Princess Gisela’s Acceptance (2020)

Princess Gisela’s Acceptance (2020)

A fanfiction written by Ariyana Stories.

Alfred pulled back the leather blackout curtains covering his window and peered out. Rays of sun cascaded through the usual steel-grey clouds and illuminated the fields and woodlands below, moving slowly across the landscape as though searching for something. Finches and sparrows twittered from afar, and quiet echoes of hurried shuffling about the castle mumbled through his door.

A maid scuttled across the courtyard with a basket of bread and meat, drawing his attention. From a room in the opposite wing he could make out the shape of a woman, unfamiliar to him, but intriguing. He hadn’t been informed of any guests. Trying to figure out who she was he simply watched. She was far enough away that it wasn’t likely that she’d notice him, and he couldn’t particularly make out any details about her other than the colour of her hair, her stature, and the fact that she was nude. He should have commissioned the wings to be closer to one another.

He quickly wrapped himself up in his clothes and made his way to the chapel to find Æthelstan, who was already going about his business for the day.

“Æthelstan, it seems we have a visitor.” Alfred begun. Æthelstan hadn’t seen him coming and was a little taken aback but had meant to inform his king as soon as he’d seen him anyway.

“Ah, good morning your highness. Not quite a visitor, but a noble dignitary who has been rescued from the Norsemen. One Princess Gisela West Francia, daughter of King Charles.” The monk replied.

“I would see her. Bring her to me.” Alfred answered, and so Æthelstan soon returned with her by his side. Before him stood a lithe, meek woman with long mousey brown hair and the weathered face of somebody who’s fallen on hard times of late, juxta positioned with the unmistakable stance and aura of somebody highborn.

She greeted him with a curtsy.

“Well met, your highness.” Her accent was thick and dripping with French sounding syllables.

“Well met. I understand you were rescued from the Norse?”

“Oui. My father wishes me to be wed to the Norseman Rollo. He and Ragnar took me against my will and holed me up in Jorvik.” Gisela replied quietly.

Alfred knew the trappings of religious fervour and what that would mean for everyone. A marriage between the Normans and the Norse would mean the end for Wessex and Mercia; an England either divided by the French and Norse or occupied by a monarch that combined the traits of both. It would mean the obliteration of Anglo Saxon England. For her personally, it would mean betrothal to an ideological enemy; a soulless Pagan who hadn’t found God. A contemptable position for her, and an outright disgrace in the eyes of those who would otherwise have respect for her.

“And you do not wish this to come to pass. I understand. In which case, I welcome you here and offer you succour.” Alfred took her hand and held his other over it to comfort her and instil within her trust that he would have her best interests at heart. Through the murmurs and mutters at court she had heard tales of Alfred and his deeds, stories of a wise and fair man and so far, he was living up to his reputation.

“I believe she is entitled to a weregild.” Æthelstan interjected. Ordinarily this would require murder or injury, but would also apply to other crimes given the right circumstances.

“A weregild?” she questioned.

“A price paid to a victim, in lieu of a blood price. The guilty parties here would be your Father and the two Norsemen who took you captive.” Alfred answered her.

“He is my father no longer. I do not wish to renounce my claims, but I wish to renounce him.” She answered. “I do not seek gold but I do seek a new home, a new king. I am not some breeding sow to be married off to a soulless beast! I am a princess of the blood, not a whore.”

Alfred stroked his beard, staring her up and down as he thought.

“Perhaps I could adopt you into my family. I doubt Pope Anastasius would allow you to be wed into our family without your father’s permission, but this could provide an avenue to your escape.”

She seemed to approve of the idea. “In truth? I will do as you ask.”

“I swear it. If this is what you wish, I would ask a simple task of you to prove your fortitude in this decision and your submission to me.”

Submission? As princess of West Francia, she didn’t feel the need to submit to anyone.

“A kiss, for Æthelstan.” Alfred ordered.

She hadn’t expected that, nor did she particularly want to. She eyed him up, but didn’t particularly like the idea of forcibly kissing somebody lowbown.

“… This I will not do.”

“If you want this, you will submit to me.” Alfred answered, striding in and closing the space between them. Without a second’s notice he grabbed her by the back of the neck and stared into her eyes for a second – surprise and fear stared back at him.

He bent her down and raised his spare hand, striking her peachy rear firmly with a ripe slap. Æthelstan tried to hide a smile as he watched.

“You will submit and do as I ask.” Alfred continued, raising his hand again after pulling down her slacks. He was met with silence.

Again, he struck her – harder this time. Still, he was greeted with no reply. Repeatedly he spanked her until even his hand was sore, her buttocks red and burning hot.

“Alright! Enough! I yield!” she finally cried out, able to take no more. There was little other choice, after all, and even a princess has her limits.

“Good.” Alfred smirked, finally releasing her. “Then I shall make the arrangements.”

“So, ah… does this mean that you’ll be my new father? Can I call you Daddy?”

He chuckled a little at this and blushed. He’d not been called that before. Æthelstan smirked openly, holding back a laugh at this turn of events.

They spent the rest of the day showing her around the castle and the surrounding village, and after the sun retreated beyond the horizon returned to her chambers within the castle.

She clambered into her new bed, with Alfred by her side. When she was in he pulled the duvet over her and tucked it under her body tightly to make sure she would be warm and comfortable beneath it. She seemed calm, now, knowing that she would have a new family here away from those that would seek to use her for their own gains.

Alfred sat by her bed and waited for her to fall asleep, stroking her hair softly and listening to her breathing as it slowed into a subtle breathy snore. Slowly, quietly, he stood up and leaned over to place his lips upon her forehead.

“You shall be known here as Gebirah. Welcome to the family – sleep well. You’ve got a busy day ahead of you.”

My name is Martine and I am writing my PhD about the Cyborg Mermaid. On this website, you’ll find blogs about autism, cyborgs, fan fiction, King Alfred of Wessex, mermaids, music & musicology, martial arts, (neuro)psychology, video games, and random nerdiness.

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