I'm working on a Conan x Reader story.
Do you want to live forever? Those were, in essence, Valeria's last words to Conan; appearing as a Valkyrie, she traded her life for his, honorably so. He knew she had made it to his coveted Valhalla, though he knew her god – or gods – not. Crom had looked upon her kindly for her fortitude and vagabond cheer; and so she was not laughed at or scorned upon death but instead assumed, becoming one with the fighting spirit. This Conan knew. Some things were uncertain; others, stolen; but Valeria's glorification was earned. He had seen it firsthand.
Nonetheless, Conan, who did not – would not – cry for her, as is not the Cimmerian way – felt a sincere and honest ache somewhere in his person. Not on, indeed, but
in. To live forever in the fighting heaven of Valhalla would be euphoria. But he was on Earth, and mortal, and while he was quite fine with that, enjoying the fruits of life and a great zeal for its rich though fleeting pleasures, he vied for the prospect of living forever, becoming one of the greats who fought with gusto for the remainder of the sunsetless days. But how, especially while still mortal? How might this great warrior defeat the notion of obstacle itself and conquer inopportunity, forge his own path to immorality to join his beloved? It was true: chroniclers and scribes allowed for such a phenomenon to occur among civilized men, especially among the monarchy, by writing and drawing and painting their figures, sketching stories larger than lives to remain eternal and last through the eons. It was only that Conan was uncivilized – he had no wish to become the opposite, either – and this presented a slight conundrum for the Cimmerian. He would like his name carried through time. If the weight of his glory and honor could complement his strength and fervor, such would elate him.
In the back of his mind, such remained: the desire to live forever, not only in Valhalla but on the tongues and in the hearts of men, to elongate the lives of his people and his intended cut short; indeed, this, but also life, too, for Valeria. Death to the world – he knew his time would come to pass, yes – life for Valeria. So perhaps he could live forever, even metaphorically, alongside her; he could live out his paradisical days on the heavenly battlefield hip-to-hip with his queen of thieves while suckling the sweet nectar of remembrance on the good earth. Yes, Conan would live forever; and so would she.
Nothing was out of the barbarian's grasp. He would take the world by the throat and make it give him what he desired.
He did not foresee the manner in which this would come to fall.
—
Well-versed in language, more out of adolescent boredom and engagement than intrigue or scholarly desire, the Cimmerian read the note in his hand once more, its origin far from him in every sense: the script poised, feminine, and graceful, the tone polite and restrained, carrying a plea from the distant yet approachable – for what wasn't, for the great Conan! – land of Tirol, somewhere in the midlands, the highlands, if considered by slope, of larger Europa, itself only a little foot dangling off of Eurasia's westmost; larger than Goryeo and Twae-jo, themselves topographically tiny as well, which nursed Eurasia's eastmost connections as peninsulas. Conan had seen and done so himself in the company of its fine courtesans. Now this, though, presented an entirely new opportunity.
…he has taken the land and all its resources for his own, Noam has; and his alliances are for the sake of the illusion of prestige instead of the actualization of power. He has slain all of my family but himself and sent for the heads of all who oppose him, save for mine, which he intends to douse in white and make a bride of, before consuming my body in like fashion. His hunger is boundless, his greed endless; I weep not for my fate, but for that of my people, lacking someone in experience and education in the matter of rulership. I do not wish to hold the orb and scepter myself! Oh, no! I wish to only see this through and to find a proper monarch in place of the evil, Noam, and the aloof, myself. Please, oust him, and assist me with this manner, you, Conan, who I have heard only rumor of but admire the good name and skill of…
The brute laughed. Politics! What hilarity. To involve himself in manufactured civilization and in manmade buffoonery would be an insult to himself – to Crom, and, of course, to the memory of the quick and reckless thief of his heart, Valeria.
However, a true adventurer is not one to turn down an escapade; to drink from the goblet of a life well lived is to taste all its proffered flavors, even if some are better suited to be spitted out. Eat! Drink! Be merry, and try! Gulp with gusto, swallow with vigor! O taste of the works of the earth as well as human hands! And freely and decidedly eject that which you, yourself, reject; but first, sample.
Let me know whatcha think!
That's great work!
your imagery is amazing
