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assortedseaglass · 2 years ago

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Steadfast & Forever

Request: Could you pretty please do an Osferth one-shot of him just having sweet little moments with a lady-in-waiting of Aethelflaed? Where their paths cross occasionally when Uhtred and the gang roll through, so they cannot really be together, but just burn and pine for one another??

Thank you, Ilysm 💜

@arcielee

Osferth x Unnamed OFC

Warnings: Language, religion, adult themes

Word Count: 6.2K

Notes: Let’s just ignore the canon, shall we? For the sake of the story, I’m keeping everyone in Winchester.

The sun was high when she first met him. Soft fingers of it streaked through the courtyard window into her Lady’s room. She watched them stroke the stone and tapestries, noting that the dappled light against Æthelflæd’s face seemed to ease her, and she sent up a prayer of thanks.

Æthelflæd had returned with the King and her husband in the early hours, dress dirtied and eyes dark, mind polluted by the ways of men beyond court. For hours, her ladies-in-waiting hovered at her side, stroked her hair when her mother retired to bed and listened to her whimpered recounts of her imprisonment. Of the gentle Erik, his cruel brother Sigefrid, her escape with Uhtred and his men, and the ensuing fight. Æthelflæd and her ladies drifted into sleep terrorised by faceless men and their brutish abandon, and by daybreak, only one remained sentinel over her mistress. The youngest of Æthelflæd’s three ladies-in-waiting sat curled at the foot of her bed, a book of psalmsopen by her side. Between casting a watchful eye over the sleeping princess, her eyes drifted to the window where a mistle thrush sang its fluting midday song. Its speckled breast quivered as it lifted its joyful voice, and the lady felt her heart aglow. Despite the terror of recent weeks, she remembered that beauty was at every turn.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

The sound at the door was quiet, as though the hand behind it were tremulous, but in the hush of the castle, still following Æthelflæd’s return, she heard it. She glanced to her mistress, and to Adburh and Sæflæd beside her, but they did not stir. With gentle feet she hurried to the oaken door and set it open a little. No-one. Wrapping her shawl tighter about her shoulders, she stepped into the empty hall, only to find it was not empty at all.

A man took a shuffled step backwards and she drew the door close to her side, obstructing the stranger’s view of her mistress. A cursory glance told her that he was a holy man, though man was stretching the fact; he looked no older than she, perhaps even a year or so younger. She suspected he was tall, were it not for the stoop of his shoulders and the bow of his head. Even from where she stood, she could see the tendons of his jaw pulsing with tension against the shorn sides of his head. He fumbled with the threadbare sleeves of his woollen cowl, watching his hands with fixed scrutiny and jostling the cross at his chest. A monk.

She smiled at his bashfulness, still wary of opening her lady’s chamber door. “May I help you?”

At being addressed, his head shot up and, at seeing the lady before him, stood a little taller. “Isshealright?” The words were urgent, and once she had recovered from the urgent blue of his eyes, she saw that they were wide and red-rimmed as though he had spent a great many hour crying. No, not crying. Awake.

“Pardon?” she stepped out into the hall. The monk coughed and looked at his feet, and she crouched so that he might look at her. Pride swelled in her chest at the rosy hue blossoming on his cheeks. She found herself gazing at him in the bright light midday cast about the keep. All the holy men she knew were old, or dirty and pale from days at the altar. The oblates and novices never strayed into the keep. This man was regal, almost beautiful in his boyishness. She blanched. Who was this man that had this effect on her? A stranger lurking at the doorway of her mistress, with his kind eyes and gentle voice.

“Lady Æthelflæd. Is she alright?”

“Er, yes,” she recovered herself. “But she is resting. I’ll tell her you wished her well -” Her eyebrows raised in question of his identity and, realising he had said nothing other than to enquire as to Æthelflæd’s health, he offered his name.

“Osferth.”

“Osferth..?”

“Just Osferth. She will know.”

The lady nodded with a chuckle. “Well, Just Osferth, I will tell her you were here.” The monk relaxed at the nickname and exhaled with a small smile. The lady in turn beamed at him and they watched each other a moment. The events surrounding Æthelflæd’s capture and return had upended life in the King’s keep. A princess of Wessex imprisoned by Danes and rescued by a pagan. People forgot their stations, and whether on the frontline of the terrible affair or listening to whispered tales of it on the wind, returning to normalcy was proving difficult for the people of Wintancæster.

Through sleep-starved eyes Osferth admired the woman before him. The remnants of braids creased her hair, and despite the hour of the day, she looked as though she had just woken. He supposed, being one of Æthelflæd’s ladies, she may have, or else not slept at all. The eyes hidden by the curtain of hair were dark with exhaustion but bright with kindness, and he found he didn’t care that his cheeks grew hotter under her gaze.

A maidservant turned into the corridor and Osferth jumped back. “Thank you, lady,” the nervous monk had returned and, with a quick bow, he made his leave. She watched him go, took the tray of bread and fruit from the maidservant and backed into her mistress’ chambers, the smile that tugged at the man’s lips ever-present in her mind.

“Who was it?” Æthelflæd’s voice was hoarse but in the stillness of her rooms, her lady-in-waiting still jumped. Æthelflæd stood in the centre of the room, barefoot and wrapped in blankets, pouring herself a tonic from the pitcher at her table. Adburh and Sæflæd slept soundly in the bed, and Æthelflæd approached her lady-in-waiting for the tray. Even after her ordeal, she was tender as she waited an answer.

“I’m sorry, my Lady,” her companion said. “It was a monk, asking after you.” She thought of his kind face and smiled. “Have you been spending much time with the young oblates, my Lady?” The gentle teasing of her voice made Æthelflæd laugh and she continued. “This young monk seemed very taken with you. He called himself-”

“Osferth,”

“Aha! I’ve caught you! Do not fear, I shall not tell you dear husband,” she said the words with sarcasm. “Or your darling mother-”

“He is my brother.” Words died, and silence hummed between the two women. Æthelflæd’s eyes darted to her two other companions, still snoring softly, and whispered once more. “He is my brother.”

“I don’t underst-”

Æthelflæd took her by the hand and led her to a bench covered with furs. “The rumours are true. My father sired a bastard. Many, who knows. When the boy’s mother died, my father sent him to a monastery. There, my father could keep a watchful, if distant, eye on him and pretend to the rest of us that he doesn’t exist.” The lady covered her mouth and urged her mistress to carry on. Adburh stirred on the bed and the two stilled. When she didn’t wake, Æthelflæd continued. “Osferth begged Lord Uhtred that he may join him, as a warrior-”

“What?” she whispered her shock, and Æthelflæd nodded.

“The only reason, so I’m told, that he let the monk join was to embarrass my father.”

A flash of memory whipped through her mind. Walking to the kitchens to prepare food for herself, Æthelflæd, Adburh and Sæflæd, she had passed the throne room and heard the anguished voice of the Queen. Something about “the bastard and the Dane-lord or whatever he is or isn’t.” Even after Æthelflæd’s wedding to Æthelred, petulant little Æthelwold could be heard crowing throughout the town. “The bandy-legged bastard hasn’t even held his own cock, let alone a sword.”

“-and he was the one that killed Sigefrid,”

Her mistress’ last admission shocked her into the present.

“The monk?”

“Yes! Struck him through the back with his sword.”

“A warrior monk,”

“And a King’s bastard,” She grimaced at Æthelflæd’s use of the word but said nothing, her mind reckoning the image of a feared Dane-lord being slain by the young monk.

The next time she saw him was in the chapel, only a day later. Members of the King’s household made up the small congregation, seated by rank from the farthest pew to the first. Everyone from servants to council members gathered in the chapel, waiting for mass to begin as the King and his family processed towards the altar.

She watched Æthelflæd, her arm draped over that of her husband, glide towards her seat, ever the image of regal duty despite her tired eyes. Members of the congregation bowed to her mistress, some with kindness and some with pity, and as the lady watched the royal family pass her by, her eyes fell to the man stood at the back of the chapel, eyes downcast but still standing a head above everyone else.

At first, she thought he was attempting to make himself smaller so as to avoid the King. It was when Father Beocca began the service by invoking the cross, however, that she saw he was already in prayer, for he was the first to kneel and the first to murmur under his breath. He was alone, the rest of Uhtred’s men notably absent, and she forgot her own prayers to watch him a peaceful moment. Sæflæd nudged her shoulder, and she turned back to the priest. She followed the service, bowing her head when Beocca instructed and kneeling when the others knelt, but her mind was not on the Lord. No, it was on the lonely warrior monk five pews behind.

“Mass has ended, go in peace.” Father Beocca had barely finished speaking before the King turned to leave the chapel. Naturally, his mood in the days following Æthelflæd’s return had been stony, and many an hour had been spent locked in discussion with his council, to which he was no doubt returning. The congregation waited for the family to leave, and Æthelflæd’s lady looked over her shoulder once more to watch the monk. He was gone. She cast her eyes desperately around but they fooled her; many holy men of the congregation sported that ridiculous hair, but not one was her monk. Her monk. She shook herself and, with Adburh and Sæflæd, followed her mistress from the chapel.

The day was bright yet the air was damp and dewy. Rain would come before nightfall. She bid farewell to her companions and mistress, curtsied before the King and Queen, and stepped into the morning. Like a fish through water, she moved amongst the crowd. Priests were gathered around Father Beocca, discussing his sermon. She had thought to find him there, but she was wrong. Onwards she went, past gossiping noble ladies, haggling merchants, and even Uhtred’s bonny-faced right hand man. Fingal? Was that his name? Still, she could not see the warrior monk and all hope of finding him faded. Jostled by commonfolk going about their daily business, she turned to make her solemn way to the keep but halted where she stood. There! Towards the town stables, hands raised to avoid bumping into the crowds, that was definitely him.

“Sir,” she called out, gathering her skirts in her hands. “Sir! Please wait!” She hurried as fast as she could, for ladies-in-waiting did not run and it would not do for such gossip to reach the Queen. Whether he ignored her intentionally or could not hear her over the din of the crowd, she did not know but pressed on regardless, thanking the Lord for his height as she kept him in her sight. A few more strides and she could reach out and touch him…

“Sir!” Breathless with the effort of her hurried steps to catch up with his strides, she reached out and clasped the edge of his cowl. “Sir-”

The man jolted and looked to his sleeve, his gaze following the delicate hand there to the lady’s face. An emotion she didn’t recognise glazed his eyes, but all the same, with a blush he smiled timidly. She dropped his sleeve.

“I’m sorry, Sir. I did call,”

“I’m not a ‘Sir’, I am-“

“‘Just Osferth’, yes.” The lady smiled, then realised he may not recognise her, covered as she was by her Sunnandæg veil. “We met yesterday, when you came to my lady’s chamber?”

“Yes, yes,” the monk rasped and cleared his throat. After all he has done, she thought, and he is still shy. “Should you not be with her?”

“No, on the Lord’s Day we are left to do as we please.” She was desperate to speak with him. “My lady spends it with her mother.”

“I am glad to see she is well. Lady Æthelflæd, I mean,”

“Yes,” Neither said anything, and Just Osferth watched, torn between amusement and embarrassment, as the noble lady stood before him and directed her smile at him alone.

“Forgive me,” he said, his lips curving in one corner. “Was there some service you require of me, my Lady?”

It was her turn to blush, and Just Osferth liked the sight of it beneath her veil. “I’m sorry,” she said quickly. “Um, I just wanted to say that she told me who are, Æthelflæd, and what you did.” She paused as the monk’s face fell. “That- that was very brave.” She finished with a whisper. The monk’s eyes fell to the ground and one hand brushed the cross at his chest.

“It didn’t feel very brave,” His voice was small and she found she wanted to see his smile again. She carried on in forceful tone.

“To leave your life at the monastery, join the service of a famed warrior, despite the ridicule it may bring you, and then slay the brute Sigefrid? To me, that is brave.”

If Just Osferth had been pink before, at her words of praise he turned crimson. “Thank you, my Lady.” Again, they watched each other, this time in an awkward but pleasant silence. Something about this lady’s curiosity of him made the monk feel that emotion he #found most elusive; pride.

“How long do you plan to stay in Wintancæster?” The lady said, eyes alive and hopeful.

“As long as Lord Uhtred pleases,”

“Then I hope it pleases him to stay a while.” And without another word, the lady bowed to the monk and departed. He watched her go, her veil billowing against her tunic in the passing breeze and the people that parted with good-natured smiles as she passed. A hand slapped him on the back.

“What’s the matter?” Compared to the lady’s, the Irishman’s brogue was like a carnyx. “Never had a pretty girl talk to you before?”

The monk swallowed, his eyes still on the retreating form of his sister’s lady-in-waiting. “I’ve certainly never had one bow to me.”

Her fascination with the monk continued over the week, and she was provided with plenty of opportunity to see him, for wherever Æthelflæd went, Uhtred seemed to follow. And wherever Æthelflæd and Uhtred went, so too did her ladies and his band of warriors.

They followed their leaders like a gaggle of children. Sæflæd confided in her that she found the Irishman, Finan, greatly appealing. “His wit is as sharp as his sword!” “There’s something about his eyes,” “Do you think he is married? I haven’t heard mention of a wife…” The young lady, too, liked Finan for his bright humour, loyalty and, though he tried to hide it, kindness. Poor Adburh was quite taken by the silent Sihtric, but the discovery of his wife, Sidgeflæd, had left her quite bereft. Uhtred seemed equally bewitched by Æthelflæd, and her youngest companion was glad to see a man bestow her mistress some compassion. Æthelflæd had brought them to the chapel to share some secret with Uhtred under the guise of prayer. At the door, Sæflæd laughed at something Finan said while Adburh stood scandalously close to Sihtric. He said nothing. The monk and the young lady perched on pews at the back of the chapel in contended silence.

“What has you smiling, my Lady?” Osferth whispered in her ear as they sat side by side. His hands were clasped in his lap, his head bowed slightly to hear her answer. Wherever he went, he always looked in prayer, and she wondered if it was the same on the battlefield. If he fought with as much grace as he did everything else.

“Those two,” she indicated Uhtred and Æthelflæd with her eyes. “It is good to see her smile again.” From the corner of his eye, he watched her face glow with tenderness. It seemed her permanent state. He had often seen her about the keep with Æthelflæd and her other companions. Where Adburh and Sæflæd seemed suited to keeping the princess jovial, the lady beside him must have been picked as a companion for her quiet sincerity. When Æthelflæd fell into clouds of despair, it was she that she went to to lift her spirits. When he stumbled upon her in the town, or sat in the meadow beyond the keep, she moved with the same serenity, like river buttercup in a stream. It struck him that she was prayer incarnate; contemplative, curious, calm. When tending to the horses, he watched her in the meadow. She gathered flowers, read beneath the oak tree, or when not alone, talked spiritedly with her companions. Just as fascinated as she was with the monk, he too was with the lady-in-waiting.

“Though she doesn’t show it, not to Lord Uhtred, she is sad.” The monk titled his head towards her as she spoke. “You are away tomorrow, are you not?”

He nodded, eyes scanning hers. Would she be sad when he left? As Æthelflæd was for Uhtred?

“Take care, Just Osferth,” she smiled. His mouth twitched at the corners, and she knew he wanted to smile. “What?”

“My lady, do you think perhaps you could simply call me Osferth? The others have given me their own name, I should like to hear mine just plainly.”

The lady’s eyes lit with mirth. “What do the others call you?”

He sighed and looked at the cross atop the alter, as if pleading for help. “‘Baby monk.’” He whispered it in her ear like he was at confession, and she would have shuddered were it not for the ridiculousness of the name. She sniggered and the monk pinched his nose.

“Are you a monk anymore? She had turned to him slightly, though she still glanced at her mistress every now and again. “Now that you are in Uhtred’s company?”

He thought a moment and watched his hands. “I don’t know what I am anymore.”

She took his hand in hers and faced him directly.

“You are Osferth.”

“That I am.” There it was again. Pride. Looking at her pretty face, open with kindness and judging of nothing as she watched him, Osferth felt that whatever he had been, or would be, was fine because she saw him. She. He watched her side, for she had turned to face Uhtred and Æthelflæd. Her lips parted delicately, before a full smile played across her face. Her eyes were hidden from him by a few strands of hair that had fallen loose from the braided knotted at her nape. He could see the pulse point on the elegant column of her neck and he was struck with the desire to run his finger along it. The britches beneath his tunic tightened and he shifted on the hard wood bench. Damn. Faintly, as though listening through water, he heard her say something similar to “we should leave them be.” He looked up to see Uhtred and Æthelflæd depart through the door behind the chancel.

“Will you pray with me, my lady?”

Her hand was still in his and she squeezed it before clasping her own in prayer. “Of course.” She knelt before him and he swallowed, shifting his hands beneath his tunic before kneeling beside her. Osferth wasn’t sure how long they prayed. Or rather, how long she prayed and he tried to. Her devoted mutterings and deeps sighs of breath were distracting, and he settled on watching her pray instead. She leant her head on her hands, as though this would open a direct channel to help her commune with the divine. She glanced up on occasion, to gaze at the altar, before casting her eyes down. When she hastily wiped a tear from her cheek between devotions, he found he could take it no more and moved towards the offertory shrine next to the tabernacle. He hadn’t seen someone so moved by prayer since the monastery, and even then he believed the Abbott did it to scare the oblates into servitude.

He took a candle and, placing it next to its fellows, lit it with a taper. Closing his eyes with the flame in hand, a moment’s solace finally found him, and he prayed for that which he always could. When he opened them she was there beside him, having silently finished her prayers, placing her own candle upon the shrine. As if in slow motion, he watched as she covered his hand with hers and moved the taper he still held to the wick. The candle flickered into life, and she let go.

“Who did you light your candle for?” she whispered, watching the flames dance together.

“My mother.”

“I lit mine for you. I want to see you safely back in Wintancæster.”

“I shall try, my Lady.”

She nodded. “He will cover you with his feathers, and under his wings you will find refuge; his faithfulness will be your shield and rampart.”

His lips parted with barely supressed awe. “Psalm ninety-one.”

She nodded again. “The psalms are my favourites.”

“My lips praise you, because your faithful love is better than life itself.” Osferth whispered, his eyes intent on hers.

“Psalm sixty-three.”

“Yes,” Each time he was near her, his voice floundered. It seemed it was not just he who struggled. The light of the chapel cast Osferth in a soft glow and his eyes, pierced by the sun, looked aflame. She watched as his tongue ran slowly over his bottom lip and, mindful of their place in God’s house, pressed the back of her hand to his.

“I must away, my lady.”

“Yes, you must,”

Osferth swallowed, and with some urgency said, “But I will see you soon.” Her beautiful face became doleful as she looked at the bidding candles and he stepped closer to her. Her eyes, brimming with tears, took in his face and as he made to brush them away, she stood on her toes to place a chaste kiss against his cheek. Frozen before the shrine, Osferth listened as her steps carried her from the chapel, away from Adburh and Sæflæd, from Finan and Sihtric, and from him.

Their acquaintance continued thus for years. Each time the warrior monk left for battle or reconnaissance, apprehension grew to terror in her stomach, and she kept vigil over the smattering of gifts he left at her chamber before he departed; the book of psalms he was given when he entered the monastery, a carving of Saint Mary from a carpenter he met on his travels, even a piece of embroidered cloth inherited from his mother.

Each time he returned, safe and bolder still than last she saw him, her apprehension grew to euphoric joy. When he arrived on horseback, arm in a sling and thinner than she had ever seen him, her heart rejoiced. Even when he burst through the castle gates, young Ælfwynn in his arms, and the heat between her legs and ache in her womb dissolved as the red-haired healer coaxed smiles from him, she could not help but rush to the chapel with prayerful thanks.

Finan burst into the cabinet with little regard for any inhabitants that may be within. He had searched the castle high and low; the ride to Wintancæster had been plagued by depraved images of her, so keen and inviting; he had been without a woman for months.

He glanced around. Books and papers were scattered across the table, and a godawful tapestry was hung opposite the window. Empty.

“Fuck,” he cursed under his breath, turning for the door.

“She isn’t here,” the voice was calm and certain, and Finan near jumped from his skin, unsheathing his sword. “And Adburh is married.”

“Jesus, woman,” he hissed, free hand clutching at his heart.

“Sæflæd will be about town though, I am sure.” She looked at the weapon with vague amusement. The shadowed chair she sat in was surrounded by books, and one hung lazily from her hand as she watched the warrior. “How are you, Finan?”

“Alive, though your scaring almost ended me.” He looked at her closely. Her eyes still shone with kindness, though they were hollower than he remembered. Before, she looked like a girl reaching for womanhood by the hand. He saw now that she had grasped it. A quiet assurance had settled about her that she lacked before. He chuckled. The monk would love her. “Yourself? Has your mistress given you leave?”

“My Lady would allow me but with the others gone, her husband and her mother, the Queen, bid me stay.”

“Ah,” he beamed at her. “A woman of duty.” The lady before him hummed with non-committal and cast her book aside.

“What’s troubling you?” Finan sheathed his sword and sat against the table. The lady sighed.

“Duty.” Her voice was strong. “I love my mistress, and I am glad for my position, but sometimes I wish to be known as more than Æthelflæd’s lady. Don’t you? To come back from war and be more than Uhtred’s man? Wouldn’t you rather Finan the Agile? Sihtric the Noble? Osferth the Gentle? Not the Gæl, the heathen and-”

“King Alfred’s bastard?” The smile never left his face.

“Don’t call him that,”

“It’s the truth,”

“I don’t care.”

Her tone was sharp and Finan studied her. Perhaps he had misread her furtive glances at Osferth over the years, their awkward encounters. “Do bastards make you angry?”

“Not at all. But it angers me when people sully the good monk’s name with our King’s.”

“Careful, lady. That is treason-”

“Will you tell?” He smirked and she continued. “He is kind, courageous, everything our King pretends to be. The anger it causes me, to watch our King live in piety while the product of his so-called “sin” is ordered away to do his bidding! At the behest Uhtred at the behest of Alfred himself.”

“Finan,” The warrior startled at the voice, and the lady jumped to her feet in alarm.

“My lady,” she curtsied hastily, her voice edged with shame. Æthelflæd stood in the door to the cabinet. She ignored her lady and spoke instead to Finan.

“Uhtred is ready for you, we are to attend council with my father.” She directed her gaze at her lady-in-waiting. “You may take your leave for the day.”

“Yes, my Lady,” she looked to Finan, who merely nodded his head, and she dashed for the door. As she passed Æthelflæd, the King’s daughter took her by hand and smiled. She allowed Æthelflæd to hold her there a minute, expressing silently her sorrow as her mistress pressed understanding into her palm. When Æthelflæd let her go, she hurried along the keep’s corridors, head bowed and hands clasped together. Perhaps if people thought she was in prayer, they would leave her be. She bumped into Sæflæd at the courtyard gate, returning from town.

“Where are you scurrying off to?”

Head still cast downwards, she saw from their boots that Sæflæd was accompanied by two men. “Nowhere,” she said hastily.

“Wait! Don’t you want to say hello-” But Sæflæd’s plea fell on deaf ears, for her companion was already at the bottom of the castle steps and walking beyond the gate.

The walk to the meadow behind the blacksmith’s was a short one. Approaching midsummer, it was already full of flowers, from forget-me-nots to foxgloves, and the long grass swayed in the delicate breeze. She settled beneath the oak tree in the far corner of the meadow, brought her knees to her chest, and cried. Hidden amongst the flowers, she chastised herself for speaking so freely in the house of the King. What if it were not Finan and Æthelflæd that found her, but the Queen or one of the Abbotts? Surely she would have been locked away or brought before the King by now. She cried, because what she said was true; she detested the King and wished beyond all measure that she could have some semblance of a life for her own. Her tears came ever more willingly at the guilt she felt. A lady-in-waiting in the house of the King, crying over her envied position. And she cried because Finan and Uhtred were in the castle, and that surely meant that her warrior monk was there too. Safe. Finan would have told her otherwise.

Her hands ran through the grass at her side, yellowing in the heat of the sun. She ripped a few of the dry strands from the ground and began braiding them. She would see him later, in the chapel or about the keep. Perhaps at a feast. No, he and the King would avoid each other. They always did. She pondered how the years will have changed him. Whether that tenderness that soften the sharp lines of his face still lingered, or weather battle and hardened him. Would he be quiet as he was before, or loud and righteous like his leader? She sniffled, fear prickling at the boundaries of her mind at the thought of non-acquaintance his absence may have brought, and her nose on her sleeve.

“Weeping may stay for the night, but rejoicing comes in the morning.” She inhaled deeply and found comfort in the words. “Weeping may stay for the night, but-”

“-but rejoicing comes in the morning. Psalm thirty.”

She shot up from the ground, swaying a little where she stood. When had he snuck upon her? How long had he been there?

“Osferth,” her voice was a mixture of shock and pleasure.

“My lady,” he bowed his head and she felt her heart tighten. “I tried to say hello earlier, with Sæflæd, but you were otherwise busy.”

The years had changed him, it was true. Gone was the timid monk she had met at Æthelflæd’s door, with his careful eyes and quiet voice. Before her stood a warrior, lean and broad, self-assured and world-worn. She smirked a little at his hair, sandier and ruffled, but still shorn using a bowl. She supposed needs must while travelling. Beneath the long hair across his forehead, his eyes still shone. Blue and brilliant in the summer sun, she bit her lip as they watched her with gentle intensity. Osferth had seen this world before, she was certain, and had come back to love it just the same.

He was unafraid to look at her now, though a small smile still played at his lips and pink flushed his cheekbones. They were sharper than before, hollowed out by years of rigorous labour and little food, but she found she wasn’t averse to the hard visage it gave him. Still he blushed, but he was bold in showing his vulnerability and, when she smiled back at him, he looked to the ground only fleetingly before meeting her gaze. Self-efficacy, rather than outright embarrassment, seemed to have bloomed in his adulthood.

“How many years has it been? Two?” she murmured.

“Three, my lady.” Osferth corrected quickly. “You haven’t changed at all, much to my pleasure.” He was charming too. It was his boldness that did it, and in three long strides over the meadow, she wrapped her arms around his neck and held him tight against her.

“I’m so glad you’re back, my friend.” Her voice was muffled as she pressed her face to his shoulder, but Osferth caught every word. His hands rubbed her back and settled at the soft curve of her hips as she looked at him. Eyes drawn to the closeness of her face, the parted pink lips and wide eyes, he saw red mottling her cheeks and tears glistening on her eyelashes.

“You have been crying?”

The hands that had found his shoulders dropped in a flash, rubbing roughly over her face. “Yes. Well, I was, but I am fine now, please don’t worry yourself.” She sat back on the patch of scrub, flattened by her bottom, and busied her hands with the braided grass. Osferth sat beside her, facing out to the meadow and watching insects dancing in the hazy light.

“Has it something to do with Finan and Æthelflæd?”

The lady sighed. “He told you?”

“Only that-”

“Osferth, I’m sorry,” she cut across him. “I spoke out of turn. I only said those things about your father-”

“You have no need to apologise. Believe me, what ever you have spoken, I have thought worse.” She let out a blubbering laugh and wiped her nose once more.

“Thank you,” she whispered, following his eyes to watch the insects and birds go about their afternoon flutterings.

“May I ask, though? Why did I get ‘gentle’, when the others got ‘agile’ and ‘noble’?”

“I’ll kill Finan,”

“Now that I would like to see,” he nudged her leg and she laughed, real and hearty. “Why not ‘Osferth the daring?’”

“Or ‘fearsome’,” she added.

“Yes!”

“Because gentle is who you are, Just Osferth, to me.” She watched as he ran his thumb over the braided grass she had made earlier. There was a moment’s silence before either of them spoke again.

“I like that you see me that way, my lady.” He stood up and held out his hand. “Now enough of this hiding. You are missed at the keep.” She beamed up at him, illuminated by the sun as he had been when she first saw him, and took his hand. Through the meadow they walked, back towards the castle and their duties, neither speaking as they did. Their hands, brushing against the grass and cow parsley, remained entwined. When they reached the blacksmith’s, Osferth turned to her and grasped her hand with both of his.

“I am glad I saw you, my Lady, for we are away again. It will only be overnight,” he hurried on when he saw her open her mouth to protest. “To see a tradesman in Æwielltun about stocks of leather. When I come back,” he took a step closer. “Will you grant me an audience? There is something I wish to ask you.”

“Yes,” it came out as a whisper and she nodded furiously. “Yes,”

The monk laughed. “Good. Ok,” He laughed again and the lady found she could not help but join him. “Well,” he said through his bashful smiles, looking over his shoulder to the castle. “I must go. I’m sure Lord Uhtred will have something terribly important to tell me about the journey.” His jovial sarcasm was barely hidden and she laughed. His hand left hers as he began to step away. Before he could move beyond her reach, however, she grasped his shoulders and kissed his cheek.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,”

“Yes, my lady. Tomorrow.” Walking backwards a few paces to keep her in his sight, he grinned and turned proudly towards the castle gate. She watched him go, and no sooner had he vanished from view was she dashing into the stables. The white mount he always rode stood between its darker companions and she hastened to it. From the pocket of her dress, she produced a cross, made from braided grass, and tucked it into the horse’s bridle. An hour later, when Uhtred and his men had departed, she retired to her chambers to find a posy of forget-me-not, foxglove and cow parsley resting on her bedstraw pillow.

“Tomorrow,” she whispered.

Note: I had Osferth kill Sigefrid, as it happens in the books. Adburh and Sæflæd, the other ladies-in-waiting, are names from Anglo-Saxon Royal Charters. I hope you enjoyed, I am thinking of maybe expanding this so feedback is welcome! Also! I was brought up a catholic, so it was nice to whip out some phrases, finally they feel useful. The title is from a psalm about love. Also! Cabinets were small room in castles used for studies etc. Finan and MC weren’t just chilling in a wardrobe.

#ewan mitchell #osferth #osferth x reader #osferth x oc #the last kingdom

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foxyanon · 1 year ago

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The Vampiress and the Dane: Part 1

Summary: Her presence plagued him for 30 years, but will he admit to both her and himself that he craves her? Or will his prejudice push her away for good?

Pairing: Sihtric Kjartansson x Corvina

Word Count: 4,500

Rating: 18+, Minors DNI

TW: Sexual themes, blood, violence, older woman/younger man dynamic

Part 2

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters from The Last Kingdom nor do I own any of the images used. I only own my OC, Corvina and her AI image.

Dividers by @arcielee and @saradika-graphics

He hated her. Absolutely despised her. Couldn’t stand the very sight of her. At least, that’s what he told himself every night when those irritating thoughts of her found their way to the forefront of his mind, his hand sliding beneath the waistband of his breeches to fist his cock, her name falling from his lips as he pictured her writhing in pleasure beneath him when he spilled himself in his hand.

The woman he both hated and craved for nearly three decades. No, not a woman. A vampire, a very old and powerful one at that. Corvina.

He hated her pale skin, as soft and beautiful as the snow of the lands of Norway where she was born. He couldn’t stand her perfect ruby red lips, so kissable but hiding those sharp pearly, white fangs of hers. He despised that long dark brown hair, the way it fell in soft waves down her back when she wore it loose and how it contrasted with her skin, making her look even more unnaturally stunning. The worst was her eyes. Those damn gorgeous and absolutely mesmerizing blood red eyes. He swore just one look was enough to cause any sane man to fall under her spell, the result of her vampiric compulsion.

But he’d be lying because he knew that wasn’t it. After thirty years of knowing Corvina, Sihtric knew it wasn’t magic she used to charm men like him. It was her gentle and caring nature, so unlike the others of her kind. It was the way she was always there for him and his friends, never with a harsh word or judgement. He was so used to being talked down to by Saxons and Danes alike, be it for his paganism or his status as Kjartan’s bastard. But not with her, never with her. No, her sweet voice and kind words always caused his cheeks to flush red and he hated it. She should be spiteful and cruel, like he had been taught all vampires are, but no. She had to go and be different, so caring and thoughtful and gentle. Sihtric had wanted to scream to the gods themselves that they were truly cruel to curse such an amazing woman to be an immortal beast, destined to live her life in the shadows.

He remembers the first time Uhtred had told Finan, Osferth and him about her. He was barely 20, a fresh faced warrior in his lord's service. It was 886 at the Battle of Beamfleot when Uhtred decided to attack the fortress in an attempt to free Aethelflaed from the clutches of Erik and Sigefrid. There wasn’t enough men to successfully storm the fortress and Uhtred knew it, so he said he called in a favor and everyone was thrilled for the aid. How was Sihtric supposed to know it would be the very being who would haunt his every waking thought and even dreams? He remembers seeing her walking into the camp the first night, how she seemed to appear from the shadows beyond the light of the campfire. He was startled by her sudden appearance, so speechless as she gave him that little knowing grin that he almost didn’t notice the predatory gleam in her unusual eyes. Uhtred had introduced Corvina to the others and Sihtric could only stutter out a half-assed greeting to her beautiful face, before she turned and started discussing how many men she brought and plans to get Uhtred to Aethelfaed. He remembers how stunning she looked in the heat of battle, cutting down her enemies with ruthless efficiency in that damned black armor looking every inch a warrior queen that he knew she was. His breeches felt tighter when he saw her covered in blood, her eyes glowing fiercely and fangs on full display when she dragged Sigefrid in front of Uhtred, tossing his body to the ground like he weighed nothing. The siege was a success, Aethelflaed and Erik eloping and leaving East Anglia behind to start their new life, thanks to the financial contributions of none other than Corvina. Finan and Osferth gave Sihtric a hard time afterwards, saying that he was acting like a fool in love. He vehemently denied their claims, saying he was just surprised a creature like her would help them and he worried for the price she would ask. She never asked for anything.

Then of course there was that whole situation with Skade and Bloodhair, the way that damned witch cursed his lord and friend. Uhtred’s health had been failing fast and they weren’t going to make it to Dunholm, so he made the choice to seek out Corvina for her help. Of course, she opened the doors to her castle and removed the curse, never once asking for payment for her aid. Sihtric had tried to offer her one of his armrings (after Uhtred told him to give it to her) and she simply smiled, saying she wouldn’t take anything and that she was happy to help a friend. That was the first time Sihtric snarled at her, deciding then and there that she must be a manipulative creature, because no one is that nice for no reason. He hated her and he hated that hurt look in her eyes after he yelled at her even more, but his pride wouldn’t let him apologize for his outburst. No, in his youthful ignorance and arrogance, he doubled down and simply glared at her. She was a vampire, a creature of the night. A beautiful monster. He went back to his wife later on, but Sidgeflaed was only a sorry reminder of who he really wanted. He remembers taking his wife from behind that first night back, the sight of her brown hair reminding him of Corvina. It’s no surprise when he said another woman’s name in his marriage bed that his wife would be angry, leaving him and taking the children with her. He truly loathed Corvina then, blaming her for his failed marriage because he refused to accept that he was well and truly in love with her.

When Uhtred failed to regain Bebbanburg from his estranged cousin, Wihtger in 910, the men fled to the safety of Corvina’s castle and Sihtric was practically seething in frustration. He hated that they came knocking on her door looking like kicked dogs and she just let them in with a sympathetic smile, telling them they were welcome to stay as long as they needed to. Uhtred had firmly told Sihtric to mind his manners, because they couldn’t afford to get tossed out now and if he snapped on Corvina again, they would really make the square. Sihtric had bit his tongue for most of their stay, seeing her move about the castle like a damned angel amongst men. She dressed in the varying styles of the world, but he remembers that Grecian gown the most of all. The fabric was a beautiful shade of purple, something he’s never seen even the wealthiest kings of this land wear. The fabric flowed over her soft curves, her hair pulled back and pinned with golden laurel leaves. She looked like a goddess and his mouth watered at the sight of her, sitting atop the throne as she held court for her undead minions. He hated her, he told himself as he hid inside an alcove and jerked himself off, imagining burying his face between her thighs and devouring her on that very throne in front of everyone. He imagined she tasted like that ambrosia she spoke of from her time in Greece, all sweet and addicting. He felt burning shame when he came and made a mess of the wall and floor, knowing it was wrong to crave her but he couldn’t help himself. He couldn’t stand the way her very existence seemed to bring about powerful emotions, and he hated not feeling in control of himself. He snapped at Finan and Osferth when he had returned to them, their mocking smiles grating on his nerves. As per usual, Corvina just had to glide up to them at that moment with her signature alluring smile on her face, asking what was wrong. Sihtric sneered at her and made some snarky remark before storming off, never seeing the knowing look on her face.

That was nearly 8 years ago now. Today, they stand in the war camp just outside Bebbanburg planning an attack. Uhtred intends to win this time and of course, he just had to ask Corvina for help. Sihtric had been avoiding her like the plague he convinced himself she was, but he couldn’t dodge her forever. She walked into the command tent, carrying herself with an authority that took the breath right out of his lungs. She was wearing her usual black armor, her dark hair braided back and not a hair out of place. She cut Sihtric a look, her red eyes piercing into his soul for a moment before she smiled brightly at Uhtred, hugging him with a laugh and a joke about how old he had gotten. Even Finan and Osferth, his own battle brothers, had hugged this despicable creature like an old friend, even though that was exactly what she was. He thought she looked just as beautiful as the first time he saw her nearly 30 years ago, before bitterly remembering that she doesn’t age due to her vampirism. His lips pressed into a thin line and he simply nodded at her, determined not to piss both her and Uhtred off if his mouth got away from him. Plans were made for an attack the next morning, her men joining the shield wall alongside Uhtred’s forces. Even if he couldn’t stand the sight of her, Sihtric knew she was a formidable ally and warrior, commanding respect from her people and instilling fear in the hearts of her enemies.

Sihtric found her later that night, standing on the edge of the field beside the coastal fortress and staring out over the moonlight grass. He knew her eyes were better suited to the darkness and she always studied the battlefield before the fight, something she claimed she learned from her time with the Roman Legion. She stood there with her hands clasped loosely behind her back, her back straight and head held high.

“If you are here to sass me, Sihtric, you will find I am not in the mood,” Corvina spoke in a calm voice, looking over her shoulder at the warrior. She couldn’t deny he had grown into a handsome man, the top half of his dark hair braided and the rest hanging in curls that would make anyone jealous. He was sporting a goatee, and she wondered what it feel like against her cold skin. He looked damned good, the muscles of his arms flexing as he crossed his arms and stood next to her. She wanted to bite him and those arms, wondered if his blood tasted as good as he smelled. She saw his jaw tense before he took a breath, looking at her with a serious expression.

“No, I am not here to sass you Corvina. I wanted to make sure you understood the gravity of what is happening tomorrow. We aren’t just reclaiming Bebbanburg for Uhtred, we are fighting for the fate of Northumbria itself,” he said firmly, already aggravated with himself for his thoughts running wild.

Corvina sighed, turning to face Sihtric with an exasperated expression. “I know what we fight for and we will not lose. You have fought on the shield wall with me before, you have seen me fight and you know I am not in the habit of losing. But I can tell from your tense stance that is not the real reason you are here, is it?”

Sihtric nodded, his eyes finding Corvinas. He always found them captivating, the red hue switching from a bright red to a deep burgundy depending on her mood. “No, I came because I wanted to make sure you will keep your end of the bargain. No feeding on the soldiers before or after the battle, your men stay in control and don’t succumb to bloodlust in the middle of the fighting, and all those other promises you’ve made,’ he replied in a tense tone, grinding his teeth together as he looked away from the pretty little vampire that had haunted him for his entire life.

She rolled her eyes and looked away, placing her hands on her hips as she looked down and shook her head, her words coming out with a defeated tone as she spoke. “You already know I will uphold my word, Sihtric. We have this conversation every time I agree to fight with you lot. By the gods, I am tired of this.”

Corvina turned to look at Sihtric, licking her red lips and staring into his eyes with an intensity the Dane didn’t quite like. “What have I ever done to you to make you hate me so? I have been nothing but a good and kind friend to you all, never betraying any of you like so many others have, and yet you treat me with the same level of animosity you did when you were 20. By the Aesir, you are 51 years old now. What in the hell have I done to you for you to hold a grudge after all these years?”

He remained silent for a moment, considering her words carefully. He knew had been harsh towards her in the past, his youthful ignorance causing him to be suspicious of the supernatural. He was older now and he knew better. He knew she was a powerful and loyal ally, but he also knew she could be ruthless and unforgiving. Admittedly, he had taken her for granted without fully appreciating the nuances of her character. After a moment he spoke, avoiding her searching gaze. “I know that you have never betrayed us and I know that you have been a good ally. But the fact remains that you are a vampire, and for most people that is enough to inspire fear and loathing.” It was a cop out, and they both knew it. He couldn’t admit to her that he just wanted to be in her presence, finding it to be both soothing and resolute, like an anchor in the eye of the hurricane.

Corvina shook her head, looking up to the stars and taking a deep breath before responding. “That might be most people, but you are not most people. I asked why you specifically hate me. It’s been 30 gods damned years, Sihtric. I have fought for you, taken hits for you and still it's not enough. I am owed an explanation at the least,” her words were firm, her tone indicating she wanted answers and she wanted them now.

Sihtric looked at her, his expression hardening as all his repressed emotions boiled over in the worst way possible. “Because you are a fucking vampire!” He exclaimed, his voice ringing out in the quiet of the night. “You drink blood for Thor’s sake! How can I trust someone like you?” He shook his head, trying to reign in his temper before spitting out. “You are a monster and I will never trust a creature like you.”

Hurt crossed Corvinas face for a split second before her own face hardened, her lips pressed into a thin line. He knew calling her monster was the one thing she hated, and he suddenly wished he could snatch the word back if it meant she wouldn’t look at him with such disdain.

“Goodnight, Sihtric,” she said in a harsh tone before suddenly turning on her heel and walking away with a stiff stride, determined not to let him see her cry. She may have been undead, but that didn’t mean she was completely heartless.

Sihtric watched Corvina retreat, feeling guilt and anger surge through him. He hadn’t wanted to hurt her, but his emotions got the best of him and he started running at the mouth before he could stop himself. He started pacing, muttering under his breath trying to calm himself down. “Dammit. I need to apologize to her…but first, we have a battle to win.” He went back to his tent after several minutes of cursing himself for his actions, trying and failing to get some sleep before the battle tomorrow.

He woke early the next morning, preparing for the battle and checking on his men, making sure everything was in order. He didn’t see Corvina around the camp, but he forced himself to stay focused on the fight ahead. He needed to keep his head on right if he wanted to survive the day, but he thought to himself that Valhalla would be a preferable end after the way he acted last night.

By the time the sun starts rising over the horizon, everyone is in position on the battlefield. The two opposing forces face each other, shields up and swords in hand, the deep breath before the fighting breaks out seeming to slow time. The early morning rays shone across the field, a low fog hanging between Wihtger’s men and Uhtred’s. Corvina stands next to Sihtric, their shields locked tightly in formation as they wait with bated breath for Uhtred’s command. Despite the events of the previous night, they both have grim and determined expressions on their faces, stone cold focused on the enemy.

Once the signal was given, all hell broke loose. Wihtger’s men clashed hard with the wall, but the joint forces of Uhtred’s and Corvina’s armies were not so easily broken. The sounds of clashing metal and wood, along with the battle cries of the warriors filled the otherwise calm morning air. Once the wall finally broke, Sihtric and Corvina fought back to back, slicing through their foes with brutal efficiency. He smirked when he saw Corvina hit her stride, her supernatural speed and agility unmatched by the Scots and the rest of Wihtger’s men. He saw the moment they realized what she was, the fear in their eyes for the split second before she cut them down. He tried not to stare at her, his axe swinging through the air as he managed a fatal blow on his own enemy.

After a couple hours of fighting, Uhtred’s side had cut a swath through the usurpers' forces and Wihtger was engaged in a one on one battle with Uhtred. Sihtric and Corvina pick off a few stragglers, the rest scattering to the winds at the decisive loss only to be run down by Corvina’s vampire spawn before they reach the edge of the battlefield. She turned her back for just a second, slashing the throat of a still twitching man when a monster hunter snuck up behind Corvina. She realized what was happening just as the hunter brought a silver dagger up, driving it deep into her side. She cried out in agonizing pain, dropping her shield and bringing her sword down across the man's neck, his blood spraying across her face. She collapsed to the ground with the dagger protruding from her side, another hunter running up with an elder wood stake in his hands. Corvina hissed menacingly at him, her fangs elongated and eyes glowing dangerously as she struggled against the man.

The moment Sihtric heard Corvina cry out, he turned and his heart nearly stopped. He didn’t hesitate to charge forward, swinging his axe with precision and decapitating the hunter, pushing his body off Corvina before dropping his weapon and kneeling by her side. He quickly pulled the blade out of her side, knowing that her natural healing abilities will kick in now that the silver is removed. He tossed the blade off to the side before reaching down and scooping Corvina up into his strong arms, quickly carrying her out of harm's way. Her head lolled back as she lay in his arms, Sihtric only half aware that Uhtred stood victorious over his cousin's body as he half ran back to the camp. He heard her mumble his name and he pulled her closer, looking down at her quickly with a soft expression before turning towards where her tent was. Where she was normally so strong and independent, she now looked so vulnerable in his hold. He felt a whirlwind of emotions within him, but he pushed them aside and focused on getting her back to her tent.

“Shh, It’s okay. I’ve got you, Vina,” he whispered, ignoring anyone who tried to stop him. Once inside her tent, he moved to lay her on her bed and began removing her armor and clothes, wanting to get a good look at the wound.

She hissed in pain, feeling Sihtric remove her leather cuirass and pulling her ruined tunic up enough to expose the wound to his focused gaze. She tightly gripped the furs beneath her, her breathing heavy as Sihtric grabbed a bucket of water and clean rag to begin cleaning the blood away from the gash in her side.

“I need to feed, it’s the only way I will heal. I know you hate me for being a vampire, as you so kindly put it last night, but this is who I am, Sihtric,” she said through gritted teeth, her fangs glinting in the low light of the tent as she looked into his mismatched eyes. The hurt from him calling her the one thing she hated was still fresh in her mind, but she refused to stoop to his level even if she wanted to.

He looked at her, his expression softening when he saw how much pain she was in. He hated seeing her hurt and hated even more that she was right, she needed to drink blood if this wound was going to heal properly. That thought caused him to remember exactly what she was and his usual sneer found it’s way back to his face. “Fine, but don’t think for a second that I’m doing this because I like being your snack. You’re a dangerous creature and I hate having anything to do with vampires,” he growled, his jaw clenching as the image of her feeding from him sent his mind racing with less than innocent thoughts.

Corvina sighs exasperatedly and shakes her head, sitting up with a groan and a wince as she clutches her side. She gives Sihtric an expectant look, her tone questioning. “Oh, so you go from despising me for being a vampire to offering yourself up to be my breakfast? How generous of you, Sihtric. You told me last night that you didn’t trust me, so what the hell changed for you between then and now?”

He glared at her, his face flush with embarrassment and anger as she called him out. He knew he was being hypocritical, but he didn’t need Corvina telling him that. His frustration at the whole situation came out first, and he naturally lashed out at her. “Oh just shut up and feed from me already! You should just be acting like a predator, a monster like any other supernatural entity but you just have to talk to damn much.”

There it was again, that derogatory term. Corvina took a breath and stood up from her bed, speaking in a harsh voice that belayed her hurt. “Fuck you, Sihtric Kjartansson.” She slowly made her way to the entrance of her tent, determined to flag down one of her own people if it meant getting away from the most infuriating and oblivious asshole in all of Northumbria.

“Don’t you dare leave! You are injured and need to rest,” Sihtric shouted as he jumped to his feet, running up and grabbing Corvina’s arm by surprise, pulling her back towards him. His grip was firm, intended to keep her close to him and not to harm her. Not that he could anyway, seeing as how she had an impressive threshold for pain. His breath was hot on her ear as he whispered menacingly, the thought of her soft lips on another person causing jealousy to rear its ugly head within him. “If you think you can just go out there and find someone else to feed from…think again.”

Corvina growled back, turning and shoving Sihtric off her. Even injured, she was still stronger than a human and he stumbled backwards with the force she used against him. “Do not presume to touch me or give me any commands. I have put up with your unjust treatment of me for long enough. Your stubbornness and pride has cost you a friend this day. Enjoy your victory, Sihtric, and be gone from my tent when I return,” she snarled at him for the first time in their long friendship, letting the startled man see her righteous fury painted across her face. She knew she looked every inch of the ancient vampire she was, her fangs elongated and eyes glowing the brightest red Sihtric had ever seen. She closed her eyes and shook her head, muttering something under her breath about stubborn men and how they are the same in every age and land. She then turned on her heel and left her tent, leaving Sihtric behind with his scattered thoughts. He stood there staring as the flap of the tent blew in the soft early morning breeze and the sounds of people returning to camp filled his ears.

After the initial shock of seeing her lash out at him in that manner wore off, all Sihtric could think about was how his breeches suddenly felt a lot tighter and he hated everything about it. He groaned and ran a hand down his face, feeling both frustrated and aroused at the way everything went down. Frustrated at his own stubbornness and prejudice against vampires despite her best efforts to prove otherwise, and aroused at getting to see her in all her glory and have it directed at him. Despite himself, he thought she looked beyond magnificent and he finally understood what it was that had made her the vampire queen in that moment. After a few moments, he left her tent and walked out into the busy camp as the high from their win filled the air. He couldn’t help but envy the lucky person who she would feed on, wanting nothing more than to be in their shoes before the shame of thinking such thoughts came back to the forefront of his mind. As he made his way through the war camp and back to Uhtred’s side, his first thought was how he hoped he hadn’t pushed her completely away. His second? He wondered if he groveled enough at her feet if she would take pity on him and let him fall into her bed rather than someone else after the celebrations tonight.

Gods help him not muck this up, because he wasn’t sure he could handle another night of just him and his hand.

Taglist: for the Sihtric girlies @sihtricfedaraaahvicius @mrsarnasdelicious @bouncehousedemons @gemini-mama @whitedarkmoonflower @synindoodles

#sihtric #sihtric kjartansson #Sihtric x vampire!oc #older women and younger men #vampire!oc

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lexyleblancc · 2 years ago

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Goddess of love and beauty {Erik Thurgilson}

Summary: You are taken captive alongside your cousin. When you reach Beamfleot you are met with a man who wishes to show you what it means to be truly loved.

Erik x Fem!reader

word count: 2.4k

Warnings: None! just some fluff for our guy :)

Your eyes looked to the man left in the room, backing away from him slightly as your legs hit the back of the wooden bed. “I’m not here to hurt you Lady, I assure you.” The man spoke, bowing his head slightly as he did. His eyes met yours for the first time as he looked to you through his lashes.

“If you didn’t wish to hurt me, then you wouldn’t have taken me in the first place.” You couldn’t help the tone behind your words, anger. He shook his head, stepping back from you and giving you the space to breathe. “I should be back at that camp, either dead or taking care of anyone who held on long enough to live.”

“I understand, Lady.” He spoke once more, his eyes watching as you found yourself pacing back and forth. How is it that you end up in a situation like this? Why didn’t you take up Uhtred on his offer to live amongst them when it was offered to you? Or why did you refuse to yield to the Dane’s that killed your father all those years ago, leaving you to wind up on your Aunt’s doorstep with nothing more than you could carry from your lands. Everywhere you turned it seemed like you made the wrong mistakes, like God was punishing you for nothing more than trying to navigate this life. “Tell me your name.”

“(Y/N).” You found yourself complying to his request, but your eyes never left him.

“Erik, my Lady.” He told you in return, walking to the door and mumbling something to the man on the other side. “I have requested for something to be brought down to eat. You look as though you haven’t had a meal in months.” Erik, as you now knew him, told you. You nodded your head, slowly lowering yourself onto the bed, welcoming the furs beneath you. Erik slowly allowed himself to sit on a lone chair, making sure to keep enough space between the two of them.

A man walked into the room, holding two plates of food and placing them onto the table. “Leave us, I’ll call when there needs to be a guard again.” Erik spoke, waving his hand in dismissal.

“Yes, my Lord.” The man said quickly, his eyes lingering on you briefly before he left the room and closing the doors behind him.

“Tell me, Lord Erik, what do you assume you will get for me from the King?” You asked, looking at the steaming plate of food sitting on the small table in front of you. You wished nothing more than to dig into the plate, fill your stomach until contentment washed over you. Yet you couldn’t bring yourself to reach over and allow yourself that, you couldn’t allow the man in front of you see you in such a state.

“My brother expects the king to pay for the safety of both you and the princess.” Erik told you, his eyes drifting from you and down to the plate in front of him. Erik reached out first, picking at the food in front of him as you let out a laugh. Truly you did try to suppress it, but you could not bring yourself to hold the laugh back as it rumbled through you, making Erik raise a brow in your direction.

“My uncle, he will not pay you a dime for my return.” You told the man, suppressing your laughter finally. “You will be paid well for Aethelflaed, I assure you. I have no claim to anything, I am a lady with no land. My parents were murdered, and so I hold no value to the king.” You told the man before you, slowly allowing yourself to pick at the food in front of you. “I have nothing to offer him, no man sees me in terms of alliances, not even a knight cares for me.” You informed, making Erik let out a sigh.

“So you’re telling me… you hold no importance?” Erik asked, his question being worded carefully. Although you were unaware of it, hearing it voiced by someone else would hurt more than when you whisper it to yourself. You held no importance in the eyes of the king, only to his dear daughter. You were lucky to be able to find such a good friend in your cousin over the years, being at her side through most of your lives.

“It would seem that you speak the truth.” You muttered, pushing the plate away from you and no longer hungry. “So now that you know the truth, what is it you wish of me?” You asked, leaning further into the furs beneath you.

“We will figure it out, but I promise Lady (Y/N) there will be no harm done to you.”

Erik stayed true to his word over the next coming days, and even so much as less harm came to Aethelflaed. They had not taken her since the first night, but Erik would come and bring you on walks. He brought you to bathe in peace, eat and drink without fear, whenever he beckoned you answered.

“Lady (Y/N).” The doors to the cell were opened, and Aethelflaed gave you a small nod before you stood from beside her to stand. A guard nodded his head in the direction of the hallway past him, to find Erik standing there waiting for you.

“Lord Erik,” You greeted, bowing your head slightly as you walked towards him. “I figured I would answer your call at some point. You did not come yesterday.”

“I am sorry for keeping you waiting Lady (Y/N).” Erik spoke, offering you his arm as you two continued to walk. “If I’m not mistaken it would seem that you missed my company.” The man couldn’t help the tease, but you smiled nonetheless.

“Don’t gloat, Erik, it doesn’t suit you.” You hummed, feeling the warmth of the sun dance along your cheeks as you stepped outside.

“Apologies, dear (Y/N).” Erik said, his hand falling in place over yours that clung to his arm. “I wanted to show you something, but first I arranged for you to bathe.” Erik told you, guiding you through the streets of Beamfleot and to the river in which you have bathed a few times already. A handmaiden was waiting for you, a cloth for drying tucked under her arms and by the looks of it, clean clothes sitting on a stool beside her.

“No looking, Erik Thurgilson.” You teased, making the man raise his hands in defeat and turn his back once you approached the maid. The water was welcoming as you slowly kneeled further, wetting your hair and using an old cloth to help rid yourself of any dirt.

You couldn’t help but glance over your shoulder to the man who had his back turned to you. Erik was a man of his word, and kept watch instead of falling to his own will and turning to look in your direction. You couldn’t deny the fact that Erik was handsome, and spending time with him was peaceful instead of making you fearful. Erik was truly sweet, and on top of living up to his word and keeping you safe from others, he doted on you any chance he got. Baths, food, trinkets, clean dresses that would have been fit for a queen.

“I fear I do not deserve a dress as beautiful as this one.” You spoke, walking alongside Erik long after you had gotten out of the river and dressed. The man looked down to you, shaking his head in response.

“Why do you think such things about yourself?” He questioned you, making you frown in return.

“My God has never been kind to me, I guess I have followed in his footsteps.”

“I think the wrong God is looking out for you then.” Erik told you, a small smile tugging at his lips while he watched your face contort in confusion.

“What God would be looking out for me then?” You questioned him finally, your hand squeezing his arm tightly.

“One of my Gods, Freyja.” He told you proudly. His eyes now trained ahead of the two of you as he led you to a so-called surprise. “She is the goddess of beauty, as well as love and war.” He spoke.

“What are you trying to say to me, Lord Erik?” You pushed, trying to find his eyes. “Are you calling me beautiful?”

“I am.” Erik said with a smile. “I am also suggesting that maybe your God isn’t the God you were intended to pray to.”

“You mean to say, you think I should be a Dane?”

“Lady, if you wanted to, I would teach you what it means to be a true Dane.” Erik told you, stopping you two from walking any further. “I have wished from the moment I saw you that I could truly make you mine. If not even a Saxon warrior would be foolish enough to look in your direction, I’m here to tell you that I have.” Erik brushed your hair from your face, tilting your head up so you would meet his pleading eyes.

“And what does Sigefrid think of this idea of yours?” You questioned, knowing that Erik would not be here talking to you about this if he hadn’t talked to his brother first. “That’s why you didn’t visit yesterday.” You pieced together slowly. Erik nodded his head, a small hopeful smile on his face as you spoke. “Is this my surprise?” You asked, making Erik let out a low laugh.

“The surprise comes if you say yes, Lady. If you would like to spend the rest of your days intertwined with that of a heathen.” There was no arguing with yourself, no picking the path you thought was right this time. Only one path called to you, the one that led you closer to Erik. There was no way you would go back to the King willingly now that you have been shown what it is like to be wanted. A window peaking into the life of happiness was standing in front of you, begging to chase after it for the rest of time.

“I am with you Erik, for however long we have left in this life.” You whispered, his forehead falling against yours in an attempt to live in the moment for a second longer. A smile tugged at your lips, you knew this would be the right choice for you. You would finally be free of the crown, be with a man who would truly love you, a man who you could love.

“Then I must admit there was no surprise my Lady, just the promise to be the man you need me to be.” Erik told you with a laugh, making you laugh in return as his hands moved to cradle your face.

“Just kiss me Erik.” You said softly, happily returning the kiss as his lips met yours. It would be the first of many, and if every single one brought an army of butterflies to your stomach like this one did - they would be returned happily every time.

#the last kingdom #finan #erik thurgilson #sigefrid #sihtric #finan x reader #erik x reader #uhtred #osferth #sihtric x reader #imagine #the last kingdom imagine #uhtred x reader

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bilesandthesourwolf · 2 years ago

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Are you kidding me with Erik and Aethelflaed?! They're so so fucking cute!

So, I started watching The Last Kingdom and I like Uhtred but my boy does not get court politics and I don't think he's ever going to conform to Alfred, which is fine. I'm just so curious as to how this is gonna go. Absolutely hate young Odda and the fact that he claimed the killing of Ubba. Also, love that Leofric was like "fuck my allegiance to younger Odda, let's go raiding, bestie!"

#the last kingdom #aethelflaed #erik x aethelflaed #mine

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nellyharrison · 6 months ago

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I began sleeping to pass the time, my body growing weak but my will strong. I had been just easing back to sleep when I heard voices below talking in hushed but frantic tones. Turning to look towards the entrance to Aethelflaed’s room, I saw someone remove the block and push the doors open. I shot upright when I heard shouting, and grunting, and then I watched Erik rush in and yell for Dagfinn to hold her. There was more grunting, this time in pain, followed by shouting between Erik and what sounded like Haesten. “She is precious!” came Erik’s clear shout, the silence following enough to make my stomach twist. More was said, but I could not seem to make it out. I watched as Haesten and Dagfinn left her room, Erik remaining for a few minutes to talk to Aethelflaed. When he did leave her room, he made sure the doors were locked, and then spent the rest of the night keeping guard himself. When most of the men had gone to sleep, he remained awake, his eyes wandering up and seeing my watchful eyes. “You were right to protect her.” I inhaled slowly through my nose, then turned to face the ceiling, my eyes falling closed as I easily drifted to sleep.

Chapter 7 of "My Heart Is In You" by NellyHarrison

#finan x oc #aethelflaed x erik #aethelflaed #the last kingdom fanfic #finan the agile #haesten #tlk fanfic #hush: an irish princess' tale #princess melkorka #my fic

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wildwren · 11 months ago

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Tag game: tag 9 people you'd like to get to know better

ahhh thx for the tag!!! @forasecondtherewedwon

Last song: "how the heroine dies" - the barr brothers (x)

Currently watching: nothing atm, last two shows were Poldark rewatch and The Gilded Age first-time binge

Three ships: i built this city on Aethelflaed x Erik (The Last Kingdom) so i have to shout them out, babes of all time still remain Tom Jones x Sophia Western (The History of Tom Jones -- don't look at me i have personal problems), babes who are currently filling my brain are Morwenna x Drake (Poldark), because i re-watched and they got me BAD again

Favorite color: sage green

Currently consuming: pea snacks

First Ship: hmmmm..... i mean like technically harry x ginny but.....yikes.

Relationship status: single and generally living my best life, although occasionally i sigh and think 'why wont a lovely lady kiss me already' and then do nothing about it

Last Movie: oh. oh no. i shan't say (i hated it sooooo much).

Currently working on: intimacy trauma plot fix-it fic for morwenna x drake. nothing like writing poldark fic in the year of our lord 2024 but also this is the fic i was born to write :/

Extremely no-pressure tagging: @mollywog @minim236 @airmanslament @gabagal @flythesail @weavemeamyrtlecrown @aelswiths @tear-soaked-cheeksdonteverlast @catty-words

#tag games

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anoncat6 · 2 years ago

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PETRICHOR | sihtric x oc | part six

part one part two part three part four part five

6. blood and oaths

Gisela had been as angry as expected, if not worse; essentially locking her sister in her room for 3 days upon her return, and then only relenting after Finan pleaded her case for fresh air.

Surprisingly, Finan had been nearly as bad as Gisela, fussing over Ghylena and making sure she was comfortable. She suspected Uhtred had placed him on orders to guard her during her recovery, that or he had made some promise to Sihtric.

By the end of the first week, it no longer hurt to breathe and her voice had returned.

The cuts across her leg and back had itched like mad as they healed, but they too eventually pulled back together, leaving behind angry red scars.

When Ghylena had first washed after the bandages were removed, Gisela had been with her, gently cleaning her back for her and washing her hair. They had sat in silence in the lapping water, Finan on guard not far from the shore but out of sight.

Gisela’s fingers had ghosted over the red ridges, barely touching the ragged skin but still her baby sister flinched. Gisela winced, her eyes pained.

“They are hideous.” Ghylena’s whisper was hoarse, her voice usable yet rough, “I never want him to see them, Gisa.”

“Lena,” Gisela soothed, “Sihtric would rather have you alive and scarred, than not at all. They are proof, reminders of your survival. He will worship them for you.”

The skin around Ghylena’s throat had yellowed, the bruises fading, but still visible. All Gisela could see when she looked at them was a reminder that some man had his hands there, had tried to squeeze the life from her sister, and had failed.

He had failed, all 4 men had failed, because Ghylena had killed them.

Gisela touched the bruises gently, brushing over all of Lena’s scars and wounds, before caressing her cheek gently and kissing her forehead: “Beautiful. Brave. My strong warrior, my little sister.”

Lena cried, her tears melting into the water around them.

If Finan heard, he never said anything.

The time in Coccham went quickly after that. Ghylena healed more each day, and had even been hunting again, returning to fighting form after 2 weeks.

Her days were spent reading to Young Uhtred and looking after baby Stiorra.

Osferth, the baby monk from Winchester, had arrived soon after their return and had thanked Ghylena for speaking up for him. She found him sweet, like a young foal still finding its feet. If he wanted to be a warrior, he would need to learn quickly.

She missed Sihtric desperately, but when Rypere returned with news from Beamfleot, she couldn’t help but be proud of her fiancé. Soon after, she joined Uhtred on the road to Winchester.

Ghylena didn’t speak during the wittan, preferring to stay close to Finan and Gisela instead, and when Father Beocca approached them afterwards he smiled at her.

Her expression must have been hilarious when Beocca pulled her in for a hug, her arms glued to her side in surprise as Finan snickered at her face.

“It is good to see you so well recovered, My Lady.” Beocca beamed at her.

Nodding her head, Ghylena spoke, “And you Beocca, I hope Thyra is well.”

“She is, she is. Perhaps you should visit someday.”

“My sister and I would be happy to join you for dinner whilst the men are away negotiating, Father.” Gisela placated.

“Excellent, Thyra will be pleased!”

Another 2 weeks passed with Gisela and Ghylena waiting in Winchester for news before Uhtred and his men returned.

It was not long after that when Sihtric himself rode into Winchester with a letter for Uhtred from the Lady Aethelflaed. A plan was afoot to rescue the princess from the fort, and strangely it was Erik who had masterminded it. Once again, love had changed the fate of the kingdoms of Mercia and Wessex.

When she was finally reunited with her fiancé, Lena looked and felt like her usual self again, grinning up at him as he gently held her.

“It doesn’t hurt?” Sihtric checked again, desperate not to inflict any more pain on her.

“No, Sihtric, I told you. I am healed, I swear. It doesn’t hurt anymore.” Ghylena comforted him.

“Good,” he smiled now, his eyes still smudged with black and wearing his armour, his intimidating figure was quite the contrast to his beaming grin.

Uhtred did not fight her when she decided to go with them for the rescue plan, having been reassured by his wife that she was indeed fully recovered. Sihtric simply knew better than to try and change her mind.

When they arrived at Beamfleot in the night, it was decided that Ghylena would be a part of Rypere’s group to attack from the water. She had always been a good swimmer, but as she approached the docks under the water— opposite to Rypere— she found it difficult to hold her spear in hand, kick through the river, and hold the reed in her mouth to breathe.

Still, she made it through the plan, leaping from the water with the rest of the men and spearing one of the guards through his heart before killing yet another with her axe.

Sopping wet and dripping river water from her furs and hair, Ghylena sighed at realising half the men were dead, and she was the only one from her group to survive.

As Uhtred berated Osferth— Lena hadn’t seen what he had done, but he was sure to never do it again from the way he flinched at Uhtred’s yells— Sihtric checked in on Ghylena, clasping her head into looking up at him as she also looked him over for injuries.

“I’m okay, just completely soaked,” she reassured him, trying for humour.

“You volunteered your esteemed swimming skills, Ghylena, don’t forget.” Finan joked.

Sihtric rolled his eyes, and Lena simply stuck her tongue out at the Irishman as they returned to the riverside reeds. Regrouping, the plan changed yet again, and now they were headed into the fort, deciding to simply free Aethelflaed themselves.

After Sihtric had fetched Erik from the hall, and it was revealed that Aethelflaed was now trapped in a cage, in plain sight of everyone, Uhtred was the one who suggested fires, but Ghylena had been the one to volunteer in setting them.

“I’m still more water than woman, it will be safest for me to be the one playing with flames. I will meet you back with the horses.” Ghylena said goodbye, quickly touching her forehead to Sihtric’s before stealing a torch and running to the closest buildings.

When Sihtric came running out with a woman in Aethelflaed’s clothing, Lena helped her onto a horse and out of the fortress, before preparing the other horses.

They waited, anxious and unnerved by the growing fires around them.

“Maybe I got a bit carried away…” Ghylena winced as the roof of the hall began to collapse.

“Look!” Sihtric pointed to Uhtred, who lead the charge out of the fires and towards them, “Up! Up, in your saddle now!”

Clapa, the great big bear of a man who had been with them since Ghylena first met them, sacrificed himself so they could escape. Charging past his fallen body, Ghylena stole one last look before she too galloped out of the gates.

Sigefrid and his man, Haesten, were close behind, with their men soon following as well.

Bursting past the trees and not slowing, they came across the joined armies of Alfred and Odda, thankful for the unexpected reinforcements.

When the King finally did give the order for a shield wall, Sigefrid’s men charging into what was sure to be their deaths, Sihtric and Ghylena stood side by side, ready to fight together, once again behind a shield wall.

Sigefrid, the tempest of rage and violence, was the one to burst through the shield wall, and then the Danes were upon them.

Somehow, despite the fray of men storming around them, all of Uhtred’s group managed to stay close by each other: Osferth, Finan, Sihtric and Ghylena never lost sight of each other in their first real fight together, protecting each other and surviving the night without an injury between them. It was nothing short of a miracle from the gods.

Right as the last of the men were killed, and the ones who fled escaped, Ghylena swore she saw a flash of amber in the forest, eyes that were too low to be a man. As soon as she caught sight of it however, it disappeared again, and Ghylena brushed it from her mind.

All too thankful to be back in Winchester— something she thought she’d never say— Ghylena had been the one to suggest they marry that day.

The reminder of their fragile mortalities had made her spontaneous, and Sihtric was all too eager to agree.

So it was, that the day before leaving Winchester, Sihtric Kjartanson and Ghylena of Cumbraland were married as one, before their gods and their family.

Coccham looked sweeter, more welcoming than it ever had before, with Ghylena now returning through its gates with Sihtric as her husband, Uhtred as the brother she would fight for, and with her fate more clear than ever.

Destiny is all.

END OF SEASON 2.

-> up next: 'the calm'...

#sihtric x reader #sihtric x oc #sihtric kjartansson #sihtric #finan #uhtred #the last kingdom #osferth

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