#and finan edges closer to her with a hopeful look ‘would that be so bad?’

[shadowglens]

siggi and finan are married right before the start of season 4, after becoming close during the time jump.

[vermilionskiinmorning]

@tlkfanficfest​

Prompt fill for TLKFFF2020: Jealous possessive Finan please!

an: I may do another fill for this prompt with my OC from my fic Oaths of Loyalty bc writing this gave me an idea for that as well, but I hope you all enjoy my little contribution here :)

Pairing: Finan/Unnamed OC

Words:1586

So lovely and kind and he was just a man -a lonely man at that. He fell in love with her before he even knew it. She was a servant in Uhtred’s house; looking after the children, cooking, and cleaning since Gisela had passed. How he had not noticed her before was beyond him, but the new frequency with which he saw her made it difficult not to. They came to know each other over idle chatter as she went about her chores. Finan even began to think she might have a fondness for him.

She was scrubbing clothes in a wash bin as they chatted idly. Finan had just finished a rather ridiculous story causing her to chuckle lightly at him. Her cheeks were flushed from the heat and eyes shining when she paused to look up at him. He was grinning back at her.

“Ya liked tha’ one did ya?” he asked cheekily.

“I did,” she replied. “Though I cannot be sure how much is a stretch!”

“You wound me lass!” Finan retorted.

She was smiling again as she shook her head, her face full of amusement.

“Oh, if I could wound your ego I should be astounded.”

The wind caught a piece of her unbound hair then and blew it into her eyes. She reached for a cloth to wipe her hands before fixing the hair but was stopped by Finan’s hand. Gently he tucked the hair back behind her ear and they were quite close then. He was looking deeply into her eyes still a more subdued smile taking the place of his previous one.

“Or instead ya could be astounded at my foolishness,” he drawled lowly, his fingers trailing along her cheek lightly. “Fer my not having noticed ya sooner.”

Then they were called away to war. He did not have the chance to say goodbye before they left. A small detail of warriors was left behind to personally guard the Lord’s family and home though so he knew at least she would be safe.

When they returned Finan had hoped she would be waiting for him as news of their return was sent on a day ahead of their arrival. It was done to give the servants and villagers time to prepare. So, it was not unreasonable for him to hope. And his hopes did not go unnoticed by his friends either.

“Eager to return?” Uhtred asked Finan in a deceptively off handed tone.

“Of course, he is,” Sihtric snickered. “Can’t wait to see his sweetheart I expect.”

Finan shot a look of daggers at Sihtric. He supposed it was payback. After all he had teased the young Dane mercilessly over how smitten he had been with his own wife before they married. He was in fact still smitten with her. The joy of teasing Sihtric had grown old though as the young man’s skin had thickened to it over time, but that did not mean he had forgotten his embarrassment.

“His sweetheart?” Uhtred asked as if he did not know.

“Oh yes Lord you know that lovely servant girl he spends all his free time following around like a puppy after it’s mother!” Sihtric teased.

Without warning, Finan reached out and punched Sihtric nearly knocking him from his horse and causing Sihtric to laugh even louder. Meanwhile Uhtred was snickering in amusement and Osferth frowned slightly.

“You shouldn’t tease like that,” Father Beocca said with a long-suffering sort of look.

The teasing calmed some after that as they were nearing the open gates by then. As they rode into town Finan could not help himself but look for her which only caused Sihtric to snicker again. They reached the stables without any sign of a welcoming party so upon handing off their horses the men headed to the great hall. Outside waiting were Sihtric’s family as well as those warriors who had stayed behind and Uhtred’s children alongside a nurse.

Off to the far side, there she was which he thought was odd as she ought to have been with the nurse and other house servants awaiting their return. She stood closely to a young man of about her own age. The man, Finan recognized, was called Cenric. He was one of the warriors left behind for defense. Cenric’s hand rested on her shoulder and she was smiling at him as they spoke quietly among themselves. It seemed the two had not even noticed their victorious return.

Finan could hardly take his eyes from them. Vaguely he recognized Uhtred was speaking to him, but he could not rightly hear the words for how focused he was on the two. Finally, someone shook him, but when he turned to look at the culprit, he was blind. Not properly blind, but jealousy did that to a man; it made them blind. It was similar to love in that way. Two of the world’s most powerful emotions and they could make one utterly and completely blind to reality. And Finan was deep in both.

Without warning, Finan huffed and stormed off toward the tavern giving no explanation for his sudden departure. Though, it did not take long for his comrades to realize what had caused the Irishman such sudden distress. So wrapped up in his dark thoughts, Finan did not noticed the girl abruptly turning to watch his departure with a confused expression. She even made to go after him but was stopped by Cenric who furrowed his brow and held fast to her shoulder to impede her following.

Sometime later in the early evening, Finan sat outside the tavern with a jug of ale stewing in his disappointment. He had thought her fond of him, but he had only been gone a few short months. Cenric was not a bad fellow Finan supposed. But seeing her so familiar with another when he had thought, no he had felt, something was between them; well, it had caused a familiar sort of pain that sent him over the edge. That pain faded swiftly though leaving the sting of angry jealousy which had prompted his sudden flight and leading him there to drink.

Soft footsteps stirred his muddled mind though causing Finan to look up. And there she was in the fading light of the early evening, looking down at him with that sweet puzzled face. He glowered at her. How could she look at him like that?

“Finan?” she spoke cautiously. “Can I sit?”

He said nothing. Just stared at her like he could not understand what she was doing there. Shouldn’t she be off at the great hall celebrating everyone’s return with Cenric?

Fucking Cenric.

Cenric was younger than him. Taller than him also. Though, perhaps he was not more handsome, but it was a small consolation.

When Finan did not answer after a few moments, she sat anyway. Her expression changed as she gazed across the table at him. Where she had been puzzled, she now looked a little hurt.

“Will you not speak to me?” she asked.

“Why’re ya here?” he snapped.

“Why…should I not be here?” her brow furrowed.

“Should ya not be with Cenric,” Finan nearly spat.

“Cenric?” she said the name slowly her confusion clear in her voice. “You mean my brother, Cenric?”

Finan who had been staring down into his ale looked up sharply at that. His brows knitted together lips turned down into a slight frown. “Your what?”

“My brother?”

“Cenric is yer brother?” Finan asked looking absolutely bewildered.

She nodded slowly.

“So…you?” he could not even think of what to say. “I thought he was…”

She sighed heavily. “No.” She paused, a small amused smile blooming on her face. “You thought he was my man.”

Finan’s cheeks burned with embarrassment and he could not meet her eyes.

“Were you jealous Irishman?” she asked.

Quite suddenly Finan jerked his hand knocking the jug of ale to the floor. Instinctively she bent to fetch the jug, but her hand was caught by Finan before she could reach it. She looked up into his deep brown eyes. Finan swallowed thickly flexing his grip on her wrist slightly.

“I had thought I was fond of ya,” he murmured softly. “But seein’ ya this afternoon…it is more.”

She bit her lip. Twisting in his grip, she maneuvered so she was holding his wrist as well.

“It was you that we spoke of…,” she said barely above a whisper. “Cenric was assuring me that you were safe and that you would be with those who returned. I worried the whole time you were away…Perhaps I have more than a fondness for you as well.”

Finan blinked. Almost unbelieving of what he heard. Releasing her hand, he cupped her steadily reddening cheek with care and tilted her chin up towards him. She looked like she was about to say something else, but Finan cut her off by pressing his lips hungrily to hers. A soft yelp of surprise came from her throat, but she relaxed quickly into his warm embrace. Her hand slid around his shoulders drawing him closer to her as they both knelt there in the dirt the forgotten jug lying between them. The kiss though intimate stayed passively chaste until they both had to come up for air after some time.

“I have come to think of you as my Irishman,” she murmured, pressing her forehead against his.

Tipping her chin upward slightly, Finan place a peck on her lips.

“I am,” he said in a husky voice.

[madamquacklemore]

Chapter 7-Deadliest of Revelations

a/n apologies everyone for the slow updates.. so here in this chapter we will see all sides coming into the action celts and Danes and perhaps anwser any Q's you have regarding them. enjoy!

There's a game That I play There are rules I had to break There's mistakes That I made But I made them My way

Black Lab-This night

FINAN

He was almost certain it had been a dream as he hesitated before opening his eyes. He just new he would find himself in his tent alone. Sighing Finan opened his eyes slowly and found himself staring up at a ceiling he didn't recognise.

Did that mean-

Finan turned on his side to find her there curled up facing him.

Oh lord in heaven it wasn't a dream.

Smiling to himself he reached out and tucked her hair behind her ear thumbing her cheek relishing the night before. Finan cringed at the thought he had literally cried in her arms but she had said nothing and that was all he needed. He showed her a part of himself he didn't even recognise and she had quite literally accepted him with open arms. As if he suddenly realised how uncomfortable it was to be watched while sleeping he went on his back  and wrapped an arm around her cherishing the warm of her body alongside his. He could get used to this as he thought.

Stirring slightly Tarian snuggled closer to him head on chest she murmured "Mornin' Finan."

"Good morning my love" he whispered kissing the top of her head.

He remembered her words how there was much they needed to talk about Christ he didn't even no where to begin. Neither of them had easy starts to this world that was certain but Finan didn't want to think about that now. Life was short all one could do was live in the moment and with her in his arms and by her side that moment was all the better.

"We should probably get up" she yawned.

"Aye they'll have guards breaking through any minute to find their missing warriors."

"They'll think us deserters."

"Let them break in I have no plans to go anywhere any time soon." Finan laughed softly.

"Who says I would let you anyway?" she teased looking up at him with a look  that made him weak in every part of his body-

almost every part

.

"Am I to be your prisoner lady?"

"You are indeed my prisoner Irishman mine to do with whatever I wish."

Before the prisoner could say another word his beautiful captor straddled him and pinned his hands to his sides. Finan the agile was going nowhere anytime soon.

POWYS

With his brother dead Ruari was now the de facto leader of southern Gywnedd and Powys a considerable amount of land and power to be sure however the position was not secure-not yet. With both his younger brother and various cousins all laying claim to this prestigious title Ruari was going to have to be clever. There was also the subject of his niece Tarian  if she comes back or rather when she does which side will she chose? Who would she marry? One of his advisers had suggested he marry his own niece not unheard of but the idea still turned his stomach. Ruari had been his sister's favourite brother to marry her daughter seemed insulting but he new he would never bring himself to kill her. As cowardly as it sounded he had half hoped the Danes would do it so he wouldn't have to and his conscience would be clear.

"I do not believe she would challenge your rule lord" Arthfael told him for what felt lie the one hundredth time. It was bad enough their previous leader had been paranoid he did not need this a second time the more time he thought about it the more he was sure Merfyn was behind Tarian's kidnapping there was only one way to be certain. Arthfael always felt Ruari though younger was the wiser of the two brothers and he prayed to the Gods he was right as he would need Ruari's permission to seeing these answers.

"She might not do it directly but through her another could be." Ruari said absent mindly looking out the window.

"You believe her to be that weak?"

Ruari did not answer the elder man and seemed lost in thought. After an uncomfortable silence he turned to face him. "What is it you want Arthfael you are not one for small talk and I have my advisers for council."

"As you no my lord there has been two attempts on Tarian's life both from the Danes and from our own people I wish to get to the bottom of this Lord."

"And you think what? A trip to Frankia to the great Jarl Jurgen would give you these answers?"

"Yes Lord I do.

"And what if it his him behind all of this? What if it is part of some plan to take our lands from us?" Ruari spat like his brother before him there was nothing he hated more than Danes not even Saxons. "Do not forget he is the reason my sister-your dearest friend-is parted from us."

"I do not believe he would harm his daughter."

Ruari scoffed at the thought.

"I am serious Lord I do not believe he means harm for his daughter."

"Then why is there a large price tag over her head?"

"That is simply how Danes do things. My Lord may I speak plainly?" Arthfael was no fool he knew though despite being the more reasonable of the brothers Ruari still saw Tarian as a threat or certainly as a possibility of becoming one. Tarian was highly respected warrior despite her age her prowess on the battlefield was becoming legend better than her mother and comparing her to her grandfather before her. And with her mother's look s it was only a matter of time for many a man to come knocing. One in particular-Arawn-made Arthfael nervous. He was highly ambitious and a greedy man at that twice Arawn had approached Arthfael to marry Tarian and both times he was refused. He was ten years older than Tarian and watched her close enough to put him on edge and upon his life Arthfael was sure Arawn had something to do with what had happened to her.

"Tarian is something of a commodity as you know yourself should she meet her father here what he has to say then perhaps she may join him and leave these shores. If the great Jarl Jurgen truly wanted this island for himself he would have invaded by now and joined that Danish earl Guthrum at Ethandun which he did not do. It is common knowlegde that Jurgen is happy in Frankia and has no wish to leave its warmer shores. It is also common knowledge that Tarian has no desire for power-she had made that clear from the start." "If what you say is true then it is worth looking into I suppose." Ruari sighed. "With your permission I get everything underway." Arthfael made to leave the room. "No Arthfael I will need you here. You will send your nephew-the mutt." Ruari ordered him. Arthfael hated it when his nephew was referred to as such. Like Tarian he too was half Dane but that is where the similarities end as Illewyn torn between wanting to no more of his Danish culture and pleasing his Celt leaders that he had learnt the language to serve their land. And unlike Tarian his mother did not find love with a Dane quite the opposite his birth had been a product of something against her will. Illeywn's mother had died in childbirth and as his own wife was barren Arthfael took Illewyn and Tarian into his care. "As you wish it lord." Arthfael bowed and left the room hoping IIlewyn had  kept up his Danish he would need it.

Frankia two weeks later.

The great Jarl Jurgen had long given up making conversation with his new bride at dinner times. She was like a timid mouse and he the lion such was the way with arranged marriages he new that but he wasn't the worse man her father could have sold her off too and he had learnt her language but she barely looked at him and only spoken when spoken too. These damn Christians and their frightened little women. Give him a wild brave warrior woman any day. Since her death the great Jarl had still not replaced her and now he was moving heaven and earth to find their daughter and have her where she belongs at-his side. Jarl Jurgen scarcely remembered his daughter just that she had her mother's beautiful red hair and his eyes. 

This very evening word had reached him that a Celt from across the water was hear to speak to him. The young Celt man was no warrior but spoke relatively good Danish so the Jarl had allowed him to pass. There was only one man who could have arranged for a messenger and that man was the caretaker of his daughter. A knock on the door and the messenger's presence was announced. "You will leave me wife." he ordered. The woman looked at him what a night to try and be defiant he thought bitterly as she hesitated. "Now." he repeated. His young bride slowly got out of her chair and gracefully left the room as slow as possible. Was she deliberately trying to antagonise him it seemed so. "What is your name and on behalf of whom to come for?" Jarl Jurgen asked after the Celt had paid his respects.

"Illewyn Lord Arthfael sends me." Illweyn replied. "Well boy?" Jarl Jurgen finished chewing on a chicken bone "What does Arthfael have to say to me?" "Merfyn is dead the future of our kingom is uncertain." "And you are telling me this because?" "There have been two attempts on Tarian's life the first she was kidnapped seemingly on your orders-" "I am already aware of this that man now sits in a cell awaiting my decision whether or not to spare his life. The second?" "Was by one of ours." Jarl Jurgen stopped what he was doing and was now staring hard at the young man who was doing his best not to falter under inspection and failing. "What. Do. You. Mean.? He said dangerously. Illewyn gulped there was no point at hiding it anymore Jarl Jurgen was also nown as the the ruthless Jarl amoungst the Danes and with just one loo Illeywn saw why. "Tarian had found shelter at the home of a noble Saxon family and sworn in her allegiance to Uhtred the Dane Slayer." he said a little too quicly. Was he even supposed to tell the Danish Lord all of this information? He did not now all Illewyn new was that Arthfael had promised he would be safe as Jurgen wanted his daughter safe and by his side. "Uhtred? The Uhtred Ragnarson?" he asked Illewyn nodded slightly alarmed when the great Dane burst into laughter. There was nothing remotely entertaining about this news to an outsider but give the fact that some minor lord by the name of Cnut had asked for his support in overthrowing the last of the Saxons (which he had denied) it was sort of funny in a twisted sense to Jurgen himself. He could have faced the prospect of facing his daughter on the battlefield oh Loki and his games he smiled shaking his head. "Go on." "One of ours had fired a poison arrow at her but she was given the anecdote and lives. Tarian's would be assassin was dealt with but Arthfael still believes a threat to her life exists as Tarian will have to return to her homeland one day." "Of course Arthfael does and Tarian naturally is in contention to the ruling of your kingdom I imagine many an ambitious man wishes to marry my daughter and take the land for themselves would that be correct?" Illeywn nodded. "Very well you will come with me and you will tell Arthfael everything you see him." Illeywn followed the large Dane out of his dining room and down a narrow staircase to the dungeons all cells were empty bar two.

 The first contained two women the guard unlocked the cell and the two men waled in. The women were not chained and appeared to have been treated rather well despite being a cell. "Ladies." the Jarl greeted them in Saxon english and then turned to speak to the older woman "You'll have to excuse your living conditions after your daughter attacked my guards I didn't have a choice" The elder woman seemed understanding but her daughter did not. She had a plain face but her eyes were like golden amber as Illewyn was taken aback by her courage or was it foolishness to be so defiant? "Why are we here Dane? You had us brought to Frankia for what exactly? You are in no need of a wife and I would not be your whore" she spat. "Edhita!" the elder woman hushed. Jarl Jurgen merely laughed "I'd not have you anyway girl. You have information I need and you were told you would be paid were you not?" he said directly to the elder woman. "Yes Lord. What is it we can help you with?" the elder woman asked. "Mother!" "You were a slave on my estate when I lived near the welsh border." The elder woman nodded "Yes Lord." "You were there the night it was attacked the night my wife and daughter were taken from me?" he asked quietly. "Yes lord." "Tell me what you told my guard." "She was murdered lord by one of her own" she said giving a cautious glance in Illewyn's direction. "You saw this?" the Celt asked. "I did lord. She was a lovely woman your wife Lord her daughter and my daughter would play together." "Do you remember the face of her killer?" "As clearly as I see you Lord. He was barely even a man and had a blue mar in his forehead a circle like the sun. He tried to take her but she resisted I saw him slit her throat he hit the child over the head took her away forgive me lord I couldn't-" "There is nothing to forgive woman there was nothing you could have done." he said solemnly. "You both are free to go" reaching into his pocket he gave them each some silver for their trouble and fair ordering the guard to escort them to the port. "Do you now the man she speak of?" "I believe so Lord." Illewyn was in a state of shock . He  knew Arawn was ambitious and possessive but he didn't no that back then he would be capable of such things murdering a woman in front of her own child? And why? None of this made any sense. "His name is Arawn his father is on the council." "Is he a warrior?" "Yes Lord he has earned himself reputation." Jarl Jurgen was silent which surprised Illewyn he had expected a ferocious rage breaking of things howling at the moon that time of thing but he would soon learn that silence was equally as deadly.

The only prisoner left was another Dane Illeywn vaguely recognised him as a trader near their border his name escaped him.  "Egil." The lord said simply.  This prisoner had not been as well taken care of. Chained to the wall one eye so swollen it could not open dried blood and open wounds on his chest and a particularly nasty one on his left side.  "Jarl" he spat up blood.  "You no why I am here?"  "To deliver me to Valhalla lord?" "There is no Valhalla for dishonourable traitors. And that is what you are Egil. I am here to put an end to your suffering."  It had turned out that Jarl Jurgen had not organised the kidnapping of his daughter. Whilst he had offered a reward for information he had specifically expressed that his daughter was not to be harmed in anyway and this man had nearly gotten her killed. 

"What of the Danish lover Gustaf I keep hearing about?" "One of my men  killed him when she tried to escape. Lord please I beg-" but the desperate man's pleas were falling on deaf ears. The Jarl remembered Gustaf well his father had served him well and taught both his daughter and Gustaf the bird call they used to use in their childhood games. "Who was your contact?" the Jarl demanded. "He  didn't give us his-" "What did he look  like?!" he roared. "Not much older than your daughter lord tattoo on his forehead...circle." Egil spat up more blood. "Lord please I beg-" Pulling out his long-sword Jarl Jurgen beheaded the prisoner with one mighty swipe. Breathing heavily with the prisoner's blood spattered on his face he turned to loo at a terrified Illewyn. "You. You will tell Arthfael everything. This Arawn will die by my hand or Tarian's only. Is that clear? Tell him I will be coming. "

@laketaj24 @geekandbooknerd @itzmegaaaaaaan @ariellostatci @tesstrash @medievalfangirl @therealcalicali @sprinklesthrows17 @xthezodiacage

[vermilionskiinmorning]

𝕺𝖆𝖙𝖍𝖘 𝖔𝖋 𝕷𝖔𝖞𝖆𝖑𝖙𝖞||TLK Fic|| FinanxOC||Three

AN: Hey! I just want to give a big thanks to everyone who has left feedback and read so far! Sorry that there’s not a whole lot of Finan in this chapter. I’m trying to bridge the gap between the end of Season Two and the beginning of The Burning Land here. I hope we're all staying safe and healthy :)

Taglist: @lauwrite1225  let me know if you wanted to be tagged for updates!

||Masterlist||

Summary: Tove chose to surrender rather than be killed, after Sigfried was defeated at Beamfleot, giving herself up to the mercy of the Saxons. Thanks to Finan’s intervention, her life is indeed spared and she is brought into Uhtred’s service. With the sting of defeat fresh on her tongue and her new life fighting for the Saxons secured; Tove is left wondering what tricks the Gods have in store for her next.

chapter warning: minor description of ancient medical practices

Words:2471

-----

It turned out Finan was correct in his thinking that the bandages had been wrapped too tightly. In the morning, her side ached something fierce and the bruising had darkened to a near black. It was impossible to say whether the healer who had wrapped the wound previously had simply made a mistake or if their actions had been motivated by general hatred of the Danes. Either way it was of no consequence because when Finan came with Uhtred to check on her they both agreed; she would need further treatment. What neither of them spoke out loud was their uncertainty as to whether she would be able to travel with them in a few days’ time.

Tove sat half propped up by pillows when the healer Osferth fetched was led into her room. Even with the war paint washed from her face, the expression of frustration on Tove wore was intimidating as she fixed her gaze on the short man. In addition to a healer, he was also apparently a priest which was denoted by his robes and the sizeable wooden cross which hung around his neck. A short and wiry man he became uncomfortable under the weight of Tove’s gaze. Wringing his wiry fingers nervously, he could not meet her eye. Instead his watery eyes flicked from his clearly displeased patient to her Lord who stood leaning against the far wall arms crossed.  

“W-what appears to be the issue, my Lord?” he inquired in a painfully squeaky voice, his question was not directed at Tove but the Lord Uhtred.

“Am I the one lying in a sick bed?” Uhtred responded flatly, though it was clear he gleaned a certain amount of amusement at furthering the healer’s discomfort.

“O-oh no, no of course not my Lord.”

Hesitantly the healer turned and approached Tove’s bedside. He hovered there for a moment. Until finally, with a dramatic sigh Tove rolled up her tunic to reveal the dark bruising that painted the side of her ribcage. As though woken from his nervousness suddenly by the sight of her wound, the healer drew closer to examine it. Her eyes followed his every move as he probed around the edges of the bruise and hummed thoughtfully to himself. Every prod of his fingers caused her to tense with pain though she made no sound.

All the while, out of the corner of her eye Tove could see Uhtred and Finan waiting patiently against the far wall. Uhtred merely watched with interest as the healer examined her. Meanwhile, Finan seemed somewhat tense at the sight of the damage he had caused. No one spoke until the healer sat back on his stool with a determined expression on his face.

“Well?” Tove asked expectantly.

“Well…,” began the healer earning an unimpressed look from Tove. Though, despite it he managed to push on. “I do not believe the bones are broken, Praise God. Though, it does appear the wrapping has served to deepen the bruising…causing blood to collect under the skin. Minor bleeding and holy water may alleviate your pain and aid in the healing.”

The squeaky quality of the healer’s voice and his heavy accent caused her to furrow her brow in confusion.

“What?” she asked.

Uhtred cut in though before the healer could attempt to explain himself further.

“He wants to bleed you,” Uhtred said in Danish. “And pour their Christian magic waters over the wound.”

Tove’s eyebrows shot up. “Magic waters?”

“Yes, they say it is blessed by their God.”

The healer waited as Tove considered the treatment. When she finally nodded her assent, he reached into a satchel and brought out the necessary implements. A small flask filled with clear water, a knife, and some cloth.

Bleeding, though unpleasant, was not an unusual treatment for such a wound. So, with that agreed upon the healer ushered Uhtred and Finan from the room to do his work. Despite the routineness of the procedure it did take some time to complete as all the bad humors had to leave the body through the blood. The healer made two medium size cuts across the bruised area and allowed the blood to flow until it was little but a trickle. Then he splashed the area with his magic waters said a prayer and pronounced the treatment complete. Though she was dubious of the effectiveness of the waters Tove gave a nod of thanks to the man as he rewrapped her ribs.  

When he was gone Tove allowed herself to fall back into a light sleep which lasted for several hours before a knock came at her door. In her grogginess she only managed a grunt in reply. Though it was clearly enough for the door opened a moment later to reveal Lord Uhtred with a pitcher of ale and a platter of food.

“My Lord,” she said, attempting to push herself up into a seated position.

“Rest,” Uhtred said simply indicating there was no reason for her sit up. “I am only here to bring you some food.”

“Thank you.”

“And to discuss our impending journey to Lunden,” he added.

Her stomach sank.

“I will be well,” Tove said firmly.

Uhtred looked at her for a long moment.

“The healer does not advise you to travel on horse back for some weeks,” Uhtred said finally.

“My Lord!” she began to protest.

“So, I’ve arranged for you to ride in a cart. As I imagined you would not like to be left here until you were fully healed?”

Tove’s eyebrows rose in surprise. It was apparent the Lord had anticipated her fear of being left behind. A wave of gratitude swept through her causing a smile to spread across her face. Traveling by cart was certainly not ideal and indeed a tad frustrating for a warrior, but better to concede than to not be allowed to travel.

“Thank you, my Lord!” Tove exclaimed vehemently. “You are a good man.”

Uhtred chuckled. He patted her shoulder lightly and then made to excuse himself. At the door he left her with the firm order that she should take as much rest as she could in the following days.

-----

Their journey to Lunden was longer than the one to Wintenchester and though Tove would have rather enjoyed it from horseback she felt somewhat grateful for the cart. Her ribs had begun to heal properly after the intervention of the healer’s treatment, but she was still sore. The cart jostled somewhat along the road at times though the driver did his best to keep from going over any great bumps. Overall, it was a comfortable and relaxed journey.

As they rode, she heard about the fate of the Lord Odda and learned about what they would be doing in Lunden. Apparently, the Lord had decided to take his own life rather than allow himself to be executed. It was speculated by some of the men that the Lord had done it as a kindness to his friend the King. He had not wished Alfred to be forced to order his execution. She found it somewhat sad. An opinion that was not shared by some of those in their party. They explained to her that Christians believed to take one’s own life was a sin and that the Lord Odda would now be burning in hell for this sin. Like the crime he was to be sentenced for this made little sense to Tove; it seemed Christians loved to punish themselves.

What a strange God these Christians have.

The topic of their duties was however much more interesting to her. Since arriving in Britain she had spent much of her time at Beamfleot where the Lady Aethelfled had been held. She knew the Thurgilson brothers had held Lunden briefly and used their advantage there to capture the Lady, but Lord Njal’s crew arrived too late to see that city. It was said that the place thrived with trade and life even more so than Wintenchester despite having switched several times between Saxon and Danish hands.

Half the place was built by an ancient people called the Romans who had, similarly to her people, invaded Britain hundreds of years ago and that their buildings were made of the same great stones as the palace in Wintenchester. Though, as Uhtred put in much of the stone was in decay and Saxons did not often inhabit the Roman buildings for fear of their ghosts. Much of the population lived within the old Roman walls but had instead decided to live in their own wooden structures.

It would be Lord Uhtred’s job to see to the security of that city. Now that it was back in Saxon hands, particularly Mercian hands, Alfred wished for it to stay that way. So, he had given the city to Lord Uhtred which was interesting to Tove as Mercia was supposedly ruled by a Lord of Mercia -Aethelred. Regardless she was pleased to be there and excited for what awaited them.

When they arrived, they were met by a Saxon called Bishop Erkenwald who did not look overly pleased to be receiving them. The Bishop greeted Lord Uhtred begrudgingly and led them into the city. Inside the gates another man, a priest by his look, was instructed to show the household warriors to their lodgings. All of which were situated in the Roman quarter of the city near their Lord’s home that looked out onto the river Temes. It was late afternoon when they arrived, and they were left much to their own devices as their Lord attended a meeting with the Bishop.

That suited Tove well enough as she was eager to settle into her new home. It was a small place, but that made no difference to her. She did not need a lot of space and a larger home would have made her miss her family too much. During their journey she had had plenty of time to think about her family and it saddened her to do so. Kåre’s child had likely been born some time ago. She wondered if it was a boy or a girl. But thinking about that only led her to wondering how Inga was doing and whether her sisters were helping which left her with a deep ache in her chest. It was likely that after not returning she would be eventually presumed dead since she had no way to send word to them.

So, instead of allowing those thoughts to seep in she cleaned the new place as best she could. There was still some mild pain in her side that made stooping difficult, but she managed to sweep the floors of dust and organize her meager possessions. When all that was complete the sun had sunk fully below the horizon. Despite her desire to explore the city, Tove decided she would have an early night and went to sleep after a small meal of bread and hard cheese.

A few weeks after their arrival, Tove was finally allowed to join the men in the training yard. After having been stagnant so long she was eager to get back to what she did best. It had been enjoyable getting to know the wives of Uhtred and Sihtric, but housework was not for her. She was a shield maiden.

“Don’t go easy on me,” Tove said firmly to Osferth as she tossed him a sword.

Admittedly she had been looking forward to sparring with Finan since the battle at Beamfleot, but he was not there. Apparently Uhtred had required the Irishman’s presence on some errand elsewhere in the city. So, Osferth would be her sparring partner for the afternoon.

“Yeah Osferth. Best not let yerself be beaten by a girl,” Sihtric jeered.

“Careful Sihtric or you’ll be next on my list for humiliation,” she joked.

Sihtric snorted. She turned back to Osferth who held his practice sword at the ready. A small smile played at Tove’s lips as she surveyed him. Osferth was too good of a man. Many others would have taken advantage of her distraction to begin the fight and so catch her off guard, but not Osferth.

“When you’re ready.”

Tove did not wait. Immediately she went for the opening she saw in his guard, but Osferth parried knocking her blade away. Gritting her teeth, she went in again and again she was parried away. Five or six strokes in Osferth began to make his own attacks which Tove parried with just as much practiced ease. It went on like that for some time. Both their faces glistening with sweat, grunting, and becoming tired with the speed and intensity of the fight.

Until she saw it. The same opening Osferth had shown when they began -except this was not so intentional. The young monk knew where his weaknesses were, and he had shown them to her to draw her in. But now he was tired, and she was wagering he would not be able to react so fast as before. So, she went for it lunging blade first she poked him in the stomach with the dull tip of her blade just hard enough to make him double over.

“Dead,” Tove proclaimed with a heavy exhale and a wide grin on her face.

-----

Up on the balcony of Uhtred’s house stood Finan and the Lord himself surveying the training yard with interest. They had had an errand to run earlier in the morning, but on its completion Uhtred asked Finan to observe the training yard with him. Uhtred knew it would be Tove’s first day back to train and he was interested to see how good she was -as the only direct witness he had to her skill was Finan. Though, he did not want her to know he was watching thus the balcony.

“Seems you were right,” said Uhtred as they watched her ‘kill’ Osferth.

“Seems Osferth still needs work on that guard Lord,” Finan added mildly.

Uhtred nodded. Out of the corner of his eye, he was watching Finan watching Tove. Back in top health, Uhtred would not deny that Tove was a beauty. Had he not been so deeply in love with Gisela he might have wanted her, but nothing could turn him from the love of his wife. Still, he recognized the gleam of interest in Finan’s eyes and he had seen his friend’s discomfort at the sight of her wound back in Wintenchester.

“What made you spare her at Beamfleot?” Uhtred asked suddenly.

Finan’s brow furrowed at the question. Turning his eyes away from the training yard below, he only managed a shrug.

“Ya wouldn’ have killed someon’ who yielded would ya Lord?”

“No,” Uhtred said. “Still, you couldn’t have known if she would give her oath.”

“I had a feelin’ Lord.”