#Finan/original character | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

foxyanon · 8 months ago

Text

The Vampiress and The Dane: Part 2

Summary: Sihtric and Corvina talk, but will they move past the hurt of the past?

Notes: The long awaited part 2, this went wildly different than what I had originally intended but I am happy with what came out.

Pairing: Sihtric Kjartansson x Corvina

Word Count: 4117

Rating: 18+, Minors DNI

TW: Older woman/younger man dynamic, monsterfucking, fingering, oral (f receiving), p in v sex, blood sucking, blood play, no beta we die like Wihtger

Part 1

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters from The Last Kingdom nor do I own any of the images used.

Dividers by @arcielee and @saradika-graphics

When Sihtric found his way back to his friends, they immediately noticed his sour mood and decided to press him about it, his temper be damned. All of them had seen the way he practically sprinted off the battlefield with an injured Corvina in his arms, but they didn’t know what happened after. He really wasn’t in the mood for them, but Uhtred gave him that stare and Sihtric knew he was about to hear it from them.

“How is she?” Uhtred asked simply, deciding to ease into the dressing down that was for sure headed Sihtric’s way from the three of them.

Sihtric clenched his jaw and breathed heavily through his nose before responding tersely. “She will live, as you well know. It was just a silver dagger, nothing she hasn’t dealt with before. Damn hunters must have slipped in with the rest of Wihtger’s men. Thankfully it was just the two on the field and both are dead now.”

Osferth, the former baby monk turned lordling, looked between all present before looking back at Uhtred and speaking. “You don’t think any of those hunters made their way into our ranks, do you, Lord? Corvina isn’t going to be threatened while she remains here, is she?”

Sihtric knew Osferth had a soft spot for Corvina, especially after she helped defend Rumcofa from Aethelhelm’s men which ultimately prevented his death. While he hadn’t been there personally, Uhtred later told them that she had her people scouting the lands after hearing some very concerning rumors from some powerful people. It was sheer luck she happened to be in the area when the attack happened, quickly eliminating Bresal and the others. Sihtric remembered when they met back up with Finan and Osferth later, the two telling them that she had dispatched a clean up crew and was following another lead. Not long afterwards, Aethelhelm was delivered, bound and gagged to Uhtred’s camp by her most trusted captain, a big surly man named Leonidas, a former king of Sparta. Apparently, Aethelhelm was wanted for the death of his own daughter and King Edward's second wife, Queen Aelflaed. Justice was served quickly that day.

“No, but we should do a sweep of the camp. Check for any new faces and keep an eye out for those little amulets the hunters wear,” Uhtred said, before looking back at Sihtric. “As for you, what is with this look? What happened between you two?”

Sihtric looked at the ground and sighed heavily, knowing this was inevitable. He looked back up into the waiting men’s faces before admitting what he did both just now and last night. He spoke the truth, fully accepting responsibility for the hurtful things he said to Corvina. When he finished speaking, the silence was almost too much for him, the sudden urge to crawl out of his skin becoming more tempting as the seconds ticked by. Finan broke it first thankfully, because Uhtred looked downright livid and even Osferth had a disappointed look on his face.

“You are one foolish man. Vina is a good and kind lady, a bloody Queen amongst her people, and yet you can’tu even get yer head out of yer arse long enough to even thank her!” Finan threw his hands up and muttered under his breath in Gaelic, likely cursing Sihtric for being an idiot.

Uhtred took a deep breath before speaking, anger and disappointment etched onto his features. “Sihtric, we have been friends for a long time now. You have been a loyal friend to me, but today you have shamed me. Corvina has been my friend since I was a young man, has been our friend for many years. She has sheltered and aided us, never asking for anything but our company in return and yet you have treated her worse than she ever deserved. All for what, your inability to accept who she is?”

That stung, but it was warranted. Sihtric had behaved abhorrently, and had been on and off with his feelings surrounding Corvina for far too long. Frankly, he wouldn’t blame her if she never spoke to him again. He looked back at his feet, feeling like a chastised boy again in front of his friends. Uhtred sighed heavily before running a hand down his face and speaking again.

“We will discuss this later, Sihtric. For now, we need to check the camp for potential hunters and actually get into the castle. This is a time for celebration for our victory, I intend to enjoy it,” Uhtred says with a nod before turning and walking away, barking orders at some of his men to sweep the battlefield one last time.

Sihtric inhales slowly before turning to Finan and Osferth, both men shaking their head but slapping him on the back before they too leave. It was clear on Sihtric’s face that he already felt like shit and they weren't going to pile on any further. At least, not right now.

After officially confirming Wihtger’s death with a hasty burial and actually getting into the castle for Uhtred to fully reclaim his ancestral home, night had fallen and the celebrations were in full swing. It wasn’t a grand feast, since those take more time to prepare than they had and Uhtred knew Northumbria was already dealing with the aftermath of the battle and Wihtger’s devastating rule. Corvina had already promised aid to ease the transition, saying she would reach out to her family around the world to get trade started back up in the land. Thankfully, the battle occurred before King Constantin was planned to arrive which meant that Uhtred had time to figure out how to deal with the Scots and ultimately King Edward before claims to land caused further tension.

Uhtred had given a speech on the steps leading into the castle, giving thanks to everyone for their support and encouragement to make this happen. He made sure he raised a mug to Corvina, thanking her for her unwavering support and belief in him over the years, cracking a joke about how he wouldn’t be here if she hadn’t saved his ass from some rogue werewolf that nearly got him when he was younger and more handsome. She laughed and raised her goblet of wine in response, accepting his kind words with a simple nod of her head before everyone went to eating, drinking and telling stories of the years past.

As the night wore on, Sihtric saw Corvina standing off to the side of the great hall, her wine in hand while she spoke with Aethelstan and Young Uhtred, both boys likely asking her about her long and colorful past. He took that moment to really look at her, noticing the way she traded her armor for a black dress with red angel wing sleeves, the beading on the sleeves and neckline more elaborate than anything he’s ever seen before. Her hair was freed of its braid and hanging loose, the kinks from the braid causing her brown locks to tumble down her back and shoulders in uneven waves. Sihtric takes note of how beautiful she looks tonight, her pale face radiant and her crimson eyes alight with joy, despite the darkness that lies within her. It occurs to him that perhaps this is what true beauty looks like – a combination of light and shadows, both equally important in creating a stunning whole.

How could he have ever doubted his feelings for her? How foolish has he been to allow fear and prejudice to keep him chained away from her side? He prays to any god that will listen that she will forgive him, that she might let him spend whatever time he has left in this life making it up to her. He is a proud man and would never do degrading things for anyone, but for her? He will beg and grovel to the ends of the earth for just a glimpse of her smile. That revelation brought with it the realization that he was deeply and truly in love with her.

Almost as if she read his mind, her eyes found his across the room and suddenly all the air left his lungs. He grips the mug in his hand a little tighter before looking away after a moment, taking a long swig of ale to calm his nerves. He wasn’t sure what to make of this discovery, part of him elated to have finally put a name on the feelings he’s had for so long and the other reeling from the idea that he loved a creature of the night. Then the guilt for his harsh words and unnecessary behavior towards her came back and he swallowed down more ale to wash the horrible taste of regret out of his mouth.

After taking a few steadying breaths, he looked over to where she had been standing and found Corvina was no longer there. His eyes scanned the room searching for her, confusion setting in when he couldn’t find her.

”She is out on the ramparts,” the calm voice of Young Uhtred came from beside Sihtric, startling him momentarily before he looked over at the boy. There was kindness in his eyes, the young bishop giving him an encouraging smile as if to let the warrior know that everything would be alright. No more words needed to be said, and Sihtric gave him a quick nod before weaving through the crowd, making his way towards the door that led outside as he left his empty mug on a passing table.

He found Corvina standing along the wall overlooking the sea, the sounds of the waves crashing into the rocks below a soothing melody. The wind blew gently, causing the few torches to flicker wildly as they cast a warm glow on her pale skin and her hair to blow around her shoulders. He walked up beside her, casting a quick glance at her beautiful face before looking out to sea. He struggled to find the words to start, fidgeting with his fingers and the weapons at his side before Corvina blissfully spoke first.

”It had been some time since I smelled pure joy permeating a room like tonight, as deceit and jealousy oft make homes in the people at feasts like this. As much as I missed it, I did not feel in the mood to celebrate with the others,” her voice was clear, but there was a hint of sorrow lacing her words.

Sihtric leaned forward and gripped the wooden posts of the outer wall tightly between his hands, taking a deep breath and speaking in a low voice. “I wanted to say-“

”Save your breath, Sihtric. I have no interest in anything you have to say at all,” she cut him off, giving him a hard stare.

Anger flared up beneath his skin, causing him to snap back at her. “Will you let me say my piece before you write me off for good? I am trying to apologize to you,” Sihtric ground out, facing her and clenching his hands tightly to rein in his emotions.

Corvina scoffed at him, her arms crossed across her chest as she glared at him. “Why should I even believe you, let alone hear you out? You made your feelings about me quite clear and I see no reason to continue with this conversation,” she poked his chest harshly, driving home her point.

”You know nothing about my feelings, Corvina, so do not pretend you do,” he growled down at her, his nostrils flaring as anger and desire war within him. She’s standing just a foot away, the faint scent of blood on her mouth mingling with the salty sea air.

“Enlighten me then, because clearly you cannot show emotion in any reasonable way,” Corvina snarled, fury dancing in her red eyes as she met his glare unflinchingly.

”You drive me to madness, woman! I do not know what it is about you that draws me in and causes me to lose all reason. It is like…every time you are near I cannot think straight and when you are gone, I cannot breathe. I am-“ he stopped abruptly, catching himself before he confessed his feelings but she wasn’t having any of that.

”Say it,” she challenged.

Sihtric took a breath and looked away briefly, his shoulders drooping slightly as he whispered. “I am in love with you, Corvina.”

”And there it is, the crux of the issue. You love me and it irks you, does it not?” she asked angrily, refusing to back down from this confrontation.

“Yes! Because I wanted a wife and family-“ he starts but she cuts him off again.

”You had that with Sidgeflaed before the divorce,” Corvina said incredulously and threw her hands up, aggravated with the Dane. “By the gods-“

”She was not you!” He shouted at her, breathing heavy as the air between them tensed further. He continued when she blinked up at him, a little taken back. “Sidgeflaed was not you, Corvina. I wanted it all, but I wanted it with you,” he reached out to brush a flyaway out of her face but stopped himself, his hand falling back to his side.

There was a beat of silence before Corvina spoke again, this time much quieter. ”Sihtric, you know that…” she trailed off, not needing to say that she couldn’t have given him that. Marriage, yes, but children? That could never be, despite her wanting it at one time many years ago. A drawback of vampirism was being barren, even if it pained her to admit it.

He sighed, looking back out towards the black ocean as he spoke softly. “I know. I know and it kills me inside, because I wanted to know the feeling of waking upside beside you in the morning and seeing the sun play off your hair as we walked along the river. I wanted to live a bright life with you, but you are cursed to live yours in the dark,” he turns back to her, regret clear in his eyes. “I am truly sorry, Corvina. I know my apology is not nearly enough to make up for everything I have said and done over the years, but it is genuine.”

”I do not view my existence as cursed, you know. How could I? I have lived a long time, yes, but I have truly lived. I have loved and lost, learned and seen fascinating things. I have had the pleasure of watching humanity change and evolve from primitive to modern. You see my lack of mortality as a curse, I see it as a blessing, and I wish you would see it that way too,” she spoke softly, looking directly into his eyes as she silently willed him to listen for once.

After watching him grapple with her words quietly, she licked her lips, running her hands along the front of her skirts as she collected the rest of her thoughts. There was always the suspicion that Sihtric’s feeling ran deeper than fleeting lust, that scent having lingered on his skin in the past clueing her into his unspoken thoughts, but to hear him admit it? That was something else entirely. In truth, she had wanted him in some selfish way, finding him to be a fascinating man with an intoxicating scent. Corvina wasn’t one to usually feel envy, but the day she learned he married his ex-wife, the bitter taste in her mouth had been overwhelming. Everything after just seemed to confuse her further, his hot and cold mentality giving her whiplash. No better time than now to set it right, life was a fleeting thing after all.

Looking back at him with a perplexed expression, she asked the question that came to mind. “I have to ask, why did you never tell me, Sihtric? I had always suspected, but humans are so…contradictory with their own emotions and you never really know what one’s intentions are.”

Sihtric chuckled and shook his head, his voice coming out amused. “Like you said, I cannot show emotion in any reasonable way. And just between us, I was scared. These feelings…they are so intense and I did not know how to handle it, gods I still do not. I meant it when I said you drive me to madness, because there is no other word to describe the all-encompassing feeling of being when I am with you. This does not excuse my behavior, and I should have done better for you. If you give me a chance, I will beg for your forgiveness and spend every night I have left making it up to you.”

A half-grin and a giggle was the response he received from Corvina before she started walking back towards the castle and called out over her shoulder. “Well then, let’s see how pretty you beg, warrior,” she laughed, the sound causing the hairs on Sihtric’s arms to stand on end. He followed after her quickly, his mind running wild with less than innocent thoughts and the memory of their heavy conversation floating to the back of his mind.

He thought she was beautiful before, but he knew with certainty that she was beyond magnificent now. The moment they made it to her room, she made him actually get on his knees and beg for her forgiveness for quite a long while. As embarrassing as it was at first, Sihtric found himself doing it all almost without hesitation for that pretty smile she gave him. His reward for his act? Fulfilling one fantasy he had wanted for so long. She let him taste her.

At first, her skin was cold and caused his own to tingle wherever they made contact, but he soon started to crave that cool feeling as he heated up, his lips placing reverent kisses along her inner thighs as he pushed her dress up to her hips and exposed her core to his gaze. His mouth literally watered and he had to take several breaks to calm down, wanting to savor this moment as long as he could. The moment his lips made contact with her folds, he audibly groaned at the slightly sweet taste and buried his face further between her thighs. His large hands gripped her legs, placing them over his shoulders as he feasted on her, spurred on by the sounds she made and the way her fingers scratched at his scalp as she pulled his dark hair. He refused to let her squirm away, shifting one arm over her hips and sliding two fingers inside, searching for that sweet spot that had her back arching off the bed and hissing in pleasure.

He nearly finished in his trousers when Corvina came on his tongue, the lewd sounds of his mouth on her while he brought her down causing him to twitch uncomfortably against the leather. Sihtric whined when she pushed his head away from her, but before he could protest, she pulled his face to hers and kissed him with such ferocity that his complaints died on his tongue as she swallowed it. Nothing about it was gentle, the tips of her fangs scraping along his lower lip and their teeth clashing against the others. Hands pulled at laces and straps, their clothes and his weapons finding new homes on the floor as everything was spoken in actions rather than words. He shivered again, both from the air in the room and the feel of her skin against his.

Corvina laid back on the bed and he wasted no time crawling over her, kissing up her pale body and paying special attention to the scars that told her story haphazardly across her skin. Hooking her leg over his hip, he lined up with her entrance and pressed forward slowly, groaning at the way she took him as if she was always meant to. His mismatched eyes locked on her crimson ones, his hips moving slowly and deeply at first as he pulled the most beautiful noises from the vampire beneath him. Muttered praises fell from her lips, her hands cupping his face tenderly before she whispered against his lips to go faster. He complied readily, the guttural groan Corvina made echoing off the stone walls of her chambers. He felt her nails digging into the skin of his back harshly, but the pain was nothing compared to the feeling of seeing her start to lose control.

With a wicked grin and insane strength, she flipped the both of them over, Sihtric letting out a soft gasp as his back was suddenly against the mattress and she looked down at him with the most enticing expression he’d ever seen on her face. The change in position had him deeper than before and she moaned loudly as she rode him hard and fast, the two of them rapidly approaching their climaxes as their hips snapped against each other, finding a rhythm as Sihtric’s hands grasped at her hips and sides. Without missing a beat, Corvina leaned forward and kissed his pulse point, a silent request to let her bite him as her hand came up to cradle the back of his head tenderly, a stark contrast to the rough way they took the other. He breathed his consent in her ear and leaned his head back against the bed to give her better access, the responding rumble that escaped her throat vibrating through his entire being deliciously.

When her teeth pierced her skin, Sihtric swore he blacked out from the intensity of the feelings. Pain at first, then pleasure he had never before experienced flooded his veins and he came violently, his body shaking and twitching as she held him down to prevent wasting his life force. She moaned at the addicting taste, following after him into ecstasy and her walls clamping down on him as the warmth of his spend filled her womb. She released his neck with a wet pop after one final swallow, running her tongue along the wound to clean up the thin line of blood that trickled free. As she started to sit back, Sihtric reached up with a trembling hand to cup her cheek, his eyes following the movement of her tongue along her lips to grab any lingering blood around her mouth. He spotted a bit she missed on the corner of her mouth and he pulled her down to him, his tongue darting out as he licked it clean, the metallic taste of his own blood causing both their pupils to dilate at the act. A breath passed before their lips clashed again, causing desire to burn hot once again.

They laid in bed some time later, having had their fill of each other for the moment. Corvina was pressed against Sihtric’s side, the coolness of her skin something he found soothing now that the initial shock had subsided. His fingers danced along her side, her head resting on his chest as her arm was draped across his waist. Their breathing had long since settled, the post coital bliss having yet to release them from its hold. His mind wandered with questions of what if and what next, his mouth refusing to let him break the intimate silence first.

”I can hear you thinking, you know. Speak your mind,” Corvina asked in an amused tone.

”Where do we go from here? What does this make us?” He met her questions with his own, looking down at her as she turned her head to look up at him. Fear of her rejection came crawling back into his mind, the need to know the answer holding him in place.

”What do you want this to be?” She responded, resting her chin on his chest as she gave him a small smile. She was willing to move past all the anger from the past, knowing that he was a man of his word and he would make it up to her. Besides, he was not the worst man she had ever dealt with, Sihtric was a far cry better than egotistical Julius.

He took a deep breath, mulling over her question before landing on an answer. “I want us to be together, but could we maybe…start over? No lingering animosity, just two people wanting to be?”

Corvina sat up and smiled down at him, offering her hand and speaking in a sweet voice. “My name is Corvina. What is your name, warrior?”

He chuckled and kissed the back of her hand, his lips lingering against her pale skin. “I am called Sihtric,” he responded in his low voice, feeling the start of something new take root in his mind.

Tag List: @sihtricfedaraaahvicius @mrsarnasdelicious @bouncehousedemons @gemini-mama @whitedarkmoonflower @synintheraven @zaldritzosrose @alexagirlie @fallingintoyourlilaceyes

#sihtric kjartansson #Sihtric x vampire!OC #sihtric #vampire!oc

40 notes · View notes

humanpurposes · 1 year ago

Text

From Eden

Chapter 2: Some part of me came alive

Danes attack Wincombe Abbey and a young novice crosses paths with a group of mercenaries and their Baby Monk // Series Masterlist // Main Masterlist

Osferth x Original Female Character

Warnings: 18+, suggestive themes, religious guilt, pathetic yearning

Words: 3400

A/n: I did not spellcheck the names. Also available to read on AO3.

Since joining Lord Uhtred, Osferth had seen enough of the back of his horse’s head to make him sick. They moved constantly, never settling anywhere for long. So he savoured each stop, and every night he spent in a bed rather than a forest floor or a field, he made sure to express his gratitude in his prayers.

Only the ride from Wincombe was anything but dull. The girl from the abbey, Bridget, was rather impossible to ignore, pressed tightly against his back and shrouding his cloak around his shoulders to keep them both warm.

He slowed the horse once they had caught up with the rest of the group. She settled then, holding her hands on his shoulders, turning her head and resting her temple at the base of his neck through the thick material of his tunic. A thrill ran down his spine, one he hardly allowed himself to feel.

The snow was starting to settle now, crunching under the hooves of the horses. The sky was overcast with grey clouds, yet the world seemed so bright. Bridget marvelled at the sight of the land beyond the abbey, letting out breathless little gasps at hills and woodlands.

“When was the last time you were this far from the abbey?” Osferth asked, turning over his shoulder a little.

Her wide eyes glanced up at him before she lifted her head. He suddenly felt cold with the absence.

“I haven’t been beyond the woods in over a decade,” she said, her voice was light, finding its place between wonder and sadness.

He had much been the same, hardly venturing from the walls of the minster in Winchester, until he decided to seek out Lord Uhtred.

“Is that how long you have been at the abbey?” he asked.

“Yes,” is all she said. He had half expected a tale of her life, of her mother and father, but she simply sighed and looked ahead, peering over his shoulder to the others riding in front of them.

He told her of their company, of Lord Uhtred, a man born to a Northumbrian Lord and raised by Danes, hoping to reclaim his home. He told her how he had found himself tied to other matters. He was a warrior, a loyal servant and friend of King Alfred, but most recently he had become intent on his pursuit of the seer, Skade.

“What is his interest in her?” Bridget asked.

Osferth tutted to himself. Uhtred’s obsession with Skade had brought them nothing but misfortune and death thus far. “He believes himself to be cursed.”

“And do you believe that?”

“She is of the devil,” he said, “sent to tempt the hearts of men. That is all I care to know of it.”

And yet Uhtred remained intent on finding her.

As they rode on, he told her of the other men, Finan, the Irishman, and Shitric, the Dane, the greatest and the bravest warriors he had ever known– save for his Lord, of course.

“And what of you?” she asked.

“What do you mean?”

She nodded ahead. “Uhtred of Bebbanburg, Finan the Irishman and Shitric the Dane. Where do you come from?”

He frowned and suddenly his cross felt heavier around his neck. He had been left to the monastery with no name, no title, just the weight of his father’s sins. “I am simply Osferth,” he said.

“That can’t be true,” Bridget said. “What was it Finan called you? Baby Monk?”

His body went rigid. God, he hated that name, even more so now that she had said it.

She chuckled softly. “That makes you something,” she said.

He doubted she would soon forget the topic. “I was born in Winchester,” he said with a reluctant sigh.

“And how did you come to serve Lord Uhtred?”

“My uncle said he was a great man. I sought him out, to join him.”

“So you do have a family?”

Hardly. He had few memories of Leofric, even less of his mother.

One of Bridget’s hands slipped from his shoulder, resting against his arm. “I can stay silent if you’d prefer, seeing as you’re so intent on remaining mysterious,” she said.

“No– no,” he insisted as he cleared the tight feeling in his throat. “My life is anything but mysterious, I assure you.”

“A simple man, formerly of the cloth,” she mused.

He sounded painfully dull with the way she put it, but what was the alternative? Bastard… coward… boy.

“I suppose so,” he muttered.

As the sun slipped below the hills and night crept into the sky, Lady Aethelflaed at last decided they would make camp for the night, despite Uhtred’s determination to press on to Saltwic.

They found cover under a grove of trees where they could tie the horses, gather firewood and seek some shelter from the snow.

Osferth dismounted first, swinging his leg over the horse’s head before he turned back to Bridget. She braced herself on his shoulders as he put his hands on her waist and guided her down. Perhaps the fall was further than she anticipated; her hands tightened their grip on his shoulders and she took a sharp breath before her feet touched the ground.

“Are you alright?” Osferth asked.

“Yes, of course,” she mumbled. Her eyes flittered between his face and the ground. He had an awful feeling he had done something wrong and quickly released his hands from her.

He made quick work of unloading the canvas, bedroll and furs from his horse before he went about his usual duties, building the fire, beginning on the broth to feed the men. Bridget stood restlessly, fiddling with her hands in front of her skirts, reaching for her hair to fix a habit she no longer wore. He watched her in the corner of his eye as he worked, and gestured for her to join him by the fire once the flames came alive.

She still had his cloak on her and when she moved to take it off he stopped her. She smiled in thanks and pulled it back over her shoulders.

Even then she was unsettled. Her head turned everywhere, watching Uhtred setting up a tent for himself and Lady Aethelflaed, Finan and Shitric as they sharpened their swords and poured themselves cups of ale.

“Your first night away from the abbey,” Osferth said and bit his tongue immediately after. It was a rather obvious thing to point out.

She cautiously eyed the other men around them, setting up their own beds and fires.

“You needn’t fear them,” Osferth said. “They will not harm you.”

As she turned towards him, her eyes and skin caught the light of the fire. In that moment she was golden and radiant, the very image of the angels he praised in his prayers. Suddenly his mouth felt dry– perhaps he needed a drink of ale.

She smiled softly. “I am not afraid, Osferth.”

His eyes were drawn to her lips and her teeth as she said it. He had never known his own name to sound so pleasant.

Lord Uhtred appeared from the tent to fetch a bowl of broth for Lady Aethelflaed, before he, Finan and Shitric joined them by the fire to eat and drink.

Finan handed Bridget a cup of ale. “The more you drink the easier it is to fall asleep,” he said, “you’ll need it with the cold.”

She winced at the first sip but laughed it off with the others. “Stronger than I’m used to,” she said.

“Does she have a bed?” said Uhtred.

“She’ll have mine,” Osferth said without hesitation.

Finan and Shitric shared an amused look. Bridget tilted her head at him. There was that strange feeling in his stomach again, like he’d done something wrong.

“I’ll just sleep on the ground,” he clarified.

The fire kept them warm enough for an hour or so, but as the night grew darker it brought heavier snow and wind, nipping at the bare bits of Osferth’s skin, his face and fingertips. Without his cloak he felt the cold seeping through to his very bones.

He was as quiet as usual, while Finan and Sihtric reminisced back on battles and nights spent in alehouses. Bridget watched them with wide eyes and wonder.

He hardly noticed Lord Uhtred’s departure and subsequent return with a bedroll, dropping it at his feet.

“Lord?”

“You’ll sleep better with it,” Uhtred said. “Now retire, all of you, we leave at first light.”

Osferth pointed Bridget towards the tent he had set up and told her to use as many furs as she needed.

Once he had taken the broth pot from the fire and gathered Lord Uhtred’s bedroll, he made towards the tent. Until a firm hand stopped him by his shoulder.

“You’re a better man than I, Baby Monk,” Finan muttered into his ear with an audible grin. “I’d have her sharing my bed.”

He brushed Finan’s hand away and clenched his jaw to stop himself smiling.

Was he truly being that obvious? He wanted to think that he wasn’t, but with every step he took towards the tent, the more he thought of her, lying on his bedroll, wrapped in his cloak and his furs to keep out the cold, the more he began to doubt himself.

She only caught his attention back at Wincombe when she approached him in the hall– the girl from the woods who had directed them towards the abbey. She seemed curious, fascinated at the prospect of him having left his order in Winchester, and when Haesten had attacked, she had acted courageously in spite of her fear. Heaven above, she had killed one of the men, which was one more than he could claim from his first battle.

He was acting by the guidance of the Lord, he told himself, in offering her his care and protection. He intended to honour his word.

He was glad to be out of the snowfall and under the canvas. His cloak had been left on the branch of a tree, hanging within the tent, and Bridget had settled on the bedroll, huddling in a single layer of fur. He could see her shivering.

He laid out Lord Uhtred’s bedroll, in what small space he had. He fastened the cloak around himself, leaving his boots and his gloves on as he settled. It was too cold for anything less.

Bridget was on her side and facing him, fur pulled up to her chin, eyes squeezed shut, teeth chattering and lips trembling as she let out shaky, icy breaths.

Even as the snores of the other men sounded from the other tents, she was still shivering.

He whispered her name, and she responded with a short “hmm.”

“You’re cold,” he said.

She opened her eyes. “Finan’s trick with the ale didn’t work,” she grumbled.

He smiled. “Don’t trust everything Finan tells you.”

She angled her brows in a helpless expression and smiled back.

An idea crossed his mind, one that would have Finan grinning like a devil, but he couldn’t just leave her to the cold. He adjusted the fur around him and held it out.

“May I?” he asked at the questioning frown on Bridget’s face.

She shuffled closer to him, dragging the fur with her as she settled herself under his arm and against his chest.

Osferth brought the fur around her, pulling her in a little closer, her head fitting perfectly under his chin. He felt the gentle force of her breath against the collar of his cloak, leaving his skin feeling deprived of her.

She fell asleep quickly. A subtle feeling of pride swelled in his chest, but sleep did not come as easily to him. He could hardly rest, he had to make sure the furs were wrapped around her, that his arm wasn’t pressing in too harshly to her body, but that his hold was firm enough to keep her warm.

And then there were her little hums and heavy breaths. They were soft sounds, unobtrusive, soothing in a way, and his heart leapt at each one.

He tried to think of the last time he had been this close to someone. He and Finan and Shitric had found themselves in uncomfortably close proximity, finding sleep where they could on their travels. Having Bridget by his side, nestled against him, her face delicately fallen and a picture of peace in his embrace, was entirely different.

He let his hand trace over the curve of her waist and settle against her back. He liked the feel of her under his touch, their breaths moving together, her body pressed against his.

But what was it the holy book preached? The mind governed by the flesh is death, but the mind governed by the Spirit is life and peace.

He clenched his jaw and tucked the edge of the fur under his hand so his palm would not touch her, not directly at least.

Bridget insisted she was used to rising early, especially after she had slept so well– a detail which had earnt Osferth a smug look from Finan, which he met with another frown.

The mind governed by the flesh is death.

He recited those words in his head over and over again, as he helped Bridget into the saddle, as she put her hands around his waist, as her hips gently rocked against him with the movement of the horse, but he kept his head high and his hands tight on the reins.

It took a matter of hours to reach Saltwic. The men were all glad to be under a roof with some more substantial food in their bellies; spit-roasted meat, bread and more than a few mouthfuls of ale.

Though before long, Osferth found himself being dragged out of the hall by his shoulders and Finan’s insistence that they should make use of their time to train.

Bridget was already waiting for them in the courtyard. She had shed her nun’s robes now, dressed in garments she must have been given by Lady Aethelflaed; a shirt, tunic and breeches. Modest, but he doubted her sisters at the abbey would approve. She wore them well.

By her side she held a sword, shorter and slimmer compared to the blades wielded by Lord Uhtred and his men. Osferth looked down at his own weapon, long and slight, made to match his body.

“Which would win in a fight, a Baby Monk or a Little Novice?” Finan said cherrily, striding between them.

Osferth and Bridget shared a look of confusion.

Finan held his arms out as though he were expecting an answer. “Let's find out, shall we?” Then he withdrew, leaving nothing but empty space and a few settled snowflakes between them.

Surely he did not mean for them to attack each other without even showing Bridget how to properly wield a sword. Not that Osferth was a well seasoned fighter himself. He had seen battle, but he often let himself fall into the background unless it was necessary.

Bridget had a fighter’s instincts at least. She had hardly hesitated to slay one of the attackers at Wincombe. He might have been dead if she hadn’t. With that he felt a little less guilt about taking a single step forward as he adjusted the grip on his sword.

She reacted sharply, like an animal to a hunter. In a heartbeat her posture had completely changed. She was poised, her eyes wide and alert, her feet in a fighting stance and her sword at her side.

It was easy to pick up on her movements, the little signs of instinct in every reaction. Finan had often told him this was a weak point of his, the inability to read his opponent, but with her, he was acutely aware of where she was putting her weight, where her eyes were looking, each little intake of breath as they stalked around each other.

When she moved first, he raised his blade to block her, then matched her again when she took a swing at his middle.

Their swords met with a ringing clash. The metal hissed as he drew his blade along hers until they fell apart.

His heart was racing and his breaths shallow. He was becoming impossibly warm under the weight of his robes and chainmail.

Bridget was poised again, a gleam in her eyes and a small smile playing in the corner of her mouth.

“The girl’s a natural,” Finan called, “she’s picking this up faster than you did, Baby Monk!”

Osferth meant to shoot his friend a glum glare until he saw a flash of movement, her hair and the wave of her sword. He looked back to Bridget in time to parry her strike, but not before she moved around him and delicately placed her blade on his shoulder, over his chainmail, close enough to his neck to affirm her victory.

She was close enough that he could feel her breath on his skin.

She smiled, proud of herself but without cruelty. It made his chest ache, not unpleasantly.

“Where did you learn to fight?” Finan asked.

A small part of Osferth died as she turned her eyes away from him. She lowered her sword and stepped away.

“I learnt a little from my brother,” she said.

“Good man himself,” Finan said, drawing his own blade and nodding for them to follow his lead as he brought them through a few stances.

“Yes,” she said softly, “yes he was.”

Osferth hardly let himself look upon her as they trained, unless Finan asked them to spar. They became less evenly matched each time they did so. He found himself slipping further and further into his own mind. Each time she smiled at him it awakened something bright and unnerving within him. He clasped at the memory of having her waist in his hand, her breath against his neck, her body pressed into his.

He excused himself once Finan decided they were done and decided to forgo the suggestion that they replenish themselves in the hall with more meat and ale.

He went to the chapel, tucked away in the corner of the estate within Lady Aethelflaed’s private apartments. It was far from the noise of the stables, the rowdiness of the hall, the heat creeping under his skin every time his eyes met Bridget’s.

The chapel was small, cold and dark, lit only by a collection of candles at the altar. He came to his knees on the stone floor before it, clutching his cross in his hands.

He asked for peace of mind, for clarity, for an answer.

Why her? Why had the Lord seen fit to guide them to Wincombe and urge her to join them? Why had his mind become so utterly consumed by her, not some lewd temptress of cruel intention or evil spirit, but a woman of beauty, warmth and courage? Perhaps it was a tempting of faith, a lure to sin and depravity.

“The mind governed by the flesh is death,” he whispered to himself, “but the mind governed by the Spirit is life and peace.”

A breeze blew through the chapel, ceasing when the door was quietly closed.

Osferth froze, stroking his thumb over his cross.

Soft footsteps moved against the flagstones until a figure stood at the altar. She was still in her training clothes, her hair flowing freely down her back. Most of her face was obscured in shadow, save for the edges of her cheek and her nose. He watched her hands as she lit a taper and brought it to the wick of a new candle.

She bowed her head in a silent prayer, the flames lighting the curve of her lips. She whispered something to herself but the words eluded him. He wondered what she might be praying for, if she felt the same turmoil as he did.

The room remained silent, save for the hum of the flames. Ordinarily he found peace in silence, but now it felt unbearable.

Bridget turned around, still bathed in darkness, an intangible vision, like a ghost, untouchable. The colour of her eyes were lost to darkness but he felt them boring into his.

She took a step closer to where he knelt. He held his cross a little tighter as traced the shape of her slightly parted lips, and felt a restless urge rising in his gut.

“What are you praying for, Osferth,” she said.

Without thinking he flexed his hand to regain some feeling in it. He might as well have been a lifeless entity otherwise.

The mind governed by the flesh is death.

“Strength,” he uttered, desperately keeping his eyes on her face, not the curves of her body and the belt cinching in her waist. “And courage also.”

Bridget suddenly retreated into herself. She kept her hands clasped in front of her and smiled. “I pray for that too.”

Tags (comment to be added to either)

General taglist: @randomdragonfires @jamespotterismydaddy @theoneeyedprince @tsujifreya @dreamsofoldvalyria

From Eden taglist: @greenowlfactif @tinykryptonitewerewolf @bellaisasleep @brianochka @doomwhathouwilt @sarahkimtae

#my fics #osferth x reader #osferth fanfiction #osferth fanfic #osferth smut #the last kingdom #tlk #seven kings must die #baby monk #osferth x oc #osferth x y/n #osferth x ofc #ewan mitchell

102 notes · View notes

icarusignite · 1 year ago

Note

Hey! I don't know if this is the proper format (still kind of new here) but I'm sending in this prompt for an Alfred × Reader fic. There's this idea for him that was stuck in my head a couple months ago. So…

It's set either S2 or S3 but it fits better in S3 or the break between 2 and 3. Alfred is really ill which isn't unusual for him, but this time he's taking a lot longer for him to heal and he's deteriorating more seriously than he normally would.

People in court start looking around for new healers and remedies. Alfred is also kind of desperate because he doesn't want to die before England is complete or Edward is ready to take over.

Reader, who is a healer, comes to court with the intention of helping Alfred. She's neither Dane nor Saxon, if you're comfortable with it she could be of Asian or African origin/descent (eg Father Benedict in S5). She's either Muslim or Christian, either way she's well read and a bit of a scholar (if you've seen Vikings: Valhalla S2, there's a female character that might ring a bell). She's also able to reassure him, like Iseult, that she's treating him with nature's bounty and nothing sinister.

Because she's a scholar (also maybe a Christian), Alfred is comfortable that she's not practicing witchcraft so this helps him accept her more easily. It also helps them bond and they become really close friends over the course of the months she spends treating him. They have fun banter and he's able to feel like Alfred, the man around her instead of King Alfred. Then he realizes that he has feelings for her.

At this point it could go any way really. Does Aelswith factor into it much or not? Does reader reciprocate his feelings or not? If she does, would she be comfortable giving into them and being a mistress? Is Aelswith even in the picture or is this a slight AU? Do they have a sad, happy or bittersweet ending? Idk

For extra spice, Reader could also be good friends with Uhtred or Finan which makes Alfred a little jealous but also sad because he thinks that she'd probably prefer the charming, handsome, potentially single, strapping man to whatever measly affection he could offer her.

Ideally, it would be fluff or smut but whatever you're comfortable writing is fine! Sorry if this is too long but I wanted to be as clear as possible 😅. I also understand if this is too much for a oneshot and you forego the idea entirely

Alfred the great x POC! Fem! Reader

Word Count: 4.6k

A/N: Heyy, so sorry this took literally eons to finally write. Thank you for your lovely request and also thank u for your patience <3 Hope you enjoy what I've done with your idea, and dw this will have another part where I'll explore their chemistry more. I watched a bunch of Alfred edits to get in the mood and ngl I'm lowkey in love with him now lmfao.

Disclaimer: there might be some (a lot) historical discrepancies because I didn't line up the dates exactly but I did find out that the Golden Age of Islam overlapped significantly with the dates that the last kingdom spans so the reader is a prominent scholar from Baghdad. Also, Aelswith is dead (I'm sorry T_T) cuz I don't love a cheating trope even when it is sort of historically accurate. So we have single dad Alfred lol.

The only heaven I'll be sent to is when I'm alone with you

Entering King Alfred's throne room, your senses were immediately awakened by the unfamiliar sights, sounds, and scents of Wessex. The room itself was a stark contrast to the opulent palaces and grand courts of Baghdad that you were accustomed to. The room was spacious, yet its decoration was surprisingly humble and simple, adorned with rough-hewn wooden beams and modest tapestries that depicted various scenes of English myths and prominent events. With a flash of triumph, you found that you recognized some of them from your studies of the English culture. A faint scent of burning wood from the hearth permeated the air with an earthy aroma.

You observed the nobles in attendance, or the ealdormen as they were called here, their attire markedly different from the splendid silks and jewels of Baghdad's court. Here, the people wore simpler garments made of sturdy wool and linen, in the dark colours of the earth as opposed to the the vibrant clothing the people of your home favoured.

Your gaze then turned to the throne itself. It was a robust wooden chair, its design austere yet imposing, lacking the grandeur of the magnificent thrones you had imagined English kings liked to occupy. King Alfred's regal figure atop the throne created a dignified presence. His clothing, matched the style of his ealdormen, long simple robes of a dull grey. The seat next to him was empty and you briefly wondered about his family. The chronicles you had read stated that a king's wife usually took her place beside him when he held court, but you did not know much of Alfred's wife.

Your fingers itched for your writing instruments, yearning to document all your observations and the happenings of the court. You seldom went anywhere without them, but now they remained tucked away in your satchel as you waited for the king to acknowledge your presence. You knew he had seen you enter, his eyes briefly meeting yours, even as he conversed with his ealdormen. Eventually, your thoughts began to wander and you couldn't help but reflect on the stark contrast between the scorching heat of Baghdad and the chilly bite of autumn in Wessex. your flowing linen tunic and trousers, so comfortable in the sweltering desert of your homeland, felt inadequate against the cold English air that seeped through the cracks in the stone walls.

You discreetly rubbed your tingling fingertips together, trying to generate some warmth, as the fire blazing at the hearth did little to banish the chill that had settled in your bones. Your longing for the warmth of the caliphate's sun was keenly felt in this unfamiliar and frigid environment.

Impatience welled up within you as you glanced around the chamber, noting the courtiers' stoic expressions and hushed conversations. The king's deliberations seemed to stretch on endlessly, and you found yourself yearning for the moment when you could finally present your credentials and seek the audience you had travelled so far to obtain.

King Alfred's voice finally called out your name, his voice echoing through the chamber.

"Esteemed lady, I welcome you to the court of Wessex."

The ealdormen, accustomed to the formalities of their court, were taken aback when you did not bow or curtsy as was expected. Instead, you offered a polite smile and tipped your head in a gesture of respect.

A murmur of surprise and disapproval rippled through the assembled courtiers. Some whispered that your behaviour was disrespectful, a breach of protocol. They exchanged curious glances, wondering how their king would react to this departure from tradition.

However, King Alfred took no offence. With a gracious nod, he signalled for you to speak.

"Thank you, your grace. It is an honour to be here."

Your accent was soft, lending your words a foreign intonation, and each syllable was carefully enunciated. You had spent months learning the language, and you weren't about to embarrass yourself now by messing up your pronunciation.

"I extend my deepest gratitude to you for undertaking such a long and arduous journey at my request. I hope the discomfort of the voyage did not prove too taxing."

"Your Majesty," you replied, "it was a journey of great honour for me, and I hope to make myself useful here."

King Alfred nodded appreciatively and then turned to a servant standing nearby.

"Please, ensure that the lady is provided with comfortable quarters and all the amenities she may require during your stay in Wessex."

The servant bowed in acknowledgment and stepped forward to escort you to your residence within the royal palace. You thanked the king once more for his hospitality and assistance before following the servant out of the chamber.

As you left the throne room, your observant nature couldn't help but take note of King Alfred's condition. Despite his attempt to appear at ease in his chair, you had perceived the subtle signs of discomfort. His favouring of his left side, indicating pain or injury to his right, and the unusually pallid complexion for an Englishman raised concerns in your scholarly mind. That was your purpose, after all, to try to diagnose and hopefully cure the ailing monarch.

Just when you were gone, the noblemen of King Alfred's court wasted no time in flocking around him, their curiosity piqued by the arrival of the enigmatic woman. They bombarded the king with questions and voiced their concerns about the unfamiliar customs you had displayed.

One nobleman, his voice dripping with skepticism, remarked, "Your Majesty, did you see that? She didn't bow or curtsy as she should have! It's as if she has no respect for you."

Another, eyeing your unusual attire and complexion, chimed in, "And her clothing, Your Grace! It's unlike anything I've ever seen in Wessex. She's clearly not from anywhere near England. What could she possibly want here?"

The murmurs of disapproval and suspicion spread among the courtiers, as they exchanged perplexed glances. To them, your arrival was an anomaly, and your behaviour had raised eyebrows and questions.

King Alfred, his countenance calm and measured, raised a hand to quell the growing unease.

"I understand your concerns, but there is nothing to worry about" he began, addressing their concerns. "The lady you have just met is a prominent figure from Baghdad. She has travelled from a distant land to be here and she is not here to defy our traditions or customs. She is a scholar seeking to further her studies in Wessex. Her journey to our land is a great honour, as it reflects the recognition of the importance of our own intellectual pursuits."

His tone left no room for further skepticism. He also did not mention the other reason you were there, as he did not wish to reveal the truth of his declining health. As the nobles filtered out of the room, somewhat still unsatisfied by his answer, Alfred couldn't help but remain still, his mind going over the recent developments. When he had first written to the Abbasid Caliphate to request that he be allowed to host a medical scholar at his court, he had to admit he was not expecting a woman, and certainly not one so beautiful.

The next day, Alfred summoned you to his private chambers for a consultation regarding his health. As you entered the room, he couldn't help but notice the change in your attire. Gone was the flowing linen tunic and trousers, replaced by a sturdier, more practical woollen English dress. The deep blue gauzy veil, however, was still draped around your head and flowed down your back.

The English clothing seemed to complement you, accentuating your elegance in a way that was both unexpected and captivating. The king, not for the first time, found himself admiring you, though he kept such thoughts to himself, mindful of the formal context of your meeting.

You, ever the professional scholar, maintained a polite and formal distance as you began your examination of the king. You inquired about his symptoms, listening attentively to his description of the pain and discomfort he had been experiencing. Your deep knowledge and keen medical insight were evident as you asked probing questions and conducted a thorough assessment.

After a careful evaluation, you began to discuss your observations and your initial diagnosis with the king. You explained your thoughts on the potential causes of his discomfort and suggested a course of treatment. King Alfred was grateful for your expertise, and couldn't help but be struck by your intellect. He had a thirst for knowledge himself and he appreciated the quality in others when he saw it. In you he recognized a passion for learning and documentation, one he held himself as well. After the medical examination, he extended an invitation to you to remain in his chambers and share a cup of tea. Initially hesitant, you eventually agreed, recognizing the value of the opportunity to engage in conversation with the English monarch.

Seated in the warmth of the chamber, Alfred began to share with you the rich history of England, its struggles, its triumphs, and its cultural tapestry. He spoke of the challenges of the Anglo-Saxon period, the battles against the Danes, and the enduring spirit of the English people. As he narrated the history of his land, Alfred couldn't help but notice how your eyes lit up with a deep fascination, even though you attempted to contain your enthusiasm. Your questions flowed naturally as you probed deeper into the history and culture of Wessex. You asked about the Anglo-Saxon kings, the legends and folklore, and the development of the English language.

You kept diligent notes in your little notebook, your hand swiftly capturing every detail of the conversation. Your keen intellect and insatiable thirst for knowledge were evident, and your genuine interest in Alfred's words warmed his heart. It had been quite a while since anyone had paid such rapt attention to what he was saying, and he found himself rejuvenated by your exchange.

As a lull settled over your conversation, Alfred's curiosity got the better of him. With a twinkle in his eye, he leaned forward and said, "My lady, I must admit, I'm quite curious about the contents of that notebook of yours. What sort of information have you been documenting to take back to your homeland?"

You smiled, your demeanour more relaxed than when you had first come in, "Your Majesty, you need not worry. I promise you, I haven't written that the English are fire-breathing trolls."

Alfred felt a grin tug at his lips, but he suppressed the urge, keeping his hands folded placidly over his stomach.

"Well, you know, if we English could breathe fire, we might have an easier time dealing with our enemies!"

"There is a trick that performers back home use, to give the illusion of breathing fire. The science behind it is quite fascinating. Perhaps I shall explain it to you sometime."

"Ah yes my lady, you have filled your book with our tales, but have yet to share yours. Do you have any secrets from the East that you'd like to share with us humble English folk?"

You couldn't help but smirk at his words, "I'm afraid some secrets are best left in the lands where they belong, your grace. We wouldn't want you to start brewing Persian tea incorrectly, now would we?"

"I doubt it can compete with our tried and trusted English tea."

"You only think that way because you haven't tried Persian tea yet. Trust me, once you have, there's no going back."

"I suppose you make a fair point! Although, I must admit, the thought of trying to decipher the intricacies of Arabic calligraphy is rather tempting."

You paused, your light-hearted nature urging you to make another joke but you strictly reminded yourself that you were in the presence of a king. It would do you no good to offend him with an ill-timed statement. You were already apprehensive about your earlier comment about the Persian tea, although you were grateful that he chose not to see it as a slight. As if sensing your hesitation, Alfred sat up in bed and leaned forward.

"You are free to speak my lady, do not hold yourself back on my account," he reassured with a wave of his hand.

Still, you settled for a polite smile, "I was just going to remark on the difficulty of calligraphy but I am certain that if anyone would be able to master it, it'd be you, Your Majesty."

A small furrow appeared between Alfred's brows as if that wasn't the answer he expected from you. He could see you pulling away, going back to your polite, almost cold professionalism. Eventually, he nodded thoughtfully at you.

"I would be ever so grateful if you could perhaps show me the technique someday, my lady."

You breathed a sigh of relief and nodded with a small smile.

"Now, about that notebook, if you would allow me to take a look?"

"Ah yes, of course," you handed over the small leatherbound journal to him quickly without further complaints. "But I must warn you, my handwriting isn't at its most legible."

Alfred accepted the notebook with a nod of appreciation. As he leafed through its pages, his eyes quickly fell upon your meticulously written notes. Your thoughts were inscribed in your native language and although he did not understand the words, your elegant looping script impressed him.

He raised an eyebrow and turned toward you expectantly, pointing toward a specific passage, "And what does this say right here?"

"It is a description of the English weather, your grace."

Alfred leaned closer, his finger tracing the inked lines on the page.

"Ah yes, English weather. It was raining when you first arrived, wasn't it? What do you think of our English rain then, my lady? I've heard it has a certain charm."

"Well, I believe your rain can be quite persuasive. It insists that one should stay indoors and read a good book."

Alfred's lips twitched again, fighting back a smile. It seemed that the new scholar shared his interests as well.

"A wise perspective, indeed. Perhaps our English rain is simply encouraging a literary lifestyle."

"Yes, your grace."

"My lady" he continued, a note of genuine admiration in his voice, "I must tell you, your handwriting is truly exquisite. Tell me, just how many languages have you learned."

You felt a blush creep into your cheeks at his compliment. There was something sincere in his eyes as he waited for your answer, looking at you like your accomplishments were the greatest thing in the world. You opened your mouth to respond but then a loud knock sounded on the door and a priest entered.

"Yes, Father Beocca," Alfred seemed irritated at the interruption.

Father Beocca's eyes glanced from you to the king, and despite the fact that you were sitting in a chair quite some distance away from him, you felt a strange flash of awkward embarrassment run through you.

"My king, Uhtred is here to see you," the priest finally stated.

Alfred sighed and turned toward you with an apologetic smile, "Shall we continue our conversation another time then, my lady? It seems that I am needed elsewhere."

"Yes, of course, your grace."

You quickly took your leave then, choosing to take one of your books and go read in the garden. You had just settled yourself into a comfortable nook when loud boisterous laughter caught your attention. Turning your gaze towards the source of the commotion, you spotted three men, two of whom were dressed in the attire of warriors. Their boisterous behaviour was evident as they playfully teased and shoved the third man, who was clad in robes that resembled those of Father Beocca. However, a leather breastplate adorned his monk's attire, hinting at a surprising duality of roles – priest and fighter.

The two warriors were engaged in a lively exchange with the monk, their laughter echoing through the garden. You couldn't help but smile as you watched the scene unfold. Their camaraderie and jesting reminded you of the Caliph's sons back home, when your father would take you to visit the palace.

One of the warriors, a bearded man with broad shoulders and a hearty laugh, clapped the monk on the back.

"Come now, Osferth," he said between chuckles, "surely your devotion to the Lord could use a bit of levity now and then."

The monk, Osferth, grinned in response, "Aye Finan, it is said that laughter is the best medicine, is it not?"

The other warrior, a lean and quick-witted fellow, joined in with a jest, "Well, if that's the case, Osferth, then Finan here will live to be a hundred and you shall die tomorrow!"

Osferth elbowed the tall man in the ribs, "Not before I knock some sense into you Sihtric."

Their jovial banter and good-natured teasing continued, creating a lively atmosphere in the serene garden. You couldn't help but be amused by their antics and the familiarity of their interactions, watching them for quite some time.

The trio of men eventually noticed your presence, and with their laughter dying down, they made their way over to you. As they approached, their expressions revealed a mixture of curiosity and surprise.

The broad-shouldered warrior, Finan, whose eyes twinkled with mischief, was the first to speak. "Well, what have we here?" he said with a grin. "A traveller from foreign shores, I presume?"

"Yes, I am from Baghdad, my lord."

The warrior, clearly taken with you, couldn't resist a flirtatious remark.

"Lady, I must say, you are a wondrous addition to our English garden."

You snorted at his attempt at flirtation.

Meanwhile, the monk with the leather breastplate maintained a more respectful demeanour.

"Greetings, lady, I am Osferth," he said with a nod. "It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. May I ask what brings you to our humble Wessex?"

You found the monk's polite curiosity quite refreshing.

"Greetings to you too, Osferth. I've come to further my studies here. Wessex has much to offer in terms of knowledge and history, and I hope to make the most of it."

"Well, my lady, if ever you wish to explore our English shores, I'd be delighted to be your guide," it was Finan who spoke again and you could not help but laugh at his words.

"Thank you, kind sir. Your offer is most gracious."

“Call me Finan, my lady.”

Your change continued as they asked more about you and your hometown and you asked about theirs. You found out that they were a band of warriors who followed some fellow named Uhtred, the very same Uhtred who was currently speaking to King Alfred. As the conversation flowed, you discovered that you enjoyed speaking with these men. Their witty banter and friendly demeanour made you feel at ease, despite the foreignness of your surroundings. You shared stories of your travels, your scholarly pursuits, and the cultural nuances of your homeland. The men, in turn, regaled you with tales of their own adventures.

As you continued to engage in playful banter with the warriors, you remained oblivious to the presence of King Alfred and Uhtred, who had ventured outside and were observing the lively exchange.

Eventually, with a confident stride, Uhtred made his way toward your group to make his introduction and Father Beocca approached the king with his concerns.

"Your Majesty," he began cautiously, "I must admit, I have reservations about entrusting your treatment to a foreigner, especially one from so distant a land. We must be cautious of witchcraft and unfamiliar practices."

King Alfred turned to Father Beocca, his expression thoughtful but resolute, "Father Beocca, I understand your concerns, but the lady is no ordinary foreigner. She hails from Baghdad, a city known for its innovative medical advancements and a center of learning in the Islamic world. She comes as one of their finest scholars, sent by the Caliph himself."

"I see, your grace."

"I have read extensively about the great Islamic civilization, and its contributions to science, medicine, and philosophy. I believe we have much to learn from her, not only about medicine but also about fostering understanding and collaboration between our cultures. They have succeeded in uniting several lands under one caliphate, so perhaps we might learn how we may unite England as well."

Father Beocca, though still cautious, nodded in understanding, "Your Majesty, I trust your judgment. It is my fervent hope that the lady's presence here will indeed lead to beneficial knowledge and that she will uphold the values of wisdom and compassion."

"Thank you, Father Beocca. Let us have faith in this unique opportunity for cultural exchange and enlightenment. Her presence is a bridge between worlds, and I believe it is a path toward a brighter future for Wessex."

Over the course of the next few months, you became familiar with the routines of the Wessex palace. King Alfred allowed you to shadow him throughout his day, believing that you could provide valuable insights into his own activities. It was a decision that would lead to a profound connection between the two of you.

Every day, you diligently prepared poultices and medications for the king’s ailments, and often you’d recite the recipe to him and explain the purpose of each herb and plant that went into it. He found that he trusted you completely but he was still comforted by your transparency and the efforts you took to explain things to him. Sometimes he would insist on accompanying you on walks and you would point out the various native English plants and their counterparts back home. You also documented the king's activities and observations in your notebook. At times, he would request to see your notebook, often just to admire the beauty of your script. He marvelled at the graceful lines of your writing, and the intricate calligraphy that adorned the pages.

Your interactions went beyond the formalities of your initial meeting. King Alfred, always eager to learn, would occasionally ask you to translate certain passages from your native language and over time, your bond grew stronger. King Alfred began to look forward to each day, eager to see your bright and colourful veil, a striking contrast to your plain English gowns. He would wonder which hue you would choose, and it became a delightful anticipation in his daily routine.

Your conversations transcended the realm of duty and scholarly pursuits. The two of you shared your favourite books, discussing the nuances of various works and debating the merits of different translations. Your insights challenged Alfred's own understanding, and he cherished these moments of intellectual stimulation.

As the days turned into weeks and then months, Alfred realized that you had become an important fixture in his life. your presence was a source of inspiration, a reminder of the power of knowledge, and a testament to the potential for understanding and collaboration between different cultures.

He found himself thinking of you when he was apart from you, reminiscing about how your eyes would dance with mirth as you argued with him about the inaccuracies of translated works, or how your laughter would fill the palace corridors. You had not only enriched his pursuit of knowledge but had also touched his heart, becoming a cherished friend and confidante in the process.

Alfred could still vividly recall the way you had looked at him with genuine wonder and appreciation when he had shown you his humble library. He knew that compared to the great libraries of Alexandria and Baghdad, his collection was modest, but you had delighted in it all the same. Your eyes, filled with curiosity and admiration, had swept over the numerous scrolls and manuscripts, taking in the wealth of knowledge contained within those walls.

In that moment, as you softly murmured your thanks, Alfred felt his breath catch. He was struck not only by the beauty of your physical presence but also by the grace with which you carried yourself and the genuine enthusiasm you displayed for learning. Your voice had a melodic quality that lingered in his memory. It was a voice that seemed to breathe life into the ancient texts that surrounded you and the king found himself quite enamoured with you. The two of you spent many a late night pouring over scrolls together, and although he always kept a respectful distance, Alfred found himself wanting to brush away the stray strands of hair that fell across your forehead, having escaped the tightly bound coil you usually kept your hair in.

Tonight was one such night as the dim light of the candle burned low, and after a lively discussion on herbal medicine, you had fallen asleep on one of the ancient manuscripts. Alfred, his mind still buzzing with the echoes of your conversation, fought against the pull of sleep. Instead, he watched you slumber, his heart filled with a mixture of admiration and tenderness.

In the soft candlelight of the library, you appeared even more enchanting. Your thick eyelashes brushed against your cheeks as you slept peacefully, your features serene. Your form rose and fell with each gentle breath, a rhythmic reminder of the tranquil cadence of sleep. Alfred couldn't help but be captivated by your beauty in this unburdened state. The play of shadows and light highlighted the delicate contours of your face, and the soft glow of the manuscripts around you lent an almost ethereal quality to the scene. You looked like a vision from a dream.

As he watched your slumber, a sudden, unexpected urge welled up within him. He was struck by the temptation to lean in and kiss you, but he quickly banished the traitorous thought. What an absurd thing for a king to do, to force his affections on a guest in his home. Especially when he had no way of knowing if you returned his feelings. He would have to content himself with the simple act of watching you sleep, his heart filled with a deep and unspoken longing.

He also found himself wondering if you were betrothed, for you couldn’t possibly be married and still be here. What man would not accompany you or let you out of his sight if you were his wife? Although you had discussed many things, you did not stray close to personal topics such as family. You were only a few years younger than him and surely you had to have someone in your life. And even if you didn’t, what could you possibly want with an ailing man like him when a woman as accomplished as you could have anyone in the world?

Such melancholy things plagued him as he eventually drifted asleep on the table across from you, his final thoughts fixating on what it might feel like to have your lips against his.

66 notes · View notes

popcorn1989 · 2 years ago

Note

Could you write one with Sihtric and the prompt “is that an order?”

Note: You didn't write me whether with Reader or another character, so I chose Reader. Hope you enjoy

Pairing: Sihtric x Reader

Summary: Always the same, when Uhtred got tired of you, you got on his nerves, or he just wanted to annoy you, he gave the order that Sihtric should not leave your side. It seemed like no matter where you went, he was there and not far away, mostly shoulder to shoulder. Sihtric mostly said orders are orders, with a sneer. You secretly knew that Uhtred and Sihtric knew how much you hated it. No matter what you do, you just can't get rid of him. And Sihtric made no secret of showing you that he enjoyed it.

Prompt List - here

Like today, Sihtric shouldn't leave your side, but he was tired and briefly distracted by Finan and you were able to sneak away. "That was easy" you said to yourself and grinned successfully as you took the reins of your horse and wanted to leave the steel, now only quickly away from Coccham and you have survived this day.

Halfway through the steel, Osferth came through a narrow entrance, he looked at you questioningly and crossed his arms over his chest. "Where are you going?" you sigh, but it was Osferth, he wouldn't run to Sihtric, you knew that. "Dunno, just get out of Coccam" - "Escape your punishment?" You just nod. Osferth grinned, a little too much for your liking, "What?" you asked impatiently.

"Oh, nothing," he said, still not looking at you directly, he smiled and shook his head, "I wish you the best of luck," he put a hand on your shoulder and walked away smiling. No idea what happened to him, but you continued on your way as quickly as possible. "Oh, before I forget," Osferth called after you, slowly turning to face him. "Don't think it would be so easy"

You didn't say anything and walked out of the big steel door when you saw someone you knew and stopped. "Shit" you said, so you saw the smiling faces of Sihtric and Finan. Sihtric ready on his horse, "Where are we going?" annoyed, you gave the reins to a steel boy and walked towards the main square without a word. You hear Finan say "Probably nowhere after all" and soon after, he and Sihtric appeared at your side.

"What a wonderful day, I think I'll go to Eadith afterward in peace and - alone - she wanted to cook something nice today" You heard Finan's teasing very clearly, because he insisted on emphasizing "alone". Sihtric laughed, "The second date?" he asked curiously and nudged his shoulder against yours. You push him away from you. Finan nodded "Yes, I tell you, there is nothing nicer than knowing that someone is on - your side -" again... you groaned and headed towards the main gate that led to the water.

Arriving at the door, Finan stopped "I'll do my Tasks then - alone - see you later" he said and started to laugh when Sihtric walked backwards and made a sign, but you couldn't see it. Because you looked stubbornly straight ahead and continued on your way.

Sihtric didn't speak the whole time through the forest, and slowly you felt like you had to relieve yourself. Just what you didn't need. You didn't feel like crouching behind a tree, and Sihtric stood by and watched. With the words "Anything could happen, imagine you're about to defecate, and then a brown bear comes and wants to eat you" - once and never again.

"Sihtric, don't you have an order to carry out?" The second sentence, since this morning when you told him he's a rat in bacon, not an original insult, and it didn't seem to have bothered him either, which only made you angry.

He pondered for a long mh before speaking "Well, actually I am, Uhtred's orders were to protect you and not leave your side, and I'm going to fucking do that" Just then you reached the little pond "Don't you get bored protecting someone who doesn't need protection?" after all you were just as good a fighter as Sihtric. To the question, he just shook his head and looked at you, grinning broadly. "I wonder if you don't get bored asking the same thing over and over again".

You looked at him angrily, which made him grin even wider "Go wash yourself" you said out of nowhere and pointed to the pond. Confused, he looked at you, "What does that mean?" - "You stink like a rat" you had been calling him that since Father Beocca had said it to him, and usually it had an effect, like now, you saw his eyes light up briefly.

You spend so much time with Sihtric that you immediately recognized these little signs. And if you didn't beat him to it, he would annoy you, and you were not good at hiding the fact that you were angry. "I don't stink," he said, raising his head vainly for a moment. "I smell like a man" he spoke and put his hands on the sword belt.

You point to the pond, "Go" he looked briefly at the pond and shook his head. "I am not to leave your side, the pond is too far away, so you would have to go in with me. Do you need too, little puppy" There it is, he tried to fight back, as soon as he insults you as a puppy he was ready to fight. Puppy… That word used to offend you, but somehow it didn't bother you anymore when he said it. "I wash myself every day, which is more than can be said for you".

You walked slowly to the pond and Sihtric followed you, washing here was also rather pointless, but you wanted him as close as possible. "Take your clothes off," you said as you looked from the pond to him, and his face changed from disgusted to surprised. Besides, you wanted to run as fast as you could, crisscrossing the forest, to finally relieve your squeezing bladder, he wouldn't be able to put his clothes on that fast, and he wouldn't be able to find you then either.

"Is that an order?" he asked slowly, looking at you with a look you had never seen on him before. "Yes" you said hesitantly and he nodded. "Go ahead then" he stood in front of you and grinned, "What?" - "Do you really think I'm going to take my clothes off?" - "Yes" - "In front of you?" - "Yes" - "So you want me to stand naked in front of you" you thought for a moment "Yes" - "Do you really think I'm fucking stupid?" you almost answered yes again, but you knew it was pointless.

You had to think of something else, you squeeze your eyebrows together for a moment. "Sihtric…." no, you couldn't tell him you had to pee. You immediately grabbed him by the shoulders and tripped him up as you pushed him aside, it came as such a surprise to him that, with a loud yelp of surprise, he fell over your leg and landed in the pond.

The pond was deeper than you thought, for a moment you were startled to see him sink. Your chance, but something stopped you from running. But he reappeared, ducks weed all over his hair, even his armour was covered, and he looked at you so bitterly that you couldn't hold back your laughter. Which wasn't really an advantage. Sihtric turned up his nose and stomped out of the dirty pond, where he stirred up the water and caused a stench of stagnant water and dead plants.

"You're fucking…" he spoke as he stood beside you, and you doubled over in laughter. "You…" he wanted so much to insult you, but he didn't, why you didn't know. "I wanted to … I wanted to run away… but… then I would have missed the best" you spoke while laughing. He just nodded with a stony look, "I'll pay you back for that, puppy" he said through gritted teeth while stroking his armor and removing some duckweed.

"Whew, so now you really stink" you spoke and screwed up your face. His different eyes shone dangerously. "One more word" he hissed sternly. "Okay… Okay look, I really have to pee or something will go wrong, and then I'll help you clean it up" you said and pointed at him, careful not to laugh again "We'll go bathing together if you like, I won't run away either" his face softened at these words "Really?" he asked cautiously "Together?" - "Of course, that's the only way I can get you clean."

As expected, he watched you relieve yourself, "As punishment" were his words, but you got the feeling it was something else. Maybe he didn't trust your words. While bathing, in front of Coccham you decided not to take everything off, and he did the same, and it took Sihtric to get rid of the stench, and you cleaned his armor from the little green leaves.

You felt like you had punished yourself, you had to put up with Sihtric's smell, and you were allowed to spend most of the afternoon with the armor, so there wasn't a green leaf to be seen, according to Sihtric He kept calling you puppy and explaining what you did wrong on this and that day. And in the evening came the nasty surprise. After Uhtred asked how you behaved, Sihtric told him everything in detail. "So? Then I order another day, Sihtric do not leave her side" Sihtric looked at you with a wide grin.

"Fuck," you murmur, nodding as you agreed with Uhtred. You need a plan!

#sihtric x reader #sihtric imagines #Sihtric #sihtric the last kingdom #the last kingdom imagine #The last kingdom #Tlk #Finan #Uhtred #dialogue prompt #thanks for reading #thanks for requesting!

345 notes · View notes

ms-oswald · 5 months ago

Text

Post a poll with 5 favorite characters and let others decide which is their favorite.

thank you for tagging me @whitedarkmoonflower & @gemini-mama (& @arcielee) ❤️ WHY IS THIS SO HAAAARD?

tagging @persephones-journey @caribaheine @lostsolace @st-eve-barnes @itbmojojoejo & whoever else who wants to do it 💕

#tag game #trimming down to 5 is insanity!#who started this?#i just need to talk

10 notes · View notes

thethyri · 1 year ago

Text

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐓𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐎𝐟 𝐖𝐮𝐥𝐟𝐰𝐲𝐧𝐧❟ 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐎𝐧𝐞❟ ❝ 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐖𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐬 𝐖𝐨𝐥𝐟 ❞

𖦹. 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 ₊̇*⸼ The day Wulfwynn was cruelly torn from the life she had always known was a crisp day of autumn. When the green leaves of the trees turn brown and the wind grows colder. The day Wulfwynn miraculously stumbled upon Uhtred and his companions in the depths of the woods was a cold day of autumn. When the lakes are blanketed with frost and the fields are bare. And yet, despite the frost and the wounds, Wulfwynn met her destiny that day.

𖦹. 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 *𖧧₊‧ Days and days. Cold night and colder days yet. Days running, fleeing. Fearing for her life. Until God sent her Uhtred and his men.

𖦹. 𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐏𝐒 ₊̇*⸼ Finan x Wulfwynn of Northumbria (Original Female Character) x Sihtric Kjartansson, Finan x Wulfwynn of Northumbria (Original Female Character) x Sihtric Kjartansson x Uhtred of Bebbanburg, Finan x Wulfwynn of Northumbria (Original Female Character), Sihtric Kjartansson x Wulfwynn of Northumbria (Original Female Character), Uhtred of Bebbanburg x Wulfwynn of Northumbria (Original Female Character), Osferth x Ealhflæd of Cent (Original Female Character), Leofric x Mereswyth of Wessex (Original Female Character).

𖦹. 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 *𖧧₊‧ Alternate Universe, Canon Divergence, Show Divergence, Not Canon Compliant, Not Show Compliant, Canon Rewrite, Show Rewrite, Show Dialogues, Canonical Character Death, Non-Canonical Character Death, Canon-Typical Violence, Multiple Graphic Descriptions of Wounds, Multiple Graphic Descriptions of Battles And Post-Battles, Blood On Several Occasions, Period-Typical Sexism, Slow Burn, Sexual Content, Mild-Sexual Content, Multiple Graphic Smuts (Ratings Specified In Concerned Chapters), Multiple Non-Graphic Smuts, Protective Finan, Possessive Finan, Finan Needs A Hug, Finan Backstory, Protective Sihtric, Jealous Sihtric, Adorable Sihtric, Sihtric Backstory, Protective Uhtred, Uhtred Is A Little Shit, Soft Osferth, Adorable Osferth, Osferth Backstory, Leofric Lives, Clapa Lives.

𖦹. 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 *𖧧₊‧ Mild-Graphic Description of Bruises And Injuries.

𖦹. 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 ₊̇*⸼ 2,912k.

𖦹. 𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐘 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 *𖧧₊‧ Just so you know, my timeline is just a bit different from the books and show. At first, I had planned to stick to the books' timeline, but it would have made Uhtred (and therefore Finan and Sihtric) too old for Wulfwynn. Well, I speak of Finan and Sihtric but, in the books, Finan's age is not precised (nor is Osferth's) and, as for Sihtric, when he meets Uhtred, he does not know his own age and Uhtred apparently guesses that he's somewhere around 14 years old. The show's timeline encapsulated two books per season, meaning that by season 3, Uhtred would have been between 34-44 years old (yes, because if we follow that logic, it means that each season stretches on a period of time of 10 years, which, you will agree, is clearly not the case). That is why I decided to twist the timeline a bit and rearrange the ages to my own preference. No, about Finan. It is my own headcanon that he is not younger than Uhtred, but just slightly older than him by 3 years. For Sihtric, I wanted him to younger than both Uhtred and Finan (as in the show and books) and therefore closer to Wulfwynn's age but still older than her. Now, about Osferth, in the books we know he is already born when Uhtred spies on Alfred at the age of 10 but it is not precised when he was born. So I just kind of guessed and twisted things again to make him the age I liked when he joined Uhtred. And, for Clapa, to me (in the show, at least, because I have only read the first book at the moment) he was clearly older than Uhtred by, at least, 9 years.

That being said, this story still contains huge age gaps. Uhtred is 16 years older than Wulfwynn, Finan is 19 years older, and Sihtric is 6 years older. Adding to that the gap that already exists between Uhtred, Finan and Sihtric, since Uhtred is 10 years older than him and Finan is 13 years older. In real life, these differences in ages would be quite problematic, but here, we are in a fictional story and as long as these examples are not transferred to real life, it is still acceptable.

Also, I mean to stretch my story from season 3 to season 5 and even perhaps to the Seven Kings Must Die, but I do not know yet. So I will keep a timeline updated in the notes at the beginning of each chapter so you do not lose yourself too much ahah!

𖦹. 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐄 ₊̇*⸼ 892-895 AD ⵓ 6th November 892 AD - 9th November 892 AD ⨾ Uhtred is 34-37 yo ⨾ Finan is 37-40 yo ⨾ Sihtric is 24-27 yo ⨾ Clapa is 43-44 yo ⨾ Osferth is 29-32 yo ⨾ Wulfwynn is 18-21 yo.

THE VODKAS MENU. + THE SERIE MENU. + CHAPTER TWO. + Archive Of Our Own.

SOMEWHERE BETWEEN CIPPANHAMM AND MELKSHAMM, WESSEX, 892 AD.

Fear. Dread . It crept its way into the heart, maliciously, viciously, its hideous claws jagged, and hooked, burrowing in its throbbing flesh. It gnawed venomously into the guts, tangled into hundreds of hundreds of tightly knitted knots. It crawled malevolently into the lungs, its coarse scales scraping, and into the throat, its rugged tongue scratching. It soaked bitterly into the bones, into the marrow, cold, terribly cold.

Wulfwynn was devoured with fear. Wrecked with dread. She felt the ache in her limbs, the burn in her lungs. She felt the cold whipping at the crusted scratches that littered her knuckles, her palms, her knees and her muddy heels. She felt the soreness of the swelled bruises that dotted her thighs, her arms and her wrists, her neck and her ankles, and her cheeks. They scattered across her body, mingled with her freckled flesh, scarlet and maroon, melded with her delicate moles, purply and olive.

Wulfwynn felt utterly terrified.

Twiddled branches and tangled roots scrapped at her calves and knees as she delved into the depths of the woods. Breathy sobs escaped her chapped lips, while the cold that chilled her lungs licked at the salty tears that soaked her cheeks. The writhed birches swallowed the misty, gloomy skies, engulfed the pallid gleam that shimmered between their leaves. And they’d swallow Wulfwynn too. They'd swallow her whimpers, and they'd choke her with their branches, they’d throttle her with their roots—

Wulfwynn sobbed panickedly, as she whisked hurriedly between the pines and the bushes, her heart onto her tongue.

They’d scratch, and scrape, and rasp, and snarl and sneer and—

A strangled yelp choked in her throat as she stumbled onto a root. She swayed abruptly and fell. Whimpers and whines of throbbing anguish and nauseous panic swirled through the cinnamon and crimson leaves that twirled around Wulfwynn as she hurtled down the muddy hill. And she gasped breathlessly as she slammed into a thick trunk.

Wulfwynn clutched the bark, chafing her fingers, and wobbled, then rose quiveringly, but rose nonetheless, before her heel slipped in the mud and she tumbled again. She grunted as she fell, and fell, and fell, down the hill, down, down, until she landed into the dirt. Wulfwynn laid into the leaves and the dirt, perhaps an eternity, perhaps an instant, furled and shuddering, her heart throbbing into her temples and her knees and elbows aching.

But, though she struggled, arose onto her palms. Bitter tears fell from her reddened cheeks, from her chin, onto her scratched, scarred fingers and between her knuckles. And then, a shout resonated through the pines,

“Lord !”

Fear gripped at Wulfwynn’s heart with it crooked claws. She fumbled panickedly with her kirtles and skirts, shuffled and tumbled, and wobblily arose, but fell onto her knees with a frustrated whine. She huffed shakily.

“Lord !” Wulfwynn prayed. She prayed fervently, as the worried yell swivelled in the chilly whiff. “Are ye— Are ye alright?” She’d have chuckled, but Wulfwynn merely sobbed. “Ye’re— Uhtred !”

She peered hesitantly and her glance landed onto the cross that dangled before her teary eyes. A heavy huff tickled her cheek.

“Ye’re alright, lass, ye’re alright,” He murmured quietly as he knelt. She felt his pity, his gentleness and his kindheartedness, and she sniffled. Her heart swelled. “Ye’ll be alright, I promise.”

Wulfwynn nodded meekly. His soft promise poured onto her sore scratches and scrapes, syrupy and smooth and warm. Her heart seared with a sour tincture of gratitude and lament, with a driblet of reassurance and a splatter of solace. Her glance anchored into umber orbs, tinged with warmth and kindness, and worry.

“Finan.” A whistle tickled Wulfwynn's guts. “ Finan !”

“Lord,” Finan startled, as he leapt onto his muddy boots. Wulfwynn shivered as the chill tickled at her neck. "She's hurt, Lord."

“Hurt?” The Lord —Uhtred, she assumed— inquired, with doubt and incertitude. And a tinge of scepticism. “Quite hurt.” Finan affirmed, and nodded.

A chiffchaff chirped. “Lord?” Queried a soft murmur. “She indeed seems quite unwell.”

The Lord’s glance landed unto the salty tears that streaked her cheeks, unto her bruises, and her scratches and scrapes, and she felt oddly, yet agreeably, absorbed into the frosty depths her eyes plunged into. His stare felt cold, but she embraced that cold. She felt queerly reassured, comforted, shrouded into that cold. The Lord hummed quietly. And nodded. Wulfwynn huffed a breath of relief.

Finan knelt beside her, his knees in the mud, and she felt his warmth caress her as he wrapped an arm around her waist. Wulfwynn grabbed her tattered kirtles, and Finan muttered, “ Jesus .” as he glanced at her legs. She grasped his hand, hers frail and fragile in his callused palm. She grunted with anguish, as she struggled to arise, but her knees buckled.

Finan's hold tightened, "Gently, gently." he reassured her softly, "Osferth!" he beckoned with a whistle and a nod. Saddle buckles rattled, leaves rustled and an arm slithered across her back. “Apologies, Lady.” and Wulfwynn uttered a quavery huff.

“Gently.” Finan repeated as Wulfwynn arose slowly. “Alright. We’ll get ye onto Sihtric’s horse.”

Osferth nodded. He gently took ahold of her elbow, and they strode to the horses. They approached Sihtric’s horse, and Wulfwynn glanced at the silhouette sat astride its saddle, shrouded in furs, as Sihtric’s stare anchored into hers. She felt Finan’s warmth fade when he stepped back and unbuckled his cloak's buckle, before he wrapped the warm, woollen garment around Wulfwynn’s shuddery shoulders.

“It’ll keep ye warm.” Finan murmured as he tucked the hood on Wulfwynn's messy, tousled curls and tresses. “Ye’ll ride with Sihtric. Alright?”

She nodded. Finan approached the horse and leaned down. He cupped his callused hands, fingers knotted, and Wulfwynn grasped his arm as she hesitantly placed her heel in his palm. "Alright. I'll hoist ye there and Sihtric will get ye, huh?" Wulfwynn hummed and, quite facilely, Finan lifted her. She gracelessly threw her leg across the saddle and, as he told her, Sihtric grabbed her. “Ye’re good?”

“Good.” Wulfwynn muttered with a nod. Finan’s eyes widened at the hoarseness of her mutter but he nodded nonetheless.

He and Osferth hopped back onto their horses. Wulfwynn fidgeted a bit, and grabbed Sihtric's thick, woolly ebony mantle with her fingertips. But he felt it and turned, and gently grasped her wrist before he wrapped it across his chest.

Wulfwynn jolted when he softly spoke, “You may hold on.” And, although timidly, Wulfwynn slipped her arms around Sihtric’s waist. Her fingers gripped the crisscrossed leather of his cotte, and her fingertips stroked the fur that flanked its edges. The scents of cinders and smoke, of dust and caked mud and hay tickled her nostrils. Yet she felt oddly soothed as she faintly breathed into the heavy wool.

“We ride!” then hailed Uhtred.

Wulfwynn’s legs dangled from the horse’s rump, and swayed slightly with his sturdy strides. The muffled thud of hooves as they rustled dead leaves, the snorts of the horses, the chirps of the birds and the warmth of Sihtric's furs cradled Wulfwynn. And slowly, as she fell into slumber, her head lolled and bobbed, and then, settled between Sihtric's shoulders.

And Wulfwynn slept, as much as she hadn't slept in weeks.

₊‧𒀭⋆₊

The noisy hustle and bustle of Wintanceaster was quite pleasant. With the yells of its merchants, as they tempted the villagers with their trouts and lampreys, their hot loaves of oat breads, their goat cheeses, and their turnips and parsnips, and their pears. The bright, merry talks of the villagers. The jolly chuckles and giggles of the children.

Wintanceaster was noisy and Finan basked in its noisiness.

He particularly appreciated this noisiness, as it differed considerably from the howls and yells that engulfed the field. As well as the smells. The scents of mud sodden, thickened with blood, of tangy sweat and barf were, at Wintanceaster, the scents of roasted pork and latterly brewed barley ale that wafted from the taverns.

Yet, this bustle hadn't awakened the lass, whose scratched and scraped arms were wrapped across Sihtric's chest, and whose reddened, bruised cheek was squooshed against his back, although she was shrouded with Finan’s hood. But Sihtric wasn’t bothered in the least.

“We'll take her to mine." declared Finan, as they strided towards the stables.

A snort. "Really? Huh." Clapa chuckled wickedly. He glared at the Dane. "Well, we're not gonna get her to yers, are we?" Finan retorted.

“He’d frighten her.” Uhtred sniggered, as he glanced at the giant. Clapa smirked.

“Frighten her? I’m but meek, sweet and gentle as a lamb, Lord.” He protested, and Uhtred chuckled, “Huh-uh.”

They approached the stables and alighted from their steeds. Finan felt the soreness in his legs as he neared Sihtric’s horse. He nodded towards Clapa, “Can ye take her?” and the Dane contourned the horse. He held his arms towards the lass, and Sihtric gently peeled her hands from the crisscrosses of his cotte, before Clapa slithered an arm across her back, as she slipped into his arms, and then slithered a hand beneath her legs. “I’ve got her.”

"Alright." Finan nodded. The muddy strands of straw of the stables crumpled beneath the soles of Sihtric's boots, when he leaped from his horse.

The lass’ forehead was nestled in Clapa’s neck, and the hood had flopped back a tad from her head. Finan’s glance fell onto the maroon and olive bruises that dotted her cheeks and chin, the scarlet slit that carved in the slope of her nose and the split etched into her plump, chapped lip.

He then turned to Osferth, “We’ll need yer balms and herbs.”

“Aye.” he nodded and hurried to fetch the leather satchel on his saddle.

They then took her to Finan's. He didn't quite considered it— well, considered it what? A haven? His? His haven? Nah, his haven was Coccham. This was but a humble, wooden hut, scarcely adorned, with a bed padded with straw and wool, draped with a few woollen and linen pillows and blankets, and a few furs. A table, scattered with bowls, melted candles and a hutch of trinkets, stood in the corner, with three stools. Light linen sheers flanked the walls, near the bed, while a wooden chest sat beside it, and a bench stood in the corner, near the entrance.

Clapa settled the lass onto the bed, with greater gentleness than Finan had hoped, and, with care, Finan unbuckled the buckle of his coat and slipped the wool from the lass' frail, delicate silhouette, before Clapa laid her tousled head onto the pillows.

“‘Tis still as modest as it was the last I was here.” enthused Uhtred, as he entered the hut with Osferth and Sihtric.

Finan stared at the lass an instant, and then turned to Osferth. He startled and hurried to the table and, amongst the wooden bowls, grabbed the dusty pestle and mortar. He then brought the herbs onto the table from his satchel, and glanced at the sleeper before he took the yarrow.

They stared quietly at the monk, as he grabbed the pestle and mashed the dried yarrow into the mortar. He then grabbed a bowl and poured a quaff of his gourd, and sprinkled the dried plant. Osferth then took the bowl and told Finan, “It’ll soothe her body.”

Finan took the bowl and nodded. Softly, he knelt onto the bed's edge, and slowly tickled the beverage between the lass' chapped lips.

“Then?” Sihtric queried as he neared the table. Osferth took the bowl back. "Then," he mumbled, as he tossed plants in the wooden bowl, and took the pestle, "I'll tend to those scrapes and scratches with chamomile," he grimaced, as though he was scraped and scratched, "and soothe her bruises with nettle."

Sihtric glanced at the lass and the frown between her brows. And a tinge of concern tickled his chest. Osferth grinded the chamomile and the nettle in the bowl, and then poured a quaff, “She’ll heal.” he assured, as he approached the bed and settled on the edge.

“But she’ll need a while. She’s quite enfeebled.” he murmured softly, and placed the bowl onto the woollen blankets. “But she’ll heal.”

₊‧𒀭⋆₊

Wulfwynn felt cradled.

Shrouded in the softness of the wool of Cynefrith's sleeves across her hips, and swaddled in the warmth of Eadgyth's skirts and kirtles, her legs entangled with hers. She felt utterly well.

She hadn’t felt well in quite a while. But between Cynefrith and Eadgyth, she felt soothed.

Yet, Wulfwynn stirred in her slumber. She nestled her nose in Eadgyth's tangled and tousled tresses, and hummed with contentment when the scents of chamomile tickled her nostrils. She felt Cynefrith’s gentle breath tickle the back of her neck.

Wulfwynn sighed with delight. She laced her fingers with Cynefrith’s, and Eadgyth wrapped her arm around them, and cuddled them.

And an ache clutched at her chest.

Wulfwynn’s brows furrowed. She huddled and clutched Cynefrith's lithe fingers, and snuggled into Eadgyth's neck. But she gasped as her chest tightened.

And she sobbed. Whiffs of cinders and embers, of nettle and of dust swamped her nostrils and tickled her guts. She sobbed, and sobbed, as the ache clawed at her heart.

Sleep left her, slowly, so slowly it felt an eternity.

Her sight remained blurred a moment before she discerned the shutters, and the pale gleams of the morn that crept between them. Then she glanced beside her. But Eadgyth was not there. And when she turned and peered above her shoulder, Cynefrith was not there either. And then, she remembered.

The yells, the tears. The lake. The sobs, the pleas. The plains. The blood.

Cynefrith was not there.

Eadgyth was not there.

They were not here.

Wulfwynn whimpered. There was neither Eadgyth nor Cynefrith. There were not their embraces, merely linen blankets and furs. There was not their warmth, just a woollen and straw mattress. They were not there.

She sobbed, her hands clutched at her chest. She sobbed, her scraped and scratched knees beneath her chin. She sobbed, muffled into the blankets. She did not hear the squeak of the wooden door and the creak of the boots onto the floorboards.

“Lass?”

Wulfwynn perked and winced. "Ye're awake, at last." Finan huffed, as the concern that etched his face melted into relief. Wulfwynn's tears trickled from her cheeks and wetted the blankets. Finan approached the bed.

“Ye’re alright, lass. Ye’re alright.” he reassured her. But Wulfwynn wasn’t alright.

Her lips quivered, “I,” she huffed quietly, feebly, “I fled, but I—” and faltered, “I fled,”

“Hey, hey,” Finan neared her, and she felt her heart thump, "I— I fled but I—" she sobbed, "But—" And Finan gently seated at the bed's edge, “Hey, ye’re alright, lass, ye’re alright.” he repeated. “Ye’re fine,” he murmured softly.

Alright. She was alright. Wulfwynn nodded. Was she alright? She wasn not quite. But she nodded nonetheless. Her sobs ebbed. She felt, as she had felt with Uhtred, oddly, yet agreeably, comforted and reassured when her eyes anchored into Finan’s. But she felt terribly feeble too. And sore.

“Ye shouldn't tire yerself too much. Ye're still weak and ye haven't eaten yet.” he uttered prudently, as though he feared he might frighten her. “Ye’ve slept quite a bit and Osferth has tended to yer,” he swallowed, “wounds.”

Wulfwynn glanced down at her hands, wrapped in thin strips of linen, folded around her thumbs and knotted in the crook of her palms. The whiffs of chamomile and nettle wafted to her nose when she wiggled her fingers. She noticed she was no longer garbed in her shredded skirts and kirtles, drenched with sweat, sullied with guts and smeared with mud and dust, but a linen shift that smelt of sage. Hence why she had felt so comfortable in her slumber. And she frowned. If she’d been changed, then had they—

“We haven’t.” Finan assured, halting her thoughts, as though he knew what she was wondering. “Osferth merely tended to the wounds on yer arms and legs. Yer virtue is untarnished. Lord Uhtred's sister and Abbess Hild tended to those he couldn't. And then changed ye.”

She nodded shyly. “W-Where,” she licked her lips, “Where are we?”

“Wintanceaster, Lady.”

He stood from the bed and went to the table, in the corner, where there were three stools and, scattered onto the table, dusty baubles and wooden plates, bowls and cups. “Have I,” she straightened slightly and grimaced, “H-Have I slept long?”

He picked a goblet and grabbed the jug, near a plate in which there were the scraps of a meal. Wulfwynn then wondered if they had remained there while she slept. “About three days. Since we arrived.”

“Oh.” she murmured. Finan returned to the bed and handed her the goblet. She whispered her thanks, and wondered if he had heard her, but as he nodded, she thought he must have. She took a sip and felt the soreness of her throat.

Then her stomach rumbled.

Her cheeks dusted with embarrassment and she coughed. She had not eaten but a few berries in days, and had eaten aught but stale bread in weeks. The mere sight of the scraps of a meal had her stomach growl.

"Ye must be famished." Finan frowned, as if concerned. He then nodded, as though approving a thought he'd just had. "Alright. I'll get Hild fer ye and we'll take ye to the tavern. I'll be quick."

He then turned on his heels and strode out of the hut.

CHAPTER TWO. + Archive Of Our Own.

37 notes · View notes