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RiskAulfr watched her thrash with growing unease at her growing terror and hysteria. He had to tighten his grip several times, but she didn't come close to getting a single limb lose- and his stomach knotted at her reaction. He knew, then, that he may be a monster, he may kill or murder, force others' hands with blackmail and threats, but not violate and truly, truly destroy.
And his unease disappeared with a rise of comprehension, of understanding at why she was acting so. The position was perfect for... less than honorable people to have their way, especially on the girls who were already small and petite. But that was the thing- he was honorable. A monster, maybe, one that'd step on anyone who got in his way, but not one that'd go out of his way to cause needless pain. Oberjarls stayed in power based on ability to govern- if he tried to oppress his own, he'd quickly end up strung up by a rope.
He let her go, leaning back to watch her slowly curl inward, trying to turn her back towards him. He rolled off the bed, letting her be free, but she didn't jump up and attack him, like he half-expected her to. No, she actually was breaking, right now.
A very special fire burned in him at that moment- one that he wanted to unleash on those who would do such a thing. Not even the Oberjarl could rape a citizen without major punishment, and likely being removed from his position. Unless they were slaves- no one cared about slaves, and the lowest of servants were generally considered more akin to slaves than citizens.
Refusing to admit to even himself that he felt genuinely bad about setting her off in such a way- though his nose hurt like hell (he quickly popped it back into place with some amount of tears and pain)- he slid an arm under her shoulders and knees, lifting up the sobbing wreck of an assassin. He doubted a bed would be a pleasant place for her, right now. So he sat down in his best chair, the one that the woman he was holding called her sewing chair, and sat her in his lap. He wrapped an arm around her, and reached up to stroke the woman's night-black hair.
Whispering reassurances in her ear, he rocked her slightly, trying to remember how his mother had comforted him, in the few years he had with her. The mere thought of the only person that showed him genuine care in his life made his heart drop; normally, he'd shove it aside and replace it with hardness. But no one was visiting; he had a reputation that still lasted. They wouldn't enter unless told to, or dire news was at hand.
So he hugged her a little tighter, stroked her hair a bit gentler, and rocked her a little more caring, as tears pricked his own eyes. Even when he was feeling vulnerable, he suddenly found that he couldn't let it out; this was the best he could do. The thought sobered him, as he tried to comfort the scarred disowned bastard that had found herself in his care.
And his unease disappeared with a rise of comprehension, of understanding at why she was acting so. The position was perfect for... less than honorable people to have their way, especially on the girls who were already small and petite. But that was the thing- he was honorable. A monster, maybe, one that'd step on anyone who got in his way, but not one that'd go out of his way to cause needless pain. Oberjarls stayed in power based on ability to govern- if he tried to oppress his own, he'd quickly end up strung up by a rope.
He let her go, leaning back to watch her slowly curl inward, trying to turn her back towards him. He rolled off the bed, letting her be free, but she didn't jump up and attack him, like he half-expected her to. No, she actually was breaking, right now.
A very special fire burned in him at that moment- one that he wanted to unleash on those who would do such a thing. Not even the Oberjarl could rape a citizen without major punishment, and likely being removed from his position. Unless they were slaves- no one cared about slaves, and the lowest of servants were generally considered more akin to slaves than citizens.
Refusing to admit to even himself that he felt genuinely bad about setting her off in such a way- though his nose hurt like hell (he quickly popped it back into place with some amount of tears and pain)- he slid an arm under her shoulders and knees, lifting up the sobbing wreck of an assassin. He doubted a bed would be a pleasant place for her, right now. So he sat down in his best chair, the one that the woman he was holding called her sewing chair, and sat her in his lap. He wrapped an arm around her, and reached up to stroke the woman's night-black hair.
Whispering reassurances in her ear, he rocked her slightly, trying to remember how his mother had comforted him, in the few years he had with her. The mere thought of the only person that showed him genuine care in his life made his heart drop; normally, he'd shove it aside and replace it with hardness. But no one was visiting; he had a reputation that still lasted. They wouldn't enter unless told to, or dire news was at hand.
So he hugged her a little tighter, stroked her hair a bit gentler, and rocked her a little more caring, as tears pricked his own eyes. Even when he was feeling vulnerable, he suddenly found that he couldn't let it out; this was the best he could do. The thought sobered him, as he tried to comfort the scarred disowned bastard that had found herself in his care.