Stark
by Pan
Epilogue
The few months were a hazy erotic stupor for Merrida Frost. Each day, she would drift around, a happy smile on her face, gently humming. Every night, she had another of the bawdy, pleasurable dreams; they all revolved around that handsome young bard that she’d ousted from the castle, but in the dreams he wasn’t mad.
In the dreams, he was always happy to see her.
She knew that dreams had power, but she couldn’t see how they could possibly be harming anyone, and it wasn’t as if she had any control over them. Each night, she’d fall asleep almost before she even entered her quarters, and then she’d spend several hours dreaming of the bard taking her in every position imaginable.
It was just the frustration of missing her husband, she knew, but they felt so vivid, so realistic. She’d even started dreaming about acts she’d never partaken in; taking the bard’s thickness deep inside her ass, or sneaking a prostitute in from the winter town and sharing the bard with another woman.
He never seemed to tire of her, and she never tired of him. His cock seemed to bring endless pleasure, and her face lit up each and every time she saw it, felt it, tasted it…
She was midway through picturing its girth in her mouth, stretching out her cheeks, her tongue lazily running around the head, when her son approached.
“Mother, I bring news.”
“Mmm?” she said, struggling to bring herself back from the extremely pleasant daydream.
“The portal opened, just long enough to send a message. It said that Father will be back within the week.”
A strange mix of emotions entered Merrida’s heart as she processed the news. She should be elated, but a sense of dread and foreboding came across her instead.
“Mother?”
“Thank you, darling,” she said absently, and as Rin exited the room, he threw her a concerned glance.
That night, Merrida dreamed that she told the bard exactly what her son had told her. And in her dream, he reacted much the same way she had; a worried look crossed his face, and for the first time since he’d started appearing in her dreams, he didn’t seem interested in using her body for their mutual pleasure.
As he sat on the bed and looked thoughtful, Merrida dropped to her knees, taking his member in her mouth and gently sucking on it. For a moment she was worried that he’d bat her away, but he looked down at her gratefully.
Of course he did. It was her dream, after all.
Her mouth around his handsome cock seemed to be helping, and so she sucked earnestly as he thought. Just as he was about to cum, he pulled his hardness away and stood up.
“Come with me,” he said, and began getting dressed.
Merrida paused. Aside from the time she’d napped in the servant’s cot, her ertoic dreams had never taken place outside of the bedroom, and an unfamiliar feeling of reluctance was beginning to grow inside her.
She was considering waking up when the bard noticed her hesitation, and quickly brought his flute to his lips. A new song emerged: a commanding anthem, and before she could even question what was happening, Merrida had slipped on her nightgown and followed the bard into the empty hallway, not even pausing to fasten her buttons.
The song was loud and powerful, and Merrida was unsurprised to hear others in the castle waking up at the sound. The melody shifted slightly, and an element of fear entered the tune; as they passed through the many halls of Frost’s Keep, the bedroom doors remained closed, and they continued to be alone.
Merrida stood in the snow, barely clothed and shivering. The bard had gone to fetch a horse, which puzzled her. Why would she dream that he needed to fetch a horse; why wouldn’t she just dream a horse where it needed to be? Why was she so cold, and why had she dreamed that they stopped by the vaults and taken a hefty portion of her husband’s hidden silver?
Before she could formulate an answer to any of her questions, the bard returned, his hands above his head, a sword at his back.
“Rin!”
Merrida leapt forward. She didn’t understand why she’d dreamed her son with a sword, or why her subconscious felt that the bard deserved to have it pointed at him. She was cold and confused, and nothing seemed to be making sense.
“Mother!”
Rin turned at the sound of his mother’s voice, and then goggled at the sight of her nudity. She hadn’t tied the front of her nightgown, and so as she ran towards him her breasts, her skin, her thatch of hair were all on display.
This moment of distraction was all the bard needed, and he leapt forward, away from his captor. Before Rin could make chase, he started whistling—a new tune, soft and threatening.
“Put the sword down, Rin,” Merrida said firmly. She suddenly understood everything—the dream was a test. Her subconscious was testing to see if she could maintain control of her family, if Rin’s newfound independence would tear them apart, or whether she could use her words to keep them all together.
“But mother, the bard…”
“Now,” she snapped, stepping forward. Rin had started looking around for the bard, but he’d somehow disappeared into the flurry of snow. The soft whistling told her that he was still there, but she didn’t know where; nor did she care.
The dream was about her son. He was growing into a man, but he needed to understand that he still obeyed his mother.
“Mother, he’s done something to you.”
“I told you to put the sword down.”
She was standing directly in front of him now, and without breaking eye contact, she grabbed the hilt and moved the sword until its cold blade was against her naked flesh.
Rin paused, his eyes filled with fear and doubt. It soon became clear that she wasn’t going to back down, and so he gently let go of the sword, and allowed his mother to take the handle.
It was beginning to snow again, and Merrida had lost all feeling in her legs, but for several minutes she stood, pointing the sword towards her son, without even a flash of weakness crossing her face. It wasn’t until the bard returned, riding one of her husband’s finest thoroughbreds that she moved, taking a step backwards and letting him pull her up onto the horse.
Merrida dropped the sword and turned away from her son as the bard began urging the horse out of the castle gates. As he did, he began to whistle once more; a firm, loving tune. It filled her with warmth, and soon she was smiling, able to feel her toes once more, happy at the turn the dream had taken.
As they left Frost’s Keep and started heading south, the bard moved one hand down between her legs, and his mouth to her neck. Merrida moaned with joy.
She hoped she never awoke from this glorious dream.