed the stone-stale bread. "He is angry because of me, but not violent. There is...an inequity he feels--"
"I don't know that word," Hannibal said sourly.
Will glanced at him, surprised. He had thought the warrior fluent in his tongue. "Something is unfair to him. He will call you out. He covets the favor you have been given by taking me." Hannibal frowned again, so he amended, "He wants it. To be able to steal a slave."
Hannibal watched Will carefully. "There is a rule. The spoils were given to the Jarl for breaking it. He cannot take a slave because he cannot buy so much of the Jarl's favor.” Hannibal’s expression turned questioning. “How do you know this about this man? I know you cannot understand our tongue."
Will bit his lip. He should never have said anything. What did he owe Hannibal? He could never seem to keep his mouth shut when his mind told him these things. "I understand the body. How thoughts become movement and expression. I...just know."
Hannibal frowned. "You knew I would not kill you in your sleeping place," he said slowly.
"Yes," Will answered, closing his eyes.
Hannibal let out a slow breath, then nodded. "You will tell me if his movements speak more knowledge to you." He stood and went back to his place among the sailors.
Will turned away from the guard. He did not want to help Hannibal any more than he already had.
Hours later, when the sun was setting, Hannibal returned with more bread and, this time, a cup of ale. Will ate because he was hungry, but did not look at his captor. Hannibal sat with him, watching the guard, who had over the intervening hours begun to look even more angry and mutinous.
Will was busy soaking his rock-hard bread in the ale when he felt a wide, warm palm move across the back of his neck. He flinched. His bound hands fumbled with his cup, which spilled at his feet. Will looked up at Hannibal fearfully. Hannibal's expression was calm, almost remote, as he continued to hold Will by the neck. He raised his fingers and brushed them through the tangled curls that hung in front of Will's brow, twisting them slightly, smoothing them down and out of his eyes.
"You hide your sharp eyes," he said almost thoughtfully. Will's breath caught. "You must use them for me now. Shall I cut this away?" he asked still fingering Will's hair. "Or will you lift your head and look?"
Will did not answer. His breath felt heavy in his mouth. His body, which had been struck with pain and exhaustion for so much of his life, felt a strange heat, like a fever that did not ache.
Hannibal pressed his grip at the back of Will's neck, then relaxed, and Will's whole body seemed to pulse with it. Hannibal smiled. Will could only watch him and burn.
"You may think, when I am away from you, that you should not listen to me. That we should not be friends. You are wrong. I am the only friend that you will have here." As he spoke, Hannibal continued to grip Will's neck, then relax, over and over, until it was like a caress. Will whimpered and Hannibal watched his face impassively. "You are starved for touch, little one. I know of your God and the laws of his servants. I have met men like you before. They were slaves as well and they fought their masters. They do not live now. It is my wish that you think upon these words and upon the touch of my hands. I can be a good friend to you. Or, you can die never knowing the things I can teach you."
Hannibal glanced away and Will's eyes followed his to the guard skulking in the corner. When Hannibal turned back to Will, he smiled and put his hand--keeping the same grip on Will's neck as before--into Will's lap. Will's mouth fell open in a soundless cry. Hannibal covered Will's mouth with his own, pressing their lips together and moving his mouth as though he wished to devour Will whole. Will burned still and his cock grew hard, even harder as Hannibal took his hand away to stroke Will's cheek. Will's body was so warm that it seemed to melt into Hannibal. His blood pulsed and his hips jerked with it. He moved his mouth against Hannibal's without thought.
As soon as he gave himself over, Hannibal pulled away, smiling softly at the weak cries that spilled from Will's sinful mouth. He stroked Will's face with both hands now and said, "There are many things that I can teach you."
Will shuddered. He had grown to adulthood with the expectation, and eventually a well-developed pride in the idea, that no one would ever touch him in such a way. But his body shook now with a want that he had never before experienced. He did not know that anything could feel that way. It was horrible and wonderful. He blinked back tears.
"Hush," Hannibal said and pressed his lips to the corner of Will's eye, as though he wanted to taste the salt of his despair. "Thank you, little one. You have been very helpful."
Will lifted his eyes to Hannibal, who was not looking back to where the guard no longer leaned.
"Y-you," Will tried to speak, finding it hard to catch his breath. "You used me to spur him to confront you." Will frowned, trying to understand.
"Think it through," Hannibal said.
Will bristled and scowled at him. He hurt so much. He was still hot and angry and he'd--he'd sinned with this monster of a man. He'd wanted the sin of their bodies together. Will cast his eyes down the long ship. "There are only twenty men here," he said. Earlier in the day, the men had been rowing to increase their speed, but now they were all resting, drinking their ale and eating their food. "Fewer, I think, to hear his complaints than on land."
"Very good," Hannibal said. Will couldn't look at him. He did not want this man's praise. "We have another day until we reach home. You should sleep."
"I don't think I will be able to," Will replied. He turned his head to look out across the dark water. He felt heavy, but his mind was whirling. He should pray, but he did not want to with Hannibal there.
Abruptly, Hannibal left. Will curled around himself again and thought he might turn his mind inward, when Hannibal reappeared with the cup Will had dropped, now full to the brim again with ale.
He handed it to Will, who took it gingerly in both hands. Hannibal leveled his gaze at Will. "This is my share," he said.
Will's brows shot up.
He moved to hand the cup back, but Hannibal stilled him. "Do not refuse this gift," he said and Will found that he could not. He drank the ale, which tasted sweeter over the bitterness that he'd tasted before, in several long gulps. He could not help but give Hannibal a weak smile as he handed the empty cup back.
"Very good, little one," Hannibal said. "I think now you will sleep."
Will frowned, confused by his certainty, head fuzzy. He was tired now, he realized. Maybe he would sleep. Hannibal patted his knee and smiled. Will swayed and mumbled, accusing, "Your drug works fast."
"I can't understand you," Hannibal replied, unconcerned. He caught Will as he slumped forward and spent several moments longer than necessary arranging him among the pile of treasure, wrapping him in a large fur blanket that Will had seen him use as a cloak at the monastery. Will's eyes were heavy, but he fought the drug, which felt more powerful every moment. He thought, vaguely, Hannibal must not want him to see the fight he would have, or wanted him to be a prop, a lifeless thing, not a man with a will and thoughts of his own.
"No prize," he slurred, trying to get up and failing with the slightest pressure from Hannibal's too warm hands. "Man...soul, Han'bal."
Hannibal smiled. "Fair point, little one. But my brothers do not care and you will sleep now anyway. Sleep," he said and stroked Will's head, tangling his fingers in Will's hair. "Sleep."
Will did.